by Stina Leicht
They decided they’d pushed their limits enough for the day. The gun will stop once the EMP goes off.
Jun finished tracing a lopsided circle on the hull. She pulled the activation tab free and tossed it aside. The white plastic ribbon rippled as it floated away on the wind. A bright light bloomed at one end of the secured strip and began to trace a circle on the surface of the ship’s hull.
Looking away, Rosie noticed three of the four mechs were frozen. Some corporate troops had pinned Sarah down. Rosie removed the blast rifle hanging off their shoulder. They aimed, squeezing off several rounds. Two of Sarah’s harassers dropped. The rest of the unit took cover.
A loud thumping brought Rosie’s attention back to Jun. They turned in time to see her stomping her right boot on the burned and melted circle of hull. Steel gave away with a loud metallic squeal, exposing a nest of wires and insulation. Jun slapped the switch on the EMP and shoved it arm deep inside the ship’s bulkhead.
“Time to go,” Rosie said.
The pair of them sprinted to the opposite end of the ship. Meanwhile, all around them, explosions—big and small—split the air. Reaching the ship’s aft section, they mentally prepared themself for the next destination: the second set of stacked steel containers positioned between the first hangar and the second.
“You ready?” Jun asked.
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Rosie asked.
They hit the side of the new container stack just as the EMP went off with a thur-rump. Two fast heart beats. Three. And then Rand dropped onto the platform like a stone. The shock of the blow to the building’s roof caused the entire edifice to shudder and sway. For a moment, Rosie feared falling off the containers or being crushed as one of them shifted beneath their feet.
A deep groan sounded from somewhere inside the building. Cracks appeared in the platform beneath the fallen ship. Two disabled mechs toppled over. The lone remaining mech concentrated fire on a group of Sarah’s fighters huddled behind a loading machine. Rosie paused, considering what could be done.
“Doors are opening on the second hangar!” Jun shouted.
Son of a bitch. Rosie turned away from Sarah and her problems. Instead they made their way up to the top of the second container stack. This one was three high.
Big fat raindrops slapped the steel next to their hand.
Rosie thought, The storm is here.
“Rosie!” Jun shouted from the top of the stack.
“What is it?” Rosie asked and pulled themself up another two meters.
Jun pointed. Rosie turned to see. Below, the last mech was moving toward their container stack. Rosie felt their chest go cold. The thump of the mech’s steps shuddered through the steel walls of the container.
“Come on, Rosie!” Jun said.
“Moving as fast as I can,” Rosie said.
From below, the sounds of the mech’s railguns clicked and clanked as it reloaded. Rosie felt their guts loosen.
This is it. This is where I die. Rosie turned to face the blast.
Han appeared from just behind the mech’s head. He’d apparently hauled himself up the thing’s back. Gasping, he inched himself up the last few inches. “I don’t think so!” he shouted. He slapped a charge down on the faceplate. The mech pilot attempted to remove it.
Rosie decided to take that opportunity to get the fuck out of the way. They had one hand over the edge of the container when the mech’s guns went off and something slammed hard into Rosie’s left leg. They lost their balance when that same leg crumpled. Their boot slipped. Jun grabbed their right hand and tugged.
More bullets exploded into the container. Rosie felt the big steel box shudder. And then just as abruptly as the gunfire had started, it stopped.
Jun yanked them the rest of the way to safety. Sprawled across the top of the container, Rosie attempted to get up. However, their leg wasn’t cooperating. It simply wouldn’t do what they wanted it to do. They reached down with their left hand. Something warm and slick covered their gloved palm.
“Blast it. You’re hit,” Jun said. She kneeled down, and her backpack was open again. She ripped open a med pack and got to work on Rosie’s wound.
The pain flooded in the instant Jun touched Rosie leg. They drew in a breath with a hiss. Agony consumed their consciousness. They felt Jun jab their leg with a syringe. A sharp cry burst from Rosie’s clamped mouth. And when Jun tightened the bandage, the world darkened. Rosie let out an enthusiastic scream.
“Sorry,” Jun said.
“Don’t be.” Rosie wiped tears from their eyes. The pain began to recede. That was when they noticed the second hangar was open.
Rosie scrambled to their feet, resulting in yet another wave of severe pain. “We have to stop that ship! With reinforcements, they’ll overwhelm Ogenth!”
“Sit still. The bandage is on. But if I don’t secure it, it’ll come undone. You’ll bleed to death!”
“I don’t care!”
“I do!” Jun said.
“Damn it!” Rosie slapped their pockets. Finally, they located their hand terminal. The screen was coated in blood. They ineffectually wiped at it before shouting into the microphone. “Kennedy! Kennedy I need you. Are you there?”
Affirmative, Kennedy sent via text.
Another loud explosion ripped the air. There was a shout. Rosie glanced down over the side.
We’re almost winning. How about that? Rosie asked, “Can you stop Xeno from leaving the city?”
Can’t shift resource allocations, Kennedy replied. Not without losses among the other groups. Water is collecting behind the gates. I can abandon those restrictions. But that would flood the streets without warning. And the cost—
“Don’t,” Rosie said. “Continue with what you’re doing.”
Affirmative.
Waving Jun away, Rosie dug in the backpack and fished out the climbing gear. Time to find out if I can repel on one leg.
They anchored the line to one of the loops soldered to the corner of the storage container. Then they quickly put on the climbing harness.
“Rosie, don’t—”
Rosie crossed themselves and dropped over the edge.
It wasn’t the most graceful descent executed in the world of climbing, but they survived. Rosie was in the middle of shucking the harness when Jun landed nearby.
“You’re not listening to me,” Jun said.
“You’re right,” Rosie said.
Whatever Jun had injected them with had started its work. Their leg was growing numb. They staggered more than limped toward the open hangar.
Xeno’s engines were hot, but the ship hadn’t lifted off yet. Rosie didn’t see anyone else in the hangar.
“Second device ready?” Rosie asked.
“Yes,” Jun said. She was only a few steps behind.
“Then come on,” Rosie said.
The two of them rushed on. They’d planted a hand on the ship’s side when the loading ramp lowered. At the moment, no one seemed to be debarking.
“No time for dawdling,” Rosie said. “Go fore! And get out of sight!”
Rosie made to follow Jun but discovered they couldn’t walk without support. “Go! I’ll stay and buy you some time!” They waved her on and hobbled toward the ramp. “Go!”
A group of soldiers jogged down the ramp and into the hangar. None were piloting mechs.
Thank god for small favors, Rosie thought. They fired off a couple of rounds and missed. Expecting return fire, Rosie dove for cover behind one of the ship’s landing supports. As they struggled to their feet once more, a handful of the troops peeled off from the main group. The soldiers were headed fore—where Jun was hiding. Rosie emptied their gun. Their leg was now a useless weight. They sat on the ground with a teeth-jarring thump.
“Don’t make this hard on yourself. It’s over. Surrender!” one of the mercenaries shouted.
Hidden behind the support, Rosie finished reloading. Their senses had grown sharp. Their vision picked up every
detail. A damp chill was in the air. The hangar stank of grease. Outside, the rain slammed the tarmac in earnest.
“Did you hear me?”
“I did,” Rosie said, bringing up the barrel of their gun again. “I’m merely not interested.”
“And what if I said that we won’t kill your friend if you surrender?”
“You don’t have her.”
Two mercenaries dragged a struggling Jun from behind one of the forward supports.
Damn it, Rosie thought. What do I do now?
“Well?” the soldier asked.
“All right,” Rosie said. They placed the gun on the ground and scooted it away with their good leg. Then they stuck their hands in the air. “I give up.”
The mercenary motioned them over.
“I can’t walk,” Rosie said.
Another pair of soldiers rushed over when the one in charge motioned at them. Each grabbed one of Rosie’s arms. Rosie was yanked from the ground. With a merc under each shoulder, Rosie staggered to the captain. A plastic tie was looped around Rosie’s wrists.
The lead mercenary put his fingertips against his ear. “Rosencrantz Asher has been secured, ma’am.” He paused as if listening. “I understand.” That was when he gave the men holding Jun a signal.
They shot her in the head.
“No!” Rosie screamed. “You said—”
A sharp pain pierced their upper arm, and the soldier next to them tossed a syringe onto the ground.
“Sorry about that,” the lead mercenary said. “But I’ve my orders.”
23
TIME: 05:00
DAY: SUNDAY
SOMEWHERE OVER THE WESTERN OUTBACK
Hacking her way into the ship’s network via her suit connection required patience. She’d successfully avoided drawing Shrike’s attention so far. If she’d been human, it would’ve been impossible—particularly within the time constraints.
Unfortunately, that was only the first task of six she had to complete.
And I’ve less than three hours before we land.
Their arrival time had been accelerated by one and a half hours. No explanation was given in spite of the fact that Kennedy wasn’t the only one who was unhappy about it.
The mercenaries had begun their morning routines, such as they were under the circumstances. Shinobu Hashimoto was brushing his teeth with a dry toothbrush. Keiko Tsushima used a wet-wipe to clean the sleep from her face. At the end of the row next to the cockpit doors, Natividad Vacío had broken down their pulse rifle—a feat in itself in close quarters—and was cleaning it. The low rumbling of the engines competed with various conversations. An olfactory stew of unwashed bodies, recycled air, and various machine lubricants and cleaners had permeated Kennedy’s senses over her time within the crowded space.
2.7182818284…
Having taken multiple space flights, this wasn’t a new experience. However, the luxury liners she’d booked didn’t confine passengers to one tiny area. All but the most exclusive private rooms were coffin-size. The cheapest weren’t cabins at all. They were cryopods. Thus, the affluent mingled with their own in the entertainment areas, and they did so at an aloof distance.
She hadn’t had to contend with close proximity until now. She’d been lucky. These were mercenaries focused on preparing for a battle. Humans weren’t observant of others under such conditions. Still, the past twenty-four hours had been an opportunity. The extra human behavior data had proven useful in some ways and perplexing in others.
Breakfast rations were distributed in the form of a meal bar fifteen minutes after the lights had brightened. She ripped open the plastic wrapper and sniffed the contents before nibbling a corner. The flavor registered as a sweetened peanut butter concoction mixed with soy and grains. The taste wasn’t bad. Normally, she’d identify every ingredient. However, she had to keep a channel open for Peisinoe. Kennedy expected another report soon.
She understood the situation in Brynner wasn’t going well.
Annalee, the mercenary with the shaved head sitting to her right, unbuckled herself from the flight couch after consuming her breakfast in four big bites. “Time to check on Big Bertha.”
“Who’s she?” Kennedy asked.
“She’s my power mech,” Annalee said. When it was apparent that Kennedy was interested, Annalee continued. “Want an introduction?”
“Absolutely,” Kennedy said. “I’ve never seen a mech up close before.” That was true. Not in person, anyway. Hacking into the mechs was on her list of tasks.
She unlatched her harness and followed Annalee. The space between the seats had seemed wide when Kennedy had first entered the ship. However, with the various soldiers’ accoutrements spread out on the couches and floor around them, that was no longer the case. The risk of tripping was great. She was glad she’d chosen a seat on the end of the row. The two chairs opposite had remained empty. Positions in the middle of the cabin seemed to be more popular.
Reaching the cargo divider in a handful of careful steps, Annalee slapped the access button. The door hissed open.
“Please close the bay door immediately,” Shrike admonished in a polite but firm male voice with a West Brynner accent. “Safety regulations require passengers to—”
“Fuck off,” Annalee said, glaring up at the ship’s camera. “I’m checking my gear before the drop. Give us a minute.”
By the time Kennedy had stepped inside, the other mech pilots had lined up. Shrike repeated its warning once more before Tech Specialist Brian Due shut it off.
Yesterday, the 3.7656-meter-tall mechs had blended into the organized confusion of the cargo hold’s various boxes, crates, equipment, and personnel. Now that Kennedy paid closer attention, they acquired an air of intimidation.
“She’s back here,” Annalee said. “First one out, last one in.” It was apparently a matter of pride.
All of the mechs had been personalized by their pilots. One was black with a skull and crossbones motif. Another had a purple interior. One of the least modified in this sense was a dirty green camouflage. Annalee’s Big Bertha was matte black. Dull pink accent stripes were on the shoulders.
“Here she is,” Annalee said, giving the mech an affectionate pat. Her expression conveyed pride in the scuffs and dings.
Kennedy hesitantly reached out to touch Big Bertha’s scarred surface. “How long have you operated her?”
“I’ve been a mech pilot for twenty years,” Annalee said. “Bertha and I have been partners for five.”
Stepping partway up the access ladder next to the big machine, Annalee punched a series of buttons. The top half of the suit opened in two sections: the head and then the chest. The interior was heavily padded with multiple safety straps and wires. She plugged into a port, connecting to a tablet-sized terminal on the wall nearby. Then she started what was obviously a series of diagnostic checks.
Kennedy watched the process, fascinated. “How does it work? I don’t see any controls.”
“See the oxygen mask?” Annalee asked. She took a moment to point at the helmet’s interior.
Kennedy nodded.
“When closed, the helmet fills with a medium that amplifies the pilot’s thoughts. The mech responds to thought-commands,” Annalee said. “The suit’s personality is entirely adjustable. Combat isn’t the best time for chatter as far as I’m concerned. I don’t pilot her so much as wear her.”
“The mech picks up electrical impulses from the human brain?” Kennedy asked.
Annalee nodded. “That’s why I have this stylish haircut.” She rubbed a pale palm over the top of her closely cropped hair. “But mechs are military. Most of the time. And the military doesn’t want its soldiers to feel too much ownership. They might get ideas. So… pilot it is.”
“Oh,” Kennedy said. She didn’t understand why she felt a little sick about the idea of a human wearing an AGI suit—not when she was an AGI wearing a human suit.
“The haircut is not as bad as all that,” Annalee sa
id. “My hair dries with a few rubs of a towel. And it hasn’t affected my dating prospects.” She winked. “Thinking of becoming a mech pilot?”
Staring at the mech, Kennedy tilted her head. The idea of a nesting doll sprang to mind. An AGI in a human suit in an AGI suit.
Annalee interpreted her hesitation as normal. “The initial investment is steep. I won’t lie to you about that.”
“You own her?” Kennedy asked.
“Lien free, of course,” Annalee said. “No bank invests in a unit that could be destroyed the first time you take it into battle. Can’t insure her either. But that’s why mech merc fees are so high.”
“Are mechs that susceptible to being destroyed?” Kennedy asked.
“Not with an experienced pilot,” Annalee said. “But first-timers have a high catastrophic-failure rate. Not because mechs are difficult to run. It’s because you’re the biggest target on the field.”
“Biggest badass, you mean,” one of the men added.
“Or biggest asshole in some cases,” one of the women said.
“Who asked you?” the same man said.
“Why did you become a mercenary?” Kennedy asked Annalee.
“Pay is better. And my boss is less of a cagey bastard. What about you?”
Kennedy paused. She didn’t have a ready answer even though it was a reasonable question. She decided to use something she’d overheard Sarah say once. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
The same man that had spoken up before said, “But maybe not so much now, huh?”
“Stop scaring the newborn, Azure,” Annalee said.
Kennedy blinked. “What?”
Annalee had returned to her checks, and Kennedy decided not to press the question.
The other pilots went about their business. A few minutes passed before two of the suits failed their inspections. The pilots whose mechs had passed clustered around the faulty mechs and discussed possible fixes. She drifted over to one of the unattended suits at the far end of the hold and picked up a console tablet. The mechs were of varying ages, but this one appeared to be the oldest.
