Mecha Origin

Chapter 2

Aggie - short for Agatha - Hettie Bowles was a nervous wreck. When she'd agreed to accompany her friend Rebecca to Romancing the Capital - a conference set in Ottawa, Canada for romance readers and authors - she'd expected to spend most of her time in a room. Maybe hiding in a corner. Reading a book.

Rebecca would have none of it. The moment they arrived at the Holiday Inn, her best friend - who was freakishly strong when determined - dragged Aggie to the second-floor registration desk manned by young ladies sporting welcoming smiles. They jostled each other and practically leapt over the table to serve her.

The feisty little one won. "Hi and welcome," she announced with a bright smile, her T-shirt declaring she was an EveL Minion. Whatever that meant. "What's your name?"

While Aggie was held hostage by an efficient minion who scrolled names on a list, the slim, older girl wore a welcoming smile and greeted Rebecca. "My mom is going to be so happy you're back."

"I wouldn't miss it." Rebecca beamed at them. "And I brought along my friend, Aggie. It's her first time."

"Oooh a conference virgin," cooed the girl, whose nametag read Boo.

Who named their child after a ghost?

"Here's your cherry sticker." Boo squished it onto the plastic window, marking Aggie's virginity for all to see. Aggie's cheeks heated, and she fought a strong urge to flee. Only there was no place to hide.

"Here's your guide to all the events. Bracelets to collect charms. And. . ."

Aggie found herself loaded down, the red canvas bag on her shoulder hefty with goodies, the guide bright and colorful, the welcoming vibe surreal.

As she walked away with Rebecca, she whispered, "Is everyone always this nice and happy?" Visiting from the United States, she wasn't sure if this was a Canadian thing or a Twilight Zone episode.

A random woman walking by, her hair a short bob with blonde streaks, laughed and replied in passing, "I should hope they're f*****g happy. Or we haven't done our job."

The potty-mouthed whirlwind swept past, greeting people on the way, somehow managing to pose for pics, drop an f-bomb every other word, say hello to everyone, and still make it to the desk without collapsing from expending all that energy.

"Good God. I think she has super powers," Aggie exclaimed.

"Pretty sure she drinks a radioactive super drink every morning," snickered Rebecca. "That's Eve. She's the lady running this thing. Says each year never again."

Aggie frowned. "Haven't you been coming for a while now?"

A veritable snort escaped Rebecca. "Poor Eve just can't say no. Which is good for us."

"Good how?"

"You'll see."

Rebecca then proceeded to drag Aggie on a whirlwind of events. They started with a panel on alien lovers in romance. The most shocking question being, could an alien with a tentacle for his s****l organ be sexy?

The answer was surprising, and Aggie made a note of a few names, including Mina Carter, the lovely British lady with the sassy hair.

They did cover bingo next, where some truly epic art was flashed, lots of man chest and snazzy titles. Each time she spotted one on her card, Aggie got to use her stamper. The euphoria of screaming bingo proved almost as epic as the prize, an audiobook, perfect to listen to while cleaning.

The smiles and laughter continued even during lunch, where Aggie and Rebecca actually got to sit with honest-to-goodness authors. Who, it turned out, were pretty regular people. Aggie took note of their names, especially the one with rainbow hair, Susan Hayes. Apparently, she also wrote love stories set in space.

The afternoon saw them attending more panels - one about action heroes and heroines, the art of balancing three people in the bedroom, which was a little too much for Aggie. Then one more game of trivia involving pop culture questions and stalkerish questions about authors. She discovered Viola Grace hadn't just written a zillion books. She also raised bees. Aggie bookmarked her channel on YouTube.

By five o'clock, Aggie was ready to hit their room, sink into a hot bath, maybe nap for an hour. Only the expected reprieve proved short.

The moment the door shut behind them, Rebecca declared, "We have to get ready."

"For bed?" Because Aggie was certainly ready to slip into something comfortable and start reading some of the books she'd heard about today. As a matter of fact, she already had her GooglePlay bookstore app open and was typing in a name.

"Not even close to bedtime, silly. We have to prepare for the ball."

"Ball?" Aggie's tired brain certainly hoped it wasn't something with an actual sphere she had to catch.

"Yes, the ball. Remember, I told you. The Friday night dinner is followed by a ball. Music and dancing," Rebecca pirouetted around the room and gave a few shakes of her hips. "The theme this year is Steampunk. There's also going to be prizes for best costume." From the closet, Rebecca pulled a bulky zippered garment bag.

"You have to dress up?" Aggie's eyes widened. "I don't think I could." Wearing outfits was for children at Halloween, not a grown woman in her thirties.

"Of course, you have to. It's part of the fun. Letting loose." Rebecca had unzipped the bag and pulled out the hanger with the dress. Or more accurately, the ball gown. Made of a burgundy velvet and stitched with white lace and silver thread holding dozens of tiny cogs, the outfit stunned.

Mostly because Aggie couldn't picture it. She glanced at the dress then her friend. "You're actually going to wear that."

"Yup. And because I knew you'd never get a costume on your own" - Rebecca turned to the closet and pulled out another zippered bag - "I brought you something to wear, too."

"Oh no." Aggie shook her head. Looking at the wide skirts of Rebecca's dress, she could definitely say the fancy nature didn't appeal at all.

"Wait until you see it first before you refuse." The zipper slid open, but what spilled out wasn't some fancy gown with lace.

"Is that a leather duster?" The material appeared soft and worn, scuffed in spots, too.

Rebecca nodded. "I found it at Value Village. Along with these." She held up a pair of goggles.

"I'm going as a pilot?" Aggie's nose wrinkled.

"Not just any pilot. You are the captain of a Zeppelin. Steam powered, with machine guns mounted at each end."

As Rebecca enthused about her imaginary vessel, Aggie snickered. "Me as some kind of action heroine? Maybe in a book." Because real-life thirty-year-old spinsters didn't go on exciting adventures. They read about them.

"So what if it's make believe. That's what tonight is about. Pretending to be someone else. Someone with an exciting lifestyle where magic and romance can occur. Where a guy with a dark and mysterious stare hunts you down and. . ."

"Rebecca, you're married!" Aggie exclaimed.

At the reminder, she laughed. "I know I am. And trust me, he loves it when I read romance and ask him to act it out." Rebecca winked, and Aggie's cheeks heated.

"You are terrible." But fun.

Which was why Aggie agreed to get laced into the outfit, which turned out to have more than just a coat and goggles.

The finished product had her staring in a mirror. She didn't look at all like Aggie who worked nine to five at the bank. She looked -

"Amazing! Oh my God, the stuff fits you perfectly," Rebecca enthused.

Aggie's friend had chosen well. The riding pants were form fitting and tucked into the boots Rebecca had brought along. Good thing they wore the same size. The holster hung off her hips, the weight of the plastic gun strange. The white blouse Aggie insisted on was tucked into the pants and the only layer between her skin and the black corset Rebecca cajoled her into wearing. It had the effect of taking regular breasts and making them into a shelf.

Aggie stared down at her cleavage. "I could rest a plate on these."

"Or a chin. Also a great place to stash your phone."

"Articles claim that causes breast cancer."

"Then stick to only letting food or a bristled face rub between them."

After an hour of primping and teasing, Aggie had no blushes left. "Maybe you didn't notice, but there are only a handful of guys at this conference, and I think they're all taken."

"You seem to forget hotel staff, other guests. . ." Rebecca ticked off a bunch of options.

"How about we just go have a girls' night and I'll worry about dating when I get home." She could return to her quiet routine of dinner, followed by a book snuggled with her cat, then bed.

Where would a man fit in there?

He wouldn't. She'd long ago resigned herself to that fact. Perhaps her expectations were too high. Maybe she should put herself out there more.

Whatever the reason, she'd not dated in years and doubted dressing up as a steampunk pilot would change that.

But she could secretly admit it was kind of fun.

They exited the room, meeting other guests just as intricately dressed. They had dinner with some folks from Ottawa itself. Nice people. The dinner was excellent, chicken and pasta, succulent and delicious. She wouldn't need the stash of chips she'd brought as emergency food.

The one thing they could have used more of was bathrooms because, after dinner, the mostly female conference had a line.

"I'm going to hit our room to freshen up."

Rebecca grabbed her by the arm. "Only if you promise to come back."

"I will." Maybe.

Her friend's gaze narrowed. "Don't make me hunt you down."

At the threat, Aggie laughed. "I promise. I'll come back." Even dance a song or two. There was certainly something energizing about the thumping bass.

It took only a minute to grab an elevator and head to the fifth floor. She did her business, washed her hands, and then eyed the bed. Here, in the quiet, it proved easy to justify staying in the room rather than rejoining the chaos.

The adrenaline wore off quickly. The fear of going out began to clutch her with its claws. Rebecca would clutch her, too, if she didn't go back down.

Maybe she could rest for a few minutes. She flopped on the bed and sighed. Then frowned as she heard a tapping.

Probably someone at the wrong door. She ignored it.

Tap. Tap. It kept happening, and she glared at the door, only to realize it wasn't coming from there. It was the window. Even odder. She went to the drapes and pulled them aside, wondering if a bird had taken up residence on the ledge. Only it wasn't a bird but a drone. A strange one made of dark bronze with stilted metal legs and the oddest set of fluttering wings on its back.

No apparent eyes but she imagined it had a camera somewhere on its body. It tapped again on the window.

"Shoo. You can't come in this way."

Tap.

The window had a small square that could be slid open for fresh air. She moved it and then stared at the screen in the way. The drone just pretended it wasn't there and tore right through it. Aggie gaped at the hole. "Oh shoot. I am not paying for that."

She whirled to glared at the drone and shake a finger at it. "Whoever it is driving this, this is your fault."

The machine sat on the bed, not moving.

She stepped closer to it, ready to jump and scream if it suddenly moved.

It didn't, and she reached out to grab it, lifting it and checking its belly for a switch. There was a button. A single one that warmed the tip of her finger when she pressed it.

A compartment pipped open, and something fell out. A gear. A shiny brass gear with tiny glyphs engraved in it, almost like writing, probably gibberish written by a monkey on a typewriter but cute.

Bang. Crash.

The cacophony and squealing of tires saw her dropping the drone as she was drawn to the window. A glance outside showed a mess of cars at all kinds of angles. An accident on Kanata Avenue. Hopefully no one was hurt.

She whirled back around and frowned as she noticed the drone missing from her bed and a new wet spot on it. She eyed the bronze-colored sludge and muttered, "Seriously?" Had the thing just melted all over her bed?

She tore the comforter off and tossed it to the floor. It hadn't gone through to the sheets. But it was more damage she didn't want to pay for.

She almost called Rebecca to tell her, only to remember the smile on her friend's face. Time enough to deal with this later. Let Rebecca have her steampunk ball first.

Speaking of which, she should get moving. Something warmed in her grip and she realized she still held the gear that had fallen out of the drone's belly. It hadn't melted, and staring at it, she couldn't help but think, how pretty. Hence why she strung it on the chain beside her cross and, taking a big-girl breath, went back downstairs to face people.