Mech Wars: The Complete Series

by Scott Bartlett

  The mech turned to track Jake’s path, and both cannons melded into one. An enormous buildup of energy began to take shape inside them, and Jake sensed that if that hit him, he would likely be vaporized.

  He retracted the bayonets so that they wouldn’t interfere as he wrenched his heavy machine gun from his back and fired round after round directly into the cannon.

  The thing exploded with the energy backlash, the mech’s hands once again becoming shattered stumps, though they quickly started to reform once more.

  Not this time.

  Jake engaged his thrusters at full power, hurtling toward the mech as it was busy healing itself. He extended both bayonets, and thrusting them forward, he impaled the alien mech straight through the center of its torso.

  Even that didn’t seem to slow it. It struggled against Jake’s blades just as vigorously, using its truncated arms to beat at him.

  With a titanic effort that made the dream flash scarlet more frenetically than it ever had, Jake pushed both bayonets apart from each other, widening the wound he’d made inside his enemy’s chest cavity.

  That done, he withdrew both blades, retracted them inside their sheaths, and let a grenade tumble out of one of his launchers. He seized the explosive from where it floated in space, and then he jammed it straight inside the alien mech’s torso.

  Rocketing away, he watched as his enemy pawed frantically at the gaping hole, trying to dislodge the grenade.

  Unfortunately for it, its digits hadn’t quite reformed yet.

  As the grenade exploded, Jake helped it along by firing both his autocannons at full bore once again.

  The flash was brief, but the damage dramatic—possibly irreparable. So much for recovering this thing for study. The mech was completely laid open, sheared almost in two by the blast.

  Bronson appeared before him, his face scarlet, sweat dampening his forehead. “Good job. Now, I’ve lost almost two squads to these robotic killers. I can’t afford for any more to get inside, Price.”

  “I’m on it,” Jake growled. He grabbed his heavy machine gun from where he’d left it floating in space, and then he rocketed toward the destroyer, neutralizing robot after robot still swarming across the destroyer’s hull.

  After he took out his twelfth, the rest of the robots snapped their shield-like limbs downward against the ship, launching as one into space.

  I guess they had enough.

  “Sir, I did—”

  “Not quite,” Bronson said, appearing before him. “Behind you!”

  Jake turned in time for the reformed alien mech to slam into him, driving him back toward the destroyer once more.

  I can’t believe it.

  He managed to get his hand down to the EMP device clipped to the waist of his mech, and he activated it.

  Both mechs crashed into the Javelin, becoming lodged in her ravaged metal hull. Paralyzed, Jake waited, pinned to the destroyer until Bronson sent someone to collect him.

  It took the better part of a minute for Bronson to appear before him again, floating in space, wearing a strange expression.

  “Price…how are you holding up?”

  Jake stared at the captain, feeling as hollow as a mech without a pilot. The memory of the Whale disintegrating in an anticlimactic flash of light still stood out prominently in his mind. He expected it would for a long time.

  Dad…

  Jake had never truly appreciated Peter Price, and everything he’d done for him. He’d always assumed his father had been exaggerating, when it came to the horrors of war. The things you had to do, the things you had to witness.

  Now, his father had proved his own point, in the harshest way possible.

  “Where are those things headed?” Jake said, his voice devoid of emotion.

  “Looks like they’re on a course to intercept Eresos,” Bronson said, and he clearly wasn’t happy with about it. His tone carried a serious edge.

  “Where did they come from? They looked like the same one my…” His voice hitched, and then he forced himself to say it: “The one my father dug up.”

  A third voice entered the conversation, then. “My theory is, after it escaped the comet where I found it, it must have gone to dig up its mates from other comets, to activate them.”

  It was Peter Price. He had appeared in front of Jake, alongside Bronson.

  Jake looked from Peter to Bronson and back again. He shook his head to clear it, but his father remained.

  “How…how are you here?” he asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Peter said.

  Then, Jake recognized Bronson’s strange expression for what it was. Guilt.

  “I did that,” Bronson said. He hesitated, then spoke all in a rush: “I manipulated your lucid dream to simulate your father dying.”

  Peter stared at Bronson, looking aghast, and Jake did too, though the others couldn’t see the expression he wore. If Bronson could have seen it, he would have felt very lucky that Jake was paralyzed from the EMP.

  Because Jake felt like taking apart the man’s warship, piece by piece.

  “You monster,” he managed at last, from inside his immobile mech. “You bastard.”

  “I’m sorry, Jake,” Bronson said. “I had no choice.”

  But Jake had no more words for the man. He waited for them to release him from his metal prison, and he mulled over what he would do next.

  Chapter 53

  Subsumed

  Yes.

  The way he bonded with the whispers, now…it reminded him of how he’d once bonded with his fellow Quatro. The way he’d shared in their fortune and misfortune, in their happiness and grief. All of the Quatro bound up together, as one drift, all progressing in the same direction.

  Those days were past. Wound saw them for what they really were: an illusion.

  And just look at the evidence.

  The way even the Quatro in battle suits had fallen to the humans…that had been the universe administering justice to them, for their multifarious shortcomings.

  There’s only one Quatro I care for, anymore.

  Wound did not even want to consider the four Quatro in battle suits who had fled and not returned. They were not worthy of having any thought devoted to them at all.

  I do not care. Wound was digging toward the only Quatro he ever wanted to associate with again. They still had her inside the walls of Ingress; he was sure of it. The whispers had told him, and he believed everything those whispers said, because they would not lie to him. They were him.

  The humans could seal off this tunnel if they wanted. Or, if they realized he was still here, they could come in to face him and he would kill them.

  I will kill them all, for my mate. Even my own kind, if it comes to that.

  Wound scraped a metal paw over the tunnel floor, wanting to spit. They are my own kind no longer.

  He continued digging.

  There was one who worried him…who he was not confident he could defeat. The human who had taken control of the bipedal mech that resembled Wound’s own battle suit…the one who had led the four Quatro in battle suits away from the tunnel mouth…

  That would be a fight Wound might not emerge from victorious, or at all.

  Fear not that one, the whispers told him. He will join us once we are through with him. A human subject merely needs more time.

  “More time…” Wound muttered.

  More time. To join our drift. Our special drift. The true drift.

  “Yes…”

  The Quatro are used to considering themselves part of a larger whole, which is why you were…subsumed…so quickly.

  “Yes!” Wound roared, then stopped, suddenly afraid those aboveground would hear him.

  He continued digging. No more distractions. He’d keep working, keep digging, until he entered the city.

  Nothing would stop him. He would be with his mate, then.

  And together, they would slaughter everything that lived.

  Epilogue

  Pr
ogenitor

  Bronson set his implant to “Do Not Disturb” mode and entered his office, making sure to lock the hatch behind him.

  Only then did he permit himself to let loose the ragged sigh that had been waiting to come out ever since Jake Price had learned the truth of what Bronson had done.

  The boy had taken it harder than even Bronson had expected. His people were in the shuttle bay now, extracting Price so that they could repair and reactivate his MIMAS. Bronson did not look forward to facing the boy, and he had no intention of being around him while he was piloting his mech. Not for a while, anyway. Bronson didn’t actually think the boy would do anything to him, but he also wasn’t an idiot.

  A notification appeared in his implant’s HUD—one that made his breath catch in his throat.

  The Progenitors wanted to speak with him.

  Well, he had a few things to say to them, in light of what had just happened.

  He strode across his office, used his implant to open a panel concealed in the bulkhead, then slapped it with his palm. It registered his biometrics, causing the entire bulkhead to slide aside to reveal a robot that towered over Bronson by two feet.

  He made it back to his desk chair before the thing activated, stepping out from its enclosure to tower over Bronson’s desk. The machine was made of interwoven plates of silver- and gold-colored metal. It had no weapons, though Bronson felt sure there was power in those hands. Power enough to strangle him, probably, if it wanted.

  You can tell by the way it moves.

  But the robot wasn’t here to strangle him. It was a telepresence robot, which the Progenitors used to interact with Bronson without actually having to be here. There was never any lag in their communications, as if the creature controlling the robot was somewhere on Bronson’s ship, though he knew that was impossible.

  As always, the Progenitor waited for Bronson to speak first.

  “My sensor operator saw more of those little killers leaving other comets,” he said. “All headed toward Eresos. What do you know about them?”

  “They are ours,” the Progenitor said. Its voice was baritone, though every word seemed to individually echo, or maybe stutter was the right word. Bronson wondered whether that was what the alien actually sounded like. Probably, the robot altered the controller’s voice. For some reason, Bronson got the sense that it didn’t want him to know anything about its actual appearance.

  “Yours?” Bronson said. “They’re under your control, then?”

  “They are under the control of the directives with which we installed them. We left them behind, for the function you are about to witness them perform.”

  “They seem to be attacking Eresos,” Bronson said, anger creeping into his voice.

  “That is correct.”

  “What the hell, then!” Bronson yelled, jumping up from his seat, hands curled at his sides. “You assured me human settlements would only be threatened enough to drive contracts, not to endanger their very existence! The Quatro have already unwittingly created a boom for Darkstream. There’s no need to send these robots!”

  The Progenitor made its own fist, using it to lean on the desk and lower its head closer to Bronson’s. “Have your profits not steadily risen? Has our arrangement not proved incredibly lucrative to you? Have you not built your entire society on the yield of our machines?”

  “Well, yes…”

  “Then you will continue to conduct wholesale surveillance of your population, and you will continue to give the data to us, wholly unfiltered. I advise you review the incredible dividends you are reaping as a direct result of our relationship, at such minimal cost to you.”

  Bronson’s hands shook with impotent rage. “Do I have your assurance that human settlements will be left intact?”

  “I assure you that our arrangement has not changed.”

  “Very well,” Bronson spat.

  Apparently finished with their conversation, the Progenitor returned to its alcove, which closed behind it.

  Bronson sat back down at his desk, covering his face with his hands.

  MELTDOWN

  Mech Wars: Book 3

  © Scott Bartlett 2017

  Cover art by Tom Edwards (tomedwardsdesign.com)

  This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0

  This novel is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places, and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  All Combat Units

  Ash stared at Chief Roach, and she realized that if she hadn’t been inside her battered MIMAS mech, her mouth would have been hanging open.

  “So, you…dissolved? You let that thing eat you?”

  Roach stepped forward, his alien mech towering over the human-made MIMAS mechs. Except, Ash supposed it was no longer correct to think of it as “Roach’s mech.” If what he’d just said was true, the mech was Roach, in every sense.

  “I wouldn’t phrase it that way, exactly,” he said. “The mech gave up as much as I did, Sweeney. It’s bonded to me, now, permanently. It can’t accept anyone else inside it, and it can never act on its own without me. If it tries to do something I don’t like, I can veto that act, and vice versa.”

  “Wait, it can act on its own?”

  Ash looked around at the other members of Oneiri Team—what members were present, anyway. Tommy was dead, Jake was gone, and Roach…

  Is Roach even a member of Oneiri anymore? Ash wondered. That remained to be seen.

  The other MIMAS mechs stood stock-still, as though unsure what to make of Roach, now, and unsure how to treat him. If Ash could have seen their expressions, she would have bet they’d feature a potent blend of shock, fear, and maybe even some revulsion.

  She was certainly experiencing all of that herself. In equal measure.

  Turning back to Roach, she said, “So, if you don’t plan to lead us anymore, what do you plan on doing?”

  Even though Roach was clearly able to have his metal body take virtually any shape, he’d kept all his weaponry active after the battle, and the mech bristled with it. It lent him a fearsome air. “I intend to continue doing exactly what I came down here to do—kill Quatro, along with anyone who tries to stop me from doing that. So don’t get in my way.”

  Chief Roach—Just Roach, now, she reflected—turned as if to leave them, maybe to track down the remaining quads.

  At that moment, Captain Arkady Black returned from his inspection of the surviving soldiers of the Winged Dragons. That was the Darkstream reserve battalion that had helped Oneiri Team wage the battle that had ended mere moments ago—against Quatro, Red Company mercenaries, and Quatro piloting quads.

  “If that’s the way it is, so be it, Roach,” Black said. “Although, you haven’t completed your current contract with Darkstream, and I expect the board of directors will have something to say about your defection.”

  Unexpectedly, Roach’s laughter boomed across the plains of Eresos. “I no longer pay attention to the whimpering of corporate executives. They can come and whine at me all they like—I won’t heed it. If they think they have the power to reprimand me with anything beyond their inane babble, I invite them to try.”

  Black grunted. “Our aims align, at the moment, so I doubt they’ll feel moved to put you down just yet. But if you’re truly the rabid dog I suspect you’ve become, then that day will come. I hope you know that.”

  “Again...I invite it.”

  “Uh huh. Well, your business is your own. Before you leave, I hope you have enough humanity left in you to lend us your help in closing the tunnel the quads dug into Ingress. Surely you understand the danger of leaving it open—the danger to innocent people. We can close it much faster with your help.”

  For a long moment, Roach’s midnight mech stood inert, seeming to stare at B
lack. Unless Ash missed her guess, Roach was glaring at the captain, and for a moment she expected him to refuse to lend his aid.

  But she was wrong. “Very well,” Roach said at last. “Let’s make this quick.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Black said. “I’ll accompany you to the hilltop where the tunnel begins, though I’m sure I can’t keep up with a crowd of metal giants.”

  “On the contrary,” Roach said. With that, he picked up Captain Black with one hand, whose face darkened with the indignity.

  Roach’s shoulder morphed to form a sort of saddle, which he deposited the captain into. Metal straps snaked out from either side of him to wrap around Black’s legs and stomach, holding him fast.

  “Come,” Roach said, taking off across the terrain, toward the hill.

  Exchanging glances with Beth, Ash followed, and so did the rest of Oneiri.

  Paste, Ash thought. That’s the nickname I gave Beth.

  She’d given Marco one, too—Spirit. Surprisingly, no one had objected to the nicknames she’d doled out, even though she’d given Marco’s sarcastically, and Paste…

  Well, Paste is a serviceable nickname, I guess.

  Before they reached the hilltop, Marco—Spirit—started thinking out loud. “There were eight quads that we know of, right? It’s possible more came down in meteorites, but…”

  He glanced at Ash, who nodded. “That’s right, Marco. Eight, as far as we know.”

  “We took down one, and Chief Roach defeated two more. Before that, he chased off four. But that means there’s still one unaccounted for. Doesn’t it?”

  Ash stopped running, and the rest of Oneiri Team did too, all of them turning to face her.

  “Has anyone checked the tunnel since the battle?” she asked.

  At that moment, an alert appeared in her vision, dominating her HUD.

  It was from the Ingress garrison:

  “INGRESS IS UNDER ATTACK! ALL DARKSTREAM COMBAT UNITS GO TO THE CITY AT ONCE!”

  “Come on!” Ash yelled, turning back to run toward Ingress. The other MIMAS mechs followed.