Chapter 10
“Ten ...! Nine …!”
Double Jinx sits ready to pounce should my opponent make a move. I’m going to win this fight. One step closer to the finals. I can’t wait. I almost won last year, and this year, I will win.
Jacob is unflappable on the other side of the arena as he fiddles with his controller, trying to get his bot, Ampere, to reboot. He tosses a cheeky wink at someone who yells encouragement to him. That’s Jacob for you. Calm under pressure, friendly, and dazzling. At least around others.
He’d rather eat glass than be around me now. Especially after last year’s whole team-tryout-and-subsequent-drink-throwing incident. Now we’re constantly running out of any room the other is in. My glares might annoy him if he ever bothered to look my way.
“Eight …! Seven …!”
I turn off Double Jinx’s weapon. I’d be shocked if he managed to get his robot recovered. I’d hit him hard enough to knock a wheel clean off the axle. The chances that it knocked loose some internal components are high.
“Six …! Five …!”
Jacob hits the kill switch on his bot, shutting it down completely, knowing the fight is over.
He cracks his knuckles, letting his controller dangle on the strap around his neck.
He’s going to let the countdown go instead of tapping out.
A kindness for my knockout record. Only three more, and I’ll be at fifty for my career total.
“Four …! Three ...!”
Suddenly, Ampere’s weapon spins up. Dead to full speed in a second.
It jolts forward with a powerful hit and sends Double Jinx flying into the side of the arena.
The plexiglass bows as everyone near it leaps back.
The shrapnel that used to be my robot rains down over the box under the deafening cheers of the crowd.
"KNOCKOUT!”
The announcer gasps at the sight. “Wowee! That’s not the knockout we expected! And with only a second left!”
That wasn’t supposed to happen. His bot was off. His hands were off the controller. That is not supposed to happen. That’s a huge safety issue.
His hands are back on his controller as I watch him flip the kill switch on and off again, a deep frown set across his features.
“TIME-OUT!” I yell, not taking my eyes off him.
“Mari.” Jeff the Ref’s expression is flat. “You can’t call time-out after the match is over.”
I could say “just kidding.” I could let this slide as a mistake. This will make me look like a sore loser. But once I explain, surely they’ll understand. What if someone’s hand was in there? They could have lost fingers. Multiple. All of them. I’m glad it happened before the match was over.
I clear my throat. “There’s been a rule violation.”
Jeff becomes a wall of steel. “That’s a serious accusation.”
Confused murmurs replace the cheers as they await the victor being announced. I shift nervously on my feet. Everyone is looking at me. I’m so glad Ava didn’t come with me today.
“Jacob’s bot moved with his hands off the controller. It’s a disqualifying event,” I tell Jeff.
Jeff squints skeptically and turns to my competitor. “Jacob, is this true?”
I hold my breath. He’s a dick, but surely he wouldn’t lie about this. One loss under his belt won’t hurt him. He’s got sponsorships. He’s on Circuit Smack with his own robot for fuck’s sake. This little fight doesn’t matter.
Most importantly, he respects this sport. He wouldn’t possibly put anyone at risk on purpose with a safety issue this serious. Even if he doesn’t like me anymore, we used to be friends. He wouldn’t lie like that.
“No. My hands never left my controller.”
My jaw drops, and Jeff turns back to me, brow raised.
“He’s lying. He powered down Ampere and took his hands off his controller. Jeff, I don’t even care about losing. It’s a safety issue. A disqualifying safety issue.”
Jeff turns to the staff and team members huddled around the arena. “Can anyone corroborate Mari’s claim?”
Every head shakes “no.” Shock hits me like ice water. Every eye on me has turned from wide surprise to narrow malice. I look around for support. Someone must have seen it. I didn’t make it up.
My voice waivers, tipping into hysterical. “Jeff, come on. I wouldn’t lie. I’ve contested one result in nine years,” I plead. “Jacob, come on.”
Jacob’s jaw twitches as he watches me beg for the sanctity of the thing we both love.
“Mari.” Jeff’s voice carries a heavy dose of condescension. It’s bitter and poisonous.
My hands ball into fists at my side, pain grounding me, taking away some of the panic. “No, this isn’t fair.”
What if it happens next time he fights? What if someone gets hurt, and it’s my fault for not saying anything? Kids compete here. Ava has a beetleweight bot. What if it were her in the ring? No, I’m not backing down. I don’t care if I lost. I care that he’s fighting dangerously.
“Mari, come on now,” Jeff says, crossing his arms.
“I want to talk to the organizers. I’m contesting his win.”
His mouth presses into a thin line. “You said it yourself. You don’t care about the win.”
My entire body burns with incandescent rage as I stare down Jacob, who is doing his best impression of an angry statue. “It’s not about the win. It’s dangerous. He’s putting people in danger. I said I want to talk to the organizers. I’m not letting this stand.”
“Fine,” Jeff says, throwing his hands up. “Collect your bots, and let’s go.”
No matter how many times I repeat it, each time more calmly, each time with the same details, no one listens.
The same week the Midwest Regional Combat Robotics board holds Jacob’s win in place, he wins the Midwest hobbyweight championship. A fight I didn’t qualify for because of my loss to him.