⫸ [ TIME: +54 DAYS SINCE THE SKY WAR ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: LOW ORBIT – HANGAR BAY OF "THE LIBERATOR" ]
⫸ [ STATUS: ENGINEERING OVERHAUL ]
The hangar bay of the captured destroyer was a cavern of grey steel and harsh white light. It smelled of ozone, burnt oil, and the sweat of Giants.
Elian floated in the center of the room, his Bio-Reactor humming softly to keep him aloft. He wasn't wearing his suit. His metallic grey skin reflected the welding sparks raining down from the ceiling.
Below him, three Titan-Class Mechs stood in the maintenance racks.
They were stripped to their chassis. The cockpits had been ripped open with plasma cutters.
"The geometry is tight," Elian noted, projecting a holographic schematic into the air.
"IT IS SMALL," Grom grumbled. The Giant leader stood next to one of the mechs. He was massive, nearly four meters of muscle and bone. The mech was six meters tall.
"It was designed for a human to sit inside and pull levers," Elian explained. "We are changing the interface."
"A.R.C., display the modification."
[ Schematic Loaded: Project GOLIATH. ]
[ Procedure: Remove pilot seat, life support, and control stick. ]
[ Install Haptic-Feedback Liner. ]
[ The Giant does not 'drive' the mech. The Giant 'wears' the mech. ]
"It's an exoskeleton for an exoskeleton," Elian said. "Your limbs will fit into the mech's thighs and biceps. When you move, the hydraulics amplify your force by a factor of fifty."
Grom looked at the machine with new eyes. It wasn't a vehicle anymore. It was a second skin.
"AND THE WEAPON?" Grom pointed to the 30mm Rotary Chaingun lying on the floor. It was the size of a tree trunk.
"That's your sidearm," Elian said. "We're giving you a shield generator from the ship's hull. You will be a walking tank."
"Suit up," Elian ordered.
The Deep-Kin technicians lowered the chest plate of the mech.
Grom stepped backward into the open chassis.
The fit was snug. The machinery hissed as it clamped around his waist and shoulders. The neural link—a modified version of the Mark-IV interface—drilled into his spinal port.
CLICK. HISS. WHIRR.
The mech's eyes lit up. Not the standard Federation blue.
Red. The color of the Iron Sect.
Grom took a step.
BOOM.
The steel deck vibrated.
He raised his arm. The massive servo-motors whined. The mech's fist clenched with the sound of crushing metal.
"I AM IRON," Grom's voice boomed from the external speakers, deep and terrifying.
"You are heavy infantry," Elian corrected. "Get the squad trained. You have forty-eight hours before the motion sickness wears off."
⬡ ─── ⬡ ─── ⬡
⫸ [ TIME: 12:00 AETHELGARD STANDARD TIME ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: BASE CAMP ALPHA – THE SCHOOL ]
⫸ [ STATUS: RE-EDUCATION ]
Two thousand kilometers below, in the mud and heat of the crater, a different kind of upgrade was happening.
Alara stood in front of a massive whiteboard salvaged from the Profit Margin's briefing room.
Sitting in the dirt before her were fifty children. Refugees from the Southern Kingdom.
They were skinny, dirty, and eyes wide with wonder.
They kept looking up at the sky.
They could see the new "star" in the daylight—the Liberator orbiting above. They thought it was the palace of a God.
"Stop looking up," Alara said sharply. "Look at the board."
She drew a diagram. A circle. An arrow. A formula.
F= MA
"The Golden Crows told you that lightning was the anger of the Storm King," Alara said. "They lied."
A young boy raised his hand. "But Lady Alara, the Storm King strikes the wicked!"
"The Storm King strikes the tallest object because electricity seeks the path of least resistance," Alara corrected. "It has no morality. It has voltage."
She picked up a small Void-Steel Battery.
"This is not magic. It is stored potential energy. If you understand how it works, you can use it. If you worship it, you will remain a slave."
She looked at their faces. They were terrified. Their entire worldview was being dismantled.
But one girl in the front row—a scrawny thing with sharp eyes—was copying the formula into the dirt with a stick.
"What is your name?" Alara asked.
"Kora," the girl whispered.
"Kora," Alara smiled. "Come here. I want you to hold the voltmeter."
Elian watched from the shadows of the command bunker.
He saw Alara handing the tool to the girl. He saw the spark of understanding.
[ Compassion is inefficient, ] A.R.C. noted in his ear.
"It's investment," Elian muttered. "We need engineers, not just soldiers. Alara is building the software. I'm building the hardware."
⬡ ─── ⬡ ─── ⬡
⫸ [ TIME: 16:00 SHIP TIME ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: BRIDGE OF THE LIBERATOR ]
⫸ [ STATUS: THE BLUFF ]
Elian sat in the Commander's chair on the bridge.
The body of Commander Krell had been disposed of. The bridge was clean.
But on the viewscreen, the communication channel was open.
"Incoming transmission," Disciple Lin said. Her hands were shaking over the console. "It is the Scout Fleet Commander. Admiral Vance... I mean, Elian... he is demanding a status report."
"Put him on," Elian said. "A.R.C., activate the Avatar."
[ Deepfake Protocol: Active. ]
[ Voice Synthesis: Commander Krell (Deceased). ]
[ Visual Overlay: Active. ]
The screen flickered.
A face appeared. Harsh, angular, with the insignia of a Fleet Admiral.
"Commander Krell. You missed your check-in by three hours. Explain."
Elian didn't speak. He just thought the words.
A.R.C. translated his thoughts into Krell's voice and animated the holographic avatar covering Elian's face.
"Minor malfunction, Admiral," the fake Krell said smoothly. "The gravitational anomaly in this sector disrupted our comms relay. We had to reboot the core."
The Admiral narrowed his eyes. "And the rogue signal? The Omega-Level alert?"
"A false positive," Elian/Krell replied. "Just a tectonic discharge from the planet's core. High radiation mimicking a fusion signature. We have scanned the surface. Just monkeys and mud huts."
The Admiral paused. He looked at his own readouts.
"Your telemetry shows your reactor is offline, Krell. You are running on backups."
Elian's heart—the reactor—thumped.
He hadn't accounted for the telemetry link. The Federation ships were networked.
"We took a micrometeoroid impact to the starboard nacelle," Elian improvised fast. "We are effecting repairs. Estimated time to full power: 48 hours."
The Admiral stared at him. The silence stretched across the void.
"Very well. Hold position. We are moving the fleet to the outer marker to wait for the Carrier. Do not engage locals. Do not leave orbit."
"Understood. Glory to the Federation."
The screen went black.
Elian exhaled. The avatar faded.
"He didn't buy it," Elian said immediately.
"What?" Lin asked. "He said 'Very well'."
"He's a Fleet Admiral," Elian said. "He knows a micrometeroid doesn't take a reactor offline. He suspects mutiny or incompetence. He's not coming to help us. He's parking the fleet at the edge of the system to blockade us."
[ Strategic Analysis Confirmed. ]
[ The 11 Scout Ships are forming a containment net. ]
[ They will wait for the Harvest Carrier (The "World-Eater") to arrive in 3 months. ]
[ Then they will crush us with overwhelming force. ]
"We can't wait three months," Elian said. "If the Carrier gets here, we lose. It has shields we can't scratch."
He stood up.
"We have to break the blockade. We have to kill the scouts before the big gun arrives."
"How?" Lin asked. "They are eleven. We are two. And this ship can't move."
Elian walked to the tactical map.
He pointed to the Asteroid Belt where they had ambushed the Liberator.
"We need a force multiplier," Elian said.
He looked at the icon for the Nemesis.
Then he looked at the icon for the Mechs.
"Physics lesson number fourteen," Elian whispered. "Force Concentration."
"A.R.C., calculate the trajectory for a High-Velocity Insertion."
[ Insertion of what? ]
"The Titans," Elian said. "We aren't going to fly the mechs to the enemy. We are going to shoot them."
⬡ ─── ⬡ ─── ⬡
⫸ [ TIME: +56 DAYS ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: THE DRY DOCK ]
⫸ [ STATUS: SPECIAL DELIVERY ]
The Nemesis sat on the pad, its engines idling.
But it looked different.
Bolted to the outer hull were three massive pods. They looked like coffins made of Void-Steel.
Inside each pod stood a Giant in a Titan-Mech.
Grom was in the lead pod.
He was sealed in darkness. The HUD of the mech glowed red.
"I AM READY," he rumbled over the comms.
Elian stood on the bridge of the Nemesis.
"This is a one-way trip, Grom," Elian warned. "We launch you at the enemy formation. You breach their hull. You kill the crew. You take the ship. If you miss... you drift in space forever."
"I WILL NOT MISS," Grom said. "GRAVITY IS MY GUIDE."
Elian turned to Alara, who was manning the helm of the Corvette.
"Take us out," Elian ordered. "Silent running. We loop around the moon. We come up behind them."
"And the Liberator?" Alara asked.
"The Liberator is the bait," Elian said. "We leave it here. Let them watch it. While they stare at the distraction, we put a knife in their back."
The Nemesis lifted off.
No fanfare. No fire. Just a shadow slipping into the night.
Elian touched the reactor in his chest.
The bluff was over.
The hunt had begun.
[END OF CHAPTER 39]