By 2371, humanity had learned it was not alone — and that it had arrived very late. Among the old civilizations surrounding Consortium space, humanity was one of the newer children in a very old neighborhood. That was one of the reasons KAVOE existed. And in 2371, Natasha Giovana Ester Marie Lewis wanted very badly to become part of it. Everyone called her Gem.
The Daughter of Nike
Gem had grown up on Nike, a stable Consortium–Squelgian world orbiting Gliese 3923, where humans grew up seeing alien citizens without thinking it remarkable. She loved Nike. She also desperately wanted to leave it.
When her father Stanley entered her room and said "Natasha," she immediately knew something was wrong. She had been accepted to KAVOE — and had applied behind his back. "Why didn't you apply to KOTA?" he asked. "Because I don't want to be an officer," Gem said. "I don't want to walk into KAVOE and immediately be responsible for people who know more than I do. I want to learn the work first. I want somebody to hand me a broken communications unit and expect me to fix it."
Stanley asked the question he had wanted to ask from the beginning: "Are you scared?" Gem's answer came too quickly. "No." Stanley smiled. "Now I know you're lying." Gem laughed. "Maybe a little." "A little?" "A lot." "Good. Only idiots aren't frightened of things they don't understand." Gem pointed toward the speaker. "That's basically the theme of Tritonnia's third album." Stanley closed his eyes. "Do not bring Tritonnia Zermonthu into it."
Basic Training
KAVOE basic training cured Gem of several misconceptions: that she was physically fit, that she functioned well without sleep, and that growing up with a HEILO had made her good at memorizing information. The first time instructors turned off the HEILOs, Gem stared at a collection of equipment as if someone had removed half her brain.
A young woman with dark hair tried not to laugh behind her. The instructor made Himari Yakamura her new best friend. Himari was Maintenance, RT-27. That evening she dropped a lifetron modulator onto the table between them. "Again." Gem stared at it. "I've been looking at these things for three hours." "Two hours and fourteen minutes." "I've aged." "Lifetron modulator." Gem pointed. "That." "Very impressive." "Thank you." "What does it do?"
They became nearly inseparable. Himari was patient when Gem was trying, and merciless when she wasn't. "If this section loses power?" "Secondary route." "And if secondary fails?" "Local emergency bus." "And if that fails?" "Portable power." "And if that fails?" Gem shrugged. "Pray." Himari slapped her hand. "Wrong." "Run?" "Better."
They trusted each other. Which was why Gem didn't understand what was happening when Himari kissed her after an examination. Gem pushed her back. "No. I'm sorry. I—no." "I'm sorry." "I don't see you that way." "I know." "I love you." That made it worse. "As my friend." "Please don't." Himari pulled away. "I'm sorry." Then she ran. Gem almost followed. Almost. But Himari needed time. Tomorrow, she thought. They would talk tomorrow. Tomorrow came. Neither talked. There would be time later.
The Copernicus
The Hydra-class Copernicus was the largest thing Gem had ever called home. Hydra-class ships emphasized missile warfare by design. Gem's station was Communications, 27-BA — encrypted traffic, ACS, Qcom, internal routing, emergency communications, and the repair of all of it. Fredrick Olafson loved making fun of it. He was a Lancer in weapons, loading missiles. "You sit in a chair." "You load things into holes." "They're missiles." "Still holes." They were not lovers yet. Not quite.
The Copernicus had been assigned to protect a civilian mining operation. The miners wanted rare materials. The Leirth wanted humans to stop mining asteroids. Diplomats argued about why. KAVOE escorts dealt with what happened when the arguments failed.
LEIRTH · THREAT PROFILE · GLIESE 667 C
The Leirth
On the fourth day, Gem detected an unusual transmission. Not Consortium. Not Squelgian. Not civilian. Too close. The battle alarm sounded before she finished speaking. The first weapon struck Copernicus. Then the projectile did something KAVOE weapons did not — it dispersed. A magnetic field so powerful Gem assumed the system had failed. One hundred fifty-seven teslas. Unsecured metal became dangerous. Conductive systems overloaded. Sensors failed.
Somewhere below, a voice came across damage control: "Pressure loss, six-seven!" Gem froze. Himari's maintenance team had been working near six-seven. "Yakamura!" Static. "Yakamura!" Her supervisor grabbed her shoulder. "Lewis, stay on routing." "Himari's there." "We need communications." Gem ran. Smoke hung in the corridor. Beyond a failed isolation barrier, Himari stood beside a manual control. Blood ran down one side of her face. Behind her, the passage was damaged. Beyond that damage was space.
"Himari, open this side." She shook her head. "You can get through." Gem knew enough maintenance now. There wasn't time. If Himari abandoned the manual control, decompression would spread through communications, power distribution, adjacent crew spaces. "We can fix it!" Himari shook her head. Gem screamed. "I'm sorry!" Months disappeared. Training. Equipment tables. Fried dough. Arguments about music. Gem saying she loved her. Himari running. Every conversation they had not had. "I should've followed you." Himari smiled. A real smile. "It's okay, GEM." "If your first born is a girl, you know what to name her, skank." She winked. Gem laughed once through the tears. "No." Himari smiled wider. Then closed the door.
Saturation
Captain Jack Spielman knew the pattern. Leirth adaptive defenses responded exceptionally well to one enormous strike. So he gave them fifty. "Open Myrmidon cells." "All?" "Broad saturation." Dozens of overlapping high-explosive events — different locations, different vectors, different timing. The adaptive system tried to compensate. Then compensate again. Too much area. Too many simultaneous demands. The shield weakened. The Leirth vessel disappeared inside a rolling series of explosions.
Gem did not remember most of the battle. She remembered Himari's smile. Her wink. And the word skank. After the funeral, Fredrick sat beside her. "I could've followed her. That day. After she kissed me." "You didn't know." "I knew she was hurt." "That's not what I mean." Gem wiped her eyes. "I don't regret telling her no. But I owed my friend a conversation. I thought there'd be time." Fredrick did not tell her she was wrong. She already knew.
The story continues in “Seven Minutes.”
