Heretic's Faith

by Randall N Bills

  Halfway to his ’Mech, the high whine of servomotors and a steady thumping, like the world’s largest kettledrum, of a ’Mech closing caused Kisho to glance over his shoulder. A towering giant hove into view from a slight dip to the southeast of the clearing. Its flat head swiveled above the shortened trees, before using its left hand and sheer mass to bash through the remaining vegetation, exploding into the clearing. Like a startled flock of birds reacting to an enraged labor casteman farmer, personnel stuttered in different directions, before streaming away from the metal titan.

  A quick stream of small arms fire splashed ineffectually across diamond-filament-impregnated armor, sparking fierce pride. Not all are crèche kids, running at the first snap of a twig in the woods!

  With a deliberateness that spoke of arrogance, the pilot ignored the sniping and raised its right arm, where the underslung weapon aperture glowed a brilliant blue-white, before energy speared directly into the torso of the Wendigo. The laser-straight blast of invisible protons that followed was marked by eye-searing lightning as atmospheric molecules visually expressed their outrage at the subatomic abuse. The passage of the beam overhead stood all of Kisho’s hair on end, singeing it and roasting skin across his body with a first-degree burn. The blast of the impact threw Kisho off his feet, rocks gouging painfully into naked flesh upon returning akimbo to the ground, while a whole other light show exploded in front of his eyes.

  Shaking away the spinning, multicolored spots from the bounce his head took, Kisho scrambled to his feet, but swayed a moment as bile surged in the back of his throat. He swallowed stomach acids back with an iron will as he started to shamble again towards his ’Mech.

  An explosion echoed dangerously close and he slewed to a stop, hunkering down before he realized the sound came from behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a Demon medium tank circling the Panther, a small dog to an enraged big cat. Coherent beams of ruby brilliance slashed from the dual medium lasers in the turret, runneling armor in liquefied streaks across the ’Mechs’ legs. Instantly, a metal rain sprouted from the torso of the Panther as a phalanx of missiles washed towards the Demon, explosions obscuring it behind a wall of thrown dust and debris.

  Must get to the Wendigo. He launched back into a run, feeling the bruises but stretching into it. Out of the corners of his eyes, an army wearing alienlike hardened carapaces surged from the trees, flickering beams of crimson burning and killing indiscriminately, before an answering call of like-suited battle armor joined the fray, the crisscrossing beams of energy searing afterimages that Kisho tried to blink away.

  Among the Nova Cat defenders scrambling with half-fixed equipment, an Elemental missing one arm of the battle suit ran—did the lacking arm create an imbalance too severe to use its jump pack?—directly into the teeth of the fighting. Though it lacked the right arm laser, its missile pack’s twin salvos still found their mark, and the warrior leapt right onto a Ranger vehicle just sliding into the clearing. Using the myomer-driven claw, the Elemental began tearing into armor like a maddened animal. It could not last, and a shot found the gaping hole in the warrior’s protection, vaporizing the man’s arm and stabbing into the chest cavity to kill him instantly.

  Pushing forward again, Kisho bowed his head to honor such sacrifice. You will be remembered for such honor. Almost to his ’Mech, he could see wide swaths of destruction already wrecked on the base, with tents, half-fixed vehicles, and piles of supplies burning. For a disconcerting moment, his eyes picked out the region where he’d just finished the latrine and found it a churned mess of obvious tank tracks.

  It burned far more than it should and he redoubled his speed to the Wendigo. On the verge of gaining the ladder, the universe turned inside out, as silence became noise, black became white, and gravity upended. The titanic explosion of another PPC strike into his Wendigo detonated around him, tossing Kisho aside like a used toy from a child’s hand.

  The last image, which spiraled down to occupy his mind in the darkness: the Wendigo slowly tilting, falling.

  * * *

  “Damn if the kitties don’t fall down as good as anybody else,” Josef said aloud to no one in particular.

  The Raider captain feathered jump jets as he pinpointed the next location on the topographical display and brought the Panther down smoothly in a clearing just large enough to accommodate the ’Mech. He immediately stomped down on pedals, launching the machine into another ballistic arc towards the next small clearing, uncaring of the smoldering fires and their towers of smoke left behind, marking his line of retreat. “You can see me, but you won’t get to me before I’m out of here. And by the time your egg makes it back from its useless trip to Phula, we’ll be long gone.”

  He laughed out loud, bringing the machine down once more, overcompensating slightly and slamming the left arm through a tree’s upper branches. The impact didn’t damage armor, and before the flurry of leaves and snapping branches even settled, he was into the air once more.

  He clenched his jaw twice to cycle to the right frequency, then spoke. “Remind me to give you a big, sloppy wet one for this idea,” he said, eyes glancing towards the heat indicator, watching it slowly climb under such extreme use of the ’Mech’s jump jets.

  “Will do, boss,” Lieutenant Collins responded.

  A quick look to the radar display showed the much slower, but still mobile, platoon of battle armor flowing away from the savaged Nova Cat base by all three planned routes. The effort to try to cut the holes for a quick escape without giving away their plans had been considerable, but now, for once on this god-cursed planet, things looked a little better.

  His smile grew perceptibly less at how quickly the Nova Cats responded. We caught them with their pants down—the smile turned crooked at the memory of the running warrior; had that been his Mech?—and yet they still managed to rally enough to force me to pull back or risk taking too much damage. He had had run-ins with Steel Wolves and even some Spirit Cats, but this was something different.

  All the Clanner stories he’d ever heard surged and suddenly he wondered once more if this world held a rocky patch of ground with his name written all over it. No answers. Not today.

  The smell of his sweat filled him as he breathed deeply after hammering down into the ground a little too hard, then raged at such carelessness, for letting his mind wander. Six feet will come lightning-quick if you don’t pay attention. And regardless of what tomorrow brings, we skinned a few cats today.

  That would have to be enough.

  17

  Kaona Island

  Wandessa Chain, Athenry

  Prefecture II, The Republic of the Sphere

  16 October 3136

  The flames beckoned like a lover to forgetful pleasures and then sleep. Hunching forward, Kisho absorbed the warmth of the fire as though suddenly cold, regardless of the heat of the night. On Kaona Island, at least, even the nights brought little relief from the heat. But enough. He ignored the discomfort of the heat washing against reddened skin, the pain of a heavily bruised shoulder, the knot on his forehead, slashed feet.

  Made it all a focus for the ceremony.

  Without looking down, his left hand probed across the small leather mat on the ground, fingers slowly caressing several objects, while eyes burrowed into sparkling reds, transcendent yellows, and vivid oranges. Claw from a sphinx raptor; a broken spirit stav; small chunk of carbon-nanotube-reinforced graphite from a ’Mech gyro; a child’s right index finger. With eyes washed of surroundings by the intense light, each vineer seemed to open a window within the cavorting blaze, to a time and place where each object held significance. Nova Cat warriors traditionally saved vineers only from battles but, for a mystic, these mementos could be any object that aided in finding a new path. In finding a new vision.

  In finding self.

  The tension strummed within until his right arm shook slightly, a branch in a stiff wind. A wind increasing and a branch on the verge of not bowing, but breaking. I do not believe in my my
stic blood. I do not believe in what they would have me do. And yet, when all else fails, I fall back on a warrior’s path to visions. The irony of it brought a bubble of laughter, which hissed between thin lips, more like the hysterical sniping noise of a hyena. A wounded one at that.

  And shall I feed my most precious objects to the fire and gain my vision? The snap of the fire, almost a full kilometer from the damaged base only now returning to some normalcy, sparked in sarcastic silence, unwilling to answer, while the night hugged its secrets like a jealous lowercaste lover.

  The finger bone? The sphinx raptor claw? What shall it be, old man? I am mystic enough to know you are at a fire right now, even if in stravag daylight. Seeking visions to aid your saOathmasters. To send us strength. Do you keep the fire vigilance as long as you can remain awake, passing out and resuming your vigil upon awakening? Yes, that would be you. Are you proud of me, old man? Are you proud of how your pupil has failed you? Failed us all. . . .

  The noise in his throat churned through several incarnations, until it broke free in an animal growl of pain.

  He grasped the piece of gyroscope, wrapping fingers around the jagged chunk as though it were a balm to a tortured soul, and began to squeeze. The sharp edge spiked pain through the palm, up through raw nerves to an already overstressed brain. On the verge of breaking skin, a rustle of undergrowth at the edge of his makeshift clearing loosened muscles in surprise and he looked up with a flash of annoyance. Who would seek a mystic in the middle of a ritual?

  The flames divided and flowed around the intruder who entered the clearing from the other side, and sat without asking permission.

  Tivia Rosse, her features catching fire as though an artist worked to create a flaming warrior of death, sat in stony silence. Her features, despite the flames, were etched in the deepest ice caverns of Tarazed. Any other time, Kisho would have thrown the person—superior or not—physically from the clearing, righteous indignation his for the taking in her blasphemous disregard of mystic privacy and contemplation in ritual. But Kisho could hardly look Tivia in the face, much less raise the ire to confront her. Instead he glanced back to the vineers at his feet, hoping silence would convey a cold disdain for the commander. Several minutes passed, eroding confidence further, shedding it like a snake, the tender, new skin underneath unable to withstand the rigors of her stoic assault.

  She will not leave. The thought wafted on warm currents from the ever growing pile of coals, stinging eyes and hitching breath as though he took in a lungful of smoke. Another handful of minutes and another truth slowly dripped into consciousness. Not only would she not leave—she would not speak. And with his turmoil, Kisho would fail in the silence game. Would fail to ignore her. How has the game come to this? How have I lost all my ability to function without anyone knowing the truth?

  With a sigh he barely managed to conceal, he carefully laid the chunk of metal down with his left and scooped up the finger bone in his right hand. The memory of its owner surged. Usually so sarcastic and painful, arousing nightmares from the Room—nightmares he would gladly now accept compared to this new, unknown fear that tore him down—it actually seemed to bring a modicum of strength and calm. The cool bone was almost a spirit stav, the hard ridges and small indentions where ligaments once rested, its own bas-relief carvings of a life cut short by his own hand, before it could serve Clan Nova Cat. The condemnation did not seem so forceful this night. Perhaps surkai will finally be done, forgiveness found?

  He looked up. “You come here?” He tried for angry, but managed only stern, and that only if one were generous.

  “Aff.” Her lips hardly moved.

  “Others have stayed away.”

  “Others are not the commander of this mission.”

  He bowed his head, trying once more to avoid her piercing eyes.

  “You are a mystic.”

  Did he manage not to jerk at her harsh statement?

  “You were assigned by the Oathmaster to guide this mission. To provide me with insight that will lead us to victory.” If possible, with each word her voice thinned more, as though transforming into the tungsten-tipped sword of a Shiro. “And yet, you have not given me what I need.” Haft swinging and blade vibrating with the speed of the descent. “You have given me . . . nothing at all.” The tip a blur, cleaving for his skull.

  He almost slouched, but realized conceding, even physically, would tear away the last of his shields, the defenses he’d begun to shed so many months ago. He rallied, drawing upon strength, gripping the finger bone until it threatened to break. “Visions come when they will, Tivia.” He watched through high lashes. Her expression did not change over the lack of title.

  “You were confident of your first vision. The vision that netted us nothing.”

  He shifted his gaze to the fire, as though dismissing her. Shrugged. Leave! “We found Raiders.” Even to his ears it sounded weak.

  “And when will we find more? When they strike at us, while we stand naked, our troops scattered and worthless?” He winced at her blatant reference to his current condition. Somehow she managed to convey more power than if she were looming over him, spittle flying and voice echoing into the night.

  The wind picked up, funneling the fire’s smoke straight into her face. He watched her in his peripheral vision. She remained motionless, unblinking, with tears pouring down her cheeks. Finally her relentless composure cracked as she bent slightly out of the way.

  As though released from paralysis, he took in a harsh breath of carbon, fresh-cut wood, and endless moisture and wet foliage. “If I were not interrupted, perhaps a vision would come now.”

  She matched his stare, and another level between them fell away. Unlike so many Nova Cats, who struggled to hide from mystics and their truth-telling abilities, Tivia never resorted to such tactics. She wore bluntness on her sleeve, as though to defy anyone, mystic or otherwise, to not take her at face value. From the moment she met him, she doubted and yet she did not care. Results were all that mattered to her, not the form. Just function. But now, he failed. Failed her numerous times, and for that there might never be forgiveness, no matter surkai and the gross penance.

  She abruptly uncoiled to her feet like a leaping cat and Kisho actually stiffened, as though preparing for an assault across the fire.

  “Perhaps,” she whispered, her word more felt than heard. With that, she simply turned away, silently disappearing into the tangled forest, as though she were a nova cat indeed. Kisho realized she’d let him hear her coming the first time.

  He unclenched white-tipped fingers, the pain flashing momentarily in his joints, to find the outline of the finger imprinted heavily on his flesh. His blanched skin flooded crimson, the raised edges of the bone still visible. The impression would fade shortly.

  But his encounter would not.

  Of a sudden, the finger bone seemed to sear like a hot coal and he dropped it to the leather mat. His stupidity as a crèche youth rose as though conjured from the bleeding, glow-effusing sight, towering into the form of the young girl he had killed. He shook, a nova cat slouching out of water, and the image slowly receded, though the echo of Tivia’s words would not, nor the pain they invoked.

  Calm lost, the thick, overgrown forest swiftly twisted from an oasis against problems to a grotesque monster, tentacles and writhing feelers and teeth. Waiting to take him.

  But there is nothing to take. Nothing to hide from. Nothing . . .

  18

  Kaona Island

  Wandessa Chain, Athenry

  Prefecture II, The Republic of the Sphere

  17 October 3136

  The Wendigo wobbled, as the machine pounded along, sand flying as though explosions rocked the beach. Kisho cursed, knowing the medic had been correct despite his protestations, as the pain along his shoulder and back caused him to wince, hitching his left leg in a minor tremor. The ’Mech, already finding it difficult to traverse the soft sand, wobbled further, and the whine of the gyro trying to compensate for
the shifting balance crescendoed. The slight direction change imparted by the altered angle of the foot pedal ramped the broken-glass-edged sound until it hurt his teeth.

  Watching the retreating Raider hovercraft through the blast of sand left by its passage as it effortlessly skimmed across the sand—distance increasing—he added to the burgeoning headache by gritting teeth. No choice. With a distaste that choked, he reached to the throttle and slid it smoothly back by ten percent, waiting for the balance of the machine to adjust, then slid it back again, then again until it dropped well past half the Wendigo’s maximum speed.

  “Alpha Base, losing target,” he spit into the throat mic. “Terrain untenable. Will follow best able.”

  “Confirmed, Alpha Star.”

  He clenched his jaw to open another commline. “Parak.”

  “Aff, Mystic?”

  “Slow down,” he spoke, hating the words as they slipped out.

  “Aff,” the other man said, apparently content to follow orders, despite aborting the headlong flight after the escaping Fox armored car. After all, Parak’s Pegasus hover scout could swat aside the Fox without breaking a sweat, but if it ran into any larger units it would be in trouble. And unlike the Clan mentality for so long, that a victory was a victory regardless of the outcome, regardless of how many Clansmen died and how much equipment was lost, the Nova Cats currently fighting for Warlord Tormark had to keep the ultimate objective in mind. Then again, of all the Clans, perhaps the Nova Cats had come the furthest, adapted the most to the Inner Sphere style of fighting, where a battle, regardless of how honorable and glorious, was only one set against the larger war. And no matter how many battles were won, it meant nothing if they lost the war.