Far Country

by Fanpro

  "WE CAN HAVE IT ALL....

  Vost knew he had them hooked. "We make contact," he continued. "Show them what we can do, and then offer our services. We take the best offer. We can always change our minds if we want to.

  "But we have to be careful. Takuda and the rest of DEST team may not like our little plan. We'll have to convince him that we're doing it his way. Make him think it's all his idea. We have to get the 'Mechs out of that DropShip, and we can't do it as long as he's got a guard there."

  "We have slug pistols," said Collis Brank, looking up at Vost. "We could just do a job on them."

  "Not a good plan, Brank. Have you ever seen what a laser rifle can do to an unarmored human body? No. We have to do it slowly. Just wait until we get those 'Mechs out of the ship, and then we'll see who's boss."

  Vost looked up at the first stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. "By the eyes of the dragon, this will be an adventure our children and grandchildren will sing about!"

  BATTLETECH

  LE5337

  FAR COUNTRY

  Peter L. Rice

  ROC

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,

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  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood,

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  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

  First published by Roc, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.

  First Printing, October, 1993

  10987654321

  Series Editor Donna Ippolito Cover: Boris Vallejo Interior Illustrations: Rick Harris Mechanical Drawings: Duane Loose

  Copyright © FASA Corporation, 1993 All rights reserved

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  PROLOGUE

  9 November 2510

  Salford, Draconis Combine

  1

  Roaring gusts of wind swept across the open landing area of Salford Station, carrying dense clouds of talcum-fine grit that attacked the troops, DropShips, and vehicles gathered at the spaceport. The grit drove under the wristbands and neck rings of the troopers' uniforms, mixing with perspiration to form a slurry that scoured away layers of flesh. The only way to avoid the blasting grit was to turn away; the only way to avoid the constant abrasion was to remain motionless. Because it was beneath the dignity of a battalion commander of the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery to turn away from clouds of grit, Chu-sa Tokashio Hamata chose the second alternative.

  It was not so for the other members of the battalion staff, however. Seeing them crouched beside a landing pad, their hoods pulled tight against the blasts, Hamata was sure that they were also watching him for the slightest sign of weakness. A samurai did not flinch from an armed enemy, much less an attack by mere dust. Neither did a battalion commander. Neither did a graduate of the Sun Zhang MechWarrior Academy. And Tokashio Hamata was all three of these. Facing into the approaching cone of dust, his only acknowledgment was the slightest squinting of his eyes.

  The cloud passed over the landing pad, where the DropShips awaited boarding by the members of the 2452nd Battalion, Fifth Galedon Regulars. Along with its sister battalion, the 2452nd was loading for transshipment to Brailsford, a world only one jump away. Because of the so-called McAllister Rebellion, the Combine's military commanders had been taking the precaution of pulling troops away from the distant edge of Combine space. Hamata had known about the change for six months, ever since he'd first gotten wind of the orders in June of that year. Supporting the two combat battalions were a Heavy Engineer Battalion, the 262nd, and a combat medical support battalion.

  Tokashio Hamata was not happy with the situation. His battalion's DropShips, all of them Vulture Class, were not being combat-loaded. The ships assigned to his unit were too big to take only a single company and too small to carry two. As a result, he'd had to break some of the companies up among the DropShips. They would all be under his command once they linked with the Raiden, the Leviathan Class JumpShip that would transport them across the stars, but they would be separated and scrambled during the transits to and from the JumpShip awaiting them in deep space. Deployment onto Brailsford would be equally confused. Hamata dreaded the thought of administrative movement. It always made the troops slip a bit.

  Even though he'd been assured that Brailsford was a secure planet, there was always the nagging doubt. Having raised and trained the 2452nd himself, Hamata wanted to be able to hit his landing zone combat-ready. These troops were his children. He didn't want to see anything happen to them.

  Another gust of wind scoured the landing area and Hamata squinted against it. The loading ramp trembled under his feet as a Chi-Ha armored personnel carrier ground its way slowly up the incline. The ramps, Hamata noted, were of the older style and not quite wide enough to take the new family of equipment. The driver was keeping the twenty-two-ton vehicle carefully centered on the yellow line painted down the middle of the ramp.

  When Hamata noticed that the driver was a woman, his jaw tightened involuntarily. He understood that females of the Draconis Combine were not barred from any profession. He understood that the Combine needed every human resource at its disposal. But that didn't alter the fact that he preferred to have only men in his unit.

  By careful manipulation of the personnel records he had managed to keep his fighting units almost pure. It was true that the support and administrative units included more women, but that couldn't be helped. There were even women in the headquarters as officers. As a samurai of ancient lineage, however, Hamata never felt comfortable seeing a woman carrying the dai-sho. It was an attitude that extended back in time more than a thousand years, so deeply ingrained in his psyche that he would probably never be able to overcome it. But enough of that, he told himself. It was the loading operation that demanded all his attention at the moment. As he dismissed the thoughts from his mind, another Chi-Ha A PC rumbled past.

  Down the line of Vultures, Hamata could see the last of his vehicles grinding through the gaping cargo doors in the ship fuselages. These were not the biggest DropShips available, yet even they dwarfed the battalion's armored vehicles. Hamata grimaced again. He was being forced, by orders, to leave, most of his combat equipment behind. Those orders had informed him that he would receive pre-placed equipment once they reached Brailsford. He was authorized to carry only ten percent of his vehicles with him; the others he must leave on Salford for the replacement battalion, a group of green conscrip
ts who would take his place in the garrison. Hamata had commandeered the newest vehicles, regardless of their tactical value. He wasn't going to leave his best equipment to draftees.

  There were rumors and reports from within the Combine military about the new breed of weapon coming off the assembly lines. He'd seen pictures of these walking monsters, and he doubted whether any mechanized infantry battalion could ever hope to oppose them. Just one of the giants carried more long- and short-range fire power than his entire unit could deploy. Those monster machines would surely change the face of war, and Hamata wondered if he were young enough to make the change.

  As the cargo doors swung shut all along the line, the loadmasters stepped onto the ramps and flashed the Clear signal to the control tower. Green lights winked on above the personnel access ports: time to load the last of the troops. Hamata turned toward the clump of staff officers, smiling inwardly to see the clump suddenly shatter like a group of chickens startled by a predator. Though he knew they'd been huddled behind the ramp for the past hour trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, his officers immediately began to behave as though they had many important mings to do. It was, of course, a charade. The battalion's officers were, for the moment, irrelevant. The civilian crews of the DropShips were in charge of loading and storage, and the troops and equipment would be stowed where they wanted, regardless of anything the battalion staff said. It gave both commander and his staff a feeling of helplessness, but no one could do anything about it. When the Draconis Combine said that this was how it was to be, then so it was. There was no appeal.

  Hamata herded the staff together and prodded them onto the DropShip Hideyoshi Toyotomi. The Toyotomi held the bulk of Headquarters and Headquarters Company for the 2452nd Battalion. As he too stepped through the, personnel door, Hamata was amazed by the size of the ship's interior. The Vulture Class ships were nothing more than huge caverns with tie-down points for the heavy equipment. Between the tie-downs were tiers of pipe-rack bunks standing vertically against the outer hull.

  This ship had obviously been designed to move the maximum amount of people and equipment from one point to another. The quarters were spartan, but the adjutant had made sure the staff got the best of what was available. Hamata had the good fortune to get a single room; all the others had to share with at least one other member of the battalion.

  At the moment the loudspeakers in the immense bay were spewing forth a series of commands and information, but the words were lost in the continual echo. Whoever had designed the communications system must not have paid any attention to the acoustics of the place. Hamata wasn't worried about it, though. He'd heard it all before and knew the announcement was an alert to takeoff. He signaled those around him to find seats and buckle in. Takeoff would be abrupt, and any thing or person not secured would end up plastered against the after bulkhead or skewered on some sharp object. The staff scampered to their stations.

  Hamata moved to his stateroom, climbing up a broad shaft to the upper decks. He activated the sliding door to his compartment, walked across to the bunk, and lay down. He snapped the restraining straps across his chest and thighs and waited for the blast of acceleration that would hurl the DropShip off the planet's surface and toward the JumpShip that waited fourteen days away in deep space.

  The launch was just as Hamata expected. The Hideyoshi Toyotomi exploded off the ground under full power, me force of the liftoff pressing passengers down into their bunks and peeling lips back from teeth. It was a notable experience.

  Less man an hour later the gravity had dropped to a constant point-nine gees, making it possible to move around the ship. Then had come a twenty-minute transition period of zero gravity while the DropShip crew computed the final vectors for marrying up with the JumpShip Raiden.

  Hamata kept the restraining straps in place until the green gravitational light came on for the second time. Having previously experienced the sensation of weightlessness, he felt no great desire to do so again. But some members of his staff, especially the younger ones, eagerly released themselves and floated through the cargo bay, creating the normal number of accidents as some inexperienced floater came into sudden contact with an immovable pipe frame. The only person Hamata needed to consult was the battalion priest to learn the outcome of the omens for the trip. When those came back as "uneventful," there was nothing more to do.

  The DropShip began to accelerate, establishing artificial gravity. Hamata waited until the green gravitational light showed that point-seven gees had been achieved within the cargo bay, then hit the quick release on his harness. He gently pried himself from the bed, letting his body and his mind adjust to the reduced gravitational force and the change in orientation.

  As the omens had predicted, the trip was uneventful. The first seven days went peacefully by. Now that they were halfway to the JumpShip, there was another transitional period as the Toyotomi rotated to approach the star-ship stern first. The second half of the transit would be spent in deceleration, allowing the same point-seven gees of negative thrust to slow the Toyotomi as it neared the Raiden. By the time the Toyotomi and the rest of the DropShip fleet reached the orbiting JumpShip, their velocity would have been reduced to no more than three kilometers per hour. The closing speed would be less than that of a walking man, making the ships easy pickings for the grappling arms sprung like grotesque appendages from the bow and stern of the JumpShip.

  Another seven days passed without incident, bringing the DropShips to the Leviathan Class JumpShip. Like piglets maneuvering for a teat, they nuzzled toward their mother ship for security and sustenance. One by one the DropShips came alongside and attached themselves to the spine of the Raiden. Hamata, still strapped in his chair, noted the gentle thump as the JumpShip's docking ports captured his and the other ships. That the DropShip pilots were experienced was obvious; Hamata had been through much more violent dockings in his day.

  Hamata would have very little time between the DropShip's docking and the jump to Brailsford; just enough for a quick inspection of the carriers as they locked on and possibly also for a brief meeting with the JumpShip commander. He had never met Wilson Hartwell, Master and Commander of the Raiden, but like any other commanding, officer in the Draconis Combine, the man was sure to be highly professional.

  * * *

  Six billion years, more or less, before Chu-sa Tokashio Hamata loaded his battalion onto the DropShips and began his voyage to Brailsford, the universe had been born in a cataclysmic explosion. Since that time it had continued to expand at enormous speed. Man, a resident of the universe for only a very short period, had studied and hypothesized about how all this had happened and what it all meant. Men had made laws and rules that attempted to explain the event, and then had become convinced and complacent about what they had written. Everyone then assumed that because the theories had been stated and written, they must be true. Space was thought to be rational and reasonable. Of course, some cherished theories about speed were demolished when the speed of light was first detected in the last half of the twentieth century, but once destroyed and re-cast, the theories became laws again. There was no one, certainly no one in the scientific community of the Draconis Combine, who would question them.

  One of the laws dealt with the theory of jump points. Once the zenith and nadir jump points had been mapped and declared safe, the entire scientific community agreed with the theory and went on to other matters. A slightly myopic but completely human attitude.

  But the immense forces that ripped apart the original particle of cosmic matter were unaware of the requirements and laws established by humans. Time, space, and mass changed and grew. All three parameters were in flux, and at great speeds. Compared to human existence, however, those changes were incredibly slow. The one hundred thousand years since homo sapiens first emerged from the mists was a mere instant compared to the six billion years of the universe. The universe was, in fact, a fractured element, and the rifts and joints between the moving plates drifted across w
hat humans called "empty" space. One of those cosmic rifts was now drifting through the Salford jump point. Anything encountering the rift would be hurled across great distances as though it were in a sixth dimension. If the object were very lucky, it would survive to find itself lost in an unknown place. Or perhaps if it were unlucky enough to survive, it would find itself in that unknown place. For once there, there would be no way for the voyagers to return.

  * * *

  On the bridge of the Raiden, Master and Commander: Wilson Hartwell watched the console as the JumpShip approached its exit point. Once transition occurred there would be no navigational work. All the plotting had been done while the ship hung near their jump point in the Salford system. It was like opening a door and stepping through. You passed from one room to the other, even though the rooms might be thirty light years apart. It was just that simple. The computer did all the navigating and plotting long before jump took place. As long as the jump point was correctly plotted, there was nothing to do but wait. The numbers on the console scrolled downward, rapidly approaching the time-distance mark. Then the console registered zero, and the Draconis Combine JumpShip Raiden shuddered slightly as it dissolved into the no man's land known as hyperspace.

  2

  The jump through hyperspace was like opening a door to another room; step through and there you are. Even if the trip takes you thirty light years away, it's as easy as that. The transition is only a few seconds long, but the human mind is almost incapable of understanding the process or appreciating the time. Hartwell had been through the door so many times that he responded differently to the sensation than did those who didn't do it for a living. He braced himself against his command chair and stared at the navigational compusystem console. The screen showed a digital, three-dimensional polar coordinate system of their location. Sol, the star around which Terra revolved, was considered the center of the universe, for the chart makers had had to start somewhere. They had used the plane described by the orbit of Terra as level, with Terran north being "up" and south being "down." After that it was easy. A vector and a positive or negative number was all that was needed to determine a location in space.