The sound of wind brushing against the council tower's windows filled the otherwise silent room as Kovacs sat across from Dr. Rebekah Langley. The cluttered desk between them was strewn with reports, schematics, and fragments of Tungsten-Aegis alloy. Despite her lab being the epicenter of Prescott’s scientific advancement, Langley looked worn, as though the war had aged her more than the years leading up to it. She removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing.
“You’re asking me to do something I simply can’t,” she said, her voice tinged with regret. “I can give you advice, Kovacs. I can point you toward resources. But mentoring? Teaching you everything I know? It’s not realistic.”
Kovacs frowned, his hands gripping the edge of his chair. “Why not? You’ve worked on some of the most advanced tech Prescott’s seen. If anyone—”
Langley cut him off gently. “Kovacs, I’m a geologist. My expertise is in materials, not systems engineering or mech design. I can tell you what a material is capable of, but I can’t teach you how to integrate it into a machine or innovate on your level. That’s not my field.”
Her honesty hit him harder than he’d expected. He had come here hoping for answers, for someone who could guide him in this strange, uncharted world of technology and design. Instead, he felt the sting of another dead end.
“What about someone else?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Someone on Prescott. There must be someone who—”
Langley shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “Most of the top minds on Prescott are either dead, displaced, or overburdened rebuilding this planet. And even before the war, we were an agricultural world, not a hub for cutting-edge engineering. The people who might have trained you left long ago to seek opportunities elsewhere.”
Kovacs looked down at his hands, the calluses on his palms a reminder of the countless hours he’d spent in the hangars and workshops. The silence stretched between them until Langley spoke again, her tone softer.
“Your talent is exceptional, Kovacs. I’ve seen your designs. The Goblin, the Lee, the Grant—they’re ingenious, especially given the resources you had to work with. But if you want to grow and advance, you’re going to have to look beyond Prescott.”
The next day, Kovacs found himself in one of Prescott’s few remaining engineering bays, its walls lined with salvaged equipment and half-repaired mechs. The acrid smell of welding and the clatter of tools filled the air. Engineers moved between stations, their faces etched with exhaustion and focus. At the far end of the room, Marius stood over a disassembled reactor, barking instructions to a junior mechanic.
“Marcus,” Kovacs called out, approaching him. The older man glanced up, his expression softening slightly when he saw Kovacs.
“What do you need, kid?” Marius asked, wiping his hands on a rag.
“I’m looking for someone,” Kovacs said. “Someone who can train me. Help me get to the next level.”
Marius raised an eyebrow. “What’s this about? Are you trying to impress the brass with another fancy design?”
“No,” Kovacs said firmly. “This isn’t about them. It’s about me. I’ve hit a wall, Marius. The system I’m using—it’s pushing me toward something bigger, something I can’t tackle on my own. I need guidance.”
Marius crossed his arms, studying Kovacs. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
The older man sighed, his gaze drifting to the reactor before him. “Look, Kovacs, you’ve got talent—more than anyone I’ve ever worked with. But you’re asking for something most people can’t give. I can teach you how to weld, troubleshoot a reactor, and optimize a circuit, but what are you talking about? Advanced systems integration? Designing mechs that push the limits of what’s possible? That’s a whole other level.”
“So you’re saying no,” Kovacs said, his tone flat.
“I’m saying I’m not the right guy,” Marius replied. “But I can tell you this: if you’re serious about finding a master, you’re gonna have to leave this rock. Prescott’s not the place for what you’re looking for.”
“Leave?” The word lingered in Kovacs’ mind. He had always assumed his work would remain on Prescott, tied to its people and struggles. The idea of leaving—of abandoning the world he had fought for—felt like a betrayal.
“Think about it,” Marius said, his voice cutting through Kovacs’ thoughts. “This cluster’s got universities, research hubs, places where people do the kind of work you’re trying to do. The Cluster Capital alone has a dozen schools that’d kill for someone with your skills. Prescott? We’re just trying to rebuild. You’ve outgrown this place, kid.”
***
That evening, Kovacs sat alone in the shadow of a disassembled mech frame, the remnants of a Goblin prototype looming over him. The bay was quiet now, the other engineers having gone home. He stared at his tablet, scrolling through reports on the rare materials discovered in Prescott’s crust. The data was incredible—properties that could revolutionize mech design if harnessed properly—but it only highlighted how far he still had to go.
“You look like you’re about to drown in that thing,” a familiar voice said, breaking the silence. Kovacs looked up to see Jackie Stewart leaning against the frame, her arms crossed. She looked like someone who’d just come from another tense shift, but her usual fire was still there.
“Shouldn’t you be at the relief center?” Kovacs asked.
“I could say the same about you,” Jackie replied, smirking. She stepped closer, her expression softening as she looked at him. “What’s eating you?”
Kovacs hesitated, then set the tablet down. “I need to find a master. Someone who can train me and push me forward. But no one here can help. Langley, Marius, the others—they all say the same thing. If I want to grow, I have to leave Prescott.”
Jackie raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t want to?”
“I don’t know,” Kovacs admitted, running a hand through his hair. “This is my home, Jackie. Everything I’ve done—everything I’ve built—has been for Prescott. How can I walk away from that?”
Jackie sighed, sitting on a nearby workbench. “You’re not walking away. You’re trying to get better. And maybe that’s exactly what Prescott needs right now.”
Kovacs frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, look around,” Jackie said, gesturing to the room. “This place is held together with duct tape and prayers. We’re doing everything we can to rebuild, but we’re stretched thin. Your leaving doesn’t mean abandoning Prescott—it means coming back stronger. Bringing back knowledge, technology, resources we don’t have.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Kovacs stared at her, her words settling in his chest like a weight. “What if I don’t find what I’m looking for? What if I can’t make it out there?”
Jackie smirked. “Since when do you let fear stop you? You’re Kovacs, for crying out loud. You built the Goblin in a garage. You designed the Grant in the middle of a war. If anyone can find a way to make this work, it’s you.”
He wanted to argue, to push back against her confidence, but he couldn’t. Deep down, he knew she was right. The path ahead was uncertain, but staying on Prescott meant stagnation. He had to take the risk if he wanted to honor the people he’d fought for.
Jackie stood, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got this, Kovacs. And when you’re ready to go, I’ll make sure you don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
That night, Kovacs lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced with possibilities, fears, and hopes. The system interface chimed softly in his thoughts, reminding him of the challenge ahead.
Apprentice-Level Advancement Available. Search for external guidance or achieve through independent discovery.
The words felt heavier now, their meaning clearer. The system wasn’t just pushing him to grow—it was demanding it. Kovacs closed his eyes, the faces of the people he’d fought for flashing in his mind. Langley, Marius, Jackie, and countless others relied on his designs, his work, and his determination.
He exhaled slowly, a decision forming in his heart. If the answers weren’t on Prescott, he would find them elsewhere. For himself. For his homeworld. For the future.
Kovacs sat at his workbench in the dimly lit corner of the engineering bay, his tablet glowing faintly in the dark. The soft hum of the system interface filled his thoughts, a constant presence he had grown accustomed to over the months. It felt different tonight—more insistent as if it understood the weight of his decision.
“Show me schools,” he murmured aloud, his voice low but steady. “Universities, institutions… anywhere I might find a master in mech design.”
The system responded immediately, its familiar mechanical tone resonating in his mind.
Query received. Searching academic and industrial institutions within accessible star clusters. Parameters: Mech design expertise, advanced systems integration, mentorship availability.
A cascade of holographic data streamed from his tablet, projected above the workbench. Dozens of names and locations appeared, each accompanied by short summaries and rankings. Kovacs leaned forward, his eyes scanning the information, his chest tightening with a mix of anticipation and doubt.
Cluster Capital University of Advanced Engineering (CCUAE)
Location: Cluster Capital
Specialization: Multi-disciplinary engineering programs with a focus on systems integration and applied mech technologies.
Notable Faculty: Dr. Theo Margraves, an expert in adaptive control systems for military and civilian mechs.
Status: Open to external applicants.
Kovacs tapped the display, bringing up an image of the campus—a sprawling city-like facility with towering research labs and open testing grounds. The description boasted cutting-edge facilities, access to rare materials, and collaborations with prominent mech manufacturers across the cluster.
“Cluster Capital,” Kovacs murmured. “Far from home. But Margraves…” He traced a finger over the name, recalling the articles he had read during his early design days. Margraves was a legend known for his work on modular mech systems that were capable of adapting to real-time battlefield conditions. The thought of learning under him sent a thrill through Kovacs and a pang of insecurity.
Stellar Nexus Academy of Mechatronics (SNAM)
Location: Helios Station
Specialization: Emphasis on hybrid mechs and integration of alien technologies.
Notable Faculty: Dr. Linya Haral, a pioneer in energy redistribution systems.
Status: Exclusive, limited to sponsored applicants.
The image of Helios Station gleamed on the display, a sleek orbital facility that seemed as much a work of art as a research hub. Kovacs frowned at the “sponsored applicants” note. Prescott’s resources were limited, and he doubted anyone would sponsor him for a school that far from the homeworld.
“Next,” he said, pushing aside the disappointment.
Frontier Institute for Technological Advancement (FITA)
Location: Rigel II
Specialization: Practical mech design with a focus on rugged, adaptable machines for frontier environments.
Notable Faculty: Professor Ardan Scythe, a veteran mech designer with ties to several mercenary corps.
Status: Open to all applicants.
Kovacs tapped his chin as he read the description. Scythe was famous—or infamous—for his brutally efficient designs. His mechs weren’t elegant, but they were nearly indestructible, built to withstand the harshest conditions. The idea of learning under someone so pragmatic appealed to a part of Kovacs, but another part hesitated. His designs had always strived for balance, not just raw functionality.
The system continued listing schools, each one offering something unique. The Eridian Research Consortium specialized in experimental AI-driven mech systems. The Astra Collegium focused on high-speed scouts and reconnaissance units. The Harmony Technical Institute prided itself on bio-mech hybrids.
Each option felt like a path diverging from the others, each a potential future that seemed both exciting and overwhelming.
Hours passed as Kovacs sifted through the options, noting down schools and names, cross-referencing their specialties with his own goals. By the time the list had narrowed to three—CCUAE, FITA, and SNAM—the first light of dawn began to filter through the hangar’s high windows. His eyes burned from staring at the holograms, but his mind refused to rest.
The system chimed softly, breaking his concentration.
Recommendation available. Display options?
“Yes,” Kovacs said, his voice hoarse.
The hologram adjusted, highlighting the three schools and summarizing their strengths. Beneath them, the system displayed a new message:
Analysis indicates Cluster Capital University of Advanced Engineering (CCUAE) offers the highest alignment with user’s development needs.
Kovacs leaned back, staring at the glowing name. Cluster Capital University. The thought of leaving Prescott had felt like an abstract possibility just hours ago. Now, it was tangible, the path ahead clearer but no less daunting.
He tapped the display, bringing up more details on CCUAE. The admission process required an entrance exam and an interview, followed by a sponsorship or proof of financial independence. The deadlines were tight, but not impossible.
The system chimed again.
Projected success rate: 87% based on current qualifications. Probability may increase with supplemental preparation.
“Eighty-seven percent,” Kovacs muttered, shaking his head. “That’s a lot of room for failure.”
***
Later that morning, Kovacs found himself sitting in the small break room adjacent to the hangar, nursing a cup of stale coffee. The conversation with Jackie from the previous night echoed in his mind.
“You’re not walking away. You’re trying to get better.”
The idea still felt foreign, even selfish. Prescott needed every hand it could get to rebuild. What right did he have to leave? Yet, as he thought of Langley’s words—“You’ve outgrown this place”—a flicker of resolve began to take root.
The door creaked open, and Marius stepped in, a grease-stained rag slung over his shoulder. He grabbed a mug from the counter and filled it with the same bitter brew, glancing at Kovacs as he did.
“Still brooding?” Marius asked, sitting down across from him.
“Still deciding,” Kovacs replied, swirling the coffee in his cup.
Marius grunted, taking a long sip. “Let me guess—your system showed you a dozen fancy schools, and now you don’t know which one to pick.”
“Something like that,” Kovacs admitted.
“Well, don’t overthink it,” Marius said. “You already know the answer.”
Kovacs raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”
Marius smirked. “The one that scares you the most. That’s usually the right choice.”
Kovacs couldn’t help but chuckle, despite himself. “You think so?”
“Kid, you’ve been through worse than an entrance exam,” Marius said, leaning back in his chair. “The Cluster Capital’s a big place, yeah, but you’re not just some rookie tech. You’ve built stuff people only dream about. Go prove it.”
***
That evening, Kovacs sat alone in his quarters, the holographic application for CCUAE glowing in front of him. His hands hovered over the interface, hesitating for a moment before finally beginning to fill it out. As he worked, the doubts didn’t disappear, but they no longer felt insurmountable.
When the application was complete, he sat back and stared at the final prompt: Submit Application?
He took a deep breath, his mind filled with the faces of the people he was doing this for—Langley, Marius, Jackie, and the countless others who relied on his machines. This wasn’t just for him. It was for Prescott, for the chance to bring something back that could make a real difference.
“Submit,” he said.
The system chimed softly, the message flashing before him: Application Submitted. Next Steps: Entrance Exam.
As the hologram faded, Kovacs felt the weight of his decision settle over him. The search had begun. And for the first time in weeks, he felt a spark of hope.