Benson gritted his teeth as he brought in the docking shuttle to the Onslaught’s hangar bay. “I really, really,”

“Sorry.” Martin said.

“Really,”

“Goddamnit, Benson.”

“Really wish that you would shut the fuck up about it.”

“I don’t understand how it was still flying, is all. Never mind the state of the ship, but just how it wasn’t a wreck when I went aboard.”

“Is it a wreck?” Benson asked

“No.”

“Is it up to standard?”

“Yes, but—“

Benson let his head fall forward onto the shuttle’s dash controls with an ominous thump and the pilot began stringing all the profanity he knew together in one fluid monologue while Martin launched in again about the derelict condition of the Deterrence and how many of the crew he had needed to dismiss from duty.

“Well it’s a damn good thing that there’s still crew members coming in until the end of the week.” Benson said. “Personally I’m wondering if Neerson is going to bring on any more of those damn—“

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Fine officers and enlisted naval personnel from the tenth fleet.” Benson turned and beamed a shameless smile on Neerson, who was taking his seat. “Good morning sir.”

“If you are dissatisfied with my crew, take heart.” Neerson said, buckling his crash webbing. “I am trying to process orders to Task Force Berghest to have a company transferred here.”

Benson stared blankly for a moment before looking at Martin, then back to the admiral. “You’re serious, sir?”

“No, captain, I chose today to begin studying the practical application of comedy in a military setting.”

“Ah.” Benson said. “May I ask… why you would be bringing a company of the army’s finest fast action threat response teams here where there appears to be a vast under-abundance of threats to respond to?”

Neerson fixed him with a look that conveyed his level of amusement and appreciation, and said nothing.

“To the Vulcan, sir?”

“With as much haste as your wit, Captain.”

“Yes sir.”

As the shuttle departed, Martin took the time in silence to reflect on the experience he had garnered in maintaining a military bearing since Benson had become a near enough constant in his command.

“Which wing, sir?” Benson asked over his shoulder.

“Back wing Fox.”

“It’s not powered up, sir.”

“It will be.” Neerson said, and lapsed back into silence as Benson began circling the station. Martin thought about Z-wing, where his brother was with Valentine. Neil hadn’t, to Martin's knowledge, but told directly that Martin was here as well. But Neerson had gone down to see the Sergeants personally, and Neil wasn’t completely stupid. Martin hadn’t gotten the nerve up to ask when he would be able to see his little brother, or if. He was sure that Neerson had his reasons at the moment.

They made their approach to back wing Fox’s docking bay and, true to Neerson’s word, the massive doors began to slide open. The inside of the stationed yawned dark beyond the threshold, and as completed the landing, lights in the floor came up to illuminate the walls and pathways. These lights gave off an eerie feeling as they filed off the ship, and Martin heard small clicks as Benson assembled his carbine.

“There is no need for that weapon, Captain.” Neerson said.

“I understand, sir.” Benson said pleasantly, and loaded a clip into the weapon, keeping it low and ready. Neerson didn’t push the issue and took the lead as they walked through the docking bay. If it felt large, it was nothing compared to the next room they walked into, and there was less light there until Neerson threw a large lever. Over the course of a few minutes, the lights came up.

There had been few enough times in his life that Martin had ever truly been struck speechless, but looking at the sheer size of the place he was standing in did the trick. The room, if you could call it a room, was long enough that he wasn’t sure if the end of his sight was the end of the room, and the ceiling was as high again. Along one wall there were huge belts and racks with parts on them, on the other wall there were maintenance bays and sleeping racks.

Martin looked at the Admiral, who seemed unimpressed at best. Then his eyes found Benson. He followed the pilot’s gaze to one of the maintenance bays. “Sir, is that a SAF Model Delta Class?”

“Yes.” Neerson said. “A Class Nine. Do you think you can fly it?”

Benson made a choking sound. “Sir, I didn’t even know they built anything past a Delta Three. Anything passed that was considered theoretical technology.”

Neerson shrugged. “Well, when in Rome. Can you fly a Delta Three?”

“I got a cursory instruction block on the Delta Two, but they didn’t even confirm the existence of Delta Threes until I made the pilots corps in TBF. Given that there were only ten of those made and all were accounted for--”

“Benson.”

“No sir,” Benson sighed. “I don’t know how to fly one.”

“Are you confident in your ability to learn?”

“Um.” Benson looked pointedly at the Admiral. “Yes sir. I am.”

“Marvelous. This will be your berth for the foreseeable future. Commander, please see that the Captain is supplied with whatever equipment and sustenance that he needs.”

“Personnel?” Benson asked.

Neerson pursed his lips. “I will need time to consider that. For the time being, I would recommend you learn to ask the Commander politely should you require assistance.”

It was Martin’s turn to make a noise of protest. “Sir, I don’t-- I mean to say--”

“Speak freely, Commander.”

Martin blinked, collected himself, and said. “I can’t Command a fucking Dreadnaught and play mechanics assistant at the same time.”

Considering these words, Neerson took his time in response. “Why?”

“Why? Sir the Deterrence just reached standard operating conditions and standards and the crew is new, at least to me as a commander. I need to be a presence there.”

“Indeed you do, but the crew might not be wholly new.” Neerson nodded. “I’ll take your concerns into consideration. For the time being Captain Benson will be on analytical and diagnostic work only.”

“Too right, I’m going to do fuck all else till I have someone else in here to make sure nothing big and heavy falls on me.” Benson said.

Neerson nodded once and turned to Martin. “Commander, you have full clearance between the Deterrence and back wing Fox.”

He faced Martin for a moment longer than necessary. “Back wing fox.” Neerson said pointedly. “For now.”

“Yes sir.” Martin said.

“Return to the Deterrence and convene with your weapon’s officer. It would be my recommendation that you train her to lead in your absence.”

Martin considered this and nodded. “You’ll be alright, Captain Benson?”

“Should be.” Benson turned to look at Neerson. “There personnel transportation available around this behemoth?”

“That is my understanding, but you’ll need to run diagnostics on them to make sure that they won’t fall on you as well.”

Benson glared, but nodded and turned away from the other officers. Together, Martin and Neerson left, and the admiral piloted the shuttle back to the Deterrence. “Go easy on this weapons officer of yours, Ziggenbor.” Neerson said as he keyed up the sequence to take off again. “It’s been a while for her.”

Martin watched the hatch close and the shuttle depart, wondering if the man within were capable of ending any interaction in a manner that didn’t involve the other party feeling lost and confused. Martin doubted it, very much. He made his way back to the bridge, trying to keep his curiosity at bay as he walked to the observation post. As he went and leaned on the railing, over looking the work station, a woman leaned against the weapons terminal and gave him a small smile.

“Commander Ziggenbor, it’s good to see you, sir.” The woman said.

Martin’s military bearing fell away in an instant, and a wide grin split his face. “Captain Ridgewater.” He said, trying to right his face. “Post.”

She climbed the stairs to where Martin stood and came to attention. “Who else is here?” Martin asked.

“Hightower. That’s all from the Vindicator at least.”

“Good.” His eyes swept around the bridge before they came back to her, and she nodded once.

“Prepare my weapon’s battery, First Officer Ridgewater.” Martin said. “Have it ready for inspection at your earliest convenience. Have Lieutenant Hightower report to me at hers.”

“Yes sir.”

—

The hypnotic sound came from deep within, no threat at first. But it built to the thwump-chunk thwump-chunk Neil heard so often whenever his mind wandered or when he slept. And then there was the hiss that came from nowhere at first but grew ever closer. This time he woke up in a sweat, but quietly with his eyes shut. There was no movement around the room, and so he looked around. With nothing but the vitals monitors to illuminate the room Neil was working on mainly guesswork when he looked over at Valentine’s bed. There was a movement. “You hear that too?”

“No.” Neil said. “Just came to. What was it?”

“Someone who doesn’t know how to move easy.” Valentine cracked his neck. “Sounded like they were trying though.”

Standing, Neil crossed to the door and pressed his ear against it. There was nothing to be heard until there was the unmistakable sound of something sliding. Keying the controls, the door snapped open and Neil grabbed the figure by the shoulders and hauled them into the room, shutting the door again and flicking on the lights.

There was figure sprawled on the floor, a young woman with her black hair pulled back tight. She tried to roll but Neil’s foot slammed into her back between the shoulder blades and pushed, whatever was left of the woman’s breath coming out in a short huff.

“Be easy.” Neil hissed.

Whatever was left of the woman’s breath came out in a shuddering huff, and she went still.

Neil and Valentine traded looks. “We could wait for Rayne to get back and she’ll kill her.” Valentine said.

“C’mon.” Neil said, and eased his boot up. “What’s your name?”

The woman turned her head and sucked in a breath. “Sergeant Rivers.”

“Fuck me, another solider.” Valentine said. “Get up, Sergeant, at ease.”

The woman got to her feet and went to parade rest, her eyes flicking between the two men hard faces, resting on Neil finally. She was indeed dressed in the uniform of the army ground forces of the trident, a sergeant’s rank embroidered to her chest. But Neil shook his head. “He’s the boss here. More time in grade, more broken, it’s his recovery you’re fucking more than mine.”

Sergeant Rivers looked to Valentine, who snapped. “What the fuck are you doing here, Sergeant? Who’s your first line?”

“One of you, I think. You.” She amended, her eyes still on Valentine.

That had the men trading looks. Valentine pushed himself up as best he could. “What the fuck are you talking about? Fuck that, who’s your CO so I can rip his ass to shreds.”

“Commander Ziggenbor.”

“Say again?” Neil stood to his feet.

Valentine gave Neil an exasperated look. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a little more specific on that count, Sergeant.”

“I--” She floundered.

“Which goddamn Ziggenbor fuckhead are you talking about?” Valentine yelled, jabbing a finger at Neil. “Cause if you’re talking about this one, wrong rank, wrong branch, wrong fucking answer.”

“Commander Martin Ziggenbor.” She said. Her tone was strained, but Neil noted the lack of any fear.

“He’s a naval officer.” Valentine said. “Try again.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Valentine, my orders were that I would be under the command of Commander Ziggenbor, reporting to Captain Crew Benson and Sergeants First Class Ziggenbor and Valentine.”

There was a space where Neil and Valentine traded a look, and Valentine let himself fall back onto the bed.

“Next time,” Valentine snarled, “Lead with the fucking army officer, yeah?”

“Yes Sergeant.”

There was silence then that stretched on until the door slid open. “Good morning, gentlemen.” Nurse Rayne wheeled in a cart with two trays, unconcerned by the third in the room. “Get out of my way, Sergeant Rivers, find a seat.”

“Yes ma’am. And Rivers scuttled off to the side as Rayne thrust a tray into Neil’s hand before placing another in front of Valentine. “Introductions have been made, then?” Rayne said, pushing the trolly out of the way.

“You could say that.” Neil said.

“Excellent. Eat.”

“Hold on,” Valentine said, jabbing his fork at Rivers. “You chewed out a fleet admiral for showing up unannounced and she gets a free pass?”

“Admiral Neerson was not unannounced, he was uninvited. Sergeant Rivers is not uninvited, but given your inappropriate tone I will guess that she was unannounced.” She scowled at Rivers. “I did warn you.”

Rivers gave the nurse a wry smile from where she had perched herself on several crates, her legs crossed. “I wasn’t expecting to be treated like a hostile.”

“Then don’t act like a hostile.” Valentine said around a mouth of potatoes. “Fucking knock. And you managed to find potatoes and some meat like matter but you still put baby food on here, what are we doing?”

“You,” Rayne said with a severe eye. “Are eating everything on that plate, after which Sergeant Rivers will show you to the briefing room where Artisan Coppersmith will brief you on your procedure.”

“Neerson?”

“I haven’t decided.” Rayne sniffed. “He’s behaved himself so far, so I personally have no objections to his presence. Do you have a preference?”

“I don’t care either way. Zigzag?”

“What do I have to do with this?” Neil said. “And do I have to eat this baby shit too?”

“Yes. And I would assume he cares about your opinion far more than I do.”

Neil shrugged. “Always nice to know you have the backing of a flag officer, if one is available.”

“Fuck it, he can be there.” Valentine said, swallowing some of the baby food.

“I’ll inform him. Sergeant, briefing room three. One hour.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Sergeant Ziggenbor, make yourself presentable. There’s a fresh uniform for you under the cart. Admiral’s orders.” Then she left, and as the doors slid shut Valentine’s glare returned, leveled at Rivers.

“What are you doing out here?” He snapped.

“Security.”

“How many are on this security force?”

“Just me, sergeant.” She said. “Finding personnel is hard out here, and it's a volunteer only posting.”

“What made you volunteer?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that, Sergeant, per Admiral--”

“Admiral Neerson, keeping secrets, yeah, yeah.”

Neil finished his tray and picked up the uniform. It wasn’t just fresh, it appeared to be brand new with the stale, unmistakable smell of an army supply depot still on it. But his name and rank had been embroidered and spelled correctly, and there wasn’t much more than Neil could ask for. “One thing good about the lack of personnel.” Neil said as he started to dress. “I have the stupid wait times to get to the back of the formation anymore.”

Rivers stifled a laugh.

“Shut up.” Valentine snapped. “Eyes off my baby food.”

The rest of the meal was taken in silence, and Neil helped into the wheelchair. Rivers led them wordlessly to briefing room three, where Coppersmith was absorbed into some data on a screen in front of her, and Rayne was sitting to the side.

“The admiral will be here shortly.” She said, shooting a glance at Coppersmith. “The briefing won’t begin till he arrives.”

But it wasn’t more than ten minutes before Neerson strode into the room unaccompanied and, after a nod from Rayne, went to the Sergeants. “How are you feeling, Sergeant Valentine?”

“Like I’ve still got no legs, sir.” He shot a look at Coppersmith. “And nervous as ever at the prospect of having little robots on the inside of me.”

Coppersmith's mouth opened, but Neerson held up a hand. “Sergeant Ziggenbor. Still finding your sea legs?”

“Getting steadier every day, sir.” Said Neil, taking his meaning.

Then Admiral Neerson Turned to Sergeant Rivers and looked her up and down before looking her in the eye. “Your uniform is in need of attention.”

“Yes sir.”

“Launder and press it, daily. You will uphold the standard of Detachment Cerberus so long as you are under command of its officers, regardless of branch. Am I understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Sergeant Valentine,” Neerson said, taking his seat. “This briefing will begin at your directive.”

“I’m ready.”

“Very well. Artisan, the floor is yours.”

“We’ve met, already,” Coppersmith said, leaping to her feet. The action did very little to change her stature. “I’ll spare you from any pleasantries and get right into it. I know the stigma surrounding nanotechnology, especially in the cluster, but the advancements made here on the Vulcan have a focus in medical application than the first iterations of the technology had.” She tapped a few times on her tablet. “It used to be that nanites would be used as either an intelligence gathering tool or support system for macro-robotic fields, but given the history of the latter, we bypassed it here and have…” She stopped, and thought. Neil had seen Natalie do this many times, the dumbing down of smart-person talk to terms that mere mortals could understand.

“Well, in a nutshell, these nanites have a single purpose. Which is to regenerate cellular structure of the body. For a long time it was restricted to small things, like cuts and broken bones regenerating faster than average, but over the last decade,” She tapped her tablet again, and a hologram winked to life on the table. It was three pictures of a dog, a blocky black labrador. One of the pictures showed the animal in a pitiful condition. It was missing its lower jaw and both of its front legs. The next showed the dog with its jawbone and legs mostly regrown. The third picture came to life and showed what was certainly the same dog, running and jumping, pouncing in a playful stance and running in a circle.

“We’ve been able to safely regenerate grievous wounds in several different studied hosts. We haven’t had a failure since the breakthrough, and there’s no obvious side effects that we can see. Sergeant Rivers?”

Rivers left the room.

“No side effects that you can see.” Valentine said, his voice wary. “These are all animal trials.”

“Yes.” Coppersmith said. “Testing in a medical environment just got approved by the senate. For this purpose, if I’m not--”

“Do bring up outside circumstances to influence him.” Rayne barked. “Regardless of why this bill was passed, regardless of what advancement a human trial could provide in regards to breakthrough. This man is making a decision for him, and no one else.”

“I-- I only meant,” but Coppersmith quailed under Rayne’s gaze, and nodded. She turned back to Valentine. “I apologize Sergeant.”

“How long would the nanites be in me?” Valentine asked. “Until the procedure was done?”

“No.” Coppersmith said. “The nanites would…” She looked at the ceiling again. “They would need to remain to ensure that the cellular mapping remained your own. If removed, there's complications with the integrity to the repaired areas of the body. Over time, not immediately, but without reapplication the process reverses itself.”

Valentine seemed to pull that over for a long minute before he muttered one word under his breath. “Nanohost.”

No one said anything to that. Even Coppersmith kept her mouth shut and her head down at the word, knowing what came behind it. A long, prejudiced history and sigma of the study, and people associated with it.

“I’ll have them in me forever?” Valentine asked.

“Until we are able to find a solution for the reversal of progress. But,” The door to the briefing room opened, and the black lab from the holograms came in, straining on a leash being held by Rivers. “As I alluded to earlier, all the hosts have led relatively normal lives. And some, like this one here who was our first success,” Coppersmith skirted the table as the dog came close with its tail wagging ferociously. “Has lived far longer than expected.” Her tone was nervous, her eyes on the animal as Valentine reached out with his good hand to pet it. “Scared of dogs, Artisan?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Coppersmith said with a nervous laugh.

“Meet Triss, Sergeant.” Rivers smiled. “She seems to like you.”

A real, genuine smile split Jackson Valentine’s face as he continued to pet the dog, who in her turn seemed to sense that not was all right with the man and curbed her joyful leaps to bounces on her paws and wags in her tail so enthusiastic that the whole lower half of her body wiggled with excitement.

Valentine ran his hands over Triss’s jaw, scritching her and then rubbing her front legs. Carefully stretching up, she licked his face twice, and then sat with her ears forward and eyes attentive.

Running his hands over her ears one more time, Valentine nodded. “Okay.” He said, looking from Coppersmith to Neerson. “I want to do it.”