Lisa Martinez walked through the metal corridors of Luna Base with her tablet in hand and hope in her heart. The morning shift had just started and the base hummed with activity as pilots and crew members prepared for another day of training and missions. She had been waiting for this moment for 3 months now.

Ever since she finished her advanced combat training with the highest scores in her class, the Griffin HX9 was everything a pilot could dream of. It was fast, deadly, and equipped with technology that made other star fighters look like toys from the past. The quantum drive could push the ship through space faster than anything else humanity had built. The adaptive armor could change its structure to deflect different types of weapons.

The targeting system was so advanced it could lock onto enemies before they even knew they were being hunted. Lisa had studied every technical manual about the Griffin HX 9. She knew its systems better than most mechanics knew their tools. She could recite the startup sequence from memory and had run simulations of combat scenarios until her fingers moved across the controls without conscious thought.

Her flight instructor had told her she was one of the best natural pilots he had seen in 20 years of training. The requisition office was located in the lower levels of the base where the administrative work happened. Lisa had been here many times before for routine equipment requests, but today felt different.

Today, she was asking for the one thing that could change her entire military career. The Griffin HX9 would put her on the front lines of humanity’s war against the alien threats that lurked in the dark spaces between stars. Sergeant Pete Collins sat behind his desk, looking bored as he processed paperwork.

He was a thick man with gray hair and tired eyes who had been working in requisitions for more years than Lisa had been alive. The walls around his desk were covered with forms and regulations that seemed to multiply every time someone looked at them. A coffee cup sat next to his computer screen with brown stains marking where he had spilled it many times before.

Lisa approached the desk and placed her tablet down so Collins could see her request. She had filled out every form perfectly and included her training scores, flight records, and recommendations from three different instructors. Her service record showed no disciplinary actions, and her fitness reports were all marked excellent.

Everything was in order according to military protocol. Collins picked up the tablet and scrolled through her information with the same expression he might use to read a grocery list. His eyes moved across the screen without showing any reaction to her impressive scores or the glowing recommendations from her superiors………

Collins took a slow sip of his coffee and set the cup down with a sigh that seemed to come from another century.

“Lieutenant Martinez,” he said finally, voice gravelly from years of recycled air. “Impressive record. Best I’ve seen in a while.”

Lisa’s heart skipped. Finally.

“But…” He leaned back in his chair, the word hanging like a guillotine. “HX9s aren’t handed out to just anyone. Those birds cost more than a lunar dome.”

Lisa’s jaw tightened. “Sir, with respect, I’ve met every qualification listed in Protocol 17-C. I even completed additional training modules on the new adaptive armor system. I’m not asking for favoritism — just fair assignment.”

Collins stared at her for a long moment. Then he swiped the screen again, slower this time. “You trained under Commander Rivas, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

He grunted. “He put in a note here… says you’re one of the sharpest pilots he’s had. But also says you have a problem with authority.”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “That’s not—”

He raised a hand. “Doesn’t matter what you or I think, Lieutenant. The brass reads that, and suddenly your paperwork goes into the pending review stack. You know how long things stay there?”

Lisa swallowed hard. “Months.”

“Years, sometimes,” Collins said. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Her chest tightened. “Sir, with all due respect—there’s a war happening out there. We’re losing ships every week. You need pilots who can think, adapt—who aren’t afraid to take initiative.”

He studied her for a long moment. Then something flickered in his eyes — not indifference this time, but quiet calculation.

“Tell you what,” he said finally. “There’s an HX9 scheduled for diagnostics tomorrow morning in Hangar C-2. Officially, it’s off-limits. Unofficially…” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “…no one guards a ship that early. Just tech crews and sleep-deprived mechanics.”

Lisa frowned. “Are you suggesting—?”

“I’m saying,” Collins interrupted, “that paperwork moves faster when someone proves they can fly what they’re asking for.”

She stared at him, realization dawning like sunrise over the lunar ridge. “You want me to steal the ship.”

He smiled faintly. “Borrow, Lieutenant. Just long enough to remind Command what talent looks like.”