by Brett Patton
“Don’t be angry,” Michelle said. “He called, and I—”
“Had to fly back into his arms,” Matt finished for her.
Michelle flushed. “We’re just friends. I don’t see why you hate him so much.”
“How can you see this guy? He’s the reason the Corsairs probably have Mecha.”
“Matt, that’s not fair. He was captured by Rayder—”
“And we killed Rayder. Without him.”
“You can’t blame him for the Mecha on Keller. They don’t even look like Hellions. And who’s to say they haven’t been working on Mecha for years? It’s not like it’s a secret the Union has them. We just have to make better Mecha now.”
Matt clenched his fists, struggling with his rage. “So it’s all forgiven with him now? Just pick back up where you’ve started, is that it?”
Michelle dropped her eyes, her mouth set in a thin line. “You’re starting to make me feel like I have to make a choice.”
“We all have to make choices. I try to make good ones.”
Michelle reddened. She pushed her plate away and stood up. “We should go.”
Matt saw his chance flying away. His whole future with her lay in ruins, like a nuclear wasteland. “I’m sorry,” he said, standing.
Michelle gave him one last murderous glance and headed for the door. After paying the owner, Matt followed her back up the hill to the resort. She didn’t even glance back at him as she stomped off to her room.
Matt stood in the hall, his fists clenched into white balls of pain. His last words echoed in his mind. “We all have to make choices. I try to make good ones.”
Yeah. Right.
* * *
The next morning, Matt had a breakfast visitor. Which was fine. His food was tasteless, and he dreaded seeing Michelle again. He looked up to see a familiar person, wearing full Mecha Corps uniform. Colonel James Cruz, former leader of Mecha Base.
“Can we talk, Captain?” Colonel Cruz asked.
Matt studied the man. His craggy face. His carefully combed silver hair. Was that what he would become, forty years from now?
“Talk away,” Matt told him. “Sir.”
“In a less public place, perhaps?” Colonel Cruz asked.
Matt shrugged. It didn’t matter. He let Colonel Cruz lead him to a small meeting room, with a single window that looked out onto the grounds.
“I’m here for two reasons,” Colonel Cruz told Matt. He pulled a small velvet case out of his breast pocket and opened it. Inside was the oak-leaf insignia of a major in the Mecha Corps.
“First, congratulations, Major Matt Lowell. For valor and bravery in action on Keller, I’m pleased to—”
“Valor and bravery?” Matt blurted, unable to stop himself. “We overpowered them a thousand to one. They weren’t even ready for us.”
“Regardless, Major, you were decisive.”
“What were those Mecha on Keller?” Matt asked.
Cruz’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not at liberty—”
“Nobody is supposed to have Mecha, except the Union.”
“I can’t discuss confidential information—”
“Tell me, or you can close that case and walk away,” Matt said, his hands shaking. He felt as if he’d stepped outside himself, and was watching from far away.
Cruz ground his teeth. “Are you threatening a superior officer?”
“No. I’m saying that if you don’t talk to me, I’ll continue doing my part for the Mecha Corps as a captain and Demonrider. Hell, send me back now. But I don’t want any more bribes. I want answers. I think I deserve that.”
Cruz nodded, sighed, and shook his head. Finally he said, “We suspected the Corsairs had something, but we were as surprised as you were on Keller. ACCs are one thing. This is another. A new faction. I don’t know a whole lot more about the Mecha, but I’m told it’s not purely biomechanical. It’s more like an automated sentry, with very, very good system disruption software.”
Matt sat back, his mind churning. That jibed with what Peal had said. If the damn silver Mecha weren’t so fragile, or if there were more of them, they’d be a formidable enemy.
“What about the people? On Keller?”
Cruz shook his head, but his eyes darted away.
“They were working with the Corsairs,” Matt said. Not a question, a statement.
Cruz wiped his face with his hand. “Corsairs can be persuasive when they need to be.”
“How?” Matt howled. How could anyone join forces with those—those animals?
Cruz shook his head, but said nothing.
“And the second reason you’re here?” Matt asked.
Cruz nodded. “Concurrent with your promotion, I am authorized to offer you a singular post at Mecha Training Camp, optimizing a new team for a special mission critical to the stability of the Union. Time is of the essence.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “Any more details?”
Cruz shook his head. “I can give you none until you agree to take the mission. The only thing I can say is that this is absolutely critical, and you will be rewarded for your participation.”
“Publically recognized?”
“Rewarded,” Cruz said firmly.
Matt nodded. So it was another mission like Rayder. Another impossible objective. Or something the Union needed covered up like whatever they were protecting deep underground on Keller. It was one of those things he should ask Soto about. He should tell Michelle. He should sit and think and maybe even sleep on it.
We all have to make choices, Matt told himself. Thinking of his abject failure last night. Thinking of Michelle, getting ready for her date with Kyle.
“When do we start, sir?” Matt asked.
3
CAMP
Back on Earth. Backwater Earth.
They wouldn’t waste space elevators on Earth, Matt thought as he shuttled down to one of his old haunts, Mecha Training Camp.
Formerly Cape Canaveral, Mecha Training Camp now looked like an ancient ruin set among gray-green swamp. Overgrown, crazed concrete runways alternated with low-roofed, utilitarian buildings and the pockmarks of rusted gantries at the edge of the sea. Matt knew about the underground, high-tech base beneath the facade, but that didn’t change the fact that the Earth was a neglected, timeworn planet, eclipsed by the more prosperous worlds of the Union.
Matt’s Perfect Record had unreeled that first day when he met Michelle Kind and Major Soto. Soto handing him the flak jacket. Michelle charging up the first hill.
Matt closed his eyes. He’d left Eridani without telling either Michelle or Soto. Maybe he should have.
The shuttle touched down north of the training camp, on a new runway near an inland bay. To the south lay Cochran’s Cove, the mock city where Matt had done his first Mecha Cadet exercise. The shuttle pilot directed Matt to a group of low buildings, their cinder-block sides peeling paint, but with a new stainless steel plaque reading ADVANCED MECHAFORMS EXTENDED TRAINING, FACILITY 1.
Matt opened the door to find Dr. Salvatore Roth, the father of modern biomechanical Mecha technology and general manager of Advanced Mechaforms, Inc., the company that produced Mecha exclusively for the Universal Union. He sat in a small, unadorned room, his back to Matt as he studied a wraparound nonphysical projection screen. On the screen, body images swept from green to yellow and red and back again. Over Roth’s shoulder, darkened one-way glass looked out into a larger chamber, where a dozen cadets in milky interface suits and viewmasks were cabled up to silicone wire looms hanging from the ceiling.
Matt frowned as his Perfect Record brought back more memories. Dr. Roth had probed Matt much the same way he was doing with the cadets right now. Matt wondered just how much Dr. Roth knew about him, and about his talents.
“You’re not HuMax,” Roth had told him. Cold comfort, in the wake of Rayder’s destruction. And Matt wouldn’t put it past Dr. Roth to use a convenient lie, if it served his needs. Matt still didn’t know what the origin of his genetic gifts were, even if Roth said he wasn’t HuMax.
“Dr. Roth—” Matt began.
Roth held up a hand for silence. Matt snapped his mouth shut and waited, arms crossed, until Roth looked up from his screen. His eyes showed no expression at all, as if they were made of stone.
“This is what you will do, Major Lowell,” Dr. Roth said. “You will take this group of Demon Adepts—”
“Adepts?” Matt cut in.
Roth pursed his lips in irritation at the interruption, then continued. “Adepts are select individuals in my improved training regime.”
“An improvement from throwing cadets in a Demon and hoping they don’t die?” The words just popped out.
Roth’s face compressed into a deep scowl, but he continued without comment. “Your task is to optimize the performance of the Adepts, with the goal of deploying a team of three to four Demons at the earliest possible date.”
Matt sighed. “And good morning to you, Dr. Roth.”
Roth just stared at Matt. Any semblance of humor or sarcasm was always lost on the imperturbable general manager.
“Why not deploy us?” Matt asked.
“Us? Be more precise.”
“Me, Major Soto, Captain Kind.”
Roth waved an annoyed hand, as if swatting a fly. “Additional Demon resources must be developed. Also, your team requires downtime to optimize long-term usability.”
We’re tools to him, nothing more. But what could Matt do about it? He’d accepted the assignment. He had to carry it through. “What do you want me to do?”
“I have already stated the top-level goal. In detail, we expect you to observe, instruct, and interact with our adepts in order to increase their Mesh efficiency and Merge capability, as determined by ongoing monitoring. You will select three to five best-performing members for a time-critical, high-priority mission. I must stress that time is of the essence.”
Matt sighed. “Why me?”
Roth stared at Matt for several seconds without speaking. “Your record speaks for itself. You were first to master the Demon. You helped Major Soto move successfully from Hellion and Demon, which I believed impossible. Also, arguably, you are the factor who enabled the final Merge at Jotunheim.”
Matt shivered, remembering his epic battle with Rayder and his HuMax companions—now conveniently swept under the rug by the Union. The less said about Jotunheim, the better. Media like UUN and UCN repeated the same comforting stories: Geos was rebuilt, the memorials were placed, the nameless heroes selflessly gave their all for the Union, and beyond that, the citizens didn’t need to know.
Reward. Not recognition. Colonel Cruz’s voice came back, echoing hollowly.
Did that mean this was another chance to go up against the Corsairs? The HuMax? Maybe even that new Corsair faction that the colonel had mentioned? Matt shivered in sudden anticipation. But questions still resonated louder.
“How were the Corsair Mecha able to hold us down on Keller?”
Roth just looked at Matt neutrally, but didn’t answer.
“How did they immobilize the Demons? What were those Mecha?”
“We are investigating their system disruption technology as we speak,” Roth said, his words clipped.
“What if they use it again?” Matt pressed.
“We expect to have a countermeasure available shortly.”
“And the Mecha? I’ve never seen anything like that—”
“It is not a derivative of my biomechanical technology,” Dr. Roth interrupted, his expression finally twisting in anger. Or was he hiding something?
“Then what is it?”
“We believe it is advanced conventional technology, but as before, the particulars are not important to your mission.”
That was it. Roth was hiding something. The Mecha were closer to his than he wanted to admit. Maybe even taken from the same tech base. After all, Rayder had had control of the Union Hellions for some time. Maybe he’d passed on the information.
“Then how did the Corsairs make Mecha? Are they working with the Taikong? The Aliancia?”
Roth’s expression hardened. “You have a choice. You may train our adepts, or you may return to a standard Union-supervised Mecha Corps team, to execute assignments they see fit. Of course, their view of your capability may change if you refuse this opportunity.”
Matt nodded. Nothing more than a tool. A broken tool.
“Let’s get started,” he told Roth.
* * *
The ten adepts studied Matt suspiciously, like a class sizing up a new teacher. Matt felt suddenly self-conscious, in his crisp blue Mecha Corps uniform with new-minted major’s insignia. Should he have dressed down like Soto, to be more on their level?
The adepts all wore the milky interface suits of Mecha Cadets, with their name displayed prominently on their upper chest, along with a new, unfamiliar graphic: a crouching Mecha, similar to the Advanced Mechaforms logo. Its tiny head and vestigial horns tagged it as a Demon.
Behind them, ten Demons hulked against the overcast Florida sky. Their bright red bodies were virtually the only color between the gray sky and the muted brown-green of the soggy land. Three targets, black-and-white bull’s-eyes, had been set up a kilometer down the field.
What did they know about him? Matt made himself meet the stares of his protégés. They waited patiently, saying nothing. What would Soto do?
“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got,” Matt said, pointing at the Demons.
The adepts nodded, some of them grinning. They immediately broke ranks and scrambled up the extended ladders to their Demons’ cockpits. Pilots’ chambers irised shut, and the Demons, shuddering, stood to attention.
“Sink or swim? You’ve been taking lessons from Dr. Roth?” came a familiar voice, behind Matt.
Matt started and turned. Behind him stood Jahl Khoury, holding a colorful slate. He wore his Mecha Corps Auxiliary sergeant’s uniform, with a new bar Matt had never seen before: tiny, alternating silver and black bands. Jahl was Peal Khoury’s brother and geek-in-arms, and he’d been in the same Mecha Training Camp group as Matt.
“Jahl! Where’d you come from?”
Jahl waved at the low testing building behind them. “I’ve been working with the fresh meat. Dr. Roth neglected to give you this.” Jahl waved the slate. “You’ll need it to monitor their Mesh Effectiveness.”
Matt nodded. “How much training do they have?”
“They’ve been trained specifically on Demons from the start. But . . .” Jahl trailed off, grinning.
“But what?”
“You’ll see.” Jahl handed Matt the slate.
On the screen, ten sets of readings bounced from forty-one percent to fifty-six percent Mesh Effectiveness. Matt grimaced. Fifty percent was the threshold for use. Some of these kids couldn’t even move the damn things. And none of the ME numbers were stellar. Matt wasn’t surprised to see two of them standing rooted in place while the others stumbled around like drunks.
“You can give them commands through here,” Peal said, pointing at a comms button on the slate.
“Is it even worth it?” Matt said, gesturing at the Mesh Effectiveness.
“Your call. They’ve had a ton of time in the optimization room, though.”
Matt frowned. Maybe this was just the test-day jitters. He’d take them a little further. He hit the comms button and said, “Demons, line up in groups of three and fire at the targets, using your MK-160s and popcorn rounds.”
The Demons obediently shambled into two groups of three, and one group of two. Two Demons remained immobi
le, twitching now and again. Matt shook his head. Even the ones that moved had crappy coordination. He didn’t need a slate to see that.
“What about us?” a cadet’s voice came through the slate. One of the Mesh Effectiveness boxes illuminated ELIZE ROBBE, 43 PERCENT. “The ones who can’t move. Uh, sir.”
“Have you ever managed to achieve stable Mesh above fifty percent?” Matt asked her.
“Ye-yeah,” Elize said, breathing heavily. “It’s just—it’s like there’s something in the way. Sometimes I can get past it, sometimes I—like now.”
Something in the way. The ghost in the machine, the presence Matt had felt in the Mecha, so many times.
“Are you fighting it?” Matt asked her.
“Yes, sir,” she said, through a ragged breath. “As hard as I can!”
“That’s your mistake,” Matt said. “You can’t fight it. It’s stronger than you are. You have to get closer to it. Accept it.”
“But it hurts,” Elize protested. “It’s all pain, like knives, and . . . hate!”
And dust and static, and talons razoring through your mind, Matt thought, remembering his first time in a Mecha. Elize was probably cowering in the gray nonspace of Mesh, staying as far away from the presence—the neural feedback, the reflection of a cadet’s own fear, Dr. Roth said. Matt wasn’t so sure.
“Go to it,” Matt said. “Walk through the pain. Accept it. When you accept it, you can control it.”
But was that true? Matt wondered. That voice, that thing in the Mecha—it seemed all-powerful. Was it simply biding its time, waiting to take control?
“Yes, sir,” Elize said. Her open comms passed through a gasp and a series of whimpers. Matt closed his eyes. Why was this so hard?
Suddenly Elise’s Mesh Effectiveness shot up to fifty-three percent, and her Mecha rocked forward and began to move.
“I—I think I’ve—it hurts, but it’s different now,” Elize said.
“Good. Continue.”
Elize’s Mesh Effectiveness continued to climb, peaking at sixty-one percent. Now she ranked at the top of the adepts. Chatter from the others showed that they saw it too.
