The second week at the Terran Defense Corps training camp began the way every day did: with chaos.
Alarms shrieked across the fortified courtyard. Doors slammed open. Recruits spilled from their bunks, half-dressed and half-asleep, scrambling into lines as instructors barked commands that cut the air like laser fire.
Sirius Blake, hair a mess and grin firmly in place, stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Around him, half the recruits groaned, the other half staggered like zombies.
Sirius, as always, found it entertaining.
> "Good morning, Sirius. Dopamine levels at sixty-eight percent. Alertness at fifty-two percent. You may want to move faster than your current pace," ARI murmured in his head.
"Thanks, ARI. But trust me, I'm moving exactly how I want." Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled into formation with a lazy swagger that made some recruits scowl and others roll their eyes.
The instructors descended on them like hawks. Three of them today — all with medals etched into their chest plates, scars etched deeper across their faces. Their eyes swept the recruits with the cold precision of hunters sizing up prey.
Sirius felt a ripple of excitement under their gaze. While most kids quaked in their boots, Sirius thrived under scrutiny.
> "Observation: Instructor Cole favors his index finger. Past injury. Tactical implications minimal but worth logging."
Sirius smirked. Always with the details, huh?
> "Data informs survival probability."
"Fine, fine. Survival first, fun second."
---
The obstacle course came next — a mile-long gauntlet of climbing walls, electric-barrier crawls, balance beams over simulated lava, and magnetic mazes that scrambled unsteady steps.
Most recruits stumbled, scraped, or collapsed halfway through. Sirius danced across beams like he was sightseeing, pausing now and then to point out faulty welds or loose bolts to ARI.
Halfway down the crawl zone, sparks sputtered from a faulty panel. Sirius reached in without hesitation, twisting a conduit back into place. The grid stabilized. The recruit behind him, who had been seconds from being fried, gaped at him.
> "Minor intervention successful. Neural reflexes increased by zero point eight percent," ARI noted.
"See?" Sirius muttered as he crawled on. "Useful, even in molten lava."
"Blake!" Instructor Cole barked, pointing a gloved hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing? This isn't a repair workshop!"
Sirius raised both hands innocently. "Saving lives, sir. Someone could've been roasted."
Cole's eyes narrowed. "Field armorers. Always meddling with things they don't understand."
Sirius chuckled under his breath. "Compliment noted."
---
After the course came combat sims.
They piled into pods — each one a steel coffin wired to project the sound, smell, and terror of Hivebug battlefields.
The goal was simple: survive five minutes. Most didn't last thirty seconds.
Inside his pod, Sirius's HUD flickered as his rifle powered up.
> "Sidearm misaligned. Probability of overheat during sustained fire: thirty-seven percent. Recommended: minor recalibration."
His hands moved instinctively, adjusting coils and tightening wires under ARI's guidance. The rifle hummed, steady now.
A girl to his left shouted, blasting at holographic Hivebugs. "How the hell are you fixing things in here?"
Sirius grinned, pulling the trigger in smooth, even bursts. "Trade secret. Plus, I've got a guardian angel."
> "Humorous anthropomorphism noted."
The timer hit five minutes. The swarm dissolved into light. Sirius stood calm, rifle smoking neatly, while others gasped for breath.
---
That evening, ARI chimed again:
> "Minor Mission available: Repair and recalibrate Simulation Pod Twelve servos. Estimated time: twenty minutes. Reward: stamina augmentation plus one percent. Accept?"
Sirius froze mid-step. "Another one? Already?"
> "Correct. Opportunity window: two hours. Warning: you risk exposure if patterns are noticed."
Sirius smirked. "Relax. I'll keep it subtle."
> "Subtlety is not your strength."
"Optimism, ARI. Work on it."
---
The maintenance bay was quiet after hours, its walls lined with racks of rifles and disassembled drone parts. Sparks flickered in the corner where a recruit crouched over a power rifle, copper hair falling into her face.
She muttered curses as arcs spat from the exposed panel.
"You're going to fry it," Sirius said, leaning against a table with a casual grin.
She snapped her head up. Her eyes were sharp, quick. "And you're going to… what? Supervise?"
"Exactly. Step aside. Professional at work."
She snorted. "You don't even know what's wrong."
"Doesn't mean I can't fix it."
For ten minutes, they argued over every wire, every connection. She snapped at him, he teased back.
> "Her approach is inefficient. Probability of catastrophic failure: twenty-six percent," ARI whispered.
Sirius smirked. "Don't worry. We'll show her."
Finally, the rifle hummed to life, perfectly calibrated. The girl's jaw dropped.
"How did—?"
"Field experience." Sirius slipped the tool into his pocket like it was nothing.
She bristled. "Don't think this means I owe you."
"Good," Sirius said with a grin. "I don't collect favors. Just working weapons."
Her glare softened into a reluctant smirk. "You're trouble."
> "New designation: Lyra Novik. Call sign: Sparks. Personality assessment: volatile. Potential squadmate compatibility: high," ARI informed.
Sirius chuckled. "Trouble's my specialty."
---
Over the week, Sirius kept racking up missions. Fixing a sparking obstacle grid. Recalibrating Pod Twelve. Helping Sparks with her rifle. Each one left him just a little sharper, faster, tougher.
To the others, he was still the eccentric armorer kid who grinned too much. But in private, Sirius felt the difference. His hands moved faster. His reflexes were cleaner. His stamina lasted longer than it should have.
He noticed others noticing, too.
Stone slapped him on the back after sims. "You've got good hands, Blake. I'll give you that."
Whisper, the quiet medic recruit, stopped him in the mess hall once. "You're not like the others," she murmured, more observation than accusation.
Even Bear Ivanov, the hulking tank of a boy who rarely spoke, gave him a rare nod after Sirius fixed the actuator in his exosuit training gauntlet.
It was small, but it mattered.
---
That night, Sirius stretched in his bunk, staring at the ceiling panels. ARI's missions buzzed in his mind, blending with memories of his father. He was changing, step by step, mission by mission.
But ARI's voice was sharper now.
> "Reminder: Secrecy is paramount. If the Corps becomes aware of me, your survival probability decreases significantly."
Sirius exhaled, a soft laugh escaping. "Don't worry. I'll keep your secret. Besides…" he smiled, "…what's a renegade without a little risk?"
ARI didn't answer immediately.
Then:
> "Acknowledged. But I calculate that you will attract attention regardless."
Sirius grinned into the dark. "Then we'll just have to make the attention worth it."