Valiant

[Valiant #35: Preparations]

Log Date: 11/19/12764

Data Sources: Kiwi, Feroce Acceso

Event Log: Kiwi

Sunthorn Bastion: Songbird and Kiwi’s Apartment

7:03am SGT

It’s hard to tell what woke me up.

Most mornings it’s an alarm that wakes you up; for me it’s typically the one on either my phone or Feroce’s phone. Both of us usually wake up around eight in the morning, and we’re up and rolling by about nine. We can get up earlier — both of us have lived the lives of soldiers and are acquainted with early mornings and short bouts of sleep — but neither of us are morning people by choice. And if given the choice, we wake up on our own time, and at a reasonable hour.

So when you're woken up at a time you don’t usually wake up, your body knows. It can tell something is off, and there is that long, lingering confusion as you slowly rise through drowsiness into partial consciousness. Your senses turning on one by one, taking stock of things like temperature, sound, light levels, trying to make sense of your environment, and pin down whatever it was that woke you up. I’m slowly filtering through that process right now, and as more of my brain comes online, one of my first conscious actions is to roll over and check on Feroce.

So I do that, and find that he’s awake and sitting in his bed, knees pulled to his chest.

I just lie there a moment, still sleep-dumb and registering this, until he notices that I’m awake. Our room is still submerged in the half-morning dimness; the light levels are set to slowly rise from dark to normal by eight-thirty, to simulate the rising of the sun. But I can see the gleam of his ruby irises as he looks to me. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?” he murmurs.

I nod, yawning and rubbing an eye as I look at him. “You look like you’ve been awake a while.” I mumble sleepily.

“About ten or fifteen minutes.” he says softly, going back to staring at his pajama-wrapped knees.

I stare for a drowsy moment, then muster the brainpower to ask “You okay?”

He hesitates, but does answer. “Not really.” he admits quietly.

That’s the point at which my mind actually starts churning towards something resembling a functioning speed. Something’s up, and to figure out what it is, I’m probably going to need to be mentally awake to deal with it. “Nightmare?”

“Not really, no. It was a dream, though. What you get older, dreams and nightmares, they… the line between them gets blurry.” he says, and from the way he’s talking, I can tell this is all he’s been thinking about since he woke up. “This dream, it was a good dream, but… do you ever have dreams of happy times, of things that you want, and it feels so good… and then you wake up, and you realize it was just a dream? That things are still broken, and that you were only dreaming about things being fixed…”

I take a deep breath. My brain is waking up, yes, but it’s still not awake enough that it’s at the point of processing complex experiences like what Feroce is describing. “I’ve had that happen a couple times before, yeah… not in a while, though… what was it that made you so sad when you woke up and found out it wasn’t real?”

He looks hesitant, but looses one of his hands from around his legs, looking at the runemarks around his wrist. “I’m not sure I trust myself to explain it well.” He pauses, as if he was bracing himself. “I could show you. I’m not sure you’d like it, but I… I want to be honest with you, and I think you’d understand better if you saw and felt what I felt.”

That’s way too goddamn cryptic for this early in the morning. Normally my mind would be kicking into overdrive trying to figure out what he means, but I’m not awake enough for that. I can understand what he’s offering though, especially once he glanced at the runemarks I gave him, so I shake mine to life, and his glow to life in response. Reaching over, I take his hand, and he shuffles sideways a little, folding his knees down so he can face towards me. I can feel melancholy starting to bleeding across our link, a sweetness that sours into sadness with traces of bitterness in it. Whatever his dream was, it must’ve been painful to find out it wasn’t real.

“Go on and show me.” I murmur.

Nearly immediately, I feel the cloying darkness of sleep stream across our link. The bedroom swirls away, replaced by an inchoate miasma that soon resolves into what looks like a park. There’s a certain… vagueness to it, and while everything looks and feels real, you can tell it was constructed by the subconscious, largely on account of how empty it is. There’s only two people here, standing by one of the concrete paths that wander through the greenspace; one of them is Feroce, in his pink hoodie and jeans, and the other one is a girl in Starstruck regalia, a pink and black uniform with trailing ribbons, and glitter sparkling here and there among the gems mounted in her armguards and her circlet. It takes me a moment to recognize the colors and style of the uniform, but it doesn’t evade me for long. Most of the galaxy could recognize that uniform on sight.

Nova.

And yet despite that, there’s an immense sense of relief pervading the scene. Nova appears to be serene, even happy, and Feroce has his hands on her upper arms, like he was greeting her and sizing her up after a long absence. There is excitement as well — the excitement of seeing a friend or family after a long absence. The feeling of reunion.

“I missed you so much. Your jokes, the games we used to play… I’m so glad you’re okay.” I can hear Feroce say, and the hesitation to follow. “Can we… be friends again?”

Nova smiles. A little burst of emotional sunshine. Her mouth moves like she was talking, but it’s jarringly silent — still, I can see her lips moving, and all throughout the dream, jagged, erratic text pops into view. Repetitions of the same three words that jitter around with schizophrenic intensity, winking in and out all over the place.

I forgive you.

Everything freezes at that point. The dream starts losing its color, until everything resolves into opening your eyes to the dim grey of the early morning. To the cold truth of the reality you live in. Waking up to realize it was only a dream, and that you were the one responsible for her death.

And that you will never be forgiven for how your friend died.

That also swirls away, until I’m back there again, lying in bed holding Feroce’s hand. By now, my eyes have adjusted to the early-morning dimness, and I can see the streaks on his face from where he woke up crying. And across our link, I can sense the sorrow, the regret, the grief of something you could not undo, or take back. I understand now the burden he has lived with for sixteen years; why his subconsciousness craves forgiveness so badly that he dreams of it. I understand why he dreams of a galaxy where he did not follow orders, and his friend is still alive as a result.

“I always thought the Council was unfair to me. But at least they never sent me to kill my friends.” I don’t let of of his hand, instead using it to tug him towards me.

He folds down to his side again, resting his head on the edge of my pillow. “She betrayed the Challengers. Someone had to do it. Someone had to go after her and get the archive back.” he whispers, although it seems like he’s saying it to himself as much as he’s saying it to me.

“Is that what they told you back then?” I ask, letting go of his hand and gently combing my fingers through his hair.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Someone had to do it.”

“Maybe. But it didn’t have to be you. And they shouldn’t have done that to you.” I run my fingers through his hair to the back of his neck, and pull him a little closer so I can press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “What she did was not your fault, Feroce. And it’s not your fault they told you to go stop her.”

“I know.” I can feel him take a shaky breath, as if he was trying to brace himself up, trying to stem the tears, trying to be strong. He brings a hand up, resting it on the arm I’m using to hold his head. “I know.”

There’s a dozen things I could say right now. I could tell him kind things, encourage him, validate him, but I can tell, through our link, that that’s not what he needs. Kind words won’t take away the sorrow; encouragement won’t wash away the grief. So instead, I do the only think I can do: pull him closer, and nestle my face in his fluffy, untamed hair. Hold him close, and let him know he is not alone.

He slips an arm around me in response, drawing another shaky breath. “I’ll be fine.” he breathes into my shoulder. “I just… I’ll be fine. I’ve handled this before. I’ll be okay. It comes, and it goes… I can’t rush it; I just need to let the sadness run its course. It’ll fade away if I give it a little while, and I’ll be back to normal. Back to myself. I’ll be okay.”

“I believe you.” I murmur, closing my eyes. “Just let me hold you until you’re okay.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I feel him nod.

And that’s enough for me.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Sunthorn Bastion: Briefing Room

11:24am SGT

“Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s good news that Xayrak is in fact part of the DIRT network, since it means we can send a team right as the Mask Collector is hitting the surface.” Tarocco says, leaning back in her chair at the table. “We’re just a little curious about why the Challengers thought they needed to deploy a DIRT satellite to a planet that has less than half a million people.”

“Tarocco.” Forecast says, the tone alone telling her to back off the topic.

“Y’know what, that’s fair, that’s fair.” Drill says, putting his hands up. “We get it. It raises some doubts about important things like trust and whatnot. But I want to point out, that was the Challengers, decades ago, not the Valiant, here and now. I don’t really know for sure—”

“It was determined at the time to be a prudent to place as many Maskling worlds as possible within the reach of the DIRT network, in case the Challengers needed to take action of some variety upon one or all of them.” Kaiser states from where he’s standing by the wall screen, which holds a lot of information for the upcoming mission. “At the time the Masklings were deemed to be a potential threat to the Challenger program, among other things, due to their propensity for flawless infiltration and espionage. It was an assessment that was born out of a dearth of information about the Maskling state, its priorities, and its prerogatives.”

Drill takes a deep, patience-summoning breath. “—however, it seems like Mr. Kaiser is both knowledgeable and willing on the subject matter; thank you, Kaiser.”

“We understand that the Valiant cannot account for past actions that were taken by their predecessors, most of whom are no longer here, or are dead.” Forecast says. “While the original intention leaves something to be desired, we are thankful that it is proving useful in the present.”

“Excellent! Glad we all agree there.” Drill says quickly. “Now, back to the primary topic that we’re all here for: the team we deploy to Xayrak, once they’re done with capturing the Mask Collector, will have to make its way back to the Bastion. The Maskling Republic will be providing the interstellar transport for that, and since the return trip will take us through a number of populated regions, the deployed team will be visiting some worlds on the way back to take care of a number of other objectives that require the Valiant’s attention. As a result, the deployment team needs to be composed of personnel that can handle both the initiating mission, as well as the missions that will occur during the return journey.”

“Yeah, about that.” I speak up at this point, looking through the trip itinerary on the screen in front of me. “The first thing I see on the agenda after the mission to Xayrak is a ‘funding conference’ in Hale’ohe?”

“You read that right. I will be using the estate on Hale’ohe to host a conference for a bunch of gigacorps execs, and pitch them on providing philanthropic funding for the Valiant.” Drill says quickly. “And some of that will involve showing off our personnel assets to help make the argument, which means the bigshots on the mission are going to need to pack fancy. Can’t be showing up to a gala like we pulled you guys off the street.”

I sigh, rubbing my brow. “Great, schmoozing and boozing the corporate aristocracy. Anaya give me patience. Okay, fine, we’ll pack a change of formals for that. Moving on; I see we’re scheduled to pick up a group of new recruits after that?”

“Yes. There’s a fresh batch that have been vetted and hired on from the Kantrix System.” Legaci says at this point. “Mostly bog-standard candidates, but there are a couple vets that were Challengers, or had connections to Challengers, so it seemed prudent to snatch them up before CURSE did.”

“Any candidates with medical experience in this batch?” Valkyrie asks. “If we’re going to be fielding more personnel in combat situations, we need to make sure our medical staffing grows in tandem with it. I can’t be deploying to every mission as a field medic when I have leadership and coordination responsibilities here at Sunthorn.”

“We don’t have anything in the pipeline, but I can put together postings for medical personnel.” Legaci says. “I can handle the generals. If you can give me the specifics, I can have that posting up next time we update our postings on all the major jobseeking sites.”

“We’ll need a few nurses. And SOP dictates that there should always be a combat medic included in the team comp when a team is deployed on the mission.” Valkyrie replies. “I’ll put together the specifics and get them to you after this meeting.”

“What’s this about visiting Halomorian after we visit the Kantrix System?” I ask, scrolling further down on the itinerary. “What’s so important that we need to visit the criminal capital of the galaxy?”

“We’ve got an anonymous lead there.” Legaci explains. “They claim they stole something from CURSE and want to give it to us. Hints have been dropped that this source is a former Challenger.”

Tarocco narrows her eyes. “That sounds like a trap to me.”

“Well, yes, normally I’d agree with you.” Drill says, then holds up a stubby finger and tilts it at Legaci. “But. Legacy is an angelnet. If she thinks it’s worth a visit, it’s because she’s got something solid to back it up.”

“The contact disclosed knowledge that only Challenger veterans or alumni of the Accounting program would’ve been privy to.” Legaci says. “The contact is in Halomorian, so there is always a nonzero chance that it is a trap or a scam, but with what I have ascertained so far, there is moderately high confidence that we might have an unexpected ally in Halomorian. And if the contact turns out to be hostile or bait, well… perhaps we could use it as an opportunity to make an example out of someone trying to pull a fast one on the Valiant. Show the criminal sphere that we might be the new kid on the block, but that doesn’t mean we should be taken lightly.”

“I believe we have already established the Valiant’s credentials on Halomorian, considering that Songbird managed to speedrun the decommissioning of an orbital elevator the last time he was in the system.” Kaiser remarks drily. “Making further shows of force contains little to no utility unless it results in tangible material gain. There are a preponderance of powerful groups in Halomorian that already send messages by making examples out of those that cross them. We would not be unique in that regard, nor even particularly impressive for doing so.”

“Well, according to Legaci, there’s a chance our contact has something juicy for us, so we’ll be making the visit.” Drill says. “I won’t turn down a chance to kneecap CURSE if it crosses our plate. We’re going to need every advantage we can get. But that’s enough about that. Once we’ve wrapped up our business on Halomorian, we’ll be moving on to the McCorrin System to visit Valcorria. There’s a retired Challenger living there; I want to see about bringing him on with the Valiant.”

“Really?” I ask. “I wish I’d known that when we were on Valcorria last year…”

“Now that we’ve fully unlocked all layers of the archive and the Bastion mainframe, we know where all of the Challengers that took the resettlement agreement ended up. At least, as of fifteen years ago, or roundabouts that.” Legaci explains. “Boaris was one of those. He resettled to Valcorria and started a small bookstore for magical knicknacks and doodads. I did some research into it, and it looks like he’s still there.”

“4927 was an expert on matters of the arcane. Bringing him on with the Valiant would provide measurable benefit, as we are currently lacking in that department.” Kaiser states, adjusting his spectacles.

“Not that I’m opposed to bringing him on, but we’ve already got plenty of people that can use magic.” I point out. “The Masklings, for one. It’s a core pillar of their combat philosophy.”

“There is a difference between using magic and understanding it, 5377.” Kaiser says, turning his cold violet gaze on me. “The vast majority of our personnel at the moment use magic primarily in the context of combat. We need staff that understand magic outside of that context, and study its more utilitarian and abstract uses. 4927 can provide that.”

“I will confess that Kaiser is correct. Most of the personnel that the Masklings have donated to the Valiant are combat mages, with some utility skills sprinkled in.” Forecast adds. “Having someone that can provide magical research and arcane forensics would be a strong addition to the roster.”

“I’m all for it, but let’s be honest: Boaris is an ornery old bastard.” Drill says, scratching his chin. “And he’s probably only gotten older, more ornery, and more bastard-y in the last fifteen years. We’re going to need you to bring your A-game when it comes to convincing him to join up, Songbird.”

I wrinkle my nose at that. “Why don’t we get Jackrabbit to rope him into it? He’ll probably be less grouchy if she shows up at his door.”

“Jackrabbit’s going to be deployed with another team to act on some of the intel that we stole from one of CURSE’s orbital data centers last month.” Valkyrie says. “If she’s successful, we’ll be able to gain some visibility into CURSE’s internal operations, which will be important in staying ahead of them.”

“Precisely. So make sure to polish up that toothy smile of yours.” Drill says, going back to checking the screen before him. “That should about cover all of the stops we had planned for the return trip—”

“Actually, I’d like to suggest one more.” Legaci interrupts. “I’ve been doing a review of the Bastion database ever since we gained full access to it, and I found out that my dad left something behind for me: a custom Synthetic frame. Problem is that he completed it at one of the major Challenger outposts, which was raided and taken over by CURSE after the Songbird Incident. All the movable assets would’ve been transferred to one of CURSE’s storage sites.”

“So you want to raid one of CURSE’s warehouses to get this frame back.” Tarocco says.

“Basically. At the moment I don’t know what storage site it was taken to, since CURSE kept the looting of Challenger sites under wraps.” Legaci says. “There’s no public manifest of all the Challenger property they seized, and what sites it was sent to. It’s probably going to be an internal document, or multiple documents, and it’s something that I can probably track down if Jackrabbit and her team manage to penetrate CURSE’s network during their current mission.”

“So you don’t actually know where this frame is yet.” Valkyrie says.

“No, but once I do, I want a mission to go reclaim it.” Legaci, puffing a holographic lock of blue hair away from her eyes. “I signed on with the Valiant because I wanted a Synthetic frame, and I’m still waiting for you all to follow through on that. I know the organization doesn’t have the money for it right now, so this should make everyone happy. I get the frame that my dad designed for me specifically, and the Valiant don’t have to shell out a small fortune for a Viralis Synthetic frame.”

“I feel that this is a reasonable request.” Kaiser says. The speed of his response takes me a little off-guard; I hadn’t expected he would be the first person to advocate for this. “Once we have the required intel and have made the appropriate preparations, we should act on it.”

“It won’t be easy. CURSE is sure to have ramped up security after we hit their storage sites last month.” Valkyrie points out. “We’ll need to commit Special Agents to this, not just rank-and-file.”

“If that’s what it takes, then we’ll do that.” Drill says. “Considering everything that Legaci’s done for us over the past year, I think it’s only fair.”

Everything comes into sharp focus with that, and I realize what this is all about. Legaci does the work that an entire brigade of staff would do — she’s our intelligence and surveillance department, screens our new hires and applicants, handles our cybersecurity and cyberwarfare, and helps manage the Bastion and staff at large. Without her, we would have to hire dozens of people to fill the holes left by her absence — which is why Drill and Kaiser are quick to fold. It’s important to keep your local angelnet happy, because if she’s not happy, she’s got a million ways that she can let you know it.

“Now that that’s settled, I believe our next matter is personnel.” Forecast says, pushing the conversation forward. “We will need to decide which personnel are committed to this series of missions. I’m going to request, of course, that Songbird and Kiwi be dedicated to the Xayrak deployment; beyond that, I’m not particular about who else is deployed alongside them.”

“Agreed.” Drill says as everyone around the table starts swiping their screens over to the personnel roster. “We’re going to need a diverse team to handle this series of missions. Let’s take a look at who we have available, and then we can start building out the team…”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Sunthorn Bastion: Proving Grounds

3:17pm SGT

“Next!” I call.

The door to the Proving Grounds spirals open, with the last recruit stepping out while the next one steps in. I don’t look up from my data slate until he’s reached me, and it’s to see it’s the recruit that Ridge has been dating. Tall, brown hair, blue eyes, decently well-built. In that transitionary phase, somewhere between a boy and a man. “Ah. Mr. Quincy. Ready for your stage two training assessment?”

“Yup.” he replies quickly, looking around the bare room. The floors and walls are all composed of hexagon tiles, but the only one that’s raised right now are a couple in the center of the room, one of which I’m sitting on. “What are we doing?”

“Talking. Take a seat.” I say, motioning to the other raised hexagon column. “Stage two training comes after stage one, or what’s referred to as basic training. Basic training is the general stuff, and is the same for everyone. Stage two is where recruits start branching out into training for different specializations. For people without powers, this means picking a focus in heavy weapons, scouting, cyber warfare, armor elements, so on and so forth. For those with powers, it means getting an idea of what those powers are capable of, and assigning your role accordingly. And you indicated that you had powers of some sort, though you weren’t very specific on your application.”

“Oh. Right.” he says, moving over to the empty column and taking a seat. “Well, it’s not really anything impressive, so maybe I should just be with the regular recruits.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” I say. “So what is this power of yours? Is it biological, technological, or magical?”

He shrugs. “Magical, I guess? It’s not tech, and as far as the doctors can tell, it’s not biological. I can emit different frequencies of noise or energy.”

I open my mouth, then close it as I mull that over. “…okay, define emit. Because technically you and I are emitting frequencies right now, just by talking.”

“Oh, well. I don’t have to— I don’t use my mouth to do it, I just kinda… like, radiate it?” he says, motioning his arms outwards. “When I want to, that is. It’s the kind of frequencies and radiation that affects, like, computers. And phones. Puts them on the fritz.”

I need a moment to absorb that. “…that’s gotta be one of the weirder ones I’ve ever encountered. So you can… emit frequencies that mess with electronics? Like a walking EMP or something?”

“Yeah, like that.” he says, nodding quickly. “I can make it go in all directions, or I can focus it in a line. I mean, it’s never really been very useful for me, except when I was pranking my friends, but it’s something, I guess?”

I reach up and scratch behind my ear with the stylus I’m holding. “…yeah, it’s… I think this could have utility. Would be useful for knocking down enemy electronics, or jamming their comms. I’m not seeing a lot of battlefield use, but could definitely be useful in covert ops. Raids, or hit-and-runs. And you say you don’t know how you do it? Just that you’re able to do it?”

“Yeah. Used to be a problem when I was a kid, until I got it under control. Ended up frying out a lot of my phones and gaming consoles.”

“Huh.” I tap my stylus against the edge of my data slate. “Quick question, what’s your nationality? You got any Marshy blood in you?”

He shakes his head. “Came from a Venusian system. It’s possible there’s some Marshy somewhere in my family tree, though.”

“Hmm. Have you ever taken any tests to check your psionic aptitude?”

“No, Venusian systems aren’t really big on psions. My parents might’ve had me tested when I was a kid, but if they did, I don’t remember.” he says, rocking a little on his column. “Do you think I’m a psion?”

“I mean, I’m not a doctor, so I really couldn’t tell you. But there’s lots of different psion types. Not all of them read minds.” I say, tapping the end of my stylus against my chin. “I can ask Valkyrie to run a couple tests on you, see if we can figure out where you’re getting your powers from. But, beyond that, I think we need to start training you as covert ops. Your ability would be an advantage when deploying behind enemy lines, or when sabotaging and damaging enemy assets. Being a walking dead zone would be perfect for dark-of-the-night operations and ambushes.”

“So I’ll be assigned to secret missions and that sort of thing?” he asks, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

“Nothing’s set in stone yet, but yes, it seems like your ability is one that would be useful on low-profile missions.” I say, using my stylus to fill in a few checkboxes on my data slate, and scrawl a few short notes in one of the boxes. “My recommendation is going to be that we train you for covert ops, but Valiant management will make the final decision on that. You’ll likely hear about your training path in the next few days.” I look at him. “Any other abilities we should know about?”

He shakes his head. “That’s all. I’m nothing special, outside of that.”

There’s an opportunity there, so I take it. “Ridge seems to think you’re special.”

A quick breath, and he straightens up a little at that. “Oh. So you know about us?”

“Relax. I’m not here to grill you over it.” I say, giving a little wave of my hand. “It’s just that… I am probably the closest thing that Ridge has to a legal guardian at the moment, so, y’know. I keep an eye on him, even though he’s trying very hard to be independent right now.”

“Yeah, he’s not too happy with you.”

“I don’t imagine he is, but I’m not here to keep him happy; I’m here to keep him on the right track.” I say firmly. “And if he’s going to be in a relationship, I just want to make sure it’s a stable and healthy one. Can I trust you with that?”

Quincy’s brows shoot up, like he’s surprised he’s getting the father-in-law chat. “Yeah, of course. I’ll do my best to, y’know. Be stable and healthy and… normal, I guess.”

The awkward answer has me realizing that even though we’re training them for combat, a lot of these recruits are still just kids. Ridge is seventeen; Quincy is nineteen. I joined the Challenger program when I was eighteen, and even though I learned a lot during the decade that I was a Challenger, I spent a lot of that time lost, trying to find my place and figure out who I was. What I wanted to be. It was only because of mentors like Echo and Ratchet that I was able to get a handle on myself, and find the direction I hadn’t known I’d been missing.

And a lot of these new recruits, these kids, were going to need that kind of guidance until they were done transforming into adults.

“Well, that’s good enough for me.” I nod. “If you ever need help, or advice, or just need someone to vent to, feel free to hit me up. I’m not going to be available all the time and I might not respond right away, but I will respond when I have to the time.”

“Oh.” Quincy says, similarly surprised by that. “Well… thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Great. Now getcha on outta here, I got half a dozen more of these to do, and I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than listen to my lectures.” I say, giving him a gentle shooing motion before calling to the door. “Next!”

Quincy gives a polite nod, getting up and starting towards the door as it spirals open. And stepping into the room is… Ridge.

Oh, great.

Ridge must’ve read something in Quincy’s look, because the moment he sits down at the column across from me, he’s glaring. “What’d you tell him?” he demands.

I give Ridge a flat look. “You go a whole month without talking to me and that’s the first thing outta your mouth?”

He leans back a little, folding his arms. “You said something to him.”

“Yeah, I told him that I wanted to make sure that you were in a healthy, normal, and stable relationship.” I say, folding one leg over the other. “And since you keep dodging me, I have to talk to everyone around you to figure out how you’re doing. You can be mad that I’m talking to everyone around you, or you can just talk to me, like I’ve been trying to do.”

He huffs a breath through his nose, looking away. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

I stare for a moment, then clip my stylus to the side of my data slate and set it down. “Ridge, you realize that I can ground you for good, right? I’m not talking about grounding as in parents grounding a kid. I’m talking about grounding in terms of your combat training stops right here, right now. That is within my power to deny.”

He looks back at me. “What for?” he demands indignantly. “I did the basic training like everyone else! I made it through ahead of some of the other recruits!”

“This isn’t about the basic training. This is about you understanding what we do and what we stand for.” I say. “I get that you’re pissed that I sent ya to Cinderella at Challenger Valiant, but that was for a reason. Do you remember what that reason was?”

“Are you still harping on that?” he demands. “I get it, I messed up, and you’ve told me plenty of times over the last six months—”

“You didn’t just mess up, Ridge!” I cut him off. “Messing up is when you mix the darks and whites in the laundry. Messing up is when you run your car into a ditch on an icy road. You nearly got forty people and yourself killed, Ridge, that is way beyond messing up. That’s forty people that are parents, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, that you almost got killed, and hundreds more that would’ve been grieving. And somewhere on that planet, you would’ve turned a few other kids into orphans, just like you are.” I give that a moment to sink in. “You know what it’s like to be an orphan. To be in the foster system. Would you ever want to put that on someone else?”

He’s not ready for the tirade, and doesn’t have a ready answer for it, instead looking away. By the set of his jaw and the way he rubs at his nose, I can tell that he’s upset. He knows I have a point, and he knows he almost messed up in a major way. Reckoning with that is hard, and admitting that would be showing a vulnerability that I don’t think he’s comfortable with showing.

After a moment, I stand up off my column. “Get up.” I say, walking over to him.

He glances up at me, and I raise an eyebrow, silently asking if he’s going to question me. He reluctantly stands up, and once he does, I pull him into a hug.

“I was worried about you.” I say quietly. “I didn’t want to send you away, but I couldn’t just pretend you hadn’t made a major mistake. I needed you to understand the gravity of what you’d done. I needed you to understand what the consequences could’ve been.” Pulling back a little, I cup my hands around the back of his neck so I can look him in the face. “I need you to understand, Ridge, that I can protect you from a lot of things, but one thing I cannot protect you from is yourself. Yourself, and your actions. I need you to understand the difference between right and wrong, and why it’s important to follow orders, and own your mistakes. I need you to be the best person you can be, because if you aren’t, then this job is going to eat you alive. The entire galaxy is going to be watching, Ridge, and I cannot protect you from that. I couldn’t even protect myself from that. You know my story. You know what happens when you make a mistake in front of the entire galaxy. Once you do that, they will never remember you for anything else but your darkest moment. And I don’t want that to happen to you.”

He’d started out stiff, but the tension slowly bleeds out of him, a deflation of all the hostility and resentment he’d been harboring over the past six months. I can see the realization coming home to roost, see it in the way he meekly nods when I take my hands off the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I was just a little overwhelmed back during that fight on the bridge. I should’ve listened.”

“It’s in the past now.” I say, letting one hand drop while the other remains on his shoulder for a little bit. “Take the lessons from it, and just remember that I do this because I have to. I don’t like chewing you out; you don’t like being chewed out; it’s miserable for everyone all around, and I wouldn’t be doing it unless I had to.” I let my hand slip off his shoulder as I take a step back. “So with that out of the way, let’s go ahead and talk about your stage two training assessment.”

“Right.” he says, taking a deep breath as we both sit back down. “So this is figuring out what kind of soldier I’m going to be?”

“Your specialization, yes. There’s the general training, and then there’s training operatives into specific roles, so they can handle specific mission types.” I say, picking my data slate back up. “I was wanting to talk to you about your crystal condition, but you kept on avoiding me. Valkyrie says that she’s spoken to you about it and brought you up to speed?”

“Yeah, yeah.” he says nervously, rubbing his hands together. “She told me how it works, kinda. That I’ve got a symbiotic crystal fused to my bones and in my cells and stuff.”

“Yup. You are a Crystallizer now, and Valkyrie says that at this point, your system should be mostly saturated, meaning it’s worked its way into most of your cells.” I say, pulling his file up. “Have you been testing it out any? Seeing what you can do?”

“Well, it’s not a lot right now.” he says, pulling his hands apart and holding them with his palms up. “If I focus, I can generate a little bit of crystal out of my hands. Valkyrie said I can technically make it come out of any part of my body, but she said I should start with my hands to begin with.”

“Really. Would you be able to do it right now?” I ask, unclipping my stylus from the side of my data slate.

“Yeah, I uh… lemme see.” He scrunches his face up, and I can see the muscles in his arms tightening. After a couple moments, he relaxes, and in each of his hands, there’s shallow pools of pale blue liquid, no more than a couple of teaspoons at most. “That’s really all I can do on short notice. I can make more, but the more of it make, the more it wears me out, and I get tired or hungry afterwards. Valkyrie says that it’ll be easier to make more if I let my body build up a lot of the crystal inside. She also said I get hungry because my body is working to replace all of the crystal I’ve moved out of my body whenever I do this.”

“Well that is definitely something to behold.” I say, tapping my stylus again my knee thoughtfully. “It comes out as a liquid, which isn’t surprising, I suppose; it needs to be liquid to permeate through skin…”

“Oh, I can make it harden up. And control it a little bit while it’s liquid.” Ridge adds quickly, tilting his hands over so his palms are facing down. I expect that the blue liquid will drip to the floor, but instead in clings to his skin, flowing around his fingers to cover his knuckles, and once there, it starts to solidify, hardening into transparent blue caps. He curls his fingers into fists, lifting them a little. “Crystal knuckledusters. I mean, not much use in a shootout, but they’d be pretty cool in a fistfight.”

“Huh. That is kinda neat.” I remark, sizing up the caps. “Have you tested them out yet? To see how durable they are? Wouldn’t want them to shatter in the middle of a right hook.”

“Oh, once the crystal’s hardened, it’s pretty durable, so long as it’s a certain thickness.” he says, rapping his crystal knuckles together with a couple clicks. “It’s kinda brittle if it’s only a thin layer, but once it gets thick enough, it’s pretty solid.”

“That’s good. I don’t know a lot about Crystallizers, because they’re pretty rare, but crystal claws or crystal knives are a common features for the ones I do hear about.” I say. “Now and then I’ve heard of Crystallizers creating their own armor on the spot. And I do remember the Viralix wanted a few samples; have they asked you for those yet?”

“They haven’t asked me yet, but Valkyrie got some samples from me, and I think she mentioned something about that.” he says, starting to pick at one of the crystal caps. “She also said that if I generate crystal outside of my body, I can eat it to recycle some of it back into my system, so my body won’t have to replace as much of it.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “You can eat it?”

“Well, mostly suck on it, kind of like hard candy. Until it gets small enough that you can crunch it.” he says, prying one of the caps off his knuckles and popping it in his mouth. “It’s really not too bad. Tastes like blueberry.”

That earns a slow nod from me. “Alright, good to know.” I mark off a few boxes on the form on my data slate, mulling a few things over. “Seems like you’re still exploring what this biological… feature can do, but as far as I can tell, I think we should be training you into a strike specialization. Operatives that get in, hit hard, and engage at close range or melee combat. Those are usually high-intensity operations, with little margin for error, that have a lot hinging on them — strike teams usually clear a beachhead for followup teams to get in and reinforce. Do you think you can handle that?”

Ridge takes a deep breath. “Sounds like a lot, but I think I can handle it.”

“Alright. I’ll put it down as my recommendation for you. It’s going to be hard training, just so you know up front — strike specialization doesn’t take things easy.” I say, jotting in my notes on the slate. “It won’t start right away; per Valkyrie, your specialization training doesn’t begin until you’re eighteen and until you’ve finished your primary schooling. So you’ll be spending about half a year as a basic grunt until you’ve cleared those last two hurdles. If you feel like changing your specialization before then, let your captain know, and we can do a reassessment.”

He scrunches up his nose at that. “Renchiko, though…”

“Renchiko’s a year older than you, you know that.” I say as I finish scrawling out my notes. “And you’ll still be able to train between now and then. There’s plenty you can learn in terms of hand-to-hand combat, weapon handling, wilderness survival, vehicle training, and so on. You won’t just be in holding pattern for the next six months, so focus on getting your primary schooling knocked out so you can be ready to dive right into your specialization training once your turn eighteen.”

That seems to take the edge off the worst of his disappointment. “Okay. Is there anything else you needed to talk about, or…?”

“That should be everything. You’re good to go.” I say. As he stands to leave, I add, “By the way… Quincy seems to be a nice young man. Hope it’s been going well for you and him.”

He colors a little at that. “Oh, uh, thanks. Yeah, he’s… he’s really nice. I’m glad I met him.”

“How did you meet him, by the way?” I ask, realizing I haven’t heard the story behind that.

“He was one of the recruits in the hand-to-hand classes that Cahriu’s been teaching.” he says. “We got paired up during one of the practice sections, and, y’know.” He finishes with a shrug, and I can tell he’s leaving out details. There’s more to the story than just ‘we met in a Jai Te class’.

But I decide to let it be for now. We just got back on talking terms, and I don’t want to pressure on him too soon after that. “That sounds nice. You two seem comfortable together.” After a moment, I add, “If you two end up deciding to take things further, just be smart about it, okay? Using protection and all that.”

I can see the embarrassment spring to his face as he rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks, but uhm. You do realize that neither of us, you know…”

“Yes yes, I’m aware, neither of you can get pregnant.” I say quickly, waving a hand. “Just, like, as a general matter of good health—”

“Do you and Kiwi use protection?” he asks pointedly.

Now it’s my turn to be caught off guard. “Okay, well, no, but that’s for a reason—”

“Because you’re a vampire and you can’t get her pregnant.” he smirks. “How is that any different from me and Quincy?”

I stare at him for a moment, then point my data slate at the door. “Get outta here, you little punk.”

He backs away to the door, grinning smugly. “Just sayin’, you should practice what you preach!”

“Get! Get outta here, ya gremlin!”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Sunthorn Bastion: Titan Hangar

6:55pm SGT

“Mmm. Brings back memories.” I say, running a hand along one of the Shrike’s four angled wings. The metal is thick and cool beneath my fingers, solid and unyielding.

“She’s a chunky bitch, ain’t she?” Jaree remarks, taking her vape out of her mouth. She’s standing a few yards back, sizing up the overall shape of the strike fighter. “Don’t get me wrong, I respect a fighter that can take a beating, but the way this thing’s built, I’m surprised it can stay in the air.”

“Well, she isn’t built for speed, the way a lot of in-atmosphere fighters are.” I say, ducking under a wing so I can walk around the back to check the thrusters. “You don’t put her in the air for dogfights with other jets. She’s only in the air to provide support for ground troops, do bombing runs, or getting from point A to point B. She can deal with other jets if you fit her with air-to-air missiles, but she’s never gonna outrun them.”

“Fair ‘nuff. So long as the mission planners understand the asset and know what situations to deploy it in.” Jaree says, moving parallel with me. “The kid’s starting to warm up to the idea of using this chunky bird as her training wheels. She’s not happy that she’s gonna hafta learn how to fly, but when I told her that you knew how to fly, she seemed to take that as a challenge.”

“Did she now.” I say, examining the thruster cones. Each one seems to have a bit of pivot and swivel — that’s how you can tell this fighter was built to operate in space. There’s no air in space, so you can’t rely on wing flaps and other systems that would control changes of direction within an atmosphere. “It’s been over a decade since I was in the cockpit of a fighter.”

“You ever get the itch to get back in the saddle?” she asks, watching as I come back around the side, clambering on one of the wings.

“In a strike fighter? Not really. I can fly, but I’m no ace.” I say, making my way up the fighter’s hull so I can take a look at the cockpit. “Taking a bird out to scout or provide air support for a ground team, I’m comfortable with that. Gettin’ in dogfights, though… that shit’s scary. Most strike fighters, all it takes is a single missile or a few dozen rounds through the chassy, and you’re going down. The margin for error is really small, and if you get hit, you’re good as dead in most cases. That kind of risk-taking is for the pilots that like to dance on the edge of death, and I’m not one of those.”

“Wouldn’t have figured it, from someone that used to pilot Titans.” Jaree says, taking another draw of her vape.

“Titans are different. Still dangerous, but you can’t take those down in a single hit. I’d pilot a Titan over a strike fighter any day.” I say as I reach the reinforced glass of the cockpit, and run my hands along the flare strips lining the back edge of it. “There’s multiple layers of protection in a Titan, and most engagements in a Titan are knockdown, drag-out fights against Leviathans or other Titans. Even when you lose, there’s still a good chance you’ll survive, just because you’re protected by so many layers of metal, and because there’s so much mass there.”

“And you’re okay with putting the kid in a strike fighter, knowing how dangerous it can be?” Jaree asks as I settle into a sitting position just behind the canopy.

“I’m no great fan of it, but practically speaking, she’s an adult now, and she’s going to be in danger whether she’s in a strike fighter, or a Titan, or a ground team.” I say, resting my arms on my knees. “Going into the field is dangerous. That’s just the fact of the matter; there’s no getting around it. Some roles are more dangerous than others, and the level of danger she wants to expose herself to is up to her.” I glance at her. “You been talkin’ to Kori?”

“A bit. He’s got an opinion, that’s for sure.” she says, her whiskers twitching. “I told him I take my orders from you, and your orders were to support the kid. He hasn’t argued as much since I told him that.”

I smirk at that. “I’m sure your feline wiles helped him see sense.”

She snorts at that. “More like I laid down the law and implied that he could fall in line or fall off the payroll.” She motions to the front of the Shrike. “Been curious about this, what’s up with this overhang and the short nose? The cockpit’s really high up, too. Whole thing looks like you took a regular strike fighter and squished it into itself, and it’s fatter around the middle and back because of it.”

“Design changes that had to be made in order to make it viable for transforming into a bipedal mech.” I say, pointing to a seam that runs over the nose, just in front of the cockpit. “When it lands and transforms, the nose folds down and across, forming the plating that protects the mech’s torso. And because it’d look stupid to be running around with the nose jutting out of the mech’s chest. The reason it’s fatter around the middle and back is because that’s where the mech’s arms and legs are folded in, and they fold out when it transforms. Cockpit’s high up because the mech doesn’t have a true ‘head’, but you still want as much visibility as you can get while in bipedal mode, and that means ensuring that the cockpit ends up at the top of the torso stack.”

“Surprised. You know a fair bit about this bird, despite not having flown it in the last decade.” Jaree says, folding her arms.

“Well, it hasn’t changed since then. They only ever did the prototypes and then the first generation run before the program got shuttered. It’s pretty much exactly the same as I remember it being when I was taking it out for test flights.” I say, rapping my knuckles against the canopy. “It’ll be a good starter bird for Renchiko. The mech mode is easier to handle than a Titan, and in fighter mode, she’s easier to handle than supersonic fighters.” I look around the rest of the hangar at this point, which is massive and empty as usual. “Speaking of which, where is the greasemonkey? Figured she’d be all over this thing.”

“Oh trust me, she has been. She’s up in the labs right now; Valkyrie finally managed to clear some time in her schedule to supervise her plugsuit printing and BIOS injections.” Jaree says, turning and motioning up to the windows along the top edge of the hangar’s walls. “She can pilot without a plugsuit, but—”

“Suit and the BIOS injections reduce latency and action delay, yeah.” I say, sliding down the side of the Shrike, landing on one of the upper wings, and jumping down from there. “I’ll go check on her. Does she know what to expect with BIOS injections?”

“Pretty sure she does, but Valkyrie’s definitely gonna tell her anyway.” Jaree says. “I told her it’s something she might want to wait on for a few years, until she’s into her twenties, but…”

“Stubborn as her mother, I know.” I say, walking back to the freight cart I’d driven to the maintenance garage that the Shrike is parked beside. “You wanna come with? Not a lot of people get to see the inside of a plugsuit lab, but I figure if you’re gonna be head of her ops crew…”

“I’ll check it out later. First suit-up is something special, I know that much. Don’t wanna ruin it for the kid.” Jaree says, walking to the Shrike to take a look under it. “You go on. I’ll get with familiar with our new toy now that it’s finally been delivered.”

I grin. “Don’t say I never invited you.” Turning on the freight cart, I swing it around and start puttering across the floor, towards the corner in the hangar where there’s the elevator that rises up to the three-quarters ring built into the ceiling. It’s from there that operations center overlooks the rest of the hangar.

But I won’t be heading to the ops center, at least not today. Instead, once I’m in the elevator, I pick the floor that’s a couple stories below the ops center — the plugsuit labs. I’m quite familiar with them from back in the day; as the name implies, it’s where the pilots would go to get scanned, and have their plugsuits printed onto them. But it also served as the place where pilots would get their physicals, undergo tests and assessments, receive treatment for injuries received in the course of duty, and get their BIOS injections. I’d spent a fair share of time in the plugsuit labs back when I was a Challenger, working under Ratchet’s command.

The trip to the labs is a short one; the elevator on the corner is a quick one, in addition to having glass siding and a glass shaft. I can watch the rest of the hangar as I’m rising, although there’s not much to look at. Back in the day, I could catch a glimpse of Titans being put through their paces in the testing range on the left, or Titans being repaired in the main hangar to the right. But that was back when Sunthorn was fully crewed and staffed; nowadays, there’s only Jaree and her crew in the hangar, and the single lonely Shrike parked alongside the maintenance garage. It leaves me a little wistful, knowing how active this place used to be, and seeing how empty it is now.

When the elevator slows down, I turn and step through the doors once they open. I’m immediately scanned upon stepping into the entry hall; plugsuit labs are usually restricted areas in a Titan operation, open only to the pilots themselves, their handlers, the medical and scientific staff, and high-ranking officers within the outfit. Once the system confirms I’m allowed to be here, the static screen turns off, allowing me through into the foyer, and snapping back on once I’ve passed through. My bootsteps echo as I stride through the halls to the primary plugsuit lab — it’s a path I’ve walked many times, and doing so again is bringing back memories.

It’s not long before I reach the primary lab, which is a generously-spaced affair. Suiting alcoves are recessed into the curved wall on the left, all of them currently open and unused. Along the wall on my right side is a series of wide screens above a conjoined console that runs the length of the screens. Where the alcoves and the screens end, the room opens up into another one that has examination beds, with an operation table in the center. Renchiko is sitting on one of the examination beds, while Valkyrie is standing beside her, going over readings on a data slate.

“Hey, Feroce.” Renchiko says, waving to me when she sees me step into the lab. “Bit too late for the suit-up.”

“I can see that.” I say, tucking my hands in my pockets as I head towards the examination room. Renchiko’s already in her plugsuit, which has been printed in greens. Dark green for the skintight suit itself, light green for partial plating atop it. “Have you had your injections yet?”

She grimaces a little, rolling her shoulders. “Yeah.”

“And so far she hasn’t had an allergic reaction, which is a good sign.” Valkyrie says without looking up from her slate. “The BIOS nanites have synced into her immune system without an issue, so she won’t need immunosuppressors. The only side effect she’ll have from the injections is muscle soreness, as is standard with an extensive battery of injections.”

I smile a little. “Yeah. I remember that part all too well. Looks like you opted for the armored plug?”

“Yeah. Just in case I have to hop out of the Shrike and into a combat zone.” she says, patting one of the forearm plates. “What about you? Did you go with the naked plug or the armored plug when you were a pilot?”

“Armored, for the same reasons as you. Your mum would’ve had a conniption if I went with the naked plug.”

Renchiko tilts her head at that. “Weren’t you an empath pilot, though? Aren’t naked plugs easier for you, since…?”

“We have to climb in and out of a giant hamster ball filled with impact-resistant gel? Yeah, naked plugs are a lot better for that. Doing that in an armored plug is a nightmare. I mean, it doesn’t affect your piloting any, but the cleanup is a nightmare. Takes forever to get the lingering gel out of all the armor plates when you’re in the showers. Naked plugs are easier to rinse because it’s just the suit.” I say. “But your mother wouldn’t have stood for that. Wanted me to be geared for a fight if I had to exit an empath pod suddenly. So, armored plug it was.”

“For the best. Armored plugs do a better job of preserving a pilot’s dignity.” Valkyrie says, reaching up to take hold of a diagnostics plug that’s inserted into the plug interface on the back of the neck of Renchiko’s suit. She twists it until it clicks, then pulls it out and puts the cap back on it. “I never understood how some pilots could parade around in public in a naked plug.”

“It takes a certain kind of confidence, that’s for sure.” I say, motioning to Renchiko. “Up on your feet, cadet. Let’s take a look at that suit and make sure everything’s in order.”

Renchiko slides off the bed, the boots of her suit clomping to the floor as she lands on her feet. I make a spinning motion with my finger, and she turns around so I can examine the series of plug interfaces running down her spine. They’re exposed until they reached the upper torso piece, where each plug interface has been fitted to a socket that maintains torso protection while still allowing plug connections. The same goes for the plug interfaces on her shoulders and along the back of her neck.

“Hmm.” I say, hooking a finger in one of the sockets and giving it a tug, Renchiko staggering a little. “Good, looks like the plugs are well-fitted to the plate sockets. Interfaces look clean, but they’re the ones from fifteen years ago. They’ll certainly be compatible with the mechs in the Challenger roster, but if we ever end up picking up a newer mech, we might have to look into modernization if the current plug standards aren’t backwards-compatible with older iterations. I’m not too worried about it, though; the lifespan on Titan tech is usually a lot longer than most other tech.” I take her shoulder plate and turn her a little more to the side. “I was about to ask where the rest of your plugs are, but I remembered you’re a manual control-pilot. Spine and shoulders only for the low-saturation injections.” With that, I turn her back around to face me. “How’s it feel? Comfortable fit?”

Renchiko reaches up, patting a hand over the angled torso piece, down to where some of the protection extends over her ribs. “It’s, uh. Definitely snug. And the armor is a bit heavier than I was expecting. I feel…” She brings her hands up, examining the plates on the back of her hands and her upper arms, then down at her legs - plates on the exterior thigh, and then some serious shin-high boots made of the same material as the rest of the plating. Boots that don’t mess around and would definitely hurt if they were aimed at something. “…honestly I feel like I’m properly kitted out now. Could take a hit and could definitely dish one back out.”

“You probably could, but let’s avoid that scenario for as long as possible.” Valkyrie says,  putting the diagnostic plug back into one of the cubbies in the wall of the room. “You’re only eighteen, so you may still do some growing in the years to come. If your plugsuit no longer quite fits, you can always come back here for a rescan and reprint; the fabricators can recycle your old suit and the pieces back into a new plugsuit.”

“Good to know.” Renchiko says, slyly looking back to me. “What about you, big brother? Do you still fit your plugsuit from back in the day?”

“I do, thank you very much.” I say, folding my arms. “I’m a vampire. I haven’t had any physical changes since my baptism.”

“Why don’t you prove it, then?” she says, grinning.

I open my mouth, then close it and narrow my eyes at her.

“You walked right into that one.” Valkyrie says, tucking her slate under her arm as she walks past us. “The cadet’s in good health, so I’ll leave her in your hands. She is not to plug into any pilot system for forty-eight hours, though. This is her first series of BIOS injections, and the nanites need time to settle and circulate into her system.”

“Two days. Got it.” I nod to her as she heads back into the first room. “Thanks for supervising her initial suit-up.”

“Hey. You’re dodging the question.” Renchiko says, poking me in the ribs. “Why don’t you jump into your old plugsuit? You still fit it, right?”

I swat at her hand. “I do, yes, I just don’t know where it is. I had to sell it to get travel money when your uncle forced me off Shanaurse.”

“Oh.” She becomes a bit more subdued and less playful at that. “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“Well, you’re literally standing in a lab where they can print them.” Valkyrie says as the door to the plugsuit lab spirals open for her. “Who knows, the databanks might still have your pilot profile. Wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to print you a new one if that’s the case. And besides…” She steps out into the hall. “…I’m sure Kiwi would be very interested in seeing you in a plugsuit.”

The door spirals shut behind her before I can muster a reply, not that I would’ve had one ready to go. I don’t know what to say to that, although I can see that it’s given Renchiko ammunition when I turn back to her.

“She’s right.” Renchiko smiles, nodding to the plugsuit alcoves. “Wouldn’t take very long to print one. And Kiwi would be interested in it.”

I reach out, ruffling her short black hair. “You’re just as much a gremlin as Ridge is sometimes, you know that?” When she bats my hand away, I tuck it back in my pocket. “But I’m glad. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you smile and… enjoy yourself like this.” While she’d been focused and determined since joining the Valiant, focused and determined weren’t the same as happy.

“Well… yeah.” she says, lifting her arms and looking at her plugsuit again. “This is what I’ve always wanted, and now I’m here, and it… it just feels really good.” She steps forward, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. “Thank you. For coming back and getting me from Shanaurse. And helping me become a pilot.”

Although the hug doesn’t surprise me, I’m still caught off by the swell of emotion I feel. I hug her back, only letting go when she does, and wipe at the corners of my eyes afterwards. Ever the sharp one, she notices and looks a little concerned. “Is everything okay?” she asks.

“No no, no, it’s good. I’m just…” I say hastily, giving my chest a couple pats when I run out of words, as if that could express what I feel. “…you remind me of your mother. God, you look just like her right now, if she wore green instead of blue… and that’s not a bad thing. It makes me happy, and then sad… and then happy again. And if she could see you right now, I know she would be proud. She wouldn’t say it, because she wouldn’t want you to get a big head. But she would be proud.”

Renchiko lifts her head, taking a deep breath and giving a wobbly smile. “Thanks.” she says, using a palm to press against the corners of her eyes. “That means a lot, Feroce.”

“I know. It means a lot to me too.” I say, still wiping at my eyes, and then chuckling. “Okay! That’s enough of that. Your mom would be fed up with both of us, standing here and gettin’ all sentimental and stuff when there’s work to be done.”

“Yeah.” Renchiko laughs, wiping away her tears. “Time spent crying is time wasted, as she always said…”

“Man, she was such a hardass sometimes…” I chuckle, shaking my head. “But she had a point. You’ve still got a lot of work ahead of you. You need to learn how to fly the Shrike, and other strike fighters, if you’re to reach your full potential on deployments. And once you’ve got that down, that can be your stepping stone to piloting a Titan in a few years, if everything goes well.”

“Yeah. Understood, I’ll be working on that now that basic training is over.” I can see the flash of disappointment cross her face at the mention that it’ll be a few years before she gets to pilot a Titan, but it quickly washes away, replaced by determination. “I’ve already started going over the design manual for the Shrike, so I can be familiar with how it works. I’ll focus on that full-time now that basic training is over for the recruits.”

“That’s a good first step.” I say, turning and motioning for her to follow as I head for the door of the lab. “And I want you to remember that I didn’t pilot a Titan until I was in my early twenties. So as far as comparison goes, you’re right on schedule.”

“Thanks. That’s good to know.” she says, squaring her shoulders and giving a glance to the alcoves. “Are you sure you don’t want to get another plugsuit printed while we’re here? Might be useful to have, just in case.”

“If and when the Valiant need me to pilot a Titan again, I’ll have another plugsuit printed at that point. Until then, that can be your privilege, little sister.”

“Shame. I think Kiwi would’ve liked it.”

“Undoubtedly, but I’m not going to have a high-tech plugsuit printed just so I can titillate my girlfriend. It’s military equipment, not a runway costume.”

“Could’ve fooled me, with the acronym they use for plugsuits…”

“Sshhhh, we don’t talk about that.”

Event Log: Kiwi

Sunthorn Bastion: Songbird and Kiwi’s Apartment

9:13pm SGT

The sound of the apartment door spiraling open gets my attention, and I sit up on the couch, peering over the back of it to see Feroce stepping in. “Hey there, handsome. They just can’t get enough of you, can they?”

“What can I say, I’m just that popular.” he says as the door spirals shut behind him, and he starts working his boots off by the door. “Today was Renchiko’s first suit-up. She had an armored plug printed and got her first series of BIOS injections. Big milestone for her, so I made sure to show up for that, and setting expectations with her support crew afterwards.”

“Good for her. Don’t know her all that well, but I know she’s serious about piloting one of those Titans.” I say, setting my phone aside. “How about you? Feeling better after this morning?”

He mulls that over as he steps out of his boots. “…yeah. Today was long, and it wore me out, but… it was good. I got back on speaking terms with Ridge, and I got to watch Ratchet’s kid start following in her footsteps. Both of those things felt good.” He starts to shed his work jacket, hanging it on one of the wall hooks. “It helped remind me that the past is the past, and I’m living in the now. I have regrets about the past, but I need to focus on now, and the future.”

I smile at that. “Like you said this morning. You just need to let the sadness run its course, instead of trying to push it away and hide it.”

“And you’ll come out on the other end better for it.” he says, pulling his pink hoodie off the rack and slipping into it as he comes around the couch. “Sorry I wasn’t able to join you for dinner.”

“It’s okay. Like you said, you’re just that popular.” I say as he tilts forward, bracing himself on the couch as he leans down to give me a quick kiss. I smile afterwards and give him another one for good measure, turning to face him as he collapses on the couch next to me. “I thought about cooking, but I figured you’d prefer to have the apartment intact.”

“You’re not that bad of a cook.” he says, getting settled on the couch. “What about you? How was your day?”

“Nothin’ special. Helped with some of the followup training for the recruits, did some sparring with Cahriu and Tarocco, got a briefing from Forecast about the set of missions we’re about to go on. The usual stuff.” I say, looking towards the inert holoarray. “You wanna head straight to bed, or you feel like watching something before we call it a night?”

“I could do with something to wind down before calling it a night.” he says gamely. “Nothing too dense or dramatic, though. I’ve already had my emotional exercise for the day.”

“Alright, so something stupid, then.”

“I mean, not necessarily…”

“How about one of the Spiderdrone movies?”

“Is that the horror series about cleaning drones that turn on their owners? Can’t say I’m a big fan of horror movies.”

“What? The big bad Songbird is scared of horror movies? You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t like jumpscares and torture stuff, okay? I have an obsessive imagination. If you make me watch horror movies, I’m going to be awake all night.”

“Guh. You’re such an adorable softie. Alright then, what do you want to watch?”

“Let’s watch one of the movies about the Wildcats and ancient Rantecevang, the uh, whadjamacall’em… Patrol and Pursuit!”

“Ink above, he’s a softie and a hopeless romantic.”

“They’re good movies! Timeless stories about mercenaries that led a revolution against a dragon tyrant! It’s got adventure, it’s got romance, mystery, intrigue, magic! It’s got camaraderie, comedy, commentary on the temptation and burden of power! It’s got demons and gods and angels and faroea, it’s got a little bit of everything for everyone!”

“Ha! I’ve never seen you this excited about something before. Seems like I’ve got a fanboy on my hands.”

“…they’re good movies, okay.”

“Well don’t get all shy now. Let’s go ahead and watch ‘em, maybe you’ll have a new convert by the end of the night.”