Giant Robots? Say no more. I’m in. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

…

Commissioned by Birbman

…

The weekend arrived and I practically collapsed onto my seat.

“Oh, thank goodness. Back to normalcy.” I went ahead and started a systems diagnosis, while the chassis opened and the containment unit lowered to encapsulate me with my mech. “How are you doing, Gray? Talk to me.”

The fusion engine came alive, while system readouts presented themselves to me.

I called my mech Gray because it was all gray in its color scheme originally.

Hurr durr. I’m a grate artiste.

I gave a whistle as the readings came in.

“Wow, she wasn’t kidding about the full remodel. You’re practically brand new!” Over the years, a lot of wear and tear that couldn’t be overcome through parts being changed appeared. As good as armor was, and as good as I was at distributing damage evenly, the internal frame of the mech’s torso portion suffered. That part was replaceable too, of course, but it was expensive so I bought the heaviest, bulkiest one that can fit the biggest thruster and engine and just made it last. All of Gray’s original parts were long gone, either sold off or scrapped. The big difference today was that all the new replacements were just that: new. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Power flowed through all the systems without me needing to preform any bypasses through subsystems. There was no need for me to override any warnings from coolant leaking from the limbs. The cooling system meant to integrate with the piloting suit had fresh, gel-like coolant instead the oil-like gunk I used to have. Life support systems and escape mechanisms were both available, instead of red and inactive. I mean, everything used to work and keep me fighting, but this was great.

And, they kept my additional purchases and tuned them up.

“Damn, the heatsink really needed maintenance… and software updates.” I whistled as the temperature of my mech equalized and became ambient automatically. Not only did I not have to change it manually, but it was about four times faster. I mean, going down from 10 seconds to around 2.5 seconds didn’t seem like much, but that also translated to transferring heat build up from my weapons, not just keeping me from showing up on infrared or getting hot and toasty. “Ooh, and the internal weapons and defenses have gotten some upgrades.”

The close-in weapon systems all over my mech used to be fifty caliber and shot at chaff and incoming projectiles. Supporting them were explosive reactive plates, which I could also manually activate to tell chaff to cease existing in my vicinity. Basically, the immediate area around my mech was a minefield supported by multiple heavy machine gun nests. If there weren’t any hostiles nearby, they shot at incoming shells and projectiles. The guns received upgrades to their firmware and sensors, along with improvements to their propellant, so they’d be better at interceptions. Meanwhile, the explosive plates got some ball bearings added across the surface layer, making them even more lethal when I trigger them.

The micro-missile and smoke launchers just got some software updates and reloads. Can’t really make those things any better, honestly.

Finally, though, there were the main weapon upgrades.

“The emitter’s looking really fine…” The main scatter laser for the right hand was twenty percent lighter than the old, used one I got that was like a box with loads of lenses at the front that spat out red strobes of heat. The new one still looked like a giant box with a pistol grip, but it was easier to bring around than the old one and still had the same damage output and power draw. Smaller and lighter, but without any loss in damage output and fire rate and range? Sign me up. “And, I didn’t even know you could be upgraded, sweetheart.”

I almost swooned at the new schematics of my electromagnetic pile driver. The electromagnetic coils that would propel the massive pillar also suspended it now, and had additional improvements. The company made the magnetic control coils thinner and smaller, allowing them to add more coils and more control systems. Now the projectile can go from zero to a thousand miles an hour in  half of a second, and get swung around like a giant log of tungsten before returning to its sheathe while the capacitors charged up again. I briefly considered asking for a sharped tungsten spike instead of a solid cylinder… when I realized that would be stupid.

It's a ten-ton hunk of tungsten flying at a thousand miles per hour.

It doesn’t need to be sharpened.

It won’t give a fuck if something has armor, shields, or redundant organs, if I can hit with it.

If something within five meters of my mech, and I hit it with that?

It’s dead.

I don’t know how the weight of the massive pillar didn’t register on my machine, but I wasn’t about to ask questions. Sci-fi bullshit is sci-fi bullshit. I’m a grunt and all I need to know is how to use it in combat.

I was checking on the long-range shoulder cannons when my boss chimed in.

Really weird how a noble is my operator now, even if the minutiae were going to be handled by Cina.

“OS-549, I see that you’re completing your diagnostics ahead of schedule. Very good. That saves me time.” My screen came online. I factored in the faster reload times for my big guns, as my boss instructed me. “Your mission is officially unranked and you will have limited support. Three hives are coordinating to create a long-range bio-plasma launcher to interdict a portion of the orbit under my House’s control. Normally, fusion bombs will be utilized to counter the threat, but they have deployed their version of laser systems and have flooded the skies with spores that will counteract our anti-laser chaff.”

The bugs were survivalists and adaptation experts, so it’s par for the course that after one of their Queens gets stolen, they up their game. However, like a lot of experts, they follow procedure and don’t take unnecessary risks. If something goes wrong somewhere in the region they’re operating in, they collaborate, exchange information, and start preparing a countermeasure, but while that’s gestating, they hunker down, try to take down an enemy asset, and prepare some sort of diversion.

Three hives working together under massive orbital cover to build a big cannon covered the first two parts.

“If there’s no movement above ground, they’ve probably got a carrier heading somewhere to cause a diversion.” I brought up an overlay of the region. The bugs used giant worms to tunnel through the ground, which carried whole armies of their kind to be disgorged. Since this wasn’t a desert planet, they couldn’t just shake and vibrate through the sands. They tunneled and dug with the giant worm in question, which was covered in lots of digging appendages and numerous mouths that ground rock and soil and passed it through itself. “Get some long-range ground penetrating radar across the region, and set up seismic sensors. Put some nuclear mines into the ground, and get some big guns ready to pop them when they come up.”

“…I’ll act on that advice, knight tempor. Do you have any questions regarding your mission? Any non-orbital assets that you would like to request?”

I considered the question for a bit, while the transport began to pick up speed.

Something came to mind… and I checked the weather forecast for the day, then checked my life support systems and seals around my cockpit.

All refurbished and checks cleared.

Nice.

“They got hit hard from orbit and were burnt to a crisp last time, so they’ll be ready for that. Let’s go with some chemical warfare today.” I laid out a line of a few massive cannisters that’ll disgorge immense amounts of acidic fog that’ll open enemy armor and allow chemical agents to destroy nervous systems. The line was right in front of the oncoming breeze to wade over the enemy. Perfect for my first mission as a knight. I’ll be blazing through the enemy lines out of green fog in a pure black mech armed to the teeth with blazing boosters and glowing lasers. Metal. “What do you think, boss?”

I should’ve call her my lady, or something else along those lines, but she didn’t say anything if she noticed.

“The canisters will be there and disgorging their contents an hour ahead of your arrival. May fortune smile upon you, OS-549.”

“Thanks ma’am.”

Fortune smile upon me?

A mech pilot?

Everyone knows that missions for mech pilots only have one kind of fortune: bad. If the mission’s not completely according to the mission briefing, then that means something unknown is coming by to try and make me fail the mission. It could be a whole new army popping up while I’m on half ammo and health, an enemy mech with a grudge, or even the queens of the three hives doubling back their distraction to try and kill me.

Honestly?

The curveballs are the best part.

…

Interlude: Cina-140: The Indebted Servant

…

Within my databanks, information abounded regarding the enemies of humanity, and they came to light as needed. Normally, the information is compressed to not unnecessarily burden my processing with unnecessary information that may lead to trauma looping. The Cina unit type hosts a 95% human brain with the remaining 5% being connectors to a processer and computing system in the spinal column. It contains 5 terabytes of processing power, and with access to military data, thus a Cina unit type is perfectly suited to provide operational support to Knights in combat.

I see and feel through the sensors and information processing units of OS-549’s machine.

It is a terrifying experience.

I am at once in my new body, in a chair to a communication unit to OS-549’s machine, which allows me to receive data with only 15 milliseconds of delay. However, I am also seeing through optical sensors capable of magnifying up to a thousand times, I am feeling temperature readings from weapons registering in the hundreds of degrees, and my whole frame is being shaken and moved by innumerable explosions and boosters.

I should not be capable of nausea, but it is the only sensation that I could relate my experience to as I feel OS-549 pilot.

Coolant flows into my body through the connection tubes, signaling that I was overheating, and I deploy countermeasures.  I set warning thresholds for most inputs. Ammunition count, booster readiness, and optical sensors become my priority. It has only been 30 minutes since I have plugged in to provide support, and I am nearly at my processing capacity with my machine parts and those in the uplink pod.

And, my true mind can barely keep up.

OS-549 is a blur of motion. His boosters are nearly perpetually active. Rarely does his war machine walk, and he instead glides across the land. At the start of the mission, he glided with a low configuration, like an immense tank with additional side turrets, he floated through the battlefield with lesser foes being destroyed by point-defenses and micro-missiles. In the first minutes of his deployment, he skidded around the perimeter of the mission area, and as his machine moved, he rapidly marked targets, patrols, and locations of interest.

Optical scans, thermal scans, wireframe modelling, and even seismic readings.

He took the full measure of his opponents, while using low caliber weapons on the smallest threats before they could report.  

Then, after returning to his starting position with a full circle, he made his machine rise to full height… and charged in with boosters on full burn.

I realized at that moment he also memorized the lay of the land.

Every slight incline, every piece of cover, and every possible impediment to his planned assault was categorized.

All so that he could take flight and assault his enemy at blazing speeds.

Since he started, he has not gone below seven hundred kilometers per hour and has averaged eight-hundred and fifty.

More a mobile fortress propelled with massive jet engines than a humanoid warmachine.

“Update on nuclear warhead delivery?” He spoke calmly, like he when I dressed him in the morning or while he ate breakfast. His heart rate was elevated to ninety beats per minute, below the speed when he endured cardiovascular exercise. The suit he is wearing has micro pumps that assist in blood flow. His gravity measuring systems often registers four gravities and reaches eight regularly with combat turns and high-speed maneuvers. I check his machine for inertial dampeners and once again confirm none are present. At least, it explained the lack of bone mass loss usually found in atrophy along with his increased oxygen retention.

“40 seconds for Site 1. 50, 70, and 80 for Sites 2 and 3 and the bio-plasma organism.”

“Nice.” He says, as he effortlessly makes a half circle over a speeding behemoth intending to ram his machine. The beast had erupted from the ground, after laying in wait, and is now gaining on him, the thrusters on the frontside of the machine incapable of pushing it back fast enough. He hits the accelerator and at the same time fully extends the legs of his machine and flaring the thrusters at the legs. The machine with an effective weight of thirteen tons… jumps over the charging, four-legged monster with sloped armor as a head, and strikes it dorsally. The ten-ton pillar, suspended in its casing through inertial manipulation technology as to not exert weight on the rest of the frame, rockets forth and pierces straight through the creature. The explosive, kinetic force splatters the creature. Eighty percent of its mass is turned into meter-sized chunks, while the remaining twenty is its most external appendages. “Keep me updated. I’ll keep busy.”

He lands the machine and the massive tungsten rod returns. It is white hot and steam fills the atmosphere as it cools. The weapon registers as ready for use, whilst its in its superheated state.

He turns his attention to a pack of gigantic monsters coming forth from the nest he is preparing to send several nuclear weapons into.

Five more behemoths, dozens of crawling creatures with bio-plasma launchers the size of main battle tanks, and two of their war machine equivalents come forth.

Calculative processes function in my brain and bid me to tell him to retreat.

I contemplate issuing the suggestion for five seconds.

Before I send the data through to speak to him, one of the war machines equivalents is dead and the other has lost both its right limbs and twenty percent of its torso.

He fired the laser cannons from his shoulders at two different targets.

Manually.

“They really need to make those guys tougher.” OS-549 states simply, before readying his weapons and saturating the enemy’s position with smoke and initiating thermal optics. Instantly, the enemy force is blinded and he has the advantage. “Ten seconds left, right?”

I blink, despite not needing to.

“Eight seconds remaining.”

“Eh, close enough.”

He charges in and I was sure that the force my subsystems told me would kill him would be gone before the weapons arrived.