Suddenly soft projectiles bounce off Sam's armor.

"Hostile to your left, Sam," Serena said. "They are wearing a stealthed miner's suit. Until they moved I could not see them."

Several more rounds hit Sam's armor, splashing all over the place.

"Analysis of ammunition reveals pure lead buckshot. Probably space station interior safe."

"Allah, Buddha, and Jesus why the fuck are you shooting at me for?"

"I thought you might be a SLJ merc and would try to hurt me."

The miner speaks with a female tone. Sam looked at his armor. The Scarlet Leopard Janissaries wear very distinctive armor.

"Bitch, do I look like a fucking War Crimes 'R' Us merc?"

"Well, now that you mention it, no," she said.

"Come closer. Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Yessenia. I was working on the space elevator station. As it came down I saw the lights of a building out here somewhere."

"I'm Sam. My AI is Serena."

"Nice to meet you both."

"Wait a fucking minute. Lady, you rode the collapsing space elevator down?"

"Yes."

"Fuck."

"Didn't have a choice."

Sam rips the shotgun from her arms, puts it on safe. His HUD identifies the shotgun as an ancient semi-auto eight gauge with a ten-round drum magazine. His suit library now includes the weapon.

"The shotgun in this environment is a less than ideal weapon."

"No shit Serena."

"Sam I can safe the shotgun by remote if needed."

"Good. Keep an eye on her."

Sam handed the shotgun back to Yessenia. He waited to see if she attempted to shoot him again. When she does not shoot him again, he shows her how to take the safety off.

"You were a squatting miner, but worked on the station at the top of the elevator?"

"No. I was one of the company prostitutes."

"Company?"

"The Sons of Silence."

"Who?"

"The criminal enterprise that controlled the station."

"Ah. Gangs fucking run everything. Same in my home station."

"This is the hardened and armored suit of the miner I was with when the CIH navy attacked. I can't see anything in this helmet. I didn't have time to grab something else."

"Where's the miner?"

"Dead. He died when a three meter metal splinter sliced through him."

"Fuck. You were lucky."

"Yes I was. Piece of metal missed me by scant millimeters. I had jumped in the 'fresher to get squeaky clean for my next customer when the station was attacked."

"Fucking lucky."

"When the CIH Marines boarded the station once it fell on the planet's surface, I sealed the suit and fast slid down the shattered bucky tube hiding in the mines until the fighting was done."

"Lucky you figured out how to get into the suit."

"Oh, that wasn't so hard. For the last few years he was my Sunday afternoon regular."

"Just Sundays?"

"Sunday most miners took a half day off. Sunday was three-quarter script day. Many miners got drunk, stoned, and got with one or more of the company's whores. If the miners weren't digging, they weren't getting paid."

"How it is in most colonies. You don't work, you don't get paid, and you don't eat."

"Yes. Truth of our world."

"So this miner was a regular you said."

"I helped him out of and into his suit often. You fuck enough miners you learn a few things."

"Sam, she can get in and out of the suit easily as it is an old commercial hardened mining suit with some illegal modifications," Serena said internally.

"Thanks, Serena," Sam replied internally.

"Is the shotgun from the miner?" Sam asked.

"No." She hefted the shotgun. "This was left in partial payment by Burgess 'Slick 'n Sly' Hailey. He's one of my less than regular customers and a privateer ship captain in the Dragut Reis Company."

Serena posted information on Sam's HUD.

"What's a fucking space pirate doing out here?"

"A pirate's script spends like any other."

"The DRC is a notorious pirate company. There's a significant bounty on Hailey. He's wanted in connection to the slaughter and rape of the luxury star liner CWS Mae C. Jemison while serving under captain Somerton 'Ghostly Butcher' Rowley."

"Even I know CWS stands for Common Wealth Ship. Hailey never bothered me."

"Fortunate. So you hid in the mines. Did you see anyone else down there?"

"No."

"Where the fuck is that beeping coming from?"

"My air supply is running low."

With Serena's help, Sam figured out how to rig an air bottle to her suit.

"Well, it's not the best connection. At least it will give you another four hours of air. You should have said something sooner."

"Thank you for the air. I haven't eaten in three standard days."

"None of our feeding systems will mate with your suit's feeding port."

"So before your low air warning interrupted us, you were saying about the mines."

"I thought in the mines, there might be survival gear. Perhaps livable areas where I could take this suit off."

"You didn't find anything?"

"No. There's no power down there either."

"Oh. You sat in the dark."

"Yes. I heard the fighting stop. So I came out. I searched what I could of the station and elevator ruins."

"The fuck why?" Sam asked.

"I was trying to find emergency supplies. I couldn't get through any of the blast doors. So I headed for the lights I remembered seeing."

"Sam, she might have spotted large caliber muzzle flashes or nuclear explosions. It is highly unlikely the CP would illuminate itself sufficiently for her to see through the atmosphere," Serena said internally.

"Yeah. Good point."

"So, Yessenia, how you are familiar with the SLJ mercs?" Sam said, trying to make conversation as they walked.

"They are famous for being too rough and often getting tossed from whore houses. More than a few got off on pain, either giving, receiving or both. Some of the girls offered that but I never did. A lot of the SLJs liked to bite the girls."

"Oh. Not my thing either."

"The SLJ mercenaries have ceramic, serrated, dagger-like shark teeth in place of their eight front teeth," Serena said.

"Oh. Shit."

"Yeah. If the girl was lucky she got cut up a bit. Unlucky and the SLJ merc removed chunks of flesh. Probably the reason they are rumored to be cannibals."

"Why were they allowed in?"

"Our house, the Willow World, didn't allow SLJ mercs. Our security tossed any that tried to sneak in. But some of the lower quality houses and the freelancers really didn't have a choice."

"You worked in a higher end house?"

"A bit. Wasn't one of the top houses. Our prices were reasonable enough the average miner could afford a poke if he saved for a few months, or had a lucky strike, or some luck at the tables."

"When we first got here before the CIH arrived, the officers and some of the senior NCOs got a half day of R&R on the station."

"You didn't get to go?"

"Not as a lowly Private First Class. We were told that we would get a few days of R&R at a recreation station on the way home. Maybe Svengali Station. Most of the officers, especially the senior command staff got to go on the station."

"You missed little."

"Our PL went to a bar called The Scrum. He brought back some holographic electronic wafer flyers for your house."

"I am familiar with The Scrum. One of the few bars on the station that the girls and I  hung out at. Sometimes we trolled for customers if things were very slow. He probably picked up a flier left by me or one of the other girls. What's a PL?"

"Platoon Leader. Ours was a butter bar fresh out of the School of Infantry on Mars."

"I'm going to have to get use to military jargon. Butter bar?"

"His collar devices were brass. He was a Second Lieutenant."

"Was?"

"His command vehicle took a direct hit from a five-kiloton tactical nuke."

"I assume the vehicle was armored. It didn't survive?"

"A near miss might have been survivable. A direct hit killed everyone on board. Few things survive a 150-million-degree nuclear fireball."

"I suppose not."

"Then command went to Lieutenant Jean-Marc. His body is back there."

"Who's in command now?"

"You're looking at him."

"Oh. Fuck."

"Yeah."

They walked in silence for a while.

"We could use some PowerPoint Rangers."

"Who are they?"

"Ancient type of Special Forces. Seems to have been quite common in the Revered Ancient's officer and senior NCO ranks."

"We didn't get any military out here. A few mercs, some of whom were veterans, but mostly just hard scrabble independent miners and rock gypsies."

"Come on the alternate CP is just over that ridge," Sam said, pointing.

"CP?"

"Command post. Hopefully, we'll find food, water, and other supplies there. Might give us a chance to get out of our suits for a bit. God above, I'd love a hot shower."

"So would I," Yessenia said.

"If the armorer suite works, we might get you a proper fitting suit of armor. Or at least into a better environmental suit."

"So Sam is short for Samuel?"

"No. My first name is Salvatore. Sam is a common diminutive."

The pair, trailed by the MULE, walked for a while in silence.

"Sam, the waste eating bio layer in our suit will not last much longer. It needs replacing and we do not have another one."

"Ok Serena. I hope the CP has liners."

"So, Yessenia, you worked in a house? Under contract?"

"Yes. I wasn't indentured. I had a length of service contract. The Sons of Silence took protection money and an occasional free fuck, but kept the peace. They were the only law and order."

"Same as it is on most stations."

"The bag woman and occasional enforcer in our sector was named Katinka."

"Katinka? That sounds like a woman's name."

 "Yes. It's a diminutive of Katharina. She is a heavily augmented woman who I didn't mind occasionally fucking. I prefer men in bed. I will sleep with a woman if I like her or the pay is good enough. Katinka isn't into pain or things I find disgusting such as water sports. She escaped from one of those super conservative breeder colonies."

Yessenia sighed. "I know I'm babbling. I'm nervous."

Serena shows Sam a few minutes of water sports porn as he didn't know what the term meant. "Oh, nasty," Sam muttered, but only Serena heard him.

"That's ok. Breeder colony?"

"Sam, some of the earlier colonies tossed homosexuals out airlocks as the colony needed breeding members. While there are few breeder colonies left, those that remain are the worst of the lot," Serena said. "Humans are some of the most vile creatures I've ever met."

"You got that far away look in your eyes. Were you talking to your AI?"

"Yes. Serena explained what a breeder colony was. I'd never heard the term."

"If Katinka survived, she might help us get off IY98k. She was the only woman in a non-direct support role in the Sons and valued in their organization. The Sons didn't trust just anybody collecting their money."

"My family needs money to pay off debts to the local syndicate. I understand how that works."

"Girl's gotta pay her bills ya' know. Whoring not so bad. You can control who you fuck to some degree, and have more freedom than a lot of other colonial contract jobs."

"Yeah. I know. Hey where are you from?"

"I'm from the Yindecarro colony in the Chuetania system."

Serena displayed a star map on Sam's HUD.

"That's a long ways away."

"I whored in the Gizonov system for The Company of Eternal Midnight. After completing my contract, I came here, mostly because of the shady lucrative income options. I was doing well until your minor war ruined everything. I was making enough that in a few years, after my contract ended, I could have returned to Yindecarro."

"I've heard of the CEM. They are a powerful crime syndicate."

Serena updated the star map on Sam's HUD.

"You've traveled a lot."

"It wasn't all bad. The Sons kept the peace. They made work for those who needed help, but at a price. Offered medicine help at a cost of course. If you kept your shit together, didn't get into drugs or gambling debts foolishly with the syndicate, it wasn't so bad."

"Most syndicates maintain order. Otherwise they are just a mob of assholes with guns. I saw the station at the top of the space elevator briefly as my drop ship entered the atmosphere. It looked like a haphazard collection of modules and additions crammed together." 

"It was an old school ring habitat. Originally the space station looked like a stack of separate, spoked disks held together by a central column."

"Spinning is hard to beat for simplicity."

"Yes. Artificial gravity was added later. Then expanded with a haphazard collection of modules and habitats." 

"Sam, I've accessed Yessenia's suit's memory. Mass drivers on the CIH warships were used against the station and space elevator."

"Serena this is important how?" Sam asked internally.

"Because nukes weren't used. If the CP proves unviable, we may have to head for the wreck of the station and elevator. We may want to search it anyway."

"Yessenia, what was the station called?"

"If it had an official name, no one used it. Most just called it the station or IY98k station. This little moon only had one station and elevator."

"I guess that makes sense. The pre-drop briefing said this moon had been officially abandoned for a while."

"Officially--yes. Reality--no."

Sam, Serena, and Yessenia continue toward the alternate command post. The battlefield has become a routine of death. Scan. Walk. Step over bodies. Check supplies. Repeat.

Sam hates how normal it is becoming. A notification flashes across his HUD. Muon density anomaly. Human-sized. Friendly armor signature. Thirty meters ahead.

"Contact," Serena said.

Sam changes course. The body lies face down beside a shattered section of trench wall. Half-buried in ash. One arm stretched forward as if he had been crawling. The armor's identification beacon is dead. Sam doesn't need it.

"Baolong."

The name leaves his mouth before he realizes he's spoken. Baolong had been in his basic training class. Not a close friend. Not the kind you shared secrets with. But they had shared miserable field exercises, endless inspections, and more than a few nights complaining about drill sergeants.

He remembers Baolong trying to teach everyone a card game during the trip to IY98k. Nobody could remember the rules. Nobody cared. Everyone played anyway.

Sam knelt beside the body. For a moment, he just stared. The battlefield felt a little quieter.

"Sam."

He didn't answer.

"Sam."

"I know."

"No. You don't."

He closed his eyes. Serena's voice softened.

"You can mourn him later."

Sam swallowed. His mouth was dry.

"Right now, you need what he is carrying."

He looks away from the body. This feels wrong. It felt wrong with Vartouhi. It felt wrong with Jean-Marc. The situation seems worse now. Because this isn't a superior officer. This is someone he knew. A person who laughed. Someone who had a favorite card game. Someone whose parents are waiting for him to come home.

"Sam, from the size of the wounds, he took three, 57 mm CIH rounds. One round nearly taking his head off, one slightly left of center in his chest and another through his hips."

"Who is that?" Yessenia asked.

"It's Baolong. A dead comrade and another moonie such as myself."

"Moonie?"

"CW slang for children born on moon colonies such Luna, Enceladus, Titan, etc. He was from Chowei III in the Royal Tian colony."

"For an Asian, his skin is very dark," Yessenia said.

"From the platoon records, Sam, Baolong was of Chinese and African descent. Also a Coptic Christian."

"Christian? Does that mean I need to say a few words over him?"

"From what I have observed, it is what most Christians want when they pass."

"Can you help me with the words Serena?"

Sam crossed himself. Serena displays the words on Sam's HUD.

"As for those, O Lord, whose souls you have taken, repose them, and may they be worthy of the kingdom of the heavens." 

Sam picks up the rocket pod Baolong dropped.

"What's that," Yessenia asked as Sam stacked the gear on the MULE.

"It's a Naamah. A two-round, 75 mm anti-aircraft, rocket pack."

"Sam from the records, the weapon is named for the demon from the Jewish Zohar not the Cainite from the Hebrew Bible," Serena said internally.

"I'm not into religion."

"I see that."

Sam pointed to where one rocket was missing.

"Baolong got one rocket off. A monomolecular wire head, which unleashes a mesh of wire slicing things into neat five-centimeter cubes."

"I've heard of those. Aren't they a war crime to use."

"Only if you use it on a person. It's for drones."

"Sam, it's from the early twenty-first century, a time when drones grew common in combat."

"Oh. We passed a downed aircraft I wonder if he brought it down?"

"If he did there is no combat record of it," Serena said to him internally. "The aircraft showed significant damage, more than a Naamah typically inflicts."

The muon detector showed him another anomaly. He dug around in the ash until he unburied two reload packs, which he added to the MULE's load.

 "It's two reloads for the Naamah. One HESH head and three EFP heads." Sam said, anticipating Yessenia's question.

"HESH? EFP?" Yessenia asked.

"High-Explosive Squash Head. Explosively Formed Penetrator."

"Ok. More military jargon."

"Sam," Serena said gently and internally.

"Do it," Sam mumbled.

Serena takes control of the suit's repair and auxiliary waldos. Small manipulator arms unfold from compartments in the armor and begin working. One waldo disconnects Baolong's spare air cylinders. Another removes reserve water cartridges. A third extracts battery modules. 

The transfers are quick and efficient. Air. Water. Power. Life. Everything reduced to inventory. Sam watches the process without speaking. The waldos swap depleted tanks from his armor with full ones from Baolong's equipment.

Air reserves increase. Water reserves increase. Battery charge climbs. The bio-feed cartridges come next, followed by ration packs he can't eat now. Serena inventoried everything.

"Transfer complete."

Sam nodded.

"Anything else?"

"A few ration packs."

The waldos retrieve them. High-calorie combat meals. The sort everyone complained about. The sort everyone ate anyway. 

Sam takes one pack and turns it over in his hands. It's a bowl of noodle soup. A common meal on stations. The expiration date is still years away. Baolong will never eat it. The thought hit harder than he expected.

"Sam."

"I know."

"Keep moving."

He gazed upon the corpse.

"Sorry, Baolong."

No more words are needed. He stood. The MULE falls in behind him. The battlefield swallowed the body. He, Yessenia, and Serena continued toward the alternate command post.