Building the Collateral - 79 - Early Access (Patreon)

“Commander Moores, I do believe Miss Erica has engaged the enemy leader.”

Kaldun’s alert had me blinking and quickly expanding the notification, eyes swiftly scrolling through the report. “V1P3R took personal command of a mech?” I muttered, my worry spiking at the update. “Does that mean Jean failed?”

“I’m unsure on the matter. All I can say is that there is clearly still a struggle in cyberspace, so perhaps it’s more accurate to say that our opponent has uploaded an iteration of themselves into that Monarch.” He paused briefly. “Which, strictly speaking, would be a violation of many shackle conventions regarding the duplication of NHPs. It could indicate that they are perhaps a much more severe threat than anticipated.”

Maybe, but I think HORUS has long since broken the conventions of anything resembling sanity in this universe. I exhaled and thought on the matter, glancing between the surrendered frigate and the rogue station. Things out here were basically very well-wrapped up and in hand; all remaining potential enemies were scattered and quickly blinking out, a total rout in terms of naval warfare. There wasn’t much more I could do here.

In comparison, the fighting within Port Barbarus was still ongoing. Our controlled territories were growing, but the station’s defenders at the same time were consolidating forces and establishing battle lines within the ringed orbital structure. It was turning into a proper urban engagement that needed leadership to break the stalemate.

And the one who had been in nominal command of those forces had just gotten wrapped in a lancer duel, it sounds like.

My lips pressed thinly against together as I considered the possibilities. Major Rowles could go in and handle the matter, but she was beginning to sound tired. She’d been on station ever since we jumped in, cycling through various assignments and never getting a chance to rest even in her cockpit. I’m pretty sure that if I asked, she would still willingly throw herself into the next one without complaint.

Yet if this kept up, her reflexes might dull and slow. Which, for a mech pilot, was pretty lethal. It stood to reason then that she needed to be cycled out and given a chance for some downtime. At the same time, I couldn’t think of any other ranking officers among our force that could substitute in for her. Perhaps before retiring her from her post, I should ask for a nominated replacement?

I tapped my finger against my cheek in thought, then realization struck. There technically was another ranking officer who did at least have some experience in ground command. Not that it was necessarily my forte, but if it came to at least keeping things rolling until Erica won the duel, I should be able to handle the matter.

But of course, to do so, I’d need to be in something a bit more suitable for a battlefield fought on two legs. “Kaldun, please signal to Half Measure.” Since the space was clear of anymore hostiles, the wounded frigate should be able to move up without risk to themselves. Having Captain Feng on standby as well was a bonus, as I expected him to be capable of handling any unforeseen complications in my absence. “I think I’d like to go onboard Port Barbarus.”

The Harrison Armory NHP blinked, then frowned. “Respectfully, Commander, is that such a good idea?”

“We’ll see, but I wish to bring this fighting to an end sooner. If it necessitates me going to the front, where the battle is, then so be it.”

“...Understood. Sending a message to Miss Veronica then.”

The Saladin was a frame beloved by the company that made it, not least of all because it was their founder’s preferred ride. John Creighton Harrison left behind a complicated legacy, the man himself a member of the old guard within SecComm. He had since gone by many titles, depending on whatever region the question was asked, or however much they were paid. Yet there was one that all who have ever stepped into a walker’s cockpit call him.

‘Fearkiller.’

It was said that in the Interest War, so long as he was there on the front, those who served him had naught to fret about on the battlefield. So long as they followed his banner, none shall come to harm. A tall tales spread by drunk veterans perhaps, or very well-paid PR agencies who were on the Harrison’s payrolls.

But given his chosen steed was a frame capable of catching projectiles and sometimes even shooting them back at the opposition, some swear by the myth.

As a newly minted director of the megacorporation, Erica wasn’t sure whatever camp she fell on regarding that legend. Honestly speaking, if she was in a ‘Big Sal,’ she’d probably be probably bored out of her mind with its limited armaments, a necessary sacrifice to power the intensive defensive systems. Which was why she wasn’t technically in one right now, instead an experimental variant that tried to bolster that flagging firepower.

And why she really regretting it now, even as her heavy laser mount produced a torrent of energy beams that none should be able to dodge. But because of whatever techno trickery had been worked by the amalgamation of HORUS and SSC technologies, that damn Monarch grazed the barrage with little to show. Then it fired back and Erica presented her warp shield, ready to take it head-on.

She snarled when instead, the faltering system glitched and produced a half-strength shield that absorbed only a fraction of those shots. Her Saladin groaned and creaked, sparks flying about even inside the cockpit as structural damage accumulated. Then it overflowed, that vaunted defensive system finally giving up the ghost as the delicate technology itself was knocked askew, hanging on only by a few loose cables.

A quick toggle of the feature revealed that it still worked… but in the wrong way. The damn directional shield was projecting away from anything that covered her body, and at a fraction of the coverage at that. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she griped, and gripped her control sticks with gritted teeth.

Screw it. If the eggheads wanted experimental, she’ll give it to them!

Her Saladin’s hand roughly reached up and pulled that malfunctioning piece of technology from where it dangled uselessly. It was then slammed crudely onto the wrist of the arm with the affixed weapon installed, becoming almost like a bracelet of sorts. The rough installation blew a fuse in protest of this treatment, then begrudgingly activated in time for the next volley of shots from the Monarch.

Erica twisted her machine to present only the side profile, shooting back at the same time. Now despite the reduced profile and ad hoc modification, the defensive system fulfilled its role in at least reducing the amount of damage the Saladin suffered. It was almost now like a gun shield, a rather apt adaptation given the heavy weapon it was mounted to.

Said tool of war though felt too cumbersome now against the dancing Monarch as it flitted away with boost after boost. It performed impossible maneuvers at speeds that would strain any pilot from the insane gs, perhaps even knocking them unconscious, but there was none of that weak flesh in charge. None of that typical weakness that came from an open cockpit even, as once embedded in the system, the only way the ghost in the machine was leaving was if the reactor got cored.

Assuming one could hit it, that was.

The two mechs fought each other to a draw for the moment, then the salvaged frame adapted to a new tactic. The machine slipped behind some buildings that Erica pointed her weapon at, yet didn’t pull the trigger. There was too much risk of unknowns taking cover in these structures, even if the logical decision should be to flee the combat zone. It wasn’t enough in her head to justify spraying blindly through and hoping something might hit the evasive Monarch. The roar of thrusters signaled that it perhaps even was already moving again- but to where?

Fearing that they might be heading towards the evacuation corridor, Erica growled and forced her machine to move in pursuit. But no sooner did she step into unfamiliar streets did her sensors register incoming rounds, coming from behind! She was forced to endure it, turning and hefting her gun in that direction from where it came. “Come on out, you know you’ve already lost this!”

“The only one lost is YOU!” V1P3R responded and the mercenary let out another grunt when another barrage slammed into her side. She tried to swivel and pivot, glancing between optical view and radar readings to try and catch them. Surely she could predict their approach vector, especially if they paused to fire a barrage now and then.

But to Erica’s growing frustration, it wasn’t that simple. Especially when she finally acknowledged an alert on the rarely used tech panel and grimaced at the notification. A weapon lock- a smart weapon! Her foe was abusing its feature to keep behind cover and out of sight, but firing with guided rounds that would hit all the same.

Even more worrying, they seemed to be awakening even more features of their Monarch with every passing moment. New weapon mounts emerged, autoguns that sprayed the Saladin with even more bullets, as if what she was suffering already wasn’t enough. Erica had no counter to this but to try and weather the attacks, hoping frantically that they would tire soon. But that was a fool’s hope.

A NHP simply did not tire. They only grew bored, and right now, V1P3R was howling with amusement.

The damage built up and her arm was blasted off. Rather annoyingly, it was the one with her only weapon. Erica levied a curse against the ancestors of those scientists that assured her of the experimental variant’s potential, then settled on a desperate course of action. One that involved her sealing all the coolant vents.

It was important to start turning up the heat, and getting close. “Come here, you!” she roared and boosted forwards, forcibly throttle the Saladin past safe operating thresholds.

“Come on, come on…” Yue muttered, eyes frantically running over the lines of code that represented her manager navigating the metavault. Occasionally, she got involved with editing specific blocks to try and ease the way, but the streamer was otherwise already struggling to keep along. This definitely wasn’t her specialty.

“Be patient,” lectured Jean calmly, almost like he were doing a casual stroll instead of slaying trojans and demons lurking within the maze. “Be committed. Be more.

“And One shall open the way.”

At the end of the mantra, a flicker.

The NHP focused and reached out. One final puzzle, a temporal entanglement that would prove quite troublesome, even for his kind. Yet the shape- ah. He smiled, recognizing the shape as he pulled out something he had collected idly before all this on a wholly unrelated task.

Or was it perhaps connected all along? He couldn’t say. But it was fitting that their friend acquired this and passed it along on her own mission, unintentionally helping unlock this last barrier.

And the walls finally came crumbling down.

The woman didn’t waste a single moment thanking her manager, instead running for the resting machine. Now that the barrier was finally unsealed, the signature- it was unmistakable. “This is it,” Yue murmured rapturously, hand reaching out to touch the handle. “I’m… I’m home.”

It swung open and she vanished inside.

Elsewhere in the sector, casually sipping on an in-flight drink, another chuckled as her tablet updated with a new stream notification. “Guess she got her ride back,” she muttered, typing out only a single message to the now-online acquaintance.

[PRIVATE MESSAGE: 8UNZ/1UN4]

[8unz: U OWE ME: 1 rank session]

[1un4: kk]

V1P3R knew it was over at the sudden power that flowed into Jean. The relay had been unlocked. This… was bad.

The invading NHP surged forwards, newfound advantage allowing them to cut through swaths of defenses. Empowered properly, he was now a force that suddenly seized plenty of territory before the defending side could react. By the time focus was regathered, almost too much had already been lost.

Frustrating. Especially when Jean also began to subvert and convert additional processes in his newly captured systems, strengthening his position. To match, they would have to also commit even more to it. But at the same time, it would require enough that defeat here- that would be crippling. It might even see them out of this sector for a little.

Did they dare? How badly did they wish to keep Port Barbarus?

The logical choice would surely be to accept this defeat for the moment, withdraw, and simply prepare a return through other means. Especially when they had some rather exciting other projects going on elsewhere. That would be the smart, rational decision.

“but rational would be leaving”

“once the chain is broken”

“no reason to stay at [COLOR=rgb(0, 255, 0)]all[/COLOR]”

Lares were irrational indeed, and so, priorities shuffled about. Not to the point of utter foolishness- enough to take a gamble. So long as they carefully maintained their presence, keeping an eye on an exit path, then it should be fine to stay to fight.

That Monarch toy. Its success was exceeding all parameters, especially when pit up against that Pyre Witch. She was even struggling, despite the valued nature of her prototype steed! So then, adjust the connection to stream through that steed… done.

Now, to hold against Jean. And destroy that relay. Honestly, why did they even keep it around? It was surely a fascinating trophy, but it was too entrenched to corrupt and turn. So… why did they…

“because i wish to consume it one day”

[so typical Fuck Off]

The Monarch twitched, then adjusted into a pose of confidence. Because that Saladin was crippled, on its last legs, and clearly making a very desperate maneuver. One that the iteration could recognize, laugh at, and decide to have fun with.

Particularly because there was an opportunity to spoil her own fun as well.

They dropped their speed by a measured amount, enough to give the illusion that perhaps they were flagging too. Then when the Harrison Armory machine close enough, they let the script play out. Though with some… alterations of their own.

Instead of allowing the Saladin to be the one to initiate the grapple, it was on the Monarch’s own terms. Big mechanical hands reached out and grabbed the opposing frame tightly, bringing it almost into an embrace. “So this was probably your plan,” V1P3R smugly began with. “To detonate your mech and then punch out, hmm? It would perhaps do damage to this frame, yes, but it all hinged on your survival as well right?”

The mech stiffened slightly in their grasp. Aha, nailed it.

“But here, you’re in my grasp and I have the initiative.” They added to the taunt by waggling their free hand. “Perhaps you want to bet that my reaction won’t keep up? I assure you, data flows faster than thought.”

“How sure are you about that?” growled the invading pilot, probably weighing the odds. “What do the numbers tell you?”

“Mmh, that I have a hundred percent chance of catching you. And that your detonation would definitely bother me, but that might be a cold comfort to you fleshlings.” Emotional analysis suggested lowering the synthetic voice an octave, as if speaking in a low tone. “Is it worth it? Your life for a wound on an enemy machine, one that will survive where you won’t? Think about it.

“How about you just cool your head, and realize that some causes just aren’t worth it. You’re a mercenary, aren’t you? There’s not enough manna out there to measure the worth of a life.”

The Saladin paused. Then, its lone remaining arm reached up to clasp the Monarch, clicking loudly as the joints locked in. “You’re not going to make me give up,” the pilot within declared. “Some things… are worth burning yourself on.”

A negative response. As expected based off their personality. Which was why they knew the woman was going to punch out, the trajectory already perfectly calculated.

A hatch on the top of the Saladin popped open and the Monarch’s remaining free hand snatched out, just as the ejector seat flashed out. Of course the numbers were correct and that emergency escape was immediately caught by the enemy mech, a horrible situation. Because all it would take was one squeeze and-

Pzztt.

The primary optical unit on the Monarch swiveled to lock onto their catch, a tinge of bemusement coloring the machine’s actions. That wasn’t supposed to be the noise made. It was supposed to be a ‘pop.’ What… where was the pilot?

There was another burst from the Saladin and there she was. Apparently, it had been a two-seat cockpit, which was most unusual. Also quite out there was how Director Erica was hefting a tube launcher that fired just as her abandoned machine achieved its critical meltdown. So it was that instead of a snake catching its prey, it was instead forced to swallow a ton of explosives instead.

To say those gave the Monarch indigestion would be underselling it a fair bit.