Metaldragon's Paraversal Haul, a Snippet Thread (Ft. Worm, Youjo Senki, and more)

Raising Hell 3
Raising Hell

3.0

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A/n: Huge thanks to @Sunshine and @Readhead for helping me roll this thing out here in time for the 4th of July

Tanya

After the battle at sea, the remaining journey to Tokyo 3 was thankfully both prompt and peaceful. A couple days of settling into our new accommodations to rest and reorganize followed, but soon enough I found myself facing my appointment with the heart of NERV's operations, and quite possibly the origin of its rot.

The city itself was… unique.

It was hardly the largest city I'd ever visited, of course. It had nothing on the megaopoli of New York, London, or even Tokyo 2. The verdant skin of Hakone's natural mountains had yet to be overtaken by Tokyo 3's urban sprawl. The air wasn't yet choked with pollutants. Its skyscrapers and highrises failed to entirely dominate the city skyline.

Instead, the new metropolis felt almost as if it had been planned for an eye towards something like harmony. Bleeding edge technology was sunk into every corner of the city, yet didn't choke out the natural Hakone landscape. Towering slabs of metal rose high into the sky, but only sparsely, in carefully planned blocks to keep from overly crowding the skyline. Affordable housing, extensive public transportation networks, a thriving job market, all supported by an organization trying to save the world.

It all seemed perfect.

Too perfect.

Walking through Tokyo 3, when compared to all the old mega cities, felt… off.

It may have been in harmony with nature, it may have been designed to be perfect for human habitation, but it didn't feel like it was made by humans. There was no history here, none of the little imperfections, none of character that came from the old world. It was a perfect paradise scrubbed clean of everything that made us human.

Its inland location also deprived it of the seaside location so iconic to the first Tokyo, long since lost in the Impact Wars. In many ways, it made me wonder why NERV even bothered to call it Tokyo 3, especially when Tokyo 2 was still around and currently the capital of Japan.

Perhaps it is a testament to their ego, I mused, continuing through the city. The arrogance to take a dead symbol's name, already honored, and claim it for their own. And the power to back it up.

The morning truly began when I met up with Misato at our scheduled rendezvous in front of one of Tokyo 3's mag-lev train stations.

"Colonel!" Misato greeted me with a smile far less genuinely carefree than the first one she had met me with. "Glad you could join me for this little jaunt at the crack of dawn."

Beside her were NERV's two other children. Shinji I'd met already, though in this case he only looked barely awake. Hardly surprising, given his age and the early hour, but his schedule required adjustment sooner rather than later. The morning before school was an excellent time to get some basic PT in.

A decided lack of military discipline aside, forward intelligence had given me at least something of a handle on Shinji. Ayanami Rei, on the other hand, was a complete blank. She had seemingly sprung from nothing, appearing fully formed and in NERV's custody as soon as she was officially named as the prototype's pilot. Legally, she was also under Ikari Gendo's guardianship, but wasn't listed as his child in Japan's registry, which was equally devoid of any mention of her mother. My first meeting with the girl in person entirely failed to ease my concern in regards to any of these points.

If anything, the meeting had done nothing but raise my blood to a boiling heat.

She looks like a doll, I thought, looking the pale girl over. Perhaps that is why every so-called adult here seems content to treat her as one?

Between alabaster skin that looked like it had never seen the sun, dull red eyes that looked on with a glassy disinterest, and fine powder-blue hair, NERV's first pilot had an almost ethereal appearance. Eerie perhaps would be the better descriptor, especially considering the empty hopelessness clear in her face. If Shinji looked like a child soldier that NERV only pulled out of a box to fight giant monsters before shoving him back in, Rei looked like an empty toy soldier they'd wind up whenever they needed another sacrifice.

Seeing such a gross mishandling of vital resources was one thing, but a direct confrontation with a vision of how well my niece would have fared under NERV's tender care? Getting a perfect look at just how inept and uncaring NERV was of tending to even the most fundamental needs of a child, and seeing how clearly they perceived their miracle Children as little more than objects?

I couldn't help but be reminded of another war, another set of cold commanders whose desperation and icy detachment drove them to sacrifice the flower of their country's youth. Those days in Germania, of Being X's machinations in the Great War, had seen desperate slaughter from the enemy and chilling disinterest in the welfare of the fighting man from our leaders. I may have been the first child thrown into battle during those terrible days, but I was hardly the last. How many cadets and high school students were ripped from their classrooms to knit our tattered lines back together, shoulder to shoulder with old reservists called out one last time? How many young faces made ancient had flown, briefly, beside me?

Perhaps more to the point, how might Mary Souix have lived had Being X not gotten his claws into her? What talent that girl had possessed, what natural gifts? All twisted in the service of an uncaring parasite, all squandered! Looking at my supremely talented niece, endowed with incredible gifts of mind and spirit…

How might Asuka have suffered if I'd allowed NERV to get their claws into her?

I'm sure the UN will be most interested to hear how NERV treats the Children they find to pilot their Evangelions, upon whose efforts all our lives depend, I thought. "Think of the children" is an evergreen trope, after all, time-honored by propagandists and politicians across generations for a reason. Namely, that it frequently works and is difficult at best to defend against.

Still, I tucked that thought aside. I was not truly at war with NERV, after all. Not yet.

"A splendid morning to you as well, Major," I replied, burying my rage under ironclad professionalism. "I hope we can get this matter settled quickly and cleanly. I'm sure we both have busy schedules, after all."

"Yep!" She smirked, though it looked a bit strained. "But… uh… I have to admit, I didn't expect you to bring half your brigade with you."

Standing at my shoulders were Lieutenant Colonels MacMillian and Dufrane. The bear of a Scotsman was resplendent in his dress uniform, adorned with the regimental insignia of the Parachute Regiment, topped with a maroon cap, and sporting a confident grin under his red mustache. Dufrane, by contrast, wore her pilot's wings with the languid pride that was her signature, the slim Frenchwoman of North African descent looking almost painfully tidy with her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun.

They were flanked by my adjutant, Major Karius. The German officer reminded me, somewhat, of my old colleague General Lergen, as if a younger version of him had reincarnated to serve as my junior in some bizarre twist of fate concocted by Being X. A sharp bespectacled face was all but pressed to his tablet, monitoring the constant flood of data coming in from the upkeep of running a brigade. He stayed on top of that flow of updates and urgent reports with the utmost efficiency and professionalism that had earned him his place as my aide-de-camp in less happy times.

Finally, all but glued to my side was Asuka, who by contrast to the other two pilots looked bright and full of energy after our morning run.

"I certainly wouldn't want to wander into the beating heart of the enemy alone," I remarked lightly, offering the woman a smile to let her know I was joking.

"Ah… haha… Yeah…" Misato chuckled nervously for some reason.

I looked at MacMillian, who just shrugged, and Dufrane, who just gave me a raised brow. I didn't need to look at Asuka to feel her smug grin radiating off her face, nor know that Karius was holding back a long-suffering sigh.

"So, how about we get going then?" Misato said, gesturing to the car that would take into the bowels of NERV.

I sighed, once again wondering about the confounding irrationalities of humanity at times. "Very well."

A few minutes of travel later, and the train car passed through the last layer of Tokyo 3's armored surface, and I was finally able to lay my eyes upon the fabled landscape of NERV's Geofront.

The sight was breathtaking.

It was more than a mere underground city or buried fortress, it was an entire landscape, a fully realized ecosystem, contained entirely underground. A massive dome, kilometers in diameter, stretched across the space, perfectly illuminated by a dizzying array of powerful lights and vast shutters open to let in the sun. Fields of emerald green topped with a verdant forest rolled down to the shores of a crystal clear lake brimming with sparklingly pristine water.

The impossibly idyllic scene was completed with a view of NERV's Central Dogma, the core of their HQ. Out of the scenic landscape rose a gleaming pyramid, a shining diamond surrounded by the beauty of nature, all while the city of Tokyo 3 hung above.

Except, of course, there was nothing natural about it. The artifice of the entire landscape was highlighted by the frigate sitting at anchor in the lake.

…What? I thought, mind blanking at the absurd sight of an entire warship being placed in an artificial underground lake barely large enough to hold it, and buried beneath a bustling city. …I have so many questions.

Such as, how the hell did NERV even get it down there? And it is a Nerv warship… it has their markings and a pennant number, so are there more of these things? What even is the point of the damn thing?


I could already feel the headache pulsing behind my eyes and the day had barely even started.

"And here's the Geofront, the beating heart of NERV itself," Misato said with a smirk, sweeping a hand across the view provided by the panoramic windows. "Quite the spectacular view, eh?"

I could tell the moment Dufrane noticed the ship by the way her eye twitched.

MacMillain's awkward, coughing attempt to bury a laugh did not help.

I turned to give Misato a look. "...Is this what NERV is spending its budget on?"

She gave me a look like I just told about my cat's hairball. "Eh… What?"

"How much did all this cost?" I asked, gesturing to the underground sunlit forest NERV had around their HQ, complete with a naval escort. "Either you made this whole… paradise or whatever down here yourselves, or you made the roof that holds Tokyo 3 up above us. In either case, how many taxpayer dollars did you waste on this vanity project while the rest of us were trying to survive?"

"Ah…" Misato glanced around nervously, obviously caught flat footed.

"That's not even getting into the entire warship you decided to smuggle down here to guard this place," I continued. "I dearly hope there isn't a nuclear missile submarine hiding down here with it, but at this point I'm not sure I'd even be surprised."

Dufrane, deciding to tap into the combined aloof disdain of being a Frenchwoman and a fighter pilot, scoffed and turned her nose up at the whole thing.

MacMillian just looked on with an empty smile only betrayed by his twitching mustache, the giant of a man no doubt screaming on the inside.

Karius didn't say a word, but I could practically feel the sympathetic migraine building behind his own temples.

None of this seemed to be helping the poor major deal with my reaction.

I might have been fine with that, but I caught the smug expression creeping up on Asuka's face, and the way Shinji's shoulders shifted, and decided to not be too hard on the girl.

"...I suppose you would have still been serving in the JSDF when all this construction was being done, no?" I admitted.

Slowly she nodded. "Yeah… I… Well, I gotta admit, I don't know how they did it, but Tokyo 3 was already built by the time I signed on. And…"

Misato winced, winced, sending a guilty look towards the idyllic scenery below. "After the Impact Wars, working at a place like this? It… it is like paradise."

I gave the verdant underground forest another look. For a moment, the beautiful landscape was overtaken by images of the war ravaged battlefields, as arsenals of hyper advanced weapons, sharpened for decades, were used to lay waste to the world.

And it's not like the futility of Germania's "Great War" was any better, I thought.

"I suppose I can understand that," I said, only a tad bit grudgingly, "However, the point still stands that most of the world is still putting itself back together again after the 2nd Impact, and the UN is giving NERV a truly absurd amount of funding to prevent a 3rd. To see that funding used on something as frivolous as their own personal Eden… Is…"

"The incompetence is almost as insulting as the arrogance," Lt. Colonel Dufrane supplied, the contempt of her French accent turning her words into a lash. "Honestly, I am amazed you haven't yet choked on it."

"Hah!" MacMillian barked a laugh. "At least when the Ruskies scam the budget, they try to hide it!"

Karius let out a faint hum that told me he was very much marking all this down for a future report.

Misato groaned and massaged her head, clearly seeing exactly how "fun" working with us would be.

For some reason, I couldn't find it in my heart to pity NERV.

An opinion that I found myself reaffirming when I finally saw the heart of NERV.

Central Dogma was an enormous building full of a labyrinthian mess of winding corridors lacking any clear layout. To make matters worse, if the name didn't make it clear enough, much of the colossal structure seemed dedicated specifically to fluffing NERV's ego with a thin veneer of scraping before the altar of technological sophistication. In that, it was consistent with the rest of Tokyo 3 and the Geofront, and when we finally stepped foot inside Commander Ikari's office, I found myself utterly unsurprised to see more of the same.

Though the sheer scale of it all does boggle the mind, I thought, eyes roaming across the massive expanse Ikari Gendo had carved out for himself. The room he called an office was utterly absurd in its dimensions, likely having more square footage than any entire house I'd ever lived in, and all of it was filled with nothing.

What on earth could he need all this space for? Presentations?

It was, admittedly, something of an intimidating setting to meet the head of the shadowy agency, in its own way. The enormous wraparound window flooding the room with the bright scenery of the Geofront certainly provided quite the atmosphere, especially considering how the almost searing light somehow only made the room darker by its contrast.

A throne room of sorts then?

I looked out across the vast expanse to where Commander Ikari Gendo sat at his desk, hands folded before himself, waiting for me to approach. Standing dutifully behind him was Dr. Ritsuko Akagi, NERV's head scientist and miracle worker, and Deputy Commander Fuyutsuki, an old professor of metaphysical biology and Gendo's right hand in this operation. All of it screamed of a king holding court with his loyal advisors whispering in his ear.

It certainly fits.

"Commander," Misato clicked her heels as she greeted her boss, displaying a surprising amount of professionalism in the gesture. "The NATO delegation, as ordered."

"Thank you, Major, that will be all," Gendo rumbled, not even bothering to look at his subordinate as he dismissed her. Instead, his eyes stabbed out through orange tinted glasses, fixed squarely on me.

"Sir," Misato bowed fractionally and stepped over to join her colleagues on Gendo's side of the line.

So Ikari has his witch, his wizard, and his general, all ready to confront little old me. All that's missing is his spymaster. I bit back a smile. I suppose that's fair. I didn't come alone either.

"Welcome to Tokyo 3, Colonel Zeppelin," the commander said with an empty smile, the eyes of a dead fish staring back at me from behind his glasses. "I hope the city is treating you well."

"Thank you, Commander Ikari. Thus far, the city has been an experience unlike any I've seen in the world," I replied, entirely honest. "After the excitement of my trip here, it has been a relief to find Tokyo 3 so accommodating for my brigade and I. Asuka, in particular, has been enjoying many of the technological innovations our new home has to offer."

I could practically feel my niece fidget behind me, but she knew how to behave herself in circumstances like this.

"The pleasure is all mine," Commander Ikari murmured from behind his folded hands. "I'm happy to hear that you've been enjoying yourselves here. I do hope it stays that way."

"And I hope this is the start to a most productive working relationship between us," I said, smiling pleasantly as I let the veiled threat wash over me like rain over a mountain. "After all, we all want the same thing, don't we?"

"Ensuring the bright future of humanity," Gendo agreed, words falling from his lips like a mantra.

"Indeed," I nodded. "The 2nd Impact nearly destroyed us. I'm sure that we can all agree that the last thing we want is to see a 3rd, no? And if we are to survive this existential threat to all mankind, cooperation is paramount."

Gendo looked at me carefully, something inscrutable passing behind his eyes. "...You are correct, Colonel. We must all play our part in this crisis. The UN can rest assured that NERV has made it its mission to solve the problem of the Angels, whatever it takes. When extinction is on the line, no measure can be too extreme."

"Wunderbar! I am quite relieved to hear you say that, Commander. In that case, I have a present for you." I let my smile grow a few teeth. "Major Karius?"

At my word, my adjutant stepped up to my side and produced a thick binder stuffed with printed files.

"Thank you, Major." I took the papers from his hand and placed them neatly on Commander Ikari's desk, right before his folded fingers. "These, Commander, are a series of reports and recommendations I have composed on how NERV can improve its readiness rating and combat effectiveness against the Angels."

"As you said, Commander, we must do whatever it takes to survive." I gestured to the reports. "Consider this constructive criticism from my position as NATO's oversight representative. What I, in my professional opinion, believe it will take to accomplish this mission."

Commander Ikari looked at the reports on his desk with a stoney expression. I was quite sure he would have looked happier if I'd thrown a rotting badger on there instead. "...I see."

I could see the gears turn in his head, recalculating his position behind his mask.

"Thank you for the…'gift', Colonel. I will take it under advisement." He smiled up at me, the amiable mask of a professional pulled onto his lips. "Was there anything else I could help you with today?"

"I am so glad you asked, Commander." I held up an open hand. "Major?" Dutifully, my adjutant placed a second binder in my hand.

"This," I placed the equally thick bundle of paperwork on the Commander's desk, "Is a series of requests for joint training sessions and proposals for team building exercises. To start, I am inviting all the Evangelioin Pilots and their guardians over to my place tonight, so we may discuss unit cohesion among the Children over dinner."

For the briefest instant, I could swear Gendo's eye twitched.

I smiled.

"I do hope you'll attend."




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Tanya

I looked over the airport from my position in the observation room in the air traffic control tower. After my meeting with Commander Ikari, I'd dropped Asuka off at our new house to start preparing for tonight while I went off to address the other half of my job here in Tokyo 3.

Below me, the bustling aprons, hangers, and runways stretched out in the early hours of the morning, the sun's early light somehow making the asphalt shimmer into something approaching an appealing vista. An impressive vision of human achievement in its own way, functionality almost overcoming the dearth of form.

Tokyo-3's airport was enormous, easily one of the largest in the world despite how new it and the rest of the science city were. Just like many other aspects of Tokyo-3, the airport was decidedly excessive in its scope. It was strange, again just like the rest of the city. Some of the monolithic structures and advanced technology interwoven into every fiber of the sprawling complex were admittedly impressive, while others seemed more like exercises conducted by NERV in the hopes of exploring the outer boundary of just how much money they could waste. Still more constructions seemed… almost religious in their designs, the influence of Christian iconography as clear as it was out of place.

For instance, I wondered, why make a traffic control tower in the shape of a monolithic cross? What possible benefit do the arms serve?

Not to mention the peculiar layout of the runways below me. Squinting down at the intersecting lines criss-crossing the pavement below me, an image straight from the Nazca Lines swam into focus.

Still, at least it's within the bounds of reason, unlike the Geofront. I shivered at the thought of that enormous waste of taxpayer funds. And, at least here on the surface, the JSDF has jurisdiction.

"Major Karius," I started, "how is the brigade settling into Air Base Hakone?"

"Quite well, Colonel," Karius nodded, the screen of his tablet reflecting off the lenses of his glasses. "The JSDF has been most accommodating so far, and most of our squadrons are almost back to full operational readiness."

Something of an impressive feat given how many had to be partially disassembled for the trip over here.

"Per your orders, priority has been given to getting the Condor Heavy VTOL transports up and running, as well as the hardware of the new Evangelion Support Battalion," Karius continued without looking up from the tablet.

I glanced over to my corner of the sprawling air base, taking note of what aircraft I could spot sitting outside of their cavernous hangers. The Condor was a massive aircraft, comparable to the old C-17 Globemaster, but built around four rotating engine nacelles capable of providing considerable lift and thrust. The combination allowed the Condor to rapidly transport all but the heaviest armored vehicles into even the most remote locations. Rugged as they were, the big Condors still required oceans of fuel and a massive ground crew to keep running.

Despite their thirst, they were supremely useful, given how much heavy machinery the Evangelion Support Battalion required. Cranes, military engineering vehicles, power generators, the massive power cables to link them into an Evangelion, and more. When lifted by the Condor Squadron, and supported by my own infantry, the support battalion could go anywhere across Japan and set up a temporary HQ. From there, the battalion could power an Evangelion, provide field repairs and re-arming, and even conduct limited recovery missions. That was to say nothing of what a fire base could do for my brigade as a whole to support the Evangelions.

At least, so went the theory. In practice, the experimental doctrine had never been tried in the field against an actual Angel.

Or, should the worst occur, something more… human.

"Following which, the Assault VTOL Squadron and Air Command Squadron have a secondary and tertiary priority, respectively," Karuis said, scrolling down to the next item of his report. "The Assault VTOL Squadron will require more maintenance checks before they are at full readiness, but the Air Command Squadron estimates that it will take at least two weeks to put everything back together and regain full operational capacity."

The Assault VTOL Squadron under my command had a mix of a few different types, but the general idea was to combine a mix of infantry transport birds with attack birds. The primary core of the squadron was the YAGR-3B "Jaeger" close air support craft. It was functionally similar to the Russian Hind in performance, acting at times as both an attack and transport helicopter, though its rotating engines and small wings allowed it the speed and range of a plane.

Beside it was the much smaller MV-6 Dragonfly light VTOL, which functioned something more like the old American Little Bird, a quick-moving craft best used in urban environments to move troops and provide light support. It also had the benefit of being relatively low maintenance and cheap.

Rounding things out was the AV-22 Sparrowhawk attack craft, which was almost as nimble as the Dragonfly, but built around a powerful Tactical Laser System, or TLS, and enough ordinance to match the Jaeger. All that capability came at a cost, however. The Sparrowhawk had a not undeserved reputation as a hanger queen model.

"The Jaegers and Dragonflys are ready to go at your order, Colonel," Karuis continued. "The Sparrowhawks, however, are proving temperamental."

"We will make it work, Major. Furthermore, it is good that we have our transport craft already prepped and waiting to go." I nodded, satisfied. "If we are to be an Evangelion Support Brigade, we best be able to rapidly deploy our support teams as quickly as possible. We may never know when the next Angel will strike, but when it does, the Evangelions have proven they will be the tip of the spear, not us.

"Our job is to be the shaft that braces them, and the blade that follows through."

I turned to face the other two people I'd gathered in the room. "Lt. Colonel MacMillian, how are your troops settling in?"

It was an inescapable fact of war that, no matter how much hardware you had, or how much ordinance you dropped on an objective, at some point you'd have to set boots firmly on the ground to actually take the objective. Fighting giant alien monsters changed that equation somewhat, but it didn't change the fact that NERV's HQ and Tokyo 3 as a whole were critical to the survival of humanity. Outside the city, an elite infantry unit on tap and ready to deploy alongside the rest of my air-mobile forces was an invaluable asset that could serve all manner of roles, such as recon, security, and even extra hands.

For that purpose, Lt Colonel MacMillian was my boot of choice.

The Scotsman smiled and replied in his thick Gaelic accent, butchering my mother tongue in the process. "Aye, Colonel, the 1st Air Assault Battalion has been getting a damn fine lay of the land with the JSDF and your own Air Force Battalion. Already we're coordinating on strategies to rapidly deploy in the city and defend the Geofront, with or without your Assault VTOL Squadron."

"And when deploying with the support battalion in an Angel operation?" I asked.

"We've wargamed as well as we can, ma'am," he readily replied, before qualifying. "But, there's only so much we can really do without an Angel to actually cut our teeth on, and given how different they've all been so far, well… It's a bit hard to train for a fight that could include everything between a giant bloody fish to an angry fucking laser cube, but we're mak'n a damn fine go of it."

The redhead's smile became a toothy grin, "And we wouldn't've become Paras if we wanted it easy, would we ma'am?"

Battle hungry masochistic lunatics, the lot of them, I thought as I looked up at the towering trooper. But they're my lunatics, and they're damn fine professionals when it counts.

"Excellent job, MacMillian," I replied with a firm nod. "Keep this up, and I'll see about making knives for your battalion out of the first Angel they help kill."

The twinkle in his eyes told me my joke had the desired impact on his morale. I could already picture the rumor being spread around to the rest of his battalion faster than dysentery in a communist prison camp. If I'd pegged them right, hopefully it would be received with far more enthusiasm.

"Lt. Colonel Dufrane?" I prompted the woman.

"My squadron has achieved moderate readiness," the mocha-skinned woman replied languidly. Given her standards, that may as well have been a sterling compliment. "Some of the new weapon systems are still being…" She paused, rolling a word around in her mouth for a moment before deciding on, "...moody."

I frowned. "The same problem as the Sparrowhawk? The TLS again?"

"The TLS, the MPBM, the Gauss Cannon…" she shrugged, "The Tempest is the most bleeding edge strike fighter ever devised by Europe… but it did not quite have the most gentle birth."

"True…" I nodded, well aware of the Tempest's development history. "With how the War went then, and Angels now… Well, they say necessity is the mother of invention, and desperate times call for desperate measures. And we are quite desperate now."

"How diplomatic, Colonal," said Dufrane, smiling thinly. "Given that my pilots and I will be flying these fantastical death machines, I would prefer to say the desk jockeys who came up with these things were half geniuses, half monkeys flinging feces at the wall until something happened to stick."

I repressed a shudder as my mind spun back to my old old days with Schugel and the Type 95.

"Fair enough, Lt Colonel," I acknowledge. "Workarounds? Your pilots are my heavy hitters in the Brigade, it'd be a shame to see their wings clipped."

"As if I would allow them to be so lazy!" Dufrane scoffed. "If we stick to the more conventional munitions, the problems are minimized. The plane itself is superb, when it cooperates, and minimizing the points of failure helps smooth things over. We are still working through the teething pains, but if you require us to dominate the skies or bury your foes in bunker busting bombs, we can deliver at your command, ma'am."

"Hmm… I'll see about sending more technichans over to sort out the kinks," I said. "And tapping the JSDF for help too. Their Shindens were developed in a comparable program, so they might've found similar problems."

"Assuming they are willing to help, ma'am," the Frenchwoman pointed out. "Not always a given."

"True," I agreed with a nod. "But I have a good feeling about this."

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

I grinned. "Speak of the devil."

A gesture had the soldiers manning the door swing it open to reveal two JSDF officers.

"General Shindou." I saluted the old battleax of an intelligence officer. "An honor to meet the Grey Man in the flesh."

The fabled "Grey Man of Japan" was something like a legend in intelligence circles, at least as far as the Pacific was concerned. Given his job, I hadn't heard much about him personally, and everything I had was suspect to say the least. But, if even a quarter of the rumors were true, then I would be very glad to have him on my side. Or, at least, aiming his icy glare NERV's way, rather than my own.

"Colonel Zeppelin," he replied curtly, returning the gesture. "Or should I be calling you Titania? I'll admit, it's something of a pleasure to meet the woman who was such a pain in Ivan's ass."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the overly dramatic moniker I'd picked up. Being called the "Queen of the Fairies" didn't feel nearly as flattering as I'm sure most people thought it was. Unfortunately, it being a catchy way to mangle my name to "honor" me probably only half the reason it had stuck. It never would have gotten to the public eye in the first place if my colleagues didn't know how much it annoyed me.

Still, I suppose fair was fair.

"Simply doing my job, General," I said breezily, hoping to wave the nickname off entirely.

"You say that like you aren't the most decorated living ace in Europe," Shindou remarked, something like a grin tugging at his lips as he twisted the knife. "Why, a little birdy told me that by the end of the war your pilots were practically hunting Migs for sport! I would hardly call putting the Bear on the endangered species list just doing your job, Colonel."

I shrugged, smiling with the full awareness that the Grey Man was trying to get a rise out of me and refusing to play into his hands. "It's good for a woman to enjoy what she does, General."

He chuckled, a low grim thing that promised prolonged discomfort, or perhaps incredibly short and acute suffering, for someone, somewhere. "Indeed, Colonel, indeed. And may we never work a day in our lives, eh?"

I allowed myself to return the smile with a hint of "sincerity" that wasn't entirely feigned. "I couldn't agree more, General. And on that note…" I turned and gestured out the window of the tower, out to where my brigade's birds had set up shop. "I must thank you and the JSDF for their hospitality. My soldiers have certainly been enjoying the work you have put in to make us feel welcome."

"Heh," Shindou chuckled bitterly, "Truth be told, Colonel, I hate the fact that you and your people are here."

I blinked. That… seems awfully blunt for a supposed master of the spy game.

"Your brigade being here is basically a giant signal flare to the world that Japan is admitting it can't handle its own affairs," the general grumbled, stepping up beside me to scowl out across the airfield. "I'm only being this frank with you, Colonel, because there's three things I hate more than watching NATO sniff around in my backyard."

He shot me a glare. "Communists, NERV, and losing. In that order." His lip twitched up into something that could almost be called a smile. "Given your own history, I'm sure you can appreciate that."

A spike of something hot and hateful ripped through my heart. I clenched my jaw and focused for a moment on a set of magical formulae, running through the advanced calculations in an attempt to filter out my knee-jerk response.

Just a power play, no doubt, I told myself. The Grey Man tugging on his strings to let me know I'm sitting in his web. Don't get distracted.

"I can," I replied coolly. "I assume this is about more than your stolen positron gun?"

"Hmph. Damn right it is." Shindou's mouth twitched, and for a moment it looked like he was about to spit. He glanced at me, grunted with distaste, and then continued. "You took a tour of NERV's HQ today, Colonel. What did you think of the place?"

I bit down on my knee-jerk response, that damn boat, and thought about my response for a moment before saying, "I found it an egregious waste of resources spent on creating their own artificial Eden for a purpose entirely unknown to me and to my superiors. From my understanding of the situation, the Diet has declared Tokyo-3 a Special District under NERV's exclusive control, essentially turning it into Ikari Gendo's personal kingdom."

"More like an overgrown cult compound," the general caustically remarked. "NERV's been spreading their message of a 'bright new future for humanity' all over the place, and after the Impact Wars, plenty of people are willing to bite. They take the best and brightest from all over the world, draw them in with the lure of their little technological garden paradise. Then they put them to work deep in the secret bunker of theirs making hyper-advanced kaiju-killing superweapons that they say won't be turned on us."

This time, Shindou didn't bother restraining himself, turning his head to spit somewhere other than at my feet as he scoffed. "I don't believe it. Not for a moment. Weapons like the Evangelions? NERV isn't going to be content to just put their toys away once they're through with the Angels, not with how greedy for power Ikari is."

"I'd been wondering about that," I commented. "It seems to me like NERV has been attempting to utilize its monopoly on anti-Angel measures to effectively bludgeon others into playing its games."

"Unfortunately," Shindou agreed, glowering at the cityscape through the control tower's broad windows. "Commander Ikari is not one for 'cooperation'. To him, you're either a tool or you're an obstacle." Shindou glanced up at me. "And your presence here, Colonel, has made you quite the obstacle for him. In my experience, Ikari has no patience for obstacles."

"Into every life a little rain must fall," I vaguely replied with a suggestion of a smile. "What a shame for Commander Ikari that he will simply have to learn to deal with me."

"A shame indeed…" Shindou replied noncommittally, slate grey eyes boring down on me. "Perhaps you should be worried about him doing exactly that, hmm?"

"Better have tried," I shrugged. "I'm still here."

As if I'd let another one of Being X's puppets get the best of me now.

General Shindou's gaze shifted to focus on my right eye.

I felt the socket itch.

"Hmph! Most of you, anyway." He grunted again, a ghost of a smirk on his pale lips. "In that case, Colonel, let me say that for all I hate NATO's presence here, I can at least tolerate you. Whenever NERV isn't a three ring circus run by a cult of mad scientists, it's a damnably cryptic and controlling new power. And the Angels…well good luck getting those monsters to negotiate."

"Now, I'm not alone in my doubts about you and your fancy brigade, Colonel," the general cautioned to my complete lack of surprise, "but your actions in the Pacific taking down Gaghiel proved your credentials to me more than all the salad on your dress. Most importantly, they proved we can actually work with you. The glory the Navy is raking in with the Kaga is proof enough of that."

I nodded along with his words, silently enjoying the ever-transient glow of victory as I received confirmation that my plan to signal my intent had worked.

It only reaffirmed the value of strategically sharing credit to me. Once again, cooperation had proven not only a rational idea and an effective plan for the moment, but a sound investment towards furthering my future goals. Politics might not be my favorite game, but one didn't become a colonel without at least acknowledging the game existed.

Likewise, signaling to others that I was a true team player, and doing so often and in public, would hopefully yield rewards in the future, both from reciprocity and by encouraging others around me towards a path of mutual benefit. It was, in essence, a matter of marketing. The marketing of reason. By spreading my message of cooperation and success far and wide, accompanied by the most evocative spin the propagandists back home could dream up, my investment would see returns from those willing to work with me to find profit. Especially when compared with Commander Ikari and NERV's isolationist infamy.

Truly, he provided an excellent negative example of how to run a large organization.

And it seems like yet another of my investments have paid off! I nearly smiled.

Still… I've lived enough years by now to know that mankind is so frequently irrational, I thought, lip involuntarily curling at the thought. Case in point, I have no idea what game Commander Ikari thinks he's playing with the fate of humanity in his hands.

"The first time an Angel has officially been killed by organizations outside of NERV, at least in part, and the politicians are eating it up. We're all milking this win for all it's worth, and NERV can't do a damn thing about it." Shindou laughed softly to himself, the hard lines of perpetual disgruntlement softening for a moment with malevolent amusement.

"It's all a bunch of political theater," he continued, the disparaging tone shifting to something almost whimsical. "We're all patting one another on the back for a job well done, talking about how Japan, the US, UK, France, and Germany, are all happy friends, but all the while probing for advantage. All business as usual there, but now that the sharks have a nostril full of blood… Well, Ikari's lost just a sliver of his room to maneuver…"

General Shindou turned and regarded me with a smirk. "I've even heard that you and your niece have become quite the media darlings as well. Something about Asuka being your second coming?"

"I've heard that as well, and it's patently ridiculous," I grumbled, irritated by the consummate laziness of members of the Fourth Estate the world over. "I simply did my job, did my best to stay alive, and that's it. I certainly never undertook something as fantastical as fighting Kaiju to save humanity. The talking heads have somehow managed to bury the lead."

…That said, I should probably give Asuka some pointers on how to deal with the public. Publicity can be a volatile commodity, though quite valuable if wielded correctly. Though sometimes one has to swallow a bit of pride to deal with the banality of press tours.

For some reason that drew a snort from the man.

"Regardless, you've proven yourself competent and cooperative, which is more than I can say of NERV. With your niece, you have a rare opportunity to carve out their monopoly on power, and I'd be a fool to simply dismiss this chance entirely." General Shindou turned and gestured to the subordinate who'd followed him in here. "To that end, I am assigning you Captain Tahata as your liaison for the JSDF and DIH. He'll be able to smooth things over for you while you're on our soil."

The captain stepped forward, immediately presenting an interesting contrast with his superior. Compared to the general's almost vampiric appearance, the much younger and far more conventionally handsome officer almost seemed to radiate vitality and life. Despite all that, his gaze was a near approximation of General Shindou's. Clearly, he was trying to play the good subordinate by imitating the general's piercing stare. To his credit, it wasn't a bad second option, although he had yet to replicate the Grey Man's incisive sharpness.

"A pleasure, Colonel," Captain Tahata said by way of greeting, snapping off a crisp salute.

"Indeed, Captain," I returned the gesture, then shot the two JSDF officers a careful look. "And I'm assuming your job will also be to keep an eye on me?"

Tahata gave me a smile that wouldn't melt butter. "Why, Colonel, my only job is to make sure your stay in Japan is as pleasant as possible for all involved."

Which, conveniently, could include making sure I don't cause any undue trouble for your people.

"Fair enough." I nodded, having expected something along these lines as a rider to any cooperation with the JSDF. "Then I suppose I should welcome you aboard my team. And…"

I checked my internal clock to make sure everything was exactly when it was supposed to be.

"...and it seems you've joined us at the perfect time." I smiled, stepping back to the massive window of the observation deck. "The two of you will get to see our final member of this motley crew join us."

Shindou huffed and put on a vaguely amused look. Tahata was almost unreadable, but I could see the slight confusion in his eyes. Something that vanished when he saw what I was talking about.

"...Ah, I see." He said simply. "The Americans."

"Displaying all the grace of a drunken hippo." Dufrane commented. "And twice the gluttony."

"Aye, but if you want the experts in superheavy transports…" MacMillian replied.

"...What better place than the people that invented them?" Tahata supplied.

"I've always found it wise to go to the proven experts first," I said, gazing at the massive shapes descending from the sky, "and in this field, NERV is admittedly skilled, but they aren't the best quite yet."

That honor, of being the greatest rapid-heavy transportation force, still belonged to the United States and their fleet of Superheavy aircraft.

In particular, the USAF Liberty, her air fleet, and the Superheavy Transports she was escorting to Tokyo 3.

The Superheavy Airframe, developed and extensively utilized by the United States during the Impact Wars, was such a massive craft that very few airports could support them, and oftentimes the craft went for water landings. A fact not helped by their incredible thirst, the covnentionally powered variants of the frame required enough fuel for one sortie to bankrupt a small country. Tokyo-3 was one of the few cities capable of servicing them, with NERV utilizing their own second-hand Superheavies to transport their Evangelions by air.

Today, they were getting four more.

"Say hello to the 205th AirLift Squadron," I introduced the new arrivals.

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Asuka

"I'm home."

My ears perked up as the front door slid closed behind Aunt Tanya, but most of my focus remained on the task before me.

"Hey," I muttered back.

"How has it been coming?" Aunt Tanya asked, her boots stomping down the short hall towards me.

"Alright," I absently replied, maintaining my focus on piping out the last of the strawberry macarons onto the baking sheet.

"Good," she said, stopping by the kitchen to give me a brief one armed hug. She was gentle enough not to disturb me as I worked, which I appreciated almost as much as the hug itself. "They look wonderful. Filling?"

"Chocolate." I pushed my shoulder into the embrace without letting my hand waver. I jerked my chin in the direction of the microwave. "Ganache is in there."

"Hmm…" Aunt Tanya dropped the embrace and stepped away, a certain hum in her voice as she did.

"Oi! No tasting yet!" I snapped, turning from finishing the last macaron to shoot her a glare.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aunt Tanya said innocently as she glided past the microwave.

"Don't give me that innocent look," I grumbled, putting the piping bag away and preparing the cover for the macarons for them to dry. "There's a reason I put it in the microwave. You and your sticky chocolate fingers."

"What a rude thing to say to the one who helped encourage your baking talents in the first place," my aunt said, her blandly unemotional tone somehow sardonic, all while retrieving a bar of chocolate from the pantry and snapping off a square for herself.

I gave her a pointed glare.

She bit into the square with a loud crack.

"Would you like some?" She held the bar out for me.

"...Yes." I reluctantly muttered.

She snapped the bar in half and threw the fraction still in the wrapper at me at an odd angle. I was able to catch it easily enough, but only with a brief use of the thought acceleration formula she'd taught me. Of course, by the time I looked up, she had already disappeared into her bedroom without so much as a glimpse or a whisper.

"...I need to learn how to do that," I muttered, privately impressed with her abilities as always.

I shook my head and focused on the task at hand. A quick bite into the candy bar, some incredibly sweet local variety I'd never heard of before, and I threw myself into cleaning up the organized chaos I'd left in my wake from baking. There were still a few things left on my list to take care of, the ganache filling for the macarons after the bake, as well as the German chocolate cake currently finishing in the oven. All of which had to be taken care of before I put in the pretzels if I wanted the bread to be nice and warm in time for when the others got here for dinner.

So much to do, so much to do I thought to myself as I worked through the unfamiliar kitchen.

I'd been baking for a while at this point, and I could call myself a pretty good hand at it, but most of it had been done in the same kitchen, one I'd grown accustomed to. This new place in Tokyo-3 was certainly state of the art, Aunt Tanya had spared no expense when it came to our accommodations and the city was a technological wonder, but it was still new. Getting truly in rhythm for how everything worked, where it all was, and how to optimize my work here would take some time.

But…that's part of the fun of it. A small smile graced my lips as I tossed the used bowls in the sink and started putting together the dough for the pretzels.

I'd always enjoyed overcoming challenges and perfecting difficult tasks. Baking was, as Aunt Tanya had pointed out to me, a constructive way for me to direct those energies into something I could enjoy immediately. Granted, some part of me wondered how much that might have been because she wanted her own private pastry chef, given how quickly she'd tear through my confections.

…Not that I mind. My smile widened as memories held with pride came to the surface. Maybe if I do a good enough job, the other pilots will like me? I mean, Aunt Tanya did say the stomach was the best way to get to a-

My face flushed at the thought. Fortunately for myself, the bedroom door swung open before I had to think about it too much.

"Ah! Aunt Tanya!" I jerked, pausing in my mixing of the ingredients. "The stove is ready for you to use, and the cake will be out of the oven in five min…utes.'

Glancing up, I saw that she'd changed out of her work uniform and into what I liked to think of as her cooking uniform. Much of her pale skin was covered in loose fabric, to better cover her from potential splashes. Simple black pants, slippers, and a loose green blouse with long sleeves. Her blonde hair was tied in a tight bun to keep it out of her eyes. Completing the look was a stupid gift I got her that she's inexplicably kept around all these years, a disgustingly pink frilly apron with the words "World's Leading Distributor of Mig Parts" on the front.

Then I noticed something missing.

I stopped and stared. "...Uh… Aunty?"

"Hmm?" Tanya looked back.

"Did you forget something?" I tapped at my cheek under my left eye.

An empty socket blinked back. "Forget what?"

I'd long since lost my ick factor when it came to Aunt Tanya and her missing eye. This was hardly the first time I'd seen her without her prosthetic, not after the Frog Incident. It was, however, still a little odd to see just the lone blue orb stare back at me, like seeing someone without their glasses.

I knew it unsettled most people, including, I'm ashamed to say, my younger self when I'd first met her again after she'd come back from the war. Things had, quite obviously, gotten much better between the two of us, but not so much that she seemed eager to talk about how she'd lost it in the first place.

There's a lot about the war she doesn't like to talk about, I thought. How she knows magic too…

Then again, considering the few answers she has given me,
I suppressed a shiver, I might be better off not knowing.

"...Your eye, Aunt Tanya," I explained. "It's-"

"At its docking port," she interrupted. "The memory buffer is full and the battery is almost dead. So I plugged it in while we worked on dinner."

"Don't you have spares? Or an eyepatch?"

"Yes, but those itch."

I frowned. "You're not going to use your war scars to freak out Shinji when he gets here, are you?"

She raised a challenging brow. "Do I need to? I can bring out the shovel if you wish, but I hadn't expected things to move along quite this fast."

That brought another blush to my cheeks. "S-Shut up! You're the one who wanted me to make friends!"

The smug expression she sent me was, if anything, only enhanced by the missing eye. "I don't believe I'm the one who told you to wear a flattering sundress on your first meeting."

My ears burned. "S-Shut up and make your s-stupid stew already!"

"Hmm…my 'stupid' stew, is it? And here I thought it was your favorite." Aunt Tanya glided over to the crock pot where the beef had been slowly cooking overnight "Perhaps, then, I should be worried about you and this 'stupid Shinji' of yours."

"Shut up!" I shrieked again, putting all my energy into furiously mixing together the dough.

Aunt Tanya's gentle laughter was her only reply.

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A/n:

And that's the 3rd chapter of this.

The next one will cover that dinner, and will be coming out who the fuck knows when.

Writing this chapter was at time a lot of fun, namely Asuka and Tanya's bit at the end, and other times and absolute bitch, namely writing Gendo.

Fuck Gendo.

There was also a fair bit of fun had actually fleshing out Tanya's Brigade. Big thanks to @Sunshine and their server for helping me sort things out there, since that's pretty out of my wheelhouse. @Readhead , as always, a huge help actually figuring out how to NGE, as well as punching everything up.

In any case, I hope ya'll enjoyed.
 
Knight of Onyx (Code Gease/ Transformers)


Knight of Onyx


(Transformers/Code Geass)




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A/n: Hey, managed to hit my monthly quota in time.

Huge thanks to @Readhead and @Sunshine for their help with this. In particular, @Readhead 's own Code Geass Fic inspiring this one.

...Also probably a fair bit of AC6 inspiring me to write about giant robot dystopias.


Landmine


"I can't believe you convinced me to come out here with you." Landmine shook his head.

"You need to get out more, old man," Tap-out prodded with a smile.

The younger bot was also the smaller of the pair. A green shell adorned his relatively common grey metallic core chassis. The Cybertronian gladiator was somewhat special in how lightweight he was. Most of the big time gladiators sported some heavy metal, like Landmine himself, and came from castes and functions aimed specifically at heavy duty physical activity.

But where Landmine was an old sturdy miner-caste, originally built to carve the dirt and metal of the planet in search of the old master's precious resources buried beneath the surface, Tap-out was built for speed. What the kid lacked in his chassis, though, he made up for in his spark and his technique. He'd never be the champion of the heaviest weight classes, but Landmine had seen Tap-out out-maneuver and outlast fighters twice his size, before finally delivering the finishing blow.

"I get out plenty," Landmine grumbled, "and I have better things to do than waste my time going to third-rate gladiator pits this far under the plate. Most of these sorry bots aren't even real fighters. Just poor bastards out to try and earn another Energon ration anyway they can."

He gestured to the venue Tap-out had dragged him to, something that might generously be called an arena. In reality, it was little more than an old broken down mega-factory in some forgotten industrial district deep beneath the attention of anyone living on Cybertron's Upper Crust. Down here the surface levels were all but a distant memory, the darkness of the sublevels making even Kaon seem like it was spun from gold.

The fighting pit itself was once an enormous smelter, long gone cold over the many thousands of stellar cycles since the Golden Age. Rudimentary seating made from little more than bolted together scrap ringed the pit. Scattered within said pit were a couple dozen Cybertronians in various states of disrepair.

It wasn't hard for Landmine to reason out why the poor bots had gathered for this event. The would-be-fighters likely had exhausted all other options, and now that they were barely able to collect enough Energon rations from their work in the mines or dilapidated factories to keep themselves running on all cylinders, they had come to the pit. As sad as this imitation of the great games of Kaon and Tarn was, it was hardly a surprise. Impromptu arenas like this sprang up and died away all the time in the deeper sublayers.

"True," Tap-out shrugged. "But everyone has to start somewhere, after all. It's just that sometimes that place is out here. Every now and then, you find a diamond in the rough, "

"I'm not an idiot, Tap-out. I've seen my fair share of scrappers that got their start down here. Put most of 'em in their place for getting cocky, too," Landmine grumbled. "What I'm wondering is why you brought me here and now. There are hundreds of these little start-up arenas that get set up all across Cybertron, and out of all of them a mere handful of the would-be-fighters have the spark of an actual brawler."

Tap-out smirked. "Can't get anything by you, eh?"

"I'm old," Landmine retorted, "not stupid."

Tap-out just chuckled. "Alright, alright, fair enough." He leaned over to whisper conspiratorially in Landmine's ear. "Well, rumor has it tonight's match got started because of an incident that happened on the lower levels a couple solar cycles ago."

"An incident?" The senior 'bot asked, curiosity sparking in his tone.

"Apparently some Upper Crust science caste had a secret lab down there," Tap-out explained, his voice hushed. "Something to let them do projects on stuff away from the prying eyes of the Senate."

"...and no doubt give them a wide range of helpless 'test subjects' for their experiments." Landmine scowled, very much not liking where this was going.

The lower levels of Cybertron were the kind of place where 'bots disappeared every other solar cycle. If a few more vanished in a stellar cycle than normal, who would miss them?

The Senate's vaunted security services certainly wouldn't come down here to investigate, Landmine scoffed. Not without an ulterior motive.

"Yeah, exactly," Tap-out agreed, just as displeased. "But, in a way, that's the good news. Apparently the lab blew up or something, and a bunch of those 'test subjects' broke out."

It didn't take Landmine long to put the pieces together. "...And you think that some of those 'test subjects' are here?"

"Well, the people setting this whole thing up sure do," Tap-out shrugged. "And besides, this is one of the few reliable ways to get Energon off the grid. Everyone's gotta fuel up, and it's not exactly like Nominus Prime has the most… generous spark. "

"You don't know the half of it, kid," Landmine grumbled. "Whole Primus damned planet is going to the Fallen, and all that half-wit of a Prime cares about is the Upper Crust. He's no Quintession, but he seems to be doing his damndest to remind me of them…"

Tap-out sighed, "No one remembers what some extinct fossil did millions of stellar cycles ago, you old rustbucket."

"Bah, that's just 'cause they don't bother trying to teach you history right and proper anymore. 'No need to learn anything beyond your caste', after all. But, enough about that," Landmine waved the topic off. "What happens if you do find one of these rumored 'escaped test subjects' and they do have the spark of a fighter in them?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," Tap-out said with a shrug.

"Really?" Landmine said in disbelief. "You don't even got a plan for this little excursion of yours?"

"Ours."

"You dragged me out here, kid."

"Like I could make you do anything, old timer," Tap-out smirked. "Stubborn old 'bot like you? You'd probably snap my frame in half if I tried."

Landmine scoffed, but didn't disagree.

"Anyways," Tap-out continued, "my thinking is, we see a 'bot with potential down there, well… maybe we give 'em some help getting to the major leagues."

Landmine gave Tap-out a long look. "...kid, you got too much of a leaky spark. Cain't save every poor 'bot down on their luck down here. You'll just get dragged down trying."

Tap-out's smile was tight and his optics pained. "Doesn't mean I can't try."

"...dammit kid," Landmine sighed, his old processors flitting through all the many memories of too-bright sparks just like Tap-out's, and how few of them survived their better nature.

"Just keep your eyes open, and we'll see what happens," Tap-out suggested. "And if someone stands out… well, maybe we can make some opportunities for them."

"Fine," Landmine grumbled. "But don't come crying to me when everyone down there ends up in a pile of scrap."

"Heh, don't act like you're too tough to care, old man," Tap-out chuckled. "I happen to remember a certain handsome young bot that got their head screwed on straight by a certain old mentor that taught him the ropes of the ring."

Landmine knew the kid was right, even if he hated it. He'd learned how much pain too much optimism could cause through personal experience. Once he'd been an idealistic young fighter, putting everything he had into dreams of a revolution to finally throw out Cybertron's old oppressors.

Once.

"Just keep your optics on the ring," Landmine grumbled instead.

It didn't take long for things to get started.

The whole affair was a far cry from the games in the likes of Kaon. If it wasn't being run by some local gang, Landmine would eat his chair. It meant the whole song and dance with the announcer went by swiftly, if painfully, and there wasn't much effort put into rallying up the crowd.

Everyone was here to see one thing, brutal bot-on-bot violence for some cheap entertainment in the most hopeless part of Cybertron. A million stellar cycles ago, it might've made Landmine feel sick. Now it just made him feel tired.

We managed to fight for our freedom. Cybertronians won the right to decide our own fate. And this is what we do with it.

"Begin!" the announcer bellowed over the speakers.

At his words, the couple dozen different bots all hurled themselves into a tangled melee. It was a pretty basic battle royale match. A free for all, where the winner took all. The specific rules depended on the locale. Blasters were rarely allowed, and attempting to outright kill your opponent was usually frowned upon. Though, given how tough the average Cybertronian gladiator was, especially one that had access to a half decent medic after the match, let alone the big names with major sponsors and whole dedicated repair teams, actually taking a bot offline was harder than it sounded. Landmine had seen some fighters get ripped clean in half, only to be patched up and ready to fight again by the end of the deca-cycle.

But that was for proper gladiators. People who'd managed to make a place for themselves, however small, in the likes of an actual city.

The bots down there were fighting because they could barely manage to get enough to survive as it was. If they cracked their chassis, broke a servo, or Primus forbid, lost a limb? Well, they certainly weren't going to be able to afford to go to any half-decent mechanic on the upper layers. If they were lucky, they might only slip into stasis from Energon deprivation after a while.

Of course, for all that these bots had a strong reason to fight and survive, that didn't exactly mean they would be good at it. They were desperate, hungry, and weak, not the fresh trained gladiators of Kaon. The fighting and screaming down there was as sad as it was ineffectual.

Then he saw one bot fly across the arena and smash into the old pit walls, practically embedding themself in the tattered surface.

Another piece of scrap joining the piles of waste that constituted the arena.

"...Huh," Landmine muttered, refreshing his optics.

"Told you," Tap-out smirked.

The Cybertronian that had thrown the poor 'bot was mostly covered in a tarp, so Landmine couldn't see them too well. Not an uncommon thing down here, a lot of bots weren't exactly in the best repair and few liked to advertise that fact. Despite said tarp obscuring much of the 'bot's form, it was painfully obvious how lopsided they were. Their left arm looked relatively normal, but their right was a hulking mass beneath the tarp.

Every time they swung it, it hit with all the force of a magna-hammer, sending bots flying left and right. Yet, even with that, they didn't fight like a mere brute. Landmine's long stellar cycles of experience in the ring and on the battlefield noted the skill in the fighter's form. They never took a hit they weren't ready for, and even those glancing blows were few in number, especially compared to the slugfest that was the rest of the pit. Most of the blows aimed at the tarp-swaddled form whiffed harmlessly by as the cloaked form all but glided through the crowd of shambling bots, stooping on chosen targets and overpowering them before dancing back out of reach of the other brawlers and circling around for a new target.

In the end, it didn't take long for the fight to reach its conclusion.

"And we have our winner!" The announcer proclaimed, walking across the field of scrap and broken bots. Where all the fighters were covered in dirt, oil, and rust, the announcer looked untouched with his fresh, if bland, coat of paint. That said, it only took a glance for Landmine to be able to tell it was the cheap stuff, the kind that would chip and peel under even the most basic wear and tear.

"Why don't you introduce yourself to your grand audience, brave fighter!" the announcer bot said, laying on the charm to the hulking Cybertronian.

"...Guren," replied the surprisingly soft voice of a femme.

"Call me Guren," she continued, pulling her tarp away to reveal a brilliant red paint scheme, and burning blue optics.

Landmine immediately didn't like the look in those optics of hers. They reminded him far too much of himself.

"...Ah, slag," he sighed.

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Guren


I counted my bounty carefully, making sure every piece was accounted for. I didn't trust the swindlers running this event one bit; I was only here because after escaping the lab we really needed the supplies. Arenas aside, there weren't many options around, not down here in the bowels of the lower levels. At least this way I could put my fighting skills to good use.

The only other way I could do that and get what we need would be to start taking what I want… I thought, turning the idea over in my head for far from the first time. It wouldn't be that hard… survival of the fittest, right?

That's exactly what a Britannian would think.


I scowled and snapped the box of Energon rations shut.

"Thanks," I grunted perfunctorily.

The presenter for the event gave me an oily smile. "We hope to see you again soon, Guren. My sponsors believe that future cooperation between us could be quite… lucrative." He glanced knowingly towards the box of rations.

If anything, my scowl deepened. "Whatever," I bit out, resisting the urge to snap his head off.

Instead, I tucked the box away in my personal subspace storage pocket with a flicker of red light and walked away.

There wasn't a doubt in my mind that this whole thing had been arranged by a gang. It was probably some kind of dual purpose event, half cheap entertainment for the high-ranking members, half a recruitment opportunity for anyone tough enough to land on their radar.

And you just had to walk right into it, didn't you? I scolded myself. I didn't just win, I had to put on a show. Now how can those gangsters resist trying to nab the girl who throttled an entire mob by herself?

I knew, intellectually, that I was being unfair to myself. That hadn't even really been a fight, and I'd tried to be as gentle as I could with my newfound strength. It's just that my opponents were essentially starving, crippled, homeless, civilians even more desperate than I was.

And doesn't that make you such a hero? I ground my teeth together, focusing on the way my ferrous fangs scraped together along my jaw. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but it was better than thinking about… that.

What's the point in even being a hero anyways?


I sighed, a pointless action these days, I didn't even need to breathe anymore, but it made me feel better, even if only marginally.

I was just about to turn into the corridor towards my new temporary "home" when someone called out.

"Hey, kid!" echoed a voice thick with age, "Guren, right?"

I stopped, hackles instantly rising. My right arm twitched and it took an effort not to follow my hair-trigger instincts. I turned, slowly, keeping my right arm between me and the source of the noise as much as I could.

"Who wants to know?" I asked, optics scanning the grungy darkness of the scrap metal catacombs for the owner of the voice.

It didn't take me long to find him.

"Eh," the tall orange mech waved dismissively, "just call me Landmine."

This "Landmine" was visibly an outsider to the sublevels. Unlike every other 'bot I'd seen down here, he actually looked like he was in top condition. A bit of wear and tear around the edges of his bright paint job, scars worn proudly across his chassis, but nothing like true disrepair.

He was also nearly as bulky as I was, a sure rarity from what I'd seen down here; most bots as large as we were had difficulty sustaining the Energon demands that came with the size. He had a massive crane leaning over one shoulder, large treads buried in his arms, bulky manipulator claws folded back away from his hands, and some kind of split drill at his feet. An orange visor pulled up to reveal dark blue eyes and an open, if somewhat worn, Cybertronian face. All in all, Landmine's name seemed pretty fitting to his chassis.

There also wasn't any trace of the usual fear I knew from most locals either, not even the kind buried under bravado. Instead, he seemed almost perfectly at ease, if a little annoyed.

That attitude, more than anything else, put me on guard.

"And what does 'Landmine' want from me?" I pressed.

"Easy, easy," he raised his hands. "Not looking for a fight, just… uh… call it professional interest."

That did absolutely nothing to allay my fears.

"Explain," I demanded, rapidly losing patience.

While I distracted him with talk, a tendril of my mind got work preparing my claw if it needed to see action.

"I'm… well, I'm a lot of things, but mainly an old pit fighter myself," he replied. "These days, though, I mostly work as a trainer and sponsor for other up and coming would-be-Gladiators looking to make a name in the ring."

It didn't take much to connect the dots.

"...And you're looking at me as one of these 'would-be-Gladiators'?" I asked.

"Could be," he shrugged. "Up to you, kid, but I'd say you got the potential."

"What happens if I say no?"

"Then we probably never see each other again," Landmine stated matter of factly. "I dunno, maybe you make it to the big leagues on your own, maybe not. But I don't plan on sticking around if I ain't welcome. Already got enough trouble on my servos without having to deal with that kind of hassle.

"If you do agree, though, I can make sure you got a spot in the big leagues, if you work for it. Can't promise you'll be at the top of the charts, but you look like you got the gears to make a name for yourself, if nothing else. How much further you go from there depends on how much you want it." He shrugged, then gave me a pointed look. "I know you're hurting for every Energon ration you can get now. You're fighting for scraps, and we both know what you got today was barely enough to subsist off of, let alone live.

"I can't promise you all the fame, glory, and riches you want, but Unicron's rusted sparkpit if it ain't better than this scrap heap."

That all sounded reasonable. Too reasonable. Just because Landmine says he'll back off and it's no skin off his back doesn't mean anything, it could all be some kind of scam with him, some mask he's putting up to lull me into a false sense of security.

"...What's in it for you?" I prodded.

That earned a dry chuckle out of the old mech. "Something wrong with a 'bot doing something out of the goodness of his spark?"

"There is if it sounds too good to be true."

"Fair enough," he rumbled, still seeming somewhat amused, but there was a melancholy nature to it now. "Fair enough."

Landmine looked back towards the wreck of a factory where the fight had been held. Back to where I'd probably condemned a couple dozen desperate 'bots to a slow death just because they'd gotten in my way.

Some hero you are.

I tried to ignore the way my insides twisted and ground against each other.

"...Bots like us… we gotta stick together, I figure," Landmine eventually said.

"Bots like us?" I repeated cautiously.

"The 'lower functions', as the Senate likes to oh-so-'wisely' put it," he all but spat. "To the Upper Crust, like those living it up in Iacon, if you aren't spun from gold, or backed by someone who is, you're either a tool or you're trash."

"The Senate likes to make sure the 'bots on the bottom know their place. The whole Functionalist doctrine. You do what you were 'made' to do, and anything different is 'upsetting the balance willed by Primus'." This time Landmine did spit, a glob of oil landing in a random corner of the street. "If they had things their way, I'd be grinding my servos down, mining out more Primus-damned catacombs for barely enough Energon to keep my circuits running.

"I didn't fight a Primus-damned war to kick slagging alien slavers off Cybertron just for us to enslave our damned selves," he growled with all the piss and vinegar of an old sea dog. "And after all that fragging work… well if Nominus Prime won't get off his shiny chrome ass, the least I can do is try and help a couple young sparks have a slightly less scrap-filled life."

Some part of me still thought it was too good to be true.

The rest of me… when I saw that look in his eyes, that pain, that anger, that sense of loss, I couldn't help but be reminded of my own.

"...I'll think about it," I eventually said.

"All I ask," he said, then extended a memory stick to me. "Hang on to this, in case you do plan on ever following up on this old rust magnet. All else fails, swing by Kaon and ask for Landmine. I sure as slag ain't the biggest name in town, but 'bots know me, and I know them. They'll point you in the right direction."

"Alright…" I said, slowly accepting the memory stick like it was liable to bite me. Given what I knew of my newfound race so far, that wasn't actually that fanciful. "...Anything else I should keep in mind?"

"Well… Kaon's less of a slag-pit then this place, but it sure as scrap ain't 'safe'." Landmine shrugged. "Other than that, good luck, and try not to die 'fore you can make good on my investment."

With his piece said, the strange old 'bot turned on his heel and left me to my thoughts.

My many, many, thoughts.

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Guren


"I'm home," I announced, speaking to an empty room.

It didn't take me long to get back to the little hole in the wall I'd set up camp, however temporary. We hadn't had many options after escaping the lab, not down here, so we'd just settled for the closest thing to shelter we could find, if only for privacy.

The room could barely be called such, little more than a mildly-isolated section of the catacombs, one that just happened to hold massive pieces of arcane machinery that ascended up into its cavernous ceiling. I didn't have a clue what the installations did, but the things dominated the room with their towering appearance, descended deep into the planet beneath us, and didn't seem to do much other than fill the room with an oddly pleasant hum.

There was really only one problem with it. I had guests.

"So, are you finally going to stop following me from the shadows?" I called out.

There was a moment of silence.

Then a low chuckle rumbled out from the dark halls behind me.

I turned on my heel, backing into the room as I spun to face the three approaching figures.

"Well, well, I'm surprised you noticed us." the lead 'bot smirked, the synthetic skin of his face pulled into an all-too human expression of smug arrogance. "Quite the preceptive girl-bot, aren't you? Good to know there's more in that chassis than the horsepower needed knock around a bunch of pathetic street scrap."

He stepped out of the shadows to reveal a relatively unremarkable bot. A simple grey chassis, dark paint chipped and scratched, hints of Cybertronian wheels and a split drill poking out of his robotic form. Far more pressing was the blaster pistol in his hand.

His friends behind him looked much the same, and were just as well armed.

He chuckled again when he caught where I was looking. "Oh, this? Don't worry about it. As long as you don't do anything stupid, all this'll be is a polite little chat."

"Cornering someone you know just won a fight 20-1 seems pretty stupid if you ask me," I commented, backing up further and casually leaning against one of the machines in the room.

"Heh, a cocky little girl-bot too, aren't you?" he chuckled.

I raised a silent brow, eyeing the fact that I easily stood head and shoulders above him.

This new 'bot, whoever he was, was a far cry from Landmine, even with his posse. On top of being smaller and in lesser condition, he also lacked the older mech's confidence. He had the smug, arrogant, bravado of someone pretending to be strong, but under the surface, I could practically smell the fear and desperation wafting off him.

Besides, the idiot had walked into my house.

"What, you think that just because you won that pit fight you're some big shot? I got news for you, femme, you ain't scrap," he growled, stomping forward with his two lackeys behind him. "You tossed around a bunch of half-dead nobodies armed with whatever little scraps they could get their rusty manipulators on. Me and my buddies, on the other hand, we're some of the toughest mechs this side of the southern sewage canal."

The would-be tough guy took another step forward, smug grin on his face again as he gestured around with his gun. "But hey, this ain't gotta be hard. Like I said, femme, this can just be a polite little chat."

"I see…" I gave the thug an unimpressed glare as I crossed my arms. "And this chat'll be about…?"

"Why, paying your dues, of course!" he smiled with a greasiness seemingly common to gangsters across continents and worlds. "You ain't got the Senate's Security forces maintaining nice little things like 'law' and 'order'. Instead, you got bots like me, walk'n the streets, keep'n the peace. That's the kinda stuff the boss likes, you see? Make'n sure the peace is kept so business runs smooth down here.

"Of course, we can't do it for free now, can we? We all gotta fuel up, and if we're down here making sure things are nice and tidy, why, that's only due for some compensation isn't it?"

A shake down, I nearly rolled my eyes. A god damned shakedown. Of-fucking-course.

"So let me guess," I cut him off, "you want your 'cut' of the Energon rations I won, right?"

"Well now, you catch on quick, don't you Guren?" he said. "And you're right, that's one option. But after your performance in the ring? Oh, Primus, has the boss got an interest in you."

Dammit, I cursed myself again. You really couldn't just hold back another inch more, could you?

"Oh," I forced myself to say neutrally instead. "What does he want?"

"A femme like you… oh, the boss has got uses for a big, tough, slugger like you. Oh, sure, you're rough around the edges now, but sign on with us now and you'll be a proper member of the family in just a couple stellar cycles," the gangster 'bot said. "You won't have to worry about your dues, you'll be safe as can be down here, and you'll be guaranteed a share of Energon every solar cycle."

"And if I say no?'

He opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off.

"To either?" I said pointedly, leaning forward as I tapped my larger claw against my left arm.

The thug stepped back for a moment, that fear he'd been trying to keep down rearing its ugly head as I directly challenged him. Unfortunately, soon enough he rallied.

"Then you're dumber than I thought, Guren," he growled, raising his gun. "It sounds very much like you want to disturb the peace my boss values so much. One way or another, we're getting our due, even if we have to drain every drop of Energon out of your chassis and throw your lifeless husk to the scrapyard to do it."

"...Is that something you do often?" I asked, voice tight, not wanting to let the boiling rage take me just yet.

"Often? Hah!" His oily smirk was as revolting as it was familiar. "Femme, the only thing half the useless bots in this sector are good for is scrap. That pile of rusted bolts you tore apart in your little grand fight back there? How many of them you think are gonna be able to keep paying their dues? How many you think we gonna have to take from their cold husks?"

My fangs ground together tightly, claw clenched as hate coursed through my circuits.

Some victory you won. Now others get to pay the price. Again.

"So, Guren, what's it gonna be? You gonna join us, pay us, or are you gonna let me and the mechs have fun blowing you into scrap?" He smirked, gun humming with vibrant energy.

I glanced up to the lofty ceiling.

Something violet glittered in the shadows.

"Hey!" the man barked. "Are you even listening to me, you lumbering hunk of slag-?"

He was cut off when a shadow fell upon him.

Thick webs of nano-fiber entangled the thug's two lackeys, electricity arcing across the weave and paralyzing them before they could so much as fire a shot. Eight bone-white legs wrapped the struggling bot in more strands of metallic wires, eight purple eyes gleamed with a cunning intellect, and a pair of massive silver fangs burrowed into the thug's neck in a shower of sparks.

The once arrogant thug howled in agony as the massive mechanical spider assaulted him. His voice electrically distorting as yet more sparks erupted from the wound in his neck, yet the inorganic arachnid didn't let up. Not until the screaming 'bot finally fell silent.

With that, the spider stepped away, prey all wrapped up nice and tight in a stasis lock, and approached me.

Then it transformed.

Alabaster chitin split across its body, metallic skin shifting under the surface like mercury, cords, cogs and panels all twisting across the bestial form. The sound of reality being folded in on itself rang out through the room as the being exchanged Cybermatter from their own pocket dimension. In a once mind-bending display of mechanical sophistication, what once was a cybernetic spider quickly reassembled itself into a very familiar robot.

"You have fun with that, Nullite?" I greeted the femme.

The girl in front of me still had the bone white chassis of her spider form, but now distributed over a lithe and vaguely feminine humanoid form. She was roughly as tall as me, though nowhere near as bulky, and four of her arachnid legs were draped over her back in a vaguely wing or cape-like fashion. Her face was young and familiar, wide eyes a brilliant purple somehow shining with saccharine glee. Golden mechadendrites descended from her head, like the mobile cybernetic equivalent of luscious blonde locks of hair, while the other six violet eyes of her arachnid nature were placed on a golden tiara-like structure crowning her head.

All in all, she almost looked like a cybernetic fairy princess. So long as one didn't think about her fangs or claws.

Nullite had the audacity to giggle. "A little, yes. I was honestly hoping you would say something like, 'come into my parlor'. That would have been perfect!"

"...Sounds more like the kind of thing your brother would do. Never could resist the chance to be dramatic in front of a crowd," I muttered.

She stiffened, and instantly a spike of guilt went through me at the memory.

"Shit, sorry, I-" I started.

"No," she cut me off. "No…you…I suppose you are correct." Nullite said with a somber nod. "That would have been his style, wouldn't it?"

"...It would've," I admitted.

"Well… I guess I'll just have to improve my technique!" She said with a confidence I knew she didn't feel. "It wouldn't do to let down my big brother's memory, would it?"

I sighed. "...no, I suppose it wouldn't." Sending a glance towards the incapacitated thugs, I asked, "What'd you learn with that mind-reading of yours?"

"It is called Mnemosurgery, not 'mind-reading'." Nullite pouted, and despite her archnicon nature, it was admittedly adorable. "And… well… a lot." Her face flicked into a grimace. "He definitely deserves to face Justice, but he's just a small part of the problem."

I had my own concerns about what Nullite considered Justice.

Still, I had other things to worry about for the moment, and if things got bad I could always intervene. Nullite didn't deserve to end up like her brother did. I think he, especially, would have appreciated that.

"The 'boss' he was talking about, I'm guessing?" I said, pushing my thoughts to the side to focus on the task at hand.

"Indeed. He is most… vile." Her metallic lip curled in disgust. "Ridding this sector of his villainy would be doing a justice to Cybertron as a whole."

"...Maybe," I admitted. "Or someone worse will just fill the power vacuum."

"We could fill that vacuum," Nullite quickly proposed. "Create our own organization and run things like-"

"No," I said, immediately cutting her off.

This time I was the one overwhelmed by memories. Memories of my friends, of the old rebellion, of victory and purpose and love and… betrayal.

Loss.

Annihilation.

…Given how things ended, was there really any point to it all?

"...Just… no," I said more softly. "We don't… we don't really know the first thing about running anything like that, and we don't have the resources or backing to actually hold anything. Not without compromises and… no, it'd just get more people killed."

"...Guren, I… I am sorry," Nullite apologized, but I could see an all-too familiar fire burning in her eyes. "But I think you must reconsider. The suffering this gang is inflicting on this sector is intolerable."

I clenched my fists tight, my own sense of justice warring within me.

"...Maybe," I said, finally. "I'll think about it."

Nullite didn't look entirely satisfied by that. "...You know they won't leave you alone after today, right?"

I stopped, grimacing at the thought.

"I read that man's memories. The whole gang knows about you, and he wasn't wrong about the intentions his boss has, or that he won't take no for an answer." Nullite leaned in, pressing her advantage. "We both know they won't just let you walk away. And you aren't the type to walk away from people facing injustice."

"I get it, I get it," I huffed, mildly resentful at how easily my companion was browbeating me into submission.

"So we can do it?" she leaned in, hungry eagerness radiating off her form.

"...Fine," I grunted.

"Thank you!" she chirped, her joy almost sufficient to smother my lingering resentment.

"But," I cut in, lining my voice with steel, "we have to make sure we actually make things better, not worse. I know the last thing either of us wants is for us to go in thinking we're 'fixing' things, only to end up setting the whole sector on fire."

That sobered the girl up quickly. "I… yes. I understand, Guren. I will make sure it goes off without a hitch. I promise, I won't let you down."

"...I know you won't," I sighed. "You're the only one left I can trust."

The truth of the statement struck me, and suddenly I was hit with a wave of bone-deep exhaustion.

"I… I'm going to get some sleep in," I said, ambling over towards a comfortable spot to roost. "It's been a long day, and I think I'd rather tackle this issue again after my mind has a chance to unfuck itself."

"Would… would you like me to help?" Nullite carefully offered. "A-again?"

I paused in my stride, turning the matter over. In the end, there really wasn't much choice at all though.

The last person I can still trust, I reminded myself. If we can't trust each other, who can we rely on here?

"...Alright," I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended. "Thanks."

I reached into my subspace pocket and pulled out the box of Energon rations I'd won earlier as I made my way over to a comfortable wall to lean on. "Here's today's winnings… you'll know what to do with them."

"Thank you," Nullite smiled, gently taking the box from my manipulator and stashing it in her own pocket that, in a fit of girlish whimsy, she'd decided to put between her breastplates.

She followed me as I laid down. I ran through a variety of safety checks in the background of my mind as I prepared my chassis for the upcoming maintenance cycle, which was essentially the Cybertronian equivalent of sleep. While I was "asleep" my cybernetic body would go about doing much the same upkeep and maintenance routines that a human might require. Part of that involved reformatting whatever new data my mind processed for the cycle, and it produced something like dreaming.

Unfortunately, I normally just got nightmares.

Fortunately, Nullite had a solution.

"Are you ready?" she asked, leaning over me with the needle-like claws of her fingers resting gently against my neck.

"Do it," I instructed, triggering my maintenance cycle and letting my vision fall to darkness.

Immediately, time faded into nothingness. My perception faded from reality, and I slipped away from the waking world.

An instant and an eternity later, I found myself standing on the untouched campus of Ashford academy, surrounded by the brilliant gleaming towers of Tokyo in its prime.

It was, I knew, an impossible sight. I'd seen both of them annihilated myself.

But it was a comfortable memory for the two of us.

"How is it?" Asked that familiar voice again.

I looked down and saw a girl standing in front of me. Small and human, with pale flesh, purple eyes, locks of blonde, and that oh-so-familiar academy uniform. I could see my own hands too, the white skin of my first birth, the hint of my old red hair peaking at the corner of my vision.

"...It's great," I said, bittersweet smile on my lips. "Thank you, Nunnally."

The image of the girl, long since dead and turned to ash, beamed up at me with a smile to put the sun to shame.

"Happy to be of service, Kallen!"

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A/n: Alright, August is over and I've managed to update this thread just in time. Again, big thanks to Read and Sunny for their help.

Pretty much the entire reason I'm doing this is because working on Read's AYGGW keeps inspiring me to do something with Code Geass, so I'm finally doing that. I'm also pretty much stealing drawing inspiration his version of Kallen and Nunnally, since I actually like those version. It's not a crossover of Gorilla War, it's still coming from Canon CG(ish), it's just that I'm using Read's versions as a reference.

For those curious about what, specifically, happened. Basically, Zero Requiem didn't actually bring peace on earth in this version, and the fallout led to Kallen and Nunnally getting Isekai'd into Transformers. Why those two characters? Because it amuses me.

I've also wanted to do a Transformers fic for a while, doubly so with Armored Core out. Transformers was a pretty big part of my childhood, and coming across some more modern Transformers fics on here written by proper TF lore nerds, as well as how good the TF wiki is, has inspired me to shoot my shot in the arena.

Finally, I'm tired as fuck. The new semester of college has started up, and it combined with insomnia, work, and AC's iron grip on my soul are all quite the drain. Still had a lot of fun writing this and planning stuff out, but I'm also glad the first chapter's finally done. Now I need sleep.

In any case, I hope ya'll enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
 
Tanya the Red 2
Tanya the Red
Youjo Senki x Homeworld​


Chapter 2​



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Kharak
Soban Academy Kapisi
1316 KDS
Tanya Gaalsien

Zero.

I stared at my exam, uncomprehending what my eyes were telling me.

Across the top of my exam paper, the red ink glared out at me. No matter how I tried not to see it, the grade remained a stubborn 0%.

After all my hard work, how was this even possible?

"Cadet Gaalsien," came the instructor's voice, an unbending baritone that shook me from my stupor.

My head snapped up, meeting his steel grey gaze as he stared at me. "See me after class."

A lead ball formed in my gut. "Yes sir."

All around me, I could feel the eyes of my fellow cadets staring at me, the whispers dancing at the edge of the room. Something had gone very wrong, and my classmates were soaking in the drama with a childish glee that made my heart sink.

It doesn't matter, I told myself, willing my body to remain resolute. I'm an adult, I can be mature about this.

In the end, however, that reassurance did nothing to soothe the anxiety bubbling in my gut, nor the way my disquiet festered all throughout the rest of the class period. Eventually, however, I got my answers. Unpleasant as they were.

"Cadet Tanya Gaalsien," the tanned man began, his gaze boring hard into me as a stoney frown set on his face. "Do you know why I gave you a zero for your exam?"

"I… clearly did not know the subject material as well as I thought I did," I ventured, taking the obvious and presumably safe course through this unanticipated conversation. "I do not know how I was unable to answer any question correctly, but I will work to rectify this issue as soon as possible."

"Oh, you didn't answer any question incorrectly," he replied easily.

I blinked, mind stopped short like a train had hurtled into it. "I… what?"

"This exam?" The instructor stabbed a meaty finger at the pages of his own tablet. "You managed to score a 110%, including the bonus questions. You answered everything perfectly."

His eyes narrowed. "Too perfectly."

My gut sank and an unpleasant heat filled my body. "That is because after the last round of grades, I found that I was in dire need of improvement, so I studied the material extensively," I explained, painfully aware of how weak of a shield the truth could be in the face of suspicion.

"...Maybe," he tipped his head in acknowledgment. "Maybe. However, on your last exam you only scored a 42%. The worst grade in the entire class."

I grimaced. The subject of this class was military history, which I'd foolishly assumed had been adequately taught in the creche-school of the Kiith Gaalsien. As it turned out, my old Kiith's version of events was quite different to the established, more substantiated version taught in wider academia. I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised, given the cult-like nature of the village, but differences in the conflicting narratives were both subtle and sweeping. Sometimes, entire battles or campaigns were ignored to re-imagine our kiith as valiant heroes. In other instances, only a few precious details here and there had been edited to swing the narrative one way or another.

As a result, my early grades in the class were plagued by an understanding of Kushan history so shaky that even sand could barely support its wobbly foundation.

"Now," the professor continued, going over the tablet again, "you've managed to jump up to the top and take the highest grade for yourself."

I nodded, "Yes, well, as you said yourself my previous grades were unacceptable. So I sought to correct my errors and misplaced assumptions by putting in extra effort to study for this upcoming exam. It seems they paid off."

"Or you cheated," the instructor retorted, with all the subtlety, grace, and impact of a sledgehammer.

I gaped at him, shock overwhelming my emotions for a brief instant. "I… what?"

"Or you cheated," the professor shrugged as he repeated himself. "It wouldn't be the first time a cocky new cadet's tried to pull it off. They want to coast by, only to find out this class isn't going to be as easy as all that, so they try to be 'clever' about it. Think they can outsmart me." His mustache twitched into something almost like a smile. "They never do."

Slowly, the shock drained out of me, and a wave of hot rage came flooding in.

"I didn't cheat! Sir!" I nearly shouted, only remembering my place an instant later. "I worked hard studying for this exam, doing everything I could to improve myself and my grade up to the standards you were clearly trying to set!"

Part of me thought I was stepping over the line, and worried about the consequences of it. Most of me, however, was stressed, frustrated, and all but ready to snap.

"You could have. And thus far you've been pretty smart, for a Gaalsien. Most of your kind seems to just take outright offense to the truth, so you're something of a breath of fresh air," he admitted without a trace of shame. "However, this sudden leap in grades? It's too suspicious to ignore, especially given how many of your Kiithmates tried to sneak a stunt just like this under my nose."

"But-!" I bit back a caustic retort, self control rising up just long enough to hold my tongue.

You are an adult, Tanya, I reminded myself. Do not throw a temper tantrum like a child; it will just make things worse.

"...How can I prove myself?" I eventually asked instead. "There must be some way to make up for this, right?"

He huffed, amused. "Well, you're in luck. Because I'm such a merciful soul and because I don't have any outright proof, I'm willing to let you take a make up assignment to get back the points."

He tapped something else on his tablet and spun it around to face me. "Here. This is an essay I'll want back by the end of the week. A look at the development of space warfare doctrine among the Kushan. Minimum of five pages. Do this, and you'll have proven yourself competent enough. Don't, and you'll fail the class."

I wanted to protest, wanted to point out that all the catchup work I had to do for my other classes where I was often just as behind the curve as this one meant I lacked the time. I wanted to argue for more time, or something like a proper trial, for him to admit he was wrong.

But I didn't do any of that. I knew it wouldn't do any good.

"...Yes, Sir," I nodded instead. "I'll have it by the end of the week."

"Good," he nodded, mustache twitching over an inscrutable expression. "Dismissed, Cadet Gaalsien."

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"That's camelshit!"

"Mary…" I sighed.

"No, I don't want to hear your even-handed 'be the better girl' talk!" Mary Somtaaw scowled.

"It won't do any good," I huffed. "If I shouted at him, he could probably kick me out of the academy, or at least ruin my prospects for taking the Pledge. Without that… I'd have to go back to the village."

"Well…" that took the wind from Mary's sails, forcing her to grow thoughtful. "Well… I mean… I'm not taking the Pledge. Couldn't you still stay here without it?"

"But you have the backing of Kiith Somtaaw," I pointed out. "I'm a Gaalsien. In case you haven't noticed, my kind aren't exactly well liked, nor does my Kiith have much power or inclination to do anything about that. Without the Pledge to take me into Kiith Soban, I don't know that I'd even be able to stay in the academy. Even if I did, my prospects beyond it would be… poor."

Mary's red face screwed up in a somewhat adorable expression of youthful rage. That it was on my behalf made me feel all the better, though I was certain her ardent passion would be all for naught. "There has to be something you can do!"

"That's why I'm here," I shrugged, gesturing to the library around us. "To study."

The Kapisi's library had been expanded since its refit into an academy. While modern technology technically made most physical books obsolete, Kushan tradition still demanded some things be backed up on sources that couldn't be wiped away in a system crash. That, and the library was designed to be a modern multimedia place of study for all students walking Kapisi's halls. Along with ancient tomes still written on paper were all manner of computer interfaces, holo-displays, and research materials anyone would need to work on an essay.

"...Tanya, you've been studying," Mary pointed out wearily, then jabbed a finger in my face. "That's what's causing these bags under your eyes! You're working yourself to the bone trying to keep up with all this camelshit you let everyone heap on you."

"I'm fine," I brushed her hand away and tried not to feel irritable about it. "I managed to get a good night's sleep-"

"-You slept for five hours-" she burst out, cutting me off.

"-Which is plenty," I stubbornly argued, raising my voice slightly as I trampled her objection underfoot.

Mary gave me a dubious look. "...If you keep that up, you're gonna be short forever."

Unwillingly, heat flashed across my cheeks. "S-shut up!" I scowled and turned away, glaring at a selection of books on the topic of choice. "I'm fine. I can do this."

"...Sajuuk's mercy, for such a cute nerd you can be so dumb," Mary muttered under her breath.

I frowned and turned to her, "What did you say?"

"N-Nothing!" Mary squeaked, her face an even more incandescent hue than before.

I considered the matter for a second more before disposing of it as meaningless and returning my focus to the task at hand. "Whatever…"

After a moment of only slightly awkward silence, I found what I was looking for and moved to the holo-tables in the center to get to work. As I did, Mary decided to end her silence by making another appeal.

"...I think you should ask for help," Sshe said, and this time no hint of playful irritation clouded her serious tone.

I raised a brow. "Help?"

She nodded fervently. "You're struggling right now on your own, a-and I can only do so much to help, but the staff-"

"I get the feeling that most of the staff wouldn't be enthused to help a Gaalsien," I commented offhandedly and somewhat bitterly.

"Just because that one professor's got sand up his ass doesn't mean the rest do!" Mary protested. "I mean, that's not what Kiith Soban stands for! It's all about 'the quality of the Spirit, not the Blood'. So how can they judge you just by your heritage?"

"Quite easily, it would seem," I growled, forcing myself not to think about it and keep moving. "But it doesn't matter, I'll deal with it."

Mary was quiet for another moment, long enough to reach the table and unload my materials.

"What about Captain Kurt Soban?" Mary inquired, her voice filled with some odd note I couldn't identify. "He'd help you again, right?"

"That…" I paused in my arrangement of my study session, turning the thought over. "He… might."

Captain Soban had been nothing but kind and helpful to me so far. I wasn't sure what his endgame was with me, but thus far he hadn't looked at me with the same suspicion many of my fellow Kushan had upon hearing my Kiith-name. It was possible he could help me, but…

"I'm sure he's far too busy," I said, shaking my head. "Captain Soban has better things to do than waste his time helping cadets finish their homework."

"Oh do I, now?" said a very familiar voice.

My head jerked up so fast I was sure I heard something in my neck snap. I was met with the sight of Captain Soban, prominent mustache and red Sobani fatigues just the same as ever.

"A pleasure to see you again, Cadets Somtaaw, Gaalsien." His mustache twitched over a broad smile, as warm as it was familiar. "And I'm happy to see the two of you're working together so well."

I could practically feel the smug energy radiating off of Mary from where she stood beside me.

"Now," he dipped his head in apology, "I'll admit, I don't have much time to help the two of you myself-"

I resisted the urge to let out a bitter laugh.

"I do have another cadet here who's been… ah… let's say looking for ways to pad his resume." Kurt's smile, impossibly, broadened. "And tutoring two promising young cadets would be just the thing."

He turned to the young man beside him, another cadet clearly several years out senior. He had sharp and tidy features, lightly tanned skin and dark brown hair, all matched with a set of black AR glasses perched on his nose.

"What do you say, Cadet Lergen Naabal?"

The older cadet, for his part, sighed. "I'm going to regret asking you for help, aren't I?"


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Kharak
Nasit Alsayid Shipyard, Kharak Orbit
1355 KDS
Tanya Soban

Three weeks after my talk with Admiral Kurt, I was standing in the Nasit Alsayid shipyard, high above Kharaki orbit. Countless fabrication bays lined the slips of the station, churning out an endless stream of parts and hulls fit to rebuild the Grand Coalition Fleet.

Even years after the Vaygr War, we were still rebuilding our forces. The scale of interstellar space was awe inspiring; the resources at hand for any decently industrialized star empire were equally so. In order to properly defend one's territory, one needed a truly staggering number of warships, and any sizable conflict would likely see the destruction or ruin of most of them.

"But steel is replaceable, souls are not," I muttered as I gazed at the growing fleet.

"Is that a common phrase in Kiith Soban?"

I turned to see a woman standing behind me out of the corner of my eye. She wore the red and white of Kiith S'Jet, soft blue eyes staring back at me, long brown hair left to dangle down her back. She had the tall statue and incredibly pale skin of a spacer, but her more healthy frame indicated that she'd received the highest levels of Kiith S'Jet's famed spacer augmentation regiment. Such things would keep her from becoming dangerously frail and developing many of the physiological disorders formed by growing up in micro-gravity.

"It is," I nodded, turning to fully regard her. "Rear Admiral Tanya Vos Soban, at your service."

The woman's lip twitched up into a happy smile. "Doctor Viktoriya Vos S'Jet, at yours."

I blinked. "Doctor S'jet? Then, you shall be on the Mothership?"

"According to what the Sajuuk Khar has told me, it will be more like I am the Mothership," Viktoria eagerly explained. "The direct neural link system is an incredible feat, and our advances with it have only grown since She first pioneered the technology!"

"I understand," I nodded. "I started on the pilot track myself at the Academy."

"A pilot?" she asked, and raised a curious brow.

"Dropship pilot for the marines," I explained. "I received both marine and pilot augs from that, which included a neural lace to let me directly link to the ship."

"I see," Viktoria said thoughtfully, "So you have some experience with this. Does that mean you will be going for the Full Dive aboard your new flagship?"

"Of course," I easily replied, "It may be an expensive and time-intensive process to install and train for, but the benefits of becoming Unbound are well worth the cost, in my opinion."

"But…what about your humanity?" Viktoryia asked, hesitation and anxiety flickering in her bright blue eyes. "Aren't you worried about leaving something behind?"

"What would I be leaving?" I inquired, curious about her reasoning. "The latest advancements in neural interfaces have made integration and decoupling far easier than before, it's not as if I will be stuck in my ship for eternity. I can still go out and live life as a normal human, if I so wished."

She opened her mouth to respond, then sighed and shook her head "Sorry, it's nothing. Never mind."

She turned back to the yards, watching as the workers applied my chosen modules and modifications to the ship. I wasn't quite sure how to respond, comforting others had never been my strong suit.

"...Have you met Karan S'Jet?" I prodded gently.

"...I have," she acknowledged.

"And you don't think she's human?"

"She is the Sajuuk-Khar," Viktoryia replied, as if that explained everything. Perhaps it did. "She has become Unbound, she is linked to the Sajuuk and all three Great Hyperspace Cores. I think she is something much more than merely human now."

"Becoming Unbound could be considered the next step in human evolution," I pointed out.

"It could," he nodded in concession. "But that does not make it any less imposing."

"True enough," I acknowledged, and turned my eyes back to my ship.

For a moment, we sat in companionable silence.

"...That isn't a standard Battlecruiser template, is it?" Viktoriya eventually asked, her eyes picking apart every minute detail on the hull.

"No, it isn't," I agreed. "It's the first of the Khontala-class Battleships. It takes the old Tiir-class Battlecruiser hull and uses the lessons learned in the war to improve upon it."

I paused. "...also, as the Flagship of a Kiith Vos, and soon to be my new ship-self, I was allowed to have personal input on its design."

"Oh?"

"The Tiir-class had plenty of anti-capital firepower, but was sorely lacking for any kind of anti-strike craft defense," I noted. "Its weakness to strike craft was already known when the ships went into production, but the war illuminated just how dire a Battlecruiser's weakness to bombers truly was. Many times all it would take would be a handful of squadrons to cripple a Tiir or a Vaygr Conqueror simply by targeting its vulnerable subsystems, like engines or weapons."

"Even worse, from experience I can tell you that they were exceedingly vulnerable to boarding operations. I myself led several successful missions to capture enemy Battlecruisers, and each time the largest obstacle was simply getting to the ship. Once on board, taking control was merely a matter of time."

"That…" Viktoriya's brow furrowed, and an adorable little frown on her face "...that seems like a lot of unacceptable weaknesses for the pride of the fleet."

"It is," I nodded. "They were known before the war, as I mentioned, it was just assumed that the rest of the fleet could account for them. The Battlecruiser's job was to be the big hammer that smashed apart the enemy's capital ships. The 'small fry' could be someone else's problem."

"And then reality showed them the errors in their hypothesis?"

"Just so."

"Hmm…" Viktoriya looked over the battleship and gave an approving hum. "Much like our lab work at the Institute. Many times we could come up with elaborate theories that made perfect sense on paper, but when put into practice reality tended to make the folly of our hubris known."

She seemed to jerk, then, and shot me an apologetic look. "Ah! Apologies, I am getting sidetracked, Admiral. Please, continue."

I gave her a puzzled look, but the good doctor merely insisted.

"...Very well," I conceded. "So the base Khontala-class was designed to shore up many of those weaknesses. Mine, in particular, was modified to suit my requirements." I explained. I pointed to various spots on the hull and said, "There are several flak batteries and point defense turrets added to give full defense coverage to the ship. A sufficiently large formation can still break through, but it's no longer an easy target.

"In addition, I expanded the hangar bay, allowing for full strike craft production. It's not as efficient as a Fleet Carrier's foundries and bays, but it can produce several squadrons of fighters and corvettes easily enough." I pointed to another place near the bridge. "There is also an extended marine barracks and integrated Fire Control Tower, allowing me to better direct the fleet and defend against enemy boarders. Combined with the enhanced hangar bay, I can even deploy Marine Corvettes of my own."

Lastly, I pointed to the engines. "The Khontala isn't any faster than the Tiir, but it does have more powerful engines to account for the added mass, as well as extra armor over all the subsystems to make them less vulnerable to attack. They're still far from invulnerable, but the ship can no longer be crippled by a quick surgical strike to the rear like the Tiir."

"Impressive," Viktoria nodded. "And those modules? Some I recognize, but the last…?"

"Ah, well, some I already mentioned, but another is the pin-point hyperdrive module, and… the last is an Academy module."

Viktoria shot me a surprised look.

"I have been teaching at the Academy for some time. It is… fulfilling work." I admitted. "And given the length and scope of the Homeworld Expedition, there will be much need for educating new officers in transit."

"Indeed there will," Viktoria smiled.

"What of your own priorities?" I asked, switching the conversation around.

"Well, seeing as Kiith Soban has offered their stalwart defense," Viktoria's smile grew an edge I couldn't place. "I suppose… I can turn my gaze back to the stars."

With that, her gaze turned out beyond the shipyard, out to the void before us, and her expression turned wistful. "The Sajuuk-Khar has declared this an era of exploration. That's what we were, once. Explorers.

"We started life as a colony fleet, venturing out into the unknown. Fate took us by the throat and cast us out to these distant lands. At the core of every age of our people's history has been a yearning to venture forth into the unknown. To discover what's out there. And in every age, we have been met with war." She sighed. "After this last great war, I hope that we can become known as explorers once more."

Then she seemed to remember my presence, jerking somewhat and shooting me an abashed look. "N-not that I mean to disparage you or your people, Admiral-"

"No no, I understand you, Doctor," I said, stopping her. "Indeed, I even agree with you."

"You… do?" She gave me an odd look. "I admit, I would have figured a soldier like you would be more… attached to war."

Her words struck a dark chord deep within my soul. Memories of fires burning the settlements across the Great Banded Desert. Flashes of ion beams ending the lives of hundreds in moments. Sleepless nights remembering the days we were on the brink. For a moment, my mask of professionalism flickered and I winced.

"...That's the problem, Doctor." I eventually managed to give her a wan smile. "I am."

She gave me a puzzled look. Part of me wanted to explain it all to her. Most of me just suddenly felt tired.

Meeting people who were blissfully ignorant of that hell called war was far from a new experience for me. I'd meet hundreds of starry eyed students who all wanted me to recount epics of grand war stories and heroic victories. It was, in a way, as much a curse as a blessing.

Was I like that, once upon a time? I wondered.

"I'm… sorry?" She shot me an earnestly apologetic look, but I could see the confusion swimming in her eyes. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything, I just… I'd just heard so many soldiers being so boisterous about combat, and… well…"

"...There are good times and bad in war," I admitted. "Some memories we cling to fondly, if only to chase away the nightmares. And I cannot claim to speak for all Kushan, but… for Kiith Soban…"

I rolled the thoughts around in my head, trying to pick my words carefully. As a Vos I was, quite literally, a voice of the Soban people. My words held weight, in more ways than one.

"...for Kiith Soban, war is… something of a duty," I spoke at last, walking lightly through the ideological minefield the conversation had so abruptly become.

"A duty? How so?" Viktoria pressed.

"In this dangerous reality we find ourselves in, conflict will forever be a fact of life. Perhaps not at all times, and not with all peoples, but war will happen, some time or another. To discard such things and think of eternal peace is nothing but naivety," I explained, falling back on blandishments. "And yet, peace is something worth striving for. The pleasures outside of war are worth cherishing. Sometimes fighting for a better future, or simply to protect what little you have, is necessary

"For Kiith Soban, our duty is to fight those necessary battles so our more gentle Kiithid brothers and sisters do not have to."

"...And yet the Sobani are also renown mercenaries, are they not?" Viktoria prodded. "How does that factor in?"

I shrugged negligently. "We are discerning with our contracts. We pick the battles that deserve to be fought."

"Yet you do it for coin."

"Of course?" I shot her a puzzled look. "It is our trade, our craft, our profession. For all our skill, we still need food, shelter, and supplies. We take what we are proficient at, apply them to the niche most suited for society, and partake in the grand exchange that is a functioning civilization.

"It's just rational economics."

For a moment, Viktoria just stared at me, gears turning inscrutable behind those brilliant blue eyes.

Then, of all things, she laughed.

I stared at her, unsure of what to do or how to respond to laughter, of all things.

Though, it is quite a pleasant sound. I noted, tempted to just let the moment rest.

The option was pulled from me when a familiar voice called out from behind. "Making the ladies swoon as usual, Admiral?"

I was half insulted, half exasperated, but entirely surprised, when I turned around to see seven very familiar faces.

Weiss and Nicole sort of made sense, I'd heard they'd gotten promotions within the fleet, along with new commands, so they could have been up here to take a look at them as well. Konig would sooner die than stop being a marine infantry, so he almost made sense. Grantz too, given that he was still a pilot. I'd even heard he made Ace since he'd graduated. Christina, Lotte, and Nuemann, however, were supposed to be ground pounders now, so I hadn't the faintest idea why they were this far up the gravity well.

"Brothers and Sisters," I greeted my fellow Sobani. "It's good to see you again."

"Awe, we missed you too, Teach!" Grantz beamed.

On the one hand, I was off the clock and we were all out of uniform, so on paper I didn't mind. That said, he was pushing his luck and he damn well knew it.

I shot him a look, and the boy immediately snapped to attention.

"A thousand pardons, Ma'am!" He barked, tanned face growing nearly as pale as my own. "Such foolish declarations will not pass my lips again, Ma'am!"

I let him stew under my glare for another five seconds. "...See that they don't."

Grantz nodded so sharply I was almost worried for his neck.

I sighed and turned to Dr. S'jet by my side, who was giving all of us a puzzled look.

"Doctor, these are some of my old students and subordinates from Kiith Soban." I explained, pointing them out one by one. "Weiss was my second in command on my carrier, while Konig, Christina, and Nuemann were some of my best marines."

"Grantz, Nicole, and Lotte, however…" I gestured to the boy who was half preening, half petrified, the girl who was doing an admirable job hiding her own nerves under a stoic mask, and the girl who wasn't even hiding her nerves at all, "were some of my best students from the Academy."

The three stood up a bit straighter, pride gleaming their eyes.

"...when they actually paid attention."

Said pride came crashing back down.

Even after all these years, you're all still far too easy.

Viktoriya giggled softly at their reactions. "So it seems your former students and subordinates have come to pay you a visit. You must have been quite the remarkable mentor and commander for them to come out all this way."

"Oh, I was nothing special," I dismissed the matter easily enough. "Merely passing on what my mentor did for me."

"The Captain's glossing over the part where she was taught by the Sobani Kiith 'Sa himself." Konig smirked. "And that she got our asses out of the thorniest clusterfucks in the whole Vaygr war."

"I haven't been a Captain in quite a while, Konig," I pointed out mildly.

"Eh," he shrugged, "You'll always be the Captain to me."

"Hmm…" I narrowed my gaze at him. "If we were in uniform I might consider that grounds for disciplinary action for disrespecting a superior officer."

Konig just grinned.

Then I realized something.

"Actually… why are you here?" I asked. "Shouldn't you all be busy elsewhere? Neumann, Christana, Lotte, I didn't think you even did much spaceborne operations anymore."

"Ah, well…" Neumann sent a hesitant look towards Weiss.

My old XO simply straightened his back, found his courage, and proceeded to utterly shock me. "We're here to join you on the expedition."

My world tilted.

"...I'm sorry, what?" I looked at them all, utterly baffled.

"We heard you were going on the Expedition to the Homeworld. Leading the Sobani contribution to it." Christina explained.

"And we all knew that with your luck, you'd find yourself neck deep in shit before long," Konig remarked. "So who better to bail you out then your old buddies from the Ferin Sha?"

"We want to watch your back out there, ma'am," Neumann admitted. "You've saved our lives more times than I can count. Outta return the favor somehow."

"But… what about your families? Or your careers?" I said, mind scrambling to find some logic in this. "I-I mean, you can't just drop everything to follow me!"

"We're Sobani," Weiss pointed out. "We're nomads by tradition. Packing up everything and going on a generational voyage into the unknown with our brothers and sisters by our side? Just another day in the brotherhood for us."

"And you're talking like this Expedition won't be the biggest thing that a Kushan could ever do." Konig argued. "This is the trip to find The Homeworld. What could possibly compare to that?"

"In addition," Viktoriya chimed in, leaning forward with a wry smile on her lips, "the Mothership fleet will include many civilian vessels, including Lifeships. Should someone want to start a family, or even bring the one they already have along, there would be more than enough room to do it. And I'm sure that priority placement would be given to the dependents of Vos's subordinates."

For once in my life, I found myself utterly speechless.

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A/n: Well this came out later than I'd initially intended.

Still, I managed to get this out on my birthday, so I'll call that a win.

Shoutout to @Readhead and @Darik29 for their help getting this chapter out.

I do, technically, have one more chapter in waiting, finished and prewritten, but it's also basically chapter 4 or 5, depending on how much I write for the next section. So I might end up posting that just to get it out there at some point, maybe as some kind of "Glimpse ahead" thing for this snippet thread while I work on filling up the time between with chapters I'd post for the proper dedicated thread.

Dunno

In any case, writing the adventures of Cadets Tanya and Mary was surprisingly fun. The stuff I wrote with Admiral Tanya was actually done months ago. I think that half of the chapter has been sitting around since March. But I'm pretty sure I had fun.

Oh, also, more of the YS cast has appeared, hooray.

In case, I'm still tired as fuck so I might just end up going right back to bed. Fortunately I was able to get this out on time, with help from Read and Darik. Hopefully ya'll will have enjoyed it as well.
 
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A Young Warrior's Imperial Ascension(YS/Star Trek)
A Young Warrior's Imperial Ascension


AKA


Tahn'yagh the Klingon


Youjo Senki x Star Trek


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A/n: Surprise, I decided to write none of the things I thought I would.

Big thanks to @Sunshine , their discord server, and @Readhead for helping me with this.


Commander Benjamin Sisko


"Well, Old Man," Sisko turned to give Jadzia Dax an expectant look. "Any word on when this 'Old Friend' of yours should be turning up?"

The two were in the command center of Deep Space 9, along with the rest of his command staff. Other than the expectations weighing on him from the woman's warning, the day had turned out much like any other on the station. A steady stream of newly arrived ship traffic eager for berthing permissions, the wormhole periodically spasming open to spit out some new explorer, and a couple 'disturbances' in Quarks to round out the day.

It was an utterly average shift at his station so far, and more than anything else, that had him worried.

"Any minute now, Benjamin," Dax replied, her eyes pouring over the sensor screens, as if waiting for something to jump out at them. "General Iktoh is a man of his word. Although… he can have a tendency to be… dramatic."

"Dramatic?" Sisko gave her a pointed look.

"He's a big fan of Klingon Opera," she said, smiling coyly at her non-answer.

Sisko sighed and turned to his second in command. "Well, Major, it seems we can expect a 'dramatic entrance' from this Klingon general."

"So, what, de-cloaking on top of us with an entire battlefleet?" Kira Nerys caustically remarked. "I'm sure that'll go over just swell with the provisional government."

"Well, think about it this way," Chief O'Brian commented with his station. "A bunch of Klingon warships dropping right on top of us will piss the Cardassians right off, that's for sure."

The Bajoran Major gave the engineer a considering look at that intriguing concept. "You know… that is a pleasant thought."

"Though I'm not sure the Constable will enjoy the kind of trouble that a fresh band of Klingon sailors can stir up," Sisko pointed out. "Even if they are here for a 'friendly visit'."

"General Iktoh can make sure his men can behave. It's more his-" Dax started, before being cut off by a sudden alert from the consoles.

"Vessels uncloaking, half a million klicks from the station, vector 179, Delta Sector," Chief O'Brian quickly reported. "It's five-no, six starships. Definitely Klingon. Four B'rels, a Vor'cha, and…" The Chief gave Sisko a concerned look. "Computers don't recognize the last one, sir. Partial match with a Vor'cha, but it's too different to say for certain. Definitely the same weight class, though."

"So… two cruisers and their escorts showing up on our doorstep." Major Nerys sighed, setting her shoulders in that fashion Sisko had come to interpret as bracing herself for less pleasant times ahead. "Well… I suppose I did ask for it."

"They're hailing us, Commander," Dax announced, briefly skimming over the signals coming in from the fleet. "It's definitely the General's signal."

"Very well," Sisko acknowledged, straightening his uniform and making sure he was as presentable as Starfleet expected of a commanding officer. "Put him on screen."

The primary viewscreen of the command deck winked into existence, showing the dim interior of a KDF bridge. At the helm was an old Klingon man, relatively stocky for their race, with long grey hair bound together and trailing down his back. The bony forehead crest that so characterized his species took the form of angular ridges across his weathered skull. A prominent goatee tipped his chin, which the old general was stroking as he smiled easily for the camera, the expression softening the lines on his weathered face.

Something about that smile eased the knot in Sisko's gut. Rather than a sneer filled with cunning, battle-hunger, or arrogance as he had seen in so many other Klingons, Iktoh's expression looked like the honest smile of a jovial old man.

"Dax!" The man bellowed, his rough voice rumble across the deck as his dark eyes twinkled with mirth. "It's been far too long, old friend! We must share a drink when I get to the station."

The general's amber eyes shifted to Sisko's, and he could see a measure of the mirth drain away, replaced with a keen look piercing through him. Yet, the twinkle and the smile remained, just as casual as before. "And Commander Benjamin Sisko of the Federation. I've heard quite a bit about you."

"Good things, I hope," Sisko replied.

"Oh no, terrible things." The man's expression grew dour for a brief moment, just long enough for Sisko's gut to clench, only the general's face to immediately brighten back up into a toothy smile. "Terribly amusing things, Commander. Your efforts at Utopia Planitia do you credit."

That surprised Sisko for a moment.

But then… considering the work I did… he thought, holding back a frown, I suppose I can't say I'm surprised a Klingon general of all people would be amused by the Federation's Anti-Borg Fleet Program. If anything, I'm just surprised he knows about it…

"Thank you, General," Sisko said, nodding in acknowledgment. "My science officer told me to keep an eye out for you. Something about you paying my station a 'friendly visit'?"

"Indeed, Commander." The general's face turned serious, the smile slipping into a more thoughtful, contemplative expression. "It is a matter of grave importance. The reason why I have arrived with so many of my House forces."

"And that matter is?" Sisko prodded, almost dreading the answer.

Here comes today's headache, he thought.

In a flash, the fanged grin returned tenfold.

"Why, seeing off my daughter's first mission in her new starship, of course!"

…I can see what Jadzia meant by "dramatic," Sisko almost sighed.

Glancing at the Trill science officer from the corner of his eye, Benjamin could see the smallest twitch of her lip telling him exactly how amusing she found all this.

I suppose I should've expected the two crazy old men to get along like this…

"And what can I expect for this 'first mission' of your daughters?" Sisko said. "I'm assuming that if you came all the way here and gave us fair warning, it will have something to do with my station?"

"Indeed, Commander, indeed," the general nodded, "although the specifics are best discussed in person, if I may come aboard. Though, worry not, it will likely be more a boon than a curse for your duties."

That remains to be seen, Sisko thought, but didn't say.

"Very well. Permission granted," Benjamin nodded. "And in the meantime, I'm sure your men can find plenty of entertainment on the station. Just… try not to give my Constable too much of a headache, General."

Iktoh barked a laugh deep from his gut. "Oh, I can make no promises there, Commander! If there is one thing House Zukt'cho is fond of, it is songs of honor!"

And with that, the general cut the connection.

Sisko shot Dax a look. He could practically already hear the off-tune Klingon roaring they called "singing" thundering through the halls of the station.

"Well… I told you he's a fan of opera," she shrugged, doing a very poor job of hiding her smile.

This time he really did sigh.

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Commander Benjamin Sisko


"Well, General, now that you're aboard, what did you want to talk about?" Sisko said, walking around the desk in his office and idly picking up his baseball.

He sent a quick glance towards Jadzia, who'd joined him. She didn't seem half as anxious as he was, which made sense given how well Dax knew the old Klingon. Sisko himself wasn't exactly worried, per se, but he did find himself waiting to see when the other shoe would drop.

Opposite them was the old Klingon general, Iktoh. His age and dignity were, if anything, even more apparent in person, as was his jovial disposition. He carried himself in a way that made Benjamin think of his grandfather. An overall cheerful old man keen to dispense his years of wisdom, though one with a less than cheerful past.

Accompanying him were two Klingon women with the same house markings as the general. The older of the two look to be about Sisko's age, though it was possible that she was much older than she looked, considering Klingon lifespans. She had a different air than most of the Klingons he'd met, her uniform a neat and tidy padded jumpsuit and her thick hair pulled into a tight bun. There was keen interest in her dark eyes as they traveled around the room, a kind of weathered analytical intensity he hadn't expected to see in a Klingon officer.

The other woman was much younger, a girl who looked like she might have been little more than a fresh graduate from the Academy. She had softer features than any Klingon Sisko could recall seeing, looking in some way almost delicate, at least until he met her hard golden eyes. That, combined with the prominent angular forehead ridges, formal armor studded in trophies, and the confidence in her posture told him she was just as much a proud Klingon warrior as any other he'd met.

"First, let me say that you have an impressive station here, Commander," General Iktoh congratulated him. "Quite the prize the Federation claimed from the Cardassians."

"Thank you, General, but…" Sisko was somewhat caught off guard by the sentiment. "...The station is still Bajoran, they've merely requested Federation administration."

"Indeed!" the stocky Klingon grinned, "And in doing so they have run right into your arms, and granted you quite the valuable strategic location while they were at it!"

Sisko didn't know what to say to that, certainly nothing Starfleet Command would approve of, so he just decided to switch topics.

"How about we get back to the matter at hand, General," he said instead, fingers tracing over the familiar stitching of the worn baseball. "Why are you here?"

The general chuckled, "Very well, Commander. To the point it is. I trust you noticed the new starship?"

"The one we couldn't identify?" Dax asked, receiving a nod in turn. "We got a partial match with a Vor'cha class, but given its hammerhead prow…"

"Yes, I'm not surprised you only got a partial match with a Vor'cha. That is the hull it is based on." The general held up a small holo emitter, "If I may?"

Sisko nodded and gestured to his desk.

Iktoh placed the emitter on his desk and activated it, revealing a 3-dimensional view of the new ship in question.


It had a very similar frame to the Vor'cha class, particularly the rear half with the short wings sweeping forward and down connecting the warp nacelles to the main hull, and the angular weapons platform "hump" with radiator baffles. The difference came with the neck, as the Vor'cha class normally tapered to a spearhead shape featuring a powerful primary disrupter on the chin of the bridge section.

Instead, this new class had a hammerhead capping the neck. It was wide, jagged, arrowhead design, far larger than the Vor'cha's, and missing the bow-mounted main disruptor cannon. In its place it looked to have a powerful deflector array, something that seemed more at home among Starfleet's exploration vessels than a Klingon warship.

"This is the Fek'lhr class Research Cruiser," General Iktoh grinned. "The first of her kind."

Sisko couldn't help but blink at that, though Dax got to it before he could.

"A Research Cruiser?" she asked, incredulous.

"It's inspired, in particular, by the Federation's Nebula class," the older Klingon woman explained, speaking up for the first time. "The ship is designed to be able to do long term deep space exploration and research, as well as handle itself in a fight."

General Iktoh nodded, his expression turning serious. "My love for the Klingon Empire is boundless, but even I can see that it grows stagnant. While the Empire wallows in mediocrity and wastes time singing of past glory, the Federation's star seems to only rise ever higher. That we are content merely to boast of honor in the meantime is shameful."

The general stroked his goatee, closing his eyes in contemplation. Sisko, meanwhile, internally rocked at the implications of a general of the empire, and the leader of one of its Great Houses, openly talking about the Empire in such unflattering terms. Still…

"Then I assume this new ship is an attempt to… change that course?" Benjamin guessed.

"Indeed, commander," the general nodded. "While many on Qo'nos whisper of potential new conquests, it is the wise hunter who learns from fellow huntsmen. The Empire stagnates while the Federation rises, but why?"

Iktoh gestured to the ship diagram again. "It is because, unlike the Empire, the Federation values the haft of an empire, not merely the tip of its blade. Industry, commerce, research, how many fundamental qualities of a great power do the so-called 'Honorable Warriors' scorn?"

"This is a proof of concept," Dax guessed. "A Research Cruiser like this… you want it to go out on exploration missions and bring back valuable science, resources, even allies for the Empire's benefit."

"Much like the Federation does with its famous Enterprise, no?" Iktoh grinned.

Sisko wasn't much sure he liked the comparison, but he had to admit that he much preferred the idea of Klingons taking inspiration from the Federation rather than trying to start another war. Hopefully this research ship wasn't the sign of another war brewing on the horizon, anyways.

"And let me guess, you're here for the wormhole?" Sisko ventured.

"The obvious answer, hmm?" Iktoh grinned, "But not quite. Oh, to be sure, it presents an invaluable test for the ship, and an incredible well of opportunities for the Empire. But that is not why I am here."

His eyes turned to Dax.

"...Me?" Jadzia blinked. "Iktoh, I'm flattered, but I'm not sure what you want me to do?"

"It is not so much what I want from you, old friend, so much as it is about repaying what I owe. What honor would I have if I forgot my debts?" Iktoh's smile shifted, gaining an edge Sisko didn't much like. "And in this sector of space, well… my friend, I have a feeling you will need all the help you can get."

"And what exactly does that mean?" Sisko stepped back in.

"The wormhole is an invaluable jewel, commander. Even the Federation must see that. One on the border of Cardassian space," Iktoh explained. "Oh, how it must burn the Union to know that they let Bajor slip through their grasp mere moments before it became one of the most valuable sectors in the quadrant."

"You think they'll make a play for the Bajor again?" Benjamin said. "With the treaty we've arranged-"

"Bah," the general waved it off like a bad smell. "Even if that treaty was worth the paper it was printed on, you're a fool if you think the Obsidian Order would let something as paltry as that stop them. Mark my words, Commander, the Cardassians will be doing whatever they can to get their hands on that wormhole."

"To say nothing of what you may find on the other side," the younger Klingon woman commented. "Who knows what threats you might face in the Gamma Quadrant?"

"Indeed," the general nodded, then stopped, suddenly shooting Sisko an apologetic look. "Ah! For shame, commander, I have failed to make proper introductions."

Iktoh placed a gentle hand on the younger Klingon's back and prodded her forward. "This is my daughter, Lieutenant Commander Tahn'yagh. The pride and joy of my life, and the second in command of the Fek'lhr."

The golden-eyed girl stepped up and met Sisko's gaze head on. "Greetings, Commander. It will be an honor to work with you."

"To work… with us?" Sisko said, uncertainty and suspicion knotting his gut. Free help wasn't exactly something he thought he was lucky enough to get.

"In a way," the older woman stepped forward this time.

"This is Doctor Okoy'ye. She is the Captain of the Fek'lhr, and more particularly heads its roster of scientists," the general explained.

"A Klingon Doctor? In charge of a warship?" Dax raised a brow, "I'm sure that's ruffled a few feathers."

"Why do you think I made my daughter her second in command?" Iktoh grinned. "Tahn'yagh has grown into a warrior of unparalleled skill. Since the day she came of age, she has yet to lose a single official duel. Should any of the crew have… lofty ambitions, she will put them to rest. "

"Father is far too generous," Tahn'yagh hastily corrected. "I simply learned well under his tutelage. Even now, he can still best me in the ring."

Dax looked amused by that. "Tahn'yagh, your father is a Dahar Master. Even at his age, I'm sure there's few Klingons alive who can best him in the ring. That you learned under him, and can match him at all, says much about your own prowess."

"Hah! You see, daughter? Even the Federation respects your prowess." Iktoh barked a laugh and gave Tahn'yagh a firm pat on the back. "Soon, songs of your valor will be sung across the Empire!"

The girl looked uncertain about that, and Sisko had to admit that the image of a Klingon warrior shying away from prestige and honor wasn't exactly something he'd expected to see in his life. Though the sheer mundanity of a child practically blushing from the praises of her overly proud father hit just close enough to home to bring a smile to his lips. Despite his anxiety, Sisko found himself warming up to the old general.

"Well, with such a sterling endorsement, I have high hopes for you myself," Sisko said, "Though, you'll forgive me, General, if I take a father's praises with a grain of salt. I know how biased we can be."

"But if we do not sing their praises, who will?" Iktoh questioned, then belted out a deep roll of laughter.

Sisko couldn't help but grin. "Fair enough, General."

Tagh'yagh, between them, shuffled nervously. She sent a pleading look to Doctor Okoy'ye, who in turn sighed and spoke up.

"The reason that General Iktoh has placed me in command," the Klingon Doctor came to the girl's rescue, "is because he thinks I can ride herd on his ship full of mad scientists."

"You've done an excellent job at handling my mad scientists so far," Iktoh pointed out, mirth twinkling in his eyes.

"So. Far." the doctor repeated icily. "I'm a biologist, not a miracle worker."

"Why not both?"

Okoy'ye just let out a weary sigh. Sisko got the sense the two had this conversation regularly. When he shot the general a curious look, Iktoh laughed.

"The good doctor here was part of the Federation exchange program with the Empire. She got the opportunity to study at Starfleet Academy, and picked up quite a few prestigious degrees under her belt during that time." Iktoh smiled. "Which means she actually understands what the brilliant minds I hire mean when they devolve into their technobabble ramblings."

"Those 'brilliant minds' were experimenting with weaponized subspace shockwaves." Doctor Okoy'ye growled. "When I found them they were this close to causing a resonance cascade on Qo'nos that would have made Praxis look like a fire-cracker!"

"But you were able to stop them in time. You even understand what that means!" Iktoh beamed. "That makes you perfect for the job."

Okoy'ey scowled and shot Tahn'yagh a dark look. The general's daughter gave her a helpless shrug.

"Don't worry, Commander, they both have my utmost confidence to handle things here." Iktoh said.

Sisko looked to his old friend for advice. Despite looking over the General with a reconsidering expression, she managed to catch his look and nod, assuaging his doubt.

"So… you won't be staying?" Benjamin asked.

"Oh no. Much as I may want to, Commander, I have far, far too much work to do running House Zukt'Cho to go galavanting through the galaxy these days." Iktoh shook his head sadly. "Still, this will be a valuable learning experience for my daughter. Hopefully, it will groom her into a leader that can finally replace these old bones."

The old general laughed at his own joke, but Tahn'yagh only sent him a concerned look.

"In the meantime," Captain Okoy'ye said, "We will, with your permission, be using Deep Space 9 as a kind of… home port, if you will. While here, should you ever call on us, the Fek'lhr stands ready to honor the Empire's alliance with the Federation, and House Zukt'Cho's debts with Dax."

"Of course, having the Fek'lhr and her crew based at your station will also provide other… benefits. As we explore the Gamma Quadrant, we will be on the lookout for lucrative opportunities for the Empire. Untapped resources, new materials, even trade deals with newly contacted civilizations," Tahn'yagh pointed out. "Deep Space 9 would make a fine port of call for all of the traffic those encounters would inevitably produce.

"And," Tahn'yagh continued, "to still what I will guess is your initial reaction, while the Federation may not officially have a need for currency internally, you cannot tell me that they would decline an opportunity to encourage free commerce. Not to mention that, this far out from Federation logistical lines? I'm sure having a few… supplementary resupply options wouldn't go amiss in your operations of this station either."

Sisko hated to admit it, but she did have a point. Much as the Federation prided itself on being a post-scarcity society, most of that abundance was found in the core worlds, and Deep Space 9 was about as far away from them as it was possible to be while remaining within Federation space. Combined with the fact that the station was of Cardassian make, not Starfleet, it lacked some of the same amenities he was used to. He hadn't been left out to dry, exactly, but he could certainly feel himself in a far less secure position than he would like.

However…

"General Iktoh… Thank you for the offer, but to be honest I'm not sure what I did to earn your favor?" Dax said. "We're old friends, but this is…?"

"Worry not. I am not surprised you do not know. I am sure you will understand in your own time." Iktoh nodded sagely. "Let me just say that without Curzon Dax, my daughter would not be with us here today."

Tahn'yagh shuffled nervously at that, and Okoy'ye let out a small sigh, but neither contradicted him. Glancing at Dax, he could see her reconsidering the Klingon doctor with a serious look. There was a lot to unpack there, and he wasn't sure where to start, or if he even should.

Well there's certainly a story there, Sisko thought. But, if I'm lucky, it won't be my problem.

Benjamin didn't really consider himself to be that fortunate, but he also trusted Dax, and if Dax trusted General Iktoh's word then he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Out this far from Federation support, Sisko knew he needed all the help he could get.

"Well then, I suppose it'll be a pleasure to work with you as well," Sisko said, and forced a smile.

And hopefully this won't cause more problems than it solves.

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Lt. Commander Tahn'Yagh


"I'm going to catch up with the old man over there," my father gestured to the young woman waiting for him by the turbolift.

Not that I didn't understand how the lifecycles of a Trill worked. If anything, I likely understood more than any man, or Klingon girl for that matter, alive about just how it felt to live a jumbled variety of lives. Still, it struck me that my father took express amusement out of referring to Jadzia Dax as an "old man" just because of his relationship with Curzon Dax. Something that, apparently, Jadzia herself also found amusing, given how often it drew a smile to her lips.

It was an… interesting relationship, and one that made me think about my own unusual status when it came to past lives.

"Feel free to join me if you like, Daughter. I'm sure Jadzia would love to meet you," he continued.

"Thank you for the offer, Father, but I believe I would prefer to get the 'lay of the land', so to speak," I replied.

"Oh?" My father gave me an inquiring look. "Scoping out your new hunting grounds, hmm?"

I gave a sharp nod in reply, Klingon body language being both oddly similar and different to the human customs I'd grown up with twice before. "Effectively, yes. If I am to be using this station as a home port, I must understand it to best leverage my resources."

Something about what I'd said seemed to amuse him, and he gave me a fond chuckle. "Very well, daughter. I recommend you start your journey at Quark's. I've heard the Ferengi entrepreneur has quite an ear for business in this sector."

He gave me an all-too-pleased grin that told me exactly how much he enjoyed his own pun.

A long suffering sigh escaped my lips, but I would be remiss if I didn't follow his words. "Very well, father. I suppose it's as good a place to start looking as any."

"Oh, don't look so put upon, Tahn'yagh. I'm sure it will be worth your while," he reassured me. "If nothing else, he serves a nice strong cup of Raktajino."

I narrowed my eyes. "...You're trying to bribe me."

"And it's working!" my father beamed.

"...I hate it when you're right," I replied a moment later, heaving a sigh. "I really could do with a good Raktajino after this morning. The new blood we brought on board was all too eager to test me, and my own men were all too eager to provide a show."

Granted, being legally and culturally justified for thrashing your subordinates for being obstinate jackasses was a nice change of pace. The ability to actually punch my insufferable morons for causing me no end of headaches was a nice stress reliever, though there was a balance to be maintained between ensuring proper Klingon discipline and merely abusing the crew as some power-mad tyrant. The latter rarely ended well, for Klingons or Humans.

"That's the spirit!" his broad grin widened, warm eyes burning like a cozy fireplace in the dead of winter. An ever-reliable balm on my soul. "Now, if you'll excuse me, these two old men have some catching up to do."

I watched my new father leave to rejoin his old friend with a spring in his step. Even by his standards, I had rarely seen him so happy. It was… nice.

I turned to Dr. Okoy'ye, inquiring on where she would be in the meantime.

"I'll be visiting the station's medical facilities before heading back to the ship," she immediately explained. "With your father monopolizing the chief science officer's time, I'd at least like to check in with the local medical professionals before leaving."

"You have been wanting to touch base with more Federation medical technology," I said, nodding.

"Feh!" she scoffed, "I don't have much hope of that. This is a Cardassian station, the Feddies are just handling it. They might've refit the medlabs, but given they haven't even seen fit to set up a decent Starfleet Patrol out here, despite its value? Either the politicians on Earth are as short-sighted and weak-willed as I thought, or they're pointedly leaving Sisko out here to dry."

That is curious, isn't it? I thought.

Despite the value of the station, it only had a handful of runabouts for the station's complement. Barely more than overgrown shuttlecraft. If House Zukt'cho had a station in a similarly strategic location, it would have warranted at least one proper warship for patrols. Likely not a top-of-the line force, probably something second rate that could be spared the task, like a K't'inga or a couple B'rels, but at least something with decent legs and teeth.

The fact that Starfleet couldn't be bothered to task Commander Sisko even a single Miranda is quite the damning statement, in my opinion.

"Well at least they didn't leave him with an Oberth," I pointed out.

Okoy'ye barked a harsh laugh at that. "Hah! Worse than useless. An insult like… probably grounds for an honor battle or three in the Empire."

She wasn't wrong. I wasn't sure what kind of reputation the Oberth had in the Federation, or even what it was actually designed for, but it was somewhat infamous in the Empire as the perfect example of everything wrong with Starfleet's starship philosophy. Among the most polite of its nicknames was "the flying funeral". I could understand that not every ship needed to be a purpose built warship, but the stories told to me seemed to indicate that Starfleet could and would take what amounts to a civilian ship armed with a water cannon out to fight on the frontlines of war.

Getting stuck with one of those glorified coffins would have been a high insult, even in the Empire. Death in battle may be considered honorable, but there was a difference between a warrior's death and a life discarded.

"Well, I wish you luck on your search." I nodded.

"And to you on your dealings with this 'Quark'." She replied.

And with that, we made our separate ways.

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Finding Quark turned out to be easier than I expected. His establishment seemed to be one of the most popular on the station's promenade. Given his was the only business operational at the moment and apparently the sole source of drinks, gambling, and holosuites worth a damn on the station, it wasn't hard to see why.

"Can I help you with something?" a Ferengi patron asked when I approached the bar.

A glance around told me that my mere entrance had gained no small amount of attention in the room. Most had returned to drinks or games after a brief glance, but some carried the scent of fear about them.

It's interesting how new perspectives in life can lead to different thoughts, I noted, mind harkening back to the fact that Klingons had a markedly improved sense of smell over humans. My own abilities meant that enhancement was compounded yet further still. I don't think scent has ever mattered so much to me in all my previous lives.

"I am Tahn'yagh of House Zukt'cho, in search of Quark," I announced.

There was a minute twitch on his face. A flicker of surprise, the scent of anxiety, and a faint sense of ambition.

"Well, you found him," Quark's eyes glanced at something over my shoulder. "I don't suppose you're here to do business?"

Glad to see we're on the same page.

"I am." I nodded.

He paused. "...you are?" then he shook himself, "I mean, of course you are! Who wouldn't want to do business with me?"

"I certainly wouldn't, Quark," A gruff voice rumbled in warning from beside me.

I eyed an odd humanoid amble up to the bar. Their scent was… unusual, almost not there, lacking the usual markers for things like gender and age I found in most races, and what little I did sense was strangely…fluid. Like I couldn't quite pin it down. In appearance, they generally resembled a male human, with oddly smoothed over features, and the "man" wore a Bajoran Militia uniform with security markings and a constable's rank.

"Odo, if you want to hassle me, I'll see you in a moment, but as you might notice, I'm with a customer," Quark hissed, glaring at the security officer.

"I've gotten word that we have some Klingon VIPs on board the station, and I wanted to make sure you didn't…" Odo looked me over and tipped his head my way. "...insult their honor. I would hate to have to untangle you from the consequences of your own actions."

"I'll have you know I was having a perfectly polite discussion," Quark huffed, and then turned back to me.

I wasn't sure what kind of byplay was going on here, but when in doubt I found it best to default to bulldozing through things on the principles of Klingon Honor my father taught me, and let my new race's reputation do most of the legwork.

"Indeed." I nodded, and answered bluntly. "I was hoping to talk to Quark about arms dealing."

The room stopped.

"...Arms dealing?" Odo and Quark both said in different but equally incredulous tones of voice.

I wasn't sure what the confusion was, so I just nodded again. "Yes. Commander Sisko has granted permission for my ship to use Deep Space 9 as its home port for the foreseeable future. I thought it prudent to get started on trade relations with the locals."

"And you decided to start with… arms dealing?" Odo said.

"We're Klingons?" I shot back, more than a little baffled.

Surely the Bajorans weren't the same pacifistic anti-capitalists the Federation was.

"You want me to help you sell Klingon weapons in the sector?" Quark said.

"Yes," I grunted, starting to get a little annoyed by how obtuse everyone was being. "House Zukt'cho has many surplus arms, and given the state of the sector it seems like defense is an area that would have quite a lot of demand."

That sparked something in the Ferengi's eye. "Now you're speaking my language."

"Quark," Odo warned.

"What? It's an honest business deal!"

"That's what you say every time."

"Because I'm an honest business man!"

"There's nothing 'honest' about you, Quark."

"I'll have you know, I am always honest about the Rules of Acquisition."

"Should…" I spoke up, glancing between the two. "...Should I come back at a later time?"

"Yes," Odo grunted.

"No!" Quark shouted, then glared at Odo. "Don't you have some place you need to be securing?"

"Indeed I do," Odo nodded. "This station, from illicit arms dealing."

"Illicit?" I frowned, somewhat offended. "I assure you, constable, that I have all the proper documentation and authority, as the heir of House Zukt'cho, to conduct entirely legal negotiations over our arms."

"You may be legitimate, but I very much doubt Quark is," Odo said.

"Hey! I'll have you know I have all the licenses I need too!" He paused. "...somewhere."

"And," Odo spoke over Quark, "even if you did, I wouldn't consider peddling Klingon guns to two-bit pirates in the making to be the kind of 'legitimate transaction' I want on this station."

"Oh… I hadn't realized selling to the Bajoran Militia would be considered 'peddling Klingon guns to two-bit pirates,'" I gave him a smile that was all teeth. "My mistake."

Odo froze at that.

Quark's eyes gleamed and his scent sparked of opportunity.

"Odo, you weren't just assuming we would be engaging in illicit arms deals just because I'm a Ferengi and she's a Klingon, would you?" he gasped, leaping at the moment of weakness. "Because, I don't know about you, but that sounds like it could be 'insulting her honor'. What do you think?"

"I think that if this is the kind of treatment I can expect from Bajor, perhaps I should look elsewhere to empty my cargo hold," I replied, immediately playing along.

"Now hold on a moment," Odo said. "What do you mean 'selling to the Bajoran Militia'?"

"Well, after freeing themselves of Cardassian occupation, I'm sure that Bajor is looking at the demilitarized zone with quite a wary eye. Sure, the Federation guarantees their security, but Starfleet is so far away, and Cardassia oh so close. With the wormhole added on to things, it's clear that when the shooting starts Bajor will be on the front lines," I explained. "And with how limited their own native defense industries are from said occupation, well… it's only natural that they might want some… security."

"Bajor is not looking for more guns," Odo frowned.

"My contacts say otherwise." Quark said.

"Excellent! I was hoping you could get me in touch with the movers and shakers of Bajoran military procurement," I grinned. "If you can handle that task to my satisfaction, you're sure to earn yourself quite a 'finders fee'."

"What contacts?" Odo frowned.

"How much?" Quark ignored him.

"I'm thinking of a percentage of all sales," I replied. "The Klingon Empire has quite a lot of surplus it has no need for."

"And the Bajorans are in a high demand for ways to defend themselves," Quark said, greed radiating off of him.

"War is good for business," I pointed out.

"Rule of Acquisition number 34," Quark agreed solemnly.

"Nobody is at war," Odo growled.

"Not a shooting one," I conceded. "Not yet, anyways. But a cold war like this is excellent for the military industrial complex."

"Rule of Acquisition number 35: Peace is good for business," Quark nodded. "And what is a cold war but a perfect blend of both? All the demand without any of the violence."

Odo let out an aggrieved groan. "Fine, fine, you've made your point. I'll give you a little leeway. Don't abuse it, or else."

"...Or else what?" Quark asked, a measure of fear trickling in.

"Why don't you use your boundless imagination?" Odo leaned back.

I opened my mouth to respond when his communicator beeped. On its own, I wasn't sure what it meant, but the sharp reaction from the constable put me on edge.

"Odo here, what's the emergency?" He replied swiftly.

Sisko's voice promptly responded with ill tidings. "Odo, Dax and General Iktoh were just attacked by unknown assailants."

I went stiff. The whole world seemed to narrow down to a single point.

"Attacked?" Odo said. "How many were there? Where was it? What do they want?"

"Dax, it seems. They're kidnappers with far too much knowledge about the station." Sisko explained. "The general managed to hold them off long enough for Dax to call in before they grabbed her, but-"

"Is my father alright?" I cut in.

I could hear Commander Sisko take a breath over the line. "...Lt. Commander Tahn'yagh, your father has been found alive, but unconscious, with multiple energy weapon burns."

Red creeped in around the edges of my vision.

"Where are they now?" Odo said.

"They're on the move to a ship on the docking ring." Sisko explained "We're trying to lock them down now, but somehow they have command codes to the station. They've managed to set up a cyber attack on the station's computers to cripple whatever we could do to stop them, and what little we have left to put in their way they're managing to bypass. Sending you their location now, Odo."

"Send the Fek'lhr your shield frequencies." I said, forcing myself to concentrate over the rage boiling up in me. "If your transporters aren't working, my ship can beam us right on top of them."

"This is a matter for station security," Odo argued, taking the opportunity to respectably but foolishly assert local jurisdiction.

"They attacked my father," I barely held back a snarl as I prepared to assert my own jurisdiction, feeling my heart hammer inside my chest. "That makes it a matter of Klingon Honor."

"...Very well, Lt. Commander," Sisko acquiesced over the still active comm. "Whatever you can do to bring our science officer back home safely."

"Oh," I growled, "I will do more than that, Commander."

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Lt. Commander Tahn'Yagh


The chime of transporter energy bleed away into nothing, faint pins and needles racing all along my nerves as my body remembered that it was made of flesh and bone, not patterns of coherent energy. I took in a deep breath, filling all three of my lungs with recycled air and forcing a level of control over fury burning in my veins.

It was no small matter. Anger came easy to this new form of mine. Far too easy for my liking. The cultural conditioning of the Klingon Empire only made matters worse in some ways, being a people that often thrived on chaos and violence. Many times this felt like it was more trouble than it was worth.

But not this time.

The airlock door rolled away before me, revealing the three figures trying to make their way onto the ship behind me, and captive they'd dragged along with them.

Jadzia Dax was barely conscious, and the beginnings of an ugly bruise marred her face. She was slumped over, wrapped in the arms of two of the men who'd captured her.

The trio of unfamiliar men surrounding her were all humanoids of an unfamiliar race, though they looked almost entirely human save for ribbed structures forming at the temples and trailing behind the ears. Two of them were tall and muscular, wearing dark uniforms without clear rank, but it was obvious enough they were lackeys. The leader was a shorter man in a lighter suit, armed with a pistol in one hand and a code scanner in the other. Most notably to me were the wounds on him, a bleeding gash on his leg forcing him to limp, a bloody hole where an eye had been gouged out.

On further inspection, none of the men had gotten away free. One of the thugs could barely lift an arm from the wound torn into it, and another was nursing a bruised face and a bleeding gut. If Jadzia was in remotely better condition, and not thoroughly outgunned, she likely could have made an escape on her own.

A measure of pride flickered in my chest. However these men had taken down my father, he had not gone down easily.

A fact made all too clear by the fear and surprise radiating off them when their brains finally caught up with my presence.

"My name is Tahn'yagh of House Zukt'cho. You attacked my father, and abducted a Federation officer," I declared, meeting each and every one of the assailants with a hard glare, hands unsheathing two of the Mek'leth's on my armor. "I will give you one chance to surrender before I start taking limbs."

The two thugs, I saw, were already sagging in defeat, spirits already spent. They turned an eye to their leader, who still yet burned with defiance. I saw it, a moment before it happened, the determination in his eyes. The decision to kill me to accomplish his mission.

An instant later, a beam of high energy crossed the distance between us. A lance of brilliant yellow light screaming out for my death in less than a heartbeat.

Only for it to crash into my personal shield.

The man barely had time to blink in surprise before my hand whipped out. Silver flashed, metal shrieked, and suddenly the man's gun was in sparking pieces on the ground. His hand was impaled against the bulkhead by my thrown blade.

I aimed my other blade at the other two, a fierce grin pulling at my lips as blood howled in my veins. "Please, give me a reason."

With the Klingon rage singing in my heart as it was, it was all I could do to make sure I followed proper rules of engagement. These fools may have attacked the one man who'd help make something of my life, who'd taken me from the depths of Being X's finely crafted hell and raised me as his daughter, but I couldn't let myself get reckless, no matter how infuriating it was.

General Iktoh is a Klingon war hero, a political chessmaster, and a wise leader. He is my best shot at actually dragging my house and my race into something like rationality and peace. I told myself. And these damned fools might've killed him!

The chime of another transporter cut through the fog of anger. Twinkling waves of energy coalescing into a collection of familiar figures. Constable Odo and Commander Sisko were at the fore, with a young man in a Federation medical uniform behind him and a couple Bajoran security personnel alongside. Sisko and the security team aimed their phasers at the alien assailants as soon as their bodies finished materializing, a dark scowl on the commander's face and a calculating look on the constable's.

The two thugs gave up after that, releasing Dax into the young doctor's custody and holding their hands up for security to arrest them. For a moment, I saw the leader sag in defeat too, yet still an ember of defiance burned in his eyes.

"Commander! You have to get me away from this crazed maniac!" the unidentified alien shouted.

"Now why would I do that?" Sisko asked, a dangerous mix of anger and determination in his tone. "After all, you did just try and abduct my science officer after sabotaging this station. In fact, I'm quite inclined to let Lt. Commander Tahn'yagh finish exactly what she started."

"I think you'll find that I have a legal warrant for the arrest of the Trill known as Dax! And the Federation has an extradition treaty with Kleastron," the man retorted. "That's more than I can say for this brute!"

I barked out an unkind laugh. "A legal warrant? Extradition? What an incredibly bold lie you spin now that your dishonor has finally gotten you caught."

He scowled. "You can find all the documentation you need on my ship. Something the Kleastron government can verify when you get in contact with them."

"Hmph. If all that were true, why bother with this charade?" Odo pointed out. "You planned and acted out a tight, high speed, and very expensive plan to abduct Jadzia Dax and whisk her away before anyone could stop you. Not exactly the kind of thing you would need to do if you actually had the full weight of the law backing you, is it?"

"Dax has escaped justice once before, I couldn't take any chance of it happening again," the man argued. "You see, Commander, my name is Ilon Tandro. Curzon Dax murdered my father, and I can prove it."

Jadzia winced at that, guilt wafting off her as her eyes locked on the man who'd just abducted her. Any other day, I might have cared.

"So you decided to try and kill mine to have your revenge?" I snarled.

Tandro jerked at that. "I-"

"Commander," I cut the failed kidnapper off. "How is my father?"

Sisko turned to the young doctor, who gave me a pensive look. "I'm afraid he's in a coma at the moment. He's still alive, but… he took a lot of phaser blasts. Even on stun, and as a Klingon, at his age it's taken its toll. I'm not sure when he'll wake up."

I slide my gaze back onto Tandro, leveling a smoldering glare at the man who may have taken my father from me.

"Well, Ilon, you wanted Justice?" Sisko asked rhetorically. "Lt. Commander Tahn'yagh, what does the Klingon Empire consider 'Justice' for putting a Dahar Master, a leader of a Great House, and a father in a coma?"

"The Right of Vengeance," I growled.

"Vengeance?" Tandro shouted, fear creeping in over the anger. "You already took my hand! What more do you want from me?"

"I don't want your hand, Petaq," I cursed. "House Zukt'cho wants your head."

"And," Sisko slid back in, doing his best to suppress a smirk, "The Federation also has an extradition treaty with the Klingon Empire."

At that, Ilon Tandro finally went pale.

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A/n: Surprise. Again. Hadn't thought I'd be doing this instead of updating the other ideas I've already started but...

Well I blame @Sunshine for posting one too many DS9 memes on their discord.

I've actually been nursing this idea for a while, well over a year, so it's actually pretty nice to finally get to posting it.

In case you're wondering, the Fek'lhr class is from the Star Trek Armada series, where it's of the "Science Cruiser" capital ship class, along with the Nebula class. Just looking at it, it looks like it could be based on a Vor'cha too, which is the mainstay Klingon Heavy/Battle Cruiser of the era. Thus I'm basically thinking of it as a fusion of a Nebula and Vor'cha as a basis for specs and abilities, then working my way out from there.

As for what I post next, no idea. Peak season at work has kicked into overdrive so I'm currently getting my ass kicked. The school semester will be done soon, though, so that'll give me a little more free time. I'd like to get at least another chapter of this out before the end of the year, but really I have no idea.

But I will say I had a ton of fun writing it, so another one on the way is likely.

The only thing I don't love is the name...

Meh, problems for later.

Hope ya'll enjoyed.
 
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