BlasTech

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Oh no! They're asking questions! The plan is in danger!

Finally!!

Later, Asil would swear that Isabelle's eyes grew by a good five centimetres. Before she could stop her, she'd already vaulted over the bake stall and rushed up to the other woman.

"You've been here for that long? What was the settlement like back then? What broadcast tech did you use and how have you upgraded it since?" she rapid fires.

Laced through all this is the desperate plea. Tell me about yourself! It has to be more interesting than just handing out muffins.

[Entice with wit: 6 + 1 + 0: 7]

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Isabelle stood by the table, faintly disgruntled, as Asil and Tomas stood beside her - almost like bodyguards. Her plans had been perfect, visionary even. How could it be that they would come to this?

===== A few days earlier =====

"Uh. No. We're not doing that."

Isabelle ... well, she didn't pout. She never pouted. But she did adopt a ... a sophisticated air of dissatisfaction at Asil's objection. A fully mature and non-pouting look, it was.

"I don't see why it wouldn't work ... I mean, all we have to do is station drones at every entrance, equipped with tranquilisers, and then have additional drones available to move the bodies somewhere safe until the operation is complete."

"Uh huh ... and setting aside the moral implications with drugging people, and the logistical problems with getting the dosage right for a bunch of different species, let alone individuals ... do you know how many staff the spaceport broadcast facility has?"

"Three thousand and fifty five, plus another few hundred in the surrounding buildings." Isabelle replies, trying to follow where Asil might be going with this.

"And do you have that much tranquiliser, or even know how to make it?"

...

"So you're going with the lack-of-drugs angle?" Isabelle replies, eventually. Deciding that firing back was a more viable strategy than trying to defend the proposal.

"Well, when you get that look in your eyes, I doubt normal arguments will make the cut ... so yeah, I am."

Isabelle blows some of the hair out of her face.

"Fine. Okay. Well what about the other plan. I still maintain that enough fires, strategically placed-"

"No fires!" Asil cuts her off. "We've been over this. No fires, floods, earthquakes or any other disasters and definitely no dressing up as the Stellar Queen and staging a superhero battle in the plaza. We don't want to cause a panic that can get people hurt!"

Isabelle grumbled. She'd practiced her evil laugh and everything.

"Okay, well that leaves the concert idea, but I couldn't get any performers at such short notice - they're all already booked for the Finals on other planets." Isabelle continues, turning back to the drawing board.

As in, a literal drawing board - she'd put together a good dozen ideas and had appended pictures of what some of it might look like. Sketches dotted the wall showing the spaceport and broadcast facility from a variety of angles and with a variety of scenarios playing out. She was particularly proud of the Stellar Queen costume she'd designed - it looked like something right out of the comic book.

"Well, it's official then ... I'm out of ideas."

She felt Asil come up behind her, and leaned backwards into the other woman's presence. Relaxing for a minute and hoping that inspiration would strike.

"You know ... there are easier ways to do this than a big dramatic spectacle."

"Oh yeah, like what? I mean, I did think of just buying the broadcast company. It's a bit over budget though."

"A bit." Asil deadpanned.

"Yeah?" replies Isabelle, confused at her tone.

"'Belle ... just how much money are you earmarking for this?"

"I dunno, I'm trying to keep it reasonable - I figure we don't want to go over fifty million?"

"Fifty m-" was about as far as Asil got before facepalming.

With both hands.

...

"Okay, here's what you're going to do."

=================

It hadn't taken much to bribe the security staff to alter the barricades and cordon off the entrance to the broadcast centre. As much as they cared about their jobs, each one now had a nest egg that would last them for a very long time - assuming they invested it according to the pamphlet Isabelle had prepared for them.

A bit more of the budget had been spent to lure away the drifting office workers with additional catering and drinks. As well as a spin the wheel that boasted five hundred credits per winner for the first thousand winners. The remainder of people in Dolly's way were being dealt with thanks to a random "security sweep" that would be co-ordinated with her approach.

And that left Isabelle standing at the bake stall, with both Asil and Tomas beside her. Making sure that she wasn't going to get any fun out of the whole arrangement. No chance to join in the security sweep. No chance to wave some paper around and bluff a manager that she was in charge or any other shenanigans that would let her pretend she was some kind of secret agent on a galaxy saving mission.

No. Just her. Here. At the stall. Handing out baked goods to office workers who were all too eager to abandon their posts for the promise of free food and coffee.

I'm.

So.

Bored!

Huntresses of Hybrasil

The numb freefall of the rescue gravs is the perfect time to ponder the Big Questions.

How does one measure success?

The tactical part of her mind, the part that calculated thrust vectors and angles of attack, was still buzzing. It didn't matter that she'd lost, this defeat was just one more factor to consider in its planning. Was it enough that she'd struck such a blow against the Aeteline, the mech that had waged such a campaign of destruction all those years prior? Would it be sufficient to have done more than any other pilot in recent memory?

For her Mother? Unlikely. Only the headline result mattered, which meant that her next battle was imminent.

What value is life?

A melelcholy topic, one that she can only contemplate in the numb calmness of her descent. She'd had an opportunity to win just then, but the cost would have been the life of another pilot. More than 'a pilot', Solarel. Some trained reflex still tried to depersonalise it, even now, to make it seem like an easier choice.

Isabelle hated that part of her.

The whole appeal of fighting in the arena - when compared to the actual fighting she'd faced in her kidnapping - had always been the inherent safety for a pilot. Maybe it was naive to think so, but pilot deaths were rare. They weren't generally part of what you had to worry about.

Solarel was worth more than the match. She was worth more than the Emberlight (even though a small part of her was shocked to hear her admit that). But the core truth was - for all it represented Isabelle's one safe place, her sanctuary in a lonely galaxy, the Emberlight could be rebuilt. A person couldn't.

What is in a word?

And here, she admitted ruefully, her mind was really starting to wander into the esoteric. Still, there had been a beauty to that fight that she held tight to. A clarity of communication that had been frustrated for far too long. She'd gotten through to Solarel, at long last. And , in doing so, had hopefully reminded her of what was important:

That there were others out there who could speak to her. That there was more to fighting, to flying, than just victory.

Isabelle frowns, remembering what had happened next. The Ateline had put Solarel in danger, simply to secure the killing blow. And then it had spoken to her. For it to so casually offer up its pilot, particularly to someone like Isabelle who had already proven she'd be willing to hurt others to advance in the tournament ... it had been ...

... insane didn't even begin to cover it.

That there had been intelligence there, so cold, so distant. Even more alien than the actual aliens she'd talked to and fought against. It stood there as a repudiation of all the things that made the arena such a wonderful place. It didn't care about skill, banter, heart or willpower. It didn't fight to express itself or communicate or to make connections.

"Peak Performance" ... at that, Isabelle could only scoff. She'd been there. Done that. And it wasn't worth it.

But as to what to do with this information, she had no idea where to start analysing it.

Thankfully, she knew someone who did.

She'd download the memory weave as soon as she could. Send it to Mirror with her compliments. Hopefully the Hybrasillian would be able to finish what she'd started and save Solarel from herself, and that prison of metal and cold fire.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Solarel - for you, Isabelle has all the patience in the galaxy.

Fire thrusters, offset the limp. Step to the side, leap primed, in case of a hidden strike from loitering munitions. Drones to defence to ward off a ranged strike whilst moving.

Isabelle fights like a river, bending with the land. As you push, she retreats, but not so far as to remove the threat she poses. Her own strength is always there, as inexorable as that of the water that undercuts the mountain.

Have you ever wanted to be a hero?

In those Anime you've watched, you would have seen them. The ones that usually have to go through a trial or some such nonsense, before coming back for their own, stronger and ready to triumph? To fight the final battle and earn their Rewards. Some of them good looking, some less so, most plucky and young, others older. It's a pretty standard pattern and one that might have caught your interest.

Step back, and the land rises beneath Isabelle's feet. A pathway forming out of the dirt, taking her to the higher ground. An invitation to destruction, one you wisely avoid. It's not meant to be her finishing blow, just to give you both more time. Time to express yourself. Time to watch. Time to learn.

Isabelle fights like a flower - petals opening to the sun, waiting for your light. Turning to you as you move. Life, but also danger. Every rose has its thorns does it not?

Heroes have their own motivations, somewhat more varied than the structure of their stories. Some want to save their homes. Others the world. Some might just want to protect those around them. Others just want to be left alone, but will nonetheless do the Right Thing when the call comes.

Love. Life. Compassion. Empathy.

As the Aeteline moves, the drones swirl. Closer, further away. What are they doing? You make your advance and Isabelle steps forward as well this time - aggression that suggests some counter is at play - and you step back instead.

Isabelle fights like the wind. Formless. Adaptable. Persistent.

The values of a hero are something that Isabelle had been taught to ignore. To bury them in the name of doing what was required, what Duty called her to do. What was needed to survive in the cutthroat world of politics and money. Mirror said it best once: she had been taught backwards.

But she can learn. And in doing so, she can realise what she wants.

She wants to help. To protect. To do the Right Thing.

Isabelle fights like a Hero. She's faced her defeats, her trials, at the hands of Ada Smith and yourself. She's learned from her teachers, including Mirror. Her motions now belie compassion, hope, determination and love.

She has the skills to climb the mountain or erode it over time. But that's not what she wants. She doesn't want your defeat. She wants to help you.

Tell us how the duel goes. She came here for it. So take as long as you need. Hours. Days even. She's was already used to all-nighters even before the Trak'tho nanobots got to her and increased her stamina.

Tell us how the duel peaks. In the flashing of blades, in the bright lights of explosions or something else, something more dramatic and flashy? Or something more intimate?

But more importantly. Tell us how she helps you. What has she done for you - in sacrificing a victory in this arena for your wellbeing. Did it achieve anything?

And, finally, tell this Hero what her reward will be. If any.

She doesn't fight for that but - well, it's part of the expectations. Anime doesn't lie after all, does it?

Huntresses of Hybrasil

"Motherfucker!!

Isabelle's swear reverberates across the comms as the platform erupts. Almost as quickly, the Emberlight is spinning out of the line of fire, seeking distance as the Aeteline closes in amongst the showering debris.

"Seriously?? You couldn't even let me finish? I learnt an entire language just to be able to get through to you and you still just ignored me?"

[Isabelle takes angry]

Her anger is twofold, directed at you for slapping her offer back so harshly, but also at herself. The drone she'd had in strike position had sat idle - the advantage ceded in the hopes that she could talk out the solution and, in doing so, not repeat the mistake that she'd made with Ksharta.

Y'know what? Fine. If fighting is the only language she understands, it's a good thing I'm multi-lingual.

The kick that comes from the sparking stump of her leg does not connect, but it passes close enough to spray leaking hydraulics across her opponent's optics.

The punch that comes after says, quite clearly: "I did not appreciate that"

[Isabelle inflicts a condition in response]

Maybe she should've restrained herself, but she's only Terenian - it's an instinct to swing back when hurt, and that attack did hurt. Here she is, Solarel, looking for your approval. Looking for your friendship. And yet you're too stuck in your mindset to do anything else other than what you've done all along. Cleave to your creed, unchanging.

No, unchanging is not right - burrowing deeper into it. Seeking your solution in the extreme of a path that you've been walking for some time. Chasing that sunk cost in the idea that maybe, maybe if you commit more, commit harder, the transcendence you're seeking will come.

In an instant of thought, Isabelle sees the parallel yet again - when you're conditioned in one way of thought so strongly, the options are always to either double down, hoping for a future payoff (or just despairing at the lack of any alternative), or to fundamentally reassess a greater part of your life. Whether in boardrooms, politics or on the battlefield the observation applies: that backing off that path is genuinely hard. So hard that many can never bring themselves to admit that they are wrong.

Her mother is one of them.

And in that moment of realisation, the instinct to strike back, to hurt back, fades faster than the residual blast heat.

Okay. Fine. It's like that is it? Well, if so ... let's try that again.

The Emberlight is wounded, true. But while many a mech would've been easy prey for the Aeteline in such a state, while many pilots would've given into despair and the inevitable ... those mechs were not piloted by her. And, for both her sake and yours, she will not yet give up.

The next shot meets an energy shield, deflected enough to pass over her shoulder.

It quite clearly says: "No"

The Emberlight hard burns into the colony ruins. It dodges, but only enough to evade your follow up shots, not enough to be lost amongst what is rapidly becoming ruins.

It says: "Follow me"

She turns, readying herself to meet you when you inevitably disappear. Using the Aeteline's stealth and unparalleled manoeuvrability to strike from the unexpected direction. But somehow, when your blade comes, it finds hers waiting in a ready block.

The sword strikes that follow up are met by a blazing riposte. Parries and blocks that make arcs of black and gold shimmer amongst the sky. But there are no attacks, no attempts by Isabelle to strike back.

Her stance says: "Not like this."

Her boosters fire, taking the fight up through the colony ruins. You can see her wrist launcher stay idle, the pistol that has returned to its holster. She gains distance and waits again. Were it any other pilot, they would be firing back by now, using the distance to employ their ranged weaponry or munitions.

But Isabelle doesn't. In doing so, she says: "I'm not here to hurt you."

The Hellzone Grenade that you launch in response is clinically dismantled by point defences from the swarm of drones that flit out of the colony's ruins like a shimmering school of fish. Isabelle had dispersed them immediately on entering the arena and they'd been multiplying the entire time she'd been speaking.

Together they say: "This is not the way"

The plasma lance that drills through the Emberlight's cockpit is perfectly aligned. But that Emberlight shimmers into nothing more than a smoking drone. The real one fading back into sight a few meters to the side.

It says: "This is not the way"

The Emberlight dives back towards you, but even as you unload your ballistic weaponry on her the colony shifts in response. It's the only way to describe it. Columns detach, just in time to be shredded by autocannon fire. Panels lodge in the ground in just the right places to ablate explosions.

It says: "This is not the way."

The mech hits the ground just as stone walls rise around you. Something has started the arena's nanobots building. But what? Is this part of the fight choreography? Or is something else going on.

It says two things:

"You don't have all the answers"

"Stay with me"

And the way that Isabelle moves, that the Emberlight moves, as it swings around you. The sword lunge less about striking an opponent as looking for a blade to cross. An aching reach. Looking for you to just swing back. Swords like a person's hands, looking for a partner.

It says: "Fight with me. Dance with me."

The strikes are blazing fast, but there is a lively energy in them. Not just technically perfect anymore. She blocks one strike in a bright arc, letting the momentum bring the blades into a lock between you, before winking.

It says: "This should be fun. You used to enjoy this. Why not enjoy it once again? We can be friends, rather than just opponents."

Parry. Parry. Block. Jump. Disengage.

The stone walls crumble. And the two mechs are free to move about once again.

[Isabelle rolls to fight - 4 + 4 + 0: 8 - She takes another string, and a superior position. Spending the string to encourage Solarel to speak with her this time - an XP if she does. She's deliberately not inflicting further conditions.]

Huntresses of Hybrasil

What is she most ashamed of? Well, take your pick from all the mistakes she's made before. Chief amongst them is the fight with Ksharta - where she let her fear triumph and made another young girl pay the price. Tragedy though it was, the root cause of all this is that Isabelle was weak. Too weak to stand up to her mother, too weak to believe she could even try, that acquiescence was the only option she had - when in reality she had so many more.

It had taken time to see that, a collective effort of many people - from Asil's encouraging words, to the steadfast support of those like Tomas and Rosa, to even the kind advice from those who should have been her enemies; Marna and ...

[Mirror.]

[She is looking forward to her match with you.] she signs. A lone woman speaking to the storm above.

[As I am sure you are too.]

Isabelle lets some of the frustration she feels work into the signing, her gestures becoming crisper - as Quar had once demonstrated.

[You see, everyone expects you to win here. After all, who can stand against the Aeteline? The mech that singlehandedly held off two empires. Whose biggest setback was being held at bay for a single day?]

How does she feel about Solarel?

[Do you remember who I am? Do you even care? About me, or about anything other than that fight? About anyone? Even counting yourself?]

There's an anger in her tone - born of an old wound, where she was defeated, discarded and forgotten. Just as many others likely were before. She has both moved beyond it and hasn't. One foot stretching forward whilst another stays stuck in the cold, lonely, sterile corridors of that Trak'tho facility.

[This is no way to live! I've watched your matches. All of them, as I'm sure you've watched mine. You fight, but you don't connect. You see opponents only as obstacles. As puzzles to be solved and shelved once completed. You move through this galaxy, carving a one-woman wake on the way to your destination. A goal in front, no care for what's behind, and always alone in the journey. I know this! I was once the same!]

She'd come here with every intention to defeat the Aeteline. That had been her goal. But her mind was in flux - at this apex point, she could tip in any direction. What course she'd set would depend on what Solarel did next. Despite the certainty of her words, she actually isn't sure that she's made the correct guess here - after all, if there's one thing that is evident from her observations to date (beyond the fact that Solarel is a peerless fighter) - it's that she sucks at communicating.

[If I'm wrong, tell me! What is it you want? The solution to a puzzle? People are not just puzzles. Not just their mechs. People are more. They live, they love, they change. If you intend to go into your fight with Mirror only seeking a solution then you will. not. find. it!]

She stands there, waiting for a response. Watching.

There are things that only become evident to yourself when you lay out your thoughts on a topic to someone else. In Isabelle's case, she feels her own goal crystallise. Revealing itself in her mind as pages being turned in a book. A tale being told towards its inevitable conclusion.

[You are the yardstick against which all others have been measured. But too focused on the single dimension of combat. People are more. I am more. I am worth more than just a measurement. And I demand you see that.]

[Roll to figure out a person - 5 + 1 + 2 = 8 How can I get you to respect or befriend me? What are your feelings towards Mirror?]

Huntresses of Hybrasil

The Emberlight turns, panels opening around the wrist, as Isabelle releases a cluster of what she now thinks of as her leech drones. Refined further after the battle with Marna, the smart cable has been augmented with single use thrusters and upgraded capacitors. Not that they are using those parts right now - the superconducting cables and contact with the ground is all they really need.

They take formation around, pushing back the storm, redirecting the lightning into the dirt of the mountain. Isabelle briefly considers pursuit, but that is simply playing by her opponent's demands. No, she wants Solarel to come to her.

She reaches a hand into the sky, a drone flies up and projects the symbol she signs. A beacon of light into the swirling clouds.

A single word in Foesign.

"Mirror"

[Entice: 4 + 4 + 2 - 2: 8]

Huntresses of Hybrasil

This is it.

There is indeed something freeing about piloting. The feeling of strength, where one has the ability to leap a building or crush a boulder in the palm of their hands - of feeling your self, writ large, and carried aloft on wings of crystal fire.

For Isabelle, the worries outside the arena fade away. For now, there is only her mech, her opponent, and the fight.

This won't be like last time.

When last they fought she'd been afraid of everything - the guns, the guardian, the idea that she could feel things. She'd had her first glimpse of things outside the tightly controlled world that had been all she'd ever known ... and she'd never been able to let that go - not even when it had been torn from her.

She'd been lonely too - and the gulf that had been left after the destruction of Tate, in that eternity when Solarel had walked away, leaving her alone in an abandoned station with only the smouldering wreck of the Enkindler for company ... well, that void had now been filled by care, consideration and a love that she'd never dreamed she could find.

I'm as ready as I can be.

The Emberlight is in peak condition. Her mastery of her drones and the esoteric Trak'tho nanite technology is stronger than ever. And she, herself, has grown. No longer afraid. No longer alone. She stands with real family at her back - Asil, Tomas, Luca, Tad, Carm. With friends and allies at her side - Rosa, Quar (a friend, even if no longer a prisoner), Madame Toldeo, Mirror and Matty. People who would risk themselves just to help her, just to see her happier. Not because she asked for it - but because they cared.

This is the Isabelle that faces off against you and the Aeteline, Solarel. Were this one of your YA animes, she'd be the character that has completed the trials of their protagonist's journey; forged through the darkness and the flames, climbed the mountain and who now stands triumphant ... no ... Ascendant, atop the ocean of clouds, ready for the final battle.

She's different. You can tell that much.

Have you changed like her? Or are you still trapped in the stasis of a cursed God?

Hi Solarel. Remember me? - she foesigns, before whipping a pistol up and sending a beam of coherent light straight at your head.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

"I heard what your leader said to Isabelle during the Crystal Gala."

The statement comes from Luca as he tucks the pen back into his suit jacket. His motions are fluid, but not rushed. Those of a person who has all the time in the world to consider what comes next.

"That Family is. not. blood." he continues, quietly. "Sure was a moment, to hear someone say that to your little sister."

Pen secure, he tugs the jacket closed before looking Matty up and down.

"Do you have siblings, Miss?" he continues "Any younger ones, in particular? Do you know what it's like to have someone grow up in your footsteps. A shadow; following you around for almost your entire life ... always just a few steps and years behind. Simultaneously the most annoying thing in the galaxy and the most comforting presence you've ever known."

"I'm not a very good brother." he admits. "I was always meant to lead, to protect. But somewhere along the way Isabelle started shining brighter than I ever could. And I, fool that I am, convinced myself that I should stand back and let her live the life she was meant to."

"I never questioned, never really thought about whether she had actually chosen the path she was on. And I am very grateful that you and yours have helped her find the strength to start finding her own way."

Luca pauses, noticing that Carm and Tad are suddenly leaning closer. They grin up at him, punching his arm and ruffling his hair.

"Speak for yourself, bro ..." says Tad.

"We're only here cause this'll mess with mum."

"But yeah, she's still our sister." Tad continues. "And if this'll help her, we're on board."

"And, bonus points. If this works out, I'm telling her we're finally square for that time I smashed her nerdy space diorama when we were, like, twelve."

Luca pulls away, giving the twins a level glare that does nothing to dampen the smiles on their faces.

"Your contribution to the moment is appreciated." he deadpans, straightening his hair. Before the two of them round on poor Matty.

"Just remember; if this screws our sister over ..." says Tad, as the twins turn those implacable smiles on the Hybrasillian.

"... we'll hunt you down." finishes Carm.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

In the silence that follows Matty's last spiel, the two women share a glance.

Asil mouths 'stock prayers?' back at her.

Isabelle gives a helpless shrug, before turning back to the enthusiastic Hybrasillian.

"O-kay." Isabelle says, quickly trying to parse what could be their plan. The ask, at least, seems straightforward, but fifty-one stock prayers ... it was either something relating to corporate finance, or they were going to ask them to sign up to a new-age religion.

Honestly, the latter was probably more believable.

"If you're sure about the legal aspects, and that it will be safe for them ..." she continues, taking a breath as she weighs up the benefits of taking a chance here. The maths isn't hard. They hadn't steered her wrong yet after all.

"... then I'll speak to Luca. He's the one most likely to listen to me given the twins always seem to be busy with some project or other. My advice though? Make it the day after tomorrow. I'm chairing a charity function for the New-Worlds, which means the media, and my mother, will most likely be focusing on me."

Isabelle pauses.

"... and please say thank you to Mirror for following through. I admit I thought she might have forgotten about it, given how the Tournament is going. She has a lot on her plate too, so I would have understood. But, still, it's ... nice to be remembered."

She gives the mechanic a wave farewell before Asil and her head back to their quarters.

After all ... two days from now is still plenty of time.

-===-

48 hours later

"... return to ongoing coverage of the gala event which is funded by Akanis Mining, a subsidiary of Lozano enterprises ..."
 
The spaceport on Akar is bustling as normal, its slate grey buildings broken by occasional splashes of colour from news vids or shops advertising their wares. The weather has turned the same as its architecture, with a steady patter of rain muting out the sound of hammers striking iron.

A cloaked figure strides through it all. His destination: a traditionally structured forge and smithy. It's clear that a sword hangs at his side, clenched in one hand, as the other pulls the cloak shut against the water falling from above. As he enters the shelter of that low-slanted roof, he pulls back the cowl, revealing a Terenian of striking features. Blue eyes beneath short-cut auburn hair, a strong jaw and smooth skin make up features that many within TC space would think of as handsome. To those beyond the borders though, including many Zaldarians and Hybrasillians, he is simply one face amongst a race of many.

After all, for all that he's the eldest heir to one of the richest families in TC space, Luca Lozano does not spend his time in the limelight as much as his sister.

No, unlike his sister, who is thrust into centre stage, he is far more likely to take a back seat to the goings on of politics or mecha combat. Which makes it all the more remarkable that he's here, out on a foreign planet.

And what's more, he's not alone.

Two more figures flank him, walking with the same purpose and destination. They lower their cowls at the same time, revealing a younger girl with long brown locks, and a boy with dyed blonde hair slicked back.

Not one, but three Lozano siblings are here. Watching for the one they were supposed to meet.