“Care to climb up and have a look at the controls?” Willow asked.

  “Have, uh, Dandelion, was it? Yeah, have her send the lift down,” Clay said and patted his shoulder. “Climbing is not my thing right now. Been a rough evening.”

  “Yes, well, the lift doesn’t work at the moment,” Willow said. “I have my best mechanic on it though. Crystal? Where’s Crystal?”

  A man came walking out from behind one of the rear legs, his face coated in grease. Actually, his whole body was coated in grease. Only his eyes shown white in the bright moonlight.

  “Yeah, Willow?” Crystal asked. “What ya need?”

  “This is Crystal Leafblower,” Willow said to Clay. “He is the best mechanic we have.”

  “Good for Mr. Leafblower,” Clay replied. He really hated comunistas. Especially ones who had co-opted names from the Flower People. Mixed causes bugged the hell out of him.

  “Is the lift operational?” Willow asked.

  “The lift? Why would I be working on the lift?” Crystal asked. “You said to prioritize. I’ve been hammering this back strut into place for the past three hours. Worked on the cooling system before that.”

  “Cooling system? What the hell is wrong with the cooling system?” Clay asked. “No, wait, don’t tell me.”

  He studied the mech for a few seconds.

  “This is a Haverschmidt 1800 Cargo Mech,” Clay said. “They were put into use early in the Bloody Conflict, but relegated to behind the lines duty once they realized the machines couldn’t handle deployment into the theatre. Cooling system ruptures in the sixth elbow coupling when used in reverse too often. That the problem? The sixth elbow coupling?”

  Crystal moved closer and squinted hard at Clay in the dim light.

  “You know your mechs, son,” Crystal said. “Yes, that is precisely the problem.”

  Clay realized the man was way older than the rest of the comunistas. Had to be in his seventies at least. But his eyes were bright and clear, and there wasn’t a trace of confusion old-timers got at that age.

  “I better know my mechs,” Clay said. “That’s the whole reason I’m here.”

  “Yes, well, most young ones like you only care about the battle mechs,” Crystal said. “You like the glory of combat.”

  “I do like the glory of combat,” Clay said. “But I come from mech people. Been in my family for generations, going back before the Bloody Conflict.”

  “That so?” Crystal asked and his eyes twinkled. “How far back?”

  “A ways,” Clay said.

  “Biochrome or poly? That far back?” Crystal asked.

  “Back,” Clay said.

  “Hmmm,” Crystal mused. “You may have something more to you than a cocky swagger.”

  “He ain’t even got a cocky swagger,” Firoa said. “Man can barely stand upright for more than ten minutes.”

  “Not going to argue there,” Clay said. “But I don’t have to stand upright to pilot a mech.” He waved his hand at the machine in front of him. “Especially not one like this. Cargo mechs don’t have suit integration. All hand and foot controls from the pilot’s seat.”

  “True,” Crystal said. “But you’ll need stamina if you plan on fighting with this baby.”

  “I don’t,” Clay said. “Sorry, folks, but that is not in the cards. I’ve seen the mechs General Hansen has. They aren’t anywhere near as good as mine, but they are battle mechs. Stripped of weapons, but in fighting shape. This isn’t even in walking shape.”

  “We walked it here, didn’t we?” Willow huffed. She pointed a finger at Clay. “You need to stop finding excuses and start being a little more positive, or there is no deal.”

  “There is no deal because there is no mech,” Clay said. “I’m not trying to be difficult—”

  “Yeah, right,” Firoa grunted.

  “—but no matter how good I am, this thing ain’t gonna win a single fight,” Clay continued. “Put me in there and I’m just a dead pilot sitting. You all have me here because I’m the expert, right? Well, listen to the goddamn expert for a second and hear what I am saying. This. Mech. Sucks. Balls.”

  “I don’t know about balls,” Crystal said, looking hurt by the statement.

  Willow took her hat off and threw it in Clay’s face. He caught the sombrero before it hit the ground and tossed it back at her. It sent a wave of pain through his shoulder, but he ignored it. Pain was not his number one problem at that moment. Getting out of an impossible situation was.

  “You ain’t no mech pilot,” Willow said. “I finally figured it out. This was all a lie. A way to lure us in so we’d what? Be forced to make a new deal just to save face?”

  “Save face from what?” Nasta asked. “That doesn’t make sense, Willow.”

  “It sure does,” Willow said. “Tell me, comrade, who did you sell us out to? That why that Captain was there? You told her about us borrowing a few hundred head of cattle? That it? Have you no honor? How you could sell us out to a person like that, I just don’t know.”

  “Sell you out?” Nasta asked. “Why would I sell you out? You aren’t in hiding. You were sitting at a front table in Haggie’s saloon for everyone to see, all dressed up in your revolucion costumes.”

  “Costumes? Costumes!” Willow yelled. “How dare you! These are the uniforms of the people! We are the freedom fighters the world needs to finally be rid of the capitalist pigs that have turned this world into a cesspool of greed and destruction!”

  “Yeah, I am more than sure the cesspool has been around for a long, long time,” Clay said.

  “And so have we!” Willow shouted. “The comunistas have been here always! We are the thorns in the sides of all that—”

  “Shut up,” Clay said as he pulled his pocket watch from his trousers. He held it out as he thumbed open the case. “See. I’m a mech pilot. You don’t get one of these for participation.”

  “Let me see that,” Crystal said and held out his hand.

  Clay went to give it to the old man but stopped. He stared down at the open face of the pocket watch and blinked a few times. It was on. There was power running through it, and he saw system status after system status running across the tiny screen.

  “It’s a fake,” Willow said. “That is why he refuses to hand it over.”

  “I’m not handing it over because it hasn’t been working lately,” Clay said and looked over at Nasta. “It’s back on.”

  “It’s back on,” Nasta said. “You can find your mech.”

  There was a note of sadness in her voice.

  “Yeah, I can,” Clay said and turned his attention to Willow. “Looks like I don’t need your help after all. I can track my mech down and activate it remotely. Gibbons will walk it right out of wherever it’s being held.”

  “Gibbons? What’s a Gibbons?” Crystal asked. “You have a co-pilot in your mech?”

  Clay didn’t respond.

  “If you are relying on a co-pilot, then you can kiss any plan you have goodbye,” Willow said. “We know where your mech is. It’s being held by the Mister. Our sources say they are stripping it down to be fight ready. The Mister intends for his best pilot to use your mech in the tournament. That means your co-pilot is being held captive at the best or dead and left for the coyotes at the worst.”

  “Buzzards would be worse,” one of the other comunistas said.

  “Yes, buzzards would be worse,” Willow agreed.

  “Gibbons is fine,” Clay said. “He knows how to hide.”

  Crystal stepped directly in front of Clay and narrowed his eyes. “You telling us that Gibbons is what I think Gibbons is?”

  “I ain’t telling you a damn thing, old-timer,” Clay replied. “Except that I don’t need your help. So get out of my way. I have a mech to retrieve.”

  Clay started to press his thumb to the center of the watch face but stopped. He glanced at the cargo mech, confused. It wasn’t moving, but Clay distinctly felt the ground thumps of a mech moving across land close by.

  Crystal’s eyes went wide, and Clay could see the old-timer felt them as well. Clay’s and Crystal’s eyes both looked down at the pocket watch.

  “Who had this?” Crystal asked. “Anyone else have a hold of it for a spell?”

  “General Hansen,” Clay said.

  “Tracker,” Crystal said.

  “Shit,” Clay replied.

  “But the General would have found the caves if she put a tracker in that,” Firoa said.

  “No power,” Nasta said. “It didn’t turn on until now.”

  “Shit,” Clay said. He looked up at the mech, then at Crystal. “Weapons?”

  “No,” Crystal said as she shook his head. “Weapons aren’t allowed in the tournament, so I never put none on.”

  “Shit,” Clay said. “Gimme something here, old-timer. What about cable rockets? It has to have those for support with heavy lifting.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Cargo claw? Cutting torch?” Clay asked.

  “Yeah, I suppose it does have all that, but I haven’t checked them,” Crystal said. “I was told to—”

  “Prioritize, I know,” Clay said. “Priority number one is to get me up in this mech. It’s our best bet. You all get to your rollers and get the hell out of here while I buy us all some time.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Nasta said.

  “Bull,” Clay replied. “I don’t need a co-pilot with this puppy. Go with Firoa and Hank and get gone.”

  The man seemed to materialize from the night as his name was mentioned. Hank was signing at a furious pace and Firoa stared at his hands, her face getting more and more worried with each sign.

  “Three mechs,” Firoa said. “And four rollers. The mechs are tournament ready, no weapons visible, but the rollers are loaded. Heavy cannons on top of each.”

  “How’d they get here so fast?” Nasta asked. “The General’s ranch is opposite of this area. It should have taken them hours…”

  “The Captain,” Clay said. “She called in the mechs when Nuggins lost the showdown. They were probably looking for us this whole time, and the second I opened the watch they were able to zero in.”

  “You can’t fight three mechs with this, can you?” Nasta asked.

  “No,” Clay said. “But I can lead them away from you all. Once I know you are safe, then I’ll ditch the mech and hide in some badger hole until it’s safe to call you.”

  “Call them, not me,” Nasta said. “I’m going with you.”

  Clay started to argue but knew they didn’t have time, so he just nodded and looked at Crystal.

  “Cargo winch work?” he asked.

  “It does,” Crystal said. “Oh, right. I’ll lower it down so we can get you up in there.”

  “Thanks,” Clay said.

  “And I’m coming with as well,” Crystal said.

  “Comrade, no!” Willow barked. “You are too valuable to the cause!”

  “This boy may know mechs, but this young lady don’t,” Crystal said, pointing first at Clay, then at Nasta. “The mech starts breaking and they’ll need a mechanic on hand to rig it so it don’t shut down on them.”

  “Thanks,” Clay said again.

  The ground was shaking even harder, and Clay knew they had only a couple minutes before three mechs came down on them like angry gods from the clouds.

  “Run,” he said. “Run far and fast. Don’t look back. We’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “Gonna hold you to that, pilot boy,” Firoa said. Hank nodded in agreement.

  Clay started to say something smartass, but stopped himself. He saw the fear in both Firoa’s and Hank’s eyes. Neither of them had been in a situation like the one that was about to hit them. He nodded and gave them his most serious look.

  “I’ll keep her safe,” he said.

  “Oh, shut the hell up,” Nasta snapped. “Sexist asshole. I’ll be the one keeping you safe. How do you plan on getting out of the mech in order to run and hide? With your oh so healthy body?”

  “Good point,” Clay said and held out a hand.

  Nasta looked at it, then took it and shook.

  “We keep each other safe,” Clay said.

  “Peekachu’s ghost, I’m going to throw up,” Firoa said before she grabbed Hank and headed off back to the roller.

  “Is she ever pleasant?” Clay asked.

  “Depends on your definition of pleasant,” Nasta smiled.

  “The positive definition,” Clay said.

  “Then no,” Nasta replied.

  “Didn’t think so,” Clay said. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Nasta replied.

  They looked at Crystal and he nodded, then ran to the rear legs and the controls to activate the cargo winch. Time to get into the cockpit and go fight some mechs.

  21

  The rollers preceded the mechs by about fifty yards, careful to keep a steady pace so they didn’t fall behind and get crushed by the huge feet of the tall battle machines. The drivers aimed the vehicles straight for the arroyo while the gunners moved their weapons back and forth, back and forth, scoping the area for their prey.

  Two heavy belt guns, one on each side of a roller with a heavy cannon on top, made the vehicles just as deadly as their towering, walking companions. But even with the armaments, it was impossible for the rollers to overcome the size difference. They may have had enough firepower to bring down ten mechs, but in the end they were just rollers. Six-wheeled trucks that ran off hemp diesel, nothing more.

  So when Clay came up out of the arroyo, he knew what he had to do. The rollers were the first concern. Take them out and it was all hand-to-hand combat. Or hand-to-foot combat, since his cargo mech didn’t have hands, just four feet, one on the end of each leg. He used those legs to not just scramble up and out of the arroyo, but to send several small boulders rocketing towards the rollers. The smaller vehicles dodged them easily, as Clay knew they would.

  “Keep an eye on that scanner,” Clay called to Nasta as he piloted the cargo mech along the edge of the arroyo, running it parallel to the line of vehicles coming at them. “Tell me the second you see their cannons start to power—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish as four pulse beams blasted the ground in front of the cargo mech, ripping the dry earth apart, shattering rocks and tearing a deep trench open about forty feet long.

  “Look out!” Crystal shouted from his seat behind Clay.

  Unlike Clay’s battle mech, the cargo mech had seats for a crew of five: the pilot, co-pilot, cargo arm and winch operator, and two seats for either labor or security, depending on the cargo and the haul mission. Crystal sat in the cargo operator’s seat while Nasta sat in the co-pilot’s seat. Clay was smack dab in the middle, his hands running the directional controls while his feet controlled the brakes and throttle.

  Clay saw the trench rush toward them, and he yanked back on both control sticks while also pushing the throttle all the way to the floor. The cargo mech leapt into the air, its back legs straining against the sudden surge of power and the new angle of the huge machine. They were airborne and over the trench before Crystal’s warning was fully out of his mouth.

  Two heads turned to regard Clay, and new respect filled the cockpit. Both Nasta and Crystal stared at him, jaws hanging open, eyes wide with disbelief.

  “I didn’t think this thing could do that,” Crystal said.

  Clay ripped the control sticks to the left and then pushed them forward, sending the mech into a frontward diving roll as the next barrage of cannon fire ripped into the ground around them. Nasta screamed as her world was turned upside down for a split second, then gained control of herself as the mech was suddenly righted and charging towards the vehicles.

  “Didn’t think it could do that either,” Crystal muttered. “When you need me?”

  “Get that cargo arm ready,” Clay said as he brought the mech parallel with the attacking rollers once more. “Don’t deploy it until I tell you to. One second too early and we’ll end up torn apart before we can even get a chance to take these guys down.”

  The heavy belt guns sent thousands of rounds toward the mech, and Nasta tried not to scream as the metal hull shook with the impacts of the large-caliber bullets. Clay only narrowed his left eye at the impacts. He kept the mech moving straight ahead, eyes locked onto a spot a few meters ahead.

  “This thing won’t hold up much longer against them bullets,” Crystal said. “Looks like we may be losing hydraulics in the rear right leg.”

  “Won’t need it too much longer,” Clay said.

  “We won’t?” Crystal and Nasta asked at the same time.

  “Nope,” Clay replied.

  “But we haven’t hurt a single one of them,” Nasta said. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “I know a lot of things you don’t,” Clay said with a smirk on his face. “Especially when it comes to battle tactics with a mech.”

  He jammed his foot on the brakes and the mech slid to a stop right before a pile of huge boulders.

  “Grab as many as the claw can handle,” Clay said to Crystal. “Lift them high above us and make it look like we’re going to throw them.”

  “We ain’t gonna do that?” Crystal asked as he activated the cargo arm and spun it out from the rear hatch of the mech’s main cargo hold.

  The arm was nearly twenty-five feet long and made of thick interlocking pieces of metal. It was similar to a rattlesnake’s spine, with dozens or articulated ribs that allowed the arm to twist and bend at pretty much any and all angles. The claw itself, a four-fingered mechanism, was about ten feet long and wide. Crystal opened the claw and grabbed up half a dozen large boulders. He lifted them up over the mech and angled the claw arm so it looked to any casual observer like the boulders were about to be flung at the attacking vehicles.

  More gunfire, more cannon blasts.

  A claxon rang out and Clay flinched. The machine was falling apart too soon. He needed just a couple more minutes and he’d be able to take on all four rollers and the mechs without a problem.