Opening Night Jitters

The day before any big event in anyone’s life is usually wracked with a handful of things. Anxiety is almost always in attendance on the lines of “What if I mess up?”, “What if I fail?”, or “What if I let them down?”. We learn to cage and limit these thoughts and their influence over the years as performance and display become more common place in our lives. If you really want this job, show me how much you want it. If you really want to pass, show me why you’ve earned it. In Harrison’s case, he wasn’t thinking about if he was a good enough pilot, or what if he’d screw up. He was thinking about, how quickly he could climb. How quickly he could fight with the best of the best. How quickly he could burst out of his parents’ long shadows to make a name for himself that wasn’t attributed to his existence as the heir of Andross.

Harrison sat in his dressing room listening to the announcer’s opening banter for the match. Noticing there was only the one he surmised his parents hadn’t arrived yet, his mother being the guest speaker tonight. 30 minutes until his first match. 30 minutes until he could change his fate. Standing up from the bench he walked over to a metal locker, opening it. Inside was his plugsuit. A red and orange spandex onesie, one couldn’t truly pilot their mech without one. Harrison began to change hastily throwing his clothes into a small pile in the corner of the room by the mirror. He reached for the suit but lost his footing quickly grabbing what he could to stop his fall but only finding the cuff of his plugsuit. Within moments Harrison stumbled to the ground, his helmet that was resting just atop the suit flying out of the locker and rolling across the room.

Harrison fumbled getting to his feet as he gave chase. The plugsuit could be replaced quite easily and could take a decent beating. A helmet on the other hand, while not only being an exponentially more expensive piece of equipment then a plugsuit took hours to calibrate and process to a mech, properly at least. While most pilots were satisfied with wearing any old helmet, only true pilots cared enough to take care of their helmets so that the link was seamless. Making the suit change from feeling like an iron titan to a snug fitting suit. Something his father would tell him on their practice outings.

Harrison continued the pursuit of his helmet, almost like a living thing it bounced off every corner and almost seemed to be avoiding his grasp intentionally. The pair ran out into Harrison’s office where dozens of documents littered the desk and surrounding floor of teammates and player strategies. The helmet continued through the space as it hit the arm of a chair bouncing right towards the door to the balcony. Harrison now instantly desperate knowing it wasn’t possible for him to calibrate a fresh helmet before the match lunged through the door just as it fell past the railing, nearly flying off the balcony. Luckily, Harrison caught it by the tips of his fingers.

“Hey Andross,” a strict but somewhat airy voice yelled out. “You may want to put some clothes on before you make your big debut.” The repair bay erupted into laughter as Harrison climbed back over the railing. He turned beet red realizing he never finished changing, still down to his skinnies. He regained his composure quickly and righted himself, wanting to save face in front of his new team. “Lead Mechanic Cleo how are preparations coming for tonight’s match?”. Harrison looked out over the bay as the women who called Harrison out stood up from her work. She was tall, wore a pair of blue overalls with the ties wrapped around her waist and a tank top covered in spots of grease and who knows what. Compared to the rest of the crew she was quite the odd one out not in a normal mechanics jumper. “We’re all good chief.” she said brushing her blonde hair out of her face but leaving her left eye covered. “All preliminary tests came back glowing and bright a couple minutes ago, now we’re just waiting for the bell.”

Harrison stuck out his arm interrupting Cleo, returning to his dressing room to retrieve the plugsuit, then quickly scurrying back to the balcony. Resting his helmet on the end table just inside his office door while leaning in the doorway he began to put on his suit, foot to foot, hand to hand as Cleo resumed her update. “Last week we successfully attached the regulation grid skin so your mechs colors can change to match the teams, a little bright if you ask me but the Sentinels chose them, so I won’t argue.” Cleo walked around her desk to a button on her desktop. She took a keycard from around her neck and inserted it in the slot beneath the button causing it to light up. “Would you like to see her?”, Cleo Said to Harrison, her hand hovering above the button eager to show her hard work.

Harrison nodded, a pleased smile appearing on Cleo’s face as she quickly slammed the button. The hangar alarms roared to life as the orange service lights began to spin. On the far end of the hangar up against the north wall a pair of massive, curved metal doors hissed and groaned as they opened revealing Harrison’s mech. Standing 5 stories tall and bathed in the flashing orange light was the Gazelle-Class mech dubbed “Pilgrim”. Not the name Harrison would have chosen but the name the mech served under during the war. When Harrison and his father found the thing, it was half buried in a surplus armament lot forgotten amongst the sea of various mechs arms and legs. Luther had told Harrison that once a mech had a name it was disrespectful to the old pilot to change it no matter how stupid it was. Harrison could care less for the rule, but it made his dad happy so he left it alone.

As the doors finished opening Harrison began making his way down across the catwalk towards Pilgrim. Gazelle units weren’t the most powerful units but finding one in such a good condition was rare. Hundreds of thousands of them were the backbone of the world’s military during the Harshawk Revolution often meaning the difference between a win and a defeat if a larger mech wasn’t present in the battle. Harrison admired his unit from high up above the ground. A sickly brown, the Pilgrim’s original paintjob had long since faded after years of abandonment and neglect. Harrison planned to restore it to its standard mountain camouflage when he had the time but since being admitted to the League he could never find any.

“All pilots, 10 minutes until launch. Please complete your final checks and move your mechs into their starting positions. 10-minute warning.” The announcement blared through the pa system echoing around the repair bay. The crew began to rustle off to their starting positions as Harrison made his way down to the ground level, Cleo meeting him at the bottom. Several mechanical arms descended from the ceiling as crew members sat at their workstations which slowly raised from the floor. Several guardrails emerged around the workstations as the arms locked underneath them, lifting them into the air and positioning them on the east and west walls of the hangar. “LAUNCH FLOOR CLEAR!” Cleo yelled from her command center as the various workers checked in to their terminals igniting a security grid on Cleo’s desktop, now positioned underneath Harrison’s quarters. “Launch Floor Clear.” rung out of the overhead as the hangar recognized that all crew members and Harrison were off the floor. “Prepare for Launch Positioning”.

The floor of the hangar cracked open in dozens of places as a blue light and the sound of hissing pistons emanated from below. What was the floor was now an enigma of moving machines as metal plates were replaced with giant tracks and massive metal arms grew like twisted trees into the hangar. As the floor settled into it’s new position a round pad in the center of the room emanated a pulsing red light casting a radiant hue onto everything in the room. A whirring noise began as the arms on the floor and the ceiling all started moving towards the Pilgrim, grabbing and locking onto various outlets of the storage column. The red light stopped leaving the hangar in relative darkness for a few seconds until a siren began going off. The red light now replaced with a yellow one, more consistent and direct. The column carrying the Pilgrim slowly moved away from the wall as the arms dragged it to the center of the room, rotating on its path 180 degrees to compensate for Harrison’s starting position of a Pawn.

As the pilgrim moved into position the yellow lights were replaced with the original blue glow as the arms receded back into the ceiling and the floor. Within moments the turbulent metal had become the floor once again, and the normal flood lights came back on returning the hangar to its sterile atmosphere. “Launch Positioning Complete” echoed through the chamber as various staircases emerged along the walls to connect the crews now elevated workstations to the floor. Harrison turned to Cleo and asked, “Don’t you think that’s a little too much show for a prep sequence?”. Cleo clicked her tongue in protest. “Hey buddy, safety is necessary. And it makes your garbage mech look cool for a minute or so.” She shot back. “Imagine having a Bravada unit in here with all those lights, damn that’d be something wouldn’t it?” Harrison sneered at Cleo as he picked up his helmet, launching the pilot’s ladder. A skinny metal rung ladder emerged from the circle beneath the mech in a pathetic ear-piercing display. Harrison winced as he adjusted the ladders height to meet the Pilgrim’s torso causing it to sputter and jump several inches past and somehow below its mark. Struggling with the controls Harrison grew impatient as Cleo chuckled behind him. Harrison embarrassed again decided to cut his losses, deploying the ladder to lean against the torso several feet below the hatch to enter the cockpit.

The crew was silent and avoided looking at Harrison as Cleo chortled and then said “Ya wanna try that again man, I won’t blame you.” Harrison momentarily considered firing Cleo as he went to put his helmet only to be interrupted by a shrill bell. Not from the loudspeaker but from the service door on the side of the hangar, next to the loading doors. Harrison looked at Cleo and Cleo stared blankly back at him, popping her gum. “It’s probably just some teammates wishing you luck on your first match.” Harrison rolled his eyes as he made his way down the service stairs to the floor. “I can talk with them after the match, they can get a read on me then.” Cleo slightly dumbfounded stared at Harrison as he walked across the hangar towards his mech, thinking to herself how a pilot could be so anal about appearances. “You still have nine minutes or so before you need to strap in it won’t hurt to be friendly.” Cleo yelled, making Harrison turn around. “I’m not here for them Cleo, I’m here to prove myself to Florence and to prove myself to the audience. Knowing the other pilots apart from the king and my enemies is pointless in the long run. If I want to get fights, no ally should outshine me.” Harrison turned back around on his path going to put on his helmet as the bell rang out again.

Cleo with a cunning smile reached over to the left of her control board to a large black switch resting her hand upon it like a butterfly on a branch. “If you’re gonna be an ass about it, might as well play the part.” Pulling the switch. The hangar doors began to open as the warning light blared on either side of the door. Harrison turned back to Cleo and shot her a dirty look before turning point and heading towards the opening doors. Mumbling to himself in frustration he walked down the exterior ramp to the concrete floor of the Home Avenue, a large street spanning several blocks in each direction lined with a dozen-plus mobile hangars just like Harrisons, except for some design variance. Large screens positioned to the upper right of the doors displayed their positioning on the board. Across from Harrison was the C1 hangar, belonging to the left Knight. To the left of the Knight was a decadent Hangar belonging to the queen, D1. Past them was the King in E1. As much as Harrison struggled to remember his teammates names, he couldn’t remember them despite taking the time to glance at a team roster once several weeks ago. The only one he could say that was front and center in his mind was Florence, the King.

Harrison had been drafted by her at the beginning of the season, shook her hand at the ceremony and knew what she expected of him. Not only was Florence a renowned fighter, but she was also a veteran like his parents. If he could get into her pocket, he could learn so many amazing things that could put him above the rest. He may even convince her to qualify him for promotion. Harrison wrapped up in his own head didn’t notice the two pilots approaching him. Now standing right in front of him the duo eagerly stuck out their hands to introduce themselves, but Harrison kept blankly staring ahead caught up in his long-term schemes. The two pilots put their arms down after a short while wondering if Harrison was all there. The taller of the two clapped her hands snapping Harrison out of his daze.

As Harrison came back down to earth he saw the two pilots in front of him. To his left, the taller one. With shoulder length black braids and vibrant blue eyes, she stuck her hand out again to Harrison, smiling to reduce the awkwardness of the already awkward introduction. “Hello Mr. Andross, my name is Kiera James, I’m your neighbor in B2.” Harrison shook her hand now not so sure of his own selfish plans after looking his “competition” in the eye. “This here is our teammate, Paul Kinbar.” Kiera continued, gesturing to her right. The short stocky man looked at Harrison like how a deer might look at a wolf they just noticed in the tall grass. Kiera knudged Paul and he stuttered back to life introducing himself. “H-H-Hello Mr. Andross, I’m not your square neighbor like Kiera but my square is, um, in A2. I’m a, I’m a big fan of your parents.”

Any cozy corruption Harrison had felt latching onto his opinions quickly disappeared with Paul’s statement. “Why would he tell me that unless he wanted me to get one of their autographs. Another one who wants something.” Harrison thought to himself behind a friendly smile. “Well just in case you didn’t know my name is Harrison Andross, I’m your neighbor in square C2”. As he said it Harrison looked up at his own display screen. The low hum of the light illuminated the giant C2, deceptively larger than it appears to be from a distance. A reminder of his position. A temporary one he told himself.

“Is that a complete Gazelle Unit?” Paul said, rushing past Harrison. A little taken a back by the sudden outburst Harrison turned to follow and Kiera not far behind him. The trio now walking into Harrison’s hangar stopped right in front of the Pilgrim, Paul squealing and muttering to himself over the mech. “Mr. Andross I don’t know how to tell you how amazing it is that you have a complete Gazelle Unit.” Paul said circling the mechs launch pad. “It’s just a Gazelle Unit” Harrison thought to himself. “Most of the Gazelle Units during the war were reused after battles and repaired with a various number of parts from other mechs to keep them running. A complete and original Gazelle is rarer than you’d think” Paul said, coming back around to Harrison and Kiera.

“He’s a fanatic about mechs.” Kiera added. “He can tell a mechs type, size, and unit just by looking at it. He’s working on being able to tell what they are by the most subtle changes instead of their serial number.” This peaked Harrison’s interest. When he found the Pilgrim in the surplus yard the exposure had worn away the serial number. They couldn’t even find it in the old system, or what little remained of it before they fixed it up. Before Harrison could ask for Paul’s nuanced opinion on the matter an announcement rang out all down the avenue and withing the hangar. “All Pilots report to your Hangars, Launch will commence in 5 minutes.” The message repeated as a new vitality infected the crew checking screens and running diagnostics. Even Cleo had put on her headset to make sure that comms were up and running. “Ey kids hate to break up your hang out, but you should all get back to your squares we’re prepping for launch.” The trio looked in Cleo’s general direction, Kiera and Paul nodding to confirm they heard it. Harrison maintained a distant stare as Cleo shooed him to get him moving. “I’ll see you two on the field.” Harrison said lifting his helmet above his head. “It was nice to meet you Mr. Andross, and I look forward to fighting alongside you.” Kiera replied, turning with a skip and running back to her square with Paul close behind. Putting on his helmet and fastening the latch, Harrison checked his camera links quickly too make sure they were up and running.

Behind him the Pilgrim’s head rose as several lights appeared underneath the glass visor. “Rear Left, Front Left,” Harrison said. Two haphazard camera takes appeared in the void of Harrison’s helmet displaying a flat but live feed of the hangar around him to the Pilgrim’s left. The static flat images intersected each other in the helmet. If he wasn’t used to it by now it would be a tad disorienting. “Rear Right, Front Right,” Harrison continued. Two more screens manifested to the right in Harrison’s helmet transmitting the right side of the Pilgrim. Just like the left screens the right intersected each other as well. “Front Top, Bottom Top.” Harrison’s helmet was a bustling screen of chaos. Six separate camera feeds together making up the Pilgrim’s full range of vision. Harrison seeing himself in the center of the screens quietly muttered “Left, Right, Top Centers”. Immediately the camera feeds warped to integrate the three central cameras adding a level of depth to the image that was indistinguishable from reality.

Slightly disoriented Harrison took off his helmet. It was never recommended to wear the helmet while it connected but it was necessary for seamless integration, doesn’t mean it didn’t suck though. Harrison approached the Pilgrim climbing the ladder to the cockpit as the chest opened. Inside was a various mess of switches and dials, straps and gauges. A vertical harness with bands for the waist, forearms, and forelegs hung from the ceiling. Harrison navigated into the array of belts and cables turning himself around being careful not to drop his helmet, now facing front. “3 minutes to launch, final call, 3 minutes to launch.”

Harrison attached his waste harness and brace walking to the center of the movement emulator. He placed his helmet on a hook behind him as he strapped in his forearms and forelegs quickly checking that all cords were plugged in and connected. “Sealing Cockpit.” Harrison said getting a copy from Cleo as the doors closed around him, enclosing him in the chest of the Pilgrim. Initiating his plugsuit for sensory uplink a blue band of light spread along lines in his suit from his fingers to his arms to his chest. A cool feeling, the sensory uplink allowed for the momentum of the mech moving to integrate with the actions of the pilot in the movement emulator, so if the mech punches the pilot feels like they’re punching as opposed to controlling a machine that’s punching. Harrison reached behind him and picked up his Helmet fastening it around his chin and initiating startup.

“Launch in 30 seconds.” Cleo said into the hangars overhead as Harrison started initiating his movement. He flexed his fingers which flexed the Pilgrim’s fingers. He shook out his legs shaking out the Pilgrim’s. Recently tendered and oiled she moved like a dream, assisting the immersion greatly. Nothing more infuriating then trying to move a limb and the mech not being able to keep up due to poor maintenance. “Launch in 20 seconds.” Cleo said. “Open Kit” Harrison said as an inventory screen overlayed the helmets feed showing the weapons the Pilgrim had installed. A drone in the right thigh compartment, a 2nd generation-pultizer sub machine gun in the backpack alongside a dozen or so proximity turrets. A standard issue Gazelle bowie knife in the right thigh compartment and a booster belt equipped around the waist with auxiliary attachments in the ankles and wrists. “Not a great load out but good enough for a beginner” Harrison thought.

“Launch in 10 Seconds.” Cleo said. The last update she’d give before the round started. The hangar began to roar as a low-pitched whine turned into a high-pitched one as the lift powered up. A circular door above the Pilgrim opened letting in the gleaming light and sounds of the stadium as Harrison stood up straight with his hands to his sides for the lift to make a smooth transition. He held his breath as the launch siren blared and the lift began to rise, lifting him to his first match, the beginning of the rest of his life. Harrison excited and determined held his composure as the lift neared the top, passing the internal mechanisms of the squares and internal storage bays for weapons and sometimes even other mechs.

As the mech passed the opening several lights beamed into the Pilgrim’s camera quickly adjusting in order not to blind Harrison. All around him far into the distance was the wall of the stadium supporting the audience seating. While he couldn’t see it from his current position Harrison tried to catch a glimpse of the edge of the pit around the board, but couldn’t find a clear view. Down the line to his left and right several mechs rose in unison alongside Harrison, the line of pawns. As much as he wanted to look behind him to see the named mechs belonging to his team he kept his head forward to maintain the tradition of the rise. Straight forward and unmoving until the announcer officially started the game. Across from the board rose the enemy team in unison with the Chicago Sentinels. Their gray and black mech colors eluding a passive “Bad Guy” vibe they gave off. From what Harrison could tell their mechs weren’t too extraordinary with pawns not breaking from a Unit F and Unit G line up. Harrison would have continued his analysis if the light array above the stadium didn’t all focus to the center of the board. A man driving a small hovering cart made his way to a little podium in the dead center of the board. The man got out and adjusted his tie. He shut his door and approached the stand. He tapped the mike and coughed a couple times before falling silent and taking a deep breath. Then he spoke.

“LADIES AND GENTLMAN, BOYS AND GIRLS, WELCOME TO THE OPENING MATCH OF THE 2056 MECHA CHESS SEASON”