Date: 21st August, 2311. 13:25 (ES/GMT)
Location: TCV-X: Hephaestus (Currently orbiting Gliese 876)


Steam shot from the underside of the transport, writhing and twisting around Schrödinger vectoring panels as they dilated into Nth dimensional space. Suspensors hummed as they kicked over, carefully supporting the underside as it lowered itself into a hover that hung within an inch of the deck plating. Stepping onto the rising debarkation platform, an officer decked out in the full dress uniform of the Terran Galactic Navy keyed a sequence on the exterior paneling, snapped to attention as the departure lock hissed open. A single passenger exited, a woman, light glinting off the trappings of rank that identified her as a major within Ultima Thila as she worked loose the gravity brace that stuck to the sides of her face and the back of her neck. Saluting the officer casually, she tore the sticky, translucent support loose and dropped it into his waiting hands.
“Thanks, Corporal.”
“My pleasure, Major Eisenherz.” He said, though the look on his face as he disposed of the mess said otherwise. Quick nods were exchanged, and while the corporal climbed aboard the transport, Eisenherz crossed the deck to the opposite end of the docking bay, one finger twisting back and forth in her ear.
“Welcome back Major.” Someone called out, and as she turned, she caught the humble smile of a cinnamon-skinned technician, saw his eyes for the barest instant before he turned back to the diagnostic note ‘puter in his hands, making quick notations with a silicon stylus. “How was your flight?”
“The flight? Good.” She shook her hair out, cocked her head, offered her own smile in response. “The bureaucratic bullshit, on the other hand.” She paused, grinned. “It’s still as thick as ever.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all in the past.” She brushed it off with a quick, dismissive gesture, then cracked another grin at him. “So, how’s my rig? She gonna be ready to ship out to Oridius in three days?”
“She’s ready now.” The technician looked up, note ‘puter dropping to his side. “All the new hardware you requested has been installed and she’s all prepped to handle pretty much anything Oridius might throw at you, weatherwise.” He grinned. “Even if the entire planet is on full storm alert when we get there, the systems and safeties I’ve installed should compensate enough to get you to the facility no problem.”
“You’re a miracle worker, Panem.” She reached out, caught his shoulder, squeezed playfully. “What ship did you say you served on before this one again?”
“The Wu Ang Hok.” He smiled slightly. “Admiral Faith Minear recommended me for the position herself.”
The Hok. The smile faltered on the major’s lips, crumbled so suddenly that she had to look away, had to turn her gaze to something else, somewhere else.
Even four years later, just thinking about that ship hurts. She closed her eyes, forced herself to breathe. The Hok. The ship that rescued my squadron when we got stuck behind enemy lines at Tarsis 12. The ship I’d been on when the Coralate boarded her and tried to integrate our systems into their own, violated us and left the Hok a broken ruin. The ship I was on when I lost her...
When I lost Izzy.
Lips parted as the major fought to draw a breath, pulled air against a harsh, immovable knot of cruel memory that had lodged itself in her throat. Get a hold of yourself. She squeezed her eyes against pain, fought with the nausea that came in instant reflex. Breathe.
“Major...” Panem stepped up, reached out, hesitated before his hand could touch her shoulder. “Are you alright?”
Looking up more out of instinct than conscious thought, the major met his eyes, and within her gaze he caught a trace of the torment that stirred within her, the moistness that betrayed some deeper pain, some wound so deep it might never heal. She blinked, nodded. “Yeah.” She breathed, swallowed. “I’m a...” Eyes flicked uneasily, hand made a gesture. “Just... been a long day.”
“Y’know, if you need anything–”
“No.” She said flatly, swallowed again, forced the iron back into her heart, her voice, her spirit. “I–” She hesitated, forced herself to breathe as she locked Panem’s eyes with a steady stare. “Keep up the good work, Youseff.” She gestured loosely, tried a smile. “And, uh,” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’ve, uh, got a meeting topside with Admiral Blavatsky, so...” She jerked a nervous thumb vaguely in the direction of Operations. “So I’m off.”
“You sure you’re okay, Major?” Panem asked, tone careful, quietly curious.
“Yeah.” She nodded, smiled loosely. Even after all that had happened to her, after all that she had done, all that she had shoved into the space between herself and those dark days, memories of the Hok still bubbled up like festering waste to haunt her. In her mind, flashes of chrome replayed in deadly arcs, viscous spheres of shining metal hanging in the air like sickly, mechanical fruit– the blood, the wash of crimson against bulkhead... and the clicking, she thought, that echoing, skin crawling clicking that seemed to slither over and through everything, picking up vibration as it went.
Her eyes wavered for the barest instant. Panem stared back, watchful, uncertain. Don’t think about it.
“Later, Lieutenant.” The major said suddenly, then closed her eyes and breathed a tired sigh as she turned away, starting toward the door that would lead her out of the bay and into the bulk of the Hephaestus. Panem nodded silently, followed her with his eyes, the stylus going absently to his mouth.
“Hey!” Someone shouted, shattering the silence, yanking Panem’s gaze back to the bay, to the team of technicians hauling crates on hoverlifts across deckplating. “New shipment of K-23 coming in! We could use a hand!”
“Sure.” Panem nodded, clipped the ‘puter to his waist. “Sure thing! I’ll be right there!”