Chapter 30
It was a beautiful fucking day on Saturn, and I was having a perfect fucking morning as I shoved Vann’s face into the mat.
“Back on your feet, Mishka. A Ghul isn’t going to wait for you to get back up.”
Sebastian was off training my weakest recruit for some one-on-one extra help, and I got exactly the one I had wanted from his unit.
Did I rig this little contest? Obviously. But was I sorry about it?
Please.
“If you wanted to kill me this badly, you know you could just smother me in my sleep, right? The opportunity is right there. Work smarter not harder.” He groaned as he forced himself back to his feet.
He was impressively sarcastic even when he was a crumpled mess, and I could appreciate that about him.
“You’d win, the universe would win, and you know what?
I’m starting to think even I would win. It would save us both a lot of misery. ”
“Misery? I’m not miserable at all.” I probably shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. “Nothing brings me more joy than helping out a soldier in need.”
“My hero.” Vann touched a hand to his heart, before he winced and gripped his side. He shot me a glare, blaming me for his own weaknesses as usual.
“It’s been over a week. Does it really hurt that bad? Do I need to teach you how to use a recovery pod, too?” I raised a brow in his general direction. I didn’t hit him that hard. I specifically didn’t give him my all, actually. It was probably a hairline fracture at best.
“Do you want me to answer that just to stroke your ego?” He blinked in disbelief. “The reason it hurts is because I beat you in a Shinka and you couldn’t handle it, so does it really make you feel so big and mighty when you had to beat up the smallest guy at Astaroth because he’s better than you?”
“You think beating me in a VR session is the same as beating me in a Shinka?” Adorable. But actually… “You know what, let’s test that theory.”
“Uh… what?” His confusion had stolen his ability to come up with snarky come backs, apparently.
“Come on.” I tipped my head toward the hangars. “I’m serious. Let’s go see if you can handle a real Shinka.”
He shook his head frantically. “I’m not allowed in the hangars yet.” He protested. “That’s insane.”
“What part of that proposal made you think I wanted to know your fears and insecurities?” I waved a hand for him to follow then started toward the hangar.
It was after hours, since this was the only time I had to fit in extra remedial training, so there was no reason to worry about getting caught. “Let’s go.”
Vann, curious as he was, double stepped it to follow along. He protested so much for someone who was going to do what I told him to do anyway. Whether it was out of respect or fear, I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter.
We reached the hangar and I placed my palm on the door lock.
The panel took an extra minute to read my palm chip, then my finger prints, retinas, and blood type before it flashed green.
The extra security assured no one had physically cut the chip out of my hand, and that I was, in fact, my living, breathing self.
It seemed excessive given how much security already permeated every single entryway throughout the compound, but this was our primary storage for Shinkas, after all.
“Elio Marx, welcome. Time of Entry: 15:04.” The disembodied feminine voice stated as the small personal door slid open.
“Are you sure I’m allowed in there?” He continued to be the timid little mouse he was. For such a fierce pilot, he was impressively unimpressive on his own.
“Yes. Now get in here before the door locks you out.” I scoffed, before stepping through the entryway. Vann scurried after me.
The moment we were through, I glanced back to see his whole face struck with awe and fascination. A mouse stumbling upon an unsupervised cheese vault wouldn’t have glowed that brightly.
Cute.
A jolt followed that thought. I shook it off and kept walking.
The hangar was more than half underground, putting the walkway just above hip height of the machines, enclosing each maintenance bay in a 50x20 grid.
Lifts, ladders, and mobile hover platforms were equipped to each station for ease of maintenance.
The most bland, unpainted, and mundane units made up the first forty rows.
The last ten were the top 200, where we were allowed free reign to paint and modify within reasonable specifications.
“I’m in the back,” I told him, as he continued to stare at everything with his lips agape.
He followed me obediently, his steps hurried and nervous, while his complete lack of pigmentation or melanin practically glowed in the bright overhead lighting.
I’d known plenty of station-born men and women growing up in the Mictlan slums—being such a big city, I’d known people from everywhere in the galaxy, for better or for worse—but none were quite as colorless as he was.
He’d probably be translucent if not for the blood in his veins that gave his skin a barely there hue of being alive.
Maybe that was why I couldn’t help wanting to get him dirty. I just wanted to mess him up a bit and see some proof that he was human.
Plus he reacted to everything so strongly, and that was a refreshing change from the robotically professional lot.
I shook my head, my own idle thoughts starting to drift to places they never needed to go, then I refocused on moving forward through the massive warehouse.
Finally, half a kilometer later, we were on the final row of Shinkas, where my unit and Seba’s unit sat comfortably next to each other.
I stopped abruptly, and Vann hit into my back, clearly not watching where he was going. He backed up quickly, and held up his hands in apology.
“S-sorry, I didn’t realize we were already here.”
I gave him a punctuated eye roll, before I directed his attention to my boldly painted and heavily modified Shinka,
“This is Lamassu,” I said, like I was introducing him to a friend.
In a way, maybe I was. I’d poured countless hours into my build, and in a lot of ways, I was closer to my Shinka than I was most people.
From the way I’d fashioned the back thrusters to look more like wings, to the way it could use every energy based feather as a deadly projectile weapon and a functional shield, to the extensive gold painting and red accent lights I’d added.
I’d upgraded every weapon, every thruster, every joint, and I’d had my hand on every inch, bolt, and rivet of this behemoth over the last couple years of maintenance.
It was the one thing that I wanted to believe was mine.
I waved for him to join me on the maintenance platform, a two-by-one meter hover panel that allowed ease of access when working on the massive machine, and he followed obediently.
“Lamassu?” Vann repeated, like he was testing the way the word tasted on his tongue. “What does it mean?”
That’s his first question? The beast was a marvel of technological advancement, completely redesigned from the ground up, and he wanted to know what the name meant?
“It’s the name of an old celestial god from ancient times in the Earth Era.
It was depicted as a winged lion with the head of a man.
” I stopped myself short before going too deeply down the mythology rabbit hole.
Talking about the old legends of Mesopotamia and representations of courage, intellect, and freedom would make me look ridiculous, when I was supposed to have an air of authority between us.
“Vetala was a demon from ancient folklore who possessed corpses, and Kishi was a man eating, two-faced demon.”
“Kishi?” A hint of amusement painted his gaze as he made eye contact.
“That’s the name of Breaker’s Shinka. Vetala is Seba’s, but I assume you already knew that…” I paused suddenly feeling self-conscious about how much thought I’d put into all of this. “It’s really not important what you call them, I guess.”
“Did you name them all?” By the stars, drop it. I already feel crazy explaining it. Why was he asking these questions?
“I did.” I admitted under my breath. I must have looked like a sentimental idiot.
“I’ve always liked mythology, and the first time I saw a Shinka as a kid, I thought it was a god sent to save us.
The name Marx is derived from the ancient Roman god of war, so I clung to it a bit.
It was kind of my whole personality when I was little.
” Stop talking. Just stop. I shook my head, while my cheeks heated.
No one cared about nonsense like that. “Kids are dumb, you know. It’s just a name. ”
“That you picked as an adult. And then named all of your friends’ war machines to follow suit,” he added for my mortification. “I would have expected you to just call them things like Unit 106832 or something.” He actually laughed, and that wasn’t helping.
I covered the lower half of my face with my hand, the already unwanted warmth only surging hotter beneath my skin. If I knocked him out, he might forget this ever happened, and I was now strongly considering it. I shouldn’t have brought him here. What was I thinking?
“That’s too impersonal.” I justified it the same way I’d justified it to Seba, back when he first got his Shinka and literally planned to call it by its serial number.
“You wouldn’t adopt a dog and call it Canis Familiaris.
Shinkas are the one thing that stand between our freedom and subjugation.
Even if they’re just machines, they still deserve names. "
Yep. There goes any intimidation factor or credibility I ever had.
As I lifted the platform to chest height, planning to show him my custom armor upgrades, I noticed he was legitimately smiling, which wasn’t something I saw often on him.
I scrunched my nose. “Why are you making that face?”