The CID’s operations room aboard the Resolute was a hive of activity. The hum of data processors and the faint clatter of keyboards filled the air, mingling with the muted voices of agents as they analyzed incoming data streams. Holographic displays floated in the center of the room, projecting trade routes, intercepted communications, and fragmented manifests. Each piece of information was a jagged shard of a larger puzzle that no one had yet managed to complete.

Kovacs stood at the edge of the room, trying to make sense of the glowing streams of data that the CID agents worked with so easily. Beside him, Jackie leaned against the wall, her sharp eyes scanning the room like a predator in unfamiliar territory. The tension in the air was palpable.

“This better be worth it,” Jackie muttered, keeping her voice low. “All this cloak-and-dagger nonsense feels like we’re bait in someone else’s trap.”

“It’s not like I have much choice,” Kovacs replied, his voice equally quiet. He gestured to the swirling holograms. “Whatever this is, it’s tied to Prescott. I need to know what we’re caught up in.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Agent Lorne, the CID’s lead investigator, who strode into the room with the kind of authority that silenced everything around her. Her piercing gaze swept the space before she gestured to one of the analysts. “Tell me you’ve got something.”

“We do,” the analyst replied, pulling up a new projection. A galaxy map appeared, overlaid with glowing lines and pulsing nodes. “It’s a trade network—off the books and highly compartmentalized. These routes aren’t in official records and have been operating for decades. Prescott is a minor node, but it’s active.”

Lorne’s expression hardened. “Active how?”

The analyst zoomed in on the Prescott node, highlighting a series of faint lines leading to other systems. “These routes show the movement of rare materials—the same ones recovered from enemy supply caches. Someone’s been mining and smuggling these elements from Prescott through intermediaries, hidden under layers of falsified shipping logs.”

Kovacs stepped closer, his stomach sinking as he stared at the glowing node representing his homeworld. “You’re saying someone on Prescott knew about these materials and sold them off?”

“Exactly,” the analyst confirmed. “But it gets worse. Look here.” He tapped the display, and a new node lit up on the map, far spinward of Prescott. The label read: Institute of Stellar Engineering.

“The Institute?” Kovacs asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “That’s where I applied.”

“And it’s more than just a school,” Lorne said, her tone grim. “The Institute is tied to this trade network. Organizations with links to the Consortium heavily fund its advanced materials program.”

Jackie frowned. “The Consortium? You’re telling me a university is working with one of the galaxy’s biggest black-market syndicates?”

“Not openly,” Lorne replied. “On the surface, the Institute appears legitimate. But dig deeper, and you will find funding streams that loop through shell corporations and anonymous donors. They’re using the competition as a front to scout talent and secure innovative designs for their operations.”

Kovacs felt the weight of her words settle on his shoulders. The competition had seemed like a golden opportunity—a chance to prove himself and advance his skills. Now, it felt like a trap. “And the materials?”

“The Institute’s research is focused on integrating rare elements into next-generation technologies,” Lorne explained. “They’ve been refining and weaponizing these resources under the guise of academic projects.”

“So if I stay in the competition,” Kovacs said slowly, “I’d be working for them.”

“Not exactly,” Lorne said. “You’d be our eyes and ears inside. You’re already in their system. If you pull out now, it’ll raise red flags. But if you stay, we can use your position to expose the Consortium’s network.”

Jackie shook her head. “This is insane. Kovacs isn’t an agent. You can’t just send him into something like this.”

Lorne’s gaze didn’t waver. “We’re not sending him anywhere. He’s already there. The question is whether he wants to use this opportunity to help us—and Prescott.”

The weight of Lorne’s words followed Kovacs as he retreated to his quarters later that night. The small room felt even more confining than usual, the soft hum of the ship’s engines a constant reminder of the world beyond. He sat at the desk, staring at his tablet, which displayed the unfinished schematic of his competition mech.

The design was solid—functional, efficient—but lacked the flair to set it apart in a contest filled with Spinward’s brightest minds. Now, knowing what he did about the materials and their potential, Kovacs felt a spark of inspiration. If the Institute wanted groundbreaking designs, he’d give them something they couldn’t ignore—on his terms.

He modified the schematic, drawing on everything he’d learned about Prescott’s rare elements. Using the data provided by the CID, he experimented with integrating bbioreactiveplating into the frame, designing a system that could adapt to stress and self-repair in harsh environments. HInspiredby energy redistribution concepts he’d seen in Ivaran labs., he optimized the power core for maximum efficiency

Hours passed as Kovacs worked, the lines of his design shifting and evolving until the mech on the screen was something entirely new. It was lighter, faster, and more resilient than anything he’d ever built. But more than that, it was a statement—a reminder of Prescott’s ingenuity in the face of adversity.

The sharp blare broke Kovacs’ focus of an alarm. The room’s lights shifted red, and the ship’s intercom crackled to life. “Security breach detected. All personnel to alert stations.”

He bolted from his quarters, nearly colliding with Jackie as she rounded the corner, her weapon in hand. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Looks like someone found us,” Jackie said grimly. “Lorne’s on the bridge. Let’s move.”

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They rushed to the operations room, where chaos reigned. The displays flickered with static as agents scrambled to contain the breach. A familiar symbol appeared on the central screen—a serpent coiled around a fractured star.

“The Consortium,” Lorne growled. “They’ve located us.”

“How?” Jackie demanded.

“They must’ve traced the data we pulled from the network,” Lorne said. “They’re sending us a message.”

The lights flickered, and a synthetic voice crackled through the speakers. “Leave. Now. You are not welcome here.”

Kovacs felt a chill run down his spine as the voice repeated the message, its tone cold and menacing.

After the breach was contained, Lorne pulled Kovacs and Jackie aside. Her face was pale, her composure strained. “The Consortium knows we’re here. We’ve stirred the hornet’s nest.”

“Then we should leave,” Jackie said. “Get out before this escalates.”

“We can’t,” Lorne said firmly. “Not yet. The Institute is the key to unraveling their operations. And Kovacs—”

“I know,” Kovacs interrupted, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “I’ll stay in the competition. I’ll do what you need.”

Jackie stared at him, her expression torn between frustration and admiration. “You sure about this?”

Kovacs nodded, his resolve hardening. “I didn’t come all this way to back down now.”

Lorne placed a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Keep your head down, stay alert, and don’t trust anyone.”

As Kovacs returned to his quarters, the weight of his decision settled fully on him. The competition was no longer just about proving himself. It was about uncovering the truth—and surviving whatever the Consortium threw at him.

***

Kovacs trudged back to his quarters, his shoulders slumped, each step feeling heavier than the last. The day's events replayed in his mind like an unwanted holo-drama: the Consortium’s threatening symbol, the revelation about the Institute, and the weight of Lorne’s demands. By the time he reached his door, his body ached, and his thoughts were a tangled mess.

The door hissed open, and Kovacs stepped inside, letting the dim, sterile light of the room wash over him. He dropped onto the small cot in the corner, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“This is insane,” he muttered to himself. “I didn’t sign up to be part of some galaxy-spanning conspiracy.”

The tablet on his desk blinked with unread messages, but Kovacs ignored it for the moment. He leaned back against the wall, exhaling a long, heavy sigh. The hum of the Resolute’s systems filled the silence, a steady rhythm that somehow felt grounding.

As his mind wandered, Kovacs remembered the loaders he had seen on the docks when the Resolute first arrived on Ivara Prime. The machines had moved with an almost organic precision, their arms swiveling and extending with uncanny smoothness as they unloaded massive cargo containers.

“That’s what I need,” he murmured, the spark of an idea flickering to life. “That kind of precision. That kind of fluidity.”

He sat up, the weariness fading as his curiosity took over. His designs had always focused on practicality—durable frames, efficient power systems, and reliable joints. But the loaders had shown him a different kind of potential: systems that weren’t just functional but elegant, their movements optimized to perfection. If he could adapt that tech to his designs, his competition mech might stand a chance of outshining the others.

Kovacs reached for his tablet and activated it, the holographic interface springing to life. His fingers danced across the screen as he accessed the planet’s public network. He wasn’t sure what he would find, but if the loaders were as sophisticated as they appeared, there had to be some documentation—schematics, patents, anything he could study.

The search was initially slow, with the network throwing up walls of corporate jargon and licensing agreements that blocked access to proprietary data. Kovacs gritted his teeth, his frustration growing as he sifted through countless pages of legalese.

“Come on,” he muttered. “There’s got to be something.”

Finally, he found a lead—a publicly available maintenance manual for an older model of Ivaran loader mechs. The document wasn’t complete, but it included enough details to give him a starting point. Kovacs opened the schematic, his eyes lighting up as the machine’s inner workings unfolded.

The loader’s maneuvering systems were a marvel of engineering. Instead of traditional servos and hydraulics, it used a series of gyroscopic stabilizers and magnetically aligned actuators. The system allowed seamless, fluid movement even under heavy loads, reducing mechanical strain and increasing precision.

“This is incredible,” Kovacs said under his breath. “hy hasn’t anyone adapted this for combat mechs?” He thought about it; it was unlikely that someone hadn’t. Was this what he was going to be competing against?

He quickly downloaded the file and then dove back into the network, searching for more recent iterations of the technology. A few patents surfaced, detailing incremental improvements, but the core principles remained the same.

Hours passed as Kovacs poured over the schematics, his tablet surrounded by floating holograms of parts and systems. His earlier frustration melted away, replaced by the thrill of discovery. The loader’s tech wasn’t just adaptable—it was transformative. If he integrated it into his design, it could revolutionize the way his mechs moved.

“Gyroscopic stabilizers…” he muttered, sketching a rough concept on the tablet. “Combine that with bio-reactive plating, and the frame could absorb impacts without losing balance. And the actuators—if I fine-tune them for speed instead of load-bearing…”

The design evolved rapidly, taking on a life of its own. Kovacs added adaptive joints that could flex and twist with minimal resistance, creating a mech that could maneuver with the grace of a dancer but the strength of a tank. The power systems would need to be recalibrated to handle the increased demand, but that was a problem for later.

For the first time since arriving on Ivara Prime, Kovacs felt a glimmer of confidence. The Consortium, the CID, the competition—none of it mattered in that moment. This was his element, where the universe's chaos melted away, leaving only the pure joy of creation.

As Kovacs refined his design, a notification blinked in the corner of his screen. He opened it reluctantly, half-expecting another CID directive, but it was from the competition committee. The message was brief:

Subject: Phase One Update

To all contestants:

The judges will be evaluating Phase One submissions in three days. Please ensure your designs are finalized and uploaded before the deadline.

Kovacs leaned back in his chair, the weight of the deadline settling over him. Three days. It wasn’t much time, but he could work with it. The loader-inspired tech was still in its infancy, but if he focused, he could integrate it into the design and finalize the prototype.

He stared at the hologram of his evolving mech, its sleek frame glowing with potential. This was more than just a competition entry now—it was a statement. A declaration that Prescott wasn’t just a forgotten backwater but a place of ingenuity and resilience.

As the ship’s systems hummed softly around him, Kovacs saved his progress and powered down the tablet. He leaned back in his chair, exhaustion finally catching up with him. But despite the weariness in his body, his mind felt sharper than it had in days.

He didn’t know what the next three days would bring—what the CID or the Consortium might throw his way. But for now, he had a goal—a purpose.