Fallen Stars

Chapter two: Starting from the bottom.

Everyone gathered in the war room felt the tension hanging in the air; it was so thick that not even a royal guard’s plasma lance could have pierced it. The paneled walls displaying various maps and schematics were lined with grim-faced officers, all of whom were unsure of what they were even supposed to be doing in such a situation. The immediate surrounding area was crowded by a small group of people; the circular map in the center projecting a three dimensional hologram of the marooned warship-turned-colonial-vessel.

“So, can someone-anyone! Please tell me how no one here noticed a boarding party of H.U.A. terrorists? Or why we weren’t able to repair the engines before we crash landed? Anyone?” Matt asked this with an abnormally serious tone, rubbing his temples and resting his elbows on the reinforced glass table. “Because if you can’t tell me then gods help all of you when the empress wants to know…”

From left to right stood Lord Governor Woolsworth, still wearing his stolen jumpsuit and looking out of place amongst the seasoned warriors; his body guard Hildegarde Adoniram, a once esteemed officer turned a noble’s right hand woman; Head of Research DAYNE and Director of Engineering MAG, the former staring at the ground in shame and the latter apathetically watching the captain speak; Shock Trooper Daniel Greyson, the new commanding officer of the Red Suns; and lastly, right next to the captain and recording the emergency meeting was Diane Mcalder, the ship's Second highest ranking officer and Matthew’s glorified assistant. Everyone at the round table either looked seemingly uninterested or furious in the case of Dan, Diane and Matt.

“Sir, with all due respect, they attacked swiftly and with surgical precision; it’s a miracle we only lost two of our own soldiers in the resulting chaos.” Dan spoke up, his level tone hiding the hate inside.

“We shouldn’t have lost anyone, Greyson; that’s the point I’m trying to make! We have dozens, if not hundreds of counter terrorist and cyber warfare operatives working day and night to prevent fuck ups like this and what happened? We got shot out of the sky and grounded on this rock!” The captain shouted, shocking everyone in the room at his sudden explosion.

“Captain, although we’re in a shit position we did come here to colonize a planet, right? Well, we have the supplies and ammunition to hold this location ‘till some jackass comes for us and it’s not like the reactor’s gonna crap itself like the engines. So why are we still here?” Patrick asked, MAG and Greyson nodding while everyone else either looked at the two nobles expectantly or kept their opinions to themselves.

“The reason we’re still here, Lord Governor.” Matt spat out venomously, causing Patrick to give him a smouldering look and Hilda to grimace slightly. “Is that we’re situationally blind. The planet may look habitable, but so did Ferrusola and look what happened to them!” He shouted, gesturing to the Hybrid crew member to his right, causing Diane to roll her dark brown eyes. “If we start setting up the colony who knows what could hit us while our guard is lowered: plagues, hostile natives, sudden drastic changes in weather, the list goes on! I’m not saying we should stay indoors and eat canned beans, M.R.E.s, and sing show tunes ‘till the cavalry comes, but if we send the colonists out there without anyone knowing what to expect we could be sending them on a death march. Normally we’d launch a few probes in all directions and assess the situation with ease; but our relays were knocked out of alignment and in order to fix it we need to know if we can even step foot outside.” He finished, calming down halfway through his explanation.

“What do you propose we do instead? Sit on the bridge and do nothing for a month? I may be a machine but I have better things to do than spend every operating hour twiddling my claws and hitting the engine with a hammer hoping it spontaneously works again.” MAG grumbled with an almost annoyed tone, as if being in the room with everyone was a chore.

“If I may, Sir. Why not send out all willing nonhuman personel with survival experience?” DAYNE suggested, taking its mechanical eyes off of the blue glass table.

“There aren't that many Machina or Hybrids onboard; if we send out all our combat proficient operatives we may lose them.” Diane cautioned, her smooth and clear voice louder than the murmurs of the assorted officers and guards in the background.

“Captain, my platoon is willing and able to perform reconnaissance and scout out the surrounding areas.” Greyson volunteered, suddenly standing a little straighter.

“Not gonna’ happen; even with your team's armour and weapons. I don’t want any humans walking into the nearby woodlands or mountains. It’s one thing if a Hybrid trips and breaks their helmet, but if you were to suffer a direct hit from something to your helmet’s filtration system then the air could kill you in seconds.” Matt stated, shooting down the idea.

“...I have an idea.” Hilda declared, her brash voice breaking the rooms contemplative silence.

“Shoot.” Matt replied, a neutral look on his face.

“What if the Machina and Hybrid ground forces were to scout out the surrounding areas while Greyson and his team offered air support on standby? In the case of the ground team needing an immediate extraction if the situation becomes dire, that is.” She intoned, her plan quite sound.

“Yes, that most definately sounds do-able. Although I don’t like the idea of risking all our expendable crew members on a single operation that could go south the minute we open a door, we can’t sit here and talk all day… Greyson, get your team together; you’re moving out at dawn.” Matt ordered, nodding at Greyson as he saluted and left to prepare the air team.

“Okay, now that that’s taken care of we need to talk about-” Diane was interrupted as Chris burst into the room, panting like a dog and sweating like he’d ran a mile. The guards stationed at the door were about to yell at him and possibly force him to leave, but were stopped when the man started speaking.

“S-Sir! Two… Two unidentified Humans have been found and apprehended in the lower storage sector, one of them’s a massive augmented Human and-and the other one doesn't even speak English or look like he’s from the same time period as us. God fucking damn it…” Chris sighed out in between deep and heavy breaths. As soon as he’d begun talking DAYNE had gone to the cooler built into the black titanium wall, retrieved a cup of chilled water, approached Chris, and offered him the drink.

“Calm down soldier. Now tell me, what did the non-English speaking one look like? It’s quite important, you see… Did he have a leopard?” DAYNE asked, both worried for the fatigued medic and unknown persons.

“T-thank you, Sir… Yes, he had a leop-”

“Oh, no! He got out!” DAYNE cried as he pushed past Chris and sprinted out of the room, moving as fast as his aging robotic legs would allow him.

“I’d better go after him, if I let DAYNE go unsupervised he’ll break his legs again. Sorry, Captain; I have other, more important matters to attend to.” MAG apologised, not really being sorry at all as he left the room of dumbstruck and confused people.

“Oh, shit...” Pat muttered under his breath.

“Chris… I’m going to ask you very nicely… What. The fuck. Happened. Now?” Matt managed to question through his grinding teeth. Stress-induced agitation forced him to cover his face with his hands, the gentle glow of his eyes escaping through the gaps in between his fingers.

“W-we don’t know, Sir. The only people who were down there recently were H.U.A. assassins and Lord-”

“What the fuck did you do, Patrick?!” Matt finally snapped, his golden eyes radiating an intense light as he gave the portly man a look that could kill.

“Hey, it’s not my fault some crazies snuck on board! I’m innocent! Innocent, I tells ya!” Pat rambled out as he backed up, Hilda stepping in front of the scared governor to intervene.

“Matt, we both know he’s innocent until proven guilty. If you attack him you’re the only one in the wrong here.” The tall, pale woman defended, giving the captain a level stare.

Matt was still giving Pat a murderous glare before he finally turned to the woman next to him. “Diane, go over the security footage of the lower storage sector and track Patrick’s movements.” He ordered, breathing heavily through his nose as he stepped away from the only person in the room who Matt saw as an actual threat.

“Affirmative, Sir…” The armour clad woman replied, quickly accessing the ship-wide security network via her massive PDA, easily double the size of the captain’s.

It took a minute or so but she finally found the footage of Pat running away from assassins. They fast-forwarded past him getting changed and they stopped on the exact scene they were looking for. Everyone present saw how Pat tripped over the large body of a Transhumanist and accidentally started the thawing process on the Chinese soldier frozen in ice. She fast forwarded again, to a few minutes before the ship broke atmosphere and watched the unconscious man wake up and flee right before the Asian man was starting to warm up. leaning over Diane’s purple-clad shoulder to pause the video, Matt breathed heavily and began to slowly turn around and look at Pat with a pair of soulless, burning, golden eyes.

“You have three seconds- three seconds, to explain to me why you didn’t tell anyone about your mistake.” Matt calmly demanded, far past the point of anger so that he’d reached an almost zen-like state of blood lust.

“...I was worried people would laugh at me and call me a loser?” Pat meekly answered. Matt slowly inhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose for what seemed like an eternity… before finally jumping at Pat.

“WORRIED?! OH, YOU’LL BE MORE THAN WORRIED WHEN I’M THROUGH WITH YOU! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA ALL THE AMOUNT OF RED TAPE I WILL HAVE TO GO THROUGH WHEN WE GET BACK TO THE ARMADA JUST FOR LANDING ON THIS PLANET ALONE?! AND NOW I’M FINDING OUT YOU FUCKED WITH EXPERIMENTAL TECHNOLOGY AND UNLEASHED SOME GODDAMN ANCIENT MAN ONTO MY SHIP?! I’LL BREAK YOUR FUCKING KNEE CAPS!” Matt screamed furiously with the passion of a burning sun. The only thing stopping him from physically assaulting the lord governor being Hilda, who was doing everything in her power to stop the smaller, weaker yet psionically powerful, man from tearing apart her employer.

“Matthew, calm down! He’s done nothing wrong!” She defended, only further enraging him.

“DONE NOTHING WRONG?! DID WE WATCH THE SAME FOOTAGE? THE FOOTAGE THAT CLEARLY SHOWS THIS POMPOUS ASSHAT MAKING MY DAY EVEN MORE OF A LIVING HELL?! I HAVE TO DO SO MUCH LEGAL SHIT JUST SO I DON’T LOSE MY SHIP AND HOME AND NOW I’M FINDING OUT I HAVE TO TELL THE IMPERIAL COURT WHY SOME ANCIENT GUY WAS LET LOOSE ON MY SHIP WITHOUT EVEN CHECKING TO SEE IF HE WASN’T CARRYING SOME ANCIENT DISEASE THAT COULD WIPE OUT THE CREW?!” He continued to scream, his attempts to telekinetically hurl chairs and lights at Pat, who was now standing behind two nervous guardsmen, being stopped by Hilda slapping him right across the mouth; snapping back into reality Matt looked up at the livid girl.

“I said, CALM DOWN! Look, this day has been more than stressful for everyone, you included. People died, we’re stuck here, we don’t even know where here is and to top it off the H.U.A. just tried to assassinate most of the people in this room. We’ve all had a shit day and we’re all feeling the pressure, but murdering another Noble and winding up with the death sentence won’t make all this go away. So, stop trying to murder my boss, calm the fuck down and start thinking clearly.” She sympathetically requested while Matt slowly cooled down, his eyes and skin slowly going back to their natural slight glow instead of their boiling bright shade.

“Well, we’re off to a rollickingly good start.” Governor Woolsworth said sarcastically, stepping out from behind the two guards in front of him.

“Don’t think this is over, Pat, I’m not doing the paperwork explaining the unauthorized release of an ancient Human. That’s your problem now.” Matt threatened, Pat’s crippling fear of paperwork cutting deep.

“Well, now that has been dealt with, can we please get back to the meeting?” Diane asked, irritated at all the sudden distractions.

“Absolutely!” Pat shouted, eager to distract the usually chill captain from his violent thoughts.

“Alright...Now, since servicemen Jacobs Summer and Unit CHARON were killed and destroyed in the ship wide battle against the H.U.A. an impromptu funeral and announcement about the current events is being held in the Barracks in a few hours. Normally, we wouldn’t dream of mixing these two together, but with the predicaments we face we need the crew aware and running at full capacity sooner rather than later.” Diane rather coldly explained while Matt sighed deeply, Pat rested his head on the holo-table and Hilda sat intently.

“Now, Mr. Wayton was it?” The integrator questioned from the other side of the see-through window, mirroring the intimidating giant in the sealed off room.

“It’s Wystan actually; Adam Wystand. Don’t worry everyone gets it wrong the first time.” The scarred Cyborg replied, his oddly serene and pleasant voice conflicting with his scarred, partially naked body. After finding him unconscious in an elevator shortly after crash landing, they’d stripped him of his armour and weapons and placed him in his newly appointed cell. The man who towered over everyone at 6’8 feet, weighed enough to bend the hilariously disproportionate chair he was sitting on and had more scars covering his body than a stabbing victim was calmly sitting in front of the table he was handcuffed to, holding his hands together and humming a little tune under his breath with an eerie smile.

“My apologies. Now, Mr. Wystan. Why did you sneak aboard a colonial ship?” The expressionless, bald Officer continued; his simple camo fatigues and brown plated armour still in place and shining as much as his large, polished sidearm.

“I was hired to.” The mysterious man confessed, rolling his shoulders and trying to scratch an itch on his chest, under the simple white singlet given to him when he woke up along with the grey sweat pants he was also wearing.

“Who hired you and why?”

“I’m not at liberty to say who hired me, but they misled me on my mission parameters. The individual who had need of my services ordered me to board the H.D.C.S Southern Cross and assassinate a variety of targets aboard this ship. The contractor paid handsomely, I thought the deal was too good to be true.” He informed, his face holding no hint of a lie. Aside from the start and the end of the sentence where he broke eye contact with his jailor, his cyan eyes were always pointed forward and followed his captor.

“Why aren’t you allowed to say who hired you? You’re not exactly in a position to withhold information; and who did this individual want and why?” The guard asked, noting everything down in his PDA.

“Truthfully, I don’t know who hired me. Contacts receiving contracts from contacts you see, all rather cloak and dagger. My client wanted multiple high ranking personnel dead along with a medley of civilians for a variety of reasons. However, as I said before I was mislead. I was told my targets were ruthless killers, liars, slavers, drug dealers and other worthless pieces of Human filth posing as innocents or using their position to evade persecution.” The odd man clarified, still sounding cheerful.

“And you believed these accusations? Sir, we don’t employ criminals or even allow them aboard military vessels.” His integrator defended with an almost hurt tone; in response, Adam cackled like it was the funniest cruel joke he’d ever heard.

“Oh trust me, you people do have more than a few degenerates working for your precious Empress; they just go unheard of or their deaths are called accidents. I mean, the Imperial Court can’t let the universe know which noble was a murderer or if one of the Empress’ cousins is a rapist, that’d tarnish their flawless image!” He plainly stated. His voice was level and calm but something about the way he worded it made it all seem more dark and sinister.

“Sir, insulting the royal family or nobility is an offense under the-”

“-Act of 2797, yes, yes I know; but stating facts about them isn’t.” He interrupted, his innocent attitude and manner of speaking quickly irking and creeping the guard.

“Mr Wystan, you’re being accused of attempted assassination, conspiracy to murder a noble, infiltrating a military vessel, entering a restricted area, possession of unauthorized weapons and attempted terrorism...If you give me something to work with here we can cut you some slack and possibly get you a shortened jail sentence.” The man offered to Adam, causing Adam to laugh yet again.

“My good Sir, if you check my permits, records, licences and eye witness accounts you’ll find I’ve done none of those things. I may have taken the money, but I never agreed to it; if I’ve learned one thing in life it’s that you should always know who your enemies are before you act and my enemies aren’t onboard this ship. Styx, when I learnt just how badly I’d read the signs I destroyed the money; I wasn’t about to keep blood money and I wasn’t going to give those demons theirs back.” He justified with an even bigger grin, acting like he wasn’t in serious trouble.

“Mr Wystan, many already have written you off as an assassin; I doubt you’ll be found innocent when this reaches the Imperial Court.” Adam’s captor said, a doubtful tone laced in his words.

“An assassin am I? I’ve killed no one, I own my firearms legally, they weren’t loaded and there’s no law against me wearing my armour if I possess my permits...I’m innocent.” Adam countered, still staring forward, unblinking, with an unnerving smile.

“We’re done here. I’ll be back later.” The guard announced as he slowly rose from his uncomfortable chair, turned the viewing window opaque, walked out of the heavily monitored observation room and out into the ship’s brig. The hallway, though poorly lit and in need of cleaning, was heavily protected by multiple hidden turrets designed to stun, incapacitate or kill rioting prisoners. The ship's brig was small, only being able to house 50 inmates at a time, but it was on par with a maximum security facility. Guards at every corner, doors made of plasma resistant materials, the floors and walls both unbreakable and cells that can be vented into the cold vacuum of space at the push of a button. It’d take a madman to try and break out; unfortunately the ship’s only non-H.U.A. inmate was crazy enough to start scheming his breakout.

“Someone thought it’d be a good idea to set me up...Heh, they never learn…”Adam Wystan said to himself before cackling like a madman.

“DAYNE, why the Styx did you think this would be a good idea? The chink doesn't even speak English.” MAG asked from the roof, its magnets humming softly to keep it in place while DAYNE was banging its head against the wall. They’d both been there for hours now while the Chinese man screamed incoherent gibberish at them.

“I was assuming we would have stored a few universal translators…” DAYNE mumbled, its voice muffled slightly. Much to DAYNE’s dismay he’d found out that along with a few other non-crucial supplies, the H.U.A. forces had destroyed the ship’s supply of translators for no other reason than to cause problems. Now they had an irritated, frightened human handcuffed to a chair with no way of talking to them.

“I knew I should have downloaded that Mandarin program...MAG, thoughts?” DAYNE asked as it turned around to look at MAG who was busy replacing the room's lights.

“Unless you want to play charades with him, I’d say go repair a translator.” MAG suggested, ignoring the man yelling at the spider-like machine.

“We don’t have time for that! I have so many questions for him, and I need to make sure his mental faculties are in order; the resurrection project may have been a success but I’ll be the newest laughing stock of the R&D fleet if it makes people mentally handicapped!” DAYNE protested, flinging its arms in the air for emphasis.

“Well...What about Smurf?” MAG asked, causing DAYNE to look at MAG like it was malfunctioning.

“MAG, are you high again? We both know there’s no serviceman named ‘Smurf’ on the Southern Cross.” DAYNE asked with a disappointed tone while MAG audibly sighed.

“First off, mind your own business; if I take Overclock to get through the day then that’s my problem. Second wiseass, Smurf is just his nickname; his real name is Boris Daniel.” MAG shot back, securing the lights in place with the aid of its tools while the Chinese man stared at him, bewildered.

“Boris Daniel?...Oh yes, Борис Даниил! Thank you MAG, I’ll find him right away!” DAYNE declared, ecstatic that he could still talk to the new addition to the ship’s crew.

“So it dosen’t know who Smurf is but it can say the bastard’s name in Russian? Robro needs to get out more often…” MAG said to himself before looking at the still handcuffed man.

“Hey asshole, say something funny.” MAG insulted, causing the man to respond in a confused tone.

“Yeah that’s what I thought…” MAG said as he walked down to the floor, sat in the corner and powered down to reserve power and cool down, waiting for DAYNE to come back.

The Civilian Sector was a mess. It was the first place the H.U.A. forces targeted and although the colonists were able to flee to safety before they’d injured anyone, the H.U.A. soldiers were more than happy to destroy the place. Many of the temporary rooms and residential spaces had been fire bombed or trashed beyond a simple clean up. Stores and stalls alike had been demolished, spilling various wares across the well traveled halls; said halls were cast in shadows as the vandals had smashed almost all of the light fixtures they’d stumbled across. In a few hours, the once temporarily abandoned residential and commercial area had been reduced to something more akin to a war torn street. If the destroyed houses barely big enough to fit a family and damaged storefronts weren’t a bleak enough sight then the plethora of bullet, plasma, laser and melter holes in the blood stained metal walls made the whole scene seem even more depressing and dark. Although none of this mattered to Smurf who strutted past the temporary shelters and triage centre set up in the middle of the market. From the top floor of the market, Smurf peered over the side of the railed off ledge; he couldn’t help but stand in awe at the damage sustained.

“Those fuckers shot up my favorite pub!” He cursed loudly in Russian, causing many of the civilians to stare at him.

“Man, if I get my hands on those shitheads I’ll ring their necks like I did dmitry’s chickens.” He declared with a vengeance while rifling for something in his dark blue tracksuits pockets.

“Ah fuck it, at least my place didn’t get bombed.” He said morosely, popping a bunch of cooked sunflower seeds in his mouth. As he swaggered home many people stopped to stare at him, his blue tracksuit, counterfeit sneakers, pocket full of seeds, bottle of beer in his right hand, scruffy blonde hair and thoughtful look on his angular, white face made him stand out from the grief stricken crowd.

As he walked around the corner to his assigned quarters, he saw the annoying Machina simply called DAYNE a few dozen feet behind him.

“The fuck?” He questioned as he pulled out his ID card and swiped it across the sealed door.

“Wait! Boris!” The droid shouted as it side stepped bystanders, its robe fluttering slightly as it ran.

“I will glass you DAYNE, stop pissing me off.” Boris threatened as he stepped inside his beer bottle, can and gun filled hovel.

“But I haven’t done anything!” DAYNE protested as it stopped in the door frame.

“I know, but you fucking suck. What’d you want tin man?” The agitated Russian asked, opening the door on his stained refrigerator and pulled out a large, green beer bottle.

“Well, I was wondering If I could perhaps borrow one of your translators?” DAYNE requested as he stepped over a small pile of empty cans that stinked of meat.

“No, the last time you took something of mine I got it back in pieces.” Smurf reminded as he walked over to his old, torn couch and squatted on top of it, taking a deep swig of his drink.

“I didn’t know you couldn’t ask a Hybrid that kind of question! Look Boris, I’m deeply sorry but I need a translator; it’s vital to the safety of the ship and her crew!” DAYNE dramatically pleaded as Smurf raised an eyebrow.

“Just like how asking a Hybrid how it bangs was a matter of-”

“I told you I didn’t know that’d set her off!...Sorry Boris, it’s been a very stressful day.” DAYNE apologised after its miniature explosion.

“Night. It’s been a stressful night, DAYNE.” The Russian guy corrected, a smirk on his sunken face. As he turned around to walk over to his holo-computer, DAYNE had a miniature meltdown inside its circuit mind.

“Boris...Just give me a translator, please.” DAYNE requested with a defeated sigh as it collapsed into Smurf’s stained sofa which creaked loudly under the metal frame.

“If you break my fucking couch I’ll sell you for scrap metal. I’ll give you one if you do four things for me.” Smurf said, either agreeing to DAYNE’s demand so he could get something out of it or simply so it would leave.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea how much trouble you’re saving me Boris; what do you want me to do?” DAYNE asked after jumping for joy, his robotic feet creaking quietly.

“One, stop calling me Boris; my family calls me Boris and you're no cousin of mine. Two, get me a case of Quasar Gold vodka; not the cheap kind either. Three, get MAG to fix my fucking lights already; I’ve been living by the light of my damn computer display for two fucking weeks! And lastly, get me some Overclock: MAG tells me it really messes you up.” Smurf ordered as he opened up an emulator on his 35th century computer to play a game from the 20th century.

“Um, Bor-I mean Smurf, you do know that Overclock is for Machina right? I don’t think a Human mind can handle it.” DAYNE reminded, pausing itself midway through creating a small list in his mind.

“Meh, I ain’t worried. They said I couldn’t snort grounded up Colozium but I did it anyway and I’m still kicking.” Smurf remembered fondly, waving off DAYNE’s concerns.

“No, they said you shouldn’t snort Colozium because you suffered massive blood loss and grew a third arm as a result. And where exactly will I find a vendor selling expensive alcoholic beverages during a crisis?” DAYNE questioned, confused as to how Smurf thought any of this would be accomplished soon.

“You’ve got a super computer for a brain, you figure it out. Now piss off; I’ve got terrorists to kill.” Smurf demanded as he chucked a translator towards DAYNE. DAYNE managed to catch it just in time. The translator was an old model but it would work fine since it was at least compatible with DAYNE’s hardware and software.

“Thank you Smurf, I’ll bring this back once our newest crew member learns English!” DAYNE exclaimed happily as he ran out of the dank room. Smurf merely shrugged and loaded up his ancient copy of Counter Strike.

“Cyka блять.” Smurf muttered under his breath.

“Daniel, if you don’t start taking better care of your augments I will remove them while you're sleeping just to teach you a lesson.” Vanessa berated as she examined the half naked shock trooper. The onboard medical centers were a mess dealing with the wounded soldiers, but Vanessa knew the triage center would be where she was needed most. Dan merely sighed in response while the seasoned doctor examined his minor wounds and the slight damage to his arm.

“For the tenth time Doctor Munov, I’m fine; this is nothing a quick dose of stimulants won’t fix.” Her patient responded, grimacing slightly as she began repairing the cauterized wound on his right arm.

“A stimulant won’t fix a plasma round wound. You were going out into the field like this? Who would you help in your current state?” The doctor asked rhetorically. Her pristine lab coat was stained slightly from a few bleeding wounds, her black slacks looked dirty and her navy shirt, which hugged her ample breasts, was crinkled slightly and looked like she’d put it on in a hurry; still, she radiated an air of professionalism and refused to show even the hint of fatigue. Despite serving on a warship, she’d never seen combat or gone through basic training and her skinny form reflected this. Her calm and calculated expression looked right at home on her beautiful face; like all nobles, regardless of stature, she was gifted with amazing genetics and flawless features. Her light brown hair was held up by a tungsten band and her navy eyes were obscured by a simple looking pair of black steel glasses. Looking away from the man’s athletic frame, she pulled a large needle out of her lab coats pocket and tested the needle’s tip.

“This is going to hurt Daniel, but not as much as that plasma round did.” She announced as Dan prepared himself. As the needle pierced the burned skin, the liquid inside and an almost immediate reaction.

“Gah! What the hell is this?!” Commander Greyson cried out loudly as he clenched his muscles and tried to ignore the searing pain.

“A recently developed healing agent designed to counteract the effects of plasma exposure. It will take a day or two to finalize the healing process but you should notice a rapid decrease in inflammation, the skin to begin healing itself and blood flow return to normal. For a shock trooper, I’m amazed you’ve only lost a single arm in the line of duty.” Vanessa stated as she rose from her simple black chair and looked around the hastily set up operation room. The triage center was full of injured civilians, a few soldiers and more than one Machina hoping to help out. It was uncommon for a warship to have such high numbers of colonists and the medical centers were already swarmed by officers and soldiers.

“I guess I’m just lucky.” Dan rebutted as he experimentally tested his healing arm. his right arm still stung from the various plasma wounds, but it was almost like nothing had happened to it. “What about the left one?” He asked as he moved his cybernetic arm; it wasn’t broken but something felt odd.

“A servo was damaged during the crash landing. It’s minor and only affects the little finger but you should let one of the Machina examine it; they know more about the intricate details then me.” The doctor responded as she removed her latex medical gloves and touched the sides of her glasses.

“Thank you Doctor, what would I do without you?” Daniel thanked with a small smile as he began putting his armour back on.

“Probably the same thing, but with more holes and scars. Get a move on Daniel, or you’ll be late to your own mission.” Vanessa replied. “Send in the next soldier please, I’ve much work to do.” She requested as Dan left the small room. Knowing she’d have very little time, she sighed deeply and took a long sip from a cup of black coffee on top of a small, tool covered table. Shortly after she’d put her cup down and rubbed the sleep out of her navy eyes, a second man walked in. He looked fairly normal as far as crew members go. He had dark ebony skin, short black hair and a muscular build. The only things that seemed out of place on his tall body were his infernal red eyes and the odd, mechanical pack on his back.

“Heya doc. Johnatnan Xexes requesting a standard checkup.” The impressive man greeted with a smile.

“Very well; remove your armour and take a seat, this shouldn’t take long.” She instructed as she began going over his medical records through the use of her glasses holographic lenses. He did as he was told and was soon only wearing his boxers and singlet, his white and blue armour now lying in a small, neat pile in the corner of the room.

“hmmm...blood pressure seems normal...No obvious signs of damage or injury...Where were you stationed during the attack?” Vanessa asked as she began her examination.

“Oh, the engine room ma’am.” He replied, holding back a reflex as he felt the cold metal of her stethoscope on his chiseled chest.

“The engine room? Most of the patients coming in from there suffered the worst injuries. How did you come out unscatched?” She asked as she jotted down a series of notes on her PDA.

“My power armour was pretty damn handy.” He answered with a small chuckle.

“I see, yes that would make sense; soldiers trained to use power armour usually are stronger than the average guardsman…” Vanessa mumbled under her breath.

“So...Am I healthy?” He asked after a few minutes of testing.

“Yes, for a 21 year old male from Styx you’re exceptionally fit and ready for deployment.” Venessa informed with a smile.

“Wait, you know I’m from Styx?” John asked with a surprised expression.

“It’s all in your medical records. It doesn't matter how well hidden or blacked out your record is, the medical fleet will find out as much as they legally can.” She replied with a smile as she taped her glasses.

“Well, is there anything else I need to do, or?” He asked, nudging his head towards the door.

“No. You can leave whenever you want, just let the next patient in after you. Thank you.” The doctor requested as she lowered her PDA and opened a metallic bottle of water left on the small table next to the pristine, white bed everyone had been resting on.

“Thanks doc. See ya around.” Jonathan said with a small wave goodbye. As he left the room, venessa threw a few colourless pills in her mouth and swallowed them with the aid of some crystal clear water. She sputtered for a bit but then breathed deeply, the signs of exhaustion on her immaculate face fading away.

“It’s only been a measly 26 hours since I’ve gotten any sleep, I think I’ve got another 30 in me if I can stomach these pills.” Vanessa joked with a slight chuckle as she tried to suppress a yawn. She’d been awake for a very, very long time compared to her usual work shifts; but with the H.U.A. assault, and then the crash landing, leaving many injured she knew she’d have to pull her weight just like everyone else.

“And to think, I could be fat and lazy like the rest of my family if I’d stayed at the Armada...Forget them, this is much more rewarding then all the chocolate liqueurs and bottles of wine in the Universe...Who am I talking to? Styx, I need to get some sleep.” Vanessa muttered to herself as she grabbed her cup of coffee and waited for the next patient.

As the Captain stepped down from the small stage at the back of the cafeteria, the room was filled with quiet applause. The room smelt heavily of beer, smoke and cooked meat. Three quarters of the large, spacious hall was filled by rambunctious soldiers who’re off duty and enjoying their meal or simply there to hear what the captain had to say. The air was filled with the sound of laughter, singing and the quiet whispers of anti-Ascended soldiers or Machina haters. The blueish grey room was filled with tables, a bar on the left side of the room, the kitchen at the front, entrance at the back and to the right were the various booths and tables sat next to reinforced glass windows. Normally, these windows would show the dining crew the wonders of the cosmos, an endless amount of stars and colourful displays of galactic power; but now, all it showed was a dark, ancient forest bathed in darkness below with the stars shining far above. At one of these booths sat two of the tired, stressed and drained crew.

“I can’t believe Jacobs is dead...That man sure knew how to party.” Sam said to her drinking buddy, John, as she stared at her steel mug of cider.

“Yeah, engineers always seem to know who has a supply of what...You going to the funeral?” John asked as he took a large drink from his glass of whiskey.

“Can’t, Greyson came up to me and told me we’re flying out in about two hours; Styx of a time to go out on a recon mission huh?” Sam bitterly joked as she shook her scarred head.

“I think Jacobs would understand, he always knew the ship came first; he was weirdly patriotic like that.” Her friend reminded with a nostalgic smile.

“Yeah...A toast to the funniest grease monkey whoever lived! Wherever he is now, it just got a whole lot happier.” Sam cried as she raised a mug and took a huge gulp, many of the nearby tables occupants mirroring her actions.

“Aw shit, my drinks empty. Want me to get you a refill?” John asked as he rose from his seat at the booth and went to grab her mug.

“Yeah sure.” Sam replied, her velvety voice more than a little slurred. As one of the last friends she had got up and walked away, Sam tore her bronze eyes off him and looked out the window. The forest outside went on for miles, far off into the horizon, and the thick trees and bushes helped shelter the multiple animals hidden within from the ship’s external lights. Mountains surrounded the wild forest, the spires of stone piercing the fluffy clouds above and shielding the ship from the moon’s silver rays of light. As she stopped taking in the new lands below her focus turned to her own reflection.

She was a boisterous women who knew how to have fun, and her burnt face always looked happy and full of life; though now it held a more somber and thoughtful gaze. From her cherry lips sat a small, brown cigar; the embers from the end illuminating her gorgeous face. The only oddity on her small face was the large, red burn on the right side of her face. It began just after next to her eye and went all the way up the side of her nearly flawless face. Her right ear was also damaged, a few parts it were chipped off, but no one could see it underneath her ridiculously long, sandy blonde hair. Despite being held back in a ponytail, it was still long enough to reach her back and she still had a fringe long enough to cover her eyebrows. Her slender body was hidden beneath a blue dress uniform. She wore a large blue blouse with silver buttons, a white singlet underneath, a blue skirt and black leggings to cover her legs and a large, grey admirals jacket with silver and gold emblems on the shoulders and two royal blue stripes on the collar; she usually had it resting on her shoulders and back instead of wearing it though. No one would mistake it for a modern R.A.D.C Admiral’s jacket as it wasn’t nearly regal or protective enough, but it clearly held some importance to her. The only injury that could be seen were the slight burn marks on her collar and around her large bust.

If it weren’t for all the stress, confusion and misery of the various recent tragedies she’d probably be drinking the night away with her friends and occasional passengers.

“Hey, you wanted Crimson cider, right?” John asked as he took his seat and passed her his drink, his heavily armoured, two toned uniform causing his seat to groan slightly. He wore the standard ensemble for a heavy assault trooper: power armour.

Unlike the reasonably flexible, light, yet protective armour of a shock trooper or the versatile protection for a standard soldier his was made to withstand almost everything. His metal chest plates were layered on top of each other and moved in sync with his muscles. On the various layers was the R.A.D.C coat of arms painted white, contrasting with the obsidian coloured metal. His shoulder pads were more like bulky pauldrons but still light enough to not restrict the movement of the impressive man; the armour covering his arms and legs were designed similarly. Around his waist were various pouches full of ammo, grenades and other ordinances built to deal significant damage. His feet were entombed in large, bone crushing boots with small thrusters built into the soles of the armoured shoes. On his left shoulder rested a modified melter rifle. The heavy gun was built without a stock, scope or trigger as it wasn’t meant to be fired by a person; instead the user activates it through the suits connection to the user’s augmentations. It was a long, grey barrel with multiple holes in the side to vent it and fired massive, armour punching, plasma shrouded rounds designed to dismember and incinerate foot soldiers and decimate light armoured vehicles. into the weapons receiver a belt of blue shells were feed, the ammo stored inside the left arm of the suit. On his right shoulder he stored a second belt and over his heart he’d placed a pouch for a deck of poker cards. His neck was surrounded by raised, modified metal armour which, when the helmet was snapped in place, made it impossible to injury the user’s head or neck. The neck guard had a small line of white fur that only served to add to the suits amazing design and to help identify John in the field.

         The only thing that wasn’t on him was his armour helmet; said helmet was resting next to him in the booth. The helmet, unlike most of the standard issue R.A.D.C headgear, was encapsulating. When the wearer placed the helmet on, the front of it would lower down and ease into position; it acted as a rebreather and a layered helmet making it impossible to gas him out. Although the user can’t see out of the helmet, a relatively new H.U.D display inside the padded helm connects to a series of external cameras that feed a live, uninterrupted and lag free feed. Above the cameras on the sides of the gear were multiple torches that made it possible to see in any environment. The front of the curved helmet, near the mouth of the user, had a plethora of sensors built in that enabled the user to see heat signatures, radiation levels, Ascended power levels and, if the lights fail, utilize night vision. John had painted a series of claw scratches on the right side of his face in blood red paint.

The last noticeable feature of the suit was the generator and pack located on the upper back of the armour. When not in use the armour slid inside the pack and let the user carry it around or store it away, but when in use it activated as the suits power source and exit. The suit slid open from the back and allows the user to step in and out of it like a jumpsuit. These suits, though more than daunting in combat, are seen as inefficient. They weigh a ton, require highly trained operatives, tend to overheat when overworked, can trap the user if it suffers heavy damage to the generator and make it hard for anyone to perform an operation stealthily; but when it comes to firefights and open warfare, a team of heavy assault infantry can tip the scales of battle.

“You know me too well John. Tell me, why are you wearing that ridiculous suit?” Sam inquired as she grabbed her drink and sipped it with a sly grin.

“I’ve been told I’m to aid the ground team with the expedition. The captain seemed adamant about it being a bad idea but apparently Commander Greyson and Officer McAlder said it would be a good idea to have heavy infantry out in the field just incase.” John informed as he slammed his massive mug of Styx Hellfire Brew back.

“Yeah, but why are you wearing that in the cafeteria? The H.U.A. are getting cozy in the brig and unless you’re hoping for a massive bar fight I think you’re a bit over prepared.” Sam said with a small giggle.

 “Truthfully, it’s easy to get to the front of lines when you’re dressed for a large scale war.” John said with a mischievous smirk.

“I better not be hearing that one of our H.A troopers is misusing military equipment, Xexes…” Dan interrupted as he approached their table, a neutral look on his handsome face as he looked at Sam and John.

“Sir, no sir; I was awaiting orders and thought it’d be wise to gear up before hand!” John formally responded, sitting a bit straighter while Sam merely watched.

“You’re not the first Heavy who’s used their suit for something like getting their drinks a bit faster through intimidation and you won’t be the last; but if I find out you’re jumping off the side of the Southern Cross in that thing as some kind of game, I’ll have you thrown out of the army for misusing expensive, restricted equipment. Now sober up soldier, we’re flying out within the hour; you too Samantha.” Dan ordered as he placed two clear, mist filled inhalers on the table.

“Damn, and I was just starting to get tipsy.” Sam murmured as she picked up the medical instrument and inhaled the wispy substance inside, mirroring Jonathan. As she breathed out a large, white cloud of gas she felt her body come down from its alcohol induced high and skip the hangover she rose from the table and followed the commander and her buddy out of the mess hall and towards the nearest elevator.

“Sir, what can the ground team expect from the coming expedition?” John questioned as they stepped inside the massive service elevator and pressed a button labelled ‘hanger’.

“The surrounding forest and mountain ranges seem standard for a Terran class planet and the weather seems agreeable, but we have no idea what the fauna and flora are like. You could be walking into a barren forest full of harmless weeds or a monster infested jungle full of plants utilising prehensile tentacles. Everyone who’s touching ground has been ordered to carry at least two firearms and plated armour...Looks like you’ve got that front covered.” Dan informed as John pulled a large, dark green rifle off his back after checking his long, silver plated  revolver.

His revolver was an Anaconda Mark.10, the latest and most powerful of its kind. The weapon was aesthetically pleasing with a gleaming, plated cover, black leather grip, long vented barrel with inscribed letters along the sides. The gun's cylinder is designed to store various types of ammo ranging from the standard ballistic, to the green laser rounds, to the shield melting blue plasma shells and the Machina killing purple pulse rounds. The gun's receiver was topped off with a circle of clear glass propped up by a steel frame; when viewed through a H.A trooper’s H.U.D the user would see a digital scope of sorts.

The standard issue H.A combat rifle was more a LMG then a rifle; the lengthy gun had an extended barrel tipped with a muzzle break, the gun's sights only worked in tandem with the user’s armours H.U.D, the box magazine held three hundred AP rounds and the stock doubled as a melee weapon with how hard a H.A can swing it. Heated spent rounds would pour out of the right side of the gun and tended to pool near the boots of the trooper and under the barrel rested a large, ergonomic grip that morphed to the user’s hand. The gun was long, bulky and destructive but compared to some of the other weapons a H.A trooper could use it was fairly stock standard.

“Roger that commander.” He answered as the elevator stopped. The hanger was a buzz with activity like it always is. Many engineers and scientists were getting a multitude of long range recon drones working while the plethora of pilots and soldiers stationed nearby were ready to be deployed at a minutes noticed. Walking over the multiple airships, bombers, fighters and transports below on the wide catwalk we’re on we approached a lift down to the hive of maintenance below. After another short ride down, Jonathan and Sam split off.

“See ya round Johnny; don’t worry about some monster grabbing you while you’re stuck down there, I’ll be your eyes in the sky!” Sam declared as she patted the hulking man who was donning his helmet. With a loud hiss and then a click it locked into place, the lights on the front and side glowing a soft red.

“Thanks Sam; try not to get shot down, it’s always a pain having to drag your ass out of a burning wreck.” John replied, his external speakers muffling his jovial voice slightly. As John walked over to a large APC with various Hybrid and Machina crew members, Sam and Dan marched over to a smaller, yet still impressive, VTOL.

The M32 Griffon was a heavily armoured vehicle capable of breaking the sound barrier when pushed to the limit. Its cockpit was reinforced with unbreakable glass and a titanium frame but a series of metal plates could be lowered in the case of incoming fire or a crash landing. The sides of the small VTOL had two colossal, laser firing gatling guns sticking out of them. The stationary weapons were the staple of air combat; they were accurate and damaging enough to pierce the hull of an opposing aircraft but didn’t rely on conventional ammo. The receiver were multiple laser rifle barrels placed on a rotating frame that would fire a multitude of blue lasers when they were positioned in front of the guns lengthened barrel. The only downside to these infamous weapons were their tendency to overheat when they fired non stop for a few minutes. The inside of the VTOL had a small cockpit for a pilot and copilot and a small area for about ten soldiers to sit, two of which would man the cannons. The airships rotators were able to be boosted through the use of four engines placed at the back of the metal plated carrier. The ship was fast and light enough to go on scouting missions but reliable and armoured enough to withstand fire and still fly straight.

“How long now, Sir?” Sam asked as she stepped inside her aircraft, easily identifiable by the pin up of a blond, busty Pureblood woman straddling a massive, thermonuclear bomb and the name ‘Olivia’ written on the side.

“Not long now, just waiting on the captain’s orders.” Dan answered as he sat down next to one of his soldiers. All of his team wore identical armour. They all were adorned in light armour, encapsulating helmets and had the same red emblem painted on their chests and left shoulders. The Red Sun, an iconic symbol synonymous with the Southern Cross. All of them were elite shock troopers who’d been baptised by fire and all of them felt the magnitude of the coming endeavour. Taking her seat in the front of the ship, Sam put on her pilot's helmet and pressed a button on the side of the metal frame, causing the opaque glass front of the helmet to go clear like a window.

“Well I hope for all our sakes this mission goes smoothly.” Sam replied as she reclined in her chair and waited for her orders.

“I wish I could kick Matt down the fuckin’ stairs. What an asshole!” Patrick exclaimed loudly as he silently wept into his paperwork. It’d been hours since the meeting and Pat was still fuming with hate, his gross Pat belly jiggling with rage.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, Sir, if past experiences have taught me anything it’s that hurting an Awoken just makes them angrier.” Hielda suggested from her seat on the other side of the governor's orange, polished, wooden table with golden accents. The table was covered in paperwork and ‘legal bullshit’ as Pat would call it and even though he’d spent hours writing and signing whatever was needed he’d barely put a dent in it. The only other things on his table were his anime figurines, most of them big breasted school girls or cool, cybernetic samurais, and a picture frame containing a picture of him and his cat.

“If it weren’t for all the civvies I’d probably be done by now…” Patrick stated morosely as he rubbed his tired eyes and looked out his window into the night. He was most likely right; every once in awhile a colonist would come in requesting something or seeking aid, and like the diligent noble she thought he was, he did his best to fix their problems.

“Fucking assholes..” Pat mumbled angrily. Although she hadn’t heard him she knew he was angry about something.

“Is something the matter, my lord?” Hilda asked with a worried tone on her pale blue face and shining blue eyes showing concern for her ‘brave noble’.

“Fucking Captain Matt! Oh my god these fucking, mother fucking colonists!” He cried out in an almost incoherent fit of ire. His assistant/bodyguard was able to sympathise. The night had not been kind to him and he was feeling the stress.

“I know this is hard for you Governor Patrick, but we all appreciate your hard work.” She offered honestly with a soft smile.

“Shut up, Garbage...Look, unless you’re going to help with this legal shit you can take the day off or something. I don’t think I’m going to suffer a second assassination attempt tonight and I’m sure you’ve got...Okay I don’t know what you do when I’m not around but I’m sure you do something boring.” Pat berated then offered as he collapsed into his pile of work again. Hielda was a little hurt by how he shrugged her off but she was sure it was merely the stress talking.

“Thank you, my lord.” Heilda politely replied as she got up from her plush chair and walked out of the immaculate, book shelf and liquor counter lined room.

“Yeah, yeah; close the goddamn door on your way out, thanks.” Pat halfhearted said as a farewell as she left his office. The door to his small workspace was guarded by four heavily armed guardsmen who, despite standing there for hours on end, seemed perfectly fine and alert.

As Hildegrade walked away from the noble’s only place of solace she couldn’t help but reflect on everything as she walked down the busy hallways, passages and rooms leading to the Bridge. For two weeks the expedition had been going smoothly; all systems were functioning at their peak, the colonists were happy, the captain and governor didn’t argue all the time, the security teams hadn’t seen a single H.U.A. sympathiser and there were no hints of mutiny or rebellion. But all of that changed the second the planet come into view. Something about this planet forced the H.U.A. to act, Heilda was sure of this, but she had no idea why they would do such a brash, tactless thing when they could have waited till the colonisation began.

Hilda’s thoughts were interrupted as she bumped into someone, causing both of them to fall to the ground.

“Watch where you’re-oh, it’s you.” She heard the other person utter with disdain. Hilda looked up and saw it was Second Officer Diane McAlder. She was a fairly normal looking Hybrid. Purple, reflective skin that looked more plant like then it should, shoulder length, leaf like green hair that was well kept, prim and proper. Her bark brown eyes and alluring, alien features were scrunched up in a sneer. Like many of the female officers she wore a long dress uniform, though her’s was obviously more decorated and protective. She wore a long blue dress with multiple ribbons over her heart and metal emblems on her shoulders that resembled silver ravens. She wore a long skirt that concealed pieces of light armour and the plasma pistol strapped to her thigh; Her slim, slouched figure betrayed her extreme combat training, the only indicator that she was proficient in combat being the large, compacted heavy machine gun strapped to her back. When extended, the gun’s barrel was longer than Hilda's arm, fired superheated yellow laser beams and carried large cells bigger than her fist. although the body of the gun was light enough to be held it also came with a tripod so it could be positioned strategically. Although an intimidating weapon in use it currently looked more like a box then a gun. The only pieces of protection that was visible to the eye were the small pads of nanofiber armour on her shoulders, arms and legs and the ornate, silver chest plate over her mutated heart,sizeable bust and stomach. Even when outside of battle, her towering weapons, lavish armour and authoritarian presence made lesser men shake in fear. Though all Heilda saw was an annoying Officer with no patience for anyone.

“What are you doing up here Heilda? This area is restricted to members of the Southern Cross’ crew only.” She demanded as she pulled out her PDA and began checking to see if the interloper had authorisation.

“Please get out of my way, Diane, I’m here to see the captain.” Heilda asked politely as she went to step around the infuriating Hybrid.

“You don’t get to make demands around here anymore, Colonist, and the captain is busy in his private quarters; I doubt he’s free to see you given how much trouble your ‘Governor’ has caused for him.” She interrupted as she stepped in the Heilda’s way. A few of the nearby guards looked at each other hesitantly. Many of them knew about Heilda’s strength and reputation, and the crew favoured the old Officer over the new Hybrid Officer, but if they didn’t support Diane if things went south then they’d be in danger of getting fired or worse.

“Listen Diane, we both know the captain’s never too busy to catch up with an old friend and you couldn’t stop me even if you tried so why don’t you get out of my face and I’ll be on my way.” Heilda bitterly responded as she stepped back from Diane, the shorter women getting very close to her.

“Is that a threat Miss Adoniram? I could have you thrown in the brig if you keep this up. I’ll say this once Hildegrade, get of my bridge or I’ll throw you off it.” The senior officer warned as Hilda rolled up her purple sleeves, showing her pale blue skin, and clenching her glove covered fists.

“Trust me, Diane, if I was threatening you, you’d know. And this isn’t your bridge, long before you showed up I was running the show; and before me the captain was managing just fine. Now let me make this perfectly clear, Diane, piss off or else.” Hilda ordered angrily.

“Hmph, you don’t scare me; maybe once you were seen as respectable but now you’re serving some wannabe nobleman with no class or grace and a servant who lacks common sense and-”

“Okay, what the hell is going on down there?” Matt interrupted, his confused and irritated voice booming out through both of their PDAs.

“Nothing, Sir, Colonist Adoniram was just demanding to see you.” Diane answered straight away with a level tone.

“Send her up.”

“What? Sir, she doesn't-”

“I don’t care, Diane, I simply do not care anymore. Send her up if she wants to see me.” Matt ordered, disregarding protocol. With an agitated sigh, she stepped aside as Hilda victoriously walked past her to the back of the bridge where the elevator to the Captain’s Quarters rested. In front of the elevator stood two sentries decked in golden, silver and sapphire armour. No one could mistake these two as anything other than a Royal Guards.

The first and last line of defense for the noble fleet, these primarily Pureblood soldiers were the best of the best; all of them have seen warfare first hand and all of them have survived the most daring, soul crushing and painful training regiment. They’d all earned their opulent armour and they wore their scars and damaged gear as a badge of honour. These two were identical in many ways; They both wore large, shining suits of armor that weighed as much as a set of power armour and offered equal amounts of protection. Their golden chest plates had a massive, majestic, two headed eagle soaring upward with a sword and shield in each outstretched talon. Their pauldrons displayed their call sign and family they were in service too. Their legs and arms were entombed in shining, silver embroided power armour; their heads protected by a massive helmet not unlike an ancient Human knight’s, complete with a giant blue plume atop their heads. Their intricate armour was primarily made of hardened gold with silver lining and secondary colours but also had veins of crystalised sapphire running through them. Around their necks a large, blue scarf rested, covering their necks and the lower parts of their helmets. In each of their gauntlet covered hands they wielded two mighty weapons.

They both utilized the standard, yet powerful, great shield and plasma lance set. In their left hands they held a massive, towering wall of metal displaying the Alexard family crest, a roaring blue manticore set in front of a shield, and had multiple layers of metal and nanofibers woven into the protective layer. if the large pieces of metal weren’t enough to protect against small arms fire then the large shield generators on the opposite side were providing a golden, translucent shield powerful enough to withstand a missile or melter beam. In their other hands they grasped the mighty plasma lance. The iconic weapon was a massive, plasma firing polearm tipped with a large, polished spear head capable of tearing through a guardsman chest plate. If the sharpened head wasn't enough to kill someone then the spears plasma thrower was able to lobe or fire a steady stream of plasma fire. When not in use, the thrower coated the white tip in scorching plasma, giving it an unnatural green glow. The handle of these metal lances and shields were wrapped in a pair of sacred, sapphire blue cloths gifted to a Royal Guard when they passed basic training.. It was symbolic of tying their soul and life to their weapon and cause; they’d become one with their weapons.

Each pair of guards was usually comprised of a man and women, most of the time they’d be a guard that came from a poor upbringing and another from a rich, noble background. In the Royal Guard, your background, race, sex and look never mattered; it was your principles and morals that you’d be judged by.

“Hail Adoniram of Earth, what business do you have with Sir Alexard?” Asked the guard on the left, her booming voice echoing out through the large bridge.

“I just wanted to talk to him.” She declared, looking up at the colossal human who was nearly a foot taller than her.

“Sir, Hildegrade Adoniram has-” The second guard started, his older and wiser voice being cut off halfway through his report.

“Let me guess, she wants to see me?” Matt interrupted with an annoyed tone.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Send her up. Thank you.”

“My apologies.” The female guard apologised as she moved her shield out of the doorway and the male guard pressed the button to open the door. Stepping inside to the smaller, brightly lit elevator with a small leather couch in it, she stood in front of the elevator door and watched it close. As the elevator ascended to a hidden part of the ship, she looked herself over in the reflection of the metal door.

As far as Pureblood humans go, she looked nothing like one. She was 6’2 tall, had pale blue skin, shimmering, blue crystal like eyes and long, wispy, platinum blond hair. She wore a long, warm, royal purple jacket with black leather armour placed over it protecting her chest and back. Her neck was kept warm by a lining of black fur, her shoulders were padded with small, leather guards that followed the curve of her arms. Her slender neck was covered by a torn scarf and a small necklace with a white, chipped rock. Her hands were protected by a pair of black, studded gloves that could deliver a powerful punch and her legs were covered by a pair of tight black jeans and boots with the back of the jacket tailing behind them. Strapped to the large belts around her waist rested two Terran swords. Although she was restricted from carrying a gun, she was allowed to keep her old swords. As she began to hear loud, Terran music thumping loudly behind the elevator’s doors she knew she was right outside his room. The doors slid apart and she was hit by a wave of loud techno music and the smell of Ascended spirits.

The captain's quarters were what you’d expect. It’s floors were lined with glossy, brown wooden panels, the metal walls were lined with paintings, posters, decorations and more than one display case with a powerful weapon or artifact from Humanity's past. As she stepped out of the elevator she had to reacquaint herself with the old room. The bar and kitchen were still to the right of the entrance, the walls decorated with various empty spirit bottles and two ancient laser swords placed in front of a shield. The left side of the room, where once rested an ugly mural, now stood a large aquarium full of multicoloured fish from all over the cosmos. The captain’s queen sized bed rested on the opposite side of the room on a lower level, the blue and black bed was a mess with pillows and blankets left untidied. In front of and below the bar rested the captains lounge.

 Three comfy, leather sofas were arranged around a large, black wooden table with multiple empty bottles and random pieces of technology scattered atop it. The captain’s study was a few feet away from the bed; the simple black table and chair were frequently used when Matt was busy with paperwork, checking his emails or playing video games to procrastinate. An assortment of anime figurines and toy soldiers were littered over the table. The only thing that stood out from the childish collection of toys was a haunting trophy from the war for Novaguard. Matthew’s old shock trooper helmet; the once white, blue and red helmet was broken in several places, it’s visor was smashed and there was a large, deep cut in the side of the burnt grey helmet but the painted icon of the Red Sun let the world know it was once his.

Next to the Aquarium rested Matt’s personal armoury. It was filled to the brim with swords, guns, bombs and armour. Some of them were standard issue and meant to be used; but like many of the works of art splattered throughout his cramped yet comfy room, there were pieces of his family's history in his secured stash that were only used by him when he was bored. And in the center of this room stood Matt himself. Instead of his regal captain’s uniform he simply wore the dress pants, some socks, a singlet and the hat. hilda knew this look well and it wasn't a pleasant one.

“Permission to come aboard?” She jokingly asked as he walked up the small set of stairs to the bar, a golden bottle in his left hand and a ballistic pistol in his right.

“You don’t even have permission to be in that elevator, so why the fuck not?...Did you get augments? Your eyes look awesome.” Matt exclaimed as he grabbed a second bottle of orange, crystalline whiskey.

“Oh, yeah; I thought it looked cool...So, how are you? You seemed kind of...Upset back there.” Hilda asked with a worried expression as Matt walked back over to his couch and shot the cap off the expensive bottle.

“I’m feeling pretty shitty right now, not gonna lie; They never said being a captain would be easy but they didn’t tell me it’d be agonisingly hard…” Matt lamented as he brought the large bottle to his mouth and took a large gulp.

“Boy that hits the spot...Want some?” Matt offered as he passed the fancy, decorative bottle to Heilda who gingerly took it from him.

“Thanks...Wow, if this is the kinda booze you can a offer where can I apply to be a captain.” She joked as she tasted the fruity, flavourful drink that tingled her taste buds.

“The booze, free house and guns are the only good thing about it...Fucking Styx this is all a bloody mess…” Matt sighed out as he threw his pistol onto his bed and sank into his couch.

“Come on man, you know you can rant to me.” Heilda sympathetically said as Matt chuckled lightly.

“Ah, for a second there it sounded like you actually work for me; sure you’re not getting me confused for Lord Governor Shithead?” Matt jeered with a smirk as she frowned.

“Matthew, can we not start another argument? For once I just want to have a normal, friendly conversation.” She requested as she sighed and tried to hide the agitation in her voice.

“Kinda hard to do that when all I can imagine is that asshole acting like he knows what he’s doing...Seriously, what do you see in that loser? He’s a noble but he’s not a noble person.” Matt mocked then asked intently as he looked at her.

“I don’t owe you an explanation for my life decisions...Look, if you’re just going to get drunk and bitter then I should just leave.” Heilda stated with anger as she went to get up.

“Fine, I’ll drop it for now...Man, I would give anything to have my boots on the ground, rifle in my hand, helmet on my head while wading through mud and blood leading shock troopers to glory or death...Instead I’m filling papers, raising moral, micromanaging a whole fucking ship and caring for veritable horde of colonists who think I’m just some Ascended warmonger...Damn, I sure sound a lot like Dad nowadays…” The captain lamented as he took another swig of booze before laughing humorlessly.

“You know we all appreciate what you do; not just anyone can be a captain of a warship. The crew doesn't hate you, they just...Don’t know how to handle an Ascended captain; for as long as most people can remember DAYNE was the only Ascended on board and he’s...Different.” Heilda reassured as she took another hit from his radiant bottle.

“I don’t see why they have to be afraid or hateful of me or DAYNE, I mean the ship already has a squad of Ascended hunters-I mean Royal Guards on it. What more do they want? I’m not gonna put on a shock collar or restrict my psionics to make a bunch of superstitious idiots happy.” Matt darkly muttered as his eyes slowly slightly brighter.

“You know the Empress assigned them to the ship to protect you, not harass you. Every noble family has at least one and you and Patrick are the only nobles of your respective lineages; if you two die on this expedition then the Alexard and Woolsworth families won’t exist.” Heilda explained as Matt rolled his eyes.

“And we’re both so special we need a platoon for us both? Let's not sugar coat it, no one trusts an Ascended to lead a ship and everyone feels safer knowing if the glowing monkey steps out of line.” He punctuated his small, hateful rant with a click of his fingers, causing an empty bottle on the black table to shatter. “Off goes his head. None of the colonists trust me or DAYNE and that’s the truth.” Matt mumbled with a depressed tone as he looked up at his ceiling.

“I do and so does Munov; that’s gotta count for something right?” She asked with a smile, her brash, larrikin voice unusually soothing and calm.

“Yeah, I guess it does...Engineer Jacobs Summer and Unit CHARON, both KIA during the H.U.A hostile takeover attempt. Per Unit CHARON’s will his hardware will be shipped back to his manufacturing facility on Mars in the hopes that they can rebuild him...Jacobs Summers had two kids and a wife...And it’s the Captain’s duty to inform the family their father or mother died in the line of service...Fuck, I can barely look in the mirror right now, how can I walk up to a grieving wife and told her ‘you’re Husband was a brave man who died as he lived, honourably.’ Honourably; there was nothing honourable about his death! They shot him in the back of the head while he was eating a sandwich, what the Styx do they mean honourably? I’d give anything not to tell his family he died during his lunch break, talking about which Quartz tag player is a cheating scum bag and which one of the Empress’ Sisters is probably sleeping with the Rear Admiral of the Armada. The guy was a Father from the starship Nova, but with all this red tape and legal bullshit you’d think he was a no named nobody; it’s that disconnected…” Matt ranted with anger, than sadness than a lack of emotion.

“I’ll do it for you if you want…” Heilda offered, seeing how this was hurting him.

“You don’t work for me, remember? You don’t have to do the things I don’t want to do anymore…” Matt rhetorically asked with a dead smile.

“I’m still your friend and you don’t have to do this when we get back to the Armada; you’ve already got enough legal stuff on your plate to worry about.” Heilda said sympathetically as Matt got up and stretched his muscles.

“No, I shouldn’t drag you back into my problems...It never ends well...Bah, enough of this sad shit; I got someone for you to say hi to!” Matt muttered softly before turning around with a big grin.

“Oh? And who’d this be?” Heilda asked as she slowly drained Matt’s bottle of Whiskey. Softly, Matt pulled a small steel chip with blue, shining circuitry in the centre. He lightly placed it on the coffee table and pulled a large, recently built battery out from under the table.

“So that’s why there’s all this techno-crap here...Wait, did you build that drunk?” Heilda grilled with a raised eyebrow as she backed away from the homemade battery causing Matt to laugh.

“Heh, you should know by now that Ascended drunk isn’t like Human drunk, I ain’t gonna blow us up; at least not today.” Matt explained as he began connecting wires and cables, causing the small chip to glow brightly and the large, grey box to whir loudly.

“Matt, I don’t know what you’re doing but this dosen’t look-”

“Safe? Don’t worry, Ol’ Monty taught him everything he knows about rigging up a generator. Hello Hilda, did you do something to your eyes? They look amazing!” The projected image of a man explained with a small, wise, accented laugh.

There on the table stood a projection of a pale, brown haired, scruffy faced, wise cracking man dressed in a crinkled blue suit and messed up tie. He wore black formal shoes that were a size too big and had two brown eyes that seemed to convey a feeling of joy. Everything about his chubby, handsome face and cocky smile was so familiar to Hilda…

“M-Monty?...I...Y-you’re-”

“Dead? Yeah, death’s a real bitch; don’t worry about it though, no hard feelings or anything.” Monty interrupted the stuttering, shocked woman who dropped the half empty bottle of whiskey, its contents slowly pooling out on the hardwood floor.

“After you left, I had a lot of spare time on my hands and went back to a few plans me and the Engineers cooked up after Montgomery...Passed away.” Matt explained with a sad smile as he sat down.

“B-but how?!” Heilda questioned as she looked between the two men who seemed to be taking the whole thing surprisingly well.

“You know those back up things Machina do? Well, I convinced DAYNE to let me try it after getting some tech inserted in my brain. It stung like Styx and it was mostly indecipherable data but DAYNE thought it might come in handy so the old bot kept it in its lab somewhere...Heh, didn’t think I’d come back from the dead that’s for sure…” The A.I explained as he walked around the table, or at least as far as he could with the small projection range of the basic chip.

“His chip and battery here are just temporary. I plan to upgrade him and plug him into the ship.” Matt informed as he sank back into the couch.

“Yeap, then the ship will have someone competent manning the guns at all times! Bit of a promotion from Ex-Head Engineer but I’ll be happy with any award, even ones given post posthumously.” Monty cheerfully stated as he rocked back on forth with his hands in his pockets.

“I-I think I need to go lie down…” Hildegrade cried out as she turned and quickly walked towards the elevator.

“Wait, don’t-” By the time Matt had gotten halfway through his sentence she’d already gotten in the elevator and began her descent.

“Well...That could have gone better…” Monty quipped from his position on the table. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up kid, I’d be shocked too if I met a guy I killed.” Monty tried to joke, instead coming across as morbid, as Matt collapsed onto his bed. He was about ready to fall asleep when his PDA beeped loudly from his table. With a groan, he rose and picked up the tablet.

“Yeah?”

“Sir, this is Commander Greyson requesting permission to begin Operation: Terra Nullius.” The new Commander of the Red Sun’s asked from the other side of the channel.

“Affirmative; Commander Greyson, from here on out you are to report any and all sightings, anomalies, native creatures and possible threats directly to myself or the bridge’s communications officers. Begin operation.” Matt ordered as he slowly got back into the role of Captain as he began putting on his uniform and fixing up his appearance.

“Roger Sir, Commander Greyson out.” He formally replied as he closed the channel. A few minutes later, Matt looked like his old self; and after inhaling a few puffs of Purgizium he was sober and ready to lead. Donning his hat, holstering his pistol and pocketing his friend’s chip, he strutted into the elevator and practised his cocky, normal grin.