The metal grating of the boarding gantry shuddered under the relentless onslaught of the wind. Below them, the vanguard camp looked like an angry nest of gold-lit embers, half-drowned in the swirling mountain mist.
With the sharp point of her hunting knife pressed firmly through the white silk of the Inquisitor’s robes, Georgia forced the trembling old man up the steep, slick ramp. Corin followed closely, his head bowed under the shadow of his stolen silver-embroidered hood, his hands buried deep in his sleeves to hide the absence of the holy signet rings.
To the guards patrolling the high catwalks, it was a perfectly normal sight: an Inquisitor, flanked by a quiet acolyte and a heavily armored vanguard scout, boarding the flagship for a final pre-flight inspection.
They crossed the threshold of the massive airlock. The heavy steel door of The Iron Saint hissed shut behind them, instantly cutting off the roar of the rain, replacing it with the deep, bass hum of the ship’s idle gravity core. The air inside smelled of grease, copper plating, and hot oil.
"Which way to the bridge?" Georgia whispered, her metallic voice vibrating dangerously close to the Inquisitor's ear.
The old man pointed a trembling, gauntleted finger toward a narrow, brass-ribbed corridor to the left.
They moved quickly, their footsteps masked by the steady, mechanical thrum of the vessel. When they reached the reinforced pneumatic door of the bridge, Georgia didn't hesitate. She shoved the Inquisitor forward, using his biometric clearance to trigger the pressure sensor.
The heavy iron door slid open with a soft sigh of steam.
Inside, three junior flight officers turned in surprise from their glowing brass consoles. Before they could register the soot-stained armor of the vanguard or the hood hiding Corin’s face, Georgia lunged.
Using the heavy shaft of her halberd, she swept the first officer off his feet, sending him crashing into the central navigation table. She spun, the iron butt of the weapon catching the second officer squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. The third officer reached frantically for his sidearm, but Corin—fueled by pure, raw terror—flung his heavy canvas binding tape over the man's head, dragging him backward to the floor.
"Lock the door!" Georgia roared, shoving the gasping Inquisitor into the corner beside the unconscious crew.
Corin scrambled to the primary console, his fingers flying over the brass toggles. He found the emergency lock lever and slammed it down. The heavy armored bulkhead doors slid shut with a deafening, metallic thud, the iron deadbolts sliding into place with a mechanical snap.
Instantly, the clinical white lights of the bridge flashed and died, replaced by the spinning, aggressive crimson glare of the ship’s internal security alarm. A high-pitched, rhythmic siren began to wail through the ventilation shafts.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The heavy iron door behind them violently shuddered. Outside, the ship's crew had already realized the bridge had been breached.
"They're trying to bypass the manual lock!" Georgia shouted over the din of the siren. She threw her body against the central locking bar of the door, her unpowered Vanguard armor groaning under the strain. "Corin! The core! We don't have time!"
Corin leaped into the pilot's seat, his eyes wide as he stared at the overwhelming array of glass pressure gauges, silver-oil conduits, and heavy iron levers. The console was a nightmare of complex Western engineering.
"I need to find the primary ignition!" Corin yelled back, his hands shaking as he traced the copper lines beneath the dashboard. "The old mechanic said the manual pressure wheel is in the lower engine room, but I have to link the bridge control to the thruster gates first, or the fuel dump will just blow the auxiliary tanks!"
Behind Georgia, a high-pitched, spitting hiss echoed from the door.
A bright, blinding line of white-hot sparks began to bite through the reinforced steel seal. The crew outside was using a heavy thermal cutting torch. The heat radiating off the door was immediate, baking the back of Georgia’s stolen breastplate.
"Corin..." Georgia gritted her teeth, her muscles tearing as she held the manual locking bar down against the rhythmic, hydraulic ramming from the other side. "They are going to get through!"
"Just ten seconds!" Corin screamed. He ripped open a maintenance panel beneath the steering column, exposing a nest of glowing silver wires. He grabbed a pair of brass pliers, his mind frantically recalling the old fleet mechanic’s instructions. Blue to the regulator, red to the bypass.
He snipped the central restrictor wire.
The entire flagship violently jolted. The deep, bass hum of the gravity core escalated into a terrifying, high-frequency scream that vibrated straight through the floorboards. On the console, the glass pressure gauges surged into the red.
"I’ve got the bridge link!" Corin yelled, his face illuminated by the angry crimson glare of the alarms. "The primary thrusters are open! Georgia, I can't trigger the lift from here—you have to release the manual pressure wheel in the lower hatch, or we aren't going anywhere!"
Georgia looked at the door. The thermal torch had already cut a three-inch gap through the iron, the molten metal dripping onto the floor like liquid gold.
She let go of the locking bar, grabbed her halberd, and jammed it diagonally beneath the door's secondary handle, wedging it tight against the steel frame. It would buy them a minute. Maybe less.
She ripped her silver helmet off, letting it clatter to the deck, her violet eyes locking onto Corin with an absolute, terrifying clarity.
"Keep her nose pointed up, pilot," Georgia whispered, her voice carrying the fierce, legendary steel of her ancestors. "And don't you dare let us stall."