Harem Assassins : King Sekton's Harem Planet, Book 2: A Space Opera Harem Adventure by Baron Sord (mobi ebook reader .TXT) 📕

I chuckled and issued a mental command to close the video feed for her comms window. Her face disappeared, but a small tab remained with her name on it.

Time to get this mech moving.

I was reluctant to take my first step for the simple reason that moving your leg physically and thinking about it were two entirely different things. The Rolbotics exosuit had sensors positioned all over your body that translated your body movements into moving the exosuit. You didn’t have to think about moving. You just moved, and the exosuit’s translation software reacted and move the suit to match. It took some practice to master, but I’d gotten quite good at it back on Earth. That process was entirely different from moving this Dragonfire. It required purely mental instructions.

Question was, how did you think about moving your leg without actually moving it?

Sounded easy, but I knew it wouldn’t be. There would be a huge learning curve. The kind of curve that required months or years or 10,000 hours of practice to reach the first level of mastery. What I needed was an express elevator to get me up that curve.

Or… maybe this Dragonfire had insanely well-developed computer assist that could translate my simple mental intentions into the complex mechanics of fluid movement.

Best thing to do was start with baby steps and work up to walking, jogging, running, jumping, and then and only then, my blackout bet with Mira. In a matter of 10 or 15 minutes.

Once again, making this bet had been… So. Stupid.

Word of advice to men: never let your dick make bets for you.

Grinning, I thought, wasn’t that the definition of being male?

Chuckling to myself, I tried to calm my mind and imagine taking a single step forward, then stopping with both feet flat on the ground.

Nothing happened.

Take a step, I thought.

Just one step. Er, two steps. Technically it required two steps. Left foot first, followed by the right, then stop.

Again, nothing.

Maybe I wasn’t being precise enough.

Fine.

I thought, lift the left foot off the ground, lean forward slightly, extend the left leg and let the heel touch the ground, followed by etc., etc.

Still nothing.

My YX-37 stood still as a statue.

This was a baaaaaad sign as far as my bet went.

Or maybe I was going about this all wrong. Every athlete will tell you: when they run, jump, dodge, weave, punch, kick, etc., they do not bust out a scientific calculator to start computing accelerative force vectors. As Nike famously said — the shoe company and probably the Greek goddess of victory too, who I very much needed in my corner to win this bet — they Just Do It.

I took a few relaxing breaths.

Calmed myself.

Then I tried to just do it, just feel it happening, feel my left leg lifting and stepping forward.

Still not happening.

My Dragonfire had not moved a single millimeter.

I fumed in frustration.

If this was how “easy” it was to operate a battle rig, I’d need at least three weeks and not just an elevator, but a freaking tower crane to lift me and this rig up the learning curve required to accomplish basic walking. End result, I was never winning this bet.

No. I wasn’t giving up that easy.

It couldn’t be that complicated.

Could it?

No, I just had to try a seventeenth or eighteenth time, and offer a small sacrifice to Nike. The shoe company would only ask that I give them $99.99 or thereabouts, but there was no telling what the goddess might expect of me. If she wanted me to extend my self-imposed celibacy another two weeks, she was S.O.L.

Sighing my annoyance, I concentrated harder and harder, trying to imagine my leg moving, grumbling and mumbling to myself until I finally grunted, “Take a step already, you stupid mech! What’s the freaking problem?!”

Still, the rig stood stiller than a statue, and I felt stupider than one.

“Mira to Crown, you—”

“WHAT?!” I barked.

“My king,” she said gently. Her comms window was still just a tab in my HUD and only her voice came over the line. “I was going to say, you might want to light up your reactor core.” Her tone was highly amused. “Power always helps.”

“Oh. Right,” I grimaced, feeling like an idiot while internally arguing that a takeoff checklist might be nice. Even the most basic single-engine Cessna had a freaking four-page checklist! A super-advanced transformable fighter jet battle mech ought to at least have a freaking Post-it note for a checklist! But noooooo! Mira hadn’t given me one!

“Mira to Crown.” Her comms tab popped open into a video window without me opening it. Her mirthful smile said she was wallowing in a sauna of superiority while sipping champagne and enjoying my ineptitude. That she had already removed her bikini and tossed it teasingly out of the hot sauna — leaving her enticingly naked under the bubbles and frothing foam — made her superior tone and smile magnitudes more annoying.

“What?” I grumbled.

“Something wrong, my king?”

“No!” I barked. “I mean, no,” I said with seething, forced calm. “I mean, Crown to Mira, everything is A-okay! All dandy over here! Out!” I shouted.

I counted to ten while breathing deeply.

When that didn’t cut it, I counted to a hundred.

Somewhat calmer, I thought: power up reactor core.

A thunk and rumble were followed by a rising whir that spun up octave after octave until it was a high whine. Across the rig’s HUD, various gauges that had been showing zero or were dark before, suddenly flickered up and hovered in green zones.

I felt a tingling sensation in my scalp. For a brief second, it reminded me of when I had first activated my Bombshells Ring back at Zola’s Jewelers on Earth, the ring Oia and the other Bombshells had tricked me into with their feminine wiles, much like Mira had tricked me into this damn bet. Anyway, I had called that sensation electric ants. I doubted my tingling scalp now was the same thing. Probably just nerves because I already felt like a fool.

Reason being, I should have