1: Breaking the Surface

Lobos didn't like the secrecy and it showed as he scowled. Regarding the assignment, in particular Hinkley. It took a half second to review Hinkley's file and conclude that he was likely the worst candidate for the job. He took a screenshot of Hinkley's file and highlighted the disturbing lack of hours the man had in practice for extra vehicular activity. Immediately forwarded it as a personal message to Captain Reyes. Fifty hours in simulation, three hours practical - it showed in Hinkley's suit. Neither radiation burnt, nor patched from puncture, it even hung off Hinkley's torso sagging. A good doc, but not at all suited for this kind of work.

"Due respect Cap, Hinkley is not suited for this kind of EVA. I'd trust him with my life for zero-gee surgical procedures but not on a high risk outing like this. I'd greatly prefer Kowalski."

Lobos stepped behind Hinkley and using the velcro harness arrested the slack in the suit. He placed a firm hand on Hinkley's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze to his subordinate. "I can tell you are tense and you need to relax. Breathe deep, this is easy."

Lobos took to Captain Reyes' right side. "A word in private, Skipper?" He didn't want to let his reservations be taken as insubordination, especially to a CO he barely knew.

A couple of Martian patrol ships, serí freighters in transit from Titan to Saturn’s mungs, a luxury liner burning hot back towards da Inya system, probably cutting their vacation short given the growing tension in the system. Every time he sent the data packet encrypted in his messages of tedious ship gossip to his "matna", Zaki tried to convince himself it was harmless. Walowda do this all da tim, sell low level shipping lane intel to brokers to make a little on the side, who compile reports from all over the system and sell it to smugglers, who use it to plot the best course to avoid patrols. The most bland flavour of corporate espionage.

Bera where Romolo is involved, nothing is harmless.

As soon as Olivera and Arnova are done teasing him about the importance of proper work platform operation–perhaps the most boring job on an already boring assignment–he floats over to the ladder compartment and begins half-climbing, half-soaring down the top 30 levels. Most people only take the ladders if they’re only going a level or two, or in case of emergencies. The compartment is tight, claustrophobic to Inyalowda, but it’s comforting to da Belta pilot. It reminds him of home, the tunnels of Erosh…

Pashang.

He shoots like a missile down the chute, past the crew quarters. The further he goes the familiar, warm human smells of sweat, deodorant, the bouquet of fragrances, years of cooking smells circulating in life support give way to the sharp tang of metal and stale remnants of ship cleaning solvents.

The upside down flash of "28" catches his attention, and he sticks his foot out, catching the lip of the doorway above him, which arrests his momentum. He cranks open the hatch and sails out, catching the lip of the hatch to flip himself upside down. He clicks his heels together and feels his feet hit the ground, magnetized.

"Fancy flying there, ace."

Zaki glances up and sees the tall blond Earther. Hinkee or something. He’s just stepping off the forward elevator, tugging a large, cylindrical canister along in náterash.

Zaki breezes by him, as much as one can clunking along in mag boots.

"I don’t think we’ve properly met, my name’s Gideon, Gideon Hinkley."

"Nem mi Mogut Ówala," Zaki said coolly, not glancing back at the Inya.

The young pilot hears a snort over the sound of Hinkley’s own clunking boots trailing after da Belta. "I can only assume that’s something intensely insulting," da Eartha replies, amusement colouring his voice. "Sorry, I don’t know much creole. Mi… only been in da Belt for… wa few months."

"Im Lang Belta," Zaki spits back over his shoulder. "Unte xiya na pelésh to, paxoníseki."

They step into the equipment room and Hinkley lapses into uncomfortable silence as the two begin to pull on their VAC suits. Zaki reaches over and slaps Hinkley on the back of the head affectionately. Im matna always showxa Beltalowda need to show kindness to Inyalowda, even when they didn’t deserve it. That’s the only way Beltalowda would ever know pax, she said. Zaki cursed his conscience.

"To okay, nakangepensa, bera keep deting gufovedi bush shut," Zaki said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant but conciliatory.

Hinkley glances over at him, a shy grin on the hulking Eartha’s face. "Uh… thanks?"

Zaki rolls his eyes as he pulls his helmet on, followed by the hiss of the seal, the UI lighting up in his eyes.

"Zaki," the pilot says, gesturing at himself with a flourishing "pashang fong" sign in front of his chest.

Da Eartha gives Zaki a grateful grin. "Gideon," he says, repeating the gesture. Zaki has to prop himself up against the equipment locker, suppressing the urge to cackle in da Inya’s face.

Lobos followed Reyes' lead he stood as comfortably as he could half in and out of the "office."

"Don't mind one bit shoveling shit Cap, I'm a Marine. Pulling some sand out of the ice, its unorthodox but that's what they pay me hazard pay for right?"

Leaning up against the bulkhead Lobos regarded the tension in his Captain's posture, the furrows of worry, telltale signs of someone who had just been told something they didn't want to hear. "Keeping it a secret is your prerogative. But..." Lobos took a break to see what effect his words were having on Reyes. "Whole bridge just saw you get shaken to your core and considering crew morale, you want that I should tell them something?" His thick southern accent, Bayou Boy through and through - he was being earnest, that southern politeness that these days seemed nosy.

Caiden didn't turn down the shot, normally he would have, EVA was hard enough on the body without intoxicants, but a single shot wouldn't effect someone of his mass enough to matter if shit hit the fan. He listened wordlessly his posture softening, scowl relaxing into a genuine look of concern. He stroked his left index and thumb along the full beard that adorned his face, black and red curls glowing in the intense blues of the warm LED light.

Drinking in microgravity was a skillset he had learned quickly in the Marines, it wasn't so much about downing the shot as slurping it - which he did with practiced efficiency. Some people sucked through their lips, a childhood boxing injury made that impossible. Lobos rolled his tongue into a clover and extruded the alcohol from the glass creating negative pressure in his mouth. A sipping rum, and one of the best he'd had that didn't come from an Earth based distillery. It reminded him of Bumbu a local favorite back on Earth, just a hint of banana, and he could taste the sherry cask it had been aged in. The shot alone was probably worth a day's pay at his midshipmen's paygrade. That wasn't to say it was top shelf liquor - it was what they called "the cheap stuff" in highbrow establishments on Earth and Mars alike.

Lobos motioned for the handheld after Reyes managed to open it. Signaling to his own, he looked at the senders network address to see if it was one he recognized, years of security protocols there was many he could identify by routing information. No different than any other network. When she waved it over, he spoke. "I'll tell the crew its just fatigue, Skipper. Don't scrub the log yet. Let's be smart, make a copy, log it on the black box." Saluting out of habit when she dismissed him, it was the crisp kind of salute of someone who lived for prim and polish - almost comically out of character for Lobos who couldn't fit the regs if he tried. "Shouldn't be too long to grab the sample."

As he began heading to his Lobos opened his ghost drive, and began to decrypt the tightbeam point of origin. Something reeked about all of this, enough to make him paranoid. Lobos stripped to his skivs, pulling underarmor from his locker, taking a good look at his heavy pistol. Highly illegal contraband, especially with the extended barrel and armor piercing rounds. These he stuffed into his gig bag slung it over his shoulder and headed to deck 28 to meet with Zaki and Hinkley.

When he arrived on site he could see they were making nice - and nodded approvingly as he approached the tank where his gear stayed charging. "You two best friends yet?"

Lobos shivered as the galium reservoir came into contact with his neck and abdomen. It melted forming a membrane between the exoskeleton and endoskeleton of the X1-PHEG. "You're in for a treat then Doc." It was a second skin, from the ridged bands of ablative and reactive armor it was clear the gear wasn't made for firefights. At least, not in a traditional sense. It was far more scientific instrument than weapon of war. Maps of embedded systems, hardened circuits even in the armor plates. Lobos racked his brain for the Lang Belta to describe semi-powered armor. It was beyond him, but he trusted a people who lived in Extra Vehicular Activity since birth could recognize the what of it.

Lobos voice had hardened somewhat, it was never a soft sweet-sounding thing, biomonitor read an increase of adrenaline and oxytocin from Lobos. He was stoked, eager, it showed on his face, until he secured the helmet in place and looked like the highest tech Samurai to have ever been conceived. It was a known adage, every piece of Earthmade equipment was masterfully crafted, beautifully designed, and fit its purpose perfectly. One intention of the PHEG was obviously to inflict fear - it looked intimidating. Cyan lighting between the rusty orange of the copper and zinc coated plates of armor gave it a somewhat bloody appearance. It didn't have a speck of oxidation on it, and one had to wonder what metamaterial made for the armor plate. But far more than its interesting appearance was its responsiveness. A VAC Suit was a hinderance, a necessity and made to protect the operator from the hard vacuum. The PHEG was designed - functionally - to enhance a person to own the vacuum. Lobos was as graceful and coordinated within the gear, as he was on foot.

Closing the airlock Lobos checked squad monitor, radios, and last of all logged their medical stats to the Bounty's main core. He proceeded to double check the fit of all VAC suits, oxygen levels, battery power, and last of all the bag containing his pistol, which he tightened into place at waist height.

"Log: Midshipmen Caiden Lobos 1914hrs, Zulu, Situation Review:" He began unceremoniously - it was for the minutes afterall.

"Four hands team will perform Extra Vehicular Activity, at standard hazard payrate. The crew as follows: Zaki Matar, Pilot; Izzy Moon, Pilot, Gideon Hinkley, Medic, Caiden Lobos, Commanding Officer. Team will navigate the exterior of the payload, observing standard safety protocols, using a cargo skiff, to perform precision extraction of anomalous materials for Payload Purity Check. Team will separate into two elements, the operation element, and extraction element. Operation element will scale from skiff using tether and perform a fifty centimeter, by fifty centimeter, by fifty centimeter extraction of suspected contaminant - identified as a potential biohazard. Extraction element will use traction to remove contaminant using a winch and pulley mounted on a suction cup. Operations crew will then contain the contaminant using biohazard containment protocols level 4, which you will have to walk me through Mr. Hinkley. Following this extraction element will assist in retrieval of anomalous materials as priority. Any questions regarding the situation review?"

Lobos was just as bored as the corporate spiel as anyone - but it was his job to read the fine print. "Hearing none. Official minutes are sustained. God that was boring. Miss Moon mi pensa Hinkley no gonya like gang kuxaku. Im tim foshmang wa wit seri ora on de wok." Lobos switched to his Simple Lang Belta for ease of communication. But translated for Hinkley, at least the parts pertaining to him. "Hinkley, you'll be mag free when we're on the ice, it can get a little rough for a first timer. Foshmang gonya be idzhifobek, asilik fosh tim pashang." Lobos made a gesture to suggest to Hinkley what pashang meant, he was sure Hinkley understood. "Mebbe keng Hinkley da process to be wang wit da skiff?"

"You got it, sir."

There’s a peace to the void. The gentle hiss of the airlock as it depressurizes and vents the ambient pressure overboard. The sudden silence, except the imperceptible hum of the VAC suit systems, the only sound is the occasional crack of the radio and one’s own breathing, isolated, alone. A few years ago the idea of EVA would have terrified Gideon. Now… well, he didn’t exactly look forward to it, but he enjoyed the quiet.

"Du na worry, tumang," Moon says through the radio, a teasing tone in her voice as she glances over to Gideon. "Milowda kom get you if you float off."

Gideon smiles and raises his fist in affirmative, some of the little Belter sign he’d picked up. He sees, just past Moon, Zaki rolls his eyes.

The muted clunk of three sets of mag boots head out of the airlock, and one set that is practically a whisper in the vacuum. How had a set of shock troop breaching armor ended up on the Bounty? Gideon had wondered that since the day he set foot on the colossal ice hauler. Word had traveled quickly through the crew. Over the first couple of days out of Ceres, everyone made an excuse to stop into the equipment room to get a glimpse, Gideon among them. An exciting little shipboard tourist destination. Lobos was military, the fellow Earther could see it in his bearing, but the UN bureaucrats didn’t just misplace a suit of Protective Hostile Environmental Gear.

They step onto the work platform, a rectangle of metal grill strapped to some precision thrusters and some winches welded onto the side. "Okay owkwawala," Zaki intones, stepping over to the controls, which look like an old school arcade game panel, and also look just as old. "Milowda fly in serí, tu, wang."

The platform uncouples, the thrusters hiss, and Gideon realizes less than an inch of metal grill is between him and the emptiness of space. He takes a steadying breath.The platform flips and perfectly lines up with the huge shelves of ice blocks in Bay 02 and begins skimming along as if it was rolling across on wheels. It’s disorienting at first, the entire room flipping around, but the Belter kid makes it look effortless. In fact, when Gideon glances over Zaki is leaning on the control panel, a hand wiggling the joystick listlessly, looking utterly bored. They were born into this, Gideon has to remind himself. The same way you were born into gravity and a horizon, which would probably scare the heck out of them if it didn’t kill them first…

"Milowda kom xox ere op site, Pampa," Zaki says, and flips a switch. The work platform slows to a stop and begins to simply maintain position. Thrusters occasionally fire to hold them in place, pinning the platform in free float, inches above the ice block.

Moon lifts her extraction equipment off the platform, clipping a suction tether from the platform's winch to it, and signs a similar affirmative Gideon gave her to Lobos, "Gútegow, bosmang."

Gideon bends down to his own equipment, the medical containment capsule, basically a small, hermetically sealing fridge usually meant for organs or severed limbs. "Containment ready, sir. I’ll… uh… float over when you and Moon have the sample ready."

Moon and Lobos de-mag and kick off from the platform, soaring over the craggy, dusty, crystalline surface, part flying and part climbing along, the tether trailing out behind them as Zaki doles it out steadily.

"Sample here, bosmang," Moon states. She and Lobos quickly mark the cut, and the Belter technician decouples a large ice autosaw from her equipment.Moon is skillful and quick, the machine whirring of the autosaw vibrating the radio system in her suit. She and Lobos share a quick sign, and she secures the suction cup to the ice block. Lobos signs back at Zaki, who flips another switch boredly and the two above push back from it. There’s a dull crack that vibrates through the ice as the block, a little more than a foot square on each side, pops out of the extraction cuts, clean and precise.

"Alright, on my way," Gideon pulls the medical canister from where it’s magnetized to the platform, takes a steading breath, and clicks his heels, then kicks off the way he’s practiced a hundred times.His speed is good, but as soon as he’s left the platform he knows he’s going just a little too wide, about to soar over their heads, clear to everyone watching. His face flushes, he swears himself up and down inside, using every curse he learned to never use. But he has to admit his screwup.

"Sorry, misjudged that a little…"

Izzy reaches up and grabs his leg as he clears her head, easily pulling him back down into position.

"Im kowl gut, tumang," she says, and he feels like a child.

Zaki’s voice comes through the radio, flat and dry. "To ta ge im, bosmang. Im bera lik tumang fosh tim pinché. Pashang dzhemang…"

He knows they’re talking about him, and he feels like an utter cretin. Gideon clenches his jaw and keys in his ID to open the canister.

"That button on the handle activates the material clip that will clamp down and hold the block in place, sir," Gideon points to the side of the canister with an external handle on it as it unseals and checks the medical sensors on the side of it. "Once it’s secure all you have to do is guide the block in and the canister will autoseal. Containment level 4 configurations confirmed. No sign of environmental contaminants in the ice hold."

He glances at Lobos, an apologetic look on his face. Of course he’d be the one to screw up the op.

"You're a natural Mr. Hinkley. Don't worry about the small stuff. Space is the most hostile environment there is, and so long as you're still alive, you're winning." Lobos pulled the ice from its cut, streamlined precision, the whole op had gone well so far. The last stage was the critical stage. Lobos began to maneuver the sample to the enclosure.

"Mind if I step in?" Lobos replied he was amazed at Mitchell's ability to perform, his bone density relative to other belters would have made him legendary, he wondered if the Belt would ever take a shine to physical athleticism as Mitchell himself was yoked up like an ox. Then again, what did athleticism mean in a world of growth hormones? "Offisha showxa milowda peroba fo pura anyalasi. Mi pensa de mo to dis." Today was back day, Lobos stepped to the weight and began to row it.

"Natim fore si Kapawu seterax. Senyawu komme fongi fode, someting belek operashang."

Lobos shows the trace route to Mitchell, not playing all his cards, just the trace. "Kapawu showxa unoffisha komante, so mi peep fo keweting. Na kompani, na OPA, na Eather gov. Chek du we."

Lobos stared with rapt attention. As soon as Mitchell admitted his suspicion, Lobos himself grew suspicious. He put the weight down and listened to intonation, as well as began reading Mitchell's microexpressions. Checking for subtle dilation of the pupils, slight pulls to the corners of the mouth, shifting of eyes.

Zaki wakes up with an elbow to his face, his limbs a tangle with Arnova’s. If the two of them weren’t so short they’d hardly fit in the single bunk. As it is she’s half hanging off the outside and he’s crammed against the bulkhead.

He was right about her, Inya with wa Belta kink. After her shift they’d ended up drinking in the galley, like usual. He asked if she wanted to go back to her hole… but Arnova curiously inquired if he was actually sharing quarters like she’d heard. As shift pilots, the two of them were technically command staff on this giant, floating refrigerator. They’d been offered single rooms in the command crew quarters. Arnova had accepted, Zaki had opted for sharing a double room with wa Belta couple, Nabi and Cas, who’d been working the Bounty for more than half of Zaki’s life. That was clearly a turn on for Arnova, that’d he’d live and sleep and pashang right next to another Belta couple.

Inyalowda could never understand why Beltalowda crowded in together like that, especially if there was an alternative. The worst Inyalowda mocked dirty, diseased, impoverished Beltalowda, packing as much human misery as they can on a lifeless rock, two or more families to a single room, fighting over fut unte ereluf unte owkwa, pashang without shame in front of to matna. That’s the kind of perverse fantasy Arnova clearly had. Ironic, Zaki had heard the stories of Eret like any Belta; of "bae-sik". Free fut unte ereluf unte owkwa for walowda… but unless imalowda rich they’re packed into tiny apartments with as many people as possible, provided by Inya government. Inya government decides for walowda what to eat, what to wear, what drugs to take to keep imalowda sedated. Zaki had known wamang on Erosh who’d made bank and moved into roomy, chichi Inya apartments on the top level, but then ended up feeling lonely, missing their people. Inyalowda could never understand the comfort that came from waking up and hearing someone gently snoring a few feet away. That meant ereluf was still flowing–that they were alive, and you were too. Beltalowda took care of their own, of walowda, even ungrateful Inyalowda, who didn’t realize how fragile life on a rock like Erosh or Ceresh was. How Beltalowda, no matter their age, maliwala o granmatna, learned that if you see something brek o ando brek to fix im. For walowda.

Beltalowda also knew to travel with earplugs, in case to beratna o setara has company.

Arnova’s trying to roll over, hence the elbow. "Dude," she murmurs sleepily. "Aren’t you flying soon?"

He clambers over her, digging through the pile of clothes and boots, looking for his handheld. A glance at the time and, kaka felota, she’s right. Na round tu.

Zaki tumbles out of the bunk, Arnova laughing quietly above him. Bleary eyed and hungover, he pulls his flight suit up his legs, not awake enough to hunt through the mess for his skivvies. He grabs a tee, might even be Arnova’s for all Zaki cares, and then his mag boots, the only thing he needs to really feel dressed.

She leans off the bed and gave him a sloppy kiss before he finally stumbles to his feet. "I’ll need that back."

He looks down, the tee has some kind of red arrow with a diamond and a star and whatever else Inyalowda nonsense, words circling the symbol: "FORT BRAGG NORTH CAROLINA, UN AIRBORNE, NAVY AND SPECIAL OPERATIONS FORCES"

"Maye mi gif im back efa to shift."

Arnova smiles sleepily and rolls over. On the way out a hand reaches off the opposite bed, Cas and Zaki fist bump on his way out the door. Cas and Nabi had front row seats to the show. Pinché wa freaky Inya sabaka. Respect.

He pops into the crew galley on his way up, slamming a Cup Noodle, a protein pack, and as much owkwa as the system will give him. He’s starting to feel alive again with something other than vodka in his stomach…

It took one conversation for Lobos to realize he hated Mitchell, down to the very core of what made a Mitchell. Perhaps it was because they were so alike in stature, career, and lack of moral compass. Lobos was never the most empathetic individual himself, and it was perhaps the similarities that made the one difference between them so unforgivable. Loyalty, honor, duty, these were the founding traits of a good leader, and in spite of all they had in common Mitchell lacked all three traits.

For a brief instant he thought about his compatriots. Camina Drummer, Marco Inaros. Camina would have just attacked him right there if she saw an advantage in it. Marco would have joined the mutiny if he could lead it. Klaes Ashford however, Ashford was a calculating man, calm and collected. Lobos respected, honored, even loved Ashford as a father figure.

Pushing down the thoughts of beating Mitchell's skull into the bulkhead until it was nothing more than a fine red paste, Lobos instead gave the Welwala an eager smile. "Mi pochuye, Beratna. Leta-go du kapawu, fongi fode." Lobos lied through his teeth.