Kovacs stepped off the transport shuttle, his boots hitting the battered tarmac of Prescott’s main spaceport. It had been nearly nine months since he’d last stood on this soil, and in that time, everything seemed to have shifted. A cold wind swept across the field, carrying with it the acrid scent of machinery and freshly turned earth. His gaze swept over the horizon, taking in the towering scaffolds marking the skeletons of new buildings and the vast fields of wreckage that still bore scars from the war. What once had been a thriving colony was now a patchwork of construction sites, refugee camps, and salvage yards.

The people looked different too. Those who passed him bore a hardened look—faces weathered by exhaustion, hands roughened by relentless work. Gone were the hopeful glances of settlers; these were survivors, their optimism tempered by the sheer grit needed to rebuild their world.

Kovacs felt a pang of guilt as he recognized a few faces. Maren, the mechanic who had patched up his first prototypes, now supervised a team repairing salvaged transports. She barely spared him a glance, focused on coordinating the chaotic effort. He wondered if she resented him—after all, the machines he’d designed had brought destruction as much as salvation. A child darted between work crews, lugging a bag of tools far too large for his small frame. Kovacs’ stomach twisted. War had left no one untouched, least of all Prescott’s youngest.

“Kovacs,” a voice called out, and he turned to see Lieutenant Garvey approaching. The man looked thinner, his once-immaculate uniform now patched and stained. Despite this, he managed a faint smile. “Didn’t think we’d see you back so soon. Thought you’d be off chasing fame and fortune with your designs.”

Kovacs shrugged, shifting his bag over his shoulder. “I couldn’t stay away. Besides, there’s work to do.” His eyes drifted to a nearby crane struggling to lift a massive steel girder. The machine groaned under the strain, its joints creaking audibly. A dozen workers scrambled to steady the load. “That, for instance, needs fixing.”

Garvey’s smile widened. “Still the same Kovacs. Good to have you back.”

***

The Architect had been born out of necessity during the long voyage back to Prescott. With little else to occupy his time, Kovacs had immersed himself in his design work. Unlike the combat mechs he’d built for the war, the Architect was meant for peace. It was the first in a series of construction mechs he’d envisioned, each tailored to a specific aspect of rebuilding efforts.

He remembered sitting in the cramped workspace aboard the transport ship, surrounded by schematics and material samples. The hum of the ship’s engines provided a constant backdrop as he began sketching. At first, the designs were rough, uninspired—war had left its mark on his creativity. But as he thought about the ruins of Prescott, the vision for the Architect began to take shape.

“What do they need?” he’d asked himself. The answer was clear: a machine that could lift, cut, and build with precision and endurance. It needed to be adaptable, able to handle everything from clearing rubble to erecting scaffolds. More importantly, it had to be something the people could trust, a symbol of renewal rather than destruction.

The first breakthrough came when he realized the Architect needed to be more than just a tool. It had to be an extension of its operator. Kovacs had spent days refining the cockpit layout, ensuring it was spacious and intuitive. He’d included a co-pilot seat, anticipating the need for collaboration in complex tasks. The control interface was designed to be seamless, with a mix of manual and semi-autonomous systems. Operators could let the AI handle repetitive tasks while retaining full control when needed.

***

Back in his temporary housing block, Kovacs’ fingers danced across the terminal’s controls as he reviewed the Architect’s specifications. He opened a simulation file and watched as the mech moved through a virtual construction site, lifting steel girders with ease and welding joints with pinpoint accuracy. The sight brought a faint smile to his face.

His mind drifted to the other designs he’d worked on during the voyage. The Excavator, a heavy-duty mech designed for mining operations, and the Artisan, a smaller unit built for precision work like electrical repairs and interior finishing. Each machine had been crafted with the same attention to detail, their forms a testament to his determination to contribute to Prescott’s recovery.

The flashback deepened as Kovacs recalled the challenge of sourcing materials. Onboard the transport, resources were limited, and he’d spent countless hours researching alloys and composites that could be salvaged from Prescott’s wreckage. Lightweight yet durable metals formed the Architect’s frame, while advanced hydraulic systems provided the strength needed for heavy lifting. He’d even managed to incorporate a modular power grid, allowing the mech to operate on multiple energy sources—a necessity given Prescott’s unstable infrastructure.

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One night, just as he was about to save a draft of the Architect’s arm design, a memory had surfaced. It was of a child, struggling to carry a bag of tools. The image had struck him deeply, and he’d realized the Architect needed an automation system. “They’re tired,” he’d muttered to himself. “They need help.”

The AI system he developed was a blend of simplicity and sophistication. It could assist with repetitive tasks, freeing workers to focus on more complex jobs. Yet, it was never fully autonomous—Kovacs had learned from the war that machines should never make decisions without human oversight.

The hum of the simulation brought him back to the present. Kovacs leaned forward, scrutinizing the Architect’s design for any flaws. The mech moved through the virtual site with an efficiency that bordered on grace, its multi-jointed arms switching seamlessly between tools. He made a few adjustments, refining the balance between the mech’s speed and stability.

Satisfied, he saved the file and leaned back in his chair. The Architect was ready, not just as a design but as a symbol of hope. And as Kovacs prepared to present it to Prescott’s engineers, he felt a rare sense of pride. For the first time in months, he wasn’t building for war. He was building for the future.

By dawn, the Architect was more than a concept. It was a symbol of hope—a machine designed not for destruction, but for renewal.

***

Across the galaxy from Prescott, in the towering halls of a planetary corporate headquarters, Executive Marin Krayd stood before a semi-circular dais of six seated board members. The chamber was opulent, lined with panels of polished dark wood, and softly lit by the ambient glow of a holomap projecting Prescott’s location within the sector. The red dot of the colony pulsed faintly against a web of trade routes, radiating potential profit and peril.

Krayd’s voice was smooth, oozing confidence as she delivered her proposal. “The colony of Prescott is ripe for acquisition. Weak from recent conflict, they’re sitting atop newly discovered rare elements that have no galactic equivalents. This is an opportunity we cannot afford to ignore. With proper leverage, they’ll either willingly sign over mining rights or crumble beneath economic pressure.”

The room buzzed with murmurs until a stern voice broke through. Vice-Chair Nadine Yarro, a sharp-eyed woman with an icy demeanor, leaned forward. “You make it sound simple, Krayd. But Prescott’s resistance isn’t just theoretical. You’re proposing we push into territory that has already seen corporate interests fail. The last attempt at forceful acquisition ended in disaster.”

“That was a military miscalculation, not an economic strategy,” Krayd retorted. “Our approach is different. A combination of economic subterfuge and strategic partnerships will succeed where brute force failed.”

Board Member Jorel Tyan, a heavy-set man whose voice carried the weight of someone used to giving orders, barked out a laugh. “Or we could simply invade and take what we want. Enough with the schemes. If we send in mercenaries and lay claim, no one would dare challenge us. The Duke himself would applaud our initiative.”

The room fell silent for a moment, tension palpable. Krayd’s eyes flashed as she responded, “And risk another fiasco? Have you forgotten what happened to Corecon Enterprises when they attempted the same against the Duke’s rivals? They were dismantled and their assets seized as punishment for overreach.”

“Which brings us to the Duke,” interjected Mira Kevar, the youngest and perhaps most ambitious member of the board. Her expression was unreadable. “The Duke of this region controls the flow of military assets and has alliances stretching across the sector. If we’re not careful, this operation could put us directly at odds with him.”

“Then why not bring him into the fold?” Tyan countered, leaning back smugly. “A few well-placed bribes could ensure his cooperation. He’s always had an eye for expanding his influence.”

“And how do you propose to keep such a partnership from turning against us?” Yarro snapped. “The Duke is as treacherous as he is powerful. Once he’s involved, he’ll demand a larger cut than we’re prepared to offer.”

As the debate raged, Board Member Silas Veyn sat quietly, his hawk-like gaze fixed on Krayd. When he finally spoke, his words dripped with calculated malice. “Perhaps we’re looking at this the wrong way. Instead of working around the Duke, why not sell out our competition to him? Prescott’s resources are valuable, yes, but so is our position. If we present the Duke with evidence of other corporations sniffing around his territory, we could secure his favor without getting our hands dirty.”

A shocked silence fell over the room. Kevar’s face hardened. “You’re suggesting we betray our peers to curry favor with a despot?”

“This is business,” Veyn replied coldly. “Sentimentality has no place here.”

Krayd’s lips curled into a thin smile, but her voice was measured. “An interesting proposition, Veyn, but it raises questions of loyalty. If we start sacrificing our own, who’s to say we’ll remain untouchable?”

Veyn’s gaze didn’t waver. “Survival requires hard choices, Krayd. You, of all people, should understand that.”

Before Krayd could respond, an aide entered the chamber, whispering urgently into her ear. Her expression darkened as she turned back to the board. “It seems our competition is already making moves on Prescott. If we hesitate, we’ll lose the initiative.”

“Then we vote,” Yarro declared. “Enough of this back-and-forth. Let’s decide our course.”

The board members exchanged sharp glances, each weighing the stakes. As they prepared to cast their votes, Krayd’s mind raced. She had no intention of letting this opportunity slip away, but the fractures within the board were becoming increasingly apparent. And somewhere in the shadows, she knew, alliances were shifting—not all in her favor.