TO TREAD OBSIDIAN SHORES — Snippet 14

/ Jason Cordova
Coming January 2026 from Baen Books

CHAPTER TWO

To Protect the Weak, Defend the Innocent

PNV PERSEVERANCE, MARS PRIMUS SYSTEM

Protect the weak, defend the innocent. Every single day Tavi did his best to live by that specific part of his Oath. Helping someone was to be expected of any legionnaire. Tavi wasn’t just going to excel at being a legionnaire, but exceed all expectations.

He . . . just wasn’t exactly sure how to do that just yet. Until then, though, he lived the Oath as best as he could.

The Perseverance was the largest ship he’d ever been on, and was one of the biggest ships the Legion had at its disposal. While technically owned and operated by the Protectorate Navy, the Vosagus-class carrier was built for one specific mission—to carry legionnaires wherever the Protectorate needed them.

Fortunately for Tavi, the young civilian seemed to know where to go once they were forward of the airlock. Carrying her heavier bag, he was happy remaining silent as she marched determinedly after the professor, her shorter legs struggling to keep up with him and the sycophants tailing him like dogs after a treat. The professor was regaling them with stories of his days pioneering out in uncharted worlds and the trio keeping pace was hanging on his every word. Tavi did notice, though, that the young assistant the Navy officer had ordered him to help wasn’t paying as much attention to her boss as she was their surroundings.

“Pay attention to the markings on the walls,” the young woman told Tavi as they passed another cluster of glowing numbers. “See? 3—5F—Level 4? That means we’re port side, fifth section forward, on the fourth deck level.”

“How do you know?” Tavi asked, genuinely curious. Knowledge was good, and he didn’t want to get lost. Years of surviving the streets had taught him to know all the escape routes possible, just in case. It’d kept him alive when the revolutionaries had come for his head.

“The first number you see always tells you what side of the ship you’re on,” she explained. “Odd is port—left, if you’re looking forward, and even is starboard, or the right. Don’t say that in front of the Navy people. They get . . . irritated. They’re old nautical terms that stuck when spaceflight became a regular thing, all the history books say, and Navy personnel are very superstitious and like their old, outdated traditions. The second number tells you if you’re forward or aft. Uh, front or rear. The indicator is if there’s if it’s an F or an A after the number. We’re five sections from the bow of the ship. If it had been an A, we’d be five sections from the stern, or aft. Level 4 just means we’re on the fourth deck. There are seven decks—levels—on the Perseverance. It gets a little different the deeper you go belowdecks, but I don’t know if legionnaires are allowed in the engine compartments.”

“How do you know all this stuff, though?”

“Child prodigy.”

Tavi had no idea what that meant, but it sounded impressive. “You’re very smart.”

“Yes. That’s what child prodigy means.”

“I understand now, ma’am.” He nodded, pleased. One mystery solved, at least. He still felt like a fool for letting his uniform become fouled during the lift from Mars Primus. He’d known the straps would screw it up, yet he’d been caught off guard when it had, and it’d taken an officer to point that out. Worse still, apparently she was assigned to his squad. Hopefully nobody would hear about it and he silently vowed to never let it happen again. “I just learned to read while I was becoming a legionnaire. It’s really fun.”

“Oh! I’m reading Reptiles Across the Stars,” she said brightly. Her smile softened as she looked at him. “It’s a rather dry read, more academia than anything else. It’s impressive that you are trying to learn to read. Truly.”

“Thank you.”

“You know . . . I think you actually mean that,” she said and gave him a strange look. Even the heavy weight of the bag was nothing compared to the intense scrutiny he was under. It made him more than a little uncomfortable. “I think you’re going to do just fine. And here we are.”

He looked at the numbers of the compartment: 3-4F-Level 4 was expected, since they had been moving forward. The actual hatch number—1005—was situated above a glowing security lock. There was no other indication this room was important at all. The woman quickly punched in a code and the door swung open. She stepped inside, then motioned for him to follow.

“Well, come on. The stuff you’re carrying can go on the table over there.”

The room was larger than he’d expected. There were piles of boxes stacked along one wall, while on the opposing one someone had taken the time to construct a small shelf to hold actual, physical books. There were three doorways leading into other rooms at the far wall. A comfortable-looking sofa, three cushioned chairs with personal crash webbings, and two large tables filled the main room. Of all the things he’d expected to find on a Navy vessel, this had not been one of them. It almost looked like something out of a vid drama.

“Thank you again,” the mousy little woman said, bobbing her head as he set all the heavy gear on the larger of the tables. He shifted his own duffel bag so it wouldn’t slip. “Mister . . . ?”

“Private Diego Tavi, ma’am,” he responded instantly, six months of training reflexively kicking in. “Thirteenth Legion, Bravo Company, 4th Squad.”

“That’s a bit of a mouthful.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He’d never been comfortable around pretty girls. Especially older ones. It hadn’t helped his embarrassment one bit when the pilot had actually touched him to straighten his uniform. “As you say.”

“Thank you, Diego. For all your help. I’m Mitzi.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? Please, you can call me—”

“Miss Wingo!” a male voice shouted from a side room off the common area. “I can’t find my book on the linear genetics of Carassius harbingus auratus! That is a rare leather-bound edition autographed by Doctor Benson herself! Miss Cunningham here has never seen it before, and I wanted to show it to her! Why is it missing again?”

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