Chapter 17

“Looks like we get to have that match; don’t lose before we get to you.”

When Jeff received that message, he was busy at work in the workshop of the hospital. Since Lauren didn’t have a personal mechanist, he volunteered to go in and match the settings of her new prosthetic with the settings on her rig. Once she got used to having the new limb, he would also teach her about the regular maintenance that would be required. It would be for the best if she hired a mechanist that had experience with prosthetics to make sure it stayed synced with her rig, but that was her own decision to make.

In another place, he probably would have enjoyed that text, but it felt a little inappropriate in a hospital. That was especially the case since Lauren wasn’t the only one injured in that match. In the bed across from Lauren was Sachiko, a living example of paying for a bad decision. Despite being her partner, Sam wasn’t there with her as the rig was once again damaged with a short window to fix it. That was also why she was able to remain so happy over her victory, unaware that Sachiko’s condition was just as bad as Lauren’s. The result was the same as the fight with Lucy; victory by holding herself together for slightly longer.

Sachiko’s arm was filled with formless rig particles from both her own failing rig’s wings and armour. But that wasn’t the worst part; that went to the missile launcher filled with an array of different chemicals that got mixed together when cut. Her arm was contaminated with so many stray elements that it was simply beyond saving, and to prevent damage to the rest of her body it would be amputated. When the procedure was done, someone would call Sam and she would have to learn prosthetic maintenance also. While Jeff admitted that Sachiko’s finisher was an effective turn-around, he still disagreed with it.

Prosthetic limbs and organs were actually very commonplace, especially after antibiotics became ineffective, and the exposure to them often led pilots and mechanist to shrug off needing them. Even if the rig particles they contained meant that there was no danger of infection, and the sensation transmission meant that anyone with a DC above 5% would feel everything, like it was a natural body part, Jeff still felt like there was something just wrong about being casual about losing parts of their bodies. The only people who would really be affected by having a prosthetic limb would be a rig pilot; if the particles in the limbs weren’t calibrated to either completely match or cancel, they could cause interference with the structure and commands of a rig.

But more than anything, the part Jeff disliked was the risk taking they promoted. Pilots tended to avoid taking shots against the head and heart, if for no other reason than to avoid the penalties for deliberate killing, but they didn’t have the same hesitation when it came to maiming. Since a replacement could just be stuck on and they could potentially be back at work before their rig was even fixed, there didn’t feel like there was a consequence to taking aggressive actions. Since there was no way the medical team could possibly save every pilot that gets seriously injured, the number of accidental deaths that attitude caused was too high for comfort.

Despite Jeff’s dislike for the cavalier way pilots treated their bodies, he recognised that he was hardly a in a position to pass judgement. The only exercise he ever did was shifting boxes of heavy parts and running between workplaces. The paleness of his skin also proudly displayed how his lifestyle affected his wellbeing. More than anything though, he wasn’t about to let his personal feelings affect his work, and made sure that the limb was calibrated perfectly.

A staff member of the hospital provided him with the exact size, weight and receiver frequencies that the leg needed, and they left it up to Jeff to ensure that it met those requirements while still being compatible with the rig. Sometimes, though, there was simply no way to balance the frequencies; the rig and limb controls collide in ways that can’t be solved. An example of that would be the piloting teacher Deborah Burgess, who was forced to retire after her leg was injured. Even though she requested a leg amputation, the calculations they did before the procedure showed that any limb she could use would be incompatible with a rig. That was why she ended up keeping her infected leg; a coreless rig was better than no rig.

The number of command frequencies that a person could use was not entirely understood, though it was somehow linked to DC. For roughly every 5% extra DC a person had, they had an additional frequency and the more frequencies a person has the better the chance that two would be compatible. For pilots, who already required high DC, the chance of being able to use prosthetics and rigs was very likely.

Without a kind of casing, a normal prosthetic limb looked like a thinner version of a skeleton’s limb, but with smooth spheres were each joint would be. At the section that connected to the body was a part that looked like an asterisk made of segmented blades. They would insert themselves into the body and dig into bone. Once connected the blades would dissolve into formless rig particles and blend the prosthetic limb and flesh to form a permanent connection. Once the connection was made, a covering could be placed over the limb to make it seem more natural.

While working at the school, Jeff had a few opportunities to work on limbs, both fitting and maintaining, and breezed through the setting up without any issues. Since Lauren had a DC of 56%, there were many frequencies to choose from.

Later that day, Lauren woke up with her new leg attached. After a few moments of shock, she worked out what had happened and quietly started to work through the rehab. In contrast to the bold confidence she showed before her fight, she, in that moment, seemed somehow broken. A week earlier, Jeff had seen her at a meeting where the school representatives met up with the junior division teams to get tips from their seniors. At that time, he spoke with her briefly, as she seemed to somehow know that he had worked at Lucy’s school. As they spoke, she mentioned how much she liked and respected her sister, and how she always felt bad that their family favoured her over Lucy.

That was why Lauren always made her rig match her sister’s, so that any achievement she made would be somehow reflected onto Lucy. Jeff really didn’t have the heart to tell her that all that achieved was further overshadowing Lucy by showing that the differences in their performances were only due to talent and skill.

The little bubble of vibrant joy from that event, who could speak endlessly about her sister; there wasn’t a trace of that in the girl that sat on that glum hospital bed. She simply stared at the black case-less leg, as occasionally the bone-like toes would spasm. Her skin had been a healthy kind of pale before, but it had turned a sickly shade that was more to do with the shock than the blood loss. While she had a transfusion, they hadn’t completely replaced the amount lost, since being short on blood helped the body to adjust to the new limb and formless particles.

Seeing tears fall onto the leg, hearing “We don’t match.” being repeated in a hushed, barely audible, tone, Jeff reached his limit. Stopping his work monitoring the leg through a computer, he fished through his bag and pulled out a small green cylinder about the size of a spool of thread. Walking up beside her, slowly so that she didn’t get surprised, he placed the tube against her mechanical limb. A moment later, the outermost layer of that leg split into a liquid-like state and absorbed the tube halfway inside of itself.

“There, now your recovery should take twice as long.” He said with a reassuring tone, that didn’t match at all with the words he said.

“Eh?” Naturally, those made Lauren react in confusion. “Why would you do that? What did you even do?”

Still with an attempt at reassurance, Jeff explained, “That tube contains extra formless particles, ones that are a 50% hybrid of your and your rig’s. The extra particles will make control harder, and only controlling your arm and not the rig will take longer still. On the other hand, if you can control it, you’ll be a more precise pilot than anyone else your age and will also give you a reserve of particles to make patchwork repairs with as you fight. So, what do you want, remove it and give up on piloting or get used to it and win next time.”

After a few moments, the confusion faded and a determined look spread across her face.

“How many of those do you have?”

………………………

The first round of the Junior League started and tension was building in the workshop. On the first day of matches both Bradley Wright and Savannah had to fight against school league opponents. Embarrassing the team and country, Brad managed to lose his match with Satou, winning the first round on points and then losing the following two, playing straight into their opponent's advantage.

Following his lead and losing would be unbearable, and both Jeff and Sav were on edge with their preparations. They knew the theory behind how their opponent worked, they had countermeasures planned, they rehearsed what they were going to do and they had more experience than their opponent did. There really wasn’t any reason to lose, but neither of them could shake a nameless worry. They knew that the second Black Spider was a tricky person, and one that was more than willing to use expensive disposable items to win.

Sav’s rig had been fitted with thicker armour, towing the line of performance with a thickness that was calculated to be just higher than the spider’s knife’s highest output. With the calculations made in advance, they only had to use a specific amount of weight. That left a greater amount that could be used in other systems, like movement or attack. Erring on the side of caution, the extra mass was left in an unfixed state where it could quickly replace damaged systems. It could be called either a handicap or an insurance plan; if their plan worked well it wouldn’t be needed, but if something went wrong then it would be easier to patch things up in the 5 minutes between rounds.

The Rig had taken on more of a blue tint during the refitting, so Jeff decided to hide that by colouring the whole rig with an urban camouflage pattern. It was a little bit childish, but Jeff also used a few different material types thinly throughout the rig just so he could put them on the parts list. Anyone paying careful attention would be able to notice which ones were actually used, but it was his petty revenge for having to look through the spider’s manifest in such detail. Since they didn’t seem to have a personal mechanist of their own, and relied on borrowing one from the junior team, Black Spider would likely have had to look through the sheets himself, without the benefit of a mechanist’s experience.

At one point during the designing phase, Jeff got tired and needed to take a break. It was then that he had a thought that he hadn’t noticed before. He was a personal mechanist. He was Sav’s personal mechanist, but he was forgetting to do one of the most important jobs; marketing. Crowd support was an important edge, since it had long been shown that athletes perform better while being encouraged by the crowd. It was a purely psychological advantage, but every advantage counted.

For a normal person, just there to enjoy the sport and not caring about the politics, rig combat was about the spectacle. There were bright colours, loud impacts, explosions and blood; everything a good game needed. In that sense, Stealth types were boring to watch, simply because there wasn’t anything to watch. Sure, there was tension that created excitement when something actually happened, but that kind of match was nowhere near as popular as two attack types pelting missiles, or two speed types dancing through the sky.

With that in mind, Jeff customised the rig’s appearance, maximising the advantage and drawing in the crowd’s imagination. Reshaping any part that wouldn’t lower performance, he took the rig, which formerly looked entirely practical, and gave it a form that people would cheer for. In the end, it took the best parts of modern military armour and the best parts of a suit of plate mail, and blended them seamlessly into the design. Complete with a solid round hybrid rifle, designed to look and function like a human scale assault weapon, it was a look that seemed to be filled with the patriotism that only a military force could inspire. The wings were also reshaped. Instead of the high performance design most rigs used, they were shaped to look more like great metal bird wings, which gave off a faint white light.

It might have been slightly over the top, but the angelic knight look was definitely one that would ensnare imaginations.

The choice of weapon was a hard one to balance. Precision weapons weren’t a favourable choice when dealing with a stealth type, but it was also Jeff and Sav’s first major fight together, and their collective pride told them that they needed to show how they planned to fight. No gimmicks, no type cycles, just pure efficient strategy and preparation. With that in mind, they equipped a gun that was basically just an old assault rifle, made larger and had electro-propulsion rails along the barrel. The hybrid weapon burnt gunpowder to get the motion started then finished the acceleration with magnetism. It was more cost effective, energy wise, but still required solid bullets be brought in. Since they would only enter the field with one spare magazine filled with thirty-two bullets, after that, they would need to rely on the bayonet attached to the weapon.

As the rig flew out into the field, Jeff made a final system check, both of his monitoring computer and of the rig’s transited systems. Taking a deep breath, he messaged Sam.

“Wish me luck.”