Tomatsu scowled.

“Now that’s an expression I don’t normally see on your face.” Tomatsu’s commanding officer, Paracitica Jin stepped up to the polyglass window, his hands held behind his back like standing at attention was his default position.

The Paracitica was shorter than Tomatsu by a few inches at least, his high ant tight, once a solid black, had a speckling of gray at the temples. His hair wasn’t as black as it used to be. Like a favorite t-shirt that had gone through the wash for ten years. Still black until you held it up against a new one.

He looked at the station out the window—or perhaps at Tomatsu’s reflection in the polyglass. Even without the Hornets’ signature power armor, he stood taller and wider than the Paracitica. With it on, like now, he was head and shoulders above. Every dimension taller, wider, thicker, stronger thanks to the nanofluid—almost a living thing wrapped around him. Tomatsu kept the helmet retracted, its constituent parts distributed through the body of armor until he called for it.

The surface was matte gray since Tomatsu wasn’t trying to hide, and the laser-edged knife strike he’d taken two weeks ago to the shoulder had completely vanished. With a block of carbon and a little time, the armor could repair itself to like-new condition.

Tomatsu scratched the stubble on his chin, but the frown didn’t ease. He had an uncharacteristic nervousness in his chest. Ten years ago, he’d been in the GSA’s military court, being tried and found guilty for crimes he’d committed under his family’s instruction. And when caught, they’d been the first to pitch him to the wolves.

The Paracitica had pulled him out of a life sentence Tomatsu still felt he deserved, and the family had squeaked through the scandal untouched.

Tomatsu had taken the opportunity to run and never look back. The Hornets were his second chance and he’d grabbed with both hands. He never expected to come back here.

“You’re aware my family runs this station?” he asked, finally.

Paracitica Jin inclined his head, his reflection in the polyglass carefully neutral. In ten years he’d never asked Tomatsu for the details. The Paracitica was confident in his people, and that bred confidence in the Paracitica.

Tomatsu found it was easy to share in the face of so many years of established trust. “My father manages the station, my mother his is accountant. Together they’ve built this facility up from a minor ore processing plant. When I joined the GSA, they’d just landed their first contract for manufacturing.” He gestured lightly out the window. “It appears that went very well for them.”

The Paracitica nodded. “They currently run two multi-million credit contracts with the GSA and it sounds like they’re the preferred vendor for trinordia refinement.”

“Convenient for them,” Tomatsu said dryly. “My aunt, my father’s sister, is the center of a weapons development web that isn’t entirely legal. You’re familiar with the details of my court case. My aunt directed me, and when the backlash threatened the station, she cut me loose.” He turned to face the Paracitica. “What exactly did the GSA send the Hornets here for?”

Paracitica Jin’s mouth flattened into a line Tomatsu recognized as annoyance. “Technically the Hornets haven’t been assigned. Just you.”

Tomatsu’s eyebrows went up in surprise. Then his scowl returned. “Of course. They know what I told them during the case. They’re assuming I’m still pissed at being thrown under the starship.” He paused, then gave the Paracitica a side-eye. “You didn’t tell them the whole squad came with me, did you?”

The Paracitica tilted his head a little. “The GSA’s higher ups and I have a bit of a balance. I take their assignments without asking too many questions of them, they take the results without asking too many questions of me.”

Tomatsu hummed acknowledgment. “Well if they expect me to come back home after a decade so I can murder my own family in retribution, they’ve got the wrong Hornet.” He sighed and looked down. “I miss them, Paracitica. My dad. My little brother. My…. Did you know I was engaged?”

The Paracitica turned to him in surprise.

Tomatsu continued, “She broke it off when I was arrested. I don’t blame her. That was the last communication I had with anyone in the family or this station.”

“Even after you joined the Hornets?”

“I reach out every year on…” Tomatsu waved his hand sadly. “There’s a holiday. I never get a reply.” He took a breath. “You have to understand, appearances are very important. My arrest was extremely public. My father had no choice but to distance himself clearly and permanently for the good of the station. I was disowned before I ever made it to court. I read about it on the link a few days later.”

He’d never told anyone, either. Anyone who cared already knew, and anyone else didn’t need to know. Tomatsu was surprised how little it hurt to share that detail.

He truly didn’t blame his father.

All the blame fell squarely on his aunt and the web she’d woven in the station. Tomatsu had no doubt that web had only grown in his absence. He wasn’t looking forward to navigating it.

“You said the Hornets weren’t sent here, just me.” Tomatsu looked at the Paracitica curiously. “What’s my assignment?”

“You’re to audit the most recent trinordia ore delivery. Track every ounce of it through processing, then the development and manufacturing uses, and send that report back up the chain.”

“Audit? We’re not an investigation—” Tomatsu broke off as he connected the dots. “Oh.” Some of that trinordia would be siphoned off for his aunt’s side of the business and then the GSA would have a paper trail they could use.

But his aunt wouldn’t allow that kind of data off the station. And his father wouldn’t allow a threat to the station—to his family—to drag them into litigation and scandal. He’d protect his sister to save face.

“Fuck.” Tomatsu said softly, with feeling.

The Paracitica knocked his knuckles against Tomatsu’s armored shoulder. “Keep the power armor on, I think.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

The uneasiness in Tomatsu’s gut only increased as he stood at the head of the squad and waited for the airlock to cycle. When not being pushed to it’s limit, the airlock took several minutes to pressurize, balance with the external atmosphere, and finally flash a green light indicating all clear.

Tomatsu stared at the green light and wondered if it was too late to ask the Paracitica for another assignment.

Behind him, the squad had assembled. All nine of them wore their power armor, helmets up and face-plates uniformly blank. With the exception of height and build, each Hornet looked identical in their armor on purpose. It was much harder to pick out the Paracitica that way or tell the difference between individuals, especially the twins.

Tomatsu left his helmet retracted, the nano of it distributed down to his chest plate and pauldrons while not in use. His Armash, a short-barrel gun suitable for tight confines like the inside of a ship or station, also lived in the nano of his suit, ready to call into his hand with a thought.

Some of the Hornets wore their guns clipped to the front of their armor—its standard place when your armor wasn’t also your armory—but Tomatsu was greeting his family.

His father.

He didn’t want their first look at him to be armed to the teeth.

Tomatsu considered his gray, nano-covered hands, and frowned. Even without a gun he was a walking weapon, but it would have to do.

“You gotta rip off the bandaid, T,” said a voice on external speakers over his right shoulder.

Tomatsu glanced back and up at Mura. She was the biggest of them, a tank to Tomatsu’s sniper. She grabbed problems by the throat and throttled them into compliance. Tomatsu admired her ability to lunge directly into battle, even when that fight was something emotionally complex.

Like family.

Mura would call it reckless disregard, but Tomatsu could use a little more of that in his life. And a little less getting lost in his head.

Mura lifted her hand toward the green light, hesitating only long enough for Tomatsu to take a breath and face front. He snapped to attention, knowing she wouldn’t stop even if he asked. She was right. He was just delaying now.

She jabbed the button for him. Ripped off the bandaid. Shoved him, metaphorically, into the fight.

Tomatsu braced as the airlock hissed and cycled open. The door retracted inward, then to the side on heavy hinges. Silent.

The smell hit him first, striking against an old memory Tomatsu had all but forgotten. A mix of cinnamon and clove, a touch of rose. Someone had lit an incense burner near the airlock to welcome them.

Then the door swung far enough to reveal Tomatsu’s younger brother—not so young anymore—standing at the entrance with a small red-wrapped box in his hand. A gift for homecoming.

Hikaru’s dark eyes lit up and he grinned at Tomatsu, a smile that had settled well in his round face. Tomatsu could see the edges of the child he remembered, the way his eyes squinted in the bright overhead light and the subtle lean forward that betrayed his impatience.

Tomatsu’s chest clenched with emotion. He had to suck a breath in against it, surprised and overwhelmed. He hadn’t expected to be welcome. He’d never dreamed anyone would stand on the other side of this door and offer a gift wrapped in red—for wealth and prosperity.

“Oniisan,” Hikaru said. He lifted the gift a touch to draw attention to it. As if Tomatsu hadn’t seen it already. “Welcome hom—”

Tomatsu fell across the threshold and snatched his little brother in a hug. He squeezed, then had to relax when Hikaru made a strained noise against the armor. His brother had grown, but with the armor on, he was still so much smaller than Tomatsu. And his black hair, straight as nails, still as soft and cool as clouds against Tomatsu’s cheek. “Stars, I missed you.”

Tomatsu released his brother and put his hands on his shoulders instead. He stared at Hikaru’s face, his laugh-lined eyes, and felt ten years worth of emotion rising up in his chest.

Hikaru lifted the box again. “Take it so I can put out that incense before it sets off an alarm.”

Tomatsu grinned and accepted the box. It was small, only a few inches square, wrapped with shiny red paper but no tag or bow. It was also heavier than Tomatsu expected. As if the traditional cookies and note were made of metal.

Hikaru returned with the stick of incense, pinching out the burning end in his fingers to snuff it. “I know you’re here on official business,” he said, glancing at the assembled and silent squad behind him. “I’ll bring you up to the office. It’s moved since you were here last.”

Guilt unexpectedly strangled Tomatsu’s heart. He choked out, “I’m sorry, Hikaru-chan. I should have—”

An unexpected hand on his arm made him trip to a stop. Hikaru smiled up at him and his eyes were touched with sorrow. “I’m happy you’re home, Oniisan, but Emiya-sama disowned you and Otosan forbid any contact. I couldn’t even send you a link-mail.” His eyes flicked down to the red box, then back up. “Without the GSA behind you today, I don’t think you would have been allowed to dock.”

A different emotion wrapped around Tomatsu’s chest and he nodded. “Still. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to explain.”

“Well, don’t go about your job too quickly and perhaps we’ll have a chance to catch up.” Hikaru smiled again.

Tomatsu smiled back, hope and love rising to push everything else back. His aunt and father probably wouldn’t welcome him, but at least he still had Hikaru.

Tomatsu nodded, clutched the box firmly, and allowed Hikaru to give the squad a short spiel on the way to the new main office.

The domain of Tomatsu’s father.

***

Ten years ago, the main office had been large enough for two, perhaps three people. It had held a desk with a console system and enough servers to keep the room ten degrees warmer than the rest of the station.

Now that room acted as storage, too small even for the current server block. The new main office had its own airlock, was large enough for six console systems to handle docking, shipping, and security—staffed by two people each— and contained another room inside, where Tomatsu’s father sat enclosed at his own console of six glowing polyglass screens. The smaller room was polyglass from top to bottom, even the sliding door, currently held open, and the very walls themselves were used as secondary screens. They displayed charts and live numbers that updated every second or two for easy reference. Quite an upgrade from the single screen and a data pad Tomatsu had seen last.

A quiet murmur of voices filled the room as ships maneuvered outside and the technicians at each console kept the machine of the Nomura Company running smoothly.

The far wall of the office had two layers of clear polyglass for extra protection and the entire office overlooked an active machining dock exposed to space. Mechanical arms swung across the space like twirling dancers, flashing briefly as they welded things into place and rotated their projects. Tomatsu watched the inside of a GSA striker-class Barracuda take shape one pre-fabbed panel at a time, the entire assembly done precisely and seamlessly with robotics.

That was definitely an upgrade.

But when Tomatsu stepped into the room, his eyes drawn first out the window, then across to his father’s office, the murmur of voices hushed. It wasn’t every day a squad of Hornets walked in, Tomatus imagined.

His father looked up at met Tomatsu’s eyes. He held that gaze for a long heartbeat. Then closed all of his screens and panels all at once with a single swipe of his hand. Even the charts on the polyglass walls vanished.

His father was older. The thought seemed obvious once it surfaced, but Tomatsu was surprised at the effect of the last ten years. He still pictured his father as a straight-backed, black-haired man with a stern face and hard eyes. He always wore a severe blue or gray suit and had a habit of staring down at people.

The man Tomatsu saw was softened somehow from that crisp, sharp memory. Grey hair swept through the black from his temples, for one. He’d also traded the suit for a more traditional deep blue kimono and a pale blue obi belt around the middle. Matching pale stitching ran up the long collar and across the sleeves in some flowing pattern Tomatsu couldn’t make out from the door.

He hunched slightly at the top of his back and a pair of small glasses perched on his nose. Tomatsu wondered if he’d had them specially made. It was unusual to see external lenses instead of surgery.

And to complete the transformation, he wore a pair of zori sandals on his feet instead of the polished black shoes Tomatsu remembered clicking through the hallways as a child. His tabi socks were the same pale blue as his obi.

Tomatsu knew, before his father even stood from his chair, that Hikaru was right. He wasn’t welcome here and only the strength of the GSA had allowed him to board. His shoulders tightened and he stood a hair straighter, face carefully blank.

His father’s eyes flicked down to the little red box, over to Hikaru where they tightened carefully, then back to the Hornet squad, skipping over each one of them in a rapid assessment.

Back to Tomatsu, who was the only one with his helmet retracted and therefore the implied leader of the group.

Tomatsu could tell his father didn’t like that implication at all. He could read it in the way the man planted his square hands on the desk and stood up. The way he exited his office and gestured the door to close behind him. In the way he offered Tomatsu and his squad the barest and least sketch of a bow, on the edge of disrespect that only Tomatsu would recognize.

“Nomura Tadao greets the GSA,” he said, his voice still strong and enunciated.

Tomatsu carefully schooled his face. It would be formal introductions, then. “The Hornets greet Tadao-sama.” With his empty hand, Tomatsu pressed his closed fist to his chest. Behind him, the squad saluted in unison. The clap of their armor echoed in the room.

A breath of silence stretched between them. His father had addressed them formally, so Tomatsu had matched it, but he yearned to have a moment alone. To have a chance at reconnecting. The closed expression on his father’s face didn’t give Tomatsu much hope.

He stuck to business. “The GSA has deployed us to audit your most recent trinordia delivery. We will need access to your console and the station. With your cooperation we’ll be out of your way in a day or two.”

His father’s eyes flicked over the squad once more, standing silently at attention, then back to Tomatsu. With obvious reluctance, he took a step to the side and gestured his office door open again.

Was all this resentment for Tomatsu? Or did his father have disagreements with the GSA as a whole? He didn’t like not knowing the political footing he was on.

Izumi stepped out of formation, her face plate a simple black plane of nano that hid everything. She was slimmer than Mura, a little taller than the Paracitica, and the one best suited to comb through an entire business’ database in short order. She entered the office and simply placed her hand on the console, allowing the suit to connect and process data directly.

She stilled, and another awkward silence filled the office. No one moved for a moment, not even the employees.

Then there was a disturbance by the airlock door.

“Excuse me! Pardon. Excu—oh, you’re a big one, arn’t you?” This last addressed at Mura, who looked down at a petite woman and stepped carefully to the side to allow her through. Tomatsu could imagine the consternated look on Mura’s face, the conflicting sense of audacity and curiosity.

His mother had that effect on people.

“Excuse me, I just need to squeeze past here. There are so many of you—oh!” The small woman stopped dead in front of Tomatsu, her heart-shaped face drawn long with the shock of finding him there.

She looked exactly like Tomatsu remembered. Her long black hair was done up in a bun held with red and gold sticks and dangling gold moons. She wore a beautiful kimono predominantly in white silk, but edged in red and stitched with gold dragons up the collars. Her face was barely touched with makeup—a little blush and some eyeliner to bring out the greens in her dark hazel eyes. Her obi was tied in an oversized bow behind her back, but the kimono’s hem was cut at an angle that gave her enough stride to walk at speed around the station. Red silk slippers, probably lined with practical rubber soles for durability, were tied around her tiny feet, dotted with golden moons.

Whether she was dressed in blue, green, or red, Tomatsu’s mother had always been perfectly coordinated and that clearly hadn’t changed. Only now, with the extra centimeters from his armor, the top of her bun barely came up to his chest.

“You grew so tall…” she murmured, flicking eyes down and up again. Then she met his gaze and smiled. “Come down and give your Okasan a hug, we’ve missed you around here.”

Tomatsu was careful of his grip this time, enfolding his mother in a hug that entirely enveloped her. He avoided the big bow of her obi and breathed the familiar cranberry-rose scent of her. Her dangling gold earrings were cold on his cheek.

He released her just as carefully, unwilling to catch a thread of her silk or crease the fabric. She tugged her obi down and gave him a pat on the arm.

Tomatsu checked his father’s expression and found only hard neutrality there. Clearly not everyone in the family agreed with his no-contact policy. Tomatsu hoped at least that could ease when they were done here. He understood the distance his father had maintained, especially during the trial and immediate aftermath. But hadn’t it been long enough? Could he at least trade letters with his mother now?

“Have you been organized in the guest rooms, yet? We will have you for dinner, of course. Six sharp, don’t be late, we’re serving duck.”

“Yes, Okasan, I’ll be there. No, we haven’t organized lodging, we only just arrived.”

“Hikaru-chan will take you to your rooms then. His key has access to most of the station.” She leaned only far enough to eye Hikaru around Tomatsu’s shoulder. Her golden earrings dangled. “Be quick, I’ll need your help setting the table.”

Hikaru bobbed an acknowledging bow.

“Okasan,” Tomatsu gestured an open hand at one of the many Hornets clustered at the door. “My Paracitica, Anzai Jin. I would bring him to dinner.”

The Paracitica stepped forward and let his helmet melt away from his face and down into the armor like pushing a hood back. He offered his hand. “Ma’am.” If he had any reservations about being thrust into family dinner, his face didn’t show it.

Tomatsu’s mother shook his hand firmly, “Yes, you must join us,” she said. Then cast her eyes over the rest of the squad. “And the others for lunch tomorrow,” she said.

It wasn’t a question. Tomatsu’s mother simply dictated their schedule with the familiarity of one used to being in charge. She turned back to Tomatsu. “Six.”

He gave her an acknowledging bow, feeling fifteen again.

Then she flourished out of the room, the golden dangles on her hair sticks swaying with her steps.

Tomatsu turned to his father, who had lost much of his severe blankness and instead was scowling faintly at the Paracitica.

Tomatsu hadn’t introduced the Paracitica simply because he didn’t know where he stood with his father. Were they equals? Was Tomatsu to show full and deepest respect? They hadn’t spoken for ten years and his father wasn’t exactly providing guidance.

At least Tomatsu knew where he stood with his mother. She welcomed him, but she was still in charge. He understood the steps to that dance. Letting her leave without indicating the Paracitica was here and therefore inviting him to dinner would have been inexcusable.

But not introducing him to Tomatsu’s father first had clearly been a mistake.

“Hikaru-chan, take the squad to lodging. We’ll follow shortly.”

His brother sketched another bow to him like he’d done with their mother, then guided the squad back out the airlock. As they exited, Tomatsu made an upward-palm gesture from his father to the Paracitica. “Tadao-sama, my Paracitica, Anzai Jin. Paracitica, my father, CEO and founder of the Nomura Company, Nomura Tadao.”

Before Tomatsu’s father could say anything, the Paracitica bowed. Formally, his hands at his sides, his back straight, bent low at the waist with his eyes on the ground. He held that position for a heartbeat, long enough to be clearly respectful, not so long that he was subservient himself. And when he straightened, he said, “It’s an honor to meet the father of my most decorated Hornet.”

Tomatsu had to blank his face quickly, before a blush could ruin the exchange. His father’s eyebrows raised, and to Tomatsu’s surprise, his frown eased. “Paracitica. I look forward to speaking with you this evening… about my son.” He looked at Tomatsu and more of that sternness faded, his expression looking a little lost. “It has been a long time.”

He nodded to them both, a short near-bow. A dismissal.

Tomatsu lead his Paracitica out of the office, unsurprised to hear a wave of whispering spring up in their wake.

Some yards down the hallway he glanced at the Paracitica. “Did you practice that bow?”

“For a week,” Paracitica Jin said, his mouth curving in a smile. “It’s quite an ab workout. Did I do it right?”

“Well, you’ve certainly made dinner more interesting,” Tomatsu laughed.

***

Tomatsu stood behind a polyglass window at least seven centimeters thick, looking out over the station. It was not unlike a terrestrial city at night, with a view from a skyscraper, dots of light in windows and along roofs, and small shuttle vehicles in orderly lines flying this way and that across the disk of the station. There were enough people, and enough work shifts, that the station never slept, so even though Tomatsu was nearing the end of his day-cycle and his family gathered behind him for dinner, there was still plenty of movement to watch.

His family’s apartments stood on the top floor of the inner-most hab ring and had been furnished with deep red carpets and accents of gold and white. Just beside him, a low couch, entirely wrapped in white leather, held a decorative red pillow in its corner. It was pristine, which made Tomatsu think it had never been sat on. Its job was to sit here, hold the decorative pillow of the month, and be a subtle visual interest before the behemoth of a window that stretched from one end of the room to the other.

Pot lights in the ceiling artfully illuminated key points of interest. The couch and its partner table, the long banner-like sumi ink illustration on paper of mist-shrouded cliffs hung on the wall, a sculpture of some kind on a pedestal to the left. The silver plate below it said, “Honor and Strength.” It was ring of gold about a handspan tall perched on its edge. Tomatsu avoided mentioning it in case someone asked his opinion.

He held a small porcelain cup of what turned out to be very good sake, warm to the touch and smooth as silk. He didn’t recall his parents ever drinking much alcohol of any kind when he was younger, but perhaps he’d simply never been included in an important-enough function. Tomatsu doubted the sake was for his benefit. His father was trying to impress the Paracitica.

The two conversed quietly on the far side of the questionable modern art sculpture, where a pair of red-leather tall back chairs had been artfully positioned just so across from the family shrine against the wall. Several formal photos dotted the low table there—Tomatsu featured in none of them—along with an empty gold offering plate, a bowl of fresh water that would have been refilled this morning, and an unlit incense stick. Another piece of art hung on the wall above, a metal relief of a long, sinuous dragon that knotted in on itself.

Tomatsu turned away from that corner, knowing better than to approach when his father was in discussion with anyone. And he certainly didn’t want to overhear if they were talking about him.

In line with the white couch and with a clear view of the station, the formal dining table stretched meters long. It could comfortably hold twenty four at its widest, though tonight it was set for seven with many of its center leaves removed. A red tablecloth with white trim draped over the top, highlighting each white and gold place setting by contrast. The napkin holders and utensils were all gold. The wine glasses, crystal with gold plate on their rims.

Tomatsu counted people on his fingers again: himself, the Paracitica, both his parents, his brother, his aunt… that only made six. He couldn’t imagine who the seventh place was for.

Hikaru entered the room at a brisk walk, eyes darting from the kitchen door to the empty table and around to Tomatsu. His breath came out in a rush of relief. “Not late,” he said, finishing the knot of his tie. He wore blue slacks and shined black shoes, but instead of a suit jacket, he wore a tailored kimono that had been cut short at the hips. Not quite a full kimono and not quite a casual jinbei, but something in between and dressed up with silk. He wore a dark blue button down under it, also silk, which let the jacket fall open on the chest without a belt without feeling incomplete.

Tomatsu flicked his fingers at the jacket. “Is this the style, now? I like it.”

“A little tradition, a little modern. Emiya-sama hates it, but the Nomura family is embracing the future,” he grinned. “I thought I’d be the target, but you’re here in armor. Really, Oniisan. At the dinner table?”

Tomatsu gave it some thought. “Would it help if I carved the chestplate to look like a tuxedo?” He applied his will to the nanotech. It didn’t like the idea, but with some effort, his smooth front panel carved out the shallow lines of a closed suit jacket, vest, and bowtie.

Hikaru snickered. He waved his hand, “Change it back. You look like you’re trying.”

The nano was happy to revert as soon as Tomatsu stopped thinking about it.

“Tsk. Oniisan.”

Tomatsu turned at the hissed voice to find his mother had entered not far behind Hikaru. She still wore red and gold, but she’d changed into a different red silk kimono with a large red obi tied into a big bow, this one with a lot more gold than the last. Golden koi swam up from the hems of her sleeves and the bottom of the kimono in curling smoke-like patterns.

“You didn’t have a suit at least?” she snapped quietly, approaching on slippered feet with tiny steps. Unlike her kimono from before, this one had no slit up the side for a longer stride.

Hikaru wisely slid away, but not before wagging his eyebrows teasingly at Tomatsu.

“I’m sorry, Okasan, I’m technically on duty. The regulations are very clear about keeping my armor on while working.” Tomatsu offered her a conciliatory bow.

She sucked her teeth again so he’d know exactly what she thought about the regulations, then gestured impatiently with her fingers for him to straighten up, dismissing the matter. Her gaze tracked across the room swiftly and she hummed. “Just waiting for your aunt and—”

“Uzuki-sama, I hope I’m not late, this was such a last-minute invitation.”

Both Tomatsu and his mother turned at the voice. It took him a beat, then he recognized both it and its owner as she bustled into the room with easy familiarity.

Tomatsu’s heart stopped for a moment as old emotion rose up as if it had never left. Nakamoto Iori, his once-fiancée and love, stood dumbstruck before him. Her ink-black hair had been spun up in a loose bun, and like Hikaru, she wore a blue blouse and slacks, shiny business flats, and one of those half-kimono silk jackets draped over her shoulders. Hers started with a matching dark blue at the hems and rose up into curling silver mist with the peaks of dark mountains suggested at the top.

She stood frozen just inside the room, both hands up at one ear as she was in the process of pinning a silver earring in place. She had a small red envelope pinched between two fingers. A clutch, also blue and silver, hung over her shoulder on a petite silver chain, still swaying from her sudden stop.

Tomatsu offered his hand to her. “Iori. It’s so good to see—”

“You son of a bitch.” Iori shoved her earring into place and didn’t even try to modulate her volume. The insult cracked through the room like a whip and even the conversation between Tomatsu’s father and the Paracitica came to a halt.

Iori flicked the envelope out between two fingers and offered it to Tomatsu’s mother without looking at her. Her voice remained flat and her glare unwavering. “Uzuki-sama, I’m honored to accept your invitation to dinner, please take this small gift as my thanks.”

Tomatsu’s mother took the envelop and Iori took another step forward. “You’re a right bastard,” she said. She lifted her hand to point at him. “You’re a demon. How dare you use my familiar name? You don’t deserve to speak to me. You ruined my life!”

Tomatsu found himself putting his hands up in silent denial, but it didn’t stop Iori from leaning in and stabbing his armored chest with her manicured finger.

“Your behavior was and still is deplorable, and here you are walking around without a single consequence. Do you even know what you’ve done?”

“I—”

“Shut up!” Iori cut her hand across the air between them.

Tomatsu snapped his mouth shut. He threw a wide-eyed glance at his mother, but her face was carefully neutral and no help at all.

“You ruined me. No one would even look at me after you. I’m still unmarried. Did you know that? No, of course not, because you couldn’t even be bothered to come back and take responsibility for anything. Uzuki-sama hired me after a year because no one will support me, not even my own father. I am pitied.” She sneered. “Because of you.”

Tomatsu licked his lips. He had no idea what to say and I’m sorry seemed woefully inadequate. “How do I fix this?”

“Fix—fix!” Iori laughed and there was disbelief in the sound. “You’ve done plenty enough.” She crossed her arms and the glower she gave him twisted her face. “I’m here at Uzuki-sama’s invitation. You won’t speak to me. Not now. Not ever again.”

Tomatsu bowed, the only acknowledgment he could think to give.

Iori scoffed at him. Then she offered her own bow to Tomatsu’s mother. “Uzuki-sama, please forgive me. I’ve made a scene. I will go at your discretion.”

“No, no. I’ve known your opinion well and it’s I who should ask your forgiveness. I should have identified our dinner guests when I sent your invitation. Come,” she gestured Iori to stand and follow, “share the sake with me.”

Tomatsu would be the first to admit that a lot changed in ten years, but one thing his mother was not, was imprecise. She’d left Tomatsu out of that invitation on purpose.

And Tomatsu had walked right into Iori’s retribution.

His mother might have welcomed him home publicly in front of the employees, but clearly there was resentment simmering under the surface. He had no idea what to do about it.

Tomatsu’s situation before the Hornets had felt out of his control from the beginning. It was his aunt who had pushed him to join the GSA, thereby giving the family closer ties. It had allowed his father the opportunity to grow the company, first as a refinery, then as a build contractor.

But his aunt’s ambitions had always trended toward weaponry. Wars were fought and won with their guns, not their shields, and the biggest companies always had a branch in weapons development.

It had been a long-standing pain of hers that the GSA never considered Nomura Company for weapon’s development and Tomatsu had become her tool inside the GSA. Not having an official channel to sell her products never stopped her.

Tomatsu had moved up in the military, he’d been given clearances and access. He’d been trusted with development secrets. And every single one of them went back to his aunt who used the information to build bigger and better hardware for anyone willing to pay.

Then it had all come crashing down and not only had his family distanced themselves, but an entire package of evidence against him had shown up, conveniently tracing his work from the beginning, and giving the GSA a very easy target.

The trial had been short.

Tomatsu watched his former fiancée and his mother step away, already in discussion about something else. He wasn’t sure what soured his gut, either resentment or envy, but he was starting to think his welcome home was less welcome than he thought. He should have known it was a show—the public face vs. the private one was an element he’d forgotten, somehow.

Paracitica Jin didn’t give him two different faces—act two different lives. Tomatsu hadn’t realized until just now how toxic it was.

How manipulative.

With a frown, Tomatsu started to put his emotional wall back up. The one where his family’s lack of replies to his letters bounced off and didn’t bother him. He packed up the old sense of injustice and shoved it back into its box so he could bury it later under practiced indifference.

And he realized he was willing to dig into his family’s finances in order to carve out the rotten core. It might destroy the company, but they’d already destroyed him.

Hikaru approached, brow pinched and throwing suspicious glances at Iori. He finally pressed his lips into a flat line and said, “I’m sorry, Oniisan.”

Tomatsu shook his head. “I was surprised when I seemed to be welcome. It let it lure me. I should have known.”

Hikaru put a hand on his arm. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

Tomatsu offered a sideways smile. “Thanks, Hikaru.”

Before Tomatsu had to figure out where to go from there, someone dressed in security-black entered the room and marched directly to Tomatsu’s father without an introduction or greeting. Everyone stopped to watch him bow before Tadao, and mutter something so softly it was lost in the quiet recirculating fan high above.

Tomatsu’s father stood up abruptly, his face white and his hands held wide like he felt unbalanced. “You must be mistaken.”

“What’s wrong?” Uzuki demanded.

The security guard looked to Tadao for instruction.

Tomatsu’s father gripped the arm of his chair, his face still pale, and said. “Emiya has been found dead in her apartment. My sister is dead.”

***

Tomatsu led the way to his aunt’s apartments, down several layers and inward, toward the center of the station. She had never been far from her work even when Tomatsu had lived here, and according to the updated map he watched on his HUD, she hadn’t moved.

Paracitica Jin had immediately taken control of their investigation, which Tomatsu appreciated. Despite his father’s protestations, the Hornets were a GSA-backed security force and third party to whatever was going on here.

In full armor, and closed helmets, Tomatsu led the Paracitica, Mura, and Izumi down a prefab hallway. Hikaru, Tomatsu’s mother and father, and Iori followed behind. The security guard who’d brought the news, one Shinohara Kei, brought up the rear at the Parasitica’s request. Most of them had been stressed into silence.

Tomatsu’s father pursued them, shouting down the hall at Tomatsu. “There was a reason I forbid contact with you. Distancing ourselves from you is the only thing that saved us. You come back after ten years, why? Just to kill my sister?”

Tomatsu snarled, “I didn’t kill Emiya-san. Why would I do that?”

“You blame her! I’ve seen your trial videos. You’ve tried to blame her for everything from the beginning.”

Of course Tomatsu blamed her. She’d pulled his strings, dictated every move he made, controlled his every action. But something else pulled him up short and the entire company stopped abruptly in the hallway. “You saw my trial videos?”

“The whole family saw them,” Tadao sneered. “Every minute of your failure.”

The Paracitica picked up on Tomatsu’s train of thought right away. He looked at Tadao, though his blank faceplate was the same as everyone else’s. “You saw his sentencing, then.”

“That’s right. Life imprisonment on Hilmeon, assuming one survives the gravity and global firestorms. I’m disappointed to see you haven’t been crushed and burned to death.”

Tomatsu turned off his external mic, transmitting only to the squad. “Izumi, next time you’re at a console can you find those videos, or if they were once on the servers?”

“Searching already. I left a back door in your father’s console up at the front office.”

Mura grumbled, “Aren’t those videos sealed?”

“The whole trial was closed,” the Paracitica confirmed. “Records never should have made it off the station where the trial was held.”

Tomatsu suspected his aunt was involved there. He gestured the group forward and tried to ignore his father’s ongoing accusations.

At the door to his aunt’s apartments, Hikaru came forward to bypass security. His eye was scanned and he submitted a digital key. Tomatsu saw the wireless trace of it light up in his HUD.

“You have a mod?” He asked his brother. More changes he hadn’t had time to learn about. His family used to be strongly opposed. Not quite members of the pure-human movement, but not far off.

“Not much of one,” Hikaru confirmed. “Near field level wireless, no link access. Mostly we use it for security. It’s easy to give or revoke access to different levels centrally rather than tracking down key cards.” He gave a flat smile. “Can’t lose your card if its in your head.”

Hikaru made to step forward as the door slid open, but Paracitica Jin put his hand heavily on Hikaru’s shoulder. “Sorry, son. You have to stay out here. All of you.” He panned across the assembled family. “Mura, you’re on door duty.”

“Sir,” she acknowledged.

Tomatsu and the Paracitica filed in. Mura turned to face the hall and put herself squarely in the open door. She was plenty large enough to fill it. And when Tomatsu’s father tried to shove his way in, he found Mura less forgiving than the wall. He bounced off her armor and she laughed.

Tadao shouted past her, “You can’t do this. My sister is back there! I have a right to see her!”

“You have the right to back up, T’s dad, or I’ll consider you a threat to my post,” Mura said, her voice holding an edge that said, Try me. Please. I’m ready and willing.

He didn’t seem to hear the warning. “Let me in or I’ll call the GSA!”

The Paracitica paused long enough to look over his shoulder. “Mister Nomura, We are the GSA.”

They moved deeper into the apartments, leaving Tomatsu’s father sputtering.

The rest of the station had modernized during Tomatsu’s absence: new prefab designs, new housing, new robotic assemblers. His aunt’s apartments were like a decade old time-capsule. As they walked through the tidy living room, Tomatsu recognized that exact reclining chair by the goose-neck standing lamp where his aunt enjoyed reading before bed every night. The small white and stainless utility kitchen was clean, the counters empty, as if it hadn’t been used since Tomatsu had last seen it. Only a wear spot on the poly countertop beside the induction stove indicated his aunt still placed the kettle on to heat water and set her mug next to it every morning.

The runner down the hallway had a clear wear pattern right down the middle that ended at a closed door, where a man in security-black stood at attention. He was pale under a skin tone darker than Tomatsu’s, and his box cap had a bend in the brim that might have been from worrying it over the last hour. He had short black hair and bright, but scared eyes that locked onto the Paracitica and softened with obvious relief.

“Sir—sir, I haven’t let anyone inside since we found her,” Security said, stuttering a bit at the start.

“That’s good, thank you.”

The guard shifted to one side, allowing access to the closed bedroom, but the Paracitica didn’t enter yet. “What’s your name?”

“Kobe Hideo, sir.”

The Paracitica nodded. “And who was with you when you found Miss Nomura?”

“Um, that’s Kei, sir. Shinohara Kei. Said he was going to inform Mister Nomura, sir.”

“He did. That’s why we’re here. Thank you Mister Kobe. If you don’t mind waiting here for a moment…?”

“Of course. Yes, sir. I’ll be here.” Mr. Kobe grabbed his hat and creased it between his hands, bowing short and repeatedly.

The Paracitica opened the door and entered.

Tomatsu froze at the threshold, thankful that his nanotech suit filtered the air before he breathed it—and for the expressionless faceplate that hid his blanching, wide-eyed shock.

At first Tomatsu got the impression his aunt had re-decorated in shades of red. But the patterning was oddly styled and lacked the traditional gold gilt that usually went along with red design. The impression persisted until he took another step into the room and saw the lower half of his aunt’s body slumped between the wall and the bed. Just her legs, petite shoes, and the trailing edge of a kimono.

And the burn scar that tore through the side of the mattress, ripped through the old carpet, and glanced off the prefab floor beneath, leaving a lightning strike of charring behind.

Then, all at once, the red decoration wasn’t design, it was blood splatter and more. His aunt hadn’t just been killed, she’d been smeared across the bed and the wall beyond.

Tomatsu’s heart stopped. He had no love left for his aunt, but no one deserved to be atomized like this. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her shoes. Perfectly clean, blue and silver with a pale tan rubber sole. Worn into shape where her big toe pressed against the silk.

All that was left of her. A pair of shoes.

The Paracitica grabbed his shoulder and pulled. “Tomatsu, I said look at me.”

His voice came into Tomatsu’s helmet on a private band. Tomatsu blinked. The Paracitica had cleared his faceplate so Tomatsu could see the worry in his eyes. “You don’t have to be here. I should have stopped you at the door.”

Tomatsu took a deep breath, easier now that he wasn’t looking at the shoes. He squinted at the Paracitica as his memory snagged on something, not seeing the man in front of him, but fishing around instead for some long-lost thought. If he stood here, still enough, thoughts carefully blank, it might surface.

Something about the lightning strike. The charring of the bed.

Yes. “Why didn’t the bed burn?”

The Paracitica blinked at him, then looked down at the body.

Tomatsu focused on the bed, on the black line that struck the corner near the foot and arced up to a point just shy of the pillow. He pointed to the initial strike at the foot of the bed, where the charring jumped down to the carpet and the floor. “You can see right through the mattress to the frame.” He followed the line upward where the char cut right through two layers of sheets, a comforter, a top-comforter, and a quilt. But the quilt was almost untouched, as if a knife had cut it instead of some blaster. “Why didn’t the quilt catch fire?”

“It’s like a beam weapon.” The Paracitica said. “A straight line from…” He positioned himself at the doorway, trading spots with Tomatsu. He held up his hand, flat, thumb up, and drew the line from his hip upward. “From here. Someone was either very short… or they weren’t ready to fire. They shot as they brought the weapon up.”

The memory clicked suddenly.

“Or it was very heavy,” Tomatsu said. “A beam weapon, you said. Like a Forge Lance you might see on the outside of a Barracuda.”

“Sure, but you couldn’t get one of those in the apartment, let alone in this door. And it would obliterate the station, not just scar the bed. They’re designed for space-to-ground assaults.”

Tomatsu shook his head. “Unless you’d developed a smaller version for heavy infantry to sell on the black market.”

“That doesn’t sound like speculation.”

Tomatsu crossed his arms, as if, now that he’d opened the memory door, he could ward them off again. “It was going to be my next assignment, before the secret-sharing was discovered and everything fell apart. I never saw one, but I remember Emiya-sama complaining about the weight of the power core. She couldn’t get it small enough to sell as a personal weapon. But maybe it’s smaller now. Small enough for someone augmented to haul it around.”

He shook his head. “But why kill her with something that big? It’s not like an Armash is hard to find around here. There’s a whole branch of assembly for them in the first ring.”

“And why now?”

Tomatsu looked at the Paracitica curiously.

“Why now,” he repeated, “And not two weeks from now, or a month after we’re gone?” He gestured at the bed. “You said she was assigning this weapon to you ten years ago. Even if it has improved since then, why not use it a year ago? Why now?”

“Because we’re here? But we’re already here to investigate.”

“We’re here to audit trinordia. How many trinordia audits has the company passed?”

Tomatsu sighed. “All of them. The records are very precise. Otherwise they wouldn’t be getting new contracts.” He frowned. “So you think someone wants us to pay closer attention. This weapon shouldn’t exist, so we start asking more questions?” He waved his hand generally, encompassing the whole station. “We already know they’re doing illegal weapons deals. I was arrested and tried for it.”

“Ah,” said the Paracitica, “But knowing it, and begin able to prove it to the GSA so that they’re forced to step in and deal with it, are entirely different things.”

“So someone here, someone internal to the weapons development branch, wants the GSA to come in and rip out the illegal work being done, possibly gut the company in the process, and they’re willing to kill the woman in charge to do it?”

“They probably think they’re doing something noble.”

“They murdered my aunt!”

The Paracitica grabbed Tomatsu’s shoulder. He didn’t have to tell Tomatsu that whoever was behind this likely thought their ends justified the means. Tomatsu growled softly in the back of his throat. Frustration and anger tangled in his chest. His family was always a source of tangled politics and lies. He was starting to realize not coming back had been a blessing the whole time.

***

Tomatsu sat at a generic prefab bench-and-table in the mess. Four of them were lined up to his left and there were seven or eight rows to fill the room. Harsh light overhead flattered no one, though at the moment they were between shifts and the Hornets sat stretched along two tables, but otherwise alone.

Buffet-style food on hot plates, the kinds of dishes a kitchen can make in bulk, were once again covered with metal lids until the next shift came through. The staff retreated into the back.

It was a stark change from his family’s designed and tailored apartment, but Tomatsu found he preferred this plain and sanitized option. There were snakes hiding in the decorative silks his family wore and Tomatsu wasn’t sure he’d get out of this unbitten.

He ate mechanically. Food for the machine without really tasting it.

It wasn’t until Izumi traded spots with someone across from Tomatsu that he looked up and re-focused.

“I’ve got something you’re not going to like.”

Tomatsu grunted. “Everyone involved in this is either directly related to me, or is such an old family friend they might as well be. Of course I’m not going to like it. What did you find?”

“Your trial videos. They arrived on the network through an external source I can’t verify—so a card or drive someone manually plugged into the system that isn’t available anymore. Likely arrived by currier, the data was downloaded, then the drive scrapped.”

“My aunt got a hold of them, I’m sure.”

“Nope. In fact I can’t confirm she ever saw them unless she watched over someone’s shoulder on their display.”

Tomatsu frowned, his fork pausing over his tray as he thought. “Not my aunt? Was it Iori, then? She has plenty of reason—” he cut off as Izumi shook her head, fine strands of black hair falling across her cheeks.

“Your brother. Hikaru. Though Iori hacked his systems later and stole a copy.”

Tomatsu set his fork down and straightened, alarm thrumming through his entire body. “Hikaru?” He didn’t want to question Izumi’s conclusions, she was the most thorough and precise person he knew. She wouldn’t bring any accusations to him without traceable proof.

Izumi nodded. “He sent a copy to both parents, and, like I said, Iori stole a copy. It didn’t get any further. I’ve deleted everyone’s files, but I kept a copy,” she tapped her temple indicating her vast storage capacity in her mods, “in case you’d like them.”

Several seats down, Paracitica Jin spoke up. “When did they arrive on the network?”

“A few days ago. Thankfully. They haven’t had time to spread far.”

“We were dispatched only a week and a half ago,” Mura commented, her deep voice thoughtful.

The Paracitica nodded. “I bet the files were stolen and I received the assignment within hours.”

Izumi hummed. “That means the GSA knew who had stolen them. They’ve been waiting for an opportunity to engage with this situation for a long time.”

“There are some very patient people above me,” the Paracitica said.

“That’s a little scary,” said Mura.

Tomatsu was still untangling why his brother would have had those records fetched in the first place. He couldn’t have known that accessing them would bring Tomatsu back home.

Could he?

Tomatsu stood up, drawing attention and startled silence from the Hornets around him. “Excuse me, there’s something I need to check.”

Mura shoveled the last of her lunch in two quick bites and followed. “Not without backup, you’re not.”

“I’m just going to the guest rooms we were given. I left something there.”

Mura swept her arm toward the doorway in a lead the way gesture. Tomatsu led.

The guest rooms, much like the mess, were Spartan, undecorated, prefab gray. Rounded corners and two or three different apartment layouts stamped sixty times in a row. As a nod to their status, the Hornets each had their own room rather than bunking together in a barracks one level down.

Tomatsu’s room remained exactly as he’d left it. Untouched, the bed still made with perfect medical corners, nothing personal left on the side table or dresser top.

And his brother’s welcome-home gift placed precisely on the small corner desk, a shocking box of red in an otherwise monochrome room.

Mura waited at the doorway, facing the hall. He appreciated her support even though they both knew the box itself wasn’t a threat. She was there if he needed her, even for the little things. Especially, perhaps.

The box was heavy. He’d thought it odd when Hikaru had given it to him, but re-introduction to his family had been a bit of a shock and the welcome-home gift hadn’t seemed important.

Tomatsu unwrapped the red paper and found a traditional silver clamshell box beneath. He opened that. There were no cookies inside.

Instead, the softly-glowing purple core of an energy weapon sat nestled in black velvet.

Tomatsu sighed. He knew what this was, and if he’d opened this box when he’d received it, things would have gone much differently.

“Mura.”

She grunted from the doorway.

“Tell the Paracitica I can confirm our murder weapon is a Forge Lance.”

She half-turned to eye him with skepticism—a Forge Lance was twelve meters long, not exactly a precision murder weapon—then cut off a gasp at the sight of the energy core in his hands. “Is that liquid trinordia?”

“Yes it is. My aunt figured out how to stabilize it.” He held the box out a little farther from him. “I hope.”

It was shaped like a standard energy core, just like the ones used in his Armash. Tomatsu dispensed one from his armor to compare. They were cylindrical, about a hand-span long and as thick as four fingers. Where the core for his Armash glowed blue along the center, the one in the box glowed purple.

A deadly, alarming shade of cool purple that all the Hornets knew to be liquid trinordia. Unstable. Highly explosive if looked at wrong. And absolutely packed with hyper-dense energy.

Very carefully, Tomatsu closed the clamshell. He was about to put it back on the desk when he realized anyone had access to this room. “We need to talk to my brother and I can’t leave this here.” He paused, looking at Mura. “But I don’t really want to carry it.”

“I don’t blame you,” Mura said, eyeing the box herself.

Then Paracitica Jin and the rest of the squad came running up the hall at double time. Mura moved. The Paracitica leaned his head in. “Please tell me that’s not what it looked like from the photo.”

“It’s a liquid trinordia weapon’s core. Standard size.”

The Paracitica wiped a hand down his face as he muttered a curse. “Ok. Seo and Arai.” The Hornets in the hall shuffled, two came forward, helmets up. “I need you guys to wonder-twin a box to hold that.” The Paracitica pointed at Tomatsu’s innocuous clamshell gift. “But it needs to be at least three inches thick.”

The twins faced each other and pressed their hands together. For a moment nothing happened, then something started to grow between their right hands. A cube of nano-stuff pulled right from their armor.

Tomatsu knew how hard that was. Even carving out lines to make his chestplate look like a tux had been challenging. The armor had a job to do and didn’t like being forced into other configurations. Seo had figured it out first and his twin Arai had been practicing with him.

The box grew, and a cavity formed in the center. When growth paused, Tomatsu placed his clamshell bomb inside and the twins sealed the top. No hinges or latches or any way to open it without pealing through three inches of solid nano.

It might blunt an explosion of liquid trinordia.

No one took any deep breaths.

The Paracitica wasn’t taking chances. “Bring it straight to the ship. Put it in the radiation vault in the engine room. Seal the vault. Seal the engine room. Seal the ship. Izumi, go with them to cut off all network access to that airlock except the Hornets. Then all three of you will stand guard at that airlock until I come to relieve you.”

All three of them moved—carefully—down the hallway.

The Paracitica turned to Tomatsu. “Whats your next move?”

“We need to talk to my brother, sir.” Tomatsu straightened. “He’s the one who gave me the core. He’s the one who pulled my trial videos. He either knows who killed my aunt or… or—” Tomatsu took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and rushed the words. As if saying them faster made them untrue. “Or he killed her.”

He opened his eyes, feeling the tightness of denied anguish behind them. He met the Paracitica’s steady gaze.

The Paracitica nodded. “Where do we find him?”

“The center ring. That’s where they’d make the cores.”

“More liquid trinordia there?”

“Likely.”

The Paracitica nodded again and looked over the squad. “Helmets up. Two by two.” He pointed two fingers down the hall. “Tomatsu and Mura take point. Hornets, move out.”

***

The squad was stalled briefly at the center ring’s single airlock access point. Tomatsu didn’t have clearance and he wasn’t inclined to discuss it with his father. Izumi patched him into the station’s network remotely, but warned them, “Anyone with admin-level access just got notified you’ve been added to the network. Better move fast. I’ll try to delay anyone coming your way.”

They moved double time.

These halls were familiar and Tomatsu found himself speeding up. Beside him, Mura slapped the chest of her armor and it disgorged her Armash into her hand. It was a short barrel infantry gun—just enough stock to brace on the shoulder. She checked its load while they moved.

“Is that necessary?” He asked as the rest of the squad followed her lead.

“Someone was willing to kill your aunt,” she pointed out.

“Our armor can handle any standard rounds.” And Tomatsu didn’t believe his brother had done it, anyway. Waving a gun in his face wouldn’t help.

“Do you think it can handle a mini Forge Lance?” Mura asked.

Tomatsu only considered that thought for two more steps, then he pushed his Armash out of his suit and into his hand. It grew from his palm, the nano building on itself like it was being printed before his very eyes. An electric-blue power core glowed under his fingers.

“I don’t want to find out the hard way,” he admitted.

“Me neither.”

Izumi’s voice cut in over the link. “T, your brother just opened room C-12. Also there is a lot of station security being sent your way. I’m funneling them around the Hab rings for now.”

“Thanks Izumi, we’re approaching twelve, now.” C-12, like all rooms on the C ring, had a double door entrance and lead into a laboratory space. Tomatsu signaled his squad to line up on either side of the doors. At his countdown they burst in, each member tight up on the one in front and fanning out once inside the doorway.

They found Hikaru and Iori mid-argument in front of a truly massive machine.

The room was wide enough to fit an entire shuttle inside with room to spare, and two stories tall at least, with much of the ceiling comprised of broad-spectrum flood light. Bright, crisp white that was almost blue. Steel and prefab workbenches lined the up on either side of the door, their tools scattered on desktops and wheeled carts mid-project.

Hikaru and Iori stood in the middle space, largely empty except for a large power cable that snaked into the towering machine behind them. Tomatsu had no idea what the machine was for, but it was clearly on and waiting for input. A square platform large enough to fit four or five Hornets in full armor stood with its polyglass door open and glowing with inviting yellow lights. An entire pallet of solid trinordia bricks stood next to the machine. But sticking out of the side where the power cable entered, were over two-dozen liquid trinordia cores sunk into the machine in neat rows. All of them glowed a bright, horrifying purple.

As his vision passed over the cores, Tomatsu’s HUD cheerfully calculated the energy potential of each power core and provided a total estimate in the corner. The number had so many zeros it had been truncated and given a notation instead. To the three hundred and sixtieth power.

One of the Hornets made a strangled sound in their throat.

“What the fuck?” said Iori.

Every Armash in the squad snapped up to her and Hikaru. Tomatsu really didn’t like how the machine behind them lined up with some of their shots.

Hikaru and Iori had been in the middle of an argument, a weapon held between them that had clearly been subject of a tug of war. A mini Forge Lance, as Mura had called it. As the Hornets focused their aim, Hikaru dropped the butt of the weapon and threw his hands up in the air. “Don’t shoot!”

The weapon thunked to the ground as Iori failed to catch it. She growled and hauled it up on one leg so she could wrap her arms around it. Tomatsu saw the deadly glow of purple in the stock.

Before anyone could fire, Hikaru shoved Iori. “Put the thing down!”

She staggered under the weight of it, her aim swinging wildly. No one wanted to fire and hit one of the power cores or they’d all go up. She glowered at Hikaru. “You’re a complete idiot,” she snarled. The hair in her carefully tucked bun started to unfurl like a dark waterfall.

She hefted the gun.

Hikaru engaged, grabbing the long barrel with one hand and her shoulder with the other, trying to wrestle the Lance to the ground.

Tomatsu shuffled a step forward, ready to lunge if Hikaru provided an opening.

But Iori didn’t fight him for it. She shoved the Lance into his startled arms and then pushed Hikaru straight backward, right into the open door of the big machine behind them. He tripped over the step up, crashed onto his back with the gun on his chest, and hit his head hard on the way down.

Iori slapped a button next to the poly door and all the inviting yellow lights flipped to ominous purple as the machine started to spool up.

“NO!” Tomatsu slammed his Armash into his chest, so the suit would absorb it and rushed the machine. He crossed half his squad’s line of fire and didn’t care. He grabbed Iori by the shoulders and shoved her back. “What did you do? How do you stop this thing?”

“How should I know,” she shot back. “Unlike your family, I’m not running an illegal criminal enterprise. What the hell took you so long? Your welcome home gift wasn’t enough of a fucking clue? Dense must run in the family.”

Tomatsu barely heard her. The machine spun up like a turbine and some kind of dense gas suddenly sprayed into the polyglass chamber, obscuring his view of Hikaru and the Lance on his chest. Was he still breathing? The HUD couldn’t detect vitals through the growing fog.

Something large moved in the top of the chamber, like a muti-armed spider, one with purple glowing points of light and interchangeable tools on the end of each arm. They plunged suddenly into the mist.

Tomatsu whirled around, pointing at Iori. Paracitica Jin had her arms behind her back as he cuffed her. “You sent me the core?”

She looked at him like he was an idiot. “Did you think your brother gave it to you? He was in line to take over this depraved business after Emiya. I had to get him drunk before he agreed to pull your trial records.”

“Did you kill Emiya, too?” Tomatsu didn’t understand. “Why? What were you thinking Iori?”

“Of course I did. You weren’t asking any questions. You don’t even care that this company has been a weapons dealer the whole time! You had the perfect opportunity to get revenge for what they did to you—letting you take the fall for your aunt’s dirty business. The whole thing disgusts me. But no, you came home and went to dinner!”

“Get… revenge.” Tomatsu dropped his helmet as if the separation was what made her seem insane. “Iori, they’re my family—”

“They’re all criminals!”

“SO AM I,” Tomatsu roared at her. Iori’s rage stumbled over that confession. “I was the one who stole GSA secrets and leaked them to my aunt. I’m the one who gave her internal contacts to expand the business. I was found guilty and they were right, Iori.”

“But….” Her face dropped, horror starting to creep into her eyes and she realized Tomatsu wasn’t on her side. “But you were the fall guy. They blamed you for everything…”

“Yeah, they did.” Tomatsu thew his hands out to encompass the whole station. “And they disowned me.”

“But your father hates you….”

“Yeah I’m getting that impression.”

Her voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “Then why don’t you want revenge?”

Tomatsu wiped his hands down his face is exasperation. “I moved on, Iori. The Paracitica pulled me out of a death sentence and I had a chance to change. To build my own life. So I did.” He gestured backward at the machine. “You’re the one with revenge fantasies. Not me.”

“Your trial ruined me,” and now the strain in her voice wasn’t overwhelming rage, but on the verge of tears. Her hair fell the rest of its way down her shoulders like a black curtain. She leaned forward, the Paracitica holding her hands back and keeping her upright. “I was ostracized and forced to work here to survive. I’ve been here, playing nice and respectful and grateful for years while the whole time I’ve wanted to put a knife in every single one of them.”

“You never had a chance to start new,” Tomatsu realized, as his heart broke for her. She’d been the love of his life, once. Arranged, but one of those rare, perfect arrangements that become true love in an instant. The person he’d known had been ground down into this solid core of anger and resentment so powerful she was even willing to kill. “I’m sorry Iori.”

She took a breath, maybe to tell him to fuck off, but a blood-curdling scream issued behind him and Tomatsu whirled back to the fog-filled machine and its glowing lights. He couldn’t see anything, just eddies in the fog and a haze of bright purple. His gut twisted with new fear for his brother. Tomatsu hit the button on the door repeatedly but it didn’t respond. His breath came short and fast.

He snapped his helmet back up to get on the squad link. “Izumi, I need both my parents down here in room C-12 immediately.”

“On it,” she replied.

Mura came up beside him. “Want me to shoot it open? It’s clear poly, probably can melt it with the acid.”

Tomatsu put his hand on the glass, feeling the machine vibrate as the mechanical arms above did their work in the fog. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s liquid trinordia in there. We could blow up the whole station by accident.”

She considered the machine and its plugged-in cores. “It’s probably enough to blow up the whole star system,” she said thoughtfully.

“Better not,” he said, frowning at the swirling clouds. “Whatever its doing is better than death.” Tomatsu swallowed hard. “I hope.”

She put an armored hand on his shoulder.

***

In the end, it was decided to allow the machine to finish its work instead of risk interruption. Tomatsu spent the night seated against the polyglass with Mura propping up his shoulder as he fell into and out of fitful dozing.

Some hours later Izumi reported that an entire shuttle of GSA bureaucrats had arrived. Paracitica Jin confirmed they were here to restructure the Nomura Company in lieu of dozens of criminal charges. He speculated they’d been looking for a way to take over the weapons development here—rather than kill it off—ever since Tomatsu was arrested.

Iori was detained and taken off-station for a criminal trial of her own. With so many hornets in the room recording her confession to Tomatsu, it was likely to be a short experience.

The liquid trinordia core locked away in the Hornets’ shuttle was also turned over, the nano-box they’d been keeping it in disassembled back into the twins’ suits. There were certainly more than enough of them in the C-12 research lab. While waiting for the machine to finish its work, the squad had uncovered several crates full of the things and located the manufacturing lab in C-10, which processed the material into liquid form in a massive foundry.

Tomatsu was happy to let the paper-pushers deal with that. He was more than ready to put this station—and this whole star system—behind him for good. His father refused to speak with him, his mother blamed him for the loss of her son—meaning Hikaru—and his aunt was dead.

Whatever fate awaited Hikaru in this machine, the family had well and truly fallen apart.

The vibration of the polyglass at Tomatsu’s back rumbled to a slow stop around the middle of the following day. Tomatsu startled to his feet, snapped his helmet open, dragged Mura with him, and peered into the fog. One by one, purple lights winked out and he saw the ghostly shadows of the mechanical arms retract into the ceiling of the containment.

Then with a hiss, the polyglass door unsealed and eased to the side. Fog billowed down across Tomatsu’s feet and into the lab where it dissipated into the larger room.

Something large hunched in the center of the machine. Purple edge lighting faded to yellow as the door came to a stop.

It looked a lot like Tomatsu’s power armor, only twice the size and hunched down like a child holding their legs, head pressed to their knees. The gray metal had a purple sheen that kept Tomatsu back.

He stood at the doorway and said softly, “Hikaru?”

The armor twitched. It’s head came up, exposing a mask of snarling eyes and oversized teeth. A demon-mask with glowing purple lights set deep into the skull. In a robotically smooth motion, the armor stood. As it did, the Forge Lance arced up and over its left shoulder with a soft ratcheting sound, and twitched into alignment with Tomatsu’s chest.

It stood over four meters tall, tusked face snarling down at Tomatsu, with no clear sign that anything of Hikaru remained.

Very slowly, Tomatsu held his hands up, palms out. “Hikaru-chan, please tell me you’re in there. It’s me, it’s your brother, Tomatsu. Oniisan. Talk to me, please?”

A voice, sounding scared and so very, very young, whimpered out of the suit. “Onii….san?”

“I’m right here, Hikaru-chan. Right in front of you. Can you see me?”

“I see…. Things. Something is wrong. When I try and focus—”

Two alternating rings on the back of the Forge Lance spun up, its wicked purple glow increasing.

Tomatsu sucked his breath in quick. “You don’t have to focus right now, Hikaru-chan. It’s okay if things look odd. You hit your head pretty hard.”

After a moment, the spinning rings on the Lance slowed and the light dimmed again. Tomatsu let his breath back out.

“I’m going to reach out and touch your hand, Hikaru.”

No response from the suit.

Before Tomatsu could reach out, Mura grabbed his other hand. He glanced at her in time to see her helmet snap into the pace over her head. Tomatsu squeezed her hand and let her brace him as he reached into the machine. If something went wrong…

He looked up at the demon mask and didn’t let himself overthink it. He reached for Hikaru’s hand, touched his wrist.

Hikaru gasped sharply. The Forge Lance twitched in Tomatsu’s direction.

“It’s me, Hikaru. It’s just me.”

“Everything hurts, Oniisan.”

“I know. We’re going to get you some painkillers right now and help you with that. I’ve got you.” He firmed his grip on the suit’s hand and gently, slowly, pulled Hikaru out of the machine. Hikaru stepped down awkwardly, like the suit was heavier than he was used to being.

“You’re in a big power suit like mine, Hikaru. Can you feel it?”

“Everything’s heavy.”

“Yeah, I bet. You’re taller than me, now.” Tomatsu patted Hikaru’s hand. “Can you retract the helmet?”

The suit stilled in a way that was more machine-at-rest than human. It was uncanny.

“I can’t…. Make it move. It’s like everything is sealed.”

“Alright, we’ll deal with that later, then,” Tomatsu said, trying to keep his voice casual.

When he turned to face the lab he found both Izumi and the Paracitica nearby. The Paracitica must have understood the panicked look on Tomatsu’s face, because he approached without hesitation.

Tomatsu felt his heart race and it tightened his chest. “What do I do, Paracitica?”

“We take him with us.” Paracitica Jin put a hand on Tomatsu’s shoulder and made solid eye-contact. “We take him on the shuttle and we figure it out.”

Relief flooded him like a cool wave and he nodded, wordless.

The Paracitica turned to Hikaru and looked up. Way up. “Son, do you want to come visit the Hornets shuttle? We can get you a painkiller and make sure you’re not injured.”

The Lance twitched to focus on the Paracitica, its rings spinning briefly, like a lens coming into focus. “Can I get a tour?”

The Paracitica showed no outward sign of concern that a weapon meant to level cities from space had just lined up with his eye. “Sure thing. I’ll show you around myself.”

The Lance jerked to the side, down. “Oniichan?”

“Right beside you, little brother. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Tomatsu moved forward, guiding Hikaru by the hand.

Mura let him go, but fell in right at his shoulder, a stalwart support he appreciated. He tried to be confident for Hikaru, to not show the panic that was rising in his chest, but he wasn’t winning that fight.

Not after all he’d been through in the last day.

He pulled his helmet up and over his face, ignoring the blinking heart rate warning that popped up on his HUD. He had his brother and that was what mattered. The rest of his family could blow themselves up out here playing with liquid trinordia all they wanted. Tomatsu had come to terms long ago with the idea he’d never reconcile with them.

His brother was more than he expected, and Tomatsu knew when to take what he’d won and walk away.

They saw no one on the long walk from the central ring to the outer-most where the shuttle was docked. He probably had Izumi to thank for that.

And a lot of things to explain to his squad once they were safely underway.

Tomatsu took a calmer breath as they entered the shuttle. The airlock cycled them in with the familiar hiss-thump of the atmo pumps doing their job.

He glanced back at Mura. She punched his shoulder gently and nodded.

They’d be okay. With his squad and the Paracitica behind him, the Hornets could tackle anything.