_{Attica Station, in high orbit over Seriia.
Arias System, Free Enterprise Zone.}

The Attica Station, the largest and only operational station in the war ravaged Arias System. An obelisk in space, the Attica Station was originally designed as a corporate superheadquarters for a massive megacorporation. The war between the Coalition and the UEE had long since caused the corporation to collapse- allowing for the local powers that controlled Seriia to take the station for their own. Repurposed into a trade station, the Attica station was one of the largest space stations in the area, and was the chosen 'neutral ground'. Though originally built as a corporate headquarters, Attica station was more than prepared for its role as a trade hub and general use space station- its circular dock was capable of carrying ships on both the outer and inner edges of the ring.

Aside from its standard operations- which were considerably smaller than usual, two fleets sat on opposite sides of the station, one Coalition, the other UEE. Each side seemed to be eyeing each other warily, the space between them filled with tension as MAS and aerospace craft slowly drifted amongst their ranks. Representing the UEE was Archduke Lupus, 5th in the line of Succession and his flagship the EENS Terracotta, backed by a detachment from the Fifth Imperial Expeditionary Fleet- which consisted of 3 carriers, 2 battleships, and a quartet of cruisers, along with a spattering of smaller vessels and support ships. The Coalition was represented by Consul Roland Nagwen, has flagship The Perseus, and an escort fleet of 2 carriers, a few battleships and several cruisers.

Aside from the Perseus and the Terracota- which were docked on opposite sides of the station, and a small MAS escort for each ship, no other military ship were allowed to dock, each fleet standing by approximately 25 kilometers away from the station. This distance was agreed on by both sides- to keep pilots and gunners with potentially itchy trigger fingers from accidentally reigniting hostilities. The peace talks had been going on for almost 12 hours at this point, and aside from a few breaks here and the, the UEE and Coalition representatives had been locked in their discussion room almost nonstop.

---

_{Attica Station, Inner-ring Docking Bay}
From view on Attica Station, the planet below looked blue and peaceful, beautiful even. The thick layer of fluffy white clouds almost managed to cover the cratered, scarred, and war torn surface of the planet below. Seriia had been fought over and nearly destroyed half a dozen times over the course of the war, its resources raided and razed, but from up here, one could almost ignore the destruction down below.

"Lieutenant Barret!" called out a voice, young, clear and bright. Looking up, Barret saw a fresh faced young man- almost a boy- approaching him. His face was full of youthful enthusiasm and his dress uniform crisp and freshly pressed, the shiny silver bar on his shoulder marking him as an Ensign in the Coalition Spacey. The nametag on his chest denoted him as a man named Sika.

"How go the discussions?" Sika asked.

"How should I know? Probably good. Or bad." Barret replied with a shrug as he began walking off, motioning for the young ensign to follow him.

"The only thing I can say for certain, is that this has been a long time coming." Barret said, as the two marched down the clean, very empty halls of Attica Station. Most non-important traffic had been diverted away from the station for the peace talks, so the only civilians roaming the halls were those that actually lived on the station. "We won't get another chance like this, probably not in our lifetimes."

A pair of Coalition soldiers met the two officers at the airlock door that led them to the CSV Perseus, protecting the ship from boarding intruders- not that there was anyone on this side of the station to intrude on the Perseus. The soldiers at the airlock saluted the two officers, whom returned the salute with a nod as they boarded the ship. Another pair of officers met them in the airlock and exchanged nods with them, preparing for their own long, dull shift outside the meeting chambers.

"C'mon Sika, keep up." Barret called out towards the lagging Ensign. "We've still got work to do."

---

_{Onboard the INS Artemis}

The hangar bay of INS Artemis was abuzz with a quiet commotion. Engineers and technicians were walking around making adjustments to the MAS's and aerospace craft that they couldn't bother to trust their machines with, all in an effort to keep things 110% battle ready. Though there was definitely the possibility of a battle, the general atmosphere of the hangar was a combination of both hopeful and nervously tense as the Artemis' team of engineers went about their regular duties of ensuring that the combat craft of the Artemis were in ready conditions.

The presence of the full engineering team out in force didn't make conditions of the already crampt hangar any more comfortable for the pilots of the 12th MAS Squadron, but they had managed to eke themselves a little circle to the side of the hangar. Sectioned off with a small collection of spare crates the remaining pilots of the 12th Squadron were idling away their last few moments before they'd be sortied off to take the place of their teammates in patrolling the space around Attica Station. Brit and Delaney sat cross legged in the center of their little circle playing cards with a few others- gambling for spare rations, trinkets, favors, and whatever else they felt had some sort of tangible value.

Ingram sat on a crate towards the edge of their little gathering, nursing a steel thermos of coffee in his hands. It tasted like shit, and whoever had brewed the coffee this time around had put too much water into the pot, watering down the already piss poor tasting roast. At the very least it was warm, he could feel the heat radiating through the gloves of his flight suit. The 12th MAS had been pulling rough assignments for the past few months, so when they heard they'd be sent attached to the Artemis- the first of its class- for a diplomatic escort, Ingram was almost excited at the idea of a milk-run, a break, an easy mission. Little did he know it'd be so damn boring.

"'Ay Boss." called Brit, in his characteristic cockney drawl, finally taking his eyes off his card game as Delaney threw his head back and grabbed at his hair in defeat. "Whatcha think of them ISS pilots, all off by their lonesome?"

Ingram shrugged in response, "I honestly don't care. If the Empire's lapdogs want to keep to themselves, all the more power to them. Once the talks are done, they'll be back on the Terracotta and out of our hair."

"Ah Come on boss, that's no fun. We should invite them over here and give em a good ole 12th Squadron welcome, maybe 'ave a go at them in the ring." Brit pestered on, winning another trinket from Delaney, who seemed to be growing increasingly short on goods and increasingly high in desperation.

"The ring is for the 12th only." Ingram reminded him. "Besides, we don't have time to deal with the ISS. We've got a last minute replacement coming in from the Icarus, fresh from Ganymede."

"Oh? Another one? Looks like your luck is turning up Dell, there'll be someone else for me to swindle out of their high-grade coffee rations besides you and Shaw."

Another round of jeers and cheers from the pilots playing cards, another quiet grumble from Atalyah. He had the bright idea to try and sneak in an extra half an hours sleep atop two of the crates, with a peak hat sat over his eyes and one leg hanging off one side, which has gone about as well as you might think. Admitting his defeat, he lifted a gloved hand up to his hat to swat it down to the floor before hefting himself back up to sitting.
"Finally gave up?" asked a familiar voice to his left: one of the other pilots in 12^th Squadron.
"Surely cards can't be that exciting..." answered Atalyah as he rubbed a bit of life back into his eyes. The two shared a quiet, brief laugh, both of them knowing full well that cards was almost always that exciting.

Unzipping one of the leg pockets on his flight suit, Atalyah took a datapad into hand. After giving it a moment to turn in, he tapped in his login details and flicked over to read the news.
"Update: peace talks continue, no sign of progress yet." he read out loud, flicking over to the title of the next article as he did: "What can go wrong? A summary of history's worst peace treaties-" letting out a scoff, Atalyah pressed a button at the base of the datapad to close the window. "What rubbish..." he grumbled, as he swatted over towards his mailbox.

With a stiff expression, Atalyah found nothing of interest in his mailbox. That was precisely the problem: he'd written to his children four days ago, answering a few questions for a school project about the peace talks, yet still had no reply. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he pressed out of it and went back to flicking through news articles, occasionally tapping into one that caught his interest. Occasionally, he'd sneak a glance towards the mechanics or the secret service pilots, ultimately not paying them a whole lot of mind but still at least half as curious as some of the others in the squadron.

While Brit and Dell were busy with their card game and Atalyah tried to take his nap, a notion which he ultimately gave up on the sniper noted, Aryo sat towards the back of their makeshift circle, cleaning his sniper and taking apart and putting together his revolver. He rarely ever played cards, simply because the last time he had, even the great Matthew Sanders had found himself short a few of his favorite coffee rations and he refused to play with anyone who could out play him. At the mention of swindling the newbie out of their coffee, Aryo looked up from his cleaning to fix the man with a warning look. "Do I need to step in and play another round of cards there, Sanders? Pretty sure I'm running out of the coffee I won off you last time." He chuckled at the look of terror that crossed the man's face and returned to his cleaning.

Or at least, he did until the sound of a MAS landing in the hangar pulled his attention back up from it. This one must have been another ISS suit, since he knew that they weren't due to replace the other pilots from the 12th for at least another few minutes, and it was confirmed when the cockpit opened up to reveal the spook. While the Air Boss moved to find out what was going on, he returned to his cleaning once more, his mind traveling to his thoughts on the, well, Ingram put it well when he said Imperial Lapdogs. The Secret Service was a bunch of blindly loyal fanatics who were determined as all hell to make sure that the Imperial Family survived, to hell with everyone and anyone else. Aryo didn't agree with it, because their tactics often lead to the unnecessary loss of life and there was never a need for that.

However, it would seem this particular spook didn't like how the boss ran things because she was soon standing near the card game, demanding to know who was in charge of the 12th. Aryo finished the last of his cleaning, reassembled his revolver and stood as he holstered it, stretching. He took note of her rank and made sure to include it when he spoke. "Hey boss, spook commander wants a word." He headed past the woman towards his own MAS so as to store the rifle in it's place inside it and start getting ready to take off.

Ensign Chloe O'Connor

Don't let them make you feel like you don't belong. That was what her mother had told her on her first day of school so very long ago, when she was nervous about showing up in her ratty clothes and worn-out shoes. You're just as good as any of them. Chloe took a deep breath in the back of the shuttle and wrinkled up her nose. She was a soldier now, a MAS pilot that had graduated with honors from the North Ganymede Military Institute. To be nervous at the prospect of meeting her squad wasn't just silly - it was ridiculous.

From what she'd heard, this job was supposed to be a milk-run, anyway. The situation would only get hot if things went really wrong with the peace talks, and why would they? Both sides had to know this was the best chance for an end to the destruction. Good job, Chloe. You became a soldier just in time for the war to end. She felt a pang of guilt at the thought.

After what seemed like a million years, the shuttle docked in the hangar. The pilot waved her out gruffly as he rattled off a series of authorization codes into his radio, and the side door slid open with a hiss. Chloe grabbed her helmet off from the seat next to her, slung it under her arm, and stepped out of the shuttle. The first thing she saw was a massive black machine just ahead of her - a MAS suit that looked like a Gladiator variant kneeling down and being swarmed by jerseys."Excuse me," she said to one of the white jerseys that went rushing past her, "I'm looking for the 12th?"

"Down there," the man answered distractedly, waving across the hangar as he hurried onwards towards the MAS. She followed his gesture to see a small section of the hangar that had obviously been cordoned off by some spare crates, where a motley of pilots in flight suits lazed about. Chloe took a deep breath, gripped her helmet tighter, and marched against the stream of engineers to the squad.

Someone else beat her there, of course - a dark-haired woman in black armor with the white cape of an ISS commander stopped just in front of the card game and loudly demanded to know the identity of the outfit's commander. Chloe knew that already, of course - Lieutenant Commander Ingram Shaw, Hero of Cerol, commander of the 12th, was sitting on a crate on the edge of the gathering, a steel thermos in her hand. Chloe cleared her throat; protocol might dictate that she wait for the ISS officer to address the commander, but considering that they were meant to deploy in a matter of minutes it would probably be best she notify her officer that she had arrived.

"Lieutenant Commander sir," she said, saluting smartly and keeping her posture fixed at attention, "Ensign Chloe O'Connor, reporting for duty, sir!"

There are things you never really appreciate until you’ve lost them. Or, in Sarett’s case, almost lost. Bedridden for months and the mostly-willing participant in more surgeries than she could count, the novelty of being able to stand up on her own again still had not entirely lost its shine. She raised her left arm and rubbed at the scars around her eye with the ceramic thumb of her artificial hand, a gesture she’d picked up during therapy and had developed, now, into an almost subconscious reaction. Or, at least, something she did when there was more than usual on her mind. With an effort, Sarett caught herself and lowered her arm, wrapping her fingers around a railing.

Artemis was in an orbit the proscribed distance from Attica Station, ‘behind’ the installation in its orbital path. The ship’s bow was pointed just to the side of the station, which meant that Sarett had a breathtaking view through the command deck’s thick transparent forward plating. They were coming over the terminator and she could see the planet below, daubed with lapis oceans, they coasts marked with circular bays carved in continental shelves from orbital bombardments. The night side showed the spray of lights from the world’s single surviving city, along with the bright, ragged ribbons of fires that had been burning for a decade, and would burn for decades more. It was all so abstract, almost beautiful from 2800 kilometers. Ahead, If Sarett looked closely, she thought she could just see the tight cluster of lights another fifty kilometers out, more or less exactly according to the ship’s laser rangefinder. That would, of course, be the Perseus.

Sarett felt a sensation she still wasn’t entirely used to yet, the request for someone else to enter her mind. It had taken a few days, but she and Ava had managed to work out a protocol that didn’t make Sarett’s skin crawl or startle her to the point where she jumped out of her shoes. Part of that had just been time - cybernetics weren’t uncommon among the Empire’s ranks, but there were almost no officers with quite so much equipment shoved in their body, so many machines sharing space in their head. With a thought, Sarett allowed the connection.

“They’re tagging us again,” Ava said in Sarett’s mind, “If I were to guess, someone on the Perseus is trying to find my return sensor with their rangefinder’s laser, see if they can burn it out with a straight shot down the optic.” Her voice was crisp, lightly touched with an accent Sarett couldn’t place. Arabic, maybe?

“Are they close?” Sarett thought. Another bridge officer walked toward her carrying an infopad, handed it over with a nod.

“Not even a little bit,” Ava said, was there smugness in her voice? “They've managed a straight shot down a hull inspection camera - with the shutter closed. I'm going to guess that means they don’t have my plans.”

“And we don’t have the Perseus’ either,” thought Sarett, “That puts us on even ground. Sort of.”

The infopad was a status report from Tolliver, meticulous and almost over-detailed, but she had discovered rather quickly that was something to be expected. There would probably be a time that amount of information would be useful, but damned if she couldn’t figure out what it would be. The exact neutrino emission from the fusion core, the status of the ship’s ablative thruster armor, the exact rad count and tritium storage levels on each of the ship’s fusion warheads - Sarett scrolled through dense pages of information, her finger clicking on the info pad’s screen. She had read the first report, she really had - and she had also noticed that every report thereafter contained the same information, and that it did not change meaningfully from day to day. It made Tolliver happy to know, though, and for the moment the crew seemed happy enough to report that information. If nothing else, it made sure that people actually did visit every part of the ship regularly.

There was an addendum about the negotiations, which in contrast contained almost no information. The doors were still locked, the talks presumably ongoing. Nobody had any reason to believe that it would end any time soon, and there was some speculation that both sides may have walked into the negotiation room with briefcases full of stims. Sarett wondered if a peace treaty written under the influence of spray-injected drugs could be legally binding.

“Captain, we’ve got fighters and suits on approach to the hangar,” said Lieutenant Carys Myles, her voice touched by a Welsh accent.

“Let’s get them landed and put away,” Sarett said, “We have an advanced sensor pod on one of the fighters in the next flight?”

“Aye, the first ship out,” Myles said.

“Good. Maybe we can get some deep data on the Perseus - or maybe even find out if they’re still alive at the negotiation table.” Sarett said. She touched her finger to the infopad, acknowledging receipt, and handed it to another crewman, who left.

Myles turned her head away from her display for a moment, “Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but…Consul Nagwen’s ship?”

“A cat can look at a king, Lieutenant” Sarett said, wrapping her hands around the railing again, “So can 500 kilos of silicon and glass. If we’re wasting this much time, we may as well find some way to waste it productively. I’ll damn well put every mass sensor, every gravity wave observer and interferometer out there I can.”

“No active sweeps, then?” Myles said, and Sarett saw her shoulders relax.

“Not unless we have to. Make sure they keep the system charged and the transceiver active, though.” Sarett said, “If something happens, I want to know where every person is inside that ship.”

“Aye,” Myles said, and started tapping at her control panel, pulling a microphone close to her mouth.

Ava’s voice flitted though her head, “Commander Flynn would like me to remind you that you’ve missed your last two appointments.”

Sarett fought to resist the urge to wave a hand in dismissal, “I’ve been busy."

“And he understands that, but your implants will need checking and adjusting for the next few months at least. He needs some diagnostic data, and the only way he can get it is if you stop by so he can actually get that information.” Ava paused, then said, “Unless you’d like me to collect it, and forward the data on to him.”

“I don’t think we’re at that point in our relationship yet,” Sarett thought, and she couldn’t keep the tug of a smirk off her face, “Wait a minute, can you really do that?”

“I think so,” Ava said, “Although I’m not entirely sure if I can do it without shutting down the neural bridge interface.”

Sarett managed a mental sigh, which she was rather proud of, “Yeah, Flynn can’t do that either. Tell him I’ll see him after we get the pilots rotated.”

“Promise?” Ava said, and her voice held a tone that Sarett hadn’t heard for a long time. It made her smile.

“All right, all right.” Sarett thought.

“You also have a letter from Lara,” Ava said, “But I’m going to keep it until you see the doctor.”

“I could order you to hand it over,” Sarett's thoughts came with the mental equivalent of an arched eyebrow.

Ava’s voice was perky, bordering on insouciant, “But you won’t,” she said.

She was right. At least, for now.

"Check the thrusters."

The old commander commanded a young voice over the radio chirped back with a "yes sir". Tolliver had been monitoring the ship's systems for the longest time, at least that's what he could really do. Should a fight break out that would require the capital ship to engage in space combat. He was never one to endorse the peace talks unless it was the coalition surrendering it shouldn't really matter. If it was up to him he would have ended the Coalition fleet before them without a second thought. It wasn't though, and ending his career thus far it wouldn't benefit himself - nor make the Empire happy. The small office that Tolliver occupied was decorated sparsely, most likely because he liked it that way.

On his PDA the holographic files of various personnel appeared in front of him. The first one that came to his attention was Chloe O'Connor. A nobody from Ganymede, who happened to be a fresh pilot. Tolliver's face crinkled as he frowned as he read the dossier, he wasn't fond of FNGs especially ones as young as her. She would soon become a veteran unless she failed to keep her wits about her but to Tolliver new pilots were favored less than a hardcore veteran. The next dossier, Atalyah Mäkinen a decorated veteran and a family man. Despite his special forces record being, less forthcoming in the dossier his kills and record seemed clean enough. Tolliver made a mental note and moved the dossiers aside, while all pilots needed to be read over the team so far - especially the ISS were brow raising.

"Sir the thrusters are reporting normal." Came the same young voice as before, Tolliver turned his chair to face the small viewing window behind his desk. He looked out to the bright skies before him, the station in front of him and the free space seemed quiet. It would only be a matter of time before they would leave, hopefully. Diplomats and talks could be oh so boring for the average person, but for Tolliver, they were the ones that say kill or hold fire. Gripping onto his seat he leaned back, it's as if he could rest for once but rest only came for the dead and not for those living on borrowed time. Keying his headset to respond, he spoke with chapped lips.

"Check them again."

"Hey boss, spook commander wants a word."

Ingram rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. Of course the spooks wanted to talk. The spooks could almost certainly tell that no one here wanted to talk to them, so they took the next obvious step of coming over here and forcing them to do something they didn't want to do. That's what all spooks did, after all. Before Ingram could respond, Aryo was already heading off to his MAS, most likely to prep for launch. Aryo always was a quiet one in their group, easily the best shot on the team, but also the most reserved. A peculiar one, Aryo Jameson was, reliable, but peculiar.

Almost to echo Aryo's observation, the spooks spoke. "Who's in charge of this outfit?" Ingram grimaced and internally groaned. Fucking spooks, they were as derisive and condescending as ever. Despite not being in the military- technically they were a law enforcement agency- nothing ever stopped them from strutting around everywhere and acting like they owned the place. Well, to be fair, being the Royal Family's favored men and women would do that to anyone. Rolling his shoulders and standing up, Ingram walked over to the ISS servicemen with a lazy, cocky look on his face.

"That would be me, Lieutenant Commander Shaw. What can I do for... Nikita..?" Ingram's brash, brassy voice trailed off as his eyes widened in realization, saying his sister's name almost reflexively, confused and almost awed. That look lasted for a brief moment before his brows furrowed and his eyes hardened, the cocky grin replaced with an undisguised scowl. His stance shifted, hands crunching into fists that trembled slightly.

Nikita read her brother's expressions and heard the shock in his voice when he said her name. She nodded once to confirm his surprise. "I've been attached to this unit for the time being." Her eyes shifted over to the rest of the 12th, spotting a few surprised glares from the others who had known Ingram for so long. She turned her gaze to the rookie who took some of the attention away. Nikita nudged Ingram with the back of her hand, something she used to do to get his attention when they were younger. "Seems she needs to speak to you more than I do. I look forward to flying with the 101st again, commander." Nikita turned away to oversee the movement of her MAS into one of the bays. Despite not showing on her face or in her voice, Nikita was happy to see her brother.

Ingram brushed the hand off brusquely, hard eyes glaring holes into Nikita's back even as she turned around. He had heard stories that Nikita had been snatched up by some black ops type unit after a short stint in the 101st. He had never really believed the stories though, he'd just assumed Nikita was dead or something. Just his luck that he'd be stuck with her, of all of the Royal Family's attack dogs. His jaw shifted as though he was about to spit out a retort but eventually bit his lip and turned away. Releasing his clenched fists, Ingram was only vaguely aware of the trickle of blood running from small crescent cuts on the inside of his palm. Taking a breath to compose himself, he turned to address the new rookie.

"At ease, Ensign." he replied to her with a small gesture of his hand. "Welcome to the 12th squadron, my name is Lieutenant Commander Shaw, but the boys and girls of the 12th like to call me 'Boss'. Ignore the spooks, they'll be out of our hair soon enough." he said, gesturing with his chin towards Nikita and the other ISS pilots. Grabbing at his datapad, he flipped over to Chloe's dossier and gave it a quick lookover.

"North Ganymede Military Institute, top of class." he said with a low whistle. "Well, congratulations are in order Ensign. Looks like your skill has seen you to the end of the war alive."

That comment, along with its low, lightly mocking tone incited a few chuckles from some of the nearby squadron members. Among them, Delaney laughed the loudest- earning him a sharp elbow from Brit. "Why're you laughing Dell? You've flown a total of 4 patrol missions in your career, and almost pissed yourself in one of them. You can't talk for shit either."

Ingram waved them off before turning back to Chloe. "All jokes aside, its good to have you with us, we've been flying without a 12th for a few months now. Sorry we don't have enough time for actual introductions, but I'm sure you'll have plenty of chances to meet the rest of the Squadron."

Putting away the datapad, Ingram grabbed his thermos and took a sip of coffee. He scowled, still tasted like shit. Shaking his head, he gestured for Chloe to join the rest of them in the circle. "Anyway, I don't know how much you've been briefed on this mission- if at all, so I'll give you the abridged version. We're flying security detail for the Terracotta docked at Attica station for the peace talks. This detail is purely for ceremony only. You will not open fire unless explicitly given the order to do so. I know you rookies are eager to get some tallies under your belt, but you will not jeopardize the possibility of intergalactic peace with your itchy trigger fingers. Understood?"

A loud klaxon interrupted the impromptu briefing. It blared for a second before shutting off, and shuffling engineers began to shuffle a bit faster. Standing up, Ingram straightened himself as he looked at the rest of the squadron.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, suit up and get to your MAS, its about time we let Sara and her team get some rest. Atalyah, get the rookie towards the spare Shrike, she'll be flying it." - Not that there was much guidance needed really, in the crampt hangars it was hard to miss a giant robot.

"What? How come she gets the Shrike?" protested Delaney as he cleaned up the cards and shoved them in his pocket.

"Because she didn't crash her sentinel against the Artemis when she tried to land!" drawled Brit, slapping the other rookie on the back of the head.

---

Waiting for him at the base of his machine was his crew chief. A serious looking woman dressed in a pair of surprisingly clean mechanic overalls. Of average height and build, the chief's blond hair was meticulously tucked back and out of the way and she had an air of grave seriousness that stood in contrast to several of the other personnel members in the hangar. She gave Shaw a sharp nod and handed him his helmet as he approached his Sparowhawk.

"Commander." she called out calmly as he approached her. Easily falling in step with him, the crew chief quickly ran the numbers on the Sparrowhark as they walked- datapad in hand.

"- is ready to launch whenever you need." the crew chief finished in a prim and proper manner, "Dawks has just finished refueling the booster unit." she added, gesturing towards a mechanic who was sitting on one of the Sparrowhawk's combination missile pod-boosters, fiddling with one of its thrust components.

"Excellent work Chief." Ingram said in thanks, "Help yourself to some coffee." He added, tossing her his thermos. He was already climbing the ladder when the chief took a sip of the coffee and promptly spat it out.

Moving with well-practiced ease Ingram climbed the catwalk that stood beside the large metal machine of state-of-the-art death that he had spent the better part of several years fine tuning entered the cockpit of the Sparrowhawk. A highly customized, sleek modern designed MAS, the cockpit and body of the MAS looked and felt more like that of a fighter jet with its aerodynamic lines. Settling into the cockpit's seat and pulling his helmet over his head, he flipped through the switches required for a cold start up and unit check.

"12th Squadron, comms check." Ingram requested as he connected his helmet speakers to the MAS itself.

---

_{CSS Perseus}
"I'm telling you, those talks are going nowhere, they're not going to do a thing." Barret retorted into a comm device as he and Sika made their way down the corridors of the Perseus and towards its engineering spaces. "They'll be back at it as if nothing ever happened."

Sika elbowed his commanding officer- who was speaking rather loudly into the communication device, causing a few passing soldiers to give them an annoyed grimace. Barret rolled his eyes, but spoke more softly. "Anyway, I'll talk to you in a bit, me and the kid gotta finish up some work."

"I'm not a kid." Sika complained, holding open the elevator that lead down into the Perseus' engineering. "And I'm ready to do my part."

"I'm just messing with you kid, lighten up a bit, you sound like you're working a funeral detail."

Having already moved away, Aryo missed the short confrontation between the ISS commander and his own and remained entirely unaware that the two were brother and sister. Instead, he was in the middle of settling into his own MAS cockpit when the klaxon sounded. The sniper rarely went into the Artemis' hangar without already wearing his flight armor, so all he needed to do was slip his helmet on before closing up the cockpit. The Archer fit the profile of a sniper beautifully, it's 60mm cannon sliding easily into place on his back as he did a cold start up.

Shortly after, Ingram's voice came over the comms, asking for a check in before they took off to relieve Sara' squad. After a moment's delay, the Ace's own mic connected with with the comms system and he spoke. "This is Irish, checking in. All systems are green." He then made sure that his rifle was secure in it's case behind the pilot's seat and then that his revolver wasn't going to fly out of it's holster on his upper thigh. Most of the 12th swore up and down that double, triple, and quadruple checking that his weapons were secure was overkill, but it was better, in the sniper's mind, to make sure he wasn't going to be killed by his own weapons during combat than to leave it to chance.

After a moment, and everyone else's check in, Aryo spoke up again. "Any word on the progress of the peace talks? I'm used to staying in one place for long periods of time, but his is starting to get absurd."

Chloe listened to the impromptu briefing intently, trying not to fidget under the feeling of eleven eyes sizing her up. She clenched her jaw slightly at her commander's comment about surviving the war intact, making an effort not to betray any emotion even as Delaney laughed his head off to her right. She remembered him from the Academy, not too long ago; buerocratic circumstances had resulted in his shipping out slightly before her, and no doubt he was relishing the opportunity to laugh at the expense of Miss Perfect. Then the klaxon sounded, and she barely had time to salute her officer again before she was instructed to rush off to her MAS.

Throughout the exchange, Atalyah remained mostly silent, bar the odd grumble or 'hmph' as he listened. For whatever reason there may be, he was the odd one as the revelation washed over the rest of the squadron: while the others blinked and whispered between themselves, putting 2 and 2 together with the squadron commander and the spook, Atalyah kept swiping at his datapad. His thought process was never terribly transparent - it couldn't possibly be the real Atalyah if it was.

Yet soon enough, Atalyah's lazy swiping and distant observations were interrupted by the wailing siren. He knew the sound all too well: before he realized it himself, he was pressing in on the side of his datapad and pressing it back into it's thigh pocket. As he scooped up his helmet, he looked over towards Ingram after hearing his name. The direction was simple enough: get the rookie to the Shrike - yet, Atalyah initially blinked at the direction, a little curious.
"The Shrike?" Atalyah asked, shooting a side-eye towards the would-be honor student. Admittedly, he hadn't been paying that much attention when she arrived, so his head turned to face her for a moment as he continued: "Christ, you're confident in the rookie, boss." Despite his questioning, he gave Ingram a light slap on the back as he passed him, silently communicating that he was all over it.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to live up to that confidence," Chloe said as she followed the veteran with quick, halting steps. "I've put up some good numbers in simulators with the Shrike... I did better with the Gladiator, but I guess that's the way these things go." She swallowed sharply to cut off her own babbling. This wasn't even a combat situation, unless things went horribly wrong - acting like some nervous rookie here was beyond ridiculous.

She took a deep breath as the war machine came into view. The Shrike was a nimble machine, as complicated anything ever made to fly. If she wanted a chance to prove herself, the red and white suit that towered above her was the chance. She noted wryly that there were a few scratches and dents in the paint that had yet to be buffed out - old machine, new pilot, she thought wryly.

"What do you fly?" she asked Atalyah, following behind him like a baby duck. "Something heavy, I'm guessing?"

As Atalyah listened, walking alongside her on the way to the Shrike, his expression remained flat and unbetraying; yet, despite this, it left little room for doubt that he was judging her. Whatever the outcome was, it couldn't have been too harsh, because he answered in kind:
"What gave it away? Is it because I'm old and fat?" he'd let out a brief, quiet chuckle as he motioned Chloe towards the boarding staircase, pushed into position by an engineer only moments ago. "I drive the big one over there." he'd answer properly as he glanced to the side, pointing to easily the largest machine in the hanger: a towering machination of largely green, with one of it's two extra limbs twitching at the behest of an engineer standing on the catwalk above it.

As he looked back, he moved to trail behind Chloe, to make a file with the steep stairs-on-wheels on the other side of her.
"Any questions before you board? Any doubts at all? This should be a good practice flight for getting started with the squadron, we can run through it all properly and get you introduced to the boys once we're back."

"Just a hunch," Chloe murmured. "The old and fat part had nothing to do with it." She stepped up the boarding staircase gingerly, gripping the railing until her knuckles were white beneath the gloves. "Nah, I'm... I'm good. Sure I've got nothing to worry about with you in that four-armed thing there." She cracked a smile, internally frustrated that she couldn't recognize the model of the veteran's MAS. She'd have to review the dossiers again.

The klaxon sounded again, and Chloe rolled a crack out of her neck. "So, what's my callsign? Red?"

"Noob," Atalyah responded frankly, without missing a beat: "your callsign is noob. That is, until you manage to earn one for yourself." He followed behind her up the staircase, leaving her a bit of room as she progressed. As much as he hated to admit it, he was curious: how would a student-of-merit do in their first flight? He'd never seen an academy graduate quite of that caliber before.

Regardless, keeping his thoughts to himself like always, Atalyah continued: "As you already know, it's going to be a dry one. Just stay in formatioon and try to get a feel for how the different pilots operate; although, I'm sure you heard it all in the academy before." He'd pause for a moment, glancing towards Ingram, before looking back to add: "...and if anything goes wrong - which it won't now, but just for future - and you panic, just get behind me, yeah? I'll worry about whatever while you get your bearings back."

He would remain behind her, half-lifting a hand in preperation to check the cockpit seal once she was inside.

"... Yeah, guess I could have seen that coming." Chloe stepped into the cockpit. "Alright, fly behind four arms, got it." She flashed the veteran a smile as the cockpit sealed in front of her - he may not be speaking much, but she could tell this one was someone worth learning from. Whatever he knew, she'd have to know, too.

The cockpit of the MAS sealed with a hiss, and information panels flickered to life in front of her. "Ensign O'Connor is in gear," she spoke into the comms channel, flicking quickly through the diagnostics of her machine.

Returning the guesture, Atalyah returned the smile - an almost faint, jaded thing, one that seemed more tired than anything. It faded as soon as it arrived, his attention taken by other things: as the cockpit door pressed shut, Atalyah pressed his two gloved hands along the length of the seal on either side, listening for rushes of air and watching for any subtle movements. While it was rare, it has happened before: depressurization from an equipment failure, the poor pilot being sucked through a slot too thin for a coin with what's left being shot out into space. He had seen it himself, all that time ago.

Yet, everything seemed to be in order. Lifting a hand, Atalyah flashed the pilot he couldn't see a thumbs-up as he started to tuirn. Before long, he'd no doubt dip out of sight of the latest addition to the motley crew, the ladder being wheeled away shortly after. As he crossed the hall, he flipped his helmet about in his hands before lifting it above his hand, where he could bring it down over his graying hair and press the seal into place.

Thankfully, as Atalyah approached his own machine, the engineer was walking away on the catwalk overhead. The two exchanged a glance and a sequence of thumbs-ups, communicating that everyting was in order. Climbing up his own boarding staircase, Atalyah hefted himself into his own cockpit: much bulkier than the one he just checked, yet much more welcoming for him. Everything was where it should be, where it has been for years: from the obvious switches to the subtle touches, it all sat where it felt right for him.

As the cockpit door closed over him to embrace him yet again, Atalyah spoke, his helmet transmissing his aging voice over the squadron frequency:
"Boss, this is Nix - loud and clear. All irish over here. Over." he answered, lifting a hand to swat at a few switches as he did. As he spoke, he looked over towards the Shrike he just came from. From the safety of his cockpit, he allowed himself a quiet moment of thought as he watched Chloe run through her checks: why would a young mind like that, with the smarts to graduate from the academy as the student of merit, try to join the military? It made him feel a pang of guilt - almost irrationaly, as he very well knew.

As he returned his attention purely to his pre-flight procedures, Atalyah enjoyed the thought of the war ending sometime in the next few months. He'd seen alot of bright minds like Chloe's come to posting and be shot down shortly after; at least he wouldn't have to see it again.

Only a cruel, metaphysical god would punish these men and women with such a fate, surely.

_{INS Artemis
Hangar Bay}
"Any word on the progress of the peace talks? I'm used to staying in one place for long periods of time, but his is starting to get absurd." crackled the voice of Aryo over the comms.

Ingram shrugged- not that anyone could see him shrugging. "Who knows, maybe they're settling it with a triathlon." Ingram chuckled to himself as the thought of a bunch of old men in suits doing rigorous athletic tests. The walls of Ingram's cockpit finally began to light up, his surroundings becoming a seamless view of the hangar as his MAS's camera unit activated.

<sub>> Confirming Pilot Assignment: Ingram Shaw_
> ...Pilot Confirmed
> Initializing systems...

> Reactor Unit: Online_
> Shield Unit: Online_
> Targeting AI: Online_
> Weapon Systems: Online_

> All Calibrations Complete
> All Systems Functional
> Standing by...</sub>

Stepping his MAS out of its spot in the hangar with a measured thump, walking slowly as engineers and technicians began clearing a path for the Sparrowhawk and the rest of the 12th Squadron MAS units. The massive machines slowly made their way from the Artemis' hangar to its launch bay- the area closest to space was sectioned off by a specialized shield, preventing oxygen and people from being vented out everytime a craft launched from the Artemis' catapults. Essentially a set of small scale electromagnetic rails, the Artemis' catapults were designed with a set of smaller platforms that the MAS were meant to step into, but was capable of launching Aerospace fighters and MAS alike. The hangar of the INS Artemis was smaller than the average carrier- meaning that the 12th had to launch in flights of two. Ingram and Aryo were the first two to step onto the catapult platforms, followed by Atalyah and Brit, then Delaney and Chloe. The ISS pilots would launch after the 12th.

As the 12th Squadon stepped into the unpressurized and gravity-free area of the hangar, a small squad of technicians in ultra-light power armor suits flew over to them. In their arms they towed the massive MAS weapons and handed them off to their respective machines, and hooking up power cables to the mechs to top off power cells and capacitors. Taking the Sparrowhawk's XBR autocannon into his 'hands', Ingram watched as the extended rails began to glow with energy. A screen popped into the corner of his view- the ship's Aerospace Control Operator, a young woman in her early 20s, her face tinted blue by the glowing screens around her.

"Commander Shaw, Lieutenant Jameson, you're clear to launch."

As the operator spoke, a small screen to the top of the HUD began to display the relevant information. The platforms holding the MAS' feet angled forward, and the cables attached to the MAS popped off with a inaudible hiss. The plasma thrusters on the back of Ingram's sparrowhawk and Aryo's archer began to spool up, painting the hangar with the glow of blue plasma-afterburn.

<sub>> Catapult: Clear!
> Launch: OK!

3.

2.

1.

Launch.</sub>

In the moment the countdown ended, the clamps holding the MAS' feet in place released and its respective machines were rapidly propelled into the dark void of space in mere moments. Ingram's head was forced to the back of his headrest as he was launched from the ship, quickly activating his thrusters, as soon as he exited the hangars. The view of space was always incredible from the cockpit of a MAS, it felt so much more imposing and deserving of respect when all that protected you from the void was a quarter meter of electronics and alloy plating. In the distance, Attica Station stood as a silent obelisk orbiting a small planet. On their side, a fleet of Imperial warships stood behind them. On the far side, a fleet of Coalition ships mirrored them.

"I hope you lot brought some snacks, its going to be a long shift." drawled Brit, as the 12th Squadron began the 20 km trip to the neutral station.

---

"We'll take it from here Twitch, take your team back to the hangar and relax." Ingram called out over the comms as his half of the 12th Squadron arrived at Attica Station. Sara's hot pink Sparrow offered him a lazy salute as she began to fly off back towards the Artemis, the rest of the squadron following suit.

"Good luck boss." Sara responded, her face appearing in the corner of his communication screen. "Its dreadfully boring out here. The Coalition boys are chatty though. I think they just liked my voice." she added with a wink.

Glancing over towards the station, Ingram saw a flight of eight Coalition Fafnirs arriving to relieve the team of Coalition suits that were Sara's counterparts. Unlike the 12th, these MAS were kitted out for ceremony- their energy 'capes' trailing behind them as they flew. They assumed a formation opposite of the 12th Squadron, and stood there rigidly. Looking back at his squadron, Ingram suppressed a small chuckle. While it was well known that the Coalition consistently developed more numerous MAS than the UEE, there was something ironic about the fact that the Empire was the one standing here with a hodge-podge assortment of different specialty units while the 'seccesionists' sported a uniform group of identical machines.

The only machine that stood out in the Coalition formation was their command unit- a bright red Commander Type Fafnir. Its red head unit featured a armor plate over it that had the appearance of a medieval knight, and its arms sported a pair of long shields, each with a bronze colored blade resting inside it like a sheath A Type-6 Autocannon was attached to the small of its back. Like the rest of the Fafnirs, this on sported an energy 'cape', but unlike the rest of them, this one seemed to be a dedicated combat unit rather than one for ceremony.

Ingram recognized this machine, many in the UEE's 101st did. The Bloody Valkyrie they called it. A grim reaper in space, said to have taken on the 22nd Imperial Fleet by itself, and sink over a dozen warships and a full squadron of aerospace fighters and 101st MAS units before the Coalition's Odin Fleet came to mop up the remains.

"Raul Tigres, the Bloody Valkyrie himself." Ingram called out over the unprotected short ranged comms. Coalition pilots as well as UEE pilots would pick up these transmissions.

"I see my reputation proceeds me." came the reply, a smooth, silky tenor over the comms. The short ranged comms didn't display any faces, so the UEE pilots were left to their own imaginations.

"Is it true you sank the the John F. Kennedy and its escort single-handedly?" chimed in Brit, his voice filled with morbid fascination.

"Would you believe me anyway regardless if I said if I did or didn't?" Tigres replied, amused.

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Bullshit."

"Pfft, get a load of this guy," chuckled another Coalition pilot over the short ranged comms, this one female. The chuckling of a couple other Coalition pilots could be heard in the background of his transmission.

"Cool it Brit." Ingram chided his squad mate over the squad-comms.

"Hey, whitey." called out a coalition pilot over the short ranged comms, one of the Fafnirs breaking formation to fly up close to Chloe's Shrike. His voice was garbled slightly over the short ranged communications, but his voice was clear and bright. He was probably no older then Chloe. "What's the maximum output on that thing? I've always wanted to fly one."

---

_{CSS Perseus}
"How're we looking over there Sika?" Barret called out as he walked through the engine room. His sleeves were rolled up and his face and uniform were covered in grime. He wiped at some sweat on his forehead with a dirty arm and was rewarded for his efforts with a dark brown and red smudge of gunk over his face. He grimaced and wiped his hands with his uniform. It didn't do much. He grabbed a pair of nearby stools and set them down, popping a seat on one and pulling out a silver flask.

"All done over here boss." Sika called out from behind some machinery. "We're all good to go."

"Good, good. Right on schedule." Barret said with a light hearted chuckle as he took a swig from the flask. He took another as Sika appeared, also covered in grime and took a seat on the other stool. "Want some? Ilyan Whiskey." Barret asked, offering the younger officer the flask.

Sika nodded and reached out and grabbed the flask, taking a long swig of the liquor before handing the flask back to Barret. Barret shook the flask and frowned, seemingly unhappy with how little remained of its original contents. Eventually he shrugged.

"How about you buddy?" Barret asked turning over to an engineer, slumped against one of the Perseus' generators. The engineer's head rolled to the side, his eyes were glazed over, blood trailing from a small hole in his forehead between his brows and down his nose. With a nasty smirk, Barret upended the flask and poured the remaining contents on the body. He tossed the flask aside, seeing the name 'E. Bossk' engraved on its side one last time before it clattered against the floor and stopped at the boot of a second engineer, this one with a trio of holes in his chest.

"Gloria ad Imperium." Murmured Sika quietly as he shut his eyes, dropping a silenced pistol on the floor and clasping his hands together, leaning back in his stool. Barret chuckled and nodded as he pulled out a detonator from inside his shirt. All around them, flashing red dots.

"Gloria ad Imperium."

---

Space was silent as an orange flower of fire erupted from the center of the Perseus. Attica Station and the MAS units surrounding it shuddered as gas, small bits of debris and concussive force rattled the local area. The explosion tore a great chunk out of the Perseus' superstructure, and a series of secondary explosions began to ripple across the ship as it slowly began to tear itself from the inside out. The Perseus turned into a bouquet of blue, white, and orange explosions, morbid flowers of death that lasted for mere moments before collapsing in on themselves and sending more debris and gas flying around them.

"What the fuc-" cried out the female coalition pilot, her voice cutting off as she switched off the short ranged comms. The Coalition MASs instantly shot backwards and began spreading out.

Likewise, ignoring his surprise and shock, Ingram instinctively triggered his thrusters and boosted backwards and away from the Coalition MAS. He stared at the remaining hulk that was the Coalition's Perseus, slightly slack jawed and utterly shocked. A beeping sound on his console forced him to tear his eyes away from the wreckage. His scanners read the power signs of multiple Coalition MAS weapon systems booting up.

For a breathless moment, there was no sound on Artemis' bridge, only jagged and harsh shadows. The expanding bubble of debris from the Perseus raced away in every direction, pieces of the superstructure trailing burning atmosphere through space. Sarett carefully did not look too closely, lest she convince herself that she could see bodies being pulled into the void, limbs flailing and mouths gasping for a breath that would never come. Instead, she snapped her attention to the rest of the command deck.

“Report!” She barked, handing her infopad now filled with irrelevancies to an ever-hovering lieutenant.

“Multiple explosions at the the Coalition flagship’s location,” came Ensign Tanner, his eyes on the sensor readout in front of him.

“Did somebody shoot?” Sarett said.

“Negative,” came Myles’ voice, also looking at sensor data, “Ava’s saying that the explosions look like they originated inside the ship. Confirming now.”

Tanner spoke up, “Multiple pieces of debris,” he said, “Judging by the spectroscopic data, the big explosion was the ship’s reactor cooking off. If there was anyone alive on the hulk, the radiation burst probably killed them.”

Sarett’s heart dropped. Generations of war, whole worlds laid to waste, and for what; a refrain that was so common that it was almost a mantra. Everything leading up to this had been almost a miracle, the right people with the right mindset - or the right bribes - at the right time, and she knew in her heart that it almost certainly wouldn’t come again. The stakes were enormous, there was almost no way they could be higher. The fate of millions, of billions, rested on this knife-edge, and it had been her job to try keep that delicate balance from being upset.

There were almost no innocent explanations for a starship exploding of its own accord. Both sides were being manipulated here, drawn into a situation that would very likely detonate all on its own. That meant someone was counting on the idea that everyone involved would be ready to shoot given the tiniest excuse, and that made Sarett angry. There were more than enough people - millions of them, doubtless - to orchestrate the idea of perpetuating the war. Maybe for profit, maybe out of some misguided patriotism or out of plain blind zealousness. She’d seen it all her life, was surrounded by people who would kill until there was nothing left to kill every day. Without a choice in the matter, she herself had been honed into the kind of weapon those people salivated over.

But she wasn’t going to be the pebble that started the avalanche. This was too important, peace was too important, her garden where she would fail to grow tomatoes until she was old and gray was important. There might not be room for daylight, the chance for peace may have just been blown into atoms and a burst of gamma rays, but she had to try.

Sarett cleared her throat, “All right. Sound general quarters and raise shields. Scan for incoming, and coordinate with Ava to respond, but do not arm main weapons; don’t even load the railguns. We will not establish firing solutions until there are no other options, is that clear?”

She was surrounded by a sea of faces, and at the very best her orders had left her offices with dubious expressions. At least one person looked angry and was about to open her mouth. Sarett fixed her with a look that should have left her a smouldering crater on the far wall, for the first time glad for her scars and mismatched eyes. The officer gave a sour frown and turned back to her station, jabbing with unnecessary force at the controls. So long as she followed Sarett’s orders, she could hammer at the keys all she wanted.

“The 12th just finished launching,” Myles said, cutting through the thick silence, “They’re still following their patrol route.”

Sarett nodded, and walked to a communications panel. She jabbed the button that would open a circuit to Tolliver with her artificial hand, her thumb clicking on the switch. Part of her hoped that the news wouldn’t have reached the man yet, but critical situational awareness moved fast - especially when you had an AI construct whose job it was to disseminate information.

“Commander Tolliver, I need you to order the 12th to a defensive position around Artemis,” Sarett said into the comm, “They are to maintain positioning where they have easy lines of acceleration and fire to the Coalition fleet, but they are not to arm weapons or fire until I give the order to do so. If they are on the receiving end of incoming that is anything less than obvious and coordinated assault, I want them to put Artemis between themselves and that incoming. Under no circumstances are we to fire first.” She let the comm button up without waiting for a response. She was aware that Tolliver would hate that order with every fiber of his being, but she also knew he would obey it.

That would at least keep Artemis from being the ship that re-ignited the war. The action felt almost pointless; she wasn’t the commander of this expedition. That was the Admiral aboard the Terracotta.

“Ava, you’re sending our data to the flagship?” Sarett said, aloud.

“Yes ma’am,” Ava said over the ship’s speakers, “They’re collating and disseminating the information now.”

“Good,” Sarett said, and ran a hand through her hair. She looked at Tanner, “Contact Fleet Command. We need to talk.”

---

Blue lines of text streamed through the pilot's helmet, but his eyes only darted between a select several sentences and phrases. He had ran through the routine more times than he cared to recall, so much that it become more habit than practice. Moving his glances in the practiced order, he found the same word four times: online; online; online; online. As he reached his two hands out, flexing his fingers around the controls on either side and pressing his feet to the pedals beneath him, his eyes fell on the final confirmation: standing by.

The green behemoth lurched forward as it's bracing lifting from it's sides and shoulders. Even compared to the other giant machinations in the hangar, the Aegis stood taller again, going as far as to test the height of the hangar's roof at it's lowest points. As the machine went, the Aegis exchanged glances with a familiar Gladiator on their way to the launch rail. That was all the two needed: between themselves, Atalyah and Brit confirmed the old routine with one another once again.

_{> Launch: OK!}

---

---

No matter how many times Atalyah flew these patrol missions, he always felt uneasy. For years, contact with Coalition pilots rarely meant anything beyond outright hostilities, so seeing those familiar models across the way every other day felt something like sitting up to between your mouth and your nose in water: the feeling you're in danger, the need to swim, yet needing to stay and breathe through your nose instead. He shook his head at the thought - that was far too complicated a comparison.

Yet, on this run, the discomfort seemed all too justified: across the way sat an all-to-familiar red Fafnir, complete with helm and cape. For longer than he realized, Atalyah stared from within his cockpit. While underestimating even a rookie MAS pilot would at least lead to being shot from a blindside, it was hard to pay attention to them when the Bloody Valkyrie was standing besides them.

"Don't doubt it, Brit." Atalyah chimed in on the private communications, following up behind Ingram. He didn't add more than that: he was sure the others would understand. He glanced over to the Shrike for a moment, contemplating elaborating for the newest addition to the squadron, before ultimately dismissing it as he looked back. Surely an eager pilot would have read about any double-ace, he quietly concluded.

In his seat, Ingram slowly began to become more comfortable. With all the chatter going on, it seemed like it was just going to be another day in-

Everything exploded at once. While a great orange ball burst out of the Perseus, quickly sucked up and dissipated by the inhospitable terrain that is space, several notifications ambushed the view of the middle-aged pilot.
_{> WARNING: Severe damage to neutral unit PERSEUS. SOURCE: Internal; unknown.
> WARNING: Power spikes detected from NEUTRAL MAS at RELATIVE: (-27, -114, 214); (104, 387, -226);...}
But above all, one stuck out in particular - one that he didn't quickly dismiss with a blink and swipe of his eyes, one that his glance lingered on for a fraction of a second longer than the rest:
_{> WARNING: Coalition weapon signatures detected at RELATIVE:...}

Atalyah didn't stop to think - or rather, certainly not conscious thinking. A rush of adrenaline jump-started his instinctual response, trained and tuned throughout more sorties than he cared to recall: he grasped tightly at his controls, bringing his machine back and aside in preparation to take a position towards the front of the formation.
"Enemy weapons systems coming online, prepare for an assault!" he called over the squadron communications. It wasn't his job to command the battle - that was left to Ingram; yet, command and control were two separate and demanding tasks, and Atalyah had no intention to let the 12th become disorientated so early - especially while an enemy double-ace sat across the field. Atalyah continued to speak as he lifted a hand, pressing at a few switches to bring his weapons systems to life - ironically, entirely oblivious to what was going on in the bridge: "Hold your ground and don't fire first! Rookie, get on the far side of the formation from the red one and remember what I said! Irish - if Valkyrie comes at us, I'm going to need you with me holding him back!"

As the Aegis moved into position towards the front of the formation, it's two shields came firmly to it's front, stood firmly in front of the rest of the chassis. Taking it's AC-2 autocannon from it's back, the machine snapped the forward grip to be angled towards the left, allowing it to more easily poke it around the right hand shield. Within the cockpit, as whirring and slamming engulfed the focused Atalyah as the missiles were loaded into their pods, the two shields seemed to almost vanish from his view: cameras from the other side streaming footage to him, allowing him to watch the Coalition MAS move into their own formation.

Taking a deep breath in, Atalyah looked over the enemy machines - namely, the Red Valkyrie, keeping a fix on where it was heading. The hairs on the back of his neck stood in anticipation, adrenaline suppressing the shock of exactly what had happened - only so he could deal with it all at once later. With his map in the corner of his eye, he watched the positions of the rest of the squadron as he waited: waited for Ingram's voice, waiting for a direction to take the team in.

Atalyah's attention returned to the enemy double-ace. No matter how he spun it to himself, even with all his years and kills beneath his belt, the idea of confronting the Valkyrie made his stomach churn. Tigres is much faster than he is, and he's acting purely reactively at this stage. Even with Irish helping him, holding him off is a tall order. Hopefully it won't come to blows, but he said the same thing about the peace talks going well in the first place.

Atalyah pressed out a breath as he pushed the thoughts from his mind. If Tigres came, he would deal with it then - and he had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.

_{> WEAPONS: Online.}

Ensign Chloe O'Connor

Chloe took a deep breath from inside the drifting Shrike, picking up the conversation on the short range transmitter and trying not to look at the bright red Fafnir drifting across from her. The Bloody Valkyrie. Her first ever mission and she was hovering yards away from the Bloody Valkyrie himself. Her hand unconsciously tightened around the controls as she tried to remind herself where she was. She was controlling one of the fastest and most advanced war machines ever created; she was the best of the best, and she had nothing to fear.

Even so, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the other Fafnir drift closer to her. The pilot was a kid, just like her, though clearly lacking in the good sense to be nervous."What's the maximum output on that thing? I've always wanted to fly one," he asked with a clear, high voice. Chloe furrowed her brow and opened the short-range channel to respond... And then something exploded.

Acting on instinct, Chloe jetted backwards from the Fafnir and powered up the Shrike's autocannon. The Coalition pilots scattered in front of her as her scanners beeped to notify her of enemy weapon systems powering up. She heard Atalyah's orders as though they were coming from underwater. Don't fire first, he said, the dream of peace resting on those three fragile words.

The Coalition rookie had lagged behind his counterparts in the movement backwards; it was foolish to think you could see panic on a machine, but something about the Fafnir's jerky movements and the way it clutched its ceremonial autocannon gave the impression of a soldier who wasn't listening. One of the other Coalition MAS's moved closer, as though trying to get his attention, but the Fafnir stayed rigid, debris from the explosion bouncing off its armor, its autocannon aimed directly at the closest UEE MAS: her. Chloe's MAS screamed again that his weapon systems were powering up and she hovered in space, staring at the ornate machine across from her, knowing somehow that its pilot was staring at her too.

"Don't do it," she breathed, her voice nearly cracking into a sob as she clutched the trigger on her weapon. "Don't..."

The autocannon fired in slow motion. The Shrike was already moving when the shots went sailing past, wing boosters firing to move the machine laterally away from the fire. Chloe responded with a quick burst of autocannon fire that was absorbed by the Fafnir's shields and brought the machine down, hoping to throw off the enemy pilot's aim by moving in three dimensions. "I've been fired on!" she screamed into the squad channel. "The rookie is shooting! He freaked out and he's shooting!"

It looked like her skills hadn't seen her to the end of the war just yet after all.

Aryo, as was his job when the 12th was on patrol and he was with them, hung near the back of the formation of MAS's, his cannon already in hand due to it's unwieldy size. He could see the Coalition sniper had had a similar idea to his, since they both knew the snipers weren't exactly "draw fast when shit hits the fan" type weapons. Of course, his looking at the Coalition sniper was short lived, as he could see the one man who'd avoided taking a fatal shot from the Archer he flew, Raul Tigres, the Bloody Valkyrie.

He had crossed paths with the man a couple of times prior to these peace talks, and the pair had never come away from the bouts unscathed, though Aryo admitted to being the worse for wear of the two, since he DID specialize in long-ranged combat over close range when it came to MAS piloting. If he ever met Raul on the ground without his MAS, well, that was an entirely different ball game as far as the sniper was concerned. Noting that Raul had looked his way, he offered the man a nod of his MAS's head before returning to his vigil.

---

Just moments before anything good could come from the first non-hostile interaction between the pilots of the two warring sides, chaos erupted as the Coalition ship, the Perseus, exploded in a brilliant ball of flame and debris. True to instinct, the majority of both squads of MAS's, Imperial and Coalition alike fell back, both confused about what had happened. But a split second later, two things happened; the first was his read out as his sensors lit up targets.

_{> WARNING: Coalition weapon signatures detected. Nearest target:...}

And the second was the Coalition MAS opening fire on the 12th's own newly arrived newbie. Nix had, before all hell had broken loose, called for the team to fall into formation, though the sniper ignored him. He didn't much care for Nix's habits of taking command from Shaw, and he already had standing orders from their commander. The only good idea Nix had was the two of them dealing with the Bloody Valkyrie together if it came to that, which if something wasn't done about the Coalition suit soon, it would. Opening the squad wide channel, Aryo spoke. "Chew my ass later." His sniper came up, ready to fire, and after a moment of no movement, fired. For the split second that existed between the round finding a mark and when the MAS had fired, it could be assumed he'd aimed center mass on the enemy rookie, but impact proved that to be wrong. The Coalition's rookie would find that his autocannon had been turned into two twisted pieces of scrap metal, useless for little more than some more target practice.

The sniper's voice came over the short-range COMS. "Keep a tighter leash on your rookie, or the next one won't be non-lethal." There had been no orders to open fire on the MAS units themselves, and there was still a chance to recover the situation, especially since the Coalition's pilot was still alive.

J. Tolliver

---

The sky lit up orange when the ship's reactor blew up, Tolliver got up from his seat to view the hellish carnage that ensared the skies before him. "Shit." was the simple word that fell from his mouth, he quickly keyed to speak to the young ensign he entrusted duties in just moments again. "Slater, manually check all systems and have weapons primed and ready to fire if the order comes down." A quick "Yessir!" returned itself moments after over the radio. Quickly after that Captain Sarrett spoke on an open channel to his office. “Commander Tolliver, I need you to order the 12th to a defensive position around Artemis,” Sarett said into the comm, “They are to maintain positioning where they have easy lines of acceleration and fire to the Coalition fleet, but they are not to arm weapons or fire until I give the order to do so. If they are on the receiving end of incoming that is anything less than obvious and coordinated assault, I want them to put Artemis between themselves and that incoming. Under no circumstances are we to fire first.”

Sarrett cut him off before he could reply with "Yes Ma'am." Cracking his hands he looked back out to the falling debris of the coalition ship, what a shame the first shot wasen't theirs. To his knowledge, their ship had not fired upon the Coalition as heads would of rolled in that case. Perhaps there was a third party, but the time to reflect on what just happended was running out. The Captain did not want him to dawdle, as it was not his job to do so. He sat down at his desk and opended communications to the 12th MAS who were currently on patrol. "Attention, 12th. This is Commander Tolliver speaking, new general orders coming from the Captain herself. You all are to return to the Artemis's perimeter to take up defensive positions. Those positions should be viable to allow your squad to engage and advance onto the Coalition fleet if the situation is dictated by the Captain. Weapons are not to be armed or fired unless ordered by the Captain herself, take any stray fire and protect the Artemis. You are not to fire first unless told otherwise by the Captain or by proxy through me. " He finishes speaking, leaving the channel open as he keys over to the security forces channel.

"Lieutenant Weyland, mobilize the security forces in full gear. Should the Coalition attempt to board I want your unit to be able to defend key logistical points aswell as the Captain." The response comes rather quickly. "Yes sir." The asian Lieutenant as he sat up from his desk. The security department was buzzing with excitment as security forces personell who appeared from various posts. With the general alarm going off they came to the briefing room where Lieutenant Weyland stepped out. "Guardsmen, this is what we've been training for. The possibility of Coalition boarding is probable. The details are not all there, but we are deploying to key points and to the Captain incase anything were to happen. We'll be the first and last line to them. Now gear up." Weyland orders the group. Everyone went to work, heading to the armoury to gear up. Two security corporals were less than thrilled though.

---

Ingram Shaw

---

"Hold fire, hold fire." Ingram called into the mic as his eyes rapidly scanned the enemy MAS. Weapon systems lit up like fireworks, and though their numbers were even, if a fight broke out Ingram was wary of the amount of damage Tigres could do- he was already this close. Ingram grimaced a bit as Nix started giving out commands- old habits died hard for old timers, but it was the best course of action. His eyes strayed to his radar, and saw both the rookie and one of the Coalition MAS getting antsy. That was bad. The coalition pilot was moving closer, and though it was almost certainly just a trick of the eyes, Ingram could've sworn he saw the Fafnir's trigger finger twitching. He keyed his comm and opened his mouth to speak- cut things off before they got too hot. He never got the chance to say anything.

"I've been fired on!" screamed Chloe into the squad channel, her own autocannon opening up as well. "The rookie is shooting! He freaked out and he's shooting!"

Several more streaks of white-hot autocannon rounds flew through the space before Irish shot the Coalition pilot's autocannon out of his hand. He'd have to commend Irish on that shot later, it was a damn good one- even if it was technically disobeying orders. Shaw flew towards Chloe, and out of the corner of his eye saw the Bloody Valkyrie doing the same to his own rookie. Of course the rookies would be the ones to fire their weapons. The rest of the pilots- UEE and Coalition included all seemed jumpy, ready and more than willing to fight if it came down to it, but no one seemed ready to break the potential ceasefire just yet. The short-range comms stayed silent, but Ingram had the feeling Tigres was doing the same thing he was about to do. Ingram clamped his jaw shut and gritted his teeth, flying his Sparrowhawk in front of their rookie, and taking a autocannon round to his shields for his efforts.

Ingram ignored his cockpit as it rattled slightly from the impact, the red light in the corner of his vision flashing and notifying him that his shields had depleted by roughly 40%. Deftly flicking at his controls, he expertly operated his Sparrowhawk's offhand manipulator, roughly slamming it onto the Shrike's autocannon and almost ripping it out of its hand- though the magnetized grips of the Shrike meant that it was merely pulled closer to Ingram's MAS.

"Hold your fire." Ingram growled in a withering tone. "I don't recall ever giving you permission to fire. Pull another stunt like that and you'll spend the rest of the war behind a maintenance console." Letting go of the Shrike's autocannon, Ingram returned to the center of their formation. Perhaps harsher than he normally would've been- much harsher. But Ingram refused to be the man responsible for reigniting war between the UEE and Coalition. The Coalition MAS looked itchy, the space between them was tense, and he knew they wanted to open up on the 12th. To be fair, every nerve in his body was screaming at him to start shooting at the Bloody Valkyrie while he had the chance. Though for the time being, Tigres seemed to be able to keep the rest of his squadron in check.

"Iggy, control your team!" came the scolding voice of Nikita. If he wasn't in a MAS in the middle of space in the middle of a potential shootout in a battle, he would have whirled on her instantly. He clenched his fists- he wanted to hit something, but he was surrounded by a cockpit full of electronics and controls.

"You don't get to call me that!" Ingram hissed, the proverbial venom dripping from his voice. "I've got my team under control, Commander Shaw."

His screen blinked, and a closed transmission came through the command channels- Tolliver was ordering the 12th to defensive positions around the Artemis. He grimaced. This was going to look bad no matter which way they tried to spin it.

"All units fall back to defensive positions. Form up on the Artemis, and maintain trigger discipline." Ingram called into the squad comms, as he activated his retrothrusters and began slowly backing away from the station. He wouldn't turn his back on the Coalition forces, not while they were so close anyway. As the squad began to fall back, a few of the Coalition MAS began to move forward- not enough to be chasing them, but definitely not backing off either.

"Hey! Where the fuck are you going huh?!" demanded the Coalition rookie, his voice cracking over the short-range transmissions. "Think you can just blow up our ship and walk away?! I had family on that ship you tyrant fucks! Hey!" The kid must have been no older than 20. Young, and angry, a bad combination for a pilot. The rookie Fafnir threw something in futility at the retreating 12th Squadron- the shattered remains of his autocannon. It bounced harmlessly off of one of the Aegis' shield arms.

Ingram didn't respond, instead he was distracted by a notification from the Terracotta- Duke Lupus' personal ship. "What the hell?" Ingram murmured more to himself than anyone else, though his voice was still picked up through the squadron channels. "Anyone got eyes on the Terracotta?"

Comm channels and distress signals from the Terracotta were dark, but you didn't need to look at the comm channels to see the Terracotta. Out of nowhere, one of the Terracotta's life boats ejected from the side of its hull. Then another, then a third, and then another five. Ingram pressed a button, automatically hailing the Terracotta, but there was no response. Instead another dozen life boats launched from the hull of the ship. Lifeboats launched out of the ship like slowmotion fragmentation coming out of a frag grenade.

"Hello? Terracotta? Attica Station? What's going on? I'm seeing 50 plus lifeboats leaving the Terracotta." Ingram demanded over Fleetcom, using any frequency available to him to contact the Terracotta.

Ingram received nothing but static.

Even before she finished speaking, information presented itself in Sarett's head; data that she hadn't reached for but that Ava had furnished on her own. The pair had practiced this, but the sensation was still one that Sarett hadn't gotten used to yet. Very little of what Ava wrote into her mind actually presented itself across the floating ambient data visualizations in her field of view; rather, the data simply appeared in her awareness, ready to be retrieved or acted on. For now, much of what Ava presented was spatial awareness, giving Sarett an intuitive understanding of the local volume without having to completely rely on the huge holotank in the center of the Bridge. She took a few moments to adjust her thoughts, then considered what Ava had given her.

The Empire's ships were, of course, networked and every ship was, to one degree or another, in continuous contact. Even the smaller ships, those without space even for limited synthetic intelligence, kept up to date with automated telemetry data and voice-update transmission. In the holotank, the other ships were nothing but points of light with finely-drawn labels, but in Sarett's mind they were each a brilliant, bristling, pulsing cloud of data.

For now, though, that information had a hole in it. The Terracotta, the flagship of the fleet, should have been a coruscating nova of communications, a hub for the rest of the fleet. Instead, the ship was dark, a blank spot in Ava's data feed.

"Ava," Sarett said, "Get the fla-"

"Captain, I'm detecting an exchange of weapons fire" Ava cut in over the ship's speaker system, "It appears a single Coalition suit fired on a member of the 12th. Damage is minimal, no casualties. The 12th is pulling back to Artemis and the Coalition is redeploying further away. One of the Coalition suits seems to be shedding debris, but I'm not reading atmosphere leakage."

Sarett resisted the urge to clench her jaw, "Retransmit orders to not engage, Ava. All frequencies, all channels. Be very clear."

"Aye, ma'am," Ava said. Sarett felt Ava's awareness shift slightly - was that just subconscious expectation?

"No response from Fleet Command," Myles said, scrolling through information on her screen, "Actually, no data of any kind from the flagship, and...what the hell? I'm reading...some kind of debris departing the Terracotta"

Sarett yanked her attention away from her inner eye, "Ava, I need local volume information, detailed, in the holotank, please."

Without a verbal confirmation, the huge holographic display in the center of the Bridge came alive, closer to what Sarett could feel in her own mind. True to Myles' words, something was drifting away from the flagship in even, regular lines.

"I believe we're seeing lifeboat launches, Captain," Ava said over the intercom, "I can see the rescue ID numbers on the ships through the hull cameras."

Sarett walked to the holotank, "Why are we not receiving information from the flagship?"

"I think I know why, Captain," Tanner said, looking up from his console, "Wide-band jamming, massive amplitude. The ship isn't dark, we just can't hear it."

"Captain, I have communications with Rear Admiral Holtzer aboard the Tàiyángshén," came Ava's voice, "They're instructing the other UEE ships to form up in a combat group with the other battleship, but are also issuing orders to hold fire. However, since we're closest to the station and Terracotta, we're to remain on station here and investigate."

Privately, to Sarett, Ava said, "I've established a connection with Tàiyángshén's AI, Zhao. I'll port his telemetry to you if it becomes relevant - what I'm giving you now looks like enough stress on your brain."

"I appreciate that," Sarett thought, and turned her attention back to the Bridge.

"Captain, we're getting a signal through the jamming," Tanner said, "At least a partial signal, audio only and badly distorted. It's coming from the station."

Sarett's voice came quick, "Helm, distance to Attica Station?"

An immediate response, "More or less exactly 25 kilometers, ma'am,"

"Broadside starboard to the station," Sarett said, "Keep our center of mass 25 kilometers from the station, get the high-gain comms on the lateral superstructure taking in every decibel they can. Cook the amplifier if we have to," Ava displayed an inventory list on Sarett's vision, "We have spares."

A chorus of 'Aye, ma'am,' and though she couldn't feel the ship rotating about its axis, her awareness of local space shifted in perspective, following the ship's movements. The same shift was represented in the holotank, spinning about to maintain its perspective relative to the other ships. To her immense surprise, Sarett saw the other Coalition ships moving with deliberate speed into a more organized group - she had expected someone to order a Jump out of overeagerness to start a fight. Good order, that's what everyone needed to be showing right now. Of her own accord, Ava displayed a view from one of her hull cameras into the holotank, zoomed in tight on the station.

"Signal's coming in clearer," Tanner said.

"Let's hear it," Sarett said.

The whoosh and crackle of static immediately pummeled Sarett's ears, but an instant later there was the unmistakable sound of a human voice, someone panicked and desperate for anyone to hear them.

"This is Attica Station," the voice said, probably a man, thin with terror, "General distress call, oh god. Oh, god. Anyone who can hear me, they're gone. They shot everyone and they're gone, and they said they were going to the hangar, but I don't know where they're going. They shot the guards and I saw them break down the doors, and I'm bleeding and..." The voice trailed off, "The negotiators, they dragged them away and nobody's answering the comms, and I can't get Station Control, please, is anyone hearing me?"

There was a loud thump, audible even over the static, then a screaming, tearing sound, "Hull breach," the voice screamed, "There's a hull breach, we're losing atmo-"

Another explosion tore through space, this time bursting from the side of Attica station, midway down the spire. Superstructure fragments showered out in an expanding debris cloud, tearing a hole in the station for tens of meters above and below. White wisps of venting atmosphere blasted into the void, shutting off after a couple of seconds, automatic air-doors sealing around the now-massive breach.

"Maintain distance from the station," Sarett said, keeping her voice steady and clear despite the fact her heart rate had just jumped into the triple digits, "Ava, tell Commander Tolliver to arrange a boarding party, that their orders are to approach and make entry to the Terracotta's interior and determine why the lifeboats launched. Cut a hole in the hull if they have to, but try the hangar bay first. Maintain continuous communication, and assume there may be hostiles aboard the flagship."

"Jamming signal is clear," Tanner said from his station, "It must have been on board the station when it blew. We're getting telemetry from the flagship, but nobody's answering hails."

"I want members of the 12th ahead of the boarding party," Sarett said, "Have them redeploy to the Terracotta and start looking at those lifeboats, see if there's anyone alive in them and if there's obvious signs of tampering or forced launch. Make sure all the lifeboats are accounted for, and that there aren't any extras. Something strange is going on."

She turned to Myles, "Lieutenant, I want all the data from the Perseus explosion and whatever just happened on the station packaged inside of five minutes, I don't care how rough or sensitive it might be, we're going to need it for a goodwill offering in a moment. Myles looked alarmed, but moved after only a moment, calling up data.

Sarett took a deep breath, blew it out. The admiral did say to investigate. Whatever was happening on the flagship might be a distraction, but at least that was something she could put orders to immediately. The Empire and the Coalition had agreed to an exclusion zone around the station, and even though her fingers itched to launch another boarding party, violating that unilaterally would be exactly the kind of thing that whoever was orchestrating this disaster would be counting on. Unilateral action, no matter the intention, would only lead to one side shooting at the other. She was not going to play into that game.

"Okay," Sarett said, "Okay. Transmit to the Coalition fleet, wide-channel, standard hail preamble." A moment later, she could feel that the ship's comm arrays were energized, even before anyone indicated the channel being open. There was something strange going on with her connection to Ava, but now was not the time to worry about it.

"Coalition Fleet," Sarret said, "This is Captain Ashley Sarett aboard the INS carrier Artemis. We've detected an explosion aboard Attica Station, and I'm sure you've seen it too. We've received an audio transmissio indicating this may have been a coordinated attack, and that both our negotiator and yours have been abducted from the station. I need to talk to someone with command authority in order to investigate, because I'm not breaching the exclusion zone without your agreement. We're both being played by someone here, and I think it's reasonable to believe that they may be responsible for the destruction of the Perseus. I'm sending our sensor data to you now as a gesture of goodwill but please, we need to start moving on this now." She paused, "Don't let them win. We have to be better than they think we are."

Sarett gestured, and the comms system shut down. Her mind raced down fractal paths, plans forking like lightning through her thoughts. If they fired, it would all be over. For that matter, she might have just ended her career, sending data to the Coalition like this. But none of that mattered. If she was a piece on a board for someone, she'd damn well be the most troublesome piece she could be. She'd find a way to kick the damn board over if she had to.

Hopefully, someone on the Coalition felt the same.

Facing the clear screen window, Tolliver viewed the station before him as well as the 12th MAS who were out to meet the Coalition pilots. Waiting for his orders to relay, he sees that an exchange of fire glows from the coalition side and then onto his own when a 12th pilot returned fire. His hand was halfway to keying his headset before he got up from his seat, looking at the pods ejecting from the UEE ship nearby them. A few moments of processing later a familiar voice chirped in his ear. "Sir we have reports from the bridge that the Terracotta has launched its lifeboats." Swiftly responding to his subordinate Tolliver duly said "Aye, although it's statistically unusual for any ship to do so in this situation I have my eyes on my pilots. Keep an eye on it for me."

"Yes sir."

Attica station looked somewhat pretty when the massive explosion on the side of it, reality kicked in when the stress hit the aging commander. The after action report was probably going to be written by him, casualty counts and the whole nine yards probably. A small price to pay for a stoic desk job and a front row seat to the battle. His train of thought was broken when that annoying AI began to spout orders to him straight from the Captain Herself. "Orders from the Captain..." Yea yea yea, move the 12th and check out the Terracotta. If that's what was needed then it's what would be done. Spare the Security Forces the job of boarding, let them hold the fort. He opened a channel to the 12th's squad leader.

"Shaw, disengage from the Coalition fighters. Your team is to move to investigate the lifeboats, account for them and check for anything strange with the launch around the Terracotta, maintain comms at all costs there is an attempt from the Coalition - possibly a third party to jam comms. Keep your squad on a need to know basis, I don't need any trigger fingers or heroes."

Tolliver keys off the mic and switches to another channel ears still on Shaw's for a response.

Weyland, mobilize security team A and have them board a shuttle to board the Terracotta - Team B is on QRF.
RoE is fire upon receiving fire, keep constant comms with me. Sitrep every five minutes, you go dark we're coming for you.

Aye sir!

---

"Scared?"

An older security forces corporal jeers at his compatriot, he seems to be in his late forties - his grey hair prodding from his helmet. He towered over the younger corporal, he was six foot five and the junior was just five eight. "No, I'm just uncertain." The junior responded as he looked up at him, his rifle in hand as he constantly checked it as if it was broken.

"Don't worry, we won't be doing anything - we're the QRF." The older corporal grunts, spitting on the floor leaving an oozing fluid of saliva to grace the blessed floors of the ship.

"How can you be sure, I mean. Yea I don't like this - no one does but it's our job. You should be less cynical Markus."

The old man checks his watch, before looking back up to the young man.

"Hope is such a fickle thing."