by Fanpro
They began to climb away from the broad river that had been home to the humans and the Tetatae. The triple-canopy rain forest gave way to mixed deciduous/ coniferous growth. The heat of the great valley gave way to cool air by day and sharp chill at night. And still the retreat continued.
Dakodo rode in his place on the Locust's exterior, Jacobs and Goodall in the cramped cockpit where they could change places to keep the 'Mech in continuous operation. They disregarded all but the most serious warning lights, knowing that redundant systems would keep the 'Mech going for at least a little longer.
In daylight the length of the column shrank under the pressure of the pursuers and the prodding of Takuda and the rest of his DEST team. More and more of the Tetatae crowded to the front where they clustered around the Locust, remaining there when the cavalcade ended during the night. They became a source of inspiration to the 'Mech pilots. They got to know, on an intimate and familiar basis, many of the Tetatae who plodded along beside them. They watched as the aliens became more and more fatigued. They watched as the little bird-humans shared the burden of the trek. They gave many of them nicknames like Bouncy, Happy, Springboard, Dumbo. They watched as some collapsed and were laid to their final rest, covered by whatever flowers grew in the area.
When Arsenault went down with a spear thrust through his hips, the Tetatae carried him. Paul Tessarak, a refugee from Osio, picked up Arsenault's laser rifle, but found that the full charger rig and rifle were too heavy for him. A Tetatae carried the charger. Together the two, human with rifle, Tetatae with power pack, became inseparable. And always the Tetatae would move ahead on the trail, clearing it of sticks and rocks to make the passage easier for the humans. By the time the last member of the column passed a point, the trail was as smooth as energy and imagination could make it.
Takuda pointed out that a trail so well marked might make it easier for the humans to travel, but it also made it easier for their pursuers to follow. The Tetatae then rushed to cover the trial with the sticks, branches, rocks, and boulders they had so laboriously removed only moments before. Takuda gave up. It looked like he was going to be an avatar to the Tetatae, and there was nothing he could do about it.
On the seventeenth day they crossed from the forest to an area of scrub. The temperatures dropped and the winds howled down out of the gray northern sky to bite through the party's light, warm-weather clothing. It became impossible for them to travel after dark because of the cold. The refugees, the DEST people, and the Tetatae huddled around tiny fires that gave more visual comfort than real heat On the twenty-first day they encountered the first snow.
* * *
The LAM came less often, even as the ground became more open. The flight time from Usugumo to the head of the column became a real consideration as fuel and maintenance began to wear down its capabilities. The trekkers were three hundred kilometers from the river, and even at nine hundred kilometers per hour, the time out and time back began to eat up the craft's precious fuel. The other 'Mechs hung at the rear of the column, but they too began to feel the strain of the trek. It had been days since their technicians had been at them, and Seagroves spent much of his precious fuel shuttling people and parts from the base at the Usugumo bastion. He began to complain about being used as a truck driver. Vost was not amused.
As far as the commander of the mercenaries was concerned, Seagroves was getting what he deserved. The pilot was too big for his britches, and it was nice to see him knocked down a peg or two. Vost decided that the LAM would remain with the other 'Mechs on a regular basis, returning to the Usugumo base camp only as needed. Seagroves, as a reaction to his less and less frequent visits to the city, made each one count. He began to move his gold from its hidden storage caches around the bastion into lockers in the LAM. The pilot wanted to be sure that at least part of his stash was safe. The extra weight in the forward portion of the LAM meant that the pilot had to re-trim the craft for every flight, but a slight manipulation of the trim tabs took care of the problem.
Late on the afternoon of the twenty-second day, Seagroves brought the LAM in for a rougher than usual landing near the other 'Mechs. As the days dragged by, the rest of Vost's people had become less and less willing to smooth out landing sites for the LAM. It wasn't so difficult to bring the fifty-ton machine down into a clearing, but it was always better to know that the ground had been swept of rocks and any unseen holes filled. The LAM was a heavy, solid, well-armored machine, but the landing thrust was liable to pick up loose objects and hurl them around with significant violence. Foreign-object damage to one of the AVRTech 125s would be just as fatal as a direct hit from a PPC. Seagroves complained about the lack of diligence on the part of the enclave forces still in pursuit. Vost had told him to take his FOD and stuff it.
"Your problem," said Vost with the sneer that had become a permanent expression on his face, "is that you're afraid to fly. All you ever do is gripe. I don't know why, but it seems that the longer you guys fly, the more your guts turn to water. I'm surprised they don't issue you pilots diapers to keep your uniforms clean. I'll bet Hoond spends more time cleaning your pants than she does maintaining the LAM."
Seagroves clenched his fists in frustration. "I'm a professional pilot, and I plan to stay alive as a pilot. When you're four kilometers above the surface of a planet, falling can be very permanent. It's one thing to fall over in one of your land-bound machines, but in the air, any mistake can be fatal. Having some FOD break a fuel lead or damage a heat sensor or trim control can be fatal. All you guys on the ground have to do is clean up a bit. Is that too much to ask?"
"Flying a computer-assisted, fly-by-wire LAM isn't all that hard," Vost scoffed contemptuously. "Remember, I'm LAM qualified, too."
"You think so? You think so? Having flown one once doesn't make you qualified. Here," said Seagroves digging into a trouser pocket. "Here, take the security decoupling system. If you think it's so easy, you fly it." Seagroves flipped the interlock disconnect control pack into the air.
Vost snatched it with an evil grin. "I will. And just to show you what a good guy I am, here's the interlock to the Panther. Have a good day." Vost turned on his heel and made his way to the access ladder. Seagroves watched as the other man climbed up the side of the LAM and crawled through the hinged port in the belly of the Hawk portion of the combination. The deposed pilot jumped clear as Vost fired up the propulsion unit and let the twin turbos wind to a high whine. Seagroves listened with an experienced ear, criticizing the revs as being too high for the needed maneuver. Vost had a lead foot.
Then the LAM blasted clear of the small field. Seagroves watched it rise in a near vertical climb, the AVRTech 125 s screaming at full power. As he reached up to his right breast pocket to put the Panther interlock code package away, his fingers found something already there. He poked them in and withdrew the fuel-warning light bulb. He shrugged and snapped the tiny globe into the bushes. Too bad.
Inside the LAM's cockpit, Vost began to remember what it was like to fly. He'd been a Mech Warrior more than half his life, and he knew the surge of raw power that came with driving a fifty-plus-ton articulated fighting BattleMech across the terrain. But this feeling he hadn't experienced in years. To be absolutely free of the ground. To be able to do anything he wanted. To be a bird, a bird of prey. Wonderful. Rapture of the air. He rolled the LAM onto its back and then brought it back to level, upright flight. He got the feel of the controls. He could fly by the seat of his pants. Instruments were unnecessary. Not for him the artificial horizon, the climb and dive indicator, the compass. He could feel the movement of the LAM under him. It was the good old days all over again.
There was a sharp beeping from the secondary screen, and Vost adjusted the controls. The screen wasn't identical to the one in the Panther, but it was close enough. He twisted the tuning controls until a clear picture appeared. There below him, clear against the stark rock of the mountain, stood the rebel Locust. Vost eased the LAM over into a shallow approach, watching as t
he sensors scanned the stationary 'Mech. Information on the status of the enemy machine scrolled across the corner of the secondary screen as well on the main screen HUD. Vost concentrated.
The first information was the target type and identification. He knew all that. Then came propulsion information and heat status. The 160 LTV plant was fully operational, and heat was well within normal operating levels. The sensors scanned the Bergan VII chassis; a glitch! Now Vost really concentrated. The 'Mech wasn't moving, not even twisting or elevating its torso. It was a sitting, dead, duck. He felt the surge of adrenaline pour through his body. A sure kill, he let the LAM drift into a wide circle to approach from the rear, and then when he was almost directly over the crippled Locust, he slammed the joystick into the left-front corner of the cockpit. The LAM rolled over into a neat split-S and came down like a thunderbolt.
Inside the Locust, Jacobs and Goodall had seen the LAM on their own sensors as soon as it cleared the edge of the mountain. They'd worked frantically to free the jammed servoactuator, but the cold, the travel, and the limited maintenance made the effort futile. Given time and some judiciously applied heat, they'd be able to free the joint, but they had neither at this instant.
In the cockpit of the LAM, Vost let the targeting computer lock onto the Locust's center top. He jammed the throttle full forward, and the AVRTech engines responded. Jet exhaust leaped thirty meters to the rear of the screaming LAM. Inside the computer monitoring the status of various systems, the low-fuel warning matrix registered the last of the jet fuel pouring through the massive turbos. It responded by sending electron impulses to the warning light on the dashboard directly in front of the pilot. One pulse a second, sixty to the minute, more than three thousand in an hour. It would continue to respond this way until the fuel was replaced.
Vost didn't see the light. There was no light. But he did feel the last of the fuel rush through the screaming engines. The control panel went red. Warning lights and klaxons howled in his ears, so loud that his teeth vibrated. He pulled back on the joystick, saw the target computer lose its lock on the Locust. Then the ground was rushing at him with incredible speed. The storage compartment over his left shoulder snapped open and a golden goblet dropped against the dashboard. Then another and another. He stared in disbelief.
Five kilometers away, Seagroves turned when he heard the engines shut down in mid-dive. He didn't see the impact, but the rising fireball and the shock waves a moment later told him what had happened. He reached into his pocket for the Panther interlock.
48
Seagroves and Pesht talked over the unfortunate and untimely death of their leader, though neither mercenary was particularly heartbroken at the loss. Seagroves was a bit put out at the destruction of the LAM, but lacking jet fuel, and without propulsion, the LAM was just an overweight machine. And neither man was completely aware of the contract Vost had made. They decided to make the long hike back to Usugumo and start over. After all, the contract had been fulfilled. They'd driven the rebels over the mountains and destroyed their 'Mechs. Though they couldn't be completely sure of that, there was no one to dispute their report. If natural predators and starvation didn't get them first, the Tetatae and the deserters would probably freeze to death in the high mountains. The Panther and the Javelin turned west toward the distant plain.
In the high mountains to the east, the ragged band of refugees staggered upward. The Locust had been pampered and coaxed into activity once more, but it moved with the unsteady gait of a tired man. It was no longer a smooth, even ride, but made rolling, halting steps that threatened to throw Dakodo off his perch on the carapace.
Service in and around the Locust was prized duty. Under normal conditions the heat generated by the power plant was a danger to the operation of any 'Mech of its class. Now, with the wind howling through the canyons with enough force to stagger the twenty-ton 'Mech and pluck the unwary from the narrow path, being near that warmth was a lifesaver. At night, when it became too dangerous to travel, the body of the Locust would squat low, the survivors huddling in its lee.
At last they found and crossed the high pass. There was a celebration in the ranks, despite the difficulty in eeking enthusiasm out of their chilled, exhausted bodies. There were those who thought it meant the trek was over, but the long, winding rifts that fell away promised more hardship and starvation. The chargers for the laser weapons continued to draw power each night from the fusion core of the Locust, so ammunition was no problem for Takuda. Horg discovered that the rifle, set on low power, could be drained into the rock strata, heating the stone to near-incandescence. Around its heated surface the frigid refugees could huddle until the most violent spasms of shivering passed. With the Locust's unlimited power, there was no worry about running out.
The only worry, as expressed by Goodall and Jacobs to Takuda, was that the 'Mech itself might fail. It was in danger of simply falling apart. In any other lance, it would have been consigned to depot maintenance for a good, long rest, but they had no such luxury. Goodall commented that if she were in the real world, wherever that was, she'd be severely reprimanded for the condition of the 'Mech.
At last they found the trees again, the same mixed forest through which they'd passed almost a month ago. Food became more plentiful, and the Tetatae happily began to forage for the others. Now the humans began to understand how valuable the bird-like aliens could be to their survival. The Tetatae knew what the humans could eat and what they could not, and they brought in a bountiful supply of edibles. Movement had become faster, and the Locust, no longer freezing in the joints, made good time. Dakodo kept them headed in the direction he alone seemed to understand. Even when some of the Tetatae complained that this area or that area was good enough, he refused to settle. Somewhere, perhaps not too far, was the far country of the other settlement. There was no stopping him now.
The Locust staggered to the top of a sharp ridge where Dakodo could view the broad grass and forest land that lay beyond. At last he seemed satisfied. Here, in the broad valley, was the far country he sought. It was here, he said, that they would find the others. Jacobs and Goodall activated the sensor system that had been shut down and ignored for so many days. There was an immediate response.
Jacobs and Goodall stared at the secondary screen. There was no doubt about the target reply—a solid metallic response from beyond the normal limit of sensor range. The sensors could send an inquiry and receive a response faster than the secondary screen could "read" and analyze the reply, but the screen would still show that there was something beyond its maximum scan. And it could only be something very large. It could only be a 'Mech, and the only other 'Mechs on the planet were those of the mercenaries. Somehow the mercs had swept the flank and were now waiting for them in the area Takuda's people planned to call their home. The whole trek, the fighting, the dying, the starvation, freezing, and exhaustion had been for naught. There must have been an easier way to reach this plain than the high passes over the mountains.
Takuda climbed stiffly into the cockpit to confirm the sensor target. There was no doubt about the nature of the signature; only a huge metallic object made a response like that. He examined his resources and began to plan.
The original DEST team had been reduced to seven, counting Parker Davud—which everyone did—and all had been wounded or injured in some way. Frostbite was a common denominator. Then there were the crushed fingers, swollen joints, sprains, and muscle pulls. Arsenault was being carried by four Tetatae, the spear wound never having received the medicine to speed its repair. At least gangrene had not set in. Paul Tessarak was still carrying the laser rifle, with his trusty Tetatae power-pack bearer close behind. Andi Holland still hobbled from injuries taken more than a month before. She too had suffered from the lack of time and medicine.
Takuda was too tired, too disappointed by the signature, to come up with any plan other than going straight at 'em. The others agreed. It would be all or nothing. With the Locust in support, the DEST members spr
ead out over the terrain and began to sweep forward. It would take a full day to reach the rebound point of the response, unless, of course, the enemy 'Mechs came toward them.
The forest was high climax, and the going beneath the branches was easy for the infantry. It was harder for the Locust because it was right up among the tops of the trees. Finally, Jacobs climbed out of the cockpit to sit where Dakodo had spent much of the last month. Under his direction, the Locust was able to maintain its supporting position behind the infantry.
Goodall kept the return centered on the screen, using it as the guiding star for navigation. The constant return was a mesmerizing dot that drew her eyes until it became all she could see. She did not even notice the scrolling information that appeared shortly after noon. Finally she snapped herself out of her trance and paid attention. She brought the Locust to an abrupt halt, a stop so sudden that Jacobs nearly lost his handhold on the outer hull. He crawled back inside the cockpit after his complaints drew no response.
Goodall was transfixed by the data screen. She turned to Jacobs as he squirmed his way into the tiny space. "Get Takuda," she said without looking up. "He's got to see this."
Jacobs moved quickly to find the commander and bring him to the Locust. When Takuda had made his way into the cramped cockpit and taken the seat relinquished by Goodall, he watched the identification information scroll over the display. He, too, was astonished.
The target they had been stalking was not a hostile 'Mech. It wasn't even a 'Mech. The information on the screen identified the rebound as coming from a Vulture Class DropShip. The name that flashed onto the screen in reply to the electronic query identified the vessel as the Combine DropShip Hideyoshi Toyotomi, registration number DC445/157-AKA. A computer scan of the Locust's limited information bank could not identify the Vulture Class. As a best guess, based on the radar and I/R sensor scan, the computer gave the Seeker as the closest possibility because the size, mass, and propulsion were close. The Seeker had been introduced in 2762, but the Vulture was obviously a much earlier model if it had been in operation in the 2500s. There was no sign of life around the ship.
