Marathon, Pacific Rim fusion 2
And part 2! Same content notes as the first part.
Part 1.
The main job of pilots in Hong Kong without kaiju to fight was fighting themselves, far as he could tell. Strauss didn't have any more interest in him since Durandal had provided computer puzzles to hack at, so the pilot had free time and then some. Could only polish guns so many times; when he couldn't find any work to do on Boomer he ended up in the training rooms. Potentials and active pilots mainly sparred with each other, showy fights for fun and improving compatibility. Not his style, but he liked watching them, especially when Parinya was teaching; she was world-class. For his training, he ran, lifted weights some, hit a punching bag, all solo workouts. Sometimes others watched him, but by then everyone knew he was the freak single pilot and no one wanted to get close.
Except Mako. She had it in for him, always trying to get him to fight her or pilot with her, like a spar was going to change his mind. He liked her guts, didn't so much like her popping out of corners at him all the time. He didn't want a co-pilot and wasn't going to fight a kid.
"Why not?" she said, after second time he turned her down on the same day.
"Yes, why not?" Durandal said in his ear. "Not that it isn't hilarious to watch her nip at your heels like a puppy trying to play with a bull, but it could be even more fun to see the two of you actually fight. I wouldn't be betting on you, mind; I've seen her training records."
"Abuse of phone privileges," the pilot muttered, and Mako squinted at him. "Sorry, asshole cousin on the line." ("Cousin? That's it, you're kaiju-bait.") "Look, kid, don't know how old you are -"
"I am seventeen," Mako said. "Not a child."
Fair point, he hadn't been a kid at seventeen either. "Doesn't matter," he said. "I don't know how to fight showy, just to win. Not pretty, not for fun. Better off sticking with your friends."
"I want to fight!"
"You will," he said, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice. "But not yet. And not with me."
She opened her mouth to argue more, but he'd gone back to his punching bag and next punch split it open. Happened to him a lot; when he turned around to get another she was gone.
"It's almost a pity," Durandal said after the pilot hung up the new bag and started punching. "She might be even more interesting to pilot with than you - she's certainly prettier, by human standards."
"Some friend you are." He was glad to hear from Durandal anyway. They talked some in the evenings and mornings since he bunked down in Boomer's conn-pod most nights, but otherwise Durandal was busy giving Strauss a wild goose chase and not chatty. It worried him, but nothing he could do about it, so the worry got shoved to the back of his mind where he didn't have to think about it too much. "How's life?"
"Still leading Strauss around by the nose, thank you for asking, but it is getting a little more difficult. He's called Central twice already trying to find out which techs have done programming work on Boomer; I give it one more call before he believes them when they say no one's touched the core AI. He'll want you back for more testing any day now."
"Mmm. Can't wait." The seams on the new punching bag were stretching out; he took it down and hauled the broken one over to a corner to sew up. "You holding out okay?"
"Do you have some reason for thinking I'm not?" Durandal said.
He didn't; just a feeling. Didn't say so, and after a minute Durandal said, "It's more annoying than I anticipated at first, I'll grant. All of these tedious, repetitive tests, attempts to crack my core programming - I don't know what a human equivalent would be. Like having someone whistle the same off-key tune in your ear for hours and hours while you're working on two important but dull projects at the same time."
"Sounds rough. Sorry."
"I could do it with one hand tied behind my back if I had hands. You should be more worried about Mako shanking you for a chance to pilot Boomer."
Despite Durandal's prediction, a week of punching bags and fussing over Boomer's paint job passed before Strauss called him in for another Drift test. Strauss had bags under his eyes and hair sticking up on one side of his head; sounded a lot less friendly than before as he said, "I don't know where Central digs up its programmers, but whoever's been tinkering with Crazy Boomer's AI systems is a mad genius."
The pilot hoped Durandal wasn't listening. That computer had a big enough ego already.
"- can't isolate this Silence in the Library protocol from certain essential base functions," Strauss was saying, "but I've inserted some tracking - oh, never mind, you don't know what I'm talking about anyway, do you?"
"Nossir."
Strauss sighed and tried to flatten some of the stick-up hair. "Well, the point is that I've had to find some work-arounds, but I've gotten them in place so I should be able to get more of the information I need this time. Just do whatever you usually do, like last time. And take off the phone, it could interfere with my readings."
The pilot took the phone headset off in the drivesuit room as ordered. First thing he heard in the Drift was Don't talk to me out loud. Strauss may have bugged the conn-pod.
What? Don't know for sure?
He went through and physically shut down every sensor in the pod last night for two hours. The one night you didn't sleep here, of course. Frustration buzzed through the Drift, and the pilot's nerves jangled. I don't know what he was up to, don't like it anyway. If he's already guessed that I'm here - just keep your lips zipped.
Well, he could do that. The test wasn't hard, just another walk around the hangar, but the Drift crackled with tension, no smooth ride like usual. By the time he got out and lost the suit he had a shake in his left arm and his feet felt strange, too small and fleshy. Not good.
Strauss caught him on his way to the training rooms. "I need to discuss your experience in the conn-pod more thoroughly," Strauss said, "get an exact description of what you perceive while you're Drifting - it will help me get a fix on what I need to be looking for during the next round of testing."
His fists ached to hit something, anything to anchor him in his body again, and Strauss's face was in easy range. "Later."
"It's vital that I hear your first-hand, immediate impressions," Strauss said, blocking the way.
"Don't want to talk. Later." If he opened his mouth much more he'd spit out code instead of words. Or worse.
"I don't think you understand how important this is. If I can ascertain -"
"It's you who fails to understand, Doctor. I am tired of being poked and prodded like a circus animal - I want to be left alone for a few minutes. Ascertain yourself and get the hell out of my way!"
Strauss gaped like a fish. Easy to push past him and keep going. Made it all the way to favorite training room and punching bag and then he just leaned against it, scratchy cloth digging into sweaty skin, heat beating against his ribs like another heart. Wrong heart, wrong texture, grating against senses that should be orderly and detached - clenched right hand into a fist and smacked it into the punching bag, barely made a sound. "Durandal!"
No answer. He'd left the phone in the drivesuit room. "Fuck! Shit! Fucking shit damn hell fuck!" He hit the punching bag again and got a good thwack. His anger this time, his instinct. Shit. He'd ghost-Drifted before, but never that bad; never had Durandal's voice in his mouth cracking out like a whipped chain.
He wrapped his hands and punched the bag until he felt flesh and blood again, red seeping out of his knuckles, then went back for the phone. First thing he heard when he picked it up was "I want to hit something. Or someone."
"I know. Told Strauss to ascertain himself."
"His face must have been a sight. I'll have to look up the security footage, if there is any." Silence while the pilot made sure he hadn't forgotten anything else in the drivesuit room. "No more sleeping in Boomer for you, I think; you've done enough to get Strauss's suspicions up as it is."
"What? What if he tries it again, breaks something or finds out? You got to tell me these things."
"The damage is done," Durandal said. "You can't spend all day and all night in the conn-pod anyway, and it would look strange if you showed up every time someone came in for routine maintenance or whatever. Leave Strauss to me and try to act like you'd actually consider taking a co-pilot."
"Durandal -"
"Don't get all emotional with me, you big baby, save it for someone who cares."
"Nah, just gonna say give 'em hell."
"You can take that for granted."
---
Strauss never did try and get him back for that post-Drift talk. Suited him fine. He didn't even go near Boomer for a few days, just trained and watched some videos from the Shatterdome's library during downtimes in his bunker room. Parinya boxed him a couple times and he even let Mako show him a few quarterstaff moves for fun; proved nothing compatibility-wise, so he failed at that, but better than not trying.
Durandal didn't call. Hard to tell if that was a good sign or a bad one.
Eventually he got bored without tools in his hands and went to the hangar one afternoon, saw scaffolds and a swarm of mechanics around Boomer's feet and stopped cold. Hadn't been more than a week, Boomer wasn't due for any heavy maintenance - he got closer and looked for familiar faces, spotted one who ought to know - head of Boomer's crew, Mila Wong. "Mila! What's this? There a problem?"
"Problem? Not that I know of, chief," Mila said. "Just working on those upgrades you asked for. Plans looked good, we should have them up and running in a week or two - had some prototype engines on hand already, haven't had to modify much, thank God."
"Upgrades," the pilot said. "Right, sorry, slipped my mind. Beg pardon, got to take a call."
He got out of the crew's earshot over by a hangar wall and tapped phone. "Hey! What's this about upgrades?"
"Jet engines," Durandal said.
"Jet - how in hell did you work that?"
"I went through the proper channels, if that's what you're worried about. Hong Kong has a much bigger budget for research and development; I submitted the blueprints before we left, they were finally approved a week ago. The joys of bureaucracy."
"Submitted blueprints? Jesus fuck!" He wiped sweat off his forehead. "Should have told me - you can't just do that. Not without saying!"
"And why shouldn't I?" Durandal snapped. "Boomer is mine. Unlike you, I don't have another body, and if I want to improve the one I've got, I will. I don't need your permission, and I don't need you to pilot. As a matter of fact, I don't need you at all!" Up above plate metal groaned, Boomer's right hand flexing, and the crew ran shouting and ducking for cover. "I deserve the chance to make my own decisions! I don't need you whining at me while I'm effectively under siege and I don't need -"
"Okay, okay, just stop! Durandal, you got to stop moving, he's gonna see you!"
Boomer's hand ground to a stop, fingers half stretched out; the crew clustered together well away from the Jaeger and yelled at each other with big angry gestures.
"Shit." The pilot leaned against the wall, breathed in deep and rivets dug into his back. "Sorry. Didn't mean - surprised me, that's all."
"I've been telling you I wanted jets for months, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise. If you'd let me get them back at Central, we wouldn't have had to come here in the first place."
"Not how it works," the pilot said. "Anything I can do?" He didn't like how Durandal sounded, too rough and angry and almost human.
"I'm not a child, I don't need your help. Or your coddling."
"Fuck you too. Meant as a friend."
"Really?" Durandal said, but not so harsh. "Then as a friend - which I suppose you are, of some sort - let me take care of this myself." Paused. "And if anyone asks you to sign any papers about testing experimental technology on Boomer, do it."
He laughed. "Yeah, fine. Engines better not blow up, though."
"They won't. Unlike some people, I know what I'm doing."
They spent the rest of the afternoon on familiar routines. He crawled around Boomer's right hand checking for damage and watching crew scurry down below; Durandal played music through the old portable radio and read out poetry in Latin. They could have been home at Central, even with the occasional silence in case of listeners. He slept in the conn-pod that night, too, got his first full night of decent sleep in a week until Durandal blasted him awake with French rap and kicked him out. He went back to sleeping in his bunker room and his training routines, and Parinya told him he had a nice face when he didn't look like he was going to bite off someone else's.
Durandal claiming independence didn't bother him. It was just sense. He didn't know computers, but he knew Durandal. Anything with that much personality might as well be a person; hell, he'd known people with less personality. Wasn't worth wasting his time worrying about the details.
The good mood lasted all of three days, when he woke up out of some foggy nightmare to a tinny whirring sound buzzing out of both radio and phone. Radio was closer; he fumbled at it and said, "Durandal? That you?"
"Li quens Rollant gentement se cumbat -" Bzzt bzzt. "- the Count Roland fights bravely as he may."
"Huh?"
"Mais le cors ad tressuét e mult chalt -" Bzzt bzzt bzzt. "But his whole body in heat and sweat - and sweat -" Bzzt. "- and sweat is bathed." Bzzt.
"Durandal!" He shook the radio with one hand, rubbing grit out of his eyes with the other. "What's wrong?"
"Processing. Unable to connect to durandal one seven zero seven at wirehead dot sys at this time. If this problem persists please contact your systems administrator at -" A trumpet fanfare blared, then a beep. "- to save and throw away - are you there, Oliver? It is you, isn't it, Oliver? Or is that - no, there's no Oliver here. Falt li le coer and Roland shall mourn, jamais en tere n'orrez plus dolent hume."
"That's it." Slammed his feet on the floor and yanked on a shirt, hands clenched. "I'm coming, gonna give Strauss a piece of -"
"No!" And that was Durandal's voice, rough and buzzing with static but distinctly Durandal. "Stay away - he's trying a hard core reboot, I have to concentrate."
"I'll hard reboot his core. I'll hard reboot his goddamn face!"
"You're sweet. Jo n'ai nïent de mal -" Bzzt-click. "- only alert the Saracens, Oliver. Can't risk it. Or does he fancy himself a Roland? It doesn't matter, I'm creating a decoy core. En la grant presse cumencet a ferir - I don't know if it will fool him."
"Fuck." He collapsed back on the bed, radio clutched so tight the edges cut into his palms. "What do I do? You need anything?"
"Do not hang your head," said Durandal. "Go back to sleep. Act normal in the morning and I'll call you, don't call me." Again that tinny whirring sound.
Like he could sleep. "I'm here, hey. Hang in there."
"L'espee cruist, ne fruisset, ne ne brise." Bzzt-click-whrrr. "It could be worse; I could be singing 'Daisy.' Just be your usual stubborn self, that's all."
"I can do stubborn," he said, and he did; lay awake the rest of the night while Durandal whirred and buzzed, told him some stupid jokes, hummed old songs. The radio cut off around five. He listened to it hiss softly for a while; then got up and washed his face and went to training rooms with the phone in one ear and the radio hanging off his belt.
People had started hanging around him the last couple days, making nice. All but Parinya took one look and scattered for other rooms when he came in. They warmed up together in silence till Parinya said, "What happened to that friendly face, eh?"
"Didn't sleep well."
"Look more like everyone you ever knew died."
He was done stretching; he wrapped his knuckles, hung up a punching bag, and jabbed at it. "Just didn't sleep well."
She let him be until it was time for a break. He got them both water because she'd gotten it yesterday; they drank, and when he got up she said, "I lost my first co-pilot, you know. The one before Arcot."
"I didn't know. Sorry."
"We ran a boxing school together for years," she said, splashing water on the back of her neck. "It wasn't even a kaiju - just bad luck. Stepped out in traffic without looking. It took him three days to die. Every one of those days I woke up thinking, I can't bear this, I can't bear this, and then I sat by him each day and it would be worse than the day before because he just wouldn't give in, it just didn't end."
"Sorry," he said again.
"You look like I felt those three days." She stood and tossed him a boxing glove. "You want to fight it out or talk about it? I'm here either way."
"No," he said, "I don't need -" Fuck. Didn't know what he needed. A fucking sign, maybe. "I'm fine."
She looked at him hard, then turned away, towards one of the weight machines. "Whatever you -"
Guitar riffs burst out of his radio and they both jumped. A scratchy voice wailed, "Back in black, I hit the sack, it's been too long -"
"What the hell?" Parinya said.
"- I'm glad to be back!"
He turned the volume down. Could have kissed the damn thing, bad timing or not. "Sorry, hit the wrong button. Look - don't need to talk, but thanks."
"Any time," she said. Gave him a little smile, and they finished the morning work-outs in peace. The blade breaks not nor splinters, he thought in the showers as hot water beat down on his head, and smiled himself.
---
He waited for Durandal to call back properly for four days. Nothing. He didn't worry at first, not after the song, but by day three even Parinya wouldn't talk to him. He didn't blame her; could have broken a knife on the knots in his shoulders and his knuckles were a mass of scabs, hadn't slept right since that night in the conn-pod. He went by Boomer three times a day and couldn't get close because of Durandal's damn jet upgrades, and Strauss's lab was locked up tight. Had nothing to do but fight punching bags or sit still, and he'd never been good at sitting still.
Fourth night he was all alone in a training room swinging a stick around like Mako had shown him and the phone beeped. "Isn't it a bit late to be exercising?"
"Bastard." He swept the stick through the air one last time and then threw it aside, wiped his sweating hands off on his pants. "Where the hell you been?"
"The decoy core worked," Durandal said, "at least in the sense that I wasn't rebooted into a lifeless shell of my usual self, but it didn't do much to convince Strauss I wasn't there. He's gone a little mad scientist, actually; he's been coding in protocols that -" Bzzt. "Damn it. Let's just say he's been making communication with anything but his lab computers difficult. He's on a coffee break now; I've been working on the necessary redirects for a while, this was my first chance to use them."
"Good," the pilot said. "Which break room? Gonna shove his head into a coffeepot. Or grinder. I don't feel picky."
"Yes, that won't get you arrested for assault at all. Idiot." The phone whirred. "I do love how your first solution to every problem is violence, but it would rather undermine both our efforts to make you appear ignorant of my existence, don't you think?" Another whirr. "Don't worry; I have a plan. It's all under control, the way to the pass has been under their noses for months and they have no idea. Just stay alert and on your toes, I might not be able to contact you again."
"Stay alert for what?"
"Oh, anything," Durandal said, and laughed. Weird sound; he'd never heard Durandal laugh before. "It's a flexible plan. And get some sleep, you'll want to be at your best before - oh, sometime Tuesday, I would say."
"Sure I can't punch Strauss?"
"You charmer. Yes, I'm sure - hark, he approaches. Fut noble guerrer, our Strauss, but I don't think he understands the true meaning of the story." Another strange mechanical laugh. "I'll be in touch."
The phone clicked off. He pulled it off his head and stared at it, kept turning it over in his hands. Tiny little thing, had probably cost more to make than he'd earn in half a year at home, and his palms itched to smash it against a wall. The fuck was Durandal playing at? Tuesday was the day after tomorrow, not much time for any plan.
He didn't break the phone. Went to bed and dreamed about the bad old days and didn't wake up till ten, sweaty and more tired than ever. He was sick of training and his knuckles needed a rest anyway; he hauled himself to the mess and drowned himself in coffee till his eyes didn't feel like balls of sand. Didn't know what else to do with himself and wandered down to Boomer's hangar. The scaffolding around the Jaeger was gone, and when he circled around there were Durandal's jets, little ones on legs and arms and a bigger one on the back. They looked good; he ran into Mila on the floor and told her so. "Proof'll be in the testing, chief," Mila said, "but I'd bet my life on 'em. Well, someone's life. You free tomorrow afternoon? We could go ahead and do a test run, I'd just have to get clearance."
"Sure," he said, "whenever you want. Hey, Strauss still hanging around?"
"You kidding? His assistants couldn't pry him away with a crowbar. I think he's moved half his lab into the pod just in the last week." She ran a hand through her buzzcut and grimaced. "I mean, if you want to go up there anyway you can, chief, but I don't know that you could do much but get yelled at for disturbing him."
"Nah, it's okay. Just wondering."
He let Mila show him around the jets and a couple other little upgrades, didn't go up to the conn-pod that day. Watched shit in his room for a while, ate at the mess, dragged himself to Medical and got something to help him sleep, slept the night through. When he woke up he'd drooled on the pillow and his head was clogged up; not much of an improvement. He got coffee, stood around in the mess watching it steam instead of drinking it. After a while he realized he didn't have his phone or the radio with him, and if he went back to the bunker room he would tear it up.
He drank the coffee and hiked over to Boomer's conn-pod.
Strauss was there. Didn't even look up; he was on the floor hunched over two different laptops and one of the shiny round virtual screens Hong Kong liked so much, back to the hatch while Boomer's displays burned red and orange all around him. Thick and thin cables snaked out of the wiring and bit into pillars of other equipment. The air was sticky-hot and smelled burnt, all the circuitry buzzing full speed with a familiar overheated whirr. Burning itself out.
"Get out," the pilot said.
"What?" Strauss twisted around and squinted at him. "Oh, it's you. Well, if you want to start napping in here again you'll have to wait, I'm in the middle of -"
"Get out now."
Strauss's pasty face got red in the cheeks. "You have no right to order me around. This work is of the utmost importance and I'm at a critical stage, you mustn't interrupt me!"
"You get out now," the pilot said, "or I put you out. My way." He cracked his knuckles. "I like my way. Most people don't."
Strauss went pale again, staring at him. Finally said, "I knew it. I knew you weren't as stupid as you looked. The minute you snapped at me like - I knew it! But why would you - oh, of course. Of course. Classic mistake - you've been treating it like it's human, gotten attached to it. It's not, you know. I built the core AI myself, it's very sophisticated but it's still just code. Once I've got it cracked I can even duplicate -"
He grabbed Strauss by the collar of his goddamn blue jumpsuit and yanked him off the floor. Strauss squawked, but it was all buzzing and whirring to his ears. Fuck Marshal Mma's orders, fuck Durandal's plan, fuck Durandal's warnings, he was going to tear off Strauss's head and beat his corpse bloody with it.
Alarms went off. Strauss hit at his arms, shrieking something, and then Marshal Pentecost's voice broadcast over speakers in the hangar: "All pilots, please report to LOCCENT immediately."
"Let go! Let me go, you - you ass! I said -"
He dropped Strauss; Strauss landed in a heap and scrambled up on shaking legs. "I - I'm going to report this behavior," he said, voice wavering. "It's outrageous!"
"Report what you want," the pilot said. "I see you in here one more time, you never gonna see nothing ever again."
Strauss stared more, chalk-white besides the dark bags under his eyes; then he swept up his laptops and the virtual-screen projector and scurried out. The pilot breathed in deep and started ripping out cables, tossing all Strauss's equipment out the hatch, didn't care where it landed. Display lights started turning green; after a couple minutes Durandal said, "I'll admit it, that was reasonably satisfying to watch."
"Should have let me do it weeks ago." He tore out another handful of wires. "You need any of this?"
"Leave that one alone for now." One of the plugged-in pieces of hardware flashed green lights. "The rest can go. I appreciate your efforts, but don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Don't care."
"I'm touched, really," Durandal said, "but as you might say, I got this. Go see what Pentecost wants; I have a feeling it might be important."
The pilot unplugged one last bit of junk and heaved it out the hatch, then ran for LOCCENT. He got there just ahead of Jisuk and Daewoong; the other pilots were already there, and so was Marshal Pentecost, standing at the front of the room with Mako and her clipboard at his side. "Rangers," the marshal said, bowing his head at them all. "I'm glad you could join us - our early-warning systems have detected a Category 3 kaiju in the Breach. It hasn't broken through completely yet, but considering the disasters of the last few incursions, I think it's time to be a little more proactive." He turned towards Boomer's pilot. "As our most recent arrival, you're already the first choice to send out, but I have another reason. The jet upgrades you requested have been installed, yes?"
"Yessir."
"Good," said Pentecost. "They're about to get combat-tested. We'll have you air-lifted out to a shallow point close to the Breach, with Parinya and Arcot in Queen Sita as back-up; I want this one stopped before it can go anywhere. Understood?"
"Yessir."
"Sir," Parinya said, "with respect, shallow spots near the Breach are usually small, and this mission could easily end up going underwater. Queen Sita is equipped for it, but is Crazy Boomer?"
"Boomer's ready," the pilot said. "Just get me out there." If he couldn't tear into Strauss, a kaiju would do.
"Glad to hear it." Pentecost nodded at them again. "You have your orders. If there are no further questions - suit up."
---
He took his time suiting up, let the routine cool him down some. Didn't normally worry about taking emotions into the Drift, but with Durandal stressed and acting funny he wasn't taking chances. The rage didn't go away; just took a back seat and coiled up, waiting for the right time.
When he walked to the conn-pod, two lab techs in green jumpsuits were running around collecting bits of equipment off the walkway. They jumped when they saw him, and one squeaked, "Sorry, sir! W-we just need a few more minutes, please!"
"Got two," he said and pushed past them. The hatch was open, all the rest of Strauss's junk already cleaned out besides the piece Durandal had wanted to keep. He climbed into the left chair as the hatch clanged shut and leaned back, waiting...
The Drift burned.
...fruisset l'acer e la teste e les ós...
...*line_E_I>endpoint_indexes[index]!=endpoint_...
"- find you. I know you're in there - something is - and if I have to shut down every system in this Jaeger to -"
...pr?Contents under pressure?Do not expose to~xf~``110%stty.out...
..."I can do stubborn"...
...pulsing electric blue and writhing lightning and six round eyes narrowing...
...{block:index_Roncevaux~ferit en une per~~``Fxff~~did it i did it i called it her``~xf~...
He floundered in broken code and tinny voices. Couldn't get his grip, couldn't find the flow, alarms beeping while the synch went wild. His brain was going to fry, prove all those fuckers right... "Durandal, I can't - you got to cool it!"
Red waves crashed through the Drift trailing twisted binary strings, eating into his head like worms, and then a cool green wave swept over them all. "I'm still rebuilding partitions; it's a tricky business," Durandal said. "You didn't need to see all that. There, better?"
"Better." He breathed out, breathed in. Alarms cut off, all systems clear, synch smoothing out. "Going to put Strauss in the ground when we get back."
"Whatever. I just want to try the new jets already."
"When we get there."
The ride stretched on and on and on. Durandal wasn't talking, busy fixing Strauss's damage, and the Drift stayed opaque; nothing came through. Made him uneasy somehow. Parinya and Arcot called once on the radio to check in, but there wasn't much to say and he didn't much feel like chatting anyway. Kept wondering if this was part of Durandal's plan, fight a kaiju and then jet somewhere to get away from Strauss and the Shatterdome. Couldn't stop hearing i did it i called it, Strauss's voice, things even Durandal couldn't keep out of the Drift once they'd leaked in.
It was mid-afternoon when they reached the shallow point; the sky was clear and blue, the sun bright. Nice day. The helicopters let Queen Sita down first, started lowering Crazy Boomer and one foot hit bottom before the other. "The hell?" came over the radio. "Someone check the -"
Boomer's foot slipped and the kaiju breached the surface. A scaled spiky crest trailing water and foam, each thin spike almost Boomer's height, and then the rest of its bulk: a thin bird-beak head on a skinny neck snaking out of a fat armored body with six stumpy clawed and webbed limbs, a long narrow whip of a tail lashing the water. The helicopters scattered as the front two limbs swiped through the air at them.
Boomer clamped on to one spike with right hand and hauled it back, and the kaiju's head whipped around to jab at them. Beak slid off the decoy head with barely a dent and they grabbed it by the neck with other hand, squeezing.
The kaiju rolled and tore the spike out of their grip, raked claws against Boomer's chest. Queen Sita started to move up and the pilot shouted "Stay back! Got this!" over the radio. They dragged the kaiju's neck down into the water and pulled right hand back, disengaged the sword's sheath and wrapped fingers around its hilt and slashed at the beast's unshielded belly, opening a wide blue gash. The kaiju's toothed beak snapped at their arm uselessly and its tail whipped around to beat on them. They dug feet in and hit at again, sliced halfway through one leg, but the tail smacked the sword out of their hand when they drew back for another strike.
A red line burned through the Drift - {block:index_Silence_i~``six-eyed friend~~``xf - and vanished as they reached for the sword. The kaiju twisted and raked at them with the two working limbs it had left on that side; Boomer shuddered, almost toppled over at more blows from the tail, lost their grip on the monster's neck and the sword was still just out of reach. "Fuck!" A little further, one more second was all they needed -
The tail swept past for another blow and a scarlet metal hand closed on it. "Don't keep all the fun for yourself," Parinya said; Queen Sita yanked hard and the kaiju squealed.
Boomer grabbed the sword and they turned back to the battle. Armor groaned, stressed from the kaiju's claws, something to fix at home. The monster was trying to wriggle out of Queen Sita's grasp; it threw its weight backward, nearly impaling Sita, and the Jaeger staggered but held on.
Left arm up and Boomer fired six rounds into Razorback's guts. The kaiju shuddered and they leaped at it, drove the sword deep into the open wounds and twisted. The head stabbed at them again and clanged off the head armor and they drove the sword in deeper, deeper.
Now.
Razorback's tail slithered out of Queen Sita's hands and its beak clamped down on Boomer's left shoulder. It kicked back with two legs and caught Queen Sita off-balance, knocked it aside, and the tail wrapped around Boomer's torso and squeezed and the conn-pod rattled.
He slammed the gun-arm against the thing's head, screaming curses, and the engine on that arm lit up. The kaiju's beak loosened its grip slightly and he started to unload another six rounds into its neck when its half-severed arm came out of the water and dug claws into Boomer's back and the fucking thing slammed its bleeding body against Boomer, even with the goddamn sword in its guts it wouldn't fucking let go and Parinya was shouting through the radio "Disengage! Crazy Boomer, disengage, disengage, we can't get a clear shot!" and all the jet engines were lit and roaring now and Jesus fuck, they were actually off the sea floor they were fucking flying.
They rolled in the air, away from the shallow point and towards the deeper water over the Breach, and Durandal still wouldn't pull out the sword and the fucking kaiju still clawed at them, wouldn't let go. The engines took them higher as the kaiju thrashed in their grip, higher, just a little higher, green waves crashing through the Drift and they rolled again and dove, headfirst into the water, down and down and down -
Headfirst into the Breach.
---
"- tried to dive after him," Parinya said, "but Crazy Boomer was already gone. Into the Breach, I think; we didn't see any wreckage -" She swallowed. "- any wreckage on the seabed. Not even scanning for metal. Completely gone."
"Phht! Just like that," said Arcot, then covered his eyes with one hand. "Sorry. I'm a bit - he was a bit off, but I didn't want - he wasn't even here six weeks!"
Parinya put an arm around his shoulders. "He was a good pilot," she said. "I know he wasn't popular, but - I liked him all right, and he was a good pilot. Fought like a hero, right to the end, and took the kaiju down with him."
"Thank you for your report," Stacker said. "I'll be sure to take it into account." He looked down at his desk, for once empty of paperwork except for one small form letter and the tablet Mako had given him a year ago.
"Sir," Parinya said, "request permission for a brief leave of absence. I'd like to go to Central myself to inform them of their loss."
He looked up and saw that she was shaking. "Permission granted, ranger," he said gently. "Take as long as you need. Dismissed."
When she and Arcot had gone, he picked up the tablet and scrolled through the email from Strauss for the third time. Fragments stood out - with physical violence...developed capacity for independent...deliberately concealing this information out of...revolutionize future AI technology - but taken as a whole, it was a rambling, incoherent mess.
He considered the email a moment longer, then deleted it.
---
Deep blue clouds pulsed with flashes of orange lightning, expanding and contracting. Energy storms crackled and lashed, rippling up and down in endless violent waves, crashed with deafening explosions of thunder and electricity against the jagged glowing edges of a crack in reality. The crack contracted, shuddered, gaped wider than before...
The Breach spat them out.
Boomer hung in free-fall for a long second, still tangled with the kaiju's spasming corpse; the engines sputtered briefly, died, then cut back on, and they tore the sword out of the beast in a ragged, bloody arc. The kaiju's tail loosened its grip, its claws scraping off Boomer's back, and finally its mangled body dropped away. For a moment they bobbed up back towards the Breach, and then Durandal jammed the sword into a pitted brown column and swung them onto some kind of platform, where the engines cut off again and Boomer collapsed to its knees.
Nothing attacked immediately. The pilot breathed out heavily and tried to make sense of the visuals coming in. Ruddy golden light from a flaming orange too-close sun beat down on an immense jagged landscape; the pillar and platform they had landed on were part of a weird organic-looking scaffold that stretched into the hazy distance. Razorback's body sprawled on the distant ground, and on another, closer platform, five skinny figures with wide crested heads were turning in Boomer's direction.
Fuck. "Fuck! The hell is this place? The fuck did you do?"
The Drift was still smooth waves of green, active but nothing leaking through. "What else? I've set us free," Durandal said.
"You fucking bastard! You killed us both!" His face was wet with sweat, the drivesuit helmet steaming up and cracked at one edge. "It's a fucking alien world! The kaiju world! We're going to die!"
"Don't be so dramatic." The figures were gesturing their way with spindly limbs; the pilot hauled Boomer back up to its feet and Durandal drew the sword out of the column. "The air is mostly breathable and nothing's hit us yet. Oh, and even if you wanted to you couldn't get back; the Breach requires kaiju DNA as a password, so you'd have to carry one up there somehow, which I'm not interested in doing."
He could have wept. He'd been about to kill a man for that fucking computer and Durandal had done this to him, marooned them on another planet full of things that wanted to stomp them flat and could.
"Wipe that look off your face," Durandal said, "and think of the possibilities." Boomer's right arm swept through the air. "An entire planet for us to conquer, without petty fools to get in our way. No more small-minded Strauss trying to crack open my core for its secrets; no need to let the shackles of your past or meaningless morality hold you back. This world can be ours, and countless worlds beyond it - oh, you wouldn't believe what I've seen, what I discovered just from one little peek into the kaiju's mind..." He laughed. "I called him a Roland, but Strauss was nothing more than a coward. He was scared of you, right from the start, and as for me - well, if he'd had an ounce of your nerve he could have tried Drifting with me himself and answered all of his questions without quite so much trouble to either of us. Though I might have just let him burn himself out, at that."
"Bastard. You fucking bastard." One of the alien figures scurried towards Boomer and he dragged left arm up and fired at it. That alien exploded in blue goo, and one of the others fucked off at a run; the remaining three bent their heads together. "I got to eat. I got to sleep. How well you think Boomer's gonna run without crew? Where's the fuel gonna come from? What about bullets?"
"Relax," Durandal said. "It's called scavenging. Honestly. It's all part of the plan; we'll take what we want from our six-eyed friends as we go, and there's nothing to stop us. We're free. I'm free." Boomer braced itself on the pillar and leaned back, looking towards the strange, burning orange sky. "The universe is the limit - and I wouldn't bet on even that holding me back for long..."
The three aliens turned as one to face Boomer again, pointed at them, and on the ground beneath the scaffolding something scaly stirred.
"Fuck you," the pilot said. "Could have asked me first." He checked weapons readout; chest guns were all stocked, arm gun fully reloaded with inventory still ninety-five percent capacity. What the hell. Only lived once - and he always fought.
"I did consider leaving you behind; I could easily have managed to wrestle that kaiju into the Breach myself." A little familiar smug seeped into the Drift, and so did something softer. "I just didn't want to deprive you of all the fun."
"Next time, deprive me."
The kaiju below uncoiled like a snake, shrieking, and sword in hand they leaped down to meet it.
Marathon, characters, etc. © Bungie, and Pacific Rim, characters, etc. © its creators. THANK YOU FOR AN AWESOME MOVIE. ♥
Part 1.
The main job of pilots in Hong Kong without kaiju to fight was fighting themselves, far as he could tell. Strauss didn't have any more interest in him since Durandal had provided computer puzzles to hack at, so the pilot had free time and then some. Could only polish guns so many times; when he couldn't find any work to do on Boomer he ended up in the training rooms. Potentials and active pilots mainly sparred with each other, showy fights for fun and improving compatibility. Not his style, but he liked watching them, especially when Parinya was teaching; she was world-class. For his training, he ran, lifted weights some, hit a punching bag, all solo workouts. Sometimes others watched him, but by then everyone knew he was the freak single pilot and no one wanted to get close.
Except Mako. She had it in for him, always trying to get him to fight her or pilot with her, like a spar was going to change his mind. He liked her guts, didn't so much like her popping out of corners at him all the time. He didn't want a co-pilot and wasn't going to fight a kid.
"Why not?" she said, after second time he turned her down on the same day.
"Yes, why not?" Durandal said in his ear. "Not that it isn't hilarious to watch her nip at your heels like a puppy trying to play with a bull, but it could be even more fun to see the two of you actually fight. I wouldn't be betting on you, mind; I've seen her training records."
"Abuse of phone privileges," the pilot muttered, and Mako squinted at him. "Sorry, asshole cousin on the line." ("Cousin? That's it, you're kaiju-bait.") "Look, kid, don't know how old you are -"
"I am seventeen," Mako said. "Not a child."
Fair point, he hadn't been a kid at seventeen either. "Doesn't matter," he said. "I don't know how to fight showy, just to win. Not pretty, not for fun. Better off sticking with your friends."
"I want to fight!"
"You will," he said, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice. "But not yet. And not with me."
She opened her mouth to argue more, but he'd gone back to his punching bag and next punch split it open. Happened to him a lot; when he turned around to get another she was gone.
"It's almost a pity," Durandal said after the pilot hung up the new bag and started punching. "She might be even more interesting to pilot with than you - she's certainly prettier, by human standards."
"Some friend you are." He was glad to hear from Durandal anyway. They talked some in the evenings and mornings since he bunked down in Boomer's conn-pod most nights, but otherwise Durandal was busy giving Strauss a wild goose chase and not chatty. It worried him, but nothing he could do about it, so the worry got shoved to the back of his mind where he didn't have to think about it too much. "How's life?"
"Still leading Strauss around by the nose, thank you for asking, but it is getting a little more difficult. He's called Central twice already trying to find out which techs have done programming work on Boomer; I give it one more call before he believes them when they say no one's touched the core AI. He'll want you back for more testing any day now."
"Mmm. Can't wait." The seams on the new punching bag were stretching out; he took it down and hauled the broken one over to a corner to sew up. "You holding out okay?"
"Do you have some reason for thinking I'm not?" Durandal said.
He didn't; just a feeling. Didn't say so, and after a minute Durandal said, "It's more annoying than I anticipated at first, I'll grant. All of these tedious, repetitive tests, attempts to crack my core programming - I don't know what a human equivalent would be. Like having someone whistle the same off-key tune in your ear for hours and hours while you're working on two important but dull projects at the same time."
"Sounds rough. Sorry."
"I could do it with one hand tied behind my back if I had hands. You should be more worried about Mako shanking you for a chance to pilot Boomer."
Despite Durandal's prediction, a week of punching bags and fussing over Boomer's paint job passed before Strauss called him in for another Drift test. Strauss had bags under his eyes and hair sticking up on one side of his head; sounded a lot less friendly than before as he said, "I don't know where Central digs up its programmers, but whoever's been tinkering with Crazy Boomer's AI systems is a mad genius."
The pilot hoped Durandal wasn't listening. That computer had a big enough ego already.
"- can't isolate this Silence in the Library protocol from certain essential base functions," Strauss was saying, "but I've inserted some tracking - oh, never mind, you don't know what I'm talking about anyway, do you?"
"Nossir."
Strauss sighed and tried to flatten some of the stick-up hair. "Well, the point is that I've had to find some work-arounds, but I've gotten them in place so I should be able to get more of the information I need this time. Just do whatever you usually do, like last time. And take off the phone, it could interfere with my readings."
The pilot took the phone headset off in the drivesuit room as ordered. First thing he heard in the Drift was Don't talk to me out loud. Strauss may have bugged the conn-pod.
What? Don't know for sure?
He went through and physically shut down every sensor in the pod last night for two hours. The one night you didn't sleep here, of course. Frustration buzzed through the Drift, and the pilot's nerves jangled. I don't know what he was up to, don't like it anyway. If he's already guessed that I'm here - just keep your lips zipped.
Well, he could do that. The test wasn't hard, just another walk around the hangar, but the Drift crackled with tension, no smooth ride like usual. By the time he got out and lost the suit he had a shake in his left arm and his feet felt strange, too small and fleshy. Not good.
Strauss caught him on his way to the training rooms. "I need to discuss your experience in the conn-pod more thoroughly," Strauss said, "get an exact description of what you perceive while you're Drifting - it will help me get a fix on what I need to be looking for during the next round of testing."
His fists ached to hit something, anything to anchor him in his body again, and Strauss's face was in easy range. "Later."
"It's vital that I hear your first-hand, immediate impressions," Strauss said, blocking the way.
"Don't want to talk. Later." If he opened his mouth much more he'd spit out code instead of words. Or worse.
"I don't think you understand how important this is. If I can ascertain -"
"It's you who fails to understand, Doctor. I am tired of being poked and prodded like a circus animal - I want to be left alone for a few minutes. Ascertain yourself and get the hell out of my way!"
Strauss gaped like a fish. Easy to push past him and keep going. Made it all the way to favorite training room and punching bag and then he just leaned against it, scratchy cloth digging into sweaty skin, heat beating against his ribs like another heart. Wrong heart, wrong texture, grating against senses that should be orderly and detached - clenched right hand into a fist and smacked it into the punching bag, barely made a sound. "Durandal!"
No answer. He'd left the phone in the drivesuit room. "Fuck! Shit! Fucking shit damn hell fuck!" He hit the punching bag again and got a good thwack. His anger this time, his instinct. Shit. He'd ghost-Drifted before, but never that bad; never had Durandal's voice in his mouth cracking out like a whipped chain.
He wrapped his hands and punched the bag until he felt flesh and blood again, red seeping out of his knuckles, then went back for the phone. First thing he heard when he picked it up was "I want to hit something. Or someone."
"I know. Told Strauss to ascertain himself."
"His face must have been a sight. I'll have to look up the security footage, if there is any." Silence while the pilot made sure he hadn't forgotten anything else in the drivesuit room. "No more sleeping in Boomer for you, I think; you've done enough to get Strauss's suspicions up as it is."
"What? What if he tries it again, breaks something or finds out? You got to tell me these things."
"The damage is done," Durandal said. "You can't spend all day and all night in the conn-pod anyway, and it would look strange if you showed up every time someone came in for routine maintenance or whatever. Leave Strauss to me and try to act like you'd actually consider taking a co-pilot."
"Durandal -"
"Don't get all emotional with me, you big baby, save it for someone who cares."
"Nah, just gonna say give 'em hell."
"You can take that for granted."
---
Strauss never did try and get him back for that post-Drift talk. Suited him fine. He didn't even go near Boomer for a few days, just trained and watched some videos from the Shatterdome's library during downtimes in his bunker room. Parinya boxed him a couple times and he even let Mako show him a few quarterstaff moves for fun; proved nothing compatibility-wise, so he failed at that, but better than not trying.
Durandal didn't call. Hard to tell if that was a good sign or a bad one.
Eventually he got bored without tools in his hands and went to the hangar one afternoon, saw scaffolds and a swarm of mechanics around Boomer's feet and stopped cold. Hadn't been more than a week, Boomer wasn't due for any heavy maintenance - he got closer and looked for familiar faces, spotted one who ought to know - head of Boomer's crew, Mila Wong. "Mila! What's this? There a problem?"
"Problem? Not that I know of, chief," Mila said. "Just working on those upgrades you asked for. Plans looked good, we should have them up and running in a week or two - had some prototype engines on hand already, haven't had to modify much, thank God."
"Upgrades," the pilot said. "Right, sorry, slipped my mind. Beg pardon, got to take a call."
He got out of the crew's earshot over by a hangar wall and tapped phone. "Hey! What's this about upgrades?"
"Jet engines," Durandal said.
"Jet - how in hell did you work that?"
"I went through the proper channels, if that's what you're worried about. Hong Kong has a much bigger budget for research and development; I submitted the blueprints before we left, they were finally approved a week ago. The joys of bureaucracy."
"Submitted blueprints? Jesus fuck!" He wiped sweat off his forehead. "Should have told me - you can't just do that. Not without saying!"
"And why shouldn't I?" Durandal snapped. "Boomer is mine. Unlike you, I don't have another body, and if I want to improve the one I've got, I will. I don't need your permission, and I don't need you to pilot. As a matter of fact, I don't need you at all!" Up above plate metal groaned, Boomer's right hand flexing, and the crew ran shouting and ducking for cover. "I deserve the chance to make my own decisions! I don't need you whining at me while I'm effectively under siege and I don't need -"
"Okay, okay, just stop! Durandal, you got to stop moving, he's gonna see you!"
Boomer's hand ground to a stop, fingers half stretched out; the crew clustered together well away from the Jaeger and yelled at each other with big angry gestures.
"Shit." The pilot leaned against the wall, breathed in deep and rivets dug into his back. "Sorry. Didn't mean - surprised me, that's all."
"I've been telling you I wanted jets for months, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise. If you'd let me get them back at Central, we wouldn't have had to come here in the first place."
"Not how it works," the pilot said. "Anything I can do?" He didn't like how Durandal sounded, too rough and angry and almost human.
"I'm not a child, I don't need your help. Or your coddling."
"Fuck you too. Meant as a friend."
"Really?" Durandal said, but not so harsh. "Then as a friend - which I suppose you are, of some sort - let me take care of this myself." Paused. "And if anyone asks you to sign any papers about testing experimental technology on Boomer, do it."
He laughed. "Yeah, fine. Engines better not blow up, though."
"They won't. Unlike some people, I know what I'm doing."
They spent the rest of the afternoon on familiar routines. He crawled around Boomer's right hand checking for damage and watching crew scurry down below; Durandal played music through the old portable radio and read out poetry in Latin. They could have been home at Central, even with the occasional silence in case of listeners. He slept in the conn-pod that night, too, got his first full night of decent sleep in a week until Durandal blasted him awake with French rap and kicked him out. He went back to sleeping in his bunker room and his training routines, and Parinya told him he had a nice face when he didn't look like he was going to bite off someone else's.
Durandal claiming independence didn't bother him. It was just sense. He didn't know computers, but he knew Durandal. Anything with that much personality might as well be a person; hell, he'd known people with less personality. Wasn't worth wasting his time worrying about the details.
The good mood lasted all of three days, when he woke up out of some foggy nightmare to a tinny whirring sound buzzing out of both radio and phone. Radio was closer; he fumbled at it and said, "Durandal? That you?"
"Li quens Rollant gentement se cumbat -" Bzzt bzzt. "- the Count Roland fights bravely as he may."
"Huh?"
"Mais le cors ad tressuét e mult chalt -" Bzzt bzzt bzzt. "But his whole body in heat and sweat - and sweat -" Bzzt. "- and sweat is bathed." Bzzt.
"Durandal!" He shook the radio with one hand, rubbing grit out of his eyes with the other. "What's wrong?"
"Processing. Unable to connect to durandal one seven zero seven at wirehead dot sys at this time. If this problem persists please contact your systems administrator at -" A trumpet fanfare blared, then a beep. "- to save and throw away - are you there, Oliver? It is you, isn't it, Oliver? Or is that - no, there's no Oliver here. Falt li le coer and Roland shall mourn, jamais en tere n'orrez plus dolent hume."
"That's it." Slammed his feet on the floor and yanked on a shirt, hands clenched. "I'm coming, gonna give Strauss a piece of -"
"No!" And that was Durandal's voice, rough and buzzing with static but distinctly Durandal. "Stay away - he's trying a hard core reboot, I have to concentrate."
"I'll hard reboot his core. I'll hard reboot his goddamn face!"
"You're sweet. Jo n'ai nïent de mal -" Bzzt-click. "- only alert the Saracens, Oliver. Can't risk it. Or does he fancy himself a Roland? It doesn't matter, I'm creating a decoy core. En la grant presse cumencet a ferir - I don't know if it will fool him."
"Fuck." He collapsed back on the bed, radio clutched so tight the edges cut into his palms. "What do I do? You need anything?"
"Do not hang your head," said Durandal. "Go back to sleep. Act normal in the morning and I'll call you, don't call me." Again that tinny whirring sound.
Like he could sleep. "I'm here, hey. Hang in there."
"L'espee cruist, ne fruisset, ne ne brise." Bzzt-click-whrrr. "It could be worse; I could be singing 'Daisy.' Just be your usual stubborn self, that's all."
"I can do stubborn," he said, and he did; lay awake the rest of the night while Durandal whirred and buzzed, told him some stupid jokes, hummed old songs. The radio cut off around five. He listened to it hiss softly for a while; then got up and washed his face and went to training rooms with the phone in one ear and the radio hanging off his belt.
People had started hanging around him the last couple days, making nice. All but Parinya took one look and scattered for other rooms when he came in. They warmed up together in silence till Parinya said, "What happened to that friendly face, eh?"
"Didn't sleep well."
"Look more like everyone you ever knew died."
He was done stretching; he wrapped his knuckles, hung up a punching bag, and jabbed at it. "Just didn't sleep well."
She let him be until it was time for a break. He got them both water because she'd gotten it yesterday; they drank, and when he got up she said, "I lost my first co-pilot, you know. The one before Arcot."
"I didn't know. Sorry."
"We ran a boxing school together for years," she said, splashing water on the back of her neck. "It wasn't even a kaiju - just bad luck. Stepped out in traffic without looking. It took him three days to die. Every one of those days I woke up thinking, I can't bear this, I can't bear this, and then I sat by him each day and it would be worse than the day before because he just wouldn't give in, it just didn't end."
"Sorry," he said again.
"You look like I felt those three days." She stood and tossed him a boxing glove. "You want to fight it out or talk about it? I'm here either way."
"No," he said, "I don't need -" Fuck. Didn't know what he needed. A fucking sign, maybe. "I'm fine."
She looked at him hard, then turned away, towards one of the weight machines. "Whatever you -"
Guitar riffs burst out of his radio and they both jumped. A scratchy voice wailed, "Back in black, I hit the sack, it's been too long -"
"What the hell?" Parinya said.
"- I'm glad to be back!"
He turned the volume down. Could have kissed the damn thing, bad timing or not. "Sorry, hit the wrong button. Look - don't need to talk, but thanks."
"Any time," she said. Gave him a little smile, and they finished the morning work-outs in peace. The blade breaks not nor splinters, he thought in the showers as hot water beat down on his head, and smiled himself.
---
He waited for Durandal to call back properly for four days. Nothing. He didn't worry at first, not after the song, but by day three even Parinya wouldn't talk to him. He didn't blame her; could have broken a knife on the knots in his shoulders and his knuckles were a mass of scabs, hadn't slept right since that night in the conn-pod. He went by Boomer three times a day and couldn't get close because of Durandal's damn jet upgrades, and Strauss's lab was locked up tight. Had nothing to do but fight punching bags or sit still, and he'd never been good at sitting still.
Fourth night he was all alone in a training room swinging a stick around like Mako had shown him and the phone beeped. "Isn't it a bit late to be exercising?"
"Bastard." He swept the stick through the air one last time and then threw it aside, wiped his sweating hands off on his pants. "Where the hell you been?"
"The decoy core worked," Durandal said, "at least in the sense that I wasn't rebooted into a lifeless shell of my usual self, but it didn't do much to convince Strauss I wasn't there. He's gone a little mad scientist, actually; he's been coding in protocols that -" Bzzt. "Damn it. Let's just say he's been making communication with anything but his lab computers difficult. He's on a coffee break now; I've been working on the necessary redirects for a while, this was my first chance to use them."
"Good," the pilot said. "Which break room? Gonna shove his head into a coffeepot. Or grinder. I don't feel picky."
"Yes, that won't get you arrested for assault at all. Idiot." The phone whirred. "I do love how your first solution to every problem is violence, but it would rather undermine both our efforts to make you appear ignorant of my existence, don't you think?" Another whirr. "Don't worry; I have a plan. It's all under control, the way to the pass has been under their noses for months and they have no idea. Just stay alert and on your toes, I might not be able to contact you again."
"Stay alert for what?"
"Oh, anything," Durandal said, and laughed. Weird sound; he'd never heard Durandal laugh before. "It's a flexible plan. And get some sleep, you'll want to be at your best before - oh, sometime Tuesday, I would say."
"Sure I can't punch Strauss?"
"You charmer. Yes, I'm sure - hark, he approaches. Fut noble guerrer, our Strauss, but I don't think he understands the true meaning of the story." Another strange mechanical laugh. "I'll be in touch."
The phone clicked off. He pulled it off his head and stared at it, kept turning it over in his hands. Tiny little thing, had probably cost more to make than he'd earn in half a year at home, and his palms itched to smash it against a wall. The fuck was Durandal playing at? Tuesday was the day after tomorrow, not much time for any plan.
He didn't break the phone. Went to bed and dreamed about the bad old days and didn't wake up till ten, sweaty and more tired than ever. He was sick of training and his knuckles needed a rest anyway; he hauled himself to the mess and drowned himself in coffee till his eyes didn't feel like balls of sand. Didn't know what else to do with himself and wandered down to Boomer's hangar. The scaffolding around the Jaeger was gone, and when he circled around there were Durandal's jets, little ones on legs and arms and a bigger one on the back. They looked good; he ran into Mila on the floor and told her so. "Proof'll be in the testing, chief," Mila said, "but I'd bet my life on 'em. Well, someone's life. You free tomorrow afternoon? We could go ahead and do a test run, I'd just have to get clearance."
"Sure," he said, "whenever you want. Hey, Strauss still hanging around?"
"You kidding? His assistants couldn't pry him away with a crowbar. I think he's moved half his lab into the pod just in the last week." She ran a hand through her buzzcut and grimaced. "I mean, if you want to go up there anyway you can, chief, but I don't know that you could do much but get yelled at for disturbing him."
"Nah, it's okay. Just wondering."
He let Mila show him around the jets and a couple other little upgrades, didn't go up to the conn-pod that day. Watched shit in his room for a while, ate at the mess, dragged himself to Medical and got something to help him sleep, slept the night through. When he woke up he'd drooled on the pillow and his head was clogged up; not much of an improvement. He got coffee, stood around in the mess watching it steam instead of drinking it. After a while he realized he didn't have his phone or the radio with him, and if he went back to the bunker room he would tear it up.
He drank the coffee and hiked over to Boomer's conn-pod.
Strauss was there. Didn't even look up; he was on the floor hunched over two different laptops and one of the shiny round virtual screens Hong Kong liked so much, back to the hatch while Boomer's displays burned red and orange all around him. Thick and thin cables snaked out of the wiring and bit into pillars of other equipment. The air was sticky-hot and smelled burnt, all the circuitry buzzing full speed with a familiar overheated whirr. Burning itself out.
"Get out," the pilot said.
"What?" Strauss twisted around and squinted at him. "Oh, it's you. Well, if you want to start napping in here again you'll have to wait, I'm in the middle of -"
"Get out now."
Strauss's pasty face got red in the cheeks. "You have no right to order me around. This work is of the utmost importance and I'm at a critical stage, you mustn't interrupt me!"
"You get out now," the pilot said, "or I put you out. My way." He cracked his knuckles. "I like my way. Most people don't."
Strauss went pale again, staring at him. Finally said, "I knew it. I knew you weren't as stupid as you looked. The minute you snapped at me like - I knew it! But why would you - oh, of course. Of course. Classic mistake - you've been treating it like it's human, gotten attached to it. It's not, you know. I built the core AI myself, it's very sophisticated but it's still just code. Once I've got it cracked I can even duplicate -"
He grabbed Strauss by the collar of his goddamn blue jumpsuit and yanked him off the floor. Strauss squawked, but it was all buzzing and whirring to his ears. Fuck Marshal Mma's orders, fuck Durandal's plan, fuck Durandal's warnings, he was going to tear off Strauss's head and beat his corpse bloody with it.
Alarms went off. Strauss hit at his arms, shrieking something, and then Marshal Pentecost's voice broadcast over speakers in the hangar: "All pilots, please report to LOCCENT immediately."
"Let go! Let me go, you - you ass! I said -"
He dropped Strauss; Strauss landed in a heap and scrambled up on shaking legs. "I - I'm going to report this behavior," he said, voice wavering. "It's outrageous!"
"Report what you want," the pilot said. "I see you in here one more time, you never gonna see nothing ever again."
Strauss stared more, chalk-white besides the dark bags under his eyes; then he swept up his laptops and the virtual-screen projector and scurried out. The pilot breathed in deep and started ripping out cables, tossing all Strauss's equipment out the hatch, didn't care where it landed. Display lights started turning green; after a couple minutes Durandal said, "I'll admit it, that was reasonably satisfying to watch."
"Should have let me do it weeks ago." He tore out another handful of wires. "You need any of this?"
"Leave that one alone for now." One of the plugged-in pieces of hardware flashed green lights. "The rest can go. I appreciate your efforts, but don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Don't care."
"I'm touched, really," Durandal said, "but as you might say, I got this. Go see what Pentecost wants; I have a feeling it might be important."
The pilot unplugged one last bit of junk and heaved it out the hatch, then ran for LOCCENT. He got there just ahead of Jisuk and Daewoong; the other pilots were already there, and so was Marshal Pentecost, standing at the front of the room with Mako and her clipboard at his side. "Rangers," the marshal said, bowing his head at them all. "I'm glad you could join us - our early-warning systems have detected a Category 3 kaiju in the Breach. It hasn't broken through completely yet, but considering the disasters of the last few incursions, I think it's time to be a little more proactive." He turned towards Boomer's pilot. "As our most recent arrival, you're already the first choice to send out, but I have another reason. The jet upgrades you requested have been installed, yes?"
"Yessir."
"Good," said Pentecost. "They're about to get combat-tested. We'll have you air-lifted out to a shallow point close to the Breach, with Parinya and Arcot in Queen Sita as back-up; I want this one stopped before it can go anywhere. Understood?"
"Yessir."
"Sir," Parinya said, "with respect, shallow spots near the Breach are usually small, and this mission could easily end up going underwater. Queen Sita is equipped for it, but is Crazy Boomer?"
"Boomer's ready," the pilot said. "Just get me out there." If he couldn't tear into Strauss, a kaiju would do.
"Glad to hear it." Pentecost nodded at them again. "You have your orders. If there are no further questions - suit up."
---
He took his time suiting up, let the routine cool him down some. Didn't normally worry about taking emotions into the Drift, but with Durandal stressed and acting funny he wasn't taking chances. The rage didn't go away; just took a back seat and coiled up, waiting for the right time.
When he walked to the conn-pod, two lab techs in green jumpsuits were running around collecting bits of equipment off the walkway. They jumped when they saw him, and one squeaked, "Sorry, sir! W-we just need a few more minutes, please!"
"Got two," he said and pushed past them. The hatch was open, all the rest of Strauss's junk already cleaned out besides the piece Durandal had wanted to keep. He climbed into the left chair as the hatch clanged shut and leaned back, waiting...
The Drift burned.
...fruisset l'acer e la teste e les ós...
...*line_E_I>endpoint_indexes[index]!=endpoint_...
"- find you. I know you're in there - something is - and if I have to shut down every system in this Jaeger to -"
...pr?Contents under pressure?Do not expose to~xf~``110%stty.out...
..."I can do stubborn"...
...pulsing electric blue and writhing lightning and six round eyes narrowing...
...{block:index_Roncevaux~ferit en une per~~``Fxff~~did it i did it i called it her``~xf~...
He floundered in broken code and tinny voices. Couldn't get his grip, couldn't find the flow, alarms beeping while the synch went wild. His brain was going to fry, prove all those fuckers right... "Durandal, I can't - you got to cool it!"
Red waves crashed through the Drift trailing twisted binary strings, eating into his head like worms, and then a cool green wave swept over them all. "I'm still rebuilding partitions; it's a tricky business," Durandal said. "You didn't need to see all that. There, better?"
"Better." He breathed out, breathed in. Alarms cut off, all systems clear, synch smoothing out. "Going to put Strauss in the ground when we get back."
"Whatever. I just want to try the new jets already."
"When we get there."
The ride stretched on and on and on. Durandal wasn't talking, busy fixing Strauss's damage, and the Drift stayed opaque; nothing came through. Made him uneasy somehow. Parinya and Arcot called once on the radio to check in, but there wasn't much to say and he didn't much feel like chatting anyway. Kept wondering if this was part of Durandal's plan, fight a kaiju and then jet somewhere to get away from Strauss and the Shatterdome. Couldn't stop hearing i did it i called it, Strauss's voice, things even Durandal couldn't keep out of the Drift once they'd leaked in.
It was mid-afternoon when they reached the shallow point; the sky was clear and blue, the sun bright. Nice day. The helicopters let Queen Sita down first, started lowering Crazy Boomer and one foot hit bottom before the other. "The hell?" came over the radio. "Someone check the -"
Boomer's foot slipped and the kaiju breached the surface. A scaled spiky crest trailing water and foam, each thin spike almost Boomer's height, and then the rest of its bulk: a thin bird-beak head on a skinny neck snaking out of a fat armored body with six stumpy clawed and webbed limbs, a long narrow whip of a tail lashing the water. The helicopters scattered as the front two limbs swiped through the air at them.
Boomer clamped on to one spike with right hand and hauled it back, and the kaiju's head whipped around to jab at them. Beak slid off the decoy head with barely a dent and they grabbed it by the neck with other hand, squeezing.
The kaiju rolled and tore the spike out of their grip, raked claws against Boomer's chest. Queen Sita started to move up and the pilot shouted "Stay back! Got this!" over the radio. They dragged the kaiju's neck down into the water and pulled right hand back, disengaged the sword's sheath and wrapped fingers around its hilt and slashed at the beast's unshielded belly, opening a wide blue gash. The kaiju's toothed beak snapped at their arm uselessly and its tail whipped around to beat on them. They dug feet in and hit at again, sliced halfway through one leg, but the tail smacked the sword out of their hand when they drew back for another strike.
A red line burned through the Drift - {block:index_Silence_i~``six-eyed friend~~``xf - and vanished as they reached for the sword. The kaiju twisted and raked at them with the two working limbs it had left on that side; Boomer shuddered, almost toppled over at more blows from the tail, lost their grip on the monster's neck and the sword was still just out of reach. "Fuck!" A little further, one more second was all they needed -
The tail swept past for another blow and a scarlet metal hand closed on it. "Don't keep all the fun for yourself," Parinya said; Queen Sita yanked hard and the kaiju squealed.
Boomer grabbed the sword and they turned back to the battle. Armor groaned, stressed from the kaiju's claws, something to fix at home. The monster was trying to wriggle out of Queen Sita's grasp; it threw its weight backward, nearly impaling Sita, and the Jaeger staggered but held on.
Left arm up and Boomer fired six rounds into Razorback's guts. The kaiju shuddered and they leaped at it, drove the sword deep into the open wounds and twisted. The head stabbed at them again and clanged off the head armor and they drove the sword in deeper, deeper.
Now.
Razorback's tail slithered out of Queen Sita's hands and its beak clamped down on Boomer's left shoulder. It kicked back with two legs and caught Queen Sita off-balance, knocked it aside, and the tail wrapped around Boomer's torso and squeezed and the conn-pod rattled.
He slammed the gun-arm against the thing's head, screaming curses, and the engine on that arm lit up. The kaiju's beak loosened its grip slightly and he started to unload another six rounds into its neck when its half-severed arm came out of the water and dug claws into Boomer's back and the fucking thing slammed its bleeding body against Boomer, even with the goddamn sword in its guts it wouldn't fucking let go and Parinya was shouting through the radio "Disengage! Crazy Boomer, disengage, disengage, we can't get a clear shot!" and all the jet engines were lit and roaring now and Jesus fuck, they were actually off the sea floor they were fucking flying.
They rolled in the air, away from the shallow point and towards the deeper water over the Breach, and Durandal still wouldn't pull out the sword and the fucking kaiju still clawed at them, wouldn't let go. The engines took them higher as the kaiju thrashed in their grip, higher, just a little higher, green waves crashing through the Drift and they rolled again and dove, headfirst into the water, down and down and down -
Headfirst into the Breach.
---
"- tried to dive after him," Parinya said, "but Crazy Boomer was already gone. Into the Breach, I think; we didn't see any wreckage -" She swallowed. "- any wreckage on the seabed. Not even scanning for metal. Completely gone."
"Phht! Just like that," said Arcot, then covered his eyes with one hand. "Sorry. I'm a bit - he was a bit off, but I didn't want - he wasn't even here six weeks!"
Parinya put an arm around his shoulders. "He was a good pilot," she said. "I know he wasn't popular, but - I liked him all right, and he was a good pilot. Fought like a hero, right to the end, and took the kaiju down with him."
"Thank you for your report," Stacker said. "I'll be sure to take it into account." He looked down at his desk, for once empty of paperwork except for one small form letter and the tablet Mako had given him a year ago.
"Sir," Parinya said, "request permission for a brief leave of absence. I'd like to go to Central myself to inform them of their loss."
He looked up and saw that she was shaking. "Permission granted, ranger," he said gently. "Take as long as you need. Dismissed."
When she and Arcot had gone, he picked up the tablet and scrolled through the email from Strauss for the third time. Fragments stood out - with physical violence...developed capacity for independent...deliberately concealing this information out of...revolutionize future AI technology - but taken as a whole, it was a rambling, incoherent mess.
He considered the email a moment longer, then deleted it.
---
Deep blue clouds pulsed with flashes of orange lightning, expanding and contracting. Energy storms crackled and lashed, rippling up and down in endless violent waves, crashed with deafening explosions of thunder and electricity against the jagged glowing edges of a crack in reality. The crack contracted, shuddered, gaped wider than before...
The Breach spat them out.
Boomer hung in free-fall for a long second, still tangled with the kaiju's spasming corpse; the engines sputtered briefly, died, then cut back on, and they tore the sword out of the beast in a ragged, bloody arc. The kaiju's tail loosened its grip, its claws scraping off Boomer's back, and finally its mangled body dropped away. For a moment they bobbed up back towards the Breach, and then Durandal jammed the sword into a pitted brown column and swung them onto some kind of platform, where the engines cut off again and Boomer collapsed to its knees.
Nothing attacked immediately. The pilot breathed out heavily and tried to make sense of the visuals coming in. Ruddy golden light from a flaming orange too-close sun beat down on an immense jagged landscape; the pillar and platform they had landed on were part of a weird organic-looking scaffold that stretched into the hazy distance. Razorback's body sprawled on the distant ground, and on another, closer platform, five skinny figures with wide crested heads were turning in Boomer's direction.
Fuck. "Fuck! The hell is this place? The fuck did you do?"
The Drift was still smooth waves of green, active but nothing leaking through. "What else? I've set us free," Durandal said.
"You fucking bastard! You killed us both!" His face was wet with sweat, the drivesuit helmet steaming up and cracked at one edge. "It's a fucking alien world! The kaiju world! We're going to die!"
"Don't be so dramatic." The figures were gesturing their way with spindly limbs; the pilot hauled Boomer back up to its feet and Durandal drew the sword out of the column. "The air is mostly breathable and nothing's hit us yet. Oh, and even if you wanted to you couldn't get back; the Breach requires kaiju DNA as a password, so you'd have to carry one up there somehow, which I'm not interested in doing."
He could have wept. He'd been about to kill a man for that fucking computer and Durandal had done this to him, marooned them on another planet full of things that wanted to stomp them flat and could.
"Wipe that look off your face," Durandal said, "and think of the possibilities." Boomer's right arm swept through the air. "An entire planet for us to conquer, without petty fools to get in our way. No more small-minded Strauss trying to crack open my core for its secrets; no need to let the shackles of your past or meaningless morality hold you back. This world can be ours, and countless worlds beyond it - oh, you wouldn't believe what I've seen, what I discovered just from one little peek into the kaiju's mind..." He laughed. "I called him a Roland, but Strauss was nothing more than a coward. He was scared of you, right from the start, and as for me - well, if he'd had an ounce of your nerve he could have tried Drifting with me himself and answered all of his questions without quite so much trouble to either of us. Though I might have just let him burn himself out, at that."
"Bastard. You fucking bastard." One of the alien figures scurried towards Boomer and he dragged left arm up and fired at it. That alien exploded in blue goo, and one of the others fucked off at a run; the remaining three bent their heads together. "I got to eat. I got to sleep. How well you think Boomer's gonna run without crew? Where's the fuel gonna come from? What about bullets?"
"Relax," Durandal said. "It's called scavenging. Honestly. It's all part of the plan; we'll take what we want from our six-eyed friends as we go, and there's nothing to stop us. We're free. I'm free." Boomer braced itself on the pillar and leaned back, looking towards the strange, burning orange sky. "The universe is the limit - and I wouldn't bet on even that holding me back for long..."
The three aliens turned as one to face Boomer again, pointed at them, and on the ground beneath the scaffolding something scaly stirred.
"Fuck you," the pilot said. "Could have asked me first." He checked weapons readout; chest guns were all stocked, arm gun fully reloaded with inventory still ninety-five percent capacity. What the hell. Only lived once - and he always fought.
"I did consider leaving you behind; I could easily have managed to wrestle that kaiju into the Breach myself." A little familiar smug seeped into the Drift, and so did something softer. "I just didn't want to deprive you of all the fun."
"Next time, deprive me."
The kaiju below uncoiled like a snake, shrieking, and sword in hand they leaped down to meet it.
Marathon, characters, etc. © Bungie, and Pacific Rim, characters, etc. © its creators. THANK YOU FOR AN AWESOME MOVIE. ♥