by P W Hillard
“Webcasting is all about the clicks,” Mitch said. “Doesn’t matter if someone likes it or not.”
“That’s pretty, and excuse the pun, mercenary,” Xander said.
“That’s showbiz. Now, how exactly can we help you, gentlemen? The quicker that's done the longer we have for our interview, right?” Tamara smiled, her teeth bared. It was both friendly and frightening at the same time, a tiger hidden behind the trees.
“Like I mentioned, the time might be limited, depending on what we learn,” Sergei said. “As I’m sure you can understand, Heliustech spent a lot of money hiring these mercenaries and allowing this interview is effectively wasting the time we paid for. I do hope your company can appreciate the kind gesture this is.”
Tamara laughed. It was mocking, but instead, a chortle prompted by years of experience. “Where were you before all this? You've got a knack for this. You would make a great producer I think.”
“Oh, thank you,” Sergei said, his glibness knocked from him by the compliment.
“We need to get an idea of what exactly is going on,” Xander said, taking over the conversation. He felt like he had been watching a duel, verbal sparring that Sergei had lost, falling for his opponent's feint. Xander figured he should step in before a killing blow could be delivered. “We need to see any reports, news feeds, cameras, anything you have really. Especially anything at or near the space elevator.”
“Ok, yeah we can do that, I think. We have some stuff. People keep sending us in clips over the Web. We can try and see if there is anything from around there,” Trevor said, leaning towards the bank of monitors, his fingers settling on the keyboard before them. “Or we can try, at least. This isn’t our usual thing. Camera rigging, sets, backdrops, those I can do. Put a hammer in my hand and I’m happy.”
“What we do know, for sure, is that this fighting is planet-wide. We're getting reports from every major city of fights breaking out,” Tamara said. She tapped her fingers on her tablet, scrolling through files. “Lots of reports of active mercenary squads, inter-corporation fighting and lots of unidentified forces. Those ones are weird, there's no corporate or merc markings on them.” She turned the tablet around, a video was playing on it, mechsuits advancing down a street, kicking cars out of the way as they walked.
“Black Rose,” Xander said. “We’re familiar.”
“Who the hell are Black Rose? That a mercenary company?”
“No. They aren’t. We’ve tangled with them a few times. We think they’re corporation men, but obviously operating under some layer of secrecy. We just call them Black Rose because they use it as a symbol. They’ve got at least one contract with the guild we know of, a redacted one,” Xander said. He pulled a chair out from beside Trevor, a tatty looking thing mounted on castors that squeaked as he pulled it forward. Xander sat down, finding the black upholstery was concealing a near-total lack of cushion. “A redacted contract is one where the payer is anonymous. There's a big fee associated with doing that.”
“So, these guys have money then?” Tamara was typing on her tablet, taking notes.
"They must do. You said that fighting is planet-wide?"
“It is.”
“This is crazy,” Sergei said. “I thought we had agreed Black Rose was a terrorist group or something?”
“They still could be, but they were already operating way beyond what most terrorist groups can muster. Way, way beyond. They could just be a handy front for some corporation though. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Xander turned to look at the monitors, his eyes bouncing from one screen to the next. “This is something else though.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mitch said. Everyone’s attentions seemed to zero in on him, eyes glinting in the dark. “I mean, imagine this, you’re a terrorist group, right? You want to cause chaos, destruction. A corporation turns up offering to pay you, why would you say no? Plus, it’s clearly working.”
“He makes a good point,” Sergei said. “It's like a good merger. Have you heard anything off-planet? We've heard that there is fighting across the Belt.”
“When isn’t there? The Iron Belt has who knows how many corporations all cramped into the same systems trying to mine the same resources. There’s always some mercenary work happening on any given day,” Tamara said. “Honestly you would think that makes for great news, but people are bored of it.”
“I'm sure they're plenty interested now,” Xander said. He had stopped dancing between screens, his vision settling on one in particular.
“Yeah well, that’s what the public is like. They don’t care unless it affects them personally. Not really.”
“This feed, where is it from?” Xander said, tapping the monitor screen. It showed a group of unmarked QT's marching down a street. It seemed familiar somehow, but the camera was at an odd angle as if looking up from ground level.
“That's a camera drone, we've got a few in the air. Well, I mean, this one is on the ground, one of the engines failed, but you know what I mean. This one isn't far actually, about a half-hour down the road?”
“So, on the way here then?” Xander knew he recognised it. They had travelled the same street approaching the studio. It was at the end of a long main road, with very few side streets. It wasn’t a good sign. Xander touched his hand to his ear, to the radio tucked inside. “Head’s up, we’ve got a squad of what looks like Black Rose headed this way. I would put good money they’re coming for the studio, probably for the same reason we did. We’ve got about fifteen minutes at suit pace, so get ready.” Xander swung around in the chair. “Sergei,” he said as he rose.
“I suppose our interview will have to wait for another day, it would seem we need to leave,” Sergei said. He turned and pulled on the door, the light from the corridor spilling into the room.
“No wait, you promised!” Tamara shouted as Sergei stepped through the door, Xander following quickly behind. “Besides,” she said, leaning out into the corridor. “You’re going to just leave us here? With those guys coming?”
Xander stopped, closed his eyes, tilted his head to the ceiling and sighed.
***
Xander's vision returned as his connection to his suit solidified, the armour sealing shut around him. The others were taking up positions along the far wall, flanking the gates. Xander's guessed time limit had passed, slowed by the civilian's insistence on grabbing several large metal boxes, carried by the handles hurriedly into the loader's cabin. The enemy wasn't here yet, but Xander knew they would be. The studios were a large complex with a wall and a dozen different communications systems. It was a tempting target to take control of.
“Ok, I’m up and running,” Xander said as his suit stood up. “Everyone aboard the loader?”
“Yeah, we're all set here,” Sergei said. The lumbering orange machine had been driven to the far side wall, an attempt to keep it clear of any fighting. Sergei hadn't grumbled about taking on the civilians, something that had surprised Xander. “Oh, hang on, one of them wants to talk to you.”
“No don’t just put-”
“Hello?” The voice wasn’t Sergei’s.
“Hello, who is this?”
“It’s Mitch.”
“Look, Mitch,” Xander said, weariness in his voice. “There’s a good chance we’re going to be in a fight literally any second now. I don’t have time to waste.”
“No, we can help! Hang on, watch this.” The radio went faint, but the line was left open, a loud metallic clicking echoing in the background.
The door to the loader popped open, and something drifted out. It was small, barely bigger than a bird, an orb attached by a white plastic body to four rings. Within them, propellers span, keeping the device aloft. It was a drone, a common sight on most worlds, tiny flying vehicles piloted remotely. They were frequently used for deliveries, or as roaming security cameras.
“The boxes we brought, they’re camera drones.” Mitch had returned to the radio. “We can get one in the air, be your eye in the
sky so to speak.”
“That’s…actually a good idea. How many of them do you have?”
“Four, we’ll launch them all, try and get as many angles as possible. The cameras feed into a monitor in the case, so we’ll have to radio anything we can see.”
“That's fine,” Xander said. “It's better than nothing.” His suit turned, beginning its walk towards the gate. Drone support wasn't common, the small craft were easily destroyed with quick-firing laser blasts or hunted down by counter drones some suits carried. From the level of skill he had seen from these Black Rose goons so far, he wasn't expecting them to engage the tiny aircraft.
“So, we hit the first one as it comes through the gate and rush the rest?” Anya said as Xander took up position with Alexi opposite. Behind Anya Meg’s smaller suit was crouching, readying itself to jump.
“I can go over the wall, hit from the flank,” Meg said.
“Seems like a good idea, it’s basically all we have really. Depends on how many there are,” Xander said. He mentally checked his ammo, the remaining rounds appearing in the corner of his vision, the weapon sending the information through a connection on the grip. “Fuck, we’ve all got to be running low at this point. We can’t take a protracted firefight.”
“Hey, hello? Cain? It's Tamara. Mitch is overseeing the drones, Sergei and his guys are helping, so you've got me as your go-between. They say the four are in the air. There's three mechs approaching and apparently two infantry squads. Not sure how many a squad is, but there you go.”
“Thanks. How far are they?”
“How far are they?” Tamara said. She was clearly shouting, but her voice sounded faint, her head moved away from the mic to scream across the cabin. The loader was a powerful vehicle, but it was loud, a grumbling giant that rumbled with a constant chug. “They say fifty metres, maybe?”
Xander shouldered his weapon. Around him the others did the same, Anya spinning up her cannons, whilst Alexi held tight to the wall, planning on stabilising his remaining arm along the edge of the gate.
“Any idea what we’re facing,” Xander said.
“Sergei says they match the mech Alexi is in. Q something or other.”
“Oh hey, maybe I can get another arm,” Alexi said.
Chapter Fourteen
The drones buzzed unseen above, watching over the enemies creeping forward towards the open gate. The three machines were close together, a tight triangle of heavy metal pressing forward. They had their weapons shouldered, sights locked on the gate above. The infantry trailed after them, hiding behind the safety of the wall of moving steel before them. It was a mistake. It sounded harsh, but infantry were more disposable than mechsuits. They should have been leading the charge, stepping first into the gate to get the lay of the land.
Most mercenary companies didn’t keep infantry units in their standing forces, with some exceptions like the Viper Legion. It took a specific kind of hard-nosed person to decide to fight towering death machines with nothing but some light body armour and a rifle. Several infantry-only companies existed, subcontracting themselves to other mercs when they were needed. Occasionally corporations would provide ground forces to fight alongside their hired mercenaries, though they were generally considered unreliable.
The drones swept around, flying in formation, their controller more used to recording concerts than conflicts. The formation scattered, surrounding the machines below them, trying to get as clear a picture as possible. One of the drones was noticeably defter than the others, three of them controlled by novices. Each tiny movement of the aircraft transmitted wirelessly. Unlike a mechsuit, control of them was entirely manual, though the drones had a low-level AI that auto levelled the craft, preventing the operator from doing anything too catastrophic.
The suits below were moving slowly, an abundance of caution spent unwisely. They were expecting any enemies to come rushing out to greet them, or to snap off shots through the open gate. None of them questioned why the gate was open, either through inexperience of hubris they simply pressed on, unaware of what lay within.
***
“You've got maybe thirty seconds,” Tamara said. She had taken to keeping Xander and the others apprised fairly well. It was startling how similar it was to running a busy newsroom. The radio headset, its cable trailing the panel before her, felt comfortable like she was born to wear it. Mitch and his makeshift camera crew had shifted the suitcases around, giving her a better view of the screens. It was no production room, with its dozens of monitors and thousands of toggles she could push, shifting the images before her at her whims like a goddess, but it would do for now.
“Ok, Alexi, you ready?” Xander said. His voice seemed different over the radio, the headset adding a hint more bass. It was bizarre to Tamara, that they weren’t using a Web connection, with its crystal-clear sound.
“I suppose.”
“You want the arm, right?”
“Yes, yes,” Alexi said.
“Ten Seconds.” Tamara could see the enemy approaching the gate. To get through they would need to go single file. Even to Tamara’s untrained eye that seemed foolish. “They don’t seem to have spotted the drones.” She had no idea if that information was useful, but it felt wrong to leave it out.
“Got it,” Xander said.
***
The first QT passed through the gate, taking a few steps into the courtyard. It began to turn, realising it was flanked on both sides, but the suit jolted backwards. Alexi had placed his working arm around the chest of the suit, pulling it towards him. It took the QT’s rider off guard and he stumbled backwards, no longer blocking the gateway.
Xander stepped out from behind Alexi, twisting his suit past him. He swung his right arm across in an arc, field knife in hand. It slammed into the side of the restrained mech, digging into the metal. It took a few moments for the energy field surrounding the blade to sink it. There was a loud clank as the armour no longer resisted, the hilt of the knife hitting the side of the now disabled suit. Xander pulled the blade free, spinning it around in his hand into a reverse grip.
Alexi released the suit, allowing it to slump to the ground, dust swirling up around it as he did. He bent down, scooping up his weapon from the floor. He hadn't been worried about being unarmed. Alexi knew the value of teamwork, and he and Xander had moved almost as one, like they had practised the manoeuvre a hundred times over. They had in a way, fighting their way across known space as they did, they had just never done it together. Experience had meshed together in a way only veterans could understand.
In the moments it had taken for Alexi and Xander to drop their target, Anya had sprung into action. She swung about on one heel as the first mech was pulled aside, barrels already spinning on her cannons. Normally she would drop her anchors, stymieing the massive recoil from the cannons. She didn't have time now, nor the ammunition to spare on a long barrage. Instead, she fired two small salvos from each gun, a short burst of fire blasting forth from their barrels. Her arms cascaded upwards, the force from the cannons overcoming the powerful synthetic muscles within.
The second mech had been just meters behind the first, putting it at point-blank for Anya's barrage. It managed to snap off a shot before it was slammed by searing hot metal, its round hitting Anya in the shoulder. It dug in, the armour-piercing shell cutting into the plate, forming a large smoking hole.
“Fuck,” Anya said. The cannon on her left arm stopped spinning, the power cabling that ran down her arm severed. It was a lucky shot, one that could very easily have disabled the entire arm. Anya swung the arm outwards, the locks holding the cannon barrels in place disabling, the now useless gun dropping to the ground. The firing chamber and ammo feed was built into the forearm, but her arm was free to use now.
The QT was stunned, but still standing, staggering about as its rider’s confusion translated through the wetware. It was further proof of the inexperienced pilots they faced. It was easy to confuse yourself and the machine when you were connec
ted to it mentally. An experienced rider was able to keep themselves separate, ordering the machine to retreat or sidestep even as their physical body recovered.
“Come on then you prick.” Anya barrelled forwards with her left arm outstretched. A panel slid open on her forearm, a small box sliding outwards. A blade sprung from it with a loud click. There was a faint, almost imperceptible glow around it, like heat rising from tarmac on a hot day.
Anya kicked with her right leg, striking the QT in the back of the knee. The weight of her blow caused the enemy to lose its footing falling backwards onto its back. Anya was on it, bringing her forearm blade downwards. Armour glowed vibrant orange as the weapon sank in. There was a spray of greasy brown lubricant as she pulled the weapon free, covering her suit like a gush of blood.
“That’ll strip the paint,” Anya muttered to herself, she turned, readying herself to aid Meg against her target.
She didn’t need it. As Alexi had pulled the first QT, Meg had leapt over the wall, spraying shots and laser fire as she did, scattering the assembled infantry. Meg felt a little sorry for them, they had huddled behind the mechs, using them as a shield. Now they were exposed, Meg’s nimble suit outflanking them. Jump jets were still fairly rare, and Meg quietly hoped they never became common. Appearing from unexpected angles was just far too useful. No-one could reasonably expect a defender to come flying over their own palisade.
The third QT had time to react, even as its fellows were being dispatched. It fired a burst at Meg, though it ill-timed it, trying to hit her as she flew through the air. Once again, the experienced freelancers were using their opponents' lack of skill against them. Meg's attack was too open, easy pickings for someone who had a good sense for how bulky suits were. They would have waited for Meg to hit the ground before firing. There was a split second where she couldn't move as her knees bent, absorbing the impact.