“Your hoversteed portaled over early this morning,” he murmured in my ear.
“What model hoversteed do you own?” the prince asked.
“I ride an A74-Zed Mark IV,” I replied. I’d never presume to own Tilly.
The prince leaned back slightly, and Jasper, quickly tapping on his datascroll with his stylus, whispered, “Last-generation standard-issue military model for heavy cavalry units.”
The prince returned his gaze to me. “I’m sorry, Captain, but your hoversteed is not up to the task.”
His comment crushed my fledgling confidence, but I did my best not to let it show. “But Tilly, my hoversteed, has been upgraded by the finest technicians at the Royal Guards Armory. I’m certain she can hold her own compared to…” I trailed off as Wiktor suddenly whispered in my ear. I listened, confusion growing, but finally I took a breath and turned back to the prince. “I apologize, Your Highness, it appears the scheduled upgrades did not take place.”
“Then, you can join the spectating party. I understand you speak Imperial rather well, and I’m certain there will be some hordling servant we’ll need you to translate for.”
I bowed as the Duke of Lynwyzc strode off to his own chambers to prepare for a pleasant morning of card games and light gambling. The moment he left the room, the other officers and diplomats began to disperse. I dropped my napkin and turned to go, noticing Wiktor as he fell in at my elbow. “Let’s grab my blades, then head to the garage. On the way, you can tell me what you mean by, ‘the upgrades never took place.’”
Minutes later, I stood in the motor pool. Other riders were going over their hoversteeds with their mechanics, performing last-minute tune-ups in the common area before moving to the racetrack outside. Instead of joining them, Wiktor led me to a set of private stables. I noticed one had a heavy bolt on it, currently latched shut. I thought that odd, until we approached and the door rattled alarmingly. I heard a distinctive mechanical growl.
“Tilly,” I said, my voice a sharp reprimand. The growling stopped, followed momentarily by a questioning chirp. “Yes, it’s me. What are you doing? We’re supposed to be making friends.”
Tilly could not physically snort with derision, but she managed an excellent approximation with her exhaust system.
“What happened?” I asked Wiktor.
“There were complications involving her upgrades,” Wiktor said, dancing around a delicate subject.
“What went wrong? Did the new hardware not integrate with her code?” Sometimes Tilly’s Synthetic Intelligence rejected new parts as malfunctioning equipment. I knew how to bypass the issue, but a mechanic not used to rebuilding hardware with an emergent SI might not know where to look.
“She never let us get close enough,” Wiktor clarified. “Every time we tried, she, well, there was an incident.”
Fear washed over me. My heart racing, I sprang for the stable door and wrenched it open.
Tilly was there, hovering in a state of nervous readiness. Upon seeing me, her aft fins waggled, a slight sign of acceptance, but her flight fins remained pulled back, ready to charge if she had to. I began running my hands along her chassis, walking around her, looking for damage. “Is she all right?”
“Your hoversteed is fine,” Wiktor said. I noticed he remained safely outside the stable. He may have even taken a step back. “Three mechanics, however, have suffered broken limbs, several severe abrasions, and one severed toe.”
I gaped at him, then looked back at Tilly. She was doing her best to look innocent, obedient, floating in readiness for me to ride. “Tilly, did you attack the royal mechanics?”
She chirped in assent.
“Tilly, we’ve talked about this.”
Tilly emitted a dubious warble.
“No, they are not spies. They are not traitors. We’re not on Kakoda anymore. We’re safe here…” I trailed off. We were definitely not safe here in the Crystal Palace on an Imperial-held world. Neither were we trapped behind enemy lines, all Allied portals captured, with nothing but dwindling supplies and a platoon of terrified infantry to rely on while I tried to train a newly emerged Synthetic Intelligence how to survive in near-constant combat conditions. No, we were surrounded by allies who mistrusted us and enemies who wished to manipulate us.
But I couldn’t explain that to Tilly. She was a hoversteed, a war machine. She understood political complexities even less than I.
“Listen, this is Wiktor. You see Wiktor?” Tilly stayed silent, but rotated slightly to face the valet. Wiktor stayed impassively still, but something about the cast of his shoulders indicated a sudden nervousness. “We like Wiktor. We trust Wiktor.” I looked at Wiktor. “Do you know anything about hovermotive mechanics?”
“Sir, I am a valet, not a grease monkey.”
I cursed. “Well, you’ll just have to learn. I’ll teach you.” I turned back to Tilly. “We don’t have time for any replacements, but I need you looking good for this ride. We’re going to give you a nice ultrasonic bath. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Tilly’s engine purred in a happy idle. Gently, I guided my hoversteed out of her stable and into the common area. “Wiktor, grab that cleaning rod.” He brought it to me, and I began to scrub a campaign’s worth of grime off my steed. Twenty minutes was enough to get the worst carbon scoring polished away. You could even read her operating number, T1-L33. I wasn’t able to get her polished as mirror-bright as the assorted royal steeds, but Tilly didn’t look half bad. A few new body panels, a fresh coat of paint, and she’d look good as new.
I didn’t realize how long we’d been scrubbing carbon scoring from Tilly’s fairing until the blare of a trumpet and crack of a starting gun signaled the start of the race. There was no roar of a crowd, very different from the soldiers’ races where enlisted men cheered their champions on and called invectives at their competitors, but the distinctive whine of graviton engines indicated the race was well underway. I looked at the clock and grimaced internally.
“Shall we retire to the spectators’ area?” Wiktor suggested.
