It was strange watching Ansa shrink into the distance like this…

Bailey was no stranger to interplanetary travel. Climbing the ranks of the Mercenary Guild meant strapping yourself to shitty seats in cramped shuttles far worse than the one this PostTech carrier supported. Orsus. Radix. When work paid, Bailey was more than willing to take a vacation to a dying ball of snow or the United Arcadium’s rotten capital. 

Hell, her childhood ended on a shuttle just like this. Bailey was no stranger to watching home worlds turn into tiny, distant specks through a tinier window.

…

So why did leaving Ansa feel different this time? Somber, even? It was tough to say, but one of the many, many talents Bailey had acquired over the years was stuffing that feeling down to focus on the task at hand. As well as the two allies she was squished between in this shoebox shuttle. 

It was hard not to focus on them.

“J-Jesus…” Bailey was at least handling the takeoff better than Sierra, who’d already had to start putting a hand against her mouth in the event she puked. Bailey warned her that getting bounced around in a cockpit was different from shakily zapping to space at lightspeed. If Sierra lost her breakfast, that was on her.

“Right? And I thought Ume was like a rollercoaster!” Aoi, strangely, handled it without as much as a hint of adjustment. Maybe that kitty cat had experience, or perhaps it was just that charming insanity of hers. Not like Bailey really cared, obviously…

…

Nor did she care that much about the increasingly distant planet they’d left behind. Another ball of resources. Nothing more. 

Task at hand, Bailey.

Focus.

The immense shaking of the shuttle as it slowed itself for connection with the carrier itself fortunately gave Bailey a brief distraction. Even a seasoned traveler like her needed to take a few breaths after that. Always felt like these shuttles were about to ram their passengers into a fiery grave at the end of a trip.

“Okay… The crew's connecting us to the loading bay in a second. Could take a few minutes, but you’re free to stand. That was pretty thrilling, wasn't it?” The calm voice hitting their ears with attempts at idle chatter was coming from one of the three women sitting on the opposite side of the shuttle, second-in-command Minerva Amato.

Minerva was a spindly, red-headed thing with a voice as dry as sand and skin as pale as the snowy grounds of Orsus. How fitting that she was about to send them on a wild goose chase there just to do the thing that actually mattered. She did seem like a competent planner, though. Bailey had to give her that.

Their shuttle was at their meeting point on time. They’d managed to board their three new star guests within a minute. They even had their mechs packed into individual, PostTech-branded shuttles right alongside them, too. The group had landed on Ansa and took off again within five minutes. Kern and Amato must run a tight ship…

…

So why was their commander hiding away like a coward then, hm? Surely Bailey was good enough to meet whichever soulless husk ran an operation this smooth.

One thing at a time, Bailey.

“I don’t know. I always tend to prefer what I can do after takeoff myself~.” Bailey shot Minerva a sly smirk, followed by a glance towards the assistant’s own allies.

None of them had time to truly chat yet. The boarding process was coordinated with too much laser precision to stand around sharing stories with each other like a bunch of girl scouts, and the ride had been a silent effort in avoiding a vomit session for all but Bailey, Aoi, and one of the girls sitting next to Minerva. 

Bailey had a knack for reading someone from their appearance, though.

The girl to Minerva’s right, a short, plump thing with skin not unlike Bailey’s own shade of brown clay, could be a pilot, engineer, or personal whore for all Bailey knew. The white top and blue shorts that matched Sierra’s typical outfit had Bailey leaning towards the middle option, nice as a base-approved fucktoy would be right about now. She was prone to travel sickness; the similar expressions to Sierra made that nice and obvious.

Probably an engineer…

The girl to the left, though, was more familiar. Bailey did recall seeing a girl in a PostTech uniform once or twice back at Corvis Base, and the chubby, perky girl in front of her matched those scattered memories. Looked like a fine treat in that tight mailgirl uniform, too. Appropriately delicious for a girl named Scotch.

What was it Aoi said? She had a big dick? Mh, Bailey could find that one out for herself. If she was half the girl Aoi was, it wouldn’t take much convincing.

Scotch supposedly being a future star pilot, though? The chance of that was as fat as her ass in those tight little shorts.

“Hey, whatever you do in your time is none of my business, but right now you’re on mine, kay?” Minerva didn’t know Bailey at all if she thought that delayed bit of attitude was going to fly with her, but she could entertain their briefings and room tours before she destressed a little bit.

The lack of Ina was a shame. Finally breaking her in would have really calmed the nerves, but there had to be another needy, wet cat somewhere on a base this well populated.

“Mh, whatever you say. Just remember why I’m giving you mine at all, boss.” Bailey spoke with something akin to a hiss but was quick to follow it with another smile at the base’s second-in-command. No growls and no clear signs of annoyance? Just a nod before the assistant moved on? Sierra might make herself a friend in this one.

With the shuttle stabilized so the carrier’s crew could begin the laborious task of properly securing it to the ship, and Ansa now an unchanging, star-like dot through the small, single window on offer, Bailey saw now as a good time to stretch her legs, unstrapping from her seat before anyone else and watching Minerva stand up afterward like a good little follower.

“That should be the worst of it. Sorry that we couldn’t let you adjust before takeoff, but the less time spent near Corvis Base in this ship, the better, right?” Right! Minerva was a clever little helper, if nothing else.

“R-Right… Fu-Fuck me…” Sierra was, unsurprisingly, the last of the group of six to get out of her cramped seat, giving herself a moment to regain a sense of balance before standing with as much confidence as she could.

Look at that. No vomit. Bailey couldn’t say the same about her first stowaway takeoff. If Sierra was also fifteen when she did it, that might almost be impressive!

“First time, huh? Don’t feel too bad. I’m sure if you dumped me into your Alcazar, I’d be blowing chunks thirty seconds into a test run. Heh…” The darker girl to Minerva’s left was quick to reply with a slight, obvious tinge of fangirliness in her voice.

Bailey never saw the appeal in the HF1 Alcazar, Sierra’s beloved personal mech suit. The thing was old, tanky junk carried by an admittedly stellar pilot with undeniably talented engineering skill. If you got Sierra in a real, modern mech, she’d probably soar as high as Nataliza, but rebels loved their symbols. 

Even Bailey herself had grown a certain fondness for the Whitehawk…

“Feel like findin’ out, eh?” Sierra copped onto her newest fangirl’s doting almost as fast as Bailey would have. Not bad, DeSoto, but don’t forget the fuck-up that got you here while you ride her face later.

“Maybe. I got a job for you after our briefing first, though.” As cute as Sierra’s bonding with this carefree girl was, Bailey wasn’t very interested in her superior’s growing collection of cute introverts.

She tuned out of that conversation and moved to the more energetic reunion Scotch and Aoi were having to her left.

“See? I told you that you were waaay too good for the whole delivery girl thing!” Aoi’s words were muffled slightly by the dangerously tight hug the pair were engaged in, not helped by those cushiony tits Scotch may as well have been bouncing in the pink-haired girl’s face.

Mh, that redhead Bailey liked fucking around with in Chalybe could eat her damn heart out. This one had some real meat.

“And I told you that we’d see each other again really soon! Start sayin’ we’ll get a billion dollars each, and maybe we’ll get lucky, huh?” Scotch’s voice was odd. Upbeat and airy like Aoi’s, yet with some of that patented sultry creaminess Bailey had spent years working to attain for herself.  

Cute, no wonder the plump, tall treat of tawny brown skin, amber eyes, and bouncy orange hair appealed to Aoi. They both had a thing for the cute, confident ones, after all.

More fun to break~.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky when we’re off the shuttle, huuuuh?” Aoi, much to Bailey’s proud joy, nudged against Scotch with a cheeky smile plastered on her eternally joyous face. Much more fun to watch than Sierra prattling with the other two.

She was a lot more fun when she was threatening to feed Bailey’s arms to her if she did anything weird to Ina. Now that was a fun freak.

“Weeell… We do have a briefing soon! I think Minnie wanted you to give some of the mechs in the hangar a once-over tonight, too!” The second utterance of that nickname earned an eye roll from Minerva, but the one Bailey gave Scotch in clear view was one born of lustful disappointment. What a bore. “I like to take some time to think things over in Sweet Treat before missions, though. Could always… bump into ya~!” Never mind! Scotch may have been lacking Bailey’s perfect figure and Circe’s spacious cockpit, but maybe the girl wasn’t entirely worthless after all.

Bailey regretted not bringing the Hedone, come to think of it. One mech per soldier, though. Sierra wasn’t budging on that rule, and Bailey chose her ol’ BC1-Circe. 

Besides, Bailey probably couldn’t fly it without…

…

You’ll get her back, Bailey. 

Fucking focus.

“I’ll be there.” Aoi responded with a blunt, brief, musical reply to the less-than-subtle mech sex invite before breaking away from Scotch to look over towards Bailey, pulling her from that mental stupor, figuratively and literally, by grabbing her arm with near freakish strength. “I don’t think you’ve met Bailey, by the way! She’s a friiiend~!” Friend was certainly one way of describing it, but the subtle lip bite Aoi was doing after she spoke made it clear it wasn’t quite the only description.

“Heyyy, wait. I know you! They’ve started plastering posters of you all around Ansa. Seen a few in the bunks here, too. You’re the Black Falcon!” Not even off the shuttle yet, and Bailey had already run into a fangirl, hm? A future tidbit to gloat about to Nataliza when she was home… “You kinda rock the whole poster model thing more than the other chick, by the way. Really hot stuff! If you fly half as good as you pose, we’ll get that girl back in no time. I just know it!” On another day, Bailey would have taken such an upbeat appraisal of her looks as an opening to start jamming fingers in this plump upstart’s mouth. Currently, though?

…

They better fucking get her back.

“Sorry to interrupt your fun, girls, but I forgot to mention something to the celebrity here.” Minerva saved Bailey by the bell from having to play things off with the fuckable, accidentally annoying piece of dessert meat in front of her. Bailey directed her attention over to the second-in-command and kept up her impatient, smug smile while she waited for her pivotal new orders. “We’ve got a few minutes before this thing is safe to get off, but Kern wanted to talk to you before the brief.” How juicy. Precious little Commander Kern thought she was good enough for a face-to-face.

Good thing Bailey wasn’t beyond expecting assassination attempts, because this screamed one to her. This nest’s leader better not try it. Bailey had her revolver on her, and she was a better shot than a commander in a cheap outfit could be at anything.

“Lucky her. Did your boss decide to tell you what it would be about, or am I walking into a terrifying ambush?” Bailey replied with a clear sense of superiority in a shuttle filled with her technical superiors, taking a seat again and crossing her legs as she stared up at an impressively unfazed Minerva.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Kern’s a bit of a control freak, though. Probably wants to rein you in on your own.” Minerva replied, her face neutral and her eyes keeping a calm lock on Bailey’s glaring pools of caramel.

“Mh, can’t imagine why, Minnie~.” If nothing else, this exchange gave Bailey an outlet for some growing annoyance and an even better outlet for her intentions on this dual-rescue boondoggle they were about to risk their lives for. The glare didn’t break, nor did Bailey’s smile, even as Minerva took her teasing on the chin.

“Yeah. Good fuckin’ luck to her.” Minerva’s dry response was enough to get a small snort from Bailey, but she was quick to continue. “When we get off the shuttle, just make a left at the end of the med bay. Signs should point you straight to the commander’s office.” Imagine that. A rebel base that wasn’t laid out like some overgrown steel version of a hedge maze. Guess that was easier to accomplish when you did the clever thing and stole one for yourselves, though, hm?

“I’ll be sure to tell her what a good girl you were, Minnie. Thank you~.” Another poke, another mostly stone-faced nod with a slight roll of her eyes from Minnie before she turned her attention to Sierra.

Scotch and Aoi were prattling on about something. Bailey saw no reason to pry. She had three weeks to get in that mail girl's tight spandex shorts.

She certainly wasn’t about to listen to Sierra talk about mech suit and ship maintenance with a more boring Ina and basic second-in-command.

Bailey could wait out a few months without butting in. Probably a good idea to figure out what she was about to say to the most powerful voice on this ship.

For a moment, though. Bailey could just look at the stars and Ansa in the distance and, for comforting reasons she couldn’t quite wrap her head around…

...think about Nataliza until those damn doors opened.


*****


Bailey walked the dimly lit black halls of this stolen PostTech carrier ten minutes later with a head almost bordering on clear. Thoughts about Nataliza persisted, as did the image of Ansa nestled tightly amongst the stars. Both were currently edged out by fascination over the formerly PostTech-run ship she was currently strolling calmly through.

Minerva had called this place the Nightjar when they boarded their shuttle, and Bailey couldn’t help but find that nickname slightly charming. You can take the rebel fight off Ansa, but they’ll still manage to go back to their eclectic little bird theming.

Such adorable levels of sappiness, but the halls themselves bore little of Corvis Base’s charms. Bailey had done her share of contracts for the Arcadia system’s one and only delivery company. Escorts and scavenger clearouts gave her a good bit of insight on how they operated. Their mechs, outposts, and carriers were factory assembled, corporate-approved junk. Tight halls with small, multi-occupancy rooms to squeeze as many below-minimum-wage sad sacks into the engine as possible.

If the current occupancy under rebel control was any indication here, that approach wasn’t exactly breeding corporate loyalty. The only things separating corps like this and the UA were the former paying better and the latter driving a spear through Bailey’s heart deep enough to cause a hot, searing, unfamiliar rage.

Gods, she sounded just like Nataliza.

Focus.

…

Fortunately, focus was regained easily as she approached her destination. She slowed her stroll as the doors she was told about came into view. Two basic, black metal doors with the PostTech logo amateurishly painted over and replaced with a less amateur bit of signage.

Commander’s office, in a nice cursive font. How cute.

This was the place. Minerva could just about direct a woman in a straight line. If she could whip up a pot of instant coffee, then she really did have it all.

Alas, an assistant wasn’t who she was here to see. If you want something done right, you deal with the woman in charge, and Bailey was about to open these doors and do just that.

“About to” were the key words here. 

Before Bailey could slam her fist against the blinking green button to the side of the doors, they opened for her, revealing someone familiar.

“I’ll be back in a… sec… ond…” Standing in front of Bailey was a woman who’d instantly lost her train of thought upon seeing the tall, copper-haired former merc. A blond, thin girl, probably in her mid-twenties at most, with a frame less like a mech pilot’s and more like an overworked barhand. Despite that civilian frame, she was in a green military jacket befitting of an idealistic young rebel pilot, paired with a white shirt and cheap-looking blue jeans to boot.

Mh, cheap pleather boots were a turn-off, but maybe being a pleather princess suited this one. She was no Nataliza, after all. Not even close. This girl was something wholly different.

Something Bailey remembered quite well from their singular, hazy meeting.

“Well, well. Sarah, wasn’t it? How’d that important mission of yours go~?” Bailey’s words oozed a returned sense of cloying confidence as her eyes met the blond’s staring pair.

Sarah Ducor, that little barfly in Lucy’s who inadvertently got Bailey here. Perhaps she could be mad for that, but Sarah was also slightly responsible for her and Nataliza’s shockingly amicable reunion… after a month or so of teasing and fighting anyway.

Ah, and she was her last drink drugging as a mercenary. Such a shame that Nataliza, Aoi, and the hypnotic leftovers inside Sasha and Lark ended up being more fun, but maybe Sarah could still be good for something. Certainly had her uses last time.

“Hi, m-ma’am!” Sarah was jumpier than Bailey remembered her being last time. Scared? No, seemingly not. But the quick salute shot up at Bailey, followed by a doting smile she knew all too well, spoke to something different. “We, uh… We did it. Heh…” The nerves too? Some may have seen it as fear, but Bailey knew different.

Sarah wasn’t scared or intimidated.

No.

This was, potentially, a fangirl. One like the myriad of fans, both rebel and civilian, that Nataliza had gathered over her many years in service. Was it for the same reasons Nataliza had them, skill and beauty matched, or was it just the night Sarah spent drooling over Bailey’s expensive boots in a narcotic fog?

Who knew? Who cared? It wasn’t like Bailey was about to wait long for answers.

“You don’t have to be scared of me. You know I’m even nicer in person than on those silly posters, don’t you… Sare~?” Bailey was, admittedly, starting to feel some conflicting things behind her playful teasing. The pixie cut and decidedly Nataliza-like fashion sense may not have given Sarah the rebel hero’s fierceness, but it was enough to remind Bailey why she was here.

It also reminded her that the company she was aiming to fix that mistake with wasn’t the kind she usually liked keeping, too. 

Amateur hour upstarts.

…

Yeah, she was definitely sounding like her right now…

“R-Really nic—”

“Sarah.” The short blond’s immediate melting into her potential hero’s creamy words and warm, delicate hands was ceased by a firm, cold-sounding voice from behind her. “You can chit-chat with the poster girl later. Go tell Minerva the briefing time. That is an order.” Just as Bailey figured, this Commander Kern woman lacked anything resembling a personality. Military jargon, power complexes, and order barking. That was all people like her tended to be good for.

“Y-Yes, commander!” Sarah was quick to turn around and salute the currently unseen commander before starting to briskly walk past Bailey… in the wrong direction. Poor thing. Even Bailey couldn’t let her do that.

“Minnie’s the other way. Wouldn’t want you to be late, Sare.” Bailey smiled as she watched Sarah practically skid to a halt and start jogging back towards her, and then past her, with even more urgency.

“Thank you, ma’am! I’ll see you around… I-I hope…” Sarah’s tone seemed to match the two words she mumbled at the end of her goodbye, and she’d undoubtedly get her hopeful wish. Bailey may be lacking those pills she used to carry with her, but drugs or no drugs, a girl like that was hers to relieve some stress with.

Especially now...

“Do come in at your leisure, Ms. Cluanaire, but I’d rather this chat be something brief.” Something about Kern's voice made her exceptionally punchable off the bat to Bailey. She never liked a girl taking a tone like that with her without a few hair pulls and screaming utterances of the words “slut” and “whore.”

Some white hair, too, maybe? A nice, toned, curvaceous figure, as well? It was a very exclusive type of person she liked such behavior from, and getting a look at the short-statured woman didn’t change Bailey’s mind in the slightest.

Pale, almost sallow-looking skin with a mop of jet-black hair under a matching black beret? And here she thought that Handler bitch’s outfit was a little on the nose.

Devil of Radix. Fucking pathetic. She’d rip her fucking head off if she…

Focus, Bailey.

“Same to you, short stuff.” Bailey sauntered through the open doors of Kern’s office and shut them behind her before standing by the cheap metal chair in front of Kern’s desk, retaining her ability to stare the base’s commander down.

The commander’s office itself was nothing to write home about. Dark walls with silvery flooring that only further highlighted the emptiness of the room. If it wasn’t for the basic wooden desk, faux-leather chair, and the large window granting a scenic view of the stars, it would have had all the personality of a prison cell.

No prized possessions? No medals or pictures of Kern and her comrades? Might have been heartbreaking if Bailey could even begin to care.

“I’m glad we at least have something in common then. I’m Commander Mallory Kern. It’s good to meet you in the flesh, Ms. Cluanaire.” Kern was quick to reply and quicker to offer out her hand for a shake.

Bailey was neither here for handshakes nor bonding. Something was off about this one, and Bailey had no desire to be friends with whatever she had going on.

“I think you said something about this being brief.” Bailey leaned over the chair she was standing behind, glaring at Kern with a continued height advantage and an impossible-to-hide smirk. “Shouldn’t waste my time here. Think you know what happens if you fail to hold up your end of this rescue trade, hm?” Bailey mused, letting her cyber-arms rest on the chair’s back as a mixture of a flaunt and a threat.

“Quite well.” Kern was relatively unshaken, either because she knew she wasn’t in immediate danger or simply couldn’t feel a fucking thing in the first place. None of Bailey’s business as long as she got the point. “Dr. Lavern is only the priority due to ease of access and her immense value to me. Nataliza is a useful enough tool of war to expend resources and space both just to have a slight chance at reclaiming her.” She got a version of the point, it seemed, but Bailey was neither happy with Kern’s smile nor the fucking gall to call Nataliza a tool.

She’d spent months getting that shit out of Nataliza’s head. She’d spend a lot less doing it to this cocky bitch.

“I’d watch what you call her there, Mallory. Could show you a real tool of war if my fingers slipped a little, couldn’t I?” Bailey mused, moving past the chair and standing over Kern’s desk while idly scratching the sharp, claw-like fingers of her left cyber-arm against Kern’s desk with a touch of fiery malice in her eyes.

“I’m just speaking my own truth, Ms. Cluanaire. If you don’t like it, then that’s your own issue to deal with. I’m here to lead, not make friends with a swimsuit model in a mech.” Kern’s above-it-all tone was becoming a real fucking annoyance, but Bailey had spent a decade as the feared boogeywoman of the bigot-filled, virulently racist Mercenary Guild. Sticks and stones wouldn’t break her bones. “Rest assured, though. Our plan is to have Dr. Lavern here by next week. I see no reason to delay a rescue of Ms. Rayfield if her intel is strong after that.” Kern’s smile grew a little, and Bailey couldn’t care less about it obviously being an appeal to her desires. At least they were on the same page.

“Great. Then I assume I’m free to leave you to your empty little office, aren’t I?” Bailey didn’t wait for an answer before starting to stomp her way out of Kern’s office, annoyed and stuck on thinking about Nataliza. 

How quick was quick enough? Was a week fast enough to fill the pit in her stomach?

…

No. In Bailey’s eyes, they were already four days fucking late.

“I’d prefer if you stayed for another moment, actually. I have a request.” Kern spoke, and her voice was starting to make Bailey’s ears hurt from the sheer squeak of its cadence.

Maybe Bailey should have kept walking, but she did tell Aoi she’d try and cooperate these next few weeks. 

She could humor this.

“I’m listening. If you make it quick, I might even think about it afterward.” Bailey replied, stopping about halfway into her exit from Kern’s office with a half-visible grin while she looked towards the short commander behind her.

Ah, a small eye roll. See? She could feel things!

“Sarah Ducor, the girl you bumped into. She’s quite the fan of you. Some think it’s your new reputation. The posters with Nataliza and the new mech you’ve been showing off in… I, however… Well…” Kern paused, staring up at Bailey with not just confidence, but dead certainty in her eyes. “I know Ms. Ducor more intimately than that. As do you, I’m sure.” Kern’s words were sharp. Might have been fun to toy with them if the girl wasn’t as right as she thought she was.

“Aren’t you perceptive, Mallory? Don’t tell me you’re jealous~.” Bailey saw an opening and shot Kern a sly smile to pair with her light, sadly fruitless prodding.

Prodding that earned a slight chuckle from Kern.

“Hardly. Your kind of depravity is beneath me. To get to the point at hand, though…” Kern paused, reaching into a drawer in her desk and casually placing an auto-injector on top of it, her punchable smile ceasing to break for a mere second while she spoke. “Sarah likes you quite a bit, and with space on this ship rather limited by the lack of worker mutiny, I’ve decided to have you share her bunk while you’re here.” Another pause from Kern. Long enough to drive Bailey into speaking.

“Good for her. So is the syringe for me, or is that some kind of stress tick of yours?” Bailey replied with further cheek and turned around properly, giving the disposable syringe a look and attempting to gauge its contents.

It wasn’t a combat stim. The dose was far too small, and the liquid inside was a light purple, starkly opposing the usual sickly yellow slurry of chemicals Bailey knew.

Could it have been something like Bailey’s old pleasure pills? Maybe, but those didn’t tend to come with a visible prescription label printed on the side of the syringe. It was too official to be something Bailey had smuggled or shot into someone back in her mercenary days.

Look at that, Kern. You found the one weird drug Bailey hadn’t experimented with. Hopefully the explanation was worth this growing sense of suspense while Kern rooted for a piece of paper to accompany the auto-injector.

“I’d advise you take it, but Sarah has a few doses stashed in her bunk if needs must.” Still more vagueness, but Kern did grab the injector and paper both before standing her little body up from her big chair to begin a slow walk towards Bailey. “These are neural dampening shots. A Limbic-produced solution for pilots who suffer from hallucinations and more violent effects in a neurally piloted mech. Injection needs to be done a few hours before a mission; otherwise, Sarah would be a little too… docile for flying.” As Kern began approaching Bailey step by step, things became clearer here. Or, at the very least, the reverence in Kern’s voice got her theorizing.

…

Hm, it would make perfect sense for a pharmaceutical monopoly like Limbic to want Lavern out of the picture. The Arcadia system didn’t have a wealth of brilliant chemical minds ready to work for the empire anymore, and Limbic could pick up the doctor’s work pretty handily. 

The question is, if that was the case, why not just get someone to shoot Lavern in the head and be done with it? Sounded like that’d still be doing her a favor.

Mh, not enough evidence here for Bailey to confirm something she’d actually care about. Kern’s motivations mattered little to her. 

Better to leave it be.

“I’m flattered that you know me so well, short stuff. Always love meeting a fan of my work, but I’ve moved on from drugging girls for kicks. Got stale~.” Bailey, in truth, relished the idea of drugging poor little Sarah like the old days right now. Using a girl like an easily commanded toy without Sasha and Lark’s busywork sounded like a wonderful distraction.

…

Mh, but she had promised Nataliza to clean her act up as much as she reasonably could. 

There was something gross about this, too. If a pilot can't handle a neural link, there’s still a wealth of manually controlled mech suits. Forcing someone in a neurally controlled mech? Dumb move, especially for a girl as mentally weak as poor little Sarah.

“And if that’s truly your opinion, I certainly can’t make Bailey Cluanaire do something, can I now?” Kern continued pushing Bailey’s buttons with praise as fake as the commander’s pleather coat, offering out the syringe with a few more words to go with them. “If a prompt rescue of your lover is something we both want, however, would Sarah being at her best not be important?” Kern paused, letting the syringe grab Bailey’s eyes before closing her marketing pitch. “She is no Nataliza, nor is she anywhere in your league, Ms. Cluanaire. We both know how important it is for her to get even close, though, hm?” Oh, this was textbook manipulative bullshit. Bailey knew it well; she was a fucking master of it.

Kern was lucky Bailey wanted this ship’s help right now, or she’d be choking on her teeth.

“If Sarah wants me to do it, she’ll ask, and I’ll be more than happy to send the girl on a nice little trip to wherever that shit in your hand is gonna take her.” Bailey smirked, her words slowly morphing into her typical, almost playful cadence before batting Kern’s hand away from her with ease. “But I don’t work for you. I’ll do my job, and if you don’t do yours…” Bailey took a step closer to Kern, letting a sharp, robotic finger glide softly down the side of Kern’s jacket while glaring her down with eyes that almost glowed in their confident fury. “I’ll show you a whole new way to dampen a girl’s brain. Got it, Mallory~?” Bailey took a step back, then turned around, once again not bothering to wait for an answer before stomping off towards the door.

“If that suits you better, Ms. Cluanaire, then I can be a people pleaser.” Kern seemed unaffected by Bailey’s threats, but those threats weren’t for her and her squeaky, boring voice. Not really. “We have a briefing in forty minutes on the dot regarding a small mission on Orsus tomorrow. I trust you’ll find your way to the conference room to hear about it on time, yes?” Kern could speak as calmly as she wanted, but Bailey was satisfied. She was nobody’s fucking pushover.

“I’ll be there. Just make it less of a waste of time than this was.” Bailey kept her own breed of calmness on display, playing ball enough to keep Sierra and Aoi happy before barely hearing Kern’s final words on the matter were heard from a growing distance.

“Enjoy your time on the Nightjar, Ms. Cluanaire.”
Yeah. She’d fucking see about that. So far this entire four-day hell had been nothing but a useless array of diversions.

All while Nataliza was…

…

Better not to think about that, Bailey. Kern may have been an annoying waste of time to deal with, but Minerva seemed to have the beginnings of a head on her shoulders.

Sierra might have started this fuck-up, but she had her uses.

Aoi hadn’t steered Bailey wrong yet, even if this was threatening to break that streak.

Aoi seemed to place strong trust in that Scotch girl, so she could at least pretend to do the same for one of this base’s important inhabitants.

Bailey just had to trust that their star pilot wasn’t as worthlessly shootable as their commander.