Chapter 16
I stand as straight as I can and pull the elastic and Velcro tight across my ribs.
The soft fabric of the rib brace still bites into the flesh of my belly, curling slightly at the bottom in opposition to my roundness, but it holds my upright body more securely than my musculoskeletal system can.
If they actually made sacroiliac joint-stabilizing belts for fat people I could add to the mix, we’d really be cooking with fire—body-supporting fire.
As it is, I have to hope this will do for support since Joel still won’t let me have my stool.
It’s not great, but it’s better than nothing.
“Mari,” Fatimah’s sing-song voice calls into the bathroom. “We have to be ready in five!”
“Be right there!” The door squeaks closed as she leaves.
I take another breath to make sure the rib brace isn’t tight enough to strangle me like an anaconda made of shapewear and pull my polo shirt back down.
Fortunately (unfortunately?), the only things threatening to strangle me are fear and self-doubt.
I do my best to quiet those churning thoughts as I leave the bathroom and find my team.
I’m ready for this fight. I got more driving time this morning, but I was up all night working and worrying. I won’t let that spook me, though. We still have a chance to win. I’ve won plenty of fights I thought I was about to lose.
It seems the team feels similarly. There’s a trail mix of excitement and apathy among us as we wheel our bot to the tunnel. The nerves become palpable as we hear the announcer introduce our competitor for the night.
“This bot knows how to calculate hype AND their angles,” his voice booms. “They’ve got a straight line to victory. Give it up for Hype-Potenuse!” The crowd goes wild as the team’s entry music plays, a thumping victory tune to rile up the audience.
The robot is shaped like an elongated triangle (ironically, not even a right triangle, to the chagrin of the robot-building message boards), with a thick, sharp, spinning horizontal bar.
This type of weapon will hit you hard. If it’s not throwing you across the ring, it’s removing your wheels or destroying your weapon. It won’t be an easy match.
My sweaty palms stick to the handle of the dolly as producers wave us out of the tunnel. I watch my team members put on excited expressions with varying success and try to mimic the best of them, but Hype’s lethal weapon consumes my thoughts.
“This robot is here to cause maximum damage,” an announcer begins as we walk out.
“Be kind and rewind or else. It’s ZetaMax!
” Our own chest-thumping music plays as the flashing lights of the arena blind me.
My chest is tight against the pressure of my rib brace and my future.
But I smile and wave, a tingle of genuine excitement infusing my veins. I’ve always wanted to fight Hype.
For this fight, we went with our vertical disk spinner rather than our horizontal weapon, which would be too similar to our opponent’s.
Hype’s driver, Georgee, has a satisfied smirk as we remove the locks on our weapons, the arena’s teal lights making her appear like a hologram against the shadows behind her.
“You made the right choice,” she says as we watch them close up the box.
“Thank you,” I reply. There had been a heated debate over which weapon to go with, with Chris, Fatimah, and me pushing for the vertical. The hope is that it will catch their weapon and disable it.
“I don’t think your bot will win,” she says with a shrug. “But I think you could, Mari.” She winks at me before sauntering off to her side of the arena. My nerves, now laced with confusion, almost make me trip as I walk to my spot.
“FIGHT!”
Both robots speed out of our respective corners.
I spin up our weapon while I drive in a wide arc, letting it get up to speed.
Hype comes straight for us. I let them get close enough to look like a sure hit before I swerve out of the way at the last moment.
They go careening into the sideboard and bounce off, their weapon stilling from the impact.
“Incredible fake out by ZetaMax driver Mari Williams!” Announcer Dex cheers.
“Sure was, Dex! That could have knocked out Hype’s weapon, but that bot is durable,” Announcer Mark comments.
While Hype tries to get back up to speed, I go straight for them, weapon at full velocity. Suddenly, Zeta slows. Then it begins to spin.
“On the left,” Chris groans.
Our left-side drive motor has failed. All we can do is spin in a circle, leaving us a sitting duck for Hype, which is now back to full power. They promptly hit us so hard into the side wall that the gasps and cheers drown out the shouts of the announcers. There’s a thick dent in our armor.
As we bounce off the metal panel and back to the floor, the motor finally starts working again, though not well. We limp away as Hype rushes us from behind. I manage to turn out of their way, but their blade tears off a wheel on the right side.
“You got this, Mari; you can still drive with three,” Sonny says beside me. Fatimah’s hand on my shoulder holds me steady. Our weapon finally spins up in time for Hype to rush us. We’re racing towards each other across the box when the lights flash rapidly.
“TAP OUT!” the robotic voice calls. Hype and I both veer off and cut power, narrowly missing each other. I look at my team in confusion and see Joel with his hand on the button, glowering. Mystification and mortification mingle across the team.
“Why the hell did you tap out!?” The adrenaline obliterates my already insubstantial filter.
“Weapon on weapon with a bot like that?!” Joel rages. “You’re going to ruin the robot!”
Curses gather in my mouth, but as I open it, Fatimah whispers, “Cameras.” I firmly shut it again and turn to clap for the victor instead.
“We could have turned it around!” The emotion wells inside me, and I can’t contain it. Anger, frustration, devastation. Another loss. Unless we win the next three fights flawlessly, we’re screwed.
“Do you know how expensive these things are to fix?” Joel says, exasperated.
“Yes?” Chris hazards.
“If it’s not a sure win, it’s not worth the damage.” Everyone, even Travis, stares at him in bewilderment. What does he think happens in combat robot fights? “Why were you so slow? Doing that little spin move was pointless.”
“Drive motor issues,” Sonny says. “But that wheel-off practice driving you did this morning was a good call, Mari.” He smiles at me.
He’s so gorgeous with his unruly, silver-threaded hair, dark eyes glinting.
I can see why Fatimah has been sneaking around with him.
He’s also brilliant, which is what really makes the compliment go down smoothly, warming me like a hot drink.
“Thank you, Sonny.”
“I thought you were all supposed to be these amazing engineers and robot wunderkinds or whatever.” Joel rolls his eyes. “I don’t understand why you keep running into these issues.”
Chris looks like someone kicked his sandcastle. “The components—”
“Are hand-picked by professionals,” Travis interjects, arrogance shielding him like armor against our glares.
“The early tap out saved us from extensive damage,” Chris says, glasses perched at the end of his beaklike nose as he stares down at the list of sustained injuries. “If we had more reliable drive motors before the next fight, it could help a lot.” He peeks over the rims at Joel.
“How much would that cost?” he asks Travis.
“We don’t need—”
Fatimah cuts him off. “To replace both with something reliable would be several thousand dollars, and ideally, we’d switch to a four-motor system for the drive. However, we could stick with the three-motor design, one for each side drive and one for the weapon.”
“Are you kidding me? Absolutely not,” Joel scoffs like he isn’t someone with enough money to build a thousand robots. He drove a Lamborghini here for fuck’s sake. “You’re all smart. Work with what you got.” He throws his hands up before storming off. Travis scurries after him.
“There’s no way we can make those better, right?” Fatimah asks.
“No,” I sigh. “But we might be able to lose some weight to put less strain on the drive motors.”
“Will it balance out the weapon force?” Sonny asks.
Fatimah rubs her temples. “Probably not,”
“At least we only have one panel of armor to fix,” Chris says, aiming for cheerfulness but falling far short. It’s like a bottle rocket tried to make it to the moon.
I nod solemnly. “At least there’s that.”
Sonny runs his hand through his hair. “As much as I disagree with the concept of working off the clock, we should all brainstorm this evening when we return to our rooms.”
“And lick our wounds,” Fatimah mutters.
“That, too.”