The Mech That Buried Nine Worlds

Chapter 12 - Preparation

Chapter 12 · 1,578 words

Sloane's command space smelled of recycled air and machine oil. The captain sat behind a console cluttered with supply manifests and salvage projections, his reading glasses pushed up on his forehead. He listened to Tavian's request without interrupting, his expression shifting through the calculations of a man who measured everything against cost.

"Basic EVA equipment," Sloane said, pulling items from a manifest. "Standard diagnostic tools. The support vehicle. It's rated for the debris field's outer network, which is where your coordinates put you." He made check marks on a data pad. "I'll assign a power cell for the mech's systems. The charged one from Bay Three. It's been sitting unused."

Tavian waited. The list was short.

"That's it?"

Sloane looked up. "That's what the investment warrants. You've got a partial match on a ruin site and an archaeologist who thinks the data is solid. That's interesting. Interesting doesn't justify committing advanced navigation systems or combat-rated escort." He set the data pad down. "If the site produces something measurable, we'll talk about additional resources. Until then, you work with what I've assigned."

"The resonance field around a Lithari ruin could interfere with basic navigation," Tavian said. "The support vehicle's systems aren't rated for harmonic interference."

"Then your archaeologist will need to navigate manually." Sloane's tone was final. "I'm not risking a quarter of this ship's operational capacity on an unverified ruin expedition led by a maintenance apprentice. That's the allocation. Take it or leave it."

Tavian took it. He had no leverage to argue. Sloane's profit framework was consistent and predictable. The captain would invest when the investment produced returns. Until then, Tavian would work with what he was given.

He was turning to leave when Sloane added, "I'll relay your request for pilot escort to Orson. Don't hold your breath."

---

He didn't hold his breath. The answer came through Sloane two cycles later, delivered with the casual indifference of a man relaying a message he hadn't expected a different response to.

"Orson says no. His words were something about not piloting escort for a zero-sync's field trip." Sloane shrugged. "His loss. You've got the equipment. Make do."

Tavian stood in the corridor outside the command space, processing the refusal. Without pilot escort, the expedition would depend entirely on his ability to navigate the mech through whatever environment surrounded the ruin site. No combat backup. No emergency extraction from a trained pilot. If something went wrong in the resonance field, the only person who could fix it would be him.

Tavian walked to the maintenance bay to check the equipment Sloane had assigned. The EVA suits were standard issue, functional but not rated for prolonged exposure to harmonic interference. The diagnostic tools were his own kit supplemented by a set of ship-grade scanners. The support vehicle was a compact transport designed for debris field operations, not ruin-site exploration. The power cell was fully charged but limited, enough for the mech's basic systems, not enough for sustained high-output operations.

He was running a seal check on the primary EVA suit when Dex appeared in the maintenance bay doorway.

"Sloane gave you the basics," Dex said. It wasn't a question.

"Basics."

Dex came in and leaned against the workbench. He watched Tavian test the suit's pressure seals, a task he'd done a hundred times before, his hands moving through the procedure without conscious thought.

"I've been talking to Halden," Dex said. "Your maintenance queue, the hull plate seals, the disposal cradle, the C-deck recycler. I'm taking it over."

Tavian's hands paused on the suit's shoulder seal. "You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to. I'm doing it anyway." Dex's tone was matter-of-fact, the same tone he used when discussing which wrench fit a particular bolt. "Halden's been asking about your absence. I told him I'd absorb your queue. He didn't argue. Your work's been falling behind and he'd rather have it done than flag you for neglect."

Tavian looked at Dex. His friend's expression was practical. He picked up a wrench and tested its weight in his hand.

"Leona's coming with me," Tavian said. "As archaeological consultant. She has her own equipment and navigation protocols."

"Good." Dex pushed off the workbench. "You'll need someone who knows what they're looking at in there. I'll keep things running here. If Sloane needs the maintenance queue cleared, it'll be cleared."

They stood in the maintenance bay for a moment, the equipment laid out between them, the support vehicle visible through the deployment bay doors, the Drift's engines humming through the deck plates. Tavian felt the weight of what Dex was doing without needing it explained. His friend was absorbing the practical consequences of the expedition, keeping Tavian's position on the ship secure, preventing Halden from raising flags, maintaining the routine that kept them both employed.

"Thank you," Tavian said.

Dex waved it off. "Check the support vehicle's comm array before you go. The harmonic interference might scramble standard frequencies. If Leona's navigating from the vehicle, you need a clear channel."

He left. Tavian went back to the EVA suit's pressure seals, his hands steady, the work familiar under his fingers.

---

Leona arrived the next cycle with three data pads and a case of research-grade sensor equipment that looked like it had been carefully maintained for years. She set up in the maintenance bay beside the support vehicle and began calibrating her instruments with the focused efficiency of someone who had done this before.

"I've loaded Lithari archaeological profiles on every pad," she said, not looking up from her calibration. "Harmonic resonance patterns, structural analysis from twelve documented ruin sites, navigation protocols for crystalline environments. I've also developed a real-time resonance mapping system. It won't prevent interference, but it'll give us advance warning of frequency spikes."

Tavian was checking the support vehicle's comm array, rerouting the antenna configuration to reduce harmonic vulnerability. "You've been preparing for this."

"I've been preparing for *a* this." Leona finally looked up. "I've spent eight years cataloging ruin sites from the outside. I've never been inside one." She returned to her calibration. "The Lithari patterns in your mech's navigation data are the most specific match I've found in my entire career. If there's a ruin site at those coordinates, it could contain an intact inner chamber. And an intact inner chamber means a collective memory interface."

She let the implication hang. Tavian understood what she was saying. A collective memory interface meant experiencing the civilization's final moments, through consciousness rather than data. It meant understanding what the Lithari had been, what they'd achieved, and how they'd ended.

"I know what it means," he said.

"I know you know." Leona snapped her sensor case shut. "I'm coming as your full partner on this, Tavian. Not a consultant you hire for an hour. I need to be there for the interface. If the memory contains cultural context that affects module selection, I need to be present to help you interpret it in real time."

The request was direct. Tavian looked at her, the eight years of fieldwork visible in her efficient movements, the archaeological knowledge that had already confirmed the mech's navigation data, the willingness to enter a ruin site with nothing but standard equipment and a support vehicle.

"You're taking a risk," he said.

"So are you." She picked up her data pads. "I've spent my career studying dead civilizations from the outside. If there's a chance to understand one from the inside, I'm not going to watch from a data pad."

They worked through the remaining preparations in parallel. Tavian configured the support vehicle's systems for harmonic interference while Leona loaded navigation protocols and resonance mapping algorithms. Dex stopped by twice: once to deliver an updated maintenance queue report showing all of Tavian's assigned tasks completed, and once to bring two sealed ration packs and set them on the workbench without comment.

By the end of the cycle, the equipment was loaded into the support vehicle. The EVA suits were pressure-tested. The diagnostic tools were packed. Leona's sensor array was calibrated and mounted in the vehicle's navigation console. The power cell was installed in the mech's charging port.

Tavian stood in the deployment bay and looked at the assembled equipment. It was minimal. It was under-resourced. It was everything he had.

The mech sat in its cradle at the far end of the bay, dark and silent. The thermal regulation system hummed at the edge of hearing, the only active system, the only sign that the machine was anything more than a shell of unknown alloy. The pull at his sternum was steady.

Tomorrow they would load the mech onto the support vehicle and navigate to the ruin site. Tomorrow he would pilot the machine through whatever environment surrounded the Lithari ruin. Tomorrow he would find out what the mech had been leading him toward.

Dex appeared at the deployment bay door. "Vehicle's fueled. Leona's running final calibrations. Sloane says don't break anything he can't sell."

Tavian almost smiled. "Tell him I'll keep it professional."

"I already did. He didn't laugh." Dex paused. "Be careful in there."

"I will."

Dex nodded and left. Tavian stood alone in the deployment bay with the assembled equipment and the silent mech. He placed his hand flat against the mech's hull and felt the thermal regulation humming through the alloy, steady and warm.

The power cell's charge indicator glowed green.

---