by Jake Bible
But, that wasn’t to be.
In theory, a person died and their Reaper chip activated, alerting the authorities. It also sent a lethal shock to the cerebral cortex, frying the brain and adding another safeguard that the dearly departed stayed dearly departed.
But, in order for mech pilots to connect with their mech’s computer, they needed that feature disabled.
Eventually, it was and the door for the dead mechs was opened. Wide.
***
The mechs came online ten years after the Reaper chip. They were almost a direct extension of that technology, working on the same principal of cerebral and computer integration.
The first mech pilot died a quick, painful death, his cerebellum frying like an oyster in hot oil. It was chalked up to equipment failure.
The second mech pilot died screaming into his com that his “brain is on fucking fire!”. His eyeballs melted in his head, while grey matter oozed from his ears.
The scientists and engineers went back to the drawing board. The UDC waited patiently for their army.
***
Try as they might, none of the scientists or programmers could retain the Reaper chips’ brain frying features and allow it to fully connect with the mech’s computer systems without killing the pilots.
They finally had to face the fact that the feature would need to be disabled, still allowing the pilots’ vital signs to be monitored and tracking signature to be located, but no longer capable of administering a final brain death.
A single assistant composed a memo about the possible risks of pilot death while still connected to their mech.
The assistant soon became a silent test subject.
***
A mech and its pilot were designed to be one organism. The mech’s AI and the pilot’s consciousness were to meld easily, allowing the pilot to control the mech without any delay or hesitation. If the pilot moved, the mech moved with it like a suit of armor, but with hydraulic assistance.
This was the worry of what would one day be called the Lost Memo: that the mech and pilot were too intertwined, too enmeshed, too complete. Mechs did not know the difference between life or death. A pilot was a pilot, whether living or undead.
Monsters were born.
***
The day the mechs came online was hailed as the end of the zombie war, the politicians crowed.
No longer would humanity have to risk sending in hundreds of soldiers against thousands of undead, hoping not to be overrun and infected then turned themselves.
Now, just two or three specially trained mech pilots could take their massive robotic war machines into the middle of the undead masses and lay waste.
Soon battles were won in minutes and hours, not days and weeks.
Of course, it all went horribly wrong the moment the first pilot died while still operating his mech.
Part Four- The Dead Mechs
Essential to a mech’s operation was a modified Reaper chip which allowed the pilot to have near complete cerebral integration with all of the mech’s systems, creating response times of nanoseconds. The mech became a fifty ton extension of the pilot’s reflexes. Pilots didn’t think, they acted.
No one foresaw that a mech could become a fifty-ton extension of a zombie. And a zombie that was as hungry as all the rest, except now equipped with city leveling armaments.
Zombie pilots did not need to sleep or piss or ever leave their cockpits. They could hunt 24/7.
And they did.
***
The first observed dead mech was a berserker. The mech’s former pilot, now zombie, raged as hard as any other zombie not strapped into a fifty ton machine.
It turned on anything and everything in its path, smashing, destroying, annihilating. It fired weapons at random, the zombie pilot no longer in control of its faculties, the military training lost in death.
And just like the zombies crawling the earth without mech armor, the dead mech pilot was hungry.
The need for flesh forced the mech to learn, to gain some control of itself.
The metal golem was free. And starving.
***
The dead mechs roamed the wasteland, searching for food. They could cover several square miles a day, where a zombie horde could only move so far, so fast.
This led to some of the smaller wasteland outposts, the rural survivors, to be taken by surprise when the mech approaching turned out not to be friendly, but instead hungry for their flesh.
Now a good, strong, reinforced wall couldn’t hold out the horror.
Little communities had to abandon their hard work and search for others to join forces with, whether they wanted to or not, all for the sake of survival.
Part Five- The Ride And Arrival
Mech pilots weren’t chosen for being the bravest, for being the smartest or for being the best fit. They were chosen because they volunteered…and no one else did.
That didn’t mean that everyone that signed up was accepted. There were still minimum standards. Such as: physical ability, intelligence, resourcefulness and, most of all, sanity.
Sanity was key. They weren’t going to let you be in charge of enough firepower to level a city/state without making sure you wouldn’t actually level a city/state. Unless ordered to, of course.
So tests were designed. The biggest test: the ride to the mech base.
***
Once a pilot candidate was singled out from their city state, they boarded a train to the mech base. This train was designed to do only two things: get the pilot candidate to the base and use every tool available to break that candidate before they got there.
Once on board, the candidate was secluded in a windowless passenger car. There was one seat only, bolted to the floor in the middle of the empty car.
The candidate would be instructed to strap in and remain strapped in until told otherwise.
They would be left that way for 24 hours.
***
Most pilot candidates failed the first part of the test within six hours. It’s why the train never left the station until the first 24 hours were up.
Movement and sound would be simulated, making the candidate think they were on their way, but at no point would they be communicated or interacted with for the entire 24 hours.
If they undid a strap, moved from the chair, begged to be let out or just flat broke down, then the test was ended immediately, they were thanked and sent home.
The majority failed because they refused to piss their pants.
***
If the candidate made it past the first test, then the train would start its long journey to the mech base.
This time the simulation was opposite. Instead of faking movement and sound, it faked stillness and quiet. The candidate would be told there was a mechanical issue and the train would be stopped for at least 24 hours, when in actuality it was moving at a steady clip of 85 miles per hour.
The candidate would be allowed to move about, to use the small latrine bucket provided and to eat from the ration packets attached to the chair.
***
For the candidate, the train ride to the mech base was a four day trip, no matter where they were coming from.
The first day they are stuck in the station, but think they are moving.
The second day, they think they are stuck in the wasteland, but are actually moving.
The third day, they think they are moving, actually are moving and are given every opportunity to relax and ask questions. The train’s pilot and co-pilot are allowed to communicate with the candidate, as long as they stay on script.
The fourth day, the candidate thinks they will die.
***
The third day of testing is merely designed to lull the candidate into a false sense of security. Ease their minds and put them off guard.
Then they are hit with the fourth day, the day they die.
The train never stops moving once it leaves the station, but the candidate believes it does on day two and
four.
When they are told the train has been attacked on day four, they feel the attack. Every last blast, ricochet and concussion.
They are watched. Watched for how they react, how they try to help and how they try to escape.
***
Once the train is in motion, the candidate will not be returned for any reason. They are on their way to the mech base and that is where they will be assigned and where they will stay.
Whether they become a mech pilot or not is the question.
The test is simple: if the candidate can figure out how to get out of the train car, they will become a pilot. If they don’t figure it out or don’t try, then there are plenty of other jobs at the mech base.
The fourth day weeds the pilots from the cooks.
***
On arriving at the mech base, the candidate is stripped of his or her name. They are known only as the Rookie.
Only one Rookie is allowed at the base at a time. This keeps the confusion down and also keeps valuable resources from being drained or wasted by Rookie mistakes.
Until they are given back their name, they are the lowest on the totem pole.
Even if they are training as a mech pilot, they are above no one. From food service to maintenance, the Rookie is the base’s bitch.
Some make it just fine, some don’t. Most don’t.
Chapter One
Part One- Introduction & Tragedy
The traffic was awful. Jimmy hadn’t moved more than a mile in the past hour, surrounded by cars honking, their electric motors purring in the hot summer evening.
His com phone buzzed and he casually answered it.
“Hey Sweetheart! What’s up?”
“Where are you?” Michelle’s voice was frantic.
“Stuck in traffic baby. It’s Friday night rush hour. What’s wrong? Rachel okay?”
“Yes, but you need to get home.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just talked to my dad. He said we need to get out of the city right away.”
Capreze woke with a start; thankful the nightmare didn’t proceed any further.
***
The two mechs stood on the ridge looming over the valley below.
“You sure you picked up something?” Bisby asked over his com.
“Positive,” Stanislaw responded, double checking his scanners. Nothing.
“Hmmm, guess we have to go down into that bake oven of a dust bowl and check it all out,” Bisby grumbled. “You sure?”
“Yes, Biz, I’m sure,” Stanislaw snapped back. “I don’t know why you’re bitching, this is why we’re here.”
“Yeah, but the Rookie comes in today. I don’t want to miss the fun.”
“You didn’t think being a Rookie was much fun.”
“Shit rolls down hill.”
***
Chief Mechanic Jay Rind stood and stretched, his back cracking and popping into line.
“Ahhhhh, that’s the shit,” Jay yawned, turning to survey the mech hangar. He glanced at his watch. 0600. “Damn, did it again.”
Jethro laughed, walking into the hangar holding two cups of coffee. “You fall asleep in here last night?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Jay replied, cracking his neck and taking the offered coffee mug. He nodded his thanks to Jethro and turned back to his workbench and the schematics lain upon it. Jethro sidled up next to him.
“That’s some ballsy shit.”
“Don’t I know,” agreed Jay.
***
“Where you want me Stan?” Bisby asked, watching Stanislaw’s mech stomp down into the barren valley.
“Stay put. Keep scanners at full and watch for the ambush.”
“Listen, I know you’re the best and all, but I don’t think anything is in this valley. We’re wasting our time.”
“Never assume, Biz. That’s how I stayed alive this long and following that advice will keep you alive just as long.” Stanislaw’s scanners beeped. He checked the readings. “I just shot you my scan. You seeing that Biz?”
“Yeah…looks like some crevice off to your left. Hard to see from up here.”
***
Mathew walked into the barracks, towel around his waist. The noises from Masters’ bunk made him stop.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake you two!” Mathew said, tired of walking in on Masters and Harlow going at it.
“Just…keep…walking…pilot,” Harlow muttered between grunts.
Mathew swore under his breath, walked quickly to his bunk and grabbed his uniform. He turned and huffed to the barracks door, trying to ignore the lump of sweaty flesh that made up Masters and Harlow.
“Briefing in fifty, kids,” he called back, walking into the hallway. “Don’t be too late.”
“OH GOD,” was all he heard in response.
***
“Whatcha see Stan?”
“Not sure. This is more than a crevice. It’s a fuckin’ rift in the Earth’s mantle. Jeezus.”
Stanislaw set scanners to full spectrum. What looked like a thin opening to a crack in the valley floor, quickly opened up below into a massive cavern. A cavern able to hold any number of dead mechs. Stanislaw backed away, powering up his weapons.
“Hey Biz?”
“Yeah, Stan?”
“I’m not sure what I’m looking at here, but I think we may need back up.” Stanislaw shot the data over to Bisby.
“Shit! That cavern’s huge. Who knows what’s down there…”
***
Capreze stood in the middle of the tracks, cup of coffee in hand. He watched the dawn sun lift over the far off mountains.
“Mornin’ Papa Bear.”
Capreze looked up at the mech to his left. The cockpit was wide open, Rachel’s legs dangling over the edge. He lifted his cup in salute.
“Mornin’ Baby Girl. You make this joe?”
“Yep.”
Capreze took a sip of his coffee and sighed. “You have the gift.”
They stayed silent, each sipping from their mugs.
Rachel looked to the distance, down the tracks.
“Rookie’ll be here soon.”
“Yep. Hope he’s worth a shit.”
***
“Coming to you, Stan.”
“Stay up there. No point in both of us getting ambushed.”
“Fuck that! How about you drop a couple plasma charges down there and just frag it all.”
“What if it isn’t hostile?”
“We’re in the fucking wasteland! Everything is hostile!”
Stanislaw pondered this for a moment, but just for a moment. Proximity alarms blared in his cockpit, interrupting his deliberations.
“Stan?!? What is it?!?”
Stanislaw checked his scanners. He pinged a shape, large and moving. Moving fast.
“Not sure, hard to get a reading through this rock.”
He aimed his plasma cannons at the opening.
***
Dr. Hecate Themopolous sat in her windowless office, head in her hands. She stared at the piece of paper laid out upon her desk. Tears welled in her eyes.
She sniffed and wiped at her nose, grabbing up the paper and ripping it to shreds. She tossed the bits and pieces into the trash, subconsciously wiping her hands on her uniform as if the message on the paper had somehow dirtied her physically.
Her door chime rang. She stared at the shreds lying at the bottom of her wire trashcan. The door chimed again. She quickly wiped her eyes.
“Enter.”
***
The dead mech burst from the crevice, exploding chunks of rock in its wake. It quickly gained its footing on the valley floor, its one arm raised and glowing ready for battle.
“Jeezus…” Stanislaw whispered.
“Stan!” Bisby shouted into his com, powering up his own weapons, dropping his mech down into the valley. “I’m coming down! Push it to the left, I’ll flank it.”
Stanislaw stared at the dead mech, watching its zombie pilot thrash and ho
wl in its cockpit.
“Biz, something’s not right…”
“No fucking shit Stan! It’s a deader with one arm, that’s the definition of ‘not right’!”
***
Masters tried handing Harlow the soap. She fumbled around, blinded by suds. Masters laughed, gripped her hand with his and carefully placed the slippery bar into her open palm.
“Thanks baby,” she smiled, still blind.
“No problem your Hotness.” He turned back to the water, letting the warm spray beat down on his chest. “You think Mathew was pissed?”
“Who fucking cares,” said Harlow, washing the soap from her face. “They’re all just jealous cause they ain’t got their own fuck buddy.”
“That all we are?”
Harlow stepped from her stream into Masters’. “No, baby, that’s not all we are.”
***
Stanislaw piloted his mech into a crouch, setting up the leap and slash move. He waited for his opponent to take the bait.
It didn’t.
One Arm waited, watching Stanislaw, calculating the possible attacks. Coming to a conclusion, One Arm aimed its plasma cannon.
Stanislaw’s eyes went wide; he’d never seen a dead mech react this way. His com crackled.
“Get the fuck out of there Stan! He’s too close for you to dodge those blasts!” Bisby screamed into his ear. “I’m too far away to take him out!”
Stanislaw knew all of this. And what his fate would be.
***
Capreze stepped next to Jay and appraised the schematics.
“You think this will work?” the Commander asked his Chief Mechanic.
“No, but I plan on putting hundreds of man-hours into it anyway,” Jay sniped, never making eye contact with the Commander.
Capreze grinned and slapped Jay on the back. “That’s the spirit! You need anything?”
Still not looking away from the schematics, Jay handed Capreze an empty coffee mug. “She makes it every morning and yet I’m always surprised what your girl can do with some ground beans and water.”
Capreze laughed, took the mug and headed to the mess.
***
The blasts came hard and fast. Stanislaw dodged the first wave, but couldn’t side step his mech fast enough to miss the second wave. The concussion knocked his mech back 300 yards.
