).-. Beatrice .-.(

A self-satisfied smile was plastered to her face, and she sipped sweet brandy out of a metal cup.

The power-armor golems had performed nearly flawlessly - and the 'soulcrusher' served himself to her forces on a silver platter. On her tactical map, more units approached the engagement area where the small group of locals was already struggling to cling to life. They would soon be no more than smears on the ground. She chided herself a little for allowing the 'failsafe' programming on the golems' gunfire attacks. She would have traded a few of the expensive techno-magical creations to end the fight sooner. Unless the murderous monarch was hiding more secrets, she was going to have dozens of the hulking frames left over. More than enough to finally fix on the location underground where the rest of the rats were hidden. Heck, she already had five frames locked on that task.

She glanced at the oversized screen full of individual live feeds. Three of the boxes had gone dark thus far.

The first golem was taken down by the target himself, in a display of strength and resilience that was as impressive as it was unlikely. The bone armor he wore had to be encroaching on - or equal to E grade equipment to damage the metal frames, and he'd used it to beat her construct until it ran out of energy. He had also managed to wear down a second frame the same way, but paid a heavy price to do so. Predictably, he was now showing strong signs of fatigue. She took another sip of her celebratory drink. This was wonderful entertainment.

Her other interesting surprise came from the young, quick-casting mage. Even after they had designed the golems to exacting, lighting-resistant standards, that boy had still managed to take one down. She ran her partially numbed tongue over the roof of her mouth. The mana reserves required to overload a resistant enemy like that belayed a level of ability that could have been a blessing to her forces in the upcoming fights against the corks approaching them from space. It truly was a shame that the locals were a rotten, irredeemable people. A nagging thought pressed on her to keep him alive, and to use her backup plan as a primary motivator to ensure the boy stayed in line. But there was only so much loyalty a hostage could buy, and leaving him alive - or leveling him up - was too big a risk for her to take. So she let the golem targeting the now-prone and panting boy continue its approach.

The other fighters attached to her target had fared far worse. One had a paltry, bark-made shied splintered into woodchips - and also lost the arm that held the ineffective thing. After that, his legs had been carefully broken, and he was currently in the process of being carried to the nearest outpost to the battle. One of the interrogators was traveling there from the opposite direction, ready to meet and press from the still-living combatant as much information as could be managed. Another of the enemy had been hiding in bushes within the park - and would soon be on the way to the same location, far less injured. Last was a nimble, perceptive fighter that managed to elude almost every blow from her golem. They had enough movement ability to do quick dodges and repositioning, but so far had not attempted to run. Two golems were tasked with penning them in - and would leave no room for the moron to do what they should have back at the beginning of the fight.

It was almost moving, that they all stayed behind with their little 'monarch'. But these were the same people that had stolen Travis - and her future.

A flashing notification brought her attention away from the multi-feed screens of information. She typed in a quick order to hold the feeds and reports, but continue the fight. This was her victory, and she wanted to experience it in real time after she dealt with what better be an important interruption.

The weathered face of the leader of her spacebound forces flashed into view. Isard's eyes were tired, and hard.

Commander. We miscalculated.

He waved a hand at a display behind himself, full of arcing lines and glowing shapes. A zoomed-out tactical map of the local system. Her eyes traced over the long arcing paths while Isard continued.

Our simulations showed a near-certain probability that the enemy would be completely hampered by our work to generate orbital debris in the approach lanes, and we became comfortable with that truth. While we worked to position and engage the enemy at range, they used the debris as cover to deploy more than a dozen strike craft, and had them slingshot amongst planetary fragments until they were too close to our forces to properly engage with the batteries.

Bea realized where this was going. The metal cup in her hand slowly compressed in her grip.

They were able to... No. I failed to notice that the first attacks could be a prelude to something more. My continued oversight allowed a pair of enemy craft to assault our orbital processor. All troops, and all crystal onboard are lost. We have forces en route to try to retake the processor, but I anticipate the enemy will sabotage the station rather than see it return to our control. All told, we have lost 10 cannon batteries, the refinery, and one orbital staging station. At least three of the batteries were torn apart by a nonstandard payload wrapped in layers of E-grade tungsten and lead, which were also set on a slingshot course to reach their intended targets. The enemy's level of foresight to successfully hit against a theoretical position in such a complex environment is...

He shook his head.

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The enemy force, this set of peacekeepers are quite capable, and should not be underestimated. Their main fleet was somewhat slowed by our tactics, but we have identified that they are using combinations of gravity and earth magics to capture and shape the debris we generated. They've already fit multiple engines to what is, realistically, a massive rocky shield. We should expect them to use this creation to 'clear' themselves a path to the planet, and as an additional layer of defense against the long-range fire from our cannons.

The man that had been assigned to her command for the past seven years took a breath, then drew himself up to a rigid, parade-like stance. His eyes looked like they could burn holes into her screen.

With the orbital refinery and staging station three destroyed, our batteries will not be refueled. Anticipated ammunition consumption has us running dry long before we could properly break the enemy forces. Powering the engines to reposition the batteries would only serve to limit our combat capacity. I have made the decision to focus our remaining reserves entirely on cannonfire. We will not run. We will not despair. We may not win, but we will not allow the enemy to gain access to your planet's orbit without leaving them bloody. I know you are not religious, commander, but I wish the all-god's blessings to you, and to the corporation. May you fare better in ground combat than we have up here. Isard out.

Bea's hand crumpled the metal cup and splashed the liquid inside onto her desk. A textile mage whose name she didn't care to remember entered her office seconds later, and used freshly crafted towels to soak up the mess before excusing herself from the room. Uzochi slowly and smoothly put a hand on Bea's forearm, then offered her free palm next to the crumpled metal.

"Commander, please let me take your trash."

Bea steadied her breathing, and released the metal. Uzochi's deft hand grabbed it before it could fall against the desktop, and she swiftly brought it outside the office. Bea cursed at the empty air. She was working her forces through careful strategy, and things were still progressing as two steps forward, one step back.

Her mind worked through potential options to the issues in space. She could shift the rest of the batteries protecting the 'back' of the planet in multiple ways. A star-shingle pattern would provide overlap and hard-point defense or offense, and would be harder for the enemy to attack without risking the other batteries sacrificing whichever one they tried to take over. Another was a standard Ftolliard loop - but she doubted there were enough remaining and mobile batteries - and spare mana crystals - to make that work. Third was the potential to create a Qomedr web, concave to trap and slow the still-approaching fleet. Her losses in any scenario would be heavy - and likely included the death of Isard himself. The man was far too proud to flee.

She forced herself to take a step back from the problem. Space was one of multiple fronts where they would end up fighting against the corks. The enemy's fleet tactics were far more effective than she had given them credit for, and the resourcefulness they displayed could spill over to impact other engagements. To enact any of her orbital response plans, she would have to shift resource allocations away from the empowerment programs and defensive build-up happening here on the surface. Intentionally whittling down her power base just to give the enemy a black eye was a losing proposition.

She pushed back her chair, and started to pace around her desk. Batteries in orbit, once the main section and Isard were dead, would become targets of opportunity no matter what... Bea paused to type a series of commands, and sent them off to the batteries not engaged in the approach lane fight. At least a few of them would survive if they grouped together in a single strongpoint, and doing so would create another threat in space that would be impossible for the corks to ignore. The best way to delay her enemies, remove more of their troops from the board, and ensure her power-base could build in peace.

Bea dropped back into her chair, and typed in an order for a hot meal. Only moments later, she smiled as Uzochi walked back into her office. The woman carried a fresh cup of brandy in one hand, and a steaming plate of mixed meats and greens in the other. This was the true value of a real, proper aide. They went beyond simple order-following, into the realm of predictive efforts to meet unvoiced needs. Uzochi was quick witted and physically fast when it came to her typist talents, but her ability to anticipate Bea's desires put her in an entirely different realm of competence.

"Commander. Grilled and seasoned F-grade beast meat, paired with a steamed spinach-like plant that should suit your tastes. Dinner should go well with your entertainment for the evening."

The plate slid gently out of her hand into the middle of the desk, and she set the cup of brandy down while pulling a set of utensils from one of her jacket pockets. The woman nodded as Bea took a deep nose-full of the cuisine. Her hand was nearly to her fork when the door swung open.

One of her hall guards entered, shared a glance with Uzochi, and made a bow. "Commander. Apologies for the interruption. Protocol demanded it." He stepped back as another guard entered, supporting a ragged man by the shoulders.

Her new interruption was was covered in a series of small cuts, dirt stains, and bruises. His hairless skin hung loose on a thin frame, and a lump of soiled bandages were wrapped around a stump at his right elbow. His legs shook, and his eyes shifted in a telltale sign of recent trauma. He stared at the guard holding him up, at Uzochi, and at Bea's plate of food. When he lifted his gaze to meet her eyes, he flinched in recognition, and his mouth trembled.

"Commander! I made it... An icebox! My tutorial instance - an icebox. The enemy... they were..." The man's face flashed with emotion. Signs of a terrible memory, relief as he realized again where he was, then urgency. He pushed himself free of the guard holding him, then summoned boxes of documents as his knees hit the floor.

Bea shook her head, and gave Uzochi a subtle order to handle things. The woman nodded and stepped forward.

"Your arrival and efforts are appreciated, soldier. But they are unnecessary, and it has taken you far longer than normal to arrive here. Lieutenant Travis's Staff Aide, Elijah, brought us these documents some time ago. The commander since used them to enact plans to deal with the enemies. Do not be dismayed. Your service is noted, and we will ensure you are able to witness the downfalls of the so-called 'soul-crusher', and the barbarian, as soon as such recordings become available. By the time you finish receiving medical attention, the soul crusher should already be dead. Now please, let the guards escort you to our medical wing."

Unease worked its way up Bea's spine as she watched the man's eyes twist and shift in confusion. His lip twitched, and he put a shaking hand down on one of the summoned boxes, then glanced between Bea and Uzochi. His lips twitched with the start of several sentences, then stilled a moment before he finally spoke.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about, Ma'am. I wasn't in Elijah's tutorial."

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