Well, someone else has proven their prowess and has earned the rank of Admiral. Stand proud, stand tall, hold your chin up high, for you are an Admiral the greatest Naval force Humanity has ever produced!
May your fleet glide through the cosmos and show every maggot just how great Humanity is! Spread our name, spread our glory, and rise, Admiral Minashi! For it is an honor to have you amongst our ranks, and in your Honor, an additional chapter shall be published publicly, and I shall expedite Chapter 47 and write it in your honor.
As your Fleet Admiral, I, Crimson_Reapr, welcome you, honor your commitment, and thank you for your service. May our power reach beyond the edges of charted space, and may ruin fall upon all who stand against humanity's strength.
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1st Person POV: Mark Shephard
I slipped away from all the commotion going on in my shipyard and, with the use of the darkness, slipped my rifle back into my inventory. My run-ins with station security didn't have the best track record, and the last time I defended myself, it ended with me in a cell for 3 days.
Not to mention, those I had killed on Eidolon Reach were nobodies, just some bastard gangsters with nothing better to do than bother the hard-working people. So I wasn't going to be taking any chances this time around, since I had just killed some people from SIGS and injured two others. They had more power, they had more resources, they had public support, a public support that I had tasked Marcos with dismantling by leaking the security footage, part of which he had recorded using my G-comm and a drone, making it seem as though someone was in a corner watching the whole thing go down.
While the attention was still on Thorne, I also undid my armor, opting to put on some more presentable clothes. A white t-shirt, a bomber jacket, some black cargo pants, and a pair of boots that resembled every single New Yorker's favourite khaki work boots were now my attire. I had just finished changing my clothing when one of the station security guards, who was looking for me, shone their light my way.
"Mind lowering that flashlight, I'd like to maintain my eyesight," I said in a joking manner.
But the woman, looking for a hulking armored figure and not expecting me to have changed into normal clothes so quickly, raised her rifle at me.
"Hands! I want to see your hands!" She ordered.
"Woah, woah, woah, chill out, lady," I said while raising my hands.
"You have intruded on a crime scene! Identify yourself now!" The woman barked out her orders at me in a raised tone, which caught the attention of some other station security officers who came jogging to back her up.
"You've gotta be shitting me," I said under my breath. "I'm Mark Shephard, the one who called you all out here."
"Lies!" Shouted one of the station security officers who had joined up. He was a stocky, bearded man, with quite the built physique and maybe 5 feet 9 inches in height. "We just saw Mark Shephard a minute ago. He was wearing a sleek black armor with pompous red fur and a half cape draped over his left shoulder. You look like a dockhand at best."
"Well damn," I said, not knowing if I should feel proud or offended. "Just look up my damn ID. I know for a fact y'all have me on there. If I'm not Mark Shephard, then that fucker in cuffs over there is not Aliastar Thorne."
The commotion had apparently gotten the attention of the commanding officer, who had greeted me first when they arrived. She was a short woman, maybe 5 feet 2 inches, but she carried weight in her steps and voice.
"What the fuck do you dimwits think you're doing, aiming your rifles at the victim of the case?" she spoke, her voice probably sending shivers down the security officers' backs.
"But, Lieutenant-" the first female officer who had raised her rifle at me and still hadn't taken the damn flashlight out of my face started to speak, only to be cut off by the short woman with an even shorter temper.
"Do none of you fuckers ever glance over the caller information while making your way to the destination?" She asked. "Bunch of incompetent slobs, lower your fucking weapons, now! That's an order!"
The group of guards in front of me hesitated for a second before complying with their leader's orders.
"Now get the fuck out of my sight, I'll be taking Mr. Shephard's statement," the woman ordered, making me raise an eyebrow and smirk. The group turned to leave, walking away with perfect posture, but spiritually, they were slouching and dropping their shoulders, sulking like a child who had just been reprimanded by their parents.
The woman finally turned to me, her facial features barely discernible in the dim lighting.
"I apologize for my subordinate's incompetence," she started. "I can assure you that they will be reprimanded and disciplined."
"Not your fault," I said while shaking my head and reaching out my hand. "Mark Shephard."
"Beatrice Schultz," Beatrice said, shaking my hand with a surprising grip. "Would you mind accompanying me to a better-lit space?"
I nodded. "Lead the way."
Beatrice led me away from the chaotic scene of the hangar floor, past the flashing red and blue lights of the station security drones that were busy cordoning off the area. We walked toward the main entrance of the shipyard, where a temporary command post had been set up. It was essentially a folding table with a holographic terminal and two chairs that looked like they had been stolen from a cafeteria.
The air here was a little fresher, less tainted by the smell of ozone and burnt plasteel that still hung heavy near the Vanguard-One.
"Sit," Beatrice commanded, pointing to one of the chairs.
I sat, and the chair groaned in protest under my weight. I watched as she tapped a few commands into the terminal, bringing up a recording interface.
"Okay, Mr. Shephard," she started, leaning back against the edge of the table and crossing her arms. She didn't look like much. Apart from the already established short height, she was stocky, with hair the color of steel wool pulled back into a tight bun. However, she had the eyes of someone who walked with a chip on her shoulder and could cut through steel. "Let's start from the beginning. And please, spare me the 'innocent shopkeeper' routine. Innocent shopkeepers don't usually have automated turret defense grids and military-grade energy assault rifles stashed in their back pockets."
I chuckled dryly, rubbing my right shoulder where the adrenaline was starting to fade into a dull ache. "I never claimed to be innocent of anything, Lieutenant. Just justified."
"Justified is a legal term. We will let the courts decide that," she countered. "I want you to tell me what happened. Step by step."
I took a deep breath. "It was a quiet morning. We were in the office, working on a refit for the Void Vanguard. Around 0900 hours, seven individuals entered the premises. One visible VIP. Alistair Thorne. Two visible escorts. And five concealed operatives using active optical camouflage."
Beatrice's eyebrows shot up. "Active camo? On a station? That's highly illegal without a Governor's waiver."
"I doubt Thorne cares much about waivers," I said. "He came in, sat on my desk, and offered me fifty million credits to buy out my patents and dissolve my company."
"And I assume you refused," Beatrice stated.
"Correct," I nodded. "But he wasn't just here for the tech. He mostly wanted my recently acquired friend and engineer."
Beatrice frowned, tapping a finger against her chin. "Your engineer?"
"Kenjiro Takagi," I said. "He's the guy in the jumpsuit back in the office."
Beatrice paused. She stopped tapping. She looked at me with a sudden, sharp intensity. "Takagi? As in, the Kenjiro Takagi? The one whose face has been plastered on every missing person's board in the sector for the last five days?"
"That's the one," I confirmed.
"Thorne reported him kidnapped," Beatrice said slowly, testing the words. "He claimed it had been a case of corporate espionage. He had half my division turning over the lower levels looking for him."
"Yeah, well, it's clear that Thorne wasn't being very truthful," I shrugged. "Kenjiro wasn't kidnapped. He quit. He walked out of SIGS because he was tired of building garbage for a company that cared more about stock prices than engineering. He came here, asked for a job, and we've been working together ever since."
Beatrice let out a long, low whistle. She turned away for a second, looking out at the station skyline visible through the open blast doors. "So that's it. He didn't come here to steal your tech. He came here to retrieve his property."
"Kenji isn't property," I said, my voice hardening. "But Thorne certainly thinks he is."
"Continue," she said, turning back to me.
"Thorne didn't like 'no' for an answer," I went on. "He got aggressive. He threatened my daughter."
Beatrice's expression darkened instantly. "He threatened a child?"
"He said accidents happen in shipyards," I said, the memory making my blood run hot again. "He said it would be a shame if something happened to her because I made a bad business decision. That's when things got... physical."
"Physical how?" She asked.
"I grabbed him," i shrugged. "His security chief, a guy named Calloway, the one with the broken nose and jaw, de-cloaked and put a gun to my head. We had a... philosophical discussion about parenting, after which, Calloway backed down and they left."
"They left?" Beatrice asked, confused. "Then why are there dead bodies in your hangar?"
"Because Thorne couldn't leave well enough alone," I sighed. "As they were walking out, he ordered them to burn the place down. 'Blow it to hell,' those were his exact words. My AI, Marcos, interpreted that as an imminent threat to life and property. He activated the defense grid I may or may mot have installed, and Thorne's men opened fire, forcing me to return fire."
Beatrice looked at me for a long moment. She seemed to be weighing my words, checking them against the carnage she had seen inside.
"You took out a seven-man corporate kill squad," she stated flatly. "With a rifle and some ceiling turrets."
"They were sloppy," I said. "Arrogant. They expected a mechanic. They didn't expect me to..."
"Be a Breacher?" she finished for me.
I froze. This was the second time I had been referred to as a breacher. I was beyond confused because I was supposed to be a nobody according to the profile Anahrin had created for me. You know, less attention and whatnot. But it appears there may be something going on that I do not know. My eyes locked onto hers.
She smirked, a small, tired expression. "I ran your biometrics the second I saw you, Shephard. Your file is redacted to hell and back, black ink over everything from your unit designation to your blood type. But I served my time in the IUC Marines before I took this thankless job. I know what 'redacted' usually means. It means you did jobs the Navy doesn't want to admit needed doing. And by the looks of it, you got out intact, maintaining one hundred percent of your organic body, I'll say you were one hell of a Breacher."
She closed the holographic folder with a snap.
"Listen to me, Mark," she said, her tone shifting from interrogator to conspirator. "Technically, I should arrest you. You discharged a weapon in what can be debated to be a commercial zone. You killed multiple men. Even if it was self-defense, the paperwork alone is a nightmare."
"Then why aren't you?" I asked.
"Well," she started, "I hate Alistair Thorne, well, not him personally, but all the fuckers like him. I hate SIGS. I hate the way these corporate snakes treat Mechanicus like their personal playground. They think they can land their shiny shuttles, break our laws, threaten our citizens, and then buy their way out with a donation to the Police Benevolent Fund."
She leaned in closer. "If what you say is true, if Thorne ordered a hit on you and threatened a kid, then this isn't just assault. It's attempted capital murder. It's domestic terrorism. And because he used unauthorized military-grade active camo, it's a violation of the IUC Armistice Protocols."
"That sounds serious," I raised my eyebrows.
"It's a life sentence in a penal colony," she said with grim satisfaction. "If we can make it stick."
"We have the footage," I reminded her. "My AI recorded everything. Audio, video, even the feed from Calloway's own body cam."
Beatrice's eyes widened. "You have his body cam footage?"
"Leaked it to the net about twenty minutes ago," I grinned. "It should be trending by now."
Beatrice threw her head back and laughed. It was a loud, barking sound that made a passing medical droid pause and scan her for distress.
"You leaked it?" she wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh, you magnificent bastard. You didn't just beat him. You crucified him."
She stood up straight, adjusting her utility belt. "Alright, Shephard. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to take your statement as the official record. I'm going to list the deceased SIGS operatives as 'Neutralized Hostile.' I'm going to charge Thorne with Aggravated Assault, Kidnapping, and about twelve counts of Weapons Violations."
She looked toward the transport where Thorne was currently screaming at a drone.
"I'm going to transfer custody directly to the IUC Marshals," she said. "If I keep him in the station lockup, SIGS lawyers will have him out in an hour. But if the IUC takes him... he goes to a black site for interrogation. By the time SIGS finds him, he'll have confessed to killing the damn Emperor."
She extended her hand. "You're free to go, Mark. But do me a favor? Next time you decide to start a war in my station sector... give me a heads up? I hate paperwork."
I shook her hand. "I'll try my best, Lieutenant. But you can ask the guys on Eidolon Reach if you'd like, they'll tell you that trouble seems to find me everywhere I go."
"Yeah," she snorted. "I bet it does."
I walked back into the shipyard. The air was clearing as the atmospheric scrubbers cycled on high power. The cleaning drones were already out, scrubbing the blood from the concrete and patching the divots in the floor.
The Vanguard-One sat in the center of the bay, untouched. The fight had raged around it, but miraculously, not a single stray round had hit the ship.
I walked up the ramp to the office gantry. My legs felt heavy. The adrenaline crash was hitting hard now, leaving me feeling hollowed out.
I stopped at the door to the office. The glass was intact. I took a breath, smoothed my bomber jacket, and keyed the door open.
The scene inside was... peaceful.
Kenjiro was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, clutching a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. He looked up when I entered, his eyes wide and haunted behind his glasses.
And there, sitting in her fort of boxes, was Lyra.
She looked up from her datapad. "Papa!"
She scrambled out of the fort and ran to me. I dropped to one knee, wincing slightly as my bruised ribs protested, and caught her. She slammed into me, burying her face in my neck.
"Did the bad man go away?" she whispered.
"Yeah, baby," I said, stroking her hair. "The bad man is gone. He's not coming back."
"Uncle Kenji was scared," she said, pulling back to look at me seriously. "He was shaking."
I looked at Kenjiro, who offered a weak, embarrassed smile.
"I... I am not accustomed to firefights, Mark," Kenjiro admitted, his voice raspy. "In the lab, the most dangerous thing we face is a soldering iron burn. That... that was..."
"It's nothing to worry about, Kenji," I said, standing up with Lyra in my arms. I walked over and offered him a hand. He took it, and I hauled him to his feet. "You stood your ground, didn't betray me, and didn't take the money."
"I thought about it," Kenjiro admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. "For about a microsecond. But then I remembered the 0.3 percent and the fact that he called me his property."
He dusted off his jumpsuit. "Are we... are we shut down? Is the station shutting us down?"
"Nope," I grinned. "Lieutenant Schultz is a fan. She's handing Thorne over to the IUC. Unless some corrupt bastard is in charge of the transfer, he's going to spend the next twenty years making license plates on a prison moon."
Kenjiro stared at me. Then, slowly, the tension left his frame. He slumped into his chair. "It's really over?"
"The raid is over," I said. "But the fallout? That's just beginning."
Beep-Beep-Beep.
The comms terminal on my desk lit up. It wasn't a standard station call. It was a high-priority subspace transmission.
I walked over and tapped the accept key.
A hologram materialized in the center of the room. It was Commander Klaus Vorn of the Void Vanguard.
He was sitting in the cockpit of a Valkyrie, likely on a patrol for one of his clients. His cybernetic eye whirred as it focused on me.
"Mark," Vorn said, his voice crackling slightly over the distance. "You look like shit."
"Good to see you too, Klaus," I said, leaning against the desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you break a vent?"
Vorn chuckled, a dark, raspy sound. "No. The vents are holding fine. I'm calling because I just watched the morning news feed from GNN. You're trending, my friend."
"Am I?" I asked, already expecting the results but still a little surprised.
"Top story in three sectors," Vorn confirmed. "'David vs. Goliath on Mechanicus.' They're playing the footage of you body-slamming that SIGS operative on a loop. It was brutal. I love it."
"Glad I could provide entertainment," I muttered.
"How did you get that angle?" Vorn asked, leaning forward in the hologram. "The one from above? It looked like a security cam, but the resolution was 8K."
"Trade secret," I winked at the camera sensor. "My security system is... comprehensive."
"You don't say... Listen, Mark," Vorn's tone shifted, becoming serious. "That footage... it sends a message. It tells people you aren't just a shop. You're a fortress. In my line of work, that kind of reputation is worth gold. But it also paints a target on your back."
"I know," I said. "SIGS won't take this lying down."
"SIGS is bleeding," Vorn corrected. "Their stock just tanked forty percent. They're going to be too busy putting out fires with their shareholders to come after you for a while. But others... others will be curious."
"Let them come," I said. "We're open for business."
"Good," Vorn nodded. "Speaking of business... how is Vanguard-One? With all the excitement, I assume you haven't had much time to turn wrenches."
"Actually," I said, glancing out the window at the ship. "We're ahead of schedule. The armor plating is printed and just needs to be installed. The railguns are mounted and calibrated. Kenji and I finished the wiring yesterday. She's almost done, maybe another day or two of work and you can take her off my hands."
"You're almost done?" Vorn sounded surprised. "It's only been two weeks."
"I told you, Klaus," I replied with a smile, "I don't disappoint."
"And what was that you said?" Vorn asked, his voice dropping to a hungry whisper. "The railguns?"
"Yup, railguns," I confirmed. "They're scaled-down versions of my Shepherd's railguns. You'll be able to punch a hole through a frigate at sixty thousand klicks. Just... don't fire them all at once while moving at full burn, or you might stall your engines from the recoil."
Vorn laughed, a sound of pure predatory joy. "I can't wait to fly her. I'll have a crew there in two days to pick her up."
"Bring the rest of the payment," I reminded him.
"You'll get your money, Mark," Vorn nodded, a smile creeping up on his face. "And depending on that test flight, you may or may not receive a bonus as well."
The hologram flickered. "One more thing, Mark. The Void Vanguard... we remember our friends. We've already cut our plans to replace our vents with SIGS, and if they try anything... anything stupid... You hit my line. We can be by Mechanicus in four hours."
I felt a lump in my throat. Having a mercenary fleet on speed dial was a hell of a perk. "I appreciate that, Klaus. Stay safe out there."
Klaus Vorn nodded and the channel closed, dropping the room into silence once again.
"He doesn't seem that scary anymore," Lyra chirped, breaking the silence.
"Oh, yeah?" I asked her with a soft smile that made her giggle.
"Hey, Marcos," I called out to the empty air. "Give me a status report."
"I have secured the perimeter," the AI responded. "I have also purged the local station servers of any data regarding our internal defense grid specs, just in case Lieutenant Schultz gets curious and decides to subpoena the logs."
"Above and beyond," I said. "You don't disappoint."
"Never," Marcos continued, his voice taking on a note that sounded suspiciously like smug satisfaction. "Though I do believe you should check your inbox."
"Why?" I asked, walking over to the terminal. "Did we get a fine or something?"
"No," Marcos said. "Quite the opposite."
I opened the communication queue.
My eyes widened.
The inbox wasn't just full; it was overflowing. The scroll bar was tiny.
Subject: Order Inquiry - 50 Units Model 1BSubject: Production Rights Proposal - Stellar DynamicsSubject: Partnership Opportunity - Helios ShipwrightsSubject: URGENT - Fleet Admiral Vance (IUC Navy) - Request for MeetingSubject: Bulk Order - Titan Logistics - 500 Units
"Marcos..." I whispered. "How many?"
"Since the news broadcast aired approximately forty-five minutes ago," Marcos said, "we have received four thousand, two hundred and twelve distinct inquiries. Total potential order volume for the Thermal Flow Vents currently exceeds six hundred thousand units."
I did the math in my head. Six hundred thousand units. At 750 credits a unit.
That was... four hundred and fifty million credits.
I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself.
"And," Marcos added, "we have received three buyout offers. One from Aegis Aerospace for two billion credits."
Kenjiro choked on his tea. "Two billion?"
I stared at the screen. The numbers blurred.
Shit. I know things had started to look brighter. I had just made a couple of million. But two fucking billion with a capital B. Holy shit. I had been a father worried about keeping his daughter safe, a man fighting for scraps in an industry that was well established, with its big dogs well in place.
Now?
Now I was the man who broke SIGS. I was the man who invented the Hellfire capacitor. I was the man who had the IUC Navy knocking on his door to have a piece of the pie I was baking.
I looked at Kenjiro, who was staring at me, a grin slowly spreading across his face.
I looked at Lyra. She was back in her fort, happily oblivious to the fact that her father had just become one of the most important men in the sector.
"Marcos," I said, my voice shaking slightly.
"Yes, Mark?"
"Auto-reply to everyone," I said. "Tell them... tell them we are currently restructuring to meet demand. Tell them orders are open, but there's a waiting list."
"What about the buyout offers?" Marcos asked.
"Tell them to go to hell," I smiled. "We aren't selling. We're building."
I walked over to the window and looked out at the shipyard. The Vanguard-One gleamed under the work lights. Beyond the blast doors, the traffic of Mechanicus flowed as ships docked and left.
But now, I knew. A lot of those ships were going to be coming here.
I felt a hand on my arm. I looked down. Lyra was standing there, holding up her toy laser pistol.
"Papa, are we rich now?" she asked innocently.
I was taken aback by her question. 'Where the hell did she even understand the concept of money... from? Never mind, Marcos probably taught her about it.'
I picked her up and hugged her tight.
"Yeah, bug," I whispered into her hair. "I think we are."
I don't know if it was something to do with Lyra, or what it was. But I had rapidly developed so much affection for her. And I know it wasn't the guilt for taking her mother. That was still there, deep in my heart, but it had taken a backseat. It just felt right to have something, to have someone to protect.
With a corporate hit squad, a threat to Lyra, and a firefight in my home, today had started as one of the worst days of my life. But as I looked at the scrolling list of orders, at the frantic messages from the powers that be, I realized something.
They had tried to burn me down. But all they had accomplished with their greedy desires was to shine the spotlight on me and my work.
"Marcos," I said, turning back to the room.
"Uh huh?" Marcos answered.
"Order more pizza," I ordered. "And put in an order for a cake too. A big one, Tres Leches. We'll be celebrating this victory today and a special someone's birthday in a week."
"What's a birthday?" Lyra asked me.
"You'll find out in a week," I said while pulling her puffy cheek.
---
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Chapter 47 is in the works and will be uploaded today to honor our new Admiral. Crimson_Reapr is the name, and writing Sci-fi is the way.