Sergeant Grok's expression settled into the grim mask of a veteran NCO acknowledging a distasteful, but definitive, order. The protest died unspoken; years of service in the Terran Imperium hammered home the primacy of commissioned rank in a crisis, even when that rank was a fresh M2 Lieutenant seemingly barely old enough to shave. Grok, a solid Late Kinetic cultivator himself, felt the thrum of Valerius's Peak Kinetic energy – a sharper, more volatile resonance than his own well-worn power – and gave a stiff nod. "Understood, Lieutenant. I'll muster who we can reach."
Who they could reach. That was the operative phrase. The initial assault had clearly been coordinated, hitting Garrison HQ and likely severing comms between many sectors on Aethelburg VI. From Outpost 7's surviving roster and fragmented signals from two nearby sensor posts before the network died, Grok assembled Valerius's immediate response team: six souls total. A pitiful fraction of the planet's actual garrison, most of which was now likely destroyed, cut off, or fighting for survival elsewhere. Six soldiers to secure a vital relay station under attack. Valerius registered the grim calculus but didn't comment. He operated with the tools available.
The team formed up: Grok, his pulse rifle held with practiced ease; Valerius, radiating cold confidence; Corporal Rana, her face set grimly as she checked the charge on her repeating plasma rifle; and Privates Jax, Lin, and Bo – youngsters whose fear was palpable but held in check by discipline and the imposing presence of their officers.
"Gear check. Ammo count. We move out in two minutes," Valerius commanded, his voice sharp. He swept his Peak Kinetic senses over them, gauging readiness. Grok's energy signature was stable, strong for his stage – experienced. The others flickered with nervous energy but were functional. He was the edge; his higher cultivation stage, honed by resources Grok could only dream of, was the force multiplier this squad desperately needed.
They slipped out of Outpost 7 into the chaos. The ochre dust swirled, carrying the metallic tang of burnt ozone and promethium. Valerius set a punishing pace, using defunct mining trenches and the giant, rusting carcasses of ore haulers for cover. He moved with the fluid efficiency only high-level Kinetic enhancement allowed, forcing the others into a sustained trot.
The journey towards Relay Sector 2 was fraught with tension. Smoke pillars marked funeral pyres for Imperial assets across the landscape. Distant, sporadic gunfire underscored the planet-wide struggle. Valerius, relying on his superior senses, guided them, freezing them periodically while he extended his awareness, feeling for the tell-tale energy signatures or vibrations of enemy movement. They bypassed two potential ambushes thanks to his vigilance.
"Contact!" Rana hissed, dropping behind a mound of slag, weapon raised. "Three hostiles, two hundred meters! Looks like they're scavenging the wrecked supply transport."
Valerius didn't need enhanced vision to see them – rough-armored figures, confirmed pirates by their crude markings, picking over the smoldering truck that blocked the fastest route to the relay.
"Too slow to detour," Valerius declared. His eyes briefly met Grok's. "Sergeant, Rana – suppressive fire on my mark. Privates, cover the flanks. I will break their position. Engage!"
There was no hesitation. Before Grok could even begin shouting orders, Valerius surged forward, a low, grey blur against the red dust. His Peak Kinetic abilities propelled him at speeds that strained normal perception. Pulse rifle bolts, aimed with chilling precision, lanced out ahead of him.
The pirates reacted a half-second too late. One swung a heavy blaster around, only for Valerius's targeted kinetic pulse – an invisible hammer blow – to slam into his chest, sending him cartwheeling into the wreckage. As the other two opened fire, suppressive plasma bolts and pulse rounds erupted from Grok and Rana's position, forcing the pirates' heads down. Grok, Valerius noted with detached approval, formed a solid, shimmering Kinetic shield beside Rana, absorbing stray shots with practiced efficiency – textbook Late Kinetic defense.
Valerius flowed through the incoming fire, his own reflexes allowing him to jink and weave through the poorly aimed shots. He closed the distance relentlessly. One pirate turned, spraying slugs wildly. Valerius didn't erect a shield; instead, he twisted, letting the shots pass centimetres by, and rammed his rifle butt into the pirate's helmet. The third, seeing his comrades fall to this inhumanly fast attacker, hesitated. Valerius's rifle snapped up, two clean shots ending the threat.
Silence descended again, broken by the wind and the approaching footsteps of the squad. Jax and Lin stared at the bodies, then at their Lieutenant, who was already scanning the surroundings.
Valerius gave Grok a curt nod. "Solid shield work, Sergeant. Status?"
"Area clear, Lieutenant," Grok reported, his voice carefully neutral, though his eyes held a spark of professional respect mixed with the caution one showed around barely-leashed power. "Enemy weaponry standard pirate junk. Poorly maintained."
"As expected," Valerius said, kicking a dropped slug-thrower. "They were merely scouts or opportunists. The real threat lies ahead. Move out." He didn't wait for acknowledgements, already advancing towards Relay Sector 2. This skirmish confirmed his superiority and reinforced his command. That was its only value.
They covered the remaining distance quickly. Cresting the final dusty rise, they saw it: Relay Sector 2's main building, a fortified comms station, nestled in a depression below. Black smoke poured from a breach in one wall. Weapons fire flashed rhythmically from defensive emplacements near the entrance – a fight was definitely ongoing.
And then they saw the ship. Parked near the relay, larger and sleeker than the pirate junkers, radiating a low, cold energy signature that felt alien to Valerius's senses. Its design was unfamiliar, angular, vaguely predatory. Not pirate. Not Imperial.
Grok muttered, his hand instinctively tightening on his rifle. "Sir… slag me blind. What is that thing?"
Valerius's eyes narrowed. His Peak Kinetic senses strained, picking up the disciplined energy patterns of the station's defenders – likely surviving garrison troopers – and the distinctly other signatures of those attacking, seemingly linked to the unknown vessel. These weren't random pirates stumbling onto a target of opportunity. This was something far more dangerous