The Resolute dropped out of hyperspace with a soft lurch that rippled through the hull. Kovacs felt the shift as if the weight of the void had briefly pressed down on him, only to release in the next breath. The viewport on the observation deck, now crowded with crew and passengers, displayed a sight that left him momentarily breathless.
Below them was Ivara Prime, the crown jewel of the Ivaran System, a system out spinward of the galactic core where the boundaries of known space blurred into the unexplored frontier. The planet shimmered like a polished gemstone; its surface veined with webs of light that hinted at the scale of its massive cities. In orbit, vast rings of artificial stations hung like halos, their surfaces alive with the movements of thousands of ships—freighters, luxury yachts, and sleek military vessels.
“Welcome to Ivara Prime,” Jackie said beside him, her tone dry but not without awe. “Spinward’s finest.”
Kovacs said nothing, his throat tightening as he took it all in. This wasn’t Prescott’s quiet agricultural towns or patchwork cities barely holding together in the aftermath of war. This was something entirely different—something alien. For a moment, he felt smaller than he ever had, a cog in a machine too vast to comprehend.
***
The Resolute docked at one of the orbital stations, its massive cargo bays opening to unload crates and personnel. Kovacs followed Jackie and the rest of the team down the loading ramp, the sterile, metallic scent of the station mingling with the faint tang of ozone from nearby energy conduits. The docking bay was enormous, its ceiling so high it was shrouded in a haze. Workers, drones, and automated loaders moved in perfect coordination, a dance of efficiency that made Prescott’s best facilities seem like crude workshops by comparison.
“Kovacs,” Jackie said, snapping him out of his reverie. “Try not to look so impressed.”
“I’ll do my best,” he muttered, his gaze lingering on a group of sleek service mechs, their movements so fluid they could have been mistaken for living beings.
As they cleared customs—an ordeal involving layers of biometric scans, security drones, and far too many questions—Kovacs felt the weight of the place pressing down on him. Everyone here seemed to belong. Engineers in pristine uniforms strode confidently down the halls. Businesspeople negotiated deals in half a dozen languages. Even the janitorial drones exuded a quiet purpose. In his worn jacket and boots scuffed from years of workshop floors, Kovacs felt like an intruder.
Descending to the planet’s surface aboard a transport shuttle, Kovacs caught his first full view of the cities. Towers of glass and metal stretched impossibly high, spires piercing the clouds. Beneath them, layered streets buzzed with hovercraft, pedestrians, and industrial traffic, all moving in an orderly chaos that defied gravity and logic. Massive holographic displays projected advertisements and newsfeeds into the sky, their bright colors and sharp visuals so clear they seemed to hover inches away.
Kovacs leaned against the window, his breath fogging the glass. “This place isn’t real,” he murmured, the words escaping before he could stop them.
“It’s real,” Jackie said from the seat beside him, her voice hinting amusement. “Welcome to the future.”
The shuttle landed on a platform that jutted from one of the smaller towers. Smaller was relative—this one still dwarfed anything Kovacs had ever seen on Prescott. As they stepped off, CID agents in sleek, black armor ushered them into a secure elevator, which began descending at an unsettling speed.
***
The team gathered in a high-tech conference room deep within the tower, its walls lined with screens displaying scrolling data. Alphonse stood at the head of the table, his sharp suit immaculate, his expression unreadable.
“Let’s get to it,” he said, his voice slicing through the room like a blade. “We’re here to observe, investigate, and, if necessary, intervene. Ivara Prime has connections—trade routes, corporations, research institutions—that appear to overlap suspiciously with the supply chains of the forces that attacked Prescott.”
Kovacs sat stiffly, feeling every pair of eyes in the room on him. He wasn’t military or CID, and he sure as hell wasn’t used to this level of formality.
“Specifically,” Alphonse continued, “we’ll focus on Cindralis Dynamics, a corporation specializing in advanced materials and weapons systems. They’re Spinward’s golden child—untouchable on the surface. But beneath the gloss, there are whispers.” It was telling that the man connected with the illicit arms trade was unwilling to elaborate on those whispers.
Jackie raised a hand, her tone even. “Are we operating as a formal delegation or something more… discreet?”
Alphonse’s smile was thin. “Let’s just say we’ll be making friends in unexpected places.”
The double meaning wasn’t lost on Kovacs. He shifted uncomfortably, his thoughts already spiraling. What kind of friends? And what would be expected of him?
After the briefing, Kovacs was given time to explore the city. The CID team kept him under a loose watch, though he suspected Alphonse had a way of knowing exactly where he was at all times.
Walking the streets of Ivara Prime was like stepping into another world. The air was crisp and clean, the city’s atmosphere filtered and controlled. Stores displayed products Kovacs couldn’t begin to afford, let alone understand. One window showcased a mech’s arm, its alloy surface shimmering with a faint, blue light. The placard beneath it read, “Enhanced bio-reactive plating: Adaptive strength at the molecular level.”
He stopped to stare, his mind racing with the implications. Prescott’s engineers would kill for even a fragment of this tech. Here, it was treated like a luxury good.
“Feeling out of place, Kovacs?” Alphonse’s voice slid into his ear like oil. Kovacs spun to see the man leaning casually against a storefront, his suit was as crisp as ever.
“How long have you been following me?” Kovacs demanded, his frustration slipping through.
“Following? No, no,” Alphonse said, laughing softly. “Just… keeping an eye. Can’t have Prescott’s prodigy wandering into trouble, can we?”
Kovacs turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What do you want, Alphonse?”
“Only to help,” Alphonse replied, stepping beside him. “You see, places like Ivara have a way of chewing up people like you. Brilliant but raw. You’re used to being the smartest person in the room. Here? You’re barely a spark in the dark.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Kovacs muttered.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Alphonse said, his voice smooth. “You’ve got potential. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. But potential without guidance? Without alliances? It fizzles out.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Kovacs stopped, his eyes narrowing. “And let me guess. You’re offering guidance?”
“Not yet,” Alphonse said, his smirk widening. “But soon enough, Kovacs. Soon enough.”
With that, Alphonse turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Kovacs alone once more. He looked back at the mech arm in the window, its faint glow reflecting in his eyes. Out of his depth, he didn’t begin to cover how he felt.
As night fell, Kovacs returned to the quarters CID had arranged for him. The room was sleek and modern, with sharp angles and metallic surfaces. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the small holographic interface projected from the table beside him.
“This isn’t Prescott,” he muttered to himself. “This isn’t home.”
The system chimed softly in his thoughts.
Observation: The user exhibits signs of disorientation. Recommendation: Focus on short-term objectives.
“Easy for you to say,” he replied bitterly. “You don’t have to figure out where you belong.”
He leaned back, closing his eyes. Ivara Prime wasn’t just a city. It was a statement, a challenge. Every gleaming tower, every advanced system, every casually discarded piece of tech seemed to mock him, reminding him of how far behind Prescott—and he—was.
But beneath the doubt, a flicker of determination began to take hold. He hadn’t come here to be overwhelmed. He had come here to learn, to grow. To find his place in a universe that seemed too vast to comprehend.
***
Kovacs sat at the small desk in his quarters, the dim light from the overhead fixture casting long shadows across the room’s metallic walls. The interface projected from the desk hummed softly. Its holographic display scrolled through a list of educational institutions on Ivara Prime. Each entry shimmered with details: specializations, notable faculty, and admission requirements. The sheer variety was dizzying.
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his chin resting on his clasped hands. After hours of research, the names of the schools blurred together.
The Zenith Institute of Mechatronics and Design (ZIMD)
Specialization: Advanced mechatronics, with a focus on hybrid systems and adaptive AI.
Admission Requirements: Entrance exam, project portfolio, and an optional recommendation from an Ivaran citizen.
Institute of Stellar Engineering (ISE)
Specialization: Experimental energy systems and modular mech designs.
Admission Requirements: Sponsorship from a corporation or government entity. Limited independent slots available through competition.
Cindralis Academy of Engineering Excellence (CAEE)
Specialization: Applied military and industrial mech design.
Admission Requirements: Corporate-backed candidates only.
Kovacs lingered on the listing for the Institute of Stellar Engineering. The phrase “limited independent slots available through competition” caught his eye. He tapped the entry, expanding it to reveal additional details.
ISE Annual Mech Design Competition
Applicants must submit an original mech design prototype tailored to a specific mission profile.
Top submissions will be invited to present their designs in person during a live exhibition.
Winners receive full admission and funding for the program.
He sat back, staring at the display. The competition sounded like his best chance. It didn’t require corporate backing, and the idea of winning his way in appealed to him. He couldn’t deny the thrill the thought of competing brought—it felt like a way to prove himself, not just to the judges, but to everyone back on Prescott who had ever doubted him.
“Mission profile,” he muttered, leaning closer to study the details. The theme for this year’s competition was Frontier Defense: designing a mech capable of surviving and thriving in the harsh, resource-scarce environments of the spinward frontier.
Kovacs stared at the glowing entry for what felt like an eternity, his mind racing. The opportunity was undeniable, but so were the challenges. He was a newcomer here, an outsider. Competing against Ivaran students—people who had grown up surrounded by this technology, this culture—felt like stepping into a storm unarmed.
The system chimed softly in his thoughts.
Observation: The user exhibits hesitation. Query: Shall additional support be provided?
“Support?” Kovacs muttered aloud. “From where? The CID? They’d probably slap their logo on my mech and call it theirs.”
Clarification: Support refers to resources available to the user within current systems. Technical schematics, data on frontier conditions, and reference designs can be accessed.
Kovacs blinked. “You’ve got access to Ivaran designs?”
Response: Partial. Ivaran public data nodes are accessible. Private or classified designs remain restricted.
“Well, that’s something,” he muttered, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. “Pull up what you can on frontier mechs. Let’s see what I’m up against.”
The system complied, and new holograms bloomed in the air. Sleek and advanced designs from past competitions rotated before him, each accompanied by detailed specifications. Kovacs studied them closely, his mind already beginning to churn with ideas.
***
Later that evening, Jackie found Kovacs still at his desk, his face illuminated by the pale blue glow of the holograms. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him work. His focus was absolute, the tension in his posture unmistakable.
“Planning to conquer the galaxy from that desk?” she asked, her voice cutting through the hum of the interface.
Kovacs glanced up, startled. He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair. “Not the galaxy. Just a school.”
Jackie stepped into the room, glancing at the display. “What’s this?”
He gestured toward the holograms. “The Institute of Stellar Engineering. They’ve got a competition for independent applicants. Design a mech, win a spot in the program.”
Jackie raised an eyebrow. “And you’re thinking about entering?”
“I don’t have a choice,” Kovacs said. “It’s the only way in without a sponsor.”
Jackie studied him momentarily, then pulled out a chair and sat down. “So, what’s the problem?”
Kovacs sighed, leaning forward again. “I’m an outsider here, Jackie. These people grew up with this tech. They’ve had access to tools and resources I couldn’t dream of back on Prescott. How am I supposed to compete with that?”
Jackie smirked faintly. “You’re asking the wrong question.”
“What’s the right one, then?” Kovacs asked, his frustration slipping through.
“The right question is: How do you make what you’ve got work better than anything they’ve ever seen?” Jackie leaned closer, her expression serious now. “You’re not just some random kid with a wrench, Kovacs. You’ve designed mechs that changed the outcome of battles. You’ve done more with less than anyone I’ve ever seen. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Kovacs looked at her, her words sinking in. The doubt didn’t disappear entirely, but her confidence in him kindled something. He turned back to the holograms, his mind racing with new ideas.
“Thanks, Jackie,” he said quietly.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she replied. “You’ve got work to do.”
As the night deepened, Kovacs sat alone, the room silent except for the faint hum of the interface. He sketched rough designs on the holographic display, experimenting with ideas inspired by the data the system had provided. Frontier mechs needed durability, adaptability, and efficiency—qualities he’d always prioritized in his designs.
His thoughts turned to the materials discovered on Prescott, the Tungsten-Aegis alloy, and the rare elements that had sparked so much intrigue. Integrating them into the design might give him the edge he needed.
“What if…” he murmured, his fingers flying over the controls as he began drafting a new framework. The mech would be lightweight but reinforced with adaptive materials, and its systems would be optimized for resource conservation. A modular design would allow for easy repairs and upgrades, which are essential for survival in remote environments.
The system chimed again.
Preliminary design promising. Recommend refinement of energy management systems.
Kovacs nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. He felt a spark of confidence for the first time since arriving on Ivara Prime. This wasn’t just a competition. It was a chance to prove—to himself, to Prescott, and to the universe—that he belonged.