Arria sat heavily down into a deep chair and rested his head against its high back, one hand rising to rub the bridge of his nose. He knew that there were still tears in his eyes and he smiled sadly, dug up his comm and fingered it for a few seconds, not even looking at it. He knew by heart the series of tiny movements required to retrieve the stored message, and at the last click of a finger the comm was already in his palm, cradled close to his cheek, so that the dark smiling voice flowed easily into his ears even with the volume set low.

"... returning as soon as we can." Damn, how his insides ached at that vibrant sound. "Take care of yourself, lover. I know what you get like whenever you're unhappy with something..." A low chuckle and a sigh; the man was shaking his head at the words. "But I want you to remember this: I don't want to find only Commander Hamidha when I come back. He's a very important man, no mistake about that, but I'm looking forward to holding my Arria again." A pause, and then very softly: "I miss you, love. Take care."

Arria sighed and slowly pushed the comm back into his breast pocket.

"Commander Hamidha needs you too," he whispered. "Right now, very badly."

Jainah had been spectacularly successful in fending off the Union's attack. That was a fact verified by every report and piece of data they'd put together over the two days following the surprise assault. Their strategy, honed for such eventualities in close cooperation with a very determined Planetary President, had paid off even better than expected.

Their first task had been to expand the range of surveillance within the planetary space and to split responsibility for it between the three bases on Jainah. The next decision had been to relocate some of their fighters in the other two bases, and even though Orwel and Arria had long debated whether it was really advisable to spread their sparse fleet even thinner, it had ultimately been a good choice. The fighters had been within a reasonable distance from the targets they were supposed to protect, and as warning of a threatening emergency now came earlier, they'd reached their targets in time. Together with the brand new AD systems installed to the most important strategic locations – the biggest cities, plus the all-important Trelissac Spaceport – that protection had proved sufficient.

And thus, even though all three bases had been forced to rely only on their AD for protection and had taken quite some battering during the attack, they were still fully operational. Even more importantly, the overall losses, both material and human, were small. Public morale and support to the rebel forces was much boosted by the fact that not a single civilian had been killed, and only a few had sustained more serious injuries. Destroyed property could always be quickly replaced, not that much had even been damaged. All in all, only four people had lost their lives.

All four were SCs from the Plains Base.

That sad knowledge had been an underlying dark note in the after-battle elation. Of course the number could've been much higher, but that didn't bring those four back. Arria shook his head and let the tear weighing on his lashes roll down at last. He could do that now, having just returned from the memorial ceremony that had been held to honor their friends, now that he didn't have to fear that his voice would crack in the middle of speech.

The clones had been very serious, very solemn. They'd also looked so terribly young, and it didn't exactly help to remember that they were in fact even younger than their growth-enhanced bodies and somewhat premature faces revealed. Arria had felt almost physically sick looking at the groups of SCs saying goodbye to their friends. Heike had been the youngest one to get killed. She had looked around fifteen, her true age: eleven.

The blond man wiped his eyes and swallowed thickly. This is all so damnably wrong, he thought, and yet he knew perfectly well that the newly constructed City AD sections and their fresh, inexperienced crews couldn't have protected the cities and their populace without the fighters to support them. The four hadn't sacrificed their lives for nothing. But one could still dream of a day when it wouldn't be necessary to fight, right?

The other young TCs had been nothing short of horrified when Julian had literally stonewalled them, closed his mind completely and chosen instead to sob uncontrollably on Juri's shoulder. He and Miklos, one of the four SCs killed in the battle, had developed a close friendship after visiting Trelissac for the first time as parts of the same group. Numerous such friendships had sprung up, they crisscrossed throughout the base and formed growing networks. What they could really mean had been neatly summed up towards the end of the ceremony by a single poignant gesture: the other three members of that one-time group, SCs Maxim and Claude and M-clone Jonathan, had silently gathered around Julian and hugged him tight.

Arria sighed, braced himself and stood up again. Wallowing in melancholy was a luxury he couldn't afford. It was not a productive emotion, and moreover, he already felt the tempting pull of self-pity – an even less desirable pastime, he reminded himself. Commander Hamidha, stand up now and return to your duties. This base won't run itself. Get going, man.

He headed towards the bigger control room, and when turning the last corner he gasped as he very nearly walked slap into something tall and dark.

"Oops!" Orwel caught himself at the last moment. "Sorry, I shouldn't walk around with my head in clouds."

"I guess I'm guilty of the same," Arria smiled, "and besides, your head's so close to the clouds anyway. What is it? Is something up?"

"No, just thought I'd come to see where you are," Orwel shrugged. "Didn't feel like calling your comm. Did you send the update to Madam President yet?"

"Yes, just before the ceremony."

Arria followed his fellow commander into their unofficial headquarters and they took their by now accustomed seats by the big table. This was where they liked to work, sometimes on the same thing, often each of them concentrating on their separate tasks. They might not say a word to each other for hours on end, or they might discuss the matters together. Especially Arria had grown to depend on this, the feeling that he wasn't alone. Being alone meant that the gnawing feeling somewhere under his heart could more easily creep upon him. And he always had Orwel's solid, comforting presence available in case he wanted to think aloud and even get comments on his thoughts.

Orwel did it, too. He might look totally immersed in something, suddenly frown in thought and pause, stare into nothingness for a while and then glance questioningly at Arria. He might even mutter something.

"Can't help wondering..."

And Arria would raise his eyes from whatever he had been looking at and ask what was the matter.

"Wondering what?"

"About the attack." Orwel laced his fingers together placing his hands on the edge of the table. "Why did the Union choose to attack Jainah? And why now?"

"Don't you think it has some connection with what's happening in the Zodiac system?" Arria asked.

"Oh, I'm sure it has," Orwel said. "I'm just wondering what exactly the connection is."

"What do you mean?" Arria cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, the timing of the attack was far too good to be a coincidence. After those initial battles, ever since the declaration of independence, the Union's been totally passive towards us. And now, well over a year later, they suddenly remember Jainah again and try to take us by surprise!" Orwel shook his head. "Of course it's no coincidence. They know that our forces must be pretty low, with such a number of our fighters and pilots far away. And the attack was carefully synchronized to take place when the most people would be asleep and the light at its absolute worst."

"I know all that," Arria nodded. "So what is it that you're wondering about?"

"I'm asking what triggered the attack," Orwel explained. "Was it considered necessary because things in the Zodiac system are going well, or because they are going badly? That's what I'd really like to know."

"Ah... I think I get your point now," Arria breathed. "You mean, did they attack because they've been doing well in the Zodiac system and were now feeling big and brave enough to retake Jainah – or because they're losing ground there, wanted to retaliate at least somehow, and chose a target that would affect our guys and be easy to beat?"

"Something along those lines, yes," Orwel said. "Of course I'm very much hoping and trusting that it was the latter. That the Union is getting desperate, maybe hoping that news of massive destruction here would serve to demoralize the rebels active there."

"Hmm." Arria fingered his lower lip. "So do I, of course. I'm also hoping that we'd get some news from there. Just about any news. Except bad news, obviously."

"Do you know what would be just about the worst news for me?" Orwel asked.

"Tell me."

"That there's no sign whatsoever of the operation in Zodiac system coming to an end at some point."

Arria froze.

"That's something that I hadn't really thought about," he confessed hoarsely. "But of course you're right. This might just go on and on."

"That's what I'm most afraid of, right now." Orwel frowned deeply and folded his arms across his chest. "That the operation just drags on and our fleet has to stay there, for months, maybe years. And we're here, hoping for the next little batch of news, trying to keep up our end of the rope."

"A horrible idea," Arria said quietly. "How possible do you think it is?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," Orwel sighed. "Quite frankly I don't know. They might come home tomorrow, or they might be away for – well, for ages."

"Ohh shit..." Arria closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Now you've given me another nasty scenario to think about."

"I won't apologize, though," Orwel said. "It's something we both need to be aware of."

"I know... especially as we have to keep a close eye on how we'll manage with the people we have here," Arria admitted. "Which reminds me – did you ask Edmé about Mr. There's-nothing-wrong-with-me Shenovski?"

"Yeah. Edmé has consulted with specialists, and they all agree that even though Vanya's condition is nothing life-threatening, he definitely should be operated relatively soon." Orwel's fingers combed through his black hair and he grimaced. "And please don't ask me anything about the medical details. I'm not good at that sort of thing. There was something about scar tissue in wrong places, and misfiring synapses, or something equally eerie-sounding."

"What does Vanya say to it?" Arria asked with a significant tone. Orwel chuckled darkly.

"What did you say just a moment ago? No, there's nothing wrong with Vanya, no sir. It's just a headache. He wasn't too happy when I told him that he's out of AD duty for the moment, but I left him no alternative. Luckily at least this time his head only decided to protest towards the end of the battle."

"It's not a good thing if one of the AD guns falls silent because its operator isn't able to go on," Arria nodded. "And damn it, it's not as if he could do anything about it!"

"That's what I told him," Orwel said. "That there's nothing to be ashamed of if he suffers from an old injury. He agreed, though very grudgingly. And now I'm feeling a bit torn, because on one hand I'd want him to be operated and recovered and in full condition again as soon as possible. On the other hand, if he goes there now, we'll be altogether two men down."

"You're right, again," Arria said with a deep sigh. "It's a sad fact that if Vanya's in a hospital having a brain surgery, it doesn't matter whether Corinn is here or there – he won't be able to concentrate on anything anyway. I agree with you, we can't afford that at the moment."

"I'm almost ashamed to remember that I used to think they were just sex buddies, back in Robillard," Orwel said shaking his head.

"I thought so, too, for a long time," Arria admitted, "but then at some point I got this hunch that it'd become much more than just sex. Which isn't to say that sex wouldn't be important in a relationship, of course..."

He shifted uncomfortably and answered Orwel's questioning glance with a shamefaced grimace.

"Sorry. It appears that I shouldn't even say the word nowadays," he said sheepishly. "And to think that before I got to know your brother, I always thought I didn't have much of a libido."

"The things one never knows about oneself," Orwel muttered, suddenly looking contrite, and Arria couldn't suppress a knowing chuckle.

"So you've taken yourself by surprise with Juri?" he grinned. "Orwel, Orwel... though, I must say, it's hard for me to believe that a brother of Osip Dahomey's could ever entertain such ideas."

"Oh, you're again forgetting something!" Orwel lifted a finger. "I'm Osip's younger brother who's nothing like him. Definitely and absolutely not."

"You're right, I keep forgetting it," Arria smiled, then frowned and heaved a deep sigh. "But, talking about my extremely hot lover, I'd really like to know where he is right now and what he's doing... probably being far too busy to even think about me."

He wasn't far off the mark. If he could've peered into the command center of the mothership that the Ashanti Wolves had confiscated from Ziroshel Union, he would've seen four heads more or less pressed together over a map: three of them very dark, one blazing red. All four heads were currently puzzling over the very same question, and it had absolutely nothing to do with sex.

Bonita Heywik pursed her lips and glanced surreptitiously at the two profiles she could see in the corner of her eye. Quentham Oyston and Osip Dahomey were standing on the opposite sides of the tabletop, foreheads nearly touching each other, narrowed eyes trained on the same spot on the map, both of them frowning heavily. Neither had said a word for a good few minutes, neither looked like they wanted to say anything, and silence hung heavy over the little group.

Bonita raised an eyebrow when the diminutive Wilson straightened her back and looked questioningly from one man to the other.

"Well?" she prompted after a while.

Oyston sighed deep and pressed a button. The two-dimensional map morphed into a 3D model that brought the reality into life in all dismal detail. Osip grunted and looked at it appraisingly.

"Dangerous," Oyston said at last, sounding like he'd rather chew glass than say it aloud. "Too dangerous."

Bonita let out a silent breath and thanked the stars – at least she wouldn't now have to try and convince Quenty of the fact. Her surprise knew no bounds when the courageous and definitely sensible Osip cocked his head in thought and hummed under his breath. Oyston, too, glanced up, astonishment registering on his face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I think I want a second opinion," Osip said, and to the further bafflement of the Wolf commanders Wilson nodded to him with determination.

"I'll get Scott," she said, comm already in hand.

"What do you mean, Dahomey?" Oyston demanded. "It's too risky, the chance of success too slim. If only it could be done with one pilot, or even two, but they'd have too little firepower, and a bomber is simply too heavy, even without that gravity!"

"I know." Osip crossed his arms and sat on the edge of a table. "But still I want a second opinion. We are super good, you and Nita and Wilson and me. But we're still only humans. I want to hear what somebody created, born and bred to fly a fighter will say to... ah, there you are Scott!"

"Yes, Osip?" The dark clone walked straight to them, a questioning expression on his sharp-featured face. "You wanted to see me."

"I did." Osip pointed towards the relief map glowing on the tabletop. "The target and its surroundings are marked there, with all pertinent data. The terrain, as you can see, is extremely difficult. The target cannot be destroyed by single fighters, and a bomber cannot reach it. Take a look and say what you think."

Oyston opened his mouth to protest but fell silent at Osip's gesture, intrigued against his will. Scott circled the table with slow, measured steps, bowed closer to take a better look, checked some readings, his face inscrutably blank. Blue eyes darted from one detail to another, they took in the ragged mountains and razor-sharp cliff faces, and finally they were raised to look at Osip.

"Tricky," he said. "Extremely tricky. May I pick my group?"

"You sure may do that," Osip said, practically oozing grim satisfaction. Heywik's eyes widened and Oyston leaned forward, not believing his ears.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

"I said that it will be extremely tricky," Scott repeated. "But I understand this is a very important target for our overall objectives on this planet."

"That is right," Heywik said slowly. "So you really think there's a chance? And you're willing to take it?"

"Yes, Scott, remember that I don't want you taking unnecessary risks," Osip said gravely. "If the chances of success are very slim, I'd rather not endanger you or anybody else in vain."

Scott turned to look at Heywik levelly, a tiny puzzled frown on his face.

"It involves many risks," he admitted. "But it is not impossible. If I get to choose who I will go with, we will accomplish the mission."

Wilson bit her tongue seeing Oyston's incredulous expression. The dark man shook his head a little but decided for once to not argue with Osip whose big hand was on Scott's shoulder.

"You get to choose, Scott," Osip said. "And you also get to choose when. If you're going to do it, it's better be rather soon, but don't hurry over planning it."

"I will not, Osip." Scott nodded, clearly satisfied. "I wish to talk the plan over with you."

"You'll have all the support we can give," Wilson put in.

Scott nodded and exited the room.

"You really are sure?" Heywik said. "He's one of your top pilots. Are you going to let him attempt it?"

"Let me put it this way," Osip said. "If Scott says it's possible, then it is possible. He's not crazy, and he wants to get back to Jainah in one piece as much as any one of us."

Oyston was rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and Osip suppressed a smile; he was almost certain that the man was already bitterly regretting his earlier assertion that the mission wasn't doable. Wilson obviously thought the same.

"Scott knows as well as the rest of us how important this mission is," she put in. "He knows that if this succeeds, we'll suddenly be an awful lot closer to actually leaving this system behind. I bet that was exactly what he was thinking about – the chance of getting the job done that much more quickly."

"And think about it this way," Osip said. "If anything could be accomplished when flying solo, none of us would hesitate to give it our best shot. But the fact is, that would be a suicide for nothing. We need a machinery, and that's what the SCs can bring into this."

Wilson followed Osip out of the room and caught up with him in the narrow corridor. She was once again amused to notice that Osip had developed a way of walking slightly hunched. Even though the mothership was undeniably spacious, it still had the slightly claustrophobic feeling of a closed space, and of course it affected the enormously tall pilot especially. Wilson grinned to him.

"I have every faith in the SCs," she said, and Osip nodded.

"Yeah, me too. And I know you're absolutely right. I just wish we had Lancer with us."

"Why?" Wilson asked in astonishment.

"Scott told me again, the other day, that he misses Lancer." Osip frowned a little. "It must be pretty bad if Scott feels it's distracting enough to actually mention it to me."

"Well!" Wilson shook her head. "So it must be, then. But I just know he won't let himself be distracted when there's a real mission ahead."

"No he won't," Osip agreed. "Now we just need to give them all the help they need in preparing for the mission. They are facing one hell of a task."

Wilson nodded silently and they turned around the corner towards their quarters.