[ Watashi ]

[ Tomodachi ]

[ Saint Seiya ]

[ Clamp ]

[ Fanfiction ]

Eleven.

Twelve.

Fourteen.

"Yeah?" The voice was thick with sleep. Despite the distance, the weariness and annoyance in it were plain. All of a sudden, the face in the monitor blinked, eyes wide, brought fully awake by whatever it was its owner had just glimpsed. "Gabriel." Lips drawn in a taut line, the man asked, "Are you gathering the Six?"

"No," Gabriel replied, "but I need--"

"Why do you bother me, then?" The petulance in the question was very well feigned. Gabriel allowed himself a smile, unable not to admire the other's performance as an actor.

Wind.

Treacherous.

Impossible to grasp.

Gabriel's smile became a grimace as he spotted a shadow attempting to disappear discreetly in the picture's background, rustling what looked like costly silken bed sheets. "Do you really have to spend twenty-four hours a day in bed?" he asked, unable to help himself. Mocking laughter answered him at once.

"It's exactly four in the morning here at the northern edge of Hellas Planitia, Gabriel, and it will be a few hours before the sun rises for yet another day full of pleasant surprises. Wake up and step out of your monastery, Libra. The universe doesn't revolve around the temple of Athena, and the Sanctuary's time isn't universal."

Gabriel decided to let the snide remarks pass unchallenged. He had no time for games. "I need you. Cendre is gone."

The smile that came to the other's face had nothing pleasant about it. "So? Why call me when your and Atalante's mistake comes slapping you in the face? Unless you're gathering the Six and giving the order--"

"No," Gabriel shook his head. "Cendre is gone, but he hasn't done anything that would justify action on our part--yet."

"Then let me repeat the question: why call me? I'm neither your friend, nor your shrink--not to mention that you have better tools to call upon to retrieve your lost puppy." The other heaved out a sigh. "Why not ask Taka? I'm sure she'll come with her tail wagging, drooling with happiness at the thought of doing you a service."

Sharp.

Nasty.

Unforgiving.

"You have to remind me why I like you with every opportunity you get, don't you?" Gabriel laughed. "I'm not hanging up on you, though." Which was of course what the other had been aiming for. Manipulation was an instinct to him, like breathing. Focusing his mind, Gabriel resumed, "Cendre often leaves the Sanctuary to mingle with the poor folks of Athens' suburbs. He walks among them and protects them. He's careful and limits himself to things as small as possible--"

"Madness!" The other spat. "And you're even crazier than he is for tolerating it!"

Gabriel knew what was lurking behind the raw anger, so again he let the slight pass. With infuriating calm, he continued, "This time, though, it's different. He came to me with a request for intervention in the war, and I had to deny him."

"That stupid kid is Atalante's mistake. I told her in vivid details what would happen, but she was adamant--and you backed her up. This is your own mess, Gabriel, not mine."

Abruptly, the image blurred, saturated with static. For a moment, Gabriel feared the communication was broken, and then the picture cleared. "Look", the other was saying, "I'm going to have to terminate the call. It's summer in the southern hemisphere, and the great dust storms have started to rise. One of them is blocking several relay stations right now, disrupting the communications array's pattern. Traffic has been rerouted, but through military channels and even though they can't eavesdrop on us, they might start wondering about this anonymous channel they' can't crack. Besides," he grinned, "it's been a busy night and I need to sleep. There isn't much I could do about your would-be rogue Gold Saint from here anyway."

"Wait!" Gabriel yelled in frustration. "Cendre isn't a fool, no more than Taka is," he added between clenched teeth. "Dismissing them with contempt the way you do is a mistake, even for someone as arrogant as you." Static had again started to blur the image--perhaps that story of dust storms was true after all. In a rush, Gabriel said, "Cendre will want to see and gauge the situation. He's coming to Mars, one way or another, I'm sure of it. We can't follow him there, we can't stop him--that would be the same as to step in and stop the war, because he'd force us to reveal ourselves. Once he's there, watch him. That's all I ask."

There was a long, loud sigh, millions of miles away. "All right," was the reply that eventually reached Gabriel. "I'll watch, and take whatever action I deem appropriate."

There was no preventing this.

Gabriel nodded in ascent and ended the communication, head bowed. The enemy he had set on Cendre's tracks was a ruthless one.

Cold.

Merciless.

But then it wasn't as if the Aries Saint had left him with a choice.

Consequences.

Patterns.

Touching.

Clashing.

Forces tearing the balance of things apart.

Chaos was rushing toward them--a mad horse galloping forward.

Blind.

"It's a very interesting flights record you have, Mr. Aries."

Yeah, and a funny name to go with it, I added mentally while staring at the forest of skyscrapers below, splashed with glaring sunlight. This office at the highest level of Star Ride's central office for Europe was a very, very nice bit of space. Turning away from the huge bay windows and the unique view they afforded the spectator over Brussels, I took in the falsely Spartan decor of the of the room. There were no useless ornaments, no priceless paintings on the wall, but the leather of the chairs and the mixture of glass and titanium composing the table were bound to be costly.

"But quite frankly, I don't see why we should grant such an outrageous request," the man behind the desk was saying. Joining my hands behind my back, I stepped toward him and flashed a smile his way.

"For the very same reason you accepted this interview, Mr. Vandael," I retorted in a sweet voice. "Because you've never been able to get inside the Graude Foundation, and because I'm offering you a golden opportunity to study and watch a piece of what lies hidden at its core."

Had the man been any lower-ranking official, he'd have laughed me in the face, but the stern, sober figure sitting in front of me didn't so much as blink. When I had gotten a glimpse of the deep blue flag of the United Earth government's space agency flying atop the building, I had known that in this place masks and pretenses were dropped. This was one of the seven central relays where all the Earth-Mars traffic--military or civilian--was planned and decided. It was an essential piece in the military's supply line, and the man observing me from behind his fashionable design glasses certainly ranked high in this busy nest's hierarchy.

Senior advisor, most likely the eyes and ears of the United Earth government's defense cabinet.

Resting his elbows on his desk, my host brought his hands to his lips, and smiled back at me. "That's true, but the risk to let loose an unknown quantity on the Mars battlefield is still somewhat disturbing. What you're asking for," he leaned back against his chair, looking at me through half-lidded eyes, "is simply incredible. To give you an Observer's status as well as free rein to go wherever you please, regardless of security regulations or of the military operations in progress..." he sighed, "that's bordering on insanity, don't you think?"

The smile on my face became an unpleasant grin. "From your point of view, yes. But unfortunately," I gave an absentminded poke at one of the few gadgets set on the desk, following with my eyes the hypnotic movements of the makeshift solar system's small metallic spheres revolving around each other, "I don't care," I went on in an even voice. "Either you agree, or you don't. If you don't, I'll simply get back to the Graude Foundation, and tell them to go over your head. I picked you because it was convenient, but I'll be happy to disturb the waters upstream if need be."

Startled laughter spilled from Daniel Vandael's lips. "God! Tossing that to me, just like that!" He gave a slow shake of his head, and looked away. "It's a weird way of unfolding the game--raw, brutal even--" stopping himself in mid-sentence, he faced me again, and asked quietly, "Who are you?"

"Aries Cendre, born in Berlin in 2244, age twenty-two. Registered trainee at Star Ride's Athens center for five years and three months." I straightened. "It's written in the folders set upon your desk, as well as flashing on your monitor and reflecting on the mirror behind you. Now," I added, taking a step back and starting to turn away from the man, "will it be yes or no?" For the time of a heartbeat, no answer came. With a short nod, I turned my back on him and walked to the door.

"All right." I froze, my right hand hovering just above the handle. There was an indistinct groan as the man likely shifted his weight in that luxury seat of his. "Yes."

Pivoting on my heels, I leaned back against the cold metallic door, and raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "In truth," he said, refusing to take the bait, "we're all lucky: you, the United Earth government, and Planetary Aid."

Planetary Aid?

What did the non-governmental relief organization have to do with this?

"One of Planetary Aid's high-ranking operatives on Mars unexpectedly came back just four days ago, hitch-hiking a ride on one of the shuttles bringing back troops for their leave," he spat. "Since then, he's been causing a ruckus concerning the so-called scandal of what he claims is an organized shortage in relief and first aid supplied destined to the Martian population in war-zone areas." Daniel Vandael snorted, and a grimace of disgust distorted his face, all of a sudden. "Filthy propaganda!"

Lightless eyes.

Branded flesh.

Despair, black and absolute.

Could it be...?

"Anyway," he drew in a deep breath, "Zwilling has somehow managed to gather a whole shipment within two days of time, and since then he's been threatening us to go public with his accusations if we didn't stop hampering his return to Mars."

"My heart grieves for you," I snickered, not in the least in the mood to enjoy political manipulation and speeches, no matter where they came from. "Get to the point, Mr. Vandael, I have no time for games, and neither do you."

Anger flashed in the man's brown eyes, quickly stifled. "Vassili Argiropoulos was right about you: there's no way we could ever work with you," he remarked, "not even if we'd caught you in one of our early detection sweeps for twelve years old. You don't have the right mindset." He gave a dismissing wave toward the reports on his desk. "So, what matters is this: we want Zwilling, his lies and his supplies off this planet. Unfortunately, all registered pilots on active duty have been reassigned to hold the military personnel relief, weapons and supply lines. We can't spare anyone, and all the A-800X spacetrains have been commandeered."

Laughter bubbled up my throat when I heard that, and I scoffed. "In other words, I'll be doing you a service, getting that guy off your toes and what's more," I added, irony plain in the tone of my voice, "since the latest spaceliners are all conveniently unavailable, you won't be risking much by sending an unconfirmed pilot on one of the old shuttles clogging Freedom Station's docking bays."

"You have no pilot's license, that's true," Daniel Vandael retorted with a most pleasant smile frozen on his lips, "but then you're no military personnel either, and you'll get an Observer's status without having to report or justify your actions to the chain of command. A more than fair bargain, but if it's too risky for you--"

"No, it'll be fine, thank you," I interrupted him softly.

Reaching into one of his desk's drawers, he took out a small ID badge and tossed it my way. "Good. I'm glad we could reach an agreement profitable to all the parties. Good journey, Mr. Aries," he finished, dismissing me.

I threw the badge a quick glance. It was correct and complete. They had used the data gathered in Athens to fill in the DNA and retinal scan information. Even the security clearance seemed reasonable. Looking at the rectangle of plastic, I felt a grin split my face.

My passport to Mars.

To war.

To betrayal and damnation.

Laughing at myself, I exited Daniel Vandael's office and wondered what was the fastest way to get to Brussels South's spaceport.

"Identification confirmed," the so-perfect-it-was-grating-on-my-nerve female voice purred. "Please state your question." For some reason, all the United Earth government-owned computers had this same artificial voice. It was maddening. Some engineer must have either been hopelessly in love when that voice had been programmed into the system, or he must have wanted to take revenge on humanity as a whole.

And a terrifying vengeance at that.

"Berth number of the freighter ship Loki, and the path to get there," I said, making sure to detach each word. Stupid habit: it had been years since the last bugs in the voice and language recognition patterns had been fixed. I made myself deaf to the soft chuckles that followed after my questions as a group of young dockers passed me by in the stark, empty central corridor of Freedom Station, and swore to myself I'd get rid of the habit.

"Berth A39, 17th inner ring. Access is restricted to authorized personnel only--loading of cargo in progress." Whistling between my teeth, I looked at the small map of the station that had appeared on the wall next to the communications node. Already! It looked like someone really wanted that Planetary Aid operative off the station.

Once I had memorized the way to Loki's docking berth, I stepped away from the wall and threw the camera set above the communication node a baleful glance. Damn stupid thing, they were everywhere on the station, and they covered each and every single square meter of it. Because of those pests, I'd have to walk a long way through the grey, dead metallic pathways circling around Freedom's core. With a faint snort, I yielded to the inevitable and shouldered the travel bag I had set down at my feet.

Nothing had come in my way between Brussels and the great orbital station. No messages, no intervention of any kind. Either Gabriel hadn't noticed my absence, or he didn't care.

Or he trusted me.

"Level seventeen," I told the lift, and blinked as the brusque descent made my stomach lurch. Refocusing on reality, I closed my eyes and reached out to the strange world around me.

Steel.

Titanium.

Unfriendly.

Vast.

A shiver came up my spine as I felt the metal's cold seep inside me and as I sensed the station's awful weight ensnaring me. Machines were humming in hidden vaults deep inside Freedom, sending imperceptible vibrations from the station's core--vibrations that touched every person living in it and rippled through layers and layers of steel to eventually lose themselves in the infinite ocean of night beyond.

Great engines powered the slow rotation that afforded station personnel with the luxury of a gravity almost equal to that of Earth. Giant recyclers sucked in air and released it again, purified. And at the center of it all, the computer system which managed everything, its network relays and communication nodes scattered all over the place--the spider web that held everything together.

There was no wind.

No sound of birds or children playing.

This wasn't Earth.

There was life here, protected by this huge carapace of metal, but it was here on tolerance. And yet, when I reached beyond the steel and titanium, beyond the noises that human beings made in a futile attempt to fill the absolute void--

Spark.

Light.

Warmth.

Insubstantial.

Breeze.

A wind of stars.

I stretched myself, yearning to bask in it and let it embrace me.

"Level seventeen. Innermost station coil."

Abruptly torn out of the slight trance I had allowed myself to slip into, I stumbled backward then got out of the lift. At this level, the station showed signs of its age. There were no more impeccably clean corridors; here and there faint traces of corrosion ate at junctions between one section and the next, and when I walked past one of the great inter-section doors, I saw strange black stains marring the original, dull grey color. They were a memory of a terrible accident in Freedom's reactor core, which had almost sealed the end of humankind's bid for the stars some eighty years ago.

This was the station's shadowy part, where the old and sometimes derelict ships were docked--those that weren't expected to ever fly out again but couldn't yet be pushed into the sun's gravity well so they could be over and done with. Merchanter and official government traffic were routed to the outer rings and their brand new, state of the art docking equipment. Before the war, private passenger and cargo liners had enjoyed the exclusive use of the third and fourth inner coils. The place the computer had sent me to simply was the equivalent of Freedom's junkyard. Just as I expected after studying Loki's model on my way from Brussels--an old shuttle designed after the Luna cargo and altered so it could make the Earth-Mars run. It was ancient but, surprisingly enough, reliable.

At last, I stopped before one of the huge bay doors. A light was flashing green on the communication node, indicating that the vacuum seal of the shuttle's docking port had been closed. I could go in without a spacesuit. It looked like loading was finished, which came as a surprise. Intrigued, I slid my badge into the node, and the system cleared me for entry, flashing a request that I log in with station's authorities in ops as Loki's pilot. With a sigh, I acknowledged the message and hoped I wouldn't forget to do so while I went into the docking bay.

Old, but nice. I smiled as I took in the lean, arrow-like shape of Loki. This was indeed and old design for a ship that didn't have to break free of Earth's thick atmosphere and gravity field, but I liked it. We'd get along, Loki and I. Discarding the door opening toward the main bridge, I stepped toward the cargo hold, and entered it.

"Sir?" A man wearing the uniform of freedom's dockers' guild with an overseer insignia popped into existence, coming from between two rows of what was marked as water tanks. Taking in the way he was eyeing me up and down, eyes wide, I belatedly realized how bizarre a sight I was bound to be for someone used to military standards and looks, and showed him my identification badge.

"I'm Loki's pilot, Cendre Aries. Sorry I startled you," I told him amiably. "I should have logged in with station ops, but I just came in with the Thalys shuttle from Brussels, and I wanted to check on the ship first," I added with a sheepish smile. Chances were the man had no time to waste on a weirdo like me, but it didn't hurt to be nice.

"Oh." He tool a very quick look at the badge, and then handed it back to me. "That's quite all right, sir." He made to leave, and on impulse I told him:

"Loki's line is an old one, but it's also strong and proud. I'm glad I'll be its pilot."

A beautiful, luminous smile lit the man's face. "Aye. She's a fine ship."

Warmth.

Simple happiness.

Yes, this was humanity. It could be as precious and beautiful as this. "Can I get a look at the manifest? I'd like to double-check the hold," I asked him, sending my thoughts to the back of my mind.

"It's by the main exit door you walked past on your way in, sir." He paused for a moment, then added, "If there's anything, don't hesitate to call for us. It's been a while since we loaded ships like her, so mistakes are always possible." Then he went away.

I had surprised him, and won points. They weren't many, the pilots who still bothered to check on the cargo themselves. After all, the newer models no longer required it, but no matter what, it remained the best way to familiarize oneself with an unknown ship one was about to fly. Old-fashioned though my request had been, it showed respect for the ship, and as a bonus it pleased the docking crew. My simple appearance was distressing enough, if I could alleviate doubts and prevent rumors of a strange, unidentified pilot from being whispered all over the station thanks to such a small thing, it was perfect.

Besides, ships like Loki required a verification.

Taking out the small computer pad I had purchased in Brussels, I stepped over the communication node set in the ship's hull and interfaced with Freedom's system, downloading the manifest's data before returning into the hold.

Well, it looked good, except for one thing. Quickly, I strode over to the inner edge of the hold, toward the thick wall of titanium and steel separating it from the engine core's chamber. A huge box had been carefully set next to it, and just as the manifest said its contents were a high precision scanner. It was rare, extremely costly medical gear, and it used the latest in magnetic resonance technology. Even though it was deactivated, the field created by Loki's engines could trigger it, and interference could result from that--a hazard to navigation. "Well," I patted the oversized box, "I'm sorry, but I guess you'll have to leave this spot."

"I don't think so."

I whirled around.

Wolf.

I blinked, willing the illusion away. There was a man standing right behind me. Again, the image of a wolf superimposed itself over him in my mind, and inwardly I grimaced. It was the hair, I supposed, short and spiky, barely reaching his nape at the rear, and the unevenly cut bangs eating at his face. Grey hair, even though he looked no older than late twenties. Yes, that had to be it--the hair and the eyes.

Amber.

"Do they hire punks in the dockers' guild now?" he asked with a mocking smirk on his lips.

"No," I retorted with a faint smile, stifling the urge to take up the challenge there had been in that question. The stranger's stance, hands on hips and the glint in those weird golden eyes belied the hostility of his words. "No," I repeated, "but you might want to check with Star Ride and the pilots' guild, because I'm the one who'll get Loki to Mars."

"Ah." He grinned. "My apologies if I offended you." He held out his hand. "I'm Cain Zwilling, your passenger." I took the proffered hand and shook it.

Strong.

Confident.

Guarded.

Releasing him, I stepped back and told him, "That scanner can't stay there, there's a risk of interference with the engines."

"Huh?" he strode past me, and reached out to the box, mumbling, "Can't be. They told me it'd be safely isolated. They used the best in containment field generators. It should be mentioned--shit!" With a brisk shake of his head, he turned back toward me. "I'm sorry. They forgot to label it on the identification plate. It should have appeared on the manifest. The scanner is completely field-safe. I'll give you Iatrika's number. With the piece's ident-mark, you can confirm with them that everything is okay."

"No," I replied on impulse, "that's all right. If you say it's safe, then I believe you. No need to delay our departure. After all, you'll be on the flight, and you want to make it to Mars alive as much as I do."

"That," he whispered, coming to stand right beside me, "doesn't fit with all I know of military procedures."

"No." I gave him a noncommittal shrug. "I'm going to log in with station ops, and see if they've already scheduled us for take off." With that, I exited Loki's hold, feeling Cain Zwiling's gaze on my back. I had been mistaken: that man wasn't a wolf.

He was a cat.

Dangerous.

Fickle.

Silent, so silent that I hadn't heard him walk up to me. I hadn't felt his presence, as if he'd been at one with Freedom--as if he had been as insubstantial as the wind. It would have fitted perfectly with the lithe perfection and control displayed in his every single movement.

A cat, indeed.

"Is your passenger on board, Loki?"

"Confirmed," I told station ops, checking that Cain Zwilling had indeed left the airlock and was on his way to the main deck, safely within Loki's hull.

"Out-docking procedures will start on my mark," the female voice continued. Chuckling to myself, I refrained the urge to inquire with station why they were hurrying it like that. "Mark."

Just as Cain Zwilling entered the bridge, a flash on my left indicated that the docking bay's vacuum seal had been released. In the same time, a muffled clang resonated through the ship as Freedom station freed the clamps that had secured Loki at its berth. The old, lean ship lurched all of a sudden, as if it was astounded to find itself unfettered after such a long time spent imprisoned in the darkest level of Freedom. Behind me, Cain Zwilling stumbled, unprepared.

Now.

Through clouds and stones, metal and a stretch of night, I sent a humble request, and warmth embraced me in return.

Golden light, woven to my essence.

Smiling as I saw in my mind's eye the Aries Cloth neatly tucked behind a sliding panel in the crew's baggage locker, I turned toward my passenger and showed him the only other seat on the deck, five steps to my right. "Hurry and belt yourself in," I told him. Unbidden, a wide grin came to my lips. "They must really want you back on Mars."

He shot me a dark, unreadable look. "They want me away from all network access is more like it," he shrugged. "Shit!"

Somehow, I managed not to laugh when the man I had envisioned as a cat unceremoniously tripped over a small step and fell into his seat with the grace of a bag of potatoes. Loki had lurched again, harder this time, and righted its trajectory. It was on automatic, remotely controlled from the great hall of station ops at the last level of the high tower looming over Freedom's many coils. As I watched Cain Zwilling settle in his seat and secure his belt, I was reminded of a cat that had been drenched in water but was busy licking its fur, pretending that nothing wrong or unforeseen had ever happened.

"Loki to station ops," I called, unable to completely erase the laughter from my voice, "what's going on? Are you thinking of offering us a rollercoaster drive on our way out?"

"Checking, Loki. Hold on." There was a short pause, then the same female voice resumed, "Guidance fields are experiencing difficulties interfacing with your system," she explained, all business. "We're compensating, but it won't be as smooth a ride as it should be. Too bad you're not station-licensed, we could have--"

Of course!

I stopped listening. Focusing a fraction of my awareness, I felt for Loki's outer hull, the void beyond it, and Freedom's lining. And I contemplated a bit of insanity. I gave myself a heartbeat to reconsider going through with the childish whim, but decided I wanted to play with that officer in ops. If she could have a bit of fun at our expense, so could I.

"Controls," I whispered, and obediently the control panels rose from the board while the screen set before me came to life with Freedom's blueprint. Allowing my fingertips to brush against the crystal-like surface of Loki's controls, I compensated from another exaggerated lurch as the ship left the innermost coils and found itself in a wider pathway.

"Loki, we're detecting an engine build-up on your side. Confirm that your primary controls are disengaged." There was just the tiniest hint of uncertainty in the woman's voice.

"Primary controls are live and active, ops. I'm compensating for the guidance fields problem, nothing to worry about."

"Negative, Loki. You're not station-licensed, and you're a navigational hazard. We have traffic in the outer rings. Disengage your controls and power down your engines." Abruptly, the upper-left corner of my screen lit with the very tense face of a young officer in Freedom's vast operations room. "Do you copy?" she asked. Then she saw me.

Her eyes grew very, very wide.

She blanched.

"Who's that?" she blurted out, likely appalled by my unexpected appearance.

"Cendre Aries, Loki's pilot. Relax...lieutenant," I finished in a sweet voice as I caught a glimpse of the insignia on her uniform. "There's no need to panic. Loki's too old for you brand new automatic docking system, she can't interface properly. I'm taking her out nice and smooth. You'll be rid of us in no time."

"No!" She leaned forward, so sharply and so much that I thought for a moment she had banged her brow against the monitor. "Negative, Loki! Power down! I repeat, power down!"

A gentle vibration traversed the bridge as the engines came fully on-line.

"Loki! Power down! I'm rerouting you to an older guidance system, it should--"

"Systems' interface is failing," I announced genially. "I'm losing station communications. Now operating on Loki's data. Take care in ops, lieutenant."

"Fuck you, Loki!" The shrill yell made me wince, but I gently sped the small ship up, ignoring the woman. "At least switch to automatics! Let station guide you and compensate! Incoming data stream says you're operating on manual only, it's madness!"

With a sigh, I banished the communications interface from my screen. Next to me, Cain Zwilling gave me a look, but didn't say anything. The flame in the man's amber eyes spoke of smug satisfaction at the discomfiture of Freedom's ops. I grinned at him, then focused on Loki.

Streams of warmth.

Ashes of light.

Whiffs of power.

It was easy to ride the currents flowing through the station's coils.

It was fun.

The small ship responded well to manual controls; it had been designed in an era when computers hadn't yet taken over everything that made piloting worth it. Nothing came in our way while Loki swam through all of Freedom's docking rings. No black section door slammed down to stop us, and nobody from ops tried hailing us again. Someone up there must have figured it was wiser to let me go, and good riddance, since I really could fly Loki through station traffic without triggering a single proximity alert. Had I been true military, there'd have been hell to pay for my little game, but as it was--I was safe enough.

As we were nearing the edge of Freedom's outermost coil, something abruptly disrupted the flow of the energy winds in front of Loki.

Big.

Sleek and cold.

A shark.

On instinct, I went along with the current and shied away from it, smoothly gliding below the great incoming ship's belly. It was no cargo liner, I noted as I threw the incoming data stream a fugitive glance--not with that shape, and certainly not with the sensation that accompanied it as it cleaved through space and dived into the station's docking area with a speed that would have meant disaster for any Merchanter ship. At last, a name flashed on a small portion of the screen, replacing all the statistics Loki's instruments had tried to gather from its close encounter with it--a name, and that ship's design and class, straight from the databases laying far below the ground under Star Ride's central bureau for Europe in Brussels.

I shivered as I felt the great shark slide above us. On impulse, I touched it with my mind, and recoiled reflexively. The cold I had sensed was spreading from it, rippling through the void and smothering the streams of power left by the freighters which constituted most of Freedom's traffic. With that cold came silence, and an emptiness far worse than that of space.

Death.

I didn't look down at the gooseflesh the sensation of that ship raised on my forearms. Instead, I clenched my teeth. I denied the urge to will Loki out of Freedom and far, far away from the aristocratic bringer of death, and bore with the nauseating feeling of its brushing against us. It was long, so long that it seemed we'd never be free of its frightening shadow. On my right, Cain Zwilling was sitting very still, as if he could also feel the great warship's lethal presence like a weight upon his soul.

At last, tiny sparks of starlight drifted past me and I smiled, heaving out a loud, deep sigh. We had reached the limit of Freedom's docking rings, and we were past that thing.

"Congratulations, Loki!" Good-natured laughter followed the sudden exclamation, and I jumped in my seat.

My heart beating so hard and fast that it hurt.

The great warship had opened communications, using universal data carrier waves rather than going through station channels--as if it knew I had severed Loki's interface with Freedom. "That was one hell of a smooth evasion maneuver to do on manual," the male voice continued, apparently quite satisfied with itself, while I frantically checked that the warship was continuing its docking approach.

Warships didn't dock at Freedom. They disturbed the supply line, and besides they needed dedicated interfaces and very special pieces of equipment when they came in for repairs or maintenance. They stopped by Provider, another station circling the Earth on an orbit perpendicular to Freedom's. "We picked up station's communications on our way to Provider, and decided to see for ourselves what caused such a ruckus. During night-shift, most of the people on duty are junior officers. You scared them half to death, Loki!"

I grimaced. This was a more than awkward situation. Loki was sitting unmoving next to Freedom, awaiting one last input from station before finalizing our plotted course to Mars, and we had a warship pretending to dock at the outermost coil that was feeling talkative. Shoulders sagging, I opened communications on our end, and replied, "Roger that, Achilles. I'll be sure to file in a detailed report on how ops announced that the guidance net couldn't handle an old freighter like Loki from the very moment we left our berth. We were a navigational hazard from thereon, and I acted accordingly."

Booming laughter answered me. "I'm not blaming you, Loki! Once Freedom is done court-marshalling you, get in touch with us. We're in need of pilots on the Mars-Deimos run."

I snorted at the screen, feeling a grin come to my face. I might have scared idiots in ops half to death, but Achilles had more than avenged them on that score. "Oh, Achilles," I said all of a sudden, "will you do me a favor and patch me through to ops?"

"You're mad!" the male voice retorted, incredulity resounding all around Loki's bridge. "But if that's what you want. Stand by. Achilles, out."

Static filled Loki, but fortunately it didn't last more than a few seconds. "Yes, Achilles?"

Ops thought we were Achilles.

Someone in the great warship must be rolling on the floor, laughing at the good joke he was playing on station.

"This isn't Achilles but Loki, ops. Achilles was kind enough to relay my call." Taking advantage of the stunned silence that followed my words, I went on, "We're still awaiting the last data input to finish plotting our course to Mars. I'm sure you want us out of your space as soon as possible, so why don't you accommodate us and we'll be on our way."

"Stand by, Loki," a dry, older voice replied. They must have woken someone from the senior staff, and he didn't sound pleased. "We're busy filing a report of all the station's regulations you broke. It'll take some time. The fine should be enough to ensure you never try to dock here again and bother us with insane stunts."

Well, at least someone in there had figured out that I wasn't truly military and couldn't be tried. My smile revealed my teeth as I said sweetly, "Be sure to send the fine to Daniel Vandael of Star Ride with my compliments, and the name of the idiot who thought to have fun at my passenger's expense by deliberately causing the guidance net to malfunction."

Silence was my only answer. Ops had cut off communications. With a small shrug, I released my belt and stood up, stretching like a cat. Then, remembering Cain Zwilling, I turned toward him and said, "Feel free to stand and move about. Ops will take some time to digest their defeat before they send us the data we need to get to Mars."

He gave me a short nod, and then followed suit. "Why did the Achilles alter its course?" he wondered aloud.

"I'm sure they told us the truth. If it's all junior staff in ops right now, they must have panicked--possibly even sent a distress call to any incoming ship, but the Achilles' instruments are sharp enough to have picked up Freedom's internal communications during its spiraling down Earth's gravity well." Either that, or they might have been on the hunt for data to record, if Daniel Vandael had spread out the word that the freak trainee of Athens had found a way to fly for real.

On my right, Cain Zwilling pursed his lips, the expression on his face more than slightly dubious, then sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter. It was some amusing bit of piloting you did," he smiled, those weird amber eyes of his set on me. "You're really unlikely cannon fodder," he mused, "and not only because of your obvious disregard for rules."

Cannon fodder.

With an effort of will, I ignored the abrupt tension in my shoulders. That expression had been used deliberately, and I didn't care for it. It sounded like an accusation.

"That incredible hair, for instance," Cain Zwilling was saying either oblivious or uncaring of the effect his choice of words had had. "It's anything but within regulation--but then here I can understand the military for once. It must come in your way all the time, and hamper your every movement. And if ever you had to wear a spacesuit...." he let the sentence go unfinished.

I took in the look in those eyes.

I took in the not-quite smirk on his lips.

"It's too kind of you to worry about me," I told him with icy politeness, forcefully unclenching the hands which had closed into tight fists at my sides. "Please rest assured that I have perfect control over my hair, and that my freedom of movement isn't restricted in the slightest," I added, stepping down to his level in brisk strides and aiming for Loki's archiving node. I needed to occupy myself with something, anything to stifle the irrational, burning flames that had risen in the wake of the man's words.

Ripples.

Touch.

I whirled around, in time to see Cain Zwilling's left hand reach out, fingertips brushing against the exact spot where a fickle lock of my hair that had won free of the braid had been just a moment ago.

"I stand corrected," he laughed gently. "You do have perfect control over that hair." Mockery was gone from the golden eyes, as if swept away by a great wind. Looking into the warmth and mirth shining there, I heaved out a sigh. The dull ache in my shoulders was gone.

"Do they intend to let us rot here until the end of time?" Cain Zwilling growled. Wordlessly I held out to him one of the blood orange juice packs I had brought for the trip. When I saw he wouldn't take it, I lifted it up and dangled it before his eyes.

"Drink," I told him quietly. "They'll give us the data; they want us away from here. They're just being sore losers is all." They must have contacted Daniel Vandael and discovered that I had told them the truth: they had no hold over me.

My, but that must rankle!

I had discreetly reactivated Loki's communication interface with Freedom, but there was no useful information coming from that direction--inconsequential station chatter about ships docking and undocking, and reassigning priorities to please those captains who had friends in high places. Achilles hadn't kept up the pretense of stopping at Freedom for long. The sleek warship had left as quickly and quietly as it had come, unscheduled and free from ops' control.

Taking a look at my passenger's tense stance--Cain Zwilling had taken to fidgeting, the fingertips of his right hand tapping on a console's smooth surface in a rhythmical, and absolutely maddening, fashion--I asked him, "Are you in such a hurry to get back to that terrible chaos? What is there waiting on the other side besides grief, blood and hatred?"

"Not much," he jerked his head up to focus on me, his mouth drawn in a thin line, "but every moment wasted here means more deaths because the equipment I'm bringing with me haven't reached their destination. War doesn't pause for us to drop down medical gear where it's needed. The wounded keep flooding what miserable hospitals Mars still has like locusts, night and day." The light in the amber eyes was a flat, hard one. Raw anger rushed past me, burning, and disappeared into Loki's hull before sinking into the infinite void beyond. With a wave of the left hand, Cain Zwilling dismissed his own words and whispered, all of a sudden, "You make a truly unique piece of cannon fodder, Mr. Aries."

"Cendre," I replied in a quiet voice. This time, I found it easy not to take offense at the term. Having heard him and felt his anger, I couldn't help understanding his one-sided view of the situation. "United Earth Corps soldiers are as human as Martian colonists," I added in the same tone, "and they bleed and die just as easily." I should leave it at that, if truth be told, but I found myself telling him, "I'm not military personnel, Mr. Zwilling."

"Cain," he interrupted me with a smile, "Cain will be fine."

I gave him a small nod and went on, "My status is that of an Observer."

"You hardly felt like a young cadet fresh out of the academy anyway," he snorted. "It would be a mistake to try and pose as one." Then, sobering, he sat down on his seat and gave me an appraising glance. "It'll be good to have at last someone who reports the reality of Mars from experience rather than from military logs," he said, a crooked smile creeping up his lips. "Mars needs peace, and it's not something United Earth Corps can bring. Compromises must come from the Transporters as well as the Merchanters, but they have the ear of the governmental body. They want to push reforms that would drive the colonists to their knees and eventually kill their exploitation of the Martian underground. Peace must come from the parties involved, not from the force of United Earth Corps's weapons."

"Maybe." I went back to my own seat and sat down. Leaning back, I stared at Loki's hull, and added softly, "But it'll be hard to convince people of that while daily reports of terrorist attacks hit the global network."

Bitter laughter resounded on Loki's bridge. "Horrible crimes that must be punished, to be sure," Cain Zwilling nodded, "but brought about by utter desperation and a hatred patiently nurtured by the other side. It's not going to stop, on the opposite."

"Why?!" I interrupted him, unable to help myself. "Why must it be that way? And why does the United Earth government hate you so much?" In a slow motion, the grey-haired Planetary Aid operative lifted his head to lock his gaze with mine.

"Because I go deep beyond the Rim, in the southern hemisphere, close to the polar cap where the refugees who survive the journey end up--where the truth lies, and where the humanitarian convoys are forbidden to go because of so-called security risks, even though the Martian resistance groups have tried many times to negotiate with United Earth Corps to open free corridors for humanitarian aid." Very, very softly, he added, "It's regrettable, but as long as the Martian population is chased beyond the Rim and left to die in the southern hemisphere like vermin, you'll find people desperate enough and broken enough to do anything, to stoop as low as it takes--blinded by their grief, their hearts shattered, emptied of anything but hatred."

I wanted to bow my head and close my eyes, to forget what I had just heard, but that would have been the wrong thing to do. So I confronted the horribly calm look in those yellow eyes and countered, "Too bad the news of these negotiation attempts never reached the network--or the United Earth government's ears. You'd think that among all the war correspondents, some would have picked up an information as important as that and used it, if only the freelance journalists."

"Why, yes," he smiled at me, a smile that never reached his eyes, "you would expect that, wouldn't you? The lack of relay for this kind of news in the media is cause for concern, don't you think?"

It was.

And then it wasn't.

The conspiracy theory had been raised early in the war development, mostly by pacifists and more radical groups close to anarchy movements. The outrageous accusations had been dismissed almost at once, the media for once showing a true unanimity on the matter. It was such an outrageous claim that the first reaction everyone had had was to turn a deaf ear on it at best--but Cain Zwilling was a man who claimed to have gone beyond the great Rim severing Mars in two, deep into hostile land that was home to the red planet's terrible, deadly dust storms.

"I don't know what I think," I reluctantly conceded. I shook my head and heaved out an almost imperceptible sigh. "I've lived on Earth all my life, and I'm bound to be prejudiced because of that. That's why I'm going to Mars: to see the truth of the situation there with my own eyes, and make my opinion."

The light in his eyes softened somewhat. "That's the fairest chance anyone's ever given Mars."

Something flashed on Loki's main screen between rows of station data and ship status. "Incoming data stream," I whispered, refocusing on the task at hand. It took Freedom less than a minute to upload the last batch of flight information we required, and I blinked when I saw the name of our destination port. "Stella Marineris spaceport is closed to us, due to an incoming dust storm of great magnitude," I read aloud. "We're rerouted to Planitia Borealis."

Cain Zwilling smirked. "It's their usual game with me, don't worry about it. All they want is to insure the supplies I bring land as far away from the Rim as possible. They can't prevent me from going south, but they can make sure I get there as late as possible."

I didn't comment. Turning my attention back to Loki, I inputted the data and parameters I desired for the flight. For a fraction of a second, the screen went blank, and then numbers filled the monitor, bringing the beginnings of a smile to my face.

"Well," I said even as I looked at my passenger, "they may have rerouted us and delayed the information by two hours, but this good little freighter shuttle they had left to rot down Freedom's innermost coils just gave me a course that wins us at least five days compared to the original flight plan."

Old ship.

Old security standards.

Lower security standards, but that was all right: Loki's mass was small compared to the power of its engines. "Still, the trip will be around ten days long," I told him. "Loki has no passenger quarters to accommodate you. The only luxuries on board are that of stasis nets and tranquilizing shots."

He blinked at that, then grinned. "It's okay. I don't need anything; I'm used to the Earth-Mars run, don't worry."

I frowned. "The trajectory I asked of Loki's computer will have us dive into the sun's gravity well and then rebound, boosting us toward Mars. Paradox threshold will most likely be reached, and we may go beyond that. It won't be comfortable for anyone lacking in experience of extreme flight conditions, and I'd feel sa--"

"Then all is well," he cut me off with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "since it would seem that I have a much more extensive experience of the Earth-Mars run than you do." The amusement in his voice was unmistakable.

Very well. If he was so sure of himself, who was I to disagree? "Loki to Freedom," I called, opening a channel to the station, "Data received and inputted. I'm uploading our flight plan to your system...now," I said when I saw a signal indicating the transfer was over. Then I cut communications and ran a last check on our cargo in the hold, allowing my attention to wander.

Cain Zwilling was a strange man.

Arrogant.

Harsh.

I could understand Daniel Vandael's feelings concerning him. The man's attitude was sure to bring him more enemies than friends. He seemed fickle and unreliable at times--like the wind. But he also truly believed in what he said and did. That sincerity shone around him like a beacon. He was willing to risk his life to bring humanitarian aid to region in Mars' southern hemisphere, unsecured territory where nobody dared go, and that won him points in my book. Despite opinions clearly hostile to United Earth Corps, he had enough clearances to get back to Earth and then leave with a cargo hold full of supplies gathered in less than two days of time--not to mention the mandatory authorizations to go beyond the Rim. It meant that either he really was what he pretended to be, or that he had connections in very high places.

Right now, I decided that Cain Zwilling deserved at least the benefit of the doubt and released Loki's engines, setting the small freighter underway.

End of Chapter 2.

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