by George Ebey
Or maybe not.
Suddenly the flames on the vid-screen died, revealing the scene of the bombed-out city once again. The rubble. The crushed cars. The burning remains of countless structures, sending smoldering ash into the sky and blotting out the sun. As terrible as it looked, Helen was relieved to see it. It meant that DEBBI’s health sensors were no longer being blasted with flames. It took her a moment to process why. Then she realized...
Iron Dragon’s flamethrower was drained. They’d used up most of their juice fighting off their own drone horde, and now they were out of ammo. The code it ate up must have been massive, as she’d suspected … and now it needed to recharge. Which put them in the worst possible situation.
Picking up on this, Misty let loose on the Gatling, sending a barrage of photon lasers directly into the waiting sensors of the undefeated Iron Dragon. But the Dragon’s fight with the drones had been far more one-sided, and there was a good chance that it had plenty of health to spare.
Even still, the Kioko twins would know better than to let their only advantage drain away. They would surely try to take their robot out of harm’s way in order to recharge its flamethrower and come back at them again, Helen knew.
Sure enough, the Iron Dragon quickly turned and fled in the opposite direction, while Misty continued to unleash the full furry of the Gatling’s volley into its fleeing backside.
Helen felt a spike of hope jab through her. If they could keep pressing their advantage, if they kept hitting it with everything they had, they just might have a shot of taking it down right here and now.
“Helen, I’m almost out,” Misty abruptly said. “Those drones have drained the Gat. Get ready with your rifle. I’ll reload and handle the wheel while you pick them off.”
“Copy that!”
The interface in action once again. Their ability to toggle between tasks was on full display now. Other operators had their set job to do, and that was it—even the Kiokos. When one team member’s task was cut off, like an empty weapon being recharged, they were down for the count. But Helen and Misty’s system was far more flexible during moments like this. Now Misty was in the driver’s seat, freeing Helen to do what she needed to do. It was a versatility that few other teams shared.
The second the Gatling quieted, Helen relinquished DEBBI’s controls and began to work the laser rifle, firing precise shots into the Iron Dragon’s back while Misty kept DEBBI moving forward in hot pursuit. Every shot Helen landed brought them one step closer to victory, and she was not about to let up now.
Plus, Misty could roll and reload her weapon at the same time, and Helen was betting that the Gatling would take less time to bring online than the Dragon’s crazy flamethrower would. The more powerful the weapon, the more code it ate. With luck, the Gatling would be ready in moments, while the flamethrower was still out of commission. Iron Dragon would be a sitting duck. If only they could keep up with the thing.
The Iron Dragon suddenly reeled, firing its close-quarters pistol while Helen continued to take aim with her rifle. The pistol scored a quick health-lowering ping on DEBBI’s torso. Their enemy was trying to rattle her, Helen knew. Get her to hesitate, maybe weaken her aim a little. But the ploy didn’t work. Helen’s laser rifle was a more precise and powerful weapon than the Dragon’s peashooter, so for every hit they made, she scored two. And her hits were twice as powerful.
By now, she figured they must both be somewhere in the 40-percent power range, and this put them on an equal playing field. If they could get the Gatling back online before the flamethrower was ready, they’d have it dead to rights.
“Misty, how’s the Gatling coming?”
“Two minutes!”
It felt like forever, and they were losing ground to the faster bot. She managed to squeeze off one more shot, and then Iron Dragon disappeared behind the safety of an abandoned army Jeep.
“They’re trying to hide while they recharge!” Misty shouted.
Helen understood the importance of this immediately. Cover made it harder for Helen to whittle their health down with the rifle, and in this close of a match, every little bit counted. Once the Kiokos’ flamethrower came back online, they’d be right back where they started, with Iron Dragon having a clear advantage in the weapons department.
But right now, in this moment, Helen had the upper hand with the laser rifle.
They could hang back, wait for the Gatling to reload, and continue to play cat and mouse with the Kiokos and their flaming war machine. Or they could press their advantage, attack now with the laser rifle, and switch to the Gatling the second it finished recharging. As long as Iron Dragon’s flamethrower was still down, they couldn’t lose.
But Helen had no way of knowing how long it would take Iron Dragon to recharge. Minutes? Seconds?
“What are we doing, Helen?” Misty snapped.
Helen’s mind raced. Attack or hide? The time to choose was now.
They’ll ruin your life!
The anonymous man’s words went exploding through her mind like an atom bomb of truth. And with them came her decision.
“We’re going for it!”
“Copy that!”
Misty hit DEBBI’s accelerator and raced toward Iron Dragon’s position. Circling the downed Jeep, she found it there, its back against a wall, both weapons raised. It looked like a cornered animal, desperate and ready to lash out with everything it had.
For a second, Helen almost panicked, thinking the flamethrower was back online.
Instead, they fired their close-quarters pistol. Ticks fell off of DEBBI’s health-meter, but the damage was minimal. The weapon wasn’t as powerful as she’d expected it to be. In fact, it was hardly touching DEBBI’s exterior.
They’d put the bulk of their code into the flamethrower, and left the smaller weapon far too weak. And they were about to pay the price for that.
Raising the laser rifle without another thought, she aimed at Iron Dragon’s chest and fired.
But nothing happened.
Confused, she quickly checked the rifle’s ammunition count … and was shocked at what she found.
In all the excitement, she’d forgotten to check on the status of her own weapon. She immediately hit the reload command, but the gesture was useless. The Gatling would be back online before the rifle reloaded, and that would be far too late.
She’d been counting on these last few seconds to whittle them down with the rifle before finishing them off with the Gatling, and now she had nothing. All this time, she’d been harping on Misty to keep a close eye on her ammo count … only to end up making the same mistake herself.
“Misty! I’m out! How long ‘till the Gatling’s ready?”
“Ten seconds!”
She peered at the enemy robot, helpless and horrified.
The Iron Dragon had finished firing its pistol, and for a moment both robots simply stared at one another, their offline weapons poised and at the ready.
Ten seconds. Stay or go. Would the Gatling be available before the flamethrower? She’d only be guessing at the answer.
But it was her call, and she made it quickly.
“Get ready!” she shouted. “Fire the Gatling the second it’s online!”
“On it!”
Iron Dragon sat ready.
Sweat dripped off of Helen’s brow.
Come on…
Iron Dragon stared her down with cold, deadly eyes.
Just a little more…
The tip of Iron Dragon’s main weapon sparked, producing a cigarette lighter-sized flame that burned at the ready.
It’s coming online…
Suddenly the flamethrower belched its first breath of fire, a quick precursor to the blazing inferno that was about to be unleashed.
“Reload complete!” Misty shouted.
The Gatling’s turret began to spin.
A massive stream of fire burst from Iron Dragon’s flamethrower just as DEBBI’s Gatling gun finally began to blaze away, unloading its laser
fury into the enemy bot while the vid-screen filled with bright orange flames.
GAME OVER. GAME OVER.
Throwing off her headset, Helen stared at the blinking words on her screen, unsure of what just happened.
Did we fire the Gatling in time? Did we win?
Her eyes went straight for DEBBI’s health-meter. It read zero.
No. It can’t be.
Turning to her right, she found Misty, who was still seated at her operator’s station. The look in Misty’s eyes said it all.
But unwilling to believe it, she stood and looked across the arena to the opposing side, watching as Daryl and his sister jumped from their own stations, hugging each other and cheering with delight.
That’s when truth hit her like a solid punch in the gut. The competition was over. They’d lost.
STANDING ON THE stage with DEBBI clutched in her hands, she did her best to smile and look gracious in defeat, though inside she felt horrible.
Being runner up wasn’t without its perks. She and Misty each got their own second place trophy and a scholarship worth $500 toward any technical or engineering program they might wish to attend in a few years. It was no Mars rover, but it was better than nothing.
And after the reality of the defeat had sunk in, the first thing she’d done was apologize profusely to Misty. She felt terrible for lecturing her about the Gatling gun’s ammo count in the semi-finals only to turn around and do the same thing herself with the rifle—at the worst possible time—in the final round.
But Misty, true to form, took it all in stride.
“No worries,” she insisted. “It sure was a heck of a game. And besides, I wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t built that totally rocking robot. So if anything, I should be thanking you for letting me tag along.”
Misty’s sweet optimism was like a layer of salve over a searing wound, and Helen counted herself lucky that there were no hard feelings, despite the loss.
Still, the disappointment she felt with herself was hard to mask, and she couldn’t wait until the ceremony was over so they could get the heck out of there.
At least they weren’t expected to say anything.
Maximillian Oliver was doing enough of that on his own, congratulating the Kiokos on their fine performance and spouting off more rhetoric designed to further toot MARSCORP’s horn.
She tuned it out.
All she could think of was the final match, and how her decisions had led to their defeat. When the dust settled, she’d learned that they had gotten Iron Dragon down to its last 5 percent of health before the other bot’s flame finally did DEBBI in. Five percent. So close. Perhaps if she’d decided to hold back and regain all of their weapon loads instead of attacking, they could have found a way to gain the upper hand.
Stupid.
And the price of that mistake was the worst part of all. It meant no Mars rover, which rendered her plans to save the family—along with her future—obsolete. Ruined by her own actions.
Suddenly she realized that the audience was clapping, and looked up. Oliver must have said something final, because everyone else was starting to file out of the lecture hall.
The Kiokos—with Iron Dragon and a large first place trophy in hand—wasted no time, and quickly exited the stage. She found their hurried state curious; Daryl seemed like the gloating type, and she’d half expected him to use the opportunity to do just that. It sort of made sense, she supposed. All the pictures, interviews, and other press-milking stuff had taken place before the ceremony, so there was no reason for them to stick around. But still, to rush out like that, it left her wondering—why hurry? Did they have some sort of special plan in place for the rover they’d just won? Or something more important to do?
And if so, what was it?
She did her best to wave the questions out of her mind. At the end of the day, it really wasn’t her business what they did with their winnings. And either way, she was glad to see them go. It meant that she and Misty could finally leave as well.
But not quite yet.
Before she could make her own break for the exit, Maximillian Oliver approached them. He was even more dashing and charismatic up close. The perfect suit. The perfect haircut. A politician’s smile draped over his camera-ready face. But Helen couldn’t help but see that for what it was—a ruse, an act put on for the benefit of the public. In truth, there was something else going on under the surface. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Something she just didn’t trust.
“Very interesting design,” he said, motioning to DEBBI.
Her mind flashed to the image of the poor man being dragged out of the lecture hall, his life ruined by the policies this man had put into place. The very thought made it hard for her to stand next to him and remain cordial.
“Thank you,” she offered, hoping to be done with him for good.
“I mean it,” he said. “I’m extremely impressed with your performance today. How did you guys manage to toggle so efficiently between weapons like that?”
Helen thought of the interface—her innovation—and decided that she had no interest in sharing it with him. Sure, he was an important man, and maybe the smart move would be to play along, get on his good side, and perhaps win some kind of favor with him that might pay off sometime down the road. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized she couldn’t do that. She knew better than to let her guard down around someone like him. Even if it turned out that he did come bearing gifts, it felt too much like a Siren’s song—like she was being led down a primrose path that could only bring disaster.
“Practice, I guess,” she finally said.
But Oliver wasn’t the type to give up so easily.
“Come now,” he insisted. “I know good tech when I see it. So tell me, what’d you use? Some sort of cross-signal algorithm?”
Not even close, Helen thought, suddenly liking the idea that she’d been able to stump him in some small way, this tiny little victory filling her with a sense of bravado she hadn’t known she had.
“I’d rather not say,” she said, her voice level. No matter who Oliver was, she didn’t trust him, and he wasn’t getting her secrets.
Undaunted, though, he forged ahead, his own voice becoming distinctly less pleasant. “Come on. Inventor to inventor. You can tell me.”
Suddenly she realized something: This was less about the interface matrix … and more about that fact that he wasn’t used to being told no. And with that thought, she started to see him for what he was. A control freak, a genius-yet-juvenile mind accustomed to always getting its own way. But not this time. And it was driving him mad.
“As a fellow inventor,” she said, “you should know that I’m not going to just give my ideas to someone like you on a whim. Sorry.”
Next to her, she could almost feel Misty’s eyes widen with surprise at her terse reply … just as Oliver’s eyes narrowed, a slight sneer betraying his normally cool expression.
“You know, I could figure it out if I really wanted to,” he said.
“You’re certainly welcome to try.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment, each of them staring at the another, neither wanting to give an inch in this battle of wills.
Finally, Oliver—as if suddenly regaining his politician-like composure—forced an indifferent smile, his wrinkled brow rising to a neutral place over his steely eyes once again.
“Very well,” he said without a hint of disdain or malice in his voice. “Congratulations on a great performance. Good luck to you both.”
He offered a cordial nod to Misty—whose mouth was still agape—before turning and walking away.
As she watched him go, Helen decided exactly what she needed to do next. Her parents were going to lease a Mars rover. There was no stopping that now. And this left her with just one option. If her future hinged on the success of the rover, then she would make sure that she knew everything there was to know about it—how it worked, how it moved
, how it was powered, and most of all, how to best keep it safe up there. The information was available if you knew where to look. All she had to do was access it and start studying. That way, when the time came, she wouldn’t have to just sit idly by and watch her fate unfold. She could get involved.
Sure, her parents weren’t going to let her anywhere near the controls once they were installed. But there were ways around that. She’d tap into it somehow, or sneak operating sessions when they weren’t looking. Whatever it took.
If Maximillian Oliver thought it was okay to play with other people’s lives, then she was bound and determined to beat him at his own game.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Misty slugged her playfully on the shoulder and said, “I can’t believe you said that to him.”
Helen suddenly felt bad, worrying that her friend wouldn’t understand why she’d done it. Misty’s family had money; they didn’t have to worry about things like this. Her parents moved in circles with the Maximillian Olivers of the world. And for all Helen knew, they could even be in business with him somehow.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
But Misty only laughed. “Are you kidding me? That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen you do. Forget that guy. He’s just another stuck-up rich kid. Trust me, I’ve been around his type all my life.”
Helen was relieved. And more so, she felt extremely happy to have such a loyal and understanding friend in her corner. Win, lose, or draw, they made a pretty good team.
“Come on,” Misty said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Helen was happy to do just that, and motioned for her to lead the way.
Though they’d lost, she knew that it no longer mattered. The competition was over—a thing of the past—and now she was ready to look toward the future.
