Not Letter But Spirit - Fanfiction Posting for Feedback

Thanks for the criticism! Part of what I'm trying to achieve in these early paragraphs is getting across Shields' way of thinking about her command and abilities, so on rereading chiseling out the concrete descriptions of the Sunrider's differences from canon would help with that. You'd think I'd actually apply this lesson after learning it in one of my previous fanfic projects. Take 2!

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My eyes were closed, but I did not sleep. Now wasn’t the time for that. The dream for me was a waking dream, of listening to my surroundings. The world rumbles about me - my world does. It’s the first lesson of relativity - when you bend, the world does too. Yes, I could feel the engines shudder in their housing, singing out their fusion song. I could listen to the buzzing static of military radio chatter, of clearance asked and received. I could spot the thoughts of the pilot and his craft, both engaged in the act of flight. This tiny craft’s engines could not move the universe. But in relativity, you are the centre of your own world, and that doesn’t matter. It’s not that I can move the universe - it’s that to me, there is no difference.

This was, of course, mostly just exercise. I was watching the ship and pilot for errors, but that wasn’t my job here. Really, I was cargo. Precious cargo, important enough that the brass would call me an asset instead of simply not mentioning me, but cargo yet. My new home was waiting, a steel jewel in Cera’s orbital necklace. Strung by gravity’s bond, and shining with all the colours out of space, there was my command. The Unassigned or Esoteric Space Operations Vessel Type Seven, the only one of her kind. The Sunrider.

Even though I had never seen her in person, and she had never seen me, we knew each other. I might be a bit strange, but no matter my nature the bond we shared was hardly magical. I knew her from the simulators, the endless tuning of software and systems that eventually narrowed in on a ship AI that responds best to my form of interaction. As for her, she might be a ship in the fleet, but she was made from the ground up to respond to one person, whose mind is the access code. So of course we knew each other, and I for one was happy to finally meet the Sunrider. With that mind, I reached out, my unenhanced telepathy pushing to its limits to see the ship at my distance, and I felt the veins of electricity hum at my presence. Clearance is asked and received, and I hear the ship’s reports, feeling out those familiar patterns to her construction.

Listening to the world like this made me feel… massive. The size of a starship. Because in a way, I was. The Sunrider was made to be a piece of me; I was her captain, but also so much more. I was her wings; the gentle queenly hand that guided chittering swarms through the sky. I was her voice; endowed with words that burned brighter than a star. And in turn, she ways my eyes; the glowing telescopes burrowed within her halls guiding my strikes. She was my power; stoking my fire with hers endlessly. So yes, we belonged together. The brass had spent quite a lot of money to arrange our marriage, and they’d be damned if it didn’t work out.

And over half a year later, I finally have the first chapter. I've tested it with a few people - I am for some reason blessed with a family that will accept my sharing of fanfiction based on hentai games - and I think this is ready to post on the internet forever. Once again, feedback welcome!

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Chapter the First - Today’s the Day
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My eyes were closed, but I did not sleep. Now wasn’t the time for that. The dream for me was a waking dream, of listening to my surroundings. The world rumbles about me - my world does. It’s the first lesson of relativity - when you bend, the world does too. Yes, I could feel the engines shudder in their housing, singing out their fusion song. I could listen to the buzzing static of military radio chatter, of clearance asked and received. I could spot the thoughts of the pilot and his craft, both engaged in the act of flight. This tiny craft’s engines could not move the universe. But in relativity, you are the centre of your own world, and that doesn’t matter. It’s not that I can move the universe - it’s that to me, there is no difference.

This was, of course, mostly just exercise. I was watching the ship and pilot for errors, but that wasn’t my job here. Really, I was cargo. Precious cargo, important enough that the brass would call me an asset instead of simply not mentioning me, but cargo yet. My new home was waiting, a steel jewel in Cera’s orbital necklace. Strung by gravity’s bond, and shining with all the colours out of space, there was my command. The Unassigned or Esoteric Space Operations Vessel Type Seven, the only one of her kind. The Sunrider.

Even though I had never seen her in person, and she had never seen me, we knew each other. I might be a bit strange, but no matter my nature the bond we shared was hardly magical. I knew her from the simulators, the endless tuning of software and systems that eventually narrowed in on a ship AI that responds best to my form of interaction. As for her, she might be a ship in the fleet, but she was made from the ground up to respond to one person, whose mind is the access code. So of course we knew each other, and I for one was happy to finally meet the Sunrider. With that mind, I reach out, my unenhanced telepathy pushing to its limits to see the ship at my distance, and I feel the veins of electricity hum at my presence. Clearance is asked and received, and I hear the ship’s reports, feeling out those familiar patterns to her construction.

Listening to the world like this made me feel… massive. The size of a starship. Because in a way, I was. The Sunrider was made to be a piece of me; I was her captain, but also so much more. I was her wings; the gentle queenly hand that guided chittering swarms through the sky. I was her voice; endowed with words that burned brighter than a star. And in turn, she was my eyes; the glowing telescopes burrowed within her halls guiding my strikes. She was my power; stoking my fire with hers endlessly. So yes, we belonged together. The brass had spent quite a lot of money to arrange our marriage, and they’d be damned if it didn’t work out.

I hear a switch click, and my chauffeur turns towards me. “We’re approaching the docking coordinates, ma’am. ETA is about five minutes.” In response, I smile. “Thank you, pilot.” The distraction is welcome - getting lost in the Sunrider’s connection relaxes me a little too much for me to exist safely in the presence of people with too low a clearance level for command’s tastes. My uniform may be designed for them, but I’m really supposed to keep them a secret. “Debris isn’t giving you any trouble, is it?”

He shakes his head. “No ma’am it is not. Weather out there is as clear as a sunny day - I want to congratulate the perims for keeping our orbit this clean. Not a lost glove or wrench in sight.” I simply nod. “I’ll be sure to forward your commendations, pilot-” Nametag, nametag, “-Henshaw. Could you bring up the right frequency for me? I need to check in anyways.” In response, I hear a few switches flick in quick succession. “Opening the line… now.” And the jolt from my ExImp alerts me, to which I bring up the words and phrases I mean to say. ‘Package confirming safety and status en route, please verify.’ I feel the External Implant work, processing the response, before I hear it a moment later. ‘Roger, your position and readiness have been confirmed. How was your trip, Captain Shields?’ I give a swift mental salute, in response to the sense of military rigidness I feel during that statement. ‘Smooth as butter, I’m told. Orbits are clean, and we’re on schedule to dock with the ship. Any problems on your end?’

There is a pause. ‘A few of the perimeter jump interdictors were a few seconds behind on their synchronization pings. We’ve sent a patrol to investigate. Should be nothing, but we’re all on edge constantly with the Veniczar breathing down our necks.’ I nod. ‘Acknowledged. We’ll keep a lookout until you report back. As you were.’ And once I feel his acknowledgement of my departure, a mental nudge ends the signal. I close my eyes again, and stand to stretch, working the grogginess from my system. Military training might take the sloth from you, but I woke up at zero dark hundred to make this shuttle and that’s awful no matter who you are.

I hear a ping in my head - oh, right. The Sunrider has a revolutionary new hangar system, one that depends on a series of gravitic pulleys that guide a ship delicately into the hangar. This allows it to be open air, because running fusion jets next to people is really bad.

The ping happens again, insistent and almost miffed. Because, well… ‘system of gravitic pulleys’ is just technobabble. The active ingredient is me. The shuttle has sent a request to be inserted into a docking corridor and it hasn’t been honoured yet, so in about 10 seconds the pilot is going to wonder what’s wrong. Better fix that. No gestures, just focus, visualize the way you bend… and see the world bend in kind. Before the shuttle, space deforms and the ship falls forward into the gap I carve for it, and I guide it through the corridor and into the hangar. The soft click of contact resounds in my mind, and I release the ship. I smooth my uniform, adjusting my rank insignia about 12 degrees, and prepare to meet my second in command.

The steps lower, and new atmosphere floods towards me. I smile as I breathe in the sharp, metallic air of a military ship. Planetside has its charms, but there’s just something about the taste of industry in the air that sets me at ease. I restrain myself, and step down from the craft. Can’t linger too much - I’m a Captain, after all. If we demand so much from the rank and file, more must be demanded from me, and I can’t let whimsy take me for too long. As I step down to the hanger deck, I hear the clip of leather boots against the ground, and a familiar voice rings out: “Captain on deck!”

Within the unspoken tolerance, her hand snaps down from the salute as she stands at attention. “Welcome aboard, captain. First Officer Ava Crescentia reporting for duty.” She’s as green as I am, but if this were any other ship she’d be the CO - although this would be any other ship if I didn’t exist. How strangely do the wheels of causality turn… but please. All the people before me have given up much to be here, and I should give them a warm welcome. I look over the display before me: a handful of marines, all in dress uniform and at attention, stand behind my first officer. I smile slightly as I return their salutes. “At ease.”

A deep breath, taking in the echoes around me. I wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that she was alive in the way people are - people are much more guarded and loud at once - but the Sunrider definitely has moods. In a way, most vessels do - sailors have been giving things names for at least as long as we can remember, and anyone who works with an object long enough will tell you that it… behaves. And from the few experiments Cera has done with neural interfaces, eventually the man and machine drift together, or the man begins to empathize with the machine.

I step up to the Commander, expression still as I can make it, and ask “I haven’t been told we’re behind schedule, but has she been treating you well?” The commander nods briskly in response to my query. “All preliminary tests on the Sunrider were completed ahead of schedule. We’re prepared to make sail on your word, ma’am.”


She hands me a sheaf of papers, which I glance over quickly. Endless reports of every step of the Sunrider’s tests, which I’ll definitely have to read over in lieu of a Chief Engineer. I don’t spot any of the things which I would be supposed to see, so I say nothing and tuck them under an arm. “Good. Word is High Command wants us to get moving asap. Lift is that way?”

She nods, commanding the marines to return to their duties before we begin to make our way towards the bridge. Without the need for formality besides walking at ease, I reach out once more. Within her halls, the Sunrider is much more apparent, and far more swift to respond to my motions. Subsystems light up and dim as ethereal senses trace along circuitry, as I refine my mental map of the vessel. Crisscrossing tramlines, thick superconducting hardlines, chips along the network… the smaller details are the ones I refine. For the most part, it’s just a matter of taking the maps I’d been given and turning them into real knowledge.

The Sunrider was a strange vessel in many ways, designed for insane contingencies in some places while placing deep trust in proprietary ideas in others. Most of these things took place in rooms that were… improperly listed on any but a few maps. The main layout was easily recognizable, however - the Flight Deck’s sprawl, Main Engineering’s tight and well-ventilated corridors, the extendable observation deck which could sit above the ship for a good view of the stars - the ever so slightly claustrophobic ceilings… it was all as a warship should be.

The lift’s doors seal around us, and I look over at my First Officer. “I can’t believe they tapped the two of us to serve together. Command doesn’t usually go for prior relations.” The commander shook her head. “Command also doesn’t usually have to deal with a situation like this one - having to black-box a specially trained crew left them with few options. I’m told I was picked from a pool of less than ten possibilities.” Damn. Well, I suppose it makes sense they’d be strapped for Ops material that could still be retrained to fight the way Sunrider is supposed to. “You have to study much to get the simulations right?” She nods again. “If I may, too much. I felt more like a copilot to a Ryder sometimes, and my intended partner was nigh-incomprehensible.” She turns towards me. “I still don’t know whether what I was taught was simply to test my adaptability or if it was legitimate training, Captain.” In response, I only shrug.

“Kind of is my fault that you needed to learn all that - so sorry, but I really do need to communicate that densely with the ship to get the kind of reactions I need. The Sunrider was never going to be a normal ship.” She returns to facing the doors. “Of course not, Captain Shields.” She’s as proper as she’s ever been - formal military training hardly changed her at all. “Are our remaining crew and resources still waiting until Wednesday, or has there been a change of schedule?”

Commander Crescenta only thinks for a moment. “Not that I have been informed. We’ll be performing our first Wing exercises on Thursday.” I smile in response. “Excellent. When you have the time, I would like the dossiers of our assigned pilots and their Ryders.”

“Of course, Captain.” My feelings towards this meeting are… mixed. On one hand, I am overjoyed to see my friend again. Had she not been tapped to be my First Officer, I doubt I would ever see her again as more than an acquaintance. On the other hand… though I wanted to, we had difficulty bridging the authoritative gap on a student freaking council - having frank conversations with my friend will likely be even more difficult when the rank divides are actually supposed to mean something.

So though I’d like to, I can’t just buy iced teas from a vending machine and hope that breaks the ice, and gets her away from a stack of papers the drink would put in danger. If I want her time I need actual tea with my actual tea set for an ‘official informal discourse’, which can only happen during specific times when we have a moment. While the official dispensations for breaks and slacking off never cease to amuse me, their rhythms and their paperwork deeply regulate what can and can’t be free time - to the point that it seems like getting ready to have free time might take longer than the ‘official informal discourse’ itself.

The door to the bridge opens, revealing the only slightly claustrophobic command and control centre. Less than a dozen people sit at various screens, readouts, and analog or semi-analog charts. “Commander Cresenta present, ready to relieve Lieutenant Wren on behalf of Captain Shields.” Oh, weird fact about the Sunrider, one of the many smaller reasons the brass wanted a fresh crew for her: even though it’s my ship and I’m on the bridge being Captain frequently, I’m rarely meant to be Officer of the Watch. Instead, that’s usually the Commander. My role is… strange - I still command the ship, Ryder wing, and any accompanying task force without a superior officer, but the manner in which I’m meant to do this is so different from doctrine that someone else usually takes up the more traditional posting of Officer of the Watch - hence, the Commander here is taking the Watch on my behalf rather than just regular taking it, which is already on the Captain’s behalf in another sense. “I am relieved. Commander, Captain, you have the Con.” Oh, this is my part: “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

With that, the two of us step forward - the Commander standing at her station, and myself stepping into the main holotank and beginning to immerse myself in the Sunrider’s datastream. Engineering readouts, sensors, crew readiness.. all the things that normally a captain would have filtered for them by a crew. Even for me - and indeed, in some ways especially for me - reading all of this would be too much, so instead my training was more in feeling the Sunrider’s state through this immersion, with the crew filling in more detail that I could read if needed.

For now, just a simple thing would do. I feel language drip from my voice - tight, inhuman packets of information to be torn apart by machines so that the dozens I just gave orders to could each understand theirs. Through this, gestures, and the mental link, Command and I had developed a way for me to talk almost as quickly as the Sunrider’s computer. The electrical jitter from the walls comes back to me in an instant - orders sent, we are minutes from the exercise. Fly around the moon and come back. A perfectly ideal shakedown cruise, with transfer orbits and everything.

I can more vaguely feel the people in the drydock buzzing about in a hurry as I waited for my ship to be roused from slumber for the first time… my eyes narrow. That’s a bit too frenetic. Something is wrong. “Commander, raise the drydock. Something isn’t right.” As she does, I look around, testing communication streams. It feels… quiet. Ceran space, especially military exclusion zones, are never this quiet. There should be more chatter. More reports. But my sensors aren’t up, so I have only-

!!!

A single twitch of a finger, and the signal is sent - the crew hear the words seconds before action is too late. Brace for impact.

The ship shudders violently, gravity flickering for a split second. I feel the tearing of metal as pieces of the drydock come apart, rent by the shockwaves from the missile volley. Okay, focus. Information for the crew, solve the next puzzle. ‘(Missiles, bearing was 3, 1 on the port side. Drydock targeted. Origin unknown. Outer defences not responding.)’ Now, commands. ‘(Raise reactor tap output to battle readiness, prioritize sensor nets and engines for activation.)’ I’ll wait until we see what the enemy is before choosing whether to run or fight, but I need PD at least. Thunder strikes the ship again, and metal squeals against gravity - they’re hoping to imprison the ship in wreckage! ‘(Sever connections with drydock, with all haste execute.)’

As I took a breath, the Sunrider inhaled with me, capacitors draining into lasers and magnets deep within the ship’s heart. Fire bloomed within our chests, and I felt the first trickles of lightning bring themselves through the ship systems - the first thing lighting up being C&C.

Others described the reactor tap’s effects as making the air feel static-y - like a pressure at the base of their skull, or the feeling of wearing an armoured vest. For me, though? I feel electrified. My senses bloom outwards, and the dream of being the size of a starship is made real. Another volley is in the void - it will not land. I reach towards them - feeling the contacts at once on the holotank and in the world - and I bend. Skip energy lashes outwards, and the missiles stretch in impossible directions, metal warping to conform to a space that changes too quickly. The warheads trigger, not believing they haven’t struck home, and the volley vanishes from my sight.

With the imminent threat dealt with, I turn my attention to the crew. Many are reeling from the strike still, and it takes a minute of watch to determine what is needed. Several are injured - largely from careless practices which would nonetheless be safe excepting these extenuating circumstances. Medical alerts are flagged, as are reprimands for later. For now, though, I need to fight my ship. The docking clamps are a difficulty, and I estimate at least five minutes before they can be cut. The Sunrider glows with fury at those who would try to harm her, expressed in alert lights shining throughout her halls, but the enemy has chosen their moment well. Cut off from support and five crucial minutes from being able to either fight or run, and with an entire crew specifically trained to run her aboard, my ship is a most tempting prize.

‘(Status: weapons, defences, support. Distil.)’ From across the vessel, systems and engineers report, with Ava giving the basics. “Weapons are limited. The Vanguard is incomplete, our missile loadout is imbalanced in favour of Eyes, we have no cap, and we’re low on heavy ordinance. Saviors 2-4 are locked out at present for safety. Defences are fragile. We have no shields, flak enough for meteors and the minesweeping exercise tomorrow, and no plasma for the pulse cannons. Support is nominal. Any engagement would not favour us.” There is a flicker of indecision. The sky is dark, even though I know where the missiles must’ve come from I can’t see the enemy. ‘(Load port tubes 2/4/6, Eye munitions. Target bearing 1, 3, disperse upon reaching 2000 kilometers, search pattern. Shoot through scaffold, use caution.)’

There’s still not a peep from the defence net, even though I’ve sent out a call for aid. This doesn’t bode well. ‘(No external comms, friendly or otherwise. If enemy corvette flight, Sunrider will not be able to outrun without fleet support.)’ There is a fear here - while a deep-ranging combat ship meant to appear anywhere without warning, Ceran doctrine dominates, and she was never meant to be deployed against more than pirates without at least ryder support. Given that the enemy found this site and shut down the grid, we must assume they are aware of the basics of her abilities and are in possession of a military apparatus confident enough to take her. Which means that without jumping out, we won’t be able to flee this engagement. ‘(Advise. Situation indicates either power to FTL or to weapons.)’

The Commander nods. “Jump drives have not been adequately prepared yet, and our Skip drives would likely take too long to charge. Unless we can run on foot, we may have to fight.” I smile slightly. Even though it might not be advisable, my heart calls out for blood, and this is the answer I hoped for. ‘(Launch missiles, prepare to receive telemetry.)’ Between the swaying gantries still buckled from the hits, my missiles swirl out into the night. The Eyes of a flight are meant to guide in their mightier brethren, bearing heavy sensor suites and a much smaller payload. As they approach the edge of our sensor nets, they break formation, searching for the source of the missiles. A new enemy flight comes in, but I am quite ready. The world rends them apart in a tide of gravity, and I spot the enemy vessels. A smaller group, consisting mostly of corvette-weights with powerful drives and a missile armament - few missile defences, they must be depending on weight of numbers - and escorting lightly armed troopships. So they intend to take the Sunrider alive.

As the industrial look of the ships reveal themselves to me, their origin is certain. PACT missile frigates, small things with heavy armament for their size. They also leave no doubt about who we are to be fighting, and that fighting will be our only option. As pinpricks of light emerge from the void around them, I see the ships all finally turn their gazes upon their target. As they launch again, a volley far grander than any of their previous, my missiles strike home, claiming but one.

As my ship continues to angrily rouse itself, engines straining to come to life while the crew scrambles to disconnect us from the drydock, I look at the tacplot. If we cannot handle this, then Cera never had any hope to begin with.

For some reason, that realization is calming to me. My home has hope, therefore I will win. I cannot wait.
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Thanks to some criticism, I've ended up re-evaluating the last chapter's original boarding scene and decided it was bad. Instead, I decided it needed more room to breathe and be different, along with fixing several storytelling problems it had. It turns out, having the captain of a ship randomly head off a boarding action is really stupid - she needs a reason to do it. Hopefully, it works better here. As a result of this change, the demise of Cera is now at the end of this chapter instead, and because I liked that it remains unchanged.

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Chapter the Third - A Matter of Momentum

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I feel the poptents come up, sealing against the sides of our hull, against missile impacts that bring them close to hallways. Now, for the great game of chance - which hallways did I depressurize? They scan for air, I work to jam their scans. No mistakes - unfortunate. With the tents in place and the boats disgorging their units, I hold myself back - we don’t attack on their timetable, but ours, and I want their comm protocols first. Ah, there we go - they’re trying an intrusion. Sensible enough - they want atmo and door control over this part of the ship. What level of trickery do I feel like today?



I could let them think they have it, only to rip it away when they need it, or blow up the console in their faces once we have what we need. Hmm… how about both? Then the explosion is about preventing them from gaining further access - they’ll think they have the upper hand in infowar. I let their clumsy hands grasp at our network, searching for command protocols - and that’s your comms system, I’ll take that. No outgoing communications for you. Sorry.



+Instance environmental controls, create decoys - respond to decoys until given order or intruders intend to access restricted areas.+ They move - it looks like they’re trying to maintain clear supply lines to their transports. Let’s give them something to do. +Drones 1-4, Marines Delta, EVA and assault the troop boats, bring high explosives.+ Meanwhile, let’s get busy indoors. +Time drone assaults to enemy door open. Flank, use air vents.+ One big advantage of drones is that they don’t need to be humanoid - I have light vehicles which take up most of a hallway’s width, and tiny critters that fit neatly inside the Sunrider’s highly inaccessible ventilation system. Some of the smaller creations have trouble with battery life - 10 minutes is not a long time, even for a machine in a little siege such as this.



I watch one ambush in particular. It seems that the person in command of the Raiders is here. I know that most PACT command structures are fairly flexible, but this kind of defense in depth is all about those little moments of chaos, where anything can happen. I have a marine group on the other side of that door, which means a shot at the right time should result in minimal casualties.



+ςђเɭ๔, คгє ץ๏ย гєค๔ץ Շ๏ รเภﻮ คภ๔ รђเภє? เ Ŧเภ๔ ๓ץรєɭŦ ภєє๔เภﻮ… ՇђคՇ ๏ภє.+ A burst of acknowledgement, and the tiny barrel of the flechette gun pokes through the grate. +คฟคเՇ, คฟคเՇ Շђє ๓๏๓єภՇ ฟђ๏ ςคɭɭร… ภ๏ฟ!+ The tiny snap of the silenced weapon rings out, into the seam of a suit, and the target clutches their throat and goes down. In that instant, everything happens. The bulkhead door sweeps upwards, and ten Ceran Marines open fire into the hallway. The flak jackets take some punishment, but without cover against automatic weapons, they quickly falter, and the raiders go down.



Throughout the ship, similar ambushes occur with some frequency, my little drones striking down one or two targets, then retreating deep into the vent system. Each has limits - the tiny rail barrel doesn’t endure nearly as well as a more popular ballistic weapon would, and they need to be replaced frequently. However, while their deficiencies would render them inadequate in most situations, in the hostile topography of a starship on the defensive they are kingmakers, and-



Oh my, did they bring jellied fuels? Tastes like burning Stardust - the stuff that tends to run ships too small for nuclear power plants. And it turns out that anything that’s good enough to be pseudochemical FTL fuel is quite adept at burning through metal. They’re all in heavy envirosuits and burning as they go - quite a lot of acrid smoke and metal fumes, it’s choking out the Sunrider’s cameras. From what they’re doing… I think they want to clear a way to primary environmental and choke us out by burning it down. Seems like we’ve gone away from the initial plan of capturing everything intact, but it’s not like they were given a choice. I wish I could vent it, but it’s too deep within the ship already… oh fun their most likely route passes C&C.



I set flags on their path, mandating envirosuited marines only. Even if you have a skinsuit and respirator, those kinds of fumes will burn through a lot - you’ll need tougher stuff. In the meantime, recheck - I do have my smokepops where I need them, so we’re ready to go. But what’s the play… superheated air and corrosive fumes necessitate specialized marines… machines either too light or too slow… traps? I could pop one with a machine gun nest, but the route they’re taking benefits their short range, and I have to assume that their backpacks won’t blow from a couple bullets… would I want them to, even? Damn you, how dare you bring fire weapons on board my ship?



…assume one per attack with machine gun due to their deadliness and always-burning stance. They are slowed significantly by needing to walk through their own flames, but it seems like their protection is up to the task. With the number of traps between them and here, they’ll still be at 50% strength by the time they reach C&C. I think the best play is to go out there and stop them from burning holes in our hallways. Personally. Okay, so what do we need? Looks like we do this as soon as possible - I check the positions of the enemy fleet. They’re standing off, and appear to be orienting to face the IFFs I noticed earlier. Good. They’ll be distracted. The other operations largely don’t need my attention - I set a few conditionals and flags so the drones know what to do.



+Commander, a large group of hostiles with flame weapons is making its way to C&C. I will be stopping them. You have the con.+ I step down from the holotank, and she nods, barking orders to the command crew. I tune it out, instead focused on other things. The sensors and cameras that show me their feeds before burning out. My Captain’s uniform quickly taken away as I march towards the place I’ll make my stand. No ballistics, no anti-tank… I should be fine. I smile at the garb I’ve concocted - flame retardant, made from the same hardy polymers that are found in engineering garb. You’d never know I grew the stuff. It’s a tiny, beautiful fragment of the gift - to a girl in a society that cared so… deeply for modesty, she shall never be unclothed for as long as she lives. My only constraints are that it must be a material that my helpers knew how to create, and that it must be made out of my own body’s mass. Today, I’ve picked out a sailing uniform, reminiscent of one I wore on a trip with Ava’s family. Good memories.



Rifle. Despite how flashy it is in combat, it’s actually less complicated than many equivalent ones used by my marines. Once again, the key is me - it uses Skip energy pulses to accelerate rounds rather than payload or rails, which means a much higher ammo capacity. As my shoes form from the inner feedstock, I hear the tiny rubber pats in place of my near silence. I can smell the smoke by now. My nose wrinkles at the terrible smell of burning metal and the radioactive taste of starship fuel as it plays over my adjutant arms, and with a gesture, I make it even worse. Smokepops go off - filling the air with swarms of reflective dust - the kind that every single drill sergeant will tell you never to breathe in.



Kind of tastes like coconuts.



Eyesight is useless, and the eyes themselves feel kind of scratchy, so I close them, relying on other senses. I can feel the heat on my skin - the cooler patches of the heat-resistant fabric worn by my adversaries around the corner. I lay down on the boiling deck, frowning as I point my gun in total darkness - you’d think that having the ability to see without light would be all positives, but mine doesn’t actually help too much with a weapon designed to be pointed with an eyeball. I’m kind of annoyed we didn’t consider this problem.



The first one rounds the corner, and I look at where they strike - I have a little time, so I wait and see if another arrives… and there they are. Two more. Not one step further.



No trigger - wouldn’t do anything if there was. It’s all me. The gun barks with emerald light, muzzle flashes surging through even the smokepop. The three go down, heavy supersonic bullets ripping through their flame-focused coverings, and I revel in the Energy in the air. I tug on the radiation, bringing it along as I round the corner.



I am thrown backwards, bouncing down the hallway and leaving a dent in the wall. My ears ring violently and I feel my scorched limbs protest. As I clutch my head and will my ears to silence themselves, I can’t help but scream in frustration and surprise: “WHAT THE FUCK?!? HIGH EXPLOSIVE GRENADES? IN A FLAMETHROWER GROUP? WHY?!?!! WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT???” I stand up and crack my neck, hard. Oh, I’m going to be feeling that later - I am pissed. That is so, so dumb, and I will not stand for that kind of bullshit being pulled in our halls.



I look at my rifle. Yeah, it’s fucked. It may be hardy, but most man-portable things don’t survive a grenade to the face. Fine, melee it is. I summon what Skip energy I can, and surge around the corner again, diving to the floor out of the way of the second grenade I now know is coming. My extra limbs crackle with decisive radiation, and one cleaves through the first opponent, trailing Stardust from their tank. I can move quickly, but they’ll soon get their flameguns going and that’s not good. So, bounce about, be unpredictable in motion? Maybe mix it up with diving through their formation so they hesitate.



I do so love it when the enemy can’t see me.



I use the walls, jumping between them on the diagonals, filtering through the gaps in their lines. The ones with flamethrowers are the ones I target, but I make sure to leave a few. Skip energy snaps at my blades, lithely sharp as they are nothing compares to the cutting power of a weapon that glows with that ethereal green. The hellish realm consumes flesh, devours metal, and cares not for circuitry. It takes a dedicated effort to build things that can survive the lash of its radiation - even the holotank is surrounded by heavy in-atmo shields, and the crew still feels the taste of it like a weight upon their souls. There is a might, an importance to the energy, that carves through human power like a scythe. To think that once a civilization was that dedicated itself to wielding it. Even now, the echoes of their pain fill Skipspace, and to my knowledge I am the only one left to listen.



Propellant barks slowly as I trace my lines in the air. Where a single bullet would hit, I am unconcerned - sure, I’ll be bruised later, but there’s nothing for it. The choice I made here means that my first priority must be the death of them all. They know they’re fighting some kind of cyber ninja or something, and the knowledge that there is one person on board who can do this cannot leave this hallway. I bat aside a shotgun’s pellets and move into their space, foot landing hard upon the man’s chest, breaking bone and flak jacket alike. Oop, that’s a grenade - my Arms pull me out of the way, the rapid movement tearing gouges in the floor and ceiling. It detonates in the space beyond me, and a gas canister goes up, setting most of them that were that way on fire. As I suspected, their fire consumes even their fire suits with readiness.



A girder sticks up from the floor. I smile, and push off from it at speed, smokepop filling my face as I rush forth. Gunfire, flames, none of it is fast enough - I dive through them all, carving up the last of the raiders. I give my arms a quick wipe, and as I look back at their burning corpses, I let out a sigh. +Fire suppression teams, to Hallway 9 Deck 2 - fuel fire. Bring marine backup in case of enemy presence.+ I frown, seeing some of my outfit catch, and rip off the offending part. Time to get out of here. I withdraw the garment, and get back into my captain’s uniform - which, unlike the rest of me, remains completely whole. Glad to be back to being able to have my eyes open, truly.



“Captain on deck!” None of them turn to acknowledge me - they know what that means. I step back into the holotank. +Tactical situation, report.+ The commander faces me. “The capture fleet has turned tail and seems to be trying to Jump out. Marines across the board are reporting that the boarders are being pushed back. An excellent first engagement.” I smile. Still, this doesn’t seem quite right - while the defense grid is coming back online, it’s still in disarray, and this seems like a high card to play for just a few raids on a planet like Cera… there it is.



Many contacts bearing PACT’s distinctive markings Jump into high Ceran orbit, taking advantage of the lack of Jump interdiction. They form up into their trademark walls of iron, seven great prongs pointed at a pale blue dot. Ceran battleships, placed on alert for this kind of thing, leave their dockyards, and link up with fleet elements to meet them. I look over my ship. Fires are still raging across one section, and while she acquitted herself well we are still not exactly… combat ready. I look at the forces mobilizing in Cera’s defense. I look out at the enemy. Back to my ship. I make a decision.



+Contact Local Command, the Sunrider is not equipped for prolonged capital engagement. We make for Fleet Rendezvous Phaeron and await further communications unless ordered otherwise.+ Even if I wasn’t playing conservatively here, holding all the cards nice and tight to our chest, it’s integral that we don’t risk the Sunrider here. She is simply not ready to face a full PACT sub-armada, and from the force disposition they aren’t going to take the planet. It seems like they’ve overestimated how much they’ve crippled our nets, with how light this group is - the capital core is nearly all Cruiser-weight, and they’re light on support elements and Ryders. Hearing the acknowledgement from Command, I give the order. +Prepare drives for Skip.+



The PACT units drift slowly downwards, relying on presenting their firm wall of iron - seven, close-knit hammers collapsing upon Cera. But I feel no fear. No apprehension. This is what the CSDF has been theorycrafting and preparing for for decades. Their wall of iron is met with volleys of missiles and the peering lasers of defenses and ships alike, daring any pilot to take a single step out of position. Whenever a flaw appears in the PACT line, it is ended. Both sides feel painfully slow to someone like me, but that is to be expected.



The hum of the Skip drives slowly grows louder, rumbling at the base of my skull. The Sunrider… she yearns to taste the other void. Born to walk where no other ship can, she wants to see it for her first time. I know she’s ready. I know she’s waiting. I see the Ceran admirals and captains maneuver their ships into position for the coming battle - to pierce the curtain of steel surrounding our world and transform their perfect little battle line into a hundred little brawls - in those, our wolfpacks excel and our cruisers are better supported, and our battleships can thunder on without a care. I-



Jump event. Big jump event. A ship hangs over Cera - as large as some great asteroid, yet obviously manmade. Plated with that red metal that sets the tone for world conquest, I have time only to read the nameplate - RCNS Legion - before trinities light themselves, and sweep across the orbits of my homeworld.



…



…pain…



The Sunrider… she is in disarray. Emergency lighting consumes her halls, mighty plate and dense hull reinforcement drifts into space as vapour, her machines screaming as they struggle to coordinate. I feel overwhelmed, one of a few communications nodes that has not failed, and thus I am forced to collate and shunt data even as I clutch my head.



The well-planned fleet action that would’ve cut down the invaders or raiders or whatever they intended to be is drifting, faintly firing into the unbroken masses of ships that now pick them apart. The defense grid is shattered, surviving pieces helpless without support. I seal a hull section, venting it instead of allowing a fire to spread. Someone dies.



Someone else is yelling at me. I can’t hear her. I pick up a sensory song - my electronic eyes… the Sunrider’s eyes… are trying to tell me something. A big, red spike from the enemy ship. Now that I look at it, it seems kind of like a spinal cannon… but what is it pointed at?



The laser touches down.



“Bye, Kayto! Bring back something for me!” she says as she waves goodbye. I wave back, not that the polarized tiny windows would let her see.



I check. I recheck. I ask abandoned sensor stations for a second opinion. Every time it is the same. Cera City is gone, and a smoldering crater has replaced it.



“Don’t worry Maray. I’ll make sure to visit as often as I can.”



The planet is taken.



“I’ll make sure to visit…”



I can taste the ash….



“...as often as I can.”



…She’s still yelling at me. I don’t think she’s seen it yet, despite her desperation. “...ip…arged… we need to GO CAPTAIN!” I look up at her with glassy eyes. Our arms ache, our circuits burn, our heart is frozen, our reactors straining under the Skip charge built for FTL. I… I have to get us out of here. They’re coming. We need to go.



I stand up, arms lifting where my legs cannot, and sweep a leg forward. Not right. My heart isn’t in it.



“I’ll make sure to visit as often as I can.”



+Maray… I’ll be back here one day.+ I reach out towards the rising fireball. +I promise.+



First step. The arms sway, and once again I begin to bend. My mind walks and my body follows, with the least jank I can hope to manage. The shell of emerald is drawn around us.



With a heave of effort, I coax the world into letting us pass, away from this place of death. We aren’t going to Rendezvous Phaeron.



I don’t know where we’re going.