Mecha Corps

by Brett Patton

  Matt triggered the Fireflies. Pure white brilliance shot from inside him, briefly blinding him. A thousand tiny explosions reverberated through his Hellion as the robots melted to slag.

  “Civilian casualties,” Sergeant Stoll said. “Three, five. Six total.”

  “I had to do it!” Matt said. “They’d be all over me—”

  “Don’t argue with your controller, cadet!” Soto bellowed.

  Matt slumped. The concrete-block city suddenly seemed like the most desolate place in the world.

  “Never kill,” Sergeant Stoll said, her words measured, almost soft. “Unless there’s no other choice. Or else we’ll be the same as them.”

  Matt shivered, thinking of his father.

  Thinking of that Corsair.

  Later that afternoon, Soto had them work in teams of two and three to take on bigger scenarios, like destroying an artillery trench at the edge of the city and faking out an Aliancia tank when one Mecha was out of ammunition.

  Matt got to work with Peal and Michelle on one exercise where they had to work through a nest of spider robots, a sniper with shoulder-fired Mini Seeker missile support, mined streets, and finally a tank.

  Michelle had actually gotten faster than Matt. Where he had the precise control to target, shoot, and move on to the next, she could sprint across a broad avenue without taking a round in her Mecha at all. The machine almost blurred as it passed. Matt shook his head in amazement. At the same time, a small angry voice asked, Training with Kyle?

  Peal was uncanny at predicting exactly when and where the spider-robot swarms would strike. He was so good, Michelle accused him of hacking the system. But it ended up there was an even more bizarre reason for his prowess.

  “Entangled computing,” he told them. “Jahl and I got the implants as kids. The computing network is part of us now.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?” Matt asked.

  “Not illegal. Simply unsupported. In the words of the Union, ‘Maintaining technology at this level of complexity is too difficult in a low-density, distributed state; therefore, it is beyond the warrants of life and fitness inherent in our Articles of Unity.’ ”

  “You colonists are crazy,” Michelle told him.

  “As are you, Earth girl.”

  Michelle just laughed. “I don’t have any deep, dark secrets. What about you, Matt?”

  A chill shivered through Matt, and he stopped dead still. His Hellion almost overbalanced and fell forward. He forced himself to start walking again.

  “Nothing like that,” he said finally. Which was technically true. His secrets were a lot deeper, a lot darker. The silence stretched out. Matt sensed they were waiting for him to say something.

  “Enough chatter,” Sergeant Stoll broke in on all their channels.

  Matt breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  Soon, a tank came into view. Matt raised his MK-15.

  Fighting never felt so good.

  Next, Matt and Kyle got paired on something that looked really simple at first: take out a single Taikong tank.

  This tank wasn’t a crawling shell, though. This was the real deal. Or real enough. When Matt stuck his head out of an alley, the thing damn near took it off with a well-placed shell. Fragments of concrete showered down on them, and the booming report echoed through the city.

  “Shit. That’s real ammo,” Kyle said.

  “Wanna try it yourself?” Matt asked.

  Kyle’s Hellion shook its head. His Mesh had gotten a lot better; his Mecha now mimicked his bored slouch, cocky walk, and snappy salutes almost perfectly. Still, he was trying. Matt had to admit he didn’t seem to be just a silver-spoon kid there for a thrill.

  Instead, Kyle tried circling around to the other side of the tank. Matt watched Kyle’s tag move through the city grid on his NPP. But the moment he poked out his head, the tank almost took him out too.

  “Damn thing’s fast!” Kyle said. “New plan. I say ‘Go,’ we both jump out, and the one it isn’t targeting takes it out. Fireflies. Full burst.”

  Matt bristled at Kyle’s presumed command, but it was a solid plan. “Ready.”

  “Go!”

  Matt jumped out. The tank’s short turret whipped around toward him as Kyle stepped out of his alley just a moment later.

  “Oh, shi—”

  That’s as far as he got. Matt’s world went red in electric pain. He fell backward, thrashing. On his screen, a bright-red warning flashed:

  CONTROL NEXUS FAULT

  “Controller, what’s wrong? Ma’am!”

  “You were hit in our right-side upper Control Nexus. A known Hellion weakness.”

  Matt pushed himself up off the ground as Fireflies exploded from Kyle’s Hellion, painting laser-bright trails to the tank. They enveloped it and the tank disappeared in actinic fire.

  Matt tried to stand, but he couldn’t keep his balance. He managed a few shambling steps, then stopped, gripping the concrete wall. His Hellion felt broken and clumsy.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Matt said.

  “Your Control Nexus needs time to regenerate,” Sergeant Stoll told him.

  Matt finally noticed the tag in his screen:

  CONTROL NEXUS FAULT: REGENERATING. 15 SECONDS.

  But he had other problems. As the smoke from the Fireflies cleared, Matt realized, That tank is still alive.

  A shell exploded right next to him and his Hellion hit the ground. All he could do was thrash. He couldn’t get up again.

  “Get in close!” Kyle yelled. “We have to hit its sensors with the MK-15 rounds as hard as we can.”

  “I’m down!” Matt cried. “Control Nexus fault.”

  “Come as fast as you can!” The chattering reverberation of MK-15 fire came from Kyle’s direction. Matt twisted to look as the tank swung to target Kyle. The tank’s targeting seemed uncertain; it narrowly missed the other Mecha.

  Finally, a chime sounded. Matt’s screen displayed the words

  REGENERATION COMPLETE

  Matt whooped and ran to help Kyle. His MK-15 barked a hail of slugs at the tank as the turret spun in confusion.

  “Good! It’s done!” Kyle said.

  Matt grinned. He was healed and he had a weapon full of ammo.

  “Stop firing your weapon!” Kyle yelled.

  Matt jumped, the barrel of the MK-15 came up, and slugs peppered Kyle. Even though they were light rounds, ripples deformed Kyle’s Hellion as he fell backward. Sparks shot from its visor.

  “I’m blind!” Kyle bit out. “Idiot! What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Matt said.

  “You’re an idiot. A hundred seconds of regen.”

  A little coal of anger glowed in Matt. “It was an accident.”

  “I bet it was,” Kyle growled.

  Silence for a long time. When Kyle finally spoke, it was to both Matt and Major Soto. “Major, I never did get to see how Superman fought. What do you say, sir?”

  Soto’s voice crackled over the comms: “I say it’s stupid. But if you want to spar, have at it. No weapons.”

  “Got it, sir. Cadet Lowell, you have twenty seconds before your ass kicking.”

  “I don’t want to fight.”

  “Scared?” Kyle said, standing.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you backing away?” Kyle’s Hellion dropped into a boxer’s posture, hands clenching into fists. Matt swallowed. He’d never boxed.

  Matt put up his hands in imitation of Kyle. He stepped forward. How bad can it be?

  Kyle’s Hellion’s fist came up, blurring fast, and Matt’s vision fragmented. The blow was like a sledge in his stomach. Dust flew out of his joints and he fell backward on the ground. The entire cockpit rang like a bell.

  Matt scrambled upright as Kyle leapt at him, spraying chunks of dirt behind him.

  The two Mecha met with a resounding clang. Matt raised his arms to ward off a hail of blows. Kyle switched to an uppercut and caught Matt’s Mecha right on the chin. He fell on his back
, skidding along the rough practice field.

  Matt sprang at Kyle, his anger rising. He wasn’t going to lose to this high-born asshole!

  At the last moment, Kyle turned and crouched. Matt’s momentum carried him over Kyle. Kyle grabbed him in midair and threw him to the ground. Matt’s Hellion let out a metallic groan as Matt got the wind knocked out of him.

  Kyle jumped on top of Matt and pinned him with a headlock. The feedback through his suit was suffocating. Matt flailed on the ground, trying to find purchase.

  You don’t wanna be on bottom, Pat said. Don’t stay down. Break a bottle over his head—anything.

  Matt pulled his legs up under him and pushed as hard as he could. Kyle bucked with him and his grip slipped. Matt pushed again, hard. The two Mecha flew five feet in the air. Kyle came down on Matt like an anvil. But in that moment, Kyle lost his grip on Matt’s neck. His long fingers spun and whirred, trying to find a grip.

  A bottle . . .

  Matt pried a broken hunk of cement out of the dirt and brought it up fast on Kyle’s head region. There was a deep metallic bong as the rock exploded to dust. Matt rolled out from under Kyle and quickly retreated.

  Something fell from the sky. It landed between Matt and Kyle, shaking the earth under their feet. A Hellion. A Hellion with wings. Jet exhaust streamed from bulking apertures on its back, burning Matt’s Mecha. Its tag read: MAJ. G. SOTO.

  “You guys suck,” Soto said. “How about a real fighting lesson?”

  “Yes, si—,” Kyle began, but that was as far as he got.

  Soto’s Mecha moved, blurring by fast. Kyle’s Hellion was suddenly on the ground, writhing in pain.

  In one jump, Soto was on top of him. His Hellion’s arms flashed like obsidian spikes.

  Matt got up and charged Soto’s back, but Soto flashed out of the way at the last second, hurling Matt over his shoulder to land face-first on Kyle’s Mecha. The entire simulated city rang with their impact.

  Soto stood with a foot on the two downed Mecha, laughing. “Think you’re hot? You’re still babies.”

  Matt felt rage blossom in his mind like a nuclear flower. Except it wasn’t just his anger. It was Kyle’s dark thoughts about his father, standing over him like a tower, telling him, You will never let a lesser man beat you.

  Wait. What was that? Was that real?

  Are the Mecha connecting them somehow? Connecting their thoughts?

  And there was something else. A buzzing, almost electric sensation wherever he touched Kyle’s Mecha. He didn’t know where his Hellion ended and Kyle’s began. As if they could come together. As if they could work together. As if they could . . .

  Merge.

  Like the Flight Pack. But with two Mecha. Matt’s thoughts echoed like a coin dropped down a pipe. They were sharing thoughts.

  Matt’s reached out and took Kyle’s arm. Like a dream, his Hellion’s arm dissolved and melted into it. Suddenly, Kyle’s thoughts were bright and sharp: No, no, no! Do it by myself! Stop it!

  Like drops of mercury, their Hellions flowed together. Reflective muscle bunched and coiled. Their arms grew larger, stronger. Legs expanded. Cockpits reformed. It was so much more amazing than Mesh.

  Matt opened his eyes. He was dimly aware of mirrored muscle catching glints of light beyond the NPP, but it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter at all, it wasn’t just him, it was both of them and Soto was yelling at them to stop it. It was too soon, and it was too dangerous.

  The thing that stood on the practice field was two times the mass and size of a Hellion. Obsidian and fire, it towered over Major Soto’s pristine Mecha.

  Soto screamed at it. “UnMerge now! That’s an order! Acknowledge, cadet!”

  Soto’s words were so far away. Unimportant. Instead, he chose to run toward Soto. The giant Mecha took a few jerky steps as Kyle’s thoughts reverberated. No, no, don’t. Not now. Please let’s just listen to him!

  Soto’s Hellion pounced, driving spikes deep into the Merged Hellion’s Control Nexuses.

  Matt screamed in agony, and his consciousness snapped out into complete whiteness.

  When he awoke, he was back in his Hellion . . . and Kyle was back in his.

  They sat on the ground opposite Soto’s Flight Pack–equipped Mecha. The major stood in his open cockpit, looking down at them, expression cycling between disgust and awe.

  Matt wasn’t surprised when everyone steered clear of him in the cafeteria, or when they ran through their exercises with him gingerly the next day, as if expecting him to try to absorb them too.

  What did surprise him was Major Soto showing up on the doorstep to his tiny little apartment, dressed Mecha-casual, and looking profoundly nervous.

  “May I come in?” Major Soto asked.

  Matt stood openmouthed for a moment. Then: “Of course, Major.”

  Soto went and took the seat in front of the tiny desk. His eyes skated off Matt’s face to dart around the room, as if he were looking for something to comment on. Of course, there was nothing, not even Matt’s old Imp model.

  Matt couldn’t let the silence stretch any longer. “Sir, if this is about the unauthorized Merge the other day, I’ve been reading up on it, and I’m sorry—”

  Soto laughed. “ ‘Sorry,’ he says.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re sorry. For one of the most amazing feats I’ve ever seen.” Soto shook his head. “It takes a full Mecha Corps member—not a cadet—months to learn how to Merge a Hellion with a Flight Pack. To Merge two Mecha, it takes the better part of a year.”

  Matt stood stock-still, staring.

  “It seemed natural, sir.”

  Another laugh. “Natural. Okay.”

  Matt waited for Major Soto to speak. When he did, his mouth pulled down into a deep frown. “We have an opportunity for you.”

  “You don’t seem happy about it.”

  Soto eyed Matt, his face still grim. “We’re already running too fast and loose.” He sat back in his chair and sighed. When he looked at Matt again, new respect showed in his eyes. “We’ve been lucky because most of the old Corps are military. So far. But this is no way to run training. Roth knows it, but this is his game, so we play by his rules. . . .” Soto trailed off. He stood back up and paced, visibly uneasy.

  “What’s the opportunity, sir?” Matt asked.

  “Running a full First Exercise. Up on the surface. Hellion with real ammo, weapons fully enabled, realistic assignment.”

  That’s what I saw coming down from the Displacement asteroid, Matt thought. Those green sparks flying through the clouds. Visible from space. He shivered with excitement.

  But why was Soto so rattled?

  “Sir, if you were in my position, would you take it?”

  Soto turned to fix Matt with a steady stare. “At your age, of course I would. Now I’m old enough to say, ‘Whoa, that might be a bit much a bit too soon.’ ”

  Matt nodded.

  “But I’m not the one who’s being asked,” Soto said. “Only answer that’s worth a damn is yours. So, what’s it gonna be, Superman?”

  8

  EXERCISE

  The next day, Matt’s Hellion rode the rails up from underground Training Camp City to stand alone on the surface.

  To his right, an amber sun bloomed over the steel-colored Atlantic, backlighting the black bones of the long-dead launch platforms. Behind him, the rust-stained block of Mission Control squatted. Inside, bright blue-white lights glared through slit windows. He imagined Sergeant Stoll sitting at her console and Soto brooding over her. In that moment, he saw everything as a whole, as if from outside himself.

  It was a haunting, powerful scene: the fluid chrome of his Hellion set against the ruins of the birth of human spaceflight. Power rising from the Earth once again.

  Every cell in Matt’s body resonated with excitement in the infinite confidence of Mesh. Soto was wrong. This wasn’t too fast. This was going to be easy.

  Easy as pie, Matt thought, rememberi
ng Michelle’s words.

  “Transmission garbled. Repeat.” Sergeant Stoll’s comms icon popped to the fore of Matt’s NPP.

  Matt felt his face go red. He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud. Then he grinned. “Easy as pie.”

  “Easy as what?” Sergeant Stoll asked.

  “Pie.”

  “Pie, as in the ancient American dessert, or pi as in the irrational number?”

  “As in the dessert.”

  Silence for a time. Matt imagined Sergeant Stoll’s brow furrowed in silent rebuke.

  “What if it isn’t?” she asked.

  “Isn’t what?”

  “Easy.”

  Matt laughed. He was in a Hellion, high on Mesh. He’d Merged before any cadet should be able to. Everything was easy.

  “Enough team-building crap,” Major Soto’s voice came through the comms. “Are you ready, Cadet Lowell?”

  “Yes, sir!” Matt couldn’t help coming to attention.

  “Yes, sir,” Stoll said.

  “Cadet Lowell, your assignment today is to recover Universal Government ambassador hostage Petra Novograd from Corsair Confederacy Attachment Seventeen.”

  Data streamed onto Matt’s viewscreen. Attachment 17 was one of the more violent splinters of the Corsairs. They did the usual piracy thing, but seasoned it with a side of sadism. According to Matt’s display, they were located in the town of Cochran’s Cove about one mile to the north. Their offensive and defensive weapon profiles both read UNKNOWN.

  “Do you understand the situation, cadet?” Sergeant Stoll said.

  “Yes, Sergeant Stoll,” Matt said.

  “Your assignment is to recover the hostage with zero civilian involvement,” Stoll told him. “Acknowledge assignment.”

  “Acknowledged, ma’am.” In the darkness of his Mecha, dim glints of metallic muscle twitched in anticipation.

  “Begin assignment.”

  Sweating in his skin-tight silicone control suit, he lifted one foot and felt the giant Hellion respond. Around his tiny Mecha pilot’s chamber, biometallic muscles flowed and clenched.