Federation Calendar, Year 58
The bridge of the Vanguard's Edge hummed with tension, its tactical holotank casting a cold glow over Adrian Vale's focused features. The 101st Combined Squadron sliced through the void, their course now locked on Asteroid Belt Sector 280. Lena Sterling stood at his side, her fingers dancing across her wrist-optic as she relayed his orders with machine-like precision. But a moment ago, she'd hesitated—a rare misstep, questioning his redirect to Sector 280 when time was bleeding out for the stranded resource collectors in Sector 279.
"Commander," Lena had ventured, her voice a cautious probe, "we're racing against the clock for the rescue. Why Sector 280?"
Adrian's eyes flicked to her, sharp but measured. "Major, transmit the order first, then ask questions."
"My apologies!" Lena's response was instant, her posture stiffening as she realized her error. She tapped her optic, voice crisp over the fleet comms. "All ships, adjust course to Asteroid Belt Sector 280, immediate effect!"
Adrian's gaze softened, but only a fraction. "Major, a commander's worst nightmare is an adjutant who hesitates. On the battlefield, doubt can cost us everything. I don't want a repeat of that."
"Yes, Commander," Lena replied, her tone firm, eyes locked forward. "It won't happen again."
"Good. Now, to your question: the Orcus fleet's playing a classic game—besiege the point, ambush the relief. They've likely pinpointed our collectors' hiding spot in 279 and set a trap for us."
Lena's brow furrowed. "How do you know their target is us, not the collectors?"
"Put yourself in their shoes," Adrian said, leaning back in the captain's chair. "If you were an Orcus commander tasked with hitting our resource ships in the belt, how would you do it?"
"I'd use small, fast micro-fleets," Lena answered, her mind clicking through the scenario. "Ten ships, max, for speed and stealth in the asteroid field—"
She stopped mid-sentence, her hand rising to her mouth as the pieces fell into place. Adrian nodded, a glint of approval in his eyes.
"Exactly. Small and surgical is the play for collectors. But this?" He gestured to the tactical feed. "Two hundred warships? That's overkill. And Sector 279's terrain—tight, cluttered, a nightmare for large fleets—screams ambush. They're not after the miners; they're baiting us."
Lena's eyes widened, processing the logic. "So their real target is the relief fleet. They're using the collectors to lure us into a killbox."
"Bingo," Adrian said, pulling up a star map on the holotank. Sector 279 glowed, a chaotic web of asteroids, with adjacent sectors fanning out like spokes. "Now, where do you think they'd stage their ambush?"
Lena studied the map, her mind racing. "Between the collectors' position and Mars base, in terrain that can hide 200 ships. Here—" She pointed to a dense cluster just off 279's main approach. "This choke point."
Adrian's nod was a teacher's praise. "Spot on. And Sector 280? It's their rear flank. We're coming in behind their trap."
Lena blinked, a flicker of admiration breaking her frost as she studied Adrian. His calm, his precision—it echoed her father, Admiral Marcus Sterling, the man who'd crushed Orcus fleets with surgical brilliance. Curiosity stirred again, but she buried it.
"Major," Adrian said, catching her stare, "focus on the mission." His tone mirrored her earlier jab, a playful jab laced with command.
Lena's expression snapped back to ice, her head turning away, silent. Adrian smirked, savoring the small victory.
Three hours later, the 101st reached Sector 280, engines dialed to stealth as they threaded the belt's outer fringes. Adrian wasn't taking chances. "Major, have the carrier deploy a recon drone. Keep it covert—stick to dense asteroid cover."
"Yes, sir." Lena relayed the order, and a sleek drone slipped from the carrier's bay, weaving through the rocky maze with cautious arcs.
Ten minutes later, the feed pinged. Adrian's optic lit up with the drone's data: 200 Orcus warships, exactly as predicted, nestled behind asteroids in Lena's choke point. Their positioning was textbook—perfect for shredding a relief force from Mars. But from Sector 280, the 101st held their rear, turning the hunters into prey.
The setup was a death trap for the Orcus fleet. Hidden behind asteroids, their ships had no retreat vector. Turn to face Adrian's force? A 180-degree pivot in tight quarters would take too long—his guns would tear them apart mid-maneuver. Flee forward? They'd slam into the very rocks shielding them. Circle around in a dogfight? The belt's density made that a suicide run.
Adrian didn't pounce yet. His eyes scanned the terrain feed, plotting every angle. Lena, at his side, shifted, confusion flickering. "Commander, we've got them pinned. Why hold back?"
"Patience, Major," he said, voice low. "We're not just winning—we're dominating." He tapped his optic. "Order the carrier to launch all 9,000 mechs, armed for anti-ship ops. Send them to Sector X718 for concealment and standby."
"Yes, sir." Lena complied instantly, her earlier lesson etched deep. The carrier disgorged its mech swarm, their thrusters flaring briefly before vanishing into the asteroid field.
Ten minutes later, the report came: "Mechs in position at X718, concealed and awaiting orders."
"Good. Major, plot a stealth approach for the fleet—get us as close as possible without detection."
"Understood. Route plotted. Fleet advancing."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. Ten seconds to plan a 144-ship stealth route? Lena's speed was inhuman. Curiosity piqued, he queried the Interface silently. "System, scan Major Sterling's attributes."
Ding. Scan complete.Name: Lena SterlingIQ: 240Brain Development: 22%
Adrian's eyes widened. Higher brain development than me? "System, confirm she's not bound to another system."
Ding. No system binding detected.
Damn, he thought. She's the real deal—no cheat code, just pure human edge.
"Major," he said aloud, "keep the recon drone on the Orcus fleet. Any twitch, we halt and open fire."
"Yes, sir."
Aboard the Orcus flagship, tension crackled. Commander Rex stood on the bridge, his weathered face tight as he studied the tactical feed. At his side, Ninth Prince Doron Orcus lounged in the command chair, his ornate armor gleaming under the dim lights.
"Ninth Prince," Rex said, voice measured, "it's been three and a half hours. If the Federation launched from Mars, they should've arrived. We should consider withdrawing to avoid complications."
Doron's eyes flashed with disdain. "You think my plan's been sniffed out, Rex? Maybe their discipline's just sloppy—slow to muster, dragging their feet."
Rex suppressed a sigh. Sloppy? The Federation's 101st was under Marcus Sterling's iron grip, the man who'd gutted 200,000 Orcus ships with a mere 20,000. Laxity wasn't in their vocabulary. Rex cursed his decision to join this "outing" with the prince, who'd seized command to test his pet tactics. A glory-hound with a fleet as his toy. Great.
Back on the Vanguard's Edge, Lena's voice cut through. "Commander, we're at the stealth limit. Any closer, and our 144 ships will light up their sensors."
Adrian nodded, eyes locked on the holotank. "Then it's time. Major, assign firepower and targets—prioritize their carriers."
"Yes, sir." Lena's fingers flew, plotting the opening salvo to cripple the Orcus fleet's backbone. The 101st coiled, ready to spring, the belt's shadows their ally in a game the enemy didn't know they'd already lost.