Sitting in the repair bay, my legs dangled over the edge as I mulled over Captain Guvec's words about growing a spine. I supposed it wouldn't hurt to try being more authoritative... but how would I even go about it? Would it be like—what happened with that engineer? Punishing people just because they made me angry? That seemed a little overkill.
[Firefly, your brain patterns indicate confusion,] Andromeda's voice hummed to life. He sat in his repair cradle as a technician removed thick cables from his back, his turquoise visor flickering as he turned to me. [Are there any thoughts you would like my help with?]
I hesitated, wondering if I should tell him about my conversation with Guvec. Deciding there was no harm, I shook my head lightly before speaking.
"Uh... it's not really important. The Captain told me a few days ago that I should try being more prideful when talking to others. It's just been weighing on my mind... if I really am that meek."
[Negative,] Andromeda stated abruptly. Without warning, he plucked the apple I'd been fiddling with out of my hands. [Outside of combat scenarios, you are aloof and kind-hearted, though you occasionally display soldier-like tendencies. However, you exhibit very little of what a model soldier should be like.]
"Uh!" I blinked, feeling unexpectedly hurt by the blunt assessment—more so than by my bandaged wounds.
[However,] Andromeda continued before I could dwell on it, [analysis shows that in serious situations, you display quick strategic wit and execute effective responses. If placed in a leadership role, I have little doubt you would perform highly. Further experience is required, but your current battle effectiveness is within acceptable standards—and rising.]
A small smile tugged at my lips. "Thanks, Andy."
Wordlessly, Andromeda extended his hand, now holding the apple—peeled and neatly sliced.
Before I could take a bite, the ship's intercom crackled to life.
"All hands, this is Captain Guvec." His stern voice echoed through the repair bay, causing all activity to momentarily pause. "We are half an hour out from Epsilon Outpost. Prep the damaged Knights and all injured personnel for transfer. Once that's done, we'll restock essential supplies before heading to our next tasking. Begin preparations for docking."
The repair bay instantly came alive with motion. Officers and engineers rushed past Andromeda's platform, securing loose equipment and fastening down crates. It was controlled chaos, everyone moving with practiced efficiency.
"Make sure to stand back, little lady," Andromeda's repair technician warned. Obediently, I rolled my wheelchair backward, just as the platform Andromeda sat on began to rise. A deep, mechanical *thrum* filled the air as hover thrusters engaged, lifting both the platform and Andromeda off the ground.
I glanced around the bay. Six other Knights—still mid-repair—were being similarly transported, their platforms gliding toward the ship's corridors.
"Excuse me!" The repairman startled me as he scooped me up, wheelchair and all, and placed me onto Andromeda's hovering platform.
"Make sure she doesn't roll around, Knight," the man instructed before hitting a control panel.
The platform lurched forward, smoothly gliding along the cleared pathway as it carried us deeper into the ship.
[We are heading to the starboard hangar bay,] Andromeda informed me as we followed a small transport cart leading the other Knights down the wide corridors. [We should arrive just before docking with the outpost is complete.]
Finishing an apple slice, I mused aloud, "How many times have you been through this, Andy?"
[Records calculate a total of 19,629 post-mission repairs out of 23,991 missions,] Andromeda responded instantly. [Few missions end with minimal repairs due to their high-risk nature. As for post-mission recovery for pilots due to severe injuries... 1,111 times.]
I absorbed that number in silence before finally speaking. "Your previous pilots must have really cared for you, Andy. You've been through so many missions, and they always sent you in for repairs immediately after."
[The pilot's safety is second only to the mission,] he stated matter-of-factly.
"...That's not what I meant, Andy." Sighing, I rolled my wheelchair closer and leaned my head back against his cold metal chassis. "I meant that your past operators must have worried about you—a lot—whenever you got damaged for them. I'm glad they cared for you as much as I do."
A soft snap echoed through the air. I lifted my head, looking around. A soldier stood nearby, phone raised—his camera lens aimed directly at me. The moment our eyes met, he bolted down the hall.
A frown crept up my face but let it go. "You've practically raised me, just like Traveler did," I continued. "I'll always care about you getting hurt in every mission... but I understand it's unavoidable."
[That is the directive of Protocol-3: protect the pilot.]
I exhaled sharply. "And if my safety is third in your main protocols... what are the first two?"
[Protocol-1: establish link to pilot. Protocol-2: uphold the mission.]
Before I could respond, the seven hovering repair platforms drifted into the vast starboard hangar bay. The moment we arrived, a deep bang reverberated through the ship—signalling the docking sequence. The hangar doors groaned as they split open, and as soon as the gap was wide enough, a flood of personnel from the outpost streamed in, moving with coordinated urgency. Supplies were offloaded, teams met with their counterparts, and the organized chaos of docking operations began.
"Now you're a strange type of Knight model," a voice chimed from my left.
I turned to see a short-haired, dark-skinned woman standing nearby, her uniform worn improperly—just a vest and trousers. She studied Andromeda curiously before her sharp eyes flicked to me.
"What model name do you go by?"
"...Firefly?" I responded hesitantly, unsure why she was addressing me so suddenly.
[CK-49 Lepus detected,] Andromeda cut in, his tone shifting into something more guarded. His visor glowed as he subtly shifted, positioning himself protectively between me and the woman. [The person in front of you is the pilot of a Constellation Knight, Firefly.]
Then, with an almost begrudging acknowledgment, he added, [Greetings, Brigadier Verwin.]
The woman's expression brightened with recognition. "You're that girl—the one who forfeited the tournament two months ago, right?" Verwin grinned, leaning in closer. "I almost didn't recognize you under all those wraps!" Then, without warning, she hopped onto the hovering platform beside me, acting nothing like the high-ranking officer she was. "Hehe! That was funny! The look on Jackson's face made the general happier than ever!"
"Can you not pinch my cheeks like this?" I grumbled, squirming as she tugged at my bandages and lifted my injured arms as if I were a doll.
"Nyehehe. Your face makes you look cute no matter what expression you make! It's like magic!"
Click.
I definitely heard another camera shutter go off. Before I could react, a new voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
"Brigadier." A single, heavy word cut through the air, freezing the woman in place. Slowly, she turned, her expression shifting as she met the sunken yet piercing eyes of the man glaring at her. "Leave the injured lieutenant alone and remember your duties for today."
"G-General! I thought you were busy talking to the captain?!" Verwin's voice pitched up, her body twisting in surprise as she made eye contact with the seemingly plain man before her—brown-haired, lightly bearded, and unassuming at a glance. Yet the more I looked at him, the more he resembled a wolf, something predatory lurking beneath the surface.
"I—I was just saying hello to our junior. She's so adorable, I couldn't resist getting a little closer—Hyah!"
Before she could finish, one of the officers accompanying the wolfish man seized her ankle and yanked her off her feet. With an undignified yelp, Brigadier Verwin was promptly dragged away while the man sighed in exasperation.
"Hey! Is this how you treat your superior!? Put me down!" she cried, kicking uselessly.
"Sorry, ma'am. General's orders." The officer carrying her barely reacted, walking her straight out of sight.
I turned my attention back to the man still standing before me. "Greetings, sir—ah!"
Instinctively, I tried to salute, only to wince in pain as my muscles rebelled. My entire body ached from the strain of spirit drain.
"Ah... Please forgive my inability to properly greet you."
"Relax." The man waved off my attempt. "I don't care for formalities. Plus, you're injured. Spirit drain makes all the muscles in your body lose their tightness temporarily—I wouldn't expect much out of you right now."
As he spoke, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, only to sigh louder when he realized he'd forgotten his lighter. "Care to light?"
Andromeda glanced down at me, awaiting confirmation. I gave a slight nod. Extending a large metallic finger, my mech channelled the lingering spirit energy I weakly directed into him, producing a soft blue flame that ignited the end of the man's cigarette.
He took a slow drag, then exhaled a thick, grey puff. "That's great. Name's Fenrir. I hear you're the one who brought in the big thing over there."
With a casual motion, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. My gaze followed, landing on the towering, 25-foot freezer containing the magnitude-5.0 KnightMare I had killed.
"That must have taken a lot of work," Fenrir mused. "Newbies usually curl up and piss themselves when faced with anything above a magnitude-3.0."
"It was either fight or die," I answered plainly. "I chose the former."
"Smart choice." He took another drag, squinting at me as if assessing something. "Living's real nice, after all. Can't imagine not wanting to live."
His gaze flickered toward Andromeda, who remained protectively close by. When I narrowed my eyes in response to his scrutiny, he let out a low chuckle.
"Hah! I see why Verwin called you cute, girlie. The two of you—it's like an uncle and his niece."
"General! You're needed to sign some paperwork for the transfer!" An officer called out from across the room.
"I'll be right over." Exhaling one last puff of smoke, Fenrir half-saluted me with his cigarette between his fingers. "The Empress expects a lot from you, kid. Make sure to heal up best you can."
With that, he swaggered away, heading toward a group of scientists by the chilled KnightMare container.
Left alone with Andromeda again, I watched Fenrir's retreating figure before murmuring, "That man... he's also a CK pilot like me and that woman from before, isn't he?"
[Correct,] Andromeda confirmed, lowering his arm now that the interaction was over. His voice hummed through my head as he elaborated. [CK-35; Lupus. The Wolf Knight. He began operations at the same time as the current pilot of CK-01 Orion, 32 years ago. Obtained CK-35 approximately 29 years ago after its previous bearer fell in battle. He has received multiple demotions and suspensions for deviating from orders, but his current rank of General is a clear testament to his combat effectiveness.]
I absorbed that information in silence before voicing the thought nagging at me.
"If he had been the one fighting that KnightMare... do you think he would have come back without a scratch?"
[He possesses 29 years of experiential advantage and a significantly larger pool of spirit energy to fuel his Constellation Knight,] Andromeda stated matter-of-factly. [He has every advantage over you as a soldier who holds command of a CK, Pilot. Opponents capable of matching him can be counted on one hand.]
"Huh."
I should have felt discouraged, but somehow, the way Andromeda framed it had the opposite effect. If someone like Fenrir had once started at nothing, just like me... then that meant I could rise, too.
Determination flared inside me.
"I've got a long way to go before I reach his level," I admitted, but my words carried resolve.
After a long series of tedious transfer checks, Andromeda was moved to a more advanced facility for repairs, along with the other Knights. Meanwhile, I found myself pushed in a wheelchair to a new medical ward.
More injections. More plasters. By the time they were done poking me with needles and applying their rejuvenation medicines, I was sore all over again.
"All set," the doctor declared, cleaning up his tools. "Give it a day, and you should be back to full health."
"Th-Thank you, doctor." I rubbed my arm where the needle had gone in, wincing at the lingering sting.
"Here." The doctor suddenly presented me with a red lollipop, placing it into my hand. "A reward for being a brave girl and not running from your injections. There are more than a few grown men on this facility who won't go anywhere near needles."
"Really?" I muttered, distracted as I tried—unsuccessfully—to remove the wrapper.
"Mhm."
The doctor snapped a quick picture of me before I even realized it, tucking his phone away with practiced ease.
"Did you just—"
Before I could finish asking, my wheelchair was suddenly pushed out of the office. I found myself parked in a bustling hallway beside Harry, who glanced down at me in mild amusement.
"Why are people taking so many pictures of me?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"N-No idea." Harry avoided my gaze, his sheepish expression betraying him. "Must be your imagination."
I narrowed my eyes, but he stubbornly refused to elaborate, focusing on pushing my wheelchair instead. Eventually, I let it go, sucking on the lollipop as I mulled it over. It wasn't a direct threat, so there was no real harm in it... but the curiosity remained.
Looking out the window of the space station, I took in the sheer size of the interstellar warships docked at the outpost. The Saint of Paradigm, the warship I had arrived on, sat latched onto an extended docking arm—one of four similar vessels. Above them, a fifth, much larger warship loomed, its hull marked with the emblem of a wolf pack, right beside the Empire's flag—an orange background with grey knight swords and a helmet.
This space station is enormous, I thought. Saint of Paradigm wasn't small, but in comparison to that behemoth of a carrier, it looked almost... modest.
"Harry," I spoke up, my thoughts shifting. "What's your squad going to be doing now? After the regiment's failed attempt to recapture Sorfex, do you have any idea what's next?"
"Hm. Not really." Harry exhaled, his hands steady on the wheelchair handles as he pushed me along the corridor. "I overheard something about my squad—and the rest of the regiment—being integrated with the Saint of Paradigm's crew for future missions, but that's about it. Nothing on the Lieutenant-Colonel, though. Going by protocol, if he doesn't explain himself well enough, he'll probably be demoted." He paused before adding, "With the battalion enlistment coming up, it's probably going to be a lot tougher for you than for me."
"Is that so..."
I had completely forgotten about the battalion enlistment. It was only a temporary three-month assignment before I was due to head to the Prime Art World, but that didn't mean I could take it lightly. I should use whatever free time I had now to research the different battalions and decide which one to join.
"Could you take me to the archives?" I asked.
"Sure." Harry adjusted his grip on the handles, then hesitated. "But don't you want to check on Andromeda first?"
"I'd just get in the way if I saw him now," I admitted. "It's fine—there's something I'd like to find out on my own first."
Harry studied me for a moment before nodding. "Since you said so."
With that, he turned down another hallway, guiding me toward the archives.