Granger eyed the open vaults that had already been unloaded from the amphibious assault craft, recognizing some of what he was seeing but clearly not all.

“Exoskeletal armor?” he spoke, finally.

“Hardened Special Operations armor,” Eric confirmed, “good from about a thousand meters below the sea to hard vacuum. Strength enhancing, augmented reactions, the works.”

Ian’s eyes slid away from the man and the gear, out to where the smoking hulk of the Odyssey was still resting in Long Island Sound.

“Apparently you boys in the space service get the best toys.”

Eric shrugged, flashing him and the others a crooked smile. “Someone has to do it.”

“Did someone have to lead those things here too?” someone demanded from the crowd.

Ian twisted around, eyes glaring. “Shut it.”

“No, he’s got a point.” Eric held up a hand. “Not something we have a lot of time right now to talk about, but a few seconds won’t change anything. We encountered the Drasin as they were in the process of committing genocide. If anyone here would honestly turn aside from that, then you don’t deserve to wear the uniforms I see, or the ones many of you once wore.”

There were a few flushed faces, eyes that wouldn’t meet his, and so Eric immediately pushed on.

“Beyond all that, I’m convinced that they were coming this way anyway. So face them now, with some warning, or later with none,” he said. “I’ll not ask another generation to shoulder my burden.”

“It’s a moot point anyway,” Granger growled, turning to look over the men and women. “They’re here. It’s done. Deal with it. Anyone who can’t, get out of my sight. I don’t have the time or patience to deal with you.”

Between the Confederate space captain’s steady gaze and the SWAT team commander glaring at them, no one spoke another word of objection.

“Good,” Eric said, tone and voice shifting as he barked out with authority. “Line up to suit up!”

Eric had forty suits with him when he managed to get off the wreckage of the Odyssey, not counting the one he wore or the loader, of course. Thirty cops showed up quickly, with signs of more to come, but Eric held back on the last ten suits and kept an eye on the growing group for familiar faces.

The cops were great, and he was eternally thankful that they had stepped up, but he desperately needed some experience and a degree of trust and familiarity for what was to come.

The rumble of a powerful motorcycle engine gave him the first hint of both, and he smiled widely and with relief as he saw the slim woman kick down the stand on the Ducati, casually flipping her hair back as she pulled off her helmet.