Vanya's journals, part 41: BiomechYou're forced to skip over several pages of meaningless scribbles, but Vanya's narrative continues without pause. The rest of breakfast passed uneventfully, though everyone was still in good spirits. "It's the food," Katie told me. "A good meal works wonders sometimes. Have you ever wondered why so many marriage proposals are during or after a good meal? The quality of the food opens people up – it makes them more confident and puts them in a good mood."
"You're pretty enthusiastic about food," I noted.
She started to laugh, but a ray of darkness stole across her face, and she hesitated. "I always cooked for my grandmother," she said quietly, glancing away. "She didn't know how to cook."
"I don't know how to cook either," I offered. It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, but Katie brushed it away.
"Finish your food," she whispered. "Casting spells is hard to do on an empty stomach."
After she'd finished eating, Katie left the mess hall with two full trays of food, passing Almory on her way out.
"Agent Carena," the lieutenant called to me from the doorway, "You need to get started on Gearbox. Come with me."
I left my seat, following her out the door and ignoring the "See ya, Hotlips" that I heard behind me.
Almory led me down the trench in the same direction as Katie had led me the night before, taking the first set of stairs on the right, towards the computer rooms. She turned at the first entrance, leading me down a short underground hallway with doors on either side. We weren't far below the surface, but it's hard to tell that sort of thing underground unless you're a dwarf. Abruptly, Almory stopped and turned to me with narrowed eyes.
"I'm putting the lives of everyone in my squad in your hands, Sleeper. I've never done that for
anyone before, and especially not an
elf."
"Sir, my being an elf doesn't mean anything!" I said, trying my best to rein my anger in. "I can do anything dwarves can do, and just as well!"
She glowered at me, grinding her teeth. "Dwarves don't eat their enemies," she spat out hatefully.
That ticked me off. "With all due respect,
sir, I don't eat people, either. I wish I was a dwarf; there's nothing good about being an elf." Too late, I remembered Hawkins’ warning about being more careful around her.
She stepped forwards angrily. I shrank back fearfully, but she only backed me against a wall, holding her face close to mine and snarling. "If I lose even
one person, Sleeper..." she left the threat hanging, open for my imagination to do with it as it would.
"What about Parasol, sir?" I asked, more cautiously this time. "If we do nothing, Ballpoint gains access to the portal, and with that, Ballpoint will try to destroy Parasol completely. Mr Frog taught me that portals keep logs of all places they've linked to... if Ballpoint manages to access those, Parasol won't stand a chance."
"
One person, Sleeper," Almory said again, scowling. "I'd better not lose even
one." She backed away, turning and continuing down the corridor, muttering under her breath about elves.
I was seething. I hated my heritage enough already, without someone having to rub it in my face. I called after her, "What if it saves the lives of everyone in Parasol?" She didn't respond, and like a fool, I kept prodding. "Who are you
really fighting for, Lieutenant Almory? Are you fighting for Parasol, or yourself and your 'family'?"
That stopped her. She spun on her heel; her face contorted with rage as she drew her swords and marched back towards me. Their blades glinted cruelly in the dim light. I bit my lip at the sight, starting to back away. I was sure I was going to die.
When she reached me, she flung me against the wall and swung a sword at my throat in one smooth motion. I didn't even have a chance to react, and cried out in fear. She glared at me vehemently, panting with fury, holding the cold metal steady against my neck.
"I've already lost my family," I whispered, swallowing involuntarily and feeling the blade bite into my skin. "I don't have anyone left. I lost her saving the lives of two dwarves.
Two, not millions. She didn't deserve death..."
Something happened... Her expression softened; her gaze seemed to shift beyond me for a moment, and I thought I saw her eyes glimmer with moisture. Suddenly, the lieutenant looked back at me hesitantly, setting her jaw. "We won't speak of this again," she said quietly, sheathing her swords and turning away.
I swallowed again, glad I was still alive, and followed her down the hallway to the door at the end.
"He's in there," Almory said, gesturing with a nod, and then she left. I followed her with my eyes as she walked to the end of the hallway and turned from view. I stood there for a moment, wondering what I’d said that had saved my life, but I eventually gave up and opened the door.
The place was a mess. Boxes of electronic and mechanical equipment lay here and there, scattered and piled haphazardly throughout the room. For a while, that by itself kept my attention – it was as much a wonderland for the inquisitive mind as Mr Frog’s laboratory. I felt like a child in a toyshop, peeking into all the boxes and seeing what parts I recognized. Finally, I straightened, looking around for Gearbox, whom I soon found, leaned against the wall in the far corner of the room.
It was the first "biomech" I'd ever seen, even in pictures. The first thing that struck me was how impressive and powerful he looked. He was bigger than even Saemin: he was well over six feet tall, with huge metallic muscles. I guess the best way to describe it was that he was like a walking tank. He wore armor everywhere, even at the joints, all painted in Parasol's colors: white with black trim and sky-blue detailing.
"Aw, great!" he moaned. He had a very gravelly voice. "They sent a
girl?!"
I jumped, startled, and looked closer. His helmet had split down the sides and tilted open, revealing a young man's face, topped with greasy orange hair. Next to him was a tray of food, the same we'd had for breakfast.
"Aw, wonderful, you scare easy!" he said, rolling his eyes and trying to pick up his fork with clumsy, armored fingers. "I can't believe they trusted
you to go poking around my insides."
I swallowed, still shaken up a bit from the ordeal in the hallway, and asked, "Do you know what the problem is?"
He groaned again, shaking his head amidst the muffled whir of electric motors. "They didn't even bother telling you? Aw, this is just great. And a girl, to top it off! A girl who doesn't know anything."
"I'm going to fix you," I assured him, stepping farther into the room and starting to look around for tools I could use. I found several soldering irons and a galvanometer, and picked them up, carrying them in one arm. "I just need to know what's wrong. I can't fix you if I don't know, and I don't know how long I have."
Gearbox sighed and shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, muttering about "stupid bioparts". It was comical to see such a large man trying to eat with such a small spoon. "Fine," he muttered, intentionally talking through a mouthful, "Here you go." With that, his legs started humming, and the armor on each leg split down the front, soon beginning to expand and fold outwards, revealing two very human-looking knees. The armor continued to fold away until I could see all of his legs and feet.
"Is that all?" I asked.
"That's as much as you're getting," he said, glaring at me suspiciously.
I sighed. "You're going to have to trust me," I told him. "Can you move your legs at all?"
"Oh yeah, of course I can!" he said sarcastically. "No, everything here is fine! No issues at all."
"Okay, I guess not..." I carefully knelt beside him, watching him out a corner of my eye, just in case he would try something. His legs seemed to be half biological, and half machine: metal plates protruded here and there from beneath pale skin; wires spouted from an assortment silvery rods inserted into his muscles.
Gearbox groaned and said derisively, "When you're done staring longingly at my legs, do you think you could, oh, I don't know...
Fix me?"
I shot him an annoyed glance. "If you cooperate, Martin."
Without warning, he slammed a fist down on the ground so hard I felt it shake, and I fell over. Somewhere beneath us, Trebor yelled faintly, "Hey, watch it, latrines aren't supposed to cave in on you!"
I steadied myself and looked up at Gearbox in fear.
"Don't
ever call me that, woman," he warned under his breath, shooting me a death glare. "I
hate that name. Don't think bein’ pretty’ll help you get away with it."
I nodded fearfully. "Okay, Gearbox, then. I didn't know."
"Damn straight," he muttered.
After an hour or two of searching and studying, most of which we spent in silence, I spoke up. "I found the problem."
Gearbox had closed his helmet back after he was done with breakfast, concealing his face. His voice echoed with a metallic ring, and sounded like it was coming through a speaker. "Really, now?" he said loudly. "An elf that's good with electronics? Seems kinda hard to believe."
"A routing circuit is burned, two burst capacitors are blown, two of your resistor modulators are disconnected, and..." I frowned worriedly.
"Spit it out, girl!" he boomed.
I paused uneasily. "I've never worked on anything like this before, so I don't know much for sure, but... there's a lot of other stuff in there that doesn't look right... some of your gears are stripped, and I could replace them, but I think they would work better if I put them in a different way." I looked up at him, asking for permission with my eyes.
"Aw, go on and do whatever you want," he said, shaking his head dejectedly. "It's not like you could make it any worse than it already is."
"Thank you," I said quietly, and began to dig around through the boxes nearby for supplies.
It took me the rest of the morning, and a little of the afternoon, but I finished repairing him. Gearbox complained every few minutes about how long I was taking, and I kept telling him that he shouldn’t mind because he just sat in there and did nothing all day anyway. Eventually, he just started making actual conversation as I worked. He was a bit of a talker: I learned that he liked fighting, but he hadn't known what he was getting into when he offered himself for a biomechanical operation.
"It's not the battle, and all," he boomed as I snapped a new kinetic memory chip in, "It's the people, see? They all see you and they go, 'Aw, you're a biomech! You can do anything!' But then they won't let you
do anything, see? 'Aw, you’re a biomech! Give it back, you'll break it! ' It's like they don't trust you 'cause of what you are, and it really stinks. "
"I get that too," I said, nodding.
"It's like... It's like..." He paused, lost for words.
"Prejudice?" I prompted, trying to help.
He shook his head. "Naw, it's more like they judge you before they know anything about you."
I tried not to laugh.
"Hey, what's so funny?"
I shook my head, smiling as I soldered a resistor into position. He may have been a sarcastic jerk, but he seemed a likable one, at least. "They don't do that in Spearbreakers."
"Yeah, I've heard of that place... They get battles pretty frequently there, don't they?"
"Mhm."
"Yeah..." He scratched his "beard" with metal fingers, and it made a raspy sound. "I think I might go there someday, you know? Sounds like my kinda place. They got any good beer?"
I actually laughed that time. "Yes, they call it 'Spearbreakers Bitters'," I told him. "I doubt you've ever had anything as strong."
"Well, hey now," he said, giving a metallic laugh, "I've had some pretty rough drinks in my day. Bet I could beat you in a drinking contest, too, lady." He laughed raucously again. "No offense to you, lady, of course."
"Vanya," I corrected him gently. "Call me Vanya, or V. You can close your armor back now, and try testing out your legs..."
"Sure thing."
I took a cautious step away and crossed my fingers behind my back, where he couldn't see, praying that it would work.
With his armor sealed back, he lifted first one leg, and then the other, bending each knee back and forth carefully. "Hey, what do you know, it works! Thanks, V!"
Suddenly, a roaring fire burst out from behind him. I gasped, looking around desperately for something that could put it out. "No, no, no!" I shouted, panicking. "What's happening?! I only worked with your legs!"
"It's fine," he laughed, quickly righting himself. "It's just jets; easier to get up that way." He turned them off and stood on his feet, bending forwards and looking at his legs. Then, suspensefully, he took a few unsteady steps.
"Does it work?" I asked.
He looked up at me and nodded before jumping forwards. The ground shook as he landed, but he didn't seem to care. "It works great!" he laughed. "Aw, yeah, this is just what I needed!" He walked over and put a heavy hand on my shoulder, turning me around and leading me towards the door. "You know, for an elf, or even for a
human, you're pretty good with electromechanics."
I didn't often receive compliments like that. "Thanks," I said softly, smiling, "I was taught by the best."
"Aw, I bet," he said loudly, ducking under the top of the doorway as we left the room. "Let's go see the Captain and see what she thinks, yeah?"
Walking beside a biomech was more amazing than I can describe. Even without actually being in the suit, it
feels powerful... The heavy metal legs, every piece of which you know you could never hope to lift, move themselves in graceful array, turning the very motions of walking itself into art. You can feel every step through the vibrating ground, and you know that while the biomech – part human, part machine – could crush a rock between its fingers, he's gentle enough to eat with a spoon. Strong but gentle... isn't that what many girls dream about? And the whole time, you know that he’s on
your side... You feel as though you walk among the gods.
But then his loud, staticky, gravelly voice breaks through the dream and ruins it all.
"C'mon, V! Let's go find the Captain!" Gearbox called out, jumping off the second-story ledge and landing at the base of the trench. He turned, and with heavy steps, he rushed forwards towards the armory. I ran after him down the stairs, struggling to keep up. He was fast; it was only seconds before he was at the end of the trench, opening the armory door and ducking beneath the frame, calling out to the captain jubilantly. I heard the sound of gunshots echoing from within, and it wasn't long before I figured out why.
The armory was impressive. There were shelves of weapons, bins of armor, and cases of jetpacks and other equipment I didn't recognize. At one end, dug even farther into the hard earth, there was a firing range. Lieutenant Almory stood at the near side, supervising Jonah and John as they tried to teach Reudh, Tedaz, and Strohe to fire plasguns. Fiery white shots hissed through the air with blinding speed towards the humanoid targets at the other end, but they usually missed.
"There's no recoil," John said, pacing back and forth behind them and watching. "It's not affected by gravity, either. It's simple – point and shoot!"
"These are nothing but tracer rounds," Jonah added, chuckling. "They're slightly more accurate than regular plasma, not being affected by temperature warp."
"But I
expect recoil!" Reudh said, firing several more shots at the target dummies. "Even crossbows have recoil!"
"This is better than a crossbow!" Tedaz laughed, firing several shots himself, all but one hitting his mark.
Abruptly, a dwarven figure obscured my view of the target range. "Gearbox is doing better than before he malfunctioned. What did you change?" the lieutenant inquired, with the slightest hint of approval.
With an effort, I forced my thoughts back to the present. "I... There were some things that didn't look right, and I fixed what looked broken."
She nodded. "You did well."
"Thank you, sir," I responded, looking behind her at my friends. "You're teaching Reudh's people how to fight with guns?"
"I want them to be useful if we need them to be," she said. "They don't really possess any useful weapon skills right now. I don't consider the natives' weapons to be of any value."
"What about your swords?" I asked. "Are they different?"
A gentle smile creased Almory's face, and she drew one out of its sheath with her right hand, holding it out to me. "Take it," she ordered. Hesitantly, I did so, watching her face. For some reason I found it difficult to trust her.
The sword looked like any other, for the most part. The hilt seemed to be meteoric iron, with different plates embedded here and there in its surface. The blade was even more unusual, with lines traced in its silvery alloy that reminded me of electric circuits.
"It
looks a little different," I said cautiously, "But I don't understand. How is it special?"
"Swing it," Almory suggested.
I did, carving a sweeping arc through the air. As it moved, it seemed to vibrate in my hand with a buzzing sensation, but when it slowed, it left me wondering if I'd imagined it. Confused, I did it again, and felt the same thing. "It vibrates," I observed, passing it back to her, "but only when it moves."
She gave a nod of pride and waved her weapon about slowly, watching it. "Quantic vibrations," she explained. "When it moves through space, quantum discrepancies cause the weapon to flux at the molecular level. Swinging has the same effect as drawing the blade across the target. It has no effect on my sheath because the sheath itself projects a secondary dimension," she added, sheathing it.
"It's a beautiful weapon," I said, envying her a little. On a whim, I drew out one of my daggers and held it out to her atop my open palm. "These are mine."
The lieutenant tilted her head curiously. "Where did you get these?" she asked, as she lifted it to her eyes, closely studying the hilt.
"They're vampiric blades," I explained, a little proud of them. "They used to belong to a friend of mine."
"Show me the other one."
I drew it from its sheath and held it out to her, and she took it silently, comparing them. "You know where vampires came from, don't you?" she asked suddenly.
I nodded. I'd heard the story many times. "They grew from the bloodlust of the warriors that tried to defeat the Holistic Spawn," I recalled.
Almory shook her head roughly. "An old wives' tale," she said negatively. "Vampires were a Parasol experiment. Ballpoint attacked, and they breached containment."
"Not true," John said from beside us, and we looked up at him. I hadn't even known he was there. "It was
Ballpoint's experiment, and they weren't tough enough for us, so we threw them out."
Shifting her gaze back to my daggers, Almory admitted, "I've heard both stories. Still, these blades
are vampiric, and they're missing their power source. Did you ever remove a power crystal from them? It would resemble the eye of a snake."
I shook my head. "I've never seen anything like that."
"I'll see if we have any replacements," she stated. I nodded in assent, and she walked past me, opened the door, and left.
Taking a step closer to John, I asked, "Where are the scythods?"
He frowned. "They're taking a break from digging. They've already gotten most of it dug out; Saemin and some of the others are working on carrying away the dirt so they can continue."
"How well do you think they'd do with a plasgun?" I asked. I had a feeling they'd do amazingly, if they could hear their target.
A mischievous grin stole over my friend's expression. "I don't know... with four hands and their keen sense of hearing... if they could hear their target, I bet they'd do brilliantly. I think I'm going to find out." Without another word, he rushed past me into the trench, calling out loudly in Scythod.
"Have you eaten yet, Vanya?" Jonah called from the shooting range. Reudh seemed to be getting more accurate with his weapon.
"Not yet," I said. "Is there lunch?"
The dwarf chuckled. "Only the most delicious lunch you'll ever eat on this god-forsaken planet. Hurry over to the mess hall – Katie saved some for you."
Our chances were looking better all the time.
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Topic: [34.11] Spearbreakers - It shudders and begins to move (Read 2279429 times)