The outer wall had no major defenses other than it being a big quickset barrier that would take some effort to break down. The Recon mechs could jump right over them, and everyone else would have to smash through. The secondary wall was helpful because it would tell us when enemies were within effective range. It also marked the edge of the EMP minefield.
We’d received Sam’s PA system via a drop, but Roger hadn’t yet had time to make certain it wasn’t bugged.
Those who weren’t fighting hid in the shelters or were on ammo duty. If the bad guys broke through, there was no plan after that. Rosita and Ariceli were still working tirelessly on their escape-tunnel project, but it wasn’t yet done.
If they broke through tonight, this was it.
“Oliver, have you eaten yet?” Roger asked. “Rule number seven. Keep yourself refueled at all times.”
“I’ll grab a sandwich when I can,” I said, but a moment later one was pushed into my hand. I looked down to see scout 418—Priscilla—standing there, cheese sandwich in one grasping hand, a bottle of water in the second. I let go of my pulse rifle to grab both.
My bracelet buzzed. I took a glance, seeing it was a document sent from Roger. I put the sandwich and water down and pulled it up. I blinked, confused at the words. My eyes focused on the top line. It read,Trevor Aarons. Age: 21. Location: Greater Los Angeles, District 114. Occupation: None. On UBI level 2. Team: The Uglies. Attenuator with six-pack missile launcher and standard-issue pulse cannon–electrified bludgeon combo. Ammo status: Full. Orange markings with tiger stripes. Father’s name is Todd Aarons and is in prison for tax fraud. Mother, Lindsey Aarons, passed away six months ago for unknown reasons. Suggested insult: Accuse his father of actually being in prison for bestiality. Alternate insult: Accuse mother of suicide because Trevor was such a disappointment, or as a combo with thefirst insult, suggest she killed herself because she didn’t look enough like a Pomeranian.
Sam, also looking at his bracelet, started to laugh. “Roger, what is this?”
“This is an active document on all the known incoming combatants based on streams. Despite the bandwidth limitations, I have uploaded a copy of myself to a rented Earth-based server, and it has increased my ability to gather intelligence a hundredfold. I have included as much information as I can gather. If you click on the team name, you will see all the existing team members. If you click on the name of the player’s mech, I will attempt to keep track of all damage, armament, and ammo levels. In addition, I am collecting possible insults one may hurl.”
“Wait,” I said. “You uploaded a copy of yourself? You can just do that? I thought you required some type of special, now illegal computer chip to work?”
“It’s not a legitimate copy of myself. I am attempting to be mindful of our bandwidth limitations, plus a full copy of myself would be quite illegal. Now that I have private server space, I have a foothold on the other side of the gate. What I have working for us tonight are more like smart processes designed to carry out bandwidth-intensive tasks Earthside, and they just send me the results. They work in a similar fashion to the scouts we have here.”
I exchanged a look with Sam.
“Illegal?” I asked. “Seriously?”
Roger clicked. “The perimeter-defense program does have some limitations, Oliver. I am able to take some illegal actions in self-defense, but I am precluded from committing war crimes. Still, with enough processing power and time, there’s not much one can’t accomplish. When we originally left Earth, my type of entity was relegated to the four corners of the chip we were built upon. But the new network architectures, ironically designed to allow system-wide processes to detect and eliminate entities such as myself, are nowsturdy enough to carry my weight, so to speak. But you are correct that what I’m doing is highly illegal. I must keep a low profile and only proliferate enough to accomplish my current task.”
My head spun at the term “war crimes.” I decided to ignore it for now. “How much of Lulu’s money did you spend?” I asked.
“Most of it, I am afraid. But I did leave enough in there.”
“Enough for what?” I started to ask, but I was interrupted by Lulu talking over the band.
“These insults are fantastic, Roger,” Lulu said. Then she added a little dryly, “I’m glad to see my investment is paying off.” Lulu and Rosita were working one of the mortar stations behind us on the ground inside the wall.
“What the heck is ‘formicophilia’?’’ Rosita added.
“Do we really think these are going to work?” Sam asked. He still had the list pulled up and was scrolling through it. He was eating his sandwich, and I realized his pockets were full of them. “I love trash-talking as much as the next guy, but all it’s going to do is make them mad. Shouldn’t we focus on blowing them up instead?”
“It has been shown in multiple studies that angering one’s opponents can cause a measurable breakdown in team structure. Our opponents are not trained soldiers, but young, immature gamers who are greatly impacted by their own emotions. I suggest a liberal use of these insults whenever possible, especially if their mechs are down and disabled. If a name has an asterisk by it, it means I believe they’re especially susceptible to insults. But you are correct, Oliver friend number three. Destruction of the incoming mechs is a priority. Psychological warfare efforts are secondary.”
Sam grunted, still not impressed. “Insults wouldn’t work on me.” He pulled another cheese sandwich out of his pocket and started munching on it.
Roger beeped. “As someone who wet his bed so much that his grandmother had to go into debt buying additional mattresses, I do understand how you might think that. Especially since the townsfolkin Burnt Ends still call you Captain Ahab to this day. One would have expected you to develop quite thick skin. Fortunately, our Earth-based enemies live in a more civilized environment, and crude, emotional attacks damage them much more.”
“What the hell, Roger?” Sam asked. “None of that is true!”
Shing!Roger’s correction stinger appeared. “I would correct you for swearing, but I fear if you urinate yourself like you usually do when I sting you, you will ruin the two cheese sandwiches still in your pockets, and it would be a waste of a resource.”
I fell over with laughter. Sam, who was smart enough to see the point Roger was trying to make, took a moment to compose himself. “Okay, jerk. I get it.”
“Yes, Oliver friend number three, now you understand how effective these tactics may be. Especially if there is some kernel of truth mixed into the insults, it appears to hit much, much harder. It’s quite fascinating. I know nothing about your nightly urination habits. But you did indeed wet the bed once upon a sleepover.”
Sam grumbled with indignation. “That only happened once, and that was because Mr.Gonzales was making us try all those combinations of pear juice.”
“That is correct,” Roger said. “Also, I do not know the true reason why several of the townsfolk call you Captain Ahab. If I was truly attempting to insult you, I would likely say something about your skill as a bass player or singer. Or I would question the paternity of your so-called forthcoming child with Lulu friend number six.”
“Wait, what?” Sam asked. “Is that supposed to be another joke?”
