Ricos was looking in his notebook. Marade walked up to him.
“Made a choice?”
“I’m going over the options. The trade-offs. You know, cost-benefit analysis.”
“I know it,” Marade said. “But do you really want a Score class? Even my upgrade didn’t fix it that much. It’s useless everywhere but on the ground—and that’s only for strafing.”
Ricos jotted something down. “I not getting a Score. I’m looking for obvious structural weaknesses. Depending where they are, it changes if the weapons of the two main fighting classes can penetrate with maximum efficiency.”
“That’s a mouthful. Tell you what. You can trade out guns all you want with these new rules. Just pick the better craft.”
Ricos nodded. “Very well. I want a Zeyreus-class with the front and rear weapons modified to the main guns of Chao.”
“What, you want people to look at your craft and say, ‘my, what big bullets you have’?”
Ricos smiled. “All the better to shoot them while they’re wondering.”
Marade nodded and moved on, but he caught her arm.
“And I’ll want it painted. Camouflage.”
“Not my area. I paint like a drunk beast. Talk to…someone else. Someone who knows how to paint.”
Ricos nodded and turned back to his craft. It was his now. His personal fighting and killing machine.