I woke up to the chime of the morning announcement, addressing all personnel to wake up and get to work. I am a part of the maintenance crew and just like them have been trained to rise when the bell chime.

  I slept in my fatigues; too tired at the end of the day to change into something else. Cleanliness isn`t exactly a priority when you work with muck and grease. My hands were still stained with oil from the previous day’s work however.

  I decided a shower would do me some good, pretty me up a bit before people forgot I was a girl. A trans girl in stealth sure, but a girl none the less. I didn`t need to give anyone anymore reason to look at me longer than was necessary and start to suspect something. Not until I could cultivate a good reputation amongst my colleagues anyway.

  I climbed out of bed once everyone had left and checked the chip slotted into my wrist`s dermal port, it was red, empty. I was going to need to repce it.

  I felt my chin for stubble and was relieved to feel none. The nanites in the hormone chips were doing their job, feeding me a steady dose of estrogen as well as stifling my facial and body hair growth to the point of none existence.

  They were expensive, but totally worth it. I reached into my bag and repced the chip once I was confident I was alone. I really didn`t need people asking questions.

  I grabbed my shower kit and made for the bathroom, communal just like every other room I and the other maintenance workers were permitted to enter.

  I was the only one who showered in the morning, everyone else was using what little time they had to get some breakfast. I wasn`t the kind that needed to eat when I woke up, lunch and dinner were my driving meals.

  It worked out perfectly; I could bathe without any onlookers discovering my little secret. I felt bad, having to hide who I was, but I knew the price for pride in the Imperium`s military.

  Laws protected my life but they promised no such thing for my dignity and while homosexuality was widely accepted, being trans was not.

  I relished the warm water, not having to share it with anyone, the pressure pristine. I could feel the many streams of water carving tiny furrows into my skin and washing away all the sweat and filth that had accumuted.

  The dead skin and oil stains were going to need a bit more attention. I thered up some industrial grade soap and covered myself in it thoroughly, inspecting every inch of my slim athletic form, getting into every corner and crease.

  My hands ran gently over my small growing breasts and teased a response out of my nipples. I bit my lip as they grew hard. I ran my hands down the sides of my body and firmly caressed my ass, tight with just a little bit of jiggle to it.

  I parted my cheeks, just a little, just enough to let the soap and water creep in and kiss my tight sensitive hole. By the time I reached my cock it was engorged, swollen and erect, ready to go.

  I had only been stationed on the Valour a month and already I was craving the intimacy of a partner, someone to hold me, to kiss me, to suck me and fuck me. But being trans didn`t make that easy, especially on a Carrier.

  I needed to py the long game, cultivate trust, a rapport with my fellow crew, maybe then I could get my dick wet. Until that day came however I would just have to take care of myself.

  [---]

  I entered the hanger with the rest of the maintenance crew, it was the core of the Valour, its heart and soul. It harboured all of our war machines; anti-personal and anti-tank mechs mostly, each one a couple of tons of steel and death that required constant maintenance.

  They were not why I was here though, each crew was made up of smaller units and mine had the privilege of tending to and handling the repairs of the Carriers Destroyer mech.

  A colossal machine of destruction as rge as a four story building. Equipped with enough weapons to level a city and the technology to move fwlessly and with absolute power. It was the pinnacle of mechanised warfare and no Destroyer was ever like another, entirely customised to suit the mentality of their pilot.

  My designated charge was christened the Utter End, a sleek, nimble machine that forewent reinforced armour for manoeuvrability. Its arms and legs were slim and angur, weapons in their own right but wielding so much more.

  Each leg was fitted with retro thrusters and advanced missile systems. Each arm wielded a titanium super-heated bde that could cut through diamonds like butter. Each wrist was equipped with a dual action, light weight, auto-cannon and its torso was powered by twin-chemical reactors that could produce enough power to run an entire city for weeks.

  It was in no simple words, a machine designed for the single purpose of killing its opponent swiftly and without mercy. A Goddess with no equal.

  I had marvelled at it for days when I first arrived, memorised every detail and took great pleasure in tending to it. Every metal panel, every armour pting, every fibre optic cable, screw, nut and bolt was handled with absolute reverence.

  The Destroyers were the greatest weapons in the Imperium’s arsenal and as such deserved the finest care.

  I was in the middle of running maintenance and troubleshooting the left legs hydraulic system and actuators. It was all routine but none the less important, if just one system, one tiny part of the machine failed it could mean death for not just the pilot but all those relying on them.

  I had just finished the st of the systems cycles, my day nearing its end. I heard a murmur develop amongst my fellow workers and soon a crowd was forming down on the hanger floor. I wondered over, curious as to what the commotion was all about.

  I muscled her way through the heavy press of bodies, navigating shoulder to shoulder until I reached a vantage point. I could just look over the heads of those in front and saw what had them all so captivated.

  It was the pilot of the Utter End, designation Hound, call sign, Killer. She walked stiffly, in her skin tight pilot’s suit adorned with various straps and neural ports. Everything she needed to fix herself in pce and integrate with the machine seamlessly.

  I took a minute, a real minute to look passed the pilot and see the woman herself. Short yet elegant hair, bck as the night and as straight as could be. It bobbed with her steps, moving like a liquid, seemingly defying the very ws of gravity.

  Her eyes were a dull grey that held no real intelligence behind them and her face bore an expression of absolute nothingness. I felt cold just looking at her, an unknowable entity hiding behind it that filled me with a primal fear.

  Ahead of the pilot was her Handler, Sergeant Maria Vasquez, as beautiful as she was deadly. She in contrast to Killer wore a thick leather coat, as was common among the higher ups of the Valour.

  A fur lined colr and a right breast that was covered in medals. Underneath that I could just make out some casual business attire, a buttoned shirt and pressed pants, leather heels that clicked as she walked. Her hair was ptinum blonde and went all the way down to the ground, stopping just before it met the floor.

  It looked unimaginably soft and gave her a fae like quality but instead of making her look magical it made her look dangerous. Lastly were her eyes, dark brown, almost bck, vibrant and alive with what I could have sworn was contempt. For who I had no idea.

  The crowd parted as the two walked towards their machine, the systems spinning up to life at the behest of the head mechanic. The rge oil stained and muscled man exchanged his data ste with Sergeant Vasquez and retreated respectfully.

  Hound turned to her Handler and received a gentle kiss on the cheek before she climbed the stairs that lead to the cockpit. It must have been a drill; else the battle station sirens would have sounded. In all the time I had been stationed aboard I had not once seen the pilot of the Utter End.

  It was like seeing a demi-god, a creature of myth come to life, it was breath-taking. I could hardly hide the arousal forming quickly in my fatigues, my cock in awe of the creature that got to pilot my Goddess.

  [---]

  My day was over, having departed the hanger I made straight for the cafeteria like many of my fellows. I was eager for a hot meal having skipped lunch to work more diligently on the Utter End.

  As I gorged myself on a mix of well cooked meats, root vegetables and rice I listened to the conversations of those around me. The topic of interest was obviously on the Utter Ends Hound and Handler. They were an enigmatic duo, often seen walking the halls but rarely ever approached.

  Not a lot was really known about them, except for what people could dig up on the neural net or gather from rumours. Word of them circuted like booze, intoxicating all those who heard and joined in on the conversation.

  The general consensus was that Sergeant Vasquez had a license to kill anyone on the ship she disdained; she was not a woman to get in the way of. Cold, unfeeling and deadly, every medal earned, every privilege a right.

  More was known about her Hound but it was less consistent, some said she was a veteran of over a thousand battles, every one of them a victory. Some said she was a monster, not even human, a feral creature that lived only to kill for the Imperium. Some argued she was a clone, one of many that simple waited, then awoke and piloted the Utter End until they could pilot it no more.

  The rumours were widespread and colourful and I for the most part did not take them to heart, I did admire their imagination however. I made a mental note to do some research of my own when I had the chance. It only seemed right to know what I could of the pilot of my Goddess that was the Utter End.