Attendance at Fortescue Military Academy M1 Y:2142
House Thoth, Squad Leader, Squad Zero
M1 Rank: 1/1275, Tier 3 M-Rank: Null
Term: 2, Round: (Holiday)
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“We so need to enter one of these, Daedo,” Barran repeated for the third time. “You build it, and I will pilot.”
Daedo shook his head. “Build your own. If I build a mech, I want to pilot.”
As the day wore on, the cadets had become restless; they would rather be competing than watching.
At first, they were enthralled with melee combat. They thought it was amazing. The mechs’ fighting styles were as varied as the mechs themselves. The most effective seemed to mimic mixed martial combat to a degree. There were three types of matches, where one mech was far superior in strength, speed, and/or fighting strategy. Another where at least one mech had a war of attrition strategy and the two combatants ended up trading blow for blow. And the last was where one mech broke down because of overheating, poor piloting, or it just wasn’t built very well.
After six hours of watching mechs beat each other to a standstill, they were itching to get to the expo.
“The best ones so far are Smack Ninja and Dude Where’s My Mech,” Picard said after the twenty-fifth bout.
“Hmm … I dunno,” Barran said, “Kick Start was awesome with his ball-like abdomen and spinning kicks – nothing else like it. And he won in like five seconds. So we really didn’t get to see all of his potential.”
“Kick Start was fine when he got into range, but he moved slowly,” Picard argued. “Smack Ninja would have toasted him.”
“Oh yeah?” Barran said loudly. “I’ll fight like Kick Start, and you fight like Smack Ninja, and we’ll see who wins!”
Picard scoffed. “Pfft! You’ll have to mimic him properly, or it doesn’t count.”
“Or you could just wait for the elimination rounds tonight and tomorrow,” Vannier suggested. “They’re both in the top half so they should meet …” she checked the brackets, “in the quarters.”
“Bah,” Barran said, “Smack Ninja will never make it that far!”
“If that happens, then you win.” Picard held out her hand for a shake.
“You’re on!” Barran shook vigorously.
The conversation got Daedo thinking. After seeing so many different structures and so many different ideas, he was struggling to figure out where to start for a mech design. Old Dawg was an old model – an old design compared to what they saw today.
“I have an idea,” Daedo announced.
“What?” Axel-Zero and Mace said at the same time.
Daedo pointed at Picard, then Barran. “We make them fight freeform and mocap all their movements. A hundred hours of fighting.”
“Sounds great,” Barran said. “Why?”
“The best fighters today and yesterday used martial combat moves,” Daedo said. “Why were martial movements the most effective?”
Martial movements were movements based on traditional martial arts which were mixed to enhance their effectiveness – whether it was Sanda, Wing Chun, or Aikido.
Some mechs mimicked animals, from a gorilla to a kangaroo. These were crushed by martial mechs. While animals had specific biology that made them powerful, mechs adhered to the same rules. There was no advantage in strength or speed. And only humans had spent hundreds of years perfecting martial arts.
“Because,” Picard said, “they’ve been developed over centuries, if not millennia.”
Daedo nodded. “There are reasons why we wouldn’t build a mech to mimic those movements in a traditional sense. But, there is no reason why we shouldn’t test it.”
“What are the reasons not to?” Mace asked.
“Most humans can only bend their elbow one way, or twist their torso to a maximum angle. A mech does not have such restrictions, so we shouldn’t limit our thinking to just those movements. But if we can build a mech to carry them out in a more efficient manner, it’s going to be much better than inventing all new movements. And the second reason is that this is just melee combat. Our mechs can use guns.”
“Then why bother with melee combat at all? Let’s just put missiles and massive railguns on the suckers,” Barran said.
Daedo shook his head. “What happens when you run out of missiles? Or the mech is overheating? Or in a situation where engaging in melee gives you a tactical advantage?”
“Surely we can carry enough missiles, especially when adding railguns or assault cannons to take down eight opponent mechs.”
“Barran, we won’t always be only facing seven or eight enemy mechs.”
Barran scratched his head, trying to think of a competition where they faced more opponents. Was it some sort of wave survival test? Or the inter-academy melee?
Picard punched him gently in the arm and whispered, “If we are in a real war, doofus.” She turned back to Daedo. “Anyway, I’m in. You’ll need me to ensure the moves are on point. Barran uses brute strength or speed to get out of trouble too often.”
It was exactly what Daedo was thinking. Picard would be his puppeteer, while Barran was there to push her to her limit.
Vannier stood, stretched, and asked, “Expo?”
She received a resounding ‘Yes!’ from all the cadets. They’d had enough of sitting and watching when they would rather be in the action themselves.
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The Munich Convention Centre (MCC) was hosting the mecha and military expo and was within walking distance of the tournament. They were all part of Munich’s hub of entertainment infrastructure.
The expo was so large it took up five trade halls. The twenty-metre-high ceilings easily housed a twelve-metre mech from Svarski, which took pride of place at the entrance. It shone like a mecha from an Alvion VR story. It was predominately white with patches of blue and red. Like most modern mechs, it had no imitation human head. The pilot’s cabin was in the top of the torso, which had the most armour and was the heart of the mech.
Below the pilot’s cabin would be the reactor. The pilot was basically sitting on top of a multi-megawatt cold fusion reactor. It was not unduly unsafe; no matter where you were, if the reactor blew you were toast. It was more likely for the lithium plasma to kill a pilot than a cold fusion reactor. Even Daedo’s exos were full of lithium plasma. It was the most efficient energy storage material available as well as being instrumental in power delivery.
“Now that is a sight,” Vannier announced while the squad gazed in awe at the Svarski Mech. Svarski was always vying with Huawei and DaVinci for top honours, not only in the Tier 1 academy league but also for the number one corporation and private mech military in the world.
“The big boys are here,” Barran said with admiration.
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The squad had gained free entry simply by showing their identification that indicated they were academy cadets.
“Perks of being rich; you don’t have to pay,” Picard said cynically.
Barran responded with a dramatic pose. “Don’t be like that – I can’t help it if I’m rich and handsome; I was born this way.” Unsurprisingly, he received a scoff and a thump from Picard, which he was too slow to dodge.
It was mid-afternoon on Saturday, and it was fortunate the expo was open until late. It would take them a day to see everything. And if they stopped for long periods at a particular stand, the time needed would quickly turn into days. The expo closed Sunday night at midnight.
One of the first standouts amongst the exhibits was the one for Marais Industry. The cadets didn’t recognise anyone. They were certain that Cillian, as CTO, would not be working at a trade show. As with most stands, it had one of their premier products on exhibit with display bots showing anything else one wanted to look at. When the squad approached, the main display changed to an exo carrier that had ten seats with the capability of carrying soldiers in exo gear or storing the exos in easy access racks along each side.
“Do they have our rental data?” Axel-Zero asked.
“They must, the bastards. This is a company that knows what it’s doing Daedo,” Barran proclaimed.
Daedo asked the screen, “How much?”
A message appeared: “Academy cadet discount, 3,300 bitcreds.”
“That’s cheap!” Barran exclaimed.
“We rent the hovervan that carries the bins and us for a bitcred a month,” Axel-Zero said sternly.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t go offroad, have VTOL jumpjets, and is capable of absorbing an autocannon blast,” Barran retorted.
“No thanks,” Daedo said, and when Barran looked upset, he added, “Not yet.”
“I bet I can get one free with Marais sponsorship,” Barran gestured at the vehicle on the screen.
“Depends on what that sponsorship costs us,” Vannier said.
“Can’t hurt to ask,” Daedo said, giving Barran a nod.
Barran smiled and nodded back. “Done, I’ll find out.”
The cadets made it to the end of the first aisle, and a different type of stand drew their attention.
“Euro Professional Mech League – wow, they have a stand,” Picard said.
The cadets approached the stand, and a now familiar bot, which was mostly a holodisplay, approached them, using public data it had on them and projecting a hologram made specifically for them. It was based on what the organisation knew about them, its product offerings, and some algorithm that predicted their needs.
Based on their expressions, the bot would change the material. If they smiled, it would continue. If they took a step back or frowned, it would change its advertising approach. Just to mess with the bots, Vannier liked to smile and step back, or talk about how she liked the product and then run to the next stand.
“You too can be the hero by sponsoring your favourite mech,” the bot intoned. “Purchase ad space or season tickets. All here for a low, low expo show price.” Knowing their ages and year level, the bot did not show any gambling messages.
“No thanks,” more than one of them responded, encouraging the bot to change tact.
“We want to compete,” Barran declared.
The bot began to play hard to get. “Only the elite in mech construction and piloting can compete. An average competitor invests seven thousand bitcreds and constructs the mech in-house. The top competitors invest up to ten times this amount.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” Barran said. “How much can we win?”
“Top-ten ranking mechs earn an average of fifty thousand bitcreds in prize money per year,” the bot replied, showing images of mech bays, bitcred signs, charts, and a celebrating mech mechanic.
“That’s not a lot considering the outlay and upkeep,” Axel-Zero noted.
“I think they make creds in other ways,” Barran said and nodded knowingly.
“Like what?” Axel-Zero asked.
Barran shrugged. “Sponsors, supporters, and most of all, gambling.”
The bot chimed in, “Young cadet is correct. Mech owners make revenue from sponsors and supporters above prize money earnings.” Again, the bot was silent on gambling.
“What is the prize money for the mech that wins the Munich tournament?” Daedo asked.
“Twenty-two thousand bitcreds,” the bot answered, showing an excerpt from the previous year’s final and winner.
“What can you put Old Dawg together for?” Barran asked.
“Old Dawg can’t win,” Daedo said. ”His structure is obsolete.”
Barran, Axel-Zero, Vannier, and Picard were heartbroken. But it was Mace who reacted uncharacteristically.
“Surely there’s something we can do!” Mace said emotionally. She and Daedo had been dismantling Old Dawg all week, pulling out old parts then redesigning and manufacturing a slightly better working part.
They had stripped Old Dawg down to his structural frame and cleaned it up, removing all signs of corrosion, giving him an electrolytic bath, and testing for any defects in the structure itself. There were none. Old Dawg’s frame was in perfect health.
“We could fight with Old Dawg,” Daedo said. “It would be an experience. But I can’t see him winning.”
Vannier smiled slightly and poked Daedo. “You,” she said loudly, “are just a perfectionist. Don’t try to build the perfect mech on your first attempt.”
Daedo frowned. That was how he rolled; it was how he’d approached CyberMech and the academy.
Barran grabbed the contact info for entering the league, but before the squad moved on, two men who were standing nearby started to address them.
They both had beards, wore matching Dyneema overalls, and were rough around the edges. They looked at least thirty – if not forty – years old.
“Listen, cadets,” the red-haired one said, “don’t be wasting your creds entering the league.”
The black-haired one added, “Every time yer like does, they lose all their not-so-hard-earned and drop out without winning a match. It may be a show, but it isn’t a game like yer used to.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Vannier said, stepping into her role as the cadet who spoke to strangers before Barran could get them into trouble or Daedo was put out of his comfort zone.
“But we ain’t your average cadets,” Barran added. To which he received four headshakes and a message.
Vannier: Zip it. And why are you talking like them?
The cadets noticed how Barran’s normal speech pattern had altered.
“Ohain'tya?” Red Hair asked. “I bet ya are the best of the best. Trace, who was that inter-academy league chick that got her ass handed to her?”
Trace, who had black hair, said, “It was Werner, from Mercedes, I think she was in her last year. She was on their league team too, an’ still lost every match.”
“Wasn’t good for ‘er confidence. That’s why I’m tryin’ to help ya kids,” Red Hair said. “Lose yer creds and yer confidence.” He shook his head slowly. “But if ya head to the next round at Monaco, don’t say that Smack Ninja didn’t warn ya.”
“Smack Ninja!” the cadets exclaimed.
“Oh yeah, ya know us?” Trace asked.
The cadets all nodded. Trace and Red-hair waved goodbye before wandering off in the opposite direction.
“At first I thought they were arrogant,” Vannier said. “Now I think they were genuinely trying to give us advice.”
“Never judge a book by its cover,” Mace said, repeating a very old saying. In 2142, a cover was the digital image – holographic or otherwise – that represented a book in the net library.
The cadets wandered past another stand called ‘Outfitters.’ It was set up to sell mechs or mech parts to wannabe professional mech pilots. Their top-of-the-range was built to order and started at one hundred thousand bitcreds.
“Daedo, Daedo, Daedo,” Barran called a few minutes after passing Outfitters. “I have an idea. And it’s brilliant!”
“Er, can we be the judge of that?” Picard asked.
“Spill it,” Vannier said.
Barran looked solemn at their lack of confidence. Daedo smiled and said, “Come on, I want to hear your idea.”
“Okay, okay,” Barran said excitedly, “it’s like this: You build up Old Dawg using all your tricks and smarts. Like you say, he’s an old model, and you think it’s better to start from scratch. But we have him, so what we do is enter him when we’re ready, win, and then sell him after the competition! For as much as some schmuck will pay for a proven winner.”
Daedo looked thoughtful and walked along farther before saying, “That’s not a bad idea except for two problems.”
Barran frowned. “What?”
“One, we wouldn’t win. And two, look at Mace, Vannier, or Axel-Zero’s face and say, ‘Sell Old Dawg.’”
Barran turned to look at the girls who returned the look with dagger stares. Daggers that puncture lungs, hearts and slice throats kinds of stares.
Barran very seriously stated, “It’s my job to make creds,” and walked off in a huff.
Daedo said, “He has a point,” before the stares were turned in his direction. Old Dawg had found a place in the squad’s heart, and they would have to keep him on as a mascot based on the current vibe.
It was late when the squad arrived at the centre of the expo. The central stand was obvious from all directions; it was ten times the size of any other stand and towered above them all as well. It was the Svarski stand, which was the major sponsor of the expo.
Svarski sold everything from tech shoes to spaceships. In the centre of their stand was a yacht. It was sleek, sexy, and it was made to fly in outer space. Daedo had never seen anything like it in his life. Not in person.
There was a section dedicated to Svarski’s presence on The Spiral. But the cadets were drawn to the yacht, and they were able to take a tour inside. They had to pay, but it was worth the few creds it cost for the group.
“OMG, OMG, OMG,” was all Barran could say. He didn’t even know what the letters stood for; he just knew it was what one said when they were super excited or in awe.
The yacht was built for four people, and it was apparently the smallest in a luxury model series that Svarski made. Although it only catered to four people, it could house twenty robots in addition to its internal crew of bots for ship functions. It had a state-of-the-art navigator and pilot AI, which was copied from an AI with fifteen years of space experience.
“Why so many robots?” Vannier asked Daedo as they snooped in every compartment that would open.
“Depends on where you’re going,” Daedo said. “The thing about robots is that they don’t need to breathe, and the lack of gravity space doesn’t worry them.
“What about the cold?” Vannier asked.
“I guess they’d have to have robots that didn’t rely on lithium plasma ES or a cold fusion reactor. Probably a micro-fission thermal generator, or something that generated heat as well as power.”
“Hmm, but space for twenty bots and just four people,” Vannier said.
“Robots could build a habitat while–” Daedo stopped mid-sentence. “Shit.”
“What?” Vannier asked.
He looked around. “Let’s talk about it later. I’ll fill you in.”