Star lord

by Donald G. Phillips

"Yes. I want to give Dawn a shot. She's a crack 'Mech pilot, and from what we've seen of her so far, she's not afraid of anything."

  "That's not fair," Trane protested. "The place belongs to one of my Knights. This mission is about them. They have the right."

  Duncan started to argue, then thought better of it. Trane had a point. Whether he liked it or not, this was the Knights' fight. It was their good name being smeared.

  "All right, Rod. But consider this. The next four matches are one-on-one. Let Dawn and the rest of the Fire Support lance take them. We've cobbled together a Shadow Hawk from what we've won, and she's already familiarized herself with it. You, Hawkes, Bovos, and I will take a breather."

  It was a good suggestion and Trane knew it. Between the matches so far and the various attacks on them, the so-called "Command Lance" of Raima's Company was weary. He was too weak to debate the issue, and three of his best Knights would still get a shot at the Cavaliers. "All right," he said. "Do it."

  There was a soft knock on the door and Duncan went to open it. Hawkes was there. "There's a messenger here from the Arena Master," he said, trying to keep his voice down for Trane's sake.

  "Get some sleep," Duncan told Trane, then followed Hawkes out to meet the young man dressed in the uniform of an arena page. "I'm Duncan Kalma. What can I do for you?"

  "Sir," the page said, "the Arena Master would like to see you and your team."

  * * *

  As Duncan and his six companions walked down the hall to the Arena Master's office, several men approaching from the other end began to talk excitedly to each other and point in their direction. When the two groups got close enough to speak, one of the men called out, "Congratulations. You guys fight like demons!"

  Duncan gave them a courteous nod and smile as they passed. He knew they meant it as a compliment, but he was glad Trane wasn't here to hear it. What the others thought, he'd never know because just ahead was the door to the Arena Master's office. Duncan knocked, then went in, trailed by Hawkes, Bovos, Dawn, Karl Villiers, Goto, and Jon Blix.

  "Welcome," the Arena Master said, spreading his hands wide.

  Glancing around the room, Duncan was amazed at the luxurious appointments. He'd had no idea the games on Galatea were so profitable. No one would guess it from the purses. Yet here it was displayed in abundance, even to some furnishings being inlaid with gold.

  "My name is Alfonse Vreeken. And may I congratulate you on your success in the Games to date. Quite honestly, few of us thought you'd make it this far."

  "Thank you, Mr. Vreeken, but I doubt you've summoned us here just to extend your felicitations," said Duncan.

  "I see you are a man who likes to get right down to business, Captain Kalma. Very well, let's do that. Your team has fought four matches so far, and public interest has grown with each contest. This interest has been fueled by gossip concerning your rescue of the young woman from the hands of Carmody's Cavaliers, the attempts on your lives, and so on. The wagers on your matches are expected to rise more rapidly than any I can remember since the Games began here. If you make it to the final match, I expect the betting to reach astronomical heights."

  Duncan was pleased but puzzled by this speech. "Is that a problem?" he asked, but the news was giving him an idea.

  "No, no, this is indeed not a problem," said Vreeken, "but your lack of a recognizable name is."

  "Our lack of a name?"

  "My friends, one of the reasons the Games on Galatea have grown is the fact that we respect some people's desire for ... shall we say ... privacy? We do not require documentation of anyone's identity, background, and so on. It's actually one of the strong appeals of doing business here. We permit independents to participate all the time. But surely you've noted a certain sensational quality to the names of the competitors ... Carmody's Cavaliers. Beck's Beasts, and such. You've entered the Games listed solely as 'Raima's Mercenary Company, Ind.' "

  "So that's why you asked to see us?" Duncan said. "You want us to adopt a catchy name?"

  "Precisely. It's simply a matter of good business."

  Duncan did not respond immediately, but looked around for a chair and sat down. The others remained standing behind him and along the back wall. Up to this point he'd resisted a flashier monicker for the unit. Now it was going to be forced on them.

  The others weren't so reticent. "How about 'Raima's Tigers'?" Bovos said.

  "Wait a minute," said Hawkes. "What was it that fellow in the hall said just a few minutes ago?"

  "He said we fought like demons," Dawn said proudly.

  "Well, there's an idea. How about calling ourselves 'The Demons'?" He looked around at the others, seeing approval from Duncan and Bovos, but no reaction whatever from Villiers and Goto. Blix, however, showed the hint of a smile.

  It was Dawn who stepped forward. "May I suggest ..." she began, but suddenly stopped when everyone turned to look at her. She had said so little to anyone till now, still grappling with her new life. But she understood the value of a name, for wasn't the hope of winning a Bloodname the fierce dream of every warrior?

  "A demon is a being with one great thought, one great desire—to succeed. I find honor in the name. May I suggest," she went on, a little less shy now, "that we be known as Duncan's Demons?"

  * * *

  Still unsteady on his feet, Trane stood only by leaning against the shoulders of Karl Villiers and Jon Blix for support. He watched in silence as the burial container was carried aboard the DropShip. No flag draped the container. No proud symbol showed. But inside, in the dress uniform of a Knight of the Inner Sphere, lay Goto-san. He was making his last voyage through the cosmos. His mortal remains would return to Atreus to take their eternal rest in a place the Knights had established with their own personal funds.

  Trane and the Knights could give no salute to their fallen comrade. They stood stiffly, not moving an inch as the bay door of the DropShip closed. A coded message had been sent to the Knights headquarters on Atreus. They would arrange for Goto's body to be picked up.

  "Let's go," said Trane. Supported by Villiers and Blix and followed by the rest of the Demons, he began the walk out of the starport. Villiers and Blix had triumphed in their matches, but the victories had not been easy. Villiers's match, especially, had been gruesome, with hand-to-hand fighting between his Wolverine and a Thunderbolt in the final moments. The Cavaliers and their recruits seemed to be fighting like madmen for something more than a large purse and unit acclaim. Goto in his Commando had held his own against a Cavalier Javelin, but in the end both 'Mechs had been fatally damaged. In a last desperate charge the Javelin pilot locked the arms of his 'Mech around Goto's Commando and fired his chest-mounted SRMs, killing both 'Mechs and their pilots. Trane was saddened, but still proud of his Knight.

  "He was a fine warrior," said Bovos as they left the star-port.

  * * *

  It was colorful. Trane had to admit that. The maintenance technicians had labored for days to come up with the design and get it painted on the chest armor of Dawn's 'Mech.

  "It's perfect," said Duncan.

  The entire mission team, including Morneau, Hasson, Auramov, and Ben-Ari of the Recon Lance, stood looking up the 20-meter-height of the 55-ton Shadow Hawk. There, smack dab in the middle of the 'Mech's chest on a flat armor plate was the image of a demon. It was a devil's head with a blood-red face, white slits for eyes, the mouth partially open with white teeth and fangs clearly visible, and two white horns—one at each temple. The effect was most menacing. For a few moments no one spoke.

  "Warriors to their 'Mechs." The Arena Master's voice was loud and distinct over the public address system.

  "Good luck, Dawn. From all of us." Duncan put one of his hands gently on her shoulder. Dawn smiled faintly, then went to the right foot of her 'Mech and began to climb the mounting rungs to the cockpit. She was still struggling to calm her emotions, as a warrior must before combat. But the conflict was too great. She was of the Clans. She should hate these Inner Spher
e barbarians—the Minutemen, the Cavaliers, even the Demons. But she did not despise her comrades. They treated her well and were far different from the other disreputable trashborns she'd encountered up till now.

  Once inside the cockpit, Dawn stripped down to her fatigue shorts and T-shirt, then pulled on the cooling vest that would keep her from frying in the intense heat generated once the 'Mech started moving and firing its weapons. It would get hot, but she knew that the Shadow Hawk's Sparrow 300J life support system provided more protection and comfort against heat buildup than most 'Mechs. This was a later model whose armor plating had been overhauled to prevent damaging the myomer bundles that controlled the 'Mech's movement. It also had an Armstrong autocannon mounted on the left shoulder and a Martel Model 5 medium laser affixed to its right arm.

  "Yes," she had told herself after her first ride in the Hawk, "this 'Mech will do just fine." And this match was just the kind of fight a Clan warrior relished. One on one in close confines, with no quarter given. She was ready.

  "MechWarrior Dawn of Duncan's Demons. Enter the Field of Combat, please," the Arena Master said.

  Dawn pushed her throttle forward, taking the Shadow Hawk into a slow walk. As she passed through the gate leading to the field she could hear the cheers and applause of the spectators even through the armored body of her 'Mech. Outside, she thought, the din must be deafening. As she took her place at one end of the field she noticed the crowd beginning to fall silent. At the other end she saw the reason why.

  The Cavalier entry was a 'Mech named the "Enforcer." She quickly called it up on her 'Mech ID program. The 'Mech was five tons lighter than her Shadow Hawk and was a good brawler with jump capability. Its combination of a Class 10 autocannon and Chiscomp 43 Special large laser gave it a terrific punch.

  "Dawn, listen up." It was Hawkes, but his voice wasn't coming over the commline. She looked around the cockpit until she spied what looked like a small, hand-sized communicator. Picking it up she noted that it had no transmission controls.

  "Have you found it yet? You can't talk to me. It's a receiver only. Duncan got one for each 'Mech yesterday so we can get info to 'Mechs on the field. I'm in the stands about halfway down the field close to the referee's booth. You're up against an Enforcer. That scrappy little SOB was born in the Federated Commonwealth. I know it well. He'll try to get in close and hit you with the autocannon or large laser. You can't survive more than three hits from either one."

  That much I know, Dawn thought irritably. Now tell me something I can use.

  "It has two weaknesses, Dawn," Hawkes said as if reading her mind. "The ammo-feed system for the autocannon is subject to jamming and it can only carry ten bursts. He'll be trying to husband those salvos. The 'Mech is also vulnerable from the rear. The armor is very thin there. Gunner out."

  "Let the match begin," came the Arena Master's voice over the commline. It was followed by the loud report of the signal cannon.

  Dawn could see the Enforcer charging down the field toward her at high speed. This freebirth's idea of how the order of battle should go wasn't hard to discern. He wanted to get within point-blank range and cut loose with his autocannon. Well, two could play at that game. She hit the Shadow Hawk's throttle hard, and began to run a collision course toward the other 'Mech. It looked like the match was going to begin as a test of nerves.

  At 500 meters Dawn launched a spread of SRMs. A good hit at this distance would be pure luck, but the sight of eight SRMs heading one's way could give the hardiest warrior food for thought. The Enforcer slowed, and when Dawn got to within 200 meters she veered her 'Mech to the right, turning the Shadow Hawk's torso slightly and thumbing the autocannon. She could see the explosive shells slamming into the left side of the Enforcer. Even as the fire was hitting him, the Cavalier pilot raised his 'Mech's left arm and triggered three bursts from the large laser. His first two shots missed, but the third hit the Shadow Hawk's left forearm. The ferro-fibrous armor buckled and sparks flew out of the hole that had been gouged. Dawn gained an immediate respect for the power of that large laser. Had she been any closer the big red beam of electron energy would have sheared her arm off completely. She swung the Shadow Hawk to the left, trying to get behind the Enforcer.

  The Cavalier sensed what she was up to and twisted his 'Mech violently to the right. When Dawn stopped to what should have been his rear, the Enforcer was already coming round to meet her with autocannon firing. Hits began dancing across her 'Mech's torso while warning lights flashed and alarms wailed.

  "Dawn, look at his arm. You made a hit against his left shoulder joint," Hawkes was yelling through the small communicator, which she'd set on a utility shelf beneath the command console.

  Dawn turned the Shadow Hawk to her right and began to put some distance between the two 'Mechs. The Enforcer remained stationary as the pilot continued pumping autocannon fire at her. She felt one or two bursts striking the back of her 'Mech, but judged any harm to be minimal. She was far more concerned about the blast holes in the 'Mech's chest and lower torso. The battle computer's secondary display painted a grotesque picture of the damage. Her primary heat sinks had ruptured a coolant line and it was flowing out of the hole like blood from a ripped vein. The myomer gel used to reduce friction in the older-model 'Mech also mixed with the bright green fluid, smoke, and stain. The secondary monitor told her the Enforcer was holding his position. She stopped and turned to face him.

  Now she could see what Hawkes was talking about. The Enforcer's, left arm wasn't completely out of action, but it could barely move. By her count he had expended seven of his ten autocannon bursts. Right now he was trying to get the large laser raised to at least a hip-firing position.

  It was now or never. Dawn locked her targeting system onto the Enforcer's left arm and charged him. Again closing to 200 meters she concentrated her SRMs on it. It was still not a good range for the small missiles, but the Enforcer's pilot took them seriously, dodging his 'Mech right and left. She saw one hit the Enforcer's upper arm and then, suddenly, the Shadow Hawk's missile-feed system jammed. Not only was that system out, but other systems were closing down from the heat buildup. The explosive shells from the Enforcer's autocannon had ripped through her 'Mech's chest armor and done more damage than she'd realized.

  Seeing Dawn slow to a walk, the Enforcer stopped darting about and tried to get its left-arm large laser up for firing. Dawn meanwhile was bringing up her right arm with its medium laser. Drawing a bead on the Enforcer's left arm she waited until her targeting cross hairs glowed gold, then pressed the trigger.

  The muzzle of the laser flared, and 100 meters away the beam of pulsed energy sliced into the Enforcer's shoulder. The left arm dropped away, hanging by the few remaining strands of myomer. Sparks and fluid poured from the shoulder joint. Dawn squeezed the trigger of the laser again but nothing happened ... it was dead.

  "Dawn, move away!" Hawkes was practically screaming at her through the small communicator. "He's still got some autocannon loads."

  What did that matter? Dawn retorted silently as she began walking her 'Mech straight at the Cavalier 'Mech. Not fast, just a steady gait, but headed in a direct line toward the other 'Mech. The Enforcer could see her coming. His first autocannon burst missed her by less than a meter. At 50 meters the second burst tore into the Shadow Hawk's left leg. Armor plates popped off as the shell exploded within. The third burst hit the torso of her 'Mech dead center. As the Shadow Hawk began to overheat, it was nearing shutdown and the heat in the cockpit was suffocating.

  Seeing her slow down, the Enforcer made no attempt to move away. His sensors told him her 'Mech would shut down at any moment. Then he would use the autocannon in his right arm to finish her off. As Dawn brought the Shadow Hawk to within a few meters of her foe, he raised his arm and pointed the autocannon at her cockpit. But nothing happened. He was out of ammo. Knowing she was only moments from shutdown, Dawn had cut off the lights and other unnecessary systems. She raised her machine's right arm and then bro
ught it down with brutal force on the Enforcer's cockpit. Metal screeched and the interior bulkheads snapped as the Shadow Hawk's powerful armored fist crushed the life of the pilot who'd given life to the machine. An instant later the Shadow Hawk's reactor shut down completely.

  "Excellent shooting, Dawn," came Duncan's voice over the receiver in her neurohelmet. His disembodied voice seemed to surround her head as she watched the Enforcer collapse in front of her. "You've avenged, Goto-san."

  "Warriors do not fight for revenge," Dawn said just before passing out from the heat.

  * * *

  Dawn did not like beer, but it was cold and cold was what she needed. Hawkes and Bovos had rushed out onto the field, reaching her 'Mech even before the arena's fire-control squad. Their shouting awakened her enough to pop the cockpit hatch, and then they got her outside and to the ground quickly. She was groggy and disoriented until the cooling packs they applied began to bring her body temperature down.

  "The referee ruled it a victory for Dawn."

  Dawn looked up to see Jon Blix coming into the area where the Demon 'Mechs were parked. "There was a doubt?" she asked.

  "The Cavaliers wanted it ruled a draw because your 'Mech shut down," Hawkes explained. "They insisted a winner had to be able to leave the field."

  "They truly are swine." Dawn's vision was beginning to clear and she felt better. Looking around, she saw all the Demons standing over her ... except Duncan.

  "Well, what do you think, good people?" It was Duncan's voice.

  As the others turned around, Dawn stood up shakily. Seeing Duncan, her eyes opened wide in astonishment. There he stood, obviously very pleased with himself, dressed in a light gray duty uniform. The epaulets and bibbed front were outlined with red piping. A red stripe ran down the side of each trouser leg. The red belt had a buckle in the shape of the House Marik black eagle. On the bib of the jacket was the symbol of their company ... the homed, fanged, fearsome face of a demon.