by Bear Ross
“Run... fire... hammer...” she said before the darkness consumed her.
“Acknowledged, Pilot,” NoName said. “Executing.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
SIXTH GATE ZONE
BERVA PROXIMA ARENA
The shame and anger of Kyuzo’s interaction with Mikralos still stung. He had to calm himself, to focus on the long-range goal of freeing himself from the grasp of the Gatekeepers. Their moving of the goalposts was not unexpected, but infuriating, nonetheless.
Storming from the blob’s observation bubble, he found himself in the back hallways of the arena's infrastructure. Though he should have headed home, the roars of the crowd in the arena’s stands brought him to a secluded area of the shielded bleachers, where there were no Nine guards about, and only a sparse number of spectators.
The match, while awkward at times because of the baby-shields, had been interesting. Kyuzo knew Flevver Sixthson by reputation, and was surprised the bellicose little man had lasted as long as he did before punching his eject button. Melino’s rescue by Jessica Kramer, by way of hammer-strike, was another point of amusement.
She’s a thug, rough and unprofessional. But, she’s unpredictable, and that makes her dangerous, Kyuzo thought.
Now, the match had dwindled to the Wardancer, Kierra, and Kramer, his upcoming opponent. Kierra fought true to form, but the converted cargo mech was holding its own, despite the golden android’s speed and skill.
The knee spikes were a nice touch, though. Very nasty. Masamune pondered about installing similar units on his own armored mech. He would have to see how the Wardancer managed to punch through the inner shields so easily. These things were known to happen, but still, it bore more investigating.
Now, the Kramer mech was under its own control, but its moves and tactics were far superior to anything he had seen or heard of before. The autonomous lights were on, but the machine tore Kierra apart like a seasoned pro. Interesting… ah, here’s the end, he thought.
There was no fitting music playing from the Wardancer's speakers. There was no belaboring the killing blow to appeal to the bloodlust of the crowd. The final movement was surgical, and finished in the blink of an eye.
Kierra’s mech charged, trying a spinning roundhouse that concealed a last-minute stab with her remaining plasma blade. Kramer’s mech caught her in mid-maneuver, deflecting the attack while slamming the charging mech to its knees.
Here it comes. Beautiful.
The brutal hammer came up... and smashed down through an upthrust arm and blade, making a mockery of it, like it wasn't even there. The reversed blade movement severed the pink mech’s remaining hand and sword at the wrist, sending it flying.
The energized weapon reversed, and the pointed tip of the shaft speared through the lower cockpit of the pink mech. Before the audience could react, the match was over with a shudder and a twist.
In a growing swell, the crowd began to boo. Pandemonium reigned in the stands and spectators around him shouted to each other. Some defended her, others voiced their opinions that the Kramer girl had cheated, somehow, by using some unknown, advanced battle AI.
“The shields shoulda stopped that gate-damned hammer! Human musta cheated!” one being cried, spilling his meal of blood-grubs in his outrage.
“Blasted knee spikes of yon Wardancer were likewise undeclared advantage!” another sentient yelled back, pointing its claws in an accusatory manner at the first being.
The two beings tried to make their way to each other, to come to grips. Their clumsy efforts caused a tumult among the audience members around them. Kyuzo ignored them, focusing instead on the aftermath happening on the arena floor.
Kramer’s victorious orange and blue mech powered down, kneeling in a controlled topple. Its cockpit dropped and lurched to ground level as the crashbots raced in from the sides of the arena.
The sports network drone cameras circled, their flashing cameras drinking in the individual scenes of mayhem. Images flashed up on the large displays all around Berva Proxima’s pockmarked interior.
Masamune saw the Wardancer’s mech was a total loss, run through by the vicious finishing blow. The hammer’s final skewering attack severed Kierra’s android legs. The plasma cauterized most of the wounds, leaving the beautiful android charred and legless. Golden, honey-like fluids poured from where the plasma hadn’t sealed the damage. Bio-mechanic repairbots worked furiously to staunch the flow. It was ugly, but Kyuzo had seen the elite warrior femdroids survive worse.
Well, he thought, a dark smile crossing his face, The K’Narr built those Wardancers to take a pounding...
More poignant than Kierra’s situation was the image of Jessica Kramer, her skin now gray from blood loss, her eyes rolled back. Despite her reputation for bravado, here she was on display for all of Junctionworld, saved at the last minute by her mysteriously-controlled machine.
The arena’s crowd gave tepid cheers as both critically-wounded pilots were extracted from their mechs.
A draw. Not bad. Masamune Kyuzo pulled back from the bleachers, making his way down a stadium corridor, back to the back hallways of Berva Proxima. His eyes narrowed in satisfaction, his original hand clenched around his artificial fist in contemplation.
This rookie, Kramer, might not be a worthy challenge, but her mech's computer had spirit. This might be a good match, yet.
Chapter Twenty-Five
SIXTH GATE ZONE
VERVOR’S FABRICATION WORKS
Jessica Kramer was furious as she paced back and forth in front of the assembled Myoshans of Vervor's shop staff. The dozen Myoshan crew members kept their dual pairs of eyes rigid and fixed, looking both directly ahead and behind. Myoshans, as a rule, maintained a military rigor in their behavior, and showed no waver in the face of the tall, obnoxious mammal currently bawling them out.
Kitos, the Niff technician responsible for grafting the old Judah command module into her mech, NoName, avoided looking at her. He used one pair of arms to shield his large, golden eyes from her view. The other pair of arms he held crossed in front of his blue, furry body.
Prath, her Ascended crew chief, also held a weary hand over his eyes. Master Vervor, the owner of the shop, chuckled at the sight of her tirade. As her rant increased in volume, the Myoshan crossed his arms, sticking his needle teeth out in firm defiance.
“Could somebody, anybody, please explain to me why my gate-damned mech went rogue?” Jessica shouted. “Why it decided to win my premier big-time match without me? Anyone? No?” She held a wrench, stabbing it in the assembled crew's direction, then threw it hard against the leg of her mech. It bounced with a clang through the silent, dread-filled shop.
Jessica hobbled back and forth on a custom healing cast. The printed arrangement around her cut and swollen limb looked like a plastic combination of honeycomb and spiderweb. The deep lacerations were healing, but the Wardancer's spikes had almost cost her a leg.
“You and your mech won the match, pilot,” Master Vervor said, “even if you only scored a couple Disabled points.”
“The damage is extensive, yes,” the Myoshan shop owner continued, “to both you and your machine, but you won. What more do you want? You're being irrational, and I and my crew don't have to put up with your tantrums. You lot, get back to it. We have someone showing up this afternoon, another big, custom job.”
Master Vervor dismissed his fellow Myoshans and they turned back to tackle the heavy work of putting NoName back into fighting shape. The short shopkeeper walked back to his office, shutting the door as the sound of work returned to the facility.
Kitos tried to join them, but stopped when Jessica speared an accusatory finger at him.
“Not you!” she said, making the technician freeze in his tracks. “You sit your blue butt down! I want answers, Niff!”
“Little human, screaming is not going to make this better,” Prath said, trying to calm her down. “You've made your point, and we have a multitude of repairs to figure out. I think
that's enough—”
“Don't 'little human,' me, Prath,” Jessica said, whirling towards the Ascended. “This drippy dungbag sent me out into the arena with an Arkathan computer that suddenly, magically came online the same time the match started, and started overriding my controls in the middle of a four-way fight. I was up against a Wardancer, out there, for Gates's sake! It even gave my hammer away! Just opened up its hand, and gave it away, like a gate-damned bouquet of flowers, ape. How did he not know? I thought you were the expert, Kitos?” Kitos cowered, his ears folded flat, one set of arms over his head, the other wrapped around his body.
“I-I tried to graft command module from the damaged unit into the current computer,” Kitos said, cringing. “Preliminary function tests were nominal. Master Prath said so!”
“The Judah module was self-healing,” Prath said. “Most Arkathan circuitry is. It must have grown past the junction grafts. Again, that's enough, Jessica.”
“Yes,” Kitos said, agreeing feverishly. “Arkathan circuits can self-heal. They must have been still re-making pathways after the booth tests. I-I not know the extent of—”
“I don't want to hear any more excuses, you slime-squirter!” Jessica said, her volume high and full of menace.
“I-I thought Pilot Kramer wanted answers—” Kitos said.
“I almost died out there, Niff!” Jessica said, turning red. “The damn controls weren't responding. Is Mikralos paying you to help kill me, too, or something?”
“I said, I. Think. That's. Enough.'” Prath's eyes were hard, no longer covered due to his embarrassment at Jessica's outburst. The stern edge in his voice shut Kramer up in mid-rant. Prath's long fingers reached out to steady the Niff's repetitive rocking in his seat.
“Kitos,” Prath said, a firm, soothing tone in his voice, “please take the Judah module, the NoName control computer, and the adapters, and set them up on the test bench. We will join you shortly.” The blue ball of tension unwound, and the Niff gathered the components and left. Prath turned to the seething human pilot.
“You... you are really starting to test the limits of my good nature, Pilot Kramer,” Prath said, his patience at an end. “Take your flask, or wherever else you're hiding your booze, and leave the shop. Wait for me at the bar on the corner. I will be along, shortly, once I have calmed down Kitos and apologized to Master Vervor for your behavior. We are going to have that talk.”
Jessica's brow furrowed in confusion and she took a short step back.
“You're... telling me to go to the bar? Even though—”
“Ah, yes, even though,” Prath said, interrupting her, “Even though I told you not to drink anymore? Even though I told you it would ruin your focus and endanger you in the arena? I think we both know how good you are at listening to my suggestions. You have a new souvenir to show for it, after all.” He motioned to her cast.
“I wasn't drunk, Prath,” Jessica said. “It was just a quick belt, and it was Dad's old flask. It was just, like, a good luck thing. It's no big deal.”
“'No big deal' ended up with you comatose and nearly dead in front of thousands,” the tall, orange ape said, his lips pulling back from his fangs and dark gums. “In addition, you gave away the surprise advantage of your onboard Arkathan computer! I hope it was the booze that let you allow a Wardancer in that close, where they are most dangerous. She tore you and your mech to shreds, in case you didn't notice. Not to mention, you should have closed in with your first opponent, the whip-sword pilot. Maintaining your distance only let Melino rip you pieces at his leisure. If you had more than a dozen matches under your belt, you'd have known that! So, in summary, I sincerely do hope you were drunk, because if you were sober, I can only think that it was a result of pure incompetence, pilot.”
He was shocked at his own volume and display of anger. Prath held his hand to the side of his head and hid his fangs.
“Now, if you'll excuse me,” Prath said, “I must look after Kitos and the diagnostics. Go to the bar, like I asked. I will come for you later.”
“Fine,” Jessica said. She stormed off, as best she could on a bum leg, out of the shop. She hit the main entrance door's exit button at the maximum extent of her wounded stride. It didn't release, and she bumped face-first into the thick plastic. The Myoshans watching her through their rear sets of eyes all had to suppress fang-clicks of laughter.
“Vervor! Your door! What's the void's wrong with this thing? Let me out of here,” she yelled at the establishment's proprietor, shaking the unresponsive handle while slamming the button again.
The Myoshan proprietor emerged from his small office door carrying a remote control. He pressed the button, and a buzzer signaled the door's release.
“Security measure,” Master Vervor said, a growl in his voice. “I'd rather not have a repeat of the Headhunter's last unscheduled visit. Besides, you've made enemies of the Wardancers, and I don't need any vengeance oaths being fulfilled on my shop floor. Oh, and mind the gentlebeing coming in, too. He has an appointment.”
Jessica Kramer turned to the unlocked door's open frame to see it now occupied. Her eyes went wide with recognition, sending her hand to her pistol's grip. The human male produced something from between his outstretched prosthetic fingers.
“Mech Pilot Jessica Kramer, I am Masamune Kyuzo. My card.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
SIXTH GATE ZONE
VERVOR'S FABRICATION WORKS
Masamune Kyuzo was angry. Angry at Mikralos for forcing him to seek the services of this outside shop when he had his own fabrication capabilities. Angry at having to do unnecessary modifications to his mech. Angry for being manipulated and helpless in the face of the Gatekeepers’ contract and Old Code.
He was nowhere near as angry, however, as the human he was now facing in the shop's doorway. Jessica Kramer pulled the door open with a livid fury that doubled when she recognized him. He remained stone-faced upon meeting her in person. Although his first instinct was to reach for one of his pistols, his honor demanded he offer his outstretched business card, first.
“You... you octorat-faced bastard,” Kramer said, spitting at his feet. “I can tell you where to stick that card. I don't have a gate-damned thing to say to you.”
He continued to hold the card out to her. It seemed to infuriate her more.
“I am not surprised at your reaction, Pilot Kramer,” Kyuzo said, “but I must admit, I am disappointed. I hoped we could meet as professionals outside of the arena, as fellow gladiators, since we're both being forced to use Vervor's services.”
“'Professionals?' 'Fellow gladiators?'” Jessica said, seething. “What the void is this, some pre-match head game? Or did you come to gloat? When's the last time you saw what's left of the family mech, by the way, from your match with my brother? We've got most of the parts in the back bay, you know, including the cockpit.”
Master Vervor's head poked through the door, besides Jessica's waist, evaluating the situation.
“Yes, the incident from many years ago,” Kyuzo said, his arms tucked behind him. “Your brother's death was not my proudest moment.”
“Gee, I really hope that's not an excuse or an apology, 'Desecrator.'” Kramer said.
“Pilot Kramer, you were just leaving,” Vervor said, trying to wedge between the two taller humans. “Please do so, now, and stop making a nuisance of yourself to my next appointment. I sincerely hope she isn't bothering you, Master Pilot Masamune.”
“Thank you, Master Vervor, but it is no bother,” he said, turning to her. “I'm addressing my fellow pilot. It's not an excuse or apology, Pilot Kramer, nor do I owe you one. Your brother died in the arena at my hand, yes, but it was an honorable death.”
“Honor? I've only had a few years of hypno-surge history from my Dad's homeworld,” Jessica said, fury in her words, “but you're no Fourth Gate samurai, honor-bound by a higher purpose, Masamune. You're just an assassin on a string, just a... a puppet of the blobs. What do the Gatekeepers have on you, that they'
re sending you out for my head?”
Masamune Kyuzo arched an eyebrow, the slight smirk now gone from his face.
“Pilot Kramer!” Vervor said, trying to push Kramer away with his small, scaled arms. She did not budge, and continued to talk above him. “You are out of line, addressing the Master Pilot in such a manner!”
“I know you're probably not used to hearing this, but this isn't all about you, Kramer,” Kyuzo said. “No, I'm not Samurai. On my world, they died out six hundred years before I was born. I fight by this place's Old Code, though, for my own reasons. Despite what you may have heard, recently, there is no shame in how I conduct myself in the arena. Some of us have more at stake than... than just finding excuses for a fallen family member's dismal flash-and-crash.” Masamune’s prosthetic hand curled into a fist. The underside of his elbow ran over the grip of one of his holstered pistols, unsnapping its release.
“Ooh, cute remark, there, patchwork pilot,” Jessica said. Her constant sarcasm was becoming tiresome to Kyuzo. “I guess if I screwed up as bad as you did a few years ago, I would be wearing metal parts, too. Hey, how did that whole scandal thing work out with Ferro Fortress, anyway? Didn't your sponsors cut you loose, floater? Is that what this is? You just trying to pay the bills, trying to keep your numbers covered?” Masamune's expression turned from cold and formal to hard and mean.
“You really don't know what—”
“Outrageous, Kramer! Stifle!” Vervor said, indignant at Kramer’s accusations. “I need your crew chief up here to put a muzzle on you, Pilot. Never in all my days have I heard such disrespect, such insolence. I will be right back with her ape, Master Masamune.” The Myoshan ducked back inside.
“Listen, I'm sure you're a wonderful guy outside of the arena,” Kramer said, changing her tone to sickly sweet, “and not the sicko, thrill-killer, errand boy of the Gatekeepers that everyone plays you up to be. Maybe... maybe it's me who's really got things sideways, here.”