1.35
“Huh?!” Cameron shouted to Aurora, increasing the volume of his voice to combat the loud rumbling of the Fenris’s walls as it was jostled by the thunderous turbulence of atmospheric reentry.
Aurora rolled her eyes, sighing in exasperation, and point towards the Headsman, standing tall and inert in its hanger bay section. A series of drones whirled around it, running through a final inspection checklist, as a stair lift was moved into place behind it, parking itself directly underneath the cockpit entrance.
“Get in the fucking mech!” She yelled, “We need to get some final diagnostics and to load your VI before your first insertion.”
“Why didn’t you say that before?” Cameron asked, smirking as he stood and made his way towards the stairlift, feeling Aurora’s glare burning a hole into his back as he walked. He felt a chill run up his spine as he boarded the stairlift, slowly rising at it brought him to the cockpit hatch, and he wasn’t sure if it was just pre mission jitters, or the cool air running through the hangar as it wafted on his bare arms. He’d considered undoing the top of his green jumpsuit that he had tied around his waist, but though better of it, choosing instead to bask in the chilly atmosphere while could, enjoying the alertness and clarity it gave him, before he was threaded inside and the synaptic uplink took over regulating his body temperature.
He stood outside the entrance, watching as hermetic seals were broken, pressurized air hissing as the Headsman’s backplate bisected, sliding open on either side to form an industrial doorway for him to step through, metal pegs shining in the light, barely in view for him to place his legs. Two holes lined with a thick padded cushion mirrored each other on either side of opening, the arm slots for the Headsman looking back at him like twin portals of an abyssal nightmare.
Another chill ran up Cameron’s spine as he peered into the opening, causing him to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. But the truth was… he was scared. This wasn’t a simulation, nor a Squire that anyone could pilot. It was all him. If he mis-stepped, or fumbled an attack, there were no resets, no sudden rousing like he’d awoken from a bad dream. He’d be dead, plain and simple. Was he actually ready for this? Was he ready to be an A.R.M.S. pilot?
“Looks like we’re about to find out,” He mumbled to himself, jumping through the opening and slamming his arms into the sockets and stomping his feet on the pegs, feeling the ankle and wrist clamps lock into place around his ligaments faster than he regret his decision.
“Pilot detected. Beginning initiation protocols,” A robotic feminine voice rang out in the interior of the cockpit causing his ears to ring with a high pitched whirring sound, similar to that off a drill. It was only after a few moments and a sharp, jerking tug in order to set his arm in the right position, did Cameron notice it wasn’t his ears ringing, but the sound of his uplink threads being screwed into his body.
“Mmph,” He grimaced, gritting his teeth, and feeling a torrent of uncomfortable prods take over his body as one by one each uplink thread was set and tightly fastened to the Headsman’s chassis.
“Skeletal threading complete, initiating Synaptic Uplink,” The robotic voice spoke up again, her deadpan tone the audible embodiment of cold, uncaring pain.
“Well,” Cameron said, “That wasn’t so ba- holy fuck!” He bellowed, cut off from his previous thought as a jack was thrust deep into his Synaptic Uplink port, stabbing his brainstem and filling his synapses with a veritable flood of binaric information with a force so dense he lost vision momentarily, only able to hear his pounding heart, and the pressurized slats on the back of the Headsman as they slammed home, sealing him inside.
“Ya alright there, sugar?” A twangy, older voice echoed in his mind, clearly feminine and dripping with honeyed sympathy.
“M-Mom?” He said, his brain feeling foggy and sluggish as the voice giggled softly, the equivalent to an audible hug.
“I’m ‘fraid not darlin. You should probably open your eyes.”
“W-Wha?” Confused, he did as the voice requested, opening his eyes to see that he was now viewing the interior of the Fenris’s hangar bay. That wasn’t the only difference though, as in the center of his vision, a woman stood. She couldn’t have been more than half a foot tall, yet there she was, floating, or rather standing in thin air, flickering slightly and glowing head to toe with a digital orange glow.
“Well good morning sweetie,” She said, somehow knowing that Cameron’s eyes were open as she smiled directly at him.
“Who are you?” Cameron asked, a bit ruder than he intended to, however, the woman simply laughed slapping her knee and looking at him with kind, crinkled eyes.
“Why, my names Thelma sweetheart! I’m your Virtual Intelligence assistant for your HAI-01 Headsman unit.”
Cameron’s eyes widened as he stared at the woman, taking in her features. She appeared older, mid forties to early fifties, with shoulder length hair and kind caring eyes. He knitted cardigan and slacks gave her a slightly motherly look, and her accent, while foreign to him and reminding him slightly of Royce’s was pleasant to the ear and surprisingly comforting to here. All in all… he could think of worse people to be inside of his brain.
“Nice to meet you Thelma,” Cameron said slowly, coming to grips with the situation, “My names Cameron… or… Cam I guess. Hey, can I ask-”
“Are you in yet?” Aurora’s irritated impatience snapped Cameron back to reality as her voice crackled into the speakers of the soup.
Cameron felt his eye twitch, but he responded, even if it was in the form of an aggravated growl, “Yeah. I’m in.. I met Thelma too, or I was in the process of meeting her when you decided to get impatient.”
“Thelma?” Aurora asked, ignoring the jab of his words, “Oh. the V.I. Good. At least I know that’s working.”
“Can I ask, what all do V.I. do?” Cameron said aloud, realizing he didn’t specify who he was speaking too, but Thelma just simply smiled, looking up as Aurora, went into an explantaion.
“They’re the primary control system for the entire mech,” she said, “They regulate everything from fluid intake, oxygen consumption, fuel efficency, everything. They’re also in charge of applying the power steering, and organic life management chassis. Without Thelma, you’re not even getting inside the headsman, let alone pilot it.”
“Oh,” Cameron said,
“I also do real-time battlefield analysis and advisement,” Thelma said, smiling wide, but that young lady got the bulk of it.”
“Done asking stupid questions, Kid?” Logan’s voice entered his ear, as heavy, thundering footsteps caused his vision to shake. He turned, looking through the Headsman’s helmet, as he laid eyes on Logan’s crusader making his way toward him. His shield and mace were gripped tightly in his fist’s and for a second, the trepidation he felt was pushed down by blossom of excitement.
“Is it stupid that I wanna know about my V.I.?”
Crusader’s head shook side to side, “No, but it is stupid you’re only asking now,when we’re getting ready for insertion.”
“I don’t think it was stupid sugar,” Thelma said, leaning in and bring a hand to her mouth as she whispered, “it makes my circuits warm to know someone cares enough to ask”
Suddenly, a loud jarring alarm began to cry out, cutting sharply into Cameron’s brain and grating his nerves, causing him to bring two guantlet hands to the Headsman’s helmet in an attempt to muffle the assault to his eardrums.
“What the hell is that?!” He called, looking towards Crusader as he waited for Logan to respond. He didn’t for a minute, choosing instead to march towards a bare wall, and hit a massive red button on the side. It was when the wall bisected diagonally and opened up, revealing an expanse of rolling clouds, that Logan finally spoke again.
“Drop time, drop time, drop time!” He said, motioning for Cameron to join him, “Hurry up kid, we aint got all day! Those pirates won’t kill themselves. I mean, we can hope but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
The moment the Headsman aligned itself next to Crusader, Cameron waited for further instruction, allowing Logan to take the lead as he asked, “Now what do we do?”
Cameron could swear he could see the smirk on Logan’s face through Crusader’s visored helm as he responded.
“Now… We make an entrance.”
Cameron didn’t know if head jumped, or if he had been pushed, but as he plummeted through the clouds, breaking through, and getting a look at the quickly approaching surface, one thing was for certain; There was no turning back now.
There was enough light breaking through the clouds, that Cameron could make out several distinct features about the planet itself. Various large plateaus dotted the landscape, standing out in the distance, high-walled mesas of rock and vegetation that seemed to scrape against the sky itself. Down below, a rolling ocean of sickly green gas roiled amongst itself, giant plumes of thick smoke wafting and twisting together to form tornadoes of dense toxic mist. And as they grew closer, straight down from where they currently were, Cameron could make out the distinct blue pulses of rail cannons firing out into the smoke, only stopping once they hit either a rock, or the fast moving figures quickly approaching the position of where the shots were coming from.
“Honeypot, this is Grizzly one, how copy over?” Logan said, his voice echoing out over the communication system. His question confused Cameron, uninitiated in radio lingo, before another voice chimed in, his tone harried and stressed as the screaming pitches of rail cannons firing could be heard cutting through the static.
“Grizzly one, this is Honeypot actual,” The voice said, screaming it more into the mic than speaking it, “Uh, shit’s hit the fan on our end Grizzly. Mines have blown four of our axles to pieces and I’ve got contact on six o’clock looking to finish the job we’re doing our best to keep em suppressed, but we can only shoot so much plasma and they’re closing in fast.”
“Roger that Honeypot, we’re en route to put some steel to skull, rendezvous is two thousand meters straight down and we’re screaming towards it as fast as we can. You got a count on hostiles? What hazards are we looking at? Anything helps so we can hit the ground running, literally.”
“I’m counting nine total but I could be- Hammond! Melt that fucking barrel if you have to, but keep those fuckers off our flank!” The man said, cut off mid sentence as he tried to relay orders to whoever on the train was manning the rail cannons, while giving Logan the information he’d requested. There was a muffled exchange of words followed by more shrieks of rail cannon fire, that Cameron could now see more clearly as he looked below him towards the swirling mass of green death. After a few minutes, and with the crackling feedback that sounded like someone was trying to finagle a headset on their head, the man’s voice came back over.
“Sorry about that Grizzly One,” He said, “Pretty certain they saw you drop in so they’re getting aggressive now, you’re in for a fight when you touch down.”
“That’s just how we like it Honeypot,” Logan said, his voice sounding confident and strong, likely trying to instill some confidence in the man below, “You got nine hostiles right?”
“Yeah, nine that I can confirm, mostly Squires, but I did clock the plasma bolts of a couple of archer units as well. I can’t give you a certain figure on that end. But I can warn you about two things, one they definitely have Warden, that much I know. Heavy armor, giant claymore, the works.”
“And the second?”
“Second is, that if they breach your cockpit, you’ll be dead before you blink.”
There was an awkward pause on Logan’s end before he responded, “Is that all?”
A thunderous explosion, the likes of which both mercs could see from free fall told them both that there was definitely more. Now it was the mans turn to take a pause before he came back over the line, sounding sheepish and slightly embarrassed.
“Uh… unfortunately yeah, are targeting system just overheated to the point of explosion…”
“Of course that happened,” Logan said, extracting a nervous short nervous snort from the man.
“We’ll be firing blind while you’re down here so… try not to get hit if you can.”
“Roger that,” Logan said, “We’ll make it work, Grizzly out,”
“Care to explain what the hell the plan is, boss?” Cameron asked after a moment.
“You heard the man,” Logan said, sounding more serious and cold-blooded, “If the pirates want to try bum rushing and outpace the rail cannon fire, then we’re gonna outpace the pirates.”
“How?”
“We’re going to use that rocket you’re strapped in,” Logan said, scoffing as if it was obvious, “I want you to insert in the middle of those squires and put em in the dirt. They can’t compete with your speed or agility, and those archers aren’t going to fire into their own people. Gives you long enough to get your bearings and cause a ruckus before engaging on the real targets. I’ll run interference on the tanker itself and make sure no one slips past and escapes. We can stop it here and be back home for dinner.”
Cameron gulped, anxiety rising up in his throat, still he managed to get out a stiff, “Roger that,” before tilting his body forward, aiming headfirst at the ground, following Logans lead.
“Don’t be scared, sugar,” Thelma said reassuringly into his ear, “My scanners indicate five squires, two archers, and two wardens, none of which comes close to the Headsman’s speed, agility or output. You’re gonna be just fine.”
“I-If you say so, Cameron said,” feeling slightly better.
“Do you think some classical music would make you feel better?”
“Um… maybe?” Cameron said, raising an eyebrow as, right after saying that, a strange melody began to play in his ears, rhythmic, thunderous, and pleasant sounding, with a strange string instrument grinding and whining mixed with a concussive drum beat. Soon, his anxiety faded, replaced by a gentle bobbing of his head, as a soft smile spread across his face.
“I like this… who’s the composer?” He asked, leaning into his enjoyment of the song.
“It’s an ancient anthem from earth actually,” Thelma said, “My records indicate the composer is actually a symphony called… AC/DC.”
Before Cameron could respond, they breached through the top layer of the Caustic sea, where the battlefield was completely revealed to both Cameron and Logan.
There was the tanker train, industrial in design and nearly a half a mile long, possessing blackened steel oil tubes, and at the end of the line, protected by a clear dome of plexiglass, was the crew compartment, filled with people as they ran around, trying to fight back at the five squire units approaching them at full speed in a wedge formation, firing suppressive shots from twin rail cannons from their positions on either side of the compartment, encased inside a smaller plexiglass bubble.
“Five seconds,” Logan shouted into the comm line, as he shifted to the left, leaving Cameron to take the right where the squires were quickly approaching, “Put em in the fucking dirt!”
As the song reached its climax, Cameron couldn’t help but smirk, pushing his boosters to their limit as he rolled to a feet first position, reaching with an arm, and feeling the physilight proxy forming in his hand.
“Gladly.”