Giant Robots? Say no more. I'm In.

Chapter 6

…

Commissioned by Obsidian_Gaming

…

I was in a good mood going into school.

I spent my entire weekend chilling in my mech, raking in the money, and building up for new upgrades. With my new connections, I got access to some cool subsystems. Upgrades to the frame of the mech to make it carry more weight. Changing my fifty-caliber point defenses with lasers. Getting energy-based plates instead of explosive plates, so they recharge and don’t go away after one use. All fantastic upgrades, and I wanted all of them, but cooler things cost more… so I was weighting the costs and benefits of each one before going to sleep, after waking up, training, bathing, and eating.

Getting more weight meant being able to carry bigger guns, but I wasn’t going to get any upgrades for a while. Laser point defenses are cool, but if the air is filled with enough chaff they won’t work because they’ll need to burn through before hitting anything, while guns will just work. The energy-emitter plates are great, but if they get hit while they’re inactive, they’re broken and need to be replaced. Getting hit is pretty much guaranteed, so they’ll work a couple more times than my reactive armor plates, but will be more expensive to replace.

I was having fun weighting the options against one another when someone decided to interrupt my happy time by ignoring Cina’s signage to fuck off and just looming over me.

“OS-549.”

“Lady Priscilla.” I greeted her by standing, giving a proper bow with a hand over my heart, and grabbing my cane to support myself. For a moment, the towering woman close to seven feet tall looked… nope. Didn’t give a shit that I was weak. Really great first meeting, lady. I already know how to deal with assholes like you. Malicious compliance is a go. “How may I assist you in my capacity as knight tempor of House Hariss?”

Cina was staring at me from behind the genetically-modified young woman of fourteen.

The cyborg/robot looked almost betrayed by my perfect formal address.

Hey, when I’m resting, I don’t like to talk corporate, or as they call it nowadays: noble etiquette.

By the way, no matter how much you cover a turd up in gold, it’s still a turd.

“…Squire OS-549, this is an unofficial meeting. I hold no intention to speak to you in an official capacity.”

“Then, my apologies Lady Priscilla, but I have been bidden to learn by Lady Hariss. It is my current duty.” That’s right. I’m going to use noble protocol to my advantage. If I have to learn to talk and live like a pompous prick with a stick up my ass, I’m going to at least use what I learn to my advantage. “I can only ignore that order when a greater, official priority arises. Such as, of course, your household wishing to contact House Hariss for a mutually beneficial venture.”

Translation: pony up the money for my time or fuck off.

I kept smiling, while Lady Priscilla glared at me.

She glared at me for a while, but soon enough turned wordlessly with gritted teeth and left me alone.

If there’s any retribution on her end for this, she’ll be marked as petty and weak.

Unless I send a potshot at her for the sake of my own satisfaction.

She lingered a bit in the doorway, as if waiting for that, but I just smiled and waved.

You might be some sort of superhuman born to rule over the planet, but I’ve got decades of dealing with corporate mouthbreathers and company policy.

I know exactly how to smile and wave and do nothing to harm my own career, while pissing off people I don’t like.

Anyway, she left after that and I went ahead and took my seat.

I updated my boss on the situation, before going back to more important matters.

I’m thinking that weight bearing upgrades will be better in the long term, since it’ll also confer structural improvements to Gray. Not only will I be able to pack on more armor and weight in other assets, it’ll also be tougher as a matter of course.

I think that’s the best path for me to take now.

…

Interlude: Ryleigh of House Remington, Aspirant Savior of Earth

…

I was watching the latest combat recordings of OS-549 when Priscilla entered the room with a grunt.

“He’s got spine and a firm handle on social customs. He’s smarter than his brain scans suggest.” She took a chair and sat beside me. Over the course of the last few weeks, we gathered information regarding the new arrival to our school and engraved the facts we found in memory, as to transform it into actionable information. Today Priscilla tried to approach him, unofficially, going against the written protection provided by House Hariss, and we found new data. He knew more than people of his caliber normally would. Most OS’s would struggle to keep up with our classes, be entirely dependent on their household when dealing with nobility, and be easily swayed to join those who offer a helping hand. “I would go as far to say that House Hariss is hiding his true worth… if not for the school’s clinic confirming it all.”

“House Hariss forwarded recorded information on his missions this weekend. I have obtained a copy.” I requested it, father provided the required amount of compensation, and I obliged with the funds from my own projects. It was a hefty sum. However, I knew our classmates were already doing the same. “Do you have a moment?”

“There’s an hour before lessons. Of course, I do.” Priscilla raised her hand and the servants waiting behind us approached. They were all wearing deafening and blinding devices. Priscilla trained them well to not react to them. They could only see and hear when she raised her hand their way, they fulfilled the functions of servants with ease. They prepared breakfast for her and I in the school kitchens, then waited beside the trolleys without erring until they were bidden to come forth. They served us both and they returned to wait another command without a word or hint of hesitation. As the screen played, we both paused at the mission overview presented by the video. “Barely two hours to vanquish a fortified position built by the Elarans? This must be a joke.”

“It has been validated by the ministry of defense.” I told her simply and she scowled. The screen presented the view of the pilot, and I frowned as it shifted immediately to looking for ‘behind’ the mech using the combined sensors and software. Through the screens in his cockpit, he chose what was nearly an overhead view, while most preferred to see through the visor of the head module. “His pilot view appears to be of a different style than most. Have you seen this before, Priscilla?”

“No, I have not. The advantages are obvious, but so are the disadvantages… unless he knows the complete layout of his cockpit by heart and needs not see any of it.” Priscilla’s brow furrowed. However, it was not in frustration. It was a questioning movement. Her curiosity was peaked. “I did not see any sign of tech-based implants in his profile. It must all be through memorization and training.”

Not needing sight to manipulate dozens and dozens of switches and motor controls. The war machines used by OS’s were meant to be intuitive to use, as those sent in them were young. However, that was by lighting up buttons, providing screen pop ups, and filling the cockpit with markings. I moved the video back, to where OS-549 was setting up his machine, and found the truth of the matter. Nothing was marked, and many normal controls were miniaturized and arrayed all around him in small, unmarked buttons near the reach of his hands from the control mechanisms on the sides of his piloting chair.

Without any implants that would allow him to interface directly to his machine, that meant he truly was operating his whole machine without seeing his own cockpit.

“It seems so.” I agreed after my analysis, and bid the screen to continue playing the recording. The video was sectioned off into two parts. Reconnaissance and assault. We watched carefully as he circled the whole of his operating area, killing patrols and scouts, in a low configuration of his mech. Looking at it from his point of view made it seem simple, but my hands and legs twitched as I felt they make mistakes trying to make the same movements occur on my machine. The benefits to his configuration of controls were becoming more and more obvious, but the years it would take to learn was more than apparent. “I feel that we’ve been taught the wrong way to pilot.”

“A mental interface, an AI, and training could achieve similar results. Various upgrades can be implemented to effectively immerse the pilot into their warmachine and achieve what he is doing… but the costs would be high even for an established household. A hundred warmachines could be equipped and given pilots. A battleship could be constructed.” Priscilla stared intently, and her fingers fly across a tablet her servant provided her with an unseen gesture. She took her war machine and added the parts, swapping out various pieces she lovingly maintained and upgraded, and placed in the new parts she mentioned. A complete redesign took place in minutes, as we watched the massive war machine function as a scouting, hovering tank with the speed of a jet. I ate my breakfast and she did the same, while the video played and as she began to use her eyes alone to command the machine through glares and blinks. When she was done, she nodded with satisfaction. “I’ll have the machine made within the week. I have added a co-pilot seat.”

That statement gave me pause, as unfounded pride suddenly reared its head.

However, that pride fell away at Priscilla’s own, sudden lack of pride.

She noticed my stare and grunted with crossed arms.

“What am I to do? Cry foul? Call this a lie? I see with my own eyes the capabilities of this Knight Tempor and I know I cannot compare. Do you feel that you do?” Priscilla’s grey gaze looked my way. I frowned but shook my head. She was correct. As soon as I acknowledged the fact, an unfamiliar and dreadful sensation formed in the pit of my stomach. I frowned, while Priscilla smiled. “Ah, there it is. You’ve felt it for the first time: the fear of being lesser in any respect to another.”

I opened my mouth to deny the words, but my own earlier statement resounded in my mind.

I had tried to blame my teachers for being unable to do the same with my warmachine as OS-549 did with his.

And, that was before his assault on the Elarans began in truth.

The screen was nothing but a constant stream of foes when he initiated his assault, but they were all a blur. I watched his machine reach past five hundred kilometers per hour and never drift below.

There was no other way to describe than otherworldly. I couldn’t do anything besides watch, and before I realized it, I was standing and leaning on the table with both hands trying to absorb every second.

OS-549 danced across the battlefield like a micro-drone. He turned in an instant. Went from speeding forward to speeding back, left, or right in mere moments. The sensors from his cockpit was a constant din. Over-G, overheating, warnings regarding frame limits, and the constant roar of boosters at full burn. His breathing was controlled and measured, and the piloting suit he wore whined with servomotors constantly assisting his body in pumping blood. His machine heated up from constant exertion, despite the overwhelming heat sinks it had, and coolant pumped in and out of his suit near constantly. The machine was being brought to its fullest potential.

The laser emitter in the right arm glowed nearly as red as the beams it shot over swarms of foes. Flesh burst apart or came aflame after moments of it passing over them. Steam from the atmosphere boiling around it was constant, but it continued to spit directed heat upon foes, practically vaporizing the smallest creatures and making the larger ones boil alive or come apart as their bodily fluids turned to steam and came apart.

While that weapon raked over the Elarans, they were being struck by micro-missiles coming out from every part of the machine not covered in armor plating. Micro-missiles, cannon rounds, and smoke canisters flowed out of the machine. Sightlines were blocked, legs of enemies were taken out for mobility kills, and incoming projectiles undone were point defenses. He activated his reactive armor time and time again, just to kill his opponents with speeding ball bearings whenever they neared him.

The particle cannons on the shoulders of his machine were operated with near preternatural grace. He targeted them independently and manually at the heaviest of foes, even as he put the machine through rapid movements. It mattered not if his machine was skidding into a half circle and boosting into the air, or flying straight at nine hundred kilometers an hour, the turrets aimed at the heaviest targets and lanced them through with superheated particles that broke through armor, and left behind superheated metal shavings that burnt away flesh.

And, if anything could survive those two, shoulder-mounted artillery pieces, he was upon them in a flash with the electromagnetic ram on his left arm. It was a weapon that would get most killed using it, but he seemed to have it as his primary weapon. When it was available, he would lash out with it, and it would kill what he struck. And, every time he struck, all the foes that would take advantage of that singular moment had their vision blocked by terrain or smoke, or were dead and dying by his other actions.

That was the first five minutes of his assault, before the nuclear charges needed to destroy the hives arrived, and well before the video ended.

I released a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding when the battle began.

For the first time in my life, I felt doubt towards my own abilities.

Could I truly achieve such heights in combat?

I tossed the thought aside the moment it settled.

It was not a matter of whether I could or I could not.

I would try to reach that height with all my strength.

Otherwise, I could never again look myself in the mirror.