by George Ebey
At first, Helen had been against the idea. It’d felt too much like taking charity. But after considering the alternative, which was forgetting the whole thing and not going at all, she knew it was the only play she had. Besides, if Misty’s parents were in the habit of buying their daughter’s love, and it gave Helen a shot at getting out of this mess, who was she to argue with it?
In many ways, convincing her own parents to allow it had been the hardest part. Her dad also considered it a handout. And more than that, he wanted to be the one who acquired the Mars rover. It was as if this whole Mars thing was something he’d discovered on his own, like a treasure hunter sailing the Seven Seas on a quest to discover the lost city of gold. If someone else acquired the rover, it would belittle his achievement.
Helen often wondered if his stubborn sense of pride wasn’t the main reason for this endeavor in the first place. He made a decent living teaching geology, but wanted something better than that. He wanted his shot at braving a new frontier so that he could return home a conquering hero in his own mind. She found the whole thing unsettling. He’d never been like this before; ordinarily, he was a sensible and practical person. But this Mars opportunity had affected him somehow, like a Siren’s song luring him into a trap. He simply couldn’t see the risk he was taking … which left Helen determined to do what she could to mitigate that risk herself.
She eventually beseeched her mother, who managed to wear him down. She was equally perturbed with her mom for not questioning all of this more, but it seemed the rover’s promise of financial freedom had a grip on her as well. Mortgage paid off. A hefty savings account. Early retirement. Apparently, these coveted trappings of modern life were too big an incentive for the adult mind to pass up.
Even still, though, her mother didn’t bring the same kind of ego to it that her father did, and hadn’t seen the harm in letting Helen join her friend on what was sure to be a fun trip to a new city. She’d gone to Helen’s father with the thought, and had won the day.
Her dad eventually relented with a wave of his hand. “Fine,” he muttered. “If it’s that important, you can go.”
And that was the end of the discussion.
She got the impression that he didn’t believe she’d get far with her little game, which probably factored into his decision to let her go. He didn’t think much of her favorite pastime. To him, the virtual gaming scene was nothing but a frivolity, another useless digital drug designed to waste kids’ time and bilk parents out of their hard-earned money. He didn’t see all that went into it: the concentration, the planning, the skill, the strategy. As far as he was concerned, none of these things mattered.
Helen was determined to prove him wrong. And DEBBI was her chance.
Reaching down into the gate box, she took the bot out, turning it around in her hands and examining it for any flaws. But everything looked to be in order. It was a basic design—human torso, arms, and head on a wheeled base. Very similar to the Mars rovers themselves. She’d been so busy focusing on its functionality that she hadn’t given much thought to its appearance. She had managed to work a few features into the face, though—eyes, nose, lips. But for the most part, the whole thing had a cold, robotic look to it.
Actually, the simplicity was exactly what she wanted. Impartiality. Emotionlessness. The stone-hard look of a killing machine, like something out of one of those old sci-fi movies where the robots went crazy and started attacking people. It was all designed to give her a psychological edge, to shake up her opponents when they saw it coming at them on their vid-screens.
“Cute design.”
She turned to face the origin of the voice and found two people standing before her. She recognized them right away; she’d seen enough game replays and vid-interviews to be able to place them anywhere.
Daryl and Lyla Kioko. Her competition.
At first glance, they didn’t look particularly imposing: short, thin, and somewhat baby-faced, the two of them. They seemed to have the charming twin thing going on, with the same raven-black hair, the same facial tics, even the same preppy clothes. In fact, they could have just as easily been starring in a string of designer jeans ads as competing in a robot battle competition. But there was a look in their eyes—a shared link of intensity that left no doubt that they meant business.
In his hands, Daryl held what she could only conclude was their own battling robot—Iron Dragon. You couldn’t mistake it. Sleek and shiny, it even had the head of a dragon, its treacherous mouth agape, ready to breathe fire on any enemy who dared oppose it. Compared to her simple approach with DEBBI, this was next-level stuff, and she couldn’t help but think that his use of the word cute was meant as a jab rather than a compliment.
She placed DEBBI back in the gate and said, “Thank you,” trying her best to save face. She still didn’t care much about DEBBI’s appearance, but the fact that her competition was using it as a means to get a dig in didn’t sit well with her.
“Don’t mention it,” he said with a smug grin.
She didn’t know what was more unsettling—his air of carefree swagger or his sister’s cold aloofness. Lyla said nothing and gave nothing, simply watching the exchange with a neutral expression on her face.
Helen got the feeling that this was some kind of calculated strategy of theirs. Size up the competition. Maybe try to throw them off their game a little. A weird twin version of good cop, bad cop.
Fortunately for Helen, her very own partner in crime chose that moment to come to her aid.
“What’s this?” Misty asked, stepping out onto the arena stage. “A party? Why wasn’t I invited?”
Daryl looked her up and down for a moment before saying, “Oh, I’d be happy to invite you anywhere you’d like to go.”
Misty didn’t miss a beat. “No thanks,” she said. “I have more interesting things to do. Like watching them change the paper towels in the rest room.”
Unfazed, Daryl shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He strode over to his side of arena, placed Iron Dragon in its own start gate, and motioned for his sister to come along. Lyla gave them one last hard and unreadable stare before turning away.
“Good luck, ladies,” Daryl said as he led his sister off the stage. “Enjoy those paper towels.”
Helen watched them go, her hands clenched into fists the entire time. Now she was more determined than ever to win, not only for the grand prize, but for the chance to shove it right in Daryl Kioko’s arrogant face.
“Mist,” she said, referring to her friend’s name in that special, condensed way that only BFFs understood.
“Yeah, H?”
“Let’s gear up. We have a dragon to hunt.”
BACK IN HER operator’s chair, Helen placed her hand on the robot control pad and took a deep breath. This was it. No more simulations. No more practice bouts. No more runner-ups. This was the big match, the final round, the point of no return.
The vid-screen before her was blank, but the feed would go live once the countdown started.
Any second now.
Her headset firmly on, she spoke into the attached microphone. “You ready, Misty?”
“Oh, yeah,” the other girl said from her own operator’s station.
“How’s the volume?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Good,” Helen said. “And remember, the Gatling burns ammo fast. Be sure to check the levels and reload the second it drains to out.”
There was a pause for a moment.
Finally Misty said, “I got it, Helen. Worry about the laser rifle. I’ll worry about the Gatling gun.”
There was a touch of annoyance in her voice, and for a second, Helen felt bad about it. She didn’t want to bring up the near miss from the last match. But this was important. The Kioko twins were no joke, and she needed Misty to focus hard if they were going to have a prayer of winning this thing. As far as she was concerned, this wasn’t a game anymore. This was serious. Her entire future might hinge on the next few minu
tes. If she had to be a little curt with her friend to make that clear, so be it.
Suddenly, the vid-screen blazed with the number 10, followed closely by a 9...
The countdown had begun. No more time for last-minute prep or talks or planning.
This was it. Time to rock and roll.
WHEN DEBBI BURST out of the gate, it found itself smack dab in the middle of a jagged urban wasteland. Crumbled buildings. Flipped cars. It had the look of a city that had been through World War III—like New York after it’d been leveled by the Avengers for the umpteenth time.
Somewhere out there, amidst the rubble or down some dark alley, the Iron Dragon waited—among other things. Helen’s strategy was simple. They needed to get to it before it got to them. The longer they waited, the greater the chance the drones would show up and wear their health-meter down to a nub.
DEBBI started steadily forward, keeping both weapons at the ready. Around the bot, the world was a scattering of enemy hiding places. An attack could come at any moment, Helen knew. But that didn’t slow her momentum one bit, and she kept her eyes fixed on the vid-screen, ready for whatever came next.
The first drone popped up a second later. This time, it came in the form of a laser-shooting eyeball that walked on three gangly legs. The crazy thing resembled one of those tri-podded Martian invaders out of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds. It was like an ever-seeing box of death, walking around on spidery limbs that upped the creep factor to skin-crawling portions. It seemed the designers at MARSCORP had a sense of humor.
Cute.
The Gatling’s turret quickly rotated, followed by an armada of brilliant laser beams that slammed into the thing’s dead eye, detonating it into a plum of simulated smoke and sparkles.
That was easy. The next part wouldn’t be.
All around, the sound of shifting debris rose up like an eerie symphony, and Helen knew exactly what that meant. The explosion had drawn attention. More drones were on their way, pushing though the piles of junk to get to them. She had no idea how many there might be, but she knew one thing: They had to fight through them if they were going to get to Iron Dragon and have a shot at winning this thing.
DEBBI stood fast, both weapons raised. There was a moment of nothing.
And then…
Suddenly, the drones converged from all directions in a flurry of action unlike anything she’d ever seen before. They were climbing spiderlike down the walls, zooming in from the air, and even running straight at the bot from the alleys ahead. It was as if a large hand made out of scurrying legs and gaping eyes was reaching out to crush them in its deadly grip.
She had just enough time to raise the weapons up before they pounced down on DEBBI, their laser-eyes firing away.
THE GATLING AND the laser rifle went off in unison, Helen doing her best to aim and fire while Misty just unloaded. All around, drones burst into simulated flames before disappearing entirely. But for every one they hit, another jumped up and took its place, zapping DEBBI with stunning accuracy.
A quick glance at DEBBI’s health-meter, and Helen’s heart sank. This was an all or nothing fight with no way to reclaim health points once they were lost.
And DEBBI’s health was dwindling rapidly. Eighty percent ... seventy-five... At this rate, they’d be done for in a matter of minutes.
I’ve got to get us out of here.
Ignoring the laser rifle for a moment, she shoved onto the controls and began making adjustments, leaving Misty to contend with the drones on her own as Helen quickly directed the robot to the left, where she thought there might be some sort of shelter.
For her part, Misty was doing well, her bursts better aimed and more controlled now. Helen only hoped that she could hold them off long enough for Helen herself to find a way out of there. Because the drones were becoming even more numerous.
The nearest drone took a Gatling blast to its one-eyed face and exploded into oblivion. The one behind it experienced the same fate. But the one behind that evaded the stream of lasers and jumped on DEBBI’s chest, shooting its menacing photons into the robot’s facial censors. Misty used the Gatling as a club, knocking the thing to the floor before blazing it into a pile of computer-generated scrap.
She was doing well, but there were more coming, and she wouldn’t be able to hold them off much longer.
Frantic now, Helen forced herself to ignore the fight while she looked for an exit. There had to be a way out, and her eyes scanned the vid-screen, looking for anything that might give them a chance to flee the scene.
Finally she found the alley she’d been searching for, and sent DEBBI shooting into the darkness. But the drones were on their tail, and stayed there for another city block, continuing to fire at the robot. Another glance at the health-meter made her stomach grip with knots—63 percent. They were getting their clock cleaned!
Focus, she told herself. If she could get through the alley and reach the next block, maybe they could find some cover—a more defensible position, or better yet, a subway terminal leading to some underground passage that she could use to give the drones the slip. Anything.
Up ahead, the end of the alley loomed like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. But when she reached it and entered the next city block, she stopped cold.
Iron Dragon was there, dealing with a drone swarm of its own. And unlike DEBBI’s Gatling, which had made a dent in the drones but not done enough to save the bot’s health, the dragon-bot’s flamethrower was making short work of the menacing tri-pods. The team wasn’t even bothering with their close-quarters pistol; just spraying the horde with simulated flames, frying them into nothingness.
Helen marveled at the sight. It must have taken countless hours to write enough code to create something like that. For a moment she lost herself, thinking about how they’d handled it…
“Helen, behind us!” Misty suddenly shouted.
Helen came quickly back to life and swiveled DEBBI around just in time to see the last of the drones clamoring down the alley toward them.
Just three. But they were quick.
Giving them the slip, or even finding shelter, was out of the question now that Iron Dragon was in the vicinity. With the Kiokos’ creation on one end and the trio of drones on the other, they were sandwiched in. Helen had no intention of facing the blunt end of that flamethrower anytime soon, which meant that she needed to deal with the three remaining drones. Quickly. At least that way, they could double back if they had to.
Misty understood this as well and promptly opened fire, her rapid laser shots arching wide as the lean-legged enemies flipped around, raced up walls, and kept on coming. They were more spiderlike than ever now, nimble and ugly in their own mechanical way. And their attack came in a reverse triangle: two up front and one in the back.
Helen saw this for what it was. The pair in the lead would wear them down, and the protected third attacker would land the killing blow.
Misty reacted to this by aiming the Gatling at the front left drone and firing. The crazy thing flipped out of the way at the last moment, the rapid streams missing it entirely.
“Ah, crap!” she growled as it righted itself and kept on coming.
Watching it all, Helen raised the rifle and fired.
Closer now, that drone no longer had the room to maneuver, and took a point blank shot right in its boxy torso. Sparks enveloped the alley as it burst into a brilliant explosion.
The rear drone, however, quickly took its spot, and before either Helen or Misty could respond, the remaining two enemies pounced on them. Six sticklike legs landed on DEBBI’s body, gripping down with their tiny feet and holding on for keeps.
The Gatling and the laser rife weren’t meant for close quarters combat, and couldn’t be turned around easily, or aimed at anything clinging to DEBBI’s body. It wasn’t something Helen had planned for in her design.
She felt like screaming as the drone lasers started to ping shots off them.
Fifty-five percent... Fifty-t
hree...
Misty tried to swing the Gatling like a club once again, but the hanging-on drones were clinging to different positions than the one before had been—one on DEBBI’s back and the other on its right shoulder—so her club swings were useless.
“What do we do?” Misty shouted.
Helen didn’t know, and in her desperation, she did the only thing she could think of. The alley’s walls were on either side of them, so with as much thrust as she could muster, she shot to the right and slammed DEEBI’s body against the simulated stone. The force of the abrupt stop, coupled with the sudden resistance of the wall, caused the drones to stumble and fall, their spindly bodies crashing to the floor of the alley.
This time, Helen and Misty pounced, slamming down with the Gatling and the rifle with equal parts anger and fear. They didn’t even waste precious ammunition, choosing instead to pummel the awful creatures with the blunt end of their guns, slamming and beating until the deadly duo burst into digital sparks and finally disappeared into nothingness.
They were completely gone now, leaving the alleyway clear and empty.
Helen was about to rejoice, but then she remembered…
Turning toward the city block once again, she was terrified to see that DEBBI wasn’t the only one who’d managed to take out its attacking drones. Iron Dragon had made short work of the little cybernetic beasts with its flamethrower.
And now it was aiming that devastating weapon directly at DEBBI.
HELEN NEARLY SCREAMED as the vid-screen before her filled with a bright flash of simulated fire. She stared for a moment, then quickly turned her eyes to the health-meter.
It dropped from 50 to 40 percent a split second later. At this rate, they’d be done for in no time.
This is it, she thought. We’re toast.
Her mind quickly flew to the wicked reality of what this meant: No Mars rover for her dad. No keeping them out of debt. The Kiokos had simply outgunned them, and now it was all over. All because they’d been outclassed by a pack of drones, and had run headfirst into the enemy’s big bad weapon. Stupid! This was the rookiest of rookie mistakes. The match had barely begun. They hadn’t even gotten one good shot in on the Iron Dragon, and here they were, about to lose it all.