Zee sat in a corner of the stern training hall, the hall oddly quiet. It was usually full of naval soldiers in their daily training, but since it was an imperial holiday, it was empty.
She didn't mind, the calm, quiet atmosphere was rather soothing. She far preferred this to the hustle and bustle that usually filled the room. Aboard The Fist it was rare to get any time to herself, so she took full advantage.
Holding a small recording crystal in her left hand, she conjured a dark blue flame to dance over her palm in the right. The conjured flames of spirit echo had no heat nor did they burn her, the flames lapping against her skin with no effect. Her latest rank up to peak E grade gave her the ability to control her skills much more drastically. Spirit Echo had a lot of utility, all it required was practice to learn its new limits.
The conjured flames were basically a harmless torch at the moment. If she so desired, that could change in a heartbeat, bringing on a world of decay. They may look like flames but no matter how hard she tried, no heat.
Not that the flames of spirit echo needed to be hot. They were plenty dangerous enough already with their ability to decay the spirit of whoever she cut.
No, making them hot wasn't the point of this exercise. She was only half watching the illusory recordings of her team's training exercises, while simultaneously changing the shape of the flames conjured by spirit echo.
She had long been able to use conjured shapes from spirit echo as projectiles but wanted to get better. Her spears, and throwing knives she usually conjured were for lack of a better word, crude.
Just like her aura control, she was lacking in the finesse department. A spear was easy, it was just a pointy piece of metal on a stick, but more delicate things were much harder. Creating something like a delicate flower was out of the question. Zee had no idea why she was so lacking when it came to fine control.
Being precise wasn't the issue, as rituals required extreme precision, but aside from that she was terrible.
No, it was something else. Maybe she was just a terrible artist? No one would ever call her ritual diagrams, nor her drawings beautiful. Her conjured weapons with spirit echo were no different.
Her continued inability to catch up to the others in terms of aura control, or delicate use of skills felt like a personal failure.
It was one of the reasons why she was straining her mind, splitting her focus on both the recording crystal and the conjured flames.
Improving her multitasking skills was hopefully a method to improve her energy control. Over the last months, there has been some success.
Dancing above her palm, the conjured flames flickered through different shapes changing from a plain mug with an ugly handle to a basic comb.
The creations might look like a lizard stepped on them, but they would still do the job. At least her conjuring speed was improving.
In her completely unbiased opinion, speed and durability were far superior to her creations being a work of art.
Who said a spear had to be pretty to do its job? It was just a pointy stick, so what if it looked like a ten-year-old tied a rock to a stick and called it a weapon?
She was so focused on her tasks, that she didn't notice someone walking up and pausing in front of her. She was in the middle of shaping her flames into a wardrobe with fancy panels and everything.
"Impressive, not a bad-looking oven," said a familiar voice. She blinked, turning away from her wardrobe made of flames to look up into a pair of stunning orangish hazel eyes. His short cropped curly black hair was in its usual unruly mess, his dark skin covered in the sheen of perspiration.
A roguish grin tugged at Bastion's lips, and his hands were tucked in his uniform pockets as he reclined on his heels casually.
"It's not a furnace, it's a wardrobe," Zee corrected. Bastion eyed her creation still hovering above her palm dubiously.
"I guess if you squint really hard, and tilt your head, it does sort of look like a wardrobe," Bastion conceded.
Zee let out a resigned sigh, snuffing out the failed creation with a wave.
He offered her a hand and she took it. In one fluid motion, he pulled her to her feet and embraced her. Their lips met, and his strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.
Scrunching up her nose, she pulled away. "You need a shower," Zee said, pinching her nose at the fragrant smell of sweat in the air.
He laughed. "Sorry about that. I only have a few minutes to stop by, and didn't want to waste all my time by having a shower," Bastion said.
She smiled, "I can forgive you, it's not like you actually smell bad. How did your squad do in the training exercises?" Zee asked.
Bastion pulled away, letting out a nervous laugh.
"The squad is more competent than expected in the field, but our commander was troublesome," Bastion said.
"That's concerning. Is he a bad commander or something?" Zee asked, biting her lower lip.
Bastion ran a callused hand through his curly black hair.
"It's more that he treats us like his disposable lackeys. Yesterday, he went and demanded that Captain Tanra put us at the tip of the spear for the upcoming raid," Bastion said. "Thankfully, Captain Tanra is a competent captain and refused. Our team isn't ready for that kind of duty. Draveroc had a hissy fit when Tanra said we would be a part of the reserve force,"
Zee swore.
"Thank the heavens for small mercies. My team is going to be part of the first wave. We are going ahead of the main battle group following in the wake of the star teams. As part of the demolition core, our job is to sneak in and destroy as many defenses as we can to soften up the enemy," Zee said.
Bastion's expression grew more troubled.
"Are you going to be alright?" Bastion asked.
She shrugged.
"I mean, I'll do my best to stay alive, but it's a war," Zee replied.
Bastion nodded.
"As long as you don't try to blow up the shipyard by yourself, I will be happy," Bastion said.
She laughed.
"I will take that as a compliment," Zee said.
He shook his head ruefully.
"I would ask you to stay out of trouble, but that would be just as futile as asking water not to be wet," Bastion said.
She eyed him suspiciously, "You are one to talk. I'm actually surprised you haven't caused any mischief aboard the ship yet," Zee said.
He laughed, tugging at his sweat-soaked uniform collar.
"Isn't that your squad?" Bastion defected smoothly.
Zee glanced over, and sure enough, her motley crew were funneling in.
"Ya, that's them," Zee said.
"That big one looks like he eats nails for breakfast," Bastion said, sizing up the huge man as he walked over, the rest of the squad in tow.
Brick paused about ten feet away, giving Bastion a once over his eyes lingered on Bastion's scarred knuckles.
"You must be a Pugilist?" Brick asked in a deep voice.
"Right on the money. Judging by the scars on your fists, you are no stranger to punching people either. I doubt you even need those two bearded axes to cause carnage," Bastion replied.
The large man grinned.
"I'm Brick," he rumbled, offering a large meaty hand.
"That's a good name. I am Bastion, it's good to meet you Brick," Bastion said, shaking the larger man's hand with a friendly smile.
"So, how do you know our Ensign?" Brick asked curiously.
"We went to the academy together. I have been on her squad for a while now," Bastion replied easily. It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either.
Zee honestly hadn't expected them to hit it off so well. Leave it to Bastion to make friends wherever he went. Her attention shifted, as behind Brick, Tag leaned towards his fellow pilot Rosco.
"Hey, isn't that the guy who owns the drunken lizard corporation?" Tag asked in a hushed whisper.
"What? No, that can't be him. He sold me a pair of boots the other day, and I could swear I have never seen someone haggle so hard. That sleeze ball. I thought he was penniless and down on his luck so I paid extra," Rosco muttered angrily.
Tag laughed softly.
"You are too gullible. Just look at him, no one that stupidly handsome is up to any good," Tag said.
Their whispers were quiet, but Zee could still hear them with her Spatial Ripple skill. She wondered how many others aboard the ship he had fleeced out of their ether crystals. Knowing Bastion, there might be quite a few. Questionable haggling aside, at least he wasn't stealing.
With his introduction and subsequent friendly chat with Brick out of the way, Bastion turned back to her.
"Wish I could stay love, but duty calls. If I don't see you again before the raid, then good luck. Come back alive," with a devious smile, Bastion planted a chaste kiss on her lips before sauntering off.
Her squad watched the exchange with a mix of raised eyebrows and wide-eyed curiosity.
They were clearly curious about her relationship but also smart enough not to ask.
It went against navy protocol and could get them both in trouble if anyone spoke about it.
An officer having relations with someone below their rank was heavily frowned upon. It promoted favoritism and could create complications the Navy didn't need. This rule applied even to people who were together before joining.
Bastion didn't seem to care. That little stunt of his just now was going to cause her some headaches in the future. She didn't actually care if her squad knew, but Zee had plans, plans that could be jeopardized if she got a formal reprimand.
Therefore, she decided to nip that potential outcome in the butt.
"I trust this will stay between us?" Zee asked, addressing her squad with a calm face.
Sharp as ever, Brick shrugged.
"No idea what you are talking about? My eyesight is dwindling these days, all that moon dust is making my vision blurry. I'm sure the rest of the squad has the same problem, right?" Brick asked, turning on the others.
Much to her amusement, they all nodded. It would doubtless get out eventually, but hopefully not for a while. Juicy gossip like this was like rare treasures to the soldiers aboard the cramped warship.
Receiving the expected answers, she clapped her hands.
"Alright, the lot of you, come with me. Captain Tanra just sent me a list of our targets. I want to go over the plans until you see them in your dreams so we don't screw up during the raid," Zee said.
Lagging behind the group, Rosco leaned towards Tag, speaking in a hushed whisper.
"I can't believe the Ensign is in a relationship with that sleazeball," Rosco muttered.
One of the combat medics just in front of him must have overheard the comment as she turned.
"Are you kidding? I would let that guy do more than sell me boots if he asked," Genevieve said with a roguish grin.
Her twin sister Geleta laughed next to her.
"You say that about every handsome guy you see," Geleta teased.
Genevieve rolled her eyes, as they followed the others into the hallway.
"So what? All this stress has me pent up. If only I could find a guy like tall, dark, and handsome," Genevieve said wistfully.
"I hear there are a few dashing pilots around that are available," Tag said with a wide smile.
Genevieve gave Tag a once-over.
He was about average height, and lanky, with a mop of short-cut brown hair, a strong jaw, and inquisitive eyes.
"Don't get me wrong, you are easy on the eyes, but I would rather not get disciplinary action for relations within the squad," Genevieve replied.
Down the narrow hallway, Brick peeked his large head out an open door.
"Are you going to make us wait all day?" Brick asked in his nonsense voice. Glancing at each other sheepishly, they hurried to catch up.
******
The Orren star system was home to a white dwarf star, on the border of blood gorger, and Lorocan territory.
It was just like millions of other stars in the galaxy, its main value being its location and rare elements orbiting it. The shipyard, which was built in close proximity to an asteroid belt in the inner star system, had been a vital resupply and repair hub for blood-gorger warships for at least a century.
It was meant to be a fortress, a forward base in which blood gorgers could use to strike at their enemy. This upcoming war had been brewing for a few decades now, with the past couple of years only speeding it along.
The shipyard was fitted with the best defensive arrays the blood gorgers could get their claws on, and their weapons were not spared expense either.
Over a hundred weapons platforms scatter the asteroid belt, creating an overlapping firing, and sensory line to detect and destroy attackers.
The battle group on station was also, just as threatening, hovering around their newly acquired Kul A Var war ships and the shipyard like bees around their nest.
The problem was that much of the equipment in charge of defense hadn't seen proper maintenance in decades. Money that was supposed to go to upkeep, and repairs lined the pockets of those in charge.
After all, did they really need over a hundred weapons platforms drifting around in the asteroid belt? It was a pain in the thorax to maintain all those delicate sensory arrays, not to mention supply and staff all those weapons platforms. It took nearly a century of embezzlement, but by now, only half were active.
It left a huge gap in their defenses, but no officers in charge wanted to notify upper command of the problem. After all, who wanted to admit they had been embezzling funds for decades? The bugs in charge were not too worried. There was a full battle group in orbit, to protect the shipyard and their new ships.
Since it was built, the shipyard had never been attacked, so the stringent upkeep to keep the place in peak readiness just felt like too much effort. Not to mention it was incredibly costly. Those funds were much more useful in the claws of the individuals in charge.
In the reports, everything was up to date, and running smoothly but in actuality, it was in a sorry state of disrepair due to lack of resources and manpower.
Yalson, of the formerly venerated Thornhill clan, knew this better than most. She wasn't thrilled with her current assignment. These days, she was relocated to only the most undesirable duties. Her clan was at the but of every joke, and a disgrace ever since Caldas Thornhill ruined their reputation. Ever since then her life had been miserable.
Namely, her duties were to fly her drop ship through the asteroid belt, personally checking each of the sensory arrays by hand to make sure they were operating correctly. She clicked her mandibles in disgust. Half of them were in a state that could only be classified as crap, and the other half weren't much better.
Even so, Yalson did her duty, filling out the exhausting reports for each of the malfunctioning and broken array towers. She knew these reports were simply tossed in the trash the moment she handed them to superiors, but she did them anyway. Better to show she was doing her job than risk being executed.
Her ship touched down on the oversized asteroid with a lurch, the small drop ship rocking as the landing gear clamped onto the stone. With a sigh, she unbuckled herself. On habit, she checked to make sure her environmental collar was securely around her neck, before hitting the array to release the back door.
It lowered slowly, the joints not having been greased in a while. The pitch-black, desolate landscape was both a comfort and caused her anxiety. She enjoyed quiet, but it would be nice to have someone along to talk with. Too bad no one would be caught dead working with a disgraced member of the Thornhill clan for fear of being associated with her.
A ball of light flickered into existence, lighting the icy rock and a small array tower in front of her. The stupid thing had been sending some odd readings to her for over an hour now, and Yalson didn't like it. Normally, she might have sounded the alarm, but Yalson feared to do so.
Commander Kunick was not the forgiving, nor the understanding type. Two months ago, one of the other mechanics called the alarm after a tower sent a false signal.
As punishment for wasting his time, the commander tossed the poor engineer into his ship, broke its propulsion arrays, and towed them back to the largest gas giant in the system. Then he simply released the clamps and let the drop ship go.
Yalson shuddered. He even recorded the show for everyone to watch. The sheer terror of being trapped aboard a drop-ship while it plummeted into the depths of a gas giant was too much to think about.
And that is why she didn't raise the alarm when only one of her array towers was on the Fritz. It was probably just malfunctioning again, not worth dying for. There was gravity here, but that didn't affect her at all. Scurrying across the frigid rock, the claws on her six legs found easy purchase as she approached a large, sealed box.
With practiced ease she pulled it open, pulling up an illusory display. It displayed a map of a large swath of the asteroid belt, with highlighted locations for each of the other array towers. Just like on her control crystal, thirty white dots were closing the gap to separate weapons emplacements.
With a practiced gaze, she went over the information it gave off. Curiously, the sensory platform wasn't malfunctioning at all. She checked, and double-checked, and yet the readings were all the same.
Based on the data, thirty small ships were approaching the asteroid belt. Yalson hadn't seen any sign of the ships on any of the other sensory towers, but this one could track them all easily.
It was either a mistake, or there really were thirty small ships stealthily approaching. She clacked her mandibles uncertainly. Should she call this in? Memories of that other engineer's ship burning up as it fell into the gas giant resurfaced. Uncertainty clawed at her mind.
Judging by their paths, those small ships were all headed for separate weapons platforms. It would be catastrophic if they could simply fly in uncontested. On the other wing, Yalson really didn't want to be murdered by Commander Kunic for a false alarm.
Perhaps there was a middle ground? Why not wait until the first weapon platform was attacked, then call it in once she was certain? She nodded to herself. Watching the illusory display closely, she waited and waited. Nothing happened for several long minutes as all the white dots approached, and touched down on separate weapons platforms.
Anxiety welled in her thorax. If this was an attack, she was so screwed. Then, all at once, thirty weapons platforms were removed from the grid. Her ichor ran cold. They were under attack, but Yalson didn't immediately move. Her laps in judgment had just cost them dearly. She would be executed for sure for such a grievous mistake.
She glanced back at the panel. No alarm had been raised, and already thirty weapons platforms were lost. Well, so what?
Actually, this could be an opportunity. With the supplies aboard her drop ship, she could survive for months on her own. She could sneak away, and hide, waiting for the enemy to leave. No one even had to know she was still alive. Her train of thought scattered, as the white dots on the display split off from their first targets and one even headed right for the array tower she was on.
Panic welled in her thorax. Time to go! On all six legs, she ran back to her ship, not wanting to be here when the enemy arrived. She was only halfway to the ship, when there was a flash and a twenty-meter wide tear in reality cut her ship clean in half. Fear gripped her, as two humanoids in gray uniforms lit on the rock in front of her.
They were humans, though even Yalson could tell these two apart. There was a huge brute with two wicked axes and a short female with enviable red hair and a sword that flickered with ominous blue smoke. So much for escaping. Maybe she could get out of being killed immediately by offering up information?