BattleTech: Fall Down Seven Times, Get Up Eight

The Proliferation Cycle, Part IV

Randall N. Bills

Fall Down Seven Times, Get Up Eight

ROLIN FIELDS, TANADA PROVINCE

OSHIKA, OSHIKA PREFECTURE

GALEDON MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

17 DECEMBER 2415

“But why? Why do you have to go, Ito?!” Takeda tried. He did. But he still sounded like Iza and he knew it; baby sisters were even more annoying than older brothers.

I’m not a child!

He stamped several times, trying to find warmth. Trying to find an answer as they headed towards the goji pens in the total darkness. Only his brother’s flashlight, almost smothered in the midnight and heavy falling snow, lit their way.

Usually the wide open, near-treeless plains of Rolin Fields seemed to bring Takeda his only source of joy. A blank slate for the harsh fingerpaints of a desperate imagination. Whether the dog days of summer and the brutal heat, or the dead of winter’s cold, the fields became any number of alien planets. Fedrats aplenty swarming the borders. Takeda ready and willing to defend the homeland with a laser rifle in hand. But now, the snow and darkness covered the fields, leaving Takeda with the impression of standing on an island where nothing else existed. He shivered. Blamed it on the cold.

“Because, little brother. I have to.”

Takeda shook his head, anger leaping at his older brother’s words. “I’m not little.”

“You’re only twelve.”

“Almost thirteen!”

“Right, almost thirteen.”

Takeda stopped and growled at his brother’s tone, ready for a fight. But Ito didn’t give him the satisfaction and kept walking. Takeda stamped harder in the snow, banging thick, well-worn wool mittens together for warmth; forgot to tell Mom they needed mending, again. It seemed as though the little warmth he’d started with in the short walk from the house had left along with the light.

Looking around, the darkness closed in with the departing flashlight, and that sense of nothingness abruptly smothered him. He began to pant. Takeda ran forward, catching up to Ito as they came to the small barn and its enclosed pens. His teeth started to chatter.

“Just gonna leave me to freeze in the snow? Like you’re gonna leave the farm?”

Ito didn’t turn, but slipped the flashlight under an arm. He heaved against the door to raise it up slightly out of the hole in the ground. Sidling forward and slipping into the barn, he looked like some gnome, breath steaming in the night, coming to steal a goji or two. At least that’s what Ito used to tell him. But he knew it was a lie now.

All a lie.

“Brother,” Ito finally responded without turning, “I left you there because you’re being slow. You know with the power out we’ve got to get the generator going, or the goji will die.”

“Yeah, I’m not stupid.” Takeda stomped through the slight opening, then stood with arms crossed over his well-patched coat as Ito heaved the door closed. If possible, the barn was even darker. The skittering sounds of the knee-high insectoids always made his skin crawl, but he’d never let on. Never.

They walked through the rapidly cooling air towards the back room, wending in and out of the alien goji. Never mind that only poor people would eat such meat. It’s what their family had raised for years and years.

His father’s words came back to him: “If Granddad was good enough to raise goji, then so am I. And so are you.”

Well, screw you, Dad. And you too, Ito. I don’t want to be poor anymore. And I hate goji. And you’re leaving me here to rot and do all the work by myself since Dad’s fall.

Ito entered the room first, twisting the flashlight into a knothole in the wooden blank separating the main pens from the generator shed. He strode to the front of the ancient piece of junk and began manually priming the engine.

Takeda stamped into the room, ignoring the goji crap caked on his boots. Ignoring the horrible smell that could kill a dog at a hundred meters. Pushed his back against the wall as though to support the whole barn. You do all the work. Stupid Ito. Stupid barn. Stupid farm!

Long minutes passed. The soft sucking sound of the primer couldn’t cover the clicking of multiple legs on exoskeletons. Takeda wanted to tear off his ears.

Ito finally stopped and glanced up, face mostly in long shadows. “Brother. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Of course not. That’s why you’re moping in the corner.”

“I’m not moping.”

“Yes, yes, you are.”

He thought about swearing, or a hundred other things. But that wouldn’t do anything. His big brother always won. Always. And now he would win again. “You won’t answer my question,” he said, and spit on the ground. There.

Ito’s shoulders slumped, as though an added weight were abruptly on his back. “Takeda. I did, and you won’t listen. You won’t believe. I’ve got to go. This winter’s the worst yet. Ma says it’s only going to get worse, not better. She can feel it. And I’m just one more mouth to feed. I need to go, Taki.”

“Don’t call me that. That’s a kid’s name.”

Ito straightened, his face falling completely into shadows, before moving toward him slowly, crouching down until they were face to face. Despite the fall of light behind his head, Takeda made out his brother’s face: the close-cut black hair, small mouth and nose, but slightly wide-spaced, brown eyes. Always serious, Ito’s expression made Takeda’s eyes itch, which made him even more angry. Not going to cry. You’re not going to make me. I’m not a kid!

“There’s nothing I can do here but watch us all starve to death. But I can do this. Someday you’ll understand, Taki…Takeda.” He finished with a nod, as though for once accepting that Takeda might be growing up. “You can be mad all you want. Just don’t be mad at Mom and Dad. Not their fault. Nobody’s fault. Just have to make do with what we have.”

I won’t cry! But the itchy feeling wouldn’t let go, and Takeda blinked rapidly. His brother turned away slightly. Was that a tear? Was that a—

“Takeda, promise me one thing.”

He didn’t want to promise his brother a thing. But on this stinking farm, in this horrible hole of a barn—a barn he would be tending for years now—his brother finally treated him like something more than little Taki. For that, he’d answer. “What?”

“Whatever happens, don’t forget about family.”

He looked up into his brother’s eyes as Ito turned back. For just a moment, despite the darkness, it seemed he could see a huge pool of sadness. “Don’t forget about me,” it seemed to say. Takeda breathed deeply, pulling in the stench and the cold and the anger of being deserted, and finally nodded.

Ito nodded back and returned to bang and prod the machine.

I won’t forget.

But despite what they just shared, he didn’t know what it was he wouldn’t forget: the friendship that seemed to flow between them for a moment, or the feeling of a long, long cold road stretching into the distance. A road he would walk alone. But not always, Ito! I’ll make something of myself. I’ll leave too. You wait and see!

He jumped at the guttural roar of the engine as it sputtered to life.

D FOREST

NEW SAMARKAND, NEW SAMARKAND PREFECTURE

GALEDON MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

2 JULY 2426

The horror swept through the darkened forest, fast and furious: a growl of bass rumble vibrating the inner ear until you just…must…scream. Razor sharp teeth flashing like chips of white bone bared in black clay; pink tongue quivering, a sucker-worm blindly groping for fresh blood. Glowing, crimson eyes hypnotic in their preternatural rage; dark pelt almost invisible, only a hint of mammoth muscles stretching a skeleton to the breaking point in its driving, programmed need…

Ito Tesuo struggled to keep his heart from beating so loudly he’d miss a nuance that might save his life, but the primal terrors of beasts in the dark beat about his head like vulture’s wings already tasting imminent and terribly violent death.

He cocked his head. He had never known that death wore such savage clothing.

Despite the terrible, awful fear squeezing his chest in a grip promising death, Ito managed to find the entire experience interesting. His breath rattled in his throat. He coughed till stars exploded in front of his eyes, and he bent over, helpless to the nameless thing coming to steal away the victory he’d fought so hard the last five years to grasp. Blood throbbed in his neck, until it must burst from the pressure of a heart beating frantically under an onslaught of adrenaline. Sweat-slicked hands grasped the knotted wood, the rough-cut whorls rasping flesh in promised slivers and blood. Finally giving up, he gulped air loudly, drawing oxygen to a brain starved of input…

…the lessons hammered by the sensei with brutal efficiency surged to the fore. He dropped into a light trance, blotting out onrushing death, the cool of the night jungle, the rasping of leaves as a cool, light wind wafted, causing crazy chiaroscuros to undulate, as the moon’s light dappled the darkness in further shadows and scant highlights.

Succeed.

The word thrummed with power. Ito hunkered down, breathing falling into a slow, steady pattern as he mastered fear, and the word, limned in power, came surging again to the fore from his sensei:

Succeed!

Despite honor, despite duty, despite anything, there is only one thing that must drive each of you. Succeed. Failure is not an option. Not because it is demanded of you, but because you demand it.

Five years of relentless training in college, and it all came down to a fight in the dark with a horror rumored to have been imported from another world? Just didn’t seem to make sense. What did hand-to-hand combat with a simian beast have to do with insurgency work and counter-terrorism and infiltration and all the other skills honed to allow him to graduate where so many others failed?

But either he lived through this moment, or he didn’t.

Succeed.

So be it.

A snarling ball of fury exploded into the small clearing, a roar shattering the night until he just knew eardrums must shatter. Fear tried to batter its way from its prison as the thing rose up on all-too-humanlike back legs and towered until it seemed to fill his eyes, the sky, the universe. His hands seemed to lose their grip on the spear, palms slick.

It lunged.

Ito screamed.

SUN TZU SCHOOL OF COMBAT

KAZNEJOV, KAZNEJOV PREFECTURE

GALEDON MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

27 FEBRUARY 2428

“Takeda?!” Justin rushed into the barracks.

Takeda Tesuo turned toward the overly loud call, a smile gracing beefy lips, a smile that grew as he noticed several dark looks among those getting ready for the ceremony. Ah, Justin, how you irk them. “Calm down. Calm down. Deep breaths. What’s up?”

The other student, red bushel of hair, broad face and too many teeth behind too-small lips, stumbled down the center aisle of bunks and skidded to an abrupt halt behind him. He tried to speak, but it only came out in heavy panting, and he ended up bent over.

Takeda slapped the younger man on the shoulders, his large, thick-fingered hand almost sending the boy into the concrete floor. “I said, deep breaths. You know, you wouldn’t have this problem if you’d run with me in the mornings.”

“I’m gonna be an aerospace pilot,” Justin finally got out, straightening. “Not some mudslinger that needs to run everywhere.”

Takeda glanced around and smiled more openly—stretching his broad neck mockingly—at the additional looks directed at such a comment. They all turned away. “Justin, we prefer ‘grunts.’ And since I’m not going to be here much longer, I’d advise you to keep your feelings about us ‘mudslingers’ to yourself. Some of these ’slingers don’t take to you as well as I do.”

The younger cadet abruptly glanced around, skin tone vanishing beyond its already pale countenance into corpse-like territory. Takeda bellowed laughter, then turned around, dismissing the lot of them. Glancing in the mirror, he adjusted the high orange collar on his white tunic, then glanced down to make sure the belt woven into the tunic rightly displayed the clasp—fashioned in the Kurita Dragon crest—at center. His barrel-like chest often made that task difficult. A quick stomp settled the black pants and feet firmly into red boots. Smart, dangerous, chocolate-brown eyes under an almost sheared-off forehead and crew-cut black hair met a will of steel in the metal reflection.

Today is my day. I have done this. First in my class.

He nodded at himself once, then closed the locker door and swept out of the room, knowing Justin would tag along like a lost puppy.

“Takeda.”

“What?” He kept walking, passing the barracks. Headed down the main thoroughfare to the stadium and the area where the cadets would assemble for the graduation ceremony. Several jeeps, the whine of their electric engines crawling up his neck in feathery brushes, swung by, carrying everything from other cadets to military police, family members to the press, and even the quick glimpse of heavy brass now and then.

“The reason I came. Jules, you know, the mail girl?”

Nothing could dampen his spirits today, and another smile tweaked lips. “Of course I know the mail girl.” Everybody knew the mail girl. Justin just seemed too innocent to figure it out yet. Ah, to be a first year again…

“Well, okay. Yeah, the mail girl. She was running behind, what with all the graduation gifts and mail and having to run that extra detail ’cause James got hurt on the range, and so—”

“Justin,” Takeda cut him off. The boy could run at the mouth enough, you’d think he’d be able to hit the obstacle courses better. Then again, he was a flyboy. They were soft.

“Right. Sorry. Just excited. You never talked about your family. Had no idea.”

Takeda stopped so quickly Justin almost ran into him and danced back. “What?” Takeda asked in a calm voice, thick hands stiff, planed for combat.

Too many teeth flashed. “Your family. I’ve got a letter for you from your parents. Jules told me to give it to you right away. Couldn’t resist that favor, right? Anyways, I thought you said your parents were dead?” Innocent, open-faced Justin extended the letter.

Takeda looked away from clear eyes—only the boy’s innocence kept teeth intact—and took in the letter as though it were a viper, nestled in the tall grass and ready to strike.

“I mean, I could’ve been wrong, you know,” Justin fired on. “But I thought for sure after I ran into you and you about busted my arm, you told me you didn’t have any family. But this is great. A letter. And on graduation day! My parents really couldn’t care less where I’m at, as long as I’m not in their house, so this is nice. Must be nice. Mind if I read over your shoulder? It…”

Justin’s inane, thousand-kilometer-an-hour mouth continued spewing, as long-suppressed memories of cold and stink and endless alien chittering rose from the depths. The bright day darkened, eyes flattened and muscles tensed, as though enemies were closing, and a desire to kill rose. With lightning speed, he snatched the letter from Justin’s hand, slipped it under his tunic and turned away, fleeing—no! Not fleeing, continuing towards the assembly area.

“Hey! Takeda. What’s up? You’re not going to read it? Come on. You’ve got a family?! Brother? Let me guess. Brother and a sister, right?!”

Takeda swiveled around, coming nose to nose with Justin, flat eyes projecting death. The young cadet withered as though left to dry on a sun-baked plain.

“I said I have no family.”

He swiveled back away, marching on as though to war, leaving a shocked and hurt Justin tilting in the wind.

This is my day. No one else. My day. Mine! Top of the class. I’ve won blades! I will be a samurai. A soldier for the Draconis Combine.

That is all I am!

ISF HEADQUARTERS

NEW SAMARKAND, NEW SAMARKAND PREFECTURE

GALEDON MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

9 OCTOBER 2435

“Ahhhhhh.”

The yawn came hard and strong, and Ito leaned back in the ancient chair, arms stretching until his spine popped deliciously. Shaking the incessant demands of sleep from his eyes, he stood up and swung his arms around, careful not to reach too far in any direction, or he’d smack the cubicle walls.

The single light source from his cramped desk tried vainly to keep the dark of the large office room at bay; the mammoth, four-kilometer-on-a-side ferrocrete bunker of the Internal Security Force headquarters loomed all around as though it was a small planetoid, ready to crush him with its gravity well.

He scratched unceremoniously at the scars on his chest and discarded the errant thought, along with the fluttering wings of horrors in the night.

“Ito. Do you ever sleep?”

Ito jerked around as a woman’s face loomed out of the darkness, materializing into the blunt-nose, square-jawed Illena. “Jesus. You want to kill me, woman?!” He breathed in the musty air of the lowest levels of the facility, trying to calm a racing heart.

“Jesus?” She cocked her head, humor dancing in green eyes. “Don’t you mean ‘Buddha?’”

He glanced around, suddenly all too aware of dark corners and shadowed alcoves. “Right.”

“After all,” she began, voice falling into the clipped, short tones of their supervisor, “‘we have to uphold the ideals of House Kurita, even if the current ruler would wash away our Japanese heritage.’”

Ito leaned against the old partitions and broke into a smile. “Yeah, but it’s not like Parker Kurita was all fired on all things Japanese, or his brother ahead of him, even before Nihongi took the throne.”

She leaned across the same partition slightly to his left, face a scant half-meter from his. “True. But our current most beloved Dragon does seem to be going out of his way to make us despise the Combine’s origins.”

He shrugged. “I’m just a poor farmer’s son, Illena. What do such warrior traditions have to do with me? I’m more worried about the economic havoc denuding our power. How many mercantile families have been put to death now?”

She returned the shrug. “I’ve lost count.”

“Exactly. How long can this be kept up?”

There was no answer to that question. Nihongi Von Rohrs was the ruler of the Combine, and his word was law. And despite the extreme early morning hour and the absolute knowledge they were the only two working in this section of the lower levels, they both glanced around, abruptly aware at how their talk would be taken if it carried to the wrong ears. Nihongi’s purges of Draconis society were starting to be felt within these very walls.

An uncomfortable silence heightened the sense of helplessness over the current state of affairs, and abruptly the feeling of the looming bunker once more pressed against the base of Ito’s neck; he unconsciously scratched at his scars again.

Illena finally broke the silence. “What are you working on?”

“Endless reports.” He turned back, painfully aware of the hundreds of data discs stacked like detritus awash on the forgotten shores of his desk. “Got enough here to pull down a Nadrin Vapor-Whale. They’ve got me studying kroner reports.”

“Uh?”

“The latest Lyran reform attempt out of Archon Katherine. A unified currency.”

“The Lyrans are becoming a danger.”

“Yup. Their Commonwealth Scout Corps is nothing but a means to try forging a new military. I don’t buy this ‘exploration’ crap.”

“Of course.”

He looked back at the tone in her voice, then shook his head sheepishly. “I know. I know. We’re just grunts. Info finders. And our Lord Dragon is already slicing away at the Lyran flanks, seizing worlds. Of course our superiors know all about this.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed heavily and tried not to fall into the yawn it spawned. “I’m just meant for great things, that’s all. I can feel it.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Searching for sarcasm, Ito met her frank stare for a moment before nodding, refusing to be drawn into that conversation again.

“Anything actually interesting?” she asked in a conciliatory tone.

He nodded, accepting. Of all places, here you had to know who your friends were…and pay them back. Often.

“Maybe.”

“What?” She stepped closer and paused at the edge of the cubicle.

He slipped carefully back into the chair—didn’t want it breaking again—and waved her into his personal space. “I’ve gotten some weird stuff coming out of the Hegemony.”

“We’re always getting weird stuff out of the Hegemony.”

“I know. I know. But we’re so concentrated on the Lyrans and Davions right now. What with the war against the Lyrans and the Archon’s stunning moves these last years to centralize power and unify her realm—”

“And keeping an eye on the Davions so they don’t stab us in the back while we’re not looking…”

“Exactly. All of that is making news out of the Hegemony, when they’ve been so quiet on our border of late.”

“Well, they’ve got their own issues. Lord Jacob—” she dropped her tone “—is about as loved as our own lord, and his offensive against the Federated Suns and Capellan Confederation only hurt him more.”

“Too true. The Battle of Tybalt was a paltry victory for what they paid in men and armor.”

“Exactly.”

“So they’re focused elsewhere, and so are we, and I’m telling you, I’m getting some weird stuff out of the Hegemony.”

“What exactly?”

“Hesperus.” While Ito talked, he pushed through the stacks until he found the right disc, then slipped it into the computer and pulled up several smuggled shipment manifests. “Look at this. I’ve run modeling on Hesperus back almost ten years, and they’ve been slowly ramping up the importation of a wide range of raw materials, as well as specific-made parts. And you know this can’t be the whole picture.”

“Parts. You’re worried about parts?”

He glanced up, exasperated. “Come on, Illena. Give me a little more credit than that. I’ve run serious numbers. Been working on this for over a year now.”

Illena leaned over his shoulder, resting her hand on the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he took in the line of her jaw and found it pleasing; a soft sniff brought a hint of jasmine, underscored with the light touch of sweat and skin too long from a shower.

Buried under work, like all of us.

“These look like WorkMech parts. At least, some of them. No idea what these are here, or this.” She turned to find his eyes on hers, and they shared a smile. “But it’s just parts. So they’re ready to open a new WorkMech production line. So?”

“No, no. It’s more than that. Damn hard to track it effectively with the Terran Hegemony Complex on a Lyran world. We thought it ludicrous for so long, but while the rent must be hell, the bureaucracy surrounding the place is a better defense than a regiment of armor. Makes infiltration exceptionally difficult, having to pass through two sets of safeguards. Regardless, I think they might be trying to arm WorkMechs.”

She rolled her eyes, despite their friendship and possibly something more. “Please, Ito. Everyone’s been trying to arm WorkMechs. Shiro-age armor is still better than one of those jury-rigged monstrosities.”

“I know. But I think they’re making something completely new. Not a jury-rigged machine. But one designed from the ground up.”

“Just like everyone else, including us. To dismal failure. And there doesn’t seem to be enough here for you to really make that conclusion.”

He leaned back in his chair, worrying at his lip. “I know.”

“And our wondrous supervisor?”

He shook his head, crestfallen and slightly angry.

“Exactly.”

“But I know something’s here.”

“Okay. I think you’ve got great instinct, Ito. So run with it.”

He glanced up at such supportive words to meet slightly peppery breath and a stroke of satin lips to his.

“And be careful with that photo,” she said softly, before she strode away, leaving him thunderstruck.

He slowly stood, looking into the shadows that already swallowed her as though Illena ceased to exist, except for the slight warmth tingling his skin. If the supervisor finds out…he glanced back around to let his eyes rest on a worn and faded photo of his family tacked to the wall, a photo he only brought out at this time of night. After all, when you’re a shadow, you can’t have connection to anyone, right?

So dangerous, that photo. And so dangerous, that kiss.

A smile blossomed, pushing against the dark. But there’s something there. And I’m going to find it. The Terran Complex. Illena. Find both.

Seventeen straight hours in the chair, and the lingering malaise sloughed off as though unused skin as Ito dove back in.

NEAR NEW BOUNTIFUL

ST. JOHN, DEMILITARIZED PREFECTURE

RASALHAGUE MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

6 JULY 2439

“Demilitarized. Right.” Takeda laughed.

The thirteen men left in his company chuckled as well, as the last rays of sunlight painted the rolling fields of spina-wheat into a deep ocher.

“How many times they gonna try to take St. John back?” Chu-i Jack Tolnik commented around a stalk of wheat. In his tan-and-brown fatigues, face paint, and heavy weaponry, the sloppy grin and wheat stalk seemed all the more incongruous. But he was as steady a soldier as any Takeda had commanded.

“I believe this makes four.”

“Best move yet. You’ve got to give the merchants that. Sucker most of our troops in the region to Lovinac with a decoy fleet, and then pounce on us here.” He shrugged as he eased back into the wheat towering almost four meters into the air.

“Almost. But almost isn’t good enough.”

“Good enough to cut our regiment to ribbons.”

Cold blue eyes speared Tolnik, who somehow still managed to shrug it away when men twice as experienced and ten times as powerful quailed under the burning gaze. But Tolnik nodded, and lapsed into silence.

The wind rustled the wheat like a rainstorm across 10,000 kilometers of some of the richest soil in the dozen worlds of the entire, newly forming prefecture. Takeda eased back into position, carefully moving the last shield of foliage out of the way. Beyond, a subtle removal of wheat just below the crown of the hill they occupied allowed an unobstructed view for long kilometers. Binoculars brought the distant armor column into sharp focus. He counted almost thirty-seven tanks and twice that many infantry carriers, slowly bulldozing their way through the wheat fields.

Looks liked they finally learned to not follow the roads. A cruel smile stretched fleshy lips almost taut. Time for another lesson.

“Sula.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We ready to go?”

“Yes, sir.”

He paused, knowing they’d have to begin moving again. But he wanted to savor the plan a little more. And give his men another few breaths of peace after the last four months of guerrilla work that had worn them down to their current paltry numbers. But enough.

The cruel smile moved to something more.

Enough.

Finally, the sun dipped fully behind the mountains, casting shadows across the entire landscape. As the column ran at its closest point to their current position, only ten kilometers distant, he held up his hand and clenched it into a fist.

Through the binoculars, Takeda made out half-a-hundred columns of light, spewing up into the darkening sky in a massive perimeter around the entire Lyran line of march. Almost like fireworks on New Year’s.

Stupid merchants. You always think in terms of money and the bottom line. And never in victory. Of course we’ve taken so many worlds from you. As we’ll continue to do until you’re no more.

The burning napalm flares set the dry wheat on fire in a conflagration that lit the night in ghastly oranges and sickly reds and yellows. He nodded in appreciation of the Lyran acumen as the armor column quickly moved to break out from the circular inferno already racing towards and away from their position. Reluctantly, he lowered the binoculars and stood as he turned around. The merchants had a lot more on their plate than worrying about spotting a single soldier buried in the wheat on a hill ten kilometers away.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Lunch break is over and the main entertainment has begun. But we’re not invited, and if they catch us, they might be a tad upset.”

“Not to mention the fire,” Tolnik spouted as he spit out his stalk, stripped a new one, and mashed the end between brown-stained teeth. “Even with the prevailing wind running against the fire, it’ll be marching our way fast.”

“Right you are. And damn spina-wheat burns hot as hell. They should’ve learned that lesson last month. Armor’s no good if the crew is boiled alive or your diesel fuel blows.”

“No way for a soldier to die,” Brian said softly.

Chocolate-brown eyes found Brian’s blues, and this time Takeda tasted the satisfaction of a flinch and turned away. “But they’re not soldiers, Kashira. Don’t forget that. All they think about is money and the bottom line. We know victory is more important.”

“Command may not be happy about you destroying all this food,” Tolnik joined in Brian’s defense.

“I believe I’m the only one here who should worry about Command.” The words slapped his remaining troops fully awake and to attention, even Tolnik. “We’re soldiers of the Combine. If I must burn this entire continent, or this entire world, that’s what I’ll do. Our Coordinator has demanded victory, and that’s what we’ll give him.”

The distant thump of an explosion heralded the first detonation. Hard to tell at this distance, but it sounded more like ammo cooking off than diesel (either way, it would tear the tank in half). He smiled and nodded.

Exactly.

He began a ground-eating trot, his men filing in behind as they moved into the night.

EDINBURGH

SKYE, ISLE OF SKYE

FEDERATION OF SKYE

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

9 OCTOBER 2449

“Dammit.” Ito ground his teeth until he thought enamel flakes would coat his tongue.

Hurrying away from the café—casually, of course, to try avoiding undue attention—he wiped sweaty palms on the front of his one-suit, fingers brushing the multi-headed arrow logo of the corporation that had supposedly paid his wages for the last seven years. He did his best to ignore the missive burning a hole in his pocket.

Leave it to Shipil to screw up a shipment to one of their own facilities.

The unseasonably warm Skye autumn day brought a sheen of sweat to his brow quicker than he could wipe it clean—not nerves, not that at all. He crossed Johanson Street over to Fourth, and then proceeded past a veritable cornucopia of quaint window shops, tourist traps as far as the eye could see. But Ito saw another vista and moved with alacrity, wending in and out of the constant stream of people (outworlders and locals), before finding his current flophouse.

A quick jangle of an ancient key let him past the rusted iron gate and into the shoulder-width alley crammed between a clock and a doll shop. Refuse clogged the narrow lane with almost sedimentary determination, and he stepped carefully to avoid a reprimand for slicking the hem of his one-suit with garbage. Never mind that he never saw a single customer at Shipil, and left every day covered with the grease and grime of refurbishing ancient drop shuttles. Ito wasn’t allowed on the production line of the newest vessels coming out of Shipil Company’s production yards. Oh, no. Not even three years would get him that privilege yet. Such thoughts burst and faded like fireworks against the growing frustration.

How long can I be at this?

Reaching the back of the alley, he scrabbled up steps threatening to toss him down at each footfall before reaching the decrepit apartment over the doll store. But at only fifty kroner a month, he wasn’t going to complain. After all, a dirt-poor farmer from Alkaid didn’t have the know-how or money to get more than a stinking, rat-infested flophouse above the “quaint” part of Edinburgh (meaning much too expensive for what you got, and if you scratched and sniffed, you wouldn’t like what you found…or what you found wouldn’t like you).

Before moving through the door, he checked the almost invisible thread licked and slicked into place over the door jamb. Nothing wrong. Sidling through, he paused and breathed deeply with closed eyes. Others developed astute hearing, but smell worked well for Ito, and he’d gotten out of more than one dicey situation in the back alleys of Edinburgh through his overactive nose and the smarts to take its advice immediately.

After almost a minute, he moved into the room, ignoring the alarming creak of ancient wood and slid into the single chair at the edge of the stained and moldering card table. Trying to avoid jawing on his tongue, Ito pulled out the missive, smoothing out the crumpled paper.

Betty’s marmalade won’t be delivered for another three months due to an early frost on the harvest.

The paper rasped against dried skin, and he lurched out of the seat, frustration radiating from every pore. Three years. He’d been the one to discover the existence of the Hegemony’s BattleMech, and for his success his supervisor had assigned him to a low-level infiltration cell on the Lyran world of Skye.

Because you couldn’t directly infiltrate the Terran Complex on Hesperus II, or even the system, without raising too many flags. So you circled it, like a vulture creeping up for the kill. A creeping that took years. Years of subtle bribes and moving individuals around from world to world and company to company, like go stones on a game-board tablet. Years of failures, and yet you kept going. And his was just a small part of the network. A web cast by the Internal Security Force to snare the ultimate prize.

He stalked to the fridge, yanked it open, and ignored the fetid smell of despised sauerkraut fermenting in the back (would the woman ever get the hint he couldn’t stand the stuff, or her advances?!), pulled out a beer, closed the door, and popped the top. He gulped it down as if to quench some fire burning within. He began to pace, while the paper on the table mocked his failures.

I finally track down enough Nostia gems to satisfy the bloated pig so he’ll pass along my transfer orders to a roving cargo handler, and Shipil ships it to god knows where?! And now, the second part of the interim plan was in jeopardy. He’d have to cut his losses. Move again. Perhaps even leave Shipil.

A lopsided smile pushed and prodded against stiff muscles, until he flopped back into the chair and swore as it creaked, threatening to dump him to the floor. But he could see the article, buried on page twenty-four, below the fold of Edinburgh Now!

Jason Torgil, resident of the lower east side and a mechanic for Shipil Company, was found dead yesterday. Apparently a robbery gone astray, Mr. Torgil was killed by a shotgun blast to the face and chest. The sobbing girlfriend, a Mrs. Klark, who owns the doll shop over which Mr. Torgil resides, says she found his body when she brought up a fresh batch of sauerkraut and smelled something funny.

The final tension left as he laughed and laughed. Ah, Illena. We wanted this. And yet here I am, stranded on this horrible Lyran world, without enough resources to do my job effectively with the ongoing purges, and where are you? Melancholy settled resolute, but he managed to keep a smile. Just have to make do, right? He glanced towards the well-worn photo on the wall.

And where are you, little brother? Where are you? Are you in a hellhole as well? He shrugged aside such maudlin thoughts and began making preparations for moving on.

Succeed. He silently flogged the word, trying to find the power it once held, and ignored the slight echo, as though the room within was mostly bare.

Or entirely empty.

LOCATION UNKNOWN

KAZNEJOV, KAZNEJOV PREFECTURE

GALEDON MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

27 FEBRUARY 2457

“Who are you?” The disembodied voice cracked the silence.

Takeda Tesuo lay on his side. Head canted back, he sucked air shallowly, careful to not breathe too deeply. The flagstone’s deathly cold leached away life quicker than the trickles of blood.

“Who are you?”

He was long past the point of trying to guess the reaction to any response. At times speaking would evoke pain, while other times silence did the same. He had tried every trick in his book, and they had all failed. But in the end it didn’t matter. None of it did. Survival mattered, and to do that, he had to let go. Let go of the anger and the killing urge. Because he’d tried that angle too. And while the man’s blood felt good pumping its last rhythm across scabrous fingers, the punishment had been almost more than he could bear. And all the more galling as it took him unaware. He knew the one sure way to crack him would be to stake him in a pen with goji. But they didn’t know that, and he’d die before he let that slip. But when they buried him to his chin in the cave and he couldn’t move beyond craning his neck and the darkness took him for so long…that was a torture. Exquisite in its simple finesse, in that they did nothing but allow his own mind to feast on itself.

He’d have to remember that one.

“Who are you?”

The smell of his own feces- and urine-soaked rags obscured any olfactory hint of who the person (or persons, as that happened now and then) might be. And despite his best efforts, the muscles in beaten thighs and along his chest began to tighten. He sank teeth into a tongue savaged from such abuse to keep from reacting to broken ribs.

“Who are you?”

Someone that will kill you when this is done. That brought a sickly smile of satisfaction and a slight gush. He relished the coppery tang partly quenching thirst as blood dribbled onto the inside of his right cheek, and his tongue tasted the sweetness before he swallowed.

“Who are you?”

I’m one who will survive this. I’m one who will not be beaten. Everyone has tried my whole life to beat me, and I’ve survived. Just one more thing to survive. One more test.

“Who are you?”

They’d tried this tactic as well. So many times. A calm, incessant questioning that came as a balm after the fury of beatings and the spewed hatred. But in the end it could drive you as insane as anything else. One more thing to survive.

“Who are you?”

“Samurai,” he finally breathed between clenched teeth. Despite resolve, he winced as muscles tensed for a blow.

“Who are you?”

Despite the beatings and the silence and the erratic behavior of his torturers, he’d yet to find the answers they sought. What do they want? I am samurai. I will pass this, and be stronger than ever.

I was chosen.

But why?

Because I’m the best. I’ve succeeded across half a hundred battlefields. I’ve lived and claimed victory when so many others have fallen. How many merchant worlds bear the Dragon banner because of me? How many Fedrat worlds?!

The two sides within jostled questions fast and furious, up and down the scale of reason, trying to spot the clue that might unlock the darkness.

The Dragon. I am samurai.

But am I? I’ve moved beyond samurai. I’m becoming something new. A new type of soldier the likes of which the Dragon has never known. The likes of which the Inner Sphere has never known. A super killing machine to strike in the dark. As the ninjas of old, so have I become. Just one final key.

The Dragon. The ninjas. Invisible. Secret. Nothing.

“Who are you?”

“Nothing.” The words slipped from red-smeared and swollen lips. But they hung, rang with power.

A minute light blossomed, shielded in the corner. Yet it still stabbed painfully into eyes long accustomed to darkness. He flinched as his whole body reacted to the pain of testing.

“Takeda Tesuo?” the voice said with real compassion.

He opened lips to respond, almost falling into the last trap. Despite the rigidity of muscles and coming pain, he firmly shook his head. “I am nothing.”

A grunt of satisfaction, and the light increased to the point his sensei’s face came into focus. He blinked rapidly, while two brutes moved back from the edge of violence and stepped away. The man extended a right hand, which Takeda ignored. He gritted teeth and gingerly moved into a sitting position.

Another grunt of approval. “Takeda. Welcome to Draconis Elite Strike Team One.”

GALILEO INSTRUMENTS, SATELLITE OFFICE

MOORE, ALGEDI PREFECTURE

BENJAMIN MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

1 DECEMBER 2459

Ito unlocked the front office door and allowed the slim man to slip in, bringing a gust of wind and the scent of pine trees following him like an obedient pet, before closing and relocking the shuttered door. Without saying a word, he walked back through the reception area, past the single restroom, and down a short hallway to his office. Easing into the room, he sidled around his desk to take up position behind it as he eased into the tilting seat.

Utterly insignificant. But by such actions do we find the steel to face the future. Though he managed to keep it silent, he chuckled grimly. I’m almost fifty. Fifty. And what have I got to show for it? A career predicated on the death of endless superiors to land me in this unenviable position. He tried not to sigh, but the other man’s eyes noticed everything. Everything.

Ito decided on a frontal assault. “This could not be handled through a standard courier and missive?”

The other man, likely half Ito’s age, blinked slowly, a cat watching prey and waiting for the fatal mistake. “Iie.”

Ito raised an eyebrow, and the other man shrugged and glanced around in answer. Despite the situation, Ito’s ears warmed at the implied rebuke. Of course these offices are clean. But you still shouldn’t be stupid enough to speak Japanese here!

The man finally spoke. “No, this could not be entrusted to a courier.”

While Ito tried to focus on him, the man seemed to simply blend into the wall. Bland features and eyes and hair and clothing. Only mildly Asian-looking. The perfect spy. But how perfect would you be stuck in this hellhole, against an impregnable target?

“How long have you been working on cracking the Terran Complex?” the bland man asked

Ito glanced around the room, at the knickknacks and bric-a-brac that almost half a decade in this office had brought. Statues and scrolls and fake flowers and plaques: the life of a real Galileo Instruments office chief.

Eyes paused on an ancient, faded photo before continuing.

The life of a man diligently working to move Galileo beyond New Oslo. A man trying, for business reasons (of course!), to widen the trade barrier into Lyran space his efforts cracked with Shipil. After all, they build drop shuttles and we build control equipment for spacecraft. A match made in heaven, right? A match that should’ve allowed me to expand the seeds I planted in Shipil all those years ago, and yet for almost twenty years lay barren as an asteroid behind me, and nothing to show for it.

His eyes narrowed as he brought them back to the ISF man (no name, never that) and showed grim teeth. “I believe you know that better than I?”

The other man nodded, still standing in the doorway, as though he found the reek of the place too much. Too mercantile. Too Lyran, despite its Kuritan soil.

Isn’t that what you needed from me?! The internal shout fell away, echoing.

“Despite your continual advancements, you have shown no success.”

Only his already-gritted teeth kept him from shouting back: Of course I haven’t! Not when our Dragon has eviscerated us! Despite the hollowness within, he maintained enough self-preservation to keep lips sealed.

“The Lyrans succeeded where you failed.”

Because they’ve more money than god, and they shower their operatives with it.

“As best we can tell, four years ago. Four years ago they stole the plans.”

An educated guess my staff generated.

“We received word more than two years ago that they were building a ’Mech based on stolen plans on the world of Coventry.”

Information I netted and provided.

“And three years ago your cell on Tharkad was eliminated.”

A cell compromised after another purge.

“And now the battle of Loric. A single company of these BattleMechs annihilated the Bloodthirsty Giant’s entire armored regiment. Captain-General Marik dead, his forces decimated, and their decades of success thrown into disarray. How soon until a ’Mech army comes calling to the Dragon’s doorstep?”

It already has, pig! Or is our Dragon working under revisionist history, and the fight on Styx never happened? All too soon, a real army would come marching, in place of the token show of force in ’43. All too soon.

“And it may not be just the merchants. Rumors persist that the Davions have acquired ’Mech plans from the Lyrans.”

Not rumors, pig! My network acquired proof after the debacle on Tharkad. You simply refuse to believe it, as our precious Dragon Von Rohrs would have all our heads if he was aware all the enemies at our doorstep now have access to ’Mech technology.

“And you sit here, the highest-ranking field agent deployed, and you have utterly failed.”

Failed to understand why I keep this charade up.

“You should have succeeded long ago.”

Succeed. The word from a different life would’ve pounded within, straightening spine, sharpening focus to the accomplishment of any goal. Now it fell away into nothingness, without even a flick of an eyelid.

“You are being recalled.”

Of course.

It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it might. Twenty years of his life flushed away on an impossible task. The fact that the Lyrans had stolen the plans (regardless of such salt on a gaping wound) made it ten times as difficult, as the Terrans fortified their complex on Hesperus until all the Combine regiments might not crack it. But all was hollow within. The only bright spot was the small look of surprise that suffused the other man’s features at his total lack of response.

You wanted me crushed by a lifetime thrown away. But I’ve long been crushed, pig. Long crushed.

He stood without a word and slowly came around the desk as the other man turned away and headed back down the hall.

With casual ease, Ito pulled the old photo from the wall, tucking it into the pocket of his slacks, before shutting the door tightly, leaving a false life behind as easily as casting aside a used food wrapper.

Garbage.

DEST TACTICAL COMMAND CENTER

PESHT, KAGOSHIMA PREFECTURE

PESHT MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

24 JULY 2460

Takeda paced like a caged animal within the confines of the back courtyard. One hundred forty paces up the side of Barracks A. Four hundred twenty-two paces along the first of four primary complex centers. One hundred forty paces back down the side of Barracks B, and six hundred and forty-two paces across the open field next to the razor-wire tipped, five-meter-tall fence and the dense forest beyond. The brilliant afternoon sky, with white smudges like a child’s fingers brushing against blue paper leaving a trail of clouds low on the horizon, brought little enjoyment.

Still alive. He almost faltered in his steady, ground-eating pace. My brother is still alive.

A roar in the distance cracked the air, but Takeda hardly blinked, long used to the primal roars. He stomped on. After one more circuit, his feet began to ache, and he abruptly stopped, fury exploding like a supernova. From one breath to the next, darkness and chittering and falling snow occluded sight before he bit into his tongue until blood threatened. The killing urge rose, until the day ceased to exist.

“Takeda.”

The word floated on the air like pollen, hesitant and unsure of a reception on such hostile ground.

I am not a child.

Ungritting his teeth, Takeda slowly turned and found a wave of emotions sweeping him away as a stranger, yet not. He moved close and stopped several meters away. Both men stood staring, eyes drinking.

The white, balding hair, slight paunch, and wrinkled skin spoke of a soft life. A failed life. The anger at his stomping like a child abruptly vanished, as this apparition of failure stood stoically. And so it came to this.

“You’re old,” he finally spoke, voice harsh as the synthetic sand saturating the entire region surrounding the DEST Tactical Command Center; a sand to eat through rubber, flesh, and even armor with equal voraciousness.

Ito nodded once.

“Not just your body. Your eyes. You’re old.”

Another nod.

Another roar sounded in the distance, and Ito visibly winced as he glanced sideways toward the perimeter and the simian creatures beyond.

Revulsion coursed through him until it threatened to kick in a gag reflex. Old. Weak. Failure. Everything they say about you is true. “You’re a failure.” As I am not. Look what I have done with my life. Commander of DEST One!

“In ways you cannot imagine.”

“Then why have you come?”

Ito cocked his head as a tired smile pulled at his lips and humor peeked through weary eyes. “Um, little brother, you brought me here. I assumed after my recall that I’d either be fishing, or with the fishes.”

Despite all Takeda’s effort, anger stitched blotted lines across his skin, and his fleshy lips wrenched into a harsh frown as he sealed back words that rose. I have no need to speak those words now. Not after all this time. Not after my accomplishments.

Déjà vu swept him as sadness enveloped Ito’s countenance. The situation brought too strong a memory, and Takeda turned away to stare off over the distance of the giant structures of the command center and the numerous anti-aircraft weaponry dotting roofs like semi-sentient and horribly violent gargoyles.

“I’m sorry, Takeda.”

“Sorry for being a failure?!” he snapped back, refusing to meet his brother’s gaze. “It is the Combine and the Von Rohrs you have let down. Not me.”

“I’m not sorry for that failure. Of all my failures, that is the least of my sorrows. I’m sorry to have left you. You. And Mom and Dad.”

Anger at Ito’s words swam like a balm of hot tea to chilled limbs, and he pushed aside any feelings the latter words evoked. He turned to face his brother straight on, head back, thick torso thrust forward as though facing a gale, brown eyes snapping with righteous indignation. “You fail the Von Rohrs, and you’re not sorry?! You should be careful of the words you speak, brother.” He almost spit.

“I’m long past caring about the words I speak, Takeda. If death comes, I’m ready for it. I’ve learned that, at least, in my own service to the Dragon. I serve as I’ve always served. But there comes a time when service must mean something. When a servant can expect the master to make his contributions meaningful.”

“We serve. What does it matter how the master acts? He is lord.”

“Yes, but lord of what? Of us. And we serve faithfully in the knowledge such contributions will be used wisely. Not cast aside, out of hand.”

The aged look slowly melted away from Ito as the conversation continued and he warmed up to the debate. Takeda’s anger only solidified at the apparent enjoyment his brother took in such words.

“It’s not our place. We serve.”

“Damn it, Takeda. Listen to yourself. Because you sure as hell aren’t listening to me. I know we serve. But we have a right to expect our lord to provide us the support to accomplish his commands. Not to have him standing at our back, randomly slitting the throats of subordinates and superiors alike, leaving you wondering when for no reason other than the cast of bones you’ll find a wet ribbon slicking your own throat.”

Anger pulsed until his vision began to flee. He panted with the intensity of it, hands almost tailor-made for killing clenching into powerful, thick fists. “You speak treason.” He growled it out as though pulling a blade along the breastbone of an enemy, attempting to wrench it free. “What they say about you is true.”

“Treason? Listen to you. Have any of us seen our Dragon? He’s our lord, but not god. Why does he hide? We don’t even know his name? Kozo? We think. It’s not Nihongi. But they hide behind the walls of Shiro City, and they suck the carcass of the Combine dry from the inside.”

“Treason.” Tendons popped on rigid fingers, skin taut and bones aching with the desire to kill.

“What? You going to kill me here, little brother? Please. If so, be done with it. But I’ve no fear of the eyes of the Dragon. I am the Internal Security Force. I’ve done my share of wet work. I’ve done what needs doing for twenty long years, while my lord tied my hands at every step. I would gladly follow the Dragon anywhere…

“…if he were worthy of following.”

Nostrils flared, and a light hint of gunpowder from the afternoon practice range wafted by, raising the desire to kill to an unbearable level. “You shame me.”

Ito laughed, bitterly, eyes hot with self-recrimination. “I shame myself. But for reasons you’ll never understand.”

Takeda ignored the words. “But you’re no longer a part of my life. I long ago renounced my blood in service to the Coordinator. Perhaps if you’d done the same, you would not be standing here clothed in failure.”

Ito opened his mouth to speak, then slowly sealed his lips before moving a little closer, eyes intent as though to strip away the layers of protection Takeda had woven around himself long ago.

Finally stopping just out of reach, he spoke. “So that’s what all this is. You think I’m a failure, and you brought me here to rub your success in my face. Ah, Takeda, you disappoint me. You’re alive. You’ve done well for yourself. That’s all I care about now.”

Takeda’s nose wrinkled, and the gag reflex did kick in. He spit on the ground between them. “And that is why you failed. Family means nothing. The Dragon is everything. I brought you here to see if you were truly as tainted as the rumors said. I wasn’t wrong, older brother. You should feel free to take a stroll beyond the gates in the jungle. Your life will end as messily as it has obviously been lived.”

Ito shook his head, the sadness once more etched into his face like fissures in the broken façade of an ancient stone statue, weathered by weepy streaks of dirt and disuse.

“Will I see you again?”

All of a sudden, the bottled anger jetted out as though through a release valve, and the harsh sarcasm of a lifetime erupted as Takeda laughed. “Will you see me again? That’s what you want to know, brother? I’d just as soon see you dead. But I won’t have that on my hands.”

“So that’s a no?”

“No. Which is too bad. Because you’ll miss the chance to congratulate me when I succeed where you failed.”

“Uh?”

Takeda laughed until tears started. “Ah, brother. Where you have failed, the Dragon will send his new soldiers. Where twenty years of fumbling in the filth of civilian clothing failed, we will take in one swift stroke.”

Confusion turned to alarm and for once anger. “You can’t!”

Laughter continued to bubble at the ridiculous emotions tweaking Ito’s face this way and that. “I most certainly can. And I will.”

“No, you can’t do that.”

“And why, oh-so-successful Ito, should I listen to a word you have to say?”

Ito stepped within arm’s reach, face mottled with his own fury, and some of Takeda’s enjoyment eased into a new feeling as he changed stance slightly and prepared for another eventually. I don’t want to kill you, brother…

“Takeda. Listen to me. Call me a failure. I don’t care. If that makes you feel better, then etch it on my forehead and run around yelling it. But for god’s sake, listen to me. I’ve spent twenty years studying the Terran Complex. Yes, I’ve done my studying on your new troops, and before the Lyran stunt, I would say you could easily pull it off. But the security since the merchant’s smash-and-grab has increased a hundredfold. Nothing outside of ten regiments will breach that security. I’m telling you, super soldiers or not, you will fail.”

Takeda grunted, as though his stomach had been punched, and stood on the verge of violence before curbing desire. “I have never failed in my life, brother. And I won’t fail now. Just because your life’s in ruins, do not paint your failures onto me.”

“Takeda!” Ito practically shouted, anger and some emotion he couldn’t pin warring with equal intensity across his brother’s face. “This is not about me. This is about stupidity. There’s a reason we’ve failed for twenty years. And now it’s only worse. And he’s sending you. If you go to Hesperus, you’ll die!”

Shaking with the desire to kill, Takeda’s vision receded again for several terrible moments, until he mastered himself once more. “I’m not a failure. I’ll succeed. Before a year has passed, I’ll show you a success you never achieved.”

He turned and stormed away.

YAMASHIRO (SHIRO CITY)

NEW SAMARKAND, NEW SAMARKAND PREFECTURE

GALEDON MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

20 OCTOBER 2460

Tapping his breast pocket to feel the assurance of the photo within, Ito jaywalked to the accompaniment of the angry horn of a passing hover transport, and plunged into the sidewalk milling with people heading home from work in the late afternoon. The somber purple hat worn by his target kept vanishing, forcing him to crane his neck and try to speed up without giving his position away.

The wash of civilians along the streets of the ancient capital of Yamashiro on New Samarkand assaulted his senses, but years of training overcame his body’s slow decline and he managed, just, to keep up without compromising the tail. After all, it only took three weeks to establish enough of her movement patterns to finally know when would be the best time for contact. Not bad for an old fart.

Fifteen minutes of brisk walking later, and Ito slowed, suddenly faltering in his resolve as he neared the café. What will she think? She just might turn me in. He paused on the other side of the street, drinking in her features, and tapped the photo one more time for strength.

I’ve got to do something to try stopping you, Takeda. Something. And if I can’t stop you, maybe, just maybe salvage something from this mess. From this life. He scuffed his shoe several times against the curb, before swallowing the petrol fumes coating his tongue from the New Samarkand Metals plant at this edge of the city, and crossed the road—this time with the light—and stepped up to the table. Without preamble, he seated himself.

Without looking up from reading her newssheet, she spoke. “I prefer to be alone, thank you.”

He smiled, as her voice—a voice he’d dreamed of for so many long years—soothed any worries. Even if she turned him in, to see her one last time, to hear that voice, even if it might never whisper in his ear again…all worth it. “I’m sure you would, Illena, but I’d prefer to sit with you.”

She glanced over the newssheet, green eyes now haloed in wrinkles and the perturbed line marring her forehead melted away under an incredulous, stunned look.

He waited for her to respond, but after the waiter came and went, depositing a coaster and a glass of water and she still sat as though poleaxed, he finally broke the tableau. “You actually going to speak with me? Or did you somehow manage to lose your voice after all these years?”

She slowly leaned forward, placing the newssheet on the table, then reached out a hand to poke him. Roughly. “You’re real. You’re here.”

“Of course I’m real. And here.”

“Could you be more stupid?”

“What?” Emotions seethed at the anger in her voice.

“They’re hunting for you. You vanish off Pesht, and then just show up here? Here!”

“Please,” he said, glancing around surreptitiously, “not so loud.”

“Not so loud?” Green eyes went from shock into anger. “Not so loud. What are you talking about? You’re within spitting distance of our headquarters. And you tell me not to be loud? More importantly, I’m assistant lead to the counter-terrorism section. Good god, Ito. I’ve got to turn you in, and you come to me?! And you tell me to keep my voice down?!”

He fiddled with the paper napkin on the table, began pulling it apart. “Because you’re the only one I could turn to for help.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

“Well, I would hope so, because right now you’re looking pretty crazy.”

“Can we go someplace else?”

“I’ve got to turn you in,” she said, pain etching harsh lines into the crow’s-feet around her eyes.

“I know, I know. But just hear me out. I’ve got a plan. Hear me out, and if you still think I’m crazy, then you can turn me in. I won’t run. Not from you.”

She slowly smiled as anger gave way to some other emotion he was too afraid to pin down. Afraid his years of longing and hope, despite all his service, would not be returned.

“I know a place.”

TRADER-CLASS JUMPSHIP STAR OF THE NORTH

UNSETTLED SYSTEM, VIRGINIA SHIRE

FEDERATION OF SKYE

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

3 JULY 2461

“And that’s the plan, ladies and gentlemen,” Takeda said, smiling broadly. Sitting around the conference table on Deck C of the Star of the North JumpShip, DEST One had met one final time to review the battle plan. “When do we jump?”

“Twenty-one hundred hours,” Chu-i Sul spoke from the opposite side of the table.

He nodded. “Any final questions?”

Tai-i Staverson spoke up, voice thick with a Rasalhagian district accent, the man’s sheer acumen and dedication overcoming any doubts about his loyalty, considering his region of upbringing. “In place of the fuel-air explosive, why not simply use a tactical nuke? The idea is to demolish Maria’s Elegy Spaceport and pull off as many forces as possible from the Complex for our HALO insertion, right? Not to mention minimizing their ability to respond to our liftoff. Then why not ensure that goal? Fuel-air ordnance might not be enough.”

Takeda nodded, visions of a mushroom cloud vaporizing an enemy city like candy canes dancing in a child’s mind before Christmas. “I made the same argument. However, I’ve been handed my orders. It’s believed the Ares Conventions bind us too tightly. Despite the anonymity of our assault, a nuclear device might force the hand of the Terrans. Might force them to spend undue time and resources trying to find the culprits. Some deaths and stolen plans are one thing. Death on the scale of a nuclear device would be something completely different. Would likely bring in the Lyrans as well. And while I’m not worried about that, it brings unneeded complications and risks.”

Staverson nodded in return. “And if the Terrans found out we used the device, they would likely stop at nothing coming after us.”

“Exactly. Lord Cameron would have no choice but to respond. The Archon as well. And they both have years ahead of us on development of the BattleMech and arming their militaries. We go with the plan as is. Any other questions?”

None. He met each trooper’s stare with hot, audacious eyes, promising success. Each nodded in return, confident of their abilities and of the skills of their leader.

Me. I’ve done this. The smile grew as they unlocked themselves from their chairs and began to expertly shoot down corridors to their stations in preparations for the final jump.

TRADER-CLASS JUMPSHIP IMPERIOUS

UNSETTLED SYSTEM, COVENTRY PROVINCE

PROTECTORATE OF DONEGAL

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

3 JULY 2461

“How did you talk me into this?” Illena said, snuggling closer in the zero gravity, skin touching along most of their entwined bodies.

“Because you can’t resist me,” Ito responded.

She playfully punched him, sending them rotating, the sheet—her attempt at a modicum of decency—slipped away, revealing wrinkled skin, brown spots, and sagging breasts. She caught him staring down the length of her body and turned away to bury her face in his chest.

“Don’t,” he said softly, reaching to her chin and gently forcing her eyes back to his, scant centimeters apart.

“I’m old,” she whispered, face revealing the shame of him seeing her like this.

“And I’m not?!”

“No one has seen me like this in…in a long time.”

“Except for yesterday. And the day before, and the—”

She cut him off with another quick thrust of knuckles to ribs.

“Not too old to bruise me but good.”

“Exactly.”

“So you came along for the sex, then?” This time he managed to block the punch.

“I came along because you’re too stupid and pigheaded to do this alone.”

“Ah, so you agree with me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you always told me my instinct—”

“Has run dry after so many years. Why else would you be doing this?”

“Um, I hate to bring this up, but I wouldn’t be here without you. I burned every bridge and every connection I’ve got. I’ll be lucky to not be cut down as soon as I cross back over the border. I couldn’t have done it without your connections as well.”

“And they’ll cut me down before you. I’ve burned even more bridges.”

They lapsed into companionable silence, luxuriating in the feel of a long-lost body held close, the release of spent sex, and of finally doing something. Something that actually might help the Combine.

Even if that help meant defying the Dragon himself.

The intercom buzzed, startling them both out of a light doze. Reaching out a languid hand, he tapped the control. “Ito.”

“Ito. Tai-sa Coller. The meeting begins in fifteen.”

“Domo.”

“Arigato gozaimasu.”

He clicked off. “Meeting. Right. What a great euphemism. More like a firing squad.” He looked away from the speaker to find Illena smiling broadly and already moving away toward her waiting clothing.

“What?”

“You may have said it informally, but you spoke Japanese.”

He paused, before shaking his head and reaching for his own clothing in the small, Spartan berth. “Hanging around these troopers is getting to me.”

“And being in the ISF never did?”

He shrugged as he pulled on a T-shirt, slid into underwear, and snatched his floating pants. “I’ve been among Lyrans for so long. Gaijin.” He shrugged. “My father tried to raise us with some of his heritage, but wasn’t a huge stickler for it. Too poor, too much time to spend on raising gojis and feeding the family than to teach us to read and speak Japanese, much less all the traditions to go with it. And during my time in training?” He shrugged again. “Always seemed more of a pain than a blessing. If our fearless leader feels our traditions are worthless, who am I to disagree and follow such outdated traditions?”

“You’ve been gone so long,” she countered, voice muffled for a moment as she pulled on her own shirt. “I keep forgetting. While you’ve felt the purges more than anyone, you’ve not been on the inside. Not felt a subtle rhythm growing within the halls of headquarters. The slow, true embrace of our Japanese heritage. Where once it was a joke, or a way of distinguishing ourselves from civilians and Unproductives, it’s becoming a culture of passion. Something to believe in.”

“When we cannot believe in the Dragon?”

Green eyes met brown, and they nodded as one. Finished dressing, they entered the passageway, grasped handrails, and maneuvered down the corridor. Without any real zero-gravity training, they looked ridiculous, and soon found laughter to hold off mounting anxiety as they poked fun at one another until reaching the large berth commandeered to act as the briefing room.

The tension in the berth slicked the walls as they entered and spotted Tai-sa Coller, along with Tai-i Madula, Jips, and Hondus. All four heads swiveled their way. Cool and reproaching eyes found theirs, then held as everyone settled into chairs and locked themselves into position.

While the joy of reunion, even after nine months, still roiled within, nerves finally worked to the fore, and a tic started pulsing in his arm. Not the friendliest reception I’ve gotten. He pulled on years of negotiating among enemies and began.

“I first would like to offer my most humble apologies. I deceived you. And for that you’ve every right to throw me in the brig, or worse.”

Four cool sets of eyes, four blank façades. He could always read a Lyran. Terrans less so, but he could still do it. But his own countrymen? Especially this new type of soldier? It’s not only that they were hard to read. He was slightly terrified of what he’d find if he scratched the surface too hard. Like my brother? He jittered away from that thought as though leaping away from a leper. He swallowed, setting such disturbing ideas aside, and pulled on the reserves of his skill and the calming balm of Illena at his side.

“However, in my deceit, I still serve the Draconis Combine,” he continued, knowing how fine a line he walked. Knowing his brother would see right past that line, but hoping these men would miss it. Needed them to miss, or all was for naught. I couldn’t stop you, Takeda. I could only do the next best thing.

“Though I misled you to this point, nothing in my reports was misleading. Everything I told you is the truth, as far as I’ve been able to ascertain with the extensive network I put in place.”

Their continued silence and unblinking eyes unnerved him, and he continued after tapping callused fingertips several times across the hard plastic tabletop.

“And when you confronted me with the truth of my deceit, I’ve presented you with nothing but the truth in return. Every scrap of information I’ve gleaned in twenty years. There’s no one outside of the Hegemony more intimately familiar with the workings of the Terran Complex on Hesperus.”

He swallowed, trying to work moisture into his mouth and glanced aside momentarily to find Illena staring hard at the four DEST officers, as though waiting for their inherent violence to overcome any sensibilities and reason. He turned back just as Tai-sa Coller finally responded.

“Hai. You lied.”

Ito waited, as though expecting more and then realized the part he would play in this. The accused. Been down that road so many times. He bowed deeply, despite the long years, falling back into the familiarity of Japanese customs, like old clothing pulled from mothballs.

“And for that, we will exact our recompense when the time is appropriate.”

Another bow, this one held longer.

“However, I have consulted with the entire team. Since our departure from Pandora, we have pored over your information, trying to find error or additional duplicity.”

The man might as well be talking about a tea ceremony with the next-door neighbor, instead of my life. Illena’s. The possible future of the Combine! Such a calm delivery. He tried to suppress a shiver. Failed.

“Despite our best efforts, there is only one answer. Your conclusions are correct. There is at least an eighty percent chance of failure on DEST One’s assault of the Terran Complex, while your own plans provide an almost seventy percent chance of success.”

Ito remembered to breathe.

“But one question. Why not take this to your superiors?”

Ito laughed bitterly before cutting off the sentiment as Illena tapped his foot with her own in recrimination. “In the eyes of my superiors, I’m a failure. Do you really believe they would lend any credence to my words? My reports? Would you and DEST Two have given any time to poring over the information if you were not already stuck en route to my target?”

Silence once more shrouded the confrontation, as four sets of eyes pounded into his. For just a moment, the ridiculous thought spun up that they were conversing through some type of ESP, which is why they never once turned toward one another or even blinked; all their energy devoted to a mind meld that allowed them to better present a united front. A façade that would not falter or blink from flogging him for his lies.

He swallowed past the nervousness and anxiety and, as before, decided on the frontal assault. “Look. I lied. I already told you that. I used every trick in my bag to grease the wheels and get you and a JumpShip moving toward a target. I appropriated you with lies. I seduced you with lies. And there’s a trail of lies and deceit leading back almost nine months as I worked to try salvaging something from the lunacy of the coming assault on Hesperus. I told you I’ll pay your price, and I will. But if you feel the plan might actually succeed, then be done with this judge-and-jury bit. We’re a jump away, and we’ll need every last bit of time to fine-tune my plan, now that you’re fully on board.” And I can’t go with you. Not my type of fight. And I’m old. The last bit galled.

Finally, Tai-sa Coller glanced at his junior officers, receiving a nod from each. The last, Hondus, stared out from deep-set eyes under a rocky overhang of a brow and a nose the envy of any raptor. His eyes seemed to pierce Ito’s more fiercely than even the tai-sa’s, poking and prodding, before finally nodding as well.

“We serve the Dragon as well, Ito,” Coller said. “And while you must pay for your crimes, we admire and understand desperate times often call for desperate measures. Provided we achieve success, which will help to mitigate your due for such deceit.”

Ito nodded and leaned back in his chair, as though he’d just run a marathon. He knew what his brother would say. Knew he would consider it an attack on his successes. Would consider it a move to one-up his little brother. But it wasn’t that. Not that at all. He’d finally come to grips with the fact he could neither change his brother’s mind nor halt the ludicrous assault on Hesperus. But what he could do was try to pull some small victory out of defeat.

He ran hands over a stubbled face, scrubbing and rubbing deeply at sore and tired eyes. He’d spent almost twenty years working in, around, and among Lyrans and, by association, Terrans. Why strike at the impenetrable Terran Complex, when the Lyrans were building ’Mechs on Coventry? Safe in the heart of Lyran territory, no one could possible come to fight on Coventry, much less steal BattleMech plans. Right?

But the Lyrans didn’t think along the lines of stopping a theft of their BattleMech plans. Why would they? They already had it. and were quickly moving toward an army of BattleMechs as fast as their endless coffers could disgorge money.

A lazy smile crossed his lips for the first time in too many years. Time to show them the error of their ways.

TERRAN HEGEMONY BATTLEMECH COMPLEX

HESPERUS, RAHNESHIRE

FEDERATION OF SKYE

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

23 JULY 2461

Damn. Damn. Damn.

The words ran as a metronome to the steady thud of the approaching BattleMech, while the constant personal-weapons fire pinned them in place. Half his team dead. The other half as wounded as Takeda. Fury surged and waned and surged in an ever-widening gulf of rage threatening to split into madness and swallow him whole. It kept him lucid and awake despite the loss of blood from the sucking chest wound made by the heavy-caliber bullet that had penetrated his armor.

This cannot be happening. I must succeed. I must. So close.

Fingers subconsciously found the rhythm as well, tapping on the satchel and the more-precious-than-gold contents within.

The ground shook with the detonation of another grenade. Pinned between the inner and outer complex walls, the chunks of concrete—blasted by their own ordnance for shelter—provided little enough cover. Enough to keep from being slaughtered outright, but not enough to keep the death toll from slowly rising. And while they managed to keep the three separate teams of troops gunning for them from overrunning their position, time was up.

I’ve succeeded my whole life. Every step of the way. Me. I did it.

A soft voice rejoined that he did this as well, but he managed to ignore it among a new furious round of gunfire. He leaned out from behind his current rocky shield and fired off a short burst from his machine gun, the muzzle flash overloading his night goggles, gun vibrating and hot in hand. He leaned back for cover as a spattering of bullets tore through the space his body had just occupied.

He glanced toward his remaining soldiers, their plain black clothing, nondescript weapons and gear making them almost invisible in the night. And more importantly, making their affiliation invisible. In that final act, I’ll succeed. Despite losing half the command and the coming knowledge of the demise of the rest, he smiled savagely at the stoic resolve and ruthless efficiency with which they dispatched any Terran or Lyran unlucky enough to pop up a head.

He convulsively gripped the satchel as a new wave of pain radiated out from the bullet lodged along a rib, and a new torrent further soaked his sneak suit. Who would’ve believed such defenses? Again, the smile lurched into a crazed grin. And despite it all, they’d still almost succeeded. They had the plans and they’d almost got away. Almost!

The fire stopped abruptly, as though they had entered the heart of a furious hurricane. Takeda breathed shallowly to keep the stench of sulfur, gunpowder, and burned meat from his lungs and listened intently. A tap on his shoulder and he glanced back to find Staverson pointing not down, but up. Back behind them, and up and up.

With a fear he only equated with goji and the night and frigid winters, his bowels turned to water, and his jaw dropped open as the twelve-meter-tall metal giant finally cleared the southeast corner of the inner complex with a rumble that shook the ground violently, and raised its weapons.

With his defenses shattered for the first time in his entire life by a nightmare made reality, words he’d refused to ever contemplate bobbed to the surface.

You were right, brother. You were right.

The words didn’t hurt nearly as bad as he feared.

The night and reality vaporized in a ball of horrific energy.

YAMASHIRO (SHIRO CITY)

NEW SAMARKAND, NEW SAMARKAND PREFECTURE

GALEDON MILITARY DISTRICT

DRACONIS COMBINE

11 NOVEMBER 2461

In the darkened room, Ito wept openly, tears splashing onto a worn and ancient photograph. The paper, already curling and cracked, began to de-adhere under the salty liquid assault, and the captured image grew fuzzy, then incoherent, and then passed into a mulch of soggy chemicals and paper. A testament to its age.

“You have left me in a bad way, Ito Tesuo.”

The soft, hypnotic voice spoke for the first time in long minutes since delivering the news. News the brain knew would come, but the spirit tried to ignore. News that shattered.

“You see, not only did you steal DEST Two, but then you had the audacity to return victorious when DEST One failed. Who would have thought five operatives could simply sneak in and out without a single person the wiser? Perhaps we should’ve tried that on the Terran Complex instead of the more direct approach, eh? But that’s neither here nor there. You still leave me in a bad place. Do you see?”

Robbed of speech for long minutes, Ito swallowed convulsively several times, tasting the almost claustrophobic mustiness of the room—as though fresh air never touched this place—and the salty tears of a loss with which he could not cope. Despite the years. Despite his own fear of what his brother had become. Despite everything, it had been family that supported him through the long decades. Family was everything.

Oh, Takeda. I failed you.

“Do you see?” the voice prodded again, the soft syllables almost snakelike in their delivery.

He’d given up trying to penetrate the thick gloom and discern the individual talking to him from the depths of the alcove, and so tried for a response with eyes still sealed tightly shut. “No, I don’t see.”

“Tsk, tsk. Are you what the Internal Security Force creates? I was right to cleanse your numbers. If we are not to be devoured by our enemies, we must have brains and insight beyond your obvious capacity.”

The matter-of-fact delivery slid under skin with the ease of a shiv, and anger sparked and died, smothered under sorrow. Think what you want. But it’s over now. Nothing you can do will hurt me further.

“Must I spell it out for you, Ito?” the voice continued in tones drenched in condescension. “I am the Dragon. I cannot do wrong. I cannot be wrong. And yet DEST One failed. My plan failed. And yet you, a disgraced ISF agent pulled from the field, not only managed to steal my DEST Two, but then you had the audacity to succeed.”

He tried to blot out the words, back throbbing and knees numb from hours of kneeling on the teakwood, but they slipped and slithered like vipers through the tears and harrowing sadness, finally prickling to life a lifetime of skills. A spark of worry ignited.

“Now, DEST One left no evidence. The Hegemony will never be able to trace it back to me. Much less the silly merchants. In fact, from what we can discern, despite their security, your brother came exceptionally close to success. Will the Terrans want to broadcast that a handful of agents almost breached their most secure facility? I do not think so. They will blame it on a drop shuttle accident or some other convenient excuse and sweep it under the carpet as quickly as possible. As any ruler, we write history and can ignore that which does not suit us.

“But while I rule, the Warlords of the military districts can be…troublesome. And such a catastrophe as this can only cause some to think above their station. To think thoughts that can only end in the parting of necks. And that is so messy. No. This cannot be laid at my feet. My plan obviously was the right plan. My plan obviously was perfect. It’s the execution that must be flawed.”

The spark turned into a conflagration, galvanizing sorrow into desperate rage. “You cannot do that.” Ito snapped erect from his slouched position, on the verge of rising to stand.

Shadows moved, as though Von Rohrs had raised a hand. “Ito,” the vague outline spoke calmly, “I would advise you not to leave your knees. My guards can be a little protective of my health, and I’m afraid you will not die instantly, but you will be stopped. And then you will wish you’d been killed in my presence.”

Ito clenched down on muscles threatening to mutiny despite the danger—a danger all the more real for the calm certainty of its delivery. “You can’t do this.”

“Can’t? That is not a word I know.” The dry chuckle came as though a joke only the Coordinator might understand.

“You’ll place the blame on Takeda. You’ll destroy his memory. His life!”

“Of course. Where else could the blame be placed?”

The fury became a torrent of vile hatred for this despoiler of all that made the Combine great. Of what had destroyed his life and now threatened to destroy his brother’s as well. You are no leader. You’re filth, deserving of the death to which you consigned my brother.

His mind stuttered and spun as the frustration burned and flared at the situation. “You send him to his death and then will destroy all his achievements as well?!” He could hardly speak, his tongue so slicked with revulsion.

“But he failed. There can be no atonement for failure.”

The crushing weight of those words sent him over the edge; he almost surged to his feet in a desperate bid to meet a scrawny neck with hands ready to kill. His mind still spun, racing to find an answer. Finally, as muscles threatened to tear out of his will’s grip, an idea effervesced. Words Illena spoke. Long-term plans. His whole life had been about the long-term plan. And now it might be so in death as well.

Succeed. For the first time in too long, the word rose with a hint of its previous power, illuminating the darkness within and shedding light on the path he was already moving down. Yes.

No, hai. A calm flowed across inner wounds, raw and bleeding, bringing a surety of knowledge. I serve. I serve the Combine.

“Von Rohrs,” he began (I’ll never call you Coordinator!), “there is another path.” But would he bite? Would this son, as the father before him, accept such a solution, when they’ve tried so long to destroy our heritage?

“And what could that be?”

“In this place, on these grounds hallowed by generations of Coordinators back to Shiro Kurita himself, I would take upon myself my brother’s failure and absolve him, and you, of shame.”

Silence descended, until long minutes stretched and the tension built until it dug a dull blade along his stomach. He shivered at the premonition, wondering how he could so embrace that which meant so little to him for so long. His mind teetered as the silence became oppressive and he wondered if Von Rohrs even occupied the alcove any more.

For the Combine I serve. For family. For the brother I failed.

“You would choose this path?”

“If it means Takeda’s legacy remains whole, yes. Hai.”

“Mmm…” the sound vibrated between lips, as though a tuneless ditty. “My plan is absolved in a way the Warlords cannot dispute, as it would call their own devotion to the samurai path into question, leading to problems from their subordinates. And you are no longer a part of the picture, and your victory is mine? You cease to exist and Takeda is victorious, albeit in death. Is there a downside?”

Ito held his breath, knowing the question remained absolutely rhetorical.

With an abrupt move, the shadow surged into partial view, causing Ito to lurch back in fear.

Instantly four guards appeared from hidden doors, striding to Ito, one slipping a blade out. He will kill me and be done with it. And Takeda’s life will be destroyed! But the guard halted and dropped the blade to the wooden floor, the sound a gunshot in the gloom-filled room. The bare blade actually managed to gleam in the near darkness, pulling eyes like iron filings to a lodestone, before Ito raised them to find a still shadowed outline looming near.

“I accept your offer, Ito Tesuo. But I know you well, Ito. And the irony of this is not lost. For you to embrace what you’ve taken so lightly is most amusing. It will make good dinner conversation.”

Ito allowed the words to skim off the surface of his calm and began stripping out of his top. No appropriate clothing or tea ceremony for the ritual. Instead a devil’s bargain in the dark. A life lived in the dark, as ever. “Then you agree?”

“Oh, yes. Oh, wait, hai. Right? Of course I agree. The solution, while surprising, is exquisitely perfect. I get everything I want, and you die. Of course I accept. Your brother’s memory will be left alone.”

Ito nodded, hesitated just a moment as the remembrance of Illena’s soft lips and laughing smile illuminated inner darkness, then reached for the blade. She would understand. We have given our lives in service.

And this is the long haul, Von Rohrs. I lived my life planning across decades to reap what I sow. And now I give my life to further plant that seed. You despoil the Combine. And by taking my own life in this way, it will remind those who come after of the roots to which we must return.

The sword felt light as a feather as he settled back into a casual crouch. A quick flick of the blade split a strip of cloth from his shirt, and he wound it around, giving his hands a place of purchase. The ring of another sword leaving its scabbard behind announced a guard ready and prepared.

Someone will come along and remove your line. A true Kurita will sit on the throne once more. Perhaps not in your lifetime. But a day will come when we remember who we are.

I serve the Combine.

The blade bit deep and hard, pain radiating out like a supernova, but he managed both strokes before the guard’s blade took his head.

MORE BATTLETECH FICTION BY RANDALL N. BILLS

If you enjoyed this BattleTech novella, you can find other stories by Randall N. Bills in the following books:

BATTLETECH: PATH OF GLORY

NEW ALLIES. OLDER ENEMIES.

For MechWarrior Zane, allegiance to the Nova Cat Clan comes above all else. So when he sees his clan disgraced, cast out, and suddenly allied with the hated Inner Sphere, Zane's only desire is to see the Nova Cats returned to their former greatness.

For Palmer Yoshio, the Draconis Combine is the only honorable thing in a chaotic galaxy. But when he is forced to train alongside the outcast Nova Cats, he finds that his own notion of honor is a far cry from his leader's.

Now, for Zane and Yoshio, the line between friend and foe will be drawn in the blood of the fallen comrades—and neither warrior will be able to look at their universe in the same way again...

BATTLETECH: IMMINENT CRISIS

THE RAZOR’S EDGE

Leftenant Colonel Grayson Addison’s first absolute loyalty is to the Capellan March of the Federated Suns. If Field Marshal Hasek called, Addison and his Eighth Syrtis Fusiliers will heed. But his fealty is not so clear where Archon-Princess Katrina, ruler of the entire Federated Commonwealth, is concerned. For as Katrina and her brother vie for power in a civil war that has engulfed the entire realm, the Fusiliers sit in an island of calm, neither supporting nor opposing any side and walking a dangerous line between survival and annihilation.

But when the hammer of an invading army lands upon them, the time for decisive action is at hand—and Addison finds he must battle old friends as well as enemies if he is to remain true to his House and his army, as well as to himself...

BATTLETECH: THE CORPS (BATTLECORPS ANTHOLOGY VOLUME 1)

This volume features two short stories by Randall N. Bills: “Isolation’s Weight,” in which the Northwind Highlanders must employ their dogged persistence to defend the world of Kiamba from a Clan Ghost Bear raid, and “Echoes in the Void,” where a crew of pirates and scavengers investigates a derelict JumpShip in deep space.

BATTLETECH: FIRST STRIKE (BATTLECORPS ANTHOLOGY VOLUME 2)

This volume features the story “The Price of Conviction,” which tells of a newly promoted Clan Wolf Star Colonel sent to hunt down rumored elements of the Not-Named Clan.

BATTLETECH: FIRE FOR EFFECT (BATTLECORPS ANTHOLOGY VOLUME 4)

This volume contains the story “Hunter or Hunted.” When untested Clan Nova Cat warriors raid the Lyran Alliance world of Lyons, can the Clan maintain its fighting edge against the forces of the Inner Sphere?

LOOKING FOR MORE HARD-HITTING BATTLETECH FICTION?

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NOVELS

Decision at Thunder Rift by William H. Keith Jr.

Mercenary's Star by William H. Keith Jr.

The Price of Glory by William H. Keith, Jr.

Warrior: En Garde by Michael A. Stackpole

Warrior: Riposte by Michael A. Stackpole

Warrior: Coupé by Michael A. Stackpole

Wolves on the Border by Robert N. Charrette

Heir to the Dragon by Robert N. Charrette

Lethal Heritage (The Blood of Kerensky, Volume 1) by Michael A. Stackpole

Blood Legacy (The Blood of Kerensky, Volume 2) by Michael A. Stackpole

Lost Destiny (The Blood of Kerensky, Volume 3) by Michael A. Stackpole

Way of the Clans (Legend of the Jade Phoenix, Volume 1) by Robert Thurston

Bloodname (Legend of the Jade Phoenix, Volume 2) by Robert Thurston

Falcon Guard (Legend of the Jade Phoenix, Volume 3) by Robert Thurston

Wolf Pack by Robert N. Charrette

Main Event by James D. Long

Natural Selection by Michael A. Stackpole

Assumption of Risk by Michael A. Stackpole

Blood of Heroes by Andrew Keith

Close Quarters by Victor Milán

Far Country by Peter L. Rice

D.R.T. by James D. Long

Tactics of Duty by William H. Keith

Bred for War by Michael A. Stackpole

I Am Jade Falcon by Robert Thurston

Highlander Gambit by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Hearts of Chaos by Victor Milán

Operation Excalibur by William H. Keith

Malicious Intent by Michael A. Stackpole

Black Dragon by Victor Milán

Impetus of War by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Double-Blind by Loren L. Coleman

Binding Force by Loren L. Coleman

Exodus Road (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 1) by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Grave Covenant (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 2) by Michael A. Stackpole

The Hunters (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 3) by Thomas S. Gressman

Freebirth (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 4) by Robert Thurston

Sword and Fire (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 5) by Thomas S. Gressman

Shadows of War (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 6) by Thomas S. Gressman

Prince of Havoc (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 7) by Michael A. Stackpole

Falcon Rising (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 8) by Robert Thurston

Threads of Ambition (The Capellan Solution, Book 1) by Loren L. Coleman

The Killing Fields (The Capellan Solution, Book 2) by Loren L. Coleman

Dagger Point by Thomas S. Gressman

Ghost of Winter by Stephen Kenson

Roar of Honor by Blaine Lee Pardoe

By Blood Betrayed by Blaine Lee Pardoe and Mel Odom

Illusions of Victory by Loren L. Coleman

Flashpoint by Loren L. Coleman

Measure of a Hero by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Path of Glory by Randall N. Bills

Test of Vengeance by Bryan Nystul

Patriots and Tyrants by Loren L. Coleman

Call of Duty by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Initiation to War by Robert N. Charrette

The Dying Time by Thomas S. Gressman

Storms of Fate by Loren L. Coleman

Imminent Crisis by Randall N. Bills

Operation Audacity by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Endgame by Loren L. Coleman

A Bonfire of Worlds by Steven Mohan, Jr.

Embers of War by Jason Schmetzer

Betrayal of Ideals by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Forever Faithful by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Redemption Rift by Jason Schmetzer

YOUNG ADULT NOVELS

The Nellus Academy Incident by Jennifer Brozek

Rogue Academy: Iron Dawn by Jennifer Brozek

NOVELLAS/SHORT NOVELS

A Splinter of Hope by Philip A. Lee

The Anvil by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Not the Way the Smart Money Bets (Kell Hounds Ascendant 1) by Michael A. Stackpole

A Tiny Spot of Rebellion (Kell Hounds Ascendant 2) by Michael A. Stackpole

A Clever Bit of Fiction (Kell Hounds Ascendant 3) by Michael A. Stackpole

ANTHOLOGIES

Shrapnel: Fragments from the Inner Sphere

Onslaught: Tales from the Clan Invasion

The Corps (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 1)

First Strike (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 2)

Weapons Free (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 3)

Fire for Effect (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 4)

Counterattack (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 5)

Front Lines (BattleCorps Anthology Volume 6)

Legacy

Kill Zone (BattleCorps Anthology Volume 7)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the authors’ rights is appreciated.

BATTLETECH: FALL DOWN SEVEN TIMES, GET UP EIGHT (THE PROLIFERATION CYCLE, PART IV)

Cover art by Franz Vohwinkel

Design by Matt Heerdt & David Kerber

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