Hitori’s pixelated form shrunk again, his head shifting side to side as the HUD rearranged in sync.
The map sharpened as he pulled data from a nearby server. A projection of Occam rendered on the center console with several lines of text scrolling beside it. At the same time, a circle with a line through it appeared. Sounds—almost voices but mostly static—rushed into the cockpit from different directions as though Arthur were outside the meck himself.
“Recon,” Hitori answered Arthur’s unasked question.
Arthur watched the circle, the line jumping high and low with the noise like a pulse.
“Like tuning a radio,” he muttered.
Hitori nodded. The sound began to coalesce as he locked onto a target. The recon display multiplied until there were eighteen of them stacked in rows of six.
“Their com security is weak,” Hitori said, “must not have much to hide from out here.”
“Is that all of their coms?”
“Most. Localizing now.”
Each display minimized and slid onto the map. Once placed, they shifted slightly, and Arthur realized they were marking the location of each link. Off to the side, a notepad transcribed every word—scrolling too fast for him to follow.
“This is incredible,” Arthur said, then quickly, “why didn’t you do this before?”
“You mean why didn’t I do this for a bunch of bullies on bikes while you were in a war meck?” He turned, a rueful smile on his face. “The additional frame support changes things. We’ll need to coordinate.”
“You said I could just fall into them and win?”
“I think you could win this with your eyes closed with another few weeks of training. Let’s call falling on top of them plan B.” His tone hardened. “They’re not harmless. Dangerous as toddlers carrying machetes. Mind your distance, keep your head—”
Hitori cut out, turning his head in the direction of the main thoroughfare.
“What is it?”
Hitori silenced all but one com. Arthur leaned in.
The crackling cleared until the voice felt right beside him. A blip on the map showed which vehicle was speaking, and Occam’s audio dispersion made it sound as though it came from that direction. The image of the tallest frame—the one with the hook—pulsed as a voice spoke through an external PA system.
All of this, and Arthur didn’t have to do anything—Occam’s systems, and Hitori activating them—he wondered again why they needed him at all.
Arthur’s hands tightened on the sticks, the vibrations suddenly intimate, as though he was holding Occam’s hand instead of piloting. The sense of there-ness was becoming familiar. Hitori was the brain, Occam the body—
And you Arthur, you’re the heart.
Hitori scratched his chin as the voice came through—smooth, charming, like a flight attendant asking Arthur about his inflight meal.
“You out there still? If we hurt ya bad, we didn’t mean to. Promise. Why don’t you come on out, and we can talk about this civilized.”
The cycles revved their engines. With the coms synced, the overlapping growl and catcalls made a menacing cocktail. Arthur felt far too close even with the distance between them.
“Aw, don’t mind the boys,” the voice lazy and warm. “they get eager, is all. That commotion in the ‘skirts wound ‘em up.”
Arthur glanced at Hitori. Was he planning to answer?
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“Manners, of course. Sometimes I forget,” The voice tilted into a grin Arthur could hear, “name’s Mac Kenzie. My boys and I—we’re celebrities ‘round here. Now, you went and hurt some of them—damaged my property too—if we can’t come to terms, well, we’ll have to repo that meck for payment.
Arthur’s stomach dropped, the Razor flashing in his mind as well as the ruined building from their artillery fire. These were the same people, and they were dangerous.
“What do we do?” Arthur whispered, “there’s no way he just wants to talk.”
“My thoughts too,” Hitori said, “still, I’m patching us through. Let me do the talking.”
Arthur nodded. The more Hitori spoke for them, the better.
“This is the meck Occam, hailing Mac. Come in.”
“Oh ho!” Mac laughed. “Com hacking. Advanced work. But what’s with this private channel? I’m more of an exhibitionist myself. Let me fix that.”
Click.
Hitori grimaced but did nothing.
“Boys, we’re live with the meck named Occam.”
The poorly veiled yet threatening enticements continued, more vigorous now that they had a name.
The bladed Frame’s com lit up. “Looks military to me.”
“I’d bet on it, Rips,” Mac replied.
“That’s correct,” Hitori said, his tone clipped. “You’ve opened fire on an Empire vessel. Vacate the vicinity immediately.”
Laughter filled the channel, a ragged chorus from the cycles. Mac’s chuckle rode over it, easy and deliberate.
“Well now,” he drawled, “since you say so, guess I’ll take my boys home. Call it a day.”
The com display blinked red as Hitori muted their receiver.
“They’re talking offwave,” he said.
On the map, the cycles split—one group veering south with the cannon frame, the other north with the bladed one. Mac lingered alone in the street just outside the warden outpost, a lone figure in the dust.
“You still there?” Mac called, “made some room at the dinner table, so to speak. How’s that for manners? Now, maybe you’re just passin’ through with that pretty face—that head of yours is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen—but military or not, you left some of my boys laid up. And there’s a She-devil they won’t quit jawin’ about. Somethin’ tells me you all came here together, huh?”
Arthur stiffened. Cenn.
Hitori muted the com link again.
“What should we do?” Arthur asked.
“Well, let’s assess in real time. One bogey, likely the leader, isolated from the pack. What would you do?”
Arthur hesitated. “Do we save the crew? Use this time to get them out?”
“You could. But what does safety mean here?”
Arthur pictured the knolls and craters beyond the outpost. “Away from town. We could hide.”
“Unlikely, there aren’t many places to hide, and the enemy knows this terrain better than we do. Aside from where, how? The crew can’t fit in the cockpit, and the Razor’s out of commission.”
The image of himself alone flashed across Arthur’s mind—hiding, waiting this out. He shoved it away.
“If we can’t get them out, we make this area safe.”
“Go on.”
“But I don’t trust Mac. This feels like a trap.”
“How does that inform your decision?”
Arthur studied the map, “like you said before—we need more information. I don’t think we’re alone, not like he says.”
Hitori beamed. “Good.”
The map expanded, showing the city outskirts. Mac’s men hadn’t disappeared—they’d circled wide, the frames positioned to converge. A dotted line projected their routes, snaking toward the western entrances of town. Red markers flashed along paths leading straight to Occam’s position.
“Even at the slowest pace, they’ll reach us in twenty minutes,” Hitori said.
Mac’s voice rang in again, syrupy smooth: “Still with me, military man?”
Arthur ignored it. “What if we don’t leave? We stall them. Buy time to think of something better.”
“Delay,” Hitori said, “different from hide, but with the same pitfalls. The enemy knows this town. Delaying favors whoever expects reinforcements—which we do not,” he paused, “so: we’re in unfamiliar territory. No reinforcements. Our comrades are captives. What do we do, pilot?”
Arthur thought of Daiko—the way he always pressed him to the edge of a conclusion just like this.
“We fight.”
Hitori nodded.
“We fight, but smart. Stay agile. Don’t get surrounded. They want to box us in from behind—so let’s thrust forward.”
Arthur’s heart thundered. He couldn’t believe he was agreeing. He shouldn’t even be here, but somehow he was nodding along.
“Okay,” he breathed, “so what first?”
“We talk.”
Arthur blinked. He’d been about to scroll the hotlist for attacking maneuvers. “Talk? But you said—”
“We’ll fight. But first, we talk to get close. We’ll use Mac’s weakness against him.”
Arthur’s eyes slid back to Mac’s shell on the display. “What weakness?”
“He clearly loves to hear his own voice.”
