I didn't fight for their earth.
I didn't even fight for mine.
Never had a thing to fight for.
If I did, I'd send someone else
to do the fighting and bleeding
and killing and dying for me.
Just like those bastards sent me
and mine to do it for them.

- Jarl Skullthirst
Veteran, settler, space pirate

EIGHTFOLD PRESENTS
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WAR STORIES
BY AMABEL HOLLAND

TUNNEL GODS

The stolen frigate floats dead in the black.

It's close enough to the celadon planet that gravity will do the
rest. Its presence will be detected before it breaches the atmosphere.
The crew aboard its orbital defense station will intercept it,
bringing it in for inspection.

And that's when I'll die, thinks Ace. She figures it'll be a shot
through the head.

At least it's better than freezing to death, like Jack. He died
slow. Better than being cut clean in two like Rex. He kept screaming.
Ace doesn't want to go like that. Doesn't want to scream.

Doesn't want to go out crying, either. The way Dot did when that
laser cooked her guts while they were still inside her. Ace doesn't
blame her. She would've cried too if that's how she was going to die.
She just doesn't want it, is all.

In fact, she didn't want to die at all. Least of all in this
universe. For this universe.

Dot would say that they came to this universe to save their own.
Stop the Pulse here, in their home reality, before they can invade
ours and everyone else's. And maybe that's true. Dot thought it was.

Ace is more cynical. If the sky class was really worried about
that, it'd be their kids dying for it. But no. They grabbed a bunch of
tunnel punks.

Dot had said she'd rather die out here. Back home, she would've
died in the tunnels. The years would hollow her out, one bleak day
after another. A lifetime spent hoping and scrambling, slowly being
crushed to death under the weight of her dull misery. That's a life
that wouldn't matter, a death that wouldn't matter. At least out here,
in the black, in this other universe, she'd be dying for something.

"What did you die for?" Ace whispers bitterly. "What am I about to die for?"

And she's not going to delude herself. She is going to die. This
whole operation was planned for a full squad. One full squad that
would take over an enemy frigate, disable it, and hide aboard. One
full squad to assault the ODS when the enemy decided to investigate.
One full squad to take over the station, turning its solar cannon
against the enemy installations on the surface.

Even then, the chances of success were low. Even with a full squad.
But Ace is all that's left. And she read the brief. Crew of this ODS
is made up of Tergites; they don't take prisoners. As soon as the
enemy starts to board the ship, the squad has to open fire, overwhelm
them, fight their way in. Which means that as soon as that door opens,
she'll be shot. Pow, right in the brainpan.

Of course, that's only if they see her. She could hide. Maybe even
avoid detection entirely. Tergites will spend some time looting the
ship, determine it's harmless, and then let gravity do the rest.
Probably she'd burn up in the atmosphere. That doesn't sound appealing
but at that point she can shoot herself before things get crispy.

That'd buy her another hour or two of living. For a tunnel punk,
quality of life is never a consideration, so they try to make up for
it in quantity, fighting for every miserable filthy minute. Two hours,
and all she has to do is hide? That sounds like a luxury.

The obvious place is in the vents running beneath the floor. The
ducts are cramped but cramped is nothing new, cramped is home sweet
home. They're still hot, but like leather in the sun. Long as she
doesn't touch it with her bare skin she ought to be fine.

Well, she'll be fine until she isn't. But let's not worry about
that right now. Right now, let's just be real still and quiet while
the Tergites poke around.

It might be because she's peeking up at them through a grate but
the Tergites don't impress. In the briefing materials a lot of
attention was placed on their exoskeleton and its durability. But
these look soft. Vulnerable. Squishy. Like they'd break with the
slightest bit of pressure.

She counts six of them searching the ship. Two standing guard in
the doorway, weapons ready. Standard crew for a station is twelve, so
there'll be four more ready to charge in at a moment's notice.
I can take four, Ace thinks to herself. If I'm good and if I'm
lucky, I can maybe take four on my own. But twelve!

She's not even sure why she bothers to think it through. It's a
moot point. You've got a couple hours left, don't waste it fantasizing
about a way out of this. Make your peace with the tunnel gods, hope
they can hear your prayers in another universe.

But what would you pray for? Forgiveness? The tunnel gods don't
forgive, and, more importantly, you don't want it. You did what you
had to do, sometimes you even did what you wanted to. And sometimes
you hurt people and sometimes you got hurt, but the last thing you'd
ask a god to do is absolve you of it.

"They were my choices," Ace whispers. "I stand by them. Who the
hell are the gods to judge me?"

The way she sees it, the tunnel gods have a lot to answer for. If
anything, it'd be in their interests to keep Ace alive as long as
possible. "That's my prayer. Give me more time, or you'll regret it!"

She's afraid for a second that she got a little too loud, but one
of the Tergites was shouting, so she thinks no one heard her.
Apparently it found something of value in the captain's quarters. The
two door guards hesitate, presumably mumbling something about
protocol, then rush in with the others to check it out.

Now there's lots of distant chatter. Have they all left the deck?
Is she alone? Are they that stupid? Is she that lucky?

She can stay here. Hide here. Wait out her last stretch of time. Or
she can risk it. Maybe she ends up dead right away. Or maybe.

Maybe the tunnel gods heard her threat.

She pops open the grate, careful as she can, and shimmies out.
Okay, she's not alone. But the soldiers clumped together on the other
side of the deck all have their backs to her. At least, they do until
her foot clangs against the grate.

As they turn, Ace is already scurrying for the door. She's on the
other side of it before they can aim their weapons. She closes the
door before they can fire, disengages the lock before they start
praying to their own gods.

She watches for a moment while the ship floats off back into the
black, on its course for the planet. She wonders how the eight of them
will spend their last hour, knowing that they're doomed.

One of them must've radioed in, because there are alarms blaring on
the station, alerting the other four crew members.

Ace readies her weapon. "I can take four."

()

INCENTIVES

They told him it got easier. That you get used to it. First time's the
hardest, but with every life you take, it bothers you less and less.

What was horrifying about it was the way they talked about it. Like
it was something you should look forward to. An achievement to cross
off the list. Your conscience an inconvenient clumsy thing to be
strangled.

Lucius wonders if they're just pretending. He is. Every kill is
just as hard as the first. Every kill ruins him anew. Breaks him.
Haunts him.

But if you talk too much about it, they see it as a weakness. They
don't trust you to be strong enough to have their back, so they sure
as hell aren't going to go out of their way to have yours. You don't
toughen up? Maybe they leave you behind. Maybe that's the difference
between going back and moving on. And sometimes, though no one talks
about it except in glances and smirks, that's how accidents happen.

So maybe they're all pretending, or maybe it's just him. He hopes
it's the first one, worries it's the second. Either way, he knows
better than to ask.

The funny thing is, he's not worried about them finding out. He's
good at hiding it, and besides, he's racked up a decent bonus. When
you're discharged, you get paid for every kill. He wonders, idly, if
that isn't evidence that you don't ever get used to killing, if they
need to incentivize it. He also wonders if that might be the reason
why others do get used to it. Maybe you stop seeing the other person
as a person, and you start to see them as a nice suit or a breakfast
nook.