When we exit the jump, I’ve got my eyes on the Irrepressible’s external feed, projected into a small window in the corner of my HUD. One moment it’s total blackness. Then a flash of light, and I can see the enemy ship.

The Irrepressible was not designed to be aerodynamic. It didn’t need to be, because it doesn’t travel through air. But it does possess some superficial similarities to terrestrial air and seacraft. It’s hard not to incorporate those elements when they’re your primary design inspiration. There are no such similarities with the Andromedan warship. It’s a massive tessaracontagon, with forty triangular panels comprising the ship’s exterior. At a distance it could be mistaken for a giant ball, but the panels aren’t just a design choice. Many of them conceal gigantic carrier bays behind them, where hundreds of small, maneuverable fighter craft dwell. Others conceal the ship’s massive world-killer weapons, or its conventional armaments. Those are the ones that activate just moments after we emerge.

One such panel folds away, as the ship rotates so that panel faces us. Behind it is a prodigious array of missile tubes, directed energy weapons, and other such things. The Andromedans don’t hail us, or even wait to see if we’re hostile- they just fire.

I don’t have the luxury of waiting to see how that’ll play out. The ship we’re on has defenses of its own, and I’ve got a job to do. But I can’t do that job until my partner arrives. I close the feed, and lean against the wall, waiting.

Thankfully, Gilgamesh doesn’t keep me waiting for long. Unlike me, he isn’t wearing combat gear. Just his normal, casual wear. With a sword at his side. Apparently, that’s no ordinary sword, either. According to Machina, it’s Caliburn, the supposed sword of King Arthur, forged by a metahuman smith hundreds of years ago, and retrieved from obscurity by the Council’s leader upon his latest incarnation.

“Prepared?”

I have a hard time believing that he cares. But he did request that I accompany him on this boarding mission, and I doubt that he does anything without reason. At a guess, he’s testing me. And my response is a part of that test too.

“Of course.”

He nods grimly, and something tells me I’m passing. Gilgamesh doesn’t give the impression of being someone who cares about vulnerability. Even if I have my doubts, I know from experience that they’ll fall away once I go into combat.

Outside, I know that the initial engagement has started. Astro, the ship’s pilot, will be coordinating our defense, aided by Zero and Network. Lai won’t be leaving the ship unless something goes horribly wrong- her tech skills are of more use here. She programmed the algorithm that’s shooting down incoming enemy missiles, which requires reaction times faster than that of a human, but with her active assistance, there’s zero chance of any glitches or errors. As for Thorn, his countless bodies are this ship’s crew. I wouldn’t say it to Blake’s face, but I’m fairly certain Network is doing more work than he is right now.

Meanwhile, Pallas is engaging the enemy more directly. By now, the Andromedans will have scrambled their pilots and deployed fighter craft, which we’ll have to meet in kind. If she cut loose, Pallas could tear the entire enemy ship apart, but that would make capturing it pointless. Instead, she’ll be buying the boarding teams time, while doing her best not to overwhelm the enemy and make them trigger their self-destruct.

“Okay, kids, get in the pods.”

At Astro’s words, Gilgamesh and I enter our pods. Elsewhere, the other boarding teams will be doing the same. It’s not as easy as swinging across a short gap like we’re pirates, but capturing the enemy vessel would be virtually impossible if we couldn’t get aboard. If we could communicate, it might be possible, but the language barrier is too vast, and we don’t have the time to bridge it.

The boarding pods are designed to make for a maximally survivable experience. If launched alone, we’d be shot down before we got anywhere near the enemy ship. But the pods are coated in a radar-reflective material that makes them virtually invisible, and our launch will be accompanied by a hail of chaff, as well as a missile barrage. There’s virtually no chance we’ll be noticed amidst all of it, at least until it’s too late.

What the pods aren’t designed for is comfort. There’s very little space for Gilgamesh and I together. Before he steps in, he pulls something from his pocket and presses it to his chest. When his hand comes away, the object remains- a small metal hexagon with a red gem set into the center. The gem pulses faintly, and the hexagon seems to unfold in a way that defies physics, tiling itself across Gilgamesh’s body until it’s a full suit of armor. I suppose that explains why he isn’t wearing a vacuum suit, though I have no idea if he has an external oxygen supply or not. I can only assume it’s another of his ancient metahuman artifacts, just like the sword, which seems to have disappeared underneath the armor. I have no doubt he’ll be able to retrieve it when the time comes.

Once we’re both inside the pod, it seals behind us, and shifts into position for launch. There are two chairs, just far enough apart that our knees aren’t touching, and both Gilgamesh and I strap in. Thankfully, we won’t be going fast enough to require the drug cocktail that these chairs are equipped with. Even with the close distance between our ship and the enemy, it’s still something like a ten-minute trip.

“Team one is ready,” Gilgamesh asserts, more for Astro’s benefit than mine. Machina and Grendel both report their own readiness a moment later.

“Roger. Teams one and two, prepare for launch. Three... two... one.”

The pod makes one final shift, and then fires. I was assured beforehand that the process is eminently survivable, but that doesn’t mean it’s particularly pleasant. I can feel my bones rattling as the pod launches out of one of the Irrepressible’s missile tubes. Thankfully, once we’re out, the shaking subsides somewhat, and I manage to regain control of my stomach before its contents are regurgitated. Behind his expressionless silver faceplate, Gilgamesh betrays none of my nausea, but I can sense judgement radiating off of him, even though I don’t think my own mask shows just how queasy I feel.

Inside of the second pod is Grendel, let off the leash by Geas. He’ll have dosed himself by now, and his transformation into the monster that the world knew him as will be starting. The pod is too small to accommodate him after a full transformation, but we timed the process out in the planning session to make sure he’d be ready to go the moment he breached. His job will be to distract the Andromedans inside the ship, and divert the strongest of their forces, while Gilgamesh and I accomplish the real objective- identifying the ship’s self-destruct mechanism and disabling it. Once that’s done, team three will board, and we’ll take the ship.

The pod is silent save for the sound of my breathing, and it doesn’t look like Gil is willing to be the one that breaks it. I have a feeling he’s got no interest in small talk, but questions of a practical nature might be acceptable. Only one way to find out.

“Are you concerned about potential vacuum breaches? That suit doesn’t seem to have an external oxygen supply.”

My own armor was retrofitted to include one, over the back of my trenchcoat. The coat itself feels a little out of place in space, but I wouldn’t have enough space to carry all my gear without its manifold pockets. Weight was a consideration, so my oxygen tank isn’t too large, but it’s still got enough capacity to last for several uninterrupted hours, much more than I should need.

“No. The Myrmidon Armor doesn’t function like yours. When activated, it displaces my physical body, leaving only my consciousness behind to control it.”

Well, if nothing else, that explains why I haven’t heard him breathing. It’s hard to tell, mostly because the armor doesn’t have any visible openings, but there’s no reason to believe he’s lying. Shunting the wearer’s body elsewhere, but leaving their mind behind, sounds like something an ancient metahuman artifact might do. Gil doesn’t elaborate, and it seems prudent to leave it at that, lest he suspect me of trying to gather information on his potential weaknesses. Which I am.

Another minute passes, and I re-open the external video feed from the Irrepressible. It’s barely been five minutes, but all I see is chaos. The feed is full of Andromedan fighter craft, which I recognize from my participation in the defense effort during the invasion. They’re various symmetrical polygons, similar to the warship, albeit with far fewer panels. Obviously, it’s not like they’re swarming around like fighter jets, because that simply isn’t how space works. Unfortunately for them, nobody seems to have told Pallas, who is flying around like a hummingbird, while the Andromedan craft are subjecting themselves to high-g burns in order to barely keep up. Gladwin is showing off, switching powers every few seconds. She’ll crumple a ship around its pilot using telekinesis, then fire a concentrated energy beam to slice another one in half. Nothing she hasn’t shown off before, but it’s still undeniably impressive to watch.

Knowing a pitched battle is taking place outside, the silence feels strange. With a relatively close distance, at least by the standards of space, our missiles are being shot down, and the Andromedans are congratulating themselves on it. A burst of fire from one of their cannons could shred this pod, which isn’t an especially calming thought, but I have confidence in the plan. I’m not working with amateurs here. Armor or no, Gilgamesh wouldn’t have stepped into this pod if he wasn’t confident that it wouldn’t get shot down. Sure, he would just wake up in a new timeline, but considering all the work he’s put into this one, I have a feeling he’s in no hurry to do that.

“Impact imminent,” the pod informs us, in a vaguely feminine, digital voice. “Please brace.”

There isn’t exactly much room to brace in these cramped conditions, but I do my best. Gil doesn’t stir from his position. If there’s really no body inside his armor, he doesn’t have to worry about being rattled around like I do. The pod’s got shock absorbers and such to make impact less painful, but slamming into the hull of a warship isn’t exactly a comfortable experience.

With any luck, the Andromedans won’t have noticed us until the moment we made impact. We could have simply punched a hole in the ship, but that would have opened it up to vacuum, which we’re trying to avoid. Instead, the pod seals itself to the outside of the ship like a barnacle, before beginning to drill a hole, preventing any oxygen from escaping. If the pod is dislodged by a piece of stray debris, it would break the seal, but I’m sure the Andromedans have safety measures to prevent the entire ship from depressurizing instantly.

“Breaching,” says the pod, artificial voice reflecting none of the intensity of the situation. A moment later, the pod’s door irises open. We seem to have gotten relatively lucky in terms of our impact site, considering that it’s not a waste disposal chamber or something equally deadly. Instead, Gilgamesh and I find ourselves in some kind of ready room, where the Andromedan pilots look to be preparing for deployment.

I’ve heard descriptions of the Andromedans, seen photorealistic drawings, even gone over autopsy reports. But none of that prepared me fully for seeing them in person. They’re amphibious, with bodies that almost resemble overgrown tadpoles, but with six hind legs that they stand on like hexapedal velociraptors. Their finned tails stretch out behind the legs, shifting back and forth, perhaps helping them balance. Each one of them has four arms protruding from its upper body, closer to the forelimbs of a frog than a human, but with developed hands and fingers, though no visible thumbs. All of them that I can see have massive, lumpy protrusions on their backs, some with several large bulges, while others have clusters of dozens of smaller ones. Inside of those protrusions, I know from the autopsy reports, are their species’ young. The Andromedans are a single-sexed species that reproduces asexually, and once they reach maturity, it seems that they begin gestating young almost immediately, and continue to do so for the rest of their lives. An entire species in a state of permanent pregnancy. It’s little wonder they had to turn to expansionism- constant warfare helps thin the population herd, and conquering new territories means more space for people to live. They don’t exactly seem to have necks, their upper body transitions smoothly into the head, which is just as smooth and hairless as the rest of their bodies. They seem to have a singular, front-facing mouth, with no teeth, but nine eyes, arranged in triangular clusters of three on different sides of the head, giving them a full three-sixty degree view of the world at all times. Of course, they’re no more running around naked than we are. Their torsos are armored, though that armor doesn’t extend to their lumpy, irregularly shaped backs, which don’t seem to be a priority for protection, despite what you might expect. Their odd leg situation means they don’t exactly wear pants- instead, they seem to have some sort of garment that’s pulled over the tail and lower body, and then individual sleeves for each leg. A few of them are already wearing helmets, which seem to have three separate faceplates for their three eye clusters. Most aren’t armed, but a few draw their weapons, which seem to be designed to be held with two hands at once, leaving the other pair free.

While I’m still processing all of that, Gilgamesh is in motion. The sword is in his hand, though where exactly it came from, I’m unsure. He cleaves through one of the Andromedans with a single stroke, showering the immediate area with viscera and blue blood. I can’t tell exactly what their guns are firing- not bullets, but some sort of ballistic projectile -but they glance off of his armor, which the blood seems to have left not a single stain on. Gil’s whirlwind of violence captures most of their attention, but a few realize that he isn’t alone. They aren’t armed, but they are surprisingly fast on six legs, and I don’t want to find out how strong their four arms are the hard way. I draw Inquiry, my sidearm, and aim for the exposed flesh of the nearest one. Its specialized ammunition can pierce most body armor, but I don’t particularly feel like taking chances right now.

The Andromedan’s head explodes, more violently than I was expecting. Probably something to do with the fact that they’re amphibious- pressurized internals to help them survive in the water. Either way, it’s disgusting, but his compatriots don’t seem fazed. Given that a single Andromedan seems to give birth hundreds of times during its life, I can’t imagine they value individual lives anywhere near as highly as humans do. In a different context, that might have provoked some musings on the nature of this conflict, and the fact that I’m going to have to kill a lot of these people before the day is done, but I’ve got no time for philosophy at the moment.

Two more go down in quick succession before a third launches itself forward into a flying tackle, all four arms outstretched. Its weight knocks me back, and I register for a split second that there’s some sort of artificial gravity inside the ship, before focusing on more present concerns. The four-armed amphibian has my two arms pinned, while it grasps at my head with its spare limbs. It doesn’t seem to have a concept of strangulation, probably because its species doesn’t have necks. Instead, it seems to settle for trying to bash my skull in. Luckily, its upper body strength doesn’t seem to match up to its surprisingly well-muscled legs. I wrench one of my arms free fairly easily, and activate the hidden blade in my gauntlet, ramming it through the Andromedan’s head. Normally, I’d try to put it through the jaw or neck, because stabbing through bone isn’t easy, but they don’t exactly have jaws per se, and I don’t have the right angle to cut what passes for its throat. Luckily, their bones seem to be less dense than ours, because the blade goes right through, and I feel the alien go limp. Its beady black eyes don’t have any light in them to go out, but I do detect something resembling fear as its grip slackens. I roll it off of me and get back on my feet swiftly, to find that Gilgamesh has cleared out the rest of the room. There’s blue blood everywhere, plenty of it on me, but neither his sword nor his armor appear to have been dirtied in the slightest.

“Let’s go.”

I follow him wordlessly, doing my best to keep hold of the calm that I feel during combat. Apparently, Gil has some idea of where the ship’s self-destruct device is located, having been inside of one before. It can’t have been during the invasion, which means he’s probably drawing on memories from a past timeline. Nobody asked him for details during the strategy session, and I don’t particularly feel like trying to extract any from him right now.

Exactly how the Andromedans have gravity inside of their ship, I’m not sure. The more I think about it, though, it makes sense. They’re amphibians, and given how short their gestation cycles seem to be, it stands to reason they’d need a place to spawn even during a campaign. That means they need water, and water is difficult to work with in zero-g. Depending on their internals, it’s possible they simply can’t survive without gravity for extended periods. More relevantly, if they have a spawning ground of some sort on this ship, it could mean we’ll be facing stiffer resistance than anticipated. They were trapped in subspace for years, which means they would have had a population surplus and no way to thin it out. On the other hand, considering how little they seem to value individual life, it’s possible they conduct regular cullings to keep the ship’s population within acceptable bounds. Or maybe their lifespans are short enough that it doesn’t matter. With any luck, most of their attention will be on Grendel, tearing his way through the ship, while Gilgamesh and I can do our job.

The ceilings in the ship’s corridors are slightly higher than the ones on the Irrepressible, probably because an Andromedan is about seven feet tall at full height. However, thanks to their permanently swollen backs, they stand at about eye level with humans most times. There’s also a film of fluid on just about every surface, which is pretty disgusting, but I suppose humans leave body oils on almost everything we touch, and simply don’t notice it. With the artificial gravity in play, the ship is arranged in a fairly linear fashion, with distinct floors. We breached in just about the center of the ship, and according to Gil, the device we’re looking to disable is near the very bottom. He moves with total confidence, as if he knows every inch of the ship, despite its size. Something tells me he hasn’t just been on one of these cruisers before- he’s lived here. Either he’s successfully captured one before, or he lived through a timeline where the Andromedans successfully enslaved the Earth, and he ended up stuck on one of these ships for long enough to learn its layout.

Alarms are ringing of course, though not the sort that I’m used to. It’s a low-pitched sort of pulse, one more calibrated to Andromedan ears. However, we aren’t being swarmed with guards, which tells me the diversion is working. Besides, most of the crew is probably concerned with the battle happening outside.

Gil and I arrive at what looks to be an elevator, and he presses a button nearby to summon it. Rather than simple metal doors, we’re waiting by a large glass tube. A few moments after he presses the button, the lift arrives- a glass sphere half-full with water. There are two Andromedans inside, who seem to be in conversation, though I have no idea what they’re saying- their language seems to consist of low, throaty warbles, which makes sense for a species that needs to communicate underwater as well as in air. They freeze when they see us, and I train my gun on them, but don’t fire, hesitant to break the glass and potentially the elevator too. When the sphere opens, bottom half remaining in place to keep the water from spilling, Gilgamesh grabs one by a fold of flesh and yanks him out, dashing him against the far wall with enough force to burst him like a water balloon. Before I can do anything about the other, he splits the creature open with his sword and pulls him out as well.

Seemingly unconcerned with the blue blood and alien viscera contaminating the water, Gil steps into the now-empty elevator, and I follow. The water only reaches up to about my knees, but I take the opportunity to wash off some of the blood already staining my suit. Black is a good color to hide human blood, but the Andromedans bleed bright, and I don’t want to look like I’ve been the victim of a spray-paint bomb when I return to the rest of the Council.

There are no visible wires connecting the sphere to anything, but it seems to move faster than most elevators I’ve ever been in. We descend past several dozen floors in the span of a few seconds, and then slow to a smooth stop.

“Won’t go any further,” Gilgamesh informs me. “We’ve got a few floors to go, and the device is under heavy guard during situations like this.”

He clearly doesn’t like having to explain himself, so I don’t ask for more details, just follow him out of the elevator and into the lower levels of the Andromedan warship. Whatever language the signage is written in, it’s not one I can even begin to read, but the environment alone gives me a good idea of where we are. This is the maintenance sector, where the ship’s most important functions are relegated. Water filtration, oxygen recycling, waste disposal, and the reactor. The obvious place to put the self-destruct failsafe, but also one of the hardest places to find it. That is, unless you’ve got a guide who knows the way.

Down here, the corridors are narrower, but still wide enough that Gilgamesh and I could walk side by side if we wanted. He doesn’t give me the chance, keeping a swift pace, and I hurry to follow. Unfortunately, we don’t get far before the opposition makes their first real appearance. The Andromedans we killed earlier were pilots and crewmembers, but they’ll have stationed their toughest security crews down here, to protect the failsafe at all costs. Gil rounds a corner, and a moment later, he’s thrown back against the wall like he just took a punch from a silverback. I poke my head out to see what hit him, and spot a fully-armored Andromedan holding a massive gun that appears to require all four arms to operate. Its barrel is burning bright red and radiating heat, which tells me it’s a directed energy weapon, just not one that has a visible beam when fired. It must pack a serious punch to have thrown Gilgamesh off his feet, but that means it won’t be able to fire again immediately. I hope.

Rather than find out, I toss a grenade down the hallway. The Andromedan skitters backwards awkwardly, its legs making the process somewhat difficult, but there’s no explosion. Bullets are one thing, but it would be foolish to start chucking around explosives inside of a spacecraft. Instead, it deploys a thick smoke that fills the hallway. Gilgamesh gets back on his feet and steadies himself against the wall for a second, before straightening. If there’s no body inside his armor, he probably doesn’t feel pain, but his senses are still present, which means he can feel disorientation.

“Their eyes are different, it can still see--”

I hear a humming sound that I’d mistaken for ambient noise before, informing me that the energy weapon is charging up for another shot, but before Gil can finish, I reach out and fire a small jolt of electricity from one of my gauntlet’s fingertips. It touches the edge of the smoke cloud, which conducts it instantly, lighting the whole thing up for a moment. Seconds later, the hallway is clear, with the electric charge having dispelled the cloud, and the Andromedan is face-down, flesh sizzling slightly.

Gilgamesh gives me a fractional nod, and then continues down the corridor, putting his foot through the energy weapon as he passes the corpse by. I continue after him, making a mental note of the fact that Andromedans have a different vision spectrum to us, and that they’re vulnerable to electricity.

The Andromedans don’t exactly shout, but there is plenty of nuance to their strange, throaty language. The way their speech seems to echo suggests that the ship’s interiors are designed to conduct their voices more effectively, much like they might travel underwater. They also seem to have trouble walking backwards, because of their anatomical quirks, which is probably why their hallways are so wide, to make turning around easier. What they lack in backwards movement, however, they more than make up for in the other direction. Their six legs are well-developed, allowing them to gallop in a manner similar to that of a horse, with the front two legs possessing some sort of claws that help them brake and slow down. I’m sure they move more gracefully underwater, but it’s still impressive.

All of these things I learn in fairly quick succession, as a whole squad of what look to be shock troops pour into the hallway. We still haven’t even gotten down to the next floor, which doesn’t bode well. These guys may just be here to slow our advance, and buy the team at the bottom time to prepare a stronger defense. Not a bad plan, but given what they’re up against, I don’t know that it’ll succeed. Gilgamesh advances on the squadron, and as they open fire, I see the bullets arc towards him, even those that seem to have been aimed at me. Rather than simply breaking, they stick to the armor’s surface, giving me a better look. They seem longer than normal bullets, almost closer to flechettes, with visible barbs on the sides. Perhaps they developed harpoons before guns, and even their normal firearms are still ultimately based on that technology? Either way, it seems incapable of even scratching Gil’s armor.

Rather than start swinging his sword around, he just keeps walking, pushing past the first soldiers and into the center of the group. They back up as best they can and continue to fire, but he makes no move to resist. Then, when nearly his entire body is coated in bullets, he slams a fist into his open palm, and the accumulated projectiles fire outwards at once, shredding the entire squad in an instant. It’s incredibly gruesome, somehow worse than the bodies he left behind when he was using Caliburn. Armor and flesh alike is stripped away, and the walls are painted blue, while other fluids begin to leak out of the corpses and down the hallway towards me. Gilgamesh doesn’t even look back, just keeps walking, and I try to avoid stepping in anything too disgusting as I follow.

We don’t encounter any more trouble for the rest of the floor, which turns out to be a fairly short distance before we reach a set of stairs. Of course, stairs designed for humans would be virtually impossible for an Andromedan to use. Instead, what they have is a series of low ramps that seem much easier for a hexapedal species to use. There’s no doorway or even a stairwell, the hallway just starts to slant downwards, and then end with a sharp corner leading back in the other direction, with another ramp that eventually evens out into a flat hallway. We passed a few doorways in the previous hall, but none of them opened, and Gilgamesh seemed to consider them unimportant. However, we only get a few yards down the next, seemingly empty hallway before one door bursts open, and a lone Andromedan charges out.

As far as anybody know, the Andromedan don’t have metahumans of their own- or metandromedans. However, they do have some sort of gene therapy or bioengineering program, something the Council figured out from studying corpses retrieved during the invasion. The pilots all seemed to have been modified somehow to help them sustain high-gravity burns during combat, while the small handful of ordinary crew members that weren’t totally obliterated when the cruisers self-destructed lacked those changes. The modifications weren’t extensive, which made some sense- you’d get diminishing returns very quickly if you invested too much in survivability, considering how often new Andromedans are born. However, building better pilots clearly isn’t the only thing they’ve used that technology for.

The Andromedan that attacks Gil is huge. He’s a few inches taller than the others that I’ve seen, but the real difference is in his bulk. He’s easily a hundred and fifty pounds heavier than the others, if not more, and it looks to be pure muscle. His arms are beefier, but the real difference is in the chest, which has the thickness of a barrel even without the heavy armor he’s wearing, and the legs, which look like they’d be capable of caving in my chest, if I wasn’t wearing armor of my own. The most striking difference, however, is the lack of bulging protrusions on his back. It seems that this specimen is sterile. For humans, that would be a high price to pay, but I’m sure the Andromedan scientists saw it as an unambiguous benefit. In fact, I can’t help but wonder why we haven’t seen more of these sterile super-soldiers. Perhaps they’re too expensive to mass-produce, or maybe the ones on this ship were dispatched to deal with Grendel instead of us.

Thankfully, the hulking warrior doesn’t go after me. Instead, he slams Gilgamesh against a wall, pinning his arms with all four of his hands. Then he rears up on his back four feet and starts kicking with the front two, trying to make a dent in Gil’s suit. The Andromedans’ arms aren’t terribly long, which means Gil is within close enough range to deliver a headbutt. It shatters the front-facing plate of the soldier’s helmet, but having glass in his eyes doesn’t even seem to slow him down. I put three rounds in him, but this guy seems hardier than the rest. Whether it’s his armor, skin made to be tougher than average, or just incredible pain tolerance, he barely reacts to the attack. Gil can’t reach his sword, so he’s essentially stuck for the moment, even if the Andromedan isn’t making much progress trying to kill him. I’m sure Gil could break free if he wanted, but he’s in no real danger, which means he’s taking the opportunity to test me.

Extending a gauntlet blade, I make a swipe at his back legs, carving deep gashes in the two nearest me. For the first time, the super-soldier takes notice of me, and lets go of Gil’s arm with one hand, clocking me across the face. He’s stronger than the others I tangled with, but still only about as strong as a fit human. I’ve taken much harder hits. Before he can grab Gil’s again, I catch the hand and bend it backwards. He doesn’t flinch, even as I twist his joint far past the point where a human arm would break. Again, difficult to tell if he’s more flexible, or simply doesn’t feel pain. Finally, I give up and jam my blade into his upper arm, swiftly sawing through bone until it comes off entirely. Only then does he seem to consider me a real threat, and tossing Gilgamesh aside, turns to face me fully. Rather than let him repeat the same tackle move, which I’m sure I’d have a harder time surviving, I perform a standing backflip, taking advantage of the slightly lower gravity to put some distance between him and me. He gears up for another charge, only to stumble, the legs I cut open failing him.

Not about to ignore an opening, I shoot him again, this time aiming squarely for the head. It doesn’t quite burst like the others did, but I do leave a pair of large holes in his skull. Unexpectedly, he doesn't seem willing to die quite yet. A moment too late, I realize that his brain might not have actually been inside his skull. That, or he doesn’t have just one. Either way, he continues forward slowly but steadily, even as I perforate his torso at random, hoping I’ll hit something vital eventually. After that fails to yield results, I switch to the legs instead, and shoot them out from under him. Even if he feels no pain, he won’t be able to walk without those, and after a few moments trying to drag himself towards me, he finally expires.

“Keep moving.”

I’m hardly desperate for validation from anyone, much less Gilgamesh in particular, but his stolid refusal to even acknowledge my efforts is beginning to feel deliberate. Indifference I could deal with, but something about the way he’s treating me feels almost contemptuous. Maybe I’m projecting too much onto his expressionless faceplate. There’s no time to dwell on it. Gil keeps walking, and so do I.

More soldiers, unenhanced, approach from the other end of the hall. They can’t expect their weapons to do anything against Gilgamesh, and I don’t think they’d pose much of a threat to me either, but they do clearly hope to slow us down. Gil pauses for a moment, and points his sword in their direction. After a second, it starts to hum, and when he opens his hand, it launches forth like a bullet, impaling half the enemy force in an instant. He draws his hand back and it returns, eliminating the rest- yet when he catches it by the hilt, there isn’t a drop of blood on the blade.

The bodies are too large and numerous to step over, so we’re forced to tread upon them as we continue to the next floor. Some of the doors we’ve walked past seem to lead to other hallways, but Gil ignores them completely. Making the path to the failsafe so linear seems counterintuitive, but a circuitous route would make it easier for saboteurs to slip through. A single, straight line means the enemy has no choice but to go through every line of defense that the Andromedans can put up. So far that hasn’t been much of a problem, but the rest of the team won’t be able to hold out forever. If they try to stall for too long, they’ll be overwhelmed, and if Pallas starts to truly cut loose, it could make the Andromedans activate the failsafe. If we take too long disarming the device, it’s possible they’ll do so anyway, but I don’t think Gilgamesh will let it come to that.

No enemies appear on the next floor, but Gilgamesh puts up a fist, indicating that I should stop. He starts down the hall, and a moment later, liquid nitrogen begins to spray down from the ceiling. It slides harmlessly off of the surface of his armor, but I’d be in real trouble if any of it touched me. Luckily, the hidden sprayers, which I doubt I’d have noticed on my own, are now exposed, meaning I can shoot them down one at a time, while Gil simply continues forward unfazed. Part of me is worried that shooting the sprayers will just make the nitrogen pour out faster, but the flow cuts off quickly, probably because a full-on leak would cause problems for the Andromedans as well as us. Just as soon as that’s dealt with, gas starts to pump into the hallway. Luckily, my suit’s integrity is still at a hundred percent, meaning I’m safe breathing in my own oxygen supply, while Gilgamesh doesn’t have to worry about it at all. I do wonder whether the gas would be toxic to me, considering the differences in human and Andromedan biology, but I’d rather not find out. Besides, we come from worlds with similar climate conditions and environments, which means we probably share a lot of chemical vulnerabilities.

The next wave of Andromedans are wearing what look to be gas masks, which extend down to their thick neck areas, maybe to cover gills of some sort, though I haven’t noticed any yet. Maybe they seal up outside of water. They don’t seem to have noses, or even protruding ears, though they can obviously hear somehow. Either out of flash tricks, or simply not willing to show me any more of them, Gilgamesh simply cuts through them with ease, before I can fire a single shot.

“One more floor,” he informs me. We descend down another ramp, and find ourselves in a hallway with just one door, at the very far end. In between that door and us is a large turret, with ‘legs’ attached to both the floor and ceiling, sporting a powerful-looking cannon that immediately swivels to face us. Gil immediately starts towards it, but I put a hand on his armored shoulder. He looks back, faceplate unreadable, and I draw the hand away.

“I’ll deal with it.”

As soon as I speak, the turret opens fire. However, that fire is directed at Gilgamesh, not me, for one simple reason- my digital cloak is active. I’m invisible to its digital eyes. As Gil watches, unconcerned with the ceaseless barrage of bullets pinging against his armor, I approach, careful not to stray too close to the line of fire. Activating my helmet’s thermal cam, I look past the turret, towards the door, and spot a significant heat signature- three, maybe four of the roided-up brutes that we dealt with before. Instead of simply disabling the turret, I position myself behind it, and wrench it around towards the door. The hail of bullets knocks it off its hinges, and shreds one of the brutes instantly. As I’d hoped, it’s not exactly a ‘smart’ turret- it’ll fire on any movement it detects, including friendlies. The other super-soldiers have the sense no to charge into danger, but I angle the turret to fire through the walls instead, and don’t stop until I see the heat signatures begin to fade.

Once that’s done, I locate the movement sensor and smash it, before shooting off the gun emplacement’s legs and letting it fall to the floor, blind and useless. Gilgamesh walks past, not even looking my way, and proceeds into the final room.

By the time I catch up with him, the technicians inside the room are already dead. Gil is standing in front of a console of some sort, clearly made for Andromedan hands rather than human ones, which is positioned before a massive metal sphere. That, I presume, is the self-destruct mechanism. Which is to say, the ship’s reactor. The failsafe itself is somewhere inside, and Gil’s job is to disable it, ideally without accidentally setting it off, which will detonate the reactor and lay waste to the entire ship, as well as us. Or at least me.

Besides that, there are a few computer banks that show technical readouts, which I mostly recognize from the charts showing power fluctuations. The notation is alien, but numbers are universal even if language isn’t. If we manage to translate their language, it’ll probably be using those as a baseline. Not really my concern at the moment though.

“Reinforcements will be coming,” Gilgamesh informs me tersely. “Hold them off, but don’t wipe them out before I finish disarming the mechanism, or the ship’s commander will cut his losses and take us with him.”

I’m flattered that he thinks I’ll have to hold back to avoid slaughtering an entire enemy squadron, but before I can say anything to that effect, he gets to work. Just as he said, I can hear more Andromedans approaching, their squad leaders issuing warbling commands that echo down the halls. Slowing them down seems to be the name of the game, so I toss a tanglewire grenade out into the hallway, which fires out a web of monofilament cords, tense enough to slice open anyone who runs into them too quickly. After that, all I have time for is to toss out some magnetic mines, packing a lethal electrical charge rather than explosives, and find cover behind one of the computer banks.

Consistent with my expectations, the enemy charges right into my tanglewire trap, and from what I can see, at least two get the first haircuts of their lives, starting at the neck. Others manage to stop short of that, but a handful of hands, arms, and forelegs are lost. Trading their guns for what look to be machetes, they start to hack at the wire, only to find that it’s almost impossible to break that way. Instead, their blades are what get broken. Then a particularly clever one realizes that the wires can be broken if you push at them slowly, rather than quickly. After that, it doesn’t take long for them to advance. Once they’re a little closer, I lean out from behind cover and take a few potshots. Clustered together as they are, it’s almost impossible for me to miss, but their armor does seem to provide some protection. If we’d fought a ground war with them, I can’t imagine it would go well for humanity. However, I’m not using standard ammunition- Inquiry packs tungsten penetrator rounds. The same kind used in anti-tank weaponry. If I kept firing, I’d be able to bring them all down eventually. That’s not my objective, though. I just need to buy Gilgamesh time. When the Andromedans return fire, I retreat behind the computer bank, and then switch to a different spot as their flechettes start to punch through. I don’t particularly want to find out whether they can pierce my armor, too- I just hope they haven’t left too many holes in my trenchcoat.

As the Andromedans enter the room, I look upwards, and fire my grapnel gun at the ceiling. There’s plenty of sturdy metal scaffolding up there, probably to help support the massive reactor, but it’ll provide a vantage point for me as well. The enemy unit advances slowly, guns trained on Gil, but none of them open fire, wisely concerned with the potential consequences of striking the reactor by mistake. Then one of them makes a false move and triggers one of my mines. Each one contains a powerful electric current, more than capable of stopping a human heart. I wasn’t entirely confident that it would be sufficient to put an Andromedan down, but after my electric smoke trick earlier, I have no doubts. The film of slime they secrete seems to be conductive, which can’t help.

To their credit, the rest of the Andromedans proceed much more carefully after that, identifying two of the mines before they trigger, and avoiding them. What they don’t do, however, is look up. Without the range of motion in the neck that humans have, Andromedans can’t exactly tilt their heads upward. The positioning of their eyes gives them a wider cone of vision than humans, but I’m counting on them still having a blind spot directly above them- and it seems like I’m right. Once I make a move, they’ll all know where I am, so I can’t waste my shot.

One aspect of Andromedan biology we don’t know much about is their sense of hearing. Their language is low and deep, which suggests things about their vocal range, but we don’t know what their hearing range is. Some amphibians are capable of regulating pressure differentials in their inner ears in order to make loud noises without hurting themselves, but the Andromedans aren’t particularly loud- quite the opposite, really.

“Execute Symphony.”

At least one of the soldiers hears me, and turns to point his weapon in my direction, but I’m already descending into the center of their formation. Symphony activates a moment later, my suit’s hidden speakers blasting over a hundred and eight decibels directly at them. The result is... not what I’d hoped for. Humans tend to react by clapping their hands to their ears and screaming in pain. The Andromedans react more like I’m playing a dog whistle- annoying, but not exactly painful. If Gilgamesh reacts at all, I don’t see it.

Not exactly the coup de grace I’d hoped for. Fine. Taking them out all at once might have been a problem in itself. I’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way. The soldier nearest to me looks ready to fire, so I make sure he doesn’t get the chance, firing a round into his chest at point-blank. Something strikes the back of my head, hard- the butt of a rifle. These guys might not have a ton of upper body strength, but that matters less when you’ve got a heavy metal bludgeon to swing around. My fist connects with the frontal visor of his helmet, shattering it, before I activate the hidden blade and let it stab into his skull. Remembering the way that the brute from earlier survived two direct shots to the head, I twist the blade and drag it down until I’ve effectively cut the Andromedan’s face in half. Some pointless part of my brain registers that I’ve started calling them by male pronouns, despite their being a genderless species, and I shut it up swiftly.

Andromedan rifles are, in a word, alien. They’re designed for use with two hands, but not like a human gun might be. Instead, they seem to require two hands on the same side of your body to hold properly. Still, they aren’t completely useless to me. Holstering Inquiry, I grab one up off the ground, surprised for a second at how light it is, and point it in the direction of the nearest enemy, before squeezing what I’m fairly certain is the trigger. It’s unwieldy, with recoil that’s probably much easier to brace against if you’ve got as many arms as an Andromedan, but difficult for a poor old human like me. Still, I manage to ventilate the alien, before releasing the trigger and hurling the gun at his closest friend.

“How much longer?”

My voice is a little more ragged than expected as I shout out to Gilgamesh. His voice is perfectly steady as he replies.

“Three minutes.”

I can work with that. These squads seem to have twelve total members, and between my traps and this skirmish, I’ve already dealt with half that number. Problem is, the remaining ones are some distance away, and I have a feeling they aren’t going to try and fight me hand-to-hand. Activating my hard-light shield, I absorb the gunfire for a second, before tossing a flashbang out from behind it. Their vision is different enough to see through smoke, but that can be a vulnerability, too, the same way a flash of bright light will blind someone wearing night vision goggles. The gunfire ceases a second later, and I grapple back up into the scaffolding. Of course, they’ll be wise to this trick by now, and once their vision clears, I won’t have long before they start shooting again. Taking a second to shut off the suit’s speakers, I run through a dwindling list of options. Shooting and stabbing has worked fine so far, but blades can break and guns can run out of ammo. Having to reload in the middle of a firefight can be a death sentence.

Keeping a firm grip on the scaffolding with one hand, I aim the grapnel gun downwards, and fire it at one of the Andromedan soldiers. He’s heavier than me, so it doesn’t reel him up quite as fast, but I don’t need him for long. Taking a device from my utility belt, I jam the sharp end into his unprotected neck area, ignoring the blue blood that spurts out, and then cut him loose. He falls to the ground with a wet thud, immediately drawing the attention of his team, whose sight seems to be returning. A second later, the bombs I stuck him with detonate, splattering them with his insides. The payload is almost nothing, certainly not enough to break open the hull of a ship like this, but using explosives close to the reactor is still a risk. None of the others are hurt, save for one who receives a small shard of bone in the leg, but that wasn’t the point. Watching a friend or a squadmate explode in front of you is terrifying, and that’s exactly how I want them- terrified.

Activating my shield, I drop back down, knocking one of the Andromedans beneath me to the floor. The protrusions on his back writhe with my weight upon them, and I do my best to block out all knowledge of what’s inside, as I use the shield to messily separate the soldier’s head from his shoulders. He claws weakly at the ground, trying to drag himself away, until he’s dead. The aliens are so unlike humans that it’s easy to depersonalize them, but every so often, they’ll do something recognizably person-like that it gives me a moment’s discomfort. I can’t spare even a second to interrogate it, though- already, his remaining friends are firing at me. The shield takes care of most of it, but it’s not perfect- sustained fire will take it down eventually.

“Done?”

“Almost,” Gilgamesh affirms. There isn’t time for any more detailed communication than that, meaning I have to figure out if he means I can finish the last four off or not. My HUD says that Inquiry has exactly four rounds left in the magazine. That means I don’t have much of a choice.

A well-placed shot eliminates one more, the insides of its skull pouring out of the hole in its helmet. At the same time, my shield starts to crack, indicating it’s almost out of power. There’s no solid cover remaining, and if I go for my grapnel gun, it’ll mean dropping the shield. Out of options, I keep firing, but my first shot strikes the soldier in the chest rather than the head. My next one is on-target, but it doesn’t matter. Two left, one bullet.

My shield goes down. I empty the last round into the penultimate Andromedan’s head. A second later, his friend’s first shot catches me in the chest. Thankfully, my armor holds. Then comes the second one, and the third. I’ve been shot dead-on before, and it usually hurt much worse, which I assume is because these guns are firing flechettes rather than proper bullets, but it’s not exactly painless. Even from my kneeling position, foot still planted on the now-headless soldier’s back, I won’t be able to move without sustaining another few hits, and any one of them could be the one that pierces my armor, or finds some weakness I’m not even aware of. The same goes for grabbing any of my remaining weapons. Before I can decide what option gives me the best chance of survival, Gilgamesh chooses for me. His sword lodges itself in the Andromedan’s skull so quickly that it almost seems to have teleported inside. When I look over to him, he’s already got it back in his hand.

“Blake, we’re done here. Team three is clear to deploy.”

Without sparing me a word or a glance, Gilgamesh strides out of the room, leaving the last soldier’s body to slump over a second later.