Chapter 10: And We Have Liftoff

The Valorant’s corridors stretched before James Orion Hunter, alive with a quiet hum that spoke of anticipation and raw potential. The lighting was sharp and deliberate, casting long shadows along pristine walls that seemed to vibrate faintly, brimming with unspent energy. James adjusted his cap with a practiced gesture, the echo of his polished boots a steady rhythm as he stepped out of the cargo lift.

“Ah,” he muttered, drawing in a long breath. “New ship smell.”

The air carried a potent concoction: fresh paint, newly welded steel, and the sterile crispness of sterilized systems. It was heady, almost intoxicating—a scent that promised untested possibilities, the beginning of something grand. For a moment, James let himself savor it.

“Nothing like it, is there?” Legion’s voice slipped into his mind, amused and cutting. “Enjoy it while it lasts. Give it a few months and it’ll smell like overcooked wiring and sweaty Marine boots.”

James smirked without breaking stride. “You really have a knack for ruining the moment, don’t you?”

“Captain,” Legion replied in mock innocence, “I’m simply grounding your expectations. Think of it as a gift.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he reached an intersection. The corridors stretched outward like arteries in some massive, living organism.

“First stop—Engineering,” he said aloud, voice steady with purpose. “Let’s meet the miracle worker keeping this beast alive. Legion, mind pointing me the right way?”

Her laughter rippled through his neural link, mischievous and warm. “Follow the yellow brick road. Or, well—yellow blinking lights.”

As if on cue, a series of small lights along the deck blinked in sequence, tracing a path down the hall. James arched a brow, amused. “Subtle as ever.”

The hum of the Valorant seemed to shift as he walked, a gentle rhythm like the ship was holding its breath, waiting for her engines to roar to life. James took his time. He had a few minutes before he needed to report to the bridge—and a ship this size demanded to be appreciated.

Crew members passed him at intervals, some offering crisp salutes, others giving quick nods or murmured greetings. He returned each with casual efficiency—a tilt of the cap, a wave of two fingers—small gestures that kept them moving without breaking stride. Those little exchanges mattered. It was the “little guys” who made a machine like this hum.

Engineering smelled of oil, ozone, and heat. The air shimmered faintly with energy, machinery humming like the heartbeat of a beast eager to run. James stepped through the hatch and immediately spotted a familiar figure: a grizzled man in grease-stained overalls, sweat beading on his brow as he barked orders over the clang of tools and the hiss of coolant lines.

Leaning casually against the hatch frame, James let a grin spread across his face. “Well, I know they lowered enlistment standards, but damn. Marcus—there’s no way in hell you’re my chief engineer.”

The man spun on his heel, his own grin breaking wide across a sweat-darkened face. His teeth gleamed white in contrast, and his voice came deep and warm with recognition. “It’s fucking good to see you again—in uniform, no less. Captain.”

James’s grin softened into something genuine. “You had your hands in my guts once, Marcus. I’d say you’ve earned the right to call me James.”

Marcus barked out a laugh, swiping his hands on a rag that somehow looked dirtier after the effort. “Don’t worry, James. I’ll save the ‘Captain’ for the kids—they still need to fear you. Me?” He waved the rag like a flag. “I already know you’re just human under all that brass.”

James chuckled, stepping deeper into the engine bay. The place was alive—crew darting between consoles, monitors spitting data, tools clattering against metal. The air practically vibrated with momentum.

“Everything running smooth?” James asked, tone casual but laced with curiosity.

Marcus leaned back against a console, rag tossed over his shoulder. “Smooth as it gets with a new ship. She’s a beauty, no doubt, but she’s got her quirks. Nothing we can’t iron out. Hell, the way she purrs already, I’d say she likes me.”

James chuckled. “Just make sure she keeps purring. I’ve got a bridge to impress, and I’d rather not have her hiccup on takeoff.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Alright. What are the real numbers now that you’ve had your hands on her?”

Marcus arched a brow. “Real numbers?”

“You know what I mean. The stats the lab rats back at headquarters sign off on—that’s one thing. What she actually gives you after two shakedowns is another. So tell me—how much power can I pull if I push her to eleven? And how long before she starts blowing seals and spitting plasma into the void?”

Marcus’s grin turned sly. He mock-saluted with the rag. “Now you’re speaking my language. Truth? She’ll give you more than the manuals admit. But push her too long in the red, and you’ll be fishing pieces of her out of space. Play her smart, she’ll run like a dream. Play her reckless…” He whistled low. “Hope your insurance is paid up.”

James laughed, short and genuine. For a fleeting moment, it was the Maxwell all over again—different ship, same engineer, same bond. He clapped Marcus on the shoulder. “Keep her ready. I’m counting on you.”

“Always, James.” Marcus smirked, voice carrying a chuckle. “Now get your ass to the bridge before they think you’ve abandoned ship already.”

James turned, throwing a playful two-finger salute. “Aye aye, Chief.”

The yellow lights resumed their steady blink, leading him onward. The hum of the Valorant faded behind him, replaced by the measured rhythm of his own thoughts.

Legion’s voice cut back in, dry as static. “You do know I could’ve given you all that information if you’d just asked, right? But no—you had to play diplomat. Very captain-y of you.”

James smirked as he walked. “That wasn’t about efficiency, Legion. That was about building trust. You might want to take notes.”

“Diplomacy?” she replied with a scoff. “Is that what we’re calling it? Well, Captain, while you’re busy shaking hands and patting backs, remember—I can feel every inch of this ship. But I still need your ‘meatbag’ crew for certain things. Like unclogging the heads. Or should I start assigning mop duty myself?”

James snorted. “You’d be the first AI to hand out janitorial orders.”

Her voice shifted into a mock sigh. “Tempting. But I suppose I’d miss our banter. Who else would I torment?”

He chuckled, steps falling into rhythm as the glowing doors of the bridge came into view. “Funny way of saying thank you for my company.”

“Thank you?” Legion echoed, faux-shocked. “Let’s not get carried away. You’re the one who signed up for this gig.”

“Fair point,” James said, smirk tugging at his lips. “Now let’s see what this ‘meatbag’ can do.”

The doors slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing the nerve center of the Valorant.

The bridge crackled with energy—quiet determination layered over controlled motion, a symphony of beeps, clipped voices, and glowing holo-displays.

At the center stood a tall brunette officer, built like a powerlifter, posture sharp as a blade. She turned as James entered, voice carrying like a gunshot:

“Captain on deck!”

The bridge went silent. Every crew member snapped to attention, movements crisp and unified.

James let the moment hang. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this—the pulse of command, the unity of a crew waiting for his word.

Finally, he let his voice roll steady across the bridge.

“As you were.”

The crew relaxed, returning to their stations with a hum of activity that filled the bridge. James strode across the deck with measured confidence, his polished boots clicking faintly against the metal. His gaze fell on the HoloTank—a sprawling array of holographic panels and data streams, glowing like the living brain of the Valorant. If Engineering was the heart, this was the mind, pulsing with raw data and quiet brilliance.

No sooner had he approached than Legion manifested herself without prompting. Her avatar flickered to life—a confident, casual figure in a white tank top and work pants, sitting cross-legged on the glowing display like it was her personal throne. She looked up at James with a smirk before diving into her task.

“Good timing, Captain,” she quipped, holographic hands moving with fluid precision as she restructured the chaos of readouts. “Allow me to streamline things for you.”

The HoloTank shifted under her touch. Engine output and power distribution became dynamic bar graphs, pulsing with color. Weapons readiness and radar coverage unfolded into concentric rings, tracking both inbound and outbound craft with crisp precision. At the center, an ominous countdown clock glowed blood red, numbers ticking down like a digital heartbeat.

“Thought I’d add a little drama,” Legion said, nodding toward the timer. “T-minus fifty-eight minutes, forty-nine seconds until dust-off. Give or take a millisecond.”

James arched a brow, leaning closer to the display. “And the giant, glowing clock is necessary?”

Legion’s grin was unrepentant. “Absolutely. Nothing motivates like zero hour.”

The XO stepped up beside him, her posture immaculate. She glanced at Legion’s avatar only briefly before returning her focus to the display. “Efficient,” she said, her tone even, though a note of reluctant approval crept through. “If a bit… theatrical.”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” Legion replied, spinning a wireframe schematic of the Valorant as if it were a toy globe. Then her tone sharpened. “Speaking of which—secondary thrusters are showing a fractional lag. Nothing critical yet, but they’ll need attention.”

James narrowed his eyes at the blinking marker. “Noted. I’ll flag Marcus.”

“Already did,” Legion answered smoothly. “He’s on it.”

The XO folded her arms, her gaze returning to James. “Sir, all other systems check out. Launch clearance is pending final authorization.”

James nodded, the weight of command settling across his shoulders like a mantle he’d worn before. “Good. Keep it tight—no surprises.”

Legion lounged back on the edge of the HoloTank, utterly at ease. “Oh, Captain, surprises are the spice of life. But don’t worry, I’ll behave.”

“See that you do,” James said, his voice light but firm. “I like surprises about as much as I like improvisation from my AI.”

“Noted,” she replied, her smirk never fading.

The countdown ticked on, its red glow casting a faint wash across the bridge crew’s faces. Around James, the Valorant came alive: stations humming, voices clipped and precise, anticipation thrumming like a second heartbeat.

Then the comms snapped to life, Anderson Orbital’s voice crisp and controlled:

“Anderson Orbital to Titan Space Control, USS Valorant is on station and awaiting final authorization for liftoff. Launch corridor is cleared. Requesting confirmation and vector.”

A pause crackled over the line before Titan Space Control responded, their tone deliberate, as if weighing every word:

“Titan Control to Anderson Orbital: acknowledged. Before handoff, Valorant must confirm propulsion status following her third and final shakedown. We need full engine readouts before clearance is granted.”

James’s gaze cut to the engineering console. “Marcus?”

Marcus’s voice rumbled back through the comms, steady and confident. “All drives green, Captain. She’s purring.”

Legion chose that moment to manifest, flickering to life on the HoloTank with a sly grin. “Let me make it official.” Her voice carried through the comms, crisp as crystal:
“Titan Control, Valorant reporting: primary reactors at one-hundred percent efficiency. Secondary drives stable at ninety-eight. FTL array calibrated, within zero-point-nine percent tolerance. Shield harmonics holding steady. No anomalies flagged. Systems fully operational.”

For a moment, silence. Then Titan Control came back, their tone softened with approval:

“Titan Control to Anderson Orbital: Valorant’s status confirmed. She’s cleared hot. Transferring control to ATC for vector assignment.”

Anderson Orbital returned, brisk and businesslike:

“Anderson to Valorant: back-blast shields engaged. LZ sealed. Launch corridor clear. You are go for ignition on ATC’s mark.”

The bridge fell silent as every eye turned toward the Captain. Below their feet, the engines thrummed like caged thunder, restrained but restless, the kind of sound that made even seasoned officers straighten a little taller.

James let the moment breathe, gaze flicking across the countdown still glowing red on the HoloTank. Fifty minutes. An eternity and a heartbeat. He exhaled once, quietly, and shifted his weight. The Valorant wasn’t flying yet—she was still stretching, still waking up.

Legion’s avatar tilted her head, expression sharp as if she were listening to something no one else could hear. “Titan Space Control is about to reply,” she said, tone crisp. “Anderson’s handoff was clean. No signal degradation.”

No reply came yet. Just the hum of systems, the chatter of consoles, the faint creak of a ship flexing under its own mass.

The XO, Commander Hale, leaned slightly toward James. “With permission, Captain—while we’ve got the window, Engineering recommends we bring the secondary grav plating online. There’s still minor vibration in the aft decks.”

“Do it,” James said.

A junior officer tapped commands into her console. A low-frequency hum spread through the ship, almost subsonic, like the air itself had thickened. One by one, indicator lights across the bridge shifted from amber to green. The slight float in the crew’s steps vanished; boots felt heavier, movements steadier. The Valorant settled into her bones.

Legion stretched lazily across the HoloTank, smirk widening. “Ah, artificial gravity. The illusion of stability. Personally, I prefer the freedom of zero-G. It’s very… liberating.” She rotated upside down in her avatar projection just to make her point, boots hooked in the air like she was lounging against nothing. “Besides, you bipeds cling so desperately to the floor. It’s adorable.”

A few crew members tried to stifle their laughter.

James pinched the bridge of his nose. “Legion. Maybe dial it back a notch?”

Her grin widened. “What? I’m being charming.”

“Charming,” James muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

He turned slightly toward Hale, studying her calm, unshaken demeanor. “Commander,” he said finally, his tone even but pointed. “Most officers would be rattled by a ship’s AI popping up like that. You don’t even flinch. Why’s that?”

Hale glanced at him, then at the avatar sprawled smugly across the HoloTank. Her answer was measured, professional. “Because I was briefed, sir. Legion’s only been online a week, and I was introduced the day I received my orders to serve as Valorant’s XO.”

James raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve known about her since before I stepped aboard.”

“Correct,” Hale confirmed. “I won’t pretend it isn’t unusual, but the Admiralty made it clear—Legion is part of this crew. That means my job is to adapt and make it work.”

Legion sat upright, positively glowing with self-satisfaction. “See? Someone around here understands me.”

James gave a dry snort. “Great. My XO and my ship’s AI are already thick as thieves.”

“Not thieves, sir,” Hale said with a hint of amusement. “Just… prepared.”

The countdown ticked to T-minus forty-nine minutes, its red glow pulsing across the bridge like a heartbeat. The Valorant was ready—coiled, straining against invisible restraints. All she needed now was the word.

James let the silence hang a moment longer before deciding to take the chair. His chair.

He crossed the bridge with measured strides, boots clicking softly against the deck until he reached the raised platform at the center. The captain’s chair sat there like a throne disguised as a workstation—functional, not ostentatious, but undeniably the seat of command.

Lowering himself into it, James felt the weight shift. The chair recognized him instantly, armrests coming alive with subtle glows as the embedded interface synced to his neural ID. A miniature holo-display shimmered to life before him, suspended in the air like a pane of living glass.

He leaned forward slightly, hands brushing through the projections as he began to configure. The holo responded smoothly, icons and data streams sliding into neat columns at a flick of his fingers. Engine status here. Tactical overlays there. Comms priority front and center. It wasn’t just a display—it was a workstation designed to shape the chaos of command into something usable.

Above the armrest, a smaller monitor extended outward, offering a secondary feed—a redundancy he appreciated. And directly ahead, the projection screen dominated his field of vision, seamlessly tied into the main HoloTank in the center of the bridge.

James tested the responsiveness, pulling power distribution graphs to one side, then rotating a tactical schematic into a layered map of the immediate orbital space. Every adjustment mirrored across the larger HoloTank, ensuring crew and captain always saw the same truth, just from different angles.

“Not bad,” he murmured to himself. “Almost feels like it was built for me.”

Legion’s voice purred through his neural link, smug as ever. “That’s because it was, Captain. I’ve been tuning that chair’s interface since before you stepped aboard. Consider it your personal cockpit—streamlined, optimized, and slightly better than everyone else’s toys.”

James smirked faintly, fingers still adjusting the display. “As long as it doesn’t eject me into orbit when I press the wrong button, we’ll get along fine.”

The bridge crew pretended not to notice the exchange, but more than one subtle smile flickered at their stations. The Valorant was alive, its captain was seated, and the weight of command was settling in.

James rose from the captain’s chair, deciding it wasn’t enough just to sit at the center of his command—he needed to walk it, feel it. The bridge was laid out in the familiar bones of a warship: weapons stations lining one arc, comms and control banks holding down another, flight and navigation nestled toward the fore. Functional. Efficient. Nothing wasted.

But as his eyes roamed, something else caught his attention. Cameras. Dozens of them. Tiny, glassy eyes mounted discreetly along the walls and ceiling. And not just cameras—holographic projectors, five within arm’s reach, each one humming faintly with unused potential.

He paused mid-stride, brow furrowing. “Legion,” he said aloud, “why are there so many holographic displays? I’m counting five from where I’m standing, and I’m not even trying.”

Her voice slipped into his ear, amused. “That’s because they’re not for you alone, Captain. Think of them as the ship’s lungs. They let information breathe, so everyone can see it—not just you at the HoloTank.”

As if to demonstrate, the forward viewports brightened slightly, tinting the glass. “See this?” Legion continued, her tone almost playful. “Let’s pick a random example. Fighter designation: SFB-22. She’s a direct evolution of the F-22 Raptor of old. Pretty, isn’t she?”

Without warning, every holo-emitter around the bridge flared to life. Projected light coalesced into a full-scale fighter model, hovering dead center in the bridge, right in front of the captain’s chair. Sleek, deadly lines shimmered as though the thing were made of solid glass and steel.

James blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Show-off.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Legion teased. “This isn’t just for eye candy. It’s for analysis, briefings, strategy. When you want to break down an enemy fighter, a battle group formation, or even a planetary map, everyone on this bridge can see the same thing in real time. Big presentations, future jazz—you know, the works.”

James stepped forward, hand outstretched. His fingers passed through the fighter’s wing, breaking the light into a ripple of distortion. But as he moved, the hologram responded, pivoting in three dimensions with the swipe of his hand. He gave it another push, and the craft rotated gracefully, the internal structures ghosting into view as if the ship had been cut open for inspection.

“Not bad,” James murmured. “It’s like the HoloTank, but… bigger. More theatrical.”

“Exactly,” Legion purred. “The HoloTank is for the officers. These are for the crew. You need everyone on the same page, this is how you do it. And if I wanted to,” she added slyly, “I could display myself in here just as easily. Full scale. Hard to ignore.”

James smirked faintly at that but didn’t comment. The thought of Legion manifesting ten feet tall in the middle of his bridge was one he wasn’t ready to entertain. Not yet.

He muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to catch through the neural link, “Please don’t do Blade Runner shit.”

Legion’s laugh spilled into his mind, light and amused. “Oh, Captain, now that you’ve said it, I’m tempted. Neon cityscapes, trench coats, monologues about tears in the rain…”

“Don’t,” James warned, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Last thing I need is you deciding the bridge needs mood lighting and a fog machine.”

“Spoilsport,” Legion replied with exaggerated disappointment. “Fine. No Blade Runner. For now.”

Part 2

“Titan Space Control to USS Valorant, authorization granted for liftoff. Vector transmission inbound. Adjust to heading two-three-five by zero-five-four. Maintain thrust ceiling at fifty percent until you clear lower orbit. You are green for departure. Godspeed, Valorant.”

James nodded sharply, his voice steady and commanding as he turned to the helmsman.
“Helm, adjust to heading two-three-five by zero-five-four. Thrusters to fifty percent on my mark.”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman replied, hands already moving across the controls.

The HoloTank flickered with real-time updates, data streams cascading into new formations. The countdown clock bled its red glow across the bridge—ten minutes left. James’s voice cut the hum like steel.
“All stations, prepare for liftoff. Let’s take her up.”

The comms snapped again, this time with a sharp, harried edge:
“Anderson Orbital to USS Valorant—pause liftoff sequence immediately. Five-minute delay. Last-minute crew change. We’ll make it quick.”

A very annoyed silence hung for a second before James replied, his voice clipped and cold.
“Valorant to Anderson Orbital. Our engines are already primed—plasma cycle engaged, power above eighty percent. We cannot stall at this stage. Any interruption risks an emergency thrust.”

The bridge crew exchanged wary glances; everyone knew what it meant when the reactors were this close to full output. To slam them back down now could cripple the launch sequence—or worse.

The reply came after a pause, this time with a tone that carried authority not from the station, but from higher up the chain.
“Anderson Orbital acknowledges. This directive is not originating from us. Repeat—this order comes directly from FleetCom.”

The words hit like cold iron. FleetCom. Not a request—an order.

A hush fell across the bridge as the countdown timer froze mid-pulse. Ten minutes stretched into eternity. Legion, of course, wasn’t about to waste the time. Without being asked, she began easing the engines down from their eighty-percent burn, feathering the throttle with a surgeon’s precision. The reactors stayed hot, plasma still cycling in the chambers, but the strain on the systems eased.

“Low and slow,” she murmured in James’s neural link, her tone almost smug. “Keeps the plasma alive without cooking your engines. Don’t worry, Captain—I’ve got this.”

James ground his teeth but said nothing. He knew she was right.

Down in the cargo bay, the ramp descended with a hydraulic hiss. Legion, ever the snoop, diverted a sliver of her attention through the bay cameras. What she saw made her avatar raise an eyebrow.

The figure who boarded didn’t look like any transfer crewman. His uniform wasn’t Navy standard issue. He wore a flight suit as black as obsidian, tailored sharp, with matte plating over the chest and shoulders. No unit patches. No squadron insignia. Just a single rank tab at the collar—and on the left breast, the unmistakable emblem of Naval Intelligence: a stylized all-seeing eye set against a broken circle, stitched in silver thread that caught the bay lights with predatory sharpness.

The man moved like a shadow given weight, every step measured, silent even on the steel deck. His helmet was clipped to his hip, revealing a face that was deliberately unremarkable—pale skin, dark cropped hair, the kind of features that slipped through memory as soon as you looked away. Indescribable, forgettable, and therefore perfect.

An ONI spook. A ghost in black fabric, carrying FleetCom’s authority like a hidden knife.

Legion patched the cargo feed directly into James’s neural display. Well, well, Captain. Looks like you’ve got company—and not the friendly kind.

Before James could curse, Legion was already shifting her tone. Bay doors sealed. Ramp secured. Engines never dropped below cycle. Captain—we’re good to go. Resume takeoff now before they cook themselves idle.

James’s jaw tightened, frustration flashing hot. The delay hadn’t just been an inconvenience—it had risked the Valorant’s engines, all for some spook boarding at the last possible second. He toggled the comms, his voice cutting sharp and hard across the channel.

“Anderson Orbital, this is Valorant. I cannot hold plasma in the chamber any longer. We’re already past safe idle. I’m putting this ship in the air—now.”

The bridge crew froze, watching him, waiting for the fallout. The countdown clock pulsed again, ten minutes bleeding away into red urgency. James didn’t flinch. His hand tightened on the comms control, gaze locked on the forward viewports.

“Final word or not,” James growled under his breath, “we launch.”

He strode to the command chair with practiced authority, buckled in, and watched as the HoloTank synced seamlessly with the forward observation screens. Tactical readouts painted the bridge in a cool blue-white glow.

He toggled ship-wide comms, his voice steady as it echoed into every corridor of the Valorant—equal parts reassurance and command:

“All hands, all hands. Steadfast and buckle up. We are go for liftoff.”

Across the ship, the crew snapped into motion—strapping in, running final checks, securing loose gear. The Valorant’s massive engines deepened their vibration, power swelling like a tidal wave just shy of breaking.

Legion, lounging cross-legged atop the HoloTank’s projection, gave a cheeky salute. “Ready when you are, Captain. Engines are hot, vector locked. Just say the word.”

“Helm,” James ordered, grip tightening on the armrests, “engage thrusters. Nice and steady.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The Valorant shuddered—a predator stretching its limbs—then roared skyward. The deck thrummed as power surged through her frame, inertial dampeners straining to keep pace. Even with the buffers, the G-forces hit like a sledgehammer, pressing James into his chair until every breath felt like it had to claw its way free. Around the bridge, shoulders strained against harnesses, teeth clenched, and eyes narrowed against the crushing pull of acceleration.

On the forward screens, the planet’s surface dropped away, Titan’s scattered lights shrinking into a fading glow. Stars above loomed closer, sharp and cold, the black between them yawning wider with every heartbeat.

The afterburners ignited with a predatory flare, doubling the strain. The hull groaned—not in weakness, but in defiance—like a beast exhaling as it ripped free of its chains.

James bared his teeth against the invisible weight, scar pulling taut across his face. “Let’s show them what we’re made of.”

The vibration in his bones shifted, smoother now, as the Valorant transitioned to her primary engines. Still, the pressure lingered, each heartbeat a hammer strike in his chest.

“Main engines at full capacity,” Legion reported, voice utterly calm. “Approaching escape velocity.”

“Disengage belly jets,” James commanded.

The vibrations changed pitch, the shift sharp but controlled. A heartbeat later, the crushing weight bled away as the Valorant shed gravity’s final grip. Harnesses loosened against the sudden lightness, and a collective exhale rippled through the crew. The ship surged forward, clean into the void.

“All systems nominal,” Legion said, schematics rippling across the HoloTank. “Escape velocity achieved. Welcome to space, Captain.”

James let the satisfaction show only in his eyes. “Helm, steady as she goes. Take us to geosynchronous orbit.”

“Aye, Captain. Adjusting heading.”

Through his neural link, James patched into comms. “Valorant to Titan Space Control: adjusting to geosynchronous orbit, heading one-seven-eight by zero-one-two. Conducting diagnostics and seal integrity checks from liftoff stress. Will maintain updates at interval. Over.”

The reply crackled, crisp. “Titan to Valorant: acknowledged. Heading one-seven-eight by zero-one-two confirmed. Maintain thirty-minute comm intervals. Titan out.”

The Valorant eased into position, her hum softening to a steady thrum. Outside the viewport, the planet curved in silence, Titan’s storms swirling far below.

Legion reappeared on the HoloTank, avatar smirking. “Orbit stabilization in five minutes. All systems holding. No blown seals… yet.”

James exhaled, dry. “Good. I’d rather not explain to the Admiral why her new ship sprang a leak on its maiden flight.”

Her grin widened. “Relax, Captain. If something breaks, I’ll tell you it’s your fault.”

He shook his head but smirked. “Helm, monitor her station-keeping. I’ll be reviewing orders.”

The helmsman hesitated. “Captain, permission to hand helm control to the AI for station-keeping? It’s within spec.”

James paused, then gave a slow nod. “Permission granted. But keep human oversight. Trust is earned, not given.”

Legion’s voice came instantly, smug. “Station-keeping engaged. Thrusters calibrated. Parameters stable. Do try to relax, Captain.”

James muttered, “Just don’t decide laps around Titan would be more exciting.”

Legion gasped in mock offense. “Captain, I’d never. Not without music.”

The crew chuckled quietly, tension easing.

James rose, giving the bridge one last sweep. “XO, you have the conn.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He stepped off the bridge, boots echoing down the corridor. In the mission room, the secondary HoloTank flared alive, lights dimming. He planted his hands on the console, jaw tightening.

“Alright, Legion. Jokes off. Mission briefing, now.”

The AI’s tone lost its playful edge. “Room secured. External feeds scrambled.”

The HoloTank shifted, flooding the room with classified directives stamped in crimson: TOP SECRET.

James scanned the scrolling text. His chest tightened. Deep infiltration. Behind enemy lines. Minimal support. No margin for error.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Legion manifested beside the console, gaze unblinking. “Not exactly inspiring confidence, Captain.”

James dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s not the mission—it’s what it means. Behind enemy lines, no cavalry, no second chances. The kind where you either make history… or you don’t make it back.”

Her tone softened, steady. “Then make history. You’re not alone. This crew, this ship—they’re ready. And so are you.”

His hand brushed the Captain’s insignia at his chest, anchoring himself. He nodded once. “Then no loose ends. No half-measures. We make this ship the sharpest blade in the arsenal.”

Legion’s avatar flickered with energy, a faint grin tugging her features. “Now that’s the James Hunter I signed up for.”

James turned toward the door, shoulders squared. The mission wasn’t just orders. It was a test. And he wasn’t about to fail.