127: Mecha Combat – Ten
The halls of the Pelekys. Dim. Empty.
A titanic machine of dusty orange and deepest violet, smashing its axe against the broadsword wielded by another mech.
A distant noise can be heard through the Pelekys, the sound of machinery being created.
In an arena, machinery is being destroyed - two angular, gaudy mechs tearing into one another.
The interior of a fabricator, the curving shape of some type of protective plating being rendered into reality.
Outside, the orange and violet mech returning its weapon to its back as its foe stands motionless before it, the vanquished machine's head crashing to the ground.
Manipulator arms removing the completed plate, bringing it to a construction in progress. A small frame, circuits and wires being carefully organized by a handful of drones. They work together smoothly, their movements less like they were made by individuals, but moving together as if they were all controlled by the same mind. Seamlessly, a new drone moves into the group, the newly completed plating in hand. It is passed off without any hesitation, another drone affixing it to the framework they're all working on.
A featureless room, a prison cell in all but name. Queen Kaizoku stands within, arms crossed and eyes closed as she leans against the wall, a dark figure barely visible in the low lighting. The hiss of a door opening fills the room as a rectangular slash of light falls across Kaizoku, her eyes snapping open immediately. A shadow falls across her form - tall, armoured.
Sparks fly as more pieces are welded to the framework, the drones working together like a single organism. Abruptly, they all stop, pulling back as the thing they were working on gives a shudder. And then, inexplicably, like sea foam frothing up the shore, a substance begins to bubble up out of the parts and pieces in the middle of the thing being assembled.
"We're here to escort you back to your ship." A gruff voice calls out. Haughty and imperious, even though it belongs only to a lowly guard. Their armour is wrought in expensive detailing, more form than function. Necupole.
Kaizoku smirks at this display, but pushes away from the wall without a word. She exits the room, falling into step with others being escorted from their own cells: Bathory, the Hand, Grim, Augury, the Knight. Armed Necupole guards usher them forward down a narrow hall, and they go without complaint, each and every one of them looking like they knew something that their guards did not.
The drones hang in the air, a palpable excitement seeming to quiver through each and every one of them as a shape rises.
Up the ramp the crew of the Pelekys march, the Necupole guards falling into place before it, turning their backs as the ramp retracted and the door sealed close. They stand there, rifles in hand, arrogant and unaware.
"Well, they certainly seem paranoid." Bathory's smirk was vicious as she nodded her head towards the guards beyond the closed door, "They're acting like we're here to rob the place or something."
"Maybe because we are?" The Hand replied, having to tilt her head back slightly in order to shoot the taller woman a teasing look.
Kaizoku let out a single laugh before she began walking down the hall, the Knight falling into step at her side. Speaking to the rest of her crew as she went, Kaizoku said, "That particular operation will be launched soon enough, given that our preparations for it have neared completion. Program, status update on that regard?"
Silence was her only response.
Kaizoku stopped walking, shooting the Knight a look before she repeated, "Program. Status update."
Instead of a response, a red light came from the opposite end of the hall. The Knight had her gun drawn an instant later, stepping bodily in front of Kaizoku, who drew a firearm of her own. Behind her, the others drew their own guns, fanning out through the hall to steer clear of each other's line of fire.
This organized firing line took barely more than a second to organize, and it was a tense five seconds more before the source of the crimson glow emerged from around the corner.
It was coming from a drone, hovering silently in the middle of the hall, an oblong shape of off white, no bigger than a backpack. The smooth lines of its form looked less forged than they were grown, an organic irregularity to its surface so unlike the machined perfection of a standard drone. This thing looked like it was Hyttan made, yet the silhouette of it was distinctly that of one of the more common drone models of the modern age.
On the screen mounted to the front of the hovering machine, the red axe of the Program's avatar filled the hall with the same crimson glow, and it was from this drone, not the speakers throughout the hall, that the Program's voice rang out, "Apologies, I was in the midst of a data transfer. Preparations for the heist are complete. I've moved what we'll need to the shuttle. I will, of course, be accompanying you. What better tool to find the Hyttan programming we seek than a program of the Hyttan themselves?"
The second day of matches dawned bright and cloudless, the early morning sun washing across the expanse between the parked ships and the activity centre, more than a few of the mercenaries hissing and recoiling from the light as their drunken revelries from the nights before gripped them in the throes of a hangover.
Pryseia winced in sympathy. On any other day, she'd have wished that they'd perhaps lay off the partying tonight, give themselves a chance to recover, but with her own crew's operation set to launch as soon as night fell, she had to hope that the distractingly boisterous party would continue, to keep watchful eyes away from the Pelekys, if nothing else.
Bumping lightly into her shoulder as they passed the threshold of the activity centre, Rhea asked, "Feeling nervous about today?"
It was a tone Pryseia hadn't heard from her in some time - an innocuous statement, undercut with the deeper understanding that it wasn't her upcoming match that Rhea was questioning her about. They hadn't needed to rely on this type of subterfuge ever since they had emancipated themselves from the control of the Thalatte. It was coming up to a year now, the anniversary of when they slew the officers who had been meant to take the Pelekys on its shakedown run, almost a year since they'd unbolted the bombs that had kept them in line for decades, but Pryseia swore she could feel those screws like phantoms in her skull as she turned to Rhea and replied, "I have nothing but the utmost faith in the skills of those who shall be shortly going into action."
Perhaps her months of freedom had made her less adept at keeping her emotions off her face, or perhaps it was the closeness she shared with the other woman that allowed Rhea to see the momentary flicker of unease that had lanced through Pryseia at this reminder of their years spent in captivity, but Rhea's own expression fell into something apologetic as she regarded her. She slung an arm across Pryseia's shoulders, briefly pulling her into her side as she quietly said, "Me too."
Pryseia drew in a breath, grounding herself in the present. This kind of casual display of intimacy was not something that would have gone unpunished while under the Thalatte, but they were free of them now. They didn't need to pretend to be strangers towards one another. They were allowed to talk to one another about more than just their mission. They could hug without the fear of disciplinary action. No one was going to blow their brains out for insubordination.
The arm that she looped around Rhea's waist shook slightly, and Pryseia was powerless as her heartbeat kicked into a gallop. She was free. She was free. She was here under the oversight of an Enlightened power at her own discretion, and beyond keeping them in a relatively confined location, the Necupole had done nothing to insinuate that they would be scooping them up like chattel at the first opportunity. They'd been recommended the job by a fellow Kith, whose crew mate had participated in the tournament for years, and none of them had been taken captive. The mercenaries around her had done the same for probably much longer, and they'd been let free to find their deaths among the stars at the conclusion of said event every time. Their patron, though necupole herself, had proven to be a forward thinking woman, not adhering to the prejudiced views of the rest of her people. She had no reason for this sudden bout of dread. She had a tournament to win, attention to draw away from her people. She could not afford this pointless meltdown over nothing.
She didn't realize she was seated until a Necupole breakfast was placed before her by a passing drone, the gentle clink of the plate against the table ringing like a gunshot through her mind. Sound seemed to rush back at that - the scrape of cutlery against plates, quiet chatter from the mercenaries, the inoffensive music quietly coming from the speakers. And the frenetic rushing of blood through her ears.
She was breathing faster than she should, could feel her pulse thundering through her entire body, her skin prickled like she'd just passed through a decontamination field. She couldn't think.
She was dimly aware of Rhea's voice coming to her left, low and concerned, but she couldn't make sense of what she was saying. Across from her, Nevara was a blur, but Pryseia had known her long enough to recognize the tense set of her posture even still. She needed to get a hold of herself.
Something else got a hold of her instead.
She glanced down, an unnaturally pale hand lifting her own from where she'd had it in her lap. V'tala. Seated to her right, using her own right hand, she pushed her left wrist into Pryseia's grasp, pressed her hand closed around it tight enough that Pryseia could feel the steady rhythm of V'tala's pulse beneath her fingers.
Flesh to flesh. Slow. Measured. Completely at odds with the frantic beat of her own heart.
She looked up at V'tala, the other woman already staring at her. As steady as her pulse, her breathing coming at a fraction of the speed of Pryseia's own.
She was as free as Pryseia was. As safe as Pryseia was. And as likely to take her own life rather than live in servitude again, just as Pryseia would.
Pryseia couldn't allow that. Wouldn't allow that. The injustices placed upon her before she'd even been born? V'tala more than deserved the chance to live the life that had been denied her. And she couldn't do that if Pryseia lost her head here.
The pulse pressing into her fingers was consistent as a metronome, the rise and fall of V'tala's chest like a clock she could set her own breathing to. Pryseia didn't know how long it took - seconds, hours - but her heart and lungs slowed to keep pace with V'tala's, the haze of panic that had been clouding her senses pulling back like fog being burned away by the dawn.
Blessed clarity returned, and Pryseia felt herself settle into her own body. The awareness of everything around her was nearly enough to overwhelm her again, so she closed her eyes, breathing through the upsurge, focusing on the here and now.
The vaguely sweet and nutty smell of the breakfast before her. The laughter of one of the mercenaries coming from behind her. The metallic taste of blood where she'd bit the inside of her cheek in her panic. The warmth of V'tala's arm in her grasp.
She opened her eyes to see V'tala still looking at her, Elytra and Nevara concerned and silent on the other side of the table, Malakh in her periphery, and Rhea's hand like a brand against her back.
Pryseia took another breath, her voice sounding scraped raw as she said, "I apologize. I don't know what came over me."
"You were thinking about being back under the Thalatte, weren't you?" It came out more statement than question, Rhea's voice low enough that it wouldn't carry.
The acknowledgement of that didn't send Pryseia further into a spiral, but it did send a shiver down her spine, and Rhea chased it away with a rub of her hand.
"I was," Pryseia admitted, "I haven't... had such a reaction to the thought before."
"You were damaged more than just physically," V'tala said, gaze never wavering, "All of us were. Recovering from that, I'm finding, is going to take more than decent food, rest, and exercise."
V'tala looked so inconvenienced by that fact that it startled a laugh out of Pryseia. The glare V'tala gave her in response was withering, though it was somewhat spoiled by the relief underlying it.
"Thank you," Pryseia told her, turning so she could catch the rest of her friend's eyes, settling on Rhea last, "The bout has passed."
Pryseia didn't miss the way Rhea's eyes flicked to Elytra, seated behind Pryseia's back. Whatever the other woman indicated, it settled Rhea's nerves, and she returned her gaze to Pryseia and squeezed her shoulder as she said, "We're here for you if it happens again. Don't even think about trying to suffer through that alone."
"I won't. I know better." Pryseia told her, a teasing smile curling her lips, "You'd have no issue in simply picking me up and shaking sense into me."
"As if I'd risk giving you brain damage like that," Rhea replied with a quiet laugh, "I could probably shake you hard enough to liquify your internal organs."
"Really?" Was Nevara's deadpan response, lowering her spoonful of yoghurt, berries, and grains, the colour and texture close enough to liquified deupazing innards to make it unappetizing.
That got a laugh out of everyone that bled away the last of the tension, and Pryseia felt so grateful for them all that she felt her heart stutter with affection. She slid her hand down V'tala's arm to give her hand a squeeze before pulling away with another quiet, "Thank you."
V'tala said nothing, but she nodded once, not taking her eyes off Pryseia until the woman turned to dig into her own breakfast.
Despite having eaten earlier already, Pryseia suddenly found herself starving.
Pulling on the custom armour of MGJX livery settled the last vestiges of unease in Pryseia. The suit offered the standard level of protection that any mech pilot could need, but it was a far cry from the minimalist and utilitarian uniforms she'd worn while a slave of the Thalatte. This suit was loud, showy, a billboard as much as it was for protection. The Thalatte would have had her shot if she'd worn something like this into battle while in their service.
What Sara had said was true - the Thalatte military had no appreciation for aesthetics.
The others bid her farewell when the guards came to collect the pilots for the matches today. Tolla and Kassi's morning announcements had MGJX Corp in the first match, the Aeon being pitted against the sky blue and silver machine of Ferntide Industries. Pryseia was not yet sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Perhaps a bit of both? She wouldn't need to wait for her turn to fight, but she'd be stuck waiting for the other matches to finish up for who knew how long.
With only six pilots advancing from the initial twelve, only a single ride was needed to take them to their destination. The contraption had eight seats for passengers bolted atop a hovering platform, which would be automatically brought to and from destinations along a pre-programmed route. As Pryseia settled into a seat, she couldn't help but be struck by the feeling of being little more than inventory to the necupole here. She couldn't help the scoff that escaped her at that. The Enlightened were all the same in how they treated those they deemed beneath them.
An usgaisjan climbed into the seat next to her, skin of bright teal and hair of deepest green, the woman's armour the blue and silver of Ferntide. "So, looks like it's to be the two of us up first," the woman grinned at her, all nonchalant confidence as she said, "N'ang Kwak of the Shadow Riders."
"Killzar Pryseia of the Pelekys." Pryseia returned with a slight bow as their transport rose slightly off the ground and made its way to the hangar entryway on the other side of the arena.
N'ang grinned wider at that, her voice dropping to keep the conversation between the two of them as she asked, "That V'tala, she's from your crew, yeah?"
"She is," Pryseia replied, something about the woman's tone putting her on edge, "If you plan on threatening her in order to get me to throw the match, then I fear you will find yourself with a problem you will not be able to surmount."
"Whoa, hey, nothing of the sort!" N'ang raised her hands in surrender, "I just couldn't help but notice that you two seemed pretty tight knit this morning. I've been eyeing her up, but I didn't want to step in if she's already committed to someone else."
That was not the direction Pryseia had been expecting this conversation to go in.
"V'tala is a free woman, in all regards," Pryseia replied after a longer moment than she realized, "She may pursue whomsoever she wishes."
N'ang's grin returned at that. "Good to know. But, if that weren't the case, and she and you were a packaged deal, well, let's just say I wouldn't mind getting between the two of you in another way, if you catch my meaning."
That got another scoff out of Pryseia. "I do, but I would decline, regardless. I find I have grown tired of dalliances."
"Well I sure haven't," N'ang said with a wink, "The offer for your participation still stands, either way. Some of the girls and I were thinking of taking your V'tala for a spin during our furlough."
Pryseia was no stranger to others finding either herself or the members of her crew attractive. Objectively, V'tala was a beautiful woman, and so it was no surprise that her looks had caught the attention of some of the mercenaries. But the way in which N'ang had referred to V'tala as little more than a vehicle with which to reach her amorous destination... that had Pryseia's blood boiling in a flash.
Turning to fully face N'ang, her anger icing her over into a deadly calm, Pryseia told her, "If V'tala reports having anything other than an exemplar experience, should she agree to your advances, then you had best pray to whatever deity you hold most sacred, for there will be no corner of the galaxy you could hide in to keep me from hunting you down and meting out recompense."
N'ang blanched at that, recoiling slightly. It was only after she swallowed thickly that she replied, "Understood," before turning forward and falling silent for the remainder of their ride.
Pryseia couldn't find it in herself to be upset for going a little overboard. She wouldn't allow anyone to take advantage of her crew, in any way, shape, or form. Anyone.