Interstellar Fighter

The cable car of the space elevator soared like a glass bead cast by a god, slicing through the pitch-black sky and leaving Earth's slowly healing blue scar far below. David Cole pressed his forehead against the cold viewport, watching the world that held all his pain and attachments shrink until it was swallowed by the boundless sea of stars. Goodbye, Mom, he whispered in his heart, his fingers unconsciously tracing the smooth, worn soldier's dog tag in his pocket—one of the few things his father had left behind. At eighteen, he had the frame of a man, but his eyes still held the particular confusion of youth, thinly veiled by a hardened exterior. His German heritage gave him a sharp jawline and light brown eyes, while his mixed Mexican and Chinese ancestry bestowed upon him a head of unruly black hair and a demeanor more grounded than his peers. In high school, girls had privately called him a "silent magnet," but David knew his silence came from the weight on his shoulders. He didn't want his mother working extra shifts in greasy restaurant kitchens or on the cold marble floors of wealthy homes, exhausting her dwindling health, just to pay his college tuition. "Lunar Transfer Station, arrival in ten minutes. Please prepare for zero-gravity," a calm female voice from the interrupt his thoughts. The lunar base wasn't the futuristic, silvery-white marvel from Earth's propaganda posters. It was more like a massive, bustling, and grungy industrial port. The air smelled of ozone, grinding metal, and the recycled scent of human bodies. Beneath the vast dome, a cacophony of human voices, machinery roars, and shouts in various languages filled the space. A river of people—in different national uniforms, company coveralls, or civilian clothes like his—flowed through the labyrinthine corridors like blood cells. Following the signs, he squeezed onto the mag-lev express bound for the civilian sector. The carriage felt like a subway on Earth, except the view outside the window was a desolate, eternally dust-covered lunar landscape. A large Black man in coveralls bearing the "Stellar Mining" logo was talking loudly on a satellite phone: "...Listen, sweetheart, soon as this contract's done, Daddy's gonna buy you that latest bionic pet, I swear! The signal out here is goddamn awful…" A slight, wry smile touched David's lips. This was the real world. Far from Earth's news filters. Gritty, but thrumming with life. Outside a bar in the civilian sector called the "Dusty Boot," he saw a familiar figure. His uncle, Perry Cole. Perry looked older than David remembered, with flecks of grey at his temples, but his body was still as solid as an old oak tree. He wore a worn khaki flight jacket stained with oil and scuff marks, standing next to a pile of crates with a burly, thickly bearded white man. "David! Good lord, you've shot up even more than on the comms!" Perry strode forward and pulled David into a firm hug, his palm thumping David's back with solid, unmistakable force. He smelled of engine oil, coffee, and… well, probably whiskey. "Uncle Perry." David let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, the tension of the journey easing slightly. "This is Jack O'Malley," Perry gestured to the bearded man. "Our expedition's second-in-command, best mechanic, and worst damn poker player." "Hey, kid, don't listen to him." Jack's voice was as rough as his beard, carrying a thick… Texan drawl? He extended a hand, its surface rough as sandpaper, but the handshake was controlled and full of friendliness. "Welcome to the edge of civilization. Your momma doin' alright?" "She's fine, Mr. O'Malley. She sends her regards, and… thank you for this opportunity." David recited the words his mother had coached him on. "Just Jack." The bearded man grinned. "As for the opportunity? Kid, out here in the Outer Territories, everybody earns their keep. You ready? Our 'Greyhound bus' ain't gonna wait." The so-called "Greyhound bus" was an old but well-maintained-looking civilian passenger ship bound for the Jupiter system. Most of the long journey was skipped in cryo-sleep. When David was revived and saw the colossal planet Jupiter, with its eternal storm swirls, through the observation window, he was still utterly awestruck. It hung like a jewel set on black velvet, overseeing its satellite kingdom with undeniable majesty. As Perry had said, a significant amount of order had been established around Jupiter. The massive "Ganymede" Main Starport blazed with light, a Manhattan in space. Colonial outposts and corporate stations clung to the orbits like barnacles, flashing their own signal lights. Patrol ships of the United Nations Space Authority (UNSA) weaved among them, maintaining a basic legal framework. But this wasn't their destination. They transferred to a smaller ship Perry and Jack called the Pilgrim. It was a bulky vessel that looked like it had been cobbled together from parts of different eras, its hull pockmarked with micrometeorite impacts, but its sturdy thrusters looked powerful. "Welcome to our real home," Perry said with a touch of pride, slapping the cold hull. "She might be old, but she's reliable as an old mule." Inside, the Pilgrim was cramped, filled with the ticking of instrument panels, the hum of fluid moving through pipes, and the lingering smell of welding and lubricant. David looked around curiously until Perry led him through an airlock door into the hangar bay. Three mechs stood there. On the left was a slender, dark grey-painted light mech, resembling a dragonfly with folded wings. "The 'Wraith'," Perry said. "Hydrogen-cell powered, electric drive. Quiet as a cat. We use it for recon and extra-vehicular repairs." On the right was a noticeably bulkier medium mech, with rugged lines and powerful hydraulic rods exposed at its joints. Its paint job was a simple orange and white, with a crude cartoon of a bear head, a wrench in its mouth, spray-painted on the shoulder. "This here's 'Old Bear'," Jack introduced it with an almost affectionate tone. "Nuclear battery, old-school hydraulics. Packs a punch! Can't match those military 'Gladiators,' but for hauling ore, dragging equipment, or scaring off small-time scavengers, she's a beaut." In the middle, fixed on a support frame, was a more streamlined body without arms, covered in sensors. "That's 'Hawkeye', a survey mech. Our eyes and ears." David's gaze was completely captured by "Old Bear." It wasn't like the sleek, glamorous war machines from the promo vids. It had scratches, spots of touch-up paint. It exuded a sense of raw power and… practicality. It was like a silent, reliable giant. "Weapons?" David couldn't help but ask. Perry and Jack exchanged a look and chuckled. "Weapons?" Perry pointed towards the ship's exterior. "See those protrusions? An ancient ship-based rocket pod and a automatic cannon. Good for scaring folks. If we get into it with a pirate assault shuttle, we'd better pray we're fast enough. Kid, a proper rail gun system could cost half the Pilgrim! Out here, staying alive doesn't depend on firepower. It depends on this," he tapped his temple, "and luck." On the final leg of the journey to Europa, Perry made an exception and let David sit in Old Bear's cockpit. When the hatch sealed behind him, enveloping him in the small space smelling of leather, ozone, and metal, a strange feeling seized him. He sat in the slightly worn but snug pilot's seat, his hands gripping the control sticks, his feet resting lightly on the pedals. Through the panoramic display, he no longer saw the ship's interior walls, but the vast starfield and the ice-covered moon of Europa growing larger ahead. "How's it feel, rookie?" Jack's voice, laced with amusement, came through the comm. "Gently push the right stick forward. Yeah, just like that…" Perry guided him. Old Bear's mechanical arm slowly rose in response to his movement, the giant metal fingers opening and closing before his eyes. An unprecedented sense of power, transmitted through the subtle force feedback in the control sticks, surged through his entire body. He felt like he had become a part of this iron giant. His will, transmitted through wires and hydraulic fluid, became the giant's motion. Holy crap… David marveled inwardly. This was ten thousand times more real than any VR game he'd ever played. It was a million times more powerful than any impact he'd felt on the high school football field. It was a feeling of… controlling his own destiny. He looked at Old Bear's thick arms, imagining them wielding a massive mining pick, or… holding a weapon. In that moment, all the uncertainty of leaving home, all the anxiety about the future, was replaced by a blazing desire. I want one of my own. The thought ignited like a spark in his eighteen-year-old heart. Not for show, not for war, but to… truly stand tall in this cruel and magnificent stellar arena, and to protect everything he held dear. The Pilgrim adjusted its attitude and dove towards the surface of Europa—a landscape of ice and rock, hiding limitless opportunity and danger.