HEAVY OBJECT:Volume5 Chapter 1

Status: Incomplete

Chapter 1

Part 1

A familiar electronic tone rang throughout the athlete locker room.

"Day 1 of the shootathlon begins in thirty minutes. All participants are to complete their preparations and stand by. I repeat, Day 1 of the shootathlon begins..."

When she heard that gentle female voice, Mariydi Whitewitch gave an annoyed sigh.

She was a 12 year old girl from the Capitalist Corporations. Her long blonde hair and her white skin were here primary characteristics, but the outfit she was wearing would likely draw more attention. She wore a special skintight suit that covered her from just below the neck all the way to the very tips of her toes. It was brightly colored in yellow and black. As befitting someone from the Capitalist Corporations, it had the names of various sponsors printed across it. She looked a bit like a hornet that had transformed into a race queen.

One might think it was the uniform for the shootathlon event, but that was not accurate.

It was actually the flight jacket from the PMC air force she belonged to.

"What the hell? I always thought this thing was weird, but I can't believe it fits in perfectly among the outfits that are designed for a show."

"It was designed for an air force. Other than if you crash, is there really any need to insist on proper camouflage?"

That composed response came from a woman holding a handheld device.

Her name was Alicia Sloppyjoes.

Sportswear, shoes, rifle, dietary restrictions, training coordination, bodyguard... Many, many people surrounded a single athlete like rings around Saturn. Alicia was the international sports PR manager sent by an advertising firm. She coordinated the connections between those several dozen rings of Saturn and Saturn itself.

However, Alicia was not Mariydi's obedient servant.

"So it's a nice message telling us we should die if we do crash," commented Mariydi

"How should I know? I have no connection to the military. If you want mental help, speak with the sports counselor. If you want to chat, you will have to pay me extra."

"That's the Capitalist Corporations for you."

"I could say the same to you, Miss PMC Air Force Mercenary."

Mariydi clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Let me go over this once more," said the woman in the suit that made it look like she would never have anything to do with a marriage. "The shootathlon is a marksmanship event. You are to use the new rifle from your sponsor company Clear Snipe and earn excellent results in the event."

"It's basically a variation on the triathlon, right? You run and shoot, you swim and shoot, and you bike and shoot. Since each stage is on a different day, it's easier than it used to be."

"The first day has you running 25 kilometers and stopping for long-distance sharpshooting three times along the way. The targets will be human-shaped and flying disks. The end score is an average of your scores from each day, so be on your best game from the beginning."

"Yes, yes." Mariydi waved her hand while sitting on a bench. "You went to the effort of calling in not just a soldier but one from the long, drawn-out battles in the Northern European Restricted Zone where the use of Objects is not allowed. You want me to immaturely stand up to these peaceful athletes with my killer techniques."

"Unlike the old international sports festival, the Technopics also effectively functions as a technological race between the world powers. It is best to think of the athletes as enemy soldiers in a proxy war."

"Heh." Mariydi gave a small laugh. "Those are enemy soldiers? It must be nice having a sheltered upbringing away from real war."

"We have no reason to know about real war." Alicia's expression did not change in the slightest. "In these events, we are allowed to use air resistance alleviating technology in the sportswear, shock absorption technology in the shoes, non-conductive fiber springs, and as much doping as is legal for civilians. ...All of your enemies are athletes specially developed for this event."

"And I've had the inside of my body altered as a test subject in survivability experiments for the Elites that pilot Objects. I am well aware that I am as abnormal as any of them."

"And are you also aware that you will be forced to pay a fine for being in breach of contract if your results do not live up to the level expected of you by your sponsor?"

"I know that." Mariydi stretched her hand out a bit. "Hand over the sponsor's precious new rifle. I want to perform some final adjustments. As long as it isn't loaded, I can carry it outside the event grounds, right?"

Alicia casually glanced over.

When she did, the man who was Mariydi's bodyguard handed the girl a silver case.

"Be careful."

"Do I really look stupid enough to stare down the barrel if it jams?"

"That isn't what I meant." The bodyguard shook his head. "As that icy lady said, the Technopics is a proxy war based on a technology race. You will find no concept of fairness or sportsmanship here. Everyone here will do whatever it takes to win. We must ensure the safety of the money we have invested in sending you out to compete, but we cannot remain by your side during the event itself. If your results are too good, others may focus their attacks on you as a type of 'countermeasure'."

"I suppose that is especially true for an event like the shootathlon that's results are based on three events over three days." Mariydi disassembled the rifle so quickly it was clear she was used to doing so. "But that also means I'm free to do the same, right?"

Standing up perfectly straight, Alicia answered the question with a serious expression.

"On the surface, this is viewed as a peaceful festival. You are free to do so as long as you do not sully the image of the sponsor's rifle."

"Heh. The management of Olympia Dome officially condemns it, but every single spectator sees such trouble as one aspect of what makes the Technopics enjoyable. That is why it is commonly known as the Festival of Death or the Massacre Parade."

As she continued her work, Mariydi glanced over at her bodyguard.

Even in that age, certain things were not allowed in sports competitions. Those included doping beyond a certain level, physical training that was too harsh, and special sportswear that included springs and motors powerful enough that they would likely damage the athlete's body. While human technology had invented such things, they very rarely saw the light of day.

But even if something seemed like it would be banned in sports competitions, it would not be banned if it could be used in other fields.

For example, the military.

For that reason, the participants in the Technopics were commonly referred to as athlete soldiers.

"I'll be out there with 30 or 40 of those man-made machos. I assume you have some kind of protection strategy for if they cause some trouble."

"This would be a lot easier if Objects could handle situations like this."

Athlete soldiers primarily had abilities as individuals, but they could also break previous limits in physical strength when using weapons like powered suits.

But at the same time, the abundance of Objects in the world meant a fighter pilot for a PMC air force like Mariydi was only useful in a very limited environment.

She could only defend or attack areas where Objects could not be used.

(We're both types of soldiers that are not needed in this era of clean wars.)

With that self-deprecating comment in her heart, a new figure entered the locker room.

It was a woman wearing a white coat over a brand name track suit. She had short, slightly wavy, brown hair and wore frameless glasses. However, the biggest clue to her true colors was the large cooler hanging from her shoulder.

Her name was Stacy Palmetto.

She was a pharmacist that specialized in the techniques known commonly as doping.

"Hi, there. It's time for the scary injection! Young lady, how would you like to improve yourself today?"

"Just a time-delayed transfusion is fine. I don't need any unnecessary drugs."

A time-delayed transfusion was receiving a transfusion of your own blood.

Humans created blood every day. A few days after blood was drawn, your blood level would be back up to 100%. If that drawn blood was saved and then given as a transfusion, you could have a blood level of more than 100%.

Blood carried the role of carrying oxygen throughout the body, so the more blood you had, the more oxygen you could store. This could be used to raise an athlete's score in an event.

Stacy pouted her lips.

"Chehh. You aren't going to use muscle builders or sedatives? I have plenty of varieties that can help keep your hand steady when you aim."

"After looking into the average lifespan of Technopic athletes, I would really prefer not to use them."

"Boo, boo. I say it's all the assassinations that bring the average lifespan figures down."

As Stacy continued pouting, Alicia replied while still standing perfectly straight.

"Her participation in the shootathlon is meant to show off the abilities of the sponsor's new rifle. Please avoid any elements other than the gun that might raise her marksmanship ability."

"There you have it," said Mariydi. "Also, even if these drugs are perfectly safe, anything that suppresses your fatigue makes it more difficult to keep track of the condition your body is in. That could have some slight negative effect on my aim."

"You say you won't use the chemical drugs, but do you really think time-delayed transfusions are kind to your body?" Stacy pulled a tube and a pack full of blood from the large cooler. "Raising your level of blood above normal means your blood pressure shoots up. The effects of that can wear down your stamina. Especially in a long race. Do not forget the risk of applying a tremendous burden to your blood vessels just by attempting to run according to your normal pace."

"That sounds harsh," muttered the bodyguard with his arms crossed.

Mariydi removed the elbow-length glove-like part of her full body flight jacket.

As he watched the needle for the transfusion pierce her youthful skin, the bodyguard continued speaking.

"All the athletes have their bodies thoroughly strengthened daily with various drugs and their sportswear and shoes are carefully designed, yet it all has to be prepared before the event. It seems to me they could just mix the necessary ingredients into the drinks here."

"This is a sport, remember? There is no logical or convincing explanation as to why you cannot use your hands in soccer. You can only say that those are the rules."

"It is almost time," said Alicia as she turned over her slender wrist to look at an oddly small watch.

Mariydi looked over at the tube sticking into her arm, rested the rifle on her other shoulder, and let out a sigh.

"Okay, time to appear in the world's largest commercial."

Part 2

The Technopics were held in Olympia Dome, a giant man-made island floating in almost the very center of the Atlantic Ocean.

The man-made island was not created by filling in land to expand an already existing natural island. It was instead created entirely out of giant floats. When a man-made island was given independence, it was not required to stay in one single place. Most of those islands slowly followed the currents through international waters on the seven seas.

Due to global warming and rising sea levels, there had been a temporary rush to create that kind of man-made island. Weixing Taiwan, Second Venice, and the New Ryukyu Islands were good examples. However, their maintenance costs were unexpectedly high, their diplomatic situation was fragile as they required resources to be shipped in from the continents, and the recovery speed of city functions after an emergency was quite low. These problems were all discovered after their creation and so they had gone out of fashion.

Olympia Dome had a giant dome 20 kilometers across as the main central stadium. The 10 kilometers around it contained the harbor, airport, lodging facilities, and everything else required for the island to function. For this reason, its shape was often likened to a fried egg.

That giant fried egg circulated around the Atlantic Ocean with a cycle of about 2 years.

Mariydi and the other participants in the women’s shootathlon were gathered at one end of the circular dome. The event for the first day was to run for 25 kilometers along the wall while stopping at 3 places along the way to perform sharpshooting.

She could hear Alicia’s sharp voice over a pen-cap-sized piezoelectric receiver attached to her ear.

“The final results of the shootathlon are based on an average of the scores from the three days, but your results on the first day determine your starting point on the second day. To be blunt, the better a lead you gain here, the easier things will be later.”

“We’re running 20 or 30 kilometers, so I don’t think starting a dozen meters or so back is going to make that much of a difference,” replied Mariydi in annoyance. “Also, the shootathlon is about shooting as well as running.”

She glanced around and estimated there were over 100 female athletes gathered. The starting line looked like it had a higher population density than the entrance to a department store before a big sale.

Capitalist Corporations, Information Alliance, Legitimacy Kingdom, Faith Organization.

It was a strange feeling to have so many people from different world powers gathered in one place.

Some of the uniforms were full-body suits like Mariydi’s, but more standard running outfits with a separate top and bottom were common as well. Some wore large boots that extended all the way up to the thighs. Those seemed ill suited for running at first glance, but they likely contained fiber springs that thoroughly increased the wearer’s leg strength.

The great amount of variation was likely due to the fact that these were women’s uniforms. From a moral standpoint, women’s uniforms had to cover more of the body which made them harder to optimize than men’s uniforms.

However, this provided a more florid visual display and the designers went beyond simple athletic ability and designed the uniforms to have sex appeal as a form of advertisement. (The sponsor companies’ names were printed on the uniforms.) In some ways, this almost seemed to actually work against the original purpose of the uniforms.

A female announcer’s voice cut in on all of their piezoelectric receivers.

“Day one of the women’s shootathlon begins in ten minutes. All participants are to move to their marks.”

(If they’re going to divide it up by sex, I wish they would divide it up by age, too.)

Perhaps in an attempt to apply pressure, a nearby older Information Alliance woman half-jokingly aimed her rifle at Mariydi. Mariydi ignored her and walked a few meters to the left. As the other woman moved along while peering through her scope, she did not realize she had walked right in front of a camera.

That was just how sports were.

Regulars on the same team would constantly try to trip each other up and athletes would taunt each other in what they called psychological attacks. Mariydi wanted to vomit every time she heard someone use the word “sportsmanship”. She felt the soldiers on the battlefield who silently exchanged fire were much more sincere.

She then heard an ally’s voice come in over the piezoelectric receiver on her ear.

It was from the pharmacist named Stacy.

“If you have the time, get an autograph for me. I hear Erie Greenhat’s is quite valuable.”

“I didn’t take you for the type to follow the current fads. As an athletics expert, I would have thought you would be used to being around athletes.”

“I find more value in my job if I have a personal objective in it. A collector’s spirit works well for that.”

The bodyguard must have been listening in from next to Stacy, because he cut in.

“Do you have one from our prized athlete yet? If not, she might get a little sulky.”

“I will get one from Mariydi-chan once she proves herself with some results.”

“Say whatever you like,” spat out Mariydi.

Meanwhile, the time drew near.

“One more minute.”

She listened to the announcement with a yawn.

Soon thereafter, the starter pistol was fired.

The large group began running all at once like water flowing out of a container that had its cap removed. Mariydi went with that flow. Mariydi moved her legs in a rhythm as she felt a tension unlike that of an all-out sprint. It felt more like attempting to stop a stopwatch at exactly 10 seconds without looking.

She heard Alicia’s stiff voice over her piezoelectric receiver.

“Your sponsor is watching. Please keep within the leading group.”

“Are you stupid?”

Mariydi gave no explanation for her short response.

She could have rushed up into first place, but doing so was meaningless.

(Dammit. This reminds me of my training in the Northern European Restricted Zone when they had us running around the base again and again and again before we were given any breakfast.)

Her 12 year old appearance made it hard to imagine, but Mariydi was actually a fighter pilot. A pilot had to be able to precisely operate her aircraft while experiencing pressures over 9 times that of Earth’s gravity, so she had needed a body tougher than that of a foot soldier who carried a gun through the hills.

The main difference between the race and her training was that she could not simply match the others’ pace.

The trick was to keep her own pace the entire time. To continue with the stopwatch example, she had to continue to trust her internal clock while ignoring the surrounding noise. If she did not do that, her stamina would not last.

As such, she had to be aware of the movements of those around her while at the same time ensuring that she did not begin moving more quickly as she was drawn into their pace.

“All the jiggling going on around you is kind of pissing me off.”

“Unless you’re going to help me keep my pace, I’m going to cut off your transmission,” replied Mariydi.

“That sort of thing can actually be used to gather focus from the cameras. Now, we can’t expect that from you, but you may be able to use a different tactic. In addition to simply getting good results, I suggest you create some drama.”

“You mean like pretending to be suffering?”

“This is the Technopics. Gaining 10 seconds of coverage on a single station is the same as a 30,000 dollar advertisement. And each place you move up in the ranks is another 30%.”

“I would be quite the laughingstock if I thought too much about that and ended up falling down in the ranks.”

Eighteen minutes passed as she chatted.

As she arrived at the first shooting point, Mariydi’s breathing was as regulated as if she was speaking on the phone in a café.

The point was located 7 kilometers from the starting line. A carpet several dozen meters long was spread out across the asphalt. A line of human-shaped targets was set up parallel to but 200 meters away from the carpet. The targets were set up on metal rails and moved about randomly.

The shooting point doubled as a water stop.

The athletes in the leading group had already grabbed their own drinks and were lying prone atop the carpet while holding their sniper rifles.

Mariydi glanced over at them and said, “How elegant. Are they enjoying a vacation?”

She remained standing.

She held up her sniper rifle while continuing to run at the same speed as the rest of the race.

Instead of holding her breath and firing one shot at a time, she pulled the trigger again and again in semi-auto mode.

A string of gunshots rang out.

Mariydi Whitewitch accurately fired a bullet through the head and chest of every single human-shaped target.

Her hands were so steady because of the stamina she had preserved over the first leg of the race with the intentional regulation of her pace.

However, her simple skill as a sharpshooter also played a large role.

“That should do it.”

As the other athletes looked on in shock, Mariydi continued on to the next leg of the race without taking a drink.

“That managed to draw a lot of attention,” said Alicia.

However, she was not praising Mariydi.

“But that left it unclear whether it was due to the abilities of your sponsor’s new rifle or your personal skill. Try not to go too far overboard from now on.”

“Is that really how you cheer on the athlete that just rushed up to first place in an international sporting event?”

Mariydi sounded annoyed, but her pace did not change.

The old leading group was approaching with incredible force, but Mariydi did not up her pace in an attempt to keep them from overtaking her. Their efforts would only wear down their stamina and lower their shooting accuracy. They would not defeat her in the overall score.

In fact, Mariydi’s lead had made the old leading group destroy their pace and that would also likely make the others behind them wear down their stamina as well, so it all worked to Mariydi’s advantage.

(They’re sure to have their trainers and managers yelling at them over their piezoelectric receivers, but that isn’t enough to get your heart rate under control.)

“I’m glad they’re all so stupid. I guess this really is just a gathering of muscle-obsessed freaks.”

Mariydi was overtaken as she muttered that, but her expression did not change one bit.

She was in the best area.

Any lower and a good result would be out of reach. Any higher and she would run out of stamina and lose speed.

Without letting the apparent order lead her astray, Mariydi Whitewitch continued on towards an assured top-level score.