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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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 Posted - Mar 10 2008 : 17:22:11
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(this is from the current draft of the mech "book" i'm writing. i welcome your input, but will ignore any "additions" a la the St. Ives story. no offense, i'm just sharing this with some friends for feedback; if you like it great. if you don't like it, say so, quit reading it, or both.
for the sake of your schedules, i'll post it in a serial fashion, no sense trying to stick 221 pages online all at once (and like i said, it isn't done yet).
for those among you who followed my fluff back in the tiredOMO days or who read along at MWL back when (the threads over there were Next Step, Interlude, and Of Frying Pans and Fires and they are still in the roleplaying forum), you will perhaps recognize before long that granpa is the same Patrick Carnes who was the main character. if you don't know the back story, sorry, this isn't the venue for it, but a lot comes out in the story as it goes along.
one final note, the story follows more of the capabilities of classic battletech than any of the computer games, but there is some crossover (like an eject pod instead of just the chair). i hope its not too confusing, but then again, i'm doing it this way anyway.
well, without further eloquence...)
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Prolog
It’s been too many years since I first found out about granpa. Da had never spoken about him in detail before that day and mum never knew him. Honestly, if I hadn’t stumbled across it, my father would probably never have let me into the old bunker... or said the words I still have etched on my life like gilt on a noble’s blade; “You have Wolf blood.”
It had been a dry summer filled with boisterous boy’s games, full of competition, violence and challenge. The quiet morning ten days before my eleventh birthday was an exception; anticipated boredom hovered over my breakfast as unmistakably as aroma over summer sewage. I wandered all morning through the woods behind the house, then meandered back to the barn around noon and took to hunting mice. I was pouncing on a hapless rodent when I spotted the trap door partly covered by old construction materials. Having spent most of my chore time in the barn, something new was a beacon to my interest. Unwilling to relinquish my feeble claim to relief from the day’s interminable longness, I had set to work clearing away the panels, boards, pieces of shingle and the odd slice of stone. Finally cleared, the heavy door still resisted my most emphatic exertions until I harnessed the loft’s winch and chain. I think I expected some dusty mice-filled cellar, but what light revealed was a huge concrete ramp sloping from near the front of the barn down to a set of massive metal doors.
Sometimes fortune favors my whims: this time I didn’t run to the house but searched for da in the fields. Annoyance at my interruption vanished when I asked about the doors and what could lay behind them.
“Have you told your mum?” he asked quickly, his eyes looking intently at the house.
“No, Sir,” I had replied.
“Good. Never do.” The look he gave with these words convinced me that this was some terrible secret and I must not ever, EVER violate his instructions. He stood for an eternity in the fresh muck the tractor had churned, his features masked with an odd faraway look. His decision made, he beckoned me to follow. Rapidly we crossed the furrows, strode into the barn and approached the open hatchway.
“Close the doors, son,” he gestured at the way we had just entered. I did, and he motioned me over. We climbed down into the darkness and he lit an electric torch before leading me to the very threshold of the massive metalworks.
“No one must ever know what I show you. They’ll come for all of us if you do and they’ll never believe we’re innocent...”
I remember for a brief moment thinking that he was being pathetically dramatic, then he spoke to the doors, “Alexis, open the portal, please.”
Smoothly, the immense doors slid back while the floor vibrated as if an entire mountain was sliding on rails... then awe overtook me and I began to understand.
Crouched in an old concrete bunker amid shadowed equipment I had never seen the like of was a BattleMech. Not a play mockup, but a battle-scarred warrior of conflicts past.
Unlike the pictures of heroic bone-white Word of Blake ’Mechs where the machinery usually seemed rather based on human shapes, this craft had bird-like legs that seemed overly long, mere stubs for arms, and a squat body that most resembled the head of some oversized crow with a long slightly curved beak.
“Alexis, please confirm voice access.” He addressed the ’Mech as if it were alive and to my absolute astonishment, the craft not only answered but did so as if it knew him.
“As you wish, Sean. Confirmed access on inherited permission.” It was a woman’s voice, smooth and intelligent, flowing from somewhere near the darkened windscreen that wrapped around its face where the eyes might be expected to reside. She continues, “It has been a long time since you visited me, Sir.”
“Um, sorry about that, Mam. Alexis, this is my son, Padraig. Please grant him access to everything except weapons, he can even have those in an emergency.”
“Aff, Sir. Safeties in place.” Then, obviously addressing me, she continued, “Padraig, do you know I think you are named for my original pilot?”
I glanced at da and then let my stare return to the monstrous machine as I answered, “No Mam, I’m named for my Granpa.”
“He does not know, Sean?”
“No Mam, not yet.”
Silence.
“Shall I tell him more, Sir?”
Emotions plainly warred on da’s normally neutral features. It took several minutes for him to come to a decision...
“When he comes back, you may answer any question you think appropriate. I need to talk with him first.”
“As you wish, Sean.”
“Please seal the bay when we leave, voice access for either of us.”
“Aff, Sir”
The heavy doors trundled closed behind us as we climbed into the barn and walked back into the daylight. Sitting on an old bench near the apple tree, I noticed that da looked carefully around before speaking those fateful words...
“Son, you have Wolf blood.”
It had been some five Terran decades since the Clans had erupted into known space and one of the most powerful Clans was Wolf. I knew next to nothing about them, but my alleged link to the evil of the fabled Clans left me with nothing but dread. All too soon I discovered I had questions too, many I haven’t answered yet, but those flooding uncertainties took time... that afternoon was nothing but terror that we would be found and all incinerated.
Adherents to the Word of Blake controlled this world, as the “Wobbies” still do. Having an unlicensed agricultural ‘Mech was tantamount to instant conviction of capital crime; a hidden fully-weaponed war veteran, needless to say, would be even worse. Whatever you may think of the Wobbies, you must grant they’re masters of both discovering secrets and executing criminals. I’ve never remembered much of what Da told me that afternoon, I was certain that they must already be listening in on some hidden comlink; in my distraction I couldn’t focus on more than a few words at a time. What did soak through was that somehow my Granpa was an ex-officer from the Wolf Clan who had died in the war before Da was born. I did comprehend his insistence that we must make sure mum could never stumble onto our secret. Together we closed the trap door and covered it with old straw bales and heavy construction debris.
Over time I learned that Da really knew little about the ‘Mech and barely more about Granpa; Granmother had spoken rarely of him before she had succumbed to fever when Da was twelve. I found out that she had taken him to the bunker and introduced him to the ‘Mech when he was even younger and that he really lived in mortal terror that it would be found. Considering the Wobby purges that have popped up every few years, I suspect he was right.
How he has managed to keep it hidden from mum is still beyond me, though I have come to respect that he has manipulated their division of space so as to preclude most accidents: the farmhouse is her domain and the barn is his. Sure, they both enter the other’s world, but neither questions the other’s organization or management.
I’ve never gone back down the hole to visit the ‘Mech ; I only consider our secret secure in my head, knowing even the Blakist’s best ROM snoops still can’t actually read minds. Over time my interest in mysteries under the barn has waned as my thoughts and time have moved towards studies and girls. At times, though, I’ve caught myself being fascinated when I stumble over the scattered fragments of information available at school on Wolf and the Clans in general. Even a part-time job in a Horvath Timber’s log hauler, an ancient salvaged ‘Mech stripped down almost to the frame and adapted to lug bales of tree trunks down Horvath Mountain to the mill, tweaked my curiosity just a bit... what must it have been like to run its seventy tons with powerful weapons instead of uncut lumber.
So life went on and mum never knew about the trap door... at least until yesterday...
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 23 2008 07:59:18
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 10 2008 : 17:31:29
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Chapter 1 - Life Changes
I wake with something of a start, not sure if I’ve dreamt something troublesome or if it’s in the air around me. My first thought is that it isn’t a school day, so I haven’t missed the bus or forgotten to set the alarm. Ears seem to focus before the rest of my senses and the reality that something is odd soaks through. Shouting downstairs permeates the air, forcing a more common morning silence to flee into the distance. Peeking cautiously at the ceiling, I find nothing more unusual there than a gossamer mothling chasing spiders. Sabby, my snowy retriever, snores happily on her bed, paws twitching with puppy dreams of unknown chases.
Da is yelling angrily at mum... I’ve never heard that. Ever. When upset, da goes outside and chops wood or works on some stone project, he NEVER hollers or lets any show of anger out at her. Yet he’s clearly yelling his challenge at her asking her how she could do something without asking him. As I sit up her response stabs like daggers through the chill...
“WHAT are you hiding DOWN THERE? I DEMAND you TELL me!”
“OR WHAT?”
“I’ll get help and FIND OUT!”
I know in an instant what must have happened... our worst fears have just come true, she’s found the trap door.
Mum is a lot of things and loyal to the Wobbies is one of them. I know she can have no concept of what’s there, but if she finds out we’ll have some of Blake’s finest headed here to char us all.
Into my denims, add a lynen shirt and bolt for the window while slipping boots over bare feet. The smell of smouldering leaves from yesterday’s chores greets me as I dash along the roof’s gentle slope; I’ve followed this unorthodox route enough times that there’s almost a trail hollowed into the shingles. At the drainpipe I swing myself out and drop a couple meters to the dew bejeweled grass. My pants soak quickly in places bringing a bit more chill, but there’s no time for such concerns.
Sprinting the distance to the beckoning barn, falling face down over a missed furrow, jumping back up and sprinting on. My boots are a little loose and another misstep brings a stab of pain as my right ankle turns wrong and twists me to the ground again. I dislike pain, but fear muscles it out of my awareness and I’m up again running as best I can.
Pounding through the open barn doors and heading for the long avoided corner. Sure enough, the trap door is exposed, the surface and surrounding floor swept clean. A few moments standing still... breathing hard but every sense alert to danger or even something out of place. The smells are the usual pungent ones of horses and their stalls, while the sounds are the gentle snorts, breathings and morning restlessness. Mum must have come in and started trying to clean and organize, and as silly as tidying up a barn seems to me, I don’t find it out of character or mean-spirited. Sad, yes; deliberately sneaky, no.
While reaching for the trap door’s ring handle, I hear the back door slam. The bay mare stands in the stall closest to me; I toss myself over the wall to join her, regrettably tweaking my painful ankle. She snorts close to my head, but after a gentle rub on her nose she returns to her morning feed. Footfalls clatter on the barn floor a scant few heartbeats later. The breathing is da’s; I allow myself to peek through a knothole...
Sure enough, it is him and he’s alone, slightly winded and displaying a caution I’ve rarely seen.
“Da?”
“Paddy?”
“She found it?”
“Yes, son, seems she did...”
“Why's she so mad?”
“She thinks I’m hiding something big and lying to cover it up. She knows me too well, she just has no concept of what’s down here.”
“Do you think she’ll come out soon?”
“No. She left to fetch someone, probably Grace or Ernest to help her open the door.”
They’re our closest neighbors, at about a half hour away, we will have little more than an hour before they get back. Hmmmm...
“She didn’t ring them up?”
“No. Odd that.”
Yes, it does seem odd.
“What’ll we do?”
“We have to move it if we can until she’s satisfied that we’re just hiding some old junk in an otherwise empty bunker.”
“If we can’t?”
“We’ll have to make a run for it before the WoBs get here to cleanse the area.”
‘Cleanse.’ Such a sanitary word for what they did to the McCluskys and Darius Meatre and his family for the far smaller issue of having salvaged weapon parts on the property. Da’s right, we can’t give them any excuse or we’re all dead.
The door swings open and we clamber down into the semidarkness.
“Alexis, open the portal, please.”
There’s no reply, but the doors themselves make the sounds of metal on metal as if huge bolts are being freed. For an interminable second it’s quiet, then the concrete trembles as each door slides into the wall beside it; no train ever shook the ground so, or at least it seems that way. We both leap into the bay as soon as the doors open wide enough to admit us, and our inexperience here suddenly strikes me as a liability. All around us the dim shapes of equipment reflect what light there is, but there is much detail we are without...
“Alexis, can you turn on some lights?”
“I will have to power up, Sir.”
“Do what you must.”
There’s a recognizable hum as the ‘Mech ’s fusion reactor comes on line; because of my time in the tree hauler, it’s familiar, but there’s a distinct smoothness to this that the old log ‘Mech lacked. Then the enclosure’s lights come on and I stand stunned. Da too seems to realize what’s actually here and his mouth drops open.
“I had forgotten there was so much...”
This isn’t salvage, it’s a fully equipped ‘Mech bay with pristine weapons, ammunition, and supplies stacked to the ceiling on organized racks; there are overhead cranes, repair arms and automated gantries. It’s far larger than it seemed in the torchlight all those years ago.
“We can never hide all this.”
“No, son, we can’t.”
“Is there some problem, Sirs?”
“My wife has discovered this place and it won’t be long before the WoBs find out.”
“Would the ‘Wobbs’ be members of the Word of Blake’s forces?” There seems to be an edge in her tone... perhaps I’m imagining it.
“Yes.”
“I will need a pilot, you can not let them find me or Patrick’s hope will be lost.” Urgency is unmistakable in her voice.
“What?”
“Sean, Padraig, there is no time now to explain. I can guess why you have not returned here over the years, but now you have to trust me.” The words tumble out as if she’s both in control and on a frantic edge. “I will fire up the bay generator and help all I can, but you must understand that before I can fall into Word of Blake hands I will self-destruct, destroying everything in here and all of what Patrick was. If that is what you actually want, you must leave and get at least a klick away. If not, one of you must help me as a pilot.”
Staring into da’s eyes, I’m suddenly reminded that they are a haunting piercing blue. For once I’m sure we both know what the other thinks... He nods and I speak into the air, “Alexis, I’ll be the pilot. What do you need me to do?”
The silence grows less as a larger generator hums online in the depths of the cavernous bay.
“Have you piloted a ‘Mech before, Sir?”
“Yes... well, it was a seventy ton lumber hauler, but it was bird legged like you are.”
“Did you use a neurohelmet to control the gyros?”
“Well, not sure what that is, but there was a clunky headband that seemed to use my balance to help when the ‘Mech walked.”
“Close enough. There is a locker to your right that has a thermal suit and a neurohelm; you need to put them on.”
I’m focused on the task, what she says to Da is lost. The locker is unpainted grey metal, its handle cold to the touch. Swinging open the door and I’m met with various odd garments, smells of oiled leather, and an old picture of Da.
No, it’s an old picture of a man older than my father is now, short hair like mine but greying... yet the face is not just like Da’s, but identical. There’s a strange camouflaged helmet that must be the neuro-thing Alexis spoke of. A red leather jacket hangs on hooks next to a cammo jumpsuit with odd bulges woven throughout its arms and torso. I see a few tiny holes in the garment and some unevenly discolored areas around them as I take it off the hanger and drape it over a nearby chair.
“Alexis, was this gear my Granpa’s?”
“They were Patrick’s, Sir.”
She seems to be avoiding something, but it eludes me long enough for the thought to pass. The cooling suit apparently belongs next to my skin and I’m beginning to strip when her next words rivet my attention.
“He died wearing them.”
Frozen in place, the holes and stains swim before my eyes as tears swell. It’s a minute or more before I realize Da has joined me and is now crouching by the suit, his eyes glistening also.
“Where’s his body?” Da asks in a nearly choked whisper.
“After the giftake, Sean, your mother burned the body to ashes.”
“How long did he know her?”
“Less than a day, Sir. She was one of seven children he saved from the city before fleeing here. He was wounded while trying to save her.”
“You mean Granpa raped a girl?” I’m aghast.
“Patrick never had sexual relations with her, much less by force.”
“What?!”
“Huh?”
“So he’s not my Granpa?”
“Not exactly. Marian, your grandmother, poorly understood his request about a giftake, but knew at least that it was about preserving something of the dying MechWarrior. She did not ask me to explain it and instead had him cloned into one of her own eggs...”
Da gasps, a look of horror overwhelming his proud features.
“... from that, she bore you, Sean; it was her way of honoring what she thought was the last request of the man who saved her and others. Patrick is not so much your father as your twin brother, though many years removed...”
“NO!!! I’m not an accursed CLONE!”
“You are not true freebirth, nor are you what we call ‘trueborn.’ Look at his picture: if you do not see yourself, believe what you will... if you do, well, it will be for you to come to terms with.”
I’m lost in the implications as Da struggles to fathom that he’s not a natural son.
The machine is heartless though and recognizing that our time is running out, her urgency returns, “Padraig, you must dress or I will not be able to get you ready. Where is your discipline?”
“Discipline?” It’s a word I know, but not one I’ve ever applied to myself.
“You appear to have much to learn, Sir.”
Da stands stone still in front of the picture of Granpa, and I feel almost as if the picture is fading and a mirror is replacing it... I can’t doubt they are the same genes.
“Padraig, you must put on the cooling suit.”
Pulling it on, it feels cloudlike on my skin; if this is what ‘silken’ means, I understand why it’s a sensation that’s sought after.
“Now, take the red jacket and the black bag from the locker. Put you clothes in the bag and bring the jacket, bag, and the neurohelm here. Please hurry, Sir.”
“But...” my voice trails away.
Da still hasn’t moved, except that his mouth now hangs open like his jaws were anesthetized.
An automated gantry flies above my head carrying something to the side of the ‘Mech.
“Please, Padraig,” she pleads, “this is not a stripped down ‘Mech , it was a state of the art scout under Patrick’s command, and he was bred and trained to pilot it and others like it. You can not just get into the command couch and expect it to drive like a common automobile. Understand that I can only do so much to help and complete autopilot is beyond those boundaries.”
“I just need to get it far enough to hide it.”
“Look around you, Padraig. If the Blakists are coming, can you really believe that?”
Da comes out of his trance, looks around the bay, at the ‘Mech , and then at me. His look carries a deep despair blended with abject terror... I’ve never seen him so.
It’s my time to act, I know it. Swiftly, some unknown resolve takes over: I do as Alexis has instructed and then head for the ‘Mech itself. Oddly enough, the lanky machine seems smaller than I remember. A crane is lowering something boxy into an open hatch on the left side near a pair of muzzle-like protuberances. On the far side there’s another muzzle, though much larger. I approach, and the upper part of the face swings open, hinging back and up. There appears to be a route of handholds up the side of the knelt legs and I clamber up and along a narrow foot rail to drop into the cockpit itself.
“Please put the jacket on and sit down into the command couch.”
The red jacket smells of quality oiled leather and feels even more well treated. Then I finally notice the great snarling wolf head over six stars.
She’s aware of me, somehow, and gently says, “Patrick was an officer under Khan Vladimir Ward. This was his last battle coat. I will tell you more later if you wish.”
“But how did he get here, this was never a Wolf world, was it?”
“There is no time for such a long story now, Sir.”
“Ok...” There’s so much I should have learned before now. There’s so much I still need to understand, or at least want to know. Sitting cautiously into the big black cushioned chair, I realize with some surprise that it’s exceptionally comfortable.
“Now, please make the following connections: the hoses on your left attach to the couplings on your suit, left side just below your belt...”
I find two flex type metal hoses and attaching them with minimal fumbling to fittings that hang off the side of my suit.
“Done.” I’m suddenly less hot from my exertion, I feel more like a temperate summer breeze has washed over me.
“... now you will see a connector near your left shoulder that matches the one on the back of the neurohelm; attach that and make sure it locks into place.”
The piece locks easily, but it looks to be an uncomfortable arrangement.
“There are harness straps attached to the right side of the command chair. Please attach the buckles to the clips on your left.”
I find the padded weave of straps and lock them in place. They seem to adjust on their own to a mildly snug fit.
“Please put the neurohelmet on now, Sir.”
I lower the open-faced contraption onto my head. At first it seems loose, but then it adjusts somehow until it’s a fairly tight fit, bringing some kind of metal contacts gently against my scalp in places. It’s not painful, and for a brief moment there’s nothing special... then the contacts make clean connection with my skin and I feel something new... there’s a raw sense of power and, well, of agility.
Then Alexis speaks into my ears, “Link confirmed, Sir. Gyros online, you may stand the ‘Mech when ready or I can stand it for you.”
On my left a console arm of the chair swings in and I find a sliding handle with a complex set of buttons and nobs.
“This the throttle?”
“Yes, Sir, though for now most of the functions those buttons control are set off to protect you from accidental use. In time you will learn them. The torso control pedals are also locked out for now until you are comfortable with other operations. The right hand stick is for directional control, but again, the weapons triggers on it are temporarily turned off.”
As she speaks these last words, the right console arm swings up next to my side with another black handle rising perpendicular to it. Both controllers seem about perfectly where my hands need them to be, and I suspect I can make small adjustments later.
“Ok, how do I stand you up?”
“Well, I can stand the ‘Mech for now, but I want you to realize that I am not the ‘Mech, just a ‘Mech focused artificial intelligence housed within it; Patrick moved me from ‘Mech to ‘Mech as he needed.”
I’m not sure I understand the distinction right now, and I’m rapidly losing any sense of urgency... then she stands the ‘Mech and I suddenly feel the gyros balancing the ungainly shape as easily as I can balance myself when I stand. Hmmmm... actually, my brain seems to be telling me that the gyros are part of me and I’m standing part of myself. The sensation is disorienting because my own legs are visible as I sit in the command chair... and they’re not what I’m standing on. This is nothing like the distant link in the tree hauler, this ‘Mech ’s part of me.
“Padraig!” Da is calling.
“Yes, Sir?”
“I’m going up to get the animals out of the barn and check for your mum.”
“Ok, Da.”
“Are you ready to try seeing with the visor down, Sir?”
“Huh?”
“Let me show you.”
A thin black bubble slides down in front of my face and for a moment everything gets dark. Suddenly, there’s light everywhere, it’s as if I can see the entire bay clearly; it even seems my vision has improved somehow. There are additions as well; now a faint box with cross-hairs floats before my face, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, information on ‘Mech temperature, weapons, and armor are level with the tip of my nose, and some kind of rounded grid shows to one side.
“Wow.”
“Would you like me to power the sensors?”
“Um, sure...”
The rounded grid lights up with many green and blue shapes and even a couple of red ones on the very edge.
“CTC, 1140 meters! ECM on. We are in danger, they are very close!”
“WHAT?”
“There are two Word of Blake targets at range, from mass signature probably light ‘Mechs or medium armor, but I can not be certain from in here.”
“Um, what do I do?”
“You are a scion of Patrick Carns of Wolf. You are in command of this ‘Mech . YOU need to make the decisions...”
There’s a long pregnant pause, then, “Padraig, have you no tactical training?”
“No... guess not.”
Silence... then, “does Sean?”
“None that I know of. Da doesn’t like fighting. Can’t you teach me?”
More silence. It’s unsettling that the otherwise certain computer has to take time now to make up its mind about something. It must be hours or at least ten seconds before she speaks again.
“Experience will have to do, best time to start is now. In an engagement, you have three basic options: hide, run, or fight. Since this hiding place is already compromised, hiding is no longer an option, at least not until you have done one of the other two. Running will have to be done immediately, you can not wait or they will be within the ECM coverage, their sensors will detect us and that option will also be gone. I consider this an emergency, so I am giving you weapons control; I will clear the manual safeties if you wish. You must understand that the enemy units will have at least some experience from live fire drills while you have not even run sims. Combat is the most honorable way for a warrior, but you are not one yet and will almost certainly die without training.” Another pause, then, “three more contacts, same base vector angling to a point about 800 meters out... about where the ECM begins to break down coverage for active probes.”
Three more dots have indeed entered the sensor grid.
“How do I get out of here?”
“I take that as a request to open the access way, Sir. Opening now.”
Her words are still in my ear as a huge cover starts sliding left across the concrete ramp. It takes a few moments to realize that the entire barn is moving on top of it. I can see it has cleared enough for the ‘Mech to get through and push the throttle up.
I love watching horses run, even more so actually riding them at a gallop. I’ve often wondered how it would feel to be the horse sprinting joyfully across open grasslands... now I think I know. The ‘Mech bounds playfully from the bay, up the ramp and out into glorious sunshine.
“Turn unless you mean to attack!” Urgency and alarm are in her voice.
The red dots seem much closer to the center of the grid. I lay my right hand over like I used to do to turn the log hauler and nearly make myself sick as the Raven spins in a tight circle.
“Easy, Padraig, use a light touch. Slow down a bit and try for a course of 270, you can see you degrees off true north below your sensor display.”
I throttle back and pivot far more slowly until 270 is centered in my vision.
“Those trees are 900 meters away; you might want to throttle up and sprint to them.”
I can neither feel nor hear the wind around the ‘Mech , but know it must be whistling. I seem to sense legs stretching out beneath me to hurl us forward. The speed tops 120 kph stunningly fast, and the trees are approaching rapidly. There’s a pronounced rocking and bobbing but I don’t feel unbalanced or nauseated at all. It’s exhilarating... yeah, that really is the best description.
Into the trees and throttle way back. That was easy, I congratulate myself... then I turn and see the straight line of large impressions leading like an arrow from the barn a kilometer away to my current position. Here in the trees the going will be slower, but I turn right and skirt the open fields just meters into the forest’s edge.
“You are circling towards the road they came on,” Alexis states. “I consider it a good tactical move, but it may add additional risk and I am not sure you were aware where the direction you chose might lead.”
I have to admit, I hadn’t thought about it, and even more I’m amazed that this computer is so aware of me that it can already guess something about my behavior.
Red dots reappear on my sensor display; I hadn’t noticed when they disappeared, but their return is obvious. Two low rolling vehicles are slowly approaching the distant house; I can just make them out now. I also notice the moving tractor near the barn. Bless him, Da’s out churning up some of my tracks with the plow blades.
“Alexis! The BARN! Roll it back!”
“I have already done so, Sir.” If it had been my mum I would have heard smug self-satisfaction, but Alexis’ voice betrays nothing of that. She knew it had to be done and had done it.
Two more dots appear and materialize as low profile slow-rolling armor. Meanwhile, the first two have driven out of sight on the far side of the house.
Hmmmm... wasn’t there a fifth?
“Padraig, have you considered your options on where to run if they pursue you?”
I hate to admit again that I’ve not thought that far ahead, but there it is, “No, Mam.”
The two hidden vehicles are back in sight, they haven’t stopped at the house but are rolling on towards the barn. I can see our beloved horses running loose across the fields away from their noise... Da has freed them rather than let them die and they are making the most of their chance.
“Where is the fifth contact, Padraig?”
“How should I know, you have the sensors.” Only after it’s out of my mouth does it dawn on me that she’s not only aware of the fact, but is trying to get me notice it too. I’m sure it sounds sheepish when I ask, “were you trying to get me to think tactically?”
“Yes, Padraig. It should concern you that we could see it with the others before and not at all now. It has broken formation, it is probably now a hunter on the prowl.”
“Is this like some Wolf basic training stuff?”
“I do not understand the inference. An instructor in the poorest sibko would have trained youngsters to understand this before they reached ten; in ours, it was a first year lesson that we knew by second year or we were failed.”
The two lead vehicles have stopped at the barn and the others are just clearing the back of the house... and still there’s no sign of the last contact.
“Well, I haven’t had... wait a minute, you make it sound like you were alive.”
“I am patterned on a sibkin of Patrick’s. I can explain it some time, but right now there is still the missing contact to worry about.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Have you plotted an escape course?”
Now all four are parked at the barn.
“I could head up towards the logging camp, not many folks up there this time of day who like Wobbies.”
“Will the Blakists have any way to know that you might head there?”
“Well, not unless they pull my employment...” My voice trails off as I realize they could probably do that from their vehicles.
“My advice while you think is either kneel the ‘Mech and power down or turn into the forest and get at least a couple klicks away. The former lets you watch with minimal chance that you will be detected at range, the latter keeps you from knowing what is happening but reduces the chance that a seeker will stumble close enough to catch you anyway.”
There’s a lot that goes into these decisions.
“Can’t we just sit here like this? We can see them coming.”
“Padraig, if they have a scout equipped like we are, they will see us on sensors at the same time we see them. Should they be anywhere other than out in the open in front of us, sensors are how we will find each other.”
No condescension, just educating me with facts. I wish my mum had spoken to me like that. Where was mum anyway? For that matter, why are the Wobbies here?
“What’s a ‘klick’?”
“A kilometer.”
A bolt of lightning streaks from the barn to the tractor. Da had almost made it to the woods himself, but a fireball is now roiling around the tractor. No warning, just that one flash. Stunned, I watch rolling black smoke replace the flames and begin to rise above the charred and mangled wreckage.
“PPC. They have found the ‘Mech bay and they mean to let no one escape.”
I want to scream and she’s all business... oddly, her speaking to me like she expects me to evaluate the situation tactically instead of emotionally actually helps me do that.
“Will the bunker blow up if they get into it?”
“The bay has already begun broadcasting a self-destruct beacon to warn friendlies of the danger. Presuming the Blakists do not have the frequency, in eighteen seconds the reactor will go critical and we will only have the missing contact to worry about. I advise we move further back into the woods, there is nothing more we can do here.”
There’s something so final about it, this sense that my home has been ripped from me, will momentarily be obliterated, and that I have no reason to stop to ponder it.
“CTC, 1180 meters, left of the bay.”
Walking carefully along the tree-line behind and about even with the barn, a bone white ‘Mech with wide menacing arms searches for hints of the unusual.
“I see it.”
“It is a Bushwhacker. Gauss on the arm, within a klick already and worse still, it may be far enough out from the bunker to survive the self-destruct. Padraig, you must leave now.”
I move the controller and the ‘Mech swings around toward the hills, a bump on the throttle moves me deeper into the forest. I haven’t gone more than twenty paces however when a bright flash and an earthquake declare that my world is gone.
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 23 2008 08:34:05 |
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Country: USA
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ButtcraxOMO
Administrator
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Posted - Mar 10 2008 : 18:41:09
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Keep it coming!!!
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I am Lancelot of Borg, Resistance is Feudal |
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Country: USA
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 11 2008 : 03:50:12
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Chapter 2 - The Long Arm
There’s a pain welling up inside of me, like the surge of a geyser about to erupt. A scant two hours ago I could easily have woken to the smell of coffee and hot breakfast, followed by chores and an anticipated ride into town. Sixteen years of sameness and stability, with change coming slowly as I grew towards manhood, da always hardworking and mum always keeping her spotless farmhouse. We’d lived the never-ending cycle of growing crops as mankind has done for millennia, albeit with thirty-first and second century tools. We raised horses and dogs as humans back on Terra have since before recorded time, finding companionship and joy in the man and animal interrelationship.
“Sabby!”
“I do not understand the reference, Sir.”
Tears finally start to flow... it’s taken the possibility of losing my dog to bring me to this.
“Sabby’s my dog, I have to go back and see if she made it.”
Now Alexis sounds bluntly incredulous, “you are going back there for WHAT? You do realize that even if the Bushwhacker didn’t survive, armed aerial units will be diverted here because a sat will have picked up the flash?”
“Sabby’s my friend, I can’t leave her if there’s any chance she made it.”
I swing the stick, the ‘Mech turns around, and I push up the throttle. Out of the trees we jog, then I drop the throttle to zero.
There’s no barn, no house, nothing. A great razor has shaved everything off down to bare rock and left only smoldering blackness. Overhead a roiling cloud is dissipating into the morning winds, carrying the atomized fragments of my old life into oblivion. Imaginings of the devastation are inconsequential next to the reality... other than the charred remains of Da’s tractor beyond the blast radius, there’s no significant evidence that we ever lived here.
Something moves at the edge of the forest about a thousand meters out and a bit to my left, followed by a brief flash.
“CTC! RUN!”
In my panic, I push the throttle to the max and begin sprinting further out into the open.
“Safeties cleared, if you are attacking, you are in missile lock and ERLL range.”
I have no clue what the latter is, but missiles sound good for a moment until...
BAMMMmm...
The ‘Mech rocks, debris flies across my vision, an indicator goes from green to red, and I’m intensely aware that aided by the gyros I’m making a superhuman effort to stay upright.
“Run, Padraig, please...”
She’s right, I stand no chance... this time... and pivot fairly quickly to head back into the woods. A tree to my left explodes, must have been a near miss. The controls are becoming more familiar and I find I can weave through the trees at some forty kph.
“Think about your direction and your pursuit.”
It makes sense that a straight line can be swiftly tracked, but where do I go... while I consider it, I begin to angle away from the road and towards the hills to my right. A thought from years of hunting with da comes to mind.
“Can this ‘Mech walk in a river or stream?”
“Yes, presuming that movable stones are not too large. Padraig, a river right now might be the best thing to find if it is deep enough to completely submerge the ‘Mech .”
“Won’t I drown?”
“No, Padraig, this ‘Mech seals for water just like it seals for space or hostile atmospheres.”
“Don’t know about rivers, but Dillys Creek leads up into the hills towards the mountains. I’ve seen caves and overhangs up there, I thought it might give us a chance to get away without leaving tracks.”
“Very good, Sir. I agree. You learn quickly and well.”
Her praise brings a smile and I feel really good.
“How do I know if that ‘Mech is getting close?”
“Your sensors, but you will not have to worry about that one for now.”
“You think I lost it?”
“No, Sir. Did you not notice that its left leg was crippled?”
“Err... no, Mam.”
“You will learn to spot a legged ‘Mech; for now just understand that it will not get here nearly as quickly as its reinforcements will.”
“Right. Um, thanks.”
“You are welcome, Padraig.”
We walk on through the trees, my right hand developing a feel for adjusting direction just enough but not too far. Sometimes the canopy of foliage hangs well above me, other times I circle around or even just walk through the branches.
The steady pace brings a sameness that lets me notice other things. Though the neurohelmet doesn’t seem to carry the sound, there’s a distant ‘kkrummmp’ followed by an odd faint noise that reminds me of a rope tightening.
“What’s that sound?” I ask.
“Which one, Sir?”
“I guess that the ‘krump’ is the foot coming down, but what’s that faint one after it that sounds like something tightening?”
“You hear well, Padraig. That is the sound of energized myomer bundles tightening to lift the back leg.”
“Myomer?”
“A ‘Mech uses bundles of a synthetic fiber called ‘Myomer’ to act like your muscles do in making your limbs move. A powerful electric current causes them to contract with enough force to control part of the ‘Mech ’s motion, in this case lifting the un-weighted leg and moving it forwards for the next step.”
In my mind I understand a bit more about how this machine works. I see a picture appear on the console, it’s a grainy enlargement of the distant Wobby ‘Mech we encountered earlier.
“Do you see the difference between the left leg and the right?”
“The left seems thinner and brighter.”
“Very good. The leg armor is blasted off, the thigh bundles of myomer are damaged and the calf and shin ones are gone completely. While a ‘Mech can limp along and make gradual turns in this condition, it can not make more than a few kph and will need repairs soon or will suffer further damage. When you have more experience with the weapons, you will know that you can eliminate the ‘Mech ’s combat ability by blasting the remains of the leg away. It is not the most honorable approach, but sometimes need dictates making use of any advantage, especially when facing superior firepower and numbers.”
A pair of red dots streaks across the sensor screen well behind me.
“CTC. Air interceptors, first responders. Is the creek far? You need to pick up the pace, there will be slower rotary hunters before long.”
At 70kph, tree branches come far more quickly and several times I almost jog straight into full grown trees. The Boreal Firs worry me most, at a hundred meters tall and ten or more meters across, they easily out-weigh the ‘Mech ; of course, that begs the question...
“How much does this ‘Mech weigh?”
“Thirty-five tons. Do you not recognize it?”
“Well, er, no. Other than Lightrays, Mad Cats and Atlases, I don’t know one ‘Mech from another, much less which ones are Clan. The logger ‘Mech might have once been a fighter, but I don’t have a clue what it was.”
“This is a modified version of the RVN-4L Raven. It was originally a House Liao design meant to be the ultimate stealth scout and tactical command with ECM, BAP, TAG, IFF Jammer, LAMS, and advanced gyros. Patrick modified some systems to use Clan tech, especially the weapons.”
“But wasn’t house Liao from the Inner Sphere?”
“Yes, but that made no difference to Patrick once the mission started. He obtained what he needed and used what he had to. He always preferred Shadowcats, a Clan Novacat design that he first obtained from a Trial, but the Raven most often fit his role on the chessboard.”
“I don’t understand.”
“In time, I may find a way to explain what I know. Right now, we both need you to focus on what you are learning about the task at hand.”
This last comment followed another near miss with a giant fir.
“Ok, what about the weapons on here? You said I had missiles and earls.”
“The missiles are CLRM2s. That is Clan Long Range Missiles in a two tube missile launcher; you have two tons of CASEd missiles for ammunition. CLRMs are a guided missile with good range, especially with an active probe’s lock. When you have a missile lock, you will see a yellow circle flash around the target reticle in your hud.”
“What?”
“All of the indicators and sensors you see right now are your ‘heads up display’, or hud... you will see it whenever the visor is down. Now, do you see a box with a demarcated crosshair? It should seem to be right in front of you.”
“Yes, Mam.”
“Good. That is what you use to align your weapons on your target. Put the reticle over a hostile target and it will turn red unless they have an IFF jammer. An IFF jammer confuses sensors so others can not tell if a ‘Mech is a friend or foe; we are equipped with one on this ‘Mech .”
“Well, why did that Wobby fire on us then?”
“Did he have any reason to expect an unknown ally to be standing there after what had just happened?”
The stand of trees opens out a bit; there has been commercial thinning here and the gaps between trees make walking easier. I bump up the throttle and realize the implications of her question.
“So he just assumed we were an enemy and fired.”
“Yes, Padraig. IFF only really helps in crowded fog of war situations where the battle line is blurred or in locations with lots of ‘Mechs.”
“So without a jammer the reticle turns red and does what again?”
“When you have missile guidance lock, there is a flashing yellow ring around the reticle, like this...”
For a few moments a soft edged yellow ring seems to pulse in mid air around the reticle along with a pinging tone and I understand.
“The missiles in this configuration are really not effective against LAMS equipped ‘Mechs...”
“Lambs?”
“Laser Anti-Missile Systems, they shoot down some incoming locked missiles. The more missiles in flight at one time, the more likely it is that most of them will get through because the anti-missile laser is so limited in speed, power, and range that it can usually only hit two or three before impact.”
“Well, why don’t we have a bigger missile thing on here, then?”
“Tactical decision. CLRM2s allow you to not only attack non-LAMS units like rolling armor or fixed positions with minimal overkill, but allow you to maintain harassing fire in PITA roles with minimal weight. The final reason I chose to replace the CLRM4 that Patrick usually chose for this loadout is that I suspect it will be some time before we find any place to acquire more ammunition... to make the weapon last longer, if you will.”
“That makes sense.” I’m getting used to this. I feel like I’m in school but for once I’m really interested in learning from what the teacher has to say.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Krummp, krummp, kerump, krummp...
“So what’s the Earl?”
“Extended Range Large Laser. It is a clan unit, mounted on your right, maximum range and power delivered in space where there is no air and few particles to diffract or absorb the high energy photons before they hit your target. Clear air diminishes power and range least, while smoke, fog, rain, snow, or being underwater can all reduce range and delivered power to varying degrees. This laser is your most powerful weapon and it never runs out of ammunition, but the downside is that even with an array of high performance heat sinks it has serious heat consequences if fired repeatedly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Firing any laser generates huge amounts of heat, usually the larger the laser, the more heat. Other than pulse lasers, an ERLL is far and away the hottest member of the class normally deployed. If the ‘Mech gets too hot it will automatically shut down until the operating temperature cools to a safe level. While there are some available overrides, a heat spike beyond that level may push the reactor critical and vaporize us in the explosion. Warriors have been known to use that as a weapon of last resort, choosing to die while crippling or killing their opponent. In addition, at certain heat levels your cooling suit may not be able to keep you cool enough to keep from passing out or even cooking in your chair. An uncontrolled ‘Mech , moving or stationary, is an invitation to any enemy for an easy kill.”
“So how do I use it if it can kill me?”
“Practice, both in sims I can provide and with live fire drills.”
“Is a ‘sim’ a simulator?”
“Exactly, Sir.”
“Cool.”
“Does you suit require a flow adjustment?”
“Huh?”
“I am unsure if you were telling me to lower the environmental temperature, asking for a flow adjustment in your suit or commenting on outside conditions.”
It takes me a minute to understand what she’s talking about, then I start laughing... it’s the first time today that I can laugh and it wells up like the best comic has just delivered his most hilarious punch-line.
I’m still chuckling when I say, “‘cool’ is just an expression, like ‘slabbed’ or ‘jix.’ It sort of means ‘great’, ‘good’, ‘I’m glad’, and ‘alright’ all rolled into one.”
“I can see that I will need to update my IS dictionary.” For once there’s an icy coldness in the voice, and I’m sure it’s not imagined. If it’s possible to disappoint a computer, I just have somehow.
Krummp, krumch, krummp, krummp.
“Is that all of the weapons on here?” I ask, then hastily add, “Mam?”
After a few moments silence, she replies, “no, you have an ERSL, which is a clan extended range small laser, and a non-weapon target indicator.”
“What good are they?”
“The small laser can be used effectively against lighter targets and some air units without the huge heat buildup, it does limited damage and has a only a few hundred meters effective range in normal air. The target indicator was a normal option on Patrick’s TACCOM loadouts, when several massed stars or lances went into battle with him in the tactical command role. It is used to paint targets, to indicate without using comms just which enemy target the units should all shoot at next. It does no damage, but a veteran pilot so painted will think he or she is about to be hit by multiple undetected units and is far more likely to take evasive action to get away before the expected blow falls. It would be a bluff on our part, at least for now, but few pilots spend valuable weight to carry these for a bluff; that knowledge may buy us time to escape when we are in dire need. It is somewhat useless with the Target Acquisition Gear or ‘TAG’ available when fire support assets are tied in, but experience showed that insufficient units could be relied on to use the latter, especially in merc environments with mixed technologies.”
We start going down hill, the creek isn’t far ahead. As I throttle back to keep from slipping, curiosity grows.
“Granpa actually commanded ‘Mechs?”
“Patrick was a Wolf StarCommander, serving with various units in the 13th Wolf Guards, the 11th Regulars, and finally the 1st Assault; he was involved in thirty-nine major engagements, twenty leading Wolf stars, and twice wounded in combat: at Brzo on Tukkayyid and Borealtown on Wotan. After Khan Ward sent him on the mission, he had another forty major engagements with various merc units in various roles.”
This answer left me with more questions than it answered, but most significant right now is the tone of almost reverence she has when speaking of granpa.
I’m into the creek and turn left. The gyros feel like they are working harder, so I slow a little and everything stabilizes. I walk a few steps then stop. There’s a deep pool at the foot of Melo Falls where the seasonally swollen creek has gouged out the rock. It’s downstream, away from the hills and closer to the farm, but wouldn’t that make sense? If they follow my tracks here and the trail ends at the creek they will guess that I’ve headed into the hills and look there. Melo Falls is well known to the locals, but none of us is likely to help the Wobbies.
“Is a pool about twenty meters deep enough to cover this ‘Mech ?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“There’s one back down-stream. It’s a bit closer to the farm, but few folks know about it and if they follow me here wouldn’t it make sense they would think I went up into the hills?”
“Very good, Padraig. Yes, if we can get there undetected, we can hide our heat signature in the water and shut down if needed.”
I turn the ‘Mech around and carefully start to pick my way downstream.
“CTC, two klicks and closing fast. Probably rotary, moving too slow for fixed wing and too directly for a ‘Mech .”
In a moment of understanding I see that if I’m reported as heading downstream, they will be more likely to search for us towards the falls, I turn again step up onto the bank and start sprinting uphill along the creek until a wide place presents itself for me to step back into it and turnaround. I’m about 500 meters upstream of where I had entered the creek and the chopper is closing fast.
“You use the trigger under your index finger for the ERLL and your thumb on the bottom button on the left side of the stick for your CLRM2. Shutting down BAP to increase their detection and lock time. Clearing safeties.”
I feel the trigger under my finger and a stab of green light flashes out, blasting the tops clean off of two trees 700 meters in front of me.
“Wait until you see them!”
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to shoot yet.”
“It is a sensitive trigger, not much pressure is needed.”
“Sorry.”
The incoming target must have seen the explosion and subsequent smoke in the trees because it’s headed there now. For the first time today I feel I’ve gotten lucky... the armored chopper flies out over the creek facing the wrong way. I tilt the stick back and the torso tilts up; as the chopper starts to pivot in place, my reticle goes red, my finger tightens, the green beam reaches out like a long arm punching through the afternoon air, and one Wobby helicopter explodes into millions of pieces.
“Yesssss!” I shout.
“Celebrate later, Padraig,” she cuts in imperatively. “They will be here quickly.”
Back down the center of the creek I scamper the ‘Mech , trying to take care that I stay on the more submerged rocks. I make good time and reach the head of the falls in just a few minutes.
Now I realize again that I haven’t seen all eventualities... the creek here has cut itself a steep-walled ravine... climbing out is impossible. All the handholds I ever used to climb up the cliff face from below to dive off were barely enough to hold a boy, much less a thirty-five ton ‘Mech with no hands. Finally, the water’s about ten meters below me.
“CTC, three choppers, 1500 meters back but closing.”
“Can they see us yet?”
“No, still under ECM coverage.”
“Can I jump?”
Silence.
“CTC, three more choppers, closest now 900 meters.”
“Well?”
“We have no choice.”
I push the throttle, the Raven’s left foot steps into open air and the ‘Mech lurches forward. My brain is making a herculean effort with the gyros to keep the ‘Mech upright, but we are irresistibly cartwheeling onto our left side and into the pool below. The harness seems to have tightened; it restrains me, holding me firmly into the seat even though my body yearns to respond to gravity. We are slightly head-down when the left arm’s weapons hit the water first, the remaining thirty-five tons following rapidly.
I imagine the splash was awesome, like no cannonball ever performed there, but at the moment I’m barely conscious from the force of impact. My head and neck scream out and I remember my injured ankle in a stab of torturous pain.
We’re sinking rapidly and the engine’s weight seems to be pulling us down so that I’ll get to look up either at the sky or at the Raven’s footpads.
Everything gets darker, we’re below the line where sunlight reaches over the lip of the pool.
Now there’s a muffled impact, we’ve hit something. The little ‘Mech’s settling back towards the falls and the legs are falling lower than the head. My visor slides up and all the lights in the ‘Mech wink out. I’ve never noticed how beautiful the bubbles under the falls are in the sunlight above me. If I’m going to die now, at least it will be discovering something I’ve missed for years.
“Are you ok, Padraig?”
Reality intrudes on my perception of the bubble trailers above.
“Yes, Mam.”
“We appear to be on the bottom, Sir. I have shut down the ‘Mech to make it as hard as possible to detect us. We are maintaining cockpit seal and no individual system seems exceptionally damaged. Outside water temp is consistent with a solar heated pool.”
“Thanks.”
I’m aware for a moment that I feel lightheaded.
I’m running in summer grass, through blades of royal green reaching waist-high. Just ahead Sabby’s head bobs merrily along like a white boat on an emerald lake. Her joy’s like the ocean tide, boundless in energy and utterly irresistible.
“Ball?!”
She turns and bounds back to me, dancing around and jumping up to encourage me to reach into my jacket and produce the magic ball. Finally I stop and reach for the pocket, and she freezes... save her tail which is now wagging so vigorously that it threatens to knock her over. Her eyes flick up to mine then back to my hand, absolutely intent on my every motion. Then there’s an intense flash and I’m knocked on my back, my eyes shut from the overwhelming light.
“SABBY!?” My eyes flick open and I seem to expect her to be standing over me ready to drop a ball on my face to get me to play. Instead, it’s dark, there’s a distant droning thunder, and I’m at a loss to identify where I am.
“Are you ok, Sir?”
I know that voice.
Hmmmm...
Alexis. Everything comes back, jumbled and all at once, then quickly sorting itself each moment to its proper time.
“It wasn’t a dream?” I whisper, half dreading that its confirmation will doom me.
“No, Padraig, it was not.” Her answer too is subdued.
“Is it dark out now?”
“Yes, sundown was about two hours ago. We’ve been overflown several times, but nothing intensive. I believe your ruse, combined with a little good fortune, worked admirably.
“I miss Sabby and Da and even Mum.”
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“Do you think dogs go to heaven too?”
“I am sure they must be allowed on some starships because they are not indigenous here for example.”
“No, I mean after they die.”
“Why wouldn’t you just bury them?”
“No, no, I mean their spirit, not their body.”
“I do not understand.”
“Ok, what about clones? Did Da have a spirit or a soul to go to heaven with or are they cursed like everybody seems to think and wind up either in hell or just disappearing altogether?”
“I do not understand your use of the word ‘heaven’, much less archaisms like ‘spirit’, ‘soul’, or ‘hell’.”
“Isn’t there supposed to be something that lives on after your body dies?”
“That is what a ‘giftake’ is for in the clans. Part of your dna is added to the genetic heritage of the clan. You become part of the eugenics legacy for breeding future generations.”
“But that would be just a piece of the body, right.”
“Correct.”
“But isn’t there something more than just your body?”
“I do not know of anything, nor have I any recent record of anyone else mentioning such.”
It strikes me that this is the first time Alexis has been wrong. I can not see any evidence to support my certainty, but I’m certain no less... there’s more.
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 23 2008 08:36:14 |
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Country: USA
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 12 2008 : 12:31:25
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Chapter 3 - Many Hours
“N0!”
“You need to practice dancing again.”
“Why?! I’ve been doing it forever!”
“No, only for a little over seven hours in the last two days. You know you need more practice, especially under close fire conditions where you have to constantly maneuver in order to survive.”
“AAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
“I sense a bit of frustration.”
“Well duh!”
It’s been almost two days since we first dropped into the pool. We managed to cooperate enough to stand the ‘Mech that first night and step out into the starlit air, but while I was out of the ‘Mech for a few minutes, Alexis detected distant activity and we were rapidly back standing under the falls. Since then, we’ve gotten out a few more times under the cover of night, but not attempted to venture far. To be honest, it seems she would rather we just stayed submerged and have me use onboard resources and systems; I, on the other hand, have insisted on a little privacy; I mean, really, there are just times a guy doesn’t like the feeling that some woman’s there watching every little thing you have to do! Aaahhhhh!
Well, let’s be fair, she IS just trying to get me ready, to tell me everything she thinks I need to know just to survive whatever comes next. For most of both days, she has drilled me on a fairly vast array of simulations to develop my coordination and timing. There have been line of sight drills, tracking drills, missile lock drills, heat management drills, terrain movement drills, dancing drills, ‘Mech recognition drills, and still more drills that I’m sure I’ve forgotten. I even joked once that the only drill she had not produced was a dentist’s drill; sounding ever practical, she responded that if I need dental work, it will have to wait.
It’s now within an hour of sunset almost sixty hours after I first entered this cockpit. Once again, Alexis wants me to work on combat movement drills. Her favorite dance sim is a frustrating thing that puts me in an unarmed Raven in the middle of ten heavy and assault ‘Mechs. When she says “go” I have to escape without getting blown up... and I never make it. Ever. At first I complained that I was only having trouble because I was unarmed and couldn’t shoot back, then she gave me weapons and in trying to use them instead of run I did not make it more than thirteen seconds... man was THAT discouraging. I do kind of recognize what she wants me to learn, but it gets old seeing another timber wolf or nova cat blast you to bits.
“Padraig, you will survive if you can escape when you need to.”
“But how do I know when they are going to shoot? Every time I think I have that figured out one blasts me and you are setting it back up to do it again. Couldn’t I even try with fewer ‘Mechs?”
“Two stars was Patrick’s dance trainer, and Patrick was very good at what he did.”
“Well, why don’t you train me to be half the pilot he was and just give me five?”
“How about a star of just street sweepers?”
A street sweeper in her jargon was not someone with a broom working in the roadway, but a huge assault ‘Mech called a Dire Wolf reconfigured with enough CLBX10 shotguns to blast many medium ‘Mechs within range entirely into scrap... she showed me a vid once of another light called a Cougar getting hit by an alpha from a street sweeper, all six muzzles flashed and the ‘Mech blew entirely away down to just above the footpads. But they are slow, and I usually survive a bit longer than I do against more agile ‘Mechs.
“I’d rather face them than the two stars filled with Executioners, Timber Wolves, Summoners, Hellbringers, and Nova Cats that you like to murder me with.”
I hear or imagine a smile in her voice, “As you wish, Sir.”
Frantically, I grab for the controls as the scene the neurohelm pipes in changes from late afternoon in a pool to some demolished inner city with the towering shape of the first of five right in front of me!
“WAIT, I’m not READY!”
“Go!”
Stick over, throttle up, weave for the ‘Mech ’s right flank so it has to track faster. BOOOOMM! Missed me, ha! Running, torso twist as if going that way while racing the other, weave, weave, throttle changes, hard left at the corner. Boooomm! Missed me again, moron!
BOOOOMM... six muzzles flash in front of me from a sweeper I had not seen in my exultation at escaping the first... I had missed it on the sensors and now Alexis plays her little animation of a Raven in death throes finished with an explosion.
It’s a relief to see her flash reset and be back in the pool for a few moments.
The city and the monster ‘Mech are back again, but she never says “Go!” In fact, after a few never-ending moments, I’m back in the pool.
“CTC, two klicks. Two rotary from mass and movements, correction, now four. They appear to be slowly following the creek towards the hills.”
We’ve had contacts search through the last couple of days, but they were almost cursory overflights with a single craft each time. I watch this group and it seems these are really searching.
“Alexis, kneel the ‘Mech and power down, please.”
“Aff, Sir.”
We settle lower in the water as the legs fold down beneath us and the engine hum dies away.
“Visor up, please.”
“Aff, Padraig.”
We are at the back of the pool, probably fifteen meters under the intersection where the fall pounds a little under a hundred cubic meters of water a second onto the bowl’s liquid surface. With the visor up, I see the bubbles swirling down through sky-tinted gloom to play with the view through the canopy.
I expect them soon.
Soon has past, leaving anxiety, darkening waters, and distant thunderings of the fall above.
A light stabs down into the endless motion, distorted into a dancing ray by the ripples and wavelets above. It slowly traces back and forth, pausing occasionally as if trying to decipher the significance of shapes on the bottom. It stops on a large boulder to my right, illuminating not only the monolith, but making odd diamonds of the stream of bubbles on that side. It’s barely twenty seconds, yet it seems forever. Then the light moves... onto us.
Thmmp-BMp! ThMMp-BMp! THMMP-BMP! My heart’s pounding so loud that they will surely hear it. Sweat drips into my eye. I’m not breathing, as if moving my chest would give us away. The curtain of bubbles has taken on a pearlescent white, reflecting the powerful searchlight above as it swirls and eddies.
“How long does it take to power up and be ready to fire?” I breathe.
“About eight seconds with this engine and equipment.” Alexis speaks normally and I almost have a heart attack. She adds, “they can not hear you here even if you shout, Sir.”
Then the light moves on to my left and, as the cliche says, I breathe an audible sigh of relief.
Finally, the light goes out.
I breathe, I sweat, I peer into the darkness. I’m sitting, just sitting.
Now a minute has gone by.
Now it’s an hour.
“They gone?”
“It is likely, Sir.”
“What should we do?”
“Still your ‘Mech , Padraig.”
I stick my tongue out and blow a noisy raspberry at her.
Silence, then... “yes, and...?”
I bet she was terror to all the guys, but I don’t dare mention it.
“Power up, please, Alexis.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
I’m never sure if the emotions I think I hear in her voice actually exist, but it sure sounds like she’s comfortable in herself. The XL power-plant comes swiftly online and the console glows into the dark. No red dots on the sensor grid.
“BAP on, please, Mam.”
“Aff, Sir.”
The range grid increases as the Beagle Active Probe engages, but still there’s no contact.
“One more time like that and we may be goners.”
“Based on past history, that may have been a final sweep. Hard for Inner Sphere commanders on the ground to convince their c-bill pinching managers to pay to keep units on site if the chances are that their target has already escaped. Three days for a Word of Blake unit may be their limit.”
The inner sphere jab seems to be a regular point of disrespect.
“Oh, and I’m just too sure Clans will wait forever.”
“Forever? No. But the Falcons actually buried ‘Mechs in the thick ice of a frozen river to wait because they expected us to have to pass that way...” Her voice trails off but before it goes there’s just a hint of sadness.
“What happened?”
“We won, of course. There were many losses, though, on both sides. They were mostly equipped with lasers and PPC, the ice was incredibly effective at keeping them firing when we overheated and the snow and ice deflected much of the force of our initial shots. Our star lost our best wingman in an Ice Ferret and a Stormcrow was legged before we managed to even reach our enemies. Their plan was to crush us quickly before the inherent risk of their position became a problem... but we did not break, moving and pushing to gain advantage, while they kept overusing the hot weaponry. Many of them finally generated enough heat to thaw too many of the frozen meters below them. They fell through, starting with their heaviest and most powerful ‘Mechs, to perish in the icy dark with no hope of rescue, honorable death, or even of a giftake.”
“Wow...”
We sit in silence diminished only by the hum of the engine and the distant sound of the fall. Somehow the thought of being trapped and waiting to die at the bottom of a deep ice-encased river serves to quiet me.
“Were you a pilot in that battle?”
“No, I was Patrick’s AI, we were in his third Shadowcat. Alexis herself never passed Trial of Position.”
“Which Trial is that again?”
“The one that allows a three prospective pilots to fight for the right to become a MechWarrior in the Clan. One MechWarrior each calls one of the three trainees to a one-on-one battle to the death... kill your opponent and you earn the right to enter the touman as a full fledged MechWarrior. Elementals, our ground troops, also have a Trial of Position, but not in ‘Mechs.”
“So the real Alexis lost?”
“Yes, the original Alexis died. Patrick never saw it, by the time he had killed his opponent, her ‘Mech ’s center torso was smoldering slag, cockpit and all.”
“The guy who killed her must have been pretty good.”
“The pilot was actually a woman and had become a MechWarrior less than a year before. As it happens, she was killed early in the Trial that Patrick eventually won for the Carns name, though it was not Patrick who killed her.”
“Isn’t it kind of a waste, killing pilots like that? Can’t you just test them some other way?”
“It is the way Kerensky taught us, the Clan way.”
“Well, it just seems... wait a minute... if she got blasted by a rookie, she must not have been that great a pilot, right?”
“I believe that was Patrick’s assessment, though he never directly commented on it.”
“Well, then how can you teach me if you weren’t... er... if she wasn’t very good?”
“First of all, a school child may still teach a toddler the basics. Second, I have no delusion that what I can teach you will ever make you qualified to challenge a Clan MechWarrior to a Trial or in battlefield combat. Finally, what I’m showing you is what I saw Patrick do. He used every sim I have run you through, practicing regularly during the long stretches between combat engagements. Unlike the original Alexis, I was with him from the early days of border raids against the Jade Falcons, missions harassing the Nova Cats, during the Invasion, on Tukkayyid, during the Refusal War, in the struggle to fight for and rebuild Wolf, and during the mission.”
“What was ‘the mission’? You have mentioned it a few times.”
“I will not tell you yet. I am not convinced that you are deserving.”
“What will prove that?”
“You.”
“But how?”
“Time. I will continue to evaluate your behavior. If I think you have the character, I will tell you when the time is right.”
“So you know how he did what he did as a pilot?”
“No, I know what he did, not how he made the choices that made him who he was. There is a significant difference.”
“How so?”
“At times he took input from me, but he never asked me what to do... he considered whatever he had available and made the best decisions he could based on his experience and judgment. You will have to learn those things from experience, just like he did... and it would be fair to say he excelled at learning from what he considered important.”
Silence.
“You don’t know what he learned?”
“I do have some recordings he made that included his thoughts, but most often they reflect who he was. Combat itself rarely allows for explanations while it is happening.”
“I’m not sure I see.”
“For example, I can show you recordings of battles and tell you the mechanics of what Patrick did, but I can not tell you how to anticipate what a skilled opponent will do in combat.”
“Fat lotta help you are...”
“I am not fat; the rest is true of course.” She laughs as if mischievously, then makes what sounds like her imitation of my blown raspberry; true, it sounds flat, but with no tongue I imagine that it would be hard to do right.
I find myself again surprised by the artificial intelligence. She is nothing like any of the AI programs at school or in our vehicles... they were all facts and absolutely devoid of emotion, much less humor. Alexis is an enigma, almost human at times, at others all facts and sometimes even a bit clueless.
“Well, if they are likely leaving, shouldn’t we get out of here?”
“Your ‘Mech .”
Hmmmm, where to go...
“Do we have any maps?”
“I have full ten meter satellite maps for this hemisphere and a three meter one for an area roughly thirty arc seconds longitude by a minute latitude centered on our old bunker. While terrain rarely changes, however, they may be unreliable on finer details because they are almost thirty years out of date.”
I wish I had studied the maps at school. School, that seems a lifetime ago. How much could I have learned if I had only taken the time? If only I’d had some idea of what I needed to know.
“Well, how do we get new maps?”
“I am unsure. I have not tried a sat link to request maps; given our position, I think units might be able to respond quickly. Considering the Word of Blake control this world, I suspect that walking up to a town to ask for information is not the best option.”
I pause again and ponder this.
“Ok, so we need to find some safer place to go...” my voice trails off. In the silence I realize that I’ve saved this piece of equipment and lost everything but my life in the process. My old ambitions like finding a cute date for the Solstice Prom or getting a motorcycle next spring are rather moot next to how things are now.
“Um, please show me the map with the most detail.”
“That would be the three meter resolution sat. Fully zoomed, it will give you enough detail to see smaller buildings and clearly identify larger ones.”
A map unlike any I’ve ever seen flashes onto the console, but its detail is not fully recognizable until...
“Visor down, please, Mam.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
... I see it directly relayed to the visor. At first glance it looks flat, but it actually seems to have depth where there are mountains and hills and lakes and rivers and valleys and...
“Where are we on this?”
A tiny golden dot flashes out almost dead center.
“How do I zoom in?”
“You ask, Padraig. If you look carefully, you will see grid numbers on the image periphery, you can specify where to zoom with them if you are not trying to zoom into the center.”
“Ok, thanks, Mam. Please zoom in some on our position.”
“Aff, magnifying image from 100 meters to twenty-five.”
The image seems to get much closer and the details more refined. I think I can see where the thread of this little valley leads down to where we sit, and how it continues past... our farm?
“How about all the way?”
“Three meters, Sir.”
Now I can see the creek and our pool and the Daulles Road and... a barn at the end of a drive in a small field... no house, but unmistakably our place. There’s an odd blue circle there.
“What’s the blue circle around our barn?”
“It indicates our bunker. In the last attempts at defense, planetary resistance provided locations of all caches and shelters to the top commanders and those they selected to operate in critical areas. Patrick ran deep scout on four occasions tracking the Blakist advances and was TACCOM for the guard lances covering the retreat from Prontsi; needless to say, he was given unrestricted access to all such information.”
What can I do next? I’ve no idea what I can accomplish in a solitary ‘Mech against the power of the Word of Blake. The ‘mission’ Alexis refers to might give me an idea of where to start, but she... wait a minute.
“Can you show me all the other blue circles?”
“Yes, Sir. Switching to ten meter sat.”
The image changes to what seems a large slice of a global map. As I watch, the colors fade to grey and I notice hundreds of tiny blue dots. Unfortunately, not too many are near our golden one. I can, however, see where Prontsi and the other distant regional cities are and general outlines of major geographic features. Still, it seems like overload...
“How about ones within a day of us?”
“Presuming current conditions, I will show you 500 kilometer range... and there are eighteen sites.”
I look at the zoomed map and notice some fairly close.
“Um, please zoom in so I can see those that are kind of north of us.”
The view changes and now I can see two fairly close ones up the Daulles Road towards Maupin and several near Daulles itself. Only one is closer, and much closer too, on the far side of Horvath Mountain. I don’t see anything about the logging camp, but I pretty much remember where it is; this dot seems over the ridge and perhaps half way to the river.
“Please zoom all the way in on the one at... er... six on the side and... ummm... four on top.”
As it zooms, she says, “to make it easier, the normal way to call coordinates is horizontal number by side number. Your coords this time would be ‘four by six’.”
Now I can see that there is a mining camp listed just down a narrow valley northwest of the circle. The blue indicator itself says it’s a supply cache and lists a name of “John’s Crossing”. If I take the old logging road and the hunting trail near its top, I’m fairly sure I can cross the ridge southeast of the cache and drop down to it relatively unseen.
“Ok, I think we go for that cache. If its gone, we are still away from here and I may be able to sneak into that mining camp to scrounge some real food and current info.”
“That sounds like a wise choice, Sir. Well, done. Padraig.”
I find her praise again has me feeling wonderful.
It’s overcast and dark outside the pool; I look about and wonder how I’ll ever get us safely through the obstacles we face; perhaps waiting for dawn would make more sense.
“Padraig, would you like the light amplifier on?”
“Sure, if it would help.”
Well, to say it helps is an insane understatement. The image is a monotone green, but it seems I can see with as much detail as daylight.
“Wow!”
“LA is generally not good for combat because system conflicts preclude zooming your vision for targets; also, bright lights can blind you temporarily. Otherwise, it is a significant improvement for negotiating terrain at night, especially when you want to avoid detection.”
“Cool. Is there a button for it?” I’ve been learning the various buttons and nobs on the throttle so I do not have to ask for things like zooming.
“Yes: throttle, little finger, upper button.”
I toggle this a few times. “Thank you, Mam.”
“You are welcome, Sir.”
As I push the throttle forward and begin making my way through the forest downstream, it occurs to me that there’s so much about this ‘Mech that I still have to learn.
We reach a little dirt road that fords the creek and I’m reminded of playing here with Sabby just a few weeks back. We were having a blast, splashing in the wide shallow passage. Stagbacks were making their runs to spawn and Sabby merrily made a clown of herself chasing and pouncing, tail going madly. She still had her pre-winter coat of mottled white and grey, but the new winter white was growing vigorously as more and more grey clumps were shedding everywhere. Mum hates it when she sheds, the mess is substantial... mum... what became of her?
“Is something wrong, Padraig?”
I realize that I’ve had the ‘Mech standing still for a few minutes now.
“No, Mam, just memories.”
This little dirt road is barely wide enough for the ‘Mech in most places, but it parallels the Daulles Road and I recognize that only a few locals know about it, let alone use it. To the right I would reach our old driveway in about two km. Left leads the way up to the logging camp and the rest of Horvath Mountain. I hesitate just a moment more, then throttle up and turn left.
We’ve reached the logging camp without incident. The familiar skids and loaders glow in the green amp shading, massive tree trunks and hillocks of branches and bark adding distinctive counterpoints.
“CTC. Heavy at 243 barely 200 meters out.”
... My heart starts pounding and my breath gets short...
“It is powered down, but may be a trap.”
We’re in the open, if it powers up we are dead before we reach cover. I slowly throttle back and turn the torso enough to my left to look and my fear evaporates into a great belly laugh.
“Haahahhaaahaahhaaah...”
“Sir?”
“... haahaaaahaahhhaaaah...”
“Padraig!”
I finally get my breath back and stop guffawing long enough to identify the menacing shape, “that’s my old log ‘Mech! You almost gave me a heart attack over that rusty log slug! I’ve pounded more dust with that junker than...”
“Sorry, Sir,” she interrupts, sounding sheepish.
The old hulk is fully loaded for a morning trudge down to the mill; I can understand that with the old shed covering it and various equipment around about that Alexis must have had a hard time identifying it, but it still strikes me as humorous.
A thought slips in, “can you check on maps from here?”
“We are still fairly near the old bunker site, if they had a trace set for contacts from this area, it could be risky.”
“Hmmmm, guess you are right.”
I recenter the torso on the ‘Mech and set out at a lope along the logging road.
It’s almost 3am when we leave the old hunting trail and cross the ridge. As the ‘Mech jogs down a broad slope I sense that I’ve never been this far away from home and wonder if I’ll ever be this close again. A small herd of marats bound for cover. The buck leaps with horns and tail high, his harem of wens springing along behind. Just what a hunter might like to see, but no hunter is out at this hour, much less here.
Then a light flashes unexpectedly across the hillside, flooding the landscape with brightness, followed rapidly by a second larger light beside it. The illusion of isolation shatters.
I try to zoom in on it but the light amp conflicts. I flip the latter off and zoom through the near pitch black at the radically diminished lights. No longer amplified to beacons, I’m quick to recognize an illuminated window, an open doorway, and the silhouette of a man. A tiny light flashes momentarily.
Plink!
“It appears that the local resident is firing at us with a single bullet from a shoulder weapon.” To Alexis this seems absurd, the equivalent of a bb gun at a tank. “No damage to report, but we can stand here for a few days and let him keep on.”
To me, however, this seems odd. ‘Mechs shouldn’t be that common up here, and those that pass through should be Wobby rigs. It would take uncommon hatred to try to provoke them, so it seems worth investigating. I turn directly towards the lights and ease the throttle to a slow walk.
Pling!
Plikk!
“Is there a way to hear him or speak to him?”
“Yes, Sir. There is a microphone in your neurohelm and an external one for ambient sounds to carry his voice.”
“Please do so.”
“Aff, Padraig.”
I can hear invective being tossed into the night. The rifle fires again, but we continue on until we stand ten meters from the belligerent figure defiantly gesturing from his entryway. I flip my lights on and realize this is Ted McMays, an old hunting friend of my da’s and the guy who showed me how to drive the log ‘Mech .
“Ted.”
Unprintable language follows, but the gist of it is: who am I, and why do I know his name. There are also some comments about my bright lights, my intelligence, and his opinions of my parent’s personal relationship.
“Ted Mac, if my da heard you say that about him and mum, you’d be chewing with your gums. Of course, da’s dead now.”
The rifle sinks and Ted seems to have run out of words.
“Who are you?”
“Paddy Carns.”
“What the hell you doing up there? Get down an let me see ya!”
I flip off the lights and kneel the ‘Mech .
“Alexis, please keep BAP on and alarm me if anything looks unusual.”
“As you wish, Sir. Please be careful, Paddy.”
“You called me Paddy.”
“It seemed as if you wish that name also.”
“It’s fine with me, just surprised me.”
I disconnect and clamber out of the ‘Mech into chilly air and onto hard ground. Ted wraps me in a big bear-sized hug and grins down at me. Over 2.2 meters, Ted’s easily the tallest man I know, but like legendary Santa Bear he has a heart of gold... well, at least towards his friends.
“We all heard you all was dead. Never heard Wobbies so upset when they came questionin, but they wouldn’t tell us why. We knew they did somethin horrible at your place, Marty told me that Sam’s kid tried to go by to ask you if you wanted to work at the weekend, and they held him for a day when he showed up unexpected like and saw the pit. Never heard of Wobby’s nukin a farmhouse; bit of overkill, that.”
He stops and looks at me for a minute, measuring, evaluating.
“Was it contraband, you with a gang, or perhaps somethin more rebellious, as it were?”
“I can’t tell you, Ted, but I need some help.”
“If you are with the Falls Camp Gang, you won’t get any help from me.”
“Who are they.”
“First tell me where you are going.”
I think for a minute. What do I know about this man? If I tell him about the cache and he turns it or me in, I’ll be in trouble. On the other hand, if he can help me and I miss out because I don’t trust him, I’ll be the only loser.
“There’s supposed to be an old cache of supplies and equipment for repairs. It should be about 25km northwest of here at a place called John’s Crossing, well at least it was called that thirty years ago. Some kind of mining camp a few kilometers downstream.”
Ted looks the Raven over and appears to think a bit.
“Not a stolen Wobby ‘Mech, is it?”
“No, Sir.”
“Bit bigger than the Fleas the Falls Camp guys run,” he continues to think out loud before addressing me again, “your Da never said anything about this.”
“Da was afraid the Wobbies would, well, be Wobbies if they found out. I had never been in it until the day they hit us.”
“This an original conflict ‘Mech?”
“All I know is it’s a Raven that saw service for the resistance in the war. I think I’m trying to find...”
“Don’t say any more. If they figure out you been here they will only get so much out of me... presuming they can take me alive.” He dons a twisted grin that looks pure evil for any Wobby fool enough to come for him.
“You set there,” he points to an old chair facing the meadow, “while I rustle up some stuff. You still like smoked marat? Indigoberry jam? Got a fresh loaf of hunter’s bread I can share half of.”
“Um, sure.”
I can hear him rummaging inside the cabin. There’s very little breeze, but what there is stirs wind chimes at the end of the porch. Mum had a set, but these sound far more relaxing, and all the more wonderful as I see the stars blazing out in the night sky. I step to the edge of the porch and look up. There’s the Bowman, the Dog, and especially the Great Goose with her beak always pointing towards the unmoving Northern Twins. The Summer Triangle hangs low, its time past until next year. Behind it all the Great Banner stretches across the sky and twinkles millions of pinpoints at me.
“Take this,” he hands me a rucksack heavy with food and something on a belt. “Anythin else I can do, lad?”
“Got any current maps?”
“No time to plan, eh?”
“No time to think even ten minutes ahead.”
“Don’t have a link here, but if that thing has what I think it does, I got somethin’ you can use,” he steps back inside, I hear papers ruffle and a long minute later he hands me a piece of scrap cardboard. “That’s the mill code, well, actually their parent company’s code. They have folks like us pull sat maps all over the region from any place at any time. I do it at least once a month. Com11, high polar orbit, twelve degrees off north.”
“I love you Ted.”
“Watch your language lad, or I’ll take the durn thing back!”
We laugh for a minute, then Ted looks out at the ridge line.
“How you holdin up, son?” There’s no humor in his question.
“Pretty stressed, upset sometimes but working with... well learning everything the ‘Mech can teach me, trying to keeping focused and to make sure no sacrifice is wasted.”
Ted turns and looks at me with fierce eyes, “Good man, your da. Looks like he raised you well. Hang in there, lad, I know you’ll make your way.”
He wraps another bear hug around me, then steps back.
“Take care down near Falls Camp, that’s the mining camp near John’s Crossing. Couple ultralight ‘Mechs run by some nasty people been tormentin folk down there. Don’t get in with them and don’t let them take you down. Find what you need and get... remember that I know you are going down there.”
We stand for a moment more.
“I hate goodbyes. Go on, get!” With that he turns into the cabin, the door bolts, and the light goes out.
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 23 2008 08:41:54 |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 12 2008 : 16:22:27
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Chapter 4 - Light in the Tunnel
I’m back on course, Ted’s gifts stowed to be examined and enjoyed later. The woods here are dense and I’m getting tired, so even with the light amp on I’m only making about fifty kph. Ever so often, I have Alexis bring up the three meter sat so I can correct my course for the cache at John’s Crossing. I’ve also given Alexis the access info and she has located the satellite; once we are far enough away to protect him a bit, we’ll have access to current maps of some sort.
I have to admit, it was great to be with another human, even if only for a while. Ted can be offensively salty, but Da spoke well of him and always brought home fresh marat or springbuck when they went hunting together. He was one of the most unforgiving men at the mill over carelessness, but he was also a patient teacher and the most understanding of inexperience.
I reach Falls Creek and turn downhill towards the cache; it should be a few kilometers ahead.
“Padraig, sensors may not be very good for tracking ‘Mechs here, too much metallic mass in the hillsides around us.”
I slow us a bit more and answer, “Aff, thanks Mam.”
“You know what that means now, quiaff?”
“Um... Aff is short for ‘affirmative’ but what’s ‘quiaff’?”
“‘Quiaff’ indicates a question to which an affirmative answer is expected. Much like saying, ‘the sky has stars, does it not?’ you could also say ‘ the sky has stars, quiaff?’”
“Um, ok. How does that work better than something like ‘the sky has stars, right?’ would?”
“I have to admit both are efficient. We have to communicate, however, so you need to know what I mean when I speak. I reflect the pilot I worked with for decades, and he spoke as a well educated Wolf warrior does.”
“Communication stinks.”
“That is true sometimes, Sir.”
I round a bend and in the darkness ahead a light is moving.
“Contact?”
The light makes an odd cycle of rising and falling, bobbing, even.
“Not sure what, Sir. BAP is clear, but the source should be in range. A unit with ECM might move like that and still be undetected.”
I flip the map up and it looks like we should be only a few hundred meters out from the cache, but it’s in the general direction of the light. Throttle to zero.
“Alexis, sat to 3 meter on us.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
“Recenter to five by five, please.”
“Aff, Sir.”
I can not see the blue circled structure clearly enough to identify it.
“Please turn off the blue indicator for a moment.”
The building’s shape still does not make sense, nothing I recognize.
“Hmmmm, no help there. Please turn it back on.”
As I ponder, I flick the map off for a moment. The undulating light is still moving in the forest, though it seems less distinct and bright.
“Alexis, is there a ‘Mech called a ‘Flea’?”
“Yes, they are a fast tiny ‘Mech, usual armament is machine guns and small lasers... oh, and occasionally ECM.”
“Ted said something about some bad people near here in Fleas. Could they be a threat to us?”
“One on one, usually not. Several of them at once, however, could be considering your inexperience.”
“Hmmmm...”
“Actually, if you focus on the basics you have already learned, it might be a good risk for the potential experience value.”
“Well, ok, lets see what’s there.”
Throttle up to a slow walk.
“Please clear the safeties, Alexis.”
I hear the lasers charge, the swish clank of covers retracting from the missile tubes and know that the distant hum is the missile reloader activating.
“Weapons armed, Sir.”
I flick off the light amp for a moment, but zooming the view does not allow me to identify anything, so I return to seeing green.
I feel excited, nervous. I make a conscious effort at keeping my fingers carefully off the triggers while deftly dodging trees and fallen logs.
“CTC, 780 meters, no faction info, looks to be an ultralight. There are also energy signatures on 321 degrees at about 300 meters, probably a building or camp.”
We’re much closer now, I still have not figured out if I should shoot first and ask questions after or wait until I know if they are enemies for sure.
A brilliant light comes on, almost blinding me. Light amp off. I hear a distant ddddddddding just before...
“Machine gun fire, emplacement 50 meters by...”
My thumb flicks the small laser trigger and the machine guns are no more. Shortly after, I get the spotlight also. The more distant light is now brighter and obviously moving in my direction.
“Alexis, all targets are foes, make anything that moves show red, please.”
“Aff, Sir.”
“Where’s the camp?”
I see a red circle glow out. Light amp on, turning, throttle up, dancing in the trees, lights coming on in the woods ahead, a clearing, yes, two smallish ‘Mechs stand near the cliff face, lights coming on around one and shadows of figures running towards the other. I pick one and the bright green ERLL reaches out and blasts armor and myomer off the nearest leg.
“I can’t get missile lock.”
“It is unpowered, you need to just aim and dumb fire.”
Two missiles streak at the damaged leg, it’s plastered by the explosions and a moment later, the ERLL reaches out again and slices cleanly through.
I hear a sizzling and a steady dddddddddding on my left side, our bobbing light has arrived and opened fire.
The crippled ‘Mech totters for a moment, then falls with no fanfare on its wounded side.
The new arrival zips past me, I’m a bit shocked at its speed. Just across my nose, it fires again.
“Minor damage left and center torso, Sir.”
“Aff, thanks, Mam.”
I see lights come on in the other parked ‘Mech and just fire at its face... ERSL and missiles, followed shortly by the ERLL and see it rock, blackened. I turn and run for the trees, the active flea at my heels.
“CTC, second ‘Mech is powered up and beginning pursuit. The first is trying to get your right leg, armor still at ninety percent.”
“Aff, thanks.”
I’m about to turn to attack when I notice my heat indicators are into the yellow... need to cool down a bit before firing again. Light amp on, the Flea’s lasers reflect off the trees ahead. Now I’m tearing through the woods, dodging massive bores at nearly a hundred kph. I begin to understand a bit of what Alexis means about working on the sims... two days ago I had trouble in daylight much above fifty.
My pursuers are now blasting trees more than they are me. One pulls up even with me... barely ten meters away, torso turned to face me, he’s blasting away with his machine guns, a rain of flying shell casings glinting with reflected muzzle flashes. I’m about to dodge away when I recognize a huge tree ahead; his lasers flash as I swing into him... and he plows hard into the massive trunk. I do not see the impact and I do not sense an explosion, but a bright light flashes in the trees from behind me. I still have two contacts, but only one’s in close pursuit.
Cool enough to fire a few times, I pivot and blast, totally destroying the menacing tree that stands behind where the ‘Mech had been. Unfortunately, I was not aiming at the tree, the ERLL takes four seconds to recharge, and in the meantime my opponent’s blasting away.
“Armor on the left leg at fifty percent, right at fourty.”
“Aff, thanks.”
Dodge, weave, weave, feint, never a straight line. There’s the ‘Mech that hit the tree, right face stripped of armor, weapon damage too since only the left and the center are firing. I swing my reticle and fire, missed again, tone lock, missiles fire, I hit something critical, there’s a flash, them...
BOOOMMMM!
“Ahhhhhh!!!!, I’m blind!” I scream as I feel the gyros compensate for the blast wash.
“Kill your light amp, Sir.”
I flick it off, throttle down and feel a WHAMMM!
“What the heck was that?”
“Your pursuit rammed you, must not have expected you to stop.” There’s a tone that implies she sees some humor in this.
I flick on the lights, and manage to discern the smaller ‘Mech trying to stand up. I start backing up, get missile tone and fire. Not sure what I’m pointing at exactly, my eyes are still overcoming the amplified explosion, but I fire the ERLL and ERSL anyway. The ‘Mech seems to rock, but my vision’s still too impaired to know for sure.
The Flea suddenly zips off, I know not where.
It’s taken another ten seconds to get my eyes back to working enough to see that my opponent is almost 600 meters out and running fast away. Before I can turn to give chase, he’s off the scope. It occurs to me that I should get back to their camp, if that’s what it was, to investigate further.
Lights off, light amp on, running towards the spot. A sandbagged machine gun opens up and I laser it into oblivion.
I reach the clearing and several more machine guns start up, I blast each in turn, eventually chasing only small arms fire until all is still.
It’s really hard to tell what’s on the ground and I have to admit that I’m now very tired. I look at the toppled ‘Mech and the various generators, I’ve no idea what value there would be in salvaging this stuff or where I would have to go to sell or trade it.
The adrenalin of the fight has worn off and I’m too weary to think, I need to find a place to park and sleep... or at least nap.
I flip the map up and see that the cache should be barely a hundred meters away. Might as well know if I need to...
BAMM!!!
“Individual rocket, consistent with an elemental shoulder fire... source near 101.”
I turn and spot the pair frantically trying to load another missile... it’s the last effort either will ever expend as I flick off the amp and lay the ERLL’s emerald beam on the launcher. The fireball’s bright and somehow satisfying and I watch the scene until the flames die down. Amp on.
Pivoting towards the cache, I step on. There’s a darkness opening ahead, or maybe it’s an immense entrance into the mountainside itself.
“Alexis, what do you make of this?”
“I suspect this was or is the cache... but beyond that, I can only say that it appears to be a massive bore hole.”
Stepping to the threshold, the black maw before me consumes the night’s light. I switch on my running lights and gain a hundred meters or so of rock walls, but the majority of the inky throat remains unrevealed. I do note that the hole is easily able to accommodate my Raven.
“Could it be a trap?”
“Unsure, Sir.”
“I need some place to rest, it would at least be out of the way of prying eyes.”
“Aff, but the other Flea might return.”
“Would it have enough power to cause a cave-in?”
“Probably not before I could detect it.”
“Fair enough, thanks.”
“You are welcome, Padraig.”
Throttle up to a slow step. Thmmp... thmmp... thmmp... thmmp... I’m sure the sound must echo as the footpads place on the stone floor, stopping at about 400 meters. I have an odd sense that there’s a distant firelight flickering at a spot near the wall. I turn off the light amp and zoom in, but still can not make out details.
“What’s that?”
“What is what?”
“To the left, um... about 160."
“No threat detected. You did say you were tired.”
“What has that got to do with...”
Hmmmm, if she can’t pick it up it must be no big deal. Maybe I am too tired.
“Um, never mind.”
I wake to a slight hint of predawn at the cavern mouth. It’s been but a few hours of fitful sleep; I seem haunted by odd dreams but remember no details once I start to wakefulness.
“How long have I slept?”
“Two hours, Sir.”
Not nearly enough, but I need to step outside for a minute; I kneel the ‘Mech.
“Canopy up, please.”
“Stretching your legs?” she asks in an indulgent tone.
“Of course.”
I scramble down and jump onto the hard floor, half expecting to hear my boots echo; instead, a resolute lack of sound joins the impenetrable dark of this tunnel. I step a bit away and am preoccupied when I notice a small fire burning in a brazier nestled into an alcove I hadn’t noticed before. I finish my task, then notice a figure sitting there... and he’s waving me over.
Part of me inexplicably wants to run, to power up Alexis and blast the spot into molten slag. The better part of me, however, wants to go and talk with the stranger. I stand in indecision. The better part of me wins, and I walk over.
Just above the coals a few small fish roast and there’s flat bread, already broken and warming. But as hungry as this makes me, I find I’m having trouble looking away from the smiling happy face. Hmmmm, maybe happy’s the wrong word... joyful seems more appropriate.
“Want to share some breakfast, lad?”
“Um, well, I would like it, but I have nothing...”
“Don’t sweat it, my treat.”
“Thanks, Sir.”
He hands me a big fillet, several large pieces of the bread, and a simple clay cup filled with water. I thank him again. He takes a few moments, sitting eyes closed in a silence that seems absolute. Now he starts eating, chewing as if he savors each and every bite. I taste the fish and am astounded... I don’t recognize the spices he must have used, but I know that no fish tastes this good without them; it’s flavorful, aromatic, and perfectly done. The bread also seems fantastic, slightly toasted, light, white, and flaky. The more I eat the more I marvel; I’m sure few good cooks could ever come close no matter how sumptuous and equipped their kitchens; I’ve never tasted the like. The food disappears rapidly.
As he finishes, I finally ask, “may I have your name, Sir?”
He smiles, savoring the experience of his last bite, swallows, and answers, “Joshua Tekton. My friends call me Josh.”
“Josh it is then. I’m Padraig Carns and friends call me Paddy.”
He seems lost in thought.
“That why you have a Croes Gaeltaid on your ‘Mech?”
“Huh?”
“Do you see how there’s an emblem on the side of your ‘Mech that looks like an elongated white plus sign with a green ring around part of it?”
Actually, I had sort of noticed it in passing, but hadn’t considered asking Alexis what it meant.
“Yes, Sir.”
“It’s a version of the Croes Gaeltaid, the Celtic Cross; sometimes called the ‘Cross of Patrick.’ It was popularized in Irish and Scottish communities on Terra some 2500 years ago and remained visible in at least some part of mainstream civilization for the next 1800 years. For the last few centuries, they are only seen rarely; usually it means the bearer is named ‘Patrick’ or has some claim, real or imagined, to a Gaelic family line... there is, of course, a statistically remote possibility with a MechWarrior that the bearer’s a believer.”
“A what?”
“A believer in the One the crossed bars represent.”
“I just inherited the ‘Mech, it was my granpa’s... and his name was Patrick.”
“I see,” he replies. There’s an odd tone in his voice and almost a sense that he already knew this before he continues, “just as Patrick made that mark his own, you too should consider it. Understanding it better would go a long way towards helping you know who you are.”
“You mean like my family background?”
“No, I was thinking of something a bit more personal. Consider discovering more about it to be your quest.”
This seems like an odd turn to the conversation.
“Huh? You think I need a quest?”
He smiles and replies, “perhaps.”
I look back over my shoulder at the ‘Mech for a brief moment; I think the guy’s strange, but I don’t want my expression to be impolite. I look back and he’s up, collecting his bag and cloak. I too stand.
“Please forgive me if I’ve offended you, Sir.”
“No offense taken here, Paddy. Perhaps you will remember what I’ve said.”
“Yes, Sir. Thanks for the food, it was exceptional.”
“You are most welcome. Perhaps someday we shall break bread together again.”
With that he turns into the darkness beyond and walks away.
“Do you need a light, Sir?”
“No, but thank you, Paddy.
He vanishes into the unlit reach of tunnel. I stare at the enveloping darkness, then walk back over to the Raven and scramble up into the seat.
“Alexis, did you see where he went?”
“Further back.”
“But where?”
“We can follow him if you prefer. Otherwise, you could use a bit more sleep, Sir.”
Is there a point to chasing after him?
“Perhaps so, Mam.”
Silence. I think I should just be thankful for what he shared and let him be.
“Canopy down, please.”
I’ve slept another few hours and sunlight streams into the tunnel, forcing the darkness to retreat a moderate distance further into the mountain. Meeting Joshua has unsettled me a bit, but I need to focus... it’s time to reinvestigate the camp; I can ponder that whole experience later.
The ‘Mech stands; the gyros and I keeping the balance. Throttle to a comfortable walk, visor down, safeties clear and weapons charged. The edge of the camp clearing is barely a hundred meters from the rocky entrance, I slow to twenty kph and try to be alert to whatever might lie in wait... we clear the cavern’s mouth...
“CTC, 240 meters on 010 degrees, ultralight.”
I see her quickly, must be the Flea from last night... center torso mostly blackened and stripped of armor, right torso mangled and showing major internal systems to the morning sky. I speed up. Someone dangles from a harness below a twisted armor plate, apparently trying to cut some damage away. A woman in a jumpsuit suddenly sprints from an old shack at the cliff base towards the ‘Mech.
“Alexis, please turn the audio on.”
“Aff, Sir. On.”
“FREEZE! One step further and I alpha!”
She stops, not five meters away from its outstretched leg. I stop some thirty meters from the open right side that currently holds my reticle. Slightly to my right lays the ‘Mech I toppled in our first entanglement this morning. The female still has her back to me, but her body language is high strung and dangerous.
“You there, under the ‘Mech, get down and clear... no need to get fried if she makes a mistake.”
The tech looks at her and back at me, then gets down and starts stepping back. I hear her issue some order and see her hand move to her side... the tech freezes, watching us both with wide eyes.
“He moves or you never will again.”
She turns, her face painted with absolute hatred. Once her eyes are off him, the tech bolts for the trees. Her hand rests on the cover of what I presume is a sidearm, but she holds her obvious wish to shoot the fleeing worker. Having both my lasers trained on her might be influencing her decision to let him go, but with that expression, it’s hard to tell.
“Who are you, and why did the lot of you fire on me last night?”
She does not answer. If I had a clearer look at her face I might be more sure, but I imagine I see her looking about for options.
“Drop your weapon and I’ll let you leave... on foot, of course.”
She looks at the downed ‘Mech and about the compound, but makes no decision... I get the sense she’s still evaluating both me and her situation.
“If you can’t decide, let me help you... drop your weapon and step away from your ‘Mech or you will die when it does.”
Anger floods her face... mingled with the hatred already there, it’s not a flattering look. Suddenly, she springs straight at me and I find it hard to track her... at least long enough that she has made a break for the trees before I can turn and bring weapons to bear. I watch her go, however, and do not fire when I have the shot.
“Padraig, are you sure it is wise to let her go?”
“No, Mam, but I can’t shoot someone in cold blood like that... it isn’t right.”
“You have a lot to learn, Sir.”
“Well, maybe, but I hope I never get that one wrong.”
“And if you just did?”
“No, I got that one right. There may be serious consequences, but the decision was right.”
I swing the torso back around to the wounded ‘Mech.
“Any reason to leave it operational for her to come back to?”
“No, Sir, nothing obvious.”
It looks like I can see the sidewall of something important, I step back another fifteen meters or so, bring my weapons to bear, and fire. In the daylight, the explosion is far less bright and impressive, but it’s satisfying none the less. I feel the Raven respond momentarily to the shock wave and hear the rain of debris that lasts a bit longer. Twisted metal and a tiny crater remain, I see nothing of value.
Now about the ‘Mech on its side, I don’t know if I can use anything there, or how I would move it if I could. For that matter, I’m not even sure I want to get out of my Raven right now... that pilot could be sitting there just waiting for me to make such a move.
Oddly enough, I’m suddenly hungry and smell smoked marat... or maybe it’s the other way around. It takes a moment to realize that Ted’s rucksack has fallen partly open at my side, and I investigate it. Sure enough, there’s a large slab of sliced marat and I look no further... folding a piece and biting it in half is exceptionally gratifying. Looking further, there are three lock top jars of indigo-colored jam, an ENTIRE loaf of hunter’s bread, seven small white cheeses, two bottles of some liquid, and four little but heavy boxes that turn out to be ammunition... probably for a sidearm.
I remember the belt and sure enough, the pouch hanging from it holds a holster and an oddly heavy 9.2mm pistol, along with a small cleaning kit. The weapon is immaculate, the action smooth and the clip loaded. I slip the latter back into the handle, position a shell, and make sure the safety is locked. In short order, I have the holster attached to the belt, loop the heavy leather around me, and settle the clasp comfortably for my waist. I used to feel important when I got to use Da’s handgun to chase off packs of mud dogs and whymers, but now it just feels like another tool that I’m glad to have.
I take another bite of marat and wonder... it has a savory spicing that’s both smoky and a bit hot. In fact, hiccups are starting and my ears are already burning a bit... I think the recipe must be very hot. Da liked hot foods, said it eased the pains in his joints, so we grew our own blood peppers and made special sauces of his own devising. Now I have such a high tolerance to the chemical heat that it takes secondary responses to tell me of all but the hottest doses. This probably won’t even numb my lips, but I enjoy it anyway.
I look through the boxes, fifty rounds each of an odd looking bullet, 200 total, plus whatever is in the clip; I need to conserve, but I need to budget some for practice too. It won’t do to need to use the weapon and only then find that it pulls or kicks oddly. The projectile itself is brass cased, with an odd center of some silvery metal. Individual rounds seem oddly heavy; I think there’s something special about the core, but I’ve no real clue... just guessing.
I open one of the bottles and take a mouthful... it’s cool and invigorating, but not the alcohol I would have expected Ted to be sharing. Part of me is disappointed, but I also realize that I’d be rather a poor pilot if intoxicated. The drink goes with the marat like fresh lemon with fish, and I eat and drink until satisfied.
“We have company, Sir.”
I can see them now in the trees. Maybe twenty people, hiding behind trunks or slipping from one rock to the next. Several have shoulder arms, but they are mostly slung over their backs, only one is out, and it more in a hunting position than actually threatening. If I were to judge, they are as wary of the surroundings as they are of me... maybe even more so. But they stay out of the clearing.
“Please turn the audio on, Mam.”
“On, Padraig.”
“Thanks, Mam.”
It’s quiet.
“I’m not going anywhere right now.” I see startled looks that I’ve spoken to them. “If you want to talk and take no aggressive action, I agree not to fire on you.”
No one moves, but I see them looking around.
“I do not know where she fled to, but she was armed still.”
The rifles come off their backs like lightning. The man who had been carrying his gun exposed gestures and all the rifles move into an oddly spaced line and start moving around the perimeter of the clearing. I guess that the gesturer is somehow the leader and am about to address him when the mechanic I let escape earlier steps clear from the trees. There’s a scream of anger and shots are fired. The tech dives for cover and I hear a chorus of rifles ring out.
“Looks like they got her, Sir.”
“Good.” I’m relieved and my voice says so.
The mechanic stands up and walks my direction, hands out to show no threat.
“You are obviously not a WoB, can you please tell us who you are?”
“I would rather not, best for both of us. If you are willing to be peaceful towards me, just call me ‘friend’.”
“‘Friend’ it is. Even if you are just a bounty hunter, we welcome you.”
“Bounty hunter?”
“I know not much was offered, but they’ve tormented us for so long... yes, we offered a bounty.”
“But you’re working for them.”
“Better that than they hunt down and kill my family.”
I begin to understand.
“Was that the Falls Camp gang?”
The man grins, “Yup!”
From the trees the rest of the group emerges, moving slowly mostly to the foot of the fallen ‘Mech. Some look at equipment around the clearing or the destroyed weapons emplacements from this morning.
The leader speaks up, “you’re not a Wobby, and you took out these dogs, you are welcome here.”
“You the folks from Falls Camp?”
“Yes Sir, that would be us.”
“Ted said you had some problems.”
“Ted sent you? Man, do we owe him.”
I do not correct his impression that I came to help them out... I feel a little guilty about it, but if Ted gets treated better for it, I figure I’ve done someone good.
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, Sir...”
“I’m Joe and ah’ll be offended if ya keep callin me Sir.”
I laugh for a moment, then, “ok, Joe, but I’ll have to get moving soon. I want to find an old arms cache that was near here, can you help?”
“They already cleaned that out... most of the stuff here is from it, though some of this they stole from us.”
My heart sinks a little.
The mechanic says something I barely hear and Joe continues, “Mike here says it looks like you could use some repairs, ‘specially that leg armor; you want to park and let him at it? He knows what he’s doing, fixes everything, and they trained him on armor.”
“Comms off. Sir, if you trust them, this might be a good idea, right leg at thirty percent armor and lots of other weak spots could use work.”
“Understood, Mam. Comms back on.”
He’s still looking up at the cockpit.
“Cool, I sure could use it. I’ll trust you to do it right, so lets get at it. Where do you want me parked, Mike?”
“Right over there,” he answers with a big grin while pointing to a spot near the cliff base where the third ‘Mech had been parked.
“That works for me, Sir,” and I edge the throttle up.
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 23 2008 08:44:41 |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 12 2008 : 16:52:54
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Chapter 5 - Forest Fire
“OWWW!” BAMmm! “SHHHhhoot!”
I’ve managed not only to shock myself badly, but added insult to injury by slamming my head into exposed endosteel.
“Told you ta watch yerself round that couplin.”
“Never told me I could get electrocuted.”
“Never happen, you have to stick your finger inta the couplin fer that.”
Silence. It’s unexpected and I wonder what he’s thinking.
“You sure make an effort not ta swear an such.”
“Da raised me that way, would have had something to say if I behaved otherwise.”
“Yeah, you’re all respectful an such.” He pauses for several moments then adds with all seriousness in his voice, “kinda refreshin, that.”
This revelation is a bit surprising. The Falls Camp denizens can be overheard wielding offensive, even abusive, terminology about as often as shoes are worn when walking. Mike seems less inclined to this, at least around me, but often reverts to expletives on occasions of serious frustration.
“Ok, lets try that connection again.”
Leaning against the huge myomer bundle, I reach up under an armor patch, fingers searching for the small integrity sensor connector. The proximity of this plug to a myomer bundle power coupling explains why my fingers are still tingling, so I’m being exceptionally cautious with the renewed exploration. I finally find the small plug and its receptacle and without fanfare connect them.
Alexis’ voice comes from outside the armor, “Right thigh plate four reporting intact at 100%”
“Good work, rookie.”
“Thanks, Sir.”
In a day and a half, I’ve learned a little about repairing armor and even some basics about restoring myomer integrity. I’m a long way from being a journeyman mechanic, but with this last piece, my Raven’s at 100 percent. We’ve repaired not only the armor, but the small laser’s housing and even replaced an antenna.
Mike has also spent a good bit of time showing me things that are common to the inner workings of these legged wonders. I can now spot reactors, power couplings, gyro enclosures, and various heat-sinks. I know the difference between CASE isolation storage for ammunition and the lighter but more vulnerable standard racking. I’ve even learned how to do a thorough pretrip inspection to catch subtle hints of problems before even the computer can detect them.
Mike has had a thousand questions about my ride, none of which I’ve answered. The Raven apparently has numerous modifications to work with Clan technology, and there are lots of gadgets he does not recognize at all. While the other folks seem to think I’m just being secretive when evading an answer, there are times Mike has an unexpected understanding look, kind of a secret acknowledgment that I don’t actually have an answer.
Now he has a new query, “why’s your AI so involved? Most of the ones I heard before was jus tellin basic stuff; yours talks with you.”
I finish crawling out from under the armor before answering, “Alexis is special.”
“Nother Clan secret?”
I look him in the eye, he’s perhaps ten years my elder, maybe more. I’ve been learning to respect him and to suspect that while he may be simple spoken it’s more likely a result of his environs that lack of education or intelligence. But can I trust him? In the silence, he nods slightly and starts to turn...
“I inherited her from my granpa.”
He turns slowly back towards me, head cocked slightly to one side and face formed into a penetrating intensity.
“You never answered me straight like that before.”
“Maybe I wasn’t sure you were a friend.”
“Still not quite there yet, are you?”
“No, Sir, not totally. Just figured maybe it was worth the risk.”
“Real rewards always require risk. You inherited the ‘Mech too, didn’t you?”
“Sort of... you might say she inherited me.”
A slight frown then, “somethin bigger than you...”
“Something like that.”
He nods, starts to turn again, hesitates, and faces me again, “you need ta leave soon. Others’ll try ta get you ta stay, they want you or at least your ‘Mech ta stay here. They already figured out that you’re a bit naive, an they’re not all what you hope them ta be.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re what, sixteen, seventeen? Probably some farm kid, am I right?”
My expression must answer well enough.
“Maybe friends tell each other hard truths when it’s important, it’s my turn to tell you. These folks have survived with cruel circumstances, a look out fer yourself first hardscrabble existence especially with the gang around... I bet you never met anyone worse than kids smokin or drinkin after school.”
It pains me to accept what he has to say, but I nod.
“Some of these folks have killed in cold blood... been a while, but old bullies usually look for a chance to become top dog again.”
“You think they will hurt me?”
“Probably not if they think you are goin along with them... but even that may be tenuous if they think they can just take you down and use this themselves.” He has gestured up at the Raven as he finishes.
“You think I should leave now?”
“You asked for the bounty yet?”
“Um, no...”
“Good, they won’t know... would never occur ta them you’d leave without it.”
“But I could probably use some amount of money.”
“You find any of the gang’s stash yet?”
“No, Sir.”
“I know Joe and Natalya got some gold, the Jabronskis got most of the valuable furnishins, Jordan an I split the best tech gear, but I don’t think anyone else found the emeralds.” He looks around then motions me to follow him towards the old shack. “Fifty fifty ok with you?”
“Um, sure, I guess.”
“See what I mean? You’re obviously not a merc; not enough greed ta fool anyone... not Clan trained, need a towerin arrogance ta make that stick.”
The outside of the structure promises little more than a ramshackle hut but inside the door I realize that it’s an illusion. A long and reasonably broad hall has been cut into the mountain, with open living areas and sleeping arrangements. Everything looks to have been unceremoniously tossed about in an apparent search, my guess is that the valuables have been taken. Towards the back a small anteroom opens, from its furnishings and the toilet, I guess it’s the bathroom.
Mike motions me to follow, steps over the threshold, turns suddenly to one side, grabs my wrist and throws me onto the hard floor.
I’m springing to my feet when I hear that distinct click of a pistol hammer being cocked. Mike has a black automatic pointing into my face; at about two feet, even a pathetic shot could not miss.
“See what I mean? That was too easy.”
The pistol does not sink and Mike’s normally pleasant face now looks fearsome and a bit wild.
“What’s this about?” My heart’s pounding... fear is rising and I’m sure I don’t look confident.
“Hands behind your head an get down on your knees.”
I comply and the gun moves to about six inches of my face...
“You afraid yet kid?”
“Yes.”
I’m really scared now and it shows...
“Not nearly afraid enough... whatever you were going to do or be or care about just ended... you’re dead.”
The pistol swings through the air; the barrel just slaps the tip of my nose before he’s repointing the deadly tunnel between my eyes.
“I despise weaklins.”
Sweat drips down the side of my face.
“If you got someone ta pray to, do it now.”
Not sure what that means, but if I could I would.
It seems like forever that I’ve been staring down that barrel.
Finally, “You need to learn to protect yerself... and become VERY cautious.” He shakes his head and lowers the pistol. “That was plain STUPID; you’ll never have a second chance ta walk away. Always expect traps and ambushes, ALWAYS!”
My heart’s still beating like hailstones against my chest. Mike’s shaking his head with a markedly disappointed look on his face, but he’s also putting the weapon into some hidden holster under his coveralls.
“I hope I scared you half ta death. If fear don’t make you learn, next time expect ta die...”
I start breathing.
“Over here,” he gestures while lifting the lid of the toilet’s tank. Plunging his arm into the clear water up to his elbow he exclaims, “Yup, thought so...” and lifts out a large clear plastic bag full of green glass. No, not green glass, but clear stones of iridescent greens with just a hint of blue tint. If these are emeralds, they are huge, big as plums and walnuts. He reaches into the bag and takes out five large ones and a dozen smaller ones.
“Hold out your hands,” he orders.
I stand up and hold out my hands.
“Put these somewhere now... you get seen with rocks like these an we both suffer,” he says while handing me the collection. “When you go ta sell or trade them, don’t even carry more than one of the big ones at once.”
“Yes, Sir.” I finally exhale some words.
I stash them in my pants pockets and shake my shirt out over the belt so the bulges are not obvious. He heads back out into the main room and I follow.
“Sorry ta do that to you, but it was for your own good.” He stops and faces me yet again, “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” I whisper, then a bit stronger, “thanks.”
“You got a sidearm?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Wear it. Everywhere. An learn ta use it right away. An don’t act big when you have it on, only fools go there. Learn ta be dangerous without acting like it... the good ones do it that way.”
I nod.
“Become the cautious pilot... the less you say the better. Remember, you control a ‘Mech on a world where they are outlawed and you’re good enough even as a kid to have killed with it...”
I gasp and am about to object, then realize that I actually have taken down a chopper and a ‘Mech.
“Until you actually grow up, practice until you’re good enough to be confident... let others fill in the gaps.”
Lessons in survival. I would have considered them melodramatic ten minutes ago... now I try to hold on to every word.
“Lets get you outa here. Act like you’re annoyed an gotta test the repairs... start talkin ta me like you’re frustrated... you’re gonna do what you want, period. When you’re in the ‘Mech, get moving an when the ‘Mech’s finally walking away just keep on goin.”
“What on earth for?”
“Cause that’s how I do things.”
We are approaching the hut’s outer door.
“Don’t trust me?”
“Hey, I worked on it too, maybe I don’t trust either of us.”
I can see the Raven’s leg from here, so far nothing seems different.
“That’s just stupid.”
We are through the doorway and into the sunshine.
“Whatever. I’m doin it my way... not your life on the line if it falls off.”
Under his breath, Mike says, “don’t overdo it.” Then in a louder voice, “I checked them welds, you’re daft.”
“Better daft than dead,” I spit out, shaking my head with hopefully obvious disgust. I still don’t see who we are acting for.
“Well get done then, I’m gettin hungry and I’m not missin my lunch.”
I’m almost to the Raven’s footpad. Mike’s grumbling about something and I glance over to see him looking rather put out.
I reach for the first handhold and start to climb. Out of the corner of my eye I catch movement.
“Hey pilot!” a silky female voice calls out. It’s headman Joe’s teenage daughter, Marissa. She’s walking my way as I climb... approaching at something between a saunter and a purposeful walk. She’s a curvaceous flower and somehow always manages to look like the perfect woman... well at least the perfectly sexy woman.
I realize I’ve stopped my ascent... I know I need to move, but my hormones seem to have shifted into fusion drive and the rest of me’s in park.
She seems modestly dressed, but I know at some level that her choices have emphasized her desirably proportioned figure.
“Where ya goin, pilot?” If words are honey, she is queen bee.
I just stare at her...
She smiles and looks at me in a way that makes me blush...
“Wanna go fer a walk, pilot?” She give me a shy smile while swaying her hips in a way that’s beyond flirtatious... oh my, way, way, past.
My brain and body seem to be dueling for my attention and lusty desires seem to be winning.
“He’s fixed on doin some fool test before he’ll let me eat, Mar,” Mike interrupts, looking seriously cross. “Let him get done first, then you can ‘ave ‘im.”
For just a moment, a hint of a second, a hot acidic look crosses her face as she glances at Mike. It’s gone almost before I see it, but pure venom was lurking there. Now she’s focused on me again.
“We’re havin a party tonight, wanna come?”
She’s the prom queen that every boy my age wants on his arm... but that glimpse of the poison she can wield has lessened the hold my testosterone has on me.
“Yeah, sure. Um, yes, Mam.” My words are still not quite what I want them to be, but then again...
Now frustration does a flash across her kissable mouth, rapidly replaced by even more siren smoothness and allure. I’m hardly aware of the flicker, but it does wonders for my ability to think straight. I need to say something.
“Will you dance with me?” I venture while trying to both sound interested and wear a sheepish look.
She positively brightens in a way that might make me second guess myself. That slow undulation playing through her waist and hips as if swaying to a sensual sultry rhythm will drive me insane if I just keep staring.
I glance at Mike and his face changes back to what I saw in the bathroom, insane and deadly... it’s wiped back to normal the instant after I recognize it. That reminder of the trap, of being scared witless is enough.
“Alexis, power up.”
Marissa frowns and the enchantment she has been casting fails... she’s suspicious now and the cloud deepens as the comforting hum of my Raven’s power-plant comes online.
“Who’re you talkin to?” There’s a hint of menace mixed with jealousy... and she expects to be answered.
“My ‘Mech. Mike’s right, sooner I get this over with the better.”
“Not leavin are ya?” There’s no attempt to seduce filling her tone now...
Suddenly I know the right thing to do is reverse the roles. How would a worldly mercenary pilot act? It only takes a moment to guess...
“Certainly not without some serious rewards for my efforts.”
I leer at her like I’ve finally realized she’s only a sex toy; I imagine the smile I let play on my face is lecherous and I look her over like a hawk having spotted his next meal.
She looks confused and perhaps even fear plays across her features as she struggles for control... then she cools and replaces such expressions with an almost arrogant confidence.
“I like a man who knows what he wants.”
She’s once again playing seductress, but through the coy smile I see a tarragon spider waiting on her silken sapphire web for the male she will mate with... and eat.
I climb into the cockpit.
“I hate to wait, baby,” she’s trying to purr.
I don the neurohelmet and blot out her voice.
“Alexis, close the canopy, please.”
“As you wish, Padraig.”
The gyros are engaged, I feel myself stand and know it’s the Raven’s legs I use. I can see that Mike has walked over near the partially dismantled Flea to turn a welding generator off. I’m sure I can never repay him for what he has done for me; it also occurs to me that the time to really thank him has past. When he turns to face me, I can see an otherwise indecipherable look of self-satisfied boredom.
Marissa has turned and walks towards the hut.
“Good choice, Sir. She was laying it on thick.”
“She almost got me.”
“You need to watch out for her.”
“I hope not, I don’t plan for us to come back.”
“Something the tech said to you?”
“Yes, Mam. Mike’s a good man. Came through for us... I’ll tell you more later.”
“Aff, Sir.”
“Visor down, please.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
The virtual view with its heads up display comes on; I toggle the map and consider my options. The blue circle for the cache at John’s Crossing is even with my position.
“Can we get sat map updates now?”
“No, Sir, the mountainside blocks access to the high polar orbit.”
“Nearest likely location where we can get a clear signal?”
She highlights a place on the map. We would have to go towards Falls Camp a half klick, then onto the road that crosses at John’s Crossing itself to head north. The locals don’t know I’m leaving so heading that way should be no problem; even if they knew, what could they do to try to stop me?
Throttle up, stick pivots and I start off into the woods. I have to admit, it feels great to be in motion again. A thought crosses my mind.
“Alexis, does this ‘Mech have a name?”
“This is a Raven. It is a...”
“No, Mam, I mean a name for this individual ‘Mech itself?”
“I must not understand your question, Sir; it is a machine.”
“Well, you are named Alexis and you are not that different.”
“I am an Artificial Intelligence. This Raven, like every ‘Mech, is just a dumb machine.”
“Patrick never named a ‘Mech?”
“The closest he ever came was referring to his current Shadowcat chassis as ‘shadow’ and his current Raven as ‘rav’... but never addressing them with unique individual names.”
I dodge a particularly large trunk and step on through the brush.
“But it feels like it’s alive, should have a name.”
“What value would it provide?” She’s sounding incredulous.
“Well, when I rode our horses, I had a feeling sorta like this, feels like it should have a name just like a horse does.”
“Did the horses ever answer you?”
I’m getting tired of arguing. It was our custom since I was a kid to name anything on the farm that moved, even the tractor was “tugger” and our beat up truck was “old blue”...
“Well, this is my ‘Mech now and I’m naming it...”
“Yes, Sir.” The argument’s gone, just like that.
Silence.
“What are you naming it, Sir?”
We sway back and forth for a while.
“I’m thinking...”
We are approaching a clearing where I suspect the road crosses the creek, the gentle rocking motion accentuated by the greater period between the steps.
“Rocker.”
“I am curiously why you would name your ‘Mech such.”
I swing right and step onto the roadway.
“I was thinking of how it sways...”
There’s something of a barricade across the roadway where it starts to climb a narrow cut in the hillside. It seems minor, boulders and debris, but I suddenly remember Mike’s line, “Always expect traps and ambushes, ALWAYS!”
“Alexis, is there some way to scan for a trap or an ambush?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Please do so, Mam.”
“Aff, Sir.”
I flick my view to see what is behind me. On the other side of the small valley clearing, I can barely see something similar.
“There are faint electrical signals.”
“Anything else?”
“There are buried materials that might be simple gel mines located on the north side.”
This stuff looks new, fresh scrape marks on the ground and... tracks.
“We have company, Sir.”
I look around and Joe is approaching from the Falls Camp side of the road. It looks like he’s trying to tell me something.
“I want to hear what he’s saying, but not hear me.”
“Aff, Sir.”
“Where you goin, friend?” He tries waving his arms, acting like he thinks I couldn’t see him before, then repeats himself.
I keep the torso facing the blocked roadway, acting like I don’t notice his attempts.
“What are the electrical signals?”
“Most likely controls of some sort. Could be remote detonators or guidance targeters, but they may also be unrelated.”
“If I blast my way through, are we in danger?”
“Depends, Sir. Not sure how sophisticated this is or what other things may be hidden.”
“Alexis, please clear the safeties.”
“Aff, Sir. Please be extra careful about your heat management, you do not have your cooling suit on.”
I was really in a hurry to get away from Marissa, wasn’t I?
“Yes, Mam, thanks for the reminder.”
Meanwhile, Joe has not only kept repeating himself, but has finally moved around to where he’s in front of the barricade... he knows I can see him and starts making gestures I take to mean that he wants to talk with me.
I step the ‘Mech back about twenty meters, and Joe walks forward, keeping about the same distance from my nose. I notice him glance towards the camp.
“Anyone else around, Mam?”
“Hard to be certain with all the biomass, but I think we have two or three more back in the trees moving towards us. There is also a derelict vehicle that might actually be operable.”
I can hear Joe repeatedly hollering, “Mike says he noticed somethin an needs you to go back up there.”
“Audio off. You detect anything amiss on our status?”
“Neg, Sir.”
“Mike thinks they mean to take Rocker.”
“In which case, Sir, they will likely attempt to lure you away from the ‘Mech.”
“They want me to go back towards the gang’s hideout and it looks like they have tried to block my way out... at least the way out they expect me to take.”
I click the map up. The area has four obvious ways out... north on this road, south on the same, the way I came in, and through Falls Camp itself and down to the river. While considering it makes sense to have them guess a bit at just what my intentions are now.
I target the northern barrier and the small laser slashes through the debris and hits something explosive... there’s a huge chain reaction of blasts as whatever they set detonates. I feel the detonations and see the debris flying everywhere. Joe dashes for the nearest trees while I turn the torso towards the slightly more distant southern barrier and the large laser reaches out. Between the shot and subsequent explosions, that way is cleared also.
“The vehicle has started and appears to be heading our way.”
A smallish truck accelerates as it clears the trees, but the small laser slices through its thin metal and hits another bomb, blasting its remaining parts into flame heated shrapnel.
“Damage report?”
“No damage, Padraig.”
“Thank you, Mam. Audio on, please.”
“Aff, Sir.”
“You folks were happy when I saved your hides, now you seem bent on making me mad. Explain yourselves NOW!”
No response.
“You asked for it.”
I blast the base of a tree near where Joe disappeared. The conifer tumbles back while its superheated trunk becomes a torch. Fallen needles and old brush catch fire, then sap trails on a fir’s bark ignite and flames race into the tree canopy... a conflagration has begun.
“We’re SORRY,” I hear someone scream above the increasing crackle and roar.”
There’s an explosion in the trees near where the northern barricade was... more fireworks intended for me, no doubt. Branches are swaying as in a gale, the fire’s updraft is beginning in earnest.
Mike sprints past me towards the hamlet with no glance in my direction... I would guess he’s heading home.
“Sir, what if someone comes to investigate?”
She’s right.
“Good question, Mam, thanks. Lets get out of here.”
The road will be exposed... maybe the river is the best way to go. Swing the stick and charge forward through the falling embers.
“Visor up, please.”
“Aff, Sir.”
I’m running at an easy 70kph, effortlessly dodging trees and massive boulders. My vision through the ferroglass is not exactly sharper than the direct feed, but with no hud indicators, it’s less cluttered and seems more real. I’m clear of the fire’s current location, but daylight filtered through the smoke plume still casts a sunset rust on the otherwise verdant greens.
“BAP on, please. Sing out on contact.”
“BAP engaged, Sir. Why would I not simply tell you about contacts, I am not sure you want me to sing.”
I chuckle. “Just an expression meaning that I want you to tell me.”
“Well, why did you not just say that, Sir?”
“Because now you are working with me and need to learn the things I say too.”
Thmp, thmp, thmp, thmp, thnch, thmp, thmp, thnch...
“Good point, Paddy. I will ‘sing out’ on contact.”
I sprint clear of the trees into the village of Falls Camp... it’s so tiny that I’m through almost before I can blink and nondescript enough that I’ve already forgotten any details. A rutted dirt track leads the direction I’m headed, I choose to follow it. Throttle up to a good run, it reads 120kph in seconds and the woods on either side are flying past.
Fifteen minutes is all it has taken to reach the rock strewn river bank. I come to a stop where broken concrete peeks through yellowing ferns. Here and along the brink runs a neglected strip of pavement, buckled by encroaching roots and every crack invaded by grasses. A quick look at the map shows this should run along the river for at least a while, and I step out at a good walk to put a bit more distance between me and Falls Camp.
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 23 2008 08:47:23 |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 12 2008 : 19:15:55
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Chapter 6 - Not Fair
I’m sitting in a small sunlit meadow... there are vividly colored wildflowers dancing in a breeze and I can hear a creek burbling nearby. Sitting close to me, Sabby’s both attentive and somewhat bored... gentle airs stir her warm fur, ears adjusting to every sound, nostrils occasionally flaring as some scent attracts momentary interest. She looks at me as if determining my focus, then returns to just watching.
“What troubles you, Pad?” Da asks. I’m not startled at the question or his presence, but I don’t remember him being there a moment before.
“A man said something to me that I don’t understand: ‘If you got someone to pray to’. What does that mean?”
“I’m sorry I never taught you these things, but it was because I never understood.”
“What?”
“The Way.”
“What’s that?”
“Your quest is to find that out, son.”
“But I’ve already been given a quest.”
“The two are the same, Paddy.”
Sabby pushes her head under my hand to get her ears rubbed and I absentmindedly comply.
“I miss you, Da.” I say as I look over at him, but he’s gone.
Sabby looks at me, but I feel really alone.
Deeebee! Deebeebee!
I open my eyes... the dream’s still close to me, but I have the presence to lay still while I wake.
Deebee! Feeebeebe!
A small black capped bird called a “chickadee” is perched on Rocker’s leg a few feet from my head. It looks at me for a few moments, then flies down to where my dinner crumbs from last night lie scattered. A hop or two to select the right piece and off it flies to enjoy its prize.
Deeep! Deeebebee!
Another has flown directly to the smallish remains of the hunters bread loaf, grabs a largish piece of crust, and heads for a nearby bough.
We always had bird feeders on the back porch; of all the visitors, chickadees are my favorite. Indigenous to Terra, early settlers smuggled them to new worlds and they have adapted to native and introduced forests. Moving in small groups, they visit different parts of their territory throughout the day.
PheeeBeee!
That must be the male.
PheeeBeee!
Yup, there he is winging down to land... on my knee. At first he’s facing the food, but he turns and looks at me... the sensation of a wild bird on my pant leg is strange... and wonderful. It’s the first time it has ever happened to me.
PheeeBeee!
I tilt my head to see better. For a moment he seems about to spring off, then he just cocks his head a bit to the side.
ChikDEEDEEBee! DeeeDeeeBee!
Others answer from the branches. He bill-wipes, then reminds us that this is his territory...
PheeeBeee!
With that he hops down among the scraps, selects one and launches into the canopy above.
It’s one week since the morning my life changed. I’ve stayed near the Anta River since leaving Falls Creek, walking mostly under cover of woodlands to avoid curious eyes, slipping deeper into the forest to sleep. There have been aircraft flying along the river; regular as patrols, but they seem uninterested in searching for my rogue Raven.
My biggest problem is that food’s running low... the bits the chickadees continue collecting are all that’s left of the bread, there are two cans of “wild ironriver stagback”, just a day or so more of the marat remains, and most of the indigoberry jam is still sealed. There are some emergency rations in one of the storage bins, but the current appeal of thirty-odd year old food is less than zero... might feel different if I wind up starving, but I’m not there yet.
True, it’s the time of year when there are late berries and an abundance of mushrooms, but I’ve never heard of anyone living on them. I could try to hunt with the pistol, but the thing kicks like a horse, my accuracy has suffered, and it seems a huge waste of ammunition to chase game until I can master it.
Even if I had money, which I don’t, I wouldn’t exactly want to walk my ‘Mech to the local store for supplies.
Lifting my head off the leather jacket that has served as my pillow, I’m reminded of granpa and wonder how life was for him. I bet he never had to hide out in the middle of nowhere, he probably always had friends around and got to do what he wanted. He was probably never an outcast; if anything, I bet he was popular and the girls wanted to be around him all the time.
“Life just isn’t fair.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir?” As usual, Alexis is slow to catch on.
“Its just not fair,” I repeat. “Life was going just fine before all this happened. Why did granpa have to mess it all up for me?”
“I do not understand, Padraig. What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, you never understand. Your just like any grownup, dense as a rock ‘bout life an all.”
“I am just a Clan AI, Sir... if you want me to listen, you will have to explain using small words that I can understand.” There’s a painful amount of sarcasm in her tone.
“I wish life were like a game and I could restore a saved version from before Mom found the trapdoor... I would make sure I was there when she came into the barn to divert her and life would have gone on normally.”
“There are no time machines.”
“Yeah, well, it would be great at least to go back and save Da and Sabby.”
“Sir, you have managed to survive against rather long odds already. For example, if you had gotten into the cockpit just two minutes later, you would not have escaped detection and would likely be dead. Can you be sure that you would do better and not worse in all the instances where the probabilities were heavily against you?”
“But if he hadn’t left Rocker in that bunker in the first place...”
“Then you would not be alive to endure your current circumstances.”
“But... well, no, if he...” My words fade on my tongue.
“Please explain your logic, Paddy.”
If annoys me to confess, “no logic, Mam, just feeling sorry for myself.”
“You are getting lessons that you never expected, are you not?”
“Yes, Mam. It just not fair that it turned out like this.”
“Fairness is not relevant to reality. Sacrifice, responsibility, courage, honor, endurance, and even justice... none of these expects fairness, but all are real.”
“Well, I bet granpa had it easier than this.”
She does not answer.
The chickadees have moved on. There are small rustlings in the brush, a boat motor churns in the distant river, the wind blows branches overhead.
It has been several minutes and still she has said nothing.
“Patrick did what his Khan asked; his own people never knew the mission and considered him dezgra, forever disgraced.” There’s a real pain in her voice. “He lost everything he loved for something greater than himself, then lost even what he had left when the Word of Blake came and he got trapped here. Yet he saved many even then, including the one who bore your father.”
“How did it happen?”
Her voice is strained, if she were a woman, I would expect tears in her eyes. “I can not tell you, Paddy... but I can show you.”
“How?”
“Climb up and I will replay some of the last day if you wish.”
I’ve never made it up into the cockpit faster.
“Put the neurohelmet on. I am locking out the gyros and all controls for safety reasons, instead, you will feel what he did. If you need me to stop at any time, say so, this is more intense than what you have ever experienced; if you have questions or need me to stop at any time, just ask. When you are ready, Paddy, say ‘go’.”
The visor slips down over my face and all is dark. I don’t feel the ‘Mech, but adrenaline courses through me like lightning through a thunder head...
“Go.”
I’m speeding along, 125kph, there’s a driving melody playing in the headset, the rhythm’s urgent and matches the ’Mech’s motion. The lightly cratered road leads to massed smoke columns where land and sky should meet. Back and forth the torso swings ceaselessly; I’m looking for something or very watchful. Somehow it seems normal, but becomes nauseating since I can not anticipate it. Yet the gyros are even and controlled, there’s no variance even when the torso swings around in a full 360 degree arc.
“Alexis, clear safeties.”
His voice is in my ears as if it were my own. It’s both urgent and calm, commanding and friendly.
“Aff, Sir.”
“Stats, please.”
“XL at 90percent, myomer at 95, weapons clear and charged.”
“TACCOM Blue, Prontsi DC.”
Thmmp, thmmp, thmmp, thmmp, the footfalls ring steadily but nothing else sounds.
“TACCOM Blue to Prontsi Defense Control.” There’s a new edge of concern in the voice.
Thmmp, thmmp, thmmp, thmmp.
“Alexis, need current sat on DC.”
“Neg, sat no longer responding on normal channels.”
“Emerg sat, override command ‘Croes’ on my voice print.”
“Neg, fail safe sat not responding in normal orbit.”
“We have anything?”
Thmmp, thmmp, thmmp, thmmp.
“Neg. Blakist signals only.”
I sense that the throttle has just maxed out... Thmp, thmp, thmp, thmp.
His voice is strangely quiet, “Myomer stats on any warning; open all friendly channels, please.”
“Aff, Sir.”
A confusing layering of voices and noise fills my ears.
“Alexis, I need clear channel, override them.”
A loud tone warbles for several seconds and the channel is suddenly clear of voices and most noise.
“Prontsi TACCOM Blue to any surviving Prontsi TACCOM. Respond on authority DC114.”
Thmp, thmp, thmp, thmp.
“Prontsi TACCOM Blue to any surviving ‘Mechs or ground defense units. Respond on authority DC114.”
There is a chorus of responses, all coming at once.
“Prontsi TACCOM Blue to all Prontsi defense, I’m taking command on Prontsi Defense authority DC114. Map grids to Blue Prime. Comm assignments on my mark as follows: ‘Mechs to code blue 4 sequence 1; air assets, blue 5 sequence 6; armor blue 6 sequence 1; all others to Prontsi DC 5, no sequence. Clear. Mark!”
There’s a quick clear tone.
“Alexis, ‘Mechs on one, air on two, armor on three, DC5 on four.”
“Aff, Sir.”
Click.
“Air asset leads respond.”
“Recon 145, sole operational VTOL holding at 45 klicks NorWest, no operational weapons, severe damage.”
Silence.
“Any other air?” There’s a tone bordering on fear.
Silence.
“Rec145, I have lost all sats, if I need eyes can you do it?”
“I can sure try Sir, but a bb gun hit and we’re done.”
“How is your fuel?”
“An hour at current use.”
“Find a ground out and hold position. Remain in seat ready to light it up... if I need you it will be an emergency.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Click.
“Mech unit leads respond.” Any hint of fear or uncertainty has vanished.
“2nd Termian HC, Thanny and Argus, heavily engaged, grid 16 by 8. Thanny down an arm.”
A satellite map flicks on in the HUD, a large city, its suburbs, and some surrounding countryside.
“Copy 2nd Heavy Cav, fall back to 14 by 8, hold best possible. TACCOM ETA about 5 min.”
The map disappears.
“Copy, disengaging and en route.”
“Prontsi Defense Light Cavalry, an Owens and two FireAnts, all beat up pretty bad, engaged with light armor a klick west of where the power station was.”
“Copy DLC, rapid fall back to 14 by 8, hold best possible.”
“Copy, disengaging hot and running.”
Silence. The city’s getting much closer and there are now a steady stream of vehicles and people on foot heading the other way. We are running in the highway margin, people fleeing as we speed along.
“Anyone else?” No fear, just determination.
“John’s Runners... a Wolfhound and a Cougar from a Kell Hounds sponsorship. Last minute ‘contract’ when we couldn’t get off. 12 klicks NW of power station, don’t have your grid.”
“Transmitting grid.”
Click.
“Alexis...”
“Sent.”
Click.
“Sorry you are in for it, lads, but we need all the help we can get. 14 by 8 at all possible speed, if you get there before me, draw fire off the Thanny, I need him.” These are orders, but the confidence in people he has never met is palpable... he’s commanding peers and his voice carries things I’ve never heard.
“Yes Sir! Runnin now.”
“Anyone else?”
Silence. Click.
“Armor assets, report.”
“Captain Haslet, 23rd Termian Assault Armor, 8 units operational, engaged with ground troops only at 12 by 7. I have 4 Myrmidons, 2 Dominators, 2 Devastators. Minor damage only so far.”
“Copy, Captain. All your units to 14 by 8 as quick as you safely can, emergency contact me if you encounter enemy ‘Mechs or armor en route.”
“Yes, Sir. Rolling.”
“Anyone else?”
“23rd again, Sir. Orbital bombardment hit the base without warning, we're the only armor left.”
“Aff... er, thanks, Captain. Carry on.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Click. The sensors are suddenly alight with distant contacts.
“All remaining units, report.”
“Prontsi Mechanized, Staff Sargent Poloski here. Battalion below half, heavily engaged with armor near the defense cordon south of town. We’ve lost command; no officers, no maps, sorry.”
“They inside perimeter?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You have any anti-armor weps?”
“No, Sir.”
Click, the map’s back again.
“Fall back WSW along the Provincial highway. Cover civilians as much as possible and get them off the road where you can.”
“Yes, Sir.”
We are racing past buildings now with people scattering as we scream through. There’s a loud tone. Click.
“2nd to TACCOM. 2nd to TACCOM.”
“Go.”
“Mixed lance supported by LRM launchers moving on us.”
“CTC,” Alexis’ tone is calm, she could be stating that the sky is blue.
Click.
“Alexis, sat 14 by 8 to 10 meters.”
Click, as the map zooms.
“TCH fall back to the NW side of arena. Mark Thanny ‘A’ and Argus ‘B’. John’s, where are you?”
The letters ‘A’ and ‘B’ appear next to friendly dots on the map.
“Almost there!”
“Wolfhound is ‘C’ and Cougar is ‘D’.”
“Copy.”
Those letters appear near the edge moving fast.
“C and D get out in front on their left flank. Circle for the LRM’s; if you have a shot, take it.”
“Yeeeha!”
“Kill your mic before you do that, pilot.”
“Sorry.”
I see them just as our emerald beam reaches out at the face of a large ‘Mech that I think is a Novacat. I feel the gyros surging and know our legs are changing direction back and forth with each step... then we veer straight behind a building.
“Light cav?”
“Almost there, Sir.”
“Owens is ‘E’ and FireAnts ‘F’ and ‘G’.”
They show up... and they are behind the advancing lance... and its support! We’ve turned and now raced back out into the open, torso twists...
“E, F, G: engage LRMS ASAP. All others, Novacat is priority, attack now!”
Our ERLL slices air and hits the Novacat in the left arm, rocking it slightly. I hear the missile lock tone and see them launch. The gyros are making me sick with all the movement. Emerald beams appear, just missing us as we weave. The hud suddenly seems haywire and the gyros go momentarily awry... there’s a crackling sound and I imagine I see arcing electrical discharges inside the cockpit. Yellow and red damage indicators show on the left side but we continue anyway, moments later I hear a strange tone and we are suddenly dancing behind a building again... there are explosions behind us.
“C here, clean shot on a Vulture, may I...”
“Take it.”
“Nova looks hot.”
“Coming back around.”
We reverse directions so unexpectedly and quickly that I nearly vomit as the gyro sensations disorient me badly. Eight dots indicate that we have new support.
Click.
“All unassigned Prontsi forces, pull back from the city, cover civilians where possible. Make for your rendevous points after dark. We will hold them as long as possible.”
Click.
We round the corner just as a flash tells us one of the others got the Novacat. I hear that odd tone again and as we dart for another building, he has looked at something... incoming missiles! Just before we reach cover, the torso spins away and I feel at least one missile explode on my left side.
“Lost small laser, Sir.”
Click.
“Aff, thanks. Combine ‘Mechs and armor on one, please.”
“Aff, Sir.”
Click.
“23rd, I want those PPCs on the near west corner of the arena, other armor support them. Myrmidons, you are my saturation fire, can you handle it?”
“You can count on us, Sir.”
“CTC, another lance.”
“F, G, I want you in reserve, NE of arena, half klick, call unexpected contacts. E, you got long or short?”
“Long.”
“Sir, assaults.”
Click.
“Where, Alexis?”
“Base of the lance. Not sure what yet, but at least one 100.”
Click.
“E, rove near the west side, take all shots of opportunity.”
“Damage crit!”
“Yes, Sir.”
There’s a distant flash.
“C here, Uzzie got D. Vulture’s legged and smoking, one shot should do.”
“Myrmidons, in position, Sir.”
Another fusion core explodes, I can see the flash reflect in most of the unbroken windows.
“Got the Vul.”
“Myrmidons, fire at will, all targets.” An Uzziel rounds the corner in front of us and a pair of lightning bolts flash past. I felt the gyros and sense that the legs turned though the torso didn’t, missile tone and away, laser fires, we are behind buildings again.
“Oh my god....”
“No comments, please.” It’s a command.
A different voice calls, “Atlas!”
“All units fall back to arena if not already there. Fire on Atlas if you get the shot. F and G, close NE side of Arena and be ready for him when I call, I want him roasted before he cuts us up.”
We dart back in front of the Uzziel, he seems to have been chasing us and yet was not expecting our move directly at him. The reticle was already almost on his face when we came around the corner, now the laser melts away his cockpit plating and missiles fire before we have tone. I imagine for a moment that I see him at the control, then there are only flames. The arms pointing PPCs droop and we dash past.
We are running fast along the left flank of the advancing lance, our other units falling fast astern. One red dot’s following us, last unit of the first lance.
“Id all ‘Mech types when you have them.”
“Atlas and Argus for sure so far. Wait, got a Catapult on the north side.”
“A and B, flank left, take the Cat into the streets and get up close and personal... quick, now. Everyone else, armor included, Atlas NOW!”
We zip around a corner and three towering ‘Mechs have their backs to us... unfortunately, the other does not. Click. I recognize a Longbow and hear that horrid incoming missile tone just as we step behind a building. I notice that the sensors have gone off active, I can not see several ‘Mechs I know are there. Click, now they are back... I suspect I’m getting lessons on how to fight missile lock. I’m also beginning to get used to the sense from the gyros that I’m surging and slowing, the throttle must be in constant motion.
As an Uzzie rounds the corner, our missiles are already in the air and the lasers reach out. Before it can square off, we have tone and are running past, our torso swings quickly keeping reticle squarely on him as the slower Uzziel tries to pivot to track us.
“F and G, flame Atlas untill you need to retreat to cool.”
G disappears. B goes a moment later, but the red dot it was next to is gone also. We seem to momentarily be moving around the Uzziel at its rate of turn... the tubes are loaded and as we launch missiles at its rear torso armor, we are already speeding away leaving only a parting laser shot into the flames and twisted metal.
“Cat rammed B, lost him.”
“Copy, A, run around their right flank... got a Longbow back here, I can give you his back if you can help.” He’s so cool under all this pressure and I can’t help feel that he’s aware of everything.
The Uzziel explodes in a satisfying fireball.
“CTC, another lance and some amount of armor, two klicks east,” Alexis advises.
“A, cancel, go straight for the Argus, I will have to take the Longbow.”
There’s a huge explosion and F disappears along with the dot I know represented the Atlas.
“Got the Atlas, Sir. Lost F.”
“23rd here, down to two Myrmidons operational.”
“Hit the Argus. C, how you doing?”
“Hot, running distraction near the Argus and trying to cool...”
C disappears.
The new lance is closing fast, how can he deal with them and almost no one left?
“All units, break off and head for regroup!”
“A disengaging and running for regroup.”
“E breaking off, outbound.”
“A here, Argus in pursuit.”
The red dot disappears.
“Never mind. Thanks 23rd.”
“Our pleas...”
Both dots where the 23rd was are gone, the Longbow must have gotten them.
“CTC, looks like choppers about 3 klicks out.”
“Good work, team. You are now a joint unit. ‘A’ you are in command, ‘E’ be a good wing for him. Try to cover the civilian escape to the northeast, but preserve your assests. I have other orders at this time... good luck and good hunting.”
“Good luck, Sir.”
Click. We are fleeing due west along cratered streets and alleys when a wing of bombers swings over us. The rear view comes up for a moment showing that a rapidly approaching rain of ordinance is demolishing everything behind us. The torso swings up and the ERLL reaches out, eviscerating one craft just before we veer sharply north. How can he know? It’s a quick point and shoot, he hardly even sees them.
The gyros go suddenly wild and I see a massive concussion wave blasting past us... we are launched forward despite the herculean effort Patrick and the gyros offer. The nose comes up; I should be looking at the sky, but I’m just seeing the dust and debris in front of me. The balancing ends and we are momentarily still.
“Damage report.”
“Nothing critical, Sir.”
I sense the gyro’s taking over again and know we’re standing.
The dust clears some and there’s a girl standing in the street in front of us. She must be in shock, she’s frozen in place just staring at us.
“Canopy up.”
“Aff, Sir.”
I hear coughing, considering the sudden wave of dust in the cockpit, it’s probably Patrick.
“Do you need help?” he’s yelling to be heard over the din.
She’s unmoving, blood dripping from a gash at the hairline.
“One more, Patrick?”
“Yes, Alexis.”
We move closer to the ground, I suspect he’s kneeling the ‘Mech. Suddenly, I’m no longer connected, it’s more like seeing through a camera as a helmeted man gets out of the cockpit. There are more sounds of explosions in the background.
Finally, I see a girl being helped into the cockpit. She climbs clumsily through the narrow spaces past the command couch and sinks into a small nest of cushions behind it. There’s a nearby explosion, I can hear debris hitting the ferroglass on the canopy and smoke or dust swirls heavily. Then the jump-suited man moves rather hesitantly back in and falls into the chair.
“Canopy down, please.”
The neurohelm reconnects and I’m back seeing what he must see.
“Patrick, you are bleeding!” Alexis is very alarmed.
“Will deal with it later.” His voice is determined, but strained somehow.
The ‘Mech stands and starts to run, zigzagging between buildings and through demolished rows of cars. Suddenly, we stop. I’m pretty sure we’re near the transit hub, I remember that building on the corner from a middle school field trip to the Prontsi Agricultural Center. Now, however...
Everywhere I look there are bodies, or parts of them... the pavement’s painted a uniform red from all the blood. I’m again feeling sick, but it’s not the gyros. We start moving again, trying to skirt the carnage, but what I see gets worse as we go...
“Alexis, stop the replay, please. Canopy up.”
I barely get my head clear of the torso before my stomach erupts. When the retching ends and I’ve wiped my face, I sink into the chair... only then do I realize that I’m exhausted and soaked with sweat. I only watched, how must he have felt to be there?
I finally have regained some sense of composure and the girl comes to mind.
“Was that granmother?”
“Yes, Paddy.”
“And that was Patrick himself?”
“Yes, the last major battle of his life, trying to cover the retreat from Prontsi. Would you like me to continue it?”
“No, Mam. I think I’ve seen enough. I guess things really aren’t so bad, are they?”
“No, Padraig. They really are not.”
“He really was good at that, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Padraig. Very good.”
I still feel lonely, but at least I’m not worried about fairness.
Instead, I find a new desire welling up... I may not know how he did all that, but now I have something new... a standard of excellence to reach for and the sense that I want to work until I attain it.
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 23 2008 08:49:54 |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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Petrified-OMO
Taxing Patience
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Posted - Mar 12 2008 : 21:27:42
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Very nice read. Looking forward to more.
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Country: USA
| Posts: 7782 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 13 2008 : 08:02:49
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Chapter 7 - Bridge Too Far
“Aff, that is just right.”
“How long will we have?”
“From here, about fifteen minutes of actual connection time.”
“How much can we get?”
“It will depend on natural bandwidth and other accesses. Do you want me to get a catalog or just grab the local first?”
“Please get a catalog. I want a three meter for this area and as much more as I can get, but I think a priority is also the best resolution available for the entire hemisphere.”
“Aff, Sir.”
“Please let me know when it comes up.”
“Of course, Paddy.”
We’ve spent most of the morning finding a location where the valley opens enough gap in the hills that the map satellite will be in line of sight for connection while still providing enough cover that we are not too exposed. This is by far the best, a slight tree-crowned rise a few hundred meters from the bank; it has a small bluff on the north just high enough that we have a clear view over the trees below and enough conifers around to hide us from all but the most observant viewers.
“I need to step out for a minute, canopy up, please.”
“No problem, Paddy.”
I reach the ground without difficulty and am about to walk away when I smell smoke.
“Alexis...”
There’s a noise in the brush and I clear the pistol almost before I realize I’ve done so.
I can barely hear it, but she clearly says, “company, to the east, at least three individuals Sir.”
I move behind the near leg and crouch to present less target. The climb to the cockpit is exposed and would provide a good shot with several chances to hit me; I would rather not take the risk just yet.
A small gust blows through and I realize that the faint smoke is coming from the west... not the east. I think I see the remains of a small campfire about five meters away. Now that I know to look, I discover that there’s at least one well hidden lean-to and two more possible in a small arc around my position. I’m in the middle of a campsite, albeit a small one. The more I look around, the more I see, there are several quarters of marat hanging on bear ropes about ten meters up, along with some other supplies in cargo netting.
Eyes are peering cautiously out from under the edge of what I suspect to be another shelter, they seem very small. I point the pistol at them... they grow big and vanish with a rustle.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” I call out. “The child is free to go to you or you may return if you wish.”
I hear a nearby voice cry out, “Dina!”
The child proves I was right and flees bawling towards the east from the hidden shelter.
I sit in silence broken only by birds, breeze and muffled sobs.
“Sir, I have the satellite, connecting.” Alexis says from above.
A distant hawk screams its presence.
“Best hemi is a 4 month old ten meter, but there are a pair of twenty degree three meters that might be better choices, both under 30 days. There is also a fifty meter polar hemi weather sat from this morning.”
“Weather first, best three second, other three and ten if we can.”
“Aff, Sir.”
“I’m just after a satellite connection, I’ll be gone once I get what I need,” I call out. “I would be fine being friendly, but I don’t put up with stupidity... if you aren’t sure you can be agreeable, stay away for now and I’ll be gone before you know it.”
There’s a scolding jay in the boughs above me. If I didn’t know better, it might be telling Rocker off for being in its territory.
“You aren’t gonna shoot us?”
“Think I would have let the kid go if I were?”
I can just hear whispers, not what they are saying, but the sounds still come through.
Out of the brush steps a rather bedraggled man in assorted homemade garments... a patchwork coat of various pieces of animal skins, a shirt with more patches of different materials than original cloth, and pants that are worn through and mud plastered. Only his soft-soled boots are above serviceable... they are exquisite, tall, supple and appear well oiled. He’s carrying a long bent piece of wood with another thinner piece held between his hands at a right angle to it. There’s some kind of tension on the wood and I notice a cord pulling the ends somewhat together. I wonder if this is the ‘bow’ I’ve read about in my ancient history books... if so, it’s a weapon and I make sure the pistol is pointing enough in his direction to see that I mean to protect myself. He stops, and one hand slowly releases from its position at the base of what I think’s called an arrow.
“Don’t shoot!” He’s not showing fear, but he’s not trying to provoke me, either. If I were to guess, I would say he was forty something, with hints of grey in his uneven beard.
“Come closer, but if you try to use that, I’ll take you down.”
He’s moving closer, well, actually towards the fire or one of the shelters.
“Got the weather, Sir. First three meter started.”
He freezes at the sound of her voice, looks up at the ‘Mech and then back at me.
“Told you, I just need to connect with a sat. If I can get everything at once, I’ll leave in a few minutes... if not, I’ll finish in a hour or so when it orbits back around. I’m not trying to hurt any of you or raid your camp.”
I don’t lower my pistol, since he’s still holding that bow thing I think it best to continue to show that I’ll fight if need be.
“Not a Wobby?”
“No, Sir,” I spit out with a heartfelt disgust.
“Fair enough.” He nods and I hear more noise from the brush before he’s joined by a silver haired man and a woman about his own age, both dressed equally poorly. I see that she’s carrying the urchin, still wide eyed and a bit teary.
He sets the bow against one of the shelters and puts the arrow back into a holder on his back... I can see that there are others there too. The woman moves to the fire and begins clearing the debris that I guess they had dumped on it as I came up. Dina stands staring where her mum put her down, eyes never leaving mine. Only the old man walks up to me. I stand and lower the weapon, but do not put it away.
“Another young one... you scared us bout to death, son.”
“Not trying to, Sir.”
He looks up at the Raven, squints at the white croes a moment, then looks at me.
“If I may ask, why are you all up here?” I ask.
“This is our hunting camp, got to get enough food for the winter and all.”
“Ah, makes sense, Sir.”
“I have the first three meter,” Alexis interrupts again, “starting second.”
“This one was at the fall of Prontsi, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Kinda thought I seen that version of the Mark somewheres. Bad business, that. Yer not old nough, but them that fought there kept WoBs offn us long enough ta get out an hide. Honors ta them as fought so.”
“Yes, I honor them too. My granpa was pilot in this.”
“Yer from good stock then, son.”
“Thanks for the kind words, Sir.”
He seems to withdraw into memories and a sudden tear spills from bright eyes.
“Da, you ok?” the other man asks, straightening from whatever he had been doing.
My old companion looks embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says to me, then silently turns and walks over to help build up the fire.
“Lost connection about halfway through the second. I calculate that we should reacquire it in 84 minutes.”
“Thank you, Mam. Please do so.”
“I’ve never seen anyone with one of those,” I say, pointing at the bow.
“Not easy to use, but you do what you must when you have nothing else.”
Now I’m curious, “Nothing?”
“Haven’t had ammunition fer years.”
“Haven’t had lots o thins fer years,” the woman grumbles.
“Where do you live?”
“In the hills.” I can tell he’s being evasive and they share warning glances.
I had heard of refugees who never got to go home, the possibility that these folks are some of them strikes me. Watching the bow, I suddenly holster my weapon and scramble up and into the cockpit. Everyone seems startled for a few moments, then return to their activities... well, Dina has still not moved yet.
“Canopy down, please.”
“Aff, Sir.”
It seals.
“Alexis, what do we have of value?”
“Other than the emeralds, I think Patrick had a few slivers of platinum and a smallish gold bar or two... he almost always had access to c-bill accounts. Check the slip box under the right console damage display.”
I find the box. Nestled in padding inside, there’s only one gold bar, about the size of a chocolate mint, and four thin strips of a soft silvery metal that must be the platinum. There are also some data chips, a metalic band, and a simple but perfect double edged steel blade about four inches long in a sheath inlaid with the most beautiful royal blue stone with golden veins. I take the gold and platinum and set the box to one side.
“Canopy up, please.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
It rises. I start to scramble out, then stop and grab the Wolf coat before continuing down to the ground.
“Would you consider selling some of your provisions?” I ask fairly loudly.
From their expressions, you’d think I was Santa Bear himself.
We’re all sitting around a crackling fire. Dina’s perching on my lap, snuggled into the warmth of the red Wolf coat I’ve given her. She’s smiling and endlessly shaking a full jar of indigoberry jam. Everyone else is either in animated conversation or eating, myself included. I’ve spent all the platinum to buy two entire legs worth of expertly smoked marat and a pair of their extraordinary soft-soled boots, paying far more than what they would ever get from a trader or farmer, but also provisioning myself well for the next week or two. I’ve also traded my good lynen shirt and the jar of jam to the woman for two simple but comfortable buck-skin tunics.
They’ve not told me their names and I’ve not offered mine, but otherwise we are getting on like old friends. I provided a couple of tea bags and we’re now all relaxing with simple clay mugs of the hot and fragrant liquid.
Alexis has gotten all the sats I asked for and probably some others as well. Honestly, I’m not sure just what else she might have acquired, but I’m sure I’ll find out in a while.
Dina’s shaking the jar like a toy and giggling every time... I have no clue what’s so fascinating or humorous about it, but she looks warm and happy and I cherish the acceptance she’s showing enough not to be annoyed.
At some point around dusk, I ask no one in particular, “have you ever seen another ‘Mech loose up here?”
“There are a couple up near Falls Camp,” the da says, “bad folk from what I hear.”
“Aye,” the granpa comments, then adds, “an I heard ‘bout one up near the Wayward Bridge, but that was a long time back... haven’t seen anyone been up that far in years.”
“Wayward Bridge?”
“Aye, at the widening between the two gorges, maybe a hundred kilometers up river, maybe more. They told of a ‘Mech what was helping keep bandits off so folk could cross over... but ya never can tell how stories go in retellin.”
“No indeed,” says the woman, nodding in agreement.
Dina’s head slumps against my chest, she’s asleep. Her mum stands, walks over, and lifts her up into her arms. She smiles at me then takes the girl off to bed.
“You must be a good man, she don’t trust folk.” the da says quietly.
“True, that,” the granpa chimes in.
“Wish I were better.”
“Takes time, lad, takes time.”
“I should go now, no need to risk bringing you into danger by keeping a ‘Mech here.”
“Your call, son. Welcome to stay the night if you rather.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Sirs, but I need to go.”
We all stand.
“Fair enough. Thanks again for what you’ve done. Good luck and God bless.” the da says.
“Amen to that. You take care, son.” the granpa contributes.
“Thank you, Sirs.” I bow slightly, turn, walk to Rocker, climb, and get into the cockpit.
“Close the canopy, please, Alexis.”
“As you wish, Padraig.”
The canopy seals and Alexis warms the cockpit back up from the chill the night had left.
“They said there was a ‘Mech rumored to be at a place called the ‘Wayward Bridge’ a hundred kilometers or so upstream.”
“I have updated sats, would you like to see if it shows up?” she asks.
“Lets get moving first,” I reply as I settle the neurohelmet and take the controls.
“Aff, Sir. I also pulled a weekly weather forecast and a complete news download for the last week... found some interesting bits, issues, and possibilities.”
I turn the ‘Mech and carefully step away from the campsite before answering, “Cool, Mam. Well done.”
“Thank you, Paddy.” Her tone is warm and appreciative.
The forecast loop is troubling, I replay it for the hundredth time, but nothing changes the fact that winter’s first major storm’s only a couple days out, its potent energy and thick bands of moisture drawn from an ocean 1000 kilometers away and it’s biting cold drawn from the frigid north lands that are much closer.
“Has Rocker ever been in snow?”
“Yes, Paddy, often.”
“How does it handle?”
“Fine in snow, be a little more cautious on ice, frozen rivers should not be tried unless you are sure either that you can make it across or at least get back out. Hidden depressions or crevasses are more of a danger. Maybe the most important concern is that you heat signature will be much easier to spot out in the open.”
“Understood, Mam. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, Sir.”
“Well, enough weather for now. What did you see in the news that I should know about?”
“One item of note was that the destruction of your farm is being reported as the crash of an unauthorized dropship. It advises locals to stay away until cleanup and decontamination crews can make the site safe, and invites them to contact authorities if they see any unusual activity in the area.”
“No comments about us?”
“Not there, but we show up elsewhere.”
“Where’s that?
“We are reported to have been seen along the Daulles road the day before the ‘crash’ and ‘witnesses’ claim we are robbing farms and other isolated residences. Anyone seeing us is advised to report us immediately.”
“Because we are such dangerous criminals, no doubt.”
“Indeed. There is also a grainy vid of us ‘escaping’ after attacking a farm...”
She shows a distant shaky vid of us running into the trees.
“... supposedly shot by a surviving farmer’s child. You will, no doubt, guess that the position and jerkiness indicate the nose cam of the legged Bushwhacker, this version has been modified to replicate the poorer quality of a civilian camera...”
She loops the vid a few times while speaking, then shows some talking head with a more detailed computer animation of a similarly configured Raven... with our markings.
“Looks like us. Makes me wonder how many times they showed us stuff and we thought someone else was scum. Anything else?”
“Not from this part of the world, but perhaps of interest no less. They are advising civilian craft to avoid an area in the northwest due to continuing severe helio-magnetic disturbances that have damaged or destroyed several military craft.”
“So? They happen all the time.”
“Really? That makes it even more likely that there is something up there. There have been no solar storms since you reactivated me last week. I have detected no significant flares, CMEs, or x-ray bursts. The auroral oval has appeared to be stable well north of the area they indicate.”
“On the other hand, “she continues, “ there are no un-tampered sat maps of the area more detailed than the fifty meter weather. I have compared our old ten meter hemi to the current one and all local details are blurred in the new one. Finally, in reviewing the old map it is obvious that there are also a very large concentration of caches, mechbays, and other blue circles within a fifty klick radius... if the resistance is alive, at least some of them are there; if not, someone else is.”
“Show me the old ten on that location.”
It’s rugged countryside, mostly mountains but deeply penetrated by long oceanic fjords. She’s right, there must be a hundred blue circles in that small area, even though there are few routes in or through. To the north, an side of the polar ice-sheet cuts it off by laying 1500 meter deep ice against a barrier of mountains, nothing can cross that desert of snow and ice that runs mostly unbroken to the other side of the planet. To the east, twin active volcanoes Hamartia and Scotia raise barrenness to new heights... literally. Boats might provide a way in from the sea to the west, but the south offers the only reasonable hope of access, and that appears restricted to three main passes and perhaps some seasonal ones.
The most significant drawback to getting there right now is that almost a thousand kilometers lie in-between.
“Please take it out to 50 meters.”
The map zooms out and I can see more, but we are still not visible.
“Not enough, how about 100, please.”
Now we are in the picture and the enormity of the distance strikes all the harder. I see a fair number of blue circles between and it finally dawns on me that with just a modicum of imagination there are several relatively straight routes with the distance softened by potential way points. This time of year, the weather will not be an ally, but then again, once it starts, few others will want to be about in it either.
I check the area around the Wayward Bridge again, there’s a cache marked about ten klicks to the northeast on the old map; on the new three meter I can’t see anything particular, but if it still exists, I have to presume it’s reasonably hidden.
“Well, guess our best bet is to head that way. Might be a good idea to try to find that other ‘Mech before moving on, but I think the mechbay near Lake Oudal... er... Oodai would should be makeable before the storm hits.”
“I agree, Sir.”
Throttle up...
“I don’t like it,” I state as I consider the situation.
The cam optics that the neurohelm ties to are zoomed to maximum, in the semiclear air, I have no trouble seeing the bridge two klicks away.
We are still high above the river to the southeast, standing just meters from the brink of the dark basalt gorge wall. Though a scattering of trees helps hide us, we still have an exceptional panorama laid out, I’m sure it would be even more dramatic if it weren’t overcast.
The Wayward Bridge itself is a concrete and steel relic that spans about 500 meters of fairly calm river shallows... it has known better days, several eastern sections appear to have makeshift decks laid across bombed out gaps. I can not imagine it would take much weight, but it’s still the only bridge moderately intact for several hundred kilometers.
The sensors are showing “friendlies”... meaning they must be from some old planetary unit, Alexis has said that anything else would show neutral or hostile. Thing is, it doesn’t feel like anyone who would be hiding from Wobbies... they’re out in the open, almost defiant in their positions.
“Ok, so those units on either side are predominantly anti-air and anti-personnel?”
“Yes, there are several light armor quadcannons, and those trucks are LRM launchers.”
“Ok, what about the two in the middle?”
“The one with muzzles is a Myrmidon, it has a pair of PPCs. The other appears to be some jury-rigged form of targeting radar; but no planetary ground units I have record of looked anything like that. If it is tied to those LRM launchers with a C3 or a version of a TAG, it would give them a formidable amount of coverage, increasing their effective range and dramatically improving their lock-on time. It would also provide an effective early warning for units like the Myrmidon to prevent surprise attacks.”
“Can they see us here?”
“No, our ECM is one of the best, we would have to either be seen or within about 800 meters.”
I study the layout, it’s especially puzzling that two high value units would be such sitting hodons to an airstrike.
“Why wouldn’t the Wobbies just bomb the tar out of them?”
“That is a good question, Padraig. A very good question indeed. All the logical answers contradict the fact that right now they show as friendly units.”
“Perhaps they have enough firepower to shoot down any aircraft.”
“While possible, they certainly do not have the weaponry needed to stop a naval bombardment from orbit... something that should be inevitable if the Blakists considered them a threat. I do not detect anything that would lead me to conclude that Blakist patrols and satellites are unaware of this location, and there is a feeling of normalcy in their positioning... as if they do it every day without even a remote fear of unexpected high altitude or orbital attack. They are all stationary, Padraig. Further, it seems predetermined where each unit needs to be to cover all the others.”
“In other words, they have either switched sides or they have made some kind of deal with the Wobbies.”
“Considering their lack of concern about serious tactical realities, those are the high probability options, Sir.”
“I don’t like it at all.”
I watch as a small convoy of cars and light trucks begins to make its way single-file east to west across the bridge. They are barely crawling along, and only one vehicle crosses any one of the “temporary” sections at any time. At this distance, it’s hard to tell, but there may also be foot traffic moving along the expanse.
“Maybe the best thing would be to ask them who they are... I mean since they show as friendly, we might have their comm channels, right? They won’t see us at this distance and we could see how they respond and get away if needed.”
“An interesting analysis, Padraig,” her tone is bemused. “There would be serious risks to us, however, if our signal is detected by satellites or other listening posts, regardless of whether these units are in fact allies.”
Sometimes it’s so annoying when she has all the answers. I’m trying to get better at judging what makes sense and what doesn’t in this brave new world of being a pilot, but it’s frustrating when I come up with what seems a good idea and she just shoots it down... and its even worse when she’s obviously trying not to irritate me while showing me just how flawed my ideas are.
“How come you have all the answers?”
“I do not understand your query, Sir.”
“Any time I come up with an idea, you just shoot it down.”
“Would you rather I not offer information you may not have considered?”
“Um... well...”
“It is still your ‘Mech, Sir. I offer input while you are learning the things you need to know, but you must still make the decisions based on not only my input, but your own knowledge, experience, and situational judgement. If you think a risk is worth taking, you should do so. I can restrict my interaction to hard combat input if you desire. Please remember, though, you have been a pilot for less than ten days... I suspect you wish you were more advanced, but perhaps you are expecting more than even you can do.”
“No, you’re right,” I sigh. “Its just that sometimes you make me feel like a kid and you don’t trust me to do anything on my own.”
“You are a man and the pilot of this ‘Mech. If you want my input, please feel free to ask for it.”
It’s a simple statement, there’s no emotion betrayed in the voice, no pout, no “poor me” attitude. Part of me feels good about being considered a man instead of a kid, a boy, or even a “young man” and I wonder if it’s as significant to her as it is to me.
But something inside is uneasy all about this... I keep remembering something Da said often... “when pride leads, disgrace follows... but humility brings wisdom.”
“I want your input, Alexis... well, even when I don’t want it I guess I still need it. Please don’t stop offering me what you think I need to consider or might have missed, Mam.”
“As you wish, Padraig.”
It has started to drizzle and visibility’s significantly diminishing.
“Can we at least scan all the comm frequencies for their traffic?”
“Yes, I have been monitoring for twenty-two minutes now. There are four channels in use but they appear to be sequenced.”
“What does ‘sequenced’ mean?”
“Sequencing means that the actual signal is broken up across a predetermined series of channels in a manner that makes reconstructing the original signal far more difficult. The pattern usually varies based on some common key, such as synchronized clocks, or a common start point, such as a single pulse or tone. In combat, Patrick preferred start point sequencing...”
“Like that battle at Prontsi?”
“... yes, exactly. It is much more difficult to crack in a combat situation when used for short durations. It has a further advantage that unless the start point is caught, even having the actual sequence algorithm compromised does not mean it can be broken since it takes a while to detect the location within the sequence.”
“Um... why wouldn’t they just splice the whole together from the different channels?”
“When the comm is keyed up, each channel in the sequence broadcasts garbage unless it is the point where it carries the signal, then goes back to garbage after the signal passes on. Since the signal itself is encrypted before it is sent, it looks like garbage too. Most battlefield sequences have four to eight channels and may incorporate signal encryption on the original signal, at the individual channel, or both. The sequence master definitions...”
I can hardly see the bridge now, it must be raining hard down there.
“Possible contact, too small for a ‘Mech but it must have ECM, it just appeared at 780 meters. Small unit, probably lightly armored scout, looks like a patrol... showing friendly... it has stopped.”
All the friendly marks on the sensors suddenly glow an angry red and I hear an ugly tone...
“Missile lock!”
I’m running through the trees, behind me fireballs and shattered trees follow for quite a ways. The spot the scout had occupied draws me; whomever, whatever, I want to thank them personally and I begin to circle around using the forest for cover.
“How did they get us?”
“The scout must be tied to the tracking. We were out in the open, he got a visual and it was linked.”
“If they can’t see me, am I safe taking the scout?”
“As long as there are no other surprises, you are probably safe.”
“You mean like a ‘Mech?”
“Or a minefield, turrets, or any number of other unexpected options.”
I throttle back a bit, until we are walking at 40kph.
“Do I really need the bridge?”
“Well, not... incoming signal.”
“Unidentified BattleMech! You will surrender immediately or we will destroy you.”
“They may be trying to get a trace or just bluff,” she indicates quietly.
I key up, “By what authority?”
“There is heavy traffic on the four channels.”
“Lord Durnan of the Bridge.”
Throttle up, I’m moving fast on an oblique to give them a wide berth while skirting their eastern flank.
“Did you hear me? You will surrender on authority of Lord Durnan of the Bridge.” I would swear that the voice is a bit annoyed.
“They are trying to locate us.”
“Aff, Mam. That’s why I’m moving. Please turn off his signal.”
“Well done! You are learning, Sir.”
We are about 4 klicks east of the bridge. We cross what must be the old road that leads down to it; at 120kph, it and the narrow aisle it runs down are behind us already.
“What kind of ‘Mech does a ‘Lord’ usually have?”
“Probably none at all, especially when he identifies his fiefdom with that derelict. However, with ECM deployed even on patrol vehicles, we might not know if the assessment is wrong until too late.”
I click up the map and look at the cache to the Northeast, it’s now just a few klicks away, at the end of a long ravine... hmmm, more traps or trouble? I’m just about to pass it by when a friendly unit indicator glows blue at the same place. A friendly unit with a designation of “E”...
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 15 2008 12:46:33 |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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ButtcraxOMO
Administrator
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Posted - Mar 13 2008 : 10:56:01
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I'm hooked
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I am Lancelot of Borg, Resistance is Feudal |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 586 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 13 2008 : 11:58:11
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Chapter 8 - Two of a Kind
The ravine seems to be mostly cut of sandstone that lays in layers of browns and tans. Here and there a leafless bush clings to a fragile purchase of soil, but sand is underfoot and all around. Each bend I round brings me closer to the ‘Mech and the cache. A dark cliff of basalt rises behind the nearer folds of the gully. I round a final corner and the cliff reaches down to the dry streambed. There are depressions into that wall...
Crouched under one overhang of black stone is an Owens. I throttle back and its torso swings towards me. We look at each other for a few seconds. Finally, a small laser lashes out and hits my nose. The ‘E’ remains on the map, but now it has an enemy marker. I reverse quickly just back out of view and try to aim for where it will appear... but the signal on the sensors isn’t moving.
“Alexis, why isn’t it moving?”
“An equally good question is why did it not attack with everything it had.”
An absurd thought crosses my mind, “Because that’s all it had?”
“Actually, that may be a good analysis, Paddy.”
“Would you please replay the recording?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I see the Owens.
“Pause there, please.”
The ‘Mech is seriously battered, armor chewed up to the point that myomer shows through the many gaps. The muzzle of a small laser appears blown half away, and the missile launchers look both beaten and unused.
“It has seen better days, quiaff?”
“Aff. That red and green emblem on the nose is a Prontsi Defense emblem, but the unit designation would have been where that blackened section of armor is.”
“If I could talk to it like it was Prontsi again, maybe it would give me a way to start communicating. What were we called again?”
“This ‘Mech was Prontsi TACCOM Blue and if that is indeed the Owens that was designated ‘E’ then it is from the Prontsi Defense Light Cavalry.”
“The authority was DC140?”
“Neg, DC114.”
“Sequence?”
“Call it as a ‘comm assignment’; if you want the same they used then, you need to call ‘code blue 4 sequence 1'.”
“So something like TACCOM Blue to Defense Light Cavalry Owens, comm assignment blue 4 sequence 1 on authority DC114. Mark!”
“Almost. Because this is not your normal unit and you are trying to play on history, identify Prontsi where appropriate, like ‘Prontsi TACCOM Blue’. When calling a sequence, let them know if you will call a mark before you call the actual code and sequence. Finally, try to remember to call ‘clear.’ before you call the ‘mark.’ But overall, you are remembering very well; I think you are ready, Sir.”
“Ok, thanks... um...” I clear my throat. The strangest feeling comes over me as I key the mic open and say, “Prontsi TACCOM Blue to Prontsi Defense Light Cavalry Owens, comm assignment on my mark code blue 4 sequence 1 on Prontsi authority DC114. Clear. Mark!”
There’s a quick clear tone.
For a moment, I’m sure I’ve done all this before.
The moment passes as the comm comes to life, “Who in the hells are you?” The voice is a baritone, but has an odd quality, like it’s distorted somehow.
“If you stop shooting for a moment and let me take shelter under there, I’ll explain; I hate sitting out in the open and would rather leave than risk being tracked.”
“Ok, but I warn you, no funny business.”
I’m about to say something mindless like “trust me” but common sense gets to my mouth first and what comes out is, “no problem, too many miles and never enough ammunition to want either of us to waste anything.”
Throttle to a walk, around the corner and towards an open space slightly to the left of the Owens. Again, it squares the torso up on me, but the legs stay facing slightly to my right. This time, there’s no fire and I continue until I’m well into the black cavity. The torso follows me, though it does seem to move rather jerkily as I get closer. We are about five meters apart when I stop.
Face to face, our ‘Mechs are almost the same height at the cockpit. I can just make out the pilot across from me, his neurohelmet decorated with reds and greens and a large number ‘3' slightly off center. The shadows under here play tricks on me, the part of the face I can see is a bit odd.
“Comm off. Sir, you might want to tunnel link; it’s a direct connection and by far the most secure option. There’s something not quite right here, but it may be due to risks associated with the comms.”
“Ok, how do I do that, Mam?”
“You may want to ask the pilot if it is acceptable.”
“Aff, good idea. Comm open, please.” I key the mic and propose, “would you object to a tunnel link?”
“Huh? Er, I mean... um...”
“I’m just concerned that the comms may be compromised.”
“Well, ok... how do I do that?”
“Alexis?”
“Something is very odd, Sir. Only a very inexperienced pilot would not know that.”
“Or one who had never had anyone else to teach them.”
“Perhaps. There is a switch on the comm console to your right that will start the alignment laser. He should have something similar.”
I key the mic again, “you should have a small switch on your comm console that will start what is called an alignment laser. I’ll turn mine on so you know what to look for.”
A tiny red dot appears on my ferroglass and on a spot on his as well.
“What color is the switch?”
“On my console it’s a blue switch with a marking that looks like a pair of diamonds.”
“Hang on.”
Silence. Finally, a second pair of red dots appears.
“There should be a tone control for auto align on his side, it should be a push button or a switch, units often have it just under the tunnel switch itself.”
I relay this to the Owens pilot. A few moments pass.
Suddenly our two torsos swing about until both sets of dots are merged.
“Link established.”
“I’m Padraig, Pilot. My granpa was the pilot when this ‘Mech served as TACCOM at Prontsi. I’m on my own now, granpa has been gone for a while.”
“Nice to meet you, Padrag. Why are you here?”
Now the voice sounds more like a boy, but at least it doesn’t seem distorted.
“Came for the cache. Anything left, or did our neighbors down at the bridge get everything?”
“I don’t really know, daddy says there’s supposed to be something important here, but he never figured out how to use it. If you know how, we could share whatever it is.”
“How long have you been up here?”
“Well, we used to live down by the bridge, daddy kept it clear of robbers and folks brought us supplies to thank us for helping.” The words are tumbling out. “Then a few months ago, daddy said trouble was coming and sent me up here to guard the little ‘Mech and he said to wait here until he got back... only he hasn’t gotten back yet and I don’t know where he went. Did he send you? We have supplies stored up here in the trailer, but whenever the alarm goes off, I run back and make sure I can shoot from the ‘Mech if I need to.”
“You have been all alone for several months?”
“Yes, been boring and a little scary, especially when it gets dark. I spend most of my time just replaying battle recordings. I tried to go down to the bridge on my bike once, but something was wrong and daddy wasn’t there so I came right back so he won’t miss me when he comes back.”
“Comms off. Sir, I have accessed the Owens’ stats, the ‘Mech is not operational from the pivot down, there is no ammunition for either of the missile launchers and the right one is damaged to the point of failure, only one laser is operational, and armor for most of the torso is below ten percent. The cache may contain enough spare parts to repair some of it, but it really needs a repair bay.”
“If we can figure out what’s wrong with the legs, can it make it to Lake Oodai?
“Sir, I am not sure she is old enough to...”
“She?!”
“Aff, the pilot currently speaking with you is a young woman, or more likely a girl.”
“But...”
“What?”
“Nothing, comms back on.”
“Aff, Sir.”
“What will you do if your da doesn’t come back?”
“My what?”
“Er... your ‘daddy’.”
“He will come back. He always does.” The voice is starting to crack with emotion. “He just went for help.” Now it’s hard to miss that it’s a female voice, and she sounds close to tears.
“Look, I just want to help if I can. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m NOT CRYING!” she half screams and half sobs.
I look at the pilot across from me, what seemed strange about the visible part of the face before now makes sense, it’s the mouth and chin of a girl or at most a teen. I can see her shaking with what must be gales of tears. The Owens’ torso turns suddenly away from me.
“Sir, I would advise leaving soon or we may not make Lake Oodai before the storm hits.”
“You think I’ll leave her all alone like this?”
“It appears that her father did. You should give her more credit, she has been bluffing with a nearly dead ‘Mech for some time now.”
“Can we open the cache?”
“Yes, if we can get me within about fifty meters, I do have the code sequence required.”
“Any clue what we are looking for, Mam?”
“No, Padraig, but I would guess it is well hidden.”
The torso’s swinging back towards me, and it looks from here like she wants to talk with me, but I can not hear her.
I key up, “I can’t hear you.”
She seems to be trying to say something.
“Is she still on blue 4 sequence 1?”
“Probably not, Sir.”
“How about the channel we first contacted her on?”
“Unlikely, Paddy. There are sequenced transmissions, but they are no longer in sync, she probably inadvertently reset part of the set.”
“I guess it’s my turn to take a risk. Canopy up, please.”
“As you wish, Padraig.”
The seal breaks and cold air rushes in, my suit adjusts quickly, but my face feels really chilled. I can see her across from me through the ferroglass windscreen... she has stopped talking to me and seems to be just staring, her mouth slightly open. I motion with my hands that she should open her canopy also, but she shakes her head no.
“Visor up, please.”
It slides up and I can see the Owens more poorly, it’s darker here than the screen made it appear, but as my eyes adjust, she’s more visible in the glow of her console. Her mouth moves, but still I hear nothing. Once again, I motion for her to open her canopy and again she shakes her head ‘no’.
“Alexis, is there anything else we can do to communicate?”
“Neg, Sir. You have exhausted all the options.”
I raise my hands enough that she can tell that I don’t know what else to do.
“Canopy and visor down, please.”
It seals, I can see artificially again, and the cockpit warms back up. I click up the old ten meter.
“Well, let’s at least try to find the cache while we are here. Please zoom in to ten meters on our current position.”
The map goes to full resolution. We seem to be right on top of the blue cache marker.
“Looks like as good a place as any, please start sending the cache code.”
“I am getting a response, sir. It is very close. Sending an open command now.”
The back wall of the cavity seems to shift, as if settling back into the wall. I swing the torso to see more clearly. There’s a vibration, then the wall section starts to rise into the massif itself. Behind it a simpler version of the bay back home appears.
There are no robot arms for automated repairs and I seriously doubt that any of the weapons or ammunition are fit for Clan equipment, but there are still loading gantries and overhead cranes, grinders and welding rigs, tools and armor patch panels, wiring and spare myomer bundles, hydraulic fluid and actuators, and enough armament to reequip several ‘Mechs. Above it all, there are fairly significant lights and the possibility of being out of the cold to perform repairs. It wouldn’t help the Owens immediately since it won’t move, but I suspect that I can figure something out if the girl will just cooperate.
I swing the torso back towards the Owens and realize that her canopy’s raised and she’s standing in her ‘Mech looking first at the bay and then back at me.
“Canopy up, please, Alexis.”
“Aff, Sir.”
“Visor up also, please.”
“As you wish, Paddy.”
I can see her now, she’s raising her visor also. She’s not a child, probably my age, maybe a little younger. She offers a little wave.
“Thanks. You really want to help me?” She sounds like she expects me to say ‘no’.
“Yes, Mam, I do.”
“Jix!”
“What’s your name?”
“Zuzan. You are Padrag?”
She has my name a bit off, but I don’t feel like being annoyed... Zuzan is kind of pretty.
“Yes, Mam.”
“Pleased to meet you, Padrag.”
Ok, maybe that will get annoying.
“You can just call me Paddy.”
“Ok, Paddy,” She says, then starts giggling... I have no clue what that’s about.
I’ve come to realize in just a week’s time that all kinds of things that I remember being taught in school, and have since forgotten, were actually pretty important to know. Ok, parts of speech and set theory still seem a bit useless, but I’ve had to relearn such Newtonian laws as “a body at rest tends to stay at rest”... especially since the Owens has wanted to obey such laws as ‘inertia’ and ‘gravity’ so stubbornly that it’s only by great good fortune that it isn’t laying crashed on its side out in the cold.
Right now, however, it’s upright and nudged against the back sidewall of the bay, with Rocker barely fitting inside the stone door at the front. The positions aren’t optimum, but it’s too cold to want to venture out, much less want to leave Rocker where I would have to open the doors to get to it. The storm’s sub-zero gales are echoing even through the monolithic stone door as they howl through the gully’s rocky narrows.
Inside, we’re relatively comfortable, but I’ve never had to contemplate so much hard work. Alexis’ brief assessment of the Owens’ condition was woefully inadequate to prepare me for the true scope of the needed work... everything needs at least repairs if not outright replacement. There have been some interesting discoveries that attest to just how long the ‘Mech has been there. The oddest thing we’ve found so far was a skeleton of some dog-sized animal, I would guess a predator by the teeth and claws, in the right missile arm; bugs had long ago consumed anything soft, but it was still a bit fearsome to encounter when I stuck my head in through the open service panel.
I’ve just pulled an armor plate clear of a myomer bundle on the right leg and there are six... no, seven, old birds nests that had been built into the gap between. The armor plate is perforated with smallish holes and is thin enough in some places that it threatens to buckle when I set it down. The myomer itself looks decrepit, like a rubber-band left sitting for too many years.
“Alexis, this bundle looks bad too,” I call into the air.
“Aff, Sir, that makes eight.”
That number sounds familiar. “How many did we have in inventory?”
“Well, Paddy, you reported eight.”
So now I either don’t find more that need replacement or we’ll have to test these poor things to see which ones are least weathered and most able to work.
Zuzan walks into my field of view, trying to see what I’m working on. She’s wearing blue work denims that are comfortably loose and a cotton tunic with a bright blue beaded belt around it. She also wears a second belt with a sidearm and a dagger, but it’s out of habit and not show... I’ve never seen her without them and I have my pistol holstered under my coveralls for the same reason.
She seems such a real person, friendly but not clingy, willing to get dirty working but almost always seeming fresh and wholesome. She’s not an alluring sex goddess, but still, there’s something very appealing about her. Except for occasional gutter language, she’s someone my mum would have liked... da probably, too. I still haven’t asked her how old she is, but right now that doesn’t seem to matter.
“Do you need a hand, Pad?”
“Sure, Zu, want to pull that stand over and help me lift this bundle clear?”
She unlocks a maintenance stand and rolls it across the stone floor, one little wheel wobbling and squeaking from some imagined slight.
I unscrew the ground plate at the lower end of the bundle and am unplugging the upper power cable when she leans over to lend a hand. I can smell something like flowers and spice, faintly flowing over me like river-fog in the morning... she’s right behind me, now she leans closer to reach around and hold part of the bundle. I can hear her breathing, feel the warm moist air on my neck, now my ear. Out of the corner of my eye I can tell she’s focused on the bundle and what I’m doing with the plug... well, what I was doing, I seem to have lost focus. A puzzled look grows on her features.
We look at each other and time vanishes. At this distance I can tell that she has no makeup on, and never has a woman looked more real and desirable, her skin fresh and untampered, her lips supple and natural, her eyes deeper than polished ebony in moonlight.
“Are you ok, Pad?”
The magic of the moment vanishes and I am thrust rather sheepishly back into reality. I look back at the plug and try to recover my long lost thoughts... I have my hand on a power plug... unplug the power... yes, that was it.
I still am overwhelmed by her fragrance and it’s a struggle to stay focused with that gentle breeze whispering across my ear.
“Just a bit, um... er...”
“Yes?”
“I was just thinking about something, sorry.” I blurt it out like I’m afraid to let my mouth move longer than needed for fear it will say something serious.
I disconnect the bundle and begin to lift it off, she has part of it in one hand and reaches across to add her other hand... in so doing, she’s leaning against me just a little and I discover that I’m on fire everywhere she touches me.
Stay focused. Kiss her. Stay focused. Hold her in my arms. Stay focused. Stare into her eyes until the sun dies in the sky. Stay focused! Must stay focused and not act like an idiot! Lift the bundle. Feel her chest against my back. STAY FOCUSED! Come on Paddy, she will think you are a moron or worse. Lift with both hands. Breathe deeply and focus. Man, she smells great! Ok, deep breath was a bad idea. Focus. What would da say? Was this how it was with him and mum? No, what am I thinking? I don’t know this girl at all. Wish I did. NO! Must stay FOCUSED!
“Focus, fool!”
“What did you say to me?” There’s a touch of winter in her voice.
“Not you! Me! I need to focus.”
“Really?” The chill is still there.
“Look,” I say, turning my head towards hers until our eyes meet, “right now, I...”
Words fail me. Completely. I’ve seen guys freeze up like this in school around some girl they liked and always figured they were just stupid. If such is true, I’m the stupidest.
Suddenly aware that my mouth is still open for want of the next word, I close it unceremoniously. She’s watching me and the cold annoyed look is replaced by a careful studiousness. She backs away a little as if to see me better.
“Am I making you nervous?”
The speech centers of my brain are still disconnected, but I find my muscles are working enough to nod “Yes.”
She goes from studious to springtime, her smile flashing warmth like sunshine through apple blossoms.
“Why didn’t you say so, silly?”
She moves over a bit so that she can still hold some of the bundle without being quite so close. If it were a girl at school, I would have guessed from her expression that she was feeling rather satisfied with herself.
She glances my way and flashes her glowing smile, “that better, Pad?”
Again, all I can do is nod.
I’ve been very careful about getting close to Zuzan since that morning. In four weeks of hard work, it has been something of a challenge, especially since she genuinely wants to learn about everything.
Mike’s brief tutoring has kept me from being entirely lost, at least I now can do simple things without the manuals and more impossible ones with them. It seems odd, but to teach Zuzan, I’m discovering that I’m having to learn lots more myself. There are also three little words I’ve had to recite often: “I don’t know.” Fortunately, Alexis’ memory and the Owens’ manuals allow me to add five extra pride-saving words, “but we can find out.”
Zuzan continues to watch me, I can feel it when we take breaks for meals or tea. Her smile’s still like a warm soak in sunshine on a cool spring morning. I try to treat her with respect, like da tried to teach me about behaving with women, and so far I seem to have been successful at keeping that brain-controlling animal inside me chained.
Meanwhile, after the first storm abated, we had a new problem: the entire area outside the door is drifted dozens of meters deep with a gritty dust-mixed snow. I have a bad feeling that we are trapped here for the winter, but I’ve not said anything to Zuzan about it. We did manage to cut a tunnel through to the trailer where their supplies were and bring months worth of food into the bay... well, along with more of her clothes. There’s one white silken shirt that I hope she never wears around me again... I nearly lost myself again the night she wore it. I think at some level she’s glad that she has this effect on me, but she hasn’t tried to push it or take advantage of me.
This is a great time for both of us. In the evenings, we often run a cable between the two ‘Mechs and Alexis runs a joint sim for us... sometimes we are opponents and others a team. Zuzan has listened to everything Alexis is willing to teach and has progressed frighteningly well... she’s already better at dancing drills than I am and she was the first to escape the street sweepers.
Alexis also suggested that we organize our work on the Owens so that we tackle one system at a time, starting with primary power and cooling, then working towards getting Tiger (Zuzan’s new name for the ‘Mech) repaired enough to at least walk.
We’ve swapped the damaged engine out. Uncrating that was an experience, mounting it a challenge, getting the connections right a trial, and sorting out problems with the cooling system a nightmare. I’ve replaced hoses, heatsinks, pumps, actuators, relays and sensors. Finally, however, it hums pleasantly producing loads of power with no unexpected heating issues.
Tomorrow we’ll tackle the myomer... Twelve bundles look like they need replaced and we only have eight, so we’ll have to test what we have to see what we can do to salvage some of the damaged ones.
I’ve just stepped out of the shower and am wrapping a towel around my waist when the door opens and Zuzan sticks her head in.
“Hey!” I yell, “Mind knocking?!”
“No, I’m fine,” she flashes a smile, looks me over and with a wink says, “slabbed, Paddy.”
I can feel myself blushing.
“I’m making stagback and rice to celebrate getting Tiger’s motor working, that ok with you?”
“Um, sure.” I like the way she’s looking at me and that’s drawing my full attention.
“Ok, we can consider it a date,” she grins and the door closes. For a brief moment I think I see a hint of mischief in her glance, but then again, the light’s poor here.
I need to trust my intuition more.
Zuzan is serving dinner in the small poorly-lit room that she has made her personal space. She’s wearing that heart-stopping white silken top and a flowing pair of equally silky red pants. The floor here is carpeted with various blankets and she’s barefoot. If that weren’t bad enough, there’s some deeply rhythmic music quietly playing from a small set of speakers.
The meal itself is fantastic, fish and spices with a fragrant variety of rice serving as a fitting bed. The tea is exotic, seductively scented with tropical flowers.
I’m finishing a mouthful of fish when her movement in the light shows me something I was only dimly aware of before... I can clearly see through the thin silk shirt. I tear my eyes away and struggle to be polite.
She’s been watching me; with a little pout as she asks, “what’s wrong? Don’t you like me?”
I’m about to say something when I look into her eyes and she smiles... all intelligent systems in my brain shut down and I once again discover my mouth hanging open. In the silence I manage to get it closed while hoping I haven’t come across as an absolute idiot.
“Let me get those,” she purrs, moving beside me to clean off my plates and utensils. She’s close enough that I can smell cloves in her perfume, vanilla, too, I think. Favorites, those.
Her face and mine are so close... our mouths meet and we kiss. It’s hot and sensual, I’m aware that she’s pressed tight against me, her hands holding my face to hers. I’m also painfully aware that I yearn to respond, there’s an urgency as we embrace...
Intruding into my sense of oblivious destiny comes an echo of da’s voice, “Paddy, a man’s always responsible for his choices, especially if his choices can become his children... your hormones are never an excuse for unmarried sex.”
The kiss ends and her eyes open. There’s a questioning look, she’s not sure what happened. The music still plays. She’s still in my arms. The urgency to become intimate with her now, however, has ended.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks in a quiet, almost frightened voice.
“No, Zu, I’ve had the best time in my life tonight. I really like you, I just have to be responsible about my choices.”
“I don’t understand.” She’s puzzled now.
“I was getting very excited and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
Her look is both shy and seductive, “its ok, we’re both adults and adults can make love.”
Uh? I’m not sure I am an adult yet, how can she be so certain?
“Well, I learned to behave a certain way towards a woman I love...”
Now she’s beaming.
“And part of that’s not rushing... no matter how much I want to be with you.”
Her face falls.
I’m horribly torn, I want her like no one I’ve ever been around, but I also fear the circumstances have conspired somehow to make this happen. And what about any child? I’ve no way to provide for myself, much less a family. My arms fall to my sides.
The music has stopped and Zuzan’s sitting on her couch crying. I’ve grown to feel a strong bond, and part of me can easily imagine her as my wife some day. But I’m only sixteen... in less than two months time my life has been turned upside down and I have no clue what the next two months let alone two years will bring.
I sit beside her and she turns away.
“Why do you hate me?” she sobs.
“Zu, I don’t hate you.”
I try to put my arms around her but she turns and beats on my chest. Part of me wants her to just stab me and get my own pain over with.
But her pounding starts halfheartedly and ends with her wrapping her arms around me and just weeping on my shoulder and neck.
“Please stay with me,” she finally says in a hiccuping voice. “We don’t have to do it, but please don’t let me be alone tonight.”
Her streaked face looks up into mine, wet tracks down her soft skin shining in the lamplight, pleading eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“I’ll stay if you promise we can keep our clothes on.”
She nods with a childlike eagerness, scattering a few more tears in the process.
“Ok, I’ll stay.”
I lay flat on the couch and she lays her head on my chest over my heart.
She falls asleep.
I wonder what da would say as I listen to her breathe.
I’m in a small place. There’s a warm light, but no details to orient me... just a voice.
“I want you to know me, Paddy.” The voice is familiar, but I can’t put a face to it. “I am the paradox Maker and you are a paradox waiting to happen. For now, this is my instruction: seek me. As you do, treat others as you would have them treat you if your places were reversed. Be honest to yourself and others, because I detest lies. Soon you will head to the stars to learn more of your quest.”
“Ok, sir.”
“Just us now, son.” It’s a different but infinitely more familiar voice.
“I miss you, Da.”
“I know, Paddy, I know.”
The dream is disturbing, I have a sense that I should understand it, but I don’t.
Zuzan is breathing evenly and I smell the warm scent of her perfume. We are on our sides, she in front of me, her back to my chest, and my left arm draped across her stomach.
It’s comfortable here, but my heart’s disturbed.
Sleep does not come quickly.
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 15 2008 10:41:23 |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 13 2008 : 12:00:08
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Chapter 9 - Longest Winter
I’ve slept with Zuzan every night since, but always dressed and without mating. She talks regularly about sex; how it’s a ‘fact’ that you can’t truly be ‘in love’ with someone if you haven’t ‘made love’ with them. Actually, she seems convinced that great sex is what makes being in love so special. Problem is, I’ve heard too many men from the logging camp share their own stories to believe that she’s right... they always started with passionate sex and ended in misery or worse. And da... well, he had very strong ideas that sex belonged in marriage. The internal battle is worsening, I’m starting to want to wake after having given her my virginity the evening before.
The main distraction from sexual tensions is her ‘Mech. Tiger’s getting more serviceable, it can move its legs now. Speed may not be great, but we have it repaired enough to walk... when we actually have a place to walk. Armor’s still a bit thin on the legs, but there’s a finite supply of repair plates and the first priority now seems to be to fix or replace all of the torso’s protective shell.
While I’ve been busy with armor, Zuzan has mounted two pulse technology lasers from the racks, replacing the old working one and its damaged twin. Her new project is to adjust the crane so she can pull both the missile launchers out for replacement.
On the training front, Alexis is giving us more difficult combat sims. I was so proud of myself the first time I got past the star of street sweepers, but now she has both of us dancing two of them... not always successfully, I might add. We’re doing more inhabited urban environs, and a pattern’s developing... Zuzan is accomplished at moving well and keeping as far back as her weapons allow, while I tend to favor a combined scout and sniper role.
“New lineup, you two. Central Park, two lances, hot drop. Three. Two. One. Go!”
Our gyros give us the sensations of keeping the ‘Mechs balanced in their descent cradles, I can see enemy ‘Mechs on the sensors already... and they’re coming our way.
“Right wing wheel on touchdown, go hot BAP on my call.”
“Ok, got it.”
There’s a bump as I touch down, in the distance I can see four charging ‘Mechs...
“Daddy?” I haven’t heard this voice in a long time.
“Neg, still me, Zu.”
“Not you, sweetheart, that heavy ‘Mech in the middle.” That’s my Zu again.
There are two heavies in the lance, an Argus and a Thanatos. Thanatos... of course, it had been the other of the two that had been ordered away from the scene at the defense of Prontsi. The ‘A’ to Tiger’s ‘E’.
“Daddy would never shoot me! Help! Daddy, no!” The frightened girl is back.
“Alexis! Stop the sim!”
Instantly, we are in our respective cockpits.
“Daddy would never shoot at me!” She’s nearly hysterical.
“Zu, there are other Thannies, that wasn’t supposed to be...”
“Never!” I see the cockpit open, she has her neurohelm off in one fluid motion, and is climbing down as fast as I think possible.
“Alexis?”
“No idea, sir. Well, I have heard that women who are pregnant are irrationally moody at times.”
“Pregnant?”
“Well, freebirth is what happens if you are coupling without proper precautions.”
It takes me a minute to quite sort out her meaning.
“We haven’t been mating, we just sleep together.”
“Padraig, you do understand the biology involved, correct?”
“I think so, Mam. We’re not having sexual intercourse, so that should eliminate the risk of a baby, right?
“If you are not coupling, then yes, she should not be pregnant.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“You have been behaving rather irrationally yourself, sir.”
“We aren’t having sex!”
“Of course not, Sir.”
“Canopy up, please.”
It rises and my neurohelm is disconnected before we have any more to say about the subject. I clamber down and head for Zuzan’s room. The door’s closed and locked...
“Zuzan?” I ask as I knock.
I can hear her crying, but there’s no other answer.
“Honey? Whats wrong?”
I hear a muffled cry, “Go AWAY!”
Grudgingly, I say those unforgettable words... “Ok, Sweetheart, if that’s what you want.” Well, actually they are rather forgettable, but what am I supposed to say?
I hear Zuzan muffle a scream that sounds more exasperated than anything else.
What else can I do? The only ‘woman’ available to talk to about it is an artificial intelligence in a combat machine... not precisely the best of resources right now... all the more so since Alexis thinks I’m mating with Zu every night and lying about it to her. I don’t exactly have a bunch of experience with this and I’m frustrated, too.
I miss da, he would know what to do.
“Tighten the… AAHHHHH!”
“Captain?!”
Our StarCaptain’s TimberWolf flames and then explodes before my eyes.
WHHHUMPPP!!!
The cockpit fills with the smoke of burnt paint as the torso below me glows from a direct hit.
“Center torso at fifty percent.”
“ClusterCOM, StarCaptain is harddown, I repeat, harddown!”
“Confirm harddown, Charlie. Field promo StarCommander, report.”
“Hot overrun. Orders?”
“Recall Four-three. Roll flank 210.”
“Star swing flank left on the leftmost Catapult. Delta, alpha left rack; Echo alpha right rack.”
“I am hot, Charlie, need ten.”
“Confirmed Echo, I have it.”
The catapult gets a fresh lock on me. I fire and swing my good side toward the expected barrage, but it never comes.
“I got the Cat!” Delta declares, proud of his first Spheroid kill.
The red dot is indeed gone from the sensors.
“Confirmed.”
Over the low ridge on our right two odd looking midweights scramble toward us. Echo, closest to them, suddenly shakes as four PPC hit her at once. Both barrage her with rockets and the brass casings from spitting machine guns fly as dust. They have her in a circle...
“Watch you damage, Echo, evade and fade left.”
“Aff!”
“Delta, follow me! Evade and dance to assist.”
“Aff sir!”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Echo suddenly swing towards the nearest oddity and point-blank alpha its low-slung head. No eject pods fly as both ‘Mechs collide with a ground shaking impact and find their mutual annihilation.
“Fourty-three, roll right 210… NOW!”
I hate leaving the field, no honor in it, but ClusterCOM would not order us to if there was not a great reason.
“Bravo, delta, roll right 210, follow my lead.”
We plow through light trees and across a small stream.
BAMMM!!!!
The entire ‘Mech rocks from the impact as shattered armor flies past my canopy in an eruption of fragments. My entire right torso was stripped in one shot. Out of the trees a pair of heavies steps.
“Bravo, Delta, GO!” I scream as I swing towards the closest heavy and squeeze the alpha trigger…
I wake as a loud alarm sounds. Judging by my grip on the stick, I was seriously involved with the dream. For the first time in months, I’ve slept in the command chair. The cockpit smells of leather and spices, oil and hydraulic fluid, and... my own sweat.
“Alexis?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Everything ok?”
“Yes, Paddy. You know, Patrick had dreams too, often disturbing violent ones where he would start reliving battles. We had a protocol that the controls were locked out whenever he was asleep as a safety precaution. I hope you do not mind that I chose to establish such protocols for you also, Sir?”
“That’s fine, Mam. Seems like a good idea.”
“Aff, Padraig.”
“I dreamed I was in a battle too. I was in a different ‘Mech, and one of our star in a Timber Wolf blew up and I was promoted and one guy killed a Catapult and another killed an Uziel by ramming before we could get there and...”
“I have never played that recording for you...” Alexis voice is hushed.
“Huh?”
“Put your neurohelm on, please.”
I don the snug headgear and the visor comes down immediately.
“Were you in this cockpit?” she asks.
It’s an odd cockpit, there’s a large reenforcing beam down the middle of the front ferrosteel panels. It’s combat spare, but somehow familiar. If I had to guess, the beam would suggest a Shadowcat.
“Close, but I don’t remember that center beam.”
“My error, in a recording or through a neurohelm it would look like this...”
Now the bar is gone and the cockpit’s what I remember from my dream.
“That’s it.”
“Wait a moment, please; it will take a few seconds to find the old recording.”
"Another recording, cool!”
“Starting now...”
A huge Timber Wolf flames from multiple simultaneous hits, then detonates with an intense shockwave. The gyros are not as good as I expect somehow, but I’m still up and moving.
WHHHUMPPP!!!
There’s a sizzling sound and I hear coughing.
“Center torso at fifty percent.” It is Alexis’ voice, though much more flat than I’ve ever heard it... more like a normal AI.
“ClusterCOM, StarCaptain is harddown, I repeat, harddown!” It sounds like da! Well, it’s very much like him... I would not know them apart if I didn’t know it couldn’t be da.
“Confirm harddown, Charlie. Field promo Starcommander. Report.”
“Hot overrun. Orders?”
“Recall Four-three. Roll flank 210.”
“Star swing flank left on the leftmost Catapult. Delta, alpha left rack; Echo alpha right rack.”
“I am hot, Charlie, need ten.”
It ends abruptly and Alexis asks, “is that what you dreamed?”
“Pretty much, except that I was actually doing stuff instead of watching. When was that?”
“During the invasion, we were in a normal trinary, the second star and elementals were behind us. Our StarCaptain was eager to win kills and would not wait; we ran into an untenable position. He was first to die and Patrick, in his first Shadowcat, was field promoted to StarCommander. He led the star’s other survivors against the units around them until they managed to return to our field base.”
“Wow. So how come I dreamed that?”
“I do not know, Padraig. There is no logical way that you could remember what you have never seen. Maybe it has something to do with the cloning that produced Sean.”
I hate the thought of cloning, much less that I am the offspring of a clone. I hope they are wrong about clones having no soul... but if they are right, does that mean I have no soul either? Alexis does not believe in souls anyway, no good asking her. A new line of thought rises...
“Did Patrick and you ever... well, I mean the original Alexis, did they ever do it?”
“Do what?”
“Mate?”
“Clan warriors do not mate, we are born from iron wombs, products of our clan’s eugenics, centuries of others before us making us stronger and better.” There’s a barn full of pride echoing in her voice.
“So they never have sex?”
“Coupling is allowed as a means of bonding, it is sometimes encouraged to strengthen some of the combat relationships between males and females.”
“What about love?”
If Alexis could chortle, she would have just done it... whatever the sound she made was, it was derisive.
“Emotional attachments associated with coupling and mating are for lower castes and Inner Sphere denizens.”
“And I am a...?”
“Person who is trying to gain insight into physical and emotional matters from an Artificial Intelligence that does not have such insight for rather obvious reasons.”
Touche.
“Well, you never answered my question. Did Alexis and Patrick ever couple?”
“I do not know. They were close, but I do not know more.”
“Did Patrick ever couple with someone after you were installed?”
“The only person he may have coupled with was an Exile officer named Samantha while they were both on Solaris. It is unlikely, considering how much he loathed the Exiles, but some of their interactions before he knew her true identity could have been consistent with their having coupled. My assessment is that it was a remote possibility, not that it was likely.”
Solaris. The nearly mythical planet where ‘Mechs fought like gladiators in massive arenas.
“What was Solaris like?”
“It was insane, both at the arenas and away. The Clans were represented, but there was no honor in the arena.”
“Were you there for the ‘mission’?”
There’s a long silence.
I’m about to ask a different question when she starts, “Yes. The Exile Khan, Phelan Kell, met Patrick there; that was the original reason we were sent. The ‘chess board’ is what Patrick called it. He knew his piece and moved where Khan Ward placed him, as others also were moved. A large portion of my current capacity came from a chip that was ‘given’ us by another ‘dezgra’ from the Ghost Bears... an original chip from the Star League itself, a bit of what is called ‘Lost Tech’. If this ‘Mech is ever destroyed and you survive ejection, take the chip with you; it is attached to the base of your chair in a hardened blue box. Take it or it will self destruct. It is not only my core now, but also it carries the heart of the mission.”
She’s silent again.
“I...”
“To our Clan it is a partial restoration of what was taken. If Wolf is not reunited by now, the true Wolves will want what it has.”
“Yes, Mam.”
“There is one other thing to take, you might want to add it to your pistol belt.”
“The dagger?”
“Aff, very good. It was a personal token from Khan Vladimir Ward to Patrick, to prove that everything he had done was at the Khan’s request. The only reason Patrick ever agreed give up everything he cherished and accept ‘disgrace’ was that he was willingly serving the Wolf Khan... hence there is no disgrace.”
I pull out the box and lift the dagger; the blue stones with their veins of golden flakes hold my gaze for a few moments.
“Kerensky’s Dagger... the sheath encrusted in true Terran Lapis is what identifies it.”
I look at the relic and wonder... who was Kerensky, why is the dagger significant, and what are the real reasons for all this subterfuge?
“I don’t understand. What was the mission?”
She does not answer immediately, if she were human, I would think she was deciding if she should answer me, if the time is right or I’m actually worthy.
“Patrick was an emissary, a go between. Our Khan could not approach the Exiles directly, we had sworn revenge. By the same token, none of our warriors could be trusted by Exile Khan Phelan Kell not to force a trial if they came face to face. Any emissary would have to prove himself or herself before they would be allowed close enough. Everything Patrick endured, giving up his rank, branded dezgra by our own people, rising through the mercenary life, showing talent and courage under fire, and finally proving he could think and act somewhat independently, all these things must have appealed to Phelan Kell who was himself an ex-mercenary leader of the Kell Hounds. The fact that Patrick was a blood-named warrior who was continually sacrificing his own honor for his clan... well, to the Exile leader, that was exemplary and proved trustworthiness.”
“But if they hated each other, what was so important to go though all that?”
“Our legacy.”
“I don’t get it.”
“When it became apparent that Wolf would lose the Refusal War, the Warden Wolves followed Phelan Kell and became Exiles... and they took our entire genetic legacy. The surviving Crusader Wolves had to fight through being the nearly absorbed Jade Wolves and then reestablish the right to be the true Wolf Clan. Wolf fought for and won a new genetic legacy, but we never forgot that hundreds of years of our original legacy were lost to those who left. While Patrick did not get the legacy itself, the star league chip now contains the complete DNA maps for every genetic sample it contains... all the way back to Nicolas Kerensky himself.”
“Wow...”
“The token of Kerensky’s Dagger was how Patrick would prove his right to stand before the Council and reclaim his honor if Khan Vlad died before the mission ended. The fact that my records could validate most of his claim would no doubt have limited the number of votes in opposition, though a Trial or two might still have been required.”
“Wait a minute, would that mean that if I show up with the dagger and your chip that I might have to fight a Clan Trial?”
“Yes, Padraig.”
“Hey, I thought you said I would have no chance in a Clan Trial!”
“If you survive to come face to face with the Wolf Council, you will be ready.”
“Excuse me?!”
“What is wrong, Paddy?”
“Don’t you ‘Paddy’ me! You have been trying to get me to take this stuff to this Wolf ‘Council’ all along, knowing that I’ll probably get wacked along the way!”
“Why did you save me and the ‘Mech if not to keep Patrick’s hope alive?”
Why did we save the ‘Mech? Why hadn’t da and Sabby and I headed for the woods and let the stupid thing blast itself into the hells? We didn’t know what we were doing, would we if we had known? Da would still be alive, he would never have known he was a clone, and we could be happily hunting or fishing our way through the wilderness.
“So because I’m a Carns, I’m supposed to risk everything for the family honor of a man that even da never knew?”
“Actually, you are not a Carns. The right to that bloodname, like any other, has to be won in Trial. To the Clan, you would simply be Padraig.”
“What!?!”
“Only those who have earned a bloodname have a right to it. You have not.”
“And you think telling me this is supposed to inspire me to try to fulfill a ‘mission’ that I’m not even a party to? To risk myself for some dead person’s glory when they would not even think I deserved the same family name?”
“It is the only chance you have to become a Wolf yourself.”
“What? Why would I want to become a Wolf Clanner?!”
“Why would you not, Padraig?” She does not sound arrogant now... frighteningly, she sounds confused, as if it never occurred to her that I wouldn’t deep down harbor an ambition to become a Wolf some day.
I, however, am stunned, completely wordless. The magnitude of our folly hits me like a landslide, sweeping away the few unmovable objects left in my life. I’m seemingly adrift in a world I do not know, moved by forces beyond my control. The most familiar part of my current world is the very piece of equipment that caused our ruin, left by a man who would probably never even acknowledge either da or me as his kin. Despair flirts with the edge of my heart, but a quiet determination grows unexpectedly and pushes it back away.
I look at the dagger, then at the other contents of the box. The metallic band taunts me with the emblem of that cursed snarling Wolf; I want to smash it, grind it to dust, at least throw it as far away as possible. I lift it, notice that It has some kind of engraving, and let my curiosity get the better of my frustration. Printed simply beneath the Wolf and stars are, “Tiber Sibko - 3018." Beside and at a right angle, a large code is stamped, running nearly the width of the band, “YY1492114A”.”
“His codex,” she answers quietly, though I haven’t asked.
“Tiber Sibko - 3018?"
“Tiber is the planet and ours the primary MechWarrior sibko there. He was born in 3018.”
There’s some fine engraving on the opposite side, tiny words that I have to get the light just right to read at all.
“Is this stuff about him?”
“The codex contains information on both the genetic origins and Clan accomplishments that Patrick Carns could claim as his own. The codex records his birth, his service record and known Trials, everything up to the point that he was sent on the mission and became dezgra to the rest of the clan.”
“No, I mean the engraving... the ‘Remembrance of Clan Wolf’ bit.”
“I do not know what you mean, sir.”
I read it aloud,
“And never forget that help may come
From the most unlikely of quarters
And success rest upon the shoulders
Of those kept shadowed until the time of need.
-- The Remembrance of Clan Wolf, P222:6 Lines 11-14"
“I am sorry, Padraig, I do not know why that quote is there, it is not part of a standard codex.” After a pause, she continues speaking as if considering, “it could have been applied to him had the mission succeeded.”
“Or to me if I complete it for him.” I scoff.
“Yes, Padraig, it could also apply to you.” There’s no derision, just a simple acknowledgment.
Would I really want to become a Wolf? The clans are evil tyrants, aren’t they? And what would be the point of just donating my genetic material? If there’s nothing more to life than just being a cell donor, wouldn’t it be better to just have a good time? These and similar questions have plagued me since that night. I’ve wrapped the dagger’s stone-covered sheath in a strip of leather to hide its meaning, but I’ve begun wearing it anyway.
I’ve finished filling a hole in Tiger’s left thigh armor with welded metal. It’s not as strong as an original panel, but we are out of patch material. Tiger’s almost ready, it’s fully armed with long-range missiles and the pulse lasers, the torso fully armored and the right leg at 100 percent. There are just a few spots like this last one that need filling and it will be as ready to go as this bay will allow.
Zuzan and I seem distant. We aren’ sleeping together and I’m often awake late wondering what I could have done to become so shut out.
She won’t tell me what’s wrong, when I ask all I get is “if you have to ask, then you aren’t the right one for me.” It hurts to look at her or be around her, her smile’s gone completely.
We no longer practice sims together, I’m reduced to the old drills... ones I now seem to attack with a vengeance. I’m in the same building with her every day, but I find I’m missing her warmth even more than I miss da.
I secretly hope that a spring thaw will come soon and we can get out of this place. I know I’m horribly restless and at least a little cranky myself, perhaps we’ll be better after she’s able to get out and try her ‘Mech. Will it work well enough to get it to the Lake Oodai mechbay or is there something I’m overlooking? I don’t think she’ll be very happy with me if I manage to get her out in the middle of nowhere and her ‘Mech breaks down.
“Do you know what today is?” the question’s asked brightly by a voice I find hard to associate with Zuzan’s recent behaviour.
I turn and see her just beaming with pleasure. Oh, it’s so good to see her back to being herself. My breathing shallows and I just want to wrap her in my arms and endlessly kiss her.
“No, Zu, what is today?”
“Sweet sixteen, baby! Its my 16th birthday! Today I get whatever I want because its my birthday!”
“Happy Birthday, Zuzan!” I’m genuinely excited for her and hope this is the turning point our relationship needed.
“We get to relax today, you make dinner for me this evening, and tonight we make love.” She pronounces this last with an emphasis that’s beyond demand, it’s a command.
My heart fails within me. I miss her so very much, how can I say no to her when I want her excruciatingly and need her to come back?
My face must have fallen, because she’s defiant, “it’s my birthday, I want you for my present. All of you. It’s time for you to act like an adult and prove that you really love me.”
My heart’s pounding, it’s hard to breathe, but I have to speak the words that are crowding to be heard, “Honey, I’m not sure I am an adult yet.”
Surprised, she replies with a seemingly sincere curiosity, “I... well, how old are you?”
I hesitate, then almost whisper, “Sixteen.”
Color drains from her face, a violent anger flares in her eyes and she speaks with the most threatening voice I think I’ve ever heard, “if you’re not mine by morning, then I expect you to get out of here.” She rests a hand on her holster and continues, “I am adult enough to shoot you if you don’t.”
This all seems surreal, like some insane melodrama. There’s so much I want to say, so much I wish I could put into words. Her face becomes vengeful; she spins on her heel and stalks away. I’ve ruined her birthday. How long has she planned this? Is this the woman I love? Correction, the girl I love?
I climb down from Tiger’s leg, cross to Rocker’s and climb to the cockpit.
“Alexis?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“How can we move out of the cave?”
“You are wanting to make it to Lake Oodai before spring to complete the repairs or your quarrel with Zuzan has passed the point of no return?”
“I hate it when you don’t have personal advice, but you have too darn much personal insight.”
“I am sorry, Padraig.” I wonder if there’s some subroutine she uses to do that, but she really does sound sorry.
“So can we do it?”
“Aff, Sir. You have very sophisticated means of generating enough heat, the lasers are perfect for that and the cooling system distributes that heat so well that the Raven can essentially become a large heater. It will take a while to get clear if the whole valley is drifted too deep, but you should be able to accomplish it in no more that a few hours.”
“We’ve been here too long. Whether I try to fulfill the mission or not, we need go.”
“Is she pregnant, Sir?”
“No, Alexis. But she’s insisting that either we mate tonight or I leave, and has seriously threatened to shoot me if I don’t choose either. I chose to leave.”
“You have been practicing for months, do not underestimate your skills with your sidearm.”
“She’s breaking my heart, but I’m not getting into a gun battle with her... I could never shoot her. Would you rather that she shoot me and then try to take possession of you?”
Silence.
“Are we otherwise ready?”
“All we need is for you to be in the command couch with your appropriate equipment on.”
I think about the situation for a few minutes. If there is any hope that I can work around this, I want to... I just can’t give up without one more try. I climb down and walk to her door.
“Zu, may I talk with you please?”
“Did you decide to give me what I want?”
“No, Honey, but...
“Then LEAVE!”
“Happy Birthday...”
“Get OUT!” I imagine there’s a sob at the end of her words, but I can’t be sure.
“Open the bay door, please, Alexis.”
I feel the place vibrate as the monolith shifts closer and begins to rise into its cavity above. In front of me there’s a wall of dirty white.
“Alexis, monitor the comms, please, and let me know if she calls.
“Aff, Sir.”
“Clear the safeties on the lasers, Mam.”
“Aff, Sir. Clear to fire.”
Both lasers reach out, melting huge cylinders through the snow. I keep the triggers pressed, before long, my heat’s nearly unbearable and I throttle up enough to come in contact with the snow. I imagine I can hear sizzling all around as snow sublimates to steam. The gyros say I’m pushing against something, but that it’s giving way.
“We are clear of the bay door, Sir.”
“Thank you, Mam. Please close it.”
“Aff, Sir.”
Our temperature’s going down rapidly. I squeeze the triggers again, the bright laser beams making the snow glow in wondrous ways. The rear view shows that the door’s almost closed. Zuzan didn’t come out to say goodbye or to try to stop me. She wants me to go. I feel a yawning emptiness that seeks to suck me into its oblivion... but I must go on, even if it’s to die doing something that Patrick couldn’t do either. In my heart, I wish she would relent. Even now, if she called and said she was sorry, I would forgive her and go back.
I’m on a thin layer of snow interspersed with sun-drenched stone and brown grasses. One last turn and the windswept plateau opens a semi-snowy vista before me. I turn northwest and throttle up. If I maintain 70kph, I’m a few hours from the Lake Oodai mechbay. Settling into the chair, I let the gentle rocking soothe my loneliness. Maybe a new adventure is what I need, maybe I just need change. Wherever the road leads, it feels like I’ll never be back this way.
“Looks like winter’s almost over, Alexis. Let’s see what spring brings.”
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 15 2008 10:08:39 |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 14 2008 : 03:49:06
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Chapter 10 - The Battering Ram
The tumbled ruin in front of me must have once been the Lake Oodai mechbay. Alexis has been unable to contact the bay if it’s hidden nearby and this structure, built into a sandstone bluff, is about what I might have expected in terms of location. There are no remains of doors, gantries, cranes, or storage; the place has been cleaned of salvage. There are, however, tall narrow cavities on either side of the opening and what might be the linear depression a rail would have sat in... exactly like the ones the doors back home used.
“Well, it looks like it was picked clean.”
“Aff. There is little to investigate, sir.”
I click the map up and look for my next objective. I’m at a point where I can choose one of several routes, there’s a cache about eighty kilometers north, another about 110 to the northwest, and a mechbay about 150 kilometers slightly south of due west. The two northern routes commit me to the shorter more northerly route, but it’s mainly in the storm shadow of the ice cap for almost 500 kilometers. The mechbay route, however, leaves several choices open for a while and does not appear so vulnerable to late winter storms. It will, however, lead away from my goal a bit before it heads north again.
“Have we gotten the weather yet?”
“Yes, I caught the sat rotation before we entered the hill’s shadow; I got the forecasts for several locations along possible routes within a day’s travel, along with as much of the news as I could get from that satellite.
“May I see the forecasts, please?”
“No problem, Paddy.”
Nearest storm is days out, but there are high wind and blowing snow warnings for much of the area I would cover on a northern route.
“Looks like the southern route makes most sense. I think the mechbay near... hmmm, looks like a town on the sat, but no name. Do we have a three meter view of the area to the south of that next mechbay?”
“Aff. Zoom on the bay?”
“Aff, to ten meter first, please.”
“As you wish, Padraig.”
I’m certain it was a town; many even lines forming a mostly even grid with a few lines that run off at angles.
“Three meters on six by nine, please.”
The map zooms and now it’s obvious: whatever the city once was, it’s a ruin now. Destroyed structures and cratered roads appear to be all that survives of what must once have been a pretty good sized town.
The bay appears to be about six klicks north of the farthest extent to the damage, and I notice that at least it has a name: Oakland Refuge Mechbay.
“Well, I think that’s where we need to head,” I say and throttle up.
“Did Patrick like music?”
“Aff, he loved it, though he might disagree with you about what is considered music.”
“Did he have any favorites?”
“It depended on his mood. There were pieces he liked that are what you might consider Clan Rock, but he listened to recordings from ancient Terra far more often than modern music. He was especially fond of Irish artists from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries like Altan, the Chieftans, Seamus Ennis, Eden’s Bridge, Paddy and the Shee, Sean Galway, and Shannon’s Echo. In battle, he preferred tunes like The Battering Ram that he would loop to use the driving rhythms for a combat groove.
“A combat what?”
“Let me show you, sir.”
A raw driving drum line with a floating tone weaving through it flows through my hearing like a soundtrack to the swaying of a running ‘Mech. It’s an infectious tune, I push the throttle up and match the rocking with the beat... we are doing a cool 120kph. I can imagine combat dancing with my timing set to this and am sure I would be better able to fight.
“Most Cool! This would have been excellent against the FireAnts. What are the instruments?”
“A pair of non-electric folk instruments: a wind instrument called a ‘flute’ for melody and a drum called a ‘bodhran’ for the percussion.”
The longer it plays, the more enthralled I am. “This is SLABBED! Let’s use it next time I get into a dancing fight.”
“As you wish, Paddy.”
“So this is acrostic music?”
“If you mean ‘acoustic’ music, then yes. Have you never seen folk style musicians?”
“No, Mam, but I want to hear more of this kind of stuff.”
“Aff, Sir. I have his library and can play what you wish. You may want to back off the throttle for now, though.”
“Thanks for reminding me, mam.” The addictive nature of the loop is captivating and I could easily have let my myomer burn itself out with a constant run before I tired of the endless dance. We slow back down to seventy.
“How about these for this pace, Paddy?”
She changes to another complex tune that moves along with the stride quite well and I find myself bobbing my head keeping time with the music.
“Most Jix, Mam!”
“Cool, Paddy.”
“You said ‘cool’!”
There’s a smile in her voice as she says, “obviously, you are a bad influence on me.”
I wonder what granpa would say about all this.
“CTC! Two klicks, multiple lighter units, all with Blakist identifiers.”
There’s smoke above the trees in that direction. I throttle to zero and click the map up.
“Three meter on us, please.”
It enlarges and I see eight... no, nine... well, quite a few more still. They appear to be moving along a corridor from left to right, quite oblivious of us. Several appear to be crossing derelict buildings, perhaps they are choppers; others are sticking to the street centers.
“Convoy?”
“Not likely, the choppers are not in the right place to be protecting a convoy. Not entirely sure, but it looks a lot like a flanking maneuver. There is a fair amount of comm traffic from further into the city.”
“Can we take them?”
“Up to you, sir. We have the raw firepower potential, but if this is a... CTC, slower aircraft, probably bombers, on an oblique towards the smoke. They will be within 500 meters in 20 seconds.”
“Shut down now!”
The nose sags, the visor hud grows dark, and the engine stills.
“Risky move, Sir...”
“If they’re on a bombing run, they may be too focused to notice us; even if they do, they are probably too late to change their minds and bomb us. If we can maintain surprise on the column, we can kill some Wobbies.”
I can hear the bombers screaming low over the dreary wreckage of the city.
“Aff, Sir. Please note I did not say it was a bad move, just risky.”
The roars are even more pronounced.
“Aff, thanks.”
Now they reach a crescendo and I realize I’m biting my lip.
They’re diminishing. Now silent.
“Power on, please.”
The XL goes live and things wink back on. On the far side of the sensors, I can tell the aircraft are continuing, while nearer at hand the many lights are still moving as before.
Time to kill a few Wobbies. Throttle to a fast walk, right a few blocks, line up along a deserted street for the lead elements and forward almost a klick to have a clear view.
I watch them, noticing also that further into the town the ruins are far more metalic and the sensors seem to be having trouble.
“Got that music ready, Mam?”
“Should I start it now?”
“When I say ‘go’.”
“Aff, Sir.”
The first unit is a multi-barreled tank.
“Clear the safeties, please.”
“Cleared, Sir.”
I can see that the second unit’s a Myrmidon; I get tone on the tank and launch missiles, then swing the ERLL onto the Myrmidon and fire. The latter explodes instantly, and my missiles find the quadcannon and rip it open too.
“Go!” I laugh and throttle up. The music starts and I’m running to my right down a side street. The column has stopped except for the choppers, all four of which are headed towards where I was. The beat fits my sprint to a corner a klick on and I turn sharply left, gyros spinning to max as I fly around the corner. A few blocks and then left again, and back at the choppers. They should cross my line of fire about now...
The laser slashes the second chopper out of the sky, I’m flying right at them, get tone on the fourth and fire. The missiles fly true and chopper three turns directly into my next laser shot. The column’s starting to break up, I’ve turned left again and am running back towards my original contact position, with the lead chopper still trying to find me. Dancing to this music’s a blast as I zigzag through the buildings and come out within the small laser’s range of chopper one; a slice through its belly and the choppers are gone. I’m trying to reflank the column to the left while they are moving towards my original attack point.
“There are several new sets of comms that have gone into overload, sir. You have achieved a good surprise, but now we are likely to find out just whom they were reenforcing.”
“Meanwhile, lets tag as many of these as possible.”
“Aff, Sir.”
Again, I double back, this time against their left flank. Another myrmidon appears and it dies with a laser hit. I’m already circling back when I realize that four of the units are still almost where they had first stopped along original street. I dance towards them, they must be long range targets or otherwise too valuable to engage... so I should pay them a visit. The music drives me on, still flanking and still sprinting. They are looking the wrong way, four LRM carriers... ERLL for the second, missiles for the third, and I’m close enough now to small laser the first before darting closer to town to loop for the last of them.
“CTC, medium at about 1500 meters... there’s another unit close to it but it’s not identifying friend or foe... looks like a medium also.”
They are in the heart of the town, I wonder if the unidentified is the reason these units were headed around. I’ve come even with the last LRM carrier and swing my torso to get the shot while crossing the street... ERLL reaches out and blasts that Wobby to oblivion. Throttle push, maxed out, need to run enough to cool...
“CTC, Heavy, correction, two heavies, one at 1800 meters, but the other is under 800, nope, it is gone again, must be ECM. Several more of the nonaligned are showing also.”
“A battle?”
“Considering their movements, it is likely.”
I’ve moved far enough to cool and start to dance back towards the remainders of the column.
“CTC, a medium is moving towards our last fire position.”
“In a hurry or cautiously?”
I get a clear shot on another quadcannon and let missiles fly. Between all the practice and this music, I seem to be mowing them down with an unexpected ease.
“Rather quickly. 800 meters.”
Could I take a medium? I turn another corner and catch a myrmidon turning to try to meet me, I leave it exploding through molten armor. Two more of the original column left. The sensors show that the medium’s moving towards me, about 600 meters out. I’m sprinting away, until it is more than a klick back, then angling again... can I get it to come out and play? Do I want to? I’m sure of the ECM, so he must be guessing where I am for now. I loop wide to keep him at a klick and see that he’s slowing, again near the last location he would have had me on sensors. I slip along an alley and into a clear line of sight as I cross a street... a Bushwhacker!
“Scanned damage stats available on the medium.”
The hud displays a new set of bars and I can recognize the damaged areas instantly: the armor on left and center torsos and the left arm is badly damaged, and the left leg appears close to losing myomer, there’s no armor left on large sections of it.
The Bushie’s moving again, back towards the column’s last two units. I line up a street ahead of it and about 900 meters out of where I expect him... I can not afford to miss, and I stop and aim for the spot.
“Stop the music, please, Mam.”
It goes silent at just the moment I see my opponent clear a building... tone, fire missiles, he’s turning, I pick a section on his nose that’s blackest and fire the ERLL... The nose armor glows brightly and melts off. He’s headed for a building, tone, missiles again... nope, they hit the building behind him. I turn and run away from him, cutting over a street and watching him on the sensors. He had visual only, the ECM should have dropped me back off his sensors. The updated damage scan shows that he has no center torso armor and almost no left torso armor after my shot.
I want that ‘Mech, through an alley, across a street, another alley with a torso turn at the end, there he is at range, I fire, and miss...
“DRAT!”
“Hard to hit a distant target while strafing with a direct fire weapon, Sir; all the more so in a Raven, its movement side to side is so pronounced.”
I reverse and turn the corner, it looks like it’s about to turn. I stop, tone, missiles, ERLL, the nose in front of the cockpit explodes into flames, part of the cockpit ejects itself into the atmosphere, the missiles plow into the exposed structure, and the ‘Mech explodes, sending flaming bits of twisted scrap into a satisfying cloud of smoke.
I’m moving again, chasing the rapidly fleeing two units.
“CTC, Bombers again, they think they know where you are... two more, they will use the first ones to spot. Contact in ten.”
Full throttle towards the smoke plume from the Bushie.
Above the thmp, thmp, thmp, I hear the distant roar and dart right into a side street, left onto the next one over and left again at the next alley. The roar’s much louder, now the ground’s shaking and I’m distantly aware that there are remnants of the blasts’ concussions even here from ordinance that must be 500 meters away.
“Sir, do not let them close while you are between buildings.”
The second pair is angling more towards me.
Throttle up, right along the street, the roar’s growing, left at the next street, full throttle, it looks like they are turning to try to track me. I have a clear road in front of me, and I twist the torso around to face backwards, aiming for the sky. They will cross my line of sight any moment, but their arc will be wider than what they need to come over me,
MAN, HE’S CLOSER THAN I THOUGHT!!!! ERLL slices him open, but I can see the bomb already falling.
I’m turning the torso when the blast wave overtakes me. Suddenly I understand the effort that Patrick made to keep upright as Rocker is buffeted by the hypersonic concussion and its associated debris; the gyros are torquing at absolute maximum while the legs are trying to stay even with the accelerating torso. By a miracle or at least superior gyroscope construction, the Raven remains upright... until the other plane’s bomb detonates to my right.
I’m buffetted in the chair and the already overtaxed gyros are not enough to keep my top heavy ‘Mech from launching headfirst at a nearby building. The impact’s dampened a great deal by the structure just being a shell of hollow cinder bricks, but it still feels like I’m having a bad day with my harness trying to break my collar bones. Remarkably, while the wall crumbles, it does give me time to get my feet somewhat shakily under me.
“Ok, enough of that. Lets get out of here.”
“Aff, Sir. Minor damage to center torso and right arm armor, the bombs were just out of range to do more.”
“Music again, please.”
It starts, the drum line driving me and the flute thing lifting me, somehow. Throttle up to max, now clear enough of the ruins to see the bombers coming around for their second pass. Running right at them, tone on first, missiles away, ERLL on the second, missed it but the first is exploding, ER small catches the second as I veer away from the line and the bomb misses. I’m tracking it with torso, got tone, missiles again, and there’s only one bomber left.
“Sir, we are being hailed.”
“Ok, please open the channel.”
“Who in the hells is out there?! Respond!!”
“Just someone who hates Wobbies.”
“Well, this is our contract and its our salvage! Stay away!”
Some thanks I get, almost makes me sorry I got involved. The final bomber’s lining up again, but I have tone and launch its death volley.
“I suppose you knew about that column that was flanking you?”
“What column?”
“Four choppers and ten or so quads, Myrmidons, and LRM launchers.”
“Say again.”
“Two got away while I was fussing with the bombers, but you are welcome to move to the southeast about 1500 meters from your battle and see for yourself. I also took out the Bushie you had obligingly dinged up for me.”
“Stand by.”
I veer north, and obliquely away.
“Why? I’ve places to go and don’t want to hassle with anyone as uptight as you are about your contract.”
“Might be worth something to you.”
“I’ll stay in comm range.”
Alexis comments, “Sir, if the bombers have relayed a vid of us, there will be more of them soon; at the very least the Blakists will send their fastest interceptors. Depending on orbital positions, they might even retask a satellite.”
“Aff, guess I should have been a bit more cautious.”
I back the throttle down to about 90kph and move a bit further away from the desolate city.
“Perhaps, but you did well, used you ECM to excellent advantage, and managed your heat well. Perhaps you cut it a bit close with the bombers, but you also took your time with the ‘Mech and at this stage, it was a good kill... Bushwhackers are tough even with that amount of damage.”
Man, does that feel good! “Thank you, Alexis. I appreciate your encouragement.”
“You are welcome, Padraig.”
“Unidentified ‘Mech, your claim’s confirmed. Probably enough salvage here that we can cut you in on something after all.”
“Could it be a trap?”
“Possible, though they may just want to hire a pilot. It may be worth considering getting some cash.”
I key the mic open, “I’ve got no place to sell salvage... could use cash or a job or two that will pay something, though.”
“Might be able to work something out, come down into town.”
“That might be a trap,” Alexis comments.
“No offense, Sir, but I’ll meet with one of you north of town. I like to keep my options open.”
There’s laughing on the other end, followed by, “well said. I like a man who knows when to be a bit more cautious.”
From the trees I see a laser loaded heavy walking up the hill. If he sees me, I’ll have only a second or so to choose to escape, the lasers are enough to melt entirely through my whole ‘Mech if he takes a shot.
“The ‘Mech is a Black Knight, very old chassis, I don’t think it was in your drills,” offers my companion.
“Thanks, Mam.”
The comms crackle to life, “well, pilot, you can see me. Care to return the favor?”
I key up, “well armed ‘Mech you have there, Sir. Black Knight, right?”
“Very good, and yes it means that I can probably cut whatever you are in into pieces if the need arises. But I saw the spread back there and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Neither I nor my unit will fire on you if you’ll come out and let me see who and what I’m dealing with.”
Well, I am kind of committed to this course. “Power up, please, Alexis.”
The heavy turns my way, I’m only 500 meters out. Throttle to a brisk walk, and though I do move in more of an arc as opposed to directly, I’m still heading that way.
“Very good, powered down, eh. Very nice.”
Clearing the obstacles and I’m immediately covered as he turns to stay centered on me.
“You did that with a Raven?! Brass stones indeed! I certainly have work for you if you can scout as well as you can disrupt.”
“Well, Sir, I guess it would depend, I’m probably average at best.”
“Hmmm, humility and courtesy... you might not fit in...” there’s hysterical laughter, and I would swear that more than one comm has been keyed.
“Damn right, can’t have no ‘Sir’ stuff.”
“Bayehd hay kiin gayeht yah intah duh hayalls tawkiin lak thayat.” I need a translator for him, the accent’s so thick.
Two more pipe up, but their language is too salty for repetition.
“Well, if I don’t fit in, I should let you get back to your salvage.”
“Mister, let me buy you a drink. You have a job.” On the sensors, his unit goes friendly blue, and four more at the very edge of my range do also.
“Hay, dayer bawss, ha baht uhss?”
“Buy your own,” he laughs and turns his ‘Mech north towards the Oakland Refuge mechbay.
I throttle to a matching walk and head the same general direction.
“Be careful, Sir,” Alexis breathes in my ear. “Mercs can be deadly fighters, but remember that it is money that brings them together and not common interest or even common morals.“
As if to punctuate her comment, one of the other units gets on comm and talks about getting a girl or two drunk for the express purpose of manipulating them into having sex. His language is as vile as any I’ve ever heard and his intent’s not far behind.
She continues, “When they know your age, they will probably attempt to manipulate you in one of many different ways that you would regret. Remember to deal with them as a pilot: you have survived and will take care of yourself. Whatever you have learned about such people, remember it now.”
This isn’t a bay like the one back home.
Set under a solid basalt cliff is a set of doors at least twice as large as any I’ve yet seen. They lead not into a room or bay, but into a massive gallery lined with equipment and full of people. Those appear to be shops, and there are more aisles in different directions, some large enough for ‘Mechs, others obviously for lesser traffic.
And there are ‘Mechs already here, most in good shape. The biggest is a Longbow, a veritable monster that reminds me of the one at the battle in Prontsi, though it didn’t look so big then in the recording. Next to it is the first Lightray I’ve ever seen that wasn’t pained Wobby White. The Black Knight stops in front of me and backs into a huge bay marked with a stories high number ‘5' painted in black across its back wall.
“Take number seven, next to mine over on your right. I’ll let you use my crew-chief until you find one you like.”
“Crew-chief?”
There’s laughter from several of the pilots, then the leader says, “the guy who manages your repairs and equipment.”
“Ah, sorry, Sir. I do my own repairs.”
“What?!”
Rather than try to interpret what’s said by the less appropriate speakers, I’m just filtering out what they say that’s vulgar or worse.
“Filter filter that, dumb filter filter. You’ll filter give us a filter filter name.”
I choose to answer the lead, “I take care of myself, Sir.”
“No wonder that ‘Mech looks so good. Ok, suit yourself, but I still want Jerry to talk to you. He gets things done and knows how the system works here. We don’t own the place, we just work for them, so it won’t do to piss everyone off.”
I’m about to turn into the number seven bay when I realize that every other ‘Mech is backed in. Doing the same, I face a medium in number eight that looks like it’s in the middle of major surgery. Both arms are off, there’s no armor and little myomer on the legs, and the center torso’s similarly exposed. I can’t even tell what it is, it’s so stripped.
The remaining merc units trundle in: a Catapult, an Argus, a Bushwhacker, and a Chimera. All are damaged, the Argus and Bushwhacker seem to have gotten the worst of the fighting, though I would guess that the Chimera’ missile pod’s totaled too.
“Visor up, please.”
I’m in ‘natural’ light again. A gantry swings beside my cockpit, shocking me at first. It takes a minute to realize that this is the route the other pilots are using to get out of their ‘Mechs; none of them are kneeling and climbing out the way I’m used to.
“Alexis, how should I park you? I want to make sure you aren’t tampered with.”
“Very good, Sir. You want me to secure the ‘Mech, so that would be your instruction, and normally it would be released only on your voice command with you immediately present.”
“That works for me. What does it do?”
“The cockpit is sealed and all energized points are electrified. It also sets a self-destruct if integrity is attacked and you are not able to regain control of either the ‘Mech or the lost tech chip.”
“Pretty serious, but we aren’t playing games, are we? If this is what granpa used, lets do it, Mam.”
“It is what Patrick used, and I will engage it when you demech. Remember that your age is not your disadvantage, just your reality. There is a small box on the left plugged near where the hoses mount. It has a panic button that Patrick could use to set an alarm off on the ‘Mech if ever he was in a bad situation. I should be able to direct any upset people to your location.”
I reach down and pull the box off its plug. Inside there is indeed a thumb-sized red button.
“Upset people?”
“Trust me, Padraig, when the alarm goes off, everyone in this gallery will be upset unless they are completely deaf. In an emergency, that group of people who want the alarm to end can be an asset to diffuse a bad situation. Patrick used it once, but it saved his life... his opinion, not mine.”
I pocket the box and am suddenly aware that there’s someone standing on the gantry, looking in.
“Is there any way to keep them from looking into the ‘Mech?”
“To block out light, the ferroglass can be double polarized to cut out the light, like this.
The canopy’s windscreen goes pitch black. Internal lights are the console and several other dials and displays. I stow my neurohelm and disconnect from the harness and hoses.
“Ok, thanks, Mam. Guess it’s time to get out. Canopy up, please.”
I pull a leather tunic over my cooling suit and stand onto the gantry. There’s a tall and rather imposing man standing just a bit back, watching my every move.
“Please close the canopy and secure the ‘Mech.”
“Aff, Sir.” Her tone is odd, flat and mechanical. The canopy sinks, seals and I see a set of tiny red lights begin to blink on the canopy edge.
“I’m Tyrone, head of Tyrones’ Terrors and pilot of the Black Knight.”
He extends a hand for a handshake; I extend mine and there’s a firm but unaggressive exchange.
Continuing, he says, “good, I hate shaking hands with a dead fish. You appear a bit younger than I expected.”
“I’m Padraig. If you think I’m too young, Sir, I can be on my way. I’ve survived with my Raven since I inherited it from my da; you have to judge for yourself if I handle it well enough for what you need.”
“Can you handle the sidearm?” he’s pointing at the pistol holstered at my side.
I consider him for a moment and try to remember all that Mike said about carrying firearms.
“If I need to,” I shrug. “Rather not need to though...” I look him square in the eye and quietly ask, “Do you expect that I’ll need to use it if I stay?”
He’s watching me carefully. “Probably not more than once. The garrison commander will want you to register a spent round before you get out into the rest of Oakland, you can fire one on the range at his office but...
“Wuht ehn da hayells? Heez juhs ah kiid!”
Tyrone raises a hand and the approaching character grows silent, though he continues to stride up to us. I would guess he’s my height, about a meter seventy, and probably about fourty-five or fifty.
I notice another pilot headed our way, probably from the Argus. Tyrone’s still looking me over and seems ready to speak again when a pair of voices below pick up...
“What the filter? Where’s the filter filter filter pilot?”
Hmmmm, maybe I should just ignore their foul language altogether.
“_ yeah, _ _! He’s a _ _ BOY!”
Ok, it goes down hill from there and I return my attention to Tyrone, who’s now grinning with a bit of a raised eyebrow.
“Not exactly your style, is it?”
“No, Sir, not exactly.”
“Whayell, Ahm Joe! Keyllehr Joe dey cawlz may!” I almost expect to see teeth in disarray when he grins, but except for the accent he seems as sharp as someone at a farmholders’ meeting.
“Joe’s my missile boater, that’s his Cat. Joe, this is Padraig. You two will likely be working together.”
Joe steps forward, hand out and we shake while exchanging greetings. He steps back again as a tall wiry man of indeterminate age walks calmly up. This one has an air of confidence just a touch removed from arrogance, an intelligent curiosity, and darker skin that emphasizes his intense eyes and friendly smile.
“My best brawler: Martin; the Argus is his domain. Martin this is...”
“Padraig, yes, I heard,” then to me, “don’t call him ‘Sir’, ok?”
Another handshake, this one a bit more aggressive at first, but relaxing when I rise to the challenge without making a battle of it. Martin nods approvingly and backs behind Tyrone. I can hear the offensive two coming up. It occurs to me that Martin’s the only one of the five who hasn’t commented on my age.
“Havin’ a _ hard time getin _ recruits, eh?”
“Hey _, can you even _ shave _ yet?”
Tyrone shrugs, “the redhead’s Wallid and the short one’s Idaho. We generally call them Wally and Spud. Be careful around them when they’ve been drinking. Like now...”
I am about to offer a hand, but theirs are firmly holding beverages and they just nod in my direction.
Tyrone smiles and finishes, “Ok, Padraig, lets get you checked in with the cops.”
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 15 2008 09:29:23 |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 14 2008 : 19:14:29
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Chapter 11 - Oakland Refuge
“You look a little young to be piloting a ‘Mech... or carrying a sidearm, for that matter.” The deck officer has the general look of someone who has been chewing on a lemon and is hesitant to the point of semi-polite defiance. “Your daddy know you’re out with the ‘Mech?” Ok, the semi-polite is gone.
Tyrone glowers across the counter at him and starts, “look I brought him in and I’m satisfied...”
“Sir,” I interrupt, “I can leave if you have a problem with my age, or I can prove myself with either the ‘Mech or the weapon. If you prefer something a bit more formal, I can handle a Trial of Grievance.”
Until I mention a Trial, he seems rather annoyed and bored... now he’s alert and wary; for that matter, Tyrone is too.
“What do you know of Trials?” the officer queries, his eyes fastened to mine.
I try to conjure up all the pride and arrogance I’ve ever heard from Alexis and blend it with every stereotype I’ve ever heard of the Clanners. “All that matters is I have Wolf blood and understand Trials. If you have a pilot and a ‘Mech you are willing to risk, I am willing to prove myself against them.”
The questioner is no longer alone, he stands as an older officer enters. This man is used to command, wearing it more easily than his crisp formal uniform. He waves the deck officer off, the latter sits back down behind the counter.
“Was that your Raven that came in with the mercs?” he asks while nodding briefly in Tyrone’s direction.
Hmmmm, I would have guessed they were enemies of the Wobbies, but could I have been wrong?
No use sweating it now, if I’m going to be in trouble, might as well get on with it, “Yes, Sir.”
“May I have your name, young man?” His eyes are penetrating and intelligent, and they never leave mine.
“Padraig, Sir.”
“Is that your whole name?”
“No, Sir, it is not.”
“What’s your family name?”
“I have not earned the Bloodname you ask for.”
He’s even more intense now; I’m only dimly aware that everyone else in the room hangs on our words.
“You’re not cauldron born?”
“I had natural parents, if that’s what you mean.”
“Do I understand correctly that you claim to be a free-born descendant of a Bloodnamed MechWarrior of Clan Wolf?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Would that Bloodname be ‘Carns’?”
There’s little that has really surprised me lately, but this is obviously an exception. There’s no point denying it; I allow myself a big smile, as if to honor his astuteness or observation skills.
I nod, answering, “Yes, Sir.”
He smiles too. “You caused a bit of a stir with the WoBs a few months back.”
“I suspect that I caused one today, too, Sir.”
He looks at Tyrone, I can tell there’s no love lost between them... one appears the consummate soldier and the other the irreverent independent merc.
“He took out a column of armor, a lance of choppers, a flight of bombers, and a wounded Bushie. All Wobbies, of course.” Tyrone’s answering the unasked question with a flat honesty.
“Excuse me, Mister Tyrone, I missed two of the ground units, I didn’t get the whole column.”
Both look at me, Tyrone grinning and the officer still evaluating.
“Can you handle that pistol?” the officer queries.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’ll need a round before you’ll be allowed to carry it in into Oakland proper. Please follow me.”
I rise and follow him through a door. We walk down a long cool hall of slightly polished stone, the echo of our boots and the rustle of our clothing are the only sounds louder than my heart. It occurs to me that I’m alone here, no one behind us, no one before. I wonder if we’re actually going somewhere to fire my weapon. He turns suddenly at a low doorway and motions me inside. If it’s a trap, I’ve already come too far, but I won’t be grabbed and thrown to the floor.”
“You’ll forgive me, Sir, but I am not inclined to give you my back, at least not at this time.”
“You are a wolf cub, aren’t you?” he grins, turning and striding ahead of me into a long shooting gallery.
Thirty meters out from a series of stalls are bull’s-eye targets and stylized human silhouettes.
“Pick your target and expend a round, please.”
I’m still a couple of meters back from the stalls, but I reach down, pull the pistol from the holster, bring both hands to bear, and fire at the chest of the farthest visible human target. It’s a smooth, controlled movement; one that succeeds in catching the officer a bit off guard, though only for a second or so.
“Unexpected, but quite in keeping.” He’s evaluating me.
A uniformed woman walks through the doorway unannounced, hands him an envelope, and walks back out. The contents fall into his hand, a single sheet of paper and a bullet much like my own... if not actually the one I fired. He considers the note and the round.
“9.2mm armor-piercing depleted uranium, entered 3cm left of bull’s-eye.” He’s reading for my benefit, or at least my response. When I say nothing, he continues, “why are you with those mercs?”
“I came upon a column of Wobbies, Sir. It happens I strongly dislike them and took out a bit of my hostility on them. The fact that they were actually flanking the mercenaries endeared me to the latter. I was offered a job, and I could honestly use some cash for supplies and a change of clothes.”
He continues to consider me, it’s a bit unnerving.
“You dislike WoBs because of your father or what they did to your home base?”
“Either will do, Sir.”
“I’m Colonel Harper. I know that one Patrick Carns piloted that ‘Mech or one very much like it in several planetary defense roles including the fall of Prontsi many years ago. I know that our command was certain that he was at least a former Wolf Clan StarCommander. If you have a fraction of what our records report as his skill, I can believe that you did indeed kill the WoBs that Tyrone claimed, even if you are just a teen. But I’ll warn you that you are in bad company with them; everything you say or do will be greeted with suspicion, all the more so since you are somewhat related to the Clans. With the exception of the black Argus pilot, they are pretty much a bunch of lawless troublemakers who can drag you down with them. If you need a job, I can find it for you.”
“While I appreciate your offer, Sir, I’d like to think about it. I’m not looking to join a garrison, Colonel, if that’s your intent. I’ll heed your warning as best I can, and I promise to steer clear of trouble while I’m here.”
“You intend to leave soon?”
“I only want a job or two, then I need to find a way off-world.”
“Care to tell me why?”
“No, Sir, I don’t think that would be wise.”
He’s evaluating again, taking my measure, “What if I can arrange a way to leave? One that would get you to Republic space?”
“I can’t reveal why, but I can say it doesn’t jeopardize anyone here.”
He nods, “Fair enough. I can still offer you work for a chance to get off-world.”
“Let me think about that, Sir. How will I get back to you if I decide to find out what you’re offering?”
“Just tell the duty officer or the deck officer, they’ll get me.”
“Thank you, Sir. Any other advice?”
He laughs, “Jared the arms-dealer has good equipment, most of it used, at reasonable prices... I buy from him. The mechanic’s union is the place for crew-chiefs, ask Erl who’s the best available... they get spendy, but if Erl recommends them, they’re worth it. The Orion Exchange is the fairest gold and valuables exchange here, if you have something personal to sell or want good investment pieces, they’re the ones to see; and they convert credits to gold and vice versa; no real c-bill accounts out here, credits work the same, though. Nothing else comes to mind right now.”
“Any good bootmakers?”
“Either you’re older than you look or you’ve worked hard already,” he’s chuckling as he says this, “my cobbler’s Lady Annette in the Upper Quarter.” He indicates the glorious pair he has on and finishes, “I’ve had these for four years, I wouldn’t want to go into battle without them and they are good enough to wear in the office or walking my rounds. Hope that helps.”
“It certainly does. Thank you very much, Sir.”
“You are most welcome, Sir.”
Oakland Refuge is a small city unto itself, with everything from the fancy Upper Quarter homes and shops to the far less desirable Basement where the poorest laborers and those who wish to be more unnoticed reside. Cut entirely into the dark volcanic mountain, it does seem to center on the huge ‘Mech bays. I would guess that it originally was just the main bay, some of the smaller rooms adjoining it and part of the Basement. I’ve been told that there are almost 8,000 people here, mostly descended from survivors of the ruined city of Oakland I so recently fought in.
Tyrone has tried to get me to bunk with the drunks, but after a courtesy review of the quarters I declined; aside from the residents, the smells of stale smoke, staler beer, unwashed laundry, year-old leftovers, and vile unnameable aromas nearly forced me to retch. I was considering sleeping in Rocker, but Martin would have none of that and offered me his sofa until I can get something of my own. There was one condition, that I behave honorably... not sure what he means by that, guess I’ll find out soon enough.
In the mean time, I’ve found the exchange and traded my gold bar for credits, ordered a pair of boots from Lady Annette that are the match for the Colonel’s combats, bought a comfortable leather jacket and a few cotton and lynen shirts from a used goods shop in Third Level, and picked up some fine new lynen socks from a clothing store on The Mall. It’s been months since I’ve had enough clean socks, and I could not keep myself from splurging on seven pair of the finest socks I have ever seen.
Finally, I’ve met both Jerry and Erl. Both think I’m a bit loopy to want to fix my own ‘Mech, but both also seem to have a bit of respect for my actually knowing the basics of how to accomplish those repairs. Much as Tyrone and the Colonel do not see eye to eye, there’s a tension between Jerry and Erl, but there’s also more of a mutual respect. Jerry has been curious about what the Raven has, both what shows and what’s not so obvious. Erl looked like he knew from the moment he finished a walk-around that there would be unanswered questions and was courteous enough not to ask them. He also agreed that when I can afford a union crew-chief that it won’t held against me if I do any of my own repairs in the meantime.
“There you are; my place is over here.”
“Cool, Sir.”
“You need to drop the ‘sir’ bit. I’m Martin or Marty.”
“Fair enough, my friends call me Paddy.”
“Done, Paddy. Looks like you have been shopping.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He stops, an annoyed look dominating his features. “Excuse me?”
What have I done wrong now?
“You seem locked into that word, Paddy. It brings up bad history, don’t go there.”
“I’m sorry, S... um... Marty. I was raised to be courteous and polite or I was ‘corrected’ rather convincingly. Look, I have a few credits, I can find a place if this is going to be uncomfortable for you.”
“I’ll try to work with you, but work on using that word around me, ok?”
“I’ll try... Marty.”
He grins and we start walking again. Now we are facing a plain door in the stone hallway. A light hits Martin in the face for a split second, there’s the faint sound of rollers and the door opens.
“Got company, you decent?” he calls out
“Of course I am. Oh, and you are LATE, old man!” a woman’s voice hollers from within.
Marty has a look on his face like ‘this is home’ and walks ahead through the doorway.
“What’s for dinner, girl?”
“Should be cold fish and beans with lots of overcooked vegies.”
Martin makes a face as we walk further back into the rooms and closer to the woman’s voice. “You know I hate that.”
“Yeah, well, I did say ‘should’, now didn’t I? I have stirfry shrimp and vegies in the wok ready to cook, and I’m working on a rice flat-bread.”
Marty turns right into a large well appointed kitchen and kisses a pretty young woman on the forehead as they share a hug.
“Sonia, this is Padraig. Paddy, this is my daughter, Sonia.”
“You bringing home strays again, Pops?”
I offer my hand, but she looks me over like I’m the mangy lost dog at the animal shelter.
“No, girl, he’s a pilot we found today.”
Her look is far from approving as she addresses me, “don’t you go getting drunk and throw up all over my house, you understand?”
“No, Mam. I don’t intend to drink, much less let myself get into trouble with it.”
“Manners?” She looks at her da and then back at me, “well, won’t that be a welcome change? Aren’t you a little young to be a real pilot?”
“If it had been an option, I would rather still have a home and be convinced that chores were a waste of time and term finals just too hard.” I shrug and continue, “as it was, I either became a pilot or died, there was no option to wait until I was older.”
“Your family?” She’s not poking fun now.
“I saw da killed, don’t know exactly what happened to mum. My home was erased down to blackened bedrock.”
She gasps at the revelation. “I’m so sorry, Padraig,” she finally says; there’s compassion there, and kindness. “Don’t mind me, if daddy says you’re welcome here, you are welcome.”
“That dinner was excellent, Mam.”
“Why thank you, kind Sir.” With this last word, she smirks at her father.
I see him flinch at her dig, but he does not reproach her.
“Tyrone says you get some of the salvage from that column, two complete PPC units and an LRM rack that survived your onslaught. He can convert them to credits if you don’t want the gear.”
“Yeah, I think the credits would be a good deal this time, Si... ummmm, Marty.”
Sonia giggles and Martin shakes his head while looking both disgusted and relieved.
“Oh, if you see a ‘Mech you want in our salvage list, we usually have a seniority pecking order... you’re newest, so you’re last... anyway, you can buy any unclaimed salvage ‘Mech... or any other salvage for that matter... for what the arms market’s offering.”
“Works for me, any way to see the list?”
“He will get you one for the next trip, today’s is gone except for the three pieces he held for you.”
“Ah, understood.”
He looks over at Sonia and says, “I offered him the couch for a few nights. He promises to be honorable; if he isn’t, feel free to kill him.”
“I don’t know,” she glances briefly at me and then retorts to her father, “he’s young and almost cute.”
He gets a half glowering, half smiling look and she duplicates it back at him.
“Watch yourself, Paddy, she’s in that practical joker mood... when I shut my door, you may be in trouble.”
“Maybe I should sleep in my Raven.”
She sticks her tongue out for a moment, rolls her eyes at the both of us and says, “honestly, the two of you. I’m going to bed, good night.”
They both stand and embrace.
“Good night, baby girl.”
“Good night, old man.”
“Night, Paddy,” she winks and heads back into another area of the residence.
“Night, Mam.”
Martin leads me to a small sitting room with a long comfortable sofa.
“Your bathroom’s in there,“ he points, “and bedding in those drawers.”
“Thanks again for the dinner and the flat place to sleep.”
“You’re welcome. Good night.”
“Same to you, S... um... Martin.”
I discover a tear running down the side of my face. I’m lying on my back on the sofa, covers pulled up against the cool darkness. I miss her, badly. Should I have stayed? How could I? She really meant it, she would have shot me. The ache inside grows, I can almost see Zuzan’s face. Wouldn’t dying have been worth it to prove my love for her?
I’ve been on the roller coaster for months, but being close to her at least left me with some hope that she’d come around and we could be a couple again. My unwillingness to do what most guys my age would have probably done that first night makes me wonder if something’s wrong with me. Yeah, da brainwashed me pretty good, Zuzan wanted me and I have to honestly admit that I want her... why isn’t that enough? Why do I have to make something perfectly natural into something more?
Yes, da trained me well: man’s more than a fancy animal, more than some highly complex primate. We do not mate like horses or dogs, males covering females in season. Sure, many are willing to sink to that, but a real man does not.
But Zuzan might have married me. Surely that would make everything ok. Maybe da was just too old fashioned, things are different now than they were when he was growing up... this is the thirty-second century, after all.
Are we really adults? Just because I don’t feel like one, I am sixteen. In cave-man days, I would be a father already, probably already have a couple kids.
I hurt a lot. I miss her. I wish I could die. Sleep will never come too soon.
I’m lying in a bed of hay, the spotted gelding is looking over a stall railing. There’s an occasional sound of horses breathing and a distant hint of swallows in the rafters. The hay’s warm and I’m at ease. A shaft of light shines down through one of the upper windows; playing through the air currents, bits of dust and the occasional bug to illumine something just beyond the stall door. I sit slowly, letting the smell of ripened timothy and alfalfa fill me with a sense of restfulness and peace.
Now I’m aware that there’s something behind me. Without turning, I’m facing away from the light, and there is Zuzan in all her beauty. She beckons to me, but something’s odd, she’s not herself... her smile is wrong somehow. Now I see it, she has evil looking fangs like a somal. Her motioning’s inviting, but I’m suddenly afraid... and like smoke in a wind gust, Zuzan’s face is gone and a somal’s vicious head replaces it, still on her body.
It’s no longer just motioning for me to come to it, but slowly advancing.
I want to scream, but there’s no sound.
Her fingers change and now look like the big cat’s long deadly claws.
Turning, I shove the stall door... must find a weapon, must hide.
I step into the circle of light on the floor and my fear leaves. Looking back, I see only shadows... the horror that was pursuing me is gone.
“Why are you afraid, Paddy?” I know this voice, but no face comes readily to mind.
“There was a beast pursuing me, Sir.”
“The beast is always pursuing you.”
“I don’t understand, Sir. I see only shadows.”
“Shadows are the beast’s natural habitat, it doesn’t understand the Light of the Cosmos, and so it fears to come forward.”
“Why did it appear to be Zuzan?”
“Because you are hurting and must grieve your loss. You chose the right thing for both of you, but the cost will be pain over the separation. Grieving is part of healing; it promotes learning and appreciation while lifting an otherwise permanent burden.”
“Why did she do that to me?”
“She has broken ideas of the truth about love. She has believed a lie, and because the lie seems easier to control than truth, she’s loathe to choose truth.”
“Should I go back and help her?”
“No. You will not be able to heal every broken person you care about. Zuzan’s no longer under your protection, she must make her own choices now.”
It’s warm here and a gentle spring breeze stirs past my face.
“Have I grieved for Da?”
“No, not yet.”
“Why did all this happen to me?”
“Because it has.”
“I don’t understand.”
A cloud outside must have crossed the sun, the warming ray of sunlight fades a bit; it’s still peaceful here, but a bit cooler.
“He’s gone, Paddy.”
“Da?!”
“Yes. Wake now, son.”
“But there’s so much I want to ask...”
“I know, son, I know. Wake up now.”
I’m lying on a strange sofa, a dim night light illuminates the room just enough that my eyes start adjusting. At first, the scene’s unfamiliar enough that I wonder if I’m dreaming again. The longer I lie here, though, the more obvious it becomes that I’m in Marty’s spare sitting room.
I’ve been lying still for a long time, sleep has left me like night flees a bright summer sunrise. I don’t hear any sounds of the others waking, but I’m no longer able to stay down. I reach for the light and look around.
There’s the small chest that holds the linens. ‘Linen’, I wonder if that word’s somehow related to the ‘lynen’ fabric that I like so much. Beside that is a simple chair and a small set of shelves with various relics on it... several pieces appear to be colorful minerals and I walk over to look closer at them. There’s a fist sized nodule of turquoise. That one is a block of malachite, with one side polished. There’s a beautiful blue stone that looks a lot like lapis lazuli, missing only the iron pyrite veins. Finally, there’s a nodule with long thin silvery crystals.
I look at the shelf below it and realize that behind the glass there are actually books there. Everyone now uses computer pads and such to read, but these appear to be printed materials, the kind of things that people would have used before electricity. A lot of folks have book bindings on an empty shelf for show or to hide something else, but I’m pretty sure that these eight large volumes and ten more smaller ones are real. I squat down to read the labels, some are in other languages, but more than half are titled in common English.
The large volumes include: On Food and Cooking, Third Edition; two copies of The Holy Bible, English Standard Version; War and Peace; and a massive tome entitled Principles, Strategy, and Tactics: Crucial Lessons From the First 10,000 Years of Warfare;. The smaller volumes are: The Art of War; Mere Christianity; Elements; Celebration of Discipline; The Nature of Color; and The Definitive Anthology of G. K. Chesterton.
Part of me wants to hold a real book in my hands, but another part of me knows that things this valuable are surely off limits.
“See anything that interests you?” Marty asks as I nearly jump out of my skin.
He starts laughing, it’s a booming joyous event, worthy of something better than my being scared witless. He manages to gasp out between guffaws, “I’ve never seen a white man jump so high!”
It’s a true fit of laughter, he doesn’t look like he could stop if he wanted too. I’m about to head for the door when Sonia appears in a deep blue robe, looking a bit disheveled. Her yawn implies that her da has just woken her up, and her semi-confused look says that she has no clue what’s so funny.
A full minute has passed, tears are streaming down Martin’s face as he rocks with belly laughs, and Sonia has caught an infection of giggles, probably at her father’s apparent loss of control. I feel so stupid, I must really look bad. Oddly enough, I’m struggling not to join in the mirthful plague.
With a final chuckle, Marty stops laughing but the smile that now governs his face is more pleasant than the laughter ever could be. He looks over at Sonia, who nods, then back at me.
“Feel free to read any of those, just don’t take them anywhere else.”
“Really? Wow!”
“Have you never read from a book?” Sonia asks.
“No, Mam. School assignments were always loaded into our pads.”
“Ah, that’s too bad. Please feel free to read all of them.”
“Well, maybe one or two of the little ones. Which do you recommend?”
They look at each other and there’s more to this than meets the eye... very much more.
It’s Martin who answers, “have you read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War?”
“No, S... Martin.”
He smiles at my effort, then continues, “it’s a good primer on strategic and tactical basics, almost an anthology of axioms on warfare.”
I reach down and pull it out and the volume next to it comes out also, in gold letters on the leathery surface it proclaims, ‘Mere Christianity’ and in slightly smaller letters, ‘C. S. Lewis’. I note that the former volume looks almost new while the latter seems worn on the corners and edges. I look up and catch a flicker of emotion fleeing from Marty’s features... Sonia, however, has an almost expectant look, a rather strange expression even more unidentifiable than the blank that Marty has become. I slide that book back into its place and at least imagine that my host has relaxed a bit.
I open The Art of War, glance down at the page it opens to and read a few lines.
“Jix!”
“You do realize that you turn the pages, as opposed to scrolling?” Sonia looks like she’s being facetious.
“Yes, Mam,” I answer, while resisting the silly impulse to give her the raspberry.
She looks at the shelf, back at me, and smiles. It is a beautiful honest smile, though I do think she knows something I don’t.
“How do you like your steak?”
Sonia’s standing at the kitchen door, she has just gotten the same information from Martin and is now focused on me.
“What are my choices?”
“Rare, Medium, and Well.”
“Um, medium, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“When we could afford steaks, we always barbequed them until they were pink or past inside.”
“Medium-well. That works, thanks.”
I’ve spent the day wandering the shops that are scattered throughout the Oakland Refuge. While there are quite a few oddities, the greatest surprise was that my boots were ready this afternoon; now that I have them on I’m sure I’ve never felt better footwear. Made of a oddly supple thick black leather called ‘Dragon’s Skin’, they fit like socks, support like the finest work-boots, and feel like they’ve been a missing part of my feet and legs all my life.
I’m seated in the sitting room reading The Art of War. There’s something odd about the experience, as if I can imagine others in the last several thousand years doing exactly this with the exact same material. Humans for millennia learned from ink on paper without the benefit of pictures or embedded links, somehow I find the need to focus on what’s said helps emphasize it.
Pungent aromas of searing meat and savory spices are wafting through the rooms, complimenting the distant sizzle.
Martin walks in, comes over to me and quietly informs, “Tyrone wants us ready to walk at 0500. We have a raid worth 100,000 credits each plus a potentially excellent salvage split.”
“Any other intel on it?”
“Nope, just a WoB target with ancillaries.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Good.” With that, he walks back towards the kitchen.
I return to the book, there’s an undefinable urgency lurking in my mind, I feel like I’m cramming for a major exam and there are going to be pass/fail questions on all the material that this relic records.
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
Edited by - CMOpatrick on Mar 15 2008 09:04:47 |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 15 2008 : 14:41:50
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Chapter 12 - The Scout
“This is our target,” Tyrone announces as the
holograph illuminates.
We’re in a small briefing room just off the main bay. The image is a large building on a lightly wooded hillside. There are several ‘Mech-sized bays slightly upslope behind it, but it appears otherwise unimposing.
“This is a tech raid, we’re to clear out the defense and secure the perimeter for the choppers to come in and let the experts do what they do. Our ground salvage team will be behind us, they sweep in and grab whatever’s useable of ‘Mech or weaponry nature and we cover their retreat with the resources. As usual, we swing wide to avoid a direct route back.”
We are now looking at a three dimensional map with at least ten meter resolution that shows the target and our current position. The destination’s southeast of us, about 150 kilometers out. The route down and the preferred path back are both marked, they follow fairly clear valley routes, perhaps even too predictable.
“What’s our target, Sir?” I ask.
The holograph of the building is back, though a bit less zoomed to show a long wall around most of the area.
“There are at least four ‘Mechs now garrisoned here and there may be an assault in the group. Calliope turrets are believed to have been installed along the wall since the last time we dropped in.”
“Sir, may I know the target?”
Wally and Spud snicker as Tyrone looks my way.
“No, pilot, you may not.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped, my face feels warm and I have a sickening feeling in my stomach.
Tyrone returns to the briefing, “I expect that their air assets will be on the scene faster, just knocking out the generators for the turrets and the radar will probably not slow them down this time. Furthermore, it’s possible that they now have redundant power supplies for their defenses.”
It’s the first time since I’ve been a pilot that I’ve been treated like I’m supposed to just do what I’m told. It’s not fair. They’ve been here before, but I haven’t; I have a need to know.
“It’s also likely that they have minefields out along possible jump routes or where you,” he indicates Joe, “like to play.”
Joe nods.
“Marty, take Spud and be ready to come in the back gate, Wally and I’ll take the primary generator, then join you.”
Marty nods as Idaho angrily injects, “man, why do I get stuck holdin’ the _ gate and _ Wally _ gets the _ _ fun? No _ way! It’s _ _ and...”
Tyrone angrily stares him into silence; at least he was just rude to me, not so plainly pissed off. He glares at Spud in an oppressive silence that seems to last far longer than reality allows, then slowly turns to me.
“Paddy, I want you out in front when we get close, sweep for mines or any possible electronics.”
I nod, watching intently.
“Once you reach about a klick out, circle around this side,” he uses his finger to point out the area, “and try to find any power signatures that may indicate a secondary power station. Don’t come closer than ECM allows to the wall.”
“Yes, Sir.” I hear Marty catch his breath, but continue to focus on my instructions.
“There are old power lines here, and more conduit here, if they are hiding something back in the hills, these are the most likely places to bring the power in. If the turrets don’t go down when we trash the generator, our survival may depend on you finding and destroying the backups.” He’s looking right at me, the unasked question hanging between us.
“If it’s there, Sir, I’ll find it.”
“Good.” He smiles for a moment, then is back to business.
“Once we have the power down, Joe, choose a good spot to cover the mechbays, any assault is a priority. The four of us will go in for the kills. Paddy, I’ll need you to establish a good position to spot any reenforcements and kill any bomber support that comes into your range.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
“Damn it, Padraig, stop calling him ‘Sir’ already.” Martin has been trying to control himself, but the dam bursts and his frustration comes out.
“Paddy, I’m not an officer.”
I remember something from the lumber mill. “Would ‘Boss’ be ok?” I ask.
Marty and Tyrone exchange glances, Marty grins and Tyrone nods, “yes, that would be fine.”
“Ok, Boss.”
The hungover two are snickering again, but none of us seem to care.
“Once we have control, Wallid and I’ll cover the front gate, Marty and Spud the back one, Joe, pick a spot to cover either, but stay close enough to the wall that the bombers won’t get a clean shot this time.”
Joe’s looking a bit sheepish.
“Paddy, you need to keep a sharp lookout. In the past, they’ve attacked us at either or both gates, but we don’t know where they came from... that’s your job, to see them coming and give us an early warning. Don’t try to engage ‘Mechs or heavy armor alone, close air support and light armor are ok if you can still do the job of being the early warning.”
I nod when he looks my way.
“Look, I’m sure you’ve fought well alone, but this is a team effort. I can’t afford to count on you if you don’t think you can handle it.”
All eyes are on me, even Wally and Spud are looking for a sober assessment.
“I have your back, Boss.”
“That’s all I need to know.”
“Do we have a three meter on the target location, Mam?”
“Aff, and more up to date than this one,” Alexis replies. “True, ours is closer to the edge than this one, but this is a ten year old map.”
We’re walking along a shallow stream bed, about fifty meters east of the road, doing a comfortable 50kph to make life easier on the other ‘Mechs. The rest of the mercenaries are about two klicks back, also in or near the stream bed. I’m trying to review the tactical map Tyrone provided, thinking I’ll possibly find any secondary generators sooner if I can get a hint of where they are.
“He must have ground intel to know there are turrets, his map shows nothing.”
We change maps to my three meter, zoomed to about 100 on the target, but it seems out of focus.
“You are in trouble, Padraig.”
“Why, what do you see?”
“Well, I do not ‘see’ anything, but the area has been blurred to hide details.”
“The whole area, or just the target.”
“Well, this is the target,” she highlights a section, “and it is gone. However, for your search for power, if they are correct about where they are, most of the rest of the area is clear.”
“Most? Just ‘most’ as opposed to everything else?”
“There are two other nearby areas that are not detailed: here, and here.” With each ‘here’, she marks an area, both within about ten klicks of the target.
“Does our ten meter hemi have details?”
“Not for the target or one of the two others, but this part is clear.” The ten meter shows and she zooms to full resolution on an area she has highlighted. There are six small buildings and one very large one; a line that may represent a wall or some other form of perimeter, and a single road leading out...”
“Please zoom out one order.”
The map pulls back and I see that the road follows a winding stream through what look like hills. It finally runs into a main road that happens to approach the target from the south. It’s really hard to judge the hills from this perspective and magnification.
“Is there some way to exaggerate the geography, make the hills like two or three times taller than they are?”
It happens before she answers, “like this, Sir?”
It’s perfect.
“Yes, Mam, that’s great.”
I notice that the blurry target seems to be at the foot of a long hill.
“Ten meters on 17 by 4, please.”
It zooms in on that hill and the blurry spot.
“May I see the same area in the three meter?”
The image sharpens over most of its surface, but the blurry spot over the target has grown slightly.
“Three meters on 6 by 12, please.”
The hill is wooded, but there are a few more open areas, places where the trees thin or animals have over browsed.
“Are any of those thinner areas high enough to have a clear view of the target?”
“Aff, very likely.”
Tyrone has given me two different sequences to reach him on, I key up the private one, “Sir, I may have found a location that would let me look at the target from a safe distance. It would give us current visual intel, and it should be safe by ECM. May I go on ahead and check it out now?”
“Can you be ready for your role before we arrive?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Don’t be offended, but please tell me what I asked you to do first.”
“Be out in front looking for mines, early warning stuff, electronics... basically scouting out in the lead.”
“Very good. We still have a while before we can get there, if you can be there and back before we are about ten klicks out, then you may go.”
“En route, Sir,” I reply, throttling up.
I’m standing in a thin grove of oak-like trees, their few remaining withered bronze leaves sway in a dawn breeze. The hillside has a southern exposure and the snow has melted away to dirty patches filled with leaves and bracken. It’s a beautiful place, but I’m not here for the beauty.
“Full magnification, please.”
“Aff, Sir”
Through the barren branches, a fortified compound is painfully clear. It has a high wall that looks thirty meters tall, though I suspect that’s some trick of the light. From here, there are twenty turrets visible, and the ‘Mech bays Tyrone showed us are at least twice as big.
“Can we patch this through to Tyrone?”
“Not securely, and if they are scanning the frequencies, they may find us on signal alone before we get finished.”
I’m about to turn when I see it for the first time, the huge hulking shape and the garish skull of an Atlas. It’s on the far side of the compound, right along the wall... and the wall is taller. Hmmm, beside it are two smaller ‘Mechs, a Stormcrow and a wide armed medium.
“What is the ‘Mech on the right side of the Atlas?”
“According to my records, it’s a Men Shen: very good ECM and speed, that one appears equipped mostly with energy weapons. Patrick never encountered one, so I can not give you more info than the technical readout has.”
It looks fast, almost like a Shadowcat.
“Sir, there are three buildings there that do not appear in the tactical map.” She shows me the tactical and I see she’s right.
“We need to get this vid back to Tyrone. If he’s expecting it, well, fair enough... if he isn’t, then he can decide what he wants.” With this, I turn back for the team, accelerating until the little Raven’s running along at about 100kph.
It has taken almost twenty minutes to get close to the rest of Tyrone’s Terrors.
Keying up the private channel, I hear an odd tone.
Alexis actually laughs... then, “he is using one channel for all private connections and currently has that one dedicated to a conversation with someone else; that tone is called a ‘busy signal’. I will loop on it until we get through.”
I’m really unsure if I should turn and resume my original position in front of the formation, or if I need to just run on back to him when I hear him key up...
“Yes?”
“At least twenty turrets, a larger mechbay, three new buildings, and I had visual on an Atlas, a Storm Crow, and a Men Shen. I have vid if you wish.”
“Good work. Send it.”
“Alexis?”
“Sending now, Sir.”
“While that’s transmitting, Sir, I may have located a pair of ancillary sites of interest, one’s likely the secondary power.”
“Where?”
“I’ll send you a marked up three meter, gold circles on the locations and subsection of a ten with what I think’s the power station.”
“When did you get a three meter?”
“Both sat maps were pulled last week, and they were not that old then. Wobbies have deliberately blurred out three locations, including the target, within about ten klicks of each other.”
“How did you get a current three meter sat?”
“Sorry, that’s my secret.”
“You’re full of surprises.”
“I’m the scout, I try to prevent surprises.”
“Cute. Now get back to work.”
I’m back to my lead role in the creek bed. Water soundlessly swirls around the thigh armor with each step, and mini-eddies trail out in front of me on the faster current.
“I’ve looked this stuff over, and you did well, Padraig. Can you get to the possible power station without being detected? If I read this right, they no longer have a main power outside the wall... but the power substation they now have inside’s too small for their normal needs, much less the added defense load. I’m pretty sure that the three buildings you saw inside the wall are the backup power and your buildings to the southeast are in fact the new power source... it’s far enough out that we wouldn’t go looking there normally, and there’s no other reason for the blur. If the turrets stay up, we are not going in; even without the Atlas, they would eat us alive. By the way, I grant a bonus for these maps, you have already proven yourself valuable, before you even get to the battle. Good job, scout.”
“May I ask a question, Sir?”
“You can ask, doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
“Doesn’t it look like they’re waiting for us?”
Silence.
“I mean, there are no gantries or stands, and the ‘Mechs aren’t knelt... if they’re not at least already piloted, wouldn’t their command recognize it as an unacceptably long potential delay when they need to get pilots into them? And since those are out in the open, might there not already be others I could not see hiding next to this side of the wall?”
“Can you find out?”
“Probably, Sir.”
“Where did you shoot the vid from?”
“Alexis?”
“Sent, Sir.”
“Ok, we’re going to that location. I want you to try to find out if there are more units on the near side of the wall. Rendevous with us at that location. I need to adjust the battle plan and we’ll hold up there. If something goes wrong and we’re not there, return to base as best you can.”
On the general sequence he comes on, “change of plan, gents. We are going to take a bit longer and stage from a different location. Got some updated recon and need to review the options.”
“Got it.” I think that’s Marty.
“Werkz fer me.” Joe, unmistakably Joe.
“Sir,” Alexis says, “I have been scanning comm frequencies, there’s another sequence that just went active.”
“Huh?”
“Well, it just ended again, but it was close and in the direction of the other mercenaries.”
“An early warning post?”
“Or a traitor.”
I key up the secure channel again, “Sir, there may be an early warning post near you, there was just now traffic on another sequence.”
On the general channel, “all units halt.”
On the secure, “frequencies?”
“Alexis, please send him the list.”
“Aff, Sir.”
On the secure channel, “Padraig, did the signal start before or after I notified the group of the change in plans?”
“After, Sir.”
“Did you detect it earlier when you passed this location?”
“No, Sir.”
“Do you have sensitive enough equipment to identify a specific source at close range?”
“Alexis?”
“Aff, Sir. We are equipped to identify source locations if we are close enough, we just need to eliminate nearby possibilities.”
“Yes, Sir, if I’m close enough to be sure there are not two possibilities in the same direction.”
“Ok, return to meet my ‘Mech. Do you know what a tunneling connection is?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I want you to appear to be tunneling with me. I’ll then make an announcement. If I’m right, we’ll have a transmission on the unrecognized sequence shortly after. I want to know where it’s coming from.”
“En route, Sir.”
I run back at full throttle. There in the middle of the stream stands the Black Knight. To the west is Marty’s Argus and to the east Joe’s Catapult. The Bushwhacker and Chimera with Wally and Spud are a bit behind.
Back on the general sequence, Tyrone announces, “possible contact, spread out gents.”
I run up to the Black Knight and stand there in front of it for a minute.
Again, on the common sequence, “we’ve been discovered, gents. Let me figure a safe set of routes back to base before they get here.”
I sit in the silence, looking up at the almost ominous ‘Mech in front of me.
“Transmission, Sir,” Alexis announces. “100 percent certain it is the Chimera.”
“Sir, I detected a transmission from the Chimera.”
“Confirmed, I saw the transmission and got the same general direction.”
Alexis interjects in my ear, “there are incoming signals on the same sequence.”
“Boss, there’s an answer or something like one.”
“I see it too. Can you crack it?”
“Neg,” Alexis tells me.
“Neg, Sir.”
“Ok, I don’t want to kill him here, better to let them do it for us. I want you to go for the generator anyway. They’re expecting us to be turning, you may still get through. I intend to let Marty and Joe know that we may have a security breach and that I’ll be sending ‘Mechs on various routes to remove the potential threat. I want that generator down, the three of us will rendevous at your overlook point, the other two I’ll send back to Oakland to ‘meet us there’. I need you to head off the direction you came like you going back to track targets, move quickly...”
I turn Rocker around and start running away from him.
“... I’m sending you a sequence now...”
“Got it, Sir.” Alexis whispers.
“... I want you to maintain radio silence until you kill the generator, announce it on this sequence when you do, then head back for the rendevous. You will probably have more trouble this way, but if you get cornered, announce it and make your best speed back to Oakland. By the way, I’ll make this effort worth your while, even if we don’t get the target today.”
“Understood, Sir.”
“Good luck, Scout.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
“Alexis, I need the ten meter back up, center on the generator complex at full resolution.”
“Aff, Sir.”
It appears and again I note that there’s only one road in, from its southeast. The hills around it are pretty significant, the streams seem deep and the risk of waterfalls loom in my mind like monstrous phantoms; the memory of standing at the brink of Melo Falls on Dilly’s Creek momentarily engulfs me, and I’m sure I can not let myself get cornered that way.
The sequence Tyrone had given me crackles to life, “ok, each of you knows what’s up, this is a quick briefing to make sure you all understand what we are individually doing. I’ve sent the traitor and his friend back, but there’s a good chance that one of them will guess something and try to follow. Each of you will be coming to the rendevous by a circuitous route, one of you’s going to be doing double duty by attacking a crucial location and serving as bait to draw out some of the ‘Mechs. We probably are outgunned right now, but if they commit part of their resource to chasing our PITA, then we may have evened the odds...”
“Alexis, what’s a PITA?” I whisper while Tyrone continues.
“... enough to destroy them outside the walls. I don’t expect that we’ll get both generators until we’ve destroyed most or all of their ‘Mechs.”
Alexis replies over him, “PITA is an Inner Sphere combat acronym for ‘Pain in the Arse’; it is a distraction and harassment role.”
“... will need to move quickly, our only fast unit may be too occupied to come to our aid and distract nearby targets. Spot for each other when you can. Good luck all.”
I look at the map again, if they have blanked out that portion on the three meter, it means they must think there’s some point of concern, a weakness that the three reveals that the ten leaves out.
“Alexis, what would be dangerous and small enough that a three meter resolution has to be blurred but a ten does not?”
“Portable emplacements, armor, or ‘Mechs.”
“Could they be trying to lure us there?”
“That would mean they would suspect use of recent sats. The fact that we had not been provided with such leads me to suspect that the informant would have told them.”
“But would they trust the traitor?”
“No, probably not. If it is a trap, it is probable that they would not permanently commit a ‘Mech to the installation, especially with a base so near, but that armor and or turrets will be strategically deployed.”
“What if we could get just the power lines?”
“That would work if they are exposed. The three meter might show them, but it is unlikely they would leave such a critical target exposed.”
I look at the places Tyrone had thought might conceal the power lines, but none of them look remotely like they would lead to the power station. The one road in looks dangerous too, if they are sure of air superiority, they will not fear bombers and will expect any attack to come through there. What would I do if I could force an opponent to move through a fairly narrow area? Well, I would certainly make sure I knew he was coming long before I had a chance to attack, more time to get ready.
“Clear the safeties, please, Alexis.”
“Aff, Sir.”
I think about the power transmission, what would be the best route? How would I hide it? The more remote, the easier to hide while approaching to attack it and the harder to maintain or repair. So it should be easy to get to and out in the open, some place where it could be watched and easily protected. Hidden in plain sight, but not visible. Hmmmm...
Rocker’s swaying with the good pace, running about 100kph. No contacts, nothing unusual. I’m almost to the spot I originally looked down into the compound from, the hill has a good gentle slope and something of a view across the valley towards the road to the south that I’ll probably have to take. Is there something I missed? I swing us up the hill to my view and stop again. Is there a clue in the compound? I zoom in on it and look again. Mechbays, the target itself, the buildings Tyrone thinks are the power backup, two ‘Mechs against the wall... wait... the Atlas and the Storm Crow are still standing there, but the Men Shen isn’t.
I need to see inside the near wall, I’m certain that I need to see it now. The trees keep me from full throttle, but I’m at 80kph. I have a really, really bad feeling about this.
Following the same elevation across the hillside means I’m moving in an arc that will bring me within about a klick from the wall in less than a minute. I dodge a tree, then another, now a large rock, another tree, a metallic post... with a camera on top.
“CTC! That post just went active, Sir!”
I whirl the torso and the small laser slices the pole cleanly in two.
Bamm!
“You hit a tree, Sir.”
I slow down until I can reorient the torso to my line of travel, then throttle back up. I’m dodging trees again, moving uphill as I do, if there was one post, there may be others.
“How did it become a target like that?”
“Pressure or sound sensors are most likely, but there are a lot of possible options, Sir.”
“Didn’t you say the Men Shen has a good ECM?”
“Aff, Sir.”
“So we might not see him until he can see us?”
“Correct, Sir.”
I have a really bad feeling, like a rabbit noticing the shadow of a circling hawk...
Where is that ‘Mech?
I cross a narrow dirt track, running loosely south, then swing back to reintersect it.
“There is a transmission on the traitor’s sequence, Padraig... and it is behind us.”
“Music, please, Mam.”
We are running at full bore, branches from either side of the track slapping the weapons and torso, but not doing damage.
“Anything in particular?”
“Battle music, that ‘Ram’ thing.”
“The Battering Ram it is, Sir.”
The drum and flute fit the running footfalls of the speeding Raven and excitement and music lift me to ride a rising wave of adrenaline.
“Can we outrun the Men Shen?”
“Aff, we should be above it’s max.”
“Will it follow us if it finds our tracks?”
“Hard to know, it might head the other way.”
“Towards the rendevous!”
“Aff.”
“Give me the sequence Tyrone ordered on one.”
“Done, Sir.”
I key up, “do not reply. Discovered, rendevous may be hot. Men Shen not accounted for at last look and at least one unidentified target behind me. Proceeding to my target, lets see if I’m a reasonable PITA while I’m at it.”
“Sir, they will have a direction on you.”
“Aff, Mam.”
“A dangerous move, Sir, they may be able to head us off.” Oddly, though, there’s almost an admiration in her voice. “However, it is a good tactical move for a ‘Mech in your role, just as long as you know what you are doing.”
“We can hope.”
“More transmissions, same sequence and several others.”
The music has my blood up, I’m off the road darting through trees again.
“Well, we got all dressed up, might as well go dancing.”
I flick the map up, almost there, and flick it gone again.
A broad ribbon of concrete greets me with a hard jar as we drop a meter or so onto the surface. I swing south and am at full speed in moments.
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 16 2008 : 14:13:54
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Chapter 13 - Combat!
“CTC, two, no four choppers, two klicks 240 degrees, closing fast.”
“Got them, thanks.”
To one side a fast moving river makes standing waves where the big rocks tell the current to go around. The valley here has few trees, on both sides a short slope rises, ending in steep scree laden ascents to hilltops.
“Sir, there is a power signature here.”
“Mech?”
“No, power transmission lines.”
Where? Of course, under the road! In the open, defendable, not easy to see unless you are already exposed... why hadn’t I thought of it sooner?
The helicopters are getting closer, I swing entirely around, moving almost in time with the music, tone on the lead, missiles away, ERLL takes the second, they are taking evasive action, turned and running the other way, recharged and reloaded, dancing back, laser the third, the fourth is firing missiles, but there’s no tone, and they’re not tracking, I’ve run out from under them, tone myself, missiles away, small laser as well, sensors clear, turning,
WAIT! There it is, running as fast as it can around a distant corner, the Sha Yu! I’m turned and running again.
Around a bend I fly. Now there’s a straight klick of road and I rotate the torso to watch behind me... nothing there... still sprinting to the music... nothing back there... almost to the next turn, still nothing. I rotate back and take the curve, a broad bridge crosses the joyfully bouncing river just ahead. Pounding across it and up a little rise. There’s another bridge ahead, the river has done a left-handed horseshoe bend and crosses back... under...
Veering left onto stones at the brink and into the river, running as fast with the current as I can towards the bow of the horseshoe. Will it be far enough for ECM? There too quickly; I’m out of sight, but not safe. I move to where I just have visual on the first bridge I crossed.
“Shut down, please, Mam.”
“Aff, Sir.”
My visor rises. Nothing on the sensors just before they blink off... good, he has not gotten close yet. There’s a little bit of brush on the hillside in-between, but I can still see clearly enough to know I’m ok.
I wait, the sound of the minor rapids behind me is boisterous, but in the relative silence with the music off every heartbeat takes an hour at least.
There he is! The ‘Mech runs across the bridge without hesitation and disappears from my view. How long will it take for it to cross the rise and the next bridge? Will he notice where I stepped off and down into the river? I should have looked at the map to see how far it is to the next long straight section where he might guess that I’ve turned.
Could I take an undamaged medium?
Maybe I could slow him if I damage the bridge somehow and get him to fall in.
The bridge is the only thing crossing the river... no power lines above it...
“Alexis, can I destroy a bridge with this equipment?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Would the power lines be in the bridge somehow?”
“That would be logical, Padraig.”
“Didn’t Sun Tzu say something about attacking unguarded spots?”
“It can be translated that way in several places. Would you like me to look up any particular passage?”
“Do you have The Art of War?”
“Yes. It was required reading for all officers under Vlad’s command when we were in the 11th, and Patrick referred to it often since.”
“Most Slabbed!”
“I am glad you are happy about it, but shouldn’t you be doing something now?”
“Yeah, I’m going to blow up a bridge. Power up, please.”
“Aff, Sir.”
Nothing on sensors, he must be gone.
“Visor down, please, Alexis.”
It slides over my face and for that brief moment the only sense I have is hearing... there’s water all around, lapping and pulling at Rocker’s legs.
The bridge itself stands on three broad pillars, which hold it a good five meters above the flow. I’m about 500 meters out, zooming on the pillars, and calmly laying my reticle onto the center one. The big laser melts away a significant slice. Tone, missiles on the same... ERLL again and it completely disintegrates. Heat is rising, maybe I can find a spot out into the current that will help me cool faster but leave me a good shot. About five steps out, I’m submerged about halfway up the torso, sitting with my own head about a meter above water level. The temp’s down to nearly nothing, I take the right pillar with two laser blasts. There’s a distinct dip in the bridge deck towards the unsupported section. Tone on the left...
“CTC! Medium, 780 meters and moving fast, slowing now, he has us, Sir.”
...missiles away, ERLL...
“He is at the second bridge.”
I can see that he's moving slowly, cautiously now, sliding along on the far side of the river trying to get a clear shot.
I’m moving towards the first bridge, trying to keep the weapons clear so I can get the last pillar, but I step down into a hole just before I squeeze the trigger... a cloud of bubbles is all that comes of the cycle.
It looks like he has paused, he’s evaluating what I’m up to.
Moving toward the far bank and I’m clear; water still draining from every catch-place, I blast the final pillar. The bridge deck bows down under the weight of two unsupported sections, there are some kind of cables holding it together... the power lines...
My opponent has determined to just cross the hill and is coming.
I run for the west bank; once clear I’m sprinting for the west end of the bridge.
His lasers reach out from the hilltop and blast the spot I was just in.
“Music again, please.”
It starts and I’m in the flow... now stepping onto the road. He too is running for the bridge and trying to get a shot. I dance across the road to the bank on the other side and along the road in his sight, he’s coming at full speed. Surely he isn’t so stupid as to step onto that bridge for me...
I remember that Sun Tzu says a lot about enticing my enemy to fight where it’s to my advantage...
Pivoting, I bring the ERLL to bear and fire a quick shot, decimating the tree behind where he just was... but leaving him unscathed. Now I’m running down the road... and he follows for about ten seconds and the red dot stops. I turn and see the most glorious sight: there’s a huge gap between the two ends of the bridge. Fountains of sparks and bright arcs of light flow for a minute from the far side. I’m tempted to celebrate when I realize that the sensors say the Sha Yu’s still there, but it’s invisible to me. I run back to the edge and look down into the water. The ‘Mech’s upright, but apparently fouled by the remains of the bridge deck, the legs either very damaged or very wedged. I can see hands on the controls and throttle trying to get his ‘Mech to move or fire, struggling unsuccessfully to get the torso and arms to elevate enough to target me. His cockpit becomes completely exposed and I see a helmeted head look up at my nose... and into the center of my reticle. I fire point blank, feeling a brief pity for my enemy.
There’s an explosion and the eject pod blasts past me, leaving an image of molten armor freezing in my mind.
I turn west again and key up on sequence one, “Power cut. Sha Yu down. En route to rendevous.”
Unexpectedly, there’s an answer, “Ryo and Uller headed your way.”
“Alexis, what are they?”
“Ryo is short for Ryoken, the Sphere’s nickname for a Stormcrow. Likewise, Uller is their name for a Kit Fox.”
“Kit Fox as in the super fast one?” I’m already turning back east towards the bridge.
“Aff, Sir.”
Throttle to the limit, we are running away. One on one I can probably take a Kit Fox if I can dictate the conditions, but a Stormcrow with the Fox running distraction for it probably means a quick end of my career as a pilot. I want to get back to work with my team, but this is suicide.
I start across the river at the demolished bridge, glancing at the Sha Yu as I wade into the water. It’s lifeless, standing squarely in the middle of where the two collapsed spans had been. As I step on into the middle of the river, I discover that I’m in over my head, literally. The Sha Yu is taller than my Raven, so it had not occurred to me that the water is deep here... but it is. From my submerged perspective, I see things I’d missed from above. There are underwater cliffs on each side under the bridge that are taller than I am and there’s still a pretty good overhang from the damaged road.
“If I’m shut down close to the dead ‘Mech, will they be able to detect me?”
“Not on sensors, but if the Kit Fox gets into the water to investigate...”
“The lasers won’t work here, will they?”
“At very close range they will.”
“Oh. Well, I need to get back to help and I don’t know what trouble I was running into anyway. Sun Tzu says something about deception being important.”
“He says quite a few things about the topic, actually, but I would suspect you are thinking of ‘All warfare is based on deception’.”
“Yeah, that’s it!”
“CTC! Two klicks, medium on the road to the west.”
I walk us under the overhang, face the lifeless ‘Mech, and kneel mine.
“Visor up and power down, please.”
My eyes see natural light in the exotic submarine setting as the neurohelm exposes my face and the power quiets.
From here I can see that the damage to the enemy ‘Mech from the bridge collapse was actually pretty substantial: at least half the nose armor was shredded under the chin, the left arm’s laser housing’s crumpled, and the left leg has only bare metal below the knee... no myomer at all. Ripples on the surface play with sunlight; lighted forms as ever changing as clouds dance across the Sha Yu’s remains like ghostly mists at a midnight harvest dance.
I’ve been very lucky so far, the worst damage has been self-inflicted from the direct encounter with a tree. I can see that this Sha Yu’s equipped with two large lasers that would have totaled my Raven if I had not been extremely fortunate.
A large Prismatic Trout swims lazily past me, prowling for food with a mixture of the casual and the purposeful about it. Suddenly, the fish dives and I see it no more.
There are strange vibration ripples on the surface and a hint of a rumble over the noises of water and air. Now I can feel them distantly, a growing steady thump thump thump interspersed with quick bursts of bmp bmp bmp bmp. The water here must be magnifying the sound from the bank to the shell of my cockpit.
There’s a line where shadow and light play on the body of the dead ‘Mech, now there’s a hint of an extra darkness playing along the brighter side of that edge. A second, more stable one joins it, and the vibrations stop.
My heart beats quickly, each pulse measuring but an eternity. Breath becomes so precious that I hold it without a thought.
In the returning quiet a school of minnows venture between the Sha Yu’s chin and Rocker’s nose. They are nervous, moving slowly, then darting as a small cloud chased by an invisible wind, then slowly again. As they swim past the ferroglass of the cockpit’s windscreen, there’s a sense of normalcy, of things being as they should.
But the shadows are still long on the dead hulk in front of me...
A fast thump thump thump thmp, moving away... is it a trick? I would guess that it’s the Stormcrow, but which way is it going? The speed seems constant and growing fainter, surely it’s on the road, headed back the way it came. Suddenly the patter of bmp bmp bmp bmp dominates, starting with a burst, but it stays steady and is fading rapidly. They are either trying to trap me or they’re headed back to rejoin the battle.
Which is better to do, wait to see if this is a trick or run to assist my comrades? I have too little information...
“Alexis, were there configurations of the Kit Fox that ran any active probes?”
“No, it was not a normal package on that ‘Mech, since it was normally a fast response and harassment unit.”
“I need to know what’s going on, power up and visor down, please.”
The XL begins its familiar hum and as the sensors come on I see the distant red ping of the Stormcrow at a klick and a half out.
More troubling is the chatter on the newer comm sequence, they are engaged and fighting furiously.
“Lets go hunting, Mam. May I have some music again?”
“Aff, Sir.”
Throttle up, tempo up. Out of the water we lunge, water cascading off from every point it had collected, puddles splashing into existence on the sunny concrete.
On the road, running. The Stormcrow had gotten off of sensors, but it’s rapidly back; still running the other way, I’m not likely to overtake it for a few klicks at least. If the Kit Fox circles back, I’ll have to deal with it.
“Safeties still cleared, Mam?”
“Aff, Sir. Weapons all charged and ready.”
125kph, bouncing along, Rocker reearning its name. The sun’s high, and my spirits just about to peak. The others are having a hard time with the Atlas and several smaller ‘Mechs, if the Crow and Fox rejoin the battle, it will be over.
There’s the spot I came down onto the road.
I go another ten paces or so and it strikes me that they do not know what might be there, What would most distract the attackers? A lone Raven wouldn’t slow an Atlas and its support, it would take an entire Star of Wolves... or the thought of one... ‘All warfare is based on deception’... I swing right and up the slight slope.
“Alexis, please set up a complex sequence, at least one bigger than the usual number of channels, then assign it to two.”
“Done, Sir.”
I key up on two, “all units roll right 240, circle the targets until I clear you to fire.”
“You do know there is no one on this sequence, don’t you?”
“Aff, but they don’t.”
There’s a smile in her voice, “you will be a good Wolf some day.”
“Thanks. Which trigger has the targeting designator?”
“Pinky finger. I was wondering if you had forgotten it.”
“Nope, time to see if I can use it to good advantage.”
“You are indeed Patrick’s blood. Let’s earn some honor!” There’s pride and excitement in her voice. A moment later, “CTC! Two klicks, heavy on 330 degrees.”
Trees seem to be helping me to warm up for the dance I know is coming. Signal at two klicks, off towards the target; too much cover here, I can’t see it, but I’m headed that way.
“Sir, I have a signal on our original group sequence.”
“What?”
“Connecting.”
“Where the _ is _ everyone?”
“Which ‘Mech are you in?” I ask, the risk may be worth it.
“The Bushie. Where the _ _ are you guys? Spud’s gone, I’m still _ confused and that _ _ Tyrone ain’t _ answering.”
“Meet me a klick due west of the target, if you betray us too, I’ll cut you down myself.”
I dart around a huge stone. A klick out from my first target.
“Paddy? What the hell is going on?”
“I’m sending you a sequence, use it and I’ll tell you.”
“His gear may not be able to handle it, Sir.”
“Now is when we find out, send it.”
“_, ok. Just a _ second.”
“He is up on your command sequence.”
“Man, Paddy, it’s like dead quiet on the _ sequence that Tyrone gave me.”
I key up, “Wallid, Spud sold us out, we need you man, make all possible speed to us and talk on this channel all you want, it’s just you and me, the others are fighting hard.”
I hear urgency and eagerness in his voice, “coming man! _ _ coming _ hard, dude!”
There it is, a Thanatos and in the distance the looming hulk of the Atlas; the former’s circling the distant battle to flank.
Zoom on the Thanny, tone, missiles away... he’s turning to see me, ERLL, I have a reading on his damage, there’s little so far, but I’ve caught his arm and added a bit of color to his Wobby white. Scampering back into the cover, there’s another signal, coming up from the road side, about two klicks out.
“CTC! Two klicks, medium at 210.”
“How far from the target are you, Wally?”
“Fifteen _ klicks, _ ten minutes at full _ bore.”
“Come on, Sir, I need you here! We can take these Wobbies if you make it!”
“CTC! 800 meters, ECM probable on a light...” Alexis starts.
There’s a third contact, I’m running south and east, higher into the hills.
“Lost light...” Alexis finishes.
“Wally, I need you to rekey between every sentence.”
“What the _ for?”
“I want them to think I have a crowd coming. Trying to buy the others some distraction.”
“Dude! That’s _ _ great!” He rekeys, “you mean like _ this?”
“You have it, Sir.”
There’s the Thanatos again, he’s still moving around on the flank, but staying away from them and facing where I was! Tone, missiles away.
“What should I be saying?” “This’s _ _ weird.” “Hey _ Wobbies, come to pappa!”
Run, dodge trees, run, a tree behind me explodes, someone’s shooting. Turning and headed that way. I click over to the sequence Tyrone and the rest are on, they are in trouble still, but there’s something different, the Atlas is falling back towards the gate, Tyrone’s sure it’s hot and he’s trying to press for more missiles on it.
I key up, “PITA on the east flank, I can keep the Thanatos busy for a little longer if you guys need, but I have two inbound targets on me also.”
“Keep it up, PITA!”
I key back to Wallid’s sequence. “ETA, Sir?”
There’s an inbound missile tone, I sprint a fast run through some thicker trees, rightly trusting the ECM and the woods.
“_ man, when you call me ‘Sir’ I feel like I’m _ old or some _ thing.”
“Wally, I need an ETA.”
There’s the white torso of the Stormcrow, he takes a shot; twin emerald beams slice the air, but my dancing and the trees waste them.
“Five min, bro.” “How are they _ doing?”
“Joe’s banged up and the others are worse, but they may have the Atlas cornered. I have at least two after me.”
Indeed, the Thanny’s headed up the slope towards me.
“Coming, man!”
I turn due south and stumble across my dirt track again, turning, to 120kph and hope the ECM will help hide me. Half klick and I’m circling west again, the Stormcrow at a klick’s still moving east towards where it thought I was, out of the trees, there’s the distant hulk of the Atlas, closer is the Thanatos with his back to me; he’s back to trying to flank the combatants. The Atlas is ECM equipped, I have no sensor on it, but I hold reticle and get tone, missiles away even if they never hit...
YES! He must hear the tone, I see the monster start to turn. But I’ve been out clear too long...
BAMMMMM!!! The gyros are straining like nothing I’ve felt since the recordings from Prontsi. The left arm armor has been smashed, the small laser’s unresponsive. I’m back into the trees as the Crow gets his tone and launches... many arboreal denizens rue the day I passed them in battle.
“ETA two minutes!” Wally shouts.
“I need help taking this Thanny out, if I keep him busy, can you kill him?”
“_ yeah!”
I key over to Tyrone’s sequence, “Bushie coming in to help, I’ll keep him on my channel and kill him myself if he turns on us.”
“You better be right.”
I’m running north, trying to meet up with Wally without dying.
“I am, lets chat later, Boss.”
I key back to my sequence just in time to hear Wally exclaim, “oh my _ god.”
God. Somehow, I don’t think that if there is one that he would be pleased to be referred to in that manner. But if there is one, I could sure use his help right now.
BOOOMMM!!! A huge cloud of rock fragments erupts to my right. A quick glance in my rear view shows towers of smoke from tree-shaped infernos. Three on sensors. There’s Wally.
“Wally, if you can see me, the Thanny’s just west and I’m circling to get him warmed up for you.”
“I’m coming, dude!”
“Sir, we just lost Tyrone...” Alexis is quiet.
Something in my chest catches.
“But he got the Atlas.” She finishes.
The Thanny has turned and is trading fire with Marty’s Argus. I paint him with the targeting laser and fire ERLL... tone, missiles too... and there’s fire from Wally! The Thanny’s caught in encircling attackers, he looses his right arm, now his left. While Joe appears to have lost his left missile rack, he’s pouring missiles into the Thanny, too.
Inbound tone, I’ve been slacking and the Stormcrow volley isn’t lost... boom, boom boom BOOMMM... I’m rocked by the explosions and shards of my own armor fly by my view. This time the damage is considerable, and I appear to have lost the ERLL!
There’s a flash, the Thanatos detonates with enough force and near enough that I can feel it. I’m dancing to play the Crow into everyone else’s range, there it is, targeting laser makes its white paint glow in the woods like a rising harvest moon. I’m away before he can turn and settle his shot, wasting it setting another tree alight... he’s not so lucky, and Wallid takes the chance to move in while some of Joe’s rack of missiles fly true. The battle has turned but there’s a new ‘Mech coming in from the north...
“There’s a _ enemy Chimera coming down the hill!” Wallid yells.
“If you can take him, please feel free to do so, Wallid.”
The Stormcrow gets a muzzle full from Marty’s Argus and is falling... knocked over by the force of the blast. I can finally see that the Argus has lost its missiles altogether and the nose is blackened and smoking. But the Stormcrow will never get up, Marty fires again and there’s a satisfying explosion throughout the center torso. The Chimera has drawn first blood against Wally’s Bushwhacker, but its advantage will be short lived as Wally circles. I get tone and my missiles are away. Joe has a flight hit just after mine do and the Chimera topples from the force of the explosions.
“You _ _, back stabbing, _ pig, _ _...” Wally yells, likely forgetting that his traitorous former friend can not hear him on this frequency. However, he delivers the message at fairly close range in an entirely more effective manner, an alpha that blasts the cockpit entirely away.
I key over to the sequence the other two are on, “lets fall back to the rendevous, we should have a clear shot at the generators if we have enough missiles left.”
“Already got ‘em, Padraig.” Marty responds.
“Jix, S... Marty.”
Laughter on the comms.
“I’m going to give Wallid this sequence if you don’t object.”
“Do it.”
I key back to my sequence, “Wally, I’m sending you another sequence, it’s the one the others are on.”
“Sure, Sir.”
“Wally?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“You have called me ‘Sir’ twice... are you feeling ok?”
There’s laughter, then, “well, don’t get _ used to it... but thanks for letting me in. You’re ok.”
I change sequences to join Marty, Joe, and now Wally.
“Ok, so who’s in charge with Tyrone dead?” I ask.
“Dead? I doubt it, he looked to have ejected ok,” Martin responds. “You don’t look far from dead there yourself, Paddy... you have any operational weapons on that ‘Mech?”
I check. “Just my annoyance sized missiles and the targeting laser. Everything else is rather... er... gone.”
“Yew dew luuk rahthr fuhnnee lahk theyat.”
“Coming from someone in a lopsided whale, that’s almost humorous.”
“No _, man _ all of you look _ tore _ up.” Wally, in the only relatively undamaged ‘Mech, observes.
“Martin, you take the lead.”
“Why me? You do it, you don’t have to get into firing positions and you seem to have done ok for a kid.”
“Ah uhgree.”
“Me too, I’ll _ make it unimous.”
“You mean ‘unanimous’?”
“If that means we all _ say it, then _ yeah.”
“So we all agree that Marty does it.”
“No, you do it, Paddy.”
“Ah ment yew, kiid.”
“Me too. You _ get it, man.”
“Ok, well...”
What’s most important? What should I do?
“Sir,” Alexis offers, “you might consider securing the area as best you can, with the most intact ‘Mechs further out and the more damaged ones closer to cover. You are still able to perform your original orders, so you are now just directing traffic when they need it.”
“But I’ve never done that!”
“Neg, you have already done that, Sir; you brought Wally in on the critical target, didn’t you?”
She has a point, it wouldn’t be like being a TACCOM. Ok, most intact goes further out... that would be Wally.
“Ok, Wallid, I need you to take the gate on the far side if you can handle it.”
“_ A! Thats what I’m _ talking about!”
“Is that a ‘yes’?”
There’s a chorus of laughter and Wally says, “yeah, I got it dude.”
The Bushwhacker heads off.
“Joe, can you cover like Tyrone wanted?”
“Sher cahn, kiid.”
I honestly hope he just said yes, as the off-balance Catapult turns and trundles away.
“Marty, inside the near gate, prowling for anything that could be a problem and where you can support Wally if needed.”
“En route.”
I push up the throttle and bounce around to the other side.
“Alexis, how do I notify everyone that we are secure here?”
“No clue, Sir.”
“Anyone know how Tyrone was to notify the techs and our salvage folks that we are ready?”
“I got it,” Martin answers.
A minute has past.
“They are headed here, ETA on the techs is five minutes and salvage crews are ten out.”
“CTC! Slow aircraft...”
I can see them on sensors and key up, “Bombers, four klicks, 175 degrees. Try to save expendable ammo, use lasers if possible.”
I’m running to get clear shots. There are the lead pair, tracking the right one, tone, missiles launched, I have their attention. Flames, explosions, Got Him! Looking at the second pair, the first is almost over me and I’m suddenly running full speed east while tracking the right member of the second pair. The lead bomber has not been able to follow my turn and his ordinance makes a large crater in the fairly level plain. Reloaded, tone, missiles in flight, the first of the bombers explodes, someone else took him, while my target makes a flashy show of flames, ripping apart at the wing and then generating a huge fireball.
I can see the Argus using a laser on what had become the lead plane before it can even release it’s device.
“I need help here!” It’s Wally, I’ve lost track of keeping an eye out for the reenforcements and he’s now engaged.
“Martin, Joe, they are concentrated on the far side, I need you to help him out.”
Both head for Wally.
The aircraft are down to two of the original flight and I have tone on one of them. Missiles erupt from my launcher, tracing lines of exhaust from where I was to meet the hapless jet; it’s hit head on and simply disintegrates with but a smallish detonation to show for my warheads. The final craft is trying to turn for my continuing movements, but I’m on open ground and he’s horribly overmatched against my maneuverability. I’ve got tone... the missiles finish loading with an audible clunk and are out of their tubes breathing fire before they can really settle.
“Wally, pull back inside the wall so the others can cover, I’ll try to give them a distraction from the rear.”
The last bomber explodes far more satisfactorily, and I’m speeding to the south side of the wall... there are LRM launchers, tone, missiles in flight, and the relatively unarmored launcher becomes a fireball as my missiles blast through its nearly full magazine of uncased missiles... then the hydrazine propellant erupts and the launcher that had just stopped beside it becomes an inferno also.
A lightning bolt hits me and I suddenly recognize the hud distortion from the Prontsi replay for the PPC shot it must have been... only now I can feel my skin crawling with the charge, there’s a smell like overheated plastic and rubber and my heart pounds erratically for a moment. Throttle to the max and running away from any clear shot.
“Sir, damage on the center torso is significant, we might not survive another shot like that.”
“Aff, Alexis, I’ll be more careful,” then keying the sequence, “at least a Myrmidon back in there gentlemen.”
“Or at least there was. Good distraction, Boss.”
“Dayem chawpprs iz hayrr!”
“Anyone know what he just said?”
“The choppers are here... for the actual raid.”
“Ok, lets secure the area inside of the wall.”
“Done, come on in.”
I race inside the gate and see the three very battered ‘Mechs prowling in opposite directions along the perimeter wall while black clad soldiers pour from helicopters on the building roof.
Alexis says with a calm certainty, “You have just lead the remains of this unit far better than either your age would have suggested or than I might have hoped... Well done, Sir.”
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 241 |
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medicated
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 17 2008 : 01:34:13
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OK, Ive gotta reload my old Mechwarrior game if I can find it!
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 Evil is powerless.....if the good are unafraid. (Ronald Regan)
Free speech is intended to protect the controversial and even outrageous word, and not just comforting platitudes too mundane to need protection. - General Colin Powell
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Country: USA
| Posts: 647 |
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Petrified-OMO
Taxing Patience
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Posted - Mar 17 2008 : 10:15:48
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Indeed.
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*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Signatures?! We don't need no stinking signatures! |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 7782 |
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ButtcraxOMO
Administrator
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Posted - Mar 17 2008 : 17:59:38
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Yep, I been thinking a Novacat on snowbound
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I am Lancelot of Borg, Resistance is Feudal |
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Country: USA
| Posts: 586 |
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CMOpatrick
frequent visitor
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Posted - Mar 17 2008 : 19:07:16
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Chapter 14 - Comes a Time
“Looks like you blew your assignment.”
I’m stunned, a crushing weight falling on my chest so I can’t breathe. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out in my defense.
Tyrone’s lying in a hospital bed, his more serious burns wrapped, broken collar bone and dislocated shoulder still mending. He has a paleness about him but his face is deadly serious...
“I thought I told you to make sure we knew when the reenforcements were coming.”
I think back to the scream of the bombers, trying to lead them off the target, losing track of what was happening to Wally...
“I’m sorry, Sir. I was trying to... well, I did not do as you asked, and understand that there must be consequences.”
“Damn right. 10,000 credits docked.”
I gasp, but try to be composed.
Inexplicably, Tyrone suddenly grins... it’s an almost evil look, but I think there’s something better there...
“Of course, that’s from your base of 240,000: your 100,000 share, the guys voted you all of Spud’s share, I award you an additional 10,000 for the maps, and finally 30,000 for keeping your head and running the best PITA I’ve seen in at least a decade. You cut the main power, pulled three ‘Mechs from being engaged early in the battle, played the distraction role perfectly, and came up with some creative ways to bring in reenforcements... even some that weren’t there.”
I go from crestfallen to elated faster than flipping a switch. I still can’t breathe, but now the reason’s diametrically opposite.
From nowhere, Marty, Joe, and Wally seem to materialize behind me, laughing and slapping me on the back.
“Diid yew say hiiz fayehz?” Joe seems to be asking, but I have again lost his meaning.
“Yeah, he looked like he was havin’ a heart attack.”
“_ straight! _ kid was _ _ by all the _ _!”
Martin addresses me directly, “you did exceptionally, it was good to fight with you... Sir.”
Everyone in the room gasps, myself included, while Marty steps back, a face-splitting grin dominating his appearance.
“Yes, you did much better than I’d hoped,” Tyrone resumes. “I’m not sure where you learned what you know, but you’re worth a lot more than your years imply.”
I finally stammer, “thank... thank you, S... er... Boss.”
He hands me a pad, “I don’t think you can afford the Atlas, but anything else on here is an option, our proceeds from whatever is left of the salvage sales should net about twenty to twenty five million; your share, combined with Spud’s will likely be a little over four million, so you can afford most of the rest of it.
I’m floored... 4,000,000 credits? I look down the list... the mostly destroyed ‘Mechs like the Thanatos and the Kit Fox are scrap value only, but the repairable Stormcrow and Sha Yu are both under four. The headshot Atlas is the big sell, the current offer of 16 million seems incredible to me, but it’s an exceptional ‘Mech if only for intimidation value. The next biggest return from the list, though are the weapons, especially the Extended Range Large Pulse Lasers from the Calliope Turrets. This is a huge list.
“I don’t want any of the other ‘Mechs right now, but may I think about the weapons?”
“Sure, take your time.”
“Tell him about the recordings.” Marty adds.
“Oh, yeah, the raiders sacked their command bunker and found out that your ruse about a fancy set of channels and getting Wally on it to talk a lot is what got them to back the Atlas off of us, They were convinced that Spud had double crossed them and that we were just ahead of a more powerful unit that was the main assault. You probably saved my life and most likely,” he motions at Joe and Martin, “both of these guys, too. I owe you one.”
“You have a lot of gear in here that isn’t stock, don’t you?”
The man asking the nearly sarcastic question is Timonorthus, my new crew-chief. I’ve hired him on Erl’s recommendation and with the latter’s promise that the union won’t object if I insist on working with him on my ‘Mech. Tim (he’s quite comfortable with the shortened form) has already convinced me that he’s a good worker and knows his stuff on the ‘Mechs.
We already have what’s left of the right arm removed down to the armature attachments and have just pulled a service panel that accesses the right torso’s inner workings. There’s a bank of clan-made high-efficiency heat sinks in front of us and enough wire and fiber optics to span the globe.
“Why, what makes you say that?” I ask in mock astonishment.
We look at each other and laugh.
“Well, my first clue was the french-fried clan laser with custom wiring on a Capellan stealth ‘Mech... should I continue?” He delivers this line with such aplomb that I suspect he has a secret ambition to act on stage.
“Well, rumor has it that I’m some weirdo who likes doing the impossible.”
He looks at me rather suddenly and says, “yeah, I heard something like that... they say you are descended from some Clanner that the Colonel knew, a veritable wizard in a ‘Mech. They say you only look like a teenager, that you are really fifty somethin. They say a lot of things, not all of them complimentary.”
“Do you believe them?”
“How old do you claim to be?”
“I’ll be seventeen in the summer.”
“You don’t act sixteen. Too much thinking and not enough selfish stupidity. If you are actually sixteen, I hope my kid grows up to be like you are.”
His words sting me and encourage me at the same time.
“If I’ve grown up well, it was my da that set the course. Events since have had an effect, but he’s the one that deserves the credit.”
I think about him, I miss him.
“Then may I be for my boy what your pop was for you.”
The red face scan runs over my features, and my door rolls open. I’ve picked up a smallish studio apartment on Third Level, just a few minutes walk from the ‘Mech bays and Rocker. It has a Spartan look, four smooth but unpolished walls of solid basalt enclose a foursome of simple wooden chairs, a table, a smallish sound unit, and a finely mattressed twin bed. The bathroom’s tiny and unornamented, but the water stays hot and I can stand in the shower for forty minutes or so at a drumming-hard water volume before it starts to cool. I’ve spent lavishly on the kitchen, even mum would have been proud, but otherwise, there are no glaring indications that I have a cool 4.4 million credits.
I’ve spent the days thinking about two topics: da and Zuzan. I wish there were other subjects, but even when I’m working hard on armor plating or the new mount for my replacement main weapon, I’m wishing Zuzan would find a way to ask me to come back to her or daydreaming about last planting season with da. There was so much time that I thought wasted in working side by side with my father, now I would trade my millions for just another day with him. And my doubts about my behavior with Zuzan plagues me, all the more so when I’m around my new neighbor’s kids...
My new neighbors... Michael and Mary, with their two kids on the one side and Brad and his son Joseph on the other. Joseph and Moses seem awestruck that I’m a real live ‘Mech pilot, and little Bridget’s the cute baby that tugs at my heart. Is it wrong to want to be a father at those times when Moses reaches up for my hand or when little Bridget recognizes me and coos happily?
The boys think I’m something of a hero, my protesting the contrary has only further cemented their opinion. Their parents, however, appear to have at least some hesitation about this adulation. At first I thought it was what the Colonel said, that I’m related to the clans or even that I’m presently a mercenary; what surprised me was the discovery that they don’t really trust pilots at all, even the garrison. ‘Mech warriors don’t usually live down here with the real people, and they see us as thinking we’re too good for them. When I learned that Michael may make sixty thousand in a year and that Brad’s barely getting forty-five and much of that goes for child care while he’s working, I understand a bit... they both know that I already own my own ‘Mech and have credits to spend.
But I have no family and am not around friends all day, at work or after. What can I do?
There’s a tone at the door, the one that announces a visitor. I haven’t had my shower yet and am a bit unfocused, but my manners take over and I ask into the air, “who is it?”
“Colonel Harper.”
“Come in, please.” The door is voice activated with this as an open command, so it rolls away to allow the officer to enter.
“Good evening, Sir.” I offer, while still trying to assess his intent.
He walks up and offers his hand, we shake while he makes a quick visual assessment of my quarters. “How are you tonight, Padraig?”
“Fine, Colonel. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
“Do you mind if we sit and talk?”
“Not at all. Its not exactly fancy here, sit where you like, Sir.”
He selects a chair and sits as close to the edge as possible.
“I see that you got some boots.”
“Yes, Sir. Dragon Skin made to the same patter that Lady Annette had used for yours.”
“They fit you well, I trust.”
“They are exceptional, I’ve never worn their like. Not meaning to be rude, Sir, but are you here to visit or is there something more? I just got in from repairing Rocker and I have to admit that Tim’s working me to the bone.”
The Colonel laughs, nods, and says, “If I may be so bold, young Sir, I would like a recording of your recent action against the Blakists. Would you be willing to share it?”
“May I ask why you ask for this from me and not from Tyrone?”
“Loyalty. Good, I like that. Let’s just say that Tyrone and I don’t see eye to eye about a lot of things. He usually works for some very powerful men here, very wealthy men who supply us and other resistance units with needed resources. But he has also taken contracts that are, shall we say, less than honorable.”
“As far as I know, we were on a tech raid, Sir.”
“Did he ever tell you what the target was?”
I wonder how much of this question is generic and how much might be based on hearing our briefing.
“I was told what I needed to know. Do you tell your pilots everything, Sir?”
He inclines his head a bit, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Officially, we allow mercs here to add to our defense should a large contingent come against us. Before Tyrone showed up, they worked piecemeal for whomever and never really attracted much enemy attention. They stayed but a while and then moved on... your friend Martin and his daughter were the exception to that rule. Then Tyrone showed up and we saw a new organization on the ground among the mercs, he’s charismatic and has a fair amount of tactical experience, not to mention he’s an excellent laser boat...”
The door tones again and the Colonel stops.
“Excuse me, please,” I say and rise for the door. “Who is it?” I ask into the air.
“Sonia. Got a minute, Paddy?”
“This will be just a minute, Sir,” I say to the officer, then, “Come in, please.”
The door rolls semi-silently open and the joyful young woman steps in. She’s smiling and there’s a spring in her step before she sees the Colonel seated by my table.
“Did I interrupt something Paddy?”
“Nothing I’m ashamed of... Sonia, this is Colonel...”
“We know each other, son,” the Colonel interjects, standing himself and making a slight bow.
Sonia too, makes a minor bow of respect and then turns back to me, “Pops wants you to come have dinner with us tonight, something special for him to do for you.”
“Huh? Um, is this about the other day?”
“Yes, he likes to say thanks in special ways.”
“But I...”
“No arguing with him and less with me,” she laughs as she finishes. “So when will you be there?”
“Give me an hour, Mam, I need to finish here and get showered and changed.”
“Wear something nice, ok?”
“Is this some formal thing to him?”
“No, the dressing up part’s for me, silly,” she smiles and I can’t be sure how she means it.
“Um, ok. In an hour.”
“Ciao,” she says, heading for my door. As she walks out, she adds over her shoulder, “go easy on him Colonel or you’re in trouble.”
“A very formidable young woman, that.” The Colonel’s standing, watching her leave. “The strength of her convictions and her father’s skill in a ‘Mech. Don’t be fooled, just because she won’t work for Tyrone doesn’t mean she can’t pilot a deadly ‘Mech.”
“What?” Somehow I’ve missed something: Sonia’s a pilot? I would never have guessed.
“Yes, and an excellent historian and strategist to boot. Frightening, really... I would think her almost Clan if not for her beliefs.”
My brain’s whirling, there’s not much that’s certain in life, I keep discovering that almost nothing is fixed when I see the surface only.
Colonel Harper’s focused back on me, “what do you say about the recording?”
“I would like to talk with Martin about it. Since it was a job for Tyrone, I’m not sure it’s right to share the entire recording without his permission.”
“Even if seeing how you performed might help you get another contract?”
“No offense, sir, but I don’t think I could spend everything I have now in a lifetime.”
He laughs, “you really are new to this, aren’t you? When you have to replace a ‘Mech, what you have will seem like its never enough.” A long pause, still considering me, then, “ok, talk with Marty, he’s a good man and you’re no fool to want council when you’re uncertain.”
The door rolls open and Marty bows to greet me. He’s wearing some kind of flowing garment of fine golden silk that seems almost robe-like, caught about the waist with a wide black braided-cloth belt, it’s not what I would have thought of as formal wear, but it obviously is. I’m in my best lynen pants and shirt with the wilderness marat-leather tunic over the latter, but it’s nothing compared to this.
Sonia comes up and is quite similarly attired to Martin, save that the cloth has bright golden flowers embroidered on a rich royal blue. I feel like some poor country bumpkin in the presence of nobility.
“Enter and be welcome, my friend,” Marty states.
Sonia, in turn adds with a bow, “indeed, welcome to our humble home.”
I feel there’s some formal ritual I wish I knew, all that comes to mind is the old blessing that da said he learned from granmother...
“May there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears and friends at your side.” I answer, bowing slightly as they had done.
Martin smiles and nods but Sonia surprises both of us by answering, “and the Joy of Christ Jesus in your heart.”
Martin waves me in and Sonia looks at me with a penetrating expression that leaves me at best uneasy.
“Did you know that your blessing’s a shortened form of the blessing of an ancient Terran family?” she asks brightly.
“No, Mam.”
As I pass her, I smell jasmine, the flower’s fragrance strong in the air.
“I can understand why they dropped the ending if they didn’t believe it any more, but I thought you should know the rest. To know the first part, you might be from that family, so knowing the whole is your right.”
“Um, thank you,” I say with a bit of discomfort. Why did I pick that to say, why not just ‘thank you’ or something similar?
Sonia’s walking quietly behind me, I know it, but I can’t hear her.
The aromas of exotic spices and rich meats fill the air, and when I reach the kitchen I see why... there’s a feast fit for dozens spread and several other families present.
“The Guest of Honor!” Martin announces and I know I’ve flushed red from the burning my face reports.
There are many voices, applause, and generous smiles. I’m embarrassed but there’s not much I can do except appreciate the attention. If they only knew how much luck went into it, they wouldn’t be so favorable.
“A toast!” Martin raises a glass of pale amber liquid.
“Here here!”
“He doesn’t have a glass, Marty.”
Sonia replies before he can, “he does now,” while handing me a crystal goblet filled with the same color fluid.
“To Padraig, the pilot that got the Atlas to turn after it had knocked me over and was about to kill me. You bought me time to get up and run, thank you friend!”
They all raise their glasses and I do likewise, they drink and I take a swallow too... there’s alcohol in there, but there are exotic flavors as well, a hint of sweetness and even a slight scent of jasmine. Or is the jasmine because Sonia’s standing next to me?
“What’s this?” I ask her quietly.
“Mead, a honey wine flavored with my own favorite spices.”
“You made this?”
“Do you like it?”
“No, did you make this?”
She looks straight at me, there’s more going on in her head than she’s expressing. “If you like it then I’ll fess up, if not, how should I know who made it?” she finally says with a little smile playing at her lips.
I take another sip, enjoy the flavors and state, “yes, I like it.”
“Yes, I made it.”
“You’re a complicated woman.”
“Have you known so many?”
“Um...”
She laughs, “sorry to put you on the spot like that. Yes, I am complex. Honestly, I’m pleased that you notice it.”
I’ve run out of things to say. I have a million questions, but right now it doesn’t seem like my brain has a clear link established between them and my speech center.
“Did you ever finish my books?” she asks conspiratorially.
“What books?” It takes me a moment to understand... the ones in the sitting room are hers. “Oh, um... The Art of War has already helped me lots, and I’ve found out that Alexis has it.”
If possible, her smile falters just a hint, “Alexis?”
“My AI, the artificial intelligence in my ‘Mech, is named Alexis; she has something of my granpa’s training manuals and that was one of them.”
She brightens, “Oh, do you have any of the other books in there?”
“I don’t know, Mam.”
She motions for me to follow and we walk to the sitting room bookcase.
“Please look through them and see if there are any you would like.”
I bend down and look at the smaller book titles. “Was G. K. Chesterton a pilot?”
“No, he was an observer and an inspiration in a troubled time. Would you like a recommendation?”
Part of me wants to run away, but something else says “trust her” and I choose the latter, “sure, what would you recommend?”
“It can be odd in this day and age to hear of, but I personally recommend Mere Christianity by Lewis. It’s not a warfare tome, however, so it may not be what you expect... but I think you will like it and it will definitely force you to think about things many have forgotten.”
“Well, I’ll check and see if Alexis has it.”
She puts her hand on my arm and I look up at her. She’s not being aggressive, just open as she says, “no, I’m giving you the book if you agree to read it at least once.”
“A book? For me?”
My surprise is evident, and she’s smiling broadly.
“Yes, my friend, it’s yours.”
“I’ll read it, I promise.”
The old leather cover feels good in my hand, I now have a book of my own.
“Martin, I need your advice.”
The other guests have gone and we are sitting at the kitchen table. Sonia’s hovering nearby, working on storing the leftovers.
“Sure, Padraig.”
“I had a visit today from Colonel Harper. He asked me to give him a copy of my recording from our tech raid.”
“Did you?”
“No, not yet. I figured that I should get some advice about it. He says he might be able to give me some work if he sees me doing well in it, but I’m not sure if I should clear it with Tyrone first.”
“Ask Tyrone. You worked for him on that run, the Colonel might be looking for something other than what he let on.”
“Marty? Did we do anything wrong?”
He looks at me with something like compassion and answers, “not that I know of.”
“This time,” Sonia adds.
Marty grimaces. “Not now, girl,” he growls.
There’s something I’m missing, but the look on his face leaves me with no doubt that I want to leave it be.
“Sir, I need to ask your opinion on a request I’ve received.”
Tyrone’s working with a cute physical therapist to get his shoulder back to full strength, I don’t know the name of the equipment, but he sure seems to be abusing it more than it’s working him.
“What’s up, Paddy?”
“Colonel Harper...”
He stops in mid motion, I have his undivided attention.
“... asked me if I would give him...”
“A recording of the last contract,” Tyrone finishes for me.
“Um... yes, Sir.”
Tyrone looks at me. There’s something of a puzzle in his expression. “Did he tell you why he wants it?”
“The one reason he gave was that he wants to review my actions to see if I would be right for a job he has.”
“And the other?”
“While he didn’t say, I suspect that he’s looking for something else. He has implied that there might not always be good moral choices in our contracts.”
“Would it matter to you if there were questionable ones?”
This is an unexpected turn. “Well, yes, Sir, actually it would.”
There’s a disgusted look on his face, “I suppose money’s no object.”
“Not if it’s wrong.”
“You sound like Marty’s daughter. You’re not one of them are you?” Before I can answer he continues, “that’s right, you have that mark on your ‘Mech. Should have known.”
“Huh?”
“Look, I appreciate what you did for us on this last raid, but you won’t be workin’ for me anymore. Yeah, that last mission recording is ok, if it gets you a job, swell. It was good workin’ with ya.” With this dismissal I’m left standing to watch as he returns to working out.
“Um, thanks Sir.”
There’s no acknowledgment that I’ve spoken at all... or that I am even here.
The deck officer is a short woman, she looks bored when I walk in; even after seeing me, her boredom continues to cling to her face like thick sauce on leftover spaghetti.
“Excuse me, officer, I need to speak with the Colonel.”
“Really? Who are you, Prince of Vega?” Even she doesn’t find her joking funny, her expression’s unchanged.
I, however, am getting angry very quickly. I bellow my answer, “PADRAIG CARNS! THE COLONEL ASKED ME TO COME AND YOU’LL LET HIM KNOW I’M HERE!”
Everyone’s looking at us and her eyes grow large... there’s no hint of boredom there now.
“Everyone hold!” I know that voice, it’s the Colonel, he has just run up the hall but already understands the situation. Even the deck officer obeys.
I can hear him walking over to me, but my eyes remain fixed on the offending woman until I feel him hand on my shoulder.
“Let it go, pilot.”
Looking at him I struggle for control and answer, “I came to bring what you asked for and this person,” I gesture at the deck officer, “was rude and unwilling to get you. If you want me to cooperate or work with you, then I deserve to be treated a bit better than pond scum.”
“Settle down, pilot, it won’t happen again.” he says, then louder, “Attention, everyone here, if this gentleman ever asks for me again, you will immediately locate me without question. Is that clear?”
A loud chorus of “Yes Sir!” rings though the room.
“Please follow me, Padraig.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
We walk back down the long hall, past the shooting range and into a somewhat ornate room with a high polished ceiling and mirrorlike stone walls. It’s dominated by a huge wooden table, itself polished to reflect light, and surrounded by large comfortable chairs. Light streams in through large panels in the ceiling and walls; it could be daylight cleverly reflected or some other similar source, but the result’s exceptionally airy and relaxing for something set so far into the heart of the mountain.
Colonel Harper indicates a place on one side and I sit there, while he sinks into the chair opposite me.
After looking at me for a few moments, he chuckles and says, “You don’t exactly make things easy around here, do you?”
“Look, if you didn’t want...”
“No, I do want it. I hear you got fired for asking.”
“No, I got fired for saying that I object to doing things that are wrong.”
“Fair enough. Do you have the recording?”
I reach into a shirt pocket and pull out the thumbnail sized chip in its thin case and hand it to the Colonel.
“Mind watching it with me?”
“I don’t understand, Sir.”
“If I have any questions, I would like to ask when I have them.”
“How will you feel the recording in here?”
“Excuse me?”
“How will you feel the gyros?”
He laughs, “that’s the only way you’ve ever experienced a recording, in the cockpit yourself through the helm?”
“Yes, Sir, that’s correct.”
“Well, then this will be an experience for you, too.”
“Well, I’m impressed.”
We’ve watched the entire thing; he has not only seen, but listened in on the entire conversation, nothing from the cockpit or comms left out. Only once did he stop the playback, when I was looking down into the compound the first time. At that point he shook his head and muttered something like “we’re in trouble.”
“May I ask why it’s so important to see this?”
“You may not understand, but I’ll try. The biggest problem for me here is keeping the WoBs from staging a major assault. Since Stone’s Republic, the Blakists are mere ghosts of their former strength and orbital bombardment isn’t a concern to us... but successful actions like this one against one of their better equipped units with an experienced commander are not things they can overlook. Tyrone’s work for his patrons has gotten so big that it will draw retaliation. The last time they moved against us for something like this was the day you arrived. But the raids that brought that attack were minor compared to this... they lost eight ‘Mechs, probably a sixth of what they have on planet, including their northern continental commander’s Atlas. Combined with the cost of thirty-two calliopes, and whatever it was that they were protecting, they lost easily over 80 million in replacement expense. Even if they have to hire mercs themselves, they will respond... there are only so many ‘Mechs here, if they drop four or five lances with armor, air, and ground support to attack us, we’re in real trouble.”
“Sorry to hear that, Sir.”
“What I need is good long range ground recon, and you are the best available to set it up for me.
“Wait a minute, I’ve been lucky so far, but I don’t see how I can help you.”
“Look, the reality on the ground here is that most WoB pilots are only experienced with simulators and live fire drills, most of their vets went offworld decades ago. Going against a pilot who thinks, much less one who’s read Sun Tzu and has an incredibly powerful interactive AI as an in-cockpit teammate is way out of their league, even when they have the advantage of weight and weapons. I would lessen your evaluation that it’s just luck and raise the evaluation that you have increasingly good skill and the best AI on the planet if not the entire Inner Sphere.”
I look at him, the possibility that the recording would show how powerful Alexis is had not crossed my mind. Too late now, I guess...
“I suspect that while the pair of you have worked together, she's been actively training you, using tools that Patrick Carns himself trained on and with...” he motions me not to object and continues, “your maneuvering skills under fire, for example, are exceptional. I once doubted the accuracy of reports on Commander Carns, but I now suspect his talents were actually under-reported. Tell me honestly, how long have you been a pilot?”
I hesitate, finally answering anyway, “since last fall, about four months.”
He does not appear surprised, but his voice is subdued as he tosses my chip back to me, “thanks for telling me, Padraig. I promise I’ll tell no one else, and I’m sure they’ll never guess.”
“Do you still want me to do a job for you?”
He looks steadily at me for a moment, then nods slightly, “if you are up to it, yes.”
“Rocker’s almost ready.”
“What did you choose for a primary weapon?”
“One of the salvaged ER Large Pulse Lasers. It’s one of the four that were actually Clan made; it fit my existing weapons harnesses perfectly and saved Tim and me a nightmare of rewiring. Still have the twin tube missiles to support it.”
“Good choices, don’t cut too far back on your heatsinks, though.”
“I didn’t, Sir. Left the targeting and small lasers off to buy a little weight.”
“It’s always a tradeoff. Let me get a mission package together and I’ll get back to you.”
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may there be turf in your fire, food on your table, music in your ears, friends at your side, and the joy of Christ Jesus in your heart... |
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In the Shadow of a Wolf
