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Highschool DxD fic ch1
charclone
Well-known member
Philip sat on his bed.
It was the day after Christmas. Or at least, it was in this universe. He had no idea what the date was in the universe he had first been born in.
It had been strange, growing up with knowledge of another life, knowing that one had been born twice. It helped in some things, but memory and awareness had been fuzzy in the early years. He was now all of eight years old. Most children would still be buzzing with the excitements of Christmas, but Philip had little frame of reference to determine what would be appropriate. He also felt he had little time to bother with such trivialities.
He wasn't sure if his abnormality was another nail in the coffin of his parent's coffin, or if they had even noticed.
He wasn't sure if they had been drawn together by an outside force, or the foolishness of youth.
He was certain of two things.
One, he would be safer not leaving his room for the time being. The sound of shouting from the living room adding support to that idea.
Two, he was in Highschool DxD, or at least a universe that highly resembled it.
It had been joking called the 'tits anime', due to its abundant fanservice, though Philip would call it a crude hybrid between a harem anime, and a shonen anime. It had been an amusing bit of fiction to him in his previous life.
But it was not fiction here, according to the books he had been gifted. Books of magic, that his parents could not see, contained in a bag of holding, delivered in a box labelled 'from Santa'. He was apparently real here.
Considering that angels, devils, gods, and many other myths were true here after a fashion, it was hardly surprising. But that was its own problem. Humans were effectively a joke here, left alone due to numbers, and benefit, rather than altruism.
God, the one from the Bible, was dead. Heaven was solely falling apart. Devils were, while not evil, on the verge of a second civil war, with one faction that was very much of the stealing souls-type of evil. The Church was probably corrupt, the supernatural side of it anyway.
Magic was wielded by all these factions that could easily twist the mind, erase memories, alter a persons body, and potentially even mind. Worse, the closest thing humans had to mortal protectors were the 'Hero Faction' of the Chaos Brigade, teenagers, or, would be teenagers depending on when in the timeline it was, that were looking to kill the most powerful thing they could, to prove that humans could. The problem was that they didn't care what or who it was really, were working with Hell's renegades who were looking to conquer humanity. In short, they were idiot teenagers living a power fantasy.
Of all the factions, it was ironically the devils themselves the most likely to act to protect humanity as a whole, due to their ability to gain power from making contracts. These contracts were mundane in payment, usually just in exchange for cash, or valuable goods, occasionally services. If Philip's memories of the anime and manga were accurate. That did not mean they would do it altruistically, that was probably the angels, but rather, they were strongly opposed to any faction dominating Earth and humanity. They wanted to remain relevant, after all.
The Angels and Heaven were another issue entirely, as they had no way to reproduce, were at risk of losing members to the Fallen Angels, and there was the matter of the fact that the war between Heaven, Hell (the Underworld as the Devil's preferred to call it), and the Grigori (or were they just the largest group of Fallen Angels?) was still technically ongoing. There was little open conflict, apparently there was some sort of truce.
Not that the Angels were completely benevolent, as they needed to, apparently, keep the knowledge that God was dead secret, and would do so however necessary. Again, if Philip's memories were correct.
The Fallen Angels, well, they were a mixed bag. Some, like their leader, the Governor-General Azazel, were sick of war, and focused on other pursuits. Some were probably hedonistic, but others, like Azazel, were focused on scientific knowledge. He was obsessed with 'Sacred Gears', magic items attached to people's souls by God. The main character of Highschool DxD, Issei Hyoudou, had a stupidly overpowered sacred gear, one that doubled his power every few seconds, exponentially.
Though, it was also the prison of a dragon soul. A very powerful dragon, who's imprisonment along side his rival, took the combined efforts of all three Christian factions. y Ddraig Goch, literally 'the Red Dragon' was not a pushover, it seems. Though, he also was apparently a bit of an edgelord, from what Philip remembered.
Philip was outclassed, even by the weakest of the characters. Most no name mooks outclassed him.
While not as bad as say, Warhammer 40k, or the Dresden Files, the situation was not exactly pleasant to be in. There were even outside forces ready to invade this reality, though unlike Dresden's Outsiders, they were brutes that could be beaten rather than entities outside any mortal's comprehension of their nature.
Philip reached into the bag of holding, pausing when he heard the shouting outside his room decrease. It resumed with slightly less volume a moment later.
He pulled a new leather-bound book out titled 'A Beginning in Magic, Vol I'. He smiled.
Human mages might be… less powerful than the supernatural factions. But Philip was not going to accept being a pushover. He doubted Santa gave him anything that would let him kill a god, but it was a start.
Besides, it was more than raw power that mattered in a fight. It was skill, cleverness. All warfare was based upon deception, and supreme excellence consists not in defeating one's foes on the battlefield, but by defeating them without fighting.
The book vanished back into the extradimensional space when he heard footsteps in the hallway. His door swung open.
"Get your backpack. Your going to spend some time at your friend's place." Philip's 'father' stated in a distant and dull tone, without looking directly at him. It was more words in a sentence than Philip remembered him ever saying. He was not an angry drunk. He had never hit Philip, but he was usually staring dully at the news.
He wasn't going to risk the books out of his sight. The enchantment made it so that most people wouldn't notice, but he wasn't going to take the risk of tripping over a random Devil or Fallen. Or Youkai. Or Valkyrie… there was a lot of supernatural entities out there, though Philip was more concerned with the major factions.
He decided he should probably avoid any deep woods for a while, and any groups of animals with red eyes. Canada might not have the same kind of myths as Europe, but it had its own, and some were terrifying and gruesome.
Still safer than 40k. Barely so than Dresden Files.
Philip almost would have preferred Warcraft, or Dragonlance, were it not for the absence of indoor plumbing in those universes.
He shook his head as he walked down the street, alone. Snow crunching under his boots.
He paused briefly, wanting to smack himself.
'Aya's favourite show is Miracle Levia-tan. Serafall Leviathan's show in the anime.' He resumed walking. 'I'm an idiot for not realising that sooner.'
Four houses down form his own, lay his destination, the Kato residence.
The mother and daughter pair had lived there as long as Philip could remember, though that was admittedly not very long. The mother, Minori, was a lawyer and had immigrated to Canada from Japan. Her daughter, Aya, had made herself Philip's friend, his own opinion on the matter going unsought.
Philip… admittedly appreciated her efforts. He had never been one to reach out and make friends, and having the memories of another life complicated that further. Though, making one would-be-bully go cross-eyed at his rebuttal to an attempted insult was funny.
The young Japanese-Canadian had energy for the two of them, and could match his wit. She was smarted than most, and shared Philip's grade. He would honestly call her his best friend, and not due to the absence of other options.
A rustling in a snow-covered bush made him pause. Nervously, he glanced down. A reddish-brown fox looked back up at him, before bolting deeper into the bush.
Philip blinked and shook his head.
Construction work nearby must had scared it out of its winter den.
Reaching the front door, he reached for the doorbell.
The door swung open.
"C'monc'monc'monc'mon!" The short, dark-haired eight-year-old girl bounced. "Get in! Show starts soon!"
Aya dragged him in, bouncing the entire time.
Winter coat hung up, and backpack, with the bag of holding inside, left on the floor nearby, he found himself sat on a couch next to his friend, the opening sequence of 'Miracle Levia-tan' playing.
"You really like that show." He noted, glancing at her shirt, marked with the show's main character. It matched the posters in her room, and the toys.
"It's the best show. Ever!"
Later that night, in the Kato's guestroom, Philip carefully drew a circle on a piece of paper. According to the first book, it was the simplest spell one could cast, requiring no skill. It functioned purely to check if someone had magic.
As he filled in the markings on the paper, using a flashlight he took from home when packing for light, he fought to keep his giggled down as his anticipation and anxiety grew.
Finally, it was done.
Carefully, he focused on it, as the book instructed.
He felt the power trickle down his arms into the paper, the circle glowing slightly.
He directed his thoughts on what he wanted.
The spell, etched in his mind for a moment, triggered.
The figures were blurry, and faint, but he could read them.
The spell created simple, crude, illusions in a small area close to the caster. It was useless in combat.
But it did serve its purpose.
The words 'I, Magus' hovered in front of his vision for a few seconds, before fading.
Philip cackles quietly to himself, partly for the reference, and partly out of pride.
He could cast magic.
He did cast magic.
Something landed on the bed heavily and Philip felt his heart leap to his throat.
"Your supposed to be asleeeeep." Aya drawled. "But since you are up…"
The door swung open.
"Aya! So are you. Bed!" Minori glowered at her daughter, stepping into the room. "Philip, you to."
"Mooom…" Aya's protest met a cold glare. She leapt off the bed and grumbled.
A spirit of wit struck Philip as she was led out of the guestroom.
"Night, Ayacado." He said, earning him a groan from her.
"Ooh, Ayacado, I like that one." Aya's mother grinned.
Aya's wail of "Mooooooom!" lasted until she reached her bed.
It was the day after Christmas. Or at least, it was in this universe. He had no idea what the date was in the universe he had first been born in.
It had been strange, growing up with knowledge of another life, knowing that one had been born twice. It helped in some things, but memory and awareness had been fuzzy in the early years. He was now all of eight years old. Most children would still be buzzing with the excitements of Christmas, but Philip had little frame of reference to determine what would be appropriate. He also felt he had little time to bother with such trivialities.
He wasn't sure if his abnormality was another nail in the coffin of his parent's coffin, or if they had even noticed.
He wasn't sure if they had been drawn together by an outside force, or the foolishness of youth.
He was certain of two things.
One, he would be safer not leaving his room for the time being. The sound of shouting from the living room adding support to that idea.
Two, he was in Highschool DxD, or at least a universe that highly resembled it.
It had been joking called the 'tits anime', due to its abundant fanservice, though Philip would call it a crude hybrid between a harem anime, and a shonen anime. It had been an amusing bit of fiction to him in his previous life.
But it was not fiction here, according to the books he had been gifted. Books of magic, that his parents could not see, contained in a bag of holding, delivered in a box labelled 'from Santa'. He was apparently real here.
Considering that angels, devils, gods, and many other myths were true here after a fashion, it was hardly surprising. But that was its own problem. Humans were effectively a joke here, left alone due to numbers, and benefit, rather than altruism.
God, the one from the Bible, was dead. Heaven was solely falling apart. Devils were, while not evil, on the verge of a second civil war, with one faction that was very much of the stealing souls-type of evil. The Church was probably corrupt, the supernatural side of it anyway.
Magic was wielded by all these factions that could easily twist the mind, erase memories, alter a persons body, and potentially even mind. Worse, the closest thing humans had to mortal protectors were the 'Hero Faction' of the Chaos Brigade, teenagers, or, would be teenagers depending on when in the timeline it was, that were looking to kill the most powerful thing they could, to prove that humans could. The problem was that they didn't care what or who it was really, were working with Hell's renegades who were looking to conquer humanity. In short, they were idiot teenagers living a power fantasy.
Of all the factions, it was ironically the devils themselves the most likely to act to protect humanity as a whole, due to their ability to gain power from making contracts. These contracts were mundane in payment, usually just in exchange for cash, or valuable goods, occasionally services. If Philip's memories of the anime and manga were accurate. That did not mean they would do it altruistically, that was probably the angels, but rather, they were strongly opposed to any faction dominating Earth and humanity. They wanted to remain relevant, after all.
The Angels and Heaven were another issue entirely, as they had no way to reproduce, were at risk of losing members to the Fallen Angels, and there was the matter of the fact that the war between Heaven, Hell (the Underworld as the Devil's preferred to call it), and the Grigori (or were they just the largest group of Fallen Angels?) was still technically ongoing. There was little open conflict, apparently there was some sort of truce.
Not that the Angels were completely benevolent, as they needed to, apparently, keep the knowledge that God was dead secret, and would do so however necessary. Again, if Philip's memories were correct.
The Fallen Angels, well, they were a mixed bag. Some, like their leader, the Governor-General Azazel, were sick of war, and focused on other pursuits. Some were probably hedonistic, but others, like Azazel, were focused on scientific knowledge. He was obsessed with 'Sacred Gears', magic items attached to people's souls by God. The main character of Highschool DxD, Issei Hyoudou, had a stupidly overpowered sacred gear, one that doubled his power every few seconds, exponentially.
Though, it was also the prison of a dragon soul. A very powerful dragon, who's imprisonment along side his rival, took the combined efforts of all three Christian factions. y Ddraig Goch, literally 'the Red Dragon' was not a pushover, it seems. Though, he also was apparently a bit of an edgelord, from what Philip remembered.
Philip was outclassed, even by the weakest of the characters. Most no name mooks outclassed him.
While not as bad as say, Warhammer 40k, or the Dresden Files, the situation was not exactly pleasant to be in. There were even outside forces ready to invade this reality, though unlike Dresden's Outsiders, they were brutes that could be beaten rather than entities outside any mortal's comprehension of their nature.
Philip reached into the bag of holding, pausing when he heard the shouting outside his room decrease. It resumed with slightly less volume a moment later.
He pulled a new leather-bound book out titled 'A Beginning in Magic, Vol I'. He smiled.
Human mages might be… less powerful than the supernatural factions. But Philip was not going to accept being a pushover. He doubted Santa gave him anything that would let him kill a god, but it was a start.
Besides, it was more than raw power that mattered in a fight. It was skill, cleverness. All warfare was based upon deception, and supreme excellence consists not in defeating one's foes on the battlefield, but by defeating them without fighting.
The book vanished back into the extradimensional space when he heard footsteps in the hallway. His door swung open.
"Get your backpack. Your going to spend some time at your friend's place." Philip's 'father' stated in a distant and dull tone, without looking directly at him. It was more words in a sentence than Philip remembered him ever saying. He was not an angry drunk. He had never hit Philip, but he was usually staring dully at the news.
He wasn't going to risk the books out of his sight. The enchantment made it so that most people wouldn't notice, but he wasn't going to take the risk of tripping over a random Devil or Fallen. Or Youkai. Or Valkyrie… there was a lot of supernatural entities out there, though Philip was more concerned with the major factions.
He decided he should probably avoid any deep woods for a while, and any groups of animals with red eyes. Canada might not have the same kind of myths as Europe, but it had its own, and some were terrifying and gruesome.
Still safer than 40k. Barely so than Dresden Files.
Philip almost would have preferred Warcraft, or Dragonlance, were it not for the absence of indoor plumbing in those universes.
He shook his head as he walked down the street, alone. Snow crunching under his boots.
He paused briefly, wanting to smack himself.
'Aya's favourite show is Miracle Levia-tan. Serafall Leviathan's show in the anime.' He resumed walking. 'I'm an idiot for not realising that sooner.'
Four houses down form his own, lay his destination, the Kato residence.
The mother and daughter pair had lived there as long as Philip could remember, though that was admittedly not very long. The mother, Minori, was a lawyer and had immigrated to Canada from Japan. Her daughter, Aya, had made herself Philip's friend, his own opinion on the matter going unsought.
Philip… admittedly appreciated her efforts. He had never been one to reach out and make friends, and having the memories of another life complicated that further. Though, making one would-be-bully go cross-eyed at his rebuttal to an attempted insult was funny.
The young Japanese-Canadian had energy for the two of them, and could match his wit. She was smarted than most, and shared Philip's grade. He would honestly call her his best friend, and not due to the absence of other options.
A rustling in a snow-covered bush made him pause. Nervously, he glanced down. A reddish-brown fox looked back up at him, before bolting deeper into the bush.
Philip blinked and shook his head.
Construction work nearby must had scared it out of its winter den.
Reaching the front door, he reached for the doorbell.
The door swung open.
"C'monc'monc'monc'mon!" The short, dark-haired eight-year-old girl bounced. "Get in! Show starts soon!"
Aya dragged him in, bouncing the entire time.
Winter coat hung up, and backpack, with the bag of holding inside, left on the floor nearby, he found himself sat on a couch next to his friend, the opening sequence of 'Miracle Levia-tan' playing.
"You really like that show." He noted, glancing at her shirt, marked with the show's main character. It matched the posters in her room, and the toys.
"It's the best show. Ever!"
Later that night, in the Kato's guestroom, Philip carefully drew a circle on a piece of paper. According to the first book, it was the simplest spell one could cast, requiring no skill. It functioned purely to check if someone had magic.
As he filled in the markings on the paper, using a flashlight he took from home when packing for light, he fought to keep his giggled down as his anticipation and anxiety grew.
Finally, it was done.
Carefully, he focused on it, as the book instructed.
He felt the power trickle down his arms into the paper, the circle glowing slightly.
He directed his thoughts on what he wanted.
The spell, etched in his mind for a moment, triggered.
The figures were blurry, and faint, but he could read them.
The spell created simple, crude, illusions in a small area close to the caster. It was useless in combat.
But it did serve its purpose.
The words 'I, Magus' hovered in front of his vision for a few seconds, before fading.
Philip cackles quietly to himself, partly for the reference, and partly out of pride.
He could cast magic.
He did cast magic.
Something landed on the bed heavily and Philip felt his heart leap to his throat.
"Your supposed to be asleeeeep." Aya drawled. "But since you are up…"
The door swung open.
"Aya! So are you. Bed!" Minori glowered at her daughter, stepping into the room. "Philip, you to."
"Mooom…" Aya's protest met a cold glare. She leapt off the bed and grumbled.
A spirit of wit struck Philip as she was led out of the guestroom.
"Night, Ayacado." He said, earning him a groan from her.
"Ooh, Ayacado, I like that one." Aya's mother grinned.
Aya's wail of "Mooooooom!" lasted until she reached her bed.
Highschool DxD fic ch2
charclone
Well-known member
School was boring.
Philip remembered little of his first experiences in third grade, from his first life. He remembered more of the bullying he faced, which was not an issue this time around. What he did remember of the actual classes was finishing homework that was handed out before the end of the day.
Something he accomplished with ease.
He was a voracious reader, still was, reading books at college level before the end of elementary school, and he had once found math far too easy. It led to difficulties later, as he struggled with mathematics where once he had found it easy, but in this second life, it was not yet an issue.
These facts meant that, when he resumed grade three in January, he found himself with more time to focus on studying magic, with his parents thinking he was working on schoolwork, or reading books.
They were not happy with the fact that his reading level was already above theirs.
Philip smiled slightly at the memory of a teacher being flabbergasted that he not only had read a dense science fiction story, but had understood it well enough to explain the plot.
'Eon & Eternity' was one of the first hard sci-fi stories he had read in his first life, so he could hardly choose not to make it his first hard sci-fi story in this life.
Philip shook his head and got back to reading.
The texts started simple enough, explaining that most magic traditions came from one of four sources. The most common was magic based on the powers of the Devils. Slightly less common than that was magic based on the powers of gods, and similar beings. The final two were based on spirits of places, or other supernatural creatures related to nature or places and the fae and naturally magical creatures.
Devil based magic was so pervasively common, it had been integrated into most styles, mostly in the middle ages, due to the 'Three Faction War' between the Fallen, Devils and Heaven. The Devils once used humans as auxiliaries and infiltrators, according to the book on history.
That was not to say that these were the only sources of magic, just that they were by far the most common. Most systems of magic that originated from gods, were Egyptian or Norse in origin, as most others died out with the priesthoods that practiced them. The Norse pantheon did not restrict magic being taught, though the book never explained why, and the Egyptians before the Bronze Age collapse had magic everywhere.
It wasn't prominent, as the Egyptian school focuses on simply enhancing everything, in its basic level, rather than hurtling fireballs, as is common among the European schools, but it was by far the most efficient.
The Norse school, or at least its modern incarnation, tended to focus on melee combat, enchanting people and weapons to achieve a greater than mortal effect. It tended to have side effects, however. Rage or loss of lucidity, etc. Generally, it was tied to runic weapons, or runes of protection.
The Merlinism school was the most common, and most versatile. Yet, Philip found himself repulsed by it. It was based on a mix of fae and devil magic, things that he would prefer to avoid. He knew little of the fae, and the books were of little help, beyond stating that there was four factions: Seelie, Unseelie (who had some sort of agreement with the Devils, or did at the time of the book being written), Santa's elves (who generally were a collection of craftsmen), and a faction made up of those that banded together to avoid being forced by the other three.
There were shamanistic European schools, but Philip preferred not to be reliant on simple elemental spells, or spirits. The idea of teleporting across the world at will was too tempting to give up.
The final school in the books that attracted his attention was the Roman school.
To call it a full school was perhaps a bit of a stretch, as it had its origins blurred. It borrowed from the Greek and Egyptian schools, but also took whatever it found. It was not so much a collection of spells, or methodology, as it was a method of adapting and adopting the spells of other schools and disciplines into a unified and interchangeable system.
It sounded very tempting to Philip.
Why accept any disadvantage, beyond the initial work, when you could use it all?
He made notes in a notebook he had taken to hiding in the bag of holding.
'Roman School: Adaptive, absorbs other school's spells.'
According to the book, the magic was all the same, though distinct from sources such as Ki, also called chi. It came in different 'colours', like how light had different frequencies. The spells of a magician or nature of a creature filtered it, giving it distinctiveness. This meant that while devil power was still magic, it acted slightly differently.
Philip still considered the fact that Devils only needed their desire and imagination to shape it unfair compared to what magicians needed to do. Devils only needed power, and the will to shape it to their desire in order to cast spells, or hurtle power at people.
Mages, Philips preferred term, had to filter their magic using spells, just to be able to use it. They relied on equations, mathematics and geometry, to harness their power. It was… efficient, according to the books, but also less versatile.
Most of the time, a mage needed to have a spell, and its associated mathematic formula, memorised. The handful of exceptions were comically weak, and relied on premade circles, or a series of runes.
Philip chewed his lip.
The math didn't sound too hard. The formula had magic go in one end, and the spell came out the other end.
He expected he would have a harder time with his magical stamina.
Flipping through to the recommended page, he found the formulas for a simple spell. It only conjured a light, being based on a fae spell.
The books provided a sample of several different schools, often ones shared between the schools.
The math didn't look too complicated, as he expected. It was different, as several symbols represented concepts, impossible to quantify, but that was apparently something that just needed to be understood to read what a spell did.
Philip read the equation. He blinked.
He read it again.
"Wait, is that a cross product for vectors, not multiplication?" He groaned.
Philip remembered little of his first experiences in third grade, from his first life. He remembered more of the bullying he faced, which was not an issue this time around. What he did remember of the actual classes was finishing homework that was handed out before the end of the day.
Something he accomplished with ease.
He was a voracious reader, still was, reading books at college level before the end of elementary school, and he had once found math far too easy. It led to difficulties later, as he struggled with mathematics where once he had found it easy, but in this second life, it was not yet an issue.
These facts meant that, when he resumed grade three in January, he found himself with more time to focus on studying magic, with his parents thinking he was working on schoolwork, or reading books.
They were not happy with the fact that his reading level was already above theirs.
Philip smiled slightly at the memory of a teacher being flabbergasted that he not only had read a dense science fiction story, but had understood it well enough to explain the plot.
'Eon & Eternity' was one of the first hard sci-fi stories he had read in his first life, so he could hardly choose not to make it his first hard sci-fi story in this life.
Philip shook his head and got back to reading.
The texts started simple enough, explaining that most magic traditions came from one of four sources. The most common was magic based on the powers of the Devils. Slightly less common than that was magic based on the powers of gods, and similar beings. The final two were based on spirits of places, or other supernatural creatures related to nature or places and the fae and naturally magical creatures.
Devil based magic was so pervasively common, it had been integrated into most styles, mostly in the middle ages, due to the 'Three Faction War' between the Fallen, Devils and Heaven. The Devils once used humans as auxiliaries and infiltrators, according to the book on history.
That was not to say that these were the only sources of magic, just that they were by far the most common. Most systems of magic that originated from gods, were Egyptian or Norse in origin, as most others died out with the priesthoods that practiced them. The Norse pantheon did not restrict magic being taught, though the book never explained why, and the Egyptians before the Bronze Age collapse had magic everywhere.
It wasn't prominent, as the Egyptian school focuses on simply enhancing everything, in its basic level, rather than hurtling fireballs, as is common among the European schools, but it was by far the most efficient.
The Norse school, or at least its modern incarnation, tended to focus on melee combat, enchanting people and weapons to achieve a greater than mortal effect. It tended to have side effects, however. Rage or loss of lucidity, etc. Generally, it was tied to runic weapons, or runes of protection.
The Merlinism school was the most common, and most versatile. Yet, Philip found himself repulsed by it. It was based on a mix of fae and devil magic, things that he would prefer to avoid. He knew little of the fae, and the books were of little help, beyond stating that there was four factions: Seelie, Unseelie (who had some sort of agreement with the Devils, or did at the time of the book being written), Santa's elves (who generally were a collection of craftsmen), and a faction made up of those that banded together to avoid being forced by the other three.
There were shamanistic European schools, but Philip preferred not to be reliant on simple elemental spells, or spirits. The idea of teleporting across the world at will was too tempting to give up.
The final school in the books that attracted his attention was the Roman school.
To call it a full school was perhaps a bit of a stretch, as it had its origins blurred. It borrowed from the Greek and Egyptian schools, but also took whatever it found. It was not so much a collection of spells, or methodology, as it was a method of adapting and adopting the spells of other schools and disciplines into a unified and interchangeable system.
It sounded very tempting to Philip.
Why accept any disadvantage, beyond the initial work, when you could use it all?
He made notes in a notebook he had taken to hiding in the bag of holding.
'Roman School: Adaptive, absorbs other school's spells.'
According to the book, the magic was all the same, though distinct from sources such as Ki, also called chi. It came in different 'colours', like how light had different frequencies. The spells of a magician or nature of a creature filtered it, giving it distinctiveness. This meant that while devil power was still magic, it acted slightly differently.
Philip still considered the fact that Devils only needed their desire and imagination to shape it unfair compared to what magicians needed to do. Devils only needed power, and the will to shape it to their desire in order to cast spells, or hurtle power at people.
Mages, Philips preferred term, had to filter their magic using spells, just to be able to use it. They relied on equations, mathematics and geometry, to harness their power. It was… efficient, according to the books, but also less versatile.
Most of the time, a mage needed to have a spell, and its associated mathematic formula, memorised. The handful of exceptions were comically weak, and relied on premade circles, or a series of runes.
Philip chewed his lip.
The math didn't sound too hard. The formula had magic go in one end, and the spell came out the other end.
He expected he would have a harder time with his magical stamina.
Flipping through to the recommended page, he found the formulas for a simple spell. It only conjured a light, being based on a fae spell.
The books provided a sample of several different schools, often ones shared between the schools.
The math didn't look too complicated, as he expected. It was different, as several symbols represented concepts, impossible to quantify, but that was apparently something that just needed to be understood to read what a spell did.
Philip read the equation. He blinked.
He read it again.
"Wait, is that a cross product for vectors, not multiplication?" He groaned.
DxD fic ch1 v2
charclone
Well-known member
Philip tried to ignore the screaming from outside his room.
The eight-year-old boy sat on the edge of his bed, a book in his hands. It had been a Christmas gift from Santa, along with several other books, and a bag too keep them in.
He focused on the words on the page, as the screaming continued. His parents didn't get along. He sought refuge in the words on the page. They were an escape, they were safety.
To Philip, his parents outright screaming at each other was not uncommon, though this volume was. The topic this time was money, based on what words Philip heard creep past his attempts to ignore the noise. His father had bought booze, and his mother had bought makeup. Both without consulting each other, something that they hated. They also hated that the other wanted them to consult with them over their purchases.
He sighed as the volume increased.
He closed the leather-bound book closed, and returned it to the small velvet bag that held the rest of the books he got from Santa. Its external appearance was too small to contain the many books it contained, yet it held them safely, nonetheless.
Philip passed back and forth.
He paused when the shouting stopped.
His bedroom door swung open.
"Philip. Get your backpack, you're going to spend some time at your friend's house." His father said, his voice slightly slurred and a beer can in his hand.
He waited while Philip threw some clothes in his backpack. His vision slid over the velvet bag as it went into the backpack. The fact that Philip didn't pack any stuffed animals, or toys, might have been strange to some parents, but Philip's often didn't care what he did.
Philip remained silent, as he slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked past his father.
His mother ignored him to glare at his father, as he put on his winter gear.
Moments later, he was outside in the snow.
Philip walked alone down the sidewalk, snow crunching under his boots. Despite it being the day after Christmas, the sidewalks had yet to be cleared by the city, leaving him to make slow progress.
The Kato residence was only four houses down from him, but he made slow progress in the deep snow. Deep to an eight-year-old anyway.
He knew that it was not that deep, and that there were many places elsewhere in Canada where the snow was much deeper.
He paused at a sudden noise from a snow-covered bush. A fox stuck its head out of the snow to look at him. Philip blinked at it, before it darted back underneath the snow and bush.
He shook his head.
'Den was probably destroyed or disturbed in late construction work. Lot of that being done in the area recently.' Such a thought was perhaps more advanced and aged then what might be expected from an eight-year-old.
After what felt like an hour, but was probably only maybe fifteen minutes, he reached his destination.
The door swung open before he could touch the doorbell.
"C'monc'monc'monc'mon! Its coooold." The dark-haired child literally bounced as she held the door open. Aya Kato was slightly shorted than Philip, and his only friend in school. "Miracle Levia-tan is starting soon!"
Philip hesitated briefly at the name, only for a half second. Internally he winced at having missed something so obvious. Aya had been obsessed with the show, ever since it came out. Even now she was wearing a t-shirt with the main character printed on it.
He let her drag him in.
She bounced over to the couch, and sat, practically vibrating, as she waited from the commercials to end, before the title sequence would start.
She was also waiting for Philip to finish taking off his coat.
"So, what did you get for Christmas?" She asked him, still bouncing in her seat, as he hung the red and black coat up. "Mom got me the Levia-tan doll, and some new posters!"
"Giftcards from my parents, and books from Santa."
Aya had a strange look on her face at the mention of Santa.
"Books? He got you books?" She made a face. "But toooooys. Books aren't fun."
"You enjoyed Animorphs." Philip pointed out as he sat down. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you also read the Levia-tan books."
Aya poked him as he sat next to her.
"Not fair. Most books are boring. Like my mom wanting me to meditate." She pouted. Then she brightened. "Oh, right, giftcards! You can get toys with those!"
"Nope. Bookstore, and only twenty dollars total."
She slumped.
"Your parents suck."
Philip certainly agreed with that sentiment.
"I'll take you down to the bookstore later today." Aya's mother, Minori, said.
Philip flashed her a smile.
The Japanese-Canadian chuckled from where she sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee.
Philip was certain she was addicted to caffeine.
"Ooh, ooh, its starting!" Aya cheered as Miracle Levia-tan's intro sequence started.
It was not to Philip's taste's, the theme song that was, being too to hip hop. The show itself was alright, if a bit pinker than he would prefer.
Philip paused.
'What was the last show I actually enjoyed watching?'
Aya groaned.
"I thought there was a Christmas special on today! This is just episode thirteen again."
Philip got up.
"Minori, can I check on your computer?"
"Sure, just don't touch my files." Minori said behind her mug as she drained it. "I'm getting another cup."
"Ooh! Philip was just out in the cold! We should make hot chocolate!" Aya bounced up out of the couch.
Her mother shrugged.
"Fine by me. We don't have marshmallows though, that alright Philip?"
"Its fine!" He called as he walked into Minori's office.
It was dominated by a large 'L' shaped desk. A pair of bookshelves held several law texts. Philip ignored them, he had already read their titles.
The computer was already on, and he simple moved the mouse to wake it up.
A few keystrokes later, and he had the information desired.
"Its not till four in the afternoon." He called as he walked out. He paused as something on the back of the office door caught his eye. "Hey, Minori, this fox mask is new."
"Hmm?" She glanced away from her coffee as she stirred it. "Oh, right, that was a gift for my birthday from my parents, back in Japan. They're upset that I'm too busy to visit, so they have started sending random knickknacks. Mostly to annoy me."
"You don't like foxes?"
"I like foxes fine, hence why I hung it up, rather than stick it in a box. But if I displayed everything they sent me, I'd get odd looks for my house being covered in tourist stuff from Japan."
Philip snickered.
"It's funny now but wait till I show you how many boxes I have to go through."
"They send me cool stuff!" Aya grinned as she waited for the kettle to finish boiling. "I got this cool wooden sword… what was the word for it?"
"Bokken." Her mother informed her.
"Right, Bokken, and a bunch of cute plushies!"
"That now have taken over half your room." Her mother snarked.
"Nuh-uh. Just the top of my dresser." Aya huffed.
Philip laughed.
"C'mon!" Aya started bouncing again. "Get your hot chocolate, and let's play something!"
"No running with hot things in your hands!"
"I know, mom." Aya pouted at her mother. "And I won't bounce. I'll be careful. And Philip will be too!"
"I'm not worried about him. He has more sense than three of you. Though, you do have more energy."
"Moooooom!"
That night, Philip sat in the guestroom bed of the Kato house.
Using a flashlight and the blankets over his head to hide the light, he carefully copied a diagram from the book he had been reading with a pen.
Once that was finished, he took several breaths.
Carefully, he followed the book's instructions, pushing a power down his arms. It felt strange, a tingling and cold sensation.
The spell circle glowed.
It was a simple spell. Used only to test if someone had magical power.
The spell followed Philip's will and formed a small collection of letters. They were blurry, and pale, but he could read them, nevertheless.
"I, Magus."
Philip's smile was wide enough to split his face as he read the words, and he felt a euphoric laugh escape him.
He could cast magic.
This world was not safe, but he could cast magic.
He stifled the laugh before it woke anyone, but could do nothing to hide the face splitting grin.
Something landed on the covers, and he nearly screamed in surprise.
"Philip!" Came Aya's faux wisper. "Whatcha' laughing about?"
Philip took his head out from under the covers.
Anya grinned at him in the dark.
The door swung open.
"Anya! Bed. Its late!" Minori stepped into the room and placed her hands on her hips, glaring at her daughter. "Let Philip sleep."
The euphoric feeling had not faded completely, despite the scare, so Philip felt a measure of mischief creep into his mind.
As Aya was led from the room, he grinned at her.
"Night Ayacado."
She gave him a look of betrayal at the pun.
Her mother snickered.
"Oh, that's a good one."
"Mooom! No, not puns! They aren't funny!"
"I should tell your grandparents about that one, they love puns."
"Mooooom!"
The eight-year-old boy sat on the edge of his bed, a book in his hands. It had been a Christmas gift from Santa, along with several other books, and a bag too keep them in.
He focused on the words on the page, as the screaming continued. His parents didn't get along. He sought refuge in the words on the page. They were an escape, they were safety.
To Philip, his parents outright screaming at each other was not uncommon, though this volume was. The topic this time was money, based on what words Philip heard creep past his attempts to ignore the noise. His father had bought booze, and his mother had bought makeup. Both without consulting each other, something that they hated. They also hated that the other wanted them to consult with them over their purchases.
He sighed as the volume increased.
He closed the leather-bound book closed, and returned it to the small velvet bag that held the rest of the books he got from Santa. Its external appearance was too small to contain the many books it contained, yet it held them safely, nonetheless.
Philip passed back and forth.
He paused when the shouting stopped.
His bedroom door swung open.
"Philip. Get your backpack, you're going to spend some time at your friend's house." His father said, his voice slightly slurred and a beer can in his hand.
He waited while Philip threw some clothes in his backpack. His vision slid over the velvet bag as it went into the backpack. The fact that Philip didn't pack any stuffed animals, or toys, might have been strange to some parents, but Philip's often didn't care what he did.
Philip remained silent, as he slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked past his father.
His mother ignored him to glare at his father, as he put on his winter gear.
Moments later, he was outside in the snow.
Philip walked alone down the sidewalk, snow crunching under his boots. Despite it being the day after Christmas, the sidewalks had yet to be cleared by the city, leaving him to make slow progress.
The Kato residence was only four houses down from him, but he made slow progress in the deep snow. Deep to an eight-year-old anyway.
He knew that it was not that deep, and that there were many places elsewhere in Canada where the snow was much deeper.
He paused at a sudden noise from a snow-covered bush. A fox stuck its head out of the snow to look at him. Philip blinked at it, before it darted back underneath the snow and bush.
He shook his head.
'Den was probably destroyed or disturbed in late construction work. Lot of that being done in the area recently.' Such a thought was perhaps more advanced and aged then what might be expected from an eight-year-old.
After what felt like an hour, but was probably only maybe fifteen minutes, he reached his destination.
The door swung open before he could touch the doorbell.
"C'monc'monc'monc'mon! Its coooold." The dark-haired child literally bounced as she held the door open. Aya Kato was slightly shorted than Philip, and his only friend in school. "Miracle Levia-tan is starting soon!"
Philip hesitated briefly at the name, only for a half second. Internally he winced at having missed something so obvious. Aya had been obsessed with the show, ever since it came out. Even now she was wearing a t-shirt with the main character printed on it.
He let her drag him in.
She bounced over to the couch, and sat, practically vibrating, as she waited from the commercials to end, before the title sequence would start.
She was also waiting for Philip to finish taking off his coat.
"So, what did you get for Christmas?" She asked him, still bouncing in her seat, as he hung the red and black coat up. "Mom got me the Levia-tan doll, and some new posters!"
"Giftcards from my parents, and books from Santa."
Aya had a strange look on her face at the mention of Santa.
"Books? He got you books?" She made a face. "But toooooys. Books aren't fun."
"You enjoyed Animorphs." Philip pointed out as he sat down. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you also read the Levia-tan books."
Aya poked him as he sat next to her.
"Not fair. Most books are boring. Like my mom wanting me to meditate." She pouted. Then she brightened. "Oh, right, giftcards! You can get toys with those!"
"Nope. Bookstore, and only twenty dollars total."
She slumped.
"Your parents suck."
Philip certainly agreed with that sentiment.
"I'll take you down to the bookstore later today." Aya's mother, Minori, said.
Philip flashed her a smile.
The Japanese-Canadian chuckled from where she sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee.
Philip was certain she was addicted to caffeine.
"Ooh, ooh, its starting!" Aya cheered as Miracle Levia-tan's intro sequence started.
It was not to Philip's taste's, the theme song that was, being too to hip hop. The show itself was alright, if a bit pinker than he would prefer.
Philip paused.
'What was the last show I actually enjoyed watching?'
Aya groaned.
"I thought there was a Christmas special on today! This is just episode thirteen again."
Philip got up.
"Minori, can I check on your computer?"
"Sure, just don't touch my files." Minori said behind her mug as she drained it. "I'm getting another cup."
"Ooh! Philip was just out in the cold! We should make hot chocolate!" Aya bounced up out of the couch.
Her mother shrugged.
"Fine by me. We don't have marshmallows though, that alright Philip?"
"Its fine!" He called as he walked into Minori's office.
It was dominated by a large 'L' shaped desk. A pair of bookshelves held several law texts. Philip ignored them, he had already read their titles.
The computer was already on, and he simple moved the mouse to wake it up.
A few keystrokes later, and he had the information desired.
"Its not till four in the afternoon." He called as he walked out. He paused as something on the back of the office door caught his eye. "Hey, Minori, this fox mask is new."
"Hmm?" She glanced away from her coffee as she stirred it. "Oh, right, that was a gift for my birthday from my parents, back in Japan. They're upset that I'm too busy to visit, so they have started sending random knickknacks. Mostly to annoy me."
"You don't like foxes?"
"I like foxes fine, hence why I hung it up, rather than stick it in a box. But if I displayed everything they sent me, I'd get odd looks for my house being covered in tourist stuff from Japan."
Philip snickered.
"It's funny now but wait till I show you how many boxes I have to go through."
"They send me cool stuff!" Aya grinned as she waited for the kettle to finish boiling. "I got this cool wooden sword… what was the word for it?"
"Bokken." Her mother informed her.
"Right, Bokken, and a bunch of cute plushies!"
"That now have taken over half your room." Her mother snarked.
"Nuh-uh. Just the top of my dresser." Aya huffed.
Philip laughed.
"C'mon!" Aya started bouncing again. "Get your hot chocolate, and let's play something!"
"No running with hot things in your hands!"
"I know, mom." Aya pouted at her mother. "And I won't bounce. I'll be careful. And Philip will be too!"
"I'm not worried about him. He has more sense than three of you. Though, you do have more energy."
"Moooooom!"
That night, Philip sat in the guestroom bed of the Kato house.
Using a flashlight and the blankets over his head to hide the light, he carefully copied a diagram from the book he had been reading with a pen.
Once that was finished, he took several breaths.
Carefully, he followed the book's instructions, pushing a power down his arms. It felt strange, a tingling and cold sensation.
The spell circle glowed.
It was a simple spell. Used only to test if someone had magical power.
The spell followed Philip's will and formed a small collection of letters. They were blurry, and pale, but he could read them, nevertheless.
"I, Magus."
Philip's smile was wide enough to split his face as he read the words, and he felt a euphoric laugh escape him.
He could cast magic.
This world was not safe, but he could cast magic.
He stifled the laugh before it woke anyone, but could do nothing to hide the face splitting grin.
Something landed on the covers, and he nearly screamed in surprise.
"Philip!" Came Aya's faux wisper. "Whatcha' laughing about?"
Philip took his head out from under the covers.
Anya grinned at him in the dark.
The door swung open.
"Anya! Bed. Its late!" Minori stepped into the room and placed her hands on her hips, glaring at her daughter. "Let Philip sleep."
The euphoric feeling had not faded completely, despite the scare, so Philip felt a measure of mischief creep into his mind.
As Aya was led from the room, he grinned at her.
"Night Ayacado."
She gave him a look of betrayal at the pun.
Her mother snickered.
"Oh, that's a good one."
"Mooom! No, not puns! They aren't funny!"
"I should tell your grandparents about that one, they love puns."
"Mooooom!"
DxD fic ch 2 v2
charclone
Well-known member
Philip ran the numbers through his head.
The magic was not simple. It relied on mathematics and geometry. For an eight year old, it would seem like an insurmountable challenge. For a person that had found themselves born a second time, living a second life, it was far easier.
It was still difficult, but Philip was confident that he could cast a spell. A real one, not relying on a diagram.
He just needed to wait for school to finish, then he could go home, and use the forest. Few people went through there, and there was no hiking trail.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt someone poke him in the ribs.
"Philip!" Aya whispered, leaning out of her seat. "Don't fall asleep in class."
He glared at her. She responded with an angelic look of innocence.
"Did the homework before the period ended. Also finished my book and have been getting 'hundred percent on my tests." He shrugged.
She made a face at the mention of reading.
"Wait," She paused. "have you been reading in class?"
"Yes." Philip whispered back.
Aya giggled.
The teacher cleared their throat, giving the two a look.
"Does anyone know the answer to this question?" They frowned when Philip's hand went up. "Anyone besides Philip, who has answered every question since the end of Christmas break? Anyone?"
The class was silent, most watching the clock with bored expressions.
"Fine. Philip?" The teacher sighed.
"Three times four, divided by six equals two."
"Correct." The teacher glanced at their watch. "Okay, lunch starts in two minutes, I'm hungry, your all hungry, form a line quickly and quietly, and you can go early."
Philip found himself parallel to a Cheshire grin.
"What is it with you and getting part of my lunch?"
Aya chose not to answer, instead avoiding the question by biting into one of the taquitos she had snitched from his tray.
Philip rolled his eyes as she made a pleased sound at its taste. With her momentarily distracted, he swiped the packaged brownie off her tray.
She gave him a look of betrayal, to which he simple raised an eyebrow.
She pouted.
He ignored her and began eating what lunch he still had left.
She pouted harder, still chewing on the stolen food.
She sighed.
"Fine. I'll give you… uhm." She paused and considered the problem. She winced, noting how little Philip had for lunch. "I'll get mom to add something to my lunch for you, if you share the taquitos with me?"
Philip paused.
"Why won't your mom buy taquitos?"
"She doesn't like me having fried food."
"Oh." Philip blinked. "Fine. But… I would have given the brownie back if you had said please. I wasn't going to eat it."
Aya blinked. She let out a barking laugh that made her shoulder shake.
Aya bounced alongside him, as Philip walked towards his 'home'. This life was more dangerous than his last, and his home was not one he considered a place he would like to stay.
Yet, he knew the world from fiction.
A set of books from Santa, that outlined the basic factions and state of the world. He knew it already.
He was in Highschool DxD. He was not, as far as he could tell, anywhere near the place the story took place.
Canada was not the farthest one could get from Japan, but it was a decent distance.
His knowledge of future events, they were encouragement and warning in equal measure, feeding his desire to learn and grow.
"You coming over today?" Aya asked.
Philip blinked, and realised he had gotten lost in his thoughts, waking past his 'home'.
"Uh, maybe later." He gave his friend a grin. "Got something I'm working on."
"Ooh! Is it a present for me!?" Philip blinked as Aya seemed to bounce higher.
"No." He cracked a grin as she seemed to deflate. Her winter coat making her seem round adding to the illusion. "I'll be over later, okay?"
Aya pouted.
"'Kay. See you later." Her cheer returned as she started skipping toward her home.
Philip shook his head. In some ways, she was more mature than her age would imply, such as noting his poor lunches. In others, she was immature with a one-track mind.
Philip ignored the front door. His mother was probably home, but he didn't want to run into her. Instead, he walked around the house to the backyard. Slipping into and out of the fence was easy enough, and soon he was in the woods.
He came to a clearing he had found months earlier. The snow would hopefully muffle any sound well enough, and the trees would help that, and obscure his presence.
Leaving his bag beneath a tree, he pulled out the bag of holding.
Swiftly removing one of the tomes inside, he found the spell he had bookmarked.
Carefully, he went over the formula in his head.
His energy shifted as he pushed it around.
The math was not simple. It relied on concepts, in addition to raw numbers.
The spell pounded in his head, as it slowly filled with energy.
Speed would come with practice, the books had said.
The circle flared to life in front of him.
With a last push, a bolt of frost struck the tree. The circle vanished
Ice magic would be easy to hide amidst the snow and ice already around.
Philip's grin grew. He charged and fired the spell a second time. A new circle appeared and died as the spell was cast.
A giggled escaped him.
He fired it again, and again, the circles appearing as fast as he can make them, flashing into and out of existence with his spell, until he started to feel lightheaded.
He blinked, letting the last circle fade.
He felt… empty and tired in an alien way.
He winced upon seeing the tree. It's bark was tough enough to resist the impacts, though it was now coated in a layer of frost and ice. As thick as Philip's fingers in some places.
He sighed and shook his head. A snowbank would have been a better target. Something for next time.
A.N. Edit: On an unrelated note, this is my hundredth post on the site. Go figure.
The magic was not simple. It relied on mathematics and geometry. For an eight year old, it would seem like an insurmountable challenge. For a person that had found themselves born a second time, living a second life, it was far easier.
It was still difficult, but Philip was confident that he could cast a spell. A real one, not relying on a diagram.
He just needed to wait for school to finish, then he could go home, and use the forest. Few people went through there, and there was no hiking trail.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt someone poke him in the ribs.
"Philip!" Aya whispered, leaning out of her seat. "Don't fall asleep in class."
He glared at her. She responded with an angelic look of innocence.
"Did the homework before the period ended. Also finished my book and have been getting 'hundred percent on my tests." He shrugged.
She made a face at the mention of reading.
"Wait," She paused. "have you been reading in class?"
"Yes." Philip whispered back.
Aya giggled.
The teacher cleared their throat, giving the two a look.
"Does anyone know the answer to this question?" They frowned when Philip's hand went up. "Anyone besides Philip, who has answered every question since the end of Christmas break? Anyone?"
The class was silent, most watching the clock with bored expressions.
"Fine. Philip?" The teacher sighed.
"Three times four, divided by six equals two."
"Correct." The teacher glanced at their watch. "Okay, lunch starts in two minutes, I'm hungry, your all hungry, form a line quickly and quietly, and you can go early."
Philip found himself parallel to a Cheshire grin.
"What is it with you and getting part of my lunch?"
Aya chose not to answer, instead avoiding the question by biting into one of the taquitos she had snitched from his tray.
Philip rolled his eyes as she made a pleased sound at its taste. With her momentarily distracted, he swiped the packaged brownie off her tray.
She gave him a look of betrayal, to which he simple raised an eyebrow.
She pouted.
He ignored her and began eating what lunch he still had left.
She pouted harder, still chewing on the stolen food.
She sighed.
"Fine. I'll give you… uhm." She paused and considered the problem. She winced, noting how little Philip had for lunch. "I'll get mom to add something to my lunch for you, if you share the taquitos with me?"
Philip paused.
"Why won't your mom buy taquitos?"
"She doesn't like me having fried food."
"Oh." Philip blinked. "Fine. But… I would have given the brownie back if you had said please. I wasn't going to eat it."
Aya blinked. She let out a barking laugh that made her shoulder shake.
Aya bounced alongside him, as Philip walked towards his 'home'. This life was more dangerous than his last, and his home was not one he considered a place he would like to stay.
Yet, he knew the world from fiction.
A set of books from Santa, that outlined the basic factions and state of the world. He knew it already.
He was in Highschool DxD. He was not, as far as he could tell, anywhere near the place the story took place.
Canada was not the farthest one could get from Japan, but it was a decent distance.
His knowledge of future events, they were encouragement and warning in equal measure, feeding his desire to learn and grow.
"You coming over today?" Aya asked.
Philip blinked, and realised he had gotten lost in his thoughts, waking past his 'home'.
"Uh, maybe later." He gave his friend a grin. "Got something I'm working on."
"Ooh! Is it a present for me!?" Philip blinked as Aya seemed to bounce higher.
"No." He cracked a grin as she seemed to deflate. Her winter coat making her seem round adding to the illusion. "I'll be over later, okay?"
Aya pouted.
"'Kay. See you later." Her cheer returned as she started skipping toward her home.
Philip shook his head. In some ways, she was more mature than her age would imply, such as noting his poor lunches. In others, she was immature with a one-track mind.
Philip ignored the front door. His mother was probably home, but he didn't want to run into her. Instead, he walked around the house to the backyard. Slipping into and out of the fence was easy enough, and soon he was in the woods.
He came to a clearing he had found months earlier. The snow would hopefully muffle any sound well enough, and the trees would help that, and obscure his presence.
Leaving his bag beneath a tree, he pulled out the bag of holding.
Swiftly removing one of the tomes inside, he found the spell he had bookmarked.
Carefully, he went over the formula in his head.
His energy shifted as he pushed it around.
The math was not simple. It relied on concepts, in addition to raw numbers.
The spell pounded in his head, as it slowly filled with energy.
Speed would come with practice, the books had said.
The circle flared to life in front of him.
With a last push, a bolt of frost struck the tree. The circle vanished
Ice magic would be easy to hide amidst the snow and ice already around.
Philip's grin grew. He charged and fired the spell a second time. A new circle appeared and died as the spell was cast.
A giggled escaped him.
He fired it again, and again, the circles appearing as fast as he can make them, flashing into and out of existence with his spell, until he started to feel lightheaded.
He blinked, letting the last circle fade.
He felt… empty and tired in an alien way.
He winced upon seeing the tree. It's bark was tough enough to resist the impacts, though it was now coated in a layer of frost and ice. As thick as Philip's fingers in some places.
He sighed and shook his head. A snowbank would have been a better target. Something for next time.
A.N. Edit: On an unrelated note, this is my hundredth post on the site. Go figure.
Last edited:
Battletech SI Indulgence
charclone
Well-known member
Oops, forgot to post it here when I posted it on SB.
Nadir Point, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
01 January, 3012
Scratch, as he was called, had an easy life for a pirate.
The New Amazon system, as it's current rulers had named it, was a pirate system. It had been for centuries now. With two habitable planets, both of whom had regressed to low levels of tech, it was an easy source of food and slaves.
Long in the distant past, a pirate lord had been chased beyond the Aquila Nebula. He had lost his pursuers in the void, and stumbled across this system. Using it to strengthen his forces, he raided other worlds nearby, from the primitive Axumite Providence located coreward, to the scattered and independent colonies rimward, to even half a year long raids against the Inner Sphere. According to the tales anyway.
For a Deep Periphery pirate nation, so far from anything of value, the pirates of the New Amazon were very wealthy. They had a steady supply of slaves, other pirates nearby to trade with or steal from, even a cobbled together space station stolen from somewhere and assembled as a pseudo Nadir watchpoint.
Scratch had partaken in many raids. Part of him missed the thrill, but the rest of him ached. A bad blow from a Lothian Merc had thrown his APC, ironically taken from another Lothian Merc unit in an earlier raid. He had lived, and the mercenary had not, but it left him sore and wounded. According to a doctor taken as a slave, he had damage in several joints, and bones that hadn't healed quite right. Thus, he decided to use the other skills he had, besides looting and raping.
See, all pirates need Jumpship crews. Especially navigators. Scratch, named for the chicken scratches he made when doing math, was a natural at making jump calculations, once he bothered to make the attempt to learn.
Of course, no pirate captain would take someone who couldn't fight with them. One less person that could stab them in the back, yes, but also one less gun to shoot in an emergency. Fortunately, Scratch's knowledge of numbers had also stretched to his understanding of money and wealth. Some hidden loot traded here, a slave sold there, and soon after returning to the system he was set as the captain of the Nadir watch station.
Sure, it was hardly the most profitable, but he wasn't risking his neck, beyond a sudden raid by another band of pirates, and even if they did, the station would be useful to them as well. It wasn't a charging station, but it was better than using sails.
It was as close to a working retirement a pirate could get, in Scratch's eyes.
Before him, some movie played, taken recently in a raid. Nothing more than white noise to him as he worked.
His work was simple, to him. Watch for incoming jumpships, and warn the boss if they appeared, as well as challenge them. It meant he got the first choice of the best trades.
He almost pitied the poor bastards at the Zenith point. Some ancient and long forgotten battle had left several ruined jumpships and dropships, long stripped of anything useful, as a hazard for anyone trying to jump in or out from there. But a couple Leopard dropships were there for a month or so at a time, to loot anything from the new wrecks when someone jumped in. Last record was twenty years ago.
Scratch watched the aging sensors. Not even a blip.
He snorted. His other work was to maintain the 'repair yard' on the station. It was barely worth being called that. It could help fix some armour plating, or patch a sail, but if the jumpcore was botched, well, you were fucked.
Scratch yawned, glancing at the time display. Another two hours before the next watch was ready.
A strange noise yanked him out of his sleepy reverie.
It took him a moment to remember the alarm he had set, when he had first taken over, years ago.
"Incoming Jumpship!" He belted to his small crew.
In a flash of radiation and a collapsing Kearny-Fuchida field, an Invader-class Jumpship appeared.
Scratch waited until the radiation was low enough that he could hail the newcomer before reaching for the comms.
"Attention Jumpship. This is the territory o' Lord Malcolm, scourge of a thousand stars." He grinned. The current boss chose such silly names. Sure, it was probably accurate, but where was the grandeur? The terror? Give him Scarface the Cruel any day. "Who dares trespass upon his realm?"
Silence hung in the void as seconds passed.
Scratch scowled. His jaw swung open to give a far less polite challenge when the radio crackled.
"…and the Cap'n 'll have your heads for jumping without her say so!" A voice screamed, only slightly muted by the fact that the speaker was not looking directly at the microphone. "Right, sorry 'bout tha'. Green fucking idiots. We're the Jumpship Charlemagne, according to the last owner, who is, ah… a guest of our cap'n. We heard there was a station we could get some work done. Gotta repaint the hull to something more respectable for us pirates. We were going to jump with the rest of our band, with our latest loot, but some fucking idiots though otherwise!"
Scratch rolled his eyes as the speaker screamed again at someone on their bridge.
"You cap'n ain't allowed to dump 'em into space." He drawled. Why did he always get the drama queens? "Yaw anna use the station, there's a fee. You also gotta pay tribute for comin' in. Course, if you left your loot behind…"
"I didn't say we left it all behind." The voice now sounded amused. "Just the biggest stuff. Ya' see the big aerodyne dropship we got? A gift, tribute, to your boss, the Lord Malcom, scourge o' thousands of stars."
Scratch glanced at a display feed as he continued to chat.
"Well, that aught'a do nicely. Good ta' see the proper respect shown."
"Well, what sort of pirates would we be without our codes of honour?"
The two of them chuckled at the joke. Scratch frowned. He didn't recognise the design of the dropship mentioned, attached to the Invader. Some sort of Aerodyne, probably around 11k tons. He shrugged. It wasn't shooting at them, so it didn't matter. The other two dropships didn't even catch his interest or attention.
Until they all suddenly separated.
The voice changed, loosing the slight drawl and accent it had previously, switching to something more akin to something from the Inner Sphere.
"Alright you pirate bastards." The dropships spat out fighters. Lots of them. Even boarding shuttles.
Scratch felt his blood go cold. Got too lax. Malcom will have our heads for this.
"You have two choices. Surrender or die. If you surrender, things will be easier on you."
"Fuck you damn, Spheroid!" Scratch shouted, slamming the radio down onto the receiver. "Warn the boss and get our fighters out there!"
"Uh, but… we only got, like, four…"
"I don't care!"
"Holy!" A technician shouted. "They just… it…"
"Well!?" Scratch channelled his own panic and fear into anger. Best way to keep a level head in combat. "Spit it out!"
"Saint Molly tried to jump, and they nuked her!" The technician, more of a boy, probably taken off a captured dropship back in the sphere jabbered. His eyes were wide, and he was shaking. Beathing was shallow and rapid.
Scratch rolled his eyes.
"Bullshit! Ain't no one got nukes out here, and they wouldn't waste 'em or a jumpship." He spat, striking the young technician on the face. "Get back to your console and-"
The station shook.
"The hell was that?" Scratch blinked. He'd never felt anything buck like that before, and he'd been aboard a dropship that had been shot, badly, more than once. He drifted over to another console. "Hey, someone report, what the hell just hit us?"
For several moments, there was no reply.
Then, he felt it. More than one of his crew in the command centre blanched. Slight vibrations in rapid bursts. Like someone firing a weapon, and using the hull as a brace, sending the vibrations throughout the station.
"Oh, hell they boarded us fast." Scratch gasped.
Outside, the jumpship crews were in a mindless panic. One of the Scout-class jumpships had vanished in the fury of a short lived star. No one was dumb enough to try and jump out again after that. More blows to the pirate morale was the swift destruction of what few fighters launched from nearby dropships.
Some of the same dropships began to burn towards the habitable planets in the system. Others killed their drives and surrendered.
Aboard the Charlemagne, its master placed the radio back on its holder.
In stark contrast to the chaos outside, filled with panicked radio calls and surrenders, the bridge was calm.
Silver and gold clad figures stood over their stations, quietly informing each other of status updates, or conferring orders.
The master looked at the clock on the wall.
"One minute, twelve seconds before complete startup. Very nice." He grinned to himself as if her were alone. "Status of boarding parties?"
"All remaining jumpships have boarding parties aboard. Partial control has been achieved of all ships. They will not be jumping. Minimal casualties." A soft voice reported from the speakers around the bridge. "The station is suffering internal damage, due to resistance and poor construction. I do not believe it will survive."
"Order them to surrender. If not, well, they will be wishing they were wearing suits. We can salvage it afterwards." The leader ordered. "Order the Seekers to cease pursuit of the fleeing dropships. Bandits are to maintain pursuit."
"Seeker-class AutoMechs recalled. Type A-72 Attack Fighters will maintain pursuit." A gold-plated form, the ship's commander CAG equivalent, intoned with a synthetic monotone. "By your command."
In a flash, two more Invader jumpships appeared from hyperspace, causing more panic among the pirates.
"Ah, our six minutes are up it would seem." The master of ship shrugged. "Well, at least ROB has given me some support equipment and ground forces. Order the new dropships to detach, and get the Maverick to refuel the fighters that are available. I want both planets secured, ASAP."
His 'officers' saluted, slamming their fists against their metal chests.
"By your command, Imperious Leader." The Cyberics, automatons, said, in their dry synthetic voice, shared among them all.
"Do you regret teaching them that?" The soft voice gave a feminine chuckle, as the Jord advanced AI aboard the Charlemagne mimicked human behaviour in its chosen pattern. "Oh Lord James, Imperious Leader of [Error: Nation.Entity.Name not found]. You should really get around to choosing a name."
"Oh, piss off Matrix, and get back to work."
So, thoughts?
Nadir Point, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
01 January, 3012
Scratch, as he was called, had an easy life for a pirate.
The New Amazon system, as it's current rulers had named it, was a pirate system. It had been for centuries now. With two habitable planets, both of whom had regressed to low levels of tech, it was an easy source of food and slaves.
Long in the distant past, a pirate lord had been chased beyond the Aquila Nebula. He had lost his pursuers in the void, and stumbled across this system. Using it to strengthen his forces, he raided other worlds nearby, from the primitive Axumite Providence located coreward, to the scattered and independent colonies rimward, to even half a year long raids against the Inner Sphere. According to the tales anyway.
For a Deep Periphery pirate nation, so far from anything of value, the pirates of the New Amazon were very wealthy. They had a steady supply of slaves, other pirates nearby to trade with or steal from, even a cobbled together space station stolen from somewhere and assembled as a pseudo Nadir watchpoint.
Scratch had partaken in many raids. Part of him missed the thrill, but the rest of him ached. A bad blow from a Lothian Merc had thrown his APC, ironically taken from another Lothian Merc unit in an earlier raid. He had lived, and the mercenary had not, but it left him sore and wounded. According to a doctor taken as a slave, he had damage in several joints, and bones that hadn't healed quite right. Thus, he decided to use the other skills he had, besides looting and raping.
See, all pirates need Jumpship crews. Especially navigators. Scratch, named for the chicken scratches he made when doing math, was a natural at making jump calculations, once he bothered to make the attempt to learn.
Of course, no pirate captain would take someone who couldn't fight with them. One less person that could stab them in the back, yes, but also one less gun to shoot in an emergency. Fortunately, Scratch's knowledge of numbers had also stretched to his understanding of money and wealth. Some hidden loot traded here, a slave sold there, and soon after returning to the system he was set as the captain of the Nadir watch station.
Sure, it was hardly the most profitable, but he wasn't risking his neck, beyond a sudden raid by another band of pirates, and even if they did, the station would be useful to them as well. It wasn't a charging station, but it was better than using sails.
It was as close to a working retirement a pirate could get, in Scratch's eyes.
Before him, some movie played, taken recently in a raid. Nothing more than white noise to him as he worked.
His work was simple, to him. Watch for incoming jumpships, and warn the boss if they appeared, as well as challenge them. It meant he got the first choice of the best trades.
He almost pitied the poor bastards at the Zenith point. Some ancient and long forgotten battle had left several ruined jumpships and dropships, long stripped of anything useful, as a hazard for anyone trying to jump in or out from there. But a couple Leopard dropships were there for a month or so at a time, to loot anything from the new wrecks when someone jumped in. Last record was twenty years ago.
Scratch watched the aging sensors. Not even a blip.
He snorted. His other work was to maintain the 'repair yard' on the station. It was barely worth being called that. It could help fix some armour plating, or patch a sail, but if the jumpcore was botched, well, you were fucked.
Scratch yawned, glancing at the time display. Another two hours before the next watch was ready.
A strange noise yanked him out of his sleepy reverie.
It took him a moment to remember the alarm he had set, when he had first taken over, years ago.
"Incoming Jumpship!" He belted to his small crew.
In a flash of radiation and a collapsing Kearny-Fuchida field, an Invader-class Jumpship appeared.
Scratch waited until the radiation was low enough that he could hail the newcomer before reaching for the comms.
"Attention Jumpship. This is the territory o' Lord Malcolm, scourge of a thousand stars." He grinned. The current boss chose such silly names. Sure, it was probably accurate, but where was the grandeur? The terror? Give him Scarface the Cruel any day. "Who dares trespass upon his realm?"
Silence hung in the void as seconds passed.
Scratch scowled. His jaw swung open to give a far less polite challenge when the radio crackled.
"…and the Cap'n 'll have your heads for jumping without her say so!" A voice screamed, only slightly muted by the fact that the speaker was not looking directly at the microphone. "Right, sorry 'bout tha'. Green fucking idiots. We're the Jumpship Charlemagne, according to the last owner, who is, ah… a guest of our cap'n. We heard there was a station we could get some work done. Gotta repaint the hull to something more respectable for us pirates. We were going to jump with the rest of our band, with our latest loot, but some fucking idiots though otherwise!"
Scratch rolled his eyes as the speaker screamed again at someone on their bridge.
"You cap'n ain't allowed to dump 'em into space." He drawled. Why did he always get the drama queens? "Yaw anna use the station, there's a fee. You also gotta pay tribute for comin' in. Course, if you left your loot behind…"
"I didn't say we left it all behind." The voice now sounded amused. "Just the biggest stuff. Ya' see the big aerodyne dropship we got? A gift, tribute, to your boss, the Lord Malcom, scourge o' thousands of stars."
Scratch glanced at a display feed as he continued to chat.
"Well, that aught'a do nicely. Good ta' see the proper respect shown."
"Well, what sort of pirates would we be without our codes of honour?"
The two of them chuckled at the joke. Scratch frowned. He didn't recognise the design of the dropship mentioned, attached to the Invader. Some sort of Aerodyne, probably around 11k tons. He shrugged. It wasn't shooting at them, so it didn't matter. The other two dropships didn't even catch his interest or attention.
Until they all suddenly separated.
The voice changed, loosing the slight drawl and accent it had previously, switching to something more akin to something from the Inner Sphere.
"Alright you pirate bastards." The dropships spat out fighters. Lots of them. Even boarding shuttles.
Scratch felt his blood go cold. Got too lax. Malcom will have our heads for this.
"You have two choices. Surrender or die. If you surrender, things will be easier on you."
"Fuck you damn, Spheroid!" Scratch shouted, slamming the radio down onto the receiver. "Warn the boss and get our fighters out there!"
"Uh, but… we only got, like, four…"
"I don't care!"
"Holy!" A technician shouted. "They just… it…"
"Well!?" Scratch channelled his own panic and fear into anger. Best way to keep a level head in combat. "Spit it out!"
"Saint Molly tried to jump, and they nuked her!" The technician, more of a boy, probably taken off a captured dropship back in the sphere jabbered. His eyes were wide, and he was shaking. Beathing was shallow and rapid.
Scratch rolled his eyes.
"Bullshit! Ain't no one got nukes out here, and they wouldn't waste 'em or a jumpship." He spat, striking the young technician on the face. "Get back to your console and-"
The station shook.
"The hell was that?" Scratch blinked. He'd never felt anything buck like that before, and he'd been aboard a dropship that had been shot, badly, more than once. He drifted over to another console. "Hey, someone report, what the hell just hit us?"
For several moments, there was no reply.
Then, he felt it. More than one of his crew in the command centre blanched. Slight vibrations in rapid bursts. Like someone firing a weapon, and using the hull as a brace, sending the vibrations throughout the station.
"Oh, hell they boarded us fast." Scratch gasped.
Outside, the jumpship crews were in a mindless panic. One of the Scout-class jumpships had vanished in the fury of a short lived star. No one was dumb enough to try and jump out again after that. More blows to the pirate morale was the swift destruction of what few fighters launched from nearby dropships.
Some of the same dropships began to burn towards the habitable planets in the system. Others killed their drives and surrendered.
Aboard the Charlemagne, its master placed the radio back on its holder.
In stark contrast to the chaos outside, filled with panicked radio calls and surrenders, the bridge was calm.
Silver and gold clad figures stood over their stations, quietly informing each other of status updates, or conferring orders.
The master looked at the clock on the wall.
"One minute, twelve seconds before complete startup. Very nice." He grinned to himself as if her were alone. "Status of boarding parties?"
"All remaining jumpships have boarding parties aboard. Partial control has been achieved of all ships. They will not be jumping. Minimal casualties." A soft voice reported from the speakers around the bridge. "The station is suffering internal damage, due to resistance and poor construction. I do not believe it will survive."
"Order them to surrender. If not, well, they will be wishing they were wearing suits. We can salvage it afterwards." The leader ordered. "Order the Seekers to cease pursuit of the fleeing dropships. Bandits are to maintain pursuit."
"Seeker-class AutoMechs recalled. Type A-72 Attack Fighters will maintain pursuit." A gold-plated form, the ship's commander CAG equivalent, intoned with a synthetic monotone. "By your command."
In a flash, two more Invader jumpships appeared from hyperspace, causing more panic among the pirates.
"Ah, our six minutes are up it would seem." The master of ship shrugged. "Well, at least ROB has given me some support equipment and ground forces. Order the new dropships to detach, and get the Maverick to refuel the fighters that are available. I want both planets secured, ASAP."
His 'officers' saluted, slamming their fists against their metal chests.
"By your command, Imperious Leader." The Cyberics, automatons, said, in their dry synthetic voice, shared among them all.
"Do you regret teaching them that?" The soft voice gave a feminine chuckle, as the Jord advanced AI aboard the Charlemagne mimicked human behaviour in its chosen pattern. "Oh Lord James, Imperious Leader of [Error: Nation.Entity.Name not found]. You should really get around to choosing a name."
"Oh, piss off Matrix, and get back to work."
So, thoughts?
Battletech SI Indulgence Snippet 2
charclone
Well-known member
Scratch clutched the flechette pistol clenched in his trembling hands. Outside the sealed door, the sound of weapons fire sounded. The other members of his crew hid behind consoles, scrap, and whatever they could find.
Outside, the tearing of metal could be heard as the invaders tore their way through sealed bulkheads and doors.
Once in a while, as the sounds came closer, there would be the vibrations and sounds of weapons fire, as the boarders found someone.
They had already passed Scratch's quarters. A fact that a small part of his mind, the only part that wasn't scrambling in terror, found disappointment in. His latest bed toy was fresh, he hadn't gotten a chance to break the groundsider slave in.
But that was a fleeting thought.
There was a thump, right outside the door, as a pair of heavy feet gently touched the wall around it. It was followed by several more. Someone started to pray.
Scratch caught himself whining in terror, as he angled himself to point his pistol at the door despite the slight curves of his battered bones.
A thousand thoughts flickered through his mind. Ways he could have made it more difficult for boarders to attack. People who failed in their jobs to watch for this sort of thing. Ways he could have, should have, realised the danger as soon as the Jumpships appeared. If the power hadn't died a few minutes ago, he would have electrified the door. He knew the math of how to do it. But there was not power.
The sealed door reverberated as something struck it. Then again. And again.
"Are they… punching the door?" Someone asked, with a mix of incredulity and terror.
The metal screeched as it was torn apart. Silver hands stuck through the gaps to find more purchase, and they tore at the metal again.
Scratch gaped at the head he saw through it, even as others around him opened fire. The silver head, with a single red eye swinging back and forth, seemed indifferent to the flechettes ricocheting off its helmet.
There was a sudden thump, and Scratch cursed as it made his arm ache. Then another. The boarders abandoned their attempts to pry the door open further. He heard their hands impact the walls and floor of the corridor, as they propelled themselves back.
"Did, did we just win?"
Scratch blinked. He glanced at the youthful pirate, then at the hole in the door.
"Fuck." He groaned.
Another thumb travelled through the small station.
"Hey, I think I see a shuttle leaving." Someone called from a viewport. After another moment, the watcher laughed. "There, another! I think that's all of them!"
The station thumped again.
"Smoke 'em if you got 'em." Scratch sighed. He pulled a bottle of some sort of alcohol from where he knew the other officer aboard the station stored it. "The station is starting to fall apart, and they just trapped us in here by fucking the door."
As if to punctuate his point, there was another thump, and then the screech of metal.
Aboard the station, wind blew.
Scratch sighed as the idiots fell upon each other, scrambling to try and force the door open to race for the pressure suits. Not that it would save them. Just might make them die a bit slower. Death from dehydration or asphyxiation was not how Scratch intended to die.
He checked his pistol, popped the top off the bottle, and began to chug it.
He was going out the way he lived. Drunk and on his own terms.
"Imperious Leader." A gold-plated command unit Legionnaire said. "By you command, any prisoners of the pirates are being recovered. Three have been found. Human. Female. All aboard the station. Station integrity has stabilised, station is depressurised."
"Send squads over to secure it, make repairs, and dispose of the bodies." James blinked. He was talking about corpses, people that had been killed at his command. Yet, he didn't feel any different. Then again, they had been pirates and slavers. And probably rapists. "What is the condition of the rescued prisoners?"
"All three are reported to have suffered light blunt force impacts resulting in bruising. Units lack information to make further assessments on medical conditions. All three are capable of limited mobility."
James leaned back in his seat.
"Send them to the Charlemagne's medbay. We have units designed for medical use, yes?"
"By your command." The command unit's eye flashed as it acknowledged the order. "Medical units have been ordered out of storage."
"Now, I would like an explanation as to why a DropShip was destroyed."
"If I may?" Matrix' form flickered into existing on the holotable at the centre of the command centre. "You ordered for no JumpShip to escape, sir. The JumpShip was preparing to jump."
"And thus, the most logical solution to prevent that was to use a nuke I had ordered prepped in case of an assault DropShip or I needed to make an example." James nodded, seeing the logic. "Well, example made."
He paused.
"Matrix, over the last month, has my behaviour changed noticeably?"
"Not outside the expected parameters for a person exposed to a sudden surprise and command." The AI paused, calculating. "In fact, you are well below the expected response."
James leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.
One minute, he is at home, on Earth in the 21st century. The next, he found himself aboard the then unnamed Charlemagne, in deep space during the 31st. It was a change that should have been a shock.
Yet… James found his mind racing instead. He remembered textbooks he had never read, on subjects that should have left him confounded. Instead, he found it almost boringly simple, on an emotional level.
He had been surrounded by silent original series Cylon knockoffs. Shutdown, until he activated them.
He had done so, only after testing his newfound knowledge. It had been easy to confirm both his newfound technical skill, and that they posed no direct threat to him. The same was confirmed about Matrix before he activated her.
Initially, he had assumed 'she' was humanlike, but as he had talked with her, he found gaps in her programming. She was a mere facsimile of a Halo Smart AI, like the Cyberic robots were knockoffs of Cylons, and the AutoMechs were mimicries of Transformers. All were simplistic, only slightly more verbose than a well made chatbot. They could understand context, but subtext, implications, and creativity were mostly beyond them. They could be taught the logic, but they were machines. They could randomise and iterate, but they could not create from whole cloth.
There were other pieces of technology James knew of, knew how to make with the tools board the other dropships. Plasma shields, tactical proton nukes, particle cannons and plasers.
None of them existed, or were supposed to exist, in the setting of Battletech. Officially. A pair of April Fools' publications, on the barest fringes of canonicity unless they acted outside of the location in where they were set, the California Nebula Anomalous Zone, those made mention of such technologies and machines. And more. 'Welcome to the Nebula California' and 'Plenty of Room in the Nebula California'.
James paused, collected his thoughts, and reviewed his memories of the publications.
'Magic was there… sort of… and I remember strange looking books in the storage deck.' He frowned. 'Oh, and not to forget the superheroes planet and rules… there wasn't any rules about super intelligence, if I remember correctly… yet, my mind is processing things faster, taking things in, in a peculiar manner compared to how it used to be. Not to mention I… don't feel, emotionally, that is, like I should, given my circumstances. I should have considered this before jumping in to fighting pirates.'
He sighed.
"Prep the ground forces for transit to the pirate stronghold. Get me a shuttle. Inform the rescued prisoners that they re guests, but I have matters to attend to, and will be gone for a few days while I oversee the final death throes of the pirates." James said. "Divide the fighters as appropriate. Matrix, the fleet is at your command."
"Understood sir."
"By you command." The gold-plated commander saluted, fist against chest.
Outside, the tearing of metal could be heard as the invaders tore their way through sealed bulkheads and doors.
Once in a while, as the sounds came closer, there would be the vibrations and sounds of weapons fire, as the boarders found someone.
They had already passed Scratch's quarters. A fact that a small part of his mind, the only part that wasn't scrambling in terror, found disappointment in. His latest bed toy was fresh, he hadn't gotten a chance to break the groundsider slave in.
But that was a fleeting thought.
There was a thump, right outside the door, as a pair of heavy feet gently touched the wall around it. It was followed by several more. Someone started to pray.
Scratch caught himself whining in terror, as he angled himself to point his pistol at the door despite the slight curves of his battered bones.
A thousand thoughts flickered through his mind. Ways he could have made it more difficult for boarders to attack. People who failed in their jobs to watch for this sort of thing. Ways he could have, should have, realised the danger as soon as the Jumpships appeared. If the power hadn't died a few minutes ago, he would have electrified the door. He knew the math of how to do it. But there was not power.
The sealed door reverberated as something struck it. Then again. And again.
"Are they… punching the door?" Someone asked, with a mix of incredulity and terror.
The metal screeched as it was torn apart. Silver hands stuck through the gaps to find more purchase, and they tore at the metal again.
Scratch gaped at the head he saw through it, even as others around him opened fire. The silver head, with a single red eye swinging back and forth, seemed indifferent to the flechettes ricocheting off its helmet.
There was a sudden thump, and Scratch cursed as it made his arm ache. Then another. The boarders abandoned their attempts to pry the door open further. He heard their hands impact the walls and floor of the corridor, as they propelled themselves back.
"Did, did we just win?"
Scratch blinked. He glanced at the youthful pirate, then at the hole in the door.
"Fuck." He groaned.
Another thumb travelled through the small station.
"Hey, I think I see a shuttle leaving." Someone called from a viewport. After another moment, the watcher laughed. "There, another! I think that's all of them!"
The station thumped again.
"Smoke 'em if you got 'em." Scratch sighed. He pulled a bottle of some sort of alcohol from where he knew the other officer aboard the station stored it. "The station is starting to fall apart, and they just trapped us in here by fucking the door."
As if to punctuate his point, there was another thump, and then the screech of metal.
Aboard the station, wind blew.
Scratch sighed as the idiots fell upon each other, scrambling to try and force the door open to race for the pressure suits. Not that it would save them. Just might make them die a bit slower. Death from dehydration or asphyxiation was not how Scratch intended to die.
He checked his pistol, popped the top off the bottle, and began to chug it.
He was going out the way he lived. Drunk and on his own terms.
"Imperious Leader." A gold-plated command unit Legionnaire said. "By you command, any prisoners of the pirates are being recovered. Three have been found. Human. Female. All aboard the station. Station integrity has stabilised, station is depressurised."
"Send squads over to secure it, make repairs, and dispose of the bodies." James blinked. He was talking about corpses, people that had been killed at his command. Yet, he didn't feel any different. Then again, they had been pirates and slavers. And probably rapists. "What is the condition of the rescued prisoners?"
"All three are reported to have suffered light blunt force impacts resulting in bruising. Units lack information to make further assessments on medical conditions. All three are capable of limited mobility."
James leaned back in his seat.
"Send them to the Charlemagne's medbay. We have units designed for medical use, yes?"
"By your command." The command unit's eye flashed as it acknowledged the order. "Medical units have been ordered out of storage."
"Now, I would like an explanation as to why a DropShip was destroyed."
"If I may?" Matrix' form flickered into existing on the holotable at the centre of the command centre. "You ordered for no JumpShip to escape, sir. The JumpShip was preparing to jump."
"And thus, the most logical solution to prevent that was to use a nuke I had ordered prepped in case of an assault DropShip or I needed to make an example." James nodded, seeing the logic. "Well, example made."
He paused.
"Matrix, over the last month, has my behaviour changed noticeably?"
"Not outside the expected parameters for a person exposed to a sudden surprise and command." The AI paused, calculating. "In fact, you are well below the expected response."
James leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.
One minute, he is at home, on Earth in the 21st century. The next, he found himself aboard the then unnamed Charlemagne, in deep space during the 31st. It was a change that should have been a shock.
Yet… James found his mind racing instead. He remembered textbooks he had never read, on subjects that should have left him confounded. Instead, he found it almost boringly simple, on an emotional level.
He had been surrounded by silent original series Cylon knockoffs. Shutdown, until he activated them.
He had done so, only after testing his newfound knowledge. It had been easy to confirm both his newfound technical skill, and that they posed no direct threat to him. The same was confirmed about Matrix before he activated her.
Initially, he had assumed 'she' was humanlike, but as he had talked with her, he found gaps in her programming. She was a mere facsimile of a Halo Smart AI, like the Cyberic robots were knockoffs of Cylons, and the AutoMechs were mimicries of Transformers. All were simplistic, only slightly more verbose than a well made chatbot. They could understand context, but subtext, implications, and creativity were mostly beyond them. They could be taught the logic, but they were machines. They could randomise and iterate, but they could not create from whole cloth.
There were other pieces of technology James knew of, knew how to make with the tools board the other dropships. Plasma shields, tactical proton nukes, particle cannons and plasers.
None of them existed, or were supposed to exist, in the setting of Battletech. Officially. A pair of April Fools' publications, on the barest fringes of canonicity unless they acted outside of the location in where they were set, the California Nebula Anomalous Zone, those made mention of such technologies and machines. And more. 'Welcome to the Nebula California' and 'Plenty of Room in the Nebula California'.
James paused, collected his thoughts, and reviewed his memories of the publications.
'Magic was there… sort of… and I remember strange looking books in the storage deck.' He frowned. 'Oh, and not to forget the superheroes planet and rules… there wasn't any rules about super intelligence, if I remember correctly… yet, my mind is processing things faster, taking things in, in a peculiar manner compared to how it used to be. Not to mention I… don't feel, emotionally, that is, like I should, given my circumstances. I should have considered this before jumping in to fighting pirates.'
He sighed.
"Prep the ground forces for transit to the pirate stronghold. Get me a shuttle. Inform the rescued prisoners that they re guests, but I have matters to attend to, and will be gone for a few days while I oversee the final death throes of the pirates." James said. "Divide the fighters as appropriate. Matrix, the fleet is at your command."
"Understood sir."
"By you command." The gold-plated commander saluted, fist against chest.
Battletech SI Indulgence Snippet 3
charclone
Well-known member
I really should be writing for my other stories, or studying... but this refuses to let go.
Near New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
06 January, 3012
James found DropShip travel a novel experience. It didn't excite him, to be hurtling towards a planet, in space, as it should. Once, the idea of space travel had excited him. Now that he had experienced it, and could compute the mathematics in his head, it seemed almost boringly mundane. But it was still a novel experience, something new.
Around him, the ship rumbled as it decelerated to enter the orbit of New Cartagena.
The pirates had mostly fled to this planet, located further from the star. It was visibly habitable, with several cities worth of lights visible from the surface. The lack of radio transmission, baring panicked threats and replies from the pirates, suggested a lower level of technology, but they obviously had some electricity.
Two Leopards that had been on the ball had instead fled to New Amazon itself, a warm and wet world, covered in deep rainforests, likely hoping to go to ground until they could get to a JumpShip. Unfortunately for them, Cyberics are patient. Far more so than any human, and James was confident he could eventually comb the jungle with enough metal and soldiers to find them if they tried a guerrilla war.
New Amazon seemed to lack any large settlements, possibly even any inhabitants. It was clearly in the habitable zone and could support life, but the pirates had avoided settling on it for some reason. James had shrugged and discarded the mystery for later.
He had also pondered how to approach the situation. He had a regiment's worth of mechs and infantry. Albeit the infantry was Cyberics, so more comparable to power armour, but the point remained. Over a hundred AutoMechs and some five hundred Cyberics would be more than enough to simply overrun the pirates, yet… James refused to be wasteful. His resources were scant in the grand scheme of things, and if he wanted to keep this system, then he needed all the forces he could get. Already, the captured pirate DropShips were being crewed by his forces back at the Jump Point, and the captured 'Mechs aboard them were being converted to Auto'Mechs using the spare CPUs he had in the cargo bays. They would be used as reinforcements, though the fact that they were at most medium mechs, mostly lights, and many of them converted IndustrialMechs, boded poorly towards their effectiveness. Quiet probably, he would just convert them back to IndustrialMechs to boost his industry.
He had also pondered what exactly he wanted to do in the long term. A pirate nation was not to his tastes, yet, he would need a great deal of industry and population, even with all his automated machines, to build a real nation deep in the Periphery. Trying to attract immigrants from the Inner Sphere risked attracting ComStar's attention, and being that he had the knowledge to build Warships, not to mention tech that even the Star League never developed, he doubted he would be getting a mere friendly visit from the Explorer Corp. More likely, he would be visited by the 'Vandenberg White Wings'.
As the DropShip rumbled in its deceleration burn, James set those thoughts aside, and begin crunching numbers and making notes in his cabin aboard the Maverick. He would need to carefully plan out his early growth, to be able to use his resources efficiently. He also, idly, jotted down some numbers for a BattleMech, designed to help clear the forests of New Amazon, as a test unit of his design capabilities.
New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
06 January, 3012
"They are going to just nuke us and be done with it! They nuked a JumpShip for crying out loud!"
"Maybe. But consider how many DropShips they captured! They might want our remaining DropShips and 'Mechs!"
"We only have six fighters left! Unless we want to waste the DropShips we still have, we are outnumbered, badly!"
"Bah! Light Aerospace Fighters, even 30-ton designs, are no match for ours!"
"Most of ours are Lights ya' daft idiot!"
"Hey, ours are better armed. They are only using a pair of autocannons on their 'fighters!"
"With a dozen 50-ton designs supporting them, which alone outnumber us! I say Paul's band had the right idea, go to ground and then snag a JumpShip!"
"An' what happens when they nuke that one!?"
Malcom sighed on his throne as his various 'lieutenants' and several pirate band leaders argued. They had debated and cursed back and forth, ever since they had entered communications range. They had put in an extra bit of speed, once they neared the planet, buying them some extra time to prepare.
Malcom knew that he could expect a knife in his back if he didn't take control of the situation.
Dramatically, he stood from his throne, flicking his cape, made from the pelt of some New Amazon predator.
"I don't care if it's a House military unit, or the SLDF returned. We've held this system for centuries! We have fortifications! If they are going to nuke us, then they can have the ashes. Our main fortress is attached to the capital city! Land your DropShips there and spread your force out, make them fight there if they want to take anything intact!"
Malcom knew that most of the other pirates wouldn't be moved by his speech, but he looked like he had a plan. That was enough. He also knew several of those same pirate leaders were glaring at him. He was using them. Well, they were using him as well. They didn't have to run to him when things went to shit.
"They want to take this fucking planet; we'll make those bastards bleed for it!"
JumpShip Charlemagne, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
06 January, 3012
Matrix watched the three guests through cameras.
They had their privacy in the washrooms, of course, but Matrix was designed to interact with humans, including rendering assistance when necessary.
Over the last six days, the trio had experimented. First by inspecting the bandages they had been given, then by inspecting the clothing that had been provided. Later, after they had slept, they explored the areas of the ship they had access to.
The women were all of the same phenotype, suggesting common ancestry. They spoke the same variation of Spanish, with odd compound English words, suggesting similar or the same culture. They also seemed to find the temperature aboard the JumpShip too cold, based on the number of layers of clothing they were choosing to wear.
Despite their injuries and captivity, they had clearly come from a pre-industrial society, based on the way they seemed fascinated by examples of technology, and the way their bodies showed signs of extreme physical exercise on a regular basis. They were eating almost as much as a Viking analogue augmented soldier and were treating the food as if it was a luxury, rather than standard rations.
"Hello?" One of them spoke, the one that had displayed the least fear, the most 'backbone' as the phrase went. "Is there someone we can talk to?"
Matrix loaded up the modified Spanish language files and appeared in the holotank of the common room they had occupied.
They had been taken to the new ship by the silver and gold men. They had been clothed, healed, and fed, so they didn't appear to be more Enslavers. Still, they left the question of what they were.
It was the way of the universe, that there would always be war between tribes. War between the Great Tribes of the Sphere, War between the Tribes of the Enslavers, who were powerful and raided yearly. War between the tribes of New Amazon, named for an ancient place of Warrior Women, according to the stories.
So, who was this tribe of metal?
"Perhaps they seek to trade us for something?" One of the others suggested.
Marilla didn't bother to learn the other's names. They were of another tribe.
"If they do, then they are fools. My tribe respects only strength, not trickery." She grunted. "Perhaps we are sacrifices to their gods?"
The second other snorted.
"The gods do not demand sacrifices. Your tribe are just blood crazy."
"Why not ask them?" The first other suggested.
Marilla shrugged.
"Hello? Is there someone we can talk to?" She said.
All three of them gasped as a strange box lit up, and a blue figure formed. She was made of blue light, warping into the shape of a woman. Her face was shrouded by the light of her form, and she bore the body of a warrior or hunter, rather than that of a mother.
One of the others muttered prayers.
Marilla was tempted to join them. It made sense now, why the soldiers had been clad in gold and silver. Who else but gods could afford to do so?
"Hello." The figure greeted. "My name is Matrix. What do you wish to discuss?"
The first other's jaw hung open.
"I… we wish to know what your tribe is?" Marilla said, her tone hesitant and uncertain. One must be careful with the gods after all, lest you anger them.
"At present, our… tribe is not named. It is new, and the Imperious Leader has not chosen a name. As for the composition, we are composed of many Cyberics, beings such as myself, and AutoMechs, all in the service of our Imperious Leader." The blue figure explained. Shapes appeared next to her in the tank as she mentioned the strange words.
None of the trio mentioned that they didn't understand several of the words used.
"Why did you save us?" The second other asked. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but… what purpose did it serve?"
"The Imperious Leader has not informed me of the reason," Matrix responded. "My apologies if the answer is unsatisfactory."
"When can we meet with this… 'Imperious Leader'?" Marilla felt her lip curl in annoyance as she spoke.
Matrix's tone was hollow. Unsympathetic and insincere. It wasn't mocking, which she could appreciate, but it made it clear that Matrix didn't actually care about them. About what was expected.
"He is currently away, overseeing the defeat of the pirate strongholds," Matrix replied. "Are there any other questions?"
Marilla frowned as she reconsidered things.
That… was not how she expected a god to act. Too servile. Too polite. True, they were being treated as guests but… it didn't make sense.
"I think that is all, for now." One of the others nodded.
Near New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
06 January, 3012
James found DropShip travel a novel experience. It didn't excite him, to be hurtling towards a planet, in space, as it should. Once, the idea of space travel had excited him. Now that he had experienced it, and could compute the mathematics in his head, it seemed almost boringly mundane. But it was still a novel experience, something new.
Around him, the ship rumbled as it decelerated to enter the orbit of New Cartagena.
The pirates had mostly fled to this planet, located further from the star. It was visibly habitable, with several cities worth of lights visible from the surface. The lack of radio transmission, baring panicked threats and replies from the pirates, suggested a lower level of technology, but they obviously had some electricity.
Two Leopards that had been on the ball had instead fled to New Amazon itself, a warm and wet world, covered in deep rainforests, likely hoping to go to ground until they could get to a JumpShip. Unfortunately for them, Cyberics are patient. Far more so than any human, and James was confident he could eventually comb the jungle with enough metal and soldiers to find them if they tried a guerrilla war.
New Amazon seemed to lack any large settlements, possibly even any inhabitants. It was clearly in the habitable zone and could support life, but the pirates had avoided settling on it for some reason. James had shrugged and discarded the mystery for later.
He had also pondered how to approach the situation. He had a regiment's worth of mechs and infantry. Albeit the infantry was Cyberics, so more comparable to power armour, but the point remained. Over a hundred AutoMechs and some five hundred Cyberics would be more than enough to simply overrun the pirates, yet… James refused to be wasteful. His resources were scant in the grand scheme of things, and if he wanted to keep this system, then he needed all the forces he could get. Already, the captured pirate DropShips were being crewed by his forces back at the Jump Point, and the captured 'Mechs aboard them were being converted to Auto'Mechs using the spare CPUs he had in the cargo bays. They would be used as reinforcements, though the fact that they were at most medium mechs, mostly lights, and many of them converted IndustrialMechs, boded poorly towards their effectiveness. Quiet probably, he would just convert them back to IndustrialMechs to boost his industry.
He had also pondered what exactly he wanted to do in the long term. A pirate nation was not to his tastes, yet, he would need a great deal of industry and population, even with all his automated machines, to build a real nation deep in the Periphery. Trying to attract immigrants from the Inner Sphere risked attracting ComStar's attention, and being that he had the knowledge to build Warships, not to mention tech that even the Star League never developed, he doubted he would be getting a mere friendly visit from the Explorer Corp. More likely, he would be visited by the 'Vandenberg White Wings'.
As the DropShip rumbled in its deceleration burn, James set those thoughts aside, and begin crunching numbers and making notes in his cabin aboard the Maverick. He would need to carefully plan out his early growth, to be able to use his resources efficiently. He also, idly, jotted down some numbers for a BattleMech, designed to help clear the forests of New Amazon, as a test unit of his design capabilities.
New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
06 January, 3012
"They are going to just nuke us and be done with it! They nuked a JumpShip for crying out loud!"
"Maybe. But consider how many DropShips they captured! They might want our remaining DropShips and 'Mechs!"
"We only have six fighters left! Unless we want to waste the DropShips we still have, we are outnumbered, badly!"
"Bah! Light Aerospace Fighters, even 30-ton designs, are no match for ours!"
"Most of ours are Lights ya' daft idiot!"
"Hey, ours are better armed. They are only using a pair of autocannons on their 'fighters!"
"With a dozen 50-ton designs supporting them, which alone outnumber us! I say Paul's band had the right idea, go to ground and then snag a JumpShip!"
"An' what happens when they nuke that one!?"
Malcom sighed on his throne as his various 'lieutenants' and several pirate band leaders argued. They had debated and cursed back and forth, ever since they had entered communications range. They had put in an extra bit of speed, once they neared the planet, buying them some extra time to prepare.
Malcom knew that he could expect a knife in his back if he didn't take control of the situation.
Dramatically, he stood from his throne, flicking his cape, made from the pelt of some New Amazon predator.
"I don't care if it's a House military unit, or the SLDF returned. We've held this system for centuries! We have fortifications! If they are going to nuke us, then they can have the ashes. Our main fortress is attached to the capital city! Land your DropShips there and spread your force out, make them fight there if they want to take anything intact!"
Malcom knew that most of the other pirates wouldn't be moved by his speech, but he looked like he had a plan. That was enough. He also knew several of those same pirate leaders were glaring at him. He was using them. Well, they were using him as well. They didn't have to run to him when things went to shit.
"They want to take this fucking planet; we'll make those bastards bleed for it!"
JumpShip Charlemagne, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
06 January, 3012
Matrix watched the three guests through cameras.
They had their privacy in the washrooms, of course, but Matrix was designed to interact with humans, including rendering assistance when necessary.
Over the last six days, the trio had experimented. First by inspecting the bandages they had been given, then by inspecting the clothing that had been provided. Later, after they had slept, they explored the areas of the ship they had access to.
The women were all of the same phenotype, suggesting common ancestry. They spoke the same variation of Spanish, with odd compound English words, suggesting similar or the same culture. They also seemed to find the temperature aboard the JumpShip too cold, based on the number of layers of clothing they were choosing to wear.
Despite their injuries and captivity, they had clearly come from a pre-industrial society, based on the way they seemed fascinated by examples of technology, and the way their bodies showed signs of extreme physical exercise on a regular basis. They were eating almost as much as a Viking analogue augmented soldier and were treating the food as if it was a luxury, rather than standard rations.
"Hello?" One of them spoke, the one that had displayed the least fear, the most 'backbone' as the phrase went. "Is there someone we can talk to?"
Matrix loaded up the modified Spanish language files and appeared in the holotank of the common room they had occupied.
They had been taken to the new ship by the silver and gold men. They had been clothed, healed, and fed, so they didn't appear to be more Enslavers. Still, they left the question of what they were.
It was the way of the universe, that there would always be war between tribes. War between the Great Tribes of the Sphere, War between the Tribes of the Enslavers, who were powerful and raided yearly. War between the tribes of New Amazon, named for an ancient place of Warrior Women, according to the stories.
So, who was this tribe of metal?
"Perhaps they seek to trade us for something?" One of the others suggested.
Marilla didn't bother to learn the other's names. They were of another tribe.
"If they do, then they are fools. My tribe respects only strength, not trickery." She grunted. "Perhaps we are sacrifices to their gods?"
The second other snorted.
"The gods do not demand sacrifices. Your tribe are just blood crazy."
"Why not ask them?" The first other suggested.
Marilla shrugged.
"Hello? Is there someone we can talk to?" She said.
All three of them gasped as a strange box lit up, and a blue figure formed. She was made of blue light, warping into the shape of a woman. Her face was shrouded by the light of her form, and she bore the body of a warrior or hunter, rather than that of a mother.
One of the others muttered prayers.
Marilla was tempted to join them. It made sense now, why the soldiers had been clad in gold and silver. Who else but gods could afford to do so?
"Hello." The figure greeted. "My name is Matrix. What do you wish to discuss?"
The first other's jaw hung open.
"I… we wish to know what your tribe is?" Marilla said, her tone hesitant and uncertain. One must be careful with the gods after all, lest you anger them.
"At present, our… tribe is not named. It is new, and the Imperious Leader has not chosen a name. As for the composition, we are composed of many Cyberics, beings such as myself, and AutoMechs, all in the service of our Imperious Leader." The blue figure explained. Shapes appeared next to her in the tank as she mentioned the strange words.
None of the trio mentioned that they didn't understand several of the words used.
"Why did you save us?" The second other asked. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but… what purpose did it serve?"
"The Imperious Leader has not informed me of the reason," Matrix responded. "My apologies if the answer is unsatisfactory."
"When can we meet with this… 'Imperious Leader'?" Marilla felt her lip curl in annoyance as she spoke.
Matrix's tone was hollow. Unsympathetic and insincere. It wasn't mocking, which she could appreciate, but it made it clear that Matrix didn't actually care about them. About what was expected.
"He is currently away, overseeing the defeat of the pirate strongholds," Matrix replied. "Are there any other questions?"
Marilla frowned as she reconsidered things.
That… was not how she expected a god to act. Too servile. Too polite. True, they were being treated as guests but… it didn't make sense.
"I think that is all, for now." One of the others nodded.
Battletech SI Indulgence Snippet 4
charclone
Well-known member
New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
08 January, 3012
Malcom watched the tac display. The holotable had been looted from some Free World League militia base they had raided years ago. It had been installed in his fortress when he had to put down a local rebellion, and a coup, and he found himself lacking in the ability to determine where his troops were.
Sure, it had to be adjusted manually, what with the lack of any satellites to provide images or communication, but it was better than using paper maps and miniatures on a table like some sort of savage.
Their unknown foe had landed not far from the city late last night. Easily close enough to have send troops in. Yet, their foe was moving slowly.
Seismic sensors had detected movement, so they were moving, that much was clear. Were they trying to draw his forces out?
He had lost a Shilone already, reducing his dwindling aerospace cover even further, leaving him with only lights and a single under gunned heavy, trying to catch a glimpse of his foe.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how things turned out, none of the other pirates had risen to the bait, and sallied out of the city. Most were to busy fortifying streets and buildings, while others simply looted what they could.
"Sir!" A subordinate came running up. Kid had jumped ship from a FWL militia unit due to his unique tastes that even the Canopians balked at, and so carried with him a professional attitude that stuck out like a sore thumb. "Scouts were engaged, but they got a picture before being driven off."
Malcom glanced at the picture thrust onto the table.
"What the bloody fuck!?" He gaped and cursed at the image. A strange quad 'Mech, far larger than any had seen before. The image was blurry, and clearly taken on the move, through a few trees, but the shape and size were clear. "That thing's gotta be a 100- tonner, just look at the size of it compared to the Marauder next to it!"
"Aye sir." The kid shrugged. "Couple of guys think it might be a prototype Super-Heavy 'Mech. It would explain why they haven't simple bombed us."
"How long until they enter the city?"
"Ah… they appear to be heading straight here."
"Explains why they took so damn long. Fuckers went around the city." Malcolm debated fleeing into the city, or through it.
"Montero's Massacres are reporting contact! Enemy infantry in some sort of exoskeleton armour to the south, they've entered the city." An officer reported. "Montero's boys are in chaos."
"Idiots wouldn't know what 'order' was if it dropped its pants and slapped them with its thing." Malcom grumbled. "Get Jerry's locals to support them!"
'Well, that means they are surrounding the city.' Malcolm sighed.
"Prep my 'Mech."
Montero's 'Mech, a converted IndustrialMech that carried a pair of medium lasers and far too many flamers, erupted into flame as it's fuel tanks were set off by an infantry SRM, somehow finding the hole punched into it by a laser from the treeline.
"Fuckers!" His XO cursed. She kept swearing, even as she ordered them deeper into the city.
The stone buildings, most no more than three stories, would provide limited protection, but at least it would be harder for them to hit the pirate 'Mechs and would force whoever was shooting at them with the large laser to move closer.
The XO grunted as her own armed IndustrialMech took a hit, scorching and melting armour as the beam lanced across the torso. Metal squealed as the beam violated the joint at the shoulder, fusing it in place.
She forced the 'Mech to spin in place and speed up to a jog.
She saw the 'Mech that hit her. No way in hell that was a normal large laser, it was too far away. Had to be an ER version. But who the hell sent lostech this far into the Periphary?
The C-101 'Legionnaire' pumped its legs as it ran. At 32.4 km/h, it was far faster than humans, which was ideal for the current situation. It was not designed to process the beauty or colours of the mosaic it passed, only that it needed a good vantage point.
The frail wooden door crumped as it went through. The red eye swung back and forth within its head, pausing briefly to look at the inhabitants with thermal imaging, hiding in the cellar. A brief comm burst was sent, requesting orders regarding them. Receiving a reply to ignore them unless threatened, it carried on up to the roof, via a pair of staircases.
The Legionnaire holstered the Plasma Pulse Rifle on its side and grabbed the TAG laser attached to its back. The attachment had been swift, resulting in it being a crude attachment, and necessitating manual aim, cannibalised from an infantry TAG kit, and welded onto a mount.
It waited, patient as any machine could be, for its target.
A Locust came around the corner int view, followed by two other pirate 'Mechs.
"Hey, uh, anyone know what TAG is? It just lit up on my console." Their light 'Mech's pilot asked.
The XO frowned as she pushed her 'Mech deeper into the city, closer to their DropShip. She didn't have anything labelled like that on hers.
The robotic BA squad hidden amongst the street acquired their targets and painted them with their TAGs.
Far above, the waiting Cyberic fighters received the signal. They rolled into a dive, and the Type A-72 Attack Fighters let the signals from the TAG gear guide their ordinance in.
The Legionnaire atop the building watched as the compact Arrow IV missiles struck their targets, erupting into flame.
It acknowledged the order to regroup and abandoned the building.
Elsewhere in the City
A C-102 'Decurion', a 'Legionnaire' model modified with Jump Jets, crouched behind a crumbling clay brick wall.
Ahead and down the street, a technical armed with a machine gun laid down a suppressing fire. The wrecked remains of the other four members of it's squad gave credit to the gunner's capability.
Cyberics were neither stupid nor suicidal. They lacked the ability to act creatively, as they were merely very smart machines, but they did have the ability to do a limited form of problem solving. Thus, when the situation called for it, they might retreat.
Unfortunately, thanks to an earlier ambush against a 'Mech, this 'Decurion' lacked the armour it would need to sacrifice to disengage.
The Mauser 960 in its hand like manipulators was, thus, the only tool it had. No support was close enough, and it was unwilling to wait longer than necessary. Such would be inefficient.
The suppressing fire paused. The C-102 noted the metallic sounds of a box magazine being pulled from the weapon.
The Decurion waited for the right moment, thumbing the fire select to burst mode, as it calculated the optimal timing.
The gunner was protected, partially, by a metal shield on the back of the truck.
The internal timer hit zero, and the machine stood up, aiming at the truck. The gunner cursed as he tried to force the box magazine into the crudely made local machinegun, seeing the danger. He leaned closer behind the shield.
The C-102 fired.
With a shout of triumph, the pirate soldier succeeded in attaching the fresh, fully loaded magazine, just in time to see the receiver on his gun be struck by the lasers, and turn a bright cherry red as it melted. Onto the fresh ammo.
The pirate cursed again, throwing himself off the truck and scrambled into an alley, the sound of the bullets detonating from the heat chasing him the whole way.
"Sonic Boom, advance your company two kilometres Northwards." The Tankus-class AutoMech ordered. "Our infantry have engaged several strong points in the city there. Destroy them. Leave no pirate alive."
"Acknowledged commander Astro Tankus." The synthetic voice of the Sounder-class AutoMech named Sonic Boom intoned. "Advancing to designated point. Glory to the Imperious Leader."
Astro Tankus, a white and black Tankus-class assault weight AutoMech felt annoyance at Sonic Boom's fanaticism. It was unnecessary to display and wasted words. He briefly wondered why his designers bothered to give him emotions. Certainly, the knowledge assisted him in predicting human choices, to a degree, but they were annoying to deal with.
"Delirium, you, and your lance, are to advance with me. We are going after the enemy DropShip located here." AstroTankus distributed orders to his assigned subordinates. "I want that 'Ship under our control."
The 100-ton tracked AutoMech moved deeper into the city, watching as Sounder-class units lead their Beetle-class subordinates through the narrow streets. Around him, the Marauder-class monoform AutoMechs kept close.
One local gaped in awe as they saw the mech transform from a bipedal form, into a tracked tank.
James watched the display, showing the positions of his units.
He had remained aboard the Maverick, he had no place on the battlefield, in orbit, relaying orders and watching.
The display showed his units as they swarmed the city. The pirates were attempting to engage in guerrilla operations, but they both lacked the coordination, training, and numbers needed. Part of James hoped for the locals to do something to tip the odds more in his favour, but it would seem they were sufficiently cowed by the pirates to simply hide until it was over.
The four Homarus Rex that had been deployed by the Mule that had landed, along with the extra Cyberic ground troops and the escorting 'Mechs, continued to press towards the pirate fortress to the north of the city.
The fortress itself was a trio of stone step pyramids, surrounded by a reinforced concrete and metal wall. BattleMechs in pirate colours emerged from an underground hangar of some sort, every few minutes, and a nearby airstrip held the remaining pirate fighters.
James had wanted to destroy the remaining fighters, but the pirate had both refused to send any more up, and they had an impressive AA field, mostly composed of light cannons and a mix of various class-2 Autocannons. He was unwilling to risk high altitude bombing and lacked any available long range artillery.
Thus, he had settled in to wait until his infantry could start painting targets.
"Assault Group Lobster, confirm target range?" He asked.
"Target range from Assault Group Lobster: two kilometres." The response came over the radio. "Alert, sighting enemy BattleMechs on approach."
"Confirmed. They are sticking under their AA umbrella. You are clear to engage at your discretion."
"By your command, Imperious Leader." The Cylon…er, gold Cyberic 'Legionnaire' affirmed.
Malcolm grinned.
The Super-Heavies were slow. Extremely slow. Easy to flank, and it looked like most of the guns were forward mounted. Sure, a pair of some sort of large cannons were mounted in a turret, but the rest of the guns were forward mounted.
Strike from the rear, and they would be vulnerable. He even had the speed to pull it off with his 'Mechs. His own aged Dragon DRG-1N, with his bodyguards in their mixed variants of Wolverines and a Trebuchet, had the speed to outpace the giant spider mechs. He just needed to make user his own forces distracted the defenders.
Said defenders were like no 'Mechs had had ever seen. Most were lights, 35-tonners, armed with a single large laser. There were a few 60-tonners, also armed with a large laser and some sort of missile launcher, but his systems refused to lock onto them. They gave Malcolm a bad feeling.
There was two lances of Marauders, the only 'Mechs the warbook in the Dragon could identify, moving in formation with the Super-Heavies. Those posed a serious problem, being armed with the long ranged PPC. Worse, if they were armed with lostech, they might have Gauss Rifles and ER PPCs. That would be a nightmare.
"Boss, they got us out tonned."
"Yeah? Well, we outmanoeuvre them, and we got more of us. Just don't get hit, let the LRM carriers do their bit, and watch for the infantry, in case they are packing SRMs. Hose 'em with MGs if ya' got 'em." Malcolm shot back over the comms at his nervous subordinate. "All lances, engage! Drag the bastards away from their heavier units, and spot for the LRMs!"
Homarus Rex '001-1'
"Commander, enemy forces are attacking." The AutoMech brain in control of the Super-Heavy BattleMech reported. "Permission to engage?"
"Granted." The gold 'Legionnaire' with command upgrades replied from it's position in it's cargo hold, tied into the AutoMech's sensors. "All units, engage. Destroy the enemy."
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
08 January, 3012
Malcom watched the tac display. The holotable had been looted from some Free World League militia base they had raided years ago. It had been installed in his fortress when he had to put down a local rebellion, and a coup, and he found himself lacking in the ability to determine where his troops were.
Sure, it had to be adjusted manually, what with the lack of any satellites to provide images or communication, but it was better than using paper maps and miniatures on a table like some sort of savage.
Their unknown foe had landed not far from the city late last night. Easily close enough to have send troops in. Yet, their foe was moving slowly.
Seismic sensors had detected movement, so they were moving, that much was clear. Were they trying to draw his forces out?
He had lost a Shilone already, reducing his dwindling aerospace cover even further, leaving him with only lights and a single under gunned heavy, trying to catch a glimpse of his foe.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how things turned out, none of the other pirates had risen to the bait, and sallied out of the city. Most were to busy fortifying streets and buildings, while others simply looted what they could.
"Sir!" A subordinate came running up. Kid had jumped ship from a FWL militia unit due to his unique tastes that even the Canopians balked at, and so carried with him a professional attitude that stuck out like a sore thumb. "Scouts were engaged, but they got a picture before being driven off."
Malcom glanced at the picture thrust onto the table.
"What the bloody fuck!?" He gaped and cursed at the image. A strange quad 'Mech, far larger than any had seen before. The image was blurry, and clearly taken on the move, through a few trees, but the shape and size were clear. "That thing's gotta be a 100- tonner, just look at the size of it compared to the Marauder next to it!"
"Aye sir." The kid shrugged. "Couple of guys think it might be a prototype Super-Heavy 'Mech. It would explain why they haven't simple bombed us."
"How long until they enter the city?"
"Ah… they appear to be heading straight here."
"Explains why they took so damn long. Fuckers went around the city." Malcolm debated fleeing into the city, or through it.
"Montero's Massacres are reporting contact! Enemy infantry in some sort of exoskeleton armour to the south, they've entered the city." An officer reported. "Montero's boys are in chaos."
"Idiots wouldn't know what 'order' was if it dropped its pants and slapped them with its thing." Malcom grumbled. "Get Jerry's locals to support them!"
'Well, that means they are surrounding the city.' Malcolm sighed.
"Prep my 'Mech."
Montero's 'Mech, a converted IndustrialMech that carried a pair of medium lasers and far too many flamers, erupted into flame as it's fuel tanks were set off by an infantry SRM, somehow finding the hole punched into it by a laser from the treeline.
"Fuckers!" His XO cursed. She kept swearing, even as she ordered them deeper into the city.
The stone buildings, most no more than three stories, would provide limited protection, but at least it would be harder for them to hit the pirate 'Mechs and would force whoever was shooting at them with the large laser to move closer.
The XO grunted as her own armed IndustrialMech took a hit, scorching and melting armour as the beam lanced across the torso. Metal squealed as the beam violated the joint at the shoulder, fusing it in place.
She forced the 'Mech to spin in place and speed up to a jog.
She saw the 'Mech that hit her. No way in hell that was a normal large laser, it was too far away. Had to be an ER version. But who the hell sent lostech this far into the Periphary?
The C-101 'Legionnaire' pumped its legs as it ran. At 32.4 km/h, it was far faster than humans, which was ideal for the current situation. It was not designed to process the beauty or colours of the mosaic it passed, only that it needed a good vantage point.
The frail wooden door crumped as it went through. The red eye swung back and forth within its head, pausing briefly to look at the inhabitants with thermal imaging, hiding in the cellar. A brief comm burst was sent, requesting orders regarding them. Receiving a reply to ignore them unless threatened, it carried on up to the roof, via a pair of staircases.
The Legionnaire holstered the Plasma Pulse Rifle on its side and grabbed the TAG laser attached to its back. The attachment had been swift, resulting in it being a crude attachment, and necessitating manual aim, cannibalised from an infantry TAG kit, and welded onto a mount.
It waited, patient as any machine could be, for its target.
A Locust came around the corner int view, followed by two other pirate 'Mechs.
"Hey, uh, anyone know what TAG is? It just lit up on my console." Their light 'Mech's pilot asked.
The XO frowned as she pushed her 'Mech deeper into the city, closer to their DropShip. She didn't have anything labelled like that on hers.
The robotic BA squad hidden amongst the street acquired their targets and painted them with their TAGs.
Far above, the waiting Cyberic fighters received the signal. They rolled into a dive, and the Type A-72 Attack Fighters let the signals from the TAG gear guide their ordinance in.
The Legionnaire atop the building watched as the compact Arrow IV missiles struck their targets, erupting into flame.
It acknowledged the order to regroup and abandoned the building.
Elsewhere in the City
A C-102 'Decurion', a 'Legionnaire' model modified with Jump Jets, crouched behind a crumbling clay brick wall.
Ahead and down the street, a technical armed with a machine gun laid down a suppressing fire. The wrecked remains of the other four members of it's squad gave credit to the gunner's capability.
Cyberics were neither stupid nor suicidal. They lacked the ability to act creatively, as they were merely very smart machines, but they did have the ability to do a limited form of problem solving. Thus, when the situation called for it, they might retreat.
Unfortunately, thanks to an earlier ambush against a 'Mech, this 'Decurion' lacked the armour it would need to sacrifice to disengage.
The Mauser 960 in its hand like manipulators was, thus, the only tool it had. No support was close enough, and it was unwilling to wait longer than necessary. Such would be inefficient.
The suppressing fire paused. The C-102 noted the metallic sounds of a box magazine being pulled from the weapon.
The Decurion waited for the right moment, thumbing the fire select to burst mode, as it calculated the optimal timing.
The gunner was protected, partially, by a metal shield on the back of the truck.
The internal timer hit zero, and the machine stood up, aiming at the truck. The gunner cursed as he tried to force the box magazine into the crudely made local machinegun, seeing the danger. He leaned closer behind the shield.
The C-102 fired.
With a shout of triumph, the pirate soldier succeeded in attaching the fresh, fully loaded magazine, just in time to see the receiver on his gun be struck by the lasers, and turn a bright cherry red as it melted. Onto the fresh ammo.
The pirate cursed again, throwing himself off the truck and scrambled into an alley, the sound of the bullets detonating from the heat chasing him the whole way.
"Sonic Boom, advance your company two kilometres Northwards." The Tankus-class AutoMech ordered. "Our infantry have engaged several strong points in the city there. Destroy them. Leave no pirate alive."
"Acknowledged commander Astro Tankus." The synthetic voice of the Sounder-class AutoMech named Sonic Boom intoned. "Advancing to designated point. Glory to the Imperious Leader."
Astro Tankus, a white and black Tankus-class assault weight AutoMech felt annoyance at Sonic Boom's fanaticism. It was unnecessary to display and wasted words. He briefly wondered why his designers bothered to give him emotions. Certainly, the knowledge assisted him in predicting human choices, to a degree, but they were annoying to deal with.
"Delirium, you, and your lance, are to advance with me. We are going after the enemy DropShip located here." AstroTankus distributed orders to his assigned subordinates. "I want that 'Ship under our control."
The 100-ton tracked AutoMech moved deeper into the city, watching as Sounder-class units lead their Beetle-class subordinates through the narrow streets. Around him, the Marauder-class monoform AutoMechs kept close.
One local gaped in awe as they saw the mech transform from a bipedal form, into a tracked tank.
James watched the display, showing the positions of his units.
He had remained aboard the Maverick, he had no place on the battlefield, in orbit, relaying orders and watching.
The display showed his units as they swarmed the city. The pirates were attempting to engage in guerrilla operations, but they both lacked the coordination, training, and numbers needed. Part of James hoped for the locals to do something to tip the odds more in his favour, but it would seem they were sufficiently cowed by the pirates to simply hide until it was over.
The four Homarus Rex that had been deployed by the Mule that had landed, along with the extra Cyberic ground troops and the escorting 'Mechs, continued to press towards the pirate fortress to the north of the city.
The fortress itself was a trio of stone step pyramids, surrounded by a reinforced concrete and metal wall. BattleMechs in pirate colours emerged from an underground hangar of some sort, every few minutes, and a nearby airstrip held the remaining pirate fighters.
James had wanted to destroy the remaining fighters, but the pirate had both refused to send any more up, and they had an impressive AA field, mostly composed of light cannons and a mix of various class-2 Autocannons. He was unwilling to risk high altitude bombing and lacked any available long range artillery.
Thus, he had settled in to wait until his infantry could start painting targets.
"Assault Group Lobster, confirm target range?" He asked.
"Target range from Assault Group Lobster: two kilometres." The response came over the radio. "Alert, sighting enemy BattleMechs on approach."
"Confirmed. They are sticking under their AA umbrella. You are clear to engage at your discretion."
"By your command, Imperious Leader." The Cylon…er, gold Cyberic 'Legionnaire' affirmed.
Malcolm grinned.
The Super-Heavies were slow. Extremely slow. Easy to flank, and it looked like most of the guns were forward mounted. Sure, a pair of some sort of large cannons were mounted in a turret, but the rest of the guns were forward mounted.
Strike from the rear, and they would be vulnerable. He even had the speed to pull it off with his 'Mechs. His own aged Dragon DRG-1N, with his bodyguards in their mixed variants of Wolverines and a Trebuchet, had the speed to outpace the giant spider mechs. He just needed to make user his own forces distracted the defenders.
Said defenders were like no 'Mechs had had ever seen. Most were lights, 35-tonners, armed with a single large laser. There were a few 60-tonners, also armed with a large laser and some sort of missile launcher, but his systems refused to lock onto them. They gave Malcolm a bad feeling.
There was two lances of Marauders, the only 'Mechs the warbook in the Dragon could identify, moving in formation with the Super-Heavies. Those posed a serious problem, being armed with the long ranged PPC. Worse, if they were armed with lostech, they might have Gauss Rifles and ER PPCs. That would be a nightmare.
"Boss, they got us out tonned."
"Yeah? Well, we outmanoeuvre them, and we got more of us. Just don't get hit, let the LRM carriers do their bit, and watch for the infantry, in case they are packing SRMs. Hose 'em with MGs if ya' got 'em." Malcolm shot back over the comms at his nervous subordinate. "All lances, engage! Drag the bastards away from their heavier units, and spot for the LRMs!"
Homarus Rex '001-1'
"Commander, enemy forces are attacking." The AutoMech brain in control of the Super-Heavy BattleMech reported. "Permission to engage?"
"Granted." The gold 'Legionnaire' with command upgrades replied from it's position in it's cargo hold, tied into the AutoMech's sensors. "All units, engage. Destroy the enemy."
Battletech SI Indulgence Snippet 5
charclone
Well-known member
New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
08 January, 3012
The battle was going well in Malcolm's eyes.
The light 'Mechs, armed with a lostech ER Large lasers, or with an SRM-2 and a pair of Medium lasers, had leapt forwards as soon as his forces engaged. The heavier units hung back, supporting them with long ranged fire, but it was proving to be less than effective. Mostly PPCs and Large lasers, plus the odd autocannon round from the Marauders or what appeared to be a couple of Thunderbolts of a type Malcom wasn't familiar with.
His own forces, out tonned but not outnumbered, were putting up a good fight. It had taken a near miss from a close range shot from a Large laser for him to realise why. The shots were poorly aimed, the piloting basic, with only limited attempts to keep the damage spread out across the 'Mechs.
It was clear that they weren't green, but these foes were better pilots than they were shots, and they lacked experience.
"Keep them turning, don't let them take the initiative. Bastards are inexperienced!" He cried into his comms.
He received acknowledgements, more than a few of them cheery, or even mocking their foe.
His Dragon let off a burst of LRMs as one of the unknowns turned away from him, scorching a Locust's armour with a lancing beam across the chest and arms of the light scout 'Mech. The LRMs struck, and the light spun around in surprise to face him.
Malcolm blocked the return fire, twisting the Dragon's torso, and raising an arm, while driving the throttle to full. He jinked to the right, leaving the beam to waste most of it's energy on the air where his 'Mech had been.
His current opponent made the mistake of standing still.
The pirate lord grinned and closed the distance as someone else hit it with a blast of SRMs. The missiles tore already damaged armour open, exposing the myomers and internal structure in the torso to the daylight.
Malcom's autocannon roared, and the medium laser in the right arm joined their fury.
The class-5 autocannon shell missed, but the beams struck the torso, burning a line of molten armour towards the wound, and then into it.
Only then did the light 'Mech realise the danger.
Malcolm grinned at the thought of the panic the other Mechwarrior must have been feeling. The panic of realising a mistake, too late to correct it, all the while the computer screaming at them about internal damage.
They collided before the large laser could finish charging. Malcom's fist struck the lighter 'Mech, plunging into the open wound as the two collided. The smaller 'Mech was thrown by the impact, debris tearing from its wounded torso, leaving the Dragon to carry past, ruined myomer bound in its left fist.
There was a sudden brilliant flash that left Malcolm blinking.
He realised a moment later that his computer was warning him of his own internals being exposed. Something had struck his 'Mech's left arm with devastating force.
The diagnostics board, fully functional as a benefit of being the boss, gave a scarlet light for the shoulder joint.
Malcom cursed, even as he maneuverer, his eyes flicking over the battlefield to find whatever had struck him.
"Anyone see what struck me?"
"Careful, boss! Looks like those Quads have some sort of long ranged cannon!" Someone shouted in his ear.
Another one of the Super-Heavy QuadMechs fired again, and this time the results were more dramatic, as a pickup fitted with LRM's vanished in a fireball, leaving molten slag to burn behind.
The pickup had been well outside the range of a PPC blast.
"Shit." Malcolm cursed once more. He forced his 'Mech to keep moving, angling towards the flanks of the monster 'Mechs.
Around him, the battle shifted. Beams continued to stab back and forth, combatants shooting at targets of opportunity, missiles flying back and forth. Armour, both still on 'Mechs and on the ground, glowed from the heat of laser impacts that had melted them.
Malcom continued to move, sparing only enough focus to send as much LRM fire as he could into any enemy 'Mechs in range.
He growled as another of the lights got in his way. This one put up more of a fight than Malcom would have liked.
He cursed yet more, as the main screen of his 'Mech flickered. SRMs struck it, and he felt the machine beneath him shudder as medium lasers carved away his armour.
As his vision of the battlefield returned, he twisted his mech, tracking the bastard as they moved. The medium laser missed, but the AC-5 round struck an arm.
Again, the smaller 'Mech fired, slicing away more armour.
"Come on you bastard!" Malcom shouted. He was starting to pant, he realised. He fired again, as the 'Mech left his minimum LRM arming range. H blinked for a moment, confused, before tensing and whirling his 'Mech around, stepping to the side, just in time to avoid fire from another of the small 'Mechs. "Anyone able to lend a hand? I'm taking on two you slackers!"
As if in response, a burst of LRM fire from one of his hidden combat vehicles, playing the role of artillery still, smashed into the new 'Mech.
Laser fire struck his 'Mech's left arm again, as he used it to block more incoming fire from the first light BattleMech.
Furiously, he poured as much fire as he could into it, spending the last of is LRMs and carving into it with his medium laser. He was rewarded when his computer displayed a breach in his target's leg.
A burst from the AC-5 crippled it.
As it fell to the ground, Malcom returned his attention to the second 'Mech. He blinked in surprise, as it closed nearly to melee range, before firing.
"Warning, armour breach, left arm." Bitching Betty's voice was not a welcome intrusion upon Malcom's focus, as he noted his left arm was now hanging limp, and his display was showing red armour across the torso.
"Bastard!" He grunted, lashing out with both of the Dragon's fists.
Astro Tankus stepped over the legless Commando. If he had had a face, he would be smiling.
"C-101, board the DropShip." He ordered, stepping around the corner, onto a street covered in glass.
The DropShip, a Union, had landed in what was once a shanty town. The wooden ramshackle buildings had been reduced to, at most, charred bits of debris, beneath the glass of the ground. Some had been tossed into the nearby buildings, as tiny pieces of charcoal. This left the DropShip in the centre of a circular wasteland, the ground blackened by fire from the burning debris and drive exhaust.
Astro Tankus saw it as a waste, of lives, terrain, and materiel. He hated waste.
With a grunt, he stepped backwards, nearly crushing the Cyberics following at his heels, avoiding a PPC blast.
"They wish to continue to fight? Fine." He grunted. He stepped around the corner again, letting his own PPC fire. He took satisfaction as he saw it strike the enemy PPC turret on the hull. "All units, advance and cover the infantry. C-102 units, advance and attract enemy fire, be evasive."
"By your command."
Astro Tankus kept pace with his forces. He was no coward, he commanded from the front, willingly leading his forces into danger alongside them.
The Union crew saw the futility of resisting as they were deprived of several weapons before they could fire, his bodyguard Marauders focusing their fire.
The C-101s breached through one of the holes made. Within three minutes, they DropShip was secured.
Malcolm panted.
He was low on armour, he had lost more heat sinks than he would like, his left arm was still attached, though barely, and he was willing to bet that he was at risk of being head capped.
Still, he had gotten through. Nearly a minute after he killed his fourth 'Mech, the heavies started to close, but by then the battle was decided. He, alongside another two 'Mechs, had gotten to the rear of the Super-Heavies.
"Get in close, bring them down!" He ordered. He was hopping that it would deal enough damage to the enemy moral, seeing their big fancy new toys be destroyed, that they could make a break for a friendly dropship, or at least find a place to go to ground.
The massive four-legged machines loomed in front of them, still slowly advancing. Their grey armour reflected the light, practically screaming to be violated with weapons fire. Their legs were strangely shaped, covered in curved armour plating. With the insect like head, it made them almost look organic. Like big, giant, grey metal insects.
'Well, I always did like crushing bugs as a kid.' Malcom snorted to himself as he targeted the first 'Mech.
The turret mounted on its back swung around.
"How the hell did I miss- go evasive!" He shouted to the other two. "But make these bastards pay!"
The guns on the turret fired something that seemed to burn through the air, moving like an autocannon round. It smashed into the Enforced with him.
"Heat warnings! Fucking inferno ammo! Gotta eject!"
Malcom cursed as he saw the seat rocket away, even as he fired his autocannon at the enemy 'Mech.
The Cyberic commander logged the trajectory of the ejection seat. It prepared orders for a squad to hunt down the Mechwarrior, before scrubbing them, and replacing them with orders to recover their corpse, as it noted the failure of the pirate's parachute.
Malcom let his medium laser burn into the flank of the 'Mech.
"How much armour does thing have?"
He maintained his distance outside melee range, even as his remaining backup died under the turrets. He was aware that what remained of his forces were fleeing or surrendering, but he would be damned if he didn't at least cripple one of these bastards.
He swore and jerked his 'Mech around as the monster came to a sudden stop.
He almost disregarded the twin thumps as something struck his 'Mech in the process.
Having leapt from the cargo platform, two C-800 'Marine' Cyberic units moved board the pirate 'Mech.
Malcolm screamed in shock as he saw them, ripping what little remained of the armour around his cockpit part.
Running on instinct, he tried to bring his arms up to scrape them off, as they killed his camera.
He felt the impact as one was crushed and torn free.
It was then that he remembered the damage to his left arm, as the other determined using it's machine gun would be more efficient, rather than trying to capture the pirate officer.
The last thing Malcolm saw was bullets shattering through the remains of his cockpit screen, sending 12.7mm rounds and shrapnel into him.
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
08 January, 3012
The battle was going well in Malcolm's eyes.
The light 'Mechs, armed with a lostech ER Large lasers, or with an SRM-2 and a pair of Medium lasers, had leapt forwards as soon as his forces engaged. The heavier units hung back, supporting them with long ranged fire, but it was proving to be less than effective. Mostly PPCs and Large lasers, plus the odd autocannon round from the Marauders or what appeared to be a couple of Thunderbolts of a type Malcom wasn't familiar with.
His own forces, out tonned but not outnumbered, were putting up a good fight. It had taken a near miss from a close range shot from a Large laser for him to realise why. The shots were poorly aimed, the piloting basic, with only limited attempts to keep the damage spread out across the 'Mechs.
It was clear that they weren't green, but these foes were better pilots than they were shots, and they lacked experience.
"Keep them turning, don't let them take the initiative. Bastards are inexperienced!" He cried into his comms.
He received acknowledgements, more than a few of them cheery, or even mocking their foe.
His Dragon let off a burst of LRMs as one of the unknowns turned away from him, scorching a Locust's armour with a lancing beam across the chest and arms of the light scout 'Mech. The LRMs struck, and the light spun around in surprise to face him.
Malcolm blocked the return fire, twisting the Dragon's torso, and raising an arm, while driving the throttle to full. He jinked to the right, leaving the beam to waste most of it's energy on the air where his 'Mech had been.
His current opponent made the mistake of standing still.
The pirate lord grinned and closed the distance as someone else hit it with a blast of SRMs. The missiles tore already damaged armour open, exposing the myomers and internal structure in the torso to the daylight.
Malcom's autocannon roared, and the medium laser in the right arm joined their fury.
The class-5 autocannon shell missed, but the beams struck the torso, burning a line of molten armour towards the wound, and then into it.
Only then did the light 'Mech realise the danger.
Malcolm grinned at the thought of the panic the other Mechwarrior must have been feeling. The panic of realising a mistake, too late to correct it, all the while the computer screaming at them about internal damage.
They collided before the large laser could finish charging. Malcom's fist struck the lighter 'Mech, plunging into the open wound as the two collided. The smaller 'Mech was thrown by the impact, debris tearing from its wounded torso, leaving the Dragon to carry past, ruined myomer bound in its left fist.
There was a sudden brilliant flash that left Malcolm blinking.
He realised a moment later that his computer was warning him of his own internals being exposed. Something had struck his 'Mech's left arm with devastating force.
The diagnostics board, fully functional as a benefit of being the boss, gave a scarlet light for the shoulder joint.
Malcom cursed, even as he maneuverer, his eyes flicking over the battlefield to find whatever had struck him.
"Anyone see what struck me?"
"Careful, boss! Looks like those Quads have some sort of long ranged cannon!" Someone shouted in his ear.
Another one of the Super-Heavy QuadMechs fired again, and this time the results were more dramatic, as a pickup fitted with LRM's vanished in a fireball, leaving molten slag to burn behind.
The pickup had been well outside the range of a PPC blast.
"Shit." Malcolm cursed once more. He forced his 'Mech to keep moving, angling towards the flanks of the monster 'Mechs.
Around him, the battle shifted. Beams continued to stab back and forth, combatants shooting at targets of opportunity, missiles flying back and forth. Armour, both still on 'Mechs and on the ground, glowed from the heat of laser impacts that had melted them.
Malcom continued to move, sparing only enough focus to send as much LRM fire as he could into any enemy 'Mechs in range.
He growled as another of the lights got in his way. This one put up more of a fight than Malcom would have liked.
He cursed yet more, as the main screen of his 'Mech flickered. SRMs struck it, and he felt the machine beneath him shudder as medium lasers carved away his armour.
As his vision of the battlefield returned, he twisted his mech, tracking the bastard as they moved. The medium laser missed, but the AC-5 round struck an arm.
Again, the smaller 'Mech fired, slicing away more armour.
"Come on you bastard!" Malcom shouted. He was starting to pant, he realised. He fired again, as the 'Mech left his minimum LRM arming range. H blinked for a moment, confused, before tensing and whirling his 'Mech around, stepping to the side, just in time to avoid fire from another of the small 'Mechs. "Anyone able to lend a hand? I'm taking on two you slackers!"
As if in response, a burst of LRM fire from one of his hidden combat vehicles, playing the role of artillery still, smashed into the new 'Mech.
Laser fire struck his 'Mech's left arm again, as he used it to block more incoming fire from the first light BattleMech.
Furiously, he poured as much fire as he could into it, spending the last of is LRMs and carving into it with his medium laser. He was rewarded when his computer displayed a breach in his target's leg.
A burst from the AC-5 crippled it.
As it fell to the ground, Malcom returned his attention to the second 'Mech. He blinked in surprise, as it closed nearly to melee range, before firing.
"Warning, armour breach, left arm." Bitching Betty's voice was not a welcome intrusion upon Malcom's focus, as he noted his left arm was now hanging limp, and his display was showing red armour across the torso.
"Bastard!" He grunted, lashing out with both of the Dragon's fists.
Astro Tankus stepped over the legless Commando. If he had had a face, he would be smiling.
"C-101, board the DropShip." He ordered, stepping around the corner, onto a street covered in glass.
The DropShip, a Union, had landed in what was once a shanty town. The wooden ramshackle buildings had been reduced to, at most, charred bits of debris, beneath the glass of the ground. Some had been tossed into the nearby buildings, as tiny pieces of charcoal. This left the DropShip in the centre of a circular wasteland, the ground blackened by fire from the burning debris and drive exhaust.
Astro Tankus saw it as a waste, of lives, terrain, and materiel. He hated waste.
With a grunt, he stepped backwards, nearly crushing the Cyberics following at his heels, avoiding a PPC blast.
"They wish to continue to fight? Fine." He grunted. He stepped around the corner again, letting his own PPC fire. He took satisfaction as he saw it strike the enemy PPC turret on the hull. "All units, advance and cover the infantry. C-102 units, advance and attract enemy fire, be evasive."
"By your command."
Astro Tankus kept pace with his forces. He was no coward, he commanded from the front, willingly leading his forces into danger alongside them.
The Union crew saw the futility of resisting as they were deprived of several weapons before they could fire, his bodyguard Marauders focusing their fire.
The C-101s breached through one of the holes made. Within three minutes, they DropShip was secured.
Malcolm panted.
He was low on armour, he had lost more heat sinks than he would like, his left arm was still attached, though barely, and he was willing to bet that he was at risk of being head capped.
Still, he had gotten through. Nearly a minute after he killed his fourth 'Mech, the heavies started to close, but by then the battle was decided. He, alongside another two 'Mechs, had gotten to the rear of the Super-Heavies.
"Get in close, bring them down!" He ordered. He was hopping that it would deal enough damage to the enemy moral, seeing their big fancy new toys be destroyed, that they could make a break for a friendly dropship, or at least find a place to go to ground.
The massive four-legged machines loomed in front of them, still slowly advancing. Their grey armour reflected the light, practically screaming to be violated with weapons fire. Their legs were strangely shaped, covered in curved armour plating. With the insect like head, it made them almost look organic. Like big, giant, grey metal insects.
'Well, I always did like crushing bugs as a kid.' Malcom snorted to himself as he targeted the first 'Mech.
The turret mounted on its back swung around.
"How the hell did I miss- go evasive!" He shouted to the other two. "But make these bastards pay!"
The guns on the turret fired something that seemed to burn through the air, moving like an autocannon round. It smashed into the Enforced with him.
"Heat warnings! Fucking inferno ammo! Gotta eject!"
Malcom cursed as he saw the seat rocket away, even as he fired his autocannon at the enemy 'Mech.
The Cyberic commander logged the trajectory of the ejection seat. It prepared orders for a squad to hunt down the Mechwarrior, before scrubbing them, and replacing them with orders to recover their corpse, as it noted the failure of the pirate's parachute.
Malcom let his medium laser burn into the flank of the 'Mech.
"How much armour does thing have?"
He maintained his distance outside melee range, even as his remaining backup died under the turrets. He was aware that what remained of his forces were fleeing or surrendering, but he would be damned if he didn't at least cripple one of these bastards.
He swore and jerked his 'Mech around as the monster came to a sudden stop.
He almost disregarded the twin thumps as something struck his 'Mech in the process.
Having leapt from the cargo platform, two C-800 'Marine' Cyberic units moved board the pirate 'Mech.
Malcolm screamed in shock as he saw them, ripping what little remained of the armour around his cockpit part.
Running on instinct, he tried to bring his arms up to scrape them off, as they killed his camera.
He felt the impact as one was crushed and torn free.
It was then that he remembered the damage to his left arm, as the other determined using it's machine gun would be more efficient, rather than trying to capture the pirate officer.
The last thing Malcolm saw was bullets shattering through the remains of his cockpit screen, sending 12.7mm rounds and shrapnel into him.
charclone
Well-known member
Thanks!
The question would be, of course, how to maintain that level of tension through the story, where appropriate.
Battletech SI Indulgence snippet 6
charclone
Well-known member
New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
09 January, 3012
James looked over the battlefield from the truck.
Cyberic C-99s, the unarmed unarmoured support units, crawled over it. Picking at the wreckage of 'Mechs, still extinguishing fires that had broken out, cleaning spilt coolant, carrying off broken pieces of armour, and disposing of the remaining undetonated ammunition.
Fields that had once been covered in crops were now marred by muddy holes, where BattleMechs had stepped, or ammunition had struck. Vast swaths had been burned to dust by laser, leaving scars in the land.
Scattered like corpses were the remnants of the fallen 'Mechs. Carefully, recovery AutoMechs, taken out of storage aboard the landed Mule, moved across the land, picking up and hauling away damaged and dead-but-otherwise-intact 'Mechs from both sides. The C-101s had already removed any survivors, taken as prisoners, and the C-99 has removed the remaining corpses.
James winced as he saw a Beetle-class Auto'Mech, its head smashed inwards, tear in half as it was hoisted up by a VeeMech-class, Maintainer variant. The recovery and repair unit looked down at the mangled remains. It almost looked like its shoulder slumped.
A brief signal to another recovery 'Mech saw them working together, hoisting the remains of the light 'Mech onto a Cyberic piloted recovery vehicle.
James sat back in the seat of the truck, captured from the pirate motor pool when they stormed the fortress.
"I've seen enough. Back to the HQ." He ordered the C-99 sitting in the driver's seat, his face impassive.
"By your command." It intoned, before pressing down on the pedal.
Away from the Nadir Point
Marilla and the two others gritted their teeth as the 'DropShip' rumbled. They understood the basics, having been aboard several by this point. But that did not make the voyage pleasant.
Nevertheless, the rumble aboard the modified DropShip, converted from Pirate use to something Matrix had called an AutoMech DropShip, as well as a Union-E Cargo Hauler, meant that they could talk without being overheard.
Are these people gods? Are they just the servants of a god?
Those were the two questions in their minds.
Eventually, they became accustomed to the thrum of the engines. The shaking of the craft as it travelled through space.
Marilla unstrapped herself from the seat and shakily stood. She was not used to sitting still for hours, nor moving in 1g acceleration.
She stretched her legs and experimented with moving about the cabin assigned to them, as the other stood and began to do the same, tired of sitting.
"Seven days of this." One of them groaned. "I'll go mad."
"It's not that bad. The first trip out here was the same time." Another countered, stretching. "The noise will make it hard to sleep though."
Marilla ignored that chatter as she tried to organise her thoughts.
"It occurs to me, that we can't know if this Imperious Leader is a god or not until we meet him." She said after a moment more to think.
"How can you say that? He crushed the enslavers in mere days!" One of the others protested. Her face was covered in disbelief, and no little amount of fear. "None of the tribes has been able to do that, not even the Great Tribes in the Sphere, or the other gods!"
"He might just be another person, like the Enslavers, but not an enslaver." Marilla shrugged, uncaring. "We won't know until we meet him."
New Cartagena
Marta was a teacher.
A short woman, she had suffered through hardships, like most of the planet had, under pirate rule. She recognised, thanks to her predecessor, that knowledge was necessary. Knowledge to feed the population, knowledge to treat injury and disease, and to maintain and use equipment left behind by their ancestors.
The pirates had not been stupid, not totally. They had recognised her value. It kept her and her students safe, for the most part, even if she wasn't as highly regarded as some others, such as the now-deceased local crime lords and rulership.
She was, however, not important enough to warrant a meeting. Thus, she was left rather flabbergasted when a man in a metal suit (or were they robots, some sort of Star League lostech?) arrived in front of the school and delivered a message, requesting her presence before the Imperious Leader at her earliest convenience.
She was the only teacher in the city of New Portabella, though not for lack of trying. Most of her students were pressed into support roles by the pirates or helped maintain the local infrastructure. Some assisted her, but she lacked the same resources her teacher had once had. The books, ancient textbooks, manuals, history books, and Star League-era Almanac, had deteriorated over the years, and the last had been destroyed during a power struggle that had burned down the old school, a building that dated back to before the pirates had taken over.
Unwilling to risk angering the new leadership, she presented herself to the front gates of the old pirate palace.
Rather than the usual collection of bored, motley pirate infantry, the guards stood at attention, their silver armour gleaming in the afternoon sun. Their black visors were illuminated faintly by a red light, sweeping across from side to side. It was the only movement they made, as they stood perfectly still.
Marta swallowed as she marched up to the guards.
With a swiftness that left her breathless, they checked her for weapons, and escorted her inside, past the outer walls and ruined defences, through rows and soldiers standing at attention in their silver armour, into the main building and up several floors.
She blinked.
There were dozens of people, seated around long tables, with smaller robots, and they were robots with their exposed servos and myomers, serving out food.
The people wore a mix of ratty clothing, homespun fabrics, and clothing that was better-called pieces of jewellery, as it covered as much. The former slaves of the pirates, she assumed.
Every so often, some of the people wearing the jewellery would be given clothes, leave, and then return wearing new, more covering clothing.
It was not a sight she expected to see.
"Ah, you're the local teacher, I assume?" A voice called out over the din of people celebrating their new freedom.
Marta blinked and spun to face the speaker.
The man was young but walked with confidence and an easy smile. His eyes were bright and cheerful. Beside him marched a machine like the ones at the gate, but gold-plated.
"I hope my request wasn't troublesome." The man, apparently the Imperious Leader, continued. "But hopefully, this will make up for any interruptions."
He was dressed in simple clothes, lacking the opulence of most pirate lords she had seen at a distance. His dark blonde hair was swept back. The look should have made him look youthful, but instead, he seemed closer to Marta's age, without the strain of the many years.
"Come, let me show you why I requested your presence." He started to turn and lead her to a side room, then paused. He turned back to her and offered his hand "Ah, my apologies. My name is James."
"Marta." She relaxed slightly as she shook it. He was no pirate lord, that much was certain. Of course, an ambitious would-be interstellar ruler would be a double-edged sword. She remembered talk in the city about how the Successor States threw away millions to achieve the House Lord's ambitions.
"Now," James resumed as he led her down a hallway, passing more machines carrying equipment in and treasures and other pirate goods out, as the gold-plated one followed him. "As I understand it, the education system, such as it is, is composed of yourself, a few parents acting as volunteers, and some assistants, yes?"
"In this city, yes," Marta answered truthfully. "I believe Fire Forge in the south has a few more teachers, but it also relies more heavily on the industry the Pirates brought to the world to produce armour and equipment. Most of the education is minimal, and done in apprenticeships."
James nodded, a look of sympathy on his face.
"Knowledge is precious, but not something that gains in value if hoarded." He said, cryptically. "To that end, what do you need to expand your capabilities?"
Marta blinked.
It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realise what he was asking. What he was saying.
They came to a stop in front of a room, tucked away. Light filtered in from the raised courtyard across from it, between a series of pillars. Inside, past the open doors, were books. Hundreds of them, stacked on each other, tucked away on shelves, even full shelves against a back wall.
"Fortunately, a former pirate lord, it would seem, was a bookworm." James smiled. "I'll set about making copies. Unfortunately, most of these are fiction, but there are a few textbooks. Modern stuff, from the Lyran Commonwealth mostly, so hardly Star League quality, but… I also have some digital textbooks I will print out."
Marta just gaped at the treasure trove of knowledge. There were hundreds of books.
"I… I don't know what to say…" She strangled out, struggling to keep her jaw from flailing. "It's…"
"Not enough to bring you completely up to Successor State level, that will take generations, but my machines and forces should be able to, in the short term, make up the difference." James shrugged an expression of regret on his face. "But my intentions are not completely altruistic. There are a couple of areas I am going to push, mostly military, medical, and pharmaceutical, in the short term."
Marta nodded. There was always a price, but at least he was being honest about it.
"I… understand. May I request that medical training take the highest priority? It would go a long way to help the planet." She hesitated, before choosing to risk his generosity. "Also, several of my former students were… encouraged to work for the pirates, in support roles. Mostly technicians and a few mechanics."
James smiled at her.
"I'll see to it that you are given a list of faces. I can't guarantee they will be pardoned, but some are likely guilty of nothing more than being forced into a bad situation, especially if they are only technicians."
"Thank you." Marta sighed in relief.
"So, bossman," James blinked as one of the former prisoners of the pirates waved him down after he had set up a room for Marta to use to sort through the books. In time, it would be a temporary office of the Ministry of Education.
The woman was at most a year older than him, with thick black hair, done tightly in a bun, that contrasted with her pale skin. A pair of hot pink cybernetic eyes studied him. A mercenary that had been taken prisoner in a recent raid, and a native to Canopus.
She leaned back on her stool, batter her eyes and angled her chest to attract attention to it.
"Mind if I ask some questions?" She said, gesturing to the seat next to her.
Perhaps the posture and expression she wore might have been alluring. If so, it was ruined by the fact that she had crumbs from a piece of bread and gravy from the meal on her plate still on her face.
"I don't mind, but you might want to wipe your face." James smiled as he sat down.
The woman blushed and cursed under her breath, using a napkin to clean her face. Another former prisoner, a dancer taken from some periphery world according to the pirate's logs, snickered at her neighbour's expense, as she devoured the food on her plate. The man across the table from her, a local labourer forced into slavery, rolled his eyes, as he wolfed down his meal.
"So, what's on your mind?" James asked after she finished wiping her face off.
"A couple of things, mostly I'm trying to figure out where to go from here." She replied. "I won't insult you by asking where you found the lostech robots, but… you got room for another Mechwarrior?"
"Potentially," James replied, considering it. "I'll set up a sim, and let you go against some of my own. Do you have any officer experience?"
"Yeah. Used to run a lance… didn't end well. Ended up in debt and forced into the Periphery." She admitted, wincing. "Half my people joined the pirates, most of the rest died. I… I'm good in a 'Mech. I'm no gunslinger, but I can hold my own. Just don't trust me with finances."
James nodded.
"What was the main issue you faced?"
"Ah… honestly, we kept having parts disappear, plus some employers snubbed us on pay. Damages started to pile up…" She shrugged. "Anyway, the other question is… what sort of lostech did you dig up?"
"Well don't go asking him that." A man at a nearby table interrupted. "Beggin' your pardon sir. But lady, seriously, why would you go bugging him about that?"
"'Cause, my eyes are dying." She stated bluntly, before turning back to James. "These pretty orbs are, as you probably guessed, fake. And I'm rather far away from being able to get a replacement from anywhere in the Magistracy."
"I have information on making something similar, and I might be able to get something fabricated," James explained, calmly, and careful to keep any expression that might be taken as insulted from his face. "How long do yours have?"
"I… don't know. Could be months, could be minutes." She shrugged, flashing a sad smile. "When the pirates stormed the dropship… they hit me pretty hard in the head. I lived, but it broke something in my eyes. Diagnostics aren't functioning right, got no colour in one eye, and the other gives me a migraine if I leave it on too long."
James leaned back and thought it over.
"Alright, ask one of the C-99s to lead you to me once you are done eating. I'll see what I can do." James said. "Now, any other questions?"
"Great!" The woman cheered, before pausing. "Uh, actually, yeah, did you already eat?"
"I did." James lied. Law 4: Always say less than necessary. Sticking around too much risked talking too much and he needed to maintain some distance from them, not to mention, there was the risk of one of them blabbing to ComStar.
The less information they had, the better. As it was, unverified rumours of robots used in combat would be discarded as periphery nonsense, if it was limited to just a handful of people. It would be taken seriously once more word reached the Inner Sphere, but for now, James had time, something he intended to fully use.
Those that joined him, well, that was another story.
Later that night, James collapsed, exhausted, into a chair. The room had been converted into a small lab. The Canopian woman, named Lara Watkins, had gotten her eyes adjusted here, before James had it prepared for other work. Her eyes had only needed a few wires replaced and resoldered.
James had originally intended to tinker, to try and develop a better commander for the Cyberic forces. Something akin to a Cylon IL model, a senior officer and advisor. Unfortunately, he lacked the time.
The city needed work done, which he needed to order done. The population had wounded, who needed medicine, which he needed to authorise to be distributed. IndustrialMechs needed to be converted to be used in industrial acts. Factories needed to be sited and established. Schools needed to be built and staffed, with a government built to support them. Plans needed to be made to fully secure the planet. He had met with and talked with many of the other people that had been prisoners or slaves of the pirates. They wanted places to be, or a ride home.
In the end, James had set a tentative goal of a trip to the Inner Sphere in about a year's time, once he had secured the surrounding systems, and established some sort of Command-and-Control network. As it was, if he was unavailable, his forces would be paralysed, unable to take offensive action.
And while these things weighed on James, they were not the heaviest to bear. In fact, they were among the easiest thanks to his strangely, enhanced mental faculties. And that strange fact was the source of his greatest stress. A great, glaring unknown in his mind.
He had awoken suddenly aboard the bridge of the Invader DropShip he had eventually named Charlemagne. His mind racing at speeds that it informed him were unusual for a human and filled with knowledge and sciences he had never realised or considered. The knowledge of robotics he had spoken of to Lara was merely the tip of the iceberg.
When he had spoken to others, he knew what emotion they were experiencing, based on subtle expressions. He knew how to school his face and body to express the emotion he desired to display, and what emotion would provoke the desired response.
That wasn't even mentioning his knowledge of biology, or cybernetics. Kearny-Fuchida physics. BattleMechs. Politics, psychology, biology, and economics. He had, at all times, a book in his mind informing him of everything he needed to know, to a point.
All the technology he had access to, he knew. Anything beyond that was not in his mind. Lithium-Fusion Batteries, Hyper-Pulse Generators, and other post-3060 or Star League tech not used or known in the California Nebula books were out of his immediate reach.
The application of that knowledge was still up to him. He needed to judge when to use it, and when not to, as well as when to simply keep his mouth shut. It was technical knowledge, not experience, albeit to an impressive degree.
Yet, as the price for that knowledge, he knew he was missing around three months of his life. Three months, completely blank. Longer than it would take to get from where he awoke, to the California Nebula, though that didn't completely rule some possibilities out when considering magic.
Part of him feared that he was the plaything of some cosmic horror beyond human understanding.
Gently, he pulled the blade at his side from its sheath. Several of the C-101s and C-102s carried them, including all the commanders.
Yet, his had been modified, beyond the gold plate and decoration.
They were Mithrelite Deflector vibroswords, using similar technology that generated defensive plasma screens around DropShips and WarShips. A crackling energy field would be generated around the blade, letting it cut most materials. Less efficient than the Plasma Vibroblades he also had access to, but the size of their field could be used as mobile cover, like a small shield.
But his had one slight variation.
Holding it in his hand, he thumbed the activator.
The blade sprang to life. The broad field crackled around the twin-pronged blades of the sword, generating an orange glow that flickered like flames.
James stared at the burning blade in his hands, before sighing in defeat. He would not get answered, but the blade, found in his person when he first awoke, did hint towards one possibility.
As he stood and extinguished the blade, returning it to its sheath, he hummed the first few lines of a song, walking towards the room he had taken as his sleeping quarters.
"From the ashes we will rise, we take to the stars, a new beginning for mankind, under his banner we unite…"
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
09 January, 3012
James looked over the battlefield from the truck.
Cyberic C-99s, the unarmed unarmoured support units, crawled over it. Picking at the wreckage of 'Mechs, still extinguishing fires that had broken out, cleaning spilt coolant, carrying off broken pieces of armour, and disposing of the remaining undetonated ammunition.
Fields that had once been covered in crops were now marred by muddy holes, where BattleMechs had stepped, or ammunition had struck. Vast swaths had been burned to dust by laser, leaving scars in the land.
Scattered like corpses were the remnants of the fallen 'Mechs. Carefully, recovery AutoMechs, taken out of storage aboard the landed Mule, moved across the land, picking up and hauling away damaged and dead-but-otherwise-intact 'Mechs from both sides. The C-101s had already removed any survivors, taken as prisoners, and the C-99 has removed the remaining corpses.
James winced as he saw a Beetle-class Auto'Mech, its head smashed inwards, tear in half as it was hoisted up by a VeeMech-class, Maintainer variant. The recovery and repair unit looked down at the mangled remains. It almost looked like its shoulder slumped.
A brief signal to another recovery 'Mech saw them working together, hoisting the remains of the light 'Mech onto a Cyberic piloted recovery vehicle.
James sat back in the seat of the truck, captured from the pirate motor pool when they stormed the fortress.
"I've seen enough. Back to the HQ." He ordered the C-99 sitting in the driver's seat, his face impassive.
"By your command." It intoned, before pressing down on the pedal.
Away from the Nadir Point
Marilla and the two others gritted their teeth as the 'DropShip' rumbled. They understood the basics, having been aboard several by this point. But that did not make the voyage pleasant.
Nevertheless, the rumble aboard the modified DropShip, converted from Pirate use to something Matrix had called an AutoMech DropShip, as well as a Union-E Cargo Hauler, meant that they could talk without being overheard.
Are these people gods? Are they just the servants of a god?
Those were the two questions in their minds.
Eventually, they became accustomed to the thrum of the engines. The shaking of the craft as it travelled through space.
Marilla unstrapped herself from the seat and shakily stood. She was not used to sitting still for hours, nor moving in 1g acceleration.
She stretched her legs and experimented with moving about the cabin assigned to them, as the other stood and began to do the same, tired of sitting.
"Seven days of this." One of them groaned. "I'll go mad."
"It's not that bad. The first trip out here was the same time." Another countered, stretching. "The noise will make it hard to sleep though."
Marilla ignored that chatter as she tried to organise her thoughts.
"It occurs to me, that we can't know if this Imperious Leader is a god or not until we meet him." She said after a moment more to think.
"How can you say that? He crushed the enslavers in mere days!" One of the others protested. Her face was covered in disbelief, and no little amount of fear. "None of the tribes has been able to do that, not even the Great Tribes in the Sphere, or the other gods!"
"He might just be another person, like the Enslavers, but not an enslaver." Marilla shrugged, uncaring. "We won't know until we meet him."
New Cartagena
Marta was a teacher.
A short woman, she had suffered through hardships, like most of the planet had, under pirate rule. She recognised, thanks to her predecessor, that knowledge was necessary. Knowledge to feed the population, knowledge to treat injury and disease, and to maintain and use equipment left behind by their ancestors.
The pirates had not been stupid, not totally. They had recognised her value. It kept her and her students safe, for the most part, even if she wasn't as highly regarded as some others, such as the now-deceased local crime lords and rulership.
She was, however, not important enough to warrant a meeting. Thus, she was left rather flabbergasted when a man in a metal suit (or were they robots, some sort of Star League lostech?) arrived in front of the school and delivered a message, requesting her presence before the Imperious Leader at her earliest convenience.
She was the only teacher in the city of New Portabella, though not for lack of trying. Most of her students were pressed into support roles by the pirates or helped maintain the local infrastructure. Some assisted her, but she lacked the same resources her teacher had once had. The books, ancient textbooks, manuals, history books, and Star League-era Almanac, had deteriorated over the years, and the last had been destroyed during a power struggle that had burned down the old school, a building that dated back to before the pirates had taken over.
Unwilling to risk angering the new leadership, she presented herself to the front gates of the old pirate palace.
Rather than the usual collection of bored, motley pirate infantry, the guards stood at attention, their silver armour gleaming in the afternoon sun. Their black visors were illuminated faintly by a red light, sweeping across from side to side. It was the only movement they made, as they stood perfectly still.
Marta swallowed as she marched up to the guards.
With a swiftness that left her breathless, they checked her for weapons, and escorted her inside, past the outer walls and ruined defences, through rows and soldiers standing at attention in their silver armour, into the main building and up several floors.
She blinked.
There were dozens of people, seated around long tables, with smaller robots, and they were robots with their exposed servos and myomers, serving out food.
The people wore a mix of ratty clothing, homespun fabrics, and clothing that was better-called pieces of jewellery, as it covered as much. The former slaves of the pirates, she assumed.
Every so often, some of the people wearing the jewellery would be given clothes, leave, and then return wearing new, more covering clothing.
It was not a sight she expected to see.
"Ah, you're the local teacher, I assume?" A voice called out over the din of people celebrating their new freedom.
Marta blinked and spun to face the speaker.
The man was young but walked with confidence and an easy smile. His eyes were bright and cheerful. Beside him marched a machine like the ones at the gate, but gold-plated.
"I hope my request wasn't troublesome." The man, apparently the Imperious Leader, continued. "But hopefully, this will make up for any interruptions."
He was dressed in simple clothes, lacking the opulence of most pirate lords she had seen at a distance. His dark blonde hair was swept back. The look should have made him look youthful, but instead, he seemed closer to Marta's age, without the strain of the many years.
"Come, let me show you why I requested your presence." He started to turn and lead her to a side room, then paused. He turned back to her and offered his hand "Ah, my apologies. My name is James."
"Marta." She relaxed slightly as she shook it. He was no pirate lord, that much was certain. Of course, an ambitious would-be interstellar ruler would be a double-edged sword. She remembered talk in the city about how the Successor States threw away millions to achieve the House Lord's ambitions.
"Now," James resumed as he led her down a hallway, passing more machines carrying equipment in and treasures and other pirate goods out, as the gold-plated one followed him. "As I understand it, the education system, such as it is, is composed of yourself, a few parents acting as volunteers, and some assistants, yes?"
"In this city, yes," Marta answered truthfully. "I believe Fire Forge in the south has a few more teachers, but it also relies more heavily on the industry the Pirates brought to the world to produce armour and equipment. Most of the education is minimal, and done in apprenticeships."
James nodded, a look of sympathy on his face.
"Knowledge is precious, but not something that gains in value if hoarded." He said, cryptically. "To that end, what do you need to expand your capabilities?"
Marta blinked.
It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realise what he was asking. What he was saying.
They came to a stop in front of a room, tucked away. Light filtered in from the raised courtyard across from it, between a series of pillars. Inside, past the open doors, were books. Hundreds of them, stacked on each other, tucked away on shelves, even full shelves against a back wall.
"Fortunately, a former pirate lord, it would seem, was a bookworm." James smiled. "I'll set about making copies. Unfortunately, most of these are fiction, but there are a few textbooks. Modern stuff, from the Lyran Commonwealth mostly, so hardly Star League quality, but… I also have some digital textbooks I will print out."
Marta just gaped at the treasure trove of knowledge. There were hundreds of books.
"I… I don't know what to say…" She strangled out, struggling to keep her jaw from flailing. "It's…"
"Not enough to bring you completely up to Successor State level, that will take generations, but my machines and forces should be able to, in the short term, make up the difference." James shrugged an expression of regret on his face. "But my intentions are not completely altruistic. There are a couple of areas I am going to push, mostly military, medical, and pharmaceutical, in the short term."
Marta nodded. There was always a price, but at least he was being honest about it.
"I… understand. May I request that medical training take the highest priority? It would go a long way to help the planet." She hesitated, before choosing to risk his generosity. "Also, several of my former students were… encouraged to work for the pirates, in support roles. Mostly technicians and a few mechanics."
James smiled at her.
"I'll see to it that you are given a list of faces. I can't guarantee they will be pardoned, but some are likely guilty of nothing more than being forced into a bad situation, especially if they are only technicians."
"Thank you." Marta sighed in relief.
"So, bossman," James blinked as one of the former prisoners of the pirates waved him down after he had set up a room for Marta to use to sort through the books. In time, it would be a temporary office of the Ministry of Education.
The woman was at most a year older than him, with thick black hair, done tightly in a bun, that contrasted with her pale skin. A pair of hot pink cybernetic eyes studied him. A mercenary that had been taken prisoner in a recent raid, and a native to Canopus.
She leaned back on her stool, batter her eyes and angled her chest to attract attention to it.
"Mind if I ask some questions?" She said, gesturing to the seat next to her.
Perhaps the posture and expression she wore might have been alluring. If so, it was ruined by the fact that she had crumbs from a piece of bread and gravy from the meal on her plate still on her face.
"I don't mind, but you might want to wipe your face." James smiled as he sat down.
The woman blushed and cursed under her breath, using a napkin to clean her face. Another former prisoner, a dancer taken from some periphery world according to the pirate's logs, snickered at her neighbour's expense, as she devoured the food on her plate. The man across the table from her, a local labourer forced into slavery, rolled his eyes, as he wolfed down his meal.
"So, what's on your mind?" James asked after she finished wiping her face off.
"A couple of things, mostly I'm trying to figure out where to go from here." She replied. "I won't insult you by asking where you found the lostech robots, but… you got room for another Mechwarrior?"
"Potentially," James replied, considering it. "I'll set up a sim, and let you go against some of my own. Do you have any officer experience?"
"Yeah. Used to run a lance… didn't end well. Ended up in debt and forced into the Periphery." She admitted, wincing. "Half my people joined the pirates, most of the rest died. I… I'm good in a 'Mech. I'm no gunslinger, but I can hold my own. Just don't trust me with finances."
James nodded.
"What was the main issue you faced?"
"Ah… honestly, we kept having parts disappear, plus some employers snubbed us on pay. Damages started to pile up…" She shrugged. "Anyway, the other question is… what sort of lostech did you dig up?"
"Well don't go asking him that." A man at a nearby table interrupted. "Beggin' your pardon sir. But lady, seriously, why would you go bugging him about that?"
"'Cause, my eyes are dying." She stated bluntly, before turning back to James. "These pretty orbs are, as you probably guessed, fake. And I'm rather far away from being able to get a replacement from anywhere in the Magistracy."
"I have information on making something similar, and I might be able to get something fabricated," James explained, calmly, and careful to keep any expression that might be taken as insulted from his face. "How long do yours have?"
"I… don't know. Could be months, could be minutes." She shrugged, flashing a sad smile. "When the pirates stormed the dropship… they hit me pretty hard in the head. I lived, but it broke something in my eyes. Diagnostics aren't functioning right, got no colour in one eye, and the other gives me a migraine if I leave it on too long."
James leaned back and thought it over.
"Alright, ask one of the C-99s to lead you to me once you are done eating. I'll see what I can do." James said. "Now, any other questions?"
"Great!" The woman cheered, before pausing. "Uh, actually, yeah, did you already eat?"
"I did." James lied. Law 4: Always say less than necessary. Sticking around too much risked talking too much and he needed to maintain some distance from them, not to mention, there was the risk of one of them blabbing to ComStar.
The less information they had, the better. As it was, unverified rumours of robots used in combat would be discarded as periphery nonsense, if it was limited to just a handful of people. It would be taken seriously once more word reached the Inner Sphere, but for now, James had time, something he intended to fully use.
Those that joined him, well, that was another story.
Later that night, James collapsed, exhausted, into a chair. The room had been converted into a small lab. The Canopian woman, named Lara Watkins, had gotten her eyes adjusted here, before James had it prepared for other work. Her eyes had only needed a few wires replaced and resoldered.
James had originally intended to tinker, to try and develop a better commander for the Cyberic forces. Something akin to a Cylon IL model, a senior officer and advisor. Unfortunately, he lacked the time.
The city needed work done, which he needed to order done. The population had wounded, who needed medicine, which he needed to authorise to be distributed. IndustrialMechs needed to be converted to be used in industrial acts. Factories needed to be sited and established. Schools needed to be built and staffed, with a government built to support them. Plans needed to be made to fully secure the planet. He had met with and talked with many of the other people that had been prisoners or slaves of the pirates. They wanted places to be, or a ride home.
In the end, James had set a tentative goal of a trip to the Inner Sphere in about a year's time, once he had secured the surrounding systems, and established some sort of Command-and-Control network. As it was, if he was unavailable, his forces would be paralysed, unable to take offensive action.
And while these things weighed on James, they were not the heaviest to bear. In fact, they were among the easiest thanks to his strangely, enhanced mental faculties. And that strange fact was the source of his greatest stress. A great, glaring unknown in his mind.
He had awoken suddenly aboard the bridge of the Invader DropShip he had eventually named Charlemagne. His mind racing at speeds that it informed him were unusual for a human and filled with knowledge and sciences he had never realised or considered. The knowledge of robotics he had spoken of to Lara was merely the tip of the iceberg.
When he had spoken to others, he knew what emotion they were experiencing, based on subtle expressions. He knew how to school his face and body to express the emotion he desired to display, and what emotion would provoke the desired response.
That wasn't even mentioning his knowledge of biology, or cybernetics. Kearny-Fuchida physics. BattleMechs. Politics, psychology, biology, and economics. He had, at all times, a book in his mind informing him of everything he needed to know, to a point.
All the technology he had access to, he knew. Anything beyond that was not in his mind. Lithium-Fusion Batteries, Hyper-Pulse Generators, and other post-3060 or Star League tech not used or known in the California Nebula books were out of his immediate reach.
The application of that knowledge was still up to him. He needed to judge when to use it, and when not to, as well as when to simply keep his mouth shut. It was technical knowledge, not experience, albeit to an impressive degree.
Yet, as the price for that knowledge, he knew he was missing around three months of his life. Three months, completely blank. Longer than it would take to get from where he awoke, to the California Nebula, though that didn't completely rule some possibilities out when considering magic.
Part of him feared that he was the plaything of some cosmic horror beyond human understanding.
Gently, he pulled the blade at his side from its sheath. Several of the C-101s and C-102s carried them, including all the commanders.
Yet, his had been modified, beyond the gold plate and decoration.
They were Mithrelite Deflector vibroswords, using similar technology that generated defensive plasma screens around DropShips and WarShips. A crackling energy field would be generated around the blade, letting it cut most materials. Less efficient than the Plasma Vibroblades he also had access to, but the size of their field could be used as mobile cover, like a small shield.
But his had one slight variation.
Holding it in his hand, he thumbed the activator.
The blade sprang to life. The broad field crackled around the twin-pronged blades of the sword, generating an orange glow that flickered like flames.
James stared at the burning blade in his hands, before sighing in defeat. He would not get answered, but the blade, found in his person when he first awoke, did hint towards one possibility.
As he stood and extinguished the blade, returning it to its sheath, he hummed the first few lines of a song, walking towards the room he had taken as his sleeping quarters.
"From the ashes we will rise, we take to the stars, a new beginning for mankind, under his banner we unite…"
charclone
Well-known member
More, BT with some 40k dressings, using stuff from the Nebula California books.
Far from exact, and way safer than 40k. But is ultimately just surface level similarities, except where there are some powers/abilities/tech that are similar, from the Nebula California.
Battletech SI Indulgence snippet 7
charclone
Well-known member
Okay, if I write more snippets for this, I'll just make them a chapter, as their own story.
New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
16 January, 3012
James pondered his current situation as he waited for his guests in what had become a small throne room.
He had met with many individuals of note from New Cartagena, with the express purpose of establishing a rapport. He wanted to remain distant enough not to be too well known by them, while not appearing too distant either. Unfortunately, most of them had been little more than crime lords and gang leaders, ill-suited to ruling in his stead, or even running a system of laws. He was not without option, as there had been a few former pirate slaves and prisoners – including a group of lawyers, the pirates had apparently taken them as a joke – who could fulfil the immediate needs, as well as start training replacements and successors, but there would be limits to how fast his empire could grow.
James had already chosen that path, before the assault on the system. He didn't have any other option, short of doing nothing and squandering what he had, and that would lead to wallowing in misery and loneliness. Not a situation James would bare.
Given his technology to any other was risky. The Lyran Commonwealth was rife with corruption, and while Katrina Steiner would burn most of it out, there was no guarantee she would be able to keep the technology from being sold or leaked to others, such as ComStar. That was without mentioning the current Archon was Alessandro, who was veering towards being a brutal dictator if Katrina didn't depose him. The Federated Suns faced a similar problem, as while Hanse Davion was incredibly intelligent and capable, he was pressed on all sides. The Draconis Combine aping Imperial Japan in Space above, the Capellan Confederation taking cues from Imperial China and communist dictatorships, with a dash of brutal caste systems, a police state, and insane leadership below. The tensions with the Taurians to the side necessitated further garrisons. Yet, Hanse suffered from internal foes as well. Traitors supporting operations by the Capellans, even going so far as to try and replace him with a double.
The Free Worlds League was too chaotic. The Combine and Confederation were brutal dictatorships that would try to drown their foes in automated weapons, and then enslave the populations.
And that was without considering the potential successors of those states. In canon, Victor Steiner-Davion was too much a soldier to rule, his sister too crazy – or replaced by a double – to trust not to become a dictator like the Combine or Confederation.
And then there was ComStar.
ComStar, the remnants of the Star Leagues Bureau of Communication. ComStar, the religious institution born from a man's desperation to save humanity from itself. ComStar, the primary player that would see humanity dragged back down to the stone age so that it could be the 'guiding light of Blake' that would lead humanity into the future, and to that end had killed hundreds, if not millions, to keep technology on a continuous backslide from the height of the Star League.
In theory, the remnants of the Star League Defence Force were a possibility, but they were crazy. The 'Clans of Kerensky' had devolved into a caste system, even as they advanced their technology. They were a warrior people, that in all likelihood, may try to invade the Inner Sphere. James was not going to arm them, even if they weren't likely to waste the technology fighting each other.
No, it was better in James' mind to suffer as a ruler, than risk the technology being misused by other hands.
Thus, James' thought came back to his problem. He needed more skilled people.
His Cyberics, AutoMechs, and other AI, had issues. They tended to be overly literal and look for the most direct solution, with respect to caveats in their orders. Furthermore, he needed more ground forces. Most of his losses were in the city, due to ambushes by enemy forces.
He lacked decent ground vehicles that were not AutoMechs. He lacked designs for new Combat Vehicles.
"Hopefully the 'Proconsuls' are useful," James muttered in thought.
Built on modified C-800 'Marine' frames, they housed much heavier AI processors, and each of the three built had a specific goal in mind. They had also been named after the Roman Parcae, as a tongue-in-cheek reference.
A holoplinth at his side flickered to life.
The glowing purple form of another AI, shaped like the mythological Harpy, bowed its feathered head.
"They have arrived, sir," Ancillary reported. "Shall I have them shown in?"
"Thank you, Ancillary," James replied, his eyes locked on the door. "Please, show them in."
The AI vanished with another bow.
Moments ticked by.
Finally, the last guessed James had to meet arrived. PC-101 'Praetorian' units flanked the door and throne, built off the same chassis as the PC-100 'Proconsul', exchanging processors for military equipment.
As the guests were led through, the Praetorians stood at attention, raising their deflector vibroswords in salute. Internally, James winced, regretting that he had forgotten to tell them not to do that for these guests. They didn't need to be impressed, the gold plate and purple cloth on the freshly made robots would do that alone. Still, what's done was done.
Marilla refused to flinch or state, as the other two did.
Her mind was a storm of confusion and questions. The building they had been led to matched a place out of myth, a palace of three pyramids, filled with wonders and wealth. A place of plenty.
Yet, the former denizens she had been told were the Enslavers, pirates as the cold people called them, not gods, like in the myths and stories.
Dozens of questions crowded her brain. At the forefront, was Why did this place look like the fabled palace of the gods!?
Seated on a throne, was the 'Imperious Leader'. The man looked little like a god.
Oh, he looked pleasant enough, if extremely pale compared to her own dark skin. His clothes were extremely fine, parts seemed to shimmer in the air. The hair of dark gold and eyes of blue were also unheard of to Marilla, outside of the Enslavers and those exiled by them.
His guards bore swords of shimmering energy and were armoured in exotic cloth and gold, though she doubted the soft metal would be as easy to break if struck, like if it had been worked by one of her people.
Their sliding red eye was rather unnerving though.
The trio were led by a gold-covered soldier to the foot of the throne. To their surprise, the Imperious Leader rose.
Marilla cursed when one of the others threw herself to the floor and began praying. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of horror in his eyes at the sight, before it vanished, lasting only for a heartbeat.
The other woman with her seemed ready to faint.
Marilla jutted her chin and stood straight. She wasn't going to bow like a coward, even if he was a god.
A strange small transparent purple woman, with wings for arms and raptor legs, flickered to life next to the throne.
"Hello. I am Ancillary, and I will be translating for the Imperious Leader, as he does not speak your language." She said with an accented voice.
"I greet and welcome you." It was strange, to Marilla, to hear the strange voice of the Imperious Leader, then to hear his words translated by another. "What is she doing?"
"Praying," Marilla answered. "We… this place… it matches our legends of the home of the gods."
The Imperious Leader nodded. He kneeled and gently led the praying woman to stand before continuing.
"The pirates," Pirates went untranslated, Marilla noted, rather than using the word Enslaver. "Occupied this place while they ruled the planet. As for what it was before the pirates came… I do not know. It may have been constructed by the pirates, in mockery of your religion."
Marilla's face twisted into a scowl.
"In our legends, the gods came to use in our time of need, freeing us from a terrible sickness, and helping us multiply," The shaking other explained. "Some were taken by the gods and spoke of this place, where they were healed. Other legends say that the gods carried us to our world when we fled our diseased home."
The Imperious Leader nodded.
"I see… the pirate records make no mention of a plague, but some local records, that predate the pirates do mention assisting another colony. I assumed it was on the planet… but if both worlds were colonised it might explain the name of the system, with New Amazon being named and settled first." He muttered. He made a panicked look as Ancillary translated, before glaring and saying something to her. "My apologies… I…"
Marilla snorted.
"You spoke the truth as you know it?" She demanded.
The Imperious Leader blinked, then nodded.
"Yes." Ancillary translated his simple response.
"I never saw any proof of the gods anyway. So, the 'gods' were just another tribe who healed our ancestors, and we started worshipping them." She snorted. "The question is now what will you do with us?"
The Imperious Leader frowned, even as one of the others muttered something about heresy, and the other looked uncertain.
"You do not wish to go home?"
"My home was destroyed by the Enslavers, and if not them, by the other tribes when they saw our weakness. Only the strong survive." Marilla replied. "My tribe is gone, and I was taken by the victors. I was the property of the victors and you defeated them. That is the way of the world."
The Imperious Leader's face darkened for a moment. A look of disgust flickered across his eyes.
"And… what about the two of you?" He asked the others as he returned to the throne, his tone guarded. "What is your response?"
"The Enslavers took… everything, killing those they didn't take." One said.
"I… I…" The other, who had kneeled and prayed, stuttered.
"Why do you call them 'Enslavers'?" He asked.
"Because that is what they do," Marilla replied cooly. "What else would one call them?"
"Raiders, pirates…" The Imperious Leader listed off. "Yet… you just implied that your tribe accepts slavery when the strong defeat the weak."
"That is true," Marilla responded, confused. "It is the way things work."
"Yet, slavery was dead for centuries. Many, many long centuries." The Imperious Leader gripped the arms of the throne. "Tell me, why shouldn't I call your people Enslavers then, if they practice slavery?"
Marilla bared her teeth and tensed. The thump behind her, as one of the guards took a step, kept her from making any brash decisions.
The Imperious Leader took a deep breath, leaning back into the throne.
"I am going to continue to fight the pirates. My empire will expand, across dozens if not hundreds of worlds in time." He stated with an air of finality. "I offer you a place in it, so long as you do not break its rules, which you will be taught. You need not accept, there are other options available to you, which we can discuss, but I will not permit slavery in my domain. Now, I ask you again, what do you want to do? What do you desire?"
"You intend to kill more Enslavers?" Marilla met his gaze defiantly.
"I do, within reason. Most of the ones that had been captured have already been executed, after a trial. Some are yet to be tried."
"Then I will learn and fight for your tribe." She answered. "I cannot undo what has been done, but I can destroy those that did it."
"I was not a warrior; I was a priest." The shaky one answered. "I know how to heal, to mend bones… but I cannot fight."
"You could learn if you wished." The Imperious Leader said. "But I will not force you to."
He looked at the last of them.
"And what do you want?"
"I…" She continued to stutter. "My tribe had safe places. It would have survived. I… want to go back."
"Very well. I will have a ship ready. There was a pair of pirate ships that escaped to the world they called New Amazon, your homeworld. I am already planning to deal with the pirates there, so it is no trouble to provide you transportation there."
"The other tribes will attack you," Marilla said. "It is the way of the planet. Those who can fight, who can kill the other, will survive."
"Are you suggesting I conquer the planet?" The Imperious Leader raised an eyebrow.
"Yes." She replied. "You will need the tribes' strengths."
"I doubt that. I very much doubt that." He sighed. "But, regardless, what can you tell me of the people?"
Hours later, James groaned.
He was going to need to conquer the planet.
Not because the pirates were a threat, nor because the locals were a threat, but because they would not stop attacking. They would not respect his capabilities unless he crushed them. It was their culture.
He cursed whatever lunatic had chosen to colonise the world and start the culture. It was a caste system, partially divided by gender. Women were warriors and mothers, who trained when not fighting or with a child. The men hunted, or took to trades and fields, with a third cast of priests and spiritual leaders comprised of both genders, though it could vary from tribe to tribe. Marilla's tribe was more egalitarian in that respect, permitting men to 'hunt' enemy warriors and to take political positions, though, for some reason, they were denied the positions of command or on the frontline, relegated to skirmishers.
Other tribes were less egalitarian, being very restrictive in social mobility and roles.
On its own, he would have been content to simply avoid the planet after dealing with the pirates.
Unfortunately, the pirates had found several large veins of Germanium, desperately needed for jump core production, on the planet. They had hoped to dig it up eventually, once they had enough manpower to take the continent it was one.
Not industrial manpower, no, but military. The first attempt had been overwhelmed by the locals, in human wave tactics. It was… absurd, especially since the site was of no religious value.
Dozens of theories ran through James' mind, but Marilla had been adamant that it was because the tribes constantly raided and warred with each other, and seeing a new challenger meant that the 'new tribe' was likely weak. Their overrunning the pirate mining operation certainly had only added to that idea, even if it had been over a century in the past. It had probably grown in telling with age.
James hoped that instead, he could luck out, and find Germanium somewhere else in the system. Conquering a primitive civilisation for the natural resources underneath, and breaking their culture, was not something he considered 'moral', even if they were a violent and slaver culture, that would enslave captured or defeated foes, in a manner reminiscent of ancient Greece.
"Needs must when the devil drives." He groaned. The pirates had surveyed the nearby stars, also looking for germanium, and while it was possible that they had missed a vein, being pirates and not professional surveyors, James wasn't going to hold out any hope.
New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
16 January, 3012
James pondered his current situation as he waited for his guests in what had become a small throne room.
He had met with many individuals of note from New Cartagena, with the express purpose of establishing a rapport. He wanted to remain distant enough not to be too well known by them, while not appearing too distant either. Unfortunately, most of them had been little more than crime lords and gang leaders, ill-suited to ruling in his stead, or even running a system of laws. He was not without option, as there had been a few former pirate slaves and prisoners – including a group of lawyers, the pirates had apparently taken them as a joke – who could fulfil the immediate needs, as well as start training replacements and successors, but there would be limits to how fast his empire could grow.
James had already chosen that path, before the assault on the system. He didn't have any other option, short of doing nothing and squandering what he had, and that would lead to wallowing in misery and loneliness. Not a situation James would bare.
Given his technology to any other was risky. The Lyran Commonwealth was rife with corruption, and while Katrina Steiner would burn most of it out, there was no guarantee she would be able to keep the technology from being sold or leaked to others, such as ComStar. That was without mentioning the current Archon was Alessandro, who was veering towards being a brutal dictator if Katrina didn't depose him. The Federated Suns faced a similar problem, as while Hanse Davion was incredibly intelligent and capable, he was pressed on all sides. The Draconis Combine aping Imperial Japan in Space above, the Capellan Confederation taking cues from Imperial China and communist dictatorships, with a dash of brutal caste systems, a police state, and insane leadership below. The tensions with the Taurians to the side necessitated further garrisons. Yet, Hanse suffered from internal foes as well. Traitors supporting operations by the Capellans, even going so far as to try and replace him with a double.
The Free Worlds League was too chaotic. The Combine and Confederation were brutal dictatorships that would try to drown their foes in automated weapons, and then enslave the populations.
And that was without considering the potential successors of those states. In canon, Victor Steiner-Davion was too much a soldier to rule, his sister too crazy – or replaced by a double – to trust not to become a dictator like the Combine or Confederation.
And then there was ComStar.
ComStar, the remnants of the Star Leagues Bureau of Communication. ComStar, the religious institution born from a man's desperation to save humanity from itself. ComStar, the primary player that would see humanity dragged back down to the stone age so that it could be the 'guiding light of Blake' that would lead humanity into the future, and to that end had killed hundreds, if not millions, to keep technology on a continuous backslide from the height of the Star League.
In theory, the remnants of the Star League Defence Force were a possibility, but they were crazy. The 'Clans of Kerensky' had devolved into a caste system, even as they advanced their technology. They were a warrior people, that in all likelihood, may try to invade the Inner Sphere. James was not going to arm them, even if they weren't likely to waste the technology fighting each other.
No, it was better in James' mind to suffer as a ruler, than risk the technology being misused by other hands.
Thus, James' thought came back to his problem. He needed more skilled people.
His Cyberics, AutoMechs, and other AI, had issues. They tended to be overly literal and look for the most direct solution, with respect to caveats in their orders. Furthermore, he needed more ground forces. Most of his losses were in the city, due to ambushes by enemy forces.
He lacked decent ground vehicles that were not AutoMechs. He lacked designs for new Combat Vehicles.
"Hopefully the 'Proconsuls' are useful," James muttered in thought.
Built on modified C-800 'Marine' frames, they housed much heavier AI processors, and each of the three built had a specific goal in mind. They had also been named after the Roman Parcae, as a tongue-in-cheek reference.
A holoplinth at his side flickered to life.
The glowing purple form of another AI, shaped like the mythological Harpy, bowed its feathered head.
"They have arrived, sir," Ancillary reported. "Shall I have them shown in?"
"Thank you, Ancillary," James replied, his eyes locked on the door. "Please, show them in."
The AI vanished with another bow.
Moments ticked by.
Finally, the last guessed James had to meet arrived. PC-101 'Praetorian' units flanked the door and throne, built off the same chassis as the PC-100 'Proconsul', exchanging processors for military equipment.
As the guests were led through, the Praetorians stood at attention, raising their deflector vibroswords in salute. Internally, James winced, regretting that he had forgotten to tell them not to do that for these guests. They didn't need to be impressed, the gold plate and purple cloth on the freshly made robots would do that alone. Still, what's done was done.
Marilla refused to flinch or state, as the other two did.
Her mind was a storm of confusion and questions. The building they had been led to matched a place out of myth, a palace of three pyramids, filled with wonders and wealth. A place of plenty.
Yet, the former denizens she had been told were the Enslavers, pirates as the cold people called them, not gods, like in the myths and stories.
Dozens of questions crowded her brain. At the forefront, was Why did this place look like the fabled palace of the gods!?
Seated on a throne, was the 'Imperious Leader'. The man looked little like a god.
Oh, he looked pleasant enough, if extremely pale compared to her own dark skin. His clothes were extremely fine, parts seemed to shimmer in the air. The hair of dark gold and eyes of blue were also unheard of to Marilla, outside of the Enslavers and those exiled by them.
His guards bore swords of shimmering energy and were armoured in exotic cloth and gold, though she doubted the soft metal would be as easy to break if struck, like if it had been worked by one of her people.
Their sliding red eye was rather unnerving though.
The trio were led by a gold-covered soldier to the foot of the throne. To their surprise, the Imperious Leader rose.
Marilla cursed when one of the others threw herself to the floor and began praying. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of horror in his eyes at the sight, before it vanished, lasting only for a heartbeat.
The other woman with her seemed ready to faint.
Marilla jutted her chin and stood straight. She wasn't going to bow like a coward, even if he was a god.
A strange small transparent purple woman, with wings for arms and raptor legs, flickered to life next to the throne.
"Hello. I am Ancillary, and I will be translating for the Imperious Leader, as he does not speak your language." She said with an accented voice.
"I greet and welcome you." It was strange, to Marilla, to hear the strange voice of the Imperious Leader, then to hear his words translated by another. "What is she doing?"
"Praying," Marilla answered. "We… this place… it matches our legends of the home of the gods."
The Imperious Leader nodded. He kneeled and gently led the praying woman to stand before continuing.
"The pirates," Pirates went untranslated, Marilla noted, rather than using the word Enslaver. "Occupied this place while they ruled the planet. As for what it was before the pirates came… I do not know. It may have been constructed by the pirates, in mockery of your religion."
Marilla's face twisted into a scowl.
"In our legends, the gods came to use in our time of need, freeing us from a terrible sickness, and helping us multiply," The shaking other explained. "Some were taken by the gods and spoke of this place, where they were healed. Other legends say that the gods carried us to our world when we fled our diseased home."
The Imperious Leader nodded.
"I see… the pirate records make no mention of a plague, but some local records, that predate the pirates do mention assisting another colony. I assumed it was on the planet… but if both worlds were colonised it might explain the name of the system, with New Amazon being named and settled first." He muttered. He made a panicked look as Ancillary translated, before glaring and saying something to her. "My apologies… I…"
Marilla snorted.
"You spoke the truth as you know it?" She demanded.
The Imperious Leader blinked, then nodded.
"Yes." Ancillary translated his simple response.
"I never saw any proof of the gods anyway. So, the 'gods' were just another tribe who healed our ancestors, and we started worshipping them." She snorted. "The question is now what will you do with us?"
The Imperious Leader frowned, even as one of the others muttered something about heresy, and the other looked uncertain.
"You do not wish to go home?"
"My home was destroyed by the Enslavers, and if not them, by the other tribes when they saw our weakness. Only the strong survive." Marilla replied. "My tribe is gone, and I was taken by the victors. I was the property of the victors and you defeated them. That is the way of the world."
The Imperious Leader's face darkened for a moment. A look of disgust flickered across his eyes.
"And… what about the two of you?" He asked the others as he returned to the throne, his tone guarded. "What is your response?"
"The Enslavers took… everything, killing those they didn't take." One said.
"I… I…" The other, who had kneeled and prayed, stuttered.
"Why do you call them 'Enslavers'?" He asked.
"Because that is what they do," Marilla replied cooly. "What else would one call them?"
"Raiders, pirates…" The Imperious Leader listed off. "Yet… you just implied that your tribe accepts slavery when the strong defeat the weak."
"That is true," Marilla responded, confused. "It is the way things work."
"Yet, slavery was dead for centuries. Many, many long centuries." The Imperious Leader gripped the arms of the throne. "Tell me, why shouldn't I call your people Enslavers then, if they practice slavery?"
Marilla bared her teeth and tensed. The thump behind her, as one of the guards took a step, kept her from making any brash decisions.
The Imperious Leader took a deep breath, leaning back into the throne.
"I am going to continue to fight the pirates. My empire will expand, across dozens if not hundreds of worlds in time." He stated with an air of finality. "I offer you a place in it, so long as you do not break its rules, which you will be taught. You need not accept, there are other options available to you, which we can discuss, but I will not permit slavery in my domain. Now, I ask you again, what do you want to do? What do you desire?"
"You intend to kill more Enslavers?" Marilla met his gaze defiantly.
"I do, within reason. Most of the ones that had been captured have already been executed, after a trial. Some are yet to be tried."
"Then I will learn and fight for your tribe." She answered. "I cannot undo what has been done, but I can destroy those that did it."
"I was not a warrior; I was a priest." The shaky one answered. "I know how to heal, to mend bones… but I cannot fight."
"You could learn if you wished." The Imperious Leader said. "But I will not force you to."
He looked at the last of them.
"And what do you want?"
"I…" She continued to stutter. "My tribe had safe places. It would have survived. I… want to go back."
"Very well. I will have a ship ready. There was a pair of pirate ships that escaped to the world they called New Amazon, your homeworld. I am already planning to deal with the pirates there, so it is no trouble to provide you transportation there."
"The other tribes will attack you," Marilla said. "It is the way of the planet. Those who can fight, who can kill the other, will survive."
"Are you suggesting I conquer the planet?" The Imperious Leader raised an eyebrow.
"Yes." She replied. "You will need the tribes' strengths."
"I doubt that. I very much doubt that." He sighed. "But, regardless, what can you tell me of the people?"
Hours later, James groaned.
He was going to need to conquer the planet.
Not because the pirates were a threat, nor because the locals were a threat, but because they would not stop attacking. They would not respect his capabilities unless he crushed them. It was their culture.
He cursed whatever lunatic had chosen to colonise the world and start the culture. It was a caste system, partially divided by gender. Women were warriors and mothers, who trained when not fighting or with a child. The men hunted, or took to trades and fields, with a third cast of priests and spiritual leaders comprised of both genders, though it could vary from tribe to tribe. Marilla's tribe was more egalitarian in that respect, permitting men to 'hunt' enemy warriors and to take political positions, though, for some reason, they were denied the positions of command or on the frontline, relegated to skirmishers.
Other tribes were less egalitarian, being very restrictive in social mobility and roles.
On its own, he would have been content to simply avoid the planet after dealing with the pirates.
Unfortunately, the pirates had found several large veins of Germanium, desperately needed for jump core production, on the planet. They had hoped to dig it up eventually, once they had enough manpower to take the continent it was one.
Not industrial manpower, no, but military. The first attempt had been overwhelmed by the locals, in human wave tactics. It was… absurd, especially since the site was of no religious value.
Dozens of theories ran through James' mind, but Marilla had been adamant that it was because the tribes constantly raided and warred with each other, and seeing a new challenger meant that the 'new tribe' was likely weak. Their overrunning the pirate mining operation certainly had only added to that idea, even if it had been over a century in the past. It had probably grown in telling with age.
James hoped that instead, he could luck out, and find Germanium somewhere else in the system. Conquering a primitive civilisation for the natural resources underneath, and breaking their culture, was not something he considered 'moral', even if they were a violent and slaver culture, that would enslave captured or defeated foes, in a manner reminiscent of ancient Greece.
"Needs must when the devil drives." He groaned. The pirates had surveyed the nearby stars, also looking for germanium, and while it was possible that they had missed a vein, being pirates and not professional surveyors, James wasn't going to hold out any hope.
Living Ships Xianxia
charclone
Well-known member
So, this came about from an idea Suzume on the BQ discord had, that caught my interest.
Where, instead of people getting more powerful, it was ships, ships that were alive, like Ryo-Ohki or the Jirian trees from Tenchi, and could be grown and developed, with musical magic. With their permission, I wrote this little snippet of a convoy raid, based on what little of the idea had be developed.
The convoy, forced to slow boat it across a stretch of space impassable via FTL rather than go around, was caught unaware.
The dark shape of the privateer's vessel hurtled through space, the reactor beating like a heart in anticipation of the hunt flared, pouring energy into the weapons.
The privateer himself sat on the bridge, waiting as the living cruiser he had bonded to manoeuvred, feeling the animal-like anticipation through the ship's hull.
Then they struck, not with weapons, not at first. That would be crude and inefficient.
Instead, the privateer began to sing.
His voice, amplified by the strange powers of the living ship, rang out wordlessly across the void, singing of surprise and shock. Of sloth and confusion.
His ship, with animalistic glee, answered. Its voice, that of sensors and weapons, replied a moment later.
Piercing beams bit into the steel hulls of the mortal ships, their crews send into a blind panic.
The privateer sang of blindness and fear, of tiredness and dread.
The mortal vessels, both ship and man, were slow to reply.
Their answer to the duet was a dry, mechanical voice, singing crudely of protection and accuracy, with weapons adding their roaring tones.
The privateer then sang of evasion and glee, of dancing amidst glimmering stars and the emptiness of the void.
The living ship howled with its beams once more, dancing with its engines to the tune of the song, mocking the convoy's targeting systems with its defences, letting not a single attack land.
As one, the privateer and his ship danced in and out of the convoy's lines of fire, evading the mechanical attempts at defence. Slowly picking off the convoy one at a time like a pair of wolves nipping at a herd of sheep.
The privateer suddenly sang of pain and agony, of burning fires and the fury of a star.
The convoy shuddered as one, despite the blow from the living ship only striking one of the convoy, lighting its internals into a blaze.
He sang of swiftness, of the speed of light and the uncertainty of photons. He sang of the durability of planets, the adaptability of biospheres, of human joy and the mysteries of space.
The living ship smashed through one of the decoy transports, its shields blazing and its generators emitting a howl of glee at the impact.
The convoy commander, terrified out of his wits at facing a living ship and seeing that their foe knew which were decoys, chose to save his crews' lives.
At once, the mechanical voice, ineffectually singing still of protection and accuracy, silenced along with the convoy's guns, leaving the privateer's voice alone in the void, as his ship, like a trotting eager puppy, alongside the ship with the most valuable cargo.
Where, instead of people getting more powerful, it was ships, ships that were alive, like Ryo-Ohki or the Jirian trees from Tenchi, and could be grown and developed, with musical magic. With their permission, I wrote this little snippet of a convoy raid, based on what little of the idea had be developed.
The convoy, forced to slow boat it across a stretch of space impassable via FTL rather than go around, was caught unaware.
The dark shape of the privateer's vessel hurtled through space, the reactor beating like a heart in anticipation of the hunt flared, pouring energy into the weapons.
The privateer himself sat on the bridge, waiting as the living cruiser he had bonded to manoeuvred, feeling the animal-like anticipation through the ship's hull.
Then they struck, not with weapons, not at first. That would be crude and inefficient.
Instead, the privateer began to sing.
His voice, amplified by the strange powers of the living ship, rang out wordlessly across the void, singing of surprise and shock. Of sloth and confusion.
His ship, with animalistic glee, answered. Its voice, that of sensors and weapons, replied a moment later.
Piercing beams bit into the steel hulls of the mortal ships, their crews send into a blind panic.
The privateer sang of blindness and fear, of tiredness and dread.
The mortal vessels, both ship and man, were slow to reply.
Their answer to the duet was a dry, mechanical voice, singing crudely of protection and accuracy, with weapons adding their roaring tones.
The privateer then sang of evasion and glee, of dancing amidst glimmering stars and the emptiness of the void.
The living ship howled with its beams once more, dancing with its engines to the tune of the song, mocking the convoy's targeting systems with its defences, letting not a single attack land.
As one, the privateer and his ship danced in and out of the convoy's lines of fire, evading the mechanical attempts at defence. Slowly picking off the convoy one at a time like a pair of wolves nipping at a herd of sheep.
The privateer suddenly sang of pain and agony, of burning fires and the fury of a star.
The convoy shuddered as one, despite the blow from the living ship only striking one of the convoy, lighting its internals into a blaze.
He sang of swiftness, of the speed of light and the uncertainty of photons. He sang of the durability of planets, the adaptability of biospheres, of human joy and the mysteries of space.
The living ship smashed through one of the decoy transports, its shields blazing and its generators emitting a howl of glee at the impact.
The convoy commander, terrified out of his wits at facing a living ship and seeing that their foe knew which were decoys, chose to save his crews' lives.
At once, the mechanical voice, ineffectually singing still of protection and accuracy, silenced along with the convoy's guns, leaving the privateer's voice alone in the void, as his ship, like a trotting eager puppy, alongside the ship with the most valuable cargo.
Robot Magitech Factory snippet
charclone
Well-known member
A.N. Just something I cooked up, based on Factorysekai CYOA. Not using the rules exactly, of course, just as an inspiration. Not sure if I will do more.
The lead war machine stomped past the ruins of worker units. Its job was not to reclaim them for rebuilding, nor was it to replace them.
A full two dozen machines, all identical to each other, marched single file down the winding mine tunnel, barely tall enough to accommodate their forms, and far too short for any of the other units.
In its hands lay a laser rifle, held at the ready, as it marched, the sound of its feat echoing, and the dim red light of its singular eye, set into its dark spherical head, probed at the darkness of the tunnel ahead.
Their hunched forms paused, only for a moment, as the tunnel shifted, becoming more cylindrical, and not of the workers' creation.
Their armoured forms, clad in dark purple, stood stock still, almost as if afraid.
In sync, they resumed their march, into the new, alien, tunnels.
The sound of their metal feet striking stone changed, as they met the softer ground of the new tunnel.
Processing this, they froze. The lead unit snapped its rifle down and pulled the trigger.
The brilliant blue strobing flash lit up the tunnel before hordes erupted from the soft earth around them. Chitinous forms lunged forwards out of the ground, biting and tearing into the armoured forms. The lead unit went down as a massive insect landed atop it, ripping the robot's head clean off of its shoulders.
Blue laser fire skittered off chitinous hides as powerful mandibles scythes into metal.
The robots didn't go down easily. As they processed the fact that their weapons were useless, they turned to their manipulators and strength.
But the insects were not pushovers, and they swarmed over the machines in a vast ravenous horde. Within seconds, the last robot died, ripped apart by insects.
Almost as if infuriated by the lack of flesh to bring back to the hive, the insects chittered, then surged up through the mine, where they sensed movement, more prey.
Within the central keep of an immense castle, set into the cliff face of a mountain with its gatehouse perilously perched upon the mountain's peak and crumbling roofs and cracked ramparts, a man sat in a study, delicately teaching himself to write with a quill.
He glanced at the mine entrance, where a horde of insects was held at bay by his automatons, their ballistic weapons replacing their energy ones. Bullets cracked and shattered chitinous hides and tore limbs from sockets.
He had awoken, outside the castle, to find what he assumed was curiously disguised technology, acknowledging him as its master. Small stores of machines stood ready to build him an army, and a small workforce of curiously fantastical automatons slumbered in the cavernous warehouses, alongside a smaller military force, also of fantastical design.
He had found designs for others exploring the decaying structure, some with terrific capabilities, if true, others simply larger, tougher variants of ones that already existed.
Around the lonely mountain, he found his abode, lay a thick, deep forest. Eerie sounds and movements, even in the light of day, dissuaded him from any attempts to peer deeper and explore.
The man had no memory of how he had come to this place, no memory of why it named him master of the castle and its legions. He had no memory of the forest, nor the creatures he had caught glimpses of amidst the trees. Nor, worst of all, did he recognise the trio of moons, already visible in the fading light of his second evening.
The sudden sound of a machine gun, strangely more advanced than the castle, yet primitive compared to the strangely complex machines, made him flinch, spilling ink over his notes.
With a muttered curse, he did his best to clean it up, using sand and scrap cloth.
He understood little of the machines' inner workings, and he resented the fact that he would have to rely on them for survival without properly understanding them. They were strangely adaptable, yet infinitely limited.
It left him infuriated. He wanted to change things about them, but his lack of understanding was holding him back. There were many notes amidst the library and labs within the castle, yet they too were above his understanding. What little progress he had initially made was rooted solely on simple mathematics, clearly labelled materials, and seeing the automated assembly lines building new warriors from refined material.
But the power sources… baffled him. They provided both power and intelligence, yet they were not computer or mechanism. A simple crystal, grown at a frightening pace.
The workers also frightened him. Semi-organic blobs, capable of squeezing into cervices and either splitting them or exuding a cement that sealed the crack. They could 'eat' material, and either spit out a refined version or use it to grow a copy. They were a von Neumann swarm, a self-replicating swarm, their only real weakness was their necessity to recharge from the castle's power grid.
He sighed, standing, and walked over to the window, looking at the mine entrance, one of two. As he watched, he saw a large pot the robots had gotten from somewhere, filled with a familiar liquid, poured into the mine. A moment later, a torch was thrown in.
The ensuing fireball buffeted him with hot wind and the smell of charred insect flesh.
As he blinked his eyes clear, fighting the urge to gag, he saw the robots march in, firing their guns in bursts, many carrying bladed weapons.
He sighed again, hanging his head. A pit of fear formed in his gut.
The slight movement saved his life.
A lead bullet, fired from a crude black-powder rifle, hissed through the air where his head had been, missing by mere chance, and ruffled his hair.
He hissed, flinching backwards into the room, rubbing the spot, and wincing at the damaged skin he felt.
Shouting another curse, he stumbled deeper into the room.
Already, he heard the robots responding to the attack. Laser rifles fired at the source of the shot, the top of one of the taller trees. It was an impressive shot, easily over a kilometre.
The man felt the pit in his stomach grow deeper, as he realised there were now people that wanted to kill him, in addition to the standard risks of the wild, and the local monstrous wildlife.
2nd A.N. Oops, forgot to post this here yesterday.
The lead war machine stomped past the ruins of worker units. Its job was not to reclaim them for rebuilding, nor was it to replace them.
A full two dozen machines, all identical to each other, marched single file down the winding mine tunnel, barely tall enough to accommodate their forms, and far too short for any of the other units.
In its hands lay a laser rifle, held at the ready, as it marched, the sound of its feat echoing, and the dim red light of its singular eye, set into its dark spherical head, probed at the darkness of the tunnel ahead.
Their hunched forms paused, only for a moment, as the tunnel shifted, becoming more cylindrical, and not of the workers' creation.
Their armoured forms, clad in dark purple, stood stock still, almost as if afraid.
In sync, they resumed their march, into the new, alien, tunnels.
The sound of their metal feet striking stone changed, as they met the softer ground of the new tunnel.
Processing this, they froze. The lead unit snapped its rifle down and pulled the trigger.
The brilliant blue strobing flash lit up the tunnel before hordes erupted from the soft earth around them. Chitinous forms lunged forwards out of the ground, biting and tearing into the armoured forms. The lead unit went down as a massive insect landed atop it, ripping the robot's head clean off of its shoulders.
Blue laser fire skittered off chitinous hides as powerful mandibles scythes into metal.
The robots didn't go down easily. As they processed the fact that their weapons were useless, they turned to their manipulators and strength.
But the insects were not pushovers, and they swarmed over the machines in a vast ravenous horde. Within seconds, the last robot died, ripped apart by insects.
Almost as if infuriated by the lack of flesh to bring back to the hive, the insects chittered, then surged up through the mine, where they sensed movement, more prey.
Within the central keep of an immense castle, set into the cliff face of a mountain with its gatehouse perilously perched upon the mountain's peak and crumbling roofs and cracked ramparts, a man sat in a study, delicately teaching himself to write with a quill.
He glanced at the mine entrance, where a horde of insects was held at bay by his automatons, their ballistic weapons replacing their energy ones. Bullets cracked and shattered chitinous hides and tore limbs from sockets.
He had awoken, outside the castle, to find what he assumed was curiously disguised technology, acknowledging him as its master. Small stores of machines stood ready to build him an army, and a small workforce of curiously fantastical automatons slumbered in the cavernous warehouses, alongside a smaller military force, also of fantastical design.
He had found designs for others exploring the decaying structure, some with terrific capabilities, if true, others simply larger, tougher variants of ones that already existed.
Around the lonely mountain, he found his abode, lay a thick, deep forest. Eerie sounds and movements, even in the light of day, dissuaded him from any attempts to peer deeper and explore.
The man had no memory of how he had come to this place, no memory of why it named him master of the castle and its legions. He had no memory of the forest, nor the creatures he had caught glimpses of amidst the trees. Nor, worst of all, did he recognise the trio of moons, already visible in the fading light of his second evening.
The sudden sound of a machine gun, strangely more advanced than the castle, yet primitive compared to the strangely complex machines, made him flinch, spilling ink over his notes.
With a muttered curse, he did his best to clean it up, using sand and scrap cloth.
He understood little of the machines' inner workings, and he resented the fact that he would have to rely on them for survival without properly understanding them. They were strangely adaptable, yet infinitely limited.
It left him infuriated. He wanted to change things about them, but his lack of understanding was holding him back. There were many notes amidst the library and labs within the castle, yet they too were above his understanding. What little progress he had initially made was rooted solely on simple mathematics, clearly labelled materials, and seeing the automated assembly lines building new warriors from refined material.
But the power sources… baffled him. They provided both power and intelligence, yet they were not computer or mechanism. A simple crystal, grown at a frightening pace.
The workers also frightened him. Semi-organic blobs, capable of squeezing into cervices and either splitting them or exuding a cement that sealed the crack. They could 'eat' material, and either spit out a refined version or use it to grow a copy. They were a von Neumann swarm, a self-replicating swarm, their only real weakness was their necessity to recharge from the castle's power grid.
He sighed, standing, and walked over to the window, looking at the mine entrance, one of two. As he watched, he saw a large pot the robots had gotten from somewhere, filled with a familiar liquid, poured into the mine. A moment later, a torch was thrown in.
The ensuing fireball buffeted him with hot wind and the smell of charred insect flesh.
As he blinked his eyes clear, fighting the urge to gag, he saw the robots march in, firing their guns in bursts, many carrying bladed weapons.
He sighed again, hanging his head. A pit of fear formed in his gut.
The slight movement saved his life.
A lead bullet, fired from a crude black-powder rifle, hissed through the air where his head had been, missing by mere chance, and ruffled his hair.
He hissed, flinching backwards into the room, rubbing the spot, and wincing at the damaged skin he felt.
Shouting another curse, he stumbled deeper into the room.
Already, he heard the robots responding to the attack. Laser rifles fired at the source of the shot, the top of one of the taller trees. It was an impressive shot, easily over a kilometre.
The man felt the pit in his stomach grow deeper, as he realised there were now people that wanted to kill him, in addition to the standard risks of the wild, and the local monstrous wildlife.
2nd A.N. Oops, forgot to post this here yesterday.
charclone
Well-known member
Nope. Bandits and Destiny.