Squad by squad, the force of Blink operatives emerged into reality within the excursion chamber of Beltock's Wake. The closest planet to Ravine with a functioning Nav-Rod, Beltock was also home to a formidable detachment of the Colonial Navy, and it was from this body of warships that the first armed response to the outbreak of hostilities would come.

They fanned out quickly and smoothly to the edges of the room as their comrades came through. Darien turned on his heel, walking backwards and watching with approval as the best Blink had to offer made their transitions back into the real world.

When they all assembled they looked like a formidable force. They formed up in rough ranks, his team at the front, carbines hanging lazily across their chests, save for Idas, who had the bulky form of his jackhammer leaning across one brawny shoulder. A handful of others also carried the heavier weapons, showing they'd cleared their advanced weapon training – Kelsey Brannigan from Vandal Squad bore her heavy scoped lance-rifle, a sharpshooter by nature. Uniquely, Panther Squad's leader, Bandle, carried a squat, short-barreled stormgun, a weapon that could discharge a frightening volley of solid-state rounds in a matter of seconds.

A dangerous group, in the right hands.

"Okay everybody," Darien called, raising a hand to get their attention. "Give me a quick gear check then move it out." A scuffle and clatter filled the room as the operatives gave their equipment a cursory once-over, more out of procedure than necessity. Satisfied that their belongings had come through the transit unscathed, they formed up, and he led them out into the station proper.

He flashed his Blink ID to the pair of local dock security who examined it for a brief, handful of seconds before waving them through. Then they emerged from the excursion chamber and into the cavernous space of the dock itself.

Beltock's Wake was as far out on the rim as you could get while still feeling connected to human civilisation. A temperate world with over twenty heavily populated cities clogging up its equatorial band, it was the last real stop before the Black Line – the edge of explored space. The only planet further out was the volcanic stud of Ravine. Along with its substantial civilian presence, it also boasted a formidable detachment of colonial military forces, between navy units, marines and ground based armoured infantry.

Those forces were in full evidence when they emerged into the hanger. They stood at the top of a ramp connected to an enormous ringed platform that stretched around the entire circumference of the chamber. A metal dome stretched a hundred feet above their heads, studded with dozens of hangers that filled the walls like the inside of a gigantic metallic beehive. On the surface below, hundreds of men and women seethed back and forth in a constant ebb and flow, weaving around a clearly defined interlocking grid of cargo pathways filled with haulers and passenger trams.

He could see straight away approximately an eighth of the space was cordoned off from civilian traffic, and filled with soldiers and vehicles. Leading the operatives down the ramp from the excursion chamber, he joined them clambering aboard a waiting passenger tram manned by two colonial marines. They piled into the seats with military efficiency, locking into place, strapping in, stowing weapons and bubbling with low conversation. Niamh slotted in alongside him, carbine hanging from the strap on her combat vest and hands clasped behind her head as she lounged back against the seat.

The tram hummed into life, gliding across the mag-rails that criss-crossed the port with remarkable smoothness. He looked at his second in command and found her looking back, the familiar emerald green of her synthetic eye somehow welcoming and safe. Her sharp features cracked into a grin and he felt his limbs tingle.

The most painful thing about his suspension from Blink had been his separation from her. Leaving her to handle the squad was one thing – Niamh was as capable an operative as could be found – but he'd missed her... presence. She was like a rock, something that let him anchor himself against the ever-changing tides of the galaxy.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "I will be."

"Going back there – must be pretty weird."

"We'll see." He shrugged. "It's just another mission?"

"Is it?"

"That's how I'm gonna make it look." Darien gave her a playful nudge with one elbow. "As long as you're there backing me up, I'll be just fine."

She winked her single biological eye. "Don't you worry about that, sir. I've got your back."

Even travelling at max velocity, it took five minutes for the tram to ferry the operatives from one end of the cavernous dock to the other. It came to an abrupt halt just outside the seething hive of organised mayhem that churned just outside the military dock, its side doors splitting open to disgorge the Blink operatives.

The other squads formed up in tightly-knit groups, waiting for him to lead them on. He strode from the tram, Niamh and the others close on his heels. He spotted more than one curious glance from passing military personnel, whether they were marines, loaders or pilots. The sudden appearance of thirty armed strangers with unmarked fatigues seemed to put many of them on edge.

Darien ignored it all, striding forward with the confidence he knew they had to project if they were to be taken seriously by their colonial counterparts. They picked their way through the hustle and bustle of military logistics to reach the gaping circular aperture that led into the dock proper. A full squad of armed marines were managing the flow of people and materials in and out of the dock entrance, and the sergeant in command halted them.

"Hold up," he grated, his cragged features crumpling with suspicion. "You the teams from Blink?"

"That's us." Without waiting to be asked, Darien slipped his ID pass from the front pocket of his combat vest and handed it over. The marine looked it over for a moment, then fed the card through a small rectangular scanner clipped to his belt. A couple of seconds passed, then the scanner bleeped, its display going green. The sergeant handed the ID back then placed a hand to his ear, speaking into his comm.

"GatePost to Hub-1," he said sharply. "Confirming arrival of asset 00-00-2." He waited a moment listening to the reply. Then he stepped aside, motioning them into the military dock with a flick of his head. "You're logged – head inside. The L.C. is waiting for you."

And that was that. Darien exchanged an amused glance with Niamh, then marched on into the navy dock.

Although much smaller than the main part of Beltock's space dock, the military portion seemed somehow more impressive. There were men and women everywhere, the atmosphere blazing with pent up energy just waiting to be unleashed. Squads of heavily armed marines marched in meticulous columns, their dull grey armour enlivened by regimental logos and less-than-regulation artistic additions. Balloon-wheeled jeeps trundled in snaking columns, like big sand buggies, each one sporting an immense roof mounted cannon. Wyvern gunships were being loaded by crane into to the deep, dark bellies of heavy transport ships, accompanied by a myriad of other armoured vehicles that Darien didn't recognise. All around them the air was clogged with voices roaring orders and abuse in equal measure.

Waiting for them just inside the entrance of the dock was a middle-aged woman, flanked by a pair of colonial marines, more for show than any actual security judging by the fact their safeties were on and they looked thoroughly disinterested in proceedings. Darien didn't fail to notice that she had a bulky pistol of her own strapped to one thigh.

"Lieutenant Colonel Adaya Merlynn, 45th Beltock Dragoons," the woman declared as they stopped in front of her, her voice as hard and unyielding as rock. She was tall and slender, with dark brown hair, edging to grey, clad in jet black fatigues and a stark, white beret with a golden pin. Bars of rank glittered on her shoulders and she radiated authority.

She extended a thin, weathered hand.

"Squad Leader Darien Flint," he said, accepting the gesture. Her skin was rough – he got the distinct impression that every bar on her uniform had been earned the hard way.

"Good to meet you." Her ferocious stare swept over the rest of the operatives, scrutinizing them through her military eyes. Darien heard a faint, uncomfortable shuffling of feet behind him but didn't let his expression waver as she continued. "I'll be in overall command of Colonial ground forces when we reach Ravine. We'll have time for proper introductions during our flight out, but right now I've got a deployment to organise." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, to where ranks of long, bullet-like vehicles squatted on quadrupedal landing legs. "Our GTO shuttles will be ready to embark in twenty-two minutes. Speak to Corporal Witzbergen and have your gear stowed."

Darien didn't often indulge in military regulations – technically Blink operatives were not bound by them. Right now, however, every bone in his body knew that Colonel Merlynn was not to be taken lightly. So he swallowed his pride and gave her a crisp salute.

"Yes, ma'am." Then he turned to the others and twirled a finger skywards. "You know the drill guys. On me."

He took off at a light jog, closely followed by the clattering booted feet of the operatives under his command. He didn't bother casting a glance back at the military commander – she would expect to give an order once, and have it carried out without question.

Corporal Witzbergen turned out to be a harrassed-looking, blonde-haired woman, sporting an enormous data slate and having the Herculean task of coordinating the transport of pure manpower up to the orbiting fleet. She wasn't wearing armour, instead standing in a featureless grey tank-top, khaki trousers and heavy combat boots. Her grey beret hung at a slightly odd angle – he suspected she hadn't had a spare second to adjust it.

He opened his mouth to speak.

"Just hang the hell on," Witzbergen snapped, raising a hand with one finger extended to keep him quiet. "I've got a fifty-four shuttle flights to coordinate in the next twenty minutes so I have exactly no time for introductions." The hand moved to point down the line. "Shuttle E1017 is assigned for Blink – cargo hold is ready and waiting for you. Stow your gear and for God's sake make sure it's strapped down. When you're done with the gear, stow yourselves in the passenger compartment. Your pilot will arrive in eighteen minutes. While you're waiting, don't touch anything."

Finally she looked up from the slate. "Understand?"

"Yeah, I think I got it," he replied, fighting to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"Then get going."

With no more conversation forthcoming, Darien glanced over his shoulder to see many of the operatives fighting back smirks. He grinned and led them down the line of shuttles, leaving Witzbergen to her unenviable task.

*

Once they were in orbit, Darien got his first glimpse into just how determined the colonial navy was to stamp out the resistance on Ravine. Through the banded glass of the transport's window he could see the battle-group manoeuvring, the flares of their huge engines lighting up the local volume. The interior of the shuttle could easily have accommodated fifty people, but it seemed that Colonel Merlynn wanted to give the Blink operatives some privacy.

"Damn," Amber breathed, standing alongside him and shaking her head as she examined the ships. "That's a lot of firepower."

"You recognise these?" he asked. Before he'd recruited her for Blink, Amber's career path had been altogether more straightforward, training to be a fleet navigator. She may have lurched away from that aspiration, but her knowledge of human ships remained formidable.

"At least two capital cruisers," she murmured, pointing to the largest of the vessels they could see. The massive warships were long, shining ovals, streaked with long, symmetrical bands of blue. Around them smaller ships with a similar shape circled.

"I take it those are escort ships?"

Amber nodded. "Looks like... four fast attack destroyers. I'd need to get closer to be sure, but they're not old models either. These are some brand new, top of the line ships. They are not screwing around."

Darien couldn't disagree. He pointed out another block of ten ships, hanging in position below the capital cruisers. "What about those?"

"Heavy bombing frigates. They're geared for orbit-to-ground strikes." Amber gave him a grim look. "Do you really think they'd launch a bombardment from orbit?"

"That's out of our hands."

He peered closer at the vessels in question. The bombing frigates lacked the sleekness of many navy ships, shaped like fat overturned trowels. Their dark armour glinted under the light of nearby engine flares, and even from this distance he could see the two enormous tubes slung under the main hull that held a deadly payload.

"Well, I think one of those will be our troop transport," Amber continued, indicating a formation of three, burly cuboids that skulked just beyond the main formation, each one larger than even the capital cruisers. Rows of lights glittered along their flanks like landing strips, and he saw smaller vessels scurrying in and out of their yawning hangers. Then he felt the tell-tale lurch as their transport altered its trajectory, turning them towards the troop carriers.

"I think you're right."

He turned from the window, giving Amber a gentle bump on the shoulder with a clenched fist as he went. In the cramped compartment behind them the rest of the operatives lounged on chairs, on the floor or their kit bags. Some played games on portable devices, others were buzzing with low conversation – to his surprise a handful of his companions had managed to fall asleep on the short flight up.

"Look alive, people!" Darien shouted, rousing the sleeping operatives and dragging the attention of the others from their chosen mode of distraction. "We're on approach to the Iron Glacier. Let's a have a smooth deployment – we're going to be under the microscope here. There's a whole ship full of marines waiting for us who think Blink is nothing more than a bunch of jumped up teenagers, playing at soldiers. We're the best Blink have to offer; let's go over there and prove them wrong."