Текст книги "Shrapnel: Fragments from the Inner Sphere"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Danforth

Соавторы: William H. Keith,Ken St. Andre,Jordan K. Weisman,Michael A. Stackpole
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

BLACK CATS CROSS YOUR PATH

–Tara Gallagher & James Lanigan

Falstatt sweats to death And lards the lean earth as he walks along—Henry IV

Considering there's always a war on somewhere, things have been pretty quiet these days. It's nice to have a little rest time. Time to train some new recruits and to work out a tew new ideas, but only the battlefield can really keep you sharp. ‘Big Bill Flynn.’ I say to myself, ‘A man like you has got to keep fighting, or he's going to turn into just another barroom mariner, always looking for a wedding guest to regale with a story.’ And there's nothing wrong with that, except that you've got to keep coming up with new stories.

Every year should bring new tales, and last year was no exception. For instance, we got a job to protect Lawrence, this four-bit semi-industrial town in the middle of nowhere. Some House jerk had a bee in his neurohelmet about one of those Star League parts depots being in or near the town. The town was expecting a raid.

I'm not saying the Black Cats are intolerably special, although maybe we are, but there just aren't many mercenary infantry units. The life expectancy is short. People hire you, then expect you to be dead when payday comes. Mostly, though, rich guys would rather hire a few nice-looking Mechs than a bunch of normal-size people. It makes them feel important. So we Black Cats mostly get jobs defending little cities. The nice thing is these are people whose governments won't protect them with so-called Real Troops, and they're happy to see us.

Any infantry unit that lasts more than a year has to find creative ways to operate, to keep from going buggy. So Boots, my boss Sergeant Elizabeth Hill, is always trying newer and odder ways to peel 'Mechs. Some folks say this means she is already buggy, but it's just a way of keeping us together. They don't call her ‘Boot Hill’ for nothing, you know. She's been boss for nearly two years, longer than most infantry units last.

One of the nice things about being an infantry unit—maybe the only nice thing—is that the tinker boys—the Mech drivers—don't take you seriously. So. if you're a good infantry unit, you prove them wrong in fun and interesting ways. They're sohumiliated. ‘Tis sport, indeed, to see the engineer hoisted on his own petard. And in Lawrence we made those 'Mechs look petarded.

The raid did, indeed, show up. And the locals went crazy. Almost from the second those DropShips had been launched, the word was around town: ‘Widows! The Black Widows!’

‘I’ll admit that made my stomach disappear for a few seconds, until Boots snapped me back to the real world, whichever one it was.

‘If those are the Black Widow Company, I'm Sinwan Kunta.’ she announced. We were going to send a few Cats over for a look-see, but our employers were not happy with our calm manner in the face of what they thought would be particularly slow, agonizing death and destruction of their world.

This is how Boots. Lou Lingg, my little self, and a few new guys and local cops ended up creeping through the woods on a nasty cold night, playing spies to look like we were earning our C-bills. A little acting is part of the job. Hell, a lot of acting, if you count looking nonchalant while running around the feet of sixty tons of tippy metal. Freezing our triggers off is part of the job, too, but not for no reason. I was just about to say so, when we reached the camp.

‘Ill met by moonlight, proud Titans,’ I said instead.

‘Wannabees,’ said Boots. ‘We just dragged through nature's own cryonics lab for a bunch of Widow Wannabees.’

She explained to the locals that this group of no-talents had apparently painted spiders on their 'Mechs, either to confuse people and strike fear in their hearts, or because they thought it would be really neat to be like the Widows.

The Widow Company would have wept, or more likely shot them all, had they seen those clowns. There was only one company and some infantry that looked like drek. I hate dealing with guys like that. No challenge, no glory. They set up on the edge of town (we had walked nine klicks out of the way, thanks to the local city boys' sense of direction), obviously expecting to march in while the populace turned tail and fled. I like surprise parties.

The next day, we reviewed probable routes they would take into the city, and set up to meet them. The infantry is at an advantage in a city, especially if we know our way around and the enemy don't. Small size works to a distinct advantage when you can squeeze into a spot and trap a big hulk.

The big galoots did not appear in town that entire day. Boots said it was possible they were waiting for dark, but it was more likely they had put themselves in such an obvious location because they were hoping the townspeople would simply evacuate. Of course, it was possible they were simply real stupid and didn't have a clue.

The next day, they finally got off their big cans, into their bigger cans, and headed into town. We met them at the edge of town, and took some potshots at them like any hometown militia in a sweat. Once we had their attention, Boots ordered a retreat and dispersed the squad into town.

Boots and I—well. Boots actually—had decided to lure some 'Mechs into this large industrial bakery. It was a maze of heavy machinery, vats, and conveyer belts, a good place to trap a 'Mech while it tried to crunch its way out. Let them eat cake, we said.

We had two fire teams in the bakery, when Boots gets this very friendly look on her face. ‘Bill.’ she says, ‘How would you like to be the hero this afternoon?’

Well, I'd been the hero for Boots before, and it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. But she's the top kick in this outfit, so there's no odds in arguing. She sees the look on my face and says, ‘Have I ever shown you less than a great time?’

I decided not to answer that, and found myself leading my fire team out the back door of the bakery. The 'Mechs had pushed past the bakery and were strolling into town. We worked our way from doorway to doorway until we were about 50 meters from two clumsy-looking buckets of bolts.

‘Hi, girls,’ I said, as we squeezed a few rockets at their tin behinds. We knew it wouldn't hurt them much. We just wanted their attention. We got it. They turned around, and in the words of the poet, all hell broke loose.

Mechs don't see infantrymen too well, thank god, but I would have given my kingdom, if I had one. for a horse. We were dodging and ducking and beating our feet back to the bakery. All I could think of was that Boots's surprise had better be good.

We hit the door about four kilometers slower than the speed of light, with these two 50-ton soup cans following just as fast as they could. As soon as we broke through, Boots waved us off to the right. The 'Mechs broke clean through the wall about two heartbeats after we got out of their way. I found some cover, then poked my head up.

The two 'Mechs were skating across the floor, trying to grab the walls with their cannons. They did some spins, a nice pirouette, crashed over and under a conveyor belt—one landing on top of the other—and slid on their bellies into a vat of lard. A geyser of lard poured over the 'Mechs.

Boots crawled up next to me.

‘Nice touch,’ I told her. ‘Can we leave now?’

‘Got a match, sailor?’ she said, as she lifted her flame thrower. The lard burned beautifully. It smelled like all the messhalls in the galaxy at one shot. ‘Now.’ she said. ‘I think we better leave.’

We took cover in another building just as the ammo in the 'Mechs cooked off. ‘O! for a muse of fire.’ I said as the Mechs crashed through the top of the building, ‘that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.’

‘Watch out. You might get what you're after,’ said Boots. ‘There has got to be a way, burning down the house.’

THINK LIKE A LIAO

–Susan Putney

Liao

Tikonov Commonality

Capellan Confederation

10 January 3026

The people of Liao ushered in the Year of the Tiger with a parade. Gleaming BattleMechs, prancing stallions of ancient Eridani blood, and bronze and crimson paper dragons as long as a city block marched past the winter palace. Crowds of citizens waved green banners bearing the Liao fist-and-sword emblem. The parade had started in midafternoon, and now the palace lights glowed in the twilight, but the banners still waved. No one wanted to slack off as long as the Chancellor was watching.

Tormana Liao. sweating in the green and silver uniform of the First Ariana Fusiliers, stood on a balcony with his family and waved to the crowds His lean body was tense with the habit of risk, and he was darker than the others, tanned by years of service under alien suns. Waving steadily with his right hand, he ran a finger of his left inside his collar and undid the button.

His sister Candace. the planet's ruler, had placed him at her left, shielded from the rest of their family. To her right stood Maximilian Liao, their father and Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation. His red and white robe covered ceremonial armor, and a helmet shadowed his reptilian eyes. Tormana pictured the armor as a cobra's scales. At the Chancellor's right stood his wife Elizabeth, wearing the green and tan of a Home Guard Colonel for purposes of morale. She'd even dyed her hair brown to go with the outfit. Beyond her stood the Chancellor's second daughter, Romano, also in uniform and not bothering to smile.

Leaning toward Candace, Tormana murmured, ‘Where are my replacement Fusiliers? I thought they were going to march, too. After two months' leave, they ought to look as sharp as any of these palace-yard dandies.’

His sister's diamond-encrusted headdress wobbled dangerously. ‘Palace-yard dandies? That's part of the LuSann Warrior House down there!’ She spoke without altering her frozen smile, and her hand waved in a steady rhythm. ‘Anyway—your transfers from Hsien have already been loaded aboard the Thunderfist.At least their Mechs have. You'll meet some of the Warriors at my party tonight. If you'd come last week, as I asked, you could've gotten to know them before shipping them out to that hell-planet of yours.’

Tormana lowered his right arm with a groan, massaged the biceps through the cloth of his uniform, and then resumed waving with his left arm. The noise of the parade kept everyone but Candace from hearing his words. ‘I might have, if you hadn't told me Father was coming. Did you expect me to believe he really wanted a reconciliation? He hates me as much as ever. He's proven that in just one day.’

‘He said he wanted the family back together on New Year's Eve,’ Candace said. ‘I didn't expect him to hand you a list of your faults!’

‘Well, it made nice confetti.’ Tormana massaged his cheeks with his free hand. ‘How can you keep smiling like that, hour after hour? Will the parade be over soon?’

‘I can't see any farther down the street than you can.’

Swinging one leg over the balcony railing, Tormana leaned far forward to peer down the street. There were cheers and good-natured laughter from the crowd below. ‘A couple of bands, another dragon, and a lot of guys on horses,’ he reported. ‘And then the street sweepers.’ Ignoring the Chancellor's stare, which had the force of an icy draft, he swung himself back in and grinned at his sister. ‘After this, we can go soak our arms.’

‘No. Then we put on our costumes for the party,’ she corrected him. Her generous mouth relaxed bnefly into a natural, wry smile. ‘And I wish you'd try harder to behave like royalty, Tormana’

He shrugged and started to wave at the crowds again. ‘I'm not cut out for this work. That's the one thing Father and I agree on.’

True to his sister's prediction, an hour later Tormana found himself at the end of a reception line In the vast and glittering ballroom of Palace Llao, exchanging bows with a stream of nobles, diplomats, captains of industry, and MechWarriors. Though the majordomo announced each guest in turn, by the time they reached the end of the line, Tormana had no Idea who they were. Their clothes were no clue, for it was a costume party. He bowed and smiled to demons and cyberpunks, knights in armor and a man dressed in nothing but a bath towel. Tormana himself had come as a Japanese corporate warrior of the 21st century, a costume hastily assembled from his kimono-style bathrobe, a blood-red obi made from a curtain, and a borrowed katana.

A large white rabbit holding a pocket watch stopped in front of him and bowed. The face, fringed with white fur and topped by floppy ears, was that of a portly and dignified Caucasian with watery blue eyes.

Tormana bowed and repeated, for the hundredth time, ‘Welcome to our humble homeworld. You honor us with your presence.’ He was tired of saying it. but Candace had warned him not to improvise.

‘The honor is mine, Lord Tormana.’ The rabbit thought for a moment, as though sifting through his memory for raw data to make small talk. ‘I understand you've acquitted yourself well along the Oavion border. Duke Michael's men used to hope they'd face the Ariana Fusiliers in battle, but no more.’

‘Hah! That's true.’ A wide grin split Tormana's tanned face. ‘What we lack in equipment, we make up for in skill. Last month, we jumped over to Bushlau to beat up a regiment half again our size—part of Sharp's Cavaliers. The second regiment. I think, nicknamed the Stompers. They like to stake out civilians and step on them with BattleMechs. It was a real pleasure to kick their butts out of Capellan space. Not as good as killing them and salvaging their Mechs, of course, but they ran too fast.’

Looking indignant, the white rabbit bowed slightly and walked away. There was a lull in new arrivals just then, and Tormana glanced at his sister Romano, who was next to him in line. ‘Did I say something wrong?’

Romano lifted a thin eyebrow at him. She wore a silk reproduction of an ancient Terran costume that she called ‘jeans and tea shirt,’ special garments for drinking tea. In her hair was an ornament made of tiger fangs, which, Tormana knew, was actually a recording device. He wondered who would later be privy to this conversation.

Her smile twisted into something colder as she said, ‘You've blown it again, brother dear. That rabbit was Edgar Bentley. He's a mining tycoon on Valexa, but he's here as a mouthpiece for Michael Hasek-Davion. Bentley’s son just happens to command Sharp's second regiment, and now you've called the kid a war criminal and a coward. Not realizing what a null-wit you are, Bentley thought you insulted him on purpose.’

‘But what I said is true!’

Laughing, Romano turned away to greet another flurry of incoming guests.

A few minutes later, freed at last, Tormana headed across the huge room toward the bar. He knew that was where he was likely to find his troops, probably in costumes as hastily thrown together as his own. The orchestra was playing background music now. but soon there would be dancing, a form of combat at which he did not excel. He wanted to collect his MechWarriors and escape before Candace made him waltz.

Halfway there, amid a press of revelers, a hand caught his arm and a woman's voice said, ‘Tormana, talk with me.’

He stopped and looked down to see a diminutive white-haired woman in a black monk's robe smiling up at him with unreadable eyes. She was, among other things, the Director of the Maskirovka, the Capellan secret police. She was also his godmother, but they'd not been close for years., He bowed. ‘Lady Ling.’ The old woman bowed lower than he and held it longer, as though gently reproving his careless manners. Then she caught his hands in hers. ‘How brown you've grown since you went away. Tormana! And something about your face is harder. Yet I still look at you and see your poor mother's eyes, clear as a child's. Or is that an illusion?’ Her obsidian eyes studied his face with an intensity that belied her light manner. ‘Let's go where we can talk.’

‘Actually,’ Tormana said, trying to get his hands back without seeming rude. ‘I'm not planning to stay much longer. I've got an early liftoff tomorrow.’

‘You can't go yet! All the young ladies would blame Candace! Don't you know you're the most eligible bachelor here?’

He laughed. ‘A disinherited younger son? An exiled Mandrinn? All I really am these days is a warrior from a very unglamorous regiment.’ With a touch of defiance, he added, ‘Besides, I'm no bachelor. Hanya No Cha will always be my wife.’

‘Strange how she disappeared. In all the years since then, have you learned nothing?’ She released his hands. ‘Your father wants a son who knows his place. Not one who criticizes his policies and marries a dissident. Nor a son who insults his guests. You really must apologize to Mr. Bentley, you know. Your father plans to take you back into his good graces and make you the Duke of Bandora. If you don't apologize, Bentley will think the Chancellor put you up to the insult’

‘But the man's son isa jackal!’ Tormana muttered before doing a double-take. ‘Father's giving me another title? Why?’

‘To reward his loyal and cooperative son.’ The old woman stared intently into his eyes. ‘And he will have a cooperative son from now on.’

The young MechWarrior made a sound halfway between laughter and a cry of pain. ‘You know I love my father. But I'll be damned if I'll divorce my wife or kiss up to his slimy friends! Not for all the titles in the House of Scions!’

Lady Ling drew in her breath with a sharp hiss. 'Tormana! What can you gain by this contest of wills with your father? Whatever your game is—’

‘I'm not playing a game!’ Tormana shouted. Around them, conversations broke off as people turned to stare. He stared back, waiting till they dropped their eyes and returned to their own affairs, then added in a lower voice, ‘All my life, everyone has assumed that because I'm a Liao. I must be up to something. Well, I'm sick of it! That's why I joined the army. On Kali, there's no room or need for any sort of double-dealing. I'm becoming a good officer and I'm damn good in a 'Mech, and that's all my men care about. Frankly, it's almost all I care about, too.’

‘For once. godson. Use your head!’ Lady Ling's voice dropped to a whisper. ‘This day is your last chance to regain your father's good will. Your very last chance.’

‘The price is too high. I don't want it.’ With a deep, formal bow to his godmother, Tormana Liao turned on his heel and cut through the crowd, heading for the door.

Kali (Algol System)

Tikonov Commonality

Capellan Confederation

21 January3026

The four stars collectively known as Algol rode low in the purple sky of Kali. Belial and Bael were blue-white plnheads, close together like the eyes of a snake. Ahriman was a red dot sinking through the haze, and yellowish Asmo-day trailed behind it, scarcely brighter than a planet. Under these cheerless lights, the cliffs around Warex Base glittered like the night a million chips of volcanic glass flashing in black stone.

A BattleMech strode away from the domes of the base toward one of the canyons that pierced the valley's rim. It was a Vindicator,nine meters tall, with a particle projection cannon in place of its right forearm. Bright metal glinted through its dull black paint in random scrapes and scars. On the upper part of its right arm were three painted symbols: the black falcon of the regiment, the fist and sword of House Liao, and a red-gold heart surrounded by flames.

Tormana crossed the valley as quickly as he could without actually throwing his Mech into a run. It was the quiet shift at Warex Base, when more than half the battalion slept He'd told Sheila Po, his Tech, that he was going for a walk around the valley to check the booby traps at the canyon mouths, and to get the feel of his Mech again after three weeks away from it This was a partial truth. He would check the booby traps when he returned. If Sheila or anyone else noticed him leaving the valley, they'd insist on sending an escort with him, or want to know why not. And he couldn't lie to his troops. So he walked faster.

Six hours after the Thunderfisthad set down with Tormana and his new MechWarriors. a note had come sliding under hts office door. Below a set of coordinates was the message, ‘Come alone when Ahriman sets.’ It was signed with a sketch of a heart surrounded by flames. The symbol of Brazen Heart.

Brazen Heart was not on any of the star maps. It was a prison colony in the Sarna Commonality, a fierce desert world reserved for political dissidents Tormana's wife had been born there. When the Chancellor annulled their marriage and Tormana feared for her life, she had returned home, smuggled by a secret group whose symbol, like that of the planet, was a burning heart. He had not seen Hanya in five years. Sometimes he received word, through a friend in the Sam Reserves, that she was well.

It disturbed him that the underground had an agent at Warex Base. Dissidents were all right Spies were not. He would have to find out who it was.

As he stepped over the tripwire at the canyon entrance, his gaze fell on two pictures clipped to the side of his instrument panel. One was a snapshot of Hanya. Seated on a sofa with a computer terminal in her hand, she was looking up at the camera with a surprised grin. The other was a holoportrait of the Chancellor in his court robes, glaring sternly into space. ‘Sorry, Father,’ Tormana said, unclippmg the portrait and turning it face down. ‘What you don't know won't hurt me.’

The coordinates in the note were some 60 kilometers west of Warex Base. In the Vindicator,in this terrain, that was a four-hour walk. At least he didn't have to worry about overheating. Kati was a cold planet. What little moisture the volcanoes threw out condensed and froze every night, filling the darkness with the snap and boom of cracking rocks. Kali would not have been warm enough to support even that brief humidity, if not for the greenhouse effect. Its atmosphere was mostly carbon dioxide and nitrogen, and about 10 percent argon because of the radioactive ores. A rich mining colony had been evacuated because of the frequent raids.

The map on the Vindicator'stactical screen was a maze of blue lines indicating passable canyons, highlighted by splashes of red that were volcanic vents. It could not show everything, of course, but he knew the area well enough to find shortcuts. Tormana estimated he would make his appointment with half an hour to spare.

Picking his way over the rocks between looming black walls, he wondered whether Hanya was using the dissident network to get in touch with him. Or, did the network itself want him for some reason? Then it occurred to him that the message might not be from the dissidents at all. After all, he wore the same symbol on the arm of his ‘Mech. Anyone who knew of Hanya's origins might guess that the burning heart was Tormana's personal symbol for his wife. It could be used to lure him into a trap. He still had to go. but not, he decided, by the most obvious route.

Stabbing the control for his jump jets, he sailed up and over a low spot in the canyon wall and down again, landing on flexed legs amid the rubble of a canyon that wandered southwest. It was a longer walk. He would be late, but he'd approach the rendezvous from the south instead of the east.

His radio crackled with the voice of Warex Base trying to raise him. He switched it off. They wouldn't worry too much, not yet In all these canyons, and with Kali's background radiation, direct radio communications were often impossible. And the satellite relay in this quadrant had broken down two days ago.

Ahriman set, with Asmoday close behind it. Belial and Bael approached the smoky horizon. The wind picked up, whistling around the Vindicator'shead and lashing the radio antennae back and forth like saplings. The cockpit was well-sealed, but the cold seemed to come straight through the viewport. He was glad he'd worn long underwear beneath his environmental suit

The meeting place, when he finally came within a kilometer of it, seemed to be radioactive. He paused in the shadow of a wind-sculpted obelisk, thinking this over. With several canyon walls still separating him from the message senders, he could not tell whether they had any atomic-powered equipment. His Geiger counter wasn't built to tell the difference between a faulty 'Mech engine, for example, and a vein of radioactive potassium. From the strength of the reading, though, it was probably an old mine. That also meant it was not likely to be a dissident base. The radiation would jam most kinds of sensors, making the area a good hiding place, but not a healthy one– unless a person was shielded, as Tormana was in his 'Mech.

It was possible to land 'Mechs on Kali undetected. With the satellite out of commission, the radar coverage for this quadrant was the manual set at Warex. If someone switched off the proximity alarm and then created a distraction at the right moment. .. He hated to think that there could be a traitor among his own men. Yet it could only have been someone from the base who had slipped that note under his door.

Nearly convinced by now that it was a trap, Tormana switched on his radio to ask for a flyover of the rendezvous point. Then he changed his mind. Better to move back another kilometer or so, climb to high ground, and send out a tight beam.

Palming the joystick, he swiveled the Vindicator-Only it didn't move.

‘Damn,’ he growled, thumping the underside of the control panel with his fist Then he tried it again.

The Vindicatorstood like a black statue, wind moaning across its armor.

He knew the motor was running, for he could feel the vibration. He disengaged the controls, moved them all through their full range, reengaged them, and tried to lift the 'Mech's right foot It remained planted.

‘Bloody narcoleptic antique,’ he said In a level tone.

A shadow fell across the viewport. He looked up just as the face of another Vindicatorclicked into contact with his own. Seen through the dust on both ports, the other pilot was only a Humanoid silhouette.

‘There's nothing wrong with your machine,’ came a hollow voice, conducted through the plexisteel. ‘I've switched off your manual systems.’

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘I have to kill you. but not until we talk.’

‘Oh?’ Getting no response from the Vindicator'sweapons. Tormana reached casually behind his seat for his hand laser. ‘You speak pretty good Liao, for a Davion man. What've you done to my 'Mech?’

‘It's not what I did, so much as what Sheila Po did. All I had to do was get close to you and flip a switch. But ever since you left the base. I've had a hell of a time trying to get close. That is, until you so kindly stopped here for a nap in the shade.’

‘You followed me from Warex?’ All the Vindicatorpilots at the base were Tormana's personal friends. Except for the one newcomer from Hsien. ‘Maclean?’

‘MacLean is here, but he's dead. He and his BattleMech are going to have an unfortunate accident’

Tormana knew that if he fired his laser through the pot, it would take ten or twelve seconds to melt through two layers of plexisteel. Time enough for the other man to do something about it. So he waited fora better chance. ‘If you're not MacLean, then how can you operate his 'Mech? Or is it his? I can't see it very well.’

‘It's his. But it was reprogrammed on Hsien to respond to my code as well as MacLean's. The same with your machine, while you were gone. I could get in it right now and walk it away.’

‘Who are you?’

The other man was silent for a moment. ‘When you have someone at your mercy, Tormana, and you're going to kill him—do you toy with him first?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Then I won't, either. I'll tell you straight out. Who I used to be doesn't matter. Your father wants a son like himself, a useful son, a son who thinks like a Liao. So with the help of a lot of doctors, he made me into that son. From this day forward, my name is—Tormana Liao.’

‘You're insane!’ Throwing off his safety straps, Tormana hurled himself at the viewport, slamming his fist against it. ‘MacLean, you need help! Release my 'Mech, and I won't hurt you.’

‘Sorry, my friend, it's Maximilian who's crazy. Me, I'm just ambitious. With your identity, I can bring back the glory days ot the Confederation. Meanwhile, I've got plans for Bandora. Or didn't you know your father intends to give—his son—a Dukedom there?’

Tormana dropped back into his seat. He felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. ‘But he's my father. I'm his son. This can't be happening.’

There was no reply from the other' Mech.

‘Till this day,’ Tormana said. ‘I never knew him. He is a monster. A reptile that eats its own young.’ Pulling off his neurohelmet, the MechWarrior ran his hands through his tousled hair and touched his face as though assuring himself that he was awake. Then he stopped and frowned. ‘I suppose there aren't really any 'Mechs in the old mine up ahead there.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Then you don't know.’ Tormana thought for a moment ‘About a kilometer north of here, in an abandoned mine. I think there are some enemy MechWarriors. They're probably planning to sneak up on the base.’

The other man laughed. Even distorted by the plexlsteel. it was a familiar laugh. Tormana's own laugh. ‘You're stalling for time. I find myself reluctant to get on with this, but l promised not to play cat-and-mouse games. Good journey, Tormana.’ The other 'Mech's face pulled away from Tormana's viewport In its place, a huge steel hand clanged down, shutting out the twilight The canopy locks groaned as the hand began to lift up the hatch. Cold, sulfurous air hissed through the seal. Gagging, Tormana jammed his helmet onto his head, pulled down the faceplate, and twisted the oxygen valve.

From the static of the radio, a crackly voice emerged. ‘I don't think he fell for it Bent When are we gonna sack the base? Oops! Jeez, sorry, I—’ The voice broke off. leaving only static.

The transmission had come from close by, and it was in English. They both heard it The attacking Mech froze. Tormana sank back with a gasp, then sealed his helmet and scrambled for his survival gear.