Changing Gears 

Chapter One

Adjusting his scrubs, Ethan hurried down the sparse concrete hallway, fluorescent lighting stinging his eyes as his footsteps echoed down the barren corridor. A slight young man of 23, Ethan was often described as ‘shy’ by people who didn’t know him well and ‘painfully shy’ by people who did. Slightly anxious to a fault and standing at an unimpressive 167 cm, he never really had it in him to argue the fact. He was content being the quiet one and going with the flow, which is probably why he found himself enlisted in the first place as per the insistence of his ex-military father. He hadn’t wanted to be in medical, he would’ve rather been something a bit less hands on; maybe some kind of clerk or logistics desk jockey. Alas, a pair of overbearing parents had ensured that medical track was his only option and the Office of Interplanetary Defense had jumped at the chance to rope in a new medical corpsman. 

Luckily, he had found his stride on Charon Base, already becoming the second-lead corpsman on the entire small moon facility. Of course, this came with its own set of drawbacks; mainly a newfound caffeine addiction, very few personal hours, and even less sleep. Ethan found himself throwing himself into his work, hoping that if he stayed busy that the contractual 6 year enlistment would go by faster. At two years in, the jury was still out whether it was working or not. 

While walking down the hallway, he stepped off to the side as a group of Drop Marines stormed past. The hall wasn’t overly wide and Ethan found himself unceremoniously shoved into the wall, wincing a bit from the impact.

 “Fuckin pricks..” He thought to himself as he straightened himself up, double-checking that everything was within regs before continuing on his way. 

Drop Marines were just that, Marines who were dropped into hot zones either off of flighted transports or straight from orbit, every one of them a damned lunatic. Ethan tried his best to steer clear of them and most of his exposure only came from encountering them in the mess hall or treating them for injuries. Surprisingly, most injuries were from hijinks that the Marines did to each other or a rather memorable three months when they somehow managed to get their hands on a new strain of Jovian amphetamines. That had not been a fun time for anyone involved and Ethan had the scars to prove it.

Stopping off at a vending machine for his daily ritual of three energy drinks and a pack of beef jerky, he caught a glimpse of his reflection, wincing a bit internally. All military personnel were required to have a standard issue buzz cut and he ran his hand through his cropped black hair. Light-blue exhausted eyes slightly sunken into pale freckled cheeks stared back at him before he shifted his attention to his definitely ‘healthy’ dinner, hastily stuffing it into his bag. Hefting it over his shoulder, he gave himself a stretch and continued on his way, mind already beginning to wander once more. 

Working his way steadily across the compound, he turned into a slightly larger corridor that led off to the primary mech bay doors. He wasn’t aware of any ops at the moment so hopefully things would be quiet for his twelve-hour shift. He frowned and readjusted his bag as he realized he had just cursed himself by wishing for such peace. He should know better by now; the last time someone had dared mention how ‘quiet’ things were, they had received a distressed vessel of thirty-five poor saps who had gotten into a scuffle with a flash space debris occurrence. They and their ship had arrived shredded and the curse of the “Q” word had been solidified. Ethan sighed as he dreamt about how much more comfy he could be if he was allowed a nap; a short thirty-five days of sleep should do. Remembering the last time he had dared sleep in, he shook his head and straightened as he picked up his pace. Two weeks of sanitary duty had not been ideal.

Before turning down into the hall that would lead to the medical wing, he heard a cacophonous sound, metallic screeching peeled at his ears along with the telltale percussive clunks of a mech’s stomps. An alarm began wailing, keening and echoing down the hall. Ethan froze in place; he had never seen one of the mechs move before. He bit his lip as he looked furtively at his watch. If he was fast, he could catch a glimpse and after a moment of consideration he turned on his heel and scurried back to the bay entrance. Being anxious about being early had its perks he thought to himself as he approached the door. 

Ethan didn’t know much about the mechs. As a corpsman, his priorities tended to stay well within the realm of muscles, tendons, sucking chest wounds, or broken bones instead of blown hydraulics and shattered reactive armor. Daily, his feet took him down the hall and across the wide doors that opened into the mech bay. His first day on base he had made the mistake of gawking at the rows of mechs before almost colliding face first with a support pillar. He had never been the most agile of people, which is why he steered towards medic work and with some embarrassment, he had straightened his fatigues and hurried off to the medical wing.

He always thought there was something almost beautiful to their hulking forms; dual massive reversed legs supported by hydraulics wider than his thigh, a central control pod, sleek and angled, a serial number emblazoned in stark white on each side, the back and arm bristling with antennas, guns, and missile pods, the entire surface dotted with stacks of reactive ceramic armor in slate greys, browns, and greens. Millions of dollars of lethal autonomous killing machine keeping silent vigil over the bay, waiting for whenever the next set of orders came down the line at which life would be breathed into its mass as some pilot in a control room somewhere flipped it on and went hunting. 

Coming onto the field only a few decades ago, autonomous mech technology had advanced exponentially as humanity explored the stars. Mechs cared not for variable gravity, rough terrain, or inhospitable atmospheres, making them immensely popular with everything from standing governments like his outfit all the way to mercenary groups that ranked no better than pirates. Wherever there was conflict, mechs were inevitable. Able to be controlled safely from a distance by a pilot, a single machine could wreak utter havoc among their more fleshy opponents.

Ethan shivered at the thought. Each mech towered over the average troop, standing around ten meters high, even a single foot.. paw.. he wasn’t sure what to call them but they were large enough to easily crush a human without even knowing it. That was just with it walking, let alone sprinting across a battlefield, shooting explosive rounds, missiles, crushing everything in its path and-. He hurried further down the hall. His curiosity at war with his empathy. He had seen the aftermath first hand enough times laying in his med beds and wasn’t entirely comfortable with his own morbid curiosity with the machines that aided in creating such casualties. 

Peeking around the edge of the door frame, he scanned the bay’s expanse trying to catch a gleam of the mech’s exterior. He realized with some disappointment that the mech must be one of the ones housed in one of the further stalls. ‘In for a penny’ he thought as he slipped through the door and shimmied behind some containers, working his way silently towards the hissing and grating sounds that shook his very teeth. After what felt like an agonizing amount of time scooting along, he was able to lay his eyes on the object of his fascination. 

It was dirty. Utterly filthy even. It reminded him in a twisted way of the casualties that rolled into his sick beds but instead of shattered limbs and bullet holes, his eyes were met with smoking barrels, dangling cords, leaking coolant and the sickly smell of melting electronics mixed with an unidentifiable chemical wash bathing it all. He blinked as his eyes began to burn but he couldn’t look away. A team of mechanics scurried around, dousing the smoking areas with extinguishing foam, locking the legs into place, and coating the leaking chemicals with containment powder. As the smoke began to clear the machine shuddered, seeming to almost groan as it shut down as it rested heavily on the supports.

Ethan suddenly noticed that one of the legs had no hydraulics left, only torn metal tubing and struts dragging uselessly on the ground. His attention fixated on the metal beast as he greedily drank in every detail. There, on the side, the serial number; it was still visible but spattered with the mud and grime of whatever field it had just returned from. M-015. After a rapturous moment Ethan stirred. The alarms had gone quiet and with the mech inert, it too had gone quiet but he could still hear something. Faintly, over the sound of mechanics swearing and the general hubbub of the garage, he could hear a sound. He watched intently as a mechanic climbed a gantry and hit something on the central pod. There was a loud hiss as a large door slid open and the noise made itself known. Ethan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding; it was sobbing, someone inside the remote controlled mech was sobbing.