Gap Stories #13

[T1TAn]

Log Date: 8/25/12768

Data Sources: Sunthorn Bastion Archived Records

Event Log: 8/25/12768

Many Places

7:26am SGT

It starts with a need.

A need for destruction.

This need is first answered in the depths of the earth. Deep below the surface, under miles of rock and sometimes in the top layers of the mantle, ores are clawed from the dark ribs of a planet. Most times, the hands clawing up these ores are machine, but if you have the misfortune of being trapped in a Mercurial labor prison, they are sometimes organic.

Those ores are then ferried to the surface, where, through the roar of the blast furnace and the hiss of the oxygen lance, they are refined into metals and cast into sheets, slabs, and ingots. Some of them will undergo further processing to alloy them with other elements that will provide features such as enhanced durability, thermal resistance, or better conductivity. After this treatment, they will be shipped out to other factories or production plants, sometimes on the same planet, and sometimes sent to other planets.

It is at this point that the answer begins to take on a vaguely recognizable shape.

In these factories, the metals are hammered, beaten, melted, cast, carved, or spun into a wide variety of shapes and roles. Some are humble — nuts, bolts, washers, screws, pins, gears, springs, and ball bearings — the common components that hold together and enable much of modern-day society. Others are more sophisticated — silver, gold, and copper melted down and printed into circuit boards that provide the intelligence of electronics; silicon crystallized, cut into wafers, and etched into integrated circuits. And still others are destined for purposes that are decidedly less civilian — titanium and vanadium alloyed into armor plates a foot thick and sometimes more than two stories tall; tungsten forged into penetrating rounds the size of a street bike, or bladed weapons that start at the length of a city bus and only grow longer from there.

From these scattered factories, these products will converge again as they are sent onwards to assembly plants. It is here, in massive subterranean construction hangars, that the bulk of the work is done, as machines and engineers assemble these iron giants. Once the structural frame is in place, the gaps are then filled in with the pistons and hydraulic assemblies that make up the giant’s muscles. A labyrinth of reinforced power lines are installed throughout the frame like a map of veins, creating redundancies to ensure that various parts of the mech will still receive power even if some of the power relays take damage. Positioned at the center of this network is the heart of a Titan — the fusion core, heavily reinforced to protect against external breach, and thoroughly shielded to protect the pilots from the neutron radiation produced by fusion.

And if the fusion core is the heart of a Titan, then the pilot chamber is its brain. Similar to the power layout, a network of data transmission lines snake through the structure of the Titan, forming the equivalent of its nervous system. A series of smaller computer clusters through the Titan act as its ‘secondary brains’, regulating calculations, adaptive calibration, orders, and movement for the respective regions of the Titan that they oversee. Each of these cluster brains receives commands from the pilot chamber and translates them into orders that produces a Titan’s movement whenever a pilot moves a control sheath, or gives a mental command, in the case of empath pilots.

Alongside the inclusion of these two systems are the inclusion of dozens of other secondary and tertiary systems. Coolant is necessary for heat management of the Titan’s many systems. Internally stored weapons and munitions are often a feature of Titans that lack ability or design to carry external weapons platforms. Supercooled tanks containing the liquid protium, deuterium, and tritium needed to fuel the fusion reactor are often small but vital. Environmental control suites and atmospheric conversion arrays are critical for allowing Titans to deploy to environments that are not hospitable to life. All of these things, and more, must be carefully installed, programmed, and calibrated before they are encased within protective sheaths — and only then can the external plating be added, cladding these giants in the armor that they will wear into battle.

When the last plate is fitted and locked into place, only then can the Titan leave the construction hangar. Rather than being transported to the starport, Titans are usually sent to the surface and picked up onsite by those nations, militaries, and organizations that have purchased them. A dedicated mech lander with a full aerial escort is usually the standard convoy, seeing the cargo into orbit, where a mech carrier is often waiting to add the new Titan to its roster. And once loaded, the carrier and its escort leave orbit and go their way, often to the frontlines, where they can answer the need that set all of this in motion.

The need for destruction.

Event Log: 8/26/12768

Sunthorn Bastion: Titan Hangar

7:26am SGT

A completed Titan, however, does not exist in a void.

Titans are machines of war, and war is a harsh master. Just like tanks, jets, and battlecruisers, a Titan leaves the construction hangar immaculate and spotless, but soon accrues the proof of active service. Battle damage, sometimes acquired as quickly as the first deployment, must be identified and repaired. Wear and tear from regular operation must be monitored and addressed when it starts to impact performance. Tune-ups and system recalibrations are required after every battle to keep the Titan in top condition. And when there is major damage to critical systems, the affected parts must be repaired or replaced outright by skilled and knowledgeable hands.

This is where a hangar crew comes in.

A hangar crew can range from fifteen individuals all the way up to seventy, depending on the type and complexity of the mech they service. These individuals have usually spent years in academy, taking a range of classes from the mechanical to the scientific, and many of them fill specific roles in the maintenance of a Titan. While a simple mechanic can handle some of the more mundane needs, such as parts replacement, and a welder can handle requests such as damage repair, neither of them can handle problems with the Titan’s reactor — or its comms array, or the pilot chamber interface, or the programming in its computers. For each of these problems, a specialized professional is required — a fusion core technician, a communications specialist, a computer engineer. Without these specialized individuals, a Titan can only operate for so long before it begins to run into problems that will impact its performance, and eventually render it unfit for service if not addressed.

In the case of the Sunthorn Bastion, that hangar crew is drawn from the staff they have available, some of whom are currently lounging in one of the open maintenance garages in the hangar. Though not classically trained, as most hangar crew are, they have still risen to the occasion to provide the mechanical and technical support that every operational Titan requires.

“Nnnnhhhhh.” Brant groans from where he’s sprawled over one of the worktables.

“Ssshssffhs.” Jill sighs, her hoodie bundled up under her head to act as a pillow. “Sleppy.”

Payton, sprawled out on a beaten old couch dragged into the maintenance garage, just snorts in his sleep but doesn’t rouse.

All of them are startled back awake as a loud bang rattles the worktable and all the tools on it, courtesy of a massive double-walled coffee thermos that that Jaree has slammed down. “Rise and shine, ladies. We’ve got work to do. The Firefly II is going to be deploying planetside the next forty-eight hours, and we need to make sure she gets down there with everything she needs.”

“Boss… please… it’s not even eight am yet…” Brant groans, running his fingers through his long hair to grip his head.

“Still hungoveeeeeeeeeer.” Payton moans from the couch.

“Trying… I’m trying… I just need five minutes, boss.” Jill mumbles, rubbing at one of her eyes as she reluctantly sits up.

“Less than a month out of combat and y’all have already gone soft.” Jaree says, unstacking portable cups and lining them up so she can start filling them from the gallon-sized thermos. “Just because we’ve caught up on the repairs for the drones and strike fighters doesn’t mean the work is over. We were originally hired on to be part of the hangar crew for the Firefly II; well, now she’s getting ready to see action. It’s time to start earning your salary, unless you want Valiant Command to drop your pay down to what the mechanics in the strike fighter hangars are getting.”

“ ‘kay ‘kay fine fine fine. You made your point. Gimme one of those.” Brant mumbles as he slowly pushes himself up, reaching for one of the coffee cups.

“Are we gonna have to deploy planetside with her?” Jill asks as she drags one of the coffee cups over to herself and blows over the top.

“God, I hope so.” Payton grumbles as he staggers over to the worktable to collect his cup of coffee. “Haven’t been to a proper nightclub in months. Planetside restaurants… a walk in the town… god, that sounds so nice right now.”

“This isn’t shore leave. This is a deployment. All of you will be on-call the entire time you are planetside on Halcyon. Day or night, rain or shine, you will need to answer the call if the Firefly deploys to action.” Jaree says as she starts pouring out a cup for herself. “So you’ll need to start packing your bags tonight. It’s gonna be a long deployment, at least a couple months, so make sure you have at least a week’s worth of clothes, and whatever will keep you entertained when you don’t have anything to do between operations.”

“Eh. I’ll find stuff to do. It’s a whole-ass city down there, isn't it?” Payton says, sipping from his cup and grimacing at how dark the coffee is.

“City full of nerds. Whole place is a research outpost, so there probably ain’t any strip clubs.” Brant says, likewise wrinkling his nose at the coffee. “Place is probably packed full of libraries and zeropoint centers and shit.”

“You got any creamer or sugar to go with this, boss?” Jill asks, running her tongue over her teeth as she stares down into the jet-black coffee.

The question is ignored as Jaree screws the lid back on the thermos. “You can plan your lechery and leisure activities later. We have work to do. Jill, you will be in charge of making sure that our reserves of protium, deuterium, and tritium make it down to the surface. Make arrangements with the Bastion staff to ensure that more is synthesized while we’re gone.”

“Wait, didn’t the Marshies say they were going to covering all the material costs of operatin’ a Titan while we were deployed?” Payton says, scratching the back of his head.

“They did. I still want our own reserve of reactor fuel down there as a backup, in case something happens. And speaking of backups—” Jaree says, turning her attention to Brant.

“Yeah yeah, I know. I’ll back up the Firefly OS so we have version we can roll back to in case something is corrupted or compromised.” Brant mumbles into his coffee cup, waving a hand. “Wouldn’t put it past the Marshies to try and sneak a peek at our code if the chance presents itself.”

“Make sure you talk with Legaci about cybersecurity and encryption. I don’t want her whinging at me if there’s a breach.” Jaree says, turning her attention to Payton. “Pack up the relay and scout drones so they can be sent down with the Firefly. There’s a possibility for long patrol operations, so we’ll need them on hand to provide reconnaissance and comms boosting if that’s the case.”

“Lemme guess, the Marshies offered to provide those too, but we’re too proud or stubborn to take them up on the offer.” Payton says, taking another sip of his coffee and wincing again.

“When we start paying you for your incisive and thoughtful commentary, I will let you know, Mr. Harwatch.” Jaree says, pulling out her phone and checking her messages. “Until then, please spare us the burden of externalizing your internal monologue. Are there any questions about your tasks?”

“Yeah, where’s our little princess in all of this?” Brant drawls. “It’s her mech, I figured she’d want to give the orders on the prep for it.”

“Contrary to popular belief, pilots are usually not in charge of their deployments. Our little princess has to take orders, just like every other Agent.” Jaree says, pointing her phone up to the ring-shaped operations center that adjoins the hangar and testing range. “She’s up there, getting the briefing on her deployment from Command. Our job is to make sure she has what she needs when she gets planetside, so she can focus on doing her job. So let’s get to it. We don’t want the Marshies to think we’re runnin’ a clownshow here.”

“But we are.” Brant mutters into his coffee.

Jill slaps the back of Brant’s head. “It’ll only look like a clownshow if you keep actin’ like one of the clowns. Let’s get goin’, we’ve got a lot to do in the next forty-eight hours…”

Event Log: 8/27/12768

Sunthorn Bastion: Southern Hemisphere Operations Center (SHOC)

10:21pm SGT

Yet a hangar crew is not the only support staff that a Titan platform requires.

Where a hangar crew puts hands on the physical problems, the operations crew exists for the sake of supporting the Titan and its pilot during active operations. A Titan is an immense, complex machine; and in the heat of battle, when fractions of a second can cost lives, pilots often do not have the bandwidth to monitor the mechanical minutiae of the giants they command. For this reason we have operations crews: the eyes, the ears, and the situational awareness of all Titans and their pilots.

An operation crew’s job is at once simple and difficult: absorb as much information as possible for the pilot, and synthesize that information into concrete actions or routes that maximize pilot survival and success. Operations crews typically operate out of an orbital command, or a local command center, and each officer has a specific domain for which they are responsible, with the core domains noted here: reconnaissance and battlefield environment tracking; systems functionality and damage control; pilot health and stability; pilot communicator and data synthesizer (also known as the operations lead). Depending on the financing of the outfit, or the size of the squad being deployed, an operations crew can range from four officers for a solo deployment; all the way up to twenty officers for a full squad of five.

From certain perspectives, the operations crew is a surveillance or intelligence unit. Watching from orbit, or through the eyes of drones, they map out a Titan’s surroundings and environment, spying on any threats or hostile forces. Both the Titan and the pilot are heavily monitored, with the Titan sending back real-time data on all of its systems, and the pilot chamber doing the same for the pilot’s vitals. Damaged systems can be reported, addressed, and worked around; drugs can be remotely injected into unstable or struggling pilots via their plugsuit connections. The operations lead, who oversees the entire unit, takes the information being provided by the officers and consolidates it into orders for the pilots he is responsible for commanding.

And for the Sunthorn Bastion, that man is Koriah Nagatain.

A late night finds him in the operations center on the southern pole of the Bastion, running systems checks for all the consoles that will be seeing use in less than twenty-four hours. With the delivery of the Firefly II scheduled for tomorrow, and its first field patrol scheduled soon after, it is understandable that he would want to make sure everything was in working order — after all, this deployment is not for the sake of the Valiant, but for the research outpost below. There will be a performative element to the test run, a demonstration to their partners that the resources deployed are capable and competent.

It is only when a door spirals open that Kori looks up and over his shoulder at the central elevator shaft that runs through the center of the SHOC. Stepping out is Valkyrie, who, despite being dressed in her Valiant uniform, looks like she’d much rather be in a pair of pajamas at the moment. “Little late to being doing systems checks, don’t you think, Agent Nagatain?”

“Valkyrie.” Kori says, returning his attention to the console he’s working on. “You can just call me Kori. Don’t need the fancy titles.”

“Kori it is, then. And you didn’t answer the question.” she says as she makes her way around the consoles. “Deployment is in less than ten hours. You should get some rest.”

“Trust me, I would like nothing more.” he says as his eyes flit between his data slate and the screen he’s working on. “I’ve gotta make sure all of this is functional. This operations center hasn’t been used in almost two decades, and the software hasn’t been patched in that long. Everything we’re working with is going to be behind the curve.”

“Legaci’s working on procurement for an operations software suite that will bring us up to modern standards for Titan ops.” Valkyrie says as she reaches the console that he’s at. “Until then, we should be fine to operate with what we have. There haven’t been any major breakthroughs in Titan tech or combat doctrine in the last twenty years. The fundamentals should be the same as they were twenty years ago, which means that the software we have right now should meet all of our needs.”

“I suppose that’s true. I just don’t want us to fall behind the Halcyon squad we’ll be working with.” Kori says, leaning back in the console’s chair as he rubs his hands over his face. The Agent uniform he’s wearing is a far cry from the mechanic’s coveralls he once wore on the daily.

“The Halcyon Titan squad are novices as well. That’s why we were called here in the first place, to provide them backup.” Valkyrie points out. “I doubt we’ll be falling behind them in any measurable sense. And even so, our focus should be on performance, not appearances.”

“I know.” Kori says, lifting his gaze to the window that runs the length of the far wall. The operations center was structured as a ring wrapped around the Bastion’s southern communications array, which protruded from the bottom of the orbital fortress as a tightly-packed series of spires, antennae, and transmitters, sheathed in a protective metal casing. The ring itself was broken up into several portions; this operations center was just one of several located in the SHOC ring. The neighboring centers were dedicated to ground operations and stellar combat respectively, and were just a few of the many redundant operations centers scattered through the Bastion. “I just want to make sure everything goes perfectly. It’s a big deal, fielding a Titan.”

“That it is. As weapons go, it’s not something to be taken lightly.” Valkyrie concurs. “Are you concerned about Renchiko?”

Kori takes a deep breath, watching the swirled cloud patterns blanketed over one of Halcyon’s larger oceans. “I am. I know she can handle it; she’s been piloting the Shrike for years now, and she aced the test run for the Firefly earlier. I know I shouldn’t be worried about it. But I am.”

“She’ll do fine, Kori. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and support staff will be down there with her. She has a good hangar crew, and Jaree’s taught her discipline. And operations will be up here keeping an eye out for her.” Valkyrie points out. “We’ve given her as much as we can get her with the budget we’ve got. We’ve set her up for success, and she’s the kind of person that will make the most of it.”

“I know. I know all that. But this line of work, Valkyrie…” He shakes his head, reaching forward to grab his data slate. “It doesn’t matter how prepared you are sometimes. Nothing is guaranteed when you’re a Titan pilot.”

“That’s not just Titan pilots, Kori. That’s any combat role.” Valkyrie reminds him. “Nothing is guaranteed in war, survival least of all. Everyone in active service takes that risk, whether you’re boots on the ground or boots in a plugsuit. If anything, she’s statistically safer in a Titan than she would be as a fighter pilot or a ground unit.”

“Statistically safer, but also a bigger target.” he mutters as he stands. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but I watched my sister do the same thing. Told me all the things you just told me. And she still got killed in the end. Statistics didn’t protect her. And thousands of tons of steel couldn’t keep her alive either.”

“Ratchet was alone when she died. No squad, no operations crew, no hangar crew, no orbital command. Nobody but Songbird there to act as her copilot.” Valkyrie says. “That’s not the case here. Renchiko’s got everything we can give her. And if things start going poorly, then we have resources we can deploy to help her. None of us are going to stand by while she’s struggling.”

“I suppose that is something.” he says as he turns towards the elevator. “You’re right, though. I should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be busy, and I’d rather not tackle it with less than a full night’s rest.”

“Agreed.” Valkyrie says, heading in the direction of the elevator as well. “And of course, if there’s anything that Command can help with, just let me know. I’ll see what can be arranged.”

“I’d prefer not to put my niece in the line of fire, but I have a feeling you won’t be able to do anything about that.”

“Well, she is rather stubborn…”

“Just like her mother.”

“Runs in the family, it seems.”

Event Log: 8/28/12768

Halcyon: Genista Titan Yard

12:36am LPT

And finally, but most importantly, there is the pilot.

For all the effort that is poured into a Titan, for all the resources and technology and logistical and material support that is dedicated to this engine of destruction, it is of no use without a pilot. Though a Titan is the sum of its parts, some of those parts are more important than others — and no part is more important than the pilot.

This shows in the effort and the resources that are dedicated to the training of Titan pilots. Those with potential are often identified by the government or scouting agencies at a young age, and set on the path to becoming a pilot candidate before they have exited elementary school. For many of the children identified as potential pilots, it is all they know; their lives are reorganized around the singular goal of getting into a pilot academy and clawing their way to the top of their class. Childhood is often sacrificed on the altar of ambition, along with dreams and other aspirations; recreational time evaporates, and study, training, and additional schooling consume their waking hours. Hobbies are permitted, but only in support of the goal of becoming a pilot; socializing is allowed, but usually occurs primarily in service of making connections within the industries and social spheres that are related to Titans and their pilots. Parents and families likewise adjust their priorities, redirecting time, resources, and focus onto furthering the career of a child that has been identified as a pilot candidate. Despite the strain this places on family relationships, and the child themselves, most candidates and their families dare not slack in their dedication to this ambition — for only the best become Titan pilots. Those who fall short are destined, in order of excellence, to take supporting roles among the operations crew, science and medical staff, and the hangar crew.

That is not to say that there is any shame in being a Titan pilot’s support staff; no, such jobs are considered prestigious by most societies, and the commensurate pay and benefits easily elevate them to various ranks in the middle class. But such benefits pale next to the absolute status conferred by being a Titan pilot.

For Titans are symbols — an absolute expression of military might, rivaled only by interstellar fleet vessels in terms of destructive capability. But where a battlecruiser is manned by a crew of many, and relies on a core contingent of officers in order to function effectively, the power of a Titan, at least on the surface, is wielded by a single person. It is the ultimate example of tangible military power being consolidated into a single individual; a person that has, in most cases, endured grueling competition and sacrificed much of their life to be the best and rise to the top. If a Titan is a symbol, then a pilot is a celebrity, and they are compensated accordingly, far beyond the means or standard of those that function as their support staff.

This compensation is not just monetary in nature. Titan pilots often enjoy elevation to the highest levels of society, and with that comes connections, opportunities, favors, and influence; as is the case with the most prestigious members of society, they are paid not just in money, but in power. This ascent typically pulls the rest of their family along with them; a Titan pilot’s salary is often sufficient for family members to quit their jobs and live comfortably on the pilot’s income if they so desire. But for family members which do not wish to spend their time in idle luxury, they will instead avail themselves of the pilot’s connections, often transitioning into more lucrative jobs than the ones they held prior to the pilot’s ascension. In some cases, this is how pilot dynasties are created, with established pilots using their resources and connections to set their own children on the path to becoming pilots themselves.

And even within this exceptionally small population of Titan pilots, there is social stratification. Until a new pilot has been deployed for combat, they are not given the same regard as pilots that have seen battle and come through on the other side. As expected with any military service, veteran pilots are naturally accorded status that is commensurate with the length of their service. Another form of deference is accorded to a pilot’s kill count or their participation in well-known or notorious operations, such that an exceptionally skilled pilot can, through the number of their victories and kills, earn the respect of veterans that may be older or more experienced than them. And finally, pilots that are willing to wield their celebrity status in the service of their government — often acting as public messengers or role models that encourage patriotism and support of the military — these pilots often find themselves enjoying privileges that only the government can grant.

Such are the immense pressures, privileges, and costs of being a Titan pilot. What we have disclosed here is by no means a comprehensive look into the world of Titan piloting; as a matter of fact, it is barely scratching the surface, the merest glimpse at a culture that has unique variations in each nation, and fascinating internal complexities and traditions. We have not spoken of the feudal Houses of the Venusian Colonies; nor mentioned the corporate dynasties of the Mercurial industrial complex that produces many of the raw materials for Titan production galaxy-wide; nor have we spoken of the clandestine psion pilot programs pioneered by the Marshies. Despite involving so few people, the world of Titans and their pilots is vast, more than can be adequately described in a few summarizing paragraphs.

But we are not here to address the totality of Titan culture. Our story, thankfully, focuses on a singular planet, a singular city, and a singular few pilots and their Titans. And on this particular day, we are focused on the pilot of the Firefly II as she arrives to the city of her deployment on Halcyon.

“Thanks for coming down here and deploying with me.” Renchiko says, folding her arms as she watches the Firefly II being offloaded from the mech lander that brought it down from orbit. As is the case with most bipedal mechs, the Titan was packed into the lander in a curled-up position, to reduce its footprint and make it easier to transport. “I know there were other things you could be doing.”

Ridge, standing beside her in his Special Agent uniform, waves it off. “S’no big deal. Figured you’d appreciate the company, since Songbird, Kori, and Jaree all have to stay in orbit. And honestly, I don’t mind being planetside for a few months.” He puffs his hair out of his eyes, looking up at the sky. “It’s nice to be able to see clouds and blue skies again.”

“It is.” Renchiko agrees, tilting her head back. “Figured you’d want a proper vacation, though. This is the first time in months that the Valiant have taken a breather.”

Ridge snorts. “What do you think this is, ‘Chiko? I’m down here as your bodyguard ‘cause there ain’t shit to guard you against. It’s a research outpost full of scientists. There’s no politicians here, no protests, no social upheaval… the only danger here is the Leviathans, and that’s your part of the mission. I can’t help with that.”

“Could’ve stayed in the Bastion and spent some time with Nayoh.” Renchiko remarks, pulling her gaze down from the sky and studying the Titan yard they’re in. It’s a round affair, resembling a high-walled stadium with an open field in the middle; but instead of seats, the sloped walls are lined with maintenance alcoves for Titans of the Genista outpost. There are ten alcoves in total, but only five are occupied, and the Firefly II is currently being towed to one of the empty ones. “He likes you, y’know.”

Ridge grimaces at that, looking away. “I know. He’s nice, it’s just…”

“It’s been three years, Ridge.” Renchiko says. “You gotta let that go.”

“This isn’t about Quincy.” Ridge mutters.

Renchiko lets out quiet puff. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

“What about you?” Ridge retorts. “I don’t see you going on any dates.”

“Not interested in it.”

“And yet here you are, telling me to get cuffed.”

“I think it’d be good for you, that’s all.”

“Good for me, but not for thee.”

“I mean, if you wanna stay single, be my guest. I’m not the boss of you.”

“Hasn’t kept you from trying to boss me around in the past.”

“See, this is part of the reason I think a relationship would be good for you. You need someone to soften you up. You’re really thorny, you know that?”

Ridge rolls his eyes. “I’ve always been like this.”

“I agree, you’ve always been a sarcastic little bitch. But it got worse after the Nova Incident.” Renchiko points out.

“Gee, I wonder why. And who are you calling a little bitch? You’re half a foot shorter than me.”

“Oh, pardon me. Tall bitch.”

“That’s more like it.” Ridge says, his gaze sweeping the alcoves housing the other Titans. “So what do we know about this Titan squad we’ve been called here to back up?”

“Not as much as I would like.” she says, her fingers drumming along her folded arms. “Honestly, it’s weird. They won’t let us meet them in person, and we only know that the squad is made up of ten novice pilots, all of them trained for empath piloting. Empath pilots aren’t common, so I think this is a test squad, which doesn’t surprise me, considering it’s being fielded by Marshies.”

“Ten pilots?” Ridge asks, glancing at her. “They only have five Titans in their squad.”

“Yeah. Empath pilots are always in a copilot config in the pilot chamber, because they can’t pilot alone.” Renchiko explains. “The strain is too heavy for a single mind and usually results in brain damage if you try to solo as an empath pilot. To avoid that, empath pilots always pilot in pairs to split the neurological load demanded by the system. One takes lead, and the second acts as the support.”

“And since you pilot alone…” Ridge says, working his way through the implications.

“I’m a mancon pilot. Manual control — buttons, triggers, switches, dials, pedals, and pilot sheathes for me.” Renchiko says, running her fingers over one of the plugs in her plugsuit. “They still have me plugged in when I’m in the pilot seat, but it’s mostly for registering reflexive movements to help the mech react more quickly to my actions and movements. If you’re an empath pilot, there’s no triggers or switches for you. They shoot you full of neuranium nanites, plug you in, and dump you in a pod filled with impact gel. All the piloting is done with your mind.”

“How does that even work?” Ridge says, scrunching his brows together. “You just… think it, and it happens?”

“Essentially. It’s basically military-grade, full-body VR. Visual information is routed directly into the pilot’s helmet, tactile sensation and feedback are routed directly back into the plugsuit. Pilot reflexes and impulses are picked up by the nanites, and communicated directly to the mech’s control system and translated into action.” Renchiko says, lifting a plugsuited hand and flexing it. “Because you’re basically jacked directly into the mech, there’s no action delay. The mech moves and acts at the same time you do. At most, it only shaves off a second of reaction time, but a single second can decide a lot of things when you’re piloting a Titan.”

“Is there a reason you don’t do empath piloting? I guess you’re limited by the fact that you need two people to do that.” Ridge says, scratching at the scruff along his jaw.

“Yeah, I prefer to run solo. Besides, have you be a psion, or at least have some psi sensitivity, in order to be an empath pilot.” Renchiko says, tapping a finger against her temple. “The linking system for empath pilots relies on it, since they have to sync up with each other. Which is another reason why I prefer to run solo. Don’t like the idea of having someone else knockin’ around in my head.”

“Yeah… makes sense. I wouldn’t want to share headspace with someone either.” Ridge grimaces. “There’s shit up in my noggin I wouldn’t want anyone else to see or know. And there’s probably shit in the other guy’s head that I wouldn’t want to see either.”

“Yeah. I already got enough problems; I don’t need to deal with someone else’s.” Renchiko agrees, folding her arms again. “Did Songbird ever tell you he was an empath pilot?”

“Wait, seriously?” Ridge says, glancing at Renchiko.

“Yup. He ran mixed copilot config with my mom. They didn’t share headspace, but he ran second-seat reflex support while she ran the lead with manual control. Mom could pilot a Titan solo just like all mancon pilots, but she preferred to have a copilot with her to back her up in case anything happened to her.” Renchiko nods. “Since she was the lead pilot, she’s the one that got all the spotlight. You almost never hear anything about the second seat, which is why most people don’t know that Songbird’s also a certified Titan pilot.”

“Geez… is there anything he hasn’t done?” Ridge says incredulously. “I mean, he was a Challenger, but I don’t think I’ve found anything he can’t do. He’s good at everything.”

“Except getting laid. Kiwi had to chase him down for that, didn’t she?”

“Haha! Yeah… good at everything but that. She was his first girlfriend, right? Maybe that’s what he sacrificed to be so good at everything else. Only a forty-year virgin would have enough time to be good at everything he’s good at.”

“That might explain a lot… but yeah. The old Challengers were a different breed.” Renchiko says, hooking her phone off her hip to check her messages. “They just give off a different vibe; you can feel it whenever you’re talking to Jackrabbit or Sierra or Kaiser. They don’t build ‘em like that anymore.”

“I dunno. I’m impressed by some of them, like Jackrabbit and Kaiser and Songbird.” Ridge says, shifting on his feet. “Some of them feel like they’ve lost their edge, though. Like Drill, he just loafs around in meetings all day. And Valkyrie, I feel like she’s always been a doctor. Sierra is just… Sierra.”

“Don’t let her fool you. She acts like a dumb bitch, but she’s a lot smarter and more dangerous than she lets on.” Renchiko says as she reads through one of her messages. “The local news station is asking if we’ve got time for a quick interview. The Valiant media office has already signed off on it.”

Ridge shrugs. “I ain’t got nothing better to do. I’m just your bodyguard; you’re the one running the show down here.”

“Technically Command is running the show. I’ve gotta run everything past them first, but if they’ve already signed off on it… you don’t mind smiling for the cameras, do you?”

“Eh. I can play nice for a little bit.”

“Sounds good. They’ll be coming to us, so let’s get over to the Firefly. It’ll make a good backdrop, and I wanna be close to our people in case the interview goes off the rails…”

Event Log: 8/30/12768

Sunthorn Bastion: Southern Hemisphere Operations Center (SHOC)

8:39pm SGT

And so now you know all of this — the resources that are needed to build a Titan, the people that are needed to staff and support it, and the culture that surrounds the individuals who pilot these engines of destruction. You have been given glimpses into this world; and limited though they may be, they help paint a picture of an industry that most people only ever see from afar. But for all that we have shown, we still have not come near to the entire reason it exists in the first place. Machines such as this, which demand so much in terms of resources and supporting infrastructure, must justify their existence and prove their utility; they must have a reason for being.

And that reason is Leviathans.

Titans did not arise on their own; though the concept of giant mechs has often been examined by the various militaries of the Myrrdicato Galaxy, time and time again, each nation had arrived to the same conclusion: that above a certain size, there were diminishing returns for bipedal combat platforms. It was simply impractical, when you weigh the cost of such a machine against the benefit you would be getting out of it. Many tactical researchers arrived to the conclusion that such platforms were actually liabilities, as their size made it easy for strike fighters and drones to target them, and the high-tech systems demanded by such platforms would see little use if they never had the chance to participate in combat. And many concluded that such machines had use only as tools of propaganda, as a way for a nation to demonstrate their scientific prowess, a showcase of their industrial capabilities.

This likely would’ve remained the prevailing wisdom. But the Collective, in their relentless pursuit of evolution and expansion, was not shy about experimenting with novel strategies. From the microscopic to the macroscopic, very little was off-limits to them; and though they had a preference for the smaller end of the scale, sometimes they would stray towards the larger end in their search of a solution. It was out of this experimentation that the Leviathans were born, specifically for the purpose of breaking sieges and fortified positions, and minimizing the losses that would usually come from a more traditional approach to such conundrums.

And it was, in a word, effective.

These hulking monsters, born out of Collective spawning pools deep beneath the earth, were something that the galaxy had never seen before. The first iterations often resembled insects or lumbering beasts, heavily armored in chitinous plating that traditional munitions struggled to penetrate. They were slow, yes, but imposing, and exerted an undue influence on the battlefield. The sight of one of these creatures, even from miles away, often damaged morale for those resisting the Collective. If they were allowed to reach their target, they were effective at tearing through fortifications, breaching compounds, or digging up subterranean strongholds. And their presence in an assault would often improve the survivability of the Collective’s smaller forces, since defenders would often focus their firepower on what they perceived to be the larger and more pressing threat.

Finding Leviathans to be an effective tool on worlds that were putting up more of a fight than expected, the Collective began to make regular use of them in their assimilation campaigns, much to the concern of the nations that were on the receiving end of such campaigns. The Cyber Meritocracy, ever practical in their approach to new problems, were the first nation to research and begin fielding giant mechs to combat this specific threat — and within a century, organic nations had followed in their footsteps, first leasing giant mechs from the Meritocracy, before reverse-engineering some of them and beginning to build their own, which could be piloted by specially trained soldiers. These first models were based on the Meritocracy’s Type 1 Total Annihilator, better known as T1TAn — and so the first generation of these mechs, produced by the organic nations, came to be known as Titans.

In the millennia since then, Titans and Leviathans have become fixtures of Myrrdicato militaries — assets that are considered uncommon, but essentially required as part of any planetary invasion or planetary defense. Their use has waxed and waned in cycles over the passing of centuries, as they are inherently tied to each other — the deployment of a Leviathan merits the deployment of a Titan, and vice versa. Over these cycles, both Leviathans and Titans have evolved, undergoing adaptations and redesigns that seek to improve on previous generations of giants, or to capitalize on scientific breakthroughs or observed weaknesses in their opponents. On paper, they ostensibly still exist for the purpose of destroying fortified positions; but in practice, everyone knows they exist for the purpose of countering each other, and are designed specifically for destroying each other. That they can visit unthinkable destruction on any unprotected city or base is simply a convenient side benefit of their design.

And so armed with that history, we can now turn our attention to the SHOC ring, where much of the Valiant’s command structure has gathered to watch the first Titan deployment in the history of their organization.

“Gyyyaaaaah, geez. These mismatched day-night cycles are going to be the death of me.” Kiwi yawns as she steps into the operations center along with Songbird. “Now’s about the time that we’re usually winding down for the night. It’s… what, midday down there?”

“The overlap is pretty brutal. We’re running on twenty-four hours up here; they’re running on thirty-two hours down there.” Valkyrie says from where she’s supervising the pilot health and stability officer. “There’s going to be some times when their midnight is our midday, and vice versa.”

“Ugh. Would it be asking too much to just have all planets rotate at the same speed.” Kiwi says, giving another yawn before Sierra pushes past her, loudly announcing her arrival.

“I’m heeeeeeeere!” she crows, holding up a stack of t-shirts. “And guess who brought the party?” Grabbing one off the top of the stack, she unfurls it, shoving it in Kori’s face as he turns around. The stylized print on the front reads I’m in SHOC! (Southern Hemisphere Operations Center). “Bam! You can thank me later.”

Kori stares at the t-shirt for a moment, before his eyes slide towards Songbird. “We spent money on this?” he says flatly.

“You think I would’ve signed off on that if I’d know about it?” Songbird replies just as flatly. “I don’t hold the pocketbook around here. Probably for the best. Seeing our operating costs would probably give me heartburn.”

“Alright, that’s enough man-bitchin’.” Sierra says, rolling her eyes as she starts throwing the t-shirts at the operations crew. “The two of you could turn a wedding into a funeral with resting bitch faces like those. Ease up, this is big day! We’re finally fielding a Titan! Back in the big leagues, baby!”

“Indeed. And the operations center is not the place for distractions.” Jaree growls, reaching up to take her vape out of her mouth and exhale a rush of vapor through her nose. “Finish handing out your merch and sit down. We have an operation underway and we don’t have the time or attention for tourists.”

“Yikes, fluffy muscles.” Sierra says, tossing one of the shirts to the towering Halfie. “Someone’s keyed up today, aren’t they?”

“We’re tense for a reason.” Valkyrie replies. “This is a dangerous operation. Renchiko and the Genista squad are responding to a triple Leviathan emergence out on the coast. One Charisto-class and two Shinobe-class.”

“Ah, those are small fry! That’s like, what? Class 2 and 3 on a scale that goes up to 7?” Sierra scoffs, throwing a t-shirt in Valkyrie’s direction. “Plus, they’ve got a full squad and Renchiko, that’s six Titans total. They’ve got the numbers advantage!”

“Just because they’re small doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous. Smaller Leviathans might be more fragile, but they move quicker and are more aggressive.” Songbird says as he arrives to the center of the operations floor. The surface of Halcyon is visible through the windows of the operations center, and screens in the room are relaying the camera feeds from the scout drones that are escorting the Genista squad and the Firefly. “Numbers aren’t an advantage if you don’t use them intelligently, and this is a squad full of rookies. This needs to be handled carefully.”

“Quiet on the floor.” Kori orders, quelling the background conversations. “The squad’s about to close to engagement range.”

Kiwi sidles a little closer to Songbird, her eyes on the screens that have the feeds from the scout drones. “I guess the one in dark green is Renchiko?” she murmurs, keeping her voice down.

“Yup. Since our Titan program isn’t state-sponsored, we don’t run the colors of any nation.” Songbird answers, his eyes going to the screen that shows the Titan squad in motion, moving in a V formation with the Firefly II at the tip. The Titans themselves are tilted forward while jet thrusters on their backs and ankles are blazing full throttle, keeping the massive machines a dozen feet off the ground as they hurtle over the plains bordering the coast. “Our Titans can have whatever paint job we’d like them to have. Same goes for paramilitary and mercenary outfits. The Genista squad belongs to the Marshy military, which is why they’re running the white and blue colors.”

“They’re not as… bulky as I’d thought they’d be.” Kiwi remarks, her attention on the Genista Titans.

“You’re probably thinking of Titans from the Venusian Monarchy or the Confederacy of Original Systems.” Songbird says. “Each nation has a different design philosophy, and there are multiple classes of Titans within those philosophies. Venusian Titans tend to be thicker — more armor, better for one-on-one combat and dueling. Confederacy Titans tend to be well-rounded. Mercurial Titans are usually beefy boys; slow, heavily armored. They can take a beating and dish it back out again. Marshy Titans are usually more streamlined; thinner limbs, more elegant designs, tends to prioritize speed and specialized technology over durability. Protectorate Titans are called Jegere, and they’re usually quadruped, since their pilots are usually Halfies, and Viralix designs… well, I’ll stop there. Point is, Titans come in a lot of shapes and sizes.”

“Is the Firefly a Marshy design? It looks a little similar to the Genista Titans.” Kiwi asks, picking up on the smoother lines and curves that the Firefly seems to share with its squadmates.

“Yeah. Ratchet was a Marshy, so she preferred piloting Marshy Titans. The original Firefly was a bit blockier, but the Firefly II was a custom build with a lot of sourcing coming from the Marshy supply chain at the time Ratchet was assembling it.” Songbird explains quietly, lifting a hand to point out certain features of Renchiko’s Titan. “Something you’ll notice about Marshy Titans is that rather than having uniform armoring, they slim down the armoring around the limbs and shift some of it to other areas. Reduced protection on the upper arms and increased plating on the forearms is a Marshy classic. The Genista Titans don’t look like they take it to the level that the Firefly does, though. It’s still there, but their armor’s distributed a little more uniformly.”

“And the Leviathans…” Kiwi says, her eyes sweeping over to the screen that has the drone feed of the coast where the Leviathans are. Three black outlines, mottled with violet veins and the occasional blue spot, can be seen flattening dunes and wetlands as they leave the ocean, making their way inland.

“Usually categorized by their weight class and their size. The big one in the middle is a Charisto class. The slightly smaller ones escorting it are in the Shinobe class.” Songbird nods to the screen holding the Leviathan feed. “Leviathan design is all over the place, since they’re genetically designed for specific purposes, and they can be tweaked to meet the needs of a specific planet or environment. Many of them resemble insects, but some can be reptilian or aquatic, and they can be hybridized with traits and features from many different creatures. You can see that in the middle Leviathan — thick body, broad shoulders, big head that looks like a crescent-shaped wedge. It was probably grown specifically for the purpose of breaching walls and ramming fortifications.”

“And the ones on the side are smaller, more proportioned, and fewer chitin plates.” Kiwi says, picking up where Songbird left off. “Made to be more mobile and aggressive.”

“Precisely.” Songbird confirms. “Each one is dangerous in its own right, but if I were on the ground, I would be worried about the two Shinobes. You could easily outrun the Charisto, but the Shinobes could probably chase you down if you tried to retreat.”

“Firefly has closed within engagement range.” the reconnaissance officer announces. “Combat has commenced.”

“Alright, Renchiko.” Kori says, bringing down the mic of his headset as he follows the action on the screens of the operations center. “As we discussed earlier. Split the squad, peel the escorts, then deal with the big one once the small ones have been taken down. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Understood. I’ve got the Genista squad on local comms. Giving the signal to split now.” Renchiko replies, her voice echoing through the operations center. On the screen, the V formation starts to peel apart, with three Titans flanking to either side of the Leviathan group and curving around in a pincer movement.

“Contacts are reacting. C1 is continuing forward, C2 and C3 are peeling off to the north to meet one side of the pincer. It looks like they’re ignoring the western arm of the pincer.” the recon officer announces.

“Something’s not right.” Jaree rumbles. “They’re leaving the big one exposed on purpose.”

“Agreed. The invitation is too obvious; the Charisto is probably packing more than we can see on the surface, if the Shinobes are willing to leave it to fend for itself.” Kori agrees.

“Kori, they’re ignoring my arm of the pincer.” Renchiko says. “Should we pursue the Shinobes or maintain course for the Charisto?”

“Remain targeted on the Shinobes. Don’t go after the Charisto yet.” Kori orders. “Plan remains the same. Deal with the small ones, go after the big one last.”

“Received. Going weapons-free.” Renchiko replies as the Firefly reaches to grab a tonfa lance from its back, locking it into place along its forearm.

“Commander, G4 and G5 are peeling off from Firefly. It looks like they’re adjusting course to intercept C1.” the recon officer reports, sounding confused.

“What?” Kori says, checking the area map with the active locations of the battlefield contacts. “That’s not the plan, we’re supposed to be saving that one for last… Renchiko, have you given G4 and G5 any orders?”

“What? No. Why are they peeling off?… let me check in with them.”

“G1, 2, and 3 are seconds away from engaging C2 and C3.” the recon officer adds. “G1, 2 and 3 are still in close proximity to each other. They have not fanned out yet.”

“That’s not good; they need to fan out. If one of them gets knocked down, it might bring the others down like dominos.” Kori growls, turning his attention back to the Firefly. “Renchiko, are G4 and G5 responding?”

“Kori, they just told me that Genista Command gave them a direct order to engage C1 and keep it from advancing on the outpost.” Renchiko replies, the urgency shooting through in her voice. “I thought I was supposed to have field command out here. What do I do?”

“What?” Kori snaps. “The outpost is giving them orders? We were supposed to be in charge of this operation!” He twists around, glaring at Sierra. “What is going on? Wasn’t this discussed with Genista’s leadership?”

“Kori. Focus. Orders now. Questions later.” Jaree reprimands him. “You have a pilot that needs your guidance.”

“Right, right. Sorry. I’m sorry. Okay, okay… Renchiko, stay with G4 and G5. They can’t take a Charisto on their own. I’ll have more orders for you once I have a better idea of what’s going on.” Kori says, twisting back around. “Recon, I want regular updates on positions. Systems, I want to know about any major damage to any of the deployed Titans. We have to assume that the Genista squad won’t be taking orders from us, so we have to work around them now.”

As Kori starts snapping out orders, Jaree turns towards Songbird. “Did you know anything about this?”

Songbird blinks, shaking his head. “No. I thought that we were in charge of the operation. I didn’t know there would be a split command.”

From there, Jaree turns to Sierra, who's found a seat to sprawl out in. “Did Valiant Command know about this? The operation management had to have been discussed beforehand. I refuse to believe we bumbled into this without having a clear understanding of who was supposed to be in charge of this operation.”

Sierra looks clueless. “What, me? I dunno. I thought Drill and Kaiser hashed that out with the outpost leadership. I was busy doing another recruitment ad for the media office.”

“A conversation needs to be had with Genista’s leadership once we are done here.” is Jaree’s terse verdict, which nobody has the chance to remark on as the crosstalk from the operations crew starts to rise in intensity.

“G2 and G3 have been knocked down and are trying to get back up, G1 is up but struggling with fighting C2 and C3.” the recon officer calls, his voice tight with tension. “G4 appears to be disabled, and Firefly and G5 are trying to get it away from danger. Systems, confirm.”

“I don’t have a direct telemetry on the Genista squad, but visuals show that C1 managed to get its jaws around G4’s shoulder joint and ripped the arm off. G4 collapsed afterwards and the pilots likely crashed out due to shock.” the systems officer calls as he closes out one screen and pulls up another.

“Renchiko, get G5 to help you grab G4 and pull back. Disengage the Charisto.” Kori orders. “Once they have gotten to a safe distance, help G1 with the Shinobes.”

“This is too much.” Songbird murmurs, his ruby eyes flitting from screen to screen. The feeds from the recon drones are capturing the operation’s meltdown from multiple angles; on one screen, the Firefly tries to haul away one of the Genista Titans while the larger Leviathan trundles after it. On another screen, one of the escort Leviathans has another Titan by the pauldron, whipping its head back and forth and ragdolling it like an attack dog. “They don’t know what they’re doing. They’re not going to be able to handle this on their own.”

“We don’t have enough ordnance for the kind of carpetbombing that would bring down a Leviathan.” Jaree rumbles; though her voice doesn’t betray agitation like the rest of the operations crew, her tail won’t stop lashing back and forth. “We can deploy strike fighters for air support, but it’s going to take them a while to get down there from orbit.”

“That’s not going to be fast enough. It’ll take the better part of an hour to get them loaded and launched.” Songbird says, starting to back up. “Legaci, I know you can hear me — call down to the Titan hangar and tell them to start getting the Torikago prepped for a hot drop from orbit.”

Kori’s head snaps around at that. “What? No. This isn’t the time for heroics, Songbird—”

“They clearly cannot handle this operation, Kori; they need an experienced pilot down there.” Songbird retorts, turning and starting towards the doors. “I’m going; I’m not going to stay up here and watch our first Titan operation fall apart.”

“No, Songbird, goddammit!” Kori hisses, yanking his headset off and passing it off to Jaree, who immediately takes it and puts it on while Kori runs over to grab the back of Songbird’s jacket before he can leave. “You haven’t piloted in a decade—”

“Doesn’t matter. Renchiko’s in danger.” Songbird says, twisting around and swatting Kori’s hand off his jacket. “I’ll be rusty but I’ll still be piloting better than any rookie would; you and I both know that!”

“You would if you had someone to pilot with!” Kori yells. “You’re an empath pilot; you can’t pilot solo! You’ll give yourself brain damage within thirty seconds of firing up the Titan!”

“It won’t be permanent. I’m a vampire; I can heal that.” Songbird snaps back. “I can burn blood to regen the damage and keep it to a minimum while I’m piloting—”

“Even then, we don’t have any Titans with an empath config! All of the ones in the hangar are mancon!” Kori points out.

“The Torikago is an empath config.”

“That’s a Hybriddyr, you’ve never piloted one of those before!” Kori explodes.

“I’ve run second seat for a Jeger pilot and I was the tester for the Shrike prototype. It’s enough experience to pilot a Hybriddyr.” Songbird replies, stubborn in the face of Kori’s flaring temper. “I’m going, Kori, whether you like it or not. We both promised to watch over Renchiko. I’m not going to stand by when I could be doing something.”

“He needs a copilot, right?” Kiwi says, stepping into the conversation at this point.

“No. I already know what you’re going to say.” Kori says, whipping a hand to point in Kiwi’s direction. “You know nothing about Titans and we don’t even know if you have enough psi sensitivity to be an empath pilot, even in the second seat.”

“Well, second seat just needs to support, right?” Kiwi insists. “If it’s just following his lead, I can do that.”

“It’s a lot more than just that. You do not understand what you’re asking for here; empath pilots are psychically tethered together. They are in each other’s heads—” Kori begins.

“Yeah, we already do that. I’m tangled with him.” Kiwi interrupts, grabbing Songbird’s arm to hold it up so she can show the matching set of runemarks around their wrists. “If linking is needed, we’ve got a headstart.”

“That’s not the same—” Kori begins.

“Kori. Let them try.” Jaree interjects over her shoulder.

Kori looks around at her. “But we don’t know—”

“We have one Titan down, two others that are damaged, and the squad is in full retreat right now.” Jaree states calmly. “We are past the point of safety. Risks need to be taken. If we continue on this current trajectory, the operation will fail.”

Kori blows out a long breath; one can almost see the gears turning in his head as he reluctantly comes to terms with the reality of the situation. And once they’ve finished turning, then looks at the pair. “Go get suited up. We’ll work with Legaci to get the hot drop ready by the time you’re at the Titan hangar.”

“Legaci will let you know once we’re suited and on our way.” Songbird says as he turns and heads for the elevator, Kiwi following him.

“ ‘Chiko, offload G4 onto the other Genista Titans. Have two of them carry G4; you and the other two will bring up the rear for the retreat.” Jaree orders as Kori returns to where she’s standing. “C2 and C3 will be pursuing you; do not engage them unless it’s to keep them from attacking or flanking. Systems, have the support drones that are onsite deploy smokescreens to give them some visual cover. Do the drones have any offensive options in their loadout?”

“No ma’am, mission brief requested battlefield awareness only. We have fire support loadouts, but the drones would need to return to the Genista hangar for reconfiguration.” the systems officer replies.

“If they’re configured for battlefield awareness, they’ll have high-beam floodlamps for providing nocturnal visibility. Switch those on, narrow the beams if you can, and see if you can get them pointed at the Leviathans’ eyes from a safe distance. If we can blind them, it might slow them down enough for the squad to get ahead of them.” Reaching up, she takes the headset off, holding it back out to Kori.

He glances at the headset, then up at her. “You’re way better at this than I am.”

“I am. But this is your job, and the only way you’ll get better at it is by getting firsthand experience.” Jaree says calmly. “I’ll command a future op if you want, so you can watch and see how I handle things. But this op is yours, and Renchiko needs to hear from you. You started this one, and you should finish it. I will remain here and provide my guidance if it is needed.”

Taking a deep breath, Kori takes the headset and puts it back on. “I’m back, Renchiko. Apologies for stepping away. I had to speak with Songbird. He’s going to get suited up, and we will be hot-dropping the Torikago from orbit as soon as he and Kiwi are in it.”

“Songbird’s coming down?” The relief in the young pilot’s voice is only thinly masked. “The Torikago’s a Hybriddyr. Can he pilot that?”

“He thinks he can. We’re going to get the Torikago down there as quickly as possible, but between suiting up, loading the Torikago into a drop pod, and the time from orbit to surface, I think the soonest we can have him down there is thirty minutes.” Kori replies as he begins checking the screens on the operations lead’s console. “With your current trajectory and speed, it looks like the squad will reach Genista in about twenty-six minutes. Stay ahead of the Leviathans; tell the Genista squad that you have been granted field command and your orders supersede any that come from Genista Command. If any disobey your orders, you are to leave them behind, and get as many of them as will listen to you back to the safety of the outpost. Do you copy?”

“Received, Sunthorn. Let me inform the rest of the squad.” Renchiko replies.

Kori flips up the mic of his headset, watching one of the screens as the Titan squad plows out of a cloud of smoke, with two of the Genista Titans carrying the one that’s lost an arm. Behind them is the Firefly, flanked on either side by the other two Genista Titans, forming a rearguard between the injured Titan and the following Leviathans, who come out of the smoke cloud at an angle, clearly disoriented. They quickly course-correct once they’re out of the smoke cloud, and at that point, another support drone shrieks over the Titan squad, releasing another large canister that detonates into an expansive smoke cloud.

“Did I go too far? Telling her to assert field command?” Kori asks, glancing at Jaree.

“It’s needed. Management can hash out the miscommunication later. Right now there needs to be a single voice of command until the end of this operation.” Jaree replies, folding her arms and turning around to bark at Sierra. “Speaking of management. Hey! Nympho! Geddoff your ass and go tell Command to get a line out to the outpost. Inform the Genista leadership that we’re deploying an additional Titan and we’re assuming control of the current operation to prevent further problems. We’ll hand control of their squad back over to them once the operation is concluded.”

Sierra looks up from her phone. “Oh, yeah. Suppose we should tell them we’re dropping another Titan on their planet. Lemme text Legaci and Kaiser and let them know.”

A hologram of Legaci shimmers to life next to Sierra’s seat, glaring down at her. “I am currently scramming staff, running orbital reentry calculations, and moving logistical mountains to get a giant death machine planetside in record time. Get off your ass and get up to the central tower so you and Kaiser can call the outpost and tell them yourselves.” The hologram winks out after that, giving Sierra no time to respond.

“Uuuuuggghh fine.” Sierra says, rolling her eye as she stands up and stretches. “If there’s any developments the nerds down in the outpost need to know about, text them to me and I’ll add it to the call.”

She heads into the elevator with that, the door spiraling shut behind her as Kori turns his attention to the health officer. “Are you trained to handle telemetry for a Titan running an empath config?”

The officer licks her lips. “It’s been a while.”

Kori shifts his attention to Valkyrie. “Valkyrie?”

“It’s been a while for me as well. Close to twenty years, actually.” Valkyrie admits. “But assuming our telemetry software hasn’t changed too much since the Challengers were shuttered, I should be able to handle it. I think I remember most of the principles.”

“See if you can set a second station up. We’ll get the pilot health data for the Torikago routed to it as soon as it’s online.” Kori says. “Legaci—”

The holoarray in the operations center projects a sudden image of a thumbs-up right in front of Kori’s face, before letting it flicker out a moment later. “I think it’s safe to assume she’s aware of everything that’s going on here.” Jaree remarks.

“Seems like it.” Kori mutters, before turning his attention to the systems officer. “Can you handle systems monitoring for two Titans at once?”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m already managing Firefly and the drones, and I’m not certified to monitor Hybriddyr.” the systems officer answers uncertainly.

“If we take the drones off you and offload them to recon, can you give more attention to the Firefly and the Torikago?” Jaree asks.

The systems officer straightens up a little. “Yes. I should be able to handle that a little better.”

Jaree nods to Kori, who looks to the recon officer. “Recon?”

“I can handle that, sir. Let me know when you’d like to transfer drone control to my console.” the recon officer confirms.

“Hold for now. We’ll transfer drone control once the Torikago is en route to the surface.” Kori orders. “For now, all focus remains on Firefly and the Genista squad. Let’s make sure we do everything we can to keep them ahead of those Leviathans.”

That sets the tone for the next several minutes, with the operations crew working diligently to prepare for the expected clash outside of the walls of Genista. One could mistake the decrease in volume as a lull; in reality, the crew were no less harried than before. All that had changed was the direction of their focus; each officer was wrapped up in their own responsibilities, occasionally calling out information to Kori before diving back into their screens.

It’s about ten tense minutes later when a hologram of Legaci briefly flickers into existence to let them know that the Torikago has been loaded into a drop pod, which will be ready to launch in another five minutes. She disappears after that, leaving Kori to relay that information to Renchiko; once it’s acknowledged, he flips his mic back up again and Jaree looks to him afterwards.

“We didn’t have time to equip it.” she states, as if she was just coming to this realization. “It’ll be going down there armed with only what’s built into its frame.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Kori says, his brows drawing together. “It’s a Hybriddyr, which means it’s got a Jeger configuration, and Jegere usually have their weapons built into their frames instead of carrying them on their backs.”

“That’s true, but it won’t be as heavily armed as it could be. I hope Songbird is prepared for close-quarters fighting; the Torikago will have to do a lot of it.” Jaree says, adjusting her stance as she watches the Titan squad continue to widen the gap between them and their pursuers. “How is your station setup going, Valkyrie?”

“I’m in.” Valkyrie says from her spot at the pilot health and stability console. “Getting familiar with the software suite again. I’m current receiving telemetry from the Torikago’s pilot chamber; they’re about to finish with buckle-up and initiate synchronization.”

“I’m also getting data from the Torikago now.” the systems officer adds. “Most systems are coming back at or above capacity, but there are a couple that are running suboptimal. It may impact performance, but shouldn’t be enough to prevent deployment.”

“To be expected. The Torikago hasn’t moved in twenty years and it hasn’t been put through any test runs or maintenance cycles like we did with the Firefly II.” Jaree says. “The hangar crew’s going to have more work to do after today.”

“Systems, quick question: is the Torikago deploying in its Jeger or Titan configuration?” Kori asks.

“It’s currently in Jeger config. That’s the way it was stored, and it needs pilots in the chamber to shift between configs.” the systems officer answers. “After so long in storage, I’m not sure how feasible a transformation sequence would be, and personally, I wouldn’t recommend it. Hybriddyr are extremely complicated, precision-engineered machines, and after twenty years of dormancy, it might not be up for a sequence. If something snaps, breaks, or locks up in the middle of transforming, it’s going to get stuck between forms, and it’s not going to look pretty.”

“Understood. Let’s hope Songbird’s comfortable with piloting on all fours.” Kori says, before directing his next request to Jaree. “We need to establish a line out to the Torikago. Can you get that set up?”

“Of course.” Jaree says, leaning forward as she unfolds one arm to start tapping at one of the console screens before them. Less than half a minute later, she nods to him. “We have a line out to the Torikago.”

Kori flips his mic down, toggling channels. “Songbird, Kiwi. Can you hear me?”

“Receiving, operations.”

“Yeah, you’re coming through loud and clear.”

“Good. Systems has advised you not to attempt a field transformation while you’re deployed, since the Torikago hasn’t seen a maintenance cycle in the last two decades. You’ll need to fight in the Jeger configuration.” Kori orders. “We’re going to be putting you down outside the outpost walls. We don’t have time for you to finish the sync here, so you’ll have to start the sync when you can and finish it en route. Will that be a problem?”

“We don’t have another option. We’ll make it work.” Songbird replies. “How are Firefly and the Genista squad doing?”

“They’re staying ahead of the Leviathans, and we’re planning for them to set up a defense line outside of the outpost.” Kori replies. “No casualties yet, and we want to keep it that way if possible.”

“Then the sooner you get us down there, the better.” Kiwi says.

“We’re finished buckling up, so we’re going to initiate synchronization now.” Songbird says. “Keep us apprised of anything we need to know before we hit the ground.”

“We will. Valkyrie will be supervising your synchronization, so it something goes wrong, we’ll be checking back in.” Kori says before flipping his mic back up. Almost as soon as he’s done so, a hologram of Legaci shimmers to life in front of his console.

“So, I’m gonna be firing that bigass drop rocket in about ninety seconds, and I had an idea while I was running the reentry calculations.” she says, flicking some of her dark blue hair out of her eyes with a vaguely impish smile. “It is my professional assessment that, given the fact that it is designed to survive high-speed impact when landing on a planet’s surface, it will probably also survive collision with a large, organic target.”

“You want to use the drop pod to hit one of the Leviathans on the way down?” Kori says, his brow furrowing.

“It’s a valid tactic. I have seen it used before during my service in the Protectorate’s astromilitary.” Jaree interjects at this point. “Titan hot drops are always damaging to the landing zone, so our tactical officers often tried to put that to use. But it was usually used against stationary targets. Compounds, bases, buildings, and the like. Are you sure you can hit a moving target, Legaci?”

“Please.” Legaci scoffs. “I’m an angelnet plugged into one of the most powerful supercomputing arrays in the galaxy. What’s it gonna be, Kori? Thirty seconds until launch; make a choice.”

“Do it. Hit the big one if you can, but go for one of the smaller ones if not.” Kori orders. “We’ll bring our pilots up to speed so they know what to expect.”

Legaci grins. “This is gonna be fun.” she says as her hologram fades out. About half a minute later, a pair of doors on the surface of the Bastion’s southern hemisphere push forward and split apart, revealing a massive launch chute. A gigantic drop pod, multiple stories tall with a wide, reinforced base, is blasted down the chute so fast that it rips past the operations ring as a barely-visible blur. It goes hurtling towards the surface of Halcyon, soon developing a crimson halo as it begins to blaze through the upper layers of the atmosphere.

“They’ll survive that, right?” Kori says, glancing at Jaree. “It’s moving pretty fast.”

“There’s multiple layers of inertial dampeners, both in the pod and in the Titan itself. They’ll be fine.” Jaree answers, keeping it short and efficient. “Valkyrie, how is the synchronization going?”

“Started out in sync but I’ve got concerns.” Valkyrie says without taking her eyes off her screens. “Songbird’s paracapacity is holding high and steady, but Kiwi’s is starting to fluctuate all over the place. It’s high, but it’s not stable. If this keeps up, they’re not going to meet the synchronization threshold needed for system start-up.”

“That’s not good.” Kori says, pulling his mic down. “Songbird, Kiwi is starting to stray. You two need to get back in sync or you’ll be dead in the water on touchdown.”

“Yeah I know I’m working on it.” Songbird’s reply is terse and short, making it clear that he’s very much aware of the problem.

“The instability’s growing; sync rate is dropping.” Valkyrie calls from her console. “She’s fighting the current.”

“Kiwi, listen to me. You need to get back in sync with Songbird. Calm down; stop fighting the pull. Let the current guide you.” Kori says urgently, starting to rock on his heels when there’s no response from Kiwi. “Kiwi, can you hear me?”

Valkyrie looks up from her console, shaking her head. “Sync rate is still dropping. She’s not trained for this.”

Kori grits his teeth. “Songbird. You told me this wouldn’t be an issue—”

“I know. I’m working on it.” Songbird retorts once again.

“If you don’t get this sorted, you two are gonna get mauled when you hit the surface—”

“I’m aware, Kori! Give me some space; I’m working on it!”

Before Kori can reply, Jaree holds a pawhand out to him. Though he hesitates, Kori does take the headset off and hands it to her; she doesn’t even bother putting it on, grabbing the mic and raising it to her mouth. Her husky rasp is blunt, unsparing, and brutally direct, the product of a captain that long since learned to cut through the bullshit and drive home the facts. “Songbird. You are the lead. Get her under control. Now.”

There’s no response from Songbird, but after a tense half-minute, Valkyrie breaks the silence. “Kiwi’s starting to stabilize; fluctuations are coming down, and paracapacity is coming back up. Sync rate has already shot way past the threshold, and is still rising. So long as they keep it there, they should be good.”

“Start-up is a go; main battle systems and pilot control are coming online.” the systems officer confirms. “Everything should be fully powered before touchdown.”

Jaree holds the headset back out to Kori, who takes it. “You need to teach me how to do that later.” he murmurs as he puts it back on. “How much time do we have left before touchdown?”

“Two and a half minutes.” the recon officer replies. “Firefly and the Genista squad are almost at the outpost walls; they’ll be setting up the defensive line shortly.”

Kori flicks the mic back down. “Renchiko, the Torikago will be landing in about two minutes. Once it does, field command will transfer to Songbird. Let the Genista squad know.”

“I will. For the defense line, I was going to assign G1 and G2 to the Shinobes to draw them off. Myself, G3, and G5 will flank and fight the Charisto. Do I have permission to proceed?” Renchiko asks.

“That’s acceptable. Proceed with that formation until Torikago touches down.” Kori says, returning his attention to the systems officer. “Systems, can you give me a rundown of the Torikago’s armament? I want to know what we’re working with.”

“I’m not familiar with reading Jeger schematics, so there’s a bit of guesswork here, but what I’m seeing on the systems outlay is a set of retractable tungsten-carbide claws on the forelimbs. I think there might also be a concealed cannon of some sort mounted inside the head unit? I’m not sure, though; I’ve never seen something like this before.” the systems officer answers, squinting at his screens. “It wouldn’t be feasible on a Titan because the recoil from a head-mounted cannon would unbalance a bipedal mech. But since Jegers are quadruped, they can take a bracing stance, and they’re more stable because their mass is distributed across the horizontal axis. Like I said, I’ve never seen this before, so I don’t know what ammunition this uses, or how it ties into the wider Torikago systems.”

“Understood. I’ll advise the Torikago to stick to the claws for now, then.” Kori says.

“Don’t forget to transfer drone control over.” the recon officer calls over to the systems officer.

“Oh shit, right. I’d forgotten about that; doing it now.” the systems officer says, turning his attention to another set of screens.

Kori pulls his mic down again, toggling over to the Torikago line. “Songbird, you’ll have field command once the Torikago touches down. Legaci is going to try and drop your pod on one of the Leviathans, so you’ll only have two to deal with when you step out. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the armaments of the mech you’re in; it looks like you’ve got a set of tungsten-carbide claws to work with, and some kind of maw-mounted cannon concealed in the Torikago’s head unit. We don’t know what the cannon does or what kind of munitions or energy requirements it has, so I’m advising you stick to the claws for this operation. You’ll be touching down in about twenty seconds; good luck down there.”

“Understood. Preparing for touchdown.” is his short response. In the operations center, silence prevails as the crew watches the feeds from the escort drones; Firefly and the Genista Titans have the Leviathans engaged outside the curving walls of the outpost. The confrontations aren’t direct; it seems like the entire squad is reluctant to engage after the fiasco of the first engagement near the coast. Instead, they are kiting their respective Leviathans, retreating and trying to draw them away from each other, while trying to stay just close enough to take swipes at them.

At least until a flaming metal comet rushes into view, slamming into the ground outside the outpost and flattening one of the Shinobe-class Leviathans beneath it.

The impact is brutal, releasing a visible shockwave and a violent splatterblast of organic material as the Leviathan beneath it is pulverized. Viscera rains down on the plains around the impact site, and the Genista Titan that was kiting the Leviathan stumbles and falls in shock. The impact draws the attention of all combatants on the field; as the drop pod finishes settling, the sides pop out, releasing a rush of pressurized air, then begin lowering. There’s an audible clanging as giant metal paws come in contact with the lowered sides of the pod, and a black Hybriddyr mech slinks out of the drop pod, hints of blue light peeking through the flexing plates of its feline frame.

“Torikago is on the field, C2 is terminated. Only C1 and C3 remain.” the recon officer announces.

“The Leviathans are distracted. Now’s the time to push the offense.” Kori urges. “Capitalize on it while you can. We don’t want to give them time to adapt.”

“Moving to intercept the other Shinobe. Renchiko, take your squad and target C1’s legs. Reduce its mobility; that will make it easier for us to deal with.” Songbird orders as the Torikago starts to pick up speed, moving into a loping gait.

“Understood. G2, you can join us now that your Shinobe’s dead. Everyone pick a leg and work on it.” Renchiko orders to the Titan that had been knocked over by the Torikago’s arrival. “Keep tabs on the head. It has a chameleon tongue, so it will yank you in and bite your limbs off it if manages to hit you with its tongue.”

“Sync rate is steady; I’m seeing a little bit of jitter on Kiwi’s side, but it’s within acceptable margins.” Valkyrie updates Kori.

“Performance on the Torikago is stable. I’m getting some system alerts but they’re minor.” the systems officer adds. “The power distribution is uneven, but workable. It’ll need recalibration after this operation.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way until we’re done here.” Kori murmurs, watching on the screens as the Torikago plows into the remaining Shinobe, the Hybriddyr’s head unit clamping its jaw onto the Leviathan’s neck and locking in place. The Leviathan, which had been pursuing G1, twists and writhes as it’s slowed to a halt, its reptilian eyes narrowing to slits as it tries to thrash free of the Torikago. But the black mech doesn’t let go, its metal paws gashing the plains as it tries to yank the Shinobe around into an exposed position, with Songbird shouting over the comms at G1 to come back around and deliver a killing blow. G1 does exactly that, looping around in a circle and picking up speed as it takes its spear in both hands, slamming it into the giant lizard’s side.

The charge is enough to drive the spearhead through the Leviathan’s chitin plating and into its body, prompting a roar from the giant beast. The wound prompts a fresh round of thrashing, more powerful and desperate this time, enough to yank the Torikago clean off its paws and force it to relinquish the lockjaw on its neck as it goes flying. In the same motion, the Leviathan’s finned tail comes around to slam into G1’s side, knocking it down and sending it sliding across the plains, leaving ugly furrows through the tall, swaying grass. With the spear ripped out of its side, the Leviathan turns and starts trundling off back in the direction of the coast, leaving an ichorous blue trail from the wound in its side.

“Let that one go.” Jaree says immediately. “We need all of them to put their focus on the Charisto.”

Kori purses his lips, but doesn’t argue it. “Torikago, disengage from C3. We’ll deal with it later. Put all focus on C1 now.”

“Received. Retargeting.” Songbird replies, though a growl spills through in the background, apparently coming from Kiwi. The Torikago turns and begins loping towards the ram-headed Leviathan, with the G1 Titan clambering back to its feet and following as quickly as it can.

“C1 has closed within two thousand feet of the outpost rim.” the recon officer announces. “I do not believe it has momentum to breach the city wall, but it is large enough to inflict serious damage on it.”

“Firefly, Torikago. The Charisto is too close to the outpost. You need to bring it down, now.” Kori orders.

“We’re trying, but the armor on this thing is thicker than Ridge’s skull!” Renchiko grunts as she tries to find a weak point on one of the Charisto’s forelimbs. The Genista Titans are likewise trying to find spots on the Leviathan’s legs that would be susceptible to attack, but their weapons only bite so far into the chitin plates before being stymied. All the while, the Leviathan is continuing to lumber forward, occasionally kicking at one of the Titans and trying to knock it away.

“Plates that are this thick need weapons with a plasma edge or a heated element to penetrate all these layers of chitin.” Songbird says as the Torikago lunges up onto the back of the Leviathan, its tungsten-carbide claws coming out and digging into the beast’s hide as it scrambles up the monster’s sloped back. “Or HEAT rounds, but I don’t think anyone’s got that in their loadout right now. We’ll just have to target the unprotected areas; go for anything you can see that doesn’t look like it’s as heavily protected. Eyes, inside of the mouth, underside, anything that looks like it might be soft or lightly armored.” With that, the Torikago reaches Leviathan’s shoulders, lunging down and trying to dig its jagged-toothed jaw around into the joint where the beast’s thick neck meets its shoulders.

“You heard him; go for anything that looks unprotected!” Renchiko orders, clearly to the Genista Titans. The Firefly pushes away from the foreleg it was working on, the jet boosters on its back and legs launching it into the air as it comes down on the head, using a metal hand to grab onto one of the brow protrusions, and driving the tonfa lance into one of the four eyes with the other.

The reaction is immediate; the Leviathan stops dead, releasing a deafening roar as it recoils. It snaps its head hard to the right and then jerks it back to the left, throwing the Firefly off it one direction and then slamming its wedged horn into one of the Genista Titans on its other side. Both Titans go flying, hitting the ground hard; another Titan that hadn’t been expecting the sudden halt slams into the back of on of the Leviathan’s forelimbs, and rebounds off of it, falling hard. Another Titan, who has found a vulnerable joint on the Leviathan’s hindquarters and rammed its spear into it, is caught off guard when that leg pulls in, as if recoiling from the injury — then kicks back, slamming into the Titan and sending it skidding over the plains. And finally, upon feeling the Torikago starting to rip and tear away the toughened dermis protecting the back of its neck, the Leviathan uses its forelegs to shove itself up, before falling back to the ground, slinging its head forward. The motion flings the Torikago off its head, sending the Hybriddyr flying through the air to slam into the wall of the outpost with an echoing boom and a plume of dust. A second later, the feline frame goes rolling through the debris plume and down the curved wall, shedding sparks before thudding to the ground and leaving a sizable indentation there.

“We have internal damage on the Torikago; I’m reading a joint dislocation on the left shoulder assembly.” the systems officer calls. “Extensive plate deformation on the left side, radiating from the shoulder region. Mobility loss is highly likely.”

“What about the Firefly?” Kori demands.

“Firefly is fine. We’ve got a little bit of plate deformation from ground impact but no internal damage; the shocks absorbed a good chunk of the landing. She’s getting up right now, all systems reading functional.” the systems officer answers. “I recommend we order the Torikago away from combat. With movement impaired, it will be more vulnerable now.”

“G2 and G5 are struggling to get back up. Unclear if it is due to damage or sync issues with the pilots.” the recon officer reports.

“We’re not going to run another op until we have full access to the Genista squad’s comms and telemetry. Running a split command like this is a goddamn nightmare.” Kori seethes, leaning forward and bracing his hands against his console as he stares at the screens, trying to get a handle on the situation.

“Focus, Kori. Fix the current problems. The future can wait.” Jaree reminds him.

“Right. Right…” he says, watching as the Torikago twists out of the dent it’s left in the ground and starts to get back to its paws. There is a stiffness, a staggered movement that seems tied to the jammed plates along its left shoulder, as if the limb wasn’t quite working properly. “Torikago, I am ordering your retreat. You are too damaged to continue.”

“We don’t have that option right now, Kori.” Songbird grunts as the Leviathan works its head back and forth, starting to wrench its crescent-wedged horn from the gouge that it carved in the ground when it threw the Torikago off its back. “The Genista squad isn’t experienced enough to handle this. We need to pull out all the stops.”

“There’s still five other Titans functional and able to carry on the fight, Songbird—” Kori begins.

“And they’re getting their asses handed to them. They can’t handle this.” Songbird replies as the Torikago takes a bracing stance on all fours, opening its maw wide while the Leviathan pulls its horn free of the ground, and swats away another one of the Genista Titans. “They might get better at this with some more training and experience, but they don’t have it right now and we can’t pretend they’ll suddenly acquire it. This needs to end now.”

“Sir, that weapon I told you about earlier, the one mounted in the Torikago’s head unit — it’s online and it it’s ramping up.” the systems officer calls. “The limbs have all locked into place, the Torikago’s basically immobile. Fuel burn in the fusion core is spiking, and the power’s being routed directly to the cannon in the head unit. I’m not sure how much juice the Torikago will have after this.”

“We don’t even know what that weapon does!” Kori says, gritting his teeth. “Renchiko, order all units to fall back from the Leviathan, pull away to the sides — I don’t want any of our units within the Torikago’s firing arc!”

“But we’ll be leaving the Torikago exposed!” Renchiko protests as the Leviathan starts to lumber forward again, picking up speed. 

“I’m aware but it’s a risk we’ll have to take. Pull everyone back.” Kori repeats, watching as blue light starts rippling through the Torikago’s frame, peeking through the gaps in its external plates. As the Firefly and the Genista Titans start fan away to either side of the Leviathan, a turquoise glow begins to coalesce within the Torikago’s open maw.

“C1 has closed within seven hundred feet of the outpost and is picking up speed!” the recon officer calls, the warning implicit.

“They need to fire before it picks up too much momentum.” Jaree rumbles, her tail lashing. “Something that large, the momentum will carry it forward even if they kill it—”

“Songbird—” Kori starts to yell into his mic, only to be cut off when a blue-white flare blazes the screens, whiting out the feeds from the scout drones. For a few seconds, all details disappear, and only gradually start to come back as the blazing light starts receding from the edges of the screens, shrinking back down to the maw of the Torikago and winking out as the Hybriddyr sags and powers down. Sliding to a halt in front of it are the remains of the Leviathan, its head missing and a portion of its back carved away by the beam that ripped through it.

“Holy shit.” the recon officer mutters. “I didn’t know they were packing that kind of heat.”

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t know either!” the systems officer says, putting his hands up. “I got these schematics fifteen minutes ago!”

“The Torikago’s gone offline; either they burned their entire fuel reserve, or they’ve crashed out.” Jaree says, glancing towards the health console. “What’s going on in the pilot chamber, Valkyrie?”

“It’s hard to tell, I think the Torikago lost power.” Valkyrie, pulling down windows on her screen as she checks on various metrics. “Pilot chamber is running on backup power, that’s the only reason I still have vitals. Both of them are still alive, they seem healthy, at least based off the telemetry I’m getting back from their suits. I don’t have data on anything else; I’m only getting the most basic stuff right now.”

“They’re both alive; that’s all that matters.” Jaree says, turning her attention to the recon officer. “The Leviathan that retreated. Is it still headed back for the coast?”

The recon officer pulls the regional map over to check on it. “Confirmed. Trajectory has not changed; it’s returning to the ocean.”

“Kori, the big Leviathan’s down. All the threats that I can see have been terminated, at least that I can tell.” Renchiko says as the Firefly starts making its way over to the Torikago. “Are there any more contacts on the radar?”

“No other threats on the map. One Leviathan got away, but it’s heading back to the ocean.” Kori replies. “We’ll need to get the Torikago and the G4 Titan back inside the city. The entire squad is going to need repairs. Can you organize the Genista Titans and get that going?”

“Yeah, I’ll start working on it.” Renchiko replies as she arrives to the Torikago. “Are Songbird and Kiwi okay?”

“I think they’re fine, they just burned up their entire fuel supply to fire the Torikago’s cannon. Valkyrie says that their vitals are good on the basic telemetry.” Kori answers, glancing towards Valkyrie and getting a nod from her in response. “Their pilot chamber is running on backup power, so we don’t have comms with them at the moment. Be gentle with the Torikago when you start moving it back inside the city.”

“I’ll make sure— oi!” Renchiko begins, before turning towards the G4 Titan, which has been propped against the outpost wall while the rest of the squad fought off the Leviathans. “Just a sec, the pilots for the downed Titan are trying to leave their pilot chamber. Let me go tell them to get back in there until we have them behind the wall.”

“Okay. You handle that; we’re going to start setting cleanup operations.” Kori says as he refocuses his attention on the operations crew. “Recon, I want you to touch base with Legaci. We’re going to need to make arrangements to get that hot-drop pod back up here. For the drones still in the air, put ‘em on patrol; I want a three-mile perimeter and at least ten minutes of warning if one of those ugly bugs comes crawling back for a second round. Systems, I want comprehensive damage reports on the Firefly and Torikago. As soon as you have them ready, send them to our hangar crew down at the Genista Titan yard. I want them to start on repairs the moment we have our pilots out of their Titans. Valkyrie, do you have a medical officer that you can trust to head planetside to do a medical check on Songbird and Kiwi?”

“I want to head down there and check on Kiwi myself. She and Songbird made it work, but she shouldn’t have been in that pilot chamber — she has no training, no background in this sort of thing.” Valkyrie says, pushing her chair back and standing up. “She’s not qualified to be a pilot, and if we had another choice, I would’ve objected to putting her in there.”

“Preachin’ to the choir. I don’t like it either, but I can’t deny the results.” Kori says, nodding his head to the elevator. “Go ahead and see if you can catch the next flight down there. This isn’t the way things are supposed to be done, but—”

“Kori.” Renchiko’s voice comes over the comms again. “Can I send you guys my visual feed? There’s something you need to see.”

Kori looks back around. “Hmm? Yeah, go ahead. Systems, if you can put that up on one of the screens.”

A few seconds pass before one of the screens switches over to an optical feed from the Firefly’s head unit. It appears that the Firefly has knelt down next to the G4 Titan, sparks still occasionally popping from the twisted metal and broken power relays from its missing arm. A hatch just below the Titan’s head unit has been opened, with the pilots climbing out of it and onto the chest of their Titan, apparently uninjured as they stare up at the Firefly. But that’s not what grabs the attention of everyone in the operations center.

“Wait, are those…” Kori says, squinting at the screen.

“They’re kids!” Valkyrie exclaims, reversing course and moving closer to the screen.

“Teenagers.” Jaree mutters as she unfolds her arms and hitches them on her hips. “So that’s why the outpost leadership didn’t want us to meet the pilots for their Titan squad. They’re underage.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” the systems officer asks.

“Yes.” Jaree rumbles, narrowing her eyes at the screen. “Very.”