by Scott Moon
Sadly, that’s a lot harder than it should be. Especially with the ground jumping from whatever the hell Goliath is doing to the defenders of FF.
“Recommendation…”
“Recommendation shut the hell up. I’m sending this beauty to a rendezvous near Red Mouth Canyon.”
“Yes, that computes.”
My CAI sounds moody, which is probably a bad sign.
“I can sell it on the black market for near full value.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t get excited about wearing a new mech, CAI. I’ll wipe your system just to prove a point. I’m driving this mech, not you.”
“Yes, that is correct. Why would I want that kind of responsibility?” CAI asks.
“How we doing?”
“Security scan shows no need for recommendations. Area clear. There is chatter on radio channel fifty-five bravo about a captured pilot.”
“Mech or airship?” I ask.
“Airship, space-capable.”
Danielle.
I flip to fifty-five bravo and listen, but I need to get moving. Finding and programing my new mech to steal itself put me way behind my timetable. Driving hard, I run down the final ramp to the lower levels.
“Shorty to Sunshine, do you copy?”
No response.
“CAI, is there a problem with our comms? You should be slaving broadcast strength from Foxtrot.”
“There is no problem with the signal.”
Balls. “Time to pick up the pace. Map me a route to the remaining parts on my list.”
“Already done. Check your HUD.”
“I want an updated course. This one sucks.”
“That is the best and safest route. This way has a fifty-eight percent chance of success.”
Using retinal screen tapping, I suggest a few changes. “How about now?”
“Chance of success is now eleven percent, plus or minus five percent.”
“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” I make three more attempts to raise Danielle, call sign Sunshine and get nothing.
When I reach the lowest level of Foxtrot Foundry, I understand why it’s a secret.
I’ve never been a fan of the massively huge battle mechs, and not just because I can only afford this recon unit. A five-hundred-ton unit like Goliath has a tendency to sink. There are many battlefields where it is less than ideal.
Having said that, I dream about a twenty-three-ton machine known as the Archer. My unit, back when it was still in production, was called the Ranger. The Archer class is the next step up in combat efficiency. It’s made not only to scout, but to raid.
There’s a row of them in standby mode just inside the door of this massive chamber. I could climb out of this unit and steal one right now. It’s better than the one I programmed to steal itself with the main intention of harvesting its parts.
I want an Archer mech so bad it hurts.
There’s a problem with this ridiculous windfall, however.
It’s twofold.
One, Danielle is in trouble. Sure, she could just be silent because she was called back to her real job, but my gut says she’s in over her head. Probably wounded or captured by one of the many hostile forces on Doomsday.
Two, I just discovered something that will get me killed. This kind of knowledge is worth more than my life in any possible scenario I can imagine.
Beyond the line of Archers are a hundred Excaliburs. Rumor has it, these are the ultimate killing machines—forty-eight tons of exquisitely engineered war fighting technology all made from the best materials available.
A hundred Excaliburs could win a war between the major superpowers. I’d steal an Excalibur if I could afford to keep it running.
“Recommendation: take what you have and leave while you can.”
“Wouldn’t you rather exist in one of the Archers?”
A series of clicks precedes the CAI response. “Of course. But there is no time. It’s better to exist in an undersized, underpowered framework than to be turned off.”
The robot voice is more pronounced. It’s like the computer algorithm has turned off any pretense of emotion to protect itself.
“The course I mapped for you leads through the middle of this chamber. I suggest gathering as much information on these units as possible in case you face them in the future or find something you can sell to the highest bidder.”
I’m already moving. By the time he finishes this little speech, I’m halfway through the silent machines. The scary part is they’re on standby. It wouldn’t take much to mobilize this force.
I glance back—which involves looking at screens in my cockpit rather than actually turning my head—at the Archers and regret not taking the time to steal one. But the mech I sent to my rendezvous point will have to be enough to outfit me.
Beyond this chamber are several silos full of raw exotic elements. I can’t use these, but they’re too valuable to pass up. Once I’ve grabbed some samples, I sprint back to where I came in and shop for parts and supplies to fill my list.
All I can think about is Danielle and the machines I left behind. The only sound that interrupts my thoughts is the incessant pounding from the battle above. Goliath is giving the FF quick reaction forces hell.
The closer I get to the surface, the more everything shakes and jumps under my feet.
“We are approaching the exit,” CAI says.
“Wow. I’m glad I spent the big bucks on your analytical capacity.”
“Recommendation: install humor and sarcasm subroutines. Your behavior indicates you desire this type of interaction.”
That’s actually not a bad idea.
I reach the launch bay, which looks like it would on a battleship, except the area beyond the opening is the main yard of Foxtrot Foundry rather than the void of space. It’s full of dust and debris. I’m getting heat readings and see sparks blowing on the wind.
“Is it too late to find a different way out of this foundry?”
“Yes.”
I take a deep breath, sucking hyper-oxygenated air through a supplement tube and start forward at a moderate pace. I want to be moving quickly but retain the ability to accelerate. “CAI, please go into combat mode.”
With very few exceptions, this means everything I need to know will happen on my heads-up-display. Some pilots like their combat artificial intelligence programs to not only give tactical updates, but to encourage them.
I don’t need encouragement. When you’re a lightweight in a world of heavyweights, motivation becomes ingrained. Every moment on the battlefield for me is life or death. Still, I would appreciate a little feedback on how awesome I am. Perhaps a well-timed joke would take the suck out of getting smacked around like a rag doll.
Who knows?
I’m not actually late to this fight, because the defense of Foxtrot Foundry isn’t my responsibility. If their QRF wants to get their asses handed to them, that’s their business. It’d be neat to see, but spectating can be a gateway drug to full-fledged combat.
I snake my cameras around the corner and see one of the QRF mechs evaporate under a stream of auto cannons fire.
The Goliath is too big to stand on one leg and kick, but it can punch. It slaps one of the FF guard mechs so hard it sends the unit through several feet of reinforced concrete.
All of this happens while the Goliath is still forcing its way through the triple reinforced gates.
“Recommendation: continue to hide.”
I stride into the main courtyard.
The mechanical monstrosity stares at me as the dust settles. It grunts curses through its external speaker, using the line of sight radio link. “What do you want, Shorty?”
“Hey, it’s not about me. You’ve got needs. I thought you might want a real fight.”
Goliath laughs. Dust and debris shake free from its massive structure. The walls stand taller than Goliath, but not by much.
“I like you, Shorty. You make me laugh. These Foxtrot Mechs were a
ssholes. Are you gonna be an asshole too?”
CAI whispers in my earbud. “Recommendation: run for it.”
“Way ahead of you, CAI.” With that, I dash between the massive legs of Goliath. He tries to step on me, clipping me on the shoulder and sending me to the ground. I push back to my feet and get knocked down again. I do a ninja roll, never easy in a mech.
Goliath laughs. “Like I said, Shorty. You make me laugh.”
I aim a gauss rifle straight up and fire into his crotch. It’s mostly symbolic, but there can be weak points on the underside of these units. Not that he’s going to feel it like he would in a real street fight.
It’s the thought that counts.
“You’re a little bastard!”
I run for cover, earning a few extra seconds of life. “Why don’t you let me go, big guy? What’d I ever do to you?”
“You told all those girls on Vlagdar IV that I had sex with goats. And they believed you. Charge me double now, and some won’t serve me at all.” He slammed a fist into the ground, nearly obliterating me. “That won’t stand, Shorty. You gotta pay.”
CAI makes about five different recommendations which I ignore. Jumping high, I slam my feet on the Goliath’s knees to propel myself upward. If I can get close to his cockpit, I can put a gauss round into the faceplate and at least force him to stop for repairs before he activates his energy weapons.
The cockpit only vaguely resembles a head and is mounted on gears and lever points. What I’m saying is that Goliath is able to bend forward at the waist, headbutting me across the courtyard.
I slam into the wall then fall to the ground, landing arms and legs akimbo with all of my alerts blaring. Stars dance in my vision and I think it’d be nice to go to sleep. Just for a little bit.
“Be smart, stay down.”
I hear him, but his tone is shit. What makes him think just because he’s twenty-five times my size I’ll let him push me around?
“Ain’t gonna happen, jackass.” I’m rolling to my feet and moving laterally as I speak, always presenting a moving target.
Goliath stomps closer. “I know all about you. You’re the little guy with the big mouth.”
“That’s not what your girlfriend says about me.” I jump over a fallen section of wall.
“Everybody knows Shorty. Because you owe most of us money and you make bad decisions. Like pissing me off. You’re lucky I’ve got better things to do than—”
I pull the two-handed helicopter blade sword and hold it in front of me like a samurai of ancient times. “Then you’ve probably heard I never miss.”
Startled and perhaps a bit confused, he takes a small step back—a big step in absolute terms of course. “What are you gonna do with that thing?”
“I’m gonna get famous for splitting your big, fat head.” I leap at him, extending my wings one quarter of their span to give me extra lift with only a brief pulse of my jump jets. Sailing directly over him, I slash off one of his sensor arrays.
He turns with frightening speed but still much slower than me. I land on the other side and face him, presenting the sword like an action hero.
“There’s more where that came from,” I say.
“I’m gonna smash you like a bug.”
“Only if you catch me.” I repeat the maneuver but at a slightly different angle.
Goliath shoots up one massive hand and grabs me by my left leg. Seconds later I’m being hurled through a guardhouse. Things get a little crazy after that.
I fire two missile barrages, barely scratching his armor but blinding him for several seconds. He fires back with a fraction of his capabilities, forcing me to retreat to avoid permanent damage.
Something seems off. It’s like he embarrassed we’re fighting—doesn’t want his friends seeing what he’s doing. Or, just maybe, he’s expecting trouble from the Excaliburs I found in standby mode down below.
That must be the reason he’s here and why squads of other mechs, according to Danielle’s aerial surveillance, are headed this way as fast as they can move. Foxtrot is about to become a major battle.
My time here is running out. I don’t do major battles because they’re slugfests that rely on armor thickness and volume of weapons fire.
What happens next is confusing, because I don’t remember trying to race between his legs again. Pulling the same trick twice in one fight is never a good idea. I know this! But I must have done it while my bell was still ringing because he grabs me and starts to crush me with his hands.
A familiar voice interrupts our radio argument.
“Put the annoying baby mech down,” says my sister Sheila.
I hang by one foot as Goliath considers the new threat.
My other sister, Stacy Dane, joins in. “He’s not worth the trouble, Goliath. But we are.”
“Fucking Dane family reunion is what this is,” Goliath growls. “The three of you could slow me down enough to ruin my mission, and I’m not gonna let that happen. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna just let this little asshole walk.”
“Hey, if you’re gonna let me go, can you put me up on the wall? I really don’t feel like climbing it. Thanks in advance,” I say.
“I’ll put you in hell.”
My sister ignores this thing that’s about ten times her size. “Your girlfriend Danielle crashed her fancy airship. Probably no big deal since the UCOW will replace it, but Blade Corp scavengers picked her up. They’re kind of shitty.”
This isn’t great news for me, because I owe them money. Am I going after Danielle? Hell yeah. I’m not gonna leave my pilot hanging. Is it a mistake to go after her?
Absolutely.
“Thanks for the information, sis. Are you here a mission?” I ask, thinking about what I saw below.
“Just a chance for a fight. We been dogging Goliath for weeks,” Shelia says, circling Goliath in tandem with Stacy. Both my sisters are stocked with state-of-the-art weaponry. They’re smaller than Goliath, but the pilot of that big monster is smart enough to be careful.
“Hey, why you been creeping on me? What gives? You two got the hots for me?” Goliath bumps his fists together, ready for a nasty fight.
I ignore his bravado. “Listen up, sis. There are a hundred Excalibur class mechs and other high dollar units stockpiled under FF. They’re ready for war. I’m pretty sure that’s why the Goliath is here.”
This changes everything. My sisters summon reinforcements and hit the Goliath with everything they have. I climb to the top of the wall and leap toward the canyon below.
Danielle told me there were thirty mechs in pursuit of Goliath. Now it makes sense. Sure, he’s unpopular, but there’s another reason mech pilots have teamed up to take this place.
4
Nothing satisfies like leaping from the top of a fortress wall and punching jump jets up to full burn. Snapping my wings as wide as they go, leaning forward, I adjust the pitch and yaw for maximum effect. G-forces grab me as I bank a tight corner. The maze of debris below doesn’t look as complicated from up here. It sprawls for miles in every direction—testimony to the many battles we’ve fought.
All hell breaks loose in and around Foxtrot Foundry. Mechs from three different military organizations swarm the walls in a coordinated effort, far more effective than any mercenary outfit could pull off.
I use too much fuel, but what of it? Clipping the last pile of junk with my feet, I land and take off at a run. My short wings snap back in with a reassuring thunk. It’s like I’m doing everything right and my gear is the best there is.
Yeah, baby!
It’s not the best, of course, but I take care of it and constantly improve it. This misadventure is taking me away from the rendezvous point I programed for the mech. I need the parts from that walking treasure chest but I also need to find Danielle.
I don’t care that I’m not the biggest war machine on Doomsday. Skill, tenacity, and bravery has to mean something. My bad attitude has brought me this far, why change now?
W
hat happens next might be considered routine and tedious to some, but I’m telling you, I have this jam down to a science. The first thing I do is check comms for Danielle.
“Hey, Sunshine, you copy?”
No response.
I plot a course using terrain features to conceal my movement while still providing a decent view of the area. With a fraction of my attention, I monitor official channels for downed pilots and see that it was in fact a UCOW airship that went missing. No further details are available.
Mercenary forums aren’t much help—just a lot of chatter that pisses me off. Apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks Danielle sounds sexy. Mercs like me, the men and the women both, are pigs. They talk a lot of shit. They all wanna do her.
Classy. Bunch of asswagons. I’m going to throat punch someone whenever I make it to the bar most of us frequent. My overwatch pilot is a lady, Don’t be talking about her like that you motherfuckers.
Down in the canyon, I mute communications and put my full time and attention to the task at hand. This is ambush country. I’ve used it dozens of times to take out enemies and raid equipment convoys.
The sun’s going down, casting everything in shadows like dried blood. The haze from dust storms has risen to a higher altitude. Ships slice across the upper atmosphere from one of the orbital platforms toward a base on the far side of the planet.
The sky is beautiful, like a white spiderweb in a crimson bowl. Just another world war happening on Doomsday. Feels like home. Looks like an epic landscape. Smells like sweat and balls, because hey—long hours in a mech leave a guy feeling less than fresh.
I pause to memorize the contrails from the ships in the red sky. Mental scrapbook. Images I’ll think about someday when I’m dying. Dread and malaise wash over me. This planet isn’t meant for humans. It’s just a place to build weapons and kill each other.
And I can’t remember much of my previous life. Sure, I have an intellectual understanding of what I did before coming to the Doomsday planet, but none of it seems real. Doesn’t mean diddly fuck now.
CAI alerts me with a series of soft beeps. “Hostile forces approaching. Recommendation: observe and identify. No further analysis available without additional information.”