Scarlet Steel

Elytron Manufacturing’s most popular mech is the Rhino. Its ability to project a Photon Lock Shield and keep allies behind it safe in a medium sized package makes it a popular choice for offensive operations. Easily able to be dropped on the frontline of any fight, it’s often a cornerstone of operations. The shield does have a downside, however. So much power being dedicated to the shield leaves no headroom for laser weapons, leaving it mostly without an offensive presence at long range. Instead, it’s often equipped with a sword with a burning plasma edge for close quarters combat, and a single 1 cal rifle in its arm. - An Idiot’s Guide to Mechs, 3rd edition.

It’s another few months before the legs are finally finished. I screw the last bolt into place, and I’m done. There’s nothing left to work on. Hoppy should be functional, as long as I didn’t mess anything up too badly.

I don’t hesitate to climb up a ladder and undo every attachment point to the frame I built, leaving her just sitting on her platform. After that, I pull away the frame, throw the ladder onto the ground, and climb into her cockpit.

I still have to force myself to slow down for the bootup sequence. Battery, ignore errors, magnetic field activation, wait, and activate the antimatter cell.

On each screen I pull up a view of the outside of the mech. Even if most of her armor is off, the console blocks most of my vision.

Ok. Charge up the flywheel to store kinetic energy, and activate the standup sequence.

A shrill grinding noise fills the cabin the moment I flip the switch, leaving my ears ringing. On the screens an error pops up.

Complete flywheel failure.

That’s… ok. It’s not technically necessary, it just means my engines won’t be able to perform sudden power changes. There’ll be a delay from any input I give the engines, but she can still walk. I dismiss the error and continue on.

I push the accelerator forward, and she takes a slow, lumbering step. I slide from one side of the cockpit to the other, only to do the same thing when she takes a second step. Maybe I should have gotten the suspension harness installed, but it’s too late now.

With my other hand, I grab the flight stick and slowly angle it to the side, letting Hoppy take a long, slow turn.

It’s working! It’s really working! I can walk! I can turn! There’s one real test left. I point the mech towards home and let her walk at a brisk two miles per hour.

The internal programming takes care of most of the work. Before every step it scans the ground to find good footing. Normally an AI copilot would be taking care of that, but the internal systems do a good enough job. In case of emergency, I’m capable of taking control of the legs individually, but the automated systems will work for now.

I crest scrap pile after pile, walking paths I’ve walked hundreds of times. I push the accelerator further forward, coaxing her into a fifteen mile per hour jog. Air flows through the open cockpit, and I’ve never felt so free.

I’m almost sad when I arrive home. Mom’s already out in the yard, undoubtedly having heard me approaching. Hoppy’s not exactly quiet.

I walk up near her, pull back on the accelerator, and hit a button to start the shutdown sequence. Hoppy squats down and every joint locks, letting me crawl out of the cockpit.

The second I’m out I sprint for Mom collapsing into her arms and letting my emotions out.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. For so long we’ve pretended there was the possibility that I just stay a mechie, that I stay at the base and keep the mechs running. We’ve both known for years I’d end up piloting, but we can’t ignore that fact anymore.

“You’re alright.” She holds me tight. “Just make sure you do everything you can to come back, alright?”

“I will.” I promise.

“I know you’ll try.” Tears pool on the top of my head as Mom’s silent tears join mine. “I’ll call Juno and let her know.”

“No! No.” I extract myself from her arms and wipe my eyes. “I still have work I need to do. The flywheel seized and the armor isn’t on. But… If she wants to bring a cell, I wouldn’t say no.” I’ve already proved I don’t need it. I can take that shortcut.

“She left one last time she visited.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. She didn’t think your car cell would work.”

I turn back to my mech, my mind already churning.

“I’ll need to undo a lot of work to get the cell to fit in. I think I’m going to move my workshop here.”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

I get back into Hoppy and spend the rest of the day walking back and forth between my workshop and home, carrying parts and tools with every trip. I could honestly do this every day. There’s no way to describe being in the cockpit, guiding my creation across the planet’s surface. Nothing can touch me. Nothing can stop me. I’m truly free.

Working at the house is so nice. Sleeping in my actual bed every night for the first time in months, if not years. Making hot meals constantly. Just hanging out with Mom during the night. It’s all so refreshing, and it lets me get a lot of work done.

When I get the cell swapped out, I can go further than ever before. Any mech I’ve ever visited is just a short walk away. I add armor and replace worn parts with slightly less worn versions. The only thing that I can’t fix is the flywheel. Every time I try, it immediately crashes and I can’t figure out why for the life of me. It’s such a common occurrence that I begin to scratch tally marks with every broken one, just to keep count.

Eventually I prepare for a multi-day drive, and find the end of the junkyard. A hundred miles away from the town, the scrap just suddenly ends. Beyond is barren rock with gray vines crossing the surface. They snake down into cracks in the ground and disappear.

Hoppy crouches and I climb down, stepping onto the rock. I lean down and touch the vines.

“Ew.” They’re slimy.

I wonder how far these things spread. Do they go all the way around the planet? Or just around the scrapyard? I have enough fuel to find out.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to walk all the way around the planet. I’m out here for a very specific reason.

I climb back into Hoppy and hook myself into my makeshift suspension system. I’m held entirely off the ground. I’ll bounce around a little, but I won’t slam into anything.

Hoppy tries to stand up, and succeeds only after I kick her hip into starting. I take a breath and push the accelerator forward. I start slowly, taking a few slow steps on the flat ground. Slowly I push the accelerator forward. She speeds up, her heavy feet slamming against the ground and rattling me in my harness. She begins to jog, and breaks out into a run.

Her speed caps out at only 30 miles an hour, two thirds of what her specs say she’s capable of. If I could get the flywheel working it’d help, but even then most of her parts are just too worn to work at full capacity.

I pull the accelerator back, and Hoppy tilts forward, the ground rushing up towards my cameras. I slam the accelerator forward once again, but it does nothing to get her feet back under her. She hits the ground hard, and I slam into the console, my harness doing little to save me from the impact.

“Shit!” White hot pain burns on the top of my head. I clamp down on it, feeling hot liquid pooling past my fingers. I grope around in the cockpit, my hand landing on an oily rag. I press that to the top of my head and wait for the pain to subside.

The pain slowly fades and I open my eyes. I feel the top of my hair, and my fingers only come back shining with oil, not fresh blood. That’s good enough.

“Are you still running?” Hoppy’s still humming away, but her console is dark. Please tell me something just got unplugged, not broken. I really don’t want to call Mom and tell her I need a pickup.

I stay hooked into my harness and look around for my tools. Turns out they’re everywhere, my toolbox must have opened during the crash.

I grab what I need, pull off a panel, and get searching. Working upside down is uncomfortable, but at least it’s an easy fix.

“It’s just a broken connection.” Relief washes over my entire body. All my monitors run off the same wire, and that got separated. That’s something I’ll want to fix later, but for now, it’s an easy fix. I put on some heavy rubber gloves and get to work reconnecting the live wires.

My console comes back to life. I have a fall recovery system, but I’ve never tested it in a live situation.

I hit a button and Hoppy’s legs fold up as tightly as they’ll go. A few panels on Hoppy’s chassis fold out, pushing her back onto her legs. Blood drains from my head as I tip back horizontal.

“Good. Ok, what caused you to begin to tip?” I pore over the consoles, and the answer is obvious. “It’s the flywheel. Of course it is.” I’ll need to figure out why they keep killing themselves, but I honestly don’t think all that many are left in the junkyard that I can scavenge. Mom even checked over the most recent one that fried itself and couldn't find a reason. It might have to be a problem that needs Juno’s help.

The important part is that Hoppy survived! I pushed her to her limit, and nothing broke! Well, nothing I couldn’t fix. Nothing slipped! Climbing slopes, running on flat ground, it’s all perfect! I’d keep pushing her too if the sun wasn’t about to go down.

I take out my phone and fire off a text to mom.

“She runs fine, although a little slow. Had a small crash from the missing flywheel, but we’re both fine. I’ll be home tomorrow, I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Why am I not surprised? Stay safe all the way out there.”

“Will do. Good night.”

“Sleep well. Love you.”

“You too.” I slip my phone into my pocket, shut down Hoppy, unclip myself from the harness, and get some dinner.

While I’m eating, my eyes are drawn to the ground outside, and to the vines running across the surface.

“I wonder if I can eat you?” I set my food to the side and hop out. I pull out a knife and grab the slimy vine. With two quick swipes I cut off a small section. Gray slime oozes out of the cut. “Ugh.”

I let the gunk drain out of my section of the vine, and squeeze out as much of it as possible. I’m left with a moist, spongy plant. 

There’s no way I’m eating that. But what if it’s secretly good? No it’s not going to be, don’t be stupid. But a small bite couldn't hurt, right?

“Ugh!” A bitter, metallic taste explodes in my mouth, and I’m forced to grab a bottle of water to try to wash it out. No matter how much I spit, it still coats the inside of my mouth. It tastes like oil.

It tastes like oil! I spit one final time and crouch down, taking a bit of the goop between my fingers. I rub them together and feel a familiar substance.

“It is oil! This stuff is eating anything that drains from the scrap dropped off!”

How the hell does that work? More importantly, do I care? Engine oil is tough to find, and if this stuff could work as a replacement, I have a lot of old oil that needs to be replaced!

I have a few gas cans hooked to the chassis. I pull one off and begin cutting off sections of plant to squeeze their liquid into it. I should probably send another text to Mom.

“I found plants that bleed oil. I’m going to spend a few days out here running some tests.”

“DO NOT build a workshop all the way out there. Your original spot was far enough.”

“I won’t. I forgot how much I like my bed.”

The gray liquid is incredible. It works great, it can survive high heat, and it’s easy to get. What else could a girl ever need? It’s not quite as effective as the rare bottle of new oil I’ve found, but way better than the old stuff I’ve been using. I’ll just need to check how it handles prolonged use, and how it handles being left alone for a few months. I’m not just going to throw it into Hoppy like an idiot. I’m not that dumb.

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