Christiania II was every bit as barren and desolate as the records had described. The visibility was remarkably poor, as the loose dust was constantly forming clouds of driving sand that obscured the view. Beyond one hundred meters there was nothing but a wall of airborne debris. Mage Squadron moved in a loose column formation, never leaving visual range. It was far too easy to get lost in the featureless hellscape, and so the 'mechs almost seemed to huddle together as they trudged eternally onward. Sweat poured down Caspian's body as he drummed his fingers on his armrest. He had set his Firestarter to a low speed, and now he simply sat back and let it make its own way forward, occasionally correcting its course to avoid unsteady ground and the occasional boulder. He took his canteen and forced himself to take only a small sip. They had brought more than enough water for the mission, assuming that everything went according to plan. Even so, he didn't like the idea of wasting it. They were marching blindly into what was effectively enemy territory, and there was no telling what could go wrong.
Caspian let the canteen dangle from its hanging place, just above his head, then sank back into the worn cushions of his control couch. They had been walking for three days so far, and it had been one of the most miserable campaigns he had ever been a part of. He had spent the night shivering on the floor of his cockpit, curled up in a sleeping bag that only kept out some of the cold. His teeth had chattered relentlessly, and his sleep had been inconsistent at best. It had nearly been enough to drive him to accept Olga's previous offer, if only for the warmth another body would provide. He thought back to his academy days, back when he had been a younger and more handsome man, back before the trauma of the Clan Invasion had killed what remained of his charm. Caspian hadn't been incredibly popular, but he'd had a couple girlfriends during his time there. He remembered the cold Lothanian winter nights he had spent with a girl resting her head on his chest, her golden blonde hair tickling his skin as it drifted loosely across him. He could still hear the soft breathing, her gentle voice wishing him a good night, could feel the warmth of her presence and the stirring in his chest as he met her gaze. Edith had been her name, a starry-eyed idealist with a gorgeous smile and the kindest of hearts, and she had kept him warm through many cold and sleepless nights. Caspian sighed to himself as he glanced down at the sleeping bag neatly tucked away beneath his control panel. Tonight would be just as cold as the one before, and once again he would need to face it alone. The thought had made him feel irritated before, but after reminiscing he felt a new sense of dread overtake him. It didn't have to be this way, he reminded himself unbidden. Had things gone differently he very well could have been spending the night in the comforting embrace of a lover. Instead, any chance of a pleasant, quiet life had been crushed when the wolves invaded. Caspian had heard the story from her lancemates, how Edith's Centurion had gone critical, the victim of a Thor's merciless onslaught. She hadn't ejected, staying in her 'mech long enough to fire one last autocannon shell at her enemy. She had died to take that shot, but had probably lived just long enough to see it miss the target before her battlemech exploded, leaving little behind. Like so many others in the Kungsarmè, she had died for nothing, sacrificing herself for the freedom of Rasalhague, an independence that itself was killed less than a week later.
A blip on the radar display snapped Caspian back to reality. Ghost signals had been popping up ever since they had touched down as the solar radiation played hell with the 'mechs' sensors, but this one was different. It was stronger, more persistent. Caspian checked the computer's analysis log for an evaluation. The sensors had detected a solid, stationary object less than seventy meters ahead, most likely another stony formation of some kind, but the computer had listed the contact as a deactivated battlemech. As Caspian squinted at his display, another signal appeared beside it, then another, then another.
"Contact sighted!" said Sandy over the comms, her voice distorted by the pervasive interference. "Inactive 'mech at eight o'clock!"
"What model?" asked Caspian.
Sandy hesitated. "Unknown, Captain," she said. "It's... unusually shaped."
"Contact at eleven o'clock!" said Sullivan. "Inactive 'mech. Unknown type."
Caspian brought his Firestarter to a halt as an ominous, shadowy shape began to emerge from the dust cloud in front of him. It looked like a battlemech, frozen in time as it bent precariously forward. The armor was strange, almost flowing behind it like petrified water, as if it had been melted and blown away by some incredible force. Caspian inched his 'mech closer. Even as it came into focus the extensive damage made it difficult to identify, but he eventually recognized it as the wreckage of a Warhammer, a powerful heavy battlemech with a reputation for dependability and strength. As he examined the ruined machine he heard Jenna's voice over the radio.
"I've got a dead Stalker in front of me and a Wolverine on my left. What happened to them?"
Amberly brought her Puma alongside Caspian's Firestarter and turned her torso to look at him, tilting in an almost human manner as she examined the wreck of the Warhammer. "They look almost like they were... nuked," she said. "It looks like something from the Tintavel Memorial."
"It's a graveyard," said Caspian. "An old battlefield from the Succession War."
"My god..." said Olga breathlessly. "There's even more over here, entire lances of dead 'mechs."
"Captain!" called Halver. "You need to see this."
Caspian turned to the side and walked his way over to the Packrat. The vehicle was perched along the edge of a ridge, where the plateau they stood on dropped into a valley down below. Caspian felt his breath catch in his throat as he neared the edge and looked down upon a haunting scene. Here the dust wasn't as thick, and he could see much farther than he had been able to up above. Over half a mile of ground stretched before him, completely covered in dead machines. 'Mechs, tanks, hovercraft, APCs, VTOLs, crashed aerotech fighters, and mobile artillery pieces were all lying in similar states of disrepair. The nuclear hellfire had permanently frozen them in place, melting joints and treads. The 'mechs were eternally caught in their final moments, suspended in time. Nearby an Axeman had been caught mid-swing, its weapon descending upon a Hunchback, whose pilot had raised the left arm in a futile attempt to deflect the strike. Beyond them a Phoenix Hawk had fallen and was struggling to right itself. Further out a Battlemaster had just finished stamping its footpad down onto a transport truck, crushing the vehicle under its weight. Similar scenes had been captured by the nuclear flash all across the field, and as far as the eye could see there was nothing but utter destruction. Caspian was silent for a long time, unable to find the words to express how he felt. It was eerie and beautiful all at once, like a painting of Hell. Sullivan moved to Caspian's side and whistled. Amberly approached from behind, gasping as she saw the morbid spectacle.
"För fan i helvete..." she said. "It makes Kandalaksha look like a Sunday afternoon picnic. So this is what the Succession Wars were like."
"So many dead," said Sandy. "There's probably more corpses in that field than in the whole of the Ronin War."
"And it's just one field on one planet," Sullivan agreed. "Battles like these were fought all across the Inner Sphere."
"No wonder Kerensky abandoned us," said Jenna. She turned her Commando toward the others. "We're not going to make it, are we? People, I mean. With battles like this, one day we'll drive ourselves to extinction."
"Easy there, kid," said Sullivan. "We aren't dead yet, so don't go planning the funeral. The wars were terrible, but we didn't wipe ourselves out. We're still living on, stronger than ever before. The wars didn't end us, Jenna. They made us better. Isn't that right, Captain?"
Caspian said nothing. Instead he quietly nudged his battlemech forward, carefully making his way down the incline. The Firestarter resisted his touch. While it was most likely a quirk of the balancing system and the rough terrain, to Caspian it almost felt hesitant, as if it too was unnerved by the sight of the mechanical graveyard. As he reached the bottom he cast a glance over the 'mech's shoulder. The others were beginning to follow, cautiously stepping down the unsteady ground. Sandy's Locust stumbled for a moment as the rock gave way, but she managed to keep her machine upright long enough to awkwardly run down to the flatter ground at the bottom of the ridge. Sullivan didn't bother with the slope, instead opting to fire his Griffin's jump jets and leap down to the bottom. Olga followed his example with her Stinger, landing with less grace but more style, letting one footpad touch down before the other in a dramatic fashion. The Packrat chose a zig-zag path, eventually falling back into formation. With the lances gathered, Caspian continued onward, weaving his way through the ancient battlefield.
For a long time everyone was quiet. No one seemed to have anything worth saying, and breaking the silence in a place filled with so many dead felt taboo, the kind of thing that would earn you a curse from the angry spirits that may still inhabit the frozen crypt. The battlefield seemed to stretch on forever, and Caspian noticed a strange sound from beneath his 'mech. With every step he could feel a slight give in the pedals and hear a crackling noise ring out. It felt almost like walking on ice. He looked down at the ground and saw it breaking beneath him like glass, then realized that it was exactly that. The sand had melted from the intense heat of the atomic weaponry, giving the desert an odd, refractive quality. He trudged on, trying to focus on his radar. He activated a filter to remove the scores of hits from the dead machines, and set it to scan for active threats only. The screen cleared, save for the usual ghost traces.
Suddenly Sandy called out. "I've got movement at nine o'clock!"
"I got nothing," said Sullivan. "You sure?"
"It's right over..." Sandy hesitated. "I... I thought for sure..."
"Don't do that to me," said Bjorn. "I nearly had a heart attack. Thought I saw one of these old hulks moving for a second."
"Probably just the wind pushing components around," said Sullivan. "Everyone relax."
"No, I'm positive!" Sandy insisted. "I saw a Raven moving around out there!"
"The dust's probably messing with your sensors, Radar," said Olga. "There's nothing out here. Just a bunch of expensive gravestones."
"I've got a heat sig at three o'clock," said Amberly. "Over by that Myrmidon. It's... gone? What the hell?"
"Would you guys knock it off?" asked Jenna. "You're all giving me the creeps. Captain, recommend we take a detour."
"Where?" asked Caspian. "This mess probably goes around for miles. If you want to get out of it, the quickest way is to plow straight through."
"I didn't sign up to get cursed by ghosts," she said. "We need to get out of here."
"I've got a bad feeling," Sandy agreed. "Something's not right."
She wasn't wrong. The atmosphere had certainly changed. A general feeling of unease had settled over Caspian, the sensation of eyes hidden in the shadows, watching him. He scanned around, but couldn't get a solid fix on anything out of place. He thought he saw a shape moving behind the leg of a Thunderbolt, but it could easily have been a trick of the light. He thought he saw a glint of reflected sunlight, but its source was just a glassy rock on his left. The ghost contacts on his radar began to multiply, ranging from heavy 'mechs to infantry. The display showed dozens of signatures, but he still couldn't spot anything outside his cockpit. He tried to target one of the signals to find it with his HUD, but even as he reach for the switch the contact vanished, only to be replaced by two more a second later.
"Contact!" cried Amberly, making them all jump. "Unknown Raven coming in fast!"
Caspian began to turn toward her, but just as he did he spotted movement by one of the slagged tanks. A squad of infantry appeared from behind the vehicle, each one aiming an anti-mech rocket at him. He froze, knowing that he wouldn't be able to engage them without taking significant damage. He trained his flamers on them but held his fire, and they did the same.
"Infantry on my six!" shouted Kyle. "Anti-mech weapons!"
"I've got two heavy tanks on my back!" called Olga.
"My god... The dead Atlas in front of me... It's moving," gasped Jenna.
"We're surrounded!" said Sullivan. "It's an ambush! Open fire!"
"Belay that!" Caspian barked. There was silence for a moment as he scanned around him. More infantry was beginning to emerge from the wreckage, strange people covered from head to toe in off-white robes. A nearby Atlas that had previously appeared dormant had suddenly come to life, its torso twisting to cover the two lances with its weapons. It moved slowly, looking like a wraith with its black, melted armor that clung to it like fabric. The "eyes" that normally denoted the location of the pilot glowed bright red, giving it the appearance of a demon. Smaller 'mechs stepped out from behind it, two Locusts, a Flea, and a Spider. A Jenner emerged from behind a ruined Annihilator along with another Raven. Mage Squadron had been completely encircled, and yet everything was quiet. "They aren't shooting," said Caspian. "Why aren't they shooting?"
"Because they're fools!" exclaimed Jenna. "Let me wipe them out, Captain!"
"Negative!" Caspian snapped. "Everyone hold your fire. If they wanted us dead they'd have already killed us by now."
"If they decide to change they're minds we won't stand much of a chance," said Amberly. "Not with all those guns pointed at us."
"What's the play, then, Boss?" asked Sullivan. "I'd love to have a tea party with them, but I left my favorite pair of bunny slippers on the ship."
Caspian ignored the jab. "We wait and see what they want."
"We don't even know who these people are," said Kyle. "Maybe they're friendly."
"Who the hell could they even be?" asked Sandy. "This planet's supposed to be deserted."
"Um... Captain, that Raven..." said Olga.
Caspian twisted his torso to the left until he could see the indicated 'mech. He stared at it hard, looking for any marking or signs of heraldry. He found one proudly emblazoned on its side. He gritted his teeth as he saw it, the star that had haunted his every waking moment for the past five years. It was a simple astral design, with one of its rays extended far to the right. He let out a snarl as he said, "Clanners."
-
Damian emerged from behind the pillar and took stock of his surroundings. Mage Squadron was gone. They had fled only moments after the Elemental had sent two of their men screaming into the canal. Now the local garrison had arrived, missing the insurgents by mere seconds as they rushed in from their outpost in the center of the city. It had taken them less than five minutes to arrive, but the fight had been over in three. It was one of the Mages' traits that frustrated the Clan soldiers more than any other. They could appear almost anywhere and disappear just as suddenly, making them frustrating opponents. The Clan's warrior caste lived by a strict code of conduct, rules by which battles were to be fought, but Mage Squadron refused to fight on even terms. Instead they delivered daggers in the dark, slitting the throats of sleeping men or slaughtering patrols with explosive traps. It was intensely dishonorable, not even worthy of being called "warfare." The way of the Clan was for the weak to defer to the strong, not continue to struggle. Damian remembered a parable he had been taught as a child, a story about a bear and a mouse. The bear had caught the mouse in its claws, hoping to keep it as a pet, but the mouse had flailed so hard in its grip, gnawing and biting at the invincible bear, that it died from exhaustion. The moral was simple. Those who are beaten should not resist, because for all its savagery the mouse could only hurt itself.
Damian came out if his musings as a flicker of movement caught his eye. Near where the Elemental stood was the tear in the wall, the one his missile had created. The steel there jutted out with a hundred jagged edges, and it bloom outward almost like a kind of metal flower. On one of these protrusions there fluttered a scrap of paper, crackling in the evening breeze as it dangled. Damian reached out toward it, teetering on the brink for a moment before he snatched it away and shrank back to safety. He brought the slip closer and strained his eyes to read it in the failing light. The item had belonged to one of Mage Squadron's men, one of the two who had been blown off the bridge. It was a receipt from the local Ultra-Mart, complete with a transaction number. The customer had paid for his purchase with a bank card, a perfectly normal means of paying, but one that left a paper trail to follow. Damian smiled to himself as he slipped it into his pocket, knowing that he had just struck gold.
Alice moved slowly beside him, still visibly shaken. She hugged herself, shivering both from nerves and from the cold.
"Are you alright?" asked Damian.
Alice didn't reply. Instead she stared out into the darkness of the night, trying to draw warmth through what remained of her suit jacket. She had kept her hair tied back, but during the fight it had come loose. Damian had never seen her with her hair down before, and the way it blew gracefully around her face was almost mesmerizing. She looked past him, as if not even noticing where she stood. Damian removed his own jacket, trying his best not to grimace as the cold hit his body, then draped the garment around her shoulders. Alice blinked and glanced at him, as if just now realizing that he was there. She smiled weakly and pulled the jacket tighter around her.
"Thank you," she said. She glanced at her feet and added sheepishly, "I guess this spoils our evening plans, doesn't it?"
"It would appear so," Damian replied. He smiled at her, holding in a shiver as the wind began to take its toll. "We should go inside, I think. Our part in this has ended." He started to walk away, but when Alice didn't follow he stopped. "Miss Jurgen?"
Alice swayed for a moment, suddenly unsteady on her feet, but she caught herself and smiled weakly. "I must still be in shock," she said. "I'm not cut out for combat."
"You have the reflexes of a warrior," said Damian. "Do not be ashamed of your fear. It is something even the most battle-hardened feel. I had wondered why-"
He cut himself off as Alice suddenly slumped against him, leaning heavily on his chest. For a moment he was frozen, unsure of how to handle the contact. Then she began to slip and he realized that she had gone completely limp. He put his arms around her and held her upright. As his hand moved behind her back he felt something odd beneath his jacket. He reached under the fabric and felt something hot, thick, and wet seep through his fingers. His eyes went wide. Like any soldier, he knew all too well what now covered his hands. Blood.
Alice's vision began to fade as Damian struggled with her weight. She willed herself to stand, but her body refused to obey her. Darkness began to overtake her senses as she watched Damian call out to his Elemental. She felt the sensation of being lifted as the massive warrior cradled her in his arms with a surprisingly delicate touch. She felt safe, protected, almost happy. Then everything went black.
When she awoke it was with the morning sun showering her face. She winced as it burned her eyes, letting them slowly adjust to the light. After a minute of pained grimacing she could make out her surroundings. She was lying in a hospital bed. The sunlight was pouring through a window on her left. At the foot of her bed stood a pair of men, their faces still blurry and their voices muddled by her obscured senses. One of them was Damian, she was certain. The way he stood with his arms crossed and his feet spread smacked of his calm confidence. The other man was far more animated, arms flapping about as he ranted about something Alice couldn't make out. They appeared to be locked in some kind of argument. Gradually her faculties returned to her, and soon she could begin to make out some of the words, and she caught snippets of the conversation.
"...our duty!" shouted the man. "You must... There is too much risk in... Will not allow...!"
"Must?" Damian replied. "Did I hear you issue me ...? You forget... Conners has granted... The choice to... my decision."
The man seethed, jabbing a finger at Damian. "You may be the Star Colonel's protege, but I am not yours to order around! If you wish to continue on your present course, then you will do so without my support."
"You would defy your orders?" asked Damian.
"As you have defied our very way of life? Yes, I would," the man replied calmly. "My men die by the score, and while their blood cries out from the soil you waste time consorting with freeborn women! Your policies here have been nothing short of chalcas! If Conners learned of your actions your authority would be stripped from you in an instant."
"I have done only what I judged to be right," said Damian calmly. "If you wish to report my behavior to the star colonel, you may do so. However, if you do, know that I will also mention your insubordination in my own reports. We will see who Conners decides to take at his word."
The other man stormed out of the room with a dismissive wave of his hand. Damian watched him go, shoulders slumping, then turned to Alice. Noticing that she was awake he seemed to perk up, and he moved to the side and took a seat beside the bed. Now she could see his face more plainly, and she saw his relieved smile as he leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees.
"What happened?" asked Alice.
"You took shrapnel to the back," said Damian. "They say you lost quite a bit of blood, but otherwise you do not seem to be seriously damaged."
"I... don't remember getting hit," said Alice.
"It was probably when you threw me beneath yourself," Damian replied. "When the first missiles hit you took some of the blast protecting me." He frowned with mock severity. "That was a very brave and foolish thing to do, Miss Jurgen."
Alice laughed dryly, only to cough as her dry throat began to irritate her. "I guess I'm just tired of having my bosses die on me," she wheezed. "Is there any water? I'm so thirsty..."
Damian rose up and disappeared around the corner of the room. A moment later he returned with a paper cup cradled in his hands. He passed it to Alice, and for a moment her fingers brushed his. She felt his rough, thick skin. His hands were cold and coarse, almost stony, the hands of a warrior. As she took the cup from him she wondered how many lives he had ended with them. She had spent so much time with him in the quiet safety of the office that it was easy to forget that he was a soldier, had always been a soldier. But no amount of kind words or gentle speech could cover the icy calculation in his eyes, the quick precision of his touch, or the way his muscles always seemed to be under some kind of tension like a coiled spring. He was smiling at her now, a warm and friendly expression, but she could only think of the confident sneer he had given her only a short time ago as he sprung his trap. Mage Squadron had been outplayed and their troops had been driven back. The thrill of besting an enemy in combat had invigorated Damian, and for just a moment his mask had slipped, revealing the bloodlust that lurked beneath the surface. It terrified Alice, and yet she also found the aura of danger that surrounded him strangely alluring. He was larger than life, an improbable man unlike any she had ever met. She feared him, but she was also drawn to him, like a moth fluttering around an irresistible flame. Too close and it would burn her, but even so she couldn't help but stray ever closer.
"I was beginning to think that you despised me," Damian said, suddenly. "You see me as a tyrant, a manifestation of the men who have oppressed your people, yet you risked your life to protect me. I would like to know why."
Alice shrugged. "I don't want anyone to die," she said. "Not even the Clanners. I'm tired of all the killing. And besides, I don't despise you." She dropped her gaze and said softly, "I never have."
Damian turned away, folding his hands behind his back as he gazed out the window. "You have my thanks," he said. "Your actions may have saved my life."
"I didn't do much," Alice replied. When Damian declined to say anything further she cleared her throat. "Who was that just now, the one you were talking to?"
Damian's shoulders visibly slumped, and he suddenly took on an exhausted appearance. "That..." he sighed. "...was Star Captain Terence Kerensky. He directs the troops on Lothan under my command."
"He seemed upset about something," said Alice. "Is everything alright?"
"With Terence nothing is alright," Damian replied. "My... softer approach to governance has caused no shortage of annoyance among my peers. They see my strategy as admitting defeat, conceding ground, and showing weakness. As for what was bothering him on this particular morning, well... I may have postponed our weekly meeting. Terence is not a man who likes being slighted, and when he learned that I had focused my attention on your recovery, well... Let us just say that he does not see you as worthy to inconvenience him."
"You changed your itinerary?" Alice was shocked, and her voice made it obvious as she gasped her words rather than spoke them. He had worked meticulously on his work day plans, finely tuning each detail for maximum efficiency. It was not something he would simply cast aside on a whim.
Damian nodded. "Honor compelled me to do so," he said. "You were wounded protecting me, and so it was only proper that I ensure your safety and recovery in return."
"How long have you been here?" asked Alice.
"Two days," Damian replied. "Ever since you were carried here. I determined to remain here until you regained consciousness."
"Two days?" Alice shook her head. She looked around the hospital room and saw nothing but her own bed and a metal folding chair in the corner. "Where did you even sleep?"
"On the floor."
The way he said it was so casual, so matter-of-fact, as if nothing could have been more mundane. The absurdity of it hit Alice, and she began to laugh, picturing the absurd image of the planetary governor lying on the cold tile floor, arms folded and a stern expression on his face. Damian tilted his head, puzzled.
"What is so funny?"
"You're a very strange person, Damian," Alice managed between bursts of laughter. "I don't understand you at all, you know that?"
He smiled at her, and once again she felt her heart miss a beat. "Well, if it is any consolation, I rarely understand myself either." He raised an index finger and said, "I have seen to it that you are not seriously injured. Now that you are conscious again, I must return to my duties." He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, the receipt he had collected on the night of the attack, then replaced it. "However, I do not plan on leaving you entirely alone." He snapped his fingers and a woman walked into the room. Of course, calling her a woman was an understatement. She was massive, standing nearly seven feet tall. Her muscles bulged out from her entire body, giving her an almost alien appearance. Alice had never seen an Elemental outside of its armor before, at least not up close, and she tried to keep her jaw from falling open in amazement at the Amazonian wonder standing before her. Damian waved a hand in front of the Elemental and said, "This is Manon. She is the one who carried you here when we discovered your wound. If you require anything at all, you need only ask her. She will see to your recovery."
Manon bowed her head respectfully as Damian quietly slipped out of the room, leaving them alone together. For several moments they said nothing, staring awkwardly at one another. Alice took in her wide, dominating frame. Manon had a seemingly impossible physique, with broad shoulders and musculature that defied explanation. Alice knew the stories, the rumors about the drugs and genetic conditioning that were used to create the Elementals, but she had never truly believed them until now. Despite her fearsome appearance, however, Manon carried herself with a surprising amount of grace. She stood dutifully at attention, but the harsh angles of a masculine stance were absent. Her figure was firm, but also elegant and feminine. She smiled at Alice, catching her off guard.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice oddly light and gentle.
"I'm alright," Alice replied.
Manon nodded. "Good. You were in a bad way after the attack. I had feared that I would prove too slow to save you. Thank the Founder that I was wrong." Her smiled broadened, and she moved to from the foot of the bed to its side. "Can I get you anything? The hospital's cafeteria staff make a delightful dish known as a 'pancake.' I would be more than happy to fetch one for you."
Alice returned the smile as the awkward tension shattered like glass around her. "You know what?" she said. "I am pretty hungry. A pancake would be perfect right about now."
"Very well," said Manon. "I will return shortly." She bowed, then turned to leave. As she neared the door she stopped and glanced back at Alice. "I have heard it said that you despise our Clan," she said flatly. "Perhaps I can change your mind."
"I didn't..." Alice began.
Manon cut her off with a wink. "I will go a step beyond my duties and locate the fluid known as 'maple syrup.' I have found that its savory taste can even make a Jade Falcon behave in an agreeable manner." With that she disappeared, leaving Alice alone with her thoughts.
