Mech Girl

by Kate Donovan

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” Rem said. He walked to the doorway and asked a passing nurse for assistance, and in a moment Annur was there, his expression concerned.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, they’re feeling a little too good,” Zia joked. “Harada thinks he’ll be back on duty in a day or so. I hope that’s possible, but . . .”

  “It is ambitious, but in a week, if we see great improvement, it can be discussed.” Annur gave Zia a smile. “And you? Are you well? We are all so proud of you.”

  “Because of the security vid? I have a question about that, actually. Excuse us,” she added to Rem, then she pulled Annur aside and whispered her theory to him.

  “You see what I mean?” she asked finally. “It’s so terrible to kill someone, it’s probably easy to blot it from your mind. Forget it even happened. Right?”

  Annur shrugged. “But once you saw the recording, you remembered it. In this other case you’re describing—”

  “In the other case, the man shot a good guy. A loyal guard. It was easier for me to accept the truth about my actions since I killed a traitorous Vekzor. See what I mean? Maybe this other guy’s mind wouldn’t accept the fact that he killed the guard. He convinced himself no one was hurt, because that was his original plan, and he couldn’t live with what really happened.”

  When Annur didn’t answer right away, she insisted, “It’s theoretically possible, right? That’s all I’m asking.”

  “Anything is possible. But it is unlikely.” His gaze was sympathetic. “We are talking about Captain Stone’s father, are we not? And you wish to find a reason for his behavior, because you and Captain Stone have grown close.”

  She eyed him with teasing sternness. “Pardon?”

  Annur laughed. “He is the perfect bodyguard for you. I am glad you have him. And if it is enjoyable for you too, that is even better. It will help to compensate for your terrible experience yesterday. If you saw the news reports, you know we feel great shame over that.”

  “It’s the Vekzori who should feel shame. And the Alluvans too, for being such galactic bullies.” She sighed, reminded of why she was on Malara. “Rem and I need to get going. Take good care of your patients, Doctor. And keep us informed, okay? We’ll be back as often as we can.”

  * * * *

  When they arrived at the rec center, a half dozen young warriors crowded around Zia, pledging their loyalty and insisting that the fiends who had attacked her were a tiny and despicable segment of a population that overall would give their lives for her. She tried to reassure them, but Rem made it more difficult by treating them all like potential assassins.

  Or at least, she was sure that was how it seemed to them. Her bodyguard simply wouldn’t let anyone between him and Zia—not even Maryak or Gannor.

  Especially not Gannor, it seemed. The rivalry between him and Rem was even more obvious than it had been the day before, and not nearly as good-natured. It had so much potential for ugliness that Zia was actually relieved when Carrak strode into the room.

  “You are uninjured?” she asked Zia bluntly.

  “Not a scratch.”

  “And at least you are well rested. Both of you. Or perhaps no one told you that practice begins at dawn in my unit.”

  Zia eyed her coolly. “We stopped at the hospital to visit our fallen comrades. It’s an Earth tradition. Sorry if it doesn’t translate well here.”

  “We’ll be on time tomorrow, General Carrak,” Rem interjected, his tone filled with respect.

  “Good. You may return to the simulator, Captain Stone. If you pass level eight, you may see the inside of a real skirmisher today.”

  “Great. Come on, Zee.”

  “She remains here,” Carrak told him. “Maryak will take her to the student simulator, where she will spend one hour pretending to practice, as we discussed.”

  Zia was about to protest, but Rem did it for her. “Things have changed since yesterday, General. I’m Captain Quito’s bodyguard now. She stays with me. It won’t be a problem though. She can watch from the copilot seat during my simulations. That’s good practice for her too, right?”

  Carrak sifted her fingers through the dense blue-black fur on the back of her head. Her face was expressionless, but anyone could see from her silence that she was livid. And while Zia wouldn’t usually have cared—she had spent a lifetime watching instructors come unstrung over having their rules broken for her benefit—she was concerned that Rem might ruin his chances of piloting a skirmisher in a challenge.

  So she reminded Carrak as nicely as she could, “Two Malaran warriors fired gas balls at me yesterday. They killed one of my bodyguards. Captain Stone has taken on the additional duty of protecting me, which I appreciate. Because I’m a little shaken up. I’m not a warrior, as you keep pointing out. But I am part of your challenge strategy, so I hope you’ll respect our arrangement, at least until my injured bodyguards are available for duty again.”

  Carrak ignored her and spoke directly to Rem. “You have asked to be considered as a pilot for one of the challenges. Surely you know you cannot take her along in actual battle. You must learn to trust someone else with her safety. Make the choice now. If you place your duty as bodyguard above your duty as pilot, then the problem will be solved.”

  “We trust you, General,” Zia interrupted with a cheerful smile. “If you’ll guard me personally while Rem’s in the simulator, that would work. Plus, it would give us a chance to get acquainted.”

  As Carrak stared at her, clearly shocked, the rest of the Malaran pilots shuffled nervously. Even Gannor wasn’t wearing his usual cocky grin.

  Zia almost laughed out loud. You miscalculated, didn’t you, Carrak? You expected me to respect your authority, like Rem and these poor pilots do. But I’m not a fan of power-surging adults. It’s nice that you were a hero in some battle years ago, but frankly, my grandpa was Daniel-frigging-Quito, so I’m not easily impressed. And I’m definitely not intimidated by bullies like you.

  Finally, the general said to Rem, “Go and practice. I will take care of this delicate flower personally. You have my promise of that.”

  Rem’s face had turned a sickly shade of pale. “Zee?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “Remember what Logan and Humber told me? I’ve decided to follow their advice.”

  His blue eyes began to twinkle, and she knew he was hearing Humber’s words: Remember who you are.

  Daniel Quito’s granddaughter—spoiled, willful, the scourge of teachers and administrators everywhere. A truant, a party girl, reckless and fearless. And now she had added Vekzor-killer to her résumé.

  It was Carrak who should be worried, not Zia. And definitely not Rem. He had a simulator to beat, and she knew she had just given him more than permission to do so. She had inspired him to kick Level Eight’s ass the same way Zia intended to kick Carrak’s.

  * * * *

  As it turned out, Carrak was a lot more savvy than any of the instructors, principals, or counselors Zia had plagued during her first eighteen years of life. To make matters worse, the general didn’t just disapprove of Zia, she appeared to genuinely dislike her, which seemed grossly unfair. Hadn’t Zia traveled across the galaxy and put her life at risk to help Carrak win this war?

  A little gratitude would have been nice.

  Instead she got mockery. More “delicate flower” insults, and an assignment in a “teaching simulator” that was clearly designed for schoolchildren, not pilots. Carrak’s plan was for Zia to advance through levels on this machine, and the world would be told she was making rapid progress, without any mention of the laughably easy curriculum.

  It was programmed for five levels, and Zia was angry enough to keep going, level after level, even when her back began to ache and her vision grew blurry. She was going to beat this machine in one try, then insist on being allowed to try the real simulator. Or even better, she hoped to forget simulations completely and get some lessons on the tar
get range with conventional weapons, especially blasters, so she could assist Rem if the Vekzori struck again.

  Meanwhile, she treated the simulator the way she had treated the DNA testing—like a game. It wasn’t nearly as much fun, but it had similar elements, including a watered-down version of the flashing lights that required quick responses. It even had an underlying story, requiring Zia to evade attackers while recovering a different jewel-encrusted diskette at each level.

  Dumb plot, she complained. Why not make it something interesting? Why diskettes? How about crowns or bracelets—real jewels! That would at least give me some incentive.

  Finally, she was the proud owner of all five treasures, and she smiled through her exhaustion as she pulled off the clumsy sensor gloves and exited the simulator to confront Carrak, who was seated at a table, working on a compu-tab.

  The general glanced up. “You are taking a break already?”

  “I finished it,” Zia said, adding silently, Bitch.

  “You may take a break before you try again. From the beginning.”

  “What?”

  Carrak shrugged. “It took you two Earth hours. You cannot advance to the adult simulator until you can conquer this one in fifty minutes—ten minutes for each level.”

  “Ten minutes?” Zia wailed. “It took me that long to put on the gloves!”

  “Yes, I noticed.”

  Double-bitch . . .

  Zia walked over to a window and stared down at two prowlers that were sparring on the practice field. Arching her back, she stretched her tight muscles. Then she turned toward Carrak. “I never said I wanted to advance to the adult simulator. I’d rather skip all this stupid stuff and learn something useful. Like how to fire a blaster. Can you teach me that?”

  “A blaster?”

  “In case the Vekzori strike again. I want to be able to help Rem.”

  Carrak pursed her lips. “He should allow Malaran warriors to assist in your protection. But he is stubborn.”

  “The last time he let Malaran warriors assist, I almost got killed.”

  Carrak glared. “Yes, I am aware.”

  “So? Will you teach me?”

  The huge general exhaled in clear frustration. “I am teaching you by putting you in the simulator. Those skills and lessons will perfect your aim and help you protect yourself.”

  “Ugh! I’d rather just have a blaster and a target. Maybe Maryak could teach me.”

  Carrak arched an eyebrow. “She could give you blaster lessons? And you could teach her more Earth vocabulary?”

  “Vocabulary? Oh . . .” Zia winced. “Cripes.”

  Carrak surprised her by laughing. “You have done enough fake practicing for today. In a few minutes, your lover will have his first session in a real skirmisher. Would you like to watch?”

  “Yes.” Zia walked over to the table and sat down across from the general. “He’s not my lover, though. So don’t tease him about me, okay? He feels responsible for my safety because he’s a dedicated soldier. You should respect that, not mock it. Tease me all you want. It won’t bother me a bit. But back off on Rem, okay?”

  “He needs to focus,” Carrak retorted. “You are a distraction.”

  “I’m Daniel Quito’s granddaughter. That means a lot to Earth pilots. I don’t distract them, I inspire them.” She studied the general with angry frustration. “Are you going to let him pilot a skirmisher in a challenge? If he’s good enough, you shouldn’t punish him just because he’s loyal to me.”

  Carrak closed the compu-screen and gave Zia a steady stare. “He is a good pilot. He could be a great one, but he needs hours of practice if he is going to participate in a challenge. Otherwise, it would be suicide for him, and a disaster for us.”

  “But you’re considering it?” Zia felt a rush of excitement. “Have you told him?”

  “He knows how good he is,” Carrak replied coolly. “As I said, the choice is his now. It is not possible for him to be ready in time for the first challenge. And also not the second. But if there is a third, a fourth—his chances grow more excellent.”

  “Okay.” Zia nodded. “I’ll try not to distract him. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

  “Am I?”

  Zia glared. “It’s impossible to talk to you. But since I’m only a fake pilot, I don’t really have to. So let’s just go watch Rem instead, okay?”

  Chapter 11

  It was Rem versus Gannor, skirmisher versus skirmisher. Rem suspected now that General Carrak had fostered the animosity between the two of them just to make each of the males act more recklessly and make more mistakes.

  Remember, the object isn’t to beat Gannor. It’s to impress Carrak, which means demonstrating control—of yourself and your mech.

  He would have preferred using Quito’s skirmisher, but the mechanics were giving it a complete overhaul to compensate for fifty years of disuse. And so Rem had this one—a newer model, with some unfamiliar screens and gauges. But at heart, it was the same mech he had studied for years, through spec books, vids, and hours inside the hangar, touching the controls, wearing the gloves, orienting himself to the dizzying view.

  A referee in a hoverbot gave a signal to fire the jets. The moment Rem did so, he felt his mech begin to vibrate.

  Unbelievable. He had to struggle to maintain his composure. After all these years, you’re actually doing this.

  It would take ninety seconds to reach full power. In the meantime, he checked the ammo supply, which in this case was paint. It would be great firing it at Gannor—satisfying without any actual danger. The only danger today was humiliation.

  Or at least that was the only danger as long as he stayed in the mech. Unlike Gannor, he couldn’t simply get out of the vehicle to check a malfunction or even celebrate a victory. The only thing lethal in this battle was the particulate-laden outdoor air. Gannor could breathe it, but for Rem, it would be fatal. For that reason, they had supplied him with an oxygenator, but he had no intention of relying solely on that. Whether he won or lost, he’d wait for the hoverbot to reach the skirmisher’s hatch before he’d venture outside again.

  Meanwhile, the jets had reached full charge. It was time for the critical opening gambit—the move that would set the tone for the entire match. Daniel Quito had always begun by jumping, and Rem considered that now but had a feeling Gannor would anticipate it. So he waited, and wasn’t surprised when Gannor’s mech sprung high into the air.

  Grinning, Rem rammed Gannor’s robot as it began its descent. The crunch was bone-rattling, almost throwing Rem from his chair.

  He quickly tightened his harness, then made his own jump, but backward, away from Gannor. At the same time, he fired down on him, coating his mech with a spray of green paint that clashed nicely with its yellow trim.

  Howling with pride, he backed away and circled warily. This was his match now, to win or lose. Gannor had no choice but to play catch-up—and hope Rem made a strategic error.

  If Carrak was watching, she’d be impressed. He was sure of that.

  And if she’s watching, that means Zee’s watching, he told himself cheerfully. Let’s hope she’s impressed too.

  His thoughts flashed for a moment to their sexy good-night kiss, and in that split second Gannor jumped, crashing into Rem with full force, almost toppling him.

  Concentrate!

  Spinning to regain balance, he dared to fire his forward cannons at Gannor, trusting his aim despite the haphazard view available on the screens. Then he jumped high and peered down, delighted by the sight of huge green splotches over the head and shoulders of Gannor’s mech. With any luck, Rem had just covered up one or more of Gannor’s exterior cameras, limiting the pilot’s view for the rest of the match.

  They circled each other again, mindful of the hoverbot pilot’s voice, which was announcing thirty seconds till the end of the match. There was no doubt now about what Gannor would do. His only hope of winning the match was to topple Rem, and for that, he needed to jump forward and cr
ash down into him.

  All Rem had to do was jump out of the way and he had it won. But that wasn’t enough. If this were a real challenge, they would battle until only one was left standing. Why settle for a paper win just because this was a fake scenario?

  And so when Gannor jumped up and forward, Rem did too, and the hulking mechs crashed into each other with so much force Rem literally felt his brain ricochet off the walls of his skull, leaving him senseless for a full second. By the time he regained control of his reflexes, it was too late. He and his mech were toppling to the ground.

  * * * *

  “You did not just lose the battle. You destroyed valuable Malaran property. And for what? You had won! But your pride made you reckless and idiotic. You deserved to lose. I hope you remember it for a very long time.”

  Rem stood straight and quiet, but inside he was cringing.

  It was Gannor who spoke up, saying warily, “The Earthling did not actually lose, General. It was a draw. My mech was toppled as certainly as his.”

  “Was I speaking to you?” Carrak growled. “You were a disgrace. Get out of my sight.”

  Gannor saluted and departed, leaving Rem alone with the general and also with Zia, who was standing a few yards away. Rem didn’t blame her for distancing herself from this mess. Carrak’s fury was so strong, so powerful, it was more like a hurricane. Enough to cause any sane mammal to run for cover.

  Carrak eyed Rem with contempt. “In two hours, we will meet again at your hotel, where the minister of my planet will ask me about your progress. He will blame me for your incompetence. It is my responsibility to train you, and you have humiliated us both. Get out! Go and think about what you have done. And take your delicate flower with you, so that she can soothe your wounded ego.”

  “I’m sorry, General Carrak. It was a stupid thing to do—”