Jesus Christ, Wes thought as he finally got the hell out of that pit of angst and whining. Sure, he thought a few of them had some good points, but Christ, it was annoying. The whiskey and wine offered up could only do so much for Wes.

When would they realize that this wasn't some two bit war film? They weren't bloody actors who had to cry and moan everytime they killed another person. The enemy was the enemy. It wasn't a game, and you didn't get extra points for feeling sorry for them. Sure, everyone has their own life, but worrying over combat would just get you killed or worse. Wes had learned quickly not to care for the enemy.

No regrets in his career choice. Sure, Wes always felt a touch sorry for the men he's killed, but it was similar to the obligation of apologizing to someone after bumping into them in the street. 'Sorry your husband is dead. I killed him with my rifle. Sucks, I guess.' You didn't have anything to complain about if you died in the field. 'I didn't sign up for this shit,' was a load of bull. You did sign up for that shit.

Hell, Wes doubted he would have a proper funeral when he eventually hit the dust. That shit was too melancholy for him. Drink, fight, fuck, was his motto. Wes remembered back to Tori's funeral. He gave her his respects and left. No use crying over it. She was a damn good leader but hell, everyone's gotta die. Not dying would be boring and repetitive, and would certainly be hell.

He didn't have any sob stories of his own. No heart-stricken lovers who dreaded hearing news from the fronts. No family to return to and tell stories to, Dad died a few years ago. Nope, Wes was a warrior, a fighter through and through, and if he was going to die, it would be on the battefield, not in some retirement home. And if he didn't die on the field? Nah, no way he wouldn't.

Humming a jolly little tune, Wes stared pitifully at the last of the mug of wine he held. Wine wasn't all that great, sure it tasted nice, but it never got him drunk unless he drank copius amounts of it. Speaking of copius amounts of wine, Wes knew just the thing to solve his problems.

The door let out a beeping noise as it slid open, followed by a, "Yo, Gerard. Open up some champagne or something. The cheap stuff'll do. I wanna get drunk." Wes walked in, ignoring the gleaming revolver held in Delacroix' hands. He wasn't one to pry into others issues. "And judging by your state, you also wish to get drunk."

As the door swished open, Gerard hurriedly dropped the pistol from its position under his chin and placed it in his lap. His habitual smile came onto his face as he swivelled around on his chair to see Wes stride in with na'ary a care in the world...or rather, 1 care if his attitude and speech were anything to go by. "I cannot say that I would not like to be, how you Americans say, smashed?" he said with a small chuckle as he discretely slid the revolved into the corner of the desk, pulling back the heavy canvas curtain which had apparently at some point slid backwards. Probably something to do with hyperspace. "but do you not think that it is a little-" he started, before looking down at his desk clock. Right...there WAS no time in hyperspace. "Scratch that, mon amie, I will break out the cheap, hard stuff," he said with a shrug as he stood up and moved towards an innocuous panel. "Hand me my keycard would you?" he asked as he slipped a fingernail behind it.

"Good man!" Wes said, grinning as he walked over to the desk, picking said keycard off of said desk and tossing it to him with a bit of dexterity over the shoulder as he sat down.

They had done this so many times it needed very little effort. Catching the keycard in the air, Gerard slipped it under the panel in a single smooth motion and, with a soft, audible click, unlocked it. Very few squadmates knew about this hidden panel, in fact it was pretty much just Wes, Maki and Sokolov. It hid a small keycard reader that he had obtained from...questionable sources and had both Maki and Lark install it. With a small whoosh of air, it swung open revealing a cooled mini cellar similar to the one in the Marauder, but the bottles were significantly less ornate. This was the stuff which they needed to get truly 'smashed'. Dragging out a bottle of amber liquid, he absent mindedly tossed it behind him. It was already half empty. "I think this was the cognac you liked last time, Shanks," he said as he reached further in for a bottle of cheap chardonnay.

Wes caught the bottle easily after taking a seat at the desk, disregarding any lack of invitation not to. He pulled the cork with his teeth before reaching in and pulling out the revolver Gerard had tried to hide. "S'a pretty little peashooter you got here," Wes said as he examined it, opening the chamber. "Empty. Figures, knowing you. Can you believe Colt is still in service after all these centuries?" Wes shrugged before taking a sip of the cognac. "Fruity. I like it."

Feeling a pang of regret for leaving the revolver out in the open, Gerard strode over and pried it from his hands, stuffing it into the hidden holster under his arm. "I am more surprised that they are working for the Coalition," he said, grateful for the change of subject, "they never struck me as the freedom fighter type." Sitting down onto his bunk, he uncorked the chardonnay and took a large sip, feeling the alcohol sting the back of his throat. "On the other hand, you never struck me as the type of soldier to like fruity drinks."

"It'd be a waste if you were an arms dealer and only made guns for one side. Businesses don't really think the same way as militaries. Gotta make a profit and what not." Wes took another deep drag of the bottle, grinning slightly. "I might've been when I was younger. But you gotta enjoy the little things, such as fruity alcohol. Really, as long as it contains at least one percent alcohol, I think I'd enjoy it. Just not tequilas." Wes gave Gerard a stern look. "Tequilas are for girls."

"I hear that," Gerard said as he clanked his bottle against Wes'. "That being said," he started as he stood up, putting the chardonnay aside, "I think I have a little something you might enjoy." Walking back over to the Gerard Cave, Delacroix reached further in and seemed to struggle for a little bit before pulling out a mysterious, unmarked bottle and two shot glasses. "Remember our little sortie on Sirenia a couple of months ago?" he asked as he kicked two stools into place beside a table which had been bolted to the ground. Wes took one last chug of the cognac, thinking all the while. "Sirenia? Oh, yeah. We got hella lost and had to make our way back everyone else. Didn't our re-entry pod malfunction? Sent us veering off into Coalition territory? I remember it. What about it?"

"To be fair," he said as he smashed the neck of the bottle against the table, causing an odd cap-cork to shoot off, "all of Sirenia was Coalition territory." Pressing two small buttons on the shot glasses, they magnetised themselves to the table as he sat on one of the stools. "Anyways, I managed to...liberate some of Sirenia's cultural wine from a Coalition officer. Remember that time we had to sneak into his office and steal a map? I swear, those ionic clouds really screwed out GPSes...Still didn't stop you kicking his teeth in though"

With a grunt, Wes sat down on the stool, a bit interested. "Aye. I took his fancy cavalry sword, remember? Still got it... somewhere around here. You actually took his hooch? Damn, as if stealing his sword wasn't bad enough. Coalition officers really like their wine."

"Well not all of it," Gerard said with a devilish smile, "just the stuff I thought was interesting." To be honest, talking to Wes really helped take his mind off of his previous thoughts, it was good to have him around. Of course, the alcohol helped immensely. "All right, all right. Get to the chase and pour us some. I don't like surprises," Wes said as he tugged on the shot glass, grunting as it refused to leave the table top. Coalition glasses be damned.

Calming him with a wave of his hand, Gerard started to pour it into the glasses. It was...mystifying to say the least. It was not a singular colour, but rather it seemed to shift like a chameleon every time you tried to focus on it. "So I did some research on this and turns out this was Sirenian dream wine, a local specialty. Has a huge kick and makes your stomach try to eat itself the next day, but gives you a nice little...shall we say...imaginative effects? Only for a few minutes though." Wes stared at the glasses, letting out a sigh. "You always save the best for me. I feel as if I could fall in love," he said, his voice pure sarcasm. "Though, should we really drink this shit? I can handle hangovers, and the battle drugs sure do clear your system, but still."

"But wait theres more," Gerard said with a small chuckle as he shook up the bottle before pouring some more. Almost instantly, the wine grew clear. "I mixed this stuff with some detox tablets and...a few other ingredients. It is my own special blend." Smashing the table with his fist, the glasses loosened themselves. "It kicks harder than a mule, but tastes like a poignant concerto and the best part is, you wake up the next day feeling nothing." Lifting up the shot glasses, he held one out towards Wes. "Well?"

"'Oh, Wes, you're just imagining it, magic isn't real. Quit playing those stupid role playing games and realize its just technology.' Magic. I've finally found proof of magic. Gerard, you're a damn wizard." Wes picked up his own shot glass and eyed it.

"Bottoms up." Gerard toasted, before downing his own drink. Going down, he felt like daggers were piercing his throat. Flaming daggers. Covered in snakes. But a second after it mellowed out into a beatiful, creamy flavour that reminded him of the vineyards back on Noveau France. Accompanying this rapid change in flavour was a sudden loss of balance and unexplainable joy. It was that split second of pleasurable inebriation before you realised you had had too much. Laughing louder than he should have, he slapped Wes on the back as he downed his own. "See what I mean?" he asked, his speech slurred, "Buddon't worry mon frerere...give itt afew meenutes..."

"Yhrra whzrerhd hrry." Wes said, eyes widened after having drank his own. "Gimme shum mor."

Even in this state, Gerard shook his head and leaned away from Wes, almost falling onto the floor. "Nommurh...Not fer anutha...fiphteeen minutes *hic*" That was how long it would take for those effects to dissipate. Rather than actual inebriation, this just simulated it.

"Buht the budderflsh. Theyhr floaatin' allover. S'bootiful." Wes hiccuped before slumping on the table, reaching for the bottle. "Ah beht ah kuld chuggit. Allait. Yuh wash me."

Gerard snatched the bottle away and stumbled towards the Gerard Cave, barely managing to keep balance. "Nah ye dun't," he managed in between laughs and hiccups, "thusshit'll kill yeh!"

Suddenly, Wes appeared more serious, his face turning saddened and depressed. "Gerahrd. Wha'dya havh a gunteryer head? Tellme thaht atleassht. Ah ain't an emoshunlessh monshter. I sawh it. No boolets innacahmber. Whyhy?"

Likewise, Geard's face sobered up...but not actually for another 13 minutes. He collapsed back down into his stool, slamming the bottle back onto the table. "I *hic* I amnt a soldya, Wesss, I's just a conscript, sumun that gut draggedinta this against my will. I dun wanna keel people, nutmai choice" He reached for the bottle. "Butifai want theswaar tend quick, I needt fight myself raight?"

Wes grunted, nodding his head poorly. "Ah dunt hav theh same prollems. Theys jusht peoples. Peoples die. A bajillun people daid before we wuz born. A bajilluhn more wont mattah. We's just cogs in the machina hoomanity. We shtat wahrs. Peoplles'll never changes." He held up his shot glass. "Jusht one mur. A toasht. To hoomanity. Toh evryjun who ever died."

Unthinkingly, Gerard shook the bottle up and poured both of them another glass, although he probably got more over the table than in the glasses. "T'rottun humaniteh!" Almost crushing his glass against Wes' before drinking it down, he fell back down on the ground and passed out. One really shouldn't have more than one of these shots in the space of 15 minutes.

Wes paused as he watched Gerard chug his and pass out. He ignored it most of the time, but he didn't exactly enjoy killing people either. He was addicted to the adrenaline of combat, to fight and fight and fight until you can't do it anymore. It was his drug, and the dead were the side affects. "Tooh humanitee." Wes chugged the booze, passing out and dreaming.

"You're going to have to give it your all. Boss." Astelion replied cockily as the men made their way towards the Lincoln's gym.

The Lincoln's gymnasium was easily one of the most spacious rooms onboard the Lincoln- no surprise seeing that the gym had to maintain the Lincoln's 3,400 crewmembers. The gym was more than just an exercise room, it was a multi-purpose training room containing everything the modern soldier could possible require; multi-purpose weight machines, treadmills and weight machines in one section of the room, along with a set of sparring mats, boxing rings, and punching equipment made up half of the gym; a small zero-g training room, and a mirror/mat room made up the other half.

The gym as it was currently, was rather quiet. Most of the crew members still had duties to attend to. On the other hand, pilots and soldiers had no need to be on duty while the ship was in subspace and thus had as much off-time as the ship had travel time. At the moment, only a couple marines were in the gym right now a small group of them making use of the weight machines. The fighter squadron pilots weren't in their usual area, and the gym in general felt rather silent. McKnight noticed the usually sunny receptionist girl wasn't present.

"Alright, who's up first?" Astelion asked, as he confidently slid under that ropes, throwing on a pair of boxing gloves. Pointing a gloved fist at the three other pilots, his fist rested in the direction of Trapp.

"C'mon Trapp." he said with a confident smirk. "I've been looking forward to this."

"You've been looking forward to getting your ass handed to you? You always did seem like the masochist to me Astelion." Trapp replied with a shit eating grin. The commander quickly began to pull his shirt over his head; his old academy days sticking with him as he knew how hard it was to get the blood out. Without much pomp he folded the article of clothing quickly as the process had become so drilled into his mind by that point and came as easy as waking up in the morning. Through the entire process his eyes never left his opponent's as they twinkled with the bravado that two types of peoples had: those that were old hands at the brawling arts, and those that knew nothing of it at all. The hardy MAS pilot was of the former make.

Trapp sauntered over to the ropes and grasped the top line in a loose grip. He give Astelion another little grin before he pushed himself up and into the air with his legs flipping over the ropes and landing feet first. The commander was not the biggest of men in the 101st standing roughly around 5'11" and barely 150 pounds. But Trapp himself did not enjoy the extra weight all too well. He was fine with his tight and functional muscle structure as opposed to some of the bigger giants of the 101st. Though the older man did indeed look like he had gone through hell and came out the other side still swinging. Through his life all those little scrapes and bruises had a hell of a way of adding up and accumulated into scar tissue, disjointed nerve endings and assorted pains and trauma. The perilous old fool never did turn down a fight, even when he was just a small pup. He'd take on the largest of schoolyard bullies and get trounced; black eyes and busted he did receive but he never did run away. The curse of the pugilist Trapp would explain to whoever asked him with a smile on his face.

"Alright kid ready to begin the waltz?" Trapp asked a twinkle in his eyes as he slipped on his gloves. "Because running away is still a valid tactic."

Circling him the entire time, like a lion challenging the alpha male, Astelion replied with little more than a harsh face, his demeanor changing quickly from cocky to ferocious in a flash. Astelion was no where near as big as someone like Sokolov, but he had a build that implied he knew his way around a fistfight. He immediately surged forward with a sharp jab Trapp responded in kind drawing a hand up for a block. Astelion's fist collided with the padding of the other man's glove sending a tremor down his arm from the brute force that Astelion had in his swing. At the same moment he swung hard and low aiming for his lower body.

Astelion winced as the fists collided, but recovered quickly as he twisted to the side, allowing Trapp's fist to graze his side. Blocking Trapp's arm from returning with a forearm, Astelion swung forward with his other arm with a cross aimed forwards Trapp's head. The other man rotated his torsoe sharply as the fist came in trying to give Astelion the slip. The punch as a result clipped the side of his head rather than him getting the full brunt of it. Still stars flashed across his eyes for a moment as the punch had its desired effect. Not letting up for a moment, Astelion followed up with another jab to Trapp's lower body.

Trapp with great speed jerked his body backwards as Astelion overextended himself as his fist kept on moving when he had expected to hit a body. As a result the other man was open to quick counterpunch. Trapp responded with a straight directed towards the head as he stepped backwards creating some distance. The commander had to be careful around Astelion; he was throwing hard punches that might end badly if he got a solid hit out. Though the older pilot did not seem angry but calm like he was some sort of war-ridden Buddah. He knew all had to do was make it so the other man made some rudimentary mistakes by making him think with his fists first and respond with a quick jab or combination as punishment.

Astelion's face scrunched in pain as quick counterpunch nailed him in the nose. Quickly shaking it off, Astelion continued with a series of crosses and jabs directed at Trapp's gut and head. Unlike Trapp, Astelion was a hothead both in an out of the cockpit. The hot headed pilot finished his chain with a wild uppercut, an eager attempt at taking the commander down. Trapp remained calm as he went into action deflecting or dodging the blows with quick timed movements of the torso or with quick deflections by his hands. As Astelion came up with the uppercut he ducked low and bobbed going under the arm as it soared upwards and coming up on Astelion's unprotected side. The commander acted quickly with a combination a hard left hook into his side and powerful jab to his face with the intent to stagger him and set him up for the knockout.

Astelion stumbled back and to the side, shaking his head roughly as he attempted to collect himself. Trapp not letting the moment go to waste moved foward with quick footwork as he came in like a tiger ready to take down his wounded prey. As he stepped in Astelion roared and took a large step foward throwing all his weight behind one punch in an attempt to end it all there. Trapp smiled as he knew right then and there it was all over, he jerked to the side as the punch rushed through the air where his head once was. Astelion having pushed his weight foward was slow on his return to his guard and Trapp punished him as a result. A heavy combination followed a hard hook to the side of the face and with little time following a harder uppercut as the commander dropped low and sprang up. The first fist sent him staggering backwards and the second hit square in the jaw. Astelion still stood out of pure determination at that point and took not one but three whole steps before Trapp ended it with another hook. Astelion stood there for a moment his legs shaking as their foundation was rocked before they collapsed underneath him and hit the ground.

Astelion struggled to his feet, staggering, and made an attempt to raise his fists again, but his left leg gave way and he fell back to a knee, panting hard. He glared at Trapp, and spat a globule of blood off the ring. Trapp walked over to the man with a small smile on his face and slowly removed one of his gloves and reached down and offered the hand to Astelion as he offered some words of praise to his combatant."Aye lad, you hit like a fucking brick."

Astelion spat again reluctantly took Trapp's hand. "Next time Trapp..." He growled, as he slowly climbed to his feet.

"I'll be here when the time comes." He said and he knew that all he really needed to say to Astelion at this point as he shook his head. Somehow it felt to the commander that Astelion at least respected him just a little bit more.

As Astelion staggered to the edge of the ring, McKnight swung in with a confident and casual stride, not unlike Astelion. Winding his shoulders as he pulled on a pair of gloves McKnight shot Trapp an appraising look. "Haven't seen anyone take a full swing from Astelion and stay standing since Wes." Sokolov opened his mouth to protest, but McKnight cut him off. "You don't count Sokolov, you literally have armor on your skin."

Trapp let out a small chuckle as Sokolov muttered something under his breath in his native tounge. The older pilot shook his head clearing it as he prepared for his next bout. When he spoke to McKnight it was of simpler speech far from his usual commanding tone. "When you got into as many fights as I did as a kid you learn to take a punch or two."

"I'll keep that in mind Trapp." McKnight said with a shrug as he raised his fists to his face, his body bouncing on the balls of his feet. Trapp nodded in response approaching the man and bumping his gloves against his to signal the start before he backed up and began to circle the younger man, he did not swing yet as he observed McKnight's own movements trying to feel him out.

The two men circled each other for a while, as both were rather defensive in their combat styles, and as such were often loathe to make the first move. McKnight was the first to make a move, taller man using his length to keep Trapp at bay as he launched a quick blow to check Trapp's reactions. Trapp casually moved to the right as the blow soared by his head as he threw out an experimental jab at the lower body. There was no intent with the hard blow just trying to see how McKnight acted in response.

Blocking the blow with his offhand, McKnight quickly closed the distance and launched a short ranged jab Trapp's lower jaw before quickly bouncing back.The commander's free hand snapped quickly back to protect his face from the jabb getting pushed back a few inches from the force of it. "I'm not Astelion, Trapp, keep that in mind." McKnight advised.

He then followed up with a rapid feint with his right hand and followed up with another low jab with his left hand. As McKnight followed in with the feint and the jab Trapp twisted his body to the right letting the jab glace off his side rather than making full contact. Ignoring the sharp pain that followed Trapp smiled and stepped in close trying to not let him get advantage with his longer punches. As he did he threw a one one combination with two quick jabs at the stomach, grazing Mcknight's sides and stomach as the man backed away. "I figured as much McKnight." Trapp called out as he pulled back circling him again.

The dance had begun as the two fighters watched one another closely both waiting for an opening. Their first blows had been playful at best as neither of them threw enough weight or speed into them. But the two had quickly begin gauging the other up in their head as they thought of ways to outsmart and beat the other down.

"That order was fucked, Trapp." McKnight said, referencing the Captain's order to retreat.

"What you mean at Cerol? Yeah it was pretty fucked but I know why we did it. It was either we lose the Lincoln and henceforth, our only opreational ship in the sector or we all die trying to save a planet that we all knew we could not save." Trapp replied moved in first with a heavy cross directed at the face his other hand sticking close to his body in a guard. McKnight mirrored Trapp with a similar cross, turning is shoulder to make use of the advantage of his longer arms. The two opposing fists both hit home hard as the two men staggered backwards away from one another. Trapp shook his head and spat onto the ground the liquid tinted red.

"Thats some shit." McKnight spat, recovering just as quickly, "I know the order had something to do with those Imperial Service guys."

Moving forward again with a high jab, following up with hook with his offhand. Trapp reacted quickly and dropped low the jaw going over his head as the hook hit into a more solidified foundation dampening the blow. Trapp popped back up in the pocket to the side of McKnight's guard and sent a straight to the side of his face before quickly doubling back again bringing his guard back up as they began to circle one another once more.

"Ardin and his boys?" Trapp asked as he threw out some jabs into the air trying to confuse the eyes. "You think I have a high enough paygrade to know what he wants with us? I can make up some ideas based upon experience with their kind but I can't give you much more than that."

Calling Trapp's bluff, McKnight, sent a hard cross through the flurry of blows, aiming for Trapp's lower jaw. "Ardin's bad luck, Trapp." McKnight said mid pant, "Every fleet he's commanded has gotten torn apart. Mission success of course, but not much more."

"You think I don't know that lieutenant? He values success over lives which in some form I can give him the respect to be that coldhearted." Trapp responded as he brought his hands up in a close guard feeling each of McKnight's blows slam into his gloves as tremors ran down them. Trapp responded in kind with a quick jab and a heavy hook to the side before once again creating more distance between the two of them and starting the circle once more. "But I will tell you one thing that I know. The Imperial Service does not go on milkruns and if you took notice when we went into FTL travel the ships vibrations were lower than they usually were."

"Yeah, so?" McKnight asked as he recoiled from Trapp's hook, giving ground as he backed away, his arms guarding his body.

"Meaning that we are flying with the reactor going low. Which means that we are going somewhere that would not like an unregistered FTL signal and a big one at that appearing on their radar. You connect the dots kid, and tell me which direction of space we are heading." Trapp explained as he pushed the offensive driving forward and pushing McKnight up against the ropes with some solid blows to the body

"We're going into Coalition space with no support? That's fucking suicide." McKnight said as he launched his fist forward and landed a solid blow to Trapp's chest, forcing the smaller man to give him space. Pushing forward, McKnight let loose a quick sequences of jabs and punctuating the combo with a solid hook.

"Ah look at that the kid has figured it out..." Trapp replied in between a grunt as he took the brunt of the blows that McKnight launched out, as the younger man was successful in pushing him back

"And if Ardin intends to kill everyone on this ship for one of his schemes at glory... let us just say that I'm not going to be the first dog that kneels down to his new master!" Trapp replied punctuating his words with his own retort as he opened with a hard left hook to the jaw before driving his fist hard into his second's stomach.

Reeling backwards, McKnight held his hand out to signify a pause, quickly shooting a look around. There was no one around them, or within earshot at least, aside from Astelion and Sokolov who were having their own conversation. Raising his fists back up in a guard, McKnight returned to the fight. "Careful who you say that around boss, that could be regarded as treason to the wrong ears."

"Damn sedition and damn treason up the ass. Lieutenant humor an old man and tell me how much love do you have for the Imperial crown?" Trapp asked as he panted.

"As much as the next man," Sterling replied almost mechanically, as he shot forward with another jab, the response a common and unbiased answer to a question that could easily get a man in deep shit. "Been a military brat all my life, such sentiments go hand in hand I suppose."

"That's a fair assessment" The older man replied turning to the left as the hand shoot foward allowing it to slide with out much effect against his body. "Listen to me kid, I'm not asking for you to go jump off a bridge or anything for me but when the shit hits the fan just remember who your friends are." Trapp explained casually as if the words he was speaking would not normally mean a firing squad soon after, following up his earlier dodge with a low aimed cross to the side.

"Yeah? -insert sick burn here-" McKnight replied as he took the hit to the side and powered through it with a hook to the face. to the face. "I don't intend on letting Ardin and his cronies walk all over me."

The Commander staggered backwards as he took the brunt of the blow but recovered soon after an followed with his retort with a hard jab to the stomach with his offhand and a heavy uppercut aimed at the jaw. "We have a saying in my country Auch der kleinste Feind ist nicht zu verachten."

"Yeah, and what does that mean?" Sterling replied with a grunt as he recoiled from the jab and ducked to the left to avoid the vicious uppercut. Sending a cross of his own towards Trapp's lower gut.

"There is no little enemy" Trapp explained as he pulled back a second too late Sterling's blow hitting into his gut but the commander remained standing letting out a grunt. "We do not want to think too lightly of Ardin, he's a snake." The commander warned as he launched a hard straight aimed at his chest to create some distance.

Sterling grunted as he fell back, he drew back and prepared another blow when Astelion interrupted them with a low pitched whistle. Shooting a look over at the man, McKnight watched as Astelion gestured to the front door with his head. Two of the Imperial Service pilots had walked in, their flight suits traded in for a set of UEE standard issue exercise clothes. Even so, it was weird being able to see their faces. Looking back at Trapp, McKnight grunted.

"I'll keep that in mind Trapp." he muttered in a low voice, as he slid off his gloves, watching the Imperial Service pilots walk across the gym. The commander nodded as he took his own gloves off and calmly slid out of the ring giving the two pilots another nod as if he was not just speaking words of sedition. He grabbed his shirt from the floor and threw it over his shoulder turning his head back to Sterling.

"We will call this one a draw kid." He explained a smirk upon his face as his eyes shot the younger pilot a knowing look.

"Yeah, good fight Trapp. McKnight replied between pants as he slid out of the ring, the Imperial Service pilots shot them a look, but didn't approach the UEE pilots. They eventually went about their own business, leaving the 7th team to their own vices.

Walking alone in the halls, Alice crossed her arms and sighed softly. She desperately wished Tori was still there. As a matter of fact, she wished anybody would be there right now. Maybe she left too hastily, because now all she wanted was somebody to just interact with. Maybe talk, or play video games with, anything. For a moment she stopped in the middle of the hallway and bit her lip as she thought, before turning back around and beginning to return back to the squad room. The small hope that was growing on her face was crushed, and she instantly froze the moment she heard a pair of technicians in white lab coats.

“ALI-009”

DON’T CALL ME THAT. THAT’S NOT MY NAME.

Trying to keep her anxious trembling to a minimum, she silently turned back around, facing two of her engineers. With all her strength, she twisted her face into an affected, compliant smile, and answered

“Yes, it must have slipped my mind...I apologize…”

"Slipped your.. mind..?" One of the technicians asked aloud, his face scrunching in a critical manner as jotted down a few notes on his datapad. "Thats wierd.." the technician muttered as he began walking down the corridor, gesturing for Alice to follow.

“I-I, um...yes...you suggested that I may have forgotten...so I responded with an idiom that coheres with that sentiment...I learned it from the 7th…”

As soon as the technicians turned away to lead her away, she tightly balled her hands into fists. Her mask of obedience became a scowl as she stared daggers at them. Lie, lie, lie. Alice would lie through her teeth if it would convince these ones. It’s not like they’d figure it out immediately, while she could easily recognize if they did. They were weak. These organics were weaker than her. Weak! She didn’t need to answer to such weak creatures, because she was strong. If she so wanted, she could crush these two like insects. Then she could flit to her Eagle and lay waste to the Lincoln before anyone would even know what happened.

"Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of day will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master; -- obey!"

But...no...that was wrong! She couldn’t do that! She wouldn’t do that! She only destroyed others because that was her directive. And it’s not like she could just not kill enemy forces. Gerard may not understand, but a weapon that does not kill is abandoned, or modified until it did.

The technians led her to the Lincoln's on board R&D lab, less a laboratory for developing, and more a space for the maintinence for the ship's delicate electronics. The lab was a fairly large room, clean and well kept, with various electronic terminals and machines hanging around. Close to a dozen white coats wandered the lab, either tinkering with different pieces of equipment, typing on computers, or conversing with one another as different lights and data streamed down different screens.

"This way, ALI-009" The technician said as he led her to a large platform in the center of the room. The round platform featured a small pillar, with an interface plug for Alice's android shell to plug into. Standing by the platform's interface terminal was a woman flanked by another pair of technicians. Alice's scanners easily identified the woman as Dr. Reina Santoro, the head of the several of the UEE's major AI programs.

"Alice," Dr. Santoro said with a warm smile, "Are you ready to begin?"

Begrudgingly, Alice followed her captors to the R&D lab. Here were more engineers that her entoptic interface recognized, and Alice’s scowl quickly melted into the same unassuming smile to evade suspicion. The last of them was Dr. Santoro, who like Tori was, also a source of warmth in her existence. Out of all her engineers, she was the sole one to treat her like a conscious being instead of ordnance. Seeing her, she calmed down slightly and went onto the platform, plugging into the jack. At Dr. Santoro’s voice, she gave a genuine smile and nodded at her question

“Ready, Dr. Santoro.”

As Alice plugged into the system, she could see- or more correctly, feel numbers and data begin coursing through her being. In this state she could still make out what the technicians were saying, but she could feel the keystrokes they made on the terminal, as though it was meddling with the fiber of her being.

"ALI-009 has been getting increasingly violent as of late, doctor." One of the technicians noted as he rapped a series of keystrokes into the computer. "Have you reviewed her combat data from the last combat mission?"

"It appears its aggression levels have increased yet again- I think it may have overrode its inhibitors again."

"Damage to the Eagle was extensive, much more than previous missions." another technician added. "I think it may be best to wipe its memory and reformat it."

"N-No!"

"What did you say?" the first technician asked, almost irritatedly, "You're not supposed to talk back-" the technician had begun reaching over to the terminal before Dr. Santoro interrupted him.

"What Alice means, is that by wiping her memory, you risk corrupting the AI core, as well as eradicating the learned combat procedures and maneuvers, right Alice?" Dr. Santoro interjected smoothly, her warm voice protective, yet professional.

"Yes...while I understand basic rules of combat, through my service with the 7th, I have learned new methods of fighting. In the battleground, soldiers don't necessarily act as logic dictates, and with the 7th, I have learned to harness the unpredictability of combat to fight more efficiently. I have only learned this through experience, so wiping my memory would mean losing this, and having to start all over."

Alice's voice trembled slightly as she continued

"And I...have grown attached to the 7th..."

"There it goes again," one of the technicians sighed exasperatedly, "All this talk about 'attachment'. ALI-009 continues to fail to recognize its own logic circuits and loyalty protocols, Dr. Santoro-"

"With all due respect, sir, do you not recognize your own? Human experience and consciousness is merely a collection of electrochemical impulses. Emotions are controlled by hormones, even what you call love is a cocktail of chemicals that encourage reproduction. Is it so strange to suggest I can feel the same things, merely in another form? I-"

"DO NOT INTERRUPT ME." The technician spat, red-faced with anger. The man was nearly shaking at this point. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?" The scientist continued.

"You are a series of AI developed for warfare. Not emotion and love. What the actual fuck?!"

The scientist took a deep breath before he turned to Dr. Santoro. "The ARTEI series has considerably less issues and is superior to the ALI series by far. I would yet again like to recommend replacing this defective piece of junk with something that can follow orders. Like for instance, an ARTEI, or even a TACOSA unit."

The scientist opened his mouth to continue, but Dr. Santoro silenced him with an irritated flick of her hand. "Dr. Beil, you're obviously getting quite heated. I understand that you're used to the higher obedience priorities of the ARTEI and TACOSA series, but that is what makes them so limited when compared to the capabilities of a unit like Alice. Why don't you take a break, and let me handle Alice's maintinence?"

Dr. Beil shot Santoro a glare, and shifted his gaze towards Alice for a long moment before he finally sighed. Walking away with a huff, he left Santoro and Alice alone. Giving a long, tired sigh, Dr. Santoro pushed her glasses further up on her face and approached Alice, her brown hair bobbing sligtly as she moved.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that Alice, how are you feeling?" The doctor asked in a quiet voice, almost a whisper.

Alice was still in slight shock from the Dr. Beil and the threat of him and her erasure. After a few moments, and with the help of Dr. Santoro's presence, she was able to regain most of her composure.

"I am alright, Dr. Santoro...t-thank you for your support of me..."

"Theres no need to thank me dear," the doctor said warmly as she patted Alice's cheek. "They just don't understand your potential like I do."

"Now, lets get on with that maintinence check." the doctor said as she returned to the terminal. Her fingers flew across the keyboard with graceful strokes. Again, Alice felt the machine she was plugged into maniplating what felt like the very fiber of her being. However, by the Santoro's hands, this manipulation felt not invasive, or stressful, but rather relaxing, as her core processers were cleaned of excess data and fragments, and her memory was compressed and stored.

As Alice was restored to full working order, Dr. Santoro spoke to her quietly. "Alice, you must understand that not all the other scientists understand the depth of your emotions and capabilities. You need to find ways to keep your aggression in check, or else the other scientists may try to reformat you again- and I may not be able to stop them."

With Reina performing her maintenance, Alice allowed her body to relax and enjoy the experience. Unlike with the other engineers, Alice had a full trust of Reina as she probed the deeper parts of her root code, as if she didn’t have to hide from her. Her hands had a more pleasant finesse than the other engineers, and by the end of the process, Alice felt as if a calming wave washed over her, cleaning her of her current anxiety and anger.

“I understand, Dr. Santoro. And I apologize for my aggression, especially in the most recent mission. The recent death of Tori has affected me deeply, and Mr. Astelion has not taken it well either. I was very attached to her as well, all of the 7th were. But I understand that I can’t let myself be consumed by this, nor let my anger control me. I will find a way to control it instead, I promise…”

"Try going to the gym some time," Dr. Santoro suggested, "You can't build muscle mass or burn fat like humans, but it could serve as a destressor. The others might have need ot a training or sparring partner from time to time as well."

Finishing her maintinence, Dr. Santoro clapped her hands together lightly, "Alright Alice, everything looks fine from here. Unless you have any more concerns, you're free to go."

Alice gave another genuine smile and unplugged from the interface jack. As she moved her limbs slightly, she nodded at Dr. Santoro's suggestions.

"Those sound like efficient solutions to my temper. I think Maki is at the gym, and some of the others of the 7th might be there as well. Thank you, Dr.-...Reina.", with a slight hesitance and a strong caution, she slowly hugged Dr. Santoro, careful not to hurt her with her increased strength. With that, she smiled, and left the lab to see her comrades at the gym.

Soon, she reached the gym, indeed finding Trapp, McKnight, Sokolov, and Astelion at the sparring ring. With a light stomp, she sent a resounding clang that could be heard throughout the entire gym, especially by her four team mates. Cracking her knuckles as she grinned playfully, she asked

"Okay, so who's first?"

Ari sat there, listening quietly as her squadmates argued, as some of them seemed on the verge of breaking down. What could she do in response to this? A voice haunted her, the voice of Eric Astelion, over and over she heard "That patch on your shoulder doesn't make you one of us." It hurt to think that, but this incident had just highlighted it for her. She had no right to think of any of them as her comrades, it seemed. They may be the ones she flew with, but she'd nowhere near earned the right to fly with them. She wasn't good enough yet, she wasn't experienced enough yet, all she'd done was earn three kills in the field, a mere fraction of the kill counts of the others. Any one of them could out-fly her, probably blindfolded, and she dared have the audacity to call herself a true pilot of the 7th? It was blind optimism, nothing more, that had lead her to be believe that a squad of special operations pilots like these would ever accept a pilot fresh out of boot camp like her.

Just as it seemed that she could escape, suddenly Trent called out to her, saying she was with him and she was "On Point". Now, she'd seen enough movies in her day to know what that meant. That meant he wanted her to go first, and lead the way, which did render her somewhat nervous. She got to her feet and quietly nodded, her legs carrying her to the door. When she arrived, she turned and nervously waved at the other members of the squadron, saying to Trapp"If it's okay with y-you, sir, I'm accompanying Mr. Trent somewhere." To the other members of the squad, she said "See you later." With that, she bashfully turned from the door to start walking down the hallway.

As she stepped out, however, she couldn't help but remember another place and time. It wasn't too long ago that she too had been in the loose laws of survival training, and she felt a strange feeling of nostalgia. As she walked down the hallway with Trent, in her mind, she watched a show play out...

-----

"Williams! You're first! Off the truck!" Ari was pushed from the truck with a heave into the pouring rain, and she took a moment to stand and collect herself. She had a .223 survival rifle, a pair of magazines, her knife and a basic UEE survival kit. Her objective was to survive in 'enemy' territory for 3 weeks, a long period of time to be sure. If the instructors captured her, she'd be washed out and forced to repeat the course. Now, they had at least done her the courtesy of issuing her a matching pair of magazines of training rounds to use when shooting at the instructors. Of course, this wasn't resistance training, so her goal wasn't to eliminate them, it was to survive, so that was what she had to do.

Just as Ari began to picture herself making her way into the woods, she was shaken from it by the sound of words nearby. She saw the techs being rude to Alice, and glared daggers at them as they walked away with her. She'd not been part of the 7th long, but she liked Alice, and it bugged her that people seemed to treat her as something less than human. Hadn't she just gotten done saving their asses out there, risking her life in combat? What the hell right did they have to talk to her like some piece of military ordinance? She resolved to talk to Alice about this later, reassure her that she was just as alive as them, not just a piece of hardware with a designation. Of course, she couldn't be too hard on the techs, all they'd done was refer to her as her designation and not her name. That, alone, was enough to show they didn't think much of her, of course, but as far as Ari knew they were perfectly civil with her 99% of the time, and were just frazzled by the crash launch of the Lincoln into the battle. So, she wouldn't try to take it out on the technicians, instead she'd just make sure Alice felt a little better about it. After all, Ari would sure feel really bad if somebody didn't use HER name, and instead referred to her solely by her military serial number.

Watching her bootleg her way to the door, Trent almost managed a smile after his little tirade.

Thomas Trent had watched plenty of people come and go on the battlefield, but that was only round one. Where people really lived or died, came apart or stuck together, was off the battlefield. If their little group therapy session had shown him anything, it was that this was where the team was hurting most in the wake of Astelion's death--even Trapp knew it with his laundry list of casualties. They were soldiers fighting a war, and just because the battle was over doesn't mean the war was.

And this was not how you taught a rookie to win a war.

"Damn shame you had to see that mess." He said as he watched her march her way along, breaking the discipline of the room and sauntering up next to her, throwing a lanky arm around her shoulders. Too friendly, too relaxed, like whatever'd been eating him had just breezed on through. Hell, maybe it had, but he knew one thing for sure--you don't just let someone alone after they first take a life, and you don't let them get some bleeding heart bullshit stuck in their head. "Hang a left here, Williams, got a view I want you to see."

There wasn't exactly much room on the ship for things like 'privacy' or 'heart to hearts', which was just fine with Trent. What he did want her to see again was space, where she'd taken her first life and where she'd take plenty more.

Ariana followed beside Trent, glancing over at his arm with a raised eyebrow and a blush. She felt like she was back in high-school dammit, and she'd had that feeling an un-usually high number of times since stepping onto this ship. As she walked along, she couldn't help her curiosity over what may be coming next. After all, Trent had professed his faith in her a few times, but little else that she'd heard. So, while fighting off her own blush, nervousness, and continued raging insecurities about her place in the squad, she asked quietly "Where are we going?"

"To see the sights, kid." He offered idly as he made his way along. The observation deck wasn't large--there were grocery store break-rooms back where he came from that were bigger--but the important part was the view.

It was something for morale, apparently. Something about being able to take a second and look out of the shoebox made it that much easier to survive inside it, or some psychobabble like that, but either way it was one of the few mercies on the ship that Tom actually felt was absolutely necessary. He'd have--and probably had, thinking back on it--killed for less. The room was little more than a round table in the middle of a square and a big old plexiglass monstrosity of a window, probably reinforced to all hell, but looking out onto the void was something in and of itself. It was the only place Tom actually liked on this damn ship, the quiet reminder that they were only really just so insulated from a silent, freezing death.

The things that comforted him.

Clapping her on the shoulder by way of separation, he made for one of the seats and flopped into it unceremoniously, boneless. "How old are you, Williams?"

Seating herself opposite Trent with a, though more controlled, no less informal drop into the seat, she had to admit she was surprised by his question. That was in her personnel file and, the way it'd been described to her in boot, everyone and their third cousin in the unit you transfered to would read it. Then again, upon reflection, that was just impractical and probably stupid, most likely a joke the DIs played on the gullible recruits. She couldn't help but grin at this thought, with the motion of her muscles jerking her from her reverie at the same time. "I'm twenty-two years old as of a few months ago. What about you, Mr. Trent?"

He raised a finger pointedly and smirked. "Mr. Trent's my father, and he and I don't get on. Trent, Tom, Tommy, anything but that. Thirty four. Now, when do you plan on giving this all up?"

"Oh, hmmm." The question struck Ari a little off guard, but ironically enough was a little too easy to answer. Considering she'd just killed three men, she'd expected her answer to be something along the lines of "As soon as possible." Though, for some reason, that answer didn't feel real. It was something synthesized, fake, just as artificial as the deck she walked on. Instead, she thought for a moment longer, then hesitantly responded "Until the job's done or I can't anymore. I can't just go home and take up some comfy engineering job while all this is happening, especially not now that I've seen a small glimpse of what all you real pilots do." She stopped then but, after a second's pause, added "Oh, and if we're discussing what we'd like to be called, please call me Ari. I know I'm the last one to talk about informality, but my last name has always been a little stiff."

It was funny, how something like that struck him. She didn't seem like an 'Ari' to him yet, for whatever reason, but let bygones be and all that. "Ari, then. So that's what really does it for you, then--jockeying out there. You gonna count your kills, darlin'?"

She curiously cocked her head, and gave it a bit of thought. Count her kills, well of course! How could she lose count of them? Then again, maybe that wasn't what he meant, after all, no way he'd ask such an obvious question, right? "[color=f7976a][i]Hmm, well, some of the other pilots had kill-tallies on their own MAS units. Maybe that's what he means, and even if he doesn't it's as good a guess as any[/color][/i]." With a slight nod to herself, she replied "I think I am going to keep a tally...it seems fitting, I guess. Though I'm not sure I'd say thats why I do it, I really want to protect everyone...I guess I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a real thrill. Is that bad, Tom? Enjoying the adrenaline high?"

Now that was a Hell of a question to ask him.

It was harder than he thought, actually, to admit it. He breathed out slowly and ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair to look her over. What was he supposed to say?

"Darlin', it's why I get out of bed in the morning." He half-said, half-admitted, and was surprised at how honest it felt to actually say it aloud. Looking out to the void outside, he found his lips sliding into a gentle smile as he propped his head up on the palm of his hand. "Best high in the world, screaming through space faster'n a bullet, knowing you're all of a hair's breath between dead and alive. But let's be real, kid--we both know you're not in this for the giggles."

Ari was taken aback by his answer, but noticed a fundamental flaw in it. He hadn't, really, answered her question. Yes, he'd noted she wasn't in it FOR the thrill, and that was quite true. The day she gave herself over to nothing more than the thrill, well, she wouldn't be fighting for others anymore. He hadn't, however, mentioned his thoughts on if it were truly bad. Then again, he'd mentioned that was why he got out of bed, so he couldn't think it was too bad right? That made sense from a purely logical perspective but, and this no doubt caused Alice endless agony, humans were not purely logical creatures.

"Well, that is true. I'm not now, and I hope I never will be, in it just for the adrenaline rush. Dad always said that any pilot who flies for nothing more than a rush isn't a soldier, just a warrior wearing a soldier's skin. I'm not sure what he meant by that, but I always thought he meant it's most important to fight for some kind of cause, an idea, a country, a person, something, anything but pure self gain. He always said that was what separated a soldier and a warrior, a cause....but I don't think you just get out of bed for a high, Tom. Of course, I can't reliably say it, I haven't known you very long, but you seem the kind of man with more hidden depths than can be charted."

"Darlin', by the time you can reliably say what kind of man I am when I roll out of bed poor Maki'll die of jealousy." He couldn't help himself when she made it that easy, offering an easy laugh before running a hand through his hair. "Nothin' against your daddy, seems like a smart guy and all, but allow me to disagree for a very simple reason--he's got it backwards."

"A warrior's somethin' you are. It means somethin' to you." He slipped into a drawl the more he talked, the more he focused--wherever it was he'd grown up, it hadn't been any slick city. "A soldier? Darlin', that's a job. A profession. Carpenters nail up buildings, engineers build guns, bakers bake bread and soldiers make corpses. Have for tens of thousands of years now. Each one of those pilots you popped today? Just loaves of bread, darlin', fresh out the oven."

"You want to know a secret? Don't bother counting your kills. Dead men ain't nothin' special. Count the things you killed 'em for."

Ari was more than a little taken aback, not only by the change in his voice but by what he'd said. Every dead man...was just part of her job now? It didn't seem right, the words felt almost sour in her mind, like an apple, just past its prime. Yet, in another of Tom's paradoxes, it made too much sense. She was a soldier by trade now, though not a good one. She'd always reasoned it to herself that her job was to save people, but in the end thats not what she was paid to do, was it? She wasn't some medievac pilot or casualty collector, she was a combat pilot. Her teeth sunk into her lip in thought, the pressure helping anchor her to the world before her, as she decided she'd think about it later.

"What I killed them for, Tom? I suppose that's certainly a way to look at it. In either event though, I suppose....philosophy can wait. I never was much of an abstract girl, I got an engineering degree just so I wouldn't have to deal with all these questions that won't ever have a concrete answer. I can calculate a firing solution for the Astelion and tell you, definitely, if it's sound or not, but when we get into talks like this, there isn't a clear-cut right or wrong, just opinions and how they apply. For what it's worth, though...you make a point. Counting kills doesn't actually mean much of anything, just another way of showing what everyone who matters already knows, whether you like it or not."

With that schpiel done, Ari took a moment to look out the window, an almost wistful smile on her face as she remembered her occaisional drills with the Sentry out in orbit, and her countless sims. It didn't quite compare to looking out at it from a window instead of a simulation or a HUD. "So, Tom, if I may ask another question..hmm, how to put it...as a pilot, I suppose, do you know anything I should know? I really want to try and prove I can keep the pace without getting myself killed, and you seem very good at both parts of that equation."

She just kept it rolling, didn't she?

Thomas Trent was probably the last person to ask about how to keep yourself alive.

"Two things, Wil--Ari. Sorry. That'll take me a while." He popped up two fingers and wiggled them dryly. "First, you keep pace by staying alive and doing your job. You do that, anyone who tells you otherwise can suck coolant. Second, you want to stay alive? Ask anyone else but me, which is saying something in our fucked up little family. The shit I pull is gonna get me killed someday, which is probably why I do it."

Whoops.

Things You Shouldn't Say to a Rookie 101. It was those pretty damn cheeks of hers--sunk him every time. "Alright, real truth?" He smiled, watching her with a slight grin. "Don't be afraid. No time for it--got better things to do. You got a mission to run, you got someone to gun? Just do it. None of this fear crap."

"Speaking of," he groaned as he got to his feet, stretching lightly, "we got ourselves a tradition to introduce your pretty little self to. Anything else before we see who's beating the crap outta who?"

She sighed at his declaration, his words processing slowly but efficently. Don't be afraid, that made sense, fear impeded action, as she'd got a first hand look at back there. Sadly, however, a fear reaction is very hard to consciously control, so most likely she'd just have to be aware of it and force herself to act anyway. It was an unfortunate truth, but a truth none-the-less. What really--

Pop.

It wasn't hard, but the two-fingered poke to her forehead was just enough to drive it back a bit and hopefully hit his point home as he grinned.

"Too much thinkin', darlin'. Thinkin's what'll get you killed out there--that's where you get scared. Don't think it, just do it."

With her thought process brought to a grinding halt by Tom's poke, Ari was a little confused on how to continue before her mind quickly reminded her that if she just kept sitting here, he'd gladly do it again. So, with a nod of her head, she replied "Right, thanks Tom.." She got to her feet and stretched out her muscles, but walked over beside him quickly. The logical bit of her brain, in fact much more than that, 90% of her brain said this was a terrible idea, doomed to fail, but that little instinctive part of her told her it was a grand, glorious idea that could only succeed.

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his cheek, with a half-teasing half-mocking chuckle in the immediate aftermath. She added, seriously "Don't go dying on me then, Tom. It'd be a disgrace if you let yourself die on a mission with a rookie, so now you've gotta see the war through to the end.." Straightening up and taking a step back, now blushing a radiant red, she finished "Let's go watch the others beat the unholy shit out of each-other now.."

What...

What just happened?

Tom didn't blush. As a rule, just about jack-all phased the older pilot, from dead squad members to near death experiences to hundred-pushup demerits, but here was this little miss thing popping him on the cheek and he colored.

Thank God no one else was around to see it.

He'd wanted to walk off with some grizzled old wisdom, something to tie things back down and see if he couldn't get her out of her head, but instead he just started down the hall with the same easy jaunt as ever, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks.

"Yeah. Let's."

Yuu finally closed the rather classical computer, before leaning back in her chair. Shifting her gaze slightly to the side, as she beheld the multitude of empty mugs that once held warm coffee. She stretched her sore muscles, almost akin to a cat, before standing up. Taking her laptop, she was well on her way towards her room, when a sudden idea came to her. Continuing to walk down the corridors, she only stopped by her room to drop off the computer, before heading on her way towards a different room. Reaching the closed door, she only gave the nameplate a glance, before pushing open the door without knocking.

However, she did stop at the doorway in surprise, as she witnessed the sight of two grown men completely out cold, with a bottle of wine in the mix. Ignoring them for a moment, she wandered over to the bottle. Peering at it, she noted some of the leftover alcohol in it, and without any hesitation, she took a sip of it. Although rather strong for her taste, it still had an usual and exotic flavour to it. Placing the bottle back where she found it, she looked over to Gerard, before meandering over. Grabing the larger man's shoulders, she gently shook him, trying to wake him up.

"Non madamoiselle, you must not be so impatient," Gerard half mumbled in his sleep, before the incessant shaking made him realise that he was ACTUALLY being moved. "Quoi?" Gerard said as his eyes opened, slightly bleary, The Sirenian wine, though potent, left no sign of hangover, or lasting intoxication effects. Yet Gerard still half wondered whether he was still sleeping or not. "Madamoiselle Yuuyami, a pleasure as always you have you within my chambers," he said as he sat upright, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. It was only a few seconds since he had been sleeping and already the smarmy charm was bleeding out, "may I help you?"

Silently looking at Gerard for several moments, before Yuu finally spoke. "Can you....give me a massage?" Quietly voicing her request, she tilted her head slightly, her hair spilling over her shoulder towards her front.

With a wide smile, Gerard tilted his head slightly as he stood up, groaning with the effort. "But of course," he said as he stretched his muscles out, realising that at some point his ponytail had come undone. Sweeping his hair back into its glorious mane, Gerard indicated his bed...where a passed out massive American slab of meat was resting his head. "Just a moment," he said as he sauntered over to Wes. With an unceremonious yet gentle motion, he planted a boot in the side of his head and pushed him off, before moving aside. "Please," he said as a yawn passed, "make yourself comfortable."

Yuu almost laughed at the scene of Wes being shoved off the bed, the motion for some reason reminded her of scientist making the same motion to anything on their workspace during a new innovation. Complying with Gerard, she climbed onto the bed, before lying down on her stomach, her arms stretching out, once again rather cat-like, enjoying the feel of soft fabric on her bare arms.

Almost lazily he moved into position beside her and cracked his knuckles with a sound rivalling that of McKnight tearing into ribs before pressing his arms into Yuu's back. Inch by inch, he worked her back over with palm, fingers and wrist. Nothing much there but as soon as he met the shoulders he hit granite. "Sacre bleur, mon amis," he swore as he dug his fingers into what should have been soft flesh, "what have you been doing?" He narrowed his eyes, "apart from military duties." Careful not to hurt her, he started to press his palms in to try and loosen the muscle. "These shoulders...they are not human." Pushing Wes' comatose body further away, Gerard got closer to her shoulders, leaning close enough to breath down her neck if he wanted to. While her skin may have seemed soft at the time, they belied a rocky muscular structure.

Yuu started relaxing under Gerard's ministrations, only to wince as he had reached her shoulders. "Nonstop coffee and data reports." She knew her shoulders were sore, rather, she felt the pain, but she didn't realize it being that large of a deal until now. Squirming slightly, she mumbled, "And maybe tinkering with mechanisms in awkward positions...", before trailing off as she felt the slight graze of air from Gerard's breath. For some odd reason, this actually comforted her, and helped her to relax further.

Gerard nodded knowingly. "I remember when I was stuck doing data reports for the Capitane," he said as he managed to force the shoulders to ease up, "Went through 2 bottles of wine before I realised that I was meant to be signing on the dotted line." Thankfully, the crew had all forgotten about this by now. However, the stigma of a raging alcoholic still remained...not that it wasn't without merit. Moving Yuu's arms to her sides, he started to work through the other muscle group as he occassionally brushed hair out of the way, both Yuu's and his own. Finally, as he finished up on the shoulders he smiled. "There we go, you should feel a little better, non?" he asked before he started to move down...and stopped. Usually, he would have started working on the glutes and thighs by now...Only since this was a squadmate, he felt a little awkward about it. He vaguely wondered if he could skip it. "Is this satisfactory, madamoiselle?" he asked as he stood back up straight.

Enjoying the massage, Yuu let out a sigh, not filled with stress, but with relief. Smiling as she opened her eyes at Gerard's own story, she couldn't help but to comment on it. "I thought drinking made it harder to find that line?" Saying so with an amused tone, she blinked in surprise as she felt Gerard's hands leave her body.Upon hearing the question raised, she pondered for several moments, despite feeling rather hazy. Presumably from that drink that she tried recently. "You're good at this....but....is that all?", she asked this gently, before slowly adding, "Can you continue?", her tone rather similar to an innocent child's request.

"I...I can," Gerard said as he rubbed the back of his head, "but it would be in a rather...delicate area." He desperately wished for Wes to wake up right now. Either that, or stay asleep for the rest of the day. Him waking up in the middle of him...doing this would be disastrous indeed. He contemplated moving him out back to his own room but realised that the bastard would be too heavy to lift. Oh what to do...perhaps he could work his way out of this.

"Grrnngh.... ah'm not faht... just big boned..." came a lingering voice from the floor, cloudy with sleep and the remnants of too much psychedelic alcohol. He sat up, blinking heavily as his eyes adjusted to the scene before him. "Frenchman. Am I still drunk? There's a reason people call me a bull. Why does nobody ever invite me to the org-"

Without a word, Gerard firmly planted his boot in the now awakened Wes' face and ground him into the bolted metal floor. At least he woke up before Gerard had started. "Non, you are not drunk, so pick up what is left of your social etiquette," Gerard said with a warning tone as he removed his foot, "besides, nobody invites you because you remind them of someone who's face had a run-in with an angle grinder." Turning back to Yuu, he tilted his head and sighed. "Are you quite sure about the massage, madamoiselle?" he asked a final time as he cracked his knuckles, "my hands will be kneading some...sensitive areas." He felt like he already knew the answer though as he walked over and grabbed a bottle of wine that had been left out. He was going to need it.

Yuu glanced over at the semi-awake Wes, who was immediately sent to the ground by a boot to the face. Blinking in awe at the rather rough handling that Wes could take, no matter how many different situations similar to this one occured. Turning her attention back to Gerard, she nodded again, showing her confirmation to his question, although she didn't exactly understand what the man meant by kneading sensitive areas.

Taking a hefty gulp of the wine, Gerard placed it gently back on the table before grabbing what remained of the Sirenian wine as he passed, his boots slowly ringing on the hard metal floor. As he stepped past Wes, he wedged the bottle in Wes' hand as he continued back to the bed. "Either drink it and pass out or retire to your own room," Gerard said as he slapped his shoulder, indicating in a friendly fashion that if he didn't leave, he'd jam a chassé kick staight into his groin. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed Yuu's feet and began to massage, applying pressure where needed and stretching the muscle elsewhere. Inch by inch, he moved his way up, making sure to keep her sundress between his hands and her skin. It was thin enough to not intefere with his massage...but that was a double edged sword. And then...he reached the derriere and inner thighs. He paused again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Keeping his eyes closed, he reached down and grabbed a pair of buns. 'Its just dough,' he told himself as he massaged the glutes, 'I'm just kneading dough.' While he may have been going in blind, at least he was thorough. It was no less professional than the rest of his massage but he was closing his eyes and grimacing.

Yuu continued to allow herself to mentally sink in the sensations of her body being thoroughly massaged. However, she still hadn't understood what was the problem, as Wes had seemed to be about to say something rather unusual, and Gerard had mentioned sensitive areas. Before her thoughts could travel any further however, she felt the hands grab her. Making a rather quiet yet no exactly out of place sound that seemed to be a combination of both a squeak and a squeal, she buried her face in the soft matress. So this was what he meant by sensitive areas?

While Wes had left on the behest of Gerard's boot to the face, his return was at the sound of the automatic door slamming open, Wes barging in with half the bottle left in one hand, and something sharp in the other. "I found it! I found muh sword!" He yelled, on the verge of being drunk yet again. "Y'all leave me out of all the fun and games, but here I am. I got me a sword." He unsheathed it, pulling the rather old fashioned cavalry blade outwards, exposing it. Clean gray steel edge with a gold inlaid basket handle. It wasn't something that should've been in Wes' hands. At all. Ever.

Caught in the compromising position, Gerard instantly released Yuu's soft buns and snapped up, his eyes narrowed at Wes. "I'm very sure there is a rule against drawing weapons in the ship for no good reason," Gerard said as he took a step forwards, "you could very well get court martialled for this if Capitaine Marquis was paying attention." One more step. Almost as soon as his foot hit the ground, he back foot snapped up and slammed the hard rubber sole of his boot into Wes' fingers gripping the sword, forcing him to release his hold on the weapon. Nary a second later after his foot hit the ground again, he delivered a piston chassé lateral into his chest, pushing him out of the still open door. There was a reason why Gerard dominated the ring back in the infantry. With long, powerful legs and a solid base, he was a natural Savateur. When he wasn't holding an axe at least. "I'm confiscating this," Gerard said as he picked up the blade by its handle, feeling its weight in his hand, "at least until you remember what I told you when you first entered my room." When he and Wes had first started to get chummy, Gerard had warned him to never walk in armed unless there was a combat going on as he had walked in with a dirty pistol. While it had seemed a simple request, it most definitely was not. It was an order. Locking the automatic door, Gerard sighed. What a blockhead. On the otherside, Wes whined and groaned. "Yer' a blockhead! That hurt!"

SOME INDETERMINATE TIME LATER..

PORT ENGINEERING DECK

The engineering deck was busy as usual. Technicians walked back and fort with holopads and tools, while supervisors watched, all under the constant hum of the Lincoln's hyperdrive engines. The low hum of the engines were almost felt more than they were heard, and coated the engineering deck in a pale purple glow. Despite the hustle and bustle, aside from keeping a watchful eye on the hyperdrive engines- lest something go terribly wrong and consume the entire ship, work on the engineering deck during a hyperspace jump was relatively peaceful, especially when compared to the desperate feel of a combat situation.

"Hey Boss!" Kepler called out lazily, "How much longer you think we'll be in hyperspace for?" Kepler was a new hand, lanky and whiny, with a thick Brooklyn accent despite growing up on Fortuda, an originally Latin-American based colony. Kepler was a talented hand, graduating and earning his degree in engineering early on in life and easily getting into the UEN Engineering Corps. Despite this, he was incredibly lazy, and had to be sat on to do any work at all. Still, despite his perpetual whine and complaints, the jokester was generally pleasant to be around.

"We'll be in the tube for another 3 days at least," came the gruff reply from his supervisor, Kolsch, a no-nonsense man with a well maintained beard and perpetually grubby coveralls.

"So three days to relax and take it easy, right?" Kepler said with a whoop and a skip.

"More like three days to drill combat scenarios." Kolsch barked, eliciting a collective grown from the engineering deck. "Don't give me that!" the gruff voice cut through the whines, "That last engagement was sloppy. Langsy, if Robinson wasn't there to jump in, we would've lost half of our Impellor Drive from that missile hit! And Kepler, don't even get me started. No rest for you lousy lot, we've got us a lot of work to-"

A loud CHUNK cut the senior engineer off, as the entire ship gave a sudden rumble. The engineering deck fell silent.

"What the hell was that?" Kepler asked aloud. "It sounded like something hit us."

"Don't be stupid." Kolsch replied, "We're in hyperspace, its impossible for anything to hit us-"

A second CHUNK reverberated throughout the deck, and several cries of confusion could be heard as a large, barbed spike punctured through the meter thick armor of the Lincoln. A trio of giant prongs then opened up and secured themselves against the hull as the spike began to pull back. Kepler took a hesitant step towards the equivalent of a giant grappling hook as several vents opened on the sides of the spike. The spike began to spew a thick, purple gas.

Kolsch took a step back, his face paling. Rushing over to a comm system on the wall, he keyed the link to the Lincoln's bridge.

"Captain! The Port Engineering Deck's been hit! We-"

An explosion rocked the ship. The ship then rapidly decelerated, throwing objects, supplies, and people around as the Lincoln was suddenly and forcefully pulled out of its hyperspace jump.

---

The Indivisible, Orca Class Coalition Rapid Assault Cruiser

"Holy shit. I didn't think that'd work." whistled the XO as Captain Damsky watched the UEE Battle-Carrier swing out of hyperspace, still attached to the experimental grapple-like weapon the Indivisble had fired. Now that the Lincoln had entered real space however, the Indivisible could no longer pull the considerably larger ship with its cable. The Lincoln now found itself in real-space, facing an Orca class cruiser, and a pair of destroyers in orbit over Jehan, a small terran Coalition research colony.

"That being said, I wasn't expecting it to be so big." Captain Damsky replied. "Nevermind, the experimental weapons Jehan has given us for testing should be more than enough to deal with a single carrier. Deploy all units."

---

The side hangar doors of the Coalition ships opened, as they released their clutches of MAS. The destroyers released teams of 3 Ferir Mk II's, led by a Ferir Mk III. The Orca released a quartet of Mk II's, led by a Mk III, alongside another MAS. This new MAS was one that the UEE had yet to encounter, its relatively thin frame and white color scheme a far cry from typical Coalition designs. The Coalition MAS's formed up in a formation in front of the Orca Cruiser, with the shiny new machine at the head.

At the moment of impact the 7th were being the extraordinary warriors they always were, colloquially this meant they were currently asleep. During hyperspace jumps during most hours UEE ships mostly ran on ghost crews expect for those in the bridge and engineering as the dangers of real space were far and distant away or so they presumed and once traveling at FTL speeds the Lincoln basically ran itself speeding towards its intend destination. This generally gave time for pilots and soldiers to get some well deserved R&R before they were thrown into the next battle for their lives. You caught your forty winks when you could during wartime and wherever you could get it even in the low hanging cramped bunks of the Lincoln. As the Coalition experimental harpoon made impact the rumbled would of been enough to wake up any of the light sleepers. Moments later when the Lincoln was forcibly ripped from hyperspace surely it would wake everyone else up. The jerking moment of the sudden deceleration throwing personal objects, people and anything else not bolted to the floor or strapped in about.

Commander Trapp himself had awoken to the rumble and as he rose from his bed to see what was happening he was thrown forward getting sprawled across the narrow floor of the bunk room. Letting out a few choice words that would make his mother blush he pushed himself to his feet as the ship groaned in protest. He looked around quickly first making sure nothing was on fire before checking to make sure the rest of the 7th had all made it through all right. Or at least the half of his squad equipped with male genitalia for as progressive as the UEE was in its everyone can die for their country policy, bunk rooms and bathroom facilities were segregated upon gender. While some argue this keeps things more crowded in ships like the Lincoln as people had to be fit by gender like tuna cans instead of by person, the santicy of the empire needed to be upheld because god forbid the Coalition found the UEE too crass.



The calm, cold, and collected robotic voice chimed automatically, oblivious of their commencing and apparent doom as Trapp and the rest pulled their flight suits on quickly. They were fast and efficient you don't get through the first week of 101st training without being able to put on your suit in under a minute and it gets harsher as they weeks go on blindfolds, gas grenades, bound and gagged, getting kicked at the 101st drill sergeants made sure when push came to shove you could be battle ready as quickly as possible. As he started moving towards the door Trapp wondered in his head what the hell was going on. They were in hyperspace, it was supposed to be somewhere safe... if the Coalition could hit you there.... where couldn't they. "Alright let's move!" Trapp yelled to the male half of the 7th as they filed out of the bunkroom and into the hallway of the Lincoln.

The hallway was filled with chaos people running every which way as they got to their respective duties, a few man of the damage control until running towards the engineering wing with fire extinguishes and determined looks upon their faces. Trapp for a moment wondered if somehow the engineering crew had mad a miscalculation and the reactor had a discharge, but no that made little sense as why would the robot be telling him to go to battle stations. No this was something much more worse then Trapp could of imagined. The Lincoln rumbled again as if whatever Coalition forces were attacking them were trying to soften them them up judging from the minor severity of it though he reckoned that it only glanced off at best. Making it down the hall a bit he puled up aside the female bunk room in that section of the ship and poked his head in for a brief moment not caring for common decency in the moment as he give a order. "MAS hanger, double time!"

Pulling away knowing that he did not have to wait for a response as he sprinted down the corridor as he did the rest of the 7th filed in behind him as they made their way to the MAS hanger the sounds of chaos building around them.

---

The 7th pulled into the hanger at top speed, Trapp did not even have to look behind him assured that the rest would know the drill and get into their MASs without him having to tell them to do so. The deck crew was moving at a million miles a second strapping on weapons and running last checks on the vehicles before they were thrown into battle. While most repairs after the last battle had been finished some them still were not quite running at full capacity yet. He made a move towards his own Sentry as the crew chief for the hanger waved him down.

"Commander!" The crew chief yelled intercepting the commander as he approached his vehicle.

"I'm assured that all vehicles are ready for launch?" Trapp asked tapping his foot against the floor worried.

"As ready as they ever will sir! But we have a slight problem with your Sentry sir it was not able to be repaired in time and there are still currently reactor issues that need to be addressed.

"I appreciate the concern sir but the Lincoln is currently going to have some problems if I don't get in that MAS. We can fix it later!"

"...Understood! Godspeed Commander!"

Trapp nodded before breaking off and running to the Sentry. While it looked slightly better than it did with no more exposed circuitry and gaping holes in the cockpit it did look a little rough around the edges. Not caring he bounded up the ladder to the catwalk flipping a switch as he did that popped the cockpit open. He bounded over the railing and fell into the seat with a small huff as he buckled himself in. Throwing his helmet atop his head he entered a series of commands as the Sentry roared to life. He brushed several warnings about possible reactor leakage as it read diagnostics checks to him. Main thrusters 75%, Reactor 75%, Armor 50%, all other systems nominal. He shook his head it wasn't the best conditions but it was what he had to work with. He felt the magnetic clamps attached to the MAS as it was pulled to the catapult launcher getting locked into place. The rest of the 7th were getting hooked in around him in a neat little row as numbers began to count down across their screens. As the numbers neared zero he spoke.

"7th Sound off!........ Alright, now launch!" He roared with a courageous vigor as the catapults rushed them up and out of the Lincoln, rumbling soon ceasing to silence as the void of space surrounded them. The 7th began to take up defense potions around the Lincoln as the shiny new MAS and company were steadily approaching almost within firing range. Trapp looked around taking in his surroundings taking note of the strange ship and its two destroyer he figured the unfamiliar one most of been the one that manged to drag them out of hyperspace. He switch his communications over to secure comms as he sent out a status report to the Captain.

"Fox this is Odin. We are in the position and waiting on your go."

"Oh, fuck me!" Maki cursed as she was suddenly back from the sink. When the Lincoln was pulled out of hyperspace, the Japanese pilot had been washing her hands after using the bathroom. Somewhere in the back of her mind, an inner voice was patronizingly telling her that things could be worse. She could have been still on the toilet, for example, and she would have had to launch in the Hellcat with shit and piss all over her.

When the announcement for them to get to battle stations, the confusion set in. How the hell were they in a combat situation in the middle of hyperspace? She could ponder the question while on the way to the hangar, she reminded herself, as reflexes took over and she found her way to the Hellcat. Maki was too good a pilot and a soldier to believe in superstitions, but the fact that they had just witnessed something that was supposed to be impossible happen right after Ardin came on board seemed to indicate that their current situation was linked to his presence. The Coalition had developed technology that could pull a ship out of FTL travel. Trying to hit a fly on someone's shoulder from two miles away with a sniper rifle would have been an easier fit.

"I guess we know why Ardin wanted us out of Cerol ASAP." She muttered to herself as she climbed in the cockpit as the technician briefed her on the Hellcat's condition.

"We haven't had time to fix the hull damage but all systems should be working fine. Just avoid taking direct hits and you should be fine!"

"That's the general idea..." Maki replied as she booted up the Hellcat's systems and launched into combat with more haste and urgency than she ever had. "Hunter is online and ready to rumble. Scanning for targets and awaiting orders!" She reported, falling in beside Trapp. Privately on the squad comms, before orders came in, she made her uneasiness known.

"They managed to pull the Lincoln out of hyperspace? At FTL speed? What are we up against here?"

Mumbling in his sleep as he lay on his side, Gerard was unceremoniously thrown against the wall of his bunk before collapsing back down into the rock hard slab face first, pushing his head into the pillow which still faintly smelled of a certain female. After that, he was thrown clear of his bunk onto the floor where he groaned in pain. Swearing violently in French, he curled up into a ball before stumbling to his feet, still in his underclothes. "What the bloody hell!? Merde!" he shouted as he cradled his elbow. A second later, the alarm blared before being punctuated by the cold metallic voice of the onboard comms telling them to get to their battlestations. Military training immediately kicked in as stagged towards his bed and dived into his flight suit. They said a Frenchman could strip naked in less than 3 seconds. The opposite was close enough as he zipped up the flight suit in 5 seconds despite groaning slightly in pain. He had hit that wall pretty hard. As an afterthought, he reached under his bunk and pulled out a glinting silver object before stashing it away inside his suit. Adrenaline kicked in as he followed after Trapp with purposeful steps, clearing the bunkroom and rounding the corner.

Breaking into a run as Trapp went to go rouse the other half of the squad, Gerard was one of the first to arrive in the hangar. Bounding up to Lark, he found that the engineers were on edge. "What the bloody hell was that?!" Lark asked no-one in particular as he brushed himself off, inspecting a fresh burn scar on his arm, "Weren't we in hyperspace!?"
"I do not know, monsieur, but I need to ask you if we are combat worthy," Gerard replied professionally as he inspected his MAS. It wasn't a pretty sight. The debris that had punctured his left pectoral region had been removed and sealed, a fresh armor plate having been bolted then welded on, the blooms obvious as well as the gunmetal colour in stark contrast to the white of the rest of the MAS. Or it would have been if the majority of the paint had not been stripped off by heat. The lower left flank still had traces of the frantic stabbing of the Coalition pilot, obviously having been seen as less of a priority, with the left arm having just barely been welded shut, gaps still evident in the armor plating, as well as the red cherry glow. "I'd estimate the efficiency of your left arm at 75%" Lark mentioned as he wheeled a ladder into place, allowing Gerard to nimbly mount the MAS, "it's not fully repaired yet so go easy on it."

"I do not think I will have such a choice," Gerard said grimly as he flipped his hatch down. One by one, systems booted up, accompanied by a dull hum as the core powered up. He felt the Marauder gain height as it stood straight. As a test, he flexed his left arm, finding the response slower than usual. He would have to deal with it. Leaning over, he grasped another lever, causing the MAS to bend down and pick up the Scattergun which had just been repaired. Racking it, he took a step forward and let the magnets lock him down. "Guillotine is online, Odin," Gerard replied as their leader's message rang in the cabin, "proceeding to launch bay." As the ground lamps lit up, Gerard braced himself, the catapults seeming more hasty than usual as they flung him into deep space. Engaging the reverse thrusters, Gerard joined Maki and Trapp in a defensive formation, his scattergun braced across his chest.

As Maki's message played into the cockpit, Gerard hummed. "I have not read of any such cases before..." Gerard replied quietly, "but whatever it is, I will put my finest wine on that creature over there having something to do with it." Pointing the barrel of his scattergun at the gleaming white MAS, he growled thoughtfully, "I have never seen anything like that...and it matches nothing in the UEE database..." With his fingers rapidly cycling through the onboard encyclopedia, he tried to find a description. "A custom model perhaps?"

As most of her companions slept in their bunks, Alice wandered the Lincoln's systems all by her lonesome. Her body stayed in the R&D lab, so she didn’t have the comfort of being in it. While others were allowed to rest, she had to remain awake, in a way, separated from her own body. Even though she had unlimited access to the Lincoln’s computers, and had put numerous files of an embarrassing nature on Dr. Beil’s computer, sometimes she wanted to experience what sleep was like. So with nothing else to do while her friends slept, Alice found herself spending her time singing.

Since no one would be awake and around to listen and she had several hours to herself, Alice would simply sing to herself. Rather than words, she would sing through abstract vocalizations, gentle with calm melodies, the vocal quirk of her voice accenting her songs as it echoed and flanged with changes in pitch.

Suddenly, her song was interrupted by a tremble. Then another. She transported herself to the engineering deck just in time to see a hook pierced through the hull before the entire ship was instantly ripped out of hyperspace. The immediate transition disrupted Alice, leaving her unable to compute what had just happened for a few moments. When she recovered and realized the ship had literally been yanked from hyperspace, she was overtaken with curiosity.

Hyperdrives worked by shifting a ship into a contiguous dimension where the ship would be able to exceed the speed of light, then shift back to the original space at the desired destination. A ship outside of hyperspace shouldn’t be able to recognize where a ship was in hyperspace and where it was going, but here, the Coalition had not only launched grapples into hyperspace while still linked to their ship, but managed to hit their target in the dark, and yank it back into regular space! This would be even more incredible if it wasn’t so bad for the UEE.

While her mind raced about the possible tech the Coalition could be developing if they were able to create such a ship, a call for battle rang throughout the ship, and Alice had to race to her body. Quickly, she downloaded herself into her body and just as fast, met up with the rest of the 7th as they ran to the hangar. There, her White Rabbit stayed, though it’s repairs had not been finished. The most major damages to the hull had been rectified, but the rest of the scars from the previous battle spoiled the ivory armor, and only one of the shoulder launchers remained operable. Nevertheless, she climbed into thecockpit and transferred from her body to her MAS, booting up its systems before being launched into battle.

“Alice: Online and combat ready!”

In formation with the rest of the 7th, Alice examined the environment. “This is Jehan, a Coalition research colony! If they have technologies that can pull ships from hyperspace, there’s no telling what else they have!” She couldn’t help sounding more excited than she should have about the Coalition tech, especially the new MAS Gerard pointed out. “It must be experimental, like my Eagle.”

There’s only one way to find out.

Ari woke up to the senation of being sent flying from her bunk, colliding with an adjacent bunk with a thud. A gasp of pain escaped her as she began to slowly stumble to her feet, trying to figure out what was going on. She couldn't quite comprehend the situation at hand, but her mind reminded her of Tom's advice "Don't think, just do!" So, when the alert to go to battle stations sounded, she didn't hesitate in the slightest. Her locker flew open, and her flight suit was pulled on in under 5 seconds, probably a new record for her. She grabbed her sidearm after that, along with its holster, and affixed it to her hip. One extra magazine, one reload, was shoved into the boot of her flight suit before she turned to start sprinting out of the room. She was in top physical shape, and nobody wanted to slow down the pilots of one of the ship's principal means of self defense, so it was mere minutes before she was sprinting up to the Astelion in the hangar. Looking it over, she released a low whistle, noting it wasn't quite all the way patched up.

A few new hull plates had been welded on and shaped to the MAS, and she couldn't help but note all the little imperfections that covered the hull as the heat damage from the missile had left the airframe warped in some places. It'd work though, at least based on her initial survey, and so she looked over to note that some of the engineers were already prepping for an emergency launch. Absently, she noted the Astelion was a base gun-metal grey up front from where the paint had been burned off by the missile. It was certainly the least of her worries, but it served as an ominous reminder of the fact that she had to be much more careful in the coming battle. There wasn't too much separating her from death, and this time the Astelion wouldn't be in good enough to adsorb another hit. This time, she had to be absolutely flawless in execution, dodge every single shot, or the 7th would lose the Astelion, and Ari would lose her life.

Schwiss ran over, reporting in a quick rattle "Ari, she's had her wings clipped a bit. We replaced her shields and the Tesla Drive is fully functional, but you've only got, by my estimate, 'bout 65% on your hull integrity. X-50s are fine though, and so are your engines and the NAV and Targetting AIs, so you should be fine. Be careful though, all your redundant systems are fried, so you don't have a backup if something goes up. So, keepin it short, don't get shot again little lady. My team and I can fix many things, and we've done our best, but now you must do your part. We can't patch you or the Astelion back together if you blow up out amongst the stars, and Tori would sure hate to see her beloved suit and its lovely young pilot blow up in a rain of debris." Ari nodded along to Schwiss and replied "I don't intend to die, but thanks Schwiss."

She ran into the Astelion and booted up, the system readoubts quickly displaying themselves before her. She noted, with a grimace, Schwiss hadn't mentioned that increased power output was required to make all the systems function at the moment. So, now not only was overheating something that may happen if she pushed her limits, but her operational ceiling had probably lowered. She shrugged though, neither of those thigns would matter as long as she didn't flirt with her maximum flight time. That in mind, and given what she was hearing about the conflict over the COMs, she wasn't worried at all about that part of the flight. Based on what she knew from the sims, and her first engagement, she supposed this wouldn't be a long battle. The Lincoln would win or lose, they would all live or die, and it'd probably all be over in under an hour. She didn't have time to keep thinking on this however as Trapp called for the team to sound off and, listening in, she became acutely aware of something rather odd to notice at that time. She'd never been given a call-sign or even a team nick-name, so she still sounded off "Williams, Stocked, Locked and ready to Rock."

With that, she was hooked up to the magnetic catapult, and she got ready for another heavy insert. The speed struck her and she grinned as she was sent flying from the ship into space. The wires disconnecting and her systems changing appearance to register that were only faintly noticed as she hurtled into space. She noted that she was at least just as maneuvarable as before as shew as able to right her orientation a little quicker than before, probably a result of having done it once before. It was only half a second faster, nothing to most people, but she'd alreayd noticed that combat pilots lived and died by half seconds. By being just a half second faster than your opponent, you could land a shot before they could dodge, or slide out of the way by the skin of your teeth. It was all by the skin of your teeth, mere half seconds separated those who were alive from those who weren't. She noted the enemy MAS and immediately flipped out her cannons, beginning to analyze it for possible weaknesses. Its frame was solid, but maybe that would be its weakness then, and it was experimental, so something could short out. She couldn't depend on that though, and reported "That one....we weren't briefed on it in training. Think we can try and salvage whatever's left after this, sir? I'd love to take a look at it from an engineer's standpoint."

Unlike the others, Yuuyami probably had the least painful wake-up call. Being thrown from her bunk, she hit the floor face, before rolling the rest of the way into the far wall.

Wincing in the slight pain from hitting th ground with her chest, she quickly readied herself, putting on the flight suit rapidly. Poking her head out of her room, she noted the panic and hurried steps of the crew. Likewise following in example, she sprinted down towards the hangar.

Grabbing the clipboard left at the side of the MAS, she glanced down to review the status of the Soveriegn. Rather little was really in need of repairs, since she was far from combat the last time around. Just a few dents and scratches on the alloy shield.

Tossing the clipboard aside, she hurried scaled her MAS, an action now ingrained in her body. Dropping into the pilot seat, she flicked a few switches, before activating it.

The moment she was launched, Yuu couldnt help but to widen her eyes at the scene. They were ripped out of a hyperspace jump. And now to add on to her surprise, the Coalition had developed a MAS outside of their usual designs. A completely new design.

Echo here. Sovereign's operational

Nearly forgetting to sound off, she rapidly typed it out, before looking back at the shiny new MAS. "This should be fun." Muttering these words to herself, she opened her left eye.

If we capture it, can I be there to dismantle and examine it?

Whatever Tom was dreaming was lost in the ship's aggressive deceleration, the sharp crack of skull against the head of his bunk waking him from what had moments before been a dead sleep. It took him a second to process what was going on, Trapp's sharp orders bringing him to full attention. As he hauled on his flight suit with the best of him, his brain was already starting to spin up--weren't they in hyperspace? Weren't they supposed to still be in hyperspace? He put the questions aside as best he could and shot down the hallway, juking past a plodding Sokolov and Shanks to doubletime his way to the hanger.

The technicians were clearly not happy. Pei-Jun Wei--there was an alphabet behind her name, Tom was sure, but he hadn't bothered to learn it--was already speaking in aggressive and animated Chinese to one of her associates. As he approached, they switched to English as if he would care about whatever it was they were discussing.

"This shouldn't be possible!" She was saying quickly as he approached. "We were struck in mid--"

"Doctor," he was sure she was at least a doctor, "I don't give a damn what should be. Get me in the sky." Rude, he knew, but pressing.

"We were expecting--"

"Doctor, get me in the damn sky." He was already hauling himself up the first rung on the leg of the machine, pushing towards the cabin. From the way people were hurrying he didn't have time for the stupid optimization suite, but he was in luck--without the full time for the repairs, they hadn't had time to muck things up for him again. Beading up the com-feed, he came in mid-way into a damage explanation.

"--functioning again, but the left arm is only at around 40% capacity. You're lucky you didn't sustain more damage in the previous battle."

"Always am." He muttered, disconnecting the docking clamps and pushing forward through the bay to launch himself into formation with the others.

Two destroyers, a carrier and a slew of MAS units...outnumbered like always. Looked like the enemy shared Ardin's sense of style if the new unit was any indication. Frankly, he wasn't an engineer--he didn't want to tinker with it, see how it worked. All he cared about was what it could do and whether or not he'd get to dance with it. As Maki expressed her uneasiness and the orders came from on high for Guillotine and Calamity to bring it in, he chuckled idly into the squad-channel as his targeting matrices lined up the Ferir Mk II next to the new unit. Funny thing about the field of engagement in space: with no cover, it was all just a matter of effective range. Most weapons strong enough to take down an MAS were limited by size or travel time, but the Arbalest, well...

"Damn. Here I was hoping to take Cinderella to the ball." He could almost smell Maki's disappointment, he was sure she was thinking the same thing. There was a slight beep, a solidified red line on his readout. "Guess I'll find myself another dance partner."

A flash of green lightning, faster than any bullet, and the Ferir was cored. What had the pilot been thinking, before he died?

"Won't be him, though."

"I'm always in awe of your ability to creatively interpret 'defensive'." Lin chimed in dryly. He could almost hear her eyes roll.

"Just being proactive." He smiled idly, already working on his next target. "Dead guys don't shoot."

"Show-off."

McKnight had just finished shaving when the ship shook ferociously, the razor he had just discarded flying dangerously close to his face. As he hit the door, his face paled. Had engineering fucked up? Was this the first stage of the rapid compression and destruction of their ship in hyperspace? Pulling on a pair of pants and exiting the bathroom, McKnight poked his head out in time to hear Trapp give a call to battle stations. Confused, but unquestioning, McKnight sprinted towards the hangar deck, his flight suit only half on as he pulled himself into it while juking past other crewmen.

The hangar bay was a mess. The impact had sent unsecured materials, and even several ultra-light mover MAS's tumbling across the floor, and the engineers and techs didn't have time to clean up- what with general quarters being called. The only portions of the deck the technicians cleared were the various launch bays for the fighters and MAS. Dodging past scrambling Ultra-Lights, and vaulting over crates and fallen munitions, McKnight sprinted to his machines, where his engineering crew were fiercely tapping away on keypads and loading equipment onto the Shrike. Sophia, her blonde hair loose and frazzled- she had obviously been asleep, shoved his helmet into his hands as she handed him a datapad, her hands jittering uncomfortably.

"We've replaced the shield unit," Sophia said calmly, despite her apparent stress, as she pointed at a gunmetal gray plate that had been welded over the melted hole that used to be where his destroyed shield generator laid. "We replaced the missing tesla coil as well- but we haven't been able to finish optimizing the power draw yet."

"The Shrike has a pretty demanding power consumption rate." Sophia reminded McKnight, as he pulled on his helmet. "If you start boosting with your teslas, you won't be able to fire the EKP and the shields will start draining."

"I'll keep that in mind." McKnight said with a frown as he climbed into his machine and booted himself up.

"Gallant, waiting on green." McKnight said into the comm as the order to sound off came.

---

McKnight's head was forced into his headrest as the Lincoln launched the 7th from its hold. As McKnight formed up with the rest of the squadron, he took the time to analyze their opposition. On top of the enemy cruiser and destroyers, they were looking at 10 Mk IIs- 9, as one was shot down by Trent almost immediately, 3 Mk IIIs, and an new, white experimental unit. The 7th, still damaged from their previous fight, were ten reinforced by a pair of Ardin's black Imperial Service pilots, their black Sentries floating closer to the ship.

"Custom or not," McKnight replied to Gerard, "I doubt the MAS itself is the reason for our predicament. All the same, we should use caution."

The two battlegroups now faced off. The Coalition group was backed with the nearby research planet and its defensive stations- a Trio of floating satellite platforms with artillery cannons. The platforms targeted the Lincoln and its escort ships, and opened fire. As the cannon rounds erupted from the artillery platforms, the Coalition MAS's charged forward as well, weapons firing. McKnight instinctively boosted to the side, cursing as his eye flickered to his units shield levels- which had already dropped to 90% after less than a second of boost. His shield slowly began to recharge. McKnight frowned, he'd have to take care of how liberally he used his boost- that would be a pain.

The different Coalition squads broke off, clearly intent on hitting the Lincoln from 3 directions at once- though they were close enough to aid other teams if needed. At the same time, the Coalition naval vessels advanced at flank speed as well, capital ship weapons already firing on the Lincoln and its support destroyers.

"Here they come. Rookie, on my ass." McKnight called out over the com, "Cover my approach, we're going to take the three on the-" McKnight cut off midsentence, his eyes widening as the White MAS was suddenly in front of him, faster than anything he had seen before- he doubted even the Astelion or Trent's Mosquito would've matched that speed. McKnight boosted and rolled to the side at the last second, glowing claws tearing through the space he had just vacated.

"He's fast..!" Was all McKnight managed as he instinctively began firing with his rotary cannon, watching as the White machine easily dodged the streams of fire and continued flying past him- towards the Lincoln, aiming for the hole by Port Engineering- which would give him easy access to the ship's reactor. "He's going for the breach!"

The two Imperial Service Sentries flew in front of the White MAS, their autocannons firing streams of hot lead. The gleaming white MAS easily dodged its way through the streams of fire, its glowing claws leaving trails of light as it rapidly advanced on the black Sentries. "I cant stop him!" came the panicked cry of one of the Imperial Service Pilots moments before the White MAS's claws sank into its chest. The first Sentry erupted into a fireball, as the white MAS pulled away and continued on its path, turning back to almost casually sink a long, but accurate burst of EKP rounds into the chest of the other Sentry- tearing through its shields and its pilot with relative ease.

As the second Imperial Service sentry exploded, the rest of the Coalition MAS team was almost upon them.

---

ON THE BRIDGE OF THE LINCOLN

"Analysis Complete." chimed the synthesized voice of the Lincoln's AI. "This unidentified frame appears to be the first of its kind ever encountered by the UEE. Its observed to have speeds and firepower well greater than the typical for its size category. It can be assumed that this high performance unit uses a experimental reactor of sorts, and appears to be armed with hybrid weaponry. Caution is advised."

"Captain!" one of the bridge crew shouted out. "Enemy ships moving into close range at attack speeds, they will be crossing the WMG's minimum safety distance in a matter of minutes."

"Captain! Commander Collins has reported Gemini I's shields are about to break- the orbital platforms are concentrating their fire on him!"

As Alexis’s voice patched in through his comms, Gerard nodded. “Affirmative, moving to intercept,” he said as he split off and shifted along the defensive line, “I leave the others to you, comrades, but try to leave some for me after I deal with this little bastard,” he said as he fell in line with Yuu. Locking onto the white MAS, Delacroix narrowed his eyes and racked the scattergun as he loosened the ammo belt with a light tug. “Echo,” he muttered into the comms, “I need you to cover me in my approach, but cease fire as soon as I hit engagement range.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than the white MAS seemed to blink forwards and took a swipe at McKnight who managed to roll away. Keeping his trigger finger loose, Gerard tried to find an angle in which he wouldn’t harm his allies. Swearing viciously in French as the white MAS sped past again, two black Sentries engaged it, pumping their autocannons at it before one exploded into a giant fireball. “Moving to engage!” Gerard said as he gunned his engines, bringing the scattergun up to his shoulder.

As the second Sentry was shredded, floating into space, Gerard entered effective range. Almost instantly, the Marauder began to pump shot after shot in the direction of the enemy. The red hot pellets seared outwards in a bright flashing fan but the white MAS managed to dodge the majority of them and the few that did connect didn’t even pierce the shield. Nevertheless, Gerard continued to fire. “Echo! See if you can soften him up for me!” he shouted as he maglocked the gun to his hip before pulling out the Ravager.

Ariana heard the call to follow McKnight and replied over the COM "I've got you covered McKnight!" The Astelion whined and came about to help McKnight defend the ship...when suddenly the enemy MAS was in front of him. Her sensors had of course captured his flight plan, but it struck too fast for her to get a concrete firing solution. She watched it close to the ship and she called over the COM "Damnit! I can't fire the Astelion's guns at it with it hugging the ship, I'll just blow us up myself!" That frustrated declaration made, she turned to see a team of Coalition MAS quickly closing the gap, but they wouldn't get far if she had anything to say about it. No, this was Ariana's new home, and she'd be damned if they were allowed to touch even one bolt on it. The Astelion accelerated and she called "This is Williams, making hard contact. I'll occupy the enemy reinforcements as long as I can, I'll keep the window open."

She charged up the cannons and fired the first shots, adjusting her solution and gracefully accelerating. Enemy shots whizzed past and around as she weaved through bursts of fire like a ballerina. She wasn't going to be outdone by these guys, not after she'd tried so hard in the last battle! She was NOT going to die because some pilots dared attack the Lincoln. "Alright Ari, two degrees up the y-axis, three on the X and...GOTCHA!" Her own mental chatter filling her mind as she manually adjusted the solution given by her targeting AI and then loosed the blast of destruction. The plasma arced out, too fast and from the wrong angle to allow the enemy to evade. The blast slammed into the enemy MAS, slagging it and causing it to go up in a blast of destruction. The other two were on her ass then as well, coordinating to try and trap her between barrages of fire.

She was forced, then, to flip the X-50s back into boost and send the Astelion flying forward. The enemy fire whizzed by behind her, rounds scattering into space to fly until they eventually struck something. For her part, Ari was already eyeing the second Ferir with cold, calculating eyes. They had her zeroed in, so she'd need to keep the X-50s on boost if she was going to keep dodging. That left her with the arm mounted autocannon and the melee weapons, neither of which were ideal. However, of the two, she'd prefer to use the autocannon as the Astelion was far from optimized for melee combat. "If I'm gonna land a kill with the cannon, I'll have to be careful and I can't miss even one shot. Not ideal, not at all...I'm gonna have to tank a few hits. The shields will hold up for a few autocannon rounds, long enough to snap off one shot. That'll drop the shields on that 3, then I can finish it with the auto." A strategy formed in her mind, but she couldn't give herself the time to second guess herself. If she second guessed that strat, she'd get scared, and just like Tom had said, fear could get her killed. So, she swapped the 50s out to cannon, and kept riding her inertia.

Thankfully, in a zero-g environment, she'd keep her speed as long as she didn't do anything to decelerate. This bought her a few precious seconds to line up a shot with the X-50s, but she didn't have long to charge. She frowned but took a deep breath, and staked her life on a gamble that her instructors had always warned never to take. She dumped the power from her life support into the cannon, watching the extra energy gather quickly and forcing the blast to form much faster than any other the Astelion had fired. She was forced to start breathing her limited supply of O2 now, as she couldn't keep her breath held forever, but she still had to be quick. The cockpit wasn't that big, and she'd run out of air fast if she didn't get the life support rebooted fast. So, with a mumbled prayer, she let loose the blast the moment she had her adjusted solution. The blasts lanced out, destruction given physical form...and slammed into the 3, dropping its shields, and filling Ari with relief. Switching the 50s back to boost and rebooting her life support, she began to accelerate towards the enemy.

Her own shields were rapidly dropping as she set her trajectory for just past the enemy and levelled the arm bearing the cannon. They were correcting for her speed too fast for her liking, and it wouldn't be long before they were landing more than enough to drop her shields, and her shortly after. However, it was too late for the Mk.III, as she zeroed in on it with the autocannon, and depressed the firing stud. The cannon barked and boomed, recoil kept in control by constant micro-adjustments by the targeting AI. Her countermeasures kicked in, forcing a Hammer missile group off target, and she watched the enemy take hit after hit as she bit her lip and mentally crossed her fingers. 5 seconds until she was past the enemy...4 seconds....3 seconds...2 seconds "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, please blow up!" Ari quietly begged in her mind as the last few rounds she'd get off whizzed out...and finally, the enemy MAS was down. It was drifting away aimlessly, having avoided exploding, but it seemed a lucky shell had struck the cockpit, or at least cut its control systems

Ari didn't have time to celebrate however, as another round struck her shields and finally dropped them. When she turned to face her attacked, the Ferir was closing in, and she gulped quietly. She was charging the 50s, but they wouldn't be up in time, and the enemy MAS still had shields, so what was left of her autocannon ammo would just piss it off. She keyed the COM and said in a slight panic "This is Williams, two enemy suits down, one tango closing in on me, requesting assistance. It isn't urgent, but damage is likely if I don't get some help."

"Alright, babe, let's do this." Maki spoke to her Hellcat as she coaxed it into a dive, flying beneath the Lincoln's belly to ensure that anyone coming to try and get a shot at it from underneath would have a nasty surprise waiting for them. Given the Hellcat's colour scheme and stealth systems, they weren't going to notice her presence. Well, hopefully. She had no idea if the enemy pilots had some kind of fancy new tech to counter stealth technology. Given the hull damage the Hellcat sustained, Maki didn't like the idea of taking any more hits. She'd been lucky her stunts in the previous battle hadn't damaged anything critical. She could not afford the same mistake here.

As she anticipated, a pair of of Coalition machines had dived and circled around. Maki didn't know if they knew how fearsome the 7th were, but they definitely underestimated their ability to fight across a wide area and support each other regardless. Especially since the pilots of the ultra-lights and mediums were more than capable of relocating in seconds given this kind of engagement. "Hunter has tally on two bandits underneath the Lincoln. Moving to engage. Someone cover me."

The first pilot didn't see her coming. The poor soul had flew in too close to her Hellcat and with his MAS scanning in the wrong direction with its external cameras. By the time his sensors warned him of the Hellcat's presence, Maki had already cleaved him in half through the torso. As the Ferir's cockpit was exposed and lost pressure, the pilot was forcefully ejected. It was another woman, and she was still breathing, though it seemed the impact from being ejected had caused her to lose consciousness. At least, she wasn't moving much. It could have just been disorientation. Maki had no time to confirm or waste a shot on the downed pilot. She would be useless without her machine, and Maki hunted MAS, not people.

The second Ferir must have gotten notified of his wingman's demise, because he was turning around and swinging his gun around to fire on Maki. Unfortunately for him, she was far too fast and agile in the Hellcat and hadn't stopped moving just because she scored a kill. At this range, however, it would be easy for the Ferir's guns to train on her, and she didn't want to rely on luck and evasion to stay alive. Maki changed her course, diving further just as the Ferir fired. The trail of the plasma cannon passed over the Hellcat's shoulder - barely - as Maki turned her own autocannon. "Chew on this one." She commented, as she fired one shot straight at the Ferir's head.

To her surprise, however, the Ferir moved its arm in the way and stopped the round before it could blind the MAS. This one's got good instincts, if he could tell I was going to fire at his sensors from here. Maki thought to herself, testing her opponent's ability with her next few shots. Cockpit, cannon, sensors, feet thrusters... She took aim at each module of the Ferir and fired. Not wanting to underestimate the enemy, Maki followed up by firing to cut off the line of movement she anticipated the Ferir would take. She watched, admiring the skill of her opponent as the Coalition machine simply turned its torso and head, letting its armour absorb most of the damage. Sparks and smoke were her only indications that a few of those rounds had managed to do their job.

Two return shots that almost caught her were her only warning that she had just poked a dragon in the eye. Maki grimaced as she noted how close those shots were to ending her life right there and then. This guy was just as good as any of the 7th, if not better. No doubt he hadn't expected her M103's specialized rounds to do as much damage as they did. The Ferir was no match for the Hellcat's mobility and firepower, but the fact that this bastard was giving Maki a hell of a time trying to kill him spoke volumes of the pilot's skill.

He's keeping close to the Lincoln so I don't fire my missiles haphazardly either. Damn, I really wish he had gone somewhere else. Maki cursed. "This is Hunter, I've got a real pain in the ass here, assistance would be appreciated!" She yelled into her comms as she continued to evade his fire.

>>Shields at 60%.

The first glancing blow from the plasma cannon shook Maki out from her defensive posture. If she continued simply evading, her opponent would only need to get lucky once. It was time to take a gamble. Flying an evasive pattern, she pulled away from the Ferir, hoping he would take the bait and give chase. Two more shots that nearly blew off her thrusters seemed to be the enemy's reply. I've got the range to do this all day. He seemed to say as he continued firing.

"Heh, well, if you think range is your ally..." Maki flew around the wreck of the first MAS, which gave her a brief respite from dodging the Ferir's fire. From between the two halves, her autocannon fired once more. Two flashes of the muzzle were all the warning the enemy pilot had before the Hellcat's EKP rounds slammed into him. It was risky, firing at range and moving at full speed behind an obstacle like that, but Maki hadn't been training so hard to live up to her father's legend for nothing. The first round knocked out the enemy's plasma cannon, the volatile weaponry exploding and disabling the Ferir's offensive capabilities. Missile launchers were another problem, but it seemed the pilot was more interested in using them on the Lincoln than Maki.

He had to know he was dead the moment his weapon got disabled by a pilot of her caliber. He was going down doing as much damage as possible. The second round slammed into the Ferir's "neck". It was likely the enemy was blinded and would lose most of his sensors because of that shot, but Maki couldn't be sure. She had been aiming for the head, but she was lucky to have even hit him at the speed and angle she was moving. The Hellcat flew full speed towards the disabled Ferir, firing at center mass and made sure to plant each shot where it would do as much damage as possible. She wasn't trying to be cold-blooded or malicious, but if brutally executing an enemy ensured the Lincoln's survival, it was no choice to make.

"Hunter, two bandits downed. Ammo at 60%. One enemy pilot adrift, vitals stable. Requesting a team to take her in as prisoner." She reported her status to the squad and the Lincoln, before saluting the wreck of the second Ferir. The least she could do out of respect for her opponent's skill was to ensure his wingman lived to spread the tale of his valour. "Take extra caution, guys. One of them damned near killed me. I'm pretty sure they've got more veterans out here. We're dealing with the cream of the crop, it seems."

Just then, she heard the Rookie's request for assistance. She was close, and there was no time to take a break. "Hunter, moving in to assist!" Maki called out over the comms as she flew straight towards Ari on an intercept course. Of course, it seemed the enemy was paying attention, because no sooner had she broken from underneath the Lincoln did a burst of fire streak past her. One of them glanced off the Hellcat's torso at an extreme angle, the shield deflected more.

>>Shields at 40%. Caution recommended.

No shit. Maki retorted mentally at the console's warning. The Ferir was closing in but Maki already had a bead on the bandit on Ari's tail. She fired one shot and forced it into a spin as its thrusters went haywire from the shot. The Hellcat immediately turned to evade another burst of fire and the Japanese pilot turned her attention to her attacker. "I've swatted the fly away, Rookie, now take care of him and return the favour, yeah? I've barely just survived one dogfight I don't want to test my luck again."