The swarm of Buggers moved in a perfect Fibonacci spiral as they descended towards me—Predictable, boring, but at the very least pretty.
Inside the cramped, sweltering cockpit of a Seraph-IV's simulation frame, I waited with bated breath. The HUD was a sea of neon green and 'optimal path' indicators dictating the best course of action. At 1.2g, my heartbeat thudded in my teeth, and my arms prickled with strain. The Aegis-Assist did most of the heavy lifting.
The crosshairs jittered as they aligned with the flight paths the Buggers were most likely to take, pre-calculating the perfect lead angle for my Auto-cannon. All I had to do was hold the trigger and watch Buggers fall.
[TARGETING LOCK CONFIRMED]
[ENGAGE FOR 99.8% EFFICIENCY]
"More like 99.8% predictable, you damned toaster." I sneered, my tongue coated in that familiar sensation of copper.
I reached out for a physical toggle beneath the central console, a stiff, notched switch that pledged defiance. Naturally, I flipped it.
[WARNING: MANUAL OVERRIDE ACTIVE]
[SYSTEM COHESION DEGRADING]
[NEURAL BUFFER DISCONNECTED]
The green lines vanished as swaths of raw information and data output threatened to overwhelm my mind. I felt the stabilisers working overtime, I felt every hum and vibration from the mech's core, and I felt as though I had grown wings for the first time. The mech no longer felt like an extension of myself, and instead felt like what it was: over a hundred tons of resistant alloy and death.
With a grin, I kicked out my left foot and slammed it into the thruster just as the Buggers began their opening salvo. Fire and flame blasted from the Seraph's left thruster, and the mech flipped onto its side. I jammed the controls forward, and the entire machine glided laterally, skimming just centimetres above the ground as I pushed it to its limit.
[EFFICIENCY HAS DROPPED BELOW 60%]
The System's clinical voice chided.
[RE-ENGAGING SAFETY LIMITERS TO PREVENT FRAME LOSS]
"Like hell you are," I snapped, slapping the console to bypass the lock.
The thrusters surged with more power than expected, causing me to overshoot my turn by about a metre. I gritted my teeth and fought through the neural overload as I worked to regain control, clipping the mech's shoulder on a pylon as I sped past. Sparks burst inside the cockpit, and the HUD flashed red.
[STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY DEGRADED]
[HYDRAULIC LEAK DETECTED - RIGHT ACTUATOR]
Shit.
Making the best of a bad situation, I used the impact's momentum to pivot the mech. The force whipped the torso around, spinning it faster than the auto-stabilisers ever allowed. Finally in position, I raised my Auto-cannon's barrel to the centre of their spiral formation, and began to unload.
The cannon fired, flames licking out as rounds pounded the formation's centre. Each shot tore through weak bio-mechs who relied on front-line defence. It took a mere minute to crush their damage dealers and another to finish the stragglers.
[SIMULATION COMPLETE]
[TIME: 02:48 — NEW RECORD]
I leaned back, my lungs burning, the copper taste reaching a fever pitch.
The simulation pod hissed open, venting fresh air into the sweltering pod, quickly cooling my overheated body. I stepped out and unzipped my flight suit to the waist, letting more air chill me.
Looking up, I met eyes with Grandfather, who stared back with his fierce gunmetal eyes. To his right, Father, who was practically vibrating with a suppressed beaming pride. My Uncles, however, remained just out of eye-shot, hiding behind flickering data-screens.
"Zero cohesion, Marcus," Uncle David announced, his voice thin and sharp. He tapped his data-pad. "You cleared the spiral in record time, but look at the 'Yield', zero secondary Skill XP. You didn't execute a SINGLE 'Designated Rotation.' If this were real, you would have gained absolutely nothing from that kill."
"Speed is a vanity metric, boy," Uncle Michael added. "The Federation doesn't pay for records; it pays for the Cohesion Bonus. You're a Tiernan, not a freelance mercenary. That frame damage alone would have eaten your entire mission commission."
"I cleared the zone," I retorted, wiping a streak of sweat from my forehead. I offered a cheeky, tired grin. "If I'd followed the assist, I'd have an XP bonus and a simulated hole through my chest. I'd take being alive over an extra few levels."
"Enough," Grandfather's voice rang out, heavy as a hammer.
He walked down the metal stairs towards me, his boots echoing off the steel frame. I swallowed as he grew closer.
"The system draws the optimal path," Grandfather murmured, a strange but hungry glint in his eyes. "But you forsook them and shaved off twelve seconds. Interesting."
My brow twitched as I tried to understand what he was saying; it wasn't praise nor a reprimand. I just beat a hundred-year-old record, and the only thing you could say was 'interesting'?!
"Go, get cleaned up," Grandfather commanded. "Tonight, we celebrate the Tiernan blood. Tomorrow... the Moirai will see something interesting."
He turned on his heel and walked away, his heavy boots fading down the corridor. I watched as he went, my twitching eyebrows forming into a furrow.
Interesting... I hated that word.
--
The shower was set to freezing as water beat against my body. I needed to wash away the smell of ozone and sweat from a 1.2g simulation. I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, watching the muck and grime spiral down the drain. Grime, I could wash away, but that omnipresent copper hung in the back of my throat no matter what I did.
Stepping out of the shower, I dried myself and marched over to my bed. Laid out atop it was a Navy blue uniform threaded with silver, pressed to a razor's edge. It was less clothing and more of a statement piece, high-end product packaging and tomorrow I was off to the markets.
I pulled it on, fixed my collar, and headed into the hallway.
I passed through the empty Tiernan mansion hall, pausing by my sister's room—doors closed, lights off. The house always felt empty without her.
[Thirty-eight days since last message]
"One, two, three… twelve." I counted twelve steps every time I passed her room since she left. It kept the silence at bay and, this time, helped distract from what awaited.
The dining room was already suffocating before I even stepped through the door. The long mahogany table—a ridiculously expensive import from Earth—was set perfectly. Mother was directing the serving drones, her smile tight and practised.
Grandfather took Father's seat at the head. Father sat to his right, holding a glass of half-drunk amber liquid, and appeared more relaxed than I expected. To the left of Grandfather was Uncle Michael Tiernan, a grin sprawled across his face, and next to him sat Uncle David Tiernan, nursed an expensive-looking glass of wine. Only six of us, for the Tiernans, this was a tiny crowd.
The room went silent as I stepped inside.
"The record-breaker finally arrives," Uncle Michael drawled from across the table, swirling his wine. "Though the logistics monkeys are still weeping over the simulated repair costs."
"Leave it, Michael," Father snapped, his voice slightly slurred. "The boy proved he has the reflexes. When the machine evaluates his soul tomorrow, that raw talent is going to push him straight into S-Grade."
"Assuming the machine values a pilot who fights his own firmware," Uncle David muttered. "B-Grade is stability, James. It's predictable growth. S-Grades are volatile. If he pulls a stunt like that out in the frontier, he's going to get his entire squad liquidated."
Grandfather looked up from his place at the table. His table.
"Marcus," He bellowed. The bickering from Michael and Father stopped in an instant as he commanded their attention. "Take a seat."
I nodded, striding forward to the chair, and my hand gripped the backrest. The legs scraped the floor, loud and sharp. I hovered, almost sitting.
"I wouldn't need to pull a stunt like that if the Aegis-Assist didn't have a built-in lag on the left pivot." I fired back, dropping into my seat.
David finally chimed in. "The firmware was coded by the Enlightened, Marcus. It doesn't have flaws. You have a lack of discipline."
I opened my mouth to fire a retort, but was interrupted.
"The Moirai will process twelve thousand candidates tomorrow," His voice was quiet but carried to every corner of the room. "Most will be F-Grade fodder. A few will be C or B-Grade assets. But a Tiernan is not an asset. A Tiernan is the hand that moves the board."
I shifted in my seat as I felt that all familiar pressure of expectation.
"Tell me, Marcus, what Grade do you expect tomorrow?" The words crawled under my skin. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, trying to focus.
"S-Grade, sir," I responded in the same practised tone I always did.
"S-Grade..." He tasted the words. "Good. Hoping to follow in Lydia's footsteps, are you, Marcus?"
I shrugged lightly, not offering a commitment for fear of him starting another tirade and story about the Tiernans.
"Your great aunt Lydia," Grandfather started as a hologram sprouted from the centre of the table. "S-Grade, Luminary, died holding the line at Proxima. Three hundred thousand Buggers. Alone. They found her unconscious, still fighting."
Oh Great...
The holoprojector depicted an older woman standing before a large mech. Its armour plating was bone-white and strangely smooth. Golden veins ran across its surface, glowing brighter and dimmer as if mimicking a heartbeat.
"You have her eyes," Grandfather mentioned, studying me. "The same depth."
I stalled for a moment, unsure what to say. I searched for the correct response but found myself lacking.
"James never did quite reach those heights, did you?" Uncle Michael cut my thoughts short. His voice was pointed in that casual and practised manner that exposed it as anything but.
"Hah, neither did you, Michael!" He shot back, taking another drink. The alcohol gave his bravado a feeble edge; he seemed smaller than usual.
"Rank-3 has its place," Grandfather mentioned neutrally. "But tomorrow, the next generation proves itself."
"My Son has already proven himself," David interjected, arrogance permeating his voice.
"B-Grade is proof of adequacy, not excellence." Grandfather shot down.
Everyone deflated like always. Talking about bullshit grades again. It's all I've heard the past year. Same ranks, same barbs, same fuckin'—. I gripped my fork involuntarily as pressure began to build.
"Marcus will show us something else." His eyes pinned me to the ground. "Won't you, boy?"
"Yes, sir." I flatly responded.
The drones finally brought the food. The air lightened, and the attention shifted away from me.
As the evening wore on, Grandfather's stories grew ever more elaborate, bordering on lengthy lectures. Always echoing the same message, about our 'Oh, so esteemed past.' His words blurred at the edges as my thoughts drifted away...
--
"When I tested," Father said with a strained voice, "I was so certain. So absolutely certain I'd..."
He trailed off, alcohol adding a faint slur to his words.
My attention snapped back.
"We all were," Uncle Michael said, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "The machine surprised everyone."
"The machine is never wrong," Grandfather declared. "It sees what we cannot."
"Some things can't be tested by machine alone," My Mother finally interjected, meeting Grandfather's gaze directly.
There was another lengthy pause as the two held their gaze. I could almost feel the static electricity.
"Sophia, you married into this family. You don't—" Grandfather tried to explain.
"I understand enough."
I noticed Father's hand tightening on his glass, almost breaking it. The room went cold.
"Marcus will test well, do our family proud!" Father said, a little too loud.
Michael finding an opportunity, pounced on the statement, "Feeling pressure, James? Worried about your legacy~?"
Here we go again... Bickering, power plays, the usual desperation thick enough to taste. It didn't matter how many showed up; everyone was always busy pretending, clawing, competing.
"No." Father declared, "My son will exceed expectations."
"Whose expectations, exactly?" David tested.
Father was already halfway out of his chair, lunging, before grandfather's hand came down on the table like a judge's hammer.
"Enough!" Grandfather declared. "Cease your childishness, we're here to celebrate, not to bicker amongst ourselves like overgrown children."
Everyone fell quiet.
"A toast," Grandfather filled the silence. With a clap of his hands, a drone entered. "Get Marcus a glass and pour him some wine."
Mother looked ready to protest, but Father stopped her with a glance. A glass appeared in front of me, filled with blood red wine.
"A toast!" Grandfather declared. "To Marcus Tiernan."
Everyone raised their glass. I quickly followed suit.
"To the continuation of Tiernan glory!"
We drank.
"To the Federation and her colonies!"
We drank.
"To tomorrow's revelations!"
We drank.
The wine tasted like copper.
As I looked back up, I noticed that Grandfather hadn't so much as taken a sip. He just sat there, watching me, sending a shudder down my spine.
"Marcus," he said. "Walk with me after dinner."
"He needs rest for tomorrow-" Father protested, his words slurred slightly.
"No, he needs perspective."
Mother squeezed my hand under the table. Comfort or a warning?
Uncle David leaned in. "Don't embarrass us, nephew. D-Grades don't get family visits~."
I could smell the wine on his breath as he spoke, a bubble of anger began to rise from my abdomen.
"David," Grandfather's voice cut through the air. "You can share your 'wisdom' after you've earned it."
David slumped back in his chair, almost causing me to smile.
"The garden. You have ten minutes. I'll be waiting." Grandfather abruptly stood from the table, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He walked towards the rear exit of the house, not returning anyone's gaze.
Each step he took rang out like a countdown. With a fluid motion, he opened the glass doors, stepped through and closed them behind him.
Silence