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Thresholder, ch 75, The Clash, pt 1
🕑 Added 2023-10-27 01:13:26 +0000 UTCApologies for the cliffhanger, this was one of those chapters that wanted to be REALLY long, and I have made a commitment not to let that keep happening.
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Perry stood on top of the Natrix, dressed in his power armor. The Natrix had many open decks, most of them made for people to be social and have a good view, with plants draping from pots. Some of the plants were quite large, while others were supplemental food of the small, delicate variety that could be eaten without intensive processing. He was above those though, on the metal hull, sword in hand, waiting.
The talks were going on without him. He wasn’t sure what the end result would be, but he wasn’t wholly optimistic. It seemed to him like an opportunity to forge a new alliance between the two sides, maybe with some trade of personnel to bring their two cultures more in line with each other. The children that had been routinely delivered from the Natrix to Heimalis City Seven had already brought over some of their practices, and with so many of them sons and daughters of what were, effectively, immigrants, it felt like there must be substantial overlap in ideology. There were things for them to share and trade, in terms of technology if nothing else.
And he was at the center of it all.
He wondered if this was the sort of feeling that Cosme had been chasing. There were lots of problems that came with technology, Perry was well aware of that, but these people already had fusion reactors powering giant mechs, and even the things that were outside of their conception, like Marchand, seemed to be integrated into their understanding of the world quickly enough. Maybe that could be his path through the many worlds.
He liked the Natrix. Truly, he did. The bug attacks weren’t something that he enjoyed, but with March having written a new firing scheme, the problem was more under control than it had ever been before. Brigitta had talked for a long time about what the savings would be in terms of maintenance on the lasers and projectile ammunition that wouldn’t need to be manufactured, which would free up materials and material streams and personnel. That was great, it was, really, if maybe not his ideal post-coital conversation. He was happy to help these people, and enjoyed seeing their processes. He didn’t mind kids, even if he had no interest whatsoever in adding to the population of the Natrix.
He could see himself happily staying for half a year or more. The other thresholder would show up eventually, if they weren’t here already, and then there would be a fight, or more likely, a series of fights. He’d never had a single decisive round of battle, as much as he’d tried to end Cosme right off the bat. He was already making plans to take the fight as far away from “civilization” as he could. He would protect the Natrix from whoever showed up and settle the score.
The thing was, when he had been offered a place here, a home to call his own, a prominent position within a community that adored him for the gifts that he brought them and his overwhelming power, he had instinctively shirked back from it.
“Why do I not want to stay here?” asked Perry.
“It’s difficult for me to say, sir,” replied Marchand.
“Mmm,” said Perry. “I owe Richter, I want to return to that world, bring her back, but … it was a promise I made to myself right when she died, and we hadn’t even known each other that long, and … there’s not really a path, not a clear one. Eventually I’ll find something that works, some way of moving between worlds that I can control, and I’ll keep getting stronger, more powers, even if they’re underwhelming, like this gun.”
He hefted the laser gun. It was a good weapon, and he’d fired it a few times to test it, but it was also a weapon for big game, lacking any sort of finesse or subtlety. There were mirrors inside that Marchand could control which allowed for precision targeting, which was good, and appreciated. The real issue was that it was a huge, unsubtle instrument of war, exactly like a mech in that regard.
“Don’t tell Brigitta I’m less than enamored with it,” said Perry.
“I would never, sir, and am practically aghast that you would suggest it as a possibility,” replied Marchand.
“Flora thought that I liked fighting,” said Perry. “I said I didn’t, and she said, ‘No, you do, you really like driving your blade straight into people at the slightest provocation’. I mean, I think she was wrong, I showed a lot of restraint on the Great Arc, and crashed my way through City Seven without so much as hurting anyone.”
“Will no one applaud your lack of war crimes, sir?” asked Marchand.
“The point,” said Perry. “Is that I don’t think I’m drawn to violence, not in the way that she was thinking, but at the same time … the idea of growing old here, slowly fading to a shell of my former self while this society moves on and launches to the stars, that really holds no appeal to me. That can’t be what my life amounts to.”
“You have a champion’s instincts, sir,” said Marchand.
“What?” asked Perry. He was mostly talking out loud, not really seeking input from the AI.
“A champion does not settle,” said Marchand. “He achieves the bronze medal and thinks only of the gold, and achieves the gold then thinks only of the next battle, the next tournament. To stop and hang up his hat would be unthinkable, tantamount to an admission that none of it had ever mattered.”
“You’re saying that these five worlds, they’ve meant nothing?” asked Perry.
“No sir, quite the opposite,” said Marchand.
“I don’t know what the opposite of that is,” said Perry. “That it’s got meaning because I found meaning in it? Because that’s bullshit. I mean, I have been leaving these worlds better than I found them, in one way or another. Usually that’s by crushing the right skulls, unfortunately.”
“You have said, in the past, that you like crushing skulls, sir,” said Marchand.
“People that deserve it,” said Perry.
Marchand had no reply to that, and there was silence as Perry looked at the horizon.
He was hoping that there would be a bug attack. It would help him to get out some aggression. He wasn’t sure where the aggression was coming from, and couldn’t really blame the Wolf Vessel, given that it was, as always, twilight. In fact, there was more sun in the sky now than there had been at any time before the Natrix had settled in the valley.
It wouldn’t be completely suicidal to fly out away from the ship and find some bugs. He hadn’t field-tested the gun or the microfusion replacement part that Brigitta had made. There was, perhaps, an argument for throwing himself into action.
But the reason he was on the upper deck, armored up and with the gun in hand, was that he was worried about a sneak attack, or possibly a retaliatory attack if the talks broke down.
He wasn’t hoping for that, but at least it would give him something to do. He was all dressed up with nowhere to go.
“March, we need some audio analysis,” said Brigitta’s voice over the radio. “Can you identify what was said during this portion of the call?” What followed was a garbled conversation that was happening some distance from the microphone, indistinct. It also sounded to Perry like the microphone might have been muffled by a hand.
“I’ll get on it right away, ma’am,” said Marchand.
Perry didn’t have high hopes. Audio analysis was one of Richter’s specialties, and Marchand had all kinds of programming above and beyond what a normal AI would have had to run the power armor, but there were limits to what Marchand was capable of. It was poor quality sound from far away captured by a substandard microphone and then transmitted via a very crude satellite.
“I’ve sent you a transcript and cleaned up the audio as best I could,” said Marchand.
“Thank you,” said Brigitta.
“Play it for me?” asked Perry. He was frowning a bit. He didn’t know if Brigitta needed to be reminded that March was fallible, especially where some guesswork was involved. March was far from home and had, in the past, made some poor assumptions about the shape of a world and the people in it.
The audio played, two voices, still not very clear even with all the work that Marchand had done. There was a transcript that ran along the HUD, and Perry found himself reading that much more than he was listening to the words.
“You didn’t see him,” said a man’s voice. It was subtitled as Jorn, and Perry wasn’t sure how Marchand would know well enough to make that connection, but Marchand was listening in on all the audio, so maybe he had been identified later. “You saw the video, not the reality of this beast of a man, not the way he swatted bullets away like they were an annoyance. He walked shirtless through these halls like he couldn’t have been more comfortable. He spared us, but he didn’t have to. And what he did to the computer system beggars belief.”
“We cannot fold,” said a woman, unidentified. “Your task is this: get us what we need, give them as little as you can. Every day we aren’t working on the machine to move the reactors is a day that we risk failure. We cannot give up the next generation. We’re closer to leaving than you know.”
“They have a warrior,” said Jorn. “He came from nowhere, bringing magic and —”
“There’s an explanation that makes more sense than magic,” said the woman. “Do your duty. Fulfill your role.”
And that was it, the end of the transmission that Marchand had clarified.
“She doesn’t speak again?” asked Perry.
“No, sir, though an analysis of the radio transmission indicates that there were eight people in the room,” said Marchand. “Only six were introduced.”
“How can you possibly tell that there were eight people?” asked Perry.
“In this case, I cannot rightly say,” said Marchand. “I believe it to be a matter of deep learning rather than concrete deductions from the available evidence.”
“Make sure you’re relaying that to the sisters,” said Perry. Brigitta, Leticia, and Mette were not actually sisters, but that’s what they were called by those aboard the Natrix. “Tell them when you’re just making guesses.”
“I would not deliver my guesses if I didn’t have some confidence in them,” said Marchand. “But I will do my best to better convey my uncertainty, sir.”
“A break in the talks is the time to attack,” said Perry. “Be vigilant. Do we have eyes on City Seven?”
“There are some outdated photographs, sir,” said Marchand. “I believe communication with the nanites that we seeded into the city is possible when the satellite is overhead, but it does not appear that they trust their computer systems as yet, and given the limited bandwidth, transmission seems ill-advised unless you wish to start a war.” There was a brief pause. “Do you wish to start a war sir?”
“No,” Perry replied. “Obviously not.” He tightened his grip on the sword.
It was very possible that the other thresholder was in the elder mech. The conversation that March had deciphered seemed to indicate otherwise though. There was some power behind the throne, not an AI, but someone who was controlling that AI. Maybe it was City Eight or City Six. It was going to complicate the talks, that was certain. It was like the United States and Russia trying to engage in diplomacy while the United States was denying that the office of the President existed.
Perry was still staring off into the distance, wrestling with his thoughts, when a hatch opened up and Brigitta climbed up a ladder.
“How is the watch?” she asked.
“Fine,” he replied.
He looked over at her. She was in brown coveralls and a tight-fitting white t-shirt. Perry could read the fashions of the Natrix a little bit better now, and tight clothes were a sign that someone was putting more effort into their looks. Most of the clothes were made with the typical body in mind, then customized after the fact, and something with a close fit was rare. Her hair was back in a thick braid, and she was smiling. That was how he liked her.
“How are the talks?” he asked.
“I’m useless, just sitting there in silence while I could be doing real work,” said Brigitta. “Leticia is the one with the golden voice. Whether any sort of deal lives or dies, it will be because of her.”
“There’s no reason you can’t set something up,” said Perry. It seemed like it might be an engineering problem, at least at its heart. “Regular shuttles across the tundra, that would work, right?”
“There are challenges,” said Brigitta. “Enormous challenges. Would your people have been able to do it?”
“No,” said Perry. “But we didn’t have fusion reactors. And I guess we never really had a reason to do it, given that no one lives in the places that have intense cold, not that the cold was ever as bad as it is on this planet.”
“A machine of treads to race across the snow, powered by the weak fusion reactors, of which we have only a few, a trip that would take weeks, all to maintain peace,” said Brigitta. She sighed. “You think that it’s worth bringing up?”
“I think that having a politician driving the talks is bound to be a little worse than having an engineer driving the talks,” said Perry. “Engineers, I would think, would like to try to find solutions together.”
“Leticia’s not like that,” said Brigitta.
“No, maybe not,” said Perry. “I still have this uncomfortable feeling.”
“She’s giving up more than I thought she would,” said Brigitta. “We need the microchips, along with a few rarer metals that are difficult for us to get given what our mining operations look like.” She frowned. It occurred to Perry that she was staring at the helmet, not his face, and he released the gun, letting it rest from the thick strap around his shoulder. He took the helmet off and looked at her.
“She’s not willing to give up the children,” said Perry.
“No,” said Brigitta. She folded her hands across her chest.
“Have you broached the subject of installing March?” asked Perry.
“Here on the Natrix, or there in their city?” asked Brigitta.
“What’s stopping you from doing it here?” asked Perry.
“I didn’t pitch it well to Leticia,” said Brigitta with a sigh. She reached up and held her braid, thumb moving over the blonde locks. “I said that it was insane, an unknown, phantom math, everything I said to you, and she didn’t seem to think that I was right when I said that we should do it anyway.”
“You’re Head of Engineering,” said Perry.
“She’ll come around,” said Brigitta. “I just need to do all the things that will slow me down, the tests, the plans, the hundred moving parts, an estimation of costs and labor, projections for the future. Sensible, but,” she shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“It would be a big ask to get them to do the same,” said Perry.
“Yes,” said Brigitta. “Even if the coordination between our colonies would be better. Whoever was driving the elder mech through the snows … they like having control.”
“Who doesn’t?” asked Perry.
“No, I mean,” said Brigitta. “Whoever they are, they were entrusted with ultimate power. The elder mechs here have been subsumed, becoming infrastructure, the common good. But one that still walks, it will be at the end of a lineage that desired concentrated power.”
“You got the audio from March,” said Perry. “It’s probably that person? Someone who isn’t speaking?”
“Impossible to say,” said Brigitta. She looked around the valley. For Perry, it was a temporary home, but for her, it was more complicated, a place that her home was staying.
“I’ll let you get back to it,” said Perry. “Can I request a weather balloon to be raised for a peek over the horizon?”
“Now?” asked Brigitta.
“Yes,” said Perry. “Just a feeling. It’s probably nothing.”
“Fine, it’ll be done,” said Brigitta.
She hesitated before she left, then leaned up and gave him a kiss. She slipped back down the hatch without another word.
Perry put the helmet back up, hefted the gun, then looked out on the valley, allowing the silence to settle around him. He meditated, which he was using as a way to avoid his thoughts. Still, with there was work to be done internally, more attempts at moving stubborn meridians that had kept slipping back into places they weren’t supposed to be. Now was the time to do this work, while the Wolf Vessel was brimming with power. It was good to have something to apply himself toward.
The weather balloons were made of a thicker, heavier material than on his Earth or Richter’s, and they were something of a precious resource, to be collected again whenever possible. They were also filled with hydrogen and quite explosive, which seemed not to bother Brigitta at all. This one was attached to the Natrix by a wire, and had been launched from one of the lower decks. It had a camera onboard, one with a large fish eye lens, and it was swept westward by the constant winds as soon as it had any appreciable height.
Marchand patched into it and delivered the feed directly to Perry’s HUD.
“What are we looking for, sir?” asked Marchand.
“Enemy action,” said Perry. “We’ve been pretty clear with them that any planes that come our way are going to be shot out of the sky, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try. We’re doing the Iron Dome thing for incoming missiles.”
“I’m not sure that from a technical perspective that plan will work to satisfaction, sir,” said Marchand.
“You do your best to shoot artillery out of the sky,” said Perry. “That’s all I need from you.”
“Sir,” Marchand sighed, “As I explained to Miss Karlquist, changes to the existing systems cannot possibly match the expected efficiency of custom-built missile batteries, and in spite of her confidence in my long-distance targeting abilities, the processing delays and poor video quality, along with —”
“It’s a twenty percent chance, yes,” said Perry. “I know, you don’t need to tell me. Just … try, okay?”
“Yes, sir, of course,” replied Marchand.
Perry was looking at the camera feed. He was feeling on edge. Maybe it was all the stuff with Brigitta, the ways that they were a good match and the other ways they were a terrible one. Or it might have been the uncomfortable moments of introspection, which he wasn’t naturally given to. Either way, he was feeling like a vise was gripping his chest. He was inclined to trust it, given what he knew about the second sphere. Energy flowed, and killing intent could be felt.
He thought that it might be another wave of bug attacks, something that had been happening with alarming frequency, but there was nothing on the horizon, no gathering assault party.
It was possible that he was imagining things.
“Movement, sir,” said Marchand.
The image panned, flattened, and enhanced.
Far on the horizon, almost impossible to see, was a mech walking toward them. The features couldn’t be made out, only the enormous gun on the back and a stride made with heavy metal legs. Even from a distance it was sleek, its design nothing like any of the varied mechs down inside the Natrix.
“Distance?” asked Perry.
“Fifty miles, sir,” said Marchand.
Perry mulled that over. Depending on its speed, that meant that it had set out right around when the break was called, or was waiting on standby.
“Time for it to reach us?” asked Perry.
“Two hours, sir,” said Marchand. “Shall I alert the Natrix?”
“Yes,” said Perry. “I’m getting in my mech to go meet it.”
“Very good, sir,” said Marchand.
Perry leapt off the Natrix and let the sword slow his fall as he went to the back of the ship. The robot arm was already putting everything in place on the mech for him, fixing what had been taken apart for maintenance. March was controlling the robot arm, which was doing delicate tasks with enormous metal pincers that didn’t seem like they should be able to have that much precision.
“Come on,” said Perry.
“I’m working as quickly as I can, sir,” said Marchand.
“Why wasn’t it ready to go?” asked Perry.
“I believe Miss Karlquist was making some adjustments,” said Marchand. “She neglected to put everything back together, and I don’t believe she anticipated that you would have need of the mech in the meantime.”
“March has reported to us,” said Leticia. “You’re going out?”
“Yes,” said Perry.
“It’s likely an intimidation tactic,” said Leticia. “Don’t be the one to shoot first.”
“Wait until they shoot at me?” asked Perry.
“Yes,” said Leticia. “And don’t blow it up. If it is an elder mech with a working fusion core, it’s one of the most valuable things on this planet.”
“Got it,” said Perry. He was tapping his foot waiting for the robot arm to complete its work. He still had virtually no idea how these mechs actually functioned on a mechanical level, even after a number of enthusiastic explanations from Brigitta.
“Good luck,” said Leticia. “If you can win against an elder mech, their legs will be cut out from under them.”
“And if I lose?” asked Perry.
“Try not to lose,” Leticia.
It really said something about the faith they placed in him that they were fine with him going alone, and in fact, seemed to expect that if it did come to a confrontation, he would win. They talked about the elder mechs with a sort of reverence, the pinnacle of engineering that their star-spanning empire had been capable of, but he was, apparently, in a similarly legendary position. Maybe it was because they had seen him in action and only had stories about the elder mechs to go off of. If that’s what this was, it could very well have been the last on the planet.
There were only two things that Perry could take solace in. The first was that the elder mech was three hundred years old, far outside of its operational lifespan. It would have replacement parts that weren’t as good as what they were replacing, and limitations that came from running something so long. The fusion reactors on the Natrix were finicky things, and only becoming more so with time.
The other thing that Perry was counting on was that he had tricks up his sleeve.
He slipped into the cockpit as soon as Marchand gave the signal, slotting his sword into place and feeling the chair rise into the body of the machine. He hoped that whatever changes Brigitta had made, they were good ones, but he trusted her. As soon as the systems were powered on, Perry made his way down the walkway, and was quickly out the back door and among the fields.
The mech could move swiftly, and as soon as he was in motion, he realized that it was faster than it had been before.
“What did she change?” asked Perry.
“She installed all five extra microfusion reactors,” said Marchand. “They provide only minimal additional power, but the array allows for the batteries to recharge without connecting directly to the Natrix, and in theory mean a long operational time. You may have also noticed that she’s swapped the sword. I believe there are also faster actuators controlling the arms.”
“Alright,” said Perry. “Fine, but I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with a sword.”
It was a giant hunk of metal, thick and flat, slotted alongside the giant long-range gun. He wasn’t sure how good it would be as a sword per se, and might have preferred a shield if they had a chance to talk about it, but the people of the Natrix really seemed to associate him with the sword.
As Perry climbed the steep, rocky hill to the west, he thought about how this was going to go. Ideally, he’d be miles away from the elder mech when they made contact, because one of the things his mech was good at was firing heavy shots from a long distance. If they closed on each other though, and were fighting from twenty feet apart, he was less certain that his advantages would mean anything.
It took some time for him to reach where the elder mech had been spotted, but with the weather balloon tethered and floating high up, he was able to keep an eye on the mech the whole time. He circled to the side, so that he have a favorable positioning, then launched the drone when he was up at the top of the hill, the better to provide for coverage and to help with March’s aiming.
A half hour after he’d set out, he crested the top of a hill and found himself looking down at a fertile valley with thick green stalks swaying in the ever-present winds. The elder mech was standing among them, its long gun aimed directly at him.
The elder mech might once have been a thing of beauty, but it was scarred and damaged, sun-worn and harboring a patchwork of old parts whose colors and materials didn’t quite match. The legs bent backward, and it was taller than any mech Perry had seen so far, even his own. On top of the main body was a ‘head’ of sorts, a triangular sensor array with sloped armor plating to protect the delicate equipment. The arms were long and lanky, only three ‘fingers’ on each of them. Both were holding smaller guns, though only small by the standards of the mech itself, which meant that they were equivalent to full-sized cannons. One was a projectile firearm, the other a laser, at least if he was reading it right. From this distance, they didn’t really worry Perry that much. On the back there was a large gun, twice the size of his own, its long barrel jutting out and pointed straight at him.
“Hail them,” said Perry.
“Hailing them now, sir,” said Marchand.
“And hack in,” said Perry.
“It will be impossible to hack into the mech through radio alone, sir,” said Marchand. “That is, assuming that any effort whatsoever has been taken to prevent malicious actors.”
“Disarm and dismount,” said a voice over the radio. “Otherwise, I’ll destroy you.”
“You’re from Heimalis,” said Perry. He moved the mech’s enormous sword up to block the path of the bullet, which he was well aware was pretty ridiculous. He tried to think of it more as a piece of adaptive armor than a sword, which made him feel better. Marchand was painting the projected line of travel for the bullet, with lots of variance because they had never seen that variety of gun fire before. “Shoot me and it starts a war.”
“I recognize your voice,” said the woman. “You’re the one everyone is so impressed with. Move. Now.”
“I’m not from here,” said Perry. “I’m not as impressed with the idea of an elder mech as everyone else seems to be. When I hear ‘elder’ I think outdated technology and replacement parts, bodged together electronics and patched over plastic. But I’m here on the side of peace. I want the two sides to work things out.”
“You have five seconds,” said the woman’s voice.
“I don’t even know your name,” said Perry. “I’m Perry.”
“Natalka,” she replied. “Three, two, one.”
Somehow, Perry hadn’t thought that she would actually shoot at him, but he saw the flash of the gun almost exactly as she said ‘one’. The entire mech shook from the impact, and for a moment Perry thought that March had made a miscalculation, but there was no damage report. The exterior view of the mech showed that the sword had a fresh scar on it.
The elder mech was standing there, gun smoking, maybe trying to figure out what had happened.
“Alright,” said Perry. “So it’s going to be like that.”
He steeled himself and drove the mech forward.
Comments
patreonizing
Aww yeah, mecha battle time. Is Perry going to play Techno Syndrome again? Also a little confused at the reasoning chain "I lose my mech advantages if we move to close-quarters combat, the smaller guns don't worry me at this range" and then deciding to rush in anyway. Either way, it's nice to finally encounter the other tresholder (maybe). Also, I keep imagining Marchand voiced by George Coe the more "sentient" he gets.
Tyus Bro
Perhaps the time between arrivals is a part of matchmaking? If you have the same number of worlds but more losses, you get more lead time?
Leaf
You know, it occurs to me that a long lived thresholder might have been the pilot for a long time now, and be the reason power centralized so much. Maybe a thresholder with a gift for electronics?
