In the silence that comes with a stifling night, a high-pitched whine arose. In the distance, if one had been around to see it, a blue-white star appeared on the horizon. As it drew near, the noise from its engines grew in intensity. When the craft stopped its forward motion, it could be seen more clearly. Its cockpit was small compared to the fuselage, similar to a greenhouse in shape. The box-like fuselage had two stubby pylons, each extending to either side, from which a pair of engines projected. In normal flight the thrust ports faced the rear of the drop ship, but in order to accurately dump its cargo they now faced the ground, creating a cushion of air that allowed the ship to hover.
Silently the cargo bay doors slid open and out came a much more remarkable machine. In the dull moonlight, its normally bright red and orange armor seemed devoid of any color. As it extended to full height, its features could be better seen: a human-shaped vehicle armed with several deadly weapons, their muzzles blackened from use. Its single red eye probed the landscape for its target and signaled the drop ship to leave. A bright light on the mech's back flared and it sped off into the dark night.
When the armored core pilot known as Rage found the Chrome building he was looking for, he activated his boosters and began his final approach. En route to the mission, he reviewed the parameters: infiltrate the building, seek out the central computer, and destroy it. He cut the power feed to the energy jets that had quickly brought him to the borders of the enforced security perimeter in order to avoid detection by the observation mecha. Unfortunately, the lab he was heading toward had posted surveillance towers in the surrounding hills.
In these times after the war known as the Great Destruction, in which the fallout from countless nuclear weapons had forced the sparse survivors deep into the earth, the Corporations had begun harshly governing all people after they had re-emerged. All people, that is, except the Ravens. These were men and women who had allegiance with no country, Corporation, or any other organized body except their own kindred; they were mercenaries. All Ravens used a machine called an AC, short for armored core. During the humans' exile from the surface, scientists developed a form of robotic technology that surpassed any known before: the Muscle Tracer. These robots, called MTs, had precise control systems and were incredibly versatile. The most common use for these towering machines became, of course, combat. In later years manufacturers conceived the “core” concept. The core served as the torso of the machine and was the basis of the entire construction: the head, arms, legs, internal components, and shoulder-mounted weapons were attached there. This type of variable-configuration system allowed for customization and even greater versatility. Thus, the armored core was born. As the ruling Corporations grew in power, they required soldiers to perform their tasks: guard duty, escort, sabotage, and every other use for armored vehicles. While almost all Corporations had sizable MT armies as well as AC pilots under their control, they often turned to the most skilled pilots in the world: the mercenaries from the Ravens' Nest. Among the most influential Corporations were Murakumo Millennium and Chrome. All companies participated in the healthy competition that forced them to turn out the best products, but Murakumo and Chrome took the concept to a violent level. The occasional sabotage and security requested by the smaller Corporations multiplied, becoming military action. Because of the common skirmishes between the companies, Chrome's most important lab was prepared for trouble. Its sentries alerted the security center, which in turn laid a trap for the incoming Raven.
Rage was suspicious when his entry when unannounced on the tac net. In fact, all but auxiliary power in the building seemed disabled. He had been forced to blast his way through the main entrance when he found that the lock and servo system were out.
I guess I'm lucky today, he thought with little enthusiasm.
Furthermore, Rage encountered only a skeleton defense crew on his way to the central computer. Just as his suspicion peaked, and his intuition told him to leave, the floor beneath him collapsed, most likely from a motion-sensitive mine's explosion. “Dammit!” he yelled. Rage noticed that his radar painted what must have been fifty blips, all below. He noted the configuration of the room as he landed: a perfect circle, with corridors leading into it like spokes on a wheel.
The first wave of MTs flooded in from all sides, catching the young pilot in a deadly crossfire of energy bolts. Reflexively, Rage jumped above the chaos, safe for only a second while the sights of the assailing robots re-acquired their target. Due to his skills as a pilot, a second was all Rage needed. He boosted so that the back of his AC was almost against the side of the circle, in between two passages; in so doing, he cut off half of the fire from his enemies while widening his field of view. As he landed, Rage activated his most powerful weapon, a shoulder-mounted grenade launcher. He knelt the AC because if it was knocked flat on its ass, the AC wouldn't last long. He pulled the trigger, causing a twenty-inch shell to rocket forth and, due to its large explosive radius, eliminate several targets at once. The MTs were the standard low-cost security model. They had weak armor and even weaker guns, so Rage, especially kneeling, was in little danger from a single enemy's fire. In the massive numbers attacking, though, he would be picked apart slowly. Rage quickly abandoned the idea of boosting back to the hole into which he had fallen. Exposing himself for that long would be a disaster. However, Rage knew that his grenade launcher wouldn't last forever. Although there were presently no MTs in the central hub, he knew that many more were approaching. As soon as the next wave came at him, he saw the ammunition manifest on his heads-up display: the launcher had three shots left. A group of MTs attacked.
Two shots. They kept coming.
One shot. How could he have been so stupid?
And then he was out of grenades. He switched to another weapon, a rapid-fire machine gun that, while weak in terms of single-shot power, was extremely useful for clearing away enemies with a sustained burst. He finally gained another moment's respite. But even as he moved to go into a passage, the two entryways closest to him spat yet more mecha. In the dim tunnels, he could see the glint of the chicken-legged MTs armor and hear the priming of countless cannons. The collective hum of leg servos sounded like a premature dirge in Rage's ears. He stood once again, unconsciously, facing death with teeth bared and a yell in his lungs. In seconds, the room was clogged. In an instant, it all changed. The attacking muscle tracers froze. They turned to a side of the circle, at about a forty-five degree arc from where Rage stood. Their primitive computer minds were being directed toward another target. For a moment, the only noise in the circle of death was the charging of energy batteries. Then, the wall faced by the mecha exploded violently, the noise resounding throughout the facility. From the darkness beyond the gaping hole came a soft, pale luminescence that shimmered and grew in intensity, a low whine growing above the cacophony of discharged energy bolts and groaning metal. A crack tore the air; thunder. A wave of energy swept through the room and the mecha in its path were vaporized. Even those peripheral to it slagged like molten lead. An AC emerged from the darkness that struck Rage as one of the most intimidating he had ever seen. It was one of the humanoid variety, with treelike legs that could support extreme amounts of weight. It carried weapons that Rage had never seen before. He could guess what most of them were, however, from experience. In one hand it carried a long, sleek rifle that looked similar to the newest laser model. Its left shoulder boasted a missile rack that could have housed any large-yield explosive guided projectile. The other shoulder carried a rocket rack with explosive-tipped warheads. Its left arm held what was obviously the pilot's choice weapon: an extremely powerful blue laser blade that sliced through the enemies with almost no effort.
If it wasn't the armored core that impressed Rage, it was the pilot's ability. He mopped up the few remaining MTs in seconds. He hadn't been hit once. The AC paused in front of Rage. Then his intercom buzzed with a voice that he couldn't possibly forget, not for the rest of his life. It was cool and confident, but lacked the arrogance that most good pilots, including Rage, had. “Sorry I'm late,” said the newcomer.
Exiting the facility turned out to be a chore. The pilot, who introduced himself as Alpha, had essentially blown his way into the building, and the remaining security forces found their way into the corridor from the outside and made Rage's progress difficult. Alpha would walk about fifty meters forward, stop, send a volley through the tunnel, and tell Rage to proceed. It took almost an hour to wind their way through the makeshift passage. Fortunately, Alpha had a transport waiting on standby. Within a minute of his radio call, the hovering transport found them and landed, allowing Rage to board through its rear entry hatch.
Rage noticed that Alpha was turning back to the facility. “Aren't you coming?”
Alpha stopped and faced Rage. It seemed strange that he used his AC to communicate as though he were talking man-to-man.
“I was hired as an additional Raven for this mission when Murakumo received last-minute intelligence regarding the upgraded security here. Your AC is quite banged up. Someone needs to finish this if you want to make your pay.”
“You mean you're not taking any of the money?”
“I didn't come for credits. I came to give you a hand.”
Like hell he did.
“Well, thanks for getting me out of that mess. I owe you.”
Alpha entered his doorway. Rage told the pilot of the transport to head back to the Nest.
As soon as he got back, Rage headed straight for his quarters. He had a few questions about Alpha and his AC. Why had Alpha been there? Murakumo made no mention of hiring another Raven for the job. And how had he created that tunnel? There were certainly weapons powerful enough to blow such a sizable hole in the ground, but none of them had an ammunition supply large enough to tunnel. It was curious. Rage had to conclude that it was the same ghostly wave of energy that had vaporized or melted most of the muscle tracers. Of course, he didn't know what had created that, either.
Alpha's skill was mesmerizing to witness. If he had such impressive abilities, why had Rage not heard of him? Rage decided that he should try to learn more, so he took a day off.
It proved nearly impossible to find anything of use. Rage went to the Raven record library and accessed a list of Alpha's statistics through the Ravens' Nest Network. He had joined the Nest at the age of eighteen after completing his education at the Raven academy. Though there was no documentation of Alpha's life before he entered the academy, his time during and after had been carefully observed by analysts, Nest recruiters, and just about every party that would be interested in the hottest pilots on earth. From day one, Alpha had shown that his skill was far beyond what anyone had seen before. He forged a quite a reputation, and Alpha had a single mission failure out of well over two hundred successes. Performance and statistics records were nice, but Rage still had no idea who Alpha was. He asked the few other Ravens he knew, and they were instantly able to recall stories—bordering on legends—pertaining to Alpha. It seemed, however, that Alpha deliberately kept himself closed to most interaction with others, and in so doing, gave the impression that he preferred a solitary life. From this, he was able to understand why he had never heard of the man before their run-in.
He had to take a break. Having spent almost a full two days away from his developing social life, Rage decided to find his way to a bar and rest from the mind-bending research.
The Starlight Bar was a Raven hotbed. Not only was it known for good, cheap drinks in great supply, as well as excellent food and generally stimulating conversation, but its central location in the sprawling Raven complex known as the Nest. Rage looked up at its dazzling sign, whose neon lights animated a shell bursting through a five-point star, entered, and took a seat at a vacant table. Glancing around, he noticed several attractive women. One in particular caught his eye. She was about his age. She had golden-brown hair that brushed her shoulders, hazel eyes, and a mature bearing that gave her elegance, despite her well-used pilot's coverall. Her nose was slightly rounded and flattened, softening her maturity with a girlish look. He took in her body. It was attractive, blending soft curves with athleticism. Her uniform failed to conceal it. Perhaps what Rage noticed most about her was the expression she wore. He recognized it from looking at himself; she had been through many missions, hardening her against life.
Well, I found a new “friend,” Rage thought. He watched her for a few more moments and noticed that she was looking at someone else. She was so engrossed with him, a man who sat on the other side of the bar, that she didn't notice Rage when he approached. He waited for a second and started, “Hello, miss...” waiting for her to give a name to the pretty face. She looked away from the man, startled, and said, “Call me Sumika.”
“The Sumika?” he stammered.
I can really pick 'em, he thought. Sumika was one of the most famous female pilots in Raven society. Rage, having never seen her picture, always thought that she would be a plain, stocky woman who favored coarse language. He had gravely miscalculated. She was a silk-skinned beauty.
“Yeah, that's me,” she responded with a note of regret. “Who are you?” As almost an afterthought, she gave a small smile. “You must be new here.”
“I'm, uh, Rage.” He flinched at the stupidity he heard in his own voice.
“Really? Already in top rank? Your reputation is growing here.”
He smiled.
“However,” she said, and her voice lost some of its cordial smoothness, “You might want to look out. Some of these Ravens get jealous and stop at nothing to climb to the top.”
He had heard as much before. “Well, I assume you're not one of them.”
“Don't worry about me, Rage.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from the bartender.
“You're not getting any money!”
As all looked at him, he pointed to a massive man, who in turn had taken aim at the bartender's head with a pistol.
“Shut up,” he hissed. “I'll tell you again. I want all of your money—now. Or I'll splatter your brain all over the bar!”
The bartender was being stubborn, risking not only his own life, but also the lives of every one else in the room. The situation was spinning out of control.
Then a third voice entered the conversation.
“You don't want to do that, do you?”
Rage glanced from the aggressor to the newcomer. He noticed that the man was the one whom Sumika had been observing. Rage was able to get a close look at him. He wasn't tall, but something about him exuded a powerful, commanding presence. He had dark brown hair and an intimidating glare, emphasized by his dark eyebrows. His build was muscular, and, like Sumika, he wore a pilot coverall. Its sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing a set of scars, telltale signs of a combat-hardened pilot. Rage's mind identified the voice. Alpha.
When Sumika came to the bar, she was pleasantly surprised to see Alpha there. Ever since she had met him, a year before, she felt an attraction to him. Unfortunately, other women in the Nest had told her what sort of man he was.
“He never does anything fun.”
“He's so distant and cold!”
Or, perhaps the most interesting, “Why the interest in him? He's a machine.” The last comment came from Valkyrie, Sumika's closest friend. Val, however, was not known for her good judgment of men, especially men she had never really met. Yet, Sumika did not let herself lose interest in Alpha. She decided to keep her distance that night; Alpha seemed to be brooding. After only a few minutes, the swaggering pilot, Rage, introduced himself. He was about the same height as Alpha, perhaps taller, but somewhat leaner and less muscular. His hair was dirty blonde and his eyes green. His face was open and readable. He sported the same half-smirk as most other successful male pilots. This one, unlike most, had a right to be cocky. His voice also carried the self-confidence that made it was obvious that he intended to pick her up. She certainly found him attractive, but the impression he gave her left something to be desired. I bet that Val will like him, she thought.
When that pilot, a bankrupt man named Hellbringer, held up the bar, she had been concerned for the general safety of all. As soon as Alpha stood and confronted him, her concern became focused. She also felt a tinge of excitement and admiration.
When the pistol turned to him, Alpha remained calm. “What are you doing, Hellbringer?”
“None of your business.”
Alpha's hands gripped the chair in front of him.
“What exactly will you do to us if we don't give in to your demand?”
“I will kill you, of course.” The seething, insane calm in Hellbringer's voice was disconcerting. “In fact, I think I'll kill you anyway.”
Alpha was ready for an attack. He saw the trigger finger preparing to pull and swung, with amazing speed, the plastic-metal composite chair he'd been gripping so that its path intercepted the bullets projected path. Unable to get a clear shot at Alpha, Hellbringer began to realign his aim. But Alpha completed his swing and reversed the chair's direction, letting go of it so that it collided with Hellbringer's head. Before he fell, the criminal managed a final, slurred “Dammit!”
Sumika tore herself away from the scene and used a communications terminal to call for the medics. They responded quickly and carried Hellbringer's massive form away on a stretcher. Alpha made a movement to leave the bar and follow the medical team, but was stopped by Rage.
“Where are you going? I've been waiting to talk to you.”
“I'm going to see what is wrong with our burly friend. I can talk to you some other time.”
“Hey!” shouted Rage as Alpha left, “I could have been killed tonight! I have a right to know what's going on.”
“Sometimes, it is better not to know.”
“Screw that.”
Rage jogged after Alpha. “I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not.”
“Fine.”
Sumika wanted to know, too, but she had more discretion than Rage. She simply followed them. When Alpha glimpsed back and saw her, he didn't protest. Instead, he almost seemed to smile.
At the infirmary, the three pilots, Alpha, Sumika, and Rage, waited for the doctor to report. Each glanced around the waiting room anxiously. Rage stared at the wall. Sumika looked at Alpha. Alpha seemed oblivious to the world. Finally, the doctor emerged from the ward. She was very frustrated.
“He's got some type of cybertechnology planted in his brain. It looks as though it enhances his mental and physical performance—if its activated. His implant seems to have been switched off. The result is his mental instability. I've never seen anything like it. It can't be removed without completely destroying his brain, but we've got it hooked up to a monitor in my office—we can at least see what's going on inside.”
Alpha now looked extremely concerned. Something told Rage that he knew more.
“That's right,” Alpha thought aloud, “Hellbringer has been gone for a good while. Where has he been?” He paused and looked at the doctor. “Is he in good enough condition to be questioned?”
“Yes,” the doctor replied, “but he's very excitable.”
The three were led into the patient's room, which was little more than a cell, and saw Hellbringer. His large, hunched body lay strapped to his bed, a dry, almost childish whisper seeping from his lips. Rage caught a portion of his babble.
“‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogroves, and the momeraths outgrabe. Beware the Jabberwock, my son, the jaws that bite! The claws that catch! Beware the jubjub bird and shun the frumious bandersnatch...”
He broke from his gibberish when he at last noticed his visitors. He looked at Alpha.
“There you are.” His voice still held its calm insanity. Even Rage could see that Hellbringer was walking a mental tightrope. “I have a message for you from an old friend.”
Alpha's expression grew grim. “Who is it?”
“Genesis.”
The blood drained from Alpha's face.
“What does he want me to know?”
Hellbringer's voice jumped from the edge of calm and cracked with a seizing cackle. His eyes were vacant.
“He says: ‘The full moon is fair and bright, but I will make it brighter, yet less full.”'
A second passed in silence, then Hellbringer convulsed so violently that his bed nearly tipped over. He shrieked and froth formed on his lips. The heart and brain monitors hooked to him were fluctuating wildly. Sumika and Rage, unable to bear, turned away. Alpha's eyes grew wider as he watched the man die. The doctor burst through the door.
“His implant is active! What the hell is happening?” Two aides had followed her, and she barked to them, “Tranquilize him! We need to keep him alive!”
Before they reached the bed, Hellbringer's back arched much more than it should have been able to. It snapped like a wishbone. His lower body stopped shuddering. His neck wrenched to the side so violently that it too broke. The heart monitor's pulse signal went from a varying beep to one long tone. His mouth moved, trying to express the pain and frustration he felt. His eyes looked about wildly, at nothing. Then he stilled and the brain monitor, with its own long tone, showed that there was no more activity.
The three pilots didn't need the doctor to tell them that Hellbringer was dead.
“What the hell was that about?”
Alpha failed to answer Rage's question. As both men stormed through the corridor, Sumika noticed the inherent gait that all armored core pilots developed as they progressed in skill. It gave them am air of grace and confidence. An AC wasn't something that one could simply control; it had to become an extension of ones own body in order to maximize performance—and therefore, survival.
Sumika's thoughts were interrupted by Alpha when he halted. She noticed that for the first time since she met him, his features were worried.
“I need you two to stay out of this,” he said. “I have a few things on my mind.” With that, he bolted in the direction of the AC hangars, leaving the other two pilots stunned in the middle of the passageway.
“So Sumika, I guess we never finished talking.”
What a jerk, Sumika thought, He completely ignores what happened and tries to pick me up! Asshole.
She turned to him and replied. Something in the way she said, “No, we didn't” must have warned Rage of her mood, because he hastily added, “Though I guess it doesn't matter, after all this. I noticed that you were watching Alpha back at the bar.”
What an abrupt change of subject.
The statement made her cheeks redden, both in irritation and embarrassment. “That is not your business.”
Again, he picked up on her tone. “Well, I just noticed it. Are you guys old friends?”
“No.”
Rage's interest seemed to perk up at that. “So how would you feel about getting together with me some time?”
It took all of Sumika's effort not to roll her eyes in disgust.
“Listen, Rage. I have the feeling that you're not my type.” He opened his mouth, undiscouraged. She cut him off before he could say anything more. “But if you want... company that much, I have a friend named Valkyrie. You might want to meet her. She's free tonight. Maybe you could give her a visit; she's in the Raven Directory. Tell her she can thank me later.”
A wide, boyish grin crept onto his face.
“Thanks, Miss Sumika. And I won't tell Alpha about your little stakeout.”
“Of course you won't, Rage. I could take you easily.”
Sumika left for her quarters, making sure Rage was on his own way.
In the meantime, Alpha had boarded his AC and was heading to the old, crumbling remains of a pre-Destruction building. His thoughts were running wild. Why would Genesis send such a message? He knew it was Genesis, after all; how could Hellbringer have known to phrase the message just right?
To take his mind off the disturbing encounter with Hellbringer and the message from Genesis, Alpha allowed his thoughts, as always, to drift to Sumika. He thought of her beautiful face, her bright personality, and her keen intelligence. He sighed; it always came to this inner battle: should he take a step and become more than her acquaintance, or should he remain closed off? So many questions tonight, he thought solemnly. Alpha was jolted out of his thoughts by the pilot of his AC transport.
“We're close to the destination, sir.”
The pilot's voice was weary; it was after midnight. Alpha felt a similar weariness inside. Sometimes it filled his entire being. But now, with a threat like this looming on the horizon, he felt compelled to act.
Upon being dropped from the transport, Alpha looked at the structure that had haunted him ever since those hellish days so many years ago. He told the pilot to return in two hours.
It was an ominous, slate-grey building. If it hadn't been in the midst of a desert, it would have long before fallen to ruin among weeds and vines. Of course, over half the world was desert, after the Destruction. Alpha entered the forbidding gate that stretched far into yawning darkness. Though it was a labyrinth of unlit halls, undisturbed for ages, Alpha's memory was imprinted with every foot of it. It may have been a monument to science in the halcyon days of humanity, but it now resembled ancient catacombs forever entrenched in the bedrock of nightmares and madness. Here, the embodiment of terror lurked behind every corner, whispered in every sigh of air, and stalked in every shadow. Here, the Human Plus were born.
Alpha broke from his musings soon after he entered the cavernous laboratory where hideous experiments transformed men into monsters. Though it was an inexplicably large room, relative to human size, Alpha remembered how close the combat had been; the fight had improved his blade skills considerably. Still, over four years later, all evidence of the fierce battle was present: a battered AC, great melted gashes gracing its metallic hide, knelt on the floor. Its cockpit module was sliced open. Alpha exited his own AC to inspect the minuscule things no sensors would pick up. He felt the heavy mantle of silence that covered the chamber. When he neared the AC, Alpha noticed a pile of gnawed bones near one of the aging mech's massive feet. One might think that rats had been the perpetrators. Of course, one would be wrong. Alpha strode a thousand feet to the northern side of the room and saw evidence of older atrocities. A quick examination of the dusty, cobwebbed pile of junk that dominated the wall showed that it was a diagnostic computer of archaic design. Alpha stared at it for a moment, then moved on. Wires trailed from the computer and stopped just short of the surgical table that had been set off to the corner. A honeycomb of lights, six feet above the table, and no longer operational, would have provided light to the twisted researchers who once worked there. The table itself was covered in dents and scratch marks. Evidently, not all of the subjects undergoing the enhancement had been willing. When Alpha touched the marks, he felt the chill of the table travel through his body. Lost in his memories, two hours passed and Alpha's pilot patched a radio signal through to him. Though he should have been expecting it, the sudden screech of the radio in his AC made him jump. Who knew what was waiting to be summoned in that cathedral of darkness?
Rage had wasted little time in finding Valkyrie. Though it was quite late, Rage felt that he needed to get a jump on the relationship. She was surprised to find him knocking on her door, but quickly consented to he pleas for a date. After the initial awkward silences, they began to enjoy themselves. They had been all over the Nest, and dinner at the Starlight along with a long stroll after had made them comfortable in each other's presence.
“I'm glad to have met you, Valkyrie.” Somehow, instead of conveying his feelings to Val, the tone of his statement was rather adolescent. Rage squirmed in the awkward silence that followed. Perhaps she really did think that Rage was only paying attention to her physical features. Why not? Blonde hair that shone in the moonlight, full, tender lips, sapphire eyes—who wouldn't gawk at her! Still, despite his rationalization, Rage was embarrassed. Luckily, Val broke the silence.
“Are you just going to stare,” she said mischievously, “or kiss me goodnight?”
Stunned by the question, Rage was barely able to say, “Uh... I guess.”
Seeing that Rage was in no condition to take the initiative, Val smiled, touched her hand to his cheek, and lightly kissed him. When she pulled her face away, Rage was grinning from ear to ear. “Good night, Val.”
Already on her way into the vibrantly decorated interior of her apartment, Valkyrie turned, winked, and waved. Then she disappeared behind her door.
Rage walked in a dream back to his own quarters.
Striker was worried. His mission request described the sortie as straightforward; the only goal was to eliminate all enemy units. He should have been suspicious that the entire reward was paid in advance. Usually, that high advance was meant to be a lure to entice unwary Ravens into a trap. Unfortunately, Striker was almost broke, living from mission to mission, and the advance was too large to pass up. So far, he had encountered no enemies. There was the possibility that they were hiding in ambush, or waiting for reinforcements, but since he was already deep within the facility he doubted it. There was always the option of taking the advance and quitting the mission, but doing so would spoil Striker's meager reputation with legitimate corporations. He had no choice but to continue.
The only thing that happened in the next hour signaled his end. He walked through a large doorway that sealed as soon as he passed. He turned, hoping that it would open, but it was hopelessly proofed against his simple computer's hacking attempts. From the thickness of its frame, Striker judged the door to be several meters of high-density metal. All but the most powerful armaments, which his AC, Finesse, was lacking, would be as useless as his computer at opening the portal. The desolate echo of the engaging locks still thundered. Whether he actually heard it or imagined it, Striker could not tell. There were now two things keeping him from returning to the Nest and neither seemed as though it would dissolve.
He resumed wandering the complicated network of passages and slowly formulated a theory. Most buildings of the type he was in followed a symmetrical floor plan, but as of yet, he had found no mirror of the ground he had traversed. He wondered if he was being stalked from the other side of the sealed doors he encountered.
After another hour, Striker was ready to give in. There was no way back, and he would be just as dead from food, water, and sleep deprivation as he would be in an AC battle. At least my defeat in an AC isn't inevitable. Or so he thought.
He tuned his radio to the general-broadcast channel that was used for “S.O.S.” signaling. He was too far from the surface to be heard by any rescuers, so he sent a challenge. “Whoever you are, come out now. I'm ready to face you.”
The response came almost immediately, in the form of an attack. The wall on his right seemed to implode and the shattered metal struck the opposite wall and fell to the floor. To Striker's surprise, no AC or MT came through the gap. Instead, a hollow, almost mechanical voice crackled over the com.
“Enter.”
The dull voice resonated in Striker's head. For the last time, he checked his ammunition, armor, and energy levels and proceeded through the gap in the slagged wall.
He was not prepared for what followed. It seemed too fast to be possible. As he entered, he caught a brief glimpse of polished metal; the dim light flooding through the hole served as poor illumination. A shot came from the right. Striker dodged it at the last moment, but another shot was already on its way to intercept him. The impact jarred his AC and a warning light came on in his cockpit:
<<FCS DISABLED>>
Shit. Now he had to rely on visual tracking. He squeezed the trigger of his rifle and flooded the room with ammo and sparse light. What he saw astonished him. A strange, catlike mech bounded from wall to wall, weaving through the screaming shells of Striker's puny barrage. It let loose another volley of its own with an arm-mounted weapon; from the noise it made and the damage it inflicted Striker identified it as some type of high-powered pulse cannon. He put the agility of his AC to its ultimate test, waiting for the right moment to strike. It never came. He frantically tried to dodge the shots blazing through the room, but the superior machine and abilities of his opponent were too much. Striker's downfall came moments after the beginning of the battle.
As he avoided an orb of pure energy, something else sounded with a thud that rattled Striker's mind and body. A high-density explosive projectile whizzed toward him. The momentum of his heavy metal suit carried him directly into the grenade's path. Moments slowed to agonizing years. The opponent stood on its hind legs, the long barrel of its grenade launcher just starting to smoke from the deadly progeny it had given life. Striker began to scream. Then the packed conflagration hit. It completely vaporized the leg of his AC and sheared its right arm from the core. Somehow, after it was over, Striker found himself alive. He realized that it wouldn't last long. He felt broken bones inside himself, piercing vital organs. He coughed a warm, wet substance. Blood.
The enemy mech approached and Striker finally got a good look at it. Its armor was highly polished and made of what appeared to be an advanced alloy. It did look somewhat feline, but there were more humanoid elements, such as hands and a small, rounded head with a piercing yellow optic sensor. From its standing vantage point, it glared at Striker's AC on the ground.
“I offer you two choices,” came the lifeless voice of the pilot. “You will die. Or you will give up your life and allow us to use you.”
“Who are you?” asked Striker through the salty wet feeling of his own blood.
“We are more perfect than you could imagine. We are between humanity and mechanization, the ideal midpoint. We are the Human Plus.”
Striker thought for a moment. He weighed his options. Either way, he was lost. Better to have a chance of escape later.
“Have you chosen your fate?” droned the Plus.
“Yes. I will go with you.”
It was the last decision he ever made.
Rage was getting slightly irritated. His messages to Alpha were not being answered. In each message, he had asked to meet Alpha so they could discuss the recent events, and in the month that had passed, Rage did not receive a single sign that Alpha even knew of his existence.
Alpha was nowhere to be found. Either he was in his quarters, or out piloting; no Ravens saw him come or go, and no one had the time or desire to investigate further into his life. Alpha's reputation for solitude was infamous at the Nest. Valkyrie, always a fertile source of gossip, had several theories on the subject. Most of them were based on “woman trouble.”
Despite his penchant for isolation, Alpha was neither antisocial nor unfriendly. He greeted fellow Ravens in the hall with a warm wave and stopped to talk a few minutes when he wasn't in a hurry. No, it wasn't his lack of social contact that caused the distance between his peers; it was something else, a deliberate or subconscious act that kept him from reaching to the family that was waiting for him. Rage often wondered at its cause, but doubted Val's “theories.” Since she often told Rage that Alpha could more or less have any woman he wanted, trouble with women was quickly eliminated. Still, there were countless other possibilities. Some of the older Ravens told Rage that Alpha had once been different. None knew what had caused the change, but several veterans pointed out the disappearance of his best friend. His name was Genesis. Only the three pilots witnessed Hellbringer's report, and the vets seemed to think that Genesis was dead.
“He was a hell of a pilot,” said one. “He and Alpha were really close, got along well. But one day, just like that, they split. That same day, Genesis disappeared.”
Other than his irritation at Alpha, Rage's life was going well. He had a beautiful girlfriend, was still in first place in the Arena, had a growing number of close acquaintances, and even saw Sumika regularly
Valkyrie. She was quite a contrast to Sumika. Whereas Sumika's manner was mature and beyond her years, Val was girlish and lighthearted. Sumika, though stunningly beautiful, didn't quite match up to Valkyrie's inherent “cuteness.”
Despite their differences, they were the best of friends, and had been so since childhood. They were practically sisters and shared a bond of friendship and love, which few Ravens ever achieved.
Rage thought of the time he spent with both. Through their increased contact, Rage learned a few things about Sumika that she revealed only to those she knew and trusted. Sumika was frequently called “Mother Sumika” due to the maternal treatment she gave to newer Ravens. This name, however, implied that she was old and matronly. On the contrary, anyone who met her would agree with Rage—nothing could have been farther from the truth. Sumika was serious, but she had a mischievous, wild side that counterbalanced the calm, grave pilot in her. Rage could still taste the sour beer that she had slipped into his refrigerator.
Thinking of the history of Sumika and Val made Rage turn his thoughts to his own past. He was raised in a rough section of Isaac City, one of the world's largest underground population centers. There were few aboveground settlements that could rival an underground city—the world had not forgotten the humans' mistake and it did little to welcome them back to the surface. During his childhood, Rage saw the Corporations' despicable acts of terrorism. Since the masses were only used as a workforce, many of the citizens under guard of the Corporations were considered expendable, and their lives were spent mercilessly. Once, he had almost been a victim. It was a warm night and Rage was walking home alone from his friend's house. The two lived only a few streets away. A Chrome MT came galloping around the corner of the building nearest to Rage and sighted him, seemingly assessing the profit margin of killing a citizen. Was a kid worth the cost of a few bullets? All young Rage could do was gape in silent fear. The cannons of the great machine swiveled and aimed at him. Rage had absolutely no hope of surviving. Just, then, an AC rocketed down from a building and blocked the MT's fire. “Run, kid, run!” the pilot shouted over his external speaker. Rage did. The pilot, a Raven, had saved his life. Since then, Rage had aspired to be as brave and valiant as his anonymous savior.
Since then, Rage found that the Ravens, while mostly reluctant to let bystanders die, did what they did for credits or power. A few were simply born pilots and had an inner voice that drove them—pilots like Alpha and Sumika.
Rage thought that life was good. As a high-ranking pilot, he was in little danger of running out of money. Often, the Corporations vied for the best pilots and both sides of a conflict sent mission requests to them. Some Ravens, though excellent pilots, never took missions; they made a living in the Arena.
The Arena was a competitive form of armored core dueling. While sponsorship and credits played a major part in most pilots' Arena experiences, some dueled for other purposes. It was seen by most of these pilots as a method of settling disagreements, but there were a rare few who used it to intimidate and control others. To Rage, however, it was a nearly infinite fountain of credits. He had, like all new pilots, started at the very bottom of the ladder. The bulk of his competitors were friendly with him, but some had threatened him on his ascent through the ranks, although compared to past times, the intimidation of pilots was not as harsh. Before Rage became a Raven, several pilots were rumored to have killed their rivals away from the watchful brotherhood of the Nest, where all matches were supervised. Unfortunately for the victims of this vigilante justice, the chances of survival were extremely slim, and those who managed to survive rarely brought forth accusations. After all, the rogue pilots had been the highest-ranking, and therefore the most respected. Then it all changed. The ranking Raven of the time, Hustler One, along with the other pilots ranking in the top five, disappeared without a trace and the victims were finally able to discuss what had happened to them without fear of retaliation. None knew why the top five had vanished, and none cared to find out.
Rage sighed. Today was one of his days off, when he'd taken on no missions and had no Arena challenges to deal with, but why was sitting around and thinking when he could be enjoying himself? He thought about what he could do. At that moment, he was in the AC garage looking over the weekly list of new parts. Most of them were low-cost alternatives to the more expensive parts. He found most of the shop parts worthless. Using the public computer terminal nearby, Rage logged onto the Ravens' Nest Network. His intent was to take a look at the private sales between Ravens, where one could sometimes find a rare or unique part that was far more useful than anything in the normal shop. Just as his account finished loading, however, he received an alert: NEW MAIL. A tingle of excitement rose through Rage's spine—was the message from Alpha?
It was. It read:
Rage,
It seems as though the incident you witnessed was not the only one. I am attempting to investigate and end such things. Your assistance would be appreciated, and your questions will be answered.
In your debt,
Alpha.
The last line of the message was what most intrigued Rage; the rest made no sense at all.
Shopping for parts forgotten, he logged off of the computer terminal and headed for his quarters. Being on the opposite side of the vast Nest complex, his trip would take a great deal of time. Noting this, he set out at a jog.
The Ravens Nest headquarters was a massive array of pilots quarters, armored core garages, part shops, bars, restaurants, fitness centers, and various indoor arenas. A large portion of the building had been formed into a park; being able to see such lush vegetation was a rare luxury in a world that had become mostly barren. Rage took a short cut through the park and passed the central pond, catching a glimpse of children splashing and playing there. Not many armored core pilots felt the inclination to “settle down” and have children, and often those who did became parts dealers, mechanics, or other vendors. However, not only residents of the Nest were permitted inside. The Nest was a bustling economic hot spot and many outsiders came in to enjoy the sights. Trouble between pilots and “civilians” was exceedingly rare; the Nest was part of the community.
The Nest in which Rage now lived was, in fact, the first ever founded. Once the mercenaries realized the benefits of community, and the prestige provided by the title of “Raven,” they decided to create loosely-affiliated centers, which were named Nests. There were eight total, at least one per continent, and each had a numbered regional title, making this one First Northwest. Because it was the first Nest in existence, however, it was usually just “The Ravens' Nest.”
Each had its own unique personality. Rage's first Nest, the Second Northeast, was more brutish and primitive than this one. Even the food and language had been worse. He eventually gained sufficient rank to move to the all-business First Northwest and decided that its facilities and women were more enjoyable. He enjoyed the move from such a back-water place as the Second Northeast. He was there to stay.
He finally came to the apartments where most of the pilots lived. One of the surprising similarities between almost all AC pilots was a habit of shunning opulence. All quarters were almost the same size, with multi-person variations. However, most armored core pilots' apartments were far from Spartan.
Such was the case for Rage's one-person flat. It had a bedroom, a living room, and a kitchen. All of the furniture was either metal, plastic, or synthetic wood—due to the shortage of forests in the world, real wood was prohibited. The Great Destruction had changed many of humanity's habits. Posters and photographs adorned the walls. There was no particular theme.
As Rage entered his “pad,” he turned on the lights and activated his personal computer. He knew that in his own apartment, prying eyes would be absent. At least, he hoped they would be. As soon as he sat at his computer desk, Rage began his reply to the message from Alpha.
Alpha,
I gladly accept your proposal.
He thought for a few moments and wondered whether or not saying exactly what he meant was the best course of action. What if someone were intercepting and reading Ravens' messages? In his dispatch, Alpha's wording was incredibly vague and perhaps meaningless to any lookers-on. Rage himself had been confused. He continued, cautiously choosing his words.
Much of what happened is puzzling to me. The question is, shall I try to find you or will you come visit me?
He decided that his would do. As soon as the pilot signed and sent his message, he decided to work on the task he'd abandoned over an hour before. He found several parts that intrigued him and was about to contact their owners for more information when another message interrupted his activities. Alpha must have been waiting for me to respond, thought Rage. He almost found that fact disturbing; in the past few weeks, Alpha hadn't replied once, but now something was spurring him into action. Rage's excitement was immediately destroyed when he read the message. It was not addressed from Alpha, but from a Corporation: Centurion Rage had never heard of it. That was not too suspicious, though, since there were countless independent Corporations that made quick alliances with each other in order to attempt overthrowing the “Big Two” Murakumo and Chrome. What Rage did find suspicious was the mission request. Travel to some isolated field and destroy a small guerilla group stationed there? I don't know... Then Rage saw the reward. It was an advanced pair of humanoid legs. They had a remarkable carrying capacity, especially when one noted their speed and agility. Besides, Rage liked the sleek design. It would definitely go well on his AC, Fallen Angel—if the request was not false. In spite of the suspicious mission requester and reward, Rage decided to take the mission; as far as Rage could see, there were three possibilities: it was a legitimate offer, it was from Alpha, or it was a trap. Though the request asked him to come alone, Rage thought that he should take Valkyrie as backup. If things got ugly and the mission was genuine, then Rage's use of a partner would be justified. And if the request was a trap, he had someone to help him. Luckily, Val, like all of Rage's friends, was an excellent pilot.
Striker was amazed at how much the procedure had done to enhance his physical and mental capabilities. Of course, at the time, the weakling he had been was overcome by fear. The whining drills, the singing saws, and the buzzing circuits had caused him to panic. Once his skull was open and the first enhancement chip in place, he felt the most amazing, numbing, enlightening cold spread through his body. From that point on, Striker had known he was more. What had once been classified as painful, Striker now considered glorious. What was once cruel or even sadistic was now only natural. He couldn't wait for his next enhancement. Already, Striker's consciousness seemed to have expanded above anything he had before thought possible. He became aware of the slightest details in his environment—from temperature to sub- and ultra-sonic noises to odors he had never been able to discern on his own. Every moment that passed seemed as though it could be grabbed and manipulated to Striker's liking, reminiscent of trailing his fingers through water and watching the ripples. Striker could not believe that it was merely the first stage of enhancement; what could possibly be beyond the godhood he had already obtained? Nevertheless, he lusted for more. Whispers in the back of his mind told him that the power had only begun to blossom within him—it was only the beginning of his ascent to supreme power. Glancing around his tiny living compartment, Striker noted every detail to be found between the waste disposal unit and the narrow, closed door to the “outside.” He recalled with amusement that at one point, Striker would have named the living space a prison. Now, however, he realized that the only beauty needed was inside him. A sense of higher purpose welled up within. He was almost uncomfortable—higher purpose was the single concept that Striker couldn't understand.
As Striker toyed with the concept in his mind, much as a human might handle a tangible object, the door to the chamber slid open. Striker opened his eyes. They had closed for some reason, but it could not remember when or why. No one stood at the door, but a dry, lifeless voice—wonderfully sterile—sounded. It addressed not only Striker, but also the other initiates occupying the nearby quarters. He had sensed their presences earlier.
“An assembly has been called. You new ones will now meet our Messiah. His name I am sure you have heard: Genesis.”
Small intakes of breath filtered out of the open doors. If they had not been Ravens while Genesis was in the Nest, they had certainly heard legends about him. They quickly gave up their unformed questions—there would be more than enough time for that during the next Meditation.
“Leave your chambers and follow me.”
The initiates did as he said. For almost all of them, it was only the second time they had been through the hallway of the Initiate Sector. Striker realized that less than twenty-four hours had passed since he came to consciousness—how it had already seemed like years! The passageway was simple, sterile carved rock, absolutely smooth. There was, however, a noticeable skew in the wall angles—approximately one-tenth of a degree. Striker knew it was not by accident—the Plus were too perfect to make such a mistake. He supposed it was to remind the new ones that, as powerful and perfect as they viewed themselves, there were greater beings than they, and being made to live in such an imperfect place allowed them to reflect upon it constantly. The theory soon proved itself valid as they progressed to the heart of the compound. The walls turned to cold steel and there was far less light in the steel hallway—no human would be able to see anything. The environmental controls were deactivated, allowing great fluctuations in temperature. There was newfound confidence in the initiates; they were moving from a place where they were coddled to a sector that challenged their vast new capabilities. As the procession went on in silence, its members began to wonder just when they would reach their destination. The Elder Plus kept the other five walking at a slow pace. The swish of their robes permeated the hallway. At last, the Elder stopped and activated a door control. From the door there was admitted a brilliant light. As each initiate was ushered through the doorway, he was met by the harsh glare of a fluorescent ceiling. In the space of a thought, each pair of eyes adjusted and beheld the Messiah.
Striker could hardly keep himself from staring. Genesis sat alone in the glaring room, cross-legged, on the cold floor. As each new arrival came in, he assessed it and moved on to the next. He wore no clothing. There was not a hair on his body. It made him look all the more perfect. Indeed, Genesis did not even have gender. It had surpassed all that was human and reached divinity. The skin on its body was taut, revealing the strings of enhanced muscle sheathed underneath. Though it would seem emaciated and appear weak to one who had not been enhanced, all that the initiates saw was boundless power and grace. Genesis' skin was colorless, whether from spending so much time in the complex or from epidermal alteration, the new Plus could not say. Genesis sat stone still on the floor as they filed in. If its eyes moved, none could discern, because they were absolutely black, sucking in their souls. Once the final student entered, the door was sealed and Genesis stood lithely. Its skeletal frame moved fluidly and showed no sign of effort. Then, Genesis spoke.
Its voice was chilling. Even to the five ex-humans who stood before it, Genesis was something to fear. The voice contained nothing but what it wanted to convey. No emotion. No sympathy. Nothing but the cold truth. Beautiful. “All of you have passed the first test to become one of the chosen. Though you must have trouble believing it, there is more to come. The Human Plus need the best to complete their goal. You must be wondering what such a goal is. I will only tell you one thing about it now: there is a conflict coming. It is our chance to take the reins of a shattered Humanity and bring it to heel. Until then, I will train you. I am your master. There is nothing I can't do to you to make you obey.”
One of the five stirred uncomfortably.
“Speak your small mind.”
The initiate, a large man, looked into the well of Genesis eyes for a moment. His voice was the opposite of Genesis', for it bubbled with anger and resentment. “You don't own us.”
“I have owned you since you chose to come here.”
“I think you are stupid.” The enhancement seemed to have gone to his head. “What is this?” he asked the others, “I am not going to obey a skinny little man who has no balls.”
Genesis simply stared.
“You sick man. You even got rid of your emotions, just to get a little stronger? I'm already powerful enough. A little crap like you couldn't make me do anything.”
How was that fool a Plus? Could he not see the coiled strength in Genesis' body? The other four initiates grew visibly uncomfortable.
“Do not let his words fool you,” Genesis stated. “I can not expect every dirty animal that comes along to understand the higher purpose I serve.”
The fool stiffened his already rigid posture. “Animal? What about you? I'm not a weak little worm, festering in its hole in the ground and ruling a mock kingdom.”
For the first time, Genesis smiled. Or rather its face muscles slowly gathered themselves and turned the mouth slit scornfully upward. However, its voice did not smile. “And what would you like to do about this, my friend?”
“I'll kill you. With little effort.”
How could that idiot be blind to Genesis' glorious power? It would be Genesis who did the killing.
“Now? Perhaps I should cower.”
“Shut up, little skeleton. Any time is good.”
“So be it.”
Before the others could clear from the plane of combat, Genesis sprang at its opponent. Now, the packs of beautiful enhanced muscle writhed wonderfully under its taut skin. Having cleared the twenty feet between it and the fool, Genesis reached for his arm. The fool attempted to dodge and simultaneously throw a powerful kick that would crush Genesis' chest. It was amazing how the enhancement had increased the fool's range of motion and speed. But compared to Genesis, he was a child. Genesis used its left arm to chop down with such force that it broke the fool's enhanced shin. The transferred energy caused the fool to be tilted back into reach of Genesis' right arm. It grabbed his face and dug into the eye sockets with the thin, sharp fingers. The fool was still going. Though the initiate could no longer see, he was able to calculate every position of Genesis by his enhanced memory and senses. Both his arms were free, so he swung them to meet in a crushing blow on Genesis' neck. Certainly, it would have snapped the nerve center there. But Genesis saw the arms twitch and knew. While releasing the broken leg, Genesis rotated the initiate's entire body using only its wrist. Now that the other combatant was parallel to the ground, both arms would be somewhat off of their original target, unless the fool, in mid-swing, corrected himself. He instead chose the quicker solution, hoping to puncture Genesis' chest cavity and crush its skull. Genesis focused on the chest cavity threat- the chest was less mobile than the head- and grabbed that arm. As the other arm approached the skull, Genesis looked up at it, opening wide its mouth. When the fist made contact, Genesis bit down hard and severed the hand from its wrist. It flopped down on the metal floor. The impact did not even jar Genesis' head. The only remaining functional appendage on its opponent was the one leg. As the idiot attempted to use the leg, Genesis broke the arm it still held with a wet crack. Then it let go and waited to grab the fool's leg. After changing position slightly to accommodate the idiot's weak attempts at bypassing the waiting hand, Genesis grabbed the leg, absorbing the force of its impact smoothly, and turned it. It broke cleanly. Before the initiate could figure out what to do, Genesis slammed him to the floor. It used its free hand to put pressure on the top of the opponent's skull and crack it open. The exposed brain glinted with the metal of enhancement chips. Before finishing the man, Genesis stopped. It held the man face-down and leaned to whisper in his ear. Of course, all of the initiates would be able to hear. Genesis' voice had a touch of some emotion, slow and powerful. Hate. “You stupid animal. There is no entity on this planet that I can't destroy outright—except One. And He is our Master and Creator.”
The fool still had the capability to talk. His voice only contained anger. “And what will you do to me now, O Messiah? I am afraid of death no longer. My friends and family are all dead to me, and I to them. All I care for is power.”
“Which is why I am not going to kill you.”
“What?”
“I am taking away the Master's gift to you.”
The man, who had remained stoic throughout the fight, having been blinded, cut, and broken, suddenly began to scream. Genesis reached inside his skull and tore out the primary chip embedded in his brain. The man's screams echoed through the chamber.
“Are you sure this is the mission site?” asked Valkyrie. They had entered the mission boundaries fifteen minutes earlier, but nothing showed up on radar or to the naked eye.
“That's what the request said, spoke Rage softly. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious while I advance.”
He moved his AC through the open sands, checking the ground every few paces for land mines or other common traps. He found nothing.
What was going on? Rage would have understood if there were traps, mecha, or both, but the complete lack of either caused Rage much confusion. Alpha was still a possibility, but he had been waiting an awfully long time to show up. Rage wasted another ten minutes searching the sands of the site for any sign. “Looks like it was some type of... joke,” said precocious Val over the radio.”
“I guess so, Val.”
A sand patch next to Valkyrie burst into a cloud. From that cloud Rage saw an AC emerge. It raised its rifle and took aim at Val's AC.
“Val!”
The weapon fired thin trails of energy that raked her AC, Panoply, and quickly disabled it. The sand cloud was still settling when the AC vanished back into it. Rage, over one hundred yards away, was at too long a range to fire his machine gun. He used his boosters to retreat quickly and knelt on the shimmering sand. The sun threw his AC's shadow in front of him. Rage brought the grenade launcher to bear on the settling sand and waited. In moments, the AC charged out of the cloud. Rage shook his head as he pulled the trigger. Too easy, he thought. The grenade howled from its barrel and seemed to be on a perfect intercept with the AC. Before the projectile hit its target, the pilot threw his AC into a strafe and avoided being hit. Rage growled—grenades would not work as well against the opponent as he'd hoped. The armored core was almost in machine gun range, so Rage activated the worn weapon and took aim at his opponent. As the AC got closer, Rage could see that it belonged to Alpha. He realized that Alpha had not fired a shot since disabling Val. How odd. At medium range, Rage depressed the trigger and unloaded the magazine in Alpha's direction. He felt a thrill run through him—there was little that challenged Rage anymore. Battle was his element. Unfortunately for Rage, Alpha did not seem impressed by the firepower being flung his way. Out of a twenty-shell burst of ammunition, Rage counted three hits on Alpha's AC. Alpha wove through the barrage of fire with an eerie grace that Rage had only witnessed once before. Alpha would have to be one with his machine to squeeze out that kind of performance. Too soon, Alpha had closed the distance between himself and Rage, still dodging the majority of Rage's volley, and activated his laser blade.
Shit! Rage thought. He winced as he remembered how Alpha had taken care of those muscle tracers the first time they had met. Rage had no defense against the blade; he shunned close combat and assumed that by the time any opponent was remotely close it would already be slag. He saw now that it was a stupid assumption. Had he now a laser blade, Rage could at least raise it defensively to block the strike. Instead, he could only raise the arm of his armored core. Alpha flashed the blade from the side. By the time Rage comprehended the speed of Alpha's attack, his legs were separated from the core. By the time he realized that, his gun arm was missing. In the space of a second, his AC consisted entirely of a head and a core that twitched on the ground. Rage waited for the finishing blow to come; ejection would only prolong death by seconds. Alpha's AC stilled. Over the radio he said, “Exit your AC. I will take aim at you until I can see that you are unarmed.”
Rage complied. He needed no weapons to be deadly.
Alpha's AC knelt and Rage saw Alpha, small in comparison, climb down from the ingress-egress hatch. He yelled across the open sand between them, “Stay where you are!” and traversed the distance at a jog. As soon as Alpha stopped and opened his mouth, Rage aimed a kick at Alpha's sternum. Instead of connecting, Rage found himself looking at the sky, his back cooking on the hot sand. How had Alpha done that?
“What do you want with me!”
Alpha said placidly, “Calm down Rage.”
It took several minutes but Rage was eventually able to control himself.
“May I stand?”
“Yes.”
Rage did so. His legs were a bit shaky.
“Why did you attack me?”
“You attacked me.”
“That's because you attacked Valkyrie.”
“But I told you to come alone.”
“Your mission request was a bit suspicious.”
“Then why did you accept it?”
Rage felt his temper rising again. You just can't win against this guy. He took a deep breath. “Okay. You still could have warned me.”
“This matter is serious. There is a reason why I wished to talk to you in person, away from the Nest. I fear eavesdropping.”
Rage looked Alpha in the eyes. He was met by a stare of fierce determination. As Alpha spoke, Rage could see the conviction in his eyes.
“Something terrible is happening to the Ravens.”
Rage stifled a laugh. “What are you talking about!”
Alpha jaw muscle tensed. He glanced toward Valkyrie's disabled AC, making sure she was still out of earshot. She trudged in their direction tiredly, still a few hundred feet away.
“For the past year, Ravens have been disappearing.”
Rage smirked. At least one or two went missing during the course of a year.
“And it has been more frequent than in the past.”
“So how many are gone?”
“Over twenty.”
The smirk left Rage's face. “Why hasn't anyone noticed if that many didn't come back?”
“Someone has been erasing the reports.”
“And how did you learn this?”
“I've been interviewing people face-to-face. People are more trustworthy than machines.”
Babble. “Where do they all go?”
“They end up like our friend Hellbringer, unless they are successful. Then they stay gone. Haven't you noticed the increase in Nest crime?”
Yes. But Rage cocked his head. “What kind of paranoid man are you? You're exaggerating things.”
Alpha's face reddened. “I know more about this than any other Raven. Who do you think you are, kid? You should listen for once!”
The sun had almost set. The desert sky was a colorful canvas that reflected its glow upon the sand. Rage could see the moon rising over Alpha's shoulder; it was later than he'd thought. He was impatient to get back home. Both men stood there, breathing hard, until they heard someone say, “What's going on here, boys?”
It was Val. Her lilting voice didn't sound angry at all; instead, she seemed amused. Rage could hear the smile in her words.
Alpha turned and bowed his head. “I'm sorry, miss, that I fired upon you. It was in the interest of safety.”
She grinned. “Whose safety?”
Though Alpha's face had returned to its normal color, it reddened again. Val's eyes glinted in the moonlight.
“Its okay, Alpha.”
“Both of you will receive compensation.”
“We damn well better!” Rage snapped.
“Calm down. Please.”
Rage relaxed his stiffened posture the slightest bit. He looked at Alpha.
“This guy's crazy, Val. He says Ravens are being taken and—“
Alpha glared at Rage so intensely that he broke off in mid-sentence. Val shook her golden as her expression turned serious.
“Honey, you're new here, so you still have a few things to learn. One of them is: When Alpha speaks, you better listen.”
Alpha smiled. Rage was surprised at Val's serious words. The crossfire was helping neither Rage's skepticism nor his temper.
“He doesn't even have solid proof that what he says is true.” Rage looked sheepish at his childish response.
“What about Hellbringer's message?”
“He could have made that up. He was crazy, wasn't he?”
“When he delivered that message, he was not the speaker. Genesis was.”
“I'm tired of all this talk about Genesis! Who exactly is he? What is he doing that is making you so frightened?”
Alpha began to speak, but was interrupted.
Val gasped. Rage noticed an intense flash over Alpha's shoulder: a purple light. Coming from the moon. Brightness bleached the desert. Tears blurred Rage's vision. When his eyes had recovered from the flash, he saw Alpha and Val, who had been facing away from the light, staring into the sky. Rage followed their gazes. The moon was expanding, silently exploding. It was Alpha who finally spoke.
“That's who Genesis is. A monster.”
“What?” Rage said slowly.
He wondered briefly what was going on in Alpha's head. Did he actually plan this?
The entity called Genesis must be a very powerful one, indeed. He remembered the message delivered by Hellbringer: The moon is fair and bright, but I will make it brighter, yet less full. Rage began to wonder if Alpha had been right after all. He seemed honest enough. The remaining fragments of the moon drifted away from the dying glow of the explosion. Val moved close to Rage and took his hand.
“Let's go home.”
Rage and Valkyrie received a ride back courtesy of Alpha's faithful transport. Most of the fire had gone out of Rage and when he returned he was more tired than angry. He and Val wanted to go to sleep as soon as possible, and the long walk from the AC hangars to their quarters was already daunting. Before they could sneak away, Alpha stopped them. They exchanged weary glances—what now?
Alpha made a vague gesture with his hand. “I know you two want to sleep. I have just one more thing to ask of you.”
“Sure,” replied Val, her brightness not quite extinguished by fatigue.
“I want you to come to my apartment at five tomorrow-” he seemed to realize that it was already the next day- “this- evening. Perhaps we can all relax.”
Covert missions had a dark undertone, but Alpha inviting guests for an early dinner almost seemed worse. Val, slightly shocked, spoke for them both. “We would be delighted!”
“And tell Sumika that she is welcome to join us,” he said a little too casually.
Curiouser and curiouser. “Sure, Alpha. Thanks for inviting us!”
For some reason, Rage doubted that it would be an event worth thanking him for.
It was impossible for something like the destruction of the moon to avoid notice. The news, and repeated replays of the five-second blast, played on almost every video screen in the Nest. Ravens mulled about, dazed, discussing what had gone wrong.
“The source of the beam is yet untraced,” announced the news anchor, “No beam was visible, and as you may know there are several pre-Destruction weapons capable of such an action. Both Chrome and Murakumo vow that they will find the weapon and deactivate it.”
The three of them rang the chime at Alpha's door at 5 o'clock Central Nest Time, as promised. They had all debated whether it was a formal event or a casual one; on one hand, Alpha did not have such soirŽes every night—never, in fact. On the other hand, he did not seem to be the kind of man to appreciate formality. Each of them had come to a different conclusion.
Rage wore the usual casual clothing, a pilot's jacket covering his grey tee-shirt and constrasting with the same khaki pants he always wore. Sumika's marine blue dress, Rage noticed, while conservative, emphasized her slender beauty. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek bun at the base of her head. Though she was not in pilots' clothing, she still held her pilot's grace. Val's scandalous white dress boasted a low neckline and a high hem. As usual. Her blonde hair was done in rings piling onto her head. She had turned heads as they walked to Alpha's. But when men caught Rage's glaring gaze, they quickly became interested in the carpet. The three waited patiently at the door.
Alpha answered, scaring the wits out of Rage, Valkyrie, and Sumika with his nervous smile.
“Come in, why don't you?”
They did.
“Would any of you like something to drink?”
They exchanged a look. Rage shrugged and asked for a can of beer. The two women declined. As Alpha left to get Rage's drink, the trio took a quick look around Alpha's apartment. It was surprisingly inviting. Instead of the polished metal and glass that one expected from Alpha's seemingly stark personality, it was quite homey. There was a small and well-stocked kitchen, a living room that contained two couches facing each other across a low table, and a bright bedroom with a few pictures on the walls. Adding to this ambiance was the subtle aroma of the simmering beef stew on the stove.
Alpha the cook, Sumika mused, a smile crossing her lips, who would have thought?
While Alpha was getting a beer from the refrigerator, he called over his shoulder, “Sit down in the living room.” His voice sounded just a little too eager; he obviously did not get much practice with guests. Rage and Val sat on one couch, holding hands, and Sumika sat across the table from Valkyrie. Meaning that Alpha, the hard-faced warrior, the strong, silent, handsome hero of the armored core, would have to sit next to Sumika. Brace yourself.
Alpha tossed Rage the can of beer and said, “I made a stew. It turned out quite well; we have a lot to discuss, and an empty stomach can be distracting when you're trying to listen.” Alpha filled four smooth, ancient wooden bowls with the stew and carried them on a tray. He saw the seating arrangement and almost fell over himself. Val and Sumika suppressed a giggle, glancing at each other. Rage was, as always, oblivious to his surroundings.
Once Alpha set the tray down he sank next to Sumika on the couch. With his broad frame, there was no room between them; Sumika could feel his pulse.
Rage began the conversation. “You look so pretty when you blush, Sumika.” He smirked and she raised an eyebrow. Deftly changing the subject, she said to Alpha, not quite able to look him in the eyes, “Where did you get these wooden bowls?”
She picked one up, taking hold of a spoon as well, and noted the stew's betrayal of her shaking hand.
“My orphanage had lots of antiques. When I left for the academy, the caretakers told me to take a little piece of my past with me.
He's so open tonight, Sumika thought. He must be trying to gain out trust. Now is my chance to show him how much I do trust him.
“But you didn't come to hear about my childhood. You came here to listen to more recent history.”
He shifted in his seat. His friendliness diminished somewhat when he murmured, “You want to know about Genesis.” Sumika thought she felt him begin to tremble.
Rage looked up from nursing his beer. “It's about time.”
“Yes.” And Alpha's eyes lost some of their focus. “It seems so long ago...”
I was young and idealistic, fresh from the academy, when I met Genesis. The other Ravens saw that my skills were top-notch and those at the top hated me. It was in a time that pride came before honor for many of those in the Nest. I was harassed by a few of the veterans. Only Genesis took me under his wing and showed me kindness. Because of that I made the biggest mistake of my life—trusting him.
Because I was so honest and desperate, seeing through his smile was impossible; I wanted a friend. During our first year together, I was happier than during any other time in my life. The link between pilots, hateful or warmhearted, isn't easy to break. That's why I hung on to Genesis when he grew spiteful. I didn't want to be alone.
My abilities had blossomed and I honed my skills to perfection, leaving me isolated at the top with Genesis. Soon, I surpassed even his abilities. As hard as he tried, he could not regain superiority, and he began acting out of character.
One day he asked me to help him wipe out a combat MT factory—I still trusted him and I fell for the oldest trick known to the Ravens: the fatal mission lure. He led me into the heart of an old scientific research center, a place with which he was intimately familiar. It was the birthplace of the monster I had let under my skin.
By the time I realized what he was trying to do, he had me where he wanted me. He gave me a choice: follow or die. My best friend had become the “messiah” who felt he should rule humanity. He told me that a higher presence had come to him, and chosen him as the leader of a war that would enslave the inferior humans under those who were made of more than flesh and bone.
“And as the Master chose me, I choose you to be my first slave.” His words never left me. Can you imagine the betrayal I felt? The only person I trusted had decided to use me as an instrument of destruction. An insane rage took control of me. I was the only time I had wished to murder, to annihilate, to rip some entity into oblivion. Whether it was Genesis or his “Master” I could not tell, but Genesis was there and it was him I decided to destroy. But it turned out that he had been changed, or as he liked to call it, enhanced. Still, his enhanced skills were no match for my blind anger. We both sustained great damage, and it took twelve hours, but I was finally able to impale his AC on my laser blade. I told his wriggling, living machine corpse to go to hell and I left him there to finish the death he'd started long before. As I trusted him to be my friend before, I trusted him to die then. He didn't. My second greatest mistake was not realizing that finishing what I started was the only way to make sure that he would not return.
Once I worked my way out of that maze and returned to the Nest, I knew I must try to readjust to life with the ghost of my friend following me. I was greeted upon my return with a mail on my computer:
You thought fate had ended me,
You thought you had won.
You thought I was gone for good,
But the battle's just begun.
I thought at that time that he had survived by chance, kept alive by no more than faith in some alternate personality. I believed that Genesis would fade into the shadows and would never claw at me again; without a real Master, he had nothing. I liquidated Genesis' resources: his money, his AC, and all the information I could find on his computer—there was a disturbing lack of it. He has shown me that he won't disappear into the annals of Raven history.
My suspicions were confirmed when I learned that Genesis has established a base of operations. He has gone as far as reactivating the Grand Cannon, a doomsday device from before the Great Destruction—it's what he used to destroy the moon. He won't incinerate the Earth, but he will find a way to destroy our race.
“Until I learn how Genesis came to be the first Human Plus in over a century, I need to keep from assuming who is his Master—and yes, I believe that the Master exists. It is almost impossible to know who the real Genesis was or why he became a Raven. All that I know is his family name: Murata. He came from a Corporate family, the direct descendant of one of the clans that discovered a factory in the dark times after the Destruction. His family was assassinated and he sold Murata Corporation to Murakumo Millennium.
“I was only able to gather these details in the past year; that is why I met you on that mission, Rage. I was collecting secrets. I raided the computer for all it was worth.
“There is more to this story, but until I can completely confirm these fears and I learn to trust you, that is all that I can share. No matter what, use the knowledge you have gained as a weapon. Wield it with skill, and you may be protected from the Human Plus. Together or separately, we must fight the Human plus until the end.”
“I rarely understand what you're talking about.”
“Rage!” snapped Val, “Shut up!”
He withdrew with a look of smug vengeance. He still felt cheated by Alpha's ambush the day before.
“Don't worry, Valkyrie. It's not the most comprehensible thing—nothing dealing with that machine is.”
Sumika was beginning to grow accustomed to the feeling of his voice resonating so close to her. She was definitely slipping.
“It won't be a short, decisive conflict, unless I die. I have the uneasy feeling that I'll be seeing too many faces from the ‘Missing in action' roster.”
Both women were puzzled.
“You'll learn soon enough.”
They let the subject drop. Rage had a conspiratorial grin on his face; he knew.
“So, Alpha, you're going to do this all by yourself?”
“Rage!”
Alpha did not retort. He smiled tightly, his face and eyes those of a benevolent lion-tamer. It was simultaneously frightening and amusing.
“Not alone,” he said, “With your help.”
“You wish.”
“On the contrary.” Snap the whip. “I know.”
Rage bristled. “How do you know? You're no prophet. What gives you that ego?”
“I know because deep down, you're really afraid. Behind that veneer of ignorance and indifference, you know what this business means. You also know that, out of all the people on earth, I am the one you would follow. It's because you have seen me fight—and it is something you will never have a hope of matching unless you work with me.”
Rage's patronizing smile failed to convince the others that he did not believe Alpha.
“Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
Alpha's reply, raising his right eyebrow a fraction of an inch, was enough to make Rage roar.
“You and me—Arena!”
“That's all well an good, but you still don't have an AC. I guess I have to buy it for you.”
Rage clenched his teeth and fists. “You like having me so dependent on you, huh?”
“I don't like it, but I can't escape reality.”
Val and Sumika were shocked by Alpha's calm goading, but it was too amusing—about time someone tanned Rage's hide.
Rage would have ripped the door from its frame if it hadn't opened automatically as he tore from the room.
Alpha took another spoonful of soup. Time hung in that moment.
Finally, he said to the two women, “Do you really think I'm that arrogant?”
It took a second for Sumika to say, “No.”
“So you understand why I'm doing this?”
“I still don't understand your motivation, but if you want to subdue Rage and make him your partner, this is the way to do it.”
The wryness couldn't separate itself from Alpha's voice. “I guess there won't be a match until Rage has an AC. Excuse me while I order a new one.”
The wonderful versatility of the Ravens' Nest Network allowed him to do so from his apartment. He went to his room.
Val asked Sumika in a low voice, “What the hell does he think he's doing?”
“I don't know. He has told us what is going on, but I don't see why he's doing everything this way—so rashly.”
“I'm not sure he knows, either.”
Silence.
“Valkyrie,” asked Alpha from his room, “what model was Rage's generator?”
“I'm pretty sure it was the GBG-ten thousand.”
“I'll get him the X-R model, just in case. Thanks.”
“Of course...” She whistled at the amount of money Alpha was dropping on Rage's new AC. The X-R was not at all a common part, and Rage had been drooling over every chance he got to buy one. He never got close to finding one. Alpha had suddenly granted his wish.
She went back to talking to Sumika. “Why do you think he's going about it like this?”
“Maybe there was something he neglected to tell us.”
Alpha emerged from his room a few minutes later.
“Well, I think that we're going to have a busy day tomorrow. We should all get some sleep; time flies when you've been arguing, doesn't it?”
Alpha was sometimes weird like that.
“Good night, Alpha.”
“‘Night, Val. Sleep well. Sumika, I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”
“That's not something you hear every day.”
“Val, how long have you been thinking about what Alpha said?”
“The past few minutes.”
“Why?”
“I think you know why.”
“Not really.”
“Well—“
“Val? What do you think of Alpha?”
She stopped walking in the direction of their quarters, finding simultaneous thinking and action a little too much to handle. “He may be extreme at times ... arrogant ... na•ve ... but there's no other man I'd having hunting the shadows that could harm me.”
Sumika thought, after she had parted with her friend, that some of Alpha's wisdom was wearing off on Val and Rage. She smiled.
The following evening, the stands were packed. Rage had chosen an artificial underground city, and surrounding the huge square were the seats that were filled to their maximum capacity.
It was attended by a large crowd for two reasons: Rage and Alpha. Rage was popular, but because Alpha had not fought in a ranking battle—ever—and most had never seen the legendary man in action, the attendees wanted to compare his rumored abilities to something they knew well: the skills of the top-ranked Arena fighter.
Matches in this nest used a new technology, RSBD, or realistically simulated battle damage. All weapons shot dummy ammunition—blank bullets, grenades, missiles, rockets, and when used, powered-down lasers, plasma, and laserblade beams. Each hit registered a random value based on the known range of effectiveness, and “critically damaged” parts were ejected, resulting in a real, but safe, battle. Though some Ravens argued that the possibility of losing an AC or one's life kept skills sharp, younger Ravens accused them of being jealous.
The model city was well-populated with a variety of buildings. Rage's AC stood in the northeastern corner and he knew that Alpha's stood opposite. The minutes until the fight began melted away, and Rage entered his usual cloud of blood lust.
I'll show that jackass who he's messing with.
Alpha knew that Rage's record was impressive, but he also knew something of which only a few beings were aware: Alpha was the best pilot in the world.
The final five seconds were transposed on Alpha's heads up display and ticked away slowly. The match began.
He guessed that Rage, as usual, would wait at long range and try to pelt him with grenades. Alpha could charge and dodge the grenades, or he could do it the way a man of lesser skill might choose: by using his long-range weaponry.
He jumped, hovering just above average building height with his boosters. The long-and-narrow lock provided by his fire control system allowed him to see that Rage, if fired at with a little finesse, wouldn't know about the missile coming at him until evasive efforts were useless.
Rage chose the smart kneel-and-wait tactic. Alpha wouldn't be able to close the distance as easily this time. He started wondering why there was no sign of his opponent when he heard the distinct sound of a powerful liquid-fuel motor propelling a large mass in his direction. He tried standing, but it was too slow a process with the folding grenade launcher involved. The missile impacted his right side, shutting down and jettisoning the right arm, its weapon, and his grenade launcher, leaving him toothless. Then he was inundated from the front by a storm of lasers. If it had not been simulated damage, Rage's AC would have been hard to find among the other vapors in the air, but as it was, he lost.
It was a perfect victory for Alpha, and it had taken less than two minutes. To the spectators, it was a beautiful display of grace, but the ease with which Alpha won made them leave the stands with less enthusiasm than they had brought.
After the battle, Alpha found a tense Rage wandering in the direction of the bar.
“Rage?”
“What.” He wasn't angry. He was depressed.
“Good match.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don't know.”
“Oh.”
“I meant that you are still a rookie, but you can learn to be good; almost as good as me.”
“No one can be that good,” he said simply.
“Genesis can. His Human Plus slaves can. You must.”
“Why? If I'm not the best—“
“Shut up.” Alpha commanded without malice.
“What?” Rage's embers glowed a little.
“You heard me. Enough of this. Without your passion, you are useless. That means that I just wasted weeks by trying to sway you.”
“Useless!” The fire was stoked.
“Yes. Useless. And, what's more, you learned nothing form the lessons I've been teaching you.”
“You can't teach me anything.”
“Lesson one: Never assume anything. This means skill, terrain, or equipment.
Lesson two: There is always someone who can kill you, be it Genesis or—“
“You? I've seen some pretty stuck-up pilots, but you win the title. Go to hell.”
“I never gave you those legs I promised.”
“What?”
“Those legs—from the false mission. You've been too busy shouting at me to care.”
“They're real?”
“Only if you come to learn from me.”
Rage's inner mercenary told him that it was the new part that made him accept the offer a little too easily.
Now, thought Alpha, I have a bigger challenge. And he headed to Sumika's flat.
Alpha had been leaning against the wall across from Sumika's door for ten minutes. His head remained in the same position, looking at the ceiling, an attempt to distract his mind enough to ring the door's chime, Sumika guessed.
She had discovered him standing there as she was about to leave to visit a restaurant for a quick meal. She had not wanted to disturb him, though looking at the hall monitor made her feel as though she were watching a torture session.
Something's not right.
Alpha occasionally shook his head in silence.
What's going through his head? I thought that after last night he would have no trouble trusting me. I guess not.
Alpha's thoughts were of an entirely different nature. He was glad Sumika had neither shown up, returning from some errand, nor exited her apartment—he didn't know what he would do if she saw him in such an indecisive mind set.
Why don't I get it over with?
Because he didn't want to let it slip.
But I'm just asking for help.
He hadn't done something like that for years. But Genesis wasn't giving him any other option.
She might misinterpret this.
Was that what he feared? Or was it that she wouldn't misinterpret his seeking her out?
He didn't know anymore. Not knowing was new to him, too.
I can pilot an AC—why can't I deal with other people? Genesis was the only one I ever connected with. How sad. What am I, a machine?
Though he stood still, if one had seen his mind, it would have been vomiting.
I can't think like that! No matter how hard it is for me to be with people, I can never compare myself to one of those abominations!
Why were his thoughts melted together, transformed to refuse? As with most personal matters, he couldn't understand. He did understand one thing, above all:
He must kill Genesis.
He's come at exactly the wrong time. The Ravens are returning to jaded, contemptuous pleasure-seekers who hide behind the veil of honor, who know nothing of the danger courting their destinies. Do they even care why the moon disappeared?
Despite the whispers he had overheard and the discussions on the Network, Alpha doubted it.
Where had all the honor gone? Where was the bravery for which the Ravens were famous? Alpha had never really known that honor; it seemed as though the Ravens had made it up. Had Genesis taken the spirit of the Nest with him when he left humanity?
I just have to wait, he thought, until their fear breaks the dam of indifference. They will see what it is like when a traitor could be living next door, or worse.
Welcome to my world.
Alpha knew he had no choice; Sumika was the last person he trusted. He could worry about his personal problems after he got her aid.
Having broken out of his trance, Alpha stepped to the door. Before he could press the chime's button, Sumika opened the door.
“Hi!”
“Hello, Sumika.”
“What have you been doing for the last ten minutes?”
He froze.
“You saw me?”
Sumika rolled her eyes.
“I was on my way to get some coffee at the Nine-Ball cafŽ I saw you out here and didn't want to disturb your thoughts. Come in.”
If Sumika hadn't known better, she would have thought that she just caught Alpha naked. He was certainly embarrassed.
I guess I did see him in a moment of weakness ... I just wish it had not been on the hall monitor.
His soul was finished being bared; it had retreated beneath his dark green eyes.
He stepped into her living room, body stiff and cautious, seeming afraid to touch anything.
“Listen, Sumika ... I don't know how to ask you.”
Something in her fluttered. “Ask?”
“Yeah. I've always thought of you as ...” He trailed off in embarrassment.
There was no way her most secret desire could come true.
“As what?”
“As ... someone ... I can trust.”
Her hidden desire chuckled; it had eluded her with cruel grace. “What?”
“Ever since this started happening—the Genesis stuff, I mean—even before, I always thought that if I needed someone I could turn my back to and not be stabbed, it would be you.”
From the care he used to pick through his words, Sumika would have thought he was confessing more.
If only.
“Oh. I don't know what to say—thank you, I guess.”
Alpha managed a small smile.
“Don't be so excited Sumika.”
She couldn't help but mirror his expression.
“Well, with Rage as my partner—as na•ve, cocky, and unrefined as he is—I am one step closer to being strong enough.”
“For what?”
“For something I told you about last night.”
“Oh.” There was a dark moment of silence.
“The other person I need is you.”
“I still don't understand.”
“May we sit down?”
Had they been standing the whole time?
“Sure. Grab a stool at the counter.”
Both sat.
“Have you noticed the Ravens' reaction to what took place in the sky two nights ago?”
“Not really.”
“That's because there hasn't been one.”
Her eyes widened with realization. For the first time since she met him at her door, he held her eyes for more than a second.
“There is something strange going on here. I don't know what it is. But I would like to know if you want to help me through our journey.
Things could be worse.
“I'd love to.” Her voice was warm and she saw Alpha's cast-iron visage melting.
He smiled again, and it was the first time she had seen him in such a state of open, joyful relief. Sumika knew she was imagining the mutual feelings between them, but she saw no harm in pretending they were true.
“Thank you, Sumika.”
“Any time, Alpha.”
“You know, I hardly ever get to talk to you. I think that if we're going to be so... close... we should talk some more.”
Sumika wanted to strangle her imagination—it was tricking her too much.
“Alpha, I couldn't agree more.” She liked the way he intensified his smile.
“How about that coffee?”
It was a start.
How old am I now?
Where is my point of origin?
What is my goal?
I remember. I never forget. But sometimes, even I trip on my lies. Was I born, or made? Did my life start before or after I left the Ravens? Perhaps the purpose of these questions is to make sure I remember. Though there is no chance of forgetting.
He's coming along. Soon we will meet. Only one is going to part.
Other than Alpha's growth, what of the rest of the plan?
The Plus are once again in existence. If only I had been in control before. I would have already won. I would be finished with this task.
I wish I could laugh. That fool, his vision of the world-as-it-should-be, both have been twisted by me. But he suspects. I must keep him in line.
Some were made to be used.
If the Ravens, the Corporations, the people, knew that it's me or death, what would they choose?
Death, each for different reasons. Ravens because they do not wish to be slaves. Corporations because they would lose their power. The people, because they want to end their torment, and my way is the greater of two evils.
That's why it has to be like this. Only Alpha knows, has a clue to what is happening.
When he tries to stop it, one of us will walk away, and all will be right.
I will be watching until then.
Rage's alarm woke him up at noon the next day, and he remembered that the new pair of legs Alpha had given him should have replaced his old pair during the night. He wanted to test those sleek beauties somehow, be it during a mission or in the Arena.
He checked the memory chip at his door, which could record messages left by early visitors, and found one from almost seven hours before. Rage knew only one person who even woke up at that time. Alpha.
I guess he won't leave me alone.
He called up the hall camera recording, seeing Alpha's earnest face stuck in freeze-frame. He looked relaxed, for once. Rage let the message play.
“Hey, Rage,” said Alpha with nonchalance, “I added those legs to the Fallen Angel. I must admit that it looks impressive. But it needs more work.” Rage rolled his eyes. “Speaking of work, today is the day of our first mission together.”
What!
“That's all. I'll be at my hanger, number one-fourteen. And don't sleep too late.”
Shut up.
It looked as though Rage's wish had been transmogrified into a little nightmare. How wonderful.
Rage took a long shower, to spite Alpha, dressed in his favorite pilot suit, and strolled to the AC hangar Alpha had named. It wasn't locked, so he opened the pilot-technician access door and walked in.
The hangar was in pristine condition. Ravens were not often interested in religion, but the built and maintained their own places of worship. Alpha's was the epitome of a Raven garage. But his space was far more than any Rage had seen before. Its scattered extra parts, unpainted, unused, and clean, gave a vision of crispness to the hangar. The sounds of robotic arms, gears, hydraulics, blowtorches, the thrum of high-intensity lamps, and the barely perceptible vibration of the garage's immense power source provided a hymn to which Alpha could work. Rage knew that voices in this place would be a violation. He inhaled, catching hints of paint, ozone, and raw metal. Healthy or not, he loved that smell. It was the smell of progress. The smell of life.
Alpha's armored core, named for its owner, dominated the hangar. Its dark blue, black and red form knelt on the floor. Its arms supported it, and its hands were spread in contact with the polished surface on which it lay. Did Alpha know that his AC looked as though it were praying?
And Alpha himself was atop the massive shoulders of his machine. He seemed to be tinkering with the head-neck hydraulic system. Ten meters above the ground, using an old ratchet to tighten bolts, Alpha seemed to be in his second home—his first, an armored core's cockpit. He was working animatedly, and Rage saw him smiling to himself.
Rage, who knew enough not to interrupt such a sacred moment, waited for Alpha to notice him. After a few minutes, Alpha glanced at the large digital clock on the wall above his entrance, then looked down and saw Rage. Grabbing the safety harness he had laid on the Alpha's left shoulder, he strapped it on, hooked it to his rocket rack, and slid to the ground.
“Enough work for today,” he said as he walked to Rage. “I can always mess around later.”
He pointed to the spot where he had been working, “I just increased the head's planar range of motion to a full one hundred and eighty degrees.” He saw that Rage was not incredibly interested. “Yeah. Why don't I get my AC warmed up. Go on to your hangar and do the same. I'll see you at the north transport station.”
Rage nodded and jogged the relatively short distance to his armored core's location. He was excited about its new appearance. He walked to the door, eased it open, and flicked the switch that opened the dark hangar's outside doors. As the sunlight streamed into the spacious garage, Rage gasped. The Fallen Angel stood at full height, slender and deadly. Alpha had changed her paint scheme to ruby red and deep crimson. Rage never knew that a piece of metal could be beautiful.
Alpha's AC design was equal parts art and science.
Now to see how she runs.
He ascended the light metal ladder that led to the cockpit hatch. As soon as he got in, he fired up his generator, noting for a second time that its low whine was different. He had been bothered by it during the Arena match. What had changed? He would have to do a booster burn test to see if its capacitor was up to his standards. Though he knew little of how any armored core parts worked, Rage understood that the generator was a marvel of technology. Like a human, an AC ran off of the chemical energy released by reactions in its power source. While humans had limited food options, ACs could use a wider variety of matter, the stronger its chemical bonds, the better. Not as powerful as a nuclear reaction, but more efficient, versatile and safe. Besides, reactors small enough for an armored core were illegal. No Corporations wanted some stupid pilot to give others solid ground for terrorist accusations, even if the actual likelihood of a nuclear detonation was low.
Once the quick power-up sequence was over, Rage routed the preset allotments of energy to his computers, weapons, boosters, and other crucial systems. It was said that using manual adjustment for this power distribution could squeeze greater performance from a machine, but too much squeezing could damage the armored core and its pilot. Add the task of tweaking each small detail during complex actions, and the situation would certainly be fatally distracting. Most pilots and armored cores did fine with two settings: “Normal mode,” used mainly for inter-mission movement, and “Combat mode,” whose name was self-explanatory. Some specialized machines used variations on these—“Scout mode,”“Boost mode,” and others—but for years, the two defaults had served Ravens well.
Rage guided his armored core to the meeting place, feeling the power of his new configuration. He met up with Alpha and boarded the transport plane. If nothing else, Rage thought, I've got a benefactor with nice toys.
Rage was eager to learn, despite his indifferent fade. Alpha knew that he couldn't toss Rage into action; he would need to be eased into his abilities. He chose a relatively easy mission. That way, it wouldn't be too hard for Rage to follow Alpha's instructions.
Their shared transport glided steadily in the sky while Alpha gave Rage a mission synopsis over the radio.
“Murakumo has sent us on our way to a Chrome outpost. It has two primary interests. First is its large number of weaker muscle tracers, the spider-type ‘bots. Sure, I never got extra for killing a bunch of weak robots, but it's good practice. There's also a sealed warehouse. If we can get in, there may be a stash of presents waiting for us.”
“Wait. How did you hear about that?”
“You saw the map that came with our mission request? Well, Murakumo indicated that there was nothing of importance,” he called up the map on both pilots' heads-up displays, highlighting a point, “after this sector.”
“So?”
“Why would Murakumo want us to clean this place out?”
“Why not?”
“Because they want that equipment.”
“Right, Alpha.”
“Anyway. We're going to break in at the same place, same time.”
“What! I don't go on these tandem missions, but isn't it standard procedure to have one guy go through the front door while the other finds a different way in?”
“Do you really think that trick still works? We've been doing that for centuries, and humans can't be stupid enough to ignore it. And this isn't a normal mission.”
“There are enemies. There's me. Except for you, everything is normal.”
“Rage, either of us could obliterate all the forces inside that building. You are here to learn.”
“Most Ravens train in the—“
“Arena? I think you've had enough of that. And the Arena doesn't have multiple enemies, traps, mazes, and the like. In other words, it's fair. The Human Plus won't be so kind.”
“Fine.”
“And Rage? Keep an open mind while I instruct you.”
“That's what you're paying me for.”
Alpha had to smile at that.
They touched down without incident, just outside the factory's shielded doors.
“Rage, why don't you give those new legs a test run?”
“Gladly.”
Automated defense guns popped up from the roof of the raised entrance structure. They took aim at the nearest moving target, Rage. He set his AC into a graceful run, enjoying the new speed and agility provided by the legs. It was like floating on air. None of the guns was able to score a hit on him by the time he was able to bring his own weapon to bear. The cannon had a limited vertical range of motion, so he boosted above the roof and above the emplacements, raining machine gun fire upon the poor robotic howitzers. At this time he saw Alpha picking along the back of the building, sending a rocket into each of the shield's generators, cutting off its power little by little.
As Rage landed at the end of his airborne parabola, he finished off the last of the four emplacements. Alpha called to Rage over the radio, “Let's get inside before they restore power up here.”
Alpha was right about the ease of the mission. The two greased through the underground building, destroying the little spider guards as they went, and soon came to the mission's end-point, where they were supposed to branch out and clean the remaining rooms. The halls were silent.
“Murakumo won't be too happy with us for crossing this line; however, we have the perfect excuse.”
“What's that,” asked Rage with boredom.
“Why should we waste our time searching this place, when breaking this door will bring all of the guards here?”
“Alpha,” stressed Rage, “that will be a lot of MTs.”
“And...?” Rage was sure that Alpha had a smug smile on his stupid face.
“And we will be overwhelmed.”
“Nope. Now get ready to cover me when I open the door.”
Rage sighed loudly enough for Alpha to hear over the radio. “Yeah.” He was no longer too thrilled about working with this man.
Alpha sent his laserblade's jet of pale fire jumping from its wrist mount. He sliced through the large door with silken ease. And the building-wide alarm began blaring a recorded message: “Staff. Security breach. R and D sector. Please send guards for intruder removal. I repeat...”
The small spider muscle tracers hadn't shown up yet, but they were certainly coming. Alpha said, “Let's go in and see what we can find.”
Sumika sat across from Valkyrie, feeling the luxurious warmth of her apartment relaxing her after the past twenty-four hours. Valkyrie had brewed some fresh tea, made from the last genetic line of the hydroponic leaves grown underground before the Destruction. Sumika decided against having a cup; yet another layer of caffeine over her excitement might be more than she needed. Val's tea was, for the most part, untouched, having grown cooler as her questions became more frequent and more insistent.
“And after you left the apartment?”
“We went to the Nine-Ball for coffee.”
“What happened?”
Sumika looked at Val. “People usually drink coffee.”
Val, in turn, looked at the ceiling. “Sumika, I wasn't talking about the coffee. Any conversation? Lines? Physical contact?”
“Val, it's Alpha. Looking me in the eyes was a big deal. He just seemed to be content to have company.”
“And how old is he?”
“Valkyrie! Leave Alpha alone! I thought you liked him!”
“I do. He's a great guy. But being the ultimate pilot has its own little problems.”
“So what do you think, hm?” Sumika knew that her friend was being playful, but the subject of Alpha did not mix well with playfulness. “Should I even keep trying?”
“I can't answer that for you.”
“I was afraid of that. Oh well. We did have a nice little talk, but of all things it was about his plan to snag Rage as a partner.”
“That must have been interesting. He's been doing a brilliant job so far.”
“Did you know that today, they're going on a mission together? Their first. They're probably still out there.”
“How cute!” Exclaimed Val, “All too soon, it'll be double dates for us.”
“All too soon,” Sumika said, “But don't jynx it now.”
Rage followed Alpha into the treasure room. Alpha, ever calm, fizzed over the radio, “We'll have maybe fifteen minutes between now and when the damn security coordinators feel that they have enough MTs to make a head-on charge and fry us.”
“Alpha, why do you have to be so pleasant?”
The older Raven decided to ignore the question.
“We should look at some of the stuff they have here. Your AC needs some new equipment.”
Considering the size of the depot into which they had broken, fifteen minutes wouldn't get them very far.
They started to the left of the entrance, and after ten minutes of kicking and punching the piles of fiberglass crates that held unknown prizes, they had come across one noteworthy item: a strange hand-held weapon that seemed to follow the design pattern of a machine gun.
“Let's spend the rest of the time getting ready for security,” suggested Rage.
“Sure, go ahead,” transmitted Alpha, “But put that gun in a safe place until the shooting is over. Then we'll find out what we can. But listen. They're coming.”
Sure enough, Rage's audio pickups registered the tap-tap-tap of little spider feet. “What are we going to do here??
“I'll let you fight them until you need help.”
“Thanks,” grunted Rage.
He took a position against the wall to the right of the door, so the muscle tracers would be zeroing in on Alpha before they had time to realize that Rage was there as well. Alpha stayed where he was, smashing boxes.
Then Rage saw the blips coming in on his sensors. A hundred of them.
“Alpha?”
“Yes.”
“There are a lot of them coming this way.”
“Good.”
If that was all that Alpha could say, Rage thought he might as well quit worrying. Fear could be a great aid to the enemy.
By the time the first one entered, there still seemed to be no end to the little bugs on radar.
Rage easily blew it to bits with a controlled squeeze on his gun's trigger. Another one replaced it. Two more crawled over its soon-blasted husk, both discharging their light energy pulses as they moved. They missed and Rage's machine gun ripped the two apart. He started moving away from the door. The MTs began using the top of the door frame for entry as well as the floor, covering the wall. Rage guessed that he needed to use his grenades in order to eliminate the one-by-one elimination of his adversaries.
Alpha paused in his box-smashing. “Rage, try to alternate your fire. Pick individuals off with the automatic, then when enough of them have come out, wreck them with the grenade launcher. And keep moving, as much as you can.”
Oh yes, just like that, thought Rage. He was surprised to find that it was easier than it sounded. And, above all, it worked.
But, though his rate of destruction was approaching the growing number of swarming opponents, it was no match for the sum of the small mecha. It was becoming increasingly difficult to avoid damage from their pulse fire. The spiders had scored several insignificant hits already.
“Alpha?” He asked, his alarm adding a edge to his voice.
“You got it.” He dropped a piece of equipment he'd been examining and dashed toward the door. His laser rifle spat needles of light into the flood coming from the sliced doorway. Each needle pierced the body of a muscle tracer, rupturing its control center and sending it twitching to the ground. As he got closer, Alpha unleashed his highly explosive rockets, speedily wiping the MTs from the floor and wall. As he fired, he explained, “The rockets should be used close up—“ he destroyed another packed group, “—because they need to be fired with more precision, despite their volatility.” Another hollow noise as a rocket left the launch tube. “That, and I have to conserve energy for my blade.” Alpha could have stood his ground at that point, blasting the little robots at his leisure, but instead he said, “Watch how it's done.”
His favorite weapon flashed from his armored core's wrist. He spun among the mecha, slicing and thrusting with consummate ease. The poor robots couldn't track such a fast target, and their brains began overloading. Some turned on their allies. Alpha scythed through them all and continued through the door. Once there were no mecha in blade range, he switched back to the laser rifle. “I'm giving them time to become more confused; the rifle has a similar energy pattern to their own pulse weapons.” It cooked the circuits of the MTs who trailed off into the corridor.
“Rage,” Alpha continued, “As soon as I leave the main corridor, drop a grenade on their faces. They've made a mistake in clustering so tightly around me.”
“Sure.” Rage was glad he could still be useful.
Alpha took a side passage, buying his path with a few quick blade slashes, and like clockwork Rage knelt and fired the grenade. It swept the tide of spider robots into oblivion. There was still a good number of them in the adjoining hallways, but Alpha was well on his way to eradicating them.
A few minutes later, with select support fire from Rage, Alpha's blade impaled the last muscle tracer. This time, there weer scorch marks marring his armor, but it was nothing that would worry him.
“We'd better get out of here,” he said.
“What about the parts we didn't get to? Destroy ‘em?”
“I have no love for either Corporation in this conflict. But, think about how we could use the lack of time to our advantage. First, with the MTs' shots being fired in this room, we can claim that they were the ones who broke the boxes. Second, we have only taken one item: your new gun. That's too little for Murakumo to miss. Finally, by letting the search team come in here and look at these materials, we are making the Corporation do our work for us. The best parts will go on the market pretty soon.”
Rage saw the mission in an entirely new light. Instead of a quick-and-dirty loot job, he was taking part in the large-scale manipulation of Murakumo Millennium, arguably the world's most powerful Corporation. Making them do my work for me.
Alpha had power, all right. What other schemes was he up to?
All in all, their first mission took a little under four hours. Back in their transport, Alpha went over key points in the mission, explaining where things could have been executed with more skill, both on Rage's part and on his own. He ended the briefing by saying, “Good job, kid.” This time, “kid” was less of a stinging condescension. “In no time, you'll be able to follow me into a real mission.” So much for being nice.
Upon landing, Rage balanced the prize over his left shoulder, whose arm held no other weapon. He wished he could have tried the gun during the fight, but it would have taken time they didn't have to calibrate it for his own power supply. They walked to Alpha's hangar, where the two pilots left their ACs and hooked a diagnostic terminal to the diagnostic computer found inside every part, which would tell them what the weapon could do.
The machine gun turned out to be a prototype automatic weapon that used energy instead of metal slugs. Any energy weapon enhancements—those that increased power, range, speed, or efficiency, for example—applied to this weapon as well. Rage knew that he had found a replacement for his conventional hand weapon. “While you have all that energy equipment helping you, why don't you invest in a respectable laser blade?” Alpha asked.
“I'll take the model you have.”
Alpha smiled tightly. “It's one-of-a-kind, Rage. I don't want even my own computer to know how it's made. Sorry, but no duplication.”
Rage understood. If he had a weapon like that at his disposal, he would go as far as learning how to be a close combat master.
Rage came away that day feeling even more proud than the day he had been accepted to the Ravens' Nest. After all, his new brotherhood was so exclusive that it included only two people.
It was another bright day at the Nest, the sky pale blue with no clouds to be seen—as always. Something about that had always bothered Alpha. He had been told at his orphanage that the dry weather and sky were caused by the Great Destruction, long ago. But if so much moisture had been converted into energy by the nuclear blasts many years before, why were the oceans still almost as full as they had been and, for the most part, unaffected by the radiation that had driven men and women it the darkness below the ground?
So much of what scientists called “fact” was self-contradictory, and left too many questions unanswered. Most of the science these days was “applied science” it only mattered that something worked, not why it worked. What knowledge humanity had before the Great Destruction would most likely stay lost; thinking with a shudder of the Human Plus, Alpha realized that the Destruction may have been a blessing.
His apartment was comfortable, but he wanted to walk until his pensiveness melted away. A stroll through the beautiful park would do him good, he thought.
However, as he walked past a corridor in the pilots' quarters area, two Ravens, Lark and Minstrel, called to him. Lark, a thin man whose frame was bunched nervous energy, had a voice to match. “Hey, Alpha! We we heard that