Daiko waited like a stone in a river as the party crawled toward its inevitable end. People began leaving in pairs, then groups. The garage doors rattled less and less, till the music faded entirely. Eventually, a single lattice of string lights suspended on the back porch was the revelry’s last bastion.

  At various points of the evening he considered leaving, he didn’t know why he waited. Not even as a young soldier had Daiko been one for late nights—at least, not for fun. By miracle or design, only the crew remained. All but Joyce, who, ironically, would soon be arriving to help him with the morning shipments.

  That approaching duty called him to bed, to rest and get a meager sleep, but something always kept him there another five minutes. As all legendary nights seem to end, he only made it to this final libation by chance.

  “Veterans aren’t unusual, just not as common as you think,” Arthur shook his mop of brown hair out of his eyes, nearly tipping over as he did. “Only twenty-four vets have won the Primera—twenty-five now that Cenn’s won. You’d think there’d be more in the three hundred and…four hundred…”

  He screwed up his face in concentration. No doubt he could’ve told them anything about the Primera or the CORP on any other night.

  “We get it, it’s been a long time,” Roman finished for him. He lay on his back, tossing a very expensive conduit wrench into the air. It spun end over end before falling back into his hand for another go. “Longer than Westwood Motors has been around, that’s for sure.”

  Mark scoffed. “Doubtful. We’re a storied name in this town, and we didn’t always work on mecks. Our great-grandpa fixed the high-speed light rails that run over the city. Before that, we worked on cars and—”

  “And before that, bicycles,” Val finished. She looked the most sober, which was odd because she cradled Mark’s empty bottle of scotch in her hand.

  “All the way back to the wheel,” Roman added. Laughter rippled from all but Cenn, who lay sprawled across a picnic table at the center of their gathering, snoring like an avalanche.

  “Alfa,” Val said, “wasn’t she the one who asked the question? You have to work on your delivery, Arthur. Snake, give her a kick. Friends don’t let friends pass out before sunrise.”

  Standing on long unsteady legs, Snake removed his hat and made a show of turning it backward before approaching Cenn like he would a sleeping bear. He carefully placed his boot on her hip and gave it a good shove.

  She sat up quick as a tripwire, and threw the opened can of beer in her hand clear across the lot. Everyone covered their faces as foam rained down on them. Cenn then stood on the picnic table like she was late for work, eyelids blinking independently of each other for a good ten seconds before she came to.

  “Erin,” Roman called. “Looks like you’ll need the skiff to get her home tonight.”

  Daiko stood below the second-floor balcony as a pair of legs swung, interlocking on every other swing.

  “Trust me, she’s going to sleep wherever the hell she wants,” Erin said, inviting another bout of laughter.

  “You,” Cenn’s words cut through the atmosphere like a scratched record, and it took Daiko a moment to realize she was pointing at him. “Thought you were gonna skip town, go on without us?”

  Arthur paled and shot toward Cenn in an attempt to pull her down from the table. At the same time, Mark climbed the bench and tried putting his hand over her mouth.

  Cenn whipped one leg to the side, deflecting Arthur as he fell into her, then pirouetted on the other leg, grabbing and turning Mark’s wrist in a flash so that the palm of his hand met his wrist. Despite being discharged from the CORP years ago, she hadn’t truly lost her instincts. They were what made her such an effective pilot.

  “Alright, alright!” Mark squealed.

  Cenn released him, and he stumbled backward onto the ground, holding his wrist. She remained atop the picnic table, holding her hands up in the air as though she had nothing to do with it.

  “What’s this now?” Daiko asked, stepping from underneath the balcony.

  Erin twisted and swung down from his perch.

  “Nothing, sir. Roman was right. I’ll go get that skiff now.”

  “Oh, we’re just not going to talk about it now the man’s here?” Cenn called, “let’s just wait till he’s gone then, cowards.”

  Confused, Daiko wondered if there still might be a punch line.

  “Oh come off it,” Cenn continued. “Mark already told us you’re leaving.”

  Mark shook his wrist out and considered climbing the table himself, but paused on the bench at a glance from Cenn. “That’s a lie. Val’s the one who’s been running her mouth. I told her to drop it.”

  “Didn’t realize it was a secret,” Val said with a shrug.

  Daiko took another step into the circle, looking at each of them in turn, lingering on Mina’s piercing stare.

  “I tried to get ahead of it, sir,” Mark said, exhausted.

  “Come on, Mark. Let the man talk,” Roman said, still lying on his back, looking at the sky but no longer throwing the wrench. “Are you going or what?”

  “Of course he’s not,” Mina said, but her tone was anything but certain.

  “What do you mean, of course not? Why shouldn’t he?” Arthur interrupted, placing himself in the center of the argument—it was a habit of his. “He’s the best CORP pilot in history—think about what he could do! My dad always said ‘do right—’”

  “We know!” roared several people at once, quieting him.

  Mina fell gracefully from the balcony. “Dad?”

  Daiko puffed out his cheeks. He’d nearly forgotten Christian in the hours since his talk with Mark; that’s where this all started. How long until the neighbors craned their necks to ask what Mons Hitori was up to?

  “Everyone relax,” Daiko said, “an old friend visited me while you were on the podium. He offered me a job, that’s all.”

  “So the friend wasn’t the admiral?” Arthur asked.

  Daiko sighed, “it was.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Oh, and Arcomeckanist was just a common job title they hand out these days,” Cenn said.

  Mina stared, eyes scrutinizing.

  “Dad, what did you say?” He nearly withered before those eyes.

  “This isn’t anything you have to worry about. We just won the Primera! Now get over yourselves, and—”

  “You said he was leaving tomorrow,” Arthur said to Val, interrupting Daiko and raising his blood pressure.

  “I said what I heard,” she replied.

  “No, you made that up,” Mark said, “now look at what you’ve done.”

  “Look what I’ve done?” Val stifled a laugh, “am I back in fourth-grade, Marky? Did I just destroy your diorama all over again?”

  “You nearly burned the house down.”

  She threw her hands to the side dramatically, “and look at me now!” As though that explained everything she’d ever done to terrorize her brother over the years.

  A stale moment clubbed the air, caught between a joke and tragedy.

  “What a drag,” Roman sat up and drew everyone’s eye. His next words were ice-cold. “If the man is done playing with toys, we shouldn’t stand in his way.”

  Cenn nodded and crossed her arms in approval before looking down at Daiko from her soapbox.

  “Is that it, sir? You win the biggest competition in the system and you’re ready to leave us all behind? Did you forget who won you that trophy?”

  Erin reached up to grab Cenn’s hand, but she swatted him away. Though she hid it behind a drunken bravado, there was pain in her eyes.

  “You won’t go far on your own. You’ll need a pilot worth a damn if you plan on fighting the Geos.”

  The tension held for a moment, then gave way as Val belted out a laugh. Erin ran a hand through his hair. As Cenn’s co-pilot, mentee, and roommate, he’d heard her boast about her prowess more than anyone else. Unfortunately, the laughter did little to diminish the wind in her sails.

  “I did all the heavy lifting, so if you’re going to make new mecks and put soldiers in them, I’m going, too.”

  Daiko hesitated. Before he could express how idiotic she sounded, Roman spoke up again.

  “An invitation? Val, you should’ve said something. Count me in.”

  “What—” Daiko managed before Val interrupted him next.

  “You two? Go to the warfront?” Val wiped away her laughing tears, “I’ll go just to see you build the first meck inside out.”

  “I’m coming too!” Arthur said, his face so full of hope it momentarily stunned Daiko.

  “Of course you are. Someone has to carry my suitcase.” Cenn’s confidence grew as the crew’s dissent continued. “I’ll have to retrain Erin all over again—war isn’t the same as SportMeck—but he’s a quick study.

  Daiko tried to interject but was assailed by memories of death and desolation. He would never let them go to that place.

  Mark carried on, “We’ll open up a new garage on Alma Prime, bring SportMeck to the colonies!”

  Val leapt and wrapped her arms around his shoulders like a backpack. “Now you’re talking. Snake, pack your bags!”

  Snake’s shrug was so casual it could’ve been saying yes to another drink.

  “Great!” Arthur said, “When do we leave, sir—”

  “Enough!” Daiko bellowed, flattening the rising joy like prey in an open field. The crew took a step back, Mina included. Seeing their reaction should’ve been enough to calm him down, but his anger couldn’t be stopped. He hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time.

  “Do you realize what you’re saying?” He glared at each of them, uncaring of their surprise, their fear. Years of reconditioning this group to disregard his reputation were undone in a single moment.

  “Ever wonder why there are more deployment parades than homecomings? Ever do the math?” He felt the baritone of his younger days return, when he looked upon the fresh faces of new recruits and had to break them down to save their lives. “Of course you didn’t, because you’re just like every other Asparian—you think this war is already won. You think six decades of gaining no ground is a victory? I bet you also the presence of a hidden and advanced enemy armada hiding within the moonscape swells is advantageous. You all can’t see past your high noses to see we’re only alive by an alien grace we can’t even contact…But sure, go ahead and tell me how you all know about war.”

  “I’ve been to war—” Cenn started, but Daiko cut her off.

  “Mars? You’ve been to war on Mars?” he laughed and looked around the group as though he’d said something truly hysterical. “What did you do there, Cenn? Keep people from throwing stones too far? While you walked around in a fifteen meter tall meck?” Daiko scoffed, “You were riot control, at best and you couldn’t even do that well, could you? Remind me—was it a wound that got you discharged? Or your weak stomach?” He bore his eyes into hers until he saw her chaw quiver, but he poured it on. Cenn’s head was thick, and he was convinced this was the only way she’d listen.

  “People tend to forget that the Martians are only fourth generation colonists. Funny how quickly our Empire stripped them of their wealth, and turned their communities into labor camps to fuel their crusade against the Geos…War? There’s about as much comparison as men to maggots.”

  Daiko sensed Roman stiffen, readying a heated argument, but the Martian never got a chance. Daiko wheeled on him next, shooting a finger inches from his face.

  “Look me in the face and tell me honestly if your people will ever crawl out from under Asparia’s thumb.”

  “And you're better?” Roman prodded.

  “Roman—” Arthur started—stepping in front of Daiko as though this was an argument he could impede—but Roman kept on.

  “Asparia’s Dragon, more like the Empire’s dog. You’ve told us all about how you pioneered modern mecks, which means your mecks are the reason my people are in those labor camps. Now you’re going to fly off to Jupiter, on jet fuel mined on my home planet?”

  Daiko might have been hurt by those words, had his soul not raked itself across the very same coals by his own hands.

  “Your fight isn’t with me, Roman.” Daiko took a step closer to him, “and like I said, you don’t have a fight in the first place.”

  Daiko turned toward the rest of the group, leaving Roman to seethe behind him.

  “None of you can possibly imagine what it’s like to fight real monsters. To be lost in the moonscape, not knowing if the swells will bring you home or closer to the red storm.” He was drawn to Arthur, whose spirit shone through his eyes, rebelling against Daiko’s words. If no one else—you should know this lesson already…

  “There’s no heroism out there. Everything you think you know is a lie, a show, put on by the Empire to recruit mindless drones into their colonial complex. Your actions here tell me everything I need to know about you.” He shook his head, disgusted.

  Night lingered on the brink of dawn. A car alarm in the distance, a window slamming shut, the sound of creatures creeping atop trash cans. Yet the city seemed so far away. Daiko could hear his own pulse, could see the effect he was having, and yet do nothing to stop it. Worse, a part of him felt justified.

  “You have the day off tomorrow,” he looked at the brightening horizon, “correction—you have today off. I suggest you go home and get some sleep because it’s business as usual after that.”

  He had no intention of entertaining replies. He didn’t even spare Mina a glance as he spun on his heel and marched inside.

  As he stood in the dark, empty garage, he sought refuge from the anger and guilt coursing through him in equal measure. Home was too far so his office would have to do. I should’ve been there hours ago... Joyce... she would be there soon, and he had a promise to keep... so many promises to keep.

  What he needed was an hour of sleep. Maybe two. That was all. His head would clear, and he’d know what to do. He always knew what to do-eventually. He climbed the steps and slammed his office door behind him; the ensuing silence was like the vacuum of space.

  He fell into his chair heavily, adrenaline wavering. In its absence, he was flooded again by those memories of his once-life: images of the moonscape, of everyone he loved over the years dying in an instant, a sequential collage of pain stemming from his one decision to join the CORP, and do everything in his power to end the war, and protect the ones he loved.

  He still remembered the words he repeated once, twice, three times to his mother, friends, and fiance upon the parting platform. They were the same words he spoke over and over as the cryogenic ice swallowed him for the journey through space, the same words he would utter to himself before every battle… and they were the same words he whispered to himself now in a restless lullaby…

  I have to do this... It’s the right thing to do...

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