Mist settled on the deck of what had been Colonial Marine Installation 12. It was a light cloud this morning, persistent enough to obscure the ocean that lapped against 12's concrete support struts, despite the hazy early morning sun. This far north the sun's cold light banished both the mist and the night to a few short hours. Not so long ago, two dozen electrolysis stations like this had provided oxygen to sustain the space stations of a house, their reactors pulsing with the heartbeat of a nation. Now, all but two had fallen silent.

They would not remain silent for long. It was time the Crown learnt that there were still some with the spine to stand. That was the funny thing about humans. A man would endure abuse each day, but it was only when he had been beaten to the dirt that he found the strength to rise again.

Another transport had arrived earlier that day, insofar as the regular time cycle applied on Borneo, a sub-atmospheric hopper, skimming over the ice caps. It was likely to be among the last he would see until the fleets departed. The Royalists had tightened their grip on the system to an extent that even he hadn't foreseen. Finding captains willing to risk the blockades was becoming increasingly difficult, and just as dangerous. Still, he was grateful. Every shipment that made it through bought him one day closer to completion, and the people of Tau-44 one day closer to justice.

The harsh crackle of static from within the station cut into Cornett's reverie. Slowly, he kicked the ice from his boots and rose from his perch at the station's edge.

There was much to do.

---

Camille had never liked mobile stations. Small and cramped, the covered landing bay of Michaux Research Platform was the sort of place where everyone knew your name. Frustratingly, it was also the sort of place where everyone who didn't devoted far more time than they should have to finding out. As was the case with the stick-thin botanist that seemed to have missed his calling in the Royal Police and made interrogating her his life's work.
"You fly with the Navy? Were you at Agincourt?" The questions just kept coming. Camille could have sworn he'd been going for at least an hour. She prided herself on holding her breath, but the man didn't seem to need to inhale at all.
"Sharp, aren't you? Was it the ship that tipped you off?" Camille's Lynx squatted in the freighter-dominated hangar bay like a shark in a school of fish, fleur-de-lis proudly stamped on the wings. Surely regular pilots didn't have to deal with this sort of distraction.

In truth, she would have preferred not to use the station at all, but she had needed a place where the population's loyalty could be guaranteed. With less than ten inhabitants, the research station had been the safest option. Most of the staff had been intelligent enough to avoid the military ship parked in their backyard, but there was always one. The sort of person who'd likely been a bloodhound in his last life. At that moment, Camille was desperately wishing he'd stayed one. "Oui, I've been there."

She raised her hands, as if to ward off the inevitable barrage of follow-up questions. "Now, if you will excuse me, I really ought to see to my ship. Alone." For the sixth time today. She was up before the botanist had a chance to respond, busying herself with the cargo bay hinges. Where was Komatsu?

The roar of engines shook the tiny station, reverberating through the thin walls like the cry of a trapped beast. Camille yanked her head from the Lynx's packed cargo bay, nearly dislodging a wide-barrelled assault rifle and scanned the sky for the source of the noise. She found it in a speck, glowing white-hot against the twilight grey of Borneo's sky. The glare made her eyes ache, and she raised a hand to her shield them. It did little to help. As she watched, it the speck coalesced to form a blocky outline, rectangular cargo bay hung below an angular cockpit, bracing forming rough circles around the bay, a massive metal bird, struggling with the weight of its catch. The enlarged bay marked it as supply ship, though not any atmospheric aircraft that she knew of. Every surface shimmered with the scalding heat of re-entry, burning lines across the sky.

The pilot held her well, despite the craft's questionable aerodynamics, guiding the block of a ship down to Michaux's landing pad with a precision that, if not exactly graceful, was smoother then most. Camille had made the same journey a few days before, though her Lynx's powerful engines had permitted her a shallower approach angle than the freighter's steep descent, and that had been challenge enough. She didn't relish the though of repeating it in anything larger. Thankfully, if the freighter's pilot was who she suspected, she wouldn't have to.

The two-man team that passed for the station's ground crew (in addition to serving as a marine biologist and hydrographer, respectively) were busy ministering to the ship by the time Camille arrived, tugging saturated heat sinks from compartments along the hull and replacing them with spares from the station's limited supply. Neither of them batted an eye at the sudden arrival. Both had been briefed that a second ship would be arriving, if not as to its purpose. They had asked no questions, they knew better then that. The pilot hadn't transmitted a clearance request, as had been arranged. Not only was the polar weather just as likely to scramble transmissions as it was to shift scenery, the possibility of electric ears listening in was too great a risk. Camille didn't want to be fielding questions as to why their so-called smuggling freighter was apparently basing off an unpopulated ocean world. There weren't too many dead-certain ways to get yourself killed, but leaving holes that big in your cover story was close enough to be quite uncomfortable.

An icy wind cut at her cheek as she stepped on to the exposed pad, the hood of her jacket doing little to insulate her against the arctic breeze. Her hair did little to help, tied back in a bun tight enough to tug at her forehead, it was a far cry from the usual tangled mess she wore. Not at all suitable for her, but ideal for Alexandrie Lefevre, a former Solar Engineering escort turned arms-dealer when the Crown's war-machine stalled at Bretonia's borders. Conflict generated scraps, and as long as wars dragged on, there would be people like Alexandrie, waiting pounce to on the refuse. She had just finished collecting arms from various flashpoints along the Kingdom's borders and would be here looking for a buyer. Suppressed systems made for the best markets. Plenty of discontented people looking to change things, and just as many regular people looking for a little protection from those very groups. Tau-44 was an armsdealer's heaven, and Alexandrie was its attendant angel.

The crew finished up as she approached, rigging up the covers that would keep the Anki's engines from freezing over. Most small ships would have been shifted to the comparatively heated internal bay, but the freighter was simply too large to fit. Camille didn't bother waiting for an invitation. She sprung up the ramp hauled to the freighter's cockpit, tucking her bare hands into her sleeves to keep them from the frozen balustrades. It didn't prove necessary. Despite the temperature, the ship still emitted a heat all of its own, and the cockpit latch was pleasantly warm beneath her hand.

"Well. You know how to make an entrance." The woman looked like she'd just walked off a particularly nasty roller-coaster which, in a way, she had. Still, the Kusarian features were distinctive enough. "Capitaine Katsuko, I assume? Camille. We spoke over the neural-net. You certainly look the part." Camille extended a hand, helping extract her CO from the freighter. Once she was clear, Camille waved out at the freezing ocean that whipped against Michaux's supports. "Welcome to sunny Borneo."