Again Morgan looked at his chronometer. "It's past time, my friends. I will agree with you that this discussion is more interesting than the Archon's Liberty Medals Banquet is likely to be, but I also think it would be better held in a properly secure briefing room."
Hanse stood up and began to straighten his own jacket. 'The only real problem with shuttling court back and forth between New Avalon and Tharkad is that every night is taken up with awards banquets and other 'cultural events' of questionable merit" He winked at Victor. "But if we miss them, your mother will have our heads."
Victor pointed toward the door. "Then let's go." He turned to his father. "Do you think I'll have to preside over similar occasions on Trell I?"
Hanse shook his head. "Out there? I doubt it."
Victor laughed and closed the door behind them. 'There is a silver lining to this cloud after all ..."
7
Gearadeus Base, Skondia
Isle of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
30 July 3049
Kai Allard covered his mouth with one fist as he yawned. "I'm here, Sergeant. What's the big problem?"
The small, blocky man looked terribly apologetic. "Jeez, Leftenant, I didn't expect you to show up right now. I mean, I just wanted you to appear sometime today. I know you wanted to get some shut-eye after that trip in on the Argus."
Kai shook his head. "Not a problem. With all my traveling, I've mastered the trick of sleeping on DropShips even as they enter atmosphere."
DropShips, incapable of interstellar travel by themselves, moved passengers and cargo from planets to JumpShips. With its Kearny-Fuchida jump drive, a JumpShip was able to warp space around itself and its DropShips, traveling instantaneously to another star system up to thirty light years distant. Transit time between planet and jump point varied according to the type of star, but no one counted such journeys as pleasant or restful.
The Sergeant glanced down at his noteputer. "The end of the month is coming up and I need to get you checked out on your 'Mech. I mean, we need to make sure nothing shook lose. Besides, your 'Mech is hardly stock ..." He halfturned toward the 'Mech bay, then waited for Kai to follow him into the cavernous home of the most fearsome weapons ever developed by mankind.
A thrill ran up Kai's spine as he stepped into the bay's shadowy interior. BattleMechs ranging in height from nine to almost twelve meters towered above him. The white and blue camouflage designed to hide 'Mechs in Skondia's icier reaches softened some of the machines' harder edges, yet Kai thought it also made the 'Mechs seem colder and more forbidding. Some were of humanoid design, with the look of men encased in giant, powered armor. Others resembled fierce animals or monstrous insects.
A third category of 'Mechs looked equally daunting. Most of them stood on birdlike legs, but the resemblance to living creatures ended there. Their squat, compact bodies sprouted stubby wings that bristled with laser ports or missile pods in most cases. The most fearsome of these, the Marauder, stood hunched over, with its twin arms ending in blocky weapon pods that contained lasers and terrifying particle projection cannons. Augmented by a cannon mounted atop the jutting torso, that weaponry made the Marauder one of the most deadly BattleMechs ever produced.
The noncom led Kai back through row upon row of 'Mechs. At one point, he plucked a thick vest from a basket and tossed it back to the MechWarrior. Gray ballistic cloth formed the garment's outer layer, and Kai found its weight reassuring. Unsnapping the four clasps, Kai opened the jacket to reveal the interior layer of black goretex that lined the vest. Sandwiched between the goretex and body armor ran tubes of coolant fluid. The garment, when plugged into a 'Mech's command couch, helped the pilot's body deal with the incredible heat build-up in the BattleMech's cockpit.
Kai had stripped off his shirt and donned the cooling vest by the time he and the Sergeant reached their destination. The smaller man stopped abruptly, but Kai neatly avoided running into him. 'This is it, isn't it, Leftenant? I mean, this is the real Yen-lo-wang."
Kai nodded solemnly. 'The real thing. This is Yen-lo-wang."
The Centurion standing before them lacked the bulkiness of some other humanoid 'Mechs. Though its slender lines made it seem more alive, the autocannon muzzle that replaced its right hand would never let anyone mistake it for a living creature. The head had been designed with a crest reminiscent of an ancient Roman helmet, but both Kai and the Sergeant knew it was more than decoration. The crest had been fitted with thousands of sensors that, in fact, made it the giant war machine's eyes and ears.
Yen-lo-wang did not share the other 'Mech's ice and snow camouflage. Until recently, it had been kept on the planet Kestrel, the Allard ancestral holding. It had been painted in a mottled brown and black pattern, with some blue near the faceplate, mimicking the coloration of a falcon. Over the left breast, the falcon rampant crest of the Kestrel Militia had been stenciled in black.
The smaller man shuddered. "I saw it in its first fight, you know."
"You were on Solaris twenty years ago?" Kai smiled solicitously.
The man shook his head. "Well, I wasn't actually there. I saw the 'Mech go against Peter Armstrong's when the fight was first broadcast. Let's see, I was stationed on Cor Caroli at the time. I remember watching Armstrong's Griffin—I think he called it Mars ..."
"Ares," Kai corrected him gently.
"Yeah, Ares." The Sergeant shrugged sheepishly. "Hey, all them old god names get confusing, you know? Isn't Yen-lo-wang a god, too?"
"The Chinese god of the dead," Kai whispered. "The King of the Nine Hells."
The Sergeant smiled broadly. "Yeah, that's it. That's why the holovids of that fight were billed as 'The Battle of the Gods.' Well, I saw it all. On a whim, I bet on your father— mainly 'cause the other guys gave me great odds. When your pop blew the hell out of Armstrong, I cleaned up. Got doubled odds because he killed Armstrong."
The man's ebullience made Kai's mouth run sour. I remember the time I sneaked a viewing of a holovid of that fight and started bragging about the fact my father had killed a man. I must have been, what, six years old at the time, and was using the holovid to win one of those 'my father can beat up your father' fights with a kid from school. It upset the other kid so much, they had to send him home from school. That night my father sat me down for a long talk. He held me close as we both watched the fight again, and I could feel him tremble. He told me what he'd been thinking as the faceplate on Armstrong's 'Mech exploded out. He wanted Armstrong to punch out, to escape the death of his 'Mech, but when fire filled the cockpit and shot out in twenty-meter long gouts of flame, my father's heart sank.
"Killing a man is not easy, and never should be," he told me. I was too young to fully understand, but I've learned since then, and have never forgotten. Killing is, ultimately, a failure of all other methods to influence and change someone. That it is sometimes the only way to protect yourself does not give to it any more sanctity or merit.
The Sergeant patted Yen-lo-wang on the foot with an affection another man might lavish on a pet dog or horse. "I never thought I'd ever see this baby up close." He grinned sheepishly as he turned back to Kai. "If you have no objections, sir, I'd like to take care of your 'Mech personally. You know, sort of become your personal Tech—in addition to my other duties, of course."
Kai returned the Sergeant's smile, his thoughts and feelings deflected from their somber course. "It would be my pleasure, Sergeant, to have you work on my 'Mech." Kai glanced up at the Centurion. "And I'm sure he won't mind at all."
The Tech nodded and patted the 'Mech's foot again. "Don't you worry, sir, old Marty Rumble and Yen-lo-wang are going to become the best of friends. I'll have him running tip-top." He moved to steady the rope ladder running from the Centurion's cockpit to the ground. "First, let's get you up there and see what he can do. I'll be in the targeting course control tower. Call me on TacCom 27 when you're ready to roll."
Kai mounted and quickly scaled the ladder. Once inside the 'Mech's cockpit, he waved Rumble aw
ay from the ladder and hit the retraction switch. With the ladder reeled into the storage space in the 'Mech's chin, the polarized faceplate slid down and clicked into place. Sealed tightly, the cockpit pressurized itself, making Kai's ears pop.
Kai dropped into the Mech's command couch and removed his long woolen trousers, leaving on his standard-issue shorts. The chill air raised goosebumps on his legs, but as he flipped the switch that started the fusion reactor burning in the 'Mech's chest, he felt warm air currents eddy up into the cockpit. Well he knew that the cockpit could become so stiflingly hot that his shorts would be all he could stand to have on.
After fastening the crisscrossing safety belts, Kai pulled the cooling vest's powercord from the small pocket on its left side and snapped it into the coupling on the left side of the command couch. It took a half-second for his flesh to get used to the sensation of a million worms crawling over it as the sluggish cooling fluid started to flow within the vest. Then he smiled, recalling one instructor's comment: "Better caressed by worms than parboiled."
Kai opened a panel on the right side of the command couch and pulled out four short cables and a strip of shiny paper. He peeled the medical-sensor adhesive pads from the paper and pressed one each to his thighs and upper arms. He then snapped the rounded ends of the cables to the four sensor pads and threaded the plug ends up through the loops on his cooling vest. The plugs clinked against one another as they flopped loosely near his throat.
Reaching up and behind his head, Kai pulled his neurohelmet from the shelf above the command couch. He settled it down over his head, letting the bulk of its weight rest on the cooling vest's padded shoulders. He worked it around, adjusting it so the ring of neurosensors built into the helmet fitted snugly against his skull. It gave him a bit of trouble, but he finally got it seated correctly. I guess I need to get my hair cut again ...
He inserted the medsensor plugs into the four sockets at the helmet's throat. Moving his head around for a test, he satisfied himself that the helmet's hexagonal faceplate was indeed centered. He pressed down on the velcro tabs that kept the helmet in place. Ready for the next step, he reached out and touched a glowing yellow button on his command console.
The computer's synthesized voice filled his neurohelmet. "I am Yen-lo-wang. Who presents himself to the King of the Nine Hells?"
"I am Kai Allard-Liao."
White noise played through the speakers for a moment before the computer replied. "Voiceprint pattern match obtained. What is the one immutable law?"
Kai swallowed hard. "Honor thy mother and thy father."
"Authorization confirmed. Know well, Kai Allard-Liao, you have made your parents proud."
Kai rocked back in his couch, barely noticing as the war machine's monitors blinked to life and the computer brought all the weapon systems on line. The computer's not programmed to say that! Then he remembered his father wanting to climb back into the cockpit "one more time" when they met before the senior Allard departed for Victor's graduation ceremony. I should have known he was up to something when he insisted on marching Yen-lo-wang into the belly of the DropShip that brought me here. I've not been in it since then.
A lump rose in his throat. His allowing me to take Yen-lowang and use it for my tour of duty was one hell of a graduation gift, but that... that was something else. The words only barely choking out, Kai made a whispered vow. "I will do nothing to betray your faith in me ... Nothing!"
He keyed the radio. "Centurion to Course Control. Can you read me?"
Rumble sounded a bit breathless. "Just got here, Leftenant. CorCon ready. Are you all set?"
"All systems go."
"Good. Turn to heading one-eighty and proceed south. Just walk it for the first klick, then you can take it up to cruising speed. The gunnery course isn't very sophisticated. Mostly scrap steel structures with sensor pods that will make your 'Mech put targets up on the display."
"Roger." Kai hit two buttons on the command console to the right. "I'm sending you diagnostic feeds on TacCom 30 and 31. That's mechanicals and gunnery, respectively."
Rumble sounded impressed. "You can do that?"
"Yeah. It's a special option used on Solaris so the bookies can monitor a Mech's performance during a fight. It lets them lay off bets when a 'Mech takes internal damage that isn't clearly visible to the spectators. Feed starts now."
Streams of data poured across Kai's secondary monitor. He watched it long enough to assure himself he was sending the right information out on the correct frequency, then called up another program that presented a computer diagnostic view of Yen-lo-wang on the monitor. The computer reported the 'Mech's trio of active weapon systems were primed and ready. Because of the 'Mech's special modifications, especially the Pontiac 1000 heavy autocannon replacing the lighter Luxor AC in the 'Mech's right arm, and the added weight, the Centurion no longer carried a long-range missile launcher and ammo bays for the same in its chest. Ammo for the autocannon was stored in the Centurion's right breast. Yen-lo-wang also sported twin medium lasers forward and aft in its center torso.
The neurohelmet fed Kai's sense of balance directly into the computer, enabling the fifty-ton metallic giant to lumber forward and execute the turn to the south with amazing agility. At the pilot's direction, the computer instantly translated micro-electric pulses into gross motor movements by sending out jolts of electricity to contract and expand the 'Mech's myomer muscles. With his many years of training, Kai made the death machine carry him along almost effortlessly.
The Centurion strode from the 'Mech bay boldly and smoothly, but Kai detected and berated himself for tiny errors. He wouldn't allow himself the excuses of a two-month layoff because of his transit to Skondia or his general level of fatigue, but pushed himself to do better.
Concentrate, Kai! Your father handled Yen-lo-wang as though he 'd practiced with it every day for the past twenty years. He marched into the Argus as smartly as any elite drill team member. You're sloppy and slow. You have to do better.
Kai punched another button on the command console with his right hand. A meter from his face, running from the cockpit's low ceiling down about a meter and a half and measuring two full meters from side to side, a computergenerated data display burned to life. Though the curved display took up only a 160-degree arc, it provided a full 360-degree view of the area surrounding the Centurion. Faint lines broke the display into forward, left, right, and rear arcs of fire, and two gold targeting crosshairs hovered in the center area.
The translucent display allowed Kai a clear view of his command console, its data monitors, and the all-important heat-level displays. By focusing beyond it, he could see out through the Centurion's faceplate, but the view from ten meters up tended to be a bit distorted. The initial display showed the terrain outside in a magnified form using visible light, making it the rough equivalent of looking through a pair of weak binoculars. The program used by the computer to digitize the external visual feeds exaggerated crucial detail and included labels for items identified. In this case, it meant an increase of resolution for the gunnery-range warning signs and the identification of a passing aerofighter as a friendly, sixty-five-ton Lucifer on maneuvers from the base.
Kai keyed the radio. "I'm a klick out. I'm going to take Yen-lo-wang up to top speed." Without waiting for confirmation from CorCon, Kai leaned the 'Mech forward and started its legs pumping. Huge metal feet pounded into the snowy ground, crunching through the icy crust of early winter snow and actually digging up dirt from below. As the speed crept up to the 'Mech's maximum ground speed of 64.8 kph, Kai felt his heart begin to race. After two months of doing nothing, this feels great.
Rumble's voice crackled as it came out-of the speakers. "All systems reporting fine, Centurion. Fifteen seconds to range on my mark. You'll get no artificial visuals on vislight scan, only magres or infrared. Labels on all three. Mark. Good luck."
Kai dropped his hands onto the joystick controllers on the arms of the command couch. The control in his right h
and directed the crosshairs that targeted for the autocannon and the forward laser, while the other joystick handled the aft-arc laser. The button under his right thumb triggered the autocannon, while the index finger triggers on both controls fired the lasers.
Warning klaxons heralded his entry onto the gunnery range with hideous shrieks. Snowshoe hares sprinted away from the small wooden shack the computer labeled a Goblin medium tank. Kai dropped the forward crosshairs onto its projected image, let them pulse bright gold for a second, then stabbed his thumb down on the firing button.
With a thunderous roar, the Centurion's autocannon sprayed out a stream of depleted-uranium projectiles. They traced a line up the hill and into the shack. The door exploded in a cloud of splinters, then the roof disintegrated, spreading shingles all over the snowy hilltop. For the barest of moments, the unsteady structure remained standing, despite looking as though an invisible buzz-saw had split it right down the middle. Then, as Kai fought the autocannon's tendency to rise, the metal storm blew the rest of the building to pieces.
Almost instantly, off to the left, the computer painted the rusting skeleton of a bent and broken oil derrick with a label marking it as a Valkyrie. Kai swept the gold cross over to cover it, and snapped off a shot with the chest-mounted medium laser. The ruby beam shot low, vaporizing snow into great gouts of live steam. They rose up to form a thick white cloud that hung over the derelict tower, obscuring Kai's line of sight.
With his left hand, Kai shifted the display from vislight to magnetic resonance. The display went from normal visual analogs to a vector graphic picture of the landscape. For a half-second, the derrick appeared as it truly was, then the computer scrambled its lines and reformed them into the silhouette of the light 'Mech the derrick was supposed to represent.
Lethal heritage Page 7
