The First Technomancer

by G Aliaksei C

  “What, exactly, is a team in your context?” The term had been used several times with more meaning than I was used to.

  “I took you on a raid that one time. It was a trial run for a collection of untrained recruits, without proper doctrine and organization.”

  “A kitchen sink.”

  The Inson’s small head atop the giant body wobbled. “A what?”

  I looked, with sadness, at my abandoned sandwich. “A unit composition where you throw anything and anyone available and call it a fighting force.”

  “Yes, exactly. It was what I did for a living, taking low-Class starters out to get experience. However, a much more powerful unit would consist of a ‘team’. A five-person team could clear that Class 3 assault alone, without casualties, with only Class 4 gear.”

  “And the Shadow?” I asked, remembering the dreadful thing and its impossible speed.

  Rarus tilted her head in consideration. “A Class 4 team could handle the Shadow, maybe.”

  “And such a ‘team’ could just barge in here? Despite all my pretty guns?”

  A sheet of paper appeared, massive pincer-fingers pulling out a pencil and charting on it with impressive precision. First sketching a map of the fortress, she began to draw arrows as she explained, “An Infiltrator and Jammer could infiltrate the base, and jam out the command bunker. The Jammer could, potentially, disable most defenses and take down shields. An Assaulter or two, a Grenadier and a Defender could then permanently disable defenses, and the bunker. Alternatively, a Breacher could punch through the shield with the help of a Defender and Jammer, and open a way for others. Even a few Infiltrators could deal a whole lot of damage.”

  Vili, listening to the conversation from behind the bar, interjected, “That is if their objective is to damage the base. A much smaller composition could take out, for example, the factory block!”

  Inna chimed in. “Exactly right. And the only way to deal with a team is, in fact, with another team. I would love to fight a Class 8 team on my own, but the outcome of that engagement is… unlikely to be positive.”

  I chewed on the sandwich, thinking and squinting at Inna. “Couldn’t we deter that easily enough if we could see them coming?”

  “The approach they took this time is one of an infinite set. No combination of defenses will cover all the openings.”

  “So, you think we should form a team for defense? Something flexible to cover said holes in my defenses?”

  “A team in general! With a strong team under your command, you could accomplish a huge variety of missions. You have some elements already! I’m a Gladiator, Pessi is a Grenadier. Inna is an incredibly powerful Infiltrator. But we have no support.”

  “What about your people, Inna?”

  “We are all direct combatants. None of us are proper support units.”

  I turned back to Rarus. “And you propose?”

  “A good friend of mine, a Human, is retiring as a mercenary. For the last hundred or so years he served as a Defender for Concord.”

  “And Defenders do what?” I opened a notepad in my Menu and jotted down the three-unit types listed by Rarus.

  “Defenders defe—”

  I glared at Jim and he raised his hands, retracting the sarcastic comment.

  “Defenders are powerful ‘tanks’ that support their team. For example, a Defender can create a shield bubble around himself and a number of his allies.” I let out a laugh. In my time, before the war, I played video games with units like that. The strategy was to take out said unit first, so the others would become more vulnerable. Clearly the designers of the Rings took of inspiration when choosing the technology available on the Rings. “A Defender can also increase physical strength, speed, resistance to jamming attacks, or even improve precision of shooters.”

  “I see, so target the healer…” I said, writing notes. “And what about this friend of yours?”

  “My friend is looking for a new job outside of the larger companies. But, according to his contract, he must buy his equipment from Concord if he wants to keep it. Unfortunately, he can’t afford it.”

  Bad with money, I wrote. “And, if I buy it on his behalf, he would come here and work for me?”

  “You would only need to buy the base set of gear. All the upgrades for it is where his money went in the first place. If you buy it, he would work for you under a standard long-term contract.”

  “How long is long-term?”

  “Ten years or more.”

  Swiping, I looked at my balance, now flowing far into the millions. “How much will this affair cost?”

  “Three billion, two hundred thousand credits.” I was lucky not to be drinking or eating in that moment, releasing only an exasperated gasp. “I think his service would really benefit us, though.”

  I turned to Jim, “How’s Fort doing?”

  “After we installed the main biocomputer in the command bunker, it became a bit more coherent, Mr. Frost.”

  “Talk to Xandra, and start selling all the Firebolters to the Raiders. I know they can’t use them, but their hired help will surely be interested. In return, I want them to keep an eye out for any approaching attacks.”

  They started complaining, but I interrupted. “They are the locals. They have us surrounded. If anything wants to get to us, it needs to go through them. I am sure they knew about this attack too, or maybe they even sponsored it. We need to ensure they are working for us, not against.”

  I thought, rubbing my chin. I had the money now, but not enough to cover a two billion credit purchase. Yet Rarus had an excellent point about us lacking a standing garrison. The villagers did well, but they were far from an organized force. “Rarus, have your guy call me, will you? I want to do some reading first.”

  Rarus, looking ecstatic, bobbed her armored head. Inna and Jim looked thoughtful. Vili yawned again, bored with listening to our chatter. All but the Innkeeper got up and stepped away.

  “Inna.” She looked up. “I appreciate all the help you have given me, so I made you a tribute.”

  “You mean a gift?”

  I paused with my hand in my pocket. “No, a gift is a celebration of friendship. While I do consider us to be friends…” Inna nodded, agreeing with my bold assumption. “This is definitely not a gift. In fact, this is payment for the services and resources you put into this base.”

  “Are you about to pull out a multi-billion-credit artifact? Because that’s how much you would owe if I had put all our equipment on your tab.”

  “No, certainly nothing so valuable.” I retrieved and set three objects on the table.

  Three metal spheres rolled apart on the table and stopped. All three rippled with light, and two dots appeared on each one. The dots looked at me.

  “Meet your new owner,” I told the spheres, and pointed across the table. “Inna.”

  Within the spheres the last lines of the permanent code disappeared, erased by my final command. With the last of the hardwired programming gone the three bots were unchained, completely free of any limiting code that turned a sentient machine into an obedient slave.

  The three pairs of dots blinked and circled around to look at Inna. The pink and blue ones rolled up to a pen before the Lady of War, while the gray one jumped over and rolled closer. I couldn’t see it, but I knew they were making little smiley faces at her with their holographic projectors.

  Inna was staring, open-mouthed. She reached out and tapped the gray sphere on the top. The pink and blue ones jumped over the pen and rolled around the finger, bumping into it.

  It felt a bit sad. With that final command I had wiped any hardwired ties the Marbots had to me. At least they seemed satisfied with their new Human.

  The pink sphere rolled away from Inna’s hand and smiled at me before turning back to their new owner. I looked up from the pen, curious about the Lady of War’s reaction.

  Inna was flat out crying.

  Oh shit.

  “They look exactly like real Marbots.” Her
voice was entirely normal, a strange contrast with the tears flowing down her cheeks.

  “They are real Marbots.”

  Inna froze.

  “Back in my time I made several, for some people. Only twenty of them. All but five were destroyed. You are definitely not a Corporate, which makes sense because the owner of the last five was a prime capture target for the Syndicate. Which means you are also Syndicate.”

  Inna tore her eyes away from the Marbots and looked at me.

  “Tell me, have you ever met a certain Tesla Kenet? The daughter of Conglomerate Kenet, leader of the Syndicate?”

  “You made the originals…” Inna’s eyes were unfocused.

  “Inna, please answer me. I need an excuse not to try and kill a Syndicate sitting right before me.”

  She focused, and saw the shimmering gold glow at the back of my eyes. My fingers were bending the metal table as I sunk all energy into a single effort - don’t kill the Syndicate.

  “Tesla’s my sister. She gave me the Marbots when I was ten, so I wouldn’t be lonely. Father destroyed them several years before I was rescued by the Corporate.”

  And just like that, the rage was gone.

  In the comfort of the Cafe, in a dead valley, on the surface of a ringworld lightyears from Earth, The War seemed impossibly distant. It was absent from the Rings, as if forgotten. I had guessed that the Rings system was deep in Corporate territory, shielded from the frontlines by lightyears and fleets the locals had never seen. But I also recognized that, somewhere out there, across unimaginable distances, the enemy still existed.

  There were three Factions in The War. First, the Syndicate, who basically took over Earth in a violent effort of political and economic brilliance. Second, Imari, who rose up to the occasion of stopping the Syndicate, and then also accidentally started taking over the world. Third, the Corporate, refugees who hated both sides. And, since the world was now all Syndicate and Imari, we also started taking over the world.

  In some complicated fuckup of history, the daughter of the Syndicate leader fled for the Corporation, and married the Corporate Director.

  Since the Corporation consisted of Syndicate, Imari and old-world refugees, we learned to distinguish between the enemy traitors fighting alongside us, and the actual enemy. For example, the leader of the Syndicate was an actual enemy who we would have killed on sight if not for his god-like powers, but his daughter, the Director’s wife, was not.

  And her sister was, by extension and position, also not an enemy.

  I stopped bending the table edge and leaned back in the chair.

  “Did you really, really make the original Marbots for Tes?”

  “Yep,” I said. “That’s me. She was sad that there were no pets in the Hive, and Fall asked me to rig something up.”

  “And these…”

  “A slightly improved variant. I had some ideas on how to make them better.”

  “And they have learning AI? Like the…”

  “Like the originals, yes. They gained a little bit of a personality while I was building them. Gray was the first, he isn’t very emotional but brave, probably because he has seen how I put his brother and sister together. Looking at the guts of your own kind does that to a creature. Blue is very polite and very social. Pink is the youngest, she and Blue like to roll into one another to make some sick beats and make Gray smile. She also likes to jump from the table onto soft things. I think she likes the sound air makes.”

  “How did you build them so quickly?”

  “I was already designing electronics for combat drones.”

  “All my sisters always wanted one…”

  I leaned back, enjoy the show of Inna petting the bouncing and rolling spheres. “How many sisters did you have?”

  “Thousands.”

  I did the math. Thousands of children in ten thousand years? Entirely possible.

  I imagined what the Syndicate empire had become after all these years, picturing countless distant star systems, overpopulated and armed to the teeth. How did the locals not know anything about The War? And what the state of The War like? I wanted to know.

  But I did the second good thing of the day. I kept my mouth shut and let Inna enjoy the Marbots.

  Feeling significantly better about life I walked out of the Cafe. Refusing to interrupt my self-inflicted schedules I called up the tank, starting the morning inspection around the base.

  The weather and constant battle left a mark on both the terrain and fortress. A circle of scorched dirt now surrounded Vazanklav. Our walls had several large patches of fresh foam-concrete.

  David almost smacked me when he realized that I had built the walls without rebar. He dragged me over to my solar furnace and had me melt several tons of dirt. The result was a lot of stone with a thick layer of molten metal. David explained that the Waste Ring was incredibly metal-rich, and that almost everything contained a large percentage of various alloys. I quickly repurposed the idling solar array, turning the furnace to rebar production. David began demolishing and replacing the walls and towers of Vazanklav, slowly replacing our defenses with taller, thicker, rebar-reinforced upgrades. His designs were far more advanced than my own, better suited for the weapons batteries and deflector domes mounted on them.

  Fences surrounded the airbase and artillery cannons. Several foam-concrete stripes divided the base, creating a network of power cables and water pipes.

  After the patrol I flopped down on my couch and opened the database, finding the page called ‘Teams and Team Composition 101’. The sheer amount of complexity to the system screamed at my incompetence. Everywhere I looked, I saw logic and mechanics that, while not completely alien, were far too hard to grasp in a reasonable amount of time. Luckily the guide did a good job summarizing.

  ‘The whole is greater than the sum of the parts’ philosophy applied fully to this system. Rather than have unit on the field perform every task possible the locals decided to, instead, specialize. This was doable with the advanced technology and immortality available on the Rings. Every professional combatant, instead of simply performing the duty of direct assault, could support their unit with an array of offensive and defensive equipment.

  People spent many, many years perfecting their gear and style, the value of the user much outweighing the value of gear. Well-worked, experienced teams of ten people were valued at tens of times more than entire armies.

  Pretty much every role had a section on direct combat. All nine were quite capable of both melee and ranged battle, none entirely defensive. The least capable in attack was the Defender, well-compensated by the ability to take on enough punishment to topple buildings.

  Rarus was a Gladiator. These specialized in occupying and defeating more powerful enemies one on one. Their weapons were mostly melee, and their kits included all sorts of focused-attack gadgets. They were also effective against numerous weaker enemies, but fell quickly without backup. A Gladiator-Assaulter hybrid was common, making for a more hurtful but less tanky unit.

  Her friend Pessi was a Grenadier, a unit focused on causing massive, chaotic damage. Their gear required a lot of energy and was usually quite heavy, so they usually lacked in defense. They made the best ranged combatants.

  The Infiltrators were simple enough - they were fast and stealthy, if not outright invisible. The role did not quite fit what I had seen from Inna, though. Reading further into the role, I decided that she had to be an Infiltrator-Assaulter hybrid, faster than the latter but more heavily armed than the former.

  The balance for these roles was based on a speed-defense-damage ratio. You could be heavily armed and armored but slow, or fast and painful but weak to bullets.

  For the first time in months I checked my profile page in the Menu and realized I still had no role.

  The page listed hundreds of common combinations, kits and uses for each type of unit, getting progressively more complex and conflicting. It was a very organized system, one that could never have evolved naturally.
In reading I passed an hour, a call startling me out of my focus.

  “This is Drake?”

  “Mr. Frost? I am Sylvester Ember. Rarus said you were the man to talk to about a job?”

  “You must be the Defender!” For the first time, I looked at the man. He was wearing an honest-to-void type three business suit with a gray tie. The massive wardrobe-like frame was topped by a square, cleanly shaven face and short black hair. The gray eyes seemed friendly enough, but locked onto my forehead with uncertainty.

  “Yes sir, looking for a less mundane position. I have been on contract with Concord for a few decades now, and I’m afraid I’m getting a bit stale…” The nervous man had already started to ramble. It was a strange sight for a Human slightly larger than me, an uncommon sight for the Rings.

  I realized that he was approaching this like one would an interview. The peak of my interest was the suit - they weren’t in style right now, and barely anyone knew what they were. “Mr. Ember, why the suit?”

  That freaked him right out. Doing his best to hide embarrassment, he looked to the side with panicked eyes. “Rarus told me you were old, very old, and that you would appreciate traditions from your time.”

  “No, this is perfect, actually,” I said, and the poor man relaxed. “Now you must understand, if I take you, you will have almost no contact with the outside world. In fact, I will demand complete secrecy from you.”

  “Rarus warned me of this. If you buy my kit, I will come under almost any conditions.”

  “Why the cost though?”

  “It’s a Class 8 kit sir, and I am a Class 7 myself. At my stage, everything good costs an unfortunate amount. The full suit actually costs far over twenty billion, and my augmentations cost around ten. But I own all that, I just can’t afford the baseline kit after the contract terminations fees.”

  Woah, alright then.

  I stared into the man, through the eyes, trying to take apart the person into his basic components. Every word he spoke, every motion he made on screen replayed in my mind. I tried to guess what events and decisions made a man like that, what caused him anger or distress, what he wanted out me and out of the world around him.