# Project A.C.E.S.
# Model XII Candidacy
# Subject 02 = "Rosamund"
# Serial = R031S32-U15550-F02
# Seq. 001, Ver.0.01b
>>> Commence Standard Check…
“Hey. Stop daydreamin’ kid. We’ve got work to do.”
A solid thwack of metal accompanied the reproach and Rosamund “Roz” Matthews cringed. She resumed the task at hand, which at the moment was just to readjust valves in the water reclamation system in her workplace. Not that she was dismissing the importance of her job. As an apprentice engineer in their residential quadrant, Roz could say that she was doing her part keeping everyone alive.
It was year 6012 AD, which was 3007 years after the Seventh Earth World War that necessitated the migration of the remaining human population to the then scientific Mars human settlements. The laboratories that were created at the end of 2030 were expanded into residential and support sectors. Because of the harsh Martian environment and the limited expanse of the artificial atmosphere anchored at the Mars-base Science and Development Department (MaSceDD), most of the new city was built underground.
And wasn’t it just nice for them, huh.
Roz shrugged and put her weight into turning the wrench that gripped a particularly stubborn nut. Their side of the settlement, Quadrant 31, was known to its residents as the Garage. Not only because it was where all mechanical components of the City go through creation and maintenance in their numerous engineering bays, but also because they are one of the surface sectors. It meant exposure to the elements and insecurity from other threats, because other than automated patrol droids, there weren’t many security protocols that covered anyone outside the City, that underground Metropolis.
Not that she thought they needed help anyway. Most of the people in their quadrant work with their bodies, unlike the automaton-dependent city-dwellers. Roz was proud of her physical strength that allows her to assist their survival while earning enough to feed her family. This was definitely much more than what the City people had.
Because of what happened at the home planet, the new City (one of the many, and as far as she knew—was the largest, settlements in Mars) had implemented a very rigid new structure. Residents were divided into age groups, ensuring that their care was properly coordinated with their bodies’ needs. Infants—born from carefully planned pregnancies based on genetic compatibility—were taken from their parents consensually and placed in what Roz could only describe as the Nursery. She knew people that had to deliver machineries into the City and the best they could describe it was as sterile. It seemed there wasn’t space for much emotion and passion in there.
And they probably thought it was for the good. Emotions lead to conflict and wars after all. If you like exaggerated escalation.
Well, they can keep their sorry emotionless City to themselves. Roz liked feeling the heat of passion just fine. Which recalled her sister’s face to mind. She’s coming up her sixteenth turning. Roz hadn’t been able to get anything for her last turn because she was just an errand girl under Kruger then—the warder thought that she would give up wanting to work in the bay just ‘cause the old man’s cranky—but not anymore. She was the first person the get apprenticeship from the geezer in a long time.
She can’t buy anything fancy, since she’s scrimping to afford her mother’s maintenance medicine—for something from the old world, asthma—so something useful would have to be enough at the moment. And clothes of course. Unlike Roz, who can work with whatever she can find at the Barter Shop, her sister deserved better fittings.
Contrasting to Roz’ mint-color dyed hair that was cut short to avoid hindering her at work, Camellia had their mother’s long raven waves. Not that she had ever seen the avian creature, but the holos about them showed intelligent-looking beings with massive wings the color of an oil slick. It was beautiful in a ragged, wild way. Just like the Garage and the Martian deserts that surrounded them.
“The water won’t pump itself from the wells, y’know! Get that ass movin’!”
Grinning at the old man’s quip, Roz was about to make a comeback when an explosion knocked her off the pipe she was straddling.
BREACH WARNING: ATMOSPHERE DOME COMPROMISED, PLEASE REMAIN CALM, DON YOUR RESPIRATORS AND EVACUATE TO THE NEAREST SHELTER TO YOUR LOCATION. CITY TUNNEL GATES UNDER LOCKDOWN. REPEAT…
The alarms were blaring over the automated pubcomm announcement and Roz panicked, her only remaining family in mind. Her father had died in a similar event, rescuing everyone first that he hadn’t been able to get to a respirator in time. But he had saved lives in that attack and he was Roz’ hero. Her eyes rounded as she turned to Kruger, the plea caught in her throat. The complaint of the pipes from the disturbance rendered speaking inaudible, but the old man’s understanding nod brought a grateful smile to her face.
She jumped up and scampered over the pipes system, something she had done hundreds of times ever since her father had brought her to his workplace, rendering Roz to swear she will one day become a mechanic too. She did, though she also wanted to do as her father did. Help protect her people, the ones forgotten—ignored by the Department.
“They’re here!”
Bobby Ray, one of the tool stewards in the engineering bay Roz was based screamed as the intruders approached and became visible. Holo images projected by their paltry security team showed images of the enemy.
“Bipedal tanks?! They’re somehow different than those that attacked five years ago?”
“What? How?”
She didn’t even turn to the man running along her side as she aimed to return to her residence unit. She knew she had drilled the evacuation protocol to her sister and mother. But she wasn’t sure about her sister’s state of mind. Unlike Roz, her mother and sister were more delicate. Both in bearing and constitution.
“They move like humans.”
Which was supposed to be impossible. Engineering-wise, the bipedal tanks were designed to automate mining and construction activities. It was meant to be mobile heavy equipment modules and not carry firing weapons. Also, despite their stubbly legs that were equipped with threads to navigate rubble and even steps, these were never designed to be combat robots. The Driven had done it again. If Roz wasn’t so mad at their terrorism, she would have loved to sit and talk with their engineer and mechanics.
They turned a corner and three bipedal tanks were already running through the road. They were firing contact explosives at everyone, destroying structure—and based on the cries that she could hear—injuring people.
With a thought that once again, the upper echelon of their ‘enlightened’ society failed them, Roz moved into action. She snagged a small glass tube from her cargo pants and hurled it at the BTU’s feet. The tube shattered and nitrogen gas escaped and crawled over the tank’s metal armor.
All three halted in their tracks.
Their threads were frozen through, stopping them, and the fact that they didn’t tip over was just evidence of their superb balancing modules. But just stopping its mobility didn’t stop the assault. The heavy machine guns on the left and the Howitzers on their left shoulders fired at everyone in seemingly random shots. But it did create a bullet hell that rendered everyone immobile behind hiding spaces.
We’re all going to die here.
Just then, a man dashed past the wall Roz’ was crouched behind and charged the tanks. Adjusting a headset on his head—and conspicuously not wearing a respirator—a man in a military uniform used his left arm to hold the handle of a 150cm long blade steady, the handle being another 30 cm, and fell into a stance. Hefting the blade and seemingly pressing a button by its hilt, the old-school sword hummed to life and flew into the air.
Roz gasped as she witnessed the use of an honest to goodness sonic blade in front of her. A 180cm long sonic blade.
A shattering roar was heard—not so different from the sound of crushing metal in the waste disposal—as the bipedal tank crashed into the pavement. Red liquid gushed from the main body. The pilot’s dead. But the soldier—Roz could only assume he was one—continued his assault until the street was littered with cut metal and emerging gore.
“Hey, kid! Good shot with the freezer. I didn’t think I’d have time to take them down before they killed everyone.”
She was about to return the compliment when she remembered her family.
“Shit!!! Mom—and Camellia!”
She turned tail and ran, panting as far as her respirator allowed. Within ten minutes, she arrived at her unit. She entered their security pass and ran in as soon as the door slip open.
“MOM!”
=Good afternoon, Rosamund. As per the public advisory, your mother and Miss Camellia had proceeded to the shelter. I suggest you follow them to the facility as the warning hadn’t been lifted.=
Breathing deeply to rid herself of the panic that nipped when she didn’t find her family present in the dwelling, she nodded to the holo of their unit’s sensor AI, Quin.
“Thanks Quin.”
She couldn’t help the weight of disappointment and honestly, a bit of resentment that settled in her gut. If she didn’t have to run and check on her family—though something she will never regret—she could have spoken with that service man. And if she was lucky, if she could have stayed and told the man of what else she had learned in the streets of the Garage, she could have gotten him to recruit her. Or at least have given her a referral for the program.
She could have become a soldier—damn being a woman, she’s a mechanic and a good one at that—and become someone who could protect her family, her quadrant, her people.
Well, it’s just too bad. Dilemmas were dilemmas for a reason. Both options were critical and the cost of choice was what it was.
>>> Core Programming check… (ok)
>>> Specs Compatibility check… (ok)
“Hey!”
>>> NMare Sync check… 92% (high)
“Hey! Wake up!”
>>> Upload Utility… 89% (high)
>>> Preliminary Rating… (high)
# Refer to A.C.E.S. IV for remarks
“Hey, kid!”
Rosamund “Roz” Matthews felt dazed as she froze astride a pipe she was adjusting the valve of, a wrench in hand and the old man, Kruger, grumbling somewhere near.
>>> Initialization Start…
“Hey. Stop daydreamin’ kid. We’ve got work to do.”
>>>
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