Mercury Retrograde

Roulette in a way felt like she was better than them.

Those pitiful bored fools. Before half the off season was over they would toss away a whole season earning in bets, drink, and pleasurable company. They would then borrow against the next seasons from the Queen Company bank and then have to work like slaves to get themselves out from under debt the next time they were out on the rig.

It was so stupid!

But then Roulette would remember just how much of her money she tied up into the building and repairing of this robot and the other. How much of her precious off time had also been sunk into working in that smelly garage. How many times she had acquiesced to deal such as Liam had offered in order to get what she needed to go one more round.

Her eyes went to a scratched-in scrawl by the door itself that she had carved.

~Who is a fool to judge what is foolish?~

Stepping past the heavy door, into the large, brightly lite, and battle scared room, her eyes looked for and found her opponent, Jayson Sprinter, walking in through one of the other doors. That dark black robot following him was called The Wraith and it was ranked higher than her own robot by two levels in the standings, and -- so the rumor mill says -- by four in sheer terms of bad-ass-ery.

Roulette had watched some recordings of Jayson fighting his robot. The Wraith was quick, it was strong, and it could take a hell of a lot of punishment. If it lacked anything it was, in fan terminology, "a big gun." It had a main weapon, a massive cleaver fan's call The Sickle, despite its shape, and not much else. The few times Jayson had lost were almost always linked to him losing the use of that main weapon.

Rue had also seen far too many of his opponents get tricked into to fighting a close combat trying to take out that big hatchet only to feel it's bite. Wraith had too much armor for a toe-to-toe type fight to go anything but well for him.

Turning, she took her controller off her belt and activated Butcher's Billy.

Awakening with a jerk that often startled the unwary, the big machine lowered it's hind feet to the rough floor and then, with a lurch it took steps away from the forklift. The company-owned machine fled as quickly as it's distant operator could remotely turn it around.

Looking over her robot one last time was the mark of an amateur. Roulette didn't give Butcher's Billy even a glance as she stepped back outside and, turning sharply, walked behind the massive steel door and took the stairs up and into the armored control room. She heard the deep boom as the arena door closed below just as she got to the window and looked down into the squared-off chamber.

Some called the limited class boring.

Fools. True the limited class had matches that took longer, the robots could take less of a punch ton-per-ton than their more massive brethren in the unlimited class. And yeah, the placement of large metal obstacles in the arena could drag things out into an often ridiculous game of keep away. But the simple fact they were small made the robots so much quicker ... and thus more exciting to watch.

Standing at the window, Roulette moved her robot into the golden ring in the middle. The bright brassy-gold ring in the stone floor had originally served some function, but that was a job it had long ago given up. Now it simply marked where the robots began the bout.

Rue moved Butcher's Billy with an ease born of her many months controlling the lumbering immensity of A-Rig. Movement without thought. She had heard it called some weird name in Japanese once, but she hadn't bothered to try and remember it. To her, it was simply the way her mind worked when she was working controls. Too many hours of repetition had her hardwired now to move and adjust without even giving it a second thought. Like now she moved the agile quad-legged robot without hesitation.

The Wraith -- while true it moved just as smoothly -- to Roulette's eyes she saw a hint of hesitation. It squared off on the other side of the gold ring and lifted the massive cleaver over its head, waving it about in its hand.

Rue wasn't impressed.

Butcher's Billy had weapons too. Just to flaunt and taunt she shook the head and made her gray-white robot's waggle its chin beard . The old piece of braided rope was long ago battered beyond recognition but it made a hell of a good goat's beard.

Rue settled her HD goggles before her eyes. It took a second only to orient herself to the fact she was seeing out of the eyes of Butcher's Billy.

On the west wall of the chamber a large digital clock appeared. It was being projected from one of the many armored camera housings above. The countdown began to rapidly scroll down to zero.

The horn blew and Roulette was in motion first.

The remote in her hand might have been a part of her hands. And the robot in the arena was an extension of herself.

In bars the fan cheered as Butcher's Billy and The Wraith both surged into contact. Many of the patrons were so sure Roulette had made a mistake to close on the bigger, stronger, more heavily armed and armored robot.

Then the quad-legged robot leaped into the air.

Servo motors designed to move a heavy mass in Earth's gravity well could push those same things on Mercury to insanity levels of speed. With a dexterity that would have been equally impossible to pull off in full Earth Gravity, the Butcher's Billy vaulted over the top of The Wrath and attacked as it passed.

A small plate moved from the right front "hoof" and the un-rifled bore of a barrel appeared for a half second before the projectile left the barrel. A miniature, in all ways but power, of the current production railgun employed by Queen Space Industries as anti-asteroid collision weaponry -- or so all their advertisement promotions claims it to be -- the small gun spoke with a thunder that shook the arena. A spike of steel, pure and hardened into a cone two inches long, rode it's high powered magnets out and across the ridiculously short distance.

The slug pierced The Wrath to its core. Shattering delicate instruments like ice hit by a hammer.

Landing in a crouch, Butcher's Billy instantly moved again, this time both rear hoofs straight out behind it in a classic, horse-style, double hoofed kick.

The Wraith, into internals gyroscopic penetrated and damaged by the first attack, could not keep its feet under that. Driven forward into the arena floor, it lurched almost as quickly back to its feet, to stagger like a drunk. A terrible grinding and splintering of sparks and metal vomiting from its chest housing. An oily black smoke began to boil up beside its neck.

However lightning-fast The Wraith turned, it's huge cleaver swinging wide to try to catch the Butcher's Billy ... if it had been there. The black-hooded head swung left and right as the pilot sought out Rue's robot.

Crouching behind one of the pieces of battle-scarred terrain, Roulette had taken on the air of a stalker. She watched the damaged robot hunting for her and held as still as immobility could be. Checking her stats she winced seeing how badly the one-shot railgun had drained her batteries. She had been warned by its creator that such was going to be the case, but seeing the reality ... still, it packed the wallop she had wanted.

Now to survive the consequences of her desires.

Slow stalking through the arena The Wraith tried to find it's smaller, admittedly as yet un-damaged opponent. But their pilot was clearly struggling to simply keep the robot upright. Spitting metal from the smoking hole in its chest, The Wraith's gyro was eating itself more and more with every spin. Jayson Sprinter was soon going to have to be making a decision to forfeit or he would be winning a Pyrrhic victory even if he somehow managed to find and stomp Butcher's Billy. The dollar signs for the repairs were rolling over faster than the numbers on the round clock.

Roulette glanced at that clock. If she could somehow pull off a first-round victory it would certainly up her ranking, but at the same time the wait and let The Wraith die strategy had its merits. She sighed. Not flashy, and in this limited league, flash equaled cash.

"Ah, nutz."

Moving Butcher's Billy from behind the rubble Rue let the larger robot see her. It twisted, lurched and moved at a stagger towards her. Even damaged, the big robot moved quick, covering the distance in a few strides. It raised the massive cleaver The Sickle wanting to try and do a one shot beheading slash and try to bring this to an end before the black robot destroyed itself simply trying to stand upright.

Butcher's Billy crouched.

Even on a light gravity world like Mercury -- where weight and the awkwardness of tons of mass-in-motion are more easily overcome, the idiotic tendency to want to build robots that stand upright and look human was overpowering. Jayson had built The Wraith in that way. Admittedly it often used it's long arms the way a chimpanzee would, to allow for quicker turns on a three-point stance.

Butcher's Billy was a quad-legged robot that could stand upright on two legs. It also had a feature that wasn't as apparent to the casual viewer. The main computing and processing power wasn't built into the "Head" the way a lot of robot designers did, copying the human model to a freakish degree of imitation.

As has often been said a goat's "brain' was in its stomach.

And Butcher's Billy had a head of solid graphene and horns of salvaged tungsten carbide.

Crouched low, ducked under the missed cleaver, the mad goat did what all goats do.

Butcher's Billy caught The Wraith in the gut, just under the smoking hole in its chest. A great gout of fire and smoke erupted from the larger machine as the hammer blow of its own forward motion met the anvil of Butcher's Billy. With a bending and shattering of armor and internals that exploded into ruin, a flaming Wraith was tossed over the top of that mad metal goat and -- when Rue tossed back the robot's horned head -- it was vaulted ass-over-tea-kettle into the rubble Roulette had been hiding behind. In a tumble of metal, sparks, and fire the robot rolled to a stop, face down and billowing smoke.

Roulette turned her still undamaged robot around, kicked aside some broken metal sending it to the far side of the arena and moved with deadly purpose toward the downed Wraith. A hidden blade, more of a spike than edged steel, folded out from the mad goat's left forearm. Rue centered a killing punch over the black robot's head.

The horn sounded as Jayson signaled his submission.

On massive hydraulic pistons, the arena doors opened and arena crews rushed into to try and put out the burning mass of metal that was The Wraith. From the opposite side, Rue saw Jayson Sprinter running across the flood to his machine. Still in sync with her robot Roulette followed Jayson's passage with Butcher's Billy. The metal goat stalked over to the downed robot and the rescue team back away. Jayson reluctantly did the same casting evil looks up at the glass Roulette was behind.

With a move born in pure flash, Rue picked up The Sickle from beside the smoking scrap. With a laughing goaty-battle cry into her mic, she lifted the massive weapon over the horned head of Butcher's Billy.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

With her earning in the cargo pockets of her pants, Roulette should have been thrilled, elate, joyful and triumphant. She had managed -- admittedly by a whole lot of luck -- to pulled off the type of victory that was talked about for decades. She had been congratulated by any and all, even her opponent had come over to shake her hand.

So with all of that going, Rue should have been more head over heels than The Wraith ... but she wasn't. And the reason was waiting for her at the robot hanger when the forklift carried her robot back across.

Chewing on the stub of a dead cigar, his eyes were more on her more than the shiny robot. James "Ace" McNichol, the best projectile weapons expert on Mercury.

"Well, I have to say that turned out better than I would have thought." Scratching at his beard stubble the man waiting on Rue grinned. "You got lucky as hell."

She nodded. "So I've been told. Repeatedly."

The guy nodded, took out his cigar and tossed the wet stub into the trash nearby. "So... um... "

Roulette sighed and nodded. "Give me a few. Let me put Butcher Billy away and we'll head over to my place."

"The money offer is still on the table ... I mean if you would rather?"

Rue shook her head. "Even given what I just won there is no way I can spin that kind of cash together. Not for more than two seasons. We'll stick to the agreement."

He grinned and chuckled. "Well, you know I've got no problem with that."

Ignoring his humor, Rue guided her limp dangling robot back to the storage cage. Other pilots were here, some putting their machines away, others tending to pieces of scrap metal which had been robots hours earlier. To make matters worse, the smell of burnt plastic and rubber was terribly strong. There were trails of leaked fluids everywhere and the moaning of tortured metal being hammer straight or cut away gave the whole room a surrealist feel. Reminiscent of a scene on par with a battlefield trauma hospital ... complete with people on the edge of weeping.

Putting Butcher's Billy away and locking the cage, Rue gave the door a confirmation-shake then turned to go make good with the gunsmith, Ace.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

When Roulette was just a little girl she had had a dream that she had been part of the massive Exodus of humanity that had followed Alexander Queen into orbit. Night after night, week after week she had had the same dream.

Her parents took her to sleep specialists who forced drugs down the child's throat and into her veins that had burned out that reoccurring dream.

They had also stolen all the others she had.

For years after that, as she grew into her teens and young twenties, the girl had been adamant that she never dreamed. She closed her eyes, sleep took her, and she awoke. There was no feeling of time passing between those two moments. And, more often than not, she would awaken feeling exhausted.

Again her parents tried to interfere in the mental visions of their daughter.

New doctors were consulted. Brain scans, eye retina scans, rem sleep monitoring, and a dozen more test were given to the young woman. All showed that she was a normal human female and that she was simply ... mentally deficient when it came to dreaming memory.

Then came the trip from the crowded Burbank to the insanely crowded Tokyo.

Traveling with her father on one of his business trips -- mostly for the amusement factor of being a tourist -- but also to see him at work and to try and determine if she wanted to follow him in his chosen trade.

As the mag-lev train rode the steep hydrostaticly-supported rail up to the ever-growing orbital ring around Earth's equator, and then around the curve of the planet and back down to the disembarkation station in South East Asia she had lost her fight against fatigue and drifted to sleep.

And she had dreamed.

Once again it was the dream of that last mad scramble up the Queen space elevator that had taken place centuries ago. Asleep aboard the train, Rue had gripped the seat belt in her hand till it had cut into her palm, while -- in the vision -- it was her bag's carry strap and she had been terrified of losing it. Everything she owned had been hastily crammed inside and the odds of ever replacing anything she carried were nil. Behind her upon Earth there were nukes vaporizing cities, bathing the world in lethal radiation and flames.

And she had nothing else but that bag.

She was nothing special that she should live while so many died. A simple worker for Alexander Queen's massive space-based transportation company. A cog in a wheel, but her name had been on the list so she had the few precious inches in the elevator where she stood. When the crowd had shifted she had been shoved to one side enough to get a look out one of the windows. The endless sky before her eyes began to turn black and the curve of the Earth had appeared, she had never been so terrified in her life.

The young Roulette had awakened at the top of the mag-lev track just as the pressurized train had moved onto the orbital ring itself. Tears had rolled from her eyes. She was shaking and when her father saw her distress and demanded what was wrong she hadn't been able to answer.

She had been too happy to answer.

On the edge of space, she had again found the ability to dream.

Even if it was a nightmare, it was precious to her.

But her recovered dreams, however terrible it had been, vanished when she returned to the heavy gravity well.

The very next month Roulette signed on with Queen Space Industries and left Earth forever. To chase after her lost dreams.

It was while living on the massive Paradise Station above the nearly completed terraformed Lunar surface that she had her first taste of seduction. It had been like wine. Sweet, intoxicating, and bitter at the same time.

A technical assistant, she had been welcomed by the many stations personal. Only afterward did she learn -- while Roulette's skills with a computer and a micro-soldering iron were held in high esteem -- it was how she looked that mattered the most of them. She was -- to quote one the station people -- clearly put together from good genes.

Breeding genes.

It was probably more likely her ass in her jeans that had first attracted the wandering eye of Caesar Queen II. The young-ish heir-apparent to the Queen family, he had taken a liking to her and set his spurs to influencing her ... mostly in the direction of taking off her clothes in his presence. And, of course, doing naughty things with him.

Repeatedly.

Given her youth, and the many other facts involved -- he was handsome, rich, the Boss, not to mention he was set to inherit half the solar system -- she had quickly acquiesced and for a matter of a few weeks she was in his bed every night.

Then she learned about the real Queen family.

What they "want" they take. What they "need" they take. What they can "use" they take. And what they take they consider to be owned by them...

...till they don't want, need, or desire to use it.

Then they often destroy the thing as they discard it, least others desire what they consider trash.

Queen Space Industries by then had become father, mother, family, and lover to the young Roulette. And Paradise Station was her home. When the order appeared in her mail-box to ship to the orbital stations being assembled above Venus she had been so sure it was some a colossal mistake. Till the guards opened her door unannounced, herded her out, and all but tossed her into a deep lugger transport.

Her stuff had followed in a few weeks, with shipment cost "not" deferred.

Rue had sent messages to Caesar, only to have them be ignored and returned unread. She had tried to see him when he and his elderly father arrived on a tour of the new station a year later. She had been recognized and intercepted by his clandestine bodyguards.

Before she could say word one of protest, she had found herself crammed into an outbound transport to the Mercury Mining Company with a warning that there were worse places for her to be sent if she didn't take the point. Her bank balanced had been zeroed out by what she was told must be a clerical error. It had taken two years to get straightened out. During all that time Roulette had been compelled to do things she wasn't proud of in the rough and dirty mining community. Her skills with computers and a micro-tools hadn't been desired.

Her ability and willingness to fuck like a slut had been taken for granted.