Rush walked alongside the hauler and examined its workings as the Junker clan rolled across the wastes. He had only ever seen them from a distance before. Keeping one of the ancient vehicles working required a large amount of parts and maintenance, but the ability to move massive amounts of scrap was often worth the effort.
Giza’s clan, which Rush had now learned went by Clan Caelum, had finished scrapping the crashed station and were on the move once more. Between the station, the skyscraper, and the two fallen mechs, the haulers were straining under the weight, and the various Junkers of the Clan were hauling bags and pockets full of excess. While the largess made for a slow journey, the mood was still good. Several people had even come up to thank Rush for his hard work, though any that had stuck around for a longer conversation had ended up shuffling away, put off by his strange demeanor. Giza was sticking by him now, to smooth things over.
“You need to look at people more when you talk, Rush.”
“Why? They know I’m talking to them.”
“You’re supposed to look at the thing you’re focusing on, and people want you to be focused on them,” Giza explained. “Why do you keep staring at the hauler, anyway?”
“I want to figure out how to fix it.”
“We have like five guys who know how to fix it,” Giza said. “I can get them to teach you later.”
“Okay.”
Rush’s head snapped away from the hauler’s tires, and he started staring dead ahead, which wasn’t much of an improvement.
“Rush. You’re talking to me.”
Rush’s head snapped towards Giza and started staring at her blankly, which also wasn’t much of an improvement. She took what progress she could get.
The coaching continued, with similar levels of success, as the clan proceeded across the rusted wastes of Scrapworld. The only bright spot in the desolate wasteland was that it meant they were getting closer and closer to the Hub Station -the only permanent settlement on Scrapworld. As they approached the station’s center, a black speck floating above the horizon became larger and larger until it dominated the skies and blocked out the sun.
The Hub Station sat in the shadow of the Revanchism, a flagship of the Republic fleet. While no modern technology on the ground could match the firepower of a mecha, the Revanchism’s massive guns ensured an area of stability and peace around the Hub Station. Every Junker breathed a sigh of relief when they saw it on the horizon, except for Giza. She was a little disappointed they’d made it all the way to Hub Station without Rush killing another mecha.
As they approached the city, Giza carefully scanned the walls of inert mechs lining the outskirts. All the mech pilots were prisoners just like the Junkers, and had to make occasional visits to Hub Station to drop off their stolen loot and pay off debt. She looked at the quiet titans and did not see the one frame she was looking for, so she lost interest in the mechs entirely. They were just outside the Hub Station gates now, which meant it was time for one last bit of unpleasantness.
“Alright, you all know how it’s done,” Hartwell said. “Get with your decontamination groups, usual queue.”
“Dad! Where should Rush go?”
Hartwell looked down at Rush and sighed. He’d forgotten all about their new tag a long.
“He can come with me, I guess,” Hartwell said. “Eiffel, Jack, go with the third group and keep an eye on that armor until it passes through decon.”
“Oh boy, new and exciting people to see naked,” Jack said, with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t worry Rush, the armor’s safe with us.”
Rush answered with a stiff nod. Apparently decontamination had him even quieter than usual. Nobody could blame him.
“I’m in the first group,” Giza said. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”
She gave Rush an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Unlike a lot of things on Scrapworld, decontamination did not get better in company. In fact, it got quite a bit worse.
Rush waited his turn to enter the massive chamber and, along with the other hundreds of Junkers queuing to get into Hub Station, started to strip down. Under the watchful eye of armed guards, any clothing or carried items got tagged and placed on a conveyor belt before every Junker proceeded through the mass decontamination rooms entirely naked. Hartwell did his best to completely ignore the naked young man next to him while also trying to watch his back. Many of the prisoners on Scrapworld were political dissidents or petty criminals, but there were more than enough genuine scumbags to pose a threat, and moments of vulnerability like this were a key time to strike.
After a few rounds of being hosed down and sprayed with various chemicals to purge any latent toxins or radioactivity, the decontamination concluded without incident, and the Junkers were allowed to reclaim their clothing and their dignity on the other side. Rush had barely finished getting dressed when he made a beeline for the material queue, even brushing past Giza as he did so. He kept an eye as scrap metals and electronics passed through, calmly watching the rolling tide of metal -until his eyes snapped upwards.
“Where is my armor?”
“Just wait, Rush, it’s probably still rolling through,” Giza advised.
“No, I put it down right next to that piece of metal,” Rush said. He pointed to a shard of valuable scrap identical to hundreds of other like it. “And that one got put down afterwards.”
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He pointed to a different, equally featureless scrap.
“Where is my armor?”
Rush buzzed up and down the material conveyor belt, and then dove into the hauler the other Junkers were re-loading, checking for any scraps of his armor.
“Where is my armor?”
“Rush, calm down,” Giza said. The sudden panic was not an improvement on his usual taciturn nature. “I’m sure it just got moved down the line, or something.”
Rush hopped out of the hauler and started pacing up and down the conveyor belt again, occasionally flipping over larger pieces of scrap to check for any armor hidden underneath them. He didn’t catch his first glimpse of his armor until the facility doors slammed open and an armored Republic trooper started waving the helmet at him.
“You! Prisoner!”
Giza stepped forward, but Hartwell grabbed her and pulled her back in line as the trooper stepped forward towards a motionless Rush.
“This is yours?”
“Yes. Give it back,” Rush said.
“This armor has weapons, Kell Cells, what makes you think you have the right to own something like that?”
“Republic of Kesta Scrapworld Penal Code thirteen dash thirteen,” Rush said flatly. “Junkers serving terms on Scrapworld have full rights of ownership to any recovered object and possess or sell them to the Republic at their own discretion.”
“This is not recovered tech.”
“It’s made out of recovered tech,” Giza snapped.
“Giza, quiet.”
“She’s right and it’s mine and you have to give it back,” Rush insisted. He thankfully did not try to grab the helmet. Hartwell was well aware that trying to get grabby with a Republic trooper was a good way to end up dead.
“I am not giving you anything that could-”
“Trooper Cordell, stand down.”
The armored soldier immediately snapped to attention, though he still held the helmet firmly in hand. Someone else followed him out the same facility door. Though she was not armored, the middle-aged woman wore the tight, crisp uniform of a Republic officer, and the crest on the grey and black cap she wore said she was high-ranking one. She gestured to the door behind her, and another armored trooper hauled out a cart loaded with the rest of the armor, while the officer herself tread sharp black boots across the dusty ground to stand in front of Rush.
“Mr. Rushmore is correct, and should be commended for his knowledge of our rules and regulations,” the officer said. She pried the helmet from Cordell’s tight grip and handed it over to Rush, who hesitantly took it. “This suit of armor is the sole property of Rushmore until such time as he chooses to sell it.”
“The suit includes a weapon, ma’am, do we want him carrying a-”
“And Miss Giza over there has a shiv hidden in her waistband,” the officer said. Giza looked down at her waist, and the short blade she thought was hidden there. Even Hartwell hadn’t known about that, until now. The officer pivoted on her heel and continued. “Weapons are not banned in Hub Station, only their use to inflict harm on another prisoner. Mr. Rushmore can dance around with an entire arsenal so long as no harm comes to another prisoner.”
She stepped back and gestured to the rest of the armor, still sitting on a cart.
“And I for one think this young man has a very trustworthy face,” the officer said. “Troopers, you are dismissed.”
The two armored troopers saluted and went back inside the facility, though Cordell shot one more dirty look at Rushmore before he did so. The officer remained on the field, and kept a careful eye on Rush as he reclaimed his armor and started to examine it for any damage or tampering. He was halfway through checking the gauntlets when he remembered something important.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Rush said, with a deferential bow. Not showing proper respect to the authorities often resulted in more debt.
“It’s nothing, Mr. Rushmore,” the officer said. “Though I must admit to some ulterior motives.”
It took all of Hartwell’s strength to keep Giza from ripping herself out of his grip as the officer took one step forward towards the Scrapper suit.
“I am, after all, the one who commissioned this suit of armor.”
Rush froze, as did Giza. The officer extended her hand.
“Commander Veera Howle,” she said. Rush remembered his manners and shook her hand with a stiff motion. “How is Dr. Kaz?”
“Dead.”
“Oh. Terribly sorry to hear that,” Howle said. “His communiques did mention a new hire, I assume that is you, then?”
“Yes.”
Commander Howle grabbed the back plate of the Scrapper suit and looked at the subtle glow of the Kell Cell plugged into it.
“I see you got that vault open, presumably before his passing,” Howle said. Rush nodded. “Good. Dr. Kaz was a brilliant man, I’m glad he got to show his genius one last time before his unfortunate end.”
Rush shrunk on himself for a moment.
“How does the suit perform, if I might ask?”
For a moment, Giza could practically hear the gears turning in Rush’s head as he contemplated his answer. Commander Howle waited patiently for the full minute it took him to come up with a response.
“It doesn’t,” Rush said. “It moves. Nothing else. I just wear it to scare people, keep them from trying to rob me.”
Commander Howle tilted her head forward, letting the black rim of her cap cast a shadow across her face. She sighed and shook her head, and Giza clenched her fists.
“Unfortunate that a child like you has to worry about such things,” Howle said. She handed over the piece of armor she held and gave Rush a firm pat on the shoulder. “It’s a shame Dr. Kaz’s last experiment wasn’t a success, but he’d be happy to know it’s keeping someone safe anyway.”
Howle stepped away from the armor and withdrew a small metal tablet, presumably a computer of some kind, and punched in a few commands. She looked up from her device and beamed a sparkling smile at Giza.
“I apologize again for Trooper Cordell’s forceful behavior,” Howle said. “I’ve given the three of you a complimentary meal at the cantina for your trouble. Please do come directly to me if there is any further trouble.”
“Thank you. Ma’am,” Hartwell said. He bowed his head and started shuffling backwards, dragging Giza along with him, as Rush gathered up his armor and scuttled away after them. The moment the last scrap of armor disappeared around a corner, the smile dropped off Howle’s face. She folded her hands behind her back and stomped back inside.
“Your performance was pathetic, Trooper,” she scolded.
“This was embarrassing enough without having to do any song and dance,” Cordell grumbled. “Don’t see why we have to play pretend when we already had the armor in our hands.”
“Because it’s neuro-linked, you idiot,” Howle said. “Unless that twitching freak is wearing it, it’s almost as useless as you are.”
Howle sighed and ran fingers through her hair, loosening the tight strands of blonde and grey she had so meticulously combed into place earlier. She had put on her best face for Rush, played the part of the stern-yet-caring maternal figure to the best of her limited ability. She loathed the thought of having to do it again, but she feared it would be necessary.
Some of the other officers stationed on Scrapworld were already mocking her, claiming that all her grand plans were falling apart. Howle tightened gloved hands into fists and clenched her teeth. She recalled the two fallen mechs, and all the combat data their long range sensors had captured.
Howle had never wanted the suit for the sake of having it. She didn’t want a fancy weapon to parade before the military, or a glistening trophy to impress visitors to her office. She had a goal in mind, and with the right push, Rush would accomplish that goal for her.