An original short story set in the Battletech universe.
Achtur Citadel, Untran System
The Rimward Frontier
28 March 2980
Pulsing alarms echoed through the barracks, jolting Lucian to his feet. He pulled on his gray jumpsuit and slid into his tan canvas and leather boots as he stumbled into the hallway without bothering to fumble for the light. There was no time to shave. Security personnel in various stages of dress raced toward the exterior drill pad.
“Fire?” he asked, though he saw no smoke.
“Pirates!” came the frantic reply.
The pale-yellow corona of their solar system’s dwarf star peeked over the jagged horizon as Lucian exited the barracks’ doors. He instinctively wrapped his brown-checkered keffiyeh around his nose and mouth as a dry, chalky breeze struck him.
The citadel and its barracks overlooked Achtur, the planet Untran’s only settlement. Its sheer walls and cylindrical towers were built into the cliff face like a giant termite mound. A spiderweb of dirt roads fanned out toward rare mineral mines and processing plants, and terminated at the spaceport 60 kilometers away.
Lieutenant Zhiyuan and Lance Sergeant Chin-Sun stood on the barracks’ drill pad with their backs to the door, scrutinizing video feed on a tablet as soldiers rushed into formation.
Lucian overheard part of their conversation through the commotion as he passed.
“Merchants offering any resistance?” Lieutenant Zhiyuan asked, a look of concern etched onto his leathery face.
Lance Sergeant Chin-Sun shook her head. “Negative.”
“Probably bribed them to look the other way,” Zhiyuan said bitterly. “They don’t care where the money comes from.”
Lucian joined the rapidly forming ranks, acknowledged his former crewmates with a cocked chin, and noted the absence of several familiar faces. It looked like fully one third of the Achtur Security Forces had abandoned their posts. The others nervously awaited orders, looking left and right as if second-guessing their decision to stay.
Zhiyuan cleared his throat. “This morning, just after the last merchant dropship landed, pirates acted on their threat to seize our latest shipment of food, water, and supplies. They are holding it hostage and demanding payment—as usual. Unfortunately, the city fathers have told them, politely, to shove off.”
A murmur erupted in the formation, but one look from Chin-Sun quieted it.
“Our convoy is safe, so far, but the situation is ongoing,” Zhiyuan continued. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen if that shipment is lost. Your families are counting on you. Untran is counting on you.”
A former colony of the Capellan Confederation, Untran was nominally independent, but its survival was at the mercy of others. Its harsh, desert environment made it unattractive to newcomers, and its mineral veins were drying up. In its heyday, the colony had a population of over 200,000, but that had dwindled to just under 75,000.
The nearest star system with an organized military was over 38 lightyears away, assuming the Capellans bothered coming to their aid.
Untran’s ruler was the self-styled Mandrinn Chul, a frail old man clinging to power. In his youth, he deluded himself into thinking he led the planet to independence. In truth, their former overlords simply forgot about them.
The planet’s subsistence economy and cottage industries were not enough to feed or hydrate the entire population. An assortment of trade ships arrived in system every four-to-six standard months, and with them, whatever pirate outfit dominated that sector. Their ultimatum was always the same: pay up, or starve.
Whether the old man had refused to continue paying out of misplaced pride or simply ran out of c-bills was none of Lucian’s concern, though he suspected the latter.
As his comrades lined up to receive their weapons from the armory, he proceeded to the cargo elevator and punched in his security code. He felt a steady hand grip his shoulder as the diamond-patterned scissor gate slid open. It was Chin-Sun. Her long black hair was tied into a unitary whiplike braid that rested over her right shoulder.
Lucian recalled all the dressing-downs, profanity, and insults she leveled at him over the years, but something about her touch betrayed a softer emotion.
“Good luck, mechwarrior,” she said. Was that a hint of admiration in her eyes, or regret?
Lucian nodded. The illustrious title sounded foreign to his ears.
“First Cohort will support you, but if things get too hot, link up with the Second and fall back to this position.” Without another word, Chin-Sun stepped back and gave him an honorary salute.
Lucian was surprised that a senior NCO would salute him, but he quickly returned the compliment as the doors closed. In the back of his mind, their commander-in-chief’s unexpected obstinance wasn’t the only reason for Chin-Sun’s lack of a detailed plan. No one expected him to survive.
The elevator descended into the cavern below the citadel, lurched to a stop, and the acrid scent of grease and ozone filled his nostrils as the gate opened. A guard checked his ID badge as he stepped onto the steel scaffolding overlooking a deep, black pit lit only by low-wattage industrial lights. Astechs hurriedly cross-checked digital readings on an instrument panel set into the rock wall.
Just beyond the railing, twin antenna protruded from a metallic dome which itself was connected to a gradually sloping torso so large its edges disappeared into the darkness. Then, with a groan of massive gears pulling open the heavy bay doors, light flooded the cavern, revealing the mechanical monstrosity.
It was the planetary defense force’s single battlemech: a 40-ton CDA-2A Cicada, named after a common insect on Terra unknown to the people of Untran. It had no arms to speak of, and its long, digitigrade legs and talon-like feet made it appear even less humanoid. The CDA-2A mounted a simple weapons package consisting of one small and two medium lasers. Speed was its main advantage.
The sheen of polished metal and a fresh coat of paint had long faded. Carbon scoring outlined a patchwork of armor plating, held together by astech spit and profanity. Battle scars exposed the paint schemes of a half-dozen factions under Untran’s standard khaki and white.
This particular ‘mech had been with the Achtur Security Forces for several decades. Typically, responsibility fell on the planetary nobility to pilot such war machines, but Mandrinn Chul was practically bedridden, and his worthless son spent his inheritance on a one-way ticket off world.
Lucian had no time to think about such things as he climbed down a ladder into the cockpit, unwound his keffiyeh, and wriggled the neuro-linked helmet over his head. A few standard months earlier, Lance Sergeant Chin-Sun pulled him from the motor pool, where he was the best hovercraft driver in the ASF, to train on the Cicada. Piloting a ‘mech in combat, however, was very different from a highly maneuverable J. Edgar Light Hover Tank, and no amount of simulated training or patrols could prepare him for it. He was no warrior.
Lucian signaled to the master technician. Yellow warning lights pulsed, and he disappeared beneath the cockpit hatch.
The urgency of the moment compelled him to disregard the usual dozen or more prechecks, and the Cicada’s Pitban fusion engine hummed to life. As his instrument panel lit up, he said a silent prayer to Song Ziwen, a distant ancestor who fought in the Second Succession War. The machine lurched forward and cleared the open bay door, which had been installed in an enlarged mine shaft.
With a running speed of between 40.5 to 129.6 kph, it didn’t take long for him to bound up the earthen ramp to the planet’s surface. From there, he cruised down the road past the solar panel farm that powered the city and toward the planet’s spaceport.
Calling it a “spaceport” was little more than wishful thinking. Untran was colonized over two centuries ago, and in the early years scientists attempted to terraform the planet’s arid surface. Its toxic bromine veins poisoned the native water supply, and large blocks of ice had to be brought in from light years away. As the Inner Sphere descended into near-constant warfare, the trade its colonists depended upon gradually dried up until they reached their current predicament.
The spaceport was identifiable by the flatness of the terrain in contrast to the surrounding cliffs, gulches, and craters. Dropship exhaust regularly cleared the regolith from its ferrocrete tarmac every trading cycle and buried the sparse modular buildings until only their doors were exposed. Colonists could measure the passage of time by the thickness of sand and debris on the runway as the planet’s wind reburied it.
As the spaceport came into view, Lucian’s computer fed him data on the two hostile ‘mechs towering over everything but the large spheroid freighters they were there to intimidate. Their silhouettes gave them away. Even in the periphery, children quickly became familiar with the most popular ‘mech designs through books, artwork, and interstellar media. One was an MCY-98 Mercury, and the other, an UM-R60 Urbanmech. They were painted an intimidating black and red pattern popular with bandits.
The Mercury was a squat, humanoid ‘mech with an almost comical appearance. Despite weighing half as much as his Cicada, it mounted the same weapons complement, plus an additional small laser. The Mercury was an older design probably scavenged from some Star League-Era battlefield in the Periphery.
The Urbanmech, as its name implied, was designed for urban combat and looked like a trashcan on legs. In the absence of arms, it sported one Imperator-B Class 10 Autocannon and one small laser.
Combined, the pirate ‘mechs outweighed him by ten tons, which on paper was not much of an advantage. When it came to firepower, however, they had him seriously outgunned.
Lucian throttled down as he approached the spaceport, allowing his escort vehicles to catch up. They fanned out on his flanks, but had little hope of providing support. At best, the pirate mechwarriors might be annoyed enough to waste a few shots on them and give Lucian a moment to breathe. Might.
Crews from several Mule and Aqueduct class dropships had just begun to unload their cargo when the pirates arrived, leaving large intermodal containers stacked on the tarmac as they fled. A few well-aimed laser blasts would incinerate a week’s supply of food, water, and provisions in moments. The pirates’ infantry took full advantage and hid among the containers, knowing the ASF would be hesitant to target them.
Lieutenant Zhiyuan’s voice came over the universal radio frequency. “Attention, profligates! You have violated the sovereign territory of the planet Untran. Return to your dropships immediately or you will be detained and your property seized.”
Lucian aligned his crosshairs over the Urbanmech, eyeing its deadly autocannon with trepidation. He hovered his thumb above a red button on his joystick and placed his index finger on the trigger, awaiting the pirates’ response. Had they even heard?
Confirmation came swiftly.
“Come now, Sao-wei, why the sudden stubbornness?” a raspy voice said over the radio, using the Chinese term for lieutenant, or with a certain inflection, a foul odor. “Just pay up and we’ll be on our way. You don’t want your people to starve.”
“Not gonna happen this time,” Zhiyuan replied with a tinge of anger and regret.
Seconds turned into minutes while the pirates’ commander weighed his options. Was the ransom worth a firefight?
Suddenly, the Urbanmech’s autocannon belched hot lead in Lucian’s direction, but the shot went wide. Its range was roughly twice that of Lucian’s medium lasers, and his support units were at an even worse disadvantage. Three halftracks and his old light hover tank raced to close the 250 meters between them.
The pirate Mercury opened up with its medium lasers, slicing into a halftrack and blistering its crew before they could even get in range. Their infantry followed suit with a barrage of sub-machinegun and pulse laser rifle fire.
Lucian exhaled and pulled the trigger. Firing at 3D models in a simulation was one thing, but that was a real person inside 30 tons of steel. The Urbanmech was still in his sights, but only one of his two medium lasers hit its mark. The Urbanmech’s armor absorbed the shot above the shielding over its right knee, and Lucian took a hard right turn to avoid a punishing reprisal.
His strategy, if he could call it that, was to focus on his most dangerous opponent, at least until it ran out of ammunition. His Cicada could run circles around the Urbanmech, and once it depleted its single ton of autocannon shells, he could easily stay out of range of its small backup laser.
“This is Lucian to First Cohort,” he said on their secure frequency. “Concentrate on that Mercury and keep it away from me.”
“Roger,” came the reply.
The J. Edgar Light Hover Tank spun up dust as it accelerated closer to the enemy. Skimming just above the surface, it had an impressive speed of up to 186 kph, faster than anything else on that battlefield. It needed the extra speed to stay alive, because its paper-thin armor could not sustain more than one or two hits.
The Mercury’s elongated torso briefly disappeared beneath the contrails of four short-range missiles launched from the tank’s turret. None hit their target. The hover tank swerved and zipped. The Mercury’s pilot turned to swat away this annoyance.
Sensing an opportunity, Lucian sent dual green-tinged beams of amplified light deep into the Mercury’s thin rear armor. It wasn’t enough to penetrate, but left two gaping holes waiting to be exploited.
Where was his primary target? Lucian’s sensors detected the Urbanmech taking potshots with its Harmon Light Laser at ASF troopers who had dismounted from their halftracks and were lying prone or taking cover behind large boulders or sand mounds. Its autocannon was silent—no doubt conserving ammunition for him.
Lucian’s Cicada shook as it absorbed two hits from the Mercury’s lasers, which evidently chose to turn its attention back to him. It was a calculated risk, one that it paid for dearly. Another salvo from the J. Edgar slammed into the hole in the Mercury’s rear armor. Steam began pouring from the ovoid vent on its right shoulder.
They’re pushing too hard, Lucian thought, wincing as the J. Edgar hovercraft struck an outbuilding partially buried under sand. Its hydraulic fan sputtered and violently slapped its skirt before the whole craft sank into the dune in a cloud of debris. Its crew scrambled from the turret hatch just as the Mercury’s massive, duck-like foot smashed down.
It’s now or never. Lucian jammed the throttle forward and closed the distance between his Cicada and the Mercury, bringing all three lasers into range. Sweat poured down his neck as his heatsinks struggled to counteract the rising temperature. Green and red beams of amplified light sliced through the Mercury’s right arm and it dropped, dangling by a collection of torn myomers, the artificial muscles that control a battlemech’s limbs.
The Mercury’s pilot backed off, no doubt desiring to preserve his expensive machine.
Lucian’s heart jumped and for a moment, he dared to hope they could send these brigands fleeing back to their dropship. A salvo of 80mm rounds from the Urbanmech’s autocannon dispelled his optimism. It tore through the small armor shield that served as his right arm, and damage sensors flashed red.
The second blow was a surprise to both combatants. Lucian’s sensors did not detect the bandit appearing in the window of the control tower with a shoulder-mounted launch tube, but it did detect the incoming short-range missile. It was too late to react.
The inferno-tipped warhead impacted on his left torso, emitting a sickening gelatinous hiss. The heat in his cockpit neared unbearable levels as he grabbed his discarded keffiyeh and mopped the sweat from his neck. Something’s wrong, he thought as he second-guessed the reading on his instrument panel. His Cicada’s heatsinks were dissipating heat at only 66 percent efficiency.
Chin-Sun’s directions had been clear—if he ran into trouble, fall back on the Second Cohort and defend the citadel. But that would mean abandoning the provisions Untran needed for the next several months. Who’s to say the pirates wouldn’t just cut their losses, destroy the cargo, and take off?
Come, Song Ziwen, answer my prayers, Lucian thought. As he struggled to keep his sweat-stung eyes open, he recalled the heroic tales his father told him about his ancestor, the protector of his house. Most were probably fiction.
Autocannon rounds raked across his center torso, jolting him back into action. His ‘mech’s tri-toed feet pounded the ferrocrete past debris and burnt-out shells of halftracks while his Hartford S1000 targeting-tracking system strained to keep the Urbanmech in its crosshairs.
Emerald lances of coherent light glanced off the Urbanmech’s elephantlike legs or singed the dropship beyond. The pirate’s autocannon whirled a deadly reprisal, tearing holes in Lucian’s armor.
An alarm filled Lucian’s cockpit, and then the trigger on his joystick clicked uselessly. Before he fully realized what was happening, his battlemech ground to a halt and froze like a colossal metal monument a mere 50 yards from his opponent. The noise was sickening.
“No! No!” Lucian screamed and slammed his fist against the instrument panel. The heat buildup must have triggered the Cicada’s emergency shutdown protocol. He sank into his command couch in disbelief.
Lucian could only imagine what his opponents were doing, since his display screens were black. The bandits were probably caught off guard by the shutdown, but would quickly figure out what happened and move in for the kill.
He felt oddly resigned to his fate.
Outside, wind-swirled sand collected against the charred bodies and debris while the Mercury and Urbanmech cautiously squared off against their immobile foe.
The Cicada’s cockpit was quiet like a metallic tomb, save for the pop and groan of its cooling internal structure. As Lucian waited for the killing blow, he thought of his old crew in the J. Edgar and hoped they made it to safety. Then he recalled Chin-Sun’s final salute and smiled. At least he would die a mechwarrior.
M.A. Kleen 