The Guild Conspiracy

by Brooke Johnson

  Bellamy was waiting for her.

  She had thought perhaps Yancy had overexaggerated in his description of Bellamy’s titan construct, but the machine on the other side of the ring was nothing short of a metal colossus, standing over six feet tall and broad as an automobile, one of the brass sentinels she had first spotted when she and Rupert entered the recreation hall. Her mech was miniature in comparison, dwarfed by the monstrous machine. One hit would crumple her tiny construct into a brass pancake.

  But despite the mech’s enormous size, it had weaknesses . . . gaps in the plating, exposing the inner workings of the machine—­namely, the engine and transmission. Most of the mech’s joints were exposed as well, the best points of attack for her smaller machine. If she could disrupt the mech’s movement and bring its main systems to a height level with her own mech, she might be able to penetrate the sparse plating and sabotage the machine’s transmission, incapacitating it.

  At Yancy’s word, Bellamy stepped forward with his hand outstretched, and they silently shook hands before withdrawing to opposite sides of the ring. Bellamy took up his mech’s control panel, poising his fingers over the levers and switches. Petra mirrored his movement, waiting for Yancy’s signal.

  She inhaled a deep breath, focusing on the titanic construct across the ring. She tuned out everything else, until there was only her mech and his. The spectators, the recreation hall, the other engineers and their mechs all faded into a distant quiet. They were distractions, and she needed to stay alert if she was going to win this fight.

  Yancy stepped forward and spoke over the crowd, his voice muffled to her ears. In the corner of her eye, she saw him lift his fingers to his lips, and she tensed, ready and waiting for the sound of his whistle, determined to get the jump on Bellamy.

  Then it came, a sharp blast that cut through the tense silence.

  Petra slid her fingers over the controls, and her mech lurched forward with a burst of power, launching across the ring with a leaping stride. Bellamy advanced, and Petra thumbed the steering controls, maneuvering her mech around the metal titan. Her fingers danced across the control apparatus, and she ducked beneath a violent swing of the other construct’s arm, aiming a quick jab to the back of the knee joint, where the gears were exposed.

  There was a grinding crunch as her mech’s fist fed into the whirring mess of gears. A belt snapped under the pressure, rubber slapping hard against the metal as it unraveled within the leg chamber. A discordant groan followed, and Bellamy’s titan stumbled forward, landing on its damaged knee.

  Petra withdrew and assessed the damage. The plating over her mech’s right fist had shredded on impact with Bellamy’s knee joint, only jagged barbs of twisted metal left, and some of the lower arm had crumpled, likely damaging the hidden weapons beneath.

  Across the ring, Bellamy jiggled the switches on his control box and forced his mech upright, leaning all of its weight on its right leg. The left leg dangled uselessly, nothing more than an awkward crutch now. The main belt drive between the leg mechanisms and the engine must have snapped.

  She frowned, deliberating her next move. Her only reliable offense now was in the left arm, but Bellamy would likely have her mech in a pulp before she could do enough damage. One step within reach of his mechanically muscled arms and her mech would be nothing more than a dented pile of scrap. She needed to play it smart, find another weakness, exploit it, and deliver a debilitating blow to ensure her victory. But the titan’s engine was too far out of reach for her smaller machine. She would need to bring the torso closer to the floor in order to disable the transmission.

  “Scared, Wade?” called Bellamy from across the ring.

  A few of the other students laughed, but she ignored them.

  If he thought his goading would make her do something stupid, he was wrong. The advantage was hers, albeit a small one: his mech couldn’t move. Hers could, but if she got within range of the construct’s massive arms, it would take only one strike to put an end to the fight.

  Unless . . .

  If she could maneuver her smaller machine fast enough, get close enough to his remaining good leg to push the mech off-­kilter, she might have a chance.

  She eyed Bellamy across the ring, his face drawn in concentration, waiting for her to act. She would have to distract him, break his guard.

  “Hey, Bellamy.”

  “What?” he spat.

  Flipping a switch on the control box, she activated the transport wheels on the bottom of the mech’s feet. All she needed was a second or two, a slight delay in his reactions. If she could get past his defenses, knock the mech to the floor, the fight would be as good as hers.

  She poised her fingers over the controls. “Tell me how it feels, knowing you’re about to lose to a girl.”

  He scoffed, his arms relaxing slightly as he glared at her. “You wish.”

  She smirked. It was enough.

  Diverting maximum power to the machine’s legs, Petra launched her mech across the ring, using the transport wheels like supercharged skates—­moving too quick for Bellamy to react in time. Her mech slammed into his with a crash and then careened wildly off to the side of the ring. With the flip of a switch, she retracted the mech’s wheels, and its feet scraped across the floor with an earsplitting screech before finally drawing to a halt.

  Bellamy’s machine swayed from the force of the impact.

  She darted forward again, her mech thundering across the ring with heavy footfalls. The titan aimed a swing at her, but missed, too off balance to land a square blow. Positioning her mech behind his, she reared back with her machine’s damaged fist and punched through the back of the titan’s uninjured knee, emitting a screech of grating metal as the gears tore through the remaining plating.

  “Come on, come on . . .”

  Finally, there was a wail of strained gears, a heavy clunk, and the damaged leg buckled under the weight of the machine, crashing heavily to its knees.

  One small push, and the engine would be in range.

  Petra directed her mech forward, but the thick cord connecting the machine to the control box had caught under the legs of the fallen mech.

  She was trapped.

  Seeing her predicament, Bellamy’s fingers flew across his control panel, and before Petra could react, one of his mech’s clunky hands grabbed the taut cord and pinned Petra’s machine, the other arm pulling back for the final blow.

  Petra pressed her mech forward, but Bellamy had given her too short a leash.

  She couldn’t move.

  But she had one last trick up her sleeve—­one no one would expect.

  Sending a silent thank you to Emmerich and his automaton, she pressed a small switch on the back of her control panel and prayed the device would work. With a hiss, the coupling between cord and mech snapped free, and the cable whipped back as Petra’s mech bowled forward—­just as Bellamy’s mech struck. The blow glanced off her mech’s plating and crashed to the ground with thundering force, throwing her machine into the ring of spectating students.

  Petra let out a breath. Step one complete.

  Bellamy laughed, letting his control panel fall slack in his hand. “What was that about me losing, Wade?”

  Petra yanked the remainder of the cord from the bottom of her control box and flipped a lever at the top of the panel, her heart pounding.

  Now for step two.

  Her fingers slid over the controls, and with a blissful whir of gears, her machine moved. The students at the edge of the ring jumped away in surprise as the mech rose to its feet and faced Bellamy’s machine once more, the engine purring musically in the ensuing silence.

  She allowed herself a smile.

  Bellamy gaped at her. “How . . . ?”

  She poised her fingers over the controls. “Science.”

  Using the wireless switchboard, she pressed her mech
forward and maneuvered it under the other machine’s lowered torso—­just in range of the primary systems. She opened the mechanical fingers of her mech’s one good arm and gripped the edge of the titan’s sparse plating, peeling the metal away from the frame with a violent wrenching screech, and exposing the transmission gears.

  Bellamy recovered from his surprise and tried moving his construct away, but too late. Extending the hidden retractable blade at her mech’s wrist, she reared back and jammed the thick dagger into the transmission.

  Gears grated against the metal edge, grinding to a crunching halt before the knife snapped cleanly in two, the broken blade stuck in the stalled gears. The machine groaned as Bellamy tried to push the mech to its feet, his fingers roaming across every switch affixed to his control box, but the mech only shuddered, smoke rising from its damaged torso.

  Off to the side of the ring, someone began to count.

  At four, the engine stalled, and with a shudder of straining gears and a sudden pop of electricity, the heavy machine groaned to a standstill, incapacitated.

  Silence followed, the crowd gaping in soundless disbelief.

  Petra smiled, a laugh bubbling up her throat.

  She had won.

  Rupert ran forward and collided into her, a giant grin on his face. “You did it!” He hoisted her into the air in a tight hug and spun her around in a circle before lowering her back to the floor, still grinning. “Told you.”

  She pushed her hair from her eyes and glanced at Bellamy, gaping at her from across the ring, his control box limp in his hand.

  Yancy stepped forward, running his fingers over his short hair. “Well . . .” he said, fighting back a tight-­lipped smile. “It appears Miss Wade has . . . won.”

  Bellamy found his voice then. “She cheated!” he said, pointing an accusing finger at her. “I demand her disqualification.”

  “You know the rules,” said Yancy. “She won—­fairly, I might add.”

  “But she can’t have,” he said, his brows drawing into a frown. “She’s a—­she’s a girl.”

  “Yes,” he said, failing to suppress a laugh. “Yes, she is.”

  “But she isn’t a real engineer. She shouldn’t even be here,” said Bellamy. “She should be disqualified!”

  “On what grounds?” she challenged. “I beat you fair and square. I incapacitated your mech. The match is mine.”

  Bellamy glared at Yancy. “You said I’d beat her, that she had no chance of winning. This was supposed to be a bye match, a sure win.”

  “It seems I was wrong,” he said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. He glanced toward Petra then and nodded approvingly, the most acknowledgment she’d ever gotten out of any of the other engineers. Then he turned toward the crowd. “The match is decided!” he said, flourishing his arms with a sweeping gesture. “Miss Petra Wade will move on to the next round, and Daniel Bellamy is hereby eliminated.”

  Bellamy threw his control apparatus to the ground, where it split into a mess of metal and wires. Rupert wrapped his arms around her again, hugging her close, and she couldn’t help but grin, her cheeks flushing from the excitement of winning the match. She could hardly believe it.

  “Now, if the previous combatants will clear the floor,” continued Yancy, “we’ll move on to our final fight of the night!”

  Petra took up her control apparatus and maneuvered the mech out of the ring, returning to the edge of the room. Rupert helped her push the machine up against the wall, the metal plating still warm from the fight.

  “Impressive.”

  Petra turned to find Selby standing a few feet away.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Merely to offer my congratulations,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Wade.”

  “Told you I’d win.”

  Selby scoffed. “You were lucky. Bellamy underestimated you and lost, a miscalculation on his part. No one else is going make the same mistake again.”

  Petra straightened, the taste of her victory souring slightly. “I’ll win the next one too. You’ll see.”

  “Perhaps . . .” he said. “But you’ll need a lot more than luck to make it through the next round. You’re up against Darrow next, and he’s smarter than Bellamy.” He glanced at her mech disapprovingly. “You had the element of surprise this time. You won’t have it again.”

  “Thanks,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Then I’ll see you at the next match.” He nodded curtly and then turned away, pushing back through the crowd to where the final fight was in full swing.

  “What the hell was that about?” she muttered, watching him go.

  Rupert nudged her arm with a grin. “I think he’s starting to like you.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Petra knocked at the door to Vice-­Chancellor Lyndon’s office and peered inside. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  The vice-­chancellor glanced up from his desk, a sheaf of paper in his hands. “Ah, Petra . . . Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  She opened the door wider and stepped inside the stately office, planting herself in one of the hard wooden chairs across from his desk as she waited for him to finish. Shelves and cabinets lined the walls of his office, displaying various awards and certificates, photographs, trinkets, and small mechanical inventions. She hadn’t forgotten the time she had torn this room apart, trying to find evidence pinning him as a conspirator within the Guild, the same night she discovered the truth of the conspiracy and failed to put an end to it . . . the night she lost Emmerich to his father.

  “Now . . .” Vice-­Chancellor Lyndon set aside the stack of paper and regarded her over the rims of his glasses. “I asked you here because I received the list of engineers proposed for the quadruped project,” he said, producing a thick sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk. “I understand that your first review meeting for the quadruped design is scheduled for later this week, and I thought you might like to review the list before I signed off on it.”

  She took the list from his hands and immediately scowled at the name of her supervising engineer, scrawled in thick black ink at the top of the page. “Calligaris?” She dropped the list in her lap. “He’s the one leading the project?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Lyndon. “Professor Calligaris is Julian’s personal appointment. Not my first choice of supervisors, but I couldn’t actively challenge the nomination without—­”

  “I know.”

  If Lyndon openly challenged Julian in front of the council, Julian might begin to suspect the vice-­chancellor of aiding Petra and working against him. Lyndon had told her as much before.

  But Calligaris was Julian’s spy, so deep in his confidence that whatever Calligaris might see or hear, Julian would know about it within the hour. She scanned the rest of the list, wondering who else was in Julian’s pocket. How many more of his spies had been placed on the project? She paused at the last name on the list and glanced up at Lyndon.

  “I didn’t know Yancy was a Guild engineer.”

  “Student engineer. He devotes his workshop hours to Guild projects in conjunction with his studies.”

  “What does he specialize in?”

  Lyndon sighed and removed his glasses. “Weapons,” he said darkly, forcing a grim smile to his face as he cleaned the lenses of his spectacles. “My son is our resident weaponry specialist. He’ll be designing the weapons for the quadruped, as he did for the original automaton.”

  Petra frowned. “I didn’t know that was him.”

  The vice-­chancellor nodded gravely, replacing his glasses on his nose. “It’s certainly not the field I would have chosen for him.”

  She stared at the list of names in front of her, her stomach sinking.

  “Does he know?” she asked. “About Julian and the war
?”

  The vice-­chancellor shook his head. “No. He has too much else to concern himself with to question the Guild’s leadership. He’s only doing what he thinks he must, to protect his country, his family. For him, that means building weapons with which to defend ourselves. I’m sure he thinks it’s noble.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “No,” he said. “There is nothing noble about war.”

  Petra pressed her lips together, biting back the urge to ask him why he made no effort to stop it, why he played so willingly into Julian’s plans, letting this war happen without so much as a complaint. He had a part to play, so he said, and that involved faking ignorance of Julian’s plot, but he had played the part so well she sometimes wondered if he was trying to stop the war at all. He needed to take a stand, to put a stop to Julian’s madness, but he just sat behind his desk, ruminating over his inability to do anything.

  The vice-­chancellor cleared his throat and gestured to the list of names in her hand. “Do you find the proposed engineers acceptable?”

  She handed him the paper. “Everyone but Calligaris.”

  The vice-­chancellor leaned forward in his chair, his face stern as he took the list back from her. “You need to be careful, Petra—­especially now. Julian already suspects you of planning to sabotage the quadruped project. After the stunt you pulled in the proposal meeting, withdrawing your project from consideration unless the council offered you access . . .” He shook his head. “If he catches you acting against him—­”

  “I know the risks, Vice-­Chancellor,” she snapped. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve tried to do to stop this war, I’ve done it on my own, knowing full well what will happen if I’m caught. And what have you done? You said you would help me, but all you’ve done is sit back and tell me to wait. You’re the vice-­chancellor, for goodness’ sake. Why can’t you do anything?”

  “I’ve tried, but there is only so much I can do when I’m overruled on every decision we make. The rest of the council is all but convinced of Julian’s cause. But you still have allies here, Petra. I’m on your side. Emmerich is too.”