The Maiorian soldier lined against a bay opening with his two carry-on delegates. There was live fire aplenty on the other side. Steadily, he grazed against the hull door in search of their latch interface. When he found it, the fire died. Metal scratching clashed beyond steel in a wicked chanting.

The soldier refused to believe these—iron thrashes beyond the hull door. Refused to relive their terrible golden wrath. Until their kind breached through his stare to Illian. Shaking his head to loosen the image, the soldier hugged his cover tighter. He swelled red in distress. “Not here, by Cupias,” hidden under his breath. “Not here.”

His hand grazed the latch, but his motions only wondered if he’d be better off shooting it keep those golden monsters out.

“Are you shot”—Illian then heard it, too—“No …”

Dallas all over again. Titan all over again. The Helkites are here.

He grabbed onto his candidate with a haunted tug. “Aero, we need to go!” Illian shouted. But Aero wouldn’t budge. “Aero! What-“

Aero decreed, “Open the door.”

Time nocked. Illian was now caught in its pull. He wanted to beg for Aero to repeat such stupidity. He’d been a laugh, but this. This is gone on long enough!

With a snap, Illian let loose.

“Absolutely not!” He expelled what felt like his entire lungs. He inhaled deeply, “You’re coming with me and—

we’re calling for evac! Do you have any idea what’s waiting outside? Do you?!”

   Aero had the audacity to smile.

   Illian was now forcibly yanking the Champion hopeful’s shoulder. “Let’s go!”

   Aero caught Illian’s arm in protest. “Open. The door.” He unraveled his fist limber. For the briefest strain in time, they confided with the same spirit—Illian was sure of it! “Please.”

 Illian nodded, catching Aero’s infectious smile, madness spilling over his body like kerosene trails and Aero was the match. Illian gave the go-ahead; even from here, he could smell the soldier’s doubt when they worked the console.

With a crank, the doors began to peak open. Magnificent, how lighting crashes emitted the place. She always produced the perfect lighting. Aero got to work, seemed to undress some purple shrubbery lining the road up through the courtyard. Among them, many Helkite drones and a palette of many red and white soldiers behind waiting for a show.

Aero got a glimpse of Hayvrn wings, some Raktar—by Gaia, it was the whole cast and crew of the Rayvine. Aero craned back, promising Illian from his amber look he would give them a show of a lifetime. The boy didn’t acknowledge; he was taken aback by their ranks. Nothing matched records of any army, especially one comprised of all the Prime races.

Why here?

The Helkites marched forward, transforming, trading their white mesh interface for what appeared to be Raktar slits. Their bodies began snapping, bulking each rotation with more gold plating. An unfamiliar spindle then erected from the head droid’s hand: a cannon. Then cannons from the others. They emitted a heat so strong, their caustic shells gassed from the dot-lattice tip. Illian prayed silently that Aero knew what he was doing.

He took another look, and couldn’t quite shake Aero. Something was different in the way his lids now flashed an emerald shine.

Then Aero took a breath. What felt like the entire station started to quake and began teetering against Neptune’s gravitational eye. Roots overgrew their soil, now ate through the metals, the several rebar carbonate bones. A vine presence then clawed up near Aero’s feet. He jumped aboard their will, wheeling around and commanding they spear upward like to catch a wave. He smirked.

With deft laziness, he passed by these remaining vines and deemed they weave into tangled spires; he was prepared to the point where he certainly wouldn’t miss a thing. They now emerged and followed his command.

Aero speared his first payload. It barraged like a gargantuan worm through the Helkites. With each motion, their grime flurried, sprayed the center with dirt and splinters. The spires forced the storm to comply with their wind; Illian caught a gust and was nearly blown over as he braced.

“Holy shit!” Illian blurted. He didn’t even want to fathom what a Champion could be if Aero wasn’t it.

Aero made way, surfing on Her vines. Threading the needle, he freed his spires one by one with a firm spank, shouting “Hyah!” as many great warriors do.

A fiery plasma bolt then singed the Champion’s ride in retaliation. Aero tripped up noticeably. Talk about lighting a fire under their ass; the Helkites mobilized on the double! Each sparked alive boosters at their feet and took ravenously to the skies. More bolts triangulated, made Aero take evasive maneuvers. Though deft, he caught too much fire. He and his payloads dropped like lead darts—head first.

Illian and the soldier jumped in. The boy shouted, “No!” like his career depended on it. That was when Aero smashed through the hull with one of his payloads. He was completely surrounded by Helkites in what was left of a planter bed.

The Maiorian soldier shot suppressive fire, keeping short bursts and a stable pace. He knew where to hit the Helkites the hardest. All the floor’s glimmer and gold, or else they’ll get back up again. At his first confirmed kill, the Crimson soldiers mounted the line. A homogenized, shrill cry jolted through their visors.

Earth’s finest produced Titan’s hand cannon, grabbed cover behind some slagged metal and unloaded all eight rounds; bam, bam—he took out a Hayvrn which he refused made him feel oh, so vindicated. He got good at reloading, even if he was a shit shot. Then another Hayvrn felt his wrath. Then maybe a Raktar, if it got in the way. Without prejudice, of course.

Aero tumbled in the planter’s soil. The more he dodged their shanks and jabs, the more mulch stuck to his body. Before he knew it, Aero was more mulch than man. The head of the Helkites connected a jab which crusted through Aero’s body—or what was once a body at all. He was now the soil.

Confused, the droids laid waste to the planter with several cannons. Some got careless and got their heads imploded by a Maiorian soldier’s immaculate aim. In fact, an entire platoon had landed just in time for their cut of the action. Illian swerved, escaping a Raktar with a blast to its exposed membrane. Then a commanding direction made sure to finish it off: an order from Shaintro, himself.

The boy turned to him, astonished: “Took you long enough!”

Shaintro rushed to Illian personally, directing his Protectorate troops to seize the area.

“Where is your candidate, Sol?” Catching his breath, Sol slung his arm around to showcase Aero’s handiwork. “He’s busy!”

Shaintro nodded, almost affected. Even he had to admit: “That will do fine.”

The swarm of Helkites contracted a fear for soil, now backing away from the planters into defensive positions. Aero flexed his muscles steaming to meet the remaining Helkites. He threw a punch, bonding him taut to a droid. Aero was one to share, so he granted it his mulched form. By pulling away, he revoked its privilege. The Helkite crumpled with no understanding, no intended protocol for his crumpling decommission. Hey, why stop there!—Plenty to go around! So he did the same to the remaining bots as he climbed back to ground level.

After some dozen shiny mounds, Aero dismissed his form and whistled for a ride out. The mulch had dried noticeably in desperate need of water, solution—whatever it needed. He brushed the soil off. “I’unno,” he said, catching a vine wave.

The gang got back together, fighting what remained of the Crimsons side by side. Hand cannon slugs clocked one more, and their charge shifted with an abrupt retreat.

Some ghastly shuttles swooped in, landed at once to spare the few who were able to walk on their own. One Hayvrn shot eyes, horrible, empty eyes at Illian when they retreated. Illian pondered if they were so lucky to have souls.

 

The Protectorate secured this geodome in no time at all. Aero was taking a well-deserved rest; Illian and Shaintro passed by just as he began to doze off against a shrub. It bristled back to its former beauty—if a bit corroded and off kilter. “What a mess, Sol,” Shaintro said.

“Yeah—but-“

Shaintro overrode Illian, “You found your Champion at a very opportune time.” The two wandered among wounded Protectorate and others who weren’t so lucky. That goes double for their enemies, at least. “Without you, this could have been much worse than anticipated.”

Illian took up investigating what appeared to be that white mucous again. He took a handful and wondered if the shuttles bled white, just as the frigate did, too. “Shaintro. What are these things?”

“Things?” He joined the investigation, but instead veered his interest to their uniform black blood. “Do you suppose these are artificial creations?”

“No idea, but I intend to dig some more. Can I borrow the Protectorate for a while longer?”

Shaintro did something like a smirk. Something. He said, “Your Champion’s not enough reinforcement?”

Illian shrugged, “Well, this can’t wait, and … I’m not jumping to conclusions-“

“Sol.” He was sure to directly point at Aero. “He is your Champion.”

Illian pushed up on one knee. All’s glitter and gold in wake of the Helkite. Most of all near Aero’s place of rest. He felt compelled to join him around the his handiwork.

The Champion lifted a drowsy eyelid to Illian who sat crisscross an arm away. “So,” said Illian, catching his breath, “you’re it.”

“Count on it,” said Aero, barely awake.

Illian then pried, insistent as ever. “Why didn’t you tell me you could do—all this?” Aero cocked a look and shrugged.

“You didn’t ask.”