The Only Winning Move Is Overwhelming Firepower

Chapter 15

Taking Flight

"Wow. This… this is really good," Elsa almost moans, picking up her mug with both hands and immediately taking another huge gulp of the divine brew within.

Well. A huge gulp for her. Barely a mouthful for me. Elsa isn't exactly a small woman, but I look like I belong in a tree tossing tournament. Sexual dimorphism, yay.

And yeah, I realize it's not really like that for me anymore. But my nanite body's default form is that of my original body (if a tad more attractive), which did answer to sexual dimorphism, so… so there!

Regardless of biology, though, hot chocolate is hot chocolate. And I spent the entire time Elsa was training working on perfecting, at least to my tastes, the liquid gold, the mortal ambrosia, the heavenly dark goodness that is hot chocolate milk.

Judging by Elsa's look of pure bliss, I nailed it.

I mean, my sensors and taste emulation systems agree, but it's nice to know I didn't horribly mangle them when I was writing them from scratch. They're the first software of mine with that trait, it seems.

I take a long sip out of my own huge mug and relax into my chair, letting out a contented sigh. "Indeed. The true drink of gods and mortals alike."

Elsa finishes her gulp and plops her now empty mug back on the table, letting out a huge sigh of contentment. "Ahhh," she breathes, the tension in hey muscles draining away.

The invisible nanoswarm all around us fills her mug back up with a flourish of magical looking sparkles, and she laughs.

Then her eyes flick over to me, she grins, and I recognize her look. A teasing one. It's the look I see in the mirror almost every day. "And which of those do you think you are?" Elsa slyly asks, picking up her mug again. "God or mortal?"

I don't even have to think about it. "God, obviously!" I snark back at her, grinning.

To my utter disappointment, she doesn't immediately spew her drink across the table.

So I sigh and shake my head. "But no, really, I can't answer that," I say, trying to be serious. "I'm not mortal, I have tremendous power over reality, and it takes a truly ludicrous amount of energy to even injure me, much less kill me. Nevertheless; I can't answer that."

Elsa raises an eyebrow and places her mug down. It, of course, starts refilling automatically. "Why not?"

"Because the word 'god' is a human term. And it's been redefined, with different levels of power and different requirements, throughout history," I explain. "So I can't tell you if I qualify as a god. Under some definitions I eclipse even the most powerful of the pantheon, and under others I'm not even close." My hot chocolate need is fulfilled for now, so I put down my huge mug and stand. "Only you guys can decide which to use for me. I'd appreciate the answer once you and your species figure it out, though."

I turn around and slowly start walking out of the Danger Room, leaving behind a pensive bodyguard. "I'll be in my office, you can ask the Room for help in making more scenarios or join me whenever. That mug will keep filling with hot chocolate, by the way, until you tell it to stop."

And with that, I'm around the corner, and Elsa takes another long gulp.

Ice powers and hot chocolate. What's next, am I going to make myself a red fluffy suit and fly over the entire world delivering presents?

...Okay yeah I'm totally going to do that when XMas rolls around, I'm not even going to try and pretend I don't find the idea hilarious.

An idle thought has some epic XMas rock start playing in the elevator, and I lose track of time as I jam out on my Oxygen/Nitrogen Guitar.

I've got some time to kill before I can dial up DC again and not seem like an overly zealous pest.

The Beacon's elevator opens up to my office and I step inside.

The moment the doors close, everything begins to shift. The wall to wall windows cycle to a panoramic view of my Hub universe, my desk morphs into a futuristic and metallic drafting/design table, and all the chairs melt into the floor.

Light blue and pale orange mood lighting flicker on from the newly revealed light emitter strips which wrap around the entire room along the seam where the floor and ceiling meet the walls… and my office is now in Developer Mode.

I walk over to my design table and upload the UI system I've been idly working on over the last day or so, dedicating a few minutes of my attention span to it (mostly while I flew over the Pacific Ocean), and it flickers into being.

I reach inside and push my hand into the hardlight mockup of a gauntleted hand, which immediately locks onto my arm and starts moving with it.

And just to complete the theme, music abruptly begins.

"Eat your heart out, Stark," I declare, grinning wide.

A wave of my hands has the hardlight UI sliding off my design table and growing until it fills up most of the circular room, dozens of new windows and creation systems appearing around a semi transparent cube.

"And fuck you, Blender." My eyes light up with glee and I almost sprint for the wet dream that is my new modelling and Progenitor tech capable design program.

I've got stuff to make. The world isn't going to be shocked by my sheer presence for long… I'm going to need military, economic, and social units and buildings and technology, offensive and defensive installations, and so much more.

And that's just to wage war… or rather, defend myself and my people from any idiots who try. On top of protecting them, I also need to make shit that my new people can use. Cars, jets, boats, gateways, hyperloops… the list of things I have to dream up is exhausting, and that's just for transportation.

And all of it is going to be based on technology designed to fight an infinite, galaxy spanning war.

I have the insane advantage that is my amorphous nanite technology, yet even with that...

I'm gonna have to, somehow, idiot proof Progenitor technology.

Wonderful.

...Bah. Cool shit now, safety later.

I wonder how many pants will be shat in the world's nexi of leadership if I start replacing all flights based in my country with my own aircraft…

Hmm, I still need a name for this place.

Anyways, back to brick shitting. I think that a VTOL jumbo jet three times bigger than a 747, and just as wide, will do the trick. They'll be able to land at any airport a 747 can.

The form of the aircraft takes shape under my hands as if the hardlight cube is clay, with the Progenitor design systems working on it behind them to make the thing a functional machine.

Imagine a 747 that's three times bigger and looks like a fusion of the Progenitors, a fantasy sci-fi armorer, the Tau'ri, and Gray Goo created it. And then made it silver, white, gold and navy blue.

Very nice.

Hmm… If I fill in the wings to make it more like a triangle I can fit in roughly 2 times as many passengers as without doing that, which of course brings the total capacity up to 12 times the carrying capacity of a 747…

Less 747 now and more like a ship from the X Files, but I can work with that. I'll need to ditch the jet turbine engines… maybe some fanless duct jets? As this will be a VTOL, it'll need a way to go up and down too.

However, doing this and keeping the density of a 747 is just pushing as many people into the thing as I can.

I don't just want the biggest dick measuring contest statement; I want the best.

So let's turn every single seat into a small open walled apartment, with first class everything, including a massage system in the now full blown lazy boy chair, integrated speakers, surround sound higher than anything Earth has ever produced, and a wraparound hardlight system.

This drops the carrying capacity to just over 2 times that of a 747, but every single person will be riding in style.

Might as well toss in a NerveGear for each seat too, with a server onboard the craft. Ooh, and I can add food materializing pads, an independent internet connection, and this, and that, and how about...

"Planetcaller?" Elsa begins to ask as she steps out of the elevator. "I'm done having fun now, what are we going to do about the coast thing-"

Then she looks up, sees my office's state, and her eyes widen. She halts in her approach. "Woah."

I finally notice her presence with my own eyes, or sensors… but calling them eyes makes me feel better, so eyes, and turn to blink at her. "Oh hey," I greet her. "Didn't see you come up."

Elsa turns to look at me with astonishment on her face. "Planetcaller, what is all thi-" she starts to ask, then finds herself speechless when she realizes exactly what I'm doing.

My arm is currently elbow deep in the guts of a scale model of an off-white aircraft that at this point most closely resembles a hybrid of a triangular X Files UFO and a B52 Stealth Bomber.

From behind.

Basically, and I only realize this now, it looks like I'm fisting the aircraft.

I swallow as my bodyguard scowls. "I swear, this isn't what it looks like," I attempt to defend myself.

"It looks like you're fisting a weird plane." Elsa's response is as deadpan as it is accusatory.

I wince and shake my head. "I'd say this isn't the weirdest thing you've caught me doing, but you've never caught me doing anything else, so…" and with that, I slowly and carefully withdraw my arm from the hardlight mockup, the photons distorting around my nanite skin.

Elsa raises an eyebrow, still seeming entirely unimpressed. "Oh, so you've been doing things I could've caught you doing?" she asks.

It takes me a few moments to realize she's teasing me. I sigh and roll my eyes, not giving her the satisfaction of groaning.

Regardless, her faux scowl morphs into an ecstatic grin.

"For the record, I was doing some detailed work on the internals," I grumble her way.

My bodyguard nods and smiles at me, giving me the impression she doesn't believe me in the least. "Sure. If that's what you want to call it, then go ahead," she singsongs, almost skipping up to the center of the room. She leans down a little to peer at the not exactly standard human aircraft and seems genuinely curious. "So… what is this thing?"

"It's a design for a new aerial passenger and cargo transport vehicle," I inform her, stepping around her body to get a closer look at the front. I need to make the cockpit something pilots would pay me to get to fly in. "Gonna be replacing all passenger flights out of my country with them."

Elsa's eyebrows skyrocket. "Wow, really?" she asks, then blinks. "Somehow I don't really see you as an infrastructure kind of dictator."

She's teasing me again. In revenge, I give her a deadpan glare and point out the smaller plane next to it. "That's a 747, to scale."

Elsa's head whips around to look at one of the biggest planes humanity has ever created, then back to the sleek vehicle that dwarfs it. "It's gigantic!" she exclaims. "Where the hell is it going to land?!"

"Well, for one thing, it's a VTOL system, so it doesn't need a runway at all," I begin explaining, gesturing to the six massive aero induction engines I'd designed into the body. They're a work of technical art; each one dynamically adjusts the temperature gradient inside them to cause airflow in the desired direction. Likewise, there's two longer ones in the extended 'wings' of the thing that are rated for much higher throughput. They'll be the primary thrust providers. It's got more than enough energy to do all this from its onboard fusion reactor, too. No fuel, no exhaust, just good old physics and Progenitor bullshit. "And for two, it can actually land at any airport that can accommodate a 747. Other planes might have to make room, but it will work."

Elsa tilts her head, seemingly analyzing the craft. "...Huh," she finally says, just as I start laying out details on the wraparound piloting hardlight systems, "it does kinda look like it would fit. Barely."

I shrug and continue my work. "Never said it would fit well, just that it could."

"How many people can it carry, anyways?" she asks.

"Just over twice that of a fully loaded 747."

Elsa's eyes start to widen, but then they narrow. "Hey, no, wait, I'm not an engineer, but I know this thing should have a lot more room than that," she protests. "What gives?"

"If I used the same seating as a 747, it could fit 12 times the number of people," I agree, smirking as Elsa's eyes finally complete their bugging out. "However, I want this thing to be the best. Not just a replacement; an upgrade." I reach into the body of the aircraft through the top and pull out a copy of one of the seats and its surrounding features, blowing it up bigger, and then plop it on the floor so she can walk around it. "Every passenger seat is one of these."

Her eyebrows join her eyes in attempting escape velocity. "That's not an airplane seat," she deadpans.

"Not true," I affirm, pointing out the rapid securing mechanism, the oxygen system, and the built in escape pod to my bodyguard in turn. "It satisfies every single passenger flight safety law I could find. And some I couldn't."

"And every passenger," she amusedly fires back.

I shrug. "Like I said, I want the best." I finish my work on the cockpit with several hardware levers and buttons, just in case. Not just in case my tech somehow fails, these planes will take a nuke point blank and just use it as fuel, but in case the pilots get antsy about a fully digital interface.

Until I feel good enough about my own abilities with programming in Progenitor, no AI will be there to take over for the human pilot. The VI I've written for these planes is incredible, and borderline intelligent, but it might still encounter something it can't handle before the human pilots notice.

And then, somehow, the digital control system might fail, too.

Which is what the physical backup controls are for.

Look, it's not very likely, but better safe than sorry.

Oh, wait, I forgot. This thing has to be able to haul cargo, too.

I extend the belly of the craft down just a little and dig out what amounts to a crawl space in a horizontal slice of the hull. Next, some drones to fetch and pack things away into this space. More than enough cargo area without taking up that much room, and an automated packing and unpacking system. Finally, I stack package securing alcoves across the entire breadth of the cargo hold, each using tentacles to ensure the utmost flexibility in securing their charges once delivered to by the drones.

Oh yeah, and since the drones look kind of mean, I'll coat them in an off white and soft spherical body, with golden outlined armor plates on the sides for 'arms' and happy glowing faces made of light emitting strips on the front.

Because everyone knows if it's cute, it's not dangerous at all.

Nevermind the fusion power plant and the stun cannon and plasma cannon hidden in almost invisible flaps where the cheeks would be. Nope. Cute and innocent cargo drone right here.

"The cute look of those would work on me if i didn't just see you put guns far bigger than necessary inside them," Elsa needles me.

"Yes, well, these are cargo drones, but also the only active defenses the craft will have," I inform her, absentmindedly patting the digital mockup of the new drone on the head. The Progenitor design program being what it is, the drone actually makes a synthetic chirping noise in response. "While I don't expect trouble… you never know. And I don't want to go chase one of these down while terrorists attempt to fly it into a building. Even though there's no fuel to go kaboom, I don't see the building leaving that exchange in a good state. It's white, not light."

The mention of America's 21st century boogeyman is more than enough to shut Elsa up. "...Right. Better safe than sorry."

I nod and give the plane a default loadout of a hundred of the drones. More than enough to quickly and effectively load or unload cargo… and just maybe brutally put down anyone stupid enough to attempt to hijack one of my vehicles. Terrorists... or not.

Oh don't look at me like that, Writer Me. You know just as well as I that state sponsored 'intelligence' agencies usually have everything except their namesake!

Straightening up, I grin and step back. "Aaand… It's done!" I cheerfully announce, smacking my hands together to brush off imaginary dust.

"Well it definitely looks futuristic," Elsa admits. "What's it called?"

At that I freeze, my processors almost short circuiting. "...Uh-" I stammer, trying to play for time while I can come up with a name.

Elsa scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Of course you forgot to name it." She tries to frame it like a complaint, but her grin gives her away.

I roll my eyes and look neck at the craft, racking my nanite head for something, anything. This sleek, powerful workhorse of an aircraft deserves a proper name-

And then I have one.

"Cimarron," I say, smiling as the design program accepts it and automatically renames the project.

"Huh?" Elsa asks.

My smile widens. It just seems right. "Cimarron Class VTOL Passenger and Cargo Aerojet," I expand, formally christening it.

Elsa tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms. "Not bad," she finally admits. "Spirit Airlines is gonna complain, though."

I scoff at her and gesture outside. At the same time, I have the design program finalize it and start materialization within the Beacon's vehicle hanger. "They can bite my shiny metal ass."

Elsa finds her eyes automatically drifting to said ass before she catches herself. She sighs and shakes her head, pointedly ignoring the massive grin I've got on my face. "It's pretty impressive. But it also looks expensive, and hard to build." She locks eyes with me, a challenge in those slightly glowing ice blue eyes. "How long will it take to make one, much less enough to replace 747s across the country? Your… our country, I mean?"

Instead of replying, my grin becomes positively shit eating due to the hangar reporting that it's done.

I turn towards my bodyguard and point a thumb over my shoulder at the same time as a loud rumble and the whine of six massive engines rings out from behind me. "About that long," I casually inform Elsa.

I barely keep myself from dropping to the floor and laughing my ass off as her eyes alight on the sleek, curved cockpit of my first Cimarron, moving up into view at a wobbly pace while the VI learns to stabilize the massive plane.

"H-How?" she asks, swallowing.

"Nanites, son!"