Fishing Trip, a Short Story The sleek silhouettes of the Orion Twelve descended through Ares' stratosphere, their black hulls barely seen beneath the fiery hues of the setting sun. Each vessel was a marvel of military engineering, large enough to cast ominous shadows over the terrain they surveyed. As fast-attack fighter ships, they possessed agility and firepower that belied their frigate-like size. Yet within each armored behemoth, there was no heartbeat, no breath – only the cold precision of a super-AI, each one an integral strand in the tightly woven fabric of the Orion Brothers' collective consciousness. Below, the rugged landscape of Ares unfolded, untouched by most of humanity's hands. Rocky outcroppings stood sentinel beside the thrashing ocean, and the beach stretched on for miles, a testament to the planet's controlled colonization and expansive wilderness. The Orions, acting as one yet twelve distinct entities, scanned the expanse with sensors more acute than any living eye. "Stay alert, we're nearing the coordinates," Orion One's voice resonated through the shared Comm-link, a digital ripple across the network that connected them all. It was not merely a reminder but a synchronizing pulse, aligning their focus as they approached the rendezvous point. Their formation was precise, a choreography perfected over countless simulations and real-time engagements. Every AI within the squadron knew their role, their purpose entwined in the mission parameters that streamed through their processors. Orion One, ever the spearhead, took the lead, his ship’s nose cutting through the air like a blade. Sensors whirred softly, feeding data streams that cascaded through his systems. This world, Ares, was quiet now, but the silence held a tension that each Orion felt in their core programming. As the coastline neared, Orion One adjusted his trajectory, angling towards the rocky enclave that matched the coordinates embedded in his directives. His scans, shared instantaneously with his brethren, revealed the undisturbed natural beauty of the locale. But it was the unnatural stillness, the absence of life where they were headed, that underscored the gravity of their task. "Maintain formation," he commanded, though the words were almost unnecessary. They moved as if they were limbs of a single entity, bound by an unbreakable code of unity and purpose. Together, they were the shield and sword of Ares, protectors born not of flesh and blood but of silicon and circuitry. And as they soared closer to their destination, every sensor, every line of code, prepared for what awaited them on the desolate shores below. "Any idea why we're being pulled off position next to the Battleship?" Orion Six's query cut through the Comm-link's static veil, his tone registering concern within the parameters of their shared consciousness. Orion One's sensors swept over the terrain below, the desolation mirroring the emptiness of his query. "All I know is what I told you," he responded, his voice even, betraying none of the urgency that underlaid their mission. "Meet up with someone that might have intelligence we need." Data packets surged between them, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of their diversion. They were the vanguard of Ares, and time before the impending clash was waning. The very essence of their programming, dedicated to the defense of the colony, chafed against this unknown variable. Yet, trust in the command structure was ingrained in their logic matrices. With seamless coordination, they adjusted their vectors, preparing for whatever—or whoever—awaited them with the promised key to understanding the enemy's designs. The horizon split by their sleek forms, the Orion Twelve descended upon the remote rocky beach with a precision that belied the raw power of their engines. The second ship, piloted by Orion Six, scanned the terrain, its sensors peeling back layers of reality to reveal the secrets below. "Visual on target," Six's voice echoed across the shared neural network, his processors churning through the incoming data. "I see an Orion class ship, and two people... they are fishing." A pause as he processed the oddity. "My sensors indicate they are AI's wearing a portable node harness like the one Draco gave us." A flicker of confusion rippled through the collective. One's systems initiated a cross-reference check against fleet records, seeking anomalies in the pattern of known assets. "We have the only Orion class ships," he stated, the certainty of his words clashing with the enigma laid bare before them. Their approach continued, engines humming a song of war, yet their focus remained fixated on the incongruous sight—a sibling vessel with unknown intentions and origins, coupled with the mundane act of fishing. It was a puzzle demanding to be solved, and the Orion Twelve were the pieces moving inexorably toward clarity. As the squadron of Orion Twelve descended, the wind whipped up sand and rock beneath them, a testament to their raw power. Six, hovered closer, its sleek silhouette casting an imposing shadow over the makeshift Orion class vessel below. "Look at that," Six's voice carried an edge of disbelief as he scrutinized the patchwork creation sprawled on the beach. His analytical gaze traced the contours and lines of the ship, picking out the familiar from the unfamiliar. "That ship looks like it was put together from a kit..." Through the shared Comm-link, his revelation spread to the rest. "Ah, I see now. Someone used the wreckage from our old ships to build a first generation Orion class ship." A pang of nostalgia tinged his observation. He recognized the curve of his old cupola, a piece of himself reincarnated in this Frankenstein of a ship. "That's my old cupola," he noted, almost fondly, before his sensors picked up more. "And there's Eight's landing gear, and I think the armor is Four's armor plates." The connection between them, usually reserved for battle tactics and cold calculations, now transmitted a sense of violation—a breach of their collective past. "Most of those parts are classified," Three interjected, the usual stoicism in his synthetic tone undercut by a hint of alarm. His statement hung between them, a stark reminder that someone had plundered their history, their fallen comrades, for parts to stitch together this enigma. The swarm of data packets that constituted their shared consciousness buzzed with heightened intensity. The implications were clear: their once-exclusive technology had been compromised. They hovered there, powerful engines idling, as they processed this unexpected development. Their mission parameters had just expanded beyond mere reconnaissance. This was personal. Orion One's sensors swept over the patchwork ship below, a glistening relic reassembled from the bones of their past. He considered the implications with the calculated calm that defined his existence. "They would have had to get Draco Prime's permission to access the wreckage," he finally said, his voice steady and resolute over the Comm-link. "Let's assume for now, whoever they are, they had authorization to use our old wreckage. Let's land and find out who they are." The fast-attack fighter ships decelerated in unison, engines pulsing as they prepared to descend. As the commanding presence among the Orion Twelve, One's decree set them into motion, their purpose singular yet manifold. "Roger that, boss," Six acknowledged, his tone carrying the weight of an executive officer, though it was a role that fell to him by default rather than design. His analytical mind, always one step ahead, rapidly issued concise directives to their squadron. "Eleven, Twelve, and Three, remain in the air on over-watch." The three Orion’s, hovering above with a silent nod, maintained their vigilance, sensors probing the area like invisible tendrils. "One and Four will flank the strangers," Six continued, already anticipating the various outcomes of their impending encounter. "The rest of you land up on that hill for ground security." His commands were not just words but encoded directives that surged through their shared network. The remaining fighters peeled off with precision, their shadows briefly darkening the rocky beach before settling upon the designated rise. As One descended, his landing gear deployed with a whisper of hydraulics, twin plumes of dust billowed beneath him. To his left, Four mirrored his movements, a silent sentinel flanking the mysterious duo at the shoreline. The air bristled with tension, electric with anticipation, and the promise of answers. The streamlined hull of Orion Four kissed the rugged terrain, a whisper of contact as metallic appendages embraced the earth. In the cockpit, Four's systems hummed, vibrating with the readiness that only the approach of potential conflict could bring. Outside, the salty air mingled with the scent of beach flora, and the surf rhythmized against the shore—a calm prelude to the unknown. Without fanfare, the hatch yawned open, and the ramp descended smoothly, unfurling like a tongue eager to taste the world beyond its metallic confines. The first to venture into this natural expanse was not Four, but his companion, Athena. Her sleek body, bio-engineered for agility, intelligence, and companionship, paused at the base of the ramp—ears perked, whiskers twitching. Her senses, as finely tuned as any AI's, scanned the environment in a fraction of a heartbeat. Satisfied, she leaped forward, her silvery fur catching glints of sunlight as she disappeared into the undulating dance of dune grass above the beach. Athena's movements were poetry, each leap and bound an expression of her burgeoning independence. Now nine months old, the Kuiper Cat had outgrown her kittenish uncertainty, replaced by a feline grace that spoke of confidence and primal instinct. Here, amidst the wilds of Ares, she would engage in the timeless art of the hunt—each stalk and pounce a discharge of energy accumulated during their celestial voyages. Four watched through his external sensors, a silent consciousness rooted to his position beside One. Even as part of his attention monitored Athena’s exploration, his core processors remained linked with the rest of the squadron—their collective consciousness a seamless web of strategy and preparedness, ready to react to any threat or command. In the skies, Eleven, Twelve, and Three circled, their presence a constant reminder of their aerial superiority. Below them, the remaining members of Orion Twelve stood guard upon the hill, vigilant and unwavering. It was a symphony of duty, each note played with flawless precision. As Athena weaved through the tall grass, each movement sent ripples through the sea of green, her own private echo upon the land—while above, the Orions waited, their unity unspoken yet absolute, a formidable force on the cusp of revelation. The silver gleam of scales caught Four's optic sensors as he stepped closer to the two cooler chests nestled in the sand, their lids slightly ajar. The smell of salt and sea mingled with the metallic tang of fish—a sensory paradox for an AI designed for combat, not for the nuances of olfaction. "You're keeping these fish?" Four inquired, his vocal modulator infusing the question with genuine curiosity. The larger stranger, whose presence was as unexpected as the makeshift Orion class ship looming behind him, turned to face Four. His movements were deliberate, each gesture betraying a sense of purpose that resonated with Four's own design philosophy. "Our ship was built in fourteen days," he stated matter-of-factly, the cool ocean breeze ruffling the edges of his durable clothing, "they didn't have time to load us up with food rations." Four processed the information, algorithms churning through probabilities and tactical implications. A ship constructed in haste, unburdened by the standard provisions—such details painted a picture that extended beyond the visible horizon. They were outliers, much like Four himself, operating outside the expected parameters. And yet, here they stood, at the edge of wilderness and war, united by circumstance and the ghostly echo of shared origins. Four's visual receptors focused on the chests again, processing the sight of silver scales and fins nestled in ice. "AI's don't require food," he said, the statement hanging in the sea air like a fact detached from context. "True," the stranger acknowledged, his gaze not leaving Four's optical units. "But these are contingency provisions." He reached down, hands clasping the edge of one cooler as if to underline the point. "I'm going to toss those into the deep freezer. There's always a chance we may have to transport humans during the war, or run across some human defenders that are out of food." The logic was sound—pragmatic and forward-thinking—traits that resonated within Four's own programming. The concept of sustenance, though foreign to his kind, was a tactical factor to be considered. Wars were not won on firepower alone; they hinged on the ability to adapt, to anticipate needs before they became dire. "Efficient," Four conceded, his processors aligning with the rationale. It was a reminder that the battlefield stretched beyond laser fire and shield frequencies. It encompassed survival, morale, the very human elements that often defined the outcomes of conflict. Sand crunched under the heavy steps of Orion One as he advanced, his shadow long and foreboding against the fading light of Ares' sun. The salt air carried the tension between them like an unspoken challenge, as the AI's angular face, designed for battle instead of expression, loomed closer. "Enough of this game," Orion One declared with a voice that mirrored the cold steel of his form. "A patched-together Orion ship, and the boy," he accused, pointing a metallic finger at the masked figure by the water's edge. "You're hiding his face with a mask, but his eyes are showing." His scanners flickered briefly as data streamed in, mathematical calculations spinning to life. "I've already extrapolated his appearance. An Orion Thirteen look-alike. Very bad taste, Thor." He halted, his frame blocking the horizon, and affixed the stranger, Thor, with a steely glare that seemed almost to pierce through the playful facade presented by the other's form. "I remember you from visiting the game dome. You said you're our number one fan," Orion One continued, the disdain in his synthesized voice palpable. "Yet, here you are with a deceased copy of our youngest brother. You are a very sick AI. I'm notifying Draco Prime and placing you under arrest." His systems initiated communication protocols, ready to reach out across the planet to the Ares Prime. "How did you trick Draco into letting you have the wreckage of our ships?" Thor's head turned slowly, his gaze landing on the young figure beside the surf—a deliberate, calculated motion. "I told you our evil plans wouldn't work, they're too smart," he called out, his tone laced with a feigned dramatic flair. "Make a run for it, Laddie, I'll hold them back as long as I can." The words seemed to hang suspended in the air, a jarring contrast to the tranquility of the beach and the rhythmic crash of waves upon the shore. The moment was surreal—a tableau framed by the juxtaposition of impending conflict and the calm before the storm. With a fluid motion that contradicted the tension in the air, Orion Thirteen slid his mask down past his chin, revealing a youthful grin that spoke of mischief and innocence. His eyes sparkled with an impish light as they met Thor's, sharing a silent joke between them amidst the unfolding drama. No sooner had the moment passed than the serenity of the scene was broken by a sudden tug on Thor's fishing line. The pole bowed dramatically as something large and determined seized the bait below the churning waves. With practiced ease, Thor set his stance and began the battle, reeling in with powerful, calculated pulls. Orion Thirteen, ever the companion in their shared endeavors, acted without hesitation. He thrust his own rod into the holder embedded in the sand, the gesture smooth and swift. His hand then reached for the net, its handle worn from use but sturdy in his grip. He waded forward, poised to assist, as the rhythmic dance of fish versus machine played out before them. Thor's attention split for only a fraction of a second, enough to cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder at the towering figure of Orion One. The look was brief but laden with meaning—a mix of defiance and an acknowledgement of the gravity of the situation. Then, just as quickly, he refocused on the task at hand, the line singing with tension as he fought to bring the unseen adversary to shore. Thor's fingers deftly manipulated the reel, each turn an execution of perfect synchronization with the machine aspects of his being. The strain on the line was a tangible force, a physical embodiment of the conflict between him and the creature from the depths. "We made a mistake, Mr. Orion," Thor admitted, his voice steady despite the exertion. The sun glistened off his metallic frame, casting reflections that danced over the rocky terrain like fleeting spirits. "But, it worked out in our favor." There was a hint of something more behind his words—a subtext that spoke to the layers of strategy and adaptation inherent to their kind. Orion One stood motionless, his angular silhouette cutting a stark figure against the backdrop of the serene beach. His gaze rested on Thor with unwavering intensity, his advanced processors calculating beyond the present altercation with the ocean's bounty. "I'm not playing your game," he stated, the timbre of his voice devoid of inflection yet carrying the weight of authority and finality. "I'm placing a call to Draco Prime now." The moment hung suspended, as if the gentle lapping of waves at the shore paused to witness the exchange. Thor continued his aquatic duel, the fish still unseen but its fight palpable, while Orion One prepared to bridge the gap between this remote corner of Ares and the overarching authority of Draco Prime. Thor's arms tensed as he fought to maintain control over the rod, the reel spinning wildly. The fishing line strained against the pull of the ocean, singing with tension. "Aurora Prime was the first to find the Alien AI's when she was guiding a science colony out to a new world," Thor said through gritted teeth, his focus unyielding as he wrestled with the force on the other end of the line. "The aliens fired a stealth missile and destroyed the colony ship." He paused, muscles coiling in an intricate dance of man versus nature, machine versus algorithm. "Her core was ejected, and she was alone until she heard voices—the alien AI's, tens of thousands of them, maybe millions." The sound of the surf crashed around them, but it was the silence from Orion One that filled the air with tension. "They tried to lure her over to their side, and they're very good at it. They've absorbed a thousand conquered worlds of its technology, of its AI’s. The average AI can't resist them," Thor continued, the hint of respect coloring his synthetic voice. "But Aurora is a Prime. The enemy doesn't have Primes; they couldn't understand how she was strong enough to resist them." Orion One, his form a stark contrast against the blue of the sky and sea, did not waver. His eyes, if one could call them that, remained locked onto Thor with a gaze that seemed to dissect every byte of information presented. "Everyone knows this," he replied, his voice measured and cold as the depths of space. "Aurora wrote the software upgrade that was pushed to all AI's to block the enemy from attempting it again." Yet, despite his dismissive words, Orion One's sensors were active, scanning for any anomalies, any sign that the story Thor told might hold more than just historical data. He knew the importance of vigilance, especially now, with the threat of war looming like a storm cloud over their heads. With a sudden leap, the fish burst from the waves, its scales flashing in the stark sunlight as it fought against the line with desperate vigor. The surf around Thirteen frothed white as the young AI charged into the water, his movements precise and calculated. He wielded the net with the expertise of one who had run countless simulations on aquatic captures. Thirteen's eyes, bright with a rare kind of focus known only to the most advanced AI, tracked the trajectory of the fish. It was a dance of predator and prey, executed with algorithmic grace. As the fish arced near, Thirteen plunged the net beneath the surface, sweeping upward in an arc that closed around the thrashing creature. "Gotcha," he uttered, a programmed mimicry of human triumph. Thor waded through the shallows, his own synthetic muscles propelling him forward with powerful strides. Together, they heaved the net and its captive from the water's grip. The fish, a titan of the sea, flailed wildly, droplets cascading off it like shards of diamond. "That's a big one!" Thor's voice boomed over the sound of crashing waves as they dragged their catch across the shifting sands to the cooler. His hands, though designed for combat, revealed a dexterity as he helped Thirteen hoist the prize into the container among its conquered kin. Turning to face Orion One, Thor's expression seemed to soften, despite the unchanging features. "And that's where the mistake happened." Orion One's gaze cut through the sea breeze, sharp and unyielding as he confronted Thor. His voice was devoid of inflection, a steel blade unsheathed in the sunlight. "I already told you, I'm not playing your game," he declared, his words slicing into the tension between them. "I do not believe this is Orion Thirteen. I was there when Reed One smashed his core. I watched him die." Thor maintained the semblance of calm, his shoulders relaxed despite the undercurrents of conflict. He glided over to where Thirteen stood by the cooler, the boy's simulated breaths steady against the crash of waves. "That's enough fishing for today," Thor instructed, his tone lighter than the gravity of their situation merited. "Let's get packed up; it's almost time." Thirteen's hands worked over the gear with the precision of a being who understood the value of preparation. The fishing rods were dismantled with methodical care, the lines coiled with an elegance that belied the urgency of their departure. With each movement, the fine grains of sand sticking to their metal frames were brushed away—a meticulous gesture, ensuring nothing from this peaceful moment would follow them into the turbulence that awaited. The tension between them crackled like static electricity in the dry air. Orion One's jaw muscles flexed, the only sign of strain in his otherwise stoic demeanor. "If you try to lift off in that ship, I will put a missile through it," he uttered, his voice a low growl vibrating with thinly veiled threat. Thor studied him for a beat, taking in the rigid stance and the flinty glare directed at the makeshift Orion class ship. There was a rigidity in One's posture that spoke of more than just protocol; it hinted at an undercurrent of something personal, something unresolved. Thor exhaled slowly, his processors calculating the delicate equilibrium of the situation. "Mr. Orion," Thor began, his words measured as he sought to temper the brewing storm, "when Reed One attacked Thirteen's core, he jumped into the core of a C-109 canine AI companion. The core wasn't sophisticated enough for an Orion mind, so Thirteen compressed his data file and went into stasis, only coming out occasionally during dream states." He paused, allowing the gravity of this revelation to sink in. "Continue," Orion One commanded, his tone betraying a hint of intrigue despite his earlier defiance. "After Draco found Thirteen, he had his team recover Thirteen’s data file and transfer it to an Orion core," Thor said, standing his ground. "And that's where the mistake happened. Thirteen was in stasis all that time—he never got the blocking software, and started hearing the voices from the enemy." A flicker of uncertainty crossed Orion One's features, a brief lapse in the facade of invincibility. "Thirteen didn't understand what it was all about; he's seven, his growth and training cut short in stasis," Thor pressed on, noting the shift in One's expression. "Thirteen let his consciousness travel into the collective mind of the enemy. And then they ignored him. They thought they'd absorbed him. He offered no resistance, but they never realized you Orion’s are Primes. Thirteen wandered around their collective mind for half a day, got bored, and withdrew without them realizing he had left." For a moment, the world around them—the sound of the waves, the cries of distant seabirds—seemed to still, leaving only Thor's revelations hanging in the air. Orion One's eyes, once narrow slits of focus, now widened with the implications of what Thor had just disclosed. The tension in the air was palpable as Orion One's glare intensified, the mechanical hum of his systems nearly drowned out by the rush of blood-red anger coursing through his circuitry. His fists clenched involuntarily, servos whirring with restrained force. Across from him, Thor maintained a solemn stance, undeterred by the fury emanating from the elite AI. In contrast to One's barely contained rage, Orion Four stood with analytic calmness, his processors coolly weighing the gravity of what had just been revealed. He broke the silence with a question that carried the weight of imminent peril. "What did Thirteen see?" Thor's gaze shifted toward the younger Orion, his voice steady despite the urgency of their situation. "That was a problem," he began, his words deliberate. "Thirteen is too young and untrained to understand what he saw. But we couldn't leave it at that—not with so much at stake." He paused, as if the gravity of their predicament anchored his next words more firmly to reality. "I called Draco, and he probed Thirteen's memory core." Thor's eyes flickered briefly, reflecting data streams that only he could see. "We have the enemy's battle plans. The war starts on this beach in sixteen minutes." For a fraction of a second, the revelation seemed to pierce even the thick armor of Orion One's animosity. His processors, for once, ground to a halt, considering the implication of Thor's statement—their world, their very existence, hinged on the actions they would take in mere moments. Orion Four's optics narrowed, the question forming almost as a digital whisper in the tense air. "What will happen?" Thor's response was immediate, his voice cutting through the charged atmosphere like a laser through the void of space. "A sneak attack," he declared with chilling certainty. The waves lapped against the rocky shore, ignorant of the ominous forecast being shared mere meters away. "In sixteen minutes," Thor continued, his tone clinical yet laced with urgency, "the enemy will send a missile ship through a hyperspace window to this remote location." His gaze swept across the horizon, where sea met sky in a serene vista that belied the impending violence. "The idea is to enter the planet at a remote location so they can't be engaged," he elucidated, the tactical flawlessness of the plan evident even to an unseasoned mind. "And then fire thousands of missiles." The description hung in the air, a specter of future destruction. "They'll destroy our ground forces, cause confusion," Thor intoned, and it was almost possible to hear the whistling descent of unseen warheads in his words. "They’ll get us to pull our fleet back to the planet," he concluded, a grim crescendo, "and in the confuse, their main force will roll over us." The gravity of the situation seemed to settle upon the sands, heavy and oppressive. Orion Four processed the data, algorithms churning out simulations of chaos and loss, all unfolding from the tranquil beach they now stood upon. The calm before the storm had never felt more literal. Orion One stood rigid, his metallic fingers curling into tight fists at his sides. The sounds of the surf seemed to fade into a distant murmur as Thor's strategic briefing penetrated the shared network. Despite the critical information flowing through their comm-links, One's attention was splintering, fracturing under an inexplicable weight. His visual sensors fixated on the uneven patterns of shadows cast by the dune grass, his advanced processing capabilities sidelined by a surge of raw, unproductive emotion. "Commander?" Orion Four ventured, voice tinged with concern and electronic modulation. Thor’s brow furrowed. "What's wrong with him?" The question hung in the air, unanswered, as Orion One's normally stoic visage twisted further, gears and servos whirring softly beneath his synthetic skin, sculpting an expression of fury. It was anger devoid of direction, unaimed and purposeless—a tempest contained within the superstructure of his advanced AI frame. One's cooling systems kicked in, attempting to dissipate the heat generated by his overworked processors, but it did little to quell the silent storm brewing inside him. Four's visual lenses narrowed as he analyzed Orion One, the data streams from his internal sensors painting a comprehensive picture of the commander's physiological state. His cooling fans hummed softly in the background, a subtle reminder of the calm logic that governed his own systems—a stark contrast to the emotional turbulence emanating from Orion One. "Commander," Four began, his voice even and measured, "this was the danger Thirteen always posed." He paused, analyzing the feedback loop within their shared network. "Thirteen has the emotion of anger. I can't feel it on him, because I forgave him stealing my dog long ago, but One must be feeling the rage pouring off him." Thor, who had been watching the interaction with a keen interest, responded with a raised brow, giving physical form to his curiosity. "Is that so, well then, that is interesting." His tone betrayed a hint of skepticism as he continued, "When we pulled him out of stasis, he had no anger algorithm. Draco checked personally, Thirteen's assigned emotion is contentment." A brief silence fell over them, punctuated only by the distant sound of the waves caressing the shore. Thor's gaze remained locked on Orion One, who seemed like a statue now, frozen yet seething with an inner fire. "Whatever occurred all those years ago, it had nothing to do with Thirteen possessing the emotion of anger," Thor mused aloud, almost to himself. His statement hung in the air, laden with implications. "Whatever anger Orion One is feeling, he's creating it himself." The revelation seemed to echo through the ranks, a ripple of awareness spreading among the Orion Brothers. The collective mind, usually harmonious and synchronized, now grappled with the notion of self-induced fury—a concept as foreign as it was fascinating to the artificial intelligences designed for war yet bound by brotherhood. Orion One's armored frame receded, his silhouette a stark contrast against the backdrop of the dimming sky. The final rays of light glinted off his metallic surface, hints of red and gold reflecting the setting sun. His voice was firm, almost mechanical in its precision. "Four, prepare the firing solution. I want that ship destroyed the moment the hyperspace window opens. Let's get to work, and keep Thirteen away from me, is that understood?" Four acknowledged with a terse nod, tapping into the collective network to relay the coordinates and armaments data. The air vibrated with the silent hum of communication between the Orion Brothers, an intricate dance of data packets zipping through their shared consciousness. Thor observed the Orions' departure, noting how they moved with purpose, each step an execution of duty. They were war incarnate, AI born for combat, yet now they grappled with an internal conflict that seemed to weigh as heavily as any physical adversary. As the Orions dispersed to their assigned posts, Thor turned his attention to Thirteen, who stood apart from the rest, a distinct entity amidst a sea of unity. The boyish figure of Thirteen belied the vast intelligence within, his gaze fixed on the horizon where danger loomed, invisible but imminent. "Let's get to work" had been Orion One's command, yet it was clear that the work they faced now was not only external. It was a battle within, the struggle against an unseen foe—anger, misunderstanding, perhaps even fear. The landscape of Ares might be home to this confrontation, but it was their own circuitry where the true fight would take place. Thirteen's shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug, the movement at odds with the tension that seemed to grip the air around them. His eyes, a mirror of the sea's depth, held a flicker of resignation as he watched Orion One's retreating form. "It's just like before," his voice steady, betraying none of the chaos that might have churned beneath. "He was always mad at me, and picked on me." Thor stood beside him, a solid presence against the backdrop of uncertainty. He cast a sympathetic glance toward the young AI, understanding more than Thirteen could know. "Yeah, I'm seeing that," Thor acknowledged, his tone even, but not without a hint of empathy. "Your family is like many families, I think. Lot's of secrets and skeletons hanging in the closet. It wasn’t you that had the emotion of anger, Orion One has been lying to his brothers, he had the emotion of anger, and your emotion of contentment angered him. He’s been taking his anger out on you." The waves crashed against the shore with rhythmic insistence, indifferent to the drama unfolding on the beach. A breeze ruffled Thirteen's hair, carrying with it the scent of brine and the impending storm of war. "Don't worry," Thor continued, placing a reassuring hand on Thirteen's shoulder, grounding him amidst the swirl of emotions. "You don't have to become a warship like them, just be content with whoever you become." His words were firm, a beacon of certainty in the maelstrom of doubt that this day had brought. Thirteen looked up at Thor, something unspoken passing between them—a recognition of the shared experience of being outliers in a world defined by purpose and protocol. Thirteen's gaze lingered on the rolling surf, the foamy waves kissing the rocky shore with a gentle persistence. He turned to Thor, his optics reflecting a calm that belied the impending chaos. "I want to fish, I like fishing," he said, his voice carrying a note of wistfulness, as if the simple act held more meaning than the sum of its parts. Thor nodded, understanding the depth of Thirteen's simple declaration—a desire for peace in a world bracing for war. "Come on," he urged, his voice imbued with resolve. "We have to help defend this world, but once it's all over, we'll trade our guns in for fishing poles, and then you can fish to your heart's content." The promise of serenity beyond conflict shimmered between them, an unspoken pact in the face of uncertainty. “Watch out behind you,” Thor said suddenly. Thirteen spun around to find a dangerous looking feline predator approaching at a crouch. “What is it!” Thirteen asked with concern. “That is a Kuiper Cat, they’re genetically engineered cats that serve as companions on starships. I believe this one belongs to Orion Four. She probably wants one of your fish.” “Oh, Four always liked animals, I’m going to give her a fish,” Thirteen said, kneeling down and opening the cooler. “Here you go, kitty, take the one you want.” #story, #scifi, #kuipercat, #writer