Petals of Titanium -- My Life as a Mecha Setting Bridge Bunny Quest

"Well?"

"I was thinking," you say, eyebrows raised in amusement a little at Anja's evident curiosity. Your handful of past entanglements flash through your head, searching for a unifying theme. "I go for people who are… serious," you decide. "About their work and in general. Reserved, you might say. Even a little intimidating to talk to."

Anja groans, flicking out her next dice roll with a slight air of annoyance. "North," she says. "North, that is so boring. Why are you like this?"

"It's not boring!" you say, stung a little, despite yourself. "People like that tend to be… well," You struggle to explain the appeal in a way that isn't completely embarrassing. The feeling of seeing a part of someone that they don't show to anyone else, of escaping with them to a world just for two people. "There's more to people like that, if you take the time," you decide, inadequately.

"Is that it, though?" Anja asks, still with the slight air of making fun of you. Which really, you suppose, is something she's entitled to, under current circumstances. You'll get her back for it sooner or later. "Serious people who can't hold a conversation?"

You tilt your head in thought again. This time it doesn't take too long. "I go for blondes."

"... blondes."

You nod. "Especially tall ones. A height difference can be rom-- why are you looking at me like that?"

Anja continues to stare at you, expression of mix of amusement and disbelief. "Tall, blonde, and waay too high strung about work," she says, lowering her voice now, lest anyone else at a neighbouring table hear and repeat. "Are you sure you're not describing someone in particular?"

"I'm not!" you insist, face heating slightly. At least, you hadn't intended to, but now that she points it out, there is an embarrassing degree of similarity between your description and--

Being visited by a beautiful girl who wants to hear me gripe is hardly going to make me feel worse."

--certain shipmates.

"You must really like being bossed around," Anja notes.

You follow that thought to its logical conclusion, eyes momentarily faraway in reflection. It's a moment before you speak, giving Anja a sly sort of smile: "Being bossed around can be fun, though. In the right circumstances. With the right person."

Anja is so shocked that she fouls up her roll, accidentally collecting the wrong dice as her face goes from olive to rosey pink. "You," she says, staring, "are just too respectable to go around saying things like that! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" She points an accusatory finger in your direction.

"You'll live," you say, giving her a small, pleased smirk.

Anja huffs, and turns back to her game. You can tell she's trying not to laugh, though. It's temporary, but some of the tension has left her shoulders.


IOnboard the Titanium Rose, approaching Iapetus

In spite of being Saturn's third largest moon, Iapetus isn't even in the same weight class as the solar system's largest moons. Compared to Titan, to Earth's lonely, nameless moon, to the largest of the Jovian moons, it's small. Compared to Phoebe -- little more than a captured Centaur spinning backwards around Saturn, too small even to be even roughly spherical -- the object growing increasingly large in space is both colossal and strange.

The dramatic, two-tone colour that the icy moon is famous for is visible on your approach, the trailing hemisphere blindingly white next to the carbon-black of the leading. As you grow nearer, the small world's other natural dividing line becomes discernible -- the bulge of the Voyager Mountains wraps around its equator, forming a massive ridge on the dark side, growing sparser on the light. A few small constellations of light twinkle visibly on the dark side, domed surface colonies that you know are mostly dedicated to ice mining. The light side colonies are likely smaller to see. Iapetus is desolate and too small to comfortable live on longterm, to say nothing of its periodic, lethal landslides. Most of the moon's population lives in orbit above it in a group of military and civilian habitats, your mother included.

The history of Iapetus as a site for mining and habitation is a complicated, halting affair. In spite of the abundance of valuable ices prime for the taking, the unique and bizarre nature of the moon's geography created a constant outcry whenever anyone attempted to develop it. In the wake of Saturn's unprecedented population boom since the civil war, these concerns have finally been cheerfully overridden. You can see the lighter scars on the darker surface as you near your ultimate destination.

Anchiale Station, known less poetically as Iapetus II, utterly dwarfs both Quetzle and Phoebe stations, the single largest object in space you've seen since leaving Titan. The older Iapetus I station is a distant toy in comparison. Hardened military station and major habitat both, Anchiale's twin, barbel-like habitation spheres are connected by a rigid spindle containing a port and major naval repair yard. The whole thing is surrounded by array upon array of reflection mirrors and defensive satellites, to say nothing about the intimidating bulk of the Outer Fleet. The cruisers, dreadnoughts and full sized carriers of the mighty fleet are still vanishingly small compared to the station you're flying toward at a seemingly glacial pace, necessitated to match Anchiale's rotation.


"Your well-wishes are appreciated, my Lord Admiral," Princess Daystar says, coolly. Her face on the screen seems to be turned toward you all. An illusion, given that the Rose is a mere bystander in this conversation. "As are your congratulations. I'm certain we will have much to discuss, both about enemy movements and about the state of governance and readiness in the outer reaches of the system. For now, however, I want nothing so much as repair and relief for the crews of the Night Lily and the Titanium Rose. I certainly would not have survived to speak with you now if it weren't for their valiant efforts and sacrifices."

It's difficult not to feel your spirits lift both at the acknowledgement of all your struggles, and at the sight of something approximating safety. Short of Titan, there is no point in the system better fortified than Iapetus, even before the prospect of getting to see your mother face to face and spending time in any kind of open air habitat with walking around gravity. Even if Lord Admiral Sikes's sour face looks like it might crack in the attempt to send the princess an ingratiating smile. "Of course, your Highness," he says. He resists for a few moments longer, before taking the hint of the princess's comment, and deigning to add: "You are, of course, to be commended, Captain Patel, Commander Andre, for helping to bring our radiant Princess safely to us."

"Thank you, Lord Admiral," Captain Andre says, perfectly respectful, an instant ahead of Patel, who stumbled slightly upon being directly addressed. Patel is beaming beyond his embarrassment but you can't help but read a touch of skepticism into the otherwise neutral set of Andre's lips. She, perhaps, has not forgotten the decision made at Quetzle, and other, similar incidents. Naval command, let alone an honest to goodness Lord Admiral in the flesh, are not prone to forgiveness where upjumped common born officers are concerned. You find yourself wishing that Daystar's advocacy extends beyond mere lip service.

Sikes resumes ignoring the two captains almost immediately afterward, and no one on the Rose is invited to speak again, until the Admiral's face is replaced by a calmly competent harbour master. At long last, you're docking.


Elsewhere in space, approaching Iapetus

There are few things Mosi hates more than being a passenger while someone else pilots. Certainly, this is the state of affairs whenever she's onboard a spaceship. Mosi could never hope to competently pilot a full sized warship, with its vast bulk, its myriad sensors and systems. Now, however, she can't help but glare at the sealed hatch leading to the tiny cockpit of the shuttle, thinking to herself, irrationally: I could do this better.

The man strapped in to Mosi's right fidgets, trying in vain to get comfortable, the motion nudging her into the woman on her left. The six of them barely fit together into the shuttle's passenger bay. The sound of the stealth drive is loud enough that the bulkhead beneath their seats vibrates periodically. It's stiflingly, miserably hot. Venting large amounts of heat into space would be enough to overwhelm the shuttle's onboard stealth, supposedly, compounding the already well established problems with cooling a spaceship in vacuum.

This shuttle is the single largest stealth enabled craft at the Divine Navy's disposal and, Mosi is bitterly aware, likely cost twice as much to produce as her beloved Provespa, left behind onboard the Amaranth. She would still give almost anything to be behind the controls in her unit, however, in an actual pilot's suit rather than the clumsier gear she's been forced into.

"Stealth shuttles are famously shit, kid," Commander Green had told her, without any trace of exaggeration. "Just so you know." Mosi had, at the time, brushed him off. After all, could it really compare unfavourably to an eight hour sortie in a standard mecha?

The answer to that was definitely yes. It has to be this way, of course. Stealth technology is simply not powerful enough to manage anything bigger than this shuttle, and every gram of mass cloaked marks years of intensive study. A stealth shuttle of any size capable of VTA even on an atmospheric ice ball like this is bleeding edge. Or so she's always been told. It's hard not to think of the Night Lily -- that ridiculous, malfunctioning ship that had gotten away from her -- and not be a little bitter. Somehow, she doubts whatever traitorous royal was housed in the Lily was sitting shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee with five others, while wearing full ground vacuum rig sans helmet. It should be arriving soon, she'd been told, was possibly docked with a repair yard already. When word gets back to the Emperor of such an advance by the enemy, Mosi half expects that whoever in R&D is responsible for stealth research will very publicly disappear. Dragged into an unmarked vehicle on their way to work, or coming out of a meeting or performance, then never seen or heard from again. The Emperor likes the spectacle of it as much as the ambiguity.

"How fast do you think those defence arrays would blow us out of space if the stealth slipped for half a second?" the woman across from Mosi muses. Everyone else glares at her. The other pilot.

"Please don't tempt fate, Ensign," Mosi advises, flatly, and the rest of the passengers save for the blithe ensign rumble darkly in agreement. Half a second is generous. Should an unknown stealth vessel be detected this close to one of the pretender's greatest remaining strongholds, they would be riddled with holes and blown up in less than half that time. The space around Iapatus is far from empty or safe for true patriots.

The bright side of Iapatus is directly in front of them as they can all see on one of the tiny view screens built into the shuttle's ceiling. There's no docking at their ultimate destination directly. Stealth or no, people tend to notice when an enemy shuttle docks with a station and deposits a team of six. So they're destined for a long, nerve wracking descent to the moon's surface, and a trek through near vacuum to their contact's secure location. From there, apparently, transportation back up into space will be arranged. Irrational animosity or no, Mosi truly does not envy the pilot his painstaking trip back out of the system once he's deposited them.

When this was done -- if it was done -- Mosi would be back in good standing, possibly even in line for some manner of commendation. The cause of the invasion and the restoration of peace to the empire would be materially advanced. If Dame Nalah North should end up dead or disgraced in the process, then… so much the better. Mosi closes her eyes, and tries to keep those happy thoughts in mind, instead of thinking about how dead she will be if something, anything goes wrong.

It's a long, deeply uncomfortable trip.


Anchiale Station, Central Docking Port

The Rose's crew disembarks in good order, if not without an intensely buzzing enthusiasm. The ship's senior officers leave first in order to seek formal permission from the representative of Anchiale command waiting for them. This permission being granted is a foregone conclusion, but needs to be observed regardless. From there, the ship's occupants are allowed to leave in carefully planned order, funnelled into different receiving chambers depending on their status.

You find yourself drifting out into the officer's room near the end of the line. Elsewhere, the process of getting the civilians off the ship is likely already complete, with the crew well underway. You're in a narrow, square chamber, hatches on all four walls, vertical poles at regular intervals to serve as handholds for queuing officers. All of them are currently occupied as the line slowly progresses.

The harbour master's representative at the end of your line is swiping lazily on a tablet, making careful note of each departee. "Name and rank? Good. Identification number? Yes, I have you here. Welcome to Iapetus, Sub-Lieutenant. You're being issued temporary housing Beta Sphere, while intensive work is done on your ship." You see Mazlo go through the queue ahead of you, answering the same questions as all the others, and feel a surge of relief that you won't need to be near him for a period of time, at least.

Up ahead, in one corner of the room, you catch sight of Lady Perbeck, in conversation with an unfamiliar officer. Tall and thin, with a complexion somewhere between yours and Lieutenant Grayson's. Judging from his uniform, he's a pilot as well, although you don't immediately recognise the significance of his uniform colouration -- mint green, rather than turquoise. As they talk, his eyes briefly sweep over the line of officers. Are you imagining that he seems to take particular notice of you?

When it's your turn, the petty officer taking your details pauses on your name.

"I believe my mother is stationed here?" you prompt, "Dame Nalah North."

He nods, pinched features seemingly gratified at guessing right. Any single person stationed here is hardly going to know everyone, but a squad commander and a knight might tend to stand out. "You… resemble her, ma'am," he comments, before turning back to his screen.

"Would you, perhaps, be able to tell me where I can find her?" you ask, before he can wave you on.

Looking briefly startled, and on the verge of politely denying the request, he seems to relent, casting a furtive glance around for any of his direct superiors. There aren't any, however, and the only person behind you in line is seemingly occupied studying the rivets that hold the pole he's holding onto to both the decks. "I can check, ma'am," he says, fingers doing something on his tablet. A moment later, he shakes his head, giving you an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," he says, "Dame North is currently on a long-range scouting mission. She should return within the week."

"I see," you say, giving him a smile you know must be brittle with disappointment. "Thank you for looking regardless. It was very kind of you."

He flushes a little, and seems to glow under the faint praise, offering you a smile that's just awkward enough to be endearing, if not particularly attractive. "It was my pleasure, ma'am. I'm sending the details of where you'll be staying to your tablet -- you're in Beta Sphere."

You move past him, unsnapping your tablet from your belt to look at the information you've received, a motion made by almost everyone who went through line before you. The interactive map of the station that pops up is scalable and extremely detailed, showing where you are in the zero gravity spaceport, with a glowing path leading to one of the two habitation spheres. The thought of being in an open-air habitat again -- of large spaces and false sky -- would have made your heart quicken with anticipation moments before. Had made it quicken moments before. Now you can only feel a dull sense of anticipation -- your mother is the only family you have left in the world, after all Scouting missions of the sort she's embarked on are now exponentially more dangerous, considering the still substantially intact raiding fleet you were nearly killed by recently. There is every chance that she might not come back.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Perbeck break off from the man she was speaking to, crossing over to the same exit you're using. You salute, and she smiles at you as she returns it. Her smile is small, with an almost wry twist to it. "North," she says, politely. Her arm is out of its sling, you're happy to see, even if she's clearly favouring the other still.

You're to follow her out into the spaceport's wide shaft guided by your map's trail, but someone bumps into you before you can. Not hard, but enough to knock you off course, and necessitate whoever did it to grab you to keep you from drifting into anyone else. "Apologies, Ensign," says a voice with a surprisingly thick Martian accent. You look up in startelement to find none other than Perbeck's conversation partner from moments again, one lean arm holding onto your wrist to keep you from floating away.

"No harm done… Lieutenant-Commander," you say, finding the rank, along with M. OWUSU on his uniform. Your eyes widen at the eclipsed sun insignia on his breast, but you do your best to keep it from your voice.

"That's good," he says, good naturedly. As he releases you, you're alarmed to feel a hand slipping into your magnetically sealed pocket jacket pocket… only to slip out an instant later. "From what Glory's been saying, you've survived a lot. It would be a shame to be killed by some clumsy idiot at this point." He grins a little at his own joke, beautiful face dimpling distractingly. And that is the best word for him -- not so much handsome as beautiful. It's to a degree that you're skeptical it's the face he was born with, between sensual lips, laughing green eyes and a graceful, diamond cut jawline.

You don't quite know how to respond to self deprecating humour from an elite special forces pilot you've only just met. "No harm done, sir," you repeat, attaching yourself to one of the nearby poles again to use your free hand to straighten up your uniform. He nods, and floats past you with a backwards wave, passing a scowling Lady Perbeck as he goes. The look is directed at the Lieutenant-Commander Owusu, and she lets out a heavy sigh as he leaves.

Seeing your look, Perbeck explains: "We've met before." she pinches the bridge of her fine-featured nose, shutting both eyes. "I only spoke to the man for two minutes, but I think I've got a headache already. With any luck, in between all the debriefs and him sniffing around, I'll have some time for a real cup of tea before the enemy attacks us again."

"... Tempting fate, ma'am?" you ask.

She smiles a little again, breaking through the annoyance. "We're being invaded, North. Fate doesn't seem to need me to tempt it."

You wait until you're in the relative privacy of a transit shaft to reach into the pocket that Owusu reached into, and feel the edge of a piece of paper through your gloved fingers. A shiver goes down your spine. The eclipsed sun bad on his uniform is the symbol of Intel's Special Reconnaissance and Investigation branch, an outfit whose shadowy actions are infamous both in and out of the military. And he has handed you something on paper.

Despite long predictions about the demise of the world's oldest extant writing medium, paper has one clear advantage over anything else more technologically advanced: it is secure in a way that only a physical object can be, for particularly sensitive information only. You don't dare look at it until you can make a stop in a restroom, your back against the locked door as you carefully unfold the message:

It's written in naval code, but basic enough that you can easily read it without consulting a cipher. This was one of the first you learned, and it's almost as fast to parse it by this point as plain text. The hand that wrote the message was steady and confident in a way that most people never need to develop with pen and paper, and you wonder how many such missives Lieutenant-Commander Owusu has written in his career:

I would like a quick word in order to do some side work for me.
Details will be given in person only.
This is highly sensitive, not to be made common knowledge, your record indicates a history of discretion.
Please exercise it here!

PS don't panic this isn't anything bad for you

The paper also contains a location which you recognise as being somewhere in Alpha Sphere, clear on the other side of the station from where you're being temporarily housed, as well as a time on the following day. You're uncertain whether the addendum at the end makes you more or less comfortable with this whole situation. Regardless, you find yourself deeply confused as to what Owusu might need you for when, even out here on Iapetus, surely he has access to copious resources from Military Intelligence.

The letter makes it clear that the lieutenant-commander would prefer you not spread the existence of the planned meeting around, and perhaps you should tell absolutely no one. But this is all very strange and a little slapdash, and you find yourself longing to be able to tell someone. Whether just to have someone you trust to confide in, or simply to get instructions from within your actual chain of command.

Who do you tell about this?

[ ] No one
[ ] Lieutenant Grayson
[ ] Sub-Lietenant Mazlo
[ ] Anja
[ ] Lady Perbeck
[ ] Guardswoman J6