Sigma/Star

Chapter 4: Ignition

The soft tip of a slipper poked Porter in the face, tickling his cheek until his eyes drowsily opened. Mr. Shotuku withdrew his footwear and placed it back on his foot. "You are supposed to patiently watch her, not sleep with her!" Confused by his sleepy fog, Porter shifted and felt a weight on his side. He looked down to see Nami's head resting against his shoulder, her hair messy and one of her sleeves pulled down a little to expose her shoulder.

Porter scrambled away in shock and let Nami's head fall down to the chair, jarring her into waking up. "No, no I was watching her but I must have fallen asleep and then...umm...well maybe she snapped out of it and then decided to use me as a pillow."

Mr. Shotuku shook his head at Porter. "Lolita in my classroom. Bah. Get yourself to your class." The young boy's face shattered and he looked much like Nami had the day before. Nami tugged at his arms, dragging him out behind her as she fixed her clothes up. There would be no class for Advanced Spirit Techniques today; it occurred every other day so Porter and Nami's day went by in a fairly normal manner, other than Porter bumbling along in a shock over being suspected of sleeping with Nami.

However, Porter got a break from one class as the teacher was ill, and he spent it down in the hangar, where his personal Goliath was always awaiting him. It had been given to him by his grandfather before he had passed away. Porter had barely known his parents, and had briefly spent time with his grandfather before he died and left Porter to grow up in the orphanage. And most orphans ended up serving for the military. Porter was just extra lucky in that his grandfather had been an architect for Goliaths and had constructed this particular one as his personal beauty.

The trouble with this Goliath was that it was old. At its time it might have been the pinnacle of weaponry but it took so long to build that weapons simply advanced past it and it became obsolete before it was even done. While it made Porter the laughing stock of the pilots whenever it was mentioned, at least he had something.

His battlesuit was deemed a Zephyr class, an extremely rare machine that favoured high speed and mobility and delivered technical, precise strikes, all while donning a fairly average build so as to take on some fire, unlike most speed-style Goliaths. This one in particular was immensely unique for its lack of mounted weaponry or guns, instead utilizing two long blades of sharpened steel, each one having a handle that stuck out off the side of the blade. Thus the Goliath could form two fists, each one gripping the handle of a blade, and the swords would be running on the underside of the arm, as well as reaching out past the hand into the air in front. Difficult weapons to wield, though powerful.

Porter couldn't say he knew exactly how powerful they were though. He had never driven the Goliath, nicknamed the "White Storm" for its pearl-white finish, and even if he could he was of such moderate skill he would probably be incapable of handling it. In the end he could have decided to hold onto it as a relic from his grandfather's life or give it away to be scrapped for parts. The army certainly didn't want to use an outdated model in combat and would only let Porter use it because it was gifted to him.

At least he could come down here every so often and go over the minor details of the craft, admiring its keen edges and smooth surface, running his hands over consoles and controls and looking at monitors he pulled up (he had yet to ever even turn the whole thing on. Maybe it couldn't even start). Down in the hangar, inside the White Storm, he was safe from the harassment of his peers, the dissatisfied look of his teachers, and the ignorance of Riya. Yes, down here he could think about Riya all on his own and harken back to that first time they met, when he had bumped into her and consequently set his heart ablaze.

"Whatcha looking at Porter?" At the shock of hearing Nami's voice, Porter jumped up in the cockpit and slammed his head against the ceiling, sinking back down in the seat in a stupor.