SpammyV

Made With Six Ingredients

  • he/him

Mecha nerd. Infrequently creative writer. I live under a rock.

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My Neocities blog!
spammys-can.neocities.org/

The evening air outside was hot and still, and inside the warehouse it was still hot but just barely less still. Large fans kept the air moving just a bit, making the space just on the right side of tolerable for the figure scrambling over the slouched-down M-Frame and the seated figure watching the first.

Gabradese was actively wrestling with the urge to nervously chew on his lower lip. Not out of fear for Alberen's safety as she scrambled over the M-Frame, sure-footed enough to be called an old goat in more ways that one. No, he worried what she would say.

This was just a rickety old warehouse with high ceilings and a large enough entrance to fit an M-Frame into. There was no repair bay to support the machine, and this wasn't the kind of place to be standing tall in anyway. Which was reassuring, because this M-Frame wasn't standing tall anytime soon.

Where the armor wasn't missing, it was cracked, and what armor remained had long since lost the bright paint and direct stripes that had marked it in its life. The left arm was gone below the elbow, with only a few wires and connectors dangling in the warm air. Far too much of the inner frame was visible, muscles and bones on display in a way that would make a flesh and blood doctor give up on the patient. It was at least sitting up, but slumped down, leaning lifelessly against a support.

Seeing the Onyx like this hurt.

But he buried that hurt as Alberen hopped down and started walking over to the lawn chairs where Gabradese was sitting. She didn't say anything while she approached, just held up both hands ready to catch something. Gabradese was quick to oblige, digging into the ice chest nearby and yanking a can off the six-pack inside.

"Where'd you come into something like this, Brad?" Alberen glanced at his neat black blazer and clean nails as she sank into the empty chair. Her can opened with a satisfying snap-hiss. "Never figured you for a picker."

"It was left to me from a- Friend," He answered with his lips in a flat line. He dug his own can out of the cooler, taking the time to plan his answer. "An old friend with the last of the Kuhnell Turbo Challengers in this sector. Always got listed in the billing. You should've seen it when it was running, Al. She was a beauty, with a clean rally stripe and mirror sheen on the paint."

Alberen gave a small nod while she took another drink. "Well, boyo... Last of the KTCs, we can work with that. I've got a good feeling that we can get at least fifty thousand for it. And that's whole. Obviously it'd sell faster if we put the investment in to part it out, but we're not talking a common model. I'll put some feelers out in the collector circles to find the right buyers here."

Brad winced. "You don't think it could run again?"

Al winced. "I'm no MF-mechanic. Aside from the arm the bones look alright to my eyes, but you'd need someone giving this a once-over with a scanner. I can tell your reactor isn't going to turn over. I wouldn't even try to start it. I don't even want to give you a finger-in-the-wind estimate on..."

She trailed off, noticing that all this time Gabradese's attention had been on the M-Frame. "You're gonna try to fix it up no matter what I say, aren't you."

"Think about it," Brad looked over with a grin. "Last of the Kuhnell Turbo Challengers. Notoriety would get us listed and up in the cards."

"Don't think that us slipped by, boyo. I've not agreed to anything yet."

"You've basically got a hangar sitting empty, Al. We can lift some parts from your junkers and I know you've got some special items you've been sitting on to find the right bidder. Having shop that fixed up our last KTC will get your name out wider than anything else."

"You got an M-Frame that won't even start. You don't have a pilot, mechanics, weapons, registry into the Battling Commission-"

"Do I have a hangar?"

"I've still not agreed to anything yet."

The sat in silence again while Gabradese pondered. Racing through his contacts, his contact's contacts, anyone he could reasonably cajole into this. After a moment he added, "I can get Harke on getting us in with the Commission. I pull some old fight footage, mechanics shouldn't be hard to find. Think I've got an in with a gun guy. We'll find a pilot somewhere, getting the right person will be crucial."

He was still met with silence. Maybe a small nod from Alberen, it was hard to tell. Or it was just an involuntary motion of her crushing her empty drink.

Brad pulled a second one from the chest and held his offer out. "We work out a plan with Harke in the morning. Best-case scenario, this turns into a real venture and you're getting a cut from it. Worst-case scenario, we just sell it. Either way you'll be getting paid for your warehouse space.

"Alright, boyo," Alberen took the can and finally favored him with a grin. "You got yourself a deal for now."


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