Mecha Rogue

by Brett Patton

  But . . . Rayder’s magnetic soles held him in place on the bridge. He oriented himself to the floor like a person born and raised in gravity. And Matt had never seen him fight in microgravity. Maybe, just maybe—

  Matt leapt toward the ceiling, far above Rayder’s head. The bright lights of the bridge came up fast. He swung from a fixture and risked a backward glance.

  Shit! Rayder was less than a meter away. Cords stood out in his neck, and his lips skinned back from his teeth in murderous rage.

  Matt’s stomach sank. Rayder was fast, insanely fast. Matt coiled and kicked hard at Rayder’s face, but Rayder grabbed his leg before he could react. Rayder’s fingers dug into his calf like the armor talons of a Mecha.

  Rayder ripped Matt from his perch and threw him down at the bridge floor. The room blurred by as Matt flailed in midair. He hit hard on his shoulder. Agony shot through his neck and down his back.

  Rayder descended on Matt like an avenging angel. Matt grabbed a rail support to dodge. Too late. Rayder hit Matt like a hammer, pinning him to the floor with his strong legs.

  His fist flew down at Matt’s face. Matt’s right eye flashed bright red, and something like an atomic explosion went off in his head. His neck snapped back agonizingly, shooting electric pain across his shoulders and down his back. Matt’s forehead glanced off a bridge railing. He heard someone howling in pain. It took him a while to realize it was himself.

  Matt caught a glimpse of Captain Gonsalves, standing impassively with Rayder’s gun, knife, and armor. If he could get to them—

  Crack. Another blow landed on Matt’s face. Matt’s head snapped to the other side. Rayder’s grinning face blurred by. Matt’s world went red as blood pooled in his eye. Droplets flew off his face, to paint the bridge floor.

  This is how it ends, Matt thought. The next blow will crush my skull against that rail. And that would end the short career of Matt Lowell, former Mecha Corps, now hired security for a backwater Corsair faction.

  Wait. The rail.

  Matt arched his back and snapped his head to one side. Rayder’s fist flew past his face, only grazing the skin on his cheek. Matt swore he heard the whistle of parting air behind it.

  There was a dull bonging noise. Rayder’s fist had missed Matt and struck the bridge railing. He’d hit it hard enough to knock the upright out of its welds. Rayder’s hand oozed blood, and the clean white bone of one knuckle protruded from his hand. Rayder’s face crumpled in pain, and his legs spasmed, releasing Matt.

  Matt scrambled out from under the HuMax, grabbing the broken rail and flinging himself at the bridge door. He had to run. It was the only chance he had. If Rayder pinned him again, he was dead.

  Matt reached the bridge door and swiped desperately at the door screen. It only flashed red. The doors remained closed. No way out. He was locked in.

  A low growl and the rustle of clothing signaled Rayder’s return. Matt jumped for the ceiling, not sparing the time to look.

  Too late. Another blow sent new crescendos of agony shooting through Matt’s gut. Kidney shot. He’d be peeing blood tomorrow. Matt whirled in midair, the room wheeling around him.

  A shadow loomed on one side of him. Matt crouched down into a ball, increasing his spin. Rayder shot through the space he’d occupied moments before, his face a rictus of rage.

  I dodged him, Matt thought, in an instant almost giddy.

  Rayder grabbed a blazing ceiling light and kicked Matt with both feet. This one caught him in the chest like a sledgehammer. Matt went flying back down into the bridge, his lungs whooping to catch nonexistent breath. His head struck an aluminum console with a crack, and warm blood flowed into his hair. Matt wheezed thimblefuls of air into his lungs. Captain Gonsalves stood above him. The man stood and watched impassively, with a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Help,” Matt wheezed.

  Gonsalves’s face compressed in concern, but he didn’t move to help Matt.

  But behind Gonsalves . . . Rayder’s door. His ready room? It didn’t matter. Matt moved, using all of his strength to leap for the door. Muscles tore in his legs in his last desperate move. Rayder came down on the bridge and swiped at Matt with his crushed hand, spraying warm blood. But he missed. Matt’s trajectory was set.

  Matt shot through the door, catching its edge with one hand and slapping the interior door screen’s CLOSE icon with another. If it was keyed only to Rayder—

  The door slammed closed behind him. Something heavy thumped against its hard steel. Rayder.

  Matt hammered the LOCK icon. He was in a small, spare room, outfitted with a large nonphysical projection display, two fixed chairs, and a table. Beyond the table, a large, thick window looked out onto the Last Rising Mecha Dock. Beyond, rows upon rows of the silver Mecha covered every wall of the space.

  The Mecha Dock!

  Better yet, a hatch surrounded the window. This was Rayder’s escape route!

  Matt shot at the window, palming the hatch to cycle. If the Mecha Dock was in vacuum, he was dead. But he was dead anyway.

  The hatch popped open, hissing as the air pressure equalized. Matt’s ears popped. But it wasn’t vacuum. The Mecha Dock was pressurized!

  Matt leapt through the lock. Toward Mecha. Toward freedom.

  * * *

  In the Last Rising Mecha Dock, scaffolding covered every wall and extended out into the center of the space. Thousands of silver Lokis and hundreds of the dark-colored, smaller-than-Hellion Mecha hung from the racks, waiting to be used.

  And, in the middle of them all, Matt’s Demon towered over all of them.

  It had survived. Matt thought. It wasn’t destroyed.

  But Matt noticed small differences: its joints were simpler, and it had lost a dozen of the ridges that ran down its back. The Demon had been badly damaged in the battle. It hadn’t been able to resume its exact form.

  Matt didn’t care. He whooped with joy and lunged at the giant Mecha. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. In a flash, he was at the pilot’s chamber opening.

  But the iris was closed. Matt keyed in the emergency code again and again. The iris didn’t even twitch.

  Shit! He wasn’t wearing an interface suit! No wonder it wasn’t opening. The Demon didn’t know its pilot was outside.

  Matt went down the rows of black Corsair Mecha, but none were open. Nor could he figure out how to open them.

  Something—anything—Rayder would be here soon. Matt shot deep into the docks, where the detritus of construction still lay. A single Powerloader sat slumped against the loose rock and shards of an unfinished tunnel.

  Matt threw himself at it. But the battery pack was dead. The machine would be nothing more than a coffin.

  Air locks clanked open, sending cavernous echoes through the Mecha Dock. Rayder’s voice called out into the space: “Face me like a man, and end this now.”

  Matt slipped out of the old Powerloader, straining to get a glimpse through the expanded steel decking. Rayder was there with full entourage: Gonsalves, spectators, and a half dozen floating camera eyes.

  Matt’s hand brushed a pile of rubble, and the big rocks shifted. It was only a small grinding noise, but it was enough. Rayder’s head snapped around, and his yellow-and-violet eyes fixed on Matt through the decking.

  Rayder’s face twisted in amusement. He barked harsh laughter. “You return to your childhood weapon?”

  Matt froze. A weapon, any weapon, was all that mattered. What could he use?

  “I still remember the look in your father’s eyes as I shot him,” Rayder said. “He looked like you, right now.”

  Matt’s face flushed, hot with rage. “You made me this way!”

  “Your father made you. I only shaped you.”

  And yet still Rayder didn’t make any move. Matt frowned. What was Rayder trying t
o do? Draw him out?

  Yes. Matt’s racing mind saw it all. In a space this large, Rayder would be at a disadvantage if he moved first. He wanted a clean, quick kill. And he’d taken precautions. He now wore his knife and pistol.

  “Bravery must have its reward,” Matt said. The words Rayder had told him when he left Matt behind on Prospect.

  “And what a reward it is,” Rayder said. “To face me alone on this day. Your name will live on. You will be the man who challenged the gods.”

  “You’re no god. You lost to the Union. You lost to me, on Jotunheim.” Maybe he could taunt Rayder into acting first.

  “Gods lose battles all the time,” Rayder said. “What makes them gods is that they never stop fighting.”

  “No,” Matt said. “That’s what makes them idiots.”

  Rayder’s face darkened, but he only advanced calmly to the edge of the scaffolding. Matt shrank back into the shadows behind the old Powerloader, his hands slipping against the hard chunks of asteroid rock.

  “This is how it ends for humanity,” Rayder said, sticking his head over the edge of the scaffolding to look Matt in the eye. “Crouching in the shadows.”

  But in that instant, it all came together. The perfect moment. The summation to all his days on refugee ships, tossing rocks out of their gravity wells and thinking of the day he’d get his revenge.

  Matt grabbed a baseball-sized piece of the asteroid rubble and flung it at Rayder with one smooth, practiced motion. Pain arced through his bruised collarbone. But his aim was good. The sharp chunk of stone flickered out across the hangar and caught Rayder on the forehead. A pink spray of blood colored the air as the HuMax cursed and staggered back.

  In an instant, Rayder’s expression turned to murderous rage. He threw himself over the scaffolding and launched at Matt. Now his knife was out in plain view, a sharp and deadly sliver of steel a full twenty centimeters long.

  This is it. Matt’s heart hammered in staccato pace as he visualized what he had to do.

  What you have to sacrifice, he thought.

  When Rayder was only five meters away, Matt jumped at the other man. He’d need maneuvering room. It required precise control and microsecond reflexes.

  Rayder’s hand whipped up as he approached. Matt faked in one direction. Rayder’s knife followed him like a laser. Then, at the last moment, Matt brought his own arm up, leaving his midsection unprotected.

  Rayder took it. His knife flashed up and plunged deep into Matt’s gut. Fiery, incapacitating pain shot through Matt’s entire body as he bellowed in agony. It was the end of the world—the end of everything.

  Matt gathered his strength and brought his other hand up. In it was a head-sized rock. It hit Rayder right in the temple. A hollow tock reverberated through the hangar. Rayder’s eyes rolled and lost focus, and his spasming hand missed a grab at Matt’s clothes. Rayder hit the rubble hard as Matt continued to float off into free air.

  Matt’s entire shirt was soaked with blood. The spreading warmth was almost comforting over the radiating pain. If he could just rest for a while, just a while—

  No! It wasn’t over. Not yet. Matt doubled over, his slitted eyes picking out Rayder’s position. Red blood ran down the HuMax’s forehead in great gushers. But he’d already staggered to his feet. He leapt again.

  Rayder shot at Matt, his furious eyes focused on only one thing: erasing this one human from the universe. Matt looked helpless as he drifted into the big Mecha Dock. Rayder had all the advantage.

  Rayder knew it. Triumph lit his expression as he shot across the last three, two, one meters to Matt. His arms reached for Matt’s neck. One twist, and it would be over.

  Wait, wait, wait, Matt thought. Now.

  In a single smooth movement, Matt pulled the knife out of his gut and brought it up hard into Rayder’s midsection. Matt’s vision went red and black through the pain, but he forced himself to shove it hard, up through the stomach and into Rayder’s heart. Hot blood fountained over Matt’s hands as the knife found its target.

  Rayder spasmed in surprise, grabbing at the knife embedded in his body. He pulled the knife from his heart and swiped at Matt wildly. The knife went wide. Rayder’s eyes fluttered as he pitched forward. He was losing blood fast. Fist-sized red globules floated slowly down toward the deck in the microgravity.

  Matt pushed away from Rayder. The HuMax caught his leg. He might be weakening, but he was still strong. The two tumbled in the cavernous Mecha Dock.

  Rayder went for his Taikong pistol. Matt was barely able to knock it away as Rayder fired. The round spanged off the steel scaffolding like a gong.

  Matt’s head reeled. He saw as if looking down a dark tunnel. He was losing blood himself. This damn superman could still kill him!

  No. He wouldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t let what had happened on Prospect go unavenged. He was no longer that little boy. He might not be a god, but he was man enough to do this one thing.

  Matt used all his remaining strength to kick Rayder in the face. The gun popped out of Rayder’s hand. Matt caught it and pointed it at Rayder’s head. He pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  “Keyed . . . ,” Rayder rasped through blood. His red smile was a terrible thing. Rayder tried to twist the weapon out of Matt’s hands.

  Keyed. Biolocked to Rayder. Matt’s mind was no longer speeding. It slugged through the simple equations as the world dimmed. What an adversary. Rayder had almost thought of everything. Almost.

  “Take it,” he told Rayder, putting the gun in the HuMax’s hands. Rayder grabbed at it frantically. But he was weak. Matt flipped the gun over, under Rayder’s chin. His hands wrapped around the other man’s. Through the blood, Matt put his finger over Rayder’s own and squeezed the trigger.

  The explosion seemed oddly muted. Gore erupted from Rayder’s neck as the back of his head flew away in red-and-white fragments.

  “There’s your reward,” Matt said, before passing out.

  14

  KING

  Matt came to under bright lights and soft, faraway sounds. Next to him, a bank of monitors showed an outline of his body, with areas shaded green, blue, and yellow within. An angry orange line slashed his belly, right where he’d taken Rayder’s knife.

  But he felt no pain. No pain at all. Matt moved his hands to feel his wound, but his arms moved slowly, as if weighted down. Liquid sloshing noises accompanied his motion.

  Matt looked down. He was lying in a tank of clear fluid, completely naked. White threads shot through the gel, connecting with Rayder’s knife slash. Only a vague pink scar showed he’d ever been injured.

  Matt explored his injury gently with his fingers. It didn’t even hurt. He was completely healed.

  More Jotunheim technology, he thought. More rewards Rayder had reaped from that secret HuMax world. Better even than the Union’s Accelerated Recovery.

  But—why had they saved him? He’d killed their leader.

  Was it possible Rayder was still alive? Could they resucitate him using this seemingly magic technology? What if they were resurrecting him for another cage match, this one in a real arena? Matt’s heart bleeped a little faster on the monitor.

  A medic stuck her head through the door and floated over to see him. She wore the gray Last Rising uniform with two bars on her chest.

  “How do you feel, sir?” she asked.

  “I—” Matt paused. Sir? What was that about? A trick? Or was it possible they were grateful he’d killed Rayder?

  “Can you get me out of here?” Matt asked.

  The medical technician’s brow furrowed. “I can, sir, but the healing process is only ninety-eight percent complete.”

  “But it won’t hurt me to get out now?” Matt asked.

  “You’ll have a scar.”

 
Matt nodded. That was okay. He needed a reminder of his battle.

  “Get me out of this thing,” Matt said.

  “Yes, sir,” the tech said. She went to the screen and punched in a long series of instructions. The gel drained from the cylinder and the top half of it retracted backward. She pulled towels out of a cabinet and came to dry Matt off, working with cool efficiency.

  “Rayder is dead, right?” Matt asked, taking the towel from her.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can I see the body?”

  “Of course, sir.” The girl drew out a slate and spoke softly into it. After a few minutes, two other uniformed medical staff people came down the hall with a zero-g stretcher. They set it in front of Matt and watched as he unzipped the bag.

  Rayder’s blood-clotted face. His head, half gone. Rayder was dead. Matt blew out a big breath and dismissed the two staff members with the stretcher.

  “Where’s Captain Gonsalves?” he asked the first technician.

  She looked confused. “Who?”

  “One of the men from the asteroid you captured.”

  She nodded. “Convert H. Gonsalves, yes, First Class Programming. I am only second class. I don’t know where he is.”

  Matt frowned. None of this made sense yet, but she seemed to be willing enough to follow his orders. He didn’t want to dive too deep into it yet. Best to look for Gonsalves the last place he’d seen him.

  “Take me to the bridge.”

  She frowned. “Sir, I must remain at my post. However, you may freely move about.”

  Stranger and stranger. Matt stood and pushed off for the door. Then he caught himself and turned back to the technician.

  “Can you bring me some clothes, please?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, with the same efficiency.

  * * *

  Matt chafed at the Last Rising uniform. It was dead black, with no adornment, just like the one Rayder had worn. He tried to explain to the med tech that he wanted his interface suit back, but she didn’t seem to understand.