by Kate Donovan
Lieutenant Harada had been released from the hospital and was stationed outside the door of the female dormitory, the sole occupant of which was Zia. All of the other pilots were in the overcrowded infirmary. Zia had stopped by to see Maryak and Gannor there, but they were both in advanced stages of the lung infection and had drifted in and out of consciousness, insisting in their semi-lucid moments that Malara would triumph in the upcoming challenge. She was embarrassed by their show of support, and while she knew most of it was for Rem—after all, they had seen him in action—she also knew they were hoping against hope that Zia really was the reincarnation of Quito the Great.
She tried not to think about any of that as she climbed into her bunk that night. She needed to sleep, not worry, and thanks to the day’s workout she was so exhausted she could barely hold her eyes open.
Before she dozed off completely, she heard Rem’s voice, which would have been nice had she not recognized the argumentative tone. Then Harada’s voice responded, ripe with antagonism. She could guess what was going on, so she lurched out of the bunk and stumbled on cramping legs to the door, opening it and glaring halfheartedly.
“Hey, Quito,” Rem murmured. “Can I have a minute?”
Harada scowled. “This guy can’t take no for an answer, Captain. I would have taken care of it the old-fashioned way, but he’s the only professional pilot who isn’t sick, so I figured I’d better not put him in the hospital with the others.”
“Like you could?” Rem began, but Zia waved her hand to silence him.
“What’s the problem, Rem?”
“Can we talk in private?”
She nodded, then told Harada, “Take a break, Lieutenant. But hurry back, because I won’t be able to sleep until I know you’re here.”
“I’ll be back in two minutes,” he replied, saluting her smartly. Then with a warning glance at Rem, he strode down the hall toward the lavatories.
“So?” she demanded, trying to sound as annoyed as possible.
Rem took her by the arm and steered her into the dormitory, then closed the door behind them. Then he confessed with a sheepish smile, “I can’t sleep in the men’s dorm. It’s too far from you. Can I grab a bunk here? That way, I can help Harada if the Vekzori make a move.”
“They’ve made their move—the big one. To kill me now would be counterproductive.” She leaned against the wall to take the pressure off her aching body. “Why aren’t you in pain too? You spent two hours in the simulator yourself today.”
Rem chuckled. “I don’t get hit very often anymore. That’s the whole idea. You learn to anticipate the opponent’s moves just to avoid the impacts and the burns. You’ll learn too. Trust me, pain is the best teacher.”
She smiled wistfully, knowing there weren’t enough hours left for her to test that theory. “You can sleep in a bunk by the door as long as you don’t try to talk to me. I’m too beat, Rem. Really.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“The Vekzori are as sick as the other Malarans by now, you know. They couldn’t assassinate me even if they wanted to.”
He shook his head. “They might have an antidote. Or at least, since they were on notice, they might have used O2 masks during the worst of it to keep themselves from getting infected.”
“That’s true,” she admitted. “I hate those cowards so much. Endangering children and civilians this way. I heard that a couple of babies have already died. I keep wondering how many other casualties there have been.”
“Actually, Carrak says there haven’t been too many. The symptoms are harsh, but as long as the victims stay hydrated and get enough rest, they’ll make it through.”
“That’s good, at least.” She pointed to a nearby bunk. “Sleep there. No more talking. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Zee?” He stepped up to her. “I know you’re scared—”
“Don’t baby me, Rem. It makes it worse.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” He exhaled sharply. “I just want you to know, you’re not the only one. We’re all confused and scared.”
“But we’re mech pilots, so we power up and get through it.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Just for the record, I think I might be falling in love with you.”
“Does it matter? We’ll both be dead before the week is over. And even if we weren’t, it would be over when we went home and you cleared your dad’s name by trashing Mom’s. So just drop it, okay?”
“Zee—”
“Drop it now or go back to the men’s dorm. I’m too frigging tired to argue about it anymore.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Don’t bring it up again, Rem. Not ever. I mean it.” She pushed past him and opened the door, then smiled at Harada, who was standing guard again, his expression grim.
“Captain Stone is going to sleep here too. If you need anything, wake us up. Meanwhile, we’ll leave this door open. Okay?”
The bodyguard grimaced but nodded. “Whatever you want, Captain.”
“Thanks. I appreciate the supportive attitude. See you in the morning.”
She saw that Rem had already climbed into his bunk, so she returned to hers without saying another word. She couldn’t wait to get back under the covers and fall asleep. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she needed to ignore them because they didn’t mean anything—at least, not anything new.
She and Rem had never had a chance for a real future together. He had warned her about that from the start, and he had been right. Ironically, it didn’t really matter now, because as she had so bluntly explained to him, neither one of them had a future anyway, together or separately.
But they could still play a part in the future of others by making a lasting contribution to it, just like their grandfathers had done. Hadn’t they both been raised to do just that? Hearing the stories, seeing the Quito mechs—their whole lives had been a pageant leading up to this moment. But there was only so much their grandfathers could bestow on them through stories and DNA. Now it was time for them to earn their legacies.
To go out in a blaze of glory . . .
“Which means: no crying,” she chided herself as she burrowed into the bunk, searching for a sleeping position that didn’t make her back hurt. But there wasn’t one, so she just imagined how Daniel Quito must have felt after his first mech battle, and somehow, that was enough to help her fall asleep.
* * * *
For Zia’s first lesson in the colossus, Carrak insisted on unhooking herself from her IV, getting up out of her wheelchair, and accompanying the new pilot right into the mech. They donned jet boots, and then, since the air was now hostile to Malarans as well as humans, they each affixed oxygenators over their noses and mouths before striding onto the practice fields.
Zia had learned a lot during the last twenty-four hours—not just about piloting, but about the mentality needed to be a true warrior. Rem and Carrak, along with the handful of Malaran soldiers who were still on their feet, simply refused to acknowledge the possibility of defeat. In fact, they seemed oblivious to the insane obstacles—including the full-fledged pandemic—that confronted them.
They focused on preparation, usually with serious faces, but never with temperamental displays or sulking, and often with humor and good spirits. At first, Zia had found it difficult to mimic their attitudes while hiding her own fears and emotions, but it was getting easier and easier to take her cue from them.
And so, as she and Carrak approached the Quito colossus on the practice field, she smiled up at the giant as though it really was her grandfather. Then she playfully introduced Carrak as the hero of Zellot. To her delight, Carrak went along with the charade, giving the colossus a fist-chest salute so boisterous it induced a thirty-second coughing jag.
Activating their jet boots, they soared to the hatch and entered. As soon as they had secured the door, Carrak pulled off her oxygenator, but she urged Zia to wait until the giant had powered up and the filter was running before do
ing the same.
“I just love it in here,” Zia admitted. “I have no idea what most of this equipment is for, but it doesn’t matter, right? Because he knows.”
Carrak nodded. “Which means you know too. However, should the com-chip fail, you will need to know how to do a few things manually. For example, this lever will eject you from the giant. Use it if the damage is so severe there is danger that the whole mech will blow.”
She gestured to a series of tiny windows along the perimeter of the control room. “If your visuals go down, you can view the battle through these. It is cumbersome, but it can be done. Unhook yourself from the helmet first, of course. If the visuals are gone, there will not be much you can do in terms of fighting. Your goal will be survival, and perhaps warning the other pilots about dangers beyond their range of vision.”
“Got it.” Zia jumped into the control chair, hooked the harness across her chest, then reached up for the helmet. “Let’s see what this big guy can do.”
“Wait!” Carrak glared, then walked over to the control panel and inserted the solenoid. Then she lowered herself to the floor of the cabin and sat with her back against a section of the wall that had a harness built into it. Strapping herself in, she warned Zia, “You are not ready yet. Put your hands in the gloves. Then put your feet in the guides. They are as important as the helmet.”
“Really?” Zia did as instructed. “Now?”
“Yes.”
Zia’s pulse began to race. This was it. Her first real mech lesson, but unlike the sadistic sessions in the simulator, she had a huge metal shell to protect her. She couldn’t imagine why she had been so worried. Rem was the one who should be concerned, with a mere forty-five-foot skirmisher to protect him.
Laughing at the thought, she pulled the helmet down. As had happened before, the steel mesh began to shrink, conforming itself perfectly to the contours of her skull while a thousand pinpricks of energy poked through her scalp, engaging and massaging. Adding to the relaxation effect was a hum that was half sound, half vibration, growing stronger and stronger until it was no longer coming from outside Zia, but rather, seemed to emanate from within her.
Closing her eyes, she allowed the colossus to take over completely, fusing itself with her body, her mind, and her soul.
“Zia! Open your eyes,” Carrak complained loudly. “Do you see what the giant sees?”
Zia stared in delight at the screen, which had descended and was now giving her a 180-degree view of the practice field. Standing right in the middle was the red-and-silver Quito skirmisher, gleaming in the Malaran sun, but looking quite a bit smaller than she remembered it. “I see Rem. Poor guy looks like a bug that’s ready to be squashed.”
Carrak laughed. “I am glad you are so confident. And yes, your mech is larger and more powerful. But do not underestimate him.”
“Because he can jump? We’ll see about that. All I have to do is fire at his jets, right? Disable them? Then his metal ass is mine.”
Carrak laughed again. “Captain Stone? Are you hearing this?”
Rem growled over the intercom. “We’ve definitely created a monster.”
Zia laughed. “I forgot you could hear me. Sorry. It’s just such a surprise. That skirmisher always looked so big to me before, but from way up here, it looks like a toy.”
“Yeah, I get it. Yours is bigger. Too bad it’s not more agile, or I’d be worried.”
“Enough bluster,” Carrak warned them. “Time for our first lesson. Zia, can you walk toward Captain Stone?”
“Sure.” She willed the giant to take a step, but nothing happened, so she concentrated harder, and the left arm of the colossus moved upward, pointing toward the sky.
A howl of laughter sounded over the intercom, and Zia glared in disgust. “He’s so competitive. Can’t we turn that thing off?”
“Forget about Captain Stone. Think about what you are doing. Do you remember what I told you? You are not operating a piece of machinery. You are the mech. His leg is your leg, his arm is your arm. Do not try to walk. Just walk.”
“Right.” She had no idea what Carrak meant, but wasn’t about to let Rem laugh at her again, so she told herself, Just walk, Zee. Walk over to him. Let him see how much taller you are. That’ll show him who’s boss.
“Zia!” Carrak’s voice was almost a snarl. “Put your feet in the guides.”
“Cripes, I thought they were.” Zia slid the toes of her boots further into the metal frames. Then she pleaded with the mech, Come on, Grandpa, dance with me.
To her delight, the robot took several steps forward.
“Wahoo! You did it!” Rem shouted.
Zia cheered too, and even Carrak was smiling.
“Do you see? The guides and the gloves are vital. That is how the mech knows what you want. The helmet is only part of it.”
“I’ve got it,” Zia promised. “Can I shoot him now?”
“Not yet. Walk backward.”
“Retreat?” Zia laughed. “Never!”
“Then our lesson is over.”
“Okay, okay. Yeeeesh, you’re demanding.” She took a deep breath, then pictured herself backing away from Rem. The robot responded instantly. “Now sideways, then front, then back.” She giggled as the mech followed the moves from her mind. “See, Rem? We’re dancing.”
“Yeah, I see.”
She loved the reverence in his tone, knowing it was a true compliment. He was actually enjoying this. Actually believing—for one unreasonable, exhilarating moment—that Zia might make a good ally after all.
“Now can I shoot him?”
Carrak exhaled loudly. “Perhaps after lunch. I need to rest. But first, Captain Stone? It is time to make your jump.”
Zia winced. “Can I fire at him while he jumps?”
“No. Defend yourself by moving out of his way. Or deflecting him with one arm. If he impacts you, use your jets.”
“It’s too much to remember.”
“The giant already knows it. Just protect yourself. Pretend he is attacking your human body, not the mech.”
“Ready, Quito?” Rem asked.
Zia noted with appreciation that he had called her by her family name. She needed that. This was no place for a foghead, after all. “Okay, Stone, let’s see what you’ve got.”
* * * *
Rem rested his hand on the control stick of the Quito skirmisher, trying to contain his excitement. After weeks of practicing in other, newer mechs, he was finally using the one he had dreamed about—the one Quito the Great had used to topple a giant in the Battle of the Canyons. In this mech, the right pilot could work miracles.
But against Quito’s granddaughter? Rem grinned in frustration. As much as he wanted his first assault in this mech to be a glorious one, he wasn’t about to ram Zia. Even though she was definitely asking for it. As if the taunts and insults weren’t enough, she was now waving her arm and calling out to him, “I’m over here. Did you dose off? Or are you just afraid of the big bad giant?”
Carrak must be ready to clobber her, he told himself with a chuckle. Better get it over with and give them a little bump.
Revving his jets, he steadied his aim, then jumped, calculating the distance carefully so that he would impact the colossus without any danger of making it lose its balance. Even that little nudge would teach Zia a lesson, he knew. She thought she had experienced jolts in the simulator, but in a real mech, the effect was a thousand times stronger.
He sailed into the air, soaring above her for a few seconds, then speeding downward toward her left side. When she raised her huge left arm to deflect him, he adjusted his jets to modify his course. Just as he reached the right side of her mech, he reversed, so that the hit, while jarring, was minimal.
She squealed over the intercom, half laughing, half screaming, and Rem grinned proudly. Once he had landed safely, he sat back and enjoyed the moment. On his view screen, he saw the giant’s hatch open, and Zia and Carrak emerged, using jet boots to lower themselves toward the g
round. Zia waved at him to join them.
Apparently, it was lunchtime.
She’s gonna spend the whole time bragging, he decided as he unbuckled his harness. Leave it to her to turn the whole thing into a game. Like our lives aren’t really on the line, and Alluva isn’t waiting in the wings to capture her. I guess this is what you get when you cross a party girl with a mech warrior.
And at least she isn’t crying anymore. That was rough. So let her brag about her colossus as much as she wants. Even though we both know the truth—my skirmisher can kick any giant’s ass. Even the Quito giant!
* * * *
By the final afternoon before the challenge, Zia had mastered most of the basic moves of the colossus as well as some of the more advanced ones, such as reversing course quickly without toppling. She had even fired paint blobs at Rem, coating the Quito skirmisher with green and blue.
As payback, Rem had dealt her some bone-jarring blows, and she was getting a little tired of it, not to mention sore. She had tried three times to fire paint at his cameras while he was in mid-jump so he couldn’t correct for her movements on his way down, but he always positioned his mech so the cameras were protected by an arm.
They were nearing the end of their final practice session, and Zia knew what was coming. Carrak had ordered Rem to topple Zia, and while she knew he was too much of a gentleman to really enjoy it, she also knew he’d do it, if only so her first experience with that humiliating tactic didn’t come at the hands of an Alluvan warrior.
Assuming of course that Zia made the final cut and was allowed into the challenge match. Carrak still hadn’t made that decision, but Zia was fairly confident, if only because there was zero competition. All of the other giants were unavailable, their pilots too sick to climb out of bed. If Zia couldn’t fight alongside Carrak and Rem, then a skirmisher would be substituted for the second giant. The rules allowed for either side to use a lesser mech in place of the one specified by the target. But doing so would put Malara at an even more hopeless disadvantage.