Heroes and Geniuses (Armored Core based Fanfic)
Posted: 2005-07-25 11:51pm
March 11th, Post-Devastation Year 432, Earth Government Scientific Research Facility
"No Dr Langsteen, I do not think it is a good move to be setting all these credits aside. You know as well as I that the corporations will eventually notice the drain on our organization's resources and become curious. They must not know what we're doing here; it is something meant for the good of all mankind, Martian or Earthen, not for the profit of the corporations. If they find out they will attempt to forcibly take our research over", blurted a man who, had the population in question not been wiped out during the Great Devastation centuries ago, would closely resemble an American Indian his face was so reddened.
Before him, sitting behind a small but sturdy looking synthwood desk, was a much smaller and decidedly paler man, obviously not one as emotion driven as his boss, "Mr Jonan, I assure you that I have thought this move through. I know I should have informed you of my credit shifting, but I felt it would be best to keep it as secret as possible. This is my trump card because, let's be honest with ourselves, the corporations will find out about our work regardless of whether I let these credits keep flowing or not. I feel we need some resources to draw on in our own defense".
The bull of an accuser, his face lightening slightly, from a furious red to a spurned pink, almost laughed, "Oh, and you think a few medium MTs and static defenses will be enough to drive off attacks by any one corporation, let alone all four?"
Quietly, yet very smuggly, the doctor responded, "Sir, I think you have under-estimated the amount of money I have set aside. I guarentee you that any attack by standard or even elite corporation forces would be deflected".
"You better be right Langsteen, because it's all of our asses and very likely the future of mankind if the corporations get ahold of our research, especially after all the progress we've made in recent years"
"Oh, you might say I've made very sure that these credits are going to be put to good use", Langsteen replied, smiling broadly.
Just as these words started to calm the larger man, the red hue returned to his face, but this time by no fault of his own. The building's alarm system's emergency lighting had gone on, accompanied by the wailing of the alarm's auditory complement. Both men immediately turned to the room's door, Jonan being the first to jump out of his chair and rush for it, quickly followed by the leaner but obviously still fit scientist.
They burst out into the metallic corridor, now splashed with the blood-red coloring of the emergency lights, and rushed down it towards the large and important looking hatch at the end. It took them a dozen seconds to cover the entire fifty meter length of the hall and they didn't slow at all as the door opened before them and they rushed into a large room adorned with countless computer displays, holographic terrian maps, and communications consoles.
The sparse amount of people manning the consoles spoke to the underpreparedness of the complex to attack, but security was never a concern to the research organization, seeing as they freely spread the knowledge they gained from the small grants the even smaller government was able to give to them. That they had been hiding a secret research project for a decade now should have reflected on the efficiency of the ogranization's security posts, but it had been decided to not call undo attention to itself by any such change.
Small increases had, of course, been made, as the installation of holographic theater sensors evidenced. Now the men in the security control room could effectivily keep tabs on everything going on within a radius of five miles outside the building. Not that they could do anything about intruders, of course, as the entire complex had nothing more than a single missile launcher to be used in defense against organized pirating attempts and a pitiable force of security officers armed with handguns and the occasional sub-machinegun.
The entire operation's best defense was that it had very little worth stealing, as one could acquire everything the facilities personnel knew just by reading the standard science reports that were published on the 'net every month.
Nothing except what could possibly be the most secret government run project since the Great Devastation. Not that the government entirely expected the corporations not to find out eventually, and not that the government expected the corporations to respect the governments "superiority" and not attempt to steal the information for themselves, but the longer they could keep it secret, the closer they could get to completing the project before that eventuality came about.
Apparently, though, that grace period was up. The facility's sensors were picking up a force of MTs and tanks that were bearing the crest of Neo Zeta, not that anyone was fooled by it. Langsteen was willing to bet it was the work of Mirage, they seemed to appreciate such things as misguiding and subterfuge.
The defenses in place could hope to destroy four, maybe five of the MTs and up to seven of the tanks before succumbing, and all the personnel in the security room knew they couldn't count on support from the official military, as occupied as it currently was on Mars. So, Langsteen had put aside some credits as insurance, and that insurance was about to pay off.
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Geo-synchronous orbit above the facility, privately owned Cruiser Hadrian
"Cap, activity on the E band, patching the message through to your console. Appears to be text only, rather short at that", intoned a very lanky man in a uniform that would pass for a archeological find at some pre-Devastation digsite.
A much cleanly dressed but still rugged looking man in a chair at the center of the room replied to the announcement, "Acknowledged Mr Shepperd, thank you". He brought a screen hanging from the side of his chair to sit in the air in front of him and quickly read the green text appearing on it.
"Ok then, this is it", the captain said, a smile on his face, "We get payed today men, but first we have to earn it. Mr Glassly, go inform Pilots Truman, Casey, and Jones to get to the hanger and begin to prep their vehicles. I want them loaded into their pods in three minutes and launch in five. Any more and they forfeit half their cut of the profits".
Another lanky and badly dressed man closer to the bridge's door got up from his console and ran to the back of the room, pushing in a button and speaking into an intercom, "Attention all personnel, we have go for mission launch. Pilots 1, 3, and 5 are now authorized to go hot. Pods in three and drop in five. Bridge, out".
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Geo-synchronous orbit above the facility, privately owned Cruiser Hadrian
The hanger was a scene of moderately organized chaos.
The three pilots had arrived within seconds, seeing as their barracks were attached to the hanger, and had already entered the elevators up to their cockpits by the time engineering crews started unhooking their machines from various power cables and stablizer towers. One of them in particular, Pilot Truman, was nearly flying. As soon as the gate between him and his open cockpit opened, he was off the elevator platform and into the nerve center of his personal war machine.
He settled down into his command chair quickly and punched the release button that closed the cockpit and returned the armor plating it jutted out of to its proper alignment. Dialing up the computer, he ran through an all systems check, getting green across the board, then started up his generator.
The resulting sound was among the things he loved the most in the world. An almost otherworldly hum, the generator powered the entire complex machine he was now encased in. Once the generator hit full capacity, and then pulled up a diagnostic systems map. Weaponry was at optimum, booster showed a power capacity over that of its stock rating (I've got to remember to buy my engineering team a round of drinks for that one), and everything else checked out just find.
A red light that shone over his head suddenly turned green as the larger elevator platform his craft sat on lowered him swiftly, maybe too swiftly, down into the drop pod he'd been assigned. Truman checked the mission clock that he had set into his personal assistance device (PAD).
Two minutes, fourty seven seconds, the captain'll be pleased.
He smiled, then, confident his fighting machine's systems were optimal, settled back into a kind of psuedo-meditative state, preparing for battle. Truman had to be in the right state of mind to fight and win. Any man could pick up a bar stool and swing it around, but it took a determined man to swing it with finesse.
Overhead the launch control teams were finishing up final preperations and, at mission time four minutes and fifty nine seconds, the superior controller pushed the confirm key on his console. In quick succession and with little more than a clicking noise resounding through the hanger, all the drop pods detached themselves from the cruiser and began the swift decent down into Earth's atmosphere.
Truman felt the change in inertia as his pod began to fall and, satisfied he was ready, watched the countdown display on his screen, waiting for it to hit zero and for his pod to begun firing de-acceleration thrust.
Ten seconds.
Five.
Two.
None.
The sudden push was akin to hitting a duracrete floor after jumping off a tall building, but Truman was used to it and his command couch absorbed most of the force, leaving him uninjured. The thrust continued for another dozen seconds and then Trumans job really began.
He was exposed to sudden light as the drop pod burst into eight equal parts, each jetting away as soon as the locks were broken. Glancing at his sensor readout, taking in his surroundings in an instant, Truman immediately activated his boosters, slowing his already paltry decent to a near stop and settling to the ground like a feather on water.
He opened his comm channels and was immediately subjected to Casey's confident laughter, "Hey boss, tune your comm frequency down a step, the corp forces aren't even encrypting their transmissions".
Truman shook his head, a smile spreading across his lips, "Casey, you really need to find a girlfriend", tuning his frequency to the appropriate channel anyway.
"Commander, I'm reading three contacts, unknown type...wait...my tac-com is generating a match...nonono. Shit, commander, we've got three ACs behind us"
Truman almost laughed, thinking to himself: Yes, be afraid, for the Ravens have come.
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Earth Government Scientific Research Facility
Jones smiled a very grim smile. The type of expression one might expect the Grim Reaper wears every morning before he goes to work harvesting souls. In fact, one could almost think Jones saw himself as a kind of grim reaper. He had no friends outside his five fellow Armored Core pilots on the Hadrian, nor did he desire any. They all thought he must have been depressed or something, especially because of his complete lack of interest in women, but they just misunderstood him, as every one did.
It wasn't that he didn't like women, it was just that he saw no reason to care about them. Or anyone. Anyone except his friends, of course, but a warrior must always care for his fellows, especially on the battlefield.
Even a relativily slaughterous battlefield like this one.
His sensors were showing him that there were two groups approaching the facility from two slightly different directions, both groups having eight medium MTs and a dozen tanks each. Jones took a quick glance at his rifle's ammo count and gave another one of his grim smiles, I could probably take this group all by myself.
He activated his boosters and began moving towards the column closest to him, noting that his two fellows did the same. Casey had apparently already gotten a lock on a few of the MTs nearest them, as he fired off a volley of missiles from the dual launchers on his AC's back. The flight of missiles would be enough to cause even another AC pilot to fear for his health. That they were targeted at a group of MTs reminded Jones of an old phrase he had heard from before the Great Devastation.
Like pigs to the slaughter
He let out a single bark-like laugh as he got within optimum weapons range and let loose with his rifle, taking out two MTs in a single sustained burst, neatly complimenting the four tanks destroyed by Casey's missiles.
Deciding that he should make the best of the situation, Jones decided to have a bit of fun, and switched to the medium linear cannon on his back, letting his AC settle into a reinforced firing position, not really showing any fear to the return fire from the pitifully weak MTs. After his AC had settled, he began a rather systematic destruction of the remaining MTs.
One shot, one kill.
Two shots, two kills.
Three shots, three kills.
Then he stopped firing and got slightly annoyed.
Beh, Truman is showing off again.
Indeed he was. The lead pilot had made use of his AC's overboost feature to get within very close range of the MTs very quickly, then made judicious use of his AC's powerful laser sword. He made quick work of the remaining three MTs and then turned his attention to the tanks that were all that was left of the column. He immediately bisecting a tank with a quick but graceful cut and then pumped a single shoot from his powerful energy rifle into the next one in line. One more cut and another tank exploded.
While Truman danced his AC among the tanks, killing them at will, both Casey and Jones closed in, taking one of the remaining tanks each, the rest having fallen to Truman's enthusiastic swordplay.
Jones activated his third weapon, a largish but otherwise innocuous looking missile launcher. He got a locking tone almost immediately and activated his boosters, setting his AC flying. Firing his missiles, he flew over his target before the missiles even reached it, for they first flew down low to the ground before starting on a beeline to the tank.
All four of the fired missiles impacted at roughly the same time, tearing the tank apart before it could ever hope to react.
Meanwhile, Casey dispenced with the theatrical part of the fight and simply fired a single bazooka shell into the lone surviving tank, turning it into so much overheated scrap metal.
The other column of corp forces decided to beat a judicious retreat, but none of the three AC pilots was about to let them.
Truman immediately began charging up his overboost function again and activated both his main boosters and the supplemental set he had attached to the back hardpoints of his AC, blasting off in pursuit. Jones decided upon a more leisurely dispatch, merely reactivating his linear gun and firing upon the retreating enemy from a distance. Even Casey added several volleys of missiles to the whole fiasco.
Within 20 seconds, it was all over.
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March 28th, Geo-synchronous orbit above the facility, privately owned Cruiser Hadrian
Langsteen, a man not entirely familiar with space travel, stared at the various displays that showed the view outside the vessel with a mixture of awe and, mysteriously, respect. The greatest thing he felt, of course, was anticipation. He was so excited about what was going to happen -- and secretly almost as afraid -- he was able to completely ignore the transparent platitudes Jonan was raining on the Hadrian's captain.
"Captain Herses, you know as well as I that the Earth Government's gratitude to you for your assistance a few weeks ago knows no bounds. However, you also know that we are as much paying you with these modifications to your ship as you are doing us a favor. This journey will be a proof of concept, a way of saying 'thank you, but can you help me with this, too?'. You don't need to help us if you don't want to"
The captain glowered at the big man as if he were a few feet shorter and less wide. He had been spouting nonsense like this since he had arrived, no doubt not liking the idea that a non-government vessel would be the first to test their new technology, "Mr Jonan, while I appreciate your care, I am willing to take the risk. If this works, and I have had many assurances from your scientists that it will, the Hadrian will be the first Earth ship to have it and, on top of that, I will be getting it without having to pay you, as per our contract. This is worth any risk to me, the business advantage alone will pay back any damages incurred upon the ship".
Feeling spurned and a little disappointed, Jonan sat down in a chair that had been provided for him, "Well then, I guess we better get on with this. Both emitters are in place by now".
The captain allowed a slow smile to spread across his face, "Very well, onward with progress, eh doctor?"
Langsteen, not realizing he was being talked to for a second, jumped as if startled, "Oh, yes captain, of course. I'll give the engineering teams the order to turn on the engine".
Langsteen hurried off to a console that hadn't been on the bridge several weeks ago. He typed in a few commands and rattled off a few status updates, "Navigational computer reports a direct line course to Mars is set, reports no known obstructions. Power levels nominal. Science crews report all green with the Motivation Drive". The scientist stood up, a mix of glee and seriousness somehow evident on his face, "We're ready to go on your command captain".
The captain pondered for a moment what was about to happen. He came upon a memory, some twisted remanent of a story about some entertainment program from the ancient history of the pre-Devastation world. His smile grew broader, "Make it so, doctor".
The scientist, not getting the reference, nonetheless chuckled for a moment and then turned back to the console, typing in a single line and then hitting the confirm button.
"Motivation Drive activated sir, all forward cam-sensors channeled to main bridge screen, all other sensors ready to record".
Everyone on the bridge turn their heads simultaneously to watch the screen that dominated the forward part of the murky metallic brown room. At the moment it showed a star field that shone with the backlight of the Earth and the Sun itself. However, even before the eyes of all who watched, the starfield slowly began to warp, brighten, until each individual point of light grew in strength and joined those around it, until there was only one remaining black hole at the center with a single shining dot at the core. Upon closer examination, this dot obviously became Mars and, in a flash, close examination became very possible.
"Motivation Drive holding, approaching Mars at...by the duece, is this possible? Reaching High Mars Orbit in an estimated twelve seconds".
Time ticked by slowly as all eyes remained riveted on the main screen and all ears tuned directly to Langsteen's voice.
"Five...four...three...two...one...Motivation Drive shutting down"
The screen showed the intense light flickering slowly until it resolved back into the original starfield and, amazingly, the face of the terraformed planet Mars.
The captain, standing slack-jawed, could only say one thing, once again remembering something of ancient Earth culture:
"My God, it's full of stars!"
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This is a story I began writing for role-playing on a seperate site, but I also feel it deserves a more rigidly defined storyline as is characteristic a fan fiction. For anyone not familiar with the Armored Core universe, it is based from a series of video games for the Playstation 1 and 2 (Armored Core, Project Phantasma, Master of Arena, Armored Core 2, Armored Core 2: Another Age, Armored Core 3, Silent Line: Armored Core, and now Armored Core Nexus). It is centered around 40 foot tall mechs known as Armored Cores, to no one's immediate surprise.
The mechas themselves are done quite gracefully, I highly suggest looking up the series and buying into it. The story itself, while seemingly an after-thought to many, is really quite good. Following an artificially apocolyptic event known as the "Great Devestation", presumably a nuclear war, human civilization itself has essentially started over. Technology got a jump-start in that much of the Pre-Devestation prowess survived to some extent, but cultural development has regressed, as un-bridled capitalism led to the rise of mega-corporations as the dominant entity. Outright war between the corporations is not un-common, and Armored Cores actually employ themselves under various organizations that hire them out as mercenaries.
Armored Core pilots are known as Ravens. There's a rather cool little cutscene during the opening of Armored Core 3 that plays into this.
For my purposes, I will assume the events of the different games happened in this order: AC3, SL:AC, AC2, and AC2:AA. AC1, Phantasma, MOA, and Nexus don't figure in namely because I haven't beat those specific games yet.
This order makes the most sense within their individual storylines and also neatly explains things like nerfs during the movement from AC2 to AC3 (Now the Karasawa being a honking huge energy rifle in 3 but a light and graceful yet more powerful energy rifle in 2 kind of makes sense).
This is my first chapter of a story that takes its main PoV from the Hadrian, a free-lance cruiser that has a few Ravens signed to it. It explores how FTL travel would effect the established universe. I will continue to write follow-ups as I see fit. There is no completely intended story-arc yet, so expect to get to see a rather large amount of the AC-verse's Earth and Mars before the real problem crops up (I know what I want to do, but not how I want to do it).
Anyway, comments, questions, flames?
"No Dr Langsteen, I do not think it is a good move to be setting all these credits aside. You know as well as I that the corporations will eventually notice the drain on our organization's resources and become curious. They must not know what we're doing here; it is something meant for the good of all mankind, Martian or Earthen, not for the profit of the corporations. If they find out they will attempt to forcibly take our research over", blurted a man who, had the population in question not been wiped out during the Great Devastation centuries ago, would closely resemble an American Indian his face was so reddened.
Before him, sitting behind a small but sturdy looking synthwood desk, was a much smaller and decidedly paler man, obviously not one as emotion driven as his boss, "Mr Jonan, I assure you that I have thought this move through. I know I should have informed you of my credit shifting, but I felt it would be best to keep it as secret as possible. This is my trump card because, let's be honest with ourselves, the corporations will find out about our work regardless of whether I let these credits keep flowing or not. I feel we need some resources to draw on in our own defense".
The bull of an accuser, his face lightening slightly, from a furious red to a spurned pink, almost laughed, "Oh, and you think a few medium MTs and static defenses will be enough to drive off attacks by any one corporation, let alone all four?"
Quietly, yet very smuggly, the doctor responded, "Sir, I think you have under-estimated the amount of money I have set aside. I guarentee you that any attack by standard or even elite corporation forces would be deflected".
"You better be right Langsteen, because it's all of our asses and very likely the future of mankind if the corporations get ahold of our research, especially after all the progress we've made in recent years"
"Oh, you might say I've made very sure that these credits are going to be put to good use", Langsteen replied, smiling broadly.
Just as these words started to calm the larger man, the red hue returned to his face, but this time by no fault of his own. The building's alarm system's emergency lighting had gone on, accompanied by the wailing of the alarm's auditory complement. Both men immediately turned to the room's door, Jonan being the first to jump out of his chair and rush for it, quickly followed by the leaner but obviously still fit scientist.
They burst out into the metallic corridor, now splashed with the blood-red coloring of the emergency lights, and rushed down it towards the large and important looking hatch at the end. It took them a dozen seconds to cover the entire fifty meter length of the hall and they didn't slow at all as the door opened before them and they rushed into a large room adorned with countless computer displays, holographic terrian maps, and communications consoles.
The sparse amount of people manning the consoles spoke to the underpreparedness of the complex to attack, but security was never a concern to the research organization, seeing as they freely spread the knowledge they gained from the small grants the even smaller government was able to give to them. That they had been hiding a secret research project for a decade now should have reflected on the efficiency of the ogranization's security posts, but it had been decided to not call undo attention to itself by any such change.
Small increases had, of course, been made, as the installation of holographic theater sensors evidenced. Now the men in the security control room could effectivily keep tabs on everything going on within a radius of five miles outside the building. Not that they could do anything about intruders, of course, as the entire complex had nothing more than a single missile launcher to be used in defense against organized pirating attempts and a pitiable force of security officers armed with handguns and the occasional sub-machinegun.
The entire operation's best defense was that it had very little worth stealing, as one could acquire everything the facilities personnel knew just by reading the standard science reports that were published on the 'net every month.
Nothing except what could possibly be the most secret government run project since the Great Devastation. Not that the government entirely expected the corporations not to find out eventually, and not that the government expected the corporations to respect the governments "superiority" and not attempt to steal the information for themselves, but the longer they could keep it secret, the closer they could get to completing the project before that eventuality came about.
Apparently, though, that grace period was up. The facility's sensors were picking up a force of MTs and tanks that were bearing the crest of Neo Zeta, not that anyone was fooled by it. Langsteen was willing to bet it was the work of Mirage, they seemed to appreciate such things as misguiding and subterfuge.
The defenses in place could hope to destroy four, maybe five of the MTs and up to seven of the tanks before succumbing, and all the personnel in the security room knew they couldn't count on support from the official military, as occupied as it currently was on Mars. So, Langsteen had put aside some credits as insurance, and that insurance was about to pay off.
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Geo-synchronous orbit above the facility, privately owned Cruiser Hadrian
"Cap, activity on the E band, patching the message through to your console. Appears to be text only, rather short at that", intoned a very lanky man in a uniform that would pass for a archeological find at some pre-Devastation digsite.
A much cleanly dressed but still rugged looking man in a chair at the center of the room replied to the announcement, "Acknowledged Mr Shepperd, thank you". He brought a screen hanging from the side of his chair to sit in the air in front of him and quickly read the green text appearing on it.
"Ok then, this is it", the captain said, a smile on his face, "We get payed today men, but first we have to earn it. Mr Glassly, go inform Pilots Truman, Casey, and Jones to get to the hanger and begin to prep their vehicles. I want them loaded into their pods in three minutes and launch in five. Any more and they forfeit half their cut of the profits".
Another lanky and badly dressed man closer to the bridge's door got up from his console and ran to the back of the room, pushing in a button and speaking into an intercom, "Attention all personnel, we have go for mission launch. Pilots 1, 3, and 5 are now authorized to go hot. Pods in three and drop in five. Bridge, out".
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Geo-synchronous orbit above the facility, privately owned Cruiser Hadrian
The hanger was a scene of moderately organized chaos.
The three pilots had arrived within seconds, seeing as their barracks were attached to the hanger, and had already entered the elevators up to their cockpits by the time engineering crews started unhooking their machines from various power cables and stablizer towers. One of them in particular, Pilot Truman, was nearly flying. As soon as the gate between him and his open cockpit opened, he was off the elevator platform and into the nerve center of his personal war machine.
He settled down into his command chair quickly and punched the release button that closed the cockpit and returned the armor plating it jutted out of to its proper alignment. Dialing up the computer, he ran through an all systems check, getting green across the board, then started up his generator.
The resulting sound was among the things he loved the most in the world. An almost otherworldly hum, the generator powered the entire complex machine he was now encased in. Once the generator hit full capacity, and then pulled up a diagnostic systems map. Weaponry was at optimum, booster showed a power capacity over that of its stock rating (I've got to remember to buy my engineering team a round of drinks for that one), and everything else checked out just find.
A red light that shone over his head suddenly turned green as the larger elevator platform his craft sat on lowered him swiftly, maybe too swiftly, down into the drop pod he'd been assigned. Truman checked the mission clock that he had set into his personal assistance device (PAD).
Two minutes, fourty seven seconds, the captain'll be pleased.
He smiled, then, confident his fighting machine's systems were optimal, settled back into a kind of psuedo-meditative state, preparing for battle. Truman had to be in the right state of mind to fight and win. Any man could pick up a bar stool and swing it around, but it took a determined man to swing it with finesse.
Overhead the launch control teams were finishing up final preperations and, at mission time four minutes and fifty nine seconds, the superior controller pushed the confirm key on his console. In quick succession and with little more than a clicking noise resounding through the hanger, all the drop pods detached themselves from the cruiser and began the swift decent down into Earth's atmosphere.
Truman felt the change in inertia as his pod began to fall and, satisfied he was ready, watched the countdown display on his screen, waiting for it to hit zero and for his pod to begun firing de-acceleration thrust.
Ten seconds.
Five.
Two.
None.
The sudden push was akin to hitting a duracrete floor after jumping off a tall building, but Truman was used to it and his command couch absorbed most of the force, leaving him uninjured. The thrust continued for another dozen seconds and then Trumans job really began.
He was exposed to sudden light as the drop pod burst into eight equal parts, each jetting away as soon as the locks were broken. Glancing at his sensor readout, taking in his surroundings in an instant, Truman immediately activated his boosters, slowing his already paltry decent to a near stop and settling to the ground like a feather on water.
He opened his comm channels and was immediately subjected to Casey's confident laughter, "Hey boss, tune your comm frequency down a step, the corp forces aren't even encrypting their transmissions".
Truman shook his head, a smile spreading across his lips, "Casey, you really need to find a girlfriend", tuning his frequency to the appropriate channel anyway.
"Commander, I'm reading three contacts, unknown type...wait...my tac-com is generating a match...nonono. Shit, commander, we've got three ACs behind us"
Truman almost laughed, thinking to himself: Yes, be afraid, for the Ravens have come.
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Earth Government Scientific Research Facility
Jones smiled a very grim smile. The type of expression one might expect the Grim Reaper wears every morning before he goes to work harvesting souls. In fact, one could almost think Jones saw himself as a kind of grim reaper. He had no friends outside his five fellow Armored Core pilots on the Hadrian, nor did he desire any. They all thought he must have been depressed or something, especially because of his complete lack of interest in women, but they just misunderstood him, as every one did.
It wasn't that he didn't like women, it was just that he saw no reason to care about them. Or anyone. Anyone except his friends, of course, but a warrior must always care for his fellows, especially on the battlefield.
Even a relativily slaughterous battlefield like this one.
His sensors were showing him that there were two groups approaching the facility from two slightly different directions, both groups having eight medium MTs and a dozen tanks each. Jones took a quick glance at his rifle's ammo count and gave another one of his grim smiles, I could probably take this group all by myself.
He activated his boosters and began moving towards the column closest to him, noting that his two fellows did the same. Casey had apparently already gotten a lock on a few of the MTs nearest them, as he fired off a volley of missiles from the dual launchers on his AC's back. The flight of missiles would be enough to cause even another AC pilot to fear for his health. That they were targeted at a group of MTs reminded Jones of an old phrase he had heard from before the Great Devastation.
Like pigs to the slaughter
He let out a single bark-like laugh as he got within optimum weapons range and let loose with his rifle, taking out two MTs in a single sustained burst, neatly complimenting the four tanks destroyed by Casey's missiles.
Deciding that he should make the best of the situation, Jones decided to have a bit of fun, and switched to the medium linear cannon on his back, letting his AC settle into a reinforced firing position, not really showing any fear to the return fire from the pitifully weak MTs. After his AC had settled, he began a rather systematic destruction of the remaining MTs.
One shot, one kill.
Two shots, two kills.
Three shots, three kills.
Then he stopped firing and got slightly annoyed.
Beh, Truman is showing off again.
Indeed he was. The lead pilot had made use of his AC's overboost feature to get within very close range of the MTs very quickly, then made judicious use of his AC's powerful laser sword. He made quick work of the remaining three MTs and then turned his attention to the tanks that were all that was left of the column. He immediately bisecting a tank with a quick but graceful cut and then pumped a single shoot from his powerful energy rifle into the next one in line. One more cut and another tank exploded.
While Truman danced his AC among the tanks, killing them at will, both Casey and Jones closed in, taking one of the remaining tanks each, the rest having fallen to Truman's enthusiastic swordplay.
Jones activated his third weapon, a largish but otherwise innocuous looking missile launcher. He got a locking tone almost immediately and activated his boosters, setting his AC flying. Firing his missiles, he flew over his target before the missiles even reached it, for they first flew down low to the ground before starting on a beeline to the tank.
All four of the fired missiles impacted at roughly the same time, tearing the tank apart before it could ever hope to react.
Meanwhile, Casey dispenced with the theatrical part of the fight and simply fired a single bazooka shell into the lone surviving tank, turning it into so much overheated scrap metal.
The other column of corp forces decided to beat a judicious retreat, but none of the three AC pilots was about to let them.
Truman immediately began charging up his overboost function again and activated both his main boosters and the supplemental set he had attached to the back hardpoints of his AC, blasting off in pursuit. Jones decided upon a more leisurely dispatch, merely reactivating his linear gun and firing upon the retreating enemy from a distance. Even Casey added several volleys of missiles to the whole fiasco.
Within 20 seconds, it was all over.
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March 28th, Geo-synchronous orbit above the facility, privately owned Cruiser Hadrian
Langsteen, a man not entirely familiar with space travel, stared at the various displays that showed the view outside the vessel with a mixture of awe and, mysteriously, respect. The greatest thing he felt, of course, was anticipation. He was so excited about what was going to happen -- and secretly almost as afraid -- he was able to completely ignore the transparent platitudes Jonan was raining on the Hadrian's captain.
"Captain Herses, you know as well as I that the Earth Government's gratitude to you for your assistance a few weeks ago knows no bounds. However, you also know that we are as much paying you with these modifications to your ship as you are doing us a favor. This journey will be a proof of concept, a way of saying 'thank you, but can you help me with this, too?'. You don't need to help us if you don't want to"
The captain glowered at the big man as if he were a few feet shorter and less wide. He had been spouting nonsense like this since he had arrived, no doubt not liking the idea that a non-government vessel would be the first to test their new technology, "Mr Jonan, while I appreciate your care, I am willing to take the risk. If this works, and I have had many assurances from your scientists that it will, the Hadrian will be the first Earth ship to have it and, on top of that, I will be getting it without having to pay you, as per our contract. This is worth any risk to me, the business advantage alone will pay back any damages incurred upon the ship".
Feeling spurned and a little disappointed, Jonan sat down in a chair that had been provided for him, "Well then, I guess we better get on with this. Both emitters are in place by now".
The captain allowed a slow smile to spread across his face, "Very well, onward with progress, eh doctor?"
Langsteen, not realizing he was being talked to for a second, jumped as if startled, "Oh, yes captain, of course. I'll give the engineering teams the order to turn on the engine".
Langsteen hurried off to a console that hadn't been on the bridge several weeks ago. He typed in a few commands and rattled off a few status updates, "Navigational computer reports a direct line course to Mars is set, reports no known obstructions. Power levels nominal. Science crews report all green with the Motivation Drive". The scientist stood up, a mix of glee and seriousness somehow evident on his face, "We're ready to go on your command captain".
The captain pondered for a moment what was about to happen. He came upon a memory, some twisted remanent of a story about some entertainment program from the ancient history of the pre-Devastation world. His smile grew broader, "Make it so, doctor".
The scientist, not getting the reference, nonetheless chuckled for a moment and then turned back to the console, typing in a single line and then hitting the confirm button.
"Motivation Drive activated sir, all forward cam-sensors channeled to main bridge screen, all other sensors ready to record".
Everyone on the bridge turn their heads simultaneously to watch the screen that dominated the forward part of the murky metallic brown room. At the moment it showed a star field that shone with the backlight of the Earth and the Sun itself. However, even before the eyes of all who watched, the starfield slowly began to warp, brighten, until each individual point of light grew in strength and joined those around it, until there was only one remaining black hole at the center with a single shining dot at the core. Upon closer examination, this dot obviously became Mars and, in a flash, close examination became very possible.
"Motivation Drive holding, approaching Mars at...by the duece, is this possible? Reaching High Mars Orbit in an estimated twelve seconds".
Time ticked by slowly as all eyes remained riveted on the main screen and all ears tuned directly to Langsteen's voice.
"Five...four...three...two...one...Motivation Drive shutting down"
The screen showed the intense light flickering slowly until it resolved back into the original starfield and, amazingly, the face of the terraformed planet Mars.
The captain, standing slack-jawed, could only say one thing, once again remembering something of ancient Earth culture:
"My God, it's full of stars!"
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This is a story I began writing for role-playing on a seperate site, but I also feel it deserves a more rigidly defined storyline as is characteristic a fan fiction. For anyone not familiar with the Armored Core universe, it is based from a series of video games for the Playstation 1 and 2 (Armored Core, Project Phantasma, Master of Arena, Armored Core 2, Armored Core 2: Another Age, Armored Core 3, Silent Line: Armored Core, and now Armored Core Nexus). It is centered around 40 foot tall mechs known as Armored Cores, to no one's immediate surprise.
The mechas themselves are done quite gracefully, I highly suggest looking up the series and buying into it. The story itself, while seemingly an after-thought to many, is really quite good. Following an artificially apocolyptic event known as the "Great Devestation", presumably a nuclear war, human civilization itself has essentially started over. Technology got a jump-start in that much of the Pre-Devestation prowess survived to some extent, but cultural development has regressed, as un-bridled capitalism led to the rise of mega-corporations as the dominant entity. Outright war between the corporations is not un-common, and Armored Cores actually employ themselves under various organizations that hire them out as mercenaries.
Armored Core pilots are known as Ravens. There's a rather cool little cutscene during the opening of Armored Core 3 that plays into this.
For my purposes, I will assume the events of the different games happened in this order: AC3, SL:AC, AC2, and AC2:AA. AC1, Phantasma, MOA, and Nexus don't figure in namely because I haven't beat those specific games yet.
This order makes the most sense within their individual storylines and also neatly explains things like nerfs during the movement from AC2 to AC3 (Now the Karasawa being a honking huge energy rifle in 3 but a light and graceful yet more powerful energy rifle in 2 kind of makes sense).
This is my first chapter of a story that takes its main PoV from the Hadrian, a free-lance cruiser that has a few Ravens signed to it. It explores how FTL travel would effect the established universe. I will continue to write follow-ups as I see fit. There is no completely intended story-arc yet, so expect to get to see a rather large amount of the AC-verse's Earth and Mars before the real problem crops up (I know what I want to do, but not how I want to do it).
Anyway, comments, questions, flames?