NOVEL NEXT Ch93 Lorna: Happy Birthday
Mars Standard Time: 13:00, May 11, 2295 (Earth Day Equivalent)
The Bridge, Ironsides VII, Terra Alliance Aegis battlecruiser approaching Xing Hong, Hellas Basin, Mars
The viewport's reinforced glass felt cool against Lorna's palm. Below, the city Xing Hong sprawled across the Martian basin like a fever dream—pagoda roofs crowned glass towers, their golden tiles catching the perpetual twilight while holographic dragons coiled around steel spires. Neon signs flickered in two languages she could read and five she couldn't, their glow painting the eternal dusk in shades of commerce.
Similar to Osram the Moon, Mars never knew true day. The terraformed atmosphere, thin and invisible to human eyes, couldn't birth clouds or scatter sunlight the way Earth's could. The Sun was like a distant lamp.
The scent of her own sweat mingled with traces of ozone from discharged weapons. Somewhere beneath that, the acrid tang of Radi-Mon blood still clung to her coat despite the ship's filtration systems.
A tremor ran through Ironsides VII's hull—not the violent shake of combat, but the settling sigh of a massive vessel finding its berth. The engines' subsonic rumble faded until it was silent. The battlecruiser had landed.
"All SIMU members report to Conference Room 20 at 1630." Diego's voice crackled from the overhead speakers, his consonants softened by that familiar cadence. "Other personnel, por favor, enjoy your break time after we get clearance from Starport control."
"Mamma okay?"
Lorna turned. Håkon perched on Xin's shoulder like a miniature guardian spirit, his sapphire scales catching the bridge's ambient lighting. The little Diabolisk's head tilted with concern, those blue eyes—so like her own—studying her face.
Xin stood a respectful distance away, rectangular glasses slightly askew, his white puffer jacket bearing the signatures of their recent engagement: scorch marks across the left sleeve, a tear near the collar where Bone Fiend claws had gotten too close. In each hand, he held a wrapped sandwich. "Hey." He said timidly.
"Need Håkon help?" The little one raised his forearms, tiny claws spread in what resembled a hug.
"Mamma's fine, sweetheart." She crossed to them, managing what she hoped looked like a smile.
"Long day, huh?" Xin offered, then looked down at the sandwiches as if just remembering them. "You missed lunch. This one—uh—" He lifted his left hand, then frowned, switching to the right. "No, this one here has the Bodhi Agni. Your father mentioned you liked it."
"Red dussst on brrread!" Håkon chirped, his pronunciation turning the words into something adorable. "Good good eat!"
Lorna accepted the sandwich, its warmth seeping through the wrapper. "When did my pa tell you that?"
"Back in Yosemite." Xin adjusted his glasses, a gesture she'd learned meant mild embarrassment. "Said you'd put it on everything when you were younger. I guess it makes certain boring food interesting?"
"Sort of." She unwrapped the sandwich, the crimson spice's sweet-heat aroma making her stomach growl. The first bite brought back memories—that family lunch in Oslo. Before everything went wrong, when her biggest concern was whether to continue her college degree.
On Xin's shoulder, Håkon mimicked chewing motions with his tiny jaws.
"Still hungry, boy?" She tore off a corner, holding it up.
"Håkon full! Just prac-tiss-ing!" But his tail waggled as he accepted the morsel anyway.
"Speaking of your father," Xin said carefully. "He wanted to tell you Olav's been moved to hibernation storage. Custom cradle in Cargo Bay 3."
Lorna paused mid-chew. "Hibernation? In the middle of Martian summer?"
"That's what I said. He just smiled and said Olav earned the rest."
Through the viewport, a transport lifted off from one of Xing Hong's landing pads, its jets painting brief auroras in the thin atmosphere. The city below pulsed with life: ground vehicles streaming along elevated roadways, aerial traffic available only to the wealthy weaving between towers.
"Doctor Nikki stabilized Director Otis," Xin continued, his tone gentler now. "Moved him to Med Bay 3. Thomas said he's sleeping soundly."
"Uncle Otis brave big gun!" Håkon made finger-guns with both claws, complete with 'pew pew' sound effects.
"That Liberty Cannon draws everything from the user." Lorna replied. "First time I saw Emmanuel use it, he slept for three days."
"The Director is stronger than he looks, then?" Xin said. "Diego's already fielding calls about command structure. He said you'd know how it is."
She did. The Terra Alliance loved its hierarchies, its chains of command inspired by the Digital Era mega corp's, supposedly kept chaos at bay. If chaos could be contained by org charts, niceties and protocol.
"They've made Diego the substitute commander, then?" Lorna took another bite, the Bodhi Agni's heat building pleasantly.
"Yeah. Ranked by seniority, to hear Thomas tell it." He looked out the viewport.
"Suits him, I guess. Diego always believed in the cause, and knows how to lift people's spirit." She sighed, a bitter smile.
"Mamma sad?" Håkon's voice had gone soft, one tiny claw reaching toward her face.
"Just tired, sweetheart." She let him pat her cheek, his scales surprisingly warm. "Mamma needs a shower and about two hours of sleep, okay?"
"I'll stay with him in Suite 886," Xin offered. "Let you rest before the meeting."
The bridge doors hissed open. Harald Omdal entered, and Lorna felt her spine straighten. Her father moved with the measured pace of someone conserving energy, but his eyes remained sharp as winter stars.
"Pa."
"Sigrún." He still used her birth name in private, though his tone held warmth. "I heard the landing announcement. How are you holding up?"
"Farfar!" Håkon practically vibrated with excitement. "This, Mamma like! Want some?" He held out his tiny morsel of sandwich like a precious offering.
Harald's expression softened. "Thank you, little one, but I've eaten." His gaze found Lorna's. "The Alliance personnel are already talking. About me."
"Let them talk." The words came out sharper than intended. "You're here under Otis's protection."
"Diego's protection now," Xin corrected quietly. "And Diego's more... politically minded than Otis."
Harald nodded slowly. "I've survived worse whispers. Though I do miss Olav's company already. Grávombs like him knows when to be silent and when to chirp. A rare gift that more humans should know."
Through the viewport, Xing Hong continued its dance of light and shadow. Somewhere in those tangled streets, deals were being made, lives were being lived, and the war felt very far away. But Lorna knew better. The war never really stopped. It just changed venues, uniforms, suits, Psytum Swords, Gauss Rifles—all were not much different in the end.
"I need that shower," she announced, handing the sandwich wrapper to a disposal unit. "Xin, can you—?"
"Yep." He shifted Håkon to his other shoulder. "Alright, buddy. Let's go get your crayons. Aunt Nikki wanted to see your new drawings, remember?"
"Draw Mamma bird-day!" Håkon exclaimed, then immediately covered his mouth with both claws. "Secret?"
Lorna raised an eyebrow, but Xin was already heading for the door, studiously avoiding her gaze while Håkon giggled behind his claws.
"Birthday?" Harald asked once they'd gone. "I was going to ask."
She touched the Pendant of Mánagrát through her shirt, its weight familiar as breath. "Twenty-nine years. Feels like ninety."
"You carry them well." He paused by the viewport, studying the city below. "I always loved this city. The chaos of it. The possibility."
They stood in companionable silence, watching Xing Hong's eternal evening in neon and shadow for just a moment longer.
Mars Standard Time: 14:00, May 11, 2295 (Earth Day Equivalent)
Suite 47, Ironsides VII, Terra Alliance Aegis battlecruiser approaching Xing Hong, Hellas Basin, Mars
The suite door sealed behind Lorna with a soft pneumatic hiss. Finally, solitude. She peeled off her ballistic-weave trench coat, grimacing at the dried blood crusted along the left sleeve. Not hers, thankfully. The coat dropped into the decontamination hamper with a wet thud.
Her quarters were sparse by officer standards—a bed, a desk with her unopened reports, and through the narrow doorway, a bathroom with a proper a supply closet. And it had water pressure. Real, honest water pressure.
She stripped methodically. The blue turtleneck came away stiff with dried sweat. Her boots—whatever that Bone Fiend had been feeding on, the stench had permeated the leather. Each piece of clothing joined the coat in the hamper, which sealed automatically and began its decontamination cycle with a low hum.
The bathroom mirror reflected someone she barely recognized. Platinum hair hung limp, dark at the roots with grime. A bruise bloomed purple along her left collarbone where she had taken a hit. She'd learned to not feel minor injuries like that one. Her sapphire eyes looked hollow, the adrenaline crash written in every line of her face.
She turned the water as hot as the system allowed. Steam billowed, fogging the mirror. The shower stall was cramped enough that she could touch both walls without extending her arms fully, but when the water hit her shoulders, none of that mattered.
Heat sluiced away the battle's residue. She watched rusty water swirl down the drain—blood, dust, and whatever else Mars had thrown at them today. The standard-issue soap smelled of nothing, designed to be hypoallergenic across all human ethnicities the Alliance knew: Valoran, Imperial, Maridian, Djinno, Novian and Nordling: herself. She worked it through her golden hair twice before the suds ran clear.
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Her muscles unknotted gradually under the spray. The bruise throbbed, but it was surface damage—nothing Medi-Vap couldn't handle later. She rotated her left shoulder, feeling the joint pop back into proper alignment. Tomorrow would bring its own aches, but for now, the heat was enough.
Her pendant's weight around her neck had become so familiar she'd forgotten to remove it. The water beaded on its surface without penetrating, the blue crystal at its center pulsing faintly with her heartbeat. Pa's gift. Pa's mystery.
Her silver Quantum Watch chirped from the counter where she'd left it. The waterproof device's screen lit up with an incoming call notification manifested as a holographic bubble—'Diego Rodriguez. Audio only'.
She reached out, dripping, to tap accept. "Lorna here."
"Lorna, buenas tardes." Diego's voice carried that usual warmth. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything importante?"
"Just washing off half of Mars. What's up?"
"That meeting at 1630? There might be a small—adjustment to the agenda."
She squeezed more soap into her palm. "Define 'adjustment.'"
"Nothing serious. Just thought you should know we're making it a bit more informal. Equipo only. You understand?"
Equipo only. 'Team only'. SIMU personnel. Which meant they were planning something the regular Alliance brass didn't need to know about. "So…anything I should prep?"
"No, no. Just bring yourself. Y tal vez...keep an open mind?"
An open mind. In her experience, that usually preceded something either classified, insane, or both. "Okay. I'll see you at 1630". She paused, then added with a playful lilt. "Director Diego."
The other side chuckled. "I'll get used to being called that. Enjoy your shower, comandante."
The call disconnected. Lorna stood under the spray for another long minute, letting the heat work at the knot forming between her shoulder blades. Whatever Diego was planning, it could wait another hour or two.
The water finally began to cool—ship's conservation protocols kicking in. She shut it off reluctantly, reaching for the thin towel that passed for luxury aboard military vessels. As she dried off, her reflection began to emerge through the dissipating steam. Still hollow-eyed, still bruised, but cleaner.
She reached for the spare Medi-Vap in the supply closet and huffed from it. The skin over her various bruises returned to its normal ivory hue as she put the vial back.
It would have to do.
She wrapped the towel around herself and padded back into the main quarters. Time enough for a clean uniform, maybe a catnap if she was lucky. Her bed looked impossibly inviting.
But first, she paused at her footlocker. Her hand hovered between two options: the standard blue turtleneck identical to the one in the decontamination hamper, and... this one. A deep navy piece with cold-shoulder cutouts, the fabric falling away to reveal bare skin at each shoulder while the sleeves continued down her arms. Not quite dress uniform, not quite casual. The kind of thing she might wear to a diplomatic function. Or a date. Or...
Diego's "keep an open mind" echoed in her thoughts. She pulled out the cold-shoulder top before she could second-guess herself. If she was wrong about their intentions, she'd just look like someone who wanted to feel human for an evening. If she was right—at least she wouldn't insult them by showing up in combat-purpose tactical wear.
Mars Standard Time: 16:29, May 11, 2295 (Earth Day Equivalent)
Conference Room 20, Ironsides VII, Terra Alliance Aegis battlecruiser docked in Xing Hong, Hellas Basin, Mars
Lorna could tell that Conference Room 20 wasn't meant for celebrations. The utilitarian space, with its gunmetal walls and standard-issue furniture, would be used to host tactical briefings and casualty reports.
But someone had tried indeed.
Self-conscious of her exposed shoulders in the climate-controlled air, Lorna tugged at her sleeves. The cold-shoulder turtleneck had seemed like the right choice in her quarters—special enough to show she cared, casual enough to maintain plausible deniability.
She stopped in the doorway, processing the scene. Colored lights, clearly pilfered from emergency supplies, had been strung along the ceiling panels, their red and blue glow softening the harsh overheads. The holographic display typically used for battle plans now projected a slowly rotating constellation of stars spelling out 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' in shimmering text.
"Surpriiise!" Håkon's voice rang out before anyone else could speak. He perched on the central briefing table, his sapphire scales glowing with excitement, tail swishing so hard his whole body wiggled. "Mamma's bird-day!"
Behind him, Xin stood with his hands clasped, that particular smile he wore when deeply pleased but trying not to show it. He'd traded his scorched white puffer jacket for a clean one. Someone had convinced him to remove his glasses, and without them, his dark eyes were bright with nervous energy, making the forty-year-old man appear younger and slightly vulnerable.
"Feliz cumpleaños, comandante!" Diego spread his arms wide from his position by what appeared to be a makeshift bar—ship-standard protein drinks arranged in a rainbow of flavors. The new Director wore something that made Lorna blink twice: a crisp black suit jacket with gold epaulettes adorning the shoulders, worn over a white dress shirt and vest. It was neither fully military nor entirely civilian—a balance that somehow suited his new position. "Twenty-nine years young, no?"
Emmanuel grinned from where he leaned against the wall, his recently-healed arm still held carefully. He'd changed out of his usual tactical gear into off-duty fatigues, his thick long locs pulled back, a few beads catching the makeshift party lights. The casual clothes made him look younger, less like a fearsoem Psi Lynx and more like the Detroit kid who'd joined up for adventure. "Would've baked a cake, but the galley chief threatened court martial if I touched his ovens again."
Even Thomas was there, standing at parade rest near the far wall. His white composite armor, the servos in his cybernetic arms humming faintly as he shifted position. His wheat-colored hair was regulation-perfect as always. He inclined his head when their eyes met.
"I..." Lorna's throat felt tight. "How did you all even know?"
"Pappa look at magic box?" Håkon announced proudly, making typing gestures with his tiny claws. "Sneaky-sneaky!"
"Nope, I didn't look for anything on the computer," Xin protested to the little Diabolisk, color rising in his cheeks. "I just…remembered what your mamma said."
Diego laughed. "But it must have been three forms and a security clearance update. I've never seen anyone work so hard for a birthday confirmation! Kidding, of course."
The table held an array of improvised decorations. Someone had folded napkins into origami flowers—Emmanuel's work, judging by the precision. A banner made from medical gauze and marker proclaimed '29 AND STILL ALIVE' in Diego's handwriting. And in the center, a single protein bar with a lit thermite stick jutting from it like the world's most dangerous candle.
"That's definitely violating several safety protocols," Lorna managed.
"But our new Director Rodriguez granted special dispensation," Thomas said, speaking for the first time. He lifted a cup of what looked like recycled water with food coloring. "Happy birthday to Lorna Weiss. May your Psytum Sword never dull and your 10mm never run out of bullets."
It was the toast of a soldier to a soldier. Formal, distant, but respectful. They'd saved each other's lives too many times for anything less, even if something unnamed now stood between them.
"Yo!" Emmanuel raised his own cup. "Happy birthday to the scariest Psi Lynx in all Five Realms!"
"To Mamma!" Håkon added, lifting tiny claws that held nothing but enthusiasm.
They drank—or pretended to, in Håkon's case. The "wine" tasted exactly like what it was: water ration with a hint of artificial grape. It was terrible. But it felt perfect.
Then, before Lorna could think further, Håkon's voice piped up. "Pappa! Gift, gift!"
The little Diabolisk scrambled off the table, nearly knocking over Emmanuel's precarious napkin flowers. He scurried to Xin, who responded immediately.
"And—happy birthday!" He produced a rolled paper from his jacket pocket to let Håkon hold it with his tiny claws.
"I draw Mamma!" Håkon announced, carefully unrolling his creation. "All by me!"
The drawing was rendered in bright crayon on what looked like repurposed tactical planning paper, it showed three figures. The tallest had yellow scribbles for hair and blue dots for eyes, holding what might have been a sword or possibly a very large pen. Next to her, a smaller figure with short black hair and squares for glasses. And between them, a small blue creature with an enormous smile.
"Us!" Håkon explained, pointing with one claw. "Mamma and Pappa and me! Family!"
Something hot pressed from behind Lorna's eyes, watering them. She knelt, bringing herself to Håkon's level. "It's beautiful, sweetheart."
"Mamma crying?" Concern colored his voice. "Håkon draw wrong?"
"No, baby. Happy tears." She pulled him close, careful of his scales. "You've drawn it nicely. The best kind."
Over Håkon's head, she met Xin's eyes. He must have orchestrated all this—the party, the gathering, this moment of normalcy in the chaos. He'd known, somehow, what she needed before she did.
"Thank you," she mouthed.
"I'm glad." He scratched his head then adjusted invisible glasses, that nervous habit surfacing even without them. "Håkon helped," he said aloud. "He was very insistent about the decorations."
"Pappa say Mamma need happy," Håkon confirmed against her shoulder. "So we make happy!"
She extended an arm, and after a moment's hesitation, Xin joined the embrace. His arms were careful, tentative, as if still learning the boundaries of this thing between them. Håkon, sandwiched between them, purred—an oddly musical sound from his reptilian throat.
"Best bird-day ever!" he declared.
The holographic projector on the table chimed—an incoming priority call. Diego glanced at the ID and straightened slightly.
"Ah, Mayor Montero? Perfect timing and all..." He accepted the connection.
Millaray's image materialized above the table, her raven hair swept into an elegant chignon that emphasized her striking features. Even through the hologram's tinge, those green eyes commanded attention. She wore the same black evening dress that she had during that call in the morning.
"Mister Diego, I hereby confirm that Xing Hong's port authority has granted your Ironsides VII full docking clearance. Your crew may—" She paused, taking in the decorated conference room. "Have I interrupted something?"
"Just a small celebration, Alcaldesa," Diego said warmly. "It's our Agent Weiss's birthday."
"Is that so?" Millaray's attention shifted to Lorna, and her dark burgundy lips curved into a well-practiced smile. She lifted something into view—her crystal wine glass filled with pale yellow wine, mysterious white strands swirling through the liquid like captured smoke. "Then I must offer my congratulations."
She raised the glass with elegance, the gesture somehow both toast and challenge. "To Lorna Weiss. May you find everything you seek on Mars...and live to celebrate many more birthdays."
"Thank you." Lorna lifted her own cup of colored water, matching the gesture if not the grace. Something in Millaray's tone made the blessing feel like a curse, though she couldn't say why.
"Howdy, Mayor!" Emmanuel called out, clearly appreciating the interruption. "You should join us next time you're aboard."
"A delightful thought, Mister Emmanuel." Millaray replied, her attention lingering on the room's occupants. Indeed, she was as sharp as Lorna had remembered from their college days. Not a single face or name slips through her mind and memory.
Thomas straightened his posture, and Lorna didn't miss how his expression softened slightly—the same look she'd seen on Emmanuel's face.
Beside her, Xin shifted closer, just a half-step but noticeable. Håkon, still in her arms, had gone very still, his tail curling protectively around her forearm. The little Diabolisk's chattiness vanished in the mayor's presence.
"We should let you return to your evening," Diego said diplomatically. "Thank you for the dock clearance, Mayor Montero."
"Of course, Mister Diego. Do enjoy your festivities." Millaray's gaze found Lorna once more. "Twenty-nine is a significant age. Old enough to understand the world's complexities, young enough to believe you can change them."
The hologram flickered out, leaving a strange silence in its wake.
"What a woman, huh? Wonder if she's single." Thomas commented, the most casual thing he'd said all evening, his stiff posture all gone.
"Elegant," Emmanuel agreed, then caught Lorna's expression. "What? Just making an observation."
Xin adjusted his non-existent glasses. "We should probably check those docking permissions. Make sure everything's legit."
"Mamma careful," Håkon whispered, so soft only Lorna could hear. "Pretty lady smile wrong."
"It's alright, boy." She squeezed him gently, filing away his instinct.
Around them, the celebration resumed. Diego fetched a harmonica from somewhere and attempted what might have been "Happy Birthday".
Emmanuel started clearing space. "Bet you guys never seen traditional Detroit dancing. Learned it from Nikki last year."
Even Thomas had relaxed enough to accept a second cup of colored water from Xin who poured it for him.
For one evening, in a team that had seen too much death and planning for more, they were just people. Friends. Something like family.
The war would find them again tomorrow. Mars would still turn beneath its amber sky, and the monsters would still bare their teeth. But tonight, Lorna Weiss turned twenty-nine surrounded by the oddest, most precious gathering she could have imagined.
It was enough. More than enough.
And for now, that was all that mattered.