Richter looked over. “How’s that?”
“You didn’t call me ‘kid’ or ‘dipshit.’”
He smirked. “Pretty sure I meant to.”
But he hadn’t, and that meant a lot to me. I looked from him to the mech. “Can I do this, Jack? Can I beat these guys?”
“Only you can answer that question. The most difficult terrain in the world is the six inches between your ears. You’ve got the right machine, now all you need is the right mindset.”
“How do I get that?”
“Be out back near the target range at dawn, and I’ll show you,” Richter replied before walking off.
I nodded, excited, but concerned that I was running out of time. I had less than two days to prepare to fight the operators.
* * *
I was too amped from the day’s events to sleep that night, so I headed down to the Darth Vader buildings a little after nightfall. Dexter was outside taking a smoke break.
“Those things’ll kill you,” I said, spooking him, pointing to the cigarette.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Dude, your boy Dexter survived a full-on alien invasion and subsequent occupation. I’m pretty sure I’m superhuman now.”
I smiled, and he dapped my fist. “You feeling strong?” he asked.
I nodded. “I fixed up my mech.”
Dexter ashed his smoke. “Something about getting new legs, right?”
“Word travels fast.”
Dexter nodded, flicking the cigarette away. “You’ve got new wheels, but you haven’t started watching any game tape yet.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Dexter read my expression and pointed to the ground. “Follow me, follow fast, and if we get caught, I’ll deny I ever let you into the building. Comprende?”
26
Dexter ushered me into his building and down into the basement that Jezzy and I had snuck into with the stolen security pass. This time, he guided me through an interior door I hadn’t even seen before. We avoided several guards and other workers, ghosting through rear doorways and forgotten alcoves. Thankfully, the lower portion of the building was completely deserted.
The interior door led through a cocoonlike hallway that was covered on all sides by what looked like acoustical tiles. The hallway ended at an airlock. I stepped through, my body getting misted by what smelled like rubbing alcohol that was quickly suctioned off by machines that pulsed me with pressurized air.
On the other side of the airlock was a semi-darkened room filled with cubicles. Each of the cubicles had what looked like nap pods that were positioned under enormous flat screens.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“We call it the ‘Looking Glass,’” Dexter replied. “This is the area where all of the raw footage from the training sessions, from ‘Distant Windows,’ is stored.”
Dexter gestured for me to follow and I did. He led me over to one of the pods. He pulled back the giant eggshell on the top of the pod to reveal a visor that was connected to the flat screens.
“You can lie here and watch highlights of each of the other mech operators in action. If you’re smart, you’ll make a mental list of how they move, what they’re good at, what they’re not, where their weaknesses are. Like I said, it’s like a quarterback watching film on an opponent right before the big game.”
“You used to play ball?” I asked.
He nodded. “Wide receiver. Fast as gossip and twice as nasty.”
“Is that how you escaped the aliens?”
“Hell, no. Like I said before, by the time the bugs arrived I’d left Scienta’s main office to do some remote programming while living in my mom’s basement. I was down there on the day of the invasion. Being a geek saved my life!”
I smiled, realizing whatever information Dexter had might be the difference between winning and getting my ass handed to me. I moved to lie down on the pod’s bench and flung a final look at Dexter.
“Why are you doing this for me?”
“That’s kinda a dumb question to ask, Danny.”
“How come?”
“Why does anybody do anything for anyone?”
“Because they want something in return.”
He barked out a laugh. “Is that how friendship works in your world?”
I paused. A moment passed between us. “Are we friends?” I asked.
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Because after the invasion there weren’t any friends anymore. Just … allies and enemies.”
“Well the times, they are a changing, dawg,” Dexter said with a smile. “Now lemme show you how this stuff works. You’ve got forty-five minutes, and then I have to kick you out.”
Over the next forty-five minutes, I watched footage that was almost too incredible to believe. I saw Simeon, Baila, and the other operators engaging in what appeared to be very real combat in a variety of settings. There were scenes of the operators battling ancient warriors with bows and arrows and lances, or fighting against primitive tanks and other battle machines, or engaged in duels with what looked like alien soldiers that didn’t resemble any of the aliens I’d ever seen during the invasion and occupation. I saw the operators mow down hundreds, maybe thousands of enemy fighters, emptying out their cannons and rocket pods. Sometimes the number of attackers was so numerous that they forced the operators back, and other times, some of the primitive weapons appeared to be reasonably effective. I watched an ancient warrior on a horse, for instance, unleash a large rock from a sling that bounced off the cockpit glass on one of the mechs at just the right angle to jar the machine.
Sometimes the operators fought individually, and other times they battled as teams or in roving packs. The images were similar to the ones I’d spied the last time I snuck into the building’s basement, but this time, I was able to manipulate everything. I could fast-forward, pause, rewind, zoom in on certain things, or pull back until I had a drone’s eye view of whatever I thought might be important.
I studied Simeon, who always seemed to be out in front of the others, leading them into battle. I noticed the angles he took when he attacked, how he seemed to favor his right side, moving out and then sweeping left while firing his cannons.
I saw that Dru and Billy were wild men, often dashing out ahead of the others in the heat of battle, preferring to vault into the air to get better firing angles at their enemies. Ren and Sato were more methodical, preferring to stay low for most of the fighting, only to churn forward, guns blazing at the last moment in an effort to surprise and overwhelm their attackers. Lastly, I observed Baila always seeming to stay in Simeon’s shadow. She was very strategic, very precise with her movements, often hesitating when it was clear that she had the ability to finish off whatever forces were attacking her.
I made mental notes of everything, at least as much as I could in forty-five minutes. I also noticed in one piece of footage, what looked like another mech, visible only for an instant. I replayed the footage and committed the mech to memory. By the time Dexter tapped me on the shoulder to say it was time to go, I had a righteous headache. I sat up and closed my eyes, hoping that my temple would stop throbbing.
“Some folks get cluster headaches after putting on the visor,” Dexter said.
“Now you tell me.”
I opened my eyes, and he handed me two white pills which I quickly swallowed.
“Tell me what you saw,” Dexter said.
“How long do you have?”
“You need to focus on a few things,” Dexter said. “That’s the secret to beating the other operators.”
I ran a hand through my hair. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of images and information that I’d just absorbed.
Dexter tapped a finger against his forehead. “If you take away one thing from what you’ve seen it’s anticipation.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means jumping the route, Danny. Just like a defensive back would do against a receiver in a football game. You gotta keep your
eyes on the quarterback, you hear me? He’s gonna tip his hand, and when he does, you jump that route.”
I had a vague understanding of what Dexter was talking about and wanted to talk more, but I was out of time. I thanked him for everything he’d done, and then I moved back to the airlock, before pausing.
“How come there was another mech?” I asked.
Dexter froze. “Say what?”
“I saw another one,” I replied. “It was black.”
“Maybe it was a reflection,” Dexter said with a ghost of a smile.
I didn’t respond, and Dexter’s smile slipped away. “Okay, so maybe, hypothetically, there are other teams out there.”
“Other … mech teams?”
“I’m just speaking in very vague terms, Danny.”
I nodded. “So, let’s assume these other teams are out there. Who are they?”
Dexter shrugged. “Maybe they’re teams from other countries.”
My jaw dropped. I’d never considered the possibility that other countries might have their own mech teams, even though it made perfect sense. Dexter looked around, and then he leaned close.
“Look, man, you wanted to know what ‘Distant Windows’ was, right?”
I nodded.
“They’ve got a machine over in the hangar that lets them travel through time.”
I laughed, but Dexter wasn’t smiling. “I’m serious, Danny. They can’t go back or forward in time, but they can sorta go sideways I guess you could say. They can slip back and forth between parallel time loops.”
“How is that possible?”
“The aliens left the machine behind. You’re probably not gonna believe this, but it was part of a time ship that crashed around nearby from what I hear. Apparently, the aliens were using the ship to resupply themselves and change the outcome of events they didn’t like.”
“Then why doesn’t somebody just use the machine to change everything? To go back in time before the aliens ever got here?”
“From what I hear, they’ve tried, okay? They’ve messed around with the loops in all kinds of ways, but the machine only works in a limited way. It was partially destroyed in the crash, but still has enough exotic material, quark plasma somebody said it’s called, to let people move laterally through the alternate loops … the ‘tangent worlds’ one of Vidmark’s people called it.”
“For what purpose?”
“Training. Apparently, nothing that happens in the loops affects the future, so they can do whatever they want and then everything just … resets in a way. What happens in there is better than any simulation. It’s like the galaxy’s greatest video game.”
“Do you know how crazy that sounds?” I said.
“Is it any crazier than living through an alien occupation?”
Good point. After you’ve experienced an alien invasion and occupation, nothing is unbelievable anymore. “I saw one of the mechs before,” I said. “I was spying on them, and I saw it come out, and it had arrows in it.”
“Just because it doesn’t affect the future, doesn’t mean that it ain’t real. People have been injured in the training, and if the rumors are true, more than a few of ‘em have died.”
I had more questions to ask, but Dexter caught sight of something in a security camera and motioned for me to leave. I took a step to exit and Dexter grabbed my arm. “If you ever have questions you don’t want anyone else to know about, hit me up on the instant message function on your neural glasses, okay? There’s an icon with a little ghost in a white sheet. It’s an ephemeral application so the messages are private and only exist for nine seconds once you open them.”
I nodded and thanked him again, then slipped through the airlock, sprinting up one of the building’s rear staircases.
I snuck out the back of the building, my mind racing. I still had no idea how I’d be able to beat the other operators, but at the very least, I had some useful information now. I had something … I had a chance.
Exiting the building, I strolled into the cool of the evening. I spotted a set of lights in the sky, far off in the distance. At first, I thought it might be a helicopter or a plane, but the lights were moving too erratically for that. Setting off across the lawn, I moved up toward a spit of high ground, an area that provided a peekaboo view of the surrounding cityscape. I watched the lights from that position. They seemed to circle over Washington, D.C., and then flash backward so quickly I almost lost sight of them. The only thing I’d seen more that quickly, was an alien glider. I squinted and noted other sets of lights, six in all. They circled slowly over D.C. and then vanished from sight. I convinced myself that they were some new kind of glider or jet, something the military was using to protect the cities, even as dark thoughts sprang from the caverns of my mind. I wondered whether there was something else out there, spying on us, watching, waiting for the right opportunity to attack.
27
If I thought Richter was going to go easy on me during training the next morning, I was seriously mistaken. I showed up at the target range a little after dawn, and there he was, clad in a camouflage outfit, standing aside an old-fashioned exosuit, holding what looked like an oversized paint gun. Exosuits had been used commercially in the days before the invasion, mostly to help workers lift more and heavier objects in warehouses and the like.
Richter’s exosuit was a rust-colored cage, little more than a seat in a metal-skinned frame, that fitted around his torso and head. It was supported by two absurdly thin legs that looked like javelins and powered by an energy pack that was attached to the back of the suit. He climbed into the contraption and walked toward me. With his spindly legs ticking and clicking, I thought he looked like an oversized praying mantis.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“It’s very simple, Danny. We try to kill each other.”
I smiled. Richter did not. Instead, he drifted back and then ran down through the firing range. I had no idea what to expect, but then my mech started getting pelted with paint pellets.
WHACK!
A red pellet smashed into my cockpit, smearing amber paint all over the glass. I powered up my mech in full and commenced the search for Richter who’d taken shelter in the range.
With my new legs, I was able to move briskly, gliding past obstacles, my metal arms chopping the air.
My eyes were everywhere.
On the range.
On the viewscreen.
Richter was a wraith, a blur; he was moving so quickly.
I fired rockets and cannon rounds at him, but he was always two steps in front of everything, and then it happened.
One of my rockets wedged into a wooden barricade and started a fire. Smoke filled the air, and I lost track of Richter.
My turret rotated, and I ran laterally, searching the viewscreen, but nothing … he was nowhere in sight. And to make matters worse, the modifications to my mech, while improving the machine’s capabilities, had made its operations more difficult. That is, I now had to pay special attention to the location and operation of my mech because of its enhanced maneuverability. In short, I was having trouble piloting the thing, while searching for targets.
I looked up and startled.
Richter had appeared out of a hole in the ground.
He paused and then sprang forward through the banners of smoke.
The bastard was running right at me!
I wheeled around, but he was zigzagging toward me, darting forward with the practiced grace of a dancer.
He hit the edge of a wrecked van and somersaulted into the air.
I fired at him, but my rounds flew wide and then—
WHACK!
I felt something, Richter, land on my turret.
I craned my head and glanced at the viewscreen and spotted him holding on for dear life. I took off on a ragged run, trying to shake Richter. I ran full speed and mounted a wooden barricade, before jumping into the air.
I landed, my hands white-knuckling the joysticks. I whipped the turret
around and waved my arms, trying to dislodge him. I could see him in the viewscreen, bringing his paint gun around and then he shot me blank in the turret.
“YOU’RE DEAD, DEUS!” I heard him shout.
I dropped my mech into a crouch and opened the exit hatch on the back of the turret to face Richter who was holding onto the turret’s ladder. Richter climbed down the ladder, hopped onto the ground, and glared at me.
“You’re late on almost everything,” Richter said.
“That’s because you’re too fast.”
Richter shook his head. “You’re task-saturated.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I said.
“It means I was able to attack close and get inside your turn circle. Cross-checking is not second nature to you yet.”
“Translate,” I replied.
“You’re great at piloting, but shitty at targeting and SA – battlefield situational awareness.”
“How can I get better in a day?”
“Only you can answer that. You either improve rapidly or find somebody to ride shotgun with you.”
I took this in and then Richter stared at me. “Let’s do this again. Recage your eyes and your brain. Get your shit squared this time and your head on a swivel. This is all about operational and targeting discipline.”
I nodded, and Richter reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a crayon. He moved over and wrote something on one my mech’s legs.
“This is something we did back in the day,” Richter said. “In my old unit, we gave each plane a number. When it went down or was taken out, we retired that number. You’re number one, Danny. Don’t bust your ride. Don’t become a ghost.”
I nodded again, and he struck off across the range. I closed the exit hatch and dropped behind the controls, and we went at it again. I throttled my mech until the engine was humming like a furnace and then I blasted off across the range, hunting for Richter. Just as before he scooted behind several obstacles, diving over a rocky outcropping. I just missed him with my cannons, and he returned fire, lobbing a flurry of paint pellets that hit my turret.
NEW WORLD DISORDER: MECH COMMAND BOOK 1 Page 16