Onoelle yawned loudly as she stretched lazily, feeling Mentuc's tough body closely pressed against hers. She instinctively moved closer as her mind slowly began the slow process of waking up. She felt strangely springy given what little sleep she had gotten last night. Still slightly sore from two nights ago, she was lucky Mentuc was as good in alleviating her pain as he was in inflicting it. Regardless, it was a small price to pay for what else he inflicted.

Her memory returned and with it a rapidly feeling of annoyance that had been repressed the night before. Well, less repressed and more smoothly side-lined. She didn't know if it was purely Mentuc reacting on the minor cues her body sent out without her even being aware or if it was Nightmare subtly playing wingman from the back, but in the end that mattered little. What did matter was that the conversation that hinted at very worrying things regarding the mental sanity of her best friend had been brought to a rather spectacular halt. She felt her cheeks heat up as she recalled just how spectacularit had been. She gave the rising emotion a violent shove and thumped her elbow against her durable husband.

He had been awake and looking lazily at her before, as far as the concept could be applied to him, but this garnered her his proper attention. He didn't speak, as usual, waiting for her to air her mysterious grievances. In that aspect, she realised, they weren't too different from a normal couple.

'I don't like it, Mentuc,' she begin, waiting for him to reply. She had to wait for an annoyingly long time before he picked up on her cue.

'What don't you like?' he asked, realising a step too late that he was supposed to make casual conversation rather than treat everything as a briefing where he was supposed to shut up and listen. Onoelle knew that she wasn't too steadfast in her behaviour either and made it more difficult on him than was necessary, but he caused significantly more trouble for her than the other way around, so she didn't find it unfair.

'The way you lord over me.'

That got a blink out of him, a subtle sign that she had taken him off guard. He shifted slightly and she couldn't help but enjoy the way his skin felt on hers. He was a delightful bed partner, all too delightful as a matter of fact, which was part of the problem.

She looked at him as he tilted his head, one of his few ticks and undoubtedly a remnant from his soldiering days, but this time he didn't speak, even with her reprimand fresh in his memory. His eyes were all too serious now, his stare merely captivatingly intense rather than frightening on account that she knew he'd never hurt her. It felt strangely pleasant to be under such a scrutinising gaze and it was, in a unique way, reassuring. There was something intoxicating about having a supersoldier at her beck and call, something that at times threatened to overwhelm her. Such as last night which was why she was annoyed in the first place!

Stars be damned! she thought to herself, realising it was all too easy to stop being annoyed with him. He was deceptively innocent. A lack of emotion equalled a lack of morals but he was far too intelligent to not know the consequences of his actions! And he was definitely too smart to not be perfectly aware of what he did to her.

'Oh, you don't do it maliciously,' she hissed, causing him to draw back a little, eyes narrowing at the accusation. He didn't take it badly, he never did, but he did understand the ramifications of it and it was clear he didn't like it. He knew he had done something wrong and that was the one thing he couldn't abide. It was just as much him being a Genesis as his character. Mentuc simply didn't tolerate himself making mistakes.

She sighed and relented a little. 'You are good in bed,' she began. 'A bit too good, perhaps,' she added with a minor blush. 'When you start luring me to bed...' she felt her blush worsen and shook her head, realising she wasn't getting anywhere.

'Sometimes I end up laying with you even though I didn't want to.'

His head tilted again telling her he didn't get it. She swallowed her pride and looked him in the eye, the many lenses constantly darting around but keeping her dead centre.

'You're superior to me, in pretty much every aspect and—'

'False,' came a surprising and immediate reply. She blinked.

'What do you mean, false?'

'I am not.'

'Pft.' She let out a self-deprecating laugh. 'You're stronger, you're—'

Something in his eyes changed and shut her up. She recognised the subtle signs easily and was shocked to find that he was getting annoyed.

'Is a bear stronger than you?' he asked after a moment of silence.

'Yes,' she replied, knowing better than to think he was playing word games.

'Do you feel bad about a bear being stronger than you?'

'No?' she said, cautiously, trying to catch on to his thoughts.

'Then why do you feel bad about me being stronger than you? Or physically different?' he asked.

It was a perfectly logical conclusion to make but the human mind was rarely dictated by pure logic.

'Because it makes me feel like shit,' she said. 'Anything I can do, have to struggle to learn, you trounce me at. Without trying. You go from novice to expert in weeks and I couldn't even reach your level if I had years! I train every damned day and I'm physically irrelevant compared to you!'

'That—' he tried to interrupt, but Onoelle wasn't having it.

'Shut up!' she shouted, wanting to get it all of her chest in one go. 'I love you to bits, you damnable man, but you make me feel so utterly inadequate! And whenever I get annoyed about it you take me in your arms and you make me forget everything! But I don't want to!'

He visibly recoiled at that and he frowned, indicating those words impacted him heavily, to the point it showed on his face.

'You don't?'

'No!' she roared back. 'It feels great and you can turn me on until there's nothing I want more than to throw myself at you and just be in your arms but that's the damned thing! You take my self-control away!'

She all but screamed the last words and they struck him like meteors. He started fidgeting, eyes flittering through the tent and his hands moved towards her in a consoling gesture as he undoubtedly saw the pain in her eyes, before he snapped them back. She could see he was stuck between wanting to reach out and throw his arms around her and her words. She was struggling herself. He looked so utterly helpless she almost threw herself at him, but she couldn't. She had to stay strong because unless they'd duke it out the issue would remain and would slowly fester in her heart.

'Then what do I do?' he asked, a tinge of emotions inflecting his voice, to her surprise. He looked at her as if she'd know the answer and she came to the shocking conclusion that he fully believed she knew. In the same way she had put him on a pedestal when it comes to everything physical, so did he view her as all knowing when it came to emotions and relations.

As a matter of fact she did have several ideas how to tackle it, but none that could be implemented well on her husband. If she told him to not touch her unless she initiated it then she would reduce him to a damned sex-toy. She'd also simultaneously cut him off from acting on his emotions, his love for her. The very thing she had put her heart and soul in to encourage within him. Another option was abstinence, but, to put it eloquently, fuck that. The main problem was that Mentuc couldn't differentiate between her genuinely enjoying it and him overriding her body. The difference was purely how she thought about it and his hands could all too easily bewitch her and make her forget everything else. Then there was the issue of him just being straight up better than her at everything. She was always on the receiving end. He built the house, cooked the food, did the laundry, did the lion's share of the work on the farm, maintained their little stretch of road and even in the bedroom he was always on the offensive. At times she felt like a damned trophy wife. And the worst of it all was that he did it because he cared. He didn't feel smug about it, didn't do it because he thought she was incapable. It was simply the most efficient manner to tackle it all. He outclassed her by such a margin that it just wasn't damned fair.

'I don't know,' she confessed. 'There is no single answer that will make everything right.' She sighed, before explaining her feelings to him, in careful words. 'You take care of everything for me. In the house, on the farm, at night, you do so many things that I can't and the few that I can somewhat do, you do better. It makes me feel bad. I know you've given me your promise and I don't doubt it, but sometimes I fear that you'll get tired of me. That you'll leave me.'

She launched a preemptive strike by kissing him, intending on giving him a quick peck on the lips to shut him up. Instead she found those lips open, the first sounds of what would be a very strong protest already departing his mouth. She felt herself being drawn towards him, to run her tongue past his teeth and throw her arms around him, to let all her worries and woes fall by the wayside and let him kiss it all better, countless different scenes of where that had happened flooding her mind. With a growl of disgust she tore herself off, panting slightly. His eyes followed her, picking up on the tell tale signs of arousal and want, but her previous words lay in between them like a wall. He waited for her to regain control and she found he resembled a wild animal, ready to bolt or to strike. She couldn't say which action he leaned the most to at present.

'You won't, I know. But emotions do not listen to reason. A human heart is fickle. I don't feel as if I contribute to this relationship.'

'You teach me. You show me what it is to be human. You are Onoelle.' He spoke quickly, not giving her the chance to shut her up and she looked away, unable to deal with the storm of emotions he unleashed in her. When he said her name like that it caused a cascade of feelings to run through her body, sending delightful shivers through her limbs. Stars above, it wasn't fair.

'I know!' she protested. 'But knowing and feeling are two vastly different things!' She felt desperation well up as she saw how helpless he felt. He was incredibly tactile, needing to be in physical contact with oher to properly express himself and she had just denied him that. Something very weakly resembling panic was visible in his expressive eyes and she hated herself for what she was putting him through, but she held her ground. Then he suddenly was up and moving, out of the tent and she rushed after him, hissing as the morning cold struck her. She drew back, briefly considered reaching for clothes but her husband was infinitely more important and she stormed out the tent and after him, the damp grass tickling her bare feet.

'Mentuc!' she shouted, looking around to find him, fearing he had run off and nearly being bowled over when he reappeared in her line of sight. He was doing something which incredibly comical to her. Her tall, broad-chested and very naked husband was pacing around the tent at a pace more suited for running than walking. He weaved in between her and the tent for a heartbeat and before she really caught on she found herself caught in the sleeping bag as he expertly scooped her up and dumped her into it. She shivered and pulled it tightly around her, watching him run circles around the tent as he wracked his analytical mind to find a solution. A part of her was grateful for it, another part of her revolted at the thought of him spoiling her in the midst of their discussion about it. She sighed, relenting somewhat.It came as natural as breathing to him and chances were he hadn't even consciously done it. She was cold, he fixed it. The stupid, annoying, superhuman, lovable oaf that he was. She watched him pace, knowing what would come next. He'd launch idea after idea and use her as a sounding board for what was realistic, as he sure as hell didn't know. She had a hunch that he had picked that up from her.

'If I let you cook, do laundry—'

'We'll eat burnt food and we'll run out of clothes quickly,' she sighed, but did so with a smile.

'I can teach you,' he countered as she knew he would.

'Yes, I know.'

He paused, tilted his head, realised her response had been a joke and resumed his pacing.

'But at the end of it all I'll never be as good as you.' She shrugged. 'I'm selfish, I like your cooking. Still, it is a good idea. We could split it half, approximately. One day you're in charge of cooking and I do the laundry and we reverse the next.'

'I can also teach you how to carve wood,' he offered, but she shook her head violently, vetoing it.

'Not in a million years would I get to your level. I don't have your inhuman senses,' she huffed. Then she wilted when she realised she had used the word 'inhuman', but Mentuc didn't seem bothered by it. She remembered her first conversation with him. Words are empty air. Right. She smiled at the old memory.

'Then just the household chores,' he affirmed. She nodded in response. It wasn't a proper solution, more of a stop-gap measure, but it was something.

'There's also another subject...' she began.

'Yes,' he nodded, keeping a perfectly straight face. 'Sex.'

Onoelle managed to keep her composure, but only just.

She nodded, not fully trusting her voice. It was a valid point that needed addressing. Constantly being on the receiving end had hurt her pride tremendously over the years and while it never bothered her during it, the ugly feeling reared its head from time to time. The main problem was that Mentuc was designed from the ground up to react to physical touch in an inhuman way. He registered it and was highly sensitive in the way that he could feel the most minor of touches, but it took a lot of pressure to get any sort of reaction out of him, originally meant to be a defence against pain. This had the unfortunate side effect that physical pleasure was a thing he wasn't very familiar with. Instead he derived most of his pleasure by satisfying her, something he excelled a bit too much at given how well he could physically read her. Any attempts of her at returning the favour were cruelly rendered useless because inflicting physical pleasure on him was almost beyond her skill. She simply didn't have the endurance for it. It bothered her far more than him. To top it all off was a little fact she hadn't shared with her mother. She had gotten herself tested a while ago, very hush hush, and had been pleased to discover that she was very healthy and that there wa nothing wrong with her reproductive system. That also meant that the one reason she hadn't gotten pregnant yet was because the opposite was true for her husband. She couldn't drag him off to get tested given that he was a walking biological irregularity, but they spent enough time in bed for the logical to occur. She didn't blame him for his infertility, but the inability to have a child further weighed on her mind.

'What is the goal of sex?' he asked, interrupting her thoughts. She blinked and found him standing in front of her.

'Um… To feel good?' she ventured, not sure how to respond.

'Then isn't the goal reached?' he asked. He tilted his head again, telling her it was a genuine question.

'Physical pleasure isn't everything!' she retorted.

'So you only feel physical pleasure when we are together?'

'What? No! Of course not!'

'Then what is the problem?' he asked. For a guy who had never taken any classes he could debate annoyingly well from within the confines of his limited emotional understanding. He spotted a flaw in her theory and capitalised on that hole in her defence. From a logical point of view he was entirely correct too, annoyingly enough.

'Because I can't make you—' she began, before falling silent, suddenly feeling blaringly stupid as her mind completed Mentuc's train of thought. She did satisfy him, just not in the way that she thought mattered the most. Blinded by my own pride, huh.

'Oh,' she muttered. She still wasn't going to cease debating it just yet, however. 'But,' she protested, 'that is how you feel. I still feel inadequate.'

'That is redundant and illogical,' he stated.

'Emotions are illogical!' she shouted back.

'Emotions that you told me I can overrule,' he countered, a glint in his eyes.

'Emotions I don't want overruled!' she screamed, becoming acutely aware of the sudden danger she was in. She took a few steps back, tripped on the sleeping bag she was in and was caught by her husband who was now far too close. She closed her eyes, expecting his lips on her. When that didn't happen she opened one eye and found him waiting patiently again, still a measure of uncertainty in his eyes.

'I don't understand,' he said, quietly, as he helped her back up.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered back. 'I can't really explain it.'

'What can I do?' he asked. She could hear desperation in his voice and the honesty of it struck her. She was everything to him and her happiness by far superseded his own. She knew that in this moment he felt just as inadequate as she did.

'Let's get dressed,' she said. 'Then we'll get breakfast. I'll make it, under your supervision.' She could cook, but couldn't match his level, but she'd learn and improve. Perhaps not much, but at least a bit. 'Then I'll help you with the construction. And we'll talk. We'll talk until we find a solution.'

She dropped the sleeping bag and took a step forward, hugging him tightly. He locked his own arms around her, almost collapsing on top of her in palpable relief.

She stayed in the embrace for a good while before stepping back, then grasped his hand with her own. With a smile that was mirrored in his eyes she tapped her ring against his.

Their relationship might have had some unique issues, but she was blessed. She could talk about them with him. She could work them out. And she did not need to fear anything.

For they belonged to one another, and no force could tear them apart.

The Per Aspera Ad Astra transitioned out of hyperspace and back into reality along with its entire task force. Dozens of line ships and well over two hundred escorts joined the rest of Battlegroup Nemesis at the fortress world of Nalvaron. Reports were already flooding in as the large battlegroup was reunited after twelve days of intense fighting. The different fleet units hadn't given in to temptation to really clash with the enemy. Instead they had simply replaced the forces of Icarus as they rested and regained their strength, with the exception of Verloff's brief but brutal skirmish the day before. The losses of the entire Battlegroup were mercifully light and they were still operating at sixty-seven percent of their original capacity. Given that they had started at seventy-one this was a reason to celebrate. They had played the fool, not shown their true hand as the elites they were and according to the spooks, whose reports were frighteningly accurate, the Novicans had been appropriately fooled. They thought they were still up against two battlegroups that had been reinforced, rather than against three weakened ones. In numbers it might not make much of a difference, but Nemesis was a veteran unit. Their crew were better, their officers more experienced, their ships tried and tested and optimised for battle. They could fight as a cohesive wall and as singular units in any circumstances and for prolonged durations as well. Admiral Verloff was proud of them.

Twenty-seven massive Citadel-class dreadnaughts milled around in the inner defences, with two more slowly coasting towards the rest, his own flagship one of those. He looked at the fleet composition from the bridge and not for the first time lamented the lack of windows on military vessels. It made sense as any window installed in the hull would result in a structural weakness, but at times like this when thousands of defensive installations, dozens of massive space stations, hundreds of support and military vessels and countless shuttles were aggressively buzzing through the void, he would have loved being able to witness it all directly rather than through sensors. It wasn't often a fleet's worth of vessels were physically close enough to become visible to the naked eye.

Instead he looked at them the only way he could. Telemetry poured in by the terabyte, logistics personnel reported in as their units took care of refuelling and rearming, emptying their vast reserves of supplies to top off the battlegroup's stores. Shuttles of all sizes whizzed in between stations and the fleet, transferring personnel to the larger platforms from where they could descend down into the planet to take some much needed R&R. Eager battalions of Imperial engineers slowly made their way towards the wounded Nemesis along with countless freighters, repair craft and other vessels required for the many maintenance tasks that the battlegroup desperately needed seeing to. Medical ships taxied between the warships and the space stations, rushing wounded out of medbays and into hospitals at speed, while others busied themselves with retrieving the dead. They were treated with the utmost respect and the men and women that passed the large processions stopped and saluted, putting aside their tasks to offer a final goodbye to their fallen comrades. He knew that the scene he was witnessing here was being repeated on the other frontline planet of Melberis, where Perseus was doing the same. Icarus had departed the day before and was stretched painfully thin, covering for both Nemesis and Perseus as they readied themselves. The third battlegroup had been resting for the past days and was now more than eager to get back at the Novicans, the battle being personal for them and even more so or their leading Admiral. He had ordered Icarus to play it defensively and he knew the order hurt for the thousands of men and women. They wanted to charge at the enemy, guns blazing and engines roaring, but they had to hold back. They would obey, though. They were excellent soldiers to the last.

Vice-Admirals that he hadn't been in contact with for days sent their reports and he added their kills to the ones his own task force had made. He was exceptionally proud when Vice-Admiral Lessirk's report came in, a surprisingly large file, marked as high priority. It piqued his curiosity and he clicked it open. As he began reading, he wondered just what had happened to his second-in-command that made him write such a massive report.

One of Lessirk's cruisers had taken an ugly hit while the rest of his unit made a fighting retreat deeper into a large asteroid field. There was plenty of distance between the rocks, early human science fiction having underestimated just how much space there was, but the field still made targeting more difficult and the Imperial ships had dodged many a salvo by slipping behind one of the massive asteroids. Then, just as a pair of enemy cruisers had started accelerating towards the wounded Thunderbird the ship had powered its fully functional engines, the reactor flaring to life as structural integrity proved to be significantly higher than what initial Novican scans had predicted. It had launched itself like a torpedo into the enemy formation. Having foregone any attempt at acquiring a targeting lock the Thunderbird had put everything into jamming. By the time the Novicans fully realised what was happening the cruiser had broken into the formation. One enemy battleship had seen the cruiser but given that it had been on a ramming course the warship's captain had decided to get out of the way first, report on it second. It didn't delay the report by much, but by the time the message had gone out that an Imperial cruiser was approaching, the warship was already deep within Novican lines. Most heavier ships had ignored the vessel, knowing that their weaponry would inflict a bit too much damage in case they missed their target. Instead a squadron of destroyers and corvettes had thrown themselves towards it. They had laced the cruiser with fire but the shields snapped back in place just in time to stop the worst of it, before the damaged emitters gave up entirely and ended up taking more of the already damaged cruiser with them as they violently exploded.

The captain of the Thunderbird, Ivan Denisdan, hadn't gone in with the intention of surviving however, and didn't give a singular hoot about the damage. The cruiser rolled around, presenting an already damaged side to the attackers, allowing them to pour more fire on an already dead part of the ship. The crew in that part of the superstructure had either evacuated earlier or been killed when the cruiser had first been struck or they had been sucked out into the void of space when the hull was torn open in the first stages of the fight. The Novican elements hounding the Thunderbird did no damage to anything that mattered and with a maniacal laugh that was broadcasted through the ship's speakers, the cruiser thundered towards its goal. Thrusters flared to life as the ship rolled around again and a quartet of corvettes and a single destroyer suddenly came to face with a functioning series of batteries. The captains of those ships took immediate action and did everything they could to get out of the bigger warship's way. Three corvettes managed. The last was winged by a laser, the much smaller craft cutting power to their engines and engaging their thrusters in the nick of time, suffering a minor hit. The destroyer was too slow and its captain too inexperienced to evade the incoming fire and the destroyer was cut in half by a particularly well aimed plasma burst that melted straight through its decks, gutting the craft.

Then the cruiser was past and rolled over again, finally reaching the target it had wanted to face. Captain Ivan laughed like a madman. The generators were redlining and on the verge of going critical, their main venting system had taken a hit half an hour earlier and they had played dead ever since, knowing they couldn't engage in any sort of battle before the reactor would go critical. He knew he wasn't going to live through it, but not in his wildest dreams had he imagined he'd go out this way. The Novicans had made several mistakes. They hadn't shot him for good measure, which was a start, then the enemy battleship had dodged their charge without blasting them to tiny bits, probably because the captain had panicked. As a near-final insult the incoming destroyers and corvettes had tried to take out the ship rather than destroy the engines, which had been annoyingly vulnerable. Instead they had opted to save their missiles until they had a clear lock rather than relying on massed fire and kill switches for the misses. He was inside their formation for crying out loud! They should have atomised him the moment he had closed in! Sure, they had hurt his ship on the way in, fires raging through the Thunderbird and a significant part of its mass was trailing behind them in molten globs, but they were still alive, against all expectations.

Not that he minded, because of those collective fuck ups, which were intolerable by the incredibly high standards set by the Imperial Navy, he was now going to go out in the biggest blaze of glory imaginable. He screamed the command into the bridge and every missile the Thunderbird had was launched, every shuttle, filled to the brim with explosives, was catapulted out of the hangar bays and every functioning gun opened fire, close enough to hit even without active targeting.

Just as the burning cruiser careened past the rear of a Novican dreadnaught. He could make the name Divine Judgement out, painted in stark white letters on the hull as the telemetry poured in, but more importantly; he saw the massive thrusters and engines on the rear end of the gargantuan vessel. They had failed to kill him on the way in and that was going to bite them in the ass. Given that the dreadnaught also, as usual, doubled as the Novican flagship and keeping the particular strategy he had planned in mind, this was to be taken delightfully literally.

The massed fire of a cruiser was typically inconsequential to a dreadnaught, who could swat aside something as minor as a single cruiser with as much ease as one would swat a fly. Except this ship had come in under heavy jamming and the dreadnaught's gunners hadn't been permitted to open fire on him as they couldn't get a proper targeting lock, the leading officers instead counting on their lighter squadrons to finish off the damaged vessel. He pulled on his thick moustache as communications laughed out loud before giving her report, confirming his suspicions. They thought his ship was out of control and about to self destruct. Poor fools were only half right

As it turned out, the heavy warheads that the Empire was so fond off weren't inconsequential. The Divine Judgement's shield soaked up the energy fire without weakening, but the missiles weren't so easily intercepted and the combination of the cruiser's still active jamming and the engine's wake further disrupting targeting attempts caused most of the point defensive systems to miss their targets. The hull was ruptured as the massive anti-capital ship missiles tore into them, an initial warhead blowing open a hole before a second thruster activated and drove the actual warhead a bit deeper into the now exposed superstructure. Still, for a vessel as gigantic as a dreadnaught the damage was irritating, but no more than that. Their shields remained up, the vessel remained operational. Then the shuttles, steered by heroic Imperial pilots who decided to not go to the afterlife unaccompanied, smashed their explosive-laden craft into their targets. Massive chunks of metal were torn off the dreadnaught, fuel lines were blown open and caught fire, several compartments were exposed to the void and their occupants sucked out along with the air, but most importantly the thrusters and a tiny but rather vital part of the engines were reduced to useless piles of scrap.

With roaring laughter Captain Ivan welcomed death as the heavy line ships finally deigned him enough of a threat and amidst a barrage of plasma, pulsar and laser fire he departed the world of the living, him and his crew defiant to the last, flipping the dreadnaught the bird as the Thunderbird exploded, the vessel torn apart by hundreds of beams and superheated volleys.

Aboard the Divine Judgement the engineering crew were running around trying to fix the engines, damage control teams sprinting through the hallways to reach the exposed areas while smaller shuttles were launched to do the same from the outside. Fire teams, already on high alert, rushed towards the raging fires, dragging their equipment with them as fast as they could, knowing lives were hanging in the balance. Screams of trapped crew members rang through the speakers as they begged for help, the crackling of burning power lines in the background providing a nightmarish choir to supplement their desperate voices. Angle grinders were brought to bear on the debris blocking the access ways while lifelines were mag-locked to the walls and to the firefighters braving the danger. The brave men and women all too aware of the danger the vacuum posed.

Much deeper in the gargantuan vessel's superstructure the bridge was in a similar state of hurry. Engineering had only just finished their report that they had lost all power to the thrusters, meaning the ship was now unable to go anywhere except straight ahead. Normal procedures were interrupted when navigations had shouted out that they'd best cut the engines then, because their current course was going to see them crashing in a few minutes with an asteroid. It wasn't a reason for concern as the massive rocks hurling through space were perfectly predictable and simply adjusting the vessel's speed would be sufficient to dodge the threat.

The atmosphere changed significantly when engineering called back that the locks that were used to limit the fuel intake by the engines were inoperable, meaning they were stuck on a crash course. Discipline quickly eroded as officers shouted orders, heedless of protocol, with engineering desperately trying to shut his colleagues up so he could actually listen to the reports that mattered. Down in engineering orders were hurriedly shouted and the priority shifted from saving lives of crew members stuck in hazardous areas to reaching the damaged locks. The teams took to the task with desperation, knowing that all their lives hung in the balance, but the Thunderbird's assault had been well aimed and the surrounding area had been turned to scrap. Eventually, the dreadnaught's captain would manage to quiet down the rest of the bridge officers and reinstate order.

Not that it availed them any. The dreadnaught broadcasted their distress and other vessels accelerated to catch up with the adrift flagship, unsure of how to deal with it. On the other end of the battlefield was Vice-Admiral Lessirk. He was watching the event unfold, his units held back in a loose but controlled formation and as he saw the other ships move in he ordered an advance of his own. He wasn't going to engage properly, he already had two damaged battleships that were slowly withdrawing and the loss of twelve other vessels including two heavy cruisers further warned him what actively engaging the significantly more numerous Novican fleet would cost. But letting this prize escape after Captain Ivan's heroic sacrifice? No way in hell! His lighter cruisers darted forward, accompanied by his ELINT ships who were now switching from aggressive jamming to long range target acquisition, smashing through the Novican ECM. The Albarest-class Light Cruisers, who were now surging forward, were specialised units that Imperial fleet leaders had a love/hate relationship with. They were horribly efficient at what they did, but the downside was that they were annoyingly fragile. By Imperial standards.

Now, however, they were far away from the enemy lines and as battleships slowly fell in line behind them; targets were acquired for the long, thin black vessels. Besides them the heavier Apollo-class Cruisers moved to overtake them. The cold of space was temporarily repulsed as launching tubes roared to life and missiles were fired by the hundreds at extreme distances. Against a closed formation they would be nothing but a minor distraction, point defences easily able to tear them apart. The Novicans weren't in a closed formation however, with their flagship out of control and broadcasting panicked orders for help many captains having brought their vessels closer, in a futile attempt to help. The dreadnaught required a proper escort of tow vessels to be pulled, something military vessels weren't really qualified for. Most vessels had some minor towing system to drag damaged vessels to safety with, but the sheer mass of a dreadnaught made that impossible for any ship not dedicated to the task. The only way to redirect the juggernaut was to forcibly shove it onto a new course, but while the Imperial military religiously drilled a million and one unlikely and seemingly impossible and improbable disaster scenarios into their personnel, the Novican standard was a bit lower and it took time or the other captains to come to this conclusion.

Time the Empire didn't give them and Lessirk directed his fleet with all the skill of a virtuoso. His heavy cruisers finally overtook the Albarest-class and began lining up long range shots with their spinal laser batteries. And when the Empire designed a highly offense-oriented ship that could deliver long range, precision bombardement, then one laser simply wasn't enough. They had installed a full battery containing six of the things.

Those began opening fire, the high intensity laser losing significant amounts of its strength as the beams travelled through the void, but what they lacked in strength they made up for in accuracy. Shields flared to life as the beams collided with the screens and the dark of space was lit up as energy cascaded across the defences. Destructive power was absorbed and turned into waste heat, before being vented out through the heat sinks as the Novican ships pulled away from the dreadnaught again, trying to break free from their own allies to acquire a clear line of fire as the continued barrage of the Imperial ships slowly put more and more strain on their systems. The frontward ships opened fire but the massive distance robbed the return volleys from their strength and what few shots that happened to hit an Imperial ship harmlessly bounded off their thick shields.

The cruisers fired eight more times, devouring thousands of tonnes of fuel to feed the power-draining lasers, but several ships were knocked out of formation and well over a dozen had downed shields and were now sporting long scars where the lasers had raked their armour. The attacks had shattered any hopes the enemy commander had of closing his ranks and properly withering the incoming missile storm that now began to arrive. Point defences flared to life and started claiming kills by the dozen. Countermissiles were launched and met their Imperial counterparts, further thinning the volley. The Novicans boosted the output of their ECM and finally managed to start blunting the frightening accuracy that the enemy ELINT ships provided. Yet for every missile that was destroyed, two more got through. They struck with the force of tens of thousands of megatons, tearing apart metal, warping supports, destroying struts, claiming lives and rendering millions of tonnes of warship into pure scrap. Even then most damage was only superficial. Only three vessels were classed as a mission kill, rendered useless for the rest of the battle and the Empire only claimed a single kill in the form of a heavy cruiser. Dozens took damage though, ranging from minor hindrances to major systems shutting down. The more heavily wounded ships fell back, letting their comrades shield them as they retreated to the safety of the rear echelons.

Then, as one, the Imperial ships started turning, the heavy cruisers violently altering their course and putting heavy strains on ship and crew alike as G-forces pulled on the men and women manning the warships. The light cruisers had an easier time and managed to redirect more smoothly. The battleships were the slowest to turn, but also had the most time. Lessirk had never intended to engage the enemy. They outnumbered him far too much for that and if their commander hadn't been too occupied with saving his own hide he'd have realised that the Imperials had taken a big risk with their aggressive deployment. If they had decided to abandon their flagship and instead shifted into a full assault they'd have forced the Empire to retreat as quickly as they could, taking a heavy toll before the Imperial warships would have been able to clear the asteroid field and initiate a jump to hyperspace. Lessirk had made a gamble, based on what he knew of the enemy commander, and had guessed right.

Now there were several ships heavily damaged, one ship lost and their formation was utterly gone. A part of him wanted to send his fleet forward, to expose the gaps in their ranks and send his ships in. With the enemy ships so much out of formation his Hammer-class battleships could close in and dish out their lethal broadsides. The larger part of him knew that he was too heavily outnumbered. He'd claim a significant amount of kills, no doubt, but in the end they'd overwhelm him and his fleet through sheer numbers. He didn't have the ability to keep up a sustained battle and so he was more than content with the accomplished results, even if he had drained a significant part of his armament in the process.

As the fleet made their way out of the asteroid field, he kept his eyes glued to the tactical display, knowing Captain Ivan's final actions were being recorded for glorious posterity.

As tears in reality were opened and the Imperial craft began leaving the area the inevitable happened and Vice-Admiral Lessirk had the honour of witnessing the first time in history that a cruiser had singlehandedly killed a dreadnaught as the gargantuan, multi-million ton vessel crumpled against the raw mass of an even larger multi-billion ton asteroid.

Admiral Verloff finished the colourful report and laughed out loud, before ordering communications to spread the footage to the rest of his battlegroup, simultaneously jotting down the heroic and slightly mad Ivan for a Silver Star and everyone on his ship for the Lion's Cross. This would significantly boost morale across the entire front. His second-in-command had used surprisingly descriptive language in his report and with good reason. When word got out from that little fuck-up, the Novicans would be simultaneously furious and deeply ashamed. Losing a dreadnought wasn't a minor thing and losing two in such short notice in minor fleet engagements was going to crush their morale. This was a beautiful way to begin operation Angry Comet.

Mentuc felt his muscles pull taut as he pushed the enormous plate up. He knew his wife didn't like it. The thing was normally moved by a vehicle, but his mind was occupied by the problem she had voiced earlier. He didn't like that she felt inadequate. He especially didn't like that she was unhappy and that he had no answer for it. She had cheered up a bit throughout the day, making breakfast and playing with Cassy had helped. He had also somewhat forcibly made Jane stay behind, who had been all too happy to do so. Onoelle had at first insisted she'd stay behind to care for her friend but Mentuc wouldn't have that and simply dragged her along. As he had given her minor tasks that were time intensive but didn't require copious amounts of physical strength, her mood had further improved. Bickering with Cassy, who hadn't been bothered by the strange behaviour that he had shown the day before, had helped as well.

As soon as this final plate was forced into place he could start with pouring the concrete into the foundations. He signalled Cassy, who had received very strict instructions earlier about what to do, and the teenager began the not very complicated process of activating the pumps, given their vast array of automated sensors that directed the flow of concrete, the command to start up. He was pleased to see Onoelle climb out of the foundations and go over to her sister, giving her a tender hug and he joined them in short order, taking care to not step on the thinner parts of the rebar. He gave the two a hug and was even happier to feel his wife squeezing his arm in a tender gesture. Her mood was much better than it had been in the morning, something he was glad for.

Then she surprised him by punching him, surprisingly hard which hurt her more than him and he took a step back, cushioning the blow somewhat. He tilted his head.

'You know what we haven't done in a while?' she asked, her eyes shining mischievously.

'What?' he asked. He could have listed everything they hadn't done in a 'while' and even added exactly how much time had passed since the last time, but he knew that he wasn't supposed to. He was supposed to give a nonsensical answer to 'make conversation' as his wife had named it.

She slid her right foot back and brought her hands defensively in front of her face as her lips split wide open in a devilish grin. That answered the question even before she voiced it.

'Fight!'

She didn't wait for him to acknowledge it, didn't let him get into a proper fighting position. She just threw herself at him, sliding her left foot a bit further before shifting her weight onto it. Then she pulled her other leg in, turned on her axis with a sharp twist and launched a vicious kick at his upper leg. For all her speed she might as well have been standing still to him.

He slid back slightly and her feet connected with his body at the edge of her reach, enough to transmit a proper impact to both of them, but too little to really hurt her. He pushed her feet down slightly, showing her where she was supposed to strike, on top of a cluster of nerves rather than the tougher part of his muscles. She nodded and withdrew her foot, changing her stance and closing the distance, throwing a quick punch at him.

He blocked it, redirecting it with a soft push and she capitalised on that, switching arms and trying to break through his defence. He blocked that one too. Another punch and it had the same result. Then she suddenly completely closed and tried to ram her knee between his legs. It was a good move, swiftly executed and given her opponent, a good choice. So he retaliated by giving her a careful shove, sending her tumbling backwards. A gentle shove of him was still enough to knock most humans on their ass and his wife was no exception. She chose to use the momentum to roll backwards and jumped back to her feet.

'What are you doing!' shouted a horrified Cassy.

Onoelle smiled, abandoning her combat stance as she tucked a few rogue strands of hair back behind her ears. 'Fighting!' she announced cheerfully. 'We do it from time to time.'

'It is training,' he corrected, not agreeing with Onoelle's vague description. 'I am, at her request, teaching her how to fight.'

'That is so cool! Can I join?'

Onoelle threw him a look. 'Can she?'

'I don't see why not,' he replied.

She didn't seem too happy with that response. 'Are you sure Cassy? It gets rough...' she said.

It clicked to him that she was trying to discourage her sister. 'Why?' he asked.

She drew circles on the ground with her foot, not looking at him. 'I don't like the idea of her getting hurt.'

'Do you not get hurt similarly?'

'Yes but...' she tried to bring up a counter that he'd accept, but all of her arguments were based on dislike. From a practical perspective teaching Cassy how to fight would be beneficial for the adventurous girl. Onoelle had only been learning from him for about a year and a half and Mentuc had confided in her that she could already win most one on one fights if she kept her wits about her, weight class be damned, provided she didn't go up against trained fighters.

'How about you watch first?' she eventually said. 'Then make your decision afterwards? You can learn a lot by watching too.'

'You can learn much more by practising,' he corrected her, earning an angry glare. This time he moved first, considering the conversation over and Onoelle shrieked as she ducked underneath his punch. She made the mistake of not countering or getting out of the way and he simply took another step forward, slamming his body into hers. Gently. Reasonably gently. She bounced off him and collapsed backwards into the grass, falling flat on her back. He capitalised on it by chasing after her and launching a kick at her head. She rolled over, dodging it and climbed to her feet again, her anger now covering the entirety of her face. He nodded approvingly at her as she kept it in check.

Then she ran forward and unleashed a barrage of attacks. Her punches were sharp, well aimed and often backed up with kicks and the occasional surprising headbutt mixed in. She treated him like another human rather than as a Genesis, which was the goal of the exercise and he subtly pushed her attacks, altering them to make them hit the right spots if he didn't block or dodge them. Her movements were fluid, despite him throwing her out of her rhythm by doing something unexpected from time to time. He held back, of course. This was purely for training purposes and the goal was for her to learn. To that extent he countered when she made a mistake and more than once she hit the ground hard. She refused to let it deter her and got up again and again. After a few minutes she was properly warmed up and started really picking up speed. He gave her another approving nod; she wasn't exhausting herself in a blind attack but keeping her thoughts collected through her rapid flurry of light attacks. She didn't have the required mass or strength to start a slugging match and had to rely on technique and speed, areas which she excelled in. Given that she was a civilian with no military or combat training behind her, she made for a decent fighter. Not a good one, but a decent one none the less.

After a dozen or so minutes of uninterrupted battling Onoelle was starting to show visible signs of fatigue, her clothes were clinging tightly to her, limiting her movement slightly, while sweat ran down in streams across her body. He pushed the offensive and slowly she had to give ground. He took a fair share of hits in the process, granting her victory where she deserved it, but he felt that she was weakening. She couldn't properly attack his joints because there was simply no way she could exert enough force to be an actual threat to him, and was therefore forced to rely on quick and hard hits. He tried to relax his muscles as much as possible but he could tell the impacts were still hurting her. Significantly less than his own counterattacks, however. When she left an opening he acted on it and on more than one occasion his fist had made ungentle contact with his wife, sending her back with enough force to make her gasp for breath. If she didn't back off in time or launch a renewed counterattack he simply closed in on her and swiped her legs away from underneath her, causing her to crash into the dirt. It wasn't gentle and he'd normally never treat her like that, but she was very insistent on this. He wasn't to have mercy on her, which he could understand. She wanted to be taught how to fight and that irrevocably meant getting hurt in the process. It helped that seeing her climb back to her feet with nothing but determination in her eyes was a very attractive sight.

Then Cassy joined the fight. The teenager had held off joining in longer than he had assumed, but her sudden attack was no surprise to him. Onoelle was emitting a sharp, sour scent that told him of her exhaustion, but at the same time Cassy was emitting a more sweet and simultaneously salty scent. Excitement mixed with nervousness. Given how she had watched her sister double over in pain on a few occasions that was quite a natural reaction. Still the girl had worked up her courage and was now trying to blindside him, having subtly shuffled over there over the course of several minutes. Onoelle had thrown one glance her way and immediately decided to not look in her direction again. Not that it helped against him and he knew his wife was aware of that as well, but it was good practice against real opponents.

However, as much of an advantage two on one might seem, if the two were not accustomed to one another, then it could easily become a hindrance or lead to overconfidence. That was something they would have to learn.

Cassy struck, clearly not used to fighting because she tried to tackle him from his blind side just as Onoelle launched a particularly aggressive offensive.

'Had you waited a moment longer I'd have been busy dealing with the attack', he told her as he took a lightning step to the side and gave the smaller girl a light shove, sending the two sisters crashing into one another, Onoelle's heavier weight offset by Cassy's speed. The two fell down and Mentuc circled around them.

'Time your attacks. Cooperate with one another. Don't blindly charge in and expect your numerical superiority to carry the day.' Teaching this was as easy as breathing for him. He had decades of experience to draw upon, both from fighting in such styles as well as teaching actual classes during his mercenary years.

'You had to wait until Onoelle properly pressed the attack. If I had dodged her attacks, you could have locked me into a pincer attack, forcing me to keep moving. If I had engaged her I would have been occupied and my back would have been open. Apply the reverse of the situation to yourself if you're the defender. If two opponents manage to enclose you, you are lost. Secondly, Cassy, you should not tackle someone much taller and heavier than you. If you miss you are out of balance and an easy prey and even should you hit you will not sufficiently bring them off balance. You should have tried launching a kick to the back of my legs, they are easy targets for you.'

The two sisters climbed back up and Cassy nodded slowly, Onoelle raising her arms defensively again. She motioned for her sister to go on the attack while she started sidestepping the pair, planning on attacking him from the sides.

'A very good choice. The proper counter to being surrounded by a multitude of enemies is to take out the ones in position, if possible, or to take out the weakest target first.' To highlight this he blitzed Cassy who screamed in panic and threw a punch that was badly aimed and uselessly bounced off him. Rather than punch the girl, which would cause excessive pain to her, he just gave her a solid but slow push against the centre of her balance. She stumbled back, taking half a dozen steps before finally falling over. Onoelle proved to be an attentive student and made use of him dealing with Cassy to launch her own attack. He could have sped up and dealt with it, but that would be unfair. Her attack was perfectly timed and although it came at the sacrifice of her sister, it was the right thing to do. So just as he turned she struck him full force in the jaw and he threw his head back rather than let her break her hand. She bit through the pain and followed up with two quick jabs to his side and as he was forced back she gave him a beautifully executed devastating kick, not holding back.

Training was called to a halt as the sheer impact of the violent move kicked in and Onoelle started hopping around on her good leg, shouting and cursing as she went. A few minutes later he reassured her that her foot wasn't damaged, but told her to rest. In turn he'd continue the fight with Cassy while she recovered, then switch again, then go against both once again. After the briefing. She gave him a mildly amused glance at his choice of words but didn't comment on it and instead let him tell in great detail what she had done right and in even greater detail what she had done wrong.

By the time they returned to the house with Cassy on his back and Onoelle in his arms, the concrete had already begun to harden and both sisters were thoroughly soaked in sweat, decently bruised, totally exhausted and thoroughly happy.