The dash mecks raced along the track in pods because every pilot abided by one unspoken rule: never pass through the arena alone. Every turn on the track, every push for a faster lap time was weighed against the growing risk of being picked off by the clash mecks waiting near the lap line.
Cenn began her sprint near the track entrance, moments before Erin and the other lead mecks raced into the arena. For a dash meck, survival came down to timing and one’s connection with their machine.
Daiko watched the P.I.S. display on his holo with an eagerness that betrayed the gravity of the moment. As Cenn neared Erin to escort him through the arena, the display began to glow.
“They’re synced,” Mina said, her tone caught between caution and excitement.
From the cockpit feeds, both pilots’ faces lit with the same notification. Despite weeks of practice, Cenn still cried out with delight like it was the first time.
They tore through the center lane as two clash mecks moved to intercept—one slick black, the other a mottled color of rust. Erin’s unarmored dash meck was becoming more popular with each lap he went untouched—they likely had the emcee to thank for that.
As the collision neared, Erin dropped back as Cenn surged forward. The black meck, threw a wide, sweeping strike meant for a nimble dash meck and was unprepared for the bulkier frame of Cenn’s meck. She took the blow on her shoulder stump, then leaned in to unbalance her opponent. As the black meck tipped onto one leg, Cenn spun and slammed her good arm across its chest so that it rolled like a stone toward oncoming traffic.
The rust-colored meck was right on top of them. Cenn spun to the side with the momentum of her strike and it was Erin who surged forward, retaking the lead like they’d passed through a revolving door. They exchanged places right when the rust-colored meck threw a heavy haymaker that might have crushed another clack meck’s armor—only now the trap was reversed, and his prey was something smaller and much faster.
Before the punch could land, Erin pounced, climbing calf to quad to hip as his bladed tract pads carved through armor with each step. Even after all these laps, the skates Daiko forged with Roman still had bite.
The rust meck stumbled on its damaged leg, as Erin landed in stride on its other side. The poor thing never found its balance before Cenn clotheslined it into oblivion.
The Westwood Motors score jumped two points for the KOs, then another as Erin crossed the lap line. Daiko barely noticed. His eyes stayed locked on the P.I.S. display.
“Wow!” Cenn shouted while Mina muttered the word beside him.
The stadium replay looped their run. This time Daiko watched with a slow, satisfied smirk.
“We’ll give you that one, Westwood Motors. You’re this lap’s highlight.”
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The dash mecks streamed through the arena, reforming their pack like it was choreographed. With a final whoop, Cenn heeled her meck toward the entrance to wait for Erin’s next run while the highlight reel rolled again overhead.
“Where was this when we were in the CORP?” Cenn asked over the com. “Boss, what took you so long to put AI in our mecks?”
“It’s not artificial intelligence,” Daiko could feel Mina’s smirk without looking for it, “and if I have to remind you again, I’ll find myself a new pilot.”
“P.I.S. sounds better anyway,” Cenn said. Her smile matched Daikos.
In truth, the predictive immersion sync was easily mistaken for its AI counterpart—and Daiko did believe counterpart was the correct term. Not inspiration, not rival, something different.
To be a great pilot meant having a relationship with your meck, not a division of labor. Sora used to argue that the future of mecks depended on merging human spirit with machine intelligence. He’d resisted her ideas—as the meckanist community did today—convinced she wanted to erase the pilot entirely. He wished he could take back those arguments, they would’ve built beautiful things.
He cleared his head and flipped the coms open again, “great first run you two, now stick to the plan. Stay out of every fight that you can manage. We’re playing the long game.”
Cenn growled but complied and Erin slipped into his role easily, manipulating the pack like a sheep dog—slowing here, shifting there—making subtle changes that positioned him perfectly for the next pass through the arena. Daiko would bet the other managers were starting to notice his skill, and suspend their belief that this was all beginner’s luck.
Daiko couldn’t blame them, Erin was an arcade champion at eleven, and competing in meck sims by fourteen when Cenn—freshly discharged from the CORP—recruited him for a pairs match. His methodical, almost obsessive focus proved to be the perfect compliment to Cenn’s aggressive style.
“There’s an echo,” Mina said, eyes on her slab.
Daiko checked his own display, and nodded. “That’s the residual drag we talked about. Their governing boards want to remain connected, so it takes a moment for the P.I.S. to rebalance.”
Mina scrutinized the data, brows knitting in the same stubborn concentration she’d had since she was a child. She would rather die than ask for a hint, and Daiko could tell she didn’t want to ask why the sync couldn’t be on the whole time because that answer was mechanical. The technology both didn’t exist yet, nor did they have access to create a version which could exist for longer than a few minutes at a time.
“You could ask,” Daiko said finally, feigning distraction, but trying not to laugh as she continued to digest the data.
You call it Residual drag, mom called it cognitive resonance, regardless if integration is the goal, why limit the sync’s control access?”
Daiko ran a hand across the stubble on his face to mask a small grin.
“You’re not going to find the answer in your mom’s work,” Daiko tapped his temple, then his heart. “The answers are here.”
Mina sighed. “The power of love.”
“You could say that.”
This wave of young meckanists believed progress meant unleashing AI, but Daiko’s modifications were less about restraint and more about connection. To him, the sync was the solar panel or the wind turbine, something to harness an already present force. It was what Sora had been advocating for all along…
A wave of heat flowed over him at the thought of her. The roar of the stadium faded, as if he were suddenly a thousand miles away. He couldn’t remain here, he knew that, but just before the world took him back—the world, with its rules and numbers—he stole a glance at the sky.
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