Only Through Giant Robots Can We Achieve Nirvana

You had trained under Monk Eisenhower Nguyen, one of the finest snipers on the entire planet. A basic truism of mecha combat was that if the mecha became one with the pilot, so must the pilot be worthy of becoming one with the mecha. Or, in plainer words - there was no point in synchronizing perfectly with a mecha if you were incompetent anyway. Sniper training had been your forte - you had been *good* at sneaking through the woods, at hiding in the various barriers in zero-gee combat, at asssassinating your rivals from afar every time.

Well, not every time. The big tournaments where you faced off against other pilot-aspirants in zero-gee combat saw you often taken down by sword or spear, or by a lesser-ranged gun. The tiny frames you used to fight one another were reminiscent of the smaller policing suits used on-planet by lesser Spiritualists, but they were enough to show off your skill and speed.

In truth, you were not the best, by any measure. The scions of the Archeate quite easily found and destroyed you on average, years of training and preparation by their families overtaking your little hard-earned skill. Methods to promote the growth and use of their Spirituality meant that you were not quite at the bottom of the heap, but close to it. As a swordsman, you had been pathetic, as a spearman, inferior. The high-speed combat of a dagger-using mecha left you beaten each time, and as one of the weakest pilots to graduate, you knew you had to find other means to win.

Thus, the sniper rifle. A single overwhelming blow at the right time equalized much, and if your enemies were faster, you had distance to spare. The rifle had become your treasured companion, and you spent weekends searching for scrap from the many ritual battles that had taken place on the monastery-world. The monks set up many trials, usually designed to test your Spirituality in a basic exosuit, but this place had been different. A set of half-broken alien robots, each of which perfectly willing to kill you. It had been the work of three free days to slowly whittle them away with your rifle before uncovering the only treasure remaining there. A beacon of sorts, which integrated nicely into the sensor suites they had trained you on. Somehow, it detected psionic energies. Not especially well and not with any great sense of direction, but you would know when an enemy appeared well before they knew the opposite.

Useless on a battlefield once engaged, but excellent when ambushing an enemy or avoiding an ambush.

This made you that much more dedicated to your sniping. If you removed a single enemy from the field before the battle began, your job was done.

In any case, you found yourself onboard a mecha-pulled shuttle, two massive slings of carbon nanotubes attaching the little craft to the mecha pulling it. An industrial mecha, designed to take advantage of the power of a pilot. It was a boring brown and grey mecha, two arms, two legs, a head, and some large engines at the bottom of the legs. Still, it sufficed to get you into orbit for a minimum of fuel costs. There had once been an orbital elevator here, but some manner of fight occured, and it had crashed to earth, killing many and had never been replaced.

Rapidly you ascended, leaving your school behind you. A woman waited on the station there, tall and confident. Brown-skinned and with the peculiar almost-perfect look that came from centuries of genetic manipulation, she was no doubt from near the equator on New Amerigo. The genemods to change skin colour were widely available, and had long since overtaken methods like mass-producing sunscreen as a way of ensuring your progeny could live where you had chosen to settle. Her voice had a twang to it, though, and that put her towards the southern end of the planet. Martina Jackson, one of the pilots who protected your worlds. One of your allies and companions, now.

She nodded at you.

"Good. You're here on time. Come with me, we've a lot to do and little enough time to do it. I go by Jackson, honour to his name. May I ask the Presidential Name you have chosen?"

[ ] Write-In A Surname and First Name. The surname should be one of the surnames of a President of the United States of America, or derivation of one such surname. Each pilot gives up a family name to name themselves after one of the long time of Presidents of Amerigo, the Mightinesses that once dominated all of Earth. Other pilots may have post-2023 names you haven't seen before and may reveal old Earth history, you should pick one former President as a name. This has no gameplay effect.

The first name can be anything, but is much more likely to be of Spanish, English, or Vietnamese extraction. This has no bearing on your physical appearance - human history is very long at this point.

She inclined her head.

"An interesting choice. Now, come with me. You've trained on mecha, but you'll need to see yours. The Vindicator is a tolerable partner for my Hoplite, but you'll need to get acclimated as soon as possible."

She brought you into a small hangar, where two mecha sit. First is your Vindicator, but next to it is a gold-and-white mecha with a shield and spear in its hands.



"My Hoplite. Somewhat slow, very tough. Hard to stop, hard to block. I had some boosters added to the legs for the mission so I can intervene to keep enemies away from you. Get in yours, check it over."

You boot up the system. Twin high-resolution cameras in the head of the mech to simulate eyes, haptic controls to allow you to move the mech as though it were your body. In the top-left corner of the heads-up display is information on your craft. First, you go over the damage report.

Mech Status:

Left Arm: Undamaged
Right Arm: Undamaged
Left Leg: Undamaged
Right Leg: Undamaged
Torso: Undamaged
Head: Undamaged
Sniper Rifle: Undamaged
Fuel: At Max

There four states per arm. Destroyed, Critical, Damaged, Undamaged. At each state you would lose more capacity to fight - as a sniper you could fight with both arms damaged, or one critical and one undamaged, but if both arms were critical you were effectively out of the fight, or if one arm was destroyed. Thankfully your Vindicator is in good repair. Lastly, you have plenty of fuel. If you go too far, you risk running out. Hyper travel is close to free, but moving between hyperspace beacons is not. Thankfully your mecha has a little map planner at the bottom, tied into the local beacon map. You can plan a route and it'll tell you how much fuel it'll take.

Secondly, your combat stats.

Heat: Minimal
Ammunition: At Max
Synchronization: Low

If you do too much too often, you'll overheat. For the Vindicator, this means rapid-fire from the rifle and overuse of the afterburners. It has a low ability to dissipate heat because the sniper rifle doesn't use too much to begin with, meaning you can't overuse afterburners for very long at all. Likewise, in extended combat you may need to save your ammo. Of course, how in-sync you are. The more you try and use your mech as a machine rather than an extension of the body, the weaker your Spiritualist enhancements will become. Your personal level of synchronization is fairly low, but it'll grow as you use your mecha more and more, especially in combat. Switching to a new mecha - even if it's better! - is usually a time pilots find themselves dramatically weakened for awhile.

You hop out, and Martha nods at you.

"So, tell me about you. Philosophy and birthplace, say?"

The philosophy is the most important, so you expound on the...

[ ] Washington Philosophy

A philosophy that believes the Spiritualist and mecha pilot has the power to rule but must not do so unduly. Each pilot should look to wield power only briefly, and then step back into the service of New Amerigo once that time is done. The philosophy states that 'eight years is sufficient for any pilot to wield political power, after which they should no longer rule in any capacity', but as the planetary year on New Amerigo is one-tenth of a human lifespan this is usually considered to be a Hoang year - sixty of which brings a human being to full maturity. Washingtonians believe that mecha pilots should safeguard the state but only exert political power in the very direst of circumstances.

[ ] The Lincoln Meditations

Lincolnites believe in full suffrage and equality of both Spiritualists and non-Spiritualists. In practice the various states that make up New Amerigo all have their own versions of the franchise, ranging from those with psionic powers (a good one-third of the populace can enhance human-shaped suits and power armor to some degree) to all those with property. The Lincolnites are strong in the southern part of the planet, and often argue with the more Spiritualist-dominated polities of the equator and north. It is a fairly radical view among Spiritualists, however.

[ ] Way of Roosevelt

Rooseveltians believe in Spiritualists pursuing martial pursuits where possible, and then using that martial skill to champion New Amerigo abroad. Domestically they tend to seek a little less Spiritualist domination, though largely through the redistribution of wealth, believing that Spiritualist dynasties are potentially unhealthy for the growth of New Amerigo. They see victory on the battlefield as one of the large justifications for political power.

"Hm. And where do you come from, again?"

(No gameplay impact, but determines your broad look)

[ ] Nuevo California

The northern continent is bitterly cold, and sees the majority of the planet's industry hosted there. With universities, factories and repair bays, the people here are pale-skinned and tend to be quieter than most. The 'continents' in New Amerigo are split by massive mountain ranges, however, with the planet having no major seas - though many massive rivers by which trade runs. Nuevo California covers nearly one-quarter of the planet. Spiritualists dominate here, as does the suit and necktie.

[ ] Chau My

The central continent is filled with darker-skinned Amerigans, who produce the vast majority of the planet's food as well as the majority of mecha pilots. A gentle and fair land, Chau My is split between many philosophies and minor states, holding nearly two-thirds of the planetary population, and two-thirds of the surface. The planet's only sea is in Chau My, and a great surfing culture has been taken up there by Spiritualists, who identify themselves with their shorts and simple shirts, as well as their boards. "Hey, just, like, chill out, man." are curiously enough fighting words in Chau My.

[ ] Federated Tejas

Six united states are in the southern 'continent', which due to a particularly damaging mecha battle has seen substantial damage to the ozone layer. As such, gene-mods were deployed across the population, darkening their skin to a moderate brown over the course of two generations. Tejas is the most individualistic of the continents, and Spiritualists have the least legal advantages here. Massive ten-gallon hats are very much in vogue as well, and Tejas is the Hoang Realm's largest individual producer of denim as well.