The grit of Aethelburg VI got into everything. It coated the pitted ferrocrete walls of Observation Post Delta-7, settled on the already-stained uniform of Junior Lieutenant Valerius, and hazed the perpetually ochre sky outside the narrow slit of armoured glass. Valerius stared out at the landscape – kilometres of rust-coloured dust flats punctuated by the skeletal silhouettes of ore extractors chewing listlessly at the planet's meagre offerings.
This, he thought, the familiar bitterness coiling in his gut, is the glorious Terran Imperium's edge. A forgotten rock on the fringe of nowhere. M2-E. The rank felt like an insult. Barely a Junior Lieutenant in the old Terran stratification, it signified the second rung on a command ladder that stretched twelve imposing tiers towards the Imperium's High Command. And the 'E' designation marked him at the lowest sub-rank within M2 – the absolute bottom of commissioned officership. Stuck here, babysitting automated seismic sensors, felt like a deliberate slight for someone of his lineage and potential. His family back on Terra moved in circles of power that couldn't even conceive of a posting like Aethelburg VI. But politics were fickle, rivals insidious, and this remote world was his current reality.
A low hum vibrated through the post's deck plating – less from the station's machinery and more the thrum of his own body's enhanced systems, the baseline resonance of a cultivator at the Peak Kinetic stage of Star Ascension. This was the second major tier in the cultivation path, leaps beyond mere 'Initiates' but still worlds away from the 'Star-Forged' who could supposedly walk the vacuum unprotected. Peak Kinetics like him, products of costly genetic tailoring and implanted bio-regulators, possessed senses sharp enough to track incoming artillery by sound alone, reflexes that could make frantic firefights seem like slow-motion ballets, the raw physical strength to tear metal, and the ability to project kinetic force – enough to shove armored troopers off their feet or erect shimmering, temporary shields against incoming fire. His abilities felt ludicrously overpowered for scaring off the local rock-lizards that occasionally blundered into the perimeter fences. He craved a real challenge, a crucible to forge his power, a stepping stone towards the distant, glittering peak of cultivation, towards real dominance. Ruling the Imperium was a means, but Star Ascension… that was the end.
Suddenly, the seismic sensor console flared red, shrieking an proximity alert override. Not the dull tremor of mining operations, but the sharp, focused signatures of multiple atmospheric entries, fast and aggressive. Before Valerius could even query the main Ops center, the horizon lit up with silent, actinic flashes. Seconds later, the shockwaves hit Delta-7, rattling the small outpost like a child's toy.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the structure. The lights flickered, died, then flared back under emergency power, casting the cramped space in a hellish red glow. Dust showered from the ceiling vents. Valerius barely registered the jolt. His Kinetic senses flared, giving him a split-second premonition as the ceiling buckled. He threw up a shimmering hand, a localized kinetic barrier deflecting a chunk of falling ferrocrete that would have crushed a normal man. Through the window slit, he saw a pillar of smoke rising from the direction of the main settlement and Garrison HQ, miles away.
"Report!" Valerius snapped into the comm unit, his voice devoid of panic, sharpened by adrenaline and the cold clarity his cultivation discipline provided. Static answered. He tried again. Nothing.
Orbital comms jammed or destroyed. Local comms network compromised. His mind raced, processing implications with trained speed. Atmospheric entry – not Imperium standard profiles. Aggressive pattern. This wasn't rock-lizards.
Another blast, closer this time, sent a tremor through his boots. He enhanced his vision, peering through the dust-choked window slit. Rough-looking figures in mismatched armour were advancing from dropships bearing crude, unfamiliar insignia. Pirates? Or scouts for something worse?
The reinforced door to Delta-7 hissed open, and Sergeant Grok stumbled in, his grizzled face pale under a layer of fresh dust, his standard-issue pulse rifle held ready. "Lieutenant! HQ is… it's gone! Took a direct hit from orbit! Captain Evaan… confirmed KIA!"
Valerius absorbed the information instantly. Captain Evaan, M4-B. A mid-tier officer, but the highest-ranking on Aethelburg VI. Which meant…
Grok looked at Valerius, confusion and fear warring in his eyes. "Sir? Orders?" The Sergeant was a veteran of twenty years, likely more combat experience than Valerius had years of life, but the chain of command was absolute, even when the ranking officer was a fresh-faced M2.
Valerius met Grok's gaze, his own eyes ice-cold. He drew himself up, the subtle aura of his Kinetic energy coalescing around him, an almost palpable pressure in the small room that made the Sergeant unconsciously straighten up. "Secure the post, Sergeant. Report local damage and any functioning communication relays."
Just then, a vox transmission crackled through the emergency receiver, fragmented but audible. "...raiders hit the processing plant… miners trapped… Sector Gamma evacuation point compromised… requesting immediate support…"
Simultaneously, another alert flashed on the tactical display Valerius had activated – automated defence systems pinging intruders approaching Sector Beta, location of the planetary backup Orbital Comms Relay. Without that relay, they were truly cut off, unable to report the attack or call for the Fleet support this world desperately needed.
Gamma: Civilian miners, soft targets, strategically irrelevant beyond their ore quotas.
Beta: The vital link to the Imperium, essential for reinforcements and, more importantly, for reporting success or failure. His success.
Grok looked torn. "Sir? The miners in Gamma..."
Valerius made the calculation in less than a heartbeat. The miners were expendable. The relay was critical. His path was critical.
"Ignore Sector Gamma," Valerius commanded, his voice cutting like durasteel. "All remaining Garrison units are to converge on Sector Beta. Secure the Orbital Comms Relay at any cost. We re-establish contact with High Command; that is our priority."
Grok flinched as if struck. "But sir! The colonists… women, children… We can't just-"
Valerius took a step closer, his Kinetic aura flaring slightly, making the air crackle. He didn't raise his voice. "The Imperium requires sacrifice, Sergeant. Their sacrifice ensures our survival and the preservation of Imperial assets. My orders are clear. Assemble a strike team. We move to Sector Beta now." He turned, grabbing his own helmet and pulse rifle, the polished insignia of the Terran Imperium glinting faintly in the red emergency light.
He could almost feel the weight of the miners' lives settling onto the scales, balanced against his ambition. It was an easy choice. His ascent had begun, paved, as it always would be, with the necessary sacrifices.