With the antithesis, you can't defend enough space for wind and solar. They are looking for small but powerful sources. We all know how to block nuclear; that's an old song we can sing along to.
But there's no regulations against boreholes, and precious few for geothermal away from the protected wonders. And yes, they can put them anywhere. They're starting out where the heat is highest because it's cheaper, but there's no reason it has to stay in those areas. Heck, the world's deepest hole before this crap was in one of the most geologically stable areas in the world. And that was nearly deep enough to get worthwhile heat exchange temperatures.
And now that we have no less than three Samurai interested and helping out with the projects, strong-arm tactics are not a healthy idea.
--Overheard at a lunch meeting between the CEOs for ExxocChev, BP-Aram, NobodyConPhil
***
When asked, I described the discovery of the antithesis on the hillside, how I’d gone to investigate them, and an overview of the battle strategy I used, complete with the photos I’d taken. I made sure to be clear that Lars had volunteered and that I hadn’t known they would be directly in harm's way until afterwards.
“And why did you think it was necessary to investigate them tonight?” This, from one of the officers standing opposite of the commander bearing a centurion’s insignia and flaming red hair. “Why not wait until light when you could have troops for support?”
I took a second to read his uniform, which, while covered with ribbons, didn’t have any meaningful accomplishments. His nameplate read ‘Dougall.’ “You don’t give the antithesis time. If you give them time, they’ll do something unexpected or multiply beyond your ability to contain them, leaving you on the back foot. So I decided to scout in force, even if it was a force of one.”
“And on that little excursion of yours, you said you found a new variant?” Dougall continued, with a sour look on his face.
“The Model Fifteen variant I found was confirmed to be new to Earth, and the site’s layout was classic for an artillery battery. We should be prepared for the same tomorrow if…”
“Impossible!” Dougall spat out, interrupting me. “The antithesis have never shown any ability to attack at that range. The longest recorded was two hundred meters, and that had a ten-story elevation to assist it and a direct line of sight. If they need to attack at a distance, they’ll send a flying unit.”
“And those are where? Why hasn’t this hive sent any flying models out?” My eyes narrowed in frustration.
He waved his hand in a dismissal motion. “Not all hives use models in the same amounts. That’s normal. What you are proposing is entirely different and would require coordination and intelligence they just don’t have.”
“Coordination they had in spades. The Fifteen-E’s didn’t even create the munition in their bodies. A Model Ten and some Fours had to load the rounds, and an attached Model Eight supplied the power. And be warned; the one that got a shot off launched a ball of Sevens at me.”
That set the officers to muttering between themselves. “The round almost hit me in the head before it burst on impact with a nearby corpse. The identification of those was quite clear.” I said. “I hope I don’t have to describe the chaos that would come from having Sevens pop up in the middle of the ranks, out of nowhere.”
“Did you find any signs of other, similar installations?” Khan asked. Her tone was thoughtful, and she looked more concerned at my report than her officers.
“No indications either way. There could be more hidden in the forest, or this might be a one-time experiment.”
“You think we’ll be scared of some experimental model that didn’t even work and probably wouldn’t have made a difference? We’re made of sterner stuff than that.” Dougall again opened his mouth and let his lack of brains dribble out.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“The antithesis are always adapting,” I shot back heatedly, “and have millions of years of experience stacked up. Not expecting them to throw new models and tactics at you is just asking to be killed and your men along with you. Now, it’s late. Unless you have more questions, I’d like some rest before tomorrow.” I raised an eyebrow at the commander for permission to leave. I’d reported what I found. It wasn’t my job to make them believe me, nor to stick around and be insulted by a do-nothing ribbon hunter.
Commander Khan shook her head and gestured to the door. I quickly fled, not realizing until afterwards that I had no idea where to go.
Fortunately, a corporal waited outside to lead me to a multi-sectioned wheeled vehicle with several panels pushed out. The inside turned out to be a small, fully furnished multi-room apartment. The decor leaned heavily on the functional side, but it came complete with a full-sized shower and cubicles with beds. One of the doors rocked with the snores of its occupant, and I quietly chose another farther away. After a shower and a few minutes checking email and messages, I turned out the lights and went to sleep.
The next morning started with a few gentle taps on the door of the cubicle. When I responded, Tarkan informed me that a meeting had been called for the Samurai by the commander in a few minutes’ time. I dressed and ran a hand through my hair, the uneven lengths from the mohawk still strange to me. My clothing had several holes, but the armor underneath was whole, and I didn’t have a change on hand, so I straightened it as best I could and left the trailer.
The air outside was crisp but laden with the scent of rain, and the moon hid behind the clouds. I checked the time and shook my head at the hour. “Military loves its early mornings, doesn’t it?” I muttered to myself. In the east a hint of light pushed through a gap in the clouds.
Nearby, two obvious Samurai sat at a table just inside the light coming out of a food truck’s open side. One was another of the mech armor builds that were as common as french fries. This one had the usual bulky body smothered in green plates. Their shoulders were built up more than most, and small speakers were ringing out some K-pop tune I didn’t recognize.
The other figure had on over-buckled pants with large pockets, a heavy leather jacket, and a hand axe in his belt. Fingerless gloves and a full-fan mohawk completed the look—a cross between punk and feral urchin.
As I walked up, the mecha man pointed me out to his companion. “You must be Xenovir. I’m Gangnam, and this is RAV.” RAV lifted his hand in a half wave. “I saw your interview the other day on the TV. Have you settled your purchases yet?” He looked me up and down.
With my armor mostly retracted, only the footwear and my visor showed any signs of Samurai tech. “I’m good, and if not, I picked up a bunch of points yesterday. I could use something to eat, though.”
“Help yourself. It’s all good at Brian’s food truck.” He waved me on, and I approached the boxy food van. The side panel was open, and several people stood around waiting for their food. I stared at the menu, and after a few seconds, I stepped up to order.
“Do your biscuits and gravy use white or brown gravy?”
“Uh…” The man behind the counter leaned back to check something out of sight. “Yep, either kind. What’s your preference?”
“White gravy and a side of hashbrowns.”
He looked at me for a second, his head tilted to the side. “Samurai, right? Any special nutritional requirements?”
--Tell him you need type seven Vela'keloa. It’s not perfect, but close enough to meet your needs.
“A type seven Vela'keloa supplement will do,” I fumbled with the odd pronunciation.
“That’ll be right up. What’s your name, Samurai?”
“Xenovir.”
“Nice to meet you.” He continued to look me over for a second longer. “Valerian tech, right? The Vela'keloa will do for now. But I’ll be sure to have some proper Valerian spices next time.”
As I asked, I scanned the cook and his truck with all the wavelengths I had, trying to see if I’d missed any clues about his tech. Other than a few more signs of quality workmanship on the truck, I came up empty.
--As Vanguard AI, we will not reveal any details about our charges, even to the AI of other Vanguards, unless granted permission. I can’t even confirm if he has an AI or is a Vanguard—Brian could just be an exceptionally talented cook who buys tech from other Vanguards. That’s the same reason I don’t talk about your points to other people, even the team you are building.
--As to how he knew, it would make sense for a chef to have a way to read genetic information in order to prevent accidentally poisoning people.
After a short wait, Brian handed me a generous plateful of food and utensils. Commander Khan stood right behind me and stepped up to order as I left the window. She pointed to the table with the other Samurai, and I nodded. After sitting down, I was about to make some small talk, but my first bite distracted me from anything so mundane.
Perfectly creamy gravy with the right amount of spice from the sausage covered the plump biscuits. The hashbrowns melted in my mouth after the perfect amount of crunch. I got lost in the food and didn’t notice when the commander sat down with us. I didn’t worry about being rude; the food was too good to interrupt with something as mundane as talking.