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a single Jotun claw can do to a soft human throat.”
    Fraser swallowed hard. The commander’s claws had ripped the throat from his predecessor as Sergeant of the ship’s Marine detachment. There were only 21 under McEwan’s formal command, compared with their cargo of over three thousand Marines in 88-412/TAC field battalion, but his detachment would play a key role in what was to come – important enough for Fraser to be rescued from the fallout after the Hardits had moved too soon in their part of the rebellion back in Tranquility system.
    If Fraser pulled this off, the lieutenant commander had promised to promote him to ensign. The first human Marine officer! He felt flutters of euphoria every time he thought of what was at stake here, not so much for his own aggrandizement but for the symbolism of marking another step toward the day when other species would take humanity seriously.
    The luster of the prize didn’t blind him to the stark truth that his elevation to officer rank would be a political message from the rebel faction. True, humans had been junior Navy officers for some time, but even they referred to human-officered vessels as cardboard ships : scarcely spaceworthy hulks there to make some noise on enemy sensor readings.
    To what he guessed were tens of millions of human Marines in the galaxy, Fraser’s promotion was intended to be a far more powerful clarion call that the rebel cause was also humanity’s. As far as Lieutenant Commander Wotun was concerned, it scarcely mattered which human was promoted.
    Fraser squared his jaw. Was the Jotun right? Would he act any differently if Arun weren’t his brother? He thought that over for a few moments… Then a gleam came to his eye.
    No! Arun meant nothing. No one in the galaxy would get in the way of Fraser’s promotion.

— Chapter 08 —
    Petty Officer Lock paced up and down the line, halting occasionally in front of Indiya to give the full effect of her glare. Loobie was the senior rating in the away team, but Lock knew Indiya carried the most influence in the group.
    Lock rarely did happy. Today she wasn’t even going to manage seriously vecked off. Deep lines stretch downed either side of her lips, etched into her puffy red face by years of permanent disapproval.
    The four spacers waiting to embark the shuttle wore pressure suits, with helmets held in front, as per regulations. Without wearing their headgear, most crewmembers could not send comms messages, but this group were not normal.
    Freaks most called them – augments was the formal term. Indiya and the others simply called themselves specials .
    Loobie linked to Indiya’s mind, and sent a thought message:
    Indiya couldn’t help herself. She laughed out loud.
    “Is something amusing, Indiya?”
    “No, petty officer. Not amused. Excited.”
    Lock loomed over Indiya, squeezing her eyes into narrow slits, as if forcing out every last drop of displeasure, until her eyes disappeared beneath ridge lines of folded skin.
    Indiya felt the hairs raise on the back of her neck. Despite her perpetual bad temper, Lock took good care of her team of augments. Knowing this, however, didn’t protect Indiya from shriveling in the searing heat of the petty officer’s anger.
    It was wrong of Loobie to make fun of the way Lock looked. The specials were prototypes for several new augmentations, but all spacers had been adapted for life in sunless zero-g. Sometimes the bioengineering didn’t work as intended. The petty officer’s bloated body and brittle bones were one result.
    Loobie didn’t help, the little sow. She sent a doctored image of the scene adapted from live security monitoring footage. The five augments were lined up in the docking bay, as in reality, but in Loobie’s version, they were naked except for their helmets held in front of them to protect their modesty. Indiya’s violet hair lengthened