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[Kriegson]

"Sir, please fill out the form and take a place in the line on the right."

Saul blinked and slowly nodded. The volunteer's tone implying he had repeated himself wasn't a good sign.
He didn't remember being asked the first time.
Hunger long since faded from a gnashing hole in his gut to to plain emptiness that left his mind buzzing like a cloud of insects, unable to settle in any one place and form coherent thoughts.
Scribbling a few lines on the datapad and shuffling through the dust to stand behind the other hooded, stinking figures, he struggled to remember the events leading up to the line... only to stumble as impatient refugees nudged him forward, those in front creeping ahead without him.

He gave up on thinking for the moment and mindlessly trudged after the person in front of him. An eternity later table filled his vision and a steaming bowl was handed to him. Barely managing to retain some dignity and not down it immediately, he shuffled carefully not spilling a drop to a place that stank slightly less before tipping the broth to his lips.
It burned down his throat and scorched his gullet, far too many spices used to cover for the flavorless, chewy protein chunks that floated in the stew, barely anything resembling vegetables.

And it was the best thing he'd tasted in his life.

Only a sip had passed to warm his gullet when he quickly lowered it. Some part of his mind awakening, the insects stilling, sated.
Sip. Nibble. Or you'll throw up.
His voice, in his own head. A memory. He obeyed it and continued to nurse his hunger as his perception grew beyond the coarse sands he sat on and the stew in his hands.

The line that had seemed endless had truly only numbered a few hundred people, now sitting in clumps under hastily erected shelters. A few tents likely holding supplies, a massive vehicle everything had likely been packed onto and a few portable showers with commodes that had been set up for the refugees.
He brought a hand to his coarse beard, now greasy with stew and made a mental note of it.
Of the volunteers themselves, he noticed there were only a handful operating the camp and more importantly, no armed guards.

Ah, that's why he'd come.

He was always a fan of method acting. No better way to enter a refugee camp than truly, as a starving and destitute refugee. Also the first few sips of a meal after a week of fasting was beyond what even the most exquisite Canopian chief could concoct. Hunger was truly the best spice.
After the hunger had faded, well...

He glanced around before tipping the bowl of sludge to the ground. This camp wasn't the greatest catch, but loading it ontop of their current haul would be enough to afford to test his theory of hunger vs Canopian cooking.
Making a final glance around camp to confirm the lack of defenses, he reached a hand into his robe for the transceiver at his waist ,opposite the needler he'd carried in case they did have guards. A moot point now.

"Excuse me, sir?"

He froze, was there something he'd missed? He grunted something approximating a reply and turned slowly, bleary eyed in expression but more alert than he'd been in weeks.
"I saw you spilled yours, we don't have much more but it's yours if you'd like it!"

One of the volunteers, a young woman in a hood had brought him another bowl of the swill. He hadn't noticed much beyond the bowl of soup when she'd handed the first to him. He'd expected something matronly like an old nun or a local woman but she was neither matronly nor local.
He caught himself just a moment before it became awkward and muttered thanks, releasing the handle of the needler he didn't remember clasping and handing her the empty bowl.

She was cute, that much he'd admit. Though the uniform and garb made it difficult to gauge her figure, he allowed himself at least a moment leering as she walked back to the kitchen. Perhaps another spoil? He struck down the thought. Maybe some of the other men would do that kind of thing but not him...

..but does that make him any better, allowing it to happen?

Brushing thoughts aside he focused on eating the stew, with renewed and significantly faked gusto. Finishing the bowl and handing it back before retiring to a shady corner with a good view of the entire camp to continue his survey. But in the hours passing there was nothing else of note.
It was a small camp set up to feed, clothe, and give a wash to refugees from the Davion terror attacks. Or at least, so the royals proclaimed. But then they blamed everything on the Davions.
It didn't really matter to him. An easy score was an easy score. So easy, maybe he could warn them off before the crew showed up. He wouldn't even have to fight, maybe just tell them the truth "A bunch of mercs are coming with guns, mechs and a pissed off attitude. Leave now or you're dead. Or worse."

He thought of the woman again. At least maybe he could just warn her....

Shouts of alarm brought him back to the present. VTOL's were coming in low and fast towards the camp. Scouts, and he recognized the insignia. His crew. He quickly reached back into his robe and checked the transmitter, sure enough, he had hit the button earlier but hadn't noticed. Or maybe hadn't meant to?
His mind was still fuzzy.

Either way, he'd have plenty of time to think about it on the way back. The rising cloud of dust from the direction of the VTOL's was not raised by the craft themselves, but something far heavier lumbering his way, coming to collect.
And nothing in this camp he'd seen would be capable of stopping that.

Folding his arms behind his head, he let out a long sigh as the refugees began to rise and stumble weakly though there was nowhere to run. A few others who had simply given up, satisfied with one last meal emulated his posture. Simply lying down prone in the mid day sun, accepting whatever came next.

To be continued...

Edited by Kriegson, 22 September 2022 - 04:13 AM.

[martian]

Always nice to see a BattleTech short story dealing with something else than 'Mech on 'Mech combat.

[Kriegson]

martian, on 20 September 2022 - 11:46 AM, said:

Always nice to see a BattleTech short story dealing with something else than 'Mech on 'Mech combat.

We'll get to that haha!

I have ideas for more chapters, happy for any feedback as well.

[Kriegson]

Chapter 2;



He drew his shawl closer against the dust as the VTOL's took position over the camp, their gunpods tracking menacingly over the bewildered volunteers and scattering refugees.

Some effort was made to corral and guide the panic stricken among them, but to what end? In the middle of the wasteland with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide it was wasted effort. He figured those who seemed to have given up and were laying prone had the right idea. Why die tired?

The steady drone of the aircraft was joined by a rhythmic beat that could be felt as well as heard. The unmistakable stride of a multi-tonne war machine pounding its way closer. He craned his neck and could now just make out vaguely feline shape of a Panther's head as it crested a ridge of scrap and sand behind the camp.

Even the wind seemed to pause as the shadow cast over the cowering refugees and frozen volunteers. Arms hanging almost casually to it's side, the matte barrel of a snub PPC that could easily turn them all into so much smoking meat and char in a bowl of flash-fried glass only just pointed away from the camp.

Thoughtful of them, remembering he was among the refugees this time.

The awe and terror of the moment was somewhat marred by the Panther stumbling over a sandy clump of metal as it continued its approach. He could imagine the pilot cursing under their breath as the Neurohelmet fed their own innate sense of balance into the control system to compensate and turn what would be a potentially dangerous fall into merely an embarrassing stumble.

The gyros weren't the only thing compensating as the PPC swung up to point at the camp afterwards, as though daring anyone to laugh.

Saul whispered a curse under his breath.

Did that idiot start the celebrations early again? It was bad enough he didn't get to enjoy any of the liquor they found on this dustball, now he had to risk getting glassed by a drunken *** who couldn't keep his mech upright?

His musings were interrupted as a thundering voice emitted from the speakers of the Panther.

"Surrender now and you'll get fed. Try to fight and you'll be feed."

He'd half expected a slur but as far as threats went it seemed to work. Everyone was now prone in the camp and the situation appeared to be entirely under control.

Easier than I thought...time to wrap this up.

He'd started to rise when he noticed movement in the corner of his eye and hushed whispers. The girl from earlier in the kitchen seeming to shoo some people deeper into the tents. From the mech's and VTOL's point of view, she'd be hard to see as she reached behind a pallet of supplies and retrieved a recoiless rifle that looked to be half her size.

Idiot's going to get herself killed, or Worse. Me!

He leapt to a sprint only to stumble, still weak from the days of wandering and hours of lying around. Sure that the VTOL's were tracking him now, he raised a hand to shout a warning only a to have it drowned out by the the thunderous blast of high caliber shells.

One of the VTOL's Skewed and started to spin uncontrollably, its stabilizer reduced to a few jagged stumps of metal. He caught a glimpse of the pilot wrestling with controls as it sailed out of view behind the dunes. The second veered wildly to evade as another shot rang out but was then chased by the firey trail of a missile, detonating above and hammering it down visibly by meters like the fist of an angry giant.

Clearly the Panther had seen enough and leveled it's PPC, capacitors whirring violently as the mech's reactor charged a bolt of man made lighting. Saul threw arms in front of him and winced, expecting the blinding flash of light and searing pain. At least he wouldn't have to see it coming.

The thunderous discharge echoed across the wastes as spray of sand, light and heat threw him to the ground.
-

Mag sometimes had doubts. Doubts like "Do we have enough food for everyone?" or "How are we going to get this fixed?" and sometimes "Why the hell do I always volunteer?" before chiding himself that he would never demand anything from his crew that he wasn't willing to do himself.

Not that they were ever crazy enough to do it after he demonstrated. But at least it felt like he was setting an example and something better than "How to die of dehydration in a mech" though if this kept up that might be the case.

They'd been blessed with enough food and water to conduct at least one more ministry here before having to call it quits on the hunt. Locals had begged their assistance in dealing with the raiders who had driven everyone else off the planet providing aid and by sheer coincidence they happened to be one of the few groups capable of assisting. Though they wouldn't be for much longer if they also ended up starving and dying of thirst.

"Just... a few more hours."

He sighed and sipped a canteen of recycled water, the metallic tang at least masking other unpleasant flavors of water recycled one too many times.

He played the events that led to his baking in a box through his mind yet again just to be absolutely sure there hadn't been a better way they could have taken that spared him his current situation.

Opfor had a mech, an unknown amount of support and possibly a dropship. Either owned, stolen or contracted.
They had a mech, very limited support and the promise of a dropship. At some point. Maybe.
So, possibly being outgunned and outnumbered, an ambush was necessary.
Not knowing the engagement range of opfor or their potential mobility, it was best to hide everything they had as well.
And all they had to do that with was a lot of sand.
Which meant baking in a box.
A box that now, had a new noise raising slightly above the level of his standby systems.

Perking an ear, Mag listened intently to what seemed to be the thrum of aircraft. Not terribly unusual. But close.

As he focused on the humming and tried to gauge if it was coming or going, something else could be felt. A pounding in the soil. Someone firing? Artillery? He strapped himself into the harness and lowered his helmet. Had they been made and shells were being walked into the camp even now?

Patience

He felt his anxiety tone down, just a notch. Too early and it'd be for nothing, or worse. He'd be getting people killed.

Closer....closer....closer...

"A JEE-FU"

He sputtered as a clawed steel foot the size of a hovercar clanged against his cockpit. Any signs of lethargy and dehyation flushed away in pure adrenaline. He prepared to yoke the controls but his arm snared in his harness. With a snarl he yanked it free and snapped his attention back to the viewport only to see the legs moving away from him. It wasn't a kick or a stomp. The Panther stopped in front of him only a few dozen meters between him and the camp.

Almost delicately now and barely moving his eyes from the panther, his hands flitted over the controls of the Loader King, toggling systems online and coming to rest gently on the control stick this time.
"Cmon…" The progress meters and percentage gauges slowly filled as the VTOL's took position over camp, the propwash throwing sheets of sand into the air and making his position even more precarious.

The explosion of high caliber cannon and whoosh of SRM's came just as the Loader's systems reported optimal.

Without hesitation or interference this time, he pulled on the yokes and with an explosion of sand the loadmaster burst from the dune.

-

Edited by Kriegson, 22 September 2022 - 04:18 AM.

[Kriegson]

Chapter 3;

When sizzling flesh and searing pain failed to manifest, Saul risked a glance through trembling arms.

The smoldering barrel of the PPC was held skyward by the massive claw of a Loader King, simple but powerful claws demonstrating the strength of simplicity by shearing slowly into the relatively softer metal of the PPC barrel shroud until something gave with a fizzing crackle and expanding stench of ozone.

How the 65 tonne monstrosity could simply appear boggled his mind until he took in the battered and sandblasted look of the thing. It had no visible weapons and clearly had seen better days. Hidden within the dune that the Panther had nearly tumbled over, it had seen to all the world to be so much scrap in a heap.

Now though the Panther was forced to release the PPC in a desperate attempt to twist far enough to bring its torso mounted rockets to bear.
With a thunderblow he felt as much as heard the other 'fist' of the Loaderking slammed into the Panther's back, an impromptu excavator attachment that had replaced the claw crumbling as it gouged deeply into the Panther's rear armor. The sheer weight and momentum of the Loader enough to leave the massive auger protruding from its back like a massive shiv.

The lighter mech was nearly sent tumbling from the impact but managed to stagger out of range of the next swing of the loader's arm, the Loader stepping into the swing and following just footfalls behind it. With a full 30 tonnes, several meters and the long crane-like arms the loader was like a heavyweight boxer of superior reach pummeling a lightweight. Forcing the Panther to evade and twist away from its snapping claw and scything arm, not quite being able to line up a shot.


Their unpredictable dance stumbled around the camp, sending even the most exhausted refugees fleeing with newfound strength as titanic footfalls send the ground shaking with each shuffling step and deafening blow of steel against steel.

Saul slipped in among the crowd following the barely heard urgings and gestures of volunteers leading them away from the fighting.

A hellish blast of heat sent his robes whipping around him as the Panther's jump nacelles spewed flame, his head craning even as he ran to witness the towering giant gliding through the air over him. The violence of its passing tearing at him and sending himself and several others nearly tumbling to the ground.

Its knees braced to land and align its fire as a staff car tumbling end over end slammed into its shoulder. A glancing blow as balls of flame erupted from the chest of the Panther, scattering rockets through the air in a wide fan than a concentrated blast.

Saul felt a hand grasp him and hurl him the last few feet into the bunker as a spray of fiery debris and shrapnel pattered against the ground like a brief but deadly hailstorm.

His savior following him in limping and patting desperately at flames his arm, mangled and burning until he collapsed to the ground. Volunteers urged them further into the meager shelter of the dugout as medics set upon the wounded man, tearing his clothes and administering emergency aid.

Titanic footfalls grew to the point he was practically raised from the ground with each beat, the massive foot of the loadermech filling his vision of the world outside the tent. The tremendous turret ring whirring with the sound of a hundred fusion powered servos as an arm the size of a bus swept in the sky above them. The Panther's arm raised but buckled as they connected, the lighter mech unable to resist the pummeling as heat shimmered around it.

In panic or Desparation, the Panther's leg shot out and connected with the knee of the loader sending the mech stumbling, it's arm shot out like a man seeking to put out a hand to stop himself but with the destroyed Auger it stopped just short of bracing itself effectively.

On one knee and an unbalanced arm, the mech appeared to practically be bowing beside the dugout.

With a start, Saul realized if the mech fell, it would fall onto them. The Panther, unknowing or uncaring and practically shimmering with steam from its overtaxed heatsinks stalked forward and raised a foot with almost dramatic flair, to put an end to the fight.

An end that would be shared by everyone in the dugout, crushed into the dust the moment the pilot lost his struggle with the mech.

Saul howled his rage at the Panther as it's foot began to fall.

Edited by Kriegson, 26 September 2022 - 03:33 PM.

[martian]

I like that you have Panther and IndustrialMech in your story. Some fan fiction writers use nothing but assault 'Mechs.

[Kriegson]

martian, on 28 September 2022 - 01:58 AM, said:

I like that you have Panther and IndustrialMech in your story. Some fan fiction writers use nothing but assault 'Mechs.

I hope to work in the angle most games take of building the force, but we'll see where it goes

[martian]

Take your time ...

[Kriegson]

Chapter 4

I swear I'll turn my life around if you give me one chance. Just one. To anyone or anything out there. I swear it.

The thought rushed unbidden through his mind. There was no flashing of his life before his eyes, no thoughts of his mother and father nor of lovers past. Just the absolute overwhelming feeling like a fist crushing his heart and tightening his vision into a pinprick focused entirely on the foot of the panther, regret like he'd never felt since he'd disappointed his parents as a child. He wanted to fall to the ground wailing but in the strange moment that seemed to stretch on, he could only feel how badly he'd wished things had been different.

"B...ST....EAR!"

"...ING!"

The foot stopped momentarily, twitching to keep balance as something slammed into the chest of the panther, a vapor trail quickly dissipating from the Kitchen tent.

"LOADED"
"BACK BLAST CLEAR"

"FIRING!"

Another shell screamed out of the tent, spanging off the armor of the Panther as ineffectually as the first. It seemed as though he could even see the shells disintegrate against the armor.
Thoroughly unimpressed, the Panther's head tracked back towards the downed Loader, servos whining as it struggled to lift itself from its near prone position.

The foot began to descend again as a third shell arced towards it, this one seeming to come apart before it even hit the mech.

It was then, Saul noticed the glistening residue where the prior shells had hit. A viscous gel dripping down the torso of the Mech where they had impacted.
In the shimmering debris of the last shell, a faint flame like a candle traced a path of vapor towards the Panther.
The gel erupted in a blast of heat so intense Saul could feel his unprotected flesh practically baking from dozens of meters away.

The Panther's foot gashed a furrow into the Loader's cockpit housing before stumbling backwards like a puppet with it's strings cut. The reactor shutting down to prevent a catastrophic failure. The mech had been hot before, but now fire consumed the only oxygen its systems could hope to cool itself with.

The 35 tonne mech collapsed to the ground in a jumble of limbs, its feline shaped head twisted in his direction almost accusingly.
Flames climbed across the torso and over the viewscreen. Normally a one way system using an array of cameras to feed views to a system of screens lining the inside of the cockpit. It would be impossible to hear or see the pilot short of them popping the hatch.

But even still, he swore he could see the man desperately hammering on the cockpit glass and howling like an animal boiling alive.

----

"I'm sorry you had to experience that. Look here."

His eyes tracked the prosthetic limb of the doctor moving back and forth in front of his face. Lined up among other refugees receiving a checkup after the conflict, his initial estimate of the actual number of Missionaries to refugees had been off. A handful had dressed in rags and hidden weapons, but most people there were genuinely in need.

"Thank you for earlier."

The doctor raised an eyebrow in question. Saul motioned to the ravaged prostetic arm that hung limp to the doctor's side.

"Earlier, you helped us get away. Arm took a nasty hit."

The doctor waved as if shooing a fly.

"I'm sure we can slap something together. The flesh and blood ones are harder to fix, so do try to keep them in order."

His voice wasn't unkind but clinical. The man looked more like a mechanic with oils stained coveralls and handlebar moustache than he did doctor. With two prosthetic limbs (That he could see) to further the image of someone more in tune with machines than flesh. Though something about his matter-of-fact mannerism and systematic method left no doubt the man knew what he was doing.

"What's your name."

"Saul."

He winced inwardly. He hadn't even thought about it, but the man's candor influenced him to an honest response without even thinking about his 'cover'. Not that it would matter much, only a few people knew who he was and fewer likely cared.

"Saul, I think you're going to need to keep those burns covered from direct sunlight for about a week. No signs of shock, concussion or contusions though."

The doctor paused a moment to reach for his bag, pointing his mangled prosthetic arm towards it before turning and noticing with a grunt of frustration that half of his arm was still gone. Reaching with the intact arm instead, he fished out a container labeled 'aloe' and held it out.
Saul waited a fraction of a moment, expecting some kind of fee or transaction but when the doctor only raised an eyebrow, he awkwardly mumbled a thanks and tucked it into his robes.

"That'll promote healing and sooth pain but it's not magic, your body still needs rest and you need to stay hydrated. Don't overdo it.
Before you leave, make sure to stop by the aid tent for a care package. We have some fluid recyclers to stretch what you got and filters for any water you find. Best to boil it first if you can though."

Saul nodded again, standing to leave.

"And, boy?"

Saul turned to the doctor who was already standing in front of his next patient in line. The doctor had already started examining his next patient and spoke to Saul without looking at him.

"Stay out of trouble. I mean it."

Despite the heat of the sun and pinging metal of the downed Panther, now saturated in fire retardant foam, Saul felt an icy core of apprehension building in his stomach.

"Oh..of course."

But the doctor was already addressing his next patient.

--------

"Took your sweet time, Mary."

Mag took another swig of recycled water. Even with the acrid tang of bodily fluids it might as well be a decanter of fine spring water. Sweating to death buried in sand had been bad enough. He'd barely hung on when fighting the Panther and had only barely managed to get his mech stable enough to fall away from the throng of refugees in the dugout before cracking his cockpit and being drug out by a recovery team.

"That's a weird way of thanking me. And besides, the entire thing was your idea."

He struggled not to crush the bottle in his hand, she had just the right mix of tone, delivery and plain being right to press his buttons like a finely tuned mech. He audibly sucked in a breath, held it and let it loose with a long sigh willing himself to expel his frustration with it.

It helped a little.

An wet and cold towel flopped onto his head and shoulders, bringing another hint of annoyance but smothering further protest with the soothing cool.
Mary walked back into his field of vision and sat before him, a dataslate held and eyebrow cocked, waiting.

"…you're right. Thank you."

He nodded towards the tablet as a sign to go ahead.

"We have some wounded but Peter's optimistic. Seems our prayers were heard. Our salvage teams recovered some equipment from the VTOL's and crew, but a few of them didn't make it. Some of the people we came to help were too far gone. We were able to help a few find salvation and pass with grace. Five dead and ten wounded total."

She paused to flick the tablet screen.

"We lost a couple pallets of housing supplies and two of the semi-permanent structures. We'll be real cozy on our way back to the port. We're sitting at around a month of food and water, not enough medical supplies to continue ministry but this was our last stop anyhow."

Her face imperceptibly hardened and she paused a moment. Mag motioned to her to continue.

"Even with what the locals have promised in support and what we've received in donations…we probably won't be able to afford repairs. Unless we can sell the Panther…"

"We sell it to the locals, some greenie gets hosed out it after a fight and it goes back into the hands of the rats. Not going to happen. And we don't have anywhere to store it..."
His frustration was palpable but expression thoughtful.

"Unless we sell it to the pirates. I'm sure they have plenty of Cbills lying around for it too after all the raids."
Mary replied in whimsical tone. Leaning back and tilting her head to the tent ceiling, she screwed her eyes shut before hearing a chuckle, eyes snapping to Mag, a hand stroking his beard and a smirk on his face.

"Oh no…"

"Oh yes…"

Edited by Kriegson, 11 October 2022 - 04:35 PM.

[Duke Falcon]

"Oh yes..."

I want MOAR of this! Well written and well-thought! Love it!

[Kriegson]

Duke Falcon, on 11 October 2022 - 11:41 AM, said:

"Oh yes..."

I want MOAR of this! Well written and well-thought! Love it!

Coming up!

[Kriegson]

Chr5:

Saul was still contemplating his next move as he took a spot in line to the aid tent. Craning his neck, he glimpsed them further ahead handing out satchels filled with some meager supplies.
Assuming it was enough to get to the next town, what would he do then? Perhaps Esau would figure him dead among the failure of the raid, forget him and move on.
He shook his head, Esau's men would be pumping the locals for information. The refugees would be in no position to refuse the pirate lord, assuming they wanted to. He could offer them food, work, shelter. The people these Missionaries were saving could be back in a week with rifles hoping to loot whatever they had left at Esau's command. Hunger, desperation or simply greed did things to people.

He realized the thought had left a sneer on his face when the girl holding out an aid bag gave him a strange look. He quickly thought to feign a smile but his eyes widened instead.

"You! With the soup a-and launcher, you took down the Panther!?"

He hadn't been in the best state when she'd first handed him soup, but he'd remembered her face very clearly as she'd pulled a recoiless rifle out from the kitchen, their ambush unfolding before his eyes.
Her shawl had been discarded at some point, what'd been beneath it he was sure he'd seen in Holovids of a less scrupulous type. From the delicate features of her face to iridescent hair and a pair of feline ears, anyone who'd ever heard or seen of or heard of Canopus knew (sometimes intimately) their specifically engineered pleasure girls.

"..my eyes are down here."
The face below the pointed ears took on a less impressed expression as she pressed the bag into his arms a little rougher than necessary with smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Please take care, be sure to Hydrate and head straight to the nearest settlement. Check your map before heading out if you aren't familiar with the area, or please join a group of others seeking shelter."

She turned to the next person in line and waved them forward, they shuffled forward with a scowl directed towards him for holding up the line. He raised his hands in a placating gesture and stepped backwards.

"Sorry, I'm…excuse me, please go ahead."

The girl took note of the gesture, her expression softening as she handed out a bag and instructions to the next in line and several others following them. Saul waited patiently until the last of the beleaguered and now further rattled refugees passed before speaking, perhaps a little too quickly, worrying he might lose the opportunity if she turned to leave.

"I'd like to volunteer. I don't have anything else out here for me."
That much was true, he knew.
"I wanted to thank you, you saved my life. All of our lives in the dugout."
He gestured to where he'd cowered under the shadow of the Panther, ready to smash the Loader King's cockpit and send it tumbling onto everyone in the impromptu bunker.
The Panther was now being laboriously hauled onto the recovery vehicle, Loader King even more battered but poised above it like some guardian statue over a defeated foe.

She nodded and cocked her head thoughtfully. Following his gaze towards the Panther.

"Couldn't save him. Can't say he received mercy let alone salvation."

Concern for the man who'd almost killed them wasn't what he'd expected.
She paused for a moment, eyes screwing closed as though contemplating a decision she might regret. Eventually she relented with a sigh and gestured towards some of the temporary structures being torn down.

"For starters, we could use a hand packing up and loading once we get to port. I can't promise anything more in return but we'd appreciate the help."

He nodded with all the enthusiasm he could muster, turning and trying to jog towards the tents before accepting his aching legs and complaining stomach could only afford a quickened walk.
Joining the uniformed volunteers with a wave, he secured his belt a little tighter, feeling the Needler and Transmitter reassuringly pressed against him.

---

It must have been tight coming out here with everything on the MRV including the 65 ton loader, things were only marginally better with the Panther's lighter and more compact frame strapped on with the jury rigged Loader King shuffling behind the convoy after some field repairs. Still, they had managed to secure the most important equipment, supplies and salvage before organizing their convoy and setting off.

Saul managed to hide his disappointment as he crammed into the back of a terrestrial vehicle with a massive sweating brute, the man preoccupied by sprawling across the bench and noisily sipping from a canteen. If the doctor's humble appearance clashing with his role was any indication, the big man with the bushy beard and stained coveralls must be the commander of this Mission. He stifled a chuckle at the idea.

All in all, he'd much rather the company of the Soup girl.

His eyes roamed aimlessly over the dunes and rust colored fog that passed for night on this part of the world. A small habitable strip of land on the planet devoid of the ravaging storms that covered nearly 90% of its surface. Exceptionally high mineral content made the world notable, but the same minerals whipped into a frenzy would turn into a hailstorm of blades that only mechs could safely traverse.
Supposedly it'd been of some note during the famed years of the Star League, but whether through weapons of mass destruction, failed terraforming or simply the way it had always been, it was more trouble than it was worth for the great houses.

And that suited Esau's raiders just fine.

The storms scrambled long range sensors and communication. Raw resources were plentiful and nobody else really wanted to deal with it. Not for long anyhow. Esau's men had only been one more in a series of cutthroats making landfall to exploit the world and it's meager residents before moving on to a well deserved shore leave.
Saul's hand wandered to the transceiver, giving it a light pat just to be sure it was still there.
It was a simple thing that wouldn't do much for him now. They were well away from anything that might receive it through the storms or relay it and by the time scout VTOL's came looking he'd be well from the ambush site.

Between his pistol and transceiver, he'd have to figure out something once they reached the city. Esau's men would come eventually and it sounded like the Missionaries were ready to leave. Esau wasn't the kind to cut his losses and run. A man in his position losing face would be losing much more in a short order, some kind of retribution would be needed. An example made.

A shiver ran up his spine with fresh memory the burning Panther. Even the boiled pilot may have been better off than these people, let alone himself if he didn't do something to make the failure up to Esau.
Saul felt confident he could spin the story somehow and the Canopian party favor might go some way to assuaging Esau's infamous fits of rage.
The thought turned something in his gut, imagining what that would mean for the girl. He was never a fan of such things, never indulged himself when the other guys had their fun, but it was his skin or hers.

You swore

The thought came to his mind unbidden. A twinge of guilt and doubt creeping into his mind. He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and catch some rack time. It was going to be a long trip.
He didn't sleep well.

Edited by Kriegson, 24 October 2022 - 01:36 PM.

[Kriegson]

Sorry for the wait!
CH6;

"We're here."

Saul blinked the sleep out of his eyes, if it could be called that. He'd 'lost consciousness' in worse conditions but not so fitfully. The lingering dream faded quickly but he could still vaguely remember the sense of falling into a deep pit, figures on the lip of it fading quickly with looks downcast that spoke not of hatred or dismissal, but of disappointment and pain.

Somehow that made it worse.

He stretched cautiously in the confines of the vehicle, a terrible kink worked into his back from his awkward lean against the window and the stiffness of the bench. He nodded thanks to his fellow passenger, noting at some point doffed a pair of antiquated glasses and held a small book that his eyes hadn't left as he'd spoken to wake him.

Wherever "here" was, Saul noted it appeared the recovery vehicle with the Panther and Loader had gone elsewhere. Only a few cars were pulled alongside what could only vaguely be considered a place of hospitality on this rustball of a planet along a strip of shabby and hastily patched commercial structures. Some distance down the road on which only a few ramshackle local vehicles trundled he could see the beginnings of an industrial sector, perhaps a place with repair gantries and salvage yards.

He'd recalled some of the planet's geography and city structure, with most towns and places of interest being arrayed like a ring on one's finger. A central circle around the most important feature, whether it was agricultural, industrial or otherwise with a strip of additional habitation extending outwards along the lines of the roughly habitable strip of the planet's equator.

You could gauge how much value a town might hold from how far the strip extended from the center. And given this town consisted of shanties extending a few clicks from some kind of industrial hub, that value didn't amount to much.
Gladly cracking the door and stepping outside for a stretch, he observed a fair number of his compatriots in the convy waving thanks and parting ways leaving the number of Missionaries to a scant few dozen. Among them he noticed the girl from earlier, her shawl replaced but figure unmistakable.
Before he could even think of going to greet her a man shuffled into his path.

"You'll be going then?"

The doctor from earlier, he recalled. One arm still hanging limp and his movements jerky, though he didn't seem to express any pain in moving.
It would be better to keep an eye on them for now. Might still find something to turn this around…

"I offered to volunteer."

The doctor didn't bother hiding his skepticism but raised his good hand all the same.

"Peter."

Saul took the hand after a moment and almost immediately regretted it as the vice like grip threatened to crush his own. He managed to hold back a wince.

"Saul, nice to meet you."

But only barely. He tried not to show relief as the prosthetic hand released his grip. He couldn't help but feel he was somehow being evaluated under the stone faced gaze of the doctor.

"It's good to have you Saul. As you can see, there's much to do and I'm, in need of a hand."

Saul paused for a moment before laughing a little too quickly, then shutting up again as he noticed Peter's expression hadn't changed at all.

"…yes that was a joke. First we'll need to arrange maintenance for some of our equipment, repairs and replacements for others. Depending on what assistance we have here or what we can sell, we may need to pray for deliverance from here."

Saul cracked a grin.

"…That wasn't a joke."

He'd rather the dream where at least he was falling into a pit.

"All….right so what do you need me to do? How can I help?"

Peter pulled out a datapad and they began to review their logistic requirements. Saul managed to only glance away once at the other volunteers filing into their arranged shelter for what was likely a shower and nap on something that moved far less.
Saul mostly listened as Peter outlined the route they would take to most efficiently investigate each place that MIGHT have a solution to their respective problems, directed him to start loading up one of the trucks with some of the useful salvage they'd split off the recovery vehicle and parts they needed fixed.
Somewhere along the shuffling back and forth between vehicles he noticed he'd been joined by the man he'd shared the vehicle with earlier, diligently following Peter's instructions and thankfully lifting some of the heavier crates by himself, saving Saul the trouble.

He hadn't asked for the help, but all the same he was happy to receive it. He was even happier when the girl from earlier came to the three of them with a few food rations and containers of cool water. He graciously accepted but could feel Peter's gaze boring into him when he was tempted to strike up further conversation with her.

"Mag, did you figure out a solution to our 'little' problem?"

Feeling a little better now that Peter's relentless gaze had shifted to someone else, Saul took a moment to lean against one of the vehicles and pretend to admire the view elsewhere.

"Sure did. Think we got a buyer arranged, matter of presentation now."

Only a few things they could be discussing. But the most likely 'little' problem was one of their mechs, one seriously wounded and the other probably needing the cockpit hosed out but otherwise intact. If they were down to literally praying for the cbills to keep the lights on, then it reasoned selling one of them could probably net them a small fortune, even in their state.
The robust nature of mechs was legendary, they often survived centuries, passed down as heirlooms in family lines having been dinged up, damaged or even disabled, but patched up and running again in time. This was in part due to the relatively simplistic nature of their systems, a metallic skeleton and myomer muscle cords which tensed in response to electrical impulse powered by fusion generator. Even a 'cored' mech whose reactor had blown could potentially be salvaged and pressed back into service.

The complex systems which managed some of the most complicated elements of their operation; Namely, balancing and not falling over, were managed via neural link by specially designed helmets synced to the pilot of the mech. Using their own sense of inertia, a pilot could manage to keep a massive metal monstrosity many meters high upright and moving at a good clip. A GOOD pilot could manage impressive maneuvers without falling over.
Legendary pilots though, the machines seemed almost an extension of their body.

Saul noted his fellow passenger's name as "Mag" as the brute loaded another box of salvaged components into the truck.

"How are you holding up?"

Mag nodded at Peter's mangled limb who shrugged in turn.

"Had worse."

Something unspoken passed between the two of them with a wry chuckle from Mag and something approaching the ghost of a grin on Peter. It was the girl who came forward with a pained expression as though she knew exactly what they were referring to, how stupid it had been and how even the mention of it caused her near physical pain that she was very much tempted to inflict on the two of them.

"You got everything, now get out of here before you lose any more limbs fighting knights or saving patients."

"Tis a scratch M'lady."

"The black knight is invincible!"

Saul was utterly confused as the two men suppressed chuckles and climbed into the truck. Turning the engine over with a throaty roar.

"Still helping out? No obligation y'know, you're welcome to leave if there's something you need to do."

"As I said before, I got nothing else here for me."

Even beneath her shawl, her smile was brilliant. And this time, it did reach her eyes.

"Thank you. Keep an eye on those two will ya? They're a handful even for me."

Saul nodded and smiled back, lingering a moment before turning and hopping into the waiting compartment in the truck. He tried not to watch her as she turned back to their hospitality. Partly because of the small voice inside him warning him not to get too close to these people. And partly because he could almost physically feel the eyes of Peter judging him even while he scanned his datapad. He could swear the guy had eyes in the back of his head.

--

The two men had prayed before setting out and Saul had humored them by at least bowing his head, but somehow it did seem they received an answer. It wasn't as though they were showered in riches the moment they left. But somehow they managed to get what they needed, if only just.

Peter twirled a wrench between the fingers of a new hand, grunted and then made some adjustments grumbling something about response times.
Mag hummed an aimless tune as they drove deeper into the industrial sector, cranes hovering over half finished projects and massive chemical bowsers some of which even seemed intact spread between warehouses and workshops. Between gaps in the rusty girders and bleak building faces, Saul spotted what looked like a radar dish and traffic control tower of what must be a small port. It was probably the saddest and smallest port he could imagine based on the surroundings.
Given the tight confines of the district, clearly nothing of significant size could land here but it was a way off this rock.

Saul noticed something out of the corner of his eye. In his world of sun bleached whites and dull rusty reds, a slash of purple and red.
"Hey can we stop for a sec? Gotta hit the head."

Mag complied and pulled the vehicle to the side of a service road. Peter didn't sound quite like he was admonishing him as he reminded him they have a schedule.
Nodding thanks and assuring them it would just be a moment, Saul disembarked and headed towards the nearest building, reaching into his robe as soon as he had rounded the corner and depressing the handle on the transceiver in his belt.

It only took a few minutes before a few men rounded the corner trailed by a veritable giant with a murderous look on his face. Each of them held TK rifles cradled in their arms almost impatiently, like waiting for the excuse.

"Ah, Esau my brother! Wonderful to see you!"

The guards shifted apart like a firing squad with Esau standing in the center. A few wry smirks and fingers caressing triggers gave little question as to how they expected this to end.

"Ah, Saul. The dead man."

The mockery in the giant's voice was clear and the other men chuckled in appreciation not of any joke, but a shared joy in seeing Saul squirm..

"I tried to reach out earlier but, you know. The conditions here, and…nevermind. The bible thumpers, they got got mechs. Two of em!"

He neglected to mention one of those was already Esau's mech, but that little detail could wait.
Esau stepped forward raising a massive mitt onto Saul's shoulder. Almost a friendly gesture if not for the bone crushing force Esau exerted without seeming effort.
It took physical effort not to wince as Esau's fingers curled and began to crush his shoulder, the bones grinding against one another.
He hurried to add "A 65 tonner, not great condition but functional."

Saul stifled a gasp as the hand raised off his shoulder and to Esau's beard, stroking it in thought.

"You know, Saul. I had considered making your absence a permanent feature after your recent failure…"

A hand raised before he could protest.

"…But I'll give you once last chance. Get me those mechs and all is forgiven."

Saul nodded and rubbed his hands plaintively, fully aware of how pathetic and small he looked as well as felt. The men with TK's looked almost disappointed as the giant waived them to follow him back down the Alley.

Esau wouldn't be pleased to be getting a nearly ruined Loader and his own mech back. The Missionaries were depleted to a handful with no mechs. Either way he went, he couldn't see a way out.

For the second time in as many days, Saul Prayed.

[martian]

Anything new?

[Duke Falcon]

martian, on 13 October 2023 - 08:04 AM, said:

Anything new?

I also await the story to continue...