Far Country

by Fanpro

  Davud looked around the steaming cockpit. Smoke hung thickly in the small space, and there was an occasional eruption of sparks as if one of the dying instruments were protesting this abrupt landing. Looking up at the checklist printed on the overhead above his seat, he began to go systematically down through the landing and shut-down procedure, reading aloud the command and then carrying out the order. It was completely superfluous, but tie had done it so many times that it was unthinkable not to do it now. The checklist complete, Davud unsnapped the quick release on his harness and stood up. Only then did he realize how tense he'd been. His knees buckled under his weight and he fell heavily against the master panel console.

  In the rear of the smoldering DropShip the personnel access doors had opened in response to Davud's checklist procedure. Pouring through them were the DEST members, their weapons locked, loaded, and ready. This was an alien planet, or what could be an alien planet, and they were going to be ready for anything.

  As they dropped to the ground, the team quickly spread out, twenty meters apart, taking up a fighting stance. Silence. Not a bird, not an animal, not a person, not a bug. Nothing. Silence. Then a terrible, rushing, thundering whirlwind. The DEST commandos dropped to the ground and turned to face this unexpected and unknown attack. In a blaze of light an object crashed through the tops of the trees whence they had come and plowed into the ground along the same path they had just followed. It burrowed through the ground, expelling great clods of dirt and sod as it burrowed ever closer to the DropShip. It stopped a scant hundred meters short of the ship, a smoking tower of dirt, roots, and small trees.

  Takuda felt his heart pounding in his chest, then suddenly he began to laugh. The monster that had attacked him from behind was the lifeboat from the Telendine. He walked toward the fuming pile and was mildly surprised when he saw a figure emerge from the steam. He recognized Mark Jacobs, the DropShip's chief engineer. Behind him came the navigator, Elizabeth Hoond, supporting the Telendine's Master and Commander on her arm. They were a bedraggled trio, and Takuda thought they looked worse than he did. At least so he hoped.

  Takuda assumed command. While in space, he'd deferred to either Davud or Bannin, but with solid ground now under their feet, he was the one in charge. The first priority was to organize the mercenaries and other survivors into salvage crews and to care for any wounded. Next they would have to establish security around the perimeter. His own troops responded immediately to his orders, but Vost's mercenaries did not accept his authority. The mercs were under his control only until the time he delivered them to their new commander. Now they wanted to know what right he had to give them orders now. They also wanted to know if they were still on the Kurita payroll. The fierce looks on the faces of Takuda's armed men stifled those protests almost at birth, but the DEST commander knew they would surface again.

  Who was paying for what was an interesting question he would have to think about. Meanwhile, he also had to meet with Bannin.

  Takuda approached the JumpShip crew, where they were huddled with Parker Davud under the belly of the DropShip. Only Jacobs rose deferentially on his approach. Davud had collapsed against the hull of the ship, and Hoond was still dealing with the seemingly catatonic Bannin. Takuda came to a halt at Bannin's feet. "Where are we?" he asked, more abruptly than he would have liked, but seeing no reason to dance around the subject. Bannin raised his head and stared through the DEST commander. "Where are we?" Takuda repeated harshly.

  "Where? Where?" mumbled Bannin. "We could be anywhere. My instruments are all fried. They didn't tell me anything." He shrugged and then waved helplessly toward the silent forest beyond. "We're not anywhere that's real, that's for sure. For all I know, we could be in one of those parallel universes the futurists are always inventing out of their warped imaginations."

  "Same's true of my instruments," put in Davud. He reached up and patted the wrinkled metal of the cooling DropShip. "I don't know where we are, either. But wherever it is, one thing's for sure—it's forever."

  5

  Night crept in on the strange, marooned group. Single campfires emerged from the gloom like vague, one-eyed monsters. Chewing silently on some emergency rations, Takuda sat alone by his own fire. Then he looked up at the unfamiliar sky and realized that it had been only a few hours since he'd completed his inspection of the Telendine back at Salford, confident that he was heading toward a known destination in a known universe. Now he was somewhere else, and had not the faintest idea where. His universe, his known, concrete, real universe, had disappeared in a single jolt. He was a man with no past; only a present and an unknown future. If he had any future at all.

  * * *

  Dawn came, and Sho-sa Yubari Takuda shook himself and stretched his legs. During a near sleepless night, he had struggled with the question of whether they should even go on any longer. But his very soul rebelled at the question. Of course they should go on—of course he should go on. Seppuku was an honorable end for a warrior, but it was not acceptable as an escape from responsibility. And Takuda was now responsible for the lives of the twelve members of his Draconis Elite Strike Team as well as those of the eleven mercenaries and the four crew members of the DropShip and JumpShip. All told, twenty-seven people who would have to learn to live out their lives in harmony.

  Takuda made a quick mental review of his own team. The headquarters included himself, his aide, So-cho Saitan Yura, and Gun-so George Bustoe. They had been with him for years and would follow his orders to the death. Under normal conditions so would the whole team, but Takuda thought their present situation could hardly be classified as normal.

  The three operational sections of the team were all headed by Gun-so, Talon Sergeants, of considerable experience. Shawn Arsenault, leader of the first section, spent slightly too much time worrying about his appearance, but he was unflappable and cheerful. Emmerdean Knyte, the second section leader, was intelligent and introspective. He could have and should have been an officer, the type of man who showed quiet leadership by example. He was another one who would take all things as they came. Ariake Sanae led the weapons team. She was as upright as any commander could wish, but had a tendency to be hidebound on questions of religion. She had no sense of humor, and except in matters military, had no use for Knyte.

  The mercenaries Takuda knew less well. He'd had direct contact only with Garber Vost, their leader, and the man was everything Takuda most despised in life. Vost was a braggart who treated the other 'Mech pilots with only slightly veiled disdain. Holly Goodall, the only female MechWarrior among them, he treated with open contempt. Why she had joined the mercenary unit was a mystery, but Takuda knew that Mech Warriors, particularly the mercenary variety, were a breed unto themselves. Of the technicians who served the merc unit, Takuda knew only that they were six in number, half of them female. All seemed to pay the mercenary leader special attention.

  The ship crews were another unknown. Parker Davud, the DropShip pilot, was certainly a professional of the highest order. To be able to land his ship with virtually no controls and then to keep it from breaking up on impact was evidence enough. That he was slightly casual with command structure was understandable; DropShip pilots were like that. Bannin, the Master and Commander of the JumpShip, rated much lower. The man had fallen apart during the crisis, and Takuda could expect little of him now. The navigator and engineer of the JumpShip were better, but they were ciphers as far as what they could contribute to the future.

  The divergent group would have to work together to survive. It was certainly not the group Takuda would have chosen if he'd had the choice, but they were what fate had handed him. He rose to his feet and surveyed the area. The various camping areas reflected the attitudes of the members. The DEST areas were almost invisible among the grass and bushes that dotted the open area. Takuda was sure the weapons of each section were unlimbered and deployed. The mercenary camp, on the other hand, was a hive of activity, completely visible to inspection by any alien who might be hiding in the
distant trees. The pilot group had not moved from under the crumpled wing of the DropShip.

  As Vost left the mercenary camp and came toward Takuda, the sho-sa felt rather than saw Yura and Bustoe of the headquarters section approaching from his rear. They would, he knew, remain at a respectful distance, out of range of all but the most strident voices, but ready to lend silent, and well-armed, support. "Well, Major," said Vost, using the universal ranking system rather than the traditional Kurita ranks, "we seem to find ourselves in strange circumstances."

  Takuda gazed serenely at the other man. He had learned from vast experience that silence was often the best reply. He also knew that Vost would continue with his pre-programmed speech no matter what was said in return. He was correct.

  'The situation has changed since yesterday, or whenever it was. My men and I were employed by the Draconis Combine as a complete lance. We were to participate in an action you people did not feel qualified to perform. My contract states that we would be paid half our fee upon signing and half on completion of the mission. You people were responsible for our safe insertion and extraction. As I see it, you have not fulfilled your part of the contract. What do you say to that?"

  "I have no knowledge of the complete contract," replied Takuda in a level voice. "I was given my own mission regarding your lance." This was not totally true, of course. He had been charged not only with the mercenaries' insertion, but in seeing that they completed their mission. The DropShip contained the documentation and the money to pay Vost once his lance had completed their work. But Vost was not to know this in advance, and as far as Takuda was concerned, his own orders were still in effect. Disclosing his knowledge would have an unfortunate effect on harmony.

  "Well, I have my copy of the contract," said Vost, reaching inside his vest. Takuda felt the slight stiffening of his vigilant men, then felt them relax when the mercenary pulled out a scroll instead of a weapon.

  "I have no need to read your copy, Pilot Vost. I assume that you are telling me the truth. But I do not see that the situation has changed that radically."

  "Well, I say the contract is now void, and the rest of my people agree."

  "You vote on issues?" Takuda raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  "We don't vote. But I do listen to what they have to say."

  Takuda smiled. What Vost really had said was that he told his people what he wanted them to say and then they said it. It was an interesting form of leadership. "Well, then, and what do your people have to say?"

  "First, the contract is null and we're on our own. Since you failed to deliver us to our destination, we have no further need of you or your DEST team. That also makes your authority here superfluous. We are perfectly able to direct ourselves. Your people can disband and join my technicians."

  "Disband?"

  "They are useless, are they not? This is not a combat situation. What we need are people who know how to work. My techs are just the ones to do it. We can teach your people how to survive."

  "Mr. Vost, my team consists not only of highly skilled assault troops, but all are 'Mech qualified. What's more, each one has been trained to survive alone in any type of environment. That persuades me to believe that survival depends on maintaining our current structure," replied Takuda.

  "With you in charge, you mean."

  So that's the problem, thought Takuda. What rankled Vost was the question of command structure. Takuda was beginning to feel better. At least he knew what was happening.

  "So, if you're in charge," continued Vost, "what do you plan to do about the women?"

  "I didn't know we had to do anything about the women."

  "That's your real problem, Major." Vost had a sneer on his face that Takuda had seen before when civilians wanted to patronize a member of the military. "We're here forever," said Vost. He placed his fists on his hips and threw out his chest. "And forever is something you will have to understand. If we're going to survive at all, we will have to deal out the women to the best men. Which should be done immediately."

  "I don't understand the 'we' in your statement."

  "We. The ones in charge. You and me. And maybe Bannin, although I think he's going to be useless. You and me."

  "What about the women?"

  "What about the women? The women will do as they're told, of course."

  "Really? In the Draconis Combine we do not treat women as chattel."

  "We're not in the Draconis Combine anymore, Major. This is somewhere else, and our long-term survival is at stake." Vost shook his head. "Remember what Bannin said last night? We're not anywhere. This is all new. It's a new world, Major. Get with it, man."

  Takuda had no answer. Vost was right about one thing. This was a new world and a new situation. Everything the sho-sa had ever known had come to a complete and abrupt end. There was no Combine to whom he must answer, to whom he could answer. There was no one above him as there had always been. His entire life had been built on a hierarchy of people, each one answering to an authority a step above and each one responsible to those a step below. Well, the step below remained, but the one above had vanished.

  Of one thing he was sure, though. These mercenaries were incapable of rising above self-interest. The sole reason they'd been hired for their mission was because they possessed a Land-Air 'Mech, a piece of equipment that would have been invaluable to the reconnaissance aspects of their mission. LAMs had become as rare as they were valuable because no one in the Inner Sphere produced these machines any longer. The mercenaries had also been chosen because they would be expendable if their mission failed.

  "I will think about it," was all Takuda would say. "We shall see."

  "You bet we will," said Vost. "And we'll see about it pretty quick."

  The situation changed slightly later that day. Takuda had sent out patrols to see what the woods had to offer, and the scouts had reported an abundance of what looked like edible fruit. They had not been bold enough to try any of them, but had brought back a significant pile of various types. The last patrol in, the one from Knyte's section, brought even more interesting news. Knyte reported that Horg and Holland, the two members of his section who had gone into the woods, had made contact with a large animal. Holland had taken a shot at it, but had missed. The animal had vanished into the woods, leaving almost no trail. But it had cried out at them as it fled. And the cry had sounded almost human.

  6

  The next three days were spent in directed activity. Not only had the survivors discovered a source of possible nourishment in the lush vegetation, but they had also established the possibility of a sapient life form on the planet. The human-like cry from the animal encountered that first afternoon remained a mystery, however. None of the survivors had encountered the animal since, although some of the patrols had seen tracks. The markings were those of a gigantic bird, which seemed to indicate the distinct possibility of two different animals. There were the ones who sounded like humans and the ones shaped like birds.

  The food problem was partially solved by a thorough examination of the forest and some tentative experimentation. The examination revealed that some of the fruits had been partially eaten. Based on the theory that a human should be able to eat the same food that doesn't kill other beings, Takuda decided to taste the fruits in hopes of encouraging the others to do so. He chose a large, smooth-skinned yellow one, and consumed all but the greasy gray seeds. The others watched and waited, and when they saw that Takuda survived to see the next morning, the rest also ate of the yellow fruit.

  A feeling of tension continued to exist just below the surface of activity and sense of accomplishment. The mercenaries and the DEST members became even more suspicious of one another, but splits were beginning to occur along other lines as well.

  * * *

  Garber Vost watched the members of his mercenary lance as they lounged around the camp area. He was mildly amused at how their various attitudes toward life were reflected in the way they maintained their own kits. As was to be expe
cted, Brian Seagroves, the LAM pilot, had the most sumptuous area. Brian liked things, especially those things money could buy. He'd been the toughest negotiator when Vost was first forming the lance, perfectly willing to hold out to prove how much more valuable he was than any other member of the lance. He had also insisted on being paid most of his money up front, C-bills which he spent on pretty toys. His sleeping bag bore the label of a prominent outfitter on New Samarkand, a name recognized throughout the Inner Sphere. So did his hiking boots, combat vest, and cooking utensils. They marked him as a man who had money and who knew how to spend it. He had also managed to buy an additional mosquito net and frame from Kendall Pesht. Now his area had taken on an air of safari opulence.

  Pesht, on the other hand, lived in the open air. Now that he had sold his mosquito net, his sleeping area was the only one unprotected from the swarms of famished insects that invaded the camp at night. The result was that he had to huddle inside his flimsy bag the entire time, but his face showed where his efforts were not totally successful. Pesht, the Javelin pilot, wanted to be everybody's friend. He was like a small dog, yapping and scampering around the feet of the people who really mattered. He was especially that way with Vost, who used him as a tool when necessary. The man had probably sold his mosquito net to Seagroves to curry favor, but Vost knew Brian would not remember it as a favor. Pesht had lost the net with no advantage gained.

  Collis Brank, one of the Locust pilots, was a schemer. The man always had some plan in the works, mostly nefarious, but he could be counted on to rat on anyone else if it were to his advantage. Brank was an excellent source of information about what was going on in the lance, and Vost was careful to always reward the information with favors.