Chapter 1: Pre-Battle Ritual
The hum of the Ironclad’s engines was a constant vibration in Larissa’s bones, a familiar sensation she felt more in her teeth than her ears. In her quarters, the air was still and cool, a stark contrast to the controlled chaos of the ship’s command deck. She lay on her reinforced bunk, naked, the pale light from a wall-mounted star chart glinting off the sweat on her skin. Her fingers idly traced the intricate, glowing lines of the tattoo that coiled around her thigh, a circuit board pattern that pulsed with a soft, cyan light in time with her heartbeat.
‘His heart rate is 140 beats per minute. Respiration shallow. The rookie’s practically pissing himself outside your door,’ Xylar’s voice chimed in her mind, dry and amused. ‘You going to break him in or just let him squirm?’
Larissa’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Let him marinate,” she murmured aloud, her voice a low rasp. “Anxiety seasons them. Makes the first real fight less of a shock.”
Her eyes drifted to the holographic images lining the bulkhead. A frozen moment from the Siege of Proxima, her face streaked with grime and someone else’s blood. Another from the clean-up on New Thessaly, standing atop a smoldering Scarab walker. Each one a trophy. Each one a ghost.
The door chime buzzed, a harsh, impatient sound.
“Enter,” she said, not moving.
The door slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Sergeant Valerius filled the frame, his grizzled features set in a grim mask. The cybernetic lens over his left eye whirred softly as it adjusted to the dim light. In one meaty hand, he held the collar of a young man’s uniform, practically carrying the kid inside. The recruit stumbled, his boots scraping on the deck plates. He was pale, his eyes wide as they darted from Larissa’s nude form to Valerius’s stony face and back again, desperately trying to find a safe place to land.
“Found this one loitering,” Valerius grunted, releasing his grip. The recruit swayed on his feet. “Said he had a ‘vital communique’ for the Captain. Smells like fear.”
Larissa sat up slowly, the muscles in her back and shoulders rippling. She made no move to cover herself. Let him look. Let him see what a real warrior looked like, stripped of armor and pretense. Her green eyes pinned him where he stood.
“Well?” she asked, her tone dangerously soft.
The recruit’s mouth opened and closed, a fish gasping on land. He fumbled with a data-slate, his hands shaking so badly he almost dropped it. “C-Captain Vorlick. Dispatch from… from Command. Priority Omega.”
‘Omega? That’s not good. That’s never a fun-time code,’ Xylar quipped.
Larissa kept her gaze on the boy. “Sergeant. The slate.”
Valerius snatched it from the recruit’s trembling hands and passed it to her. Her fingers, calloused and strong, closed around it. The screen illuminated, casting a blue glow on her face. She scanned the encrypted text, her expression not changing, but the air in the room seemed to get colder. The casual predator was gone, replaced by the officer.
“Dismissed,” she said, without looking up from the slate.
The recruit didn’t need to be told twice. He practically fell through the door as it opened, the sound of his hurried footsteps fading down the corridor.
Valerius waited until the door shut. “Bad?”
“The worst.” Larissa stood, moving with a fluid grace to a locker. She pulled on a black bodysuit, the smart-fabric tightening against her skin with a whisper. “They didn’t just breach the line on Cygnus VI. They overran it. Wiped out the entire 7th Battalion. No survivors.”
Valerius let out a slow breath, the sound like steam escaping a valve. “The 7th were good soldiers.”
“They were.” Larissa fastened her utility belt, the weight of the plasma pistol a comfortable presence on her hip. “Which is why Command is throwing us into the fire. We’re the closest ship. We drop in twelve hours.”
‘Twelve hours to plan a suicide mission? How generous of them,’ Xylar mused. ‘I’ve already begun running simulations. The survival probability is… well, it’s a number.’
“The kid,” Valerius said, changing the subject. “You were hard on him.”
Larissa finally looked at her sergeant, a flicker of the old fire returning to her eyes. “He’s carrying an Omega dispatch. If he can’t handle the sight of me, how is he going to handle the sight of a Xenthar Hive Warrior tearing his friend in half?” She walked to the door, pausing beside him. “Get the platoon leaders to the briefing room. Now. And find that rookie.”
Valerius raised a brow. “Why?”
“If he’s still shaking, reassign him to sanitation. If he’s pulled himself together,” she said, her hand hovering over the door control, “then he’s earned a spot in my drop pod. Let’s see what he’s made of.”
She stepped out into the brightly lit, sterile corridor, the ship’s alarms beginning to blare, signaling a shift to combat readiness. The game was over. The real work was beginning.