by P W Hillard
“Got a bead on the direction it’s coming from, Arthur?”
“One of these buildings up ahead, on the right. Message is just a comms frequency.”
“Forward it on to me?” Sandhu said.
“Sending it now, commander.”
A laser comm message was an interesting wrinkle in the battle raging across the junction. It was reliable and fast but required a direct line of sight. Whoever had sent it had a clear line on Arthur's suit and chose not to take a shot. The message appeared in Sandhu's vision, sent by more conventional means. It was simple text, just a radio frequency and that was it.
Sandhu inputted the frequency, changing his communications channel with just a thought, the complex computing systems inside the mechsuit understanding his intention.
“Ok, so you got my attention. Who the hell is this?” Sandhu said, ducking and weaving as he spoke, return fire screaming down the street.
“Name’s Xander Cain, freelancer. I’m guessing this is the Viper Legion commander?”
“Holy shit, Xander Cain. I’m amazed the guild let you keep your license.”
“Consider yourself lucky they did,” Xander said, a wave oscillating in the corner of Sandhu’s vision as they spoke. “Looks like you’re in a spot of bother with some unmarked mechs. I’m heading up a convoy and we need to cross this intersection. Now, I’m not too keen on driving through your crossfire, and I have a bone to pick with the other guys, so I’m offering you a nice little deal.”
“It going to cost me anything?”
“Just your positions. I want you to fall back, let the enemy mechs come past the junction. When they do, we’ll flank them from the side, hit them unawares. We’ve got locks on the enemy units, and I’m fairly certain we can take them.”
“Fairly certain is hardly a vote of confidence.” Sandhu winced as he saw an icon blink out on his display. A friendly suit disabled. They would need to wait until after the battle to recover the rider, if he survived. Sandhu didn’t trust an unmarked enemy to take prisoners. “Fine. Fine. I’ll give the order. You better come through on this, Cain. You’ve hardly got the best reputation.”
***
Anya pressed forward first, planting her massive suit in the centre of the road, cannons spinning ready. If the Vipers were falling back as asked, then it would be a matter of moments before the enemy came into view. They had to make the most of that small advantage, mechsuits were hardly easy targets, so Anya’s heavy weapons were going to be key. She didn’t mind. Anya had driven a lighter class of suit, when she had first started her career, but in her experience, sheer firepower accounted for a lot.
“In position,” Anya said as the spikes on her ankles slammed into the stone, anchoring her in place. Her ammunition was lower than she would have liked, reloading the complex arm-mounted cannons was near impossible in the field. She would have to make every burst count.
Alexi and Xander jogged up next to her, each smaller mech adopting a crouching stance to prevent blocking the motions on the larger suit.
“Ready here,” Xander said.
“Me too,” Alexi added.
“All good at my end,” Meg said. She had stayed up on the rooftop. Her mech wasn’t suited to engage the enemy QT’s, but it was perfect for clearing up their infantry support. Hitting them from behind would throw some much-needed panic into the enemy formation.
“Ok, ping your targets, we want to hit as many as we can before they recover. Anya has priority target choice,” Xander said. “That said, if you see a suit damaged and you think you can disable it, go for it.”
“Right,” Alexi said.
“Sounds good,” Meg said. “Looks like they’re taking the bait. Get ready.”
***
Sandhu felt strange, falling back. It wasn’t the done thing, not in the Viper Legion. His company had made a name for themselves as stoic, implacable, the kind of mercenaries who would stand and fight even against overwhelming odds. It was good for business, it meant they were popular and could charge a premium. Still, he wasn’t one to turn down a free offer for help, so slowly, step by step he led his mercenaries back. He had to be careful with how quickly his line moved, he needed the enemy to think they were gaining ground. The last thing he wanted was to make it an obvious trap.
It was a daring risk; one he wouldn’t try against another mercenary company. There, Sandhu would have assumed that their comms were being intercepted, that the enemy would be wise to the plan. But the opposing force was sloppy, their movements slow, their shots inaccurate. They outnumbered him, but that lack of skill was evening the odds. Sandhu would have bet good money they hadn’t tapped into his messages.
His people were responding with the level of professionalism Sandhu expected. Like most mercenary companies the Viper Legion ran its own academy that tested people for wetware compatibility before training them to be mercenary pilots. Whilst not strictly against the rules, it was considered bad form not to work for the company that trained you, at least for the first few years.
The enemy was coming closer, agonisingly slowly. They were nearly at the intersection, just a few more steps.
***
As one, the unmarked enemy suits pressed onwards, stepping out into the exposed intersection. Infantry rushed forward; launchers tucked tight to shoulders ready to support their larger mechanical allies. Anya didn’t wait. She mentally marked the nearest suit as her target, adjusted her aim, and commanded her suit to fire.
The air erupted into a barrage of violence, cannons spinning, shells ejecting high into the air as Anya fired. Her shots slammed into the side of the nearest QT, metal fragments spraying from it as the high-velocity rounds dug into it. Anya kept her mech stable, compensating as best she could from the recoil. The QT collapsed, either its power failing or its pilot killed mid-step. It didn't matter, that was one down regardless. Anya shifted her focus, opening up on a second mech.
The two men beside her advanced forward, keeping their suits in their low crouch. They each snapped off bursts, quick shots at their own targets. One of the QTs turned to face the oncoming ambushers, exposing its side to the Viper Legion. The mercenaries were fast, switching their targets to the newly exposed flank. Mechsuits were armoured mostly on the front, the way the cockpits opened under the armpits meant that the side was a weak point, though the arms were armoured to compensate. The worst was the rear, kept light to allow the reactor to vent properly. The suit paid the price as it stumbled from the barrage of shots, allowing an infantry launched rocket to find its way into the underarm. The arm flew free, sparks arcing from the wound. The suit lost its balance, crashing headfirst into the ground, shattering its cameras.
Laser fire lashed out across the intersection, the pavement searing under the heat. The infantry scattered, attempting to flee the burning onslaught only to be cut down by a thunderous cascade of fire sprayed from the buildings above.
Meg's suit followed a moment later, leaping from its rooftop, jump jets sending it high into the air as it continued to spray shots onto the now fleeing infantry. The weapons effect was terrifying, the fast-firing shots, whilst no real threat to a mechsuit, still caused the infantry it hit to become little more than fine red mist.
As Meg fell, she tilted her mech, pulling her field knife free from the compartment in her leg. With another blast of jets, she launched forward, barrelling into one of the QTs, slamming it to the ground. Her knife glowed a vivid orange as the energy field took its few second journey through the back armour of the knocked down mech. It sank to the hilt before Meg pulled it free, satisfied it had pierced the inner cabin.
As she wrenched the blade lose, Meg fired off a burst at another suit before her. The rounds struck one of the two rear exhaust vents, a gout of steam erupting from the vent as shrapnel shook free inside. Another burst struck the other, and the mech slumped forward, the reactor activating an emergency shutdown.
It was a rout, the remaining unmarked mechs turning to flee. It didn’t matter, they we
re caught on three sides, pinned in by heavy fire. The battle was over in moments, the ambush a total success, the final suits falling to the constant barrage, their armour shattered, their pilots likely dead.
“All targets disabled,” said the voice over the comms. It was Sandhu. “Good job, Cain. Damn good job.”
***
There was a hiss as the emergency release was pulled, its hydraulics forcing the front armour open. The Viper Legion infantryman, his body armour painted the same white as his unit’s mechs, the cloth of his uniform a bright red, gave a thumbs-up as he hung from the side of the mechsuit. On his chest plate was the Legion’s icon, a snake coiling its way through a skull.
Around the suit, other infantry had gathered, rifles drawn ready as the front armour fell forward. It had been quick thinking on one of the freelancer’s parts, to disable a mechs reactor. It meant they had a captive they knew would be alive.
“Come out of the suit with your hands up,” Sandhu said, his voice booming from the speakers on his suit. “Comply, and you won't be harmed.” Sandhu's weapon, a large rapid-firing autocannon was trained on the mech. The rest of his men were holding position at each of the intersections, whilst the freelancers were dragging the downed enemy suits from the road, trying to clear the way for their heavy loaders. Only one of them was stood by Sandhu, watching the enemy suit hatching like an egg. Xander Cain. Cain was notorious, every merc knew his name. His family owned a prestigious mercenary company, and the rumour was Xander had been thrown out for killing another family member. It had never been confirmed, but rumours spread like wildfire across the guild networks.
There was a clang as the cabin opened. A figure emerged; his hands held high. He was wearing a black rider’s suit. He had an oddly pale complexion. Cables were attached to a port just above his left eye, the connection for the suit’s wetware. The man was totally bald, lacking even eyebrows. His scalp was covered in metal connections, similar but subtly different in design to the mech control wetware.
The mercenary soldier who had pulled the emergency release grabbed the rider, pulling him close. He pulled a plastic zip-tie from his pocket, and tied it around his new captive’s wrists, before wrenching the cables free from the man’s implant.
Now he was being pulled clear of the mech, Xander could get a better look at him. On the breast of the man’s suit was an icon. He zoomed his camera in, trying to get a clear image. It looked like a flower. Xander wasn’t an expert but he was sure it was a rose. A black rose.
“We need to talk,” Xander said, sending the message across the air to Sandhu’s suit.
Chapter Ten
Xander had never seen anything like it. Wetware was already considered taboo in most of human space, lingering memories of the collapse. Even mercenaries only got away with it because of the necessities of mechsuit control. This person was different. Xander was hesitant to even call them a person. The prisoner had been bundled into one of the loaders, his hands tied behind his back. Xander had exited his mechsuit, the machine left sitting on the lip at the back of the loader. Sandhu had done the same, his Viper Legion squad offering a temporary escort to the convoy. Their executive charge had complained loudly, and at length, but as he was sealed into a specialist suit with a passenger compartment, he wasn't in a position to do anything about it.
Their prisoner had been co-operative, climbing into the cabin unprompted, but oddly silent. No protests, no complaints, nothing. The man just sat on one of the benches, nearly motionless, his pale skin glistening oddly under the halogen lights. The man had an odd gaze like he was staring off at something that wasn't there.
“So, you know something about these guys?” Sandhu said. The man was tall, all muscle packed tightly under tanned skin until he seemed threatening to burst. He had a wry smile and short black hair.
“Something,” Xander said. The two men were standing opposite the captive. Behind them, one of Sergei's workers handled the controls of the loader. The corporate manager had taken one of the seats that ran around the rim of the loaders control room. The vehicle was impressive, it felt more like an office's reception than the control room of an industrial vehicle. "One of the freelancers with us was hired originally on a redacted contract. The seal on it was a black rose.”
“Huh, and what was their contract to do?”
“Just generally cause trouble. Harass convoys and that kind of thing.”
Sandhu let out a snort. “Guessing your introduction was of the violent kind, considering the big orange targets you’re escorting. The one with the jump jets?”
“That’s the one,” Xander said, nodding in agreement.
“Makes sense. You ever seen someone…like this? One of your mechs matches the enemy paint job.”
“We were brought in on a garrison job. One that was vastly understated.” Xander shot Sergei a disapproving glance. “We dropped down right into AA fire. Lost a bunch of dropships. Good men and women in them all, with these arseholes squeezing the triggers. Right fucking pain they were too. I had to call in a nutcracker if you can believe that.”
“Oh, I can, I think everyone for miles knows one of those dropped in. Not easy to miss. I’ll be honest it shit me up a little. I figured if the enemy was willing to throw orbital ordinance around my escort mission might be in trouble.” Sandhu lent forward, his eyes washing over their captive. The man hadn’t moved a muscle aside from the pulsing of his chest, low breaths creeping between the man’s lips.
“Yeah well, we had to salvage a suit to replace losses. I’ll be honest we didn’t notice anything weird about those pilots, though there wasn’t much left of them. Spalling shredded one, the other got hit by a field knife.”
“Ah. Yeah, that would do it.” Sandhu shuddered. Field knives were vital tools for mechsuit combat. The large bladed weapons still had a sharp edge so it could be used as a tool, but the knife’s main feature was the energy field that projected from the hilt, a wall of buzzing particles that cut through a mechsuit’s thick armour. The effect left little identifiable of the pilot inside, the energy searing the flesh.
“Infantry don’t seem like this guy. As far as I could tell.”
“Yeah,” Sandhu said. “My infantry units examined the bodies. They’re normal enough.”
“So,” Xander said, crouching down so his eyes met their captives. “Who the hell are you?”
The man didn’t respond, simply staring back into Xander’s eyes. Unblinking.
“Not the talkative type,” Sandhu said. “We could be a bit more…persuasive. He isn’t a merc, that we know of. No guild badge on him.”
“Doesn’t mean he isn’t. You know any non-mercs that have wetware? Any wetware? Let alone this many ports. Were they all plugged in?”
“No, just the normal one.”
“Huh,” Xander said. He didn’t know what else he could say. Whilst his wetware had been installed his whole adult life, he didn’t have the faintest idea of how they worked. The complex intermingling of machinery and nerve endings embedded above his eye was beyond him. Xander knew the term had originally been something to do with the actual functions of the mind, but the term had been misused so long it had morphed into taking on a new meaning. Fitting the thing had taken a long, dangerous surgery. Xander had been out for weeks afterwards whilst his brain adjusted. He couldn’t imagine having this many done, the toll on the body seemed just too great.
“Come on pal, talk to us. We don’t want to have to hurt you,” Sandhu said. His smile seemed to drip with sleaze as he spoke. The man had clearly interrogated someone before.
“It is you who will be hurt,” the prisoner said. He hadn’t looked at either of them, simply staring ahead as he spoke. His voice was rough, croaky, like someone who had just gotten up in the morning.
“Oh,” Xander says. “He talks. Why will we be hurt? Care to elaborate on that at all?”
“Your time is done. We are legion. We will upend your precious order and usher in a new age.”
Xander nodded
along as the man spoke. “That’s real interesting. Thing is, I’ve heard it all before. So, what are you? Anti-corporate terrorist? Eco-Warrior? Just mad at your bosses? I’ve seen all those and more, and guess what? They didn’t achieve shit.”
“Yeah, that's like, our bread and butter. I can clean up wannabe warriors all day. The problem with your lot, see,” Sandhu said sitting down on the floor of the cabin, his legs crossed, “is that you think you can buy a cheap second-hand QT, get the wetware installed by some second rate backroom doctor, and then hop into battle against someone who does it for a living. With proper gear, and experience. It's like a kid in their first car entering a racing league.”
“You think small,” the man said, finally turning his head to look at Sandhu. “You will learn. In time.”
“So, the black rose, that your guys' symbol? Have to say, hardly inspires fear does it," Xander said. Their captive was finally responding, needling at him seemed to be garnering a response.
“You will learn to fear it.”
“I’m going to go with a no on that one,” Xander said. “We’ve beaten your guys at every turn now. Their moves are sloppy, amateur. You’ve got the element of surprise, and numbers on your side. Plus, whatever mercs you’ve roped in on your redacted contracts. That must have cost a pretty penny. But your advantages will dwindle, with time, and then you’ll be crushed.”
“You will learn,” the man repeated. His gaze shifted, returning to his vacant stare, eyes locked ahead.
“You raise a good point, Cain. Hiring mercs isn’t cheap. Hiring mercs on redacted contracts isn’t even in our budget. How did these guys manage it? You think there’s more than one contract?” Sandhu leant back, placing his hands on the floor behind him to steady himself.
“I would bet on it. If you’re hiring people to cause trouble, you’re going to want to cover as wide an area as possible right?” Xander stood up from his crouch. Holding the position was causing his knees to ache.
