Silas POV
Eight months had passed.
I'd burned through the last of the usable scrap a while ago, and since then my days had settled into a strange routine—half mercenary, half engineer, half something like a local handyman. I helped the colony however I could. Fixing machinery. Reinforcing infrastructure. Keeping things running.
I didn't make much money off it. Not really. But it was enough to keep supplies coming in, and honestly… I didn't mind.
The biggest job, by far, had been the 'Mechs.
Three of them.
• Warhammer WHM-6R
• JagerMech JG-7F
• Orion ON1-K
All three had been in terrible shape. The Warhammer and JagerMech were rough but manageable—cockpit rebuilds, rewiring, structural reinforcement. Hard work, but straightforward.
The Orion, though?
That thing was a nightmare.
Left torso reconstruction. Internal bracing. Actuator replacements. I ended up stripping nearly every last piece of spare material I had left just to get it functional again. It took weeks.
But I didn't regret it.
When I eventually leave this world—and I will leave—these people need something that can actually protect them. Three operational heavy 'Mechs might be the difference between survival and extinction the next time trouble comes knocking.
I also handed the militia one of my spare sim-pods.
I honestly thought they'd just nod and say thanks.
Instead, Theodore damn near broke my ribs with a bear hug.
The man was shaking. Eyes wet. Tried to hide it, failed miserably.
Apparently, giving them a way to train pilots without getting people killed was more valuable than any amount of C-bills I could've asked for.
I told him Vanessa was doing well.
That she was stubborn, driven, and already better than she thought she was.
That earned me another heartfelt thank-you—quieter this time.
Since then, life's been… calm.
Too calm.
Until a DropShip and JumpShip finally arrive, I've just been doing whatever needs doing—repairs, patrols, odd jobs. Vanessa's been getting real field time in the ZAKU Warrior, running patrols with me, earning her first actual paychecks. She takes it seriously. Maybe too seriously—but she's learning.
The colony insists the quiet is normal.
We're far out here. Edge of the Periphery, flirting with the Deep. Merchants only pass through once every few years, if that. Trouble comes in waves, not trickles.
Still…
I don't like it.
Quiet never lasts.
On the upside, my little mercenary outfit—still unnamed, still figuring itself out—has started attracting people. Mechanics. Guards. A few would-be pilots.
That's good.
Also terrifying.
Because I don't know how long I can keep paying them.
I leaned back in my chair, listening to the distant hum of Gaia's reactor beneath the facility.
Waiting.
For a ship.
For opportunity.
Or for the next disaster.
Probably all three.
—-////——
Pirate Point — P19 System
Four Invader-class JumpShips translated into realspace at the system's pirate point, their massive hulls shedding static and residual K-F distortion.
Clamped to their docking collars were the tools of invasion.
Leopard-class DropShips, lean and predatory.
Union-class DropShips, bulky, armored, and heavy with cargo.
For several long minutes, nothing moved as systems stabilized and drives cooled.
Then, one by one, the clamps released.
Magnetic locks disengaged with dull, thunderous reverberations that carried through vacuum. DropShips drifted free, adjusting orientation as maneuvering thrusters flared to life.
Drive plumes ignited.
The Leopards moved first—fast, aggressive, already plotting insertion vectors. The Unions followed, slower but relentless, their holds packed with machines, munitions, and men hungry for plunder.
Without ceremony, the DropShips turned sunward.
Engines burned hard.
The pirate flotilla began its descent toward P19.
—///—-
Agent June — POV
There are times I never question my orders.
There are times I never question the mission.
This is not one of those times.
Even within my own thoughts, doubt gnaws at me. Why would my superiors allow this much material to fall into pirate hands? The scale is reckless. Dangerous. Even with every precaution the Order has taken, another intelligence agency is bound to notice.
But I am not privy to the whole picture.
So I obey.
Around me is filth.
Pirates. Smugglers. Slavers. Arsonists. Murderers. Rapists.
The worst humanity has to offer, gathered at the edge of civilized space—enticed into becoming our cat's paws with promises of plunder and glory they will never truly receive.
I have been embedded among them for months now, wearing the skin of a pirate. Now the operation demands my full attention. I must remain in character.
As the leader of this coalition of pirate bands, my authority was easy to secure. Killing the previous leader and taking his place sent the correct message. Fear works wonderfully on men like this.
They know me as Zefa.
A voice cuts through my thoughts.
Pirate Crewmember: "Ma'am, we're getting close to the planet now. What are your orders?"
I turn toward him, posture relaxed but dangerous, expression cold.
Zefa: "Everything stays the same. All bands make hard burn toward the planet. Once landing begins, let the other pirate groups do whatever they wish."
He hesitates.
Pirate Crewmember: "Ma'am… wasn't that prize promised to everyone for their support in this raid?"
I smile—a pirate's smile.
Zefa: "Yes. It was."
I step closer, lowering my voice.
Zefa: "And you know as well as I do that pirates don't keep their word when it comes to riches and glory. We will be the first ones to the site. We take as much as we can reasonably carry—and then we leave."
He doesn't question me further. He salutes and returns to his console.
By Blake's grace, I think, this will be my last pirate assignment.
The Order has already provided me with additional agents—proper ground forces instead of this rabble.
The plan is simple.
Reach the site.
Recover everything of value.
Plant the nuclear devices.
Intelligence reports confirm the previous pirate force failed. An unknown machine destroyed them before they could locate the entrance. Some suspect it may be tied to the site itself—perhaps awakened by a fortunate scavenger.
If so, that only makes this place more valuable.
This far out, privacy is guaranteed. No Houses. No observers. We will have time to conduct a full inventory.
Once complete, I will transmit the signal.
Then the Order will send its own.
Com Guards.
Until then, I must keep these pirates obedient.
Just a little longer.
—/////—
End.