Nestor the Chronicled

Man, I’m liking these things. This week’s prompt:

Combat ships depend on their sensor strength and signal resolution for targeting other ships, whether for friendly purposes or as a precursor to opening fire. Many pilots find themselves needing to improve their abilities in this regard. This week, let’s talk about sensor boosters. Maybe they play a key role in a fight, maybe a technician struggles to get them equipped, maybe a lone genius has found a way to increase their performance. Whether you take a technical turn or simply reference them in character drama, see what you can do!

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“—is still unknown whether or not the hanging long-limb smuggling operation was connected with the recent showdown between Serpentis forces and the Navy,” the reporter’s carefully trained voice droned on. “Military experts remain baffled by the relative ease of victory in this latest confrontation. Here to discuss is senior analyst—”

“Turn that off,” snapped Janus.

Mithra gave him an odd look, but muted the ‘cast. She looked down, and consciously stopped fiddling with her ring. She had grown used to Janus’ moods in the past years, but this felt different. She turned towards him, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Janus.”

He sighed. “Mithra, I…”

Janus faltered for a moment. “I had friends on those ships. Work at the docks as a sensor tech, you get to know some of the people,” he went on hastily. “Get to look forward to seeing ‘em, hearin’ about the latest stories.”

Mithra moved in closer, massaging his back. He fell into it welcomingly.

“You know that there’s a chance they won’t come back, but when it happens…” he trailed off. “It just hits you.”

She frowned, but didn’t stop working on his neck. A tense muscle here, slight warble in the voice there; a wife always knew when something was going on. Still, Mithra trusted him. He would never do anything to harm her.

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Mithra was normally a sound sleeper, but had not slept much. She had considered taking a somnifer, but that would require getting out of the warm bed. So she lay there, thinking, only to be rudely interrupted by the muted door chime in the middle of the night.

She felt Janus tense up next to him. The chime did not ring again; whomever it was must have gone. He didn’t think so, though. She felt him move upwards, sliding out and onto the floor. She felt him look back at her; she remained immobile. Satisfied that his wife was fast asleep, Janus padded towards the main entrance, throwing on a robe.

The door opened, giving way to silence. Mithra tensed up to hear the faint voices.

“You! —you,” breathed Janus.

“Us,” agreed a deep voice.

“What do you want from me?”

“Is quality work too much to ask for?” asked the first voice in a flippant tone. “You saw the news. Doesn’t take a milspec brain to figure out something went wrong.”

“It’s not my fault,” insisted Janus quietly. “I warned you that you could only push the hardware so far. They’ve safeties for a reason!”

The first voice continued. “You promised us equipment that would work; we compensated you according to that agreement.”

“But—”

“An agreement,” overrode the voice, “that you have failed to maintain.” A pause. “A wing of battleships is expensive.”

Silence.

Mithra was suddenly conscious of the throbbing of her own pulse.

“I have a wife,” said Janus in a low voice. “She isn’t involved in this.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” agreed the man. “After all, you just up and left one night. Probably for another woman,” he added, followed by a snicker from another voice.

“I—” Janus stopped.

“Isn’t involved, yet,” clarified the first man. “How about a walk?”

A long pause. The door closed softly on a well-oiled mechanism.

Mithra lay shivering in the warm bed.

In the distance, a disposal unit fired, charring its contents to a fine ash.