“All right, listen up,” he announced to the others. “First come, first serve. Claim your quarters with your bucket.” Not that there would be competition for any one room. He knew there would be twenty barracks rooms in all, enough for the expected contingent of Guardians. More than half would remain empty.

  Hoffman, the youngest Marine on the team—a nondescript woman with short brown hair, a narrow face and big brown eyes—came out of the door marked thirteen. “My lucky number,” she explained, pointing at the marker and then putting her helmet down in front of it.

  “Forget racks, Sarge!” Morales called out from inside one of the unmarked rooms in the middle of the corridor. “I’ve got food!”

  Joseph and Hoffman looked at one another. “Leave it to Fatcat to find the galley first,” he said. “Go on, Private. I’ll be along shortly.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  Joseph didn’t follow her right away. He was hungry, but he also wanted to see the whole module before he worried about filling his stomach. He continued to the back of the room and through the next door, finding himself in the head. There were two toilet stalls against one side of the room and two shower stalls on the other, with a pair of sinks in the back. Small for twenty Guardians, but most were supposed to be hibernating within a couple of weeks.

  He backed out of the head and returned to the barracks. He could hear most of the other Marines through the open door to the galley. The unnumbered door opposite it was still closed, so he went that way instead.

  It surprised him when it didn’t open at his approach. He took a step back and tried again with the same results. Then he noticed the small access pad on the left side of the door and remembered that everyone on board Pioneer was required to have an identification chip implanted in their wrist. He would need a chip to open this particular door. In hindsight, Colonel Hale said she would handle the initial boarding. In hindsight, it was a mistake for her not to have instructed any of the others in those procedures.

  Perhaps she had. She’d probably given the procedures to the other officers slated to come onboard with her. Unfortunately, none of them had survived either..

  Joseph had applied and been accepted into the Guardian program based on his record and psychological profile. West, too. But neither one of them was an officer. The other members of Echo Two Two weren’t even vetted as Guardians, but they were all Pioneer had now. He never planned to be the ranking Marine in the group. He also didn’t doubt he and what was left of Echo Two Two could fill the role. He would find out where to get the ID implants in due time.

  It was strange to think that after years of fighting a losing war, months of deployment on the mountainside while workers scrambled to build Pioneer—and hours of frantic combat before liftoff—time was something they suddenly had in spades. It was hard to come down from the tense alertness, to step back and take things in order—one at a time. Joseph was resolved to do the job to the best of his ability.

  He went through the door on the opposite side of the corridor, entering the small galley. The other Marines in his group were sitting at the only table in the room. Made of the same composite as the desks in the barracks rooms. MRE wrappers were scattered across it, their contents already devoured.

  “Sarge,” Morales said reaching behind his back to pull out an MRE and tossing it to Joseph.

  He caught it and looked at the wrapper. “Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “It’s pretty good,” Morales said. “There’s a whole storeroom that way.” He pointed to a door on the right. “Enough MREs for five hundred years, I bet. And clothes. Underwear and utilities in whatever size you happen to be, unless you’re either really fat or an Amazon woman like West.”

  “I heard that,” West said, coming up behind Joseph.

  “What? It’s true. There’s a reason your call sign is Queen, si?”

  West smiled. “That’s not the reason.”

  “Oh? Then what is?”

  “Because I’m beautiful and delicate, and I have impeccable etiquette and manners.”

  The Marines laughed along with West. Joseph was glad to see them returning to their usual camaraderie and banter. It was important for them to come down from the adrenaline rush while they had the time to relax.

  “Sarge,” West said. “The other section of the module, I don’t know. It’s weird.”

  “What do you mean?” Joseph asked.

  “You need to come see it for yourself.”

  “Okay, I’m coming. Morales, you’re in charge of distributing two pairs of utilities and a reasonable amount of undies to the rest of the team.”

  “You got it, Sarge.”

  Joseph followed West back to the CIC and across to the door to the far left. It opened automatically, feeding them into a small square room. While the other section of the module was clearly intended as living quarters, this side was definitely for the business side of things. A pair of benches faced each other, an aisle between them while two large lockers sat against the opposite bulkhead, split by another door. There was a second passageway through the bulkhead on his right.

  “I’m missing the weird here, Keesh,” Joseph said. “This is a standard prep room. A little small, but they only expected two people to need it at any given time.”

  West laughed “Not this, Sarge. Not there either.” She pointed at the door between the lockers. “That one’s secured. This way.” She led him through the door on the right, into a well-equipped gym. The floor was completely padded, the walls lined with weights, bands and other fitness equipment. A pair of motion trainers rested in the corner.

  Joseph looked over at West, raising an eyebrow. “I know you know what a gym looks like. Is it missing your favorite piece of equipment? That would be weird.”

  “Did you notice, all the other rooms are square or rectangular. Four smooth bulkheads. This one cuts inward at the end.”

  He hadn’t noticed. He did now. The corner next to the trainers slanted in about six feet, adding two extra bulkheads forming a small room with a manual door in it.

  “That’s a little weird,” Joseph admitted. “It doesn’t look like it was part of the original design.”

  He walked over to the door, pushing it open. The room was barely big enough to hold a pair of large black boxes with a narrow aisle between them. Each box had a chair in it, as well as a joystick, throttle and other buttons and switches that made it look like the cockpit of a fighter jet. A pair of VR goggles rested on each seat.

  “Okay,” Joseph said. “You’re right. It’s weird. It looks like a flight trainer.”

  “It does,” she agreed. “Why is it here?”

  “I heard that Command insisted on loading Bayonets onto Pioneer. Maybe they expect us to learn how to fly them.”

  “Uh, riiigghhhtt. Why would we need to do that?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s to keep us entertained while we’re sitting around waiting for things to break. It has to be better than a million games of solitaire.”

  West laughed. “Maybe. It just seems kind of out of place, don’t you think? And besides, there were still some real pilots out there. Why didn’t they bring them along if they wanted someone to fly the Bayonets?”

  “Operational efficiency,” Joseph said. “Limited stasis pods. And we’ll have plenty of time to practice on them. My guess is Command thinks we can use the bayonets for the initial recon and mapping. Not a bad idea, really.”

  “Do you think the other ships are equipped the same?”

  “I heard all the modules are nearly identical. Pre-fabricated for easy drop into the superstructure. I imagine they are.”

  “It’s still so crazy to think about. Maybe crazier now that we’re on our way. All those ships all heading for a different planet, with the expectation one or two of them will get lucky and not only reach their destination but also manage to plant roots, grow and thrive. The odds were lousy on Earth, and they aren’t much better out here. But what if all the ships make it? What if we seed a dozen planets or more? Do you think we’ll ever be reunited with one another? Or will we all grow and evolve separately? And what would that look like?” She shook her head. “It blows my mind.”

  “Honestly, I haven’t given it a lot of thought,” Joseph replied. “I’m more concerned with immediate issues. I’m going to find a change of clothes and some soap, grab a quick shower, and then see if I can find out what we’re supposed to do next.”

  “Roger that, Sarge. How can I help?”

  “Make sure everyone picks a rack and gets out of their armor and cleaned up. We can stow our gear in the prep room for now. There are only two shower stalls so put them in rotation. Once that’s done, I want Morales in charge of inventory. I’m willing to bet it’s all listed somewhere on one of those terminals in the CIC. They trained you on the interface, right?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “We’ll need to get the rest of the Marines up to speed on what the job entails and teach them how to work the computer, especially the monitoring systems. We’ve got two weeks to get them all prepped. I figure I’ll take the first duty cycle with Morales, and you can take the second with Nori. That’ll get those two fully trained up, and then we can pair off with Hoffman, Chun, Turani, and Bourne. We’ll have to do extra cycles up front, but we can make them up later in the trip.”

  “It’ll be fun. Really.” West sighed. “I planned to be ten years older when we got there. Thirty-six and settling a new world? Sign me up. Ninety? I just hope I can still walk off the ship when we get there.”

  “I know how you feel, Keesh. We need to be strong. A lot of people are counting on us. If anything happens to Pioneer, it’ll be on our watch, and we can’t let that happen.”

  “Affirmative. If I have to grow old on board a tin can hurtling through space, I’m happy to do it with you, Sarge.”

  “Likewise,” Joseph replied, putting up a fist. She mirrored him and they softly bumped them together. “Let’s get moving.”

  14

  Grant

  Pioneer. Primary Hangar. 11.11.2052. 1500 hours.

  The Marines were long gone by the time Tyson finally made it down to the primary hangar. His best efforts to get there quickly ended up stymied by another report from Chief Engineer Oslo, who informed him there was an anomaly in the scrubbers they were looking into. Tyson happened to be in the area of the problem at the time and had stopped by to talk to Oslo directly while his crew worked on the issue.

  According to the Chief, it wasn’t a big problem, Metro had its own air filtration and recycling system, and they had plenty of scrubbers if the first set wore out prematurely. It would only become an issue if the filters were manufactured incorrectly and the whole batch was bad. Given the state of the world at the time the scrubbers were made, it was a definite possibility, but Tyson tried not to worry too much about that, at least not unless Oslo came back to him an hour from now needing to replace the filters again.

  The familiarity of the activity in the hangar was somewhat calming. The workers and techs had nearly finished moving the last round of supplies into more permanent storage in the cargo compartments just outside the hangar. Once that was completed, the hangar boss would inspect all of their work and if it was up to regulation the hundreds of workers would be escorted to Metro to begin their new lives as citizens of the city.

  Escorted by the ship’s Guardians, who still weren’t officially recognized.

  Colonel Hale was supposed to handle the initial processing in conjunction with the ship’s doctor to chip and organize them. But the Colonel had given her life to protect Pioneer. So had her junior officers. Only nine Marines had made it onto the ship, and he didn’t think any of them were commissioned.

  “Attention!” someone snapped as he entered. “Captain on deck!” The workers stopped and spun toward him, coming to attention.

  “As you were,” he said loudly. Most of them went back to their work. One of the techs split off from the rest, heading his way. He was the only one wearing green coveralls instead of dark blue, signifying him as the boss, Lieutenant Aaron Wall.

  “Captain Grant,” Lieutenant Wall said, reaching him. “What brings you down here, sir?”

  “I was looking for the Marines we pulled onboard right before launch. I assume they’ve already dispersed to the Guardian module?”

  “Yes, sir. I sent them up about twenty minutes ago. Sergeant Cross was leading them. Seems like a good man.”

  “Cross,” Tyson said, searching his memory for the name. Every application for the Guardian program had passed his desk for approval. Colonel Hale had final say, but it was his ship, so his acceptance was also required. There had been only one applicant Hale recommended that he had refused. Chief Warrant Officer Beckett. The man’s psych eval had put him at the borderline for development of post-traumatic stress disorder, and that wasn’t a risk Tyson was willing to take. Cross’s evals, on the other hand, had been excellent all the way through. “I remember him now. Average height, fit and ruggedly handsome?”

  Wall smiled. “That’s him, sir.”

  He recalled some of Cross’ record. Twenty-eight years old, ten years in the service, a career enlisted man. Good eval scores in intelligence and personality. Emotionally stable. Passed the psychological interview with flying colors. Expert marksmanship badges with both rifle and pistol. Winner of the Lauchheimer Shooting Trophy. That wasn’t a surprise. The fact that he had survived the war was a testament to his abilities as a combatant. If there was going to be a sergeant running the Guardians, Cross was as good as they came.

  “I’ll get to him shortly,” Tyson said. “I’d like a status report on inventory and equipment.”

  “Yes, sir. You can see the last of the crew is bringing the palettes out to the storage compartments. We managed to get ninety percent of the food reserves loaded. Unfortunately, about a thousand pounds got left behind.” He pointed to the back of the hangar, where the huge construction machines rested near the rear bulkhead, occupying over half of the immense space. “Loaders and builders are all strapped down tight; we’re just finishing up prepping them for cold storage. We should be done in the next hour or so. I’ve got two petty officers going through everything with tablets and taking final inventory. That’ll take a bit longer, but it’s worth ensuring we know where everything is and getting it into the mainframe.”

  “There were a dozen extra large crates delivered a few days ago. Unmarked and unregistered. What happened to them?”

  “Orders were to put them in the hold beneath Metro.”

  “Did you open them?”

  “No, sir. I was told to place them there and forget they existed.”

  Tyson raised an eyebrow. Of course Command had told him the crates were incoming, but they hadn’t told him what they contained. Apparently, he didn’t need to know. “Were there any instructions on when we might need their contents?”

  “No, sir.”

  “That’s very odd, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir. But it’s not my place to question Command, sir.”

  “Or mine,” Tyson replied. “I suppose we need to forget about them then. Do you have an ETA for when your crew will be finished with their work?”

  “I’d like to double-check everything when we’re done,” Wall replied. “Now that we aren’t under threat of attack and can take the time to confirm. Let’s say twenty-two hundred hours?”

  “That’s acceptable. Thank you and your team for your hard work, and for getting almost everything on board under challenging circumstances.”

  Wall smiled. “Thank you for recognizing our efforts, Captain. It’s much appreciated. I’ll be sure to tell the others.”

  “Of course. How do I get to the Guardian module from here?”

  Wall pointed up at the ceiling. “It’s right up there. Head back to the elevator, take it up to deck thirty-one. Follow the forward corridor. The exterior module doors are all hardened, which makes them easier to spot.”

  “Thank you again,” Tyson said. He definitely needed a better education on the ship’s layout. There just hadn’t been enough time yet.

  “Of course, Captain.”

  Tyson turned to leave the hangar, his eyes landing on the large doors that connected the space to Metro. What was in the crates Command had delivered? Their comms were damaged. They were completely on their own. He could have Wall open the crates; Command would never know.

  He pushed the thought away. If his orders were to forget about it, then he needed to forget about it. Just because they were alone out here didn’t mean he could suddenly ignore the chain of command or the regulations that bound him. How could he counter Governor Nash if he went and acted just like him?

  He fixed his eyes on the exit and walked out of the hangar.

  15

  Grant

  Pioneer. Guardian Module. 11.11.2052. 1515 hours.

  Tyson was in the passageway approaching the metal blast doors of what had to be the Guardian module when the doors parted, and a Marine he immediately guessed was Sergeant Joseph Cross stepped through. Their eyes met, each taking a moment to identify the other before Joseph stopped in his tracks and came to attention.

  “Captain Grant?” Joseph asked.

  “At ease, Sergeant Cross,” Tyson replied. “Yes, I’m Captain Grant.” He put his hand out, greeting Joseph less formally. “Welcome aboard Pioneer.”

  “You know of me, sir?” Joseph asked, shifting his posture but hesitating to shake Tyson’s hand as it just wasn’t acceptable military etiquette for a non-comm to shake an officer’s hand.

  “It’s okay, Sergeant.”

  Joseph smiled and reached out, shaking Tyson’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Captain. Colonel Hale had nothing but good things to say about you.”

  Somehow, Tyson doubted that. “She was a brave woman. I’m sorry for her loss. And the loss of the rest of your battalion. I’m sure this isn’t easy for you.”