Jed’s Flexie, for all that it was irritating, redundant, and sickeningly lackadaisical in everything it did, was at least vigilant. “You are approaching a microwave. Be careful with the door.”

Callista quirked an eyebrow, arms folded, as Jed fumbled with the panel. “It still hasn’t forgotten that time you beaned yourself, huh?”

The door popped open. Jed caught it inches from his face. He turned to Callista, smiling. “Ah, Flexie doesn’t forget anything. Sure you don’t want one?” He held up the packet in his hand and shook them.

“Hot Pocket? Me? Pass.”

Jed shrugged. “Okay, whatever.”

“You are about to place items into the microwave. You may want to unwrap them first.”

“How many time a week do you eat that stuff,” Cal asked.

Jed shrugged again. “A few? I don’t keep track. Boxes tend to go empty pretty quickly, though.” He found and pressed the button labeled ‘pocket.’

Callista rolled her eyes. “Remind me how you’re still alive.”

“I haven’t died yet!” He disappeared into the pantry. “Hey, Flex, tell mom we’re out of Hot Pockets again. Cal, I’ve got some sandwiches in here, want any of those?”

“Really, I’m good.”

Jed came out, munching, a box of processed cheese-cracker sandwiches in hand. “You’re sure?”

“Very.” She held up her protein bar, and, after a thought, pointed to it. “I’m good.”

Jed stared at her for a moment, then smiled. Despite the crumbs between his teeth, it was perfect. “Whatever. Oh, hey, I wanna show you a clip—”

“Corner, corner,” his Flexie warned.

Jed managed to divert his attention just in time to avoid the portion of island between them. He jammed another fistful of calories into his mouth before tearing the screen from his forearm.

“Check it! You know those old Star Struggle movies? I found this vid where they took it and made it really funny! The gold robot is like all violent and revolutionary-minded, the force-dudes are all doped… it’s great!”

He bumped into her, and her chest went pitter-pat. Cal focused on the screen. “It’s also twenty minutes long.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

“Maybe after we get our Sosh-Lit homework done?”

Jed gave a dejected sigh, but nodded. “Oh, sure. You kinda wanna get that done so you can get some work done later, right?”

“Something like that. Hey, I left my suit in front of the garage—do I need to move it?”

Jed tapped on the Flexie, pulling up the door’s camera. “Nah, that’s fine.”

The microwave dinged. “Your food is ready!”

Cal grabbed her smaller bag. “Well, I’m gonna change out of my Rekbaar. Form-fitting and homework don’t really mix. Dig my books out and we’ll get started in a minute, please.”

Jed waved her off, moving eagerly to collect his snack. “Sure, sure.”

“You are approaching a microwave. Be—”

There were two mechanical sounds in short succession.

“Ahh!”




Callista sat curled up in the chair, paying little attention to her tablet. They had somehow managed to complete their assignments quickly, and had found time enough to watch Jed’s find. She had pulled out her tablet after the second installment, attempting to get some work done, but had accomplished little as they proceeded into ‘Star Struggle: Laser Moon Awakes.’ Jed Sr. had checked in on them once, and she had given him a polite wave.

Jed filled the couch with legs and a gigantic bowl of popcorn. Cal had even indulged in a few handfuls.

“That close-up, as he’s remembering!” Jed was pointing and grinning. “He’s just like ‘duhhhh,’ isn’t that great?”

Despite herself, Cal broke smile. “That’s just too much.”

“Everyone knows robots don’t learn like that!” Jed’s face screwed up for a moment. “Uh, do they?”

Cal shook her head. “No, Jed, they don’t. Didn’t you say this was made like fifty years ago?”

“About.” Suddenly he shifted, holding out the bowl to her. “More?”

She held up a hand, “No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” He settled back into the cushions. “Hey, thanks for sticking around! Ava was here the other night, she didn’t like it.”

Venturing, “Oh?”

“Yeah. She seemed all excited at first, but then she got all in my personal space, didn’t want to eat anything, and finally just left in a fuss.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand girls.”

Callista tapped at her tablet distractedly. “When you say, invaded your personal space… I, uh, didn’t know you had a concept of personal space.”

Jed got up, spilling some popcorn unnoticed, and unrolled over the armrest. “Kinda like this.”

Her knuckles around the stylus went white. “That’s, uh…” He was close enough she could smell him from behind the bodyspray.

“I know!” Jed said, getting back up. “Weird, right?”

Cal took a deep breath.

“You are within range of the table,” Jed’s Flexie commented.

“Y-yeah,” Cal managed. “Weird. H-hey, um, I… I have a lot of work to do. I really should’ve gone after ‘Middle Management.’”

Jed, who had almost re-settled into the couch, looked up. “Oh, really? I didn’t mean to keep you.”

She was already stuffing her tablet and books back into her case. “No, it’s fine, I… I just need to concentrate. Also don’t really wanna run home in the dark.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” said Jed, nodding. “Programs won’t code themselves, right?”

Cal smiled sheepishly and gave a shrug. She snapped her case closed and grabbed her bag and Rekbaar, then headed for the bathroom.

---

“So I heard you were at Jed’s last night.”

Callista’s hand froze halfway along the zipper.

Ava slid up along the changing room’s locker. “Didn’t stay long, did you? What, did he kick you out because you’re too lame?”

Gritting her teeth, Cal continued stripping out of her Rekbaar.

Ava sniggered as Cal wormed free, and gave a subtle point. “He’s way too cool for the likes of you. He even lifts. You know, I hung out with him the other night. Just chilling. ”

“He invited me over,” Cal stated.

“You know, he invites everyone over.” She drew out the ‘everyone,’ like a verbal sneer.

When Cal didn’t answer, Ava turned to leave, deliberately knocking her shirt from the locker hook. “Oops.”

Only once she was fairly certain Ava wasn’t near did Cal pick it up and brush it off to wear.



The P.E. coach yelled at them, to no effect. “One minute! Hustle, hustle, hustle!” The three dozen students, by and large, continued to shamble on in a pathetic jog. A few of the boys were managing an honest run.

Callista kept pace, but only just. She stayed clear of the other girls and their tittering gossip, lest they accidentally trip her again.



“Callista!” The coach called her over as class was dismissed. “Running kinda slow today, ain’tcha?”

Cal shrugged. “Maybe.”

He folded his arms. “Competition is at the end of the week, Cal. Is ‘maybe’ the best you can do?”

She fidgeted as she answered, “It’s the others. They don’t like me, and if I’m too different…”

“Hey,” he put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about them. Just to what you gotta do. Shame you won’t do track, but this thing… Even going means you’re going places.”

Callista pursed her lips, staring through the low building towards the parking lot. Flat, “Yeah, sure.”

“Yeah, sure,” coach echoed. He looked about to demur before thinking better of it. “Better get changed before the bell rings.”



The coach was gracious enough to write her another late excuse, as Cal had been forced to search for her regular clothes.

---

Callista was at her other job, refueling her suit, when Jed called.

“Hey, Cal, Soch assigned a paper for next week, you wanna work together on it?”

“What?” Cal twisted her head, trying to mitigate the harsh buzz of the fuel pump in her ear.

“I mean, if you don’t want to, I guess that’s cool—”

“Hold on a sec.” Cal jumped down on the crunching gravel and snapped the lever, killing the motor. “What?”

“I mean, you know your stuff, I can write, we should totally jam!”

“Jam what?”

“Sosh Lit paper.”

It took a moment before her mind caught up with the conversation. Her chest tightened. “Oh, yeah. Sure!”

“How about Saturday? Does that…?”

“Saturday?” Cal’s eyes flicked to her suit. “Jed, I can’t do Saturday. I’ve got my thing. Maybe Monday? The paper isn’t due ‘til Tuesday anyway. ...Jed?” The silence on the other end continued. She wiped her hand on a rag and tapped her earbud. It chirped back a tonal response, indicating the call had terminated. “You let your phone die again, didn’t you?”

She tapped her bud again, and it gave a different tone. Perfunctory, even for dictation,




She slammed the fuel lever back to on and was rewarded with its grating buzz.



“A little higher… there! Hold it!”

Callista locked her suit’s joints. She gave a thumbs-up and Nick began rolling the disc spindle into position under the chisel plow. She was frequently reminded how, at times, her suit was little more than a glorified utility jack.

“Need another set of hands?” she called down.

“Don’t think so,” Nick gave in a strained reply, crawling under the implement with a ratchet in hand.

Cal double-checked that the limbs were locked and pulled up a diagnostic screen.

It may not have been prudent to be using her competition-eligible suit as a farm tool, but so long as she was careful she didn’t see the harm in it. Besides, it was just too cool.

---

“Two more days, Callie, are you excited?”

Callista shrugged as she set the table. “A little, I guess.”

“A little, you guess,’ her mom parroted. “Just a little?”

Cal resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, mom, only a little.”

“Don’t forget the potatoes. Can you mash them, Callie?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She went to the stove, checked the pot.

“Don’t forget to drain them.”

This time, Cal, already halfway to the sink, did roll her eyes. “Right.”

As she set to mashing, her bud chimed. Cal dug into her pocket and pulled out her square.




She made a face at the vernacular, which was quickly replaced by something else tugging at her lips.

“What’s that?” her mom asked.

Too late, Cal banished the itching grin. “Just a message.”

“Good message?”

Dismissively, “Yeah, I guess.”

“From a friend?”

“Yes, mother.”

“A… boy friend?”

“What’s it matter?” Cal whipped her hair, pointedly turning back to the potatoes, “Yes, just a friend.”

Her mom seemed suitably pleased and let the matter drop.

“He just said my competition tomorrow was cool.”

“Mhm.”

Between mashing, Callista surreptitiously tapped out her response of,






“Thanks for the steak, dad.”

“Yes, it’s very good. Nice and juicy. As always.”

“Grill Master,” Cal teased.

“So,” her dad said, “Big day coming up in a few days. Gonna be ready?”

Cal swallowed before answering, “Better be.”

“Excited?”

“A little. Can you pass me the broccoli again, please?”

“Universities will be involved, right?”

“Yeah. Teams and individuals from all over, though.”

“Maybe get a scholarship?”

She prodded at her food, then decided to take a bite and chew thoroughly.

“It would be nice if you got a scholarship for all your hard work,” her mom said. “Maybe the U of I? Stay close?”

Still chewing, Cal nodded.

“It’s at the engineering quad?”

“South, dad,” Cal said, fighting the boredom of repetition. “It’ll be in one of the agricultural campus fields. Safety stuff.”

“Don’t want them crashing into buildings, huh? Like, uh, Iron Man or whatever?”

“No, dad, not like Iron Man. It’s an olympics for suits.”

Her dad grinned. “So no flying?”

“No.” She paused. “Well, not in my division, anyway. Some of the experimental chassis might be capable, but this is for production-suitable frames.”

“Isn’t it nice of your dad to let you use the shop for that?” her mom asked.

Cal mimed lighting a torch. “Pwishhhh. Thanks again, dad.”



Her mom called out as Callista turned from the sink. “Callie, would you mind doing the dishes?”

Cal looked back at the small pile. “I was kinda hoping I could run a few firmware diagnostics.”

“Is it really that much trouble?”

“Not really, I guess, but if anything comes up I’ll need all the time I can get. I mean, I still have to my calc, too.”

Her mom set down her tea. “Why don’t you do your calculus homework first?”

Callista wrinkled her nose, grousing. “Sure, fine.”

“I was only asking.”

“Calc is easy, mom. Besides, Mister Abet will give me an extension for this one if I need it.”

“I was only asking. Just get to sleep at a reasonable hour.”

“Yes, mom.”



“Do you want gloves or a hat?”

Callista stopped at the door, turned. “My Rekbaar’s fine, mom. It’s not even zero.”



Callista finally flopped into bed at midnight, hair still damp.

To nobody in particular, she announced, “I’m gonna look a mess in the morning…”

She thumbed her square, looked over her waiver for Saturday, and set her alarm.

---

Callista waved timidly from the station’s diesel pump.

“Hey, that’s your exo? Nice, kid!”

She give him an awkward smile. “Thanks. It’s a Wanderling 4E. Dutch model. I’ve made a few tweaks.” She spread her arms wide. “My pilot-skin—Rekbaan Loodsen Pak, actually—is rated at less than thirty ohms.”

He nodded appreciatively. “Awesome. You know, there’s this thing up in Champaign tomorrow, they’re gonna put a bunch of these through their paces.” He nodded towards his Harley. “I’ve got work, but my wife and I are definitely gonna watch.”

Cal fidgeted a little. “I, um. Yeah, I’m in it. Category two, Callista Yount.”

“Meg brag!” He grasped her hand and shook it boisterously, beaming. “I’ll cheer you on, kid!”



Twenty kilometers, four hours, and three classes later, Callista sat folded in front of locker, eating her PB and J, thumbing her square.

Emily landed beside her, tearing open a carton of skim milk. “Heya, Cal! How’s it? You brought your suit to school today, too? Shouldn’t it be, like, laid up in the shop or behind security bars or something?”

Cal shrunk a little. “I wish everyone would stop making such a big deal about it.”

“Heyyy,” Emily reached out and rubbed Cal’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just excited for you, is all. I mean, a high schooler in this big national… thing! And it’s you, Cal—you!”

“I know. And, for what it’s worth, thanks. We’ll hang out sometime next week, okay? You can drive me to the cine and make me watch whatever garbage you want.”

Emily recoiled in mock indignation. “My choice in video is not garbage!”

Smiling, “Sure, sure.”

“Wait, you want me to drive? Oh, downside of having a suit is that having passengers is kinda rough, huh.”

Callista thought about it; nodded, bobbling her head. “It is, but, really, I’m okay with it.”

“What about when you get a—” she leaned in, conspiratorially, “boyfriend. You gonna let him drive all the time?”

Callista barked a laugh. “As if!”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.” She winked, waited.

Realizing, “You’re horrible.”

The voice of Jed’s Flexie interrupted. “You are approaching seated women. Watch your step.”

“Hey, there you are!”

Emily quickly rose, patted Callista on the arm, pointing at her milk carton. “Whoop, refill! Bye! Hibye, Jed!”

“But you just…” Cal called after her, but she didn’t stop. She smiled at Jed, gave a half-wave. “Uh, hi.”

Jed looked back from Emily’s departure. “What was that about?”

Shaking her head, “I have no idea.”

“Anyway, I wanted to find you before tomorrow. Y’know, good luck and all that.” He rubbed his fantastic neck. “It’s, like, totally hammer, you doing that thing.”

Her chest fought with her head for a moment. “Uh, you could have just caught my screen. Messaged me, or something.”

Jed looked blank for a moment. “Oh, yeah.”

Callista found herself standing, despite not remembering getting to her feet. “Well, it’s… I mean, I’m glad you didn’t. Just message, I mean. I’m glad you looked for me, and everything. It’s the cutest, dumbest thing I think you’ve ever…” She tailed off, nodding for no particular reason. “…And I’m rambling.”

She gave a startled yipe when Jed pulled her close. “Nah, you’re not rambling.”

“T-thanks…”

“You are in extreme proximity with a woman,” his Flexie observed.

From the side, “Hi, Jed.”

“Oh, Brigid!” Cal was swept from her feet as he turned. “Oh, sorry, Cal!”

“N-no problem,” Cal managed, tumbling glacially back to the floor.

“Brigid, is this about the Econ worksheet? Yeah, I’ll totally sit with your study group! Just a sec. Really, Cal, good luck. Chills. What’s the tally, Brigid?”

Collecting her sandwich, Callista took a number of breaths. “N-no problem.”



Only by force of habit did she find the scars on her suit. On the back of the leg, all along the security panel, the paint had been gouged with something obviously metal and possibly sharp. The structural material had prevented any real damage, but it was the nature of the thing that hurt her. She cussed a storm as she ran her hand over the wound, clearly aimed at the painted black raindrop shape on the checkered yellow: the sigil that marked the exoskeleton suit as definitively her own.

She took the time to report it to the school security official. The feeds showed nothing that could not be explained as happenstance, but Callista knew that somehow Ava had orchestrated it. What made it worse was that she didn’t understand why.

The official went so far as to scold her about her suit being a source of trouble. Shortly after she got it, someone had had the idea to mangle her Rekbaar, thinking its self-defense measures would be less thorough. The electric shock had resulted in a minor head injury and a great deal of gossip.

That done, she climbed into the cockpit, powered up, and ran the twenty clicks back home in a suit that was wrong.

---

Callista lay in bed, completely awake. Her stomach clenched around dinner of left-overs from the night before. A glance at her square revealed the the time was nearly one a.m.

She thumbed back to messages, where was only the one from Emily, wishing her luck again.

For the dozenth time, she reviewed diagnostic data indicating that the suit’s recently-replaced fluids were within operational specifications.

From her bedstand, she grabbed a small pill bottle. Melatonin, 20mg. She stared at it a while, then set it back down unopened. It never helped.

To distract herself, she pulled up some comics and tried reading. It helped, a little.

After an eternity, once she began to feel the fuzziness of sleep, she flipped to pictures, looking again at the paint job she had done immediately after returning home. To anyone else, it looked like an ochre drop of oil. To her, it was a joke and source of pride. The suit reminded her very much of exoskeletons in an old ‘anime’ vidshow, and had decided to name hers appropriately. ‘Landmate’ had seemed a bit pretentious, so she went with a name fitting with the tiny orchard in the yard: Appleseed.

She sent her square to sleep, and soon did the same.

---

Callista fidgeted with her zipper again as she wolfed another mouthful of toast. On the screen was split the schedule for her events and a comic.

“You’re going to run your suit all the way there?”

She looked up from her tablet, chewing. “Gyaah.” Swallowed. “Yeah… A little late to get a trailer, right? It’s not like I don’t use run it every morning to school anyway. Besides, it means less warm-up when we get there.”

Her dad held up his hands in placation. “Just asking.”

She looked down, abashed. “Sorry, dad.”

Three large bites later, she dumped the tablet to her square, grabbed a water bottle, and headed for the shop.



She was going through the range-of-motion checklist when her parents arrived.

“Goodbye?” her mom said, waving.

The motor howled as it spooled down to idle. Callista opened the chestplate and climbed down.

“I was going to say goodbye before I left.”

“Everything’s going well?”

Callista shrugged, then smiled. “Yeah, it’s as ready as it’s going to be.”

“You’re sure you’re okay running this thing all the way there?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t done a hundred times before. I’ll be careful.”

“This paint new?” Her dad had circled the suit.

“No.” It wasn’t a lie: there was a lot of paint on her suit—some of it was about a year old, some was about twelve hours old—none of it was at all ‘new,’ semantically… “You’re both coming to watch?”

“Of course,” said her mom. “Grandpa will come over about ten, and all three of us’ll drive there together in time for your first event.”

Cal nodded before being swept up in a motherly hug. “Good luck, sweetie.”

“Good luck, Callie.”

She got a hug from her dad, too. “Thanks, mom and dad. I should be off in about ten minutes.”

“Why don’t you finish up outside? It’s beautiful.”



The day was, in fact, beautiful. Despite the air temperature being representable on one hand, the eighty-plus kilometer per hour wind was barely perceptible through the Rekbaar and cockpit plating. The sky was bright with a few torn cumulus remnants here and there, allowing the mottled sunlight to strike the brilliant remnants of autumn’s colors.

She had hoped that, maybe, her earbud would chime at her sometime during that half-hour. It didn’t.



The sight at suit registration was, as much as she hated herself for thinking it, very hammer. Despite the principle of exoskeleton suits being very straightforward, the actualization in form and chassis was as variegated as engineers’ minds. Even the production or post-production chassis were wildly unique, some with hard blocky angles, others with sharp points or swooping lines, and more still—like her own Wanderling—tumblehome and bold. That was to say nothing of the wild daring found in the experimental categories, which ranged in appearance from angelic to undead.

She received a few looks from others—pilots or crew—largely on account of her size and being a woman… girl, really. Fortunately, only a sampling came up to speak with her directly, and never in any great number.

Yes, she was thrilled to be here. No, she hadn’t even graduated yet. Yes, the suit was her own. Yes, the modifications were her own. Yes, here’s my event token. To one very unwelcome conversant: No, I absolutely will not.

Of course, the feed reporters wanted some time with her.

“Now, are you at all concerned about you being so much younger and inexperienced than any other participant here? What makes you think you even stand a chance?”

“It’s not a matter about age or experience, really. Suits really haven’t been around for more than a decade—like when the internet was invented, or, at a longer timeframe, atomic power. This technology is so new, I think anyone can do it.”

“Someone like you?”

Callista shrugged. “I guess. I never really thought about it. I just did it because it was so interesting.”

“Is interest enough to win?”

“Why not? I mean, look at how different all these suits are, and yet they’re expected to perform in the same events of lifting, running, all that. Hardware isn’t the issue anymore. It’s how that hardware is used, and if it were just a matter of firmware I don’t think anyone would be here.”

“Ma’am,” interrupted one of the techs, “UI team is about to power up their prototype.”

“Right, just give me a moment. Callista, you said you went into suits because it’s interesting. What’s so interesting to you about this field? Why are you here, today?”

She looked away for a moment, then her expression hardened. “Because with them, you are limited only by your imagination and strength of will.”



As Callista was about to kill her earbud, it chimed a dictation.

“Play message.”






Four hours and seven liters of diesel later, she didn’t win. Sixth place composite score out of twenty-three in her category, however, was beyond even her wildest expectation. Her best single event was second place in the distance run, which came to her as little surprise. For a quaint Wanderling, with its road-diesel motor, piloted by a pre-university girl, to come so far filled her with immense pride.

Most of the other participants sought her out to congratulate her, and she reciprocated in kind. All but Mister Absolutely Not, a fact she silently rejoiced. It was all a blur at that point, endorphins and excitement clouding her mind. Endorphins, and a realization she was beginning to recognize she’d had.

Callista thought about what she had done well, and what she could have done better. A lot fell into the latter category, but she took it as a good thing that she could recognize it. Besides, there would be another event next year in California. She would have graduated by then.

But before any of that…

Her parent’s hadn’t found her yet, so she fished her square from her pocket and thumbed it awake. Four new messages, two from relatives who had watched, one from Emily, and another from Jed.

She skipped them all and went straight to reply to Emily.