Fighting Iron 2: Perdition Plains

by Jake Bible

  “If you feel that passionately about it, then who am I to stop you?” Morley said. “But, as I have clearly stated, I will not risk damaging my machine to save your AI. You will need to exit here once we arrive and use the Vernacht for your fighting purposes.”

  “The Vernacht is DOA,” Clay said. “It wouldn’t last ten seconds against my battle mech.”

  “Then you already know the outcome and will not be disappointed when it occurs,” Morley said.

  “Are you saying you don’t know how to repair this thing?” Clay asked, changing tactics.

  “Excuse me? I said nothing of the sort,” Morley snapped. “I built this machine myself and know it inside and out.” He tapped his head. “Physically and mentally.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Clay said. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. Something shifted and wiggled against his back and he jolted forward.

  “Mr. MacAulay,” Morley said, his eyes narrowed and angry. “Your juvenile attempts to bait me will not work. You cannot insult my professional ego in hopes that it will get me to change my mind regarding my machine. I will not risk it.”

  “So you can’t repair it,” Clay said. “Just say that instead of all those other words.”

  “I can and have made many needed repairs,” Morley responded with ever-increasing indignation. “Part of science and being a creator is trial and error. I have endured both to reach this point.”

  “Right,” Clay said. “Then that’s that. Stop the mech and drop me off here.”

  “Here? But you will have quite a ways to go on foot,” Morley said. “You will most certainly not reach the Vernacht in time. There is no question of that.”

  “Sounds about right,” Clay said and nodded to the view outside the cockpit. “Tell Paige it was a pleasure to make her acquaintance. Sorry I couldn’t thank her myself for her brief hospitality.”

  “I will,” Morley said as he opened the cockpit hatch, mucosal streamers falling from the edges in long, thick lines of wet yuck. “She appeared to like you.”

  “Likewise,” Clay said and hobbled to the edge of the cockpit. He paused as Morley brought one of the fleshy fists up to cockpit level. “Too bad our time wasn’t longer. I could have taught you a lot about how mechs work. You’ve done a good job, but you obviously don’t know mechs.”

  The flesh fist paused a couple meters below the cockpit edged. Clay waited then shook his head.

  “Mr. Barnes, I can’t rightly jump down there,” Clay said. “Could you bring the fist closer for me to step onto?”

  When Morley didn’t reply, Clay turned to address him again. He stared at the look of rage on the man’s face.

  “Your impertinence should not be rewarded,” Morley growled.

  “My grandmother used to tell me the same,” Clay said and shrugged.

  “I imagine she was not the only one,” Morley said.

  The cockpit hatch started to close, but Clay held out his hand, ready to block it.

  “No you don’t,” Clay said. “You made your choice, Barnes. One of the basic rules of life is learning to live with the choices you make, good or bad. You made a bad one by rejecting my offer to fight and forcing me to fend for myself out on the plains. You need to accept that choice and live with it.”

  “Your psychological tactics are transparent, Mr. MacAulay,” Morley said. “But you make a good point that your knowledge of mechs exceeds my own and perhaps you can teach me some of the finer points I may not be aware of.”

  “Probably,” Clay said and smacked his hand on the cockpit hatch. “But I have a long walk ahead of me, and I’d like to be going now.”

  “Stop this at once!” Morley shouted. “You have made your point! I will help save your AI friend by allowing you to merge with my machine and fight Mr. Bell and your former mech.”

  “It’s still my mech,” Clay said. “No former about it. It was stolen from me and I aim to get it back.”

  Morley mumbled and grumbled to himself then sighed heavily. He tugged at a point in the center of the flesh harness and it slid right off him, leaving stains and a trail of pinkish goo behind.

  “Come over here and get strapped in,” Morley ordered. “You have a lot to learn and not much time to do it in.”

  “I’m a fast learner,” Clay said as he approached the less than appealing pilot interface.

  “I hope that is true,” Morley said. “If my machine is destroyed because of you, then your fate will be far worse than anything you can imagine.”

  Clay really didn’t like the sound of that, but he let the comment go so he could concentrate on getting strapped in and familiar with the alien interface of the flesh mech.

  Fifteen

  It was a stumbling, bumbling, journey of slapstick comedy the rest of the way to the Vernacht.

  The integration with the mech’s controls felt to Clay like having a wet something inserted right into his brain. Or possibly somewhere else. Clay wasn’t exactly sure where the flesh harness ended and he began. It became confusing and disorienting from the start.

  But Clay had stated he was a mech pilot, and he couldn’t go back on that. He’d piloted plenty of different machines, and the one thing he always learned was that no matter how different they were, in the end they were mechs, and it was a matter of putting one foot in front of the other.

  Gravity had something to say about that philosophy several times.

  “You simply must walk,” Morley exclaimed for the dozenth time. “Walk, Mr. MacAulay. Walk!”

  “I’m trying,” Clay said as he stumbled yet again and had to hold out a giant flesh fist to keep from crashing cockpit first into the grass. “The weight balance is all off in this thing.”

  “That is because it is made of flesh, not metal,” Morley replied. “Metal mechs must have the weight distributed in such a way as to compensate for the mechanical components themselves. You are used to piloting something that is innately counterintuitive.”

  “Says you,” Clay said. “I have a few words about how intuitive this thing is.”

  “Stop thinking about it,” Morley said. “You do not think when you walk on your own legs. Do not think when walking this mech. It is best to let the integration happen. The machine will become a pure extension of yourself if you just let go and allow it to fully integrate. I have accomplished with flesh what could not be accomplished with metal. Full integration of man and machine.”

  “That statement right there says you know nothing of mech history,” Clay replied. “Full integration was accomplished centuries ago.”

  “And yet we see no current evidence of it,” Morley said. “Which tells me it was a failure.”

  “Or it maybe wasn’t the best idea,” Clay said. “Things don’t always fail because they didn’t work. Sometimes they fail because they did work. Too well.”

  “An interesting way of looking at it,” Morley responded. “Surprising coming from a pilot and not a scientist. You may have something there.”

  Clay grunted in reply as he attempted to keep the flesh mech upright and moving. It wasn’t as simple as just walking. It wasn’t simple at all. He tried to let go and allow full integration with the flesh mech’s control interface happen, but his instincts kept him from committing. His gut was rebelling as much as it had back in the unholy town of Perdition Plains.

  Except, as a dot appeared on the horizon, Clay knew he didn’t have the luxury of going with his gut. He needed to learn to pilot the flesh mech right away or he was going to not only lose Gibbons, but possibly his own life.

  And Morley’s life, but Clay was only concerned about that on a basic level. The old guy was nice, but he was obviously off his rocker. His end was just a matter of time in the Midlands.

  Clay felt a sharp pain in his head as the thought of Morley’s death crossed his mind. He shook it away, but it persisted until he took a deep breath and promised himself he’d get things under control and keep himself, Gibbons, and Morley alive. The feeling in his gu
t intensified, but it was preferable to the pain in his head.

  An image of the Vernacht came up in Clay’s vision and he cried out.

  “What is it?” Morley asked.

  “I can see the Vernacht,” Clay said. “It’s like it’s being projected right onto my eyeball.”

  “Oh, excellent,” Morley said. “That means your integration is deepening. The machine has accessed your ocular perceptions, and you are now seeing and sensing what it sees and senses. Can you smell the outside? Can you hear the approaching storm?”

  Clay realized he could smell and hear the oncoming weather shift. The scent of impending rain and ozone from the far off lightning strikes filled his nose. The sound of not so distant thunder filled his ears.

  He was able to shift his gaze without physically turning his head and had a quick slap of vertigo before his mind caught up to the new perspective. Far off, but coming closer with every second, was a thunderhead so tall and dark that it looked like a slice of night sky had been cut away and was falling to Earth.

  “Clay?” Gibbons called out and Clay winced as the AI’s voice echoed in his head as well as the com in his ear. “Clay? I see a second mech approaching. It is coming from your direction. Is that you?”

  “It’s me,” Clay said. “Kill the com, Gibbons. I can hear you through the flesh mech just fine.”

  Gibbons made a sound like clearing his throat, despite not having a throat, and replied, “Flesh mech? Did you say flesh mech?”

  “Yeah, I mentioned it before,” Clay said.

  Gibbons was quiet for a split second. “Yep, you did. I guess I chose to ignore that at the time. Hard to ignore now.”

  “You’ll have to see it to believe it,” Clay said. “All bison meat.”

  “Mostly,” Morley corrected.

  Clay ignored the comment, preferring not to think about the non-mostly parts.

  “I’m still working out the kinks,” Clay said. “Can you see our mech yet?”

  “Yes,” Gibbons replied, that time only in Clay’s head. “It is about to reach weapons range.”

  “Power yourself down,” Clay said. “What kind of stealth decks does the Vernacht have?”

  “It doesn’t,” Gibbons said. “It’s a construction mech, pal. There’s no place to hide. It’s processing capacity can barely handle me, let alone allow me to barricade myself behind ten kinds of firewalls with security redundancies.”

  “That is not true,” Morley said.

  “What? Who is that?” Gibbons asked.

  “How are you talking to him?” Clay asked.

  Morley only smiled. “While the Vernacht may not have stealth decks like you are used to, uh…”

  “Gibbons,” Gibbons replied.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Morley said. “I am Morley Barnes. I look forward to working with you.”

  “Get on with what you were saying,” Gibbons said. “Mr. Bell is only a few meters from being able to launch rockets, if he wants to.”

  “Yes, quite,” Morley responded. “We should assume he will want to.”

  “What? Rockets?” Clay asked.

  “Yeah, rockets,” Gibbons said. “The battle mech has at least one. I finally got a handle on the sensors, and I detect at least one. Mr. Bell must not have figured out how to use it before he decided that plasma was his weapon of choice.”

  “Great,” Clay said.

  “But, as I was saying,” Morley interrupted, “the Vernacht does not have stealth decks in the way you are used to, but it does have secure data backup. It must in case of an accident and the mech is destroyed. Rebuilding its memory storage from scratch would be too expensive and time-consuming for an industry that abhors both expense and time.”

  “Black box,” Gibbons said. “I can tuck into the black box. Mr. Bell can destroy this mech, but as long as you get the black box then I’m safe.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Morley said. “The compression rate for an AI of your caliber may not be compatible. You would need to begin the transfer now if you were to stand any chance of survival. You are on a countdown, Mr. Gibbons.”

  “Just Gibbons,” Gibbons said. “And I’m always on a countdown. Have you met Clay? We don’t exactly live a normal life.”

  “You could have left me as a dent in the Brazilian Empire, buddy,” Clay said. “I didn’t send for you.”

  “Shut up,” Gibbons said. “We aren’t having this bullshit talk again.”

  “Have we ever really had it?” Clay asked. “I mean, have we actually gone deep into the whys of why you rescued my ass?”

  “The whys of why?” Gibbons sighed. “You realize I dumb down my language processors every time I talk to you, right? You know I have to lower myself to your level just to get half my points across, yeah?”

  “Like hell you do,” Clay snapped.

  The flesh mech moved into a slow jog.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding!” Gibbons exclaimed. “My processing power is vastly superior to your intellect! I get stupider with every interaction!”

  “Stupider? Is that even a word?” Clay scoffed. “You get stupider. Whatever, Gibbons.”

  The flesh mech broke into a brisk run.

  “Stupider is a word,” Gibbons argued. “Not the most expressive of terms, but it fits you to a tee. If I used anything more complicated, then you’d miss the point.”

  “Do you always bicker like this?” Morley asked.

  “Stay out of this!” Clay and Gibbons barked.

  “Oh, my,” Morley said.

  The flesh mech was in a full on sprint, its meaty legs taking long strides as it raced across the prairie to the shape on the horizon. A shape that was being joined by a second.

  “Listen, Gibbons, now is not the time to work out our problems,” Clay said. “And we have a lot. Any two people that spend as much time as we do together are going to have problems. That’s life.”

  “But I’m not a people, pal,” Gibbons said. “And I don’t have a life. I’m an AI. I live in a mech or don’t live at all. Speaking of, I need to stop talking to you and get to transferring into the black box.”

  “Hold on,” Morley said. “Something has occurred to me.”

  Clay and Gibbons waited.

  “Okay..?” Gibbons asked.

  “You want to fill us in?” Clay prodded.

  “What? Oh, yes, of course!” Morley exclaimed. “My apologies. It is just that when Mr. Gibbons stated he was not a person, although he said people, which is highly incorrect despite his insistence that he has superior language skills—”

  “Get on with it!” Gibbons snapped. “I’ll let the mister part go if you just get to the point!”

  “Oh, right, again, my apologies,” Morley said. “What I propose is that Gibbons not transfer into the black box, but transfer into the automaton that is with him in the cockpit.”

  “The automaton that is fumbling around and bumping into everything right now? The automaton that looks like he might be damaged since he can’t seem to even find the door?” Gibbons asked. “Oh, yeah, shove me into that brain. Great.”

  “The automaton may not have much intellectual programming, but its brain matrix easily has the capacity to not only hold Mr. Gibbons’ AI protocol, but it will allow Mr. Gibbons to, well, in his words, be a people for a time until we can transfer him back into your mech,” Morley said.

  “You know I only said people because I was mocking Clay, right?” Gibbons responded. “I know it’s not the proper use of the word.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t sure, not having much experience with AIs,” Morley said.

  “How do we make this happen?” Clay asked, keeping the conversation from turning any farther than it already had. “How does Gibbons get into the automaton’s brain?”

  “I will have to facilitate the transfer personally, Mr. MacAulay, while you fight off Mr. Bell,” Morley said.

  “That’s not going to be easy since I can barely work this stupid flesh mech,” Clay said.

  “I
s that so?” Morley replied, smiling. “You seem to be doing just fine now.”

  Clay started to argue then realized he was piloting the flesh mech in an all-out run without any hint of stumbling or bumbling.

  “Huh,” he said. “Okay, so what are the weapons capabilities?”

  “Weapons?” Morley asked. “For combat?”

  “Yeah, that’s what weapons are used for,” Clay said.

  “Yes, well, besides fists and feet, the flesh mech does not have any weapons,” Morley said. “But an experienced mech pilot such as yourself should be well versed in melee combat. Mr. Bell might have been a mech pilot at one point in his existence, but his transformation will have damaged a good amount of his skills. Especially since he does not have an AI inside the mech to assist him.”

  “Melee?” Clay snapped. “Mr. Bell has rockets and plasma cannons! I can’t melee those!”

  “I would advise a defensive strategy until you can get inside his offenses and fight him hand to hand,” Morley said.

  “That’s your advice? Shit!” Clay shouted.

  “Oh, stop being a wimp,” Gibbons said. “You can take this guy. The real worry is me. How do I know this transfer will work?”

  “Oh, it will work,” Morley said.

  “But you can’t know that,” Gibbons said. “Have you ever done this before?”

  “Oh, of course not, that’s how I know it will work,” Morley said. “After all, I created the automatons and know their workings inside and out.”

  Silence for a long while.

  Then Gibbons said, “Clay…”

  “I heard,” Clay said. “We’ll deal with that later. Now we get our fight on.”

  Clay was a quarter of a kilometer from the Vernacht when Mr. Bell launched two rockets, one at the construction mech and one at the flesh mech.

  “More than one rocket!” Clay and Gibbons shouted.

  “Oh, my, this is so thrilling!” Morley exclaimed.

  Sixteen

  “Clay!” Gibbons yelled.

  “I see them!” Clay yelled back.