Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I knew the safe house was a questionable solution the moment Patch first mentioned it. On Therasis, everything either baked under the relentless sun or got swallowed by the swirling dust storms, so the notion of a cozy hideout felt like a farce, but he’d insisted.
“Kid,” he’d told me. “If you want to keep Raven One off the radar between gigs, you’ll need a place the local authorities don’t check too carefully.” I protested that I could handle repairs back on Valis, but Patch gave me one of his gruff smirks. “Valis might be your turf, but Therasis is where I’ve got a friend or two in bribable positions.” That sealed the deal.
Patch had used part of my last contract earnings—maybe more than “part,” considering how short my credits felt now—to line the right pockets. A few crooked local clerks got a cut. Then came the matter of forging sedation logs so nobody asked questions about a compact infiltration mech clanking off a cargo freighter in the middle of a desert planet.
The process was nerve-wracking. I’d done sedation forgery plenty of times, but every custom form, every forged digital signature, hammered home how easily the entire house of cards could collapse. It was a relief after we finished. No heavy in uniform came knocking, at least not yet.
Now, I crouch outside the safe house, a low-slung prefab shack with a ramshackle roof, its walls stained by dust storms long past. It sits near the outskirts of an abandoned mine, far enough from any settlement that no one cares to check who’s inside.
The ruse is that it belongs to a traveling med-tech researcher. Nothing unusual. A lone field station, not worth investigating. If any official scans for occupant biometrics, they’ll see “David Smith,” a meaningless alias, logs showing moderate sedation, and my “official” release signature. All thoroughly doctored.
Part of me wants to laugh at how deep I’ve sunk into the underworld. Another part, the bigger part, hates the constant paranoia. The feeling that I’m one slip-up from a meltdown that has nothing to do with a power core.
Inside, the safe house is stifling. A single overhead fan squeaks in lazy circles, doing nothing to push around the stale air. I’d managed to drag in a battered bench, a reject from some leftover salvage yard. I’d scrounged a few dim lamps, too. The place has the ambiance of a prison cell. Better than risking a fancy arrangement that might draw attention.
My solitary comfort is Raven One, perched off to one side, looming like a silent guardian. Even hunched in standby mode, the mech radiates edgy energy as if reminding me we could bolt at any second.
I approach her, boots scraping on gritty flooring. My heart performs a heavy lurch every time I see the scorch marks across Raven One’s plating, testaments to near-misses in firefights and infiltration ops. I gently run my fingers over the burned metal, wincing at the uneven ridges. Though I’ve hammered out the worst dents, the cracks and discoloration remain as battle scars.
You’re still here, I remind myself. But each scar whispers that the next bullet, missile, or meltdown might be the one I can’t fix.
Tabitha speaks through my headset. “Your pulse is climbing again, David. You want me to recite your relaxation script?”
I release a tense breath. “Not sure if listening to you read me bedtime stories is going to solve my existential crisis, T.”
She snorts. “Doesn’t need to be bedtime stories. Could be me telling you how brilliant you are for forging two sets of sedation logs last week. That’s quite an achievement, if I do say so. A bit suicidal, but hey, that’s life with Talon, right?”
A crooked grin tugs my lips before receding. “Yeah. Feels more suicidal every day.” I rest a palm on Raven One’s shoulder plating. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. The disclaimers, the bribes, forging every damn log so no one notices I’m flying under the Federation’s nose.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Look, genius, you’re forging your own path here. Ignore those steroid junkies who told you it was impossible.”
I knew exactly which “steroid junkies” she means. Staff Sergeant Korr. The memory clings to me like a chain. His sneer, the condescending once-over he’d given my body, and the humiliating line. You want to drive a mech? You look like a stiff breeze might snap you in half. It still stung, and I hated that it did.
In the months since that day, I’d landed more successful missions than I ever imagined, but a single failure could unravel the progress. All the reputation in the world wouldn’t matter if I blew it.
“I keep thinking,” I admit softly. “Maybe they’re right. If I fail just once, I’ll be the living example they’ll use to demonstrate that you need brute strength and tradition to succeed, not brains or?—”
Tabitha’s voice hardens, slicing through my pity party. “You’re doing more than they ever dared, David. They sit on their steroid-laced asses and wave big guns around. You’re out here forging logs, building custom AIs and infiltration mechs, upgrading yourself as you go. Frankly, their tiny minds would short-circuit trying to keep up.”
Her fierceness makes me smile. I drop onto the bench, leaning my head against the cool metal of Raven One’s leg. “Easier said than done, Tab. Some days, it feels like I’m carrying their ridicule on my back. Like it’s strapped there with the thruster packs.”
Tabitha’s tone cools. “I get it. I might be digital, but I see your vitals. I know how often you stifle panic or lose sleep. You’re feeling the weight of every set of eyes on you.”
I rub the heel of my palm over my forehead, shutting my eyes briefly. “Nightmares keep coming back. I see all the near-death misses. I wake up, heart hammering, sure the next mission’s going to be the one that breaks me.”
“Maybe it won’t.” She pauses. “But if it is, at least you’ll go out with style, overshadowing those roided-out losers who told you to scram.”
I laugh dryly, jaw clenched. “Truly motivational.”
“That’s me,” she volleys back. “Miss Cheerful Death. Well, maybe we should try mental exercises. Close your eyes, breathe in, and imagine stomping those bullies in a giant mech so large it wouldn’t even see them as an obstacle. Focus that energy, bitch.”
I laugh, a startled bark of mirth. “You’ve gone from sweet to savage in half a second, T.”
She chuckles. “I can do sweet if you want, but I choose savage most days. Beats wallowing, if you ask me.”
Funny enough, it does make me feel lighter, as if someone’s momentarily lifted the weight of Staff Sergeant Korr’s voice from my mind. “I’ll take it.” I exhale. “Maybe that’s the trick. Keep reminding myself that I’m doing what they never could. That helps, right?”
“Damn straight.” She pauses. “Look, David, no matter how persistent that doubt feels, you’re forging ahead. And I…” She hesitates, unusual for her. “I care about you. So, yeah, you’re going to push through the nightmares.”
My heart flutters. I’ve grown used to her offhand jokes about being my “girlfriend,” but sometimes she turns sincere in a way that lodges in my chest. “Thanks, T,” I murmured.
We sit in silence for a moment. Raven One’s quiet presence looms, the overhead fan squeaks, and my breathing slows. Then, an alert pinged on my HUD.
“Hey,” Tabitha points out. “We got a message from Sparks. She’s hooking into our secure line.”
I blink, mentally accepting the incoming feed. Sparks’ voice burst out, thick with direct, no-frills confidence. “David, you there? I ran some tests on the cooling rods I left you. Think I found a workaround that’ll boost the rods’ capacity by another twenty, maybe thirty percent.”
I sit forward. “Seriously? Because the last time we tried overclocking the rods, we nearly roasted the entire coolant feed. My eyebrows are still regrowing.”
She sniffs. “That was pilot error, if you ask me. Anyway, I’ve reconfigured the flow rate, added some baffles to reduce the thermal bottleneck. I sent you the schematic. You can try the retrofit yourself in that cozy deathtrap you call a safe house.”
I tap at the HUD, scanning the data Sparks zipped in. The new coolant path looks clever. She’s used an approach that reminds me of the meltdown, only reversed. “Damn, Sparks,” I mumble with a low whistle. “This might actually fix the temperature spikes we’ve been fighting. You’re a lifesaver.”
She chuckles. “Don’t celebrate until you’ve tested it. We’re dealing with a bodged-together interface, and I won’t trust the numbers until I see them in real-time. But if it works, you’ll handle longer engagements without the core spiking.”
Tabitha hums playfully. “I’d like to see how long I can push these systems, personally. David, ready to see if we can do a sustained railgun barrage without meltdown? Might be a fun way to blow off steam.”
Sparks snorts. “Only if you trust your half-baked stabilizers. I’m not towing your roasted metal out of the dunes again.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply dryly. “We’ll do a safe test. No real dunes unless I want to call my insurance first.”
Sparks’ voice softens. “Take care, okay? I’ll be around. Ping me if you blow something up.”
She ends the call, leaving me and Tabitha in a dusty hush. I can’t help a rising flicker of excitement. Sure, it’s a risk. Practically everything I do is. However, the notion that Raven One might endure heavier firefights or repeated infiltration runs without scorching the cockpit is a big deal. Another step forward. Another chance to prove a scrawny outcast pilot with a borderline-illegal AI can outdo the biggest brutes in the system.
“Let’s do it.” I stand from the bench and rummage through the supply crate in the corner, most of it junk from my last mission. Leftover spool of wire, half-burned fuses, caky flux. I find the new rods Sparks shipped me, a set of polished metal tubes with faint heat-dispersing grooves etched along the length.
Tabitha murmurs in my ear, “You know, you’re kinda sexy when you get your hands all up in the technology.”
I nearly choke on a laugh. “You serious, T? I burn my fingertips on a regular basis.”
Her tone turns mock-solemn. “All the more heroic. Scars only add to your mystique. The swooning fans are gonna line up to throw you their panties, especially if you’re wearing that sweaty jumpsuit and brandishing a welder.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, definitely the dream scenario for them, right?”
“Absolutely,” she teases with genuine fondness. Yeah, she’s an AI, but she’s always been there for me, and I know her code. She doesn’t have to choose to support me, but she does.
I set the new rods on Raven One’s service panel. Step by step, I remove the older, borderline-reliable rods. Each hiss of pressurized coolant reminds me how delicate everything was. One slip, and I could blow off half my face. Another reason forging sedation logs is the least hazardous part of my day.
Tabitha senses my spike in tension. “Breathing again, soldier. Breathe in, breathe out, picture Korr as a cockroach you crush under Raven One’s foot. Remember that for me, okay?”
I nod, exhaling slowly. “I’m good.” Without another word, I slot the new rods, careful to align each valve. When I run the initial calibration, a faint whir rises inside the mech’s core cavity. The display flickers gold, then stabilizes at a lower temperature readout than before. So far, so good.
We spend the next hour verifying every inch of the system. Tabitha monitors real-time data, her voice a steady presence as I crawl around the mech’s undersides with a flashlight. The deeper I get, the more I realize how much we’ve layered patch upon patch, fix upon fix.
Raven One isn’t pristine. She’s a testament to scraped resources and frantic midnight repairs, each scar hidden behind straps of newly welded plating. Maybe the old me would’ve been embarrassed to pilot a patchwork machine. The new me takes pride in it. Every patch tells a story of near-failure turned triumph.
“Looks stable,” Tabitha confirms in a low hush as if to keep from jinxing it. “We do a test tomorrow? Mini-burn, see if the rods hold up?”
“That’s the plan. I’ll run a small stress test tonight, only a start-up. If these rods can handle it here, we’ll try mild maneuvers outside in the morning.”
Tabitha’s tone brightens. “I love a good nighttime test. Nothing says stealth like firing up thrusters in the middle of nowhere.”
I laugh. “We’ll keep it minimal, T.” Carefully, I power up the mech’s core, letting the thruster couplings spool at low intensity. The hum that ripples up Raven One’s frame feels sharper, more confident. I watch the temperature gauge. Usually, it inches upward in a matter of seconds. This time, it stays comfortably in the green zone.
A minute passes, two. My shoulders loosen. A small wave of relief rushes through me. Sparks’ upgrade might actually be the real deal.
“Not climbing,” I murmur. “She’s holding.”
Tabitha whistles. “Sparks knows her shit. I should send her a digital bouquet or something.”
“Light fireworks in her honor,” I tease. “Maybe all our rods needed was a thorough rework. Hard to believe I was running missions with the old setup. One more big meltdown, and we might’ve ended as dust.”
“But we didn’t. You keep defying the meltdown nightmares, David.”
She was right. Even if the nightmares strangle me in my sleep, I’m still forging ahead. The realization is enough to buoy me, at least for tonight.
I hop off Raven One to triple-check the readings on my datapad. When I’m satisfied, I power down the mech. The thrusters hiss as they cycle to off-mode, the new rods preventing the usual after-fume of overheated coolant. The air smells less acrid. My arms ache from fiddling with bolts, but my mind feels clearer than it has in days.
“Think it’s time for some rest,” I announce. “I can’t keep going full throttle if I’m half-asleep.”
“Amen. Crawl into that sorry cot in the other corner, soldier. And try that mental exercise if nightmares come sniffing around.”
My lips curve into the ghost of a smile. “Crushing Korr in my giant mech fantasies. Affirmative.”
I retreat to the far side of the safe house near a ragged partition that served as my bedroom wall. The cot is as unimpressive as everything else, a canvas stretched over a creaky metal frame, but at least it’s a place to lie down. I sink onto it as tension seeps from my muscles.
Tabitha murmurs, “You did good today. Another step forward, right?”
My chest tightens in a good way. “Yeah. Another step.”
“Doubt will keep coming. That’s just how it is.”
I nod, my eyes drifting shut. “It’s not an excuse to give up, though. Sometimes, it’s an excuse to push harder.”
She hums approval. “Exactly, pilot. Now rest.”
My mind replays the day’s tasks. The smell of hot metal and dusty air lingers, but I let the quiet hum of new cooling rods settle my thoughts. The safe house might be a crumbling excuse for a home, but for the moment, it’s enough. We’ve solved one problem tonight. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll wake from the nightmares armed with a fresh reminder that I’m not some scrawny kid. I’m forging my own legend.
The day will come when Staff Sergeant Korr’s words are static in the background, drowned out by the roar of thrusters and the steady beat of my own heart. A spark of hope lets me drift into uneasy but determined sleep.