Mecha Corps (38 page)

“You hate him so much,” Michelle said.

“Who?” Matt asked.

“Rayder. He’s your life. He’s all you see.”

She was right. Rayder had forged him, as surely as a father forges a son. He’d wrapped his whole life around his revenge.

“Determination and death. You’re nothing else,” she told Matt.

Matt shook his head. He wanted to contradict her. He tried to imagine a future where he didn’t have to chase his ghosts, a future with Michelle.

The silence stretched out. The empty city around them suddenly seemed like ultimate desolation, despite its beauty. Knife-edged shadows separated the city into shades of bright white and pure black, while the pale sun slowly fell toward the horizon. A gravity wave hit with a long, rolling rumble. The building to their side folded in on itself and collapsed, showering them with clouds of dust.

“Have you ever been at a point where you’re sure it won’t work out, but you’ve pulled it off in the end?” Matt asked.

Major Soto chimed in. “Yeah. First deployment on De-seret. Crazy Corsairs had us surrounded, pinned down. Just two Mecha, two Imps. They had a fleet of Taikong tanks. Like, seventy of the damn things. Like they were having a sale at the Union-Mart.” Soto let himself laugh. “Nobody coming to get us either. It was a pop-and-drop, ’cause there were Corsairs in orbit too.”

Soto told them of looking across the wastes at sure death, flailing as his Mecha was struck by artillery from all sides. Back to back with his partner, Soto saw the future: both of them dead, burning, in a dumpy adobe town on a dry frontier world. It was that vision, that moment, that prompted his charge through the tank brigade. Somehow he’d avoided the worst of the shells. And at their back, he’d been able to cut them to ribbons with Fireflies before the tanks had a chance to turn around.

In that moment, there was a tiny bit of hope.

“What about you, Michelle?” Matt said.

Michelle nodded. “Yeah. Vector math. Mecha piloting is lots of vector math, at an almost instinctual level.”

She told them about school. Michelle had excelled at almost everything, both physical and mental. She’d breezed through calculus and the lower maths, but vectors and differentials—they eluded her. She could sit down and crunch out an answer, but it wasn’t easy. It certainly wasn’t effortless. She sweated at every test, frantically scrawling equations as the seconds ticked down to zero. At night, while her friends were out partying or seeing their boyfriends or working and pulling down decent money, she worked into the early morning on matrices and differentials. She had to ignore the tick of rocks on her window as another hopeful classmate tried to get her attention. She had to pinch herself awake in class more times than she could count. She had to say no to everything.

Yet the equations still danced out of reach. She couldn’t get them. Not on the level of a Mecha pilot.

Until that one day. The final. The one that was transmitted to the Union Academic Records. She knew she’d muddle through, but there was no way she’d be in the top tier. She went to bed early that night and dreamed of equations. She woke late, almost late enough to miss the test. She ran through the hallways of school, her hair unwashed, her teeth unbrushed, to get to her seat the moment the starting chime sounded.

And . . . it was magic. The knowledge that had eluded her was simply there. She could look at the vectors and know the solutions instantly. She giggled as she wrote the answers down, her stylus flying across the screen.

“And we’ll do that here,” Matt said.

“What about you?” Michelle asked. “When did you do the impossible?”

Matt smiled, thinking about his flight across the surface of UUS
Mercury
, of his first disastrous-but-amazing exercise, of fighting his way out of Mecha Base.

“Every day I can,” he told her.

Major Soto chuckled, and Michelle grinned.

A flicker of movement over the top of the fallen Demon caught Matt’s attention. He squinted and looked up. Something like a polished chrome balloon peeked out over the chest of the Mecha. It bobbed slightly.

The silver bubble came up over the top of the Mecha, walking on six spindly steel legs. One of the legs hung at a contorted angle, and corrosion splotched the sphere’s silvery surface. It was completely featureless except for a single black spot on its face, which swiveled toward them.

Matt shoved Soto out of the way and leapt to put his body between the sphere and Michelle. Soto yelled and Michelle opened her mouth to say something when the sphere started firing. Sharp reports echoed off the hard buildings of the empty city, and rounds ricocheted from the smooth surface of the avenue where Matt had just stood.

Soto grabbed the needle pistol out of the survival kit, sighted, and squeezed off two quick shots. The first spun the silver ball around. The second pierced it. It fell behind the Mecha, hitting the ground with a metallic crash.

“What the hell was that?” Matt spat.

Soto frowned. “I don’t know. Automated sentry of some kind? Who knows what they used in the war. All we can do is hope—”

Three more sentries popped over the edge of the Mecha, their gun ports swiveling to target the three Demonriders.

“—that there ain’t more of them,” Soto finished.

Soto squeezed off three more shots and all three sentries fell, smoking. “Now, we just gotta hope—”

A dozen sentries peeked over the edge of the Mecha, surveying the scene more cautiously than their predecessors.

“How many rounds in that gun?” Michelle asked.

“We started with a hundred,” Soto told her.

The sentries came over the Mecha. Others appeared at their back. Gun ports swiveled to target.

“Run!” Soto yelled, firing as he backpedaled from the horde.

 

The three Demonriders ran deep into the city of Jotunheim, dodging broad avenues that offered no coverage, squeezing through cracks in the monumental buildings, racing through indoor plazas centered around long-dry fountains and monumental arches, past piles of bones scattered like twigs.

Soto kept up covering fire, but the horde of sentries only grew. Now there were at least fifty of the things coming after them, creaking along on corroded joints, rushing forward on twisted, needle-sharp claws. Their guns spat in a continuous patter, but most shots went wide after hundreds of years without maintenance.

“We need a strategy!” Matt yelled.

“I’m open to suggestions!” Soto yelled back.

Matt gritted his teeth. He didn’t have any good ideas. The toxic air tore at his lungs even through the suit’s filters. He wasn’t thinking straight. Everything was becoming more and more a blur. Jotunheim was a city of rubble and ghosts, dreaming under a purple-black sky. The wan sun sat on the edge of the horizon, bloated by atmospheric distortion and painted in alien shades of blue and teal. Green-white light sparked and brightened within the buildings as the natural light faded.

“Funnel them down,” Michelle said between gasps of breath. “Find . . . narrow fissure . . . wait for them.”

“Worth a try,” Soto said.

They snaked through a long ravine where two buildings had slumped together. When they were through, Soto turned to target the exit.

Soon the first sentry came scrabbling through. Soto waited until it was out and a companion had joined it. Then he shot precisely, taking out both at once.

“Yeah!” Michelle said.

“You two go,” Soto said. “Hide.”

“No way,” Matt said, as more sentries came through the fissure.

“Go!” Soto yelled.

“Not a chance. We’ll throw rocks if we have to,” Michelle said.

Soto shot the next two sentries. More crowded behind them. “This won’t work. Thirty-two rounds left. We need a better plan.”

“Gotta get back to the Mecha,” Matt said. “If the regeneration is complete, at least we’ll have armor.”

Overhead, a scream of fusion exhaust echoed. Matt looked up. A quicksilver Hellion wearing a Flight Pack passed down one of the avenues a few blocks over. Its visor pointed down.

Michelle’s head snapped up. She saw the Hellion and went white. Soto glanced up from firing, did a double take, and swallowed. A deep chill gripped Matt.

Rayder—or, more likely, one of his men—was back. Scanning the city. For them.

“Back to the Mecha!” Matt said, and ran once more.

 

Matt’s breath tore his throat like a knife as they rounded the corner onto the wide avenue where the Merged Demon lay. The sentries—more than a hundred of them now—ticked and clicked along only a hundred meters behind them, their corroded legs beating an irregular rhythm of menace.

Michelle gasped and stumbled, racked with coughs. Matt pulled her up and struggled for more speed.

Then he saw the Merged Demon. Or, rather, what it had become. It wasn’t a Demon anymore.

Bits of the Demon’s carbon-scarred red biometal still lay scattered along the boulevard, abandoned in the regeneration process. In the middle of the Demon remnants, something stirred. Shining bright, mirrored chrome, the new Demon was much smaller—only about the size of a Hellion. Bristling with spikes and covered with irregular splotches of fusion ports, it wasn’t even symmetrical. Its left arm was huge, bulky with corded metallic muscle. Its right arm was slim and tiny, tapering down to slim claws. Its visor was a dark V, set askew on a face clamped in grim determination.

Matt shivered. It was like a living thing, struggling desperately to stay alive. Was the static-dusty presence he felt in Mesh real? Was it sentient?

And how had Dr. Roth developed it, if it wasn’t related to HuMax technology?

The new Demon groaned and twitched as regeneration progressed. Matt glanced involuntarily at Soto, who looked back with frightened eyes.

None of the trio spared a word as they raced up to the new Demon. If it wasn’t functional, they were done. Everything was over. They’d die on this lost HuMax world.

As they made it to the big Mecha, Michelle gave another involuntary cry and pointed up at its chest, where a cockpit iris opened.

Matt’s heart leapt. Maybe there was a chance!

The three scrambled up the side of the Demon and threw themselves in the cockpit. Michelle went in first, the fastest of the three. Matt came next. It was a tiny space, barely big enough for three pilots. Michelle cursed and shoved him off her, just in time for Soto to come down on top of both of them.

The ticking of the sentries’ talons was loud inside the cockpit. A single claw peeked over the edge of the opening.

“Close the hatch!” Michelle yelled, but nothing happened.

Matt tore off his utility suit hood, grabbed one of the three interface cables, and socketed it into his suit. The Mecha’s pain of regeneration flowed through him, and Matt groaned as he thought:
CLOSE HATCH!

The Demon’s pilot’s chamber quickly closed, severing two of the sentry’s spikes. Suddenly they were in perfect darkness.

“Where are the view masks?” Michelle asked.

Matt felt around, found one, and handed it to her. “Here. Plug in.”

They all found their masks and plugged in. Matt’s, Michelle’s, and Soto’s thoughts cascaded over the Mecha’s pain.
Why is it hurting? Because it’s still regenerating. Will it fly?

“First things first,” Matt said.

Matt/Michelle/Soto brushed away the sentries with their small arm. It moved jerkily, like a cadet’s first time in a Mecha, and sent waves of pain back through the neural interface. But the sentries scattered from the blow.

“It’s clumsy,” Soto said.

Not good,
Michelle thought.

Together, they got the regenerated Demon to its feet, where it swayed drunkenly. One leg seemed to be slightly longer than the other. They took some practice steps, wincing at the agony. Red icons flared in their POV:

Wonderful,
Matt thought.

Matt/Michelle/Soto fired thrusters. The regenerated Demon skated down the avenue toward the heart of the city, jagging this way and that in the unpredictable thrust. They tried to leap upward, but managed only a shallow, headlong flight. The Mecha crashed face-first into a hundred-meter-tall tower, which showered mirrored glass fragments down on them.

“Ouch,” Matt groaned.

“It needs more time,” Michelle said.

We hope,
Soto thought.

Brilliance fell from the sky, exploding all around the regenerated Demon. Matt/Michelle/Soto staggered back from the force of the explosions. Their visuals lit with new tags: a Hellion directly above them, firing Seekers.

Matt/Michelle/Soto tried to launch their own Seekers, but the screen showed only one crimson warning:

No weapons! The Hellions could sit back and slice them to pieces.

The trio shoved off the building and managed a shambling run down the street. Nearer the heart of the city, buildings rose like walls, some leaning at crazy angles to touch each other. Maybe they could find shelter somewhere until the weapons regenerated.

More Hellions fell from the sky, raining Fireflies and Seekers. Talons flashed out of the blinding explosions, slicing the Demon’s biometallic skin. Matt/Michelle/Soto yelled in pain as barbs sunk deep within them.

The regenerated Demon stumbled back, striking a three-hundred-meter tall tower. Twisted steel groaned as the spire slumped against another building. Clouds of glittering crystalline dust rose around the Mecha. All five of them. Rayder’s entire force.

Four of them were in good shape. The fifth was twisted and broken, one arm gone; the other arm was deeply scarred, exposing shredded biometallic muscle. Its visor was sheared completely off, and a man’s head was visible through the shredded pilot’s chamber.