[4] Beach Head – Hive Regime: Ryu Koyashi

“And the winner is…”, voiced the speaker in a gigantic arena, big enough to fit six blocks of any urban 21st century metropolis, all with skyscrapers, subways, and sewers. This mini-metropolis was ritually rebuilt every week in mere ten hours, thanks to the millions of nanos dedicated to restoring the city to its initial state as if hell hadn’t run through its before, unless the league officials decided to make a structural change on the battlefield.

“RYUUUUU KOYAAAASHIIIII…!!!” screamed the commentator through dozens of virtual monitors. He was dressed up in a suit and wore white gloves, with which he pointed at the small, nearly destroyed, winning Meka. It was missing an arm, and smoke blew out of it, as it stood atop the inert rubble of a torso of its opponent. The losing Meka lay semi-buried on the pavement, dripping with foam from the anti-impact system that activated in the course of the 15-story fall that followed Ryu Koyashi’s “miraculous” dodging its charge.

Ryu didn’t hear the commentator. His ears were ringing with a deafening sound, while every alarm on his Meka went off simultaneously. His only reaction was to press the eject button, which launched him towards the partially destroyed concrete of the mini-metropolis. There, even smaller, he saw how thousands, millions of people around him stood applauding his victory amidst a cloud of pods that recorded every second of the final battle of this season’s Robot Wars Tournament.

Ryu got himself together as he heard the sirens closing in. He stood up and walked towards the mutilated and torn torso of his rival’s Meka. Stumbling, Ryu looked desperately for his enemy, whom he heard screaming during the endless seconds of his fall. He could hear him even from his hermetically sealed and noise-protected control capsule. Hear him even after turning off all radio frequencies. Hear him even with his eyes shut and his hands tightly clenched against his ears.

Ryu walked around the torso of his opponent’s Meka. The sirens wailed in the distance.

Suddenly, the pavement under his feet caved, and Ryu fell along with the rubble around him to the underground levels of the arena, which are full with train lines; huge, mine-infested water wells; and mechanical animals, part of the various settings for the Tournament. Ryu fell for seconds, minutes, or hours, he never knew. When he came to, he was facing the control capsule of his opponent’s Meka, and it was open like a hatched egg, and sunk in a deep darkness that seemed to oppose any invasion of light.

Sirens kept wailing.

Ryu got back on his feet. This time he was standing in the shadow of light that filtered through the newly opened crater. Though he had heard the sirens in the distance, he felt their sound increase as he approached the capsule. “Are they getting closer?” he wondered, but he did nothing about it, and kept walking towards the capsule.

The sirens closed in. For a second, Ryu thought that he was hearing his opponent’s screams again, growing closer, louder. Again, the screams that he didn’t want to hear.

At the edge of the capsule the sound was unbearable. Ryu was leaning against the shell with one hand, while using the other to cup one of his ears, which bled profusely. With a great effort, he climbed over the capsule. Bleeding, and mad-driven by the overwhelming noise of the screaming, Ryu finally saw into the capsule…

He woke up screaming in his tent. Sweating, he jumped up from his gurney and went to get some water. Without noticing, agitated and shaky, he went out to the semi-toxic, arid field of the Earth. He was setting foot on Earth for the first time in his life. Earth was showing him, for the first time, an unreachable horizon.

Watching the sun timidly beginning to rise on the arid plain frame the silhouette of the ruins of a human, 21st century metropolis, Ryu slowly began to calm down. He stopped sweating; stopped shaking. Only then did he hear, or rather felt, her voice for the first time:

“Hello, Ryu. Welcome home.”

[3] Beach Head - Technocratic Confederation: Sif

The sound of a slamming door was heard at the end of a long corridor that was brightly lit by the sun, which at that time of day, and due to the current position of the space colony with regards to Europe’s orbit, poured in through the arched windows. It was as if the Sun god of some Earthly ancient myth had placed its fierce gaze upon the mortals who live to ignore it but yet at the same time –subconsciously- wish to become it, through Reason.

This corridor of white marble and antique arches ended in a double Onyx door that swung swiftly thanks to the low gravity of the spatial colony. The Technocratic researcher known as Sif had not come out of these doors in a good way after her last meeting with the Review Council.

“It doesn’t comply with the minimum requirements”, was all that Wotan said, looking at her through his single eye. Her project to analyze the recent atmospheric changes on Earth had been rejected by the Council’s board of Regents. Sif remembered Loki’s evidently derisive face when Cronos gave his verdict.

Sif was upset. Her five-year data collection work on Earth indicated that something unnatural seemed to be regenerating the Earth. Something quite unprecedented, given the state the planet was left in just before the Exodus.

“I am right, and I’m going to prove it!”, she yelled to her insides, while she accessed her portable wrist hologram projector with her Pillum, one of the Mekas assigned by the Academic Council to each researcher ranking Associate or higher. Middle to high ranking researchers are not only obliged to bring new knowledge to the Confederation, but they must also prove themselves on the battlefield, defending their resources. With a couple of motions, Sif ordered her Pillum to be supplied with enough energy and provisions for her expedition while coming down a magnificent elevator which, thanks to gravitational modules, descends softly through the crystal tube that runs trough the exterior of the Main Lab: an enormous white building that keeps Reason isolated from the autochthonous nature of the Europe orbit, which can in turn be seen spectacularly through the glass.

Wrapped in her own thoughts, Sif ignores the strange and marvelous quirks of the Terraformed nature around her, made unique by the fact that they ever so slightly depart from the initial Earthlike project of the geneticists who designed it. Her mind is focused on planning how to get out of Valhalla, and then survive the “extended expedition” that she has impetuously decided to undertake to Midgard, the Earth.

“You can’t go alone”, interrupted a message from Loki on her virtual communicator. “It’s not just suicide. It would kill your line of research for decades”. Her mockery was perceptible even in the letters of the message. “I don’t care”, she replied, irritated at Loki’s intromission. “It’s none of your business”, she said, as she boarded her gravitational floating device that would take her through the vast green pastures of Valhalla, to the industrial and metallic hangars of the space port.

“Let’s say I get them to consider an on-site equipment reparation and recalibration”, said the message that –through some computer trick- managed to reactivate Sif’s communicator. “Leave me alone”, she answered, disconnecting the communicator, removing its battery, and throwing it to the side of the road that took her from the green woods and labyrinth-gardens to the metallic panels of the deposits and workshops of the spatial port.

Sif achieved peace and quiet for the few minutes that it took her floating device to bring her up to her Pillum's hangar. In front of it, however, she encountered a figure whose sight would have brought her joy in different times.

“Explain to me again the reason for this madness”, he said, trying not to judge Sif’s emotional outburst. “Something abnormal is happening on Midgard. Something they’re apparently trying to cover up”, she replied while pushing the massive warrior away from the hangar door. Once inside, he followed her contemplatively.

"Crow has been reporting that the Sphere and the Regime are establishing bases in the area where you’ve been analyzing the atmospheric change data. I’m also interested in knowing what’s going on down there”, he said gravely, while Sif programmed the codes that would allow her to launch her Pillum from the space port.

Sif turned, surprised, and answered with a smile, “I’m not looking for any assistants, but a friend is always welcome”.

Then, the main screen of the control panel lit both Technocrats, and a message on the sound system brought up Loki’s voice: “What a moving demonstration of friendship, Balder. But neither of your Mekas will make it through Jörmungandr without me”. Sif and Balder exchanged looks. They knew that getting through the Valhalla defense system would be tough, but with Loki actively against them, it would be impossible, since Jörmungandr’s control was at his whim –one of the many advantages of having been the project's Chief Researcher.

“What do you want?” said Balder, while giving orders on his communicator to get his Meka, Aegis, supply-ready.

“Just to come along”, Loki replied, as Sif made a disgusted face at the idea. “We all know that Crow is showing activity that indicates something is cooking on Midgard. I want a piece of that pie, and who best to share it with than old friends!”

“All right”, Balder decided, even to Sif’s astonished look. It annoyed her that Balder had spoken on her behalf and made such a decision without asking her. Balder gestured for her to be calm as he went on: “but we want our own Jörmungandr codes for the return trip, and access to all the equipment we may need”. Balder knew that an excursion of this kind would need high level support, moreover with the other two important factions of inner space already settled in the area. Such level of support only Loki could get without having to go through the bureaucratic Review Council.

“Done”, said Loki, while the Pillum's and Aegis’ systems where loaded with the Jörmungandr information that would allow them to go through the defense system without being detected. Balder looked at Sif one more time and explained his reasoning. Sif understood that they had no choice and, once Balder went to his Meka’s hangar, she wrote one last note to be sent after they crossed Jörmungandr:

“Love, I’m going to Earth to find the truth that the Council refuses to reveal. Don’t worry about me, I’m ready for everything.

Yours always,

Sif.

[2] Beach Head - Energy Sphere: Isabel "Cat" Reyes

The scorching hot sun made the three massive space transports seem like mirages as the hot air rose from the expanded soil, distorting view. The transports opened their frontal gates, leaving their noses up in the air while three heavy-load trucks emerged from the opening, hauling one Bear-class and two Tiger-class Mekas, connected to all kinds of power supply cords, ammo feeders, and data cables, fueling up and getting ready for battle.

The generator that fed the sleeping tents, which lined up like giant white igloos, emulating blisters on the face of the red desert, made an incessant, deafening, high-pitched noise, and filled the place with a nasty smell of ashes, creating a charming setting in the windless desert created by UV-rays after the “death” of the ozone layer.

“I hate this place”, said an ungainly soldier, sitting on the hood of a light recon vehicle while lighting a cigarette. “Even if I can smoke as much as I want to”, he concluded, inhaling deeply on his cigarette and watching the horizon while holding the smoke in his lungs.

“Oh, but I love it”, responded sarcastically the thin woman seating next to him on the hood of the vehicle, visibly uncomfortable. “Why’d you have to mess with the Minister’s daughter?”, and now furious, “Now we gotta baby sit these boy scouts”.

The “boy scouts” were a group of no less than fifty tactical recognizance scientists who, as the soldiers spoke, worked on preparing the camp: raising tents, installing internal atmosphere filters, checking atmospheric fluctuation meters, and preparing the defense material brought in on the heavy-load trucks. In the meantime, brother and sister argued about their fate, sitting on the recon-vehicle, next to a container with a bar code that read something like “latrine seat protectors”, very appropriate for their present state of mind.

“Oh, stop it. At least it’ll be quiet around here”, said the brother, as the smoke he puffed out of his lungs joined the smoke from the generator, which would not stop making that annoying noise that ringed in his ears.

“I don’t think so. The Hive and the Confederation are deploying camps already”, she replied while turning frantically, trying to find the source of the noise that seemed to come at her from every direction, and showing the horrible scar that some previous fight had left on her face.

The noise came from a huge, inefficient and dirty hydro-electric genesis generator, connected to a large water duct which took putrid water from a nearby well, converted it into hydrogen, and then into energy to feed the camp. As residues were poured again into the well, they left behind smoke and a nauseating smell that penetrated even the highest grade gas masks.

“Cat”, said the brother as he jumped off the hood of the vehicle, looking towards the horizon beyond the cloud of smoke, the sickening smell, and the noise of the generator, “there’s something out there, and if we play our cards well, we could keep it to ourselves.”

“I know that, Vulture”, she answered, “but first we need to take care of a couple of problems”. As she said this, she took the rifle that hung from the seat of the vehicle and took one blind shot towards the campsite.

They couldn’t completely restore the site’s energy for two whole days, until new transports came in, but while the generator was being repaired, there was total silence.

[1] Beach Head - Hive Regime: Wan Yang

I always remember my mother, sitting by the window in our little coffin of an apartment; a claustrophobic place of unendurable pastel colors, plastic walls, and a cheap, pink carpet floor that always looked raunchy despite my mother’s cleaning attempts. She would be smoking a cigarette – the illegal kind that she got in exchange for pirate copies of sensory videos - and she would sit there, on the carpet, with her arm resting on the windowsill and her legs crossed, telling me all about how it used to be on Earth, while behind her thousands of lights shone back from the Megablock-factories, evidencing thousands, tens of thousands of us – The Hive- working on the millions of parts that keep the post-Terrestrial world working.

[SYSTEMS ON LINE– TACTICAL DEPLOYMENT PROGRAM INITIATING]

“It was paradise”, she would say, “you could pick wealth out of the trees with your bare hands, and oxygen was free”. Every afternoon, on the windowsill, while I studied my flowcharts for the School Robot War Tournaments, she would repeat how wonderful Earth had been. The prize was a portable music player, which I coveted obsessively to escape the repetitive speeches that entered my consciousness like the proverbial Chinese torture water drop. “Thousands of miles of green vegetation, pure air, and clean water; fields for running and playing Fukbol” –or at least that’s what she called it- “and wonderful animals to watch.”

[LAUNCHER CHARGED – SAFETIES OFF]
[COORDINATES CONFIRMED – LANDING AREA CLEAR]

But that was a long time ago, in her delirium to escape her sixteen-hour long workday at the factory, my mother would remember old chapters of Terrestrial videos about the way it used to be, just before we caved and hid away from our own sins in space colonies and planetary bases. Of my mother’s memories, only “Fukbol” and School Robot Wars kept me from ending up as just another light bulb maker, working sixteen-hour days in a Megablock-factory.

[MEKA IN POSITION – LAUNCHER ALIGNED]
[CLEAR ORBITAL LAUNCHING ZONE]

Blood is a fascinating thing. In zero-gravity it surprisingly comes together and coagulates. I always try to think about this after a battle because it reminds me that, in the end, we are fighting among brothers. Sometimes I get very profound in the middle of a battle, and my superiors are always on my case for sending koans during battle, but I have illuminated more than one fellow soldier with those in times of need. On all those occasions, Earth has been a beautiful background against which our nations “negotiate”, but never a place, the ground, the sky, gravity, or inertia.

[LAUNCHER CHARGED – LAUNCHING IN 5]

I believe it was my destiny. Either that or I sought this without thinking about it. In any case, it is time to search for the paradise that my mother always spoke of. Sitting in this 5-ton death machine, I try to imagine what down there is so important to warrant the creation of an operations base in an environment so inhospitable and devoid of economical interest –believe me, we have tried- that three of our most prominent pilots (with good reason or, in my case, for bad reasons) are required to leave the frontier conflict and reassigned to…

[4, 3, 2, 1…]

…nothing?

[LAUNCH]