It is A.D. 2072, and the Earth Union is under attack from all manner of monsters, aliens and murderers wielding dangerous technologies. The Defense Forces are on the backfoot, and the few incredible defenders already present need all the help they can get.
You are Major John Devin and you are charged with developing, training, and deploying the Earth Union's own Super Robots.
A quest about building the Earth Union's very own Super Robots running on nonsensical science to punch bad guys in the face. See the previous thread here!
Not feeling too great today, so to tide you all over, I'll be putting up a side story. And this time, I'll be putting in links in when these take place.
???, 26 November, A.D. 2072 <ERROR, LOCALE NOT RECOGNIZED>
Ozawa Harumi tapped her foot impatiently as the creature's descent into the oceans finally completed. Her constant taps echoed incongruously, the sound of faint metal clashing with that of squishier, repurposed flesh. Nevermind the fact that they were at depths that would have crushed the Titanic into a teensy-tiny ball of metal and broken dreams - Ozawa hated this part for how long it took. "If there were friggin' stairs, I would've taken them," she grumbled.
All she heard was a huff from the creature, as if it were telling her to knock off the backseat driving.
But even her annoyance with the travel time - comforting as it could be given it was something to be annoyed about - couldn't quite overcome a slight sense of dread that descended upon her. She had left the sanctum with three kaiju, a few hundred-ish of the expendables, and a well thought out, planned, and awesome dream. Now, she was just returning with herself - and a bit of brain matter embedded with computer parts.
Never make promises before you leave, she thought to herself glumly.
The kaiju carrying her chose that moment to open its maw, revealing the - Ozawa blinked. The kaiju had taken her straight to the Incubators. That doesn't happen normally. What happened to making everyone walk everywhere? Doubt compounded unpleasantly now with being thrown off of routine as she walked forward, barely even noticing the kaiju's snout snap shut and withdraw, the fleshy walls sealing behind it on its way out.
"So you return." The voice was raspy, yet projected easily across the massive room. Large, transparent and organic vats lined the chamber as various pieces of kaiju floated in amniotic fluids, with twitching, growing kaiju slowly expanding to fill in the void of space in their tanks. More of the weird-ass colors that the unaugmented human eye couldn't see filtered through what the doc insisted wasn't glass (Ozawa still called them windows - what else were you gonna call them?), casting light and shadow in writhing, maddening ways that would have sent an artist straight to the funny house right after winning a gallery prize.
And in the center of it all was Doctor Sheol. What had once been a relatively nice business suit had strewn out into tatters, with bits of woven together biomass extending out and draping around him. Yellow, almost-pupiless eyes framed by papery and green skin peered at Ozawa from beneath wild, wispy hair bleached to bone white. And those freaky shadows were casting all sorts of patterns across his face that Ozawa was decidedly not happy about staring at.
"Yeah." She scuffed the ground with her foot, procrastinating actually approaching the raised platform for just one more moment. But she forced herself upwards, wanting to avoid the judging glare of an old man who was probably going to gig her a bit more severely than 'your term paper was late.' "I'm back. And-"
"You failed."
Ozawa recoiled slightly. Those two words were spoken at almost a whisper - yet all around her, they echoed right back into her, from every possible angle around her it felt like. She knew it was coming - and yet she was still too shocked to try to deny it either. "Y-yeah, I did." Steeling herself, she stepped forward, and presented to the old man the remaining bit of Titanosaur still writhing in her hands. "I-I promised I was gonna tear it all to the ground, and I couldn't."
"Mercury-" The word came out as a venomous hiss, with almost enough strength to melt the console he was obsessing over, "-was deactivated and forced into repairs-"
"Mercury wasn't the only problem!" Sheol glanced back up at her with frightening speed, his eyes now fully focused on her. "L-look, just plug the damn thing in!" Crossing her arms, Ozawa felt a little bit of her confidence return to her. "I was on schedule, but something got in the way long enough for Mercury to come back online, alright? It would'veworked if-" Ozawa paused midrant as Sheol slammed the brain matter into the incubator pod with a loud squish. "Uh, gross-"
"Silence, child." Ozawa wisely decided to just cut her loss and stay quiet as the memories of the Titanosaur flicked past the holographic display. It appeared murky, as if someone had spilled oil all across the moving images-
-but the memories backed her up in this regard. "What. Is. This."
"The normies have a Super Robot." Ozawa's tone was as flat and annoyed as her mentor. The image of the broken and battered thing holding up one of the Egg's heads like a grisly trophy was frozen on display. The scene then reversed slightly, separating the image to the side as yet another visual appeared - the flying battleship and the transforming jet fighters, all fighting against the flying swarms, and still firing at the Titanosaur even as it was swatted down from the earth like a fly. Those three images remained hanging in the air, and the silence drew longer and longer. This time, Ozawa fidgeted, not wanting to draw attention by tapping her foot or anything. But she couldn't help but glance nervously at the old man, as -
Abruptly his hands on the controls lurched, and the image on the Super Robot magnified. Further, further, further still, zooming even past Mercury V's face as the bulky robot was getting to its feet from the Yukimura Institute wreckage. And it zoomed in on the open cracks. "...this…" Sheol hissed. The ambient lights twisted suddenly - and the multihued lights began to fade, as deep red slight began to crawl down along the walls slowly. "...that is kaiju flesh." The image zoomed in yet further, revealing the torn carapace link laying exposed beneath the cracks. "That is my work."
There it was. Ozawa had missed it earlier, but when the Titanosaur was smashing it into the ground, there had been giant cracks in it. And now that they weren't in the height of the moment, she could see it as clearly as he could - layers of what looked like kaiju skin, spread just beneath the metal surface as if it were chain mail. And despite how thoroughly smashed it was, the damned thing still got back up on its feet long enough to hit her with that damned cannon.
All at once, the pressure on Ozawa's shoulders were released - and Sheol simply nodded at her. "Despite your failure…you could not have accounted for this one, no." His voice, once raspy and bitter, was now calm. Eerily, flatly calm. "First, the robot they used in San Francisco...now this. The fruits of my labor, wrought from my hands...the likelihood that they were woven into both of them...tch." His frame began to tremble, a trail of what looked almost like blood seeping from his lip as his eyebrows twitched. "The Union laughed away my research, and the hypocrites now use it themselves!?"
"Yeah." Ozawa was looking at the thing even closer - in the heat of the moment she hadn't noticed. "It's like they just wanted to make their own Mercury or something, y'know? Not that it lasted that long or anything."
Sheol's eyebrow twitched - then his eyes grew thoughtful. "Their own 'Mercury,' you say," he said slowly. "Their own Mercury…" It was as if the old man was rolling the phrase around in his tongue.
Sheol leaned back, before a coughing, raspy sound began to wrack through his body as it heaved from the effort. At first, Ozawa thought the old man was having another of his moments - but then the sound just kept escalating, the coughing slowly growing more coherent. Growing into laughter. Mad, directed laughter that washed over all of the creatures, all of his domain in waves, and the creatures yet to be incubated seemed to twitch and spasm as if reacting to their master's state of mind.
"You, uh…" Ozawa raised a finger questioningly. "...you alright, boss?"
"Their own Mercuries!" Sheol's voice boomed, the clearest she'd ever heard since they did a runner from the Union's men. "That is the game they wish to play, do they!? Their own monsters to fight mine!?"
"Are you listening-?"
"They will learn!" Nope, he ain't listening. "They will curse the day they dared to try matching wits with me!" The images of Mercury and the other robot overlaid with one another as his fingers glided across the controls, already sequencing something new. "I will show them the work of the true master!" Strings of kaiju DNA began to flow across the screen, various spare body parts pulled from existing specimens and tentatively being flesh sculpted for his new purposes as spindly fingers glided across the keyboard. "My answer will grind them into the trenches! Beauty, savagery, and insult to injury!"
"I'll, uh, find out about them then," Ozawa said, even though her words clearly weren't getting to the man. "And, uh, just leave. Yeah? Cool?" All she heard back was maniacal laughter booming across the room as she slowly backpedaled. She gave a vague thumbs up, her thumb resembling more of a hooked claw than anything else at this stage in her augmentation. "Cool! I'll get right on it. Good talk, Doc."
Yet even as she left, the very implications of the doctor's new obsession sent a slight shiver down her spine. "Our own Mercury, huh." Ozawa Harumi mulled on that thought. "There was that one walking tank I saw…"
Slowly, her own grin began to cross her face. "Well, I'm sure I could find us a few specimens to get us started…"
So, let's see what I can do with this... "So... remember when I mentioned how jealous I was that we didn't have the technology to imitate human taste or smell?"
"You said that a week ago, yes, Adrianna. Did your opinion change?"
"Potentially..."
Richard tried to ignore the peanut gallery of the AI Sisters peering down from screens in the mess hall, as he sat down at one of the tables with more than a little trepidation. His fellow human pilots took their places next to him, their eyes all fixed on the doorway to the kitchens.
Behind the closed doors, he could hear the sizzling and whooshing of stovetops going at full blast, and his nose twitched at the strange smell wafting out from behind it. It was like nothing he'd ever smelled before, definitely spicy and smoky like a high-grade steakhouse, but with some sort of astringent tang that made his nose twitch. Already he could feel his stomach rumble, then pause, then rumble again, as if it couldn't even figure out whether to be hungry or not.
"So, how do you like your steak?"
Richard side-eyed Oscar. His fellow lieutenant was sitting up straight, trying to put on a stoic front, but Rich could see the pensive set to his jaw and the trepidation flickering in his eyes.
"If I answer well-done, are you going to drag me to the Proving Grounds?" Rich replied slowly.
"If this were anywhere else, maybe. But considering what we're going to eat?" Oscar shook his head. "Maybe grilling all the acidity and toxins out is the right idea..."
"What are you so worried about, boys?" Xiu Ying spoke up. The older woman was in remarkably good spirits, rubbing her hands together and staring eagerly at the kitchens. "Can't you smell it cooking? I already know it's gonna turn out great!"
Richard and Oscar exchanged looks. "How can you be so sure?" Oscar asked his co-pilot.
"I was there during one of Paul's cooking experiments; the guy may be one of the kookier kooks, but he knows his way around food. Told me he's grilled more exotic meat than this, and showed me a steak from livestock from his family farm to prove it."
"... doesn't his family own an emu farm?"
Xiu Ying raised an eyebrow. "What's your point? Just be happy he's grilling it and not air-frying it. That one didn't turn out so well."
Oscar huffed out a breath. "This is gonna be some crazy carnival..."
"Don't you mean 'insane', Tellison? We'll be eating kaiju meat, for God's sake!" Jessica groaned, her normally fiery attitude gone in favor of pure dread. "Why am I even a part of this anyway?"
"Because we're all DFRI pilots," Xiu Ying answered, clapping the cadet on the back. "When challenges come, the best thing to do is present a united front to face whatever comes our way!"
"And because this was supposed to be a steak dinner reward for all our latest missions, and it'd be lousy to refuse," Rich pointed out.
"And because we outrank you," Oscar added.
As Jessica moaned and thumped her head on the table, a boisterous voice came from outside. "Hey, when you're done eating, mind describing how it tastes? It's not like we can experience it for ourselves!"
"Slag off, Charlie," Jessica growled. "Or I'll put this thing through the Kausen shard processor and feed you the result. And the Thunderbolt is a lot faster than you, last I checked."
The heavily armored Bulwark IFV nervously ducked out of line of sight.
It was at this point that the whooshing settled down, and the kitchen doors burst open. Through a haze of steam, the scientist Paul came striding out, labcoat buttoned up like chef's whites, pride oozing from every pore, and a manic gleam in his eyes that would've made his bosses beam. Pushed along in front of him was a full on dinner cart, loaded down with four cloche-covered plates.
As he approached, the smell coming from beneath the covers grew even stronger, and now Richard could distinctly pick out the sharp acidity within it. Almost unbidden, his mind flashed back to the aftermath of the San Diego Kaiju attack and the puddles of acid splashed everywhere dissolving metal and stone, and he fought to keep the smell out of his memory.
As Paul walked past the pilots, he began unloading the plates from the cart and setting them in front of the pilots. "Gentlemen and ladies," he announced as he went, "today I serve you the fruits of several years of experimentation, hard work, and a dream. A dream that one day, after all the Kaiju have taken from us, we could rise up and do the same to them. For too long, they have torn at our bodies, feasted on our land and flesh, and drank up our tears and screams. As our champions, you all have torn back at them, cut your pounds of flesh from their hides, and today, you will feast on that bounty!"
Jessica leaned over to whisper to Xiu Ying. "Do I want to know how long he's been practicing this speech?"
Paul probably didn't hear her as he walked back the way he came, lifting the cloches from each plate. "May I present to you, four homegrown Dragon's Horn prime cuts, fed off the dulcet tones of Anthrax and Cattle Decapitation, dry-aged for thirty days, tenderized with bicarbonate of soda, just barely seasoned with plain salt and pepper, and finally grilled till medium rare. Served alongside..."
Rich barely heard what veggies Paul was describing, and he barely even noticed them as he stared down at his plate. Every ounce of his attention was taken up by the well-grilled, steaming, sizzling cut of meat on his plate. Intellectually, he knew exactly where it had come from - chopped off a draconic, acid-spitting monstrosity, then carved and grown into its own piece - but it was not some alien-looking chunk of neon-green meat that glowed in the dark and melted the patterns off chinaware. Rather, it looked just like any prime steak cut that one would find in a high-grade restaurant, with the only indication of its origins the sharp acidic smell. And even that was mingling with the scent of nicely-grilled, juicy meat to form a unique, tantalizing odor.
Rich's mouth was watering despite himself.
"... and no sauce, because I want you to savor the flesh and blood of your enemies, know that you have triumphed over them, and revel in the knowledge that the predators of humanity are now our prey," Paul finished, practically raising one fist to the sky as his monologue came to a close. "Enjoy your feast, and please let me know how you feel afterwards, because turning our foes into nutritious meals is all part of Science!"
SCIENCE!
"Thank you, my brethen! And now, bon appetit!" And with that, Paul strode off, cackling gleefully to himself under his breath. The last thing Rich heard before he walked out of earshot was "Kick me out of culinary school, why don't you...!"
Xiu Ying inhaled deeply. "Yup, that's a good cut right there!" she said eagerly, already cutting into her piece.
Slowly, the others followed her lead. The cut was tender, as Rich's knife slid right through it with hardly any resistance. Considering its acidic origins, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised. He held the piece up to his eye, half-expecting the insides to be some strange alien color, but they were as red and juicy as any steak he'd ever seen before.
Beside him, he heard Oscar say, "Well, gānbēi, I guess," before taking a bite. Rich did the same before he could second-guess himself out of his choice, and he could hear the women follow suit.
All at once, his eyes blew wide and he heard the others gasp, as the flavor flooded his tongue. It was- And I'll just let you all imagine what it tastes like!
Hey, I don't even know what color the kaiju are; do you really expect me to describe its flavor?
Don't ask me how this got past Devin and the other higher-ups, I'm just here to imagine and have fun!
And one last bit for the road: As he watched the consumption from outside with his fellow Super AIs, Ichiro couldn't help but ponder out loud, "So... do you think Dr. Sheol also does this if he's feeling peckish?"
Ichiro figured that if his siblings were human, their appalled looks at him would've been a whole lot worse.
To anyone who's lived in the Pacific Northwest of the North American District, they typically bear their regional weather stereotype with good grace - that it's always raining in some shape or form all of the time. It's not entirely true - the summers can actually be quite lovely, or even brutally hot - but the stereotype of constant rain always has a kernel of truth to it. It might not be classical downpours, but constant drizzles and overcast skies unsuited for flying was always a constant concern.
Today was one of those days. And George Armistead just sighed wistfully as he stared up at the gray overcast from his office, watching some of the ungainly Stork-class dropships cutting their way through the skies regardless of the crappy weather. A small part of him itched to just say 'screw it,' throw on a flight jacket and just go. It'd been years since he'd been allowed into the canopy and to tear hell through the skies, giving shit to Bobby Lee, Viktor, Pierre and so many other names that have almost begun to fade into memory.
And he'd never hear the end of it from his staff if he tried. He could still hear Haruko admonishing him, in her polite way, about being reckless. He supposed she was doing quite well with Devin's operation now.
It was at that thought of his former aide that he tilted his head slightly - and something in the reflection of the window caught a figure standing in front of his desk that wasn't there before. "Here to check on me, are you?" he asked conversationally. Rolling his eyes at the silent treatment, his foot kicked off at one of the wheels of the plush leather chair and spun around to meet his new guest. "Please tell me you at least didn't leave a mess this time," George grumbled, "there's only so many times I can calm the provosts down."
The man looked painfully nondescript. A sharp business suit and red tie, with an equally bland face that could have fit in just about anywhere in a suburban bus or urban metro. A gunmetal gray briefcase was in his right hand, carrying god only knew what this time. "I might have knocked a few unconscious," the man said. His voice was deep, yet quiet. "They'll live."
George just sighed, knowing that was about as generous as Koenig's agent was as likely to get. "Drink?" he offered, even knowing it was going to be refused. When he was inevitably turned down, George grabbed a glass, placed a few ice cubes inside, and poured some scotch inside. "So." He sipped at the glass - good scotch was meant to be respectfully sampled, after all - and stared at the agent as he sat down. "What do I owe the pleasure of your visit this time?"
"Not the usual complaints," came the surprising answer. "Not this time." The man opened his briefcase, and withdrew a few plain folders. "Our benefactor is aware that there are...changes coming around the corner. And he's asking for your insight."
George translated the 'request' into plain speak as he opened the folders, and it was painfully clear what the new focus was on. The pictures painted it all out for him.
Mercury V. Valiant. Beowulf - his lips curled up into a slight self-deprecating smirk. Even a very, very grainy and low-resolution picture of what appeared to be one of the Kausen.
And one more picture, of an almost skeletal robot being given metal flesh.
"One more step." Lenora Jenkins nodded in grim satisfaction as she saw the giant monstrosity move.
Giving truth to her words, the robot took another tentative step. A large section of the base had been sectioned off, a former artillery park being reshaped into a slight imitation of Devin's Proving Grounds. Large enough to move around in a giant sandbox, tough enough to take the occasional explosion, and remote enough to ensure no one got hurt (physically anyway) if something went wrong.
"Leg joints're holdin' steady," Neer reported out from his end. Tilting his helmet back into place, the man's face broke into a wide grin at what he was seeing. "Phil, you seein' this!?" A jubilant muffled sound, followed by a hand raising a thumbs up served as the response. "Anti-Grav's workin' like a beaut. Al? Victor?"
"It walks." The self-satisfaction from the engineer could have been felt all the way back from his homeland. "It walks. It runs. It crouches." Schemming was rubbing his hands together in glee, a certain glint in his eye gleaming even as some parts of the joints were reading amber rather than green. "The nanites are forming around them perfectly!"
Forge was not saying anything - he and Zhang were quietly conversing as they studied the Fulgur Generator's output ratios. Yet despite the intense energy demands of the nanites, the Fulgur Particles were not only capable of supplying that demand, there was even surplus if Lenora was reading those screens right - especially now that it wasn't being tasked with overcommitting power due to weight considerations.
"This is Weller." The pilot's voice sounded steady, even with the pressure of direct exposure to the Fulgur Particles. "Rodenko and Smythe had an idea. Permission to engage the Fulgur Generator?"
Lenora glanced over at Zhang, the quiet question of 'is it relatively safe?' passing through her gaze. Zhang's head nodded back - because of course it did. "Permission granted, Weller," she replied. "But keep it small scale. Baby steps."
"Roger that!" She was already starting to regret her choice, given the slightly...manic undertone Weller's reply carried. Yet before she could countermand it -
- blood red light emerged violently from the robot, its hand reaching outwards and upwards towards the sun as Polymorph Nanites swirled around its cylindrical forearms like a tornado. The hand itself seemed to disappear, joining the swirling nanites as they reformed into -
"- Fulgur-One. I said baby steps. A giant drill isn't a baby step!"
Fulgur-One's new forearm simply screeched to life in response, mingling perfectly with the almost cackling trio of laughter she could hear over the radio.
Pak raised an eyebrow at the latest...monstrosity taking shape before him.
"Look at it," a giggling voice cried out. "Look at it!"
"I very much am, Yuan, thank you for repeating yourself," Pak replied sardonically. "...but what is it?"
"Proof." The old monster's face was lit up with so much glee that Pak was slightly concerned that he might just walk off a catwalk without noticing. "Proof that the slumps are finished. So much...inspiration."
Gone were the ramshackle, improvised parts of before. The latest creation in Yuan's workshop was a solid humanoid mass, easily towering over the standard suburban house. Regularized - no, standardized even - armor plating adorned its figure. Finger joints spread out, before clenching together back into a fist. Wheels beneath its feet spinned to life, before coming back to rest. And a single, boxy camera 'eye' glanced over at them, before staring back forward as if they were nothing of interest.
"We will have so many of my children to spread my genius," Yuan said. A now serene - if momentary smile - crossed his wrinkled face. "The Union will know. They will know. You'll make sure, won't you?"
"Oh, trust me." Pak's face held a matching smile, even as his eyes beneath his glasses were imagining the credits. "I know plenty of people who will make it known."
"Has it ever occurred to you that you all have an overreach problem?" George asked conversationally as he held the Fulgur's photograph in his hand. Tapping it against his desk, he added, "You have all this coverage, all of these agents - me included, for what it's worth - and for what? The Union was going to build these sooner or later, and it looks like you're struggling to keep up now."
"Yet you sponsored them." The agent didn't rise to George's bait - but he did riposte rather neatly.
"So I did," he admitted readily. "And if I hadn't, I'd have no visibility over it and you'd be talking to someone else." And leaving me alone, he added sourly, even if he knew that wouldn't be entirely true. Taking the man's slight nod as his cue to keep going, he pressed on. "They're known, and they're consolidated. A lot of combat power, but with enough of a strike, you could theoretically take them all down in one go."
The agent remained silent for a moment - perhaps it wasn't the best idea to remind them of what cost Koenig Warlord, however indirectly.
"It's not going to end either." As the agent's eyes narrowed slightly, George's hand was already spreading out the Valiant and Mercury's photos onto the desk. "They'd already gotten started years ago - the DFRI is just validation to them now."
"You sure about this, Doc?" Daichi asked.
Rin nodded. "I am." The blueprints set between them were ambitious, to be sure. But... "We have more funding from the Union now - and especially more from the Japanese government. Sheol won't be content to keep to his usual templates, he will bring something new to destroy Mercury. We have to be ready for it, and now is the best time - the only time - we have."
He would refuse to admit to anyone that his discussions with Sam had anything to do with this. But despite the fact that K-Class on its own was relatively harmless to the user...he could not bring himself to use anything made of George Sheol's creations. He wouldn't begrudge Diana's comrades for using them - but they were not his tools. The Aeon Particles, Tritonium alloy, Hiroki's solid fighting style - they would be what this new foundation would be built on.
His father had envisioned a 'Grand' Mercury once, but the technology simply wasn't there. Mercury V was Rin's own attempt to match up to that design, and it fell short despite Hiroki's successes. Now Grand Mercury would be in reach.
And even if Mercury V struggled, he knew - they all did - that they weren't alone anymore.
"Took your bloody time with it, didn't you, Dinym?" Charles Mander looked over the design blueprints the eccentric scientist presented to him.
"I did, Charlie." The man's voice matched his appearance - slow, ponderous, and deliberate. Dr. Marcus Dinym was a thin, almost lanky man who looked as if a stiff breeze would knock him over onto his arse, and his gray beard would just be a sail that carried him further down the road. Yet behind those industrial strength bifocals was the sharpest tool in Charles' shed, one who had come up with the expensive design that had made Valiant possible. And now here he was coming up with something new. "I need those parts. Nothing else will do."
"...Marcus, dear boy." Charles' eyes widened fractionally at - how many zeroes was that? "I'm not normally made of stone, but this is a bit much out of the kitty, isn't it?"
"If you want Valiant to be more effective, nothing is."
"...point." Yet as he looked over the design - and the invoice - a random thought crossed his mind. "...suppose I put you in touch with the boffins over across the pond," he wondered.
"What you have here is a new armsrace now." George set aside his now empty glass as he stared at Koenig's hatchet man. "You're going to see more of this now that there's enough proof that some of this weird Mad Science stuff works-"
For some reason, both he and the agent paused, cocking their heads slightly as if they heard someone screaming something in some other part of the world. Weird.
"-that it's not going to stop. Hell, I don't doubt your own guys are coming up with something." Reaching into his desk and unlocking it via biometrics, he pulled out various pictures of his own, showing the new configurating walkers other Defense Forces units were seeing. "You already are for God's sake!"
"We need access." The agent brushed past all of George's words, even if he had no doubt they were being filed for future reference on whatever case file they had on him. "Your efforts to stymie them politically have failed."
"I barely have visibility over the Fulgur project, and I've made myself enough of a public asshole to give Devin PTSD over even thinking about me so I'm not exactly welcomed at the DFRI either." And he'd been amused to see that his little trick giving the young man that drive had been greeted with all the paranoia it deserved. Glaring openly at the agent, George sighed. "Look. If Burr is coming up with some plan of attack, I have enough stupid and rich idiots transferred here that would love to 'die for the cause.'" His voice could have painted the quotation marks onto a typecaster. "You need disposable assets? Have him cut me in on it for manpower."
"We will take that into consideration." The man nodded in grim satisfaction, giving George no doubt that he'd be hearing from this group again. "Thank you, General. We will be in touch."
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
George turned around to stare back at the sky - only to be greeted with dark storm clouds blackening the sky. A bolt of lightning crossed the sky, a momentary jagged line tearing through before the crackling thunder echoed from the heavenly display. There would be no more flying today.
A damned shame, George thought. After that meeting, he was all but considering making a break for it anyway. Even one of those V-33s, weird ass construction as it was...
"So. Allow me to determine if I am understanding this...correctly."
Bandit glanced nervously to his left and right from where he was locked down in the sustainment bed. In a way, he was somewhat relieved - it was clear that the others had scragged something pretty badly, even if he couldn't exactly determine what it was yet. But spreading the wealth when it came to blame only covered you so far with Tyrannous.
"The Predasaur you designed-" Scrapheap to Bandit's left went still, likely having had a similar calculation going through his processor, "-and that Rangefinder had so painstakingly crafted together for you is gone."
"...yes, my liege," Scrapheap slowly admitted.
"And you-" To Bandit's right, a thoroughly singed Throughput and Smelter stiffened similarly, "-lost the armor unit that was similarly designed and constructed."
The once urbane and calming voice coming from the command throne hardened abruptly, slamming down onto every Kausen on the the bridge. The shadows over the command throne masked most Tyrannous's form, save for a slight outline and the sinister blue glow of his optics. You could see just enough see and feel his intent - and neither was exactly a good feeling at the moment. Not when everyone was reporting in a failure.
The only one that seemed exempt from this was Rangefinder. The big, large mechanic that also doubled as Tyrannous's servo to crack heads if he couldn't be bothered to do it himself simply stood to Tyrannous's right, arms crossed over his enormous bulk. Bandit still didn't know why Tyrannous favored the big dumb lug like that, but here they were. In this case, the single chipped processor got to glare at them with his boss on account that his work had been scrapped.
"Disappointing, really." Tyrannous stood up from his throne, finally allowing the light from the primary star to shine onto him. His form had changed somewhat since he'd been able to bring back the Pilum from PJH - Tyrannous had taken a shine to the form and had readily adopted it as his configuration. Human-styled ordnance pods prominently stood out on his forearms, along with the stabilizer wings along his back. But the faceplate and those sinister optics remained - all configuration did was give him alternate methods to make things painful if he wanted to. "So, before I make any further...judgments. Do any of you have anything to say in your defense?"
Tyrannous spread his arms and looked around at the badly singed and beaten up collection of Free Brothers. Even Crackdown was quiet, the normally insane mech realizing just this once that it was probably a bad idea to gainsay the boss.
Well, scrap it. I'm not sinking with these losers.
"Uh, boss?" At once, Bandit almost regretted it as he felt Tyrannous's attention squarely on him, just as it had started just a little while ago. "I, uh, did see something new when Scrapheap busted me out." He tried not to wince in anticipation, but he was slightly encouraged when a slight nod from the mech himself allowed him to continue. "There's new Kaus running around dirtside."
Before Bandit could continue, his processor seized up as something jammed into the back of his head. Accessing recent files. Chimaira's voice hissed loudly in his audio receptors - or was it directly into his processor? He felt her presence drive a spike into his memories, the last cycle or so projecting outwards onto the holographic displays in the center of the bridge. He was not allowed to even think about anything else, focusing on and then dismissing memories that he might have revisited on his own-
And then three figures were shown on display. The larger, bronze colored Kaus slamming an enormous pair of fists into Crackdown in tandem with Nailhead. The quick and agile Kaus the size of Highway dancing around larger Drones setting up their destruction at Architect's hands. And the Kaus with the strange human contraption on his shoulder fighting alongside Beowulf.
Tyrannous tapped his chinplate thoughtfully. "Hmm. And who might these be?" He paused, then laid his optics onto Scrapheap. Or at least Bandit thought so - he was not allowed to think about anything beyond the three mystery Kausen before Chimaira painfully tore his attention back to where she wanted it.
"Respectfully, my liege," Scrapheap mused, sounding much calmer knowing that he wouldn't get offlined right this instant. "...I don't think they are from Mekaen. I briefly witnessed them myself in the breakout attempt. But their mannerisms, their styles...they seem far more human. But my sample size is admittedly rather small."
Tyrannous mulled that thought over, before his optics turned to another corner of the room. "Yes, Throughput?" he asked, in a pleasant, almost fatherly tone, as if he hadn't just threatened his dismemberment shortly before. "Oh, and Chimaira, save the images for future reference. You can let Bandit down now, thank you."
The spike crudely ripped out of Bandit's head, and relief surged through him as his memories were again his. He barely could hear Throughput's report, "...ound another one like 'im. But he didn't talk like us at all."
"The humans are making their own Kausen," Tyrannous said to himself slowly. For the first time he could ever recall, Bandit saw a look of bemusement in Tyrannous's optics. That quickly faded away, however, as his form began to heave with a low throated chuckle. "Ohhh, this is rich. And so many possibilities stemming from that." He then turned to Scrapheap. "Get Bandit a new body - use one of the captured 'Jackals' we acquired if you need. As for Bandit himself..." Tyrannous's optics burnt into his. "Your recent dealings with some of the humans turned out decently well. Reach out to them again. See what we can do to keep the humans at each other's throats."
"S...sure thing, boss," Bandit replied weakly. His processor was still trying to reboot properly after the memory spike - and defragmenting to see if everything was still where it should be. "Any, uh, specific requests?"
"Just one." The image of Beowulf emerged. "These particular humans," Tyrannous mused as his hand reached out to inspect the holographic image, "are becoming more of a nuisance than I'd like." His hand abruptly clenched around the image, and the hologram shuddered before disappearing into Chimaira's memory banks. "I want them dealt with permanently."
"Thank you for this opportunity." Shu Wan said with a warm smile, shaking the hand of the latest talent he had been assigned to vetting.
"No, thank you." His target for the day, Juscelino Quadros, demurred. With all the pleasantries out of the way the two made their way over to their assigned booth to continue onto the main portion of the conversation somewhere where they could not be overheard. Both casually, as the Pleasant Afternoon catered to high level businessmen whose conversations could cost them millions should their plans be made public before the actions agreed upon could be taken, but also professionally. There were many things that could not be said under the light of day after all. Such was the case when one fought against the established order.
Once the security systems reported that they were doing their best to obfuscate the contents of the meeting, Wu Shan set down his menu. "It is not often that we are sought out."
Juscelino shifted uneasily in his seat. "I... Apologize."
"Oh, no need. It is just unusual."
"And in your line of business boring is good, I am peripherally aware." The junior researcher nodded.
"Why didn't you go along with Collor then?" Wu Shan asked with genuine curiosity. "I am not privy to all information on the subject but it can easily be inferred that her team was recruited for a Defense Force project."
"You see... The thing is..." While Juscelino was temperating their orders arrived through the hatch and the digital window came to life. Talking was interrupted for some minutes as the two men went to work on their respective plates.
"I need the money." Juscelino said suddenly, causing Wu Shan to look up with a raised eyebrow. "It's, ah. Medical bills."
"For your daughter." Wu Shan said knowingly.
"...Yes."
"What was her problem again? Muscular dystrophy?"
"Neural degeneration. Something about the fat sheathes not staying on her neurons." The Brazilian scientist said heavily. "And the treatments necessary to keep it from manifesting... Are expensive."
Wu Shan nodded but kept his knowledge of events to himself. As much as the other man was trying to come off as justified, the expenses wouldn't quite manage to cripple him. Force a major lifestyle change, yes. But it would just take his family from well off to perhaps middle class. It wouldn't impoverish him IF he made major lifestyle changes such as downsizing his house, property, and so on.
But Wu Shan was well acquainted with greed as a motivation.
"Then, what are you offering?" Wu Shan kept his face neutral as he pushed to the critical point.
"Collor made information available to everyone on the team, back before the whole DFRI reveal, in order to get as many different applications as possible." Juscelino pulled out a thin metal case from his pant pocket. "The main thrust was to replace hydraulics with a material possessing a superior power to weight ratio. However, the primary lineage is a quite bulky material that doesn't miniaturize well. This lacks a fair bit of the overt power but similarly doesn't have the macroscale structures that prevent small scale applications." The revealed object was a square patch of bright green material.
"Artificial muscle?" Wu Shan asked for confirmation.
"Yes." Juscelino became more animated as he talked about something he was familiar with. "The applications are rather broad, from toroidal rotors capable of adjusting their pitch to novel methods of propulsion based on biomimicry."
"Animal styled drones..." Wu Shan mused.
"Ray styled crawling mines or sensors, bimodal water-air units, or even just crankshafts for wheels that do not rely on magnetism." Juscelino agreed, plugging a data cord into his phone and into the patch of myomer via a port on one edge. "Now, I admit to being a chemical engineer and not a programmer so the demonstration I can give is limited, but with some basic signaling you can see that the material does work as advertised."
The patch stiffened and flexed, even applying force to a few objects placed onto it.
"I believe..." Wu Shan smiled across the table. "That we can do business, mister Quadros."
As the door to the 'conference room' slid shut, Vivian Lennox heavily sat down in her seat. The makeshift headquarters still had dust coating the floor after the energy impacts had shaken them all loose, and various portrait frames had been knocked askew or simply fell and cracked on the floor. Only the current room – a worker's break room with a folding plastic table and some chairs – had been scrubbed clean, and that had only been for the sake of the electronic equipment.
Vivian's uniform, normally as pristine as she could make it – if just for the sake of reminding the soldiers that there was a standard even in the field – was matted with sweat and dust, both from in and out of the silo. Her eyelids very much felt like microscopic anvils had attached themselves, and the siren call of sweet, sweet sleep kept growing louder and louder. Never mind the fact that she still had what felt like a metric ton of paperwork – why did we never get rid of that term when there's almost no paper involved? – still glaring back at her from the scattered tablet screens on the table.
After action reports. Battle damage and recovery. Damage to the civilian infrastructure. Analysis of the Kausen frames that had been involved in the attack – including the super heavy walker that they'd somehow sprung out of their collective asses.
And the one entity that was dominating Lennox's attention was the wildcard.
"PERSEUS-!" / "-MEGAS!"
Vivian blinked – all of those reports she had been meaning to look at had apparently just been skipped over, and her hand had already reached out for the specific tablet holding some of the recorded battle data some of her company commanders had taken the initiative to upload as soon as recovery operations had begun. Not that it was exactly restricted knowledge outside of the chain of command – the encounter had been a little too public and center-stage to really try and conceal even if she had wanted to. Vivian had been content to list the footage as controlled information and give a subtle reminder to the line units about not releasing combat footage to the wider public.
Vivian's attention returned to the paused footage of the Super Robot right as it finished its over-the-top combination. Perseus Megas. The Defense Force Research Institute's latest party trick. She'd read the reports of the DFRI's other weapons – hell, she was fielding the watered-down versions of what just seemed flat out like space magic to her. By all metrics it was…gaudy. A transforming Buckler-like – or were they Hoplites now? – one that combined with those two support trucks to turn into something that looked like a Spartan warrior or something.
Yet despite all of that…it worked. And that alone should have been the main presiding fact that dominated Vivian's thought process. Yes, she was factually aware that things such as kaiju and Mercury V existed. Even the NSDF had a flying aircraft carrier for crying out loud.
Why was she surprised?
Because it was something else entirely to see it in person as opposed to abstractly reading about it.
Because it was something else entirely when she and her whole staff could feel the raw power emanating from the Super Robot as it moved with strength and purpose.
Because it moved with the same impossible life-like energy as the Kausen.
That thought reared Vivian's stream of consciousness back some. Bringing up another report, the realization that a question and a seldom voiced fact pinpricking at the edges of her mind finally found itself in the spotlight.
Life-like.
All the foot soldiers, even as they seemed designed to die in droves, still scattered and reacted to incoming fire and threats as if they were some of her infantry. It was hard to make out, but some of the larger units seemed to be gesturing at one another – entirely superfluous motions if they were purely machines. An intelligence bulletin debating with itself whether they were piloted machines or actually were the machines was still doing the rounds – the majority opinion seemed to lean to the former, but Vivian was starting to wonder about that now.
She leaned back against the rickety chair, tapping her stylus against her palm. Her Centurion frames, looking back at it, hadn't done a terrible job given what they were up against. They were suitable against the chaff, if absolutely nothing else could be said about them – it was when the 'officer' frames, for lack of a better term, arrived that the Centurions were smashed into pieces. Thank goodness for the crew escape modules.
But when the DFRI had arrived onto the scene, Perseus – and Perseus Megas – had not fought by itself. It had fought as part of a combined arms combat team. It had brought Phalanxes of its own – I'll be asking about the procurement later – and it had brought some limited air support.
And yes, Perseus Megas was probably tuned up into some ridiculous mega prototype that enabled its raw power, including a Mercury-style chest cannon of sorts. But it had been the spearhead and the moving wall that had drawn attention while both its support and Vivian's own formations had circled around the flanks to cut down their numbers in a more conventional fashion.
If there were any other methods of defeating the Kausen that didn't rely on brute force strength, she didn't know of them. But here was probably the upcoming textbook example of how to do it – the first recorded instance of defeating the Kausen. And all it seemingly required was something resembling the Earth Union's own Kausen-
-their own Kausen. The idea seemed laughable only a month or so ago. But the more she stared at Perseus Megas, the less crazy it sounded. They already had transforming IFVs and tanks. Why couldn't they make their own equivalent Kausen? It wouldn't magically destroy all of the Kausen immediately, but it didn't have to. It just needed to level the playing field back to some kind of conventional battlefield that the GSDF could fight…
Vivan Lennox's stylus began to scribble across one of her datapads as the moon continued to rise outside. It was late, and she wasn't going to suddenly solve the question tonight. But she couldn't delegate these thoughts to her staff unless she committed the thoughts down to her notes. They likely weren't going to listen to a lowly Major serving in an acting Battalion Commander role, but she could make enough noise to get noticed by someone…well, nothing was impossible...
As promised, have an interlude. I'll be working on the Engineering post and the Science rolls this weekend, and hopefully I don't have anything else come up.
Nothing to see here, no substantial updates to this one. I just noticed I put it under Threadmarks rather than Sidestory, that's been corrected.
I call upon the people of the subjugated nation-states of Earth.
You are all living a beautiful lie.
World peace. Unity amongst all mankind. The wars to end all wars. It sounds admirable. But it is a forced dream.
"-ay again, this is Quebec-Three, enemy penetration in-!"
"-there anyone on this rig!? Quebec-One! QRF! Anyone-!"
The radio array descended into one final electronic shriek of garbled pain before going silent, the single bullet put through the delicate electronics. "Enough of that." The pistol, its barrel still smoking, began to trail a stylized pattern as the trigger well spun around the firer's forefinger. "God forbid the defenders actually have comms."
The figure watched lazily, leaning against the wall as the red-tinted emergency lights flickered in the control tower, handily masking the potential bloodstains of the staff manning the radios. Only one had managed to even rise from her seat, and lifelessly remained slumped against the wall. The figure nudged her with its foot, and the would-be hero slid to the ground, blood freely staining the wall in her wake as her body joined the rest of those laying on the ground.
Not that the figure was paying attention. There was a much better show going on outside. A smile might have formed at the sight of one of the damned Storks burning, one of the enormous stabilizing wings bent ninety degrees inwards and trailing even more smoke. A smile definitely would have from the sight of the spreading figures with broken down emergency services trying to contain the fires from the outside residential areas still wailing their sirens even as the few remaining Tank-Mobiles remaining on hand gleefully were shooting them into ribbons.
One thought crossed the figure's mind as hellfire began to engulf the town near the Union's base, smoke and orange fires greedily devouring all around and obscuring the sky in the ashes of their protectors: There would be no help coming. A fitting tribute to the Red King.
The pistol slid into its holster at the firer's side, safety clicking on, as the silhouette tapped a finger to its ear. "Communications down. Take them apart."
"Confirm. What about the sheep?"
There was a momentary pause. "What about them?"
"Say no more."
And like with all dreams, we must wake up.
Look around us. Without the fires of competition, without the struggles of nations, we have collectively traded greatness for comfortable stagnation. No one can become great on their own merits, not without the permission of the tyrants in their floating ivory towers.
"Charming message, isn't it?"
Anna didn't dignify the rhetorical statement with a response. The Director tended to make these obvious statements all the time, usually to either lighten the mood or to nudge his people towards a certain one. And on top of everything else Anna was dealing with, seeing yet another one of the Red King's maligned Top Ten reels was just making her annoyed.
But annoyingly, the Director had a point, like usual.
"More of the same." Anna flicked a switch, and the recording of the figure in black and red shadows nudged to the side, revealing a who's who of would-be revolutionary 'heroes.' "Scions of political families. Censured officers. Failed businessmen. Passed for promotion."
"The greedy, the corrupt, and the desperate." Director Ashwood tilted his head slightly. "Even decades on, the system still has growing pains to deal with."
"So why does the system make this so damned easy to find recruits for this nutjob?"
No one can achieve riches without restrictions.
"You know, I wouldn't be working with you nearly so much if you didn't pay so damned highly, Koenig."
Pak couldn't see Koenig – of course he couldn't, he always did enjoy the shadowy filters and the red backdrops – but he could swear the bastard was smiling at him. "Yet you profit all the same despite your own difficulties with the cause."
Pak huffed in his drink, shooting a glare behind his shaded glasses, but he didn't say anything to that. He tried to pivot instead: "Though are you sure you're not worried about one of Yuan's workshops having that incident earlier?"
"What of it? One disgruntled engineer who turned his back on the Union already? He has no credibility to stand on." But Koenig clearly wasn't done with the previous topic.
"Don't give me that attitude. You know damned well that you could be making enough money if you had stayed within the Union's system. But it's not just about money, is it?"
Pak glanced aside to see one of the Hussars rolling off of the line, just in time for the last of the assembly line to install the final piece. A cylindrical camera apparatus was fitted into the guts of the 'head' unit as the final connections were made by several of the workers who very much weren't working at the factory that didn't exist. The transparent armored glass sealed shut over it, and the monocular eye camera glowed to life, the cylindrical modes spinning through different modes before the diagnostics were concluded.
"If I had stayed legitimate, I could have been wealthy enough," Pak admitted. "But there are far too many safeguards against gentleman's agreements, too many barriers to making deals." Pak stood up, facing the holo link. "I could make it to the top in my lifetime, maybe – but what's the point of riches if you're about to die of old age before you can enjoy them?"
"Stay with me, Pak. And you will enjoy the freedom to build your wealth in a weak and divided world yet again."
Despite himself, despite all of his annoyances with Koenig, Pak – begrudgingly – raised a glass. "Something we can both drink to, for once."
No one can become great.
No one can restore their destinies with their own two hands.
"Have you enough?"
Burr grimaced, but he reluctantly shook his head at the question. "They're definitely more active since they found that Tunnel waystation."
The Red King's silhouette paused, as if considering something. "If it was just the Union dogs at the old site, you would not have this hesitation. You're concerned for something else."
"There's something else in the District," Burr explained. He wordlessly accepted a memo from one of his aides, signing off on a requisition approval before passing it back to the beleaguered young man. Lots of potential, eager to learn – wasted in the EUDF. He'll do well. Should do something nice for him. "There's some other force that's near there. I don't know what, and I can only keep my reconnaissance forces hidden long enough before we add 'in force' to that moniker."
"I will talk with him," Koenig promised.
"You'd do that?" The older commander blinked in surprise. "You'd be asking a lot of him to let my forces through his area."
"This is too important to leave alone like this," Koenig insisted. "Even if the probes fail, even if you have to make an attack, we need to know what is going on in there." The shadowy figured sighed – a rare first for Burr to witness. "I left it alone too long since Warlord. No longer. We need to right these wrongs, show the young blood among you that we can act."
Burr nodded, a fire of his own building in his gut. "Once you give us the go ahead, I can get started…but some of the new Hussars wouldn't go amiss."
"I will have even better for you," Koenig promised. "You will have what you need to free America from the Earth Union's tyranny."
I call on all those who share my vision – of struggle, of conquest, of glory – to restore the world that was. A world where your own efforts mattered, when nations charted their own destinies beholden to none but their people. A world where you shouldered the burdens you chose to. Let those who perish in the purifying flames be remembered as the brave sacrifices on the altar of freedom!
Rise up! Break your shackles, turn your chains into weapons of liberation!
Koenig took one last moment to look over the state of the world. Just seeing the new patterns of commerce and cargo, of the lack of military posturing against an external force, made him feel his age.
It was never supposed to be like this.
The world had been managed just the way they had hoped for. The conflicts over the artificial island chains in the South China Sea. The skirmishes on the Korean peninsula that came just close enough to threaten nuclear intervention. They had even come close enough to finding ways to destabilize the western world through the systems projects in the American west coast.
Those shuttles were never supposed to be dropped.
The wars to end all wars. Koenig's face twisted into an ironic smile. Oh, how his old mentor would have laughed at how stupid such a notion was, but the 'Day of Starfall' had forced the nations' hands far earlier than they were ready to capitalize on. Now they had to deal with this…abomination of a world government.
But no matter. He had time. He had resources. And he had the will.
He would have the power to rule that he was promised. And there was more than one way to achieve it.
"Just one engineer, huh?"
The workshop still stood in ruins ever since that army of Kaiju had stomped through from the coast towards Mercury V's haunt. The JSDF and the EUDF had cleaned up most of the mess – but aside from field stripping the electronics considered sensitive enough to salvage, most of the wreckage had been left in the junkyard, unaware or uncaring at the time that the junkyard manager had stopped operating for awhile.
No one had asked too closely when he claimed to be the new manager. And that gave him more than enough materials and isolation to make progress.
"I know what you did, Koenig." The old engineer pulled up his welding mask to reveal a weatherbeaten face. Once bright blue eyes had hardened from years of broken promises as they beheld the progress of his work. The Hussars had been a good effort by Yuan after the maniac's slump – but now he was going to apply his ideas that he knew could have made them better, costs be damned.
"I know what you and yours did to her." Returning to the dilapidated computer terminal, the wire graphical representation of the upgraded head module greeted him. He was only missing a few pieces to really make this thing look menacing. She would have liked that, I think.
"And even if I'm not the one who really hurts you with this, I'll find someone who can."
Approved for posting by @Basarin. Written four ish months ago.
In all respects, it was just another of the textile mills serving the South American district. Wool and cotton were shipped in from across the near half of the continent by rail and barge to be mixed with artificial threads and turned into long bolts of fabric suitable for a hard-working population. Next door to where the fabric was made, a primitive workshop used skilled manual labor to turn some of that fabric into finished clothes. Such products were made to order, resulting in cloaks and ponchos as much as more conventional shirts and pants.
That wasn't to say that the facility had nothing else happening, of course. The large amount of people moving in and out during shift change and at breaks made for excellent cover to insert and retrieve personnel from the covert facility installed under the campus. Even better, the skills used in both facilities were quite intercompatible and thus everyone present had legitimate reason for being present.
And if the owner came by with one or more people that they were trying to draw investment from, well...
"Surprisingly, the contact was not a Union plant." Shu Wan commented as he shaded his eyes against the industrial lighting in order to check the time on his phone. "Even more surprisingly, their information was accurate so far as they knew it."
Leonor Diogo chuckled as they passed through the security door and were greeted by a half dozen security personnel. As they acknowledged their boss and his boss walking into the secure location, Leonor warmly responded to his subordinate. "Ah, but there is nothing unusual about a team splintering. It happens all the time after all. Still, it is good that you checked."
"Can never be too careful." Shu grunted, before stopping next to Leonor to take in the view. Unlike the public workshop above, the fibers in use were nothing so pedestrian as wool, cotton, or polyester. Neither was the final product intended for anything so harmless as mere warmth. Before them lay a half dozen machines and several cutting tables where bright green strands, sheets, and bundles were strewn about. Several other machines were present to serve as guides where workers and researchers debated how to apply the artificial muscle to productive ends.
"Indeed!" Leonor clapped the Chinese refugee on the back and gestured to the office off to the side of the working room floor. "Still, let's talk somewhere a little more private, eh?"
"As you say, sir."
Within, a mestizo manager looked up at the two new arrivals with an arched brow. "Is it already..? Yes, it is." With a mix of careful and careless unique to workaholics a number of diagrams and figures were shoved off of the touch screen that dominated the desk and the man stood pay his respects.
"Joaquin my man! Everything going well?" Leonor greeted him warmly.
"There was a potential leak that turned out to be less serious than expected." The manager said mildly, surreptitiously working his wrist at the aggressive welcome his ultimate superior was typified by.
"I see, I see... All benefits were provided then?" The proto-warlord asked in the same genial tone.
"As it was not willful betrayal but merely carelessness... Yes." Came the answer from the local maanger.
"Excellent!" Leonor clapped. "Now, Shu here couldn't tell me enough about what you had accomplished on the ride over."
"Yes, we have had a fairly substantive breakthrough with the Goblins." Joaquin agreed and indicated the workshop outside the room. "You'd have seen our latest product as you came in."
"A bit bare of detail but yes. Would you mind giving us the grand tour?"
"Certainly." At a sharp call from the manager the activity in the workshop began to come to a halt, allowing the two visitors a good view of the systems in place: an apelike frame, a humanoid suit scattered across a table, and a handful of misshapen lumps.
"Now, the grand flexibility of the fibrous structure referred to as myomer or greenpull allows for a number of things impossible with purely mechanical devices. In practice, the application of the principles of variable configuration that you have provided," Jaoquin dryly explained, gesturing at the largest of the systems under development. "Has seen substantial progress on our subscale walker concept, codenamed Goblin. Even so it remains a secondary system: an exterior shell that can get the combat platform into place past cursory or moderate scrutiny and possibly provide some extra protection."
At a hand signal the frame shuddered and hunched over, with the similarity to one of the new subcompact vehicles proliferating in civilian sectors being indicated by a worker holding a piece of the shell in place.
"There are... Complications." The manager allowed. "Due to the mandated size, power is going to be a recurring issue."
"If it is going to blend into civilian traffic we can not go larger." Leonor said heavily.
"I wasn't complaining, merely stating realities. Without a new power plant with substantially improved energy densities the Goblin will never stand up to even a Jackal." Jaoquin waved it away. "Our current stopgap is to lock one set of limbs and divert full power to the other... But sadly that might make it into the final product."
"If it can't be helped." Leonor shrugged. "You are the expert."
"Of course. Sadly, I can't say things are so good for the... Next project." Jaoquin's tone and faced soured as he gave a venomous look at the humanoid frame on the table. "Simply put, the mechanics of a strength enhancing suit do not work without an external frame to anchor to. The best I can give you is a layer of covert armor that acts as a first aid system and g-suit."
"I suppose it was a long shot." Leonor admitted with uncharacteristic chagrin.
"Fortunately," Shu spoke up. "Usage of myomer as a form of wing and variable attack lift surface makes up for that, allowing an operative a useful glide ratio that can't be detected by sound or radar."
"I don't see such a thing here." Leonor said knowingly.
"Yes, well, I contracted it out to a team studying chiropteran flight." Shu looked away.
"Off site?" Leonor grinned wryly.
"Yes, I know, but I wasn't going to bring them here, now was I?" Shu cut back. "And they never saw the final product, just general properties."
"Good, very good." Leonor chuckled and waved away the rising ire of his subordinate. "It's just, after all the warnings you have given-"
"I do have an appointment in less than an hour, so yes." Leonor answered.
"Our last project has been biomimic locomotive automatons, experimenting with a variety of anatomies ranging from gastropods to batoid. To... Mixed results. Ground type drones will be delayed until we get additional computing specialists with the correct clearances."
"Overall, excellent work!" Leonor clapped the manager on the shoulder with a grin. "I know that what I have asked of you is difficult and so expect to see an increase in your assigned funding. Now, if you can excuse me, I need to prepare for an important meeting."
