Metal Heart: Book 1: The Metal Heart Trilogy

by Melinda Crouchley

  “I’m taking stall three.” He exits and his feet glide over to his tools. “You got the next one.”

  “Rabbit.” I lean my head against the cold metal wall. “This is important.”

  “I know it’s important. All of it. Don’t worry, Garza.” He sets a yellow gloved hand down on the floor, scooting it underneath the gap between the stalls. I rest my own hand on top of it. Overhead the lights flicker and pulse. “I’m good at secrets.”

  A tiny spark flickers around our fingertips. I feel it, but I can’t see it. I wonder if Rabbit feels it too. His words should unnerve me, but I find them strangely comforting and reassuring.

  I pluck at the plastic fabric around his fingers. “Me too.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Flight Testing

  Final flight simulation testing today. We’ll sit behind the cockpit of a fake helocraft for the last time before we take control of the real deal. For the next four months of training, we get to fly the machines I’ve only dreamed about.

  Rabbit Santiago also stars in my dreams lately. And these visions involve much less flying. Much more of the things we read about in Scarlett's romance novels. And in these dreams, the ones that used to feature Mateo—I sometimes can’t tell the difference anymore. Between Rabbit and the Mateo I’ve built in my head over four years of physical absence. Between the boy I kissed under a lime tree and the squadmate who sometimes holds my gloved hand under a toilet stall. But I shouldn’t be entertaining these thoughts. I have other more important things to focus on. It’s just with Rabbit—I can’t help myself.

  Rabbit, along with two other senior aeronautics specialists—Layla and Brian—also await testing. We sit on scuffed plastic chairs lining a brightly lit hallway, waiting for the testing assistant to call our names. I avoid contact with all of them so I can focus on the current task. Learning how to control and fly a Condor is my singular goal in my remaining time at the Academy. I’m not going to let lust and confusion create an obstruction. At least, that’s my mental mantra until I catch myself staring at Rabbit across the hall. Of course I am. It’s all I can do anymore.

  His leg bobs nervously. I scoot over to an empty seat next to him. My presence seems to calm the bouncing of his knee, but his hands remain clasped, gripping one another like he’s in danger of falling off the world.

  “You’ve got this," I say.

  “I can’t afford to fail.” He glowers down at his hands. “I need this. This is everything.”

  “You’re not gonna fail. Nobody’s better than Rabbit Santiago.”

  “You are.” Rabbit’s brows tick up.

  “Not by much.”

  He opens his mouth to speak. At that moment, a Lieutenant pokes her head out the door and reads my name from her tablet. I throw Rabbit a conspiratorial wink and a quick grin rolls over him like a glittering stone.

  I enter the darkened simulation room. I slip into the elevated chair in the middle of the otherwise empty SIM. I fold the helmet over my head and pull up the soft keyboard. The virtual cockpit thrums to life on all sides of me. The exam begins.

  Within the hour, I’ve aced it. I'm given wings and the go-ahead to initiate aviation training starting tomorrow.

  The next afternoon, our group stands in a nervous clump, waiting for the siren to announce rotation. This will be our first journey into the cockpits of the C50 Condors we’ve only ever passed on our way to the SIM and field exercises. Excitement thrums over my body. There’s no hovercraft coming for us, and once the siren wails we begin our long walk to the northern end of the base where the Condors nest. It’s disorienting to be separate from our SIM units. I wave back at the Rosas, who smile and nod as the hovercraft brakes over their heads, the ramp rolling out like a metal tongue to devour them

  I sense the helocrafts long before I get a visual on them, keenly aware of their immensity and power. The birds are dormant but not silent. Their engines hum with the promise of life and the strong shining steel frames twinkle in the harsh winter sun.

  At the head of the gates stands a pair of sentries, and behind them a commanding officer observes us with arms folded across her chest. She’s a tall woman with broad shoulders and a powerful jaw. She glares at our approach with the hard, wrinkled grimace of a woman with years of combat experience.

  “You four are the new pilots?” she calls out gruffly, before we’ve set foot inside the gate.

  We nod affirmation and the guards scan our bands, patting down our uniforms before we enter. Security is tight here, but in a different capacity than the SIMs. I’m surprised there are less technical elements and more man power. I make a mental note of where the recording devices are located on the outer walls of the hangar and flight control tower. I count the number of helos and visible drones.

  “I’m Sergeant Yamikov. What do you find so interesting over there, Garza?”

  I offer a sheepish smile Yamikov does not appreciate. “Nothing sir. Admiring the birds, sir.”

  “This is not a field trip. These are my birds and you are my students and I expect your attention at all times. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rabbit presses a fist to his mouth to mask his amusement.

  Sergeant Yamikov scowls at our pairing and points at Rabbit, then myself. We exchange a loaded glance. We’re partnered up again.

  “You two, Garza and Santiago, are my top pilots, you will share Condor One. You two, other pilots, take Condor Two.” She gestures to Layla and Brian.

  We shuffle bodies and take place next to our partners. I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out to touch his arm. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s shifted his body weight slightly towards me and our arms are mere inches from brushing together. The air between us feels weird. Electric.

  To our disappointment, we are not allowed in the cockpits. We endure verbal quizzes on the different helo components over the course of the next two hours. Towards the end of the period, the Sergeant thumps Rabbit on the back and congratulates him on his “achievement” but doesn’t go into further detail. He glows under her admiration, his normally fleeting smile melting into a full beam of pride.

  We’re sent away shortly after the COs comment to Rabbit. The trek back to the Academy building in the pouring rain leaves us all in a grim mood. What could possibly take two more weeks before we sit behind the controls? The decreased timeline to gain much needed experience weighs heavily on my mind. Brian Holmes falls into step alongside me and we engage in a heated tongue lashing of the training process.

  Studying with Scarlett and the Rosas in the evening, I inform them of the terrible piloting session, Yamikov’s curious comment to Rabbit, and the amiable conversation with Brian Holmes. Scarlett's interest is piqued by the last, she’s kept tabs on Brian for a while and nonchalantly asked questions about his training progress. Emanuelle rolls her eyes at Scarlett's romantic inquiries and changes the subject. She suggests all four of us watch the upcoming meteor shower together, an extra credit assignment in the Rosas physics class.

  It’s a good excuse for a large group of us to leave the base without our motives being second guessed. A perfect chance for me to sneak away and see if there are engineers lurking about in the cherry orchards. On occasion a few will show up early to prep for the spring. Last year my contact Carmen was among them. It might be tough to sneak away from the ever-watchful Scarlett and the curious Rosas—but it's possible. Especially if drugs, alcohol and boys are part of the equation.

  The night is supposed to be clear enough to watch false stars raining down from the heavens. The closest observatory is about 45 minutes away in Goldendale, Washington, another town abandoned off the Gorge. Traveling there without a ranked officer would be strictly out of the question. Luckily, the Rosas enjoy access to a portable telescope in the biomedical labs.

  If we make it to the top of Chenoweth Rim, we can secure a good enough view. We unanimously vote to make it an outing.

  A little later that evening
, Scarlett sits at the edge of her bed painting her toenails while I doodle an image of Mateo on a tablet, having abandoned the romance scene when Scarlett insisted it become more graphic than I felt comfortable with. She wants boobs and butts. I don’t tell anyone who the boy is or where he comes from, but Scarlett inquired once or twice. I shrug her off, telling her it’s a boy I met in Mexico City, a partial truth.

  I’ve drawn and erased him hundreds of times. What he looked like at age 14. What I believe he looks like at age 18. Lately the images all end up with Rabbit Santiago’s big ears and prominent nose and bushy eyebrows. It’s only when I stop to examine the drawing for a moment the resemblance becomes apparent. Those pictures are trashed quickly. It's hard enough to remember what Mateo looked like without Rabbit's image getting in the way.

  I’m so lost in thought and focused on perfecting the shading at the base of Mateo’s large, wide nose, I don’t notice what’s happening around us until Scarlett smacks at my arm. The pen slips, tracking a heavy black line across the whole picture, destroying it. I look up, preparing a few harshly worded sentiments, when I notice the previously empty space she stares into.

  A virtual image of Rabbit as Mateo plays out of the band. The exact image I’ve drawn on the tablet. He sits under the lime-tree, wind shifting the leaves and rustling the black hair above his almond shaped eyes. His golden brown skin roasts in the patches of sunlight dotting his exposed arms and legs, lurid veins barely visible on his neck.

  He speaks without sound, mouthing the lyrics of the song playing on the band. The wind, the tree, and his hair shift in rhythm with the music. As quickly as the image rises, it dies away, replaced by the tin box with the letters. This drifts off and melts into a picture of me reaching for an inoculation dispenser. Then the strained face of Javier Hernandez. Javier's image is one I don't forget. Ever.

  As the music tempo swells, a bomb explodes next to Javier and rips him apart. Pieces of flesh fly into the air and splatter onto the pavement behind him. I release the pen in astonishment and it drops onto the tablet. I glance away, gasping for breath. My chest tightens and air is trapped in my lungs, fighting to move in and out. Scarlett peers down at the tablet’s contents.

  “Is that Rabbit San—”

  “It’s nothing.” I reach down and click the tablet off before she can press me further.

  The virtual shuts down, leaving empty air and a familiar sensation of static electricity in its wake. The small hairs on my arm stand straight up.

  “Is it a new program?” Scarlett asks. “Did you make it?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Who were those people? Those boys?” Scarlett arches a brow, emphasizing the second question. “That last one definitely looked like Rabbit—”

  “I dunno. My band must be defective. Maybe it was damaged in a field exercise.”

  Scarlett eyes me doubtfully, “You should let someone take a look at that."

  “Yeah sure.”

  “Seriously Len. I’m worried about you.”

  I give her a small, quick grin and shrug. “I’m fine, Scar. Just a little tired. Better head back to my barrack.”

  She sighs as I stand and move to the door.

  “Hey Len?”

  I turn around, “Yes Mom?”

  “Be careful,” she says, eyebrows drawn, expression serious. I offer her another mirthless grin she does not return.

  I pass by the tech repair shop on the way back to barracks, but don’t stop to have my band examined. A mental and physical exhaustion works into my bones and the only thing I crave is sweet, dreamless oblivion. Answers can wait until morning. When it comes to images of Javier and his death, answers could wait forever.

  When we arrive at the peak of the rim, close to the Eagle Cave trailhead, it’s 10pm and the meteor shower isn't predicted to be in full bloom for at least two more hours. We plunk our gear down next to the remains of a fire pit, leftover from previous adventures on the rim.

  I help the Rosas set up the telescope while Diego and Scarlett head off into the brush for firewood. From their giggling and rustling, they won’t make it back for awhile. We lay out bed-rolls and stare up at the night sky above, dimming our flashlights and bands to see more clearly. There’s nothing remarkable up there but billions of dimly shining stars. Far out of our reach. Stupid, useless stars.

  “I finished running those tests on your blood sample,” Emilia says, matter-of-fact. “You have NV.”

  Emanuelle chortles. “Emilia, we all have NV. We’re all exposed to it. That's what inoculations are for. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “No, it’s more than that. It's not only NV. It's a different strain entirely. I checked against another blood sample. Yours was mutated, Len. Bordering on cancerous. Maybe it was the implants or the nano virus itself that caused the carcinoma, but it’s there. I’m not entirely convinced the nano suppressants are helping your situation, but there’s a chance they are keeping the cancer and the virus at bay. Essentially, you’ve contracted a new strain of NV, but your body is successfully fending it off. Which means you’re creating antibodies. You know what that means, don’t you” Emilia tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at me.

  I ignore her question. I know what that means. I spent enough time traveling the world with my parents into hot zones. People who successfully created antibodies, especially without the aid of inoculations, were scooped up by Prothero while their families were paid a substantial sum of money. I saw them in the hot labs, hooked to machines that carefully subtracted just enough antibodies to keep them alive. Hooked to machines, locked in comfortable cells, basically the medical equivalent of human cattle.

  I’d rather die before being a lab rat the rest of my life.

  “What did you do with my blood sample?” I ask, hoping the question will distract her from suggesting I go down that particular path.

  “Destroyed it. Like you said.” She strives for convincing, but casts her eyes away as she says it.

  I don't believe she trashed the blood sample. But she wouldn't endanger herself or Emanuelle. The Rosas know how to take care of themselves.

  “My parents died trying to cure this virus and three years later it still exists. It’s worse than ever. I want NV eradicated. You two are smart, like my parents were. If the blood sample still exists, keep working on it,” I say. “Do something good with it.”

  Emilia wobbles her head in contemplation, giving a noncommittal shrug. I wish I knew what that meant, what was happening inside her head.

  “No pressure.” Emanuelle pulls out a Salt cigarette and we all take a hit. “Your parents were like Gods in the biotech community, Len.”

  “You’re smarter. You’re younger. You’re alive. You have access to technology they barely knew existed. Hell, I wish I knew half of what you do about this stuff.” I exhale the Salt and the weight of learning about my special strain of NV. I had a thought, but—I wanted to be wrong.

  “If your mutated virus holds the key to curing NV for good, why aren’t you turning it over to Prothero?” Emilia asks, poking at the dormant fire with a stubby, twisted stick. “Why aren’t you turning yourself in?”

  “Why aren’t you?” I ask, trying to meet her gaze. But she won’t relent. She can be stubbornly closed off and evasive when she wants to be. Anxiety and irritation creep into my veins. My robot hand clenches without warning and the static charge of blue snaps on my wrist.

  “Prothero knows where to find me.”

  “They do.” Emilia exhales a ring of smoke into the air, a thoughtful expression settling over her face.

  Silence folds over us. The frost winds its way into our bones and not even the pleasant high of the drug serves as effective combat. The only cure will be fire and lab distilled whiskey. I call out to Scarlett, telling her to hurry, when a noise startles from off to our right, the opposite direction from where the two scampered off.

  We discern a fuzzy gray shape rapidly approaching, laden with a pack and bulky equipment. Another amate
ur astronomist from the Academy. Or maybe an anarchist looking for a fight. Terror grips us for a moment until Emilia lifts her band and a flashlight to illuminate our visitor. The human figure squints in the beam, shielding their eyes with their own lit bands. A knot of anxiety twists in my chest.

  It’s Rabbit Santiago.

  “Do you mind?” Rabbit asks.

  “Oh, sure. Sorry!” Emilia laughs, clicking off her flashlight. She looks over at me with raised brows and an impish smirk of pleasure.

  He carries a telescope similar to ours. He slouches out of his pack, carefully hefting the telescope onto the ground at his feet. I push myself off the bed-roll and reluctantly sit up. At the same time, Scarlett and Diego emerge from the brush, each carrying a load of firewood. Scar’s carnal grin falters when she recognizes our company.

  “Oh, it’s Santiago.” Scar frowns over at me.

  “I’m here for the stars. This is totally an accident. I swear I’m not stalking—”

  “Fine. Whatever. Help us with the fire.” Scarlett commands, dumping the firewood into the pit.

  Diego does the same. Emilia hops up to assist Rabbit with his telescope.

  “You can put that over here, next to ours. If you want,” Emilia says. She waggles her eyebrows at me again.

  I roll my eyes and look over at Rabbit, his back to us as he unfolds the tripod legs to mount the telescope.

  “You guys want whiskey?” Diego asks.

  Diego extends the bottle of brown murky fluid and Scarlett snatches it up first, taking a greedy swig. She glares at Rabbit's turned back as she does this.

  “You come up here often?” Scar does her best to sound casual.

  “For tactical assignments,” Rabbit answers without turning around. “And it’s a good spot to catch astronomical events.”

  Scarlett snort laughs. “You a space nerd Santiago?”

  He doesn't turn around or say anything in response. He heard her. Rabbit hears everything.