The pace became frantic. The first Command Center was completed, a massive, blocky structure that now dominated the cavern, its blinking lights pulsing like a metallic heart. The SCV, tireless, immediately moved on to the next construction: a Refinery on a small vespenegas geyser seeping from a fissure, then an Academy and an Armory.
Each new building brought with it a new wave of activity. But it wasn't just machines.
It started subtly. As Julius was overseeing armor upgrades in the Armory, he noticed a figure in a work suit emerging from the Barracks, a digital tablet in hand. The individual – a man with a scarred face and tired but competent eyes – gave him a respectful nod.
"Commander. The Barracks analyzers report optimal output," he reported before heading towards the Extraction Center.
Julius stood dumbfounded. This wasn't a Marine. It was an engineer.
Then, a team of builders, clad in reinforced suits, emerged from the Command Center. Without a word, they began reinforcing the cavern walls with steel girders, expanding the viable space.
"Hey, wait... who are you?" Julius asked one of them.
The worker, a woman with broad shoulders and calloused hands, froze and turned to him.
"Specialist Garcia, Commander. Civil engineering team. We are optimizing the outpost's structural integrity."
Her voice was weary but professional. And she was... real. Not a pre-programmed combat unit. A person.
The flow didn't stop. Technicians for the Refinery, researchers for the Academy, logisticians to manage the resource flow. They arrived in small groups, seeming to emerge fully formed from the very culture and structure of the Terran buildings. They were from all walks of life, faces weathered by frontier worlds, sharp-eyed urbanites who had been resocialized. They bore the stigmas of the Koprulu Sector: scars, rudimentary cybernetic implants, a resigned weariness to hard work.
And there were the women.
Julius couldn't help but notice. They were everywhere. Engineers, soldiers, technicians. And without exception, they were... beautifully realistic. Not in the sense of the holovid models of Earth, but with the rugged, tangible beauty of survivors. Women with short, practical hair, determined faces marked by the elements, their bodies sculpted by a life of labor and combat, molded into work suits or utilitarian armor. They were strong, competent, and their presence radiated a confidence that unsettled him.
A technician, bent over a generator control panel, looked up to wipe her brow. Her eyes, steel gray, met his gaze and she gave him a brief smile, a smile that created dimples in her grease-smudged cheeks. Julius looked away, inexplicably embarrassed.
"System, what's going on? These people... they aren't listed in the production interface. They're not Marines or Firebats."
< Analysis. The summoning function is not limited to combat units. A functional Terran outpost requires a support population: engineers, technicians, workers, logistical personnel. Their consciousness patterns are drawn from Terran societal databases and generated alongside advanced structures. They are as real and complex as the military units, and share the same innate loyalty to the Commander.>
"You... you created an entire society? From scratch?"
< Affirmative. A colony is not merely a collection of soldiers. It is an ecosystem. Their appearance and skills are the optimal reflection of the base's needs and the historical/population archives of the Koprulu Sector.>
Julius looked around the cavern, which was no longer a base but a budding town. The air was now filled with a buzz of voices, the crackle of welders, the rumble of machinery. Men and women went about their business with disconcerting efficiency. They saluted him with a respectful "Commander" as he passed.
He understood now. The System hadn't just given him an army. It had given him a people. Civilians. Human beings with faces, simulated histories, and absolute loyalty to him.
And these women... so beautiful, so strong, so present. It wasn't a quirk of the System. It was the simple reality that in a universe of survival, beauty had nothing to do with makeup or fashion. It resided in strength, competence, and resilience. The System had reproduced the cream of Terran frontier society, and apparently, that cream was... extremely attractive.
He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the weight of this responsibility. These people were counting on him. They were building, working, living here, under his direction.
"System, next objective," he announced, his voice deeper. "Build Bunkers at the entrance and Missile Turrets for anti-air defense. We need to protect everyone."
He was their Commander. And he would make sure they all survived. Even if their mere presence made his new warrior's heart beat a little too fast.