There was a Bioid in the pilot seat of the Fury-161. His cybernetic alterations were very extensive, to the point where he was almost entirely a robot save for his exterior. On his uniform he wore the mark of the Defectors, the Bioids who had gone against the convert-or-die dogma of the cyborgs who had instigated the Tripartite War. These cyborgs lived in peace among the communities of the Confederation of Saturnian Satellites.

The soldiers filed into the craft, decked with the weaponry typical of the 501st—monomolecular axes, magnetic guns, particle beams, and EMPs, among other things. “One gee, Arnold,” Bonzer ordered. “The rest of you: We’ll arrive in ninety, so keep your spacesuits on. There’s no atmo that we can read, but we’re still going to two-tap. We don’t know who, or what, might be in there.”

“Ready to go,” Arnold announced. “Hydrogen conveyors online. Lasers hot.”

“Shake and bake, baby!” Bonzer whooped.

They felt their weight increase as the ship vibrated and shimmied. They were off.