The buzzing streets of Ivara Prime were alive with the hum of activity as Kovacs wandered through the lower levels of the city. Holographic signs floated above crowded sidewalks, advertising everything from high-end tech upgrades to local sporting events. Despite the chaos around him, Kovacs’ mind was focused elsewhere, still processing the aftermath of the recent attack and his own fledgling designs.
He passed a small tech kiosk where a large hologram displayed an advertisement that caught his eye:
“Annual Ivara Prime Engineering Tournament! Test Your Skill. Build the Future.”
Kovacs stopped in his tracks, watching as the details of the tournament scrolled across the hologram.
The advertisement continued, its visuals shifting to show various mechanical parts—arms, legs, torsos, and other components of mechs—arrayed like pieces of a puzzle.
“This year’s challenge: Assemble the most innovative and functional mech using only the provided components. Limited materials. Unlimited creativity.”
Kovacs frowned, intrigued. It wasn’t a typical competition. There would be no custom-built components or specialized tech brought from home. Instead, every contestant would work from the same pool of parts scavenged from older mech designs. The challenge wasn’t just to create something functional—it was to make the best possible mech from a collection of mismatched pieces.
A small crowd had gathered around the kiosk, murmuring excitedly about the contest. A lanky man in a grease-streaked jumpsuit turned to Kovacs. “You entering?”
“Maybe,” Kovacs replied. “What’s the deal with the parts?”
The man grinned. “It’s all junk, really. Discarded arms from industrial loaders, torsos from outdated combat mechs, legs from mining rigs. They give you a pile of scraps and tell you to make it work.”
“And people actually manage to make mechs out of that?” Kovacs asked, skepticism lacing his tone.
“More than just make them work,” the man said, his grin widening. “Some of the best engineers in the cluster cut their teeth in this tournament. It’s as much about ingenuity as it is about skill.”
Kovacs spent the rest of the afternoon mulling over the tournament. It was risky—he didn’t know if he could compete against local engineers who had spent their lives working with advanced tech. But it was also an opportunity. Winning—or even placing well—could put him on the radar of potential mentors and give him a chance to prove himself on Ivara Prime.
Later that evening, he found himself in a quiet café, scrolling through the competition details on his tablet. The tournament would take place over two days in a massive warehouse converted into a workshop. Contestants would be given access to the parts library at the start of the event, with exactly 24 hours to build and test their designs.
The rules were strict:
All parts had to come from the provided pool.
No external tools or software were allowed; everything had to be done using the workshop’s resources.
The final mech would be judged on functionality, creativity, and efficiency.
“This is insane,” Kovacs muttered, leaning back in his chair. “No custom components. No time to prepare. Just… junk.”
But the challenge sparked something in him. It wasn’t just about building a mech—it was about adapting, problem-solving, and pushing the limits of what was possible. For someone who had spent his life working with limited resources on Prescott, it felt strangely familiar.
He tapped the registration button on his tablet and watched as the confirmation screen appeared. “Here goes nothing,” he said under his breath.
***
The next morning, Kovacs arrived at the tournament venue, a sprawling industrial complex on the outskirts of the city. The warehouse was packed with contestants, their workstations arranged in neat rows beneath the high ceiling. Overhead, massive cranes moved crates of parts to various stations, their movements precise and mechanical.
A holographic clock displayed the time until the competition began: 00:45:32.
Kovacs found his assigned workstation and set down his bag. Around him, other contestants were already strategizing, sketching designs on portable tablets or examining the parts list displayed on their holographic screens. Kovacs activated his own station and pulled up the list of available components.
It was an eclectic mix:
Arms: Industrial loader claws, outdated military grapplers, mining rig manipulators.
Legs: Heavy-duty construction struts, spindly surveying drone limbs, reinforced mining drill supports.
Torsos: Combat mech cores riddled with bullet holes, agricultural drone chassis, stripped-down industrial platforms.
Kovacs scanned the list, his mind racing. The parts were all mismatched, their original purposes wildly different. Building a cohesive mech from this collection would be like assembling a puzzle where none of the pieces fit.
“Impressed yet?” a voice drawled.
Kovacs turned to see a tall woman with a cocky smirk leaning against the workstation next to his. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, and her jumpsuit bore the logo of a local engineering guild.
“Not exactly the finest materials,” Kovacs replied, trying to match her casual tone.
“That’s the point,” she said, gesturing to the parts list. “This isn’t about the parts. It’s about what you can do with them.”
“Any advice?” Kovacs asked, half-joking.
She grinned. “Yeah. Don’t overthink it. The judges love creativity, but they hate overcomplication. Keep it simple, keep it functional, and make it yours.”
***
When the clock hit zero, a loud buzzer signaled the start of the tournament. The warehouse erupted into controlled chaos as contestants swarmed the parts library, grabbing components and hauling them back to their workstations.
Kovacs moved quickly, and his years of scavenging on Prescott served him well. He grabbed a lightweight agricultural drone torso—it was battered but sturdy—and a pair of reinforced legs from a mining rig. For the arms, he chose one loader claw and one grappler, reasoning that the combination of precision and strength would give his mech versatility.
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Back at his workstation, Kovacs began assembling the frame. The drone torso had mounting points that didn’t quite align with the mining legs, forcing him to improvise with brackets and spacers. The loader claw’s servo system was damaged, so he cannibalized parts from a discarded grappler to repair it.
***
As the hours ticked by, Kovacs ran into problem after problem. The mining legs were too slow, their servos designed for stability rather than speed. The loader claw’s actuator kept overheating, threatening to short out the entire system. And the drone torso’s power core was underpowered, struggling to run the mech’s systems.
Kovacs gritted his teeth, his hands moving rapidly as he adjusted, rewired, and reconfigured. He swapped out the mining servos for lighter ones from a surveying drone, sacrificing some stability for speed. He jury-rigged a cooling system for the loader claw, using tubing from the agricultural drone’s irrigation system. And he added a capacitor bank to the torso’s power core, giving it the extra boost it needed to keep the mech running.
***
As the final hours approached, Kovacs stared at the jumble of mismatched parts assembled into the vague outline of a mech, his nerves on edge. It was a Frankenstein of necessity—pieces cobbled together from disparate machines, each with a different purpose. The loader claw gleamed faintly under the workshop’s bright lights, its industrial frame incongruous with the spindly mining-rig legs. The agricultural drone torso, battered and dented, was patched together with welds that looked like they’d give out if the wind hit them wrong.
But it was his. Every bolt, every wire, every adjustment—it was all his.
Taking a deep breath, he powered up the mech for the first time. The small workstation was filled with the sound of machinery coming to life: a low hum as the capacitors in the power core charged, a faint hiss of hydraulics priming, and the metallic click of servos synchronizing. The whole frame shuddered, the vibrations rattling loose tools on his desk. For a moment, Kovacs held his breath, half-expecting the mech to collapse under its own weight.
Instead, it stabilized. The legs stiffened, the torso balanced, and the mismatched arms hung at the mech’s sides. The sound of the stabilizers’ gyroscopic hum filled the air as the system adjusted for the uneven weight distribution.
A smile crept onto Kovacs’ face. “You’re alive,” he muttered.
***
He moved to the control interface, a makeshift panel he had rigged from salvaged components. The controls weren’t sleek or intuitive—they were a tangled mess of repurposed switches and dials—but they worked. He toggled a lever, and the mech’s right leg jerked forward with a grinding whine. The frame wobbled precariously, and for a terrifying moment, Kovacs thought it would topple.
“Come on,” he urged, adjusting the stabilizers on the fly. The mech’s legs adjusted, the gyroscopes spinning up to compensate for the imbalance. Slowly, the left leg followed, dragging the mech into its second step. It wasn’t graceful—the motion was clunky, with each movement accompanied by a symphony of groans and squeals from the stressed servos—but it moved.
The loader claw trembled slightly as the mech shifted its weight, and Kovacs quickly recalibrated the arm. With a few precise adjustments, the claw snapped open and closed in a smooth motion, the teeth interlocking perfectly. He tested the grappler arm next, rotating it in a full circle. The arm’s joints whirred, the movements fluid despite the patchwork repairs he had made earlier.
“Not bad,” Kovacs said to himself, stepping back to get a better view.
The legs were still a problem. They were designed for stability, not speed, and their weight made every movement slow and deliberate. The actuators struggled to keep up with the demands of the gyroscopes, creating a slight lag between the command inputs and the mech’s movements. But they held. For now, that was enough.
Kovacs returned to the control panel, sweat dripping down his brow as he fine-tuned the balance algorithms. He adjusted the gyroscopes to prioritize stability over speed, compensating for the legs’ limitations. The mech’s movements became marginally smoother, the lurching steps replaced by something closer to a steady gait.
He tested the arms again, this time running them through simulated tasks. The loader claw picked up a nearby scrap of metal tubing with delicate precision, its industrial strength modulated by Kovacs’ adjustments. The grappler arm extended and contracted, its hydraulic system groaning but responsive.
The mech’s torso swayed slightly as it moved, the agricultural drone chassis struggling to keep the weight balanced. Kovacs tweaked the power core’s output, rerouting energy to the stabilizers. The sway lessened, though it didn’t disappear entirely.
“It’s not perfect,” he muttered, stepping back to observe the mech as it stood upright, its mismatched limbs motionless but ready. “But it’s mine.”
Satisfied with the basic functionality, Kovacs decided to push the mech further. He guided it toward the obstacle course set up in the workshop—a series of ramps, barriers, and weighted objects designed to test mobility and strength.
The first ramp was a gentle incline, meant to simulate uneven terrain. Kovacs watched anxiously as the mech’s legs adjusted to the slope, the gyroscopes humming louder as they fought to maintain balance. The left leg slipped slightly, the servos whining in protest, but the mech recovered, its claw-like feet digging into the ramp for traction.
At the top of the incline, Kovacs tested the loader claw again. He guided it toward a heavy crate, gripping it tightly. The claw’s teeth dug into the crate’s surface, and the arm groaned as it lifted the weight. For a moment, Kovacs thought the arm might give out—but it didn’t. The crate rose steadily, the mech holding it aloft like a trophy.
“Good,” Kovacs said, nodding. “Now let’s see what else you can do.”
The next test was a low barrier, designed to test the mech’s ability to step over obstacles. Kovacs guided the mech forward, the mining-rig legs creaking as they lifted one at a time. The first leg cleared the barrier easily, but the second caught on the edge, causing the mech to wobble. Kovacs quickly adjusted the stabilizers, and the mech recovered, stepping down on the other side.
As Kovacs stepped back to watch the mech navigate the rest of the course, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. The machine was ungainly and mismatched, but it worked. It was a testament to his ability to adapt and innovate, even under the constraints of limited resources.
But as he observed the mech’s movements, he also saw its flaws more clearly. The lag in the legs’ response was still a problem, and the power core’s output remained dangerously close to its limits. The loader claw, while precise, lacked the speed needed for rapid adjustments. These were gaps in his knowledge, areas where he would need to improve if he wanted to compete at the highest level.
Still, the mech stood as proof of his potential—a statement that he belonged on Ivara Prime, even among the galaxy’s best engineers.
By the time Kovacs powered down the mech, his body ached from hours of work, and his hands were smudged with grease and soot. He wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, the adrenaline of the build finally giving way to exhaustion.
He sat down on a nearby crate, staring at the dormant mech. It wasn’t elegant, and it wasn’t flawless, but it was functional. And that, Kovacs thought, was more than enough for now.
As he leaned back, letting his muscles relax, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. This wasn’t just about the competition anymore. It was about proving to himself—and to everyone else—that he had what it took to create something meaningful, even from scraps.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking the time until the judges would arrive. Kovacs knew the next test would be the real one, but for now, he allowed himself a small smile.
“It’s not perfect,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet determination. “But it’s mine.”
***
When the buzzer signaled the end of the competition, Kovacs felt a mixture of relief and exhaustion. Contestants stood by their mechs as the judges made their rounds, inspecting each design with a critical eye.
When the judges reached Kovacs’ workstation, he straightened, his heart pounding. Dr. Maren Vael, the head judge, studied his mech with an expression of quiet curiosity.
“Interesting use of parts,” she said, gesturing to the loader claw and grappler arm. “Most contestants would have chosen symmetry. Why didn’t you?”
Kovacs hesitated, then answered honestly. “Symmetry is predictable. I wanted flexibility—one arm for precision, the other for strength. It’s not elegant, but it’s functional.”
Vael nodded, her expression unreadable. “And the torso? Why the agricultural drone?”
“It was lightweight but sturdy,” Kovacs said. “And it had enough internal space for the capacitor bank I added to boost the power core.”
Vael stepped back, murmuring something to the other judges. As they moved on, Kovacs exhaled, his muscles relaxing slightly.
The woman from the neighboring workstation approached, grinning. “Not bad, Prescott. Let’s see if it’s enough to impress the judges.”
Kovacs smiled faintly, his exhaustion giving way to a flicker of pride. Whatever the outcome, he had proven something to himself: he could adapt, innovate, and build under pressure.