Redemption and Malice

A BattleTech Story

Blaine Lee Pardoe

Author’s Note

I have included some BattleTech fans in this story. Those I randomly selected are:

Derek King

Gerry S. Xydis

Jack Halloran

Seyla!

OUTSIDE KENSINGTON

DICHELL

THE PERIPHERY

6 NOVEMBER 3148

Halloran put down the grinder, giving Ansel a nod that the time had come for a break and went to the door. The air stung of old coolant, ozone, lubricants, and sweat—it washed over him and he drew it in deep. Just before he opened it, he wiped his brow on his sleeve. The recovered BattleMech arm was hard to work with given the limited equipment he possessed. Still, it was a good find and in remarkable condition. The Star League knew how to build things to last.

In the doorway stood Yurgi King, his thick gray beard longer than the last time Halloran had seen him. “Friend Halloran, it is good to see you,” he said nervously taking off his hat and holding it in front of him.

“Come in,” Halloran said, gesturing to the table where Ansel had taken a stool and was nursing a bottle of water. “Can I get you something?”

Yurgi shook his head nervously and did not take the extended stool that Halloran pulled out for him. “I am fine, and I thank you for your generosity. I fear I come bearing grim news.”

“What is it?” Halloran asked.

“Raiders have come to Dichell, pirates,” Yurgi said. “They landed a DropShip at Canaan. They came in BattleMechs and hovercraft. They have struck at most of the other settlements. A rider that came in to warn us. He said they come demanding tribute. They attack and take what they will, including young girls and boys. I don’t know if they are taken as slaves or worse.”

Halloran drank in his friend’s words silently for a few moments. “Thank you for your warning,” he replied flatly.

“We are defenseless. Dichell has no militia, no military force. We need you to help us defend the town.”

“Why would I do that?”

They will come for you my friend.”

“Why would they come to me?” Halloran asked, opening the small cooling unit and pulling out a bottle of water for himself. “Ansel and I are nothing but junkers. This is not my concern.”

Yurgi’s eyes narrowed for a moment at the response. “I think we both know different. You go out into the Gullies, despite the dangers there. I know what you are salvaging out there, everyone does,” he nodded to the massive BattleMech arm suspended by the gantry over the shop floor. “They will come for you, friend Halloran. Out here, in the Farback, such parts are priceless. You will be a target.”

Halloran took in the words of the older man carefully. He is asking a great deal, a challenge to my Pact. “That may be so, but I am just a junker,” he replied unconvincingly.

Yurgi glared back at him. “I think we both know that is not true,” he replied in a low tone. “You came here over two years ago, dropped off by an unmarked DropShip, the likes of which I have never seen before. You go into the Gullies, where the air and water are said to kill, but you and Ansel do not die. You only rarely come to town. You avoid people in general. I have come to learn that such men are often avoiding their pasts.”

“All of that does not make me anything more than a junker who does not like people.”

Yurgi nodded in understanding. “The Periphery does that, pulls people out who don’t want to deal with civilized society. I saw that behavior in my great grandfather. That was what brought him out here—the senseless wars. Quiet…like you. A loner…like you. He came to Dichell to hide from his past too. A man that knows how BattleMechs work on a planet where there are none is a man that has spent time with BattleTech. I have seen your scars,” he nodded at Halloran’s forearm, and the large, round scar charred on it. A second long, thick scar ran from his inner elbow up to the circle, the mark of a laser wound years ago. “Tools do not make wounds like that. You are a warrior.”

Halloran paused again, drinking in the words, ignoring the gaze on his scar. Earned during my arrogant youth in the Circles. “I was,” he responded flatly. “That time has long passed.”

“We need you,” Yurgi said, tightening his grip on his hat between his hands. “If the rumors are true, these are savages. They will come for you because you have parts that are worth money. They will come and kill you.”

“Perhaps,” Halloran replied. “Perhaps not.”

“I will stand against them, but I am one man, and old. My son will too, but he can barely shoot. It is not enough. You have to have salvaged weapons that can stop them.”

That part was true, but it was not enough to sway Halloran. “If they wish to come and tangle with us, we will make them pay. But a planet is a big place. They may not come at all. Or if they do, they may come and leave. Periphery pirates are transient critters at best.”

“Even if they do not come after you my friend, they will rape and kill others. They will steal the children as they have in other settlements.” Yurgi’s words rang with pleading and despair.

“You say they have BattleMechs and tanks. That makes tangling with them a risky proposition, perhaps deadly.”

“They are men and women of low character—pirates. They have BattleMechs and a few vehicles, from what I have heard. What is that old Rim Worlds saying, ‘One skilled killer is worth more than a hundred who do not see him coming.’”

Halloran took a long sip and slowly set the bottle on the work table. It had been a long time since he had acknowledged his past life. This is one of the few places where quoting the Rim Worlds would not end in a brawl. I fought and earned the right to come here and find parts the Clave needed. I did not come here to fight in wars again. “Those kind of odds would be suicide.”

“You would have advantage. They expect to face farmers and miners, not a man like you, a veteran who knows the ways of war,” Yurgi pushed.

Halloran shook his head. “It is not my fight. Those days are behind me, with good reason. We came here to do some salvage…” And to pay penance.

“It will be your fight,” Yurgi assured him. “A runner from Ashton said they were coming in four days. Come to town then, my friend. See these men with your own eyes. Do not make a decision without seeing for yourself.”

Staring into the older man’s eyes, Halloran could feel his desperation. “Very well. We will come into town then. But now, we have a great deal of work to do.” He gestured toward the arm of the BattleMech in the shop.

“Thank you, Halloran. I will watch for you in town, my boy and me,” Yurgi said, reaching out and shaking his hand hard. The old man put on his hat and left, closing the door behind him.

Ansel slid off of his stool and came up beside him. “The Clave Elders wanted us to salvage. This is not our way.”

Halloran turned and looked at his tech and assistant. “They are not here now. We are. Our people have faced sterner enemies and ordeals. We are the Shield of Man, remember that. Protecting the innocent is part of our Pact. We swore an oath when we became warriors.” He spoke the words firmly, as if he were convincing himself.

“Agreed. I do not miss the days of shrapnel rattling my cockpit and lasers attempting to burn me…nor do I fear those times. It has been a long time passing for us. Perhaps a fight will serve our people. As you say, we are The Shield.”

Battles bring death and even greater risks, such as discovery. Halloran looked around the massive shop. It was a privilege to come to Dichell, to recover things that were needed by the Clave. That was what he had been told when he had been chosen. Perhaps they sent me here knowing my skills might be needed? Often times such pilgrimages ended in violence…which was why warriors were sent. “We are not going to town to fight. It is reconnaissance. We will ride in and see if Yurgi was right, access the situation.”

“Redemption and Malice?” he asked with a hint of delight ringing with his words.

“Preparing them would be prudent. Strictly precautionary. Perhaps these pirates will back down at the hint of resistance.”

“Perhaps not,” Ansel replied.

Most likely not. And we will bring Matilda and Alice. We need to prepare some other things as well.”

“There is nothing about Matilda that is precautionary, sir.”

“A weapon does not kill on its own. The wielder of that weapon kills.”

“I know my verses,” Ansel snapped back with a grin.

“I would hope that you do. This may get messy before it is over. You know that?”

He nodded quickly. “I assumed it would if Alice and Matilda are coming.”

“Good,” Halloran replied. “We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Later that day, Halloran strode out into to Gullies alone. It was here that the final battle of Dichell had been fought, where the Rim Worlds forces had fought to the bitter end. The area was a long, dried-up set of deep river and creek cuts, some 20 meters deep, crisscrossed the parched upper-lands. Narrow defiles, some wide enough for only two BattleMechs, were overhung by thick sandstone, so that shooting down was not possible. You had to drop a ’Mech or vehicle into the snaking cracks and fight at deadly close range.

The Rim Worlds had used tactical nukes on the site, but it wasn’t enough to stop the SLDF from crushing them. Finding the salvage from above was impossible, thanks to the massive overcroppings of sandstone. The locals said that anyone that went there died from the radiation, but that had been centuries ago. There were some hotspots, but he and Ansel had found and marked them off.

The salvage had been protected from the elements for the most part, and the thin, arid atmosphere had preserved wiring and myomer. Its greatest protection was the rumors of radiation and bioweapons. No one had died going in the Gullies in decades, but the threat of a slow, painful death kept everyone else away.

After several minutes of walking, Halloran came to the fallen and charred remains of a salvaged Rim Worlds Zeus, now little more than a gutted, blackened shell. A thin layer of dust covered it, and Halloran strode forward and wiped the cockpit canopy clean. He and Ansel had taken out anything usable long ago, and only cut wires dangled inside. He could see dull brown stains on the command seat, dried blood of the dead warrior that had piloted it. The two of them had buried his remains with the others they had found over the last few years.

Halloran stared at the seat for several minutes as he drank in his thoughts. He knew there would be deaths if a fight came. Halloran did not fear his own death. I fought in the Circles enough to have mastered my fear. I only worry about the innocents. The innocent always die when warriors do their work.

The Clave taught many things to its children. As the offspring of betrayal themselves, they knew that the weak needed protecting. Foragers, like he and Ansel, were to keep to themselves, never risk exposing the Clave. They also were to be The Shield, when called upon. The thought that raiders had kidnapped children and women bothered him as well. This must be our call, the call all warriors face.

Turning, he left. There was much to prepare for if Yurgi was telling the truth.

Four days later.

Kensington had been a city, back during the days of the Rim Worlds League. The Great Retribution had come at the hands of the Great Father, General Kerensky and the Star League Defense Forces. The locals were neutral on the matter of the coup and the attack on the Rim Worlds League. Some felt it was deserved for the sins of Amaris, while others felt it had been overkill by the SLDF. Tens of thousands died at the hands of both armies.

When they left, Dichell was all but abandoned and forgotten. Radioactive and biological hotspots proved too much for the bulk of the survivors who fled for other planets. Those that stayed did so because of an odd sense of Dichell being their home…as if they were tied to the planet.

The once proud city of Kensington had been razed and the rubble and debris had been used by the survivors to rebuild their little community. The buildings were study reused bricks, some still bearing the scars of the war after all of these years. Rubble had been cleared, dumped unceremoniously into a large mounds outside of the town. It was a small community, barely a hundred calling the town their home. A haze of dust hung in the air as people and animals shuffled down the wide streets.

Halloran and Ansel came in riding on their borracks, a horse-like creature easily trained and saddled for travel. His oilskin duster was covered with the dust of the main road that made up Kensington. There was no one on the streets, unusual for the mid-afternoon. They are hiding, which is what these pirates are counting on.

As he came up on the main intersection in the heart of the town when he saw the tank—a Galleon. Extra armor plates had been haphazardly welded on. It was a dull gray with crude splatters of red designed to simulate blood. The medium laser had been replaced with some sort of makeshift missile launcher, clearly cobbled together, with four tubes. Halloran wondered if it was for show or if it actually worked. Along the front of the armor, on the leading edge, were eight human skulls that had been skewered on spikes that they had welded in place. To scare the people.

There was no sign of the crew, but given they were parked in front of Warton’s Bar, Halloran felt he knew where they were. He and Ansel dismounted and tied off their borracks, then opened the door to the bar.

When he entered, every eye in the room locked onto him. The air stung of sweat and fear, Halloran could feel it like a static charge in the saloon. There were five of them, they stood out because of their battered body armor and holstered and slung weapons. There were four locals in the room as well, and Halloran could almost smell the fear coming from them. Only Icer Warton, the bar owner, seemed to show an ounce of resolve. He nodded to Icer, who nodded slowly back.

Halloran moved up to the bar near one of the larger men and nodded again to Icer, who poured him a shot of the moonshine he brewed in the back. Halloran slid out a five-credit coin, which Icer took. He put the drink down in front of Halloran, who held it with his left hand.

The man next to him reached over and grabbed at his shot glass, taking it from his grip and slamming it down. Halloran turned slowly towards him, looking deep into his eyes. Arrogance…overconfidence. The marks of the impure.

“’ppreciate the drink,” the man said, his breath so thick with alcohol and stink that it was almost combustible. “Why don’t y’order me up another?”

“You took my drink,” Halloran said, standing a little straighter. All eyes in the room moved to him as he did. Ansel shifted to a table in the center of the bar area, giving them both a good field of fire.

“Yeah,” the man said flashing a yellow-toothed grin. “What of it?”

“These are good folk,” Halloran said smoothly, his hands drifted to his hips as he tossed the flaps of his duster back. “Perhaps you should move on; leave them be.”

The larger man rose to his full stature and leaned in only a few centimeters from his face, close enough for Halloran to see each individual hair in his unshaven cheeks. “You don’t know who you’re talking to…who we are.”

“Enlighten me.”

“We are Sarah’s Slammers,” he said with pride. “And this planet’s ours now. We have BattleMechs, tanks, you name it. Y’all are our people now. We make the rules,” he turned as if he were broadcasting his words to the other locals in the bar. The other members of his crew nodded proudly as he spoke. “We’re the law here,” he said turning back to face Halloran. “An’ I think you should order me up a drink and drop to your knees to kiss my ass to thank me for asking for it.”

Halloran said nothing for a moment, staring face to face with the man, so close in fact that he couldn’t see Halloran pulling out the sawed-off shotgun—Matilda—from under the duster until he pushed the pirate back with the barrel jammed into his chest.

The man’s hands went up and his crew immediately reached for their sidearms. Ansel did too, rising with his own shotgun and pistol. There was a pause, a long one. Then the man started to laugh.

“Well boys, looks like we have a tough one here, a farmer that thinks he’s some sort of hero,” he called out his crew. Two of them chuckled in response.

“I am no farmer, nor am I a hero,” Halloran replied. “I think you and your men should drop your weapons.”

“Go ahead, pull the trigger,” the filthy braggart challenged. “My blast plates will take it. By the time you pull that trigger again, my boys will gun you down.”

Halloran nudged the barrel forward and could feel the click as the gun hit the ballistic plate covering the man’s chest. “Perhaps you are right,” he said, lowering Matilda slowly downward. The raider’s grin broadened. “That’s what I thought, you ain’t got the guts.”

There was a deafening blast from Matilda that made the man collapse, and made Halloran’s right ear pop and his left ring. The drunk thug toppled backward into one of his crew, his feet little more than bloody pulp on the ground. The smell from the shot filed his nostrils as Halloran raised Matilda up at the next member of the crew, aiming at his head. The man he had shot screamed, reaching for what was left of his maimed feet.

“Perhaps not,” Halloran said through gritted teeth.

Icer pulled out his pistol from behind the bar and rested it on the back collar of one of the pirates that was facing Ansel. Halloran pulled his ancient SLDF needler from its holster as well, aiming it at a different pirate’s head. “If I were you, I would drop my weapons and lay on the floor on your stomachs.”

“Kill him!” the wounded man cried from the bloody floor.

“I would not listen to him,” Halloran said coolly, “unless you wish to join him.”

He could see the men attempting to calculate their odds. They had the numbers, but were in a crossfire. Body armor was good, but it didn’t cover everything, such as feet and faces. The wails of agony from their leader on the floor were helping them finish their mental calculations. Almost in unison, they dropped their weapons and went to their knees, lying flat on the floor.

Ansel kicked the guns away from them, patting them down and pulling knives and other weapons out.

“You bastard…you made a big mistake…” the wounded man on the floor moaned, trying to grapple with what was left of his bloody boots.

“My life has been full of those,” Halloran replied as the ringing in his ears began to dissipate.

“Big Sarah’s gonna come, an’ when she does, she’ll destroy this town and alla you,” he spat as blood squirted through his fingers at the stumps that had been his feet.

Halloran looked over at Ansel. “You know what to do,” he said. “Make it quick. Then we will take the tank.”

Ansel knelt down near the pirate nearest to him and raised Alice, barrel pointed at the ceiling. He came down hard with the butt of the weapon on the hand of the man, the sound of cracked bones filling the air. The man moaned, but before he could react, Ansel had crushed his other hand.

“You ain’t going to kill them?” Icer asked.

“Life, even theirs, is precious. They will not be able to fight with broken hands. And that one,” he gestured to the man on the floor with the blown off feet, “he will be dead in a few minute…he just has not realized it yet. The others are worthless. Best to let them go.”

“Let them go? They will tell this ‘Sarah’ about us. She will come looking for her men,” Icer said. “They will make us pay for this.”

“You send them out to my place,” Halloran replied as several locals, including Yurgi King, entered the saloon, weapons drawn. The old man was shocked, but flashed a smile at the sight of his friends standing over the pirates. “You tell them that this was all my doing. Tell this Sarah that you were cooperating with her people until I came in. That is the truth. Send them to us. Ansel and I will deal with them. They will come to us because we stood up to them. They use intimidation like a lubricant. Whoever is leading them cannot have resistance permitted because it will grow and turn against them.”

“They’ll kill you Halloran,” Icer said.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Three days later.

Preparations took time and effort, but thankfully Yurgi and his son, Derek, had joined them to lend assistance. The Galleon would be theirs in the coming fight. He had been surprised that the missile rack on top was operational, but had swapped it out for an antique pulse laser he and Ansel had salvaged in the Gullies. It was dodgy because of its age, but worked. The skulls had been buried with the other dead out in the Gullies too.

They had used their SalvageMech to help prepare positions and pile dirt around the shop and storage bunkers, obscuring the most of the buildings. He had made sure his own BattleMech, Redemption, was ready. It was 95 tons of cobbled together limbs, parts, and weapons. The legs were from a squat Rim Worlds’ Behemoth, the upper body was that of a Pallas, a design long lost over the centuries. The arms were from a Highlander and the cockpit/head came from a Champion. It was ugly, ungainly, and deadly—a FrankenMech if there ever was one. It was a beast to pilot, as the gyro strained to keep it upright, but it was of better quality than what he expected any of Sarah’s Slammers might field.

Ansel piloted an SLDF Kyudo, one he had meticulously restored after finding it on their first search of the Gullies. Malice, as he called it, was made from the parts of three BattleMechs but was fully operational. It was like a pet to him, he cared for it so much.

They had another pair repaired and ready, if it came to that, both made up of parts. One was the upper torso of a Vulcan and the legs of a Rim Worlds Slither. Built more for speed than firepower, he hoped he would not need to fall back to it. The other was an UrbanMech on top with a Black Knight’s lower torso and legs. Ansel had named it Thumper; but Halloran thought it would be better to call it Wobbler, given its imbalance issues. They had reconstructed the ’Mechs two years ago for when they returned to the Clave. The Black Knight he had been restoring was still in parts in two different buildings. Now they would be used to defend Dichell from the Slammers.

They saw the dust kicking up first, off to the east and to the north. Two groups, moving someone in to try and flank us. Halloran noted, smiling thinly. They do not know the ground—that takes them into the Washes. The fine sands there were constantly whipped by the winds, limiting visibility and could bog down many vehicles and even ’Mechs.

The forward line came into view, and from his cockpit he could make out three BattleMechs and a Rommel tank. The Rommel was deadly at closer ranges, but the ’Mechs were his primary concern. One was a Charger, clearly modified. It made sense that such a failed ’Mech might end up in the hands of a Periphery pirate. This one had swapped out a few of the small lasers for a larger one…but otherwise it was just a big target. From his zoom-mode in the cockpit of Redemption, he could see the word, “Ruckus” crudely painted in bright yellow on its brown upper torso.

Another was an Archer, one that had seen better days. Her missile hatches were long-gone, and her armor was a series of sloppy misshapen patches of various shades of primer gray and black. The last was a Wasp. What is left of a Wasp. Its arms were homemade replacements that looked too heavy for the recon ’Mech. Its cockpit was more replacement parts from a half-dozen different ’Mechs than it was original.

The Rommel had also seen better days, and better fights than this. Its armor was crumpled, burned, and pockmarked. Someone had painted skulls on the side armor, possible a record of kills, but they was barely visible amid the damage. Coiled razor wire was wrapped around the top of the turret to deter anyone from trying to take the tank by infantry assault, perhaps telling Halloran how the Slammers had gotten it in the first place.

His comm system crackled and he heard a husky female voice. “This is Captain Sarah Xydis. Before we all commence to shooting, I think we should talk.”

Halloran had been expecting her signal as soon as he saw the dust kicking up. “Go ahead.”

“Face-to-face,” she flatly responded.

“So your sniper can pick me off? Negative.”

“Out in the middle, out of range then. Just you and me. I think you’ll want to hear what I say.”

He paused, not to think about what she was saying but to make her wait for him to respond. “No tricks.”

“No tricks.”

The light orange ground was dry and cracked under his feet as Halloran strode out on the flat dusty plain. He saw Sarah Xydis slowly approach, almost waddling as she walked. To say that she was a beefy woman was an insult to livestock everywhere. She was the heaviest MechWarrior he had ever seen, including an Elemental or two that he knew. Sarah body yearned to proceed the rest of her, her breasts jutted out before her on a barrel of flesh that could have acted as body armor. Each step made her flesh wobble, rippling under her jumpsuit which he was thankful that she wore. Xydis wore a bandoleer half-full of ammunition and a coolant vest that consisted of more duct tape that functional tubing.

She stopped some ten meters apart, drinking him in. She was not sure what she was going to face. Am I just a local thug, or a real threat?

“I heard what you did to Digby,” she said. “Shooting a man in the feet like that…it lacks style.”

“He came looking for a fight. Ordered me to buy him a drink and kiss his ass. I refused,” Halloran said flatly. “He found his fight. Now you are here, looking for another fight.”

“You stole one of my tanks,” she replied.

“Liberated.”

“Busted up my men so they couldn’t hold their peckers when they piss, too.”

“I could have killed them. I did not.

“The locals say you are a junker, salvaging gear. I detected your ’Mechs.”

If she was looking for a response, he didn’t give her one. He only looked at her with an expression of contempt. Here it comes…

“I could use a man like you. There’s no need for us to fight. We’re both pretty smart. Why don’t you throw in with my Slammers? Adding in your ’Mechs, we could head to Galatea and get in on some juicy merc contracts. Word is that the Republic and the Fed Suns would pay just about anything for any unit that’ll fight for them.”

“Not interested.”

“How about I pay you to power down and leave us be? The money is good…C-Bills if you want.”

“No,” he said. C-Bills were worthless to him, and almost everyone else. ComStar, if it even still existed, was all but gone with the HPG collapse.

“Well then, what do you want?” she demanded, putting her chunky fists on her seemingly never-ending hips.

“Release the people you have taken prisoner, starting with the children. Load up in your DropShip and leave this planet.”

Sarah chuckled for a moment. He could tell that it was forced. The sweat on her brow was not just from the long walk she’d made. “What if I don’t oblige?”

“Your ‘unit’ will be wiped out, and you will end up dead.”

Her bravado was not shaken. “You ain’t done the math, Mister Halloran. I have three BattleMechs and three tanks. You’ve got what…my captured Galleon and a “Mech or two? The odds’re against you.”

Thank you for telling me the size of your force. Mentally he knew that two tanks were in the Washes, probably hover vehicles, struggling with the fine dust as they hoped to flank him. They would be slowed with the winds churning the powdery sand through their fans. “There will be no mercy this time. Once we start the dance, the best you can hope for is an unmarked grave. If you somehow survive the fight, the locals will kill you for your crimes.”

She chuckled again, much more hollow this time. “Shame to see you die out here on this dust ball. Last chance: join my Slammers, or we’ll leave what’s left of you out here for the wild dogs to tear up.”

Halloran cracked a smile, not a big one, but enough to fan the flames of her doubt. “Then it is decided and done.” With that he turned and started back to his lines.

It took a while for him to reach Redemption. “I take it she did not choose to surrender?” Ansel asked as soon as he powered up.

“Negative,” he said. “We stick to the plan.” He switched to the channel so he could communicate with the Kings in the Galleon. “They will be coming for us. There are two, probably hovercraft, that are trying to flank us. We have that covered. There is no need to rush in. Let her come to us. When they do, I want Yurgi and Derek to gun the engine full out, it will make you harder to hit. Run up their left flank. Continuous fire, concentrate on that Archer and try and get behind them. Keep your distance from the Rommel. It has a hell of a wallop, but limited range.”

“Gotcha,” Yurgi replied.

“Ansel, we are going to rain fire down on that Charger. Every few volleys we will switch off on the Archer. The Charger is the prize—that’s Sarah’s BattleMech, I will keep her hot. Once she is out of play, it will make the others wonder what they are fighting for.”

“I have movement, they are advancing in-line formation, coming right up the road,” Ansel anxiously transmitted. “They are going to be at the tripwire in just a minute.”

“You know what to do,” Halloran said.

Ansel did not respond verbally. Instead he triggered the trench filled with petroleum wastes that were to the rear and front of their compound. He hit it the moment that the Archer and Charger reached it. The flames roared into the air, ripples of heat distorting the air and black smoke rising. It wouldn’t cause damage per se, but would catch the pirates off guard.

Ansel followed the flaming line of defense with a volley of twenty long-range missiles. They twisted and contorted in the air, tearing into the Charger as the flames lapped up around it. Halloran raised his modified left arm with the Gauss rifle slung on the outside of the forearm, and brought it to bear on the Charger as well. He heard the whine of the capacitors and felt the recoil as it sent the silvery-slug downrange at hypersonic speed, right into the center of the Slammers’ lead BattleMech. It rocked back hard from the kinetic forces impacting it, almost falling backwards.

The Archer responded with a ragged volley of its own long-range missiles. Two went wild in the air, while another pair plowed into the cracked orange soil. Half of the missiles peppered Redemption, making his damage display flicker yellow in the legs, but little more. We have the advantage with our munitions, recovered and refurbed SLDF rounds. They are firing crap they made or bought here in the Periphery.

The Galleon raced forward, seeming to fire wildly. Its medium pulse laser stitched a wide swath of burn holes along the front of the Archer. The Slammers’ Rommel slowed to a stop just short of the fire trench, hesitating. The enemy Wasp jumped the trench on a plume of blue jump jets, firing its short-range missiles at Ansel’s Kyudo, Malice. They found their mark on his upper torso, sending a small piece of armor flying. He responded with a blast from his extended range large laser that sent hot globs of metal spraying from the right leg of the Wasp as it landed.

Halloran fired his autocannon at the Charger, which replied with a crimson beam from a large torso-mounted laser. The large coherent light cut a hot black scar along his ’Mech’s right thigh and hip. His autocannon tore into the right arm of the Charger, making the assault ’Mech twists at the waist from the impact.

Before she could counter, Ansel blasted away with his LRMs again—rattling the Charger hard as most of the missiles tore into its upper body, sending shards of armor flying. It was too much for Sarah Xydis to maintain balance. The huge ’Mech fell on its side, the sound of crunching and strained metal barely audible, but noted by Halloran. A cloud of dust rose from where she fell.

The Archer emerged from the trench of fire and blasted away again with its LRMs, raining half of a salvo down on Ansel’s Kyudo, shredding the armor off of Malice’s left arm and exposing several bundles of myomer.

The Rommel stopped short of the flaming trench. While it posed only a marginal threat, the driver clearly didn’t have the stomach for risking it. On the far side of the trench, none of his possible targets risked getting in close enough for his massive autocannon to come to bear. As I had anticipated. He hoped that the flanking Slammers would respond in the same manner.

Halloran locked onto the downed Charger and fired another Gauss rifle round into the ’Mech’s leg as Xydis attempted to roll it on its side so that it could stand. The slug dug deep into the shin, popping off armor plates in the impact and leaving a ferocious hole.

The Kings’ Galleon blazed away at the Archer, who responded with three of its medium lasers. One bright red beam missed, scarring the orange ground, but the other two seared away glowing bits of melted armor, and forced the Kings to break off their attack and wheel around in a cloud of dust.

Ansel fired his ER large laser into the Archer, hitting the right torso missile rack and detonating at least a few warheads in the tubes. White smoke rolled from the twisted tubes. The Archer’s medium lasers tore at his Kyudo, one hitting Ansel’s ’Mech in the chest. Malice swung around hard when the brilliant crimson beam hit, sending a splatter of melted armor flailing in the air like a meteor shower.

Xydis’s Charger, Ruckus, finally managed to stand, swaying slightly as Sarah fought to keep balance. Halloran brought his targeting reticle on the center of the ’Mech and thumbed the trigger of his autocannon. Rather than a roar, he heard a metallic click. A jam! Her battered Charger fired its medium laser, hitting Redemption in the right shoulder. The bright red beam bore deep into his armor, and warning lights flickered on his damage display.

I have four Gauss rifle rounds left, I have to make them count. He zoomed his targeting display on the Charger as he walked forward, closing range. The capacitors whine filled his ears. With a gentle squeeze of the trigger, he felt the round launch. Between him and the Charger, there was a blur in the air, white/silver, almost seeming to connect the two BattleMechs. It hit Ruckus in the right hip, ripping the leg off just below the actuator. It rolled back into the dusty ground and he saw myomer dangling and sparking where the limb had been blasted off.

Xydis tried to hop her ’Mech on one leg, but struggled to do so. As the Charger twisted and toppled over again, she punched out. The cockpit canopy popped and her ejection seat roared as the ’Mech fell, sending her off at an angle low to the ground. When the chute opened, the commander of the Slammers was only fifteen meters from the flaming petroleum. She swung back towards the collapsed BattleMech, only to land in the fiery trench. He didn’t hear her screams from his cockpit, but in his mind, he imagined them.

A half-dozen long range missiles from the Archer shook the Redemption again. Halloran juked his ’Mech to the left and broke into a full run. Ansel tore into the Archer with his own LRM barrage, missiles exploding all over the side of the pirate’s ’Mech, wrapping it in a cloud of shrapnel and smoke as it lumbered forward.

Halloran switched to an open communications channel. “Slammers—your commanding officer is dead. There is no point in you sharing her fate. Power down now and surrender, and you will be treated fairly. Continue this fight, and you will be destroyed along with her.”

The Archer stopped, no doubt to check his sensors, then powered down. Its boxy arms drooped downward. Likewise the Rommel, barely visible through the smoke and flames, lowered its cannon barrel.

The Wasp spun about, turning to flee, but a blast from Malice dug into its right rear armor and sent it toppling face down on the dried ground, surrounding it with an orange-ish dust cloud.

Out of the corner of his cockpit viewscreen he saw what was left of the Galleon, battered and mangled, cruise back towards his line. The Kings were still operational, though the tank might very well have been on its last legs, smoke rolling behind it from the damaged engine compartment.

Victory. Halloran had almost forgotten what it felt like it had been so long. I did not ask for this fight, but was victorious. As the adrenaline wore off, he looked down at his hands and saw they were quaking. He had obeyed Clave law and was true to The Pact. He had only fought when necessary, only killed when he had to.

Six days later.

The capture of the Slammer’s old Union-Class DropShip had been easy. He had repaired the captured Charger enough to make it mobile. Posing as Sarah Xydis and feigning a communications problem, he got up to the gantry, providing cover for a number of locals to swarm aboard the ship. The crew didn’t realize they had been boarded until the last minute, and were quickly captured. The prisoners taken by the Slammers, no doubt to be sold into slavery, were set free.

The Slammers were treated fairly, most being tried and hung by the local citizens. Only the DropShip crew had been spared, and then only because no one had witnessed them committing crimes. Yurgi had called for a celebration of their victory, but Halloran bowed out. “My people do not celebrate victories because we know from our past that defeat is often just around the corner.” The locals had their party, but he and Ansel did not take part. Instead he used the occasion to signal the satellite in the system, telling them their mission was over.

He informed Yurgi that night that sometime in the coming year, they would be departing. Yurgi was crestfallen. “You can’t go, friend Halloran. You were our defense. If you leave, we are endangered.”

“Not true,” Halloran replied. “We will leave you that Charger and the tanks,” he replied. “We have repaired them enough to be serviceable.”

“We lack the skills to maintain them,” Yurgi argued. “And the prowess to use them in battle.”

“You and your boy Derek did well enough against the Slammers,” Halloran countered. “We will teach you what you need to do to keep them operational.”

“Why must you go?”

“It is the way of our people. We came for salvage, and have found what we came for. We are not to become entangled with the affairs of others…and when we do so, we must leave. Now we return to our home and our other duties.”

“Who are your people?” the elder King pressed.

“You ask a question I cannot answer. Who and where we are is our most precious secret. It defines us. In that secret, the Clave prevails.”

“You have done a great service to our people. You saved the hostages, you saved us all. There must be some way we can replay you.”

Halloran paused. “We have no need of recognition. This action redeemed us, gave us new purpose, and has allowed us to return to our people. That is reward enough.”

“Will you come this way again?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.

“I don’t even know your last name,” Yurgi replied.

Halloran Hallis smiled. “No, you do not.”

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BATTLETECH: REDEMPTION AND MALICE

Cover art by Anthony Scroggins and David Kerber

Design by Matt Heerdt & David Kerber

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