“Names are good, and you just met the Deepers—and survived, I might add, so you’re already doing better than most of the small forces out here. I’m Proconsul Lomas. I command this division of the Rimworld League, but we just call it the League. I’m assuming you’re not from anywhere near here because I would remember that kind of tech.”
“This?” The Archetype waved a hand. “Long story. As to our home, we’re—Leira, how far are we from home, anyway?”
“Tybalt says they’ve narrowed it down to twenty thousand light-years, give or take about five either way. Oh, and hi. I’m Leira, the second Dash was talking about. I’m over here.” She waved the Swift’s left hand in a lazy arc.
An awkward silence hung across the comm as Lomas worked through the implications. “That’s quite a bit farther than I expected. Who are you?”
“Since I told you my name, I’m assuming you’re asking more about where we’ve come from. Originally, a planet called Earth.”
“Earth?” She shook her head. “Okay, so more than cousins, and less than siblings. We understand a planet called Earth to be our origin as well.”
“But the Cygnus Realm is a long way from Earth, and now we’re a long way from the Cygnus Realm. We got here through a gate that showed up—uninvited, I might add—in the middle of one of our systems,” Dash said.
Lomas narrowed her eyes. “A gate, you say? Well, unless you’ve been on your way here for a really long time, a gate would explain a lot.”
“Not just a gate. A gate that burped two warheads into my home space, killed an entire installation and almost three hundred people, and thus, is now on my shit list. You have those, don’t you?” Dash said.
“I certainly do, and Deepers are first in line.”
“Deepers?” Leira said. “You mentioned those. What are they?”
Lomas shrugged. “We’re not really sure, and we don’t know what else to call them. Not very chatty. And since you’re clearly not one of them, mind if we take this conversation elsewhere? I don’t like bathing surrounding space in messages across an open channel.”
“My thoughts exactly. We can meet you at a place of your choosing,” Dash said.
“Rather trusting of you, but thanks,” Lomas offered.
“After you see what our mechs can do, you might rethink your opinion of how trusting I really am. Just so we’re clear, if we get a scratch, things will get . . . unpleasant. Our mechs are rather attached to us,” Dash said.
“I tolerate your jokes, that’s true,” Sentinel said.
“Kind of you. I’ll work on my material.” Dash turned his attention back to Lomas. “Can you send us coordinates?”
“Sending now. Nearest system, fourth planet, second moon. Nice place. I’ll be waiting,” Lomas said, then she touched three fingers to her brow in a salute.
“Give us some time to get there.” As soon as the connection was cut, Dash switched back to the task force’s internal comm channel. “Okay, Leira, Benzel, what do you think? Should we get involved in this new, exciting, and terrible war with ships that act like animals, or just go home and station a blocking force on that Black Gate?”
“More than just a border dustup,” Benzel said. “Between this Rimworld League and these Deepers.”
“You sound excited about that,” Leira put in her, her tone dry.
“I’m a man of action. Wandering through Freya’s garden on the Forge is a nice break, but I’m not all that keen on making it a lifestyle choice,” Dash said. “Haven’t actually seen a trout, either.”
“Told you they were a lie,” Leira said, triumphant.
“Possibly. But the Deepers are real, and they scare the hell out of me.”
“Well, I think this is—” Leira began, then she paused and sighed. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? Dash, I know that I’ve been coming across all cautious, but it feels like we just crushed the Golden.” She sniffed. “Although roasting Deepers does feel a bit more satisfying than fighting mosquitoes. This, I will freely admit.”
“Darling,” Dash said.
“Yes?”
“You inspire me, with your willingness to fight. Seriously. I’m giddy,” Dash said, threatening to laugh.
“I’m a woman of layers, dear.”
“I know. Okay, then—on me, kids. Let’s go meet our new friends.” Dash and the fleet turned to follow, drives flaring to life in the deep reaches of a new frontier.
“You know, when I think moon, I tend to think of airless rocks,” Dash said. “Always surprises me when a moon turns out to be like this.”
Dash had settled the Archetype onto a landing pad between two rugged mountain peaks. In both directions, forests and lakes sprawled off into the mist of distance, the vegetation a soft bluish-green under the warm light of a yellow, G-Class sun. He dismounted and drank in the warm breeze wafting up from the lowlands below that were rich with hints of lush greenery.
Leira, strolling away from the looming bulk of the Swift to join him, hooked a thumb into her belt and nodded. “Right? I get that you call it a moon when it’s orbiting something like that.” She gestured with her free thumb behind her at the vast sweep of the moon’s parent gas giant, a softly glowing arc filling at least a third of the sky in that direction, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “But this? Yeah, I could get used to this.”
“Well, don’t just yet,” Dash said. “Our hosts are approaching, and I still don’t know how much I trust them.”
Lomas strode from a shuttle that had landed shortly after they’d grounded the two mechs. Benzel had deployed the remainder of the task force around the planet, with the Retribution in a geosynchronous orbit designed to let her keep watch over the landing site. Dash noted that Lomas had only brought three others with her—a short, round-faced man with pale, watery eyes and absolutely nothing else remarkable about him, and two others, obviously security types.
The lack of an imposing greeting committee told Dash a lot about Lomas and her intentions. It was neutral more than anything, and for Dash, neutral was good. Going into a new and uncertain place meant some degree of risk, even with the mech looming at their backs. A single shot from an angry soldier could do a lot of damage, but Dash hadn’t built the Realm on a premise of mistrust, so he stood, waiting and watching, knowing that everything would be revealed in the next few moments. That was the thing about being a leader. Sometimes, waiting was the only way to get what you wanted, even when you had other options.
Lomas stopped and offered another of her three-fingers-to-the-brow salutes. Dash responded with a smile and an offered hand.
Lomas looked at his hand, frowning. As the moment stretched, a man leaned forward and whispered something to her, then her brows lifted in surprise.
“You’re offering to shake my hand.”
Dash looked at his hand, back at her. “Minor cultural difference here?”
“We don’t engage in a lot of contact with new members of the community or outside our bonded pairs. I could bore you with the reasons, but the details are lost to time.” Lomas gave a shrug of apology as Dash withdrew his hand, only somewhat nonplussed.