The Guild Conspiracy by Brooke Johnson Page B

She had an exam in the morning and needed to cram in some last-­minute studying before the test. If she failed, she’d be catching up for the rest of the semester, or else have to repeat the course. She closed her eyes and sighed, listening to the steady thrum of the subcity, the sounds of machinery playing a mechanical lullaby.
    When she opened her eyes again, Rupert had moved to the wall beside her desk, arms crossed. He smiled, his face weary.
    Petra was sure she looked just as tired.
    She stood up from her chair and stretched, eyeing the mostly finished mech. “Do you think we’ll win?”
    â€œWe have a fighting chance, at least,” he said with a shrug, grabbing their things. “You’re clever, and that will win you more fights than not. And with the surprises you’ve packed into this old machine, I feel bad for whoever you face first. Not one of them expects you to win—­or to put up much of fight.” He laughed and held out his hand to help her onto the dumbwaiter platform. “Their mistake.”
    T he night of the first fight, Petra stood at the base of the dumbwaiter shaft, less than an hour until the first match. She and Rupert had spent all of the previous night adding the final touches to the mech, hammering plating into shape and bolting it to the frame, staying up well past midnight as they made sure every system functioned properly.
    She had been nervous testing the controls, worried she had made a mistake wiring the machine, especially the wireless receiver in the mech’s brain chamber. Rupert’s mech was corded like the others, but with a few adjustments, she had been able to house a wireless control receiver within the mech’s body, a control apparatus like the one Emmerich had built for the automaton; though no one would know by looking at it. By all appearances, her machine was controlled via a direct wire between the control box and mech—­the wireless control apparatus a hidden advantage should she need to use it. A gamble, considering her inexperience with electromagnetics, but one she was willing to risk.
    â€œYou ready?” asked Rupert.
    She inhaled a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s do this.”
    Petra helped him push the mech toward the dumbwaiter chute, and together they heaved it onto the platform. Rupert helped her onto the lift next, and she took a seat beside the hulking metal, glancing at the pulley cables that ran up the length of the chute.
    â€œWhat’s the weight limit on this thing?” she asked.
    Rupert seemed to think about it for a minute, climbing up onto the platform on the other side of the mech. “Five hundred pounds?”
    â€œYou’re not sure?”
    He placed his hand on the lever that activated the pulley drive and swung it backward. “It’ll hold.”
    The dumbwaiter motor whirred, and slowly, the platform began to rise, groaning under their combined weight, but holding.
    Rupert smirked. “Told you.”
    Petra glared at him.
    They reached the top of the chute and carefully lowered the mech to the floor before navigating their way to the dumbwaiter platform at the other end of the building. The second lift deposited them on the eighth floor, and as they neared the recreation hall, Petra’s heartbeat quickened, pounding painfully against her ribs. She stopped a few feet from the door, the sounds of students and rumbling engines beyond. Several students milled about the hall, and a few of them cast snickering glances at her.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asked Rupert, slowing the mech to a stop.
    She sucked in a deep breath. “Nothing. Just nervous.”
    Rupert laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t be,” he said firmly. “You can do this, Petra. You can win.”
    She nodded, ignoring the snide comments from the other students. All she had to do was prove it.
    â€œAll right,” she said, letting her breath out in a