1.29
The first thing that hit Cameron’s nostrils as he stepped into Monty’s Mechs was tangy stench of oil and hydraulic fluid. The smell filled his nose, as the whir of pneumatic drills and buzz of welding torches hit his ears, creating a symphony of a mechanical masterpiece. Then the trio rounded a corner to enter the shop proper, and his eyes took in the full scope the space, understanding intimately why Logan wanted to come here.
“Woah…” he said under his breath, looking around in all directions, experiencing a visual overload.
The space was large, about the size of any of the port warehouses from back home, and practically filled to the broom with various machinery and A.R.M.S. parts. Crates were stacked neatly on both sides, markings burned onto their wooden exteriors with labels such as ENGINES, CHASSIS, FLARES, and other such things. In the middle, with an open floor that was double the size of the Fenris when stacked side by side, various tables and platforms sat spread out and littered with tubing, scrap-metal, and various mech parts being worked on by a platoon of automated worker drones that flew back and forth silently save for the high-pitched hum of their hover jets.
But the one thing that drew Cameron's attention above all others, was what could be seen at the far back wall. A massive conveyer belt that ran the width of the structure and beyond, slowly pulling in various A.R.M.S. units through to be displayed momentarily as they swung from the large metal hooks that suspended them.
“Like what ya see kid?” Logan asked, giving Cameron an elbow into his side to rouse him from his enamored gawking.
“Oh hell yeah,” He said, flashing Logan a smile, before taking a step out into the warehouse floor, looking around at the various projects being overseen by the army of drones currently working. He had made it about halfway, before a wet hacking cough caught his attention, followed in turn by the oily voice of a practiced salesman.
“Welcome to Monty’s young man!” The voice said, fake exuberance evident in the tone. Still, Cameron put on his practiced friendly, easy-going grin and turned to greet the man, having the fight hard to keep that expression as he laid eyes on him.
The only way to describe the guy was… wet. From the balding head dripping with sweat that the man dabbed with a rag that was more oil than cloth, to the various stains the stood prominent on his jumpsuit, either the guy was allergic to soap, or simply thought that “Mechanic” and “Hobo” were the same thing. He was short and stocky with a slight pudge, though Cameron figured it was most likely due from age, as his shoulders, chest, and arms looked like they were cut from granite.
“I take it your Monty?” Cameron asked, forcing his smile wider as he walked up to meet the man.
“Yep, that’s me!” The man said, guffawing with a with hoarse laughter as he took Cameron’s hand with an iron like grip and shook it profusely, “Mortimer McCrag, but my friends call me Morty, and you my good sir, I count as one of them.”
“Save the speech Morty,” Logan’s voice rang out causing both Cameron and Morty to turn and watch as he and Aurora approached, “The kid’s with me.”
Morty’s smile drastically drew back from a wide toothy gleam, to a slight near-imperceptible smirk, “Logan… Last I heard, you’d ended up smeared across the pavement on some shithole in the Loriya System.”
“And you believed that?” Logan said, scoffing as he looked at him.
Monty shrugged, “Eh, you can’t blame a guy for hoping.”
The two then broke out into laughter from that, with Monty reaching out an arm for Logan to clasp.
“Eh, I’m just messing with ya rake. Good to see you’re still up and kicking. What can I do for you?”
“Wanted to take a look at those assault-variants you have in the back collecting dust. Especially the black one.”
Morty narrowed his eyes, his grin growing more wry and conspiratorial by the second, “And what makes you think I still have em?”
“Don’t bullshit me Morty, you and I both know they’re still back there. There’s not many people who can operate something with that much speed, and if they can, they don’t like having the protection of a wet paper bag.”
“Alright, alright, keep your pants on,” Morty said, waving his hand dismissively, before turning and walking past Cameron to make his way towards the back of the factory, while the trio fell into step behind them.
As they walked, Cameron felt a question beginning the form in the back of his head and couldn’t help himself from inquiring.
“So…” He began, worming his way between the space of Logan and Morty, “When you say ‘Assault-Variant’… is that different from say your Crusader?”
“Hm?” Logan said, looking up as Morty started to cackle, looking back over his shoulder at Cameron.
“Oh you’re new new ain’t ya kid?”
“I mean… Not that new,” Cameron said, feeling his ears heat up from embarrassment and regretting ever opening his mouth. Luckily, Logan was of the mind to actually answer his question instead of finding amusement from his ignorance.
“Yeah kid, there’s a difference,” He began, “My A.R.M.S. is a Crusader type, and a Denfender variant. Think of a type like a model and a variant like a classification. A type can be anything that a manufacturer will name a mech, but, special use cases aside, there’s only four variants; Defender, Support, Heavy, and Assault.”
“Alright,” Cameron said, nodding slowly, “I’m following ya. So what’s the difference.”
“Four things,” Logan said, holding up four fingers, “Speed, agility, output, and armor.”
“Two of those sound like the same thing,” Cameron said, highlighting the similarities between the first and third metric.
“You wanna keep interrupting or do you wanna shut up and listen?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“… The latter.” Cameron said sheepishly.
Logan nodded, “Good. ANYWAYS,” He continued, “While two of these metrics sound similar, they’re not. Speed is the metric gauged by how fast a mech can move when in a straight line, while agility is just how much control the pilot will have at top speed. If you’re still confused think about it like this, if I shoot you with a rail rifle, it doesn’t matter how fast you run in straight line, but if you can run fast and flip around, suddenly you’re much harder to hit.”
“We should test that,” Aurora chimed in for the first time since the three of them entered the warehouse, “What do you say Cam?,” she said, cackling.
“What about output?” Cameron asked in an irritated growl, ignoring his mechanics prodding.
Logan chuckled, looking back at Aurora with a wry smile before focusing back on Cameron, “Output, is a metric that guages a unit’s offensive capabilities. It’s ability to slash, stab, or swing in rapid succession, when measured against the overall weight of a units armaments.”
“I thought that was determined on my own strength and stamina within the suit?” Cameron said, confusion evident in his tone.
“Well yes, but also no, and additionally kinda,” Logan said, offerring a sympathetic smile.
Cameron could feel his eye twitch as he looked at Logan like he had two heads, “Why are you making this so fucking complicated?”
“Why are you asking complicated questions?” Logan shot back, raising in eyebrow. Cameron had opened his mouth to speak, but Logan cut him off, doing his damndest to break it down into a more digestable format.
“Think about it like this; I can swing Crusaders mace around until my arm goes numb. Right now, I’m good for about one hundred swings before I’ve hit my limit, and need to release the weight. But that’s because Crusader’s output rating is low as hell. There’s barely any assistance, whether that be pneumatic, hydraulic, or boosted. It’s all pure strength and stamina on my part, the mech just mimics it on a massive scale. Following?”
“Barely,” Cameron said, reaching his hands up to rub the temples of his head as he felt his brain throb from from information overload.
“Good enough,” Logan said, continuing his educating rhetoric, “Now imagine if there was a boost jet in Crusaders elbow joint, or a hydraulic piston that engaged whenever my arm bent at a designated angle, to where, now instead of having to heave a massive, fuck-off mace up and down in combat, I only have to move it unassisted in one direction, before the mech steps in to guide the attack on the downswing, now suddenly that one hundred swings increases to two hundred swings. Now say, there’s a system of a boost jets that engages on said downswing… double that number again to four hundred.”
Realization was beginning to dawn on Cameron as he let out a quiet “Ohh… I get it.”
Logan smiled with a nod, “Yeah? Good. In closing, output summed up in a single sentence is this; The metric on how fast and hard a unit can hit.”
“So now where do these variants come in?” Cameron asked, looking forward to see Morty had raised a hand, silently halting their movement while he sauntered over to a control panel on the far right hand side, and began loudly typing on a keypad.
Logan turned to face Cameron fully, making use of his hands to emphasize his point, “Variants come in when we guage the pros and cons of each type of A.R.M.S. unit. Again, take Crusader,” He said, throwing a thumb back towards the direction of the ship bay, “It’s a defender unit, which means high Armor, decent speed, but shit output and agility. It can take a licking and keep on ticking, but it ain’t gonna win many races. That means my combat needs to center around blocking, parrying, and short dodges. But if I can’t dodge in time, at least I got giant fucking wall of steel between me and whoever is trying to turn me into a grease stain.”
“Fair enough,” Cameron said with a nod, “But what about the other three?”
Logan didn’t skip a beat, “Heavies are high output and high armor, with middling speed and a low top speed. They ain’t getting anywhere fast, but god help you if you let them touch you. Even if I take a hit from a unit like a Blacksmith with their giant hammers or a Wardens slab-sword, my shield is gonna do fuck all. Supports on the other hand are high agility, decent speed, with middling armor and low output. These are your Archer units, Slingers, Lancers, et cetera. Their whole deal is about evasive maneuvers and distracting the opponent long enough for the big boys to come in and put a guy down. They’re not often seen at these low ratings, and the ones that are, are snatched up quick.”
Cameron was practically humming with excitement. Listening to Logan describe the intricate gradings and classifications of A.R.M.S. units had gone from sounding like rocket science, to that of chess or poker. Every unit had their role to play and now he was ready to find out what his role was, “What about assault classes?” He asked, bouncing on his feet, ignoring their painful protests as he watched Logan look at him with a smirk.
“What about them indeed,” he said, chuckling softly, before taking a moment to ponder the question, “If I had to describe assaults, I’d say that they’re all gas and no breaks. High speed, amazing agility, and enough output to rival a god of war.”
“But.” Aurora said, raising her brow to look at Logan expectantly. He looked back at her, then to Cameron before he nodded with a sigh, continuing her train of thought.
“But,” He said, “Their armor is practically non-existent, if you get sneezed on by a heavy, you’re going into the ground. They’re cool and fast and fun, but you make one mistake and you’re dead.”
Cameron’s smile dropped instantly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Logan, taking a while to respond, “And you want me, for my first time learning to work an A.R.M.S. unit, pilot something where if I’m not perfect one hundred pecent of the time, may as well be a dead man walking?”
Logan looked sheepish and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbling something under his breath. Aurora on the other hand was nonplussed, throwing an arm around Cameron and pulling him in close with a giggle.
“Look on the brightside Cam… either you win, or it’s suddenly no longer your problem.”
Cameron forced her away from him with a shove, looking between the pilot and the mechanic he up to this point considered his friends. “You guys are fucking insane.”
“No… we’re experienced, now stop your bitching and turn around,” Aurora said, point behind Cameron, causing him to turn and see Monty making a waving motion with his arm, whistling to get their attention as he spoke up.
“While I love a good lecture, are y’all ready to look at these things or not?”
“No!” Cameron called,
“Yes!” Aurora and Logan said in unison.
“Fuck.”