Veera Howle put on her best uniform, made sure every stitch and buckle was in order, then brushed her hair until not a single strand was out of place. The shuttle ride to the Revanchism had left her a bit frazzled, and she needed to look her best when the call began. Only once she was assured of her own meticulous perfection did she deign to sit down at the conference table, beginning the call right on time. It took seven minutes for her superiors to answer.

  “Commander Howle.”

  “Hello, General, good to-”

  “Report.”

  After pursing her lips nervously, Veera folded her hands together and continued.

  “Yes Sir. As mentioned, our scouting agent, Lieutenant-”

  Veera looked down at some paperwork to remind herself of the soldier’s name.

  “-Reynolds died of unknown causes,” Veera continued. “As he already filed beyond his minimum expected number of reports, and was a potential security concern in any event, this is considered of negligible impact to the ongoing operation.”

  “The man is dead,” one of the other military officials presiding over the meeting said. “Does that not give us reason to suspect his cover was compromised?”

  “Mortality rates for prisoners is close to fifty percent within their first year,” Veera said. “I see no reason why the Lieutenant would be an exception to that statistic. We’ll be vigilant as the prisoner clan returns, but we have no reason to suspect we are compromised.”

  “Good. Moving on to matters of actual importance,” General Thallis said. “Do the deceased Lieutenant’s reports contain anything useful regarding our primary objective?”

  “Unfortunately, the combat suit’s performance is below expectations in regards to combat,” Veera said. “It regularly struggles against low-quality mecha in states of disrepair. I would imagine it is far from capable of assassinating the Red King.”

  The conversation paused, and Veera could only imagine the stony faces of the General and his associates angrily taking notes and reconsidering their plans. The Red King’s control of Darkside went relatively unchallenged, thanks to intact anti-aircraft weaponry, a fact every member of the Republic’s command hated. They wanted complete control of the station, and all the ancient technology it had to offer.

  “However, the suit and its pilot have demonstrated an exceptional ability to infiltrate Kellarin Tech facilities and manipulate security systems,” Veera continued. “It may be worthwhile to pursue my proposal of reaching the command core-”

  “A proposal that was summarily denied,” General Thallis said.

  “At the time, yes, but with the new circumstances-”

  “There are no new circumstances,” the General said. “Our primary objective remains the assassination of the Red King and reclamation of the station’s ‘Darkside’ from his forces.”

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  “With the command core under our control, his hold on Darkside would be irrelevant.”

  “Commander Howle, you have been given an objective and ordered to pursue it,” the General said. “Your protests are bickering at best and insubordination at worst. Pursue the mission or you will be terminated and replaced with a Commander who understands their orders.”

  Veera bit her tongue as hard as her body would allow.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good. How soon do you think you can achieve your objective?”

  “That is highly variable, sir, as I said, the combat capabilities of the suit leave much to be desired,” Veera said. “It seems to have the capacity to upgrade itself, but it is a slow process, and dependent on available materials.”

  “Well, you’ve already bribed one mecha into attacking him,” an officer said. “I’m sure you can find the means to instigate another attack.”

  “Sir, every additional attack does come with the risk that the suit could be destroyed,” Veera said.

  “If that little idiot stuck in the suit can’t survive a common bandit, he won’t be able to handle the King either,” another officer added. “Better to get the prisoner killed and be able to start over.”

  “I’m not entirely sure ‘starting over’ is possible, sir,” Veera said. “The suit was neurally linked to Rushmore.”

  “Yes, and? The mecha are neurally linked to their original pilots as well, but they still find viable candidates,” the officer said. “I’m sure we can ship out enough bodies to find a new wearer for the suit.”

  “I don’t believe we will,” Veera said. “Violent psychopaths are a dime a dozen, but Rushmore? The boy has a cocktail of mental deficiency, trauma, and warped social behaviors that psychologists could spend a lifetime studying. Hundreds of years searching and we might never find another person who matches his neural profile.”

  “And the odds of finding another unimprinted neural cell?”

  “There are potential leads, but nothing concrete,” Veera said. “We are pursuing alternatives, but for now we should operate under the assumption that Rushmore is the only pilot the suit will ever have.”

  “A situation we could have avoided if you’d managed Dr. Kaz’s research better.”

  “Yes, General,” Veera grunted. “But we play the cards we’ve been dealt. For what it’s worth, I believe Rushmore is pliable. He can and will be persuaded to pursue our objectives.”

  “We’ll see. In the meantime we’ll continue to explore avenues of full-scale military assault on Darkside,” General Thallis rumbled. “I sincerely hope you can reclaim control of this situation before we’re forced to commit that many lives to doing it ourselves.”

  “I am still very confident in my plans, General,” Veera said. She hoped she sounded convincing. Everything had been falling apart since Rushmore got his grubby hands on her armor.

  “Let’s hope that confidence is earned, Commander,” the General said. “Will there be anything else on this subject, or can we move on to more sensible matters?”

  “No, I believe we’ve all said enough,” Veera said. The conversation turned to more mundane matters like Kell Cell reclamation and prisoner fatalities. Veera happily handled the simpler issues, though it gave her little relief from the overbearing attention of the General. The pressure only came off when the check-in finally ended.

  Veera loosened the collar of her uniform and took what felt like her first breath in hours. The chain of command often felt more like a noose around her neck. Being up on the hovering dreadnought was bad enough, but the uniform was what really choked her. Veera resisted the urge to walk towards the windows, knowing the view would make her stomach sink. Sometimes she wondered if the General knew about her fear of heights, and insisted on holding meetings aboard the Revanchism to exploit it, and put her on edge.

  With a deep breath, Veera put thoughts of petty military bureaucracy behind her. It was time, as the General might say, to focus on objectives.

  Rushmore needed upgrades for the suit. She could always bribe another mech to attack, promise a reduction in debt, but repeating that plan came with more risk of failure. Those psychopaths in mechs could not be trusted to follow orders -multiple attempts to recruit them into the military had proven that.

  But, of course, the fact that they were unruly psychopaths meant they needed very little motivation to attack someone. Veera made some notes, and gave some orders, commending herself all the while for an excellent idea. It was time to escalate.