“We’re on our approach.” Chief Rowan said. “When we land, all non medical personnel will need to stay well clear of the proceedings. We’re on an advanced status right now.”

“Understood.” Martin said, tapping Benson on the shoulder. The pilot had fallen asleep almost once when the medical ship had taken off, despite how bumpy the ride had been in some parts. He had woken up long enough to eat, drink, and ask about the ETA, then had promptly fallen into slumber again. When his eyes opened, it was like he had never been asleep at all. When the doors open it took less than a minute for the medical personnel to disembark, and Benson led Martin off well away from the opening cargo hatch with the practiced ease of someone who had indeed been an aid before.

“Done this before, Benson?”

“I’ve been in a lot of situations that don’t require a pilot or distressed higher ups. Not needed, not wanted, still got to be there.”

Martin nodded, watching the CMTs get offloaded, the large cylinders getting whisked away down a nearby hall. He looked for the station personnel among the medics and navy uniforms, but they were all milling together as a single mass of bodies.

It would be easier for Natalie to find him, than him to find her, Martin thought. It wasn’t a comforting thought, but it was what he had.

“Commander Ziggenbor.” Martin turned to see a woman standing there. “I’m medical officer Captain Henderson, I’ve been assigned to keep you informed on Sergeant Valentine and Sergeant Ziggenbor’s condition. Sergeant Ziggenbor is family?”

“Younger brother.” She took it down and turned to Benson. “My aid.” Martin supplied, and she took that down too. “Please thank Chief Rowan for me.”

While still looking at her tablet, Henderson smiled. “I don’t know who that is, sir. It was Colonel Vance who approved my assignment on request of Admiral Neerson.”

“Well, there it is.” Benson muttered. “The least surprising thing I’ll hear all day.”

“I doubt I’ll be seeing either of them except in passing, but if I do I’ll pass on your message.”

“Thank you. Do you have any news on the Sergeants?”

“Valentine is critical but stable, with NLTI, and Ziggenbor is critical with severe trauma and LTI, questionable survival and recovery.” The words sounded as though they were coming out of a machine. “But there’s a reason that they brought them here. You’ve been assigned quarters, if you’ll follow me.”

They did, and as they went Martin moved up to stand by her. “Are you stationed here at the EMAR, Captain?”

“I am, though not as part of the RAE corps. Medical only.”

“Are you able to get a message to one of the individuals stationed here?”

“That’s why I’m with you, commander, but if you're referring to Natalie Sanderson I have a feeling she’s going to be tied up for a while. Neerson again.” She said in response to his raised eyebrows. “He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies, it seems.”

More like his hands on a lot of puppet strings, Martin thought to himself. They were shown the mess hall, officers lounge, physical training center, and observation room. Henderson paused on the last. “I don’t know if they’ll authorize family or leadership to observe the recovery procedures or if they’re going to keep it under wraps. In the event that there are observation hours, you’ll be alerted to them.”

Two more hallways later and they’d arrived at their quarters. It was a large affair, two beds, one latrine, and a kitchenette with a medium sized table. They dropped their packs and Henderson indicated another, smaller table with a small terminal. “All non essential information will be uploaded silently, anything important will come with a persistent alert, to both the terminal and the tablet. The tablet has your standard station map and hailing capabilities. I’m two doors down, and the first address in the contact list. Do you need anything at the moment?”

“Food.” Benson said at once.

Henderson tapped her tablet a few times and nodded. “Anything else?”

Martin shook his head.

“I’d recommend some rest.” She said. “It’s going to be a bit.” Then she turned and left the two men alone.

“I take it back.” Benson said, pointing after her. “That. That was the least surprising thing I’ve heard all day.” He dropped his back and started fishing through it. “Here.” He tossed Martin a compressed roll. “Might be a bit short in the ankles, tall fucker that you are, but it’ll get you out of that uniform for a while.” Then he walked to the shower, stripped, and bathed. When he returned, a towel wrapped around him, Martin was still standing there, staring at the wall.

“Hey,” Benson said, going to stand in front of the other man. “Commander. Zig. Look at me.”

Martin did.

“I didn’t know this aid thing was going to be literal.” He said. “But you gotta get out of that uniform, you’ve got to wash your asscrack, eat some food, play some cards. You’ve got to do normal people shit for the time being. Don’t mourn the living.”

“It’s my little brother.”

“Yeah,” Benson said. “I know, and he’s not dead yet. And there isn’t a fucking thing that you can do about whether or not he’s gonna pull through, so do normal people shit for right now.”

When Martin still didn’t move, Benson snatched the rolled and compressed clothes back and thwacked Martin on the side of the head with it. Martin started, and his eyes snapped around to Benson, who flipped the roll back to him. “You wouldn’t be the first to outrank me that I shucked out of his uniform and forced to wash. I usually got a few more hands, but I’ll make do. If nothing else, you smell like a dead dog’s asshole, and I don’t want to smell your stink. Go. Fucking. Shower.” The two men stared at each other before Martin added. “Sir.”

Sighing, Martin turned and obeyed. The shower was hot and refreshing, better than the amenities on the ship, any ship, he had been on. As he stood there he tried to heed Benson’s words. He had a point, and Martin knew it because it was advice he had heard before. Advice he had given. Crisis training, standard stuff that every uniformed military member got, and that every one of them hoped they would never need.

When he finished, Benson was dressed in casual clothes and sitting at the table with a plate of half eaten food and a deck of cards in his hand he was shuffling. “Sit.” He said. “Eat.”

Martin obeyed, and Benson dealt. “I guess everyone with boots on their feet plays this, then?”

“Used to be spades a few hundred years ago.” Benson said. “Hard to find two folks who agree on the rules to that one anymore, though.”

They played three hands, and Benson swept. Then he cleaned the table and pointed to the bed. It was the first thing Martin did willingly. It felt as though he had been asleep for only moments before he came to, Benson calling his name. The Captain was standing over the terminal, but he stared at Martin.

“What?”

“Your grandmother was Jade Ziggenbor.”

“Yeah.”

Benson straightened and shook his head. “Not that common of a name, but I never put that together. Damn.”

“Why?”

“She’s the one that made me want to be a pilot.” He said. “Also there’s someone at the door.”

“Do you know who?”

“A senator, it says. Family by the name, there’s a lot of you fuckers floating around aren’t there. That’s when I put it together, about Jadefire.”

Martin leaped up and crossed the room to the door. There stood Matthias Ziggenbor, Senator for the RMS Outside Citadel, stood in the doorway, and that feeling that washes over every man when he sees his big brother hit Martin like a ton of bricks. He didn’t fling himself into Martin’s arms and cry on his shoulder, like he wanted to, but rather stood there for a heartbeat, and exchanged their usual greeting. “Senator.”

“Commander.” Matt said, stepping into the room. “How’s the Staff Sergeant?”

“Sergeant First Class, now.” Martin said, closing the door. “And in the same shape as the last time you heard.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah,” Benson said. “We’ve been here, and nothing has come through.”

“Who’s this?”

“Crew Benson.” Martin said, and the two men shook hands. “Army captain, and a damn good pilot.”

“One of those things is more important than the other, I’ll let you figure out which, Senator.”

“Please, call me Matt here.”

“No quippy nickname?”

Martin smiled. “You’re not there yet.”

“I came as soon as you sent word. It wouldn’t have been retroactively authorized otherwise.” Matt said.

“Alot going on in the W?”

“A lot of talk.” Matt rubbed his nose. “But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. Have you talked to her yet?” His eyes shifted to Benson.

“Not clued in, but doesn’t matter. No, I haven’t, Henderson said she would be tied up for the time being with… well with everything going on.”

“Captain type, helpful woman?”

“I’m sure she didn’t go through medical school to help idiots like you and me run around in the EMAR, but yes. Did you get any big boy senator information on the way in?”

“This is the EMAR.” Matt said. “They don’t have to tell anyone anything they don’t want to, unless they’re sitting in one of three chairs or floating around in one of nine ships. I got, presumably, the same information as you, an orientation of the station wing and this stupid fucking comlink,” he held it up. “That has nothing loaded onto it.”

“Give.” Benson said, and Matt tossed him the comlink.

“Hopefully we’ll hear something soon?”

“Oh, no doubt.” Martin said. “But this is the military. We likely won’t hear anything useful for a good long while.”

“Sounds like politics.” Matt grimaced. “Even in this situation?”

“You said it yourself, this is the EMAR.”

“Yes, but…” Matt huffed out a breath. “Damnit, Martin, we’re his brothers.”

“You’re asking questions you’ve already given me the answers to.” Martin said. “If Neil were here he’d be cursing you for using too many words.”

“I’m sure he’d find something else too.” Matt sat in one of the chairs.

“Here.” Benson said, tossing Matt the comlink. “You’ve got everything we’ve got now.”

“Are you allowed to do that?”

“I was recruited into the RAE corps early, cyber division, but lacked the quality of wanting to spend every damn waking moment staring at screens trying to crack my way through security walls. I washed out, but got snapped up to fly freighters.”

“What happened there?”

“Washed out of that too because I liked to go fast.” He sighed. “Now I’ve been flying mainly extraction and insertion missions, which requires staring at screens and flying slow and deliberate, of course.”

Martin couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad for that.”

A ping came at the terminal and Benson glanced down. “Henderson. You’re both requested in Colonel Vance’s office in thirty minutes. She’s on her way down to take you there now.”

“Request?” Matt said.

Martin shook his head and picked up his uniform. “He’s the boss here, you’re on his station now, Senator Ziggenbor. You got anything nicer than that to wear?”

Martin buttoned up his shirt and whipped the tie from his pocket, grumbling something about a noose. In ten minutes, Henderson appeared at the door. Ten more and they were waiting outside the Colonel’s office, Matt seated and Martin standing in military posture. Five minutes later and they were lead inside.

It was an office. Little more was there to observe about it than that, the desk the stout man sat behind covered in monitors and touch screens. He looked a shade too young for his full head of silver hair, a little barrel chested for the uniform he was squeezed into, but otherwise he cut the image for a Colonel well. He did not immediately look up when the two men entered the room, pouring over one of the screens for a minute longer before he made all but the one immediately in front of them go dark.

Then he looked up.

Martin had known a few senior medical officers, and their eyes always looked either haunted, or determined. Colonel Thane Vance’s were every bit the latter.

“Senator Ziggenbor, Lieutenant Commander. Please be seated.” He gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. When they had seated, he looked once more at the screen, sighed, and looked to them again. “Gentlemen, there should be pleasantries and proper introductions made, but we just don’t have the time for that. And I feel the need to tee up this conversation by making it very clear that regardless of your feelings or opinions of the subject, I will have the final say in the matter, is that clear?”

“Yes sir.” Martin said.

Matt nodded. So did Vance.

“Good. Then, to the heart of the matter: your brother is going to die unless we perform cybernetic prosthetic alterations to him within the next two hours. Even then, he might not make it through surgery.” He paused. “The issue is that he’s still in cryo-stasis now.. When we bring him out, he’ll need to be immediately stabilized, to the best of my staff’s ability, which will require him to be immediately sedated again. And if we don’t do this procedure, he will be dead within a minute, more than likely.” Martin let out an involuntary hiss through his teeth, and Colonel Vance fixed him with a hard look. “Yes. He can’t consent to any of this. Which, up until seventy-two hours ago, would have made this a very short conversation.”

Martin looked at Matt, who nodded.

“That’s right.” Vance said. “Senate approval for just this kind of situation, though I had hoped it would be a bit so that I had time to grapple with how to handle it. It goes against most everything we get taught, altering a service member without their consent, obviously. Hell, the bill hardly states how the decision is going to be made.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, as the Director of Soldier’s Welfare here on the EMAR, they leave it up to me.” He looked between the two brothers. “That being said, you both should be heard at least.” An alert came at Vance’s desk. He glanced at it, and ignored it. “What do you think your brother would want in this situation?”

Matt blinked at the directness of the question. But Martin looked down at his hands, considering it.

Vance waited.

The alert came again, and this time Vance flicked on a receiver. “Not now.”

“Sir, it’s Admiral Neerson.”

Vance flicked off the receiver and turned back to the brothers. “Take your time.”

Then he resumed waiting.

“He’d want to pull through.” Matt said quietly.

“You’ve heard his views.” Martin countered.

“Yes, I have, but he would still want to pull through.”

Martin shook his head. “Matt… this isn’t about what we want. Neil always knew that this could be coming for him, and he made his peace with that a long time ago.”

“No one could have peace about this. Martin, the tools are there to save him. You couldn’t expect him to not pick up some… new weapon and try to use it, just because he disagreed with it?”

Martin turned to his brother. “If he disagreed with it on that level? Yeah, I could expect that. And so would you. You’re the politician, but he’s the true idealist, Matt. That’s Grandaddy’s inheritance to him.”

“You’re just going to let him die?”

Martin’s eyes went back to the Colonel, who remained silent. “Fuck you, Matt. You don’t know how to separate yourself out.”

Matt sat back, stung. “Maybe not.” He said quietly. Then shook his head. “I don’t know, Colonel. He’s always had pretty strong views on cybernetic enhancement, though it’s never been in this context. I’ll ask him if I get the chance, though.”

Vance nodded, and shifted his gaze to Martin. “Commander?”

Images of Neil laying in a medical bed with a tube down his throat, barely clinging to life flashed in front of Martin’s eyes. The uncertainty in the doctor’s voice, the fear that had ripped through Martin in those hours. It all felt fresh.

“I don’t want him to die, sir. I don’t think he wants to die. But I don’t know exactly where he draws the line between living, and being kept alive.” He let out a long sigh. “But I won’t know that if he dies down in that cryo tube either. Sir, my opinion is that you should go ahead with the procedure.”

“As do I.” Matt said quickly.

Vance raised his eyebrows. “Even if it goes against his beliefs?”

“He’ll be the first? To receive a procedure this extensive?” Martin asked.

“Yes.”

“And it will help you save the lives of soldiers?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll come to terms with it, if that’s your decision, sir. He only lasted so long on Mars because he cares about soldiers, especially those who come behind him.”

“A man I could easily sit and drink a beer with.” Vance nodded. “I appreciate your time, Gentlemen. Senator, Commander, I will keep you informed of my decision. Dismissed.”

They rose and walked to the door. As it slid open, Neerson was framed there, his face set, his eyes forward. They moved to the side as the admiral walked through, and departed, leaving the two men alone together.

They walked back in silence to await Colonel Vance’s decision.