The Battle For Cyclops: A Xander Cain Novel

by P W Hillard

  First checked the cannon mounted on his right shoulder, the barrel sliding from behind his back and locking into place pointing forwards. A long cable ran from the back of the dull grey tube, bands of metal wrapped around it, glimpses of blue flashing between the gaps. Attached to the side of the tube was a small box with a camera lens, targeting equipment to guide its deadly blasts. Checks ran in the corner of First’s vision, text scrolling past as a dozen different safety routines commenced. He turned his attention to the other shoulder-mounted weapon, a much more traditional high explosive rocket launcher. It wasn’t ideal in the close confines of the facility, but he would take it.

  Happy with the status of his machine, First strode over to one of the unmoving QTs. Affixed to the wall next to it was its primary weapon, a large stone grey object that looked like an assault rifle expanded to giant size. Inserted knowledge floated to the forefront of First's mind telling him this was a one hundred and twenty-millimetre smoothbore automatic cannon, loaded with armour piercing sabot rounds. He pulled it from the rack, the weapon comically small in the hulking hands of his machine.

  First turned towards the main doors of the hangar and began to walk forwards, footsteps stomping as he advanced. He sent the signal for the doors to open, a thought working its way through his wetware, into his radio transmitter, then through the air to the receiver mounted on the wall. Desire resulting in action.

  A groan filled the air, the doors opening to reveal the launch bay beyond. The sounds of battle filled the room, the searing of lasers answer the bark of gunshots as the last of First's infantry tried to engage the invaders. It was a losing battle, the last desperate death throes of a force that had long since been defeated.

  Two enemy mechsuits were moving around an oversized dropship, the model of which wasn’t included in First’s knowledge base. He aimed the weapon on his shoulder, the invisible targeting beam tracking the larger of the two suits. A blue bar appeared in First’s vision as the weapon began to charge.

  ***

  Alexi lashed out with his laser, raking them across the infantry threatening the dropship. The crates they were behind proved no protection against the searing beam, catching alight from the heat. He felt sorry for them, the singed corpses left behind weren’t pleasant to look at, and the pain had to be unbearable. Anyone who didn’t feel a tiny pang as they fired their lasers had to be a psychopath in Alexi’s eyes.

  The sound of grinding metal caught his attention and Alexi spun around on his heels to face the noise. The door at the far side of the bay had opened, revealing a machine that was hard to believe.

  The thing loomed, taller than even Anya’s heavy mechsuit. Its armour was a frightening black, one that seemed to absorb the light around it. It was difficult to look at, the many angles of its impressive armour making it look almost fractal, the edges lost in the darkness of its paint. It had a grey tube mounted on one shoulder, a weapon that Alexi didn’t recognise, whilst on the other was a launcher packed tight with rockets. In one hand it held an autocannon, though it seemed small for the hulking machine.

  It was watching them, the light catching the lenses of its head unit one of the few points of light in the darkness. A loud hum had begun to build, the sound reverberating off it like a war cry. The grey barrel swivelled on its mount, pointing towards Alexi’s comrade.

  “Anya move!” Alexi shouted as a blue beam erupted from the strange weapon.

  Pay-per-view transmission from the IMC

  “Good evening, good morning, good whatever time it might be in your little nook of known space, and welcome to the festivities. The one hundred and twelfth annual Mechslam event, brought to you as always by the Interplanetary Mechsports Corporation. The IMC providing the very finest in sports entertainment for the last one hundred and forty-six years. This year’s event is shaping up to be the best yet, despite the issues that have plagued known space recently.”

  “That’s right, Jim. Recent outbreaks of war in the Iron Belt have forced IMC to rearrange our schedule and do what’s right for our superstars. Still, the lineup tonight is something truly fantastic. A once in a lifetime event for fans of sports entertainment.”

  “That it is, Vance. We’ve got matches for the interplanetary title, the heavyweight title and the women’s team title. Exciting stuff, for sure. What match are you most looking forward to?”

  “Well, it has to be Evan “The Thunder” Hawthorne versus the Mechhead for the heavyweight title. These two titans of the industry have been at each other’s throats for the last six months, and it’s time for it to come to a head.”

  “Who do you fancy in that matchup then, Vance?”

  “Well, it's got to be The Thunder. He's been in top form recently and has made some brand new modifications to his suit. Mechhead is good but he's a mad man for riling up The Thunder as he has. I just think he's going to find himself outmatched. Have you seen the new rocket launchers The Thunder has had installed? I just don't know how you go up against firepower like that. It's crazy. Sometimes I think our arena is at risk of being blown apart.”

  “That’s just how it goes when you have two athletes of this calibre going toe to toe with some of the latest mechsuits and weapons. Now having said what you’ve said, I think Mechhead has this. He’s hungry for victory, and he’s got that fire in his eyes that only champions get. The fans might not like him, but I think he feeds off that energy. I wouldn’t count him out just yet.”

  “You’ve got a point, Jim. No matter who wins today, you’re going to see two IMC superstars giving it their all. Now…yes, hang on. Seems like we’ve got The Thunder here on the line with us. Thunder, now apparently you’ve got some words for Mechhead before your match this evening?”

  “I do, Vance. I just want to say to him, if he wants to act the tough guy, saying he can beat me in a no-holds-barred match, then he's got another thing coming. They don't call me The Thunder because I like to stay quiet about things. He's going to feel a world of pain when I'm done with him. His mech is going to be scrap on the arena floor, he's going to…what was that?”

  “What was what? Did you hear anything, Jim?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It sounded like an explosion, I’ve, I’ve got to go.”

  “Thunder before you leave can you just-”

  “No there’s someone here! You guys need to leave, empty the arena something is-”

  “Oh dear, it seems we’re having some technical issues here at the one hundred and twelfth mechslam event. Vance and I will be back, right after some messages from our sponsors.”

  Final transmission before the cancellation of the one hundred and twelfth Mechslam event due to attack from rival Galactic Championship Entertainment.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The beam lanced across the launch bay, a column of blue light that crashed into Anya’s shoulder. Orange flecks flew from the metal as globs of molten steel splattered against the wall behind her like blood from a bullet wound. The energy blast had made a mockery of her thick armour, boring through it in the few brief moments the beam was active. The air shimmered where the energy had passed through, like heat rising from concrete.

  Anya felt the sweat on her brow. Some of it was from the heat of the beam, but the rest was from her nerves. She was aware she had a reputation amongst her other mercenaries as being someone who was cool under pressure, but even she was shaken by how close she had come. Alexi’s warning had come just in time, Anya shifting her mech to the side to avoid the worst of the shot. If she hadn’t moved the blast would have punched clear through her cabin.

  Anya didn’t have time to be shocked. She had no idea what the rate of fire was on the bizarre energy beam. That enemy mech needed to die, and fast. The massive thing was just standing there, unmoving, no doubt waiting for Anya to take action first. Anya crouched, the camera unit on the mech following her. She was building up tension in her legs, synthetic muscles filling with potential energy. Her suit was a heavier model, and Anya knew any move
ment she made would have to be explosive.

  There was a twitch on the enemy mech’s shoulder, the rocket unit adjusting itself.

  Anya threw herself forward diagonally, breaking into a sprint, heavy feet leaving imprints on the concrete floor of the launch bay. She shuddered as there was an explosion behind her, a rocket sending shards of stone and ice into the air. The enemy had launched a projectile to the left of where she had been. That was good, it was giving Anya valuable information. The rider inside the mechsuit wasn’t a rookie like the other Black Rose members, they had experience, taking the fifty-fifty odds on hitting Anya as she moved. A second beam hadn’t come yet, which told Anya that it had a lengthy cool down period.

  “Surrender immediately,” said a voice pouring out of unseen speakers on the suit. It boomed, giving the already sinister-looking machine a dark aura. “You are no match for this machine.” It fired the autocannon in its hand, the shot hitting Anya's limp arm. The beam had hit something vital, disabling the limb.

  “Nice toy. Think I'll take it,” Anya said, activating her speakers. She skidded to a stop, bringing up her working arm and firing a burst from her cannon. Unable to plant her anchors in the ground the shots raked up the front of the enemy mech, the recoil lifting the stream of shells. They bounced off, thudding into the concrete nearby. Even at this close range, the shots were struggling to find purchase on the Black Rose machine. “Fine. It's like that then.”

  The enemy mech just stood there, like a void in the launch bay. It was grandstanding, confident that Anya was no threat to it. “Let it be known that I gave you a choice. It really is true then. Your people would fight obstinately against their obvious betters.”

  “Betters? I don’t think so. We’ve beaten your lot at every turn. What, you think because you have a fancy suit that it makes you a better rider? It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Oh, I think it does. I remember an ancient suit punching through our lines on Hades. Technological superiority leveraged for victory. That’s how it was then, and that’s how it will be now. Your own tricks used against you.”

  There was something strange about the Black Rose rider’s voice. Their tone was almost sedate, their vitriol implied by their words not present in the sound. It was almost like they were reading from a pre-written statement.

  “Tricks. Like that fancy cannon on your shoulder there?” Anya took a step closer. Her cannons were powerful things, capable of punching through most armour eventually, but it was a numbers game without taking the time to aim properly, one Anya didn’t like the odds on. “That’s an interesting weapon. It’s also interesting you haven’t fired it again. I would love to get a closer look at it.” Anya detached the cannon barrels on her left arm, the weapon falling to the ground with a clang. She had plenty of ammunition left but needed her hand free for what she had planned.

  “I can arrange that for you.”

  ***

  Tamara was standing directly behind Mitch, pointing at the massive enemy mechsuit in the bay. With the infantry attacking the Summer Breeze dealt with she had ordered her makeshift film crew out of the dropship, pursued by its protesting pilot.

  “Keep filming,” she said in a whisper. “Did you get that…laser…thingy?”

  “Yes, boss,” Mitch said, trying his best to keep the camera steady on his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s a laser though.”

  “We can discuss the semantics of it later.”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing. It isn’t safe out here and I’m supposed to be looking after you. You’re more trouble than a pig in a grain silo,” Candice said. She had her shotgun tucked to her shoulder, her eyes darting about in case there were stragglers.

  “Ok, we'll just sit in the big obvious target that is your ship then.”

  Candice just nodded, impressed with Tamara’s quick argument. She hated to admit it, but the Summer Breeze was an easy kill sitting in the middle of the bay.

  “Whatever paint is on that thing; the camera doesn’t like it.” Mitch tapped at the side of the camera as he tried to adjust the image.

  “Looks like stealth paint to me,” Candice said. “Expensive stuff. Normally used on a dropship. Absorbs as much energy as possible to try and dodge LADAR. Never seen it on a mechsuit before. Stuff's too expensive to risk on things that get damaged. Could have done with some of that on this mission, that's for sure.”

  “Why would a mechsuit need stealth paint?” Trevor said.

  “For stealth?” Mitch said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You would do anything you could to try and hide that big bastard.”

  Tamara ducked behind a crate as chunks of the floor were launched into the air by an exploding rocket. Anya had dodged to the side, evading the enemies follow up attack, and was now closing the gap between them.

  “Where the hell did this thing come from?” Trevor said, his mic wavering in his hands. “If they’ve always had mechs like this why didn’t they use them.”

  “Because that’s not the point,” Tamara said. She started snapping her fingers, each loud pop summoning the next thought in her mind. “They wanted chaos. They said as much on that video, the one we baited out of them. The QTs were supposed to look like corporate forces to get them fighting between each other. They were deliberately hindering themselves.”

  “That’s not a pleasant thought,” Candice said. “Good for business, admittedly, but if they’ve got wolves hiding in the doghouse, we’re in trouble.”

  “Surrender immediately.” A voice boomed from the pitch-black mechsuit. “You are no match for this machine.”

  “Make sure you get all this recorded, Trev!” Tamara pointed at the long boom-mic.

  “Nice toy. Think I’ll take it.”

  “I’m trying. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise. Building sets, putting up lights, that’s my thing.” Trevor was doing his best. Using the microphone was deceptively tricky.

  “Oh, right. Sergei gave us the go-ahead on building the studio. You’ll be glad to have a hammer in hand again,” Tamara said.

  “Fine. It’s like that then,” Anya said. She was sizing up her opponent, shifting on her feet as she considered her next move.

  ***

  First watched as his opponent detached her cannons. His eyes followed her as she began to bend her knees, the preamble to a charge. Her next move was obvious. With the failure to puncture his armour, she would go for her field knife and try and force her way through in melee. The knowledge came to him unasked for, floating to the front of his brain from the vast reserve of information planted into his mind. First smiled, a tiny smirk winning out against his mental restraints. The mercenary wouldn’t get her chance.

  He could hear the humming of his plasmacaster charging. The weapon was an incredible piece of technology, drawing power from the mech's twin neutrite reactors and using it to project a tunnel of magnetic power whilst turning the volatile liquid in its fuel tank into superheated searing plasma. The weapon could project it like a beam down its magnetic tunnel, melting its way through the heaviest armour. The next show would kill the enemy rider before she could reach him.

  His mechsuit rocked forward, something slamming into it from behind. Error messages flashed in his vision, and he stumbled about, a heavy weight pushing his suit forward. There were several loud clangs as metal struck metal.

  “Should have paid attention around you,” Alexi said as he grappled the massive Black Rose machine from behind. Warnings flashed in his vision as the heat from the enemy’s vents washed over him. It didn’t matter. He placed his hands onto the hulking mechs head unit and twisted, tearing it free and tossing it across the launch bay.

  “Get off me,” First said, slamming blindly at his armour. There was the barest hint of anger in his words, a quiet fury that struggled to get through. Blows landed against Alexi’s mech, but the mercenary held on, gripping as tightly as he could.

  “Anya! Any time!”

  Anya charged, her field knife
sliding out from her wrist. She swung her arm around the blade hitting the front of the Black Rose mech with a furious shower of sparks. She pushed as hard as she could, the motors in her working arm whining as the knife began to sink slowly into the metal. It was a slow process relatively, and the mechs impressive armour was making it take longer.

  “Do it! End me. It won’t matter. Your way of life is over.” First put his hands against Anya’s mech, a token attempt to stop her assault. He tried to turn his plasmacaster to get a shot only for the barrel to be grabbed by Alexi, the metal tube bending under the grip of First’s unwanted passenger. “You don’t understand what you’re fighting against. What comes to you from the darkness. If only you were joined, you would understand. We do this, all of this, for you.”

  “A monologue. Original,” Anya said. Her knife slid in further, the resistance lessening with every moment.

  First saw it, the tip of the knife cutting its way through the door of the cabin. He felt the heat off the blade, sweat pouring down his pale skin. He didn't regret his actions, it never occurring to him that it was simply because he wasn't capable of regret. The knife came surging forwards, the armour giving up the last of its resistance. There was only pain, searing agonising pain as the tip of the dagger split him from throat to stomach, the heat of the energy field flash-frying his skin. It was an exquisite pain, a death earned in the service of his purpose. He couldn't have asked for anything else.

  Alexi released his grip, dropping to the ground as the void-black machine fell forwards. A titan toppled by two mercenaries working in tandem. He knew Anya had seen him; her actions intended to be as distracting as possible.

  “This one is mine,” Anya said, pointing to the fallen machine. Taking it out with a field knife meant the damage was easily repairable.

  “That’s not fair. I was the one who tackled it. I used the lighting grip that The Thunder uses.”

  “Ugh, don’t tell me you watch that nonsense. You know it’s all fake, right?” Anya retracted her knife back into the arm of her suit.