Post by Commander Garrett Garland on Oct 8, 2005 19:33:31 GMT -5
I know this thread has been sitting here locked for months and it would have been except by a stroke of luck - I found a lost file. About three months ago I wrote part of my character’s backstory so I hope you’ll like it. Later editions should lead up to his joining of the Legionnaires and even his absence during Op V.
The cantina’s dank interior reflected my equally unpleasant mood. Prospective MechWarriors sat at the cantina’s bar and tables, emanating arrogance. I wasn’t sure why or how it happened, but MechWarriors abided by certain social idiosyncrasies. Although SMA, the Somerset Military Academy, was not of the same pedigree as Nagelring or NAMA, it still imbued those elitist attitudes upon its cadets. Of course, nearly all MechWarriors were from societies’ highest ranks, already carrying an air of superiority with them to the academy. This arrogance was reflected in the way they dressed, sat, and even drank. Although there was no sign, I could tell that some tables were reserved for MechWarriors only, for years ago I had sat at them myself. Even certain stools at the bar were exclusively for MechWarriors and AeroJocks. I found my old stool and ordered a Fusionnaire, a MechWarrior’s drink. Cadet jacket half-unzipped, an aspiring MechWarrior glared at me; I was breaking the rules. Dressed only in civilian clothing, at most I appeared to be a tech, but even then that was pushing it. How dare a civilian walk into a soldier’s bar, sit in a MechWarrior’s seat, and drink a MechWarrior’s drink. I just smiled at the cadet, taking another sip of my drink. I thought that while I was on Somerset I could indulge in some nostalgia, but admittedly it was hard to have pure thoughts considering the events hollow conclusion to events which had began so long ago.
In truth, it was all Hans’ fault. Sure, Ursula, Jarrod, Ian, and unwittingly, Jeannette conspired against me, but that was only after Hans had coerced and tricked them into doing so. But even with them all arrayed against me I was still alive, if only barley. I was safe while I served my time, but I had to keep my head down as I scrounged enough money to buy my fare off world. If my employers had known my true identity they would have never hired me; no one wanted a murderer in their employ.
Hans had done an excellent job at the crime scene; he had even killed her with a pistol identical to mine. Jeanette, according to the forensic team, hadn’t had time to put up a fight and so the attacker’s DNA was absent from the crime scene, but it would seem that Hans had heard her speaking fearfully of me just earlier in the day. He managed to convince our fellow classmates that being 1st in my class wasn’t enough; I had to conquer Jeanette as well. When she resisted, my ego couldn’t handle the loss so I made sure that the only thing that conquered her was death. Interesting, I thought, that Hans had been my primary rival during my tenure at the academy, and that were I removed his position would be elevated to top of the class. Even more interesting was that graduation was only two weeks away and we had already completed our final tests. I wasn’t sure why Hans hated me so much; a commoner where he shouldn’t be or that I just beat him. Regardless, it was enough to for him to kill Jeanette to get at me, and gain a guaranteed position as Lieutenant upon graduation along with one of the new refitted ‘mechs. Even with only circumstantial evidence against me, the academy’s council, with a few prominent aristocrats biting at the judges’ heels, they managed to convict me of manslaughter—murder was still out of their grasp. However, only my death would quench the anger of my classmates and Jeanette’s family, but they didn’t catch me until I was already onboard a DropShip, headed off-world. The funny thing was that they didn’t even know I was onboard, I just happened to be unlucky enough to run into Ian on the outbound trip to the JumpShip.
Ian’s look of surprise was nearly comical; after so much time spent searching for his query just happened to be right beneath his nose. The thing which bothered me most was that Ian, unlike Hans, was not evil, he truly believed that he was avenging Jeanette. He must have been practicing, because he managed to outdraw me, sending a shot sizzling past my head. I was only a sixteenth of a second behind, but my shot also went wide. Instead of pressing his attack, Ian retreated down the hallway, perhaps to get backup of some sort. I took another pot shot as he fled down the circular corridor, but the corridors curve made it impossible to actually hit him. I knew that I was probably dead; Ian would probably figure out a way to convince the DropShip’s crew to search for me. I did what any sane person would do, I went into hiding.
The DropShip’s access conduits were very cramped and poorly ventilated. The Union class DropShip which I was on was already known for poor ventilation, so I thought that just managing to breathe was a bit of an accomplishment in the conduits. Looking through a grate I saw eight feet appear where I had had my initial confrontation with Ian. So the entire quintet was here, hounds on the hunt. They would undoubtedly discover me soon so I decided to slow them down. I couldn’t differentiate between the three men’s legs, but Ursula’s were easily recognizable. I aimed my laser pistol at the nearest pair of legs—I hoped they were Hans’—and fired. My pistols duel barrels emitted a blast of light, burning through the grating and catching the hunter in the knee. Crippled, the hunter hit the floor giving me just enough time to see that it was Jarrod, the worst shot of the group. Like angry hornets, the hunters retorted as if their hive had been hit by a stone—they stung back. Their venomous shots flew past me down the conduit but they were too late, I had already gone down an auxiliary tunnel. From the shots going by I assumed that Ian was armed with a laser pistol and the other three had needelers, wicked weapons. Jarrod was lying on the floor, squeezing off plastic flechettes which would burrow into one’s body and then explode. The only way to counter a needler was to wear armor which would easily deflect the plastic slivers. I, unfortunately, had only my jacket; I wasn’t expecting a fight. Sticking my pistol around the corner I fired blinding down the conduit, my shots rewarded by a sickening gurgle. Although I didn’t see it, I could tell that I had hit Jarrod in the neck; he wouldn’t be walking away from this one. Perhaps humbled by the death of their friend, or perhaps in need of ammunition, the hunters retreated back to where they came from, dragging Jarrod’s limp body with them.
My situation was bleak; I was stuck in an access conduit low on ammo with three expert shots hunting me in a very small playing field. None of the hunters had been wearing their uniforms, so I assumed this was some kind of vacation. This was very good for me because it probably meant that they were the only soldiers on board. I heard voices from the corridor outside the grating.
“They said that they saw him down access conduit E19, if we post a guard here were would he be forced to go?”
The other man paused for a moment, perhaps visualizing the conduit system in his head.
“Well sir, he really could go anywhere. Most of the conduits are interconnected so he could travel to nearly anywhere on the ship through them. Since the conduits are used for ventilation as well as maintenance access there’s no way we can flush him out with gas. At least those MechWarrior’s discovered that damn drake before he could do any damage.
Hmm, so they thought I was a spy from the Draconis Combine, very creative hunters. Ironically my pistol was the same one favored by Theodore Kurita himself, the Draconis Combine’s coordinator. It seemed that the hunters wanted my identity kept a secret from the ship’s crew—they probably wouldn’t hunt an ordinary passenger. I could definitely use this to my advantage because I did not look Japanese at all—a telltale sign of a Kuritan.
I yelled down the conduit. “I think I see him guys!”
I fired a shot down the conduit into the darkness accentuating my point. The crew members didn’t realize that another soldier was in the conduit, they thought that all of them had retreated down the corridor. Out of fear one of the crewmembers shouted back down the conduit.
“Who is it?”
“What do you mean Lieutenant? You just ordered me in here in pursuit of the infiltrator, sir.”
“Ah, you are a MechWarrior with the 1st Somerset Strikers?”
“Yes I am… who are you? Where is the Lieutenant?”
I could hear hesitation in the crewman’s voice; he didn’t want to tell me that my commanding officer had abandoned me to the ‘kuritan infiltrator.’ “Your Lieutenant was forced to retreat down the hallway to take one of your fellow MechWarriors to the infirmary—I don’t think that he’s going to make it.”
Even though Jarrod had been shooting at me, I still felt bad, if only Hans hadn’t been so persuasive… “I understand, I’ll get the bastard that did this. I’m coming out, maybe we can gas the system.”
I was attired in similar fashion to the hunters, so the crewman had no trouble believing that I was a member of The Strikers. My jacket was torn from several near misses by the plastic flechettes and slightly singed by errant laser fire, giving me a disheveled look. The crewman looked me up and down and pointed me down the hall towards my ‘comrades’. I made a show of walking down the corridor but I immediately broke off after I was out of the crewman’s line of sight—three on one were still not good odds. I needed to continue with my hit and run tactics if I were going to survive; somehow I had to take them out one by one. If I could only get some armor and a rifle…
I should have realized that Hans would have already been there. We did have the same training, and it seemed that we thought alike—tactically only I hoped. The trio had already donned their armor as I reached the armory—a crewmember had let them suit up, they were Strikers after all, commissioned by the Archon herself. A prayer accompanied my first shot.
It seemed that scorched necks were in these days—Jarrod, and now Ian were sporting them. Like his fellow soldier, Ian dropped to the deck, his rifle falling from his hands. Unlike Jarrod, Ian did not fire at me from the floor—this shot must have gone all the way through the back of his neck—right through his brain stem. Ursula and Hans spun towards me, but I had already gotten off my second shot directed right at Ursula. The laser blast smashed into her left breast, but her ablative armor blocked the shot entirely. Her retort was most unwelcoming, blowing through my right calf, and then diagonally upwards, also knocking the gun out of my hands. I rolled to the left, behind a weapons’ shelf. Reaching up, I grabbed a rifle and a magazine similar to the ones which were being used against me. I loaded and cocked the gun, sending a round into the chamber. I used the gun to prop myself up against the shelf, awaiting Ursula and Hans counter attack. Fortunately my position was fairly secure; with my back shielded by the weapons’ shelf they could only come from the left or the right. Of course, if they were tricky, they could flank me on both sides, an attack which I would surely succumb to.
Perhaps if I were an AeroJock, I would think more three dimensionally, but ‘mech combat was usually only fought on horizontal planes. Unfortunately for me, my shoulder especially, I applied my training as a MechWarrior to small-arms combat. Ursula had managed to climb the shelf’s opposite side as Hans covered her. Somehow she had ascended the makeshift staircase silently, giving her an entirely superior combat position. Firstly, she had the element of surprise thanks to my old-fashioned thinking inside-the-box brain, and secondly she had the vertical advantage lending a greater firing angle. Crouched on one knee, she fired downwards, her shots ripping through my left shoulder. I feel forwards, spinning so that I landed face-up. My aim was surprisingly accurate for someone who had just had their left shoulder and arm shot up. I squeezed the rifle’s trigger, sending a trio of small caliber bullets upwards towards Ursula’s head. I wasn’t sure how many hit, but I saw blood and she fell backwards, falling to the floor on the other side of the shelf.
Hans spoke at last, “So Gary, just you and me.”
It never bothered me that he called me Gary when everyone else called me Garrett. It was another one of his veiled attacks, but it just made him look stupid in front of the others in the academy days. It really was unfortunate though that the last time I was addressed, it was by his stupid nickname. At least if they had executed me back on Sommerset I would have been presented properly. Ah, the Lyran obsession for formalities and titles, funny that I’d worry about it just then. Hans poked around the corner, his rifle coughing out a stream of bullets, stitching the wall with craters. Had I been standing I would have taken one in the chest, and had I been crouching the wall would have had a piece of my mind. But I was lying on the floor, and if I had had enough strength I would have raised my rifle and fired it—but I had nothing. With only one arm to lift, aim, and fire the rifle it might as well weighed a ton. Hans noticed my severely mangled self and walked over, kicking my rifle from my hand as he neared.
“Hi Hans, nice weather huh?”
“I was hoping to see you again Gary, we have so much to chat about. I would like you to know that I’ll make sure to keep an eye on your family after you’re gone. It’s silly to think that your mother really needs those cancer treatments or that your father really needs that job—both a waste of time in my opinion. Oh, and don’t worry, you’re little brother won’t have to endure another day of schooling, he can help your parents in the munitions plant where they will be much more productive.
I ignored Hans’ comments; I didn’t want them to be my last thoughts.
“So Hans, was Jeanette’s death really worth it? Was killing her and framing me worth that next slot in the class?”
A grin spread across Hans’ face.
“Since these are your last moments, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. You see, I wasn’t planning on killing her, I thought she’d take me. But when she refused she made me very angry. I decided to make the decision for her. After I was done, a quick shot to the head made sure that she’d not walk off jabbering about me. Funny, I only happened to be carrying a pistol like yours that day because I knew your scores on the targeting range weren’t from skill, you just had a better gun. Anyways, I cleaned the body and then pulled a few strings. I turned a bad situation into a very good one, I eliminated my primary contender for class champion and you might even say that I got some ‘extra’ target practice in that day.
With the last comment Hans let out a laugh—he always laughed at his own little puns, even the sick ones. It was terrible to see his head titled back like, laughing over me like some kind of hyena before its prey. I looked up at his face for the last time; I guess it would be the last thing I saw—too bad. Hans’ expression changed abruptly to one of extreme pain. He spun around, firing at a figure blocked by his silhouette. It would seem that while I might not think out of the box dimensionally, Hans didn’t think out of the box tactically, it was how I always beat him in simulator battles. Hans never allowed for new outside elements in his plans, and everyone knows that even a perfect plan doesn’t survive contact with the enemy. Hans failed to take into account the crewman who had let him into the armory who must have listened to our entire conversation. I heard a second and then third shot ring out—death tolls.
Hans’ head exploded backwards, bits of brains and blood splattering the armory’s walls. His body slumped to the side, giving me an unblocked view of my savior. The crewman stood there, watching the body fall. The moral scales weighing in his head must have been interesting to watch shift as the conversation continued, but I had seen the inside of enough people’s heads that day. This, however, was the man who could gain me freedom. He had heard the true story, and with his word I could finally restore my reputation, but those illusions of grandeur disappeared as quickly as the blossoms of red sprouted on the crewman’s uniform. Hans was a fairly good shot after all. The crewman looked down at his chest, and then at me with an interesting look—you owe me one. Surely the shots would have been heard elsewhere; perhaps they could save him… and me in time.
The ship’s infirmary was not terribly well equipped—it could save my life, but it couldn’t restore the functionality of my arm or leg. What was a MechWarrior, even a dispossessed one, with only one working arm and leg? I would need intensive medical treatment to regain my full functionality, so until that time came, I’d have to hobble on a cane with my arm hanging limply at my side. The ship’s doctor told me that it was ‘theoretically’ possible for me to regain full use of my arm and leg, but the muscle tissue had been severed damaged preventing any hope of recovery by conventional means. However, the doctor did say that like Justin Allard, I could use myomer fibers as pseudo-muscle replacements—it was just that it was a costly treatment.
With the hunters dead the DropShip now contained four pilotless ‘mechs. Hans’ Zeus, Ian’s Rifleman, Jarrod’s Vulcan, and Ursula’s Locust. The Zeus was by far the most valuable of the ‘mechs, especially considering that it was refitted with clan technology. Had Hans not framed me, that ‘mech would have been mine anyway. Being the good independent DropShip Captain that he was, Richard Jenkins invited me to his office. The ship’s security officer determined that it was Hans who had killed their crewman, painting me in good light. It was because of this that they chose not to imprison me in the brig and even make me an offer.
I hobbled to the elevator, my FerroSteel cane clicking against the deck with each step. Setting the cane against the wall, I used my good arm to knock on the Captain’s door. A few seconds later the door slid open, revealing a slightly obese man in a pseudo-naval uniform complete with rank epaulettes on the shoulders. The Captain began to rise to greet me, but changed his mind half-way through the process, his considerable mass making a ‘whump’ noise against the plush chair. Grabbing my cane, I stepped through the doorway, sitting in the offered seat directly across the desk from the Captain. Like all rooms designed for zero-g use, this one had few decorations. The desk was almost completely barren for if we were not under thrust all of the miscellaneous doodads found on most desks would float away only to come crashing back down elsewhere when the ship reengaged its thrusters. In fact, the only thing the desk had were four sets of papers, all half veri-signed—the owner of the deeds had already put their thumb-print on the paper. Sitting on-top of each paper was a small holo-disc, ready to display a small hologram of whatever the deed represented. As if reading my mind, Richard ran his thumb across each respective holo-disc, 10 cm figures appearing from each one. As I had assumed each disk displayed a different ‘mech, each one belonging to a now deceased MechWarrior.
Captain Jenkins looked up at me, “Glad you could come Mr. Garland. I have an offer for you.”
“Why didn’t you just kill me Captain?”
“What?! Kill you? Why?”
“Well Captain, your are obviously going to bribe me with a ‘mech to keep me quiet so that I don’t go back telling the Lyran authorities that you just took four of their ‘mechs. In addition to having a new ‘mech—or mechs, I would have stake in the Lyran authorities not discovering the ‘mechs.”
Richard looked at me—had he not realized his intentions were so obvious? He seemed to dismiss his previous thoughts and got back to business.
“Garland,” he confessed, “I might be profiting off of others’ deaths, but I’m not going to kill someone for an extra ‘mech. I got the finger prints off of your friends’ dead bodies—they are entirely authentic. I’m willing to give you the Vulcan for your troubles.”
I looked down at the ‘mech deeds, eying each of the thumbprints. It seemed that Ursula’s was more smeared than the others—hopefully that wouldn’t affect the validity of her Locust’s deed. All of the other veri-graphs were in order, so I looked up at the Captain who was waiting slightly impatiently.
“So Garland—what’s it going to be?”
“You expect me to take one aging BattleMech designed for anti-infantry? It’s because of me that you even have this opportunity!”
“You forget that is was my crewman who saved your life—who died for you!”
“Yes, that is true, and for that I’ll give you the Vulcan and the Rifleman, but the other two are mine.”
“No Garland, no. I shouldn’t have even put the Zeus’s deed on the table, I have no intention of parting with it. You can have the Locust and the Vulcan, nothing more. Even that I’m going to regret...”
With a sigh, I placed my thumb on the Ursula’s and Jarrod’s ‘mechs while the Captain placed his thumb on Ian’s and Hans’.
I never wished this on any of them… I thought, the pad beeping as my fingerprint was scanned and recorded, Except for Hans that is…
My stomach didn’t even notice the Jump to Outreach—but the rest of my body did. Torn from my seat I was a speck of light amongst many, floating lifelessly in the great void, circling forever…
******
The cantina’s dank interior reflected my equally unpleasant mood. Prospective MechWarriors sat at the cantina’s bar and tables, emanating arrogance. I wasn’t sure why or how it happened, but MechWarriors abided by certain social idiosyncrasies. Although SMA, the Somerset Military Academy, was not of the same pedigree as Nagelring or NAMA, it still imbued those elitist attitudes upon its cadets. Of course, nearly all MechWarriors were from societies’ highest ranks, already carrying an air of superiority with them to the academy. This arrogance was reflected in the way they dressed, sat, and even drank. Although there was no sign, I could tell that some tables were reserved for MechWarriors only, for years ago I had sat at them myself. Even certain stools at the bar were exclusively for MechWarriors and AeroJocks. I found my old stool and ordered a Fusionnaire, a MechWarrior’s drink. Cadet jacket half-unzipped, an aspiring MechWarrior glared at me; I was breaking the rules. Dressed only in civilian clothing, at most I appeared to be a tech, but even then that was pushing it. How dare a civilian walk into a soldier’s bar, sit in a MechWarrior’s seat, and drink a MechWarrior’s drink. I just smiled at the cadet, taking another sip of my drink. I thought that while I was on Somerset I could indulge in some nostalgia, but admittedly it was hard to have pure thoughts considering the events hollow conclusion to events which had began so long ago.
In truth, it was all Hans’ fault. Sure, Ursula, Jarrod, Ian, and unwittingly, Jeannette conspired against me, but that was only after Hans had coerced and tricked them into doing so. But even with them all arrayed against me I was still alive, if only barley. I was safe while I served my time, but I had to keep my head down as I scrounged enough money to buy my fare off world. If my employers had known my true identity they would have never hired me; no one wanted a murderer in their employ.
Hans had done an excellent job at the crime scene; he had even killed her with a pistol identical to mine. Jeanette, according to the forensic team, hadn’t had time to put up a fight and so the attacker’s DNA was absent from the crime scene, but it would seem that Hans had heard her speaking fearfully of me just earlier in the day. He managed to convince our fellow classmates that being 1st in my class wasn’t enough; I had to conquer Jeanette as well. When she resisted, my ego couldn’t handle the loss so I made sure that the only thing that conquered her was death. Interesting, I thought, that Hans had been my primary rival during my tenure at the academy, and that were I removed his position would be elevated to top of the class. Even more interesting was that graduation was only two weeks away and we had already completed our final tests. I wasn’t sure why Hans hated me so much; a commoner where he shouldn’t be or that I just beat him. Regardless, it was enough to for him to kill Jeanette to get at me, and gain a guaranteed position as Lieutenant upon graduation along with one of the new refitted ‘mechs. Even with only circumstantial evidence against me, the academy’s council, with a few prominent aristocrats biting at the judges’ heels, they managed to convict me of manslaughter—murder was still out of their grasp. However, only my death would quench the anger of my classmates and Jeanette’s family, but they didn’t catch me until I was already onboard a DropShip, headed off-world. The funny thing was that they didn’t even know I was onboard, I just happened to be unlucky enough to run into Ian on the outbound trip to the JumpShip.
******
Ian’s look of surprise was nearly comical; after so much time spent searching for his query just happened to be right beneath his nose. The thing which bothered me most was that Ian, unlike Hans, was not evil, he truly believed that he was avenging Jeanette. He must have been practicing, because he managed to outdraw me, sending a shot sizzling past my head. I was only a sixteenth of a second behind, but my shot also went wide. Instead of pressing his attack, Ian retreated down the hallway, perhaps to get backup of some sort. I took another pot shot as he fled down the circular corridor, but the corridors curve made it impossible to actually hit him. I knew that I was probably dead; Ian would probably figure out a way to convince the DropShip’s crew to search for me. I did what any sane person would do, I went into hiding.
The DropShip’s access conduits were very cramped and poorly ventilated. The Union class DropShip which I was on was already known for poor ventilation, so I thought that just managing to breathe was a bit of an accomplishment in the conduits. Looking through a grate I saw eight feet appear where I had had my initial confrontation with Ian. So the entire quintet was here, hounds on the hunt. They would undoubtedly discover me soon so I decided to slow them down. I couldn’t differentiate between the three men’s legs, but Ursula’s were easily recognizable. I aimed my laser pistol at the nearest pair of legs—I hoped they were Hans’—and fired. My pistols duel barrels emitted a blast of light, burning through the grating and catching the hunter in the knee. Crippled, the hunter hit the floor giving me just enough time to see that it was Jarrod, the worst shot of the group. Like angry hornets, the hunters retorted as if their hive had been hit by a stone—they stung back. Their venomous shots flew past me down the conduit but they were too late, I had already gone down an auxiliary tunnel. From the shots going by I assumed that Ian was armed with a laser pistol and the other three had needelers, wicked weapons. Jarrod was lying on the floor, squeezing off plastic flechettes which would burrow into one’s body and then explode. The only way to counter a needler was to wear armor which would easily deflect the plastic slivers. I, unfortunately, had only my jacket; I wasn’t expecting a fight. Sticking my pistol around the corner I fired blinding down the conduit, my shots rewarded by a sickening gurgle. Although I didn’t see it, I could tell that I had hit Jarrod in the neck; he wouldn’t be walking away from this one. Perhaps humbled by the death of their friend, or perhaps in need of ammunition, the hunters retreated back to where they came from, dragging Jarrod’s limp body with them.
My situation was bleak; I was stuck in an access conduit low on ammo with three expert shots hunting me in a very small playing field. None of the hunters had been wearing their uniforms, so I assumed this was some kind of vacation. This was very good for me because it probably meant that they were the only soldiers on board. I heard voices from the corridor outside the grating.
“They said that they saw him down access conduit E19, if we post a guard here were would he be forced to go?”
The other man paused for a moment, perhaps visualizing the conduit system in his head.
“Well sir, he really could go anywhere. Most of the conduits are interconnected so he could travel to nearly anywhere on the ship through them. Since the conduits are used for ventilation as well as maintenance access there’s no way we can flush him out with gas. At least those MechWarrior’s discovered that damn drake before he could do any damage.
Hmm, so they thought I was a spy from the Draconis Combine, very creative hunters. Ironically my pistol was the same one favored by Theodore Kurita himself, the Draconis Combine’s coordinator. It seemed that the hunters wanted my identity kept a secret from the ship’s crew—they probably wouldn’t hunt an ordinary passenger. I could definitely use this to my advantage because I did not look Japanese at all—a telltale sign of a Kuritan.
I yelled down the conduit. “I think I see him guys!”
I fired a shot down the conduit into the darkness accentuating my point. The crew members didn’t realize that another soldier was in the conduit, they thought that all of them had retreated down the corridor. Out of fear one of the crewmembers shouted back down the conduit.
“Who is it?”
“What do you mean Lieutenant? You just ordered me in here in pursuit of the infiltrator, sir.”
“Ah, you are a MechWarrior with the 1st Somerset Strikers?”
“Yes I am… who are you? Where is the Lieutenant?”
I could hear hesitation in the crewman’s voice; he didn’t want to tell me that my commanding officer had abandoned me to the ‘kuritan infiltrator.’ “Your Lieutenant was forced to retreat down the hallway to take one of your fellow MechWarriors to the infirmary—I don’t think that he’s going to make it.”
Even though Jarrod had been shooting at me, I still felt bad, if only Hans hadn’t been so persuasive… “I understand, I’ll get the bastard that did this. I’m coming out, maybe we can gas the system.”
I was attired in similar fashion to the hunters, so the crewman had no trouble believing that I was a member of The Strikers. My jacket was torn from several near misses by the plastic flechettes and slightly singed by errant laser fire, giving me a disheveled look. The crewman looked me up and down and pointed me down the hall towards my ‘comrades’. I made a show of walking down the corridor but I immediately broke off after I was out of the crewman’s line of sight—three on one were still not good odds. I needed to continue with my hit and run tactics if I were going to survive; somehow I had to take them out one by one. If I could only get some armor and a rifle…
I should have realized that Hans would have already been there. We did have the same training, and it seemed that we thought alike—tactically only I hoped. The trio had already donned their armor as I reached the armory—a crewmember had let them suit up, they were Strikers after all, commissioned by the Archon herself. A prayer accompanied my first shot.
It seemed that scorched necks were in these days—Jarrod, and now Ian were sporting them. Like his fellow soldier, Ian dropped to the deck, his rifle falling from his hands. Unlike Jarrod, Ian did not fire at me from the floor—this shot must have gone all the way through the back of his neck—right through his brain stem. Ursula and Hans spun towards me, but I had already gotten off my second shot directed right at Ursula. The laser blast smashed into her left breast, but her ablative armor blocked the shot entirely. Her retort was most unwelcoming, blowing through my right calf, and then diagonally upwards, also knocking the gun out of my hands. I rolled to the left, behind a weapons’ shelf. Reaching up, I grabbed a rifle and a magazine similar to the ones which were being used against me. I loaded and cocked the gun, sending a round into the chamber. I used the gun to prop myself up against the shelf, awaiting Ursula and Hans counter attack. Fortunately my position was fairly secure; with my back shielded by the weapons’ shelf they could only come from the left or the right. Of course, if they were tricky, they could flank me on both sides, an attack which I would surely succumb to.
Perhaps if I were an AeroJock, I would think more three dimensionally, but ‘mech combat was usually only fought on horizontal planes. Unfortunately for me, my shoulder especially, I applied my training as a MechWarrior to small-arms combat. Ursula had managed to climb the shelf’s opposite side as Hans covered her. Somehow she had ascended the makeshift staircase silently, giving her an entirely superior combat position. Firstly, she had the element of surprise thanks to my old-fashioned thinking inside-the-box brain, and secondly she had the vertical advantage lending a greater firing angle. Crouched on one knee, she fired downwards, her shots ripping through my left shoulder. I feel forwards, spinning so that I landed face-up. My aim was surprisingly accurate for someone who had just had their left shoulder and arm shot up. I squeezed the rifle’s trigger, sending a trio of small caliber bullets upwards towards Ursula’s head. I wasn’t sure how many hit, but I saw blood and she fell backwards, falling to the floor on the other side of the shelf.
Hans spoke at last, “So Gary, just you and me.”
It never bothered me that he called me Gary when everyone else called me Garrett. It was another one of his veiled attacks, but it just made him look stupid in front of the others in the academy days. It really was unfortunate though that the last time I was addressed, it was by his stupid nickname. At least if they had executed me back on Sommerset I would have been presented properly. Ah, the Lyran obsession for formalities and titles, funny that I’d worry about it just then. Hans poked around the corner, his rifle coughing out a stream of bullets, stitching the wall with craters. Had I been standing I would have taken one in the chest, and had I been crouching the wall would have had a piece of my mind. But I was lying on the floor, and if I had had enough strength I would have raised my rifle and fired it—but I had nothing. With only one arm to lift, aim, and fire the rifle it might as well weighed a ton. Hans noticed my severely mangled self and walked over, kicking my rifle from my hand as he neared.
“Hi Hans, nice weather huh?”
“I was hoping to see you again Gary, we have so much to chat about. I would like you to know that I’ll make sure to keep an eye on your family after you’re gone. It’s silly to think that your mother really needs those cancer treatments or that your father really needs that job—both a waste of time in my opinion. Oh, and don’t worry, you’re little brother won’t have to endure another day of schooling, he can help your parents in the munitions plant where they will be much more productive.
I ignored Hans’ comments; I didn’t want them to be my last thoughts.
“So Hans, was Jeanette’s death really worth it? Was killing her and framing me worth that next slot in the class?”
A grin spread across Hans’ face.
“Since these are your last moments, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. You see, I wasn’t planning on killing her, I thought she’d take me. But when she refused she made me very angry. I decided to make the decision for her. After I was done, a quick shot to the head made sure that she’d not walk off jabbering about me. Funny, I only happened to be carrying a pistol like yours that day because I knew your scores on the targeting range weren’t from skill, you just had a better gun. Anyways, I cleaned the body and then pulled a few strings. I turned a bad situation into a very good one, I eliminated my primary contender for class champion and you might even say that I got some ‘extra’ target practice in that day.
With the last comment Hans let out a laugh—he always laughed at his own little puns, even the sick ones. It was terrible to see his head titled back like, laughing over me like some kind of hyena before its prey. I looked up at his face for the last time; I guess it would be the last thing I saw—too bad. Hans’ expression changed abruptly to one of extreme pain. He spun around, firing at a figure blocked by his silhouette. It would seem that while I might not think out of the box dimensionally, Hans didn’t think out of the box tactically, it was how I always beat him in simulator battles. Hans never allowed for new outside elements in his plans, and everyone knows that even a perfect plan doesn’t survive contact with the enemy. Hans failed to take into account the crewman who had let him into the armory who must have listened to our entire conversation. I heard a second and then third shot ring out—death tolls.
Hans’ head exploded backwards, bits of brains and blood splattering the armory’s walls. His body slumped to the side, giving me an unblocked view of my savior. The crewman stood there, watching the body fall. The moral scales weighing in his head must have been interesting to watch shift as the conversation continued, but I had seen the inside of enough people’s heads that day. This, however, was the man who could gain me freedom. He had heard the true story, and with his word I could finally restore my reputation, but those illusions of grandeur disappeared as quickly as the blossoms of red sprouted on the crewman’s uniform. Hans was a fairly good shot after all. The crewman looked down at his chest, and then at me with an interesting look—you owe me one. Surely the shots would have been heard elsewhere; perhaps they could save him… and me in time.
The ship’s infirmary was not terribly well equipped—it could save my life, but it couldn’t restore the functionality of my arm or leg. What was a MechWarrior, even a dispossessed one, with only one working arm and leg? I would need intensive medical treatment to regain my full functionality, so until that time came, I’d have to hobble on a cane with my arm hanging limply at my side. The ship’s doctor told me that it was ‘theoretically’ possible for me to regain full use of my arm and leg, but the muscle tissue had been severed damaged preventing any hope of recovery by conventional means. However, the doctor did say that like Justin Allard, I could use myomer fibers as pseudo-muscle replacements—it was just that it was a costly treatment.
With the hunters dead the DropShip now contained four pilotless ‘mechs. Hans’ Zeus, Ian’s Rifleman, Jarrod’s Vulcan, and Ursula’s Locust. The Zeus was by far the most valuable of the ‘mechs, especially considering that it was refitted with clan technology. Had Hans not framed me, that ‘mech would have been mine anyway. Being the good independent DropShip Captain that he was, Richard Jenkins invited me to his office. The ship’s security officer determined that it was Hans who had killed their crewman, painting me in good light. It was because of this that they chose not to imprison me in the brig and even make me an offer.
I hobbled to the elevator, my FerroSteel cane clicking against the deck with each step. Setting the cane against the wall, I used my good arm to knock on the Captain’s door. A few seconds later the door slid open, revealing a slightly obese man in a pseudo-naval uniform complete with rank epaulettes on the shoulders. The Captain began to rise to greet me, but changed his mind half-way through the process, his considerable mass making a ‘whump’ noise against the plush chair. Grabbing my cane, I stepped through the doorway, sitting in the offered seat directly across the desk from the Captain. Like all rooms designed for zero-g use, this one had few decorations. The desk was almost completely barren for if we were not under thrust all of the miscellaneous doodads found on most desks would float away only to come crashing back down elsewhere when the ship reengaged its thrusters. In fact, the only thing the desk had were four sets of papers, all half veri-signed—the owner of the deeds had already put their thumb-print on the paper. Sitting on-top of each paper was a small holo-disc, ready to display a small hologram of whatever the deed represented. As if reading my mind, Richard ran his thumb across each respective holo-disc, 10 cm figures appearing from each one. As I had assumed each disk displayed a different ‘mech, each one belonging to a now deceased MechWarrior.
Captain Jenkins looked up at me, “Glad you could come Mr. Garland. I have an offer for you.”
“Why didn’t you just kill me Captain?”
“What?! Kill you? Why?”
“Well Captain, your are obviously going to bribe me with a ‘mech to keep me quiet so that I don’t go back telling the Lyran authorities that you just took four of their ‘mechs. In addition to having a new ‘mech—or mechs, I would have stake in the Lyran authorities not discovering the ‘mechs.”
Richard looked at me—had he not realized his intentions were so obvious? He seemed to dismiss his previous thoughts and got back to business.
“Garland,” he confessed, “I might be profiting off of others’ deaths, but I’m not going to kill someone for an extra ‘mech. I got the finger prints off of your friends’ dead bodies—they are entirely authentic. I’m willing to give you the Vulcan for your troubles.”
I looked down at the ‘mech deeds, eying each of the thumbprints. It seemed that Ursula’s was more smeared than the others—hopefully that wouldn’t affect the validity of her Locust’s deed. All of the other veri-graphs were in order, so I looked up at the Captain who was waiting slightly impatiently.
“So Garland—what’s it going to be?”
“You expect me to take one aging BattleMech designed for anti-infantry? It’s because of me that you even have this opportunity!”
“You forget that is was my crewman who saved your life—who died for you!”
“Yes, that is true, and for that I’ll give you the Vulcan and the Rifleman, but the other two are mine.”
“No Garland, no. I shouldn’t have even put the Zeus’s deed on the table, I have no intention of parting with it. You can have the Locust and the Vulcan, nothing more. Even that I’m going to regret...”
With a sigh, I placed my thumb on the Ursula’s and Jarrod’s ‘mechs while the Captain placed his thumb on Ian’s and Hans’.
I never wished this on any of them… I thought, the pad beeping as my fingerprint was scanned and recorded, Except for Hans that is…
My stomach didn’t even notice the Jump to Outreach—but the rest of my body did. Torn from my seat I was a speck of light amongst many, floating lifelessly in the great void, circling forever…