The First Technomancer

by G Aliaksei C

  Jim got back up and leapt in a glorious arc, landing atop the Beast. He began to stab, sending metal plates and sparks flying across the desert. Like a drill he worked to dig deeper and deeper under the armor, aiming for some internal component. The machine released a screech and arcs of electricity enveloped it. The green veins atop burned at the defensive measure but Jim seemed unconcerned, continuing his grim task until the zapping stopped and the limbs of the creature quit moving.

  I brought the binoculars away from my face and hurriedly put on the helmet, shielding my head from the strengthening ash-wind.

  “Well done Jim. What was that?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Frost!” Jim sounded elated at my praise. “It was a roaming Class 3 from the nearby hotspot. Looks like it became desperate for a source of metal. However, there are more.”

  Damning my lackluster helmet I began to search the fog with bare eyes. It proved unnecessary as four bolts of blue light struck the downed creature, narrowly missing Jim as he peeked out from behind it. The unmistakable roar of gravity-laced plasma bolts reached the walls as the wreck was partially disintegrated. The visual effects of such weapons was quite beautiful - a star of light roaring through the fog, lighting up stones and dust around it, followed by an overly fire-filled blast.

  Four Jims fired once more, striking the leftmost, nearest crawler. Partially blinded I still saw the lack of desired effect - a dome lit up around the Beast, consuming the attack’s energy. Lackluster aim and twin fireballs that shook the wall under us was the only response. Foam-cement chunks rained on the valley below.

  Compared to the vast volumes of knowledge on modern technology available to me, my reading on the Ring network so far had been a drop in an ocean. I had focused on several key topics I needed to understand, aiming to widen my understanding of the world, if not deepen in. One of those topics had been the mechanics behind energy shields, and that granted me a certain understanding of the situation that I, otherwise, would have lacked.

  There were two common types of energy shields - passive and active. Passive shields accumulated energy in the screen, and created a soft, solid shape surrounding the object it protected. These were most effective when protecting forts and larger units that rarely lowered them, as they made movement and evasion more difficult but stored more power than their counterparts.

  The more common, less cumbersome active shields stored their charge within internal capacitors. Just like passive deflectors, active shields were designed to resist certain energy - high-powered lasers, objects with high kinetic potential relative to the target. When such an object entered the range of the shield, the shield resisted with gravitational fluctuations meant to interfere with the attack.

  Both shield types had a better energy-effectiveness rating than most weapons. It was ruthless science, calculation of range and power - the vast energy stored within a weapon and required to accelerate a bullet to killing velocity far greater than the energy a shield would need to commit to deflect it. The shields only had to project in the vicinity of the user, while the shot had to cover a larger distance, as well as fight through the atmosphere. Therefore, given a weapon and shield of equal power, the shield always won.

  Defense was stronger than offence, and for the first time I really understood why, in this world, everyone carried swords.

  “Oh!” I said, recognizing the situation for what it was. “A melee! I want in! Jim, pick one, I want the other!”

  Having left my minigun at home I had no trouble climbing the rope down the wall. A flash of blue forced me to release the rope three meters early, and the near impacts rolled off my own deflectors. More foam-concrete rained down on me - the wall would need a lot of repairs. New servos whined as I jogged out of the dust and at the rightmost crawler, enjoying the strength of an unladen exosuit.

  Dodging attacks from firearms is hard. The barrel shifts too randomly, the bullet moves too quickly, the shot comes with little warning.

  But the situation changes when the barrel is the size of my head, the shot is a football-sized sphere of fire, and the attack is forewarned by a humming and glowing of the weapon. Stupid, and convenient to predict. I participated in competitive dodgeball games more intense than that jog.

  At the last moment of the weapon’s wind-up I jumped aside. The barrel tried to track me, but the bolt erupted early, flying past.

  My rightmost target realized I was the only one giving it attention and returned the appreciation. I dodged four more salvos of two fireballs before passing through the crawler’s deflector. Remembering what I saw from Jim’s first engagement, I began to hack.

  An axe is not the best weapon for most engagements. It’s heavy, large, and much better suited for, say, its intended purpose. However it’s also well suited for dealing a lot of damage to a small area.

  Which makes it excellent for breaking hydraulics, pipes, and joints.

  I knew all about fighting with an axe. My first among several personal kills was with an axe. You learn fast when your single, mortal life is on the line.

  There was no need to remove the limbs completely - I simply needed to break the joints and muscles controlling them. A hack, and the blade broke into thin armor, tearing hydraulic lines and artificial muscles.

  On the second limb the crawler decided to zap me, having failed to land a blow. I withdrew the axe in time, but the particle-filled air carried the current too well. Feeling like toasted bread I stepped back, dropping the axe and removing myself from the circuit.

  In my mind, the Menu flashed awake. My whole silhouette was orange, marking skin and muscle damage.

  “Health: Not OK.”

  Informative, efficient, to the point.

  Having muscle and nerves fried tends to leave the body somewhat disabled. I staggered from side to side, backing away from the crawler as it turned to face me. Burned nerves and scorched muscles struggled to perform the orders of my brain, turning me sluggish and slow. My whole suit smoked, the fog boiling on the heated surface. Ruined, unpowered servos slowed me down, working against my efforts at motion.

  My Fall Coefficient helped me dodge the first few attacks, and was now working to repair damage, but such healing would have taken hours. The crawler charged, and I was entirely too hurt to do anything about it.

  My two-minute delay was, however, enough for Jim to handle the other Beast. A bolt of plasma knocked through the shield and splashed over the fauna’s right side. Armor and flesh burned as the crawler tilted, sliding past me. It thrashed, frantically zapping the air around as it turned to point its one surviving plasma cannon at the other crawler. There, atop the struggling Crawler, two Jims were wrestling to aim a plasma cannon towards me while the others hacked away at limbs.

  I limped to my axe, then dragged it over to my raging, smoking opponent.

  Now it really came down to tree-chopping. First, the cannons. Then, the legs. Weakened bolts burned through my suit and skin, and my muscles crunched like dry crackers with every move, but the crawler was disarmed and dislegged (a new word I invented as I hacked) in a few minutes.

  Jim stepped up to me towards the end of my grim task. His armor had shifted, modulating to match the texture and look of the terrain around him, making him harder to spot in the fog. I, in turn, stood out, a wounded demon with golden-glowing eyes, surrounded by a cloud of dust and steam, my suit glowing red in places.

  “Apologies Mr. Frost, I thought you needed some help.”

  “I did, thank you. Another one or two attempts and I’ll be able to take it on alone.”

  “You almost killed it! A Class 1 taking on a 3 is impressive enough.”

  “Yeah, well, now you need to carry me.” I toppled like a tree and was promptly caught by armored yet gentle metal hands. Jim carried me towards the walls as I simply focused on holding onto the axe.

  Drones flew overhead, firing several harpoons into the corpses and lifting them, dragging the waste over the wall and towards the maintenance hangar. Jim plopped me down on
my couch, set a canister of water and a tray of rations nearby, and left. The water was, by far, the most pleasant feature of my lengthy repair cycle.

  Laying for hours on the couch like that (hours lasting far longer than I was used to) I began to separate the noises surrounding me. Boredom brought out the details in the world, and I began to pinpoint specific patterns. The ticking of the clock. The hum of the console on my workbench. The ash and wind howling against the windows, the occasional stomping of Jim running by, the howl of a wolf carried by the wind…

  …The sound of an aircraft crashing into the ground.

  Somewhat more mobile and capable than when I was brought in, and quite curious about the noise, I limped to the door. Through the ash I could see something burning near the monument, and Jims rushing toward it. Fire highlighted a pillar of smoke through the fog.

  Someone’s day was just as bad as mine. An accomplishment, to say the least.

  “Jim.” I spoke into the Menu floating beside me. “I know I didn’t sanction this.”

  “Mr. Frost…”

  “But!” I raised a finger. “I approve of this precedent for airspace violations! Good shot, we won’t have to drag the wreck in.”

  “I didn’t do this Mr. Frost, they crashed themselves.”

  “Learn to take a compliment!”

  “I really didn’t!”

  “In that case it’s a valuable lesson on drunk driving!”

  “There are survivors, I am bringing them to you before they expire.”

  “And another lesson on seat belts.” I didn’t actually know if the occupants wore a seatbelt but assumed anyone surviving a crash like that would need to be well secured.”

  The survivors were two Humans and a Slime, all incredibly mangled and broken. One of the Humans died on the way, and another passed before me. The Slime, barely moving, torn like a sack of warm clay, oozed towards me when Jim set it down.

  “I require… Waypoint access… please!”

  That was the least colorful sentence I have ever heard from his kind. “What for?”

  “White… Specter…”

  “Mr. Frost, I believe this is the Ice Wall scout we came in contact with several days earlier.”

  I tapped away at my Menu, unlocking the Waypoint. The Slime opened his own Menu (a completely different design I couldn’t even begin to navigate or understand) and sent something. Accomplished, he relaxed.

  “Kill… me…”

  Jim raised a rifle and looked at me.

  “Put that flashlight away before you blind me again!” I withdrew a cheap Class 1 pistol and put three bullets in each body.

  Not my first time.

  My Menu chimed. It was a call to the waypoint, redirected to me. I frowned at the unknown name - Lady of War.

  Pleasant, but a bit too long. Doesn’t roll off the tongue.

  “Vazanklav!” There’s a name that sounds smooth.

  “Who the hell are you?” The speaker seemed guarded, undecided on my status between friend of foe. I could count the number of female Human voices I heard on the Rings on my fingers, and only one had the distinct, sharp accent. “We just got a data package from your location.”

  “Is that you Inna?”

  A pause. The Innkeeper was clearly trying to understand why I was on this side of the line. “Drake? Why are you at the Monument?”

  “Needed some private space is all. How can I help you?” The kindness of the Innkeeper weeks earlier in helping me with withdrawal would not be forgotten, and I chose to express that through relative politeness.

  “Did you happen to, say, see or shoot down an aircraft just now?”

  “Yeah, one just crashed on my front lawn. They mentioned the invincible super-monster too.”

  “All dead?”

  “Oh yes, very. I looked at the map, it looks like it will pass right through you. Are you organizing a defense?”

  “Yes, we hired a few companies. Ice Wall Mercenaries is the largest. Their rival Concord is also here, and the two spend most of the time measuring guns to see whose barrels are bigger. There are a few more companies that showed up, but they are mostly research groups with experimental equipment and ideas on how to take it down. No one is man enough to fight this thing properly, it seems.” There was a challenge in Inna’s voice, the tone of a warrior surrounded by sheep.

  “So, no plan?”

  “No plan.”

  What a fine opportunity, I thought. I could get a lot out of this situation! The plan forming in my find turned solid, and I decided to act.

  “Between these Ice Wall Mercs and Concord people, who has the single biggest, baddest, meanest air-droppable gun emplacement?”

  “One second.” There was a ping, and a new voice cut in. His tone immediately made me dislike and respect him.

  “Carter of Concord.”

  “Hello Carter, I am at the Drake Monument right now. What’s the biggest gun you can airdrop?”

  Another pause. “I can land eight Class 5 Rollback Artillery Mass Drivers.”

  “And those are?”

  “Old stock, but quite functional.”

  “Send me the specs and drop them on the Drake Monument as soon as you can. I’ll try to take a potshot at the Specter.”

  I could almost hear the loading noises from the officer’s grinding mind. I was sure that in the seconds of silence he worked the proposal over several times, realizing the profit of such a seemingly selfless act. He knew he would gain desperately needed data from my attempt, and it would only cost him a few old guns.

  “Fine.” The caller cut out.

  “Anything else you need?” The Lady of War was back on.

  “No thanks Inna, I’ll manage here. What’s with the nickname?”

  The call closed.

  The next morning I climbed my bunker, settling in to watch the sky. Eight small lights above turned into blinding stars as the landing pods braked the gigantic fifty-meter-wide crates perfectly onto the eight wall towers. With a clang the lifters detached and boosted up and away. The crates, meanwhile, unfolded clamps, locking into the foam-concrete base. Barrels rose into the sky, trying to match the Memorial in height. In the dust of the landing, the opening vents, hatches, antenna and clamps gave the eight weapons an evil, titanic look.

  Class 5 Rollback Artillery Mass Drivers. An uncommon weapon due to its limited range - within line of sight, but beyond two hundred meters away. For such a powerful system, the range constraints meant it could only be used in specific situations, such as against approaching large or grouped targets. Its vast area of effect made it ineffective as a supporting weapon for ground troops. It was like using nukes for close air support.

  Concord officer Carter understood the situation and knew full well what he was giving me. He knew the target would be within line of sight, that I had no troops on the field that would bother the Specter, and that the destructive potential of these weapons would not be wasted on this Beast.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t about to give me incredibly rare and powerful weapons either. RAM-Ds were, for a good reason, rarely used. But this was just such a situation, a layout that would place a large, distant target in clear line of fire.

  The bots quickly wired the new arrivals into the rest of the defensive network. Barrels rotated down to point at the horizon, towards the edges of the Ring, away from the obelisk at the center.

  This, in my mind, was a prime example of making the best out of a bad situation. I had gotten eight free super-guns for my fortress without paying a single credit, and I would be damned if I gave them back.

  Air-droppable, but only once.

  The next few hours passed in frantic work. Taking three primary power Gems from the Rollback Artillery Cannon repair stock that came with each gun I rewired the internals, leaning on everything I had learned from the smaller designs. The modified Gems were gently carted out, and replaced into the RAM-D stock. Just in time, too.

  “Specter on the radar, Mr. Frost.”

 
“Warm up the guns Jim, I’m on my way.”

  Climbing atop the bunker once more I grabbed my binoculars, staring at the mountain ridge in the distance through the morning fog. ‘Warm up the guns’ was not a figure of speech. The RAM-Ds roared upon their towers, inhaling air and ash and sending echoes across the valley.

  Then came the Specter.

  At first it was hard to focus on the scene. A section of the ridge grew dark, shadowed, as if a fog enveloped the brown dirt and stones, turning them dull gray. I could see that no cloud was creating this shade, yet I couldn’t spot a fog spotting it either. It was as if a section of the mountain had its soul and colors burned out of it by an invisible heat. Then, over the gray ridge, appeared two white tips, so wide apart that almost decided they were two different creatures. Engulfed in the white light, two shimmering, almost immaterial wingtips rose up, angling together towards the White Specter.

  There was something deeply wrong with the creature, a fifty-meter-tall, twitching, white outline. Through the fog it seemed as if a deformed Humanoid surging with energy floated there. It had no face, no details aside from its shape, yet even that looked wrong to the eye. All four limbs ended with sharp tips instead of hands and feet, but the right arm was extended, forming a natural sword, an extension of the Specter that seemed undetachable. As it drifted over the ridge I saw that its immaterial sense was but an illusion - its mass and light completely blocked the hill behind it. The sheer alien presence of the White Specter, even this far away, pressed down on the mind. As if carried by wind, drifting rather than flying, it continued right, away from us.

  Perhaps worse, I saw, along the visible glow, an aura of sentience.

  “Ohhh,” said Jim, “I hate that.”

  “Don’t worry, it probably hates you too. Kill it, Jim.”

  “Firing.” The mechanic voice seemed freaked out.

  The eight turrets angled up, inhaled, and unloaded a barrage of star-like blasts down the range. Larger versions of the Crawler’s plasma bolts arched over the valley. Major parts of the barrel and firing assembly rolled back in their frames as the bolts struck the Specter, covering the distance in two seconds. The mountain ridge lit up, expanding fire and smoke highlighted by seemingly random gravity surges. The shockwave rolled over the base six seconds later, raising a wall of dust, accompanied by the crackling of lighting.