Chapter 19: Fun, Sweat, and Guns

The next morning, we were greeted by the tantalizing aroma of breakfast wafting through the stateroom, beckoning us from the realm of sleep. As we blinked the night away, our eyes were drawn to a long, elegantly set dining table adorned with an array of vibrant platters. The sight was a feast for the senses: slices of succulent fruit gleamed in a tapestry of vivid reds, purples, and oranges, while freshly baked bread emanated a warm, inviting scent that wrapped around us like a comforting embrace. Most striking of all were the gulfin eggs, their brilliant blue shells almost luminescent against the polished silver plates, hinting at the mysteries held within.

Stacy, perched at the edge of her seat, surveyed the peculiar eggs with a skeptical gaze, her fork poised uncertainly in hand. Beside her, Gwen mirrored her wariness, gingerly prodding at the eggs with her spoon as if they might spring to life.

Finally breaking the moment's tension, Stacy scrunched her nose in disbelief and asked, "What exactly is this?"

I chuckled softly, a wave of nostalgia washing over me as I remembered my own early days aboard the ships, where all manner of food seemed to belong to some far-flung science fiction fantasy.

"That," I replied, a teasing grin spreading across my face, "is gulfin eggs. Don’t fret—they taste remarkably similar to chicken eggs, just with a hint of sweetness."

Their doubtful expressions lingered, but after a moment's hesitation, both Stacy and Gwen cautiously scooped up spoonfuls, bringing the vivid blue morsels to their lips.

A beat passed, and then, to my delight, Stacy's eyes widened in surprise. "Wow, Sis… they’re actually really close."

Gwen, her initial uncertainty melting away, nodded vigorously and placed her spoon down with a satisfied clink. "Looks like we’ll have to embrace the odd-looking food that actually tastes amazing."

I flashed them an encouraging smile, my heart swelling with pride as they ventured into new culinary territories.

Once the initial excitement subsided and everyone had savored a few bites, I leaned forward, allowing the gravity of our day’s agenda to settle in.

"Alright, here’s the plan for today."

Both Stacy and Gwen straightened, their expressions sharpening with anticipation.

"First, we’ll head down to the armory. We need to get you both fitted for training armor. No one’s allowed to participate in drills without it—it’s strictly enforced."

Gwen’s eyebrow arched in intrigue, her curiosity piqued.

"It’ll take about an hour to make," I added, my tone firm yet encouraging, "as long as we don't get carried away adding bells and whistles. If you want it custom-designed later—colors, tech upgrades, whatever you fancy—we can absolutely do that."

Their eyes sparkled with excitement, each nod a testament to their growing enthusiasm for this new world.

I couldn’t help but smile wider at their eagerness. "Also—this is a big deal—you’re going to be the only humans ever permitted to wear Caravellan armor and train with our weapons. So…" I leaned in, my voice dropping conspiratorially, "no spilling the beans."

Stacy gasped dramatically, clutching her chest as if I had just delivered a devastating blow. "You mean we can’t brag about it on Earth?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with mock outrage.

I chuckled, allowing a playful smirk to break across my lips. "Maybe later, after you survive the rigorous training."

A furtive glance passed between them, a mixture of nerves and exhilaration dancing in their expressions.

"Second," I declared, raising a finger as if presenting a grand announcement, "we’ll head to the weapons range where you’ll find the right firearms that resonate with you. Every soldier eventually discovers the weapon that feels perfectly tailored to them—it’s definitely not a one-size-fits-all scenario out here."

"And finally..." I paused for effect, letting the anticipation hang thick in the air like a heavy fog.

"We’ll run you through several battle simulations designed to immerse you in the kind of intense combat situations my troops are expertly trained to handle."

Gwen’s grin widened as she rolled her shoulders, a spark of competitive energy igniting within her. "Sounds like a blast!"

I shot her a teasing glance. "Just don’t get cocky yet."

Stacy narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously, the playful tension in the air shifting. "There’s a catch, isn’t there?"

I couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle. "Well… let’s just say the trainers have placed a bet that Minsha and I won’t be able to get you past the first level of training."

Both Stacy and Gwen straightened up immediately, their faces flushed with mock indignation and surprise.

"As the Empress," I said, winking with exaggerated seriousness, "I have to uphold my reputation. So please—for the love of my standing—don’t let me down."

We erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the breakfast room as Minsha stood silently beside me, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

With our plates cleared and excitement crackling in the air like static electricity, we hastily finished our breakfast.

Today marked the day we would step into the armory—and the exhilarating adventure was just about to begin.

Minsha and I slipped into our battle armor, the familiar weight enveloping us like a second skin, a blend of sturdy materials and advanced technology that surged with the promise of protection. As we navigated through the echoing metal halls, Stacy and Gwen darted ahead, their faces lit with exhilaration as they burst into the armory.

Our presence sparked unusual attention. Soldiers, even those off-duty, paused their conversations, their gazes locking onto us with a mixture of curiosity and quiet respect. I frowned, unease prickling at the back of my mind. This wasn’t the typical admiration; there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, a strange edge that set my instincts on high alert. I noticed a few human scientists observing from a distance, huddled together and whispering among themselves, their expressions shrouded in concern.

Leaning closer to Minsha, I kept my voice low, barely more than a whisper. "Is there something going on that I don't know about?"

Minsha's posture tensed slightly, her emerald green eyes sweeping the gathering crowd with a slow, deliberate scrutiny, almost as if she were reading an unspoken message in their eyes.

"I do not know what is happening," she replied, her voice laced with the same guardedness that enveloped me.

With a silent agreement to remain vigilant, we pushed forward and followed Stacy and Gwen into the heart of the armory.

Inside, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. The two of them stood inside the full-body scanners, sleek and futuristic machines that hummed softly, their advanced sensors mapping every contour of their bodies with an exquisite precision that felt almost intimate.

As the scans concluded, the holographic displays flickered to life, painting the air around them with a dazzling array of armor designs—heavy battle suits, agile scout armor, stealth-enhancing models, and versatile combat configurations, each tailored to suit a different purpose.

After a brief yet intense deliberation, both Stacy and Gwen opted for the overall armor. A wise choice, I thought; the design struck a perfect balance between solid protection and freedom of movement, ideal for newcomers who still needed to feel unencumbered.

The system guided them through a series of customization options, allowing them to refine styles and select minor features that reflected their personal tastes. Each choice sparkled with potential, a visual testament to their burgeoning identities as warriors.

Once their designs were locked in, the manufacturing process commenced with a whir of machinery. Behind a transparent shield, the automated forge roared to life. Streams of molten composite materials and adaptive fibers swirled together, forming intricate, mesmerizing patterns as the armor was sculpted layer by layer, perfectly tailored to each of their specifications and styles.

The process would take about an hour.

While the machines worked steadfastly, I leaned against the cool metal wall beside Minsha, one eye on Stacy and Gwen, the other scanning the armory for any signs of the simmering tension that hung in the air like an uninvited guest.

Something was brewing aboard the Queen’s Rage.

And before the day slipped through my fingers, I intended to uncover exactly what shadows danced behind the surface.

The firing range sprawled out like a vast, dimly lit cavern, each corner designated for distinct training drills. Energy shields, shimmering with a faint blue glow, partitioned the various lanes, while holographic targets floated in mid-air, darting and weaving with an unpredictable finesse that mimicked real-life movement.

Today, Stacy and Gwen were faced with the exhilarating challenge of selecting the weapons that would best align with their strengths and styles.

Tables stretched across the expanse of the range, adorned with an impressive assembly of firearms—pistols sleek and stylish, assault rifles robust and aggressive, long-range rifles with sleek lines that hinted at precision and power. Some weapons glistened under the overhead lights, their polished surfaces begging to be picked up, while others appeared more imposing, built like tanks meant for relentless combat.

As they explored this arsenal, I keenly observed from a distance, letting them experiment with various models—lifting them, aiming down sights, and firing practice rounds into the ever-shifting targets. The safety settings of the training cells ensured there was little risk of mishap, and I relished the chance to witness their instincts in action.

Minsha and I made our way to the armorer’s station, eager to collect our own loadouts. Minsha, her expression serious yet resolute, retrieved her trusted sniper rifle, its long, sleek frame glinting under the bright range lights like a predator poised for the hunt. The sidearm pistol she secured at her hip was a familiar comfort—a weapon she valued for its quick response in close encounters. Minsha had always preferred to strike from a distance, her prowess a blend of stealth and precision that left her foes none the wiser until it was too late.

I, too, felt a surge of satisfaction as I took my custom assault rifle from its locked rack. Crafted meticulously to my exact specifications, it bore enhancements that spoke of countless hours of refinement: a close-quarters combat scope for swift targeting, an under-barrel grenade launcher promising explosive encounters, and reinforced composite plating along the barrel for durability. I secured my pouches with a practiced hand, filling the ones across my back with sim-grenades and the front pouches with extra energy cells, ensuring that I would be prepared for any combat situation.

Fully equipped, Minsha and I rejoined Stacy and Gwen. As I stood at the entrance to the range, a slow, proud smile crept across my face.

To my astonishment, Stacy demonstrated remarkable skill with a long-range assault rifle, her movements fluid and confident as she transitioned between shooting stances, each shot finding its mark with commendable accuracy. Gwen, on the opposite side, had chosen a starkly contrasting approach. Armed with dual pistols, she danced between her targets, firing with a surprising precision that belied her lack of battlefield experience.

My heart swelled with pride. Stacy and I had spent countless days shooting in the open desert, honing our skills, but seeing her adapt so effortlessly to the new technology left me genuinely impressed. And Gwen, too, was revealing a latent talent and an intuitive comfort with weaponry that I hadn’t expected.

"Ladies," I called out, my voice filled with encouragement, "are we ready to face some challenges?"

Their heads snapped toward me, excitement illuminating their faces.

"Okay, listen up. Let me explain what’s on the agenda."

I approached them, setting my rifle down with a thud near my side as I began to outline the mission.

"You’ve been given sim-cells to reload your weapons; remember, you do not have infinite ammo. Your combat loadout mirrors what every soldier on this ship would carry."

They nodded, their eyes wide with anticipation.

"This first simulation will be a capture-the-flag scenario. Our objective is to storm the base and seize control of the command center. While the resistance will be light, remain alert—this is still a combat simulation. If you get hit, your suits will simulate pain to remind you of the impact; it won’t injure you, but it will feel real enough. Should you receive a 'critical strike,' your suit will temporarily lock up, rendering you immobile until the simulation concludes."

Their expressions shifted slightly, a flicker of concern crossing their faces, but they remained focused and ready.

I pointed at each of them as I assigned roles. "Minsha takes the position of our overwatch. Stacy, you'll cover our rear, ensuring the squad is protected. Gwen, you'll trail behind me as we advance to the base, and once we're inside, you’ll step up to the front lines. I will lead us through this, and you will take all orders from me without hesitation."

They nodded with determination, signaling their understanding.

"I’ll guide us to the base entrance. Stacy, your task is to shield Gwen during the approach. Once we reach the entrance, Minsha will shift from her overwatch position to safeguard our rear as we enter."

A smile broke through, infusing a hint of joy back into my voice. "We’ll operate as a cohesive unit. We’ll communicate in English so translation errors won’t complicate things. Clear?"

However, Stacy couldn’t resist letting out an exaggerated pout.

"How come your weapons look so much better than ours?" she whined playfully, her expression a mix of envy and determination.

I chuckled, slinging my rifle over my shoulder with confidence. "That’s because we’ve customized every feature of our weapons and armor over three years of combat experience," I replied, a teasing smirk dancing on my lips. "You have to earn your custom weapons, Stacy."

She rolled her eyes but her smile returned, her resolve clearly stronger than before. Gwen inspected her pistols once more, a wicked smile curling her lips as she prepared for what lay ahead.

We were ready. The stage was set, and it was time to determine if Earth girls had what it took to withstand Caravellan training.

The simulation shimmered into place around us, morphing the polished floors of the firing range into a rocky wasteland stretching toward a massive enemy base.

The towering steel walls of the base loomed ahead, dotted with patrol spotlights and the sharp gleam of automated turrets. Wind howled through the broken landscape, whipping dust and debris around our boots.

I crouched behind a jagged piece of debris, raising my hand in a silent signal for the others to gather.

From our position, I spotted the first obstacle: perimeter guards.

Two patrolling the ground near the outer wall.

Two more walking the battlements overhead.

"Four targets," I said quietly over the squad channel. "Two ground level, two on the wall. Minsha, you're on the left rooftop sentry. Stacy, take the right rooftop. Gwen, stay tucked in behind me. I’ll handle the ground patrols."

"Understood," Minsha’s calm voice responded.

"Ready," Stacy added, already steadying her long-range rifle against her shoulder.

I settled into position, resting the stock of my custom assault rifle against my shoulder, adjusting my sight to account for the slight crosswind. My attached grenade launcher hung silent and ready under the barrel, but it wasn’t needed yet.

The ground patrol moved closer, rifles held casually, unaware of their fate.

"Three... two... one... mark," I ordered.

Two precise sniper shots cracked through the air.

Both rooftop sentries dropped instantly, their simulation suits locking up as hits registered.

At the same time, I squeezed my trigger twice. The first ground soldier crumpled, and with a slight pivot, I put the second down before he could react.

"Clear," Minsha confirmed.

"Clear," Stacy echoed, her voice vibrating with excitement.

I nodded, signaling the squad forward.

We advanced at a steady crouch, weaving through debris fields and half-collapsed walls. The outer perimeter was clear, but the auto-turrets mounted near the main gate locked onto us the moment we crossed the open stretch. Their targeting beams flared to life, tracking our movement.

No time to waste.

I braced my rifle, flipping the fire mode selector. The under-barrel grenade launcher primed with a low whine.

I sighted the first turret, adjusted for the distance, and pulled the trigger.

The launcher barked, sending a compact explosive round soaring across the courtyard. It impacted the turret’s base with a heavy thump, blasting it apart in a shower of sparks and simulated shrapnel.

Without hesitation, I swiveled slightly, sighted the second turret, and fired again.

Another clean hit. The second turret crumpled under the force of the blast, smoke curling up from the wreckage.

Without lowering my rifle, I shifted my aim to the reinforced main gate.

I loaded a heavier breaching round into the launcher, aimed for the center seam of the doors, and fired.

The shot struck dead center with a deep, metallic boom. The doors buckled and screeched, slamming inward as the locking mechanisms blew apart, leaving a twisted gap wide enough for a squad to push through.

"Entry created," I said over the comms, grinning beneath my helmet.

We moved quickly to the breach, stacking up as we’d drilled.

I took point. Gwen stayed right behind me. Stacy protected our rear. Minsha, covering our six.

"Stay tight," I said. "Gwen, follow me closely. Stacy, watch her back. Minsha, keep us covered once we’re inside."

Everyone nodded sharply, their weapons steady.

"Three... two... one... breach!"

I moved first, charging through the twisted breach, rifle raised. Gwen stayed on my heels, low and fast. Stacy and Minsha moved as one fluid unit behind us.

The moment we breached the doors, alarms blared throughout the enemy base.

Red warning lights pulsed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the metallic corridors.

We moved quickly through the breach, stacking tight against the inner walls.

Minsha, recognizing the tight quarters, slung her sniper rifle onto her back in one fluid motion and drew her pistols—sleek sidearms perfectly suited for the confined hallways ahead. Her movements were smooth and automatic, drilled from years of combat.

I swept left, rifle raised, and Gwen immediately mirrored me to the right, her dual pistols up and ready.

The first enemy patrol rounded the corner just ahead.

Gwen reacted instantly, both pistols barking in quick succession.

The first guard staggered back, locked up by the training system, while I dropped the second with a tight burst to the chest.

Stacy kept to the rear, rifle raised, pivoting back and forth to make sure nothing came up behind us.

Minsha stayed just behind Gwen and me, her pistols slicing through the shadows, covering angles we couldn’t see.

We moved swiftly down the main corridor, using broken panels and structural beams for cover.

Another squad of simulated guards spilled out from a side hallway.

"Contact left!" I called.

Without hesitation, Gwen dropped low, firing two quick shots into the nearest guard.

I shifted to the side, taking out another before he could even shoulder his weapon.

Minsha calmly stepped past us into a side cover point, her pistols snapping with sharp precision as she gunned down two more from farther down the hall.

Every movement flowed together, almost effortless— covering, clearing, advancing.

The enemy was reacting faster now.

Footsteps thundered deeper inside the base as more simulated guards made their way toward the breached entrance.

Through the comms, Stacy’s voice crackled.

"Kara! We’ve got a crowd coming from behind! Lots of boots heading our way!"

"Hold them, Stacy!" I ordered. "We'll clear the command center before they reach us!"

We moved faster now, Gwen practically reading my mind with how she flowed around corners.

Every door we breached, every room we cleared, Gwen was right there—

one pistol aimed high, the other sweeping low, locking down targets before they could respond.

At one corner, I kicked open a door, and Gwen immediately dropped the guard inside with a shot between the plates of his chest armor.

"Clear right!" Gwen called out.

"Clear left!" I answered, heart pounding but steady.

We pushed forward, sprinting the final corridor.

At the end, the thick blast doors to the command center began to groan shut.

"No you don't," I muttered.

I switched my rifle back to grenade launcher mode and fired at the door's locking strut. The whine o the launcher spun up as it launched the grenade at the door.

The breaching round exploded with a deep metallic boom, sending shards of simulated debris raining down. The doors buckled inward, jammed open just wide enough for us to squeeze through.

"Move!" I shouted.

We stormed inside.

A final squad of defenders waited—heavier armor, bigger weapons.

They barely had time to raise their rifles.

Gwen dove forward, firing at the nearest guards, cutting them down with a barrage of precision shots.

I slid left, firing short controlled bursts into the defenders clustered near the console.

Minsha charged in low and fast, both pistols blazing, taking out enemies with surgical precision.

Stacy's covering fire from the doorway kept any reinforcements from pushing into the room behind us.

Within moments, it was over.

The command center lights switched from red to green as the capture beacon activated.

Victory.

I ripped my helmet off, letting out a breathless laugh.

Gwen practically bounced on her toes, flushed with adrenaline.

"That was insane!" she said, her eyes shining. "I can’t believe how good that felt!"

"You crushed it," I said, clapping her on the back. "You’ve got a natural gift for this."

Stacy jogged into the room behind us, breathing hard but grinning. "I didn't die! Let's go again!" she cheered.

Minsha gave one of her rare smiles, holstering her pistols with a smooth flourish. "You all fought well. Better than many of our fresh recruits."

I laughed, slinging my rifle back onto my shoulder.

"This was the easy level," I reminded them. "Next time, it won't be so friendly."

They all laughed, riding high on the victory.

But deep down, I knew the trainers watching us had already seen something.

Something they weren't going to let go unnoticed.

Gwen and Stacy had just survived their first true trial in my world.

And it had only made them hungry for more.