The First Technomancer

by G Aliaksei C

  The second Human was hidden behind a combat variant of the jogger, covered in weapons and armor, all painted navy blue and yellow. He stood tall in his frame, inspecting the base from his vast, augmented height. An armored hand rested on a big sidearm on his hip.

  “Hello Mr. Ember, welcome to Vazanklav,” I greeted the Defender. He set down his large box and shook my hand. I damned the tradition, combat-fueled nerves flaring up at the contact. For the first time on the Rings I was looking at a Human who matched me in size. Our height and mass would have been normal back in my time, but here, on the Rings, we stood out like giants in crowds of midgets. I tilted my head questioningly at his companion.

  “Oh, Mr. Frost, that’s Ranger Nemisar from the Waste Ring Union.”

  I mentally commed Inna.

 

 

 

  Mr. Ember continued. “He was going the same way as me, so we agreed to buddy up for the trip. It’s five days through Waste Ring wilderness, after all. I also have a package for you. Is my suit here?”

  I pointed to Inna, who was tasked with safeguarding the Defender’s multi-billion suit. “That’s the Lady of War. She is the Innkeeper, and in charge of guarding your suit.” Sylvester rushed off, and I headed for the Ranger.

  At my approach the man chose to climb out of his weaponized jogger, leaving him in light armor and an honest-to-void cowboy hat. I glanced to check, but his sidearm was a modern pistol rather than a more fitting revolver.

  I didn’t look forward to the handshake, yet I knew it was necessary. But as our palms neared the Ranger shifted, and something whistled between us, followed closely by the sound of a gunshot.

  Inna fired first, closely followed by Mr. Nemisar. I turned in time to see chunks of the Raider ambassador Xandra falling to the ground, a mangled rifle crumbling next to her.

  I stared in disbelief, refusing to comprehend what had just happened.

  Xandra tried to kill the Ranger. She missed and was killed. But why would she bother with such a treacherous act now?

  A terrible sense of deja vu struck me.

  So absolute was my confusion that I forgot to lower my hand. The Ranger’s armored glove gently shook my palm, and I stared down at him in furthered shock.

  A silent conversation occurred between us, communicated only through facial expressions and shrugs.

  Open mouthed surprise. Why?

  A shrug. Raiders don’t want me talking to you.

  Scowl. I’ll kill them.

  Single laugh. She’s already dead.

  A shake of the horns. The bastards!

  Another laugh. Indeed!

  Forcing myself to breathe slowly I looked at the body, then at my victimized guest. “How can I help you, Mr. Nemisar?”

  “I understand you are in charge here, Corporate?” I nodded. “I was sent by the Waste Ring Union to investigate a new location. You do not appear to be a Raider outpost, despite their presence beyond and within your walls?”

  “Definitely not Raider, no. I am Drake Frost, owner of this fortress. We have arrangements with our neighbors, but…” I dashed a glance at the body again, still disbelieving of such open betrayal.

  “In that case, when you have time, I have authority to discuss arrangements with the Waste Ring Union as well. Will you let me stay here a few days?”

  “Of course. Fort, please grant Mr. Nemisar here access to the Waypoint connection.”

  “Access granted, Commander,” replied the thing-in-the-wires.

  The Ranger nodded his appreciation. “Another question, if I may?”

  “Of course.”

  “What, and please excuse my language, the fuck was that?” The Ranger pointed back out the gates.

  “That was a Hacksaw. Class 8 locals.”

  “You get wandering Class 8 Beasts? In a Class 3 zone?”

  “Check the map, Mr. Nemisar.”

  I could see the moment realization hit him. A mix of terror and surprise that I could never appreciate. Two wide eyes looked up at me from his Menu.

  “You survive here?”

  “We thrive here.”

  “I have never even heard of a Hacksaw!”

  “We didn’t find anything about them in the Archives. Probably something others haven’t dealt with yet.”

  The Ranger’s eyes lit up with what I could only assume were credit signs, “I would be willing to serve as your Union liaison for the Archive submission!” He saw my confusion and explained, “You need a liaison if you want your report to hold any value. The more information I can confirm, the better your finder’s fee will be.”

  “There’s a reward for information on new Beasts?”

  “Big reward for a Class 8, too. If you have a corpse, we can pull even more value out of a dissection.”

  “I have a couple.” I was interested in the new source of income as much as the Ranger, who was likely going to get a separate reward for the services he so freely offered us. “We will deal with this later, at a proper meeting. For now, let’s get you settled in.” The Ranger composed himself once more. “Inna over there is our Innkeeper, she will help you with a room, and we can talk business later. Welcome to Vazanklav.”

  “Thank you.”

  I frowned, glancing at the sidearm the man’s belt. “You got a kinetic weapon on you? What caliber?”

  The Ranger, confused, told me and excused himself. I watched him go, considering the smaller man. He was clearly fueled by greed, his natural attraction to wealth making him a valuable and powerful asset. As long as the Union official saw us as a source of income he would do everything in his power to help. He would almost certainly make fortunes as our liaison to the Union and Archive, and that gave me a leverage with the Ranger. Having such authority on my side would be useful.

  I looked around, spotting my newest hire chatting with Rarus. “Mr. Defender! Come here.”

  Sylvester jogged up to me. I ushered the large man aside from everyone, whispering.

  “Ready for your orientation?”

  “Of course, Mr. Frost.”

  “Remember how you told me you were looking for a new, interesting job?”

  He frowned. “Yes?”

  “Check your map with the zone Class overlay.”

  The Defender opened his Menu, then his map. The red overlay of the Class 8 zone covering our entire base reflected in his wide eyes. Instead of fear I saw a spark of excitement in his stare. I smiled when he looked up at me.

  “Welcome to Vazanklav. We do things here that no one else can. That said, if you tell anyone about anything you see here, I will run your armor through an industrial shredder.”

  He quickly nodded in response.

  I smiled, handing him one of David’s custom sidearms. “I knew we would get along. Here’s your standard issue Black Needler. Don’t fire indoors, or near yourself, the yield is over four tons of dynamite per needle, the pistol is automatic, and holds eighty of them. There is no safety on it once it leaves the holster.”

  The shaken man took the holstered weapon out of my hands. Pulling the miniature cannon out of its case he looked it over, then secured it on his belt.

  I was quite satisfied with how quickly the Defender was adapting, and offered him his insignia without any second thoughts. “Here’s our patches, put them on your shoulders after you wash the Concord colors off your armor.”

  “What are our colors?”

  “White.”

  “Just… white? No camouflage?”

  “Not just white. Reflective, bright white. Come to my bunker later today, and I’ll laminate your armor with something called Energy Durasteel.”

  “My armor is already Durasteel,” said the man with pride.

  “Ballistic Durasteel, yes. That stuff melts under Hacksaw Fusion Lances like butter in an oven.”

  “Alright, I’ll come by later.�
��

  I patted the wide-eyed man on the shoulder. “I already like you! Since we are no longer a Class 3 zone your salary will be adjusted. I think you will be happy with the new figures.”

  “Thanks boss. I’ll… have to adjust my armor for Class 8 operations. But It’s not an issue.”

  “You are going to fit right in!” I pointed at the crate that he had brought with him. “What’s in the box?”

  “I have no idea. I was asked to deliver this to the Technomancer. Is that really you? Are you really the inventor of the Firebolter and Black Ammo?”

  I pointed at his pistol, then showed him my wrist. He looked at the Heavy Firebolter, thoughtful. “Rarus was right. This is going to be an interesting job.”

  “That’s a fact. Get to your suit and room, work starts now.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Frost.” The defender pocketed his patches, checked the new gun on his belt, and walked back to Inna, looking pleased and excited. I was quite satisfied with the recruit. He was like us, like the villagers and I. He was fueled by greed for excitement, not any sort of wealth. While the Ranger looked at us as a source of income, Mr. Ember saw only the prospect of new, exciting developments that he could be part of. That, I decided, was the outlook I wanted in the people working with me.

  “Fort?”

  “Yes Mr. Frost.”

  “No one said this, so I will. Amazing shot. No one could have done that but you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Frost.”

  “When everyone has a quiet moment, tell Jim, Inna, Rarus, Mr. Ember, David, and Mr. Nemisar to be at my bunker tomorrow at three hundred.”

  “Yes Mr. Frost.”

  I raised my voice, yelling at the sky. “And someone clean up all this Raider blood!”

  Of course, no one cared for my outburst. They were busy with preserving our collective lives. I, in turn, gave up the theatrics and headed home.

  Exhausted, and still in pain, I allowed Inna to sort out the recruit Defender and Union officer. Instead of helping I retreated into my workshop, and began the first of countless undone tasks - fixing Jim.

  Healing water provided by the very soil we called home was a life-saving factor in our struggle. My walking so soon after the surgery was tribute to that. Healing water, however, did nothing to help Jim. He simply accepted his fate when I dragged him and the remains of his other bodies into my bunker.

  Now Jim lay on a workbench, surrounded by the body parts of his other selves. I could only imagine his discomfort. A Human equivalent of his situation would be laying on a surgery table surrounded by the limbs and corpses of your clones.

  The mech closed the Menu floating over him and looked at me.

  “Mr. Frost, I am very sorry for being so useless today. My weapons were ineffective, and I am too large and slow to engage in a melee like that.”

  “Don’t worry about it Jim.” I picked up the modern equivalent of a screwdriver (still a screwdriver, but fancy).

  “That brings me to my second point. I must admit, it is something I forgot about until receiving a notification just now.” He made a show of pausing. “Mr. Frost, I must notify you that your eighty-day contract with Ice Wall Mercenaries regarding my employment will run out in five days.”

  “Service extension is available, right? I think I already paid off what I owe them for this term.”

  “No, Mr. Frost. I have orders for reassignment elsewhere after this term is over.”

  We looked at each other. On the list of bad news, this quickly rose to the top.

  “Well what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  “Sorry Mr. Frost.”

  I felt rather helpless inside. It did not show, but I would miss Jim quite badly. Jim, in turn, managed to project sadness on his electronic face.

  “Jim, I would like to fix you anyway. I already have Energy Durasteel in the furnace, and I don’t care to waste materials. Let me repair you to the best of my ability, as a parting gift.”

  Jim squinted at me with projected eyes, “You just want to take apart a robot, don’t you?”

  I laughed, waving the screwdriver at him, “Now look here you glorified toaster!”

  “I’m not the one who got turned into a smoking cracker in that fight!”

  “And I’m not the one scattered across the workbench like a modern piece of art!”

  “And all it took for you to walk again was soaking in a few hundred million credits worth of life-saving, magic water!”

  I was awed at his sudden humor. “Where is this ham coming from Jim?”

  “Post-combat adrenalin, Mr. Frost. I can’t believe I killed a Class 8 Beast. If I still had a trigger finger, it would be twitching.”

  In a few hours I reassembled Jim’s frame with spare parts from his own corpses. Then I took him apart again, and replaced most of the parts with freshly-fabricated, improved bits. I ruthlessly stole design specifications for a higher-Class version of his model, using my vast array of fabricators to stamp out the parts in record time. Jim protested the expenses, but ultimately failed to mount a defense, mostly due to his lack of limbs. I skipped over installing any actual armor, however - that would come later, when the Durasteel-alloy furnace finished its task.

  Over the course of my previous work the villagers threw vast quantities of valuable resources at me, as a payment for whatever I made for them. The result was a certain excess of high-Class equipment that I filled Jim with. The resulting amalgamation, an unarmored horror of mismatched internals, seemed content with his new body. I sent him out to stretch until the Energy-Durasteel was complete, and kicked him out.

  I was left alone with the mystery box.

  My new Defender, Mr. Ember, couldn’t tell me anything about it - he was simply asked to deliver it to me on his way out, and was assured it was not a bomb. I remained skeptical, but curious.

  Carefully stepping up to it I withdrew a crowbar from my belt and pried open the lid. Satisfied with the lack of an explosion, I peered inside.

  Within, surrounded by crumpled paper, was a strange-looking object a half a meter across. It was an ideal sphere, consisting of a matrix of Runes that spanned the surface. The sphere had no obvious purpose, looking more like a modern piece of art rather than a functional item. Between the Runes, a centimeter away from the lines, were holes that made the shell look like an exotic cage.

  I pulled the sphere out, and realized it was a shell of Ballistic Durasteel-steel armor. It was a single, solid chunk, uninterrupted by welds or bolts. Someone had put serious effort into creating the construct out of a single brick of the material - an impressive accomplishment when working with Durasteel alloys. I rolled the object around in my hands, confirmed a lack of seams, and set it back down.

  At the bottom of the box remained an envelope. I reached in, retrieving the note.

  To: The Technomancer.

  Thank you for your help. Big fan of your work. I offer you this gift as a sign of friendship. I know you’ll figure it out.

  From: The Enchanter.

  Uh-huh. I see. This explains everything.

  Positive attitude and sarcastic thoughts did not help me solve this little mystery.

  Who did I help? When? Why did I do that?

  I had minimal contact with the outside world. The only outsiders I had contact with for months was the Ice Wall scout, the raider ambassador Xandra, and the Union Ranger.

  What about before I started building a fortress in the middle of nowhere? I talked to some vendors in tank and weapon shops, I fought alongside Rarus’s team, and I killed a lot of fanatics.

  We had a pretty intimate moment with the Shade, but it almost killed me and I definitely didn’t help it.

  “Mr. Frost?”

  I looked up.

  Fort spoke again, managing to make my voice sound concerned. “Everything alright Mr. Frost?”

  “Yeah, but I got a gift and I don’t know who it’s from.”

  “If they’re Human, they’ll show themselves. You Humans are terrible at keep
ing a low profile.”

  “That’s the Human stereotype?”

  “You’re doing a good job of enforcing it, too.”

  Apparently an increase in Zone Class is not only correspondent to the danger of local plants and animals, but also the very weather. Morning greeted me with a full-on firestorm.

  Whatever you imagine a firestorm to be, whatever nightmares you paint over the word ‘firestorm’ - reality is scarier. A dust torrent with a wind speed of over a hundred and fifty kilometers per hour was bashing at the Comfort Dome over Vazanklav. The tiny, bright white sun was hidden behind the sand, only a light glow somewhere above remaining to remind us of its presence.

  The sun was rather unnecessary, though. Every one to five minutes a wall of explosions would ripple over us, the dust itself combusting in a chain reaction of fire and light. The thunderous wave left behind clouds of raging flames that tore away at the dome until the next wave caught up to it.

  My morning walk to and from the village Cafe had me wide-eyed and awake, the constant explosions significantly reducing appetite and increasing the concentration of adrenaline in my blood.

  I wondered how the Raiders were managing to survive outside without swaths of high-Class gear to aid them.

  On my way back I noticed commotion near the Monument. A group of villagers was setting up red cones around an empty bit of land. I walked over.

  “What’s this, gentlemen?”

  The five men looked around at me, “Hello Mr. Frost! We have an Anomaly, please stay back.”

  The word Anomaly brought back memories of the screaming grasshopper in my bunker. I stopped in my tracks, peering into the coned-off zone. My improved eyes worked to spot the issue, but saw only a strange shifting of dust in the air.

  “What are we dealing with?”

  A villager held up a stone and threw it into the zone. A flash of red lighting filled the air with smoke, momentarily blinding me and vaporizing the rock.

  “Oh for…” I raised my hands. “That’s bullshit! How do we even know it’s there in the first place?”