The Alpha space colony, located in the vicinity of Jupiter's moon Europa, was the foremost among the U.S.C.'s key colonies. It also served as a base and inspiration for the others, its design serving as a blueprint for many of them, including those of smaller scale. Its two large rings rotated slowly on their own axes. The domes, thousands of square meters in expanse and equally impressive in height, were sufficient for long green fields and a large metropolis to share space in a beautiful and rare mixture, visible from kilometers away. The colony, home to about 10% of the entire U.S.C. population, also hosted the group's main organizations. Despite branches in other colonies, the center of power for the space forces was concentrated there.
Inside the grand structure, in the center of the metropolis of 20 million people, an imposing building rose for hundreds of meters, outshining other constructions that, in any other situation, would have stood out. The Cathedral was, as a rule, the supreme power of the colonial union, managing all aspects of the group's civil and military life. At the top of the gigantic edifice, with its greenish stained-glass windows visible from kilometers away, a meeting between the U.S.C.'s top leaders was taking place.
The grand Meeting Room was oval-shaped, as was the table where the U.S.C.'s most important figures sat. The atmosphere, however, was far from tranquil. The terrestrial forces' attack on the organization's lunar base had caused damage that, throughout the entire century of conflict, The Cathedral had not yet had to deal with. And the inexperience with adversities on this scale was beginning to become apparent.
"Our exaggerated dependence on the lunar base is the main problem! Now we've lost our primary means of control and assault against Earth!"
Romana Levy, Director-General of The Cathedral's R&D sector, had been venting her frustration for several minutes, her face red with anger betraying it.
"I won't deny you have a point there, Director."
Across the room, opposite her, the Commander-General of military logistics, Peter Ericsson, with his already thinning silvery-blond hair, partially agreed with the director, continuing, with a caveat.
"But regardless of the forces we had stationed at the base at the time of the attack, I don't believe even double that amount would have been sufficient to prevent its destruction."
At the other end of the table, a man observed the projection emanating from his personal communication device. On it, the image of a still-unidentified rifle, and two more weapons, equally unknown to The Cathedral, floated and rotated slowly.
"Any findings on the new weapons used, Major Granqvist?"
Mathias Granqvist pushed his device with the projection to the center of the large table upon hearing his name called. The lack of information was due to the total destruction of the base and the absence of survivors. The little information about the new enemy armament had been passed on during combat.
"The little information we have is still what's present in the reports your excellencies have already received."
For many years, Mathias was considered The Cathedral's best pilot, advancing fiercely through the organization's military ranks. Now, nearly two decades away from the battlefields, he was responsible for the M.M.U. division and the pilot academy that trained the U.S.C.'s elite. No one in the meeting room would dare question the man's expertise on the subject, and taking advantage of it, a new question was directed at him. Seated among the R&D directors, Rosemarie Molineux adjusted her small analytical glasses, looking directly at Mathias. Also a war veteran, like her colleague, she was responsible for M.M.U. development in the research sector.
"Mr. Granqvist, regarding the data from our prototype lost in battle, fortunately, it was sufficient to finalize the project. However, we will need a new pilot, as the project's lead tragically GONE."
Mathias studied her in silence. The project's pilot, Alexis Kjestein, had been one of his best students. A man of integrity who dedicated his life to the advancement of M.M.U.s, and who was tragically killed in a battle where he stood no chance. The question certainly had a purpose, Mathias thought, and it didn't take long for Rosemarie to expose it.
"Have you decided who the replacement pilot will be?"
The obvious choice, which the entire council probably already knew, would be her. However...
"I contacted the prime candidate yesterday, Doctor. However, she is still in mourning."
In the main chair at the meeting table, the most important figure among those present at the meeting spoke for the first time that day.
"Give her all the time she needs, Major Granqvist. Grief will strengthen her determination."
Rafael Hertzog, the man many considered the ideal successor to The Cathedral's supreme leader, stood up, signaling that the meeting was coming to an end. As the others also rose, he gave his final remarks.
"Regardless of what was discussed here today, the conflict scenario, which we considered controlled for so long, has changed, perhaps drastically. I will ask you to continue your hard work and present solutions at our next meeting. Align your workforces with the other colonies; our union is what has made us so strong."
"Yes, Supreme Commander."
That was the phrase that echoed, ending the meeting.
<>
A few kilometers away from the Alpha colony's main metropolis, a black sedan crossed the roads connecting the rural part of the colony to the urban one. The car floated a few centimeters above the ground, at high speed, heading towards a small, isolated church built at the request of an important figure in The Cathedral. When the small building became visible, the passenger in the back seat of the beautiful car wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.
The car stopped a few meters from the classic-looking structure, and the man, unable to hide his nervousness, approached the church alone. The large, ornate doors creaked as they were pushed open. There were few rows of pews in the small church; the lighting was dim, and the smell of incense strong. Stained-glass windows depicting angels embellished the already charming church. In the front row, a white-haired old man, dressed in a cassock of the same color, was kneeling, saying his prayers.
The visitor had learned, the hard way, that the old man's prayers were to be respected, and so he waited for several more minutes until he apparently concluded them. He approached slowly, and when he was a few meters away, the old man spoke in a deep, solemn voice.
"And so?"
The man broke into a cold sweat once more, walking until he was close enough to the row of pews, and replied.
"The fourth piece is set on the board, Your Eminence. And soon, the fifth will be too."
The old man stood up after the reply. He moved to the aisle where his guest awaited him, trembling.
"I heard that events beyond our predictions have accelerated the process."
The man only refrained from falling to his knees before the cardinal in front of him because he still had some dignity, but his body trembled. Swallowing hard, he replied.
"We had some unexpected developments, Your Eminence, but the outcome was still the desired one."
The dim candlelight revealed the severe face of the old cardinal in the shadows. After some more waiting, he walked towards the church exit, and when he reached the door, he turned to the frightened man.
"May our plans proceed as expected. For the good of humanity and the will of our creator, the union must be re-established. That is our duty, after all."
<>
Helena Kjestein observed her tired reflection in the bathroom mirror of her home in the suburbs of the Alpha colony's metropolis. Her silvery-blonde hair, which she had recently cut, was tied in a bun. Her green eyes betrayed the tears she didn't even know if she was still capable of shedding, but which had fallen painfully in recent days. The Ice Queen, a nickname she earned during her time at The Cathedral's academy, had melted. The less-than-affectionate nickname, which she accepted knowing it to be true, increased her pain even more.
He was the first to approach the Ice Queen, the figure who frightened the entire student campus. He was the first to understand the pains she hid, and the only one, besides the couple's children, who made her smile. And now, he was dead, leaving her with their daughter Miriam, 9, and their son Bernard, 4. The children hadn't yet assimilated the news; she knew it would take time. Perhaps her intelligent daughter had already noticed the weight of the tragedy, but the true signs weren't there yet.
Helena took a step back, and now she could see herself fully in her mirror. The uniform she imagined she would never wear again still fit her slender body perfectly. The white overcoat, with red lines in the stitching, gave her an ethereal air. The Cathedral's symbol over the left side of her chest stood out, contrasting with the uniform's other colors. The call of duty he had made her ignore had knocked on her door again. "We need your talents," was what Mathias Granqvist, her and her husband's former professor, had said. The dirty trick of duty was ingrained in all former and new academy students, from the first minute until graduation, for those who began their military or scientific lives as children and left the academy as adults. Those who made the U.S.C. the power it was.
She went to the living room of her comfortable house, and in the center of it, sitting on the floor, her children were playing silently. Miriam looked at her mother when she arrived; with a sad smile, she stood up and approached Helena.
"Mom... I'll take care of Bernard, for you and for Dad..."
Helena closed her eyes and hugged her daughter, caressing her brown hair, an inheritance from her father. She kissed the child's forehead and then went to where her youngest was sitting. She picked him up; Bernard was growing fast, these moments would soon be over. She brought her son's face closer and gave him a warm kiss. Helena held back her tears. And then she turned to speak to her daughter.
"Your aunt will pick you up shortly. I promise I'll visit you every day, and if I can't, I'll call to talk at night."
Miriam approached her mother and hugged her along with her brother. Helena couldn't hold back one of the tears, and it streamed painfully down her face. Duty to The Cathedral, and to her children's future, would ensure she wouldn't shed them in the future. She would be the strength The Cathedral saw in her husband; no, she would be even more powerful. So that stories like hers and her sweet children's would no longer be repeated.
<>
The Tesla Institute was a space station located in the vicinity of the Alpha space colony. The structure was large, but it was dwarfed next to the gigantic colony. Used as a checkpoint before departures for long expeditions, the station was currently busier than usual. A group of newly arrived M.M.U.s lined up in the large hangar. The units caught the attention of the institute's staff due to their modifications. Although the models were similar to those used by standard U.S.C. forces, the versions stationed there were, in some cases, radically modified.
From the platform above the Hangar, overlooking the entire area, a young woman, with an almost feline gaze due to her curiosity, observed the movement and the machines with the same interest as the institute's team. One of the units that drew attention was her own modified Aquarius M.M.U.; Laila Rubio's machine had been molded to take advantage of her prodigious piloting skills. The only thing reminiscent of the original was its blue color. Similarly, the silver Capricorn next to hers, with red details she certainly didn't remember being on the original model, had received an evident boost in its thrusters, which could also be said for the Taurus and the Virgo next to them.
The automatic door behind the pilot opened, and with it, her smile, upon seeing who the visitor was. Laila ran to hug her friend.
"Elijah!"
The tall young man, of robust build and dark skin, awkwardly returned the gesture. The old friendship, separated by distance and their respective obligations after graduating from the academy, could finally be rekindled. Elijah Thompson, however, couldn't maintain the smile for long, and Laila knew the reason very well.
"I'm so sorry about your sister, Elijah."
He simply nodded; he still had difficulty finding the words to deal with the loss of the person who had practically raised him since childhood. His only easily extrapolated feeling at the moment was an insatiable desire for revenge. He approached the large window overlooking the hangar.
"I see our colleagues have also been called."
"Yes," Laila said, approaching. "In fact, they should already be here."
"Don't let that stop you!"
The male voice that entered the room was known to Elijah and Laila—two voices, more precisely.
"It's good to see you again, Thompson, Rubio."
August Leitz hadn't lost his almost harsh seriousness, while the colleague who arrived with him, the jovial Joshua Balogun, was the extreme opposite. The group brought their right fists to their left chests in The Cathedral's standard salute. Before they could resume their lighthearted conversation, the hangar's announcement of a new unit arriving at the station made the four of them approach to see it.
Joshua whistled, truly impressed by what he saw, and his colleagues' sentiment was the same. The imposing black M.M.U. had bright green in its joints; its armor was coated with small red details. What differentiated it from other U.S.C. machines was its pair of red wings, made of flat metal, in combination with two thrusters. The machine's hatch opened, and the slender figure of its pilot descended elegantly using the automatic cockpit access rope.
A few minutes later, Laila and the others were lined up in one of the space station's meeting rooms. The young pilot's anxiety grew with each moment; there was a rumor that she would be the leader of the newly formed squadron, but now that the rumor was getting closer to becoming true, she could barely contain herself. After all, Helena Kjestein was her hero, the reason she had dedicated her life to the U.S.C. and The Cathedral.
The room door opened, and with her helmet in hand, still wearing her white pilot suit, Helena entered the room with firm, determined strides. She stopped in front of the four pilots and observed them from head to toe. Her hard, firm expression was exactly as Laila remembered. After a few more seconds, Helena began to speak.
"I am Captain Helena Kjestein, and from today, I am the leader of the squadron you will be part of. Our objectives will be different from other colonial forces, so I ask you not to cling to basic military conventions. We are not a basic squadron."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The four echoed the same sentiment, and the new squadron made The Cathedral's salute simultaneously. The next scene, however, caught Laila by surprise. A tenderness, albeit brief, took over her new captain's face, who continued.
"I know how tired you must be from the long journey to our colony, so I ask you to rest for the next few days. We will have orders soon; be prepared for them. Dismissed."
As quickly as it had appeared, the expression Laila thought she saw had vanished. The captain left the room, as did her other colleagues. From the window overlooking the hangar, Laila once again observed the now five M.M.U.s that formed her new squadron.
December 4, 2238, a new elite squadron, utilizing the geniuses trained by The Cathedral's academy and its various colonies, was born. Helena Kjestein, the Ice Queen, returned once more to the battlefield. The pieces on the board were beginning to move.