Like a distant lighthouse the movement of sunlight streams through the shielded windows with a perfect rhythm, the common room in a constant rotation around the station’s main body.

A mere six hours since their arrival, a familiar station turned neigh permanent residence. The marine squad relaxes upon comfortable sofas and chairs, liquid pouches in hand as they catch glimpses of a distant lunar surface beneath them in the spinning of the artificial gravity ring.

Each in the midst of their own activity, a silence permeating the room alongside the buzz of foot traffic in the neighboring halls.

Cherny’s huge musculature takes up an entire quarter of one of the tables, lazily perusing through articles of cyrillic script upon a reading tablet. A mind kept sharp at the edge of scientific advancement, the squad’s medic mildly amused at the prospect of viable cryostasis in the context of survivable reanimation. Mice revived from long term cold storage at an abysmal survival rate, his mind giving an estimated twenty years before an actual application to real human beings.

The opposite spectrum was held at Corporal Mercier’s lazing form. A small body greedily taking up one of the lounging sofas, the young woman remains completely affixed to her phone. Noise canceling earphones over a head of long hair, the marksman works through a virtual universe of galactic proportions. An endless grind of credits for better ship parts to pay for more specialized vessels costing and paying more, the dopamine loop exploited as she mindlessly taps buttons in a skilless execution of mobile gaming.

Lieutenant Keys focuses on his own drink, a carbonated soda held within a reflective liquids bag still extraordinarily pressurized within the airlocked straw. A small treat bought from vending machines within dining halls: generic, United Nations ominously labeled ‘cola soda’ in five languages. Sweet to a point of disgust, the Combat Engineer suddenly realizing the sugar content of the thing as he reads the label. “Fuck… this is not good…”

The voice pulls Master Sergeant Ling out of his meditative state, a cross legged sitting position at the very front of the window stretched out as the Marine turns back to the interruptor. “You should not drink it. It is not good for you.”

“I spent ten dollars on this, and I’m getting my ten dollars of experience alright? Never once got to drink this stuff back in combat school.” Lieutenant Keys snaps as he bites on the straw. “And when were you so obsessed with being healthy?”

Mercier interrupts before her squad leader, a noted appearance of the man brought to the surface through an accurate observation. “Did Captain say you were graisse?”

“Oh no Ling, don’t tell me…” Keys stops at the words. “Your sisters feed like a foie gras goose or something?”

The Master Sergeant adverts his gaze from the rest of his squad, the silence perminating for a few seconds as all four immediately turn to the man’s midsection.

Well fitted dark blue uniforms, machine tailored to a mathematical precision. The curvature of the male body exposed under several layers of radiation deflecting fabric, unfashionable in the context of civilian wear but practical for warriors in microgravity.

Still, there was an ever so minor plumpness to the stomach area of Master Sergeant Ling Shu.

T.A.C. speaks up from his corner, the idling shape of the combat drone flexing software analysis in social warfare. “Marauder Leader has gained one point nine kilograms since our last meeting approximately one month ago.”

Laughter stifled, Lieutenant Keys speaks up with a covered mouth. “I-it’s fine Ling. We got about a week or two here in point eight g to fix you.”

“So Master Sergeant does not have…” Mercier motions to her own midsection, three pairs of bulbus muscles implied.

Cherny looks from his tablet as he provides the accented name. “Abodomonial mussle.”

A deep frown spread across the Master Sergeant in annoyance, confirmation of a bodily state eviscerating an already wounded ego.

“Oh come on Ling, Michelle doesn’t care about that sort of thing.” Keys waves aside the clearing thought. “She probably thought it was cute that you’re finally letting yourself go a bit.”

Mercier turns at the man’s statement. “How do you know this?”

“I’ve known the Captain longer than Ling. Trust me Corporal, if there’s one idiot for her it’s this one. Despite the missing six pack of abs of course.”

“I have two weeks…” The Marine declares. “Two weeks to fix myself!”

“There is a forty six precent chance the operational timeframe will be accelerated by five days.” T.A.C. announces.

“操.” Ling swears.

“I think you’re taking this body image thing too seriously dude.” Lieutenant Keys continues to analyze, offering some consolidation. “When it comes down to it it’s not about how attractive you are, it's about how easily you can snap a person’s neck.”

“It is important to be attractive.” Mercier corrects her squadmate. “It is Master Sargeant Ling. He needs to be attractive for purpose of System Defense Force.”

Keys takes a moment to process the implications of the Corporal's statement, a social perception of their entire organization falling into a terrifying notion. A joke aimed, deprecation naturally coming from sarcasm and friendship. “She’s right. We need to get you chiseled before we hit Lunar. For the sake of the Force’s public image. You beat the Java Treaty with those abs, Space Liberation Front’s next on the grating block.”

“哎呀.” The Squad Leader lets out a light chuckle. “Ok.”

Beyond the windows Marauder Team takes stock in the sunset.

An orbit bringing Luna Anchorage into the shadowed edge of the moon, a spinning ring only allowing for snippets of perception to the planetary body.

Lights concentrated in distinct locations, identification marks for surface structures crafted for the aesthetics of humankind.

The largest is raptured in darkness.

Camp Armstrong in her glory, beaming plumes of fire-like illumination into the cold vacuum of the lunar surface. Sealed domes of heat deflecting white brought into color by massive radiator towers, eyes following the ant trails of pipelines and tram-ways connecting them to both each other and the rest of the stellar body.

“You can see it right there.” Lieutenant Keys leans to his side as he attempts to angle himself with the spinning artificial gravity ring. A finger pointed, the rest of Marauder Team stares with him. “Look, look!”

A spire rising from the surface, the white strand of fabric placed against the black of outer space. Like a spider’s web the fragile structure hangs from an anchor far below, its counterweight found in a small cylindrical station far beyond the current viewing angle.

Small enough to fit between two fingers, distance betrays the actuality of its construction.

Fifty five thousand kilometers of high tensile synthetic fiber reinforced twenty eight times over. Sandwiched kevlar, carbon nano-tubing, and graphene folded into a series of eight cables each sixteen meters in diameter, an insane feat of engineering wrapped within a huge tube of anti-debris armor.

“The Armstrong Lunar Elevator.” Lieutenant Keys crosses his arms with pride. “That’s all us: the United Nations Solar System Defense Force Combat Engineering Corps.”

“The Armstrong Lunar Elevator was a joint project between the United Nations Orbital Development Council and the United States.” T.A.C. corrects the Combat Engineer.

“Well guess which group did the orbital side?” Keys smirks, then pauses as he reads the blank stares from the rest of his squad. “It was us. That thing out there is part of my heritage as a System Defense Force Combat Engineer. We bled our sweat and blood into that thing, and got it done with just one casualty.”

“One casualty?” Master Sergeant Ling blinks.

“Yeah workplace safety back ten years ago was pretty loose.” The Lieutenant shrugs. “I think it was a hand or something that got caught during the final string up.”

T.A.C. provides the answer. “Lieutenant Commander Anastasia Sokolov sustained a non-life threatening injury during the final week of construction.”

“Well thankfully I was just a kid back then and at least ten years away from even joining up!” Lieutenant Keys laughs, coughing as his beverage bites him with frothy carbonation. “But those old ex. NanShan Industries guys were intense. Like from what I’ve heard they were just…”

The young man slams his fist against an open palm, continuing through the straw in his mouth. “Would’ve loved to meet some of them.”

“Is Instructor Yan not one of them?” Master Sergeant Ling asks with a titled head. “The 南山 people.”

Mercier gives her answer as she catches the question from within noise canceling headphones. “She and her jumeau were NanShan employees.”

“Well she or her sister don’t show it, that’s for sure.” Lieutenant Keys answers, watching the view pass by. “By the way, how long have we been out here waiting for them to finish up?”

“The Rubion’s meeting with the Admiral has been taking around thirty four minutes, seven seconds.” T.A.C. answers.

Turning back to his squad leader, the Combat Engineer aims his assumed question directly at him. “Ling your girlfriend is not taking this very well is she?”

“She expected a combat deployment.” Ling answers his friend. “Similar to last time.”

“Yeah I don’t think any nation wants her or her boat in their space.” Lieutenant Keys shakes his head, waving over to the rest of the squad. “You people saw that right?”

“Saw what?” Mercier doesn’t even look up from her phone.

“The combat footage from the Rubicon during Station Four.” The Combat Engineer specifies. “The censored version got like eighty million views on uWatch. Literally included her taking down the U.S.S. Alaska in a knife fight. Got everyone fearing the System Defense Force navy.”

“Is that why this operation is only us?” Master Sergeant Ling asks.

“Well…” Keys shrugs. “The only two people who’d know this stuff is your girlfriend and the Admiral. But going against the Space Liberation Front with such open objectives doesn’t sound like something a special warfare team should be doing. At least, considering our own specialties.”

Ling smiles. “As Admiral said, we just do a 偵察. Some help and train. Leave it to your own country to deal with it mostly. Quick vacation.”

“A month on the moon does sound pretty good…” The Combat Engineer rubs his temples, the final bits of soda within the container consumed. “So we got around a week and a half to figure out what we’re bringing?”

“If we can bring, we need to bring guns.” The Master Sergeant answers firstly. “Lot of guns.”

Corporal Mercier removes her headphones at the notion, interest peaked at the words. “Is that the solution to every problem we will encounter?”

“If SLF can have bombs, they will have guns.” The Marine connects. “We will need to be prepared for anything.”

“Might as well bring a full combat engineering kit too, or at least the stuff minus the C4.” Lieutenant Keys shrugs, turning to the squad’s quartermaster. “T.A.C., can you write all this down?”

“I have created the document.” The Machine replies.

“So all our guns.” Keys begins. “Are we bringing actual combat space suits?”

“I think we should. Just to have armor on us.” The Squad Leader begins.

“Just wear normal bullet proofing.” Mercier offers from her own experience. “Like peacekeepers on ground.”

“Yeah nobody’s gonna bat an eye when we skip into the terminal with class five tactical vests on and an entire armory worth of luggage.”

Corporal Mercier narrows her eyes at the Combat Engineer, the man currently lining up a thrown shot against a distant waste disposal bin. A finished package of cola scrunched up into a small ball of silver bioplastic, the straw kept for a separate recycling bin.

“Do you have an alternative option?” Mercier asks coldly.

Rotational force imperfect, a differing acceleration parameter demanding incredible skill and experience across a parabolic trajectory. At least three distinct gravity zones detected, Lieutenant Keys calculates factors and replies to the Marksman. “Not really. Based on what the Admiral’s said we’re probably staying at the Hilton for our time there. It's probably not good to stow guns somewhere a cleaning drone could get in.”

The item is launched, the scrunched up package spiraling across the lounge. Eyes watch as its vector is pulled off course, waste bouncing off of padded floors in a dramatic failure.

“Damn it.” The Lieutenant groans as he forces himself off the sofa, a quick movement as he easily slams the packaging into its allocated bin at point blank range. “So guns, bullet proof vests… maybe some recon equipment?”

“Des jumelles?” Mercier raises.

“We’ll see if the Admiral can set us up with something more advanced than binoculars.” Keys smirks at the notion, pausing in the noticing of one of their squad members. “And we’re bringing T.A.C. too right?”

The combat drone just stares at them, lifeless optical sensors awaiting a democratic vote.

A squad quietly nodding between one another, Lieutenant Keys shrugging shoulders in recognition of a decision made. “That’s a yes. ”

“We will be working with nationals.” Ling continues. “So make sure we are bringing everything legally.”

“Don’t remind me. I think I even need to fill out a transit form for mine.” Keys rolls his eyes. “Speaking of which, Cherny what sort of kit are you bringing along?”

A conversation barely followed, a foreign language to the Squad’s Medic translated on the fly. He replies based off of the final question only. “Extension medikal kit. For long-term treat patients.”

“No forms for that right?”

“Some item may need.” Cherny blinks with a moment of confusion. “Not certain in американский city. More tight on rule than in Russian.”

“Gagarin City’s pretty hard on the imports though.” Lieutenant Keys begins to recall. “Didn’t the S.L.F. blow up a housing block or something there a few months ago?”

“President Batbayar is keep peace, need to take sacrtifical to keep fund going on moon.” Cherny unravels his own nation’s political stance, translating through a language barrier.

T.A.C. interrupts the conversation, a machine contextualizing the social situation into manageable datastreams. “I have located the forms. If you would like, I can fill them out for you.”

“Oh my lord the Combat Drone comes to the rescue.” Keys begs. “Please do.”

Master Sergeant pulls the conversation back. “So we are going to surface in next two weeks?”

“Correct Master Sergeant.” T.A.C. confirms.

“Ok, then everyone needs list before this week ends.” Ling orders as he stands up. “We will work together, get packed things together. Spend one month on Lunar Surface, help Americans to unroot terrorists. Go back to orbit and do work.”

“You’re jinxing it dude.” Keys smiles at the simplicity of the statement. “Just watch, we’re gonna be in over our heads.”

From behind them the voice reaches out, Admiral Tucker interrupting the conversation with his own gamble. “I give you guys two weeks before you go crazy.”

Marauder Team turns, forms pulling to attention before the Admiral calmly waves his hand in dismissal. “Before you ask, I got Captain Perez to agree to being our intelligence arm for the time being. We’ll have a full Task Force briefing before you head out, to assign some duties and the likes.”

“So she will be here on station?” Master Sergeant Ling raises the question first.

The old man nods. “The Task Force is going to be HQ’d here for the time being. But we’ll go over that by the end of this week.”

“How did you get her to agree to this?” Lieutenant Keys asks with a chuckle. “Actually, probably better if we don’t know.”

The Admiral scoffs as he finds an open seat on the sofa, joints cracking against soft cushioning. A sigh of relief, comfort earned from heavy negotiation. “Well not privy to say, but it’s not like the Yenisey’s going to be using her CWIS in dock. Might as well do a systems swap.”

“Does Yenisey command officer say ok?” Cherny raises.

“He jumped at the opportunity. Laser CIWS is the future of close range space warfare.” Admiral Tucker informs. “But as demonstrated on Station Four they are a bit too hot to be running with her primary armament. At full acceleration with her new railgun at full charge, the Rubicon could easily cook herself.”

“She did cook herself.” The Combat Engineer corrects the Flag Officer. “From what Natalia told me the entire central reactor almost got fused into the casing and almost caught the chemical propellent tanks. Would’ve required a full maintenance strip out to salvage her if the Captain kept pushing it.”

Ling interrupts, defensive voice bringing the conversation back. “Michelle saved us.”

“Yeah no offense intended to her dude.” Keys specifies. “She’s got the tactics and decision making, it’s the hardware that’s lacking.”

“Watch the context Lieutenant.” The Admiral quips at the statement, pointing to himself.

“Oh come on you’re not that old sir.” Lieutenant Keys shrugs sarcastically. “I mean you’re coming down to Lunar with us, I don’t think any other flag officer’s ever done that before.”

“Well…” Admiral Tucker pauses, bringing news in the correction of the Lieutenant's assumption. “I’m not coming with you.”

The pause hits Marauder Team, all eyes staring at the old man.

“Politics.” The Admiral begins to justify. “After the stunt I pulled last month it’s going to be an OP-SEC nightmare if I’m seen coming down with you. Don’t want to burden you people with having to protect me.”

Master Sergeant Ling nods at the statement. “That is ok. But you will still support us from here?”

“I’ll keep the gears turning. Figure I can get the groundwork started on the next operation while you guys are busy downstairs advising.” The Admiral rubs his temples, working through a mental picture of operational capacities. “Just… keep your expectations low. Not certain how much hardware the TSA’s going to let you bring; so try and fill the paperwork now and not save it to the last minute.”

“What do you mean no hardware?” Keys specifies.

“Try to avoid guns, chemicals, or any tools of sorts.” The Admiral continues. “Federal Government's already on edge. You bringing enough firepower to level a habitation block makes them nervous.”

“You are joking.” Mercier stares coldly.

“Sadly I’m not. You can try though, but I can’t guarantee any loadouts.”

“Look, I’m the hero of fucking Collins Station.” Keys points to himself. “If anyone’s allowed to have his gear it’s me.”

“I will note that you are a ‘Star of Terra’ awardee within the application.” T.A.C. notes aloud from his corner of the common room.

The Admiral scoffs. “Again, you’re here just to advise. You’ll probably never fire a gun down there unless something goes very wrong.”

Lieutenant Keys raises his own objection. “You know when you said we’re going to stop the Space Liberation Front we thought it’d be more than just an advisory bill. But you seriously just want us to teach these people how to hold positions, install security centers, and all that?”

“More so security procedures.” The Admiral sighs, thoughts converging into a diplomatic answer for his subordinate team. “But you said before Keys it’s community outreach. The rest of the Defense Force is dealing with the remains of the Java Treaty in orbit and they don’t want us causing chaos.”

Ling adds to the old man with a light grin. “It is a vacation. One more month to get ready for big operations.”

“Still be careful.” Admiral Tucker grimly warns as he leans forward. A tone darkening, eyes staring deep in considerations of conflict. “The moment you arrive they’ll be after you. Although they don’t know about your specific ‘involvement’ on Station Four, bagging a fireteam of Solar System Defense Force Marines is going to be a huge victory for them.”

“They can try.” Lieutenant Keys slams a fist into his open palm. “We’ll be ready.”