The Mechaneer

Chapter 18: Take You For A Ride

“Cast came off, huh?"

“Finally," Chloe said. She didn't shift her gaze from the news feed playing across her flight suit's eyepieces. She watched various news crews pick their way through the ruin of the arena. Once the Reformer withdrew its powerful gravitic drive, the entire upper hemisphere collapsed onto the lower. Thank the Principle – and Second Admiral Marcel Avalon –, there had been only a dozen deaths. Not counting the Black Rook and the Animus Hunter, because nobody seemed to know what had happened to either of them. According to the footage Chloe had seen, they'd disappeared beneath the waves.

The waves had frozen behind them.

She could still hardly believe it. Wellach had only the tiniest of polar caps; the ice beneath the arena had, for a few hours at least, been the thickest on the planet.

Had the Black Rook created it to cover his escape?

Had the Animus Hunter created it to capture his noble prey?

Or was Chloe wrong about who was hunting whom?

She shook her head. All she knew was, despite Avalon's heroics, she was glad she hadn't gone through with her plan to turn herself in. The admiral himself might be an honorable man, but if even a tenth of the things Algreil Aerospace unearthed about the fall of its rival corporation were true, plenty of the admiral's bosses in the Senate and colleagues in the Federal Navy enjoyed at best a cool relationship with 'honor.' To say nothing of 'law' and 'basic human decency.'

“Never wear the things myself," Rudy said. It took Chloe a minute to realize he was still talking about the cast. He flopped onto the couch across from her. “Being mothered by semi-sentient nanopaste just isn't my style."

“That's what my dad always says," Chloe said. She rubbed her formerly cracked arm. It felt good as new after a week of being set, held and soothed by the medical nanopaste. “He also ends up taking months to heal injuries nanopaste could have patched up in a week, though."

Rudy chuckled. “Anybody ever tell you you're 'nice,' Clo?"

“You say that like it's a bad thing."

“With good reason." He popped an alcohol globe into his mouth. “Fortunately, I can cure nicety in three easy steps."

“Do any of them involve finding my parents?" She met his eyes at last.

His cocky grin wavered for a fraction of a second. When she first met him, she never would have caught it, but weeks in close proximity had alerted her to his subtle cues.

She said, “I'll take that as a no."

“Actually," he said, “I do have a lead."

“You do?" She shot from the couch. “What? Where?"

“I'm heading north to see a guy who might be able to help. Old pal of your dad's, from what I gather."

“Dad never mentioned having friends on Wellach."

“Maybe he didn't know the guy was in-system," Rudy said. “He's a former Devil Ray, who, according to company records, retired here. Trouble is, he probably won't respond well to me. The old Devil Rays seem to have it in their heads that anybody other than them who straps on a tournament mecha for the company is a 'punk kid.'"

“I wonder where they get that idea."

“Can't imagine," Rudy said, perfectly deadpan. “Anyway, since you're officially hale and hearty, you can come with me. Nothing like a damsel in distress to soften up these old soldiers, if you ask me."

“I'll come, of course, but… can this guy really help find my parents?"

“You better believe it. He's got hella good connections, both in the oligarchy and in the navy. Even if he doesn't have the info we need, it's a sure bet he'll know who we can bribe to get it."

“You'd risk bribing someone for me?"

“What was it Marcel smarted off about? He could 'see why I conformed to the whims of yon capricious nymph' or some such crap?"

Chloe fought a blush, lost. “Rudy…! Be serious."

“Never." He waited, head cocked. Apparently disappointed when Chloe didn't relent, he went back on his word: his voice turned grave. “Fine, Clo. I'll be honest: You raised the stakes when you pulled me out of that Epee. Boss told me the whole story and, uh… I didn't ever really thank you."

“You don't have to risk yourself and your company because of it. Those recordings you showed me…" She hugged her arms.

“Hey, anything to tweak the Feds."

“That's too risky even for you."

“Wanna bet?"

“It sure is for me!" Chloe turned and stalked to the window. An armored Wellachan fish almost as big as the suite drifted by, its plate-sized goggle-eye shifting to track her motion. “If you get hurt on my account, what was the point of pulling you out in the first place?"

Rudy's reflection appeared beside hers. He reached around and took her hand.

She figured she should pull away.

“Chloe," he said. “Look at me."

“No."

“What are you afraid of?"

“Lots of things." She laughed because it seemed better than the alternative. “At the moment, me. Being on my own, or with you, anyway, which is even worse. I've lived on the Mother Goose since I was a kid, and Dad was always around when I was an old enough kid for him to have to worry about."

“You're worried I'll take advantage of your naiveté," Rudy said.

“Won't you?"

“What do you think I've been trying to do since we met?"

“You said I wasn't your type." She risked a glance at him, or at least his reflection. She could see him clearly against the backdrop of the water; the fish, bored when potential prey stopped moving, had wandered off. “You weren't lying about that, were you?"

“Nothing but the truth, sweet thing," Rudy said. He leaned his head over her shoulder. “I just neglected to mention that I'm not picky."

She tried so very hard to glare. Failed.

He reached around to cup her chin. He tilted her lips toward his broad grin.

“Rudy, I don't want to…" She gulped.

“You sure? Because from where I'm standing, it sure seems to be on your mind. After all, I didn't ask."

“You implied."

“Semantic nonsense."

Chloe pulled away from him. “Semantic nonsense is the best defense I've got."

“Actually," he said, “the best defense you've got is that we're gonna be late for our meeting with your dad's old pal if we don't get a move on."

Thank the Principle for small favors, Chloe thought.

She took it back when Rudy led her to the hotel's garage and their ride.

Gleaming neon red to match Rudy's flight suit, save where a phoenix spread garishly painted wings on its broad opaque windshield, the motorcycle looked like it was doing a hundred clicks just sitting there with the engine off. Chloe understood how such devices worked – powerful internal combustion engines propelled their wheels, electromagnetic stabilizers kept them from tipping over or, at high enough speeds, taking flight.

She also understood that riding one meant traveling at very high speeds, off rails, without so much as a thin layer of composite armor between her and the ground.

“Ever ride one of these babies, Clo?" Rudy asked, hopping aboard. “A mag-cycle, I mean – I know you've never ridden one like this."

“No," she said.

“Great! You'll never forget your first time." He grinned and patted the seat behind him.

I'm doing this for Mom and Dad, Chloe thought. Objectively, it couldn't be as dangerous as running across an overheating mecha, and that was just for Rudy – who, she decided, owed her several years of peace and quiet even apart from saving his sorry self.

“Time's a wasting," he said.

Chloe joined him on the bike. She couldn't help but notice they fit snugly on it, and wondered if he'd chosen it for that purpose. Too late to complain now, though.

She managed to keep from starting when the reactive gel of the bike's seat melded to her flight suit as a safety belt. At least with it, she'd only be scraped to a bloody pulp by the pavement if the bike wiped out, rather than being thrown to her death in a tight turn.

“Hold on anyway," Rudy said. “The belt keeps you in place, but it's no kind of fun being jerked around at the waist, especially when you're not used to it."

Chloe wrapped her arms around his chest. “Are you sure this is necessary?"

“Don't know about that, but it's hella pleasant."

Before she could consider unentangling herself, he floored the accelerator. The bike darted through a mostly-empty garage; most visitors to Wellach used public transportation, like civilized people.

Somehow, Rudy managed to swerve nerve-wrackingly close to what few ground vessels other patrons had brought.

Chloe clung tighter and closed her eyes. Which, she supposed, was probably the point.

She opened them again when a warm sea breeze whipped at her hair.

Wellach's highways stretched before them. Chloe had barely noticed the road running alongside the gravlev train when Rudy had brought her to Wellach City – she'd been so stunned by the loss of her parents, she'd hardly noticed the train. She saw the highways as if for the first time: half-pipes, twenty-five meters in diameter, metal on the bottom, reinforced plastic on the sides.

The roads themselves were tourist attractions – a monumental network spanning the entirety of waterlogged Wellach. They rode low enough in the water to show off the waves through their vast windows.

Chloe would have liked them better if they hadn't swayed with the current. She gulped, wondering how to avoid throwing up on Rudy's back. “How long will we be on the road?"

“Couple hours," he said.

Chloe suppressed a groan. She tried to remember the Wellachan geography the planetary government had beamed to the Mother Goose as it came in. Wellach City, near the equator, was the hub. It maintained space elevators for bulk cargo, as did four other equatorial arcologies. Wellach exported… what? Fossil fuels from below its world-ocean? That and its galaxy-famous fish. She shook her head. Irrelevant details, and she didn't want to get hungry. It would only make her queasier.

Rudy turned north. What lay a couple hours north of Wellach City?

She asked.

“It's a small arcology. Exclusive. Business class, you might say."

“Business class?"

“You know, like on a starliner? Gel seats and beds and your own suite, but don't expect decent catering?"

“Ah," said Chloe, who didn't 'know' at all. The only interstellar ship she remembered was the Mother Goose, and her bed there had been an old-fashioned mattress. The bodyforming gel of the bed and couches in Rudy's suite was the first she'd ever experienced. The food on the Goose, on the other hand, had been impeccable. Her stomach growled at the thought of her mother's cooking, then grumbled at the swaying of the highway.

“The seasickness gets better after a while," Rudy said.

'A while,' in Chloe's case, meant nearly the whole trip. Her stomach didn't finish settling until just before they dipped into a covered span of tube that, Rudy promised, led straight to their destination.

“Why the tunnel?” she asked.

“It branches off to some submarine colonies," Rudy said. “This close to the equator, just touristy crap, but as you get further north you run into big refineries and fisheries. Also, Wellach has two moons in irregular orbits, so the tides get choppier the closer you get to the poles."

“How do you know all this stuff, Rudy?"

“When I'm not seducing glamorous noblewomen, fighting for my life in contests of raw mechaneering skill and living dangerously on illegally modded bikes, I entertain myself moonlighting as a tour guide."

“Really."

He grinned back at her. “Nah, I called it up on my suit's computer when you asked."

Chloe suppressed a sigh. “Wait… what do you mean, 'illegally modded?'"

“The Feds slap a speed cap on these suckers. For 'safety.'" Rudy spat the last word like the foulest curse in the galaxy. “Good thing I figured out how to take it off, eh?"

“Wonderful."

“If it makes you feel any better, I had Boss check the circuits after I fooled with them."

“It does."

“You really ought to trust me," he said.

He shot around a slower-moving vehicle. The driver leaned on his horn. The sound echoed in the water-shrouded tunnel. For a second, Chloe thought she saw a recognizable logo on the vehicle, but it vanished behind them too quickly.

“See? I'm a great driver."

She didn't grace him with a response.

Before he settled on another quip, they shot from the tunnel, and the sight overhead struck him as dumb as it did Chloe.

They were indeed at a small private arcology. An office spire poked from the center of the circular platform, no doubt repeated below in typical Wellachan fashion. Smaller outbuildings and hangars sized for everything from mecha to shuttles to full-sized transports ringed the spire. The Algreil Aerospace logo glowed from its gates.

And the Federal Navy destroyer Reformer hovered overhead.