Shortly after Lidiya had driven off to destinations unknown, Bron Kurdo convinced Scott to postpone that drink he said needed. It was Friday and the tournament was scheduled to start the following Monday. Bron mentioned that he’d been told all competitors had to check-in their Zoids at the stadium with the tournament organizers by the end of the day. Knowing there were a total of sixty-four teams and soloists in the competition, Bron suggested they get a move along. Scott wasn’t entirely convinced there was a need to rush – most of the teams would have checked in already – but if it helped him get his mind off Lidiya’s kiss then he was all for it. Thus, the two Zoid warriors and former teammates set off down the long road heading west out of the town.

The road to the tournament stadium was well travelled by both Zoids and heavy vehicles. Yet despite its usage the regional authority maintained it better than the vast majority of the roads that ran for hundreds of kilometers around Frederickston. The Zoid tournaments were undoubtedly the town’s main source of income, so no doubt that had motivated the local government to spend money on the road’s upkeep.

While on the road, Scott had chosen to be prudent and used the Shadow Fox’s comm system to send a message to Aaron who was probably back at the junkyard, informing the man that he was now registered into the tournament and on his way to the stadium. He also let Aaron know that his sister had driven off and that he had no idea where she was.

As the two Zoids walked down the road at an easy clip, Scott stared out the artificially transparent canopy and studied Bron’s Iron Kong keeping pace alongside the Shadow Fox. The huge, knuckle dragger walked several meters to the right looking mean and brutish, and Scott could think of no better biomech for the man piloting it. The mercenary had outfitted the Kong with additional weapons and a jet-black paint job with silver trimmings. Rather than cannons, the left and right forearms sported vibro-blades as large and effective as those on a Rev Raptor, and both shoulders pads contained ten-shot missile launchers. On its enormous back it wore a high maneuver vernier pack that supported two beam Gatling guns able to fire over the Kong’s shoulders. Four additional heavy missiles had launchers at the top of the booster pack.

The Iron Kong was literally a goliath that towered over the Shadow Fox. Yet its imposing size was deceptive, and Scott was familiar with what it could achieve on a battlefield, especially with those high-powered boosters strapped to its back. That made Bron’s participation in the tournament a seriously unwelcome challenge that Scott could have done without. It wasn’t a hurdle that he needed to jump. It was a wall, twelve feet high, that he had to find a way over. Or maybe a way around it. The Shadow Fox would be hard pressed to defeat that Iron Kong, and Scott honestly questioned his chances of victory should the two former comrades find themselves squaring off in a tournament match.

He tried not to dwell on the unwanted challenge, but then his thoughts drifted inexorably toward Lidiya, which brought back fresh memories of her kiss. Why had she done that? Did it imply there was something between them? Had he done something to lead her on? Was it his fault or was she simply playing with him? If so, why was she toying with him? He would have been a fool to deny his attraction to her. She was a gorgeous brunette…when she wasn’t scowling at him or viewing him with disappointment on her face. But now that they’d shared a kiss – not a peck on the lips, but a full-blown tongue-on-tongue duel where she was the hunter and he was the prey – Scott knew that a single smile from her was guaranteed to stir his loins and make his mind wander into dangerous pastures.

Things are moving way too fast.

There was the team dynamics to consider. He was the new guy that needed to pull a victory out of a hat that had grown considerably smaller with the inclusion of Bron Kurdo into the competition. So whatever feelings he might start to sprout for Lidiya Carmen Rylos, they needed to go on the backburner at least until the tournament was over and he’d achieved victory for the team. With the competition lasting a week, Scott resolved to keep his feelings for the girl as much in check as possible. He had to fully commit himself to the path of victory. No distractions and no surrender.

Yeah…easier said than done.

About an hour into their journey, some thirty klicks west of Frederickston, Scott and Bron arrived at a T-junction that sharply branched off to the north. Ten-by-twenty meter mobile billboards sat opposite the junction, flashing their adverts for the tournament while others served as road signs indicating that the stadium lay an extra thirty kilometers up the road headed north across the desert. Scott suggested to Bron that they pick up their pace or they’d be travelling for yet another hour. The hulking mercenary was quick to agree and the two Zoids turned onto the road bearing north.

They walked faster, coming upon the stadium around forty-minutes later. Along the way, they’d had to step aside for yet another convoy of oversized flatbeds. A couple of the huge rigs had enough space on their backs for a Zoid as large as an Iron Kong, a fact not lost on Bron who muttered something over the comm-channel about not wanting to tempt fate.

A few hundred meters shy of the stadium, Scott viewed an enhanced image of the building on a cockpit display. The Shadow Fox’s multi-sensor had scanned the stadium and generated a 3D representation of it with a surprising amount of detail. He noted its elliptical shape, the colosseum style walls, and the enormous entrance into the arena. The Fox had also detected an enormous holo-projection system located inside the arena, but Scott didn’t find that concerning. It wasn’t uncommon for stadiums to employ such systems to project the battles into the arena, thus giving spectators a virtual front row seat to the battles taking place out in the desert. Overall, the building had weathered the desert winds and storms remarkably well thanks to the funding from the regional government.

More of the 10 by 20-meter billboards had been set up alongside the road leading up to the stadium. One of them indicated that competitor Zoids and team vehicles should follow a side road to the pit area. Scott followed the directions, his Shadow Fox leading the Iron Kong down a wide roadway that circled around to the western side of the stadium. They arrived at the entrance to the pits a minute later where Scott saw a hundred-foot tall structure resembling a skyport traffic control tower. Marshals and tournament officials could be seen standing on the circular balcony that encircled a control room at the top of the tower. Rising from the roof were numerous antennae alongside radar globes.

Someone had parked an all-terrain cherry picker alongside the tower. Two men in blue and white uniforms and wearing hardhats occupied the platform at the end of the cherry picker’s long mechanical arm. As Scott slowed the Fox to a stop alongside the machine, the cherry picker’s platform with the men on it moved swiftly up to the Zoid’s head. Scott wasted little time opening the canopy as one of the officials guided the platform to within inches of the Shadow Fox’s right cheek. The other man not at the controls stood at the end of the platform with a dour expression on his face, so it was easy to imagine him under a dark rain cloud.

“Morning,” Scott offered, forcing a cheery smile onto his face and knowing full well it wouldn’t be returned.

Well, I’m not about to let him suck the light out of my morning, he thought.

“Warrior’s registration. Hand it over,” the man said with a voice that matched his sour look.

Scott handed his Battle Commission issued data cartridge to the official. The man slotted the device onto a thick electronic tablet that he carried, read Scott’s details that flashed up on the tablet’s screen, entered some commands into the tablet, scribbled something on it with a stylus, then returned the cartridge to Ronin – all in the span of a minute. Scott was grateful for the man’s efficiency as it seemed there was little chance of engaging the official in light conversation.

“All right,” the man said in a glum tone. “You’ll need to get your Zoid checked at the weigh-station over there right by the entrance to the pitlane. Do you see it?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah, I see.”

“That’s where you need to go next. That clear.”

“Crystal,” Scott replied, keeping a polite smile on his face all the while.

Yeah, he’s not raining on my morning! No, sir!

“One more thing,” the official added. “Once your Zoid is checked into a pit bay, it can only leave during Free Practice sessions or when its time to fight on a battlefield. You got all that?” Scott nodded his understanding. “Good to see.” He waved a weary arm at the man behind him on the platform. “All right, Jasper. We’re done with this one. Back it up. Back it up.”

The platform retreated with a mild lurch away from the Shadow Fox, and Scott reached for the switch that would lower the canopy. But he changed his mind and kept it up open since the weigh-station was around forty meters ahead of him. However, that little delay cost him. All of a sudden, the official on the platform shouted at Scott.

“Get moving! You’re holding up the line.”

Biting down a curse, Scott nudged the control column forward. As the Shadow Fox resumed walking, he happened to overhear the unfriendly official belt out a complaint.

“Ah Hell, we got a big one here. Jasper, raise the platform all the way up. No, all the way. I said all the way to the top. Just look at it—it’s a damned Iron Kong. Its cockpit is nearly twenty meters above the ground, so get us up there.”

Grinning to himself, Scott maneuvered his biomech over to the weigh-station. It was actually a mobile platform with a driver’s cab located at one corner of a flatbed that measured 25-meters long and 15-meters wide. The weigh-station was low enough to the ground that even a medium-sized Zoid like the Shadow Fox would have no trouble stepping on and off the platform. And to move from location to location, the weigh-station drove on sixteen wheels, eight to a side, and each with independent steering.

As Scott piloted the Fox to one end of the weigh-station, a tournament official standing beside the vehicle waved him onto the platform using marshalling wands. However, Scott relied on the multi-sensor to guide him and the Fox to the middle of the platform, then he instructed the biomech to lay down on its belly. He swiftly set the cockpit systems to sleep, clambered lightly out of the Fox’s head, and locked the canopy shut behind him. Then he hastened over to the official who’d marshalled him onto the platform. The middle-aged fellow in a blue and white uniform and hardhat gazed up in admiration at the Shadow Fox.

“Here you go,” Scott said, handing over the cartridge with his warrior registration and details. The official slotted the device into a reader built into the tablet he carried, sighed at what he read on the tablet, then called out to another official who was standing behind the driver’s cab – a younger man who waited somewhat impatiently with a portable console in his hands. “Preskot, start it up.” Afterwards, the official resumed admiring the Zoid on the platform. “So this is a Shadow Fox. Never seen one in these parts before. Must be rare.”

Scott held an easy smile while thinking, Yep, been hearing that for a while now. Aloud he said, “They’re hard to come by.”

The man looked at him askance. “You don’t say.”

Actually, I do.

However, Scott quickly ignored the man’s sidelong look as he studied the scanning rig instead. It consisted of a long boom mounted to a rolling crane that ran the length of the platform on a narrow track. Scott refrained from counting the seconds it would take the officials to realize something was wrong with their scans. Indeed, less than a minute into the process the official with console in his hands beckoned his supervisor to join him.

“Excuse for me a minute,” the man said and stepped over to his assistant.

Feigning indifference, Scott watched them from the corner of his eye as the men read the data projected onto holo-displays over the portable console, quietly confused at what they were seeing, and throwing several suspicious looks at Shadow Fox. He waited for the inevitable, having experienced similar situations at other tournaments. Usually, it went well. Sometimes it didn’t. He could only hope this occasion would work out in his favor.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

After deliberating in close quarters for a long minute, the official came back to Scott.

Here it comes. Play it cool. Play it by ear.

The man made a point of checking the data displayed on his tablet before saying, “I’m sorry, Mr. Ronin but it appears your Zoid is interfering with our scans. Would you care to explain.”

Scott made a genuine show of looking apologetic. “It’s a passive stealth system. It’s built into the Zoid, so it’s not something I can turn on or off at will.”

Dr. Laon had built the second prototype Fox with armor capable of absorbing and reflecting scan emissions. At a distance, the Fox was virtually invisible. At close range, it appeared small and indistinct, making it difficult for targeting sensors to lock onto it. However, he’d also engineered the same stealth property into the Zoid’s body itself, not just the armor. Since it was passive and didn’t require a power source, the Fox was able to divert its resources to other systems during combat. It was truly a testament to the man’s genius…and an ongoing concern whenever Scott competed in large tournaments that required the Shadow Fox be scanned before it was allowed to compete.

“I see,” the man acknowledged, then slipped his hefty tablet under an arm. “Well then…I guess it can’t be helped.”

The man’s tone set Scott’s worries on edge. Getting kicked out of the tournament before it even started was a worst-case scenario that he desperately wanted to avoid. “Is this going to be a problem?”

The official swept is gaze over the Shadow Fox. “Mr. Ronin, the rules of the tournament clearly state there’s a penalty for competing with passive stealth systems. The custom variety that can’t be turned off. It’s all there in the print. You did read the handbook, did you not?”

Scott kept his face unreadable, but he sensed where the conversation was going. “I skimmed through it on the way…what’s the penalty?”

“The penalty, Mr. Ronin, is a twenty-percent deduction in winnings no matter how far you progress in the tournament.” The man paused to give Scott a stern look. “If you wish to compete in the tournament, Mr. Ronin, you’ll need to consent to the penalty. So my question to you is…do you consent?”

What choice do I have?

He was backed into a corner with only one way out. “Where do I sign?”

“Right here, Mr. Ronin.”

The official handed him a stylus and indicated where he should sign the document displayed on the tablet. Scott made a show of hesitating for a second before writing his name in the required box. He handed the stylus back to the official, who signed the next box under Scott’s name. The man then tapped the tablet’s screen a few times, before nodding in satisfaction.

“Very good, Mr. Ronin. The consent form has been submitted for review. We’ve scanned your Zoid as best as we could”—the official smile thinly at Scott—“given your Zoid’s unique properties. But we don’t see anything else of concern. Please be aware that some of the data will be made available to your competitors. Their data will also be accessible to you through your Zoid’s interface to the stadium network. You’ll find the details in the handbook on how to log in.”

The man then turned and pointed up the pitlane where the Zoid bays were located. “Your pit bay is number 42. You’ll find it about two thirds of the way up the lane. All the bays have big numbers out front. You can’t miss it.” He then surprised Scott by offering him a handshake. “Good luck out there, Mr. Ronin.”

“Thanks….” Scott accepted the handshake, though he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Feels like he knows something that I don’t but should.

The official started stepping away. “You’ll need to get your Zoid off. Got a big Kong behind you that I need to process.”

Bron’s enormous Zoid was waiting about ten or twelve meters behind the mobile weigh-station, and the mercenary had his cockpit canopy open. Scott wasn’t certain since Bron looked small that high up in his Kong’s cockpit, but the man appeared uneasy as he waited for his turn at the platform. That suddenly prompted Scott to hurriedly ask the official, “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“That depends on the question.”

“Am I the only one competing under a penalty?”

The official broke into a slow grin. “No, Mr. Ronin. There is one other competitor with a passive stealth system in their Zoid that frankly knocks yours out of the park.”

“But you’re not going to tell me who.”

“I don’t need to, Mr. Ronin. You can access info on your competitors from your Zoid once you’re connected to the stadium’s info network. You’ll find out who they are soon enough.” The man tipped his hardhat at Scott. “If that’ll be all, I’ve got another Zoid to scan.”

Scott nodded, mostly on reflex, and hurried back to the Shadow Fox. He climbed into the cockpit, roused its systems out of sleep, then had the biomech up on its feet and off the weigh-station less than a minute later. Only then did he begin to consider the official’s reply.

Another stealth system…one that knocks the Fox’s version out of the park?

“…what the Hell could it be…?” he whispered, an uneasiness worming its way from his chest into his stomach. He sighed and tried putting the worry out of his mind, or at least putting it in a dark corner where it could gather dust.

The Shadow Fox walked slowly, barely twenty kilometers an hour, its feet following a yellow line with arrows pointed north up the pitlane. To Scott’s left – i.e. west – stood fencing about twenty-meters high. To his right, namely east, were a couple of dozen massive hangars with three or four pit bays inside of them. The hangars themselves were part of a building two kilometers long that stood separate to the stadium located another two hundred meters to the east. Judging by the windows that Scott saw, there were two floors above the hangars. From experience at other tournaments with similar facilities, Scott figured those floors were home to accommodations and amenities for the competing teams.

With its multi-sensor on stealthscan to minimize how much EM it was radiating, the Shadow Fox spied on the biomechs already in their assigned pit bays. Its optical systems were also recording everything its myriad collection of cameras saw, though that didn’t stop Scott from giving each of the biomechanical machines a decent look as the Fox treaded past them. He saw painted emblems on the Zoids but didn’t recognize a single one, meaning they were all teams he'd never faced before, or they’d never drawn his attention in the past.

The Zoids were also quite a mixed bag. There was a trio of Rev Raptors sporting extendable vibro-blades sharing one bay. A pair of older Dibisons with seventeen shot mortar cannons occupied another. A flashy looking Red Horn with gold colored laser cannons around its head and two triple-barrel, linear cannons stood in a bay adjacent to another occupied by a reddish-brown Saber Tiger that had seen better days. Other Zoids included red Gun Snipers, Iguans, Command Wolves, a handful of Shield Ligers that appeared to be Mark Two’s, a trio of Cannon Tortoises, and – surprise, surprise – a Koenig Wolf with a mean looking twin-barrel sniper cannon on its back.

That’s one to watch out for, he mused with genuine concern.

Oddly, there were no flying Zoids to be seen. That was unexpected, so Scott decided to read the tournament entry conditions in more detail to see if they were indeed officially excluded from the competition.

In each of the occupied bays and hangars, men and women scrambled over the biomechs as they readied the enormous beasts for combat. Around the Zoids, dozens of utility vehicles towed munitions and spare parts from one hangar area to another. It was a surprising amount of activity, considering the first matches were scheduled for Monday, until he remembered the unpleasant official on the cherry picker telling him about free practice runs.

With so much money on the line, they’re taking no chances.

Scott and the Fox had travelled more than half-a-kilometer up the pitlane, and seeing what he had thus far, he felt a little better about his chances of victory. There were no Blade Ligers, Great Sabers, and none of the overwhelming Tyrannosaurus types. As far as he was concerned, the only Zoid that posed a serious problem was Bron’s Iron Kong. On the flipside, Scott was familiar with Bron’s tactics and what his Kong could do on a battlefield. Indeed, he was about ready to relax a smidgeon when the Shadow Fox came across a hangar with a black Saber Tiger resting on the floor of its bay.

All thoughts of victory were almost forgotten as the Shadow Fox sent a wave of unease flowing through the cockpit, picked up and amplified by Scott’s pilot-suit. He was almost overwhelmed by the Zoid’s discomfort and struggled to stay mentally focused as he allowed the intense unease to wash through him and leave him behind, empty and devoid of emotion. The Fox picked up on the emptiness and sought to steady itself using Scott as its emotional centre. It never failed to amaze him how much the Zoid depended on its pilot to offer it a composed center of being. Scott reached out and touched the smooth surfaces of the cockpit interior, seeking to add reassurance to his Zoid.

Easy, partner. I see it too.

The Saber Tiger was encased in black armor not unlike that worn by Bron’s Iron Kong. But it was also different in that it seemed to swallow up the light around it, robbing the Zoid of any depth, making it look flat as it lay on the hangar floor. It was impossible to tell where the Saber ended and its shadow began, and the lack of solidity and substance gave the Zoid an eerie spectral ambience.

A Shadow of Death, Scott thought, putting a hard lid on the chill he was starting to feel otherwise the Fox would sense it. He nudged the control column forward another inch, and his Zoid walked a little faster past the Saber’s hangar and pit bay. He could feel the Fox’s emotions begin to steady into the gentle feeling of awareness he’d grown accustomed to whenever he piloted the biomech. However, he was worried, though he kept it shoved away for now. The Fox’s reaction had caught him unawares. Never before had he experienced something like it from the Zoid that he’d come to love and trust with his life on and off the fields of battle. Scott remembered the pit bay number that the black Saber was occupying, making a mental note to look up the Zoid and its pilot on the tournament information site available to the competitors.

His stop came up a half minute later.

Forty-two, forty-three, and forty-four were displayed in big numbers mounted to the wall above a hangar’s wide, open entrance. The three Zoid maintenance bays inside had their own dedicated cranes hanging from overhead transit rails, elevator platforms to bring supplies up to a Zoid’s back, and cherry pickers that could be positioned around a Zoid to make it easier for the pit and team mechanics to reach those areas high up a biomech’s body. Rows of light fixtures mounted to the ceiling added their illumination to the natural light that came in from outside the building.

Scott reversed the Shadow Fox into Bay-42. The cavernous hangar was oversized for a medium-sized Zoid like his, but to his dismay it was just right for the two Zoids standing in Bays 43 and 44. He powered down most of the Fox’s systems, leaving those providing communications, monitoring, diagnostics, and network access turned on. Then he somewhat wilted into the g-couch as he stared in apprehension at the two biomechs sharing the hangar with the Fox.

Occupying Bay-43 was a Lightning Saix with a peculiar color scheme. Where it was normally silver, the body was white. Where it was red, it was black. The sleek biomech made for an unexpected, incongruous sight amidst the grey interior of the hangar, and the machinery surrounding the Zoid. Going by its pristine condition, Scott figured it belonged to either an A-class pilot on a steady winning streak, or a whale – a warrior from a rich family with deep pockets that funded his adventures as a Zoid warrior.

I’d better look them up as well.

The Saix was indeed bad news, but Scott struggled to keep his concern in check when he looked at the Dark Horn in Bay-44. He couldn’t see much of it with the Lightning Saix in the way, but he’d given the Dark Horn a sweeping look as he backed the Fox into the hangar. The biomech looked larger than the more common Red Horn and Green Horn, though Scott attributed that to the massive amount of armament mounted on its back – twin beam-Gatlings complemented by a pair of triple-barrel linear cannons, along with smaller guns and boxy missile launchers that amounted to a monstrous concentration of firepower, effectively turning the Dark Horn into a mobile fortress that didn’t need to move to engage its opponents. It could remain stationary and obliterate any Zoid that entered the killing range of its guns.

Now that is definitely bad, bad news.

Scott sagged in his g-couch and palmed his forehead. He sensed the Shadow Fox’s disquiet and tried putting a positive spin on the situation. Yet no matter where they started on the tournament chart, a Zoid like the Dark Horn was odds on favorite surviving the early rounds. And if Scott achieved success with the Shadow Fox, there was a good chance he would face that Zoid in the latter stages of the competition.

Feeling crushed, Scott needed an escape. His gaze drifted to the pitlane just as Bron’s Iron Kong lumbered northward to another hangar. In that moment, he hoped that Bron and the Dark Horn faced each other first.

But who would win?

Gathering some of his composure, he rubbed his face down with his palms, then searched for his tournament booklet. He found the instructions to connect to the stadium’s information network and followed them to a login page that required entering his warrior registration ID, along with some other details, before he was granted access to the site. Then he spent a couple of minutes navigating through the various menus and info pages, getting a feel for the layout before searching for details on the black Saber Tiger and its team. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t surprised to learn it was a solo competitor. Nor was he taken aback to learn it was a young woman who piloted the black Zoid.

“Capella Leone,” he read aloud. “Age: twenty-six. Class-B Zoid warrior.”

Scott was certain that most of her profile was sourced from the Battle Commission’s databases. There was a history of her battles. A listing of numerous victories with only a handful of losses. She fought her engagements solo, had yet to enter into any partnerships, and had taken down a number of the stronger C-class teams in the weeks leading up to the tournament.

Okay, that’s impressive.

But what made him frown was reading that she’d entered the League mere days after Scott had done the same with the Shadow Fox. Was it coincidence? Or was he reading too much into that tidbit? Yet, he couldn’t silence the warning chime sounding in his head. Couldn’t ignore it. He turned his attention to her photo, a holo-image that he was able to project into the cockpit interior.

Capella Leone had shoulder length blonde hair, grey eyes, and thin eyebrows half raised as she stared at the camera with a mocking, semi-insolent stare.

No, not mocking. Challenging.

She was beautiful, there was no denying that. If pressed on who he found more attractive – Lidiya or Capella – he would have admitted it was Leone. But the longer he stared at her, the more his awareness drifted along dark memory lanes seldom travelled until his increasingly suspicious thoughts drove him to ask one simple question.

“Where have I seen her before…?”

A short melody intruded into the cockpit. Distracted by Leone’s holo-image, it took Scott many seconds to realize he had an incoming call. Reluctantly, he cleared away the 3D image of the young woman and halfheartedly tapped a blinking section of the comm panel to answer the call. “Hello?”

Out of the cockpit speakers boomed the unmistakable bass voice of Bron Kurdo.

“Hey, Ronin, you settled in?”

Scott groaned softly. “What do you want, Bron?”

“You’ve seen the competition?”

“Most of them….”

“Then let’s have that drink you promised me. We have a lot to discuss.”