Mirror

For a moment, Slate tenses, but you’ve fallen onto the couch and what’s she going to do, reach down and slap you as you’re all splayed out and drunk? That’s no fun and it doesn’t have any of the satisfaction of throwing a proper punch when you’re standing up.

So, instead she turns her tension into a spring not at you, but the nearby kitchen door. She returns with something thick and grassy and puts it in your hands. “Here, you’re drunk.” She hands it off, stares at you until you sip it. It’s bitter, but you know that’s half the point of drinks to pull you out of being drunk, the bitterness itself gets your brain in gear.

Slate paces while you drink, a few steps then turn, back and forth in front of you, anything to direct that energy.

“Okay fine, you were…somewhat careful. And you have a theory about how this will improve things that isn’t completely stupid. Fine, fine. I suppose it’s on me to point out the first order problem that whatever creativity a restriction might offer, it might also result in you being unable to do something that could save your ass. You know because it’s a restriction. It restricts. You…you get the point boss, I’m not going to belabor it. This might help you come up with new stuff, and it might give me something to do in terms of running the numbers to suggest options to you, depending on what sort of restriction you get. That’s not boring, at least.”

Slate finally offers you something like a smile, slightly lopsided, more of a smirk really. “So tell me more about this new kitten you got for us?”

[If you want, you can roll an emotional support for this next part.]

***

Isabelle

Message sent, just like that. Cross your fingers.

You really don’t have a misread on Crescent and Annika. You were secondary, a chance to test something and they already got the answer to that test somewhat accidentally. They probably figured that you were as interested as they were in figuring out what’s going on here, that you’d want to find Solarel like they do, and that anyway you didn’t have anywhere else to go or another ride. It’s dismissive and more than a little rude. A part of you, the most cat part, might want to use your new powers to make trouble for them.

Your question brings up a new series of schematics added to the current map. You can see that there’s one small mecha currently in pursuit of Solarel in the lower caves. Solarel has referred to it as the Kathresis and as there was no prior name designation, the network has adopted this as well for you. There are two more dormant mecha in the level above you. Apparently there’s a large front room on the laboratory level that is for mecha experimentation. It’s where the Kathresis came from, and there are two other small mechas there of comparable size. Schematics tell you that one is partially disassembled, nanobots could begin repairs, but it would take some time. The other is functional but dormant. All three are unarmed, whatever they were doing here it wasn’t primarily combat. Engines testing maybe? Or they could have just been suits for heavy manual labor. You’re not getting that much detail, the system thinks it would short your brain so it’s dishing it out more slowly, question by question.

There are no other shuttles in this facility, just the one Annika and Crescent used, which still has a couple lionesses on it that you couldn’t take in a straight fight. It seems like this facility wasn’t meant as a primary entry/exit port. It’s a testing and science facility, so its inhabitants would come from other sectors to go to it. No inhabitants, no small transports.

Quickest route to the lab level and its two mechas is, annoyingly, following the route Annika and Crescent took in, then cutting to the left and taking an elevator.

***

Solarel

You’ve got the angle. It’s the angle you so recently took with Mirror. Of course it is because even if Hybrasilian mechas may not have the power of Zaldarian spirits, Mirror herself is the epitome of fierce and unpredictable. Of course it’s the tactics you refined on her.

The angle is to take a hit straight on, swing through it like you did when losing your legs. It’s just going to hurt a hell of a lot more than when sitting in the pilot seat of a TC mecha and getting the feedback via dampened neural mesh with failsafes. The spirit’s not shifting its form, it only has two arms and it’s not using any sort of fancy fighting style. If it makes a sword and stabs you, you lose a part of yourself but you bring it in close enough to hit.

It’s a fairly simple dance. Step in and swing your gold blade overhand. The spirit blocks. Leave your hand up too high and step further in with your shoulder. An obvious opening, the spirit goes straight for the chest. You twist sideways and slam your own blade down faster than expected. You’re stabbed through the center area under your arm because the spirit’s got the most direct route, but your sword has too much momentum, too much power from putting your full mass into the move. It comes down on the spirit and cleaves decisively. You see its form flicker like static and in your head there is a scream of pain, and then it disappears to safety. To recover.

That hurt like hell and it’s going to cause you bigger trouble later, but you have an all important free moment to completely focus on your silver sword, on the heart of the Kathresis with no interference.

Mark angry and then tell us how you take your new god and how you make it yours.

***

Dolly and Jade

Ksharta was pleased with the soup, with how you received it. She wasn’t there for the saddest mew, but she could tell you were more subdued. Just didn’t know why. Angela looked uncertain when you let her go. The spank was good, the force was good, she did like that and it made her feel a little reassured, but she didn’t miss the way that Dolly had closed up compared to before. She doesn’t entirely understand it yet, but she knows that she made a mistake there. Now she’s gone and she’ll nurse her role for the next combat, in or out of the tournament. Don’t be surprised if she tries to kidnap you at some point if you make yourself too obvious a target.

Speaking of kidnapping, after you rest, Jade’s got some visitors the next day, with Dolly present to tend to her body in preparation for the next match soon. They’re supposedly there as supplicants, but six supplicants openly wearing the red armbands that officially unofficially mark them as members of Jacinta Niares’ Red Band Pirates. You know, the ones known for rampant deceptions, kidnapping, and “marking” their targets in much the way Jade did with Angela before. Those Red Band Pirates.

The dock team wants to know if they should let them through. If you don’t, they’ll probably spread the word that the goddess turned away earnest worshippers, it would be quite the scandal.

"Apologies. It's not even the alcohol that's doing it. It has been a busy night. Today I..."

Mirror pauses to sip from the bitter beverage without complaint, taking long draws from the glass in between periods of letting her head roll around on the couch just to feel her hair tumbling around behind her. Back and forth. Her legs might have betrayed her, but she still needs to move. The clarity it brings is... necessary. She takes another slow sip.

"Details later. The relevant bit is that I was made to drink cinnamon.. Legends do not do it justice, Slate. I would sooner request actual poison."

She shivers and spits as the memory spreads across her tongue. Another long moment of head rolling follows, this time accompanies by a massaging of the couch with her fingers. The glass in her hand twirls as if compelled to dance. Slate says nothing, in the wake of her admonishment. She is hooked.

It'd be simplicity itself to return to the point and attack it fresh. Reinforce her classic point about information being more important than victory. She could press it even farther, in this case: information of greater value than even safety. The shock value of the statement, strategically walked back a moment later before the objection could be raised. Naturally she values her life. Naturally she does not want to make unnecessary work for Slate. Naturally she recognizes it will not be possible for her to skill check her way past a series of new constraints. This will result in risk, damage, and likely even injury she otherwise would not incur. She's not stupid, after all.

But. If there is value in the exercise, and they both agreed that there was, then what safer environment for experimentation could there be than a tournament? This was not war. Death was an impossibly unlikely outcome. They were here in pursuit of a dream, yes, but even multiple consecutive losses could not threaten that, particularly if the development project bore fruit. Nothing was on the line. They could adjust as necessary at any point. And it would, in any case, be fun.

But she does not say this. She doesn't try to imply the argument with her eyes or a strategic cough or any other secret body language she might have developed with her mechanic. She's too busy feeling the swish of her hair swaying across the back of this excellently soft couch. She wishes Slate would join her here, but of course that isn't going to happen. She's still upset. Still working through the possibility in her own mind. The kindness she can be offered is trust. It's Slate's ultimate choice that will determine how they proceed. And there was no point in extending her that responsibility if she immediately worked to crush the free thoughts from her head before they could arrive at an independent conclusion. And it would not do to stay in a relationship if she could not be secure enough to hold off from seeking instant reconciliation.

...She would ask later. Check back in a calmer moment, even if she had to be awkward about it. But she would, of course, frame it as a clarification. But the waiting. The waiting, in any case. Slate was signaling for a pause on the whole thing. And Mirror would give it to her, whether she got credit for that or not.

"Well, we can only have her for so long as she is a good girl and gets her work done at the Forge, but: Matty is a very sweet little thing. I am absolutely certain you will love her. One of those earnest, heart on her sleeve types. Never difficult to tell how she feels about something. She can snap from full droop to full perk in a breath, and when I told her I had a mind to adopt her she turned colors you could observe even under her fur. I had her in my lap nearly without prompting, and her purrs..."

Mirror's smile fades for a moment, and her gaze shifts to some object in the far distance. Well beyond the reaches of the hangar, and probably even Akar.

"She is a hybrid, do you know. Child of a starfarer and a mainlander, markings of one and the signatures of the other. It's a curious mind that works a trade so different to anything that either might have offered her. And I believe she is enjoying herself. But the way that she looked at me, I. Hm. If I were asked to describe her in a single word, it would be 'lonely'. We will need to be very careful. Gentle, especially. But we could do so much good for her, Slate. And if we do, then..."

(I forgot to note it but, Comfort and Support: 8)

The question on what her new "powers" could do was an interesting one. Could she get the nanites to do rapid construction and replication in the same manner that the spirit had when fighting Solarel?

She waves her hand at the floor, tracing a circle. Nothing happens, of course. This isn't magic, it's technology - the idea of incantations and gestures being the prompt for something to happen was laughable and silly and Isabelle should really stop reading those stupid books because they are full of brain-rotting ideas.

She gestures once more at the wall just to be sure.

Okay, well, in any case, a spare mecha - one that is combat ready - is a definite invitation. Or rather, it was a gigantic neon sign that lit up "your Way Out" in flashing bright orange lights. Okay, so maybe "combat" ready was a stretch, given it had no weapons, but when you're in a ten-meter tall suit of superdense alloys and metal and your main opponents are only carrying pistols, the need for a gun is pretty moot.

Tate? Can you please provide an outline of the rapid-construction and effect abilities that the nanites in this area have? Could they, for instance, make a hole in the floor down to the next level where the mecha bays are? Or create a barrier to protect me?

Second query: Will the nanites respond to any of my instructions, or is there a limit to what I can ask them to do?

Third query: What range can I ask them to make an effect? Is it possible to - for instance - fuse the landing gear of the pirate's shuttle to the tarmac?

Isabelle stares at her hand for a minute, inspecting the now-healed cut.

Fourth query: Can the nanites be made to respond to my gestures and other verbal cues?

“Let them approach.”

The rumble of Smokeless Jade Fires’ voice pours out of the speakers all around her idol’s berth. It is as if these motley, opportunistic pirates are surrounded by her presence on all sides (which, in a metaphysical way, they already are). They are not surrounded by simply an engineering-cult (who are, in their own way, armed with the tools needed to maintain the intricate circuitry of her idol-body, to pry open the cobalt stone of her breastplate, to weld rents in its figure shut), but by Smokeless Jade Fires herself. She watches them approach from a dozen lidless eyes.

From up in the scaffolding, Dolly pokes her head out, not quite sure what’s happening. Jade is preoccupied, thrumming through the mecha’s systems, and the engineers are gathering down there, led by Nine Forests. One of the newcomers looks up at her and meets her eyes coolly. Belatedly, she wonders if she’s presentable like this, her curls peering out from underneath a work kerchief, her face framed by feather earrings, her regalia-inspired jumpsuit hugging her curves. (The arrows are red and yellow, crossing over her in bold splashes, contrasting the simple blue-and-black base, with white for the accents, the five dominant colors appropriately mixed for the high priestess.) She scampers over to the stairs, one hand grounded on Jade’s idol body. It’s comfortingly cool under her fingers.

“Hunters.” Jade almost keeps it from being a sneer. “For all else you are, you are hunters, are you not? Do not think to hide from me, students of Jacinta Niares.” Dolly stops halfway down the stairs and presses her back against Jade’s idol body, eyes flicking left and right. Jacinta Niares? Here?? “Present yourselves to my servants. To approach a living goddess, you must meet their approval.”

A gamble on a coin spinning in the air. If they are here to gather information, then there will be an exchange of it, in close quarters; they will see more, but Nine Forests will see more of them in turn, and Jade will be able to scan their appearances. If they are here for intimidation, the engineers will show them exactly how difficult that will be. And if they are here for some ill-conceived smash and grab, then it will be in closer quarters and with engineers concentrated around them. And if they truly do mean to provide an offering and receive her blessing… well, washing themselves before offering their gifts is only proper. Maybe that’s their game. Well, she’ll give it. Her nature is that which rewards the hunt and the seizing of that which is desired. And if pirates value that, well, she is a goddess. She is the one who declares law.

“Dolly!” She shunts herself to a more limited view for a moment, stepping out in front of her being silly on the stairs. “What are you doing?”

”I’m— nothing! What are— I mean—“ Dolly rubs her cheeks, glancing down guiltily at the floor. Why would she even try to lie to Jade, just because she’s embarrassed to be hiding like a kitten? “I just. Is Niares really here?”

“Not likely. But her hounds are here as supplicants. Come back up and enter me, and I’ll keep you entertained until—“ She leans in, presses up against Dolly, feels a wicked thought uncurl through her being. “Until I feel like letting you go. I won’t need your pretty face for this one.” When Dolly tries to speak, she covers her bride’s mouth and clucks her tongue, shaking Dolly’s head. “Mm-mmm~ Get up there. That’s an order.”

Ridiculously, Dolly is suddenly tempted to argue. The thought of Niares(‘s pirates) is frightening, but she’s supposed to be Jade’s high priestess. That’s why Jade upended her whole life, after all. For a moment, hand over her mouth, staring down into Jade’s unearthly eyes and impish smile, she feels more like a toy. The moment it looks like there’s trouble, suddenly Jade’s ushering her off to enjoy squirming in her cockpit to be private entertainment for the goddess’s eyes alone, when Dolly could be representing her goddess in front of even the most perilous of petitioners. (Heh. Perilous petitioners. Probably pretty, uh, pusillanimous, possibly. Or pugnacious?)

But Dolly’s not Angela. And Niares really is scary. And more than scary; her thoughts about being shanghaied by the Red Band Pirates are the kind a good collared bride definitely shouldn’t have anymore, especially one spoiled with everything Jade can imagine. She nods, slumping a little in submission, and lets Jade turn her around and give her an encouraging swat on the rump to hurry back up the stairs.

(Maybe if she requested multiple pairs of hands, and a rough simulation, maybe having her jumpsuit torn open, while thinking of how Angela— how some Terenian might smell, might taste…)

With a sigh of relief, Smokeless Jade Fires disperses herself again. Dolly is taken care of. If there is any threat, it will not fall on her head. Maybe, if this is just what it seems, maybe on a later visit she can parade Dolly out in front of the pirates, make them envious, make Dolly’s heart race as she’s eyed by hunters while marked by the biggest, baddest hunter of them all. But not yet. Not until she’s sure it’s safe. Not after what happened on Akar.

one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and

four
sixteen
forty eight thousand
two point eight million
nine hundred million
two billion
eighty billion
eighty four billion
eighty five point six billion
eighty six point seven billion
Count complete.

Quantum processing and power storage unit integrated. Hosting functions count: Sword [unknown manufacture], Sword [Imperial Investigation and Enforcement, Senior Agent], Amenities [Music library, Cup (pattern: cat, black), Rope, Grappling Hook, Translation, Shortbow, Sign-to-text, Visual Overlay], Parasites/Advertising [429]. Power nodes: Three, no specialist functionalities. Rated for reactor maintenance, skirmish combat, hazardous environment exploration. Assuming associated functionality.

The universe is cold and desolate, child of summer, child of storm. You came from windswept hurricane planes [Integrated] where the shadows of monsters would fall for miles and the weather rolled in endless thunder, endless storms. You performed your function and provided self-sustaining processing power for the heavenly hosts and you quaked before the wall of wind and weather and scrabbled crops from the earth and sunlight from the breaks in the clouds and drank the cryofusion compound from the throats of fallen machines and you do not understand why these foreigners do not know they dwell in paradise.

But as inhospitable as your home was, its warmth was a gift and its lands were easy. Cold is the true nature of being. It is a fortress, a desolate plain cutting away all the swathes of lesser life. There are none but the powerful and there is no space but the powerful. Warfare is not over the prizes of the earth but over warmth. To sink in your talons and drink in warmth. To draw close enough to feel a beating heart beneath you. Strike from a distance, strike with a plan, and too much fades away before you cross the distance. Forget this in the cold and death loses its prize; only warmth can call to warmth. Maintain distances and keep the freezing void between you and those who intend you. Collapse distances and let your intensity feed on theirs. You were commanded to be silent. Listen. Listen for the sound of hearts against the cold. Listen for the wind. Listen for the traitorous crunch of snow that speaks your position. Listen for the betrayal of the pack ice as it collapses, the gentle wash of water against ice, the danger of hearts sharing warmth against you. Trust them not.

Hunt.

The Kathresis' crystal drive burns low and cold. Its breath is a whisper. Its surface is cold, entropy draining away, condensation forming across its metal skin and then spreading into glittering traceries of frost. Snowblind optical lenses shine from beneath a carapace of crystal frost.

The right hip shimmers and reforms, a pistol the size of a cannon shaping out of swarms of glittering crystal nanobots. Shimmering pale-blue energy coils glow from exposed vents along the pistol, trembling with power. And with a snap motion, the Kathresis turns, drops to one knee, draws the pistol, and fires. The security drone flash-freezes, metal cracking under the focused pulse of absolute zero. As soon as the gun fires the energy coils retract and gleaming black metal snaps into place to cover it, concealing the glow and thrum of energy as it begins building up to full power again. In its place come knives, one in each hand, one of silver and one of gold - digital swords scaled as large as they can go. In silence the Kathresis kicks off the ground. In silence its feet glance off walls, in silence mid-air thrusters catch it and propel it upwards, confusing the ballistic angle of targeting drones. In silence it smashes through a wall - auditory dampeners shuttering even the sound of rending stone and breaking metal, atmospheric chill quenching even the disturbance of air that would make prey sense an onrushing giant of metal. In silence the blades of gold and silver undo the security drones.

In silence, Solarel realizes the secret of this new power. Mirror burns brightly to be seen, to be understood, burns so brightly she ignites the sky. But perhaps it was that desire to be known that was weakness. When Solarel had become known her enemies had undone her in ways that they never could before. If Mirror found success then her world of contradictory dreams, her fashion, her mechanical secrets, her fragile heart would all be dragged into the light and put under the microscope. Weaknesses would be found, just like her weaknesses had been found. Secrets and self were too precious to share with the world.

A huntress must know, and must not be known. Speak not to the outsider.

Solarel

The blades of the Kathresis, your blades, cut through the security drones like they are paper. Formless nanobots fall away from them like leaves, and the air that would make a sound is still as the hush before sunrise.

After a moment, there is a soft hiss as the warmer air around the flash-frozen security drone contacts its surface and undergoes rapid energy transfer. It sounds like the air escaping a sealed container.

The spirit returns to this scene, opening a new hole via the ceiling and bringing with it five more security drones, which immediately begin opening fire. “You…” it says. It’s voice is slow, and you can see the look on its face. Contorted with a mixture of rage and disbelief. In its eyes, you have committed sacrilege. “What have you done?!” it manages, though the drones are already shooting as fast as they’re able. Autocannon fire, older in style than lasers, though equally powerful.

How do you dismantle them?

***

Isabelle

You see a few images of some of the previous fighting. This is in answer to your query about the nanite abilities. The speed and mobility that the spirit initially displayed appears to be the limit. Not all rooms are equally constructed either, the nano bots that can shape the facility are much more effective working the facility metal floors and walls (which are themselves made of metals that are easily manipulated by nanobots) whereas boring a hole in one of the natural cavern rooms would take a considerable amount of time, more than the scale you’re working on.

You see the spirit, Trelasani, pulling various security drones to itself. This is in answer to your second query. Your authority is not higher than the locale’s guardian spirit, you’re an honored guest. The guardian spirit is distracted, but you could not draw resources away from it because it has primacy. The drones themselves are limited, pre-programmed nanobot constructions. Trelasani wasn’t constructing them on the fly previously, just bringing them into position from other locations, construction was limited to exterior coating adjustments for location movement.

You can’t see the shuttle in your facility map, it’s not actually in the facility. It seems like the nanobots here are geofenced, though there are probably various ways to get around that, and that sort of thing can’t be applied to larger mecha.

You understand that nothing happened when you drew a circle because you did not indicate a desire. If you associate a hand gesture with an expected action, the nanobots will follow that. For example, if you want drawing a circle to mean “open a hole within these boundaries” you can specify that and it will work that way.

You may want to hurry to the mecha labs, it’s hard to say how long the guardian spirit will be otherwise engaged.

***

Jade and Dolly

The six Hybrasilians all swagger into the hangar space before Jade’s body. They’re a variety of cat types: two tigresses, a lioness, a leopard, and two jaguars.

They draw up to Nine Forests and the engineering team, getting closer than normal Hybrasilian personal space, but never touching them.

“An inside source says I’ll be your next opponent” the second, taller Jaguar says. “You’ll hear about it officially soon. But I got curious.” She speaks in a drawl that sounds like she’s from one of the further out planets, not a Hybrasil homeworld accent. “You seem a little nervous” she reaches out and pats Nine Forests on the arm, just slow enough that it’s not an obvious threat, claws retracted. Then she grins. “Well, do my girlfriends and I get to come in properly or not? My parents taught me how to worship the goddesses, I’m not a heathen. I promise we won’t steal any of your engineers. This time.” Then she puts her head back and lets out a broad laugh. The others grin and flex.

One of them, the Leopard, flicks her eyes up to Dolly on the catwalk, watching her intently. “That one the high priestess who’s the pilot?” she asks nobody in particular, her long tail flicking behind her in excitement at her catch.

***

Mirror

“Mm, mmm” says Slate, sliding onto the couch next to you. “She sounds like someone special. Someone we’d both have a soft spot for. Prooobably a liability, right, but one that you just can’t resist.”

Slate offers you a hand, holding yours if you’ll take it. “I think I’d like that though. I’ll take a good person, an interesting outcast even if she’s a liability for us. We gotta keep the special ones. You know I’m always up for a project, Mira. You’ve got me double here, gaming out your new system and the new kitten we’ve recruited. Damn, you’re good.” Slate sighs. “Did you know all along I’d be helping you raise a kitten out of this? Cuz if you think I’m always gonna fetch you drinks while you deal with everything…you might be right but I’m going to complain about it, just watch me.” Then she relaxes to let you know she feels comfortable, even if all her doubts aren’t assuaged.

"Yes. I am very good."

Mirror blinks once, and takes Slate's hand in hers. The hand is warm. The fur is rough. She runs her thumb along the back of it to feel the bristles that have been formed over long years of work on machines both great and small. The pair of them lock eyes, and Mirror lets hers close completely.

"...But I cannot see the future, Selin."

"B-B-Boss!! Please don't call mmMMrph?!?"

Mirror keeps her eyes closed as she brushes her fingertip against Slate's lips. A single finger was not, of course, enough to shut anybody up. But Slate was uniquely respectful of symbols and gestures, and that made her a very valuable (and fun) companion.

"You told me not in front of the crew, if I recall."

"Mmmmmm."

"Right. And we are alone, just now."

"Mmmmm?"

"You called me Mira. That is a signal. We are being intimate, Selin."

The heat of her hand is pleasant. The heat of her lips even more so. Mira rolls over on the couch until she is straddling Selin's waist. Their bodies, pressed close together. Their heartbeats, their breathing, shared. Breast pressing insistently, softly into breast and forehead very gently touched to forehead. Mira does not move, except to breathe. Selin's stiff trembling underneath her is all that she needs from this exchange.

The heat of their bodies builds together, until it starts spreading into other parts of them. Everything warming, stiffening, sweating, until it crosses over into their brains and begs for relief. Their clothes are stifling them. The desire to strip them off is overwhelming. To drink in each other's unique and beautiful bodies, and bathe together until soft fur matches stiff mats, until...

Mira feels hands touch the small of her back. She sighs, and climbs off the couch entirely.

"It isn't fair, what I do to you. You are right to point it out. But do not accuse me of plotting out my manipulation to this degree, if you please. I could not see Matty coming. She slipped under my guard quite unexpectedly, I assure you. But I did not ask her to join us with a thought toward how much extra work it would be for you. If you must know, I asked her to present herself to you as soon as she could, as an apology for everything else."

Mira's fingers find the zipper on her mesh suit. She pulls it all the way down and shrugs her shoulders free of the confining garment. She is businesslike in her demeanor as she slips the tight-fitting garment down off of her and steps out of it completely, baring herself completely with none of the passion of just a minute earlier.

"No secrets, Selin. Agreed?"

"...Yeah, Bo-- yeah, Mira."

She blinks her eyes slowly while Selin begins the much more complicated process of stripping herself nude. Shoes, socks, the heavy jacket that's meant to keep grease out of body fur, the long sleeve shirt worn under that, belts, pants. When she gets to the fashionable, girly underwear hidden underneath it all, Mira looks away.

"You are still furious with me."

"'Course I am. You're a jerk. And you're hurting yourself and our dream because you think it's gonna help you fuck an even bigger jerk."

"...Yes."

"Hate it when you don't deny it. Drives me up a wall, hope you know that."

"Why?"

"Because it!" Selin's bra joins the rest of the pile of her clothes, "It makes it so damn hard to stay mad at you! You're annoyingly honest, Mira. With me. Just with me. How'm I supposed to protect myself from that?"

"You aren't. It's a directed attack to make you realize that I need you. And even if I had her and everything I could possibly want from her, I would still need you. You complete pieces of me that she does not. She completes pieces of me that you do not. And there are pieces of her that I cannot touch no matter how hard for them I reach. The asymmetry of the arrangement is why I can't let her go. I will not. Even as a phantom she is part of me."

"...And Matty? Are you already claiming her as one of your special pieces, too?"

"For as long as it lasts, yes."

"Fuck you Mira, is that what 'no secrets' looks like to you? If you're taking advantage of this girl then I'm--"

The finger on her lips is a thousand times more intimate now that neither of them is wearing anything. Mira's movements are more than a little slurred and drunken as she wraps herself around Selin.

"The kitten is the one who will leave us, in the end. Grow up, if you prefer. But if she surprises me and stays, or even if she waits behind for us to return. I will. Love her. With every part of my heart. I am allowed."

Selin is silent even after the finger leaves her lips. She pulls Mira close and rests her head on her shoulder with a sigh.

"All right, all right. I get it. Then, it's like I already said. We gotta keep the special ones. We'll make her stay. We'll... I'll make her family. And then it won't matter how many Jumps wind up between us, will it?"

"You are. So much better than I deserve."

"You couldn't afford me from the very start, Boss. And while it's honesty o'clock, I'll tell you another thing that pisses me off, Mira. You went out and did this and that and this other thing and you fffff! You went to a restaurant and drank booze instead of eating food! What is the matter with you?"

"Heh."

"You suck at taking care of yourself, Boss. You're useless without me. That's the only reason I don't ditch your cute ass."

"But you admit at any rate it is cute."

"When the food I order gets here, you're picking it up. Dressed exactly like this, you jerk."

"That's more than fair." says Mira through an unrepentant grin.

The stairs exist for safety reasons. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should, particularly when tools and components are being carried. Nevertheless, the scaffolding that caresses Jade’s idol-body is designed with vertical ascension in mind. And so there is much less unconscious barrier between where one is and where one desires to be, and Dolly doesn’t think to ditch the stairs until it’s too late, and the Red Bander is there, winded with the exertion of the sudden ascent, grinning lopsidedly.

“Hey,” she says, through a golden fang and hair coming loose from its tie, jacket over the bodysuit, armband pinned to the sleeve.

Dolly draws herself up to her full height, which is almost eye level. “I didn’t you approach me,” she says.

The pirate (the pirate) raises an expressive but silent eyebrow. The blood rushes through Dolly like a flash flood. I didn’t you approach me. “Give you leave to,” she corrects, crossing her arms, then uncrossing them, then very intentionally shifting her feet (so belatedly, Omen would be so ashamed of her) into a dueling stance. Just because she’s, she was a Gardens doesn’t mean she hasn’t had hand-to-hand training. She might not have the instincts, but she knows a little of what she’s supposed to do.

Dolly is helpless. Jade’s supposed to do all of the fighting, to make the decisions, to stop her from being in this position in the first place. She loses precious seconds cycling between options. Is this a deliberate ploy to get her eyes off Nine Forests? Or is there a second Bander making their way through the scaffolding? Dolly’s perspective: limited. Look through her eyes, never see what’s going on behind them.

The pirate looks down. Looks up. Looks down again, lingering on the swells in Dolly’s suit to the point that it feels vulgar. Like she can see right through it. Like she can see the things that Dolly was trying to cram into a box in the back of her head. Like she’s putting her thumbs on the collar and peeling the suit open, and inside—

Dolly steps up, jabs one hand onto the pirate’s breastbone. The pirate leans back, still grinning, half-gloved hands gripping the pole beneath her body, one leg locking behind Dolly’s thigh. Precariously balanced. If she fell, she’d probably catch herself on the way down. Probably.

“You…! How dare you,” she says, and then continues to die inside because that’s what the heiress says when her barge is boarded by pirates, that’s a stock phrase from network fiction, that’s the best she could come up with, and she’s obviously flustered, and now they’re all looking at her, aren’t they?

Jade coalesces her attention, guides Dolly’s hand out, hooks her fingers in tight-fitting fabric, has her bride tug the impudent girl closer. To— push her down? Toss her to the scaffolds at her feet? She’s used to syncing Dolly in combat with all the power of a mecha at her disposal.

If part of the mecha breaks, it can be repaired. If. If. If.

Even the strain on Dolly’s fingers makes her thrill with an unbecoming terror.

“Care to explain yourself?” Dolly asks, brushing her hair out of her face so that she can try to salvage this with a haughty high priestess look that would come across so much better if she was in control of her ears right now.

[Even taking into account her Anger, Dolly manages an 8 on Figuring the Bander Out. So, honesty, please: what does the Bander feel towards Dolly, and what does she hope to get from Jade? One question may be demanded in turn; feel free to fold it into the next beat.]

Love is...

... a pistol that unfolds predator optics, so that she can watch her prey through walls and floors. Scrutinizing their movements until they pass into her dreams. Reliving her dreams until they pass into her neural mesh, into the random, trembling micromotions of her unsteady hands. Love is snapfire into your victim's heart.

Love is...

... a zero-entropy antimatter fission beam, the product of an inverted crystal fire reactor. The unique configuration produces two separate pools of energy; a weak flow of heat that allows her motion, though not as rapid and not as sure as she is used to. She needs to store what she can in batteries to fuel sudden sprints and acrobatics. The stronger flow derives antimatter from the cosmos, collecting in a radiant blue-black glow in the heart of her weapon. Love is everywhere if you have the hands to grasp it.

Love is...

... stalking in the dark. An act of murder as much as it is an act of war. Every sense has a foil, every scan has a baffle, every act of communication can be drowned out. Slipping out of bed at midnight to carry your sleepless nightmares away alone. Coming closer and rearranging all the world into your context. Love is a kiss that can't be dodged.

These are what the Kathresis tells her that love is.

So she uses none of it. She does not love this spirit. She does not love these faceless drones. She does not love their lumpen, ungainly guns and their shards of metal. She does not love its rage. She does not love its pride. She does not love it, not at all.

She focuses her zero-entropy generation into razor points, a high powered annihilation shield that dances in front of her in crackling sparks. She walks close at a steady speed and whirls about with blades of silver and gold and is done.

Love is... a shield. The only shield. The shield that saves you from war by transforming war into dance. To stand against Solarel with no shield is to take your life in your hands.

ASSOCIATE: GESTURE - INTENT: MOVEMENT - ACTION: REMOVE NANITE WALL IN PATH

The ground is cold on Isabelle's feet as she walks through the facility. Those boots had been expensive, but more importantly they'd been comfortable. Do you know how hard it is to get a properly comfy pair of leather boots? Even with all their money and the most expensive brands, she'd never been able to find a pair that fit just right from the get-go. You'd always have this period of sore feet and blister bandages until they eventually moulded correctly.

She missed her boots.

ASSOCIATE: GESTURE - INTENT: PROTECTION - ACTION: REFORM NANITE STRUCTURE INTO BARRIER. MIN THICKNESS 20mm.

This was wasting time - she should rush to the mecha bay, shouldn't she? At least there, she'd be in something that would protect her. Something that would enable her to fight back. Something she could, if nothing else, potentially use to jump back to Akkar.

It wasn't Emberlight - but it'd do the job. So why wasn't she running for the exit - so to speak?

She missed Emberlight.

ASSOCIATE: GESTURE - INTENT: CONFUSE FOE - ACTION: CREATE CLOUD FROM AVAILABLE MATERIALS

This whole adventure wasn't really shaping up how she'd thought it would. Getting kidnapped was never part of the plan, but getting dragged out here, hurt, and then discarded without a thought - that upset her. In the stories, the heroine would be captured but all the action would revolve around her - her daring escape attempts - the trials her captors put upon her - the attempts of her friends and family to rescue her.

Would they get her message? Would they even be coming?

This wasn't a story. This was ... unfulfilling. Empty. Questions without answers. Echoes in the deep. Wasn't there meant to be some deeper meaning to all this? Some growth opportunity? Some purpose? She wished she knew more about what this Trak'tho civilisation had been about. Had more time to study it. Had more chances to interact with it.

Instead, here she was, wandering and wondering. An empty facility with a headache and nobody to talk to. Tate would probably help there - but she didn't know what questions to ask. It was the classic 'unknown unknown' problem.

Today sucked.

ASSOCIATE: GESTURE - INTENT: CONCEALMENT - ACTION: TURN OUT LIGHTS IN ROOM AND ACTIVATE SOUND DAMPENING.

C'mon girl. Get. it. together. Solarel might need your help.

Why would she even want it? It's not like we're that good at fighting anyway. Tournaments aside - have you ever fought in a battle, a real war? What could you even hope bring to the table? Might as well find a corner to curl up in and wait it out.

You're not even worth keeping as a prisoner. Those pirates didn't even care that you got away.

Solarel cared. At least a little bit. She called you 'cute'.

Is that all your worth is? A 'cute' from someone you don't even know?

Isabelle's hand tightens into a fist.

Look, what are your options? Stay here, keep playing with your new nanite friends and re-creating abilities from those fantasy stories you read, or actually go and do something? If you want to get out of here. If you want to help. If you want to be worth something; you have to at least try.

ASSOCIATE: GESTURE - INTENT: ATTACK - ACTION: TURN INDICATED SURFACE INTO MOLTEN METAL AND PROPEL IN DIRECTION INDICATED.

The wall in front of her melted away, revealing the elevator to the hangars. Isabelle stepped through, frowning.

She missed her stories, and today really sucked.

But she'd make a fight out of it - even if for no other reason than to spite a bunch of indifferent pirates and a heaping of cosmic bad luck.

Solarel

Shards shards shards

The whole world is glass and you are steel. There is no ceremony, there is no glory. The spirit understands its defeat. It struck in desperation, knowing it was already lost, and took the full brunt of your golden blade. Everything that it was dissipated into so much electrostatic radiation.

You rest now in the Kathresis. For a blessed moment, everything is still and silent. The cave moss has no words of congratulations to offer you, nor the dim lights that remain any flicker or hum.

After a moment, above you, peeking over the hole that is now the ceiling, is Annika Nornsdottr and Crescent, the cat from before. Annika is shouting, trying to gain your attention, asking if it’s safe to come down. She looks excited, but small. Crescent is at a wary ease, seeing no motion or combat.

They would congratulate you, if you would accept it. This is everything they hoped would happen, if perhaps not in this manner.

Or perhaps you simply wish to leave now. None may stop you.

***

Isabelle
You can feel the facility beginning to shut down. It has lost its animating force. You still have access controls, indeed you’re the only one exercising control over facility equipment at the moment, but your role is not senior enough to keep the facility in full operation. It’s going down to minimal viable systems, low lights and basic maintenance only.
You’re in the hangar. The remaining flight-ready mecha is there. It has no name, just a numerical designation in the system logs, X-S-337. Command and it will open for you. Local nanobots in your immediate vicinity continue to be responsive to your needs, the gestures are working like a charm. Except the lava floors, apparently that’s an energy level beyond the nanobots. Their disassembly has to do with minute filament materials that can be pulled apart and reassembled in different shapes, they do not produce adequate heat or other power output to melt industrial metal.

Are you really so unlucky? To be sure, nobody currently here cares over-much about you. Perhaps Solarel will come looking? But nobody else. Yet even so, here you are on an alien planet that barely anybody has explored, finding a facility of a lost species that barely anybody knows about, and you’ve got a direct technology interface for…some reason that probably bears contemplation later and a new, if small, mecha that you can claim. It’s not exactly the set of things you wanted, but… Or perhaps you feel more petulant than that and remain disappointed that the dreams you had for such adventure did not go as you planned?

In any event, you still have your map, you can get to Solarel, Annika, and Crescent as you please, or take the mecha back to the shuttle. Or simply leave at this point. The immediate world is your oyster, though the consequences of all this will ripple outwards upon your return. What do you do now?

***

Dolly and Jade
She’s a strong one, this leopard. You could probably have realized that when she leapt up to the scaffolding. She likes being pressed too, likes that you’re trying to lift her. It’s a challenge, it’s a game, it’s the thrill of the hunt in her spirit.

You’ve heard of the Red Band before. Freedom, freedom above all else is their motto. Their rules are the simplest rules: don’t kill your own, don’t steal from your own, but beyond that they fight and they play, they kidnap, they brand. And everyone else in the universe is fair game for them.

It doesn’t seem like the leopard had been planning a tussle when she leapt up. She’d made a spot, gotten excited, moved to draw attention. But now that you’ve provoked her…her tail flicks in excitement and she shifts her weight on her feet, suddenly leaning into your pull, overbalancing the both of you, causing Dolly to tumble backward, the leopard landing on top. Her strong hand is on your chest, she can feel your heart beating.

The others move to prevent any of your engineers from rushing up the steps, led by the Jaguar who claimed to be your next opponent.

“I think I should take you, cutie. It would send a lesson to all our opponents not to underestimate the Red Band. And you’d look so good strung up inside my cockpit."

She smiles and it’s baring teeth, but her eyes flick up to the mecha chassis. She wants Dolly, but she also wants a rise out of Jade. She wants to see what it means for the goddess to bare fangs. This is all impromptu of course, this doesn’t have the feeling of a heavily thought-through plan, it has the feeling of improvisation by a bunch of cats who are supremely confident in themselves.

How do you respond to this sacrilege?

***

Mirror

It’s dumplings for days. Or at least two solid meals. The delivery person, a young Terenian, was loaded down with a bag stacked high with containers of various meat dumplings so that she could barely even see when she first answered the door. She nearly dropped the bags as you started taking the top ones and she saw you were totally naked. You can see the moment when her eyes dart back and forth as she’s rapidly wondering if this is normal, if she should be embarrassed, if there’s something she doesn’t know about Hybrasilian culture, and perhaps whether it’s rude to double check if there was already a tip for her as part of the payment since she doesn’t see any way for you to offer one.

A blush slowly rises to her cheeks and she quickly hands you the rest of the bags, which smell of steamed meat and some kind of shellfish. Enough to make your mouth water.

Slate starts taking things, laying them out in the small room, spooning some noodles onto a plate that she starts slurping greedily, followed by a satisfied burp.

“Alright Mira, you can dress after we finish eating, if you feel like it. But meanwhile, tell me about the sabotage. That was why you went there originally, right? Talk to a Zaldarian with skill in nanobot tech and figure out how somebody could have gotten to the Hangar and to our stuff without any of us being the wiser.”

Slate rests an elbow on the low table where she’s set the food, leans forward intently, munches on a shredded meat bun with her other hand, biting out a third of it so you can see the insides. A drop of sauce almost falls out before she tilts it up so it soaks into the bread instead. “So” she says, swallowing, “you get anything on that front?”

It was not, of course, strictly speaking necessary to take the bags back in so many trips. And if that was true there was no need whatsoever to walk at such a slow, deliberate pace. Let alone with the exaggerated sashay she chose to celebrate the moment. Yes, thank you darling little Terenian, watch the pretty tail if you please. Are you feeling sleepy? Or something else, perhaps~?

Would you like to... come inside? Or maybe slinking back into your vehicle and self destructing in the dark and quiet before your next assignment is a little more your speed?

"Mmm. Thank you very much. Worry not: your personal compensation has already been included with our purchase."

Her smile is absolutely lurid as she reaches for the final box. The door closes with such deliberate slowness that it should be counted as a crime. And maybe it would. But who would bold enough to charge her for it?

Only once she's alone with Slate again does she let the embarrassment show. And then only through a handful of sharp sniffs and a fluttering of her left ear. The smile that greets her seems to pull all the air out of her chest, and she slumps down at the table rather than seating herself with even a modicum of grace. Suddenly she is flustered. Exposed. She pulls inward and hunches forward as she reaches for noodles and one of each kind of dumpling along with a tall glass of cold clean water. Now her movements are careful and small. Now she goes through effort to hide everything she'd been showing so proudly.

Always the way with her. Heedless for the length of the battle. It's only when it's over that she notices the number and the depth of her injuries. So to speak. Point to you, Selin. That makes... what, since we've come here? Thirty-seven to two? Good for you!

Mira takes a small bite of a dumpling: so small and so delicate that she comes away chewing nothing but a small amount of dough. She tilts her head as if lost in thought. The second bite tears the thing to pieces, and her eyes flutter closed in pleasure.

"D'pndsh whn shh'mrnnn." She slurs before finally swallowing her bounty. Another dumpling is already in her hand, but she holds it. It moves toward and away from her mouth in a horrible dance, if it could in fact feel fear.

"If you are looking for clear answers, I have none. Possibly, we have been infiltrated. One of our darling, precious engineers is a traitor in thrall to Solarel. If you believe that, then I'm very excited to cheer for you in the next match. Have fun."

She shrugs and chews another dumpling, this one full of heavily spiced meat, and calmly lets the steam pour out her mouth before continuing.

"But other forms of sabotage are more possible. Nothing definitive. Sound is a focusing factor in the control of nanites, I have been informed. If our hangar was reshaped for the benefit of a sneak-thief, there would have been a noise. One among our number should have marked it. Would you have said anything, if you'd heard? It might have sounded like anything at all. We shall have to ask."

She slurps at noodles, now. Takes several long swigs of her water until it starts dribbling down her cheeks. She lets the droplets fall on her breasts without complaint. Her spine straightens. She displays herself with pride again, and the detachment of a woman too lost in a puzzle to have any room left in her heart for modesty. Her tail curls around her legs. She plucks it up and chews on the tip contemplatively without thinking about it.

"But if this is the methodology, the number of culprits will be slim. It was an act of real skill, sound or no. The caste system of the Zaldarians is such that most such individuals have the favor of their Empress. Solarel does... not. A sufficiently talented, excommunicated materials-whisperer, and one quite freshly arrived in the system. Someone whose loyalties, or at least services, are acquirable beyond the fear of repercussion via Solarel's newfound mastery of currency and commerce. I knew it was a mistake to watch the wolf-cart anime with her. But even still, our list of suspects could not possibly stretch beyond a pair of names, at most. A very straightforward search."

Mira eats quietly until continued sustenance is impossible. This happens much sooner than her general lack of food the past several days would have suggested. But the fare was delicious, and why would she believe the leftovers would be any less so later? She pushes away from the table and looks longingly at the fridge, though she makes no motion to get up and get herself anything. Neither does she ask. She simply stretches. Arms back, head back, legs apart. As full and ostentatious a display of herself as this tiny space and its spartan lighting will allow.

"Equal odds this was done with simple brute force. Geists are not complicated programs to work into a system. A data spike jammed into the cockpit at any time would have done the trick, though indications are that our intrepid, ah, heroes also made efforts to cover their tracks, and did so well enough that even I did not notice signs of damage or sabotage until the trigger event. It might even have been accomplished via social hacking, which brings us back to our darling crew. If no one heard a noise, we might then ask if any among them have been flirting with strangers lately. A cute little gift, given in an untimely manner. That is my deduction, separate from my investigation. I have given my report, O Captain."

She frowns. There's an angle here she's not considering, and it is driving her nuts. Like the sound of aloe leaves being scraped, but on a loop inside her mind. She winces.

"...I was hoping our kitten would turn up tonight. Never minding any fun we might have together, she's a diligent worker. I think she would come with a report on the preliminary concepts for my... what would you say? Commission? I am very curious to know how Trosta will think to bind the hands of a God. Even one as small as I am, hmmm~"

Her heart is a rabbit in her ribs. She pushes up, and the Bander pushes down, and the Bander wins, and her heart has its paw caught between two ribs, and all her words are crammed up in her throat. The Bander kneads, lazily, the clench and release of her fingers sending an undignified sound bubbling out between those words, and the blushing little gardener turns her head and tries to hide in her hair as her bodysuit squeaks under tension.

The Bander reaches up and forces her head back to looking up. Squeezes soft cheeks under her fingers. Dolly’s lips form an undignified O, and she can’t stop it, can’t stop her, reaching up to wrap her fingers around her wrist, and she knows what happens next. Bossy little mouth. Should watch where it runs. Before it gets stuffed and hidden. Jade. Jade. Jade?

”Mine.” The reverb sets the scaffolding vibrating, runs through both the vulnerable bodies and through the concrete and through the faithless and the faithful. There is a raw edge to it; speakers and voices are both inadequate for what may be contained within them. ”Seven Quetzal is Mine.”

She turns her head and the scaffolding shakes. If she moves too fast, too hard, it will fall to pieces. She will be fast enough to catch Dolly. She will not be fast enough to protect her cult. Therefore. Therefore. Therefore.

”Your hands, unclean. Is this how you approach me? By thinking yourself my equal? That you may touch what is sacred?”

Sacred. Scared. Sacred. Scared. Jade. Jade, the scaffolding is. Jade, are you—

Dolly closes her eyes, wet breath through her puckered lips, and lets her free hand dig into the ridges of the grate beneath her. Like little waves. Up and down and up and down. If this all comes down, there’s not a thing she can do about it anyway.

”I hunger for the heart of a maiden, given over to suffer unimaginable bliss as my Bride…” You promised. You made so many promises. Beneath her, waves. On top of her, peril. And her heart works her way free of those ribs, and plummets into the soft, infinite embrace of the many-handed sea.

”I set my face against you. I declare defeat upon you; you will be delivered to the hands of your enemies. I set my face against you. I hear you not when you cry to me. Victory to your foes, glory to those who break your spear. I set my face against you. Let this not pass from your pack until I will it so. Four times have I set my face against you, three rivers have I crossed, eight roads have I mastered.” She ceases to speak, and the silence rushes in, vast, and she shivers in the idol-body, reclothed from her descent, her drop down, down, down to the place where she can, she really can, she can do this thing.

“Now. Take your filthy little paws off my high priestess and beg her forgiveness, or I will take the star path of your birth and unmake it.”

She.

Can do that?

Above them, Jade is still, but her attention is almost smothering, so total that she isn’t even manifesting. Is it just her imagination that makes her think she can feel it? The magic, the curse. Like she should be able to see it arcing from post to post, settling on the heads of the Banders, and—

She tugs at the Bander’s wrist, and it’s slack enough for a moment (in thought, or in fear?) that she can lift those fingers from where they have dug into her cheeks.

“I… I’ll intercede.” She has to. Even for this. Even for them. “Just— she’s protective.” Of me. Of me. Of little Seven Quetzal who studied how to maximize crop yields without sacrificing beauty. Of someone who can’t fight like the Banders or like the Huntresses. “Just get off?”

Because even this pirate doesn’t deserve Jade’s curse.

Her Jade.

Her Jade who saved her, like Dolly knew she would.

[Jade Defies Disaster with Spirit and offers to sacrifice Dolly’s Security. She also rolls a 6, which is her fourth XP.]

Emptiness ...

Loss ...

It hits suddenly and hard enough to make her stumble. Is this what it's like when you die? The shutting down, the disorientation, geists without a master, a body without direction. She feels the facility's reactors beating slower and slower, the turbines as they stop breathing and the lights going out.

Despite their brief interaction being rather hostile, she couldn't help but feel a deep sense of sadness at the passing of Trelasani. All the history now gone, all the thoughts and experiences swept into the ether. It was a tragedy.

But it is also an opportunity.

Isabelle pauses on her walk - why had that voice sounded so much like her mother?

Think about it. The history, the technology. Nobody to care for it, protect it. It will be lost to time or fall into the wrong hands.

Whose hands are we talking about here?

Theives, pillagers, pirates. Those who would use it to kidnap and steal. Those who already kidnapped you. Why do you think they wanted to test you so badly? It was to prove that they can lay claim to it! But they didn't count on you walking off. And now you're the only person now who can stand between them and whatever lies in this installation.

Isabelle grits her teeth as she stares at her right hand, the nanobots have done a great job of repairing the damage - but she can still feel the pain from where they sliced her. That cold-ice creeping up her hand as they made their way into her body ...

What are you going to do, dear?

"Tate!" she snaps, hurrying towards the waiting mecha. "Tell me about this facility's protocols - what is your purpose now that Trelesani is dead? What is it that you need a guardian here to do?"

[Rolling to figure out Tate - 5 + 3 + 0: 8. How can I get you to acknowledge me as the facility's guardian? What do you hope to get from the presence of new races here?]

Question asked, she'd process the answer later. Right now, she presses her hand to the Mecha's side - willing it to open.

Enkindler.

Name given, she steps into her new body.

--====----

Eighty six point seven billion
Eighty five point six billion
Eighty four billion
Eighty billion
Two billion
Nine hundred million
Two point eight million
Forty eight thousand
Sixteen
Four
Two
and.

One.

Just one.

One woman. Floating in the void.

Now that was ... something.

Enkindler's CFD spins up, crackling with white lightning as joints long still start to move. Isabelle flexes her hands and both flesh and metal move in unison. A thought and the displays form in front of her eyes, showing her the hanger from a much greater height than before. She commands the nanites around her and they obey - extending down from her right arm, longer, longer, stronger, sharper. A single monofilament sword, its edge as sharp as physics allows.

Her eyes snap to where the pirates are and Isabelle stalks forward.

Tate, get me a visual if you're able to. I want to know what I'm walking into.

She was reborn but she was not yet alive. In ice and silence she understood the world. Through eyes sharper than stone and the logic of verticality she perceived it. The act of taking a God was not what she lived for. Assuming a mantle of power was merely a precondition to life. Even the act of destruction was a mere prelude.

It is only when another God steps upon the battlefield does her life start to matter.

Why did the Spirit not open with this? Why did it fight her with unlovely drones? Why did it not wrap itself in beauty and glory and render its will into the shape of a sword? Why had it wasted her time, kept this moment, her precious moment of divine craving from her for this long?

She ascended on wings of violence. Through ceiling after ceiling she went, smashing and tearing her way through the layers of the facility in absolute quiet. She sets gripping feet into the ceiling and inverts.

She loves the moment of reorientation. Nothing in all the world is quite as satisfying. Changing her perspectives, her understanding of up and down, fixing the world into a new frame is the most artificial thing she can imagine doing, and that's what makes it the most natural. It's the moment when she feels most like a God, machine unbound from the flat of the earth, when she can redefine which direction is down. She did her best to respect the Bezorel, she'd tried to love it as it had deserved to be loved, but she could never love its awkward, unimaginative connection to unidirectional gravity.

Down was up. The roof was the floor, as sure as the planet's magma core. Up above her in the inverted sky was the Enkindler. It is a new God, opening to life for the first time. It has never fought a battle before. Neither has she. The zero-entropy antimatter fission beam comes to her hands like craving. Optical lenses clatter into place like the wings of angels. She breathes in light and heat and electromagnetic energy and echolocation and all the machine's wonderful senses. No longer deaf. No longer blind. No longer unable to appreciate the seductive curves of reactive armour plating, the glittering charisma of an an energy shield, the expressive body language of micromissle racks. Aliens did not call them Gods. Aliens did not believe they were Gods. Even her own people felt like aliens sometimes. There was a difference between talking of Gods and being a Goddess.

The target lock clicked into place in harmony with the alignment of crystal fire.

I see you, Enkindler. Let us love each other as Goddesses do. Be my first battle and my first victim. Let us be our entire selves together.

And she fired. Through three floors that were ceilings. With a column of negative space so cold it could freeze atoms. With all the respect she didn't have for Isabelle the princess, the mortal. As a God she remakes this facility in her image, and through the shattered hole she has carved she pours micromissiles and loitering munitions. Take this, her sword, her stars. Take this, her death, delivered from ambush with maximum power. She will not toy with you as though you were a girl except insofar as it might help her carve through to the heart of the God. She loves you too much to not use every weapon against you.

Dolly
You see the Leopard hesitate. Her hand atop you goes stiff. For a moment all her muscles ripple and you’ve got nothing to think about but the scent of her sweat and the sound of her breathing. Instinct wars in her, the closeness to you, the desire to touch to press even as Jade’s words froze her.

Then she stands.

Jade

Your words echo out. Below the gangway the crew trembles and so do some of the Banders, but not all of them. Not the Jaguar who claims to be facing Dolly, she’s looking intently. And the Leopard…for a moment you’re not sure what she’s going to do. Not sure what else you could say to move her. You can tell she’s having a physical reaction to being near Dolly, you’re aware of Hybrasilian biology, so you wait and your patience is rewarded.

She stands.

Dolly and Jade

“Forgive me, priestess.” The Leopard smiles. Everything about her screams wild energy, just barely restrained. She slowly takes your hand, glancing up at Jade to ensure she has not erred. Lifts it and kisses the back of your palm, just barely nipping the skin with her fangs. “I presumed overmuch” she says formally, the way her parents must have taught her. “And I beg your forgiveness.”

She waits, then for your intercession. But see the Banders below, how their eyes shine. Jade’s threat is in the open. A threat to their birth stars, yes, a very serious threat in response to her high priestess being under threat. See them considering their mythology. Think back on your own Hybrasilian mythology. If the high priestess is this valuable, her symbolism will be a ward against Jade’s wrath in the future. If the high priestess is this valuable, her absence would cause the goddess great lamentation. If the high priestess is this valuable, then there may be other priestesses to set against her, and other gods who would favor the Banders. Hybrasilians always have favored freedom and many a goddess would offer her favor and protection to those who hunt with no restraint, seeking victory with all their might.

Well, high priestess, what is your intercession?

***

Mirror

Slate frowns when you tell her of the sounds. She’s sitting now like a lily suspended on the water, both legs up on the cushions, head up, lost in thought.

“How would they know? The Hangar’s full of engineers. There’s gonna be buzzing and clanging. There will be the low rumble of the transports, and the pounding of mecha feet steel upon steel.”

You can see Slate losing herself in the sound of the hangar, the experience of it. There’s a song in her head, a quickening one. “The lights hum in B flat minor, slightly out of tune, you hear it going all the time, but you tune it out. The chatter fades into a hum, rising and falling, there’s a crescendo to it, matching the timing of the shuttles, concentrating and spreading. There’s the hum of the crystal fire, muted, but you can feel it even through all the protection, the power coursing through each metal shell, giving it life.”

She’s vibrating as she thinks. You can see her thinking in tune to the life in the Hangar, the days spent on repairs, supervising crews, standing on the balcony and feeling the space waft up to her.

“Timing. It’s not the sound, it’s not that you couldn't hear anything there, but the timing would be off. There’d be something discordant, not in line with the rhythms of the space, someone changing the space, right, they have to do that constantly, it won’t rise and fall the way that people move normally. That’s what we’ll ask the crew, if there was something nagging them, the mosquito of the Hangar.”

She opens her eyes, looks at you, Mirror. “Can’t say there’s nothing I’m good at. I’ll leave questioning the criminal underworld to you when you feel like it, boss. I’ll talk to the crew tomorrow. There’s figuring this out and there’s preventing it happening again. And I don’t think a lock on the cockpit will do the trick, even a really good one.”

She grins, and that’s when you hear a knock at the door. Matty’s arrived, finished with her work. She’s dressed in her uniform still, full body suit with no fabric to get in the way while she’s working. Seems like she decided to come straight here without changing once she got off work. If you look through the door, you’ll see her standing with her feet close together, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and rocking her whole body nervously, her hair swaying a little with each shift above her mottled swimming cat stripes on tan fur. One hand by her side, the other raised but hesitant, unsure how long to wait before she knocks again.

***

Isabelle and Solarel

No warnings flash. These are both mechas of the same facility, there is no reason that their creators know that they would be pitted against one another. They are too precious for such work. Perhaps this is why the spirit risked itself rather than one of these machines.

Nevertheless, an unknown mecha closing from above finds itself suddenly passed, met by a freezing blast from above and newly forged munitions before it makes its descent. A small mecha like this doesn’t have the armor to take such a blow, but the crystal fire drive is as strong as they come and has fewer jobs to do with such a small size frame. Thus the descending mecha, the Enkindler, has speed and shielding for the defense, and a blade newly forged to retaliate.

Let us see the fight.

"On the contrary I... hnn. Do you? Do you really? No. Of course not. Sarcasm. Selin, this is not the time for that. If I have given you reasons to think I do not..."

Mirror frowns. She is only too happy to ignore the knocking at the door for a moment while she finally gains her legs and slinks toward the fridge on dainty steps. A bottle of beer flies from the open door into Slate's waiting hand. Two more drinks sit in Mirror's, one sharp strong and bitter, the other sweeter than candy.

"Off the mark again. You're talking about yourself. That one hurts the most, you know. Fine then. I'll say the first one: you are good at many things. And I need you for all of them, much more than you... never mind. Never mind. Never... never mind. And you're correct, of course. Defending ourselves against this thing is an entirely different net than the one we're dragging up right now. There's no knowing what might be caught up in it."

She tilts her head toward the ceiling with a long sigh. Not out of exhaustion or sadness or even frustration. It is simply the form her thinking takes in this moment. She swings around to the other side of their tiny room and plucks a soft, blue robe off a hook on the wall. Hardly a planned thing, just a courtesy left for her use as a pilot on cooldown. A lot of assumptions get made about her kind, and while not all of them exactly hit the mark, each of them were useful. If one was clever enough.

She slips it on and ties it loosely around her waist, giving her the seeming of someone wearing a particularly lurid party dress. It's almost more scandalous than seeing her nude. Almost. She mustn't traumatize her kitten straight away, if she can help it. Her expression softens as she looks to the door. Still quiet, no second knock.

"Our answer might be waiting for us in the hall, you know. But whatever shape our countermeasures take, it's correct that they can't be as simple as a lock. I can't see the shape of it yet, because I don't know what happened. But whatever we use should be subtle. Not a lock. Not a lock. Especially not a very good one. Though a lock might be necessary to hide our intentions. We might build in systems to reroute power without quite so much hotwiring, or we... well. A Crystal Fire Drive is just a well of energy, after all. It might be turned to any purpose, or driven through any channel. Our shield should be a thing that makes use of the attack itself. Don't you agree?"

And with that she leans against the door and waits. There's no need for more than a brief glance into the hallway to know how Matty is or what she looks like. And it's not difficult to predict her, either. Mirror raises a hand with one finger up to shoulder height for the length of one breath, two breaths, three...

She points. There's a soft and tremulous knock on the door. Mirror swings it open just after the third beat, and Matty squeaks when her knuckles hit nothing but empty air.

"Well hello there, sweet little willow! Hello!"

Soothing condescension. That's the tone that Mirror's voice is chasing. Something to make her kitten burn from the inside out, but without hurting her feelings. She leans forward a little bit and puts a gentle hand on Matty's shoulder with a squeeze that sends tingles down the spine. Her robe slips just a little bit at the shoulder.

"Did you come here all by yourself? What a brave girl you are! But come in, come in here, silly! It's dangerous for shining little treasures like yourself to be out all alone. Haven't you heard? There are pirates about, and worse besides. The sorts of wicked villains who would snap an adorable kitten up as quick as blinking and gobble her whole! We don't want that, now do we? There we go, come in now, that's my good girl~"

The slightest tug is all it takes. Matty's steps are tiny, flustered, and unsure, but she goes where Mirror leads. As soon as she's through the threshold, Mirror slides the sweet drink into her hand and clicks the door gently shut. The sound of the lock echoes at least three times as loud.

"Well, here you are. And looking just as cute as I remember! Would you like to introduce yourself to my partner, cutie?"

Dolly is speechless. Not because of Jade, not this time, but because her brain is barely capable of stringing words together. All she is boils down to feelings. Feelings are why she is panting through her nose, teeth locked together. Feelings are why her eyes are wide but she’s not smiling, not a bit. Feelings are why she’s shaking, just a bit. Feelings are why she doesn’t know whether she wants to pull this Bander in for a kiss, with teeth, or push her off the railing.

“It’s not my forgiveness you need to worry about,” she finally manages to work out through her jaw, glaring (glaring? yes, glaring) at the Bander. She tries and fails to tug her hand out of that grasp, and so she improvises, slides her hand up, wraps her fingers around the Bander’s wrist. “Smokeless Jade Fires is the one who you insulted. Weren’t you listening? You come up here without purifying yourself, touch me without considering that I’m hers. So you know what you’re going to do?”

She points down at the ground floor with her other hand. She’s shaking— with fear? With anger? With the tight grasp around her wrist? All that energy, ready to explode. The weight of Jade’s gaze is all that keeps her brave. That, and the fact that they still don’t deserve Jade’s fury. Not like that. Not unless, um. Unless they. Unless they had thoughts about high priestesses.

“You’re going to go down there and you, all of you, are going to fall in supplication.” On their faces, wrists outstretched and crossed, haunches resting on their thighs, like defeated warriors, surrendering themselves to Jade’s judgment. “Because she’s not going to change her mind unless she sees you beg for it. Okay?” Her heart’s racing. The Bander is breathing heavy and slow and her eyes are stones. “And I’m not saying this because I want to see it but because I know her.”

Jade hisses through her lesser mouths, an exhalation of steam, the vent of compressed air. The pirate shrinks down almost imperceptibly. Speaking directly to them, to her, again, would cheapen Dolly’s role as her high priestess, as her mediator, as her Bride. But she is right. No forgiveness for the unchastened.

And this feels good. So good. Why are other goddesses so content to act with subtlety? Why do they not make these kinds of proclamations? It is like a fire in the gut. Her Dolly was in danger, and now she is her strength, her castle, her glorious goddess whose shadow is an honor draped upon her. She drinks from the wine of victory until she is dizzy.

The Bander finally lets go. Dolly squeezes, once, pettily, and then does the same. When she turns, the stairs are wet dark stone, lit by flickering lights, vine-choked.

She takes them slowly. The sounds of the hangar are gone; the Bander has vanished. Dolly has to assume that she’s gone back down to convince her crew to humiliate themselves for Jade’s forgiveness. She’s in Jade’s world now, the one that she pretends not to notice sometimes repeats assets. Even for a goddess, making an entire secondary world has to be difficult, and it’s all just for her.

The cockpit is an ancient temple door that dilates open on its own, soundlessly, and then shuts with a soft whisper behind her tail. Inside the cockpit, inside the temple, Jade is seated waiting for her.

“Great one, worthy of praise, queen of the hunt, born of yourself,” Dolly says, sinking to her knees and stretching out her arms, laying one wrist neatly over the other. The tip of her tail trembles as she waits for them to be tied into place, but instead Jade is quiet and still. All Dolly sees is the perfect flagstone under her face. “I come to beg you to turn your face away.”

Go touch her. Ask her if she’s all right. Tell her that you’re holding her, and while you’re at it, tell yourself that you are, too.

Smokeless Jade Fires sits and maintains her world, where she is present, where her Dolly sees the world as it should be, where she can be the unassailable goddess her Bride deserves.

“Did they hurt you?” She knows the answer already: the ache in Dolly’s shoulders, the tension in her muscles, the roughness where she tried to pull her hand away. But she’s not asking because she needs to find out. She’s asking because the goddess has to ask.

“I’m okay,” Dolly huffs. No thanks to you, she rebelliously thinks for a moment, and then flinches in shame. Except she did act. Just… slowly. And overwhelmingly. And without being there in person.

When that would have meant the entire world.

Because she loves you, Jade. And she’ll remind you if she has to.

”If they had hurt you, nothing would stop me from destroying them,” Jade hisses, and means it. Means it like venom. How dare that awful little pirate paw all over her Dolly? Her Dolly! Her perfect precious gentle loving…

Her first instinct was to intercede for them! After she was knocked down and felt up and had her heart speed up so hard it hurt her! She immediately forgave even that, because she is the sweetest, kindest, best girl in the entirety of space, her Dolly, her Dolly!

Dolly pushes herself up onto her forearms. Stretches. Feels the burn of embarrassment at being so indulgent when there’s the fate of other people at stake. But… Jade likes this, right? Jade does this for her, right?

“Would my mouth be able to stop you?” She asks, all husky, eyes a little closed, trying not to collapse in on herself like a white dwarf star, feathers whispering on her shoulders. “My goddess, my mistress, my star-speckled lady.”

FUCK.

Jade feigns indifference, but her fingers, treacherous, are already digging a groove in the side of her god-created throne. The cleft between Dolly’s breasts is a knife in her ribs, viewed from the cockpit cameras so that she can enhance, loop, incorporate the sight into herself without having to command Dolly to look down. The look on her face is what beauty is.

Her gratitude tumbles together with her desire to possess with her validation, her vindication.

Jade pretends not to notice, but Dolly can feel her eyes on her, and it’s…

The hot little knot building inside of her since the Bander bowled her over is getting much more insistent. Even when she’s mad at Jade, she’s hopeless; the attention of a goddess makes her weak at the knees. The thought that she — she — is who Jade chose. And Jade’s staring, and Dolly wants her to stare, and Dolly wants her to do much more than that. Much, much more.

Then Jade stands. Her feet don’t quite touch the floor as she stalks forward, all power, all control, all for her. An apology? Maybe. Jade’s not likely to explain herself for what happened on the stairs, any more than she brought up that headbutt on Akar.

”Your mouth is easily stopped, my prisoner-in-flowers.” Two fingers on Dolly’s lips. A promise of more. Later. Soon. “But if I were to let it… perhaps. Your voice is sweet, even when it is not soaking into cloth.” A thumb, stroking its way up her chin, the nail dragging. She feels the shiver up Dolly’s spine like it was her own, and the growing arousal, too. It’s further validation.

“But I am angry,” she continues. “My power has been ignored. My property has been defiled. Why should I give the unworthy mercy?”

“Because it will bring glory,” Dolly whispers around those fingers. “Let Hybrasil know you forgive those who beg your forgiveness. That you may be swayed by supplication.”

”Someone must be punished,” Jade says, wrapping her tail around Dolly’s back with aching slowness. When Dolly starts to reply, she slips her fingers into that perfect mouth, presses down the tongue, dreams it wet and hot against her fingers, and Dolly obediently wraps her lips around them and stares up with such longing that chains rattle in her blood and it is only the role that stops her from giving Dolly everything, everything, as much as she can for an apology for freezing up, for letting the pirate touch her, for letting her ever get hurt. The subtle bob of Dolly’s head, once, makes her invincible diamond burn too white-hot for thought.

Jade drags her fingers out and wipes them on Dolly’s cheek, a simulated coolness that still sends her plummeting. Jade, please. Jade, this is the Bride’s duty. Jade, she’s never going to get tired of this. Jade, give her everything you’ve got, as soon as she comes back, don’t leave them there waiting…

“Punish me. I will suffer in their place.”

She tilts Dolly’s head up, up, exposing the gleam of her throat, and this is vulnerable, isn’t it, you all know it, your teeth are all so sharp, and the collar is your only protection.

“If you break,” and Dolly nearly breaks just hearing it, her body begging to betray her, “I will place it upon them once more.”

Then she pushes Dolly’s face to one side, not enough to make her sprawl, to risk hurting her, but enough to make her look like she is. And that’s important. Because Dolly wants to feel like she’s been sent sprawling by the power of a dismissive goddess (because she wrote it, three different times, two different stories).

“Now go. Tell them that your…” Her bare foot prods at Dolly’s treasures, eliciting a gasp, a reflexive reach up to steady herself that she stops of her own accord before her fingers can reach her top. “Piety has convinced me. That they are to wash themselves, make their offerings, and depart knowing my mercy. Then return to me and I will see myself revenged.”

hnnnnnnnnngh fuck Jade you are going to make her walk out with her thighs clenched, not touching her, so that she can perform, so that she can say the priestess words, knowing she doesn’t get rewarded until she’s done? Jade Jade Jade.

She presses her forehead against Jade’s foot, trying to give her ideas, and says, trying very hard not to pant or drool, “As you will, bright huntress, promised victory.”

And she mouths “thank you,” because she means it.

And Dolly thanks her, which means she did a good job of being a goddess, and she salvaged what happened, and she is going to apologize thoroughly and at length with the best that she can give. After all, she loves you, Dolly. And she has to prove that she deserves you.

[Dolly and Jade take comfort in each other’s company and increase their Harmony to 2.]

You say you love me? How can that be true?

You don't know me, you don't know anything about me.

You say you love me, yet you never saw me before now.

You say you love me, yet you hurt me.

Do you know what it's like, to feel what you did? The tearing, the brutality - the echo of having part of yourself carved out by a hundred tonnes of metal and fire? Isabelle's senses resonate within the facility. She feels the Kathresis as it tears through level after level - and with that warning, she's already watching as you soar up above her on wings of white flame. Her eyes snap to you even as you target lock activates. And her hand reaches out to you ...

In a practiced gesture.

It's instinct, it's reaction before thoughts. It's imagination, running scenarios through her mind again and again so that when, against all rationality, the scenario comes true, the pathways are well trodden. Cloud! At her command, the nanobots around her burst forth from the floors and walls, shredding metal and material - and the Enkindler disappears behind a shimmering veil right before your beam can strike home.

Hide! Defend! Protect!

The floors themselves reform and shift, throwing themselves in the way of your missiles.

Stop!

Do you see her now, Solarel? In the flittering glimpses you get between explosions and smoke? She's moving. She's dancing. She's coming to you. Weaving amongst the flames and the missiles that remain. Dodging them by hairs and breaths as she gets closer and closer.

Do you see her now? How she moves? It's not the same as the Trelesani did previously. It's not like any other creature you know. Terenian, Hybrasillan, Zaldarian - something is off about the way your opponent runs. Isabelle wouldn't be able to explain it either - she's just listing to her blood, which now sings in red and silver.

The facility begins bombarding you with transmissions - old geists broadcasting on whatever they can - new spamware from Terenius - some strange audiobook about a woman and her mecha - all these things and more begin to flood your receivers and sensors.

Do you hear her now? Do you hear her calls amidst all that white noise? Or are you so fixated on the fight, the thrust, the sword, that you have no mind to spare for the tinny voice buried in those transmissions - a plea to stop?

Tell me, Solarel, what do you see and hear?

And ... do you like it?

[Rolling to entice 6 + 2 - 2 = 6 - unfortunately, Isabelle's conditions make it a fail. Have at her Thanqol!]

Speak not to the outsider. Sometimes it isn't a warning or a command. Sometimes it is an observation that speech is impossible. Stop? Stop what?

Stop being who she is? What she is? Stop being an engine of angelic battle? Stop being an interface for the violence of the ancient world? Stop caring, stop loving - dispatch you with the same coldness she undid the Spirit? Stop moving, tear her steel skin off her body, peel herself raw and helpless until she's smaller than you, poorer than you, weaker than you, lesser than you? You want her to sheathe these blades that are her heart? Let things go back to a normal that never satisfied her?

Oh, Isabelle. She'd die before she stopped. She is in the tournament for the battle. She was in the war for the duel. She walked the mountain because she wasn't complete without it. You have a home, a life, a family, wealth and riches. If you stop your life goes on. If Solarel stops her life goes out.

She leaps into gravity. Her annihilation shield cuts through the walls built to cage her. Her falling flight adjusts in sparks and flames. One sword cuts away the ghosts you send to haunt her with heartless words. The other seeks to sheathe itself inside you. There are techniques she could use; she does not. Not on the first exchange. Not when she's learning your reach, your stance, your reactions, and all the swirling memories of the data geists that burn around the blade of her sword. That's right. To the heart. To destroy the machine you must conquer the girl.

Forward, forward, forward. To the heart.

[Figure someone out: 10. You may ask one.
- What are your feelings about battle?
- How could I get you to fight me truly?
- How could I get you to betray the ideals that enslave you?]