“Are you ready?” asked the commander, bracing with her spear. It was a fine weapon, she thought—reinforced with titanium, monofilament edge. Most of the manufacturing techniques required to build it would elude Theria for centuries after their mission concluded. Once uplift began, it would be mere decades. The only comparable weapons on the planet were godtouched.

In her younger years, she’d felt like that was cheating. She knew better now. The gods have their strengths; godslayers have others.

Behind her, Markus and Lilith hefted their rifles. No disruptor rounds this time; the cramped hallways of the Ragnar increased the chance of a grazing hit to unacceptable levels. Centuries of combat experience told her that the physical trauma of gunshots would likely be enough for any foe they encountered here.

Abby took a centering breath, taking a ready stance with the spear.

“Go,” she said. In front of her, courtesy of a remote command from Val, the sealed door opened.

She took one look at the combat environment and instantly understood how to win there.

The hallway smelled of the sea and of carnage. Blood and algae slimed the floor; Abby instinctively prepared to adjust her footing for the decreased traction. Chunks of flesh and chitin were scattered through the hallway, presenting a tripping hazard. Drop to a knee to receive a charge; use her squadmates to take out the rest. If that meant she killed nothing herself, it was no dishonor.

She was a warrior of Veles. Her true weapon was the mind.

Their first opponent was a long, segmented creature with many sharp legs. It was distracted, chewing on a carcass.

“Gross,” Lilith said, with her typical lack of dissemblance.

“Light it up,” said the commander, dropping to a knee.

Markus and Lilith opened fire. Their precision was satisfactory, shots clustering in regions likely to contain critical neural functions. Abby nodded to herself, so slight it would have been imperceptible.

“Clear,” she said. “Move up. Check the passenger cabin.”

The environmental seals had held in most cases, but in the case of the passenger cabin, the already-damaged door had buckled under the water pressure. Abby made a mental note for her after-action report. Inside, they discovered a translucent creature, similar in form to a slug, that was digesting a human arm.

The tactical calculation flashed through her head with a speed that was ingrained on her soul. Her spear snapped up and delivered a single, perfect deathblow, just as if she were practicing in the exercise room. It shuddered once and died. Out of ancient habit, she checked for the seven signs of false-death, then nodded.

“All clear,” she said. “Alright, Val, you’re clear.”

The environmental seal to the rear section of the ship slid open, revealing a haggard-looking Val. He was worrying her; his previous combat record had been flawless, but with Kives in particular he seemed to have developed something of a rivalry. She wouldn’t intervene herself. She’d nudge Markus to talk to him.

His manner, at least, was decorously circumspect. It was something the children had shown little interest in modeling, likely because they behaviorally mirrored each other.

“Eyyy!” said Lilith. “He’s alive!”

“Good to see you, buddy,” said Markus. “How was the engine compartment?”

Val had been stuck there for three days while they exfiltrated beneath the waves, flights of angels sweeping the sky over their heads.

“The peace and quiet was nice,” said Val, subtly adopting a set of the shoulders that communicated false aggression. Markus smiled. Lilith missed it as usual, shifting to more defensive body language. That defensiveness was a problem, and could hinder her training as an infiltration specialist. Abby should get Markus to talk with her, too.

Val brushed past the two of them. “I also ran out of food, and I suspect that Kives is somehow to blame. If you’ll excuse me, I am going to eat and daydream pleasantly of revenge.”

His response was so very Val that the team looked at each other and laughed.

Mission complete. A minor victory, but victory all the same.

*

Val paced urgently through the corridor to shut up his body. Months after reincarnation, it was still resisting his efforts to condition its chemical balance to the fine precision of the last model. Part of that was the erratic conditions of active duty, but part of it was just novelty. He estimated another six months’ effort would reduce unwelcome biofeedback to acceptable levels.

He was estimating other things as well. Part of him was analyzing the most recent interaction with the team, updating his models of their positions relative to each other. There was a faint effect, he thought. Kives was putting stress on the team bonds. Dangerous over time, especially if she was beginning at this stage, but ultimately manageable. Emotional manipulation was an effective tactic, as any godslayer knew, but was easily countered when its effect was measured and isolated. Markus joked about learning “important lessons about friendship,” but Eifni had learned lessons about friendship that the gods never would.

The thought made him smile.

The greater part of his thoughts considered the actions Kives had taken. They had made several incorrect assumptions while engaging her on the field, all centering on a central premise: that Kives would commit superior force to the engagement with the strategic objective of crippling their operations. As a premise it was, he decided, not unfounded. Their first encounter with the oracle’s forces had been, ostensibly, a life-or-death fight.

He had reached the lounge and began efficiently preparing a meal. When he’d worked in research, he’d known types that used nutrient solutions to escape the demands of food preparation. They did this in the name of science and superior modes of living, but it was mere rationalization. The body is a tool. It requires stimulation, even if the costs of going without are non-obvious. What was done in the name of science was merely an excuse to reduce cognitive load. This, he found offensive. Therefore, Val expertly chopped carrots and yugris and slid them into the air fryer with a slice of ghen meat and a sprinkling of spices.

Val reconsidered his assumptions while he chewed. That Kives had not earnestly sought to destroy them after the first encounter was suspicious. She had not saved all of the pilgrims, although a surprising amount of them had escaped both drowning and predation. She had certainly opposed the deicide team—the thought came with a certain amount of gut-searing anger—but she had deliberately avoided the killing blow. Why?

The angel that fought Markus and Lilith could easily have slain them, but instead left them with a few cryptic statements. The key would be the moment Lilith had come out of cloak—it was supposed to negotiate, but merely thanked her instead, before following up with the accelerated tree growth. What had it seen?

Val blinked. The tree had inspired him to make the pilgrimage plan—the plan that was supposed to provoke Kives to intervene by threatening consequences that Lilith and Erid had ultimately obviated.

Kives had set them up.

The flash of utter, star-fusion rage was predictable, so Val patiently set it aside. It had its place, like any part of the soul, and a duel with an oracle was not one of those places.

Go further, past the humiliation. Kives had set them up, then failed to destroy them. She’d blocked every attempt to strike at her, but allowed them to repair the ship and allowed them to wound her husband. Was she using them to permanently settle a divine marital squabble?

Go further yet. The first angel had negotiated, and so Markus had tried to negotiate their escape with the later angels. She’d taught them that negotiation was possible and let them go. This wasn’t about her objectives: she was communicating. Offering a truce, perhaps.

Curious. She should know better than to offer truce to Veleans.

He frowned. That would imply the actual offer was—

*

“I’m going to interrupt you for a minute,” said Markus, sitting across from Val. Val refocused, coming back from wherever he was. “I want to chat about Lilith.”

“Brazen,” said Val. “Go on.”

“I think,” said Markus, and he didn’t miss the little shift that communicated Val’s play-skepticism at the concept, “that you’re redirecting your frustration with Kives onto her. It’s stressing the relationship, and you know she sees you as a rival.”

“Social officer,” Val said. Acknowledgement, agreement, conceding a victory. It felt hollow to Markus, but a slight twist of effort covered for the dip in geniality that resulted.

“I understand that Lilith’s been acting suboptimally,” said Markus. “I know that gets to you. We’re working on it with her. You can participate with us, but we need consistent reinforcement schema. She’s lonely. Be a friend.”

“Emotional regulation is a limited resource, Markus,” said Val. “This body is ill-suited for sustained efforts at it, and I need my analytical ability at maximum to handle my duties as technical officer.”

“I understand,” said Markus. “Just like you understand that the team dynamic is the foundation of our success. There’s only us four. If we don’t work well together, it won’t matter how well you handle your duties.”

“I agree,” said Val. “In fact, just before you arrived, I had decided to do better on that score.”

“So this conversation was pointless, then,” said Markus, setting his lips to convey exasperation while softening the message with a shift in posture.

“I wanted to see what you’d say,” said Val with a smile. Translation: he wanted to see if he could win the argument. Typical.

“So what’s your plan, then?” asked Markus.

“I intend,” said Val, “to give her more hugs.”

Only Val could say that like it was some diabolical plan. Markus laughed and knocked on the table twice. “You do that, man. I’m gonna check on Lilith.”

She’d been a little quieter after the last mission. Her answers, when he’d asked, were evasive—not proper Velean misdirection, just the vagueness that came with not having articulated the truth to yourself. It’d been something about her interaction with Erid.

That really had been a disaster, and it was his fault for not giving more guidance. Lilith just really wanted to be friends with the old trade captain, who she kept calling a pirate despite any evidence of piracy. That sort of loneliness was dangerous on this job. The work was ultimately compassionate—in the final analysis, it was good for people to know the truth—but at the micro level it was sometimes necessary to sever those connections. That was something Lilith would have to learn. It took time; they had been, and would be patient with her. But in the interim, there’d be moments like this, where Lilith mourned the loss of a connection she shouldn’t have made in the first place.

Grief was a wound like any other, and the treatment was conversation and company. So Markus went to talk to her, wondering what Erid was up to now.

*

“Three thousand drobol for the destruction of the pirates known as the Sons of Horcutio, may he turn his gaze away,” said the Oathkeeper. He presented the chest to a somewhat shell-shocked Erid, who had remained somewhat shell-shocked since the battle. She accepted it distantly.

“Thank you kindly, Oathkeeper,” she said, staggering a bit under the weight as she turned around. “Well, boys, how’s this for a profit?”

Her crew, dressed in their finest clothes (read: the ones with the fewest holes), cheered. There were missing faces there. Elera, mugging stupidly with his handsome face. Vektades would have stood solemnly. Woutna, brave, idiot Woutna, would have yelled like a drunkard and slapped his brothers on the back. They were alive, thanks to him. They were trying to smile.

She’d kill that girl, whose name was not Danou. Who’d been so excited for the carnage to start, and so sad when it ended. Who’d apologized, like she hadn’t known what would happen after she played her silly games with their lives.

Who’d escaped on a flying ship like nothing Erid had ever seen. Who the angels had named Calamity before warning Erid to silence.

“Someone take this and spare an old woman’s back,” she called, to general laughter. Otoja and Retiades stepped forward and lifted the chest of coin out of her hands and over their heads. The crew cheered, and behind them so did the assembled pilgrims. Pilgrims no more—soldiers, the angels had named them. Called from every walk of life to see Kives’s purpose done in Horcutio’s sea. They had, to a woman, accepted the call.

Underneath her coat, Erid wore a sword-and-scales pendant. She’d asked why Kives would choose a devotee of Varas to captain her ship.

Are we not all servants of Varas? the angel had answered. Troubling, given the long-standing enmity between the two goddesses.

The ceremony continued. The Oathkeeper officiant rose, presenting a charter. The Fool’s Errand was put on permanent retainer to guard the sea against the enemies of Varas, whatever god they might serve. Mightier than even a sephni, and under the blessing of Varas, no ship would stand against them. Or so the officiant declared.

Erid thought of the dark iron skyship, held aloft as though by the power of the gods themselves, and shuddered.

She signed the contract anyway.

*

Ell smiled wistfully as the caravan left Elsinat. They’d been hired at the last minute for some ceremony, and would now need to make good time to make it back to Kreios on schedule. She craned her neck for one last look at the town, but didn’t see dark hair and sharp, vibrant green eyes. She had to accept it was a fool’s hope.

“No sign of him?” Cet giggled to her right.

“Shut up,” Ell laughed.

“Must have left an impression,” Cet said, elbowing her. Ell elbowed her back. Around her, the other apprentices were laughing and gossiping, excited to be heading home.

“He was great,” said Ell. “Funny, clever, attentive…” she trailed off, distracted by the sudden intrusion of memories from a dark room, fumbling with clothes, lovely, lovely hands…

“Thorough,” she added.

Cet snorted at her. “There are other guys. You’ll be okay.”

“I know, I know,” said Ell. “It wasn’t anything serious. Just… felt like it could have been.”

“You’ll get over him,” said Cet.

Ell nodded. Cet knew her. The feelings would disappear once she was up to her nostrils in case precedent again. In all probability their paths would never cross again.

But while the whimsy was still with her, she allowed herself to hope a little bit. And—why not?—Ell made a silent prayer to Kives that, one day, she would reunite them.