Writer's note: I wasn't happy with Rakoczy's departure, so did a little rewriting of things to make it have more impact and give him the dignity he deserved as a good squad sergeant. While we didn't know him as a character, I wanted his lasting memory to be that of a good leader, leaving some big shoes to fill. Thoughts welcome.

 

The fires had burned low by the time Jagiełło arrived. The smoke still clung to the rafters, curling like lazy ghosts above the wreckage. I stood near the entrance, rifle slung and fingers twitching, watching him move through the aftermath without pause or hesitation.

 

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked. At the bodies. At the scorch marks. At the spilled drinks that had mixed with blood in dark pools on the floorboards.

 

Then, quietly, to no one in particular: "Strip the bodies. Remove armour, weapons, insignia. Anything that can tie them to this place."

 

I turned to the nearest fallen PDF. He was young. He hadn’t even made it to his feet when the first volley landed. I knelt beside him, fingers trembling as I unclasped the straps of his chestplate. His skin was still warm.

 

Jagiełło continued, voice steady. "Seize all recorders. Data-slates, cogitator logs, vox units. Everything. If it has memory, it is erased. If it cannot be, it is destroyed."

 

A few of our tech-savvy comrades moved quickly, heading to the back room where the station's hub was kept. I heard the crack of a boot against a locked cabinet. The buzz of a cutter. I kept my eyes on my work.

 

Mona was speaking quietly with the proprietor, who sat behind the counter, pale but still. He had not run. He had not screamed. But fear sat heavy on him now, the reality of what he had witnessed settling into his bones.

 

"And the network?" someone asked.

 

Jagiełło looked toward the comms array, a squat metal box blinking idly by the far wall. "Disconnect it. Temporarily. The less it stays silent, the less suspicion it draws. We stage a withdrawal. Make it look like they left in a hurry."

 

The man nodded and moved to obey.

 

I kept stripping gear, folding it into a canvas sack that was quickly growing heavy. The faces of the dead were starting to blur together. Havel’s was the only one I couldn’t stop seeing. That flicker of confusion when it all began. That last flicker of recognition.

 

Mona moved past me, her hand brushing my shoulder. I didn’t look up.

 

"He needs to be handled carefully," she said softly, to Jagiełło. She was speaking of the proprietor. "He is frightened, yes. But he sees the tides changing."

 

Jagiełło didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.

 

We would either carry him with us—or bury him with the rest.

 

I went and knelt by Rakoczy, his hand clutching weakly at my sleeve. His uniform was dark with blood, the wound in his side gaping, beyond any aid we could offer.

 

He coughed, a wet, gurgling sound. "Good fight," he muttered. "You kept your head." His fingers twitched against my sleeve, then went slack. The breath left him in a quiet exhale, his eyes staring past me, past everything.

 

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. Around me, the others moved with purpose, securing the station, finishing the wounded. I felt Mona before I saw her, her presence like a warm draught against my frayed nerves.

 

She crouched beside me, her exotic scent cutting through the stench of battle. "He was a strong man," she murmured, placing a hand lightly on Rakoczy’s chest. "A necessary loss."

 

I wanted to argue, to say that it wasn’t necessary at all, but the words died before I could voice them. Mona's fingers pressed lightly against my wrist, a comforting weight. "Jagiełło will need someone to step into his place."

 

I turned to her, mouth dry. "Not me."

 

Mona smiled, that knowing, patient smile of hers. "We shall see."

 

A shadow loomed over us. Jagiełło, his sharp eyes flickering between Rakoczy's lifeless form and me. He nodded once. "Unfortunate." His gaze settled on me, unreadable. "Mona says you have potential. Do you agree?"

 

I shook my head. "I'm a miner. Not a leader."

 

"And yet," Mona said, voice gentle, "you are still here."

 

Jagiełło studied me for a moment longer, then turned away. "We will speak later."

 

I stared down at Rakoczy’s still face, my stomach churning. I had survived. But at what cost?