Pain Bringer (The Constant War Book 2), page 18
Rousseau touched the side of his nose, a master of charades.
“You don’t think a civilian is going to be a liability?”
“The council has assured me that he won’t be.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have for you. So what do you think?”
Wilkins raised a hand to his brow. Rousseau mirrored the motion in anticipation of the salute. Except Wilkins wasn’t saluting. He rested his forehead against the palm of his hand. “Melody is going to be so pissed.”
“My baby!” echoed through the hangar.
Char ran toward the plastic sheen buried under a pile of broken, smoldering Tigerclaws in the reclamation net. She put a foot on the side of the lander and stepped onto the flatbed, when an operations worker pulled her back to the ground.
“Better stay offa that thing.”
Char raised a finger, about to give him a piece of her mind, when a large bucket claw swung overhead. An industrial crane pivoted on tank treads. The bucket plunged into the Tigerclaws, dug one out of the reclamation net, and placed it on the service repair pad a few meters away.
Hydraulics whined as the crane moved back into position and dropped the bucket into the pile of mecha. Steel plates, like fingers, cinched around the waist of the Painbringer.
“Hey!” shouted Char. “Watch it with that, will ya? That thing is fragile.”
“This hunk of junk?” said the crane operator. His opinion wasn’t exactly wrong—the Painbringer had seen better days. Its left engine hung limply off its side. Coils of rubberized tubing hung out of it like intestines from an eviscerated animal. “Where do you want it?”
“I’ll tell you where you can put it,” said Char.
He ignored the remark. “Laboratory it is.”
Swirling orange lights flashed and an incessant beeping sounded. The treads turned in opposition, spinning the crane in place. It carried the Painbringer to a massive pair of steel doors marked: AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY. A grid of green lasers scanned the vehicle. After a moment, something on the other side clanked and the doors rumbled open.
The crane rolled into the laboratory.
Char cautiously followed. For the first time since they landed, Char’s attention was not on the Painbringer. She scanned the laboratory for any signs of Marcia or Einhorn. The control booth lights were off. The operating table was empty and the construction arms were put away along the far wall.
“Want to give me a hint on where she goes?” the crane operator shouted down at her.
Char pointed at the Painbringer’s recharging unit. “It goes over there.”
“Righty-oh.”
The crane arm pivoted with several jerky movements. But as it drew near the recharging unit, the motion became smooth as glass. In fact, Char was surprised by the precision of such a large and clunky-looking machine. Not to mention the burly man operating it didn’t look like someone that prized care or finesse. Yet, the crane operator gently placed the Painbringer in its recharging unit with barely a sound.
No small task either. Due to the damage, the Painbringer no longer properly fit in its recharging unit. The crane operator let the toes touch, allowing the mecha to settle. Then he gently leaned it against the right bracket, keeping firm grasp of it with the bucket claw, until he felt like it wouldn’t crumble under its own weight. The crane operator withdrew the arm, and by some miracle, the Painbringer was standing upright-ish in its recharging unit. A job perfectly executed.
“She’s all yours.” He yanked a lever, and the crane spun a hundred and eighty degrees on top of its treads, which were now moving in reverse.
Char patted the Painbringer on the shin. “Sorry about that.”
She felt a hand on her shoulder. Slowly, she turned and met Einhorn’s gaze. For some reason, he didn’t look thrilled to see her. “Einy! How have you been?”
“You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“News to me.”
“Why was my prototype in the reclamation nets?”
“How would I know? I’m grounded, remember? I’ve just been, ya know, doing normal Heaven girl stuff.”
“You took the prototype—”
“—the Painbringer—” Char corrected.
“—you took it out for a joyride.”
“How do you know I took it? It could have been anyone. I mean, you don’t exactly have the best security. I mean, look at that door.” Char pointed at the massive steel security doors that towered overhead. “Only a couple swift kicks with a Tigerclaw and wham-bam—instant access to the latest and greatest. Anyone can do that. Why you gotta single me out, huh?”
“Char, you are literally the only person that can pilot the B-77.”
“The Painbringer,” Char sharply corrected.
“I trusted you. You were supposed to look after things while I was out of the lab. How could you do that to me? Do you know what kind of position you have put me in?”
“Yeah, uh, about that…”
Einhorn waited for an answer.
Char shrugged. “I got nothing.”
“Typical.”
“Hey, let’s not get personal now. I may be a lot of things, but I’m definitely not typical.”
“You took it to Sindarhe, didn’t you?”
“I’m not saying I didn’t go.” Einhorn glared at her, impatiently tapping his foot. “But yeah, I totally went.”
“It isn’t a toy for you to play with, Char.”
“Isn’t it? You said it yourself. I’m the only one that can pilot it.”
“That is not how this works.”
“Tomato, potato.”
“I—first, that’s not the saying. Second, I have to report this.”
“What—why?”
“Why do I have to report the theft of the most advanced mecha on Heaven?”
“I mean, I get why. But you don’t have to.”
“You’re impossible. That’s why.” Einhorn headed for the stairs leading up to the control booth. Char chased after him, grabbed his sleeve, and planted her feet. She leaned her weight against his forward motion, stopping him in his tracks.
“You can’t!” she shouted. “They’ll boot me from the program.”
Einhorn shook her off his sleeve. “Yes, well you should have thought about that before you stole your so-called Painbringer.”
He locked eyes with her and stared in silence. Odd. What was he doing? He wasn’t making headway toward the control booth, nor the comms.
He was waiting.
For her.
“Hold up a sec,” said Char. “You knew the instant the Painbringer went missing, but you waited until now to say anything? And you’re saying this to me instead of just reporting it?”
Einhorn’s silence was all the answer she needed.
“You don’t actually want to report it. You just want to hold it over my head.”
Einhorn tilted his head from side to side, weighing his options. “That does not change anything.”
“Uh-huh, nothing. That changes a whole lot. How many people did you turn to paste before you found me? How likely are you to find another person that can pilot the Painbringer?”
“I—”
“You got nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Just me. Like you said, I’m the only one that can pilot the Painbringer. And you don’t want to lose your little science experiment. That’s why you haven’t reported it.”
“Not yet. But now, I have to. Look at it.” Einhorn nodded at the Painbringer. “I can’t hide that.”
“Yeah, right, like you’d let a little bit of repairs bring your operation to a standstill. There’s no way you’re going to report me. You lose as much as I do. Probably more.”
“With one hundred percent certainty, I lose more. That’s not even a question.” Einhorn crossed his arms. His right hand went to his chin, and he rested the weight of his head on it.
There was so much Char wanted to blurt. Silence never sat well with her. But what was there to say? She knew without a smidgen of doubt that Einhorn would never turn her in. At least, not as long as she was the only one that could pilot the Painbringer.
It would spell the end of the prototype trials.
Not to mention, the security breach that such a confession would bring. Heaven would never put him in charge of anything with higher clearance than making coffee.
“Am I interrupting?” asked Dr. Scott. He stood in the doorway, between the laboratory and the hangar. The giant steel doors were still open. Although Dr. Scott no longer wore his pressure suit, it didn’t appear he had enough time to fully change after the mission. Instead, the black on black spandex he wore beneath it clung to his wiry athletic frame. His duffel was slung over a shoulder.
“Jason…” Char turned blossom red. “What are you doing here?”
“Wilkins said you were in here, so, I, uh…”
Char beamed. “You came looking for me.”
“Well, yeah.”
Einhorn shook his head. “Now, I really have to report it.”
“Report what?” asked Dr. Scott.
“He doesn’t even know,” said Char. “We’re fine.”
“Know what?”
“Nothing,” said Char. “It’s fine.”
“If it’s important, I can come back later.” Dr. Scott pointed toward the exit.
“It’s nothing really. Einy is just a little upset about the Painbringer is all.”
“Oh.” Dr. Scott glanced at the Painbringer in its recharging unit. At its damaged state. Char made a low grunting noise, but stopped herself before she blurted out anything incriminating. Under no circumstances could she let him tell Einhorn what happened on Sindarhe. How she had damaged the Tigerclaws—and, well, the Painbringer wasn’t her fault—that was all Wilkins—but she didn’t think Einhorn, or anyone, would see it that way. She also couldn’t tell Dr. Scott what to say in front of Einhorn, either, without tipping him off that more went down than she let on. Instead, she squinted at Dr. Scott, hoping her thoughts would burn a hole directly into his brain. Please, please, please, don’t tell Einy what happened!
Apparently, it worked. “If it’s of any consolation,” said Dr. Scott. “I requested the presence of the Painbringer on my away mission.”
Einhorn furrowed his brow. “Did you now?”
“Blame me for any damage it sustained. It wasn’t Char’s fault. I should have been more careful in sending out the team.”
With deliberation, Einhorn raised his wrist display and brought up a holographic projection. “I don’t see any mention of your request in my logs.”
“You can check with Reynold Morgan. He arranged the whole thing. I told him I didn’t feel safe on Sindarhe without support. He assured me that only the best would be made available for my scientific inquiries.”
“You requested”—Einhorn searched for the right word—“her?”
“Not her, per se. But the presence of the Painbringer, yes. At the time, I was unaware that it was piloted by such charming young lady.”
“Charming? Now I know we’re not talking about the same person.” Einhorn scowled at Char. Then, a twisted smile bloomed. Char did not like the expression one bit. Einhorn asked, “Just what happened out there?”
“Einy!” Char leapt up, grabbed his wrist, and held it down so he could no longer read the display. The holographic projection continued to rotate. “Play nice. He just made the discovery of the millennium.”
“No, no, no,” said Einhorn. He lifted Char off her feet and placed her down next to him. “I think I have some right to know exactly what happened out there.”
“He is right, Char,” said Dr. Scott. “He should know.”
“But…no,” Char pouted.
It was one thing to take the Painbringer out from under Einhorn’s nose. It was another entirely to have destroyed half the platoon. Prototype trials or not, there was no way Einhorn could stay silent if he knew the truth.
Dr. Scott cleared his throat. “We discovered an anomaly in the side of the Engine-1. A crack of some sort.”
“A crack?”
“Unfortunately, we discovered it too late. Apparently, it was a gas leak. The mecha fleet had put up for the night. A spark ignited the gas, and the explosion took out half the fleet, including the Painbringer.”
“Why is this explosion not in the mission logs?”
“It will be. Most of the reports aren’t in yet. And perhaps, we’re still a little over exuberant about our discovery. I guess it’s easier to celebrate the good than own up to the bad.”
Einhorn tapped a finger against his nose. “And that’s all that happened?”
Char gulped. Dr. Scott nodded. “That is all that happened in regard to the mecha.”
Einhorn redirected his attention toward her. “Char?”
Char nodded vigorously. “That’s exactly what happened. Strange crack. Gas leak. Kablam-o. Broken mecha.”
Einhorn paced away from the pair. He stopped with his back toward them, crossed his arms once again, a hand under his chin, and he stared up at the ceiling.
“Einy,” said Char, her voice laced with concern. “Are we good here?”
Einhorn didn’t budge, looking like a rendition on some famous statue—a variation on the Thinker, maybe.
“Einy…” Char slinked up beside him and put her lips to his ear. “Einy!”
With the flat of his palm, he nudged her away. “I’m thinking.”
“Well, think faster.”
His head bobbed. “Yes. I think this might work.”
“Might work?” Char didn’t like the sound of that. She already considered Einhorn something of a mad scientist. Tapping at his nostril, indiscriminately looking at the ceiling, and uttering how a disaster might somehow fit into his plans didn’t dissuade her of that notion. “So, we’re good, right?”
“Good? No. But now we have another issue. While you were off gallivanting around, the council greenlit the Painbringer for a new mission.”
“A new mission!” Her eyes went wide and she shoved Einhorn. “Way to bury the lede, Einy. Where are they sending me?”
“Earth.”
“Earth?” Char sucked in so much air that her lungs began to burn. She burst with enthusiasm. “I get to go the surface!”
“Already?” asked Dr. Scott. “That discovery is hours old and they already have a new mission plan?”
“At the behest of Reynold Morgan, no less. He insisted. Despite misgivings several others had about the idea.”
“Morgan pushed for this?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
Char ran around in circles with her arms extended. “I get to go the surface! I get to go to the surface!”
“In what vehicle?” asked Einhorn.
Char froze in place, a statue in mid-sprint. “The Painbringer?”
“That Painbringer?” He pointed at the broken-down mecha, leaning against its recharging unit. At that exact moment, the left engine fell off its block and crashed to the floor.
“Einy, you have to fix it!” Char pawed at his coat, not really grabbing for traction or anything practical. More for sheer annoyance. “Please, please, please, please, please.”
“I mean, look at the damage. I don’t think it can be ready in time.”
“Please, please, please, please, please.”
Einhorn sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, but, Char…”
“Yes?”
“Please, don’t go behind my back again.”
Char jumped up into his arms. He strained under her weight. An exuberant shout echoed through the massive double doors into the hangar. Every operations worker within earshot turned toward the commotion.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.” With an over-exaggerated ‘Mm-wah!’ she planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, well, don’t thank me yet. I have a feeling I may regret this decision.”
Chapter Twenty
Fairhaven plopped down on their Murphy bed. Gently sitting was no longer a thing. Getting into any position other than standing was a leap of faith.
Or rather, a fall.
She bent her legs and let gravity do the rest, ending up wherever she may. Wobbling back against the headboard, she awkwardly positioned a half-dozen pillows behind her back, trying to get comfortable.
Unsatisfied with her posture, she grunted a couple times, but close enough was good enough. It had to be. With her body encumbering movement, she didn’t have much choice. Clumsily, she swiped a handheld radio from the nightstand and cranked it to command frequencies. She had been monitoring them earlier, listening to the landing procedures as the Marines returned from their away mission and flight control docked them one by one in the hangar bay.
But that had been a half hour ago.
Wilkins should have been back by now.
What was keeping him?
It was the wrong question to ask. She should have been asking—who was keeping him?
But she knew the answer to that as well. She had seen the Painbringer in the reclamation net.
And absolutely did not want to dwell on it. Not without Wilkins face to face, so she could lay into him for abandoning her to spend time with—
She felt like a pressure cooker. Not just her size, but she started to boil when flight control made no mention of Wilkins.
Nor the Painbringer.
Heat rose in distorted ribbons, building, rising. She took her aggressions out on a pillow that was jutting into her back, violently tossing it at the front door. It hit with silent fury and bounced impotently to the ground.
Where was he?
Ever since the pregnancy, she felt her entire world caving in around her. Only recently, had she noticed how small their apartment actually was—something she never noticed when she was with Wilkins.
But alone, their home felt like a prison.
She was claustrophobic.
Cut off from everyone.
Their apartment wasn’t much more than a living space with a fold-out Murphy bed taking up much of the room. There was a small kitchenette with a heating surface for cooking. In the corner, a door led to a bathroom with a working shower. Everything was spartan with a singular feature to approximate luxury.
