The November Sky was immense over a kilometer and a half long it dwarfed anything in local space. The vessel was shaped like a throwing knife with a thin tapered bow that came to a fairly narrow point, a slight bulge just aft of amidships and then a second tapering section around which her vast sublight engines were clustered in six housings which protruded from the midline. Unlike a freighter like the Highlander, the November Sky had never touched and atmosphere, having been constructed in one of the many orbital shipyards that served the Terran Navy. No ship so large could ever hope to enter a gravity well and leave again. The entire length of the ship was festooned with weapons ports. Turrented plasma cannons, missile batteries, mass drivers as well as dozens of launch bays which housed fighters, bombers and the various utility craft that the ship relied upon for its dirtside business. All of that was just window dressing for the ships real armament, a massive spinal mounted rail gun which ran the length of the ship. Such weapons were useful only in capital ship engagements or to threaten static positions like space stations or ground facilities.

The unnamed cargo lifter was directed by laser designators to a large hangerbay just below the port side bulge. Even before it touched down the Highlander was visible. Terran technicians in gray disruptive pattern fleet utilities were climbing over the ship, some were obviously engaged in repairs while others appeared to be taking readings.

“The Terrans are friends of yours?” Saxon sneered.

“Fucked if I know,” Neil responded as he tapped the attitude jets to slow the decent. Several point defence batteries, designed for shooting down enemy missiles but more than capable of shredding an unshielded freighter, tracked their descent. The ship touched down with a gentle clang. Neil tore his harness off and ran to the ramp slapping the activation switch. Junebug lay on her side, extremely pale and breathing in short shallow puffs that stirred her dark hair. The ramp opened with glacial slowness to reveal a phalanx of Terran Marines suited up in vac-armor and carrying bulky vacuum rated rifles.

“We need medics!” Neil called down, looping his arms beneath Junebugs and dragging the unconscious mercenary to the mouth of the hatch. A smallish man in an immaculately tailored uniform snapped his fingers and a trio of men, each wearing armor marked with a caduceus on the right shoulder pad and bearing a grav stretcher rushed forward, lifting Sayeeda and laying her on the grav stretcher. A large hoop like device flipped upright and ran over her at the speed of a brisk walk. Holographic screens sprang to life showing detailed scans of internal organs and bone structures as well as dozens or hundreds of vital statistics. One of the medics, his armor marked with a lieutenant's bars, watched the data scroll passed for a moment.

“Keep the armor on, there is significant swelling we don't want to risk a crash before we get to preop” he snapped in the precise accented galactic typical of the Terran military.

“Get me a tatrobane drip and three large bore IV access points. Med bay prep for a level one trauma with…” the medical  babble trailed off as the stretcher rushed down the ramp and towards one of the blast doors that granted access to the hangar.  Within a few seconds it was gone beyond the doors.

“Mr Edwards,” the suave looking officer called from below. He was a handsome man with dark hair and an immaculately trimmed mustache. His voice was rich and cultured and sounded friendly, although his eyes remained still and cold.  White piping rimmed the rank tabs that identified him as a Major in  Directorate K, the legendarily ruthless Terran Fleet Intelligence.

“Would you and your friends come down please, I would take it as a favor if you left any weapons aboard your ship,” he called in a pleasant cultured voice. The marines flanking him didn’t bother with an amateur theatrics, they merely kept their weapons leveled.

“He is no friend of mine,” Saxon snarled irritable. The officer  shrugged his shoulders as though the point didn't much matter to him.

“In that case we shall be happy to escort you to the nearest airlock.” The fellows jovial tone didn’t shift even a fraction, but there was no doubt in the world that he was willing to do exactly that if anyone made any trouble.