Chapter 8 - Sparks Will Fly

“Do you think we’ll be able to fix the issue?” Chris chews on his nails as we stand in line for the electrical safety check before our fight.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

After Travis and I explained the threat against us, Chris and Sonny spent the morning trying to figure out what would keep the horizontal weapon from flying off in the future. Fatimah begged the in-house fabricators to move us up the list to get our new parts made, so we can test the parts first thing tomorrow. Joel complained about the price but consented.

“Oh my god, there’s Jacob!” Chris whispers excitedly. I’m decidedly less excited to see him, especially after last night. I had left out Jacob’s involvement in last night’s kerfuffle when I relayed the issue to them. I’ve been avoiding looking at one whole end of the Builder Bay. Still, like an eye floater, he crosses my field of vision several times a day, distracting and annoying me. He’s got a gravitational pull that’s impossible to keep myself from following.

Jacob, the overachiever, is first in line at the test arena today. Having already gone through a weight check to make sure his bot is under the 250-pound weight limit and the electrical check to check his batteries and electrical components for safety, he’s now checking in with officials to show his bot can drive, power on and off, and run its weapon safely. The latter, I’m not entirely confident ZetaMax can do.

Well-meaning Chris prattles on beside me. “Did you see his match against Rage of the Machine last season? That knockout was so epic! The way Kilowatt hit Rage hard enough that all the wheels went flying off at once? That was so cool!” I saw it. It was cool. I’ll never admit it, though. Especially not within earshot of Jacob. I give Chris a polite nod, and he beams. “I can’t believe we get to fight Kilowatt!”

I wish I had his ability to stay excited and positive among the terror and stress of our time here. Or ever, really. Between the constant setbacks in life and the chronic pain, the amount of energy it takes to get excited or stay positive is astronomical. It’s only effortless when it’s about things and people I care about. Otherwise, that brain space is taken up trying to figure out how to make the next step in a way that won’t partially dislocate my knee or trying to think through all the competing responsibilities I have and the people attached to them. That’s not even considering the chronic pain. It changes you fundamentally. There used to be a time when I wasn’t so cynical, but it’s hard to feel anything but rage when you’re constantly gritting your teeth in pain. It strips away every part of you.

Put simply, there’s not enough of me left for everything. I only have neutrality most of the time. It comes with a quick slide into anger and annoyance that I wish I still had the ability to slow down. I think it was easier when I had hope that everything might work out eventually, but that’s been whittled away. Any excitement I felt when I got here has been quickly crushed under ZetaMax’s bargain-bin wheels and Jacob’s constant attention.

We’re running horrifically late, and I can feel each second pass in the tension of my body. We started our day at 5:00 a.m. and have been working until the last possible second to make sure our bot is ready. I’m not sure it’s enough.

My knee is killing me, threatening to give out any moment. I considered busting out my cane this morning but hoped that getting up and moving would help. A mistake, since it hurts worse than when I got down here, and I don’t have time to go grab it, nor do I want to use it on camera later. My hands feel like they went bare-knuckle boxing against an industrial shredder. Now that I’m not working on electrical components I can wear my ring splints. Still, I have to take them off for so many tasks that it’s only fractionally better than not wearing them at all.

Jacob and one of his team members high five after getting the all-clear before loading up their bot. I pray he won’t notice me as he passes us in line.

I’m not that lucky.

As he passes, his eyes are steady on mine. “Good luck,” he intones. The greeting is cold and—after trying to get me kicked out of the competition last night—baffling. More evidence he’s trying to fuck with my head.

“Do you think we have a chance?” Chris asks the moment Jacob is hopefully out of hearing distance.

“I hope so.” God, I hope so. All I want to do is shove a Circuit Smack trophy in Jacob’s perfect face.

“That would be so cool to beat Jacob. He’s such a legend.” I try to act interested while Chris yaps about Jacob with cartoon hearts practically floating around his head. He chatters about Jacob’s best fights, even recalling a few of the ones I fought against him. I nod when appropriate but am relieved when it’s our turn to test. I can’t be distracted by Jacob right now. Even if I’m about to fight him, I need to think about Kilowatt, not its creator and driver.

The test goes well, and our bot weapon has increased speed by another ten miles per hour. Even if we have to solve the horizontal weapon issue as soon as we’re done fighting today, I’m marginally more hopeful than I was when I woke up.

Joel is waiting with a stack of black polos. “These turned out great,” he says, passing them out.

“What is this?” Fatimah asks.

I hold it up. JAXON ELECTRONICS is emblazoned on the breast and back. I know by looking at it that it will not be a good fit. Instead of finding an appropriately sized “women’s” cut of shirt, they got me a “men’s” size.

“I need you to look like a team, my team,” Joel says, looking me up and down. “Professional, on brand. Marilee, I got you this hat. That dye job isn’t on brand.” He hands me a matching baseball hat.

I retreat to the bathroom to change. I tie my hair back in a tidy bun at the back of my neck and put the stiff hat on. It’s not the worst thing I’ve had to do for a job by far, but as I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize myself. The unease swamps me like the ill-fitting shirt. I spend so many days violently aware of yet disconnected from my body that my visual identity is the only thing that makes me feel like me. I tuck a stray hair into the hat with a tremulous hand and do my best to smooth the shirt. $10,000, more opportunities. It’s worth it, I tell myself.

“Team Jaxon, let’s go! We have intros to do!” a producer calls as we walk over the tape threshold of our bay. They pose us in front of our bot and snap some pictures like it’s a Christmas card.

When it’s time to take a video of us trying to act intimidating for some B-roll and introductions on the TV show, Joel hams it up for the cameras, over-expressive and flailing. Chris is too innately cheerful to look intimidating, and Travis looks like the smarmy fool he is. I’m mostly trying not to roll my eyes at Travis. At least Fatimah, Sonny, and I look sort of cool.

They rush us to the arena entryway after Joel takes too long trying to convince them to let us do a reshoot because his “hair looked weird.”

“You ready, Mary?” Joel asks me. I don’t bother to correct him. I’ve got bigger things on my mind.

My stomach is roiling, and my hands are shaking. Jacob, Kilowatt, Jacob, Kilowatt echo through my mind. Even so, I’m excited. I get to drive in the Circuit Smack arena. No matter what happens, being here has been a lifelong dream. I hope I don’t embarrass myself or get sent packing tomorrow.

“Did you talk to the producers about a stool for me?”

“What? Oh!” He chuckles lowly. “No. The optics of that are terrible.”

“Joel, I won’t be able to focus on driving if I have to focus on standing.” I try not to let my disability get in the way and try to keep it out of everyone else’s way, too, but some things are unavoidable. It might be hard to get used to using disability aids in public, but asking for certain accommodations isn’t new to me. I want to do my job well, and I know I need this to do it. “You hired me. It is a disability accommodation. This is something I need to do my job.”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on, you don’t need it. You didn’t even bring your cane today, and you stopped using it yesterday. You don’t need it. It’s your signature schtick, right? You’re not so disabled or fat that you can’t stand for a few minutes. This is the big leagues, baby! You can reinvent yourself here.”

Fatimah audibly gasps beside me, hand going to her chest. Sonny’s eyes bulge. Chris shakes his head in disbelief. My mouth drops open with a mixture of fury and shock. Before I can tear into him, the announcer’s voice booms over the speaker, shaking my bones like a god speaking to mortals. “Fighting for the first time in the Circuit Smack arena, in the pink corner, it’s Team Jaxon and their robot, ZetaMax!”

That has to be a good sign, right? Pink is my favorite color. Maybe it’ll be lucky.

The triumphant chip tune music, reminiscent of arcade game music, blares as the producers push us through the tunnel, into the blazing lights of the arena. I grab the dolly with the robot to steady myself, taking over for Sonny. The crowd cheers, and purple, pink, and blue laser lights bounce across the arena as we wave to the people in the stands. I try to straighten my tired body and keep a wince at bay as I wave back.

It hits me. I saw the arena the other day, but now I’m going to fight. I’m here. Hundreds of people watch from the spectator stands, and millions of people will watch this fight in a few days when it airs. Watching me. Fighting Jacob.

I gulp down my impending panic and focus on moving the robot’s dolly forward.

“This rookie team, captained by Joel Jaxon of Jaxon Electronics, is here to tape over the competition and be the only thing you watch,” the announcer, Dex, tells the crowd. “Driven by Mari Williams, a skilled driver in the beetleweight, featherweight, and hobbyweight combat robotics circuits; she’s known for her risky moves, but will that translate to the big leagues?”

A wave of nausea hits me as the comment lands. I need this to go well.

“And in the blue corner, faster than a lightning strike, it’s reigning champion Kilowatt!” says the other announcer, Mark.

Jacob and his team enter to cheers so loud my ears hurt. He’s all smiles and waves. His team wears matching T-shirts, but they’re simple, with TEAM KILOWATT on the front and rows and rows of sponsors on the back. Every single person on the team, one of the largest here, looks overjoyed.

“Mari and Jacob are both from the Twin Cities, Minneapolis and Saint Paul, and have been fighting each other for years! Wild business to see two teams from the same place here in the championships. We’ve only had that once before,” Dex notes.

“That’s right, Dex. My sources tell me these two have a history of explosive matches in the ring. Rumors say they even have a highly contested regional fight that went all the way to the governing board.”

“Ooooh,” Mark says in a way I know is accompanied by a dramatic brow wag, even though I can’t see it. “Juicy.”

My whole body lights up with heated shame and anger. No, no, they do not need to bring that up. It’s over. It’s decided. It’s bad enough that people at home still bring it up. I don’t need the whole fucking world bringing it up too. I’m going to be sick.

Dex continues. “They’re evenly tied at home. Who do you think will come out ahead here, Mark?”

“Now, now. You know we can’t pick favorites, but let’s just say there’s a reason Kilowatt is a three-time champion.”

I’m both surprised and relieved they don’t mention his other two championship wins under other teams.

While our teams get our robots into the ring, I stare at the pink corner where I’ll be starting in a minute.

No matter what happens, I get $10,000 as long as we make it through the qualifiers. I’m here. I’m at Circuit Smack. That alone is my dream. I’m achieving my dream, and I’m going to help my family. And there’s still a chance we could advance. This is one fight. Just a single fight. There are three more in the qualifiers. I don’t have to even win all of them; I only need enough points to advance.

A fluttering silence suffuses the arena as Jacob and I move our bots to opposite corners. I try to will my body into holding itself steady as I focus on the bot, but even as I drive across the arena, I’m tilting on my feet. Standing in a body that has trouble holding itself together is like standing on a bus doing a sharp turn. You have to focus on keeping yourself upright, actively, all the time, not just for a few seconds. When my attention is solely on something else, that becomes infinitely harder. I plant my feet wider and pray that I can keep focus without falling on my ass.

A robotic voice counts down as laser lights bounce dramatically over the arena. “THREE ... TWO ... ONE ... FIGHT.”

Kilowatt shoots out of the blue corner faster than my multitasking brain can comprehend and rams Zeta hard, knocking us back into the side of the arena. People are yelling around me as I power up the weapon and gun it forward. I rock forward with the bot, nearly stumbling before a hand on my shoulder steadies me.

Outside of the arena, three minutes is nothing. I barely notice it passing. In the arena, each second is like an hour. A million tiny decisions and calculations need to be made in that second, and it repeats up to 180 times until the clock runs out or until someone gets knocked out.

I give chase to the other robot. While he’s much faster, I might be able to head him off on a turn and take out one of his wheels. Jacob, ever one for redundancies, can still drive while missing several, but that doesn’t mean it won’t slow him down. If I can slow him down, maybe we’ll have a chance.

I know we’ve lost our chance when Kilowatt swings around us. I beg our turn radius to be magically smaller than it was this morning, but alas, it is not. A hit from his weapon sends us flying into the air, and I can see the deep gouge across Zeta’s body. We’ve barely made it back to the ground when Kilowatt hits us again, ripping open the robot further.

Acrid smoke wafts out of the ragged canyon where our back panel used to be. “Battery fire,” someone behind me murmurs as the crowd erupts with gasps and cheers. Shrapnel must have punctured our battery. The glow of flames leaks through the hole and the wheel wells. Dramatic fires are always fun for the audience, but day-ruining for us. Especially when we don’t have many extra sets of batteries. While most bots can keep running for a little while, a battery fire is terminal.

“TAP OUT!” a robotic voice announces as lights flash around us. Joel is glowering with his hand on the giant tap-out button as crews in fire masks enter with extinguishers to gather the corpse of our bot.

“Kilowatt takes the win in a short and spicy battle!” the announcer blares.

I barely got to drive. All I did was run. So much for “risky moves” and “skilled driving.” I was trying not to die in the first thirty seconds. I made it an entire minute and seven seconds, less than half of a full battle. And against Jacob, of all people. I sag against the side of the box until our robot is retrieved.

We line up to shake hands with the other team. Jacob waits for me at the end of the row. We might as well be in an empty room for the way his focus settles on me when he shakes my hand. His own hand is warm, so big and comforting wrapped around mine, even if it’s purely business-like. I can’t believe there was a time when I welcomed his touch. It’s traitorous to want it again. He doesn’t smile at me. Only studies me like he’s looking at an error report. I slip my hand from his and slink away, tail between my legs.

“What the fuck was that driving, Maris!” Joel yells the second we’re off the arena floor. “You were so slow!”

“The motors aren't strong enough,” Sonny says beside me.

“She told you she needs a stool to focus,” Fatimah chimes in. It must have been her hand on my shoulder.

“Kilowatt is the fastest bot around,” Chris interjects. “It’s not Mari’s fault.”

My cheeks burn with frustration. “It’s the first fight. It happens. And they’re all right.”

“Oh, come on, Marni,” Travis rolls his eyes.

“It’s Mari,” Fatimah, Sonny, and Chris say in unison.

Travis sneers. “She’s a sore loser. Isn’t that what that contested fight was all about? You lost, and you couldn’t handle it.”

I blanch. Sonny’s eyebrows raise. Chris’s head tilts in confusion. The sympathy in Fatimah’s eyes makes me want to jump in front of a moving robot.

Exhaustion and consequences be damned, I’m going to punch Travis. “You know what, you little—”

“Enough!” Joel yells. “Get my robot fixed. We have another fight in two days. And if we don’t fix the horizontal weapon, we won’t even get to fight in that. Mari, I can find another driver if you can’t do better.”

This is all going great. I sigh, the wind taken out of my sails. “Alright, let’s get to work.”