Page 5

T he secondary engineering bay felt like a damn shoebox with Jex's Scorperio suit crammed into it.

The war machine hunched over the workbench, its massive bulk forcing Davis to flatten himself against the far wall.

Metal joints hummed as the suit extended precision manipulators from its gauntlets.

The delicate tools looked absurdly small against the weapon of war they sprouted from.

The drakeen core sat on the bench, optical sensors clicking as they tracked every movement of those manipulators probing its connection port. One of its remaining legs twitched, adjusting position like a patient waiting for a doctor's cold hands.

Mira stood beside the bench, her head barely reaching Jex s elbow joint. Overhead lights caught in her blonde hair, throwing shadows across her face as she leaned forward, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Careful," she muttered when Jex's tool nudged a component that made the drakeen flinch. The little robot chirped, a sound Davis was starting to recognize as its version of gratitude.

Jex nodded and blue light spilled across the room as a holographic schematic materialized between them.

Davis pushed off the wall and approached to look at the projection.

He assumed it was the inside of the drakeen core.

Intricate connection points, interface nodes, command pathways all laid bare in glowing blue.

"Standard operation requires a direct Latharian neural link," Jex said.

Davis's head snapped up. "Hold on. You've been in this universe, what, two weeks? How do you know specifics about Latharian neural links?"

The Scorperio froze and the helmet swiveled toward Davis with mechanical precision. The blank faceplate reflected the blue glow of the hologram.

"I am a Fleet-enabled MedGen. In combat scenarios, I simultaneously monitored and processed real-time biodata from thousands of deployed Zodiac units, coordinating advanced medical interventions across multiple battlefronts seamlessly."

The Scorperio's hand lifted, gesturing to the hologram.

"Accessing the Lady's Dream's relatively quaint database, cross-referencing Latharian neuro-interface schematics, and running comparative analyses while holding this conversation and diagnosing our small friend here.

.." He waved at the drakeen. "...is just Tuesday.

A slow Tuesday. During downtime. On R the core's input validation is too sophisticated. It's like trying a default Command Weave Protocol in NeuroSyn Arena Trials."

Her finger jabbed at specific junction points in the hologram. "You need layered commands, probably with custom Signal Routing to anticipate the system's response cycle."

She stopped abruptly, a flush creeping up her neck as she glanced between them.

Davis straightened up a little. NeuroSyn Arena Trials . Not just any gaming platform. NSAT was top-tier pro league stuff, where players competed for credit amounts with too many zeros. The kind of gaming where competitors coded their own neural interfaces and response algorithms.

"Biometric Signal Routing" wasn't amateur terminology either. That was deep-level coding. Developer jargon.

"You've played NSAT?"

The flush on Mira's neck deepened, but she nodded. Whatever hesitation she'd felt evaporated as she launched into explanation.

"In competitive NSAT, especially at high tier, you can't rely on stock interfaces.

Every millisecond counts." Her hands sliced through the hologram, rearranging light patterns.

"I used to script my own predictive macros for neural feedback optimization, building custom response profiles for different match scenarios. "

She pointed to a pathway on the schematic. "We could apply that same principle here. Create a custom Cognitive Interface Layer that speaks to this little guy s systems without triggering security protocols."

The drakeen chirped, bumping its leg against her arm. Without breaking stride in her explanation, her fingers dropped to stroke its chassis, running along dents and scorch marks.

"See, if we map the command pathways like this," she continued, "we can trick the system into accepting our inputs as native commands rather than external overrides."

He couldn t help staring. The woman who'd arrived on the ship two weeks ago, quiet, watchful, and quick to fade into the background, was gone. The woman who stood in front of him now commanded the room with a technical authority that had even Jex tilting forward in attention.

He wasn t surprised. He'd seen her tactical intelligence when she d guided them through Rettnor's clinic. But this was different. This wasn t just gaming but specialized expertise that absolutely transformed her.

He didn't look away when she finally glanced up, catching his eyes. He gave her a slight nod, an acknowledgment of expertise.

Surprise flashed across her face, and she looked down quickly, fingers checking a damaged joint on the drakeen. The little machine chirped, optical sensors dimming like a cat half-closing its eyes during a good scratching.

He couldn't tear his gaze away. The confidence in her movements, the precision of her technical knowledge-it was compelling in a way he hadn't expected.

His comm unit chirped, breaking the moment. Ryke's voice cut through the engineering bay.

"Tell, need you on the bridge. Now."

Davis hesitated, caught between duty and the need to stay and watch Mira work. The drakeen tilted its optical sensors toward him, almost expectantly.

"I should go," he said, backing toward the door. "But this..." he gestured to the hologram where Mira's modifications were still glowing, "this is good work. Really good."

She looked up, surprise flickering across her features before a small smile tugged at her lips.

"We'll have him talking to us in no time," she said, her hand still absently stroking the drakeen's chassis.

You will.

As the door slid shut behind him, he replayed the scene in his mind the confidence in her voice, the expertise in her hand movements. He was still thinking about it when he reached the bridge, wondering what other surprises little Mira might be hiding.

* * *

The hum of the washing units vibrated through the metal deck plates beneath Mira's feet, a white noise that drowned out the constant engine drone of the Lady's Dream.

She snapped a gray tank top with more force than necessary, creasing it along invisible lines before setting it atop her pathetically small clothing pile.

Four shirts. Three pairs of pants. Underwear and socks. Her entire existence packed into less than a cubic foot. At least it was better than her life before

What was the last thing she d been doing before Davis-then calling himself Peters-crashed into her life?

Her online games. She d loved to lose herself in them, and escape the realities of her day-to-day life. She couldn t play on the Dream , but at least she could keep ahead of who was doing what now.

"Damn it," she muttered to herself. Should ve brought my data tablet to check NSAT before the next tournament."