0600 Hours December 12th 2899 Universal Earth Calender.
Ulysses Space Dock, High orbit above Fortress Planet Cerol.

The Ulysses Space Dock, the largest of 5 space docks in orbit above the planet Cerol. Made up of three U-shaped multi-purpose docks, around a reinforced space station, each U-Dock had the capacity to hold up to 10 capital ships in its arms at a single given time, as well as over a dozen smaller vessels in its 'vertical' docks, with plenty of space for several more on its outer edges. Serving not only as a re-fit and repair station, the dock also served as its own shipyard, with an entire dock devoted entirely to the production of naval warships. Shuttles and freighters laden with supplies zipped back and forth between space stations and the surface, as wings of fighters and MAS units flew on regular patrols. Several large fleets floated in close proximity to the planet, some preparing to leave, others returning from the front lines for much needed repairs.

Among the returning fleets was the Fifth Imperial Expeditionary Fleet, fondly named the 'Fighting Fifths' by the Emperor himself for their exemplary record and combat prowess. With UEE forces spread so thin, the Fifth Expeditionary was one of the few fleets to have a full compliment of 101st Legion MAS pilots, as well as an entire wing of carrier vessels to house them. Having recently returned several days prior from heavy conflict along the Ilyan front, fending off a Coalition attempt to establish yet another foothold into UEE space, the majority of the Fifth fleet was undergoing repairs, with several smaller ships being built from the ground up to replace fleet losses. Transports shuttled back and forth through the ships of the Fifth Fleet, delivering supplies and transporting personnel. Shuttles bearing the black and gold stripes of the 101st Legion flew from the planet Cerol to several of the fleet's capital ships, as they dropped off new pilots and MAS's to replace the fleet's losses during its previous operations. The station seemed to be giving the Fifth Fleet priority, rumor had it the fifth fleet was being sent off again on another mission, with little to no time to rest.



Space Station Ulysses, Command Briefing Room.

A rather dimly lit room, the command briefing room was a large, spacious room, with plenty of space for the officers that used it. The commanding officers from the Fifth Expeditionary fleet's capital ships, as well as the Station's command crew, and several of the top brass were in the room, either physically, or through secured holo-displays. The officers were in the middle of a heated debate...

"We can't deploy yet! Half of our ships are still damaged!"



"What kind of orbital bombardment bores a hole through the middle of the planet?"


"One of my carriers barely has the capacity to jump, let alone make combat maneuvers!"

"What if we sent a task force?"


"Why you.. You crooked snake! I oughta-!"


"Yes, Bishop, control yourself or I will have you removed from this meeting, and much worse."


"So," said Admiral Ardin, with a air of finality in his snobby, almost snake-like voice, "Do we have any volunteers for this mission?"

The Admiral was a thin, wiry man, with clean, short hair, save for a single lengthy lock that hung over his face, a look quite befitting his serpentine voice. The Emperor's nephew, Admiral Ardin made an astoundingly fast leap from lieutenant to Admiral in merely years, making himself the youngest admiral, in the room. Aged in only his early 30s, many would have thought he'd be at the command of a frigate, instead of multiple fleets. Many conservative and older officers had no small amount of distaste for who they felt to be an upstart with more power than he could handle, though several commanders backed Ardin fully, likely for their own personal gain.



On board the Liberator Class Abraham Lincoln.

The hangers were a buzz of commotion as engineers made fine tune adjustments and repairs to MAS's and planes that they wouldn't trust machines with. The sounds of welders, sparks, computers, and dropping machinery could be heard as the small army of engineers went about their daily duties taking care of the sleek Naginata fighters, Albatross bombers, and MAS units with trained efficiency.

Meanwhile, in the center of the hangar, Sterling McKnight along with most other of the 7th MAS team pilots lounged around, several of the squadron's pilots sitting laxly on top of several crates, while others stood, idling around. They were all waiting for the 101st transport to arrive, and see who they were getting transferred to them: old friends, notorious pilots, famous war heroes, or new recruits, most of the pilots were eager to see who was coming, though not all for the same reason. Some of the other pilots on the other hand, weren't so enthusiastic. Rick Astelion for example, their former squad leader's twin brother, had an understandably moody look on his face. After the loss of two of his close friends in combat, he wasn't looking forward to seeing the Newcomers. Astelion sulked off to the side on his own, his foul, stormy mood prompted many more prudent pilots to give him some distance.

Sterling himself was leaning his back against one of the taller crates, idly scanning through a datapad filled with logistical information. His face darkened for a moment as his finger skimmed across their former squadron leader's casket, labelled as "standard cargo", to be shipped off on the 101st transport that would be bringing their squadron's replacement. Sterling's finger skimmed over the data profile of their newest pilot next. She had an impressive record for a recruit- top marks on her flight tests, extensive High-G and weapons training, but she was still a recruit.

"Kind of bothersome that they're sending us a rookie to replace someone like Tori, huh?" came a light voice from behind him.

Looking up, Sterling found Sara Lin laying on the crate he was leaning on, her head resting on her arms, leaning forward just off the crate to look at his datapad. Sterling scowled, Sara was partially right. Tori's actual replacement had already arrived, a veteran by the name of Trapp, but the 7th Team had been down a pilot for the majority of their last tour. The fact that they were getting a fresh new recruit to round out their numbers was a bit of an injustice.

"Not like they can help it," Sterling replied, "The 101st is running out of pilots. Only 35 pilots graduated from the last training class."

Sara rolled onto her back and sighed. "And I guess we can't just lower our standards, huh? Otherwise we might as well be one of those MAS Division regulars."

"Go and make us proud, Ariana." The last words her father had said to her before she departed for training still rang in Ariana's ears, loud and clear. She had no illusions as to the shoes she had been sent to fill, her father had made sure of that. He had slain 6 MAS suits in his day. This count may be trivial to a MAS pilot, but for someone piloting an Aerospace fighter, that was a staggeringly high number. She was continuing the legacy of the Williams family, a legacy she didn't dare let down no matter what. She shook her head and then nodded to herself, gently setting her hand on the patch stitched onto her shoulder. She was told it was the insignia of the team she was joining, the 7th MAS team. Deep in her gut, the breakfast she'd eaten on the planet below boiled, threatening to rise. She'd heard about the 7th, they'd been talked about in awestruck whispers back in training. This was a squadrons of heroes, aces and, some said, demons, pilots who did the impossible and never seemed to stop for breath. To be assigned to such a team, especially with no combat experience, was more than unheard of, it should by all rights simply be impossible. How would they respond to suddenly having her on their team, she wondered, when they were no doubt used to flying with people who could outmaneuver her with one arm behind their back? Again, she violently shook her head, and thought to herself "No Ariana, you can do this. They said you had the skill to fly with the 7th, who are you to call them wrong? You were the best in training, you can make a MAS dance in the sims. You can do this, all you have to do is keep the faith." She took in a deep breath, feeling the air swelling in her lungs, and then released in a long, slow exhale. Feeling her confidence slowly return, like a warm drink of coffee in her belly, she gently shook out her limbs, reminding herself it was a big day today. Not only would she be meeting her new team, who she could only hope would take to her, she'd be seeing the first MAS she was to fly into real combat. Most pilots, she was told, stuck with the same MAS through their entire career, so this was a massive deal. This suit would carry her through combat, drills, and so much more, possibly for the rest of her career. She was, admittedly, incredibly excited at the prospect of seeing this MAS, an MAS she could truly call her own. Sure, she'd flown some Sentries in training on maneuvering exercises, but it'd been a different one each time, and they would pass on to the next cadet when she graduated. This one, however, would be uniquely hers and, hopefully, she could put her aeronautical experience to good usage to customize the MAS. "Touchdown in 3, get ready to disembark." The call came from the speakers, and she bounced up and down in her seat in excitement. She gently brushed a stray hair from her face and reached beneath her seat, grabbing the duffel bag that currently contained every possession she'd have for her military career. Her father had always said that packing light is important for a pilot, as they changed station the most often as combat areas shifted and fleets went from reserve to active duty. So, all she had in her bag were a pair of uniforms, a basic grooming kit, boot polish and other such military essentials. All she had from her civilian life was a small photo of her family, lovingly stowed in the pocket of her current uniform. Since she'd just been ground side, she didn't wear a flight suit, rather a standard UEE uniform, sized well but ill-suited for the confines of an MAS cockpit. "Touchdown, dropping the ramp." Ariana was startled from her drifting thoughts by this declaration. As she slid her hand over to the release on her restraints, the ramp lowered. The air of the ship filtered into the small shuttle, and she breathed it in deep even before she was all the way stood up. This was how the air would smell for her entire stay aboard the Abraham Lincoln, and she wanted to get used to it. It was a good thing too, as she frowned in slight disappointment, noting the air lacked the fresh, crisp feel of the air planet side. Again clearing her mind, and scolding herself for being so scatter-brained, she slung the strap of her bag around her shoulder and stepped from the shuttle. Looking around the bay, she was awestruck by what she saw around her, the bustle of activity so unlike what she was used to. MAS suits were anchored in the bay, tall and gleaming, pinnacles of battle. Scattered around the bay, maintenance crews and pilots moved between the suits. Almost as an afterthought, Ariana noticed there was a large complement of "conventional" aerospace craft as well, no doubt very much so like the ones her father had flown. She slowly began to walk forward through the bay, mumbling to herself "This is it Ari, time to make your family proud." She approached a member of one of the maintenance crews who didn't seem too busy and asked "Excuse me, I'm Second Lieutenant Williams, I've been assigned to the 7th MAS Team, and I was wondering if you could tell me where they are bunked." The man, an fair haired man in his early 30s, turned around and looked her over. He grinned after looking at her, for some reason, and then rubbed his chin in thought. After a moment, he replied "Not sure where they're bunked miss, but why don't you ask em yourself? Most of em are over there, probably waitin on you." The man pointed over to a stack of crates, where she saw a group of pilots gathered. On closer examination, however, they all had the same patch stitched on her shoulder. She smiled and said to the man "Thank you!" Then, without another word, began approaching the pilots. The nervousness returned, her gut churning and jumping, as the pilots grew ever closer in her vision. She again quelled it with a deep breath, the air flowing out and settling her nerves. As she drew closer to the assembly, she thought frantically of how to introduce herself. First impressions are key, after all, so what kind of first impression should she give? For now, she settled on complete business, and carefully positioned herself in front of the assembly, or at least as close to 'front' as she could get, since they were so scattered about. She brought her feet together, her boots slamming together with the sound of slapping leather, and brought her hand up in a crisp military salute. For the first, and most likely not the last, time since training, she sounded off "Second Lieutenant Ariana Williams, reporting for duty!"

"Aww, hell," Wes said in response to the the new arrival of their latest member. She was greener than a four leaved clover and had half the luck. From the way she brought herself, she looked straight out of training. He had been about to respond to Lin, about how they were all regulars once, but the rookie had decided to interrupt that conversation. From the little information he had heard, she hadn't even had one bout of combat. Soldiers without combat experience always ruined a mission. There was nothing worse than going on an important mission while at the same time babysitting a 'cruit. The same could be said for any kind of force, ground, air, space, it didn't matter, rookies didn't know shit. But at least she wasn't one of those rookies straight out of boot. The kind that thought they knew everything because they had gone through what every other soldier had gone through in basic. Wes almost wanted to just go back to reading through his data pad, ignore the whole thing and continue reading the book he had downloaded. Acquiring a taste for reading is just another thing he learned in War. There isn't much to do on a bulky bucket of rust in space other than to work out or shoot at the range. Thus, the UEE had done something right and gave free access to their extensive library. Still had to pay for movies and shit. Unless you were smart and pirated them or copied them off other pads. "At ease that shit, recruit. None of us are really officers," he said, grunting as he stood up slowly from sitting against the hard crate. He was pretty sure the shipment inside was a bunch of cigars or fine steaks, because it had 'precious' and 'officer staff' on the label. He let out a sigh before continuing, taking up the job of introducing everyone. "Blah, blah, welcome to the Lincoln, blah blah... These are your squad mates, our local Frenchman," he said pointing at Delacroix. "Next is the other new guy, Trapp." A finger pointed at August. "He's our new squad leader. I guess." "Right there's a rabbit in disguise," he said pointing at Lin, still lying on the crate over McKnight. "Underneath her is ye old McKnight, who won the award last year for best last name in the service. Sourpuss over there is Astelion. Don't piss him off, newbie." Wes shrugged slightly. He hadn't really felt much over the death of their old squad leader. Sure, she was a nice woman and all, but really she hadn't given much impact as a leader. "I have no idea where the Russian is. Don't piss him off either, he'll eat you 'cause he's a bear." Wes looked back towards Yuu. "Yuh-yoo- fuck it, Echo is our local Jap. She's got a fancy mechanical eye," he said with a jerk of his head towards her. "Alice is probably stuck in the system, likely talking to the shipboard AI. She's a robot." He pointed towards Trent. "He's a wizard." "Lastly, you've got Maki over there. Don't fall for it." He whispered towards Ariana, "She's a big Honey Trap." He stopped and looked back towards everyone, who likely were pissed off at his mockery of an introduction. "Did I miss anyone?"

“I was dependent on none and related to none. The path of my departure was free, and there was none to lament my annihilation. My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.” Alice calmly and quietly read alone a very old story, written more than an entire millennium before. This wasn’t the first time she’d read this, it was a rather enjoyable story, though she personally preferred the works of Jules Verne. She found herself empathizing with the supposed “monster”, while disliking his petty, irresponsible creator. Like the former, she pondered her own existence, seeking to understand herself. She was well aware of her nature, an experiment like Frankenstein’s creation. But she was brought up with a specific purpose in mind, to be a soldier and wield a massive weapon of war built solely for her. Was that all she was? Indeed she fulfilled her purpose on the battleground beautifully, but she saw she had the potential for other things. So...what was she? Regardless, now was a weighty moment not only for her, but all of the 7th MAS team. Many of them waited there in the hangers, for in a few moments, the newest member of their team would be arriving, while the casket of their former leader Astelion would be leaving them. Judging by what the other’s were saying, they weren’t exactly comfortable with welcoming a new recruit. From her access to certain data, she also learned this new recruit would also be the heir of Astelion's MAS, which has been renamed in honor of it’s late pilot. Alice still couldn’t believe Tori Astelion was dead. Of course she knew for certain that she was, that she died in battle a few weeks before, and that as their new teammate approached, Astelion’s casket would depart. But even though it was futile to do so, she wanted believe she was still alive. Tori was more than just a leader to Alice, she was someone she looked up to and revered, and not only for her prowess on the battlefield. But now she was gone. She watched as the transport shuttle landed, and a young woman disembarked: Second Lieutentant Ariana Williams. All the while a feeling of apprehension growing in her. She didn’t know what to think of her new teammate beyond her simply being a new teammate. An air of inexperience surrounded her, betraying her admirable qualifications, and Alice wasn’t sure if she could see this new comrade flying the former machine of Astelion, but that’s what was going to happen. The first to approach Ariana was Mr. Shanks, who ignored her salute and introduced her to the other pilots. While Alice was merely sitting behind one of the crates, he assumed she was still in her infomorph form. With a small gulp, Alice stood up from behind the crate and silently moved over to the two. She had a little habit of moving so quietly others didn’t notice her. "Actually, Mr. Shanks, I’m right here. Also the shipboard AI is doing well." She put on a smile and turned to Ariana, standing at attention and returning the recruit’s salute with her own and a formal, mechanical sounding greeting. While sounding for the most part human, her voice gently flanged with changes in pitch, an indication of her synthetic constitution, among others. "Hello, Second Lieutenant Ariana Williams, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Alice."

Sitting quietly in the no-man's land between Astelion and the rest, Gerard clutched a small silver flask in his hand. The Noveau France tricolour was embossed on front along with his name. It was an old little thing, well maintained but still bearing the regular knocks, scratches and dents that one would expect of having been in his hands as an infantryman. It was one of his hold backs, a homage if you will, to his time as a grunt. Taking another small sip, he flashed a small melancholic smile to Eric as the wine slid its way down his throat. In return, he received a moody glare before Eric turned away. Sooner or later that man would have to stop mourning over the death of his sister...harsh as it may seem. However this was war, and in war losses were incurred. Gerard would be lying if he said that Tori's death did not impact him at all, hell her death had hit all of them hard. His eyes flicked towards a battle-scarred, mutton chopped monster. Well...perhaps not all of them. Heaving a small sigh, he stashed the flask away into one of the myriad pouches he habitually kept and rolled his neck. Images of those scant few seconds played back in his mind as he stared off into a porthole. After a botched firefight with coalition forces, the 7th were being evacuated, the heavily armoured drop ship taking a great risk to drop into a hot zone. As everyone filed on, returning fire to their aggressors, Tori took a heavy round through the cockpit, the machine falling just short of their dropship. "TORI!" Eric shouted as he rushed forwards. With the flat of his axe, Gerard slapped him across the chest with Marauder's powerful servos, knocking him further back into the dropship. The fire intensified as the coalition members whooped upon their kill. There was no way they were going to let them take Tori, but their pilot was already starting to dust off. Given little other choice, Gerard extended his left arm and fired off the grapple. With a loud clank, the electromagnet fused to the Sparrow and the alloy chain tightened. Feeling his own machine beginning to slip, Gerard lifted his axe up before slamming the head down into the fuselage. Now with leverage, he tried to hoist Tori up even as they rose further into the air. The motor servos whined but persevered as he hauled the machine up, using every ounce of remaining power in the machine just to keep her airborne. Eventually the others helped as theey stabilised, pulling Gerard, chain and all, further into the bulkhead. He still vividly remembered Eric's face as he jumped out of his MAS. The din of voices brought Gerard back from his reverie as his head snapped away from the armorcrys of the porthole. It seemed that their new member had arrived safe and sound, although Delacroix trusted the UEE enough with their pilots since they were a precious resource. Like everyone else, Gerard was a little bit apprehensive about having a green recruit on their team, but he figured that if they were going to have one, they might as well be malleable.. Wes was, as always, straight, rude and to the point in the least elegant way possible, but Gerard couldn't say that he disliked that about him. Not that he liked that either though. He gave a basic introduction of all the team members, but he suspected that they would most likely reintroduce themselves especially after how he butchered most of their names. With a small chuckle, he started to pace towards the squad, his deep feelings of melancholy firmly pushed down, unlike Eric who was still pacing like a caged animal. First to reintroduce themselves was Alice, their most robotic member. Generally Gerard enjoyed spending time with the AI. She was interesting in a way most humans were not, and she bore a certain social purity and child-like naivety that the Frenchman would rather protect. Such a thing was incredibly rare in the universe. While he wasn't exactly clear how she felt about him Gerard felt slightly paternal towards her. "Brusque and tactless as always, monsieur Shanks, not to mention forgetting yourself, mon'amie," Gerard piped up as he slowly stepped further forward, his heavy boots ringing against the deck of the ship, "and while your introductions are appreciated, perhaps I shall give a bit more detail and accuracy, non?" With his wavy hair tied back, an unscarred face and warm caramel eyes, Gerard probably looked the least threatening to the newbie, especially next to Wes. "Madamoiselle Williams," Gerard said with a small bow from the hip, "it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Gerard Delacroix, your melee specialist and front-liner."Turning around, he gestured to Wes, "this is monsieur Wes Shanks, a...bête, both in combat and off. He is usually partnered with me on the frontlines." There was a crash followed by a muffled 'Chyort!' from the direction of a stack of crates and a large imposing man walked out from behind them, rubbing his head. Probably sleeping off another bottle of vodka, Gerard thought with a smile, "and that would be Alexei Sokolov, my drinking partner," the Frenchman said, indicating the Russian. "Though ye heven't been drinking with me enough recently," the bear of a man replied as he lifted an empty glass bottle.

Maki was with the rest of her squad, one hand on her holopad and going over her Hellcat's schematics to make sure the technicians didn't do any tampering with her settings. The other hand was alternating between a bag of chocolate and a can of Pepsi as she ran over the data with a fine tooth comb. She, like the others, was apprehensive about the new recruit who would be taking Tori's place. They had each expressed their thoughts on the way to the dock, and there was nothing new Maki could bring to the table on that topic. They desperately needed a pilot to fill out their team, but asking their squadron of the UEE's best pilots to take on a rookie didn't sit well with her. The reason they were so efficient was because they were confident everyone had each other's back. No one needed to be babysitted or have their hand held through the first battle. That was the reason why Maki had received a far warmer welcome than this Ariana - she wasn't some fresh graduate when she was transferred her. Maki already had kills and battles under belt, and when word spread that she was the only member of the Raiders to survive a Coalition ambush... Well, it was easy for her to say. Her first assignment had been a punishment unit, and while the pilots there had been friendly and were united by their hatred of the petty chain of command, there wasn't generally a high expectation of them. They certainly weren't expected to survive for very long or even succeed missions. They were basically told to just show up, and fight. It was only the sense of responsibility that her father had instilled in her that kept Maki performing at her best. It was easy to fit in when nobody expected much from you and it was easier to climb a cliff from the base and working your way up than being catapulted to the top and hoping someone one caught you on your landing. She didn't like the idea of a total greenhorn being brought in, but she sympathised with the new recruit. She voiced her opinion as such - whether or not they liked the idea, it was their reality. They were the best of the best, and it was their job to be professionals. As much as they might want think she was going to be dead weight, they owed it to the squadron as whole to keep her alive and get her through her first baptism of fire. Maki sighed and remembered to update her next MAS maintenance notes to include a new paintjob on her gun. She was going to need to add Tori's name onto it like the rest of her fallen squadmates. She hadn't had the time yet between the mission they'd been flying and trying not to get killed. It wasn't long before the new girl arrived, introducing herself. Wes gave his usual mockery of an introduction and when he got around to introducing her as a honey trap and for the new girl to be careful of her, Maki chucked her now empty can of Pepsi at his head. "Wes here is just jealous because he can't into my pants. Or any other female crew member's pants yet." She shot back, her tone gentle and polite and her smile friendly. If only she wasn't sarcastically insulting a squadmate, that expression looked totally fine on her. "That said, yes, I'm Maki Nishizumi, Japanese like Yuu. If my last name sounds familiar it's because my dad's Tatsumi Nishizumi, the legend." She emphasized the last word with a roll of her eyes, like she tired of hearing it. The comment was meant to preempt any lengthy interrogations in the future. She had gotten the question in its various forms, of what her father was like at home, how it must feel having such big shoes to fill, blah blah blah... Maki loved her father and while he wasn't always around, he made whatever time he had at home count. Still, her career seemed to be plagued by the curse of being in his shadow. Her merits were often dismissed to being the result of her parentage. She had been accused of using her father's name as some sort of crutch or leverage for her career. In fact, the same instructor who had assigned her to the punishment unit had been the same fool who kept commenting on how hard she was trying to prove she was daddy's little girl and that she was better than everyone else. Well, she wasn't going to be a hypocrite and treat Ariana the same way. The recruit wasn't Tori, and while she might be stepping into her MAS, Maki had no delusions that she was going to be a carbon copy. "If you need any help, feel free to come to me. Or anyone on the squad except Wes." Maki offered warmly, shaking her musings from her mind.

"...I could probably shorten this by four lines..." Soft words drifted from Yuuyami, as she stared at the pad in her hands, her one eye half-closed as she stared at it with utmost attention. It may seem like she was deliberately distracting herself from her worries by focusing on something else, but her squad probably already knew by now, that it wasn't deliberate. She truly was distracted, but completely unintentionally, akin to a tangent. Lik the rest of her squad, Yuu was waiting on the new arrival that was to be the one to fill in the empty void that was Tori. Physically at least. Also like the others, she had been worried about whether or not the recruit was capable of handling on her own, at least before becoming absorbed in her work. After all, handling simulations differed by more than just the range of motion as tactics in comparison to the harsh reality that they fought and survived in. Upon hearing the mockery of an introduction courtesy of Wes, Yuu had to smile. No matter how long you have been beside him, that man would always come to amuse you with refreshingly rude but blunt attitude. At least, it seemed amusing to her. Setting down her pad on the crate next to her, the screen filled with lines upon lines of programming codes, presumably for her MAS, Yuu smiled at the recruit. "Welcome to our band of misfits!" was the first sentence that she spoke, although it was quite likely more than one other person around her were thinking something along the lines of 'Look who's talking'. "As you've probably guess by now, I'm Japanese..." Here, her voiced trailed off, as she noticed the schematics for the Hellcat on the pad elf within the hands of Maki. Luckily, it took only a few seconds before she realized her mistake, and turned her attention back to Ariana. "Anyways, I'm Yuuyami Suyasuya, although Yuu is perfectly fine if you can't pronounce my name. Although I do respond to Echo just as often, if you're like Wes and can't be bothered to pronounce it." Finally getting around to introducing herself, her attention has already drifted, and she shifted behind Maki to peek at her holopad.

Laying back on top of one of the crates, Tom Trent was probably the only member of the 7th that didn't care that the rookie was green. He'd said as much on the walk over, but it was easy to talk over the soft-spoken rebukes from the slouching pilot. What did it matter if she was green? They all had been at some point or another, and it wasn't like the rest of the team couldn't pick up the slack. Trapp had already replaced Astelion--well, the female Astelion--and frankly if anyone should be under such scrutiny it was him. He's the one they would be stuck with. If the rookie couldn't hack it, she'd die. Simple. The faint trail of smoke from the cigarette in his lips was one of the only things that showed he was still alive up on a crate of his own, trailing off to the metal ceiling. It was strange for him to really feel the death of another, but it was different somehow now that Tori was gone. They'd made a great team on more than one occasion, their MAS units well suited for the high-risk, high-reward roles of the missions they undertook. It was a loss of direction more than anything else, like a compass left to spin searching for North. It was the most Tom could say that he'd really felt about anyone's death, and if he hadn't said much about it he'd raised a shot in a soldier's salute every night for the woman. He didn't really believe there was anything left of her out there to see it, but it felt good. At the sound of Wes introduction he sat up and pulled the nail from his lips. Crushing the cherry out on the bottom of his boot, he pushed off and dropped the few feet to the floor, boneless. Good Ol' Wes. Big man, bold man, heavy drinker, heavy hitter. Tom had always liked him in the same way most people did--there was something to be said for his gruff exterior and heart of gold. As he rattled his way through the squad, Tom was busy watching the newbie. She was, he had to admit, exactly the kind of green the others had been worried about. She saluted, she stood at attention, she radiated inexperience, but there was a reason she'd been assigned to them. And if it wasn't a good enough one, it wasn't like they'd have to deal with her for very long. The AI chimed up from behind a crate just to the side and, not for the first time, Trent wished she made noise like a normal human being. It was the most disconcerting thing about her, the discrepancies--she walked, talked and acted like a duck...almost. Ironically it was her emulation of humanity that caught his attention, pinged his perfectionist tic. Not that he didn't appreciate her, just that he didn't see why she couldn't just be what she was. Though he supposed it could be argued that none of them really could. And there was Delecroix, the charmer. A Frenchman in so many ways and a pretty-boy to boot. Though in many ways they presented themselves similarly--relaxed, relatively affable--Tom remembered a few too many pulled punches for his taste. He'd gotten better about it, but if he was the sort of person to do it in the first place he was the sort of person to feel the strain when he didn't. Time would tell if the stress would bend him or not, but Tom always kept an eye on him when he had one to spare. Maki's barb drew a slight smile from the older pilot, amused as he watched her throw out her father's name again. As irritated as she was at the mention of him, she did always seem to make the relationship clear. Not to say that she hadn't distinguished herself, of course, though the loss of her old unit had hit her hard. She was still a firecracker, however, still saucy and fun, and if she couldn't be more different from the other Japanese lady in the group that wasn't a bad thing. Yuu could make even Tom look serious, already starting to wander off in the middle of introducing herself. She was good at what she did, he'd give her that, but there was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way and had since she'd joined up with the team. It wasn't the kind of thing he'd ever mention, but for whatever reason that whimsicality about her just...made him twitch. When she fell silent he took up the mantle, continuing the barrage of information with a wry half smile. Good Old Mr. Wizard. "Thomas Trent, nice to meet you." He offered with an idle two fingered wave, his voice an easy drawl. "Don't let these bozos scare you. Some big boots you're stepping into, but my money's on you." And that was that, though he had to hide the quick flick of his eyes and a slight smile. If the Captain didn't want them sounding off, he wasn't about to call her out on it.

The last month had been a mess. August Trapp hadn't really been expecting anything else. The harsh unforgiving glow of the industrial lights in the hanger beat down upon him. Two months before this he had been in a military hospital as far away from the Coalition as possible back on Earth. He had almost gotten used to the smell of tea and the cushioned beds. And yet here he was again sleeping on hard steel and drinking pisswater coffee once again. There was no reprieve for old soldiers in the 101st. You fought the Coalition until you couldn't fight them any longer. And even then Trapp wouldn't put it pass the upper brass to try and find a way to bring them back so they could die for the UEE a second time. They had stitched him back up, smacked him on the ass, and sent him back without much pomp. Not that Trapp would of expected it any other way. The cold war was heating back up and the UEE was mustering all they could in preparation. With recruitment as low as it was they couldn't afford to lose men like Trapp. If only from a logistical standpoint as it would cost less to save him than to train a replacement. VR simulations and all helped but pure combat experience would always win out in the end. Most new pilots don't make it through their first year, they aren't dependable yet. And dependability was exactly what the 7th needed right now. But even after a month it still didn't feel right. Sure, officers knew that they had to jump around. Those brave few acting as pilots more so as mortality rates were not in the numbers that would comfort you. But taking over someone else's squad was always the worst. He had known Tori in passing, MAS commanders made up a small group and an even smaller one in the 101st. From what he had seen he could say safely that she was a great pilot and a better person than he was. He knew what losing squadmates felt like and so he couldn't blame the resistance he received when he arrived. Though the month had been good for them in that regard, it allowed for them to try and handle there feelings and open up to him a little bit. The keyword being try, as much as he attempted to get to know them it seemed he was never really able to understand. Yes he understand their basic quirks, the things that made them people with personality and feelings, like Gerard's knight in shining armor attitude or Wes's affection for alcohol. But to only understand them through that was like saying you read a book by just reading the back cover, you only get the basic understanding of what you are trying to achieve if that. But it was hard they weren't the 2nd, and he wasn't Tori so both sides had some readjusting to do. Eric was probably going to still be the hardest one to manage. The late commander's brother had immediately taken a disposition of hatred toward Trapp as soon as he bored the Lincoln. Unlike the others though he didn't have the common sense to keep his feelings inside. The last four weeks had been nothing but daggers being thrown by eyes, insubordination and the occasional snide remark. Trapp let it slide at first for he knew he would not take kindly to having to listen to the replacement for his own sister. But the more he thought about it he wondered if it was less about his sister and more about the fact that he was "supposed" to get put in charge of the 7th after his sister before somebody had the bright idea to transfer Trapp. I wonder how he is going to deal with the new girl flying the Astelion. Trapp thought morbidly to himself as he looked over his holopad. The UEE may have been preparing for war but it didn't mean that you couldn't forget to dot every i and cross every t. He was reviewing the squad's latest battle report before he sent it out to the brass so that he could get a response message regarding efficiency and reckless regard for human life. Presently Trapp could not complain about the 7th in terms of combat ability. They were deadly, though they had not met his own asinine standards for efficiency yet he knew it wouldn't take them long. They were all just experiencing growing pains, adjusting to the new feeling as best as they could. In that regard Trapp had tried his best to keep things as close to before as possible, wingmen stayed the same and general duties as well. He didn't wan't to flip the table on them just yet. It would only make things hurt more than they already did. As he finished finalizing the report and sending it out to pasture, the transport shuttle carrying the new blood came in. The Captain had sent over the file to him the other day. While he wasn't one to actively read every single logistics report that was sent his way he made room for the important ones. He wondered how much the squad and everyone else on the ship that the brass knew about them, and he wondered what they had on his own file. But for being green as grass she had potential. In the end though in Trapp's eyes like everyone else she was a tool first than a person, a bringer of death that he was responsible for in utilizing. So just because her Daddy was a famous pilot, or because she had never been in a combat situation before Trapp was not going to pull any punches. In the world of the 101st when mamma pushes you out of the nest you either fly or you die. As the rest of the squad moved in to introduce themselves including Wes's lovely general description of the entire time Trapp moved over towards McKnight. Over the last month McKnight had slowly became his consigliere, his second in command as it was. He was dependable and out of all of them he was the first to accept Trapp in his new position of authority. Leaning over he tapped the younger man on the soldier as he directed his gaze towards the girl who was currently being bombarded by the more lively members of the squad. He spoke in a blunt, matter of fact way. "Rookie over there is your new wingman Mcknight. So I'd say it is in your best interest to get her to like you."After giving him those words of wisdom he proceeded over to where Ms. Williams was and the small gathering of people surrounding her. He observed silently for a time before he deiced that social fraternization time was over. He moved into until he was facing the recruit as he did he spoke. Though the voice he used now was different than the one he used speaking to McKnight it was sterner and had the crisp sense of authority behind it. "Alright, alright! Give the girl some breathing room everybody." He explained as he moved his arms about almost shooing the rest away like cats. He let out something akin to a sigh as he shook his head. He fished around on his person until he found what he was looking for. A small holopad smaller in build and make to the rest of their's emblazoned with the logo of the 101st on the back like everyone else. Finally being the one to return her salute before he handed the holopad over. "Williams, welcome to the EENS Abraham Lincoln. I'm Trapp the one in charge of making sure you live long enough to be productive. Most of the team has already introduced themselves and I'm sure the others will when they have the chance. The device I just handed to you is your standard issue 101st holopad, as you might see everyone here has one. They are your link to the ship and more importantly it allows me to bother you wherever you are on said ship, meaning you have no excuse to be late. If you lose your holopad you will be scrubbing toilets for a week, something that Wes knows far too well about." Trapp took a breath allowing her time to process before he spoke again. "Well you probably know what we do here on this lovely hunk of junk floating through space. We fight the lovely army of the Coalition because we wanted to have a tea party several hundred years ago and their great great great great granddads stole all the tea. The rest you say is history and you Williams are going to be a part of that history starting today. Today you are not your father's daughter, today you are not the new blood, today you are a pilot of the 101st. You are the first and last line of defense against all threats presented against Earth and her colonies. I expect nothing but greatness from you and so you will never be able to use the excuse of inexperience with me or anyone else on the squad. If you mess up somebody dies it is that simple. Today starts your new life, the 7th will either succeeded in kick-starting your soul or you will most likely die. I would like it if I didn't have to send you home in a body bag and so you better show me that you have what it takes to wear that patch on your uniform. Do I make myself clear?" He explained to her in a speech similar to that all the others had heard before when they were green as she was. It was customary, and you don't just go breaking customs.

To call Ariana overwhelmed was an understatement as the team, in a steady trickle of insanity, provided their greetings. First, a strange man introduced gave brief descriptions of the other members of the squad, but left himself out. This, of course, didn't give her the grandest of first impressions, but perhaps he was the team nutjob? Surely, right, after all the 7th were full of the best, regardless of backgrounds, so this guy must've been the token one to have been saved from a dishonorable discharge for his skill, right? That was always how it happened in the books and movies at least. Before she even had time to be relieved by this, however, the next one flowed in.

This one had been introduced as Alice, and she came from practically nowhere! She just stepped out from behind a crate, and Ari hadn't even been able to tell she was there! She'd been introduced as...an AI? Really? That was so, incredibly, mindbogglingly cool! Sure enough, her voice had a slight inflection to it, not quite human but not any kind of mechanical she'd heard before. This one seemed more polite than the first one, who she called "Mr. Shanks", and addressed her at least mostly properly. This allowed a feeling of relief to sink in deeper in her, perhaps the 7th would be the proper unit of professionals she'd been told it was.

And then came the strange, flowing French accent from the man who introduced himself as Gerard Delacroix. She panicked slightly, however, upon realizing he hadn't provided his rank. Her understanding of protocol was being torn to shreds by this team! Was she perhaps in the wrong? Was there some kind of secondary code for Special Operations pilots she wasn't aware of. Ari was so wrapped up worrying about this, she missed most of his speech, dropping off just after he said his specialty, and returning in time to hear him mention the Russian. Aforementioned Russian soon showed up, complaining that they hadn't been drinking lately.

"Oh gosh, what is this? Drinking, lack of proper identification, whats next? I thought these were the best we had!"

Soon, one of the Japanese ones introduced herself by throwing an empty soda can at Shanks, and with this she learned his first name, Wes. "Wait did she say her name is Maki Nishizumi? Like, the one from our textbooks!?!" This woman practically defined guerilla operations with an MAS! Not to mention her, just as famous, father, the Nishizumis were basically a dynasty of MAS pilots! Ari could hardly believe she'd be flying in the same squad as the renowned Nishizumi! Though, worryingly, she too didn't show real military discipline, not that she even expected it anymore. Perhaps this was meant to be a more informal event?

"Yeah, that must be it. There's no WAYsuch esteemed pilots as the 7th would breach protocol in a situation that called for it, right?" Reassured by this, Ari did hold her salute for now, as the closest she'd gotten to a real "at ease" was Wes's "At ease that shit, recruit."

Next, another Japanese girl began to speak to her. This one, however, seemed distracted and kept flicking her eyes around, even trailing off during a sentence. Then, however, she introduced herself as Yuuyami Suyasuya, and again Ari had to suppress a yelp of surprise. This one was famous too! She was practically the idol of the aspiring female heavy MAS pilots back in training. Known as the Calamity Queen, it was said her missile barrages could change the outcome of entire battles! Ariana could hardly believe her luck, getting to work with so many professionals, and just as promised in training, so many heroes and aces! Even Wes lived up to a reputation, though he seemed closer to the demon part than anything else.

Then came Thomas Trent, and she practically had to stop herself from fainting. He was one of the most lethal MAS aces around, and even the instructors in training knew him by NAME! They called him "The Reaper", and boy did his kill count live up to the name, and she'd heard about him on the news! He was so incredible, though her father always grumbled about how "Anything that damn over-hyped suit jockey can do, I can do in my fighter." The Reaper was basically a war hero, and even more Ari couldn't believe her luck. He'd even told her his money was on her, The Reaper was betting on her! How could Ari be anything but confident now that such a successful pilot had expressed faith in her?

Off against one of the crates, the one Shanks had IDed as Trapp, the new squad leader, whispered something to one of the other pilots. He then approached, pushing all the others to greet her. He returned her salute, finally allowing her to lower the aching arm, and handed out a datapad, which she accepted from him. As he talked to her, she paid rapt attention, but couldn't help but realize she even recognized him. Not too long before she'd left for basic, she'd seen the ceremony celebrating him as the newest UEE Ace. Even the Squad Leader was such an accomplished pilot! She couldn't help but feel her chest swell, part with pride and part with happiness, when he told her, point blank, she was not just a rookie, and not just her father's daughter, but a true pilot in the 101st. Then came the part about how she'd either soar, or die, and that did darken the mood some. However, she had faith, and as his speech ended, she sounded off "Sir, yes sir! I will fly to the best of my ability!"

That done, however, she did feel the need to do a bit of her own intro, a tad less formal. So, with that done, she addressed everyone "Thank you all for the welcome, and thank you for accepting me into the squad. I know I'm no ace, or war hero, or elite pilot, but I promise I'm no slouch, and I can pull my own weight. As I said, I'm Second Lieutenant Ariana Williams, but please call me Ari whenever we're not in a function requiring protocol. My dad flew one of the Aerospace fighters, similar to the ones being worked on over there, so I'm eager to get into the field and make my own way." That done, she smiled and nodded to them all, while carefully attaching the datapad to her belt right now, so she'd have hands free to unpack her bag soon.

"Rookie over there is your new wingman Mcknight. So I'd say it is in your best interest to get her to like you."

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" McKnight replied coolly as they watched the others interact with the rookie.

Wes was, of course, as abrasive as always, and his usual mockery of an introduction was met with some light hearted chuckling and joshing. A couple quips from some of the sassier members such as Maki followed before the rest of the squadron began introducing themselves to the rookie. Despite their team's relative apprehension towards the new-blood, most if not all of the pilots were at least cordial with the new girl. Though Sterling did notice Astelion huff and slouch away shortly after Wes introduced him.

Sterling couldn't help but wonder- how smart was it to take on such a raw recruit. It was the general consensus that no one wanted to babysit, but the other issue was whether or not Williams was actually ready for the 7th Squadron. The 5th fleet had been pulling nothing but bad assignments for he past year. Sure, Williams looked good on paper, but after all that they had been through, Sterling had the sinking feeling that the brass had just signed the young girl up for a death sentence. Sterling gave a deep sigh. Whether or not they liked her, the 101st always took care of their own. The other pilots would likely die for her- just as they would expect her to do for them. Sterling just hoped she wouldn't take to many of the other pilots with her if she kicked the bucket.

Seemingly noticing his deep thoughts, Sara leaned her head back over, her light pink hair dangling as she looked at him upside down. A small hand held out a flask- a small silver one. It was Gerard's. Sara winked at him and lightly tossed it to him, the older pilot catching it lightly. It was more likely than not that Gerard had failed to notice the small girl swiping it out of his pocket- or hands for that matter. For someone who really liked to lay on the trigger in combat, Sara had a surprisingly light touch. Examining the silver flask in his hand, Sterling deftly opened it and took a small sip from it before he closed the cap, savoring the sweet liquid as it trickled down his throat. He watched Trapp as he moved forward to disperse the pilots that had begun crowding around the rookie.

Sterling listened as Trapp gave Williams her welcome shpeel, as well as her induction speech- as was custom, granted it had been abbreviated and shortened in the interest of time. Williams responded with a sound off with the enthusiasm expected of a fresh pilot- or a pilot stuck in a parade formation. After that she began to talk at length about herself, how she was no hero, but would pull her own weight, along with a bunch of other meaningless nothings. Walking up, pausing only to press Delacroix's flask back into his hands, Sterling had barely let the recruit finish speaking before he made waving motions of his own with his arms.

"That's enough talking," he said aloud, "Alright everybody back to work, we don't get paid to talk."

"Hah, laughed Sokolov in his heavy accent, "They barely pay us at all!"

Ignoring Sokolov, Sterling continued, "If you look above you, you can see our dear Captain making her rounds, and you know what that means."

A general groan started within the hanger, which Sterling's voice quickly cut through. "Combat inspection! Make sure those power cores are full of juice, and make your tallies nice and prominent." he continued, referring to several pilots' habits of scratching tallies onto their machines to designate the number of kills they had achieved.

"Rook," Sterling called, signalling Williams, "Follow me."

Sterling led Williams through the hanger bay, the bright industrial lights, almost blindingly white, illuminating the towering bodies of a dozen MAS's that stood in their own little nooks, sparks flying as engineers made last minute adjustments to the various machines. The MAS bay was in a different section of the hangar- as they required entirely different engineering crews and machinery. Each of these 30 foot tall robots were their own marvel of engineering. Unlike a typical MAS bay, where one would expect to see a dozen or so of the same standard Sentry, almost every single machine in the Lincoln's hangar bay was unique. 101st Legion pilots were well known for their individuality, almost every pilot customized their machines. Where the standard issue MAS pilots- Regulars as the 101st liked to call them, were as interchangeable as the mass produced units they piloted, 101st pilots almost always had their own personal machine, which they always heavily customized. Whether the customization were mostly aesthetic, like Sara's pink Sparrow, or involved aftermarket parts and upgrades, like Sterling's Shrike, most, if not all MAS's were different from each other.

Stopping in front of a thin, white machine, with large, booster looking units on its shoulders, set with bright orange capacitors. It had a very sharp, angular body, seemingly designed for aerodynamics and speed. While the unit itself held no weapons like most of the other machines in the hangar, the three-barreled gun mounted on its arm suggested that it was far from defenseless.

"This one is yours Rook." Sterling said, gesturing towards the machine. "This is a FTX-003 Sparrow MkIII Type-B. I'm sure you've probably had Sim time with the Type-A, the Type-B works in a similar manner- We call this specific unit, the Astelion. I-"

"Wait, WHAT?!" interrupted a particularly upset looking pilot. It was Eric. "Why the fuck is THIS little runt flying THAT machine?!"

To say the other Astelion twin was angry was an understatement. The man was fuming- one could almost imagine seeing the steam spew out of his ears.

"Not your call Eric," Sterling replied coolly, "Take it up with Trapp."

"Fuck Trapp." Eric growled in a low voice. Stepping forward, Eric got right into Williams' face, the taller pilot staring the recruit down. "You listen here, Replacement." he growled in a withering voice. "Just because you have that patch on your shoulder, doesn't make you one of us."

This time Sterling stepped forward, his shoulder pressing against the other veteran's shoulder. The two veterans stood locked in place, Eric unwilling to be pushed back. Eric continued glaring at Williams, Sterling looked straight ahead.

"You're out of line, Astelion." Sterling said in a low voice. "Stand down."

Eric didn't budge. The glowering pilot continued to project his anger at the new recruit.

"Now!" Sterling barked, his voice echoing across the hangar. Eric glared at Williams for another moment before he slowly took a step back. Shoving his hands in his pockets he grumpily walked away, back to his own machine.

Turning back to Ariana, Sterling sighed. "Anyway, this here's the Astelion. You'll be flying with me for a little while, so let me know if you need anything specific. The engineering crew can answer any other questions you have regarding the machine, or, well anything really." With everything in place, Sterling began to walk away.

Pausing for a moment, McKnight turned around. "And Williams?" he sighed, "Don't fuck up."

With that, Sterling walked back to his own machine.

"If she's making her rounds so soon after getting back, it also means we've got another mission." Maki added, turning to Ariana. "Good luck, rookie, you're going to get blooded nice and early. McKnight's got a good head on his shoulders, he'll look after you. Just don't let it get blown off." She stepped into the hangar with the squad, who broke off towards their individual MAS units. Then she noticed Ariana being led towards the Astelion. Fuck, this is going to end badly. She glanced towards Eric, who noticed as well.

Maki's Hellcat was standing beside the Astelion, so she had an excuse to be nearby when the outburst happened. She halted and gestured for the technicians to bring the paint for her gun up ahead of her, and stepped closer to where the two men were facing off. McKnight probably had it under control, but all the same, it was better if Ariana had more than one member of the squadron standing up for her. "Back off Eric, it's your decision, or hers." She added quietly, in the same tone she always used when she was ready to put someone on the floor for doing something stupid.

"Eric's sister died in that machine and it's hard for him to see a rookie stepping into it." Maki explained to the new recruit. "I'd steer clear of him for a while if I were you." She crooked her head towards where her Hellcat's autocannon was being prepped for its maintenance and new paint.

"On my Hellcat's gun is the name of every squadmate I've ever lost. I'm adding hers to it today. We all deal with losing one of our own in different ways. The only advice I can give you is this: You're not here to be some dead woman's replacement. You're here to be a pilot of the 101st. Know the difference. They'll warm up to you soon enough." She turned around and headed back to her own machine, turning around with a sad smile. "And Williams? Don't make me add your name to that gun when we get back."

---

Maki looked at the M103 Autocannon of her Hellcat, sighing. The names of the Raiders who died in that ambush were painted on it like some complicated camouflage pattern. She had a holo projection rendered of where she was filling in Tori's name, guiding the paint jet like a stencil while the technicians made sure all the battle damage had been fixed and all systems were functional. "Ma'am? We've done all the hardward maintenance, we just need to run the cockpit diagnostics. We're waiting on you."

Maki nodded. "Thanks, Johnson. And it's Maki. I keep telling you guys to stop addressing me as an officer." She replied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. They were fixed on the paint filling out the last letter of Tori's name. "You're making sure this thing doesn't kill me before I get to do my job, the least you could do is be a little friendly with me." She joked. The technician gave a half-hearted chuckle and mentioned something about protocol before shuffling off to the console display the Hellcat's readouts.

When the paint job was done, Maki stepped into her cockpit, hitting the button for her music to start blaring. "This is depressing." She snapped at her player when the song on the playlist was a slow mournful rock tune. Hitting the skip button a little too forcefully, Maki booted up the rest of the electronics in her cockpit. A more forceful, faster tune started blaring.

(Song: Die by Jeff Williams)



The heads-up display booted up, and Maki scanned it as lines of code started running up before her eyes, checking off all the subsystems and confirmed they were online and functioning. Placing her hands on the controls of the Hellcat, she went through the usual drill to make sure the Hellcat was responding as intended. Swiveling around to check the head movements of her machine, she lingered a moment on the Astelion beside her and took note of how Ariana was doing before testing the targeting systems and weapon deployment by drawing the autocannon and moving it around to make sure it wasn't locking up or lagging.



"Everything checks out." The technician yelled over the speakers, accustomed to the loud music in the cockpit during her maintenance times. Maki nodded and checked her tallies, which took the form of horned skulls. Each skull represented twenty kills, with ten fangs and five "sections" of paint for each horn denoting a kill. The third, hornless skull was missing three teeth. She had yet to fill in the 48th kill - the MAS who had shot Tori.



Maki sighed as she filled in the missing fang with a marker. If she had just been a little faster on the trigger, perhaps... No, her rational mind argued. There was no way she could have gotten around that corner and locked that bastard down before he pulled the trigger. Survivor's guilt was always a bitch to deal with, especially after the Raiders. Everyone from her previous CO to the psychiatrist she had been assigned to kept telling her it wasn't her fault, that dying in a hail of gunfire with the rest of her squad wouldn't have served any purpose.

"Mourn them, but honour their sacrifice. Do not let them die in vain." Someone had said to her. She only found herself replying with a quote from some really old movie she had watched with her father. "Why do men believe they can justify death? Is it arrogance or...?"

She shook the memory from her mind, stepping out of the cockpit and shutting off the music. Her own combat inspection done, she headed over to the Astelion, where Tori's tallies were being removed from the cockpit and wiping the slate clean for the machine's new pilot. She looked at the small piece of metal plate the technicians removed. "Take that to Eric, will you? Ask if he wants to keep it or..." She instructed the techician who had removed it. Better he do it than Ariana, she pondered.

"Alright, rookie, I'm right here if you need my help. Alice is usually listening in on the comms as well if you need her help. Just make sure you don't go mentioning anything you don't want her to know." Maki warned Ariana, remembering the time Alice had cut off her music while she was headbanging along to tell her that the Hellcat was bobbing its head along and alarming the people around who didn't know what she was doing.

As all the other pilots introduced themselves after him, Gerard faded back into the figurative shadows, a small smile on his face. Well, this was what he expected so he didn't exactly have much to be disappointed about. Reaching into his belt pouch as he leaned on a waist height crate, he felt around for the familiar dented metal of his flask but could only grasp empty air. Looking down, he saw that the olive drab pouch was now empty causing him to let out a small exasperated but amused sigh. Leaning back, he looked up to see the familiar shape of Sarah Lin peeking over from her perch. Raising an eyebrow with his smile, she sniggered and pulled down her eyelid like a child, sticking out her tongue. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Gerard folded his arms before staring at the group forming around Ariana. As their eyes locked, he winked in a friendly manner.

Lightly tapping the proffered flask against McKnight's head, Gerard chuckled before slipping back into the pouch, standing up straight. The usual banter went around as Sterling rounded the team up for duty. Despite having the new team member, he was already treating her to their usual schedule. 'Good' he thought, 'it'll let her join our rhythm.' Looking up, he spotted Alexis on the catwalk, leaning over to look at them. Flashing a smile and a small two fingered salute, Gerard started after his squad as they started to the hangars. Unlike the others the Frenchman did not groan so much as chuckle as they were lead off. Before that, he turned around. Almost immediately, Sarah jumped off her crate, landing perfectly in Delacroix's arms before rolling off onto her feet with a happy smile. "You really are like a rabbit, mon amis," Gerard said as he slipped his hands into his pockets, Sarah falling into step with him. "At least she doesn't drink like one!" came the voice of Sokolov who wrapped his mechanical arm around Gerard's neck, causing him to grunt. The cold metal against his skin caused him to shiver a bit but he laughed anyway as he returned the favour, slapping the Russian on the back. "We must all have a toast before we set off for the next planet, non?" he said loudly, accompanied by Sokolov's booming laugher.

One by one the pilots split off to attend to their own machines. Hearing Maki try to encourage the rookie Gerard chuckled. "I am sure both of you will be wonderful together as partners," he added as he followed behind them, spotting the shape of his Marauder in one of the alcoves being fussed over by a bunch of engineers. As he started towards his MAS, he saw the direction which they were heading and furrowed his brow...It couldn't be...looking over to Maki and sharing a glance at Eric, they mutually nodded. His own maintenance would have to wait. There was a potential bomb they had to defuse first.

Just as he had thought. They had stopped in front of Tori's old machine. The tall, custom Sparrow stood as a memorial to Tori for a long time and still bore the slight discolouration where his electromagnet had gone into overdrive to keep her aloft. Standing across from Maki he shared another look before stepping closer. A few seconds later a raucous row rang out from the direction of McKnight and Williams, Tori's twin was furious, nay, indignant that Ariana would even DARE to fly in his sister's machine. As he and McKnight clashed wills, Gerard drew closer, his footfalls purposely loud to alert the two to his presence. As if on cue, Eric stepped back. Gently placing a hand onto Eric's shoulder, an understanding smile on his face, Eric once more glared at him before savagely slapping it off, trudging back to his own machine.

Tagging onto Maki's encouragement, Gerard approached Ariana with the smile still on his face. "The man is still incredibly hurt from watching his sister die in the machine," he added, a small wistful look appearing for a mere moment in his eyes, "Merde, most of us are." With a small effort, he banished the look so quickly it was a wonder if it was ever there in the first place. "But now is not the time for melancholy, mes amis," he said as he started to turn back towards his machine, "Non, I am sure you will fulfill our expectations and more, Madamoiselle Williams. If you ever need any help just call. I will always be there to drag you out of danger." His eyes flicked from Ariana to Maki. With a small bow of his head he started back towards the Marauder.

"Ah, Leftenant Delacroix," came the familiar voice of one of his assigned engineers, "good timing, we just finished up your maintenance."
"Bonjour Monsieur Lark," he replied, sharing a handshake with his lead engineer, "I assume that I need only check the diagnostics?"
Engineer Lark nodded, placing his hand on his hip as the other wiped sweat off of his brow. He was a short, stout man with a beard that would put most men to shame. His standard issue coveralls were loosely tied around his waist revealing sweat slicked muscles covered only by a formerly white shirt and a thick layer of chest hair. From the other side came a satisfied sigh as a tall blonde woman stepped back and flipped her welding mask up, revealing a high boned, soot stained face. "Well sir, I've finished fixing the last of the cuts," she said as Gerard walked over to inspect her handiwork. The blooms were evenly placed and looked strong enough to resist a few plasma rounds. "Your handiwork is as magnificent as always," Gerard said with an appreciative smile as he ran a gloved hand across the weld, feeling the regularly spaced bumps. "Fresh coat of paint and she'll be as good as new," she said as she leaned against the wall. Unlike most other pilots, Gerard did not mark his kills, his MAS remaining clean for the most part apart from a few unremovable stains. The only marks that distinguished it from a factory fresh model was the several well hidden gouges and cuts, now welded up, scatted throughout the machine. Being a CQC operator meant you tended to take a lot of damage and the Marauder was no exception.

Climbing into the cockpit, Gerard started up the initiation sequence. As the HUD started up, data started to flash across the screen, revealing that most of his squadmates were already online and that he was one of the last ones to come on. One by one he checked his subsystems, each one sounding off as operational. Drawing his axe, he strode out of his little alcove, his usual comrades moving out of his way. They knew what was going to happen next. With a heavy whoosh he swung his axe horizontally, sending a harmless gust of wind over other people's MAS'. Just from the sound and brutality of the swing, the others knew that it would have cleaved a Ferir model in twain. It didn't end there though. With flowing axemanship, the Marauder swung the poleaxe through every possible angle, the servos holding up and analysing the strain placed on the joints. All the while his mechanical legs stepped, retreated and pivoted. Gerard was putting the beast through its paces, making sure that he was completely battle-ready and that a single faulty servo would not stop him. Even a seconds hesitation could mean his life. As he followed through on a diagonal swing there was a soft click, barely audible, and an even less noticable delay. Standing back up straight, he walked back into his alcove and powered down.

"There is a slight discrepancy between servos 23 and 24," Gerard said as he climbed out of the cockpit, landing with a soft thud, "the diagonal swing is point 2 seconds late." Taking a small clipboard from Lark's hands, he started to mark off areas which he thought were not up to par. "Hydraulics 6 through 9 need to be re-evaluated," he continued as he circled the area around his right leg, "the backwards pivot seems to put a larger amount of strain on the pumps than it should." A few more observations, cheers and friendly ribs later, Gerard bid his engineering team farewell and started to approach Ariana. "Adjusting well, madamoiselle?" he asked, before frowning. The last time he addressed her as such, she seemed to be displeased. Shrugging inwardly, he cleared his throat. "Pardon, sous-lieutenant Williams?"

At her superior’s orders, Alice obediently went to her own machine. Though she could not disobey her function to follow orders, she did notice the altercation between Eric and Ariana. He seemed to be taking the news as well as she thought she would, and Alice would have to talk to Ariana after her inspection. In her niche, rather than a standard team of engineers, she and her MAS were attended by technicians accustomed specially to her and her MAS, and the original engineers themselves kept a watchful eye. They did not speak directly with Alice, and did not waste any time with their work.

Before checking her MAS, the technicians checked the maintenance of her own android body. She held her arms up, moved her head and eyes, performed some stretches to confirm her flexibility. One technician handed her a simple, small metal cube, which was quickly warped and crushed under her fingers. Lastly, with a sharp metal tool, another technician scraped at an area of integument on her hand, removing a thin line of the skin-like covering and showing the matte ivory plate underneath. After a few seconds, it grew back and maintained the illusion of her appearance.

Before finishing, an engineer plugged a datapad into a data port at the base of her head. Alice’s pupils flashed a faintly glowing blue as a vast stream of data filled the pad. The engineer thoroughly examined the code before unplugging Alice from the pad and closing the jack.

Satisfied, the technicians moved on to the maintenance of her MAS. The stark white of her MAS’s metal was restored by repairs after the toils of each battle, and was not marred by the presence of tallies. Alice was among the few who did mark her MAS, though this was more at the behest of its engineers. She had found a way around it, and instead left her marks on her enemies' machines rather than her own, adding insult to injury. Either way, the White Rabbit’s mere presence on the battleground was a threat to her enemies.

Next, Alice climbed into the cockpit and started up her machine. Her body harmonized with her MAS’s, and its HUD integrated with her own entoptic interface. Her eyes shimmered from the light of the display as she ran diagnostics, inspecting all of the subsystems to verify their operation. Then she began to test her weapons. Careful not to hit anything, she tested her the cocking mechanism of her wrist-mounted shotguns by throwing a couple mock punches in the air. Then, two compartments on her shoulders opened up and a pair of cannons emerged before pivoting downward, the barrels pointed forward. A large crate was presented to her and opened, revealing her last and primary weapon: the M10-EX.

The Scorpion rifle was a experimental rifle created for Alice and the Eagle, combining kinetic and plasma weapon technology to create a formidable weapon. It was also built to take two different magazines carrying different types of ammunition, adding an element of versatility to the weapon. At longer distances, the barrel of the gun would extend and the firing mechanism slide forward to the heavy ammo magazine. The only modification to the rifle, as well as one of the few requests ever granted to Alice by her creators, was a blade she recovered from a Coalition MAS’s alloy combat knife welded to the end of the barrel as a bayonet.

“All systems operating at peak performance.”

After a quick test of the rifle’s modular transitions, it was placed back in it’s crate and Alice’s inspection was completely finished.

Alice stepped out of her cockpit and noticed Gerard walk past towards Ariana after his own inspection. She quickly caught up and followed beside him, going to Ariana where Ms. Nishizumi was reassuring her.

“Ms. Williams? Ms. Nishizumi is correct, I will be listening if you need or desire any assistance. And I must apologize for Mr. Astelion’s fit. Tori’s death has not been easy for many of us, least of all him...You are indeed one of the 7th now.”

Wes rubbed the back of his head where a can had phased through the transdimensional rifts in time and impacted with his skull, still slightly sour about Maki's ribbing. She knew damn well he got plenty of action from the ladies. Chicks dig marines with scars. And big muscles. And side burns. Don't forget the side burns, those were the most important aspect of anything.

Though, he really didn't feel anything. His thick skull meant anything less than a hammer braining him went mostly unnoticed, he only rubbed it to show his squad mate he cared. Or something. He was amused at least, but his role in making the recruit uncomfortable had been stolen as everyone crowded around her, stealing his joy of taunting. Wes took his damn time as the group split up, heading to their stations and preparing for something. No doubt it was combat soon.

Watching the outburst from Eric was a bit uncomfortable. The man needed to calm his shit and get over it. People died in war, and there was no doubt Astelion hadn't made a few widows or ruined a few families with his thirty-five kills. Sure, Wes would be pissed if his dear old Dad had died, but he wouldn't piss on a poor recruit who didn't even know the damn man. Hell, he thought it was a good idea to give her the old Sparrow. The spirit lives on through her and all that shit.

Passing by Eric, Wes jerked his shoulder into the man, knocking him out of the way and daring him to say something. Wes had a good fifty pounds and several inches on the man, so the chances of Astelion taking Wes out were zip to none. Eric growled, but did nothing as he walked past Wes, walking away from the group.

As Delacroix' Marauder went through the motions of swinging that hefty axe of his, Wes grinned as he watched while walking to his own machine. In his own head, Wes was going through all the ways he could take it down in Disposal. In a straight melee fight, Marauder had an advantage because of, well, the axe, but Wes could see a few weak points in his system. Getting past its reach and straight into its face would've easily taken it down. Then again, he didn't really want to test the effectiveness of its scattergun.

Finally Wes reached his own beauty of a machine. Its fifty-one feet in all its glory stood before him, the white paint covered in blast marks and scorches, gouges and cracks. The only bit of paint perfectly intact was the skull and bones on its midsection. Engineer Tark simply nodded slightly as Wes passed. The man's overalls were covered in grease, but his bear like figure was similar to Wes'. A scratchy beard covered his face, barely hiding the missing front tooth Tark had. He and Tark had a bit of a complex relationship, in that they barely talked at all. Wes had his job, Tark had his.

They were good friends.

Stepping off of the lift, Wes descended into his own cockpit, eyes adjusting to the slight darkness that surrounded him before firing the system up. He blinked quickly as the screens came to life, the same time a small cord pricked the back of his neck, hooking him up to the system. Wes ignored the sound of the male voice, "Hello. My name is RALF and welcome to the B15-7 MK.II Heavy Class MAS," it said, repeating the same damn tutorial it did every single time he started Disposal up. He knew every single word it said, going over munitions counts, operator status, and 'taught' him how to drive.

Wes had no idea why it still kept playing. Countless techs and computer freaks had looked into Disposal's hardware and software, but none of them could find where to turn the damn thing off. Eventually it became sort of a ritual for Wes to hear it, even though it still pissed him off. He chocked it all up to a test of tolerance.

According to his systems, hydraulic pressure was at one hundred percent, stabilizing cores were at maximum, and his seat was slightly uncomfortable. Unlike the others, he really didn't pay much attention to the numbers and dials that tried to make him give a fuck. Either Disposal was working or it wasn't working, that was it. Let the grease monkeys pay attention to that stuff.

Keying in the radio, Wes spoke up. "Tagg. Squad Leader. Big Honcho. I got a quick question for you." Wes asked, the machine rocking as he reared backwards with a yawn. "Why're we all hopping in our machines for? Are we going to be doing anything or are we just showing off our firepower boners to the newbie?"

With the rather enthusiastic of an introduction from the new recruit ending with the order for inspections, Yuuyami was actually smiling slightly. She had just finished the changes in the codes, and now was a perfect time to test them. Like the others, she headed off to towards her MAS, the monstrosity that towered over the lighter frames in the hangar. However, unlike most of her squadmates, there was only one engineer standing beside her MAS, and seemingly waiting for her.

Nodding towards the engineer, who stood at attention, albeit with a slight smile of his own, Yuuyami ignored the usual method of climing up a scaffolding to reach cockpit height, and choose to scale her crouching monstrosity. Slipping inside, she first uploaded the new changes in the coding, before booting up her MAS.

Opening her closed eye, and rising up from the crouched position, Yuuyami started the usual movement check. Carefully moving the arms of her MAS, before taking a step, she smiled. So far so good. Reaching the right arm over the shoulder, before grabbing the AOI Saviors on the back, locking the weapon in place, before bringing it around front. She repeated this step with the FB Trinity. Finally, as her last viable weapon check, she popped out the LC Aegis, before nodding again. There were a few things that she wanted to test, mainly the code alterations for the Smart-AI auxiliary system, but that would have to wait.

Shifting her lumbering machine back into the original position, she powered down the MAS, before hopping out, this time making use of the scaffolding, as she had just closed her eye again. After reaching where the scientist awaited her, she shifted to the side, before pointing at certain areas of the holopad held in his hands, the descriptions and changes that she had mentioned would cause just about anyone's faces to blank out if they didn't study engineering. Even the one she was speaking to had to ask her for clarification a few times, most likely a rookie.

Making a mental note to ask for a more experienced engineer the next chance she could, the outburst of a rather angry voice distracted her. Glancing behind, the first thing she noticed was the MAS that Tori had piloted. After a quickly shit of her gaze, flicking from Ariana to Eric, Yuuyami frowned.

After making her way towards the group that was gathering -although not without stumbling several times-, she joined up, before speaking. "There isn't much of a choice in what Ariana can pilot. Building a new MAS takes time and resources, which are already stretched thin with this war. Also, leaving a MAS without a pilot is a waste of such resources, something that the higher-ups don't have the luxury to allow.", voicing her opinion from the perspective of an engineer, while also completely ignoring rank again.

Drama queens.

As they slid their way to their respective MAS units, Tom did his best to ignore the confrontation happening behind him. As soon as it was clear which unit she'd be piloting it was inevitable, but it didn't stop another tic or irritation from rising. Astelion could at least try to be professional about the affair--if their fucked up little group wasn't known for playing by the rules, Trent would like to think they were at least better than throwing tantrums about the matter. Not a one of them owned the machines that they used, could afford to put a tenth of one together out of their salaries combined. The only thing that bought a pilot the right to call a machine his own was performance, and even that could be ignored in the right hands. Whatever it was Eric had hoped would happen with his sister's MAS, it was quite literally out of his hands.

Better to focus on the present.

In the same way, it wasn't that Tom was attached to the Mosquito because he thought it his. It suited him very well, admittedly, and he'd done some incredible things with it, but primarily it was his because anyone else piloting it would have been a liability. Never mind the explosive potential in the experimental core if calibrations weren't just so or the risks of ionization and plasma technology in the Arbalest--the thing was practically a screaming metal death trap, lightly armored and intensely responsive. Anyone without significant light-chassis experience would get themselves shredded under anything resembling concentrated fire, to say nothing of the dangers of a Tesla Drive to the uninitiated. Calibrated as he had it fire-fights were finger-twitch instant responses, the mech reacting practically at thought and requiring intense concentration to keep aligned, active and in order. The Astelion, with its intense speed capabilities, would require similar concentration and precise handling.

Still, he'd done it. Combat had come naturally to him, so perhaps it would to her as well.

Tom and Wes shared similar levels of communication between themselves and their mechanics, but where Wes was able to simply allow them to do their jobs Tom had to let them fiddle and fuss over this suboptimal stabilization rod or the amount of lithium currently in the cooling solutions. They ran endless strings of numbers and made an endless series of adjustments, the end result always being that he had to re-calibrate his damn self. Yes, he knew that under lab conditions the Tesla Drive could run at optimum speeds with only a 15% energy draw--he also knew that the stabilizer struts and the Tesla Drive ran through the same relays and, without upping the allocation to at least 18% there was a loss of in-flight stability for the first second or so of Tesla initiation. Yes, the Arbalest required at least a 35% ED budget in order to operate at optimum efficiency for maximum range, but the thing's maximum range was several miles--it was significantly more efficient to cap it at 30% and pull the remaining energy towards the maneuvering vents, which needed to be responsive at the drop of a hat to handle high speed performance. And so on and so forth, little kinks and alterations that were necessary for performance, not ideals. So it was that by the time he got to his machine and waited, deadpan, for them to finish fawning over the reactor, that he finally managed to draw himself up into the machine proper and settle himself in.

It was enough to drive a guy crazy.

"Mr. Wizard up and running, booting up the optimization suite. Combat ready in five." He offered mechanically through the vocal feed, eyes already flicking through lines of holographic data as they filled themselves in around him. Fingers flicked out to adjust a statistic here or there, an endless string of corrections and calibrations. He took the ribbing about his slow start ups in stride, bitching good-naturedly about meddling R&D and statisticians, but when it came down to it he'd be ready to go with the rest of them.

And you couldn't argue with results.

"Well, that went better than expected." Trapp muttered softly to himself. He had been prepared to go over and calm the situation as needed but McKnight handled it well. The young man had a tendency to surprise him on how easily it all seemed to come to him. He had the potential to become a career officer high above his own pay grade if only he could buckle down and deal with the bureaucratic BS. A feat of mental constitution that Trapp himself could never muster. He didn't have the patience to sit at the big armchair and listen to a man in a suit tell him how to do his job. That's why he had denied any offers of promotion over the last few years, sometimes the rank isn't worth the hassle

After making sure there was no more altercations and everyone headed towards their respective vehicles, the new squadron leader made his way over to his own vehicle. He had fallen into the same boat as the Rookie in the case of their machines. His old machine was nothing more than a smoldering pile of rubble, and resources being as stretched thin as they were the engineering core did not have time to make a custom made model just for him. And so he was currently piloting old reliable herself the PTX-051 Sentry MkII M. Not that he really would complain in the manner his own machine was a modified Sentry more heavily optimized than the mass produced model and he started his piloting career flying simulators built around the MKI schematics. The sentry had been with him for most of his fourteen year career in the UEE and he could probably fly one of them in his sleep if he needed. Though it never helped to make a few minor adjustments to make things run a little more smmoothly and keep him alive.

Standing at the base of the vehicle he looked up, the view he got never did cease to amaze him. He had slaved through years of training just to get a chance to even look at a MAS let alone pilot it. The view he got as a rookie touched him the same way it did at that moment, a sense of awe and self-accomplishment it made up for all the paperwork and other tedious tasks that he had to put himself through. He would go through a million after battle reports, inventory itineraries, squad meetings, procedural reviews and even basic just to be able to seat inside of a MAS. Despite being the child of a diplomat and a business heiress their jobs and lives never really did appeal him. Office work and talking didn't save the world and maybe his work didn't either. But at least it felt like he was doing something and not just sitting by and doing nothing. Or at least that was the lie he told himself to be able to sleep.

But the view also conjured up new feelings that once did not lurk in his mind. A deep chill arose from the small piece of metal in his breast pocket, as it seemed to drive the heat from his body. It was like a specter long forgotten having risen from its grave. The piece was all that the salvage team was able to recover from the ambush site. It was the last testament to the 2nd Mobile Armored Strike Team as he knew it. He'd lost people before, but never like that. He'd served for the better part of a decade and then some with most of them, they had become the brothers and sisters that he had never got to have in his own life. They were all fresh recruits when they started and they grew together. They all knew it could of happened, he just never imagined that it would of. That was partly why he was taking his new position with baby steps. He knew what it felt to lose somebody. Hell, he honestly couldn't even blame Astelion for his actions.

"And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee" He said out loud not noticing if anybody heard, not that he would care at that point. His hands shook slightly as his mind wandered through memories of plasma, screams and gunfire. Taking all the mental willpower that he had at the moment, he manged to get a smoke out of his pack and into his mouth. Soon the metallic sound of a lighter creating a spark and then the sweet release as smoke filled his lungs. The blackness acting like a great angel draping its wings upon him, relieving him of his pain. He had never smoked before he started as pilot, but like many other he had taken too it soon afterwards. Everyone needed a way to cope, to be able to calm the nerves, to forgot. They all had their indiscriminate vices.

"Uhhh sir?" A voice called to him and finally he snapped out his stupor. A member of the maintenance crew looked at him with puzzled expression upon his face. Trapp apologized and asked for the man's cliboard marking all the changes that needed to be done. The commander having piloted more than a few sentries in his life could pretty much recite the average day to day maintenance protocols required on them from his head. As much as they were deathtraps as much as anyone was concerned they maintained well and from model to model required adjustments did not vary that much. He made several notes on the page adjusting capacitors, heat sinks compressors, readjusting the sensitivity in the right arm all to exact amounts and finally to cycle the Quad-Core at least once to let it flow properly. He finished his notes and signed off at the bottom with a neat little scribble. The member of the maintenance team give the notes a look before nodding and walking away. They always appreciated the older pilots, they had less of a tendency to bother them and did not run as many test runs.

After this he looked around and noted that everyone had for the most part finished their inspections and were either talking among themselves or spending some alone time. Though judging from their lovely captain's own deposition above them it would seem that orders were about to come in. He didn't have to have served on the ship for that long, all of the upper brass had the same look on their face whenever they were delegating news. Before that could happen though the rest of the squad had to gather and so Trapp called out loud cutting through the sound of machinery. "Alright everybody form up, orders are about come in! You know the drill! A line in order by some sort semblance of rank. Make sure your uniform are on straight, and you look as bright eyed and bushy tailed as you can fake! Oh, and Williams word of advice! Don't blink, Captain Marquis can smell your fear!"

Ariana Williams followed behind McKnight towards her MAS, with barely contained enthusiasm, and listened along as he began to explain it. Then, however, came Eric and his rage. The anger directed towards her was massive, she could swear the man would kill her if McKnight wasn't between them. However, as he raged, other members of the team slowly assembled, rallying to argue for her side, surprisingly enough. She couldn't help but feel her confidence being bolstered by this. She managed to stand her ground against Eric's fury until he left, and she noted with a mental smile that even Wes seemed to be supporting her, bumping his shoulder into Eric as he walked by. McKnight telling her not to fuck up, Maki and Gerard reassuring her, it all made her smile. The team, as a whole at least, wanted her to survive and make it through, and that made her happy.

As she looked over the Astelion, her mouth open in slight awe, she heard a woman clear her throat. Looking over, Ari saw a woman in engineering uniform standing there, data pad in hand. "Second Lieutenant Williams, right? I'm Petty Officer Second Class Schwiss, the chief of the engineering crew for the Astelion. I'm shooting her specs over to your 'pad, save the explanation. The long and short of it is be careful, she's all about caution. The Astelion's primary gun, is also her biggest engine, so you have to make sure you know what you need. Anyway, anything I tell you the machine can tell you herself. Don't worry, she was gentle with Tori, she'll be gentle with you.

Ari smiled and nodded, saying to her "Thank you very much, Schwiss. I'll climb aboard and try to adjust...if thats alright."

With a call of "She's yours for now, don't wait for permission.", Petty Officer 2nd Class Schwiss walked up to the engineering station, likely to get readings from it as Ari booted it up. Ari, almost hesitantly, climbed into the cockpit and sat down, the pit sealing behind her. She released a deep breath, allowing her fear of Eric, her excitement over the MAS and her squad, all of it to fall away. Her fingers danced across a keypad, booting up the Astelion, and she soon watched as the system registered a new user, and as such displayed the tutorial. She nodded along, learning about the various weapons, systems, and capabilities of the machine she sat in right now. She began to speak then, half to herself and half to the MAS

"Alright, time to do a quick roll through your paces, see what you can do. I'll have to be careful, if I do the wrong thing I could go hurtling into the wall." With that done, she began to do a few basic movements with the MAS, simple and graceful, and she swiftly discovered it seemed to respond similarly to the MKI Sparrow, just faster and more well tuned. After this, the time came to test it's combat systems. A quick look revealed the flares and countermeasures were loaded and ready, so that was checked off. Extending her suit's arms, she then allowed the melee weapons to slide out with a schink. She moved them around carefully, getting a feel for the weapons, much different than maneuvering with the Sentry's axe back in training.

Then, however, she retracted the blades and the real deal arrived. She looked down and Schwiss nodded, and soon a message reading "SHE WON'T FIRE, GO AHEAD AND BOOT UP THE CANNON" scrolled across the screen, like from the engineering station. So, she accessed the X-50 and set it to cannons and, sure enough, the orange capacitators at the front flipped up, revealing the barrels, but no energy gathered. With a soft sigh of relief, she discovered the engineers were just checking reactor output to the cannon, and she didn't actually need to feed it energy. After a few moments, Schwiss nodded from the ground, and Ari happily switched away from the guns. With this done, she climbed down to talk to Schwiss, noting "The airframe is slightly warped I think, and some of the reactor output seemed strange. Other than that, she was a dream."

Schwiss nodded, and as Ari turned, she found some of her squad mates had gathered around, so she began to address them in turn. She spent a moment recalling her Japanese, then said "Umm...Arigatou, Nishizumi-sama. Sorry if my Japanese isn't good, I haven't used it any since College. Thank you for the offer of help though.".

To Gerard, she said "Yes, Mr. Delacroix, she's a dream of a machine. Though, please, call me Ari unless we're in a formal situation. Protocol is great and all, but you are higher anyway, and even I know not all situations need my rank."

Then however, Trapp called for them to form up and look bright. She unhesitantly stepped into her position in a line, as she was the lowest in rank it wasn't hard as her place was at the end. She nodded and said to him "Yes sir team leader, if boot teaches anything it's a parade line." With that done, she quietly stood at attention, though not in full salute until they declared an officer was on deck. Right now was one of those situations she mentioned to Gerard, a truly formal situation, and protocol was to be obeyed.