by Smith, S. E.
He hadn’t been far wrong. The mess of gravity wells and overlapping Van Allen belts played hell with communications, and the unending darkness had a tendency to wear on even hardy-minded people after a few months, but the TriSystem Joint Forces housed their greatest asset there: the umbra wolves that made the TJF Rangers such legends. An isolated place, where the wolves and their caretakers could be protected out of sight of the rest of the systems.
All of which meant there shouldn't be any lights in the sky. Yet there they were, all the same. Moving under their own power through the deep black of Accipiter’s shadow. She glanced at her omni, confirmed the ranch’s electrostatic field was still in place. Adjusting for the haze the field created, the lights were even closer than she had feared.
She hurried into the house and tucked the pup into his pen in one corner of the living room. On instinct, she glanced at the radio, but the heavy military communicator—only really good for short-range comms because of the interference—sat silent as ever. The dials glowed with power, but no one was transmitting. A ship in the air that didn’t identify itself only meant trouble.
The TJF called before they came to visit, and they showed up in big ships with plenty of communications power to cut through the distortion and chat the whole way in. Besides, if it were the rangers, they’d be early. The current litter of pups wouldn't be ready for seven or eight months. She couldn’t start their training for another ten weeks.
No, she had a bad feeling about whatever ship was out there, and if Gener’d proven anything, it was that she should always trust her gut. She reached into the pen and scratched her fingers into the pup’s fur. “Wait here, little man. Mama’s going to check this out.”
Her survival suit and low-light helmet were in the coat closet, along with Gener's old plas-rifle. It wouldn't be the first time she had to chase someone off or help some idiot who'd gotten their ship damaged or lost in the sensor-shredding mess around Secundus. As bad as the place could be for comms, it was murder on navigations systems.
She dressed quickly, then killed the lights and fireplace before turning on her low-light vision. After one more check to assure herself that the runt pup was still in his pen, she confirmed that the rifle was loaded and stepped out into the perpetual dark.
***
Warning klaxons started up again, telling him he was too far from the ground to be lowering his landing systems. Rafe Penzak looked out the viewscreen of the shuttle and snapped the alarms off with an annoyed swat of his hand. He’d wanted a bit of adventure to chase away the boredom of his impending retirement. He may have bit off more than he had asked for.
Outside the shuttle’s viewscreen, the unfathomable murk of Hephaestus Secundus did its damnedest to turn him into another wreck on its pitted and cratered surface. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out varying features in the blackness, seeking some visual clue as to his location.
It was no use. Between the screwy magnetosphere and all the gravitational anomalies of Secundus’s moon-of-a-moon nature, landing at all was going to be difficult. A stealth landing, in an outdated military shuttle, was pretty much out of his skill set. At least anymore.
He flipped a bank of toggles and brought up the external floodlights, proving his hunch correct—the ground was far closer than his instruments had indicated.
The lights illuminated the edge of a dust-controlling habi-dome field, and plenty of windswept rock-strewn ground on this side of it. It wasn't perfectly clear and level, but he could certainly land on it.
Now he just had to hope he'd made it in time.
It was entirely possible Tyler’s little listening post had gotten the information wrong, that there wasn't any actionable intelligence regarding Triptych's desire to come after the wolves. But there was a damned-long distance between probable and certain.
The umbra wolves were too important to the Rangers, both as an asset and as a symbol, for Rafe to risk that something might happen to them. With communications to the ranch being such a mess, the only way he could be sure was sending someone. At the same time, it felt wasteful to go through the process of an official request, especially with most of the Rangers tied up in the Kronus system. He’d had leave coming and access to a shuttle that could hop on a Transit-capable ship, so he’d been the most obvious choice.
Besides, he refused to ask his men to do something he wasn’t willing to handle himself. And Lt. Commander Livv, his XO, needed the practice for when she was running things.
The indignity of retirement still rankled him. He’d given nearly forty good years to the rangers. He had at least another solid decade, likely two, before he couldn’t hack the physical exams. Apparently, the Joint Forces didn’t care. Forty years and out. He resisted the urge to punch something. The battered shuttle had been in service before he’d enlisted, and he doubted it could take the abuse.
The ship rumbled, shuddered, and groaned as he brought it to the ground in a tight spiral. The instruments continued to inform him that he was significantly higher than he appeared, except for one that told him he was already below ground.
Fortunately, he’d learned long ago that instrumentation could only take you so far. Technology was grand, but it broke down when you needed it most. You had to let instinct and reflex handle the rest.
Actaeon had taught him that. Before…
Rafe pushed the thought away so it couldn’t take hold. His hands were sure as they went through the motions of bringing the shuttle in, regardless of what the ship wanted him to believe. A few moments later, there was a slight bump as the landing skids came to rest on the soil and the shuttle touched down. Score one for instinct. He started the process of shutting down the engines and going through the checklist he had in the clear pocket on his flight suit’s thigh.
It didn’t matter that he had the list memorized, or that he’d gone through the same checklist literally hundreds of times and could do it in his sleep. He used the list, and visually checked it, because if you didn’t, then something might get missed. Missing a step could mean danger. Missing a step got people killed.
Or wolves.
Once he’d shut down the ship, Rafe made sure everything was locked to his biosignature. If Operative Tyler was right and Triptych was here, then the last thing Rafe needed was for them to commandeer the equipment he had brought along. He surveyed the inside of the small shuttle. He'd had to pull a few favors to get three clips of ammo for his sidearm, serious explosives were right out. At least he still had some friends over in Delta to call in favors from. And Tyler, for all that she embodied MilInt ruthlessness, had hooked him up with a few of her favorite surveillance toys that should help secure the perimeter. Hopefully. He had no idea if they'd be able to pull a reading through all the strangeness of Secundus’s radiation fields, but he also wasn't about to turn down any advantage he could get.
Rafe drew his sidearm and checked to confirm it was loaded and ready, then snapped it back into the holster at his hip. All he had to do was go outside, walk up to the house, and verify everyone was okay. Easy as pie. Johnny Slick-sleeves could pull off a mission that simple. So why was he puttering about in the ship, stalling instead of acting?
As though he didn’t already know the reason. As though he could lie to himself or ignore the reality of it. There were umbra wolves outside. He could feel them out there. The myriad notes of the canids’ emotional states skittered along the edge of his consciousness like an out-of-place hair tickling the edge of his ear. But they wouldn't find purchase. Couldn't find purchase. Actaeon's death had seen to that, the shredded wolfbond leaving a ragged, empty hole where his ability to feel had been.
At least the wolves had the luck to wither and die when their partners were killed. Humans, stubborn survivalists, had to keep on going. Existing, because it sure as hell wasn’t living.
He loaded the ammunition and most of his supplies into a frame pack and slid it onto his back. He didn't remember where the house was in relation to the edges of the dome, but if
it was in the center, he'd still have a good three clicks to walk. Might as well start moving.
His hand paused again just above the door release. Waiting. Trying to build enough courage so he could step outside. After far too many heartbeats, self-disgust and embarrassment got the best of him and he slammed the control open. The ramp swung down, and he took a quick handful of steps down. The air was breathable, but thin. Cold, even without the endless night to chill the place. Without the habi-dome field to keep it at bay, fine particulate dust continued to swirl from the landing, and he had to fight to keep from breathing in too much of it.
Rafe took two steps off the back of the ramp when he heard the unmistakable sound of a plas-rifle cocking behind him. A heavily modulated voice called out, "I think that's about far enough. How about you tell me what you’re doing here, and I don't turn you into so much organic waste.”
2
Nafisi tensed and leaned into the butt of her weapon the way she’d been taught. Her fingers tightened along the handgrip, save for the one prepared to unleash superheated plasma fire if whoever he was even breathed wrong. And it was definitely a man—his size made that abundantly clear. She took a slow breath, waiting for him to comply, but he seemed remarkably unfazed for someone with a plas-rifle pointed at his spine.
He laced his fingers on top of his head, revealing a patch on his biceps, and her breath hooked a painful claw in her throat. A wolf standing on a promontory, surrounded by a crescent moon. TJF Rangers. The same folks for whom she and Gener raised the wolves. Who had left them out here at the darkened ass-crack of humanity’s far-flung colonies.
He turned the rest of the way around, and she caught her first glimpse of his face in the shuttle’s floodlights. Older than she’d expected, probably not much off from her own mid-fifties, and with the common decency to not try to hide his age with longevity treatments. The salt and pepper at his temples had given up and gone more to gray in his brows, a color that seemed out of place above the honey-colored eyes of a wolf-bonded ranger. A hard mouth, like a man who was unaccustomed to smiling. Or just plain didn't know how.
Her gaze dropped just enough to take in the rank pips at his collar. The golden starburst was easy to recognize, and though they’d never met, she only knew of one man who could wear both that and a ranger’s patch. She lowered the weapon. "Commander Penzak. You’re early."
"It’s Rafe. And does that mean I can put my hands down?"
His voice was low and flat, with so little emotion she couldn't decide if he was joking or asking a legitimate question. She decided it was better to be safe. "Feel free."
Too bad lowering his arms highlighted his broad shoulders and made her eyes want to linger on the play of his suit across his chest. If she’d realized that would be the case, she’d have had him keep the damn things up.
"The wolves won't be ready for months yet.” She wasn’t sure what else to say and was surprised at how banal it sounded. How little conflict she let show in her voice. She'd spent the last five years convincing herself that what had happened with Gener hadn’t been the rangers’ fault. Seeing their commanding officer on her front doorstep, it was hard to remember that.
If it hadn't been for their insistence on secrecy, she and Gener wouldn't have been sentenced to this backwater, communications dead zone of a planetoid. She would've been able to radio for emergency services when he’d collapsed. Someone could’ve gotten there in time. But with Gener incapacitated and her unable to fly the shuttle back to Prime by herself, there had been no chance he would make it.
Thirty-six hours later and she was wrapping his body for burial out beyond the dome. The rangers might not have been able to save him, but they sure as hell didn't help him either.
Penzak watched her, and she wondered how much he’d read from her face. "It's not about the wolves,” he said. “Rather, it is about the wolves, but not in the way you think. We've intercepted communications which seem to indicate Triptych knows where you are."
"The crime syndicate?" As though there was some abundance of Triptychs in the three systems, that there might be another one that was a less-brutal criminal organization with which she could be confused. "So that means you're sending everyone, right? When do the rest of the rangers get here?"
At least he had the gall to attempt to look sheepish. "We didn't have time to determine whether or not the intel was actionable enough for a major operation. Time was of the essence, so…"
So they'd come to collect the wolves and her, and everything else be damned. Once again, their utter failure to help was going to be a disaster for her. "You came by yourself, with the assumption I’d be a good little worker bee and do as I was asked. Did you even stop to think I might not be interested in going anywhere? Gener and I made a home here, for all it was worth to you lot. And you expect I can leave all those memories behind because you think you might have some intelligence?"
"Actually, I wasn't thinking we'd move you until the threat had been confirmed. I rushed out here to make certain the wolves were okay." He had shifted to a parade rest stance, and she wondered if this was as relaxed as he could get.
Of course the rangers hadn’t come for her. It was only ever about the wolves. She was just the caretaker, the one who busted her ass day in day out to make sure these beautiful animals were brought up healthy and prepared for service alongside their bonded ranger. Why would she matter?
She forced herself not to let any of those thoughts slip out of her mouth. "Fine. Stow your gear and lock your ship. You and your wolf can have a look around, make sure everything is what you were expecting." And she could go into the house and avoid him before she said or did something unpleasant. She may not love the rangers, but she absolutely loved these wolves. She refused to risk doing anything that might take them away from her.
"It's just me."
For a moment, the ache in his voice—the hollow emptiness—threatened to make her actually feel sympathy for him. Anger was one thing, but loss? She understood that all too well. And the brief flicker of hopelessness that had crossed his face before whatever systems of control he used locked it all down again? She knew that too.
But damn her if she'd give him the satisfaction. "Fine. I’ll be inside when you’re done." She turned and walked back toward the house.
***
Rafe shouldered his pack and started after the woman. Guilt tugged at the back of his neck like a fishhook lodged beneath the skin. He should have remembered her name, or that Gener Sultana had died. Should have known more about what was happening here. He could recall logistics letting him know that the original trainer had passed in some kind of accident, but it had been not long after Actaeon’s death. He’d had enough demons to deal with on his own. He couldn’t have shouldered Nafisi’s as well, even if he’d thought to.
Nafisi. That was it. To confirm he’d remembered correctly, he called out her name.
She stopped, tension arcing through her so strongly it looked like she’d been electrocuted. All around him he could feel and hear the wolves she protected. Dedicated work that she was doing for the Rangers. The TJF should've been doing a better job keeping track of what was going on out here. They—he owed the ranchers that much.
"What?" She didn't turn around, just growled the word over her shoulder.
“How many wolves do you have on the ranch?" In the darkness, he could see the outline of what looked like a long kennel house. While he could sense the wolves were there, Actaeon's death had left him without the ability to know more.
"I have ten adult wolves. That's my breeding stock. There’s a litter of four I'm raising at the moment. Double-J. And one of my other dams is pregnant with double-K, but she’s not due until after this litter is grown. I can only handle one litter at a time." She started walking again. "I can take you to see them later if you're interested."
He couldn't decide if he'd like that or not. Being on the Hunting Cry was hard enough, surrounded by other rangers’ wolves. Knowing every time he sent
a fireteam out, there was a chance someone else—man or wolf—would return just as broken and hollowed out as he was.
She tapped on an omni as she walked, and the lights came up on a cozy ranch house nestled among the larger rocks.
In the light from the windows, he could see the thin horizontal lines on the walls where the industrial fab units had layered the composite as it built the house from the ground up.
She stood on the porch and held open the door as she watched him. “Well, come in if you’re comin’."
Inside, an effort had been made to chase away the monochrome outside with warmth and color. The walls were painted a light blue that bordered on turquoise, and the floor had been patterned with colorful, easy-to-clean tiles. Stepping through the door brought him face-to-face with a wall covered with pictures. A simple plaque in the center of the wall had been engraved with the TJF Rangers’ logo and the simple words Fallen. Unforgotten.
Even after the wolves had gone on to their bonded partners, she and her husband had kept track of them.
It took him less than a heartbeat to find Actaeon’s picture just left from center. In the photo, he was young—it had probably been taken right before he and the wolf had bonded. Polarized light prevented the wolf’s famous coat from lensing and rendering him invisible. Instead, he was midnight black. Muzzle open and tongue lolling in a canine smile. Ears upright and their tufted tips alert.
Seeing it almost punched the wind out of him. Of all the things he'd expected to find on Hephaestus Secundus, a picture of Actaeon hadn't been on the list. He traced the edge of the familiar figure with the tip of his finger and felt the reprimand in his head. This should be more. More grief, more sorrow. Something. Anything. But losing his wolfbond had left all of his emotions feeling like they'd been wrapped up and mothballed. Like a toy from childhood that felt smaller and dingier than remembered.