From the esoteric manner in which the System described the X-Factor, Ves felt a headache coming. What was all of this stupid talk about Protheus and life?
A ch was a weapon, a tool in which humanity used to wage war. In ancient history, when humans wanted to find a ans in which to leverage a power greater than the human body could carry, they turned to horses. When cavalry added their weight to a charge, a normal footsoldier possessed few ans to resist such force.
With the rise of machines and the fuels that could power their insatiable appetites, warfare evolved. The deadliness of a single soldier remained limited, but could be multiplied if they operated tanks or airplanes. Though the uses of infantry never faded out even until this day, the primacy of machines over man in matters of warfare reigned supre ever since.
The introduction of chs to the battlefield reinforced this principle. lding the human form with the aweso power of machinery, the chs provided humans with an excellent ans to wage warfare on the ground. In the past 400 years since the first chs stomped all over a battalion of infantry and tanks, they remained the mainstay of human planetary warfare.
Ves thought deeply and could not wrack his brains in figuring out where this elusive X-Factor fitted in. It sounded a lot like the taphysical bullshit that remained a popular topic of conversation among the dreaming students back in college.
"Man, why am I trying to figure this out myself?" Ves shook his head. He sat down in front of his terminal. "Let’s see what the galactic net has to say about the X-Factor."
The topic appeared to be obscure, but due to the sheer size of the galactic net, Ves found plenty of sources.
"Does the X-Factor exist?" An interviewer asked the older gentleman across the seat.
"I do not know." The professor replied, shaking his head. "In all my years of researching and developing the neural interface that allows pilots to control a ch like their own body, I have never co across a case where the ch provided asurable feedback to the pilot. The vague stories I’ve heard about the X-Factor all originates from the mouths of ch pilots, who aren’t exactly the most authoritative voice in the area of ch design."
"So you’re saying it might be a hoax?"
"I try to keep an open mind, so I’m not inherently dismissing the theory. If soone is able to present with stronger proof in the form of hard data, then I’d happily convert into a believer. But from what I have found out so far, the primary sources that speak about the X-Factor are mostly veteran pilots suffering from borderline PTSD. Age, combat stress and ntal injuries all contribute to hallucinations that mislead them to think a ch is doing more than it should. We haven’t conducted enough research on the impact of prolonged use of the neural interface to a pilot’s psyche."
"Alright, so you remain skeptical." The interviewer nodded. "Then professor, let’s change to a different tack. Do you believe that chs are alive?"
The academic let out a contemptuous laugh. "Let ask you a question for once. Do you believe that chs can think for themselves?"
"Hmmm at so level they do. All chs possess computing power. Without processors to regulate a ch’s operations, the pilot would be overwheld by irrelevant data. They act as the unconscious mind of a human’s body. Since the infrastructure for an unconscious mind already exists, who’s to say a ch can’t also support a thinking mind?"
"Just because they have to potential to do so doesn’t an that makes it so. In your eyes, there’s a small gap between processing data and independent thought, but in my eyes they are separated by a chasm as wide as the distance between galaxies. We humans have worked on artificial intelligence for thousands of years, but for all our advances we have rely achieved a facsimile of sentience. Computers still can’t independently dream or formulate their own desires without an actual human hand-holding their train of thoughts. And never mind these complex desires. The most fundantal part of life is to reproduce, and I have never seen a ch beco attracted to another!"
The interviewer laughed modestly. "Certainly that’s true. However, they don’t have to lift a finger to reproduce themselves. Us humans are doing it for them by developing ever newer chs. Perhaps we might live in a future soday where the number of chs outnumber the humans piloting them. Are we raising our own doom? What do you think about that scenario?"
"Accumulating war materiel is a natural state of affairs. No matter if you have 1 ch or 30 chs, the pilot remains firmly in control. All the conspiracy theorists out there who believe that chs are the remnants of an ancient machine civilization don’t know what they are talking about. The first chs have been developed using gradual advances in technology, all neatly docunted and traceable without any alien influence."
The interview went on for a few more minutes along the sa vein. Ves had an inkling of what the X-Factor was all about.
"I suppose most people think just like , that chs don’t think for themselves." Ves mused as he scratched his head. "But can I still say the sa now that I have the System?"
Ves had gone through a lot since the first ti he received the System. He interacted through its nu like it was a software program, but he also talked to it like the System was an individual. Certainly the System responded like a living being, even showing so emotion underneath its robotic exterior. The question was if displaying these emotions rely fell into a programd response. Was the System programd to follow instructions all this ti?
"Goddammit, this is just like the chicken and egg problem. It just goes round and round."
He learned to disregard problems he couldn’t solve in a short ti. Ordinarily he’d just ignore this issue, but since the mission forced him to figure out the X-Factor, Ves had no choice but to continue wracking his brains around the question of life.
"Man, let’s find a more practical source of information. I need more hard facts and less wishy washy talk." Ves thought as he went back to the starting page of the galactic net.
Interviews provided by ch pilots tended to be more direct. Since they weren’t scientists, they didn’t fear ridicule if they said sothing wrong.
"Eric is my partner for life." A female pilot gushed as she watched over the technicians servicing her damaged ch. "I can’t count how many tis he saved my life. The more I pilot him, the more I beco him. I put half my mind in his body ever ti I connect with the neural interface. I don’t believe Eric hasn’t learned a thing or two from in all these years. There were many monts I got into trouble in the battlefield. If Eric hadn’t ntally nudged here and there, I might have never escaped those deadly monts. If it was legal to marry a ch, I’d already be standing here wearing my bridal dress."
"I don’t know why I’m still alive." A wounded ch pilot rasped as he beheld the stumps of his arms. "I knew I was a goner as soon as three bastards popped out of nowhere. My mate died, his cockpit blown apart before he could dodge. Sothing just snapped then. He was my friend, the partner I always shared my patrols with. Even our chs had been a pair ever since they rolled off the factory. I guess my ch felt the sa, because he fed his anger into while I channeled my fury back into the fra. You know what happened next. We tore those bastards to shreds."
A shaggy-haired prisoner of war sat down on a tal chair behind a tal table. He looked around the interrogation room with distaste. "You want to know my secrets? Hah, you unfeeling murderers don’t know the first thing about the chs you’re piloting. Have you ever rubbed your hands against them affectionately? Have you sat down next to their gigantic feet and tell them about the stars? Did you for one tiny mont stop murdering innocents long enough to treat your chs like a person? I guess not. That’s why I’ve been able to kill over two hundred of you bastards with just and my ch. Because I was never alone."
"I’ve chased after the oft-rumored X-Factor for my entire life." An elderly executive stated as he sat behind an imposing desk in his office. "I bought and piloted over three thousand chs. Bipedal, quadrupedal, humanoid, avian, reptilian, whatever the shape, you can be sure I piloted it at least once. I’ve also painstakingly tracked down over a hundred damaged, scrapped or second-hand chs piloted by so of the most fad aces in the galaxy. All of them were excellent machines, especially after I restored them to their glory."
"So did you manage to fulfill your life’s ambition?"
The old man smiled wistfully. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I certainly think that the X-Factor exists now more than ever. But is everyone fated for it? Perhaps us three-and-a-half percenters are not the cream of the crop we believe to be. Maybe only 3.5% of the 3.5% of humanity possess the right aptitude to trigger the X-Factor. But these so-called superpotentates cannot all be blessed. They need the right ch to unearth their full potential. But that’s just a random idea I’m tossing out, don’t take it too seriously."
"A ch is lifeless. It isn’t born, it’s created. It doesn’t die, it gets destroyed." A fad New Rubarthan ace pilot said as he resolutely stood before his ch in a hangar. "All of these myths about the silly X-Factor are mistaken. I believe in the endless potential of the human heart. When one puts his body and soul to a single purpose, he can achieve 110% or even a 120% of his maximum potential. The ch is not the source, but the ans in which we pilots can achieve miracles. I don’t disrespect the pilots who believe in the X-Factor, but they attribute too much of their success to their chs and not enough to their humanity."
Ves always believed chs were machines. They were born for the purpose to be used, and if they failed to perform up to spec, then they’d be discarded as heartlessly as one would throw away a broken chair. You might feel so affection for sitting on it for years on end, but in the end it was just a piece of furniture.
But now he ca across plenty of hearsay that suggested that chs were more than unfeeling tools. They had to capacity to think, to feel emotions, to make decisions on their own, even if only faintly. Was this what the System referred to as the X-Factor? Though skeptics provided plenty of viable alternatives, Ves leaned more in favor to the idea that chs could possess life.
Still, his beliefs changed nothing by itself. His mission wasn’t to uncover the mystery behind the X-Factor. Instead, he had to design a ch that incorporated the vaguely defined X-Factor. How the hell was he supposed to bring life to a ch?
Then he rembered that he might have already touched the threshold. He activated the System and switched to his old designs. He called up the Seraphim’s evaluation.
[Design Evaluation: Fantasia 2R Seraphim.]
Variant na: Fantasia 2R Seraphim
Base model: Fantasia 2R
Original Manufacturer: Kezia Armants
Weight Classification: Light
Recomnded Role: Aerial Marksman
Armor: D
Carrying Capacity: F
Aesthetics: A
Endurance: D-
Energy Efficiency: D-
Flexibility: C
Firepower: C
Integrity: F
Mobility: A-
Spotting: B
X-Factor: F
Deviance: 44%
Performance improvent: 17%
Overall evaluation: The Fantasia 2R Seraphim features a superior aerial performance at a horrible cost. Its performance in close-ranged combat has been sacrificed for powerful long-ranged firepower. The ch is able to outperform its opponents as long as it has energy to spare, which isn’t much. The Seraphim further shines out due to its attractive appeal.
The description comnted on the Seraphim’s fundantal attributes. Nothing in it hinted at anything taphysical, yet the System still gave him an F in X-Factor. Ves almost couldn’t believe it. The Seraphim, a kludgy variant of the four hundred year old Fantasia model, carried the potential to ignite a ch pilot’s performance beyond its pinnacle.
"What makes the Seraphim so special? The R2-E, Phantasm and Nomad are also based off the Fantasia, but why don’t they have a whiff of X-Factor?"
The puzzled nagged at Ves. He felt as if he had the pieces in front of him, but he just couldn’t make it fit. He doubted spending more ti in the galactic net would help. A lot of the people who researched it never experienced the X-Factor for themselves.
Maybe he should find soone closer. He considered calling linda, but he didn’t want to distract her from her work. Serving in the Bentheim Planetary Guard was a great honor for a pilot as young as her. Ves already crossed the limit when he asked her to pass over information on the Caesar Augustus.
"I don’t need to find a real pilot. Iron Spirit is supposed to simulate reality accurately. Can it also simulate the X-Factor?"
It was an interesting question that Ves had no way of answering, but he was willing to bet the answer was favorable. He went to his store page and checked his sales log. Only five players bought the Seraphim. Four of those only piloted the ch occasionally, with mixed results.
Only one player piloted the Seraphim frequently and with considerable prowess. A Bronze Leaguer with the nickna TheSeventhSnake.
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