Robin and Ellis followed, leaping from the vehicle while Epyc Ro aimed it straight toward the main gate. She locked the stabilizer into place and locked the steering column. The vehicle was on cruise control. A rocket blazed, a languid flare followed by a strange hollow boom came from the building’s top toward her. Epyc Ro tumbled out the back and scrambled toward the drop-off point to join Ellis and Robin. The vehicle exploded, a torch sat against the encroaching darkness, spewing a spray of rock and dirt and waves of force.

“Sitrep?” Epyc Ro shielded her face from the glare and concussion.

“Cleanup details have just been dispatched.” Robin surveyed through her visor.

“Prisoners are usually taken in the main doors,” Ellis whispered.

“Then we’ll have to improvise,” Epyc Ro said.

“What have we been doing so far?” Robin asked.

“Ma’am.” Epyc Ro secured her navsuit, running it through its system checks. “Shields?”

“I borrowed Anitra’s so we can cloak Ellis,” Robin said.

“All right, let’s go in,” Epyc Ro said.

Little more than wraiths among shadows, their individual cloak units blocked signals and masked their heat signatures. They approached the opposite side of the base from where the cruiser was destroyed. The rear of the refinery had been erected in a hurry. Solid construction, but far from state of the art, reminding Epyc Ro of a small warehouse. Slightly lopsided, constructed from material repurposed from a large cruiser. The heavy bay doors hung open.

The labyrinthine halls gave the interior the feel of a penitentiary. What few windows there were had been blocked with reinforced molybdenum, in preparation of a siege. The air grew thick, both damp and close. A mix of rot and mildew seeped from behind the walls. The thought hit her that if this was the shell of a repurposed ship, and the technology was biobased, the smell could be the rot of a decomposing vessel. They crept through the passages until they reached an antechamber. It had little furniture in it, the walls bare, with no room for personalization. Nothing that might remind the occupants of their home or distract them from where they were and the work they were there to do. A stench—of lingering body odor and stale food, a meal that had been picked over and discarded—clung to the air.