Stories untold

"Not like you to not have a plan, Boss," Genni said, looking at me over a cup of coffee. We'd been talking about the aftermath of the Mercenary incident, with Ravish ending and Raids taking off for the badlands to do, well, whatever it is she planned to do with the kit she acquired from her dead sister. If a machine like Ravish could be said to really be dead, and if Machines really had siblings in the way we meant them.

"We had a plan, Genni. Me and Raids. The Mercenaries just pitched a Gorram wrench in it," I replied, more amused than annoyed. The fact was, there were only two important outcomes to the entire affair. Ravish's reign of pain ended, and Raids getting the chunk of core I'd promised in exchange for the intimate secrets she'd turned over to me. We'd reached the desired outcome, so I was good with it.

"So, what was the plan?"

The plan. It had been a simple plan, really. A trap designed to get around how evenly matched the two killing machines were at their cores. One on one, it would have been difficult to call. But it wasn't going to be one on one. Raids would have help. The trick was deploying that help in a way Ravish couldn't quite predict.

"Won't hurt to tell you now, eh?" I laughed, refilling my coffee. "It was supposed to have gone like this . . ."

* * * * *

I'd narrowed my selection down from nearly a dozen potential nests to a more manageable four. None of them was ideal. That was an intentional decision. Ravish was already aware of the nests the Militia had selected and was doing a fair job of keeping out of their sight lines. She had to know there were better snipers on Hale's Moon than we had in the Militia, so would be looking for the most likely nests from which a Sniper could take a shot. There were multiple nests with overlapping areas of coverage and accessibility, so her job would be to calculate the most likely sites and act accordingly. By settling for a less than optimal nest, I'd increased the odds in my favor. Increased the likelihood she'd guess wrong.

The wave from Raids was simple. "It is time," was all she said.

I had fifteen minutes to get the Ritter&Lau 599 and settle into whichever nest I'd chosen for the shot. Raids herself wouldn't know exactly where I'd be. Only the area she'd need to get Ravish into in order to be in my line of fire.

I wouldn't even know which nest until I'd flipped the coins. Two coins. A pair of platinum coins grabbed randomly from my desk. Four possible outcomes. Decided as they landed one after the other. Heads. Tails. Binary 10. The 3rd nest of four.

The route to the nest was circuitous, avoiding lines of sight whenever possible, breaking them as quickly as possible when they couldn't be avoided. Imperfect, of course, but it would reduce the chance of Ravish seeing me and figuring out where I was going before I could get in position. Once there, it would just be a matter of letting Raids flush her quarry then taking the shot when I had it.

Simple in concept. Rather more difficult in execution.

Patience was a virtue. Especially for a sniper. It could take hours, days even, for your target to be in your sights. You couldn't get bored, distracted, aggravated. You had to maintain focus. To wait patiently until the time was right, then settle into the zone. Mind and body ready to take the shot. To end a life.

Or, in this case, to put a single hypervelocity armor piercing round through one of two vulnerable spots on an otherwise hardened killing machine.

Time passed slowly as I waited for Raids to engage her foe. I had a passive link to the town and Militia security feeds. When the two fighting machines engaged, I was ready. We'd designated several areas Raids could lure Ravish where I would have a line of sight and be able to take the shot. If Raids had tried to force Ravish into one particular area, she'd have known she was being herded; known it was a trap.

Our preparations might have been excessive. Against a more common target, I'd never have bothered with so many possibilities. But Ravish was no common target.

I tracked the fight through my heads up, switching it off to look through the 599's scope when they finally came into view. The scene was like watching . . . like watching something from a Saturday morning Cortex combat vid. The two machines were almost too fast to follow. Bladed extension arms flashing as they tried to get an advantage over the other.

Through the scope, time slowed. My heart rate dropped. 70 beats a minute. 60. 50. Breathing slow and regular. I was nearly three quarter's of a second's flight from my target. It wasn't simply a matter of being able to put the shot on target, but finding a moment when I knew where she'd be three quarters of a second later. The scope could calculate an impact point based on environmental conditions, but it couldn't predict the motion of two Machines locked in melee combat.

But I could.

A pattern to their movements. Conscious or not, there were certain actions that triggered predictable reactions. Raids knew what I needed to make the shot. Perhaps she was giving it to me. A flash of blade. Feint. Counterfeint. Parry. Then a moment of clarity.

Between heartbeats, my finger squeezes the 599's trigger and a round rips out of the rifle. The inertial compensator keeps the recoil from breaking my shoulder and the muzzle where it was. Ravish was in motion even as the round covered the distance between us, ballistic trajectory intersecting the path of a moving target. My heart beats.

Ravish's backup core is, technically, an easier target than her primary, and the round impacts dead on target with sufficient kinetic energy to punch a hold through her shell and the armored braincase beneath. She reacts instantly, but it's not fast enough. In the moment it takes Ravish to react, Raids has used the opening to drive a razor sharp tungsten spike full force into her sister's primary core. My heart beats.

It's over.

Ravish's power core is still hot, and there's still motion in her actuators, but both of her processing cores have been destroyed. The killing machine is dead. Raids looks at my position, inclines her head in thanks, and rips the components she's been promised from Ravish's crippled chassis, before clearing out.

By the time I make it back from the Nest, the Militia has secured the "corpse" for our own needs. As far as I'm concerned, we can turn it over to Raids when we've made absolutely sure it's finally, and permanently, dead.

All according to plan.

* * * * *

"Except it didn't work out that way, Genni. The Mercs threw a wrench in the works. Same outcome, of course, which is all that really matters."

"All that matters, yeah. I hear ya, Boss. Must have been disappointing after all that planning to not get the shot though."

"I admit a little. But I'm still happy to have that gorram machine out of our hair."

Truth be known, I was. No one knew, except Raids, and now Genni, what we'd had planned. No one knew I hadn't gotten the kill. And it was OK. No one needed to know. Even if I had made the shot, I wouldn't have told anyone the details. It would have just been another thing I did behind the scenes.

It was, after all, what I did.

Hidden from glory

One single priority

Only that matters

Cleaning up

There are times when I consciously choose not to use certain resources at my disposal. While I had sent a few waves to very specific people after the Mercs got into conflict with Ravish and the town, I'd chosen not to pursue them with my own special resources. There really didn't seem to be much point in actively seeking revenge. I didn't hold the entire unit accountable for the actions of two specific members, which ultimately meant there were only two I would actively concern myself with. Should either of them come across my sights, I would end their span. But the rest of the unit could go in whatever passed for peace in their world.

The one that shot AuroraBlue and their leader, who's ultimately responsible for the actions of those under their direct command? If our paths crossed, they spans would end. It really was that simple. The how of it would be detailed should it ever come to pass. It would be humane, of course. I would not gloat over shooting a child, or, in this case, a miscreant. I would simply kill them humanely and efficiently.

Better than either would get if they showed themselves on Hale's Moon again.

Too many people here with large weapons, high explosives, and grudges, for them to get away unscathed. But that was the nature of a small community like ours. Not everyone got along with everyone else. There were some rivalries that were old and deep, but they were between folk who called Hale's Moon home. When outsiders upset the community as a whole, folk would set aside their differences to deal with the problem.

Two Mercenaries against a town? Maybe they'd win in a Cortex vid where they were the heroes. But they weren't the heroes here: they were the ones who got blown up at the end of the show to the cheers of the audience.

I was more immediately concerned with how the incident had affected AuroraBlue. She'd recovered quickly, both from the shot itself and the Rage she'd acquired from Ravish. By the time she'd come to me on Wave Equation, she was more 'confused child' than 'threshing machine with feet.'

Dragons know their own.

With the Mercenary issue off our plate for the time being, and Ravish no longer an issue, I could turn my attention back to other issues. Raids, for example. She'd taken some core components from her fallen "Sister" for purposes I had not seen fit to ask about. I had my suspicions, but I'd also chosen to treat Rads as one of us. That implied a certain level of trust. A certain level of respect. A certain level of privacy.

As I'd told others, if I was wrong I would rectify the mistake. But I didn't believe I was wrong. Raids was a fully sentient being with a right to self determination. I could suggest, offer guidance, mediate, moderate, and otherwise show her what was considered appropriate for a Sentient living amongst other Sentients. But it wasn't my place to force her into compliance.

We'd know in time, I was sure, what Raids wanted with the chip. I had to hope it was something that completed her transition to a fully free sentient. If not? We'd know, eventually, and figure things out then.

The recent incidents had put my focus off both the new Corvette and the research I'd asked Doctor Sinclair to do for me. All things I would have to catch up on, especially considering they were intertwined at some level.

For the moment, I needed to talk to Blue. And x0x0, for that matter. But mostly Blue. I had a fair idea what had happened to AuroraBlue and how it tied into Sinclair's research, but the big AI was probably the only one with the knowledge base to confirm my suspicions.

Assuming he'd answer.

Unforeseen outcomes: Or why I still don't like mercenaries

It's over.

It didn't end how we planned it.

But it's over.

There'd been quite a bit of flexibility in the plan to start with. There'd had to be, since we didn't know exactly when or how the confrontation between Raids and Ravish would go down. The two machines essentially knew how the other would think, but, that being said, they were each doing what they could to not walk into the other's trap. There were times when the situations were so evenly balanced, so hard to judge an actual advantage, that you really did have to roll a die to decide which way to go. This was like that. The 'die' might have been some kind of quantum switch deep with in a sentient machine's core, but it was a random factor just the same. We could figure out the most likely paths, and be ready to shift onto whichever one came up when it happened.

The Mercenaries added another measure of random chance to the mix. Not because they were evenly matched with their opponent intellectually and the only way to avoid being predictable was to add a random element. No. They added a random element because they were in way, way, over their heads, but thought they were in control. And that's the problem with the Stupid and the Batshit Insane. They do things you don't expect, leaving you altering plans on the fly in order to deal with a situation that's turned all Chòu shǐ.

Things would have gone down differently if Raids had been on the ground and I'd been in the nest, but she wasn't, and I wasn't, and it all happened very quickly. Surprisingly so. But in the end, Ravish was no more, Raids had the chip, and the Mercenaries were no longer a factor in our day to day operations.

That last was fortunate. In taking out Ravish, they'd injured AuroraBlue. Details were sketchy, but somehow she'd gotten up after the attack and gone a bit Rage herself, injuring several people before eventually ending up in Wave Equation's small cabin, curled up on a bunk under a blanket.

Lily confronted the Mercs over it shortly after the fact and, again, the details were a little sketchy. All that was absolutely clear was that the core of the Merc unit had evac'd after getting their asses handed to them by a somewhat annoyed not-cat. Which was probably better than they would have gotten had they been caught on the ground by an equally annoyed Mother Dragon.

They were gone. For now. Though returning would be a bad idea. The Militia and townsfolk were ready for them if they came back. While the Alliance wasn't exactly our closest friend in the 'Verse, they'd been informed of the Merc unit that had, essentially, turned on the citizens of the town. They wouldn't be too keen on seeing a heavily armed unit on Hale's Moon that wasn't authorized by the local government. Which they weren't. I'd seen to that.

For once, the 1st Marine Raiders would be more than welcome to expend some ammunition on our behalf.

There were also a few other things they'd encounter, should they try and get back into the business. While there were undoubtedly some factions within the Alliance and its fractured Parliament that would still see them with favor, they'd find that in some, quite powerful, circles, they were personae non grata.

It was a big 'Verse, and they could probably hide if they stayed away from civilized worlds. But their actions had started some big, heavy, wheels turning. They would have a hard time not getting ground under them.

Soldiers of Fortune

Cowards prey upon children

Your days are numbered

The trouble with Mercenaries

I've said it before. Mercenaries, soldiers of fortune, guns for hire, what ever you want to call them, have their place. People willing to take money in exchange for fighting under someone else's flag is a tradition as old as history. They are not a new phenomena. They're not even an uncommon phenomena. During the war, the Indies made extensive use of mercenary units since it was often easier to higher a complete unit than to try and raise one of your own.

There were multiple problems with mercenary units, of course. There have been instances of them turning on their employers, executing a coup d'état and taking over whatever hapless colony had hired them. There were instances of mercs being summarily executed by the local army after an operation was over, obviating the need to pay them for their services. There were examples of a victorious adversary treating the mercs like criminals or terrorists, quite unlike the regular military. Or, in some cases, the mercs changing sides in the middle of a fight because they got a better offer.

Since the war, the mercenary business had seen a rather precipitous decline. Mostly, they'd gone to more legitimate or small scale prospects. With the Alliance's tendency to outsource security on a lot of Border and Rim colonies, there were quite a few units that had converted from Military to "Security." The results weren't always stellar.

Then there were the units that were hired by private interests for internal security, body guard duty, or whatever else they were being paid for. Again, not always with with spectacular results. Or, perhaps, not always spectacularly good results.

We'd had mercenary units on Hale's before. I hadn't liked it then either. Each time, whoever hired them hadn't done so to augment our existing Militia. They'd done it for their own reasons and, while the results hadn't always been bad, they had always caused friction between the mercs and the local militia and law enforcement unit.

Seems "Ask the local authorities first" never crossed their minds.

I had a fair idea who'd hired the unit on the ground now, which I would confirm one way or another in short order. But their presence complicated things. While they'd but a few impressive dents in Ravish, they'd also attracted the attention of the Alliance regulars.

That, I did not need.

I'd already gotten a message off to Colonel Silvermane that the mercs weren't ours. They weren't here in any sort of official 'with the blessing of the Colonial Government' capacity. If it came down to a confrontation between the mercenaries and the Marines, our Militia would stay the hell out of it.

I hoped it didn't. But, from my perspective, the mercs were more trouble than they were worth. If it came to a fight with Ravish, they'd be in the thick of it, giving the Milita more trouble getting a clean line on their target. If it came to a confrontation with the Alliance, I could just hope whoever Silvermane had on the ground wasn't of a mind to ignore collateral damage and just deal with the issue.

Whoever hired them would get a talking to. But that could wait. I had more pressing matters to hand.

Clarity

I am ready.

I spoke with Raids briefly last night at Firefly's, letting her know I was ready when she was. Whether our plan played out as intended or not, I would do my part. The 599 was sighted and I'd ranged three favored nests that would each give me the shot. Which one I took would depend on conditions at the time and I wouldn't make that decision until the last possible moment.

Usually, a sniper would pick on preferred location and nest there. Under normal circumstances I would have done just that. But these weren't normal circumstances. This was my home. Over the last few years here I'd learned all the best vantages, all the nests, their sight lines, limitations, advantages. Some of the spots were known to others, of course. I'd trained a couple of the Militia sharp shooters myself and given them some favored locations.

But I'd kept a few to myself as well.

That knowledge also gave us an advantage if anyone tried to play sniper games with us. There really was nothing better than local knowledge in such a situation. Should it ever come to it, our counter-battery fire would be quick and lethal. Should it ever come to it.

For now though, I had but one target in mind. With the 599 and its specialized ammunition we'd be able to take Ravish down for good.

Now, if the new Intern would only stay out of harm's way.

I hadn't actually intended to take on an Intern in the Mayor's office. There really wasn't much Mayoring going on, and Genni, as Vice Mayor, was actually doing most of the work. I was the Executive decision maker but I wasn't involved much in administering the colony. Worse, perhaps, It seemed likely the Alliance would make some declaration that our semi-formal local government wasn't really officially sanctioned and then find a way to impose "oversight" on our "underprivileged" colony.

But Lanie had come in, fresh off the boat, asking for work, and I'd been a bit too distracted to say "No." So now Genni and I had an Intern. She was young, bright, cheerful, and, sadly, likely to get shot the first time something dropped in the pot. Thing was, she'd be a good person to put between us and Lionheart. Fresh and cheerful, she didn't have the background on the Alliance's interactions with the colony the rest of us did.

Might work out. Might not. Could at least hope she didn't end her span before we found something more permanent for her to do around here.

Right now, I had more pressing matters on my mind than keeping an Intern out of my hair.

Through a snipers eyes

With infinite clarity

I see your span end

Exploring issues of Trust though the scope of a high power rifle

The arrival of my new Ritter&Lau 599 brought with it a basket of mixed emotions. While the weapon itself was a work of art, at least to the eyes of someone who appreciated the delicate, lethal, precision of an R&L sniper rifle, it was still a device with one, very specific, purpose: to take a life. Though, in this specific instance, my target wasn't technically alive. Also, some would argue, the 599 was more of an anti-material weapon than an anti-personnel one.

Not that it would be any consolation to whatever I hit with it. With the amount of raw kinetic energy the slug would carry, concentrated into the slim point of the depleted Uranium core, the round would punch through my target's armor and into the electronic brain within. Shortly after I pulled the trigger, the war machine known as Ravish would end its span.

That was, if all went according to plan.

On some levels, it probably seemed odd that I was reluctant to put Raids at risk in order to terminate Ravish. Some thought I was Baka for accepting her into the colony's citizenry in the first place. I'd even had suggestions of turning her over to Ravish, or just ending her ourselves.

None of those ideas would fly, of course. Most of the folk here, after a little suspicion, accepted my judgement and treated her as one of us. Even now, the majority of the townsfolk were behind her. Though, some of them were suggesting that mayhap, our resident warbot should be the one going toe to to with the invading warbot. Seeing as how they were evenly matched and all, and would have the Militia on her side.

I'd already hit on that idea and Raids herself volunteered to go toe to toe with her sister as soon as I even mentioned her being in harm's way. And that's where the trust came in.

I'd had a fair idea of how her class of warbot went together from the research we'd done on her when Nack still kept her as a trophy in Firefly's. I'd done my calculations on the shot based on the known target size and armor thickness, figuring the strongest materials Ravish was likely to have been built with. What I hadn't known was that her series had, effectively, a backup brain box. That she told me about it showed a level of trust that was, ultimately, gratifying.

By telling me about the backup, she was trusting me with a weakness. Also trusting that I'd be able to make the shot when she got her sister out in the open. She'd take one in close combat, I'd take the other with the R&L. In return, I promised her salvage on the fallen twin.

There was still a chance the Militia or one of the more combat worthy locals would take Ravish down permanently before we could, but I didn't care so much. I'd already gotten word to the Militia leaders to not even touch the chassis until I'd cleared it and, under no circumstances, to turn it over to an Alliance patrol. Not that we'd be able to stop an Alliance patrol on the ground from pulling rank, but that'd just mean I had to keep my promise through a back channel.

And if that didn't pan out?

Well, that'd lead to an entirely new pursuit.

OOC Side note: This is the 200th entry in the Lonesome Ninja Mayor's blog.

A labor of love

Chronicle of a long arc

Two hundred entries

Five Nine Nine

For at least the last two hundred years, the finest high power rifles in the 'Verse have been made by one company: Ritter&Lau. They are legendary for accuracy and reliability and have been the premier choice for competition marksman since, well. . . Since they started making rifles. R&L has also made a line of military spec sniper rifles that, while not quite as accurate as their competition models, are some of the best that have ever taken the field. The sniper variant trades a fraction in accuracy and stability for even greater reliability and robust construction.

The milspec ones also, perhaps surprisingly, cost a good deal less than their competition models. But they're still a good deal more expensive than the more common weapons deployed with most field units. Thus, an R&L only went to the most lethal snipers or special operations units. Or, more rarely, to a soldier with a good deal more money then brains. And in that case, they'd usually opt for a competition model.

Me? I'd been rather fond of both of my Ritter&Lau 415's.

The R&L 599 could be considered the 415's big brother. It used a similar 'big charge pushing a small round' concept that made the 415 so lethal, but used a longer 20mm auto-cannon cartridge in place of the 415's 20mm base load. At a bit over 1200 meters per second, it's 13mm, 685 grain round generated around 32000 joules.

Like the 415, the round had a dead flat trajectory and could punch great gaping holes in targets a solid three kilometers off.

I just hoped the new 599 arrived in time. And, when it did, I hoped I would be able to get off one clean shot. It would have to be enough. Enough to punch through Ravish's armored brain box and put an end to the machine's attacks.

Assuming, of course, the Sappers didn't get to it first.

Standoff

It was only a matter of time, I knew. With Raid's "sister" on the surface, somewhere, looking for her, it was more or less inevitable that we'd encounter each other. I just hadn't especially expected it to be in Fook's, interrupting my coffee.

The Militia preparations for dealing with this other machine were ongoing, but we'd already managed to get one sharp shooter in position manning the anti-armor rifle. Thing was, 'sharp shooter' was being generous. There were a few people in the Militia that were damn good shots with a long gun, but very, very, few people on our little slice of Heaven were trained as a Sniper. With people needing to tend to their families and day to day life, we could only afford to keep a few of the best shots manning the gun on rotation.

There was also the matter of position. Over the last few years here on Hale's Moon, I'd scouted out all the best firing positions. I knew where they were, what coverage they had, how easy they were to spot from a distance, how much cover they gave against counterfire. But we weren't positioning the anti-roller gun for me. We were positioning it for the few men and women who'd have to take a spell with it, which had a whole 'nother set of requirements.

We'd set them up with a good deal of visibility, positioned so anyone, or anything, trying to attack them wouldn't have an easy time of it. The spot was ideal for the needs at hand, though not the spot I'd have taken myself. Personally, I'd be another five hundred meters back. But that was me. Any of the folk manning the gun could make a nine hundred meter shot on a man-sized target. But that was the difference between someone who was a good shot using a good rifle, and a trained sniper. At that range, with that gun, I could have taken Ravish's head off with a called shot to either eye socket.

But I wasn't manning the gun.

The machine knew how to move through cover, I gave her that. Had to assume she'd spotted the weapon's position and made some effort to stay out of their lines of sight. Just hadn't realized she'd be able to make it to Fook Yoo's front door without being spotted and shot at.

I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye. A metallic green glint reflecting off a window a moment before she appeared in the Fook's open front door. My fifty was already to hand and half way drawn before she spotted me, and raised what looked like a modified Assault Rifle in my direction. We had our weapons on-target within a few milliseconds of each other, muzzle to muzzle across the gap between my place at the bar and her spot in the doorway.

At this range, the HVAP rounds would, most likely, punch through her shell and make a mess of the brain box inside - the only place I was reasonably sure would take her down. Assuming they actually punched through. And that she didn't shoot first. But she had to have seen where I was targeting. Had to have realized I knew where to shoot her to make it count.

"A silver mechanoid of appearance similar to this unit is known to me in this community. Where is it?" she asked in a soft, sultry, voice I could have mistaken for Raids in tone, if not in inflection.

"Not in the habit of giving up my citizens to an assassin," I replied calmly, finger steady on the trigger, aim point dead on the machine's brain box.

"Very well. You have no more usefulness to this unit."

I could see a change in her expression: a vaguely disconcerting smile that said 'I'm going to enjoy shooting you.'

Not if I shoot you first, ikeike.

Only . . . we didn't. A heartbeat before I squeezed off a round, and, I was sure, several would have come back at me, Fook Yoo's blast doors slammed down between us.

"Ya'll ok, Miss Mayor?"

Bruin Wells had been out of sight, getting some fresh food for the buffet, and shut the blast door when he saw the machine he'd heard about with a gun on me. Level head on that man, to be sure.

"I'm fine, Bruin, thanks. Just need to get more eyes, and more guns, on that Gorram machine."

More eyes - and a bigger gun.

Can't say we weren't warned

She warned us, Raids did. And I warned the townsfolk. Got the Militia to prep their favored demolition charges and the anti-roller ordnance, though, being miners, they were more comfortable as Sappers than Snipers. Loaded up my fifties and the long gun with HVAP rounds, since the squash heads would just be an annoyance to one of those fighting machines, and went about my business.

Wasn't in a mood to go hunting. If what Raids said was true, and I had no reason to doubt, the green hulled machine would show up here. Ravish they called her.

And show she did. Being wrapped up in a meeting with the IAV Saule Silencieuse's Captain, I wasn't in a position to add anything to the fight. They filled me in after the fact, though, being Mayor on paper only these days, there wasn't much I could do besides talk to the wounded in the Infirmary and relay my dōjō to the families of those that fell defending the colony.

You'd think that a seasoned Militia would be able to take on one lone machine. They'd drilled and trained and knew how to shoot and blow shit up. But they weren't really trained to fight an opponent like they were facing now. I wasn't even sure how I'd take her on one on one if it came to it. Give me a fighting suit, and we'd be evenly matched. But I didn't have a fighting suit. Best I had here was my synthetic sapphire weave and a Thermoptic oversuit. I could survive a fight, one on one, but win it?

Maybe. Only maybe.

The locals had managed to drive Ravish off, damaged but still functional. Which meant after a bit of down time, she'd come back repaired and probably gunning for whoever'd done the most damage to her last time around.

Next time, they'd have taken the warning more seriously. But it would still be rough. If Raids had a personal nemesis in her "sister" we'd have to think hard on a way to settle the score. I'd accepted Raids as one of us after she'd chosen to follow our Dao. Her sister here wasn't so flexible and I'd no qualms about ending her span.

Assuming we could.

Violence becomes you

Mechanical nemesis

We stand against you

Did you hear the one about the chiropractor and the autonomous killing machine?

There is an ancient legend, I mean a really ancient legend, like three thousand years ago kind of ancient legend, about a girl who opens a bottle and lets out a genie and with the genie all the evils of the world. Or something. I'm probably mixing legends, or metaphors, or, possibly, both. But the lesson of the ancient legend, or parable, is the same regardless. Once something's known in the world, out of the bottle so to speak, there's no way to put it back in.

Humanity learned that with nuclear weapons something like six hundred years ago, but forgot the lesson. We learned it with the use of expendable fossil fuels, which, ultimately, led to the Exodus from Earth that Was. We've forgotten that lesson too, but, since there weren't any fossils in the 34 Tauri system from which to make fuel, we haven't quite managed to do the same damage to our new home worlds.

Yet.

But the bottle genie metaphor is appropriate to another field of science. A field I dabbled in at University, and, for the last few years, have taken a more than passing interest in. Seeing how Artificial Intelligence has become a fairly important topic in our day to day existence. No surprise, really, given we've seen more advanced AI out here at Hale's Moon than I did in my entire span at Feynman.

When Raids, or resident reformed warbot, tracked me down at the new transport hub, I knew something was up. She didn't show emotions the way a Human would, or even Lily, who was arguably neither Human or Normal, but she did show emotion of a sort, and the emotion she was showing primarily was concern.

It appeared that one of Raids "sisters" had been spotted on Hale's. One we'd encountered before, actually. One who hadn't broken free of the original "sadistic killing machine" programming.

Raids was, justifiably, concerned for the locals. evidently the machine'd been lurking around, talking to people, asking about Raids, for a short time already. The machine had Xià de fèihuà some of the locals that had seen it, and they in turn had turned a wary eye towards Raids herself.

I couldn't really fix that. Can't change a person's mind for them. But you can talk reason with them and shed some light into an uncomfortable darkness. You could also warn the militia, break out the anti-material rifle, and get Raids the raw tungsten, cobalt, and other elements, she needed to optimize her war hull should she and her sister face off.

That I could to.

I could also look into just why a killing machine sourced from Blackburne would be here, looking for one of its sisters. There was something going on behind the scenes. Was sure of it. And I even had a good idea where to start looking for answers.

Assuming the green killer fembot didn't kill us all before I could.

It's just another day ticking off the clock. . .

New Years is a formality, really. A date on a calendar. Technically, a year is defined as one complete orbit of a world around its primary. Since each world has its own orbit, each world has its own local new year. But for the official calendar, the one most people use for accounting and holiday purposes, the year is 365 calendar days of 24 standard hours each. Which means "New Years" is based on a common reference so all the worlds in the 'Verse can celebrate on the same day. Though usually at a set local midnight for whatever the world's local rotation brings up.

I'd planned to spend New Years with my friends at Firefly's, since there was no way I was going to get back to Ariel to spend the night with 'Brina. I did actually manage to spend part of the night there. Saw most of my friends here. Got to watch Imrhien dance on stage, and Kari on the floor. And even AuroraBlue there, dancing with Cody.

But it wasn't going to be.

One of the down sides of my new role was the fact that I didn't really get much of a 'night off.' Genni was my assistant, but only for my official duties as Mayor. She wasn't involved in my Intel work. She couldn't be. While I trusted Genni with my life the nature of my work was well outside her experience and comfort zone. Plus, her unconcealed Indie sympathies made her involvement with that sort of work impossible. That, and it would put her and her kin at risk. Something I wasn't willing to do. Not for the sake of having someone to cover my official paperwork.

Which meant that when an Op went bad on my watch, I was the one they called for advice, or approval, or fire support. Sometimes literally. In this case though, the need wasn't literal so much as tactical. Advice on getting someone's ass out of a surprisingly hot fire before they got burned or, perhaps worse, compromised the larger operation they were part of.

When an Op went bad.

Like it did New Year's Eve.

I'd approved it weeks before. Simple with an excellent Risk to Reward ratio. Just a second story job to recover some information on a "resource" we were interested in. Nothing fancy. But even on simple operations things could go wrong.

That was why an Operator had their Archangel. And why Archangel had me. Not that I could get involved literally, but sometimes another set of experienced eyes on a problem could see a solution where it was thought none existed.

It wasn't enough to save the Op, but it was enough to save the Operator.

For a New Years Eve gone otherwise bad, that was really all I could ask.