Arthur was consumed by the reckless eagerness of his younger self. Their eyes—his eyes—bore into the rusted dashboard as he prepared for the exam. The bulbs were mismatched colors and the meters flickered as if the machine itself doubted him.

  To his sides, the vambrace conduits awaited: vinyl tubes webbed with electrical nodes, with the sticks poised on the other side. He slipped his hands in, fingers lacing through the rings above the sticks, hair pin triggers punctuated his grip. The conduit thinned, cinching the vinyl tight to his arms. The constriction was followed by three metal clamps sealing around his shoulder, elbow and wrist.

  Locked in, a weight dropped onto his shoulders, as though the exo leaned entirely on him to stand.

  Mersia wasn’t lying when she said old fashioned. The exos were the equivalent of throwing a blanket on a bronco and calling it a saddle.

  Slipping his legs into similar conduits, the compression began again there. He flexed the grieves as they clamped into place over his shins, then rocked his heels and toes against the ball bearing pedal below his feet.

  A warning light flickered on his dashboard and the deckhand assigned to his exo tapped it with a heavy finger.

  “Just looks like the bulb’s shorted, shouldn’t be a problem.” The deckhand then reached behind Arthur’s forward leaning chair, cranking something unseen as every restraint pulled a degree tighter. “There ya go. If you ask me, these things should’ve been scrapped years ago. The fact that we have ten working is a miracle from HVM3 himself.”

  The deckhand paused before slipping out of the cage—perhaps he saw something in Arthur’s face, or maybe Arthur simply looked ridiculously small when locked in to the cockpi—but the deckhand just shrugged, dropped to the ground and gave the signal.

  For a minute, there was only the sound of cadets grunting, and the stretching of servo mechanics. Then a clang rang down the line as another cadet’s exo took its first step. Arthur stopped his own exertion to watch them take a second step slowly, but their gait seemed steady and soon they were marching with a pronounced rhythm.

  Seeing his classmate succeeding pushed Arthur to action. His fingers shuffled over the micro triggers on the sticks as his shoulders ground against the conduits.

  The exos had a delayed command response. You had to make a move then wait a second for it to execute. Or you could queue the commands one after another, working five seconds ahead. That’s how the greats did it. So that’s how he planned to do it.

  Mind the distribution, counter dynamic, short steps. The process rifled through his thoughts of old like some incantation.

  Blowing out his cheeks several times, he pushed his shoulders into the conduits even harder, and felt the joints shoved against the clamp till it bit into his skin. Metal groaned. Around him, other exos found their stride, their echoes drilling into his skull, driving him.

  Now or never.

  He flicked the clutch open with one trigger, and shoved the stick forward—Arthur flinched as he tried to instill his will upon his past self, but to no avail—the exo over-rotated, joints on the right side clanking unevenly.

  Panicked, he tried to compensate for the weight distribution by sliding the left pedal backward—but mistimed it—twisting the chassis even more, slamming it against the bearings, and whiplashed him in the harness.

  His vision righted after a moment, was surprised to realize the exo had remained standing, albeit precariously balanced.

  Arthur looked up to see the first cadet was already nearing the halfway mark, while the cadet waiting their turn at the starting line beamed with anticipation. He tried not to think about the line of black clad witnesses behind him.

  Flicking a trigger, he decompressed the conduit, slipping his hand out to manually adjust the output—thinking slower speeds would help. Failing to take his first step had only emboldened him. I’m not out of this yet.

  He hadn’t realized how naive he’d been till now.

  The door near the proctor’s table slammed open. Arthur’s head snapped toward it, though he already knew who it was.

  Mons Daiko Hitori—Asparia’s Dragon freshly returned to Dearth from the war effort—threw his gray jacket across his shoulders as he marched down to the empty chair at the end of the table, dismissing each greetings from his peers as he went. Mid-forties, the aura of battle still burned about him. He hardly resembled the man who would one day give him a job at the Westwood garage—the man he’d come to respect. But that was not this man.

  I won’t let you down. The younger Arthur clung to that thought, fierce and unshakable.

  His body began to move with renewed fervor, retoggling the output to its former level as though the strategy to decrease it at all was a terrible idea to begin with.

  As his younger self labored, his consciousness drifted, noticing things he hadn’t before. The proctors, for one, whispered to each other as though in some great secret while Daiko watched the cadets like prey in an open plain.

  When the woman next to Daiko offered her hand, he took it, but only after a moment’s consideration. Another proctor stood, clearly inspired by this, and walked down the line but halted when Daiko stuck out his arm, hand up turned. He returned to his seat with a rippling murmur from the others. It must’ve gotten to him because he stood and wordlessly joined the head proctor on the floor facing the exos. Neither said hello to one another, and that seemed exactly what Daiko wanted.

  He now stared at the cadets head on, immolating them with his full attention one at a time.

  Arthur’s exo lurched, bringing his focus back to the exam itself. He’d shoved the vambraces on his forearms into place, one forward and one backward, poised for his first real step. His muscles strained at the reach required to do so, but he managed, and locked it into place. Then he took a moment to catch his breath.

  Several cadets finished the walk, and their exos were ferried back to the starting line via skiff. Arthur took note that nobody had failed yet.

  A flicker of movement drew his attention, one Arthur of now had been waiting for. Hitori turned his head, and whispered something to Angela. She looked at him, measuring his words before nodding.

  He stepped forward.

  “The exo is imperfect, but if you’re wondering at its shortcomings now, just look in a mirror. There’s a reason why we don’t give you a polished cockpit for the entry exam. We want to see who looks outward and who looks inward for answers.” His words spoke nothing but fact. “A smoother interface won’t make the right decision for you, and it sure as hell won’t keep you from killing yourself.”

  Daiko seemed to be talking directly to him, and he wondered how he’d missed that the first time.

  “No matter your weaknesses, the machine will bring it to bear every time.”

  An exo down the line fell right then, punctuating his words, though his gaze didn’t stray from Arthur’s.

  “There is no shame in failure, but the denial of it.”

  Two cadets conceded within the half hour, Arthur struggled on.

  One segment at a time Arthur’s exo managed to lift its leg, and the chassis turned, the opposite arm extended. Arthur grunted with the effort.

  Then the foot landed, and Arthur locked it in place too soon. His momentum pushed the locked leg forward like a poorly placed kick stand. As the exo pitched, he tried pulling the leg back into place—Too late.

  Arthur winced as the cage slammed into the ground, whipping his head forward while his body strained against the straps. As he collected himself, breathing hard hard by exertion as much as embarrassment, his deckhand slid between the cage rungs, looking up at him with a painfully pitiful look.

  “You okay?”

  Arthur nodded, as the deckhand ran his eyes over the cockpit.

  “Those straps got you stuck? Need me to clip you out?”

  “No,” Arthur said, “I’m just taking a second.”

  “Oh, you’re going to keep going… You sure?”

  Arthur craned his neck up to see Daiko and Angela staring at him.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “No shame in it, you heard the big man. And you look like hell, let me get you out of there.”

  He pulled himself up to eye level with Arthur, pulling a pair of clippers from his toolbelt. Arthur watched as the blades inched closer to the straps.

  “No! I’m not done!”

  The deckhand pulled back, pity transmuting to disdain. He withdrew, muttering “Suit yourself.”

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  Arthur shoved his arms back into the conduits, ignoring the pain. He heaved, muscles shaking, until both hands locked around the sticks again. His chest burned, his shoulder screamed, but he readied himself.

  Then boots clicked toward him and Angela stepped into view just outside the cage. He wasn’t able to see her face and keep his hands in the conduits at the same time. So he looked as high as he could, the frustration at his physical limitations roiling inside him.

  “We have an unspoken clause about cadets who score high in the exam portion of the academy. We tend to give those people more time than we’d typically allow,” she said softly enough for only him to hear, which Arthur would’ve been grateful for had those words not been the thing of his nightmares recently, “However, it’s clear you’re at your limit, cadet.”

  Arthur shook his head, sweat dripping onto the floor beneath him. “I’m not done.” Yes, you are.

  Her voice softened even further, and she stepped closer.

  “It’s my personal preference that cadets concede as opposed to the proctors failing them straight out. It shows humility, integrity. This is that opportunity, cadet.”

  Arthur didn’t respond right away, not because he was considering it, but because he had to muster the strength to speak.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry ma’am. The only way I’m leaving this cockpit is through that door.”

  Angela’s response was as firm as the straps across his chest.

  “You’ve made it only a few meters, and only that because you fell in the right direction. Now there are dozens of cadets waiting their turn, and your exo will need a charge soon”

  These were excellent points, but Arthur wouldn’t hear any of it.

  “I’ll have the deck hand cut you out—”

  “Are you failing me?” He asked defiantly. When she didn’t reply he gritted his teeth and raised his head as high as it would go. “Then get out of my—”

  Another pair of boots joined her.

  “I’ll take it from here, Angela.” Daiko said to her. After a moment she took a step to the side. He lifted one boot on the lowest rung of the cage and leaned in to be easily seen.

  “Your name’s Arthur, right?”

  After his own father, Mons Hitori was his greatest hero alongside HVM3 himself and he was close enough to touch.

  Heart hammering, Arthur nodded.

  “Why are you doing this, son? Go on, tell me why you’re here.” Daiko’s tone was flat, but so too is a well made dagger.

  “I… I want to be a great pilot, like you, sir. A hero.”

  The Arthur of now cringed at hearing himself. He remembered how raw, how painfully earnest those words had been.

  “We’re not looking for heroes, Arthur. We’re looking for soldiers. Now, contrary to popular belief, I’m not that picky—honest, I’m not. Give me a cadet who’s well abled, follows orders, and I’ll make them an ensign in a month’s time…problem is, you’re neither of those things. Are you, Arthur?”

  “Daiko,” Proctor Mersia bristled.

  “You tried being polite, Angela. Now we try it this way—it’s why I’m here isn’t it?” Daiko’s eyes never left Arthur’s as he silenced her. “It’s important for you to hear this, Arthur, because it’s clear no one has had the heart to tell you your whole life…

  “More hope than sense, I’ve seen hundreds like you who think passing a test means you deserve to fly.”

  He stood, his face now out of reach for Arthur to see, though condescension poured from him still.

  “Cadets like you, who can’t accept their own limits, are the worst kind in my opinion.”

  Though Hitori’s words were just loud enough for Angela and Arthur to hear; they still felt like an anvil. The feeling of heat began to rise in Arthur’s belly.

  He thrust his hand into the conduit, ignoring the pain, the exhaustion, and blinked away tears.

  “Move.” Arthur said.

  Hitori stepped back from the meck unphased, as though this petulant outburst was something he expected all along.

  He knows nothing about me.

  I knew nothing about me.

  The exo began to tilt upward.

  The proctors hadn’t failed him yet, and until they did, he’d keep fighting. The sequence of commands he sought were simple, and they ran through his head like a nursery rhyme.

  Arthur yelled as he pulled the sticks into position. His hand hold on each of the sticks was like competing in two tug-o-war matches at once.

  Hitori and Angela took another step back, driving Arthur even harder. He managed to get his arm out from under the exo, and he planted both to either side as he readied to drive himself upward.

  His cage lifted a few feet, and he no longer had to crane his neck to look out at Hitori standing there. He grimaced and prepped the grieves to get his legs under him. Shaking with the effort, he could taste the air outside the hangar. I’ll show you! I’ll show—

  The exo sputtered, limbs collapsing like a marionette’s strings being cut, and he crashed back into the ground. Arthur shouted in surprise and pain then watched the dashboard lights wink out one at a time.

  “I told you about the battery, kid.” Mersia said. “I’m calling it. Arthur En, fail-”

  “I don’t think so,” Hitori said, cutting her off. Then more loudly. “Deckhand. Charge the cadet’s exo. Now.”

  Hitori’s boot returned to the cage. Arthur expected to see a smug smile staring down at him, but there wasn’t an ounce of satisfaction on his grim face.

  “You’re not done yet, are you, Arthur?”

  Angela stepped beside Daiko, turning her head closer to be discreet.

  “Daiko, the boy is done. I’m calling it.”

  “No. You’re. Not.”

  The deckhand waited outside the cage, uncertain what to do next.

  “I’m head proctor,” her voice grew, and this time Arthur knew the rest of the people in the hangar heard, “and I’m saying—”

  Hitori swung to face Angela so quickly she flinched, “When has a the position of Head Proctor ever had seniority over High Marshal? If I say the boy stays, then he stays, so long as he’s willing.”

  Angela smoothed her features and took a tentative step closer, returning again to an intimate whisper.

  “Daiko, Sora’s death was a tragedy. We all mourn for her, for you and Mina. Don’t take your grief out on—”

  “Enough!” He yelled with the ferocity of a bull to the red. “You have overstepped, Head Proctor. I am commandeering authority over this exam. You’re dismissed.”

  He let the silence fall on top of her. Arthur didn’t see where she went, but could hear the sound of her boots clicking further and further away till they disappeared completely.

  “Continue,” Hitori commanded, sound and motion resumed within the hangar.

  Leaning closer to Arthur he said, “Arthur En, are you consenting to continue despite our advisement to withdraw?”

  Arthur was too shocked to answer.

  “You just have to nod,” Hitori said.

  Arthur’s body began to tremble like a strawman in high winds when suddenly the image of his father flashed across his mind, followed by a reckless abandon. Daiko noticed the internal rebellion, and nodded to the deck hand.

  Arthur watched as the exo’s dashboard was reborn.

  “Proceed,” Hitori said, stepping away.

  The significance of passing the exam, of joining the CORP as an ensign, disappeared. Arthur was driven by pride alone, and it would make him, or it would destroy him.

  The evening sun baked the hangar with a furnace-like glow. The other cadets finished the exam one by one, stepping through the doors with an ease that only made Arthur grip the sticks tighter. Not once did he see Hitori look at the others. They shambled by, stumbling and rushing as though to escape his notice.

  Off to the side, the proctors watched with increasing discomfort, even as Arthur became the only one left.

  A proctor approached Hitori, fidgeting all the while. Arthur didn’t hear their words but heard Daiko’s response loud and clear.

  “Then leave,” he said. “one stubborn student doesn't need a whole panel. Go.”

  They all looked relieved as they scurried away, slamming the door behind them. In its echo, Arthur heard how true his isolation was.

  Hitori walked away and returned a minute later shaking a can of spray paint. He made a line ten meters ahead of Arthur.

  “I’ll tell you what, Arthur. Forget the exit, if you pass this line I’ll let you into the program,” he threw the can to the side without thought, “but you have to do it by sundown.”

  Arthur looked up and saw the orange globe still hovering a few inches above the treeline.

  “I’d judge it at an hour. What do you think?”

  The day had become corporeal, passing through him as though it were made of mist. Arthur had given up on rushing hours ago, and instead tried to move in spurts. All the while Daiko’s vendetta loitered.

  “I’m trying to teach you a lesson,” he continued, “and your resistance proves my point. The answer isn’t to fight, but to accept what is even if it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.”

  Arthur’s hands kept slipping off the sticks, limbs and thoughts numb, but one resonant message bled through the cracks in his throat, his father’s voice distant in his mind.

  “Do right…Fear nothing…”

  Daiko’s reply was cold.

  “You think this is courage, but its nothing but recklessness. The Meck CORP has no shortage of extraordinary individuals, and no one has held more of them as they died than me.”

  Arthur blinked away the sweat in his eyes, but the hangar continued to blur.

  “You want to know how they died, Arthur? Saving people like you. People who lie to themselves, take risks, and in doing so deny their lot in life while others suffer for it.”

  Daiko kneeled, realizing Arthur couldn’t see him despite how close he stood.

  “You weren’t made for this. The biggest tragedy is that you’ve come to believe you were. That foolishness may not be totally your fault—the one thing our Empire is good at is instilling a toxic sense of self-importance—but all the same it is now your responsibility to accept your circumstances.

  A ghostly hand lifted Arthur’s chin. He looked into the man’s eyes even as his face was swallowed in the silhouette cast by the setting sun.

  “We're all meant for something. I don’t care who you are, that’s the truth. But it doesn't mean anyone can do anything.”

  Arthur’s vision swayed as Daiko stood, bearing an invisible weight.

  “Arthur P. En, as acting head proctor, I formally mark you as failed. Your application to the academy has been denied, and I hereby revoke your eligibility for reentry.”

  Arthur gasped for breath to contest but there wasn’t enough air in his lungs to do so. Hitori’s next words were somber, as though spoken from a different person entirely.

  “It’ll be some time before you see sense, but one day you’ll come to thank me. You’ll know that this was the right thing to do. I just saved your life.”

  The entire hangar began to fade, not just because his consciousness was slipping, but because whatever enchantment stole him away from the Razorback was now pulling him away.

  Before he left entirely, he was assailed by memories of the days following the exam: waking in a bed a day later, staying an extra night because they thought something might really be wrong with him.

  They were right.

  The hangar dissolved. Colors bled from broken lines, and black water rose from the ground, drowning him in sensationless nothing.

  No.

  Beneath the ice of surrender, Arthur was surprised to feel a once-familiar heat surging through his veins defiant and alive. The part of him that watched this tragedy come to pass now felt the agency of his own limbs, his own words, his own knowing.

  As he felt his consciousness being pressed into the waiting box of his body, he cried out in his mind.

  It can’t end like this.

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