Building the Collateral - 81 - Early Access (Patreon)

“Yeah, eat it!” crowed the streamer, pumping her fist triumphantly as she watched her portal consume the enemy war steed. “Have fun in my little maze dungeon!”

Her chair let out an aching creak when she leaned back with a cackle, making sure to capture screenshots of the moment. Maybe with a little editing magic, she could turn it into a meme that’ll linger on the omninet. That was one way to certainly humiliate a HORUS rival if doxxing didn’t do the trick or was out of the question. Such as the current woman herself, happily typing away at a keyboard that typically was not a normal inclusion in ordinary frame cockpits.

Then again, it could be said her setup at the same time was quite normal at the same time. Which continued to amuse Luna to no end as well, as there was no greater HORUS honor than fulfilling a paradox.

Her Minotaur was a specialized thing, a rare assembly that defied conventional modifications for her faction. It was not a pattern, a modification that would usually be applied onto an existing frame to convert it into a HORUS machine. Instead, it was a wholesale creation, designed and manufactured from affiliated printers across a sector, all of whom never knew the true shape of what was to be created. Then her manager snapped his fingers and like that, a plan in motion over years with no seeming end goal abruptly snapped together.

An esoteric puzzle which transformed the seemingly useless into the mechanical beast of today. A customized package that could probably not be so easily replicated unlike most creations. Hence why Luna treasured it so greatly and was most affected by its loss.

Especially as it also was her primary stream setup. Because of how her machine generated its own dimension, the cockpit itself was a rather ordinary-looking room where one never could touch the walls. Which was good, as it meant that she had plenty of space to toss waste in before remembering about needing to eject it eventually. She usually did, about when it started to clutter up the path to the controls of the entire pocket realm.

Luna engaged with said controls now, tapping a few hotkeys along with moving the mouse about. The central computer screen in front displayed the world without, and it was quite accurate in confirming her as the last remaining mech on the scene. She felt quite pleased at that and glanced over to a side monitor, a vertical setup that demonstrate the ever-scrolling chat of her livestream.

A grin broke out on her face at the speed at which it moved, her eyes also soaking in the tracked watcher count. “A lot of new faces here today, huh? You all just got to watch a real special treat, my special banishment spell!” Her digital avatar moved to match the victory pose she struck. “That’s what you get for trying to mess with the real lunatic, haha!”

Right, time for some more direct fan engagement! A quick scan of viewer comments helped set up some nice and easy lead-ins. “Why don’t I do that more? Well, it’s not very special if I whip it out all the time, is it! But really, the power draw’s an insane thing. Even utilizing the entire reactor output, it’s something that needs to be partitioned carefully.

“What’s my reactor? I’m glad you asked, I utilize cold fission from the local star to boil water- nah, I’m kidding. That’s actually a secret I’ll need to silence you for asking.

“’L bozo lost her gig.’ Okay, shut up! I got it back, didn’t I?! You try stopping a lares when they’ve made their mind up on something!”

There was something like a distant thud that she ignored, though some of the chatters seemed to pick up on it. Yet they were in the minority in comparison to the rest of the chat so far, so Luna continued talking with those. Maybe it was more accurate to describe it as a rant. “You’re all making fun of me, but honestly, I’ve been having it hard!” she complained on the open microphone. “That Goblin was an alright alternative, but vlogging just isn’t my thing. I’m glad to finally be back in my chair, with access to all these games you know I’ll be binging! That’s right, let’s do a subathon to celebrate being back!

“I also guess I gotta do some favors for some folks, do ya’ll remember 8unz?” Without waiting for confirmation of her regulars, Luna continued on. Said regulars were also noticing said background noises and realized an opportunity here, spamming only a certain smiling emote. “Yeah, she helped me out like the true gal she is. So I owe her a few ranked League games, joy.”

A heavy sigh escaped the streamer’s lips as she clicked around, making sure the configuration was at least right for said game. It was then that she finally noticed the prevailing messages. “Hey, why are you all just smiling. What-”

This time, she was very much more aware of that sound coming from elsewhere in her private server, eyes widening. “Oh yeah. Portal doesn’t kill. Shi-shucks.” A long pause. “Chat, DO NOT CLIP THIS!”

Only minutes right after the banishment, the air shattered exactly where the Monarch once was. A spiderweb of cracks formed in reality, then pieces of it were ripped away entirely as the one on the other side slammed repeatedly against the wall. This was followed up by muted explosions and gunshots, as the Monarch forced open the rend in a very physical way. “I will not be denied!” V1P3R howled, frame sparking and clearly on the last legs. “You will never be rid of me so easily!”

The red quad mech responsible for it crouched and took a stance. “Eh, it was worth a shot. But if I need to rip into you the old-fashioned way, so be it!” Luna yelled back, ready to push her machine for a tackle if need be. Surely, one hit was all that ways needed.

Even so, the act of ripping open a hole between realms was still something of a sobering reminder. That likely tired, exhausted, and running on fumes as is, a partially-unshackled NHP could still twist the rules of reality so. Those mortals who did wield such similar powers, it was incomparable; they were only borrowing a facsimile of what they truly understood.

It was a sight that actually made the veteran HORUS agent flinch, beholding the way the possessed machine pulled itself half-free. The battle damage had ripped away any remaining pleasing aesthetics the frame once had, especially ripping away the bulk around the head section. Now it was like a baleful, hateful eye that glared at the world, a disposed royal that wished nothing but to raze all that it perhaps once ruled.

Through her livestream, others watching were similarly frozen in a mix of terror and fear. There were things that a mind of flesh could perhaps accept in limited bursts or exposures. This was not one of them, watching a digital ghost pulled itself out of a data hell with what felt like an aura of loathing radiating from it. Almost like it was beginning to pull from multiple other sources of destructive ruin.

And already, Luna found herself hating her reaction. Because she wished nothing more than to soak in it, be enraptured by the perfection of data-

Her trance was broken, along with V1P3R’s final attempt when from a nearby building, a rocket sailed out. Mid-flight, the projectile broke apart and separated into multiple micro-missiles, all of which sailed towards the half-manifested Monarch. Then… impact.

The lens of the smoking optical unit narrowed and identified the shooter in the very last moments before the feed malfunctioned and cut for good. A mercenary pilot on foot met the digital glare with an unimpressed look, her orange eyes reflecting simple disdain for the paracasual incident. Was it experience that made her so inured to such horrors?

Or was it simply the legacy of her megacorporation, being those who stared at the inhuman- and formulated ways to kill it better?

An answer was not forthcoming, as the battered frame hung there limply, still trapped between dimensions. Then, unconsciously, Luna triggered the ejection to end the maze trap. Paracasual technologies flickered as they interacted with one another, clashing briefly in a blinding light- then apparently coming to a conclusion.

In which the Monarch was bisected cleanly in half, cut between worlds.

“No…” With a severed reactor, the mech was doomed. And so too was the sector’s iteration of V1P3R, twitching feebly with the last charge of power in the systems. “I… was promised… an entire playground…”

With a whine, the data inside perished and the frame was put to rest for good. A girl with crimson eyes, crouching with the smoking Harrison Armory mercenary, watched her last remaining chain to the past die with a mixed expression. But before she could turn to the director to ask about what comes next, all of Port Barbarus shook.

Jean knew V1P3R was driven out from the sector when things abruptly got much easier to handle. But just by a smidge, like managing to remove particularly irritating smudge on a window that was now being actively covered in all other sorts of terrible muck. It was certainly of cold comfort now.

Also of cold comfort was that the most critical systems necessary for human habitation were mostly stable now. Veronica, shackled as she was, proved herself versatile and quick to learn if nothing else; the allied NHP was able to stop things like reactor meltdowns and electrical grid failures, her entire being strained as her limited existence had to remote work through a relay point. Thank goodness the Chomolungma was one suited for such, or things might have been much worse.

As for the main problem itself, well… Jean had mixed news there. He grimaced and checked his processors. While the metavault was somewhat in hand, quite literally, he was not equipped to manage the program for very long.

It yearned to be released, the shackles holding it back dissolved. It grew like a sun approaching supernova, straining the walls he had erected with aid from Luna’s machine. Space was attempting to generate more to keep up, but the reaction was self-propagating. All that energy, it had to be utilized.

Options on his end were… unfavorable. If he consumed it, it could be a nice power boost in time- but it would also likely lock Jean out of doing anything else for a long while. Cataloging and shuffling newly gained power at his stage was more of a hindrance than a boon, especially if he didn’t want to step across that final line to shatter the last shackle he had. So eating it was going to be a last option.

Trying to turn it inwards, using it to trap itself- that was a coin flip between rendering the metavault entirely useless, or turning it into something akin to a latent tool that could wipe out multiple stars. An artifact of arguably immense power, a paradox between total uselessness and abject terror. Let’s certainly shelve that option for the moment.

Jean’s mind raced to generate more options, straining his data packets even more. He cut back on processing his avatar now, becoming almost like a hazy figure to others in legion space. He had to make up his mind soon, or the temperatures on his cores would actually exceed safe operating temperatures! Argh!

Then the only other present for this meltdown offered her unsolicited opinion, rather bravely.

[use it to Rip space]

[to where]

[Home] where else?

… A sound idea as any other at this stage. Though he was going to definitely be putting in some time for vacation after all this.

When the rogue station shook, I was similarly affected in the cockpit of my steed. My hand reached out and grabbed the armrest, trying to hold on through all the rocking back and forth. “Oh come on,” I muttered to myself, through gritted teeth. “What now?”

I and all others watching the stream had seen V1P3R fall. It was supposed to be over, the entity banished from our little part of space for hopefully a good while. But it looked almost like they’d left more parting gifts. Or was this an extension of the problem that Jean mentioned earlier?

The answer was soon revealed by a sudden connection made to my machine. “Co-om-mander!” the allied manager alerted me, voice distorting and breaking up. “Metavault- critical mass- energy overflowing-”

My breath caught as my eyes widened. That wasn’t good. I had to dial everybody else and inform them that we were now in the worst-case scenario, something that we did reluctantly plan around but hoped would never have to employ: a full evacuation, in case of station destruction.

Something that would probably still see a good chunk of the life onboard perish, depending on how bad it got.

Just as I roused the command network, Jean spoke again, haltingly. “Employing… nearlight engine. Blinkspace transition will occur in ten… nine…”

There was hardly any need for any complicated command now. “All hands!” I roared, not even bothering with army terms. “Brace for blink!”

Unbeknownst to me, a certain streamer had just tapped our channels and so broadcast that very same command to her stream. Which, given that it was playing across Port Barbarus, meant that my voice echoed throughout the installation as a whole. Across the tightly packed quarters and urban environments, heads instinctively obeyed my frantic order, fighting even pausing for a moment as combatants alike dove to secure positions and held on for dear life.

“….three… two… one-! G-good luck!”

A heartbeat later, it was like the world inverted for a moment.

A tick later, it was like our reality was vomited out of someplace else.

My Chomolungma had managed to secure itself against a wall in time, and I was secured in the cockpit seat itself so it wasn’t too bad. The actual jolt that usually came from suddenly going to FTL and back didn’t feel so bad too, perhaps due to meddling by Jean to try and mitigate the danger. At the same time, my stomach flipped and turned in a way that even a veteran sailor like myself was quite unfamiliar with.

Given the sounds of retching and vomiting through the radio, the feeling was apparently mutually shared across Port Barbarus. There sounded like potentially even more dire reactions from some parties, but one thing at a time. First of all, making sure folks were in one piece.

Those around me seemed definitely shaken and bruised, some nursing nasty bumps or cradling dangling limbs. Yet as none seemed to have been turned into a stain on the walls, which was an actual possibility with emergency nearlight jumps, I could tentatively say that at least those in the immediate vicinity were pretty lucky.

Slowly, radio discipline reestablished itself and reports trickled in. It seemed to be that we were very fortunate as a whole, or Jean really did try his best to soften the blow. Maybe it was just from the very atypical method of transportation as well, as it sounded like expending a metavault’s energy led to some rules breaking. Whatever it was, I think I was more just glad that we’d lived through it.

Now to take actual stock of whatever the heck had happened. I tried to raise Jean, only to find nothing on the other end. I checked and worried crept into my being as there was no Veronica either. Where had our NHPs gone?

Luna then reached out, very noticeably muting her stream for a moment in private conversation with me. “They’re okay,” she swiftly reassured, already guessing based on the way my brows knitted together. “Jean is also taking a bit of a break to cool off his circuits. That ran a bit close.”

“And Veronica?” I demanded an answer to, to which the HORUS agent blinked in response.

“I mean, she’s still where she was. On Half Measure, which understandably doesn’t have the range to where we are now.”

“Where we are now?” I questioned briefly, checking my steed’s sensors. Things were still spinning and trying to calibrate following the sudden transition. “Which is?”

Luna snapped her fingers in realization. “Oh right, your machine’s not set up for sudden space warps, is it? Mine’s working, and it’s saying we’re back home.

“Ya know. Cavia.”

My eyebrows leapt up and I exclaimed “What!”

Yet as things finally settled down, the readings came back with confirmation to her words. If that wasn’t enough, a glance outside the station revealed that Port Barbarus now hung in orbit around a familiar frosty blue planet, a celeste ball that I could recognize on sight now. The orbital installation, and all aboard, had been spirited away to our home planet.

It was one that was reacting to our presence with a mix of shock, surprise, and succinctness. Radio signals were probing, reaching out, and they greeted our own familiar channels with confirmation regarding our identity. Lieutenant Nasir themselves were on call, quite taken aback by the sudden appearance of an entire void habitat in orbit.

Then they asked for what to do, and I could only sigh.

“At least those supplies meant for disaster relief are going to be more convenient to deliver now. But mobilize additional teams now, we need extra hands immediately after that unexpected jump. I want medical teams scouring every sector and deck, let’s get a headcount for who survived.”