V. Larson - Mech

She looked down. In the grips of her great claws was the carcass of a jugger. The throat was tore open, the head tossed back. In her bloodlusting state, she had used her suit to claw and chew a great deal of the flesh from the creature’s soft throat area. A hint of exposed brain glinted up at her in the florescent lights of the bridge.

Breathing hard, she tried to regain her composure, tried to think. Could she truly be alone?

She strode among the squirming bodies, casually delivering deathblows to mortally wounded humans and aliens alike. Mentally, she thanked the wisdom she had had to have this suit built and maintained for so many years. The suit’s right foreclaw seemed damaged, it hung limply at her side, and the reserve magazines were decidedly jammed, but still in all, the suit had performed superbly.

Using the suit’s sensory apparatus, she attempted to find a useful survivor. The suit’s computer beeped, and a yellow indicator directed her to the door of the captain’s ready room. Inside, she discovered General Ari Steinbach, just as he was cautiously crawling out from beneath the conference table.

He jumped and backpedaled involuntarily at the sight of her grotesque, gore-drenched battlesuit.

“Ah, General,” she said. She was in a good mood now. Even his obvious cowardice in battle didn’t offend her in the slightest. A warm glow of contentment had settled in her guts. She hadn’t felt so relaxed, so sated in a very long time indeed, if ever. “You have again demonstrated your cat-like powers of survival.”

“I am pleased to see that you have done the same, Empress,” replied Steinbach with all the sincerity he could muster.

She chuckled. “I’m quite sure you had hoped I would perish even as I killed the last of the aliens, but you have not been quite so lucky.”

“What of your troops?”

She shook the battlesuit’s head. Ari took another step back, the human gesture, effected by the gross apparition of the battlesuit, clearly unnerved him.

“They are all dead. I am the last champion to exit the field.”

She twisted the suit, gazing back at the carnage that was the bridge. Within a few days, she thought idly, the stink would be amazing. She snapped her head back. Steinbach tensed and she enjoyed his animal fear.

“I need your help,” she told him. She explained about the jammed reserve magazines, and instructed him on how to open the external loading hatch. He followed her instructions with delicate precision, doing his best to avoid contact with the coating of slimy gore that encased the suit. While he worked, Mai Lee rested, closing her eyes and reclining somewhat in the cramped quarters. She wished now she could meditate peacefully in her castle, free of the loathsome discomfort of the suit, but the very idea of getting out of it was inconceivable now.

Suddenly, she was awakened from her reverie by a surprised squawk from Steinbach. There was a wild, scrabbling sound, which carried up through the body of the suit. With a snap and a clang, Steinbach closed the hatch. He stood before her, staring at the hatch and panting. Mai Lee regarded him with instant suspicion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Steinbach, blinking and swallowing. “I just. I just about screwed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“The magazine started moving, but some of the rounds were loose. I could have blown my hands off.”

Mai Lee snorted in disgust. “Your cowardice is boundless. Did you fix the problem?”

“I’m not sure.”

Mai Lee brought up the diagnostic screen. She clucked her tongue. The magazine was still listed as jammed. Experimentally, she aimed at one of the juggers and depressed the firing studs. There was a brief whirring sound and the clattering of dry firing.

“You have failed,” she said sourly. The chest guns leveled on his face.

“Perhaps if you try the inside hatch. I wasn’t able to reach all the way inside. The jam appeared quite easy to remedy, if you would only give it a little push.”

With a sound of frustration, she released her harness straps and twisted the proper hatch release a half-turn. Then she stopped. She looked at Steinbach through slitted eyes. She noted the way that his hands were fluttering over the tool he had been using.

“You seem to be sweating more profusely than before, General.”

A smile flickered over Steinbach’s face. He tried to look unconcerned. “You’re scrutiny is quite imposing, Empress.”

She gave a growl of distrust. Her hand slipped away from the hatch release. “What did you do? Slip a bomb in there?”

Steinbach looked offended. “Of course not, Empress. Check your diagnostics. Any dangerous weaponry would trip a dozen alarms, I’m sure.”

Still distrustful, she did as he suggested. The diagnostics only found some kind of obstruction. No explosive devices were detected.

“So why don’t you want to do it?”

“Empress, I am no technician. A man could lose a finger in there, with all that moving machinery. It would be so easy for you to reach the obstruction.”

“You really are a coward,” she said, snorting. Not liking him too close, in case something did go wrong, she marched the suit out into an open area of the bridge, between the line of dead aliens and the corpse strewn operator area.

She loosened her straps again and took a firm hold of the hatch release. With her other hand, she grabbed the ejection lever. She experienced only a moment of indecision. She chided herself for exhibiting cowardice akin to Steinbach himself. Had she not just bested an army of savage aliens? What could be wrong? The whole thing was ridiculous. Steinbach was a whimpering cretin.

She twisted the hatch release another half-turn and it popped open. Coiled up inside was the skinny, half-starved shrade that had hidden there since it had taken refuge in the suit while it was under maintenance beneath the castle.

Mai Lee’s eyes bulged. She attempted to close the hatch again. It was a testimony to the weak state of the shrade that it was even a contest. Only the berserk fear of death gave her a chance. But slowly, relentlessly, the hatch was forced open.

She remembered the ejection lever too late, the shrade already had a loop of flesh around her calf and was winding its way up her body quickly. She pulled the lever anyway and the head of the battlesuit popped off, landing on the deck of the bridge with a loud clang. She struggled to get out of the suit, got her head and shoulders into open air, then halted and began a pitiful wailing.

The dark, snake-like shape of muscle enveloped her. The ghastly sounds of feeding began.

“The door goes on three,” said Jarmo. He counted off. On three, he depressed the firing stud on his plasma cannon. It took several seconds, but the blast doors finally burnt away. Jumping through the orange glowing ring of metal, a dozen militiamen entered the bridge.

Jarmo and the mech Lieutenant stood marveling at the mounds of dead when the Governor, Sarah and Jun followed them inside. Sarah clapped her hands over Bili’s eyes, telling him to wait in the hall.

“It’s too late, Mom. I’ve seen it,” he said in a dead voice.

Droad watched them, frowning. Sarah looked as if she might cry. And well she might, he felt like crying himself. The carnage was awful. Tangled bodies lay strewn everywhere.

In the center of it all was Mai Lee, dead eyes staring forth from the top of her gore-encrusted battlesuit. The shrade that enveloped her was dead as well. The group naturally gravitated toward her.

“This must have been a fantastic battle,” said Droad. “But who won?”

“I’d say that we did,” said Sarah. She pointed to the blood trail of claw prints that traced the battlesuit’s progress to its final resting point in the middle of the chamber. “It looks like she was on her way to walk out, when she opened the suit to maybe get a breath and that shrade got her. She wouldn’t have done that if we hadn’t won the battle.”