Chapter Twenty-One - Descent

“The AI Accessibility Act started off as a law passing in New York state in early July 2027. Initially combated by multiple public groups who wanted to limit the power of artificial intelligences and who feared their reach and capability, the act nonetheless passed with the aid and support of governor G. Clancy (sponsored by Nimbletainment and BlackCore Inc.).

This period was called the ‘AI Summer’ and saw a surge in quasi-intelligent devices making their way onto the market. Many states soon adopted the same law.”

--The Rise and Rise of AI in North America, January 2039

***

I took the elevator.

It was a risk, yeah, but it was faster. And I figured that getting out of the elevator if things went screwy was doable. I had some points set aside, and Myalis assured me that the elevator worked before I got in.

So I found myself tapping my foot, reconsidering all the mistakes I made in my life, and listening to some auto-generated music, the sort entirely composed by some automated AI that pinged off of a person’s media feeds and tried to make the perfect song for them.

I hated the music.

“Can you turn off that noise?” I asked Myalis.

Sure, why not?

The music cut off mid-note and I relaxed a little easier. “Thanks,” I said. “One listen to some polka a few years back, and ever since my profile thinks that I adore the stuff.”

Humanity’s love for music is rather strange. Not unique, there are other races that appreciate artistically arranged sounds, but it’s less common than artistic enjoyment of sculpture or poetry or motion.

“You know a lot of races?” I asked. I wasn’t a sci-fi nerd or anything, but hearing about real live aliens was kind of neat.

Of course. I could tell you about some of them. There are some special catalogues that are dedicated to the technology from any given race as well. Most Vanguard avoid these, but I find them interesting and diverse, if limiting.

“What are they like?”

One that I think might interest you are the Sun Watchers. Their race is quite proud and regal, with a technological base not entirely dissimilar to humanity’s. That is, they use a lot of electronic systems. They produce some very robust prosthetics and some sensory systems that are quite advanced. Class I Sun Watcher Technology costs one hundred and twenty points, but unlocks a diverse catalogue which includes a variety of items you might find useful.

“How’d they get that name?” I asked.

It’s a rough translation of their actual name. Their culture has a lot of reverence for their local suns and spend a lot of time resting while outdoors. Sunbathing, as it were.

I snorted. “Cute.”

They joined the local conglomerate some seven thousand human years ago when the Protectors moved to protect their homeworld from a solar flare. Their own space-based capabilities were insufficient at the time to negate the damage their world would have suffered. They are not terribly expansionist, and are a rather peaceful if prideful member of the greater galactic community.

“I guess picking a race’s... catalogue thing is a better pick than some other class?” I asked.

Every class and catalogue is unique, though there will be some overlap. A significant portion of the Class I Sun Watcher Technology will be found in Class I Prosthetics, for example. Therefore, I cannot say which would be best until you know what you wish or we enter a situation where a specific tool or utility would be of use.

“How many catalogues are there?” I asked.

Eight million Class I.

“Damn,” I said.

The elevator slowed to a stop, the display above the door reading ‘6th floor’ for a moment before switching back to an ad for canned coffee.

The doors opened.

My heart froze.

I stared at the dozen or so Model Threes and a single large beast that looked like a six-limbed tiger with quills for fur. It locked three eyes on me and opened its mouth wide in a toothy smile.

I tore my Trench Maker from my back, almost fumbled the gun, then pulled the trigger.

A lot of nothing happened.

You forgot the safety, Catherine.

“Shit,” I said as I flicked the safety off. My HUD lit up with a crosshair and the gun’s ammo counter.

The first Model Three started moving my way. I set the crosshair over its face and fired. Then I moved onto the next.

The entire group started to move in earnest while I backed up until my back hit the wall. I fired five more times into the mass of black-green monsters rushing at me.

OUT OF AMMUNITION

I stared at the large red letters hovering before my vision, ears ringing and breath coming in gasps.

I was so fucked.

Then the elevator doors shut with a snap and the aliens thudded into the other side of it. I stared at my reflection in the polished stainless and wondered if I should be laughing or crying.

You might want to reload your gun.

I swallowed. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah that’s... yeah. Claws scrapped against the opposite side of the door while I fumbled the magazine out of my Trench Maker. I had to squeeze it between my thighs, ignoring the warmth of the barrel against my polyester pants until I got the magazine out and could shove my last one in. “Was that you, with the doors?”

I was. You are not equipped or prepared for a melee against such a number of foes. By the way, congratulations on the kills.

Targets Eliminated!
Reward... 30 Points

“Just thirty?” I asked.

You only killed three. Ten opponents remain.

“I shot a lot more than three bullets,” I said.

You can shoot any number of bullets at a target, as long as they fail to hit they don’t count for much. Do you want to purchase high explosive rounds? They could alleviate some of the issues you have with aiming under pressure. You're currently at fifty-seven points. You could afford them.

“Oh, piss off,” I said. “Think you can open and close that door in a hurry?” I slapped the bonus magazine my Trench Maker had come with then waited for a second as the HUD updated.

I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of bullet is that?” The little display at the corner of my vision showed ten bullets with red and black tips. They looked bigger than the 9mm.

I can do that with the door. And those are specialty rounds that come free with the Trench Maker. One fresh magazine would cost you two points. They should be effective against your current foes. Provided you hit them.

“We’ll see.” I flicked the safety off on the gun and watched as the barrel resized itself, growing a little wider to accommodate the new rounds. “Open the door a crack, let me empty this, then close it again. We’ll see how many points we can cheese.”

That’s the spirit!