Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
I stare at the fluorescent overhead lamp as it sputters, trying not to let its frantic flicker lull me into another daze. My vision is already blurred from too many nights with too little sleep, and the threadbare blueprint in front of me threatens to blend into senseless scribbles if I blink too long.
I force my focus back onto the page. It’s a half-finished design, a potential servo assembly that could deliver smoother, faster directional shifts for my mech than anything else in its weight class.
I spot where I scribbled a tiny question mark next to the thruster coupling. Somewhere in that bracket is a structural weak point, and I still haven’t worked out how to reinforce the composite plates without doubling the part’s weight. If I can anchor a second support strut near the joint, I might compensate for the push of lateral torque. Or I’ll snap the entire thing in half.
My chest tightens in frustration. I’m either brilliant or setting myself up for a meltdown. Right now, I can’t tell which.
A swirl of half-faded pencil lines trails into a coil of complicated math. I hear Tabitha’s digital hum from the makeshift console in the corner, a subtle presence in the dusty air. She doesn’t appear physically, but I feel her there. Always awake, always absorbing my restlessness.
“So, David,” she remarks with airy sarcasm. “Did you realize your kneecaps are about three hours away from locking in place? Maybe you could, I don’t know, go horizontal for more than two minutes?”
The remark hits me in the tender spot between exasperation and gratitude. “I’ll sleep after I figure out how to dial the torque ratio down,” I mutter, prodding the blueprint with shaking fingers stained in graphite dust. “Reinforcing these thrusters is going to be the difference between nimble flight and literally spinning out of control.”
“Of course,” Tabitha replies breezily. “Invent first, live second. Good plan. I’m sure your vital organs will thank you later.”
I exhale. Her sarcasm is sometimes the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. I push off from the wooden stool. My entire body feels stiff as I shuffle across the hangar floor to a scratchy table covered in servo motors, lumps of half-finished thruster cones, and twisted cables. Under the table, there’s a stack of empty foam cups that once contained the cheapest coffee I could find at the corner store. The acidic taste still clings to my tongue.
I rummage for a leftover protein bar, but my supply is gone. My stomach protests with a low grumble. Cheap pho is an option if I trek out to that street cart again, but the last time I took a break, I nearly passed out from the exhaustion of walking a few blocks. My legs are rubber, and I don’t trust them right now.
I sense Tabitha’s mild concern. She’s quiet, scanning the diagnostic readings from the overhead console. Then she speaks again, her gentle voice laced with a wry note. “You know, if you starve yourself, that servo assembly you’re building might only see action as a coffin decoration. You sure you can’t raid the salvage yard for expired meal packs or something?”
A laugh escapes me. “I’ll manage,” I insist, though my rattled nerves aren’t so sure. My inheritance has nearly evaporated between rent to the salvage dealer and the non-stop expense of black-market parts I can’t legally buy because the Federation would ask a hundred questions about a scrawny eighteen-year-old wanting combat-grade gear. “After I get these thrusters locked down, maybe I’ll treat myself. Go big on a full dinner.”
Tabitha hummed. “I’ve calculated no less than seventy-two ways this can end badly if you’d like me to recite them all.”
She means the entire project, not only me skipping meals. Every servo motor I purchase from a back-alley broker carries a risk that it’s either too shoddy to function or stolen from a restricted corporate lab.
One false step and I either blow my funds or pop up on the radar of regulators who frown on unlicensed mech design. Or maybe the torque system tears apart in a real test run, turning me into a crater. All valid concerns, none of which I can stomach dwelling on now.
“Don’t,” I whisper, releasing a shaky breath. “Not now, Tabitha.”
She sighs. “Yes, yes, unstoppable genius at work. You keep telling yourself that, David. But remember, unstoppable geniuses need hearts that don’t spontaneously give out.”
I rub the corners of my eyes, which burn with a dull ache. “It’ll be fine. I just… I can’t rest until I crack this, Tabi. We’re so close to a servo design that’ll let me pivot in midair without losing thrust.” If I can pull that off, my mech will outmaneuver half the oversized war machines terrorizing these moons. “I can’t let lack of sleep derail it.”
She’s quiet, but I feel her digital presence leaning in. “Well, don’t forget. I’m the one patching up your code when your hands start trembling faster than these rickety lamps.”
My half-laugh dissolves into a cough. No surprise since my throat is parched. I grab a plastic cup of water from the dispenser precariously perched on a crate. The water tastes metallic. Filters probably need changing. Everything about this hangar is secondhand, courtesy of Patch’s “generous” lease arrangement. I’d be annoyed if I wasn’t so desperate.
I feel a wave of guilt from Tabitha. Without a body, she can’t stand or fetch me anything, but she’s tapped into half the yard’s sensors, so she’s as aware of my environment as I am. “Want me to troll the local feed for cheap dinner recommendations? Or maybe we can do a quick run for pho…” She trails off, noticing my frustration.
“Another time.” I sigh. “I need to finalize the specs now. If I wait any longer, the broker might sell the motors to somebody else.”
That’s the real crux. Time and money are running thin, but I have to keep pushing. I can’t let them slip away. The short-range thruster components I’ve got my eye on came through a friend-of-a-friend, a secondhand broker named Gallen, who deals in contraband mech parts.
They’re not cheap, but rumor says they’re resilient enough to handle the constant directional changes I plan to introduce. If somebody else scoops them up, I’ll be stuck rummaging for scrap gear that might blow the first time I activate them.
My mind wanders briefly to Staff Sergeant Korr again, and I set my jaw. Not going to let his sneer be the last word on my future. If I have to crawl through black-market deals and endure sleepless nights, so be it.
My scribbled blueprint flutters in a stray gust from the half-working ventilation system overhead. The flickering lamp intensifies. I need to check the main breaker soon. One more thing to add to the to-do list. I can’t afford a meltdown like last time, when half the overhead lights died, shocking me with a jolt from the console.
Tabitha picks up on my tension. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep watch on the voltage,” she remarks. Then her tone shifts, a shadow of worry creeping in. “Seriously, though, David. When was the last time you stepped outside for a breath without a million stress factors on your back?”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t remember,” I admit, glancing at the hangar doors. They remain sealed shut, no visitors for once. At least no one is demanding money or offering shady deals. “I guess last night I walked to that pho cart.”
Tabitha snorts. “That counts as inhaling smog-laced Valis air for thirty seconds? I’m overwhelmed by your healthy choices.”
“Ha-ha.” I drag my blueprint to one side, then kneel beside a half-disassembled servo motor, one of the cheaper prototypes I’ve tested. “Shut up and help me figure out how to tighten the recoil dampeners for ballistic weaponry.”
I run a hand along the metal casing, imagining how a well-tuned mech could handle high-caliber blasts. If I can effectively incorporate recoil dampeners, the mech can mount heavier firepower without losing balance.
As if reading my mind, Tabitha’s voice shifts to a technical cadence. “If you’re expecting to fire ballistic rounds from a frame this size, you’ll need deeper shock absorption. Right now, that design can handle about two consecutive blasts of moderate scale before you risk fracturing the lower plate. Maybe a partial recoil spring system could help.”
I nod, scribbling notes. “We can embed a micro-hydraulic ring around the pivot. That might distribute the force for each shot.”
“Huh, not bad for a sleep-deprived human,” she teases. “I’ll run a quick calculation.”
The overhead console flickers as she calculates. A moment later, she announces, “If we utilize a coil-spring approach, we can reduce the mechanical stress by about twenty percent. Problem is you’ll need a small reservoir of pressurized fluid, enough for two or three bursts. Then, refill or wait for the system to equalize.”
“Good enough,” I decide. “We’re not building a tank. We only need to survive short combat bursts.”
“Exactly.” She hesitates, then her tone quiets. “You know how insane this is, right? We’re forging everything in a musty hangar with stolen parts and borrowed money. If we get caught, or if something malfunctions, we might… I worry,” she finishes.
Warmth flickers in my chest, almost like relief that someone cares. Or in this case, some AI. “I know,” I reply gently. “But we either do this, or I give up. This is all I’ve got.”
Tabitha pauses, letting me gather my thoughts. Then she cocks her tone back into a teasing lilt. “Well, if your skull cracks under the pressure, maybe I can pilot the mech on my own. A flying AI, unstoppable in the sky.”
“Steal my mech, will you?” I laugh. “I’d like to see you try to operate the manual foot pedals.”
“Maybe I’ll skip the pedals.” She fakes an aristocratic sniff. “Feet are for humans. I’ll override the flight circuits and soar above you all.”
“Right, right.” A grin tugs at my mouth. My gratitude for her presence flares, mingled with the simmering panic at my empty wallet and the bills due next week. “Anyway, back to these thruster couplings. Let’s see if I can replicate a design you can’t poke holes in.”
Her chuckle resonates across the speakers. “Challenge accepted.”
For the next hour, we sink into a rhythmic groove of problem-solving. Despite my exhaustion, a sort of clarity emerges when I dive headlong into the shapes and numbers.
Tabitha’s voice helps me refine angles, trimming extraneous measurements. She occasionally cracks jokes about my trembling handwriting, but I keep going, forging the math on the blueprint. I can almost see it in my mind’s eye. A sleek, agile mech with servo-based recoil dampeners, advanced thrusters, and a robust frame that defies its small stature.
Somewhere in the background, a big digital clock flickers from 03:57 to 03:58. Morning is creeping up on me again.
Eventually, my head droops, and I catch myself slumping forward. The scalding coffee from earlier has lost its magic. My body’s screaming for rest, but my mind still buzzes. I’m about to push through when Tabitha’s voice purrs in my ear. “If you pass out mid-equation, my best guess is you’ll forget the entire fix by the time you wake up. Let’s not sabotage ourselves.”
Naturally, I start to protest. Then, she says something that hits me with surprising force. “David, do you think you’ll ever let someone else in?”
I blink, sitting up straighter. “What?” My throat is rough and dry from hours of coffee and no real meal.
She clarifies, “You bury yourself in these designs, in mechs, in the idea of doing everything alone. Have you ever considered letting someone else share the weight? A friend, besides me. Maybe…I don’t know, a partner?”
Fatigue cracks my defenses, and I release a short laugh that sounds more sad than amused. “In this line of work? You see the people I deal with, Tabi. Brokers who’d sell their mother for credits, local heavies who run thruster components off stolen corporate shipments. I’m not exactly socializing in wholesome neighborhoods.” I pause, rubbing my eyes. “If anyone wants to get close, I don’t want them paying the price for my obsession.”
“You’re not an obsession, David. You’re a person. People need people, no matter how scrawny or brilliant or messed-up they feel. Real arms around you might do wonders.”
The corners of my mouth turn upward, though it’s a hollow smile. “Let’s be real,” I murmur. “I’m more comfortable with metal arms than human ones.”
I exhale slowly. The admission tastes bitter. I can’t remember the last time I considered letting someone new into my life. Someone who might wrap their arms around me, no sarcasm, no deals, no hidden motives. The last person who might have fit that role wrote me off as a daydreamer and left. The memory stings more than I care to admit, especially on nights like this.
Tabitha offers a sad little hum. “I see. I only want you to have more than an AI sidekick. You deserve it.”
I don’t respond immediately. My gaze strays to the blueprint, the scribbled lines representing my best shot at building a future. Besides Tabitha, my mech is the only thing that’s never let me down. Maybe that sounds pathetic, but it’s also my reality.
Finally, I murmur, “Thanks, Tabi. Maybe someday, but not now. There’s too much at stake. If I fail, I can’t let anyone else go down with me.”
Tabitha’s digital presence feels heavy with emotion. “I get it, but promise you’ll at least let me help. Don’t lock me out.”
I release a shaky breath, my heart fluttering. “I won’t.” My voice is raw and honest. “You’re the only one I trust, Tabi. I appreciate you more than I can say.”
We both fall silent for a while. The overhead light leaks a harsh glow, the broken fans squeak, and beyond the hangar walls, Valis stirs with industrial clamor. The hush inside the workshop is both comforting and eerie.
At some point, I realize I need to do something about the wave of exhaustion creeping over me. My eyes are in full revolt, and my brain threatens to short-circuit if I try scrawling more notes. I carefully roll up the blueprint, tucking it into a scuffed tube, and set aside the servo motor. My body sags in response, grateful for the pause.
“Okay,” I concede. “I’m taking a short break. And by short, I mean maybe an hour or two. Enough to recharge. Then, we’ll finalize the thruster design.”
Tabitha must sense her victory. “Hallelujah,” she proclaims with playful reverence. “Mister Wayne is finally listening to reason.”
I’m too drained to retort with anything witty. My attempt at a comeback is a muttered, “You’re insufferable.”
“I prefer the term indispensable,” she purrs. “Sleep tight, David.”
I mumble something like “yeah” and slump onto a narrow cot I dragged into the corner weeks ago. The combination of hunger and fatigue roils in my gut, but my mind is so spent that I sink toward unconsciousness almost immediately. I vaguely feel the ache in my shoulders, the sting of coffee-chapped lips, the echo of Tabitha’s concern.
Will you ever let someone else in?
The question rattles around in my head, weaving with half-dream images of servo motors and ballistic recoil dampeners. I picture mechanical arms struggling to hold me, an absurd metaphor for the way I can’t quite open myself to real arms. Then, my mind tumbles away.
I don’t know how long I’m out before a beep from the console jolts me half-awake. My eyes crack open. The overhead lamp flickers in the same maddening pattern. My body feels heavier than a planetary cargo crate. Time feels lost. Maybe an hour, maybe two.
Tabitha’s voice emerges. “Sorry to interrupt. I was scanning local comm chatter and got a ping from Gallen, that broker you were waiting on. He says if you want those thruster components, you better come with the credits tonight. Or they’re gone.”
I grunt, forcibly lifting my torso. “Great.” My voice sounds ragged. “So that’s the ultimatum?”
“In typical black-market fashion,” Tabitha quips, then sighs. “Listen, maybe we can scrape the funds together if you tap into the last of your inheritance. But that leaves no safety net for the rent or bills.”
I let the words sink in, dread tightening my chest. This is what it means to push forward, living on a razor’s edge. If I don’t secure those thruster assemblies now, we risk stalling progress for who knows how long. If I do buy them, I risk defaulting on the rent, and Patch is not a philanthropic saint. He’ll throw me out on the street if I can’t pay.
I swallow hard, running a trembling hand through my hair. I swear I catch the faint reek of my own desperation. “I have to risk it,” I state. “If Gallen’s telling the truth, those thrusters could be exactly what I need. If I pass on them, I can’t build the mech I want.”
Tabitha’s response is gentle. “It’s your call, David. You know the stakes.”
I lurch upright, ignoring my protesting muscles. “All right. Let’s do it. We’ll figure out some way to cover the rent. I’ll have to hustle for a new job, maybe salvage runs or custom hacking gigs. Anything that pays.”
Her digital presence is thick with concern and resignation. “We can finalize the blueprint for the ballistic dampeners after you get some real rest, but let’s say I’m bracing for another seventy-two ways this can end badly.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Make it seventy-three.” My mind ignites with fierce determination. Failing now is not an option. “Show me the route to Gallen’s place. Let’s get those thrusters in our hands.”
As I pull on my jacket, I realize how shaky I am. Exhausted, hungry, borderline delirious. Yet that old, searing memory of Korr’s condescending face resurfaces, fueling me. If I have to push myself beyond reason to prove my worth, I will.
My lips press together, and I toss a glance at the blueprint tube on the table. One day, it will become a mech that dwarfs every doubt thrown my way. One day, respect will replace the scorn.
“Ready?” Tabitha asks, hesitant but unwavering in support.
I inhale, ignoring the hollow ache in my stomach. “Yeah,” I reply, meeting the console display with a determined stare. “My dream isn’t waiting for me to catch up.”
She hums quietly, perhaps a final plea to be cautious. Then, we step out into the gloom of Valis, forging ahead in the direction of an uncertain dawn.