FIRE.....
Submitted by Pat Willis #224534
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Happy 2nd Birthday Mecha Galaxy
Ladies and Gentlemen I bring you a special bulletin tonight, for it is a special night one we should all delight in. Tonight our beloved Mecha Galaxy turns 2 years old. I first started out 49th place in division 6 of a middle weight mech KOTM in 2013-02-16 according to my profile. Since that time I have grown and the game has certainly grown. I have seen the addition of many new mechs, the rise and fall of a few clans, even been through a few clans myself. The game has improved quite a bit and has allowed me to host this second news network for our great Galaxy. We are seeing new content all the time, and are experiencing more diverse as well as thought provoking CWs. We have seen equipment become a reality, missions being added, clan raids after the wars, and so much more. The game is constantly growing, evolving, and we are all still here playing it and loving it. So let us take a moment to aim our cannons high and fire off a volley in honor of Mecha Galaxy and the Devs who have brought it to us.
FIRE.....
Submitted by Pat Willis #224534
FIRE.....
Submitted by Pat Willis #224534
Mecha Time
My, my, my mecha hits you so hard Makes you say "my, oh Lord".
Thank you for blessing me With wide fork, splash and dodge so sweet.
It feels good, when you're beat down A super dope brother from the smoke town.
And I'm known as such And this is a formation, you can't touch.
You can't touch this.
You can't touch this.
You can't touch this.
Break it down.
Stop, Hangar time!
Submitted by Gary Allsop #196277
Thank you for blessing me With wide fork, splash and dodge so sweet.
It feels good, when you're beat down A super dope brother from the smoke town.
And I'm known as such And this is a formation, you can't touch.
You can't touch this.
You can't touch this.
You can't touch this.
Break it down.
Stop, Hangar time!
Submitted by Gary Allsop #196277
Sensor Array Equipment Review
This cockpit part specifically for BFM class Mecha (which I'm pretty sure stands for something like "Big Freakin' Mecha") only fits those which weight 90-95 tons.
It is made using a similar "smart alloy" as the Trilerian sprockets but with a completely different chemical treatment done to the metamaterial layer which imbues drastically different properties. Instead of being weak against lasers, the parts of the Sensor Array boost your mecha's laser damage by 5%. This is further complemented by the sensors which improve your precision by 10 and fields emitted by the array that give a 4% freeze ability.
As far as crystal parts go this one isn't cheap. It'll cost you 1049 Ferrite, a whopping 6437 Bioptics and 241 Crystals.
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
It is made using a similar "smart alloy" as the Trilerian sprockets but with a completely different chemical treatment done to the metamaterial layer which imbues drastically different properties. Instead of being weak against lasers, the parts of the Sensor Array boost your mecha's laser damage by 5%. This is further complemented by the sensors which improve your precision by 10 and fields emitted by the array that give a 4% freeze ability.
As far as crystal parts go this one isn't cheap. It'll cost you 1049 Ferrite, a whopping 6437 Bioptics and 241 Crystals.
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Trilerian Sprockets Equipment Review
A crystal part for the chassis of your 80-90 ton Huge and BFM weight Division Class mecha, Trilerian Sprockets are made from an alloy using a patented metamaterial that exhibits space-shifting properties for one layer and a thin outer plating of a particular isotope of supremely dense Osmium.
These two layers, the metamaterial and isotopic metal sandwich a bioptic mesh layer in the middle. This all works together to make something which functions simultaneously as a structural element and a component as a type of sensor. They give your titanic mecha a much appreciated bonus dodge ability of 11 and the spatial warping properties of the metamaterial grant a boosted 2% fork. The sensor aspect tends to be photovoltaic in nature and as a result the Sprockets have a 5% laser vulnerability.
They cost 1093 Ferrite, 585 Bioptics and 49 Crystals.
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
These two layers, the metamaterial and isotopic metal sandwich a bioptic mesh layer in the middle. This all works together to make something which functions simultaneously as a structural element and a component as a type of sensor. They give your titanic mecha a much appreciated bonus dodge ability of 11 and the spatial warping properties of the metamaterial grant a boosted 2% fork. The sensor aspect tends to be photovoltaic in nature and as a result the Sprockets have a 5% laser vulnerability.
They cost 1093 Ferrite, 585 Bioptics and 49 Crystals.
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
The Bat-people Of Vupa 6
Pteropo sapiens, or "smart fruit bats" make up a semi-intelligent race of beings on Vupa 6. They should not be confused with their similar appearing yet very much different neighboring species of "terrible vampires" the Desmodo horribilis You'd think as terrible and psycho actively well, active a place to live as Vupa 6 with all its gases, spores, etc. that can induce hallucinogenic and other pharmacological effects would be inhospitable but that could not be further from the truth. P. Sapiens and D. horribilis evolved in a convergent way but with a parallel process to that of hominids on other worlds just from a bat like ancestor rather than a primate one.
To get back to the zoologically and anthropologically relevant information though, it is important to successfully distinguish between P. Sapiens and D. Horribilis so that you know which one of the two it is that will invite you to a party and which would like to suck your blood.
Basically, P. Sapiens are a primitive and overall alcoholic but agrarian culture that is for the most part content to live just in the Vupa system. At least some of what we hear in our ears to be those horrible shrieks at night and in some of the caves are really just how these bat-people communicate, using a form of echolocation.
They were in the process of negotiating a tense treaty with their carnivorous neighbor species over which tribes of each was allowed access to which caves and who would live in each region when the activities of Herod and Mad Mulligan disrupted it all.
The societies of each are tribal and have a rudimentary economy based on a bartering system. While aware of other species and that some civilizations have technological capability for space travel, the bat-people tend to prefer staying put on Vupa. They aren't interested in other parts of the galaxy. They don't mind trading with those other civilizations though and the main export are their many liquors. It is typically quite difficult for humans to understand either species' spoken language but generally trade can be conducted through drawing pictures and with physical gestures. Trade with P. Sapiens is safe but doing business with D. horribilis (the more barbaric of the two) is ill-advised.
Disclaimer: Vupan whiskey is quite strong for humans to drink when it is undiluted. Bat-people possess an altogether different physiology to their metabolism than human beings so their bodies are a good deal more tolerant to alcohol than ours.
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
To get back to the zoologically and anthropologically relevant information though, it is important to successfully distinguish between P. Sapiens and D. Horribilis so that you know which one of the two it is that will invite you to a party and which would like to suck your blood.
Basically, P. Sapiens are a primitive and overall alcoholic but agrarian culture that is for the most part content to live just in the Vupa system. At least some of what we hear in our ears to be those horrible shrieks at night and in some of the caves are really just how these bat-people communicate, using a form of echolocation.
They were in the process of negotiating a tense treaty with their carnivorous neighbor species over which tribes of each was allowed access to which caves and who would live in each region when the activities of Herod and Mad Mulligan disrupted it all.
The societies of each are tribal and have a rudimentary economy based on a bartering system. While aware of other species and that some civilizations have technological capability for space travel, the bat-people tend to prefer staying put on Vupa. They aren't interested in other parts of the galaxy. They don't mind trading with those other civilizations though and the main export are their many liquors. It is typically quite difficult for humans to understand either species' spoken language but generally trade can be conducted through drawing pictures and with physical gestures. Trade with P. Sapiens is safe but doing business with D. horribilis (the more barbaric of the two) is ill-advised.
Disclaimer: Vupan whiskey is quite strong for humans to drink when it is undiluted. Bat-people possess an altogether different physiology to their metabolism than human beings so their bodies are a good deal more tolerant to alcohol than ours.
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
Monday, August 11, 2014
Pilot Profile Of Ben Parker
Ben Parker is a dreamer. Reading about mysteries like the Precursors, the Chaos Gate, and secret organizations like the Order of the Potato have always sparked a desire to explore and find the truth.
This desire even prompted a visit to a recruiter on his home of Indicass Orbital World Alpha. A disappointing lack of results and no reply from the recruiter's office left him only dreaming. Even after inheriting his grandmother's farm, he had doubts about seeing the stars and the wonders they contained.
Then, one day a mercenary commander came calling, and his life was forever changed. Now, armed with his Mecha, Daemion, - whatever chassis it may be - and some colleagues, he is exploring the galaxy, seeing the wonders and delving into its secrets.
Submitted by Ben Parker #712090
This desire even prompted a visit to a recruiter on his home of Indicass Orbital World Alpha. A disappointing lack of results and no reply from the recruiter's office left him only dreaming. Even after inheriting his grandmother's farm, he had doubts about seeing the stars and the wonders they contained.
Then, one day a mercenary commander came calling, and his life was forever changed. Now, armed with his Mecha, Daemion, - whatever chassis it may be - and some colleagues, he is exploring the galaxy, seeing the wonders and delving into its secrets.
Submitted by Ben Parker #712090
A Budding Conspiracy
As big as the galaxy is, it should come as no surprise that conspiracies, secret organizations and hidden power players exist. The Precursors. Atlantis. The Central Niode. The Catholic Church. Hints and theories as to their existence and whereabouts are rife. Few ever suspected, let alone knew, about the Order of the Potato. That is until one day they made a very noticeable appearance.
In a ferocious display of power, a small contingent of unknown assailants confronted one of our contributors over a review he posted. Rumors abound of Clan War survivors receiving odd, out-of-place rewards that, at face value, have no value. With no instructions on use, or where to find complimentary gear, most chalk it up as a joke. Our contributor wrote a review on a Potato he had received, putting it through its paces.
This drew a few members of the Order of the Potato out of hiding. Assaulting his base on Diotima, they demolished his fellow defenders, and crippled his machine before dragging him out for a confrontation.
An eye witness recorded the entire event, even the Order pilots making various threats over our contributor's reconsideration of his review. While anyone can clearly see who the individuals are in the footage, AI interference keeps facial recognition programs from identifying them or their Mecha. However, the gear and machines used were not of any standard configuration known on the typical Mecha market. It appears highly resilient and very powerful; maybe enough to change the face of warfare across the galaxy.
Judging from their reaction, this order is protecting the secret power. To what end and from whom remains to be discovered.
Our contributor, in spite of refusing to alter his review, was allowed to live. He has gone silent on the issue, but it is assumed he was meant to be recruited into the order through the receiving of his Potato, a standard means of replenishing and expanding their ranks. Apparently, they still have plans for him.
So, dear reader, beware. The Order of the Potato is real! The random items that may seem like a joke may have more value than a good meal or laugh.
Submitted by Ben Parker - 712090
In a ferocious display of power, a small contingent of unknown assailants confronted one of our contributors over a review he posted. Rumors abound of Clan War survivors receiving odd, out-of-place rewards that, at face value, have no value. With no instructions on use, or where to find complimentary gear, most chalk it up as a joke. Our contributor wrote a review on a Potato he had received, putting it through its paces.
This drew a few members of the Order of the Potato out of hiding. Assaulting his base on Diotima, they demolished his fellow defenders, and crippled his machine before dragging him out for a confrontation.
An eye witness recorded the entire event, even the Order pilots making various threats over our contributor's reconsideration of his review. While anyone can clearly see who the individuals are in the footage, AI interference keeps facial recognition programs from identifying them or their Mecha. However, the gear and machines used were not of any standard configuration known on the typical Mecha market. It appears highly resilient and very powerful; maybe enough to change the face of warfare across the galaxy.
Judging from their reaction, this order is protecting the secret power. To what end and from whom remains to be discovered.
Our contributor, in spite of refusing to alter his review, was allowed to live. He has gone silent on the issue, but it is assumed he was meant to be recruited into the order through the receiving of his Potato, a standard means of replenishing and expanding their ranks. Apparently, they still have plans for him.
So, dear reader, beware. The Order of the Potato is real! The random items that may seem like a joke may have more value than a good meal or laugh.
Submitted by Ben Parker - 712090
Sunday, August 10, 2014
How I Came To Stop Hating Fides And Learned To Love The Mech War
The tale of how I came to have my Nakshi is one of patience. Quanta I call her and the gal was patient as I took my time restoring her. Now Claymore and Giga Rex have a big sister who is loaded to the metaphorical gills with projectile weaponry and lasers. Let me start at the beginning though. Sit down and a have a beer because this is going to be kind of a long one.
You may not be aware of this but there was a brief period of time where the Hegemony and Old Mars were in conflict with each other. It took place during my childhood and as a result for the few years during which it took place the Hegemony attempted to place an embargo on the colony in which my family lived. Enterprising merchants got around these sanctions by employing privateers and using Earth's Moon as a staging area for the resulting gray market. My family was friends with a group of space pirates headed by a captain whose surname was Dragoon. In fact, one of his sons, Miguel, was my best friend as a kid. His cousin Elizabeta it turns out, liked me. Anyway, long story short, the Dragoon family eventually got caught and that moon market went bust when Hegemony MPs dropped down on them in Fides.
Miguel got crushed to death under the legs of one and Elizabeta was critically injured. I didn't know it at the time but apparently she'd wanted me to marry her when I reached the right age. The culture in the Dragoon family is a bit peculiar, but like I was saying, for whatever reason Elizabeta had the hots for little Myco. So, it turns out she and Miguel had saved me a sort of a treasure star-map of one of their better finds. It was supposedly going to be the dowry for Elizabeta and I. It had a difficult puzzle lock on it too, this is what the Dragoons' lawyer told me on visiting a few years following when the captain was sentenced to death. I didn't think much of it at the time but wondered what Miguel and Elizabeta had wanted me to have. Yeah, that's what the funny odd puzzle you see me fiddling with sometimes is. Well, turns out the other day that I solved it. And what they had in there in addition to that star map surprised me even more. There was a cybernetic engram containing an AI set up to approximate Elizabeta's personality.
The real Elizabeta had long since died but the AI explained herself to be one last present for me from the person she was modeled after and basically was designed to help me find the Dragoon family's lost treasure. Which as it turned out was a highly damaged Nakshi unit but I'm getting ahead of myself (also how the hell you manage to badly damage something as tough as a Nakshi I have no idea). In the end the whole venture of hunting after it and hiring people to help me recover the darned thing on Vupa 6 cost about as much as I would have spent on a new Nakshi that wasn't damaged. And yeah, Mad Mulligan, Malicious and Herod were none too pleased with our digging around on there. Anyway, while on Vupa 6 recovering that beat up Nakshi eLiza-ß(the AI's name) revealed to me that she's also a fully functioning Battle AI. So not wanting to waste much time I installed her in the damaged mecha, a female Nakshi. The personalities of eLiza-ß and the Nakshi merged and I named her Quanta.
She and Claymore man one half of my front line while Giga Rex mans the other half with a Dilophos assisting him (he kinda prefers working alone, so having a unit subordinate to him was the most acceptable compromise). That being said though, those three beast mecha seem to work exceptionally well together. Thanks Betts, I'm sorry your family suffered so much personally during that conflict but in a way your memory or a slight approximation of it in some form lives on in Quanta.
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
You may not be aware of this but there was a brief period of time where the Hegemony and Old Mars were in conflict with each other. It took place during my childhood and as a result for the few years during which it took place the Hegemony attempted to place an embargo on the colony in which my family lived. Enterprising merchants got around these sanctions by employing privateers and using Earth's Moon as a staging area for the resulting gray market. My family was friends with a group of space pirates headed by a captain whose surname was Dragoon. In fact, one of his sons, Miguel, was my best friend as a kid. His cousin Elizabeta it turns out, liked me. Anyway, long story short, the Dragoon family eventually got caught and that moon market went bust when Hegemony MPs dropped down on them in Fides.
Miguel got crushed to death under the legs of one and Elizabeta was critically injured. I didn't know it at the time but apparently she'd wanted me to marry her when I reached the right age. The culture in the Dragoon family is a bit peculiar, but like I was saying, for whatever reason Elizabeta had the hots for little Myco. So, it turns out she and Miguel had saved me a sort of a treasure star-map of one of their better finds. It was supposedly going to be the dowry for Elizabeta and I. It had a difficult puzzle lock on it too, this is what the Dragoons' lawyer told me on visiting a few years following when the captain was sentenced to death. I didn't think much of it at the time but wondered what Miguel and Elizabeta had wanted me to have. Yeah, that's what the funny odd puzzle you see me fiddling with sometimes is. Well, turns out the other day that I solved it. And what they had in there in addition to that star map surprised me even more. There was a cybernetic engram containing an AI set up to approximate Elizabeta's personality.
The real Elizabeta had long since died but the AI explained herself to be one last present for me from the person she was modeled after and basically was designed to help me find the Dragoon family's lost treasure. Which as it turned out was a highly damaged Nakshi unit but I'm getting ahead of myself (also how the hell you manage to badly damage something as tough as a Nakshi I have no idea). In the end the whole venture of hunting after it and hiring people to help me recover the darned thing on Vupa 6 cost about as much as I would have spent on a new Nakshi that wasn't damaged. And yeah, Mad Mulligan, Malicious and Herod were none too pleased with our digging around on there. Anyway, while on Vupa 6 recovering that beat up Nakshi eLiza-ß(the AI's name) revealed to me that she's also a fully functioning Battle AI. So not wanting to waste much time I installed her in the damaged mecha, a female Nakshi. The personalities of eLiza-ß and the Nakshi merged and I named her Quanta.
She and Claymore man one half of my front line while Giga Rex mans the other half with a Dilophos assisting him (he kinda prefers working alone, so having a unit subordinate to him was the most acceptable compromise). That being said though, those three beast mecha seem to work exceptionally well together. Thanks Betts, I'm sorry your family suffered so much personally during that conflict but in a way your memory or a slight approximation of it in some form lives on in Quanta.
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
Islands In Space
While gates are nearly indestructible, the worlds they are on aren't necessarily so. Some gates lead to obliterated planets, the gate and the rock around it the only remains. Some worlds were the results of cataclysmic natural forces, evidenced by the large asteroid field around the gate. But, others are far more unnatural.
The solitude of the unnatural gate and its small island, alone in the sea of stars overlooking a sun, evokes an eerie beauty and has baffled thinkers and explorers since the first one's discovery. Most islands are solitary, with nothing left to explore or explain what happened. Some still have the frozen husks and skeletons of life around the foot of the gate, suggesting whatever befell the world was quick.
Though the gates to each of these islands is far flung, astrogational analysis has placed them all relatively close to each other. Only a couple reside in nearly-intact star systems which have ruins of alien civilizations. Most of these cultures are still indecipherable, but a couple crude drawings from one of the more primitive extinct cultures shows something large devouring the nearby moon; a moon that appears to have been idolized as the home of the gods.
Whatever it was, the gods attacked it and drove it away by casting colorful ribbons and newborn stars at it.
Who these gods might have been is up for debate. The most popular theory is that the precursors were waging a war with some unknown civilization. Some super weapon was unleashed, destroying precursor outposts.
Without further evidence, all theories are highly speculative. Questions still remain about how the islands were formed. Are these the remains of worlds consumed by some super weapon? If there was a super weapon used in some intergalactic war, is it, like the precursors, still out there to be found?
Submitted by Ben Parker#712090
The solitude of the unnatural gate and its small island, alone in the sea of stars overlooking a sun, evokes an eerie beauty and has baffled thinkers and explorers since the first one's discovery. Most islands are solitary, with nothing left to explore or explain what happened. Some still have the frozen husks and skeletons of life around the foot of the gate, suggesting whatever befell the world was quick.
Though the gates to each of these islands is far flung, astrogational analysis has placed them all relatively close to each other. Only a couple reside in nearly-intact star systems which have ruins of alien civilizations. Most of these cultures are still indecipherable, but a couple crude drawings from one of the more primitive extinct cultures shows something large devouring the nearby moon; a moon that appears to have been idolized as the home of the gods.
Whatever it was, the gods attacked it and drove it away by casting colorful ribbons and newborn stars at it.
Who these gods might have been is up for debate. The most popular theory is that the precursors were waging a war with some unknown civilization. Some super weapon was unleashed, destroying precursor outposts.
Without further evidence, all theories are highly speculative. Questions still remain about how the islands were formed. Are these the remains of worlds consumed by some super weapon? If there was a super weapon used in some intergalactic war, is it, like the precursors, still out there to be found?
Submitted by Ben Parker#712090
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Vol Wurms
Vol Wurms are a life form you may encounter in the Yomi Gravity Reefs. They are a dangerous macroscopic predator that is more or less a giant nematode and are hermaphrodites that reproduce asexually. It is noted that Vol Wurms can survive in many manner of extreme environments and in nutrient poor ecologies can resort to eating their own offspring cannabalistically. Watch out for their jaw less mouth with its muscular action and many sharp teeth.
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
Submitted by Mycobacter#712744
Downtime
He lay on the bunk, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts were jumbled, too much had happened in too short a space of time, yet now the silence intruded.
The lack of noise was deafening and out of place. No Kevin snoring. No Sheila gently henpecking the collective Travs. Even the background noise of heavy machinery and muffled voices from the other base areas was gone.
Nothing.
Bothered, he swung his legs over the cot side and lit a smoke. The bunk room was empty. Not just empty of people because he was used to that emptiness, too many hours doing the night shift and catching his sleep during the day while the rest were on duty.
This was barren. Bunks stripped to their mattresses. The corner with the permanent karaoke rig, empty. Sheila's collection of fireman calendars gone leaving only a ghostly outline where the sunlight had faded the surrounding paintwork. The migrating piles of Sky's antique comic collection no longer lent their distinctive smell of old paper to the atmosphere. Even Don's lucky socks, semi sentient in their own right from many years of evading the laundry system had walked away...
He scrunched his feet into fluffy slippers, proof against the cold concrete floor and shuffled out into the corridor. His footfalls and periodic exhalation of smoke made the only sound in the complex.
His mind wandered back to recent conversations. The buzz of excitement as their orders came through to ship out to 1st regiment to make up the numbers caused by attrition and the heated debate surrounding the next mission parameters.
The request for a leave of absence. That had gone down like a cup of cold puke. The brass had turned up. Colonel Todger had tried throwing about orders. He had countered by pointing out that theirs was a mercenary outfit and had cited the "right of refusal" clause. That had led to veiled comments alluding to cowardice and had escalated into invitations for the other party to participate in various forms of painful self-gratification.
Even General Fuller, normally so laid back and permanently attached to his coffee cup had gotten a few barbs in.
The others had packed up and shipped out. Not much had been said. Only Trav 3 and Sky were left beside himself and they had been bumped to C.O. and exec respectively. They had moved to the officer's quarters and pretty much left him to his own devices. He paused in the main hall and glanced toward the admin block where the other two were likely to be, doing whatever they were doing to keep out of his way. Best leave them to it.
He deliberately turned his back but paused again, his eyes drawn to the ceiling where the battle honors hung. He read once more the embroidered words that emblazoned the main banner...
"We can beat them, forever and ever Oh, we can be heroes just for one day."
His eyes strayed to the last honor, the gold of total campaign victory and he couldn't help but grin. Just for one day, but what a day it had been.
They had known back then that this day, the day of transfer must come soon. But before that happened, they had one last, final other day. A day where there was nothing to lose and everything to gain. A day when they had gone for, and had taken by force, the Full Monty.
He shook his head and moved away still smiling. The honors would stay with the regiment of course, that marking would become the wonder of a new breed of Hero, that day a day for them to aspire to.
He found himself in the main hanger, echoing oddly due to the empty berths. His was still as he had left it of course, but Trav and Sky had shifted to the far end closest to the pilot's ready room. It gave them the chance to be last out of the briefing but first into their cockpits, ready to co-ordinate the rest of the regiment as they came online and up to action stations.
Even the support crews had gone, their equipment, lifters, crates and tools vanished. The next mission had been maximum effort, multiple engagement and strict mission parameters. There was a lot or re-work to be done on all the mechs and they would have to do a fair amount of it in transit. Even the reserve mechs were being tuned up.
His personal toolkit was spread around the maintenance bay of course. Pilot's prerogative, he wasn't required to tidy up after himself. This at least was familiar territory. He had worked his own upgrades for too many years, since before his time with the clan. He had started as a tech before he first took the pilots chair. He idly fiddled with a spanner then set it back on the workbench.
Before the clan.
He shook his head and drove away the thought. It was out of the question, whatever the current situation was. But still...
There were smaller hanger doors at the end of the work bay, past the silent sentinel rows of his squadron. Doors rarely opened, but he did so now, throwing his shoulder against the metal frame to slide one of the huge constructs along on its track, just enough to squeeze comfortably through the gap.
The light was dim, only filtering through the newly created opening but the figures could be made out. Smaller than those outside, but more plentiful. The Reserve.
He made his way through the gloom towards the far end and stopped before the smallest one, trying not to bark his shins on the packing crates strewn about its feet.
He paused, then raised a hand. He snapped his fingers, the crack echoing. Slowly, but with rapidity, tell-tale lights came on, actuators hummed into life and pistons hissed as the hulk lowered itself to the mount position while stubby arms consisting of bare framework stripped of all weaponry swung clear of the access ladder. A slight whoosh of air as the cockpit canopy seal broke and swung open.
He clambered up the side, pausing to wipe away the accumulated dust and grime from the nameplate, revealing the word "Falstaff".
A Hoplite class light mech, it had been his mount pre-clan. He admonished himself, had to stop thinking like that.
The cockpit was far more cramped than the heavies he piloted now and even though he had been the last person in the seat he had to let out the straps on the five point harness by an inch or two. He'd obviously put on a few pounds since pre-cl... now that he had regular supplies, 3 square a day when not on combat duty and didn't have to spend time scavenging. Think glass half full...
The reactor hit peak operation and he bled power across to the motive systems. The spare equipment boxes were hurdled from a standing start but the landing wasn't good, the mech trying to overbalance and without the arm mounts there wasn't anything to help with shifting momentum or stability. Only an extra step kept him from going over, accidentally kicking open a carton full of cup holders. They spilled across the oil stained concrete around the mechs foot.
Right, centre of gravity wrong. Legs apart, lower the stance, just like you would do it with a Dread. The closer to the ground, the more stable. Good. Now work out the kinks... training kata, just like the old days. Shift the weight over on to one leg, lift the other, tap-tap. Rest. Tap-tap, heel-toe.
It was all coming back... he stepped, then danced, then accelerated, ducking and weaving, skittering down the central aisle. Even without the aftermarket parts the Hoplite was light and responsive compared to the lumbering Gigus he had been working with last. Like dancing naked in half-gee. Sideways then advancing, he took two short steps and leapt into a mid-air pirouette to land in a combat crouch, the weaponless arm stub snapping up to track an Anzu that only his mind's eye could see with a gun that didn't exist.
He grinned. Still got it.
He straightened the mech up and brought it to parade rest. Both of us have still got it he realized.
Reaching a decision, he strode the mech forward, using the shoulder to barge the doors wide and advanced out into the maintenance bay. He powered down and swung the canopy open, keying a channel on his wrist-comm. "Dolly, I need you to run some numbers for me".
A rich female voice answered, "++Sure sugar, what d'yall need?++"
Sheila had described the AI's tones as "Deep Southern." He didn't know but he guessed a lot of places had a deep south, so she could be right.
"The Falstaff. Possible upgrade paths... how much and how long?" he replied.
"++Calculating, but you might want to narrow things down a touch. That's a whole heap of choices.++"
He made a show of considering, but knew he already had the answer. "Main battle line, point configuration, rank four".
AI's shouldn't have a sense of humor, but Dolly still chuckled. "++Not that y'all have put much thought on it. I got your plans hon, but bear in mind you got no support crew, meanin' that y'all gonna be doin' the work on your lonesome. That's five weeks work, give or take. Plus we ain't got enough raw material now that the stores have been stripped.++"
"Damn," he muttered. "Alright Dolly, first things first. Nanobots can be reprogrammed for different mech classes, yes?"
"++Sure sugar, but they can only repair stuff, not do upgrades.++"
"Tell you what Dolly, tap into the ones on Ionian and show them your plans, then send them over in this direction."
He watched as the surface of the Krampus started to shimmer, then what looked like a shadow stretched across the floor towards him. He stepped aside as the dark patch flowed up and around the lower legs of the Hoplite. Where it touched, the grime was stripped away leaving gleaming new armour plate, visibly thicker than it had been before.
"++Well ah'll be!++" declared the Ai, "++They think they all fixin' it up!++"
He smiled to himself. "OK, Dolly, resource problem now. Access my personal files please, go to folder 'Light Reading', sub-folder 'Classical Literature'. There's a book in there called 'Rizpah Fauna and The Mating Cycle of Snavurm'. Look on page 69 and you should find the access codes for Colonel Todger's regimental credit account. Charge it to that."
"++You sure about that honey? Ain't the Big Boy gonna question it?++"
He shrugged. "Doubt it," he responded, "Fuller knows what a tightwad the colonel is, so if he's using the charge card it's going to be something absolutely vital. I'd say he'll sign off on it without bothering to check".
"++Hold your horses then, accessing banking now...Uh oh...++" Since when did an AI learn to pause dramatically? "++It's asking for retina verification.++"
He trotted to the front of the bay and checked the main hanger left and right before retiring to a secluded corner. Even then his voice was lowered.
"Get one of the servo-mechs to check my foot locker," he whispered into the link. "There's a flask of aftershave at the bottom with a tag on saying 'Love from Doctor Drake'. Unscrew the bottom and you should find a spare eyeball. Use that." He was still scanning the area in case somebody had sneaked in close.
"++I am not even gonna ask...++"
He waited impatiently for confirmation that the charges had gone through. The response he got back was unexpected.
"++Listen honey pie, you know I'm just lookin' out for y'all, but you sure about this? See, I'm looking at all his last transactions, and the cost of parts for that li'l iddy-biddy thing ain't goin' nowhere near what he spends on them there big dogs he runs. If he checks, it's gonna stand out like combat boots on a snavurm.++"
He paused in his reply, thinking furiously. His eyes glanced back towards the reserve hanger doors. Maybe today was another day to go for the Full Monty...
"New calculation. Upgrade paths and costs for the rest of the reserve. Battle Line config. Will that bring us up in the ballpark?"
"++Working.... Question for ya sugar, am I including the niode mechs in that?++"
"Hell no!" he croaked. There was no way anyone would believe that Todger had shelled out on niodes; It was rumored his major fiscal strategy involved a modest outlay to get a tailor to sew extra deep pockets in his uniform pants. "No," he continued after he had paused to get his breath back. "Good catch Dolly, leave out the niode mechs. I'll get on the blower later and see if the Smurfs or Exiles can send over some Jenny packs. I'll use them instead."
The GEN-3-RA-1 field service mecha instant upgrade kit, or 'Jenny Pack' as they were known was a universal collection of armor thickening resins, generic aftermarket mounting brackets and high speed poly-circuits that would add minor enhancements to either a crystal or niode based mech. A bit rough and ready, but he had used plenty in the past. He would work up the Urachnia first since that had only just been mothballed, then carry on with the new Buchis. He hadn't decided what to do with the smaller Zadok yet. That could still end up as spare parts or be put on the market for trade.
"++Orders placed and paid for honey bunch. Guess y'all gonna be a busy little beaver for the next while.++"
He grunted as he strode towards the reserve hanger. "Guess I'd better start getting busy then. Don't suppose you can flick me an inventory of parts so I know what I'm looking for? Start off with the light class equipment, they'll need the most work." Instantly the screen of the wrist-comm started scrolling with information.
"++Y'all should have it now sweety. Say, is shopping supposed to be that much fun?++"
That brought him up short. He'd had a sneaking suspicion for a while that the Bouncing Blue Sisterhood had hacked his AI, but maybe this time they'd done him a favor.
"Tell you what Dolly, since you've got daddy's credit card, why don't you go online and see if anyone's got Red Ants for sale... maybe a couple dozen?"
Submitted by David McCallum id # 701548
The lack of noise was deafening and out of place. No Kevin snoring. No Sheila gently henpecking the collective Travs. Even the background noise of heavy machinery and muffled voices from the other base areas was gone.
Nothing.
Bothered, he swung his legs over the cot side and lit a smoke. The bunk room was empty. Not just empty of people because he was used to that emptiness, too many hours doing the night shift and catching his sleep during the day while the rest were on duty.
This was barren. Bunks stripped to their mattresses. The corner with the permanent karaoke rig, empty. Sheila's collection of fireman calendars gone leaving only a ghostly outline where the sunlight had faded the surrounding paintwork. The migrating piles of Sky's antique comic collection no longer lent their distinctive smell of old paper to the atmosphere. Even Don's lucky socks, semi sentient in their own right from many years of evading the laundry system had walked away...
He scrunched his feet into fluffy slippers, proof against the cold concrete floor and shuffled out into the corridor. His footfalls and periodic exhalation of smoke made the only sound in the complex.
His mind wandered back to recent conversations. The buzz of excitement as their orders came through to ship out to 1st regiment to make up the numbers caused by attrition and the heated debate surrounding the next mission parameters.
The request for a leave of absence. That had gone down like a cup of cold puke. The brass had turned up. Colonel Todger had tried throwing about orders. He had countered by pointing out that theirs was a mercenary outfit and had cited the "right of refusal" clause. That had led to veiled comments alluding to cowardice and had escalated into invitations for the other party to participate in various forms of painful self-gratification.
Even General Fuller, normally so laid back and permanently attached to his coffee cup had gotten a few barbs in.
The others had packed up and shipped out. Not much had been said. Only Trav 3 and Sky were left beside himself and they had been bumped to C.O. and exec respectively. They had moved to the officer's quarters and pretty much left him to his own devices. He paused in the main hall and glanced toward the admin block where the other two were likely to be, doing whatever they were doing to keep out of his way. Best leave them to it.
He deliberately turned his back but paused again, his eyes drawn to the ceiling where the battle honors hung. He read once more the embroidered words that emblazoned the main banner...
"We can beat them, forever and ever Oh, we can be heroes just for one day."
His eyes strayed to the last honor, the gold of total campaign victory and he couldn't help but grin. Just for one day, but what a day it had been.
They had known back then that this day, the day of transfer must come soon. But before that happened, they had one last, final other day. A day where there was nothing to lose and everything to gain. A day when they had gone for, and had taken by force, the Full Monty.
He shook his head and moved away still smiling. The honors would stay with the regiment of course, that marking would become the wonder of a new breed of Hero, that day a day for them to aspire to.
He found himself in the main hanger, echoing oddly due to the empty berths. His was still as he had left it of course, but Trav and Sky had shifted to the far end closest to the pilot's ready room. It gave them the chance to be last out of the briefing but first into their cockpits, ready to co-ordinate the rest of the regiment as they came online and up to action stations.
Even the support crews had gone, their equipment, lifters, crates and tools vanished. The next mission had been maximum effort, multiple engagement and strict mission parameters. There was a lot or re-work to be done on all the mechs and they would have to do a fair amount of it in transit. Even the reserve mechs were being tuned up.
His personal toolkit was spread around the maintenance bay of course. Pilot's prerogative, he wasn't required to tidy up after himself. This at least was familiar territory. He had worked his own upgrades for too many years, since before his time with the clan. He had started as a tech before he first took the pilots chair. He idly fiddled with a spanner then set it back on the workbench.
Before the clan.
He shook his head and drove away the thought. It was out of the question, whatever the current situation was. But still...
There were smaller hanger doors at the end of the work bay, past the silent sentinel rows of his squadron. Doors rarely opened, but he did so now, throwing his shoulder against the metal frame to slide one of the huge constructs along on its track, just enough to squeeze comfortably through the gap.
The light was dim, only filtering through the newly created opening but the figures could be made out. Smaller than those outside, but more plentiful. The Reserve.
He made his way through the gloom towards the far end and stopped before the smallest one, trying not to bark his shins on the packing crates strewn about its feet.
He paused, then raised a hand. He snapped his fingers, the crack echoing. Slowly, but with rapidity, tell-tale lights came on, actuators hummed into life and pistons hissed as the hulk lowered itself to the mount position while stubby arms consisting of bare framework stripped of all weaponry swung clear of the access ladder. A slight whoosh of air as the cockpit canopy seal broke and swung open.
He clambered up the side, pausing to wipe away the accumulated dust and grime from the nameplate, revealing the word "Falstaff".
A Hoplite class light mech, it had been his mount pre-clan. He admonished himself, had to stop thinking like that.
The cockpit was far more cramped than the heavies he piloted now and even though he had been the last person in the seat he had to let out the straps on the five point harness by an inch or two. He'd obviously put on a few pounds since pre-cl... now that he had regular supplies, 3 square a day when not on combat duty and didn't have to spend time scavenging. Think glass half full...
The reactor hit peak operation and he bled power across to the motive systems. The spare equipment boxes were hurdled from a standing start but the landing wasn't good, the mech trying to overbalance and without the arm mounts there wasn't anything to help with shifting momentum or stability. Only an extra step kept him from going over, accidentally kicking open a carton full of cup holders. They spilled across the oil stained concrete around the mechs foot.
Right, centre of gravity wrong. Legs apart, lower the stance, just like you would do it with a Dread. The closer to the ground, the more stable. Good. Now work out the kinks... training kata, just like the old days. Shift the weight over on to one leg, lift the other, tap-tap. Rest. Tap-tap, heel-toe.
It was all coming back... he stepped, then danced, then accelerated, ducking and weaving, skittering down the central aisle. Even without the aftermarket parts the Hoplite was light and responsive compared to the lumbering Gigus he had been working with last. Like dancing naked in half-gee. Sideways then advancing, he took two short steps and leapt into a mid-air pirouette to land in a combat crouch, the weaponless arm stub snapping up to track an Anzu that only his mind's eye could see with a gun that didn't exist.
He grinned. Still got it.
He straightened the mech up and brought it to parade rest. Both of us have still got it he realized.
Reaching a decision, he strode the mech forward, using the shoulder to barge the doors wide and advanced out into the maintenance bay. He powered down and swung the canopy open, keying a channel on his wrist-comm. "Dolly, I need you to run some numbers for me".
A rich female voice answered, "++Sure sugar, what d'yall need?++"
Sheila had described the AI's tones as "Deep Southern." He didn't know but he guessed a lot of places had a deep south, so she could be right.
"The Falstaff. Possible upgrade paths... how much and how long?" he replied.
"++Calculating, but you might want to narrow things down a touch. That's a whole heap of choices.++"
He made a show of considering, but knew he already had the answer. "Main battle line, point configuration, rank four".
AI's shouldn't have a sense of humor, but Dolly still chuckled. "++Not that y'all have put much thought on it. I got your plans hon, but bear in mind you got no support crew, meanin' that y'all gonna be doin' the work on your lonesome. That's five weeks work, give or take. Plus we ain't got enough raw material now that the stores have been stripped.++"
"Damn," he muttered. "Alright Dolly, first things first. Nanobots can be reprogrammed for different mech classes, yes?"
"++Sure sugar, but they can only repair stuff, not do upgrades.++"
"Tell you what Dolly, tap into the ones on Ionian and show them your plans, then send them over in this direction."
He watched as the surface of the Krampus started to shimmer, then what looked like a shadow stretched across the floor towards him. He stepped aside as the dark patch flowed up and around the lower legs of the Hoplite. Where it touched, the grime was stripped away leaving gleaming new armour plate, visibly thicker than it had been before.
"++Well ah'll be!++" declared the Ai, "++They think they all fixin' it up!++"
He smiled to himself. "OK, Dolly, resource problem now. Access my personal files please, go to folder 'Light Reading', sub-folder 'Classical Literature'. There's a book in there called 'Rizpah Fauna and The Mating Cycle of Snavurm'. Look on page 69 and you should find the access codes for Colonel Todger's regimental credit account. Charge it to that."
"++You sure about that honey? Ain't the Big Boy gonna question it?++"
He shrugged. "Doubt it," he responded, "Fuller knows what a tightwad the colonel is, so if he's using the charge card it's going to be something absolutely vital. I'd say he'll sign off on it without bothering to check".
"++Hold your horses then, accessing banking now...Uh oh...++" Since when did an AI learn to pause dramatically? "++It's asking for retina verification.++"
He trotted to the front of the bay and checked the main hanger left and right before retiring to a secluded corner. Even then his voice was lowered.
"Get one of the servo-mechs to check my foot locker," he whispered into the link. "There's a flask of aftershave at the bottom with a tag on saying 'Love from Doctor Drake'. Unscrew the bottom and you should find a spare eyeball. Use that." He was still scanning the area in case somebody had sneaked in close.
"++I am not even gonna ask...++"
He waited impatiently for confirmation that the charges had gone through. The response he got back was unexpected.
"++Listen honey pie, you know I'm just lookin' out for y'all, but you sure about this? See, I'm looking at all his last transactions, and the cost of parts for that li'l iddy-biddy thing ain't goin' nowhere near what he spends on them there big dogs he runs. If he checks, it's gonna stand out like combat boots on a snavurm.++"
He paused in his reply, thinking furiously. His eyes glanced back towards the reserve hanger doors. Maybe today was another day to go for the Full Monty...
"New calculation. Upgrade paths and costs for the rest of the reserve. Battle Line config. Will that bring us up in the ballpark?"
"++Working.... Question for ya sugar, am I including the niode mechs in that?++"
"Hell no!" he croaked. There was no way anyone would believe that Todger had shelled out on niodes; It was rumored his major fiscal strategy involved a modest outlay to get a tailor to sew extra deep pockets in his uniform pants. "No," he continued after he had paused to get his breath back. "Good catch Dolly, leave out the niode mechs. I'll get on the blower later and see if the Smurfs or Exiles can send over some Jenny packs. I'll use them instead."
The GEN-3-RA-1 field service mecha instant upgrade kit, or 'Jenny Pack' as they were known was a universal collection of armor thickening resins, generic aftermarket mounting brackets and high speed poly-circuits that would add minor enhancements to either a crystal or niode based mech. A bit rough and ready, but he had used plenty in the past. He would work up the Urachnia first since that had only just been mothballed, then carry on with the new Buchis. He hadn't decided what to do with the smaller Zadok yet. That could still end up as spare parts or be put on the market for trade.
"++Orders placed and paid for honey bunch. Guess y'all gonna be a busy little beaver for the next while.++"
He grunted as he strode towards the reserve hanger. "Guess I'd better start getting busy then. Don't suppose you can flick me an inventory of parts so I know what I'm looking for? Start off with the light class equipment, they'll need the most work." Instantly the screen of the wrist-comm started scrolling with information.
"++Y'all should have it now sweety. Say, is shopping supposed to be that much fun?++"
That brought him up short. He'd had a sneaking suspicion for a while that the Bouncing Blue Sisterhood had hacked his AI, but maybe this time they'd done him a favor.
"Tell you what Dolly, since you've got daddy's credit card, why don't you go online and see if anyone's got Red Ants for sale... maybe a couple dozen?"
Submitted by David McCallum id # 701548
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