*~^~*~^~*

He waited until they were well out of sight, and walked to the cave opening, a little angry, mostly with himself. The sunlight was good on his face, warm and somehow eased his fury, just a little. His hand slid back into the pouch containing the download of Buck's personality, and he twisted it between his fingers, smiling faintly. He leaned against the edge of the cave wall, and looked out across the desert. The two small figures of the mind-bound cybes had long since disappeared from sight. He waited patiently, pulling a narcstick from his other pocket, and crushed the tip, ignoring the pain as it self-ignited. A moment later he took a long contented drag.

Well. Maybe Buck would be pleased after all. Letting goddamned cyborgs go, unharmed. He knew Sarah would be. Mercy. He looked away, disgusted at himself. Sarah hadn't been granted mercy; Adam and Buck had been shown no compassion. He braced himself for the usual turmoil to drag at him, but it wasn't there. Instead, he held the small shard of memory gently, almost peaceful, as though he'd been given the man himself. Mercy.

Mercy.

"Where did you come from, old dog?" he murmured, and breathed the drugged smoke in deep, shoulders loosening, pain blurred just far enough away to forget it hurt. "Who did this to you?" Maybe he should talk to Josiah. Maybe Buck. Maybe Buck would even have the answers, once he found a way to access him.

His hand clenched around the chip, then loosened as quickly. That would be the trick. Find a virtual environment; yes, get the kid to fix one up. He'd understand, maybe, a little. If he could he'd just download him direct, but it wasn't possible. He could see himself now, as much a junkie as the rest of the netheads, locked into a virtual world that was the only living he wanted. He didn't much care.

He threw the narcstick on the floor of the cave, and ground his heel into it. Enough. He closed his eyes, a bitter little smile on his lips. Give him back a bare third of what he was missing: a virtual entity, unable to do more than give an illusion of life. Shades and shadows haunted him yet, now, now, some would talk back under daylight hours, while he was still awake. And it was still burning at him, still urging him on, in, deeper, willing to take the virtual ghosts over a reality that cast only strangers' shadows.

Someone had a very cruel sense of humor.

He wondered if it was Josiah, or some other. Wondered whether if this were all he could have it would be worth it, if it would be bearable. Or if it would be worse than believing them dead, separated by the gap between soul and tech. To be so close--

He slid the chip away into the pouch and reached instead for one of the grenades hooked to his waistband, and strolled back up the path he'd come down. When he'd gone far enough he primed it, and chucked it over his shoulder, listening to it bounce noisily. One-one hundred, two-one hundred, three-one hundred and the mountainside groaned, shook. He kept walking, ignoring the way his coat-skirts flapped forwards, his hat dragging against its string. Dust stung at his eyes, fine fragments of rock blown upwards as the tunnel collapsed behind him.

Forget being nice. He considered the rest of the ways in, and nodded to himself. If they had to, they could close them all. Air vents, escape hatches, the lot.

If he didn't try, he'd never know.

Chris picked his way back up the mountain, not really caring what he encountered, ahlf hopeful that he could kill something next time. Even with his ears pricked for any sound, his mind reaching into the dark for any signs of life, he still was surprised when Vin slid out of the darkness . He held his startlement in, and when Vin said: "Nothing much up this way," nodded.

"Route down is closed and safe." He didn't offer details; didn't ask about the scuffs and dirt on Vin's face and clothes. Time to finish this.

---------------

"Oh my god," JD said out loud, too shocked to thread it for a moment. You can do that?

We can't do much, Federale, not in our current condition, but we can clear your sky or clear the ground, or maybe get you ten more minutes on the shields. You're on the ground -- just tell us what you need.

He swallowed. His call. No time to ask around, just him. He closed his eyes, frowning, pressed the heel of his hands into the sockets. How was he supposed to decide? The ground force was close, bare meters away from him, hazy through the shield. If they were gone he'd be safe. But the bombs would keep on coming as long as the V813 was in the sky. She was already returning, another strafing run, and the shields wouldn't survive another bombardment. The second or third from now would just pound straight through the mountain, and even if the shield held out another ten minutes it was just a matter of time. Sky, he said, and immediately wanted to take it back. He felt sick. Less than two minutes to shield collapse, and they'd come pouring through, kill him...

Good luck, son, Travis said through the net, his voice almost kind. Try not to get yourself killed.

Yes, sir, he replied firmly, as though it would be possible to survive.

We'll speak later. Travis out.

Thank you, sir. Dunne out. Over and out, all the way out. The shields flickered, like a bad holo. If there was a choice between waiting for the shields to go and taking one last shot...

Let's go down fighting, he thought. And added, real quiet, deep underneath where no one would hear him: Shit. We're all gonna die.

There was another thought after that, but he didn't let himself think about it.

Time to be doing.

---------------

Footsteps echoed in the stairwell, and Ezra and Jenna both spun, guns trained on the door leading to the stairs, waiting for the invaders to roll them up from behind.

They were so focused on the door that JD's sudden yell through an open channel, "Incoming! Ballistic! Fifty seconds to impact! Shields are gone, I repeat, shields are gone!" shocked Ezra cold. All around him people flinched, then turned, rushing away desperately, heading deeper into the mountain in an attempt to escape the onslaught.

For a second he couldn't move, and Jenna's hand was on his elbow, pulling him away from the doorway, lowering her own weapon as she did so.

"Move!" she said urgently, "Come on, we need to fall back. We've got--"

"Forty seconds," he said, his feet ungluing, and then the numbers flooded in, and they were running behind the pack, fleeing for safety.

Thirty-four, thirty-three. It was an old trick, the easiest thing in the world to count it down.

"Can we go lower?" someone asked, desperate, kicking at a door, and Jenna shook her head.

"No time! Move, move, move! Everyone, deeper. We need to be central before it hits. Run!" As they could outrun a missile.

"JD, what kind of incoming?" he asked, then bit his lip. Don't distract him.

"Sorry, Ez," Ezra let it pass, this once, one last-- not thinking about it -- "not missiles -- ships, two ships. They're gonna crash pretty close -- maybe right on us, I don't --" he hesitated and said, a little more steadily, "It's a Church gun ship, and a fighter. Impact in seventeen, sixteen, fifteen..."

Ezra felt cold. A Church gun ship about to crash into the unshielded mountain?

"JD, I get it." They were going to die. No last stand, no good looking corpse. No hero. Obliteration and a mountain falling on his head. He wondered if he'd die straightaway, or be crushed, or suffocated, or die of thirst or hunger, whole but trapped... For a moment he wanted to be where JD was, waiting for a fireball to take out the wide open hangar, and flinched.

"What happened to the shields?" he asked, even though he knew.

He could almost see the kid's bright grin even over the mere radio link. "Got enough juice for one more shot."

"Good hunting, son--" There were more words but they stuck in his throat. Then the mountain juddered, everything rocking away and then back and up, and he fell, everyone fell, the world collapsed around him.

---------------

He should have been shooting, but all he could do was stare up into the firmament. Clear blue sky, warm sunlight. Perfect.

"Ora pro nobis, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae," Josiah whispered. "Mother of god and the cavalry."

Two distant stars tumbled, streaming flame and he reached out a little, but the screams of the dying were gone, gone, evaporated in temperatures high enough to melt metal, dissolve bone, sear clean. Stars tumbling down and down. A great light exploded below him, spilling out from the side of the mountain, heat prickling his skin moments later even here, as the ground jolted beneath his feet. Minds screamed, and blinked out. A second explosion followed mere seconds after, and the sound rumbled across the plain. "She puts off her Sunday clothes, and wears rags to the market," he whispered, and couldn't look away. Josiah watched the two ships burn, and turned his face away, laughed a little into his poncho, muffled his tears. Dead, dead.

"No one gets out alive," he whispered to himself, or perhaps to Chris. "Average death rate remains a nominal one hundred percent."

Even if the Church thought they could circumvent that.

One little thing at a time.

He hugged the great gun to him, and pitched it carefully. A dim glimmer of a targeting frame shone in front of him and he squinted through it to the encampment. Smoke trails drifted up from it yet, and he grinned. They'd left a little mark of their own then.

"Great troubles are good for the soul," he said solemnly, and fired. "A little trouble such as I will be followed by a greater." In a smaller man the recoil might have done serious damage. He muttered a plaintive, "Ow!", and carefully lowered the great gun to the ground. He shifted his arm cautiously, and frowned. He could put it back himself, or wait for Nathan's hand.

In the distance the missile detonated, scattering fire, illuminating the encampment by the light of the burning buildings. Josiah paid it no mind, still considering his shoulder with a certain amount of reproach.

"No one's going to die if I do," he said tiredly, and eyed the mountain. They might if I don't.

He weighed the odds, sighed, and positioned himself carefully, a hand cupped over the displaced ball joint, and rammed his elbow into the mountainside. His eyes glazed over, scrunched up tight, and after some seconds had passed he drew a deep breath, and let it go. On the tail end of it he said mildly, "Ow. Again." It took a little longer for the color to come back to his face, and for him to stop pressing his lips together so hard they hurt.

"Well, that's a comfort at least," he murmured. One of the encampment's buildings was obliterated, and he could see them churning like disturbed ants. Perhaps best to move. He crept away from his position towing the great gun in his wake.

Scattered fire in his direction made him move faster. He had some secrets that should not go to the grave. Maybe he should have told them sooner, not waited for this to play out to the bitter end. If he died, then it would be bitter indeed. The boy, or the priest he'd helped make. He sighed. Ah, Hannah. I thought I was helping you.

In memory -- he hoped -- he heard her voice, sly and weighted with unclean knowledge: You did, elder brother, you did. Long practice drove the memory, the voice away, and with it the burn of bile at the back of his throat. They were all driven by their own ghosts. He just wished his were dead.

Memory, reality; graves and dances. It would all come to one in the end.

Not just yet. He reached out, stretched a little, and felt Nathan's only-human panic with real relief. His mind was clear and focused on a task, and Josiah retreated gently. Ah, and here was the boy; JD's fear and excitement muted by his nanites, but joyful despite the danger. Children. He chuffed a faint laugh and moved on, cyborgs, cyborgs, more -- ah! Ezra was a blur of cool, calculating concentration, thoughts obscured, the edges glimmering blood stained and ice cold. And Vin and Chris... were hidden.

Chris, he understood, but Vin... Vin. He smiled. Vin had come a long way from the center worlds. A long, long way.

A rock exploded into shards above him and he dropped, covering his face, wincing as hot sharp fragments riddled his clothing. Nothing penetrated, but it was unnerving.

JD took something out of the sky, bright star rising, green and gold, and he grinned, almost seeing the boy's exuberant glee. He wasn't sure if he was actually feeling it or not, the edges of JD's triumph and fear echoing in him as a Church gun scout tumbled out of the sky in a great, burning arc straight down the throat of the shot that downed it. Then there was just fear, and then silence.

Three ships down.

Time to make a stand then.

He nodded again, and continued on his path down the mountain, hefting the gun to his uninjured shoulder. Time and past.

---------------

The hammering had gotten closer; Mareen and Nathan and ten of the oldest children -- ranging from nine to fourteen -- had positions behind the first line of barricades, nothing more than stacked beds. Behind the barricade, smaller hands held smaller guns, waiting for that line to be breached also. And at the very back, one of the children was carefully leading the very youngest down through the air vents, only big enough to take the ones less than about eight years old. The very tiniest, the babies, were barricaded away, just three little, little forms, too small to save themselves. If it came to it, he knew what Mareen would do, rather than let the children serve the Church. He tried not to think about it.

He'd tried to argue, until she'd finally said, you don't understand. You never will. If you cannot agree, then at least respect our ways. He winced, remembering. She'd hit him right square in the middle of his Center Worlds trained tolerance.

And perhaps, if he fought, they'd make enough of a difference that the children would live.

His grip on his gun tightened reflexively as the hammering stopped. The silence held outside for long moments.

"Look: the door," one of the children whispered, and Nathan rested a comforting hand on the thin shoulder. He stared at the door, his eyes burning -- what was he meant to be seeing? The others could see, he could tell by the way they shifted. A patch near the hinges shimmered brighter than the rest of the metal, and he stared harder. Was it just his eyes or -- a small core of the shiny area started to show red, and he knew.

"Has everyone who can gotten out?" he asked distantly.

"Almost all of them," Mareen said. Next to her a small girl held a gun, a bulky combat vest incongruous on her small frame. Mareen's arm was over her shoulders, and Mareen said softly, "Soon, Nathalie, darling." The small girl nodded, face as solemn as a priest's and Nathan felt cold.

So young, and more of a warrior than he ever claimed to be. What did this place do to its children? What had they become? What had they been forced to be?

Another boom, more distant, and the whole mountain shuddered as though it were coming down on them, and Nathan held his ground, held his ground, held onto the children and held his ground as dust showered down and metal groaned under intolerable pressures. And all the while, a cherry red patch grew around the hinges of the door in front of them.

---------------

Ezra waited in the blackened corridor for Apman's troops to break through the gaping hole in the mountainside. The far end was open to the sky now; a hole punched through forty feet of solid rock, the payload small enough to stop after going through another two walls, both made of rock, neither less than two feet thick. They'd been purely lucky that it had clipped the mountain at an angle, not driven straight in.

"Will it hold?" he asked, and Marc shrugged.

"Maybe." Marc's hands were plunged deep into a morass of wiring, and he itched to be doing something.

"Are you sure it's--"

"No! I'm not sure!" Marc snapped, "It's not like I've got someone on the outside to tell me if they can see a fucking enormous hole in the side of the mountain, or if the holoprojector is holding up and it all looks okay. If you have a contact on the outside you're not sharing, now's the time. Otherwise, shut up!"

"JD?" he asked over the radio, and Jenna glanced at him.

"He the kid on the battle station?"

Ezra nodded, and she shrugged. "Haven't heard anything from anyone on the threads. I'm guessing one of the explosions knocked the comms down -- the comms or the cyborg tech."

Marc shook his head, "Atmospheric EM saturation. Those ships had sub light drives of some sort. That would disrupt everything for a while if they went." He shrugged. "I'm guessing they went."

"For how long?" Jenna asked before Ezra could.

Marc shrugged. "Until I know the size and nature of the explosions, I can't tell you. Hours, days. Could be minutes. I don't know."

"Why's that working then?" He nodded at the machine.

"Because I'm not a moron, unlike you, who apparently has absolutely no clue about light imaging tech," he said tersely, and turned back to it, eyes closed for a long minute. He sat back on his haunches and gently pulled his hands out, wires disentangling themselves from his skin as he eased out. "There we go."

"But it's definitely working, right?" Jenna asked, and Marc sighed.

"Yes. Look."

If Ezra tilted his head he could vaguely see the shimmer of a hologram across the opening -- theoretically showing only a deep gouge in the mountainside rather than the gaping hole that was unprotected and open to anything at all. It was hard to make out through the dust and smoke; he rubbed at his eyes, and coughed, trying not to breath in too deeply. "What if something comes -- tries to get through?"

"Nothing's coming through there for hours," Jenna said coolly, and climbed the fallen rocks to peer further down the blasted corridor. Rock still glowed red hot, crackling sharply as it cooled again. "If it's this hot in here, imagine what it did to the outside. The explosion's got to have scoured the side of the mountain clean of pretty much everything living."

Marc grinned up wickedly, "And if they do try coming through in the next few hours, they're gonna singe their toes." He straightened up with a groan. "That should hold a while."

"What do we do while we're waiting for them to come through?"

Jenna and Marc glanced at each other, and if Ezra hadn't known comms were down he'd have been wondering just exactly what they were talking about behind his back.

"We should head for the infirmary," Jenna said, and Marc nodded.

"What's in the infirmary?" Ezra asked.

"Mareen's got most of the kids in there." She hesitated, and added, "We built it to be the most secure place in the complex. For obvious reasons."

A cold shiver ran through Ezra. Yeah. Obvious all right. Jenna was looking at him dubiously and two days ago, she'd have been right to do so.

"Let's go see what we can salvage for the future, then, shall we?" he managed to say casually.

Jenna nodded, and took point. "Marc?"

"Right here," he said from behind Ezra, who found himself flanked. They were willing to accept his help, but didn't trust him. Smart cybes.

The corridor was empty, and much to his relief, the further in they went, the cooler it became. He mopped at his face with a pocket cloth, and began, "How far--"

Jenna put a hand up sharply, and he stopped, unsure of her meaning, but not willing to chance it.

Marc slipped past him and then forward, padding silently to the bend in the corridor. He leaned around, and ducked back instantly.

Jenna might have said it was too hot for anyone to follow them in, but he watched their back trail carefully anyway, ignoring the faint smell of scorching human flesh rising with the smoking connections and white hot metal.

He shifted from foot to foot, waiting for Marc to rejoin them. Strange company he kept these days. He wished he could call Zhou Yu, or JD, or any of the others, find out if they'd survived. Instead, he was shoulder to shoulder with cybes. Three of them strolling through a war zone like idiots. Surely Apman had to be running out of drones to expend by now?

Marc shook his head, held up three fingers, and managed to convey that of three unfriendlies up ahead only one was looking their way. Jenna nodded, glanced at Ezra, cocked an eyebrow. Ready?

He grinned back brightly, and lifted both weapons, a tilt of his head throwing the question back -- I'm ready, you?

"Down to the bend, then on one," she mouthed noiselessly, and held up her hand, three fingers extended. Marc and Ezra nodded, and crept after her.

A dull thud, and a rush of hot air, and Ezra held still, his eyes narrowly on the dark ahead of them, blinking against the bright flash of the explosion, the dust burning on his exposed skin. A quick glance at Jenna, the cybe caught the movement, flashed a reckless smile, gone almost before he'd registered its presence.

At the bend, and they paused, counted -- thee, two, one -- and moved.

Into the corridor -- something turned and he fired in exact synchrony with the cyborgs beside him, but though their initial reflexes were almost of a pace, he couldn't keep up, and simply held down the trigger, spraying the area. Marc stopped, Jenna a fraction of a second after him as he lifted one hand; Ezra stopped too, listening. The corridor was too filled with ash and dust to see anything.

Was that -- he almost fired, finger tightening. If his palms had been sweaty the kid would have died. Slippery fingers on triggers were messy. Ten years ago he had the sweat glands cut in his palms; one at a time, the nerve cluster for it buried deep in his chest, so far in they had to deflate a lung to reach it. He can't imagine what it would be like to try to control a weapon with your hands slick. With your hands wound tight with metal.

The gray and cream of Marc's hands moved, flashed in the dim light behind the barricade and Ezra's hand closed the trigger again, firing blindly. A series of thuds, not explosions. Maybe. Marc sniffed beside him, and smiled whitely. Ezra took a small breath in, and smirked. As though they hadn't planned for this. He breathed deeply through his nasal filter, and --

"No..." he whispered, as he saw the child again -- he'd half thought it was a mirage.

A small figure, bouncing a ball in the dust off to the side. "No, no--" he rose to his feet. "You promised, you promised--"--"

Ezra didn't need to see the child's face to recognize her. He didn't need to see the future to know what was going to happen with terrible inevitability as he sprinted up the corridor. "No!"

---------------

The door blew and Nathan fired, a wall of energy beating into the door and the soldiers beyond it. He could see them jolt back, and then from near Mareen one of the children slipped through.

"Get her back!"

Mareen just shook her head, wouldn't look around, wouldn't do anything but grip his arm tightly as he stepped forwards.

"Let her be, Nathan," she said. "We all have our part to play. Nathalie understands hers."

Nathalie. He wanted to look away, wanted to cry, or scream, no, not children, but of course children. Why shouldn't they fight when they were the target? Sick at heart, he fired again, half tempted to take aim at the small back. All the arguments he could make ran through his head, but over and over again he came up against the memory of all his research, the look in the parents' eyes, the way that they had accepted what he had to say. Nathalie was dying. Perhaps this way was better. To make that death count for something when it seemed impossible that anything more could come out of it.

Perhaps this was better. Die fighting. Make it count. Rebel against something that meant something, not just die by inches from the revolt of her genome against tech.

Someone took aim at him and he shot them down, stepped forwards. Mareen moved with him, firing steadily. They were out of the doorway, driving them back, and Nathan grinned, maybe they could do this, maybe they could do this--

Someone moved to the right, and Nathan instinctively turned towards it. He could feel Mareen step into his back, guarding it so that they were standing back to back as he aimed, fired.

"Shit!" He swore and jerked his hand up hard, trailing a line of fire up the wall, completely missing anything worth hitting. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Standish rolled with the child out of the line of fire and came up with a hard little smile on his face. "I know you don't think much of cyborgs," he said viciously, "but I thought better of even you."

"Let go of me!" Nathalie was kicking and squirming; for all he'd thought of Standish as being lazy and effete, the man must have had a grip of iron, because his grip didn't budge despite the child being cybe enhanced.

"No," he shook his head. "We can find a better way." He dragged them both to the side of the corridor, favoring one hip, Nathan noticed.

"Get her in here, Standish," Nathan said sharply. "We'll cover you."

He fired blindly down the corridor until Ezra was behind him, through the door, and he and Mareen were retreating, step by step. Two figures came up through the dust and dark, and Nathan took aim -- then Mareen grabbed his arm.

"They're ours!" she said urgently, and he pulled up, pointing to the ceiling until the two cybes were there, and then they backed slowly the rest of the way into the infirmary. No one fired, and Nathan breathed out with relief. He turned to Mareen and grinned.

"I think we did it," Mareen began, smiling back, and then convulsed, the brilliant glow of a pulse shot illuminating her from behind for a fraction of a second, before it faded, and her knees folded under her. Nathan whirled, snapped his hand down to activate his blade and bring it into his palm, and then back and release, three sharp swift moves, and a solid, meaty thunk as it hit dead center. Someone hit the ground outside, and he waited tensely, one of the new cybes at his side.

"I don't see any more," the man said softly, and Nathan looked over at him.

"How can you be sure?"

The cybe smirked. "Battle tech," and tapped by his eyes. "See in the dark, see through most things, as long as it's not hot."

"Nathan," Ezra called urgently, "Nathan, quickly."

He turned, startled to recognize one of the cybes -- Jenna -- cradling Mareen's body, and stopped.

"Can you help her?" she pleaded, "Doctor Jackson? Please, you, you have to do something--"

"I --" He dropped to his knees beside him, and brushed his empty palm over her open eyes, closing them. He couldn't speak, and bit his lip, trying to keep calm, swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Jenna, Mareen..." He shook his head, and said helplessly, "I'm so sorry."

"Oh." Jenna looked down at the girl in her arms and pinched her lips tightly together.

"Jenn?" The other cybe crouched beside her, and she blinked away tears. I didn't think they could cry, Nathan found himself thinking, and shook himself.

"How is everyone else? Ez? You okay?"

Ezra looked up, and his eyes were dark. "They're just kids, Nathan," he said softly. "How the hell do we fix this?"

Nathan had no answer for him, too uncertain that it wasn't his fault, in some deep, obscure way. "We get them all out, Ezra," he said firmly, and was faintly surprised to hear himself. Not as surprised as Standish looked. He rose to his feet and looked around the room. There were still eight kids -- three babes in arms, and five older children, including Nathalie. Two cyborgs. Him and Standish.

"Quit panicking, and help me tally up what are our assets."

---------------

They'd met in the deep tunnels, heading back down. Chris seemed as calm as he ever was, that is to say, itching for a fight, but willing to wait for the chance to wade into a really vicious one. Vin hadn't been able to raise anyone in the fifteen minutes since JD's last call had pretty much blasted his ears.

They had to crawl through the entrance way to the hangar, and they both burned hands and clothes on the hot rocks and metal. Vin scrambled down, batting absently at the scorched patches on his leather pants as he looked for any signs of life. Nothing moved.

The main entrance, once big enough to take a good sized gun ship, was impassable. Fires burned everywhere, making the place unbearably hot, leaving him choking on ash and dust. Even if the fires hadn't blocked the exit, great pieces of rock and masonry had fallen to the ground, and the sheets of metal which had covered them were hanging loose, torn from their shorings. The memplas walls had fallen too, some, those up front near the biggest fires, were denaturing rapidly and just dripping in long warped runnels across everything in its path -- including bodies.

The smell was terrible.

"You see anyone?" Vin called. The priest didn't respond, and Vin turned his head sharply, half afraid of what he'd see. Larabee was picking his way through the rubble, his eyes fixed on the fire at the front of the hangar, his face as hard as stone.

"Larabee? There anyone left?" he tried again. The last thing they needed was Larabee to finally lose it.

"No one," Larabee called back a few seconds later, and it was as though he'd never drifted. "I'm going to check this side. You wanna--" He jerked his head towards the place where the battle station had stood. Now the whole thing was gone, buried under a tangled swathe of metal and burning plastic.

No. Not really, he thought, but there was no point leaving it. He tried threading again, (JD? Come on kid, tell me you bailed in time--) but there was no reply -- comms had to be down. That was all, and he wasn't listening to the cold little lump in the pit of his stomach that insisted that there wasn't anyone left to hear.

"JD?" Vin shouted. "Hey, kid, you here?" JD? he tried again over the cybe frequencies. Nothing, and the silence was unnerving.

He picked his way through the mess, and as a path opened up in front of him, picked up the pace until he was jogging toward where they'd left JD. He shoved one last piece of memplas out of the way, careless of his burned and skinned hands, and stopped dead.

Half a fighter ship was embedded in the remnants of the battle station. Pieces of both were scattered everywhere. The impact zone was clear of organic material; plastics evaporated; living tissue dust and ashes. Some metals had survived the conflagration, seared bare and fractured clear down to rock in places, blackened and cracked with the extreme temperatures that came with the implosion of a sublight ion drive.

"JD?" he said again, not quite meaning to say anything at all. Chris gripped at his shoulder, and he was surprised at it, distantly.

"Vin! Hey, Mr. Larabee! Jeshu, I'm glad to see you guys," JD called out with evident relief, as he scrambled down from behind a huge pile of rocks. "I thought I was a goner -- I thought we all were goners. Seriously." He eyed the burning debris at the hangar exit, and actually bounced despite a cut trickling blood down the side of his face, visible bruising and burned patches of skin and clothing. "Didya see? One shot! Straight out of the sky." His hand mimed the curve the fighter had taken down to the ground, whistling and finishing up with a low exploding sound. "So cool!"

Vin looked at him, speechless, then laughed under his breath. "Damn." The irrepressible indestructibility of youth: he almost felt old just watching. He shook his head and ambled over to give him a friendly shove. JD's excitement was palpable, and he couldn't help responding to his bright grin, smiling back at him. He hooked an arm over JD's shoulder and scrubbed at his head with his free hand. "You start the party without us, qin ŕi de?"

JD ducked away from his hand, and grinned up at him, a bright, joy filled, reckless grin. "Guess I figured I'd never a get a bite at the cake if I didn't start before you lot got here." He shook his head. "Man, that was something."

Standing in front of an exploding, crashing sublight engine, complete with trans-atmospheric fighter. Yeah. Something. Vin's arm tightened, and when JD looked at him, his grin fading, said, "You could be a bit more careful, okay, kid? Luck won't hold forever."

JD nodded, wide eyed, and Vin hesitated, then pulled him in to press a quick, embarrassed kiss to the side of his forehead; when JD stared at him, he added, "Later, okay?" and let go.

JD's face lit up and he bounced again. "Cool." He hesitated, then newly confident nodded once and grabbed Vin's shoulders to tug him down. He returned Vin's kiss a little clumsily, holding it for only a couple of seconds then pulled back a little and looked up through his lashes shyly. They were standing far too close together, and Vin wanted to pull him in tight again. The thought fitted to the movement, and his hands curved around to JD's back, tugging him in closer. He found himself smiling down into JD's bright eyes, watching shyness dissolve into sheer happiness. Oh, he thought. Oh. He thought he might be grinning as wide and reckless as JD.

"If you boys are done with the touching reunion," Chris said, dry as dust, for all the faint smile that flickered across his face, "we got company." He jerked his chin at the conflagration at hangar entrance and the shadows beyond the flames. JD looked around sharply at the entrance and Vin could feel all the muscles that had relaxed on finding him alive tighten up again, battle ready. He kept one arm around JD's shoulders as they stood side by side.

"Them Apman's fellas out there?"

JD nodded, apparently untroubled by the notion, and leaned into Vin's body. "Prob'ly." Vin felt a hand hook into his belt, and squeezed slightly, not wanting to let go just yet, even though every instinct told him to prep for battle.

"Don't you think we oughta be doing something about them?"

JD shook his head. "Nope. Just wait."

Chris and Vin looked at each other dubiously "Dunne," Chris began, and JD interrupted.

"Travis said --"

Chris scowled. "Travis? The Pentecost made it in one piece then?"

"Yup! She's matched orbit with the Manassi."

"They comin' in?" Vin asked practically, and JD's face fell, high glee shading to mere excitement.

"Not exactly."

Chris eyed him sardonically. "Not exactly would be 'not at all'?"

"No! Or. Um. Well. They took two of the light gunships out, and they're holding the rest back."

"And Apman's forces?" Chris said sharply. JD looked uncomfortable.

"Um. They told them to stop," he finished hopefully, looking from one to the other. "It was a federal order," he added at their skeptical looks.

"And they threw up their hands and said oh my, a federal order, we're such bad, bad men, our mamas would be ashamed, and decided to go home," Chris said acidly.

JD flushed a dull red. "Not exactly."

"So what good are the feds doing us up there, exactly?"

"Well, for one thing," and Chris and Vin both snapped around to find a holo of System Axe Travis staring at them, arms folded, eyebrow raised. "For one thing, we're holding off the Church in the form of the Manassi. Not a small matter, all things considered."

Vin shifted to look around the hangar, hoping to conceal his involuntary wince. All things considered. A Federation gunship at standoff with a Church gunship. Oh yeah, he'd just bet there was a hell of a lot of considerings going on uplevel now.

Chris's face twitched, "Well, that's a weight off my mind, Axe. Being's we're expecting a small mercenary army to come through the hole in the wall over there." He jerked his head towards the fires.

"I can stand down if you'd prefer to see them off yourself?" Travis offered blandly, and Larabee shrugged.

"Wouldn't want to steal your thunder, sir," he said almost as drily. The two men eyed each other for a long moment, then Travis half smiled.

"And your file said you couldn't play well with others." Travis looked away for a brief moment. "I have other problems right now, Larabee. Please try to at least pretend to have some respect for Federal Code."

"And them?" Chris jerked his head towards the shapes outside.

Behind the hologram a dim figure emerged from another half crumbled corridor, battered and holding a huge gun over his right shoulder. Josiah stumped across to Chris, Vin and JD, walking straight through Travis's image with a grouchy sound that might have been a hello.

"And hello to you to, Osanchez," Travis just seemed amused.

"He has a point," Josiah said coolly, and JD wasn't the only one to blink at the old man. "What exactly are we supposed to do about that lot while you swing safe in orbit, Axe?" He jerked a thumb towards the mercenaries waiting at the edge of the hangar, waiting for the shields to fail.

"I sincerely hope you wasn't planning on beginnin' without us, gentlemen," Ezra called, and Vin looked back to find him and Nathan off to the far side, approaching with a limping gait, Nathan hovering by Ezra, Ezra bloody but grinning wildly, Nathan apparently scolding with each step. "That would be downright unneighborly, leaving us before the party starts."

"We was waitin' on the canapés just for you, Ez," Vin said grinning crookedly. They'd all made it so far.

Travis waited until they were all there, and crooked an eyebrow, a faint smile on his face and said, "I've given you clear skies. The rest is up to you." He looked at them, one by one, and each of them straightened up, felt a little battle-faded confidence seep back into their bones. "I have every faith in you." He nodded at them, and with a last, "Gentlemen," blinked out of sight.

---------------

"So are we just gonna --" JD was looking anxiously at the burning entrance.

Vin shook his head, and Ezra laughed.

"Not unless Mr. Larabee is a significantly poorer strategist than I am inclined to believe he is." He took a step back and waved at the hangar, cluttered, dark, full of obstacles and dangers. "What better killing field than one that requires no further effort on our part?"

Ezra watched the kid glance at Vin before turning to Chris. Interesting. JD was leaning against Tanner, who didn't seem to mind in the slightest, indeed, his right arm was slung over JD's shoulder. Ezra hid a smile. Well, and well and well.

"Thanks, Standish. I reckon I could probably strategize my way out of a paper bag if I really put my mind to it," Chris said mildly, and Ezra let his grin emerge.

"I knew you would rise to the occasion, sir."

Chris eyed him and Ezra swept a mocking sort of bow at the priest. A long hissing sound came from the entrance, and Ezra froze.

"What's that?" JD asked.

"Fire suppressants." Nathan said. "They'll be coming in there, then." He nodded at the cloud of white, and Chris grinned a shark's smile.

"Let 'em."

Ezra raised his eyebrows, and Larabee collected the five of them with one sweeping gaze. "This is how we do it--"

---------------

Chris waited. There probably wasn't time for a narcstick, but he wanted one. It would give him something to do with his hands.

He rubbed absently at the double ring scar at the base of his throat. Funny. He hadn't wanted Oblivion in days. He thought about checking on the splinter chip that Sanchez had given him, but he knew it was still there in his pocket, and didn't move.

A flicker of something across the hangar caught his eye, and he rolled his eyes. "Someone want to tell the baby Fed that staying hidden works better when he's not bobbing up and down adjusting his panties every ten seconds?"

There was a muffled snort of amusement from Vin's position, and JD's head bobbed up above the detritus that was meant to be his cover for a second. He met the kid's indignant glare and watched it drain away into awkward awareness, then vanish. He kind of hoped the two of them made it. That would be something good. Something good out of fire. Wouldn't that be a thing to see. His hand strayed to his pocket until he caught himself.

He sighed and leaned back against his artfully arranged killing field of ex-hangar, broken mountain and corpses. A little luck and Apman's people wouldn't realize that the bodies were dead. Tanner had pointed out that the heat rising from the fire would wreck any heat sensing equipment. Any bodies that were actually cold would probably register as being in camo or shaped shielding rather than dead. The mercenaries wouldn't be willing to take the chance. He hoped.

The bombardment began again. Without any shield to ease the blows the place shook, rocks tumbled in, loose materials clattered and fell.

It eased off, and he held position, tensely waiting for the right moment.

He could hear the roar as the mercs charged. Wait. Wait.

They broke the line JD had set up, the laser catching the ones at either end and slicing clean through, separating arms, legs, torsos and then going deeper into the line as the outer ones fell. At the same time, carefully randomized automated fire erupted from the walls and mounds of rubble and dead. It was unpredictable enough to give the impression of rattled, planless, living gunmen behind it, and Chris let a small smirk slip through as the mercenaries wasted firepower on unarmed batteries.

A little further in, come on, a little further --

A shape shadowed the smoke and rising dust, and he didn't really move, he was just standing, drifting up, sideways on, aim, and fire, fire, fire. The shadow fell, and the one behind it.

He could see the others, a thin last defense, knee deep in the rubble. It was all so slow. Something came towards him and he swayed out of its path, stepped up, onto the rocks and debris and slid down, riding it to the other side, shooting two handed into the killing field until the energy packs ran dry.

He let them fall, reached over his shoulder for the plasma rifle. Walked towards the shadows, his face tight with reckless battle fever. The line followed, the others forming a flying wedge, with him at the apex, fanning out, walking through the hanging shroud of smoke and ash, pulverized rock and powdered sand.

Something exploded, the heat scorching his face. He grinned. Ahead of them, somewhere in the smoke he could make out shouting.

"Fall back, fall back!"

And another voice

"Stand and fight! Fight you fucking cowards! Kill them all! Stand I tell you! Stand!"

And a step. And a step. Pick a target. Let it tumble away, step over it, and again, and again, and--

sunlight flared in his eyes

--Out.

---------------

JD was between Josiah and Vin as they walked out into the blazing sunshine. They were going to die, probably, but it didn't seem to matter. It didn't seem real that they'd even made it out this far, even with the protection of the killing field. None of it seemed real, and he was ignoring the voice of horror telling him it was all real, he'd really eliminated living human beings with as little hesitation as if they were just game pieces, and they in the Arena.

They kept walking, the arrow flaring out into a line. Just six of them, but they'd cleared the mountain, were out onto the plateau in front of the entrance, and he could hear Apman screaming, swearing at his mercenaries.

In the back of his head, a ghost whispered, 'go get 'em, kid!', and the crunch of footsteps in time with his own was like a shield in itself. Four, five, six ...

The cybes were regrouping, moving back in slow clusters, laying down covering fire. Retreating. JD grinned.

They don't seem real keen anymore, he threaded to Vin, and felt amusement and caution flick back at him.

Eyes on the field, kid, Vin told him, and JD focused, pacing with the others, pushing as far forward as they could, weapons up, moving like they didn't know how to retreat.

Even watching as close as enhanced senses would allow, even reviewing the battle tapes afterwards, JD didn't see the shot that triggered it all, but suddenly they were scattering, the first move -- Larabee's hand snapping up and shooting down a cybe on the hillside above them -- only an afterimage as they sprinted forwards, guns blazing. It was a mess; melees always were.

A flash of tan leather, pull up-- Vin, and a turn and Vin yelling Down! and he ducked, rolled, heat searing past his cheek, a gut shot if he'd not moved, and then it was automatic. Fire, cover, move, target, fire...

Josiah flashed past, serape flaring like a banner behind him, and JD saw him pick up one of the enemy cybes and throw him down. JD looked away, and saw Nathan slit the throat of another, blood pulsing out, spattering on the ground and the healer's hands. No new life here, and he saw something out the corner of his eye, a greasy, gray-haired man maybe forty or fifty, his hair lank and straggling, a Clan Apman strap hanging from his shoulder.

No one else was near, and he knew that face.

No one else was near, and this was his job. This was his.

He looked around swiftly, then took a deep breath. And shouted.

"Federal officer! Cease fire!" He walked forward, guns up, exhilaration and a sense of rightness -- his job, his right, his reason to be walking with these men in this place -- carrying him onwards. "Surrender your weapons! Put down your weapons. This is an illegal military action. In the name of the Federation and the System Axe, put down your weapons!"

He was halfway to Apman before anyone paid any attention to him, and he was starting to think, maybe he was--

"Apman! In the name of the Federation--"

Apman looked at him, and raised his gun, and JD was committed, couldn't turn aside. His fingers tightened on the trigger of his weapon. If Apman fired he'd be killing a fed, he'd go away forever: JD didn't matter, Apman was going to go down forever, but JD wouldn't know it, but it would be worth it, it would, only he could see the way Apman's finger closed on the trigger, and the way the air scorched, and he was going to die, it hit him hard, so hard --

he hit the ground, rolled twice, and automatically came back up to his feet, unharmed, bemused, which didn't make sense and he looked down, already knowing

--and time slowed back up to normal, and Vin was sprawled motionlessly on the ground in front of him. Face down. Not moving. A broad black scorch mark smoldered across his back, little flames flickering up from the tattered edges of his coat, raw skin showing through.

JD lunged back across the rocks, oblivious to the sand and shards cutting his hands, knees, already skinned raw from hitting the ground so hard, and he tore away the burning pieces with his bare hands, "What did you do that for?" he was saying, over and over, "Vin, oh my god, oh my god, Vin. Why did you do that?"

Apman was standing over them, and JD looked up.

"Steven Apman, Sept Apman, you are under arrest," he said hoarsely, his hands motionless on Vin's back, he had no weapons left, except the last, most important one: "Surrender your weapons and stand down, by order of the Federal--"

Apman's chest exploded, a plasma stream ripping him open from behind, and as he fell, a short dark haired man -- cybe, mercenary -- appeared behind Apman, lowering his gun.

JD watched the gun, not willing to believe that it might be over like this, it couldn't, it didn't make sense. This was it. He would die and then Vin would die too, and then the cybes would all die too and it would be on him, all those deaths. He stretched a hand across Vin's back, Not him, leave him. He didn't look down, kept his gaze steady, staring straight into the eyes above the muzzle of the weapon trained on him. Not fair, not fair, not fair. A footstep crunched behind him, and a hand brushed his shoulder, then a second. He didn't need to look up to see the shadows ranged alongside him, over him.

The silence went on and on. Vin shifted slightly and moaned with pain. JD gripped his shoulder, held him still, wished he had something to lift him off the ground. Kept his eyes on the mercenary's face.

The man lowered his weapon slightly, pointing it away from them all. "Captain Ngede, Mercenary Guild."

JD just stared blankly up at him. Yes, and?

Footsteps crunched behind him in the silence, and Ngede straightened to parade rest.

"Captain," Larabee said laconically. Ngede looked like he'd received some sort of message in the single word. At any rate, he relaxed a little. Maybe he was just faking them out...

Ngede drew a deep breath and glanced around the gathering crowd. "Camp Hugo, we offer Guild terms for cessation of all hostilities."

"You are authorized to surrender?" Nathan said sharply, and Ngede's eyes flicked to Apman's body for a fraction of a second.

"The Guild contract with Sept Apman has been terminated."

"With a certain amount of emphasis," Ezra said dryly from JD's left. JD ducked away an unexpected grin.

"As you say." Ngede glanced around the group, apparently not sure who to address. "All further negotiations will be undertaken by the Officer Commanding. Which would be me," he added with a sudden grin. "There've been a certain number of field promotions."

"I think the rest of this is my problem, Priest Inquisitor, Federale," Zhou Yu said, stepping forward. "Zhou Yu, Battlemaster for Camp Hugo."

"I'd say it was a pleasure, but--" Ngede shrugged, and held out his hand. Zhou Yu looked at him thoughtfully, then stepped forward, her feet crunching across the sand, and they shook.

"I'll require all your weapons," Zhou Yu said. "And IDs."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Then we accept truce under initial Guild conditions and subject to Federation law, for further negotiation on reparations and repatriation."

"Ma'am." And Ngede held out his plasma rifle, laid flat across his outstretched palms. Zhou Yu took it and sighed with relief.

"Well, thank Jeshu that's over," she said, her shoulders slumping a little.

"Can't disagree with that." Ngede tucked his hands behind his back, then eyed the lineup of the six ill matched combatants, and the free cyborgs arrayed alongside them. He gave them a half smile, and added, "Good fight though."

He half saluted, turned on his heel and walked away. JD stared, open mouthed as the other mercenaries fell in behind him, the injured helping the crippled, none of them whole.

"That's it?" JD said in disbelief.

He twisted to look up at the five men standing behind him, and at the free cyborgs behind them, and repeated, "That's it?"

Josiah grinned abruptly. "Well, if you're feeling bored already, I can call them back."

Nathan snickered; Ezra turned away, a smirk spreading across his face. Chris grinned outright, and at JD's knee, Vin said, "Don't worry, kid, I think you ran 'em off." He paused a beat, "Scared 'em half to death of being arrested." He shifted a little, far enough that JD could see his eyes laughing up at him.

"Bastards," he muttered, and then laughed, one hand gripping Vin's shoulder tightly. "You're a bunch of miserable bastards, you hear?" but even JD was grinning as he said it. Nathan crouched down to check over Vin who was grumbling that he was fine, dammit and go treat them as needed some nosy old medic poking at 'em, and Ezra was wandering off to loot the bodies, and Chris pulled a packet out of his coat and lit up another narcstick, and JD's laughter faded into an incredulous smile, and he looked around them.

We made a pretty good team, he thought contentedly, and then, I wonder what's for dinner?

The End   
Epilogue(s)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the fandoms listed herein. I am certainly making no money off of these creative fan tributes to a wonderful, fun show.