Defiance

by Bear Ross

  “No, you did not sign up for anything, Pilot, you were bought,” Mikralos said, his tone even sharper. “Bought and paid for, to fight for us, and fight for us, you shall. You are an instrument, an extension of our will, and, on the lives of your children, you will perform as we demand. You will lance this last boil on the reputation of this arena, and you will cleanse the last Kramer-produced stain from the foundation of this society. Kramer is to be dispatched in the arena, and you will make it brutal, and you will make it something to remember. A message must be sent. Do you understand?”

  A live image of Masamune’s wife and children flashed up on one of the screens. His wife, Anora, nursed their boy with a spoonful of broth while their daughter played beside her with a toy mech. The view was from a hijacked camera from Masamune’s own interior security system. The threat was more than implied. Masamune drew a measured breath, sneered at the Nines’ weapons pointed at him from the doorway, and addressed the floating overlord.

  “Oh, I understand, all too well,” the mech pilot said. “You should understand this, too: there will come a day when accounts of all types will be settled, Honored Mikralos. This sad excuse for an arena, this dump, this whole system, this will all rain down on your head, someday, and I hope to be there when it happens.”

  Mikralos's running lights turned black and solid.

  “Your tantrum is noted, and we are less than amused,” the Gatekeeper said. “Were there not already other wheels in motion, human, we would gladly burn you down where you stand. Be mindful of that, Kyuzo, for your family's sake, before you engage in further outbursts.”

  “We were going to allow you to stay and watch the upcoming match with us, from our observation point,” Mikralos continued. “That invitation is now rescinded. We are done, here, Pilot, and you are expected at Master Vervor's fabrication facility.”

  “You are dismissed,” Mikralos said with the wave of a snake-like metal tentacle. The four-way match began in the arena below, the crowd’s cheers and roars reaching all the way up to the high vantage point.

  Masamune snorted, beaming contempt as best he could towards the overbeing, then stormed out of the room.

  “Get out of my way, you venting meat-bots, and fetch my pistols,” Kyuzo said, throwing his shoulder into one of the Nines as he passed between them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  SIXTH GATE ZONE

  BERVA PROXIMA ARENA

  Jessica was bored with the arena official’s pre-match safety lecture, and wanted another drink. Sighing, she adjusted the object in the front pocket of her jumpsuit. She avoided Prath’s persistent stare, and pretended to pay attention to the end of the briefing. She quickly lost interest in hearing the same old routine, and looked around at the other fighters gathered in the ready room.

  Two of the other mech pilots, an augmented human wearing far too much purple, and the other, a short, squat member of the High Thirdgate folk, stole occasional looks at her. The fourth pilot, a golden representative of the Wardancer android race, would not even acknowledge her existence, looking past and through her.

  Gate-damned Wardancers make me sick. Such snobs, Jessica thought.

  “Pilots, you have all been made aware of the arena arrangement and match rules,” the pit boss for Berva Proxima said. “Again, all close combat weapons are in play, and cockpit fields will be in effect.”

  “Yeah, if Sixthson can stay on the field, and not turn tail again,” the human in purple said, high-fiving his crew chief after the snide remark. The dwarf’s crew chief held him back as the stumpy, powerful humanoid tried to launch himself at the taller human.

  “You’ll find out, Melino, you ventin’ drug addict,” Flevver Sixthson answered.

  “Hey, better living through chemistry, spud,” Melino said, twisting the combat-drug intakes in his neck for effect.

  “I’m no spud, ya purple worm. We Thirdgate folk are short, like Myoshans, but I’m as primate as you. Better, even,” the seething little man said. Sixthson’s crew chief tried to keep the squat, powerful humanoid from going for the pistol on his belt.

  The Berva Proxima pit boss pulled out a large automatic pistol and aimed it at the ceiling. The room settled down.

  “Save it for the arena, fighters,” the pit boss said, re-holstering once he knew he had their attention. “Honored Mikralos expects greatness in the arena tonight. If there are no questions, then confer with your crew chiefs. You have five minutes. Take the transports to your mechs at their respective entry portals, and let's come out fighting.”

  Jessica Kramer stood up and turned to her Ascended friend and crew chief, Prath.

  “Did you see the size of that thing?” Jessica said to the large orange-and-brown sentient. “It was probably bigger than him.”

  “Indeed,” Prath mused. “A Partlow Arms Juggernaut. One does not see many, this side of the Third Gate Zone.”

  “Oh, I’ve gotta use the little human's room, real quick, Prath,” Jessica said, giving the primate an embarrassed grin. “Pre-match jitters and tiny bladder. Bad combo.”

  Prath scowled as she walked away to find biologically-compatible relief facilities. He saw her zip open her suit’s front pocket as she closed the door, reaching inside it for a rectangular object.

  When she emerged, Prath was there, filling the hatchway. Before she could protest, his primal strength locked her in his arms. He lifted Jessica by the elbows, bringing her face up to his with ease. He took a deep breath, bared his fangs at the result, and set her down abruptly.

  “Prath, what the void are you doing? I washed my face and hands,” she said, bringing her hand up to her face.

  “You're gargling with soap and water,” Prath said, “but it doesn't quite cover the smell of the booze. Pathetic, Kramer. You really do have a problem. How long have you been sneaking liquid intoxicants?”

  Jessica's face flushed, and she bared her teeth back.

  “What's it to you?” she snarled. “I have been putting up with getting pushed around and ordered about like some... some child, long enough, Prath. If I want a stiff belt before a match, I'll damn well have one.”

  “Hand it over,” Prath said, his long fingers outstretched.

  She pulled a flask, engraved with an ornamental six-sided star, from her front pocket.

  “No, Prath, it was Dad's,” she said, protesting, “and... and it's my good luck charm, gate-damn it.”

  She unscrewed the top and made a show of pouring out the dark red liquor inside.

  “There, it’s empty, see?” she said. “Problem solved.”

  He beckoned, still.

  “No. You can't have it,” Jessica said as she stormed off to the electric cart. “Besides, I have a match to fight. Now, get out of my way.”

  He didn't move. She had to go around his large frame. As she passed him, his hand shot out to hers.

  “Prath! What the—”

  He pulled her in close to him, one arm around her like a vise. Her face pressed into his technician's tool vest. His other hand alternated between drumming his fingers on her head and running them through her hair.

  “Gates envelop us, Kramer,” Prath said, trying to contemplate through his anger and disappointment. “What are we to do with you? The mind boggles at your hard-headedness. Just... just don't do anything stupid in the arena, little human. We're going to talk about this, later.”

  “What are you talking about, Prath, I don't even need... this is just… you know, you're not my fath—” Jessica sputtered.

  “No. Stop. Don't even say it,” Prath said. “Just go. Fight. For Our Freedom, And Yours.”

  Prath released her. Jessica stood there, stunned, trying to mentally kick herself into gear, to somehow lash out at the big Ascended, to distract from her shame of being caught. Prath was the only being who gave a damn about her in all of Junctionworld, but she wanted to rip into him, to show him how bad she hurt, and she couldn't even do that right. To top it off, Prath used her dad's old motto to drive the point home, which st
ung even more. Damn it!

  “Pilot Kramer, there's too much to say, and not enough time to say it,” Prath said, his eyes still sad as he gently pushed her away with his long arms. “Go. Now.”

  She looked back, trying to inflict some other type of verbal barb, then closed her mouth when nothing came to her lips. Fighting back tears of rage, and a bit of shame, she turned to the cart without saying another word.

  Jessica stewed on the short, bumpy ride to her starting gate. She pulled her helmet on, thumped it twice, thumped the empty flask over her heart twice, and climbed up her mech's armored legs to the open cockpit.

  “What the void's wrong with me?” she said to herself as NoName's systems checked off in front of her, its muted electronic tones ticking off with each component reporting ready to fight. The arena’s owner, Mikralos, perhaps by accident, more likely on purpose, assigned her to walk her mech through the same gate that Jered went through on his final match.

  The solid blast shields over her cockpit weren't going to be used in this four-way close-combat brawl, so she had a fine view of the gate's carvings and projectile strikes. She saw the small memorial relief bust of Jered's face in profile. She touched the interior of her cockpit glass trying to reach for it. Her moping mood turned to grim fury, and her knuckles turned white as she grasped the controls.

  “Never mind what's wrong with me, NoName,” she said. “It's too long a list. It's time to go get some.”

  The enhanced control computer's visual feedback lights swirled, showing it was processing.

  “Get some. Agreed, pilot,” a familiar robotic voice said from her console.

  Her eyes went wide at the unexpected sound. What the void?

  The cockpit’s mandatory force field shimmered around her as it engaged. The floodlights of the arena shone down on all four entry gates, bathing her and her fellow combatants' mechs in pools of light.

  The arena’s giant floating countdown display began ticking, mid-air holographic digits the size of mechs marching down to zero. The floodlights cut out just as rings of light around the edges of the stadium flashed, and the starting siren howled.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  SIXTH GATE ZONE

  BERVA PROXIMA ARENA

  “Did... did you just say something, NoName?” Jessica said, wide-eyed and startled. “Or... is that you, Judah?”

  Her hands pulled back from the control yokes in surprise, causing the mech to lurch and slow down. The cockpit force fields reduced her mech’s speed to a plod, the gyroscopic-like effect of the protective shields sapping the momentum from the gigantic machine.

  The three other pilots’ mechs emerged from their entrance gates to rousing applause. Each of the three opponents screamed in on their jets to their arena start points, though their movements were slurred and slowed by their own cockpit force fields. All three turned to face her, watching her and her mech take their sweet time arriving at the fourth glowing circle.

  “Identifier 'Judah' is not applicable to This Unit,” the speakers in her helmet said. “Excessive hybridization violates Arkathan circuitry purity protocols. ‘NoName’ will continue to suffice for familiarity purposes.”

  “You kinda sound like Judah,” Jessica said. “Well, only if someone performed a drunken lobotomy on him. Why the void is this just happening now?”

  “Prath!” She shouted into her communications link, calling for her crew chief. Jessica stabbed the microphone button off in disgust when the line buzzed back a harsh triple-tone of noncompliance. Comms between the pits and pilots were forbidden during matches once the horn sounded. She was now own her own, her only companion a freshly formatted battle computer.

  “Self-diagnostics and integration verification were ongoing after installation at Master Vervor's,” NoName's new voice said. “This Unit is still only 87% capable of full function. However, that diminished capacity exceeds prior performance by 338%, Pilot.”

  “Eighty-seven? Great. Just great,” Kramer said. “Your performance might be better, but your timing stinks. I'm going to skin that Niff tech who put you together for not warning me about this.”

  “Understood. There are a number of ways to approach the task of skinning a Niff. First—”

  “Gate damn it, NoName,” Jessica said, interrupting, “I've got three mechs waiting to bash my cockpit in, can't you see that? Get your head in the arena. Look, just shut up and help me fight. Give me some boost, but don't fire up the plasma lines to the hammer yet.”

  Kramer put a rubber mouth guard over her upper teeth and shook her head inside its helmet, trying to push away the effects of the alcohol that were now creeping up on her. Prath, that arrogant ape, trying to tell me not to have a quick sip before a match, she thought.

  She engaged her thrusters, arcing into the edge of her circular start pad. They couldn't start the four-way free-for-all until she entered her circle.

  Jessica hovered NoName at the edge of the ring of floor lights. She pointed the mech's huge bgdh-1 warhammer at the sinewy black, gold, and purple mech on her right, about one hundred yards away.

  “Melino, you're first, you juiced-up fop,” she said, engaging her exterior speakers.

  The chemically-augmented human's mech shivered in response to the challenge, its two segmented arms shaking and drooping with a mechanical jitter. The two appendages elongated into spiked, armored whips, tipped with vicious claws.

  Jessica had seen set-ups like this before, but never fought against them. The long, tentacle-like appendages brushed the arena floor, small golden claws flexing at the ends. A light mounted in each chunky segment blinked an angry violet, and vibrospikes emerged from the side of each module. The purple mech now bristled with blades.

  Melino raised his gloved hands from his controls, beckoning her to bring it on. He made a vulgar gesture, then strobed his cockpit lights. Nice effect, for a guy in a purple jumpsuit, Jessica thought, smirking.

  Jessica flared one last pulse on her mech's jets, and dropped into the engagement pad. The match began.

  The crowd roared as she and the purple mech flew at each other like a rocket-propelled magnet to steel. NoName issued a collision warning through her headphones, then highlighted an incoming metal whip-arm vectoring in at her. Damn, those things could stretch, she thought.

  She made a short shift as the distance closed, cursing because the force fields slowed down her maneuver. The long, spiked arm sailed by her mech's thigh, ripping into the armor. Taking the hit for a chance to get in close, Jessica brought her hammer up, then slammed the large weapon into the upper shoulder of the whip-mech. The Melino’s dilated eyes went even wider, his mouth agape, and she saw the heavy shock rattle him against his restraints.

  She shoved the enemy mech away with the top of the hammer, spinning it into the middle of the four circles. The crowd roared as the spike on the back of the weapon caught a piece of hull, tearing off a black panel from the purple mech. Melino, stunned, landed in a twisted jumble of his own armored arms.

  Jessica checked NoName's damage report from the thigh. Superficial. Good.

  Her opponent's mech came to its feet and squared off with her.

  NoName's summary reports on Melino told her that he was good with those whip-arms from a distance, but vulnerable close in. The newly-awakened computer plotted multiple attack paths on her cockpit interior to take advantage of the new strategy. Time to close the gap. But the damn force fields are making me clumsy as a burden-beast, she thought.

  “Pilot,” NoName spoke.

  “What?”

  “Data evaluation and proposal,” the computer said.

  “Now?” she asked, incredulous.

  “This Unit can increase the refraction rate of the interior cockpit fields,” NoName said. “Combined with counter-resonance—”

  “Bottom line it for me, damn it,” she said, talking over the computer’s droning info-dump. Melino’s mech braced to charge, and his jets flared. The menacing claws at the ends of the tentacle-like arms flexed.


  “—of the power output, the debilitating gyroscopic effect could be mitigated,” NoName said, in summary.

  “You can smooth out the bumps. Got it. So, do it,” Jessica snapped.

  Behind Melino’s oncoming mech, Jessica saw the match's two other combatants circling each other in a lethal coupling. One was a sleek, lethal mech which emulated the shape of its beautiful, snobby Wardancer pilot, Kierra. She had a pair of short plasma swords that Jessica envied. The other mech was a dilapidated, hodge-podge conglomeration of parts that made NoName look like a showroom model. That walking pile of scrap, piloted by Flevver Sixthson, the angry little High Thirdgater, looked to be armed with a pair of heavy, rusty claws.

  The Wardancer’s usual grace was disrupted by her cockpit shielding, and a combination of pirouette and double slash only managed to nick a piece of dented armor off of Flevver’s junkmech. As Kierra set up another blade attack, a crude motorized saw emerged from a hatch on the portly, trashcan-shaped mech’s cylindrical upper hull.

  The rusty buzzsaw bit into the upper arm of its sleeker white and pink target, sending a stream of sparks flying. Pivoting, the slim Wardancer mech answered by puncturing the dwarf pilot’s lower hull with her pair of short plasma blades. Sixthson tried to swing a heavy claw at the long legs of the Wardancer mech, but missed.

  Jessica's direct opponent, Melino, charged her, surrounded by a halo of rocket flame. She turned her attention from the other locked-up pair of fighters as the purple mech bore down on her.

  Another whip arm shot out at her and NoName. Before she could react, the interior and hull lights signaling autopilot control blinked on. NoName blocked the incoming attack with the shaft of her warhammer. The claws on the tip of the arm clamped on to her weapon, and she could feel herself being pulled forward, off-balance. Jessica pulled back hard on her control yokes, regaining her stance, as the auto lights blinked off.

  “NoName, what the void are you doing? Back off and let me fight!” Jessica said, slapping the console.