Mecha Rogue (18 page)

Just like the Union. Both had decided that their ends justified their means, no matter how terrible they were.

The decision was clear. Even more, Matt's path was crystalline.
Save the universe
. He knew what that meant now. It meant balance and freedom, in all human spaces.

“No,” Matt said. “I'll never join you.”

For just an instant, Rayder looked genuinely surprised. “You know what you're saying?”

Matt squared his shoulders. “Yes, I do.”

Rayder sighed and shook his head. He stood up, went to his captain's chair, and sat down in it. When he looked up, his expression had hardened. “I'm tired of this. Accept my offer.”

“No,” Matt said. “I'll kill you. This time for real.”

Rayder nodded and stood. “Then try to do so. Now.”

13

WILLPOWER

Matt shivered, chilled by the cold resolution in Rayder's eyes. Take on Rayder right here, right now, barehanded.

Everything integrated into Matt's Perfect Record to give him a complete understanding of the situation: Rayder's tight jaw, and the corded muscles in his neck, the way he stood, slightly hunched, waiting for Matt to come at him. The glittering anticipation in his slitted eyes. Rayder was furious. This was no act. The HuMax superman was ready to beat Matt to death.

Which was exactly what would happen. There was no way Matt could win against Rayder, strength versus strength. Desperate stats raced in his head: HuMax were two to five times stronger than humans, in terms of both physical strength and speed. HuMax endurance was fifty percent greater than human.

Matt's heart thundered, and his breath came in shuddery gasps. All of his accelerated thought ended in a single conclusion:
I'm going to die today.

“I'll get in any Mecha and take you on,” Matt told Rayder.

Rayder smiled, a slow, sad smile full of menace. “Are you so addicted?” Rayder removed his Taikong pistol and handed it to Captain Gonsalves, who took it without changing expression.

“I'll take on your entire Mecha fleet in my Demon!” Matt said, his voice rising in desperation.

“If you are to kill me, you will do it here and now.” Rayder unstrapped his dagger and handed it to Gonsalves as well. He reached for the clasp of his body armor, popped it off, and hung it over his captain's chair.

“A HuMax against a human isn't a fair fight.”

Rayder laughed. “Life is never fair. You play the hand you're dealt.”

Matt swallowed. Despite his laughter, Rayder was as angry as ever. Matt wasn't going to talk him down.

“I hope you don't mind if I broadcast this to my Last Rising command,” Rayder said, nodding at the camera eyes that extruded eagerly from the bridge's walls. “Such entertainment as this is not to be missed.”

And used, Matt thought. His death would be used as propaganda when Rayder went against the Union again. He'd been hiding, rebuilding his power, but it was only a matter of time before he hit the Union—this time decisively.

Good. Let them cancel each other out,
Matt thought. But his accelerated thought told him it wasn't that simple. Calculations raced—the number of Mecha he'd gone up against, how large Rayder's organization had to be to spare four Displacement Drive warships on Esplandian, the interior of the ship and size of crew. Rayder might win. Would probably win. And humankind would fall before him.

Matt's death could be the death of freedom itself.

The bridge doors opened, and a stream of men and women wearing civilian clothes came floating in. Every one of them had violet-and-gold HuMax eyes. They gathered around the walls of the bridge, jockeying for the best positions.

“It doesn't hurt to have a few eyewitnesses as well,” Rayder said.

Of course. Rayder wanted to gloat. He'd invited his most trusted HuMax companions to watch the show.

“What about them?” Matt said, struggling to keep his voice even. He nodded at Gonsalves, the guards, and the HuMax spectators, who were all waiting eagerly for the show.

“They won't interfere,” Rayder said. He waved a hand, and the two guards released Matt.

No choice. He had to go through with it. And somehow, he'd have to win.

Matt took a quick look around the bridge. It was clean and bare of ornamentation. There was nothing he could use as a weapon—not even a single forgotten coffee bulb or worklight in sight. The spectators and crew were unarmed, and the guards' sidearms were snicked away into biokeyed holsters. Even if Matt could grab one, he'd never be able to use it.

He'd always been taught,
If you have to fight, get in the first shot. Fight dirty.
Nice guys ended up in the hospital.

Nice guys ended up dead.

But there was no chance of getting the first shot. Rayder stood tense and ready for him. There was no cover, no element of surprise. No matter how Matt came at him, he'd be ready.

Matt's racing mind ran the probabilities in detail, instantly piecing together all the pieces from his Perfect Record—every fight he'd been in, every brawl he'd seen, every contest of strength he'd glimpsed in passing on a screen.

Turn away: Rayder would be on him in a moment, slamming Matt's head against the aluminum railing of the bridge hard enough to bend the hard alloy. Go straight for him: Rayder would catch him and snap his neck in one swift motion. Dive under him, hoping for a dirty shot: Rayder's pistoning fist would cave in his skull.

But . . . Rayder's magnetic soles held him in place on the bridge. He oriented himself to the floor like a person born and raised in gravity. And Matt had never seen him fight in microgravity. Maybe, just maybe—

Matt leapt toward the ceiling, far above Rayder's head. The bright lights of the bridge came up fast. He swung from a fixture and risked a backward glance.

Shit!
Rayder was less than a meter away. Cords stood out in his neck, and his lips skinned back from his teeth in murderous rage.

Matt's stomach sank. Rayder was fast, insanely fast. Matt coiled and kicked hard at Rayder's face, but Rayder grabbed his leg before he could react. Rayder's fingers dug into his calf like the armor talons of a Mecha.

Rayder ripped Matt from his perch and threw him down at the bridge floor. The room blurred by as Matt flailed in midair. He hit hard on his shoulder. Agony shot through his neck and down his back.

Rayder descended on Matt like an avenging angel. Matt grabbed a rail support to dodge. Too late. Rayder hit Matt like a hammer, pinning him to the floor with his strong legs.

His fist flew down at Matt's face. Matt's right eye flashed bright red, and something like an atomic explosion went off in his head. His neck snapped back agonizingly, shooting electric pain across his shoulders and down his back. Matt's forehead glanced off a bridge railing. He heard someone howling in pain. It took him a while to realize it was himself.

Matt caught a glimpse of Captain Gonsalves, standing impassively with Rayder's gun, knife, and armor. If he could get to them—

Crack
. Another blow landed on Matt's face. Matt's head snapped to the other side. Rayder's grinning face blurred by. Matt's world went red as blood pooled in his eye. Droplets flew off his face, to paint the bridge floor.

This is how it ends,
Matt thought.
The next blow will crush my skull against that rail. And that would end the short career of Matt Lowell, former Mecha Corps, now hired security for a backwater Corsair facti
on.

Wait. The rail.

Matt arched his back and snapped his head to one side. Rayder's fist flew past his face, only grazing the skin on his cheek. Matt swore he heard the whistle of parting air behind it.

There was a dull bonging noise. Rayder's fist had missed Matt and struck the bridge railing. He'd hit it hard enough to knock the upright out of its welds. Rayder's hand oozed blood, and the clean white bone of one knuckle protruded from his hand. Rayder's face crumpled in pain, and his legs spasmed, releasing Matt.

Matt scrambled out from under the HuMax, grabbing the broken rail and flinging himself at the bridge door. He had to run. It was the only chance he had. If Rayder pinned him again, he was dead.

Matt reached the bridge door and swiped desperately at the door screen. It only flashed red. The doors remained closed. No way out. He was locked in.

A low growl and the rustle of clothing signaled Rayder's return. Matt jumped for the ceiling, not sparing the time to look.

Too late. Another blow sent new crescendos of agony shooting through Matt's gut. Kidney shot. He'd be peeing blood tomorrow. Matt whirled in midair, the room wheeling around him.

A shadow loomed on one side of him. Matt crouched down into a ball, increasing his spin. Rayder shot through the space he'd occupied moments before, his face a rictus of rage.

I dodged him,
Matt thought, in an instant almost giddy.

Rayder grabbed a blazing ceiling light and kicked Matt with both feet. This one caught him in the chest like a sledgehammer. Matt went flying back down into the bridge, his lungs whooping to catch nonexistent breath. His head struck an aluminum console with a crack, and warm blood flowed into his hair. Matt wheezed thimblefuls of air into his lungs. Captain Gonsalves stood above him. The man stood and watched impassively, with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Help,” Matt wheezed.

Gonsalves's face compressed in concern, but he didn't move to help Matt.

But behind Gonsalves . . . Rayder's door. His ready room? It didn't matter. Matt moved, using all of his strength to leap for the door. Muscles tore in his legs in his last desperate move. Rayder came down on the bridge and swiped at Matt with his crushed hand, spraying warm blood. But he missed. Matt's trajectory was set.

Matt shot through the door, catching its edge with one hand and slapping the interior door screen's
CLOSE
icon with another. If it was keyed only to Rayder—

The door slammed closed behind him. Something heavy thumped against its hard steel. Rayder.

Matt hammered the
LOCK
icon. He was in a small, spare room, outfitted with a large nonphysical projection display, two fixed chairs, and a table. Beyond the table, a large, thick window looked out onto the Last Rising Mecha Dock. Beyond, rows upon rows of the silver Mecha covered every wall of the space.

The Mecha Dock!

Better yet, a hatch surrounded the window. This was Rayder's escape route!

Matt shot at the window, palming the hatch to cycle. If the Mecha Dock was in vacuum, he was dead. But he was dead anyway.

The hatch popped open, hissing as the air pressure equalized. Matt's ears popped. But it wasn't vacuum. The Mecha Dock was pressurized!

Matt leapt through the lock. Toward Mecha. Toward freedom.

* * *

In the Last Rising Mecha Dock, scaffolding covered every wall and extended out into the center of the space. Thousands of silver Lokis and hundreds of the dark-colored, smaller-than-Hellion Mecha hung from the racks, waiting to be used.

And, in the middle of them all, Matt's Demon towered over all of them.

It had survived. Matt thought. It wasn't destroyed.

But Matt noticed small differences: its joints were simpler, and it had lost a dozen of the ridges that ran down its back. The Demon had been badly damaged in the battle. It hadn't been able to resume its exact form.

Matt didn't care. He whooped with joy and lunged at the giant Mecha. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. In a flash, he was at the pilot's chamber opening.

But the iris was closed. Matt keyed in the emergency code again and again. The iris didn't even twitch.

Shit!
He wasn't wearing an interface suit! No wonder it wasn't opening. The Demon didn't know its pilot was outside.

Matt went down the rows of black Corsair Mecha, but none were open. Nor could he figure out how to open them.

Something—anything—Rayder would be here soon. Matt shot deep into the docks, where the detritus of construction still lay. A single Powerloader sat slumped against the loose rock and shards of an unfinished tunnel.

Matt threw himself at it. But the battery pack was dead. The machine would be nothing more than a coffin.

Air locks clanked open, sending cavernous echoes through the Mecha Dock. Rayder's voice called out into the space: “Face me like a man, and end this now.”

Matt slipped out of the old Powerloader, straining to get a glimpse through the expanded steel decking. Rayder was there with full entourage: Gonsalves, spectators, and a half dozen floating camera eyes.

Matt's hand brushed a pile of rubble, and the big rocks shifted. It was only a small grinding noise, but it was enough. Rayder's head snapped around, and his yellow-and-violet eyes fixed on Matt through the decking.

Rayder's face twisted in amusement. He barked harsh laughter. “You return to your childhood weapon?”

Matt froze. A weapon, any weapon, was all that mattered. What could he use?

“I still remember the look in your father's eyes as I shot him,” Rayder said. “He looked like you, right now.”

Matt's face flushed, hot with rage. “You made me this way!”

“Your father made you. I only shaped you.”

And yet still Rayder didn't make any move. Matt frowned. What was Rayder trying to do? Draw him out?

Yes. Matt's racing mind saw it all. In a space this large, Rayder would be at a disadvantage if he moved first. He wanted a clean, quick kill. And he'd taken precautions. He now wore his knife and pistol.

“Bravery must have its reward,” Matt said. The words Rayder had told him when he left Matt behind on Prospect.

“And what a reward it is,” Rayder said. “To face me alone on this day. Your name will live on. You will be the man who challenged the gods.”

“You're no god. You lost to the Union. You lost to me, on Jotunheim.” Maybe he could taunt Rayder into acting first.

“Gods lose battles all the time,” Rayder said. “What makes them gods is that they never stop fighting.”

“No,” Matt said. “That's what makes them idiots.”

Rayder's face darkened, but he only advanced calmly to the edge of the scaffolding. Matt shrank back into the shadows behind the old Powerloader, his hands slipping against the hard chunks of asteroid rock.

“This is how it ends for humanity,” Rayder said, sticking his head over the edge of the scaffolding to look Matt in the eye. “Crouching in the shadows.”

But in that instant, it all came together. The perfect moment. The summation to all his days on refugee ships, tossing rocks out of their gravity wells and thinking of the day he'd get his revenge.