Act I
They've just turned onto 42 when Jed Tansen's voice crackles over the comm. "Uh, guys? My dash just turned red. Says something about a heat sink warning?"
Gabe grins and pulls Archangel to a stop. "Classic rookie mistake, greenhorn." He hears Dave choke back a laugh. He's bringing up the rear in Stonewall, but Gabe can picture him grinning too. "These aren't like the Assault mechs they give the Marines. You have to go easy with Enforcers; too much too fast, and your system will overload."
He turns Archangel around. Through his transparent canopy of reinforced crystalline, Gabe watches Jed's Enforcer slow to a stop. "Just wait it out," he adds. "Once the heat sink starts working, it will cool everything off and you'll be as good as new."
The comm crackles when Jed huffs. "Is this why you two had me 'practice my shots' on the range just now? And then insisted we fly right out to the beat?"
Gabe scratches his forehead. "I'm pretty sure I have no idea what you mean."
"The same way you have no idea why you made me climb in and out of the cockpit a hundred times?" Jed asks wryly.
Gabe smirks to himself. Enforcer cockpits are located in the mech's chest. There are no footholds to help the pilot in, so as to avoid hooligans hitching rides and other potential dangers. Instead, pilots are drilled until they know all the right nooks and crannies to grab and to push off on, until they can leap into their cockpits in a few swift hops. It was the first thing they'd told Jed to do, mostly to settle his nerves, although they'd left out that pertinent detail.
Dave says, "Sometimes, in order to teach them how to walk, you have to let them fall."
"Bullshit," Jed says, but Gabe can hear the amusement in his tone. "You assholes are hazing me. Is this how the Mech Enforcer Division hazes?"
"The MEDs don't haze," Dave says matter-of-factly. "We educate. "
"We also don't call our superiors 'assholes,'" Gabe says.
Jed is undaunted. "Dumas, you and Cortez are sneaky bastards. Tech would've had my balls in a sling for bringing them back a downed Enforcer."
"Yep," Dave says.
"It was a test," Gabe explains. "You're not snug and cozy in training anymore. This is the field; you have to keep an eye on your dash—watch your meters and levels. Remember how much punishment your mech can take. It's no different from when you were in the mech division in the army."
"Well," Jed says, "yes and no. When I piloted Assault mechs, I didn't have to watch my dash like a hawk."
"True enough, but remember the trade-off: more precision means more care. Enforcers are smaller, they have more controlled ammunition, and they can bank like nobody's business, but all those little adjustments come with a price. Learn how to balance between pushing ahead and easing off, and you'll be a pro in no time."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh," Dave says, pleased. "Love it when he says that. Almost as beautiful as your little Parisian twang, Gabriel."
Gabe stretches in his seat, growing restless. "You can take the Private out of the Marines …"
"I hope not," Dave cracks. "I want to keep calling him Private."
"Feel free," Jed says. "Unless you want to call me Private in private. Pretty sure Isabel would have something to say about that."
"So would Tim," Gabe points out with a grin. "How is Isabel adjusting to life in the city?"
Jed makes a noncommittal sound. "Eh, you know … it's different. We've never lived in one of the megacities before. She's worried about raising the baby here."
Gabe looks out his canopy. 42 Street stretches out before them in all its filthy glory. It's a quiet area, mostly residential apartments lining the street with dull grey cement and brick. Tenants are used to seeing MED march up and down under their windows. Apparently people acclimated—like living near an airport or a train, someone once said.
People from the suburbs or rural areas like Jed and Isabel tend to believe that the megacities are overwhelming and untamable. The truth is, the
They've just turned onto 42 when Jed Tansen's voice crackles over the comm. "Uh, guys? My dash just turned red. Says something about a heat sink warning?"
Gabe grins and pulls Archangel to a stop. "Classic rookie mistake, greenhorn." He hears Dave choke back a laugh. He's bringing up the rear in Stonewall, but Gabe can picture him grinning too. "These aren't like the Assault mechs they give the Marines. You have to go easy with Enforcers; too much too fast, and your system will overload."
He turns Archangel around. Through his transparent canopy of reinforced crystalline, Gabe watches Jed's Enforcer slow to a stop. "Just wait it out," he adds. "Once the heat sink starts working, it will cool everything off and you'll be as good as new."
The comm crackles when Jed huffs. "Is this why you two had me 'practice my shots' on the range just now? And then insisted we fly right out to the beat?"
Gabe scratches his forehead. "I'm pretty sure I have no idea what you mean."
"The same way you have no idea why you made me climb in and out of the cockpit a hundred times?" Jed asks wryly.
Gabe smirks to himself. Enforcer cockpits are located in the mech's chest. There are no footholds to help the pilot in, so as to avoid hooligans hitching rides and other potential dangers. Instead, pilots are drilled until they know all the right nooks and crannies to grab and to push off on, until they can leap into their cockpits in a few swift hops. It was the first thing they'd told Jed to do, mostly to settle his nerves, although they'd left out that pertinent detail.
Dave says, "Sometimes, in order to teach them how to walk, you have to let them fall."
"Bullshit," Jed says, but Gabe can hear the amusement in his tone. "You assholes are hazing me. Is this how the Mech Enforcer Division hazes?"
"The MEDs don't haze," Dave says matter-of-factly. "We educate. "
"We also don't call our superiors 'assholes,'" Gabe says.
Jed is undaunted. "Dumas, you and Cortez are sneaky bastards. Tech would've had my balls in a sling for bringing them back a downed Enforcer."
"Yep," Dave says.
"It was a test," Gabe explains. "You're not snug and cozy in training anymore. This is the field; you have to keep an eye on your dash—watch your meters and levels. Remember how much punishment your mech can take. It's no different from when you were in the mech division in the army."
"Well," Jed says, "yes and no. When I piloted Assault mechs, I didn't have to watch my dash like a hawk."
"True enough, but remember the trade-off: more precision means more care. Enforcers are smaller, they have more controlled ammunition, and they can bank like nobody's business, but all those little adjustments come with a price. Learn how to balance between pushing ahead and easing off, and you'll be a pro in no time."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh," Dave says, pleased. "Love it when he says that. Almost as beautiful as your little Parisian twang, Gabriel."
Gabe stretches in his seat, growing restless. "You can take the Private out of the Marines …"
"I hope not," Dave cracks. "I want to keep calling him Private."
"Feel free," Jed says. "Unless you want to call me Private in private. Pretty sure Isabel would have something to say about that."
"So would Tim," Gabe points out with a grin. "How is Isabel adjusting to life in the city?"
Jed makes a noncommittal sound. "Eh, you know … it's different. We've never lived in one of the megacities before. She's worried about raising the baby here."
Gabe looks out his canopy. 42 Street stretches out before them in all its filthy glory. It's a quiet area, mostly residential apartments lining the street with dull grey cement and brick. Tenants are used to seeing MED march up and down under their windows. Apparently people acclimated—like living near an airport or a train, someone once said.
People from the suburbs or rural areas like Jed and Isabel tend to believe that the megacities are overwhelming and untamable. The truth is, the
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