Neil mopped sweat from his brow, his heart pounding and mind racing. He held the carbine aloft as he made the corner, moving smoothly, with his eyes going only where the barrel of his weapon did. Nothing was down this hallway, either. He moved smoothly, quietly, peeking the window and then passing it, then taking up a post on another corner, listening. Almost total quiet enveloped him in the dimly lit room, only the faraway thud of Captain Benson’s music disturbing the otherwise complete stillness. Then something two hallways away shifted, and he moved, taking both the doorways at a fast paced side step and sent two bolts of training voltage into Valentine’s chest. The other Sergeant grunted, and his round went wide, sizzling past Neil’s ear. Cursing violently under his breath, he moved off to the waiting area.

Without breaking pace, Neil returned to the task at hand. They had set the room up under Benson’s directive, the Captain taking a much more involved approach in their so called free time than had been initially implied. This had been met with some resistance from Benson, until he had seen the merit in it. Today’s training was set up in the style of an industrial warehouse fabrication plant and storage facility, with emphasis placed on the latter portions. Chains had been hung from the ceiling, and the obstacles placed in strategically inconvenient locations were all heavy metal and sharp edges, which Neil had found to his left shin’s detriment. Each room was different, and as Neil scanned the places he had already been over, he swore inwardly, knowing that he would have to go to the next.

As he stood by the door he thought about all the training he had been through before coming to Vulcan. Every single long, hot, grueling hour had one thing in common: he had always been a member of a team. If there was a stack before or behind him, this would have been easy. Running assaults on hallways would have been an old hat if there was someone to his left and right. Doing it alone with no one watching the rear, even in a controlled environment, had everything feeling wrong. With one hand, he popped the hatch on the door and shoved it open, pulling back at once. He had heard someone go through the door already, and even from someone with his level of advanced education, the process of elimination on this particular situation was simple.

Nothing happened.

Hugging the edges, Neil swept into the room and to the left, thankful that the crate he had placed hadn’t been moved. It might have been cheating, but they all took their advantages where they could get them. This one serves Neil well, as a training bolt hit the edge of the box and sizzled out. The crate was two edged, it seemed, as now he was pinned down. Keeping his weapon up, he thought furiously about the layout of the room. The corner directly across from him had scaffolding and a stack of crates, the corner to his left bare save for a small stack of synthetic wood. No cover there, The other corner, however, had long sheets of faux steel plating, easy enough to move in a training environment but still providing a long avenue of approach with able enough cover.

Making up his mind, Neil turned. Only to face the muzzle of River’s own weapon coming around the corner of the crate. Neil hit the ground a split second before the round zipped angrily over his head, rolled, and swept his right leg in a wide arch. Rivers fell forward onto the ground with a painful impact, and Neil let two rounds fly wildly as he wrestled the weapon from Rivers. She gasped in pain as her shoulder twisted against the socket and released the carbine, and Neil scrambled away in a most undignified manner. When he got to his feet, two smaller rounds hissed past his shoulder as he dove behind the barrier in the corner closest to him.

Taking a few precious moments he unloaded the training clip and jammed it into his belt, then popped the carbine open and fumbled the firing pin out of the weapon. Then he dropped it and sprinted away, clipping his shoulder on the scaffolding and bulling through the door into the next and last room.

This one was twice the size of the last, long convener belts on one side and fabrication machinery on the other. He went to the latter, taking a knee in a place where he could watch the door and catch his breath. It didn’t take long for the door to open, and Neil waited for her to clear it. But Rivers didn’t, darting through the door to the conveyor belts and flattening herself on the ground.

Neil swore loudly, cursing his slavery to conventionality. The Task Force teams didn’t work off the standard dogma that the rest of the army so often did, but that was why they were here. Rivers had banked on what she had seen him do, and it had paid off. Now with what should have been an easy close, Neil found himself on equal tactical footing with his opponent terrain wise, though he still held the majority of the firepower. All Rivers had left was her sidearm, and two of those rounds had been expended already. She would need three shots to render him out of the fight, per the rules Benson had recommended.

Moving so that he could see the conveyor belts fully, Neil knew that she would wait him out rather than expose herself. Better to move quickly, he thought, and did so with his weapon raised to the high ready as he moved. For a moment Neil thought he saw movement and angled his weapon towards it before going to a knee. The shadow darted and he shot once, missing. The shadow went to earth and he pursued, but Rivers wasn’t there when he came around the corner. Sitting hard and slamming his back against the conveyor belt, as a click sounded ominously in the darkness.

Something to his right clattered away and he looked sharply, but noted the distraction. Still, he kept his weapon where the cluster of rebar and chains had skittered across the floor, and twisted sharply at the hips, sending two training rounds buzzing into River’s chest. She buckled and grimaced, rubbing her sternum. “Fuck me those things hurt.” She said through gritted teeth.

The lights came up a moment later as Neil got to his feet and flipped the firing pin back to Rivers, she caught it and glowered. “Fast thinking, Sergeant.”

“I gotta get a win somewhere.” He shrugged. “Thought you were gonna clear the door before you came through.”

“I know.” She said. “I was banking on you remembering that for the decoy.”

“I know.” Neil said, as they recovered her weapon.

“I hear you get Sergeant Valentine out?”

“Later than I would have liked.” Neil replied. “He’s quiet and likes to come from behind.”

“I beg your pardon?” Valentine said with a grin, opening up the side door and coming in, his weapon and kit already dropped. “I do hate warehouses.”

“What do you prefer?” Rivers asked.

“Mostly extraction drills and boarding parties. Natural terrain or close quarters where you’re either right or dead.”

Neil nodded. “I’ve mostly operated in MOUT, this is pretty familiar. I’m just--”

“Used to being in team formation?” Rivers asked, nodding. “I dealt with that too. Got a few marks to show for it.”

“I’d love to talk shit, but it gets everyone.” Valentine said, leading them back into the arms room where Triss’s leg was twitching while she slept. His weapon was already disassembled. “Learning to operate solo is one of the big killers going into the Forces. A lot of you big army types can’t adjust.”

“Not much of a choice, here.” Neil grumbled, pulling his own weapon apart.

“You’re doing better than some, and that’s even with a shit leg. Don’t get yourself down, it’s not like we’ve got much else to do, after Benson’s done with us.”

“What’s he got now, Sergeant?” Rivers asked, laying down the pieces of her carbine.

“Came in while you two were rolling around on the floor. He wants us to help him set something up in another one of the tier 3 maintenance bays.”

Neil frowned. “What’s he up to in one of those? And how are we going to move that ship over there.”

“As much as I love questioning captains, I didn’t ask. Didn’t seem real fussy about how he was going to get it done, so I’ll assume he’s got a plan.”

“Lots of good soldiers have died after saying those words.” Neil gravely. “Best keep eyes on closer than we have been.”

“What do you want for the next set up, Sergeant?” Rivers asked.

“I don’t know yet. We’ve handled all the most basic stuff, now it’s just going through the motions. We all need the reps.”

Neil nodded and reassembled his weapon, feeling a heavy weight in his stomach. It was him, he knew, why they hadn’t moved on. What they would move on to, he didn’t know, but he was sure that as long as he was tripping over his own feet, their drills would be standard assault drills. Even on his own time he was going through motion drills, and even though his arm seemed to be up to speed, no matter the mobility drills, miles he ran, there were still sometimes when the leg just didn’t synch up.

Rivers had told him that it might not be the leg, it might just be him when he had let it slip in a profanity-laden tirade about the subject. Neil had thought about that too, and he might have attributed it to the same if not that he could feel it. He could feel the disconnect between what his brain was telling his leg to do and the action happening.

He slammed his weapon back together as Benson walked into the arms room. The Captain frowned. “Tagged out early this round or am I stepping on toes again?”

“It’s his leg, sir.” Rivers said without glancing up.

“Shut the fuck up, Rivers.” Neil said, turning to Benson. “It’s my leg, sir, still not feeling all there.”

“It can take time, from what I’ve heard.” Benson said. “I’ll ask about it, next chance I get, see if we can’t get you in for a PMCS.”

Inwardly, Neil winced. Talking about getting him in for preventative maintenance, checks and services like he was some broken-down stripehopper that needed a tune up. But he nodded all the same.

“Heard you have a job for us, sir.”

“Yep.” Benson said. “Come with me, merry men.” And with a slightly long suffering look from Rivers, they left the arms room and followed him along, past the maintenance bay where and through to another one. Neil knew that there were four tiers of bays in which all sorts of transportation vehicles could be worked on. Tier 1 was operator level maintenance, Tier 2 was tandem, in which the vehicle crews who manned the equipment themselves did the work and the mechanics did the supervising through snide comments and degrading remarks. Tier 3 was mechanic and pilot level only, and tier 4 was decommissioning.

Neil knew this because he had been a private once, and being a private he had spent a lot of times in tier 1 bays, and even more time in tier 2. But as Benson shoved the door open to reveal the frame of a vessel the likes of which he had seen only most vaguely reminiscent in the ship Benson was working on across the room, Neil guessed that it was they three who were the mechanics now.

The frame looked like it had some of the ship’s guts mounted already, and was surrounded by shielding and wing parts, the biggest pieces to a puzzle that got more and more complex the more important the pieces got. “Who’s worked a lift rig before?” Benson asked, waggling a large, boxy controller in his hand. Everyone raised their hands and Benson raised his eyebrows. “Alrighty then. Who has experience mounting the inner and outer layer of ship rigging?”

Valentine put his hand down.

“And out of the two of you,” Benson said, turning his gaze on Neil and Rivers. “Who is the least likely to fuck up my very expensive and one of a kind shit that I’ve got over here?”

Neil put his hand down. Promptly.

Tossing the controller to Rivers, Benson said. “You’re in charge. Don’t take more shit than you want, and don’t do or say anything more than you’re rank can handle. I need to go to another wing of this shit hole for an hour or two.”

“You won’t be here, sir?” Rivers said, concern lacing her voice.

“Nope. But you’re in charge, so just remember that anything that goes wrong is on you.”

“Thanks for that, sir.”

“What if we run into something that we don’t feel qualified to do, sir?” Valentine asked.

Benson pointed to a desk. “My notes from my study of the class nine. It’s mostly guesswork and probably won’t help you very much unless you’ve got detailed knowledge of military spacecrafts, but it might be better than nothing.”

“And if we can’t figure out anything from your notes?”

“Move on to something else. Do what you can, fuck I’m not that hard to get along with. You get stuck, work the problem. Sergeant shit, you know the drill, I just get an award for showing up.”

“At least you’re self aware, sir.” Neil said.

“At least twice as much as your brother.” Benson winked. “I’ll be back.” Taking in their still apprehensive looks, Benson sighed and dropped the casual tone. “Look, Neerson doesn’t want just anyone seeing this shit, and he’s got good reasons. Like as not you can’t fuck anything up to the point that I can’t unfuck it with a little instruction and a lot of profanity. Do what you can, leave what you can’t, and I’ll be back. No sweat.” Then he left before anyone had a chance to ask him another question.

Neil and Valentine turned to Rivers, who stiffened. “Well, what’s first, boss?” Valentine asked.

--

“It appears that the input panel is-- there is an individual approaching from the southern entrance hall.” Carga said, stopping mid sentence and straightening from where she was inspecting the helmet Damien had been working on. She placed it carefully on the work table and walked to the doorway, standing by.

Both the Journeymen straighted as a man walked in. He was average height with dark hair and a scowl on his face as he took in the robot. “You got a docking station?” The man’s voice not exactly deep, but it had the gravely quality of someone who had a history of shouting very loudly.

“Yes sir.”

“Assume it.”

“On what authority?” Carga asked without anything that could reasonably pass as human disrespect.

“0375288.” The man said, and Carga immediately turned and walked to what Natalie and Damien had thought was some sort of refrigeration system. She opened the double doors and seated herself into a perfectly shaped metal throne. Her eyes went dim and her face went blank, and Benson walked to the station, punching in a number sequence and pulling out what looked like an old fashioned key. “And the fact I came from a bleeding, screaming woman and not someone’s fancy toolbox.” The man said mostly to himself. Then he turned to the Journeymen with a smile. “Hello Journeymen, my name is Captain Benson. I’m here under authorization from Fleet Admiral Neerson to pick your brains over a few things.”

“I remember you sir.”

“Good to see you again, Sanderson.” He nodded, now that pleasantries were out of the way. “Remind me later I’ve got something to ask you about Neil’s leg, he swears it's acting up. Now, do you have a terminal with a very large screen that I can gesticulate wildly at?”

“Uh, yeah, over here.” Damien pointed and led Benson over to a terminal. The Captain plugged in a data card. The screen winked to life and the schematics for the ship popped onto the screen.

“Now I’m going to assume two things,” Benson said, holding up the appropriate amount of fingers to indicate. “The first being that you are both smarter than I am, this sort of thing works better that way. The second is that Neerson is okay with me talking to you about this.”

“I don’t think you’d be here if you hadn’t checked that with him, sir.” Natalie said.

“Point,” Neerson said. “Which makes it not much of an assumption. The second thing is important, so please hear my words.” He eyed both of them. “Working off assumption number one, I’m also going to assume that you’ll work out what had to be told to me, which is that this,” He turned and and gestured to the screen. “Fucking goddamn piece of shit headache of mine is an alien space craft.” He looked to the Journeymen.

Neither moved, and Benson narrowed his eyes. “Not quite the reaction I was expecting.”

“You see a lot of weird shit in our fields, sir.” Damien said with a shrug. “It goes as pretty standard in the RAE corps that they’re out there and haven’t made contact.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a of reasons, sir.” Natalie said. “We mostly chalk it up to them thinking that we’re assholes.”

“Point two,” Benson said. “Saves me the trouble of shouting you down questions about where it came from or how we got it.” He made a face like he was expecting something to the contrary. Then he scowled. “Nothing?”

“Oh those questions will come later, sir.” Damien assured him. “But it’s also beat into every apprentice to handle the problem in question first, then go off on pointless rabbit trails that don’t advance the situation.”

“Wow, alright then.” Benson said, and turned back to the screen. “My question for you then, is,” He gestured to the screen. “What the fuck?”

Both Journeymen blinked at each other. “Um,” Natalie said. “We’re also used to questions with a little more direction, sir, I mean no disrespect.”

“Sure. What the fuck am I looking at?”

“I’m guessing the answer you’re looking for isn’t ‘a ship’ sir.”

“No no, I’ve worked out that much-- damnit, hold on…” He muttered darkly over the terminal for a few minutes before the picture zoomed in to a point under where the cockpit on a ship would usually be. It was an angular pentagon shape with lines drawn into the center, where a triangle was set with a circle.

Damien hissed and Natalie’s eyes went wide. Benson whipped around, eyes expectant.

“That’s a fucking antigravity generator.” Damien spluttered.

“Those exist?”

“Fuck no, sir.”

“Awesome. How do you know that?”

“It’s under, Jesus Christ, some of the most theoretical technology sir. Almost no one studies it because they damn near classified the subject as moot and dead end.”

“Why didn’t they?”

Damien shook his head. “Sir, it’s the RAE corps. They beat their head against Pi till they figured out where the damn thing ended. Nothing is ever out of reach, it’s just currently out of reach.”

“I can work with that. But if it doesn’t exist, how do you know what it is? And, hold the fuck on, if it doesn’t exist how come we’re walking around on the deck instead of bouncing our heads off the ceiling?”

“There was an accidental breakthrough… fuck, years and years ago sir. One apprentice did something to a prototype and everyone’s ass hit the floor for about three minutes before the damn thing fizzled out. They took it and ran with it, but no one has any idea how they got it to work. They just take the design and blow it up to the appropriate size, and even then it's localized for the structure it’s installed in, and takes an ungodly amount of power to run. Something like this, though, you’re talking about the real deal, the whole steak dinner and not just a plate that can hold it. That’s the only way they’ve ever theorized it working.” Damien said, pointing to the shape. “I don’t know why that’s what they’ve always landed on, but I talked to an old codger who’s spent forty years on the subject with about three others. Their ending theory is that… well, they think the anti gravity well is sort of like math.”

“Discovered, not made.”

“Right. The whole culmination of the research ends on that shape right there.” Damien jabbed a finger at the shape. “Every time. No matter what angle they come at it from, that’s what come up with. A ship with antigravity might not even need a true cockpit or crew. It could fly without a fuel source, stay in flight without visible means of propulsion, excel at both inner and outer atmospheric flight, excelerate, decelerate silently, multi directional movement on the fly.” Damien shook his head. “It could mean a lot, sir.”

Benson had frozen, as though making connections as Benson spoke. “Most engaging.” He said, and took a step toward Damien. “Do you know how to turn it on?”