Titans by Victoria Scott Page A

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.

After we return to the outskirts of Barney’s track, Rags says it’s time to teach me the control panel. He punches some buttons and the Titan lies down, sniffing at the grass. Once Rags has my attention, he launches into an explanation of how everything works. First, he points to the handlebars situated on either side of the board. “If you’re ever riding, and something goes wrong, grab on to these and hang on. Understand?”
    I nod, and he points out the ignition slot that’s currently engaged and self-explanatory. The key turns the Titan on. Next is a black turbo button. It’s covered by a silver flap that I can flip up with my thumb, and Rags explains that it’s covered for a reason.
    “This button is what triggers the Titan’s racing capability,” he says. “Push it when the starting gates open and the horse will enter manual transmission.”
    There’s a smaller black button above the covered turbo one, so I ask, “This is what turns on the Titan’s eyes, right?”
    “You got it,” he replies. “That sends a signal to the Titan to ready itself to race. Then the turbo button is like a detonator.”
    “So many buttons, so little time.” Magnolia leans against Rags’s truck, chewing a lengthy blade of grass like she’s a prairie girl born and raised.
    Rags ignores her.
    “What’s this?” My eyes take in a small silver switch in the top right corner of the panel. Like the black button, it has a cover, but its cover is made of plastic instead of metal, so you can see through to the switch beneath.
    Barney gazes over Rags’s shoulder. “That’s what this old timer forgot to turn off before he started the Titan’s engine.”
    Rags chews the inside of his cheek like he’s not sure he’s ready to cover that part of today’s lesson. Eventually he shakes his head like, What does it matter? and says, “That’s perhaps the most important part of the Titan 1.0. This is what the Gambini brothers were afraid of.”
    “It’s what threw Arvin on his rear!” Barney chokes on laughter.
    “Arvin rode this model?”
    “Not for long.” Rags waves his hand as if dismissing the subject. “All Titans can be placed on autopilot if their dashboard blows.”
    “If the Titan is pushed too far past the slay zone,” I offer.
    “Exactly, but don’t worry too much about his control panel. The only thing that could take this baby down for good is a blown engine.” Rags runs his thumb across the clear,