Mech Girl

by Kate Donovan

  “I don’t want the Malarans to know. That’s the whole point! And I don’t want to rely on their mixture. Just give me the half dose again. Please? There were no side effects, other than fainting, and who cares about that now?” She bit her lip, trying not to think of Jenni’s horror story—the gasping, the bursting lungs, the silent screaming—

  “Zia, you’re worried over nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing!” She threw herself against his chest, suddenly terrified. “They all think I’m brave. But I’m so scared. And you’re my doctor. You’ve taken care of me since I was born. Plus you took some kind of an oath, right? So please help me now.”

  He hugged her close. “Of course, of course. A half dose should be safe enough. Unnecessary but safe. Don’t tell anyone though.”

  “Are you kidding?” She smiled up at him. “I’m the one who doesn’t want them to find out. Especially not Humber. And most especially not Rem Stone.”

  Fuller scowled. “What he did during that press conference was unforgivable. No wonder you’re upset.” He dug in a side pocket of his black briefcase until he found a small white envelope. Opening it, he spilled one tablet into the palm of his hand. “Here you go. One pill. Half for this trip, half for the return.”

  “The return trip! I almost forgot. Thanks.” She sighed. “Let’s hope I get a chance to use the second dose.”

  “You’re Quito’s granddaughter. It’s the Alluvans who should be worried.” Fuller smiled. “Take the first dose right away. Hide the other in your gear. And be sure to lubricate your skin carefully when you change your clothes. The only real danger from the water vapor is that you’ll get chapped.”

  “Pardon?”

  “They haven’t explained that yet?” Fuller exhaled in evident disgust. “Malarans have oil glands in their fur to protect them. But human skin needs a little help. When you change into your tunic, use the apparatus on the wall over there to spray lubricant on your skin. Take the time to be thorough.”

  “My tunic?” She glanced down at her starched uniform. “Can’t I wear this? I don’t want the Malarans to see any more skin than necessary. You know how they feel about that.”

  Fuller laughed. “Yes, as provocative as your honor guard will find it, the Malarans will think you look bald and unnatural. But it can’t be helped. Once you’re floating in the chamber, your tunic will float too, so that nothing chafes against your skin.” He lifted a lightweight gauze garment from a nearby hook and handed it to her. “You can’t wear the flight suit. Hang it up here, and they’ll let you change back when you wake up on Malara.” His eyes visibly misted. “I still can’t believe we’re allowing you to go there—”

  “I’ll be fine, thanks to you.” She broke the pill in half and popped a piece in her mouth, swallowing without waiting for water. Then she gave Fuller a grateful smile. “You’d better go so I can change. Wish me luck. And take good care of my uncle while I’m gone, okay?”

  * * * *

  When she finally exited the changing room she had to force herself to walk normally, when she wanted to cringe in shame over the skimpiness of her tunic. She had tried to arrange her hair so that it covered as much of her back, shoulders, and chest as possible, but knew that her “bald” arms and legs would repulse the Malarans. And as for maintaining her authority and dignity in front of Rem and the other military men—well, her bare feet alone were enough to undermine that.

  She quickly discovered that they were in the same vulnerable position, looking like oiled-up gladiators in sleeveless garments that barely hung to their knees. Ordinarily that would have pleased her, since all four were in great shape, but she was too self-conscious, and too aware of the Malarans, who weren’t wearing a stitch of clothing at all, a fact that startled her as much as she assumed her appearance startled them.

  But it could have been worse. Dr. Fuller’s pill was taking effect, so she wasn’t worried about the claustrophobia anymore. She just wanted to get past the prying eyes of all these males, so she walked right up to the closest sleep chamber—a transparent bubble eight feet in length, three feet wide, and two feet deep—and said in a cheery voice, “I’ll take this one. Last one asleep, don’t forget to turn out the lights.”

  Humber hurried over to her. “Yours is on the other end, Zia. It is the escort chamber, as you will see. It is reserved for dignitaries such as yourself.”

  She walked beside him along the row, then smiled in embarrassed relief. This container was almost twice as wide as the others, and while she ordinarily wouldn’t want to pull rank, she was more than happy to take the best accommodations in this situation. “It’s still shallow, but so nice and wide. It’ll help with my claustrophobia to have extra room. Thanks, Humber.”

  He coughed lightly. “It is the escort chamber. Your bodyguard will be in it also, you understand. It is just a formality, I assure you, but we cannot take the chance that bandits might attack while we are in suspension.”

  She shook her head, totally confused. “Bandits?”

  “Or more likely, Vekzori,” Rem explained, stepping closer. “We’ll all be sound asleep, Zee. It takes hours to come out of stasis completely. But this chamber is rigged so that the escort—the bodyguard—gets an instant jolt of adrenaline if the chamber is tampered with or opened.”

  “He will be armed,” Humber added. “Do you see, Zia? The rest of my crew will be useless, but your bodyguard will be able to protect you, first with his weapon, and also by activating further safety precautions to keep anyone from kidnapping you.”

  “The Vekzori don’t want to kidnap me, they want to kill me. If there are enough of them, my bodyguard—” She grimaced. “Who exactly is that?”

  “Me,” Rem told her bluntly.

  Humber cleared his throat again. “That was our original plan. But given the events of the last few hours, I have decided to take his place.”

  A collective gasp sounded from the Malaran crew, and Zia knew they were horrified at the thought of Humber in proximity to so much bald skin.

  She sensed Humber was blushing under his coat of dense fur, but he insisted stubbornly, “There is no sexual component to this, Captain Quito. I would be honored to protect you on our journey.”

  Touched, she decided to rescue him. Not that she was thrilled with the prospect of riding with Rem, but thanks to her medication—and the fact that they’d be in stasis within minutes—she was able to remind him quietly, “Like you said, there’s no sexual component. And Captain Stone is the ranking Earth officer. Plus, he promised my grandfather he’d protect me. So let’s let him do his job, shall we?”

  * * * *

  The Malarans helped the Earthlings into their chambers and deftly hooked IVs to their arms. It was clear that they had done this many times, and so Zia forgave them when they slammed the lid shut on her and Rem without any further ceremony or words of advice. She only hoped Rem would forgo conversation too.

  He must have read her thoughts, because he didn’t say a word. He did however take her hand in his own, and while she wanted to yank it free in a gesture of contempt, she sheepishly clung to him instead, comforted by the rough, warm feel of his skin. Within seconds the container began to hum, and she felt her body rise on a bed of air until it was floating a few inches off the bottom—a necessary part of protecting her skin during the long flight. The sensation was slightly disorienting, but also interesting, so she counseled herself to relax and enjoy it. On impulse, she glanced at Rem, and he gave her a reassuring wink, which made her smile in spite of her anger toward him.

  Finally the chamber began filling with the moist, dense vapor that would be their atmosphere for the next two weeks. She didn’t fight it—thanks to the calmative and the sleep aid being pumped into her arm. As her eyelids began to droop, her hand relaxed and slipped free of Rem’s, and they lost each other completely in the fog.

  Chapter 8

  “I don’t understand you! Where’s Rem Stone? I want to see him right away. Is he dead? Let me out of these th
ings! I don’t understand what you’re saying!” Zia struggled in vain against the restraints that held her arms in place. “Who are you? Malarans? Alluvans? Oh, God, are you Vekzori? You killed my father!”

  “Captain Quito, calm yourself.”

  “Where’s Humber? Where’s Rem? Is he dead? Why won’t you let me see him?”

  “You must calm yourself, Captain Quito,” the furry female in the white lab coat repeated firmly. “Your mind and body have been traumatized—”

  “You’re the one traumatizing me. I won’t talk to you until you bring me Rem. Or Humber.”

  “Ambassador Humber is visiting his family,” the female admitted finally. “Captain Stone is safe and healthy, but unavailable. Please relax. Dr. Annur will be here in a moment to explain everything.”

  Zia’s pulse, which was already racing, now went into overdrive. “Dr. Annur is on Earth! Now I know you’re lying. Tell me where I am—immediately—or I’ll—I’ll . . .” She sank back into her huge bed, admitting to herself that there was nothing she could do to these fiends. She was at their mercy—strapped down, drugged, alone. What had possessed her to get on that transport? To allow herself to be duped into joining a military campaign when everyone knew she was a foghead.

  “Zia Quito?” a new voice asked. It was just as maddeningly soothing, but vaguely familiar, and she turned toward it, anxious for news about Rem.

  Then she grimaced, noting that the new face was also fur-covered. “Another Alluvan? Or are you Vekzor? Either way, you’re a coward. Tying me to a bed? That’s your idea of a warrior challenge? I spit on you!”

  “So I have heard,” the new beast said with a laugh. “I understand that you have met my father. His name is Annur, just as mine is.”

  “Your father?” Zia paused to digest the information. This person—or mammal—looked nothing like her Annur. Her Annur had red fur. This one was gray, which made no sense if he was younger, as he claimed.

  She struggled to recall what she knew of Malaran physiology and realized the doctor might be telling the truth. Unlike humans, all Malarans started out with white hair, then moved to black or brown before turning a deep shade of red for the last third of their lives. So maybe—in Malara—gray was a sign of youth.

  And this male’s voice really did sound like Dr. Annur’s.

  Of course, that could be a trick. They were communicating through translators—behind-the-ear devices that could be manipulated. They could say anything to her and she wouldn’t be sure if it was true, if she had misheard, or if the machine had malfunctioned.

  “Clever,” she muttered.

  He laughed again. “You are fighting too many battles, Captain Quito. Calm yourself and you will see that I am telling you the truth. You are among friends—”

  “Friends that tie me to a bed?”

  “You attacked my nurse. What else could we do?” He sighed. “You slept well during the voyage, thanks to the drugs in your IV. But you had an unusual side effect. You hallucinated a great deal. More than others—even other humans. Captain Stone was aggressive and angry too. But for you, the reaction has been unusually extreme. We will adjust for it so that it does not recur on your return voyage.”

  Zia forced herself to listen to his words. Perhaps the calmative had caused this reaction. But they were saying Rem experienced it too, only less. Yet where was he?

  “I need Rem,” she explained carefully.

  “As your escort, Captain Stone received an extremely high dose of adrenaline when the capsule door opened. It is a security precaution that cannot be overridden. It is perfectly safe, but apparently Malarans can absorb it more easily than humans. We sent him away—”

  “What?”

  “Away from the infirmary,” young Annur explained quickly. “He needed the exercise, to burn off the anxiety. He did not want to go, but we gave him only two choices: sedation or exercise. He did not wish to sleep again, so he chose the latter.” Annur leaned closer. “He was concerned that the Vekzori might hurt you. And apparently you have the same fear. Please trust me when I say you are safe as long as you are in this hospital. I only wish I could keep you here indefinitely, but my planet needs you. Thank you for coming to our aid, Captain.”

  She licked her chapped lips. “I guess you’re making sense. Do you think Rem will be back soon?”

  “I am certain his return is imminent.”

  “Don’t tell him I acted so crazy, please?”

  Young Annur smiled. “It is our secret.” He began to loosen her restraints. “Are you hungry yet?”

  “No. Just icky. Any chance I could take a shower?”

  “Of course. You will find your uniform waiting for you in the shower area.” Stepping back, he touched his fist to his chest and told her in a voice rich with hope, “Welcome to Malara, Captain Quito. May you pilot your giant to victory against Alluva, and return to your planet a hero.”

  She didn’t want to admit that her only ambition at that moment was to take a shower without slipping, so she remained silent as she tested her bare feet on Malaran ground. Then she realized that the other members of the medical staff—including the nurse whom she had apparently spit on—were saluting her the same way Annur was. Acknowledging them with a rueful smile, she silently reminded herself that they were all dead wrong—she wasn’t here to pilot a giant. Her only job was to mind grub the Alluvans by creating the illusion she might join the battle.

  Apparently to the Malarans, that was a subtle distinction. She only hoped that to Humber and the Malaran ministry it was crystal clear. Otherwise, she intended to be on the next transport back to Earth.

  * * * *

  Rem paced the streets of Pangua, the capital of Malara, cursing the incompetent fools that had allowed him to volunteer for duty here, and worse, had allowed Zia to come along. He had believed himself prepared for this—the dirty Malaran air, the resultant twilight even when the sun was high in the sky, the bizarre creatures who passed by and stared at him as though he were the odd one.

  Even with his respirator firmly clasped over his mouth and nose, he was sure he was inhaling grit. He couldn’t see it of course—perhaps because of the goggles protecting his eyes—but he could feel the particles on his skin, and sensed more of them in his path. This was the reason Malarans had such enormous chests—to house two sets of lungs. Or rather, one set of lungs and another of pre-lungs, which filtered the particles and sent them to an auxiliary stomach, where they were digested and processed. As strange as it seemed, Rem knew that the Malarans could not survive for long without this “nutrient.” Those who visited Earth actually had to inhale a special blend of “particulated” air twice a day from a breathing machine to ensure proper functioning of their digestive systems.

  But humans couldn’t breathe this atmosphere for more than a minute or two without damaging their lungs. And if an Earthling spent more time than that, or exerted himself in this environment unprotected, he would die a slow, painful death.

  “Nice place,” he muttered into his oxygenator as he clenched his fists at his sides. “Tell me again why we’re so hot to save it?”

  A Malaran female walked past him, her two rows of furry breasts prominent. She had five children hanging off her, and Rem realized sheepishly that three of them were infants who needed those breasts to survive. The other two, who were older and looked like twins, were laughing and joking. One had a toy in his hand—a miniature replica of a giant robot made completely of silver metal except for a few splashes of crimson.

  Quito’s giant.

  The child pointed at Rem, and the mother smiled warmly, as though she recognized and admired the human pilot. Was it true? Did they all know about him—the Earthling who had come here with Daniel Quito’s granddaughter to fight Alluva?

  As the mother hurried away, her other young male twin gave Rem a wave, then pulled a toy from his vest pocket.

  A skirmisher—fiery red with sliver trim.

  Rem’s skirmisher.

  Charmed, Rem waved bac
k. Then for the first time since his angry walk had begun, he slowed to a stop and looked at this strange environment through new eyes. Yes, the light was dim. And certainly, the folks were huge and hairy. But that wasn’t the whole story. The place was alive and bustling with Malarans on foot and in air scooters. Above them, on the tops of tall buildings, were three-dimensional billboards, each one depicting a warrior scenario—robots, battles, clashes of some sort. Rem couldn’t begin to read the writing, but he guessed that this was Malaran advertising, touting a myriad of products by using the incentive Malarans understood best—robot warfare.

  They love this stuff, he reminded himself. You’ve got that in common with them, at least. Those Malaran kids would give anything to sneak into a hangar and touch a skirmisher. They dream of the glory of a warrior challenge. Of being a mech pilot. Just like you.

  He turned and walked back toward the hospital, inspired by the thought. As a child, he really had dreamed of that. Then that dream had been crowded out by the need to vindicate his father. To avenge the Stone name. To crush the Quitos.

  But the hours he had spent in the Hacienda hangar had been different. He was just a kid again during those moments, imagining himself piloting a mech, clashing with Alluvan warriors in the Battle of the Canyons side by side with Quito the Great. For an hour or so, every once in a while, it had been Stone and Quito on the same side again. Not rivals. Not enemies. But rather allies, bound by honor, watching each other’s backs.

  Now his dream was coming true, but it would be Zia’s back he’d be watching. She was so brave. So inspiring. He’d do almost anything for her. Anything but turn his back on his father. She needed to understand that. And so, even if Rem’s response to the OmniVid reporter had been painful for her, maybe it was for the best. For both of them.