CHASE 3: ARG (part 2)
Covarn led the way out of the room and descended the sloping stairs. Seemingly accustomed to the layout, Ronni followed closely behind me, opening the heavy iron door at the bottom of the stairs.
It was the A.T. maintenance area. Two iron pillars crossed the ceiling, with pulleys attached. It looked like a makeshift crane used to move heavy parts. Three wide-angle lighting fixtures were installed between the iron pillars. It seemed to be a smaller version of a typical maintenance facility.
But the moment I saw the A.T. sitting in a section partitioned off by thin iron plates, I found myself reaching for the Armor Magnum at my waist.
The A.T., painted in a vibrant yellow, had a rounded design with no movable armor plates on the elbows or knees, which should have been standard. Additionally, it was equipped with a large booster on its back. It was clearly designed for space combat. Furthermore, the head only had a single scope lens, whereas it should have had at least two.
That A.T. was undoubtedly the Balarant Interstellar Army’s main weapon, the BATM-03 “Fatty.”
“What’s wrong?” Ronni asked me. “That’s my Frogger.”
“Frogger? The A.T. from that time?”
“Yeah,” Ronni replied cheerfully, apparently in a better mood.
“Ronni,” Covarn said, “I’m sorry, but could you take that A.T. to the maintenance shop? You can take the jeep too.”
“OK.”
He handed Ronni the jeep keys. Ronni opened the garage door and went inside. Covarn opened a door at the far end of the garage and said, “Come into this room.”
Following Covarn through the door, I found myself in a dark, cold room. Covarn closed the door behind him and turned on the light. “Look.”
“What’s this…?”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. In the dim light, I saw two A.T.s. They were so badly damaged that they could only be called wreckage.
“This is the one that was killed by that Black A.T.,” Covarn said, pointing to the one in front of us. It was the remains of what had once been an A.T. known as Scopedog.
However, the three turret lenses on its head, its most distinctive feature, were shattered, and the paint on its entire body was burned off, leaving only a little green paint on the armor plates around its waist. The tips of both arms were melted and rotted, exposing the metal of the machine, which was covered in black rust. The AT’s body surface wouldn’t have deteriorated this much unless it had been exposed to extremely high heat.
What’s more, there were unmistakable scars all over the body. They looked like they had been carved out by sharp claws, undoubtedly the work of the Black A.T.’s iron claw. There was no longer any doubt that it was in this city. I’d confirmed it.
“What kind of battle was it?” I asked. “This wouldn’t happen in a normal real battle.”
“I don’t know…”
“You don’t know!?” I shouted. “You were this guy’s matchmaker, weren’t you? Didn’t you see the match?”
“No, I didn’t,” Covarn said with a sigh. “He was killed outside the second-level arena.”
“Outside this level?”
“I see…” Covarn took a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it. “You don’t know much about Arg, do you…”
Every time Covarn opened his mouth, purple smoke escaped from his mouth and nose.
“This city has three levels, each with its own arena. What’s more, both have their own unique forms of entertainment.”
“Is that why you couldn’t see the match?” I said. “Surely there’s some kind of exchange between the levels.”
Covarn threw his cigarette on the floor, stomping on it as it scattered sparks.
“Don’t say ‘surely.’ Until about half a year ago, Arg was one city. But suddenly, travel between the layers was cut off. No, it’s not that simple. The military police forcibly closed the passageways to the third layer.”
“The military police? Why?”
“How should I know?” Covarn retorted. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here in the second layer.”
“Listen, half a year ago, I was the boss of the matchmakers in the third level.
But suddenly, I was thrown out of the city, and now look at me. Around the same time, those involved in battling could no longer move between levels. And two months ago, I heard rumors that the Black A.T. had entered the city of Arg.”
Covarn lit his second cigarette.
“Now, only Radolf and a few other Votoms pilots can travel between towns. Maybe that’s why a bunch of nasty Votoms pilots are gathering in the second level. But on the bright side, we can train young, skilled Votoms pilots in a short period of time.”
I took a cigarette from Covarn and lit it with the lighter he offered me. “So they’re being challenged by the Black A.T.?”
“It’s not just the young ones, but all the skilled old ones too,” said Covarn.
“So what kind of people does Radolf prefer?”
“I have no idea. There are all kinds—-those who use foul play, those skilled in strategy, and so on.”
“It’s like a showcase for battling,” I muttered.
“But in the end, they’re all the same. Their machines get burned up and turned into scrap. Well, you haven’t fought Radolf yet, so it’s hard to say. But a challenge from the Black A.T. in this town is the same as a death sentence.”
With that, Covarn threw down his second cigarette and started to leave the room.
“Wait a minute, what’s that A.T. in the back?”
“That one wasn’t destroyed by the black one.”
It certainly looked different from the other A.T.s in terms of damage. There were patches of red rust, and rather than being destroyed, it looks like it had naturally decayed.
In terms of scale, it wasn’t much different from the current Mid-class A.T., but the difference lay in its shape. Calculating the bullet penetration coefficient, the shoulder armor of the current A.T. is spherical, but that one was still angular. Moreover, the scope lens was housed in a bulge that protruded from the chest to the back, and there were no sensors attached.
“ATM-01 ‘Clever Camel.’ It’s an A.T. that was used a long time ago. Just a memory from my youth.“
Covarn looked nostalgic for a moment, but quickly returned to his sharp matchmaker’s gaze and said, ”I have to set up your match. Well, I think I can do it as I said earlier, but forgive me if there are any changes.“
”That’s fine.”
I tapped Covarn on the back and secretly attached a listening device to the back of his collar. He didn’t seem to notice, and left the room with a light step. I followed him back to the A.T. maintenance area. My jeep was parked in the center. Beside it, Ronni was fixed in a landing position on the cargo bed, looking up at Berserga.
“Blue Knight…that’s a good name,” Covarn said, looking at Berserga. “Hey, Blue Knight.”
“Blue Knight is my ring name when I’m riding Berserga. My name is Kain McDougal,” I said. “Kain is fine.”
“Got it, I’ll call you that,” Covarn said with a wry smile. “You’re a stickler for details.”
“Yeah…” I replied. “Sorry, but could you look for a guy named Kevec while you’re at it?”
“Sure thing. Ronni, I’ll leave the office to you for a bit.”
Covarn left the repair shop. Ronni handed me the keys to the jeep and left the room. I jumped into the back of the jeep and opened Berserga’s hatch. I put on the helmet that was thrown in there and sat down in the seat.
I inserted the mission disc into the right console and connected the retractable cable on the right side of the helmet to the socket on the seat side. The speakers built into the helmet began to play the sound picked up by the listening device attached to Covarn’s back.
At first, only footsteps could be heard, but after about five minutes, voices began to emerge. It seemed that Covarn had arrived at the arena.
A few polite words were exchanged. The other man appeared to be of higher rank than Covarn. When the conversation paused, Covarn’s voice, muffled by background noise, could be heard initiating the conversation.
— Commissioner, I believe we have received word from Radolf —
— I hear the Blue Knight has come to this town. I don’t mind letting him fight. It would be better to take your time and send word. —
— The thing is…he wants to do it tomorrow. —
— What? Tomorrow? —
— Yes, tomorrow at 4p.m. The arena is available at that time. —
— What a useless organizer. You and this arena aren’t making any money. —
— No, battling is something Votoms riders do, so let’s do as he says. It’s a match between a Red Shoulder and the Blue Knight, so we don’t need to advertise, the betting tickets will sell themselves. —
Covarn’s voice could be heard desperately trying to persuade him. Normally, matchmakers would prioritize their own interests when dealing with their superiors. Persuading the commissioner was an unthinkable act. He was a rare man.
— And I want you to allow the use of the pile bunker —
Just as Covarn’s voice was heard, something flashed at the right side of my vision.
It was a knife with a sharp blade. There was a lot of static in the transmission, and the external sound from the helmet’s speaker had been cut off, so I hadn’t noticed it. It charged straight at my chest — but in the next instant, I pulled myself back to the limit of the seat’s slide and grabbed the assassin’s wrist holding the knife.
It was a slender wrist. A woman’s hand.
I switched the audio on my helmet with my left hand and twisted the wrist. The knife fell with a clatter. It was Ronni’s voice.
“What the hell are you doing!” I shouted
“I… I’m sorry. I just wanted to see your skill.” She didn’t seem the least bit guilty. When I let go of her wrist, Ronni rubbed it and said, “I’ve heard rumors about you, but I didn’t know how strong you are.”
“So you came here to test me?” I was stunned. “You’re a woman, and you tried to test me?”
“That’s right!” Ronni shouted. “I’m a Votoms pilot too, I know how strong my opponents are!”
“Covarn is a naive matchmaker. He says he used to be a boss in the underworld, but he’s nothing but a puppet. I know that better than anyone because I’ve been working for Covarn for a year. So there’s nothing wrong with testing the skills of a man who’s working for the Black A.T., right?”
Ronni’s tightly clenched hands were shaking. “What are you saying to me? Don’t look down on me just because I’m a woman.”
“I’m sorry, I take it back.”
Having lived my entire life surrounded by merchants who skillfully manipulated words to deceive others and soldiers who had long since abandoned their emotions, I had no way of dealing with someone like Ronni who expressed her feelings so directly. All I could do was let it roll off my back.
“Well, whatever,” she said with a smug expression. “Kain, I see you’re the kind of guy who’s only looking for money, just like the rumors say.”
At that moment, the commissioner’s voice came through the communicator.
— Got it. We’ll have the match, just as you said —
I smirked. Within just a few hours of arriving in Arg, I had gotten the chance to fight the Black A.T. I placed my helmet on the seat and began repairing the Berserga, still wounded from the battle in Dara, preparing for the upcoming fight.
The next day, two hours before the match began, I borrowed Covarn’s truck and transported Berserga to the arena.
The waiting room — probably due to Covarn’s status as a matchmaker — was shared with the city’s “Tiger Bolts” battling team.
They seemed to be preparing for the match before mine, frantically adjusting their A.T.s. There were a dozen or so team members. Three men who looked like technicians surrounded the A.T., checking the air pressure of the suspension and the concentration of the polymer Ringer’s solution using instruments.
The young Votoms pilot riding the black and yellow mid-class dog-type A.T. looked like he had just started battling. He was constantly harangued by a man who seemed to be the team’s owner.
“Don’t worry. The arm punch stroke has been extended by 30mm. Moreover, this machine isn’t just some discarded model; it was obtained through military channels. Its performance is different.”
“Yes, sir!”
Judging by the way he answered while raising his hand lightly, it seems that these were former comrades from the same unit during the war who’d formed a battling team. The captain was probably still in the military, which is why he could obtain A.T.s through unofficial channels.
“That’s quite a large team,” Ronni said, his eyes wide.
When the Tiger Bolts’ match started, I left the waiting room and headed for the ticket booth next to the arena. Tickets were also sold in the stands, but it was quicker to buy them outside the arena in large quantities.
When I arrived at the ticket booth, there was a crowd of people. As I rushed to join them, a short man with a notebook in his right hand and a short pen in his left hand called out to me.
“Hey, brother, how about it? Want to bet with me? My bet has good odds. After all, the payout is 50-50. It’s not like the Chamber of Commerce’s Red Shoulder Seven.”
“I see, but I’m not interested,” I told the man and pushed my way into the crowd. Either way, I had no intention of betting on anyone but myself. The lower the odds, the better the payout.
But by the time I reached the ticket counter, all the betting tickets were sold out. The Chamber of Commerce regulated the number of tickets sold to average out the payouts. Feeling like I’d lost a chance to make some money, I returned to the waiting room and found out that the previous match had ended.
The young Tiger Bolts pilot was sitting on the bench with his shoulders slumped. His A.T. had lost both its arms, and the black and yellow stripes on his paint job were covered with white scars. The Captain was punching the pilot. It seemed he had lost in a very ugly way.
“You bastard, you ruined my brand new machine! Get off my team!”
The engineers were starting to leave. Ignoring them, I made the final adjustments to Berserga. Nothing major. I confirmed that the thermal infrared sensors, electro-optical sensors, metal detectors, capacitive sensors, and individual communication devices were all functioning properly and working together seamlessly. I confirmed it by checking the combat data displayed in my information processing goggles.
Next, I checked the operation of the gliding wheels on the feet. I inspected the distortion of the slide rails on the retractable arm punches on both arms and counted the number of liquid propellant cartridges in the pile bunker, Berserga’s retractable long spear launcher, mounted on the left arm. There were fifteen cartridges, allowing for five uses in this match.
Finally, I checked the water level of the catalyst within the muscle cylinder hyper-charger embedded in the back pack. This device instantly mixed the polymer Ringer’s solution filling the muscle cylinder of Berserga’s drive unit with the catalyst, increasing the contraction speed of the chemical fibers packed inside the cylinder by approximately 60%.
The repairs and adjustments to the machine were almost completely finished last night after five hours of work. I’d fallen asleep next to Berserga at dawn. I wanted to be in perfect condition for the match against Radolf, but the damage sustained in Dara was greater than I’d imagined.
The frame of the back pack was bent, and the mounting bracket of the right hip armor plate was broken. Compared to the internal electrical components, which were compatible with other models, exterior repairs were difficult.
Inside the A.T. were dozens of muscle cylinders arranged almost like human muscles. If the armor plates covering them were even slightly distorted, the A.T.’s movements would be restricted. Exterior parts for Mid-class dog-type and Heavy-class tortoise-type A.T.s were commonly available as replacement parts.
However, Berserga was a special A.T. designed for Quent mercenaries. There were no identical A.T.s in the entire Melkia system. Therefore, there were no replacement armor parts for the chassis. Ideally, I should’ve create a new mold, but we didn’t have time for that now.
In the past, there was an attempt to reuse the armor plates from a Diving Beetle, which was said to be the original model for Berserga, but it was a failed attempt due to excessive distortion. There was no other option but to re-forge the steel plates.
As I opened the maintenance hatch on Berserga’s abdomen and checked the condition of the accelerator pedal, the call announcement sounded, and my theme song, Berserker’s Night Journey, echoed through the air.
I closed the maintenance hatch, placed my feet on the roll bars on Berserga’s knees and chest, and lunged into the cockpit. With the cockpit hatch open, I exited the control room and entered a wide corridor. Though called a corridor, it had no ceiling. It was simply the divide between the arena’s spectator seats, split into two sections. Cheers from men leaning over the edges of the seats rained down on me from above.
As I guided Berserga into the ring, which was approximately 30 meters in diameter, Radolf Discohma’s A.T. was already waiting in the center. True to its name, Red Shoulder, the Mid-class A.T., Scopedog, had its right shoulder armor plate dyed the color of blood.
Its shape was the same as the conventional Scopedog. The five movable armor plates hanging from the waist, each 15mm thick, were standard, though they were the easiest part to modify. The only difference was that it was equipped with a backpack called a “mission pack” for long-term operations.
The mission pack had polymer Ringer’s solution tanks protruding from both sides, which served to slow down the deterioration of the muscle cylinders inside the machine. This extended the A.T.’s maximum operational time by approximately three times. Additionally, the backpack could store large amounts of combat data such as terrain information, enabling wide-area combat operations. A single Berserga mission disc alone can store terrain information within a radius of approximately 20,000 kilometers. The information capacity of the mission pack, said to be ten times that of a mission disc, is beyond estimation.
During the Hundred Years’ War, it was used for long-term military campaigns on a single planet. I also used an A.T. equipped with a mission pack during the war. With an average combat time of five hours per day and a cruising speed of 16 hours, it could operate for approximately seven days without resupply.
However, our battle time was limited to 30 minutes. The mission pack was nothing more than a useless accessory.
I had just walked Berserga up to the Scopedog and stopped when I could see Radolf’s defiant expression from inside the cockpit. Suddenly, four small military vehicles rolled in from all four sides. They approached our A.T.s and lowered what appeared to be large weapons from their cargo beds. There were four of them in total.
“Are you going to use these?” I asked Radolf.
“Regular games don’t entertain the customers,” Radolf said, closing the hatch of the dog-type A.T. At the same time, he picked up one of the weapons lying at his feet with his metal arm. It was a massive chainsaw with a blade at least two meters long. Two grips protruded from the base near the handle, each about 20 centimeters in diameter, matching the size of the A.T.’s manipulator.
Radolf’s voice came through the communicator. “Let’s begin.”
At the same time, the dog-like A.T. gripped the chainsaw with both hands and activated it, raising it overhead.
In response, I raised my control stick, which had been horizontal, and closed the hatch. With a high-pitched whine, the chainsaw swung down. But at the last moment, I flipped and dodged it. With a loud roar, the chainsaw cut through the air. Concrete fragments flew up from the ground.
“That was fast. You moved to the next action 0.2 seconds after closing the hatch.”
“You’re collecting data on Berserga…”
I grabbed the huge axe lying at my feet — with a blade over a meter and a half long and a short handle.
“If this data analysis proves that you’re a Votoms pilot with the skills the Black A.T. is looking for, he’ll send you a challenge…no, a death sentence,” Radolf said through the speaker. His voice was expressionless. When that mask of emotionless calm broke, he would reveal his true nature as a Red Shoulder and attack.
“Blue Knight, now I’m making my movie!”
As Radolf spoke, the dog’s body moved swiftly, pulling the chain saw out of the ground and holding it horizontally, then slashed horizontally.
I moved my machine backward. But at that moment, a high-pitched sound rang out at the base of the cockpit.
The chain saw had sliced through the roll bar on my chest. It may have even sliced into Berserga’s chest.
“The body rigidity is…extremely high. Armor plates are 20mm class,” Radolf muttered. The dog lunged forward again.
In an instant, I stepped on the accelerator pedal. The gliding wheels screeched, and Berserga’s body began to rapidly close in on the dog.
“The pilot’s skills are…not good. Are you trying to self-destruct?” Radolf’s voice rang out. “What the hell!”
With a clear “clang,” the chain flew off and into the air. The chain saw broke in two in Dog’s hand. Berserga had struck the chainsaw’s base with the axe.
“Is that all you’ve got, Red Shoulder?” I rammed my machine into the dog. The machine screeched with an immense impact. His large backpack meant that his balance must be off. I stomped the accelerator pedal to the floor, aiming to push him over. His machine tilted!
At that moment, the dog spun with unbelievable agility. When it stood up after spinning around, it was holding a blunt weapon about 50cm thick in its right arm. The audience let out a loud cry. Gliding wheels scattered sparks at the dog’s feet. He swung the blunt weapon and rushed forward rapidly.
My monitor was filled with Dog’s turret-style triple scope lens. I tilted forward and stomped on the accelerator pedal. The machine should start sliding sideways. That’s what I thought, but at that moment, an impact ran through the cockpit from the left front, and I slammed my helmet into the cockpit hatch.
As if on cue, successive impacts ran through the body. All I could see on the monitor was the dog’s expressionless scope lens.
I raised Berserga’s arm and swung the axe straight ahead. The figure disappeared from the monitor. However, the metal scanning sensor did not lose track of the dog. He had circled around to my right side.
I turned my head to the right. The image on the monitor moved accordingly. The dog came into view. It twisted its lower legs backward — yes, using his landing gear — and reached for a three-meter-long spear lying at his feet.
I had Berserga throw the axe. It roared and spun at high speed, aiming for the dog’s feet. But I couldn’t injure it. It knocked the axe away with the bludgeon it had switched to in its left arm. And it did so from a landing pose, requiring precise balance.
Red Shoulder. That’s right, it seems the rumors about this unit being composed of elite warriors were true. After all, even rookie Votoms pilots sometimes tipped their machines over during landing.
The dog readied weapons in both arms and closed in while swinging its spear. A roller dash. It loomed larger on my monitor. When it was just one meter away, it made an unusual move.
He grabbed the butt of his spear with his right arm, thrust it toward Berserga, and activated the arm punch. The right elbow of the dog extended due to the explosive pressure from the liquid propellant cartridge. At that moment, a sharp vibration sounded from Berserga’s right shoulder. The Quent-made sensor mounted there had been blown off. The display of the metal-detecting scanning sensor disappeared from the monitor.
“Pile… It’s a pile bunker!”
“That’s right. Even with only an arm punch, it has the destructive power of a lethal weapon.” Radolf’s voice could be heard. “Berserga isn’t the only one who can use a long spear. Since it doesn’t extend beyond a certain range, I can cover it with reach.”
The dog, still thrusting the spear forward, began swinging its left hand weapon.
“It seems you didn’t have enough strength to take on the Black A.T., did you?” Radolf said with a confident voice. “You’ll die here.”
Just as Radolf let out a sharp yell, The dog’s left arm threw the striking weapon with precision. It sliced through the air with a whistling sound, closing in on Berserga.
I instinctively pressed the red button on the right console. It was the button for the muscle cylinder hyper-charger. It had a 0.3 second time lag before activating. Would it be in time?
The monitor was filled with the image of the melee weapon roaring as it flew forward. I prayed. At that moment, with a low growl, the muscle cylinder activated at 160% of its usual power, and the gliding wheels screeched beneath my feet.
Berserga parried the attacking weapon with its right arm and closed in on its prey like a beast. On the monitor, its body loomed closer. It swing its spear to the center and raised it to shoulder level.
— Closing in.
“Pile bunker!”
I pulled the lever on the left side with all my strength. The long spear embedded in Berserga’s shield was fired at the dog’s right shoulder with the explosive force of three liquid gunpowder cartridges.
The dog dropped the metal rod from its right arm. The pile bunker pierced its right shoulder without missing its target. The spherical armor plate shattered.
“How about it?” I asked. “Think I can handle the challenge of the Black A.T.?”
“Ultimately, it’s up to him,” Radolf said. “I’ll tell you one thing. Your A.T.’s data is on the list of enemies the Black A.T. has fought. And it hasn’t changed a bit since the old days.”
“Sha Bak’s data?”
“Yes. This Scopedog’s mission pack contains all the data on the Black A.T.’s previous opponents. Your A.T. hasn’t changed a bit since its previous owner.”
Radolf paused before continuing.
“You’re still relying too much on your A.T.’s power. The Shadow Flare rarely uses duplicate data. That means the probability of you fighting the Black A.T. is extremely low.“ Radolf said.
”What did you say?” Just as I shouted that, there was a sudden explosion. It wasn’t just one. Two or three bombs exploded at the same time.
“You bastard, you cheater!” Radolf yelled through the communicator. But I had no idea what caused this.
“Remember this, I’ll pay you back for breaking my right shoulder.” Radolf’s voice echoed and faded away.
Those bombs were designed to produce smoke rather than explosive force. In an instant, the arena was engulfed in black smoke, which rose up to the stands where screams echoed.
My Berserga was originally an A.T. designed for land combat. On top of that, the body was covered in damage, and there was no airtightness to speak of. Smoke quickly filled the cockpit, and I began to choke.
At that moment, the infrared sensor detected eight iron masses approaching. Simultaneously, the monitor’s feed switched to infrared. It displayed an A.T. from the enemy nation Balarant. The same one I had seen in Covarn’s office. The Fatty.
“Ronni?” I shouted into the communicator. “What are you doing here?”
But there was no reply. The Fatty in front of me sprayed air from its feet and rose off the ground. The Fatty hovered and then charged toward Berserga.
As if on cue, the A.T.s surrounding us also began to move. Looking at the monitor, they were painted in two-tone colors, with roll bars on the front of their heads and large shields on both arms. They were military police A.T.s. Before I could even wonder why Ronni and the military police were here, the Fatty jumped at me from in front.
With a loud roar, its right arm extended from the elbow down. But here’s no way a Fatty had an arm punch mechanism.
That moment of confusion delayed my reaction. The instant the Fatty’s body disappeared from the monitor, a tremendous noise rang out above the cockpit, and the hatch flew open. The monitor showed the ceiling of Arg City.
Choking on black smoke, I repeatedly pushed the control stick down until it was level and pulled it back up to the upright position, repeating the cockpit opening and closing sequence. However, the cockpit hatch wouldn’t close. The effects of the intense battle with Radolf were finally catching up to me.
However, I could confirm the positions of the military police A.T.s closing in around me in a circle. Their only weapons should be heavy machine guns with shortened barrels. They were now within three meters of me. In close combat, heavy machine guns are not effective weapons. A pile bunker might be a viable option.
I shifted Berserga into a fighting stance. A high-pitched screeching sound came from outside the cockpit, and the military police A.T. units, indicated by light points on the sensor, gathered in one spot. Instantly, the sensor image spread out. The infrared sensor switches to narrow range only when the enemy approaches within a two-meter radius.
Just as I aimed the pile bunker at the military police A.T. approaching from the left front, a dull impact sounded. Intense electric shocks ran through the machine. The military police in this city were equipped with electric shock rods. But by the time I realized it, it was already too late. The light points on the sensor disappeared from the goggles, and even the monitor’s image vanished. The machine came to a stop.
I quickly pulled out the mission disc. As an impact ran through the rear, the body shook violently. With my limbs numb from the electric shock, I was thrown out of the cockpit. The cable extending from my helmet snapped with a loud noise.
I ripped off the helmet and stood up unsteadily. I hadn’t been hit directly by the electric shock rod. I could still move. But the A.T.s surrounded me, holding their rods, closing in.
Just as I reached for the gun at my waist, a pilot jumped out of the military police A.T.’s cockpit and tackled me.
As I fell to the ground, I shouted, “You bastard!” At that moment, the cockpit of the Fatty in front of me opened. Inside was a woman. She was wearing a dust mask, but there was no doubt it was Ronni.
The man who had tackled me grabbed the Armor Magnum from my waist, and Ronni said, “Take him to the usual place.”
The man handed Ronni my Armor Magnum and said, “What about the A.T.?”
“I’ll handle it,” Ronni replied simply.
After that, it was the usual pattern. A large man from the military police A.T. came down, grabbed my hair, pulled me up, and pointed a gun at me. It was just as the smoke was beginning to clear.
To be continued