Planet Mercury

  As promised by Corporation Chairman Vicar, the ergon-production stations have been returned to their previous owners. However, no one can profit from them anymore—the facilities are being urgently converted into battle platforms. Plasma cannons are already being mounted on their hulls, cloaking fields are being integrated. Everything is infused with the spirit of technological progress—but also with a looming sense of war. After modernization, the stations undergo trial runs in open space.

  Captain Veronica is now stationed on one such military platform. She and her crew are preparing for inspection; every movement on her face reflects utter focus. The platform, like a living entity, braces for its first combat deployment.

  The test inspector is Captain Ragnar. He observes the process from the observation deck of one of the inquisitor ships in his group. The spacecraft, like a predator in the night, drifts close to Mercury’s orbit.

  In open space, right above the planet’s surface, a special testing stand has been constructed—a giant metal arch that emits a faint glow, like an ancient mechanism ready to awaken. Inside this arch, signal traps are installed; this is where the new combat platforms are put to the test.

  An experienced technician, the operator is fully focused. His fingers glide over the control panel, every movement precise and coordinated. Buttons and toggles blink, sending signals to dozens of monitors, each tracking a different parameter—from power output to the effectiveness of the cloaking system.

  Captain Veronica stands at the control panel. She’s tense, focused—every action appears deliberate. There’s a palpable tension in the air: she must prove that her station is a capable combat unit—and that she herself is a commander fit for battle.

  Ragnar gives a short, almost imperceptible nod.

  "Begin," he says, not breaking his gaze from the screen. His voice is low and indifferent, the voice of someone used to giving orders.

  Captain Veronica takes a deep breath. Her fingers touch the sensor panel. The mechanisms begin to hum.

  The operator immediately activates the scanners. The platform pulses softly with light, as if it’s starting to erase the fabric of space. A holographic map unfolds on the panel, clearly marking the station’s coordinates—its position now fully locked.

  "Activate cloaking," he commands, not looking away from the display.

  "Confirmed," Veronica replies, gently touching the sensor and sliding the toggle to “Cloak.”

  Once the switch is complete, the platform vanishes from the screen. The space around it becomes empty. The hologram dims—only black void remains.

  "Platform cloaked," the operator reports, fingers gliding across the console. "Initiating scanner sequence."

  One by one, the rings of the sensor array light up. With each new pulse, the distance between the scanner and the platform shortens. The tension builds—each counter tracks not just the range, but their ability to stay hidden.

  At a certain point, when the last pulses merge into sparks, the platform reappears on the screen—emerging from nothing like a ghost.

  "Detected. Standard range. Cloak functional," the operator confirms, making a note in the report. "Stage complete."

  "Proceeding to the weapons test," he adds, without pause, as if expecting the next command.

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  Veronica switches the console to firing mode. The panel instantly transforms—target holograms appear, set up for a precise shot.

  "Target coordinates transmitted," the operator says, swiping his finger through the air, forming virtual targeting lines.

  "Received," Veronica replies with confidence, locking the cannon on the target. "Target acquired."

  "Fire!"

  Veronica presses the virtual trigger. A blinding flash floods the space around them—a plasma beam slices through the void with such force it instantly vaporizes the stone target.

  "Calibration complete," the operator calmly notes. "Power output within acceptable range. Test passed. Congratulations, Captain Veronica. Your station is cleared for duty."

  Veronica smiles slightly. Her face is still tense—but with pride. The holographic console vanishes, and she powers down the system.

  "Next platform up for testing," the operator announces, already turning to the new data.

  But he’s interrupted by Ragnar’s calm yet puzzled voice.

  "Hold on."

  Everyone in the room turns to him. He stands still on his observation deck, studying the platform with a dissatisfied gaze.

  "Explain to me," he says from his perch, "how this platform can be approved?"

  A pause. The operator hesitates, trying to process the question. Veronica freezes, her eyes locked on Ragnar. He’s clearly noticed something—something that changes the entire course of the test.

  Tension rises in the room. The silence hums, like a storm about to break. The operator glances toward the inquisitor ship, as if feeling Ragnar’s gaze pierce through the void.

  "You see it yourself," Ragnar states sharply, his voice authoritative. "The scanners picked up the platform before it entered the targeting zone."

  "The indicators are standard, defined by our engineers," the operator replies with restraint, trying to stay composed.

  "Standard?" Ragnar repeats, his eyes flashing with anger. He pauses, giving weight to every word. "That platform will be spotted before it even gets the chance to fire. You call this a weapon?"

  The operator sighs heavily and rises from his seat, realizing Ragnar’s question just shattered the routine procedure.

  "Inspector… we’re aware of the issue. Our engineers are working on it, but no solution yet. That’s why we’re testing in current conditions. Do you have a fix?"

  Ragnar slows his breathing, his eyes unfocusing. He raises one finger, signaling an idea.

  "I do," he says, a spark of excitement in his voice. "Let my ship enter the test stand. I’ll dock with the platform. Let’s see what happens."

  The operator blinks, stunned.

  "You want to… place your ship inside the test stand?"

  "Exactly."

  "Very well. Access granted."

  Ragnar’s ship glides smoothly toward Veronica’s platform. The combat structure moves to the edge of the stand, maneuvering with precision on the edge of the possible. Its engines make no excess noise—only faint bursts of acceleration. Docking is flawless—the two hulls lock together like parts of a single machine.

  "Ready to begin," Ragnar reports, his voice now focused, almost eager. "Activating cloak."

  He engages his ship’s field, and immediately her platform mirrors the action. Two protective domes engulf the vessels, merging into a single invisible mass.

  The operator, now intensely focused, reactivates the procedure. Scanners come online, lights blink sector by sector. Everything follows the script—except the outcome.

  "Results?" Ragnar asks, staring into the holographic map, almost feeling the tension condense around them.

  "This is… unexpected," the operator says, his voice trembling with awe. "Detection range reduced by forty-three percent! This is… a brilliant solution."

  He falls silent, examining the data, ready for another revelation at any moment.

  "Field synchronization… who would’ve thought."

  A grin spreads across Ragnar’s face, his eyes gleaming.

  "I’ll send the parameters to our engineers. Let them recalibrate the fields on all platforms. This changes the rules."

  Ragnar exits his ship and enters Veronica’s station through the airlock. The command room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of instruments, creating an almost mystical atmosphere. She stands just as before—composed and calm.

  "Congratulations, Captain," he says, offering a handshake. His voice is warmer than usual, with a rare tone—one that belongs to someone shaped by the brutality of war.

  "And to you, Captain," she replies, a faint smile on her lips, taking his hand. "You’re quite resourceful. Merging ships, synchronizing fields… That’s an interesting approach."

  Ragnar narrows his eyes, weighing her words like precious metal.

  "Mind if we stay partnered from now on? My armor—your firepower. I think we look good together."

  Veronica steps closer, almost face to face. She removes an amulet from her neck—and places it around Ragnar’s. It’s a rare, meaningful gesture.

  "I believe in the god Hanaris," he says with unexpected solemnity, as though discovering something profound in that moment.

  "So do I…" she answers quietly, with a hint of surprise, as if realizing something she hadn’t seen before.