by G Aliaksei C
I ran for its estimated landing spot. Plates turned horizontal all around me, forming a wall that launched into the falling Beast. It chopped at them, deflecting plate after plate as it landed. I charged through its deflector with my pistol, which was immediately knocked out of my hands. The distraction, however, allowed me a stab, and my sword sunk into the armored gut.
Of course the sword was immediately sliced in two, but part of it remained in the Hacksaw. I withdrew the hand slightly to avoid another amputation and fired my Firebolter.
One of my previous attacks had hit home. The Slipstream failed, and the Hacksaw slowed. Its charge at me was blocked by a wall of armor, and another barrage of fire from above sunk the Beast into the molten ground.
Through a gap in the Flying Armor I opened fire, and the Chini lit up the Beast’s deflector. It shrank, forcing the Hacksaw to retract several limbs into a more compact volume.
It had been a long time since my Fall Coefficient burned with such brightness. I counted four removed limbs and began to advance. My savior from above took position opposite of me and we bombarded the Hacksaw together, forcing it into an indecisive pause.
A limb struck out at me. The bolts on my arm detonated and the chaingun detached, the final few bursts carrying it past me. My hand, now free, clutched the axe handle. Before the stabbing limb withdrew the axe hit it, sinking halfway into the armor and flesh. A plate of armor slammed into it from the other side, and a dead arm-blade fell onto the ground.
I grabbed the next strike with my left hand, and allowed it to withdraw, bringing me along. My boots slammed into the Beast, and a vast shock ran through my armor. The Crawlers had a similar defense, though theirs was much weaker. The servos in my legs began to melt.
My axe finally came down, the ineffective impact sending me back and away. Now occupied by me, the Hacksaw missed another full salvo of plasma, and its rear legs turned to slag.
In a flash of tactical brilliance the Beast turned its deflector into a half-dome, facing it away from me and towards the flank attack. The rest of its sharp, deadly limbs struck at me. Plates intercepted, blocking stab after stab as I leaned into the attack, letting my left hand rise and press against the torso of the horrifying creature.
The Firebolter compressed the Hacksaw’s insides, turned them into plasma, and blew them outward. The rest of it kept fighting for a few seconds until another salvo from the flank blew into its unshielded, unarmored insides.
I leapt back from the dead Beast, looking for Inna. She was in pursuit of the same Hacksaw that escaped her wraith yesterday. In a rapid-fire chain of teleports she closed the distance, nearly catching up.
Something materialized between the fleeing Beast and the Lady of War, something that forced my General to halt her charge. The shimmering mass slowly compressed, taking the form of a tall humanoid. It was black, cloud-like, seemingly merging with the dust around it.
The barrage of fire that erupted from behind me was unexpected. Rarus, Sylvester and nineteen villagers fired as one, their massed firepower hitting the Shadow, nearly missing Inna.
The Dark stood, uncaring, allowing the beams and slugs to pass through it. It took a step forward, and Inna took a step back.
The Dark stopped, and I felt its attention shift to me.
When I faced the Shade, it demonstrated the ability to project fear. It had been like a beam, striking my mind, ineffective only because I lacked the emotion.
But the Dark’s attack was more than mental. I was physically frozen, unable to take a step or even shift my eyes. It was as if the air around me turned to cement. The combined strength of my suit and cybernetic limbs was useless now. I was blind, frozen, incapacitated like that for several seconds.
When the pressure fell away, Inna was alone at the front. The Dark was gone, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. An expanding cloud of fire was growing where the Lady of War had fired off her Heavy Firebolter.
I looked around the battlefield, seeking targets to receive the blunt of my anger, finding only Beast corpses scattered around the molten battlefield. Instead I climbed onto the bear-sized creature and looked down into the hole I had made. Fire streamed out of it.
Burned skin and fractured bones were a minimal price for such a victory. Gray, glowing a bright white, lowered to hover next to my head, passing through the shifting layer of armor plates around me. His Energy-Durasteel-laminated skin shined brightly, reflecting the nearby fires.
I smiled up at him. “Good job, that was excellent.”
Gray, using internal projectors, created a hologram of a simple digital smile under his eyes.
My conversion of Gray into a weapon was a serious accomplishment. The Enchanter’s sphere had cut openings no more than five centimeters across between Rune lines. I had, nevertheless, managed to fit a sphere of electronics wrapped around a Gem, an assembly measuring a tight forty eight centimeters across, into the sphere half-meter sphere. How did I do it?
I went to Inna for the solution. She told me in no uncertain terms that if I broke it, she would turn me into a salad. I returned home with a phase unit from her left arm. Using that unit I created an entire assembly process that held the Gem and electronics wrapped around it, and phased it into nonexistence. The Enchanter’s sphere was then moved over the phased-out assembly, and the phase unit was turned off. A snap, and the sphere became one with my electronics, ensuring it could never be removed without breaking one or the other.
The rest was simple - I inserted the Marbot’s brain into a port and let it upload. Gray was ecstatic, boosting around my bunker for two minutes after he figured out flight. The added computing power helped him quickly acquaint himself with his new body. It was a body filled to the brim with jammers, counter-jammers, weapons, deflectors and other incredibly expensive, high-Class equipment that had my wallet struggled so hard to afford. The result was a Class 7 combat Marbot.
Inna was wide-eyed when a meter-wide sphere rammed into the ground next to her doorway. She was far more surprised when Pink and Blue rolled out and started bumping against the death-ball. I explained to her what I had done. She called me a monster and took back her phase unit.
Gray became the first Class 7 weapon in my arsenal, seconded by the recently-upgraded Class 5 Chini and Flying Armor. The upgrades for those set me back by weeks of profit, but the electronics and Durasteel-steel alloys were worth their money.
The airship lifted off five days later, taking away Rarus, Pessi, all twenty Jims, and the Ranger. The reinforced aircraft was immediately flung out of view by the winds, and I could only hope they made it out. The forest, uncontested by the grounded Raider bombers, crept closer. Our own artillery, loaded with anti-biological warheads, worked non-stop, drawing a border of poison and fire between us and the growth. The resulting lightshow kept up for days, a glorious sight that deeply concerned my consciousness. I kept expecting angry alien bugs of awesome size to burst out of the burning forests, charging through the walls of my fortress.
To pass the time I reserved to reviving the lost cultures of Old Earth, specifically what I felt was most lacking in this world. Two items rose to the top of my list - paintings and revolvers. Both useless but pleasing.
Paints, brushes, or even a canvas to draw on could not be found anywhere on the Rings online market. Decoration and forms of wall art all came down to digital works, not ones made by hand with a brush and paint. I took it upon myself to recreate the
art, managing to synthesize watercolors and fabricate decent brushes. It cost me a chemical refinery, but the result was worthy.
This was a hobby I could never have enjoyed during The War. The weather simply didn’t permit it. It took time for me to comprehend that this issue was no longer a concern to me thanks to the Comfort Dome, that The War was far, and that I had time to do whatever I wanted to.
My first painting was that of the Monument, surrounded by clouds of fire. It was a passing, non-professional work, and caused a riot of curiosity from several of the villagers. Most looked at my efforts without understanding, clearly wondering why I would spend time on such useless work. But a few demanded formulas for the paints, which I gladly published on a new forum along with my first painting. Happy to have another way to spend their eternal lives, they scattered.
As if our life in the Class 8 zone didn’t provide enough entertainment for them.
The second problem proved far more troublesome than the first. With no historical reference available to help with the design process, I found myself entirely out of my depth redesigning a simple mechanical firearm from the past. Revolvers are, by all parameters, inferior to more modern designs, and often more complicated and fragile. Neither was a flaw I would have in my creation.
Fabricating a plasma driver concealed in a bracelet was easy, the parts and specifications already existing, simply lacking formatting and alignment to make a final product. Creating antimatter? Simple enough, considering my intimate knowledge with the process and access to vast energy reserves. Fort’s design corrections and suggestions, combined with the awesome fabricating power of modern equipment made life even easier.
But designing a new mechanism of such complexity was a different story entirely.
I knew right away it would not be a selling item. A mechanical contraption like this was simply out-done by anything on the market. Revolvers were, by all measures, very little more than ‘cool’. This one would go on display somewhere, a start for my collection.
Yet a simple revolver caused me more headaches than I thought possible. I wasted several drafts before finally achieving some sort of working model days later. It made concerning noises at every firing cycle, but achieved the basic requirements for a firearm.
I looked at it for a time and trashed the whole product in disgust.
The second model used little to no mechanics, shifting the cylinder and barrel down and in front of the hand, and employing electronics to rotate the cylinder and set off the ammo. The cylinder would be discarded after six shots, swapped out for a fresh one like a magazine. The result was a durable, high-caliber, light hand cannon with little to no moving parts and nearly no vertical recoil, thanks to the barrel’s position. The overall length of the gun was the only notable issue, as well as its low ammo capacity.
Encouraged by the success I kept advancing the design until a clean, stylish form was assembled on my workbench. Surviving a fling against a wall without damage, I could finally take the thing out to my own universal range.
The sixteen-millimeter caliber proved difficult to handle, to say the least. I felt my reinforced joints creak under stress as the compact cannon sent a tracer round off the wall and into the flaming clouds outside. I exhaled, braced harder, and fired shot after shot at the same spot. Comfortable with the achieved precision of the prototype I turned to walk off, suddenly noticing Inna nearby, hands over her ears, yelling something. No noise came out of her mouth, and I realized I had gone deaf. Raising a finger I willed the nanites in my blood to action, accelerating the repair. A minute later my ears popped, and I smiled at the Innkeeper.
“Yes Inna?”
“What is that?” She pointed at the gun.
I raised the smoking thing, waving it around. “Culture distributor.”
“I have never seen a gun like that,” her eyes were fixated on the deafener in my hand. “Is this your next project?”
“That’s right. It’s called a revolver.”
“A revolver!” Her eyes lit up. “My father told me about a firearm of that name!”
“I doubt that monster was talking about anything vaguely similar to this.” I winced at the mention of the Syndicate Emperor.
Inna made a grabbing motion and I handed the weapon over, along with a fresh cylinder. I took a few steps back, watching as she figured out the mechanics of loading and preparing a shot, noting every unintuitive, under-engineered bit that I would have to fix later. She raised the revolver, pointing it through the dome.
The first gunshot deafened us both and knocked Inna off-balance. Her armor, deciding there was danger to its user’s wellbeing, appeared around her right arm and shoulder and absorbing some of the impact. Inna was somewhat shaken by the sheer knockback. Bracing herself better and phasing the armor out she fired again, leaning in to counter the absurd force created by the shot.
All-consuming void, I read on her lips, the whole world still ringing in my ears.
I took the toy back, repairing my ears a second time. “I’m still working on the ammo. I almost figured out how to get the payload through high-Class deflectors.”
“It’ll fire shield-piercing nukes?”
“In barbaric terms, yes.”
“That’s insane!”
“Careful, the insanity is contagious.”
“I know! David rushed outside this morning and said he found a way to weaponize the coffee machine! And I believed him, because his house was on fire!”
“Weaponizing a holy object? The madman. Could you ask him and Mr. Ember to meet us at my bunker in an hour? We have some things to figure out.”
“First item on the list, the Hotzone stopped growing.”
I projected the map over the dining table, and the three Humans learned in over it.
David seemed to have acclimated to my company, likely since he was no longer the youngest person in the room. While working on the villager’s armor we talked - a lot - and I told him some things about myself. He was stunned when I told him my cognitive age. The man had been around for centuries, and he was having trouble believing that I was only just over thirty Earth years old - around ninety local cycles.
But when the man’s respect towards me didn’t falter I realized he only cared about the advanced information I had in my head, knowledge foreign to the Rings, fractions of which he saw in the new ideas I kept coughing out. After that, all it took to calm the engineer down was an assurance that I would not bar him from my work. Realizing that he was stuck working with me for good calmed David down, which reflected well on his efficiency.
Inna, impeccable as always, had geared right into her position as my General. Abandoning her casual approach to our survival, she surveyed our walls and defenses, and now sat with a small notebook of notes for the meeting.
My new Defender also felt right at home in the new environment, retaining undeserved, awed politeness towards me. Mr. Ember absorbed information at an incredible pace, exhausting every relevant aspect of our situation with a barrage of questions. Having grasped the state Vazanklav was in, he was now starting to offer his own thoughts.
“Mr. Frost, why are you so intent on staying here?” He pointed at the map, where the icon of Vazanklav sat between three black spots, uncomfortably close to the uppermost, “Waste Ring is far from hospitable, but we now happen to be in one of the most dangerous locations I have ever seen.”
“Mr. Ember,” I tried to run my hand through my hair, my fingers instead hitting the horns. “What are the defining features of life?”
Unphased by the ambiguity of my question, he answered. “Ability to move, reproduce, utilize its environment, respond to changes…”
“Very good. Now, there are two ways to quickly accelerate technological progress - war or disaster. During both life strives to survive, working up means to do so that, previously, were unknown. We are in a prime place to become the first settlement in a Class 8 zone. Thanks to the Antimatter and Firebolter sales, we also have the funding to buy what we n
eed. I don’t intend to retreat into comfort just because the weather consists of fire and the locals want to kill us.”
“I understand, Mr. Frost.”
“Drake, why do you think the other two hotspots” - Inna tapped at the black spots orbit and counterorbit of Vazanklav - “haven’t made attacks recently?”
“I wouldn’t know. I am sure the appearance of the third Hotspot has changed things for them as well. Worst case, they are all converting to Hacksaw production.”
David raised a hand. “Have we heard from the Raiders?”
I shook my head. “From what I understand, they have retreated back to the Class 4 area orbit-left.”
“Have you considered housing a division of Raiders to boost our numbers?”
“Yes, and it’s definitely not a good idea. They are scum, they tried to assassinate the Union Ranger, and they have been leeching off us for long enough.”
No one else spoke up, so I continued, zooming the map in on Vazanklav itself.
“Inna, how is the Comfort Dome holding up?”
“Nice of you to finally ask!” The General rotated the map, changing perspective to show Vazanklav from the side. It looked like a loose connection of gray buildings covered in a shallow, wide glass lid. “When we first moved in, I had to upgrade the Comfort Dome generator to cover such a wide area. Later I bought two more and combined them into a super-dome when, you know, the sky started exploding. Since everything went to the pipes a few days ago I have been watching the generators. Two sets are always running, while a third is being maintained, cooled and repaired.”
“I see,” I said. “How much do I owe you? Those can’t be cheap.”
“Your life, but don’t worry, the cost is on me.”
“Can we keep cycling them indefinitely?”
“Yep, the stress is not an issue right now. However, if the dome is directly attacked, we might be in trouble. It’s not designed to withstand attacks - only weather. Its ability to deflect weapons is a damaging side-effect. I recommend we get a proper Deflector Dome to cover the Comfort Dome.”