The Calm of the Void

MechWarrior 5 Origins, Installment 1

Randall N. Bills

The Calm of the Void

MULE-CLASS DROPSHIP PERDIDO

SOLARIS VII, INBOUND

WYATT THEATER, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

5 DECEMBER 2991

“Just need to find that actuator’s Motor Control Unit,” Nikolai Mason muttered to himself. He’d gnawed at this mantra for over two years of searching across scrapyards and tapping black-market contacts on dozens of planets. He was sick and tired of being a grunt on this crew. Despite the prestige of working on a Lyran Free Traders Association–affiliated JumpShip, he wanted more. Procurement officer—to range as far and wide as he wanted, forging contacts and making the deal. “What I’m best at,” he mumbled. Just needed the Merchant Captain to take notice. Which required something special. In this case, finding a rare, working Motor Control Unit for a specific BattleMech actuator. The logic always ran in circles.

Nikolai moved gracefully along the metallic corridor, despite his magnetic boots, heading toward the Mule-class DropShip’s bridge. He sucked in a lungful of canned, processed air. Subconsciously took in the unadorned, gray walls and deck plating—as much home to him as an alien flora-and-fauna-bedecked prairie of some backwater world was for a rancher. He wanted more. But it was always more of the void.

“Just need that MCU…”

“You know, the first sign of mental instability is talking to yourself.”

Nikolai sighed heavily at the barbed comment as Jules Vonic stepped into his peripheral vision. She was coming behind him—he could almost feel her cold emptiness running up his spine. But better to let her poke and be done than deal with being seen to flee the senior procurement officer. That would’ve given her more power, especially among the novice crew that didn’t know any better just yet. He stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned in her direction. Looked at her levelly, expressionless. He assumed some might find her physically appealing, with her lush hair and petite figure. But the soulless eyes? He’d seen too much of such depthless reflections already. He hated that someone like her had attained such rank, especially as she’d tried early on to take him under her wing. As if there’s anything she could teach me. You’re just jealous I’ll take your position. I’m better than you, you just don’t know it yet.

“I know you’re hunting for something special,” she continued, mockingly. She ran hands through her hair. Does she actually want me to be aware of it? “A piece of lostech you’re trying to dig up through some underworld contact, perhaps? Something to make the Merchant Captain sit up and take notice. But I’ll figure out what it is, and I’ll take it. Like I always do.”

Some bullies you had to meet with teeth and fist. But long ago were the days when he could snap to that judgment. Didn’t mean there still wasn’t a place for such a response. A knife in the dark, when needed. Especially when the Merchant Captain tended to look the other way if one of his procurement officers brought home the real deal—something incredibly rare and priceless. But not anymore. Sure, she was dangerous. She’d managed to steal several of his contacts, not to mention foil a promotion, after all. But he had her measure now. Knew where she’d push, where she’d pull. Just a matter of keeping ahead of her machinations with his own. Silence offered a better-armored rebuff against her ripostes than any rejoinders he could fire back.

“I see your usual silent treatment is the best you got.” Her derisive laugh echoed off the corridors’ walls, causing a few crew members moving along an axis corridor to glance up before avoiding eye contact and moving on. Amazing. I travel hundreds of light years to escape my youth and my past, yet adults are as senselessly power hungry and brutal as any group of children left to fend for themselves.

He counted ten heartbeats, knowing to the second how long he needed to endure her odious presence, before moving on. He was also just close enough to the command bridge that even Jules wouldn’t evoke a direct confrontation under the eyes of their DropShip captain.

“Don’t forget, Niki. I get what you want.” She laughed again, the sound impelling him forward, the heavy clang of his magnetic boots a comforting counterpoint.

Just then a piercing whistle split the air, accompanied by an address over the PA: “Beginning mid-transit maneuver in five, four, three, two, one…”

Nikolai made it to the command bridge and engaged his boots, just as the heavy transit thrust ceased. His magnetic boots kept him in position for the minutes-long weightlessness as attitude jets along the DropShip’s sides smoothly flipped it end-over in mid-system transit. He ran the numbers smoothly in his head: 243,949,831 kilometers traversed across sixty-two hours after leaving the star’s nadir jump point. The fusion drive in the bowels of the 11,200-ton ship ignited once more. The vibrations in the deck plating slowly increased to indicate the start of another sixty-two-hour burn for the delta-v required for eventual planetary atmospheric interface at this journey’s end.

He moved to a side monitor to stay out of the way, and pulled up a holomap display of the interstellar border between the Lyran Commonwealth and the Free Worlds League. The map slowly revolved before his eyes, and Nikolai traced their long path.

Despite wanting to ignore them, Jules’s barbs still stung. To take his mind off her, he fell back into what he loved best. The deal. The numbers. Started running calculations to bring the calm.

His eyes flowed to the far left of the holomap where their current spinward route began so many months ago. A resupply run for the mercenary command Narhal’s Raiders on the world of Poulsbo. Then a 21.3 light-year jump to the Galisteo system in the Free Worlds League; the others balked at daring to cross an enemy border, but he loved the audacity. There, the Star Lord-class JumpShip Talia’s Investiture—such a mouthful, with the Merchant Captain (always capitalized) mum about its origins—had deployed its massive, 1,140-meter solar sail. Then they waited 178 hours for the system’s F7V star to recharge the Kearny-Fuchida drive running nearly the full length of the needle-like spaceship’s 660 meters. They then furled the sail, jumped back over the border to the Timbiqui system, and initiated the same process of sail deployment, recharging, and furling as they did after every jump. Then onto Cavanaugh II, where two DropShips detached from docking collars along the Investiture’s spine and began the fast 1.96-day resupply run to the Thirty-sixth Lyran Guards and Ninth Lyran Regulars, the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces’ regiments stationed on-planet. Then three days spent downside there. Then back once more across the border for a series of recharge-only jumps through Nockatunga, Millungera, Alula Borealis and Bell I, before crossing into Lyran space. There they had hit Loric for another resupply run, this time to the Seventh Lyran Regulars and the Stealthy Tigers; he always enjoyed his interactions with the Tigers’ tech liaison. Then to Giausar, and onto Ford and another run for the Fourteenth Lyran Guards; not so good interactions this last run, since he’d pushed too hard in his hunt. A quick side trip to the Gienah Combat Vehicles plant on Gienah to load up numerous new vehicles and corresponding components. Then onto Hyde and Rahne. His eyes paused at their current destination, Solaris, for resupplying the Tenth Skye Rangers and Thirty-second Lyran Guards

After six solid months of work, Merchant Captain Cardian had granted the crew of the three now-decelerating DropShips—along with half the JumpShip’s crew accompanying them—a week of R&R on the gaming capital of the Inner Sphere; the other three DropShip crews, along with the other half of the JumpShip crew, would get R&R here the next pass through. The men and women onboard already salivated at the prospects of being mere days away from gaming, alongside experiments of drowning in flesh and alcohol.

Nikolai breathed in the stale DropShip air and the stink of too many people in too-close confines for long months…and knew he’d be staying aboard during that downside leave. The price for obtaining lostech on Solaris VII was always too high, with so many underworld crews running with an iron fist their various sections of Solaris City, a microcosm of the Inner Sphere. He’d learned that painful lesson last time. Knife in the dark, indeed. Besides, continuing to learn the technical specs for the MCU he hoped to procure was crucial—if he wanted to impress on Merchant Captain Cardian that he was worthy of becoming a full procurement officer and tech—among other things—he had a ways to go. So much to learn, so little time.

Almost of their own volition, his eyes continued forward in time. Next up would be New Kyoto and another in-system run for resupplying the Blackhearts mercenary command. Then he saw the future jumps to Algorab, Gacrux, and then Phecda, including another run there for the Fifth Donegal Guards. Then Wyatt and the stationed troops of the Eleventh Lyran Guards and Seventeenth Arcturan Guards; they’d also pick up a large resupply at the Bowie Industries plant, as per their usual long-term contracts. From there it would be on to recharge jumps at Alioth and another in-system run at Denebola for the Tenth Lyran Regulars. And then finally onto New Earth, which would include another large resupply at the New Earth Trading Company. And of course the Twelfth Star Guards mercenary command, who were desperate for the very Motor Control Unit he’d been trying to find, as they’d had no luck themselves in locating their own replacement as yet. Centuries of constant warfare made finding the best technology from the past difficult. Or an opportunity.

As he finished tracing the full breadth of their spinward trade route, he stretched, his singlet for space travel sliding smoothly across his skin. Once more took in a lungful of shipboard air, with all its stale qualities. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a the large holotank taking up the center of the bridge, displaying the entire Solaris system, with a bevy of carets denoting all space traffic. A half dozen crew members worked at their terminals in a half ring around the holotank space, while the DropShip captain sat ensconced in a larger chair, raised a half meter off-the deck plating, giving him a commanding view of his domain. They all ignored him, as they did any grunt of the crew.

Nikolai concentrated once more on the calm beauty of numbers. Quickly summed the figures that spun in stat blocks next to all of the data points on the holomap. Twenty-three star systems, a total interstellar distance of some 479 light years. Nine in-system runs from jump points well above the ecliptic plane down to the inhabited worlds, for a total of 208 days. (He shuddered at the memory of the 104-day round trip to Phecda’s surface, because their DropShip captain refused potential extra strain on the ship by increasing thrust.) Those times also included a three-day on-planet stint at each of those stops, for the usual off-loading and on-loading of supplies, as well as maintenance cycles better left for downside; each DropShip captain under the Merchant Captain was nothing if not sticklers. Not to mention the extra seven days of R&R on Solaris VII, plus 4,160 hours of recharge time, or some 174 days. He kept summing and merging the transit times with recharge times across the entire circuit, zeroing out times as appropriate, and came up with just about 341 days total. Just shy of a year of interstellar travel and commerce.

He was not a betting man. But if he was, he’d take any odds at any table in Solaris City that the Merchant Captain would manage that circuit within plus or minus seven days. Even with pirate attacks or a blown helium seal on the JumpShip, Cardian would still make up the difference. It’s why he operates one of the only independent family-owned Star Lord JumpShips; I’m lucky I earned this billet two years ago. He ignored the fact he’d not earned it.

At New Earth, it would be time to cycle back through the same interstellar progress in reverse, albeit with a few destination tweaks along the way, as usual, until they were back out at the edge of the Periphery and of the dregs of known space. Such was the glorious life of a merchant ship with military-resupply contracts.

The ordered efficiency of it all, mixed with the endless void, brought a calm he rarely experienced. He closed his eyes, reveling in the unusual experience. Some day I’ll build a trade route like the Merchant Captain and sail the void as master, with no one my master. The freedom denied him from his youth beckoned as a siren song across the vacuum of space.

So many endless, monotonous hours of waiting for solar sails to charge; dozens of weeklong in-system DropShip transits; the frenzied three-day sprint of off-loading and on-loading to liftoff once more. Others he knew would run screaming—had run, as quick as their feet could carry them back off the DropShip at its next port of call.

He cocked his head, tasting the sensation. Is this love? Do I love this? As much as I can love anything. Or is it just my thirst for freedom? Regardless, oh, how his parents would’ve railed at him for doing exactly what they’d raised him to after all of his years spent trying to get away from the apprenticeship and the horrors his actions had unleashed. But not in that way. Not on my terms.

He glanced away from the holomap, out at the million stars visible through the DropShip’s viewport—Solaris VII a bright orb, slowly growing. Whether love or not, there was immense satisfaction in his chosen job. He waited long minutes more, basking in the view and all the potential it held, as he did every in-system run, glad the captain allowed him the ritual. Then he made his way back to his bunk. Time for more studying.

BLACKHEARTS ENCAMPMENT

HIRIHITO, OUTSKIRTS

NEW KYOTO, RAHNESHIRE

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

24 DECEMBER 2991

The frozen, white particles covered everything. Blake’s Blood, this stuff is annoying. The curse still felt like an ill-fitting space suit on Nikolai’s tongue, despite the years. He tried ignoring this snow everyone else found so appealing. And despite several days of standard-gravity transit in-system, so many years spent in zero gravity left an extra weight across his shoulders he always found unpleasant. Not much different than the weight of my life, though. He stretched his neck until it popped, finding it hard to fathom why anyone would prefer such strange, unpredictable weather over the magnificently controlled atmosphere aboard a spaceship. Why avoid such calm?

He shrugged, trudging on.

Nikolai left the city’s edge behind, crossing alongside the short side of the major planetary spaceport for a kilometer, and reached the edge of the Blackhearts mercenary encampment. He glanced over his shoulder. Did I lose Jules’s tail? He wasn’t sure—even if she figured his destination, he was still ahead of her—but he continued walking.

They’d been downside for just over a day, and his captain was anxious to keep schedule and lift off in less than two. And sure, Nikolai wasn’t a procurement officer—not yet—so he shouldn’t really have been out here. But if you’re pushing up, you have to push out. And that meant pushing boundaries, finding contacts. If he’d learned anything from his years spent among bandits, information could be more powerful than any gun or fist. (Though ignoring the threat of either was just stupid and would get you killed.) The hunt was on.

The heavy impact sound—and vibrations through the sidewalk—announced a patrolling BattleMech coming near his path. A 25-ton Commando reached the edge of the fenced Blackhearts compound, turned, and leisurely plodded along. He knew the pilot at the control of the nearly eight-meter-tall war machine was likely bored out of their mind. But security was security. And if you didn’t present a show of even light force, the underworld elements in the city behind him might find the military tech irresistible.

At the perimeter gate, he found the infantry guards decked out in red cloth hats, tapering to a curious white, fluffy ball. Right. Christmas. It was Christmas Eve. He glanced back over his shoulder. Though over a kilometer distant, and despite the falling snow, the lavish Buddhist temple of Tooshodai-ji was still visible at the nexus between the spaceport and the edge of Hirihito, the planetary capital. And even more impressive, the largest statue of Amida Buddha in the entire Inner Sphere (he’d asked); the towering figure clawed its way 110 meters into the darkening sky.

He shrugged it all off. He’d never believed in such things. To him they might as well have been strangely painted hats everyone worshipped. He glanced back at the guards. Especially those hats. There had been only one thing you worshipped, and if you failed, your life would become exceedingly…unpleasant. As mine did. Memories of being cast out from his family surfaced in a rush of pain. Of the harsh realities of the bandits he’d fallen in with. A particular, too-often served memory flushed his system with dread: the harsh, rattling gasp of an oxygen tank almost out of air, a spacesuit strapped to the outside of a JumpShip bulkhead, and a too-young Nikolai frantically wondering if this time they wouldn’t reach him before asphyxiation dragged him unto death. The torture had been…very effective.

But I survived. I always survive. He shook himself, as though a dog flinging off the memories like so much rain. He knew it would come again at some point; they always did.

He pulled out his identification badge and flashed it; though they’d seen him twice today, they still checked it against their noteputers and his facial features. He still felt uneasy around mercenaries, but professional was professional. He nodded his respect as he passed through the checkpoint and moved into the encampment proper.

The temperature plummeted as the sun set. His breath came in great, pluming clouds while he moved deeper into the camp, his nostrils trying to stick together as his cold gained a further foothold. The clean, well-lit avenues between the temporary huts and permanent fortifications spoke volumes. Might as well call this a base. Whether the Blackhearts or a previous command, this location next to the spaceport had long held this world’s defenders against possible incursions by Free Worlds League adventurism. Though he’d heard rumors the Blackhearts were hoping for a new deployment to another theater, soon.

Nikolai finally reached a small building—more a shack—and stepped in. Considering the information he’d gleaned in the city’s back streets, he’d expected more. He shivered. Is it actually colder in here? He pulled out a tissue and blew to try restoring some normal breathing, to no avail. Tucked it back away. The ramshackle appearance of the room—every surface appeared covered with some gadget or another—further bolstered his unease that he’d misread the information. This Chloe they described wouldn’t be so messy?

He startled as a voice spoke loudly from a door leading into a back portion of the small building. “Blake’s Blood! You are going to work. I’m sick and tired of your lazy attitude. Do I have to do everything?” A bang followed the diatribe. “You are going to work!”

Just then a short, late-twenties woman entered the room from that back area. She wore coveralls in the style favored by the Blackhearts’ technical teams, and her shoulder-length, dark-brown hair fell around a face whose thin lips were pursed into exasperation. She held a large, electronic device, which she muttered at. Is that what she was yelling at? A long, thick strand of myomer cable issued from it, draping over her shoulder, snaking back into that other room.

The woman moved to a large computer console, with an attached electronics-testing bank. After carefully setting the device down with another mutter about working, she rapidly plowed through a battery of diagnostics. He held his breath. While his strength lay in the contacts he forged, often with unusual sources—he did plan to be a procurement officer, after all—he’d pushed himself relentlessly the last two years to learn the ins and outs of the BattleMech: the war machines of star empires waging their continual wars. He knew the device she tested was an MCU: the internal brains of an actuator, one of the joints that kept the dozen-meter-tall avatars of war upright, like that Commando patrolling outside. And the attached myomer muscle allowed the multi-ton beasts to move with such alacrity and grace.

Nikolai held his breath as her fingers and eyes danced through a series of multi-tiered testing to discover why the MCU was malfunctioning. He watched in awe at her skill and speed.

My contact was right. The Blackhearts have no idea what they have here. She should be heading up all of their tech crews. And instead, they stuck her in this cold-as-a-morgue shack.

Might she join us? Even as the thought blossomed, he instinctively pulled back. Wait a minute. What am I thinking? I don’t know her from a hole in the wall. And what happens to me if I bring in someone who drops the ball? Yeah, I’m dropped as well.

She’s a contact. I’m looking for an MCU. That’s it. An MCU.

The woman finally let out a yelp as she noticed Nikolai, her hand sliding underneath the edge of the desk hidden from his view. A gun there. His estimations rose further. Especially as he finally got a look at her eyes. Brilliant green. And as determined and full of intelligence as anyone he’d ever met. All in once glance.

Magnificent.

“What in Blake’s Blood are you doing in my shack?” she said. “Who are you?”

Nikolai immediately put on his most disarming smile but abruptly changed course. She’s too smart for that. Direct approach.

He shrugged, his usual weary face intact. “Sorry. My name’s Nikolai. I’m with the resupply DropShip that’s bringing you a pile of new supplies. Including, I imagine, a pretty good batch of salvage for you to work over.”

She took in his much-less-flashy uniform, and the tension eased slightly. “Ah. Sorry. You startled me.”

“My apologies. I’m a…novice gearhead. Watching you work was a pleasure. Just couldn’t bring myself to interrupt.”

She blushed, which he’d expected from such a compliment. But there was something else there—a dark flash in her eyes before she hid it. What was that? He found himself even more intrigued.

“What exactly do you want?” she asked.

Normally he might dissemble for a time, but he knew immediately that wasn’t the right tack, here. “I’m looking for a Master Control Unit for a Champion’s right leg.”

She raised her eyebrow and whistled. “And I suppose you want a pony while you’re at it. Why would you need an actuator from such a rare Star League–era BattleMech? Those haven’t been produced in centuries. Gonna be heading into battle soon?”

He let the heavy sarcasm roll on by, like the bandit beatings of his youth. “Our final destination for this route is New Earth, and—”

“Ah, Twelfth Star Guards,” she interrupted. “Mercenaries. Ancient Star League origins. Makes sense.”

“You know your commands. And your deployments.” He nodded appreciatively.

She shrugged, her eyes glancing at the readout to follow the continued diagnostics as she split her attention. “Haven’t always been with the Blackhearts. And I may not always be here. Information is ammunition, so to speak.”

Exactly. He nodded his respect, even though she wasn’t looking. Who is this woman?

“You trying to make better contacts in that command?” she said. “Butter up your merchant captain?”

He smiled despite himself. “Something like that. Don’t suppose you’ve got any leads?”

“Nothing here. But I know a guy…” Her voice trailed off until the silence was broken only by the hum of the monitors where her eyes were glued. The minutes stretched and Nikolai’s lips twitched. She wields silence effectively.

“You know a guy?”

“Right. Yeah. Detlef Jorgenson is a master tech working for Bowie Industries on Wyatt. I assume that’s one of your future runs?”

“It is.”

The silence returned, and Nikolai surreptitiously wiped his nose. Very effectively.

“I’m willing to offer you a trade in kind,” he said. C-bills were C-bills, of course, but after centuries of endless Succession Wars, parts were often more valuable than cash.

The green eyes glanced up from her monitors. “I’m assuming you’ll be supplying the Tenth Lyran Regulars during your pass through the Denebola system?”

Again, her knowledge of trade routes and deployments impressed. “Yes.”

“The head tech there, Zardoff, he owes me a gyro.”

Nikolai’s eyebrows rose. “A gyro.”

“Yeah. Long story. Maybe I’ll tell you about it. Bring me that gyro.”

“That’s several months down the line since we’ll continue on to New Earth before starting back along this path. Not to mention, my Merchant Captain may decide not to stop at New Kyoto.”

She shrugged and abruptly typed furiously on the keyboard while adjusting the strand of myomer. “Not my problem,” she finally responded.

Normally he hated making such an open-ended promise. But this felt like the first break in some time. He would simply find a way to make it happen. “Agreed.”

She nodded once, sealing the agreement. “Well, the last time we got drunk and swapped stories, he mentioned having a Star League–era MCU tucked away; yeah, we both know you might make do with a current model, but its gonna have reduced performance, no matter how you tweak it. And I got an HPG message from him a few months back. Seems the Leaguers snuck onto Wyatt earlier this year and got away with six brand-new Chippewa aerospace fighters. Shot the place up again. Came a little too close for his comfort. He was bellyaching something fierce about company execs not willing to relocate the plant to the Commonwealth’s interior, to better protect their employees. Especially when they did it for their other primary plant. I think he’d planned on pulling that MCU out to impress the brass at some point. But I’m thinking now he’s probably hoping to make a pretty penny. Perhaps even jump ship.” She looked back at him, emerald eyes penetrating. “You got a pretty penny?”

“Something like that.” He cocked his head, sucking his teeth for a moment. Using ComStar’s hyperpulse generator network to send interstellar messages could be pricy. “If you don’t mind me saying, that’s a fair bit of cash to stay in contact with another master tech, especially from an interstellar conglomerate. Not to mention, that was an awful easy contact you just tossed in my lap, gyro or no gyro. What’s in it for you?”

She smiled wolfishly, that alluring intelligence dancing in her eyes. “Contacts are important in this line of work. The right part at the right time is often more about who you know, not how many C-bills you can spend. Especially when you don’t have ’em to spend. Besides”—her eyes scanned him up and down like she was evaluating a new piece of lostech she’d found—“I can read people pretty well. I know a good bet when I see it. You’ll just owe me. Beyond that gyro, of course.”

He was not completely convinced there weren’t more strings attached. Yet he wasn’t about to ignore the first good lead he’d had on this hunt for over a year. “Of course. Anything specific?”

“I assume you’ll be back.”

“Yeah.”

She smiled. “You sure are talkative, for a merchant trader. Or is it all just me?”

Another rare smile cracked in return. “Something like that.”

She cocked her head. “Well, then I’m sure I’ll think of something I can abuse you for next time.” And with that she turned fully back to her program.

He raised his hand, as though to say something more, but realized there was nothing else to add. He would be back. On that promise, he swept out into the bitter cold.

NEAR EARHARDT CITY

WYATT, WYATT THEATER

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

10 MAY 2992

The engine of the large Škoda Growler service utility truck throttled effortlessly through the dirty sand that often buried the connecting freeway. The road snaked among the strange, towering rock formations of the desert that surrounded Earhardt City, its spaceport, and the Bowie Industries manufacturing facility—their destination—located some hundred clicks farther out. If Nikolai wasn’t so intent on running the plan through his head again, he might have noticed how beautiful the magnificent formations were in the late afternoon light.

“Gonna be a scorcher for sure, tomorrow.”

Nikolai glanced to his left, his hired driver sloppily chewing the nub of a cigar. Upon making the hire, he’d expected the usual bear-of-man with more gut than muscle. But this driver (Tom? Tim? Timothy?) was all legs and sharp angles. As though you could lose him behind a landing strut if you weren’t paying attention.

Nikolai turned away, embracing a thousand-meter stare as he traced the outline of what would happen today, but the man was unrelenting.

“You’d think our original colonists would have thought, ‘Desert…yeah, maybe not.’ Much less plugging it here in the southern hemisphere. I’m from the north. Feels proper upright. Down here always feel like my hat’s gonna fall off. Much less the blazing heat, here. Gonna top fifty-five by tomorrow, or my she-devil mother doesn’t still haunt me.”

Nikolai grunted noncommittally. He’d been polite. And then not so polite. And then not polite at all, telling the man to shut up so he could think. But the driver just shrugged, chewed on that soggy slug in his mouth, and kept jabbering on.

Nikolai purposefully rolled down the window, the blast of hot air stealing his breath away. And it’ll be hotter tomorrow? He could almost feel the ultra-dry air sucking the moisture out of his skin.

The other man prattled on, but the rush of wind cut the chatter to a point Nikolai could concentrate. The plan was in full motion now—nothing to do but hold on and hope it went well. Unless the Marik Militia decides to strike again! He smiled at his own sarcasm, knowing he was simply trying to drown out that incessant voice from the driver.

Chloe said Detlef might want to jump ship. But these corporations didn’t often let go easily, especially master techs. They could make life very difficult if they wanted to, and they usually did. So Nikolai had come with a pretty penny he felt confident Detlef would swallow. I hope this works. If it didn’t, he’d not only lose this contact, but would be out a rather large chunk of his secret reserve of C-bills.

After all, he only had the usual three days downside on this planet. And sixty-four hours to make contact and put Detlef at ease—even with a recommendation from Chloe—simply wasn’t possible. Despite what Nikolai had seen on holovid shows, you just couldn’t truncate forging a relationship like that.

Instead, he’d fired off an HPG message before leaving New Kyoto to introduce himself, with Chloe’s blessing. Then after their jump through Algorab and onto Gacrux, while the ship was recharging there, he’d sent a priority message to the space station at the nadir jump point, including a hefty electronic C-bill transfer fee. This beamed a priority message down to the planet, which was then fed into the local HPG and fired off for its interstellar trip, again to this master tech he was now heading toward. Then, during downside on their next supply run, on Phecda, he continued that correspondence, answering questions and disarming Detlef as much as possible. In fact, he’d never dipped so deeply, nor so quickly, into his C-bill reserve. Sure, the hunt had been long and he hoped to land that MCU and set the hook with the Twelfth Star Guards. Which would come around mighty sweet with the Merchant Captain, while back-handing Jules in the process. But there was something more.

As the truck took another swerving turn and the large, sprawling Bowie Industries manufacturing plant finally came into view, he tried to be honest with himself. No matter how often you lie to others, never lie to yourself. Those words echoed from a mentor from many years ago. A mentor he hoped to never see again.

It’s Chloe. Despite all he’d done, despite all he hoped to do—at that moment, he also wanted to impress her along the way. He saw her brilliant green eyes when he closed his. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. I’m such an idiot.

“And that’s how the head came clean off. Blood everywhere. Couldn’t believe it. And the cops wouldn’t either. Spent sixth months hard labor for that. But it wasn’t my fault!”

Nikolai shook himself as the driver’s words penetrated and drew him back to the moment. Timothy. Right. That’s his name. Timothy.

“Well, here we go,” Timothy continued. “Got ya here exactly like I said I would.” Spittle slicked his chin as he cheeringly chomped on that cigar nub, bobbing his head to the rhythm of the truck over the sand that still partially obscured the freeway.

The hot blast through the window picked up, even as they slowed down for the gate, whipping his hair and causing him to squint. He licked desert grime off his teeth.

After the buildup, passing through the gate was remarkably pro forma: a quick check of badges, a look under and through the vehicle, and they were in. Backing up to the docks, they met bored workers pulling over jacks to offload the supplies on their truck. After fifteen minutes of work, a master tech moved onto the dock, his presence not unexpected. The back of the truck contained extra-sensitive materials; carefully hidden eye rolls spoke volumes of what the dock workers thought of such a hands-on approach.

“All of you,” the man said loudly, arms flailing around like a short-circuiting myomer bundle, to get their attention. “I’ve got to verify these imbeciles didn’t harm the salvage we purchased. Go back to what you were doing before. I’ll have the drivers move it once I’ve confirmed it’s all in good shape.”

The workers shrugged at the usual prima donna response, while Timothy cackled and spit to the side.

The tech moved onto the back of the truck, and Nikolai followed. “Detlef Jorgenson?” he whispered. The physical description matched.

“Yeah. Nikolai?”

“Right. We move the last of this, and the false wall comes up easily. We’ll slip you in and get you away from here, no problems. You’ve got the MCU?”

“Right. We’ll need to wait here long enough to buy off the excuse. We can then make the switch as I complain about crappy salvage.”

“And your cover? Let’s go over it one last time.”

“The ‘accidental’ explosion will burn away my remains, exactly as you told me. And no one else will be harmed.” He looked around. “And this ‘company’ on the sides of your truck?”

Nikolai patted the side of the truck, as though to bring calm to the situation. “Totally bogus, with a random truck driver who’s never seen me before and will never see me again.”

“Good. Bowie’ll start an investigation, and it’ll lead to this truck before they’re done. Have to satisfy the insurance company to get their filthy C-bills back.”

“Excellent.”

Nikolai expected the man to be nervous over the nefarious actions underway, but instead, he seemed nothing but anxious to be on his way. Nikolai leaned against the inside of the large truck, feeling the time ebb away while they waited.

Abruptly Detlef started swearing loudly, banging against the top of one of the containers before stamping out, demanding Nikolai follow him. “That salvage is utterly worthless. I don’t trust anything you’ve brought. You’re taking it all back!”

The flamboyant driver remained on the dock, already striking up a conversation with a worker taking a smoking break. He would be remembered. Nikolai kept a low profile, following along subserviently; he wouldn’t. I hope. It took less time than expected to reach Detlef’s vacant offices, switch up the containers—including the all-too precious MCU—and hide him in the hidden compartment. Then Nikolai rolled the container back onto the truck, swearing softly—gotta sell it—and the driver and he were back through the gate and onto the freeway just as the wind picked up seriously, grit spitting in their faces.

Gonna be a serious blow. I hate downsides.

The truck picked up speed, but Timothy kept it to a minimum safe haul. As visibility dropped precipitously, Nikolai stretched luxuriously; a cat content with its mouse. He wasn’t vindictive by nature. Too much energy. Better to get on living. But the look on Jules’s face when he’d give this part to the Twelfth Star Guards and cement a relationship with such a respected and powerful mercenary command? Especially when the Merchant Captain would sit up and take notice. Perhaps a promotion on the spot? Yeah…almost as priceless as that. Not to mention…emerald eyes met his closed lids.

The long kilometers through baking desert stretched out before him. The haze of ever heavier curtains of sand wafting along the winding route merged with his consciousness as he slipped into light daydreams, as he glanced out at the surreal landscape. The hot air and soothing rhythm of the truck almost cradling him to sleep…

He abruptly shot out of his dream, adrenaline cascading fear through him as one of the towering rock formations moved! What in the name of the—

The deep-purple accents hiding the mechanical monstrosity blended into the darkening landscape as the sun set. That, along with the near blizzard of ocher particulates, took his brain too long to recognize what was happening. A seven-meter tall god of war-forged metal stepped onto the road, right into their path. The towering, 20-ton anthropomorphic avatar raised its right arm, which bore the barrel of a weapon that aimed directly at their truck. The aperture filled all of existence, his senses focusing on the inevitable he was powerless to stop: a sun sparked in the depths of that meters-wide hole, and a brilliant, scintillating ruby shaft leapt towards them.

The energy beam first stabbed into the asphalt of the freeway, superheating the tar and boiling away petrochemicals in puffs of black smoke as it tore a long scar across its surface before punching through the driver’s side of their truck. The thin metal of the civilian vehicle vaporized. Out of the corner of his eye Nikolai caught a glimpse of the driver cut off mid scream as he simply ceased to exist from one breath to the next. Blood and viscera exploded across the inside of the cab, covering Nikolai. The wash of excruciating heat limned his body in fire, while the beam traveled for another microsecond, hammering through the driver’s seat and back into the engine, causing another secondary explosion as the internal combustion engine tore itself apart. Meanwhile the driver’s side front tire melted under the heat, dropping the vehicle hard into the furrow the weapon’s discharge created on the freeway. That, along with the force of the engine’s explosion, imparting extra upward lift, launched the vehicle into the air. Abrupt weightlessness focused Nikolai’s agony, and his brain cataloged events at superluminal speeds…

He was no MechWarrior. He’d never been in actual combat, though he’d fueled many conflicts with his trade. And he’d seen combat from afar—plenty of it in his youth—much less his growing obsession with becoming a tech to service the BattleMechs that fought the Succession Wars across the Inner Sphere as star empires strove vainly to reforge the lost Star League. Yet the sight of even the smallest of BattleMechs—a 20-ton Wasp—brought a psychological impact he’d not expected when he was the recipient of its power and presence. The way its Diverse Optics 2 medium laser utterly annihilated the vehicle. No wonder we’ve worshipped these gods of war for centuries.

As the vehicle finished its rotation and neared impact with the ground, the Wasp came into view once more, and again Nikolai’s brain ran of its own accord, ignoring the coming doom. Purple. Chloe’s words from months past haunted with foreknowledge. I was joking about a new raid. Joking! The vehicle crashed into the ground at over forty kilometers per hour, and even before the twisting and rolling began, over a dozen Gs of kinetic force tore Nikolai from consciousness.

TWELFTH STAR GUARDS BASE

NEOASIA, NEW EARTH

WYATT THEATER, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

20 JUNE 2992

Nikolai looked out the window of First Regiment’s quartermaster’s office. In the distance he could see Colonization Park and its two massive statues. The first was a replica of the unmanned Magellan probe that reached the then-called Tau Ceti system. The much larger monument was an archaic-looking JumpShip, a replica of the TAS Pathfinder—the first manned craft to successfully reach another star system and spark the diaspora that eventually colonized thousands of worlds over the past several centuries. Hard to tell at this distance, but the park seemed mostly deserted, with a few wandering, desultory occupants. They look how I feel.

He eased from one position to the next as he leaned against the wall, trying to appear attentive to the meeting but wanting to be anywhere else. For once, I’d take downside and its inclement weather over this. Perhaps in the park he’d find the calm that seemed missing even in the void of late. He hissed between teeth, hiding a twinge as his body still remonstrated with him for the extensive injuries suffered at the hands of that Wasp back on Wyatt a month ago.

Been healing for five weeks and I’ve still a ways to go. Never mind the death of that driver (Tom?), and Detlef (never did find any other body, as he carefully asked questions), much less the destruction of the precious MCU he’d spent the better part of two years tracking down. He’d even tried to investigate the mysterious BattleMech, but he’d already had to dodge questions of why he was in a rented truck on a solo run to the Bowie Industries factory, apparently outside the standard chain of command. The Merchant Captain expected his procurement officers to go above and beyond to ensure the continued success of their trading. But this, apparently, had been too much. More than anything, he’s just pissed off I cost him an extra two days off his precious schedule.

Nikolai had ultimately let it go. He swallowed another major sigh, not wishing to draw attention. Especially since he could feel Jules’s eyes burning into him; if he glanced to the right, he could see her. She’d managed to be in the DropShip’s med bay when he awoke from his medically induced coma; she’d known he was up to something. Just not exactly what. But the gloating had started and never stopped.

“All the resupplies have been received and verified,” said Joshua, the Twelfth’s quartermaster. “And my clerk says all the paperwork is in order. As usual. If there’s nothing else, I believe our business is concluded. Until your next visit.”

“Not exactly,” Jules said, the triumph in her voice pulling Nikolai’s attention back to the meeting.

For such a large building, this office was rather small. Mundane, even. Drab walls, with no decorations. A small, utilitarian desk, immaculately organized. Twin filing cabinets bookended the desk. Joshua was just as small and unassuming as his office, with dark eyes and hair, dressed in soldier’s khakis kept as clean and pressed as any dress uniform. Nikolai appreciated professionalism and efficiency, but this seemed excessive. Yet the man was filled with the intelligence needed to keep a mercenary command of this size well supplied.

Across the desk from Joshua, Jules sat casually, a contemptuous smirk playing at her lips; a brief flicker of her eyes toward him, and he knew this entire part of the show had nothing to do with Joshua or the Twelfth. This was for Nikolai alone.

What are you up to, witch? You can’t possibly hurt me more than I hurt myself.

“Oh?” Joshua responded.

She casually reached down to her satchel and pulled out a sheaf of papers, carefully laying them on the desk as though so much gold. “I believe you’ve been looking for a rare Star League–era Master Control Unit for a long time? It’s currently being turned over to your master tech right now. Here’s the provenance paperwork to prove its authenticity.”

The previous twinge of pain returned tenfold, and another flicker of Jules’s eyes toward Nikolai brought back the memory of a fired medium laser: heat; pain and loss; endless, long weeks of rehabilitation and humiliation. His breathing came in small gasps of pain as he fell against the wall—the only thing that kept him upright.

Try as he might, he must have been louder than he imagined, as Joshua glanced over his shoulder toward Nikolai, a look of slight concern on his features. “Are you okay? You don’t sound so good…”

The pain and confusion tied Nikolai’s tongue, and he couldn’t find a response as his brain spun out the possibilities. It had been her. Somehow she’d been behind the Wasp attack. He’d known she was dangerous. Known she was tracking his movements. But the gaudy act of violence, the death of people, much less the terrible cost of hiring a MechWarrior and its Marik Militia ruse… The depths to which she’d sink took his breath away.

“Don’t worry, Joshua,” Jules said, unfolding herself from the chair with casual ease as she moved toward Nikolai. “He was wounded in a foolish endeavor a few weeks back. He’s still learning the ropes.” She neared, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are okay, right?” Her usual soulless look belied the concern painted onto her voice. Especially as she mouthed: I get what you want.

The room still spun, the knife in his chest white hot, but his brain flogged him relentlessly. He’d thought her a gnat. A grasping bully who could be ignored, with nothing to teach him.

Oh, how wrong he’d been.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Joshua said, turning back and leafing through the provenance documents. He stood up and moved to the door. “I need to review something. I’ll be back momentarily.”

“You could’ve destroyed the MCU,” Nikolai whispered at Jules. Her raptor look twisted into an ugliness he’d rarely seen on another human face.

“I didn’t care if the MCU was destroyed, Niki,” she growled. “I only cared about punishing you for getting in my way. Sheer luck you survived so unscathed,” she breathed as her eyes scraped their way up his form. “The fact the MCU somehow survived was a magnificent bonus. I told you, I get what you want.”

As Jules returned to her chair, triumph radiating from her very frame, Joshua returned and seated himself. “As usual, this looks in order. The commander is going to be exceedingly happy to have that Champion back in operation.” He laid his hand on top of the papers, fingers drumming a speculative beat. “So, what do I owe you for this…exceptional work?”

“Nothing,” she responded, a smile breaking wide. “Just your gratitude will be enough.”

Joshua smiled in return, nodding. He’d look even better to his commander, Leutnant-Colonel Albert Rivers. Meanwhile, Jules had secured a long-term resupply contract that moved well beyond the usual terms Merchant Captain Cardian previously forged. This was now personal. No more powerful connection in our circles. Exactly as I’d planned.

He closed his eyes, clenching teeth until black spots swam before his eyes. He reached out, desperate for some calm. The usual calm he found in the void, but this time he found a kernel within. Green eyes… And slowly let it go. As all the years ago in his youth. The beatings. The blackness and the despair. How many times did they almost kill me to achieve their ends? But I survived. As I did now. As I always will.

It got a little easier each time. A little. And he let it go. Opened his eyes to see the two officers firmly shaking hands to seal the unspoken deal. Knowing he’d never forget the look on her face.

Lesson learned, Jules. I always underestimated the animal within. It won’t happen again.

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

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