by P W Hillard
“That means there’s decent money behind them then.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point. Why the QT’s then? Why not something more upmarket?
“Easy to get hold of? You can buy a used QT in just about any black market.” Sandhu didn't turn to look at Xander, instead, he kept his gaze locked on their captive. The man was fascinating in his strangeness.
“Not this many though. I’ve seen what...” Xander counted on his fingers, trying to add up his various encounters so far. “Ten, maybe eleven mechs. That’s more than black market supplies. Hell, you’ve also got to include the anti-air guns, there was three of them. Plus, another mech with a sniper I didn’t get a good look at.”
“Plus, infantry.”
“Exactly,” Xander said, his pointed finger waggling at Sandhu in agreement. “There is something here that doesn’t add up. I’m still not convinced the attack on my garrison job was a coincidence.”
“Yeah, uh, this is more of a convoy than a garrison.”
“It was a garrison; until Sergei’s bosses refused any extra aid. Setting up anti-air means, generally, you’re expecting friendly air support. Hell, they did! I forgot all about that damn helicopter.”
“Again, I apologise, but it’s beyond my control what corporate deem-” Sergei began.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Suits above you say no,” Xander said, raising his hand as he cut Sergei off. “Sergei’s people have a ship docked at the top of the space elevator. The asset to protect was what was at the site, not the site itself. So, the plan is to get onto the ship, fly to the nearest jump point and wait for the next jump ship out of here.”
“Right. Right. That’s an uh, bold option. Could be walking into a real shit show at the elevator.”
“Better than sitting and waiting. We've been hearing that combat is breaking out across the Belt. The outgoing jump ship confirmed the same.” Xander shrugged. “There's not much we can do about it. At least this way there is a chance to get off-planet. And we do need to get this lot off-planet, otherwise, we aren't getting paid. This lot owe me a fortune for that nutcracker.”
“Finally getting use out of that exceptional circumstances clause? Brave. Don’t think I know of anyone who has actually managed that.”
“I figure going above and beyond should count for something,” Xander said, casting a side glance to Sergei. “And if they don’t, I’m fucked. I’m amazed frankly that the payment for the nutcracker went through. It still might not.”
Like most things, the realities of space travel made finances awkward. Financial information was carried by jump ships and uploaded to beacons that propagated changes to other passing vessels. Purchases could only use the most recent upload to the beacon, which meant the actual balance sitting on a banks ledger on some other planet could be very different.
“Well, if it helps, we’ll take this guy off your hands. We’ve still got to get our VIP to his location. If there’s any bounty for these weirdos, we’ll send it your way.” Sandhu stood up, brushing his hands on his rider suit. The floor of the loader was covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt. “I’m not sure I believe this idea of a war across the belt. That seems insane, but I know this city at least is a battle zone.”
“The war is real,” the pale bald captive said, his glazed eyes locked forward. “And only the start.”
***
Xander dropped off the end of the loader with a loud thump, the metal feet of his suit striking the concrete. The loader wobbled on its enormous suspension springs as he did, the weight of the suit suddenly removed. He watched the Viper Legion advancing down the road, their mechs in formation around their infantry, their captive being pushed ahead by gunpoint. The strange man didn’t seem to care about the rifle in his back, simply walking forward in an awkward shuffle.
He hadn’t said anything else after his ominous declaration of war. It was impossible to tell if he was playing them or not, but something in Xander’s gut told him there was at least a kernel of truth. Certain that their captive wasn’t a mercenary, they had considered being far less friendly in their interrogation, before deciding against it. Whilst they were mercenaries, there were some lines you didn’t cross.
He turned, taking up his position in the convoy. He sent the thought to his mechsuit to open the radio channel.
“Right, time to get moving again,” Xander said.
Chapter Eleven
It bothered Xander. He wasn't an easily bothered man, years of mercenary work tended to beat that out of you. You learned to roll with the punches and just deal with each issue as they arose, but something about the entire situation felt wrong. There was no way a terrorist group could muster the kind of materiel he had seen or even the manpower. Xander had tangled with those kinds of groups before, every mercenary had at some point, and it was normally a few old tanks and a suit that needed desperate maintenance.
Still, it was hard to argue the logic of it. Whoever these guys were, they weren’t mercenaries, and corporations were normally more upfront about military operations. They were something to brag about at shareholder meetings. Xander couldn’t help but feel he was missing a piece of the puzzle. The thought needled at him, he didn’t like being in the dark. It was something that had been drummed into him as he had trained to be a mercenary. Intel is king.
The convoy trundled onwards, continuing its long march through the streets. The buildings here were in a poor state. Glass had been shattered and chunks of concrete blown from the walls. There had been a fight, a brutal one by the looks of it. The lack of suits lying about meant that it had been a while ago, long enough for the valuable mech parts to have been salvaged. A tank lay silent, peeking out from behind a building, its front armour shattered. The open hatches on the machine told Xander the crew had abandoned the vehicle. He wasn’t surprised, it was far more common for a tank to be disabled by the crew bailing than to be outright destroyed.
It wasn’t a good sign. It was becoming clearer every moment that the entire city was in conflict, an unclear swirling maelstrom of battle. It was bad news for the convoy, and Xander was beginning to second guess his plan. Even getting to the space elevator was seeming more and more impossible, let alone getting on it. The city had sprung up around the elevator, a common trend across known space, meaning the tower, stretching off infinitely into the sky, was dead centre. It was a vital conduit to the stars, a prime target for anyone looking to secure the city.
“I do not like this,” Alexi said, his voice breaking the silence. His suit was still holding the rear of the formation, walking behind the second loader. “I want to know who I’m fighting. They shoot at me, I shoot at them and we both know why we’re there.”
“Yeah. Give me a nice straight fight any day,” Anya said. The heavy thudding of her mechsuit’s feed could be heard over the line as she spoke.
Xander let out a laugh. “You two would say that. It’s typical Svarogian. Blunt and to the point.”
“If it works,” Alexi said, returning the laugh.
“You're Svarogian? My grandfather was from Svarog,” Sergei said. Xander had warned him repeatedly to stay off their line, but the pen-pusher was persistent. "There was a man you wouldn't mess with. Liked a fight and a drink. Normally in that order."
“Good man,” Anya said.
“He used to have this saying, that if you’re busy worrying about the next fight you’ll lose the current one. I’ve found it always served me well. Got me where I am?”
“Warehouse supervisor?” Xander said. “Not exactly upper management is it?”
“I get by,” Sergei said, his shrug somehow audible in his voice. “I don’t get shot at during my job.”
“Except for all of today,” Alexi said with a snort. “Not really something you can claim anymore.”
“True enough. We pull this off though and I’m sure to get a promotion. Something off-planet maybe? With a nice corner office, something with a view.”
“Amazing,” Xander said. “I’m not sure wh
y I expected anything else. People die for you and you’re looking to get a better office. That’s the corporations in a nutshell, isn’t it? Screw everyone else as long as you’re ok.”
“You do the exact same thing,” Sergei said. “Unless of course, the people you shoot for money are perfectly fine afterwards. Mercenary companies are just corporations with a guild license. It's the universe we live in, I'm just trying to look out for myself. Doing otherwise would be stupid.”
“I don’t think looking after yourself and looking after others are mutually exclusive.”
“They are. You can’t do something for yourself without someone else suffering. If you think otherwise, you’re an idiot.”
“I think we’ll just agree to disagree,” Xander said, his temper threatening to spill over. “We’ve got a few more hours until we get to the elevator. We should at least get along until then.”
The radio line fell silent for a moment, no-one willing to say anything.
“This got heavy,” Meg said, breaking the silence. “Anyone else notice the damage around here is getting worse as we carry on?”
“Now you mention it, yeah. It is. Looks like the fighting picked up a bit.” Xander glanced around, the head unit of his suit sweeping about, relaying its camera footage directly into his mind. Some of the glass along the buildings was still dripping, the heat from laser fire keeping it warm. It put Xander on edge. “Everyone get ready. Keep your eyes up for movement.”
Xander shouldered his weapon as his makeshift squad did the same. Laser fire at the buildings meant they had once housed infantry, and there was no guarantee they were gone. Ambushes with the right weaponry could prove very effective against mechsuits, and the loaders were sitting ducks.
Xander’s caution was proven right a moment later as a rocket came screaming out from one of the buildings, tearing out through a glass panel, showering the pavement below with glittering shards.
The rocket was aimed at the rear loader, but Alexi was fast, throwing his suit in the way of the shot. The rocket exploded, tearing armour plating away from the arm it hit. It hung limply, the hand gripping onto the weapon automatically, a process designed to prevent the rapid-fire cannon being dropped. Dropping the heavy weapon to the ground was not good for the mechanisms inside.
“Damn it, not again,” Alexi said, reaching across with his working arm. He gripped the forearm of his disabled limb pulling at the damaged section. He pulled it free, a lubricant spraying across the street. He placed his working hand awkwardly on the grip of his weapon, the damaged forearm still hanging on tightly.
A second projectile came shrieking downwards, this time from the other side of the street. This one hit true, smashing through the window of the rear loader's cabin, the explosion bending it outwards like a balloon, shattering the windscreen. It became an oven, a hot metal chamber of fire and smoke. No-one would have survived.
“Keep moving! Get that front loader going!” Xander said, his lasers firing deadly pulses of energy towards the floor the second rocket had come from. He hadn’t seen it launch, but the shattered window was giving him a rough idea. There was a sizzling noise as newly molten glass hit the road below.
“We can’t leave it! The items on there are too valuable!” Sergei sounded frantic, though his concern for the lost tech, rather than his dead employees did not go unnoticed.
“Can’t sell shit if you’re dead,” Xander said, his reply filled with acid bile. He scanned the building, looking for movement. Behind him, Alexi and Anya were firing shots near the location of the first attackers. Another pair of missiles were due any moment now. Reloading the launchers was fast, but anyone with even the barest of training would know to move between shots.
“You want to get paid? Put the stuff from that loader onto this one.”
“That will make us even slower,” Alexi said, he snapped off a laser shot, sure he had seen movement. “Xander is right. Get moving. We’ll cover you.”
“The items,” Sergei said. “I’m sure corporate would consider it a failure to fulfil your contract. You’re failing to ensure the safety of your charges after all.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Xander said. He saw movement, a faint flash of motion through gleaming glass. He fired his lasers, glowing red droplets falling from the side of the building. He didn’t know if he had hit the infantry, but he had at least delayed the launch. “Fine, Anya can you grab the stuff out the back?”
“Not with these cannons no. They’re good, but they get in the way,” Anya said. She was walking side to side, firing laser shots into and across three floors, each beam sweeping the building. It was clever, an attempt at pinning down anyone attempting to get another shot.
“Don’t ask me,” Alexi said. “Down an arm. Again.”
“Right, fine. I’ll do it. Meg can you do something about this infantry, this is your speciality right?”
“Yeah, what does it look like I’m doing?” Meg said. Her mech was crouched down but wasn’t firing at all.
“Kind of like you’re doing nothing?”
“I'm doing math, hang on." There was mumbling over the radio line, numbers spat out beneath Meg's breath. "Ok, go, I've got this.”
Meg adjusted her mechsuit, shifting about in its crouched position, ankles adjusting ready. What she was about to attempt took careful planning, a miscalculation could prove fatal. Happy with her calculations, the mechsuit leapt from its crouching position, putting as much force as possible behind the jump. As she did her jump jets fired, blue flames flaring outward as they pushed out as much energy as they could.
It was a careful balancing act. The jets had a limit before overheating damaged them beyond repair, but that wasn't the real issue. It was a simple matter of physics. Mechsuits were big, and that meant they were heavy. Meg had to make sure she pushed the jets as far as she could to get the height needed, whilst allowing them enough time to cool to slow her landing. If she got it wrong, the ankles of her suit shattering was a best-case scenario.
It was an impressive launch, the suit rocketing into the air. Xander knew it was possible, to get that kind of height from the jets, but he had never seen someone actually do it. It was the kind of thing whispered about between off duty mercenaries in seedy bars. Meg’s suit had cleared easily ten stories.
From her vantage point, Meg could see the rocket team scurrying out onto a new floor. There were four of them, one of which had a nasty burn across the side of his face, the result of being slightly too close to a laser. She smiled and squeezed the trigger, a burst of rounds shredding the men and the floor around them. It took just a moment, a brief snapshot in time. Meg spun as she began to fall, catching sight of the team in the other building, shadows readying to fire. She pulsed her single laser, just the once. It was a clean shot, a hole punched in the glass. Meg was glad she couldn't make the other team out fully. A direct hit from a laser like that was gruesome to behold.
Meg’s stomach turned as she could feel the suit falling. She waited, preparing for the moment where it would prove if she had been right. A line sat at the side of her vision, a marker placed there herself for when she needed to fire the jets again. It was rapidly coming up.
She sent the mental command for them to fire. The heat warnings immediately sprung on, the jets still searingly hot from the launch. She just needed them to hold on for second or two. The warnings were screaming at her now, a blaring noise added to each pulse of the flashing icon. Meg knew it wasn’t real, the sound placed directly into her mind by her wetware connection, but she fought the urge to cover her ears anyway.
She felt a shudder, a heavy slam shaking her body. The alarm stopped. She looked around, her head unit twisting about as she did. She was on the ground again, the heat gauge for her jets sliding slowly downwards. Nothing seemed damaged, no faults pinging into her vision. The paper doll that reported her status hadn't flagged any damaged armour plates.
“Fuck me,” Alexi said. He tried to clap, his arm and weapon waving awkwardly before
he remembered he was missing a limb. “That was impressive.”
“Just don’t ask me to do it again. Scared myself shitless a little,” Meg said. She wasn’t lying. It had seemed a good idea when she had been crouched down, adding up the figures. She had only done it once before, and never in actual combat.
“Well, I can ask you to help with these, seeing as you have working arms,” Xander said, a crate gripped between his own. “Quicker we get moving again, the better.”
Chapter Twelve
It was a tight squeeze, packing the boxes from the broken loader into the working one. Xander had considered trying to get the second loader fixed, but a quick look inside what remained of the cabin quickly extinguished the spark of that idea. Everything inside had been destroyed, only a tangled mass of blackened metal remained. It was a miracle the outer shell of the cabin hadn’t shattered totally, rather than ballooning out from the blast.
The boxes had been transferred one at a time, tucked tightly to the sides of the mechsuit that was lying flat on the bed of the working loader. There was enough space for them to fit, but it was slow going, sliding them in carefully to avoid damaging the valuable mech. It didn’t help that they needed to keep the tarp covering it held down. Whilst the attacks had stopped, there was no guarantee that all the infantry had been killed, and the last thing they needed was the contents of the loader being broadcast.
“Ok,” Xander said as he pushed the last of the crates under the plastic sheet. “We need to get moving again. Now. We’ve been stuck here way too long. We’ve only got the one target to defend now, so we should keep a tight escort around it.”
“This loader now has more value than nearly anything on the planet,” Sergei said, his voice slightly echoing over the line.
“I was more worried about the people inside it, but yes, you’re probably right.” The callous disregard for the life of his employees riled Xander. People had died, people under his care. All for a few relics and ancient machine parts. It didn’t feel right.
