Target of Opportunity

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  IndustrialMechs operated on the same principles as BattleMechs, but were not built for battle. These two creations were being converted to war machines, but to say they were BattleMechs was akin to commandeering a bulldozer and declaring that it was now to be referred to as a tank. Equipped with internal combustion engines, these civilian-use vehicles generated comparatively low levels of electricity to power their myomer muscles for movement. They were strong, but very slow, and ungainly when they moved. These two machines had been stripped of their irradiated exteriors and new sheet metal, worrisomely thin, was being spot-welded to the frames.

  The modified ConstructionMech didn’t look much different at first glance. Its cockpit was low and exposed. The standard-equipment roll bars had been covered with metal plates, but the pilot’s compartment was so close to the ground that small-arms fire could easily kill the driver. The ’Mech’s arms were huge, nearly the size of traditional excavators. One was a scoop bucket, which had been modified with spikes that would allow it to rip and gouge at anything that got close to it. The other featured a massive set of clamps used for lifting. If these hydraulic monstrosities locked onto an opposing ’Mech or vehicle, they were bound to inflict some damage—if the pilot could last long enough to accomplish it.

  The MiningMech seemed to show the most promise; it at least looked like a military vehicle. One arm had been removed to make room for armor plating to be welded in around the cockpit. The burrowing right arm was in the process of being replaced with what appeared to be an autocannon salvaged from some other vehicle. The dump-trucklike back of the gray-green beast was filled with long tubes, wiring and maintenance people.

  “The MiningMech is our priority right now,” Johannson said. “Those missile tubes are a one-shot affair, but wiring them to usable cockpit controls is beyond my people’s skills. Anything you can do to lend a hand is appreciated.” Tucker began to walk toward the massive ’Mech, his mind already puzzling over the challenge, when a beep at his wrist caught his attention. Glancing at his personal communicator, he saw the face on the tiny digital display and immediately felt his jaw tighten.

  “Tucker,” the voice said.

  “Reo,” he replied tersely. He had ignored his sister’s warning about Reo; now the police were looking for his friend, and he appeared to have links to Bannson’s Raiders. The merc attack on the ComStar compound, apparently ordered by Jacob Bannson, still was a very raw nerve for Tucker, and all those things together made him suspicious of his friend—and that made him feel even worse. “I thought the police were looking for you.”

  “They are,” came the casual reply.

  Patricia noticed his agitation and headed his way. He shook his head and took a step away from her, letting her know he wanted some privacy. “I just want to know one thing, Reo: were you involved in what happened at the compound?”

  Jones shook his head on the tiny wrist display. “No. The people running the show for Bannson kept me out of the loop. Apparently, they don’t trust me, either.” Tucker thought he heard a note of bitterness in Reo’s voice.

  “People got killed.” He almost added, “because of me,” but didn’t. Maybe, just maybe, he was past that feeling. Now wasn’t the time to explore it.

  “I saw that on the news,” Reo replied. “I’d tell you I’m sorry, but I won’t apologize for something I wasn’t involved in.”

  “How do I know I can believe you?”

  Reo frowned heavily at the words. “Listen up, Tucker. If I wanted to kidnap you, I had plenty of chances to do it without causing any collateral damage. The guy running the show for Bannson on this rock is playing his own game right now.”

  “But you admit to being on Bannson’s payroll.”

  Reo nodded once. “I’ve never denied it. The fact is, however, I work more for myself than for Bannson. I have a lot of contacts and usually know what’s going on, but that doesn’t mean that everything I know gets passed on to Bannson. For example, I know about the salvage work the Militia pulled off on that fighter in the city museum two nights ago, but my report with Bannson doesn’t. Nice job, by the way. I assume those missile racks they pulled from that Chippewa aerospace fighter will go to good use.”

  Was he fishing for more information or a confirmation? Tucker shook his head impatiently and ran his hand through his hair so that it all stood on end. Everyone was quick to tell him what and how to think when it came to Reo Jones, but he could form his own opinions. It was one of the few things he could control in his current situation. “What’s Bannson’s interest in this world, anyway?”

  “Apparently, Jacob Bannson originally intended to use Wyatt as a safe house, one of a few locations he set up as places to fall back to if his plans ever totally collapsed. A fairly minor operation: smuggle in some mercenaries and gear, stockpile some money and equipment . . . your basic backup plan. But something in his strategy has changed now that you’ve fixed the HPG. And that’s why I contacted you.”

  “Go on,” Tucker said, carefully weighing his friend’s words.

  “Tucker, Bannson has ordered his forces to go after you personally. I don’t have details; like I said, they don’t trust me. But I consider you a friend, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  The words hit him hard, because Reo was confirming the speculations of everyone around him. Damn. Tucker suddenly felt like he had a target painted on his back. “So what can I do?”

  “Stick close to the Knight Errant. Unlike Legate Singh, she inspires a healthy fear in the people I’m associated with.”

  “I’m already doing that,” Tucker replied grimly. “Anything else?”

  “Even though everyone’s focusing on the threat of the Spirit Cats, I don’t think they represent anything close to the problems that Bannson’s people could cause. Just be ready for anything. I’ll warn you if I can find out their plan.”

  “Reo, you’re putting your life at risk by going against these high-priced killers. Why not just turn yourself into the police?”

  Jones laughed. “First, I have a reputation to maintain. The last thing I want to do is let it be known that a small-potatoes police force like the Kinross PD could capture me. Secondly, I’m willing to bet that you’re the only person on this planet who would believe I’m telling the truth. Third, if I turn myself in, I can’t keep my eyes on these guys.”

  Tucker heard a snort and looked around. His sister had moved up behind him and stood listening to the conversation, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. He frowned back at her and said, “Reo, I have to go.”

  “Watch your backside, kid.”

  “You, too.” Tucker shut off the communicator. Patricia opened her mouth, but he beat her to the punch. “We need to go talk to Knight Holt.”

  “I was just going to say that,” she replied, jogging to keep up with him as he headed for the upper levels of the headquarters building. It took them ten minutes to find the Knight Errant, and Tucker said nothing to his sister the entire time. He wanted to talk, but he didn’t want a debate with his sister.

  They found Alexi Holt walking down one of the corridors. She had changed into a dull green jumpsuit and had tucked her hair under a cap that bore the insignia of The Republic of the Sphere. She looked more like a mechanic than a Knight Errant. The moment she saw Tucker, she stopped.

  “Is something the matter, Adept Harwell?”

  “You keep doing that,” he replied cordially. “Call me Tucker. And to answer your question, I don’t know.”

  Patricia butted in. “My brother just received a call from Reo Jones.”

  Alexi cocked her eyebrow. “I see. Well, Tucker, what did Mr. Jones have to say?”

  Tucker shook his head. “Not much of use. He admits to working for Jacob Bannson, and confirmed that the mercs attacked ComStar on Bannson’s behalf. And he told me Bannson’s people were changing their strategy. Like you and everyone else suspected, I’m the target.”

  “Can he help us?” the Knight asked.

  “D
oubtful. I don’t think he’s working against us, though. I think that counts for something. Oh, and he did tell me to stick close to you.”

  She smiled. “Maybe Jones is smarter than I thought. At least we agree on that point.”

  Patricia cut in, anger coloring her voice. “That’s it? You don’t seem surprised or concerned that a known criminal is in contact with my brother in the middle of a crisis.”

  Alexi’s smile abruptly disappeared. “I was just coming from the communications center,” she gazed steadily at Tucker. “I anticipated that Jones might try to reach Tucker. I took the liberty of having his wrist communicator monitored. We heard the conversation live, and tried to run a trace. I’ll say this for Jones. He’s savvy enough to have cut off his signal before we could pinpoint him.”

  Tucker felt his face redden. “You bugged me?”

  “Tucker. A lot of people are counting on you. Until we get you off Wyatt and to a safe place, my job is to protect you. It might seem contrary to the spirit of The Republic, but if I have to violate your privacy to accomplish that directive, I’m prepared to do it. The day after tomorrow I will face the leader of the Spirit Cats on Wyatt in single combat; not just to protect the people of Kinross; not just to minimize losses to the militia; but to make sure that you are safe. In the hopes of finding Jones, I ordered you ‘bugged,’ as you put it. To be honest, I also wanted to be sure you didn’t do anything through lack of experience that the rest of us would regret.”

  There was a moment of silence that he used to think. He trusted Alexi Holt. Reo trusted her. Even his sister had grudgingly admitted that Holt was right more than once. He didn’t like what the Knight had done; he particularly didn’t like what she was implying about his judgment. His brain ticked through his options, and he arrived at his decision.

  “I’m going with you when you face the Spirit Cats,” he announced.

  “Tucker,” his sister began.

  He interrupted her. “Patricia, this is my decision.” He threw back his shoulders and faced Alexi Holt. “I’m not sure anymore who else I can trust, but I know I can trust you. If I’m a target, I’m going to be a moving target. If there’s a chance that anyone else is going to get hurt or die because of me, I’m going to be there doing everything I can to prevent it. From now on, I will have a say in my own destiny.”

  Alexi Holt surprised him. “Frankly, Tucker, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Welcome to the team.”

  15

  Circle of Equals

  East of the Bowie Factory Ruins

  The Republic, Prefecture VIII

  16 May 3135

  The Circle of Equals that Star Captain Cox had declared for their fight was four kilometers in diameter, much larger than she expected. Alexi’s first instinct was to challenge the size of the circle, but she couldn’t think of a reason for doing so that she felt she could successfully defend.

  Her second surprise was that the Spirit Cats had marked the perimeter of the circle with LZ buoys. These small metallic cylinders were usually dropped from low orbit or positioned by ground forces to mark a landing zone. She had to admit that their electronic pulses showed up clearly on short-range sensors, with one placed every hundred meters.

  Alexi stopped Miss Direction on the steep grade of a grass-covered hill and ran through her systems check. Targeting and tracking, long- and short-range sensors, weapons cycles and preheats on her PPCs, coolant systems; everything appeared to be working perfectly, just as it should be. Using her joysticks, she performed a final calibration of her ’Mech’s arm movements, fine-tuning the alignment of the shoulder and elbow actuators.

  She checked the connection between her coolant vest and the command couch one last time. In battle, the temperature in a ’Mech cockpit ranged from sauna to oven. On her first mission as a cadet, her coolant hose came loose and she nearly had died from the unalleviated heat. Since that time, she always checked the coolant hose connection just before she entered any battle. Finally, she checked to make sure her neurohelmet was perfectly seated on her head and tested the gyro that controlled the balance of the massive war machine. The field of combat does not matter, she told herself, I intend to win.

  Her strategy for fighting Cox was based on what she knew about Clan warriors: known for their aggressive nature, they almost always rushed in for a quick kill. This wasn’t to say that they were sloppy fighters; a man did not rise to the rank of Star captain in the Clans by being careless. She expected Cox to exploit his two pairs of arm-mounted heavy large lasers. He would hold his Warhammer IIC at the far end of its long-range weapons and whittle away at her. When he felt he had softened her up, he’d close to point-blank range, making it impossible for her to use her particle projector cannons. Then he’d attack with short-range missiles to try to finish the job.

  Considering the ’Mechs, the terrain and the expected fighting style of her foe, Alexi Holt could almost see in her mind’s eye how the battle would unfold from her enemy’s perspective. If she understood her enemy, she could beat him. Her plan was to keep him at long range, firing as often as possible to allow her PPCs to wreak maximum havoc.

  Looking down from her cockpit, she saw a Fox hovercraft and a hovertruck from the militia. Legate Singh and several of the officers had come to the trial. She appreciated the show of support, though naturally, Singh had positioned it as observational training on Clan fighting styles. On a field this size she doubted they would see much, but she appreciated the thought of friendly faces nearby.

  Tucker Harwell was also in the hovercraft. As she watched, the upper hatch opened to reveal his lanky form. She couldn’t see his features, but the untidy mass of black hair was a dead giveaway. He waved up at her, a half-salute of sorts. Alexi smiled and waved back, though it would be impossible for him to see her gesture through the laser-deflecting tinting of the blast-resistant cockpit glass.

  All right. It’s time for me to do my job.

  The steep hills limited some of her long-range scanning, but there were very few trees or other terrain features. Star Captain Cox was Clan; in a real battle, he might use the hills to hide his movement, but not in a combat trial. The Clans approached combat trials very efficiently, and the most efficient tactic would be to come straight at her.

  A comm channel hissed open in her ears. The communications console in her cockpit showed it was an open channel, keyed for anyone in the area to hear. “Knight Alexi of The Republic of the Sphere, you have come to face a Spirit Cat warrior in honorable battle. By the rede of our people and your own honor, I compel you—enter this Circle of Equals and meet your fate.” Star Captain Cox’s words rang with ritual and pride.

  “Seyla,” she answered, the ritual Clan response that translated roughly as “let it be so.” She throttled up the Vlar 300 XL fusion reactor under her cockpit and stepped into the circle. She could feel the barely discernible throbbing of the reactor that powered the ’Mech. Her long-range sensors were sending out signals to the hillside, feeding her information and painting her own position on her heads-up display.

  She walked Miss Direction along the slope of the hill, which gave her a wide view of the open grass-covered valley in the center of the Circle of Equals. He was out there somewhere, though her sensors showed nothing yet. Perched near the top of the hill, she had a commanding view. Alexi stopped her Black Knight and stared at the long-range sweeps on the secondary display.

  A minute passed, and there was no sign of the Clan warrior. Both their ’Mechs could stride at 43 kph, and moved even faster at a full run. Any minute, she knew he’d come, cresting the hilltop, most likely right across from her position. Then she’d have him.

  Another minute, still nothing. She switched to magnetic anomaly scans, but the mag scans showed no movement. She stared at her display, and glanced from time to time at the hill across from her.

  Nothing.

  She bit her lip in thought, a nervous habit she’d developed as a child. She considered her options, and made her choice. By moving to
the top of the hill, she’d present a bigger target and his instruments would pick her up easier as well. Time to play the role of bait. She angled Miss Direction up the hill and climbed steadily to the top. Once she reached the top, she turned again, half-expecting to see him on the top of the facing hill across the grassy valley.

  Another minute passed, then another. Not even a hint of Star Captain Cox presented itself. Alexi shook her head. It didn’t make sense. She’d dealt with Clansmen before, and this wasn’t their style. She had to admit to herself that she had misread Cox, and for a moment, she wished she could kick herself in the butt. He wasn’t going to come for her. Obviously, Star Captain Cox was waiting for her, attempting to lure her to his chosen terrain. Now, the extra-large Circle of Equals made sense. Suddenly, the usually comfortable cockpit seemed small, cramped and dangerous. Her nerves were on overdrive, and it wasn’t because she couldn’t see her opponent; it was that she had been wrong.

  I hate being wrong.

  Tweaking her long-range sensors to display the maximum area, she studied the Circle of Equals with a new eye. If her enemy was making her come to him, she would have to change her tactics. Alexi looked down into the valley below her and at the hill across that vast opening. If she went into the valley, it would limit fire coming at her, cutting both her own and Cox’s line of sight. Then, she could cut back to the east, just along the edge of the circle, skirting the base of the hill and giving herself a chance of coming up behind him. She moved the throttle control forward to a walking gait and swung Miss Direction down into the valley.

  She reached the bottom of the hill with no sign of the Spirit Cat Star captain. She began moving to the east, then suddenly a red dot lit up on her tactical display—an enemy IFF transponder. She planted one foot and turned to face up the steep green slope.