Caspian watched Kieran’s fingers clicking against the desk.
“Well, at least you cleared the simulation, which is good,” Kieran sighed with a tone that implied it wasn’t good at all. “Over 120 minutes. Severe hull damage. Also, Ildar, your non-stop cursing screams lack of focus.”
“This is a colossal waste of time.” Ildar’s heated voice rang in Caspian’s ears as he examined the data on the screen. Kieran bit his lip at the sound, and the tone of his words made Caspian motivated to only focus on the data in front of him. Kieran did not need to remember his existence.
“And Zoya,” Kieran snapped. “You need to work on putting simple orders into action. I know it’s not the mecha you are used to, but…”
“Interceptor is next, right?” Ildar’s voice talked over Kieran, imperative, commanding. Caspian licked his lips and hazarded a look at the man next to him. Kieran was staring at the screen, lips pressed tightly together, shoulders frozen in a tense position, eyes flaming with anger.
“We will take a five-minute break, and then we will see how well you do with Interceptor,” Kieran said, slowly and with a forced calm voice. “I’m going to go over your data with an analyst. Five minutes.” He terminated the connection without waiting for an affirmation and dropped his headset on the table with a massive groan.
“120 minutes,” Caspian repeated the numbers on the screen, “is this for real? I thought giving them better equipment would give us better results, not worse.” He had been curious about the miracle works of the Interceptor siblings, and had been over the moon when Kieran had asked him to join him for a real-time analysis.
The last model had been Raptor, an older version; readily available, and most commonly used due to standard parts that were easy to replace. The standard time limit for clearing the simulation was ninety minutes. It was hard to interpret the results as anything else than a colossal failure.
“You’d think that, yes,” Kieran replied, not bothering to veil his annoyance. He clicked open the data from the earlier simulations and handed Kieran a tablet as if it contained an execution order for Zoya and Ildar. “Let’s skim through this shitshow.”
The siblings had tested every single model in the simulations, and every single result was similar to what they had achieved with Raptor - with the exception that Raptor had, after 30 minutes of overtime, managed to clear the simulation.
Kieran leaned his head against his hand. Instead of Caspian, he was looking through the tempered glass at the simulation machines, towards the only simulator with lights on.
Zoya and Ildar had not taken the opportunity to stretch their legs.
“Can’t say I’m too thrilled about the Interceptor simulator,” Kieran sighed heavily and leaned down against the table. “I thought if they get to use the good machines first, they’d see how feeble and useless that piece of junk is in comparison. Honestly, it’s almost like they have never piloted before. I’m starting to think they scammed us.”
Caspian made a sound to acknowledge that he was still listening, but his eyes were scanning the numbers and statistics on the screen. Diagnostic data, performance analysis, data inputs. Too many data inputs for any of the mechas.
Random input meant that there were no patterns. But the longer he looked at the feed, the more he started to see patterns that repeated. Like there had been an intent behind giving seven different inputs where the machine only needed one.
What were you trying to do?
“Marshal won’t be pleased with this,” Kieran sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingers. “Fuck, why would anyone scam their way to this shithole?”
It was true that Eurasia Zone wasn’t known for being at the top of deployment requests. Every other zone in the world was currently deemed as inactive, and were kept open as research and sentry locations. They got one or two rifts per year, and the Eurasia base got one or two rifts per month.
It also meant that the Eurasia base was constantly recruiting, unlike others.
“Alright, five minutes is up,” Kieran sighed and picked up his headset again. “Let’s see what they will show us this time. Ildar, Zoya, are you there?”
“We’re here,” Caspian heard Ildar’s wry voice through the headphones. “We’re used to working long days. Stop underestimating us.” Kieran adjusted his headpiece in a blase gesture.
“Starting up the connection. Be prepared.” Kieran restarted the simulation at an empty starting area. Restarting terminated the connection, which meant that the pilots had to spend the ten or fifteen minutes required for establishing it at the start of each separate one.
On the screen it was mostly numbers and brainwaves, graphs and images jittering nervously like a REM dream sequence, finally settling around a shared core, forming a unique shared consciousness between the pilots and the machine.
Thinking about it always made Caspian feel relieved he wasn’t a pilot. There were no secrets when you shared everything with the other, no safety, shelter or facade to hide behind. Some described it as intimate. Caspian would have described it as invasive.
“You’ve certainly managed to attract attention with your latest stunt.” The tone of Kieran’s voice was aiming for scolding, but even Caspian could hear the barely concealed approval underneath. He knew better than to comment on it.
“I’d say it’s highly likely,” he replied politely and folded his arms, eyes still on the paper pile. Numbers and statistics. They were absolute, they did not lie. And right now, they were telling him that there was more to them than just button smashing.
“Interceptor, connection established,” Zoya’s voice appeared in the comms.
Along with data inputs, this was another thing Caspian was curious about.
How are they done so fast?
“Run through the calibration,” Kieran commanded. Caspian turned to the main monitor, where Interceptor - or its simulated model, rather - performed a standard movement routine, going through the extent of the joints and mobility, allowing the program to sync their movements seamlessly together. This would take another five or ten minutes. Usually.
“They connected in under one minute,” Caspian said to Kieran, unable to keep the slight astonishment out of his voice. “Again. No noticeable spikes in the readings, either.” Kieran nodded, arms folded on his chest.
“So they have piloted before, at the very least,” he said with a sigh. “And they are compatible. Maybe instead of piloting they just sat in the cockpit. Even if this simulation will give us similar results as earlier, we can train them.” Kieran’s eyes were focused on the screen, but his closed-off expression told Caspian he was disappointed.
“Calibration complete,” Zoya’s voice announced in the headset before a minute had passed. Numbers didn’t lie; the error margin between their movements had disappeared.
“All right,” Kieran said and stretched his back. “I’m going to start the simulation. It’s one of the basic simulations, as you well know by now. The clearance time for it is under 90 minutes. Any questions?”
“Just start it already,” Ildar sighed. Impatience was apparent in his tone.
“No questions, Interceptor ready to go,” Zoya added. Kieran rolled his eyes.
“Begin simulation,” he announced and started the program.
“Go wild, Zoya.” Ildar’s voice, lower than before and with a hint of smugness - even pride - made Caspian arch a brow.
Kieran glanced at him and mirrored the gesture, then scoffed and shook his head. Caspian directed his attention back to the assisting screen and watched the input sequence. Interceptor started to move, a standard input operation performed with pedals and basic controls.
No button smashing.
Caspian was very familiar with the Standard Simulation #1. After the military had recovered the first ever body of an anomaly and documented its abilities, they had used the data to create a simulation for training purposes. All pilots used it to train; beginners because it was a good way to get them used to the strain of piloting, more experienced ones because it was the most polished one and offered the most variety.
He brushed his fingers against the numbers on the screen, watching the graph of movement and information of the vitals. Neat curves, up and down, nothing out of ordinary. On the screen, Interceptor was steadily making its way out in the open through the ruins of a city model.
“Interceptor, closing in on target,” Ildar suddenly announced, causing both Kieran and Caspian to flinch. Only two seconds later, the simulation gave a data feed of enemies in the radars. Kieran’s eyebrows knitted.
“Is there a chance they are cheating the simulation? They clearly announced engagement before the anomalies appeared on the radar,” he said and glanced at Caspian.
This was Caspian’s role in diagnostics: to tell Kieran what was possible outside simulations, and what wasn’t.
“It’s doable if they rely more on vision than radards,” Caspian replied after he recovered from the surprise. He didn’t take his eyes off the data charts as Interceptor sped up. “It’s a good habit to have. Still, pretty perceptive to notice it before the radar detection.” The movement pattern shifted slightly as Interceptor started to ready its weapons while running.
And there it was, again.
Saying that they were pressing all the buttons at once was a slight exaggeration. Seeing the input in real time revealed that the movements were actually quick sequences, one button after another. He leaned closer to the monitor, as if proximity could somehow provide him an answer to his question.
What are they doing?
Caspian’s gaze flicked towards the old machine assuming a slightly crouched position as it closed the distance between them and the monster. The difference in their sizes became more apparent with each passing moment.
Several sequences of movement at once. Several attack sequences. Different parts of Interceptor lit up in the monitor hologram, reflecting the input.
“Why do they keep doing that? Is there a bug they are hoping to exploit?” That’s what I want to know, Caspian thought as an answer to Kieran’s question. There had to be a pattern. There was a pattern, he just had to find it. Something that they could only do with Interceptor.
Something only Interceptor allows them to do.
A thought occurred to him as he watched Interceptor engaging with the target. Zoya was pressing a button to prepare the weapon, but instead of lifting its gun, Interceptor stabbed the anomaly with a blade.
Caspian flicked his screen to go back on the data input list. There, several sequences back, was the sequence for the stabbing motion.
The corners of his mouth curved into a curious smirk.
Brilliant, crazy motherfuckers.
“No,” he said, finally remembering that Kieran didn’t live inside his head. “They are lining up the sequences one after another. They aren’t just randomly pressing the buttons, they are buffering several actions in a row.”
“I thought the system block prevents you from doing that.” Kieran’s voice was doubtful, but Caspian brushed it off, for a moment forgetting the differences in their ranks. His pulse was pounding with curiosity.
“That’s a newer addition. In the older models, you can manually override the block, and Interceptor is nothing if not an old model,” he clarified and rolled quickly up to the input feed. Sure enough, the very first input from Ildar had been the override switch. “The block was enforced because once you activate the sequences simultaneously, the fighter won’t stop until it has emptied the log.”
The anomaly reared its head in the simulation, standing firmly on all fours two times at the height of Interceptor.
“So basically if the situation changes mid-attack, you are fucked,” Kieran interpreted, and Caspian nodded. The input feed was much more active on Zoya’s side of the mecha, Ildar seemed to mostly handle anything related to movement. It wasn’t what he had anticipated from the new recruit with meek eyes and gaze aimed downwards, all fiddling and nervous as if she was hiding something.
Interceptor emptied both sides of its short-distance cannon at the target straight in front of them. The blast hindered the anomaly enough so that Interceptor managed to slip under one of its legs before barraging its stomach with a hail of bullets. There were still four more sequences to run, and more inputs coming in.
“Can that be done in real life? Or is that just a simulation thing?” Now Kieran’s eyes were focused on Caspian’s expression rather than on the screen. Caspian licked his lips and watched the data. The simulations were intended to be accurate representations of real situations, as much was true. But..
“I’ll give you an answer to that if they clear the simulation,” he promised when he saw Interceptor running out of ammo and the mecha drawing its blade again, grasping at it with two hands and stabbing it through the anomaly’s chest. The monster shrieked and squirmed, but couldn’t escape the pin.
The monitor hologram went dark as Interceptor’s lights went out.
“What,” Caspian started, but before he could continue further, Interceptor came back online.
“That was Ildar,” Kieran stated dryly, “he killed the system with the emergency switch. What the everliving fuck for?”
“Clearing the sequences,” Caspian realised as he watched the now-clear slate of input feed. “That’s how they do it. Whenever something goes wrong, they simply turn it off and restart, giving them a clear sequence cache.”
Kieran did not seem impressed by this; his lips pressed together even tighter and he leaned closer to the screen.
“But that leaves them open for attacks. And shouldn’t it terminate the connection if the mecha goes offline?” Caspian opened his mouth but they both stopped to watch as Interceptor narrowly managed to avoid the thrashing anomaly striking at them by activating its thrusters and leaping over to its other side. The blade was coated in dark fluid.
“The connection won’t terminate if the mecha model has a power bank,” Caspian noted, now giddy with excitement. “Backup power can keep them online for as long as one minute - but yes, during the time they turn it off and on again, they’re completely helpless.” Which had probably been why they had impaled the anomaly with a sword. Not to damage it, but to hold it still - to buy those seconds they needed for restart.
Kieran turned to Caspian, annoyed and alarmed.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” His voice snapped at Caspian like a whip.
“Yes,” Caspian agreed without a moment’s hesitation, eyes following the fight on the screen. “Newer models are designed to prevent pilots from accidentally pulling shit like that. I’ve never thought anyone would consider doing that on purpose.”
His voice cut off when he saw several sequences on the input feed again. Interceptor grappled the anomaly twice its size and started to pummel it, elbow thruster active to force strength into the punches.
“If that misses even once, it’ll throw them off balance,” Caspian noted to Kieran when he saw the sequence was set to loop.
But Interceptor did not miss.
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