<div>The Luyten New Alliance was largely a Terran endeavor, and counted few Vasudans among its number. Even so, on a habitat as large as <span class="italic">Amanu Station,</span> "few" could still be a respectable number, and they'd made accommodations. With increasing numbers of Hammer of Light officers joining the fight against INEDAM, this proved fortunate: they could be quartered directly on the station, and their ships integrated into the LNA's air wing. From a military preparedness perspective, the upsides were obvious. From a personnel perspective, the analysis was more complex.</div><br/>

<div>The Sekhmet pilot recognized a small group of Terrans sitting together. They'd flown together earlier that day, exploring the Doceitov Cloud and ultimately engaging an enemy destroyer. It had been a long, grueling mission, and the pilot and his wingmate hoped to unwind in <span class="italic">Amanu</span>'s pilot's cafeteria; they'd joked with their squadmates about IN.E.D.A.M.01 being only the second-most dangerous thing they'd reconnoiter that day. Now, they felt as though every eye in the place were watching them, and the jokes seemed less amusing. The pilot felt a surge of hope as the Terran pilot made some sort of gesture - of recognition or greeting, perhaps? He was pretty sure it was female, although the Terran concept of gender was something many Vasudans found confusing. The idea that some people had organs to produce offspring their entire lives, rather than only when they were called for, seemed strange and inefficient; and then there were social norms based on it, and Terrans whose gender wasn't what their organs would suggest. Their society was moribund; the Destroyers would return one day and see to that. Nevertheless, the pilot was curious. He repeated the Terran's greeting, holding up the middle finger of his right hand; she ran from the room, followed soon after by her companions.</div><br/>

<div>"If I may," said his wingmate, "that appears to have been a mistake."</div><br/>

<div class="hr"></div>

<div>The Antares-flagged rock-hopper <span class="italic">Ice Cream For Breakfast</span> was supposed to have a more dignified name, but the owners' ten-year-old child had had other ideas. Once she'd convinced her older sister, the outcome was inevitable. The ship was a Chronos-class freighter modified with a launcher for mining charges and a hopper to collect ore; she wasn't much to look at, and some days her ancient jump drive struggled with her heavy loads. Still, to her crew - a wife and husband and their two children - she was an opportunity. Over the years, as they worked on the old ship, she started to feel like a home. Eventually, they had an insignia of a mug of coffee beside an ice cream sundae painted on the bow, much to the embarrassment of the now thirteen-year-old who'd first suggested that name.</div><br/>

<div>It was one week from the child's eighteenth birthday when disaster struck - "Disaster", in this case, being the callsign of a notorious pirate who'd chosen it specifically for the pun. They were after a shipment of bio-grade nanofabrication equipment, and didn't accept the <span class="italic">Ice Cream</span>'s pleas that they'd targeted the wrong ship. The ship's owner had executed a crash jump, throwing the ship into subspace without properly warming up the drives or calculating a destination; she was killed when the sudden acceleration threw her into a bulkhead, but it bought her family time to abandon ship.</div><br/>

<div>They drifted there for a long time, the children and their father, long enough for the faulty seal in his EVA suit to become a problem.</div><br/>

<div class="hr"></div>

<div>Rosemary yelled down the hallway at her squadmate's retreating back. "Charon, did you flip off --", she began; fortunately for everyone involved, Hermes cut her off. "Woah there," she said. "You really don't want to go down this road right now."</div><br/>

<div class="hr"></div>

<div>Taking an apprenticeship with Belltower Security wasn't only a way to secure an income, now that theirs had been shot out from under them, and their mother's life insurance payouts were going to their father's medical bills. The sisters had decided on it with little fanfare. More than a job, they needed payback. The recruiter had seemed somewhat dubious about that explanation, but living and working on a scrappy freighter for eight years had taught them plenty about spacecraft; they nailed their interviews and skill tests. They worked as deck crew long enough until spots opened up in the company's pilot training program. They were determined, and graduated quickly. Over the years, as conditions in Antares worsened and the demand for private security grew, they found plenty of opportunities to hone their skills. When Belltower's flagship, the <span class="italic">Decisive Wind,</span> was critically damaged responding to a pirate attack on Gulnara Research Station, they left to form their own company: Charon's Irregulars, named after the callsign the older of the two had picked up during their time with Belltower; her sister, riffing off the mythological psychopomp, soon started to call herself Hermes. The Irregulars soon found themselves torn between three competing forces: the nascent Antares Federation, Admiral Po and his fleet, and the Hammer of Light. They'd chosen to stay neutral, focusing on keeping civilians safe. That attitude lasted until September of that year. A Hammer of Light transport managed to dock with and board the ship they'd been hired to protect, all while Admiral Po's fighters sat there doing absolutely nothing useful. The sound of the transport's crew dying in agony on an open comm would stay with them the rest of their lives.</div><br/>

<div>Outnumbered and outgunned, there was nothing they could do but save themselves. That very day, the Irregulars signed on with the Antares Federation; they would be neutral no more. The following months were long and grueling, and by the end of it, the ten-pilot company was down to four. They'd almost come to blows over the Federation's non-aggression pact with the Hammer. To two of the pilots, it was a golden opportunity to make peace and focus on the Alliance. To Charon and Hermes, who'd lost their family and livelihood to a bully on a power trip, it was appeasement. They knew that defecting from the Federation to the Alliance would make them forever unwelcome in the system. They also knew that the Federation had crossed a line they couldn't overlook. Admiral Po's fleet had lost too many pilots to turn them away, and when the <span class="italic">Intrepid</span> ultimately withdrew, Charon and Hermes went with her.</div><br/>

<div class="hr"></div>

<div>Rosemary found Charon in <span class="italic">Amanu</span>'s gym, just where Hermes had told her she'd be: beating up a punching bag, since her sparring partner had recently become part of <span class="italic">Wayfarer</span>'s debris field. She stood a respectful distance back, waiting for a good opportunity; Charon, however, had other ideas.</div><br/>

<div>"If you're here to talk about how I feel, you picked a bad time." There was ice in her voice, and Rosemary thought she sounded defensive - not angry, exactly, but like there was hurt there. Rosemary held up a hand in a conciliatory gesture.</div><br/>

<div>"I haven't," Rosemary said. "I came here to apologize for my outburst earlier. It wasn't appropriate, and I'm sorry."</div><br/>

<div>"You're damn right it wasn't appropriate." Charon turned away to deliver a fierce right hook into the punching bag; it writhed like a dying snake. "They're asking us to work with terrorists." Left hook. Charon's voice was cold, almost unemotional; all her fury was in her fists, and they were unrelenting. "They <span class="italic">slaughtered</span> Antares." Right hook. "They attacked medical ships. Civilian habitats. Mining stations. They shelled a <span class="italic">refugee station.</span>" Left, right, left, right. The punching bag fell off its stand, and Charon finally turned to face Rosemary.</div><br/>

<div>"I lost people in every fight. People under my protection. Friends from other companies. My own pilots. Do you know what I felt after <span class="italic">Wayfarer?</span> When we got the news about Mav?"</div><br/>

<div>Charon silently watched Rosemary until she shook her head.</div><br/>

<div>"Nothing. Nothing at all. I <span class="italic">thought</span> I'd become numb to atrocity. But <span class="italic">this?</span> Hosting <span class="italic">that</span> on <span class="italic">this station?</span> That is crossing a line."</div><br/>

<div>She set about righting the fallen bag, leaving Rosemary alone, for a moment, with her thoughts.</div><br/>

<div>"Susan..."</div><br/>

<div>Charon paused, turning her attention back towards Rosemary. Pilot callsigns were like nicknames; using another pilot's real name was unusual, and Charon had been with the Navy long enough to internalize it.</div><br/>

<div>"You know you're not the only who's lost people, don't you? I'm from Ross 128. I joined up in memory of my family on <span class="italic">Riviera Station.</span>"</div><br/>

<div>"Not a lot of Shivans in Luyten," Charon said. "Just hubris and innocent people in its way." She started to turn away again, but Rosemary pressed on before she could.</div><br/>

<div>"That's true. The galaxy's gotten a lot more complicated lately, hasn't it? Some days I'm not so sure where I'm going. My faith talks about exploration and the wonders of the galaxy as our birthright. Well, we've seen the wonders of the galaxy, and they're not quite as <span class="italic">wonderful</span> as the prophet expected." She paused, then, before adding, "I don't <span class="italic">just</span> mean the Shivans."</div><br/>

<div>Charon finally seemed to lose interest in the punching bag, turning her attention fully on Rosemary. "Kanna," she asked. She almost sounded like she was pleading. "Are you going somewhere with this?"</div><br/>

<div>"I'm an Umbrist, sir. We're <span class="italic">always</span> going somewhere." Rosemary flashed her a gentle smile; Charon couldn't quite bring herself to return it, so she nodded instead. "<span class="italic">Everyone</span> in this squadron has something or other going on. Mart's got his criminal record, and I think some kind of trauma about it. Az hit the bottle after bombing out of grad school. Skunk, I think, has some kind of deep regret he doesn't - yeah, you've seen it too. Do you remember what you told Az after we fought off those pirates leaving Ross 128?"</div><br/>

<div>Charon nodded. "I suggested he talk to <span class="italic">Wayfarer</span>'s counselor. I don't know, Kanna. I'll think about it."</div><br/>

<div>"It's up to you, Susan. But, one way or another, you don't have to do this on your own. This squadron's been through hell together. We can take care of each other... if you'll let us."</div><br/>

<div>Charon let out a wry laugh at that. "That might be easier said than done. But, uh. Yeah. I'll think about that."</div><br/>

<div>Rosemary didn't immediately answer that; instead, she went to pick up the fallen punching bag, and Charon instinctively moved to help her. Together, the two of them got it set back up.</div><br/>

<div>"Susan, you ever play caps? Mart's game's tonight, and I'm sure he could be happy to deal you in."</div><br/>

<div>"Well, it's not like I had any other plans," Charon said. For the first time since they'd met, Rosemary saw her smile.</div><br/>
