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.