The alarm in her cockpit blared, and that was all she needed.

“Multi-lock achieved! Firing for effect!” Aria depressed the trigger, and a veritable swarm of micro-missiles came screaming out of the Armatus’s shoulder-mounted launcher.

The pirates scattered as they noticed, to little avail. No matter how many they evaded or eliminated with point defenses, the nature of the SPAMRAAMs meant that eventually, one or two would get through. And even if they did, it left the pirate ACs distracted and open enough to be dispatched by her lancemates, as evidenced with the Baron.

For her part, Aria swapped from rifle to saber as soon as her salvo was launched, manuevering the Armatus in at high speed in order to bisect one of the pirate machines right after it was rocked by a missile barrage.

“Kill confirmed!” Right afterward, the tactical situation changed once more, and Aria glowered from her cockpit as she checked the readout. A frigate in reserve? Pirates weren’t this smart. Something was wrong here. At least their resident stealth expert was doing her job correctly, which left it up to Aria to make up for any hole in the line, lest the others be overwhelmed.

“Lance, Armatus. Complying with Indomitus’s request, intercepting enemy frigate. AC lock maintained, firing one more salvo for effect!”

Another burst of micro missiles to distract the pirate ACs and hopefully leave them vulnerable for the rest of the Lance to take advantage of, and Aria broke off. She swapped the Armatus back to its rifle, boosting haphazardly and erratically to try and throw the enemy frigate’s lock off while she attempted one of her own. In the meantime, Aria leveled her mech’s rifle, took aim, and began to fire, hoping to knock out more than a few of the ambushing frigate’s turrets before starting an actual attack run.

The shuttle shook as it launched right on schedule, Albert going through his datapad while they were in transit between ships. Listening to the chatter between the pilot, The Indomitus, and the general chatter from the Lancers, it was clear things were continuing to get more complicated than one might think from pirates in general. Savior-1, was it? Ironic, considering he was only going over because the alternative was not ideal. The rest of the damage control party was discussing their roles, the equipment monkey was sitting next to him, surprisingly patient given how he has been treated so far, probably because he was actually learning, even if it was not what one would consider standard thinking. Damage control, responding to crisis, and so on was all useful to know regardless of role, especially on a military vessel. By the sound of the chatter, and sights from the shuttle, there were more incoming hostile ships. Pirates were keeping busy, and launching more attacks even now.

"....Sir?"

Albert glanced, realizing the equipment monkey had been talking, a glance confirming they were approaching the docking point for the Percheron at this point, and he already stood, grabbing his bag of tools. They had made the distance between Indomitus and Percheron, and that meant his break was over, it was time to get to work. The moment the ramp dropped, Albert moved with purpose, barking orders as he descended into chaos.

"Right, you two, report to their damage control center, get me a constant feed of useful information, screen out the panic and bitching. You lot, grab the tools and spare parts and fall in. You, stick close and do what I say. Your my runner, I need something, I say it, you repeat it back, and start running. Word for word."

That got a nod, and Albert made a beeline for the engine room, his team of veteran techs following in close form, bypassing groups of ship's crew that was not injured. They were fighting to fix other damage, things they could handle, clearing the way for the dedicated damage control party to come save them from the worst going on. Ship's crew was trying to get auxiliary power back online, smart given they could not handle the reactor situation, but a waste if Albert couldn't fix this. Reaching the engine room, he began dispatching his damage control team to work.

"You three, Team Alpha, get fresh coolant ready to start flowing, current flow is going to need help. You two, Beta, I want you fixing controls and any electrical damage of reactor control. You three, Charlie, start working on the external hydraulics for reactor control rods. I'm suiting up to start working inside the reactor compartment. You, grab the timer and follow me."

Albert moved with purpose as his team scattered, jumping to work, professional chatter and discussion of what needed done covering his communication net with his team. Damage control center information began flowing down from his contacts sent up that way, and despite his orders, not all of it was useful. Typical, of course, he would tell those two off later. For now, he reached the doubled hatch and dropped his toolbag, starting to put on the shielded suit for accessing the reactor for short bursts of time. As he suited up, he talked to the equipment monkey he had with him.

"Right, lining in these is good for stopping most of the radiation from the reactor for, worst case scenario, fifteen minutes. I have to get the internal control rod controls up and running in that timespan, so on my mark, you start that timer. I want callouts every minute, on the minute, and at the twelve minute mark? You get on this door control, because at the fourteen minute mark I am egressing and you need to be ready to actuate the door controls. Once back in the shielded passage, I undergo decontamination and start working with the rest of the team on actual control and keeping the reactor from going sub or super critical."

Albert swapped communication channels, updating the Indomitus on the situation at hand. Local comms, mainly the speaker system that the equipment monkey would have to use to announce time callouts inside the reactor compartment, but beyond that? He would be on his own. It was the most dangerous, touch and go part of this repair, and it was not surprising they did not have anyone who could do it without risking lifelong life complications from radiation exposure.

"Indomitus, Hartwig. Going dark on comms for fifteen minutes to implement repairs on reactor compartment controls, will advise progress in thirty minutes."

Hartwig would not wait for a reply at this point, letting the two engineers who were on comms at that point as well handle any further documentation of any necessary information. With that, he would open the outer door of the shielded ingress point into the reactor compartment, grabbing his tools, and walking in. The door was sealed behind him, and the equipment monkey was on the comm system, announcing that he had the timer ready to start. The moment that inner hatch opened, the clock started, and he would have to work fast and, more importantly, accurate. A hiss announced the inner hatch, equipment monkey announced timer start, and Albert took off at a dead spring, swinging through the interior hatch and setting to work. Internal suit sensors showed no leak through, pre-use inspection was sound, and his goal was simple. He had to get the internal control rod actuators unjammed and working, their controls working again, and that would be exactly what he set to do.

Volger could admit that despite his many years of working alongside AC’s; he had worked with a lot of mid-tier Lances. So the display of the Lance at the moment was rather impressive. Fending off enemy AC’s, supporting the LSC, harrying capital ships and strike craft.

All while outnumbered and on the back foot.

Volger made a mental note to update his plans as he turned the last corner to his destination. The Venture’s starboard shuttle bay held a few civilian cargo haulers but none of the Onyx-9 troopers scurrying through the bay paid the craft any attention. They were too busy assembling a set of frameworks towards the closed bay doors.

The thruster frames were in essence; giant thrusters attached to a a ceramic carbide skeleton. The skeleton having anchor points and straps for personnel ( alive or dead) and equipment. They were mainly used for post battle casualty collection and prisoner transport.

However, Volger and Onyx-9 were using them for a different purpose today. He eyed his display. The frigate passing closet. The dancing AC’s. The fire of the Indomitus.

“Stand by…” Volger took his place in the stack. He shouldn’t have been there. He knew a commander had no place being this close. But he couldn’t resist. Old habits-

Lt. Dvalin’s AC scored a kill. Following the kill with a flurry of missiles and beam rifle fire that had the nice effect of cluttering sensors.

Onyx-9 Execute!!!

The boosters the platoon in the debris field had assembled kicked off as the ones on the Venture followed a split second after. The troopers clinging to them for a scant, precious two seconds. Kicking off almost immediately after getting the initial kickstart of the frames boost.

Hurriedly getting free as the frigate’s point defense guns hurriedly engaged what it took for missiles. A fire team was too slow to kick off and disappeared in the flurry of explosive shells that perforated the space.

The gambit however worked for the most part. The cluttered battle space and the sudden speed of the frames allowed the troopers to close. Now free of the frames; the troopers used their own boosters to close the distance.

Volger felt a thrill as he passed a turret slashing away at a distant target. His armor invisible to the anti ship based sensors. He felt the impact of his boots hitting the hull; magnetic activating as vibrations of the frigate at work ran through the contact points.

Around him, his visor highlighted the troopers making it though the point defenses. Obviously, the pirates hadn’t sprung for the external anti boarding measures. Or removed the limiters for the turrets to allow them to depress to the hull.

’A shame’

Volger thought as his HUD helpfully marked his target on the hull. It was an awkward one hundred meter magnetic assisted walk to the crosshairs but it gave his troopers on the “X” to gather. Two squads had made it before the frigate had started evasive maneuvers; aware of their presence but not wanting to send crew out into the hull in the middle of a fight.

The AC’s of both sides danced overhead as Volger’s troopers worked. Affixing the hull charge to the indicated spot.

Volger toggled his comms but waited until the demo trooper triggered the charge. The shaped charge’s vibration matching the intensity of light and flame; but the vacuum took the roar. The rush of escaping atmosphere was accompanied by the flailing bodies of the compartment’s inhabitants; the same bluish-gray pattern uniform of the professional pirates from the Venture. They wore shipboard survival armor. So they would probably survive space if they could get somewhere with atmosphere before life support ran out.

Muzzle flashes from a trooper beside Volger polarized his visor. The frigate crew stilled amidst globules of red. From the breach more muzzle flashes flared as troopers piled in. Volger flowed in as he keyed his comms.

Onyx-9 Actual to Lance. We have taken Shrike-class frigate’s aft fire control. Stand by while we shut down rear offensive and defensive fires.

Volger could never understand why the Shrike class had two fire control centers nor why the aft center was so close to the hull. Sure it made overhaul and upgrades easier; but also more vulnerable.

Case in point as a the two squads of Onyx troopers, now in the ship’s artificial gravity, cleared the compartment. The previous crew, those that had been strapped in, were now slack in their seating. The occasional sidearm halfway pulled. The compartment’s weapons locker untouched in a corner by the blast door.

One trooper, the hacker, pulled a corpse off a console to affix an override device. The device gave a cheerful green light and soon the thumb of weapons fire subsided substantially. Throughout the room; weapon displays and targeting vectors turned an angry red of flashed warnings and indicators.

Onyx-9 Actual. Guns are spiked. We’re ready to pull.

"Excellent my children! Your make your empire proud!" The baron declared after helping the Armatus deal with some of the point defense guns to clear the way for Onyx-9. It seemed like the battle was about to finish up with the enemy cores on the run and the Shriek being boarded. Old Ironside used the opportunity to sneak behind the frigate, a pod on his left shoulder opening to let loose his big dumb uppercut missile. Needless to say, a frigate was not able to dodge it, especially at this range. A large explosion shook the rear of the ship as its main thruster cut off (he had been careful not to hit the core to give another job to Hartwig.

"She's dead in the water, tally-ho!"

With this the man allowed his machine to drift a little as he closed his eyes, taking deep breath to steady his heart and calm down a little. "A-ah, hahaha, t-too old they call me, bollocks to that, haha-ahhhh..."



Mika had a sigh of relief when she heard the news that the strike crafts were turning around. She'd be confident the Indomitus would win, but the ex-pirate knew every time you took a gamble you had a chance to lose, no matter how stacked in your favor the game was.

There was something odd about this. The miscommunication, the factions, how well equipped and timed this ambush was... She had her suspicions of course, the sector had a strong republican leaning so some might take the arrival of an imperial prince as encroachment (which was exactly what it was to be fair).

The captain was pulled out of her musing by Prince Cassian reminding her of their priorities. She sighed in agreement. "Yeah yeah. We'll at least get two of them though, that converted cargo ship is too slow to escape my marauders." She said with a smirk. At the start of the battle she had sent her auxiliaries take the long way around the battlefield just for the chance of picking up stragglers. Now, the cruiser was too much for them to handle, but a converted carrier?

She'd take care of that in a moment, before that there was the matter of the Shriek.

"Onyx-9, don't pull out. I repeat, do not pull. No reason to blow up a perfect prize ship! You're running low on ammo so wait on reinforcement before finishing clearing up the bridge. XO, add Reaver-1 to battlefield coms."

Another screen came up on the large display, showing a savage looking individual with a blond mohawk combed to the left and his lower jaw missing, it and his bottom teeth replaced by cybernetics. His glazed over eyes and the heavy bags under them made his drug use obvious to say the least. He sniffed and cleared his nose before speaking.

"Do I finally get to kill something?"

"Seems like you just might. But listen up good Tarsis, I'm running a military op now and you'd better remember it. No friendly fire 'accidents' and if they surrender you don't kill them, even if they shot at you first. You will show our new boss there is some value in keeping you around and there will be no fuck up, understood?"

"Yeah yeah, I'll be a good boy moooom, now please excuse me while I show these Imperial Marine babies how you do boarding action." He said while putting on his helmet on, the skull design obviously meant for intimidation.

There was an obvious unease on the bridge. The 'auxiliaries' usually kept their distance, but the Reavers were kept as a backup (or maybe the term was expendable) ground team on the Indomitus. Mika ignored the silent judgement of her new subordinates, if they disapproved of this they wouldn't like what was next.

"Open a broadband com channel, no encryption."

She wanted to talk to the enemy? Again this hesitation and glances to the prince, but the communication officers finally executed the order.

"Norton. I know it's you out there you stupendous fuck. You remember me? It's Mika! C'mon, I know you're being paid for this and the imps have credz coming out their asses, so how about we work something out? I'll even let you keep your toy, the Shriek's new, isn't it?"

There was a moment of silence and Mika wondered if he didn't take the bait. Finally there was an answer and a display opened on the big screen showing a man who's thin and elongated features made him look like a shaved rat with a cybernetic eye.

"Ganishka you fucking double crossing piece of shit, you'll spread your whore legs for literally anyone!"

Mika smirked as she crossed her legs and and arms.

"I'm not hearing a no~ Come on, I've fucked you Norton, you should be able to see my raiders burning toward you. You could make it out, buuut I'm going to blow up your carrier. You can leave with your ships and credits in your pocket or run away with your life and your dick in your hand. Oh and I guess you could fight me but, I know you're a coward, so..."

The pirate slammed his armrest and got up from his seat to scream.

"And I know your word is worth exactly jack and shit! Mark my word Ganishbitch, you shouldn't have come back here! And to any imperial units listening, your captain has betrayed literally everyone she's ever worked for in her entire life, if you think-"

The man started yelling insults but Mika pressed a button to mute him, he did keep the video feed on.

"Meet my old friend Norton, kind of a dick to be honest, but he's generous enough to give us a nice view of his bridge. Send the images to intelligence and see if anything can be learned." Indeed as Norton paced around, the camera generously followed his face and peeked at what was going on around him. Mika did spot some suspiciously well dressed people.



"Reaver-1 Actual to Onyx-9, coming up on the next corridor, watch for crossfire." Gunfire echoed down the hall for a few seconds before it was silenced.

"Reaver! Reaver!" The incoming backup carefully advertised their presence as they came out of the smoke, that call out being more than justified as these guys looked like most of the pirate scum Volger had killed today, except these guys had a distinct 'red and skull' theme going on. A guy ran up the line and up to Volger, offering what was probably supposed to be a salute. This kid couldn't be older than 16. "Whatsup sir! We're your reinforcement! Here, spare ammo for you guys!" He was practically screaming in his face, obvious sign this kid had a grenade or two go off too close to his ear one to many time. Still he lowered his enormous backpack and opened it. "I got 10mm, 40mm, poppers, flash-" He began to list his supplies like a street peddler using thick pirate jargon, but he was efficient, handing over what he had to who needed it as he obviously recognized Onyx-9s gear just by looking at them.

"This is Reaver-1, progressing toward the bridge."

Their pirate allies were... something. On one hand, it was obvious they had experience: they cleared room after room with impressive speed and skill, but this was pretty much all they had going for them, that and fearless aggression that could only come from heavy use of combat drugs. The way up the corridors they had cleared was gruesome, these guys obviously had a love for auto-shotguns that were ideals for close quarter boarding like these but that also left a mess of the people on the receiving end. Another notable thing was that some of the dead enemies had their ring fingers or ears chopped off as the Reavers looted any obvious jewelry they could find as quickly as possible.

"Hey, look who decided to join us. Wazzup?" It was Reaver-1 Actual, 'Sergeant' Tarsis who casually filled his combat stims injector with another cartouche while behind him some other reavers were cutting open a reinforced blast door.

"Rats are doing a last stand on the bridge. That'd be the part where I bring up any survivor and slowly kill them in front of the camera to convince them resisting is a bad idea but the boss told me we don't do that anymore. So. How do you guys want to do this?" He casually asked.

The guns were spiked. The system dragged for all intents and purposes. The door locked down to increase the repair time. Onyx-9 had sabotaged the frigate to the point the Baron was able to slink up and slam an Uppercut missile into an engine.

Volger took that as a sign to depart.

"Onyx-9, don't pull out. I repeat, do not pull. No reason to blow up a perfect prize ship! You're running low on ammo so wait on reinforcement before finishing clearing up the bridge. XO, add Reaver-1 to battlefield coms."

Volger gave a sigh. This chain of command was… eccentric to say the least. He might have a word with the pirate/ privateer/ lance captain after this action.

The bulkhead door began to glow as the crew gave up on the normal overrides. The tracing heat followed the seams; the troopers within the fire control center taking up their position. Aiming lasers flicking on as they tucked behind strut consoles and structural points.

”Onyx-9 copies. Holding.”

Perhaps a bit of bite in his voice. A hasty sabotage attempt turning into a full on boarding action.

‘What reinforcements anyways?”

He didn’t remember a Reaver-1 on the ship’s compliments or manifest.

Then the first part of slagged door fell inwards and his thoughts were packed away. Then it was back to the familiar strobe of gunfire in vacuum.

*****

Volger could say that he had nearly blasted the reinforcements nearly four times as he followed in their wake. The more numerous members of Reaver-1 crashing through the ship like a red and black clad wrecking ball of shotgun fire and hand grenades.

Volger, and his troopers, resupplied on the basic essentials; had taken the role of flank protection. Following in parallel corridors and passageways. Stopping flanks and counter attacks in their infancy as the Reavers took the main sections in attention grabbing affairs.

"Rats are doing a last stand on the bridge. That'd be the part where I bring up any survivor and slowly kill them in front of the camera to convince them resisting is a bad idea but the boss told me we don't do that anymore. So. How do you guys want to do this?" He casually asked.

Volger stepped over a half erected barricade; the pair of former defenders manning it missing anatomy that was too clean for the likes of gunfire. He held his tongue as he gazed at the bridge door.

Options arrayed before him.

Buzz bots… Too expensive and the operators are all on the Venture anyways.

Stompers… none had made the boarding. Too long to wait for more form the Venture.

Explosives… Too much for now. Need the bridge intact if it’s for a prize.

But they don’t have to know that.

Volger grinned beneath his helmet as he looked over the assembled firepower of Reaver and his two squads of Onyx.

“Pile up your hull charges on the door.” Volger counted eight between the two units. One was sufficient for blowing entrances into destroyer hull armor. Eight for an interior door, bridge or not, was overkill.

He found the intercom next to the door. The commander toggling the comms as the pair of groups assembled the massive amounts of demolitions.

“Attention pirate bridge crew. This is Commander Volger of the 89th Lancer Support Company. If you turn your cameras; you can see the eight hull charges I am putting on your doorstep. You can also see I have some more spirited irregulars with my troopers.”

He cut the line briefly to give a pause. The mirrored, gazes and neatly camouflaged gray armor of Onyx standing out from the pirate like armor of the Reavers.

“Your choices are simple. Open up and you will be retained under my care and treated as rival privateers by Imperial law. Or don’t open up and I detonate the charges. Then I let my compatriots in and do what they please with whoever survives. You have ten seconds.”

He stepped back. PDW cradled as he signaled them to start creeping back. The timer in his head counting down as the demolition trooper slowly flipped the cover of the detonator.

---

“Aye, Captain.” Lucia responded, smiling slightly as she relayed the live feed from the Shrike’s bridge to the rest of the Indomitus’ CIC. She had to give the former pirate some credit for her ploy, no doubt Onyx-9 and the Reavers could make use of the bridge feed's intelligence.

As for Lucia herself, the Phantom had put plenty of work on her plate already.

Lucia scanned the trove of communications intercepts Sharlin had beamed back to the Indomitus. The woman was curt to the point of rudeness, but she was effective - as an intelligence asset and, more visibly, as the Phantom. The wreckage drifting across the battlespace was testament enough to that. A part of Lucia felt empathy for the pilots, most of whom probably didn’t even realize they were being targeted before being struck.

Turning her attention to the pirates’ communications, Lucia was greeted by overt signs of panic and disarray. The chain of command was collapsing on the opposing side, with overlapping chatter flooding both open and private channels: pleas for support turning into curse-filled tirades as requests went unanswered, panicked callouts of the Lance’s mechs as they darted across the field, and even a few cases of weeping and sobbing over the radio. She began tagging the traffic automatically, allowing the Indomitus’ automated systems to sift through the ocean of data while she tried to identify anything out of the ordinary. It didn’t take her long to find what she’d suspected, narrow bands of encrypted traffic being masked amidst the disarray.

Lucia grimaced. It aligned with Onyx-9’s assessment: two cohorts operating alongside the pirates, one expendable, one disciplined. The hired fodder were the ones being hung out to dry, while the more professional element mounted a coordinated withdrawal.

Decrypting the pirates’ chatter was going to take some time, but there was still information that could be gleaned in the meantime. Both of the pirates’ larger vessels were pulling away from the combat area, and Lucia would readily bet that they were spinning up their Drift engines, fully intending to abandon the Shrike to its fate.

“Captain, the strike craft are returning to the Mant - the Torch. There is a risk that they’ll encounter your auxiliaries, and none of the Lance is in a position to assist.” Lucia turned to Mika. A key piece of the former pirates’ utility was their expendability, and perhaps the capture of a converted carrier was worth more than their lives. But Lucia still thought that it was her duty to ensure that the Captain was aware of the risks. “Are you sure that they should commit to the operation?”

---

The blast doors to the bridge had sealed automatically when the first boarding alarms triggered. They remained sealed now, thick ceramite slabs sealing the command deck off from the rest of the vessel.

Since then, silence on the Shrike’s bridge had curdled into something heavier. Officers kept their eyes on their consoles, as if glancing towards the doors might somehow weaken the bulkhead.

They all knew that the battle had gone poorly, to say the least.

Norton stood at the center of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back to hide the tremor in them. He had raged freely over the open channel, spitting curses at Ganishka until his face burned - only to realize too late that she had muted him. The memory lingered now, sharp and humiliating, even after he’d closed the channel.

The tactical display was now filled by a rapidly thinning battlefield. The two vessels that Norton had expected to move in to support his push were now turning away, their engines burning bright.

“Boss,” the comms officer said carefully, a young man with a smattering of tattoos creeping up his neck, “I can’t raise the Torch. They’re not answering my hails.”

There was a snort from the station beside him.

“Yeah, that’s cos’ they’re leaving us to the Imps. Assholes.”

Nobody contradicted the navigation officer’s bitter comment. They all knew she was right.

On the display’s periphery, Imperial signatures continued their steady advance. The Shrike’s maneuvering thrusters lagged. Port batteries flickered at partial output. Damage reports stacked up faster than they could be cleared.

Norton felt a wave of anger rising in his chest. It was his ship that was being ripped apart, and for what? This whole job had seemed too good to be true, and he damn well should’ve known to trust his gut.

Too late to do anything about that now.

Another sound reverberated through the bulkhead, causing the Shrike’s bridge crew to perk up as a collective, exchanging furtive glances. It was closer this time: a dull and concussive thud.

“Attention pirate bridge crew.” The crackling voice came over the speakers, and Norton felt a chill run down his spine. "This is Commander Volger of the 89th Lancer Support Company. If you turn your cameras; you can see the eight hull charges I am putting on your doorstep. You can also see I have some more spirited irregulars with my troopers.”

Shit. Norton whirled around to his crew, snapping his fingers. “Bring up the feeds, damn it! Now!”

There was suddenly a rush of frantic action from the bridge, hands flying across consoles as they worked like their lives depended on it.

Sure enough, the sinister figures appeared on the bridge’s main screen. Norton’s expression darkened as he saw the charges that they were laying out on the door. It was far more than what was needed to chew through the bulkhead. Norton and his crew would be lucky to survive the blast, let alone the armed gunmen that would follow behind.

“Your choices are simple. Open up and you will be retained under my care and treated as rival privateers by Imperial law. Or don’t open up and I detonate the charges. Then I let my compatriots in and do what they please with whoever survives. You have ten seconds.”

The comms officer swallowed nervously. “Sir, the doors can take the blast, right?”

Norton glanced back to the viewscreen, where the Torch and its cruiser escort were now well and truly departing from the field.

Moving quickly, and with a panicked desperation behind his eyes, Norton turned back to his communications officer. “What are you waiting for? Get that door open and get me a channel, quick! Tell them that we -”

In his frantic efforts, Norton didn't realize a few members of the bridge crew draw their sidearms.

---

Outside the door, only a few seconds had passed from when Volger had issued his ultimatum.

Then came a series of dull thumps echoed from the other side of the hardened ceramite. Muffled screams soon joined them.

Volger was still counting down internally when he heard it. His helmet’s audio system was some of the finest Imperial credits could buy. Capable of enhancing sounds to a certain threshold while dampening those above it. Namely, gunshots and explosions.

Muted gunshots being a bridge door and muffled screaming met the audience enhancement threshold.

Images of the pirate factions on the Venture came to mind.

“Blow it!!!” He ducked behind the corridor. It might make for a poor prize ship now; but he consoled himself with the fact that he probably wasn’t getting some of the payout anyways.

Volger could admit he hadn’t yet experienced hull charges in atmosphere. Much less eight daisy chained.

But he was thankful for the aforementioned hearing protection and the enclosed nature of his armor.

The deck shuddered and some of the Onyx troopers and Reavers staggered despite their mag boots.

“Move. Move.” He didn’t bother with internal comms. He was using the loudspeaker function. Voice booming through the corridor for all to hear.

A trio of Onyx troopers made it through the previously intact bridge door first; following in handfuls of stun grenades that elicited pained screamed from already dazed pirates.

Reavers and more troopers followed in their wake. Gunshots and automatic fire flare briefly but died down by the time he strolled onto the bridge. PDW half raised.

The bridge was a wreck. Half of the door had been propelled into the room; where it had crushed a pair of unfortunate pirates still strapped into their consoles. Corpses slumped in chairs or sprawled on decks. The crew dead for the most part except one.

A tattooed young man still strapped into a comms station in the bridge’s corner. Eardrums burst and bleeding. Lip quivering as he raised his hands; two blue aiming lasers hovering over his heart. The troopers kept their aim on him and their armored bodies between the private and the Reavers.

The latter currently taking their “loot” from the various bodies sprawled in the room.

Volger paused at a body. The corpse on his stomach head to the door; yet he bore entrance wounds on his back. Implying he had been shot from inside the bridge. But the bodies within all looked like form the same faction.

‘Curiouser’

Volger allowed himself. He took in the room and their status updates Diaz was feeding him.

”Onyx-9 Actual to Indomitus. Shrike has been seized. Venture is locked down and secondary sweeps under way. Request rendezvous for casualty and prisoner transfer.”

A particular crunch had Volger look over. A Reaver was busy plucking gaudy golden teeth from what looked like a former heavy worlder’s mouth.

He frowned under his helmet.

‘Savages. I’ll have to talk to the Captain. Or perhaps the prince.’

---

The last of the fires guttered out along the battered hull of the Shrike, venting slowly into the void.

Tractor beams engaged in measured sequence, drawing the crippled frigate into a slow drift beneath the looming mass of the Indomitus. Across the lance’s tactical displays, hostile signatures winked out one by one. Those that remained burned hard for the system’s edge.

No pursuit was ordered.

Lucia stood a short distance from the central command pit, watching the tactical projection settle as Captain Ganishka managed the fleet. To her right, Prince Cassian had not risen during the engagement. He observed the shrinking battlespace with the air of a man watching an overly long performance, one gloved finger idly tracing the rim of his command armrest.

“Boarding action has concluded, your highness.” Lucia reported, scanning the information scrolling along her console. “One surviving crew member detained. The vessel is under Imperial control.”

Lucia allowed herself a satisfied smile. At least one problem had resolved cleanly.

“Well,” the prince said, clapping his hands together as he rose from his seat. “If that is the extent of all this, then I trust we may return to more productive matters.”

Lucia turned toward him, her expression composed but not unfriendly.

“With your leave, Highness,” she said, “I would like to convene senior staff within the hour. There were a few irregularities in the engagement that merit review before we make planetfall.”

Cassian regarded her for a moment, as though deciding whether this counted as diligence or unnecessary ceremony.

“Very well. An hour, then. Let us ensure our triumph remains suitably presentable.” He glanced around the bridge, seemingly less interested now that the fighting had wound down. “Just remember that this was a detour from our arrival at Praxion. Make sure that the lance is sufficiently well-prepared to meet with the governor.”

Cassian paused, a slight frown as he glanced towards the back of the Captain.

“All of them, Lucia. It won’t do to make a bad first impression.”

Lucia nodded, turning her head towards the lance’s acting captain as the prince left the bridge.

Make a former pirate presentable for a governor’s estate?

Lucia sighed.

Thank the throne that she only ever received the easy tasks.

---

By the time Prince Cassian arrived, Lucia had already begun the debrief.

The conference chamber aboard the Indomitus was austere by design: a steel table, recessed lighting, and a single holographic projector suspended above the center of the room. Tactical data hovered in translucent layers above the table, highlighting the outcome of the battle and critical damage reports.

Lucia paused mid-sentence as the door slid open.

She glanced briefly toward the chronometer mounted on the far wall before inclining her head in a restrained bow. Prince Cassian dismissed the gesture with an impatient wave as he stepped inside, his cloak settling behind him.

“Please,” he said. “Continue.”

Lucia did.

“Overall, CIC considers the mission a success,” she said, her tone calm and even. “All primary objectives were achieved, and friendly losses were minimal. Thanks to Mr. Hartwig’s efforts, both the Percheron and the Guildcrest Venture remain voidworthy. Their captains have agreed to accompany us to Praxion, where the Indomitus will escort them for the remainder of their journey.”

The projection shifted. A damaged frigate rotated slowly above the table, its hull marked with glowing bands of crimson.

“The pirate vessel Shrike, however, sustained extensive structural damage. Repairs will require drydock facilities. Our hangar facilities aren’t currently equipped to handle a ship of that displacement, though the bays could be upgraded if command decided the vessel was worth the effort.”

She paused briefly.

“For the moment, the Percheron has offered to tow the frigate. Assuming the hull is stable, we have two practical options: refit the ship for Imperial service… or sell it for salvage.”

Lucia touched the edge of her tablet and the hologram shifted again, displaying combat telemetry from the lance’s cores.

“Looking at the lance’s performance during the engagement: Lieutenant Dvalin and Sir Marcellus performed admirably when engaging the enemy. Their efforts drew significant attention from the enemy cores and gave the rest of the lance the freedom to maneuver.”

“In particular, Lady Tanne was able to screen the Indomitus throughout the engagement, while also providing us useful information through a communications intercept.”

Lucia paused then, her gaze lingering on the data scrolling across the projection. Something about those transmissions had bothered her since the battle ended.

“We’re still working through the intercepted traffic,” she said, “but what we’ve decrypted so far suggests that part of the pirate force was focused on acquiring a specific piece of cargo from the Guildcrest Venture.” The projection dimmed slightly as new data scrolled into view.

“As far as we can tell, they succeeded before withdrawing from the battlespace.” A faint tightening appeared at the corner of Lucia’s mouth. “The item in question does not appear on the Venture’s registered manifest.”

Delivering incomplete intelligence was never pleasant. Part of Lucia’s role was to provide the lance with actionable information. But in this case? She was forced to deliver the team with a heaping pile of nothing.

“We’re hoping that some of the survivors that Commander Volger and Onyx-9 captured during their boarding operations may provide more clarity on the pirates’ true goals.”

Pausing, Lucia next turned her attention to the most senior member of the lance’s pilots.

“Baron Wilhelm.”

Her tone remained calm, though her tone had become sterner.

“Your combat performance during the engagement was exemplary.” She gestured briefly toward the telemetry still hovering in the air. “However, your biometric monitors recorded several readings outside acceptable safety parameters.”

A pair of small graphs appeared beside the Baron’s combat data.

“It is the recommendation of both myself and the Indomitus’ medical staff that you reduce sustained neural load during extended engagements,” Lucia said. “Your performance was exemplary, Baron, but the margins involved were unnecessarily narrow.”

Dimming the projection as she glanced around the room, Lucia brought her debriefing to a close. “Those are the primary conclusions from CIC’s analysis of the battle. If there are any questions or additional observations, now would be the appropriate time.”

Volger had arrived to the debriefing late. An unfortunate matter of coordinating two battle torn ships full of his troopers, the degenerate boarders and their collective casualties. So he was still in his armor when he slipped through the door a few seconds ahead of the Prince’s arrival.

His helmet was off, carried in the crook of his off arm per regulation, so he kept his features schooled. His gaze now and then sneaking towards the “Captain” of this so called vessel.

Some would notice the similarities between the two commanders. Pale skin endemic to habitual spacers. Steely gazes common among veterans. The hardness of features that usually came with hard decisions and harder consequences.

All Volger could see was the artfully constructed chaos of a uniform Captain Ganishka had chosen to don. A lax, easygoing stance as if throwing around the might of an Imperial Lance and its support company were standard occurrences. As if she had a place in their chain of command because the Prince brought her and her crew along for some void-forsaken reason.

It was when the debriefing died down and the side conversations inevitably began that he made his move. A graceful sidestep, for being encumbered in armor and assault frame at least, and he was in front of Captain Ganishka.

“Captain.” His voice was tight. The sarcasm evident even if the respect was somewhat there. “I want to have a conversation offside.”

The captain was looking at the data streaming in. With her job mostly done now, she reflected on the... discrepancies she had been witness to. Norton getting killed by some of his own men, who then made sure not to be taken alive. That kind of fanaticism she had seen only in 2 places in this sector and she believed it had to be a Republican plot. 'Liberty or death' and all that... but there was another place she saw that, when she was much younger: The Cult of Lethos. She couldn't believe this perverted old man could have extended his influence outside of his backwater planet, but it had been a while since she had left the sector and the end of the Piracy wars had significantly changed the political layout of the sector.

But no matter. Discreetly she looked at her own personal communication slate.

'You still like jewelry? -T.'

She glanced up to look at one of the dozens of displays around the bridge, eying one where Tarsis was supervising the loading of 'tactically acquired items' into the shuttle. They might work for the empire, but among her 'auxiliaries' Mika still maintained an under the table 'bonus structure' so to speak. Officially, captain got 5 shares, lieutenant 3 and enlisted 1, so they divided the shares by the total and then spread them out. In truth the spread was more like 10-4-1 with only Tarsis and the quarter master being in the know of course, with Mika heavily favoring paying her crew in drugs and other recreative items that would be hard to fence for a mark-up on top so she made infinitely more money than her goons, but they were pirates after all.

'Got something cute? -M.'

She answered. It was an innocent conversation enough, but she knew the imperials could read all of her mail so she kept things cryptic, simple and deniable as much as she could. As she considered her share of the spoil, Mika didn't feel the gaze of the Prince on her back.

_____________________



The moment Prince Cassian entered the room, Baron Wilhelm practically jumped on his feet to do a salute, which he managed to perform before being dismissed. Even then it was with a certain hesitation that he sat back down, looking with a frown at those who had not bothered to get up. Chief among them was captain Ganishka who swung from left to right on her swivel chair with impatience. Then there was also Hierophant Tyche Comstar who had graced the room with her presence and who occupied the seat on the Prince's right, though considering he spiritual status it was much less of an offense than others. She remained straight in her seat, only he cybernetic eyes following the prince as he took his seat.

The trio listened to the items one by one, until came the critique regarding the Baron's own performance. There was no anger on his face, perhaps some annoyance but also supreme confidence as he rose up from his seat to answer.

"With all due respect, at my age I get medical readings outside of acceptable range when I climb stairs! But I've known this body for 103 years now and I know what it can and can't do." His expression softened and he gave a friendly slap on Titus's back. "Our prince has been gifted with an admirably competent Lance, I am afraid that honor compels me to follow the example of my comrades! And anyways-" He sat back down before smiling politely at Lucia. "-our magnanimous prince accepted that I join him in his glorious endeavor on the understanding that I would not fight like an old man." 'And what you are asking me to do, is to fight like an old man.' Wilhelm silently implied.

"Her Beatitude Tyche Comstar wishes to bring a point of order." A semi-robotic voice came as behind the imposing frame of Tyche an acolyte dressed in a red hooded robe with a white stripe with the 3 red Comstar diamonds on his right shoulder going all the way to his feet. He raised a furious finger to point at Hartwig. "While her Beatitude can ignore the contempt this man has for a Lockheed-Raytheon engine like the one on the Guildcrest Venture, his use of boron-carbid alloy tools instead of blessed titanium-steel for the repair of the Comstar reactor of the Percheron, along with records that shows a complete lack of holy canticles being recited during the repairs is unacceptable! Albert Hartwig has also been found to not always use proper procedures during the maintenance of the Indomitus as well, which leads her Beatitude to seriously question the worth of thanking such barely satisfactory methods!"

The voice of the half-cyborg was rising into a screech as he became agitated, until finally Tyche herself raised a hand to interrupt him, commanding his immediate silence as he lowered his head and stepped back. Lowering her long and slender fingers on the table in a theatrical pause, Tyche finally spoke without moving her lips, her voice completely synthetic but also much more soft. "Military practicality may sometimes justify more expeditious methods. But as the empire brings back the Procyon sector into the loving arms of mother Earth, it is important to remember that by right of ancient corporate rites, it is also Comstar holy land. Only when men follow the laws of Earth and machines those of Comstar can prosperity be achieved and the Great Work continue." For the first time, Tyche turned her head to look at the Prince. "The people of this sector are unbelievers and so, to prevent heresy or worst, apostasy, people from my retinue should accompany Albert Hartwig when he interacts with the natives and their machines, so the proper holy methodologies be used."

The words of the Hierophant didn't seem to allow a refusal and weight heavily in the room. Finally it was the Captain that broke the silence as she looked at the Prince and Tyche with a bemused smile. "Uhhh, okay? Putting a pin on this uh, very important point of course, on the subject of the Venture's possible special cargo... why don't we just search the ship? My guys know all the nooks and crannies where something could be hidden, if there's something hidden, we'll find it."

_________________________



The meeting was moving on, its attendees splitting in smaller groups to talk about the major points that had been brought up and minor ones that weren't relevant to everyone assembled. As she got up to leave, Mika Ganishka quickly found herself face to face with Commander Volger. She looked up to the man with her usual aloof smirk, but something in her body language told the Commander that she was on the defensive. Simply put, Mika had participated and led her fair shares of mutinies, she knew that when the chips came down being a captain didn't mean shit if a Marine decided to give you a power armored fist in the face. She always tried to keep her boarding teams as far away from the bridge as possible for this reason.

"Commander." She answered with a raised eyebrow, seemingly less surprised at the sarcasm as much as a man like Volger actually deign to call her that in the first place.

Listening to his request, Mika looked around a little and seeing the conference room was a bit crowded, nodded her head toward the door, signaling him to follow her outside. Once in the hall, she went to a corner of the small atrium they found themselves in, one where people wouldn't go pass them unless they got out of their way to do so.

"What can I do for you Commander?"

_____________________



"Ah, Sharlin! Please come in."

It was good to be the boss and just command people in and out of her cabin, especially on a ship so massive as the Invictus where this could mean quite a walk. As the automated doors opened, something jumped from the corner of Sharlin's eye to hide underneath a piece of furniture, an alien pet with a feline demeanor but dark blue scales that looked at the spy from the darkness of its hiding place with big slit eyes.

The captain's quarters were the second biggest ones after the Prince's, it seemed that much more smaller due to how overfilled it was with a lifetime of adventure on display all over the place. At the center of it was a luxurious desk made of exotic alien wood complimented by other pieces of furniture of the same wood. Behind the desk on the wall was a huge painting of... something? A battle? It was an impressionist artstyle but one could distinguish two sides of faces that fought with expressions of indescribable furor in tones of blue and red. Off to a more remote corner, there was also a case with a uniform that was certainly not imperial along with a few medals on display.

"There she is! Please, come in, come in. As you might know I'm not big on formalities so please relax. Can I offer you a drink?" The pirate turned captain Mika Ganishka herself saluted Sharlin with a suspiciously wide smile as she entered the room.

_______________________



Being a capital ship of a decent size, the Indomitus had the luxury of a restaurant style Mess Hall for its officers where one could eat with some peace and quiet. That is if some crusty old war hero didn't decide to bother you. "Ah, the Ace to-be herself!" The Baron had come up behind Aria to give her a slap on the back just as she was swallowing her bite and didn't seem to notice any distress he might have caused as he placed his plate down in front of hers. A very light meal, though complimented by about a dozen different pills in a little cup. He sat down in front of her with a jovial smile.

"You so seldom eat with the rest of us Lieutenant! I do hope you're not cross at me for our last sortie?" He said as he generously seasoned his meal with pepper before looking up to Aria for her answer expectantly.

The smaller space of the atrium Captain Ganishka had chosen was more private then the briefing room. Volger would have preferred a ready room or one of the compartments in the infantry section that he had swept regularly; but compromise was important for leadership. Well that and the former-pirate's shoulders were tense enough; Volger was sure she was convinced that this might be the prelude to a change of leadership.

At least he had left his PDW in the armory. He opened his mouth to begin the usual 'I respect your authority' that was the usual of new Imperial command but the words died on his lips. She wasn't Imperial; at least not like Volger was. She was a pirate that the Prince had swept up into his retinue.

So Volger dropped tact and went for blunt.

"You're a pirate. I know that. You see wealth and riches. But they will not come at the cost of my troopers." He jabbed an armored finger into her chest with that last part. "You want a prize ship? Deploy you're band of savages first. I lost three troopers holding the fire control center when all that was needed was a quick sabotage job."

He was aware somewhere in his tirade he had closed the distance between them until he was nose to nose. Icy blue eyes dueling with predatory steely gray stare. Despite his size and armor; Volger was aware that the pair of commanders stood on even ground in the small atrium.

Ah, so this is what this was about? The captain's expression went from suspiciously guarded to dismissive in an instant, though the sudden armored finger in her chest did cause her to recoil and reach for where she would have a side arms, if she had been allowed to carry one.

Finally she let out a little croaking giggle. "You think this is what this was about? Please." She crossed her arms as she managed to somehow look up to Stader while making it seem like she was looking down. "I don't usually explain myself to jar heads like you Commander, but I'll make an exception. Did you ever read about the spanish conquest of the Americas or the British in India? Or if you want something less mythological the Conquest of the Kalindi sector or the Perseus Campaigns?"

She spoke with derision, obviously not expecting him to have a clue about them. She extended her arms to point at the whole ship around her. "A single capital ship. No expected reinforcements. What do you think we- what the Prince will achieve with this?" She let her arms fall down. It was a grand ship, probably the most powerful in the Procyon sector, but it was a single ship. "If you fight like the empire fights, you. will. lose. Not only that, but all your men will be dead anyways! How many did you lose to board counter board a cargo ship we're graciously letting go away for free? How many mission does that mean you and your guys have left before being combat ineffective? Meanwhile those extra 3 guys got us a frigate that once repaired and crewed by a convenient ally will be able to threaten a shipping lane and get two whole ships the same size distracted patrolling the sector to hunt it down. The only way we will win is by taking every advantage we can get, including that shitty Shrike."

Mika crossed her hands behind her back as a smirk crept up her face and she shrugged. "You call me a profit driven pirate? Fine. I won't deny it. But if I wanted to fight for scraps I wouldn't risk my life working for the most high profile individual to ever come to this sector. At the end of this, if I'm not dead, I'm going to be a solar Countess. Already have a system in mind. Imperial victory IS my way to wealth and riches which is why you will continue to follow my battle orders, as you so dutifully have until now."

Ganishka glared at the Commander as she started moving away, as if to state that she would not take any talk back, but suddenly she stopped in her motion and snorted, a cynical smile appearing on her face. "I mean. That's assuming that your orders are actually to help the prince achieve victory. Because that's right, you don't work for him like I do, you work for imperial intelligence. So, I mean, if you're under order to maintain combat effectiveness in order to do... something that the prince doesn't know of, maybe wouldn't approve of, then that's another thing entirely. Maybe this is a conversation we want to have with Cassian then?"

The giggle threw him. A rough sounding amused chortle that came from the captain before her abbreviated history and sector politics lesson. What threw him was how human it sounded; an odd bit of character he could now add to his description of the former pilot. A description that now included a level of swagger and arrogance that he normally associated with strike craft pilots.

A level of arrogance that included a system claim staked at the beginning of this venture. Which while a big claim; Volger could admire for her simplicity. No talking in circles or round about schemes. A simple exchange of titles and powers for service.

But her last statement caused him a brief spell of puzzlement before understanding dawned on him.

'You don't know. He never told you.'

His amusement became obvious. A grin splitting through what had been a mask of annoyance. Granite features crumbling.

" You don't know what I'm here for do you?" His head cocked as he took a step back. He head not having to crane up and his not having to crane down. Though, truthfully, it made no difference in their gazes. "I'm surprised. Truly, it's an open secret of the Imperial Lances."

He wondered whether he should continue. Leave her with that bit of mystery and see what came of it. But, he decided it would be more useful to see her preparations. Easier to counter when you knew what others started with. A jabbed his arm mounted TacPad. A white noise jammer that would wash out most regular listening devices.

"Allow me a bit of history myself. I report to FOSCOM. Which reports to the Imperial Intelligence Bureau, not Imperial Intelligence. A distinct difference but you wouldn't understand unless you took a paycheck from one or the other." A teasing grin as he tapped an emblem on his pauldron. A subdued triangle with a circle. An '89' visible barely among the polychromatic cloaking. "All of which was created back when the Imperium had a nasty bout of civil war around a few century ago."

He threw an arm around, encompassing the room but seeming to gesture past it.

"Back when Imperial Lances were sent into the black on their lonesome. The best pilots of the Imperium. Not the most loyal. Not the most trustworthy. The best pilots. The Achilles, Gilgameshs, and Masamunes of their times. Great warriors and killers suddenly at the edge of the verse. The power of the Empire at their fingertips but none of the burden or the expectations. Ships, ACs and soldiers at their beck and call. Why serve in heaven when you can rule in hell; if even for a minute. I'm sure you get the picture."

His grin now turned melancholic.

"So no longer would a Lance embark members of the Imperial Army. Instead, they would use us. The support companies. Specially trained and screened. To support the Lance of course but that's a byproduct sadly." He tapped the sidearm still holstered in a crossdraw. "My objective is to make sure this Lance stays within the bounds."

A meeting of gazes. Understanding, dawning as Volger continued.

"I'm a loyalty officer Captain Mika Ganishka. A capable one for sure. But my goal is not to drag a prince to glory. Nor is it to babysit a Lance And definitely not help a pirate make a play for a title after her side lost a brushfire war." The last part said with a slight bit of venom.

"But don't worry. I need certain criteria for any action. My personal feelings have no say; protocols and rules. So stay in line, do your job, and if you want to use my troopers for anything; you let me know ahead of time so I can plan for it."

Performed admirably. Aria schooled her expression to not give any minute detail of her displeasure away, not even a twitch. Standard noble etiquette that she'd been taught a lifetime ago.

Her performance during the battle wasn't good enough. She couldn't end this campaign with anything less than exemplary performance. Without such accolades, she'd never work her way back up to a position where she would have any influence or power whatsoever.

Nevertheless, Aria paid as much attention as she could through the entire debriefing. This being the first action of the campaign, it wasn't surprising that they had nothing workable yet. But hearing that the pirates succeeded, even in part, was distasteful. Better that someone get Cassian's head on straight, even if she no longer had the ability to. But the briefing concluded, and there were no real questions to be asked. With that out of the way, Aria stood, saluted (begrudgingly, to Lucia), and took her leave.

___

They were both fortunate that she damn well didn't choke after that slap to the back. After managing to ensure that there wasn't synth protein lodged in her windpipe, Aria took a sip of water and cleared her throat, respectfully waiting for the Baron to finish speaking before making any response.

"Baron von Zollern." She very carefully didn't spare more than a glance down toward his cocktail of pills. At his age, it was of little surprise, especially when it came to an activity as strenuous as piloting. Lucia had already mentioned as such in the debriefing, but this was further proof. Everyone was mortal: even those she regarded as heroes when she was a child.

"No, my lord. That was up to the Prince's decision in the end. Though I would happen to agree with his adjutant's opinion. Please, allow the rest of the lance to bear the burden in your stead." Her carefully-constructed veneer of stoicism faded somewhat, as a complicated, troubled expression crossed her face for a brief moment.

"The rest of us ought earn our flowers as well, rather than rely on you more than we ought to."

What in the actual fuck was going on right now.

Albert was staring at the datapad, reviewing the information and briefing forwarded to him before the debrief proper by.....mostly sympathetic individuals who had caught wind of what was coming. Religious canticles, mindless preaching, the absurdity of redundancies and half mythological ramblings that could only be described as stark raving mad. Albert did not hold religion in a high regard, now normally he had no care for the belief of others, they could believe what they want as long as they left him out of it. He was no longer being left out of it, and that made an already exhausted, irritable, and overworked man even more exhausted, somehow more irritable, and if he was forced to acknowledge a fraction of this? He would never get anything done again in a timely manner. The fact he was now stuck sitting in a debrief, having some zealot berate him for necessary work was not the correct choice on their parts.

Methodically breaking down the complaints and accusations, Albert considered them one step at a time. Contempt for a Lockheed-Raytheon engine? Sure, not wrong, but that was not the issue at hand apparently. His preference of boron-carbide tools was apparently, alongside the lack of holy canticles, was a dire breach of trust and faith. Accusation of not using proper procedure when maintaining and working on the Indomitus as applicable, and whether or not he even deserved thanks for barely satisfactory work. He could feel the vein in his temple beginning to pulse, though he bided his time to let the half cyborg continue digging deeper into pissing him off for all the wrong reasons.

The bitch, sorry, beatitude Tyche Comstar decided to chime in finally, though that was relative since, well, her voice was purely synthetic. More cybernetic hyper religious nonsense, declaring that military necessity could allow leeway, something something bringing the sector into the arms of mother Earth, ancient corporate rites, Comstar holy lands, more and more yammering. The demand that her goons accompany him when dealing with anything related to natives or their technology got a loud scoff from Albert, just after she apparently intended to leave nothing to argue. A sane, well rested person might have ignored that, but Albert was exhausted and notoriously lacking in brain to mouth filter. Even as the Captain turned to other matters, Albert tossed the datapad on the table and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

"So, speaking with all due respect, having reviewed the 'canticles' and improper use of procedure and operation as per holy doctrine? If I had wasted my damn time with a fraction of that not only would I not be sitting here, but the Percheron would not be out there anymore, its crew would be irradiated to the point of death in minutes, or voided from the reactor going super critical and detonating. Not only that, but the away team would be gone as well, a critical blow to operations of the Indomitus. Never mind the complications of having a ship scale reactor turning into a dirty bomb that close to operations when the void of space is notoriously poor at blocking particles."

Albert's glare had not left Tyche Comstar, even as he tapped the datapad and continued, his notorious lack of filter on full display for all to see.

"As for the Indomitus, to meet the timetables put forward, I carried out repairs, optimization, and streamlining as appropriate for us to make it here on schedule. A schedule that, I might add, led to the intercept of pirates and prevention of the loss of the convoy in total. As much as I adore procedure and mumbling about red tape, I'm not here to cushion egos or pay lip service to religion. I am here to get a damn job done, with too little resources and too many requests. The Lance alone should be holding my twenty four seven attention, which it isn't, so unless your retinue knows how to be seen and not heard? Keep them the hell out of my personal space because I am not going to let religious grandstanding get in the way of my job."

Albert sat back in his seat, picking up the datapad and making it a deliberate point to wipe it of the religious nuttery that had been forwarded to him. He would not be found mumbling holy canticles over any of the Lance's Cores when they need to have launched for a sortie five minutes ago. Almost as an afterthought, scrolling through his to do list, he finished his interruption of the meeting. Maybe they would learn to not invite him to these damn things now.

"Oh, and my tools are designed to not spark and be neutral when interacting with as many materials as possible. Titanium-steel is pointlessly expensive for no significant advantages. Now where is my coffee mug...."

"Yes. Why bother with the canticles? Why bother tightening all 6 nuts of a RBMK fuel rod when 3 does the job?" The robotic voice of Tyche replied, the derision audible despite the mechanical tone of her voice. "Manuals exist for a reason, technician. And while a critical situation can justify skipping steps, it is always important to return and finish the previous steps once the situation returns to normalcy. You are being accused not of failing to prioritize accurately during a combat situation, but of failing to follow proper procedures at all other times. You cannot state being able to follow the schedule if you did not complete all of the schedule."

For the first time, the cyborg bothered to turn her head toward Albert, still staring down at him with her chin up. "Those who's ships have been lost to the Void cannot lament about their lack of diligence in applying ALL steps of the manuals. That your limited mortal intellect is so focused on the mechanical that it cannot understand the importance of the spiritual is akin to denying a cancer diagnostic from your doctor because you feel fine at the moment. Statistics do not lie. Our ways are superior and guarantee several percentile points of efficiency this expedition will need."

She turned her head back to the Prince. "Comstar will not look favorably on such apostasy. Your majesty, technician Hartwig is mission essential, but non the less should be re-educated under Comstar supervision. It is the only way to insure the proper mechanical and spiritual function of the machines under your command."

The Commander's amusement elicited a frown from the Captain. She thought she had a good grasp of the relationship here, but reading between the line didn't really work when dealing with the empire. It all became clear as he explained... And annoying. Mika rolled her eyes as she was told the difference between 'Imperial Intelligence' and 'the Imperial Intelligence Bureau'. When he finished his explanation, her face was a mix of derision and annoyance.

"Imperial Intelligence Bu- You know, stuff like THIS is exactly why every year, hundreds of thousands of core worlders chose to try their luck in the fringe. They actually had a poll and most independent miners prefer to deal with Joe Schmoe the local pirate lord than the Imperial Tax Office... or the Bureau for the Office of Taxation or whatever you call it."

She shrugged and gave a mocking salute to Stader.

"So hail to you, Commissar Stader! But you've been in combat so you know it doesn't work like that. When that cute twink called opportunity comes knocking, you have to grab him by the balls-" She mimicked a vulgar movement and maybe considered demonstrating it on Stader himself but held back. "-and squeeze before he gets away! We don't know what the next situation will look like! And so..."

She magnanimously spread her arms open as if to show a world of possibilities.

"...Why don't we make a deal? You wish to conserve your fighting strength to do what you must do should the time come, but considering you did that space walk earlier I'm assuming that also means you can't refuse the prince either when he orders you in the line of fire. Weeeell, I happen to have under my employ a bunch of psychopaths who are happy to do all the dying for us! Like, literally, pay is for the group so they make more the fewer of them survive, they're all high out of their mind, they don't give a shit. So, when a situation looks hot, I let you borrow my guys. Send them in the grinder first, let them draw in fire and trigger the ambushes so you and your guys do your thing. And in exchange, well... I work with you and you work with me."

She offered, a predatory smirk on her face as she extended a hand to shake on this deal.

"Plus, I think an expendable unit of mercenaries not specifically loyal to the empire and its principles can have... other use, in times of crisis."



The Baron took his pills as he listened to the Lieutenant, punching his chest as he politely held back a cough to let her finish speaking. When her words changed from agreeing with the chorus constantly asking Wilhelm to stand down to giving her a chance, his prideful smile and stance softened. He placed his elbows on the table and joined his hand underneath his chin.

"Hm. You know, when I first read about you I thought you and I were similar. And in a way we are, we both seek to write a glorious history really. Only I seek a way to put in a final dot and you seek to write a first chapter, so in that way we are worlds apart."

His expression then turned into a frown.

"Lieutenant, your advice is noted and while I shan't promise anything, I will try to leave some flowers as I believe you deserve them. If I may though, I would like to raise a concern of mine. Regarding you and your... style so to speak. May I?"

The sight of so many pills to prop up such a storied man was...distressing to Aria. A reminder that age and time would inevitably catch up to even the most storied of soldiers. Still, Aria pushed that sentiment aside for the moment to focus on the conversation at hand.

He'd seen her dossier. Of course he had. Considering his proximity to court, that also included the issue with House Dvalin, most likely. At the very least, the Baron wasn't commenting on any of that. Good. This wasn't the place for such things, anyhow. That said, she'd be a fool to turn down advice from von Zollern himself, even if it was more than likely negative. Aria wasn't quite so full of herself as to believe that any sort of criticism was unwelcome. That was more Cassian's domain. If she could glean something from this so as to be a more effective soldier, she'd bear whatever sting he had to say.

"I should think you'd hardly need a subordinate's permission to issue advice, Major. By all means, feel free."

The Baron straightened his back as he reached for his mug of synth coffee and raised it to his lips. "An officer does not advise his subordinates Lieutenant Dvalin, he orders them. Remember that for when you have subordinates of your own." He said before taking a sip. The warm liquid seem to mellow him out and a faint smile showed as he lowered the mug. "This is why I asked for permission. Do not consider this an officer-subordinate talk."

He licked his lips as he joined his hands in front of him. "Do you know what made me the big war hero I am today? That made me go from street urchin on earth to a Baron? Three things." He raised his hand. "The battle of Rantemario where I managed to be a one day double-ace." You needed 5 kills to be an ace, so 10 kills in one battle. He raised a finger. "The Assault on Geiersburg Fortress where I was first to breech the Command core and the battle of Amritsar where I managed to take down some mad Voidmage who was just about destroying our flagship with forbidden sorcery." He raised a second and a third finger, holding them up and shaking his hand slowly to put emphasis on this number.

"...Lieutenant, I have partaken in 79 major campaigns, hundreds of battles, spent thousands of days in active war zones." He said, still holding up these 3 fingers for a moment before finally lowering his hand. "I've known thousands of heroes. I've seen millions. It is extremely easy to be a hero, once. What allowed me to become so decorated and so distinguished that its embarrassing is that all day, every day, I went out there with one thing in mind: To do my job, come back alive and try to keep the people around me safe. And sometimes, once in a blue moon..." He leaned in, his grin becoming a big smile. "I saw an opportunity. And I took it."

He leaned back and shrugged. "What I mean to say Aria, is that there is no point in fighting like you have nothing left to lose. I know I fight like that, but you know why I'm here, everyone knows why I'm here. But you? You're young! Talented! Beautiful! If you feel like glory on the battlefield is the only way to reinstate your name, fine- but you miss every chances you don't take, and you can't take any more chances if you're dead." His voice had became low and serious, the Baron then slowly leaned back against the rest of his seat.

He suddenly had a frown. "And yes that's about your fighting style, but on a lesser note, what's with the unarmored mech? I've looked at the stats of your mount and this thing looks like it's made out of paper. And then you have Sharlin's silly Phantom that's even worst or-or you have Titus's Hypo that's JUST armor? What do you kids have against a good medium mech?" Wilhelm asked with a confused smile as he scratched his head.

"...Why don't we make a deal? You wish to conserve your fighting strength to do what you must do should the time come, but considering you did that space walk earlier I'm assuming that also means you can't refuse the prince either when he orders you in the line of fire. Weeeell, I happen to have under my employ a bunch of psychopaths who are happy to do all the dying for us! Like, literally, pay is for the group so they make more the fewer of them survive, they're all high out of their mind, they don't give a shit. So, when a situation looks hot, I let you borrow my guys. Send them in the grinder first, let them draw in fire and trigger the ambushes so you and your guys do your thing. And in exchange, well... I work with you and you work with me."

She offered, a predatory smirk on her face as she extended a hand to shake on this deal.

Volger was stuck between two sayings his father had always said. One was about swimming with sharks. The other was that a thief beside you was better then one behind you.

The captain’s grin reminded Volger of the ice sharks of Europa. Gleaming intelligent eyes above a toothy maw in something approaching amusement. Her hand waiting for his, if he accepted.

Which Volger considered.

She might be an opportunistic, pirate chasing a title and riches. But she was also right; he needed to preserve his troopers. Especially, if this was the prologue to a prolonged campaign.

Besides; better he found ground with the former pirate sooner rather then later.

“Alright…” The commander pulled his right gauntlet off; bare skin exposed as he reciprocated the handshake. Finding what he expected. Strong but calloused grip that accompanied the amused gaze. “… well team up for now. Swing by infantry company tonight so we can iron out the details.”

The soft chirp of his TacPad signaled a message. Volger casting a glance at the device to find it came from Lt. Diaz. His second having been supervising the initial round of interrogations. The information coming from the more ragged pirates that the professionals had abandoned.

Most of it was the usual chaff the intel section would collect and puzzle together. But a few things stood out. Namely…

“Tell me Mika…” Her name slightly enunciated. “Does a group called ‘Medusa’ sound familiar?”

On the TacPad two of the interrogations were still underway. One interrogator obviously a graduate of the Amazon based school of torture; at least judging by the array of syringes they were cycling through.