serviceable could be reprogrammed to join Sixty-Two’s growing horde.
This was not the case today, however. The enemy brought no combat mechs, and seemed furiously determined to fight. Often, human forces fled when their mechs were disabled in their very faces, not having the stomach to fight alone. These knights were different. They wanted to fight, and fight they did. Sixty-Two was immediately reminded of the twin youths who had attacked him one day early in the campaign-in fact, taking a moment to examine the banners that streamed from their mounts-was that not the blue and white of Droad House?
“Mechs, rise up!” he broadcast to his confused army, only to find his transmission jammed. He shouted his commands through his speakers after that, with his volume turned up to the maximum, but in the din of battle, it was difficult to be heard. Without orders, his mechs fought without organization and only when directly attacked.
Still, he knew he had the numbers. He had a full regiment of four hundred mechs stationed here, and he felt confident they could take on at least twice their number in humans.
But then the air assault began. Combat aircraft swooped down upon them from above without more warning than the scream of their engines. A moment later, huge explosions blossomed. Any tight group of mechs was targeted and bombed, scattering their bodies as orange-white shockwaves rippled through the ravine and rebounded from the walls. Spinning chunks of debris flew past Sixty-Two as he ran out into the open desert. A severed gripper twirled by, missing his orbs by inches.
Sixty-Two paused at the rim of the ravine, gazing down in horror at the slaughter below. He had left his mechs behind, and without his leadership, they had no organizational skills on their own. Most were cut down where they stood, as helpless as the mechs they’d blasted and virally disabled. Such a weakness! It made Sixty- Two sick at heart to see it exploited against his own people.
A few engaged the human knights and took them down with guns and flashing grippers, but their defensive programming wasn’t good enough. The enemy was far better organized and every second they outnumbered the mechs more severely as the rebels fell. They did not even know enough to flee when the battle was hopeless. If Sixty-Two had been capable of tears, he would have cried at the sight.
Long before it was over, he turned and headed out into the open desert.
#
Nina spotted a figure high up upon an outcropping of stone. She recognized it in an instant. No other mech wore a cloak. No other mech stood apart and thoughtful.
“That’s him!” she cried, calling to her personal guard. “To me! Break off, and follow!”
She wheeled her mount and zoomed up a rocky path toward the rim of the ravine. Behind her, a dozen comrades flew close behind. Among them was Old Hans himself. The knight looked as if he was having trouble catching his breath due to the battle, but his eyes were still hard and ready to fight.
It took several minutes to reach the spot, and when they did, there was nothing there but a few footprints leading out into the desert. These soon vanished in the shifting sands of Sunside. No footprint lasted more than a few minutes this close to Twilight. The winds were omnipresent.
They rode hard in every direction, but found nothing.
“Damn,” Nina cursed when at last they gave up.
“What are we chasing?” Hans asked her.
“A ghost,” she said. “A mech who wears clothes like a man. A mech who thinks as we do. A cunning abomination that must be put down.”
“Who is he, milady?”
“I have no idea.”
“Is he so important as all that?”
Nina turned to him and nodded. “I think so. I think he may be the key to this entire war.”
“It is a war now? Not just an uprising?”
“It’s always been a war, Hans. There is no difference.”
The old knight looked troubled, but added nothing further. Nina stared out into desert from a high point with squinting eyes behind her goggles. Twice now, the mech had escaped her. She wondered that it had not killed her when it had the chance upon their first meeting.
She told herself it didn’t matter why the phantom mech had passed by that golden opportunity. Her enemy had made a crucial error-one she was determined it would regret. She knew in her heart that if she was given the opportunity to avenge Leon’s death, she would do so without hesitation.
Sixty-Two returned to another hidden base, this one in the region of the various mines he’d liberated. He’d been careful not to stay at the mining facilities themselves, as that would be too obvious of a target.
He was angry and remorseful. He’d led his people poorly. Early successes had goaded him into a sense of invincibility. He’d been a fool. As solace, he sought out the companionship of the female mech named Lizett. She wasn’t a genius, even for a mech. But she had more life in her than most of them did.
“Lizett,” he called. “I wish to speak to you.”
She immediately set down a load of ore she’d been carrying, over a ton’s worth by the look of it, and trotted over on clanking feet. “You’ve returned. I’m pleased.”
“I’m pleased to see you as well. But I have bad news. We’ve lost the forward base, all the mechs there have died.”
“That is indeed bad news,” Lizett said.
Sixty-Two sighed. She knew it was bad news, and she could comprehend the fact, but there was no grieving in her. She did not cry out, as a human would. She didn’t scream or blame him for the loss, or demand the details of the story. She just absorbed the information and stood there, waiting for her next instruction.
Sixty-Two felt defeated in the face of Lizett’s relative indifference. Sometimes, strong emotions were critical to survival. They indicated to a life form when its current actions must be overridden and changed. Without emotional responses, how was a creature to judge what was more important and thus had priority over everything else it was doing? Programming the mechs with described responses for every single unexpected event that may occur was impossible. He lamented the thoroughness of the Ignis Glace mind-scrubs. He knew that mechs on other worlds were left with far more natural minds when the process was over. But here, as they were to be slaves, they didn’t have much in the way of free will. Judgment was the key to free will, and they weren’t left with much of that, either.
“What is wrong, master?”
“Don’t call me master. Don’t call me that ever again.”
“How should I address you?”
“Call me-” Sixty-Two felt a fresh wave of despair. He didn’t even know his own real name. He doubted he ever would. He thought of choosing a human name, perhaps a famous one from history. But wasn’t that simply glorifying past humans? Wasn’t that admitting they were superior to his kind? Sixty-Two made an odd sound of disgust that blared out of his speakers.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your instruction,” Lizett said.
Sixty-Two tried to collect his thoughts. “You should call me Sixty-Two. That is a good enough name.”
“Yes, Sixty-Two. Have I upset you in some way?”
“You’re responses are wrong. You have just learned of hundreds of your comrades dying in battle-and yet you seem to not care.”
“I care. I wish that event had not occurred.”
Sixty-Two sighed again and tapped his grippers together thoughtfully. “I suppose that will have to do for now. I wanted to ask you something: I left the group with a question before I traveled to the forward base. Have they made their decisions yet?”
“You asked if they wanted to be individuals, with free will such as you have exhibited.”
“That’s right. I told them to think about it. How many have made their decision?”
“All of them.”
“How many have decided to take my offer?”
“All of them.”
Sixty-Two felt crushing disappointment. “And their primary reason for this choice?”
