Individual over the Masses

SABER-1 turned his imposing frame toward the nun nearest him, Sister Marianne, who stood trembling at the edge of the iron door. The faint glow of his visor illuminated her pale face, and her hands nervously clutched the wooden cross that hung from her neck.

"How many remain?" His voice was deep and steady, but the weight of the question sent a shiver down her spine.

Sister Marianne swallowed hard, glancing back toward the civilians huddled together in the chamber below. "Two hundred and seventy-three," she said softly, her voice cracking as she added, "not including the children."

The faint whirring sound of his armor's servos filled the silence as SABER-1 slowly tilted his head. A low, thoughtful hrrmm rumbled from his helmet, vibrating through the air like distant thunder.

He began calculating immediately. Sixty people per trip. At least five trips for Icarus, possibly four if they packed the last group tightly, though that carried its own risks.

But the more trips she made, the more danger she'd be in. The Extractants were opportunistic hunters. They would either mark her as an easy target or, worse, as a high-value threat. Both scenarios meant swarms. The thought made his jaw tighten, his teeth grinding audibly behind his visor.

The nun, confused and fearful, glanced up at him. The low grinding sound and his silence made her fidget nervously. She didn't know what he was thinking, but the sheer intensity of his presence made her want to either run or kneel and pray.

"Should… should I do anything else?" she asked hesitantly, clutching the cross tighter.

SABER-1's visor turned slightly toward her, the faint glow making her feel as though he could see straight through her.

"Hold position," he said finally, his tone clipped and precise. "Keep them calm. Be ready to move the next group immediately when Icarus returns."

"Yes, of course," she replied, nodding quickly, though she still felt an overwhelming sense of unease.

SABER-1 didn't acknowledge her further, turning his gaze back toward the dark horizon. His mind churned through every viable scenario, each plan discarded for its unacceptable risks. His teeth ground harder as he silently cursed the relentless swarm.

The nun remained rooted in place, unsure whether to stay or retreat. His towering figure, so unyielding and intimidating, made her feel small and powerless. But she had seen the lengths he would go to protect them, and for now, she trusted him—even if she didn't understand the weight of the decisions that pressed down on his shoulders.

As she turned to leave, her heart heavy with worry, she glanced back at the man in armor who stood like a sentry before the door, a living wall between them and the chaos above. His stillness was unnerving, but there was something reassuring about it too, as if he were the only thing holding the world together.

SABER-1 stood silently at the iron door, his imposing figure casting a long shadow into the stairwell. He stared out into the chaos of the battlefield, the faint rumble of distant artillery and the shrieks of Extractants echoing in his helmet.

"Very well," he muttered, his voice low and resolute.

With a motion as fluid as his hulking armor would allow, he activated his comms, opening a direct line to Icarus. Her familiar voice answered almost immediately, tinged with both fatigue and determination.

"Go ahead, Elfy."

"On your next trip, bring as much ammo as you can carry," SABER-1 ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Include an infantry platoon retrofitted with at least one day's worth of supplies and additional ammunition of their own. This will likely be your last trip before they realize we're vulnerable while moving civilians."

There was a pause, and then Icarus's voice returned, softer but steady. "Understood. I'll get it done."

SABER-1 cut the connection without another word. His visor shifted slightly as he listened to the distant booms of tank shells, faint but growing louder. The 56th Tank Battalion was closing in, their firepower a glimmer of hope on the horizon.

But time was not on his side. Every passing second was a gamble, and he didn't know how long they had before the Extractants attacked again. He sighed, a rare sound of frustration escaping his helmet, before making his decision.

Switching his comms, he hailed the control room.

"This is SABER-1. Prepare the largest transport you have available. There are over three hundred civilians remaining. We're going to pack as many as we can onto it."

The control room erupted into a cacophony of shocked whispers and hurried movements. Analysts scrambled to confirm the numbers while officers exchanged tense glances.

"Did he just say three hundred?" one voice whispered, barely audible over the growing din.

"That's insane," another chimed in. "Even the largest transports can't safely carry that many, especially not with Extractants swarming the area!"

The Colonel's sharp voice cut through the noise. "Quiet!"

The room fell silent as everyone turned toward him. The Colonel leaned forward, gripping the edge of the console tightly.

"SABER-1," he said, his voice carefully controlled, "are you certain about this? That many civilians in one transport—if they're targeted—"

"They won't be," SABER-1 interrupted, his tone unyielding. "I'll ensure the path is clear."

The Colonel clenched his jaw but didn't argue. He knew better than anyone that SABER-1 wasn't one to make decisions lightly.

"What about the remaining civilians?" another officer asked cautiously.

"They'll wait here until reinforcements arrive with the Mammoths," SABER-1 replied. "There's no other choice. This transport must move them now, or they die."

The bluntness of his words left the room in stunned silence.

"Get it done," the Colonel finally said, his tone heavy. "Mobilize the largest transport we have. I want it in the air in thirty minutes."

"Yes, sir!" came the collective reply, and the room sprang into action.

Back on the ground, SABER-1 turned his visor toward the civilians slowly gathering behind Sister Marianne.

The Thunderbird roared across the darkened sky, its reinforced engines pushing it to its limits as Icarus gripped the controls tightly. Her comms crackled as she opened a direct line to SABER-1, her voice laced with irritation and a touch of worry.

"Elfy, I don't get it," she said, her tone sharp. "Why are we stopping with just one more trip? I can easily make two, maybe even three more if we move quickly."

The silence that followed only made her agitation grow. She glanced at her radar, confirming the Extraction Zone's proximity. The remaining civilians were still clustered at the Cathedral, a large blip on her display surrounded by ominous red markers representing the Extractants.

"SABER-1," she pressed, her voice firmer. "You're always so damn stubborn, but this time you're wrong. I can do it. Give me the go-ahead, and I'll be back for more people before they even realize we're making another run."

"Negative," his deep voice cut through, cold and unyielding.

Icarus clenched her jaw, her grip tightening on the throttles. "Negative? That's it? That's all I get? Give me a reason, Elfy! You can't just shut me down without explaining!"

Another pause. Then, the same calm, resolute tone: "Stay on course, Captain. One trip."

Her frustration boiled over. "You're making a mistake! Those people—your people—are going to die if we don't—"

"Enough," he interrupted, the command in his voice cutting her off like a blade. "Focus on the mission. No more."

Her hands trembled slightly as she took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside her. "You don't trust me, do you? Is that what this is about?" she challenged.

"This isn't about trust," he replied, his tone as impassive as ever. "It's about survival. And I won't argue."

The comms went silent for a beat before his voice came through again, quieter but no less firm. "Do as ordered, Captain."

Icarus's chest tightened. She wanted to scream, to push back, to demand answers he wasn't willing to give. But she knew him too well. When SABER-1 made up his mind, nothing could change it.

"Fine," she muttered bitterly, her voice cracking. "But I hope you know what you're doing."

She cut the comms, the weight of his words pressing heavily on her as the Extraction Zone came into view. Below, the glowing embers of destroyed Extractants dotted the ground, a grim reminder of the brutal fight that awaited her every time she returned.

She didn't know why he was making this call, but the knot in her chest told her one thing: whatever his reason, it was going to cost him dearly.

The Thunderbird roared overhead, its engines screaming as Icarus swung around for her descent. Dust and ash billowed up in great clouds as the ship's thrusters engaged, stabilizing it for landing.

Below, SABER-1 stood at the edge of the crowd, his massive form a beacon of authority amidst the chaos. His voice, steady and commanding, carried over the muffled murmurs of fear and confusion.

"Sister Marianne," he called, turning his glowing visor toward her.

She approached, her steps hesitant but determined, her hands gripping the edges of her habit. "Yes?"

"Get all the children on board first. Then cram as many people as possible once the last soldier dismounts with the ammo," he instructed.

Her brows furrowed in concern. "That many people on one transport? The strain—what if—"

SABER-1 didn't let her finish. "Do it," he said curtly, his tone brooking no argument. "Once this transport leaves, only one more is coming. After that, we'll have to hold until the ground transports arrive."

His own thoughts betrayed none of the certainty in his voice. Would the ground transports really make it within their given timeframe? The Extractants were unpredictable, their numbers vast. Reinforcements were coming, but would they arrive before everything fell apart?

Sister Marianne pressed her lips into a thin line, fear and resignation battling in her eyes. "Understood," she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. She turned to face her people, her heart heavy as she prepared to deliver the grim reality.

SABER-1, satisfied she would carry out his orders, turned toward the Thunderbird. The ramp was still lowering, the hiss of hydraulics mingling with the ambient chaos of the battlefield. He approached the cockpit and rapped his gauntlet against the canopy.

The sound echoed sharply, cutting through the noise.

Icarus pressed a button, and the canopy hissed open. Her eyes, tired but blazing with defiance, met his visor. "What now, Elfy? Another impossible order?"

Her voice was sharp, though there was an edge of nervousness as she stared at him.

He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he reached up, his massive gauntleted hand moving toward her face. She froze, caught off guard as his two fingers and thumb gently grasped her cheeks.

The cold metal of his gauntlet sent a shiver down her spine, but it wasn't the chill that made her breath hitch—it was the way his touch lingered, not harsh or commanding, but deliberate and steady. It wasn't the grime, ichor, or blood coating his armor that made her heart race—it was something else entirely, something primal and electric.

Her lips parted, ready to speak, but he silenced her with the faintest pressure of his fingers.

"In my book," he said, his voice low but resonating with a rare warmth, "your safety is all I care about."

The world seemed to pause. Her heart pounded in her chest, the words sinking in with a weight she hadn't expected.

That was it. That was all she needed to hear.

To anyone else, it might have sounded like a practical statement, the cold rationale of a soldier prioritizing his pilot. But to her, it was everything. It was his way of telling her what he couldn't say outright.

She didn't care if it was just an inch—she was taking that inch and running a mile.

Icarus felt her lips curl into a small, trembling smile. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she replied, "Got it, Elfy."

He released her face, his touch lingering just long enough to burn itself into her memory. Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned and walked away, his towering frame disappearing into the crowd.

Icarus leaned back in her seat, her hands gripping the controls as a rush of adrenaline coursed through her. For the first time in months, she felt solid, grounded, her emotions no longer swirling in chaos.

If SABER-1 asked her to kamikaze herself, she'd do it in a heartbeat. Because in that moment, she knew—he cared. And for her, that was everything.