(Arketta Tactics: 4d8 vs. 3d8, 2d8 = 8 vs. 4 [Total Rout], 2 [Civilians Safe])

Arketta and Angel don’t even see the ship take off as Zaef and Hug’sh make for the last available orbital window out of the Grinacanne system - they’re far too busy planning what to do next.
“All right,” Arketta starts, opening up a holodisplay and blowing it up to cover the whole table. She turns to Vasa. “What’s your plan?”
“Street fights, peek and poke shit, just wear them down,” Vasa replies. “We’re flying in as many fighters as we can get but I wouldn’t expect more than five or six hundred miners with smuggled beamers against four hundred Turai, we don’t have the numbers for a stand up fight.” Both Arketta and Rav-Turai Via are already shaking their heads. “What?”
“Isolate, contain, collapse,” both Arketta and Via say at the same time, and Arketta looks back to Vasa. “Standard doctrine for dealing with ambushes and guerilla warfare. You back off, surround the hostile area to cut it off from support, and push in from all sides under heavy suppressing fire.” Arketta emphasizes her point by animating the scenario on the holo as she talks. “You turn the reinforced positions from -”
“A fortress into a prison,” Rav-Turai Via finishes.
“And from a prison to a deathtrap,” Arketta says. “That, plus, we don’t have time to run around in the alleys and wear them down. The window is only 72 hours long, if the enemy starts to feel the battle turn against them, they’ll just bunker up and wait for reinforcements. We need to deliver a knockout blow so we can muster strength and overwhelm their base.”
”That sounds good, but we don’t have the strength to take these Turai head-on,” Maarh replies.

Arketta says nothing, instead crossing her arms and looking over the holographic map in front of her.
“Arketta?” Vasa asks. “What are you talking about?”
There has to be some place that’s enough of a keeper to work… Arketta thinks to herself as she scans the map. Her eyes settle on a large hall near one of the biggest workers’ hab blocks in the main city. The surrounding low buildings look to be all spraycrete boxes, mostly storage. “What’s this?” she asks.
“Commissary,” Vasa says. “Some off-world licensed vendors, mostly locals, lots of spraycrete stalls mostly.”
Arketta zooms in with a gesture and the building’s walls vanish to reveal a schematic - three concentric layers of open-fronted spraycrete stalls, skylighting rings above each layer for “natural daylight”. “It’s a defensive nightmare,” she says, “isolated, just enough cover to trap you but not enough to protect you.”
”We dug a tunnel to smuggle people to the shuttle pads, but otherwise left it alone for that exact reason,” Maarh adds.
“And that’s why it’s perfect,” Arketta says. “I want us, your leadership, and your families in there with us.” She looks at Rav-Turai Via. “Do you think your…’allies’ will believe you if you tip them off that we’re in there?”
Rav-Turai Via leans over to look at the schematic a little closer, then leans back and looks up to Arketta. “I think I can arrange that, Samal.” For the first time, it sounds like she means it when she calls Arketta by her rank.
“Whoa, whoa, what the fuck are you talking about?” Vasa interjects.
“The Samal is baiting a trap - with us,” Rav-Turai Via says. “We need a target that the enemy - I mean, the opposition -”
”The enemy,” Maarh grunts with a wave of orange.
“Right,” Rav-Turai Via takes a breath. “Well, once they commit, we need a position that looks plausible enough for us to try to defend and that they can’t just flatten from outside. If we make this a fighting retreat from first contact, starting in this row of warehouses -” Rav-Turai Via grabs control of the map and rapidly zooms it back out to highlight the outer ring of warehouses with a wave of her hand, “they’ll need to commit most of their forces -”
“At least twenty quads,” Arektta says.
“Yes, thereabouts,” Rav-Turai Via continues, “to clear the building and the maze of warehouses around it. They push in as we fall back on contact, we go out the tunnel and blow it behind us - and that’s when we punish them. Blow the warehouses, spearbombs for the Mantas, and then we collapse in and fill the dining hall with beamer fire.”
Arketta nods. “Good description, Rav-Turai.” Both Arketta and Rav-Turai Via look to Vasa and Maarh. “What do you think?”

Vasa opens his mouth and tries to angle his way around the map to find a better location to plan around, while Maarh simply rolls a riotous wave of yellow, green, and a bit of orange and red. “...I guess that’s an all right plan,” Vasa finally says.
”Yes,” Maarh says. ”It’s all right. I guess.”
Arketta smiles. “Then let’s get moving.”

(Angel Shoot: 2d12+1d10+1d8 vs. 2d10, 2d8 = 7 [WD] vs. 8 [Save Turai], 7 [Save Rav-Odun])

Angel hung around the planning table just long enough to see where Arketta and Vasa were positioning their forces, and then quietly stepped away without anyone noticing. He had seen what he needed to see - the potential front lines, the angles of how it all lined up and created lanes of fire that someone in a high position could take advantage of. The whole battle map is now stored in his vox, captured by his sunglasses/personal display, and Angel goes over it as he walks towards one of the six story hab blocks in the center of town. Somewhere in there is a perch with his name on it.

Fifteen minutes later, Angel pulls the gatecrasher off the door lock on a corner hab, fifth floor, facing the anticipated front lines. With the hab furniture predictably molded into the floors and walls, Angel had planned ahead. A small table and chair fold out from tubes stored in his pack, and with the windows open just enough to clear his rifle, Angel has a blind set up and ready to go. He takes a drag off of the cooled bladder of water in his pack, and waits for the action to start.

---

Rav-Turai Ngma and his trin pace anxiously at the front gate to the official Turai presence on Grinacanne. It didn’t seem right, Turai fighting against Turai, but…Ngma couldn’t disagree with the Rav-Odun, they had to draw the line somewhere and attacking civilians that aren’t doing anything just to punish those that do is what terrorists do, not Turai. As long as they stayed on defensive duty, protecting themselves and the non-combatants, that seemed like close enough to the right thing for Ngma. Surely the Emperor would approve of protecting civilian lives from the brutality of combat whenever possible.

The shooting started pretty much as soon as the orbital closed down and has been going on for a half-hour or so now, mostly focused near the port and worker housing. Turai Todor has been listening in on the vox channels for the quads that went out to guard civilians, they’ve been mostly quiet so far. This mirrors Ngma’s gate duty - in fact, it’s even quieter than normal, with everyone either bunkered down somewhere safe or in their habs, or in the fight somewhere else. Only a few ground-crawling local creatures are stirring out in the street, scurrying from shade to shade in the hot Grinacanne sun. It’d be blissfully boring if it wasn’t for the shooting audible in the distance and over the vox.

“Outpost Grinacanne, this is Samal Hoaka, 3rd and 7th of 24, Grinacanne Special Activities, looking for a friendly contact,” a voice sounds over the base’s open channel.
Ngma quickly swaps his voice feed to the channel. “Samal Hoaka, this is Rav-Turai Ngma, be advised we are closed to any aggressors.”
“Understood, Outpost, we are weapons cold and just down the street,” Hoaka replies. “Take a look.”
Ngma runs over to the barriers across the entrance, and carefully pokes his head out to see two quads of Turai, standing in the middle of the street, their chrome carapaces shining in the sunlight. “Copy, I see you. What’s your business here, then?”
“Rav-Odun Arhaois wants a chat with Rav-Odun Swaketai, that’s all,” Hoaka replies. “We understand the…discomfort you’re feeling with what’s going on, Turai fighting against Turai, and he just wants to have an open discussion about how we can resolve this. No beamers, just talk.”
“Orders are orders,” Ngma says. “No combatants inside the perimeter, sorry.”
“We’re not combatants,” Hoaka replies. “Our weapons are powered off. We’re just here to talk.”

The Turai at the gate look to Rav-Turai Ngma. Talk can’t be that bad, Ngma thinks. We’re all on the same side here, everyone wants this resolved. “All right, Samal. Come on in, and assemble in the yard. Once you’re all here, I’ll run this up the chain and we’ll see if we get some talks going.”
“Copy that, on our way,” Hoaka replies, and the two quads start jogging towards the gate.
“Guard duty,” Ngma says on the guard tactical channel, “we have two quads of non-combatant Turai from the other hand on their way in to talk with the Rav-Odun. Keep your eyes open for anyone trying to attack them on their way in.”

It’s a quiet couple of minutes, but before long the two quads of Special Activities detachment Turai are at the front gate. The lead Turai’s armor displays the rank and nameplate of Samal Hoaka, and he flips up his helm’s faceplate as well. “Good to meet you, Rav-Turai,” Hoaka says, extending his off-hand to shake.
Ngma bows a sign of the akwhela before returning the gesture. “Good to meet you as well, Samal. Right this way, please.” He leads the quads into the mustering yard at the front of the base, skimmers and containers parked around the rim. His quad forms a loose perimeter around the visiting quads, more as a guide for where to go than anything more paranoid. “It’s good that your Rav-Odun is backing down, we were worried that things were really going off the tracks on Grinacanne.”
“Same here, Rav-Turai,” Hoaka replies. “We’re all here for the same thing - impose some peace and order.”
“Glad to hear that, Samal,” Ngma says. He turns around. “We’ll just hold here while I check in with the Rav-Odun to see how soon we can get these talks started.”
“Where, exactly, is the Rav-Odun?” Hoaka asks.
“In his office, I expect,” Ngma replies, nodding to a window on the side of the command building. “With our tactical feeds cut, he’s having to do a lot of the command from his personal cogitator.”
“Good to know,” Hoaka says, his beamer humming to life.

Angel brushes another few empty casings off the table in his hide onto the increasingly large pile on the floor. Being Jonsa-on-the-Spot with tactical support fire from his vantage point has kept him busy, with his chosen perch more or less exactly perpendicular to the direction of advance of Thrax’s loyalist Turai detachment. Whenever they’d settle down to get stuck in for a fight or try to push down the streets to flank, Angel would be there with a few rounds to give the survivors something to think about while they dive for cover - often into the path of incoming rebel fire.

Suddenly though, Angel hears beamer fire coming from the direction of the Grinacanne Turai outpost. He looks over to his left to see the lightning bolts of beamer fire shooting up into the air, and even from the five or six hundred meters distance, the telltale red of blood on the rusty Grinacanne sand is easy to spot.

A quick haptic swaps Angel to the base’s tactical channel. “- under attack! I repeat, Outpost Grinacanne is under attack! Detachment Turai have infiltrated the outpost and are shooting anyone they find on sight! Vidas Lam, they went through the dining hab and shot everyone! Any Turai out there, get back to the outpost and -” A beamer shot silences the call.
“Fuck a duck,” Angel grumbles, the Narsai’i idiom translating smoothly to a Naranai’i waterfowl. He grabs his setup and drags it across the room, throwing the window wide open. “Outpost Grinacanne, this is…this is the Killing Wind. Switch to channel Nuun-Eight-Four, and I will engage all hostiles.”
“Killing Wind, this is Samal Mausa, copy that,” a different voice replies as Angel swaps his own vox. Soon the channel fills with what looks like five quads and change. “Killing Wind, this is Mausa, we have…probably four quads in the command center and maybe four or five more in the base, but they have reinforcements coming in the gate already.”
Angel already has his scope zoomed in on the gate - at least four or five quads are streaming into the front gate. “So I see.” One Turai stands at the head of the group, and starts motioning around to give orders. Angel lines up, ranges, adjusts, and squeezes the trigger. A second later, a big wet splat blows out of the Turai and drops her straight to the ground. It’s another second later before the quads inside scatter, running for cover both inside and outside the gates. “They’re occupied now. How much longer until your backup arrives?”
“Rav-Turai Via is sending two quads back, and everyone here should be ready to go in a few minutes,” Mausa replies.
“Good, you’re doing good work, Samal,” Angel replies. Between the heat, the setting, and the calm-yet-panicked breathing on the other end of the line, Angel could almost think that this is fire support in 2013 Fallujah, not backing up Imperial Turai on Grinacanne. “Just follow your training, defend your positions, I’ll keep their heads down as best I can.”
“Got it,” Mausa says. “It sounds like they’re going after the Rav-Odun.”

In fact, as the last of the Grinacanne Turai turn their IFFs on, Angel can see a trin push out into the open that isn't showing the friendly green outline and head towards what Angel recognizes as where the Rav-Odun’s window would be on the command building.. “Copy, I see them now.” All three of them pop spearbombs as Angel moves to track them. “Fuck, get the Rav-Odun out of there!” One shot, pause, first one drops as the bullet transects his shoulders. Second shot, pause, hits the hip and shatters the pelvis, that Turai isn’t dead but they’re definitely out. Third shot -

The third shot is too late as the Turai heaves the spearbomb at the Rav-Odun’s small window. Mercy of mercies, it sticks rather than penetrating, but the explosion still blows the wall in and partially collapses some of the command building. “Status!” Angel shouts. “Someone in the command building, get to the Rav-Odun’s office with a kauka now!”
There’s a pause while Angel busies himself putting more rounds downrange and into the hostile Turai still running around outside and inside the outpost. Many of them haven’t figured out where Angel’s shots are coming from yet or are too busy with the outpost’s defenders to notice, and it’s a target-rich environment for the sniper.

“Killing Wind,” a voice - Rav-Odun Swaketai’s voice - coughs over the vox channel. “This is Rav-Odun Swaketai.” He sounds unsteady and weak, but alive. “Apologies for not getting on this impromptu tactical net before - but thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Angel replies. “You’ve still got an infestation problem.”
“Yes, apparently we do,” Swaketai replies, his voice taking on a very sharp edge. “I will be fine, nothing a kauka can’t grow back. Tell us where they are, and I will direct defenses.”
“Copy that, Rav-Odun,” Angel replies.

With the non-combatant members of the rebels’ families “safely” ensconced inside the food court-turned-death trap and the rebels fanned out around it in the various stalls and warehouses ready for their rolling retreat, the trap is set. All that’s left to do is chum the waters.

Rav-Turai Via lifts her helm off and clips her personal vox onto her ear, before sliding through the haptics to open a connection. “Rav-Odun Arhaois,” she says, and the vox whispers “Connecting…” in her ear.
The Rav-Odun picks up on the second chime. “Wasn’t expecting a connection from you, Rav-Turai,” he says.
“This…this has to stop,” Via says, her fist tightening. “Turai killing Turai, this isn’t right.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Arhaois says. “But you and Swaketai made a choice, and choices have consequences.”
“Well, I’m making another one,” Via replies. “I was tasked out to watch over some of the rebels. If you leave my Turai alone, and spare the civilians -”
“Rav-Turai, stop,” Arhaois says. “Just…stop embarrassing yourself. I told you when we first gated in, we are here to enact the Emperor’s peace.” Via can hear her Turai tactical net from her helm, the pitched battle between the Turai under her command and the Turai sent by the Emperor to pacify this planet. “Either you are a part of that peace, or you are standing in the way of the Emperor. No conditions, no negotiations. You and your people live, or you can die alongside the terrorists. That is your choice.”
Via swallows her rage. “And Rav-Odun Swaketai and those at our outpost?”
“They have made their choice,” Arhaois replies. “It’s time for you to make yours, Rav-Turai. Do you want to live?”
Via takes a slow breath. “They’re in the commissary, just north of my position. They’re well defended.”
“That’s where they’re making their stand, then,” Arhaois says. “Stand down, Rav-Turai. We’ll take it from here.”
Arhaois disconnected, and Via pulled her vox off her ear, dropped it on the ground, and crushed it beneath her boot. “He’s on his way,” she says. “We’ll need to hold them off long enough for them to commit, but he will.”
”How do you know that?” Maarh asks. ”This plan depends on him taking the bait.”
”He came here to pacify the resistance,” Via replies. ”This is where the resistance is, so he will send every force he can here until we are dead.”

Via pauses, then punches the concrete stall wall hard enough to shake loose the dust from the sheet metal roof above with a rage-filled scream. Maarh and Vasa look away while Arketta takes a step closer to the Rav-Turai, who waves her away. “I am fine,” she says, shaking the sting out of her hand. “It’s just hard to think of what the Turai have become.”
Vasa scoffs. “Always was this way, Rav-Turai,” he says.
Via turns towards Vasa, rage on her face as Arketta swiftly steps between Vasa and the Rav-Turai. “I never gave an order to fire that wasn’t necessary to save lives,” Via growled. “We give warning shots, we give them every opportunity to disperse.”
“Because demanding the Imperium replace a Steward that gives more water and supplies to the industrium nobles than anyone else is such a fucking danger to the Imperium,” Vasa fires back as Maarh slides his arm across his chest. “All we wanted at first was the Imperium to uphold its promises and you shot at us for it. Face it, Rav-Turai, you were never here to uphold peace or stability - you were here to keep the Steward’s job safe.”
Rav-Turai Via opens her mouth to reply, but it takes a second for any words to come out. “Well, you -” Her words catch in her throat as she tries to think of what to say next. “You didn’t -” Her brown skin darkens further, both red with anger and with shame.
“You don’t have to defend it,” Arketta says, her voice low as Via stops pressing against her grip.
“It was - it was necessary,” Via protests.
“Was it?” Vasa sneers, but Maarh moves his fellow rebel to the side and shakes his head at him.
Arketta moves in front of Via, putting herself between her and Vasa. “I was a good Turai, same as you. I have been trying every day to make up for what I chose to do.”
Via looks Arketta in the eyes, still full of anger, but her eyes are fading from angry to pleading. “They were orders, we didn’t have a choice.”
“But we did,” Arketta replies. “We chose to become Turai when first year primary students know what the Turai do. We chose to give the order to fire when we could have still warned them off.”

Via glares at Arketta, and almost, for just a moment, breaks down. All that comes out is a single sob before she catches herself, steels herself. “Yes. You’re right.” She sucks in an unsteady breath, then slams her visor back down. “Get to your positions. They are coming for us.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Arketta asks.
“We don’t have time for me to be not okay,” Via says. “The enemy will be here in minutes.” Arketta nods, and stands aside as Via flips through her haptic for her quads’ tac channel. “Detachment lead to all quads, signal’s sent, hostiles incoming within 5 minutes. Ready positions, fire a dozen shots, and fall back in order once the rebels reach their cover and not before. Once the Mantas are here, spearbombs and break for the tunnel in the commissary. Masters protect all of us.” Via turns her faceless chrome helm back to Vasa and Maarh. “Stay behind my Turai.”
“We fucking will not,” Vasa says. “This is our fight.”
“It is all of our fight now,” Via replies. “And you need to stay alive to lead. Maarh, can you keep him behind us?”
Maarh nods. ”Yes, Rav-Turai.” Vasa tries to object, but Maarh shushes him.
Via turns and takes her position behind cover. “Then now we wait.”

Samal Nador led his quad through the halls of the commissary. For what was supposed to be an elimination tasking, there had been upsettingly little in the way of actual killing so far. 2nd Trin had caught a group from the flank and killed them, but aside from that one group, the fighters had fired a few shots and maybe taken a hit or two from his Turai, but by the time his Turai had closed in, they had dragged their wounded away, already kauka’d up, and were firing at them from their next position. It was annoying, slow, grinding combat that was more annoying than anything else - and now that they were finally in their ersatz stronghold, they were nowhere to be found. The halls were empty, no fighters, none of their families or other rebel civilians, nothing. Some sounds of combat could be heard deeper in, but even those were dwindling rapidly.

Nador rounds a corner to see Samal Honiaj walking towards him. “We’ve found fuck all,” Nador says to her.
“Same, Ngiis’s quad is engaged deeper in but I don’t hear the shots anymore,” Honiaj replies. “Starting to feel like a spink chase.”

“Samal!” Turai Tepero shouts, almost as if on cue. “I’m picking up an arming signal! A lot of arming signals!”
Nador turns back to his quad. “Fuck, everyone get out -”

----

Huddled down in the tunnel, Rav-Turai Via stands guard, chamakana aimed down the dimly lit tunnel even as the blast wave rocks her scored and charred armor.
“Detonations successful!” one of the rebels calls out over the vox. “No one’s coming out of there!”
As the dust clears, Via waits to see confirmation of the tunnel’s collapse behind them before she lowers her weapon and turns around. Maarh and Vasa lower their hands from their ears and shake their heads, lacking carapace to protect themselves from the force of the blast. “Are we good to move?” Via asks.
“Any Turai remaining outside?” Vasa asks over vox, yawning and moving his jaw to pop his ears.
“Just a few stragglers that made it out, we’re cleaning up now,” the rebel replies.
“Good, see you soon,” Vasa replies, then looks up at Via and nods.
“Then go on ahead, I’ll be right behind you,” Via says, and stands waiting for Vasa, Maarh, and the last of the rebels to start to haul ass down the tunnel.

Arketta doesn’t join them, and instead stands watching Via in her own carapace. “Rav-Turai?” Arketta asks.
“Go on ahead, Rav-Samal,” Via says, her voice trembling behind the expressionless chrome of the carapace helm. “I’ll be -” she sucks in a breath, “I’ll be right -” Via drops to one knee, and Arketta rushes to hold her up as the Rav-Turai breaks down into full-on sobbing, her chamakana dropping to the dirt at her feet. “What am I doing?” Via cries, grasping for Arketta’s shoulders. “What have I - what have we -”
“Shhh,” Arketta says. “You’re doing the right thing now. We’re doing what we can, right now.”
“I…I don’t know what I’m doing,” Via sobs. “What are we even doing here?”
“You’re defending civilians from a terrorist threat,” Arketta replies, hugging Via as best she can through their armor. “You’re following the instructions of the Sixteen Pillars more than the Turai that Thrax has sent here to terrorize and murder civilians could ever understand.” She moves back enough to look Via in her helm. “What is the first Pillar?”
“Defend the Imperium from all threats, internal or external,” Via replies.
“All those Turai cared about was defending the Emperor, not the Imperium,” Arketta says. “The Imperium isn’t the Emperor. It’s you, and me, and your Turai, and the people you and I put our lives at risk to defend every day. We are not traitors. They are the ones that have betrayed Vidas Lam and the Imperium, because they are the ones that are killing the Imperium.”

Via stares at Arketta for a few seconds as she gets herself back under control. “Yes,” Via says, still holding onto Arketta’s shoulders. “Yes, you’re right.” She takes a deep breath, then lets go of Arketta, grabs her chamakana, and starts to haul herself back to her feet. “Let’s go.”
“You first, Rav-Turai,” Arketta says.
“Absolutely not,” Via replies. “You first.”
Arketta sighs. “Together, then.”
“I suppose,” Via says, and they start jogging down the tunnel side by side. “That was a good speech, Rav-Samal.”
“I got it myself a couple years back,” Arketta replies. “You should meet the people that gave it to me.”
“Perhaps I should,” Via says.

Losing half your forces in a single blast really tends to take the wind out of a fighting force, and it wasn’t long afterwards that the loyalist Turai assaulting Outpost Grinacanne broke contact and hustled back towards their own outpost. The rebels and Turai quickly set up a defensive perimeter around the loyalists and settled down for a long night of pot shots and keeping watch. Both sides knew that it was more or less over at this point - without access to the foot Gateways and no support in orbit, the loyalists were trapped, and it was just a matter of waiting them out and stopping any breakout attempts from here. Rav-Odun Swaketai estimated that they had perhaps a few weeks to a month of provisions, and while Vasa muttered something about letting them choose between starving to death or eating a beam, it was agreed that an offer would be left open for a disarmed and guarded surrender and path back through the foot Gateways to Imperium-held space.

That left the main question before Angel and Arketta left Grinacanne being where the status quo was going to end up. Vasa, Maarh, Rav-Odun Swaketai, and Rav-Turai Via sat down and hashed things out over the course of a few hours with Angel and Arketta there to keep things calm. The final decision that came out of their meeting was that Grinacanne would remain under civilian control - just not Imperial control. A counsel would be set up and elected in due course, but until then decisions would run through Vasa and Maarh. The defense and policing would fall back to the Rav-Odun, but under the command of the rebels and then the new planetary counsel. Eventually, a Steward and so on would be elected and Grinacanne would transition more or less smoothly into a normal planet again, just one allied with the resistance.

That just left Vasa and Maarh (and mostly Maarh) to craft a dispatch to the industriums on-world and beyond that there’s a new boss in town, and that they were welcome to stay, but that things would be changing. Left unmentioned but obvious would be the change in where raw materials would be transported and sold off to, as the Imperium would likely not smile upon the direct operations of Imperium industriums for the benefit of a rebel planet. Maarh knew as he wrote it that it would essentially be the end of the off-world industrium presence on Grinacanne, but thanks to his and Vasa’s work beforehand infiltrating up to the middle levels of Grinacanne industrium structures, Maarh felt reasonably confident that the on-world industriums would hang around. The promise of business from Faxom-Io board member Angel Kesh and a direct supply path to Atea, Boranai, Narsai, and other allied shadowports and outposts should keep things reasonably humming along.

Angel and Arketta wouldn’t be around to see it, though. Along with a few representatives to make things official with the Bashakra’i, they strap in on a shuttle hopper for the ride through the orbital back to Atea. Angel already is on his vox, sifting through the dozen or so standard pan-industrium alliance contracts he’s coming back to Hedion with, while Arketta fires off one last message to Rav-Turai Via inviting her for dinner on Atea before dozing off and waiting for the familiar bump of hard-lock with Atea that means she’s home.

Waiting on Atea for Angel and Arketta is a vox message, sent to what amounts to the SpaceFuture equivalent of an 815 Whatsapp Group and set to deliver on everyone's return to the home shores.

"Hey, everyone," Garrett says. "So, we're three for three on our deployments. And I know we're all looking forward to some time off, but I have one last daring plan that requires all of us." He pauses. "There'll be a cookout at Sahruyi Ward. Yes, I managed to talk Hug'sh down from hosting to catering. I don't know what he'll be serving but I heard him say 'enough', so make of that what you will." Another pause, then Hug'sh's voice comes on. "I hope to see you all! Bring your bellies!"

Gateway travel for Sheen was a little like the telephone game. You end up in a different shell but hope the gist of the message - you - comes through loud and clear. If there were any irregularities in Front Toward Enemy's transit to Atea and the unthreatening spare shell it now occupied, they were so minor as to be undetectable by its own verification processes. FTE, now roughly the form factor of an ambulatory crash test dummy, strolled into Sahruyi Village. It did not bring a belly, nor did it think it prudent to bring someone else's. It did pause long enough by some autovendors to brute force the credit reader and acquire some chips of indeterminate flavor.

The transition from "The Killing Wind" to Angel Kesh is an unusually abrupt one this round, the time between being primarily concerned with the now-familiar crack of a solid round being accelerated to a small but not insignificant fraction of c and the resulting trauma inflicted on an advancing squad of Turai and signing a number of letters of intent regarding the import off off-world necessities and export of refined ore by Faxom-Io, to be forwarded to and formally negotiated by Gorlan being measured in hours.

Angel copes with that fracturing of his persona as he usually does in the shuttle - with a quick nap on the orbital hop to Atea, followed by making his polite excuses and disappearing in the direction of his quarters.

There were a half-dozen messages from Erika, most of them informing him of things that were already taken care of. He had replied to the two that actually needed a response from him before reaching his quarters on Atea - a small, relatively sparsely decorated apartment that was technically shared between 815, but for which he was rarely, if ever, in competition for. He chuckled, remembering Gorlan's reaction to it on one video call or another.

"Brother, I can fix that. We will book you a suite at an appropriate hotel..."

"Gorlan, this is the Atea, there are no luxury hotels..."

"I can fix that too..."

It had taken another ten minutes to assure him that Angel rather liked the space, and to at least talk him into "I don't understand, but I accept."

This space was where Angel felt the most like Angel Riviera in most of the known, and unknown, galaxy.

This was also the space where he could find his small, but essential stash of jeans and ugly Hawaiian shirts - if he was going to a cookout, he was going as himself.

Waiting for Arketta’s return had Luis climbing the bulkheads of their cabin in worry, so to put the useful energy to work, he’s come to Atea’s Interceptor hangar. Luis has the self-test and calibration components for part of his Interceptor’s port impeller pulled up on his virtual vision tracking down something the ship’s onboard diagnostics were reporting, but it’s half forgotten as he babbles to Yisai about what he saw at the show.
“So, it sounds like the basic idea is that all the synch coil is trying to do anyway is avoid any feedback between the primary cap and the secondary feed…so if you take that out, and just moderate the reaction while it sorts itself out, you can just eliminate the efficiency loss there entirely and combine the two assemblies into one component,” Luis says. “As long as you’re not pushing the throttle hard, like for a freighter drive or the like, you get fewer things to break and better fuel efficiency.”
“Taking advantage of improvements in reactor firing code,” Yisai replies. It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
“Yeah, you don’t need to be prepared for the variations in power flux if you can avoid it at the injector end,” Luis says. “Of course, if you try to throw the throttle around fast, it loses the settle time and it probably would just blow up if the software didn’t dump the whole grid in time instead,” Luis says.
“And that is fine for a runabout,” Yisai says. “The inherent peak power limitations are not a factor when reliability and comfort are priority over peak power output. Interceptors need to burn hotter, faster.”
“Yep. So we’re stuck with them, which means I’m still stuck on why this is throwing an error. Frequency checks out, it passes unit tests in isolation, and it didn’t feel wrong last flight…” Luis’ audio pings, and the alert slides into his vision letting him know it’s from Arketta. just hit Atea system, main Turai docks
“Oh!” Luis says. “That’s Arketta. I need to get over to the Turai docks soon.” He looks around the Interceptor bay briefly. “I don’t know if I’m going to figure this out from the schematics today, and it’s hiding from everything shy of a full power static test. Once I get a sense of 815’s missions, can I get that on the maintenance schedule?”
“I think that you should look again,” Yisai replies, standing up from her spot on the Interceptor’s nacelle.
Luis looks up at her for a moment, turning the conversation of the last half hour over. “I’m missing something, and you know what it is. But it can’t be major, or it wouldn’t run. And if it was unsafe, you wouldn’t be letting me mess with it.” He sighs, “All right, I’ll take another look at the schematics. It’s not something with the engine at all, is it, something with the package integration to the rest of the ship?”
“You are half right,” Yisai replies, standing rail straight next to the ship. “Now go and meet Arketta.”
“Thank you for your assistance,” Luis says, and starts sealing the inspection panel to leave.
“I will take care of this,” Yisai says, striding around the nacelle. “Go.”
“Thanks,” Luis says, and quickly walks out of the bay.

----

As well as a few days of brutal street combat can leave one feeling, that’s how Arketta feels as she steps through the umbilicus attaching the Manta to Atea. She takes a deep breath of, well, slightly greasy air from the airlock seals, but still, it’s a slightly greasy smell that means she’s home. One kit bag slung over her shoulder and another being dragged on rollers behind her, Arketta steps into the embarkation area and looks over the heads of the crowd around her for Luis. It’s easier for a tall woman to be seen over a crowd than for her to find someone who blends in in height, though, so by the time she spots him, he’s already rushing towards her. She lets her bag hit the floor and gives him a big hug.

“Hey there,” Arketta says, giving Luis a kiss.
“Hey,” Luis says. “Welcome home.”
“How is Yisai?” Arketta asks. “You have dielectric grease in your hair.”
“She’s doing all right. Trying to teach me something about synch coils, I think,” Luis says. “How’d it go?”
Arketta sighs. “All right. We lost a lot of good people, but Thrax’s Turai, the ones that survived, are trapped with no way out. They were trying to get them to negotiate for a surrender and safe passage off Grinacanne. And the Grinacanne Rav-Odun and Rav-Turai have had…a change of heart. We might be hosting their Rav-Turai for a meet and greet and a dinner soon. She’s…she reminds me of me.”
“Sounds like an interesting person to meet,” Luis says. “I’m sure we’d have a lot to talk about. Ibash was…cleaner in a way, but we left a mess behind.”
“Moreso than Garrett’s plans usually do?” Arketta asks. “How was Sexton on his first mission?”
“Maybe not more than usual,” Luis says. “Sexton was fine, even when we ended up calling in the Throne. He dealt with the subterfuge okay, though we did learn an exciting lesson about aerosolized drugs.”
Arketta raises an eyebrow.
Luis smiles. “There was this one party, and the aftermath. I’ll tell you the whole story later.”
“Sounds like we should head back to our quarters and we can tell each other our stories, then,” Arketta replies.
“Sounds like a plan,” Luis says.

----

A few hours later, fizzy partially fermented canned juices in hand (Arketta going with the virgin version), Luis and Arketta are laid out on the sofa together, sharing stories of their respective missions when both of their voxes chime simultaneously (well, Arketta’s chimes, Luis’ just chimes in his head). Once they both watch the message, Arketta looks down to Luis.
“Sounds like a party. I should wear something light,” she says.
“Light sounds good,” Luis says. “If Hug’sh is cooking, space to gorge also sounds like something to keep in mind.”
“Ugh, now I’m thinking about maternity clothes,” Arketta says, and downs the rest of her drink. “And the alcohol I’m not allowed to have anymore.”
“Leave that worry for the future,” Luis says. “Let’s go have fun at a party, and leave those kinds of worries and worries about diapers for the future where they belong.”
“Well, as best we can,” Arketta says, tapping her pinky fingernail on her can of normal fruit juice.
“Yeah,” Luis says. “Let’s go celebrate doing the best we can.”

The park grounds at Sahruyi Ward - which, let's be honest, is a much better name than 'Bashakra'i Village' - have been well-trod for hours now. There is much to do to prepare the festivities, after all, with sunshades, benches and tables all looking for their places while food and drink arrive by the shoulder-load. Invite a friend, receive a village, as the Wherren saying goes, and it does look like a good portion of Village 815 has not quite gotten the memo that they are not hosting this - you really couldn't tell by how many of them have shown up to help and gawk and to just make some use of that hunt meat what's been dry-ageing in the storehouse for three weeks, be a shame to see it go to waste, no? Before anyone's done a good assessment of the number of available public charcoal grills, a few handy villagers have already gotten to digging fire pits just about anywhere in the village's park that's even slightly clear of paths/trees/undergrowth.

Naturally, under the careful guidance of the Free Wherren Elder of Defense, General Hug'sh Walks-The-Fire, everything is going exactly to plan, like a harmonious ocean moving in big, smooth waves, and...oh, who are we kidding? Hug'sh has his daughter on his shoulders and a gaggle of the bigger cubs from the school trailing behind them, a gaggle that oscillates at dizzying speeds between playing games of catch, climbing all over each other for no particular reason and singing the songs Piugash teaches them with all the screechy enthusiasm they are capable of. At a certain point one accepts that the kids pick where they're gonna hang out and poise is something that happens to people who are not brushing drops of ice cream from their fur. (What, did you think the cubs would wait?)

Once more, Hug'sh makes a mental note to thank Rhea and Rodirr. Without them trying their darndest to reign in the chaos, you'd probably need to actually read the signs to tell the village park from a heavy metal festival camping ground. But such quiet thoughts cannot stay for long, because Torega's talking his long ears off.

"- and I chased the pie'rre all the way to the pond but then it went into a stump and there were so many aru, a whole nest of them! I tried to pick one but mother said not to so we took a picture with the vox and then we came home and I drew a picture, too, did you see that?"
"Yes," Hug'sh softly rumbles, reaching up to pat Torega on the back. "You showed it to me at breakfast, remember?"
"Oh yes!" Torega squeaks. "So...I can't think of what else we did." Clearly exhausted from the effort of telling her story, she flops down and lies her head flat on Hug'sh's neck. "What did you do, father?" she asks. "Did you help your friends like you wanted?"

What Hug'sh wanted: a do-over. What Hug'sh got: not even close. But maybe, he thinks, maybe that's okay after all. The fat on his hump reminds him that there are more important things to be concerned with these days.

"Yes, I did!" Hug'sh says. "It was scary sometimes, but we all got back safe. That's why we're celebrating."
"You should come home more often!" Torega says. "Then we can have more parties!"
Hug'sh chuckles. "Well, I'm not leaving again for a long time now," he says. "After all, your mother and I -"
"I'll have sisters and brothers again," Torega says.
"Yes," Hug'sh says. "And you'll be their big sister! You'll get to show them all kinds of nice things, teach them to play, teach them to talk -"
"I don't remember my litter much," Torega says.

Could you stop stomping on my heart for a few minutes, Hug'sh wants to say. Instead, he just ruffles her fur again.

"Are you sad because of that?" he asks. Deep breaths. Don't assume too much...
"Yes, sometimes," Torega says. "But sometimes not. I wonder if they're sad that I'm here without them."
"...I don't think they are," Hug'sh says. "I mean, they might be sad that they can't be with you now, but I think they're also glad that we're together. You and mother and me."
Torega seems to consider that for a moment. "You're probably right, father," she says. "...did I make you sad?" she asks.
"I am a bit sad," Hug'sh says. "But that's life."

WARNING. PULL UP. WARNING. PULL UP.

"So, should we get more ice cream?" Hug'sh asks.
"No!" Torega says, resolutely sitting up. "That was enough! We need to save some appetitite for the meat!"
Hug'sh emphasizes the yellow rolling through his fur. "I can't believe it!" he says, louder than strictly necessary. "Did everyone hear that? My daughter has had enough ice cream!"
"Stoooooop!" Torega laugh-whines. "Teasing is mean, father!"
"I just had to make sure I didn't imagine it!" Hug'sh says. "I never thought I'd see the day!"
"Faaaaaather!" Torega laughs, slapping his hump. "Stop saying silly things!"
"Why don't you make me?" Hug'sh says. "I'm bigger than you, I can say whatever silly thing I want!"

Torega giggles. Without hesitation, she reaches up to pull on Hug'sh's ears.

"Ahhh!" Hug'sh cries, stomping about and twisting his torso like a farcical attempt to throw his daughter off. "Stop! Stop! I yield!"

So, uh, that's what you see when you clear the gateport and arrive at the park. The very picture of dignity.

As they live in Sahruyi Ward, Ngawai and Garrett had simply stood by the edge of the park and watched the scenario unfold, drinks in hand. The supposed private little get-together for Task Force 815 had gone from Hug'sh warming up a single public charcoal grill, to Rhea and Torega showing up, to Sijet and Piugash and the rest of the orphanage cubs, and then before long what seems like half of Village 815 taking up a good quarter of the park, preparing barbecue pits and organizing an impromptu feast. Bashakra'i and off-duty Narsai'i have started to gather in the park, noticing that something big was going down and it smelled pretty damn good.

Next to Garrett and Ngawai, Arlana Quis, now clad in her Kansatai uniform as befits her role as ward chief security officer, waves to a couple of her Kansat to take positions but otherwise mingle and just keep an eye on the sudden gathering that had sprung up in her ward, as Ody - that is, Ody Quis, Sahruyi Ward Administrator - simply frets and frowns as fires are lit in the pits dug in the middle of his park.
Garrett looks over his shoulder at Ody. "Hug'sh didn't ask for permission to do this, did he?"
"No," Ody says, and sighs as he looks over the pile of dirt and sod, not 3 months from laying down. "No, he did not."

Arketta steps up from behind and comes to a stop between her parents, and gives them both a hug. "Hi Mom, hi Dad," she says, her light orange dress draping over her dark blue Turai skinsuit underneath.
"Arketta!" Arlana says, giving Arketta as good as she gets. "You look wonderful."
Arketta moves to give Ody a hug as well. "It's so good to see you," Ody says.
"This is quite a party," Arketta says as her arms give her dad a squeeze. "Did Hug'sh apply for a permit to...dig big holes in the park?"
Ody sighs. "No, he did not."
Arketta's eyebrows go up as she gives a surprised nod. "...well then!"
"We will figure it out," Ody replies.
"This was supposed to be a small get together for the 815," Garrett adds apologetically.
"Well, as with so many things with the 815, things can get out of hand rather quickly," Arketta adds, and gives her dad another squeeze. "Sorry."
"It's all right, truly," Ody says. "We can fill the dirt back in - and I'm sure Brinai knows where to send the charges for the work."
Ngawai and Garrett laugh.
"He's not kidding," Arketta says.

"Heeey, look who's here!" Hug'sh calls, waving to the assembled group as he wanders over. The whirlwind of cubs crosses his path, however; before he knows it, Torega has climbed down and chases off after them. That can't be good for the overall mischief, but it's too late to stop her now. Rubbing his hand over the back of his head, Hug'sh closes the distance.

"Hey," he says. "Glad you could make it. You'll have to excuse me not hugging you, I feel like I have a few pints of Rocky Road on my shoulders." He looks to Ody. "I hope your park has showers somewhere? If not, I can have some brought over." He turns around to look at what the village has wrought. "Uh, and after we clean this up, maybe I could trouble you to consult on a park for our village, too? I think my friends need some help with the...basic concept."

Ody tries to follow, but eventually Arlana steps up and translates for her husband. "I will help," Ody barks in the too-loud and broken way that someone just learning Whirr-sign does. He pauses, but then continues in Naranai'i. "I am not a designer, but I can send you the configuration tools for open spaces that we use."

Hug'sh raises an eyebrow. "I see I am piling thoughtlessness on thoughtlessness," he says, then continues in his own halting Narana'i. "I am sorry for the trouble, Ody," he says. "Wherren feel at home among friends. But sometimes we feel at home too much. We want everybody to have a good time, but I did not explain a park to them well. I promise we will help make it good again."

Ody bows to Hug'sh. "Thank you," he barks. Like any good beginner, he at least has the basics down.

Hug'sh returns the bow, then looks to Arlana. "And I hope there are no incident of...rowdiness, but you and the Kansat may speak my name if that is needed to bring order," Hug'sh says. "I will go spread the word. After I wrangle the cubs. You wouldn't happen to have an empty hab we could use as a playroom? Having them running around here with all this commotion is leeching the colors from my fur."

"Unfortunately no," Arlana replies, looking past Hug'sh at the littlest riot barreling around the shindig. "But if they are anything like human children, they will tire themselves out soon enough."

Hug'sh gives an uneasy chuckle. "You should come visit our kickball games sometime," he says. "They'll slow down after the feast, if we're lucky." He turns his head towards the park, making out a fire pit without meat arrayed around it. "A story circle might keep them for a bit, though. Anyway, I'll be off." He sniffs at the air. "It is nice to see you all," he says in Narana'i, then trudges off.