Sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes. Somebody who has
taken a step back and can see the bigger picture.
While you have all been busy dealing with alternate
universes and whoever this Ambrose fellow is, I have been subject to a low
level insidious assault of my own.
I refer to the XOX virus.
I shall explain this to you.
It first came to my attention when I was attempting to have
a conversation with Junior Pilot. I use the word attempt, because anyone who
has any interaction with teens knows that conversation is a forlorn hope that
dies when they are still in their single digit years and they can go on
endlessly about what they have done at school or the plotline of the latest
rave tri-D cartoon.
Probably this includes rectangular trousers in some way,
don't ask me why.
Nowadays a conversation either consists of one side using monosyllabic
grunts or as is more usual, an outthrust palm while they keep their nose buried
in a data slate. At some stage, you may receive an electronic communique from
them.
The problem is it appears to be in some form of battle can’t
that I'm not familiar with, preceded by a 'noughts and crosses' board.
A simple request to tidy ones dorm area results in a coded
message of #OMG #FML; a reminder that they are on kitchen duty and the dishes
are stacking up means my message system flags #WHATEVS for my immediate
attention.
All while junior pilot's head remains engrossed in that
small screen.
These are the first signs of being infected by the XOX virus.
I have carried out studies on this phenomenon and some
pilots are less susceptible than others.
Old hands like my own CO General Fuller, who cut his teeth
piloting mechs before we knew how to mount additional gear on them are all but
immune. Those who drove by the seat of their pants and laid in their shots by
dead eye reckoning.
All of us have piloted Anzus and Red Ants in our time, but
shortly thereafter we graduated to networked computer systems and AIs to aid us
in battle. This is the point that we became susceptible to the XOX virus.
A lot of us have built up a resistance. We field specialists
and can drop to to 10 ton maximum squadrons. We can cause more damage with a
coffee cup holder than John Fuller can when he has been slipped decaf. I’ve
seen the results of both; cup holders should never be inserted into folk in
that manner.
Suffice to say we are not totally reliant on electronics for
our survival. We can leave it as needed and rely on our own wit and wiles to
survive.
But there are those who can’t.
There are those like Junior Pilot who advanced quickly and
once exposed to electronics have become hooked and know no other way. Such are
the follies of youth.
But you also have those who make an outlay on the best
equipment that is on the market and refuse to use anything other than the
biggest and best equipment. Some of the most elite pilots with the best
financial backing, permanently hooked into the network using the fastest
processors and most powerful hardware.
Our bankrolled elite, our untouchables, immersed in the
hashtag domain.
The lair of our most insidious foe, the intelligence that is
AM.
Oh, we may think that he/she/it has been contained. Mark my
words, we are wrong. The sings are there.
Hashtags. Lines and gaps, ones and zeroes. The binary code
is right there in front of us.
And now, the best of us who managed to breach the walls of
reality and came back with the largest mechs we have seen, the Guardians are
scrambling to try and get equipment for them.
And to show you just how devious AM is, the carrier for the
XOX virus isn't even a cockpit module.
Go look at the History chassis gear. Check it out now and
tell me what you see.
Lines and gaps.
Don't say I didn't warn you...
Oh, and maybe take the data slate away from those junior
pilots once in a while and make them talk to you, eh?