The Exiler had been stripped of all weapons. When it stepped out of the steel frame, it wobbled slightly, as if something inside it was damaged. Even so, the organizers still outfitted every challenger with full-body protective gear and a shield.
The first challenger lasted less than twenty seconds before shouting to stop. Two burly handlers at the cage edge rushed in with handheld EMP stunners and slammed the switches. The Exiler collapsed instantly.
The challenger was carried out under a wave of boos, screaming curses the whole time—his leg was broken.
The second challenger was another earlier winner. He raised a middle finger at the first man and barked, “Only cowards call it!”
He also failed at twenty seconds.
He didn’t call to stop. He screamed for help.
After that, the organizers loosened the rules: two people could enter the cage together.
So the third match was two gamblers from the crowd, built like men who’d fought before.
It ended worse than the others. One was dragged out with shattered arms and legs, howling. The other was unconscious, blood foaming at his mouth. No one knew if he’d live.
…
From the moment the Plando robot appeared, Carlos’s stare had been locked on it. His thoughts flooded backward to six years ago, to that night. If not for this steel animal, his beloved Leomi would still be alive. Linneya wouldn’t have grown up without a mother.
Without realizing it, he clenched his right hand into a metal fist.
“Any more challengers?” the announcer shouted. “These are the times that need heroes! Anyone with guts can step up and show those idiots at the front lines—who can’t win a single battle—that Plando scrap isn’t so invincible! Last one minute and we pay two hundred thousand!”
Even with the bounty doubled, no one moved. Not the crowd. Not the previous winners. The announcer was about to end the show when Carlos lifted his betting tablet and pressed the challenge button.
“Oh!” The announcer’s voice rose into a scream. “We’ve got a brave soul! Let’s bless Challenger Number Six from the stands—Carlos Bradleeeeeeey!”
Carlos took off his wristband and coat, pulled on the protective gear, grabbed the shield, and stepped into the cage.
Leomi—today I avenge you.
The Exiler had already finished rebooting and been secured back into the steel frame. The moment Carlos entered, its optic locked onto him.
“Timer… START!”
At the signal, the grate gate swung open. The Exiler surged out like a thing finally allowed to kill.
Up close, Carlos saw just how wrecked it was. Its armor was broken and peeled back in places, covered in dents and bullet pitting—the scars of countless battles. It looked one step from being scrapped.
It was still over two meters of steel.
The Exiler swung a heavy fist in a wide sweep. Carlos stepped back and avoided it. The second punch came down from above. Carlos raised the shield and blocked—then felt like he’d been hit by a charging bull. The shield nearly tore free. His left arm went numb. The third strike forced him to retreat again.
For a moment Carlos was back in that old, hopeless night.
But he’d gained something since then: control.
Don’t take hits head-on. Don’t get cornered. With that kind of power, one clean blow was death.
After three exchanges, Carlos saw it—the Exiler’s left leg was damaged. When it moved, its center of gravity wavered.
He waited. Ducked a sweeping strike. And drove his right fist into the Exiler’s left hip as hard as he could.
The machine staggered.
Cheers exploded from the stands.
That’s the spot, Carlos thought. Keep hitting that spot.
He lunged to follow up, but the Exiler stabilized at once. It let out a shrieking metallic hiss and snapped its left hand toward him.
Carlos had no time to dodge. He slapped at the reaching hand with the shield, but his strength was nothing compared to the machine’s. The shield didn’t move it off line.
The Exiler seized Carlos by the chest armor and lifted him.
Its right hand rose to smash down.
Gasps ripped through the crowd.
Carlos brought the shield up in time and absorbed the blow. Even with the shield and helmet taking it, his head almost blacked out. A fierce ringing filled his ears. He fought to wriggle free—impossible—so he protected his head and grabbed at the only leverage he could find: the Exiler’s thumb. He latched on with his right hand and pried with everything he had.
The Exiler’s optic flickered with something like confusion, as if it couldn’t process a human forcing its finger back.
Carlos kicked, both legs, as hard as he could—straight into its head.
The grip broke.
Carlos hit the ground and rolled away. When he scrambled up, he realized his torso was bare.
His chest plate was still in the Exiler’s hand.
“Thirty seconds!” the announcer roared. “Carlos has held on for thirty seconds!”
“Carlos! Carlos! Carlos!”
Carlos was already breathing hard.
I can’t hurt it, he realized. Even half-broken, I can’t hurt it.
The Exiler didn’t get tired. He did.
He backed to the edge of the cage, trying to buy even one extra second of air.
The Exiler didn’t give him a second. It charged.
Carlos watched it close in and, at the last instant, threw himself sideways. His plan was to make it slam into the cage wall, then hammer the damaged hip again.
He’d misjudged one thing: this cage was never built to hold that kind of force.
The Exiler smashed clean through an entire wall of mesh and dropped off the platform.
Two spectators who’d been watching too close were pinned beneath the fallen metal.
Carlos didn’t hesitate. He jumped down after it and swung his right fist down with all he had.
The Exiler had just started to push itself up when the punch landed on the back of its head and drove it back down.
Carlos straddled the machine and pounded, again and again, his right fist falling like a drumbeat against steel.
The stands went insane.
“Unbelievable!” the announcer screamed. “This is—this is the wildest thing I’ve ever seen!”
“Carlos! Carlos! Carlos!”
“For Leomi!” Carlos roared as he hammered.
“For Leomi! Leomi! Leomi!”
The Exiler’s head began to sag. Then it tore free and rolled across the ground, its optic light fading into nothing.
Carlos raised the head high above him, holding it up as proof.
“This footage is going to go viral!” the announcer shouted. “Those military idiots will die of shame! With our bare hands we terminated an Exiler!”
Everyone was on their feet, cheering until the ceiling shook.
***
Linneya spent the entire afternoon under the constant roar of aircraft overhead. As night fell, her unease only grew.
At dusk she climbed to the highest point of the wrecked skiff and looked toward the starport. Tonight it was different: the overpass leading to the port was choked with traffic, every building inside the port was lit, and transport craft kept taking off and landing in a rush of motion and light.
The huge ship would lift tonight.
So what? Linneya thought. None of it has anything to do with me.
Her father had called an hour ago, promising he’d be back soon. Where did he go? Why was it taking so long?
Fear crawled up her throat. She climbed down into the cabin, grabbed her wristband, and was about to call again—
When a person burst through the hole in the hull.
Linneya jumped so hard her knees knocked, but in the next heartbeat she recognized him.
Dad.
Carlos’s face was bruised and swollen, but he looked like every pore in his body was shining. He barged in and shouted,
“Linneya—grab the bag. We’re boarding!”