The Mearea's Makeover

In the Seventh Weaponry Factory's drydock, the Mearea's armor was being stripped away.

Emma watched from inside a building, legs raised and knees bent in the weightlessness. She pressed her hands against the windowpane, observing the exposed frame of the Mearea.

The internal equipment was rusty and oily, with tons of debris strewn about.

The Seventh’s technicians, observing the state of the ship, looked troubled as they stared at their tablet devices and consulted each other.

“Is the frame and armor the only usable parts?” “We need a total replacement inside.” “It’s going to be a balancing act. The frame’s structure is different from the current mainstream.” “We have some leeway inside, so we can make it work.”

The idea that they could overhaul a starship based on on-site judgment was unbelievable to Emma.

(Did they just decide to do this on the spot? They’re just making it up as they go?)

She thought it was supposed to be pre-planned. But, the technicians were already discussing how to combine the existing equipment without worrying about that detail.

Emma, listening from a distance, couldn’t understand the technical terms, so she turned her gaze back to the Mearea.

“I wonder how she’ll be reborn?”

Emma was slightly excited to see how their ship would be transformed.

In the drydock, the enormous starship looked like a toy. The process of assembling parts resembled building and modifying model kits.

(Ah, I could watch this forever.)

As Emma looked on with a happy expression, Percy approached.

“Lieutenant Rodman, sorry to keep you waiting.”

Emma stood at attention, saluting Percy.

"No problem."

"Good. Let's move now. The Atalante is ready. I want to finish up the adjustments."

“Yes, ma’am!”

Emma followed Percy, leaving the drydock.

The Atalante’s Test

In one of the Seventh Weaponry Factory’s hangars, the development team’s staff moved busily around the Atalante, which was wired with cables.

Emma, dressed in her pilot suit, entered the cockpit. She sat in the seat, the hatch still open, and Percy stood beside her.

“We've strengthened the joints even more. The engine outputs excessive energy, but it should be okay even if it goes into an overload state,” Percy explained.

The Atalante had a critical flaw: it would self-destruct during battle if the overloaded engine was pushed to its limit.

If they couldn't fix this, the Atalante would remain a failure.

They could seal the overload state, but that would eliminate the Atalante's advantages.

It would then become a very expensive, high-performance, ace-only machine with a major drawback. This wouldn't solve the problem.

As the cables were removed, the Atalante began to move within the hangar.

“It's easier to move than before,” Emma said, realizing that the handling had improved since her first time piloting the craft.

Percy puffed out her chest. “Of course. We analyzed your data and made the adjustments accordingly. To say that the handling has improved is an understatement.”

She was proud of their work, even though she insisted it was expected.

But...

(Something’s wrong?)

For a fleeting moment, Emma felt a sense of incongruity. The Atalante felt sluggish, but the feeling vanished just as quickly.

It was a minuscule difference, something that other pilots probably wouldn’t even notice.

(Maybe I was wrong.)

The test continued, and they completed all the checks they could do inside the hangar.

Satisfied with the Atalante’s progress, Percy decided to move on to the next stage.

“Okay, good. Let's do a space test tomorrow,” she said.

“Y-yes, ma'am,” Emma replied, feeling a little hesitant.

Percy reprimanded her. “Pay attention! Testing experimental aircraft is life-threatening. A moment of carelessness can be fatal.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Emma said, straightening up.

She focused her attention on the test tomorrow.

(It’s fine. Nothing was wrong. The data shows no problems. Everything will be okay.)

Despite telling herself this, she couldn’t shake off the feeling.

She called out to Percy, who was about to leave the cockpit.

“U-um! Just once when I was moving it. Right at the beginning, I felt a slight...incongruity. Is there a problem?”

Percy turned back and sighed, then checked the data.

“You should have told me then,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

Percy and the other staff checked, but they couldn’t find anything wrong. They dismissed it as Emma’s imagination, but decided to do a full machine check as a precaution. The test was postponed.

A Visit from Nias

As Emma stepped out of the cockpit, a woman in a lab coat was standing below, looking up at the Atalante.

She wasn’t part of the development team. Intrigued, Emma approached her, making sure to keep her weapon within easy reach.

“Can I help you?”

The woman turned, revealing her straight black hair, cut at shoulder length. She looked like an intelligent woman with glasses, but her aura was different.

Her eyes seemed to look at Emma without actually seeing her.

She gave Emma a smile, but it was clearly artificial.

In terms of combat, she was as good as a poor soldier. Emma, being a knight, knew she could easily defeat her, but there was something else that frightened her, something beyond physical strength.

(This one is scary too. I've been encountering scary people lately.)

The woman tapped the name tag on her lab coat a few times with her finger. It displayed her rank as a Technical Major, and her position at the Seventh Weaponry Factory.

"You're from the Seventh Weaponry Factory?"

Relieved, Emma relaxed her guard. The woman smiled and spoke.

"It seems I interrupted something. I'm Nias. Technical Major Nias Carlin."

Emma, caught off guard, quickly straightened.

“Lieutenant Emma Rodman, reporting,” she said, saluting.

“Oh, you're the famous pilot?"

“What? Famous?”

Emma had no idea that she was famous.

Confused, Emma looked at Nias, the woman who had introduced herself as Nias, reached into her lab coat pocket, pulled out a lollipop on a stick, removed the wrapper, and put it in her mouth.

The stick protruded from her mouth, making it look like she was smoking.

“I've heard you're a genius pilot,” she said.

“Oh, no, I’m not,” Emma said, scratching her head sheepishly.

Nias, still smiling, agreed. “Yes, you are. From what I see, you’re a perfect match for a failure of a machine.”

“W-what?”

For a moment, Emma was unsure what she meant.

As Emma froze, Nias, her smile gone, looked up at the Atalante. “This machine is no good either. You should get off of it.”

Getting off the Atalante was like giving up the confidence she had finally grasped.

She clenched her fists, lowered her head, and spoke in a voice filled with emotion, her words echoing throughout the hangar.

“No! I’m going to fly the Atalante!”

Nias, slightly surprised, tilted her head in bewilderment. She was observing Emma as though she were some kind of rare animal.

“You want to die?” she asked.

Emma shook her head, making her hair sway.

“I’m not going to die. And I'm not going to break the Atalante. I’m going to make sure it’s finished.”

She looked up at Nias with determination in her eyes, but Nias simply mocked her.

She looked at Emma as if her determination was worthless.

“I don’t understand you.”

As Emma and Nias argued, the development staff gathered around.

Percy marched towards them, jabbed a finger at Nias’s chest. “No unauthorized personnel allowed. How did you get in here?”

“Security needs to be much stricter. But it’s okay. There’s nothing worth seeing in this machine,” Nias said, smiling.

She turned and walked away.

The development staff, including Emma, glared at her back, infuriated by her insult to the Atalante.

(I’ll prove that the Atalante is amazing.)

Emma was determined to make the test a success, fueled by anger.

The Test Goes Awry

Three days later, the Atalante, having passed its check, was being tested in space, a little further away from Asteroid Neya.

Molly, Larry, and Doug, who were aboard a transport ship, watched the test.

They were in a lounge, gathered around a large monitor, watching the test. The Third Platoon, to which they belonged, was also incorporated into the development team.

Bored with the test, Larry complained as he played a handheld game.

“Why did they even bring us here? We don’t even have a machine to ride. What are we supposed to do?”

Doug, watching the test, joined the conversation.

“The higher-ups don't care about the lower ranks’ complaints. It's easier to issue orders by platoon, even if it seems pointless.”

Molly, sipping juice, agreed.

“Yeah, it’s totally possible.”

As the three of them discussed their dissatisfaction with the upper ranks, an alarm sounded throughout the ship.

Doug immediately stood up and ran towards the alarm, a reflex honed through training and combat experience. But he quickly realized something.

“Damn it! We don't have any machines to ride.”

Larry set his game console down and operated his terminal to confirm. “No good. The crew of this ship is in a panic too. The Seventh's defense forces should be here soon. But it's still..."

Molly, staring at the monitor, covered her mouth with both hands.

"Emma!"

The Atalante was surrounded by small mobile knights, each less than fourteen meters tall.

They were navy blue, with no identifying markings. They were an unknown group, the origin of their production is unclear.