Gap Stories #26

[Ashes]

Log Date: 1/5/12769

Data Sources: Many Sources

Event Log: 1/5/12769

Halcyon: Genista Ruins

8:11pm LPT

There came a time, during sunset, when all was stilled in a moment eternal.

When the machines were quelled.

When people stepped back, and rested from their recovery efforts.

When the light spilled, like a broken egg, across the faces of surviving buildings.

And behind them, hills of rubble and debris sank deep in their shadow.

A time to gaze over the destroyed buildings, and the empty fields of flattened debris where Leviathans had fallen, and then been removed. It was a time to gaze upon the blue ichor stains, and remember what had happened, and how it had happened. It was a time to consider the dying light, and how its autumnal hues were a portent of the outpost’s end — in the same way that the fall preceded the winter.

Over all of this stood Kattunge and Krå, the pair watching the vista from the surviving portions of Genista’s wall. Their commission had led them here to witness this; and while the reason was unclear, each of them understood the gravity of the scene they now gazed upon. Both of them were familiar with the devastation of war, but the consequences of battle came in many forms; and there was a particular reverence for this form, on account of its rarity and sweeping totality.

“I am reminded of Aurescura, as it was at the end of every Cycle.” Katt states as his mantle of cats take in the scarred landscape, both within the wall and outside of it. “The work of giants is unmistakable.”

“It is only a passing resemblance. It does not rise to the totality of destruction our people suffered before each renewal of the Cycle.” Krå answers. The crows shrouding her head and shoulders have fixed their eyes on the distant horizons, where rolling plains, forests, and mountains remain untouched by the violence that marred the outpost and the area around it. “Most of their people are still alive, and a decent portion of their infrastructure is intact. The Genistans will be able to recover from this, if they so choose.”

“They do not have it within themselves to persevere. This world is not their home, and there are other worlds within the Marshy Republic that they may flee to in search of a more protected existence.” Katt states, one of his cats turning its head to take in the starport — miraculously intact, and facilitating the evacuation of wounded civilians up to the Sunthorn Bastion, and the Marshy disaster response ship that had arrived in orbit. “Our people did not enjoy such luxuries of choice, with the sealing of the heavens. We had only one world, and we were obligated by necessity to build upon what was destroyed. The Genistans are not motivated by the same pressure.”

“You assign too much weight to the influence of circumstance. The will to persevere does not come from necessity alone.” Krå states; and though there is no emotion to the rejoinder, the choice of phrasing makes it clear that it is positioned as an argument against Katt’s perspective. “They may yet persevere upon this world, if they choose to. They need not yield to the pressure of circumstance.”

“Take care that you do not superimpose your own desires upon what you see. It is our role to observe what is, not assign our beliefs to it.” Katt warns as his hands find their way into his pockets. “We are to witness, and nothing more.”

“Consider your own advice then, and reflect upon your assumptions of the Genistans.”

“I assume nothing; I merely observe that they lack the situational pressure that shaped our own people, and may act differently as a result.”

“Indeed. But to assume their actions based on your observations reveals your bias. If we are truly here to only observe, then we must observe, but never come to any conclusions.”

Finding himself stymied by this rejoinder, Katt does not answer, returning his attention to the outpost. He observes, once more, the suffering rendered here; the loss of comrades and coworkers, the dejection of seeing ruin brought to sights that were once familiar, the alienation of not recognizing the streets you once traversed daily. It is the unmooring effect of disaster, to make a person feel like they are a stranger in a place they once knew so well.

“All of this… simply for copies of a person who has long since ceased to exist.” he remarks carefully, observing only what has come to pass, not what will be. “It seems a waste, to spill so much blood for echoes of the dead.”

“Those clones will be people in their own right, if they are given the chance to gestate.” Krå observes. “They will have souls all their own; they are not merely copies of the dead. They will be individuals unto themselves.”

“If they have the chance to be born. It is not guaranteed.” Katt points out. “And it does not change the fact that they are not measured on their merit as individuals. Those which seek to control them do so in the context of their progenitor’s greatness, their value judged before they have even been born — a value that is neither guaranteed nor accurate. That is the hollow reason for this destruction before us; an avaristic attempt to resurrect the greatness of the desecrated dead.”

“You mete out condemnation for the motives of those who pursued these lives yet unborn. I measure out hope for what they may yet become.” Krå states, as if to draw a line between their respective prognostications. “The ones that the Collective took may be a foregone conclusion, but for the ones now in the care of the Valiant, they may have a chance to live lives outside of the roles that were assigned to them.”

Katt’s mantle turns its golden eyes skyward, where the Sunthorn Bastion hangs in orbit unseen. “…I will concede that. If they have hope anywhere, it will be with the Valiant. What do you think they will become?”

“One cannot say with certainty.” Krå answers as she turns to take her leave, and Kattunge with her. “But they are no longer prisoners of their predecessor’s legacy.”

Event Log: 1/6/12769

Sunthorn Bastion: Central Tower COR

7:55am SGT

“I don’t have enough coffee in me to be up this early.” Drill grunts as he shuffles into the central operations room, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the column of blue light in the center of the room. “Can you two turn down the brightness on that thing? Gonna burn my eyes out of my sockets here.”

“We cannot decrease the brightness of the central data column; however, we can dial up the brightness of the other screens in the room to compensate.” Legaci says without turning from the screen she’s at. Around the room, the other screens hovering in the air and against the walls slowly rise in brightness.

“Oh gods—” Drill winces as everything starts to get brighter. “Okay, that’s— that’s good enough, thank you Legaci, very helpful—”

“The Republic’s humanitarian fleet is due to arrive in seventy-eight hours. Accompanied by a military escort.” Kaiser states from where he is facing the wall, a keyboard clicking crisply as he types by touch alone. “We expect the Collective hiveship will be departing before then for obvious reasons. The transference of injured Genista personnel to the Cadueceum should be accelerated so that none remain on Sunthorn by the time the Marshy fleet arrives.”

“Kaiser, please.” Drill sighs, grabbing a hoverchair and seating himself in it as he sips from his coffee mug. “It’s not even eight in the morning. Let this old dwarf get some caffeine before you go dropping bombs like that on me.”

“We are not afforded the luxury of time. Genista may have fallen, but this matter is not yet settled.” Kaiser says, plowing ahead mercilessly. “I trust you will inform 5231 of the need to move all Genistan patients to the Cadueceum over the next forty-eight hours and to stop accepting new patients from the outpost.”

“What? No! Are you off your nut? Valkyrie would turn me inside out if I told her to start shoveling patients over to the Marshy hospital ship!” Drill says incredulously. “The Cadueceum is already over capacity, that’s why we’re taking on patients from the outpost. We can’t just dump a bunch of wounded refugees on an overflowing hospital ship and then refuse patients from a disaster zone, Kaiser. The media would eat us alive.” Taking a sip from his coffee, Drill looks at Legaci while jabbing a fat thumb at Kaiser. “Is this what he gets up to when I’m sleeping?”

Legaci puts her pale hands up. “Don’t look at me, man. I’m just here to handle the tech and the logistics.”

“The alternative is that a not-inconsequential number of Genistans will be taking an unplanned trip when we pursue the hiveship.” Kaiser states, sending an email before moving to another document. “I am sure you understand the financial and logistical burden of having to use our resources to return them to the nearest Marshy system once our pursuit of the Cherriki clones has concluded.”

Drill lets out a groan, leaning back in his chair. “Gods… can we just let them have it? They’ve had the zygotes for almost a week now, they’ve probably already added them to their gene pool. Collective efficiency and all that. Even if we did catch up to them when the hiveship leaves the surface, we don’t know if there’d be anything for us to recover at that point. And you know that they’re gonna make us fight for it. Even if the zygotes are intact, they’re not gonna give them up willingly, and what are we gonna do at that point? Bombard the ship and hope we don’t destroy the zygotes by accident? We sure as hell don’t have the manpower for a boarding action against a hiveship that’s three miles across and has thousands of combat-capable soldiers.”

“Given the genetic potential of the Cherriki clones, there is an obligation to recover the asset, and failing that, to destroy it and thereby deprive the Collective of its benefit.” Kaiser replies. “I am aware that recovery is unlikely, though a token effort will still be made. Upon its expected failure, we will move to the secondary obligation.”

Drill lets out a puff. “Well, at least you’re being honest about it. But we still can’t dump injured refugees on an overloaded hospital ship, and we can’t refuse treatment to people in a disaster zone. We’re just gonna have to eat the cost of shippin’ ‘em all back to the nearest Marshy system once we’re done chasing down the hiveship.”

“A matter that also raises the question of compensation for the expenditure of medical resources and labor.” Kaiser continues. “Providing those services was not part of our original contract with the Marshy Republic, and it has not been cheap to render those services on the scale that we have been rendering them—”

“Kaaaaiser.” Drill groans, dragging a hand down his face. “It is eight in the morning. I can’t do this right now, man.”

“I don’t think the Marshies would pay out for it.” Legaci says at this point. “And it’s probably not worth fighting them for it, either. If they’re not gonna cough up the money… let’s just tell them that we’re takin’ the kids as payment. Technically they belong to us anyway, right?”

Drill tilts his head forward. “What.”

“The Cherriki kids, the Titan pilots.” Legaci says, turning a little. “We brought them up here for treatment, and they’ve stayed up here because the pilot residence got demolished. Why don’t we just… keep them?”

Drill just stares at her. “You want us to kidnap ten teenagers.”

Legaci shrugs. “I mean, technically CURSE kidnapped them first. When they were embryos, at that point. So it’s kinda like they stole babies. And then auctioned them off to the highest bidder. That’s basically trafficking children, right?”

Drill lifts a hand and opens his mouth, then closes it, his face scrunching up into a conflicted expression. “…I’m a little concerned that I don’t have a good counterargument for that.”

“And the Republic can’t complain about it, because if they accuse us of kidnapping their kids, the truth is going to come out that they were fielding underage Titan pilots, in violation of the Titan Accords.” Legaci adds. “And we could then claim we were then rescuing them from exploitation, not kidnapping them.”

“Mmm.” Drill hums thoughtfully, tapping his forefinger against his lips. “Yes, this strategy has legs. We could go somewhere with this.”

“Far be it from me to be the voice of reason, but are there any plans to do anything with these juveniles, aside from using them as leverage?” Kaiser asks drily, turning around now. “You both seem to be operating on the assumption that simply having these children carries inherent value. The reality is that unless we intend to put them to use in some manner, they are simply another ten mouths to feed and house.”

Drill gives the Shanarae a flat look. “Truly, Kaiser. Your concern warms the heart.” Taking a sip from his mug and another deep breath, Drill runs a thumb through his manicured beard. “But you have a point. Simply having them here doesn’t generate any value, and they’re just taking up space until we figure out what to do with them.”

“Why don’t we put them on the same track that we had Wrench and Ridge on?” Legaci suggests. “Granted, it took a few years before we saw a return on our investment, but I think it’s started paying for itself.”

“T’chaaa.” Drill says, clicking his tongue. “They did turn out to be some pretty solid Agents once we got ‘em trained up. Hard to argue with that.”

“So long as there is a plan. I do not want them sitting idle, consuming resources.” Kaiser says, turning back to his screen. “From what I have seen, Genista’s pilot program instilled them with considerable discipline. Letting such a foundation go to waste would be… injudicious.”

“It’s settled, then. We’ll keep them, since I don’t see the Marshies paying us for the additional services we’ve rendered here.” Drill decides. “Keep it on the downlow for now. Let the kids get comfortable here; we’ve already got them staying in dorms, and the more we let them settle, the more likely they’ll want to stay. They have a certain level of freedom here that they didn’t have in the pilot program, and more free roam, so I think it’ll grow on them quickly.”

“Assessments of their education level should be made.” Kaiser states. “I am sure that the rigor of the pilot program kept them well ahead of their schooling, especially as a product of Marshy research community, but we should not rest on those laurels. We should ensure their schooling is complete by the time they are of legal age.”

“I’ll get it on the agenda for later, once we’ve left Halcyon and we’re sure the kids want to stay.” Legaci says, a window briefly opening beside her and logging a few items before closing. “Once this has all blown over, I can see about tracking down the tutor we hired for Ridge and Wrench a few years ago. See if they’d be down for another batch of teenagers.”

“Hopefully they charge by the hour and not by the student.” Drill mutters, sipping from his mug. “Think I’m awake enough now to talk business. Bring me up to speed on the Collective hiveship — is it still parked in the ocean where it landed a few days ago?…”

Intercepted Communications

Mask Knight text thread, encrypted, 3 participants

Raph: did you see the news out of Halcyon?

Vakalahi: about Genista falling? yeah

R: I mean, that part was a given. I mean the other part

V: About Feather?

R: yeah

V: yeah I saw it

R: how do you think she did it?

V: dunno and don’t really care

R: Oh c’mon Vaka, don’t be like that

V: i think it’s bullshit

V: hwo did she manage the transformation when she didn’t even know she was capable of it

R: you know how it goes with Feather. She’s the S-One for a reason.

V: Spoiled brat is what she is. She doesn’t know how good she’s got it, and yet she always wants more. the rest of us can’t go beast mode without killing our handlers

R: He didn’t get off scot free. I heard his arm got withered or something because she squeezed all the juice out of it when she went beast mode. They had to cut it off close to the shoulder

V: whoop de doo, they had to cut off the vampire’s arm. that means literally nothing because they grow back their limbs. he just needs a few weeks and a couple bottles of blood and he’ll be good as new

V: literally, she doesn’t know how good she’s got it with the handler she has

R: pretty sure she does know, that’s why she’s so territorial. She got pretty worked up when we tried to grill him a few years ago, remember?

V: We should’ve just kidnapped him when we had the chance

V: taken him back to Father for R&D so he could figure out what makes him tick

R: Father did have a chance to do that after they came back from the Fountain, right? I thought he didn’t find anything that would explain why the vampire could survive tangling with Feather

V: he didn’t keep him for as long as he could’ve. I said we shouldn’t let him go at all, but you know how Father is. Honor and chivalry and all that. It’s gonna come back to bite us in the ass one day

R: Maybe he let Songbird live for a reason? so he could see how far Feather can push him and how much he can take

V: what’s the point? We already know he can handle more than any other person that’s ever tangled with Feather or Masklings like us. what we need to know is HOW he does it. seeing how far she can push him is pointless when we already know he’s got everyone beat by a country mile.

R: maybe he’s just built different

V: there’s like two dozen of us that have been dealing with some version of this problem for the last thirty years, you’d figure one of us would’ve stumbled on something similar with the number of handlers we’ve collectively burned through

R: Maybe it’s not him? Maybe it’s her. Maybe she figured something out that she hasn’t told the rest of us

V: do you honestly believe that

R: I don’t want to but I don’t want to rule anything out

R: maybe we should be grilling her instead of songbird

V: yeah I’m not gonna give her that credit. We’ve all seen how much of a hot mess she is, there’s a reason they refused to give her additional runemarks until a few years ago. She’s a lot of things but the brightest bulb in the box is not one of them

R: look, I agree with you, but she popped beast mode without even being told about it

R: if she can figure that out, maybe she figured out how to keep her handler alive, unless she’s just built different

V: she’s built different, that’s for sure

V: built stupid

R: lol

R: yeah can’t argue with that

R: did Father get the zygotes that rofty managed to sneak out of the outpost?

V: yeah, he got em. Think he’s planning on gestating them so they can be used as rasa maskbearers a couple decades from now

R: im sure the boys at the krigstein will have their hands full raising them

R: but it’ll be a good asset to have on hand later. pretty sure he’ll be keeping them in reserve for us

V: wouldn’t mind adding some psi abilities to my repertoire

R: just wish the job didn’t require us to be human all the time

R: feels like being stuck in a straitjacket sometimes

V: preaching to the choir

R: think we’ll live to see the day when we can be ourselves?

V: we better, I’m not going to spend my entire life pretending to be human

V: it won’t happen in our lifetimes if we leave it up to the Council. Father will probably get us there quicker, so

R: trust the plan, I know. Might not look pretty but he’ll get us there

V: yup. anyhow I gotta go, the Council’s about to call. prolly looking for some more information on what happened on Halcyon

R: ugh. I guess the mission report isn’t enough for them, they’ve gotta hear it firsthand. Well, best of luck on that

V: thx, my patience is gonna need it

Event Log: 1/6/12769

Halcyon: Halcyon Hatchery

10:42am LPT

Are you ready?

Lalli does not answer the enquiry right away, still taking in the sights and sensations of the hatchery. They are currently in one of the flood chambers that houses one of the somniosidae, the living vessels that can handle the pressures of both deep ocean and deep space. From what Lalli had been told by other geneweavers, the somniosidae were once deep-sea sharks that had been assimilated by the Collective, then bioengineered for increased size and pressurized internal chambers that could carry living cargo. The modern iterations now more resembled whales, given their size and rounded appearance; only its hide, made up of armored denticles, gave away its true origin.

The somniosidae in this flood chamber was currently resting in a wide pool of water, with a bridge extending from the chamber’s floor over to one of the vents in its side where passengers and cargo could embark. Lalli and Rusalka were among the trickle of Symbiotes that had packed up to leave the hatchery; the somniosidae would ferry them up from the crushing depths of the ocean to the hiveship currently floating on the surface some several thousand feet above. It was just one of many such trips that had been undertaken so far; ever since the hiveship had descended from orbit and landed on the ocean, the hatchery had been evacuating Symbiotes round the clock in preparation for departing from this world.

I thought I’d be eager to get out of here, but I think I’ll miss it more than I was expecting, Lalli replies to Rusalka. We spent so much time here, I was almost starting to think of it as home.

Sunlight, she reminds him. Do you want to go another six months without seeing the sky or feeling the warmth of the sun?

Mmm. I can’t argue that, he concedes, starting to walk again. It would be nice to come into the light again.

To see sunsets and sunrises. To see clouds and stars, Rusalka adds as the two of them carry their meager luggage towards the bridge leading to the somniosidae. The Collective was not big on material possessions, and that was only more true with deployments to the battlefront. Symbiotes involved in the war effort usually brought very little with them, and that made it easier for large groups of them to pack up and mobilize at a moment’s notice, such as was the case here. I miss the sky.

I miss the sky too. It’s something you take for granted until you realize you haven’t seen it in months, Lalli agrees, minding the emotions of the other Symbiotes that were in this evacuation group with them. Though faint, buried far below a myriad of other, more pressing emotions, there twin hints of anticipation and relief. Some Symbiotes felt one; some Symbiotes felt the other; some of them felt both. But it was unmistakable; many of the Symbiotes here were ready to leave, because they had lives outside of this hatchery. Just like Lalli, they were serving in the war effort because they had been promised something in return for their service. Now that their mission here had been accomplished, many of them would be returning to their homeworlds to enjoy the fruits of their labors.

What do you want to do when we get back to Mokasha? Rusalka asks him. I was thinking about going househunting so we don’t have to move back in with your parents. It’s been a few years since Mokasha was assimilated, so I figure things should be a little more settled in that regard…

Yeah, we could do that. It’s been a couple of years, so the reorganization of society is probably further along than it was when we left, Lalli muses. And it’d be nice to have a place of our own. I love my parents, but a little bit of distance feels… healthy.

It doesn’t have to be too far away, Rusalka adds quickly. We could still live somewhere in Amnia, maybe twenty, thirty minutes away from them. Close enough for an easy visit once a month or so.

Yeah. That sounds nice to me. Family dinners once a month, Lalli continues to muse thoughtfully. You wouldn’t mind settling in Amnia?

It’s grown on me ever since I came to Mokasha, Rusalka says as they step onto the bridge leading into the side of the somniosidae. I wouldn’t mind living there for a while. What about you — do you mind settling in Amnia?

I don’t mind it. I’ve learned to be comfortable wherever I go. To adapt and make the best of where I am, Lalli replies. Amnia has a lot of good things. It’s near the mountains and nature; it’s not a big city but it’s also not a small town; lots of good food places and a local college…

Honored Weaver, welcome aboard Nas Hara. Both Lalli and Rusalka find themselves surprised when they are greeted by another Symbiote at the vent leading into the somniosidae; less at the fact that they were being greeted, and more at the usage of a deferential title. Titles in the Collective were surpassingly rare, since they often ran counter to the social equality that the Collective aspired to. As a result, the weight of a title was held in the responsibility it conferred; any perceived status or prestige it granted was far outweighed by the expectation of active service to the Collective’s grand design.

Oh. Thank you, there’s no need for that, though, Lalli replies, somewhat awkwardly. I’m just one of the many weavers that was working here.

You are the one that designed the Leviathans, states the Symbiote, who appears to be an attendant or pilot of some sort. Harbinger conveyed to us the importance of making sure you arrived safely to the hiveship, and we do not take her admonition lightly.

This appears to render Lalli speechless; sensing this, Rusalka answers in his stead. Understood. Is there anything particular we need to do?

Follow me. We have a place prepared for you in the depths of Nas Hara; it is one of the chambers that will be safe even in the event of an attack, the Symbiote says, motioning for them to follow. We do not anticipate any danger on this trip, as short as it is, but it never hurts to take additional precautions.

The pair follow the Symbiote, who turns and leads them further into the humid, florescent depths of the living vessel. Both remain silent, but in the stead of words, a look is exchanged between the two — one that expresses surprise, and also their concern. Where others may have been flattered by being shown such deference, these two felt only a sense of looming worry.

For in the Collective, no title is without a price, and prestige always demands sacrifice.

Event Log: 1/6/12769

F.V. Moral Imperative: Captain’s Office

11:54am SGT

“The Gesper report is in, Captain. Would you like a summary, or to peruse it on your own?”

The Captain, currently standing at the window of his office with his arms folded behind his back, staring out into a star-streaked nebula sky, does not answer right away. “I will take a summary, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Far from it.” Tacna replies from the other side of his desk. Her damaged plugsuit has since been replaced with a modernized version, though she still wears it much the same: a stiff, straightbacked posture, legs together, shoulders squared, chin up — a disciplined stance that would make any drill sergeant proud. “As expected, the Genista outpost was breached during an all-hands assault by the Collective. Damage to the settlement’s infrastructure is extensive, and the Valiant are helping with the disaster response while a relief and reinforcement fleet from the Marshy Republic is en route. The Collective’s Leviathans did reach the center of the outpost, and it is assumed that they acquired the Cherriki clones, because they soon retreated afterwards. The hiveship that was in orbit has descended to the ocean; it is presumed that it is there to evacuate the subaquatic hatchery that was fielding the Leviathans.”

“Interesting. A surface landing leaves them exposed, especially when they are traveling without an escort.” the Captain remarks, turning his head slightly as if that intrigued him. “They have ceded control of the orbital layer. That’s quite a risk to take.”

“Perhaps. But the calculus is likely different with other forces than it is with us. The Valiant may be adhering to a certain idealism that is absent from our approach to the Collective, and the Collective may be organizing their strategy around that restraint.” Tacna points out.

“Mmm. I suppose that is a fair point. The Foundation would not have hesitated to exterminate them from orbit if it was a world we were charged with protecting.” the Captain concedes. “So the Collective has the remaining Cherriki zygotes, and has likely incorporated their genomes into the gene pool by now. Unfortunate, but not unexpected.”

“Will the Foundation need to take any precautions in response?” Tacna asks, lowering her data slate.

“Nothing immediate. The Collective advances by degrees, not by leaps and bounds. Any benefits they take from the Cherriki genome will be incorporated into the wider Collective slowly; little improvements here and there. Things we may not notice until decades later, with the benefit of retrospect and comparison.” the Captain replies, his attention turning again to the nebulaic vista outside his window. “We will continue to study them, just as we always have, matching them step for step as we evolve in tandem with them. But we should still apprise the Foundation at large, so they are also aware and can keep an eye out for any abnormalities that may be related to the Collective’s recent acquisition. It would not surprise me if the Collective decided to test out some of their newer sequences in active conflict zones.”

“Understood. I will compose a draft advisory to submit to the Communications Service.” Tacna says, the screen of her slate lighting up as a new document is created and she begins drafting up said advisory, all without taking her eyes off the Captain. “And for the zygotes we’ve acquired…?”

“Gestation plans have been laid. The Board of Directors gave me permission to proceed with my proposal, so we will be selecting placement families and environments for each of them to be raised in once incubation is complete and they have come to term.” the Captain answers. “Longitudinal studies are being mapped for all of them. Some of them will be raised in more mundane environments, while others will be raised in environments that allow for greater access to opportunities for high achievement. The outcomes will be of great interest to the wider Fringe community.”

“Doubtless. They will be a long time waiting, though. Longitudinal studies often take decades to produce results.” Tacna observes.

“We plant the seeds of trees whose fruit we will never eat, and whose shade we will never know.” the Captain replies. “This is the difference between the Foundation and the Colloquium. Their politicians always speak of a better future; but our scientists do the work required to actually build it.”

“It is a wonder their societies have not collapsed, with how many hollow promises their politicians make.” Tacna remarks, checking the notifications on her slate. “But I suppose the rich and powerful among them have refined the art of providing just enough to keep the masses complacent, while retaining the majority of benefits for themselves.”

“It is a fine line to tread. The ones that do not tread it well often find themselves turned out of office.” the Captain concurs. “But that is enough of that; we have concerns of our own to tend to. It is time we returned to the Fringe to set our own house in order.”

“Agreed. I will order the helm to lay in a course.” Tacna says, the turquoise lines on her face flickering as the command is silently relayed to the ship’s bridge. “Is there anything else I can assist with?”

“A cup of hot cocoa, if you would. I find it helps settle the mind.” the Captain requests. “Beyond that, nothing else.”

“Of course. With the cute little cat-face marshmallows in it?”

“I would not be opposed.”

“Excellent. I’ll have that up to you shortly.”

Event Log: 1/6/12769

Sunthorn Bastion: Titan Hangar

8:17pm SGT

“The good news is, the damage isn’t as bad as it looks.” Jill says, walking backwards as she talks to Songbird and Kiwi. Presently she’s leading them around the crumpled frame of the Torikago, recovered from the ruins of Genista and brought up to Sunthorn for repairs. “The damaged plates can be pulled off and recast in the Foundry; we’ve already started on that, as you can see from the exposed shoulder. It helps that it’s a Hybriddyr, so the plates are smaller by design because of the flexibility needed for shifting. Makes it easier to recast in the Foundry, although you have to do more of them overall. For the internals, most of the core systems are intact. Fusion reactor only took superficial damage, the pilot chamber is intact, digital systems are intact, sensorcomms are fine, and the power distribution system was damaged at the impact site, but is otherwise intact everywhere else. The one system that took a lot of damage was the articulation arrays and interlocks — basically the stuff that helps it move and shift between configurations. A lot of those rods, gears, bits, and bobs got all mangled and smashed up when the Koiyash Leviathan swatted the Torikago and threw it for a block, so a lot of those pieces are going to have to be removed and melted down for recasting, since a lot of them are damaged beyond repair.”

“And we can recast them and replace them?” Songbird asks as he follows Jill. His left arm, or what remains of it, is currently in a sling. Most of it had been withered into a charred, necrotic husk after sustaining Kiwi’s B.E.A.S.T. mode, and after Valkyrie had examined it, the consensus was that it would recover faster if they lopped off the entire arm just below the shoulder and fed Songbird a steady stream of blood over the coming days. The plan seemed to be working; in the days since, it had steadily regenerated and was currently just past the elbow, moving towards the forearm.

“I’m pretty sure we can. I’ll have to talk to Foundry staff about metallurgy requirements and process, but we can sample the damaged actuator gears and stuff to get the metal composition for each of the damaged parts.” Jill nods as they start coming around the head of the Titan. “And we’ve got the assembly schematics for the Torikago; Legaci was able to dig those up, so we’ll be able to put it all back together once we’ve got the parts reproduced. It’s gonna take some time, but it’s recoverable — and since it’s a partial rebuild, we’ll be able to install the plasma claws you guys ordered! It’ll be a definite improvement over the current claws.”

“Well, don’t rush it. I don’t know when we’re going to have a chance to use it again.” Songbird says, stopping in front of the Torikago’s head unit and gazing up at it. “I don’t imagine we’ll be fighting Leviathans again anytime soon. The Collective doesn’t deploy them willy-nilly, and I can’t see a situation where we’d be seeking out that kind of fight.”

“Heh. Wish I could take it slow, but Jaree won’t let us.” Jill says, stopping and hitching her hands on her hips as she sizes up the Torikago as well. “She says if we don’t keep the momentum going, we’re gonna fall behind and restoration will drag on for months. She’s gonna keep us on it until all the major repairs have been handled, and then we’ll be able to slow down.”

“I dunno. I wouldn’t mind getting back out there.” Kiwi says, her head tilted to one side as she stares up at the Torikago’s head along with the others. “There’s nothing really quite like it. Being so big and powerful.”

“It’s not a life you want to live. It consumes you.” Songbird says, still staring up at the Hybriddyr’s open jaws, and the dim outline of the pulsar cannon recessed deep within its throat. “The culture, the politics, the industry machinations, the corporate and military espionage, the social manipulations and hierarchical games… piloting the machine is just the tip of the iceberg. People rarely think about everything else that’s tied to it.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t have to deal with any of that.” Kiwi points out. “We’re not tied to a nation or a corporation, so we don’t have to deal with all of the petty bullshit.”

“But we did.” Songbird says, using his intact arm to adjust his sling. “All of this because the Marshies were trying to create an elite squad of pilots out of Cherriki’s clones. Clones that originally belonged to the Challengers, were stolen by CURSE, and likely sold to the Marshies, which the Collective found out about, and came to Halcyon for that reason alone, which in turn prompted us to come here at the request of the Marshies. In a way we’ve come full circle… it’s a familiar story within the world of Titans. The actions of the past have a way of returning decades down the line.”

Kiwi snorts at that. “Well, I just like to dip my toes in and beat up some giant monsters every now and then. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

Jill, listening awkwardly to this couple’s difference of opinions, tries to offer up a helpful middle ground. “Well, the Torikago is going to be under maintenance for a while, but you can still beat up giant monsters if you want. Since you can, y’know, turn into a giant dragon and all that.”

Both Kiwi and Songbird look at Jill, then at Songbird’s still-regenerating arm. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna be doing that again for a while.” Kiwi asserts. “That’s more of a emergencies-only, ace-in-the-hole sort of thing.”

“Oh. Right, of course.” Jill says, glancing at Songbird’s sling arm. Details about that transformation hadn’t exactly been easy to come by, but apparently it wasn’t without a cost. “Well… repairs on the Firefly shouldn’t take too long! It was pretty battered, but not as badly as the Torikago. So if the need comes up, we should be able to field Firefly again soon.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have a reason to.” Songbird says. “That last fight was pretty rough. The kids are still recovering from it, and I don’t want to put them through anything like that anytime soon.”

“Oh, that’s right — are they still up here on Sunthorn?” Jill says, eagerly jumping to what seems to be a less loaded topic. “Suppose they must be, what with the outpost being in ruins and all that.”

“Yeah, we got ‘em set up in some of the dorms on the Rim.” Kiwi says, tilting her head upwards in the vague direction of the hangar’s ceiling, and the northern hemisphere somewhere above it. “Told Genista we’d keep ‘em safe up here while they’re getting the outpost sorted out. Ridge and Renchiko have been doing a good job of making them feel welcome and get settled in.”

“Ah, so that’s what she’s been up to. I was wondering; I was expecting her to be down here more, putting in hours getting the Firefly back in working order.” Jill nods, as if something had suddenly become clear. “Didn’t know you guys had her on babysitting duty. Well, I’ll tell the boys so they don’t get it twisted. The crew will feel better, knowing that she isn’t slacking off.”

“Appreciate it.” Kiwi says as she starts to head back to the freight cart they drove across the floor of the hangar. “I’m sure the liddl’ greasemonkey will be happy to get back down here once we’re done sorting through the aftermath. Who knows, she might even bring the kids with her — helping out with repairs down here might give them something to do instead of runnin’ loose all day.”

“Well, we could definitely use the extra hands.” Jill says, waving as Songbird turns to follow his partner. “Hope yours grows back soon, Songbird. Genista wouldn’t have survived without the two of you!”

The pair give their own waves to Jill as they get in the cart, though neither of them say anything until it’s turned on and humming back across the floor of the hangar. “She’s got an interesting definition of ‘survived’.” Kiwi remarks once they’re out of earshot.

“Technically she’s right. It did survive… but that’s really the only thing it did.” Songbird exhales. “The only reason it wasn’t completely destroyed was because the Collective got what they wanted. Once they had it, they lost all interest in fighting. Went on their merry way and didn’t look back.”

“At least we made ‘em bleed for it.” Kiwi points out. “We’ve stacked a mountain of Leviathan corpses over the last six months. Can’t really turn your nose up at that.”

“Collective doesn’t care about that, though.” Songbird says, slouching in the passenger seat. “Bleeding them doesn’t matter when they’ve got so many bodies to throw at their problems, and they can incubate thousands more in a matter of weeks. Those are disposable losses — that’s not the case for the people that died in the outpost. You can’t easily replace those people.”

“Feroce.” Kiwi says, giving him a stern look. “You’re spiraling. Stop it.”

“Sorry, I just… it’s frustrating. Fighting the Collective is always frustrating.” Songbird sighs, massaging his brow with his remaining hand. “You would never see this kind of recklessness from any other nation that had lost two planets and twenty billion people in the last five years. But for the Collective, it’s just a drop in the bucket. They took those hits, then turned around and started a war with at least three different nations across a dozen different systems. And here on Halcyon, they sacrificed thousands of cricket wolves and dozens of Leviathans just to grab a handful of embryos that they think would be good for their genetic library. How do you fight something like that? They literally just throw bodies at a problem until they get what they want.”

“I don’t know. But I know that I don’t have the answers, and neither do you. And it’s not our job to get those answers, so there’s no use worrying about that.” Kiwi replies. “There’s other people that are paid to worry about that stuff, so there’s no reason for you to be doing it for free. Let it go and focus on the stuff you can control. We kept most of the people in the outpost alive, all the Cherriki pilots survived, and most of the Titans were still standing by the end of it. We did a pretty damn good job, all things considered.”

“Yeah… yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Songbird concedes that Kiwi steers the freight cart into one of the parking spaces near the freight elevator. “We did what we could with what we were given. Really can’t do anything more than that.” Slipping out of the cart, he falls back in step with Kiwi as she comes around the front of the cart on their way to the elevator. “If nothing else, we found out that you’ve got a neat new trick up your sleeve.”

“Yeah… it’s just a shame it’s so demanding in terms of the energy I need to pop off like that. Don’t wanna go withering your arm every time I want to turn into a giant dragon.”

“I don’t mind so long as we’re getting our money’s worth out of it whenever you do it. Do you at least enjoy it?”

“Oh hell yeah, it feels awesome. Honestly not too different from piloting a Titan, except I get to be in charge. With you right there by my side~”

“Mmm~ I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, darling.”

Event Log: 1/6/12769

Sunthorn Bastion: Equatorial Ring

9:42pm SGT

“Figured I’d find you up here.”

For her, the voice is familiar by now, and so Jaree doesn’t turn around when she hears it. Rather, she takes her vape out of her mouth, puffing a white cloud before answering. “Workin’ late again?”

“Is it really working late if you’ve done it seven days in a row?” Kori says as he arrives to the spot where Jaree is brooding, staring through the glass at Halcyon. “At this point it’s not working late, it’s just working.”

“It’ll calm down soon. At least until we deploy to another system that needs help with evacuations.” Jaree predicts, sizing up her vape like she wasn’t sure she wanted to take another drag. “Unless we’re headed to the Venusian Colonies, I don’t imagine we’ll be fielding Titans again for a while.”

“I wouldn’t rule it out. I’ve learned not to put anything past Command at this point.” Kori says, shifting what looks like a cardboard box he’s been carrying under his arm.

“True. At the end of the day, I’m just along for the ride. So long as the work is reasonable and I get my paycheck, they can send us wherever they want.” Jaree says, pointing her vape towards the box under Kori’s arm. “What you got there?”

“Something for you, actually.” Kori says, swapping it to his other arm so he can offer it from her. “Tiger Stix, ordered direct from Kasvei. My way of saying thanks for showing me the ropes of Titan ops.”

“Well looka you.” Jaree says, turning off her vape and putting it away so she can take the cardboard box. “That’s the good jerky. Who tipped you off?”

“I did some research. Asked a couple of other Halfies on the station.” Kori shrugs, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets. “It was the least I could do after everything you helped me with over the last six months.”

“Well, you done pretty decent for someone that’s never handled operations before.” Jaree says, unsheathing a claw and using it to cut through the recycled adhesive on one end of the box. “You got a knack for it. Must run in the family.”

Kori puffs out a long breath. “Yeah. Well. Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I want to do it.”

“Welcome to life. You’ll spend a lot of time doing shit you don’t wanna do and getting pretty good at it.” Jaree says, pulling one of the textured jerky sticks out of the box. “You relieved it’s over?”

Kori’s mouth quirks in a conflicted way, his brows furrowing as if he wasn’t quite sure. “Yes. Glad it’s over. But… I don’t feel satisfied. The way the last op went, the fact that we failed, it… bothers me. There’s a part of me that wants to redeploy and get back out there. Accomplish the mission, end things properly.”

“You gotta let that go, Kori.” Jaree says, setting down the box and peeling open the jerky stick. “Your blood runs hot, but that shit is how we end up with generational wars. Take your licks, learn your lessons, and turn your face to the sunrise. We fight a lot of battles in our lives. We don’t get to win all of them.”

Kori takes a moment to absorb her words, looking at her after a moment. “…you’ve got more sense than the rest of the Valiant combined. They could probably use someone like you in Command to keep the rest of the bigshots grounded.”

Jaree snorts at that, biting into the jerky stick and tearing off the end of it. “You couldn’t pay me to do that shit. I don’t have the patience for it. Positions like that, you gotta be willing to play the social games that come with it. That’s why the vampire slut has a Command position; she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but she’s good at playing the game.”

“Mm. Fair.” Kori grunts, folding his arms. “They’re all characters, come to think of it. Legaci, Nympho, Drill, Kaiser… having to work with any of them on the daily sounds like it’d be a nightmare. Valkyrie is the only one that seems reasonable out of the whole lot of them, and she spends most of her time in the hospital.”

“Anyone that’s sane stays away from executive-level positions. That’s why Valkyrie keeps to the hospital, and it’s why I keep to myself down in the hangars.” Jaree says as she chews on the sinewy jerky. “You need a special kind of crazy to be leading the organization in a time like this. I ain’t got the tolerance for the type of bullshit they probably have to put up with.”

“We all deal with bullshit. It’s just different kinds at different levels.” Kori says, studying the surface of Halcyon. “Do you ever feel like we should do more than what we’re doing? Step in and actually take a stand against the Collective instead of running evac missions and skirting around the question?”

“That’s what we did here.” Jaree points out. “We posted forces on the surface and kept them there instead of playing refugee bus driver. As to whether we should be doing more of that…” She glances aside to him. “…what do you think? You now know the risk that comes with taking a direct stand; you’ve seen the strain it places on the organization. We’ll be exposing our people to danger; there will be times that some of them don’t come back. Are you ready for that? Do you think the Valiant are ready for that?”

Kori’s quiet as he works through those questions. His answer, when it comes, is measured and surprisingly reflective. “Back when I was asked to be operations lead, I told you I wasn’t qualified for the job. You agreed, but told me that I was the best option the Valiant had at that point, and they’d just have to make do with what they had. Because that’s how things go in war; you do the best you can with what you’re given.” He pauses another moment to weigh that over in his mind, then continues. “I think that applies to the Valiant at large. I’m not sure we’re ready to be involved in the war like that. But it’s probably about time that we got off the sidelines and started doing something to end this war. It’s been going on almost four years now, and it’s not going to end any quicker if we stay on the sidelines and keep running evac missions.”

“Good.” Jaree says, taking another bite out of her jerky stick. “Now go tell it to Command.”

Kori snorts at that. “Easier said than done…”

“It’s gotta start somewhere. If you want, I’ll go with you and tell them that it’s time to start puttin’ in the real work.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“We’ll plan on it, then. Here, have a jerky stick.”

“Oh no no no. We both know I’ll break off a tooth if I try to take a bite out of that.”

“It’s all about technique. You gotta gnaw it a bit first, soften it up before digging your teeth in and yanking, kind of like ripping the head off a chicken…”

Event Log: 1/7/12769

Halcyon: Genista Ruins

8:14am SGT

“Any other invalids, or is that the last of them?” Luci asks, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets as the Genista cleanup workers wheel the last gurney up into the troop transport.

“That should be all for now. All we can fit in there, at least.” one of the cleanup workers says. “You guys still got beds up there, right?”

“Beds aren’t the problem. We’ve got a whole hospital up there.” Luci answers, twitching his ears. “What we don’t have is a lot of people to staff it. A doctor can only see so many people in a day.”

The cleanup worker blows out a breath. “Yeah, fair. Well, we appreciate it. We’ve got our hands full down here. Speaking of which, I should get back to it.”

Luci nods to him. “Don’t let me keep you. I hear that the disaster relief fleet should be here in a couple days or so.”

“We’ll have plenty of work for them when they get here, that’s for sure.” the cleanup worker says as he straightens his hardhat, turning and heading off. Luci watches him go, then looks around at the outpost around them.

It was, as others had probably described repeatedly, a warzone, or what remains after a warzone goes quiet. Triage tents were set up in the plaza around the command complex; ruined buildings, of which there were many, were often excavated only for the purpose of rescuing survivors, and not clearing rubble. Stains of blood still painted the streets and rubble — blue blood, the mark of wounded Leviathans. Red blood was far less abundant, but if you looked hard enough, you could find the dried patches here and there.

As for the people, there was a certain grim resolve that animated most of them. It was obvious that not much could be done about the state of the outpost, so the survivors were doing what they could with what they had, until the disaster relief arrived. The question lingering in the air, unspoken but on everyone’s minds, was whether they would remain here at all, when all was said and done. It would take time and revenue to rebuild from this level of destruction, and whether the Republic would do so was an open question, filling the air with uncertainty.

Oh, this is familiar, isn’t it.

It is a voice is not heard so much as it is felt; something lingering at the liminal space in the back of his head. You might assume it was his own internal monologue, but for the fact that Luci was not the introspective sort, and so rarely had an internal dialogue. He was a creature of impulse and simple desires, and did not find edification in talking to himself.

The scent of blood and grime, the cold touch of ash over stone. You remember this, don’t you?

Luci’s brow furrowed. There was something about this that was familiar, yes. It was not a specific memory or recollection, but rather the vague shape of remembrance — like a dream forgotten, the details blurry, but the form recognizable. He had smelled these things before; had stood in places like this before, though he could not remember when or where. He only knew that he had done it at one point in time, possible multiple points in time, and remembered the bleakness of what he saw — the quiet ruin, the erosive effect that war had on the people caught in the middle of it.

What a lucky little soldier you are, to have forgotten the horrors you once witnessed…

A flicker of motion draws his eye, and Luci turns his head to see a butterfly, fluttering by him on its way through the plaza. It’s a striking thing to see among the grey of the ruins; a splash of color and life in a place severely deprived of such vivacity. And like the butterfly’s erratic flapping, Luci finds his hazy memories fluttering away as he remembers that he needs to return to Sunthorn, and begins making his way towards the troop transport. The far-distant memory of origin, almost within his grasp, melts away again as the present reasserts its hold on him.

…and the ones you committed.