by G Aliaksei C
I had inadvertently started an economic crisis.
Mr. Vaughntross continued. “I was sent here to acquire the strategic resource, you, and gain production rights for the Firebolter and Black munitions.” He sipped his coffee, scrolling through a long list on his Menu, “When the Firebolter appeared on our radar, we started a quiet investigation. That thing fills a very nice niche in equipment, and we were going to track down and hire the inventor. But then the Black ammo appeared on the market. That stuff is crazy, by the way, no one can figure out how it works. All scans indicate it’s just a gravity container with some iron inside, but when we try to take it apart, it explodes!”
“Anti-iron.”
“Oh.” Mr. Vaughntross carefully set his mug on the table. “Antimatter, huh? ‘Rat to ‘Rat, I promise not to tell, where did you find it?”
“Made it.” I leaned in and pointed at the ground. “Got a synthesizer running under the fortress.”
He stared at me, and his dim, golden eyes mirrored my own. I saw a flash of concern.
“You made an antimatter synthesizer?” It’s always pleasant to surprise a person you respect. And, as a Corporate, I respected my brother in service. “How?”
“Not sure how much history is available about me, but antimatter production was my specialty for a time, so I knew exactly how everything worked. And here, on the Rings?” I waved around me. “Knowledge is suppressed, but technology runs rampant! All the bits are here, and they are far better than what I had in my time.”
I could actually see the thoughts running through my fellow Corporate’s mind, the prime one for a while being, ‘I’m sitting over a bomb!’
And he was.
“More to the point, I need you to help me not get stomped by Enmity for violating their monopoly.”
“Gladly! We can do this through a deal, but this deal needs to be satisfying for them, or they will just send another, unbiased agent. Ideas?”
“First, I am sitting on the only copy of the technology they want. If they play rough, it goes up in flames.”
“Right, I can use that to explain why I didn’t just take the fortress by force.”
“Second, I have new bits that they will want.” I showed him a Shield-Breacher round, and sent him a recording of its effect against Nova. He was impressed. I also shared a clip of my Flight Armor and sword, which made him laugh.
“That’ll get them excited!”
“Right, so that’s my value in this. I am willing to go for a deal where they can make and sell marketable toys like this as I invent them, while paying me a percent of all the profits. In return I won’t mass-produce and sell it myself, but I also want freedom and independence from Enmity. In other words, I do whatever in the void of space I want, and in return, you can sell the stuff that works out well.”
“Considering the profits the ammo and bracelets can make them, none of that is an issue. Do you mind if I hook into your Waypoint?”
“Sure. Fort?”
“Access granted,” agreed my voice from the ceiling speakers.
It took him but a minute. His eyes went blank with focus as he mentally chatted over the Menu. I took the time to analyze my fellow Corporate. His mannerisms and behavior put me at ease - thousands of years later, little changed. The man sat straight, proud. His hands were at rest on his weapons. His eyes shifted, constantly scanning the room.
“Alright.” He focused on me.
“Are we good?” Not having heard the conversation I could only assume and sip coffee.
“For now. They want the rights to manufacture, and blueprints.”
“I can do that. I must say, it’s nice to know the competition can’t just steal my goodies.”
My fellow Corporate leaned in, whispering. “Records say you lived and died on Earth. How was it?”
“It was bad, Greg,” The empty steel mug in my hand was crushed into a deformed piece of art. “The world was either frozen or on fire. Not like here - it was complete with radiation and eternal darkness. Every waking and sleeping moment you had to be on edge, aware and vigilant. Everything could be an enemy, and any one mistake could end everything,” In his eyes I saw awe. “You are mentally older than me, perhaps by thousands of years. But you haven’t had to deal with real death, have you?”
The Analyst shook his head. “We are barely even fighting a war up there. The Imari and Syndicate have been bashing away at one-another for a while now, but we are only watching. All our missions consist of covert raiding and primitive planet conversion.”
“So we aren’t really fighting right now?”
“No, not really. After Fall reawakened…”
“Say what?” I gaped. “Fall is still alive?”
“The Director is well.”
“Start from the beginning please.”
“Well, I am only six hundred… that’s around two hundred Earth years old. I only heard about this in The Academy. Earth fell during a final battle in space, where Fall rammed one of the Corporation’s three dreadnaughts into Earth. By then the rest of the system was already a ruin. The survivors of Humanity were the three fleets in space, and all three had a few experimental FTL engines. The fleets fled the system, going deeper into the galaxy. Before the Corporation fled, they recovered Fall, but lost his wife, Tesla Kenet, when she was captured by the Syndicate.”
“Did Fall really survive that?”
“Not really. The Black Box system was only invented after the Fall of Earth. His remains contained few living nanites that rebuilt. But the result was Fall only in name. Those who met him claim they couldn’t remember what he looked like, that only a shadow, a blank spot remained in their minds.” He brightened up, pulling out a sheet of paper and sketching up a map. “Several thousand years in, we managed to extract Tesla Kenet and several other Syndicate personnel, disguising the whole thing as an Imari attack. Tesla went back to Earth and there, somehow, recovered Fall’s mind. Then!” Dramatic pause. “Then came The Reconstruction. Fall was enraged. He saw that we, in a state of peace, had fallen behind the warring Imari and Syndicate. Since then we have been in a panic to advance ourselves to a solid footing, preparing to resume The War.”
“And all this? The Rings?”
“A part of The Reconstruction. The Military disarmed all the civilian worlds first, then forced every alien civilization we had absorbed over time to either serve us or live here, on the Rings.”
“Rough.” I guessed the process was quite forceful, if not outright violent.
“But it put The Military into a position of absolute power, and allowed us to progress ourselves at a sufficient rate.”
“How does our, the Corporation’s, technology level compare to what is made available on the Rings?”
“Look at it this way - Class 1 gear is basic. Bows, arrows, chemical guns, all equally primitive. Class 2 gear includes powered armor and weapons. Class 8 has gear that allows the acceleration of time in your vicinity, the Slipstream, and Class 9 is where phase gear comes into play. At that rate, the Corporation was at Class 18 before the Reformation, and is at Class 23 now.”
It was amazing information, every last bit of it. I wanted to keep bugging the man more, extracting every bit of knowledge he had, but I was starting to see doubt and boredom under those eyebrows.
“That’s all I have, for now,” I forced out. “More to the point, your little army will need repairs before you head home.”
Greg sighed. “We won’t be going home on foot. The Nova blew the Gate behind us.”
“What? Why! Then where is the nearest Gate now?”
“The nearest Gate is now twenty day’s travel by land, counterorbit of here.”
“What is wrong with these people!”
“That, Mr. Frost, is a good question.” Greg sat up in attention to the topic. “It’s a question we’ve all been asking ourselves since the Nova began their assaults. Their full operation is massive. Hundreds of locations on the Waste Ring were attacked, from what I know. The Nova have
been targeting weapons development and storage facilities. Almost all succeeded. But we still don’t know why they did it.”
“You don’t even have ideas?” The mechanisms in my head switched gears as I diverted some thought towards figuring out the reason for the Nova aggression.
“Ideas? Plenty. We have thousands of ideas. Nothing solid, though. The only consensus is that, for the Nova to commit so much, they would need a very good reason.”
“This is…” I sighed. “Going to be interesting.”
“Very! Now, if I may, I wanted to know how you and yours managed to survive all this time out here, in a Class 8 zone…”
Coffee was soon replaced with ethanol, so for several hours I found myself incapacitated. I was glad Inna was in charge, the Vazanklav restoration efforts centered around her, not me. It was a break in the storm of events, one that gave me time to befriend the Enmity Corporate over several liters of intoxicant.
Which didn’t work well with my morning plans.
The first task of the next day was greeting my mechanized reinforcements. They already had orders to stand down, so I found all ten weapon platforms and their crews at the vehicle base. The all-Human team of twelve stood at attention before their machines, listening to Inna give a speech.
“…Vazanklav is heaven. The local Class 8 beats visit every morning for tea and bullets. The Dragon visits every few days for lunch. The weather is always nice and deadly, with a stable forecast of fatal for anyone not wearing heavy armor. You’ll love it here.”
The crowd laughed nervously.
“Now, who’s in charge here?”
Everyone pointed at Inna. I let out a humorous snort.
“I’m flattered, but no, I mean who is your team leader?”
A young man raised his hand. “Captain Salt, at your service.” Inna’s face must have contorted in astonishment, because he added, “Full name is Ekteron Makinsalt, sir.”
“Captain Salt, is your gear refit according to specifications?”
“Yes Commander, all primary and secondary weapons have been replaced with Class 6 low-caliber kinetic variants. I have to warn you, though, that there’s a limit on how many shells each vehicle can carry.”
“That will not be an issue, as we have Black munitions in stock for you here. We will be replacing all your ammo with armor-piercing, shield-piercing Black shells.” That had everyone applauding and cheering. “Your primary mission will be the defense of Vazanklav, this fortress. Secondary missions will include providing escort for away missions. Your direct commanders are me, General Kenet, and my assistant, the fortress AI, Fort. I want an advance plan for what maintenance you will need, and what parts we need to order, because we are now officially outside of practical travel range from the nearest Gate, and fast shipping over space costs a lot.”
“It will be done, General!”
“This fenced-off air-land base is your domain. I will be cycling the Union in for paid repairs as time goes on, but you have priority with the maintenance facility. You are also each granted… four hours a day with a foam-concrete bot each, and freedom to build yourself permanent housing just outside the inner fence. Talk to the villagers at the south section of the base if you need any help. Questions?”
“Food?” Someone shouted.
“There’s a dispenser at the main building here, in the airbase.” Inna pointed. “But the village and refugee camp both provide much better-tasting stuff.”
“Policy on staff relationships?”
“Ahhh… what?”
“Are we allowed to have romantic relationships within our ranks, sir?” I finally spotted the speaker, as tall, muscular, blushing woman.
“Fort?” Inna seemed unprepared for the question.
“Shrug,” said Fort.
“No issues, then, just don’t cause too much drama.”
A very serious-looking tank pilot raised a hand. “What’s the plan for surviving New Year’s?”
“We’re working on it,” evaded Inna.
Again the mention of New Year’s, I thought. I’ll need to ask someone about that.
“Do we have Mining Rigs to defend?”
“No.”
I focused on the Menu’s mental interface and thought, through it, to Fort, transmitting concepts rather than words.
The all-hearing Fort thought back without delay and without an acceptable answer.
Another hand went up. “Will we have free access to the Waypoint?”
“Of course. Fort, please grant access.”
“Granted.”
Everyone seemed happy, and no more questions arose. “Patches will be handed out, please apply them to shoulder pads for identification purposes. Fort will apply digital IDs to all vehicles as well. Call Fort with any questions.” Inna gave them a salute, her armored boots echoing through the tank hull as she jumped off. The team responded in kind, mirroring the Corporate gesture flawlessly. They seemed young, much younger than Inna or Greg, their movements almost awkward next to the elders, but also much livelier.
Inna’s eye landed on me. “Also, I need a tank and driver.” Eight of the twelve hands went up, and she picked at the nearest volunteer. “I need to borrow you and your machine for today as personal transport. Drake!” I gave the General a salute of recognition. “This is Mr. Frost. Please take him where he needs to go.”
The tank was the manifestation of some science fiction dream, a machine only practical when equipped with some incredible technology. The whole thing was positively covered with reactive armor, sensors, launchers. The turret had one massive cannon with an eight-meter barrel, a gimbaled gatling gun on top and an entire battery of rocket launchers towards the back. The thing had four treads, held by four armored limbs connecting the outer edge of each tread to the tank body. Unfolded, the tank stood on the inner wheel assemblies of the treads like an impossible crab. Combined with the limbs making up the inner joint of each such arm, the tank could raise its body up by fifteen meters. The only way the whole thing could work was with some incredibly tough joints and unreasonably fast and powerful motors.
“But why,” I asked, “why would you make a machine like this? What possible use could such a construct have?”
My driver gladly demonstrated. The tank stopped before the wall separating the inside of the fortress from the refugee camp, unfolding all four limbs in a matter of seconds and walking up to the foam-concrete obstacle. The massive legs struck the wall, effortlessly lifting the multi-ton machine, raising it to stand on the wall parapet. It stood there for a time, balancing on the narrow walkway like some mechanical ballerina while I held on for my dear life twenty meters above ground. There was a shimmer around the spots where the treads were placed on the wall, some sort of field keeping a tight grip on the foam-concrete.
I looked around, taking in the vast scale of my base. At my whim the foam-concrete bots had completed the Inner Fortress and were now thickening the outer walls. Each triangle of the octagram star had walls over one and a half kilometer long, leaving plenty of space inside for new projects. The south-south-east ‘sector’ had priority by demand of the refugees, who set up camp within.
The machine squatted and stepped off the parapet with amazing grace, sitting back down and folding back to rest on its treads. On the valley floor the treads propelled the machine with greater speed, though arguably with more dust and noise.
A conversation with the refugees was unavoidable now that the fight with the Nova was over. They had nowhere to go home too, but they could still use the Nova lifters to salvage what little remained of their belongings.
“Chief!” I yelled into the main tent as I jumped off the hellish tank.
The large man rushed out immediately to shake my hand. “How can I help, Mr. Frost?”
“Have you heard the news about your Gate?”
“Yes, quite unfortunate. Some of us have chosen to leave through death, but some are wondering if
they can bring their family and luggage in somehow? Do we have a scheduled aerial supply trips planned any time soon?”
“No… you mean some of you actually want to stay?”
“Yes, me and a few of my staff want to stay. I don’t have a town to be a Chief of anymore, and they have no home to rebuild. Your isolation is luring, the quality of land is promising. What can I say, you got a nice place.”
“It’s a Class 8… no, a Class 9 Hotzone!”
“Hades Ringers don’t complain about Zone Class!”
“Chief, if you are staying, each and every single one of you will have to fight and possibly die every day. Medics, children, pregnant women, pacifists and cripples, everyone has combat duty, on the frontlines, daily. If you can’t do that, you are not welcome.”
“We can do that and more, Mr. Frost.”
Why not? It was free manpower and decent company, both a luxury out in the middle of nowhere. “If you can contribute, you can stay. Any questions?”
“Yes, one. What is Vazanklav policy on religion? Some of us want to set up a church.”
“A what?”
“Church, religious place of gathering…”
“I know what a church is Chief! What I don’t know is why an ancient idea like religion still exists! Actually,” I caught myself, “hold on, I’m getting it now. Social and technological degradation on the Rings is already a fact, so religion is a logical next step…”
The Chief looked more concerned by my thoughtful silence than my outburst. As far as he knew, I was talking to Inna through the Menu. I was, in fact, doing just that, my mind forming ideas faster than speech allowed for.