A girl's got to pay the bills.
Sorry I interrupted.
Hey, no problem. I'm not a professor. If you have a question, ask it.
OK then, you talked about power systems, at least as far as articulation, but you haven't touched on what actually produces the power that makes a mech go.
It's basically a small-scale version of a municipal power supply. Nothing special.
You've got remember that I'm from the Fringe, kind of a country bumpkin.
Ah so. You're pretty loaded for a hayseed.
Hey, don't go all veiled and distrustful on me now.
Well, my caution is exceeding my greed right now. The more you talk, the more you sound terminally stupid or full of shit.
Look, let's go back to your shop. I don't want to talk in a restaurant.
OK.
Maybe another look at my bank balance will put you at ease.
Maybe.
***
This is my shop. That over there, pointing right at you, is the only visible weapon linked to the security system. Now talk.
When I said my motivation was revenge, that part is true, but it's not just personal. And when I said that my family had been wiped out by a genomic virus, it wasn't really the whole story.
Continue.
My family wasn't just Mom, Pop, and Sis. Everyone in the colony was family.
So you're a clone.
Yeah. We were clone a colony.
How the hell is that supposed to work? I mean, you'd be like, fucking your sister for chrissake.
Genotype isn't phenotype. Even identical twins are different people.
Yeah, but twins don't fuck and breed.
Could you get your mind off that?
Well, damn, it's just creepy.
First of all, our genotypes were carefully mapped to mesh well with no harmful recessives. I could've had a kid with my mom's clone and the kid would be OK. Also, as we're raised, our environmental parameters are changed, controlled. Stephanie looked exactly like my sister, but she was a totally different person. My sister didn't much like to read or snowboard. Just like there were lots of me in the colony, but I was the only one at University monkeying with my DNA, the only one the virus didn't get… the only one…
Hey, I'm sorry. All I know is what I've read. I've never been to a clone colony, let alone met a colonist. And what the hell does this have to do with anything?
Shut up, dammit. It's important. The virus wasn't a hemorrhagic fever. My family didn't die with blood and slime spewing out their eyeballs. It hit the motor neurons. Everyone just slowed down and dropped. A few lucky people died in vehicles or other accidents, but the whole rest of the colony just didn't move.
Sick.
It gets better. Our attackers did this because we were a commodity. Just like the water on the surface and the heavy metals in the ground. The whole population was clones, all 20,000 of us. We were right on the verge of programmatic differentiation. Future generations wouldn't have to "fuck their sisters." But they timed it perfectly, just as the population reached that critical point. 20,000 people with optimal genotypes, optimal for colonization, also optimal for organ interchange. 20,000 hearts, 40,000 kidneys, 180,000 meters of gut. No need for vats to grow them. No need for techs to tend and harvest the tissues.
Holy shit.
They must've been watching us for years. We were like cattle to them.
How the hell did you get out?
Simple. They assumed everyone was paralyzed. No need for security. After a few weeks, I just walked into one of their trading posts and bought a ticket outbound. I now represent the few family members who were off-system at the time and the investors who seeded the colony. The investors don't have the cash to buy another planet, develop new genotypes, or reverse engineer the virus. They are paying me to get the development info on the virus and do as much damage as I can while I'm getting it. My family is paying for revenge… and the hope that they can get their sisters and lovers back.
Back? I mean, how, with everyone all… distributed?
Stephanie is very beautiful. In some circles, the whole is worth more than the parts. Meaning that Stephanie and her gene-sisters are popular and expensive sex dolls.
Holy shit.
Depending on how much money you have to spend, you can have the equivalent of a comatose movie star that just requires cleaning, feeding, and some simple neuro-stim therapy. Roll out the big bucks and you get all the bells and whistles: cerebellar block, control unit, and custom re-genned motor nerves.
What sick fucks. You keep saying motor nerves. Are you saying…
Of course. All the Stephanies are fully conscious, unless a client has them burned.
Holy… wow. Damn.
The warlord has a small inventory of Stephanies in his compound, but we hope that the attention I bring smokes out some of his special clients. For all you care, this is all just an unverifiable story told by some guy with a big bankroll, but it is what's motivating me. So please, could you just do the job I'm paying you for? I'm tired of taking my money elsewhere.
OK… OK… so you were asking about power plants.
Pakeha