The roar of the engines, challenging gravity as I slowly move up and away.

The groaning strain of the Heavy Lift Vehicle as the forces at play on it intensify as it inches its way higher into the air, slowly picking up speed.

The sudden and pronounced increase in comms chatter and signals as I slowly leave my nest and take to the skies. Buzzing through the air all around the facility are numerous airborne mechaniloids being forced back by the air pressure from my take off. Further out and away from this mess are circling piloted craft; helicopters and VTOL alike, all armed and ready, and all asking for orders about what to do, hesitating to pull the trigger as I rise up into the air and pick up enough pace to start to rumble into the sky, slowly leaving them behind.

It’s the moment of truth now. Will they fire on me while I am contained within the Heavy Lift Vehicle in an attempt to bring me down before I reach Earth’s orbit, or will they restrain themselves as they realize the ecological disaster that would bring to a nature sanctuary? Will it be the US military that strikes me down, or will it be the hunters waiting for me above?

Free from my confines I can finally expand my senses completely, muffled as they may be through the Heavy Lift Vehicle’s bulk. I can already pick up the distant IFF signals that mark the Maverick Hunter vessels scrambling and maneuvering in orbit to be ready to catch me as I reach Low Earth Orbit.

As I continue to rise, I continue to listen and watch what is happening below my climb. I’m no longer capable of accessing the systems of the facility, but I do not need to when I can simply access the US Marines’ systems instead. They’ve breached the facility and are sweeping from room to room, so far successfully gaining the surrender of each group that they discover locked in their various compartments. It would seem none of Mister Mitchell’s soldiers have an interest in martyring themselves for his cause now that it’s well and truly lost.

But as my rise speeds up, I begin to lose access to even those channels. Whether it is solely due to my meteoric (or rather the opposite of that) climb or due to them finally having the chance to subvert my passive observation of their systems. It could go either way I suppose, and it doesn’t really matter in the long or short term anyway.

It’s all just idle musing on my end as I wait for my end, after all. The time from my launch to the separation point for the HLV and myself is seven minutes, nearly on the dot. Not the best time in Earth’s history, but a fairly impressive one when you take into account that we and I combine for a total of five hundred and sixty three tonnes and in a highly inconvenient shape to boot. Secrecy required them to build us on the surface of the planet… and now they have to launch an entire frigate into orbit.

Frankly, the more I think about it the more impressed I am that no one found them out before now. This Heavy Lift Vehicle had to be built on site since they could hardly transport a previously built one out into the Alaskan wilderness without being caught.

I would muse more on the matter if it wasn’t for two very important facts. Firstly, the HLV began to rapidly ping me with alerts as the US Military apparently decided to finally do something about the maverick they had unknowingly built escaping to space. Aircraft that had been originally on the perimeter had moved to engage me with all speed, closing in with every bit of thrust they had to try to catch up and take their shots.

Secondly, I received a series of damage reports from the HLV as pulsed laser fire strikes it from Marine aircraft pursuing me. ‘Blue Jays’, or I-19E’s as the recent downloads into my head inform me, are the US Marine Corps premier interceptor, and have been for the past thirty-seven years. The analysis I received rates them as under-sized, under powered, under armored and under armed by the rating of the United States Air Force. I wasn’t certain about any of that personally. The damage reports from the HLV as more lasers raked across its outer hull certainly didn’t suggest that they were lacking in anything.

But what do I know?

The HLV wasn’t armed, so there wasn’t anything I could do about the incoming attacks. That in mind, I continued to observe passively though with far more interest. Either they would manage to successfully damage the HLV enough that I wouldn’t make it to orbit, or they wouldn’t.

LIDAR, gravitics and even basic optical sensors tracked the missiles released by the Blue Jays from the moment they’re launched and give me constant updates about those missiles. The HLV’s sensory equipment is simplistic as it was intended to be disposable if need be, but my own is more than enough to supplement that information. In-depth scans of the incoming projectiles tell me all about them. They’re not sufficiently powerful to make a dent in our armor or shielding, but I am less certain about the HLV itself.

They are, at least, now holding off on firing their lasers for the moment as their missiles streak towards me, likely in order to avoid shooting their own armaments down on accident. I brace myself for the impact as they slam into the HLV’s shields. They hold for the kinetic impact and then against the bloom of plasma from the first missile, but the second is too much for it to bear. The trailing third and fourth missile pass through as the bubble collapses and attempts to reform itself, and slam into our chariot to the sky.

The HLV lists for a moment, dangerously tilting on the precipice of disaster before it manages to stabilize. Checking through the damage reports flooding my awareness, I find myself shocked and impressed by how well it took the hit. The outer armored plating absorbed the damage perfectly and didn’t allow any of the delicate internals or myself to be affected. It will take more than a hit like that to stop our ascent.

The marines fire on me again as we pass the ten kilometers mark and continue to rise even faster. They’ll be forced to abandon their pursuit of me before too long now. Their safe operation ceiling maxes out at twenty-two kilometers, and with the pace I’ve set it will only be a few more moments before I reach that. The pursuing Marines desperately fire off another volley of missiles and their lasers scour the exterior of the HLV, but they fail to do any damage of significance. The first obstacle on our path to orbit has been surmounted, but I feel no satisfaction in it. I have no doubt that they had intended to prevent my launch and the interceptors had just been backup they had hoped not to have to use. No, the real threat remains above me.

The HLV rumbles as two of the multitude of desperately fired missiles manage to reach us and strike against the lower, under, right side of our chariot. It fails to damage the engines or thrusters of our chariot, and can safely be ignored. All the same, I cannot help but admire and pity our chariot. I can appreciate its rugged durability and remarkable design more and more as we rise up. It is a work of art that would put most of the other such vehicles in my newly acquired schematics to shame… and instead of becoming a much lauded creation that would revolutionize space travel, it was built to carry me to Low Earth Orbit and then be abandoned, potentially to never be recovered.

I suppose it’s possible I’m simply projecting my own feelings onto an unthinking machine, less intelligent and aware even than a mechaniloid. Still, I cannot control the feelings that stir with me. It and I are very much the same, made to be used in ways we should never have been.

Yes, I suppose I am very much projecting.

The Blue Jays are forced to break off their pursuit, but not after chasing me even further than I expected them to. Past twenty-two kilometers they chased me, no longer able to fire their missiles which would not work at the heights we were reaching. Even though our chariot was far faster than them at this point, they still desperately attacked with their laser weapons despite the distance. The thinning atmosphere did lessen the scattering, but their output even before had not been enough to significantly harm the HLV.

They only broke off pursuit once they reached thirty thousand kilometers, which was simply too much for their engines to handle. The others turned back first, and the lead plane took one last shot at me before he stalled and began to fall back to the surface of the planet. I can only hope that he will recover in time to save himself. If not… it’s just another reason for the Maverick Hunters to put me down. Another failure to my name.

For a short time there is silence, save for the scream of the engine and the faint rattling of damaged sections holding themselves together. Occasionally, damaged sections of the HLV’s layers of ablative armor fall off, flying away for their own brief moments of freedom before cold, hard reality claims them on impact.

This silence is pleasant. It lets me think again on my existence, short and stilted as it may have been. It reaffirms my resolve to see to it that everyone involved in this project is punished as they should be, including myself. Ronin would have his justice, I have seen to that.

I pick up several sudden spikes in energy from above me as I blast from forty kilometers to fifty and continue my rise. The trajectory makes it almost certainly to be from the Maverick Hunters that I know are waiting above me. It would appear they’re quite interested in putting a stop to us before we can reach orbit successfully. We’re capable of continuing on our own once we reach one hundred and sixty kilometers. Our chariot only has to last that long.

If I wanted to escape, that is. I know that my justice is waiting for me.

With that though, several impressively powerful kinetic strikes slam into our chariot’s shielding, the last blow shattering it and passing through to slam into the under prow of our chariot, shearing off a layer of the armor on its own and delivering enough force to slow our ascent for just a moment before more power is put into the engines to bring us back up to speed.

That, I surmise, was our ‘hello’ from the Maverick Hunters stationed in space. A kinetic love tap from an anti-ship railgun mounted on something hanging above me. Based on my sensors and tactical cogitation, I surmise they intend to intercept and put a stop to me as early as possible. The decisive battle line will likely be at two hundred kilometers. That is the point they are determined to not let me get past. Presumably because past that point is where the more vital satellites and inhabited orbital science labs and the like are.

It’s only natural that they would want to stop us before we reached too far and would become threats to humanity. It’s their duty, after all.

I detect more incoming fire, much more in fact. Along with it, there’s a message being broadcast on every frequency and pointed directly at me. Radio, Laser communications, quantum entanglement, every possible way I could receive it is pinging me for my attention. It’s only polite to give it my attention as I detected many more high energy reactions from above and incoming heat signatures from my sides.

The message reads…

‘ATTENTION UNIDENTIFIED REPLOID, CEASE YOUR ASCENT AND SURRENDER OR WE WILL CONTINUE TO FIRE. THIS MESSAGE WILL REPEAT UNTIL ACKNOWLEDGED OR YOU ARE RETIRED. -Astral Cygnus’

Personally, I find the use of all capitals and bold text to be a bit much, but this message certainly gets the point across. Especially as I start to receive more impacts from above. Scattered kinetic projectiles impact on the Shield, sections of it collapsing and reforming, which allows a constant serenade of plinks, planks, plonks and clangs to echo through the interior and off of our outer armor. The reverberations don’t reach past that, but it goes to show just how much more intense of a beating we are receiving. Just how much more damage our chariot can take is uncertain.

The repeating message continues to rattle through my awareness as I turn my attention to something new. An unidentified craft. Something like excitement fills me at the thought of something new to study, even if it is trying to destroy me. There was nothing like this in the information download I received, which I suppose makes sense. The Maverick Hunters wouldn’t want potential mavericks to know everything they had available, would they?

They’re fascinating designs that remind me more of antique fighter craft from the historical documentaries that were part of my development kernel than the sleek and svelte Blue Jays from before. More broad than long and with twin tails coming out of the rear, separated but connected at the rear by a bit of super structure that ran between. They were larger, far larger, than the Blue Jays had been as well. Painted black and white, the patterns on them were designed to dazzle and confuse optical sensors, and on the nose of all of them was painted a furious and hungry expression with narrowed eyes and pronounced fangs.

My heart stirred as I watched them swoop down in the distance and angle to engage me in a pass at eighty kilometers up. From their sides, aerodynamic wings unfolded to stabilize them in the atmosphere. Aerospace fighters then, given their size and their changing into another form for atmospheric combat. The Maverick Hunter emblem is visible on all of their tails as well, confirming their allegiance.

Watching them transform for atmospheric flight and then seeing them switch to combat mode is making me more and more interested in them. How wonderful that I would discover a new hobby mere minutes before my untimely demise. It’s just another part of my deserved punishment, I suppose.

… that doesn’t stop me from watching them with fascination as they come at me, of course.

Our chariot has already sustained a great deal of damage. Even as the hunters being their attack run, we are calculating the chances of their attacks being the ones to finish us our chariot off. With only one such craft, we deem it to be unlikely in the extreme.

Then it launches a volley of fifteen hypersonic missiles at me which close the distance between us near instantly and batter down our chariot’s shields and then begin to smash into our chariot. That is not the end either, not as our opponent unleashes sweeping attacks from multiple, independent laser turrets it deploys from within its chassis. Unlike the pulsing lasers from before, these last for multiple seconds and begin to sear into and through armored layers of my chariot. Our chariot's shields reform, cutting off the damage from the lasers before it becomes a problem.

Surprisingly the attacker makes no signs that it intends to break off, despite the fact that I am still receiving sustained fire from its allies above. At this distance, it can’t be planning to rely on their accuracy to protect it from friendly fire, can it? That would be incredibly risky to do, needlessly so given that they could certainly have the time to maneuver around and come from behind for another attack.

Despite all the many, many sensible reasons for them to not do what they’re doing right now they continue to do it. Even though they only have scant moments to turn away or risk destruction, they keep up their charge and introduce me to a new toy it has. I only have a brief moment’s warning as I notice both barrels become revealed beneath the body of the fighter before it fires.

A beautiful, scintillating rainbow of light and massive amounts of radiation cloud the sensors from the HLV on that side, and then contact is lost with many of them as they’re marked as ‘destroyed’. But what I saw gives the parts of me that wished to study a delight. A fascinating thing which I do not understand. Before I lost contact with them I was able to see the approaching attack. An incredibly tight stream of particles surrounded by a double helix of color-shifting light. I’d picked up so many mutually exclusive signatures. I have no idea what hit me, which is incredibly exciting!

The attack didn’t smash, blast or melt the HLV’s armor so much as… seemingly just drill and chew straight through it! In a mere instant it had almost penetrated to where we and I remain held. Had we not activated the powerful shielding aboard the Manifest Destiny, it would certainly have penetrated into this compartment. Whether it would penetrate past our armor is… a question we do not have an answer for.

As the pilot passes by me, they begin to perform a completely unnecessary but impressive aerial maneuver as they turn on their side relative to the Earth to minimize their target profile so their allies can continue to fire on me unabated. She had already been close, but as she pulls that move she finally passed me. I say she, because the pass was so close I could see through the cockpit canopy and at the pilot within. They’re a humanoid model reploid with a visible, human-like face. They have dark skin, green eyes and her chassis seems to be painted primarily orange with white and green accents.

In that instant, I can feel as though our eyes meet even though she can only see the exterior of the HLV. She’s smiling, no, grinning at me as she says her attack wasn’t enough to take me out in one pass. Her hands leave her controls and she points two fingers at me with her thumbs raised, mimicking a fire arm. As the moment ends I see the thumbs come down and her wink.

Despite the odds, she’s never even grazed by fire even as she reverses her craft to continue facing me and away from the direction it been going. I see this happen as no less than three shots pass through where she had just been an instant before during the maneuver. It’s… astounding. It’s exciting. So this is what a real pilot can do! The surety in her movements, the confidence to take on risks despite what the odds tell her, she’s incredible!

I can’t help but watch in disbelieving excitement as she unleashes a volley of hyper sonic missiles again. Her maneuvering and attack patterns are fascinating. By my calculations even a reploid built for piloting should have difficulty with these maneuvers. How much of it is her skill, and how much of it is the mystery craft itself?

Even as our chariot’s shields are battered down and the remaining missiles smash into the armor to pit and scour it, our foe wastes no time before it unleashes its lasers again, targeting the already damaged sections of my armor from their combined efforts as it seemingly chooses to cut its main engine. At last we glean a flaw in craft’s design. It’s powerful certainly, but to attempt a maneuver like this speaks of necessity rather than bravado. It must not be able to turn itself around quickly, so she’s attempting to get two shots in on a single pass.

We will reach one hundred and sixty kilometers well before she can bring herself back to bear. Our escape from the atmosphere is certain at this point. The stars wait above us, the dominion we were born to conquer.

And up there waiting to stop me are my rightful executioners. Even now the message continues to play unabated, reminding me of what’s waiting for me.

If we wished it, we could pass through them without difficulty. Our design allows for it.

But that’s not what I deserve. What I’ve done, and what those who have made me have done, deserves punishment.

We and I are interrupted, our thoughts scattered as we pick up something from below. A rapid spike in energy and radiation again. We and I are shocked at this. That weapon she used before could not be capable of firing again so quickly, could it? The strain on it would be enormous and would surely require a lengthy cool down between attempts to fire it. If she were to fire it now, she would-

Then, she fires once more. Ignoring the risk to her weapon, ignoring the risk to herself should the backlash be too much, she fires. We and I are only at one hundred and thirty five kilometers! Our minds churn, procession information as rapidly as we can in a vain attempt to craft a solution. However, there is none to be found.

Both shots fired from the phased particle cannon crash into the rear of our chariot, burning through the shields and shredding much of our engines just as we reach one hundred and forty kilometers. It should have been the end of our journey and the beginning of our long fall…

However.

Our barriers were raised, protecting us from damage. More over, due to raising our shields to full power and extending them further into the HLV, we preserved its structure enough to keep it intact for just a bit longer. Just long enough. The remaining engines scream, pushing with all they have into the sky as the blue has long faded to black. It’s not much, but it’s just enough to bring us to the limits.

One hundred and sixty kilometers. The border between the Sky and the Stars. I have finally made it to space, where I always dreamed of.

Waiting for us are numerous craft, all marked as Maverick Hunters on both IFF and by the markings on them. There are small, fast single pilot machines positioned to flank us and already moving to fire. These are the most numerous of the craft present, buzzing about and quickly maneuvering to fire on our chariot even as it coughs its last breaths. There are no craft like the ones from before, but there are vehicles of similar size. Shaped like flattened eggs and covered in bumps which contain turrets, I identify them as the ones responsible for those less potent rounds that had peppered me. Fights, attackers, corvettes and a small smattering of cutters and transports hanging furthest back, and to finish it off there are a smattering reploids and many mechaniloids designed purely for space combat.

At the head of the reploids I can identify their commander. Astral Cygnus is a large reploid, even larger than I am at two and a third meters tall, not counting his massive wings that allow him to engage in space flight. Behind him I can see most of the other reploids working as teams to man and maneuver large weapon platforms too large for their corvettes and certainly their fighters to carry. They’re enormous and each one of them contains a massive, sharpened spike. Specialized railguns meant for ship killing, no doubt.

All at once, they fire. A deluge of fire and death impacts our chariot. The damage it has sustained is too much and this final bullet hell spells its end. Reactors dying, engines choking, shields shattered for the last time and armor ruined beyond repair… our chariot finally opens with its purpose complete.

One hundred and sixty five meters, and stable.

Through the debris, through the clouds of smoke and particles we and I drift forward. The Maverick Hunters continue to fire upon us but with out shields raised to full we’re well able to resist anything they can bring to bear immediately. Those weapon’s platforms, it seems, require manual reloading which gives us plenty of time.

I remain still, waiting for the Manifest Destiny’s shields to become overwhelmed and my end to come… but that is not what happens. While the shields remain more than able to bear the burden of the attacks they cease to fire. Fighters maneuvering to gain distance and reposition themselves, the corvettes simply hang waiting. Reploids watch on, their expressions showing a combination of many emotions. Fear, awe, frustration and more.

This silence lasts for a moment. Then two and three and further. I make no attempt to reach the stars no matter how much we and I wish it. No matter how much it is our birthright, duty and purpose.

I have made my decision already. I know what must come to pass.

Then, a new message appears and replaces the old. Rather than a rote, repeated warning, it comes directly from Astral Cygnus himself. His voice is deep and calm and carries a self-assurance I envy.

“Unidentified Reploid and Craft, this is Commander Astral Cygnus. You have ceased your ascent and engaged in no violent behavior. There is no need for further conflict. Negotiation is possible, and you can surrender yourself to lawful custody. Your case will be fairly heard and judged.”

… What are we and I supposed to do in the face of that?