by Jake Bible
“You have no idea how right you may be, Mr. MacAulay,” Holcomb said and gestured to the mech. “Shall we?”
“What am I going to do?” Clay said. “I get how you think you can fuse tendons and ligaments to the mech for structural use. That makes sense in a sick sort of way. But the issue has been the power cell alternators from the beginning. There’s no way you can repair those without actual mechanical parts.”
“We have our ways,” Holcomb said.
Clay stared at him for a long while.
“Do I want to know?” Clay asked.
“At some point, you will,” Holcomb said. “At some point, you’ll have to. But if you want to maintain your ignorance on this subject for now, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
Clay let out a long breath through his nostrils. Mr. Bell growled again.
“Come on,” Holcomb said. “Let’s get you two up inside this mech. Your AI ain’t gonna put up a fight, is it? You got a tame one or is it one of them half-mad AIs that was supposed to be put down after the Bloody Conflict?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Clay said.
“The harder you make this on me, the harder the folks in charge make it on you,” Holcomb said and shrugged. “But it’s your life.”
“For how long?” Clay snorted.
“For as long as they want,” Holcomb said and climbed up the side of one of the mech’s legs until he was on top and able to walk the front all the way to the cockpit, which stood wide open.
Holcomb gave another long whistle and Mr. Bell followed. Clay was right behind the man, studying his every move. He had the brainless attitude of Torsten, but Clay had witnessed how fast and agile that giant was. Mr. Bell seemed to be doubly adept. He scrambled up along the mech with a physical efficiency that clenched Clay’s gut. If they had to face off, mech to mech, Clay wasn’t sure who would win.
When all three were at the cockpit, Clay climbed down inside then gestured for Mr. Bell to follow. The man stood right where he was, his goggles making him look like a bug-eyed imbecile.
“Go on now,” Holcomb ordered. “Get in there and do what you were made to do.”
“Excuse me?” Clay asked. “Made?”
“Don’t play stupid,” Holcomb said. “You got eyes.”
“Yeah, I got eyes, but what does that have to… Never mind. Let’s get this over with,” Clay said.
He pointed to the pilot’s seat. Luckily, it was sans bison flesh.
“You sit there and let the system acclimate to your biometrics and brainwaves,” Clay said.
Mr. Bell took the seat. Nothing happened.
“What’s wrong?” Holcomb asked. “Why ain’t the consoles lighting up?”
“I don’t know,” Clay said. “You’re the one that was in charge of fixing it. You tell me.”
“It is fixed,” Holcomb said. “I checked all the power cells myself. This mech has full juice and the alternators, for what they are, work perfectly.”
“What are they?” Clay asked.
“What do you think could handle the electrical connections needed to alternate current?” Holcomb replied.
“Just tell me,” Clay snapped. Holcomb tapped his temple. “Brains? You used bison brains?”
“It works,” Holcomb said.
“Apparently not,” Clay said.
“It works,” Holcomb insisted. “Mr. MacAulay, I like you, but if you make me look bad in front of the folks in charge, then I’m going to stop liking you.”
Clay glanced around. “Pretty sure they aren’t here to see you fail.”
“They are everywhere, Mr. MacAulay,” Holcomb said. “Everywhere.”
Mr. Bell fidgeted in the pilot’s seat then growled once more. His fingers gripped the armrests until every knuckle popped and his hands turned whiter than they already were.
“This isn’t going to end well for you, Mr. MacAulay,” Holcomb said. “Mr. Bell hasn’t eaten today.”
“So? I haven’t either!” Clay snarled. Mr. Bell growled louder. “Oh, shut the hell up!”
There was the click of a hammer being pulled back and Clay’s eyes went wide as Holcomb produced Clay’s revolver and aimed it at his head.
“Mr. MacAulay, I’ve been given instructions, and they need to be carried out,” Holcomb said. “Last time I plan on asking.”
“Okay, okay, hold on!” Clay exclaimed. “Shit, man. Let me think.”
Clay closed his eyes and was silent for three seconds. His eyes popped open, and he snapped his fingers.
“Reboot default,” Clay said. “The power cells were disconnected. Security has kicked in and the mech is locked down. I’ll need to enter the codes and confirm my biometrics before controls can be transferred over to Mr. Bell.”
“Then please do that,” Holcomb said.
Clay pointed at a particularly bad-looking console. “I can’t.”
“Wrong answer,” Holcomb said and his trigger finger tensed.
“No need to get shooty,” Clay said. “I can make it work, but I’ll need your help.”
“How?” Holcomb asked.
Clay looked from the console then up out of the concrete walls of the locks at the Vernacht that stood at the edge far above them. “I’ll need about one hundred meters of fiber-optic cable. You have that handy?”
“I do,” Holcomb said.
“You do?” Clay responded, taken aback.
“You won’t be able to derail me by asking for cable, Mr. MacAulay,” Holcomb said. “Fiber optic cable is cheap and easy to get, even in the Midlands. Let me get up top and fetch some for ya.”
“No, I’ll go and throw it down,” Clay said. “I need to patch into the Vernacht’s interface so I can enter the codes from there and it can scan my biometrics. Unless the Vernacht doesn’t have a biometric interface console?”
“It does,” Holcomb said.
“Of course it does,” Clay sighed. “Once I activate the reboot, the mech will be in Mr. Bell’s hands. You win.”
“I haven’t won for a very long time,” Holcomb said and Clay almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.
The Vernacht’s claw descended to the cockpit, and Clay looked at Holcomb in surprise.
“External microphones,” Holcomb said. “So the pilot can hear me when I’m down by the locks shouting orders.”
“Handy,” Clay said. He left the cockpit and climbed up into the claw. “It’s going to be automatic, so be ready. As soon as the reboot happens, this mech will power up and become live. You sure Mr. Bell can handle it?”
“I am sure,” Holcomb said.
“Okay then,” Clay said. “Give me five minutes once you make the connections. Need me to draw you a schematic?”
“I can handle it,” Holcomb snapped. “Just get.”
The claw ascended, and Clay took several deep, calming breaths. He popped open his watch and entered a series of quick codes.
“You know what I’m doing, Gibbons?” Clay asked.
“Yes,” Gibbons replied. “Just tell me we’ll get the mech back.”
“Oh, we’ll get the mech back,” Clay said. “And we’ll get it back to its original, non-fleshy state. Then we are long gone from here.”
“That better happen,” Gibbons responded.
The claw stopped parallel to the Vernacht’s cockpit, which sat on top of series of decks like a hump on the machine’s back. The machine itself was an eight-legged monstrosity that outweighed Clay’s mech by almost a thousand tons. It was three hundred meters from end to end, two hundred meters tall, and could dismantle a mountain without running out of power.
Clay had to fight the urge to laugh as he climbed from the claw to the cockpit and waited for the pilot to open the side hatch. The cockpit could seat four, and was designed that way in case the military, whatever military, needed to retrofit the machine for battle use during the Bloody Conflict. Rarely did that occur, from what Clay knew, since despite there being eight legs, Vernachts were painfully slow.
The pilot was a patch
work-faced gentleman like Mr. Bell and Torsten. Clay wasn’t surprised.
“Fiber optic cable?” Clay asked.
The pilot pointed to a cabinet at the back of the cockpit. Clay stepped inside, went to the cabinet, fished out a large spool of cable, and struggled to carry it out of the cockpit. He wrapped the free end of the cable around one of the claw’s fingers, making sure it wouldn’t come loose, then turned and nodded at the pilot.
The claw descended as Clay let the cable play out, the spool spinning on a heavy rod set into the center of it. Clay watched the claw reach the mech below and waited until Holcomb had retrieved the end.
“Connected!” Clay heard Holcomb’s voice shout over a set of speakers in the Vernacht’s cockpit.
The pilot turned to look at Clay. Clay gave him a weak smile and stepped back into the cockpit with the spool.
“Hold this,” Clay said.
The pilot hesitated then took the spool. Clay punched him right between the eyes. The pilot stumbled back, and Clay was on him fast. Three more strikes and the pilot’s eyes rolled up into his skull. Clay waited a few seconds to make sure the guy was out then hunted around for a pair of wire cutters. He found some in the same cabinet where he’d retrieved the spool.
Clay flipped open his watch again.
“We’ll have to do this fast,” Clay said. “As soon as you power up and we begin the transfer, Mr. bell is going to have access to the mech’s controls. It’ll take a minute or two for him to get acclimated, but he’ll figure it out if he isn’t totally braindead in there.”
“What about Holcomb?” Gibbons asked.
“I don’t care about him,” Clay said. “He’ll be a tiny man between two giant mechs. With us being in the larger of the giants.”
He snipped some wire and lay down on the cockpit floor, popping open a panel just below the main controls. He spliced the cable into an empty port then stood up and set his hand upon a live console.
“Ready, buddy?” Clay asked.
“Ready, pal,” Gibbons replied.
Clay activated the command on the console while activating a simultaneous command in the pocket watch and the process started immediately.
“This feels funky,” Gibbons said then his voice squelched and the communication was cut.
“Good luck, buddy,” Clay whispered as the transfer of Gibbons’ AI mind from the old mech to the Vernacht began.
Twelve
“Is it working?” Holcomb’s voice echoed in the Vernacht’s cockpit speakers.
Clay didn’t respond, only stood there, his eyes locked onto the progress bar as Gibbons’ AI consciousness uploaded into the Vernacht’s system.
“Hello? I’d be much obliged if someone could respond and let me know what is going on,” Holcomb said. “I see lights running on the consoles down here, but nothing is starting up.” There was a short pause. “Hello?”
Clay glanced over at the unconscious pilot. He’d have to do something with the guy. Couldn’t really take him with them. Maybe toss him out once they were on their way. Might be nicer to set him down using the claw, but Clay wasn’t feeling too nice at that moment.
Clay studied the mech’s controls, making sure he knew what was what so he could make a fast getaway when the time came. He heard Holcomb shouting from down in the locks.
“Shit,” Clay muttered then stepped out of the cockpit and put a hand to his ear. “What’s that?”
“How’s it going up there?” Holcomb shouted. “I’ve been trying to hail y’all, but no one is answering.”
“Damn, that’s not good,” Clay replied. “There must be a short in the coms that was triggered by the reboot. I’ll check it. Hold on!”
Holcomb yelled something else, but Clay didn’t hear it as he went back into the cockpit and engaged the motor drives. He knew Holcomb wasn’t going to buy a short in the coms for very long, and he needed to be ready to flee the very second Gibbons’ transfer was complete.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Clay said, tapping his fingers on the console. “Come on!”
There was a shrill beep then Gibbons announced from the speakers, “I’m in! Go!”
Clay yanked the fiber optic cable free and tossed it out of the cockpit.
“What the hell?” Holcomb’s voice rang out. “What is going on up there? I want a report now! You hear me? I want a—!”
Clay cut the speakers and backed the Vernacht away from the locks.
“That freaky Mr. Bell has figured out that I was blocking his pilot interface,” Gibbons said. “He’s powering up the mech. We’re going to need to hurry. Our mech will catch this monstrosity easy if we don’t get a good lead.”
“I know,” Clay said as he spun the cockpit around to face the opposite direction.
One of the great things about the Vernacht was that it was symmetrical. No real front, no real back. The cockpit could swivel around and make its own front and back.
The control interface was a clunky thing, designed more for stability than for transportation. It was nothing like the battle mech Clay was used to.
“Let me help,” Gibbons said. “I’ll be better suited to pilot while you work the claw.”
“Why am I working the claw?” Clay asked.
“Because our defiled mech is climbing out of the locks right now,” Gibbons said. “I don’t know who Mr. Bell is, but he knows how to pilot a mech.”
“Would have been nice if you’d put some sort of lockdown on the mech before leaving it,” Clay said.
“Who says I didn’t?” Gibbons replied, his voice less than thrilled with Clay’s passive aggressive comment. “Be patient, pal. The worm has to run its course.”
“So you did sabotage the mech’s systems?” Clay asked.
“Of course. Don’t insult me with stupid questions,” Gibbons replied. “I know my job, Clay.”
“Any idea when the worm is going to kick in?” Clay asked, bringing the Vernacht’s claw around to face the mech that had just crested the side of the concrete locks. “Our mech may be out of ammo, but it can still kick some serious ass.”
“If Mr. Bell knows how to fight,” Gibbons said. “Being proficient at piloting, or even using weapons systems, is not the same as knowing hand-to-hand combat. Maybe he can shoot, but can he land a solid roundhouse kick in a fifty-foot battle mech without falling on his ass?”
The mech grabbed a stray hunk of equipment that was set next to the concrete locks. With almost perfect execution, it threw the equipment at the Vernacht while breaking into an all-out run.
“Shit!” Clay yelled as he brought the claw up to block the incoming equipment. He barely made it in time and the Vernacht shuddered from the impact. “Any damage?”
“No,” Gibbons said. “That claw can take a beating. It would need a direct rocket impact to even put it out of synch.”
“Good to know,” Clay said. “I’m spinning the cockpit back around, okay? I need eyes on this guy. You got the piloting under control?”
“What did I just say about not insulting me with stupid questions?” Gibbons grumbled. “You fight, I’ll pilot.”
“Deal,” Clay said.
“I do have one question,” Gibbons said.
“What’s that?” Clay replied.
“Where am I piloting us to?” Gibbons asked.
“Away,” Clay said.
“Anything more specific?” Gibbons sighed.
“Far enough away that we lose this jerk and can regroup to figure out our next move,” Clay said.
“So we’re coming back?” Gibbons asked.
“Hell yes we’re coming back!” Clay exclaimed. “These assholes took our mech! We need that mech! They can’t have it!”
“Good to hear,” Gibbons said. “I’m pushing the long-range scanners to full to see if maybe we can find a dead spot. Some place where we can hide without being discovered.”
“And they have my hat and pistol,” Clay continued. “I want those back.”
“Did you hear me about the
scanners?” Gibbons asked.
“I heard you,” Clay replied. “See anything?”
Clay watched as the other mech slowly closed the gap between them. Mr. Bell knew how to run a battle mech. The machine wasn’t missing a step, and its strides actually looked like the legs were moving at full efficiency.
“Too soon to tell,” Gibbons responded. “And this isn’t the mountains. We’re in the Midlands, Clay. There’s nothing but prairies for as far as the eye can see. Unless I can find us an empty riverbed or some culvert big as a canyon we can tuck this thing in, we’ll be sticking out like a sore thumb for a while.”
“I really hate the Midlands,” Clay said. “This would have been so much easier if we’d been able to cross into NorthAm.”
“That goes without saying,” Gibbons said. “So don’t.”
Clay was about to reply, but warning klaxons blared in the cockpit.
“Are these readings right?” Clay asked. “How the hell?”
“Son of a bitch,” Gibbons said. “That bastard got the plasma cannons online. I thought I’d gummed them up.”
“He found an end around and now he has enough power to fire them,” Clay said. “What kind of plasma damage can the Vernacht take?”
Gibbons didn’t answer right away.
“Gibbons?” Clay pressed.
“It can take some, but not a lot,” Gibbons admitted. “Physical damage is one thing, this mech was built to get the ever-loving hell beat out of it since it’s a construction mech, but energy attacks? It’s not wired right. If we take too many direct hits, the systems will be fried, and we’ll be stopped dead in these prairies.”
“Not what I wanted to hear,” Clay said.
“Not what I wanted to say,” Gibbons replied. “I’m diverting as much power into the motor drives as I can get away with.”
Several consoles in the cockpit flickered then went dead. Clay ignored them, his eyes locked onto the mech racing after them with its plasma cannons glowing bright.
“I have us at a matching speed,” Gibbons said. “He can’t gain, but we can’t really escape.”
“What are we going to do? Run forever? We’ll run out of power before he does,” Clay said. “At this forced speed, this Vernacht will eat up power faster than a whore gobbles up—”