Fighting Iron

by Jake Bible

  He lifted the mech and then slammed it back down. Metal cracked and warped. Clay held onto the mech and began to twist the legs, turning the left one direction while turning the right a different direction. The groan of struts and pistons was like thunder in the desert night air.

  The Captain continued to scream.

  “Clay…” Nasta whispered behind him. “She’s being burnt alive.”

  “Yeah,” Clay said. “She is.”

  He ripped off the mech’s left leg and threw it out into the desert. The Captain still had some control and she tried to get her remaining fist up to block Clay’s next attack, but she was too late to stop the blow.

  Clay tore into the cockpit and ripped the pilot’s seat right out of the mech. He lifted the still burning Captain high into the air, bringing her eye level to him. The woman screamed and screamed. Until Clay squeezed and scorched flesh squished from between giant metal fingers.

  Nasta gasped and fought off a gagging fit that had seized her.

  Clay watched as the Captain’s remains dripped to the ground below.

  “That’s how you win a mech fight,” Clay said.

  He quickly fished out the pocket watch and thumbed it open. The systems inside were still powered up. He looked about the cockpit and sighed with relief as he saw an interface receptacle. Clay set the watch inside the receptacle and a new com system came to life by his side.

  “Gibbons? Gibbons, come in!” he nearly shouted as he stared down at the pocket watch. “Gibbons! Come on, man, tell me you are alright!”

  “Hello, mech pilot,” a voice said. It was not Gibbons.

  “Oh, shit,” Nasta said. “That’s the Mister.”

  “How are you on this channel?” Clay asked. “There is no way you should be able to—”

  “Hush now, young man,” the Mister said, his voice crackling with static and long-distance interference. “I am not one to waste time on pointless chatter. I am sending you my coordinates, which also happen to be the coordinates of your mech. You will follow them precisely. Do not deviate even an inch. Are we understood?”

  “Why should I?” Clay asked. “It isn’t in my best interest to do anything you ask me to do.”

  “It is if you ever want your mech back,” the Mister replied.

  “I have a new mech,” Clay said. “Don’t really need that one.”

  “Let’s not play games, young man,” the Mister said. “I think we both know that the mech you are piloting now is vastly inferior to this one. I am sitting in it right now and it is bringing tears to my eyes. A fully functional piece of Fighting Iron. It is a work of art, young man. Would you really risk losing this beauty?”

  “I would if it means saving my skin,” Clay replied.

  “Yes, I suppose you would,” the Mister said. “You are a survivor, aren’t you? Born into battle and violence, raised on blood and guts, fed on fury and rage.”

  “I also like coffee and fine liquor,” Clay said. “But I’m not too picky.”

  “You want your mech back, young man, so stop pretending like you do not,” the Mister said. “You also want your little AI friend back, yes?”

  Clay’s blood ran cold. Gibbons. They’d broken through the stealth decks and found Gibbons. Or not… Clay didn’t respond. He didn’t want to give his hand away.

  “I can tell by your silence that you are thinking through all the angles,” the Mister said. “Am I lying? Am I just trying to lure you into admitting something I suspect, but don’t have actual proof of? Or have I already wiped those stealth decks clean and your AI friend is long dead? So many possibilities. Just too many for a young brain like yours to handle.”

  “I can handle a lot, old man,” Clay said. “More than you can possibly imagine.”

  “No, I do not think so,” the Mister said. “Have you received the coordinates yet?”

  Clay checked the navigation system and saw a blinking dot on the regional map. “Yes.”

  “Good,” the Mister said. “Now, to put you at ease, your AI is alive. I have him trapped in a stasis drive. A couple of my mechs were able to use a drain hunter to find him. They didn’t know that was what they were looking for, but I had a sneaking suspicion. I know Fighting Iron, young man. I know it very well. Spent my youth in one very similar to yours.”

  “Good for you, old man,” Clay said.

  “I was part of Xavier’s Cutters,” the Mister said. “Does the name ring a bell?”

  Clay’s already cold blood became ice, frozen in his veins as a hundred nights of stories from his grandmother came slamming into his mind. Xavier’s Cutters.

  “I know your mech, young man,” the Mister said. “I remember it so well it’s like it was yesterday. But it had a woman pilot in it at the time. I expect that would be your grandmother, yes? Am I right, young man?”

  “Yes,” Clay whispered. He didn’t want to, but he was exhausted and resisting the old man proved to be more than he was up for.

  “You know what us Cutters did to other mech pilots, yes?” the Mister asked.

  “Yes,” Clay replied.

  “You also know what we did to their AIs, yes?” the Mister asked, an obvious smirk in his voice.

  “Yes,” Clay said. “You reprogrammed them. Took them as your own.”

  “That we did, that we did,” the Mister said.

  “We both know I can’t use your mech,” the Mister said. “It is locked down to your biometrics only. Sure, my techs can access systems, but if I put a pilot in there, he or she wouldn’t be able to walk more than a few steps before the systems seized and I ended up with a fifty-foot paperweight in my garage. Do you see my problem?”

  “You’ve removed the AI, so it can’t operate the mech,” Clay said. “So you need me to come move it for you. Get it out of your way. Then what?”

  “Then, depending on your attitude, we discuss your future employment,” the Mister said. “I have one of the best… Hold on, hold on. I havethe best mech pilot in all the Republics and Empires. Sure would be nice to have a man like you as her second. Just in case.”

  “A second?” Clay asked. Anger welled in him. How dare that old son of a bitch put him as second! “You actually think you have a pilot better than me? I highly doubt that, old man.”

  The Mister laughed long and loud. “Oh, young man, you are a treat! An absolute delight in such an uncivilized land! Oh, I cannot wait to meet you and shake your hand. Just the thought of the training you must have received makes me giddy. We shall talk long into the night, you and I. Long into the night, indeed.”

  “Clay? What are you thinking?” Nasta asked.

  “Yes,Clay, what are you thinking?” the Mister mocked.

  Clay didn’t reply to either of them. Nasta kept saying his name over and over while the Mister chuckled from the com. Finally, Clay checked his power systems and turned the mech around.

  “We’ll be there in about three hours,” Clay said. “I have a friend with me. I insist on no harm coming to her. If you can’t abide by that then we have no deal at all.”

  “We have no deal because I am not offering you one,” the Mister said. “I simply put choices in front of you. If you decide to come to me then it is completely of your own free will.”

  “How many of your machines do you want to lose, old man?” Clay snarled. “Ask yourself that and then tell me we have no deal in place.”

  The Mister took a deep breath, exaggerating it so that Clay could hear it clearly. The old man let it out slowly and the sound hissed and whistled over the com in the mech’s cockpit. Clay fumed.

  “No harm will come to your friend,” the Mister said finally. “If you agree to be my pilot’s second.”

  “No,” Clay said. “She is safe no matter what I agree to. When I get there, I want proof that Gibbons is intact and unharmed. Once I have that proof then we discuss whether or not I agree to be your lame pilot’s second. But, Nasta is safe. Everything else is between you and me.”

  “Nasta,” the Mister said quietly.
“Nasta. Nasta, Nasta, Nasta. I know that name as well. It will be good to see her pretty, undergrounder face. You two must have become close if you are willing to risk death to keep her safe.”

  “Deal or not?” Clay snapped.

  “Calm down, young man,” the Mister replied. “Deal. No harm will come to her, regardless of your decision.”

  “Good,” Clay said. “We are on the way.”

  He started to kill the com then hesitated.

  “Oh, old man?” Clay called.

  “Yes, young man?” the Mister replied.

  “Are you sure about this? Once I arrive, there is no going back,” Clay said. “You have a chance now to save yourself.”

  The Mister started up laughing again. Clay cut the com before he was finished.

  “I have been playing a game I didn’t know the rules to,” Nasta said, surprising Clay with the admittance.

  “It’s about time you figured that out,” Clay said. “It’s about goddamned time.”

  Twenty-Three

  “Power cells depleted. Power cells depleted. Power cells—”

  Clay flipped a switch and the automated voice was cut short.

  “Yeah, yeah, power cells depleted,” Clay said. “I get it.”

  “Do we have enough power to get to the Mister’s compound?” Nasta asked.

  She’d moved from the jump seat and sat with her back up against his pilot’s seat, her butt on the floor of the mech’s cockpit, right next to Clay’s leg. She absentmindedly leaned her head against Clay’s knee as he piloted the mech across a wreckage strewn stretch of open rangeland, the dawn light glinting off the warped and scarred metal. She yawned and closed her eyes for a second then snapped them back open.

  “We have enough power,” Clay said. “Pretty sure it’s dead ahead.”

  He ignored the dozens of techs that stared at the mech as it rumbled by and focused on what was ahead. They had stopped loading the mech wreckage onto massive flatbed haulers, but Clay could care less what they were or weren’t doing.

  It was the line of six mechs directly in front of him that had his full attention.

  Nasta stood and stretched then braced herself against the pilot’s seat as the mech stepped over an idling hauler and continued towards the line of battle mechs.

  “Not very welcoming,” Nasta said.

  “About the welcome I expected,” Clay said. “They’ll escort us into the main garage where an army of techs will descend on us and shut this machine down. They’ll lock the legs and put bolt restraints on the arms, just in case I’ve messed with the controls and added some remote capabilities.”

  “Have you?” Nasta asked.

  “When would I have done that?” Clay laughed. “You’ve been in here the whole time with me.”

  “Wasn’t sure,” Nasta admitted. “You are a more capable pilot than I had guessed before.”

  “I get that a lot,” Clay said. “Luckily, you get to live with your realization. Most folks don’t get it until right before I send a mech fist through their cockpit. Ask the Captain’s ghost.”

  “Hello, Clay,” a woman’s voice called over the com. “Welcome to the Mister’s ranch.”

  “It got a fancy name like other ranches do?” Clay asked.

  “No need,” the woman replied. “The Mister’s name is all it needs. If you will follow me inside the compound, I will escort you to the garage. There you will hand over that unworthy mech of yours and then be shown to the Mister for your meeting.”

  “And my friend?” Clay asked.

  “She is free to go or to stay,” the woman replied. “That is up to her. Just know that if she stays then she will be expected to show the same respect due the Mister as we all show. There will be no special treatment. For her or for you.”

  “No surprises there,” Clay said. “Lead the way, pilot…?”

  “Bunting,” Bunting replied. “Magdalena Bunting. I am the Mister’s champion. You would do well to remember that. I do not suffer fools and I abhor mech pilot egos. Check yours at the door when we enter the garage and we’ll get along fine. Give me any grief and I don’t care what the Mister has promised you, I will teach you about what happens to fools on this ranch.”

  “Been on plenty of ranches,” Clay said. “And suffered my own mess of fools. You’ll get no problems from me, Pilot Bunting.”

  “Good to hear, Clay,” Bunting replied. “Good to hear.”

  Clay looked at Nasta. Her eyes were focused and hard as she returned his gaze. No fear. A vast amount of caution, but no fear.

  “The second they give you the option, I want you in a roller and gone,” Clay said. “I can’t do what I need to do if you are being held as a hostage.”

  “What are you planning to do, Clay?” Nasta asked.

  “You’ve seen me in action,” Clay said and shrugged. “Do I need to paint you a picture?”

  Nasta turned her attention to the line of six mechs, one of which had shifted and was walking away from the others, back towards the small dot of buildings in the distance.

  “There are a lot more of them than you,” Nasta said. “And they have your mech. How will you defeat them? Or even get close to escaping?”

  She looked back at him and frowned.

  “Or are you going to do what the Mister wants? Is that it?” Nasta asked. “Are you going to give up and that’s why you want me gone? You got to play the hero earlier, but now you’ll play the coward and let the Mister have what he wants. You want me gone so I don’t witness that, is that it?”

  Clay shrugged.

  “Believe what you want,” Clay said. “But when it all happens, the Mister will use you as leverage against me.”

  “Will it work?” Nasta asked. She stepped directly in front of Clay, blocking his view. “Will it?”

  “Hey,” Clay snapped as he brought the mech to a halt. “You are going to have to move.”

  “Is there a problem, pilot?” Bunting asked over the com.

  “Be with you in a moment,” Clay replied. He switched the whole com system off and cocked his head. “Is there a problem, Nasta?”

  “Would I be sufficient leverage?” Nasta asked.

  “What does it matter?” Clay responded.

  “Just need to know where I stand,” Nasta said.

  “Right now you are standing in my goddamn way,” Clay said.

  “You know what I mean,” Nasta said. “You still owe me a life debt. That debt was to be repaid by you fighting for the comunistas.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Clay snapped. “Enough with the life debt crap! Right now I am trying to repay that by getting you away from this compound in one piece! Do you not see that?”

  “Then I’m staying,” Nasta said.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Clay said.

  “Unless you agree to fight in the tournament for the comunistas so the underground can establish new escape routes for freed slaves,” Nasta said. “You agree to that right now and I will leave. But I’ll be waiting for you at the mesa caves. You know where they are, right?”

  “I know where they are,” Clay said. “And fine, I agree. I already agreed before.”

  “Things have changed,” Nasta said.

  “Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” Clay mocked. “Now move the hell out of my way so we can get this crap over with.”

  Nasta stared at him for a few more seconds then moved out of the way. Clay got the mech moving again and switched the com system back on.

  “Issue resolved,” Clay said. “Lead the way, Pilot Bunting.”

  “Good,” Bunting replied. “Follow me.”

  Clay did just that and the mechs stomped through the open range until they came to the Mister’s compound. Bunting’s mech led the way, with the five others closed in behind Clay, making sure he didn’t change his mind at the last minute and try to wreak some havoc upon the buildings that filled the compound.

  “Garage is right there,” Bunting said, her mech raising its arm to indicate the obvio
us building to their left. “You first.”

  “Thank ya kindly, ma’am,” Clay replied. He walked the mech inside the garage and followed the directions of a tech that flagged him to a parking spot against the side wall. He turned the mech’s back to the wall.

  Once he was settled in, he powered down the mech and didn’t even flinch at the clanging and clacking as the leg locks and arm restraints were put into place. Clay unstrapped from the pilot’s seat and stood up. He stretched, winced at the immense amount of pain just that small movement produced, then tried to give Nasta a reassuring smile.

  “I got this, okay?” he said to her. “I just need you safely away from here. Please tell me you aren’t going to do something stupid.”

  “I won’t if you won’t,” she responded.

  “I won’t,” Clay said.

  There was a loud whirring and clunking outside the cockpit and they both turned to see a lift rising up in front of the mech. An old man with leg braces and crutches stood on the lift, flanked by two muscled attendants on either side of him. He gave Clay a short, sharp smile. The smile faded as he regarded Nasta.

  Clay took a deep breath and opened the cockpit hatch.

  “Mr. MacAulay,” the Mister said. “It is good to meet you.”

  “I guess you’re the Mister,” Clay said. “Or do you have another name you go by?”

  “The Mister is how I am known and how you may address me,” the Mister replied, giving Clay a small bow of his head. Then he looked at Nasta and sneered. “You may not address me, underground scum. You thwart the ways of the Republics and Empires. You are a gnat that should be smashed right here and now.”

  Clay stiffened and his hand twitched in the direction of his revolver. The two attendants stiffened as well and produced short-barreled scatter guns seemingly from thin air.

  “I have made you a promise, Mr. MacAulay,” the Mister said. “Your friend is safe if she leaves right now.”

  “Nasta,” Clay said. It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t an order. It was a simple statement of her name.

  “I know,” Nasta said, her eyes looking the attendants over. “I’ll leave.”

  “Good,” the Mister said. “Now, it is treacherous out there, so I can offer a roller and driver to take you back to your secret lair. Would that work for you?”