“In the future, Rush, let other clans handle their own business,” Hartwell said. “Especially Opiuchus. They can be testy.”

  Rush nodded without a word. Thankfully any repercussions of his inadvisable actions were being left far, far behind. Hartwell had been planning to leave anyway, and Rush sticking his nose in another clan’s business was as good an excuse as any to get the hell out of dodge. They were already hours into the rust wastes, and getting deeper by the second. As short as Opiuchus fuses tended to be, their memories were even shorter. No one would care about Rush by the time they got back.

  “I respect that you wanted to stop that man from getting hurt, but sometimes rushing in to solve one problem creates another,” Hartwell said.

  “Like purging an overloaded power coupling without grounding it,” Rush said.

  “Yes. I assume,” Hartwell said. He didn’t know how that electronics nonsense worked. “Just be careful in the future.”

  Rush said nothing. Hartwell assumed he was simply doing one of his usual pauses to consider his words, but it started to drag on a little too long. He turned to the side and saw that Rush had become completely fixated on the horizon.

  “Something the matter, Rush?”

  “There’s something moving out there,” Rush said. Hartwell followed his gaze to the horizon and saw a black speck in the distance, moving along the flat expanse of the rust wastes.

  “I’ll be damned,” Hartwell said. “Good eye.”

  “There’s a chance it’s a mecha,” Rush said. “But I don’t know for sure yet.”

  “Hopefully just another junker caravan heading out,” Hartwell said. “There were a few looking to-”

  “No, definitely a mecha,” Rush said. Hartwell let out a deep sigh. Couldn’t even get one sentence’s worth of hope.

  “It’d be unlucky if we got three mecha attacks in a year,” Jen said. “Now we’ve got four in a matter of weeks. Starting to think that suit is bad luck.”

  “And all those mecha attacks would come with fatalities,” Giza snapped. “That suit, and the person in it, are the reason we’re all still alive.”

  “We’re not having this damned argument again,” Hartwell said. “We need to deal with the situation as it is, and that situation-”

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  He pointed towards the horizon, at the mecha that was now clearly visible, and clearly heading in their direction.

  “-is going to be here in fifteen minutes or less,” Hartwell said. “I don’t want to waste time bickering about nonsense.”

  “I’ll bicker all I want,” Jen said. “Not like I’m doing anything. We all just stand around cowering until Rush caves in someone’s ribcage anyway.”

  “He only did that once!”

  “How many times have you caved in someone’s ribs?”

  “That’s not the point!”

  “Enough,” Hartwell said. “Giza, is Rush suited up?”

  “Yes, he’s good to go,” Giza said. “Currently hiding in the rear scrap hauler.”

  “How heroic,” Jen said. “And let me guess, our part in the plan is to keep moving forward and pretend this isn’t happening, right?”

  Hartwell said nothing. Giza kept silent as well.

  “I’m right,” Jen said, with a confident smile on her scarred face.

  “You’re worse than the Old Bastard sometimes, you know that?”

  “Uglier too,” Jen said. “Don’t worry. I’ll play my part.”

  She waved a dismissive hand at the father-daughter duo. Giza waited until she was out of earshot to let out a grunt of frustration.

  “She really is worse,” Giza grumbled.

  “I know, but it doesn’t help anything to say it,” Hartwell said. “I really am sick of you two arguing.”

  “Well I’m not sick of being right,” Giza said. Hartwell tried to contain his disappointment. It’d only start another argument.

  Rush kept an eye on the mecha as it approached. According to Elvis, it was a long-range artillery model, designed to bombard targets from a distance.

  “The railgun would make a fine addition to our arsenal, Mr. Rush,” Elvis concluded. “While the natural downsizing would reduce its effective range to only a few dozen yards rather than hundreds, it would be nice to have a combat option not dependent on climbing the mecha itself.”

  Rush continued to stare at the mecha without a word.

  “And rather less dependent on us almost getting punched to death by a titanic fist every fight,” Elvis concluded.

  “You said it had a range of several hundred yards?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rush, though I also said some other things I would like to address,” Elvis said.

  “If it can attack from that distance, why is it getting so close?”

  “Perhaps it means to follow us, as the other mecha did,” Elvis speculated.

  “Our haul wasn’t big enough to draw that kind of attention,” Rush said. He made sure the mecha wasn’t looking their direction and peeked a little further over the edge of the hauler he was hiding in. He had plenty of room, given it was empty right now.

  “I’m afraid I can’t speculate, then, Mr. Rush,” Elvis said. “Do let me know if you have any theories.”

  If he did, Rush kept them to himself. He stared at the mecha as it made a few final strides and then stopped in its tracks. Behind the helmet visor, Rush’s eyes narrowed. The momentary hesitation ended, and the mecha started walking again. Soon, its speakers let out a loud hiss as they activated.

  “Nothing personal, lads.”

  The mecha raised a fist, and the railgun Elvis had been talking about got pointed right at the scrap hauler.

  “Oh dear.”

  The railgun only launched a scrap of metal about the size of a finger, but accelerated to thousands of miles an hour, it was enough to completely obliterate the hauler, leaving behind nothing but shards of scrap and a fifty-foot wide crater -and a humanoid metal suit crawling out of the dirt.

  “Now we know the shield works,” Rush said. Elvis let out a little electronic whimper in response.