The final joint military exercise, meant as the capstone of a storied series, failed to hold the galaxy's gaze. The Federation's turmoil cast a long shadow, and a palpable unease gripped all—from noble houses to common folk—who sensed a storm brewing. Social frivolities ceased, nerves taut as bowstrings. Yet, by the time the Imperial delegation arrived, the Federation's starport bustled with deceptive normalcy, shuttles darting like fireflies. Only the port's martial lockdown—absent the usual throng of frenzied reporters—betrayed the tension.
"Before we left, my family warned me to stay out of trouble," Cen Yuehuai whispered to Bai Sha as they disembarked. "They said the Federation's in chaos, unsafe. But this looks no different from before… even the officers greeting us are the same." She nodded toward the familiar faces in the reception party, then leaned closer. "Look closer, though—their nerves are sharper than ever."
She wasn't wrong. The officers, veterans of prior exercises, had once met Imperials with a mix of cool professionalism and occasional bickering, friction as routine as the stars. Today, they were models of deference, eyes lowered, words sparse, movements precise. Their flawless protocol carried an edge of restraint, as if a blade hung over their necks, unseen but ever-present.
"The third exercise will be held indoors," the lead officer announced. "The arena's vast, nearly a planetoid, with superior safety compared to a barren world. This is a restricted Federation training ground, but as it's the final event, we've opened it. Let's conclude this exercise peacefully—our shared mission fulfilled."
The exercise, though martial, was a diplomatic olive branch, its symbolic weight outweighing its competitive stakes. With the Federation team's defeat all but certain, victory was moot. A graceful finale would showcase magnanimity, a fitting close. Hosting on their turf, the Federation played the consummate host, their courtesy so lavish it left outsiders marveling and the Imperials faintly dazed. From deluxe hotel suites to feasts rivaling planetary banquets, no expense was spared.
"Sugar-coated sabotage?" Cen Yuehuai muttered, eyeing a gilded dessert tray. "Are they bribing us to throw the match?"
"Your standards that low?" Xi Nuo teased. "A few treats sway you?"
"Never," she shot back.
"Then relax," he said. "They're probably begging us to go easy, let them save face. It's how people work—you give an inch, they give a mile."
Ji Ya frowned. "So you'll hold back?"
"Didn't say that," Xi Nuo said, shrugging. "They're them, I'm me. I don't pull punches—unless they hand over Her Highness's friends to the Empire. Then I'd consider it."
Ji Ya's glare could've scorched sand. "Really? Now you bring that up?"
Xi Nuo glanced at Bai Sha, catching his blunder. Her face was a mask, unreadable. "Sorry," he sighed.
"No need," Bai Sha said, her voice flat. "The plan's dead. Not your fault."
"It was solid," Xi Nuo pressed. "Han Jue slaved over that proposal—his pen's sharper than Congress's best. Shame it got shot down."
"It's not about the plan," Bai Sha said, rubbing her brow. "Let's finish this match. Then I'll visit them on the Capital Star."
They settled into the hotel, but the alien environment—or perhaps the weight of their mission—robbed them of rest. By morning, Cen Yuehuai's nose bled, a scarlet trickle staining her sleeve. "Dry air," she said, waving off Bai Sha's concern. "I'll get a humidifier." Medical scans showed no anomalies, her mental energy oddly stable. "It's a military exercise," she grinned. "A little blood's no bad omen—maybe it's victory's sign."
Her optimism dispelled the unease, and they pressed on.
At nine, the teams assembled at the arena's entrance. The simulated terrain: a desert, mimicking past barren-world exercises but with polar daylight and searing heat. The Starbugs' threat level was moderate—neither trivial nor lethal. A perfunctory match, it seemed, meant to be endured and forgotten.
Bai Sha eyed the Federation's commander, an unremarkable figure, his presence so lackluster he'd never have ranked among their elite. He met her gaze, nodded blandly. "Let's learn from each other."
"Likewise," Bai Sha replied, her tone neutral.
With a whoosh, the arena's energy barrier parted, unleashing a blast of scorching sand. The teams boarded separate carriers, deposited at distant points within the vast dome.
Initially, the squads were blind to each other. Bai Sha deployed her team in a standard formation, casting a wide net to scout and hunt Starbugs. Cen Yuehuai and Ji Ya, paired for their speed and agility, patrolled the perimeter. Soon, Cen Yuehuai spotted a shifting vortex of quicksand on a dune. She pinged its coordinates to the team, then fired a probing arrow into its depths.
No response.
She readied another, but a faint rustle stirred beneath, a ripple snaking toward her feet. Her mech leaped, three arrows loosed in quick succession—ding, ding, ding—rebounded harmlessly. "What the…?" she muttered. No Starbug mental barrier registered, no energy signature at all. Her arrows, crafted from elite materials, weren't easily deflected. Only a handful of creatures could shrug them off.
Before she could puzzle it out, Ji Ya arrived with eight teammates. The vortex erupted, sand spewing skyward, revealing a glimpse of its denizen: a scaled segment, glinting silver under the relentless sun. "Mutant viper? Silver-scale python?" Ji Ya ventured, then shook her head. "No, those are deep-sea."
The ground heaved, the desert undulating like an ocean. With no stable footing, Cen Yuehuai and Ji Ya were swept into the quicksand. As they sank, a heavy-mech pilot reacted, detaching his shield to surf the waves, skidding toward safety. Cen Yuehuai, quick-witted, activated her mech's thrusters and energy shield. The glowing dome, a silver egg, catapulted her from the vortex as sand surged around her.
The shield drained power, but it beat drowning in the mire.
Others tried to follow, but the vortex split, a colossal shadow rearing from the sand, engulfing their mechs in darkness. They turned to face a serpent, its silver-blue scales shimmering like frost, dorsal fins fanning in rhythmic waves, propelling it effortlessly through the dunes. "What is that?" a student gasped. "Never seen it."
Cen Yuehuai, flung clear, rolled to a stop and fired—flame arrow, ice arrow. Both ricocheted, the flame leaving no mark, the ice barely frosting a scale. "Fireproof and frost-proof?" she shouted.
Ji Ya, still caught in the vortex, was ensnared by the serpent's tail, hoisted skyward. Her dagger flashed, slashing twice before her voice crackled over the comms, furious: "Run! It's not a Starbug!"
Not a Starbug? Cen Yuehuai's eyes widened. A mechanical construct?
She switched tactics, launching two armor-piercing rounds trailing smoke. They struck the serpent's belly, sparks flying, its frame shuddering. As the haze cleared, scales littered the sand. "All units, armor-piercing!" she ordered. "Rip it open!"
Luck was with them—several carried such munitions. After near-depleting their stock, they breached the serpent's armor. Reinforcements arrived as they tore into the wound, exposing its innards. An electromagnetic cannon blast sent blue-silver sparks erupting from its core. The serpent thrashed, then stilled.
Cen Yuehuai kicked its husk, panting. "This is their game? Fakes? I should've known they can't wrangle high-tier Starbugs."
"I've reported to Her Highness," Ji Ya said, shaking off sand. "Wonder if others faced these."
Reports flooded Bai Sha's comms: most "prey" were mechanical, as tough as Starbugs but lifeless. Real Starbugs were rare, low-grade, and easily dispatched. An hour in, the Imperial team's score was pitiful.
"No livestream?" Cen Yuehuai asked Ji Ya, exasperated.
"Federation's in 'special status,'" Ji Ya said, her face cold. "No broadcast. Thought they'd surrendered, but…"
The Empire had lost only one of four prior matches. The Federation needed both remaining wins for a tie—an impossible feat, or so it seemed. This was their trap.
"Blatant cheating," Cen Yuehuai fumed, checking the leaderboard. Both teams' scores were dismal, but the Federation edged ahead by a slim margin. "No way they're facing the same junk."
Ji Ya shrugged. "Await Her Highness's orders. She's talking to the organizers. We've got footage—worst case, we halt the match." The arena's semi-sealed design, meant to contain Starbugs, choked signals, delaying transmissions.
Cen Yuehuai's frustration boiled. She scanned the horizon, then pointed. "Over there—Federation squad?"
Ji Ya squinted. A group hunted a genuine Starbug, its mental signature weak but real. With points scarce, it was a prize. "Let's move," Cen Yuehuai said, weapon gleaming. "That's ours."
She charged, Ji Ya signaling their team to follow. "Heard they're using some Mind Matrix tech," Cen Yuehuai sneered, loosing two arrows to disrupt the Federals. The Starbug broke free, scattering.
The squads clashed. Cen Yuehuai infused her weapon with mental energy, engaging in close combat. The Federals were swift, their coordination leagues beyond past encounters, briefly overwhelming her. But her skill shone—her mech danced, her blade carving radiant arcs under the sun, sharp enough to sunder armor. Her weapon morphed mid-fight, firing unexpected arrows, her style unpredictable.
Ji Ya sensed trouble. Cen Yuehuai's aura was feral, her strikes too vicious. She pinned a Federal mech, her blade piercing its shoulder, wrenching the cockpit open with a screech. She kicked it over, the pilot tumbling out. In a blur, she seized his head in her mech's grip, his face obscured by the massive hand. He didn't beg—unconscious, perhaps.
"Stop!" Ji Ya rammed her mech into Cen Yuehuai's, staggering her. "Are you trying to kill him?"
Cen Yuehuai turned, her voice crackling with mania. "Why not?"
Ji Ya's heart sank. "How will you explain this to Her Highness?"
Cen Yuehuai froze, the fire in her blood cooling, replaced by exhaustion. "I… lost control." She released the pilot, who slumped, lifeless.
Ji Ya's gut twisted. She leaped from her mech, medical kit in hand, and checked the pilot's vitals. No breath. No pulse. Adrenaline shot, defibrillation—nothing. "He's dead," she said, stunned.
"Dead?" Cen Yuehuai echoed, disbelieving. She jumped down, retracing her actions. "I didn't touch him—just his mech! No wounds…"
"You yanked him from the cockpit," Ji Ya said. "Federation mechs link mentally. That could've fried his mind."
"No rigor mortis… he just died," Cen Yuehuai said, her head throbbing. "It's not all my fault. Mech combat's risky."
"He's Federation," Ji Ya whispered. "Will they let us autopsy? Trust their findings? If this hits a tribunal, what's your fate? You were—"
Cen Yuehuai had crossed a line. Normally, she wasn't so reckless.
The implications hit her. A diplomatic crisis loomed. A lenient Imperial verdict would enrage Federation citizens; a harsh one—intentional harm—meant expulsion and decades in prison.
"Don't panic," Ji Ya said, but paused, alarmed. "Your face—"
Cen Yuehuai touched her cheek, fingers slick with blood. The metallic scent overwhelmed her. "I…" Her vision darkened, pain searing like insect bites. She collapsed.
Ji Ya caught her, glancing at the blazing sun and swirling sand. Bad day. She began first aid, relieved to find Cen Yuehuai's pulse, though her temperature was low, her heart racing. Reporting to Bai Sha, Ji Ya sent teammates to check the other downed Federal mechs.
The verdict: all three pilots dead.
Ji Ya's face hardened. This was a setup. "Leave the mechs untouched. Don't move the bodies. Form a perimeter—no one gets close."
Cen Yuehuai couldn't have killed them all in seconds. They'd been alive, hunting, moments before. Someone had triggered a kill switch the instant the teams clashed.
Bai Sha arrived, surveying the corpses and Cen Yuehuai's unconscious form. Xi Nuo, shaken, whispered, "Your Highness, should we…?"
His meaning was clear: destroy the evidence. Cold, but survival demanded it.
"The mechs have cameras," Bai Sha said softly. "They recorded everything. Even if the footage is shaky, they lured us here to escalate this. Tampering—or fabricating—evidence wouldn't surprise them."
She approached the damaged mechs, intent on copying their logs and damage data. The Empire needed a defense, regardless of Federation sentiment. As her wrist computer linked to the first mech's core, a silver gleam flickered across the screen, burrowing into her device with the data stream.
In the Federation hospital, Yan Jingyi paced, her recovery incomplete, her mind a maze of gaps. Ya Ning sat by Zhou Wei's bed, monitors beeping. "The Nexus is selective," she said. "It let me go but keeps him. Why?"
"It's not random," Ya Ning said. "It's Ning Hongxue's puppet, and we're caught in his strings."
On Youdu Star, Bai Sha's heart pounded, though she didn't know why. The exercise was a trap, the silver light a warning. She messaged Xi Nuo: Secure the team. Something's wrong. The stars trembled, but she'd fight to free her friends, even if it meant defying the galaxy itself.