One Minute to Hyper Lane
"One minute until hyper lane connection!"
"All hands, brace for impact!"
Jincheon had spent several days probing the Crypters' potential. In that time, Eirin's force—now bound for the Galantid System—finished its preparations to link into the hyper lane that would drop them in behind their allies.
"Hyper network connection!"
A dull thud rolled through the hull as they locked onto the hyper lane network, and the ship slid into a tunnel of shifting, multicolored light.
Jincheon had ridden one of these before, yet the view never grew old. He watched it through the reinforced glass, drinking it in.
A rush of light—
And the moment they arrived, another soft jolt shuddered through the deck.
CIC screens flared to life at once. Everywhere, blooms of colored light swelled to a certain size and vanished; red lasers and weapons of every kind streaked across the void.
They had finally reached the Galantid System.
A short while later, once communications were cleared, a square-jawed middle-aged man appeared on the main monitor and snapped a salute.
"This is a battlefield. Spare the formalities."
Eirin raised a hand at once, cutting him off the instant aristocratic protocol threatened to surface. On a field where the situation could flip in a minute—or a second—there was no time for ceremony.
"What is the situation, Marquis Diherot?"
"Overall, our side holds the advantage. The enemy's defense is fierce, however, and we have been unable to break through cleanly. Attrition has become the pattern."
Marquis Diherot, overall commander of the theater, laid it out exactly as Eirin had expected. Pull forces from one point and the enemy interfered; commit everything and they remained ahead, yet never by enough to seize a decisive edge.
With fresh reinforcements now arriving, the marquis's face brightened as he spoke.
"We will act as the wedge and take the planets one by one. Any objection?"
"Our entire staff is of one mind on that point."
The Dowager Empress's force would concentrate its full strength on a single planet, hammer it with relentless assault, and seize it before moving on. Given their exceptional offensive power, the plan felt almost inevitable.
"Then we can move quickly. As theater commander, where do you judge the best place to strike?"
"Galantid 4 appears the easiest target."
When a system held multiple planets, they were distinguished by appending a number to the system name. Worlds like Terra still bore individual names within their own systems, of course, but internationally the numbers kept things from dissolving into confusion. Terra's homeworld, for the record, was known abroad as Terra 3.
Eirin reviewed the data on Galantid 4. It was an Earth-like world, though its oceans covered only fifty-five percent of the surface—more land than sea. Barring special evolutionary paths or physical traits, most intelligent species preferred to settle and develop planets of this kind.
She studied the factories, the command centers, and the defensive installations protecting them.
The areas where command and weapons production are concentrated are thick with anti-air batteries. Drop from above and most of the force gets shot down. Even the few that reach the surface would be cleaned up like leftover stragglers. In that case…
"Here, here, and here. These are the points we should hit."
"As expected of Your Majesty."
Eirin marked the attack points. All of them were enemy military facilities equipped with repair yards—once seized, they would make excellent forward bases. Supplies could be ferried somehow, but hauling entire repair facilities was impossible. Capturing the enemy's own installations to expand both security and strategic options was the first priority.
The points she chose also ringed the command and production centers; if the situation turned sour, withdrawal and reorganization would be straightforward.
"We have already taken a few of their outposts, but resistance at the remaining ones is fierce. We are roughly at a standoff."
Eirin and Marquis Diherot worked through the strategy, locking in the targets. On the marquis's side, a plan for the most efficient use of Eirin's reinforcements had already been drafted.
"We will split the fleet into five and support your forces."
"Ah—y-yes, exactly."
Eirin voiced the staff's prearranged strategy the moment it left their lips, displaying the instincts of a master commander. Committing a force this large to a single point would be comfortable, but other systems were in worse shape; time could not be wasted. The troops had to be divided for maximum efficiency.
"We still have ships and mecha under repair. We will finish reorganizing and depart at once. Details can wait until then."
"Yes. Please contact us at that time."
She had no patience for empty displays of authority either—no pointless conferences that dragged on and burned hours for nothing. Had she been an ordinary noble, she would have summoned every commander first, taken briefings from scratch, and only then begun to plan. The enemy would have used the loyalist commanders' absence to repair whatever damage they could. Fortunately, Jincheon's earlier exploits had kept losses lighter than expected; a few days of repairs would be enough.
"Call a meeting. Notify every officer."
"Yes, ma'am!"
In the time that remained, Eirin began assembling the five commanders and the unit compositions that would strike each point.
She arrived at the single conference room with its long, moderately large oval table, took the seat of honor, and worked the controls set into the surface. Moments later, the captains' holograms flickered into place around the table.
"Everyone is present. Be seated."
At her order the captains sat and waited. She relayed the intelligence Marquis Diherot had provided and made clear that Galantid 4 was the objective. To press the attack efficiently, the force would split into five, seize the military facilities, convert them into bases, and from there assault the enemy command.
Naturally, the discussion centered on how to divide combat strength fairly.
Then Eirin dropped her bombshell.
"My unit will move with the Rastold Silverion alone."
"What?"
"Your Majesty, that is—"
"More precisely, the Rastold Silverion plus one transport carrying Jincheon."
The captains stared, speechless. Glances flickered back and forth until one recovered enough to raise a hand.
"Speak."
"Your Majesty, I acknowledge that the man called Jincheon is strong. But combat in space and combat on a planetary surface are entirely different matters."
He had decided she was overestimating Jincheon's combat power and took it upon himself to deliver the hard truth.
"If it were merely a difference in gravity, I would never presume such rudeness. Dust, sand, storms, foul weather—every natural phenomenon on a planet can rewrite the situation."
"Do you imagine I am unaware of that?"
"I do not question Your Majesty's ability. Jincheon demonstrated his skill in space combat, but I have never heard that he is equally capable within an atmosphere."
Space war and ground war were wholly different beasts. Space demanded attention to countless variables, yet planetary surface combat required several times more.
"I shared that concern, so I asked him. What do you suppose he answered?"
None of them could know. They fell silent and waited for her next words.
"He told me he has piloted a mecha in actual combat fewer than ten times."
"…Pardon?"
"Fewer than ten…?"
"Until then he trained only with ordinary simulation programs. In other words, he achieved those results with almost no real combat experience—pure talent alone."
The captains closed their mouths. The ones who had once been pilots wore expressions of pure disbelief. A raw novice who had not even seen ten real battles had racked up monster-level results?
"He was honest about ground combat as well. He has trained under gravity, but never fought a real engagement. Even so, with his talent I believe he will adapt in an instant and produce the same results he did in space."
"But his gift may exist only for space combat."
"Exactly. The same mecha, yet space and surface demand entirely different kinds of talent."
Still unable to trust an unproven Jincheon, the captains pressed their counsel again.
"Would it not be better to reassign him to Marquis Diherot? Ground combat matters, but so does the fight in space."
One officer argued that rather than gamble on risk, the wisest course was to keep the man focused on what he already did well. Soldiers whose lives hung on trivial variables were the most hidebound of all—they used only proven weapons and proven strength.
If that happens, I will not be able to stay with him!
Eirin, who could not even imagine a life apart from Jincheon, fought desperately to hold her ground. In the end they reached a compromise: depending on the scale of Jincheon's achievements, if he failed to produce major results he would be sent back to space.
"Very well. As for the remaining forces excluding ourselves…"
Having set the Jincheon matter aside, Eirin divided the other four units evenly and explained that once repairs were complete they would drop under Marquis Diherot's covering fire.
I cannot win.
Watching the crimson Gareld tear through allied warships alone and rampage across the battlefield as if it owned the place, Poltein sank into despair.
A dedicated counter-team?
That sort of thing worked on the common run of aces. Against a one-man army who could dominate an entire theater by himself, it meant nothing.
He despaired before a power and skill that could smash their tactics and observational research by raw force—talent he could chase his entire life and never catch.
A mechanical whine rose. Sensation flooded his "body," and the idle thoughts were wiped clean.
He opened his eyes.
People the size of ants stared up at him.
"Poltein, how is your consciousness? Do you understand what I am saying?"
The scientist who had transplanted his brain into the Grancion floated on an anti-gravity rig, gesturing in front of the main monitor set into the head unit.
Can I even speak?
"I hear you clearly."
The words he formed came out through the external speakers as a hard, mechanical voice nothing like his own.
"So dialogue through the external speakers is functional. We will begin performance tests. Answer our questions honestly."
"Understood."
They started with basic mecha communications checks, then pain response, then a battery of further experiments. Technicians hammered various points with heavy mallets; he felt no bodily sensation. Instead, information simply arrived through the brain: someone was striking his frame.
Next came mobility trials. The restraints released, and he was ordered to walk forward slowly.
The moment he stepped out as he always had, Poltein understood.
I… am no longer human.
He could move like a person, yet everything a person ought to feel arrived only as data. He could not feel it.
Jincheon…!
The Terra-born pilot of the crimson Gareld. The hollow loss of a living body was already being replaced by a hunger for revenge against that man.
On a vast open ground the size of a mecha-scale athletic field, he walked, ran, sprinted at full power and stopped—each trial knitting the new body closer to him. The artificial muscles answered his will. They felt freer, even, than flesh ever had.
"Can you access the weapon data built into the Grancion?"
"I will try."
He focused, seeking the Grancion's armament information, and something like a system guided him, feeding him exactly what he wanted.
"Confirmed."
"Then I will open the gate. Targets have been set outside. Test the systems on them."
The scientist withdrew into a secure bay. Through the viewport Poltein could see other researchers tapping notes into their Bio Devices.
At last a massive door large enough for a mecha swung open in one direction, and air howled out into vacuum.
Boosters.
He deployed them. Engines unfolded from the shoulders, back, waist, and heels, and he shot forward at high speed.
A rush of thrust—
Clear of the hangar, Poltein found spherical targets weaving in erratic patterns.
"Hah!"
He thrust out his right arm with the same battle cry he had always used. A folding blade snapped open. Faster, more agile, more fluid than any mecha he had ever piloted, he carved through the targets—and sliced them into clean pieces with terrifying precision.
A chill ran through him.
Even in a machine body the cut was so perfect it raised gooseflesh. The monomolecular edge could part anything, no matter how hard, as if it were tofu.
"Bits!"
He called the name of another weapon housed in the Grancion. Three elongated units sprang from each shoulder—six in total.
"Ugh—!"
Each carried its own visual feed; for an instant the flood of data left him reeling. Then the same assisting system smoothed the chaos, and bit by bit he learned to handle them all. Had he still possessed a human body, the dizzying visual input would have been impossible to master.
Whistling streaks, piercing beams—
The long units, still clumsy but growing steadier, began firing lasers at the targets. Once every mark was gone, they returned to their housings.
Incredible. I am still adapting, but once that is finished I can become a one-man army on his level… no, stronger than him!
At first the brainwave-controlled Bits and the monomolecular blade that could shear any solid object had filled him with raw excitement.
…No. To face him I first need the speed to match him.
"I will now confirm this unit's maximum velocity."
"Mm… very well. Proceed."
Matching frequencies by brainwave, he declared the Grancion's top-speed trial and opened the full boosters.
A metallic clack—then a roaring howl of engines from the back as the Grancion's speed climbed and climbed.
No! Faster than this! Still faster!
He was already flying twice as fast as any machine he had ever ridden, yet it was not enough. He kept pushing the velocity higher.
A sustained, screaming roar of thrust—
"Ha—hahaha! Hahahahahahaha!"
Even after he surpassed the speed he had once feared in Jincheon, his body showed no adverse reaction. He began to shout through the external speakers. In the vacuum of space, of course, no one heard him.
"This is the best! This body is stronger and freer than the one I was born with! Hahahahahaha!"
In that moment Poltein felt the urge to weep.
Whether it was because he had abandoned his flesh for revenge, or because by abandoning humanity he had gained the ultimate power to take that revenge, no one could say.