Precipice

The deck plate lifted with a scrape. Qui

In the scan-shielded space under the deck plate was a rectangular steel foot locker. “Give me a hand,” Qui

Bridy and Qui

Staring at the lock, he remembered Denise’s birthday and tapped in the eight-digit code: 03262217. The case’s magnetic clamps released with loud thunks.

“They wouldn’t let me quit. Said I had to finish my hitch. I couldn’t just hide in my rack, so I spent my time gettin’ drunk, mouthin’ off at the brass, and playin’ cards.” He looked around at his ship. “By the time I got out, I’d won enough to buy ol’ Rosie here. But I couldn’t forget what I’d seen. The things I’d done. So I spent the rest of my cash on booze, and then I spent twenty-five years tryin’ to drown my memories.”

He looked up at Bridy and cracked a bittersweet smile. “Didn’t work. Now all I got left is this ship.”

And one last spark of my self-respect.

Bridy had a soft expression of concern. “I won’t lie and say I know what you went through, or how you feel. But nothing we do here can change the past, Qui

Qui

“I ain’t in Starfleet.” He picked up a rifle. “So fuck the Prime Directive.”

June 5, 2267

“These twenty rifles are all I got,” Qui

He walked in front of the lanky, shaved-headed militiamen, who were lined up under the starboard wing of the Rocinante. Much as Qui

The tallest of the recruits pulled the trigger of his weapon over and over; he frowned when nothing happened. Qui

Raising his voice to address the group, Qui

He took a few more steps down the line and stopped in front of a heavyset, well-muscled recruit. The man seemed like a natural soldier: his rifle was slung over his shoulder, his posture was straight, and his mien was serious. Qui

At the end of the line, Qui

A reed-thin and awkward-looking De

“For the rest of your training, you’ll be splitting up into four squads. Stretch, Bubba, Spaz, Mudguts: you’re squad leaders.” The four recruits nodded. Qui

He was interrupted by the clattering of metal tumbling across the ground behind him. He turned to see that one of the recruits had already disassembled his rifle. Qui

“Taking apart my rifle,” Tater said.

“I can see that,” Qui

Tater nodded. “Yes. The reverse of how I took it apart.”

Qui

Tater—who’d earned his nickname by having a head shaped like a lumpy potato—held out his rifle with both hands. Qui

Well, I’ll be damned,Qui

Several of the recruits exchanged wary looks.

Each man in the platoon began taking apart his rifle.

Qui

“Quick learners,” he said. “Good. That just saved us a day. If you’re this handy with explosives, we might be ready to face the Klingons sooner than I thought.”

The De

Then a female voice cut the moment down to size.

“You boys should know what you’re really getting into,” said Bridy Mac, who was standing at the entrance to the secret tu

Qui