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A… umm… reboot(?) of an idea by @doahsdeer about incontinent ice, although I suppose this would categorize as Incontinent in a continent of ice..?
EDIT – Muchas gracias to doahsdeer for the recommendation.
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Frosty cycled through the available display options. The haze around him grew thicker. And darker. The temperature around him was dropping fast.
The darkness around him was augmented by a wireframe.
At 70 kilometers, he was falling fast. He’d have to wait until he was below 20 kilometers before slowing his descent. Conserve fuel.
Frosty waited until he passed the 15K mark before firing the thrusters. Bit by bit, the two story tall machine slowed it’s descent.
The alarm went off around the 3K. There was a discrepancy between the global & local sensor data.
Because of the atmospheric conditions, the standard “rig” was to have a group of orbiting “global” satellites scan the surface and provide an overall “view” of the area. Onboard “local” scanners would deal with whatever happened to be in the immediate vicinity. The problem was, inevitably, someone would figure out how to hack into these satellites, and provide it with falsified data, effectively hiding whatever they wanted to hide in a given area. It was infinitely more difficult to hack local sensors.
As per protocol, an emergency message had automatically been sent out. However, Frosty knew it’d be around forty five minutes until backup arrived from the nearest port at New Patkelghata.
A pair of blades extended from the forearms of the giant machine. Metal, even the ones once available in great abundance, were precious. It had been a few centuries since the powers that be decided shooting metal projectiles off into space in an assortment of shapes & sizes was not the most feasible of ideas. Energy based projectiles were not entirely dependable either. Depending on the environment, (not to mention the type of armor involved) going mano a mano was often the best available option.
There were five machines. Visible locally, anyway. Mark 7-s. Frosty grinned. They were relying on numbers. Heh.
Things were going well for a while. For Frosty, anyway. The first mech was caught off guard. It did not seem to be aware of the structural weakness Frosty had gone for. The second mech was torn into a non-functional state with ease as well. The problem was, while frosty was dealing with the third, fourth and fifth mech, something from the second mech exploded, hitting mech number four and Frosty with a shock wave & shrapnel. Mech number four was disposed of easily enough, but it was only when Frosty turned his attention to mech number five that he realized his machine was a little sluggish.
Another alarm went off. Frosty muttered a series of expletives about the dietary habit, lineage and sexual preferences of no one in particular. He was leaking hydraulic fluid. Thermal hydraulic fluid. Crated to chemically generate enough heat to keep the machines functioning properly in the coldest of situations. Unfortunately, at the moment, the fluid was doing what it does best on the icy surface of Titan.
Mech number five was, luckily, inexperienced enough to fall for a trap. A counter attack designed to counter a counter attack. The cockpit, and pilot in it, were skewered in a single strike.
The legs of his mech was becoming less and less responsive. The last of the Mark 7 came in for the kill from above. Frosty grabbed it’s legs. As hard as he could. Rockets exploded. Fuel leaked. With effort, Frosty inserted his arms into the torso of his fallen enemy. (In a formation not entirely dissimilar to the English letter “X”.) Frosty wasn’t going down alone.
It would be atleast ten more minutes, Frosty figured, before they hit liquid water.
Calmly, Frosty started the shutdown sequence. The Mark 7 still struggled, unsuccessfully, to get free.
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