Battletech counterattack.., p.19
BattleTech: Counterattack (BattleCorps Anthology Vol. 5), page 19
The ’Mech paused at the narrow, refuse-choked alley, its menacing presence scattering a pack of feral rats into the night. Kithain pressed against the mound of slop, causing a cascade of filth to rain down on him. After scanning for a few seconds, the MechWarrior turned his machine away and continued down the street.
Half-buried in the pile of rotting refuse, Kithain poked his head out, trying not to breathe through his nose. Hearing the Hunchback move on, he sighed with relief. Too close.
Straightening, he peered after the receding ’Mech, listening to its footfalls echo off the buildings of the run-down section of town. Subtle as usual, like piloting an Atlas to the corner store for a jug of milk. They know no one can even come close to taking them on. Damn Caesar O’Reilly and his blasted Hegemony!
But at the same time he cursed the planet’s overseers, he also tried to push away that stab of jealousy he felt whenever he saw a ’Mech nowadays, remembering all too well the invincible feeling that could only be had in the cockpit of one of the armored juggernauts. Once he too had been among those elite warriors, with a ’Mech of his own…
But that was a long time ago. Shaking his head, Kithain tried to brush the muck and slime off his battered zysleskin jacket, but gave up after a half-hearted swipe. Doubt I could make a worse impression right now, being as cold, filthy, and miserable as possible, he thought.
Something skittered nearby, making him cock his head. His wrist flexed once, and in a single smooth motion, he whirled around and flicked his right hand out, rewarded by a startled squeal a few meters away.
Kithain walked to the six-legged, cat-sized rat, a stainless-steel throwing spike protruding from its right eye. Withdrawing the weapon, he replaced it in the sheath at his wrist, then picked up the carcass by the tail.
What the Khas am I doing here at this hour? This guy ain’t gonna show. I’ll have a little chat with Joz about running me out here at this time of night on a fool’s errand. At least the trip wasn’t a total waste; after all, I caught dinner. Six months ago the thought of eating rat would have made him retch, but tonight it was a feast. Five more minutes, then I’m outta he—
The heavy hand on his shoulder made Kithain react instinctively. The fist holding the rat came up and around, throwing the slimy body at his assailant as he tried to leap forward, tearing himself from the other man’s grasp. While not the best plan, it should have worked well enough to allow him to escape and face his foe.
But the fingers on his jacket clamped down with relentless force, preventing him from accomplishing anything more than an off-balance hop. The flying rat was batted onto the garbage heap, and he found himself shoved against a grimy building wall, his free arm twisted up between his shoulder blades. He tried to wriggle free, but the hands on his shoulder and wrist were as inflexible as titanium.
“You got reflexes, kid, I’ll give you that,” an electronically-modulated voice said in his ear. “That distraction with the rat was a nice move, too. On someone else.”
The crushing pressures on his shoulder and arm relaxed, and Kithain pushed himself off the slick wall, ready to whirl around and let this thug have it—.
“I like your caution too, scoping out the meeting place early, but I didn’t think you’d be this jumpy. Turn around and let’s have a look at you.”
This is my meet? Kithain complied, and beheld a man who topped his own one-hundred eighty-two centimeters by another ten, give or take, and clad in a full suit of light powered armor. A smooth, featureless mask helmet hid his face, with a dim red light from inside telling Kithain he was probably being scanned for weapons. His suit—what is that?—was patterned in urban camouflage, streaks of gray, blue, and black that matched his surroundings perfectly. If the man had stood perfectly still on a night like this, Kithain would have walked right by him. In fact, he just might have.
The barrel of a light assault rifle/grenade launcher combo jutted up behind one shoulder, and the deadliest-looking machine pistol Kithain had ever seen was clipped to a magnetic holster on his left leg. His fingers twitched, but he stilled the impulse to drop a spike, knowing it would be much like attacking that Hunchback in the street—completely pointless. The other man inclined his head a bit, as if he had read Kithain’s thoughts and approved of the final decision.
Straightening, Kithain adjusted his jacket and said, “I just don’t like anyone sneaking up on me. Who’re you?”
The man shook his head. “Uh-uh. Who sent you?”
Kithain squinted, trying to see past the reflective faceplate, but got nothing. Hell, in for a kilo, in for a kiloton. “Joz flashed me on the wire that I could find employment here at 0300.”
The taller man nodded. “You must be Valas.”
Kithain nodded.
“Call me Armitage.” The man gave him a closer once-over. “Street punk? That toss with the spike was straight-up milspec, not to mention an—exotic weapon, shall we say?”
Kithain shrugged. “It suits me.”
“Apparently. Who trained you?”
“My father.”
The helmet drew back in surprise. “Come again?”
“My father was Raist Valas, graduated from the Taurian Ecole Militaire ’24, served with them for ten years before settling here and starting a family. He taught me everything I know, including piloting.”
“See any action?”
“I wasn’t part of the planetary forces here, but when our government surrendered—” Kithain spit the word out like rotten meat, “—to the Hegemony, some of the militia went guerilla. We held out for nine months, but never had a real chance. That’s when I lost my family—and my ’Mech.” He clamped down on the bitter tide of memories that rose unbidden in his mind—the hopeless skirmishes, always outnumbered, always outgunned, the comrades that had fallen during the months of slaughter—and punching out of his Grasshopper that fateful morning as it had exploded underneath him…
“Okay,” Armitage mused. “Still, a trained boy like yourself should have been able to find work around here….”
“Doing what? Joining the military—what there is of it—would be too much like working for the enemy. I can run a jacklift or grappler in a warehouse, or I can oversee assembly lines in any one of light industrial factories around the city. Not my style.” Kithain felt his hand shaking as he recounted the jobs he ‘qualified for,’ and tucked it behind his back, curling his fingers into a tight fist.
If Armitage noticed, he gave no sign. “According to what I heard, you already tried a few of those, and each one ended in your termination.”
“Let’s just say I don’t take orders from bureaucrats very well.”
“That explains your current situation. Ever think of striking out off-planet?”
“Hard to get ship clearance when the local overseers label you a troublemaker. When the Hegemony took over, my name was mentioned as being associated with certain…circles that opposed them. Nothing proven, but they’d love to make something stick. That was fourteen months ago. I lost everything, career, standing—my family. I have to eat.”
The armored man cocked his head, and Kithain swore he was smiling behind his mask. “I think you and I will get along just fine, Valas. So, you’re looking for work.”
“Isn’t that why we’re both standing here?”
“Yup. You just passed the first test. Anyone brave enough to come to this part of town and survive, alone, and relatively unarmed, must want whatever’s being offered pretty badly.”
Kithain looked away. “Something like that.”
Armitage chuckled, a low buzz emanating from his faceplate. “Something like that, indeed. Well, tonight’s your lucky night, ‘cause I got a job you’re perfectly suited for, and it’s just up the street. Pays five hundred C-bills, and no questions asked. Interested?”
“Joz said you weren’t into anything illegal,” Kithain said, his eyes narrowing.
Armitage clucked in disapproval. “Didn’t he tell you what this was about? I’m after a criminal, and if you assist me on this job, there could be more work down the line. You interested?”
“Maybe,” Although this guy sounded on the level, Kithain knew there just might be some two-legged rat that would try to bait a sucker play for an unsuspecting local. Although if he can afford powered armor, he wouldn’t be doing small-time back-alley scams in the first place.
“You aren’t—the Hunter, are you?”
Armitage threw back his head and laughed. “If I was, do you think I’d be wasting my time in this dump?”
“Okay, why me? I’m just a pilot with nothing to my name.”
“First, you’re honest, and I appreciate that. I’m looking to expand my operation, branch out to take on bigger quarry, including ’Mechs. For that I’ll need a partner to start, and I prefer breaking one in from the beginning. Fewer bad habits that way. I also want someone who’s hungry, and from the fringe, not tied down by Inner Sphere history. After all, who knows who we might be going after in time. When I asked Joz if there were any potential candidates out here, he mentioned you. ‘Kid knows how to handle himself, and he’s got at least as much scruples as brains, which are considerable.’ His exact words, as I recall.”
Kithain’s mouth crooked in a wry smile. That figures. He wasn’t a criminal, and had no desire to become one, despite the numerous opportunities that appeared in this part of town. Hunting them, however…maybe someday I could get enough juice to take on the Hegemony on my own terms someday.
He nodded. “Let’s say I’m interested—for now. Take me to the job, and you can fill me in as we go.”
Armitage led the way to the far end of the alley, where the ’Mech had passed a few minutes ago. He scanned the street, then pointed to a large, run-down warehouse across the way. “Your acquisition’s inside. An accountant, wanted for embezzling from the Lyrans,” Armitage said. “You go in, take him into custody—alive, mind you—and deliver him to me.”
“Why aren’t you handling this?” Kithain asked.
“It’s actually a pick-up job, since I’ve already busted my main quarry here. When I found out about this target, I decided to subcontract. This is small fry for me. So I thought I’d give the local talent a shot, see what you can do. Besides, can you see me bracing an accountant? He’d probably keel over and die of fright.”
Kithain rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin as he scoped the building. The set-up sounded decent, if a bit too easy. “My father had a saying about any job: Never trust your intel.”
Armitage chuckled again. “Your father was a smart man. He also teach you that no plan ever survives contact with the enemy?”
“Till I was saying it in my sleep.” Kithain grinned, instinctively liking the other man. He also trusted Joz, and if he said this Armitage was on the level… “All right, I’m in.”
“Excellent. Take these,” Armitage held out a compact laser pistol and a magcard.
Kithain accepted the gun and checked its load, then tucked it into his waistband at the small of his back. The card he kept out as he measured the distance between him and the building, then checked both ways on the deserted street.
“The magcard will get you into the building, and anywhere else you might need to go inside. One more thing—lose the jacket, or you’ll alert him before you even get inside.” Armitage waved a gloved hand in front of his helmet. “Even I can smell you.”
“That bad?” Kithain shrugged out of his battered duster and was instantly soaked. “Hold this for me.” He slipped out of the alley and zigzagged across the street to the recessed doorway. He fiddled with it for a second, then the door whisked open, and Kithain disappeared into the darkness inside.
Stepping to one side of the entryway, Kithain waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom as the door closed behind him with a soft hiss. He scanned the area as soon as he could see, making sure he hadn’t attracted any undue attention. The pistol he’d drawn just before entering comfortable in his hand.
He stood on a loading dock, with several huge cargo doors used by the tractor trains that brought supplies and trade goods from outlying provinces into the city in a row next to him. Liftcrates and jackpallets of just about everything one could imagine were stacked around him in long tall rows that stretched up into the darkness. At the far end of the cavernous room, Kithain saw a glimmer of light coming from a window set in the wall about ten meters off the ground. He began threading his way through the maze-like corridors of crates and pallets.
After several minutes and three wrong turns, he stood at the foot of the staircase leading to the upper levels. So far, so good. Practically done, and no one knows I’m here. He climbed the steel-grid stairs, careful to step near the outer edge to prevent creaks. Two flights later, he stood to one side of the office suite door. There was a similar magcard lock on it. Holding his breath, Kithain swiped his card through. The door light changed from red to green, and it slid open with a small click. Nothing to it, he thought. Taking one last look around, he slipped inside.
This long room was the heart of the operation. Everywhere Kithain saw computer screens and databanks, all powered down, that tracked the vast inventory moving in and out of the warehouse every day. He also saw several control stations for the overhead mechanical grapplers mounted on a rail grid near the ceiling, used to move the enormous pallets of boxes.
The room continued beyond the control area, and the light Kithain had seen came from the other side of a row of computers. Perfect, he thought, I’ll use those as cover, sneak over, and get the drop on him.
No sooner had he come up with this plan then he was in motion, gliding without a sound over to the far end of the control area. He paused there, fingers tense on the laser, listening for any noise on the other side. Only silence greeted him.
Probably napping. Even easier than I thought. Kithain took a deep breath, steadied his gun hand, and stepped around the corner.
“Don’t—move?” he said, sweeping the half of the room before him.
The area contained everything expected of a normal office, a large faux-wood desk with a computer monitor and the remains of a large meal on it, a tall, leather chair pushed back against the far wall next to another door, a gently waving ithril plant hanging from the ceiling. It had everything, in fact, except one thing—Kithain’s quarry.
Hmm, I didn’t think accountants had such huge appetites, he thought. He’s probably through that door—
Before he could move, there came the distinct sound of a toilet cycling, and the far door opened.
The figure that ducked to enter the office was easily a half-meter taller than Kithain. But where he was lean and sinewy, this guy was massive, with thick slabs of muscle slowly turning to fat under his stained vest and button-down, collarless shirt. His face was wide, with porcine, squinting eyes stuffed between fleshy cheeks and a bulbous nose. When he saw Kithain he froze, a frown creasing his sweating forehead.
Crap, security, he thought. Clanner? No way, not out here. Just really big. “Stop where you are and raise your hands. I’m looking for the accountant that’s supposed to be here.”
The man didn’t reply, but stepped further into the room, his muddy-brown eyes staying on Kithain, who aimed his pistol at the middle point of the man’s heavy brow, right above his nose.
“Don’t come any closer, or I will shoot.”
The man’s answer was to take another ponderous step, moving to the middle of the room. Shaking his head, Kithain shifted his aim to the guy’s right kneecap and squeezed the trigger.
The laser clicked in his hand, but no brilliant ray of focused light flashed out to cripple his target.
The two men stared at each other for a moment. Kithain pressed the firing stud of his weapon again, and was rewarded with the same result. The huge man smiled, exposing large, sharp, yellow teeth. Before Kithain could regroup or move, the huge man moved.
With a grace that belied his size, the man charged, his massive arm swinging towards Kithain’s head. Trying to deflect the blow, Kithain partially succeeded.
The guard’s club-like fist slammed into his upraised arms, sending him flying across the room. He skidded to a stop under the large row of windows. The pistol popped out of his grasp and slid under a row of computers. Shaking his head, Kithain pushed himself up against the wall in time to see the thug striding over, his other fist cocked and ready.
There was no time to think, only move. Despite his screaming instincts, Kithain waited until his opponent committed to his attack.
The man reached him and swung again, intending to punch Kithain through the wall. At the last second, he rolled to one side, ducking the blow that whistled over his head and slammed into the wall with enough force to shake the entire side of the room. His enemy grunted, although Kithain couldn’t tell if the sound was from pain or anger.
Standing up, Kithain swung with all his might, burying his fist in the man’s abdomen. The huge guy grunted again, but didn’t seem fazed at all. Cocking his other arm, Kithain let go with a left hook that snapped the behemoth’s head back, but it only seemed to make him madder. The man grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and hurled him over the nearest bank of computers. Kithain crashed onto a wheeled chair, its back stabbing into his ribcage, and slammed to the ground, holding his side. He heard the guy’s footsteps as he approached, the heavy thuds reminding him of the Hunchback outside.
Kithain crawled around the corner of the computer wall and scrambled to his feet, scurrying for the entry door. Another rush of air swept over him, and he felt something brush the back of his shirt as he ran across the room. Slamming the card on the door lock, he risked a glance over his shoulder while praying for the door to open right now.
The man lumbered toward him, only a few meters away. Kithain looked around, but there was nowhere to go in here that the guy couldn’t get to him eventually. If the door didn’t open—
With a slight hiss, the doors slid apart, and Kithain scraped through as soon as the hole was large enough. He slapped at the closing mechanism on the other side, but didn’t wait for it to work. Instead, he took the stairs four at a time and ran for the exit the moment he hit the ground. Behind him, he heard the staircase clang and groan as a massive weight descended on them.
