Mecha Rogue (4 page)

We all have to make choices,
Matt told himself. Thinking of his abject failure last night. Thinking of Michelle, getting ready for her date with Kyle.

“When do we start, sir?” Matt asked.

3

CAMP

Back on Earth. Backwater Earth.

They wouldn't waste space elevators on Earth, Matt thought as he shuttled down to one of his old haunts, Mecha Training Camp.

Formerly Cape Canaveral, Mecha Training Camp now looked like an ancient ruin set among gray-green swamp. Overgrown, crazed concrete runways alternated with low-roofed, utilitarian buildings and the pockmarks of rusted gantries at the edge of the sea. Matt knew about the underground, high-tech base beneath the facade, but that didn't change the fact that the Earth was a neglected, timeworn planet, eclipsed by the more prosperous worlds of the Union.

Matt's Perfect Record had unreeled that first day when he met Michelle Kind and Major Soto. Soto handing him the flak jacket. Michelle charging up the first hill.

Matt closed his eyes. He'd left Eridani without telling either Michelle or Soto. Maybe he should have.

The shuttle touched down north of the training camp, on a new runway near an inland bay. To the south lay Cochran's Cove, the mock city where Matt had done his first Mecha Cadet exercise. The shuttle pilot directed Matt to a group of low buildings, their cinder-block sides peeling paint, but with a new stainless steel plaque reading
ADVANCED MECHAFORMS EXTENDED TRAINING, FACILITY 1.

Matt opened the door to find Dr. Salvatore Roth, the father of modern biomechanical Mecha technology and general manager of Advanced Mechaforms, Inc., the company that produced Mecha exclusively for the Universal Union. He sat in a small, unadorned room, his back to Matt as he studied a wraparound nonphysical projection screen. On the screen, body images swept from green to yellow and red and back again. Over Roth's shoulder, darkened one-way glass looked out into a larger chamber, where a dozen cadets in milky interface suits and viewmasks were cabled up to silicone wire looms hanging from the ceiling.

Matt frowned as his Perfect Record brought back more memories. Dr. Roth had probed Matt much the same way he was doing with the cadets right now. Matt wondered just how much Dr. Roth knew about him, and about his talents.

“You're not HuMax,”
Roth had told him. Cold comfort, in the wake of Rayder's destruction. And Matt wouldn't put it past Dr. Roth to use a convenient lie, if it served his needs. Matt still didn't know what the origin of his genetic gifts were, even if Roth said he wasn't HuMax.

“Dr. Roth—” Matt began.

Roth held up a hand for silence. Matt snapped his mouth shut and waited, arms crossed, until Roth looked up from his screen. His eyes showed no expression at all, as if they were made of stone.

“This is what you will do, Major Lowell,” Dr. Roth said. “You will take this group of Demon Adepts—”

“Adepts?” Matt cut in.

Roth pursed his lips in irritation at the interruption, then continued. “Adepts are select individuals in my improved training regime.”

“An improvement from throwing cadets in a Demon and hoping they don't die?” The words just popped out.

Roth's face compressed into a deep scowl, but he continued without comment. “Your task is to optimize the performance of the Adepts, with the goal of deploying a team of three to four Demons at the earliest possible date.”

Matt sighed. “And good morning to you, Dr. Roth.”

Roth just stared at Matt. Any semblance of humor or sarcasm was always lost on the imperturbable general manager.

“Why not deploy us?” Matt asked.

“Us? Be more precise.”

“Me, Major Soto, Captain Kind.”

Roth waved an annoyed hand, as if swatting a fly. “Additional Demon resources must be developed. Also, your team requires downtime to optimize long-term usability.”

We're tools to him, nothing more.
But what could Matt do about it? He'd accepted the assignment. He had to carry it through. “What do you want me to do?”

“I have already stated the top-level goal. In detail, we expect you to observe, instruct, and interact with our adepts in order to increase their Mesh efficiency and Merge capability, as determined by ongoing monitoring. You will select three to five best-performing members for a time-critical, high-priority mission. I must stress that time is of the essence.”

Matt sighed. “Why me?”

Roth stared at Matt for several seconds without speaking. “Your record speaks for itself. You were first to master the Demon. You helped Major Soto move successfully from Hellion and Demon, which I believed impossible. Also, arguably, you are the factor who enabled the final Merge at Jotunheim.”

Matt shivered, remembering his epic battle with Rayder and his HuMax companions—now conveniently swept under the rug by the Union. The less said about Jotunheim, the better. Media like UUN and UCN repeated the same comforting stories: Geos was rebuilt, the memorials were placed, the nameless heroes selflessly gave their all for the Union, and beyond that, the citizens didn't need to know.

Reward. Not recognition.
Colonel Cruz's voice came back, echoing hollowly.

Did that mean this was another chance to go up against the Corsairs? The HuMax? Maybe even that new Corsair faction that the colonel had mentioned? Matt shivered in sudden anticipation. But questions still resonated louder.

“How were the Corsair Mecha able to hold us down on Keller?”

Roth just looked at Matt neutrally, but didn't answer.

“How did they immobilize the Demons? What were those Mecha?”

“We are investigating their system disruption technology as we speak,” Roth said, his words clipped.

“What if they use it again?” Matt pressed.

“We expect to have a countermeasure available shortly.”

“And the Mecha? I've never seen anything like that—”

“It is not a derivative of my biomechanical technology,” Dr. Roth interrupted, his expression finally twisting in anger. Or was he hiding something?

“Then what is it?”

“We believe it is advanced conventional technology, but as before, the particulars are not important to your mission.”

That was it. Roth was hiding something. The Mecha were closer to his than he wanted to admit. Maybe even taken from the same tech base. After all, Rayder had had control of the Union Hellions for some time. Maybe he'd passed on the information.

“Then how did the Corsairs make Mecha? Are they working with the Taikong? The Aliancia?”

Roth's expression hardened. “You have a choice. You may train our adepts, or you may return to a standard Union-supervised Mecha Corps team, to execute assignments they see fit. Of course, their view of your capability may change if you refuse this opportunity.”

Matt nodded. Nothing more than a tool. A broken tool.

“Let's get started,” he told Roth.

* * *

The ten adepts studied Matt suspiciously, like a class sizing up a new teacher. Matt felt suddenly self-conscious, in his crisp blue Mecha Corps uniform with new-minted major's insignia. Should he have dressed down like Soto, to be more on their level?

The adepts all wore the milky interface suits of Mecha Cadets, with their name displayed prominently on their upper chest, along with a new, unfamiliar graphic: a crouching Mecha, similar to the Advanced Mechaforms logo. Its tiny head and vestigial horns tagged it as a Demon.

Behind them, ten Demons hulked against the overcast Florida sky. Their bright red bodies were virtually the only color between the gray sky and the muted brown-green of the soggy land. Three targets, black-and-white bull's-eyes, had been set up a kilometer down the field.

What did they know about him? Matt made himself meet the stares of his protégés. They waited patiently, saying nothing. What would Soto do?

“Okay, let's see what you've got,” Matt said, pointing at the Demons.

The adepts nodded, some of them grinning. They immediately broke ranks and scrambled up the extended ladders to their Demons' cockpits. Pilots' chambers irised shut, and the Demons, shuddering, stood to attention.

“Sink or swim? You've been taking lessons from Dr. Roth?” came a familiar voice, behind Matt.

Matt started and turned. Behind him stood Jahl Khoury, holding a colorful slate. He wore his Mecha Corps Auxiliary sergeant's uniform, with a new bar Matt had never seen before: tiny, alternating silver and black bands. Jahl was Peal Khoury's brother and geek-in-arms, and he'd been in the same Mecha Training Camp group as Matt.

“Jahl! Where'd you come from?”

Jahl waved at the low testing building behind them. “I've been working with the fresh meat. Dr. Roth neglected to give you this.” Jahl waved the slate. “You'll need it to monitor their Mesh Effectiveness.”

Matt nodded. “How much training do they have?”

“They've been trained specifically on Demons from the start. But . . .” Jahl trailed off, grinning.

“But what?”

“You'll see.” Jahl handed Matt the slate.

On the screen, ten sets of readings bounced from forty-one percent to fifty-six percent Mesh Effectiveness. Matt grimaced. Fifty percent was the threshold for use. Some of these kids couldn't even move the damn things. And none of the ME numbers were stellar. Matt wasn't surprised to see two of them standing rooted in place while the others stumbled around like drunks.

“You can give them commands through here,” Peal said, pointing at a comms button on the slate.

“Is it even worth it?” Matt said, gesturing at the Mesh Effectiveness.

“Your call. They've had a ton of time in the optimization room, though.”

Matt frowned. Maybe this was just the test-day jitters. He'd take them a little further. He hit the comms button and said, “Demons, line up in groups of three and fire at the targets, using your MK-160s and popcorn rounds.”

The Demons obediently shambled into two groups of three, and one group of two. Two Demons remained immobile, twitching now and again. Matt shook his head. Even the ones that moved had crappy coordination. He didn't need a slate to see that.

“What about us?” a cadet's voice came through the slate. One of the Mesh Effectiveness boxes illuminated
ELIZE ROBBE, 43 PERCENT.
“The ones who can't move. Uh, sir.”

“Have you ever managed to achieve stable Mesh above fifty percent?” Matt asked her.

“Ye-yeah,” Elize said, breathing heavily. “It's just—it's like there's something in the way. Sometimes I can get past it, sometimes I—like now.”

Something in the way. The ghost in the machine, the presence Matt had felt in the Mecha, so many times.

“Are you fighting it?” Matt asked her.

“Yes, sir,” she said, through a ragged breath. “As hard as I can!”

“That's your mistake,” Matt said. “You can't fight it. It's stronger than you are. You have to get closer to it. Accept it.”

“But it hurts,” Elize protested. “It's all pain, like knives, and . . . hate!”

And dust and static, and talons razoring through your mind, Matt thought, remembering his first time in a Mecha. Elize was probably cowering in the gray nonspace of Mesh, staying as far away from the presence—the neural feedback, the reflection of a cadet's own fear, Dr. Roth said. Matt wasn't so sure.

“Go to it,” Matt said. “Walk through the pain. Accept it. When you accept it, you can control it.”

But was that true? Matt wondered. That voice, that thing in the Mecha—it seemed all-powerful. Was it simply biding its time, waiting to take control?

“Yes, sir,” Elize said. Her open comms passed through a gasp and a series of whimpers. Matt closed his eyes. Why was this so hard?

Suddenly Elise's Mesh Effectiveness shot up to fifty-three percent, and her Mecha rocked forward and began to move.

“I—I think I've—it hurts, but it's different now,” Elize said.

“Good. Continue.”

Elize's Mesh Effectiveness continued to climb, peaking at sixty-one percent. Now she ranked at the top of the adepts. Chatter from the others showed that they saw it too.

“That's it,” she said, taking some smooth steps forward. “I can't—I can't make it go higher.”

“That's good progress for now, Cadet,” Matt said. “Join the others and start the exercise.”

“Thank you, sir!” She ran over to stand with the group of two.

The other Mecha still wasn't moving. Matt switched the comms to his channel, and could hear only sobbing. The cadet didn't even respond to his commands.

Matt sighed. “Cadet, stand down,” he said. “Return to—” He looked at Jahl for help.

“Conditioning.”

“—conditioning. You'll get another chance.”

The Demon powered down and the cadet marched, head down, past Matt and Jahl to the low building where Dr. Roth worked.

“Begin firing drills, Cadets,” Matt told the rest.

“Adepts,” one cadet cut in. The slate identified her as Norah Posada Gracia.

“Adept is a title that's earned,” Matt shot back.

“How?” she asked. “Sir.”

“You could take a lead from Elize. Her Mesh Effectiveness is higher than yours now.”

“I don't need to give in to it!” she shot back. “I can fight!”

“Sir,” Jahl added.

“Sir,” she said. Her Mesh Effectiveness chart shuddered higher, before peaking at sixty-three percent. Matt could only imagine the battle of wills between Norah and the thing in the machine.

That was what Kyle did, Matt thought. He never accepted it. He fought it. And in the end, it broke him.

“You'll do better if you accept it,” Matt told her.

“I'll do it my way, sir,” Norah said, as if through gritted teeth.

Matt shook his head. It would have to do for now. Best to see what they could do. He had the nine adepts cycle through the firing drills, then had them do some simple hand-to-hand combat.

* * *

The adepts sucked.

There was no other way to put it. They couldn't target, they couldn't shoot, they spent minutes switching from the MK-160 to Fireflies and back again. Under the overcast Florida sky, vast swaths of soggy ground erupted all around their targets, with only a few rounds hitting their marks. Mecha grappled ineffectively with Mecha, like two drunks wrestling outside a bar. The deep booms of their biometal bodies clashing together echoed hollowly across the land, like defeat.