Chapter 5 - Steel Giants

 Steel giants. The Cores stood like steel giants in the hangar. The machines were familiar. Two legs, jointed forward, with foot-like structures at the bottom. 2 arms, jointed in the center, with hand-like structures at the end. A central power plant, similar to a torso; a sensor stalk at the top, similar to a head. A skin of sleek super-metal. Plating and stylistic flourishes like armor and clothes. The plating was thicker in certain areas, giving it a sort of physique. They looked, at first blush, like people.

“Impressive, aren't they?” Standish gestured with the brim of his hat to the monoliths. He had moved off to the side of the entrance, and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, face wrought with a awe-filled grin. “They get me every time. I've set foot on the surface of Luna. Been on exploratory missions in The Wilds, visited the Carved Cities, and seen all 131 Great Craters in the world. And still, nothing puts my hair on end like these guys.”

“They're amazing,” Jim's mouth was agape. “How come there are so few? Why don't we just make our own?” Jim turned to look at Standish, and furrowed his brow in scrutiny. “Also, you've been to the colonies? And The Wilds? And the Craters?” That information seemed almost more interesting than the Cores.

“Don't, Jim,” the Commander said, with a stern leer. “Not now.”

Jim looked at the Commander, then at Standish. “Who are you? What are you?”

“I'm Eli Standish and that's all you need to know, for now,” He turned his attention to Jim, a wicked grin creasing his cheeks. “Let's show you around.” He bucked away from the wall and gestured for them to follow him to the stairs. Carol prodded Jim with the palm of her hand, and they both followed in tow.

After a few dozen steps, they were on a steel scaffolding running along the walls of the large open room. “This also used to be a growing room, but not as big as the farming facilities. We've retrofitted it to serve as a hangar,” the Commander gestured around the large open space. “As of now, the International Alliance has nine Core units, but only five are fully operational. We know, currently, that our three militarized international 'allies,'” the Commander used air-quotes, “have at least six units amongst them, though we don't know who and in what concentrations. The best intelligence we have suggests that the Democratic Pan-Regional Council has at least two, and the People's Island Republic has at least one unit. As for the Southern Union, the way international population treaties are set up, they potentially have enough 'physical capital,'” again with the air-quotes, “to be militarized, but we don't know if they have the resources to maintain a standing regiment. It's possible that some of our non-militarized partners have units, but that would probably be in only a research capacity.”

“So, that leaves three unaccounted for?” Jim questioned, still gaping at the behemoths while they paced the outer edge of the wall on their way to what looked like a small outpost in middle of the scaffolding.

“Correct. And we have no idea where they are, just that they were discovered by nomads, and that at one point they were trafficked through the PIR. The IA is unequivocally the strongest nation in the Great Union with the most population treaties and top-3 in everything from academics to economy, but we're definitely not the most liked. There has been stable peace for generations, short of a few power-struggles here and there, but politicians have been letting population treaties inflate on the back of military spending. The IA is equally to blame, though we are a very peaceful nation. The PIR, on the other hand, has been expanding rapidly and isn't quite content with their lack of standing in the Union. Diplomacy has kept them well in hand, as have a relative lack of military power, but if they can acquire a significant portion of the Core population, it is possible they may attempt to assert their power with force...”

“Carol,” Standish cut her off. “Enough politics. It's boring. You're going to make the boy's head explode.” They had all stopped in front of the outpost's door. Standish opened it and led the two inside. The room was very small, despite seeming quite large on the outside, and was crammed with computer terminals, work benches and a few chairs. “This is the machine shop, Jim. Behind that door is the warehouse. Back there we have a collection of in-demand parts,” Standish gestured to the back room, “the bulk, however, we keep in the Styx. We perform the repair work needed to keep those suckers running here. The major systems on the core are all self-healing, thankfully, but not everything is quick to repair. 50-foot bomb-proof metal giants aren't easy to patch up, either.” Standish gestured to one of the work-benches. An eighteen-foot arm was running across its entire length, splayed open with wires, hydraulics, coolant arteries, and other such mechanical bits exposed and dangling. “The meta-materials were too badly damaged during training. They would fix themselves, eventually, but we don't have months to wait, so Tim and his boys have to fix it up.”

“How Human,” Jim commented as he surveyed the arm, unconsciously having wandering over toward it.

“Don't you even think of touching that,” a burly bearded man said as he came out from the door in the back, forcing Jim to retract an also-unconsciously extending arm. “Thought I heard someone say my name. New recruit?” Tim had on tan coveralls and was coated thick in sweat and wreaked of chemicals. His long brown curls were tied behind his head in a thick pony tail, and his thick bushy beard was recently trimmed. It was obvious that at one point in the day it had been neatly combed too, however that time appears to have long passed.

“I'm Jim,” he shook his head to bring him back to the present. He extended his hand toward Tim instead, who shook it warmly with a solidness rivaling granite.

“Our ancestors used human physiology as a template when making those guys,” Tim gestured with his head to the Cores outside, “durability and energy expenditure are some of the biggest reasons humans stayed as small as they did during our initial evolutionary process a hundred sixty-five thousand or so years ago. Scientific advance overcame those with compact high-output energy sources, ultra-durable meta-materials, and advanced mechanical engineering techniques. So, they applied the best of both worlds and came up with the Cores. Me and the other guys act as mechanical surgeons and keep those things running. So, be careful with them, will ya? My job is hard enough as it is without you kids taking a direct hit from a mass-driver in the arm.”

“I-I'll remember that,” Jim was still enrapt as he inspected the metal arm. “How, exactly do they work?” He shifted his focus back to Tim.

“Well, there's a cockpit in the center. We attach a bunch of sensors to your head that read the electrical signals in your brain. Then, you think about how you want to move. The robot you're inside reads that and does what you thought. About that simple. The robot itself is modeled pretty heavily on human physiology, as you can see,” Tim gestured at the arm. “The machine itself is composed of some pretty advanced stuff. Meta-materials that act like muscle tissue. Wires and hydraulics that act like tendons and ligaments. Capillaries that carry fluids and electrical signals throughout the matrices.” Tim pointed up to a few posters on the walls that Jim had missed when looking at the arm. They were elaborate wiring diagrams and images of musculature splayed open, almost like a doctor's anatomical diagram. “When I said 'mechanical surgeon,' I wasn't being facetious. This stuff is intricate, complicated, highly interconnected, and we still have a pretty poor understanding of the big picture.”

“It's just so beautiful,” Jim went from poster to poster, studying the rich complexity and beautiful artistry of each one. They looked more like DaVinci diagrams than anything you'd find in a school textbook.

“You busy?” Standish had his arms crossed and was standing near the door. He gestured to Tim with an upward tick of his head.

“Davis is out in the Styx collecting some parts so I have a few minutes, yeah.” Tim, who's arms were also folded, shifted weight to his back foot and kicked his hip out.

“We should take him over to meet Vishnu. He's going to pilot him, after all,” a huge, white-toothed grin creased Standish's eyes as a look of confusion and fear crept into Tim's face.

“Vishnu? Seriously? Why would you do such a thing, are you trying to kill the boy?!” Tim dragged a rugged palm over his forehead and along his hair until he gripped his ponytail. His other hand planted on his hip and his voice sounded strained and afraid.

Jim tensed uneasily. “What's he talking about?” Jim darted his glances between Tim and Standish. Standish stood resolute in his grin. Commander Cecilia remained silent and unmoved.

“Vishnu is a scary piece of work,” Tim started. He settled back into his cross-armed stance and shifted his focus to Jim. “He's the most recently uncovered Core, and he's not like anything we've ever seen. He's composed of material we've only begun to start analyzing. His computer system is loaded with insanely intricate coding structures, and we have no idea what all of his functions and subroutines are capable of. There are big black-box structures all over him that we can't crack open and none of our imaging technology can see what's inside. We've already mapped some of the pilots to him, but we have other functioning robots so we don't really take him out.”

“Dyman sent down the command to have a dedicated pilot on Vishnu ASAP. That's why we called in Mr. James Ross here to take him out for a run,” Standish pulled an open palm away from his elbow to gesture at Jim.

“Wait...Dyman is pulling in the Big Gun?” Tim's eyes grew wide as he locked his stare on Jim.

“That's enough, gentlemen. Let's introduce Jim to his newest best friend, shall we?” General Cecilia interjected with a calm voice and a hand raised in a flat-palmed “stop” gesture.

“Carol's right. Lead the way, Mr. Rothgur.” Standish turned his body to the side and swept his hand out signaling Tim to lead the way.

“Alright, follow me, then,” Tim lurched forward, an uneasy expression creeping into his already-alarmed face. He led them out of the building and along the back scaffold of the room. They walked past a series of slips, each lined with their own towering scaffolds ensconcing the Cores. Each Core they passed had slightly unique features about them. Some were burlier, with thicker armor and more dynamic physiques. Others were more slender with lankier builds. The cores were sometimes outfitted in fabric, as well, it seemed.

“Is that a skirt?” Jim pointed at one of the Cores they were walking past.

“Kilt. It's an ancient Scottish garb. The clothes they wear help insulate the metamaterials, reducing heating and cooling loads, just like your clothes. They also help differentiate who's who on the battlefield. The materials they're made out of also offer armoring to areas that you can't plate over because they need flexibility, like joints and sensor stacks,” Tim pointed the Core they were walking by. It had on the kilt, as well as sleeves over it's elbows and wrists, leg-warmers over it's ankles and a scarf-like collar over it's neck. It's “chest,” however, was openly exposed, as were its thighs and to a lesser extent its knees, though the kilt was long enough to hang down over them. “Cúchulainn is a Barbarian-class Core, one of the first we discovered. He still remains one of our most powerful Cores, as well. Heimdall, across the way, is his partner.” Tim pointed at a similarly-dressed Core across from Cúchulainn on the other side of the room. The covering and styling were slightly different, but the physique was almost identical.

Tim pointed to a very slender-looking core that was covered in a tight, form-fitting black jumper. It had more feminine flourishes. “That's Annie Oakley. She's a Cowboy-class Core. It has a lower center of gravity, is much more flexible than the others, and can put a phase round through a coin from miles away. The jumpsuit is actually made of Chameleon Cloth, as well. Essentially, she'll go invisible when it's activated. And to answer your question, yes, our ancestors were pretty sexist, but there are good anatomical reasons why the female archetype is more suited for her task.”

“How many classes are there?” Jim swiveled his head around as they walked. It looked like they were able to fit 12 slips in the hangar, but only 9 of which were full. Some of them were shrouded, flashes of light and noise periodically emerging from behind the screens.

“Right now we have 4 primary Core types. Barbarians, Cowboys, Hermes, and Deities There are various cross-over designs, but those are essentially it. Hermes Cores are light and agile...”

“Scouts,” Jim Interrupted. “Soldiers, archers, scouts and equalizers. Just like in my strategy games. Barbarians are beefier front-line soldiers, but at the expense of agility and sensory advantages. Scouts are fast and agile with strong sensory output, but low in combat skill. Archers are ranged, but lack any direct combat power. Equalizers are ace-in-the-hole types that are strong in all relevant combat strengths, but require a large investment of resources and strategic protection because of their comparatively high value.”

“You got it,” Tim affirmed, a modicum of impression leaking into his face. He craned his neck and addressed the commanders, “Smart kid. Dyman has good taste.”

“Who is this Dyman guy?” Jim craned his own neck to address the three.

“General-at-Arms Tyler Dyman. He's the overseer for the outfit and the liaison between the Alliance and New Roman Industries,” Tim began.

“Tim, please. That's more than enough,” Carol chimed in.

“Why do you keep interrupting him, Commander?” Jim inquired. He was beginning to get frustrated with all the secretiveness and half-information.

“You'll find out in time, Jim. It's just a bunch of politics. And, more than you need to know right now. We want you focusing on your training. I already feel like we're overburdening you with information. The last thing we need is you getting confused about what's going on and what you're here for,” the commander rested a hand on Jim's shoulder mid-stride. “You're a solder now. You need to trust that we have your best interests in our intentions.”

“I trust you professor, It's just all so confusing,” Jim turned his neck to look at the the commander.

“I understand, Jim,” Carol smiled warmly. “It's for your own good, though. I promise.

“Here we are,” Standish interjected, breaking the moment. Jim returned his attention to the hangars and focused on the Core where Tim had stopped.

“This is Vishnu,” Tim raised a hand upward. Everyone's eyes followed in suit. “He's a Deity-class, obviously. He and Jupiter are the only known Cores of this type to exist. The DPRC has the other one, and they're pretty tight-lipped about it. We'd love to know if Jupiter has the same sort of black boxes and code weirdness.”

“He's magnificent,” Jim gawped. Vishnu didn't have the sharp physique or slenderness of the other Cores, but still maintained a visage of power and grace all the same. He wore a dhoti-style piece of fabric around his legs, a stole-like piece of fabric wrapped around his shoulder-sockets and hung loosely down his torso and a long thick piece of tubing ran around his neck and down almost to his groin area. “What's the pipe do?” Jim pointed to the necklace-like structure.

“Don't know. One of those black-boxes we were talking about,” Tim shrugged. “Best we can tell is that it contains a ferrofluid that circulates around and generates a very strong electromagnetic field. We haven't tested him much as we don't really know what all he's capable of, but when we did, imaging showed pretty intense electromagnetic fields emitting from it. Our best guess is it's a defense mechanism. Radar scrambling, laser deflection, something like that.”

“We're all pretty excited to see what interesting details you can tease out of his system,” Standish had his hands in his pockets and he rolled onto his toes as he thrust his pelvis forward and then rolled back onto his heels as he pulled his pelvis backward. “A keen and penetrating mind such as yours, Jim, is a rare commodity. We foresee great things.”

“That's a lot of pressure, sir. If my mind were so 'keen and penetrating,' you'd imagine I'dve done better in school,” Jim glanced uneasily at Standish.

“I never realized how much I hate being called, 'Sir.' How do you deal with it, Carol?” Standish winked at Jim. “You'll do fine, Jim. When you get to where I am, you learn a thing or two about spotting talent.”
“And 'where are you,' exactly?” Jim pursed his lips and pulled his nose and lips to a side as his brow scowled.

“I'm a problem-solver, Jim. I bring the right resources to the right people to get things done,” Standish flicked the brim of his fedora with his index finger, and flashed another toothy grin at Jim.

“Is he going to be Processed?” Tim interjected. “I really don't think anyone should go in dry on Vishnu.”

“Neither do I,” Standish replied.

“He hasn't decided, yet,” the commander scowled. “He hasn't even been on base for more than a few hours.”

“It'd be a waste of potential, is all. Tomah's stats went through the roof when he made the switch. And when we put Marion on test in Vishnu dry, she could barely get him to walk,” Tim glanced back at Jim but maintained focus on Carol and Standish.

“Just give him time. We have some other things to show Jim. Do you need to get back to the shop, Tim?” Commander Cecilia made an implicative face and nodded her head and body forward.

“Yes, right. I should get back to the shop, yes. Thanks for reminding me,” Tim turned to Jim and extended a hand. “I'm sure we'll see a lot of each other in the future. It was a pleasure meeting you,” A warm smile crept across Tim's face as they shook hands. Tim then turned and walked back the way they had come and made his way back to the shop.

Jim shifted his weight back and forth uneasily as he compulsively crossed and uncrossed his arms, “What have I got myself into...” he uttered to himself.

“You'll be fine, Jim. Really. Just don't think about it too much. It's not as crazy as it sounds,” Carol put a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder. She could feel his muscles relax under her palm.

“Touching,” Standish said dryly. “That's the end of my tour folks. You are released from my custody,” Standish spread his arms wide and grinned from ear to ear.

“You're such a prick, Eli,” Carol snarled at the fedora-ed man.

“It's not my job to be nice,” he quipped back.

“But it wouldn't kill you to show some compassion now and again,” Carol glanced off wistfully, a glassy sheen twinkling in her eyes.

The barb caused a visible shift in Standish's face, “Jim. Just be calm and try your hardest. Ignore the pressure, ignore the consequences, shut out the world, and focus on the tasks at hand. Pay attention to the objectives, and strive to achieve your goals. We'll take care of the rest,” Standish put a hand on Jim's shoulder to soothe him, his face visibly softened at Carols prod.

Old wounds, Jim thought. A troubled expression crept into his brow as his mind returned to everything around him. “Is it normally this jarring for everyone?” Jim glanced up at the Commander. The twinkle had faded from her eyes and her expression had returned to its normal, warm but enclosed visage.

“We don't normally introduce you everyone quickly, no. The others were all recruited from already-established military service, and had orientation classes beforehand so they knew what they were getting into. I wanted to take it slower with you, but Standish,” the Commander batted her eyes up in acknowledgment, “and the High Command insisted we get you briefed and combat-ready as quickly as possible.”

“Why the rush?” Jim looked over at Standish, who put his hands up, flat palms facing Jim, as he shook his head back and forth.

“I haven't the foggiest what Dyman is thinking. I was pretty adamant about trying to get you through the standard channels, but he insisted Carol and I pulled you straight in as soon as possible. With school out and your team in a solid position for the Digital Championships, we decided to get you here ASAP. Our command team said they'd give you a quick and condensed BASIC so you can be certified through the military, and I agreed to take on your 'education' needs, with the help of Commander Cecilia, of course,” Standish smirked and mockingly acknowledged Carol with a glance.

“Don't you guys have other important things to do? Like recruiting and 'fixing things,' or whatever?” Jim was batting his head between the Commander and Standish.

“Absolutely,” the Commander said, as Jim rested his gaze on her. “But, an order is an order and if High Command and Dyman think that superseding the standard channels and getting you into the squad as soon as humanly possible is the right call, then that takes precedent.”

“Great,” Standish pulled the brim of his fedora down and began wandering away from them, “Now that we have that out of the way, I have other things to attend to. I think the Professor has something else she wants to show you,” Standish flashed his blue-white eyes at Carol, an implicative glare permeating his expression, “I, however, have need to update Dyman and take care of some other matters. With that, I shall bid you two adieu.” Standish turned his back on them and made his way back to where they came in.

“What was that about?” Jim inquired, referencing the unspoken conversation the commander shared with Standish through their glance.

“You know Standish,” the commander stuttered, appearing somewhat shaken. “The man has a flare for the dramatic.”

“Everyone around here seems to,” Jim smirked at the Commander.

“Indeed. Being able to see through the theater is a real talent, Jim. So much of what goes on in life is bloviation and grandstanding, that sometimes people lose site of the world past the end of their nose. All of the trouble we're seeing in the Islands are so much theater, but when your job is to keep people safe, you have to take it seriously. And, sometimes, the less cognizant forget it really is just an act and start taking things a little too seriously. When that tension runs too high, and you've got too much time and too many tools at your disposal, people of less cool temperament start trying to fix things that aren't broken.” the Professor paused and folded her hands in front of her.

“You mean the DPRC?” Jim cocked his head to the side, the pieces finally starting to fall into place.

“The economic expansion of the last few decades has been fueled by defense spending,” The Commander started slowly, taking special care to choose her words. “The economic expansion has allowed population treaties to expand. The population expansion has lead to a need for more land. However, development permits have not grown, and the Global Initiative has no intent of issuing new ones. That means Real Capital, things like people, property, and goods, are starting to get more expensive. That's leading to a lot of inequity in trade, especially considering the relative goldmine of RC that we in the IA are sitting on. As a consequence, some of the disadvantaged nations are trying to create a climate of fear in an effort to balance the trade equations. 'You wouldn't want to raise prices on goods, now would you, what with our finger on the button and all,' as it would go.”

“So, now you have a bunch of rich, power-hungry countries sitting on huge troves of weapons and itchy trigger fingers, motivated by over-dramatized diplomatic theater, and everyone's gaze trained at the asymmetrically-powerful IA expecting them to kowtow to aggression in the interest of peace,” the puzzle pieces falling into alignment as Jim shook his head and knocked them into place.

“You got it,” the Professor exclaimed with a finger-point.

“And we need to get Vishnu operational as a fiat accompli, in order to silence the saber-rattling of the other nations, who'd be far too afraid too go up against such a potent force,” Jim continued to train his focus at the floor as the epiphany struck. “But why now?” he shook his head again and broke his trance to train his eyes on the Commander's.

“There are only three military powers in the Global Initiative. There are, however, a lot of nations who feed those powers via research, manufacturing, and physical goods. If we were to break into conflict, there would be a massive market destabilization. Some industries would sky-rocket in value, some more peaceful endeavor would see their value plummet. People with a lot of skin in the game, New Roman Industries as an example, would prefer that the status quo be maintained.”

“So a business man is pulling the strings that determine the fate of the world?” Jim sounded almost indignant.

“When has that ever not been the case? Dyman has consinderable influence over the High Command and he himself is heavily invested in the well-being of NRI, if you catch my drift. If a guy like him is ruffled enough to sick dogs like Standish on the scent, than things are a lot more serious than they appear,” the commander was unable to hide the worried tone that crept into her voice.

“And what is Standish, anyway?” Jim thought he'd try again.

“New Roman Industries was at the head of the Aug program. When Standish became patient number 1, he and Dyman got tight. Dyman is a senior member of NRI and started getting Standish involved in some serious black-ops stuff, which is when we started growing apart. When I refused to Aug, Standish got very vocal about it. That's when I left him,” Carol looked very troubled, the glassy twinkle sparkling in her eyes again.

“Why didn't you Aug?” Jim furrowed his brow in inquisition.

“I knew my limits,” she mused as she blinked away the glint. “Anyway, I have one last stop I need to show you before I'm done with you. She grabbed Jim by the hand and tugged him out of his reverie. “This way.”

Jim shook his head as the professor let his hand slip out of hers from the lead. With a skip, he start his momentum and fell in step.