Chapter Text
Neuroplasticity refers to the human brain’s inherent ability to adapt to novel information, sensations, or emotions. Centuries of neurological science has shown that human consciousness arises out of the physical arrangement of neurons in the brain, and the vast network that billions of individual neurons make with another. Exposure to new stimuli, therefore, can cause physical changes in the brain.
It is this property that has allowed us humans to use and develop tools. Over time, the brain begins to consider these tools an extension of the organic body. The precision of the surgeon’s scalpel, the speed of the batter’s swing, the dance of the painter’s brush are all made possible by the remarkable adaptability of the human brain.
This adaptability can be quantified as neuroplasticity.
- Excerpt from chapter 1 of Fundamentals of Neuro-Machine Interfacing
“Jackal, bring yourself online.”
Lieutenant Cassandra Rio, callsign Jackal, shuddered as her NMIS (Neuro-Machine Interface System) began to activate. Up and down her spine, dozens of analog and digital cables slid neatly into their respective ports, the connections finalized with a familiar click-hiss sound. The Lieutenant squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself. A thousand icy needles wrapped around her every nerve as the NMIS linked itself to her body.
Despite the harsh boot-up sequence, Jackal relished the feeling of piloting a mobile frame. Her organic body was weak, fragile, and felt awkward. Even after years of hormones and multiple surgeries, there were still parts she despised. Her tall, lanky frame. Her deep voice. Even though her subordinates called her “Ma’am,” Jackal strongly suspected it was done out of fear of retaliation rather than any personal respect.
Being in a mobile frame was different. All four limbs were engineering marvels, every component expertly designed to perfection. The vast network of cameras and sensor arrays fed her brain more information than her eyes and ears ever could. She could feel her enemies crumple beneath her heel, tune herself with the frame’s nuclear reactor as easily as her own heartbeat.
Here, cradled in the guts of a mechanical demigod, she was invulnerable. She was perfect. The sheer size and lethality of a Mobile Frame demanded respect. Dozens of enemy logos, painted in a neat grid on the armor on her left shoulder, were crossed out with white paint. Each one denoted a successful kill, a demonstration of her strength, an enemy pilot who was too weak to survive. Jackal was an ace, and no one had ever bested her in a Mobile Frame. No one, except -
Now was not the time to let her mind wander. The Lieutenant opened the voice comms channel and gave the order.
“This is Jackal. All systems nominal. All other call signs, activate NMIS.”
Jackal felt an electromagnetic signal as the rest of the 42nd Imperial Armored Cavalry Squadron came online. The Mobile Frames’ IFF was synchronized across the squadron and told her everything she needed to know without so much as a word. Imperial protocol dictated that the voice communications were strictly for relaying orders or for emergencies only. This suited Jackal just fine. Getting too chummy with the rest of the unit only got in the way.
One-by-one, Jackal received the check-in messages from the rest of her team.
This is Ursa. All systems nominal.
This is Falcon. All systems nominal.
This is Bulldog. Reactor temperatures running 8% above upper control limit. All other systems are nominal.
This is Corvid. Reactor running cool as a cucumber. Ready to engage, Lieutenant.
This is Moose. All systems nominal.
Bulldog had, allegedly, been running unauthorized experiments on her frame’s reactor to squeeze out as much extra performance as she could. She insisted it was worth the reduced lifespan of her reactor, but her dwindling repair budget begged to differ.
Bulldog and Corvid were always together. Outside of their mechs, they were always giggling at some unknown inside joke, or sneaking off god-knows-where for some “alone time.” Their lack of discipline was always a thorn in Jackal’s side, but the two of them had a proven track record. Unprofessional or not, Bulldog and Corvid worked well together.
Jackal rolled her eyes and flipped her radio back online.
“Enough goofing off, you two. T-minus 30 seconds to lunar orbit insertion burn. 42nd Cavalry Squad, begin pre-warming those boosters.”
The 42nd had been launched from the Tigris on a hyperbolic orbit around Luna. The plan was, as they passed the closest point around Luna, to use the insertion burn to slow themselves down, changing their orbit to an elliptical trajectory that would eventually land them on the other side of the moon, directly above the enemy base.
“Begin delta-V burn… now!”
Jackal’s inner organic body lurched forward against the cockpit restraints as her Frame decelerated. She felt another electronic signal in her spine, signifying four successful booster activations and one error. Jackal, Ursa, Falcon, Corvid and Moose began slowly descending towards the lunar surface, while Bulldog’s mobile frame continued to soar right past them.
“Bulldog, status report!” Jackal barked.
Bulldog’s voice, always trying to sound like the hotshot ace pilot, came over the radio. “It’s the orbital booster, ma’am! The controls are throwing an over-temperature warning. Should be no problem. Clearing it out now.”
“I told you to stop fucking with that reactor, Ensign,” Jackal scolded. “Overwrite the error code and activate that insertion burn before you drift off into space. The empire spent a lot of money on that Frame, and I’ll be damned if I let it go to waste.”
Another voice, warm and smoky, came crawling onto the communications frequency. “Yeah, Bulldog. These things don’t grow on trees, you know.”
“Shut it, Ursa. Voice comms are for combat and emergencies only.” Under normal circumstances, Jackal would have had Ursa court-martialled as an example to the rest of the team, but it would have to wait for another day.
Jackal flicked on her radio one more time. “Bulldog, status report.”
“Error code cleared, ma’am. Beginning orbital descent b-”
Before Bulldog could finish speaking, a tremendous heat source appeared on the medium range thermal sensors, and then disappeared just as quickly. Hot gas and debris rained down on the rest of the 42nd squadron. Jackal could tell what had happened before the NMIS fed her the update.
BULLDOG: SIGNAL LOST
A distant wave of nausea told her that Corvid had thrown up in the cockpit.
“That, 42nd squad, is why we don’t modify our reactors ourselves! Get back in formation, we’re arriving at the objective in T-minus two minutes.”
Corvid’s voice, shaky and heaving, crackled over the comms link again. “B-but… Lieutenant, I-”
“Zip it, Ensign!” Jackal snapped. “I don’t give a rat’s ass. Bulldog did it to herself by fucking with that reactor. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Now focus up! We’ve got a job to do.”
The rest of the descent was dead silent, exactly the way Jackal preferred. Jackal closed her flesh-eyes and went over the intel from the briefing. The SLF (Solar System Liberation Front) base was well equipped to deal with invaders trying to break in. A dozen layers of trenches, artillery guns, and missile vehicles pointed outwards around the base in every direction. The inner defenses consisted of long-range anti-spacecraft guns and cruise missiles, enough to shred any imperial ship that dared come within firing range. All of these were pointed outwards. In exactly 30 seconds, the 42nd squad would land in the exact center of the SLF campus, behind the enemy defenses.
Their objective was simple. Somewhere in the base, the SLF were developing some sort of experimental new weapon. The 42nd squad was to disable the enemy’s defenses, and capture or destroy the enemy prototype.
The ground of the lunar surface was rapidly rushing up to meet the descending Mobile Frames. The imperial pilots waited until the last possible second before firing their leg-mounted RCS thrusters, softening their landing and kicking up huge clouds of dust. Jackal flicked her comms link open again and barked out a single order. “42nd squad, begin operation!”
The five mobile frames of the 42nd Imperial Armored Cavalry fanned out from their landing zone, kicking up clouds of dust as they skated over the lunar surface, and left only death behind them. The mobile frames smashed through the pressurized SLF buildings, and the decompression blew hundreds of SLF personnel into the harsh vacuum of open space. They fell slowly to the ground, their bodies frozen as they spent their last moments desperately gasping for air. A better-equipped organization would have had most of their facilities underground, but deploying heavy mining equipment was slow and expensive, and the Tigris had been choking out the SLF supply lines for years.
The SLF scrambled to begin mounting a defense. 50-caliber machine gun fire bounced harmlessly off of the armor of the mobile frames as they danced around the ground-launched missiles and rockets. Infantry-based anti-frame weapons were a threat, but that’s what shrapnel launchers were for. Jackal felt the recoil on her elbow through the NMIS, and watched as a dozen men and women disappeared in a pink mist on the ground.
So far, besides losing a single frame, everything had proceeded exactly to plan. Ursa and Moose were rampaging through the fighter hangars, while Falcon and Crow crippled the SLF communications. There would be no reinforcements. The only thing that could threaten Jackal now was -
“Jackal, problem!” Corvid called out over the voice comms. “Enemy mobile frame! We’re getting torn apart over here!”
The enemy prototype! Jackal cursed herself for not finding it sooner. She rushed towards her team’s last known location, and pinged the IFF for another update.
URSA: PILOT EJECT SUCCESSFUL. SIGNAL LOST.
FALCON: SIGNAL LOST
BULLDOG: SIGNAL LOST
CORVID: SYSTEM CRITICAL. RECOMMEND EMERGENCY EJECT.
MOOSE: SIGNAL LOST
Just what the hell was that enemy prototype? How could it have torn through four imperial Mobile Frames that quickly? Was the intel wrong? Had they walked straight into a trap?
Jackal’s pulse quickened, and the reactor increased power output to match. Her flesh-hands felt clammy, and shook uncontrollably against the controls. Despite the extra power output from the reactor, the cockpit felt uncomfortably cold. An unfamiliar feeling came creeping in through the edge of her mind:
Fear.
In extremely high-stress situations, an elevated heart rate and adrenaline can increase the brain’s sensitivity to the Neuro-Machine Interface System. As one pilot’s brain begins to change, these changes are often sent over the network when multiple NMIS are linked together. This behavior is called NMIS Resonance. Colloquially, it is also known as “drifting.”
When induced artificially, NMIS Resonance greatly increases group cohesion. Essentially, individuals who are “drifting” into each other can understand each other perfectly and instantaneously. Without a single spoken word, an individual’s emotional state can reach out and propagate itself over the entire NMIS network.
This communication with no misconceptions, no misunderstandings, has incredible potential. Humanity is on the cusp of a new type of understanding.
-Excerpt from chapter 18 of Fundamentals of Neuro-Machine Interfacing
As Jackal rushed forwards, a notification appeared on her HUD. “NMIS_RESONANCE”.
Fucking great, she thought. Those goddamn useless rookies can’t get their feelings under control, and they’re dragging me down with them. The Lieutenant turned down the gain on her NMIS receiver and shut herself off from her squad. Nothing changed.
Fucking receiver is busted again, she told herself. She took a deep breath. She was an ace pilot of the Empire. She would not be afraid.
Jackal arrived at her squad’s last known location, and found only ruin. The smoldering husks of four Mobile Frames lay on the ground, mangled nearly beyond recognition. Many of their limbs were missing, burnt or chopped off by the enemy ambush. Reactor piping and ventilation and wire harnesses of all sizes spilled haphazardly out of what used to be an armored torso and lay scattered around like guts. Hydraulic fluid and reactor coolant spilled out and mixed together on the ground, oxidizing together into blood-red sludge.
Out of the center of the carnage stood a single, mobile frame. Its limbs were long, slender and white, and the fingers of its left hand ended in savage hooked claws. Its other hand grasped an enormous halberd, still half buried in what was left of Moose’s machine. How could a single frame have bested four imperial pilots?
A notification appeared on Jackal’s HUD. Target spotted. The enemy frame in front of her yanked its halberd out of the wreckage and took up a defensive stance. Jackal reached for her left hip and drew her machine’s sword.
A duel? She could do this. Only one person had ever beaten her. She steadied her breathing again, and thought about victory. She could see herself, standing over the smoking wreckage of the enemy prototype, listening to the enemy pleading for their miserable little life while she drove her sword into the cockpit. I can do this. A smirk creeped onto her face. This should be fun.
There was no time to reflect on the hypothetical. The white Mobile Frame charged at Jackal, lunging at her from above with the halberd’s spear. The white machine was impossibly fast. Jackal’s sensors could keep up, but only barely. She held her sword in a high horizontal position to block the incoming blow, but the white machine feinted low at the last moment, smashing the halberd’s blade into her frame’s abdomen.
Jackal winced and struggled to keep her frame balanced. The NMIS piped pain signals into her brain corresponding with where the mobile frame took damage. Most other pilots had the pain sensitivity dialed down, but Jackal preferred to be as synchronized with her mobile frame as she could. A moment passed and the pain faded on its own. She didn’t need to pull up a diagnostic to see that the damage was minor. The multilayered ceramic armor was heavily cracked, but had not shattered yet.
The white machine soared past and took a low stance, dragging its clawed hand behind itself through the lunar soil. In its low stance, the white machine looked like a predator, every muscle in its body tense and ready to strike.
Jackal remembered where she had seen that stance before. She bit her tongue and forced the memory aside. She had a job to do, and she would succeed or die trying. She took a defensive stance. When the enemy charged again, she was ready.
At the last moment, she activated her frame’s RCS thrusters and dodged to the left while extending the sword to the right, but the white Mobile Frame anticipated the maneuver and deftly rolled out of the way. Jackal had only managed to scratch its armor.
The NMIS_RESONANCE notification appeared again, and the enemy machine opened up a voice channel.
“Cass?”
Jackal recognized this voice, instantly.
“Cassie? Is that really you?”