15. A Fortuitous Misunderstanding

The battered *Gay Volk* barely managed to execute an Overlight despite being raked by concentrated fire.

Yet the controls no longer responded.

The *Gay Volk*, uncontrollable after the Overlight, was pulled toward the planet's gravity, mere moments from impact.

Longinus-class battleships were not designed for atmospheric flight.

Even unscathed, once captured by a gravity well, this outcome was inevitable.

As a result, the *Gay Volk* came to rest on the surface in its close-combat configuration.

"...It's impossible. This is..."

After a full inspection by the entire maintenance crew, Shirley reached this conclusion.

The other team leaders from several maintenance squads reached the same conclusion.

“At the very least, it’s impossible to break free of this planet’s gravity well under its own power.”

Shirley reported this to the captain from the bridge.

The fortunate part was that the artificial gravity generators, identical to those aboard the fleet, were still functional.

Otherwise, merely enduring life aboard this capsized vessel would have been a hardship.

“…Indeed. Even with the planet’s resources, repairs are unfeasible?”

“Fighter craft are severely damaged. Sending them out in this condition would be too risky.”

No intact units remained among the Ravens that had landed before the overlight.

First, those that still functioned had to be made operational before resource collection could begin.

“And this is the greatest obstacle. Repairing damage of this scale by ourselves is impossible. Restoring minimal functionality could take months…”

Fortunately, the Second Fleet was not pursuing.

Yet the main force—the Defense Fleet—was already fragmented.

In such a state, if the Third Fleet’s core were attacked by the Second Fleet’s vessels, the outcome awaiting them would be dire.

“…Why did they launch the attack in the first place?”

“That question serves no purpose.”

Sharon interjects, gently interrupting the captain’s muttered reflection.

The timing was optimal—strategically, the moment to strike the Third Fleet’s fleet was ideal.

But prior to that.

Why now, knowing full well this would provoke war?

“They must understand… that fighting between fleets at this moment yields nothing.”

An attack would provoke the other two fleets into action.

Several possibilities existed—but—

“They will not hesitate to wage war. They’ve come prepared for that resolve—there’s no doubt about it.”

The captain, surfacing from the sea of thought, addressed the assembled personnel.

“First, bring the assault frame units to full operational readiness. Then, proceed with planetary survey.”

At present, their position remains unknown. The nature of this planet is equally unclear.

Even if they could determine the current stellar system, the likelihood of it being uncharted remains high.

Thus, establishing that knowledge becomes the top priority.

With that decision made—

“! Reactor reaction!”

The observer screamed out.

Immediately, the captain’s voice rang out.

“Identification signal!”

“No response! This is an ASID!”

“Can we activate any turrets?”

“The reactor has already shut down—turrets are irrelevant!”

“Assault frame units…?”

“No functional units remain. Not one operates properly.”

"Library match confirmed. Similar data found. This is a humanoid ASID unit..."

A soundless groan, a whisper of resentment.

A standard ASID might have been defeated even in a damaged state.

But a humanoid ASID—unknown even at full capacity.

The catastrophic loss eight years prior remained a trauma for the Third Fleet's defense forces.

"...All personnel. Shut down all reactors."

The captain chose evasion over combat.

"Broadcast to all decks. No noise."

An archaic directive, reminiscent of submarines avoiding sonar detection by suppressing sound.

With no ability to fight, this was the only option.

They could only pray the enemy would not detect them, and pass by.

"Approaching reaction detected..."

It came forward—shuffling, unsteady, with a gait barely coherent.

Though it was humanoid, the unit was extremely small.

The unit, approximately five meters in length, was a type not encountered eight years prior.

As expected—'Gai Bolc' was large.

Unmistakably so.

Naturally, it was detected without delay.

The screen displayed a small humanoid approaching the 'Gai Bolc'.

Despite the tension of the situation.

"...Something's oddly cute, don't you think?"

"Corporal Byron. Keep your mouth shut."

Sharon fell silent, chastised by the captain's voice—half exasperation, half anger.

The small unit, at closest approach, emitted a sound.

Uncommon, given that combat typically occurred in vacuum, where such noise would not carry.

It tapped the armor of the 'Gai Bolc' as if knocking—yet no intent of destruction was perceived.

After a pause, the entity turned and retreated along the path it had come.

"...What was that just now?"

"Perhaps it was merely debris...?"

The bridge crew tilted their heads, unable to reconcile the recent behavior with standard ASID patterns, but recovered their composure.

"Right. Proceed as planned—prepare the assault frame units for deployment. We know humanoid ASIDs are present. This is now a race against time. Maintain strict vigilance. The entity may have brought others."

The captain issued the order. Energy returned to the ship.

The next day.

"Reactor signature... pattern match. It's the same one from yesterday!"

"It's back again!"

All work ceased. Breath was held once more.

This time, it carried a heavy stone.

The image reminded them—regardless of size, anything capable of transporting something larger than itself was undeniably an ASID.

Watching the footage.

…It’s kind of cute, really.

“Sergeant Byron. Shut up.”

Watching the footage as before, they observed the creature bring the stone and slam it against the hull.

It didn’t break with bare hands, so it brought a rock instead.

“No, there must be other things… more options…”

One impact. Observe. Another impact. Observe.

Then it emitted another sound.

After a while, it gave up. Left the rock behind and walked away.

…What even was that?

No intention at all was clear.

…Ah. This rock. It contains a rich variety of minerals—perfect for repair materials.

Good. Once it’s far enough, we’ll recover it.

The next day.

Ah, it’s back again.

By the third time, the tension had faded.

The observer spoke with casual ease, as if the solemnity of the first encounter had been a lie.

……Much larger than before.

Rolling along, unable to carry it, dragging a massive boulder.

One would mistake it for a falling rock, were it not for the fact that it had arrived.

It collides again with the hull. Heavier, perhaps, but less momentum than yesterday—still, the impact is significant.

Then, as if just noticing, it pauses.

It glances around, searching. The rock left yesterday is gone.

—Did it notice?

Even if materials were scarce, perhaps leaving it there was the wrong decision…?

It lets out another sound, shoving the boulder forward once more.

After a moment, it seems to give up.

It emits a low cry, then turns and departs again.

This boulder contains a notable amount of minerals.

…No. Not today. I’ll leave it. It felt as though yesterday’s disappearance had already stirred distrust.

A sigh. The captain mutters, genuinely regretful.

She glanced suddenly across the bridge.

"By the way, Sergeant Byron. You've been unusually quiet today."

The fact that the individual who had been muttering endearments yesterday was now strangely silent bothered her.

No—frankly, the captain had developed a faint attachment to that creature’s small-animal demeanor.

"...No, there's something I've been concerned about. I've been sampling its vocalizations."

"Vocalizations?"

"Yes. Since there's no one particularly knowledgeable about animals or linguistics here, I'd like to keep searching."

Staring at the retreating back, Shirley murmured.

"Something about these sounds feels structured. To be honest, I think this might not be mere sound—it could be language."

Dropping the bomb while speaking.