I desire to scribble about my operator again
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Dark silhouettes lounge on balconies above, backlit by soft, pale light. Three in particular stand elevated, watching, evaluating. Lucille has crushed every enemy, answered every question, performed every bounty, but they were not yet satisfied.
"You've done well." The central form, their leader, spoke. "We have but one remaining test for you."
Gauss emerges from the shadow as his operator speaks, bringing with him a large mechanical fish, porcelain white and shimmering gold, elegant and smooth.
"Bring us a small fee, one charamote of the finest quality." He holds it up as one would hold an ancient, ornate blade. "Only then have you proven yourself worthy."
She was skeptical at first, but Lucille couldn't deny the worth of the holy charamote, valued by members of this clan even more than the most freshly minted platinum. Mere credits could not possibly hope to buy you such a specimen.
"It will be done." Her vow is punctuated with a deep bow, determination coursing through her veins. She will make them proud.
Of course, what is a trial without environmental hazards? The harsh winter of Venus was seeping past Valkyr's metal skin, deep into her bones, so deep that even Lucille began to shiver from the comfort of the orbiter. Snow settles on her in the moments she stills, searching along the edges of coolant pools to observe the shadows beneath.
"Just corpus junk..." Lucille mutters under her breath. Valkyr shares in her frustration, the two silently commiserating.
An unspoken desire flits through Lucille's mind, one to be free of this miserable wind. That makes two, and they wander towards one of the many caves littering the Vallis. It is not warmer, but it shelters them from the icy wind's constant bite. They settle down, leaning against the wall and flopping onto the freshly trodden dirt and pebble path.
That shouldn't be right. Alas, as Lucille fumbles in the grimy dark, she can feel wet, muddy tracks. Corpus goons, what a joy. An exchange of lead would at least make this interesting.
They continue into a yawning cavern, treading carefully along the edge of a far drop, observing a faint light below. Their fellow visitors had gathered near the bank of an underground coolant reservoir, tossing scrubbers into the murky blue lake, occasionally barking orders at each other. Lucille can't understand them, and doesn't care to. Her focus is entirely different, staring down into the coolant to watch a distinct shadow dart between the rocks. Valkyr drops into a hunter's crouch, shifting her weight, poised to spring loose and strike.
The corpus below begin to grow wary, some small instinct driving them to glance over their shoulders. Lucille pays them no mind as the charamote moves to shallow waters.
Perfect.
The drop is exhilarating, the splash echoing with thunderous force, her aim staying true. The prickle of toxic coolant against Valkyr's armor-skin only augments the thrill of the catch. Beneath her talons wriggles the largest charamote she's ever seen. Victory.
The air, sharp with ice and polluting fumes, carries some aura of fear. The onlooking squad lifts their weapons, abandoning their crate of servofish and stepping back from the bank. Small prey, as far as Lucille was concerned.
She'd happily take them regardless.