The Guild Conspiracy by Brooke Johnson Page A

Rupert. The quadruped project hadn’t progressed any further since she signed the Guild contract, and while she felt a sense of triumph when she wrote her name next to Lyndon’s, there was a sense of trepidation also.
    Once construction of the prototype began, she was certain Julian would try to find any and every excuse to blame her for whatever delays occurred—­whether they were a result of her “mistakes” or not. At least she still had time to prepare for that eventuality. Her engineering team had yet to be assembled, so construction hadn’t started yet—­and wouldn’t until her team was finalized and the designs confirmed—­which was just as well to her. The longer construction was delayed, the better.
    Until then, she had the mech to occupy her time.
    Petra and Rupert sat in the floor of the subcity office, working on the mech’s final systems. The first fight was only days away, and they had spent every afternoon entrenched in the hidden office, working to repair the busted machine, cobbling weapons together with whatever parts they could get their hands on, and adding as many modifications and attachments as they could cram inside. It looked a mess without its plating, a conglomeration of lifeless gears, cams, and linkage bars housed in the mech’s bulky frame. Electric wires snaked through the machine like veins, affixed to various electric systems and powered by an electromagnetically charged battery. The machinery lacked elegance and order, but made up for it in power and versatility.
    With Rupert’s help, and both of them devoting as many hours as they could spare in the last two weeks, the mech was nearly complete. A few more adjustments to the mechanical systems, and they could start bolting the layers of plating to the frame.
    â€œHand me that screwdriver, would you?” said Petra, her voice muffled by the screws held between her lips. She took one of the screws and positioned it over the linkage joint, then held out her hand for the screwdriver. Rupert dutifully placed the tool in her palm, and she set to fixing the pieces together.
    Rupert sat cross-­legged beside her, his chin propped on his fist as he watched her work. “I wonder who you’ll be facing first,” he said. “It’s supposed to be a random draw, but I bet Selby will arrange it so you’re up against somebody like Darrow first, hoping to force you out early.”
    Petra nodded absently, concentrating on making sure all the systems in the left arm were lined up properly, slowly rotating one of the gears to test the movement of the main drive assembly. She frowned, turning the gears again. The transference could be tighter. Some of the connections were loose, causing the gear teeth to click upon engaging. Digging both hands into the bare systems, she loosened a few bolts and slightly shifted the gears before securing everything back into place. Testing the motion again, she listened for the steady whir of tightly fitted gears—­no clicks or grinding—­and withdrew her hands, satisfied with the result. She wiped her greasy fingers on a rag and stood, lifting her arms overhead as she stretched out her stiff muscles.
    They’d been working for a few hours already, and though she wanted to finish the mech tonight, there was still too much to do. It would take the rest of the week to complete, even with Rupert’s help.
    But it would be ready.
    All but one of her weapon concepts now augmented the machine, the final design lacking only the pneumatic fist, and only because it would have left the mech’s arm useless for anything else. Instead, she had fitted the mech’s limbs with a wide array of hidden weapons, hopefully versatile enough to combat anything her opponents threw at her.
    Petra sat down at her desk and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
    â€œNearly midnight.”
    She groaned, knowing she should probably head home.