There wasn’t much to say. Arthur felt like he’d fallen into a nettle patch. He ground his teeth and forced out only a few words to the incessant voice in his ear.

  “I’m. Trying.”

  “Oh, I can see that,” Hitori stood on the console in miniature form, his calm tone absurd against the chaos.

  Of course he was calm—he wasn’t human, just impact data rattling through Occam and to him for translation. For Arthur, each pang through the hull struck like a church bell in his bones. Which was an odd enough sensation because the cockpit was equipped with inertia dampeners and relatively comfortable straps—at least compared to what he was used to. How could he be feeling pain?

  Perhaps he’d ask if he wasn’t in this mess. The real Daiko had been a pilot, a Marshall, an anointed meckanist. If it were him coaching Arthur now, not his shadow, things would be different.

  A part of Arthur recoiled at the thought.

  I’m not helpless.

  Arthur willed Occam upright, shoving both sticks forward to counterweight the meck’s bound legs. An overturned bike roared back to life, its riders yanking the tow cable taut again.

  “Three…two…one,” Hitori counted, still maddeningly calm.

  The cable jerked Occam sideways. Arthur lost balance and slammed flat on his belly again. He ripped his arms from the clamps and glared at the sprite.

  “Look, if you’ve got something actually useful to add, now’s the time.”

  Hitori tilted his head, as if Arthur had asked him about breakfast.

  “You didn’t want my help when you charged in. I told you to wait. What was your plan, I asked. Let me know when you’ve accomplished it.”

  Arthur threw up his hands in frustrations, “they were dragging the Razor into the wastes.”

  “And so you charged, without a plan, without weighing the risks?”

  “The risks? Cenn and Snake needed us, we had to—”

  “Arthur,” Hitori’s voice rose suddenly, freezing him, “If I tell a meck unit in the field that enemies are west of their position, they don’t bolt in that direction. They deliberate. You need to control your emotions—urgency doesn’t excuse naivety.”

  Arthur’s throat tightened, his breath hitching toward tears. He hated that. He wanted to blurt that Hitori—this version of him—never actually fought in the war, that this was his first time too.

  But beneath his anger, and desperation, was a sliver of sense. And damnit Hitori still looked like Daiko, he had to trust him.

  “I’m sorry,” the words came out strangled. He cleared his throat and said it again, steadier.

  Hitori just looked at him just long enough that Arthur’s skin prickled.

  From the corner of his eye Arthur saw the cycles circling, men shouting, cables tightening around Occam. Just fifteen minutes ago he’d arrived in a blaze, kicking a bike sky-high, invincible. And it just took a second for him to get tangled. Now he and the Razor were in tow.

  The urge to leap from his chair was so strong his muscles shook. Still he held Hitori’s gaze.

  “Good,” Hitori said at last, “now that is self-control. That’s what you’ll need if you’re going to make decisions to save lives.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hitori turned back to the scavengers, “we’re not in as bad a situation as you think. Power reserves and hull integrity are high. Getting free is just a matter of leverage.”

  Static fuzzed through the cockpit, then voices crackled in. Arthur’s heart leapt as he thought it was Cenn, but the tones were rough, guttural.

  “Alfa to hell and back again, Tully. It’s got a head.”

  “I can see that, Nicola,” Tully answered.

  “I don’t like how it’s looking at me.”

  “It’s not looking at you, Fran. It’s still just a meck.”

  Arthur blinked, and it took him a moment to remember Occam’s head looming above him.

  “Craziest thing I’ve seen in a while,” another slurred, “what now?”

  “Step back, Herm. You reek,” Tully said, and Herm shuffled away, “we’re taking both. We’ll chop the ship and keep the meck restrained.”

  “What about the pilot?” Nicola pressed. “And that She-devil.”

  She-devil?

  “We’ll smoke ’em out if we have to. Now mount up. If we don’t get this score back to the boss, he’ll kill us. Score like this, it’s what he’s been waiting for.”

  Herm muttered, “He’ll kill you, you mean.”

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  Tully jabbed a finger into his gut, “not another word.”

  The men broke apart, warily forming a perimeter.

  Arthur swallowed hard, “What do we do now?”

  “We test them,” Hitori’s eyes were calm as ever, “and we test you. You know your conditions, you know your limitations. Now tell me how you plan to get out of this.”

  Arthur bristled, “sir, you’re giving me a lesson now?”

  “Better now before things get worse.”

  Arthur nearly laughed. What counted as worse? Still, he sighed, kept his hands from the sticks and forced himself to think.

  “You said leverage,” he muttered, “if I can’t stand…what if I roll?”

  “Show me.”

  Arthur grabbed the sticks, nerves and eagerness tangling as the conduits locked onto his arms.

  “Hang on,” he whispered, realizing the pointlessness of it after the fact.

  He twisted one stick back, the other forward, contorting inside the cockpit. Relief bloomed as Occam obeyed, and rolled. Cables wrapped tighter, but the bikes skittered back a step.

  “Innovative,” Hitori said, “now what?”

  “We keep going.”

  He leaned, rolling Occam again. Then again. The meck writhed like a netted fish, but the effect was immediate—the bikes yelped and lurched closer. Chains groaned.

  A snap rang out as one cable gave way. A bike skittered aside, its riders scrambling to reset it. Arthur rolled again, gritting through the stick tension. Another bike broke free. He smiled—until he caught sight of Tully yelling orders. Two more cables lashed in from the far side, bolting him down again.

  Arthur’s muscles screamed. The tension in the restraints was too familiar—like the exo from his trial, where he’d had to hold one stance or collapse.

  The HUD flickered. For an instant, the cockpit dissolved. Occam’s sleek frame warped into the crude exo rig—rough harnesses, iron grips biting his arms. His movements weren’t eased by modern servos anymore but raw manual pistons. Every limb felt literal.

  Arthur sucked in a breath, and the vision snapped away; he was back in the cockpit.

  “What was that?”

  Hitori frowned. His form glitched, stuttering.

  “You activated the D.V.E. again. Stay focused.”

  Arthur didn’t argue, though he was still shaken by the sudden shift.

  “Your strategy wasn’t bad. You forced your enemy to adjust to your tactics. But, tell me, what was your plan after you rolled yourself into an even tighter snare?”

  Arthur thought of something on the spot, opened his mouth, then shut it. He shook his head.

  “I didn’t have a plan,” despite it being painful to admit, Daiko nodded. This seemed to be the right answer.

  “There are times for linear strategies, like a life that needs saving, for example. This isn’t that. Think bigger. What haven’t you tried?”

  Arthur scanned his hot list. “Boosters. Repulsors. Gravwells.”

  “All good options, but think simpler.”

  Arthur’s brow furrowed as he skimmed the HUD again.

  “Your legs, boy. Use your damn legs.”

  Arthur blinked. “I am—”

  “You’re not,” Hitori teleported to Arthur’s other side. “Do a scan of your own body, a scan all Ensigns in the CORP are trained to do. And afterward, be honest, which parts of you are exhausted?”

  Arthur flexed his muscles from head to toe, testing himself. His neck, biceps, shoulders, back—all burning. His legs? Arthur’s face contorted with confusion. His legs were fine, numb and maybe even a little cold. His expression must’ve been clear for Hitori spoke up.

  “You see? You’ve dragged Occam by the arms this whole time. Put your will into the legs, like you did to raise the Razorback’s roll gate. Push on the greaves, it’s what they’re there for. Do it.”

  Arthur hesitated, then shoved his hips down, pressing his shins against the greaves. Remembering the incident with the roll gate, Arthur readjusted his hips. This time when he clicked the pedal he made sure the pressure against the grieves remained consistent.

  “Go,” Hitori barked.

  In one quick motion Arthur swung Occam’s hips around and dug his heels into the ground. The bike’s progress stopped immediately. Without much effort from Arthur, he watched the bikes toil to get Occam moving again.

  This whole time?

  Arthur increased the pressure, tapped the pedal a few times to orient his legs as he adjusted his sticks. With his legs and hips doing most of the movement, he was able to easily resist the cable tension. He smiled as the sense of power returned to him. Hitori turned toward him and gave him a questing look.

  “What are you waiting for? Stand!”

  Arthur locked the bracers around his wrists, squeezed the triggers, and shoved. His hips surged down, heels grinding the pedals. Occam didn’t just rise—he tore backward, launching at an upward angle.

  The tow cables snapped—some cleanly, others dragging arcs of bikes overhead like flailing tassels.

  Arthur’s stomach lurched as his arms—and Occam’s—spun to try and catch his fall. He swiped a command without thinking and Occam managed to roll from his back into a kneeling position.

  The cockpit shuddered and Arthur realized the triumphant scream he heard was his own.

  Vibrations ran through the sticks and pedals like electricity, he was alive! He looked at Hitori, grinning wide, his voice hoarse:

  “What…was that?”

  “That, was your potential.”

  For a split second, the pride on Hitori’s face was so human Arthur forgot where he was. Then the engines outside roared and Arthur stiffened for another attack—but the bikes were pulling back, peeling away from Occam and the Razor.

  The HUD zoomed in on one of the bikes to find Tully hanging on to one of the bikes, while giving Arthur the finger.

  “Should we go after them?” Arthur said aloud. His body was still vibrating.

  “No,” Hitori said, “looks like we have other issues.”

  “Huh?”

  Static came through the cockpit and Cenn’s voice was manic.

  “-digital whack job. Block us out? I’ll rip out your power cord and shove it up your—”

  “Cenn?” Arthur blurted.

  “Oh, look who it is. Done gallivanting?”

  “Gallivanting? What are you talking—”

  “Oh, we’re fine, thanks for asking. Oxygen levels are critical, but hey, Snake and I are thrilled you’re having fun.”

  Arthur’s gut dropped.

  “Oxygen?” He glanced at Hitori.

  Cenn didn’t wait. “Those bums zapped our oxcellerator so if you’ve got some spare time, Mr. Hero, drag us back into Quay’s oxsphere before we suffocate.”

  “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry, Cenn. I didn’t know—”

  “Save it, and we’ll save our oxygen.”

  The line cut.

  Arthur didn’t waste any time. He leaned Occam’s bulk into the Razor’s flank. The scavengers didn’t take their gravlifts with them and so it moved smoothly, albeit slowly.

  “What is she talking about?” Arthur muttered to Hitori, but the sprite was gone. No answers, just the thrum of the machine.

  Meter by meter, the Razor crept closer to safety and with the town in sight his exhilaration peaked.

  That was his first battle, and he’d won. His grip tightened on the sticks. I can do this.

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