NEW WORLD DISORDER: MECH COMMAND BOOK 1

by George Mahaffey

  “Those are just rumors.”

  “All truth starts with rumors.”

  “Do you ever actually listen to the words that come out of your mouth?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

  We plodded ahead. After several more minutes, we’d crossed from one side of the building to the other, never seeing a soul or any sign of Dexter.

  “Okay, I followed you on your little goose chase,” Jezzy said. “I’m outta here.”

  “Wait,” I said, pointing to an air vent on the ground. A sliver of blue light was visible. “You know what that means?” I asked.

  “That I should never have come here with you?”

  I smiled. “There’s something downstairs.”

  * * *

  Another swipe of the security card gained us access to a stairwell that we’d missed while doing our initial circuit of the building. Padding down the steps, we hit a landing and shuttled down a short corridor that ended at a final door. The building must have excellent acoustic insulation I thought because the corridor echoed with the sound of small-arms fire and muffled shouts and screams. We stopped at the door, the blue light creeping under its threshold. I looked to Jezzy, then sucked in a breath and placed my shoulder against the door’s metal frame.

  As gently as I could, I pressed on the door, inching it open. The light was blinding, and I turned away. After several seconds, my eyes had acclimated, and I looked back to see Dexter, standing by himself in a misty cone of swirling blue light. He was monitoring a dozen enormous sections of what looked like plate glass suspended in mid-air. Images danced across the glass, scenes from what appeared to be movies, all of them involving mechs engaged in combat.

  Jezzy and I stood there, absolutely thunderstruck by what we were witnessing. Some of the images were low resolution, top-down style shots (as if taken by a drone), but the other stuff was high-res with even a bit of thermal imagery thrown in for good measure.

  I gaped up and watched mechs fighting at the edge of dark forests against armies in shimmering armor, or battling half-naked warriors with bows and lances who were riding horses across sunbaked plains. There were others facing off against tanks and soldiers with more modern weapons in shattered cities or fighting what looked like monsters or alien creatures in primordial swamps. If these were movies, I didn’t recall ever seeing any of them, but the budgets for the special effects must have been extraordinary, the fighting looked so real.

  Although I don’t remember doing so, I must’ve gasped because Dexter turned and squinted. “Holy Mother of … Deus? Is that you?”

  “Yep. It’s me. Double D. Danny Deus. GQ’s man of the century.”

  Dexter didn’t break a smile. He pointed at Jezzy. “So … you busted in and … thought it might be a good idea to bring along a friend?”

  “I’m actually not a friend. I don’t even like this guy,” Jezzy said.

  “Jezzy, meet Dexter. Dexter, Jezzy.”

  “I am not pleased to meet you,” Dexter said to Jezzy. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Jezzy replied. “I was just leaving, anyway, so…”

  I grabbed Jezzy’s arm as Dexter approached. “Care to tell me how you got past security and what the hell you’re doing here?”

  “I borrowed a security pass.”

  Dexter glared at me. “You stole it.”

  “Does this guy know you or what?” Jezzy said as I swatted her hand.

  “Look, Dexter, there’s no question that there’s a way to look at this where I was wrong to borrow the pass,” I said, putting air quotes around the word “borrow.”

  “What’s another way to look at it?” Dexter asked.

  “I guess … there’s no other way to look at it,” I said with a shrug.

  He glared at me, and I continued. “We didn’t mean any harm, but we needed to know what was going on. We saw somebody injured up at the hangar and—”

  “The dude’s name was Cyrus Stoneburner.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Vaguely,” Dexter said.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “What part of ‘none of your business’ don’t you understand?”

  “I just want to know what’s going on. I – we – were brought here and think we deserve some answers.”

  Dexter’s expression softened. He looked from me to Jezzy and sighed. “Look, if you tell anybody I told you anything, I’ll say you broke in and threatened to kill me.”

  “We won’t,” I replied.

  “Okay, alright, so this is the place where we monitor the operators’ training.”

  “Is this the ‘Distant Windows’ place?” I asked.

  “No, but we record what happens there in here.”

  I pointed at the screens. “Are those movies?”

  Dexter shook his head. “They’re training videos.”

  “What? Some kind of VR simulation?”

  Dexter answered with silence. I snorted, so did Jezzy. “You don’t – don’t tell me that stuff’s real.”

  “No comment.”

  “C’mon, Dexter, that’s not even possible.”

  Dexter leaned in close to me. “Do you know what’s under the hangar?”

  I shook my head, and he continued. “Well, it’s built on top of something.”

  “What? An ancient Indian burial ground?” I replied, smirking.

  He stared at me, absolutely no emotion in his face. “There’s something under the building that can open doors.”

  “To what?”

  “To places where the operators train.”

  “Are you saying they can go back in time?” Jezzy asked.

  “You don’t have to necessarily go back in time to time travel if you know what I’m saying. Haven’t you ever heard of the ‘Many Worlds’ or ‘Multiverse’ theories of temporal touring?”

  I blinked. “I literally don’t understand a word you just said.”

  “He’s not very smart,” Jezzy said to Dexter, angling a thumb at me.

  Before Dexter could respond, I brushed past him and stood at the edge of the blue light. My eyes hopped between the screens which weren’t glass at all, but fields of pure white light that reflected the images. I watched one of the mechs that I recognized from the trailer swarmed with hundreds of armored fighters in chain mail who hacked and slashed at the machine with swords and axes. The mech shook them off and loosed rockets and cannon fire that eviscerated what I assumed to be knights or some sort of crusaders. Whoever they were, the dudes in chainmail fell in waves, and I turned back to Dexter.

  “How can I get involved in this?” I asked.

  “You’re lucky, Deus,” Dexter said. “Cyrus is down, so they’ve got an opening.”

  “How do I apply?”

  “You don’t. You gotta try out. C’mon, man, didn’t you see the message on your glasses?”

  I hadn’t checked my neural glasses in hours. The idea of trying out to become a mech operator was the reason I’d been pumped to meet Vidmark in the first place.

  “Sweet,” I said.

  “You gonna do it?” Dexter asked.

  “Course I am. It’s my destiny. You see, Dex, I’m kinda a big deal in some circles.”

  “Which ones?” he asked.

  “Yes, Danny, which?” Jezzy seconded.

  Ignoring them, I continued. “And in these circles I’m well-known for my ability to shake and bake. I guess what I’m saying is I’ve got some serious street cred. I’ve got a rep.” I flicked a finger at Jezzy. “Go on. Tell the man.”

  “There are no circles, he’s got no rep, and definitely no cred,” she said to Dexter.

  I waved her off and nodded to Dexter. “Bottom line is, I’m gonna try out. Count on it.”

  “Boss,” Dexter replied, bumping my fist.

  We thanked Dexter repeatedly for not ratting on us and exited the basement. Jezzy was already arguing with me, by the time I got outside. “Nope. There is no way in hell I’m helping you.”

  “Why not?” I asked.
<
br />   “Because of that whole, ‘I don’t like you’ thing.”

  “Aside from that.”

  She did a slow-burn. “People like us don’t try out for things like that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Do you know what I did before the aliens came, Danny?”

  “You worked at that store, what was it called? ‘Noggin,’ right? You sold computing and brain teasing equipment.”

  “Exactly. I sold computer crap, I didn’t try to ride around inside of it.”

  “You can’t tell me the mechs aren’t super cool.”

  “Okay, so maybe they are … a little bit. But think about all you’ve gone through. You lost your legs in the crash, and Vidmark gave them back. One wrong move in a mech and whatever Vidmark did for you is probably gonna be undid. You’ll be paralyzed again.”

  “Is ‘undid’ even a real word?”

  “You know what I mean, jackass. We’re not whole anymore, okay? We’re both broken. So, count me out,” she said. I called her, but she flipped me a middle finger and moved haltingly on her prosthetic leg back up to the hangar.

  17

  After hiding the security pass I’d borrowed in an air vent, I checked my neural glasses once I got back to my room and sure enough, a message had been sent earlier about a slot opening up on the mech operators’ team. There were no details about how or why the slot opened (nothing about Cyrus being injured) or even how to apply, just that anyone interested should report for an information session the next day at noon.

  I was juiced, pumping my fist, feeling real excitement for the first time since the hoversurf crash. I had fleeting thoughts about what I’d seen down with Dexter, the images of the mechs engaged in combat, but I shrugged those off as simulations or holographs. There was no way in hell anyone had found a way to go back in time. I mean, if that was possible, somebody would’ve gone back to the days before the alien invasion and found a way to stop the whole thing from happening, right? But then how had the other mech operator, Cyrus, been injured? Maybe just a routine training accident? What about the arrows I’d seen sticking out of the mech? I swallowed my doubt and misgivings. The bottom line was, I didn’t know what had happened to Cyrus, but I hoped to find out.

  The next day, I headed back up to the hangar and found Richter busy sorting pieces of metal and fabricated parts that someone had brought on the bed of a truck. I put two and two together and realized that someone at The Hermitage probably sent teams outside the fence to scavenge and source materials that could be used to help fix the broken machines.

  “Did you see the text?” I asked Richter.

  “You’re gonna learn that I don’t do texts,” Richter answered not looking up.

  “I thought you didn’t do conversation.”

  Richter looked up. “I don’t do either of them.”

  “Okay, well … I’m going to try out, sir.”

  He yawned. “For what?”

  “To become a mech operator.”

  I was waiting for him to smile or maybe give me a hellacious high-five, but he didn’t do either. Instead, he sucked on his teeth. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because I was born to do it.”

  “Meaning … what? You’re special?”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “What is it with people of your generation?” Richter asked with a hard, questioning glance. “Everybody’s a friggin’ snowflake.”

  Something about the way he casually dismissed what I’d said pissed the hell out of me. I was silent for several seconds and he stood and moved away, and then I did something I shouldn’t have. I muttered: “Least I’m trying to do my part.”

  Richter stopped five or six feet away from me. He hesitated and then slowly turned and looked back. The veins on his neck throbbed and he looked like he was about to knock me into tomorrow. “What did you just say, kid?”

  “Um, great … well … nothing … I didn’t say a-anything,” I mumbled.

  “What do you know about doing your part, dipshit?” he asked, spit flying from his mouth.

  “I just meant – I wanted to do something to help.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “What’d you do to help during the occupation?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that, not a very good one at least.

  He moved forward, and I felt very small in his presence. “I know what you did during the occupation,” he said.

  My cheeks warmed as they always did when I was embarrassed. I had no idea that Richter knew about my past. My gaze instantly dropped to my shoes. “I did what I had to do,” I muttered.

  “Ever notice that that’s what people who don’t have the stones to do the right thing always say?”

  I stared at Richter who thumped his chest. “I was a pilot in the days before,” he said. “I jockeyed a plane. I was trying to save the world while you were dicking around, ripping people off.”

  I gulped. “What kind of plane?”

  “The kind that tried to stop the scuds from taking over our planet.”

  “That’s impossible,” I said. “All the old fighter jockeys are dead.” That was supposedly true by the way. There were loads of stories about how the aliens had specifically targeted pilots and anyone capable of flying a machine that might be able to take down one of their gliders or mechs.

  “Not all of the old jockeys are dead,” Richter said.

  I took this in and held out my hand. “I’m sorry about what I said before, sir.”

  Richter shook my hand. “I accept your apology. But how ‘bout before you start talking about doing your part, you actually do something, okay? Talk is extremely fucking cheap.”

  * * *

  After my shift was over, I took a stroll through the middle of the hangar. I kept an eye on the pyramid-like structure, but it was darkened and appeared to be locked up. I spotted Vidmark on the other side of the building, gesturing at a pod of workers who were busy driving lifts and loaders filled with materials. I moved toward him, and he spotted me and smiled.

  “I saw the message,” I said.

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “The tryouts to become a mech operator.”

  He nodded. That was it. I guess I’d expected him to be more animated, to tell me all about it and say I was the perfect candidate and about this and about that, or maybe tell me that this was precisely the reason I’d been brought to The Hermitage. None of that happened. Just a few seconds of awkward silence.

  “How come you didn’t tell me about it before?” I asked.

  “Why would I?”

  “Because I guess … isn’t that why you brought me here?”

  His brow furrowed. I couldn’t tell if he was pissed or confused. “Didn’t we already discuss this?”

  “Yeah, sure, I mean it’s just … this is my chance.”

  “So, make the most of it. The things we obtain on our own are always the most valuable. The minute somebody gives you something, the moment it becomes free, is the moment you no longer want it. Isn’t that what your father, what was his name? Wade? Used to tell you?”

  I froze. Yes, absolutely, positively, that was something my old man used to say, but how the hell did Vidmark know that? He smiled like a child fighting to hide a secret.

  “How … how do you know about my father?” I asked.

  “Do you honestly think I would have allowed you into this place, my home, if I didn’t know everything there was to know about you, Danny?”

  “But … how?”

  “I have my ways,” Vidmark said with a grin.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “My old man’s dead.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “He’s dead to me,” I replied. “He ran out on us for good when I was thirteen.” That was all true, and I did believe in my heart of hearts that my father had likely died, around with the other sixty percent of the population, during the invasion and occupation.

  “That’s
what I admire about you,” Vidmark said. “Left alone with your brother, abandoned by your father and largely by your mother, and yet you didn’t give up.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Because you’re a fighter.”

  “Survivor.”

  “Essentially the same thing,” Vidmark said. “Being a survivor, you, more than most, recognize what this place is. This is where we create opportunities for those who want to succeed. There were thousands of people who responded to my text, but less than a handful that possessed the kind of raw skills that you have. You’re the equivalent of a five-tool prospect in baseball, Danny. That said, there are no favorites here, no quotas or set-asides. We’ve got a safety net, but it’s not a hammock. I made it possible for you to come here, but you’re not guaranteed anything. I make no promises. If you want something, you’ll need to earn it.”

  I got what he was saying. “Yes, sir,” I answered.

  “We saw something in you, Daniel Deus. The question is whether you see it in yourself.”

  And with that, he turned back to the other workers and began barking orders at them as I moved back across the hangar, headed back outside to collect my thoughts.

  * * *

  The information session was held back in one of the Darth Vader buildings, and I was surprised at the lack of turnout. Jezzy wasn’t there of course, but I did see two girls about my age and three other dudes, all of whom I’d seen while walking around the campus. I began to have doubts. The six of us were the best that could be found to train to operate one of the mechs? I considered this, then realized all of the people who might ordinarily be here, the genetically gifted and the technically brilliant, had all likely died during the alien invasion. The population in the country was said to be down to around a hundred million people (but likely closer to sixty million), but of that, a good seventy percent was under the age of eighteen. The aliens had done an extraordinary job of targeting people of fighting age, both men, and women. They’d gone after soldiers, law enforcement, engineers, and people with advanced degrees. Basically, everyone who ordinarily would’ve been training to operate a mech. That largely left us. I guess you could say we were the cream of what was left of a pretty crappy crop, the best of the worst, which I thought, with a sly smile, would make a pretty funny T-shirt.