31A LOUD CRACK rends the air as the blast blows apart his shoulder plate, snapping Archer’s armor in three places and searing a path deep into his neck and shoulder. He drops to the floor, suit torn open and chest heaving, breaths grating erratically from the charred flesh of his windpipe. It’s Kirst who reacts the fastest, whirling around to hit the squatter with a shot from his stunner. Three more shots follow right on its heels, courtesy of Kagawa, Jethro, and Jos, but it’s already too late. Sirens are going off all around us, their klaxon calls ringing high and shrill through the platform. The squatter must have triggered station security just before being shot.

I crawl to Archer’s side. His pulse is rapid and his skin clammy, and it’s clear he’s going into shock. I direct a glance at Kagawa, our most experienced medic after Archer, but she only shakes her head. The message is clear: We get him medical help, and fast.

Or he dies.

Slapping a clear cauterizing patch over the wound, I start snapping orders. “Jos, you help me carry Archer! Kirst and Adewola, you take point. Raisman and Kagawa, cover our six. Jethro, use the cameras to find us a path out, if they haven’t frozen them all yet. We’re getting the hell out of here!”

I grab Archer’s right arm, Jos grabs his left, and together we heave him up off the floor. Our TL tries to help as much as he can, feet fumbling to gain purchase on the decking, but it’s clear he’s fading fast. Looping an arm over each of our shoulders, we support Archer between us, taking as much of his weight as we can. As I straighten up, the sound of running footsteps patter in my ears. I start flipping through the camera feeds on my visor, searching for the source of the steps, but Jethro is already on it.

“Raisman, Kagawa! Three coming up the corridor behind you.”

The squatters don’t even know what hits them, all of them going down with stunner shots within a second of turning the corner.

“Eastern corridor is still clear,” Jethro continues. “If we move fast, we can make it to the first junction before the squatters catch up.”

“Let’s move it, team!” I order, already suiting action to words.

We race through the corridors as fast as we can, twisting and turning through the various junctures at Jethro’s instructions. Kirst and Adewola lead, clearing the way for us all, while Raisman and Kagawa follow up on our tail, watching our backs and frequently throwing grenades full of stun gas to keep the squatters from getting too close. Normally we’d be able to get back to the hatch in two minutes flat, but with Archer practically deadweight, we’re forced to move at a snail’s pace. We duck into a disused customs office to avoid a delusion of squatters, and that’s when we hear it: a low whirring sound sweeping through the platform.

“What is that?” Adewola asks.

“Fans,” Raisman says after a beat. “They’re trying to clear the ghoul gases.”

I take a huge sniff. The distant odor of sour-and-sweet tickles the back of my nostrils, and I realize she’s right. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about!

No time to linger, we duck out through the back of the office and drop down to the maintenance level below. Weaving between hunks of machinery, we make a beeline for the airlock. Footsteps clang on the stairs between levels, followed by several shots as Raisman and Kagawa work desperately to cover our rear, and I know it won’t be long before our pursuers catch up. I force myself to move faster, but it’s difficult. Archer’s legs are barely moving now, and my back and shoulders are screaming in agony from the prolonged weight thrust upon them. Gritting my teeth, I ignore the pain and keep moving. The airlock comes into view ahead, and I activate the command channel on my com.

“StarRunner, this is Delta Team requesting pickup now! I repeat, we need pickup now!”

“Understood, Delta. ETA in two minutes. StarRunner out.”

We tumble into the airlock only meters ahead of the enemy, Jos and I half carrying Archer while the rest crowd in behind us. Archer is sagging heavily between us now, his weight hanging off our shoulders and his feet dragging against the floor. Blackish blood oozes through the charring on his neck and shoulder, and I can just smell the stench of burned flesh beneath the distant odor of ghouls. Panic jolts through my heart, and I try to rouse him. “Archer? Sir!”

He lolls between us, completely unresponsive, and I know he doesn’t have much time.

Shots ring out against the other side of the inner airlock door, and I whip my head around in the direction of the sound. The airlock hatch is going crazy, repeatedly opening a few centimeters and then closing as Kagawa plays a life-or-death game of tug-of-war with the squatters outside.

Bam! She punches the command to close, and the door slides shut, only to jackrabbit open a second later as the squatter outside counters her move.

Open. Close. Open. Close. Open.

Her fingers fumble on the control pad, and the door keeps going this time. Shots fly through the widening gap, crackling past my cheek so close I can see the bolts reflected off my visor. I lunge awkwardly to the left, trying to get out of range and hold up Archer at the same time.

“Sorry!” Kagawa yells as she slams the hatch shut again.

“We need to get that door shut!” I tell her as it starts opening again. “The outer hatch won’t open if the inner door isn’t sealed.”

“The override isn’t working!” Kagawa shoots back. “I could destroy the panel, but with the squatters playing Jam the Door with me, the timing is too risky.”

Close. Open. Close. Open.

I see the problem immediately. If that door isn’t one hundred percent sealed when she destroys the panel, it’ll freeze open, preventing us from opening the outer hatch and effectively trapping us inside the airlock.

Slag! The mission is falling apart. Archer is down, we’ve got ghouls on the way, and we’re trapped in an airlock with squatters beating down the door. Everyone is looking to me—

“ATL?” Kagawa asks uncertainly.

—and I haven’t the faintest idea what to do.

I minutely shake my head. I can’t speak, I can’t breathe. I try to marshal my scattered thoughts, but terror runs through me, freezing me in place and making all thought impossible.

A loud clank echoes through the air as the StarRunner appears at the portal ahead. The entire ’lock shivers, vibrations rumbling through the walls and floor as the shuttle attempts to make a connection. Already off-balance from Archer’s weight, I stumble under the tremors and almost fall, throwing a hand against the wall at the last second to steady myself. Archer’s arm immediately starts to slide off my shoulders, and I grab for it again, using my stance to brace myself as best as I can. After what seems like an interminable interval, the pilot comes on the com.

“Delta Team, this is the StarRunner. Docking is complete. I repeat, docking is complete.”

I take a quick breath, awakened by the pilot’s voice speaking into my ears. The fear eases slightly, and I find I can think again.

“Acknowledged, StarRunner,” I snap out, the answer coming before I consciously make the decision to speak. “We’re taking heavy fire and are having trouble sealing the inner door. Stand by!”

I go back to my team, mind clear and wheels turning. “We have to clear out those squatters long enough to get the inner door sealed. How are we on ammo?”

“It’s not ammo we lack,” Jethro answers, “but cover. As soon as we let that door open, we’ll be sitting ducks.”

“Do we have any grenades left?”

“Half a dozen light grenades and two stun grenades.”

“So if we just gas them with stun grenades—”

Kirst shakes his head. “They’ve already masked up.”

Slag! A couple of grenades would make everything so much easier. Although now that I think about it, maybe we don’t actually need to gas them . . .

An idea takes shape in my mind. Quickly I explain my plan, and almost immediately everyone starts pressing against the side walls, getting as far away from the opening in the door as possible. All except for Kirst and Adewola, who flatten themselves against the wall on either side of the inner door, and Kagawa, who stays by the control panel.

As soon as everyone is in place, I give the signal. “Kagawa, now!”

The door slides open again, keyed by the squatter on the other side, but this time Kagawa lets it go. Bolts fly through the gap, charring the opposite wall, only to be cut off as Kirst and Adewola fire back, pumping pulse after pulse through the widening crack. Another second, and then Raisman is there, tossing two grenades underhand across the threshold.

Boom! Boom! Light explodes through the gap as both grenades go off in quick succession. Screams cry out from the other side of the door, and even with my visor and combat lenses, the effect is almost blinding. Before the squatters can regroup, Kagawa punches in the command to shut, pistol poised over the panel as she waits for the door to close . . .

It slides shut, a blue light flickering on at the top of the control panel as the inner hatch seals. Kagawa brings her pistol butt down across the pad, hitting it once, twice, three times. Sparks fly from the panel, a nasty crunching noise ringing out through the airlock, but my eyes are fixed on that blue light, the inhale caught in my throat as I wait to see if it’ll flicker out—but no. The light remains.

The inner door is sealed.

“StarRunner, we’re coming out!” Even before I finish speaking, I’m hitting the controls to open the outer hatch. It slides open with a grinding screech, still rusty from disuse after all this time, but it opens. Jos and I dart through, dragging Archer with us, while the others pound through the hatch after us. Kagawa is the last one through, punching the hatch shut and calling to the pilot, “We’re clear!”

Immediately the docking clamps begin to retract as the shuttle gears up to leave, but I barely notice. All my attention is on Archer, who hangs like a sack between Jos and me. I yell for a medic, heart pounding in terror as I search for the nearest med-kit, but I can’t seem to spot one. Someone throws down a blanket, and we make for the makeshift bed, hauling Archer across the deck with frantic steps.

But as we lay him down on the shuttle floor, body limp and face a cold, lifeless mask, I don’t need a medic to tell me he’s already dead.

My promotion to Team Leader is made official the next morning. Major Estes calls me into her office, hands me my new insignia, and shuffles ’Vange over from Gamma to help even out our numbers and give me a seasoned ATL. Her manner is brisk, though not unsympathetic, and I find myself grateful that she isn’t making a big deal out of Archer’s loss or my promotion. This matter-of-fact gravity I can handle; sentiment I cannot.

Afterward, I go to the armory to start prepping for the day’s ops. I pause outside the door, unsure if I’m ready to go in and face my team. Unsure if I’m even ready for them to be my team. Guilt sears through me every time I recall that moment on the OP, when Archer pushed me aside and took the decimator blast meant for me, and doubts prey upon my every thought. Maybe I’m not good enough to be Team Leader. Maybe I’ll just end up letting my team down. For a moment I’m tempted to turn tail and run, but that’s not what Archer would have done. Or Xian, or Songbird, or any of the other TLs. They would walk into that room and take care of their team.

So that’s what I do. Through the morning prep work and on through two outside ops and one inside. Everyone accepts my promotion without comment, the advancement taken for granted with Archer now dead and gone. Taken for granted by everyone except me, that is. Though the commands come easily, etched into my head after hearing them so many times from Archer’s mouth, I can’t help feeling like it’s still Archer’s team, and I’m merely a stand-in.

We finish the day with no casualties, a triumph any day, but especially today. The last thing I want is to get everyone killed my first day on the job. After they rack their gear, I dismiss the team to their own devices for the handful of hours we get before hitting the next system. ’Vange is the last to leave.

“I can’t believe I have to call you ‘sir’ now,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder to show there are no hard feelings. However, we both know: Our roles would have been reversed had it been Songbird who’d fallen and not Archer.

After he leaves, I collapse on a bench in front of my gear locker. I made it through my first day as TL with surprising ease, and yet more than ever I’m suffused with guilt. Archer took a decimator beam meant for me, and because of that I’m alive and he’s dead. Though I know it was his choice, that in fact I would’ve done the same for him if our positions had been reversed, I can’t help feeling like his death is on my head. Even the success of the day is marred by guilt, as though it was somehow wrong to not only take Archer’s job, but perform it well.

“You okay, Sorenson?”

I glance over to find Songbird standing in the doorway and let out a snort. I should’ve known I wasn’t going to get through the day without some sort of uninvited pep talk. As though there are any words in the universe that could make this better! I glare at her, voice edged as I ask, “What, you lose the chit flip or something?”

Walking in, she leans against a gear locker and regards me. “Xian was promoted to Assistant Team Leader when his ATL was permanently demoted to scut for fraternizing with someone on his team. He got one of the extra TL slots when the new recruits came onboard for the Archangel mission. ’Vange became my ATL the same way.”

I look down, the pointed words reminding me that, unlike Xian and ’Vange, her rise was also built on the back of someone else’s demise. She was an ATL when I first came to R&D, rising to Team Leader only when her own TL was infected on a mission and chose to step out an airlock rather than be exiled to a squatter colony. She didn’t lose a chit flip; she came because, unlike the others, she’s been where I am.

Humbled by the realization, I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m okay.”

She nods, needing nothing more than to hear this one small assurance. Or perhaps she never needed to hear it at all, but rather asked because she knew I did. The same way somebody else once asked that of me so long ago.

Her sympathy, her solace; that night she waited on me for hours for no other reason than to make sure I was okay.

I blink, surprised at the sudden memory. For so long, Lia has been a ghost I could never shake, a memory that clung to my waking thoughts and never let go. Yet it’s been ages now since her memory’s come to find me, as though she understands: I don’t need her so much anymore.

The revelation doesn’t bring fear or anger or even the heartbreak I would’ve expected, but a quiet acceptance that endures on through them all, continuing long after such paltry emotions have faded and fallen away.

“I’m okay,” I repeat again, stronger this time, and now Songbird smiles a little, as though she knows something changed between the first answer and the second, though she doesn’t know what. As she turns to go, she pauses at the door, head turning to look back over her shoulder. “Do me a favor, Sorenson.”

I raise an eyebrow in question.

“When I go, you do this same thing for ’Vange. You make sure he’s okay.”

Her sentiment is clear, and her wording isn’t lost on me. Not if she goes, but when. I want to deny those words, but I can’t. We’re soldiers in a war, and all of our time is borrowed. We take the time we’re given and give up the time that’s taken. It’s just that simple.

Raising my head, I meet her eyes and nod. “You have my word.”

But even as I make the promise, I hope to God I never have to keep it.