Dynamis | Chapter 22 - Directive (Patreon)

Miles of digitized forest stretched beyond the horizon. The DF hummed as it soared through the air at a brisk speed. Karl periodically checked fuel and energy reserves, ensuring that the system was funneling power to the appropriate locations, most importantly the thrusters.

“All systems are in the green,” Karl said. “We should make contact within roughly two minutes.”

“Excellent,” Daidari replied from the seat behind him.

Karl nodded, allowing the hum of the simulated DF to course through him. He glanced at his forearm, where the tubes that would normally go into his suit. For all of the fancy enhancements their simulations had seen in the past decade, there was still no feasible way to link the two conductors’ neural pathways without getting into the Dynamic Frame itself.

From his understanding, there had been attempts, but nothing concrete had been developed without some sort of setback or permanent injury to either the tech or the conductor. Even Jark had made it a point to stress how intricate the systems were and how demanding they could be, even in the best of scenarios. Just another notch on the list of potential issues that could occur with two mismatched conductors.

And they want us to switch on the regular? Ridiculous.

While no one had come forward to voice their opinion publicly, Karl was willing to wager his entire stash of credits that no short number of programmers and engineers had approached the higher-ups regarding the new regulations. Jark had confided in him that he’d been one of their number, but refused to relay who else was present during that meeting.

I hate feeling this helpless. There has to be a way to convince them otherwise.

He looked back up at the screen. All systems were still reading normal, fluctuating by a percent every so often. That was normal. He looked over his shoulder for some sign of life from Daidari, but she was all business. She was a lot like Lilibelle in that aspect, but without the occasional quip, question, or spunk. Lilibelle had enthusiasm, which was something Karl didn’t know he appreciated so much in a partner until now.

A light blinked on screen. The tiny blip was red and small. Their target. “Roughly fifty kilometers away until impact with target,” Karl said as he began to redistribute the reserves back to their original locations. “Estimated time of arrival is forty-five seconds.”

“Don’t divert power,” Daidari said.

Karl frowned. “We’ll run into them if we don’t.”

“I am aware. Don’t divert power.”

The system recalculated on-the-fly with regards to their current speed. In less than twenty seconds, they would collide with their target. As soon as Karl opened his mouth to contest her, Daidari keyed one of the buttons next to her panel. Moments later, a message appeared on screen with her request.

-DAIDARI ISHIMA REQUESTS AUGUR BLADE-

Karl swallowed against the dry lump in his throat, exhaled through his nose. He sucked in his lips, then pressed the button below the display to surrender access. A notification appeared on-screen to confirm his action.

Most Dynamic Frames were equipped with a series of safety switches that could only be bypassed by the operator—that was, the person who managed power and systems. The fighter—Daidari—was busy enough, so by splitting up the tasks, more could be accomplished, especially by a pair of conductors who synchronized well.

However, there was a way to eschew the process altogether.

Most times, the fighter would request the weapon they desired verbally. Done in this manner, the operator could still revoke permission, thereby shutting off the weapon and returning it to its associated compartment. If the fighter requested it through the system, however, then it would grant the fighter irrevocable access until they returned the weapon to its bay. The operator could alter little else besides the weapon’s energy levels.

Karl gripped the armrests of his seat, watching with bated breath as they approached their target.

“Increase thruster speed,” Daidari said.

Karl furrowed his brow. “What are you planning to—”

“Now!”

Karl gritted his teeth and pushed one of the meters up steadily. He wanted to avoid burning through too much fuel or stressing out the thrusters. Much like applying too much gas to a pedal, it could cause serious damage to their Frame. Daidari didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care.

Karl leaned around his seat to get a look at Daidari. Her gaze was glued to the screen, her hands clenched around the control sticks, her thumbs lightly brushing against the buttons on top. There wasn’t a hint of trepidation or doubt on her face. She remained stoic, cold as stone and wicked as the steel she now brandished.

As the target DF—Pilebunker—came into view, it spun around. The screech of metal cleaving through metal echoed against the walls of the simulated cockpit, raking the hairs on Karl’s neck. He squinted his eyes, looking for any irregularities in the system’s readouts.

The cockpit suddenly jerked to the left, throwing Karl to his right. He righted his posture as the DF’s momentum smoothed. He gaped when they turned toward their target. Pilebunker had been severed from the waist down. The Frame’s thrusters fired wildly, causing it to fly in haphazard patterns, unable to find a good balance with the loss of its legs. It looked like a giant grey sphere with arms much too large for its small body. It managed to fire a few shells at them, but they were promptly blocked by the flat of the Augur Blade.

Daidari scorched through the air, jerking Karl forward and carving the air with her blade. Pilebunker’s gun arm was severed at the elbow, flinging it into the air. A hail of gunfire followed as it plummeted to the ground below. When Daidari looked as if she was about to spin the DF back around to make another attack, she cried, “Reduce thruster power to cruise levels!”

“Reducing thruster power!” Karl pulled the meter down a little quicker than he had when he was delivering additional power. As Firehose swerved to complete its turn, Karl’s shoulders slumped. Pilebunker was a shell of its former self, with only a single arm to balance the erratic flight patterns it continued to make. Even at rest, the balance of a DF was fickle in the hands of a novice. Any operator worth their credits would make adjustments to the thrusters to accommodate for missing limbs. That was, if they were still alive to do so.

“Excellent. Transportation will be a simple task now.” Daidari returned the Augur Blade to its interior scabbard. A message prompted Karl, informing him that he had regained access. Firehose hovered over to Pilebunker, gripping its remaining arm. That stabilized its motions somewhat, but the thrusters were still going.

“Why aren’t they turning off their thrusters?” Karl whispered to himself. As soon as the question left his mouth, the realization dawned on him. The conductors had either fallen unconscious or died altogether. With their nerves linked into the DF’s systems, the brain would struggle to tell what was real or imagined. When the DF took damage, sometimes the conductors would as well. It was the nature of the machine, and those who were less compatible were at greater risk for permanent brain and limb damage. Or worse, death.

“Annoying.” Daidari said, repositioning Pilebunker so that she could see the back. Cupping Firehose’s hand over the thrusters, she crunched them in her hand, twisted, and ripped them out, throwing them into the forest below. “Much better.” Cradling the Frame with both of Firehose’s arms, she slowly turned the Frame around and started back in the direction they’d come from.

Karl was utterly speechless. Sure, this was just a simulation, but they had always been told by their instructors to treat each of these simulations like the real deal. Daidari hadn’t struck him as the type to ignore valuable feedback or display anything less than her best. That meant that they’d be carrying a pair of corpses back to base, without a care for what had happened to them. As the severity of the situation settled on him, he sat back in his seat and steadily increased their thruster power.

“I want to try and understand you,” Karl said slowly, “but if this had been a live mission, then it’s very possible we’d be escorting two dead people back. Dead people from Deadeye.”

Silence.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Karl pressed. “Those would’ve been your comrades. You could’ve eaten lunch with them, laughed with them, become friends with them.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”

“There is no room for niceties, Donovan,” Daidari said.

“It’s not niceties. It’s called being a damned human being. You didn’t even try to talk to them.” He scoffed. “They were dead as soon as we were debriefed.”

“Allow me a rebuttal.”

Karl hissed a long inhale through his nose. “All right.”

“If they work for Deadeye, then they know what the chain of command looks like. If they know what the chain of command looks like, then they also know that unless otherwise prompted, no DF is to leave the hangar without authorization.” She slowly drummed her fingers along the belly of her control sticks. “Which means one of two things occurred: either, someone helped the Frame escape, or they acted outside of the original mission parameters.”

“Yes,” Karl said. “I know that. But are we going to ignore the why behind their actions?”

“The why does not matter. Everyone has lost something to the Fiends, Mister Donovan. Their case is not special. Their case is not unique. If they wanted to make a difference, then they should have remained in the hangar. An exception for one is an exception for all. You would do well to remember that.”

Karl took his time in choosing his words. With these simulations being recorded, anything he said could be used against him. “I’m not saying that they should’ve gone. I don’t agree with their actions. But we didn’t have to kill them, either. If Deadeye deems them to be punished, then so be it. But they fought alongside us and their motives were just. Besides, not only are we down two conductors, but the DF is hardly intact. It’s missing an arm and both of its legs. Can you truly say we accomplished our mission?”

“I can,” Daidari said. She swept one of her hands over her keyboard, her fingers dancing on the keys. Moments later, Karl’s screen partitioned to display the schematics for Pilebunker. “The limbs were manufactured by Red Rocket, a model that can be purchased by any mercenary group. Their loss is minimal. What matters is the core, as that contains the DF’s essential programming.”

“I see.” He’d hoped that detail had missed her eye.

“You are too soft,” she chuckled. “DF technology is advancing every day. Every core Deadeye develops is an improvement on the one before it. Losing any of them to our rivals could have catastrophic results. You know this as well as I do.” After a pause, she added, “The mission was clear, Donovan. Return with the DF, under any circumstances.”

“And if that was you in that cockpit?” he hissed.

“I would expect the same approach from my comrades.”

Karl frowned. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. People in those situations are too far gone. They aren’t thinking about the team anymore. Not about humanity or their role in our survival. They’re selfish. They think only about themselves.” The material around her hands squeaked as she tightened her grip around the sticks. “I speak from experience. You cannot reason with someone like that. If they were willing to go to those lengths, then combat was inevitable.”

“Even at the cost of our own humanity? Survival means we get through this together. If what you say is true, then what makes us any better than the Fiends if we’re incentivized to chop and blow one another up? ”

“Simply because it is us or them, Donovan. Ethics has nothing to do with it. This is a simple matter of survival of the fittest… Nothing about that will ever change.”