Kowal woke slowly. While he was groggy and confused, he kept his eyes closed from an old habit. “Is he okay?” a voice he didn’t recognize asked.
“He should be,” replied Professor Angstrom's voice. "He's only been out for a few minutes.”
Kowal recalled the pain that suffused his body. He tried to remember what had led up to that moment. He groaned involuntarily as he remembered putting the device on his wrist. Blearily, he opened his eyes and looked around the room. The professor had only made a small effort for his comfort. He had stretched his body so he was lying flat and had put a throw pillow under his head,
“Good, you’re awake. See, I told you he would be fine,” the professor said toward the doorway. Kowal looked to see whom the man had been talking to. He saw a woman, a dark-haired woman with olive skin tones. She was a few years older than himself but younger than the professor.
He tried to speak but found his throat was scratchy. He managed to croak out, “Water?”
“See, he wants water, please be a dear,” he said to the woman, who promptly rushed off.
“I’m so sorry,” The professor temporized. “She thinks you passed out because of the news of your elevation to the design program.” The older man said.
“What?” Kowal asked stupidly as his brain was trying to engage. He brought his left wrist up to eye the wristband it held. “Did it work?”
“That seems to be the question of the day. You tell me,” the professor said, looking on excitedly.
The young man nodded and thought. “How do I operate it?”
“We don’t know, they hardly gave us an instruction manual.” He said with a laugh. “My guess is you will have to learn through trial and error. We will need you to keep notes on the process,”
With a nod, Kowal stood on shaky legs. “This has completely thrown off my equilibrium,” the youth said. I guess I report to you?” he asked.
“Noo,” the professor said, stretching out the words in thought. You will report to the committee. There are three of us, though: myself, Professor Powell, and Professor Nichols.”
Kowal sighed at the last name, “You know the esteemed professor?”
“I met him last month; he was teaching our class on avionics…” the youth started.
“Ah, yes, far from his best subject.”
“If I may, what is his best subject?” The student asked.
“Lunch…” the man said with asperity in his voice. “Ah, here is your water.” The woman Kowal had seen earlier stepped back into the room and produced a bottle of water for the young man.
“Now, drink that down.” She said in a melodious voice. “The professor has explained what happened; I’m sure part of it is you were dehydrated; no one ever gets enough water.” Her tone was motherly.
“Yes, ma’am.” the youth replied to her kindness and demeanor.
“Such a polite boy.” She said in a confusing tone as she stepped out of the room.
“I would suggest you go home for the day. I have paperwork I will have to send in switching your coarse load,” Angstrom said. Take your time, rest, and try to figure the system out.”
***
Kovacs found himself doing something he had little experience doing. He was resting as instructed at his rented flat. For too long it had been a place just for sleep and occasionally for study, he preferred the school libraries, workshops and the gaming center. “I hate being alone.” He said in a huff as he lay propped up against a pillow. With a sigh he began to examine the bracelet that had been, it appeared to be a high end com-unit but if what the professor had said were true it might be the lucky break he needed to a better life. “So what are you exactly,” he asked.
It was fairly obvious that in the case of the professor, the blind led the blind. “In the worst case, I have an ugly bracelet grafted on me. I’m in the design program.” He looked up at the cheap slickies of various mecha. The cheap pieces of memory material could display a limited moving picture. He had always appreciated the classics that had fought across the universe. He looked at the Mustang he had loved since childhood. The design was old, probably when his grandparents were kids, not that he knew who they were.
He eyed the slab-sided armor on the mech and started to picture what he wanted to do with the digital mech he had in his speed shop. “Screw it. I can rest better in Iron Reaper.” He fumbled for a headset beside the bed, then slipped it over his head and lay back. His breathing slowed, and the messages the bracelet displayed were unheard and unseen.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Activation sequence engaged.
Stand still and wait to be scanned.
Scanning, Scanning.
Kovacs was deep inside the game. His electronic eyes view the exterior of the salvaged mech, eying the damaged armor and internal structure. The Mustang was a second-generation weapon system out of the Earth system. For its time, it had been fast and relatively agile. It was initially designed two hundred years ago. One of the faults of the design was that the armor was of inferior quality. To compensate, the armor was made slab-sided and presented a boxy profile. The design was practical, considering it was designed for a fast, cheap strike mech. Its main defense was supposed to be its speed and ability to avoid damage rather than absorb enemy fire.
Kovacs stepped up to the interface and selected a wire-frame diagram. The solid seeming of the Mech should have disappeared, presenting the young man with a view of the outlines of the humanoid monstrosity.
Instead, this time, something odd happened. The mech suffused itself into a ball of formless light, then expanded out to form the shape of a man. “What the?” He questioned as he looked from the interface to the form standing before him. “Who are you?” He said with trepidation.
The figure looked at him; at first, Kovacs thought it might be a woman, but as seconds passed, the form resolved itself, becoming more masculine. Finally, a tall elderly man stood in front of him. The man had close-cropped hair in an indeterminate style. “Greetings, Citizen Kovacs. Congratulations on being selected for the project.” The man's eyes seemed to lock onto his own. “You will have many questions. Most will go unanswered.” The figure stated. “This program will increase your skill, knowledge, and ability at mecha design and crafting.” He felt slighted when he was told that his questions would go unanswered. However, the youth had been in that situation many times in his life. Instead, he decided to listen carefully to what he could be told, hoping that information would prove helpful.
“I will start by telling you we are disseminating this knowledge in the hopes you use it to aid mankind in the struggles ahead.” He had to wonder what conflicts this group saw in his future and how they might affect mankind. “Conflict breeds innovation. Innovation creates conflict.” The figure stated. “To this end, we have engendered conflict. We have scanned your body, and while your base statistics are slightly above baseline for a human, we will provide opportunities to learn and improve.”
Name; Kowal Zeidis Kovacs
Age; 19
Race; Human
Height; 5'9'
Allegiance; None
Hair; Blond
Weight; 173 lbs
power 12
strength 13 aggregate
endurance 14
Agility 10
Dexterity 13 aggregate
Precision 15
Vitality 9
Constitution 11 aggregate
Resilience 13
Reasoning 14
Intelligence 15 aggregate
Knowledge 15
Perception 18
Wisdom 14 aggregate
Insight 12
Persuasion 10
Charisma 11 aggregate
Presence 11
Imagination 12
Creativity/Inspiration 12 aggregate
Artistry 12
Skill Level
Mechanical Repair 17
Diagnostics 18
Welding and Fabrication 15
Computer-Aided Design (CAD) 23
Safety Protocols 19
Preventative Maintenance 16
Field Repairs 16
Power Systems 17
Environmental Systems 18
Software Integration 10
Mechanical Engineering 18
Electrical Engineering 20
Robotics 18
Physics and Thermodynamics 5
Aesthetics 25
Computer Programing 9
Kowal stared in shock as he viewed the table of statistics that popped up between himself and the enigmatic figure. “Do you have any questions?”
“Many, but I will ask how first you can aid me. What knowledge do you have that can assist me?” The young man asked as he looked at the information about himself.
“We can provide written media for study or direct neuro-cranial knowledge implantation. However, the practice is both difficult and painful.” Kovac’s paused at that.
“What immediate aid can you give me?” he asked. The figure stepped back and seemed to observe the design in the background.
“We have access to data that may assist you in your learning process. The star steel armor produced on this unit was still and unyielding. The designers had to keep the shape more box-like. This, in turn, impacted the unit's agility as the thick slabs impacted the unit joints. There was another armor Produced at Faraway by Grumond industries, Plaststeel 180.” The figure motioned, and the schematic moved between them. “Now, I want you to see if this armor might fit the design better.”
Kovacs. I looked at the armor and pulled up the information. The armor was more plastic than the Mustang's original armor, with more give. But it had more give to it than the original; where the original might crack and shatter, the Plaststeel should be more flexible. He stripped the armor off of the Mustang and then began to work it. The shaping was far more flexible and could be shaped into a significantly more exciting weapon. His version of the Mustang lost its blocky exterior and instead had a more humanoid form. Then, he began to test what he had designed. The first run showed his mecha to be fast and agile. This design still incorporated the original internal equipment.
Kovacks then stripped the armor off and started to review the internals of the mecha and its internal structure. He reviewed the plans he had already considered and the licenses he had already purchased. Though cheap at only a few hundred credits for this level of technology, every credit added up.
There were also problems of software and hardware compatibility. “Could you help me learn Computer programming?” he asked as he eyed the design laid out before him.
“We can provide Computer Programming text or a direct neural input. The texts have a few hundred action points while the Neural input has a hundred action points.”
“Do I have any action points?” The youth asked.
“You have been granted one thousand action points for being selected to the program. You will be offered access to the digital shopping experience later.”
“I wonder how that works,” Kovacs said in wonder. “I’d like to get the neural input for Computer programming.” He said to the digital entity.
“Do you confirm you wish to receive a directed neural input for the skill of Computer programming?”
“I confirm,” Kovacs said eagerly. Moments later, he felt like his mind was seized in a vice and shaken like a dog. He remained standing in the interface only because the body couldn’t collapse. In the outside world, his body seized, and sweet began to poor off his body, but then it stopped.
“Oh god,” He moaned. “What was that?” he asked blearily.
“That was the directed neural input you had requested.” The form stated. Kovacs thought he heard a smugness to the things voice.
“I may stay to books,” the youth moaned. He would have tried to access his new knowledge, but his mind was numb from the knowledge transfer.
Kovacs stretched his neck and sighed. “How do I earn action points?”
“Action points are earned through system quests, completing and selling designs. This game, Iron Reaper, presents a unique opportunity in that you can create designs and sell them at a reduced rate of return for action points.”
“How many points per design.” The youth asked.
“It will vary based on your involvement in the design. The design for the Mustang Striker will be less as you are only making minor modifications. A design you had more involvement with would be significantly more. Each unit will receive a review on completion. You will receive an award at that time.”
“How do I get in contact with you?” Kovacs asked as he started to think and plan.
“For the time being, this is a secure interface.” The form looked up. “My time is short. You have a quest. You are to design two mecha and produce them for sale in Iron Reaper.” Kovacs stared at the form aghast. He knew the costs of virtual materials; it was more than he had earned in months of work. “Do you accept the quest?”
He knew he had little choice. “I accept,” He stated.