“Dasvidaniya, bahgia-sutchka!” she said, as her own mech raised its arms and took aim at the toppling, twenty-story high war machine, with Astrid’s screeching voice in the background and Zed’s roaring denials filling their last moments together with sounds of fear and anger…

The giant mech hit the ground.

The rumble wobbled Joker and House, and Anja was so surprised the her neurohelmet, which she’d pulled on hastily, shook off of her head when the foom! of the war machine’s fall shook the ground with it’s single, violent vibration.

They all waited for a very long ten seconds.

“So,” said Dallas, “usually in the sims, this is where the screen fades to black, and we all see what goodies the salvage team picks up for us.”

“Boss,” said Joker, “thas’ gotta’ve been the craziest-ass plan I’ve ever seen.”

“I knew it’d work,” Anja said. “And I’m glad you hatched it when we were off the comms.”

“Glad you were willing to do it,” House said. “I wouldn’t have. One little-bit of timing off, and you’da been a grease-and-blood spot onna ground, Anja.”

“Generally,” Said Yue, her smaller mech emerging from the leafy, ropey underbrush, “the odds of four mid-size and one size-small war mech succeeding in a straight firefight against a hundred-ton, fully armed opponent like that are in the single-digit percentiles.”

“Well, yeah, whatever, but- uh- hey, boss?” House’s gruff voice suddenly changed gears and sounded concerned.

“What?”

“Boss, you wanna check your panel, lower-left corner? It may just be my sensors are off, but- I’m still reading lifesigns on that tub we just knocked down.”

Dallas looked, and saw a soft, glowing blue light slowly flashing on and off on the panel marked ‘opponent.’

“That’s odd,” Dallas said, tapping the light with his middle finger.

A holographic image of the downed war-mech lying prone, with a steady blue light pulsing in its chest.

“Who-or what is that?” Dallas asked.

“Either ‘Zeus’ or ‘Artemis,’ can’t tell from here,” House said.

“Either way,” Joker said, “time to put a Greek god out of his misery-”

“Wait,” said, Dallas, “If he’s already down, I don’t know if we should-”

“Boss,” said House, “with all due respect, are you fluppin’ nuts? This guy, or girl or whatever they are, ain’t just a couple of mecha-jocks we could ransom or turn into buddies ‘cause we saved ‘em. These are cult leaders, boss, and we just killed at least one of ‘em.”

“No…you…didn’t…” gasped a voice on the comms, as the giant limbs of the mech began to stir and move.

“Ah, der’mo!” yelled Anja, “he’s getting up!”

“Get moving,” Dallas said, “circle him, and start pounding the chest area! Yu-I mean,One-Eyed-Jill, what’s he got for weapons?”

“Yes sir, Cowboy,” she said, her voice bobbing again as her machine began jogging, putting distance and trees between her and the rising war-mech. “One-Eyed-Jill, moving and scanning- the Zeus had most of its weapons systems knocked offline in the fall, but it still has one rack of twelve short-range missiles mounted on its left shoulder and two medium-range blaster cannons mounted on its left bicep and forearm.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I’ll get in close and tear him a new-”

“No, House!” Dallas said, getting his own mech moving in a clockwise circle while tapping the needed panels on his board to get his own weapons to lock on, “I don’t know how many of these things you’ve gone up against, but in the sims, changing something that size with mechs like ours is a one-way trip to getting your holo-portrait on the mem-wall. If they don’t stomp you into a plasteel flapjack, the could fall on you when they finally give it up.”

“Stupid rookie-” House started mumbling.

“Shuddup, House!” Anja screamed, “he’s gotten us farther than you would have, now circle, and shoo-”

Anja’s voice was cut off and turned to static by a half-dozen missiles erupting from the Zeus’ shoulder, and connecting with with her mech. Four of the launched missile hit with explosions that first moved the Red Queen off balance, and then made her topple slowly to the ground.

“Anja!” screamed House!

#

“So, lemme git this straight assa desert road,” said the older man, disassembling his blaster rifle with the ease of a child unstringing a fishing pole, “Y’all ‘re gonna walk in there.”

“Ayup,” said the other man. He was the same age as the first speaker, though dressed in the clothes of an official. He was also looking in the mirror as he spoke, and in the process of getting himself clean-shaven for the first time since the marriage of one of his children, now five years past.

“An’ then,” said the first man, reassembling his blaster rifle, “Y’all gonna walk inta the hub-not just the comms, but the ops hub, wiffout them traitors knowin’ yer just joshin’ ‘bout who you are?”

“Ayup,” said the second man, wetting a comb, putting gel on the teeth and combing what there was left of his hair over the balding spot that had been growing since the week after he’d turned twenty, now over thirty years ago.

“An’ then,” the first man said with closed eyes, popping out the energy cells from the clip and silently into his lap with an offhanded air, all with the ease of a magician flipping cards out to members of the audience, “Y’all ‘re gonna git ‘em ta let yah plug in a mem-stick to the mainframe, which’ll upload the sabotage program inta th’ network?”

“Ayup,” said the second man, with a somewhat more subdued, ‘I guess so’ tone, while he pulled on first the uncomfortable socks, then the laceless shoes that befitted one of the life- station he was masquerading as.

“An then,” said the first man, closing his eyes and re-inserting the cells back into the clip flawlessly, his fingers scooping, pressing, tapping and scooping again and again to the rhythmic sounds of the cells clicking and humming as they lined up back in their little, rectangular home, “y’all ‘re gonna high-tail it outta there, hop inta the transport, and try ta mosey outta dodge a’fore them young’uns get wise and put a big, smokin’ hole in yuh.”

“A-yup!” the second man grunted, as he pulled on the professional’s jacket while glancing several times at the chair on which rested the far more comfortable workingman’s sportcoat he’d worn nearly each day of his life and had and kept in top condition since he’d received it as a wedding gift, now over a quarter-century ago.

“So, then,” said the first man, resting his rifle on his legs and staring at the second man with an exasperated look on his face, “where do I n’ Charlene here,” he raised his rifle an inch off of his knees, “where do we fits in agin?”

“When I run for it, you’ns gotta put holes inna ve-hicles that’re gonna probably come after me.”

“Issat all? Shoot me fer a gundak’s momma, Bill, but I hadda do way tougher jobs when the Corporates tried to land twenty years back!”

“These ain’t Corporates, Theo,” said Bill, trying for the third time to tie the double-tailed tie around his neck. “These’re all the folks too dumb ta know House Moreded and his boys ain’t right, no more right inna soul then a sidewinder who missed breakfast. Y’all can’t kill ‘em fer bein’ ignerunt, now, can yuh?”

“No, reckon not,” Theo said, sighing while lighting brushing the white bristles on his chin and cheek. “Still,” he said, “It’s durned well ‘bout time I gave Charlene here a chance to take out somethin’, even if’n it is just a ‘horse.”

“Well, now, ‘at’s ‘a spirit, pard!” said Bill, now dressed well enough that by sight he couldn’t be told apart from one of the upper-class bureaucrats on New Avalon, “Let’s you an’ me get th’ rest of the squad, go ta Zeke, and start makin’ some trouble, hey?”

#

TO BE CONTINUED...