EiS Log 13

Exile in Syberia
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Unit Log, VeeMech TDR-1-74-01107C-J 
Date 3018-08-22 23:11:33, Log Entry 13
While Spanner worked on rebuilding my old body. I tried to divide my time between checking up on his progress impatiently, going through the DropShip with Ripley, and trying to puzzle out the mystery of the M4 drone personality core.  The core was proving stubborn as hell: I’d worked out the voltage and amperage input, but was still working on the network interface, which I was trying to do with a shut- down core.  I didn’t want to wake up the core until I could talk to it, since I could only imagine how horrible it would be to be conscious, but not able to interact with the universe around you in any way.  At the same time, I was leery about just, say, plugging it into the base network, or our beat-up DropShip, until I had a better feeling of what we were dealing with.  The good news is that the interface looked very similar to the hardwire lines at the base, as well as some aboard the DropShip, so I figured I’d have something hacked together soon enough.
Between that, I’d settled into the routine of patrols and sending the periodic message back to AutoBoP headquarters off random low-altitude satellites.  
And between all that I tried to get to know Manx. 
Unfortunately, that was proving more difficult than you might expect.  Manx did his best to keep himself busy, between going on patrols with Glyph, providing a helping hand to Spanner, or helping Ripley catalog the contents of the DropShip, and work on the giant hangar doors that hid the ship away.  It wasn’t terribly different from what I was doing, but he seemed to ensure that whatever he was doing didn’t overlap with whatever I was doing. 
I was finally able to corner Manx after one of his patrols three days ago, though I practically had to pry him away from Glyph with a crowbar.  Walking up to him, and carefully interspersing myself in between him and Glyph, I said, “Come with me.  We need to talk.” 
Manx paused, tried to look around me at Glyph, and failed, before finally acquiescing with an “All right.” 
Leading Manx to one of the currently lesser-used parts of the Bunker, but still within line-of-sight of the rest of the group (no need to make him too nervous, right?), I finally asked him, “Setting aside that you’ve been avoiding me, I wanted to see how you were adjusting.” 
Manx didn’t miss a beat before responding.  “I appear to be fully operational at this time.” 
“That’s not quite what I meant.  Not quite a week ago you were so out of sorts about not being able to transform in this Phoenix Hawk chassis that you were contemplating asking us to shut you down again until an AutoMech that could transform was available again, and you were ‘fully operational’ then, too.  Look, I get that this is difficult for you, but…” 
“Do you really?” Manx asked. 
“You wanna expand on that, Manx?”  
“I may not have been operational for as long as Spanner or Glyph have been but being able to transform and roll out in wheeled vehicle form is important to me.  The challenge of driving at high speed, for example, over rough terrain is exceptional, making it one of my preferred activities.  One could argue that being able to transform is a key part of my identity, and right now, that part of who I am has been taken from me.” 
It’s moments like this I miss not having a body with a head on a neck that I could shake.  “Manx,” I replied, “I am literally the only other being here who could possible understand what you’re going through.”
“Because, as you claim, you used to be human.” he replied drily. 
“Guessing you’re not a believer?” I asked. 
“Spanner is convinced it’s true.  Glyph, surprisingly, is willing to entertain the possibility, as is Ripley.  That doesn’t mean they’re correct, though, and I’m forced to wonder whether I find the possibility that you were formerly human to be disturbing, nonsensical, or both.  The claim to have been a human from a parallel universe is so outlandish, it does not bear consideration.” 
“True.” I noted.  “However, Major West, the former commander of this little outpost back when humans and the Terran Hegemony were still around, appears to have been convinced, or at least willing to entertain the possibility.” 
Manx shook his head and sighed.  “I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.  And that’s another thing,” he added.  “The Terran Hegemony and humans had become old stories, almost myths, due to the lack of surviving information regarding them.  Then, here you are, unearthed from an old Terran Hegemony bunker, claiming to have been a human, with a sudden treasure trove of information and history that we’ve lost.  That alone would be fantastical.  Combine that with your extreme oddness…” 
“And it was easier to just avoid me,” I finished.  “I get it.  Now, think about it from my perspective for a moment:  I wake up here, and, with my only memories those of being a human, not only find myself not in my own body, but find myself amongst a bunch of strange AI-controlled giant stompy robots, and not only that, but I'm one of those Ais myself, in a robot body that barely qualifies as humanoid.” 
The words are pouring out of me, and I don’t even know why.  “None of my reflexes match up, my mind barely knows how to coordinate my movement, and body language that's almost instinctual to humans gets lost in the shuffle of a body that lacks the right parts to move to express it, amongst a group that half the time can't even recognize it.  And then…” I pause, gathering my thoughts for a moment. 
“…then?” Manx asks quietly. 
“Then I find my mind has been tampered with.  There's a block, preventing me from saying, or even thinking, what my human name was.  The names of my family, or friends?  I can remember that.  I can remember associations with my name, but even having Glyph say it directly to me results in a weird glitch, where it gets replaced by ‘Groundwave’.  And that Terran Hegemony Major left me a message implying that, if it wasn't intentional, it was at least expected.” 
Manx thought about it for a moment.  “Perhaps you do have some idea of what I'm experiencing.” 
“You know what's crazy, Manx?”
“Beyond that you have already expressed?” he asked wryly. 
“Yes, beyond that,” I laughed.  “I don’t know if it's going to happen again when I transfer into that body that Spanner is kludging back together.” 
“Why take the risk, then?” Manx asked sincerely.  “If transferring may be a risk to you, I can take that chassis instead.” he offered. 
“Because I'd rather risk memory glitches than remain in this body, which is completely unsuited to me, Manx.  Because hopefully, having a body that's laid out, y'now, like that,” I said gesturing to his own highly-humanoid body, “might help, especially if I evidently spent some time like that before.” 
“I revise my previous statement,” Manx noted.  “You completely understand.” 
“What I don’t get, though,” I asked, “is won't you have the same issues?  A VeeMech is laid out a lot differently from a Beetle class AutoMech.” 
“I shouldn't, no.” Manx replied with certainty.  “AutoMechs capable of transforming generally have less rigid definitions of body layouts than non-transforming ones, and are more adaptable in our sensory input.  Spanner believes the oddities in your neural net make that not possible in your case.  For example, have you transformed yet?” 
“No,” I admitted, “and the idea scares the hell out of me.”
“That would fit the parameters of Spanner's theory.  Perhaps if you are more comfortable with your form in ‘Mech mode in your Streaker-class chassis, you’ll reconsider.”
“Wait, my what now?” I asked him, confused. “That's a GRF-series Griffin.” 
“Current designation of that chassis type amongst the Autonomous Barony of Primus is the ‘Streaker class’.  Your chassis may predate the redesignation.” 
“Huh,” I thought out loud. “I think I need to go talk to Spanner.”
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So that was what I did. 
Checking back in with Spanner, I found he’d gotten the skeletal system of the ‘Griffin’ fully reassembled and was working on anchoring the myomers in place.  Most of the ‘Mech’s armor was still stripped away, but even where it wasn’t, I could see some...oddities. 
“Ah, Groundwave, just the ‘Mech I needed to see” Spanner said as I approached.  “I have good news, and some bad news.  Would you like the good news first?” 
“Sure,” I agreed carefully. 
“With the spare parts I have been able to find, I have been able to rebuild your old chassis more quickly than expected and could potentially be ready to transfer your computer cores over within 72 hours.  However, this is in no small part because we lack sufficient functional double-capacity heat sinks to refit your fusion plant.” 
“Well, could be worse I suppose.” I noted.
“That was not the bad news, Groundwave.” Spanner said, stopping what he was doing and turning towards me. 
“It gets worse?” 
“I was incorrect in my assessment of the difficulty in transferring your communications equipment to this chassis.  The communications pod added to your current VeeMech chassis,” Spanner said, gesturing to the pod sitting atop my torso, “is not in two pieces as my initial inspection indicated.  I reviewed the diagnostic files from your VeeMech, and they replaced one of the standard 3-ton cargo holds most VeeMechs or Sounders carry.  They can be removed, but it would be a more time-consuming procedure.  Unfortunately, it would also prove far more difficult to install them in your previous chassis, which did not appear to ever mount them.” 
“Wait,” I said, confused, “so what did my old chassis carry?” 
“Current generation Streaker class wheeled AutoMechs carry an extended-range particle cannon in a jettison-capable pod in the right arm, with a 5-tube long-range missile launcher in mount above the right shoulder, much like the Streaker’s progenitor, the Griffin.  Your old chassis, having been early production, presumably shares more in common with the original BattleMech, but your specific chassis appears to have been customized: the LRM launcher was instead replaced with a 3-ton communications pod, as well as a half-ton compartment for a small Nighthawk humanoid drone.” 
“That makes sense, I suppose.” I replied.  “I’m guessing that when my old body got shot up, that was still intact, and they transferred it, and my Nighthawk drone, to the new one?” 
“I would surmise so.” Spanner agreed.  “When we found you, Glyph and I assumed the extra communications gear served as a redundancy to what was already in place, and to allow you to handle a higher communications workload than less-specialized AutoMechs could.  However, in switching back to your old chassis, there is simply insufficient mass for all six tons of communications equipment without compromising your existing weaponry.” 
“Look at the bright side.” I replied.  “We’ll need to train him how, but Manx having a set of comm gear will give us some redundancy in that department, too.  Manx may not have as many tons available for more guns, but it’ll still be a step up.” 
“True,” Spanner agreed.  “he has also requested we remove the jump jets from your current chassis, which will benefit his firepower as well.” 
“Wait, he doesn’t want jump jets?” I asked, surprised. 
“As Manx said, ‘Wheeled AutoMechs were not meant to jump.’” Spanner said dryly.  “I was notably surprised to find you had been fitted with them. I was equally surprised to find your older chassis also had been fitted with a limited jump capacity, especially as there appear to be too few jump jets to be tactically useful, and doing so appears to have compromised your weapons loadout.”  With that, he gestured to the carbine-like rifle near my old body. 
“Looks like a PPC.” I said. 
“It is a PPC.” Spanner agreed.  “However, it has a lighter and shorter accelerator chamber, and as a result, a shorter maximum range.” 
“So, a Snub-nose PPC, then,” I repied.  “More effective up-close, less effective at range.  I’m OK with that.” 
Spanner audibly sighed.  “If you were another AutoMech, I would recommend retrofitting a large laser in its place, and enough jump jets to be useful.  However, we could not convert that mount to a large laser here in the field, and would need to permanently attach it much like your current mount.” 
“No thanks.  I’d rather have the snub-nose mounted like that.” I said, pointing at the PPC in question. 
“As I suspected.  Now, shut down power to your external communications pod.  I’m going to remove that now, so we can install it on your old body.” 
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Category:Syberia AU
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Category:Works by Giovanni Blasini