by Kate Donovan
“But their skirmisher only has one arm. And a prowler can’t take down a giant. Isn’t it a good thing that their giant is gone? Isn’t this the dream scenario? We have a giant, and they don’t.”
“Their giant is down, but it might still be able to fire. So Carrak can’t turn her back on it.” Rem was keeping one eye on the robots circling the giant as he spoke. “According to the rules, once a giant is toppled, it’s considered immobile for the rest of the bout. So yes, officially, they lost their giant. But if it can still fire, it’s still a lethal threat.”
“I can’t watch,” she moaned, but the truth was just the opposite. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the mechs, especially the one-armed Alluvan skirmisher that seemed so much more dangerous in its damaged condition.
Like a wounded animal . . .
“Carrak needs to make her move.” Rem’s voice was hushed, as if he feared the Alluvans might hear him if he spoke too loudly. “If the pilot in the other giant is still alive, he could be making repairs to the cannons. And he’s definitely playing a role, probably coordinating the movements of the other mechs. That gives them a huge advantage.”
“What about our other pilots? Can’t they do that for Carrak?”
Rem shook his head sadly. “There’s no way our skirmisher pilot survived that crash. The Alluvan prowler hit him with some extra shots to be sure of it. And Gannor’s cousin is probably dead too.”
Zia stared out the window, unnerved by the stillness of the scene. Carrak wasn’t making wild, confident movements any longer. She was standing eerily still while the Alluvan mechs circled her.
“She should jump on that prowler and squash him,” Zia insisted. “Anything would be better than doing nothing.”
Rem arched a disapproving eyebrow. “Giants can’t jump, Zee.”
“Why not? They’ve got jets on their legs.”
“Those are for balance. To help them right themselves in a collision. But there’s not enough power in those boosters to get a giant off the ground. That’s why skirmishers are better, like I keep telling you.”
“We should have done three skirmishers. No giants, no prowlers,” Zia agreed.
“No. We should have done a one-on-one. Skirmisher versus skirmisher. That’s the only perfect match. It’s how your grandfather saved Earth, remember?”
Maryak turned to them and announced sweetly, “My mother is not finished yet. Do you see?”
“Oh!” Zia strained her eyes and saw it—the slightest movement on Carrak’s part. For a moment, it looked like her blue giant was swiveling to face the skirmisher, but then it whirled and fired on the motionless Alluvan giant with such precision that Zia knew the truth—Carrak had identified a functional cannon remaining on the giant. And she had destroyed it as calmly as if she were eliminating an ant at a picnic.
“And now, their giant really is dead.” Rem grinned. “Unbelievable. Maybe she can—damn! The frigging prowler!”
The pilot of the Alluvan prowler must have known what Carrak was planning, or else he had amazing reflexes, because before the Malaran colossus could lower its firing arm, the prowler fired on it at an angle that blasted the forward cannon straight into the air. At that same moment, the Alluvan skirmisher jumped and fired down on Carrak, who fired back at it with her good arm just before it crashed right into her.
Carrak swayed, and every mammal on the cruiser—every mammal on Malara and Alluva—held their breath. She fired her jets and righted herself, but not before the prowler and the skirmisher blasted her with all the power at their command.
Her final cannon blazed at the prowler, ignoring the skirmisher completely. There was so much smoke, it was impossible for the spectators in the cruisers to see what had happened. The overhead screens were useless as well, which meant that the cameras imbedded in the mechs had been disabled.
Disabled? More like annihilated, Zia realized shakily.
Then a mechanized voice announced, “Alluva has called for a status check.”
Zia turned to Rem, who explained, “We have thirty seconds to prove that one of our mechs can move and shoot. This is their admission that all of theirs are out of commission. This is it,” he added softly. “We know we didn’t lose, which is fantastic. But . . .”
“But did we win?” Zia turned back to the window and waited for the smoke to clear.
Carrak’s mech was still on its feet, and Zia willed her to fire. But nothing happened.
And then the mechanical voice announced, “We have a draw.”
* * * *
Once the news sank in, the battle cruiser went wild, and the party atmosphere lasted for the entire two-hour trip back to the launch site. Everyone descended on the buffet, decimating it. Music played, mammals danced, and Maryak finally admitted that she had been scared to death about losing her mother.
It was the most amazing afternoon of Zia’s life. She had never felt so much a part of any victory—not her mother’s administration; not her uncle’s election landslide; not even her own small successes with boys or extracurricular adventures. And while she had heard amazing tales about Daniel Quito—his famous Battle of the Canyons, where he had toppled a colossus with a skirmisher, or his decisive success in defeating an Alluvan skirmisher in a one-on-one battle—she had never really identified with such triumphs. Sure, he was her grandfather, but he was also a stranger. A wonderful hero whom she had never, ever met—much like her father. A ghost. A story. A fantasy she only half believed.
This was different.
“We’ll be landing soon,” Rem told her, pulling her from the dance floor and guiding her to a secluded corner. “Then we’ll pick up where we left off this morning.”
“Pardon?” She laughed as he began nuzzling her neck. “All because of an innocent little wardrobe adjustment?”
Rem’s blue eyes were bright with anticipation. “I can see why watching that practice fight got you so aroused the other day. I never knew mech combat could be foreplay, but damn. I’m a convert.”
“Rem, don’t,” she insisted, although she didn’t struggle too hard to get away. “Humber might see us.”
“Humber understands these things. His wife has four breasts, remember?”
She laughed helplessly as Rem’s hand began sliding up her side.
“Let’s skip the victory party at the rec center,” he murmured. “We can have our own, back at the hotel.”
“We can’t. They’d feel insulted.”
“Okay, then. They can have fifteen minutes. After that, you’re all mine. We never celebrated your birthday, you know. We’ve gotta take care of that too.”
“Oh, Rem! I can’t believe you remembered. No one else . . .” She bit her lip. “Wow.”
“Captain Quito?” an unfamiliar voice interrupted. “Captain Stone?”
Startled, they turned to stare at a furry diplomatic messenger, who told them curtly, “General Carrak wishes to meet with you immediately upon your arrival in Pangua.”
“Don’t worry. We wouldn’t miss the party for the world,” Zia assured him.
“You misunderstand. She orders you to meet her at the home of the prime minister.”
“Even better,” Zia said with a laugh. “I’ve been dying to meet his wife. I hear she’s a genius.”
The messenger shrugged his massive shoulders. “Come with me. My orders are to ensure you are the first to leave the cruiser.”
“Wait a minute.” Rem pulled Zia behind him, then glared in cool displeasure. “What’s going on?”
The messenger shrugged again. “My orders are simple. You will be the first to leave this cruiser. You will tell no one else about it. You will accompany me to the minister’s private transport, and then, you will meet with General Carrak.”
“And if we refuse?”
“General Carrak assures me you will obey her.”
Zia groaned. “That sounds like her, doesn’t it? I think it’s legitimate, Rem. And”—she eyed him unhappily—“I don’t think it’s good news.”
>
Chapter 14
By the time Zia and Rem were ushered into the prime minister’s mansion on the outskirts of Pangua, it was nearly dusk. The home was stunning, with high ceilings, expansive windows looking out onto a sparkling lake, and splashes of red and gold throughout, both on the walls and the furnishings. There was a party going on somewhere with loud music and even louder cheering, but the two Earthlings were apparently not invited. Instead they were hurried through a side entrance before anyone could catch a glimpse of them, then taken by elevator to the third floor, which contained several offices and an enormous conference room.
There were five Malarans seated at a round conference table—the prime minister, two other males, and two females. Nearby was a bandaged figure in a hospital bed that was adjusted to a sitting position.
“Carrak!” Zia sprinted over to the general, aghast at her battered condition. “My God, you look awful.”
“Yes, I am aware.”
“But you were so incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.” Zia eyed the general’s right arm, which was in a sling. Blood was beginning to seep through the white bandages on her chest, and her entire left leg was wrapped tightly as well. “Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?”
Carrak ignored the question.
“General Carrak.” Rem saluted smartly. “Zee’s right. You were amazing.”
Turning to Prime Minister Tanbur, Rem gave a slight bow, Malaran style. “Good evening, sir.”
Tanbur stood and smiled. “Thank you both for coming. There is no time to lose.”
“What’s wrong?” Zia asked him. “It was a draw, wasn’t it? Are we missing something?”
“Have a seat and we will explain. Would you like some refreshments?”
“No, they fed us on the cruiser.” Zia chose a seat close to Carrak’s bed, and Rem sat next to her, his expression wary.
Zia noted how he began studying a matrix on the individual vid screen in front of his seat, so she turned her attention to the one that had been supplied for her, then groaned. It listed every possible battle configuration of mechs, from simple one-on-ones to the most complicated combinations of prowlers, skirmishers, giants, and even hoverbots.
“As you can see, it is time to choose the next configuration,” said Tanbur. “It will be an exhausting process, and so I apologize in advance. Let me introduce my advisors. You know Carrak, of course. This is Taryak, our chief strategist. Marrur, an expert on Alluvan psychology. And Barrak, Admur, and Partur, our tech experts.”
Zia stared at them in disgust. “Can’t this wait a day or two? Carrak needs to recuperate—”
“Zee,” Rem murmured, covering her hand with his own. “Something’s going on. Let’s find out what it is.”
She winced in apology. “Sorry.”
The prime minister nodded. “Captain Stone is correct. There is no time to waste. As you know, the rules of warrior challenge give us thirty Malaran days before the next battle. But as the target, we have the right to shorten that time. Our only limitation is that we must give Alluva four days’ notice of the configuration and battle site.” He paused, then revealed in a deep, authoritative voice, “We will issue that notice at dawn tomorrow.”
Zia gasped.
This time, even Rem could not stay silent. “Are you saying the next battle will take place in five days? That’s all the time the new group will have to train? Does that mean . . . ?” He glanced back at Carrak, then murmured, “Does that mean General Carrak won’t be piloting the colossus?”
“The doctors assure me I will be capable by that time,” Carrak corrected him. “The issue is not my condition, but that of my mech. It was heavily damaged, and the engineers are working on her now. If they have repaired her in time, I will participate. If not, then one of the other colossus pilots will serve. Remember,” she added proudly, “it takes eight years to build a colossus that is attuned to a particular pilot. Malara would not waste such resources on an ordinary warrior. Each of us who have been given that honor is fully capable of leading Malara to victory. Never doubt that.”
“Of course, General.” Rem cleared his throat. “May I ask why Captain Quito and I are here?”
Carrak scowled. “Prime Minister Tanbur is convinced your advice is of value in the selection process.”
“Are you kidding?” Zia interrupted. “I’m the one who suggested the prowler, and that didn’t exactly work out. It’s crazy to rely on me, although Captain Stone will be a huge asset. He has studied mech warfare his entire life.”
Tanbur arched an eyebrow. “We do not agree that the prowler was a poor choice. General Carrak assures us that it was a deciding factor in our ability to withstand Alluva’s strategy.”
Rem nodded. “It’s true, Zee. Alluva probably practiced for months, maybe even a year or more, so that they’d be ultra-prepared when they issued the challenge. That would have given them a huge advantage, except they didn’t anticipate a prowler in the mix, so that threw them off. It made their advance knowledge less useful.”
“That is correct,” Carrak admitted. “And our prowler struck the first blow. The fact that it was so effective gave us confidence. We will owe a debt to its brave pilot for years to come.”
“Oh!” Zia remembered that the prowler had been operated by Gannor’s cousin. “Did she survive?”
“The doctors are doing their best to save her at this very moment. The pilot of the skirmisher died instantly, though.”
“Yeah, that’s how it looked,” Rem said sadly. “But what a hero he was. Absolutely fearless.”
Carrak nodded. “It was an honor serving with him. And with Annyak also. She piloted her prowler brilliantly.” Grimacing, the general added, “We must begin our deliberations now. There is no time for idle chatting. Zia? Do you understand?”
“I’ll be quiet,” Zia promised. Then she turned her attention back to her vid screen as the prime minister’s strategy expert began to lecture them on the process that would be followed.
* * * *
By midnight, they had eliminated eighteen configurations, which would have seemed like good progress if they hadn’t been such easy decisions. There were certain immutable parameters to be respected, such as the fact that they had to include at least one giant in any configuration so that the Alluvans would fear the Quito giant’s involvement. And even in light of that proscription, Rem stubbornly argued against eliminating the famous one-on-one, skirmisher-versus-skirmisher configuration that had allowed Daniel Quito to prevail in the conflict between Earth and Alluva.
“I can do it too. I know it,” he insisted, his voice confident but also weary. “And even if you can’t bring yourself to use me, your best Malaran skirmisher pilot can beat the best Alluvan. Plus, you’ll still have the element of surprise to a point, because I’m sure they stopped practicing non-giant configs the minute they heard Zee was on her way to Malara.”
“We will leave it on the matrix for the moment,” Carrak muttered. “But only so that we can discuss something else. Anything else,” she added in a frustrated growl.
Zia gave Rem a playful nudge. “You’re worse than I am.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Yes, you have been very quiet, Captain Quito,” the prime minister said, his tone scolding her. “Is there a configuration you wish to champion?”
“No.” She leaned back in her chair and gave him a wistful smile. “I agree with all the ones you’ve eliminated, obviously. I mean, three hoverbots versus three hoverbots? No one would pay to see that boring match.”
He laughed. “And what would you pay to see? If you could witness any configuration?”
“I don’t know.” She took a deep breath and reminded herself not to interfere with the difficult job these experts were doing. She had learned so much these last few hours—more details about the different sorts of mechs and their capabilities than she could ever have absorbed otherwise. The mammals around this table were truly brilliant advisors, and she was more than hap
py to defer to them, even though they weren’t quite as creative as she might have liked.
But she wasn’t about to say that.
“Indulge me,” Tanbur drawled. “I wish to hear your suggestion.”
Ugh . . .
She paused, as though giving it real thought. Then she went with the safest answer available. “I like the classic choice—one giant, two skirmishers.”
“And if not that? What is your second choice, Captain Quito?” Carrak demanded.
To Zia’s surprise, Carrak actually seemed to want to hear from her. Although it was always possible she just wanted to get Zia’s opinion out of the way so that they could proceed with the real debate. Either way, Zia had to say something, so she studied the screen carefully, and was able to narrow her options to three very quickly.
Two giants and a skirmisher.
Giant, skirmisher and prowler—the one that had been somewhat successful twelve hours earlier.
And in a nod to Rem, who was clearly obsessed, one skirmisher versus one skirmisher—the Daniel Quito configuration.
Taking a deep breath, she shared the three choices aloud, then sat back and waited for the objections to roll in.
“Good selection,” Rem whispered.
Zia gave him a teasing smile. “Just because I picked your favorite?”
“No, I just want to stay on your good side. For later.”
She felt her cheeks turn red at the amorous undertone in his voice, and she glared at him before turning to Carrak and saying, “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. Criticize away.”
Carrak shrugged her good shoulder. “I agree with your choices. Theoretically, at least.”
“You do?”
The general nodded. “I would support a two-one configuration because I believe our pilots have had more time with their giants than the Alluvans have. They have only recently built most of theirs. Unfortunately, that works against us too.” She eyed Zia intently. “Can you guess why?”