Wolves on the Border

by Robert N. Charrette

  The pressure on his arm and the attention of the room compelled Minobu to go along. The only alternative was to create a scene of indecorous refusal.

  Once they hit the heat of the harsh Quentin sun, there was little time for thought as Wolf led him, Blake, and Cameron at a brisk walk. A faster speed would have been foolish because it would be asking for trouble to overheat the body before entering the cockpit of a BattleMech. Ahead of them the half-dozen BattleMechs of Wolf's Command Lance stood in the blazing sun.

  Among the unfamiliar machines stood the Cyclops that would be Cameron's 'Mech. Minobu spotted a blue Archer with familiar gold trim. So ka. Had the pilot survived Dromini as well? There would be time enough to find out after the crisis. If it was the same pilot, that would be a warrior worth meeting.

  Gathered in the shadow of the war machines was a small group of people. Three of them wore cooling vests, which marked them as ‘Mech Warriors. Like the officers who had just come from the command center, they did not wear humidifier masks. They were expecting to be out of the dry air soon and inside their 'Mechs, where the filtration systems would keep the air moist.

  The faces of the ‘MechWarriors were unfamiliar to Minobu. Any one of them could have been the warrior he had spared on Dromini VI, for they all had the look of veterans of the harsh battlefields of the Successor States.

  The rest of the group, whose uniform markings showed them to be Techs, was equipped to work in the planet's brutal conditions. They were occupied with last-minute checks or in briefing the pilots on the status of their machines.

  When Wolf's group arrived, a pair of Techs stepped up to help the Dragoon officers strip out of their uniforms. Once Wolf had on his vest and his helper was attaching the biofeedback sensors, he motioned for a woman wearing the insignia of a Senior Tech to join him. “Bynfield, I want you to find something for Colonel Tetsuhara.”

  “As you wish, Colonel.” Even muffled by the mask, her Voice conveyed the annoyance of a busy person being asked to take on a heavier workload. She turned to Minobu and said, “If you will follow me, sir.”

  Minobu did as he was bid, following the Tech to a hangar. As he entered, he looked back to see Wolf conferring with his lance members.

  “What do you pilot, sir?”

  Minobu noted that she used the present tense. There was no way that this Tech could know that he lacked a 'Mech, and so she assumed that it was simply unavailable. He need not make his disgrace obvious to one of her social standing; neither would he bother to lie. “My last BattleMech was a Panther.”

  “Panther.” She consulted a desk comp. “Hmmm. Can't get you one of those just now. Got a VND-1R that we've just finished servicing in the vehicle park. How's that?”

  Minobu had never handled a Vindicator, so he questioned Bynfield about its details as he studied the diagrams the Tech brought up on the console. A ‘MechWarrior was supposed to be able to pilot any 'Mech. Theoretically, his training had prepared him for that, but as was so commonplace in the universe, the theory did not match reality.

  Most BattleMechs had a similar humanoid shape. Regardless of shape, however, their controls had to be designed to interface with a Human pilot. That made them similar, but not identical. Even minor differences in the arrangement of the instruments could lead to a moment of hesitation that might cost a ‘MechWarrior his life. Likewise, anticipation of a certain turning radius or rate of head dispersion that was not appropriate to the current machine could be lethal in the split-second world of combat. The problem was further complicated by the decline of technology in the Successor States. Modifications and jury-rigged systems were more common. Such modifications came in such a bewildering variety that no 'Mech academy curriculum could cover them all.

  This Vindicator's performance characteristics were similar to those of his old Panther. The 'Mech was jump-capable and had a comparable ground speed. Massing ten tons more, it also carried heavier armament and armor. The biggest difference was that the right arm mounted a Ceres Arms Smasher PPC instead of a battlefist. The weapon's sophisticated cooling jacket made it a less-compact system than the Lord's Light PPC of the Panther.

  The computer readout showed only one non-standard system—a Holly launcher replacing the Capellan-built SianI Ceres Jaguar missile system. The Holly's discharge rate was slightly inferior to that listed for a factory-fresh Jaguar launcher, but its reputation among ‘Mech Warriors of the Inner Sphere was far superior. This unit's maintenance record was spotless, and the BattleMech's overall record was nearly as good.

  “The Vindicator is adequate, Tech Bynfield.”

  Bynfield's voice was hard with sarcasm. “Glad you're pleased, Colonel. We try so hard to perform to adequate standards. If you could be troubled to step this way.”

  The Tech indicated a jitney that had arrived while Minobu was studying the computer files. On the passenger seat was a cooling vest, the feedback sensor cords coiled neatly on top. Minobu removed the garment and took a seat. He had barely settled in when Bynfield gunned the engine and directed the vehicle toward the back of the hangar. They roared through the open doors and headed for the vehicle park. As they approached, Minobu recognized the silhouette of the Vindicator from the plan views stored in the data file. A power lift scaffold nestled next to the 'Mech, and a pair of jitneys and a coolant truck were parked at its feet.

  Bynfield brought the vehicle to an abrupt stop and jumped out. She headed for the 'Mech, her back stiff. Minobu climbed out and stood in the shade of the BattleMech to strip off his uniform and don the cooling vest. As he watched Bynfield supervise her crew's final preparations for powering up the 'Mech, her concern for perfection and technical expertise was evident. She moved and directed with the sureness of a master. Now he understood her attitude. He had treated her as a simple lackey, not as the artist she obviously believed herself. When she returned to announce the 'Mech was ready, Minobu bowed.

  “I am grateful, Senior Master.”

  Bynfield stood for a moment, puzzlement written all over her face. Then she shook her head and started to reach for the pile that was his uniform and swords. “Your gear'll be at HQ, sir.”

  Minobu stepped in her way. “You may take the uniform when I am gone. The swords I must take with me.” He lifted the wakizashi. Loosening the sageyo cord, he looped it over his shoulder, and retied it. He settled the sword where the blade would not get in his way when he clambered aboard the 'Mech. He did the same for the katana, his motions quick and practiced.

  “Right. Well, the Vindicator's all set, sir. The neurocircuits have been adjusted to an open setting, and so you shouldn't get any feedback. You can ride the lift up.” She watched as he entered the cage. Minobu engage the drive and began to rise up the length of the 'Mech. “Crazy samurai,” he heard her say to another crew member, though he knew Bynfield had not intended him to overhear. Then she picked up the uniform and walked away.

  The lift jarred to a stop at cockpit level, where Minobu picked his way across the hot metal of the 'Mech's exterior. Before entering, he unslung his swords. Holding them both by the scabbard cords, he slid through the open hatch and into the pilot's seat. Swords safely stowed, he looked over the controls and checked the 'Mech's system monitors before reaching up to close and dog the hatch.

  Sliding the neurohelmet free of its cradle, he settled it onto the padded shoulders of the vest and plugged the control leads into the console. He waited for the brief wave of dizziness that he knew would come. The neurohelmet was a sophisticated computer interface that fed data on the BattleMech's stance and position to the wearer. The 'Mech's control systems then utilized the feedback from the pilot's own sense of equilibrium to guide the gyros in controlling the motion of the machine. All this occurred below the level of the ‘Mech Warrior's consciousness, but the moment of connection was always palpable.

  The vertigo came and passed quickly, only slightly more unpleasant than Minobu was used to because the frequencies were not adjusted specifically to him. A rush of adrenalin c
ame with the sense of the machine's balance. He was in control of the BattleMech. The viewscreens, set to the visible spectrum, revealed the ground crew clearing away. As he moved the 'Mech out of the vehicle park, he lifted the PPC in salute.

  Today, if only for a little while, Minobu Tetsuhara was a ‘MechWarrior again.

  8

  Fire Rift, Quentin IV

  Draconis March, Federated Suns

  17 June 3023

  The Vindicator moved through a hellish landscape. Minobu had seen no signs of animal life, and the only plants were scrubby bushes and rough grasses, all tinted with tawny chlorophyll analog that had evolved here. Everywhere he looked were columns of red rock, sculpted into fantastic spires reminiscent of the antique minarets and arches of Al Na'ir. Scattered among them were mesas of banded sediment aproned in talus piles and dusted with weathered gray pumice and ash. In several places, plumes of vapor rose from active volcanic vents. All of it was wrapped in the distortion of heat haze and a pall of smoke.

  It was much hotter here than near the spaceport. There was direct solar heat from the blazing white sun, reflected heat from the dazzling ash, and activity heat from the 'Mech's movements. Heat was a ‘MechWarrior's constant concern. If the internal heat of a BattleMech rose too high, its functional efficiency was impaired. Delicate systems could malfunction, and there was the danger of an ammunition explosion if the machine carried a missile rack or a ballistic weapon. And if the heat levels rose too high, automatic safety circuits could shut down the 'Mech's fusion power plant, leaving the ‘Mech Warrior helpless in the midst of a battle. He was only on the outskirts of Fire Rift now. Deeper into the region, it would be worse, for smoke plumes to the south showed that volcanic activity was greater there.

  Minobu checked the Vindicator's heat scale. It was still low, but that would change if he had to engage in combat. The Dragoon Techs had set speed governors and lengthened the recycle time for weapons on their 'Mechs to slow the crippling buildup of heat. He must not forget that if he was to use this 'Mech effectively. Status readouts indicated that the heat exchangers were operating at 52 percent of standard capacity. It would be far too easy to overheat this machine.

  The Vindicator headed along the bearing Minobu had received from the command center when he left Batan, a course that was supposed to take him to the Alpha Regiment's field headquarters to link up with Wolf. The mercenary had not waited while Minobu was fitted out with the loaner 'Mech. He and his Command Lance had moved out, leaving their liaison to follow. Minobu wondered briefly if it might be another test, but decided that a more likely explanation was Wolf's desire to take charge quickly.

  Communications had been fitful since he'd entered the Fire Rift area. When not screened completely by the masses of granitic extrusions in the surrounding landscape, they were broken up by static. Only when he crossed a hogback could Minobu pick up the Dragoon battle frequencies with reasonable clarity. The elevation also exposed the Vindicator to enemy observation, a risk not worth taking. Constant communications linkage was not critical at this time.

  He had not been able to make contact with Alpha Command. Presumably, they remained at the location he had seen on the command map at the port. A check of the map display on his right showed that he was only forty-five or so kilometers from the site. Were the terrain clear, the 'Mech could get him there in two hours, even with its speed limited by a governor. That was a vain thought, however. The terrain was anything but clear, and getting worse. The trip would take considerably longer, but he could not predict how much.

  Minobu maneuvered the Vindicator down a slope and onto an old lava flow. Because walking the 'Mech was easier on the relatively flat surface, he was able to increase his pace for awhile. When the flow began to lead away in another direction, he was forced to return to tramping over broken rock and scrabbling through the scree.

  Distances were deceptive in these badlands. Erosion had sculpted many fantastic shapes, in many sizes, but size and shape had no connection, and the stone had no scale. Combined with the lack of ordinary measures, such as trees, vehicles, or people, it was almost impossible to gauge the distance to any of the natural features. What looked to be a tremendous tableland, kilometers away, could turn out to be a miniature mesa only meters off. It was all a giant illusion that would have intrigued and delighted his grandfather, a gardener in the ancient Japanese tradition of recreating the natural world in the microcosm of a garden.

  Grandfather had often taken him into the family garden. In that quiet place, the old man had begun young Minobu's first training in the disciplines of muga, opening him to the paths of inner solitude that are the strength of a samurai. With Grandfather at his side, Minobu had walked those paths, inner and outer, among bonsai trees carefully cultured to make mounds into mountains.

  Minobu's first sight of the wrecked BattleMech came as he passed through an arch of ruddy stone. Frozen in place against the background of spires and buttes, the 'Mech was gigantic, dwarfing the tablelands. Illusion and his memories had caught him. This was no refugee from a child's holo entertainment, no impossible machine standing hundreds of meters tall. It was an ordinary Griffin, destroyed in combat. The 'Mech was only fifty meters away, not the hundreds it had first appeared to be.

  The left side of the machine's torso was armless and ripped open. Even a novice ‘MechWarrior could have told that an ammunition explosion had destroyed this 'Mech. The battle damage was light, fingering heat as the killer. Probably an internal buildup followed by detonation of the warheads on its missiles. A similar fate could await his Vindicator, for it carried one hundred-twenty 87mm free-flight rockets, in racks of five. Any one set exploding in its rack would gut the BattleMech more surely than a hit from an enemy PPC. To ignore the high ambient heat level would be suicide.

  The Griffin bore Dragoon markings, and so Minobu scanned for the pilot. The IR was useless for finding a man's body heat among the furnace of rocks, however, and a visual check yielded no better results. The ‘Mech Warrior was gone or dead. Minobu entered the location on his map display for later salvage, and then moved on.

  At one point, a geyser erupted nearby, spattering the Vindicator with drops of boiling water. Without conscious effort, Minobu sidestepped the 'Mech clear of most of the falling water. Once he and the 'Mech were safe, he realized that he had achieved muga. Action without thought. If only briefly, he had burst the barrier. Control of the 'Mech's movements became easier. Though the machine was sluggish because of the speed governor, he had carried out its movements as though they were his own. Suddenly, the way seemed shorter, and the landscape slid by.

  An hour later, as he topped a rise, Minobu's receiver picked up a broadcast. He made a slight adjustment to the comm unit to bring the signal in clearer. Static still blurred many of the words, but he recognized the strained voice of Captain Cameron broadcasting a string of coordinates. Minobu waited until he finished, diverted power to his comm unit, then sent his own call. “Cameron, this is Chu-sa Tetsuhara. Do you copy?”

  “Unity!” Static hiss distorted the words, but not beyond comprehension. “Colonel Tetsuhara, where are you? Wait. Keep transmitting so I can get a fix. We thought we'd lost you, too.”

  Too? Minobu wondered who else was missing. The sudden thought that it might be Lord Kurita terrified him. “What do you mean? Is the Coordinator safe?”

  “Huh?” The question caught the Captain off-guard. His usual tranquility was shattered, lost in turmoil. “I think so. I mean, his ship hasn't landed yet. It's the Colonel, sir. We've lost contact with him.”

  “Calm yourself, Captain,” Minobu said, taking his own advice now that he was assured of the Coordinator's safety. “Can you vector me to your location?”

  “Yes, sir.” The air went dead while Cameron consulted his computer. Minobu waited for him to transmit the heading. When the coordinates were broadcast, he changed his direction to match them. “Tell me what happened,” he ordered.

  “Command Lance moved out after you lef
t to get your 'Mech. By the time we reached Alpha HQ, Major Yukinov had a confirmed count of over twenty 'Mechs, all flying Stomper colors, sniping from the Rift. He had three 'Mechs out of action and another four M.I.A. Alpha was having trouble pinning the Stompers down, and he wasn't getting anywhere.

  “The Colonel was worried we'd have to shift too much firepower to deal with these guys and that it would tip our hand to Davion. Scans were garbage and communications intermittent. The Colonel wanted to know just what was happening, and so he headed out to see for himself. He left me and Major Blake here, and took the rest of Command Lance.”

  That meant Wolf had three other 'Mechs with him.

  “About forty-five minutes ago, we got a burst transmission that they'd been caught in a Stomper ambush. Lieutenant Vordel's last report stated that the Colonel's antennae had been shot away just after he ordered the lance to scatter. Vordel lost sight of the Colonel in the badlands.

  “We've called up Charleton's Company from reserve to keep those Stompers off our back while we look for the Colonel. Major Blake is up in his LAM.”

  That was interesting. Minobu hadn't known that the Command Lance included on of those rare Land-Air 'Mechs. Most Successor Houses had trouble keeping those multiform 'Mechs in fighting trim. That a mercenary force could maintain one said much about the Dragoons' technical staff and supply capabilities.

  “Conditions are terrible. The long-range scanners aren't worth a ComStar repair prayer out there. With the Colonel's radio out, we've got to find him by visual.”

  “Then you will need all available pilots,” Minobu stated. “How close am I to where the Colonel was last reported?”

  There was a pause before Cameron's voice came back hesitantly. “Five klicks. North and east.”

  “Where are your other searchers?”

  Cameron gave him the details of the assigned search sectors and the number of Dragoon 'Mechs in each. The number of hostiles was unknown.