Target of Opportunity

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  He saw the first indication of his success in the smoke rising from the armor joints near her right-side missile racks. Suddenly, there was an audible groan that he heard in his own cockpit, and he watched as her ’Mech rocked from an internal explosion. The entire right side of the Vulture burst outward in an orange ball of fire. As the flame rose into the air, he could see the right arm of the ’Mech hanging limp, held on by charred myomer and the remains of the shoulder joint. The tip of the arm touched the ground.

  There was another rumble, this time from the left side of the Vulture. The visible results were not as dramatic this time, but he could tell that more warheads had cooked off. Cox’s tactical display showed him that the fusion reactor that powered Caitlin Bauer’s ’Mech was shut down and there were no readings at all from her weapons systems.

  He waited for a moment before speaking, giving her the opportunity to yield before he called upon her to do so. There was some honor in that. After a long minute, he broke the silence. “This trial is over, Star Captain Bauer.”

  For a moment, when she still didn’t respond, he wondered if she had been killed or injured. Finally he heard her voice come in loud and clear, and he knew she was broadcasting so that the other Spirit Cat warriors heard it as well. “You fight like a bandit, Star Captain Cox. You won, but your victory was not honorable.”

  He shook his head. “Do not blame me because you allowed your temper to override your management of your BattleMech’s heat,” he replied. He knew that the Vulture required aggressive heat management. By forcing her to run and attacking her with lasers, he had methodically forced her to either not fight or to overheat. By angering her, he had practically guaranteed that she would continue attacking. Patience was a virtue that he possessed, but that most Clansmen lacked. Patience had won the battle.

  “I should contest the results of this trial,” she retorted angrily.

  “I would not if I were you,” came the voice of Galaxy Commander Rosse. “I learned a long time ago that though Star Captain Cox may not fight in a predictable fashion, he knows the ultimate honor is victory. He has won this trial fairly and within the Rede of the Clan. And with this victory, he has earned the right for his troops to travel to Wyatt and determine if it is indeed the sanctuary for our people.”

  4

  ComStar HPG Compound

  Kinross, Wyatt

  The Republic, Prefecture VIII

  21 April 3135

  The HPG core was large, measuring more than a dozen meters long. To the casual observer, it looked like a giant metal tank. Installed at the rear of the HPG array, it performed the hyperpulse generator’s most important function: folding space to transmit data instantaneously up to fifty light years away. The core consisted of a series of circuits and specially shielded magnetic coils that rested inside a massive, metallic domed chamber nearly two stories tall.

  The core was essentially the chamber end of a massive subspace cannon. The “barrel” of the HPG array extended outward to the domed ceiling, where it attached to an extension system on the exterior of the array. Outside the dome, a fifty-meter-diameter antenna could be turned and aligned to send and receive message traffic with another HPG. The entire chamber could be rotated and the extending “barrel” could be raised to 90 degrees or lowered to 30 degrees. Under the core chamber was a large fusion reactor and a series of power capacitors to help generate and store the massive amounts of power necessary for the array to operate.

  The functioning of the HPG was complex. The communication system was essentially the same technology that allowed JumpShips to travel between star systems. Rather than pushing a physical object through space, however, the HPG sent data through the high-end band of hyperspace where another network would receive it. Rumors abounded that HPGs could be used as weapons, that they could be turned on BattleMechs and could destroy them—but most people considered that possibility an urban legend.

  Tucker Harwell, decked out in a white lab coat and wearing specially coated nonstatic gloves, allowed himself a moment to look at the core he had brought with him from Terra. It had been installed into the array, but installation was only part of the challenge. Plugging it in and aligning it was delicate work and important, but fine-tuning the programming of the core was the real work.

  When he looked at the core, he saw something beyond all of the metal, software and technology in front of him. Something beyond the raw nuclear power that would soon be pulsing through the device, something he couldn’t fathom. Reaching out, he gently placed his hand on one of the closed access panels as if he were feeling the core for a heartbeat—as if it were alive. Even through the gloves the metal was cold. But it seemed hot to him, alive. This was why he had become a technician.

  Patricia doesn’t know what she’s missing.

  “Sir,” a voice said, shattering the moment. He jerked his hand away, turned and saw another tech, Adept Paula Kursk, standing behind him. “Sorry to interrupt you.”

  He put his hands behind his back. “No problem,” he stammered. “It’s just that it’s so—”

  She nodded. “I understand. One hell of a piece of hardware. It’s the soul of this station. I felt the same way when we installed the first new core.” She shook her head.

  “Well, this is a new new core,” Tucker replied. “Mounting it is one thing; calibrating it is another.”

  She stared at her wrist-strapped noteputer for a moment. “Mr. Harwell . . .”

  “Tucker.”

  “Tucker,” she began again. “I’ve got my technical team ready to begin the testing, but I need to know where you want them.”

  “I thought I’d first run a Tango-level diagnostic. Once that’s done, I was planning on taking a look at the HPG balance readings and comparing them with the new core’s balance codes and adjusting them. I figured then I’d load the Crimson diag sequence and check the load balancing and packet traffic modules.” He rattled through the details as if he could do them in his sleep.

  Adept Kursk said nothing for a moment, apparently studying the tips of her shoes. When she looked back at Tucker, her Asian features did not betray the tension that her voice revealed. “Tucker, you have me and my team here. I’ve got eight techs on this shift that have come to you and asked for assignments and were sent away empty-handed. They’re sitting in the rec area playing holovid games, wondering when you’re going to let them do their jobs. Bottom line: we know this station inside and out. We’re here to help you. But for us to do that, you have to let us do what we know how to do.”

  “Listen, Adept,” he said, his voice betraying his own tension. “I understand that your team wants to be involved. But ComStar sent me all the way from Terra to do this installation, and is holding me responsible for the results.”

  She flashed a fast grin. “The demi gave us the scoop on your record. You’ve only been in a classroom so far, right?”

  He took offense at her words. “So what does that have to do with anything?”

  Again the grin, this time with a soft chuckle. “Hey, no offense intended. It’s just that you haven’t had the chance to figure out that you can’t do this alone, no matter how smart you are. You make Faulk nervous, so you must be pretty good at what you do. But spending your career in the classroom isn’t the same as working on a technical team in the field. In the field you get to know each other, trust each other, work together. Nobody tries to do it all alone.”

  Tucker felt his face redden slightly. He knew she was right—and that made him wrong. He hated being wrong. “So what you’re saying is that, in order to make this work, I’m going to have to learn to trust you and your team?”

  She nodded. “Afraid so.”

  “I know you’re right,” he confessed after a moment. “It’s just that it’s not easy to share responsibility when everybody hangs the accountability for success on your neck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or your team.”

  “No offense taken. To be honest, I’m looking forward to working with you
.”

  “Why’s that?”

  This time it was her face that flushed faintly pink. “When we installed that first replacement core and it fried during the shutdown, Demi-Precentor Faulk hung me and my people out to dry—held us responsible, even though we sent it back to Terra and they couldn’t figure out what went wrong. I want this installation to go right. When that happens, I’m counting on you to clear our reputations with Terra. We didn’t do anything to screw up that last core, and I need someone with your level of credibility to prove that.”

  Tucker grinned and held out his hand. “Okay. Let’s start this all over. Get your people in here and let’s put together a roster of tasks.”

  She shook his hand. “Not my people. Not while you’re here. They’re our people.”

  * * *

  Knight Errant Alexi Holt stared at the printout of the project plan and cast Demi-Precentor Faulk a wary eye. “So we have the new core installed, but we’re still looking at several weeks’ worth of tests before it can be tried?” She shifted her stance to look into the core chamber through the shielded ferroglass. In the massive chamber below, five or six technicians scurried around the newly installed HPG core.

  “That is what the technical specs require,” Faulk replied stiffly. “A core is a sensitive device. You can’t just plug it and turn it on.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Demi-Precentor,” she said, trying to suppress the edge she wanted to put into her voice. “I was simply stating my observation based on this revised plan.”

  “Yes, well,” he stammered as he realized he had overreacted, “I simply wish to assure you that we are doing all that we can.” He stopped talking as a tall, lanky man arrived at his side. Alexi had not noticed this ComStar tech in the HPG compound before. He was skinny, his hair was a mess, and he seemed to be averting his eyes from her. “My apologies for not getting back to you sooner, Demi-Precentor. Installation went as planned and we’ve begun the level-one diagnostics.”

  There was something in the glance she got from Faulk at that point that told her she wanted to meet this man. Turning, she extended her hand to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet. I’m Alexi Holt.”

  The lanky man gave her a firm handshake. “Tucker. Tucker Harwell.”

  He had a boyish charm that made her smile. “You must be the genius that ComStar sent from Terra to help repair the HPG. I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Tucker looked at Faulk, who explained. “Ms. Holt is a Knight Errant sent by The Republic to,” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “oversee our work in getting Wyatt reconnected to the rest of the HPG network.”

  Tucker bowed his head once he realized he was meeting a Knight. “I had no idea who you were, Lady Holt.”

  Alexi laughed. “Mr. Harwell, there’s no reason to fall into court formalities here. I’ve simply come to ensure that ComStar has everything it needs to complete this restoration. And please don’t use my title. It makes me feel old. From what I’ve read, we’re almost the same age.”

  “My apologies,” Tucker said awkwardly.

  “Please think of me as one of your team. If there is anything you need that The Republic can provide, simply let me know.”

  Faulk cut in quickly. “I assure you, Knight Holt, ComStar has this matter under its tightest control and is giving it the highest priority.”

  “Of course that’s the case, Demi-Precentor,” Alexi soothed. “I just wanted to make sure that our resident genius knows that my door is open, should he need it.”

  Tucker jumped on her words. “I wish you would stop referring to me as a genius. Really, I don’t see myself that way.”

  An insincere smile crossed Faulk’s face. “Don’t be so humble, Tucker. Everyone knows that the success or failure of this project rests on your shoulders,” he said, dropping his hand onto Tucker’s shoulder and squeezing it too hard. “And don’t you worry, Knight Holt, I’ll make sure that this young man has everything he needs to get the job done.”

  Alexi nodded. “Very good,” was all she said out loud. I see how he’s positioning this: Tucker Harwell will be either the hero of Wyatt, or the failure. Either result would generate a situation that she, as a Knight Errant, would have to defend. God, I hate politicians.

  * * *

  Tucker sat at his table at The Crimson and adjusted the volume slide on his media stick, then dropped it back in his pocket. The media stick stored thousands of songs and other media and transmitted them to the earpiece he wore like an earring in his right ear. He bobbed his head slowly in rhythm with the tune he heard and poked his fork at his steak.

  The Crimson was not as nice a restaurant as the one he had gone to with his sister several nights before. In fact, it was a hole in the wall, a tiny little place where the locals gathered. It was a working person’s restaurant; he didn’t fit in here, and the stares he gathered when he walked in emphasized that fact. Tucker wasn’t intimidated by the gazes of the blue-collar locals, though. In fact, he found this to be the perfect kind of place to relax. It was far from ComStar, the ever-watchful eyes of the demi-precentor, and the hassles he had faced during a fifteen-hour day.

  So he was surprised when someone flopped down on the booth bench opposite him. It was a dark-haired man sporting a day’s worth of beard stubble and a wide grin. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, putting his beer down on the table. “My regular seat is taken and I prefer sitting in a booth.”

  Tucker shuffled together the printouts he had been studying during his meal and shook his head. “Nope.”

  “You’re with ComStar, aren’t you?”

  From recent experience, Tucker considered that to be a loaded question, and he was not in the mood for an argument. “Yes. I’m an adept at the compound.”

  “That’s cool,” the unkempt man replied, taking a long pull on his beer. “It must be interesting.”

  “It’s a job,” Tucker replied.

  The man smiled. “Name’s Jones. Reo Jones.” He extended his large hand and Tucker shook it.

  “Tucker Harwell.”

  “You aren’t from Wyatt, or at least this part of Wyatt, are you?”

  “No. I’m from Terra. They sent me to help install the new HPG core.”

  “Well, that’s something. All the way from Terra.” Reo replied, finishing the last amber swallow of his beer. He signaled the waitress and held up two fingers. “Let me get you a beer. Least I can do for interrupting your dinner.”

  “Thanks,” Tucker replied. “So, Reo, what do you do?”

  Reo cocked a thick eyebrow and gave him another broad smile. “I’m something of a jack of all trades. I work for a lot of people. I secure goods and information for a fee. Though the way some people tell it, I’m something of a spy and a mercenary.” He chuckled at his own words.

  “And are you?” Tucker asked.

  The beers arrived, allowing Reo to pause for a moment. “What I am is a MechWarrior, plain and simple.”

  “Is that the full truth?” Tucker said, shoving a forkful of steak into the side of his mouth like a squirrel so that he could chew and talk at the same time.

  “There was a misunderstanding. An accident happened. A lot of people got killed. Damn waste. Somebody had to take the fall for it, so I did. The media, they blew it out of proportion, started pinning the blame on me for everything from the downing of the HPG network to the disappearance of Devlin Stone. I was a convenient scapegoat and The Republic doesn’t keep men like that around, regardless of the truth. So I came to this isolated planet and found what work I could.”

  Tucker hung on every word. “Incredible. I mean, you really are innocent?”

  Reo nodded solemnly. “I’m not going to defend myself, Tucker. I know the truth and I sleep like a baby every night knowing that truth. I got tired of trying to defend myself a long time ago. People form their own opinions, and rewrite history to fit their own views.”

  “I always wanted to be a MechWarrior,” Tucke
r said admiringly.

  “Really? Why didn’t you go for it?”

  He shrugged. “I never really had the chance. My family’s been a ComStar family for generations. Besides, I had a knack for technical work, so that’s where I got channeled for my education. Each one of my brothers and sisters went into ComStar, too.”

  “Here’s to men who follow their destinies,” Reo Jones replied in a toast. The two men tapped the necks of their bottles together and took long drinks.

  Reo pointed to Tucker’s earpiece. “What are you listening to?”

  Tucker pulled off the earphone almost absentmindedly. “I just was listening to some chants.”

  “Chants?”

  “Old ComStar chants. Back when the organization was a technoreligion, the adepts would chant text from technical manuals when they performed tasks related to the HPG. I find them kind of relaxing. Here.” He handed the earpiece to Reo, who held it up to his own ear for a few moments.

  “Weird stuff,” he said, handing it back. “It’s like Gregorian chants, but it’s all technical terms and phrases.”

  Tucker shut off the media stick and put the earpiece in his shirt pocket as well. “The music is a little fringe in the organization these days. ComStar frowns on anyone trying to emulate the old days, but at the same time you can buy the chants at the company store. I’ve heard rumors that some techs have actually started reciting the chants during transmissions, but I have to say I find it hard to believe. For me—something about them helps me clear my head.”

  “Do you have that much stress, that you need that kind of relaxation?” Reo asked.

  Tucker drew in a long breath and blew it out, and almost without volition he began to talk about the past few days. The pressure of Demi-Precentor Faulk’s resentment. The Knight Errant poking into his work. The embarrassment of the poor start he had made at working with Adept Kursk’s team. The constant reminder that many people considered him a genius. All of the frustration he had bottled up seemed to flow out as Reo listened sympathetically and asked pertinent questions. After two hours and two more beers, they suddenly realized just how much time had passed.