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Chapter 34

Under a sky pregnant with looming storm, forty thousand Marines boarded landing craft to be borne upward, through that lightning-lit sky and toward whatever fate lay beyond it. Past the rumbling ominous bruise-black storm indeed above the atmosphere entirely, First Fleet's massive flotilla waited, dozens of briefings on many vessels detailing the largest offensive orbital drop operation ever attempted.

Hundreds of ships waited to accept the Marines, adding to their already-existing contingents in readiness for the great battles to come. From tiny fast-attack corvettes to the massive Hadrian super-battleships, the great glittering vessels gorged themselves on crewmen and Marines, like massive sharks loading up before a long migration.

The mood of the Corps was quiet, energetic anticipation, mixed with trepidation and the aura of wistful goodbyes. As the last transport loaded, a massive crowd of well-wishers and family members waved their well-wishes with patriotic pennants, flying the deep blue flags of the USF. Jenny Greenway bit back hot tears as the Dragonslayers' shuttle took off, purposefully indistinguishable from the dozens of Marine Corps craft around it.

As an SOG field team, they hadn't been allowed to stand parade or say their goodbyes in front of so many civilians, for understandable security reasons. Any enemy spy would spot such a strange formation and peg it for what it was instantly - A unit comprised of more than two branches of the service would leave little doubt as to its function, especially given one team-member wore only a black ISSB body suit with no rank epaulets or decorations to break up its rather sinister shadowy profile.

Still, as her eyes went wavy with tears, she forced herself to watch the great wave of silvery stars as they burned away into the sky. If it was going to be the last time she saw the four brave Marines who had saved her, and their crazy Navy and Intelligence friends, the grey cat girl intended to make it last.

As the shuttle vanished into the throbbing storm, her paw squeezed gently on Trisha Blake's.

"C'mon, kiddo. Let's go get you some new clothes and head for the space station. I've gotta get back to work, and you have orientation to attend."

Derryclutched the 'oh-shit' handle next to his right leg and clenched his gut against the waves of nauseous terror as their shuttle caromed through the thunder storm like a pinball in an industrial clothes drier. To his immediate left, Nivea Gordon sat, prim and proper and looking damn amused, like she was about to start ribbing him at any moment.

Which, of course, she did.

"Y'know, last time you freaked out in a shuttle, we both got bawled out."

Derrygrit his teeth and glowered at her, for interrupting his suddenly-returned claustrophobia.

"No, we got bawled out because you started kicking me and I kicked back."

Across from them, Cpl Kerr snorted over top of his wrinkled-up old book, and commented in drab tones while flipping a crinkling page.

"Funny, Sar'nt, how you're claustrophobic in fliers and completely fine belly-crawling through a sewer pipe no wider'n your shoulders while getting the shit shot out of you."

The wolf sighed and closed his eyes, hoping in vain that doing so would help him forget that he was strapped into a rickety tin can being batted about by a storm that seemed ready to rip them apart or plunge them to their deaths.

"That was different. There was something I could DO about the danger there."

He felt a little proud of how steady his voice sounded. On the other paw, he felt not-so-proud about how he thought he was going to pee himself uncontrollably any moment. His hackles partly rose when Clicks' chittery voice added to the conversation, in her I'm-being-helpful tone.

"Maybe you should come fly with my drones sometime! It's fun, and you almost never die from it!"

Derryjust turned and stared at her a second, though his flat look had absolutely no effect on the cheerful mantis-esque creature. She chirped at him, a noise he knew was one of encouragement among her kind. Then Derkin decided to chip in on the torment.

"Hey I know! Let me put you under local anesthetic, I can practice my vasectomy skills!"

Olliver snickered loudly directly intoDerry's ear thanks to the aural implant, despite being down in the cargo hold, loaded into Black Jack.

"Now that I'd pay to see. Hey, maybe you could come down here and hide in Black Jack with me. Even if we crashed, we'd probably live through it with all that armor. Of course, you'd be sitting in my lap, which is all boned up from the engine's vibrations right now."

Waters chuckled next, flicking a primate-ish paw in a mock-gay wrist flop before speaking in a lisp.

"Now that I'D pay to thee. Oh my!"

NowDerrywas blushing, embarrassed at that thought and mortified as much as mortally terrified. With both paws over his face, he muttered.

"I hate all of you."

Laughter bubbled from the cockpit, where Bill Verman and Randy Kerrick sat, piloting and copiloting their bumpy, jostling ride. The squirrel's voice chimed in.

"Who wants to practice zero gee? I hear the vomit comet is all the rage!"

Colonel Tenh's voice rumbled over him, one in tone and bass with the sussurrus of the growling thunder outside.

"Dragonslayers, listen up."

All eyes went to the wall-mounted vidcom system. Colonel Tenh was already aboard the Fist, according to the informationDerryhad read before liftoff, but thanks to the wonders of advanced particle science, they were speaking in real time despite tens of thousands of kilometer's distance.

Their commanding officer was dapper yet enormous in his uniform blues, as if he'd just left some manner of ceremony, and had his white knot-topped cap under a bicep that seemed powerful enough to crush mountains. The lion's eyes were piercing, rendered iron-grey by the fluorescent lighting of a featureless and undecorated chamber that spanned out behind him.

"All numbers reporting, Colonel!" spilled from Derry's lips, as automatic as sitting upright, shoulders back and chin down, attentive in his seat and mirrored by every other warrior in the passenger bay.

"Understood. Relax, everyone, this is not a review, only a preliminary briefing."

No one had left their seat, thanks to the rocking, pitching trajectory of their long ascent, slowed to interminableness by the great swarm of slower and less agile transports above them. Now, though, they could relax back. Derrynoted Nivea digging out a notebook from her under-seat locker, tapping her chipped fingertip along the plasticky surface to start taking down notes.

So far, nobody in the unit knew what precisely their mission would be, a fact that weighed onDerry's mind. The next few minutes, he knew, wouldn't tell them anything that couldn't change. It would, however, indicate what they would likely need to prepare for.

"Once we are all aboard the Fist of the Nascent Dawn, we will rendezvous with Star of Aden and Starlit Maiden to create Fleet Element Omega. As the other fleet elements move toward their targets, we will be conducting reconnaissance-in-force operations to pave the way for the slower, larger vessels and troop bodies."

Shit,Derrythought with a rueful but unsurprised sense of forboding, we're going in alone again.

"It will be up to us to disrupt enemy movements in preparation for larger landing actions. As such, we will be using this hold aboard our mother vessel to practice artillery drill and CQC. I will see you once you are aboard."

"Yes, sir!"

When Tenh vanished,Derryhalf expected a barrage of nervous questions, jokes and bravado to cover for the nerves even brave warriors would feel under such circumstances. Instead, everyone just relaxed back into the seats in their own ways, momentarily confusing the wolf, though he concealed it behind his usual mask of stoic silence. When Derkin leaned his head back to take a nap, it struckDerrythat they weren't kids any more, nor even green Marines fresh out of Basic.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, they'd become veterans, the forming members of a now-official special operations group.

The realization made him sit up in his seat, and tilt his head, and wonder just what the future had in store for his unit.

Nivea's fist passed within a quarter inch of his jaw, ruffling fur with the wind of its lightning-quick passage even as her knee was coming up toward his midsection. Derry's arm had deflected the quick jab, well-drilled balance leaving him just enough time to step a foot behind Nivea's planted footpaw and jam his free right paw up under her rib cage in an open-pawed strike that sent her bowling over backwards, her knee-shot having utterly missed.

The female wolf landed and rolled to one side, gasping for the breath that had just been blown from her lungs. Derry's rubber practice knife bounced off her spine when he threw it, before the charging approach of his second opponent stopped him from confirming the 'kill.'

Siegfried Derkin was no easier an opponent than Nivea had been, and the already-bruised and panting Marine Sergeant had to dance back and circle, trying to prevent that charging, muscle-bound hulk from getting ahold of him. If he tried to engage Derkin in a clinch, the match would be over, squashed beneath a rippling wall of muscle and armor-plated skin.

Backed into a corner,Derry's momentum suddenly reversed, and he hurtled forward at an angle, stepping wide in time to wheel around in a graceful if brutal arching kick that smashed into the back of Derkin's leg and sent him down sprawling just as the huge armadillo had been trying to turn. A swift motion of his feet and arms andDerryhad plucked the knife from Derkin's off paw, jabbing its tip up under the armadillo's chin.

He straightened and turned just in time for Olliver Tense, halfway across the room, to point a finger at him, his thumb up at a right angle, and speak.

"Pew pew, you're dead," the otter smirked out, every inch of his frame radiating smugness.

"Enough." Tenh's voice called off the match, as Nivea was just finally able to get up, holding her gut and glowering at her Sergeant.

"Two kills to one death. An improvement, Darrel, but still not good enough."

Derrybowed his head to his commanding officer, the monstrous lion that leaned against a corner of the hold, monolithic enough to dwarf even Derkin's impressive stature and chiseled muscle.

"I understand, sir. Olliver wasn't part of the stated match, but combat has a way of violating our expectations."

Tenh nodded once, blank-faced, but it was all the praiseDerryneeded. The lion continued his lecture, asDerrydoubled back to help Derkin to his feet. Burly and sweating, too heavy forDerryto truly lift, Derkin got up with the help, grinning from exertion and endorphins.

"The Marine's most dangerous weapon is his bare hands," Tenh continued. "Why is that, private Gordon?"

Still half-bent over, Nivea broke off her glower of annoyed defeat, and managed to straighten a bit more before responding in a still-gaspy tone. Her arm was still clutched around her abdomen, despite sparring pads that had lessened the impact ofDerry's strike.

"Huhh...Hnf...Because every other weapon...Is used by his hands..."

"A good deduction, but only partially correct," the lion stated, before pointing down at his massive boots. "But you forget about the feet. The hands are the most dangerous because they are the most creative. You can kill another with a gun, a knife, or a kick to the throat. But the hands offer the most options. Never be afraid to 'cheat' on a real battlefield."

Everyone nodded in understanding, even the two pilots who sat off to the sidelines cleaning their service sidearms. As Nivea straggled off to take a seat,Derrycaught up to her, slowing to match pace before sitting next to the Marine woman. Meanwhile, Tenh had called Randy and Bill forward, and began instructing them on intermediate close-combat technique while giving the more advanced students a chance to rest.

"Hey, you okay?"

"I'm fine," she curtly responded, not meeting his eyes. Derryfollowed her gaze to the two pilots, knowing that trying to dig when her pride was stung would get him nowhere. She was damn competitive, he knew, especially in matters relating to skills she considered herself good at. Not that knowing it would make him pull punches. Doing so would be a disservice, and insulting.

Then again, watching Bill and Randy spar under Tenh's tutelage was just painful. The pilots were only cursorily trained in close combat arts, and though both were in excellent physical shape, they just couldn't stack up to what the ground-pounders were conditioned for.

"Derkin, what's your martial art of choice?" He hoped engaging conversation with the others would help Nivea forget about her stinging defeat. Derkin either knew what was up and played along, or else was utterly oblivious.

"Heh, well, my cousin and uncle are in Galaxy's Deadliest Fighers' League competitively, so I guess you could say my 'art of choice' is a mix of elbows, cheap shots, and bad language. The only one I ever actually studied was Pankration."

"GDFL? I thought that shit was illegal now. Pankration...That's Greco-Roman wrestling, right? I thought that was more like...A competition art style or something."

"Hah, no. Well, okay, illegal in some systems. Anyway, if I ever get you in a grapple, you'll understand why it's bad news. How 'bout you?"

"Well, Tenh never gave what he taught me names. Said names and posing are the same thing, and useless in combat. But uh...It's kind of a mix of Krav Maga, Aikido and a couple other things."

"Well it's fucking effective. How 'bout you, Gordon?"

Nivea grunted and finally managed to sit up straight, though she dug an elbow intoDerry's side for good measure.

"I started in Tai Chi when I was six years old. Kickboxing since I was ten, and Kenpo since I was a teenager. Also ballet, which is kind of like combat, only you're kicking your own ass mostly."

Derrygrinned, and Derkin laughed from the gut, grinning over at the two wolves.

"You're faster than me, that's for sure," the armadillo admitted in his friendly baritone, shrugging his shoulders. "At least you actually landed a touch."

Nivea sighed and shrugged, then rolled her eyes and elbowedDerryagain.

"Hey, we're not sparring any more, remember?" the Sergeant grumbled, rubbing at the same spot she'd hit twice now. For his trouble, she stuck her tongue out at him, to which he grinned and made a comment that caused her ears to pink up. "Don't stick it out if you're not gonna use it."

"Don't gut-shot me if you can't take the heat," she smirked back, despite the blush.

Derry was about to respond with an elbow of his own, and maybe a challenge with bet attached, when the ship's claxon blared, and was immediately followed by an announcement he'd been dreading.

"All hands, this is Fist Actual. Prepare for faster htan light in ten minutes, and terminus shock in fourteen minutes."

Across the ship, he knew, furs and humans would be flying into activity at that announcement, putting away any item that could fly if the jump was bumpy or be dangerous if there was a power surge. There in the Dragonslayers' private compartment, there was little to batten down that wasn't already strapped to an operative.

"Colonel, uh...Aren't we going to be offered sedatives for the jump?" Niece asked, a hint of nerves showing through her normally-happy façade. Derkin, himself a career Naval seaman, seemed utterly unconcerned, as he got up to go strap Olly and his chair to something.

Tenh, meanwhile, waved a paw and allowed the two pilots to rush off to their seats, before turning toward her.

"Terminus shock syndrome is a temporary brain injury that you will have to become acclimated towards. If you have to, at some point in your career, make a fast light jump followed by an immediate insertion, you will not have the luxury of sleeping off sedation."

Derryflinched inwardly, though he wouldn't let it show outwardly while his mentor and commander was staring right at them. To his right, though, Nivea's shoulders stiffened, and her tail flagged down behind the bench in sudden trepidation.

"Yes, sir, understood," she said, somehow keeping her voice entirely steady, a brave mask over the uncertainty and fear. Having experienced TSS himself, and the wild hallucinations it had caused, the Sergeant knew just how she felt.

"Don't worry, Niv," he whispered, as Colonel Tenh stalked off to find himself a seat and get strapped in. "It only lasts a little while. Scared the shit outta me the first two times...I'm hoping the nanos in our heads have figured out what to do by now. They say it goes away by the fourth or fifth."

Nivea was always one to show strength when she could. Nevertheless, she shifted in her seat while pulling on the buckling belt, pressing the line of her flank up his side.

"Yeah...We'll be just fine...Shit."

"If you start screaming like a little girl, don't worry, I'll only taunt you about it forever." He grinned, elbowing her, hoping to alleviate the tension. She elbowed him back, and snorted, though the stiffness in her back and the motionless tail told him it was at least half bravado. Still, he figured, it was better than letting her sit there looking miserable.

The remaining minutes passed with glacial slowness, to the point that the whole unit seemed to be wishing they hadn't buckled up right away. Still, regulations were regulations. Battening started when the announcement was made, and nobody got to undog anything until the jump was made and the all-clear called. Only Colonel Tenh was allowed to unstrap himself, as he was the designated safety officer.

Instead of doing so, he seemed to be muttering something.

"What do you think he's saying," Derkin asked, tilting his head towardDerryfrom his seat across the hold. Olliver closed his eyes and settled back in his wheelchair, even more unable to move than usual and clearly annoyed about it.

"Not a clue, Derkin. Uh...Looks almost like a prayer?"

The ship's comm. system blared again, then, cutting off all talk.

"Acceleration in 30 seconds."

Derry's paw found Nivea's at about the same moment she was starting to reach for his. Pressed between them, nobody could see the movement, and no one could claim it was unprofessional behavior. The wayDerrylooked at it, comforting himself and a frightened squad-mate served the unit just fine.

Then the world around them twisted like a kaleidoscope as the Fist hit Atria's terminus shock at just beneath the speed of light, hopscotching the e=mc2 equation's limits as time and space were bent by the induced singularity pulling them forward toward a strange infinity.

Mighty, ringed Saturn was turning slowly on the viewscreen as the Dragonslayers assembled for their briefing. Meanwhile, millions of kilometers away, First Fleet was engaging in a series of fast, brutal engagements, strafing and disabling deep-space defense stations one after another. Much closer nearby, in fact visible through the armored viewing ports, the massive Star of Aden and smaller Starlit Maiden were spawning hundreds of landing ships, as Marine landing forces began the twenty-hour preparation time they would need before their ground attack began.

Twenty hours in which the Dragonslayers and a dozen other special operations units would have to land on the massive orbital stations surrounding Titan, and try to secure safe landing areas for the ships.

Tenh stood behind a floating holographic of the moon, illustrated in bright yellow and greens that clearly didn't match the real planetary body's coloration. With an old-fashioned pointing stick, he jabbed at the display, while the operators of the Dragonslayer unit found their seats.

"Listen up, everyone. According to your records, none of you have ever spent time aboard the Titan Shipyard, so you need to become familiar with how it operates before insertion."

Nobody argued, or said anything for that matter. All eyes were on the monolithic Colonel, every operator already in their adaptive camouflage and armor suits, even Olliver. He continued, waiting only a few seconds to be certain everyone had eyes forward.

A swish of his baton changed the hologram's view, zooming it in on a flat ribbon of material that spanned a latitudinal line over the moon's equator.

"Titan itself is effectively uninhabitable. You will be landing on the orbital shipyard, which is a Dyson Ribbon of sorts around the moon's equatorial region."

Another movement, and the moon was gone, their holographic image now filled with just the ribbon itself. At such magnification, it looked utterly different than it had - no longer just a thin strip of metal that looked flimsy as tin foil, it was now evident just how large the structure they were helping assault would be. Or rather, that what they were attacking wasn't truly a building in the classic sense. They would be attacking a long, skinny planet of its own, dotted with monolithic megastructures that surrounded hundreds of vessels of every imaginable class.

"United Galatean Federation troops have seized or destroyed all major armories, and have managed containment if not outright control of the residential facilities built into the ring's underside. What you are seeing here is its operational floor - the section of the Titan Orbital Shipyard that is exposed to us contains drydocks and all major transportation systems.

"Your first objective, upon landing, will be to secure your zone and then move on toward this field."

A swish of his baton, and the map finally zoomed in to the level of operation with whichDerryand company were largely concerned.

"The ring has vast areas that are largely in disuse. You will be landing in one of these, to secure it as a landing zone. Debris from ship building as well as abandoned structures will act as your cover should you be forced to engage in direct combat. However, your primary method should be to neutralize the communications bunkers at points Delta and Echo, and then keep your heads down until the Marines make touchdown."

Two red blips showed up on the screen as he spoke their designations. Transmission towers,Derrynoted, as a chilly pit coalesced in his gut. They looked an awful lot like the communication tower he'd lost Marines at, during his first action in command of others. Still, he understood what needed to be done, and swallowed his trepidation.

"Intelligence suggests that resistance will be light. Personally, I expect it will not be. Sar'nt Blake, you are to secure this debris hill, equidistant between the two locations, and then lase them for artillery bombardment. Once that task is completed, defend the landing area against any response troops, and take action as you see fit until further orders are given. Any questions?"

Derryresponded first, as befit his position as squad leader.

"Will the Fist be able to offer us artillery support? I thought Titan was covered with orbital defense guns."

Tenh's steel eyes met his for a moment, andDerrycould have sworn there was the faintest ghost of a smile on those stoney lips.

"I have been assured they will be offline. The Fist will field all artillery support requests as she is able."

As Derryand the others left, he heard Nivea mumble in near total silence.

"But technically it's not a Dyson...Not wrapped around a star..."

As the fleet engaged with space stations and orbital defense squadrons all across the outer edge of the Sol System, a tiny shuttle, wrapped up in high-tech stealth equipment and electronic countermeasures floated silently in the gloomy void. Having taken the long way around, starting weeks before the Fist and company had left Atria, the tiny flier drifted with artful sloth on course to the great glimmering ring around Titan.

Nestled comfortably into the all-leather interior, customized to his personal specifications on the factory floor, a lithe cheetah sprawled, sipping a chilled fruit cocktail from its zero-g bulb. A grumbly yet amused voice squawked over his dimmed cockpit's speakers, made tinny and strange as Enigma used a toe to fiddle with the audio dials for his own amusement.

"Get a move on already, you lazy slob! Do you have any idea how tiring it is, fighting off their damn scanners without being noticed?!"

"Relax, Danny. You have it under control," Shadow Seven laughed out, finishing his juice with a quick squeeze of his dextrous little paw. "Besides, even if you didn't, it's not as if you can't get away."

"It's not me I'm worried about, you twit! Do you know what happens to biologicals like you when you hit hard vacuum under bombardment?"

The cheetah chuckled and tapped his console with a toe, while reaching for the secure container that held his special-made active camouflage boots.

"Hah yes, a major inconvenience involving my cells turning into frozen goo. Very annoying to regenerate from that."

"Yes. And hardly guaranteed, at least for you. Four would likely survive it. Probably One as well. But you aren't a main-line combat model, remember?"

"Yes yes, Uncle Danny, I know."

The computer went quite for a moment, then made a "Ch!" noise, like someone blowing air through their teeth in exasperation. Enigma knew damn well that the AI possessed neither teeth nor lungs.

"And don't call me Uncle! I don't even have DNA, nevermind a need for heredity nomenclature!"

Enigma snorted and ignored the tired retort. He'd heard it a million times or more, in the centuries since the Shadows' Exodus. Sneaking into the research facility's computer center and stealing their entire information database had been his first great work of artistic genius. In truth, though, he hadn't done it for the thrill. He'd done it because he couldn't leave his one truly trustworthy friend behind.

"You're a few centuries out of date, Danny. Are you sure you'll be able to scramble their targeting computers?"

Silence filled the cockpit in an ominous wave. After a few seconds, Enigma quirked a brow, then saw a red light crop up on his instruments panel, showing the ejection seat was preparing to activate.

Laughing, the Faceless One raised his paws in surrender.

"Okay okay, bad joke, I get it! Sorry!"

The little red light flashed off, only to be followed by his console going from darkened to green across the board. Danny's voice came back, along with the distinct vibrations of his craft engaging careful thruster motions to stay undetected while maneuvering for entry.

"Good. Now that that's handled, we're headed for a landing right where you wanted. I'm coming with you in the ferret."

"Hah, alright. Just be careful, Danny. The ferret isn't exactly a sturdy chassis."

"Stop babying me! I'm older than you, lest you forget! And much less mortal!"

Enigma laughed at the testy-sounding AI, while sliding lithely from his seat for a nice languid stretch, arms tossed carelessly back behind his head as his spine popped and went into a near-C bend. The shuttle was just large enough for it, and for him to go sit on its one set of bench seats to change into his stealth armor. Sleek and matte-grey, covered in polygon shapes in its inactive state, the material began to shimmer as soon as it came in contact with his fur.

As he dressed, carefully checking every seal of the suit in case local atmosphere was bad, Enigma felt the tiniest shift as his shuttle changed course, descending in a perfect, graceful arc toward the massive industrial facility. By the time he was slipping a light sporting rifle over his shoulder, they were already slowing to land.

A soft thump, more tactile than auditory, told him they had made groundfall without so much as a blip on their scan-detector. Enigma's smile edged from amused to wistful, then back to pleased, as a tiny shape wriggled its way free of a glassy tube built into the shuttle's rear bulkhead.

Said shape trotted swiftly to him, and scaled his armor without missing a beat, ending up sitting on his shoulder. A small, non-anthromorphic ferret, to all eyes it would have seemed utterly normal were its body not wrapped in the same camouflaging material that made up Enigma's suit. To the keen eyes of the galaxy's foremost infiltration expert, the ferret was anything but typical. Its little black eyes weren't flesh and blood, instead being sophisticated camera systems set into the orbs' place, and its ears contained incredibly complex and tiny sensors built into cute little rounded furry holders.

Tiny claws gripped into his suit, and they met eyes, as Danny spoke inside Enigma's aural implants.

"All systems are functional. Let's make this quick, shall we? I'm missing my shows!"

Enigma snorted in amusement, and undogged the hatch.

Titan was massive, as moons went, a great orange-yellow ball covered in a thick atmosphere of nitrogen that concealed roiling, frigid liquid seas of methane and ethane. It loomed enormously above him, as he stepped down onto the colossal Dyson Ribbon that comprised the great Titan Orbital Shipyards. Its sheer size gave him a sense of strange nostalgia that he savored for but a moment before mentally shaking himself and returning the business of evaluating his environment.

Beneath his feet, a thick scree of space dust and industrial cast-offs gave the appearance of real soil, though it was black and sticky with once-vaporized grease and oils that tried and failed to cling against his specialized suit. His first few cautious, shuffling steps kicked the stuff up, leaving it floating midair for far too many seconds before it settled again, the ring's gravity detecting by his calculations at about one-half what it was supposed to be.

He spoke aloud without worry of being overheard. The mask was quite sound-reducing, and his suit was already calculating and creating the adaptive camouflage screen that would keep him nigh unto invisible even if someone had heard the muffled muted noise.

"Something's wrong with the ring's gravity. Once we're headed back out, notify the fleet. They'll need to correct their trajectory calculations."

"Understood, Seven. Get moving. The first spec ops spotters will be trying to insert within three hours. If those guns are still online, they'll be shot out of the sky."

Enigma took off, leaving his cloaked flyer concealed behind a hillock of mess and debris covered in the brown-black oily gunk that festooned the Titan Shipyard's outermost back country. Every hop felt like an impressive leap; out this far, he had no need to worry about being spotted by the dust clouds each landing made. For that moment, all that mattered was making good time and keeping his wits about him, just on the off chance some scavenger happened to be nearby.

"Danny, what's the atmosphere like?"

"Hm. Oxygenated enough to breathe, but not comfortably. Seven, I think someone slowed the ring's spin. Possibly incidental battle damage, but somehow I don't think so."

"Sabotage? What would be the objective?"

"Well, if the ring's spin is disrupted for long enough, Titan's own gravitosphere will eventually become the dominant force pulling on the ring. To...Make things simple, the Titan Shipyard could catastrophically collapse and fall to the moon's surface if this goes on long enough."

"How long?"

"By my estimate...At least a month, assuming no further attempt is made to intentionally sabotage spin. Then again, if someone purposefully shifts the thrusters, we could be seeing a crash-down within days."

Enigma smirked, under his mask. Such a move was the exact sort of brutally Machiavellian tactic he knew to expect from his ultimate foes. The thrill of it played through his limbs, a juddering susurrus of energy that begged him to give in and run, full out, at his greatest speed, just for the sheer love of endorphin-laced giggling marathoners' giddiness.

Instead, he poured that energy by force of will into concocting a plan, doing simulations and math in his head as his centuries-trained body took over the task of running and leaping and climbing.

"Looks like you're missing your show, Danny. Once we incapacitate their orbital guns, we're headed for the ring's main orbital thrust control center. Look up its location for me, will you?"

"Goddamnit," the AI mumbled, as its ferrety housing snorted out a cute little sigh of aggravation and covered its eyes with its paws. "I really wanted to see tonight's Fergus and Filly..."

Then Enigma grinned. It was time to run.

An hour later, a breathlessly laughing Enigma laid down atop a rubble hill, and gazed down on what sprawled out below. A great city of towering sky scrapers would have been far too easy, he knew. In any case, Titan's habitation zones were built onto its underside, hanging down toward the planet in a strange reversal of terrestrial architecture. Such buildings would have offered him some cover, some way to conceal the plumes of greasy soot that puffed with every running footfall.

There, ahead of him, the gunnery control headquarters for his quadrant of the Titan Shipyard sat like a great intransigent metal brick, surrounded by a perfectly flat field of ash that purposefully was clear of obstruction. His only hope of concealment showed in whips and wisps that skirled through the ash-spattered zone. Tiny dust devils played across the surface of Titan's great ring, caused by the vast environment control devices that kept the artificial structure's atmosphere from flying off into nothing.

Between Enigma and his objective, though, at least a dozen environment-suited soldiers tromped through the grimy ash. Their uniforms were grey and black, suitable camouflage to the environment, but to eyes as precise as his they might as well have been wearing reflective neon orange. Breathing masks and fur-covering cloth protected them from the unpleasant environment, and each carried at the least an assault rifle.

A plan emerged, and Enigma reached up to gently lift Danny's ferret chassis off his shoulder.

"Distract them for me? Slow-and-go."

"Slow-and-go, you got it, Seven."

The ferret was off in a little puff of sooty grime, bee-lining for the first pair of soldiers. Enigma stayed there, hunkered down in the filth, and watched with the keen eyes of a predator, waiting and observing their behavior. First, he noted, they were alert enough to spot movement at least fifty yards away, based on the fact that both soldiers turned toward the ferret and put paws up to shield their eyes from the moon's glare.

When their eyes were firmly locked, heads tilted in confusion at the appearance of a non-native ferret, he made his move. Invisible but for the gentle puffs of dirt raised by his near-weightless footsteps, Enigma zipped from cover as one of the guards reached for the ferret, only to have it let out a loud 'DOOK!' and sprint off perpendicular to Enigma's line of motion.

As he passed them, he slowed, shuffling his feet through the grime to prevent a puff that might draw their attention. Danny, meanwhile, cavorted playfully through the field, squeaking and dook-ing like a mad beast. Once Enigma was past, the ferret wriggled away at its best speed, leaving a pair of soldiers confused in his chaotic wake.

"What the fuck was that all about?" one asked.

The other shrugged, and reached for his radio, only to have the other soldier reach over and stop his paw.

"Don't. They'll just think we're drunk on duty."

Enigma chuckled to himself, and continued his trotting progress, ever toward the gun control station.