“A price that is deferred, is a price that will still have to payed.” - quote attributed Kari Raskonnen, aka Sever, senior Proxy, 2070

“I’m not sure this,” Martin gasped, feet almost sliding as he ran down,”is the best idea.”

Berenice, by virtue of being in better shape, and quicker stride simply shook her head. “She wouldn’t have baited the mechaloid without a plan.”

With that said, she increased the pace. Martin followed suit; though he wondered what Berenice’s rating was in the militia-tests all adults had to pass. Probably higher than his.

Left, bypassing an old pine, over a boulder, vaulting over a series of pits - and who had dug these, the girl perhaps - up, up an incline. Breathe, Martin muttered. Keep breathing.

Beneath them were multiple ridges, dotted with pines, wide ferns and some scrub-like form of bush. The wind brought the scent of jasmine and pine and Martin wondered if this is what the world had smelled like before it all went to hell. The combined impression was that of a labyrint, a three dimensional network of valleys.

In one such valley, a confrontation was just about to take place.

The mechaloid was on all of four, head pointing down at one particular bush, that much they could see from their vantage point, but where was the girl?

The pines followed the ridges in this make-belief forest and it was almost as if the creators wanted people to get lost.

“Here!”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The girl leapt out from around the corner of one ridge. She flung her t-shirt around, taunting the drone. “She is going to get killed,” Martin said.

Berenice nodded. “She will, unless she has a plan.”

“A mechaloid can withstand multiple rounds of tank-fire. Sure, they don’t have a Hesser-Achenya Field, but we’re still talking about something that survived a trip through deep space,” Martin refuted.

The mechaloid settled the difference. It rose to its full height and crossed the space around the bend, its steps shaking the earth, causing clouds of dust to rise.

It went around-

-and a boulder as big as its head struck it; a half-dozen logs rumbled down, striking it in the chest and it spun around, stopping.

Both he and Berenice held their breath.

Light formed around the girl, as it did around the two of them.

“Contestant Calix has inflicted serious damage on drone#12422. In a real-life scenario, either Deputies or Proxies would now finish it off. For the purpose of this test, it will be considered defeated.”

The girl raised her fist. “Damn right I got it!”

Martin and Berenice shared a look. The girl was obviously insane, but it was a form of audacity they both needed.

They climbed down the ridge, finding the woman standing before her downed enemy. As the pair drew near, she turned around and Martin braced himself. White teeth formed an arc that promised violence and the kind of night, that, for good or bad, would sorely be forgotten. It made him strangely sentimental; she reminded him of the toughs from home.

“You can’t have him,” she said, her Trade accented with a Spanish inflection. She blew air through her page, though the hair had begun to stick to her forehead.

“We don’t want it,” Berenice responded.

“We’d like to team up,” Martin said. “We,” he did not quite look at Berenice,”could need someone like you. Someone with a plan,” he added.

Black eyes looked them up and down. Rather, they roved, focusing on Martin’s midsection and Berenice’s…torso. Calix nodded.

“I’m Isla Calix. Happy to meet ya,” she said, stretching a brown hand out.

Martin shook it, not quite wincing as he noted the scraps and her nails. All of which had splintered, fractures tinted in red. Had she rolled the boulders and logs by herself?

“Yeah, I’m not doing the mountain by myself, that’s for sure,” Isla noted, winking at them. She put her arms next to her body, in a leisurely way.

It was all a front, Martin thought. Her nails, the careful way she held herself, the attitude. All of the hours Berenice had crawled, those very same hours he stayed hidden, awaiting another member of the trial, she had laboured.

He didn’t say that, but kept it in mind. Berenice, he thought, had little capacity for violence. Isla Calix, however? She had it. That fire, that sense that she might just kill a person, get up, have breakfast and then forget about it all.

It wasn’t paranoia if there were no rules, Martin reminded himself.

“Let’s get going, shall we? Time is being wasted,” Berenice said, and they began the final ascent towards the Mountain.