The smell of freshly brewed kaff filled the small kitchenette as Vylaas leaned against the counter, a steaming mug in hand. He was wearing nothing but a set of linen sleep trousers. Across from him, Helena sat at the table wearing his missing shirt. Her hair was still damp from the shower, but her expression was grim and businesslike as she scrolled through a datapad filled with casualty reports.

“The medi-drones are the bottleneck,” Helena said, her voice sharp with frustration. She tapped the screen, pulling up a map of the front lines. “They’re slow, outdated, and half of them are running on protocols from a decade ago. By the time they reach a casualty, it’s often too late.”

Vylaas sipped his drink, brow furrowed. “They’re not designed for rapid response. The Empire’s been cutting funding from 'non-critical' initiatives for years, and it shows.”

Helena set the datapad down, her eyes narrowing. “We need something faster. Something that can get to the wounded before they bleed out or go into shock. A high-priority rapid response unit—something that can bypass the red tape and get boots on the ground in minutes, not hours.”

Vylaas nodded slowly, his gaze distant as he considered the idea. “A custom shuttle,” he said after a moment. “Something lightweight, but with good shield capacitors. A fast-flyer that can handle unstable terrain, deploy medics directly to the site, and even provide on-the-spot stabilization. We’d need to make sure it had a better triage bay than the standard shuttles, but it’s doable.”

Helena leaned forward, her expression intense. “It’s more than doable. It’s necessary. But getting approval for something like that—especially with the current budget cuts—would be a nightmare. The bureaucracy would strangle it before it even got off the ground.”

Vylaas set his mug down, his fingers drumming lightly on the counter. “We don’t need approval for a full-scale program. Not yet. We could start with a pilot—something under my personal authority. A single shuttle, proof of concept. If we can show how effective it is, we might be able to push for broader implementation.”

Helena’s eyes lit up. “A pilot program. That’s smart. Keep it small, keep it under the radar. If it works, the results will speak for themselves.”

Vylaas turned to her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “We’d need to move quickly. The front lines aren’t going to wait for us to get our act together.”

Helena stood, her movements brisk and purposeful. “Then let’s get started. I’ll pull together the data we need—casualty rates, response times, everything. You handle the shuttle. If we can get this off the ground, it could change everything.”

Vylaas nodded, his expression serious now. “I’ll reach out to the engineers. Chimera can handle the modifications, but we’ll need a base model to work with. Something fast, something durable.”

Helena grabbed her jacket, slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the hangar in an hour. Let’s make this happen.”

As she headed for the door, Vylaas called after her. “Helena.”

She turned, one hand on the doorframe. “Yeah?”

“I know you're excited, but you might want to put on something more substantial than one of my tunics and a jacket."

Helena froze at the doorway, looking down, and after assessing her state of undress, quietly slinked to the bedroom to retrieve her own clothes. Vylaas just grinned and sipped at his kaff.

----------------------------------------

Helena's face caught the blue shimmer from her datapad. The screen cast harsh shadows across her cheekbones as she flicked to the next file.

"Senior Engineer Lyra Nyss." Her voice crackled with exhaustion. "Twenty years in propulsion systems. Perfect record." Her fingers drummed against the edge of the pad. "But no medical transport background. These mobile platforms need someone who knows their quirks—propulsion's just the start."

"And the problem with 'competent,'" Vylaas replied, "is that it often means they follow the rules. But when the rules require patients to die..."

Vylaas crossed the cramped room in three quick strides. "We don't need some career bureaucrat who's just ticked boxes for decades. We need someone who's seen the system fail. Someone who's watched patients slip away because of red tape." His fingers flexed at his sides. "We need a mechanic who knows when to throw out the manual."

Helena accessed another personnel file. The name Sorin Valek filled her screen, along with a string of credentials and a service record that made her eyebrows lift.

"Chief Engineer Sorin Valek. Shield systems specialist from the Imperial Navy." Her finger traced down the screen. "Hold on. Demoted for insubordination?"

Vylaas's footsteps halted mid-stride. "The Imperial Navy doesn't take kindly to that sort of thing."

"Could mean he's reckless." Helena scrolled deeper into Valek's record. Field commendations cluttered his service history, a trail of successful repairs under combat conditions. "Though he kept their ships running when it counted. Shield technology background. Not our main concern, but..."

"Keep going." Vylaas's voice tightened. "We're looking for someone with a very specific profile."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

The datapad hummed beneath Helena's fingertips, each tap echoing in the silence. Stale kaff wafted through the room, a reminder of their earlier indecision. Vylaas clenched his jaw, imagining the death toll climbing while they'd wasted precious hours. The thought burned like acid in his gut.

"Chief Engineer Aris Thorne." Helena's voice lifted. "Now this is interesting."

Vylaas froze mid-step. "Interesting how?"

Helena traced the lines of text, her brow furrowing. "Medical transport division, twenty-plus years. Field repairs, custom mods—this guy's had his hands in every chassis they've built."

"And?" Vylaas leaned closer.

A smile crept across her face. "Command's written him up six times for tweaking systems without clearance. Thorne seems to have a habit of tuning up his projects. Off-spec, but high-performing."

"Unauthorized modifications," Vylaas said, the words tasting like opportunity. "This is exactly what we need." He shifted his weight forward. "What kind of trouble did this maverick get into?"

Helena's finger traced down the glowing screen. "Shield upgrades on a Type-4 transport. Boosted survival rates twenty percent when Raxians attacked. No forms, no chain of command—he just made it happen."

Chimera's presence hummed with intrigue in the back of Vylaas's mind.

"There's more," Helena said, her eyes darting across the text. "Souped up a med-evac shuttle's engines. Fifteen percent faster. Saved twelve people from enemy fighters." She glanced up, a fierce gleam in her eyes. "Seems Thorne sees regulations more as polite recommendations."

"Suggestions he thinks people should follow—until lives hang in the balance," Vylaas said, tracing a finger along his jaw. "Then the rulebook goes out the airlock. What else?"

"Bio-foam injectors," Helena said, her eyes narrowing at the screen. "He stole experimental prototypes and wired them into a standard transport. Kept critical patients from bleeding out before they hit the operating table."

Efficient, Chimera confirmed, a pulse of approval strong enough to raise a smile to Vylaas' face.

"He sounds like our man," Vylaas said, feeling a surge of conviction. "Someone who understands the system, knows its flaws, and isn't afraid to break the rules to save lives. And someone who knows medical transport intimately."

Helena nodded, tapping a highlighted section of the file. "I have to agree. Despite the disciplinary actions, Thorne was consistently praised for his ingenuity and dedication. His modifications, while unauthorized, always resulted in improved performance and saved lives." She paused. "His commanding officers seem to have a… love-hate relationship with him."

Vylaas had dealt with that breed of commander before—the ones who'd toast your success while writing up the disciplinary paperwork. Bureaucrats who treated the rulebook like holy scripture. But regulations wouldn't help them now. He'd found his candidate, someone who could handle what was coming.

Helena continued reading, "Says here Thorne is currently stationed at… Forward Base Gamma-7. That's not far from here. And he's assigned to… wait for it… the medical transport maintenance division."

Vylaas felt a surge of satisfaction. It was all falling into place. "Perfect. He's exactly where we need him. And he's probably itching to get his hands on something new." He turned to address Helena directly. "I want a meeting with Chief Engineer Thorne. As soon as possible."

Helena nodded, already tapping commands into the datapad. "I'll send a request through official channels, but given his… history, it might get flagged or delayed."

Vylaas shook his head. "No. We can't afford delays. I'll use my authority. It's time Bastion paid him a visit. He turned to face the empty air beside Helena. "Chimera, access the base directory. Locate a suitable hangar bay for our project—something with enough space for modifications and preferably isolated from prying eyes."

Accessing… Chimera's presence bloomed, a rush of data flowing silently through his mind. He felt the familiar sensation of her extending beyond his physical form, reaching out through the network like invisible tendrils. Multiple options…

Moments later, a schematic of the base appeared in Vylaas's mind, overlaid with real-time data on hangar usage and security levels. He saw several possibilities, each with its pros and cons.

Hangar Bay C-12… designated for long-term storage. Currently unoccupied… Minimal surveillance… Chimera highlighted the location on the map. Drawback: Requires significant upgrades to power and ventilation systems.

Vylaas considered it. Long-term storage implied disuse, which meant less attention. But the upgrades would take time and resources. Time they might not have.

Alternative… Hangar Bay B-7… Currently assigned to a fighter squadron… Squadron deployed on extended patrol… Estimated return: indefinite… Chimera projected images of the bay—spacious, well-equipped, with state-of-the-art facilities. Drawback: Requires… re-assignment of assets.

Re-assignment of assets. A polite way of saying they'd be kicking out a squadron that might return at any moment. It was risky, but the potential benefits were significant. They'd have everything they needed right from the start.

Vylaas and Helena exchanged a look. Helena's expression displayed a hint of approval even though Vylaas hadn't said anything about which hangar he was trying to select.

"B-7," Vylaas decided, a familiar thrill of committing to action running through him. "We take the risk. Time is more valuable than convenience right now." He turned his focus back to Chimera. "Use my authority to requisition Hangar Bay B-7. Designate it for a… classified project. Top priority. And schedule a meeting with Chief Engineer Aris Thorne. In the hangar. Immediately."

Acknowledged, Chimera's presence surged, a sense of purpose threading through her actions. Requisitioning Hangar Bay B-7… Designating Project: Asklepios… Top Priority… Scheduling meeting with Chief Engineer Thorne… Time: ASAP

Asklepios. Vylaas hoped the Aeon would smile on their usage of his name for the medevac project.

Vylaas felt a surge of satisfaction. Things were moving. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was genuinely making a difference, not just playing the role of a prince, but actively shaping a better future.

"Chimera," he said, his voice firm, "an addendum to the message for Thorne. Tell him to bring his toolbox."