The competition venue buzzed with anticipation as the judges made their final rounds. The air was thick with tension, contestants standing beside their mechs, each eager—or dreading—to hear the verdict. Kovacs stood among them, his mismatched creation looming behind him, the modified power core humming faintly. Despite his efforts, the weight of the stolen data lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over his sense of accomplishment.

As the judges approached his workstation, Kovacs straightened, brushing his hands against his jacket nervously. At their head was Dr. Maren Vael, her sharp eyes scanning his mech with professional detachment. Behind her stood a figure Kovacs didn’t recognize—a tall woman with silver-streaked hair tied into a loose braid. Her gaze was piercing, almost predatory as if she could see straight through him to the core of his work.

The woman radiated authority, her presence commanding without being overt. She wore a sleek, utilitarian coat adorned with subtle metallic threading that hinted at integrated tech. A slender mechanical bracelet coiled around her wrist, its segmented plates shifting almost imperceptibly as she moved.

“This is Ilara Oran,” Dr. Vael said, her tone reverent. “One of the most accomplished engineers of our generation. She’s here as a guest judge.”

Kovacs blinked, his heart skipping a beat. Ilara Oran was a name whispered in engineering circles like a legend. She was the architect of revolutionary energy systems used in everything from planetary defense grids to interstellar freighters. If anyone could be called a master, it was her.

Ilara stepped forward, her gaze fixed on Kovacs. “You’re the one with the loader-inspired mech,” she said, her voice low and even, carrying an intensity that demanded attention.

“Yes,” Kovacs said, his throat suddenly dry. “I—uh—thought the design offered a balance between adaptability and—”

“I’m not interested in explanations,” Ilara interrupted, her tone sharp. “I’m interested in results.”

She moved to his mech, slowly circling it, her eyes taking in every detail. Then, paused at the modified power core, her brow furrowing.

“This isn’t standard,” she said, pointing at the core.

“No,” Kovacs admitted. “I modified it to boost energy output. The original wasn’t sufficient to power the stabilizers and the adaptive systems simultaneously.”

Ilara glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “You’ve taken a risk. Either you’re bold, or you’re reckless. Which is it?”

Kovacs hesitated, then met her gaze. “Maybe a bit of both.”

For the first time, Ilara’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “Interesting.”

After the judging concluded—Kovacs’ mech receiving a middling score that left him frustrated but not entirely surprised—Ilara approached him again.

“Walk with me,” she said, not waiting for a response.

Kovacs followed her out of the competition floor and into a quieter corner of the venue, where holographic displays cast faint blue light across the walls. Ilara gestured to one of the displays, which displayed a complex schematic of an energy generator. The design was intricate, with its core components layered with dense arrays of capacitors and energy converters.

“This is a design I’ve been refining,” Ilara said. “A micro-singularity power core. Compact, efficient, and capable of generating energy levels far beyond anything your mech uses.”

Kovacs stared at the schematic, his mind racing. The core's complexity was beautiful, but something about it felt off.

“What’s the catch?” he asked.

Ilara’s expression remained neutral. “The containment field destabilizes under high loads. If the field fails, the singularity collapses, and the energy release obliterates everything within a kilometer.”

Kovacs blinked, the weight of the problem sinking in. “And you want me to…?”

“Solve it,” Ilara said simply. “Containment failure is the most significant barrier to deploying micro-singularity technology. Theoretically, it’s solvable. Practically? Few have come close.”

Kovacs looked at her, incredulous. “You expect me to solve a problem engineers across the galaxy haven’t been able to crack?”

Ilara tilted her head. “I expect you to try. Show me how you think. Show me what you’re capable of.”

Ilara handed him a tablet with the schematic displayed in full detail. Kovacs sat down at a nearby workstation, his fingers brushing over the controls as he analyzed the design. The micro-singularity was housed within a containment field created by a lattice of electromagnetic projectors. The problem was clear: under high energy demands, the lattice destabilized, allowing the singularity to expand uncontrollably.

He began sketching ideas, his mind darting between possibilities. What if the lattice could regenerate in real-time? Or if it used a self-adjusting algorithm to adapt to energy fluctuations? He added redundant projectors, then removed them, realizing they’d draw too much power. Hours passed as Kovacs worked, his focus absolute.

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Finally, he leaned back, exhaustion pressing against his temples. The design on the tablet wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was a step forward. He had introduced a secondary containment field, triggered only during high-load scenarios. It wouldn’t solve the problem entirely, but it would buy precious seconds, enough to stabilize the lattice or shut down the core.

Ilara returned, her expression impassive as she reviewed Kovacs’ work. She studied the schematic in silence, her eyes narrowing slightly as she examined his additions.

“Clever,” she said finally. “You’ve addressed the immediate issue, though you’ve only delayed the inevitable collapse.”

“It’s the best I could do with the time I had,” Kovacs said, his frustration evident.

Ilara looked at him, her gaze piercing. “You think that’s an excuse?”

Kovacs straightened, his exhaustion giving way to defiance. “I think it’s progress. And progress matters, even if it’s not perfect.”

For a long moment, Ilara said nothing. Then, to Kovacs’ surprise, she nodded.

“Progress does matter,” she said. “And you’ve shown potential. But potential isn’t enough.”

Kovacs felt a pang of disappointment. “So what now?”

Ilara handed him back the tablet. “You keep working. When you’re ready to stop making excuses and start solving problems, come find me.”

She turned and walked away, leaving Kovacs standing there, the weight of her words pressing down on him. It wasn’t the outcome he’d hoped for, but it wasn’t a failure either. He had caught her attention, even if he hadn’t earned her trust.

And for now, that was enough.

***

Kovacs remained at the workstation long after Ilara had left, the hum of distant activity in the competition venue fading into the background. The tablet in his hands displayed the intricate schematic of the micro-singularity core, his modifications still highlighted in pale blue. He turned the device over, cycling through the design layers, scrutinizing every element he had adjusted.

Ilara’s parting words echoed in his mind: “Progress does matter. But the potential isn’t enough.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. The test had felt impossibly daunting when she first presented it. A singularity core? The concept itself was on the edge of theoretical physics. Yet as he worked through the problem, applying every ounce of ingenuity, something shifted. The problem wasn’t about creating something perfect—it was about understanding limitations and working within them.

Kovacs reopened the schematic, focusing on his modifications to the containment field. His addition of the secondary lattice had been a stopgap measure, buying time rather than solving the core destabilization issue. It wasn’t elegant but functional—at least in theory.

“Maybe that’s the point,” he muttered to himself. “Not every solution has to be a breakthrough. Sometimes, you just need something that works for now.”

He thought back to his mech in the competition. It was a patchwork of mismatched parts, far from the sleek designs of his competitors, yet it functioned. The loader claw, the mining legs, the agricultural drone torso—they weren’t meant to work together, but he had made them fit. Progress over perfection.

The thought gave him a small flicker of pride, but a nagging doubt tempered it. The singularity core wasn’t a frontier mech cobbled together from scraps. It was a weaponized power source that could annihilate everything around it. The stakes were infinitely higher.

Kovacs set the tablet down and opened his personal system interface. The stolen data CID had provided still sat in a secure folder, glowing like a dark secret. With a hesitant swipe, he brought up the files again. Among the schematics and research notes were designs for radiation amplifiers and containment systems eerily similar to the singularity core.

As he cross-referenced the data, a disturbing realization began to form. The containment lattice in the singularity core was strikingly similar to the radiation amplifier’s energy field. Both relied on fine-tuned electromagnetic projectors to maintain stability, and both had catastrophic failure modes if overloaded.

“Did they steal this tech from the same source?” he wondered aloud. The stolen data was incomplete, riddled with gaps, but now it felt like a key to understanding the singularity core and the larger picture of what Prescott’s rare elements were being used for.

The amplifier’s schematics hinted at a solution to the containment problem, buried in a fragment of research notes about adaptive magnetic fields. The projectors could be reconfigured to adjust dynamically to energy fluctuations, using feedback loops to stabilize the singularity in real time. It was theoretical—untested—but it was a step forward.

Kovacs paused, his fingers hovering over the hologram. If he applied what he had learned from the stolen data, he might be able to refine the singularity core further. But the implications were chilling. Every step forward he took with this technology brought him closer to understanding weapons that were outlawed by interstellar law.

The system’s earlier warning about radiation amplifiers flashed in his memory: “Usage of this technology is considered a war crime by most civilized species.”

He stared at the tablet, his thoughts swirling. Ilara’s challenge had been a test of his ingenuity, but it had also forced him to confront the ethical weight of his work. Engineering wasn’t just about solving problems—it was about deciding which problems were worth solving.

He thought of Ilara’s words: “Show me how you think. Show me what you’re capable of.”

What did she see in him? Is someone bold enough to take risks? Is someone reckless enough to push boundaries? Or someone desperate to prove themselves, no matter the cost?

“I’m not a weapon maker,” Kovacs said firmly, his voice breaking the silence. “I won’t let myself become one.”

As the hours stretched into night, Kovacs began sketching ideas for his mech, inspired by the lessons he had learned. He pulled elements from the singularity core’s design, adapting the concept of dynamic feedback loops to his power distribution system. The idea wasn’t to create something revolutionary but to build something stable and reliable—something he could stand behind.

His design began to evolve piece by piece. The adaptive systems prioritized functionality under stress, redirecting power where it was needed most. The loader claw integrated finer actuators for precision, while the mining legs received updated stabilizers to handle uneven terrain. Each modification was a small step forward, reflecting the progress he had made, both as an engineer and as a person.

Kovacs saved the schematic and leaned back in his chair, exhaustion settling over him. The competition wasn’t over yet, and neither were his challenges. But he felt a sense of clarity for the first time in days.

Ilara’s test had forced him to confront his technical skills and values. He hadn’t solved the singularity core’s problem entirely, but he had learned something far more important: the kind of engineer he wanted to be.