Chapter 47: The Hum of Progress (2)

Pov: Alexander Lucius Maximus

Date: Y3, M2

Scooter's shop reeked of oil, sweat, and something else vaguely reminiscent of charred rubber. He was hunched over a grotesque machine, muttering to himself, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. As I stepped through the door, he finally glanced up, eyes widening with what I could only describe as a mix of awe and unease.

"Heya, uh, Mr. Alexander, sir," he stammered, his usual energy seeming to falter in my presence. His hands were fidgeting, fingers greasy and calloused. "You're, uh, kinda early. Or... am I late? I don't rightly remember."

"Not late," I replied evenly, eyeing the strange device sprawled on his workbench. "Just here to ensure your latest invention is... functional."

His face split into a wide grin, the nervousness briefly masked by his relentless enthusiasm. "Oh, she's more than functional, alright! I mean, with the specs y'all gave me, it'd be a sin if she wasn't!" He wiped his hands on a rag, holding up the device, something that looked part bomb, part rocket, all chaos.

"You're certain this will hold up?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

"Sure as sand on Pandora!" he replied with a chuckle, adjusting his cap. "Got the extra boosters, reinforced plating, and even slapped on a paint job to make it real pretty. Just like ya wanted."

A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Good. I expect nothing less." I took the device from his hands, weighing it, and noting the familiar heft.

Scooter continued to hover, the energy building around him again as if he couldn't resist saying more. "Ya know when I built her, I thought, What kinda crazy bastard needs this kinda firepower? But then I remembered, 'Oh yeah, you do!'" He laughed a carefree sound that grated slightly against my calm.

I couldn't help a low chuckle. "Yes, Scooter. That crazy bastard is indeed me."

I turned to leave, hearing him mutter behind me as I made my way to the door, "Ya know, Mr. Alexander, reckon we got ourselves a hell of a future with you leadin' the charge."

For a brief moment, I paused, a flicker of something unfamiliar creeping in at the edges of my mind. "We'll see, Scooter," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

As Jeremiah and I stood there, the rumble of engines humming beneath our feet, two familiar figures strolled up the platform: Dusk and Whisk, twin brothers, both tall and wiry with wild, grinning expressions that rarely wavered, even in the face of war. Despite their resemblance, they were like night and day. Dusk, serious and brooding, had a scar tracing from his brow down to his cheek, his eyes cold and unyielding. Whisk, on the other hand, wore a perpetual smirk, and his face was cleaner, his gaze bright and mischievous.

They were among my most loyal engineers and technicians. Every ship on this base, every weapon calibrated for precision, bore their handiwork.

"Evenin', boss!" Whisk called out, his voice carrying over the hum of engines. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Lookin' mighty fine, this fleet o' ours."

Dusk followed up with a quiet nod, his voice low. "All systems are optimal, sir. We double-checked the weapon calibrations."

"Triple-checked," Whisk corrected with a smirk, giving his brother a nudge. "Nothing but the best for you, Alex."

"Good," I replied, eyeing the twins. "I want nothing less than perfection from you both. We're about to make history here, and I need every piece functioning at its peak."

Dusk crossed his arms, gaze flickering from the ships back to me. "With respect, sir, perfection's what you're gettin'. Every ship here's ready to tear through the stars at your command. But, ah…" He hesitated, glancing at his brother, who nodded back encouragingly. "There's a difference between ready and willing, if you catch my drift."

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow, watching them with a bemused expression. "Are you questioning our motives, Dusk?"

Whisk stepped in, hands raised. "Nah, nah, big guy, nothing like that. Just a matter of... tone. Dusk here thinks we oughta—well, address the morale, is all. These pilots? They're seasoned, but they've heard the rumors about Vladoff. Seen what those Iron Bears can do. Some of 'em are nervous, and, well..."

"They need a reason beyond orders, Alexander," Dusk added, his serious tone underscoring his brother's levity. "They need to believe in what they're doing."

I looked out over the ships, taking in the pilots, some moving between vessels, double-checking systems, others talking quietly among themselves. I could see what Dusk meant—the air around them was tense, uncertain. They'd trained for combat, yes, but few among them had faced an opponent as formidable as Vladoff. This was different. A corporate conflict was one thing, but Vladoff had a reputation, and everyone knew it.

I turned back to the twins. "And you, Dusk, Whisk—are you ready for this?"

Dusk nodded, his expression hardening. "We're ready, sir. We trust you."

"Same here," Whisk added, nudging Dusk with a grin. "But I'd be lying if I said a speech from the big boss himself wouldn't get our pilots' blood pumping a little faster."

Jeremiah scoffed. "You want a pep talk?"

Whisk shrugged, unbothered. "Maybe just a few words. Something to remind 'em that we're not just faceless soldiers in this. That this isn't some cog-in-the-machine, lifeless routine. We're fighting for each other, for Pandora, for somethin' that goes beyond just guns and glory."

Dusk chimed in, his tone earnest. "Sir, they'll follow your orders regardless. But give them something to believe in, and they'll follow you to hell and back."

I paused, considering their words. These two, with all their bickering and banter, understood something fundamental. They understood what it was to be loyal, to fight for something greater than themselves.

"Alright, gather them," I said. "If it's inspiration they need, I'll give it to them."

Whisk's grin widened. "See, Dusk? Told ya he'd do it."

Dusk allowed himself a small, approving smile. "Let's get them in formation, then."

They hurried off, rounding up the pilots, mechanics, and crew members, calling everyone to attention in a large semicircle in front of the fleet. As the last few stragglers joined, a hush fell over the crowd, their eyes fixed on me.

Looking over the masses it felt odd, different. Long were the gazes of fear, instead it was hope. Hope for a better future, hope for safety, hope in me.

I took a breath, letting the silence settle, feeling the weight of their expectant gazes. 

"This war we're about to start," I began, my voice carrying over the quiet, "It's not just another mission. It's not just another job. We're standing on the edge of something that will reshape everything we know—Pandora, Vladoff, the entire galaxy. And I won't lie to you like the corporate scum from before...It won't be easy. The stakes are high, the risks even higher."

I let my gaze sweep over them, making eye contact with a few of the faces in the crowd, letting the words sink in.

"But I didn't choose you because it would be easy. I chose each and every one of you because you are the best this galaxy has to offer. You're here because you're strong, you're skilled, and you're loyal—not to some faceless corporation, but to each other. To Pandora."

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd, and I saw a few heads nodding.

"This fight isn't just for territory or resources," I continued, my voice steady and cold.

"It's for our right to carve out a future on our own terms, to ensure that no one—no corporation, no dictator, no Iron Bear—can control our fate. You're not fighting alone. You're fighting beside your brothers and sisters, beside every soul that's ever bled for Pandora, every name etched into this ground."

Dusk and Whisk stood at attention near the front, their faces set, determined. I could see the fire in their eyes, the fierce loyalty that had driven them this far.

"Tonight, you'll rest. Tomorrow, you'll fly. And when you do, remember: we're not just fighting against Vladoff. We're fighting for everything we are. For every soul on this rock that's ever dreamed of something more. But we... We have each other!"

A roar of approval erupted from the crowd, a surge of energy so palpable it sent a shiver down my spine. The doubt, the hesitation—it melted away, replaced by the kind of steely resolve I'd seen only in the toughest, most battle-hardened soldiers. This was my army. And tomorrow, we'd make our mark on the stars.

As the crowd dispersed, the twins approached me once more, their grins now laced with admiration.

"That's the stuff, boss," Whisk said, nodding with a satisfied look. "They'll fly straight into hell for you now."

Dusk added with a rare smile, "More than just orders, sir. They're inspired."

I gave them a curt nod. "Good. I expect nothing less."

---

Pov: Tina

Standing at the edge of the airstrip, I watched Alexander, tall and commanding in front of the gathered crowd, his voice cutting through the chilly night air like a blade. The sound of his words filled the space around me, weaving through the hum of the ships, the murmur of the soldiers, and I felt it all resonate deep in my chest. 

Alexander was more than just some leader. He wasn't like the others, those so-called "commanders" who barked orders and hid behind metal walls. He was Ironhold itself, the very heart of it, and he'd built it up from nothing. He saved us—saved *me*—and he didn't just throw me a lifeline. He gave me a purpose, gave me something bigger than myself to believe in. That man out there, with the power to bring armies to their knees, was the reason I was even here. 

His words washed over the crowd, sinking into them just as deeply as they did me. "We're not just another force, another weapon in someone else's hands. We're the Imperium, and we're going to carve our mark across this galaxy," he said, his voice heavy and steady. "We're here to build, to protect, and to lead where others falter."

Hearing him speak that way made me feel like there was nothing in this galaxy that could stand against us. There was a kind of light in his words, a power that struck right at the core of everyone listening. And even though I was just one small part of it, I knew I'd follow Alexander wherever he led us. 

I tried to imagine a galaxy without him, one where his strength and vision hadn't reshaped so much of our lives. If Vladoff had taken him out of the picture, if they'd succeeded in whatever twisted goals they had… I felt a shiver crawl up my spine at the thought. There was no universe I'd ever want to be in where he wasn't leading us. And for what they'd done, for every attempt to crush the Imperium, Vladoff deserved to know exactly what was coming to them.

A smirk pulled at my lips as I thought about that—their downfall. They had no idea what the Imperium was capable of, not really. And here I was, at the heart of it, watching history unfold. I was just a kid to most of them, just "Tina," but I was proud to be here, loyal to the bone.

As Alexander finished his speech, he looked out over the crowd, and for a second, our eyes met. A jolt of pride, excitement, and pure loyalty shot through me. I raised my fist in silent salute, a promise to him and to the Imperium that I'd follow him to the ends of the galaxy if that's where he needed us to go. Because as long as Alexander was in command, I knew we couldn't lose.

---

The training grounds were silent except for the hum of Alexander's blade and the metallic clinking of my short sword as I tightened my grip on it. Dust from the last explosion hung in the air, catching in the dim light of Ironhold's inner chambers, swirling around us. Alexander moved like a shadow, and I could barely keep up, even as my heart pounded and my eyes tracked every subtle shift in his stance. I knew he was holding back, but I wasn't. He'd ordered me not to.

"Try harder," he said, voice even and unbothered. It was maddening—no matter how many moves I threw at him, he just kept deflecting with that same, easy confidence.

Gritting my teeth, I surged forward, swinging my short sword in a low, swift arc, hoping to catch him off-guard. At the same time, I raised my bolter, firing a few rounds of explosive .60-cal rounds just behind him. The shots tore through the air, detonating as they hit the floor, sending shockwaves that echoed against the metal walls. But Alexander was already gone, moving faster than I could see, and before I knew it, he was right behind me, his arm resting casually on my shoulder, that infuriating calm look in his eyes.

"Still holding back, Tina?" His voice was a gentle taunt, and he tapped my shoulder before stepping back, the faintest smirk on his face. 

"Yeah, right. If I try any harder, I'll need a funeral after this," I muttered, mostly to myself, as I spun around to face him. My lungs were heaving, but I was nowhere near done. Every sparring session felt like a battle—a chance to prove myself, to show Alexander I was more than just the kid he'd pulled from the ruins. I was his *soldier*.

This time, I rushed him with everything I had, coming in low with the blade, then immediately firing the bolter. I knew his moves, or at least I thought I did, so I anticipated his sidestep and adjusted my aim accordingly. The shot went wide, detonating at an angle, but it was close—close enough that the shockwave nearly threw him off balance. I could see a flicker of surprise cross his face, just for a split second, before it was gone, and he was back in control.

His response was swift, merciless. In one fluid motion, he brought his blade up, blocking my sword, then twisted his arm, disarming me in a single, effortless sweep. Before I could react, he was behind me again, his hand gripping my shoulder just hard enough to remind me he could end this any time he wanted.

"You're thinking too much," he said, his voice steady. "When you hesitate, even for a second, it's an opening for your opponent. Speed isn't your weakness; it's that pause. It's the fear."

His words cut deeper than the blade ever could. I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I wasn't afraid of anything—especially not him. But deep down, I knew he was right. As much as I pushed myself, as much as I burned with anger against Vladoff, there was still that split-second pause. The moment where my mind asked if I was good enough, strong enough, fast enough.

But I didn't give up. I lunged again, pouring everything I had into each move. We danced across the training grounds, my short sword striking in a flurry of sparks against his blade, and the bolter's explosions punctuated the rhythm. Yet every time I thought I had him, he was just a hair faster, just a fraction sharper, keeping himself always one step ahead.

And every time he held back, I knew it. I could see it in the way he shifted, the deliberate softness in his strikes. He was giving me openings, chances to test my limits. But there was never a point where I could actually touch him. Part of me hated it, wanted to scream at him to go full force. To show me what he was really capable of. But the other part of me—the smarter part—knew he was teaching me in his own way.

When I swung next, aiming straight for his side, he surprised me by meeting my gaze directly. "Tina," he said, his voice a murmur that held the weight of command, "fight like this is all you have."

There was something different in his tone this time, a seriousness that made me pause, if only for a breath. This wasn't just a lesson; it was a challenge. He wanted to see if I had it in me to go all out, to let go of that last, cautious part of me.

With a deep breath, I refocused, letting his words sink into my bones. This time, when I attacked, I abandoned any thought of defense, any hesitation, channeling every ounce of my anger, my loyalty, my determination into my strikes. My movements became sharper, faster. I could feel my body moving on instinct, each motion fluid and fierce.

And for a brief second, I saw it. That look of pride in Alexander's eyes. It was gone as quickly as it came, but it was enough.

When the fight finally ended, I was on my knees, breathing hard, covered in dust and sweat, but there was a small, triumphant smile on my face. Alexander looked down at me, extending a hand to help me up. "Better," he said simply, that hint of approval I'd been chasing lingering in his voice.

I took his hand, feeling the weight of his grip, the strength in his arm as he pulled me to my feet. I might not have won today, but I knew I'd gotten closer, and that was enough for now.