Obligation's Forge

MechWarrior 5 Origins, Installment 8

Randall N. Bills

Obligation’s Forge

JACOB’S DESERT

MALLORY’S WORLD

KENTARES IV PDZ, DRACONIS MARCH

FEDERATED SUNS

13 SEPTEMBER 3013

Voices floated closer, echoing strangely in the tight metal confines that encased Fahad Arazad.

“This planet is prime pickings,” Captain Chloe Reed said. “Sure, not much intrinsic value. But there’s a reason it’s been fought over for centuries. It’s a key strategic site for launching larger campaigns.”

“I know that,” Nikolai Mason said, frustration lining his words; the conversation had obviously been going on a while.

“Then why did House Davion pull most of its forces?”

“You expect them to tell us? We’re only here under our usual ‘special dispensation’ via an Interstellar Expeditions contract. Perhaps the Davion forces are off on their own assault onto Combine worlds.”

“I don’t think so, Nikolai. Sure, they’re always trying to outmaneuver each other here at the border. But you’ve seen the same reports. The Snakes have had good success the last half decade. Cylene, Mara, Galatea III, Harrow’s Sun, Bennet III, Crossing—the pendulum has swung toward the Combine. And those bloodthirsty samurai always draw their blades further when they get a little success.”

“We’re not connected to the planetary nobility here, Chloe. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. If something happens, we’re not going to get drawn into the morass like we did back in Marik space.”

“And if we do?”

Fahad lay at an odd angle, his torso thrust through the hole made by the removed armor plate on the lower portion of the BattleMech’s leg. While he’d been raised in the extremes of a desert planet, he’d spent enough time on garden worlds and climate-controlled DropShips that he sweated heavily in the hot air, trying to ignore the claustrophobia that tickled at the edges of consciousness. The sound of the husband-and-wife command team of the Cavaliers discussing weighty matters kept him focused, while he finished running the umpteenth diagnostic on the Shadow Hawk’s ankle actuator.

“How’s the training run going?” Nikolai asked.

You’ve no answer, Fahad thought, so you’re trying to change the subject. Will the captain bite?

She grunted noncommittally in return.

Fahad broke into a large grin, disconnected the diagnostic noteputer after the program finished, and shimmied back out of the hole in the Shadow Hawk’s right leg. Standing up on the repair platform set less than a meter above the ground, he stretched until vertebrae cracked. Glanced over to Chloe and Nikolai, both standing anxiously—though they tried to hide it—next to the holotable erected inside their large field tent. Already their field bivouac had begun to feel like a long-term base. After all, they did very little work here besides ensure the archaeologists under their protection remained safe, while trying to keep themselves in good fighting form.

The XO of the Cavaliers, Ryana Campbell, sprawled in a field chair as though on the verge of sleep. Though he knew she was aware of everyone around her and could be up and moving in an instant. He respected her immensely, but until Chloe, he was not sure he’d ever be close with the supernal warrior. Beyond her, a few other new recruits worked at other tasks, while the DropShip crew, moving back and forth between the Union-class vessel that towered despite its 100-meter distance, labored on tasks only they knew. Even his astechs he simply called, well, astechs. Fahad knew he should start learning their names. But too many memories of those lost stung deep. Joseph, Omar, Alita, Dawson, Brooklynn. Even his family. His mother. His father…

He stuffed those memories down deep, heaved a sigh of frustration, and kept himself from slamming the wrench down into its toolbox.

“Still no luck?” Chloe asked, walking toward him. Her attempt not to glance over her shoulder at the distant activity—despite the heavy tread of a BattleMech’s movements and the low-powered blasts of an energy weapon—was blatant.

“Blasted heat sinks still aren’t cycling properly.” He paused, scratching at the beard he was experimenting with. The growing heat each day in this windswept desert of endless arroyos and ravines—the plateau they currently occupied was the largest flat section for hundreds of kilometers in any direction—left him rethinking that decision, however.

“Luckily, my beauty just doesn’t generate enough heat to make that much of a problem,” Chloe responded as she stood next to the platform, looking up.

“Exactly, mate,” Fahad said. He hated having her look up at him, so he reached out to the control box and eased the platform to the ground. He carefully placed the wrench in the toolbox—See, Father!—grabbed a water bottle, and took a long drink before stepping off and continuing. “But really, it’s this stupid ankle actuator. I’ve replaced it three times, and it’s still throwing fits. Until I can get it to respond right, not gonna risk it spilling you to the ground like last time. It’s just never been the same since Emris IV.”

“You pull it and run a full system diagnostic?”

“No, of course I didn’t,” he shot back, unable to still his tongue, even as his mind raced to stop him. It usually failed. “I just left it inside and hit it a few times with my wrench. You know, after I already replaced it. Three times.”

The silence stretched as the distant thumping of BattleMech footsteps grew louder and then softer: on the other edge of the plateau, a 20-ton Wasp performing training exercises lumbered toward and then away from their position. Chloe gave Fahad a lot of latitude, but even she found limits she would not let slide with him.

“Sorry, gov,” he finally said, having regained control of his stupid tongue.

She let out an explosive sigh. “No, I’m sorry, Fahad. ‘Once a tech, always a tech,’ they say, right? Can’t help but peek over your shoulder now and then.”

He smiled. Her ability to admit her failures was still a ray of sunshine he never tired of basking in. So wonderfully at odds with all the experiences from his youth. “Especially when it distracts you?”

She shrugged, almost sheepishly. “Yeah.” She turned around and fully took in the scene in the distance. Fahad watched with her as the distant Wasp loped through a tough obstacle course, its powered-down medium laser striking out at targets. Fahad was no expert, but you couldn’t be around a mercenary outfit and not get a good sense of it in action. “Your kid’s doing very well,” Fahad said, not putting any shine of it. Only twelve years old, and yet over 50 percent marksmanship, and while not exactly at a full run, the kid’s ’Mech moved faster than a walking pace. Fahad remembered watching new Arkab Legion recruits, long ago; they all had several years on the kid and still hadn’t done half as well. Definitely a natural, this one.

“Yup,” Chloe said.

Fahad sensed her tension between her duty as a mercenary commander dispassionately observing a young potential candidate’s performance and her role as a mother filled with pride at the amazing aptitude shown by her child.

He also sensed the pain that drove the entire Cavaliers to push the kid. Hard. Death had come stalking far too close. While they all had chosen a life filled with danger and death, the knowledge that it could threaten someone so young had shaken them, and they vowed that history would not repeat itself. The hand-to-hand training from Ryana and BattleMech training from the other Cavaliers MechWarriors gave the kid what they all hoped would be a measure of safety.

“Your ’Hawk’s leg still unreliable?” Nikolai asked as he walked up.

Fahad exchanged a nod of respect with Chloe’s husband. While Nikolai was certainly more approachable than the aloof Ryana, Fahad knew they would never be close. But they respected each other’s abilities and commitment to the Cavaliers.

“Yeah,” Chloe responded, eyes still on the distant training run.

“You know, there’s a perfectly good BattleMech you could be using instead.”

Fahad winced, bracing for the coming argument.

“No,” Chloe spoke immediately. “We’re just babysitting yet another Interstellar Expeditions dig that likely won’t find any of the Star League tech they’re looking for.”

“And if the Combine comes?”

“We’ll deal with it then.

Nikolai heaved a heavy sigh. “Look, Chloe, I know the Griffin was Dawson’s BattleMech,” he said softly, face filled with a sorrow he might never overcome at their friend’s tragic death. “But it’s in prime shape. He’d be aghast that we’re not using it.”

“No.”

“This is one of your ‘the right thing to do’ things I don’t understand, isn’t it?”

Fahad winced further, carefully edging back onto the repair platform to get back to work. He’d tried engaging in these philosophical debates between the two before and always found it distasteful. Either everyone was left unsatisfied that the other could not see their point of view, or worse, Fahad found himself parroting his father’s words. Even now, they rang in his mind powerfully as the two of them launched into their endless debate about right and wrong: It is never about what others do to us. It is about the words we have spoken and the actions we take. It is always. About. Us. Even now, he simply didn’t know what he believed.

“What the hell?” Ryana said loudly. She stood, battle ready, looking at the holotable. The concern in her voice pulled everyone within earshot. The image showed that emergence waves of multiple incoming JumpShips had just swept past the planet’s sensors.

“How many?” Chloe said, the mother immediately set aside for the ascendant Captain. Time stretched out, the training run in the distance forgotten, while Ryana keyed through multiple programs and pulled up as much data as the machine could divulge.

“At least five JumpShips. Maybe more. I’ll know in another few minutes.”

Fahad’s gut slowly clenched. He’d been raised at the feet of soldiers. Knew combat as intimately as any warrior, and loved and hated and bled for his chosen profession. But he still didn’t sprint at the news. None of them did.

Nikolai let out a low whistle. “Multiple regiments. Why do I get the feeling we just fell into the lap of some Davion plot?” He glanced at Chloe, a guilty look on his face that their previous conversation would come to haunt them so quickly.

“Do we have an IFF yet?” Chloe asked, ignoring Nikolai’s grumblings.

Another minute passed, keys typing furiously, before Ryana spoke. “Combine. Looks like the Dragon has decided it wants to sink its claws into this planet. And they’ll be here in nine days to try.”

Hatred stirred in Fahad at the mention of the Great House he’d called home years ago. He’d always wanted to help a merc outfit defeat a Kuritan force on a battlefield. But as the number of JumpShips—and the regiments they represented—continued to grow, fear blossomed and interwove with the fury.

We can’t possibly stand against such an army!

* * *

“This better not be one of your secrets, Sebastian, or we’re through,” Chloe ground out through clenched teeth. Beyond the Cavaliers bivouac surrounding her, the Wasp finished its training run, walked to within a dozen meters of the command tent, and powered down. Instead of her running out to congratulate, fear pummeled her veins.

She stood in front a holovid recorder, clenching and unclenching fists as she put together a message they’d quickly transfer to the local ComStar hyperpulse generator for transmission to the world of Irian, the last known location of their elusive, current employer.

“We’ve got more regiments arriving in system than I’ve ever seen, even when I fought under the Eridani Light Horse banner.” She looked around at the Cavaliers, who nervously shifted in the desert sands around her, while trying to hide their fear. “As before, we’ve got the IE transponder broadcasting our neutrality. And it’s always worked…but then again, this is the Combine. And that’s a lot of metal that could swat us as easily as look at us. We’ll keep our heads down, but you better let us know what’s going on!”

She reached forward, tapped the key on the machine to stop the recording and prepare the disc for ejection. She looked around again, helpless.

JACOB’S DESERT

MALLORY’S WORLD

KENTARES IV PDZ, DRACONIS MARCH

FEDERATED SUNS

24 SEPTEMBER 3013

Chloe slowly crumpled the papers in front of her, then let them go. The wind was picking up, and it pulled them off the table, fluttering along the ground. She should go and get it. She did hate littering. But watching the pages drift and roll along the ground, quickly getting dirty and soon to be buried and forgotten in the shifting sands, seemed a perfect analogy of the events unfolding on Mallory’s World since the invasion. She was growing so tired of feeling helpless. Of the clenched fist in her belly that never let go.

“That bad?” Nikolai said. They shared a look. She knew he knew. But talking often made it just a little better. Sometimes. She wasn’t sure if today would be such a day.

“Yeah. The last Mallorian Militia regiment has been destroyed.”

“There’s still several ad-hoc companies running guerrilla tactics against the occupation.”

She leaned heavily against the holotable, ignoring the display that showed the bright red of House Kurita now covering most of the planet’s primary continent, with only a few hash marks indicating resistance not yet fully quelled.

“It’s not enough. And I’d forgotten how terrible the wrath of all the Great Houses can be. But none, I think, like the Dragon. So much scorched earth…”

“There’s nothing we can do,” her husband said softly.

She knew he came from a place of love, and still she couldn’t help but lash out. “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?! But that doesn’t change how I feel. We should be doing something to help these people. Something.”

“House Davion has to respond. It’s their responsibility. Their world. We just have to keep our heads down until those reinforcements arrive.”

“I know,” she said. But only to placate her husband. Because she didn’t know. Could never know. How can anyone just stand by and do nothing? she railed against an uncaring universe at war.

JACOB’S DESERT

MALLORY’S WORLD

KENTARES IV PDZ, DRACONIS MARCH

FEDERATED SUNS

3 OCTOBER 3013

Standing in the Union-class DropShip’s command center, Nikolai huddled around the holotable with the rest of the Cavaliers as the data began pouring out across multiple screens. More than two dozen DropShips were making atmospheric interface at the moment. If they’d been outside, looking far to the south, they would see the burning arcs of ionization stretching for dozens of kilometers through the world’s atmosphere.

“House Davion has finally arrived,” Ryana spoke, causing Nikolai to glance at her just as she shook her topknot. After so many years, the motion was almost an endearing tic.

“They jumped into a pirate point,” Chloe responded, “just like you said.”

“Yeah, and then burned in system at two standard gravities to cut the transit time to just three days,” Nikolai said. “Damn, that had to hurt.”

“Is it going to be enough? Will they be able to dislodge the Snakes?” Fahad said, the hatred in his voice always present when speaking of the Kuritan forces. I really need to ask him about that someday. But after the first scathing look on Fahad’s face back when the Combine forced had first arrived, Nikolai still was unsure whether he wanted to dig that deep.

“I don’t know,” Chloe responded.

Nikolai took a deep breath to speak when a proximity alarm sounded, shocking them all into silence. The exterior cameras quickly found a lone hovercycle approaching, its shipping-company IFF transponder broadcasting in the clear. Nikolai unclenched fingers that had spasmed into fists, watching the others loosen their tensed muscles. We need to get out of here. But he knew Chloe would never condone leaving with their contract unfilled.

Fifteen minutes later, Chloe fired up the message just delivered by the courier from the HPG station; she’d tipped the man heavily for braving the ongoing fighting to make the delivery. The IE logo floated for a moment, then washed into a clear picture of Sebastian Spears, his elegant features creased with concern.

“Chloe, Nikolai, you both know any secrets directly involving you are on the table.” He raised a hand, as though reaching for understanding. “I hope you can believe that. Regardless, I have managed to discover, I believe, why this attack has occurred. My sources tell me the Combine may be converting large portions of a border world into a massive arms depot. If true, it’s obviously to be used in support of a renewed large-scale offensive against House Davion. The Combine has been keeping careful tabs on Davion commands in that sector, and apparently they lost track of several of them. If all of that is true, I surmise the Combine feared that the Davion troops had discovered their intended staging ground, so instead they initiated a first strike, to draw force to them.”

Sebastian paused, reviewing papers on the table in front of him, as though they’d just arrived and he was conveying the news as quickly as possible. He then looked back up at them through the holo, with a small, helpless shrug. “I’m sorry there’s nothing more I can do. The giants are among you. Keep your heads down, and they shouldn’t even notice you’re there. Please keep me updated.”

The screen went blank, and Nikolai glanced around at the gathered Cavaliers, feeling as helpless as Sebastian’s shrug. We’ve not fought one day in this conflict, and yet we’re as strung out as though we’ve been in the thick of it. Can we remain safe? He locked eyes with Chloe, as they shared a grim determination to keep them that way. Can I convince her to let the contract go?

COLTERVILLE, MALLORY’S WORLD

KENTARES IV PDZ, DRACONIS MARCH

FEDERATED SUNS

10 OCTOBER 3013

Despite the high-flying cocoon of the Boomerang Spotter Plane, Nikolai nervously glanced at the IFF indicator on his cockpit’s instrument panel. Tapped it to ensure it was broadcasting as plain as day that this craft was Interstellar Expeditions. Neutral as neutral can be. It didn’t help that while he knew how to fly such a craft, his skills were dusty from disuse; he’d been adamant he needed to see the battlefield firsthand, however.

He licked the sweat beading on his upper lip, despite the steady blink of the light’s assurance. The two powerful cameras in the craft’s belly captured the insanity of the battle below, which crossed nearly fifty kilometers of the valley and centered on the sprawling city of Colterville.

“You seeing this, Chloe?” he spoke into his mic.

A long pause stretched, leaving him with the vibrations of his Boomerang’s prop, intermingled with the occasional buffeting of turbulence.

“Is it really that big?” Chloe finally asked.

He swallowed, trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing. He’d been in and around combat nearly all his life. Yet the battle playing out below was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It hearkened back to previous Succession Wars, when the power of the Great Houses still allowed for such armies to assemble.

“It is,” he finally responded.

Almost the entire might of the on-world Draconis Combine forces were arrayed in a three-pronged siege against Colterville, where the embattled Seventeenth Avalon Hussars tried to keep the city from falling. Some nine total regiments, including the infamous Second Sword of Light.

Against the samurai’s siege, the First Prince, Ian Davion himself, had struck with his Fourth Davion Guards Regimental Combat Team and additional supporting elements. The twin spearheads of the First Prince’s audacious assault, despite being heavily outnumbered, appeared to be working. Nikolai watched nearly five-kilometer-long pistons of war-forged avatars maneuver and hammer down with a blizzard of weapons fire and clashing physical attacks against one of the three Combine prongs. The Sword of Light regiments then pulled back their own assault to avoid displacement or being cut off from the other two supporting prongs. Multiple artillery salvos arriving from the titanic Fortress-class DropShip at the lip of the valley spoke further of the First Prince’s expert mobile-warfare skills.

“Blake’s Blood,” Chloe whispered.

Nikolai couldn’t agree more.

“They’ve speared the middle and broken through,” Ryana Campbell spoke up over the comm, obviously watching the battle footage with the rest of the Cavaliers. “They’ll swing and start rolling up that wing of the Combine forces, while the other two wings scramble to pivot and match up to the Davions. But Ian’s troops are fast commands. They’ll inflict hideous damage and disengage before those wings can reengage. He’ll take half the losses he’ll inflict.” A noticeable admiration filled her words.

Nikolai watched as almost an entire company of Sworders, unable to withdrawal as orderly as the rest of their command, was obliterated in a scant thirty seconds as over a battalion of BattleMechs and armor pincered the company and unleashed hell.

“Blake’s Blood,” Chloe said again.

“But the cost,” Nikolai said over the mic. “He’s hammering them. Hard. It’s what he’s best at. But unless there’s reinforcements already on the way, the Combine has the numbers to spend.”

No answer came as he watched the titanic clash of Great Houses below, the vibrations through the plane a soothing balm to frayed nerves.

JACOB’S DESERT

MALLORY’S WORLD

KENTARES IV PDZ, DRACONIS MARCH

FEDERATED SUNS

19 OCTOBER 3013

The Kuritan Jenner slowly toppled to the ground as the battle ended.

Nikolai breathed heavily through the heat in his Catapult’s cockpit. He tried to ignore it, but despite the rage of adrenaline and fear, a small part of his brain just endlessly checked off the cost. Sebastian was always generous with payment terms, but this was going to be expensive. If we can even get out.

On his radar, he watched the carets of the various Cavaliers BattleMechs trying to converge after the terrible fighting in the arroyos and canyons that had pulled them apart. He sighed heavily in relief. The convoy of archaeologists they’d been trying to escort from their dig site to the DropShip had been completely overrun. Spillover as the Combine and Suns BattleMechs surged to and fro across the blighted landscape of the nearby Bastard Flats.

“There’s no way we’re making it back to the DropShip that way,” Chloe said over the commline, as she walked Dawson’s Griffin past the fallen Jenner and came to stand at rest near Nikolai’s ’Mech. He’d actually held his tongue when she’d set aside her personal feelings and dove right into the Griffin when the Cavaliers needed her.

Despite the heavy fighting, its damage was relatively light. So far.

“Yeah.” Nikolai tapped a button along the top of the radar screen to cycle through topographical surveys, trying to discern patterns in the warrens. “We’ll have to double back,” he continued, touching a spot on the screen. “Looks easily ten kilometers. But it should lead us away from further clashes, and then we’ll wrap around and get back to the DropShip.” He tapped a key, flipping it to touch screen mode, drew in the hasty map, then synched it up with the rest of the command.

“Yeah,” Chloe said after a pause. “I don’t see a better path. Let’s move out.”

As the Cavaliers and the vehicles bearing IE personnel moved back down the arroyo, Nikolai’s thoughts darkened. Five times we’ve tried to reach the DropShip, and each time we’ve been stopped by too many Kuritans. And all because we cannot leave these people behind.

He ignored the darker solutions fighting for his attention.

JACOB’S DESERT

MALLORY’S WORLD

KENTARES IV PDZ, DRACONIS MARCH

FEDERATED SUNS

21 OCTOBER 3013

“To any defenders who might hear my words, this is First Prince Ian Davion.”

The voice broke across the open comm channel in the Cavaliers’ makeshift command tent, echoing off the walls of the deep ravine that hid their remaining BattleMechs and vehicles. The huddled, exhausted Cavaliers and scientists glanced at one another in confusion.

“I’m broadcasting my location, and this message, in the clear, in the belief that any loyal sons and daughters of the Federated Suns will hear their liege’s call and come to repel the invaders,” the transmission continued. “The Combine forces know where I am and are closing in, but I will fight to my last breath to ensure my Davion Guards may escape. And if I must lay down my life this day, that is the mantle of the First Prince I gladly accept. But I hope this call will rally any Davion loyalists within the sound of my voice, and will join us so that the protectors of this world might survive to fight another day. Long live the Federated Suns!”

Stunned silence followed the shocking announcement. Nikolai slowly climbed to his feet from the field stool, walked through the dirty sand to the portable holotable, and brought up the surrounding terrain for dozens of kilometers in every direction. An extra data point floated over one of the dozens of carets interwoven into the snarling tangle of ravines that threaded throughout this entire region. The First Prince.

The rest of the Cavaliers slowly joined him at the table.

“Didn’t expect his high and mighty to tell the world the Snakes caught him in the outhouse with his pants around his ankles,” Fahad said.

The others burst out laughing, nervously. Nikolai began to join in, and then abruptly went cold as he saw the look on Chloe’s face. They locked eyes, and twenty years of knowing Chloe instantly sparked a rush of fear.

“Don’t,” he said, the entire crew falling silent in confusion over his harsh tone.

“I have to,” she said, eyes pleading for an understanding he refused to accept.

“No, you don’t. We can still make it out. We’re just taking a breather here. As it is, that broadcast will draw the rest of the Combine forces like flies to a dung heap. We’ll be able to finally make it to the DropShip.”

“It’s not enough. And you know it. There’s still too many of them. And we’ve stung them a few too many times. They know we’re here. They won’t completely abandon the hunt. Unless we take the hunt to them. Unless we make it seem like we’re trying to rescue the First Prince. That will draw any last stranglers toward me while you and our charges make it back to the DropShip. Then I’ll disengage, we’ll rendezvous, and finally get off this rock.”

The silence stretched as the dirty company of men and women silently contemplated the tableau of the clash of wills between Chloe and Nikolai.

The thoughts he’d been trying to ignore for days bubbled back to the surface. We could get out of here if we just left the civvies behind. The Combine won’t be that harsh on a bunch of archaeologists and their assistants if they got caught. He ignored the look on Chloe’s face that told him she knew exactly what he was thinking, and that it would be bad.

“This is insane,” he said. “You’re not going to do it.” He slowly closed his eyes, berating himself for letting his fear get the better of him. Before the long, drawn-out pause that followed, he knew he’d already lost. You never told Chloe she couldn’t do something. Not as her fellow soldier, not as her friend, and certainly not as her husband. That he’d learned long ago.

He opened his eyes, the stunned looks around the room a twisted mirror to the angry cloud on Chloe’s face as she silently stared at him. She had always been so good at silence. He cast about, desperately.

“Then I’m going with you,” he finally said.

“No, you’re not,” she said firmly, and raised an arm, pointing at Ryana. “And neither are you. Nikolai needs your Highlander’s brute force just in case you run into any stragglers that my move doesn’t draw to me. And you,” she said, pointing back at Nikolai with a finger that felt like a punch to his gut. “You see these people to safety. We finish our contract. We get off this rock.”

He opened his mouth to respond, and slowly closed it, despair and fury impotent in the face of that mantle she’d placed on him. To do what was right. To fulfill the contract.

They shared a final look before she moved away, barking orders to set a lance in motion toward a roiling army of giants they were now deliberating going to poke with a stick.

* * *

Chloe and her lance worked their way through the maze of ravines and arroyos, ever closer to the location of the First Prince. She’d deliberately taken a longer route, as she didn’t wish to find herself thrust immediately into the thick of the fighting; they’d had to back track several times after getting lost and hitting dead ends. However, she was already fighting a fear that she’d committed herself to such a crazy action, so caution was the best choice. But I didn’t have a choice, right? It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? Dawson would’ve understood. He’d have flashed his cards and his brilliant smile, and made a quip that would’ve eased her decision. She could almost smell him within the confines of the Griffin’s cockpit. Am I right, Dawson? She didn’t hear a reply.

As she maneuvered the BattleMech into a ravine running obliquely to the route they’d left, the vague indicators on her instrument panel’s radar resolved into the bright carets of enemy targets. A towering assault BattleMech, backed by several others, marched toward her position, just over two kilometers distant.

Time to be a target.

* * *

“Come back, Ryana,” Nikolai shouted into the commline. They were actually within striking distance of reaching the DropShip safely, and somehow he’d managed to misplace a 90-ton BattleMech at the very end of the long train of vehicles and ’Mechs continuing their endless trek through dirty, forgotten canyons. “You were given a direct order from your commander to safeguard this convoy. We’re not there yet.”

“She needs me,” Ryana said back over the channel. “Besides, you’re almost there. Her trick worked just fine. But she’s going to need my help to disengage.”

He pounded his fist his conn chair, the pain a welcome counterpoint to the frustrations piling up on each other until he couldn’t take any more of it. “You really think you can catch her in your Highlander?”

“I’ve been staring at these ravines for hours, running simulations. I can catch up to her. And she can drum me right out of the Cavaliers if that’s what it takes. But I’m bringing her home.”

He pounded his fist again on the armrest, furious at Ryana for disobeying a direct order. And even more angry at the jealously that choked him: she was doing what he so desperately wished to do.

* * *

As another of Chloe’s lancemates was cut down under withering fire from a Second Sword of Light Zeus, she knew that today the price for doing what she knew was right might just be higher than any she’d ever expected to pay.

The enemy Zeus finished caving in the right side of a Cavaliers Jenner that had fallen to a wounded leg, finishing the BattleMech for good. Chloe stomped onto her jump jets, lofting her nearly two dozen meters up to the edge of the deep ravine. She landed dangerously close to the edge and ran along it, firing her particle projector canon as fast as it would cycle. Despite the 80-ton assault ’Mech and its supporting ’Mechs, her lance had made a great showing for itself, especially considering the horribly tight confines of the battlefield. Great rents crisscrossed the Zeus’s armor, and flashing sparks within some indicated internal damage.

A spread of long-range missiles suddenly sheeted down across the Zeus, obscuring it with explosions and smoke. Chloe almost lost control of her run at the unexpected attack. That was from behind our position. Who in Blake’s Blood…?

“You really shouldn’t fight without me,” Ryana’s voice burst on the commline.

The joyous sound of her near-sister’s voice never sounded so good. Anger sparked at the direct contradiction of her orders, but she’d deal with that later.

“I’ve not had you at my side in a lot of years, Ryana.” She expanded the spread of her run, the pounding of her BattleMech’s heavy trod sparking avalanches down the sides of the ravine at her passage.

“Whether on a DropShip or here, I’ve always got your back. Besides, I was about to ask why you weren’t listening to your comms, but I see they’ve been destroyed. The convoy is about to reach the DropShip. Your play worked. Now let’s get out of here.”

“You mean after we destroy this ’Mech,” she said through gritted teeth. Just need to find the right spot…

“Of course,” Ryana said. Another wreath of flames and explosives tore off more armor as the Zeus returned fire against both combatants.

Chloe abruptly stabbed her feet down onto her pedals once more and launched back down into the ravine as the Zeus clumsily tried to turn its more damaged side away from the savaging of her PPC. Still in midair, she lashed out with the azure beam, striking deep into the wounded torso. A massive explosion followed, the Zeus tearing itself inside out as the energy beam found and detonated the ’Mech’s long-range-missile magazine.

Sweat-soaked and tense from so many days of desperation, Chloe heaved a huge sigh of relief. She adjusted the throttle and joysticks, maneuvering the Griffin back around as the Highlander drew near. Just then, back along the route to freedom, more enemies appeared, a 75-ton Marauder at the forefront.

“We’ve got this, Chloe,” Ryana said.

Chloe eased tired muscles, pushing the throttle forward. “Blake’s Blood, it’s good to be fighting by your side again,” she responded, laughing.

* * *

“You will go after the XO,” Nikolai said, finger just touching the chest of the Interstellar Expeditions security man, the stream of researchers and assistants loading onto the DropShip momentarily forgotten. “I don’t care if you’re not under obligation to follow my orders, Talo. You will follow, you will find, and you will provide whatever assistance is needed.”

“What can a VTOL do?” Talo insisted. “We’ve got to evacuate. This whole area will be overrun any minute.”

“Does it look like I care?” Nikolai grated out, fingers twitching for his favorite blade. He’d not touched any knives since Dawson’s death. But if he’d had any at hand, he might just have used them in that moment to get his point across. “The sooner you go, the sooner you’re back and the sooner we all can liftoff this world.”

The security man swallowed, noting a look in Nikolai’s eyes every bit as sharp as a blade. “I’ll go,” he said, sprinting toward the chopper, already swinging his arm in a large circle to signal the pilot to fire up the engines.

Damn you, Chloe. Damn you, Ryana. I should be there!

* * *

Blood trickled down Chloe’s wounded arm; shrapnel from autocannon fire had breached her cockpit. She raggedly drew in breath, the pain and scorching heat making it nearly impossible to concentrate as she maneuvered against the enemy Marauder.

Her limping Griffin, with most of its jump jets destroyed, wouldn’t even make the lip of the crevasse now. The Marauder kept up its ruthless hunt while Ryana finished off the rest of the enemy lance; she and Chloe had been dragged apart by the relentless fighting.

Chloe raised her BattleMech’s right arm and blasted back again with a PPC beam, watching it splash liquefied armor to the ground. Ultimately they’d downed nearly twice as many as those they’d lost. But there were just too many. Too many.

So close…

As in slow motion, she watched the weapons pod of the Marauder pull into line with her once more. She could see the flicker of blue deep within the aperture as it powered up. She just managed to catch a glimpse of the family photo she kept in the cockpit: Someday you’ll understand.

Searing heat washed existence away.

* * *

From over half a kilometer down the long ravine, the enemy Warhammer pilot ejected just as Chloe’s Griffin tipped past the point of equilibrium and inexorably toppled. Coruscating energies of the PPC strike that had knocked the BattleMech down still flashed and arced down the limbs, causing the giant avatar of war to twitch. Ryana imagined feeling the ground shake, even at this distance, as her sister in all but blood hammered down. She could be alive! But Ryana’s gut twisted at the smoking hole punched through the Griffin’s neck.

“NO!” She held the roar out until her lungs might burst as she pressed her 90-ton BattleMech into a lumbering sprint toward the Marauder that felled Chloe.

Anger surged and roiled as lava in her veins, and she recklessly flicked on a wide-beam transmission. “Snake,” she shouted toward the hated enemy BattleMech. “You will die for what you’ve done this day. Cha togar m’ fhearg gun dìoladh!” she screamed in Scottish Gaelic.

“I accept your challenge,” the warrior responded.

The calm, smugness of his tone infuriated, and she brought her ’Mech’s long-range missiles onto target and let fly as the Marauder returned fire with a stream of autocannon shells from its dorsal-mounted AC/5.

She triggered another flight of missiles after they cycled. But she’d crossed below the half kilometer range of the twin particle projector cannons that made up the menacing weapon pods at the end of the Marauder’s arms. Azure beams whipped out to slash into her torso, burning long furrows of liquified armor. She didn’t hesitate and pushed the machine at its top speed of fifty-four kilometers per hour. Despite the relative rise and fall of this ancient riverbed, it wasn’t enough to impact her speed, and she kept up the dogged pace. Just thirty seconds more. Have to survive for just thirty seconds.

Despite the swaying of her beloved Claidheamh-mór—her “claymore”—she kept the targeting reticule focused on the enemy, squeezing into a shot from the AC/10 mounted in her right arm. Depleted-uranium slugs tore into the Marauder’s right torso, blasting away armor. However, with her concentration split between avoiding enemy fire and ensuring she didn’t cascade her BattleMech into the ground at top speed, she struggled to keep the reticule on target—and failed. Some of the weapon’s stream spat off to the right of her target.

Two beams lashed out at her again, sloughing off sheets of superheated armor that lost their cohesion under the hellish energies of the Marauder’s weapons. Readout lights flared yellow on her dashboard’s armor diagram, noting significant losses. She ignored it, the explosions and pounding of her BattleMech’s feet echoing off of the ravine’s walls even making it through the hermetically sealed cockpit and the heavy, insulated neurohelmet that wrapped her head.

Thirty seconds stretched until it filled all of existence. As fast as they could cycle, twin PPC beams jittered and tore across her BattleMech’s armor, seeking holes to exploit—the pilot magnificently ignoring their heat buildup—while Ryana answered with her own weapons. Halfway through the run, she let her muzzles grow quiet—some due to minimum ranges, some to ammo depletion, but the rest over concentration. Of reaching the enemy no matter the cost to her or her beloved claymore.

Ten…

The enemy, seeing the assault ’Mech barreling toward it without veering off, began desperately backpedaling.

Seven…

Despite the impressive armor carried by her assault ’Mech, another blast of azure fire cut through her right torso and completely severed the right arm. It careened off to hammer into the wall of the ravine in a cloud of showering dirt clods.

Five…

Despite years of irregular cockpit time, Ryana still knew her machine as a lover’s body. And despite the horrible off-center momentum from the loss of the limb, she kept the ’Mech upright. Yet it was starting to twist in a way she didn’t like…

Three…

She stomped down on her BattleMech pedals as though trying to lift the 90-ton titan with her own strength. Thrust from jump-jet ports heaved the beast into the air in a short arc of terrifying potential energy, and her lips peeled wide into a rictus of intent as the Highlander tipped further off balance. She didn’t care. Just kept it on track with the Marauder desperately backpedaling, but never with enough time, and no place to hide in the ravine.

One…

In a move of superb piloting—despite starting to skew off true—Ryana drew in the BattleMechs legs to target the Marauder’s upper half. The latent energies of 90 tons of war-forged BattleMech plummeting out of the air from several dozen meters above transformed into terrible kinetic energies that ripped and tore their way through the Marauder’s torso. The dorsal-mounted AC/5 was ripped clean away. Both feet then caved down into the cockpit, pulverizing the helpless Combine MechWarrior. In the process, the kinetic shock returned to her Highlander, ravaging its armored legs. Her BattleMech’s left foot actuator was destroyed in a shower of torn equipment. In the midst of this horrific assault, strangely, the words of Chief Tech Olfson from years ago—what seemed another lifetime—chastised her for this “Highlander Burial,” for wrecking a component he couldn’t replace.

The pummeling energies hammered Ryana into her seat, causing her to bite her tongue. Lights flashed brightly as her neurohelmet smashed into the forward viewscreen. Pain seared bright, as her right arm dislocated as the five-point restraining harness dealt terrible bruises and tore ligaments. Half out of her chair, alarms pealing and red lights flaring, there was nothing she could do to stop the 90-ton BattleMech from flopping down into the dirt and crumpling atop the Marauder.

I don’t think you’ll be able to replace it this time, Ryana thought sadly, as blackness flew at her face with jarring intensity.

* * *

“Good gods,” Talo said. He leaned out the door, wind trying to tear him from his perch in the Ferret Light Scout VTOL while the pilot expertly maneuvered around the ravine, the smoke shearing away in the rotation of its blades.

“Nothing could survive that,” the pilot agreed, as they both took in the pile of akimbo limbs, shattered armor, and burning metal that was the pyre of a Highlander and Marauder.

“Do you want to tell that to Mason, without even checking?” Talo said, gritting his teeth over the coming ordeal.

“No,” came the slow response.

“Exactly, take us in.”

The VTOL tipped sharply toward the ground, dropped precipitously, and then flared at the last possible moment, settling to the rough sands with ease between the tangled mass of ’Mechs and a fallen Griffin in Cavaliers colors. Both men refused to voice what the third ’Mech meant.

Talo grabbed the fire extinguisher and was out immediately. He sprinted carefully through the sand—avoiding hot sparks of shrapnel—and leaped onto the smashed leg of the Highlander. His boots started smoking on sections of superheated armor plating, but he finally managed to scale the dangerous, unwieldy pile. This close to the cockpit, he battled a fire underway, grateful for the heavy flame-retardant foam, and managed to access the external emergency unlocking system, but to keep from burning himself, he tore away a section of his shirt to wrap his hand.

Yanking the hatch free, he quickly doused the fire in the enclosed cockpit, causing the pilot to cry out further in pain. Once the flames were under control, he ignored the burns and blood, and concentrated on unclipping Ryana from her broken harness. Heaved her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and somehow managed to make it back to the ground before collapsing for a breather, his throat scorched from heat and growing smoke.

Through the thumping of amplified blades in the ravine, the concussive blasts of heavy weapons fire broke abruptly, with loud echoes that set Talo’s hair on end. He jerked in that direction, staring down a kilometer-long ravine, and saw weapon’s fire flashes reflected in those depths, even if he couldn’t see any BattleMechs. Yet.

“We have got to get out of here,” he said, moving to hoist Ryana onto his shoulder again, when she abruptly looked up.

“Take me to the Griffin,” she shouted against the noise.

“Are you nuts?” he said, pointing wildly down the ravine. “You just scraped the edges of the war being fought a scant few kilometers away. An edge that dropped both of your BattleMechs. And there’s about to be several hundred more swirling through here. We have got—”

Ryana seized his arm forcefully, her pain-wracked features filled with hellish intensity as she cut him off. “You will take me to the Griffin, or we’ll both die right here.”

He knew a safe bet when he saw it, and they both stumbled through the sand toward the Griffin, ignoring the frantically waving arms of the VTOL pilot. This time, luckily, the ’Mech lay flat on its back, head turned to the side, almost as if sleeping. It allowed Talo to boost Ryana up to the back of the cockpit, where she pried open the emergency release for the hatch and scampered inside, despite her wounds.

He looked nervously towards the ever-growing sounds of battle drawing near, trying to ignore the sobs from above.

* * *

The wash from the blades of the Ferret Light Scout VTOL flushed sand horizontally, striking Nikolai’s face and forcing him to squint. A figure practically fell out of the helo’s side door. Bedraggled, clothing burnt, Ryana leaned heavily against Talo as they lurched through the sand and the heavy downdraft of swirling detritus. Then the Ferret lifted off and rapidly arrowed away from their exposed position.

Most of Ryana’s hair had been singed away, with a large bandage hastily applied across the right side of her face and down onto her neck and shoulder. The weight of impending doom loomed toward him as she neared. A physical manifestation surged out from her presence and tried to crush him. And with the bulk of the DropShip behind him, he felt caught between twin, implacable anvils that would crush him. He analytically tried to stave off emotions. She must have had to eject, which means she lost her Highlander. And her right arm must be in a bad shape, since she’s favoring it so. She won’t unclench her fist. We need to get her to the infirmary on the DropShip.

Ryana and Talo stumbled to a halt in front of him, and she slowly looked up. Nikolai had known Ryana for over fifteen years now, had served with her through victory and defeat, joy and heartache. He knew her well. Yet despite his best attempts to distract himself, his essence was torn asunder as though cloven in two by a BattleMech-sized blade: through the caked blood and dirt on Ryana’s face, twin tracks of tears still flowed.

Chloe is dead.

The whirlwind of activity in loading the DropShip for imminent, emergency liftoff fell into a forgotten silence as the two of them shared a moment that would bind them forever. A young yet strong hand fell on his shoulder, and Nikolai slowly turned to find glistening eyes filled with mirrored pain, eyes that would forever remind him of his brilliant Chloe. He fell into a bear hug with their child, who would always be the best remembrance of his wife. His own tears, unknown since the childhood hell of the bandits, joined the communal offering.

“What are we going to do now?” Fahad said, breaking the reverie, as he’d moved up to join them.

Despite emotions, Nikolai was surprised at the soft tongue of their acerbic tech, until he saw the look in Fahad’s eyes as well. It wasn’t just me, my wife. We all loved you.

The pain of the last few years rose as a terrible burden. The death of Dawson, the loss of Brooklynn, and now Chloe. Can we really go on? The shared silence returned, each lost in their memories, struggling to find their own decision.

“We got the civilians to safety,” Ryana finally spoke up, throat rough from her ordeal. “We fulfilled the contract, on her life. And now we take the next contract. We do the job, and move on to the next contract. And the next. And the next. We get it done.”

Dawson’s words from a small room in Galatea City, where it all began, took on a new, more powerful meaning from Ryana’s lips. Four pairs of eyes measured pain and commitment in equal measure.

“For Chloe,” Nikolai said, after fighting through a throat clenched tight with emotions. You showed me how to always try to do what’s right. I can follow you. “For the Cavaliers.”

Ryana limped closer, within arm’s reach, and slowly raised her clenched fist. He looked quizzically at her, then slowly held out his palm.

“Not just for Chloe,” Ryana said, conviction firm through the tears, as she slowly opened her hand. “For all of us. And we’re no longer just the Cavaliers. Chloe would have it no other way. We are now Nik’s Cavaliers.”

Chloe’s JumpShip-shaped pendant felt into his hand.

About the Author

Randall N. Bills began his writing career in the adventure-gaming industry, where he has worked full-time for over two decades. He’s led the publication of literally hundreds of sourcebooks, rulebooks, boxed games, and more. This includes instrumental work on the seminal BattleTech and Shadowrun game lines; he was lore advisor on Harebrained Schemes’s BattleTech computer game, and is a co-story developer for Piranha Games’s forthcoming MechWarrior 5 computer game. His most recent game publications include the Dungeons & Dragons Dragonfire deckbuilder.

His hobbies include music, gaming, reading (fantasy to history, theology to science), and spending time with his family. He currently lives in the Pacific Northwest, where he continues to work full-time (and then some) in the adventure-gaming industry while pursuing his fiction writing—Randall has published eight novels, two Star Trek novellas, and a host of short stories.

He lives with his wife, Tara, and children—Bryn Kevin, Ryana Nikol and Kenyon Aleksandr—as well as a neurotic German Shepherd named Ecko.

Cover by David Kerber

Edited by Philip A. Lee

Additional Continuity Review by Chris Wheeler

Copyright ©2019 The Topps Company Inc. All rights Reserved. BattleTech, BattleMech, and ’Mech, are registered trademarks and/or trademarks of The Topps Company, Inc. in the United States and/or other countries.

Catalyst Game Labs and the Catalyst Game Labs logo are trademarks of InMediaRes Production, LLC.

MechWarrior and BattleTech are registered trademarks of Microsoft Corporation and are used under license.

All other logos, trademarks, and trade names are the property of their respective holders.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.