To call it a very long month and a half would have been a gross understatement.

Solomon Howe, Callsign Dunkirk, was crawling across the top of his Mech while they were hunkered down in the ruins, doing field checks and spot checking various parts of Vickie while they were waiting for the order to move. Howe wasn't a fan of waiting, especially with what was on the line currently. They were going to reach the critical point of no return soon, where the efforts of the Princess they were hunting would be irreversible and render the last month and a half of fighting pointless. It was arguable they were wasting resources at this point, that the Corrosion had rendered the planet unsalvageable, arguments that he had heard more times than he ever cared to admit. New Alexandria was the first time he heard it, hell, this all reminded him rather unpleasantly of that very same fall, except this time there was something that could be done. By the time the Princess had been found on New Alexandria there wasn't any combat effective forces let that could mount an attack needed to breach the defenses surrounding it. Here, here was different, it was one of the reasons he volunteered the moment he heard about a planned attack on the Princess corroding this planet by its very existence.

A month and a half of wasted time, not counting the half month before reinforcements arrived, of fighting, waiting, covering Constellations as they dueled with the worst the Aberrant could muster. A month and a half of dying while analysists and intelligence officers debated and sifted through recon information. A month and a half to find this Princess, organize a strike force, and have them struggle to even remotely keep to the necessary time table to even give the planet and its survivors a chance to recover before the next Aberrant invasion. Sitting beside the 20mm mount for a moment, looking over the ammo feed, Howe lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and holding the warmth in his lungs. A month and a half to end up sitting in a bombed out, ruined hotel wondering if the roof was going to cave in and bury them all while waiting for the Constellation in charge, Commander Aurigae, to go back and forth with the battlefield analyst about their current planned route being too slow. Took long enough for that realization, Howe mused, clambering back down to where the other pilots had gathered under the towering Mechs. The CQB Package that was mounted on Vickie right now, among other things, was uparmored and that, ironically, made it easier to climb up and down to do spot checks when moments like this availed themselves. Damage to the armor was superficial at best, nothing critical or load bearing was damaged, and he had plenty of ammo to spare. A good day to get their collective asses in gear and get moving.

Aurigae was making her way over, leading Howe to exhale a plume of smoke before she got close enough that he would consider aiming it elsewhere. He met her gaze evenly, expression calm and collected despite all the openly shared information about how dire their situation was, no sense mincing words about it. He knew the reputation he had, he never argued about it, but what was a 35 ton war machine good for if you didn't put it in harm's way. Constellations were all fine and well for breaking Barriers, but they had to get there and survive long enough to make it happen. If another servo needed replaced after shoulder checking a threat, or a manipulator got mauled pinning an Aberrant down so be it. Job got done all the same, and Aurigae reminded him why he struggled to talk to her kind. Cannot ask for lives, speaking as fellow warriors, if he had a few drinks in him he would have started mouthing off at that point, but he composed himself instead. Taking another drag, and stomping the cigarette out, he spoke up, seemingly first.

"Not much to have an opinion over, is there? We keep playing it safe, time runs out, another planet lost to the Aberrant, the last month and a half of blood and sacrifice made completely pointless. Only option we have to do our jobs is go loud and punch through what the Aberrant puts between us and the target or die trying. More death, more sacrifice, but better chances of all that meaning something for once. Only option worth considering given the circumstances." More like the only option worth a damn, but he had to keep his professionalism intact while on the field. Howe had said his piece, however, lighting another cigarette as a sort of nail in that sentence, and another metaphorical nail in the coffin as he scanned the others gathered and present. Time to see the stock of, well, most of who he was with. He suspected he knew how Sabine would respond, in her own manner of speaking, but let her start rambling when she chose to. For now, he was more interested to see what the relative unknowns had to say about the whole affair.

---

The rapidly-approaching landscape displayed on the viewscreen was by now a quite familiar view.

For almost the last month, Alto had been stuck at the back of the fleet, watching the grey overtake the planet below. All that time spent waiting, watching, and wishing they'd just give the damn order already. How many more tests did they need to run before the techheads would be satisfied? He'd already memorized the operational handbook backwards and forwards, and probably could have piloted the gunmetal gray colossus parked across from him in his sleep. He knew its armaments and their usage by heart -- and so, he knew the difference they might have made at stemming the unstoppable tide into which they were only now descending.

And so really, it wasn't that he was scared.

He wasn't.

He was just angry.

He told himself as much again, shifting in his seat for what felt like the dozenth time in as many seconds. His whole body felt electrified, as though every muscle had suddenly gone taut with nervous energy, and the feelings in the air in the cabin surrounding him told him that at least some of the ship's occupants felt the same. Seriously, how long could atmospheric entry even take? Since they were this close, shouldn't he be mounting up and running preliminary checks? What if the enemy attacked while they were still descending? Not that he was scared, mind you -- he just wanted to be ready to take the first shot if they did.

Must have been nice to have other things to worry about.

He shot a glance across the cabin to the Constellations seated in the opposite row of drop seats. Eorman. Solignus. He'd heard those names all too many times before. Big shots. He'd never much liked being in such esteemed company -- even when the esteemed individuals in question didn't clearly hate each other even more than they resented being stuck babysitting a bunch of newbies.

Though, that didn't quite seem to be the source of "Max"'s almost tangible sense of disgust, given the particular attentions he was directing to somebody seated a couple seats over -- though unfortunately, Alto wasn't tall enough to see past the large man seated between them as to who she was or why he was picking on her specifically. Not that it was any of his business, anyway.

Guess regardless of if you were a pilot or a Connie, the newbies always had it rough. His heart went out to whoever the unfortunate newcomer in question was -- quite literally, as almost without thinking he found himself tasting his own sympathy in the air, warm and bittersweet. He hastily checked himself, diverting his thoughts away from the outside world and centering himself once more to make sure his Anomaly didn't go noticed by the vitriolic Antares.

While he had been testing the waters, so to speak, though, he had noticed a certain... preoccupation with the way Antares had phrased his statement. Though he was fairly certain his Corvo was supposed to be the only machine getting field tested today, there had been something accusatory in the words he didn't much like. Maybe the man had it out for him after all? But then why was he so focused on the girl when he said it? Damn, if only he could see better what was going on -- hearing it, or even hearing it, could only do him so much good without actually seeing who they were talking to.

He scooted a few times in his seat, half-hopping to try and peek over the head of the girl sitting next to him -- with little success. Either way, it wasn't as if the mysterious newcomer was the only interesting thing to look at, so eventually, he cut his losses and moved his focus onto the next object of his attention.

He didn't recognize most of the Constellations on the ship at a glance. They were all very special and shiny and important, to be sure -- their names told him as much. Told him they were too important, in fact, to risk associating with. But one in particular, he knew all too well. That famous martyr whose planet bled to death before he himself did... Just what exactly was a man like that doing here, playing overseer to a ship full of grunts, long after he should have retired?

...Well, it wasn't hard to hazard a guess why someone like that would take up the sword again and find his way to Alora, at least. Alto checked himself before his sympathy could express itself again, not wanting to make the same mistake twice, particularly when it would mean drawing the eye of a man whose very presence made the air taste like lead -- heavy and cold. He knew that feeling all too well, and he'd come much too far to subject himself willingly to it again.

So, since two of his superiors had made themselves in one way or another quite undesirable to talk to -- and since both of them now seemed to be conversing with each other anyway -- that just left one more. The bare-chested Eorman was surrounded with a sense of forceful exuberance that reminded Alto of one of the Warrant Officers helping out as an instructor back at the academy. The guy had always been too fond of his own voice, and of forcing other people to raise theirs -- but he'd also let them get away with a lot on inspection days, so Alto couldn't help but remember him fondly.

Well, speaking of raising voices, it looked like it was time for everyone to sound off. The other newbie was first, thankfully, and with how quiet her voice was, he would have expected someone short and nervous -- not that he was projecting, mind you, that's just the first thing that came to mind. But when she did actually rise from her seat, he found his gaze going up... and up... and up.

Long metallic legs, ending in serrated points that seemed to skate across the ground in an all-too-strangely-familiar manner. Then, as if that wasn't enough, massive blades sprouting from her back that were almost as long as she was tall. Really, it was hard to tell where her cybernetics ended and her flesh began -- so much so that he almost didn't even process the way she introduced herself.

Wait, so the equipment that Antares had mentioned wasn't his Corvo, but rather...

Nah. There was no way. Right? Right. Surely he'd misunderstood something somewhere along the line. I mean, how would that even work? Anyway, there wasn't even time to think about it, since it was already his turn to sound off. Rising up from his own seat, clearing his throat, and, in the wake of the gargantuan Constellation who had gone before him, maybe trying to stand just a little taller than usual, he eagerly, if a bit uneasily, announced himself.

"Ehem. Apprentice Pilot and KHI Pilot-Designate, Alto Valenti, callsign 'Eight-Ball.' Just point me at anything you need gone, and my Corvo'll see it dusted!"

The dim glow of a viewscreen reflected in his eyes. The nearly intangible thrum of a capital ship's engines emanated through the walls. The artificial gravity tugged at him in a way that was entirely too gentle. The blade, sheathed and shrouded, stand upright against the wall before him. Weariness gripped him. He blinked away the days of wakefulness. He blinked away the years of memories.

The last time he'd been aboard the Dream of Dawn, Thrax was shattering apart below him. He blinked through the fog of time and stared into the viewscreen anew. He'd reread this page thrice already. Alora approached. He began to read it the fourth time. The words were as new to his eyes as they were the first.

Abberant Integration System, Subject One...

Schematics. Blueprints. Anatomical drawings. Most of the information was redacted, but enough was there to have pulled Joab out of retirement. Enough was there for the brass to have gone to Maui Covenant and put a sword hilt in his hand. Enough was there for Lictor to be here now. His eyes watered. Through the reaches of memory, long bladed forelimbs rose from the viewscreen towards him. His hand tightened. The screen cracked. He blinked, and thumbed to the next dossier. As the now flickering holo-display shifted he wiped at his eyes.

A battle scarred Grizzly. Its paint job and loadout immediately drawing forth the smells of the jungle. Weight crept into his shoulders. He leaned heavier into the chair. His boot thumped heavily on the ground. He sniffed, and smelled the searing ozone of the tesla-trees. The still image of the Grizzly loomed in his vision. The Prometheus cannon spun as a phantom in his eyes. The roar filled his ears. Aberrant ichor and gunsmoke filled his nose. He could feel the earth tremble beneath the mech's titanic steps.

M.C.P.O. Howser, Teddy Bear, New Halcyon...

He licked his lips, and thumbed the cracked screen again. Carnifex loomed beyond the holo-display, the blackened scabbard piercing through a display of the Grizzly's tower shield and the phantom images of long-dead Bishops and Rooks. He blinked. The weight lifted from his shoulders. His eyes fell to the blade as the screen loaded the next dossier. A smiling face shattered his reverie.

Eight-Ball - Last minute addition, routing for accompaniment

That face. Those eyes. A familiarity loomed there. A familiarity that brought him far and away from Thrax. He leaned forward and looked down, away from Carnifex, and into the flickering screen. There was no mistaking it, that boy was a Valenti. He dug through memory. A battle, long ago now, where a man stood with blade outstretched. The phantom of a voice rose from his lips;

"I see the path." He murmured, gruff voice scarcely reaching his own ears. Word had reached Maui Covenant of Ricardo's historic rise in political sway. Word had reached him of a warrior who had taken up the pen. His free hand reached into his vest and retrieved a cigar. As he lit it, the ghost of the Ricardo he knew interposed over the face of the Alto he was soon to meet. He breathed deep. He blinked. He thumbed the screen.

Zejiang Erica Teteh...

He groaned through grit teeth, biting down on the cigar, and swiftly scrolled past the name to the end. Mortuuus-Orbitae LXXXV. He lifted the cigar from his lips and held it aside as he studied the academy reports of the girl's successes and failures. The thick cigar taste mingled with a bile born of quiet fury- but also a quiet pride. He had not kept up with the girl after he put his name on her sponsorship; seeing her career in writing before him was evidence that he had done the right thing. As he read, the cigar burned down until it burned the tips of his fingers. With one hand he crushed the display screen.

With the other, he put the cigar-stub out against Carnifex's scabbard.

---

Lictor was wearing a form-fitting tactical ensemble. Black nylon stretched skin-tight and silent from neck to wrist and waist in the form of a military bodysuit, atop which he wore an armored tactical vest complete with spare magazines, first aid supplies, short range radio equipment, and surplus ration storage which was partially being used to hold a cigar box. A heavy semiautomatic handgun was holstered at his hip, and at-rest in his lap was an infantryman's rifle. Carnifex, as tall as he was when seated, leaned against his shoulder with its rounded point resting between his feet. A radio headset connected to the equipment at his waists, and a tactical visor displayed data-feeds to his eyes.

Eyes which were closed. He leaned here, restfully, seemingly comfortable and at-ease in the thrum of the dropship and with the smells and thick scent of a soldier platoon around him. It wasn't until introductions were asked for that Lictor finally spoke;

"His nose wouldn't be so brown if your breath didn't smell like shit, Eorman. Keep that glove full-a Vaseline?"

It was ribbing, cold and direct, but it bore an unmistakable lack of vitriol or malice. Rather, it was the salted words of the grizzled soldier, an admonishment rather than a challenge. His posture shifted, but still he did not look directly at his companions. Carnifex tilted forward until it stood perfectly straight, his forearm resting on the crossguard as he thumbed the stock of his rifle and gazed into the thirteenth AB sword's black scabbard. His lips twitched upwards as Aissi's whispered echo of Teddy's humor reached his ears.

"I am the Lictor. This is Carnifex. White Dwarf, Main Class." He made a short gesture with two fingers towards Maximus, flicking his index and middle fingers to draw the man's eyes to Lictor's instead of gawking at Aissi. "You're gonna rile up the boys if you keep watching your ass like that. Focus up. I've got the pup."

---

Visiting Alora had always been something in the cards- supposedly the resort scene on this planet was to die for, but this wasn't exactly what Sabine had in mind. A a few months ago, if someone told her she'd be getting a month and a half on Alora, she'd have been jumping for joy. She was still jumping of course, though now it was mostly over rubble and pockets of radiation- not exactly her idea of a vacation. Not for a lack of trying of course, Sabine had conveniently parked her mech more or less in the center of the pilots' congregation and was currently lounging in a hammock strung between the mech's leg and the remains of a nearby pillar. In her hands was a scorched magazine, and the remains of the tanning mirror she'd found somewhere within the remains of the hotel did little for her skin- currently clad head to toe in her flight suit. To her side, a holo-display slowly scrolled by, displaying diagnostics information as she was wrapping up the Hare's maintenance checks. Only a scorch mark gouging through the left side of her flight suit from a rather close call signified that their current situation could've been anything other than a vacation to the young pilot.

Not that the situation around them was any better. Even after over a month of hard fighting, they hadn't made nearly as much progress as they needed. The planet was dying. If they didn't take care of the Aberrant threat soon, then the entire planet would be lost within the week. No doubt Howe was beginning to think this was all a wasted effort, and Sabine couldn't exactly blame him either. Sure, she enjoyed flying and fighting- loved it in fact, but brutal attrition wasn't exactly her style, blaze of glory was much preferred. The White Hare was designed for rapid assaults, and instead they were bogged down in what more or less amounted to a slow slog through the middle of Aberrant territory. Damage was slowly but surely mounting, and she down to about a quarter of her smartcannon and missile ammunition, forcing her to rely mostly on her energy weapons for the past few days. But with resources spread thin the way they were, they all had to make do: ad hoc units formed in the middle of fighting, picking up pilots and infantry from depleted and shattered units to fill out their own dwindling ranks.

Commander Aurigae- Ahkari had approached their small formation with a plan: One last daring, all or nothing type of raid. End the Aberrant threat in a day, no doubt at the cost of many- or most of their lives. A suicide run with dubious odds of success at best. Sabine snorted at the thought of the mission being a request. They all knew that at the rate they were going, the planet would be lost before they could get to the Princess. They were going in, or they were pulling out, no two ways about it, though Sabine at least appreciated the courtesy of asking, as unnecessary as it was.

"Safe is boring." Sabine whined. The mirror cracked and broke as it clattered to the ground, magazine unceremoniously dumped aside as Sabine swung off of her hammock and back down to the ground with the rest of the crew. Her footsteps light and bouncy as she casually sauntered over to Howe and swiped the lit cigarette from his fingers, taking a long drag from it as she leaned on the taller pilot. She winced slightly as she stretched the burn on her side, but otherwise ignored the discomfort. With a languid yawn, Sabine fixed her eyes on their current Constellation-Commander and winked. "Howie's right, and you said it yourself, we don't have enough time to take it slow. Might as well quit beating around the bush and hit that bitch where it hurts."

"Besides, as much as I've liked Alora, all the radiation really isn't good for my complexion."

---

Rudis was worse for wear. In fact, she was half a month off of being feral. Her hair was knotted and frayed. The end of her ponytail had been scorched and burnt into a frazzled black end--really, it was closer to a donkey tail. Dirt caked nearly the entirety of her skin; the clean parts had been sanded down by road rash. The only part of her that wasn't worn down was her cloak. It wasn't for a lack of trying; it was just a fortunate timing of her having to recently replace her completely demolished one. One could easily mistake her as a beast already. Her current attitude didn't help either. As she rested sitting on a telltale slab of rock, a large pile of ration wrappers had formed by her feet. Though, perhaps littering in a warzone wasn't exactly the most pressing issue at the moment.

Any downtime that Rudis could manage had been filled with shoving her gob full of whatever calories she could find. In most cases, it was the rations that they were supplied with. Now was no different. While others had partaken in sunbathing, stimulants, and stoicism, Rudis had already eaten enough for four constellations. When the commander approached, Rudis hadn't even bothered to stop shoving rations in her mouth to listen. She could multitask. Not very well, but she technically could.

Rudis' answer to the commander's question was obvious. Even though a month's fighting had worn her down, she still had enough gas left for another month. Whether that was in brutal inch-by-inch attrition or to be burnt away in one final glorious strike was of little importance to the blattidaean Constellation.

She still let the others speak first as she ate more rations. Most--their ramshackle pilots, rather--were in simple agreement. Odessa went further and crafted a strategy. She was infinitely better than Rudis at crafting a strategy and the entire thinking thing. That, unfortunately, didn't stop Rudis from chiming in.

"That's your opinion." She refuted with an overdone smirk. "I got all the resources we need to get into the nest right here."

In one fell motion, she stuck her ration bar in her mouth and flexed both arms. It was difficult to tell if she was earnestly joking or jokingly boisterous. After all, Rudis could--in theory--be uncharacteristically subversive in an urban planet. Concrete and cement were simply another form of earth. Of course, her awful efficiency made getting through more than a handful of walls that way an exercise in endurance even for her. Also knowing her, she was moreso thinking of running through walls and going in a straight line.

A brief moment of gravity came over Rudis.

"No but uh--probably what Odie said. I'm ride or die, not a stratestician."

---

As the remains of their little vanguard discussed the correct course of action, Selene sat quietly atop a discarded crate, listening intently and trying not to worry about how cavalier some of them sounded at the idea of a suicide mission. Five Bishop patrols, three Knight scouting parties, and two or more Rook encampments, all before even stepping foot inside the Nest itself, or facing the Princess. She didn’t doubt the capabilities of her companions, some of which she’d had the delight of fighting alongside before; unfortunately, the line between heroism and vainglory could be quite blurry. Yes, what else could Ahkari’s plan be considered but suicide? And she could not understand why.

She knew the reason, of course: to save Alora. To rid her home world of the Aberrants so that its people might return, rebuild, and regain their strength. It might take decades, maybe centuries. Entire generations of Alorans would grow up on a ruined world, working to recreate something they’d never seen themselves, and die hoping those that came after might be able to finish, so that their own children could enjoy the fruits of their labor. Planets were monuments, there was history rooted so deeply in the earth that could never truly be recovered if it was lost. People were tied to their homes in ways that defied the material. Not pride but duty, not heroism but instinct. She knew that, she knew all off that—she just didn’t understand it.

The civilians were safe, for now, evacuated or sheltered until they could be. The UAS and MHA had established themselves and while, true, there was resistance, progress was being made with each day, each hour even. Perhaps the answer was not to simply wait as long as they could, but surely vengeance was preferable to martyrdom.

She heard humming—or maybe she was humming herself—and felt inwardly ill. No, what a terrible thing to think. Terrible and callous to the suffering of people like Ahkari. Dr. Reom had told her—not dissuasively—that she might have been promoted a year ago, had she a habit of prioritizing the success of a mission over the wellbeing of her comrades, and not the other way around. That tendency had thus far failed to impress her superiors, but neither had it brought her any sort of court martial or official rebuke.

Still, it was best she hadn’t voiced those thoughts, and she was glad to hear a proposition that seemed to come from a place of similar—if more pragmatically-minded—sentiment. “I agree with Odessa too,” Selene said softly, hopping down from the crate.

She placed an extra ration bar beside Rudis with a smile, and then made her way over to the pair of pilots. She didn't recognize either of them, but then, protracted battles had a way of introducing strangers to each other, and she never turned down to the opportunity to meet new people. Though still in one piece, there was a weariness to the man—though Selene was not entirely sure if he simply looked that way normally—and the woman bore a scorch in her left side that Selene had noticed bother her more than once.

Reaching into her coat, she produced a small medipen. It was nothing more than an analgesic gel, but it was what she had, and it would likely serve the pilot better anyway. Sadly, she didn’t smoke and had already given her ration to Rudis, so had nothing to offer the man, but she made a note to remember in case they both made it back.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a proper burn kit.” she said, offering the medipen to her. “I’m Selene. I look forward to working with you both.”

---

The pain was always worse in a Cradle.

Like ants picking at her nerves, the sharp pains spiked with every jostle of turbulence that shook the lander as it rolled through Alora's stratosphere. Only years of discipline and training kept it from showing in her face and posture, forever the image of regal excellence that she had been made to embody. With eyes closed to help block out sensations, she would seem to almost be in a state of meditation with the way she remained still if not for the occasional deep breaths that she took. In truth, this was just the way the Mortuus-Orbitae were, every child learning to keep their breathing as minimal as possible to avoid overusing precious oxygen in case of emergencies. It also kept the mind calm in moments like this, when pain seemed an ever present companion.

The not-insignificant amount of painkillers she'd taken prior to this mission in preparation didn't hurt either.

Zhejiang was dressed lightly in her Zayin DC, bright red jacket seeming to be the heaviest piece of clothing on her.  Not unlike the Eorman, her own muscularity was on full display in the form of a strong core toned to the point where her abdominal muscles were just barely visible. If not for the suite of nanobots she held in her system, she'd likely be covered in no small number of scars due to the... intensity of her training methods. Instead, only one scar stood out—an ugly triptych of pale white lines that trace up from her hip to her right shoulder. A reminder of her greatest failure.

She'd be sure to give the creature that gave it to her one to match before she tore out his core with her bare hands. Slowly, so she could sa-

Zhejiang's eyes opened when she heard the Eorman constellation speak, thoughts interrupted by a voice much too loud and abrasive for his position in her opinion. Alas, such was the nature of the Dragon sect and it was not her place to correct a man many battles and years her senior. Though after she gave his figure a once over, she allowed herself a small amount of relief that Duccia was not here with her. Her Voidbound would have talked her ear off about the man's exaggerated physique. 

I'll never understand her taste in men. She shook her head before turning attention to the other overseer of this little 'field test' as he called it. He acted more in line with what was expected, but Zhejiang couldn't find anything else impressive to note about him. He gave an impression not to unlike her old tutor's when they caught her trying to sneak out her remidials, stern to the point of farce.

Speaking of a farce. . .

Zhejiang didn't look at the thing as it spoke with a quivering modulated voice, though she could not help the sneer that appeared on her face as it made an attempt at a joke. She'd heard the one pilot talking to it, likely beguiled by a pretty face and shy demeanor into pitying the thing. She had expected better from a man as seasoned as he was, but it was only a natural response. To pity the monster and ignore both the horror that created it and what horrors will follow. It's likely why they let it look passingly human to begin with. A perfect figurehead.

She didn't pay much attention to the pilot aside from noting the surname as being familiar, though with the buzzing in her head and the general irritation she felt, it proved hard to focus on where she'd heard it. He seemed fresh out of the academy, exuding a sense of bravado and confidence that came with either ignorance or a self-assured confidence in his own skill. She'd reserve further judgment of the boy until she saw him in action.

Before Zhejiang could begin her own introductions, as pointless as she felt they were given the aforementioned briefing they all should have received, Lictor spoke up all of a sudden. The man's tone held a low grumble, but no real anger to it for the most part. She did find herself appreciative that he was open about stating that the thing needed to be watched. Dancing around the obvious was not a tactic befitting a Constellation. It was only once Lictor was fully finished with his introduction that Zhejiang herself would take the stand.

"My name is Zhejiang Erica Teteh Almark Trace Aeolia Julianne Nova Trine Alzmille Lenore Chandra Ral Shagia Kycilia Lucille Jacqueline Agrippa Elysia Paraya Verlaine Haro Tieria Kelly Sune Stabity Drasso Visch Milla Romanof Rosso Christine Sys Lichtendahl al Mortuus-Orbitae LXXXV, Stardust class and bearing the Callsign Signus." Her voice remained steady and unbothered as she spoke her entire introduction in one breath (as was the custom), even as a wave of nausea overcame her for a moment. Fighting against the discomfort, she continued without missing a beat, a hand placed over her heart with a head inclined toward her superiors in the room. A crisp Mortuus-Orbitae salute. "The Blade I wield is the honored Brilliant Void, and we both hope to learn much from the masters present here today."

For a moment, she wanted to press her superior's about the nature of this... 'field test', and what it would mean going forward if it proved successful. If they could truly trust a thing that was barely human to begin with, especially with what they knew of Aberrant functions. But it was not her place as a stardust to question those above her, and if the Sects believed the thing would cause issues, they would never have allowed it onboard. Like Lictor stated, it would be handled, and she should focus instead on her duties and mission in helping the war effort on Alora.

So she instead sat back in her seat, the picture of dignity even as it felt like her skin was trying to twist itself off her body the further they descended. It wouldn't be much longer, however, till relief was in sight. The Thrill was the only thing that pushed the pain away—the sheer adrenaline of losing herself in a pitched battle. Absently, her fingers thumbed Brilliant Void in anticipation, a little bit of the Thrill singing in her mind as she finally turned her gaze towards their destination. 

Howe made a half hearted huff of annoyance when Sabine strutted over, ignoring her own burn injuries and snatching his cigarette away as she chimed in with her own outlook. After she took a drag, as she was talking he reached over and snatched it back, taking another drag on it while he considered the outlook of each person. Of course Sabine was all for the assault option, she enjoyed pushing combat to its limits. Trailing her in his slower mech usually left him in a good position to observe the damage she could do, and keep her flanks clear while pushing ahead when he can, and such a loud mouthed pilot being on a nominally stealthy mission was funny in its own way. All that aside, he did have something to say to her as she continued to insist on using him as someplace to lean, when she wasn't busy stealing his smokes. "That's another pack you owe me Sab, that's at least three now if I am being generous. Don't your rations come with a pack anyways?"

Another Constellation decided to make her presence and voice on the matter known, Howe frankly didn't keep close track of them beyond who was hitching a ride on his mech at any give time before they jumped out to get stuck in. That was one thing he begrudingly envied, being able to face the Aberrant face to face and put the things down up close and personal. He knew he was a better pilot than he ever was an infantryman but having to rely on others for the real threats got tedious after awhile. Especially around the more egotistical ones, but that wasn't the case here currently. Her suggestion was to attack but request additional forces launch a diversionary attack. Neat idea, but if they had the manpower to pull that off it would have been part of the plan already. "Worth a shot asking, but if the manpower was available to make diversionary attacks I suspect it would have been planned for already. We might just be the last ditch effort to keep another world from falling, so it goes."

The next Constellation, when she wasn't busy stuffing her mouth to an almost absurd degree by the looks of things, was the cocky type he had come to expect from their lot. Willing to see this through, hell or high water, was at least something that could be respected. Then again, all of this relied on each person volunteering being willing to do or die. Sabine he knew was at least willing to put herself in harms way, he knew that death had stopped being an enemy for himself for years now, but the others were unknowns. It was relatively easy to say that one was willing to go down swinging for a cause, stepping into the grave was another matter completely. He would have to wait and see how this all panned out before measuring the character of those who were agreeing to a near suicidal change of tactics. Nothing to particularly say to her though, and Howe wasn't too keen on unnecessary chatter at the moment.

Last of the Constellations to chime in, at least in their current gathering, was probably the most gentle in her initial approach. Also actually introduced herself as well, how about that, offering a ration bar to the hungry one and a medipen to Sabine. Nothing for him, but Howe didn't take that personally, probably didn't have anything worth a damn giving. Still, she was showing some common courtesy in introductions and the like, even if remembering her would rely on her surviving he could at least be polite. He was professional, but his tone and face were as set as when Sabine had wandered over. A nasty case of resting bitch face, as he was told it was, but made gambling easier. "Callsign is Dunkirk, a pleasure. Sab, actually use that please, last thing we need is a chaffing burn distracting you at a critical moment."

Finally the lead Constellation got her fill, the others all volunteering, to the last, for this do or die change to the plan. Shame a group like this hadn't been available on New Alexandria, maybe he would still have a homeworld if that was the case. No, that wasn't exactly fair, the senior staff had failed that time. Still, it seemed like they would be contacting the powers that be and begging for help. More time wasted sitting around and waiting to be discovered, and ruining what surprise they could yet muster. Still, he wasn't in charge and that was probably for the best. With nothing better to do, Howe finished his current smoke and stomped it out. He resisted the urge to light another, in case they decided to move out soon. More importantly, it would keep Sabine from stealing another. Part of him wondered if he should say something, but no doubt the more chatty among them would fill the silence soon enough. He didn't count the Constellation Commander's communication, that was background noise right now, instead he started doing a visual inventory of what they had available. Pilots and their frames, Constellations and supporting infantry, anything that might prove useful in a pinch he was going to keep a mental tally of.

---

Perhaps luckily for them, it was more or less agreed upon that a dynamic plan was better than a slow slough. Unsurprisingly, the Constellations were unafraid of throwing themselves into the fight- though at least one suggested taking a slightly more calculated approach. Perhaps it was the superpowers or top of the line gear and special weapons that made them so much more bold than the average man or woman. Perhaps in another life, Sabine might've resented the sort of cavalier attitude they all had towards danger- easy to do so when you were by and far the most dangerous thing in most people's lives, a bit harder when you were just a regular human. Though at this point, Sabine had stopped caring, a fight was a fight, and a soldier was a soldier; Constellation, pilot, grunt, didn't really matter anymore.

"Aww, Howie, are you keeping track? I like when you pay attention to me." The head of pink hair bobbed as Sabine offered a sweet, albeit fake giggle. "Besides, my last ration pack is riiight- there." Sabine added lightly, punctuating her statement by pointing at one of the empty ration wrappers at Rudis' feet. Sabine wasn't particularly worried about finding more sustenance in case the fight ended up dragging out longer than they liked- it wasn't hard to sweet talk grunts, and for better or for worse, there was no shortage of bodies and vehicles to scrounge supplies from in an environment like this.

Though it was a pleasant surprise to not have to go scrounging for a medkit, as one of the Constellations approached them. Usually, Constellations held a sort of lofty, almost holier-than-thou air about them, usually not deigning to do much more than order their MHA colleagues around. At least by Sabine's recollection, most never really approached them for much more than to bark orders, but perhaps they were just not good with small talk- being trained to be a weapon from incredibly young ages could probably do that to a person. Could it be that perhaps Sabine's attitude made them not like her? Impossible, surely. The Constellation in particular introduced herself to them as Selene. Soft, gentle, refined even, like talking to a noblewoman at tea time rather than the burnt out hotel they found themselves in.

"Merci, belle." Sabine offered Selene a broad, beaming grin as she graciously took the medipen, flipping it once or twice casually in her hand. "Aren't you just the sweetest? Don't mind Howie, he's always a bit of a stick in the mud, but he means well. Probably." Popping the cap of the pen open, Sabine quickly applied the analgesic gel to her burn. Her eyes flickered a bit with a wince, and her breath caught in her throat for a moment, but made no audible complaints otherwise. She breathed out a relaxed sigh as the antiseptic painkiller did its work. She'd slap a wrap over it once she got back to her machine, but for now this would do.

"Sabine." She said as a way of introducing herself, pulling out a noticeably full pack of cigarettes from a side pouch and offering the soft-spoken Constellation one, "But the other flyboys like to call me Rabbit. I'm flying the big white one right there." She jerked a thumb at her mech, parked just a few meters away, the once pristine white paintjob now scoured and sullied by scorchmarks and ricochetting shrapnel. A particularly large scorchmark on the side of the cockpit's torso lined up with the burn on Sabine's own side. Luckily, the stray blast hadn't punched through the hull, but the resulting heat had been strong enough to cause one of her side displays to short and blow.

"Looks like you guys get to do all the fun stuff, again, but I'm happy to wingwoman your date with royalty." Sabine chuckled, offering Selene an audacious wink, "Though I guess she doesn't know you Constellations are the one-night-stand type, huh?"

---

"Hels yeah." Rudis said with a smile as Selene gave her another ration bar--one that she had immediately opened and scarfed down.

When Ahkari gave her sincere motivational speech, Rudis wasn't that impressed. Though, she wasn't daft--she knew it was a difference in culture. Forgeship speeches were considerably more... rousing. They were filled with such motivational lines as "If you don't die, you're going to live forever!" if you could hear the speech over the audience's profanity-laden cheers. Still, Rudis could only raise an eyebrow with the short speech.

Though, once she went off to the communications staff, Rudis promptly stopped paying much attention--her chewing out an underling was very much ignored. In fact, that's how most communication on a forgeship was. She wasn't one for the details, nor was she someone ever meant to lead in a formal hierarchy. She just did what command told her and, more important than that, did what she thought was the right thing to do.

When Sabine pointed at one of the ration wrappers, Rudis waved back at them. As she finished her last ration--the one that Selene had given her--Rudis rose from her stone throne and walked over to Selene and the two pilots as she sensed it was time for introductions.

"Rudis here." She said as she approached. "Or Rho Ophiuchi. But ain't nobody calls me that 'cept paperwork. I don't got gifts on me right now unless you're a little bold, so gifts gotta wait 'til we get spaceside."

Lictor rose to his feet with the declaration of their swiftly approaching arrival. The subtle shifts of atmospheric pressure and engine thrust trembled through the airbus and into his feet. He rolled his neck, tapped his visor, then toggled the shortband feed of his radio transceiver with the same hand. Carnifex's slow lilt was caught by his other hand. Carnifex was lifted up, the scabbard's strap loosely pulled over one shoulder. The buckle was tightened, the long blade situated vertically down Lictor's back. He rested an arm on the rifle slung to his chest, loosely holding it with nary a finger on the trigger, as he turned and walked slowly along Aissi's trajectory towards the hangar doors. It was a languid pace, a comfortable one. A mosey, with purpose. He did not speak up to anyone in passing, but his nods and directed gazes were weighted. A nod to Howser. A lingering glance on Zhejiang. That flicker of familiarity at Alto.

His steps came to a natural conclusion by Kyra's mech as the woman scrambled into her machine. He cast his voice in a bark up to her;

"Keep cool. You're one of the best, yeah?" He prompted Kyra, clearly not expecting an answer. His eyes did not even rise to meet her, as his gaze focused through the HUD of his visor and observed Aissi's spreading wings and the display of her exotic stature. "I'll be up top. I'll keep your ankles clear. Don't worry about me falling off. Don't worry about anything besides keeping up speed. You've got three jobs."

He lifted his hand off the rifle to count the orders he had for her up his hand;

"Keep up with the winged girl." Pinky finger.

"Get me to any Bishops that show up." Ring finger.

"Don't fuckin' die. If things get to be too much and you can't get in contact with me then link up with Howser. That Grizzly is your best bet at not eating shit out there." Middle finger.

"We good, Newman?" He finally looked up at her. His barking voice, while firm, was not harsh. When she finally answered, he would effortlessly scale the mech and take a position atop it.

---

If anyone was particularly impressed by his assertive introduction, Alto didn't get the chance to taste it before the prevailing mood in the room switched to one of savory respect for the old veteran in charge of the operation, followed by a sweet-and-sour confusion towards the lady who came after him. It wasn't like Alto was unfamiliar with the almost cultish devotion with which old blueblood families cherished their histories, but even by the standards of those he'd had the misfortune to meet during his own high-class upbringing, that lady had way too many names.

There were a few more after that -- some Constellations he'd never heard of, as well as a fellow rookie pilot who seemed even more nervous than the giant girl had been under the gaze of their superiors. He resisted the urge to send her a little sympathy as well, but at least gave her a bright grin as she sat back down.

"Don't let 'em get to you," He said quietly. "That lot doesn't pay attention to anyone who's not a member of their shiny sword club anyhow."

Not sympathy, but on second thought, he allowed himself to share a bit of assurance. She had nothing to worry about, after all -- he'd be watching her back.

Either way, none of the others on the ship made quite as memorable a first impression as the first Constellation had. His curiosity flickered back to how she had introduced herself, and the implications thereof -- but since he didn't like any of the answers he came up with to sate that curiosity, he once again pushed it back for the time being.

There wasn't time for such speculation, anyway. He could feel the rumbling of the floor beneath him as the thrusters intensified, slowing their until-then rapid descent. The growing tension in the air confirmed his suspicions as the veterans among their ranks all felt it too, and set about their preparations.

Well, they didn't need to tell him twice. The moment he got the go-ahead, he hopped up from his seat and rushed to the back of the ship, scampering right up the boarding ladder before his Corvo's cockpit had even finished opening. Tossing himself through the half-open canopy, he tugged it shut behind him and tossed himself down into the pilot's chair, as all around him, projected screens began to flicker to life over the blank metal of the cockpit, as the machine around him seemed to fade and give way to the hangar outside, leaving him suspended at the center of the panoramic display as screens and readouts began to pop into being all around him.

If Alto had his way, he'd have already spent the entire ride in here instead of out in the bay socializing with his supposed betters -- these Connies had no respect for just how long it took to do a full pre-flight check, and do it properly.

...Granted, he'd already done it once before they even loaded his unit onto the transport. And so had the good Doctor before that. But what if they'd missed something? This was his first real action -- if something malfunctioned now it could be a permanent stain on his career!

Wracking his brains, he followed the steps as quickly as he could remember them. Fuel check. Green. Battery check. Green. Power on. Secondary systems check -- all green. Weapons check -- fully loaded and fully operational. Finally, the Craft system. First he'd have to toggle it on, test the stabilizers, and then --

A measured mechanical voice cut through the thread of his concentration like a hot knife through butter, and he almost jumped to hear it.

"Statement: Magni-Craft system is already fully charged and operating within expected parameters. Addendum: You have observed this diagnostic file three times already. Further testing is redundant, Operator."

"Ghh -- I knew that, Corvo! He insisted -- though his supposed knowledge didn't stop him from hastily closing the file the moment his Support Interface began to question him on it. "I was just... checking something."

"Suggestion: Would it not be more pertinent to check who our assigned partner is? Reminder: We are under orders to support the Constellations, and to do so without endangering either this unit or the Operator. Conclusion: Operating in tandem with a Constellation is critical to the success of our mission."

Alto groaned. The last thing he wanted was to have his first mission be to play taxi for some glamorous elite -- but then again, he also wasn't particularly keen on being lectured for insubordination... and just going by the numbers, they only had three mechs and twice as many Constellations. Logically speaking, someone was going to have to carry the precious Connies, and unfortunately, between his unit's mobility and its long range, his Corvo was rather well suited to play that role in a pinch.

"...Fine. Open up comms with the squad. I'll... deal with it, I guess." He sighed, then cleared his throat. The viewscreen in front of him flashed as, in the corner of his vision, a readout appeared displaying a list of signals. Anything beyond short range comms was a tall order, but at least like this he'd be able to see who was talking... assuming he could read such a small window in the heat of battle, anyway.

"This is Eight-Ball, reporting in. I don't have any extra seats, but I can offer the best view in the house if any of our VIPs has a taste for fireworks. Any takers?"

---

Sabine and Dunkirk—or “Howie”, it seemed. Selene scratched both of their names into her wall, so she wouldn’t forget. They appeared to know each other well enough, though she couldn’t have guessed which one was the superior, if either was. Howie had the gruff, commanding edge that she’d come to expect of MHA officers, whose stoicism was at once a weapon to be wielded against the Abberants, and a shield to guard their allies. But Sabine spoke with the casual candor that made Selene think she was high enough rank to get away with it. She supposed it could all break down in circumstances like this. Formality among Constellations wasn’t particularly rigid regardless, and it was refreshing, perhaps even a bit relieving, to see pilots who could both keep their cools and their senses of humor in the thick of an invasion.

Sabine made a joke, and Selene giggled, partly because she found it funny, and partly because it was the appropriate thing to do. She enjoyed banter, though she was only recently starting to engage with it. A mere few years ago she’d had trouble differentiating jokes from truth, sarcasm from seriousness. Clarity and social awareness came to her in bursts, where she would realize how stunted her outlooks were and grow incredibly embarrassed, only to lose her grasp on the concept shortly thereafter and need things explained to her. But over time, and with more socialization, she trained that muscle back into memory. It was that sort of effort, and those results, that had helped get her approved for active duty in the first place. Nowadays most people only considered her weird in the same way that all Constellations apparently were, which to her was quite encouraging.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I always leave my number, but they never seem to call,” Selene said wistfully, and added a wink of her own because it also felt appropriate.

Another joined them then, the hungry Constellation. She introduced herself as Rudis, or Rho Ophiuchi, so Selene committed them both to the wall just to be safe.

“Selene. Nice to meet you!” she said to the imposing woman, with a smile, and turned her attention back to the pilots. “I’m sure you two will manage to find your own fun. Like…crashing a house party!”

That was a guess, of course. Selene had never been to a house party. Perhaps she could add it to her ever-expanding list of to-dos.