---

[ERROR: Data Transfer to PANDORA unable to complete. Suspected Signal Interference. Retry? Y/N]

Ahead of him, he saw the massive frame of his prey lurch— the one-two punch of the Iliad's finest biting deep into its armor and equilibrium. The railgun of Ajax in particular had bitten deep into its center mass, roughly where an Orbital's reactor would be housed at that scale. There was no plume of flame and fury, no chain reaction of runaway energy, no critical hull rupture billowing outward ahead of a torrent of aether. Rather, the alien was reeling, staggering down to a hand and knee as though drunk. Rabbit punched. Holden had wrecked its equilibrium. Systems for weight distribution stored in the interior of the chassis? Maybe.

No. Electromagnetic Interference. The shell carried much of its charge from acceleration into impact— a poisoned bullet. That was it, right. You only get one slip-up, Kon. Have everything memorized after this.

Regardless, the man from Belgrade hungrily leaned forward in his seat, body fighting against the inexorable press backward of acceleration as he screamed, transonic, towards the action. The blue flame of his verniers kicked up a rolling tower of dust behind as he brushed the sound barrier. Ten seconds out.

His comrades wasted no time in responding to his hails, Gypsy Soul seeming none the worse for wear in spite of engaging in melee with a foe well outside its weight class. The fey mech's blade, a red-hot light to match its wielder, had confidently redirected strikes meant to tear her in half completely, and more than forceful enough to. He'd underestimated that strange girl behind the mask, in truth— for all her spaced-out demeanor and corporate-based piloting experience, she was good behind the controls. More than the civilian carried by an exotic, high-spec design that he’d taken her for would be, certainly.

Five seconds.

That same warning blared in Konstantin's ears once more as his field of view glowed gold. The foreign ape of steel unleashed another spray of diseased fury at its assailants— No. One in Particular. Ajax, raising his seven-layered shield as Hektor's mighty lance sought his heart, and his alone. The second Bandit clearly had some measure of intelligence left— an understanding of cause and effect enough to recognize Castle as a primary threat after the Keruanos had destroyed the equivalent of its inner ear. It couldn't allow such a weapon, both capable of piercing armor and scrambling its systems, to have any more battlefield presence. Its spines were aglow with alien light, burning hot as a sun and totally focused upon tearing straight through Ajax.

Gypsy Soul and Bedwyr completely forgotten. Fatal.

Most pilots would have carried their messages in cool, crisp, confident tones. It spoke partially to professionalism, true, the discipline instilled in anyone allowed to play jockey for a multistory mass of carefully engineered alloys, ordinance, and electronics that clocked speeds measured in mach with regularity. But for those in the know, those immersed in the unique military culture of piloting, far more motivation came from pageantry— smooth, swaggering radio cues were your calling card, proof you belong in the seat. Better death than sounding bad.

Kon's undertone, beneath this affectation, almost sounded hungry.

<<Pickle, pickle. Bombs away. All friendlies break.>>

The Marshal of Arthur's Court, revived into the twenty-meter frame of state of the art military ingenuity cast not a sword into a lake, but rather a disc into light. His momentum being what it was, not even the awe-inspiring might of a full-size orbital's limbs could produce much effect on trajectory or velocity of payload. Instead, the drum was in his wake as he passed overhead, veering off in a hard right turn the moment he entered the thing's field of view. Air resistance buffeting the knight's frame, Kon clenched his teeth and hitched his breath to push the blackness from the edges of his vision. By contrast his chariot's single yellow eye shone like the midday sun.

A dull, slightly hollow clang sounded from the region of yellow-white luminescence upon the creature's back, filling what would have been an almost awkward beat in the action.

And then, that same light melted through the steel drum, and met the payload within.

A blossom of fire and force erupted from the spines, as hundreds of fourty millimeter thermobaric cartridges passed the point of autoignition instantaneously within the remains of their containment. A ripple passed through the air as the pressure front surged outward in all directions, pushed by the countless expanding blazes in close proximity within the greater fireball. A wall of concussive force that, with any luck, would serve to flatten the damn alien he could only sand down before.

<<Ask, and ye shall receive.>>

How's that for a lightning bolt?

Left hand now unoccupied, the Bedwyr drew the blade at its hip, TLS-88 sparking to life as it circled in the air.

Calmly noting that the mechanoid had fired at where his shots had come from and not where he currently was, Fox let out a bit of breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. ...Ok, good to know my stealth systems do properly work on these things and that they can track incoming fire with extreme precision... Fox thought to himself as repeated the same maneuver; this time dumping all four rounds into the hostiles last functional energy spine.

As he relocated again the young man watched as the other bandit stumbled and then failed to properly right itself. Watching in momentary confusion, understanding suddenly clicked as the monster focused all of it's counter attack on Castle. ...The Keraunos and EM! I wonder... Quickly making sure he wasn't drawing any fire, Fox dove into the Her-Comm's electronic warfare system. ...I can't match the raw strength of The Keraunos' EMP, but the Raven's can generate sustained radio interference... If I max their power output and focus the radio waves at extreme close range...

The young man thought to himself, furiously imputing console commands as his hands struggled to keep up with his brain. ...Use three drones, overlap different oscillating frequencies... Yeah, this just might work... Tapping in the last commands, Fox hit enter, directing three of his raven drones towards the bandit locked in CQC with Volana and Artemie. <<Voyager, Aurora, engaging with my EW suite. Sorry about the radio backwash.>>

Rapidly covering the distance, the raven drones took up position a dozen or so meters in front of the Alien monstrosity, just outside the reach of it's arms, and began blasting it with as powerful of radio interference as they could muster.

The old marine grin under his helmet as both of the bandits took some serious damage from their assault. Zakharin figured another solid hit from the Keraunos would put it down. And he will make sure Castle gets that chance. So when the bandits retaliated against the humans the cyborg was on the move. He cycled two guided AP rockets into the launcher. The marines sent commands to his drones to strafe the bandit while he aimed to get target lock at the machine's head. With the missiles loaded the chime of the lock ringed in his ear. Zakharin fired both missiles at the alien machine.

When the missiles were launched the marine brought his orbital rifle to bear on the damage section of the alien machine. Sending 40mm slugs right into the weakened side armor.

---

For the what felt like an eternity Volana's world was nothing but the pure white of a high power beam practically bathing the Aurora in a fiery wash of energy- and she wasn't even the one receiving the brunt of the attack. The Voyager's Lancier, true to its name, struck from above to envelope the monstrosity's head and upper torso. The sheer proximity to the intense beam overloaded her Orbital's sensors filling her cockpit with a brilliant white glow that was only marginally dampened by the safety protocols. There was a brief moment after the inferno of energy died down as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light being thrown into them.

While the readouts of the Aurora's energized plating indicated the armor had absorbed enough thermal energy to melt an unprotected orbital to slag, she still had a sinking feeling. A sinking feeling that was replaced by a sudden jerk that strained at her harness and nearly bounced her head off of the controls.

No, of course it wasn't dead.

Just really pissed off now.

Figures.

Volana's vision restored to find herself no longer in the clutches of the mechanoid, though her new position being ground into the soft sand of the planet could scarcely be called an improvement. She glanced to the side, in time to see the flare of thrusters as Voyager rocketed forward towards both the bandit and herself. What was...?

The recognition struck as soon as Artemie's voice came crackling over the comm. Good plan, honestly maybe their only shot at this point. The mechanoid was massive, and already clearly far stronger than any one of their Orbitals, but its size was also a disadvantage, if the were able to take away some of its unnatural maneuverability...

The smart thing to do would have been to use the oncoming impact as a means to pry the thing off of her, unfortunately Volana was beginning to get more than a tad incensed. Instead she reached up with both arms, clamping her Orbital's free hand onto the now strangely dull surface of the bandit, and digging Gram's blade as deeply as she could into the thing's limb. She wasn't going anywhere, and now the only place the alien mechanoid could go was optical-sensor first into the dirt. Out of the corner of her eye Volana tracked Artemie's approach, preparing to throw the Aurora up and over as soon as the pressure from the mechanoid's limb subsided in an attempt to use her entire Orbital to pin the bandit on the ground.

She counted down the seconds as Artemie got closer.

Closer.

Closer...

And then, breath held tightly in her lungs, she moved.

---

“Talk to me, Ensign.”

“I don’t know, sir!” Ensign Yelena Novikova answered, throwing her hands up in an unprofessional if perfectly understandable display of frustration. The Electronic Warfare officer was the youngest officer on the Pandora’s bridge even before she slept the whole journey to Proxima Centauri. There hadn’t been any need for an EW specialist in transit so she had been excluded from the skeleton crew that slept in shifts. For once she seemed as inexperienced as she looked, fighting with her console as though she had any control at all. She could monitor the computer with perfect clarity but nothing she did seemed to have any impact. The invasion of their systems continued as though she did nothing at all. “Nothing in the universe should be able to route data like this. It’s dropping the data flow down to a hardware level in real time to bypass the software restrictions, and it’s doing it without a noticeable drop in speed. It’s... “

Yelena threw up her hands again and everyone understood. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand what was happening, or that she couldn’t explain it; but no one on the bridge would understand it as well as her. Her rank was extremely junior for such an expedition but there hadn’t been a better EW specialist out of any human institution in a long time. If she said it was impossible, then it was impossible. By human standards, at least. She was fighting it tooth and nail but to no avail. The process continued.

“Harkin, put CIWS in local control.” The Captain ordered after a moment’s deliberation, inclining his head towards the Tactical station. “Our sensors may be out but they should work. If it’s moving and it doesn’t have a friendly tag it gets shot down. Then warm up the cannon. Mons I want our nose pointed towards that cluster of signals we saw before our eyes went down.”

A chorus of assent answered as the bridge went to work readying their precautions. Under the circumstances it was the best they could do. Until Tiger reported or until their sensors were restored they could do nothing but prepare for a fight. But if one came they would need to be able to see.

“Novikova.” The Ensign raised her head from her futile efforts, looking almost irritated at the interruption until she met the Captain’s eyes. “The first sign of enemy fire detonate the bolt. We can replace the comms array. We can’t replace the whole ship.”

Novikova nodded, a touch unwillingly. It was the right call. Cutting off the comm array with the old fashioned explosive charge pre-installed would end whatever process this way and free up their systems, but would render them mute and deaf. Worst of all it would deny then any ability to operate offensively in kind, but she had to admit (very reluctantly) that if a foe could do this then she couldn’t-

“We’re back up!” She snapped suddenly, eyes snapping down at a chirp from her console. “No system failures, all systems responding normally. We pushed a tactical update downstream to all deployed units, our IFF was altered, and… Khristos. Sciences are reporting damned near an exabyte of data uploaded to their drives!”

“Status change! Many signatures!” Harkin announced quickly trying to categorize the codes that had began blossoming on his display. Dozens of new icons appeared on the planet’s surface with at least as many in orbit and scattered through the system, filling the void with traffic where seconds before had been silence. “All friendly. IFFs queried, consistent with our altered IFF!”

“Tiger Three is reporting silhouettes on our current heading, obscured by orbital debris.” He continued, flashing the relevant data to the Captain’s chair. Clear it wasn’t, but definite movement had been detected from inside a dense cluster. “Trying to refine.”

As quickly as they were seen the bogeys vanished in an electromagnetic aurora, winking out of existence as though they had never been and taking some of the debris with them.

“Targets lost. Chief Takaya is getting an update from the ground, relaying status changes now.”

---

Bandit Two screamed.

[ERROR: Data Transfer to PANDORA unable to complete. Suspected Signal Interference. Retry? Y/N]

[UPDATE: Data Transfer f̵r̵o̵m̴ PANDORA completed. Cached tactical data dumped to PANDORA.]

In the span of a second an update was pushed to every device tied into Pandora’s tactical network carrying with it instructions that performed an update and reinstancing of the transponder on every unit. For a split second Kon’s display became a mess of orange, every unit pinged as unknown and giving Merlon an electronic fit before it was corrected and proper coding was reapplied to every detected entity.

Bandit Two died and it seemed to die painfully. A supernova flared from the point just below its spines, shrapnel and flame alike tearing into its surface with wanton delight. The sound of its scream simply stopped more than it died down, ending as suddenly as it began while the alien slumped. What was left of it, at least. The enemy had been nearly bisected and not cleanly. Traces of its armor, or carapace, were scattered in the sand and the remaining sinuous connections between its upper and lower halves were scorched and shriveled. There was no fight left in it, no sign of its earlier malice. And it did not die alone. Bandit One screeched as Fox’s interference began and when Bandit Two died it simply stopped. Voyager impacted, Aurora shifted, and the alien simply fell to the sand limp.

With their cessation the alien Orbital stopped moving, again slumping into the sand that had entombed it for so long.

“Starlight, what are all these readings?” Artemie asked, keeping Voyager at the ready but turning her attention briefly to the status changes from Pandora. “Where did all these icons come from?”

“That’s… A little strange.” The assistant answered distractedly, as though processing. “Pandora pushed out a tactical update that added a thirty two bit modifier to each of our transponders. The first eight are shared among all of us, including Pandora. The next sixteen are shared sequentially by all observable Orbitals and the last octet seems to be unique. These icons appeared at the same time and seem to follow a similar pattern.”

<<Pilots, this is Chief Takaya.>> The COO chimed in on their shared frequency. <<Explorer One reached the ship. Now you guys, too. Saddle up and return to the hangar. Something had the bridge’s underwear bunched and we’re going to be checking it out. A security detail is deploying, so leave the hostiles. Bring the Orbital if you can.>>

---

Underneath the constant barrage of energy lances, Holden could do nothing more except weather the storm. The Ajax's resilience was a boon in that regard, even as its shiny new paint job was stripped away by the heat and force of the attack. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to wait for much longer. With support from the Odysseus and a final blow from the Bedwyr, the battle would soon reach its resolution.

<<Pickle, pickle. Bombs away. All friendlies break.>>

A thunderous explosion resounded across the desert, prompting a scream from the Bandit.

<<Ask, and ye shall receive.>>

Holden let out a long whistle through the comms. The payload worked well enough, it had seemed. If death by a thousand cuts just wasn't possible... then perhaps a single massive cut would be all that it takes. The Ajax had heavier ordnance in its backpack, but even the artilleryman had to appreciate that explosion.

<<Nothing quite like watching the fireworks, eh, Stojanovic?>> Holden chuckled at his own joke as his HUD flared to life.

STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY:

ADAMANTINE ARMOR PLATING: 67%
HULL PLATING: 79%
ANCILE BUCKLER: 0%

MINOR DAMAGE TO LEFT ARM HULL PLATING.

Z-26 AKON LRM BATTERY DAMAGED.

ANCILE BUCKLER NONFUNCTIONAL.

SUPERFICIAL DAMAGE TO TORSO HULL PLATING.

Holden clicked his tongue as he looked over the damage. He supposed things could've been far worse, but it just goes to show the difference between the pinnacle of human technology and the remnants of alien technology. The more pressing matter to him at that moment, however, was the signal interference on his screen.

[ERROR: Data Transfer to PANDORA unable to complete. Suspected Signal Interference. Retry? Y/N]

[UPDATE: Data Transfer f̵r̵o̵m̴ PANDORA completed. Cached tactical data dumped to PANDORA.]

"...What the hell?" Holden said to nobody in particular as he received packets of data from the Pandora, the Merlon, and the Battle Net. The Diomedes and the onboard computer was throwing up errors too, but admittedly, the man couldn't quite understand what it all meant.

<<Pilots, this is Chief Takaya.>>

The communications from Command shook the man from his reverie. Looks like it was time to go.

<<Explorer One reached the ship. Now you guys, too. Saddle up and return to the hangar. Something had the bridge’s underwear bunched and we’re going to be checking it out. A security detail is deploying, so leave the hostiles. Bring the Orbital if you can.>>

<<...Copy that, Pandora. We'll be Oscar Mike in five.>>

The Ajax raised its left arm and triggered the explosive bolts on its wrist, letting the now-useless pile of slag that was once the Ancile Buckler fall to the desert sand. At this point, it was better to have the shield replaced entirely than to try and restore it. Holden started moving towards the blasted remnants of Bandit Two.

<<What's everyone's status? The Ajax took some hits in that fight but should be good to move.>> Holden asked as the Grecian Hero moved to pick up the wreckage of the enemy Orbital that had caused him so much trouble. It seemed Bandit One was in better shape, but the more samples they brought back, the better. Hell, if they couldn't use it, maybe they could at least make a nice trophy out of the hull.

...might be good for morale, if people could see that these alien Orbitals can be killed like any other, too.

Bandit Two fiery death earn a short chuckled from Zakharin as some of the alien machines bits pinged off the haul of his orbital. The old marine could see the other bandit slumped over. With its demise he recalled his drones back into an over watch pattern around the orbital.

<<"Good kill Stojanovic. It made a pretty light show.>>

As he approached Holden and the dead bandits when the battle net sent him a alert. Pulling up the alert it inform Zakharin that the Pandora has delivered a new tactical data dump. It goes on to inform him that is being processed. The marine decided let the system handle it.

<<Explorer One reached the ship. Now you guys, too. Saddle up and return to the hangar. Something had the bridge’s underwear bunched and we’re going to be checking it out. A security detail is deploying, so leave the hostiles. Bring the Orbital if you can.>>

<<Copy that.>>

Zakharin came over to the bisected remains were Ajax was. He fingered that each of them could take one half of the corps back into orbit but that left the question of the other alien machine. He was shaken from his thought by Holdens question.

<<All systems Green.

---

As the dull brown sands of the alien planet were cast into hellfire's orange by Konstantin's mech-scale satchel charge, the roaring thunder that rolled over the desert was sliced open by that same screech of metal rent by metal, now at a fever pitch, as if the plainly synthetic hostile were in agony. For a moment, the long howl seemed as if it would have no end, carried upon the rushing wind and heat through dust and sky. Kon began to believe he would seriously need use of his TLS and go for it's throat in both literal and metaphorical senses—

And then, with no preamble of denouement or trailing volume, it ceased, the ape of alien steel slumping into the sand as its top half nearly made the trip on its lonesome, roughly shorn into what was almost two by the blast. As it careened to the earth, its silence was mirrored by its brethren, a lance of light from the Voyager high above descending into silent metal, the foreign orbital shutting down with it.

The silence did not last long.

<<Nothing quite like watching the fireworks, eh, Stojanovic?>>

<<Good kill Stojanovic. It made a pretty light show.>>

[ERROR: Data Transfer to PANDORA unable to complete. Suspected Signal Interference. Retry? Y/N]

A field of orange light danced across Kon's screen for an instant, replacing the hues of explosive flame with that of a very, very confused machine learning program— one that pinged every unit on the board, be they designated hostile or friendly, as simply "Unknown". The pilot clicked his tongue, dissatisfied sneer beginning to form on his face as the system's diagnostics began to fight to reconcile some form of order with the scuffed dataset.

How very usual for this bleeding-edge crap. Stress test it for the first time in real combat, and suddenly all the bugs that had somehow hidden themselves away for fifteen years of development came to the fore.

[UPDATE: Data Transfer f̵r̵o̵m̴ PANDORA completed. Cached tactical data dumped to PANDORA.]

..?

Hadn't he been uploading to the Pandora?

...He was no network analyst or technician. Maybe it was a data synchronization between the ground team and the ship far overhead. Maybe the ship used its stronger comm arrays to connect to him. Maybe the alien scream had fucked with his electronics like the toxic rounds they'd loaded into it. It wasn't his job to know. For now, it seemed to have sorted itself out save for that minor, maybe even graphical, glitch. Friendlies were friendlies, the marked AO was unchanged, even chemical composition data was consistent with pre-kickoff (save for a little more in the way of atmospheric heavy metals).

The Pandora's techs and General Resources attache would have ample time to figure out whatever the hell had just happened. For now, he had to just get it back in one piece.

<<Bedwyr here. Applied pyrotechnics aside, capacity is unchanged. One shotgun is slag, everything else in working order. Merlon appears to have calmed down, give notice if it's not playing nice with anyone.>>

He returned to comms, circling overhead in a similar, if somewhat lowered, lazy drift around the ground team as before, conserving fuel for primary burn to leave the gravity well of this alien, now definitely hostile world. His eyes, drawn inevitably to the spoils of victory, prompted the display to magnify the charred remains of Bandit Two.

<<Looks like I stole Nebula's thunder. Just remembered Michael was the one that was supposed to roast an alien. Hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.>>

He came to a stop just a ways above his slain adversary, the jet wash from his propulsion beginning to hit the sands with enough downforce to kick up small plumes again, gentle clouds terminating a few meters away from the torn giant of silver. Were he not the man he had been shaped into by his youth he would have felt the urge to cup his chin in thought.

But he hadn't been the type to let a hand leave the controls for well over a decade.

<<I'll handle rear guard unless ordered otherwise. Keep an eye on things while we pack up.>>

[ERROR: Data Transfer to PANDORA unable to complete. Suspected Signal Interference. Retry? Y/N]

[UPDATE: Data Transfer f̵r̵o̵m̴ PANDORA completed. Cached tactical data dumped to PANDORA.]

Thanks to the Outrider's stealth systems blocking direct transmissions, the tactical update took several seconds longer to process as it had to be received by the raven drones first and then relayed to the Exo-Frame itself via tightbeam laser. Frowning, Fox cleared half-a-dozen error messages from the Her-comm's EW security suite, the tactical update kicking in with fits and starts. As his display finally settled back to normal, the young man took in the aftermath of the battle.

With the battle decidedly over, Fox recalled his drones and disengaged the Outrider's active stealth systems. <<Outrider here. Aside from some dusty intakes and a little more adrenaline than expected, we're all good out here. Packing up for launch now.>> Fox added to the sounded off with his smooth artificial tenor. << PANDORA actual, be advised. That update you pushed out threw my systems for a loop. Probably just extenuating circumstances, but I'll have a data and error compilation ready for post-op.>> The young man added as he waited for his drones to return.

[ERROR: Data Transfer to PANDORA unable to complete. Suspected Signal Interference. Retry? Y/N]

Gypsy's cockpit came alive with the rapturous cries of sirens, a cacophony of alarms and lights that many on Earth had fretted would never have reason to go off. Her emerald screens were alight with orange, pings dancing like wildfires in a brush. Unlike many of the other Orbitals on the ground team, Chiron Works had designed Gypsy Soul's sensor suites for such an eventuality. The unknown signals were quickly parsed by her Orbital and identified for what they truly were - bodies in unfitting graves, no different from the pilots in their pods, men at war, or the old men on Earth, hundreds of years ago, left in wells to keep until spring. So it was not the reaction of her systems being overwhelmed by stimuli that disquieted Gypsy; it was the almost-emotional note from her machine itself at the feeling of parsing their new data, half in ecstasy and half in anguish.

//Engage communication suite? Y?N?//

"No." Her heart went out to her virtual counterpart, tempered with some disappointment of her own. True, it would have been a little too neat to knock out every one of her employer's primary directives all in one go, and then go about a life of lazy napping and caring for some unique little planets on the hydroponics lab, but such a climax to her life would have been as boring as the idea of death - convenient, and all too abrupt. "They're beyond hearing us now."

The fervor in her cockpit died down; lights stopped blinking, and the sirens ended like the piteous wails of a child, slowly tapering into a whimper. Only the ringing in her ears remained.

[UPDATE: Data Transfer f̵r̵o̵m̴ PANDORA completed. Cached tactical data dumped to PANDORA.]

<<Gypsy Soul, live, raw and uncut. My sabre is having power issues.>>

She weighed how best to put the momentary existential crisis of her Orbital.

<<Movement is unimpeded...but some of my systems are feeling a little down in the dumps. She likes to sleep through most big updates.>>

The Starstrike had dutifully escorted the Explorer One out of the Area of Operations, and was in the middle of returning to it's allies when a high-priority alert flashed over a maintenance screen for a moment.
[WARNING: Command Network Abruptly Lost.]
[ALERT: Command Network Reacquired]
[ALERT: Command Network pushing update to critical systems]
S-AM_CNM_Restriction_0SEC: Pattern Recognition Trigger
The stilted, feminine voice of the Starstrike's Pilot-Assist patched into his helmet almost immediately.
"Semi-Autonomous Mode violation. Critical Security Risk. Physical compartmentalization enacted. Core isolation enacted. Pilot Assist insecure. Risk of Pilot harm: High. Risk of network breach: High. Emergency Shutdown initiated. Stay safe, Pilot."
Adam felt a chill run down his spine as his Flight-HUD stopped showing anything but onboard sensor data. "What the hell just happened? How are we supposed to get back without navigation data from the Pandora?" He could see the settling dust-clouds from the fight, and several IFF signatures his "compartmentalized" systems couldn't properly interpret. Adam keyed his optical zoom and maintained course. "Coloration matches our friendlies, so at least we won, right?" The silence in his cockpit felt oppressive.

maintaining stable flight, Adam set himself to the task of getting his cockpit in working order, retracting the now defunct maintenance screens and setting his flight controls back to the old 11-G Defaults. "Figures, first mission out? Some weird alien weapon climbs out of the dirt and installs malware in Starstrike's head. A new frontier, new sights to see and of course a new security update! Just what you'd expect visiting your first unsettled extrasolar planet!" Adam loudly complained to no one as he worked, going through each control surface to ensure he missed nothing. He experimentally toggled the Starstrike into a stock flight-stance, and was rewarded with the Starstrike stiffly obeying, and a change in flight path. By now he was closing in on the battlefield and his allies, but with the vast majority of his electronics inaccessable or unresponsive there was no telling what was going on beyond a lack of hostilities.

With a hard thrust-braking maneuver, Adam brought the Starstrike to a hover, and then cut all thrust, unceremoniously dropping the Orbital to the sandy surface. A weird sense of regret nagged at him for a moment as he made landfall. With no time to dwell on it, he set his Orbital to amble towards his allies. As it mindlessly marched, he pried open the compartment concealing the Starstrike's emergency-kit and began rummaging through it for the hand-radio he hoped still worked after years in space. dragging the dull grey plastic box from the satchel, he zipped the kit up and unceremoniously crammed it back into it's hiding place. working quickly, Adam one-handedly attached it to a nylon strap on his upper arm before connecting it to his helmet. Reaching up and keying the radio from his helmet, he heard the familiar burst of static.

<<This is the Starstrike, does anyone copy? Something tripped a major failsafe, and I'm out everything connected to the network.>>

---

Warnings pulsed rapidly from within the Aurora’s cockpit, casting a red-tinged light to Volana’s pale complexion from underneath her helmet’s visor. Various readouts calling for her attention all said the same thing, and she didn’t particularly feel like paying them any sort of mind. Pulling her Orbital back to its feet had been enough confirmation that most of the essential systems were in working order. The limb that had been in the grasp of the alien machine felt sluggish, the tactile feedback giving her motions a bit of resistance, but otherwise the Aurora’s defensive systems had done their job well enough.

She let out a breath, and felt a bead of sweat run down her temple.

The data packet which had been transmitted across her Orbital’s systems didn’t seem to be unique, but everything appeared to be in working order, as well as it could be. She glanced down at the hulking mass of metal which had only moments before been hell-bent on ripping her machine to pieces, with her inside of it, now utterly motionless as if it had never been active at all.

It gave her the creeps.

<<I am… okay. Sustained damage but operational.>> Volana finally spoke through the comms, the sound of her own voice knocking her out of her reverie.

A thought occurred to her.

Looking back up to the Voyager which stood across from her, she gave a noncommittal motion to the alien Orbital which they had been fighting, before turning back towards where all of this had begun.

It didn’t take long for Volana to come up to the lip of the ditch in the ground which she had dug out earlier, and the sleek mechanized form of the half-destroyed Orbital which she had extracted from it. The Cytherean pilot regarded it with a careful eye, before reaching down to lift it up over the Aurora’s shoulder.

With any luck, the ancient machine might have some answers.

<<Understood, Outrider, Pandora copies. Tactical update was not planned. Word upstairs is we triggered some sort of data dump, it altered tactical data downstream.>> The Chief paused on the other end with what sounded suspiciously like a muffled curse. <<No sign of network compromise, otherwise, but Novikova is going over it with a fine toothed comb. Eggheads are gonna have a field day.>>

<<Acknowledge Oscar Mike in five, Castle. You are all urged to expedite. There won’t be enough time for a full brief once you’re on board so I’m starting it now. Relevant data will be transmitted as it is finalized. That update appears to have contained, among other things, an IFF modifier that renders us friendly to whoever used to live here. More than that, whoever they used to be they’ve still got a lot of signals left active. Oberths die slow and sensor data shows that Orbital you dug up sure ran on one.>> True to her word data began to flow, in dribs and drabs, to the pilots below. Sensor data from the Pandora, specifically showing the point sources in orbit above the planet. One particular source, more along the lines of two overlapping points of origin, flashed on their display. <<Novikova says this is where the dump originated. We’re not picking up any readings beyond the transponders, and their radar and lidar returns are so low we’d never have found them if we didn’t know where to look. Not a fan of that, between you lot, me, and the fence post.>>

<<But we’ve got enough of a return to indicate that it looks like we’re dealing with a small space station and a ship that was docked to it. We won’t get a better idea until we’re close enough to use the Mark One Eyeball, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is where you come in.>> The Chief actually laughed, which was a much less comforting sound than it might have been from someone else. <<For your sins, folks, you’re our tech savviest advance scouts. A Hawk will be doing a preliminary flyby on your way back. After your Orbitals are docked for repairs you all get to suit up.>>

<<Hope you all remember how to seal your spacesuits.>>

---

<<Copy, Starstrike.>> Artemie said as the signal came through. <<Update tripped a lot of security measures. I read you, and we’re all fine. We’re supposed to return to hangar ASAP.>>

<<Voyager is undamaged, Castle. Starstrike’s out the network but alive and well. Hallim, sound off if you can. Volana? Can Aurora reconnect your boosters with that shoulder, or do you need a lift?>>

@ghastlyInc @FlappyTheSpybot @Plank Sinatra @Caasicam @eemmtt @The World @ArmorPlated @Hawthorne

---

<<Roger that, Pandora.>>

Holden made mental notes of the status of his squadmates, looking to the Battle Net for more details when necessary. It seemed aside from the Ajax and a few others, the damage that the other orbitals received was negligible, or none at all. Better him than them, he figured-- the Grecian Hero was well-suited to take the heat... and to dish it out when it needed to.

<<You heard 'em, boys and girls.>> The Saturnian spoke into his comms. <<Pack your bags and prep for exfil.>>

The mission ahead was more than a little worrying, but Holden wasn't too shaken. The fact that they would be sweeping through an ancient space station and ship that was supposedly the source of the strange data dump was concerning, but he had experience on the ground and in the cockpit; to him, this was just another day at work.

As he pondered this, his communications suite had patched through someone speaking on their (supposedly) secure channel. A rather familiar voice, in fact.

<<We read you, Starstrike.>> Holden replied. Though it seemed the system was having difficulties letting the Skyhammer join their network, there were other ways to send information.

<<We're heading out soon-- rally on us.>> Castle said simply. <<Watch for the signal flares.>>

On cue, the Akon Long-Range Missile System sputtered to life. Though it was damaged from the energy fire a while back, it still had enough functionality to fire off a few explosives. The autoloader swapped the rockets out for a few airborne flares, before launching it into the atmosphere. Soon, the sky above lit up with orange-red smoke.

After some time had passed, it was time to roll.

"Begin pre-flight checks." Holden said aloud. The onboard computer flared to life.

STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY:

BOOSTER 1: OK
BOOSTER 2: OK
BOOSTER 3: OK
BOOSTER 4: OK

ALL SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL.

<<Launching. We are Oscar Mike.>>

On cue, the four boosters attached as a supplement to the Ajax's Talaria Jump Jets began to roar. Dust and sand near the launch site was blasted away as the Grecian Hero began its ascent towards the cosmos. Were he Bellerophon or Icarus, perhaps he'd be struck down for such hubris, but it was man's destiny to defy the gods eventually. The hull rattled as the Orbital attempted to make it past escape velocity, and even as the enemy's metal carcass threatened to break apart from the stress of it all...

They held on-- man and machine alike.

<<Copy, Starstrike. Update tripped a lot of security measures. I read you, and we’re all fine. We’re supposed to return to hangar ASAP.>>

<<We read you, Starstrike.>>

Adam heaved a sigh in relief, hearing his allies' relatively relaxed tones meant things went as well as they could. He and the Starstrike had been out of their element trying to fight the two huge alien machines, and he was glad the others had got through the conflict without any major damage, even if he hadn't been able to help much. "Guess I'd better start requesting some heavier rounds in the spare magazine I guess." He thought to himself out loud as the Starstrike plodded along, the rocking and shaking demanding effort to resist being jostled about.

<<We're heading out soon-- rally on us. ... Watch for the signal flares.>>

The Starstrike's optics dutifully watched the horizon, marking the flares as they rose above the endless sandy hills to the right. With a quick course-correction, the Starstrike ended up close enough to the Ajax by the time Castle initiated a trans-atmospheric launch that he was able to maintain optical lock during his own takeoff. There was an issue for Adam, however.

As the cockpit shook and rattled, Adam gasped and strained as the hard, barely restrained acceleration of his Orbital dragged him into the back of his seat. His arms burned with effort as he struggled to keep his hands on the controls. I never did like launch training. he thought to himself as he quickly gained elevation. Once they were close enough he'd let up on the throttle, but for now he needed as much slack as he could get, lest he risk being sensor-blind in the vacuum of space.

It was good to the old marine hear that the rest of the squad was fine after there encounter with the alien machine. He spared a quick glance at one of the screens to see how the orbital was the status on processing the data they had received. Zakharin notice that the system was still trying to decoded the information. The cyborg listen to the new orders from the Proxima as he moved the data into a buffer to keep it from clutter the system.

<<Making our way back>>

The old cyborg had his drones return to there housing as he return to were he detach the boosters earlier. Zakharin procced to swiftly reattach the boosters onto the Odysseus. Once the rockets were reattached to the orbital Zakharin shifted the carcass he was carrying to better hold on during the travel to the Proxima. With the preflight check complete the old marine he launch into the heavens.

Stel could do nothing but watch, horrified, as the other pilots and their Orbitals fought for their lives against these two enemies. When she tried to move, she found herself unable, her body unwilling to follow her commands. Yet soon enough, the battle was over. Bedwyr had done the job, finishing one of the monsters with the wrath of God, to Sodom with love. She didn't have enough wherewithal to take stock of everyone's damage.

As she was starting to come out of her stupor, there was a flash of lights as her display lit up.

[UPDATE: Data Transfer f̵r̵o̵m̴ PANDORA completed. Cached tactical data dumped to PANDORA.]

What? But how did... Stel was instantly on high alert. As the explanation of what just happened came through, she once again got a cold feeling in her chest. She was already out of her depth here, and it was starting to show that she might not be the only one.

<<Looks like I stole Nebula's thunder. Just remembered Michael was the one that was supposed to roast an alien. Hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.>>

<<... No complaints from me.>> was all that she was able to choke out. Rather than embarrass or endanger herself longer, she began to fire up the rockets that would send her back to the ship. Soon enough she was back onboard.

---

<<Solid copy, Odysseus. Currently loitering in local airspace until primary egress has finished. I'll be two clicks southwest of everyone until I follow you topside. Maintaining altitude at 1500.>>

The crisp, lightly accented tones returned as the Arthurian knight drifted in a lazy spiral outward from the previously marked AO towards his stated overwatch point, silver armor tinted red from the crimson glow of his beam saber. Beneath his helmet, the pilot's eyes scanned the seemingly featureless sands below, not affording himself the chance to metaphorically lean back behind the controls. Every so often, his gaze slid back again to the torn pile of scrap that he had felled, an unforseen threat that— if the amount of pings he had momentarily seen beneath them were any indication— were liable to repeat, potentially at any time.

Far be it from him to expect a welcoming party an entire star system away, but still, the military experience within the expedition team was paying clear dividends where things stood at present. Such being the case...

<<... No complaints from me.>>

Michael's pilot could only offer a strained acquiescence to his ribbing. That, combined with her performance (truthfully lack thereof) in combat, needed ironing out. A decidedly civilian element in the detachment, Stel... Nebula, it was. had what may well have been an orbital-grade Ferrari at her fingertips, bleeding edge tech from the far-flung facilities on Pluto— but it would amount to nothing if she couldn't leverage it. Her flight hours, from what he remembered, hardly scratched the double digits. Heavy simulation, but no live combat. No maneuvering its weight under duress, learning the response of mass to control.

<<Always next time. Mount up for atmospheric burn.>>

They'd need to hammer that lead pit in her stomach out, before it got her killed. Joint exercises were doubtlessly on the itinerary, and if they weren't they would be, now that the expedition team had seen combat. Castle or Zakharin would likely need to give oversight until she'd gotten used to her Orbital.

Maybe even he'd have to shadow her. Who knew? Good a kid as she seemed, they needed her up to speed and didn't have the time nor stage to wait on it. If that was how the chips fell, he knew how to play taskmaster.

As the skies were painted orange, first by smoke and the by fire, Konstantin watched each chariot rise toward the stars, the returning victors of this first conquest into foreign land, silver plunder in tow.

Once more he looked to the mysterious sands, many more untold battles and discoveries beneath.

And then, as the final blaze screamed into the heavens, the Knight rode back to the Round Table awaiting high above.

There was a digital grunt from Fox in response to HQ's reply. <<Copy that, Pandora.>> The young man paused for a moment, listening to the Chief continue, speaking up again once they'd finished. <<Is it just going to be us on this boarding action or will we be flying escort for a ground team?>> Not waiting for an answer, he refocused on his self-appointed task at hand. A few quick system inputs later, the Outrider's computer system began compiling a full error report. With all of his Raven drones now safely stowed away, the young man gave the battlefield one last look over.

Noting Stel's awkward departure and lack of combat action, Fox frowned slightly. The Michael was clearly an impressive and complicated piece of engineering with a completely green pilot. The latter of which was a problem they'd need to fix, and fast. Someone was going to need to teach the Plutonian how to fight, Fox mused, and that someone should definitely be somebody other than himself.

Wracking his brain, Fox went through what he could remember of his fellow pilot's dossiers. Himself and Kon were both bad ideas for obvious reasons. There was Colonel Brusilov, but the old marine might be a bit too heavy-handed of a solution. Gypsy was too much of a wildcard to be a reliable option... But Volana wasn't. Skilled enough to probably be a good teacher, the Cytherean was about the same age and build Stel. Someone similar enough to make for an easy connection but skilled enough to be taken seriously as a teacher. And perhaps most importantly, Volana was level-headed and confident without being overbearing.

Mentally filing that thought away, Fox's attention settled on Halim's Casket, the mass-produced Orbital pulling more than a few old memories out of the harsh depths of his mind. Noting a slight listing in the Casket's stance, a result of having spent too many years fighting with and against CSC Orbitals, the young man's face hardened in concern when he realized that the former BTF pilot hadn't sounded off yet. Pushing the Outrider into motion, the Exo-Frame skipped across the dune tops as it rapidly closed distance with the Casket. Aggressively forcing himself to remember Halim's BTF number, Fox adjusted his voice down a couple of octaves and hardened his tone. <<BTF-unit AGL-001, Status report. Now.>> Fox snapped off over comms, his synthetic voice hard and flat.