Kill Me Now (A Mech Warrior's Tale)
Book 2, Part 1
(This story is not for kids.)
Kill Me Now
A Mech Warrior’s Tale
Shortyverse #2
Scott Moon
Copyright © 2012 Scott Moon
1
Let me tell you this right now, the most beautiful girls on Doomsday live in Delta City—the mega-metropolis across the river from Delta Foundry. UNA assholes run the place. Their laws are stupid and their jackbooted cops are dicks.
The red light district is famously expensive. Probably because the police demand a lot of kickbacks from the nicer establishments. Keep the riffraff out. Toss drunks into the street.
Last call my ass. I was drinking… something. Thinking about lost opportunities.
I like the girls. And they like me. And holy shit my mech’s been impounded!
Should’ve stayed at the UCOW base where my sisters are stationed and could use their celebrity influence to get me out of jams like this.
Thoughts of family hurt my head. So do the aftereffects of two-for-one well drinks and last call tequila shots. The twins would’ve kept me away from this place.
Maybe you know them, Lieutenants Shelia and Stacy Dane, known as the Red Angels to some. They’re hotshots driving Battle Axe class forty-five tonners. Recently defeated a Goliath class mech and quashed a major uprising hidden beneath the Foxtrot Foundry.
Not to brag, but I had a part in that fight. Most people don’t know about it. The Red Angels take all the credit and that’s cool.
Sure it is.
Danielle, wherever she is now, knows what I did. She was my eyes in the sky and nearly died before I rescued her. We’ll see each other around, I think. I hope.
My head pounds as I search for whoever is responsible for disabling my mech with a boot. A few workers are heading in for the early shift at the hydroelectric dam that powers Delta Sector’s terraforming plant—one of three on Doomsday that’s reasonably effective. Other workers head into the country to farm and herd sheep or whatever the lonely assholes do with the animals all day.
The sun probably hurts their eyes as much as it does mine.
Like they never tied one on and woke up broke, hungover, and full of vague, half-remembered regrets. I’m never coming back to this shithole.
A trio of girls leave the bar dressed in regular street clothing after cleaning and closing down the place. “See you next time, Shorty.”
I smile and wave. “You bet, ladies. Thanks for the memories.”
Maybe just one more visit. Go easy on the drink specials and make better decisions.
“Remember, it doesn’t take much acetone if you decide you don’t like hooker red,” the second girl says, showing me the diamond stud in her tongue, then blowing me a come-do-me-some-time kiss.
I look at my brightly painted fingernails. “Shit!”
They laugh their way into a subway entrance. Meanwhile, my four meter tall war machine stares down at me, unmoved by my trials and travails.
“Don’t judge me,” I mutter.
No response.
“CAI, can you hear me?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
What a jerk. “I’m going to regret spending the best part of my reward on your personality software. A dude personality. I should have paid for the sexy Danielle voice.”
“No doubt, sir. I imagine you’ll regret a lot of things about last night. Shall I play the video I pulled from the establishment’s surveillance cameras while I was bored and you were… doing things?”
“No. Erase that video now.”
“Are you certain?”
I yearn for the subway where the three lovely ladies have disappeared. “Uh, yeah. Definitely. Erase all evidence of last night.”
“Done. That really cleared up some space on my hard drive.”
“Never mind that. Why are you wearing a parking boot?”
“I told you we couldn’t park here. In fact, I explained in detail why mechanized war machines aren’t allowed in the city and you bitched and moaned about—”
“Parking fees across the river. Yeah, I remember. What’s it gonna cost to get you unlocked? Or can you break that thing?”
“One hundred and forty-nine Quibbdoti. More each day you leave me here. Breaking out would be more expensive in the long term.”
“Put it on my credit card.”
“Done.”
The metal boot pops off. I swear, then climb into the cockpit. “Maybe just keep a few respectable pictures of Melanie, Heather, and Shawna.”
“You mean Michelle, Jessica, and Nina?”
“Yeah, sure. Are those their names?”
“I’ve already erased all evidence of last night.”
“Fine. Why are you such an asshole?”
“Most artificial intelligence personalities are based on the person who purchases them. I’m no exception.”
“I knew that.”
“Do you wish me to answer your question?”
“No. I get it. Let’s walk.”
CAI takes a few steps and everything, other than my pounding brain, seems right with the world.
Except that the world is Doomsday and I’m broke again.
“Which one of those fine young ladies had the diamond tongue stud?”
“That would be Jessica. My analysis suggests by now she is recovering from her time without powered gear. Common methods in Delta City are personal float tanks, automated massage, and saunas, depending on the individual’s financial solvency. Would you like her contact information?”
I think about it. “Yes. No. Not right now. Just don’t erase it.”
“Filing Jessica’s contact information with a note to hook up later.”
“You’re all right, CAI.”
“Glad you approve, Shorty.”
* * *
Civilians in gravity assist gear and breather masks crowd the streets. Makes me think of Jessica and her friends. They don’t wear much—nothing powered or protective for sure—but they seem to get by. Party girls are tougher than they look. I should tip better. Maybe be less of a drunken asshole next time.
“Delta City is busy as fuck.”
“Drink some water,” CAI says.
“Whoa. I bought a combat artificial intelligence personality, not my mom. I know how to handle a hangover. And you totally ignored my observation.”
No response. This unit needs some attitude adjustments. Being the smallest, most hunted mech on Doomsday for the last five years (when most don’t last six months, I’ll have you know) has made me quick on my feet. I do things on the move. Multitask. Get shit done.