[Kate]

We huddled in the atrium, hiding behind the greenery, John at my side as we peered at the security camera footage on my com-viewer. I was tempted to grab a bright red fruit from the hydroponic tomato vine that towered over me, but two mercenaries in black uniforms came our way. Shera stood on one side of the wide hatch and her station security colleague Cory on the other, holding up stunner handguns that they found locked away at the detention center. Silently, John held up two fingers, then turned them down and wiggled them, indicating two enemies walked our way. Firming her lips, Shera nodded in reply.

It surprised me how well the marine training came back, as if part of me. Counterproductive emotions — fear, doubt, selfishness — were locked away.

The two mercenaries never knew what hit them. As soon as they crossed the hatch threshold, two rapid pops of the stunner guns put them down like others before them. On cue, some from our rag-tag army of Ark Hope crew and station security staff dragged the unconscious mercenaries away to the detention cells, and we collected their weapons, adding to our arsenal.

Val deserved a medal. The intel from the station security cameras she provided gave us an enormous tactical advantage, more than overcoming our lack of firepower. Already, we had cleared this sector of the enemy.

A text came in.

Harley: At the jail now with Mona.

Kate: Good.

John looked over my shoulder and wrinkled his forehead. "Who's Harley and Mona?"

"Two of the women from the Quilters Guild," I answered. "Harley knows the station inner hull passages and Mona is a med tech. She'll help treat the wounded."

Several of our group were injured in the initial invasion and needed attention. I found new respect for Mona. She never seemed the type to jump into conflict, but there she was.

"Quilters, huh?" A rare chuckle escaped John's lips as he stood. Waving a hand, he announced, "Gather 'round."

As the others assembled, John turned toward me. "Anything more from Eric and Cassy?"

Glancing again at my com-viewer, I shook my head. "No. They are still out of com network range." Dread swirled in my gut. If they fail, countless on the planet below may die, and the bad guys might even turn a missile on the station.

"Well, if anyone can take out those missiles, it's those two." John replied, addressing my silent fear.

John stepped up on a small crate, his eyes scanning across the nineteen who gathered around him — eleven men and eight women, including me. "Good work everyone. We have achieved our first objective. The next won't be so easy, which is to secure a port for the marines to dock. They will be here in about," he glanced down at my com-viewer, "about six hours."

John paused and continued in a softer voice. "I know none of you signed up for this, so if anyone wants to drop out, do so now." His steeled blue eyes passed across the group.

"We're with you, Captain," a fellow ark crewman grunted, speaking for the others.

I had always marveled at John's commanding presence, first as Major 'Storm' long ago in the marines and then as Captain Greer of the Ark Hope, one of his qualities that attracted me. But it was more than just toughness and strong voice — he also earned respect by demonstrating fairness, caring, and unflinching integrity. Those he commanded would follow him to the gates of Hell.

"Very good," John said, nodding. "First, I'll need two volunteers to fall back to the detention center to help secure it as our rear base. And now that this sector is clear, help check on the civilians sheltered in their quarters."

A man and woman wearing the dark pants and white shirt uniforms of the station security staff raised their hands.

John continued. "Shera, what are we up against?"

"Fifty to sixty mercenaries are still active, but spread across the station. Val's efforts to restrict their movements seem to work." She scrolled through the displays on her com-viewer. "Hmm, looks like the docks along Delta Spoke are the least defended."

"Then that's where we go." He let out a breath and softened his gaze. "I know we have all lost friends and colleagues, but our purpose is not vengeance, but to protect. The rules of engagement stay the same: avoid killing if possible, but if necessary, do not hesitate. Most importantly, watch out for each other."

"Not bad," I said, nudging John as he stepped down. "Ever thought of a leadership position?"

A shadow crossed his face as he lowered his eyes. "Not the leadership I wanted. All the blood and death from my marine days..." He blew out a strained breath. "Well, eventually it tore me up inside. I retired from the military to get away from it."

His sudden admission took me by surprise. Always had I thought of John as a pillar of strength, the immovable object of my desire. But underneath that steeled exterior, forged by unbending expectations, was pain that he had kept locked away, even from me. Now, I understood — he needed me to be strong, and he needed me to be patient. Pulling into an embrace, I whispered, "I will be by your side all the way."

"And later, after this is done? What about us?" John's blue eyes never looked more vulnerable.

"Let me take leadership of us. You don't always have to be strong for me."

John lifted an eyebrow. "Hmm, sort of relationship command authority?"

"Something like that," I answered, rounding my lips. "I promise you will like it."

A half-grin brightened John's face, and the fire returned to his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

*****

Shera took point with Cory, leading us toward the so-called Upper Road to which the four station spokes connected. The corridor circled the inner part of the torus-shaped habitat ring, but by artificial gravity orientation, it was up, hence the name. Periodically, like now, Shera stopped and checked the security cameras to make sure the way was clear.

Abruptly, Shera froze and held up a hand, extending two fingers. I saw them coming on my com-viewer, too, and showed John. The two mercenaries, a man and a woman, had changed course, and now ran down the Upper Road straight for us. They knew something is up.

Both John and I flashed our eyes around our location, coming to the same conclusion — there was little cover here in the wide, bright corridor, other than shallow indentations at locked hatch thresholds. John swept his arm, urging us to cluster along the inside curvature. He then pointed to Shera and Cory, who nodded as they gripped their stunner guns. I went down to a knee near a closed hatch and readied my rifle.

The mercenaries skidded to a stop, wide eyed as they noticed our presence. Simultaneously, Shera and Cory fired, and the sharp popping sounds reverberated off the walls. The female mercenary took a stun pulse to the chest and folded down, but the male dove to the side, avoiding the other shot. He rolled along the floor, and in a smooth motion, came up on one knee with his rifle shouldered. But before he could fire, I did, blasting two projectile darts into his chest and neck. He slumped down the wall, leaving a crimson streak behind.

John placed a hand on my shoulder and nodded, affirming that my deadly action was an appropriate response. "We need to keep moving," he announced to our squad of eighteen.

Two station security guards collected the fallen mercenary's weapons, and now we were fully armed.

With Shera and Cory leading the way, we eventually arrived at the delta spoke terminal. Curved windows above provided a spectacular view of the wide spoke, which extended over a half-kilometer connecting the habitat ring to the station's central core. Our objective, the Delta Docks, laid halfway up the spoke.

We stood within a broad lobby beside the spoke lifts, which normally carried people and cargo toward the docks or core. The rounded white doors clasped the elevator shaft like clamshells, parting in the middle for exit or boarding. Behind the lifts were the emergency ladders.

"What do you see ahead, Shera?" John asked.

Shera stood in front of the spoke lift, looking down at her com-viewer. "Five, no, six mercenaries on the closest dock level."

"Okay, we have the advantage of numbers." John said. "This is what--"

A ding from the spoke lift sounded, and we both swung around. The doors split open, revealing three armed men in black uniforms. For two pounding heartbeats, both sides froze and stared at each other with blank expressions.

Then came chaos.

The mercenaries snapped up their assault rifles, firing first and slicing darts across the lobby. Shera stood closest and in most danger. Shouting, Cory dove, shoving her to the side, but exposed himself to the deadly fire.

Several from our group responded in kind, firing back, and a staccato of sharp weapon reports filled the area like deafening drumbeats. Within a moment, it was over. Confined within the lift, the three mercenaries laid in bloody heaps.

"Cory!" Shera shouted, rushing back to her friend who had collapsed to the floor.

Dropping to her knees, Shera gathered Cory in her arms, nestling his head in her lap. A pool of crimson crew around him.

"Why did you do that?" she wept, water tracing her cheeks. "Hang on, okay?"

"We protect." Cory hacked, spitting blood. "That's what we do." Moist eyes lifted to Shera, and he whispered in a raspy voice. "Protect our home--" Stilled, his breath halted and his eyes glazed.

Sobs shook Shera as she drew Cory's limp body against herself, tears falling to his face. I kneeled down and put an arm across her shoulder. "Shera, I'm sorry." I whispered. "If you need to--"

"No!" she responded, firming her expression and wiping tears from her cheeks. "What I need is to see this through."

After glancing back at John and receiving his nod, I replied, "Okay. Together."

Two of our team sustained injuries in the firefight, but could still walk. John assigned others to escort them back to the detention area for medical treatment. That took us down to thirteen fighters.

John stood resolute, expressionless, every bit the strong leader that we needed. But to me, a slight lower lip quiver gave away the inner turmoil that he suppressed. I came up close and touched his arm. "John, I--"

"I'll be okay," he whispered, covering my hand with his. "Any sign the enemy are on to us?"

Pulling up my com-viewer, I reviewed the footage. The mercenaries at the dock relaxed, some sitting on crates with weapons leaning against another, one eating a meal bar, and even one snoozing against a wall. "No," I answered, showing him the footage.

"Good." He swirled a hand in the air, announcing, "Gather up! We still have the advantage of surprise, so the time to strike is now. We will take the ladders to the first dock level and assemble there. Questions?"

After a moment of silence, one of my crewmates, a grizzled mechanic with bushy gray hair, raised his rifle and growled, "Time's wastin', Cap'n. Let's show them bastards who they're dealin' with."

"You heard him," John replied with a hint of a grin. "Move out!"

Along the way, I snatched up two extra ammo clips and a grenade from the fallen mercenaries — might come in handy.

Inside the grungy well, we streamed up the caged ladders as if choreographed, about every twenty meters coming to a metal grid landing. Tension hung thick in the air as we ascended the two-hundred meter climb, but no one said a word. It was hard effort, but fortunately, the further we went, the less the artificial gravity, such that I almost flew up the rungs.

When we reached the extended landing beside the hatch leading to the dock, John asked me, "What do you see out there, Kate?"

"Six targets. No change." I handed him my com-viewer.

"Lazy amateurs. Lucky for us, they went with the low bidder," he scoffed, scrolling through the footage. "Okay, everyone listen up. We hit them hard. Kate and I will go first and lay down cover fire in auto mode, but that will drain our clips quickly, so move fast. Find cover behind crates and mechanical equipment, left and right, then engage. Our ammo is limited, so fire in semi-auto mode and pick your targets. Everyone good?" The firmed faces that looked back showed nothing but resolve.

As John scanned the footage one more time, I reached up and laid a kiss on his cheek. "I have something for you," I said as I handed him an extra ammo clip and the grenade.

"How thoughtful, darlin'," he replied with a smirk, then turned to the others. "Get ready."

As the team crowded near the hatch, poised like a lion pride stalking prey, I achieved what I used to call 'combat head' in my marine days — a cold, hyper-aware mental state, primed with adrenaline and ready for action. While certainly not healthy in the long run, it might keep me alive in the short.

John shoved the hatch open, and we burst out. He veered right, and I went left, firing rapid bursts as we moved outward, spreading deadly projectiles across the dock. The cover allowed the others to stretch out between us behind the empty plastic crates and loading bots, then join the battle. The rounded port ceiling echoed the shots like a concert hall, producing a violent symphony.

We took them completely by surprise. Across the dock, forty meters or so, the mercenaries jumped up in panicked disarray, scrambling for their weapons or diving for cover. One went down immediately, flailing backwards to the floor. Another cried out from a leg strike, and dragged himself behind the docking tunnel skirt, leaving his rifle behind.

Within seconds, John and I emptied our clips, and the others took up the barrage. We both sprinted for cover, flanking wider. I dove behind a solitary crate as darts pinged the floor at my feet. I glanced at John, who crouched behind another crate, and nodded. Simultaneously, we snapped in spare ammo clips.

With the exits to our backs, the mercenaries were cornered, with no way out except through us. One mercenary, a woman, jumped up and sprinted along the outer wall, circling toward me. I ducked my head down as darts blasted against my cover, pelting me with bits of hard plastic. To my right, Shera took aim with her stunner gun and fired. The bolt struck true, and the woman folded down to the floor. I gave Shera a mock salute in thanks.

Three mercenaries remained behind cover, periodically lashing out with bursts of fire. Between us spanned a kind of no-man's land, an empty killing zone like in the old trench warfare. We were at a stalemate. John caught my eye and held out the grenade, a black squat cylinder with a pin and lever.

I called out to the others, "Lay down cover fire!"

As the shots rang out, John jumped up and heaved the grenade. It bounced off the floor and wall behind the mercenaries. "Cover your ears!" I yelled.

The explosion shook the entire dock, and the shock wave reverberated around us. Once the echoes faded, a tense silence took over. Blue haze from the blast prickled my nose.

"Stop!" a voice shouted as two-pairs of hands rose from the mercenaries' position. "We surrender!"

John held up a hand, palm out, telling us to cease fire. "Toss your weapons and come out!" he ordered the mercenaries. "Then on your knees with hands behind your head."

They complied. The other remaining mercenary laid still, a victim of the grenade blast. After pat downs, Shera and another locked them within a nearby storage closet, along with the unconscious woman who took the stun bolt.

Next came the mercenary with the leg wound. So young, still in his teens, his face paled, and he trembled as we stood over him.

"Do you have a med-kit?" John asked in an even tone.

The young man pointed to his right at a small black bag.

As a station security man treated the wound and administered a painkiller, John kneeled down and glared, asking, "Who hired you?"

"I don't know," the young man stammered. "We were just told to take the station."

"Well, son," John replied, standing up. "You made a poor career choice." He motioned to two others on our team. "Take him to join his coworkers."

It was an overwhelming victory. All our team suffered were two relatively minor wounds. I came up to John and placed a congratulatory kiss on his lips. "You done good, John."

Sweeping an arm out, he said in a loud voice for all to hear. "No. We done good, everyone. Now all we have to do is hold the dock until the marines arrive. Let them finish the cleanup."

A text message from Val caught my attention and my eyes widened as I read it. "Shit. John, you need to see this."

Val: Are you okay, Kate?

Kate: We're safe now at the Delta docks.

Val: They've bypassed the safety systems and plan to breach the fusion reactors. We have to stop it.

Kate: What do we need?

Val: Me. I'm coming your way.