The Versk suit shuffles back through the dripping darkness of the subway tunnel, the exclusion zone timer slowly counting down with each step on Lanis’ HUD.

  Eight minutes left.

  The Suit’s pace slows as it approaches the station.

  You think someone is there? Ether muses. After the wreckage we left behind?

  Lanis minutely shrugs against the confines of her pilot suit and pod harness. She and Ether are essentially two minds acting as one, but there are certain hunches that Lanis isn’t even aware that she’s projecting.

  And now you’re worrying about our integration readings. I’d say we’re doing pretty damn well.

  Lanis scoffs; it isn’t just thoughts, but also subtle shifts in emotion that Ether’s catching now. Their integration was strong before, but it seems that their engagement, with its flood of adrenaline, has managed to connect a few wayward synapses, deepening an already strong bond.

  De-integration is going to be jarring.

  “I’m not worried. I’d just rather not get a migraine before I have to. And, you know, retain my sense of self…”

  Lanis tentatively shifts her awareness to her neural shunt, prodding the subtle heat that bleeds across her temple and into her Fleet-modified brain. Despite Lieutenant Tran’s warnings of damage, her supposed fragility has yet to expose itself; in fact, just the opposite.

  Of course, that didn’t include a twenty-four hour arena match.

  We won’t need twenty-four hours to mop up this crew, Ether says, the force of her bravado sending a tingling shudder down Lanis’ arms. It’s infectious, and again, Lanis feels a slightly manic grin tug at her lips. A walled-off portion of her mind, the part that was trained specifically for these types of integrations where the ego of a capital ship AI could easily subsume its human counterpart, pulses a warning.

  Don’t get carried over the edge, that part of Lanis thinks. We don’t want ego death in the middle of a competition.

  Lanis grinds her teeth, moves her lips in a prayer, and reorients herself again.

  “Ok, let’s just focus on not getting ambushed at this station.”

  Lanis hefts the suppression drone out in front of her, accessing its rudimentary optics. Using it like a mirror, Lenis peers up and around the station platform.

  The two mechs are where she left them, their scorched hulls heavy in the darkness. They, along with the far old devastation of the station, appear to be undisturbed.

  Looks quiet. Let’s go.

  Hex ponderously heaves itself up onto the station platform and begins to creep forward, rifle fixed upon the dust-moted shaft of light that radiates down from the top of the broad station stairway.

  Lanis peers warily up those stairs, and takes a tentative step upward. The heavy crunch of metal piercing old tile and concrete echoes through the dead station.

  Coming up out this is going to leave us horribly exposed, she thinks. But, what if…

  Hex shuffles forward another few steps, until the sliver of the light overhead has become a patch of sky. Then, with some quick calculations of weight, balance, and velocity, the Suit heaves the suppression drone up and out of the station.

  The drone lands on its splayed tripod with a clatter, leans precipitously, and then swings back upright, its legs digging into the ground. Ether pivots and scans the area around the subway entrance, again using the drone as another set of eyes.

  Looks—

  The drone’s long muzzle pauses, and a flash of light erupts from a rooftop more than a kilometer away.

  There’s a half second delay, in which calculations are already being made:

  Input: Distance of enemy, relative loss of the Cauldron’s low-grade kinetic rifle shell velocity at this range, heightened ability of shield array to decrease round lethality—

  The suppression drone disintegrates as the roar of kinetic rounds tears through its fragile body—

  Input: Recalibration time of enemy mech, availability of cover, time to exclusion zone formation, digging mechanism unreliability, element of surprise—

  The output is near-instantaneous.

  Boldness. We move, now!

  Lanis red-lines the Versk core to a dull whine, and Hex erupts out of the subway station, its shield unfolding and rifle pivoting toward the source of the attack. Lanis is heedless of the awkward grating of the front right leg as they spring toward the half-demolished concrete building across the street, crunching through debris. She lets off a rapid burst of fire toward the sniping mech for good measure, hoping to buy themselves a few moments by forcing it to shrink into cover.

  Impact.

  Lanis feels the glancing blow of a shell crumple part of their shield, and another glance off Hex’s shoulder articulator, but then they’re safe, backing through rubble and away from the line of sight of their ambusher.

  “Shit that was close,” Lanis whispers, sweat beading upon her forehead. She watches the Versk Suit’s energy core coming back into acceptable limits, red turning to orange, to yellow, to green.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The sound of that fire will have drawn attention. I think it’s past time we went into hiding.

  Hex’s optics madly scan down and across the street for other enemies. There’s no movement, not yet. They’re just outside of the exclusion zone, and should be able to flee while staying in cover.

  Lanis nods, the sweat now dripping into her eyes, stinging them. She tries to push them away with a haptic-gloved hand, but only makes it worse.

  “Time to hide,” she agrees.

  “Impossible.”

  The word is uttered with detached resignation, and Mirem can tell that Renfol’s mind is elsewhere. However, before she can press her case, she hears Renfol give a dreamy sigh. She has a visceral feeling of the Versk Administrator shifting a slightly higher percentage of his attention toward her troublesome request.

  “Obviously, I cannot go into details, but undertaking a forensic examination of KR’s holdings at this time would be…” Renfol pauses, searching for a suitable euphemism.

  “Ill-advised. I will say this: the young Renalis is consolidating his power with surprising rapidity. Some might even say recklessness. A breach of their confidential nets now would be taken as a probing of weakness. An affront, at the best of times, but one that could be dangerous given the new CEO’s unpredictability. It would risk not only drawing Kaisho’s wrath, but also Murkata-Heisen’s; we have their full backing, for now, but such impertinence against their adversary might test our relationship.”

  Mirem thinks of the court-like politics of the megacorps; she wonders at what insights Renfol has at the shifting dynamics of power through his little perch in the hierarchy of corporate power. She knows better than to ask.

  “We will, of course, run a deep probe, but I doubt it will shine a light on anything we do not already know.” Renfol pauses again, and Mirem can almost see Renfol’s sleepy, calculating smile. “Try not to fret, Mirem. I highly doubt that even Kaisho would attempt anything so crude as— what? Sabotage?” He waits a moment, and gives a lilting laugh, as if he can read Mirem’s mind.

  “Kidnapping? Murder? Oh, come Mirem. Must I truly state the obvious? The game is on a live feed, for hundreds of millions to see. A game in which, I might add, our young pilot is doing quite well. I am pleased. The Cauldron’s security is thorough, Alain Renalis likely has no influence, and Admin, not to mention Fleet, would never countenance such a base act. You of all people must know that even Kaisho-Renalis has its limits.”

  Objectively, Renfol’s words ring true; why is it, then, that they aren’t particularly reassuring? The silence lingers, and Mirem searches for words, for some way of convincing Renfol that she isn’t crazy.

  “Do say something, Mirem,” Renfol says, his voice languid and reassuring. “An acknowledgement of my logic would reassure me, and yourself.”

  Mirem grimaces.

  “Ok. Fine. But you’ll do the deep probe? And security—”

  Renfol cuts her off, his voice unexpectedly biting and hard.

  “I have already said that we will run a probe, and you will be notified immediately of any holdings, though I must admit that I am unsure of what you expect to do with such information. As for security, if you simply must know, it has already been significantly enhanced. Expect to see more Murkata-Heisen uniforms on your return.” Renfol’s voice changes again, as quickly as a shifting wind, becoming dreamy once more. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must… attend to developments.”

  “You’ve done well, Mirem. Enjoy your accomplishment. Now, go watch the game,” the Versk Admin says. And then he is gone.

  Lanis moves steadily away from the site of the ambush. At first she hugs the rubble of the street, but at first opportunity she claws her way through a series of connected apartment blocks, bursting through the sagging foyers and their old plaster like a six-legged bulldog through wet paper.

  They briefly rest within the interior courtyard of an office complex, its ten-meter tall marble ceilings makes even the Versk Suit seem insignificant. Lanis idly wonders if the people who worked here knew when it was their last day. There are no bodies, at least.

  It’s here, in the cracked marble of a foyer’s dry fountain, that they encounter another module container sitting conspicuously alone, a black box like a large lump of coal. Lanis scoops it up eagerly, attaching it to the suit’s abdomen.

  I wonder if we should be finding more of these, Ether muses, echoing Lanis’ own worry as their rifle pivots. A module is welcome, but what have the other Suits discovered? What other weapons, or drone systems, or defensive augments?

  “Well, this certainly would have been useful back at the station,” Lanis says, the schematics of the module unfolding in her mind.

  Bloomfield launcher. Single use. Its micro-filament chaff cloud should provide a screen against all detection systems, including optic, thermal, and LiDAR systems.

  They’re debating if the courtyard is a suitable defensive position in which to linger, or if they should once again make for the subway, when the voice of Cauldron Oversight hisses in the pod; Lanis lets out a frustrated groan.

  “Attention Cauldron pilots! New exclusion zones have been formed. Move out of these areas, or risk deactivation. These formations will hold for two hours.”

  Guess they’re at least going to give us a rest after this, Ether says as she brings up the map. Now we can actually find a decent spot to hunker down.

  The area they choose is a nearby covered arcade, a long pedestrian walkway with rows of shops on either side, somewhere perhaps the hordes of old office workers would have eaten or gone shopping after their days at work. Lanis can’t help but note the jarring banality of it all: clothing outlets, an art supply shop, cafes, a cupcake store…. their cheery signs are now dusty or scorched, and nearly all the windows have blown out by the shock waves that once engulfed the city.

  They hear the dull rattle of gunfire as they examine the shops, echoing from kilometers away, and a moment later the deep whump of a missile impacting something hard.

  Lanis purses her lips.

  Yep, looks like someone’s picking up missile arrays out there.

  The shop they pick as a hiding place is entirely devoted to some fluffy, pink mascot. Hex crushes more than one stuffed creature as the suit slowly backs into the store, and the suit’s six legs shatter the last intact display case, spilling watches and cutlery devoted to the cartoon figure across the floor.

  Finally, Hex slowly settles down, legs flexing outward, rifle pointing the way they came. Lanis feels like she’s fully able to breathe for the first time since the start of the competition.

  An… unusual hiding place. I like it, Ether says. An image flashes in Lanis mind of Ether, no longer in a pilot uniform, but now in the cartoon mascot’s pink dress.

  “God, you’re getting weirder and weirder,” Lanis scoffs, shaking her head. She reaches over and pulls out a cluster of protein packets, ripping the end off three at a time before devouring them. She washes them down with an electrolyte drink, swishing and swallowing the sweetness.

  Hey, I’m just trying to have fun, Ether says. Aren’t you?

  “I’m not sure if fun is the right word… but, maybe,” Lanis responds, lingering over the thought. Even in the clinging confines of her suit, with a dull headache and dripping with sweat, the truth of what Ether had said sinks in. It’s not just the satisfaction of a well-honed tool undertaking its purpose; it’s also an exhilaration, deep as her soul.

  She shakes her head. There’ll be plenty of time for psychoanalysis after this is done, she imagines. She’ll certainly be giving Lieutenant Tran some fodder during their next session.

  Lanis watches the next zone close. In the distance, gunfire rumbles. The day drifts on, edging into darkness, and Lanis meditates, Ether ever-alert for them both.

  They wait.