Giant Robots? Say no more. I’m in. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

…

The average person in this world starts working at six years old, gets five hours of sleep a day, works six days a week, and lives to sixty, before being cut us of work and shown to the euthanasia center. In the few interim hours between work shifts, people have a semblance of a life. Time to eat, rest, fuck, and entertain themselves in cell-like cubicles that they call homes.

People have kids, and if those kids have good prospects, they’re bought to be used to operate weapons or mechs as Operating System. If they don’t have good prospects, they’re raised in a care center by the government, shown how much they owe at six, and get given a cubicle and a starting shift the day after their sixth birthday.

Parents who produce an Operating System get ten thousand credits after taxes each for their kid, or about fifteen seconds of Gray Corpse firing all its point defense weapons at once. Those who produce a menial get a thousand credits. Given the fact that most people are heavily in debt for being born, to rent the equipment that they use for their job, buying food and needs, and the interest rate of being raised and educated… children are pretty much the only method to get ahead in life.

Carry them, pop them out, and make workers that generate you tax revenue and more workers without needing massive factories and rare earth materials. People invest their limited funds into looking good and being healthy to basically pump out money with other people who have a higher likelihood of producing Operating Systems.

In the end, a regular human being on Earth right now is just a replicating machine part that’s a universal component to immense manufactories.

Component is overselling it, actually.

They’re intake resources, like machine parts, that need to be replaced from time to time to keep production up.

That normal, average person of this world might look amazing and might look healthy, but in truth they’re all overworked slaves. Even if they have perfect bodies, with sparkling teeth, amazing figures, and perfect anatomies, they’re all just desperate to have ten OS’s and be able to retire. Because if they’re not out of debt by the time they hit sixty, and could pay their taxes for existing in the Arcology by working, their only ending is in a euthanasia clinic.

The middle-class exists, of course. People who manage to pass tests, work hard, and receive certifications get better pay, live in apartments, don’t need to pop out kids for fiscal benefits, and work jobs that require technical expertise. Operators who guide and oversee the work of mechanized battalions, professional soldiers, doctors, and the like. However, most of that work is replaced with automated androids or gynoids, who are property, can download skills and information, and need only basic maintenance. You need to be better than them, if you want to keep your job, your pay will never go beyond the upkeep cost for two machines with parts harvested from corpses to do your job.

So, practically speaking, no chance for generational wealth at all.

Then, you have the nobility with near-immortality, genetic enhancements, and whose heirs have personalized, latest-generation walkers that attend boarding schools where they learn how to conquer the rest of the solar system. They eat real food instead of synthetic mush, are attended to by servants partially made with the remains of dead people, and by their command they can send hundreds of conscripted ‘menials’ off to fight against world-destroying monsters with little more than rifles and a bit of armor.

Yeah.

I’m happy to mercilessly beat the snot out of one when given the chance.

…

For lunch, most students left the classroom and took up a spot to spend time with their allies to eat together whilst served by their servants. Typically, I just took lunch at my desk, with Cina giving me a sandwich and my vitamins and supplements. I worked on homework and reviewed lessons, maybe looked up news or information online, and generally just waited for the lunch period to end while being productive.

Today wasn’t going to be a typical lunch period, though, since the normally empty-classroom now had people eating in groups together at their desks.

Cina, helpfully, pointed out what was happening.

“They are looking for a way to approach you naturally. Today, it is likely that the young ladies will merely observe.” I was noticed when I initially arrived, but today I pegged their curiosity and interest. My guess was that they flagged me as someone with potential at first. Then, after looking at my records and now my recent achievement in the simulator, they were planning their next move. “I recommend finding another, private space to spend your time in, sir.”

“I’m not a sir, yet, just call me 549.” I idly reminded her, but Cina just shook her head. Since I was her charge, I couldn’t give her orders on stuff like that. Only my boss could. Really sucks, since I don’t want to be affiliated with the corporate-nobility. “Any suggestions? Should we have the transport land on the roof and eat in there?”

“Such an extreme action would be effective, but would ultimately have the household lose face. That is not permitted.” Damn, it looks like I can’t eat in the car and rest in there, either. “I suggest booking a private study room where entry will only be permitted to those who have signed for it and those they have included in the manifest.”

Cina’s eyes glowed for a second, and then a request page popped up on my desk’s screen, which showcased several rooms for reservation. They were spread out across campus and more than a few were reserved and taken. Judging from the groups present at the classroom now, and the number of empty rooms, I correlated that these girls were the previous inhabitants.

Therefore, that’s a trap.

“Yeah, that’s bait. Exact number of rooms for the groups we’ve got here in the classroom. I pick one and they’ll raise a fuss, then I’ll find myself either back here or sharing.” Cina frowned slightly at my words, before nodding. Probably accessed the historical records of those rooms. “Any place outside that I can spend some time at?”

“…You wish to spend time outside the academy?”

“Isn’t this one of the safest districts in the arcology? Won’t it be safe?”

“The venues will be likely host to adult individuals of other houses. Here, you and your peers are free from social obligation and contact with upper society.” Cina provided information, but from her stern gaze, I knew she was trying to tell me more.

 I put it together soon enough.

“Right, let’s not do that.” If things were desperate here, then it’ll only be more desperate out there. If the corpo-nobility came at me sniveling and conniving, or with arrogance and pride, it would be difficult to not make a scene. Best to avoid that situation. Some movement caught my eye. “Looks like we’re staying here today.”

House Remington’s heiress arrived.

The straight-haired blonde stood for a moment before me, and raised a hand to stop me as I moved to stand with Cina’s help.

She took the seat to my right and spoke.

“I am here to negotiate on behalf of my house regarding your victory.” The statement was concise and simple, but it was followed up by her sending a thick binder of a catalogue my way with a glance towards one of her attendants.  My desk was practically covered by the text-book-alike shopping manifesto. “My family reviewed the recordings and judged that the commensurate reward for my defeat should be the same as a weeklong training session with a highly-esteemed, professional knight of the upper ranks.”

By giving me the same pay as they would an individual of extremely high school, they were basically stating on their end that her loss was to be expected as a student, and that they were proud to have had such a good teacher.

Basically, they took the money option to save face.

Or, they were trying to.

“My apologies, Lady Remington, but I am not versed in business negotiations. I’d love to look at the catalogue, but any negotiations will be through Lady Hariss.” You’re not getting out of this that easily. The prize you wanted from me was that I’d take jobs from you and your family. The value proposition of that against this offer is incredibly skewed in their favor. “Cina, please return the catalogue.”

“Yes, sir.”

Of course, Remington raised her hand at my attempt.

“The catalogue is from myself. I wish to offer a gift in acknowledgement of your superior skill and ability. It is also a method to try and gain you as an ally.” Blunt and to the point. I almost couldn’t believe that I was talking to nobility. Remington gestured my way, and an innocuous ring on her finger glowed, and my communicator sparked. Well over a million credits, a thousand talented children in cost, flowed into my bank account. “Use the money as you wish, but in that catalogue, you may expect well over a fifty percent decrease in any purchases. We will sell to you at cost.”

Okay.

This woman knows how to conduct business, because she figured out that I wasn’t going to back down from this.

Or, maybe, somehow, they knew that I was already trawling through the net for parts for Gray Corpse.

I gave her a smile.

“What a wonderful gift. Thank you. I’ll take the Mark Seven Phased Array by Remington Arms, then. That will be an amazing improvement to my current emitter.” Higher fire rate, slight increase in damage, and less affected by chaff and anti-laser defenses. I didn’t know the exact science difference between a laser and a ‘phaser,’ the shorthand for phased arrays, but the stats and benefits were plain to see. I’ll leave the science to the science people. I just want a mech-sized pew-pew gun that kills chaff easily. “It’ll be perfect for the missions I have this weekend?”

Remington gave a nod, before pausing and speaking again.

“Do you mind if I ask you questions regarding our battle?”

“No, I don’t!” Okay, I had to give this woman a little credit. She had the gumption to challenge me to a fight and put her reputation on the line. Not only that, but she kept up the war after losing the battle. That had to be respected. Even if her family’s legacy is built off human lives being sold as assets, just like the rest of the corporate-nobility.  Corpus nobilis? Whatever. “What do you want to know?”

“Was the only method to defeating me the method you chose?” Remington asked simply. I had to give an inquisitive ‘hm?’ since I unsure what she was asking. “You brought your machine to its breaking point, overriding all safeties, and unleashed everything that it had to overwhelm me. Was that the only possible way for you to win? That you would have to give up your machine to kill me?”

Oh, that’s what she’s getting at.

“No. There are other ways. That wasn’t the only one.” Off the top of my head, I could’ve nullified a lot of her mech’s advantages with sheer volume of fire at a medium-distance. The newer generations of mechs were lightly armored and swift, because they relied on shields. I overwhelmed it quickly with everything that I had, then proceeded to land the big hit with my pile-driver. A micro-missile barrage, then some more point defense fire, and my primary did that in a few seconds. My shoulder-mounted weapons were basically my artillery, and they did in the rest of the mech, before I finished off the pilot and reactor with the pile driver. “But that’s after the battle and after I got the measure of Azure Field. That method was the safest, especially in the simulator, Lady Remington.”

“…What if it were a true battle, then? How would you fight against me?”

“Orbital artillery on your location. Drone walkers to hound you. Nukes. If you survive that, more. That is if I must kill you. If you’re in my way, I’ll simply go around. Your sensors were unable to pierce my stealth coating and heat sapping, no?” Her mech’s main sensor array in the face had tried to follow my movements. That told me that she was using optical sensors to look at me. Remington’s grimace at my statement told me that I was right. “If I had to face you alone, in the battlefield, and I wished to keep my war machine for more missions… then I would leave, do more missions, and then face you on more even terms with a better war machine.”

I did my best to circumvent the potential trap of saying I could kill her outside the simulation without any help or just flat out retreating. I mean, I could. It’d be tricky and I’d have to give up some armor and durability and a weapon or two, but I could. The cannons on my shoulders would be essential, I’ll need to bring her into unfamiliar territory, and ambush he close range. She had pretty powerful defensive systems.

“If I were an impediment to that method, if the only method to continue was to defeat me in Azure Field with your Gray Corpse, now… what would you do in theory?” Remington leaned forward as she spoke. This wasn’t just about honor, I realized. She wanted to be a better pilot. And, as horrible as a family she came from, I could respect that. “How—

“You need to be better, faster, and more skilled. Azure Field is a fantastic war machine. You were unable to ignite its heart within a timely manner, you were unable to move more than a meter from where the battle started, and you were unable to unleash your arsenal before you were defeated.” I told her the truth of the matter, even while Cina sighed and palmed her face at my statement. I wasn’t going to mince words and get this woman’s blood on my hands. That would make me as bad as they were. “Train. Fight against the enemies at the gate. Survive against the worst you can manage, refit and rearm, and go again against a greater threat. Do all of it again and again until operating your war machine comes as easily as breathing… halfway through that and you’ll defeat me and Gray Corpse with ease.”

In other words: git gud, scrub.