Titans (5 page)

As Magnolia and I walk toward Rags’s house, she lists the reasons my riding a Titan in this year’s circuit is a terrible idea.

“You’re only seventeen.”

“Entry age is seventeen and above,” I retort. “As long as my parents don’t mail an objection form, I’m cool.”

“Your dad will kill you.”

“If he finds out.”

Magnolia gives me a look like I’m crazy. “How would he
not
find out?”

“I can do this, Magnolia,” I say, as if that’s an answer.

“Of course you can. Astrid Sullivan can take on the entire world as long as she doesn’t have to rely on anyone else to help her.”

I grin. “What can I say? I work better alone.”

“It’s kind of gambling, isn’t it?”

I halt in place, because she’s broached the one subject we both avoid. I want to dismiss what she said, but she’s right. My grandfather’s gambling cost us our first family home, and my dad’s addiction will soon cost us our second. Magnolia and I loathe gambling, and everything that goes along with it. Yet here I am, ready to involve myself in the tracks—the same thing that led to the biggest loss in my father’s habit.

“This is different,” I mutter.

Magnolia nods, recognizing that I don’t want to discuss this. Instead, she adjusts the bumblebee hair clip she made from wire, yellow spray paint, and glitter, and motions for us to keep walking. “Well, you’ll need me for moral support. And for fashion advice. If you go through with this, you’ll need a glam squad. That’s what celebrities have, Astrid—glam squads. I know these things.” As we walk in silence, she sobers. “What about the guy we saw fall off his Titan? The one who—”

“I know the one.” How could I forget? We were only thirteen, and the man couldn’t have been older than thirty. I can still see the surprise on his face as he tumbled from his horse. Still hear the way the crowd screamed as one throbbing mass as the other Titans trampled his body.

“There have been others too,” she says quietly.

I don’t answer. Because I know she’s right. But I can’t think about them. I have to think about the winners. That’s where my focus must lie, never wavering.

Rags is waiting at the end of his driveway when we arrive, one hand on a brown pickup truck that looks like it was built in the eighties. He’s already shaking his head. “No. No way. I’m not dealing with two of you. One teenage girl is more than enough headache.”

“Hi, Rags!” Magnolia waves cheerfully. “I brought muffins.”

“I don’t like muffins,” he grunts.

“You’ll like these,” she replies.

Rags looks at me. “Why is she here? I asked if you could keep a secret.”

“I can,” I say. “But not where my best friend is concerned.”

Magnolia shoves a cranberry-orange muffin into Rags’s hand after we cross the street. “Don’t worry. I’m like a vault. Whatever you put in this thing ain’t coming out.” She taps her temple.

Rags studies my face before rolling his eyes. “This is strike one, kid. If you cross me again, I’ll toss that Titan in an incinerator and be done with this harebrained idea.”

“So we’re still on?” I ask, all business.

In response, he walks toward his work shed. “The first thing we gotta do is get you registered, and don’t be surprised if the Gambini brothers shut us down then and there. They’ll be looking for any reason to keep us out of the race, and we’re going to give them a solid one.”

“Why?” I ask. “Because our Titan isn’t—”

“Even if we can get you registered, you’ll have to ride well enough to compete in the sponsor race. At the very least, we have to keep you in the saddle.”

“She can do more than stay in the saddle,” Magnolia interrupts. “She rode my brother’s skateboard like a pro. He said so himself.”

Rags rubs his forehead. “A Titan isn’t a skateboard.”

“How is it not?” she contests. “Four wheels. Four legs. Both unstable.”

“Why are you here again?”

She holds up the muffins. “Munchies.”

Rags tosses the muffin into an ivy patch my mother would detest, and stomps the rest of the way to the work shed. “I’ve been working on him ever since you left.”

“I think you were working on him even before that,” I reply, patting Magnolia on the back, none too happy about her disgraced muffin.

Rags doesn’t respond. But when he gets to the door, he turns with a glint in his eye. “He’s prepped for transport, but I’ll need help rolling him to my truck and loading him in.” He unlocks the door and pushes it open. Inside the shed is what appears to be the largest coffin I’ve ever seen. It’s painted black with yellow trim.

“It looks pretty morbid,” Magnolia mumbles.

“It looks wicked cool,” I say.

Rags motions toward a flatbed with wheels, and together, the three of us manage to get the covered Titan onto it using ropes and pulleys that Rags configured. After we roll the Titan coffin next to his house, and struggle to get it into the truck bed using a ramp, Rags slams the tailgate closed. “You can ride with me,” he says, ignoring Magnolia.

“And where will Magnolia ride?” I ask.

“She can ride her skinny rear back to her house.”

I cross my arms, and he growls deep in his chest. “You know I could find a hundred different people to race this Titan.”

I remain fixed in place.

“Get in the truck,” he says, tossing an oddly shaped bag into the back. “Both of you.”

“Wait,” I say, realizing I’m missing the bigger point here. “Where are we going?”

“To my friend’s place south of the city. He’s got a track.” Rags rounds the truck and gets behind the steering wheel. When Magnolia and I slide inside, he glances over at us. “Your parents going to put an APB out on you two?”

“My mom’s working.” Magnolia bites into a muffin. “And Dad’s looking for work.”

Rags glances in my direction.

“They won’t be looking for me,” I say, staring ahead.

“All right then.” He starts the ignition. “Let’s waste some time.”

The two-story white clapboard house sits so far off the road it’s as if Rags’s friend is hiding something. Turns out, he is. The course that winds between the trees near his home is a close replica of Cyclone Track. I wonder why he has it, but Rags instructs us not to ask him stupid questions before we get out of the truck.

“Barney,” Rags says with an honest-to-goodness smile.

The man, Barney, moves toward us. He’s as bald as the day is long, with short legs and arms that swing as he waddles. A white beard sweeps across his face, and his blue eyes dance as he clasps hands with Rags.

“Thought you said you might bring a girl by,” Barney says. “As in, one.”

Rags nods. “You know how girls are. Takes two of ’em to use the toilet.”

“Excuse me?” I say.

Barney looks at Magnolia. “What’s that you’re holding?”

She purses her lips, but holds out the basket. “Muffins.”

Barney looks at Rags and then back to Magnolia. “Anyone who brings food is welcome in my book.”

Magnolia smiles.

“You sure we can use your track?” Rags asks.

“I said you could,” Barney responds, already reaching for a second muffin though he hasn’t eaten the first. When he finishes his breakfast, he helps Rags unload the giant crate and rolls it a good distance from the truck. Rags reaches down and messes with a padlock. It takes him several minutes before it unlocks. So long that Magnolia makes a joke about him packing an atomic bomb in there instead of a Titan.

“That thing
is
an atomic bomb,” Barney says.

“You built him,” Rags says as the lock pops open. “Don’t judge too harshly.”

Barney belly laughs. “That’s
why
I judge so harshly.”

“You built this thing?” Magnolia asks the portly man.

Barney salutes her. “Titan 1.0 Senior Engineer at your service.”

My eyes dart to the box, a chill rushing over my skin. A Titan 1.0, he said. The very first model ever designed. They never even made it to the track, and there’s no mention of the machines on cyclonetrack.com. The only thing I ever found about them was a single blog post by a Titan enthusiast, who said the first model was quickly discontinued because of
jockey/Titan misalignment
.

“This is a first edition?” I ask, my voice breaking.

“The most advanced version created,” Barney responds. “It was all downhill from there.”

I doubt that’s true. Otherwise, why wouldn’t Hanover Steel still make them? Before I can think more on this, Rags lifts the lid. I stare in wonderment at the machine—the steel a shade too dark, its hooves a touch too bright. Other than the color difference, I can’t see what makes this model a 1.0, and the others I’ve seen 3.0s. What am I missing?

Rags slips off a key from his ring and inserts it into the horse’s control panel. At first, nothing happens, but after Rags pushes a few buttons, and eventually slams his open palm against the machine’s side, a soft whirring sound begins.

“Holy cow,” Magnolia whispers.

“After all this time,” Barney says at the same time.

As for me, I stay quiet. But a spark of electricity shoots from my feet, up my torso, and down into my fingers. And when the Titan stirs in its black and yellow coffin for the first time—a simple twitch of its head—my heart jackhammers in my chest.

I lean forward, my pulse thrumming in my ears, and inspect the Titan.

“Careful,” Rags says.

I stretch out a shaking hand, my mouth painfully dry, and lay it ever so gently on the machine’s neck. Cool metal rumbles beneath my fingers for only a fraction of a moment.

And then its eyes flash open.

The entire coffin rocks and the machine thrashes from side to side. Magnolia releases a small scream, and Rags grabs me and yanks me backward. As the four of us look on, the horse continues to flail until finally, finally—

The Titan rises to its feet.

I can’t think past anything besides the Titan stepping out of the crate and moving toward me. Rags tries to block the machine’s path, but I won’t budge. I’m too busy studying the creature’s nostrils flaring, and its eyes fluttering. I’m too preoccupied with the sleek black steel that’s in desperate need of a good polishing, and the screeching sound its body makes as it moves. I can’t stop staring, and so when the horse is just a hand width away, I forget to be afraid. Until it stops. It’s a machine, after all, weighing in at eight hundred pounds. And the way it’s looking at me isn’t comforting.

The Titan bends its head and sniffs my tank top. Then it blows out through its nose like it’s not at all pleased with what it smelled. Realizing we’ve got to get things moving, I lift my hand a second time so it can get a good whiff of my scent. Don’t animals like that? Smelling things and such? Only when I do this, the Titan throws its head back in irritation.

And then it bolts for the woods.

“He’s on auto!” Barney yells, running for Rags’s truck. Rags sprints after him, telling Magnolia and me to stay put. But there’s no way I’m leaving my only chance at a new life running through the woods without following it. Magnolia and I jump in the bed of the truck, and though Rags yells something vulgar over the growling engine, he doesn’t take the time to toss us out.

The truck kicks up dirt and barrels toward the fleeing Titan. Magnolia and I hang on as we fly over large rocks and hit dips in the field surrounding Barney’s house. Before long, we’re blazing between trees, and I catch sight of the horse dashing ahead. A thick branch flies toward our heads and I tackle Magnolia moments before it would have hit her.

I get on all fours as the wind whips by and breathe in the smell of soil and sugar maple trees. The truck jerks to the right, and though I’ve braced myself, I roll to the left and smash into the side. Almost immediately, the truck slams to a stop. At first I think it’s because Rags and Barney heard us rolling around in the back, but when I peer over the side, I see the real reason.

The Titan is on the opposite side of a creek, tangled in vines and whining frantically. I’m struck dumb for a heartbeat, surprised to hear the animal produce such a sound. Then I’m flying over the side, Magnolia hollering at me to keep my distance. But she doesn’t understand that when I see the Titan, I see that eviction notice. I see my grandfather dying. My family falling apart.

I see myself alone.

Rags and Barney are out of the vehicle now too, but they won’t reach the Titan as fast as I will. I dive into the creek—frantic from the race through the woods—and trudge across the waist-deep water until I reach the machine. The vines are wrapped around its neck and back legs, and the horse is hysterical with fear. But that can’t be right. It’s a robot. An intricate system of parts and gears built for entertainment. How could it possibly be afraid?

I approach slowly, my hands outstretched to show the beast I don’t mean any harm.

“Leave him,” Rags yells. “Don’t touch him, Astrid.”

But I’m afraid that if it continues jerking around, the animal will suffer irreparable damage. I can’t let that happen. So I grab the first vine and pull.

The Titan goes ballistic.

I almost fall beneath its stamping feet, and I swear on my sketchpad that the Titan nips me on the shoulder. Gritting my teeth, I lunge for the vines again. This time I’m able to tear one away, and then another.

Rags reaches me as I rip the last of the vines away. When the Titan realizes it’s free, it raises up on its back legs and hooves the air. I fall back, transfixed by the machine’s size, glimpsing my reflection in the black steel. When it touches back down, it sniffs me again, but with interest this time instead of anxiety. I don’t move a muscle, just gaze into those two black eyes staring back at me.

Rags tosses himself over the Titan’s side, pulling himself up with the faux horse hair falling down the machine’s neck. The second he lands on the horse’s back, the creature loses its mind. Bucking, the Titan takes off down the side of the creek. Rags hangs on with impressive agility, and after he runs his fingers over the control panel, the horse lurches to a halt. Breathing deeply, he turns the horse back toward us and leads it into the water. I wade after him as Magnolia and Barney cheer from the other side.

“You still got it,” Barney crows.

“Without a saddle and everything.” Magnolia claps her hands in appreciation of Rags’s performance. When I show up on the opposite side of the creek, dripping water, Magnolia clears her throat. “Oh, uh, you did well too, Astrid. Way to snap the vines like a champ.”

The Titan remains in place as Rags reaches into his truck and withdraws a set of reins used on real horses. He threads it through the Titan’s mouth and pulls the thin leather straps over its neck. The horse heaves as he does this—a false animation I’ve never seen on a Titan 3.0.

“What’s wrong with that thing?” I ask as Rags dismounts. “Why did it take off on its own like that?” I’m soaking wet and infuriated that this day isn’t going smoothly. The sponsor race is next weekend, and we’ve wasted precious time chasing this psychotic thing through the woods instead of practicing.

“I forgot to turn off the autopilot function,” Rags says gruffly. “I didn’t know he’d be so rambunctious after lying dormant this long.”

“Rambunctious?” Magnolia says, voicing my exact thought. “Titans can’t be rambunctious. They can’t be anything. They’re machines.”

“Oh, you didn’t tell her?” Barney slaps the outside of his thigh, belly shaking with laughter.

“Tell me what?” I ask.

Rags leads the Titan away.

“Hey, Rags. What are you not—?” But I don’t finish the thought, because the answer comes at once. “Oh, man. No way. This is not happening.”

“What?” Magnolia says.

Rags guides the horse into the back of the truck, and turns back to us. When he doesn’t respond, I glance at Magnolia.

“That thing has, like … thoughts or something.”

“Emotions,” Rags corrects.

“
And
thoughts,” Barney says. “Don’t cut yourself short, Rags.”

I take a step toward Rags and stare him down, orange hunting vest and all. “Wait, you created this thing? This was your design?”

“He was the senior architect on the project,” Barney answers for him. “Not as important as the senior engineer, but you wouldn’t know it with how those architects tout their own work.”

Rags glowers at his feet as if I’ve caught him doing something deplorable. But it doesn’t matter, does it? In fact, it’s fantastic that we have these two guys on our side. If something goes wrong with our horse, he and Barney can make the repair. When Rags can’t avoid my gaze any longer, he mutters, “That’s how Barney and I met. We worked at Hanover.” Rags’s brow furrows and his expression changes to one of frustration. “What does this matter anyway? Let’s go back and get started.”

I follow after Rags, and Magnolia and I squeeze into the backseat of the truck. During the entire return trip to Barney’s place, the two of us face the truck bed, watching the Titan. It lies down, four legs folded beneath its body. Even when Rags rolls over bumps and ditches, the creature doesn’t move.

It’s a far cry from the savage machine I witnessed galloping through the forest.