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Chapter One

Harsh Voice
Jump Point
Inner End

The asteroid field was dead. Lifeless chunks of rock, gyrating slowly as their individual gravity tugged and played with that of their partners. No-one came here. There was nothing to see. Occasional tourists passed by on their way to the Jump point, yet nothing attractive called to them. No Star League artifacts hid beneath their pocked surfaces, no secret bases bored deep into their interiors. They were just there, a navigational warning beacon the only testament to their existence.
 
Jace Alstrom spat against his window, smudging the dirty plexiglass further with his grimy cloth. These trips were more than boring; ferrying passengers out to the Jumpship in the Harsh Voice was routine, sometimes entertaining and dangerous only in the lack of maintenance carried out by its owners.

Inner End was never known for high technology, big business or the strength of its military, and truth be told Jace was happy with that. Mechwarriors might well be the elite, but one thing was sure, their life expectancy could be measured in moments. That was what his father had told him, and the burnt out hulks of Mechs littering the family junkyard did nothing to undermine his reasoning.
 
“Jace!”

Speak of the devil. That was his father now. Probably the Old Man wanted someone to bring him a drink…or three. That was all they needed, his father drunk again, just as they were about to dock. Maybe a little excitement would not go amiss. Nah, Alstrom Lines’ proud history of a stoic drift into ignominy would be upheld, no matter what.
 
“Coming,” he called, stopping by the mess to grab a bottle of Scotch. The glasses were almost as dirty as the window and he spat and wiped them with his cloth too. Alcohol was good for killing germs, brain cells and an uninteresting day.
 
“Ah, good boy,” muttered his father, sweeping his desk clear with a weak thrust of his arm, “just what we need.”
 
In spite of himself, Jace smiled. Jared Alstrom was a big man, running to fat and happiest amidst the stains of a meal and his favourite drink. Their life was…adequate, and that was enough.
 
“Cheers,” began Jared, just as the ship lurched. “What the…?”

Space was ripped apart, as a huge ship emerged from its Jump right in front of them, tumbling the Harsh Voice into violent motion.
 
Lights flashed across Jace’s vision as alarm klaxons assaulted his ears.

“They’re firing,” gasped his father, “on the Jumpship!”

Jace wanted to be sarcastic, but reality had violently silenced him. Stray PPC’s smashed into the nearby asteroids, spinning the smaller lumps into a crazed dance. He heard screams from the passengers and deliberately ignored them. His routine had been shattered. The communications array burst into life and Jace stood still, deaf to his father’s imprecations as he listened to the message.
 
“Heave to, and you will be spared…”

What were they saying? Angry colours lashed out from the Jumpship and scrambled fighters raced towards the intruder. A harsh laugh echoed around the Control Room as the warning was ignored.
 
“Very well, Boarders Away!”

The intruder spat small shapes from its belly, which span and powered towards the stationary Jumpship. Particle beams stitched the darkness of space, and laser point systems responded to the incoming fighters. A Dropship separated from the intruder’s sleek hull, yawing clear before firing its engines. With quick efficiency, the vessel lined up on the unsuspecting planet, just as its twin disengaged and followed.
 
City Limits
Inner End

Bright lights flared in the morning sky as the tell-tale contrails of drop pods appeared. Alarms screamed in the city, warning its inhabitants to take shelter. The thump of heavy feet announced the marshaling of the small defence force and the lance of light Mechs picked up speed as they moved to intercept the incoming invaders. More lights split the sky and the Lance Commander began to pray.
 
“This is your superior officer,” the voice crackled into the Lance Commander’s helmet, “you will engage and destroy these interlopers. Take no prisoners! Fight to the last man! Make me proud!”
 
Karl Morgan grunted. It was neither a laugh, nor a curse, but it could have easily been either. Councillor Erhardt was a pompous, self-important fool, who had just condemned Morgan’s Lance to death. That, unfortunately, was what he was paid for, so Morgan took a deep breath and clicked his communicator on.
 
“Delta Lance to full speed. It appears that we have some unwelcome party guests.”
 
A pathetic round of chuckles greeted his witticism, and Morgan took that as a good sign. He led them forward, his Mech beginning to pick up speed. To his left, he saw one of his Lance members stop, struggle for a moment and then crash to the floor in a pile of dust.
 
“Sorry, Boss,” said a small voice, “the Old Girl just hasn’t got the legs…”

Greta Erhardt was the image of her father. She also had his penchant for self-preservation. Morgan ignored her and concentrated on enjoying the sensation of his own machine as it reached top speed.
 
*

“This is Star Captain Alexsander Moore,” The amplified voice boomed from the Hellion Prime, as it waited on the small hillock, “and I challenge you to fight.”
 
Morgan slowed his Mech to a walk, moving the machine into the open and gulping as he scanned the skyline. Twenty Mechs and he had four. Maybe the challenge would at least allow him a warrior’s death, but what had the man called himself…Star Captain? What was that?
 
“Ah,” the Hellion Prime twitched in mock laughter, “what do we have here?”

The slight movement of the Mech, allowed its shoulder to move into the sunlight and Morgan gasped. The design etched onto the Mech’s shining outer skin was a severed head, whose blood dripped down in a stylized pattern over knee and foot.
 
“I am Lance Commander Morgan of the..:”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the Star Captain, “blah, blah. Are you ready to die?”

“Not just yet,” muttered Morgan, triggering his medium laser and firing all of his SRM’s at once. The roar of impacting ordinance was the last thing he remembered as hell paid a visit to Inner End.
 
Harsh Voice
Jump Point
Inner End

“They’re dying…” a soft voice impinged onto Jace’s stupefied consciousness, and he turned to see a young woman by his side. She had obviously ignored the downplayed decoration around her and entered the cabin in the hope of an answer. Too bad that.
 
“You’re not allowed in here, Miss…?” asked Jace, his eyes flicking back to the lightshow enacted before him.
 
“Williams, Diana Williams…and why not? Only VIP’s allowed in this exclusive area?”
 
Jace snorted with laughter, he liked this girl.

“Yeah,” he said, “we were just about to serve drinks before the fireworks display began…”
 
It sounded inane. The Jumpship was diminishing before his eyes, as metal boiled into space, pared away by the barrage of particle beams which flicked and scored the outer hull.
 
“Do you know who they are?” a man entered the cabin, there was some family resemblance to the girl there, forcing them all to shuffle closer.
 
“Not sure,” replied Jace, blushing as he realized that his father had finished the bottle and was swaying towards them. There was no intention of opening conversation in his eyes, just the determination of finding another drink.
 
“Captain?” asked the man, pulling himself upright as he sucked in his own self-importance, “Can you shed any light on this matter?”
 
Jared drew a deep breath, then belched a loud and malodorous reply.

“Pirates…” he breathed, aiming a wavering finger towards the bridge of his nose. He missed, poked himself in the eye, dropped his bottle with a crash and landed hard on the deck.
 
“Pirates…” he insisted, and with a muffled “me hearties!” keeled over.

City Limits
Inner End

Star Captain Aleksander Moore hated freebirths, hated his life and most of all the ease at which he destroyed his enemies. He told himself that he had left the Clans for just such a reason, conveniently forgetting his defeat in the Bloodname contest and the humiliating begging for his life. His opponent’s bullet had grazed his bobbing forehead and a following boot crushed his nose. Those scars were now part of his bloody history.
 
The infantry attack he participated in as a member of the shock troops was meant to have finished his pathetic life, instead an exploding ammunition dump gave him a new identity and a ragged band of followers. They may be all Freebirth but in the land of the blind, a one-eyed man is king. Genetic selection had bred him as a superior being and he knew it.
 
His fortunate survival had gifted him his Mech and a couple of Clan Tech’s. Battlefield salvage provided him with a start and helped his band grow. Now he raided the defenseless and poorly prepared solahma barracks for supplys and converts. Who cared about the Clan Invasion? With his followers and a judicious use of force, he could carve himself out an Empire. The only problem he had…
 
“Moore!” the voice screamed in his ear.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Have you done with them yet? I’m getting bored up here and feel the need for some pillaging…”
 
Moore winced at the tone and for what he knew would come. Well, he did not have to join in.
 
“All ready, Captain”

“About time,” snarled his superior, “get yourself to the city and prepare for my arrival. Round up a few examples for me.”
 
“Yes, Captain,” replied Moore, remembering exactly what the examples had been used for at their last stop.

Jumpship Cerberus
Jump Point
Inner End

“Emergency Pod deployed, permission to…” the communications technician’s voice cut off abruptly, as the darkness of space within the holo projector erupted in a brief flash of incandescence.
 
“Report!” roared the Captain, pushing crewmen aside as he cleared the way to the screen.
 
“I-i-it just exploded!”

Captain Grigori Avellar pulled his pistol clear from his belt, and with a moment’s pause reversed it, before smashing the butt into the unfortunate technician’s head.
 
“Is there anyone here with an ounce of sense?”

No-one answered.

“Obviously not,” he sneered, reaching past the bleeding man to punch the transmit button before him.
 
“I…want…that…pod…” he said it clearly, in a coldly measured voice.

“Aye, aye Captain, on my way…” the crackled reply told him that at least one of his fighter pilots was on the ball.
 
Grigori smiled, then turned to kick the bleeding technician again. He wondered if Diana had been caught up in the explosion. Could he really be that lucky?
 
“Send out a shuttle and see if there are any survivors,” he said to no-one in particular. He had at least to make an effort
 
Emergency Pod
Inner End System


Jace stared at his father’s body. He was dead, yet he still felt the need to check for a pulse. Wrist, neck and then a final check with ear to chest only confirmed what he already knew, and smeared congealed blood on his face. The drunken oaf was dead, killed with a needler round in a fight with pirates. It was a different end than that expected; more alcohol, renal failure and expensive medication. Whatever the means, it was a death Jace was unprepared for and unwilling to accept as just.
 
In a small way, he felt some satisfaction at the destruction of the boarders and the conniving woman, whoever she was. It did mean that there was an even bigger target out there, and perhaps people on the planet involved in deliberate collaboration. That made him feel better, it gave him a purpose. All he had to do now was survive.
 
His altered state of mind probably hid the enormity of the task ahead of him, and saved his life. The precipitous departure from the Harsh Voice, followed by the shock wave of the explosion gave his trajectory an unpredictability. Added to that was Jace’s rudimentary knowledge of space flight and the less than pristine beacon guiding the pod towards the planet. He sat and waited for the machinery to guide him to the planet’s surface, ignorant of the intermittent signal which altered his course and confused his pursuers.
 
It all seemed strange to him. What was there of any worth in Inner End? History saw them handed over as part of an agreement to join the Star League, since that time they had done nothing. Even the attacked Jumpship was an irregular visitor, packed with useless goods as part exchange for the food and supplies brought in for the minor nobility and functionaries. His father had said it was a surprise that the vessel remembered how to get here, as there was nothing of any great attraction to be found in the whole system. What had the pirates wanted?
 
In reality, Jace was as confused as the next man over motives such as the pleasure of death and destruction. For him there had to be a tangible driving force, and he made a vow to himself to find out why his father had died. With that knowledge, he was sure he could make them pay.

Chapter Three

City Centre
Inner End

Jace wandered through the city centre, ignoring the mix of screams and shouts of triumph. The Carnival had arrived three days earlier, but the flashing lights and explosions now belonged to the pirate forces. That in itself meant little to him, he was aiming for his family dwelling and the recovery of some well-hidden munitions before he served cold pay-back.

The lower floor apartment was situated in a much better area of the city than would have been expected. Even though his father was, had been, a drunk he had been sensible enough to leave the family finances to his second wife. That at least was how he explained the acrimonious divorce and subsequent division. Although Jace usually spat on the ground his mother walked on, he had to admit that she cared well for them. Her motivation might have been selfish, yet the results were favourable.

Alstrom Shipping Lines may well be in decline, but at least Jace’s mother made sure that she, and by inference Jake, would survive. Or at least that had been the plan before the arrival of the pirate force in the Inner End system.

As he approached the door he felt the first signs of disquiet, it hung open, something Maddie Alstrom would never have allowed to happen. Without a second thought Jace walked in and made straight for the kitchen, ignoring the shadowed movement from the lounge.

“I’m home, Ma,” he called, pushing through the swing door and immediately turning right towards the dispenser. A rack of utensils hung there, as well as a set of chef’s knives. He knew they were sharp, his mother was compulsive about the need for everything to be in its place and functional.

Jace pulled one of the larger knives free, reaching across with his right hand to unhook the small cleaver from its place above the bench top. He turned, just as the swing door opened behind him.

The soldier poked the door open with the extended barrel of his suppressed pistol, quickly following it through. He stepped to the right slightly, avoiding the returning door and walking straight into a flash of silver.

There was a cold rage flowing through Jace’s veins and conscious thought was consumed. His right hand chopped down hacking into bone, his left pulled across his body and stabbed back, swiping a knife bladeacross the man’s exposed throat. The nascent scream was reduced to a bubbling whine as Jace yanked the cleaver free and struck once, leaving the weapon buried deep into the soldier’s skull. He dropped his knife onto the bench top and caught the soldier’s crumpling form.

Carefully Jace moved the dead weight to one side and recovered the pistol. It was fully charged and a quick search found two more magazines, which he slipped into his jacket pocket. He cracked the door open and saw no-one. Swiftly he passed through, inching towards the corner leading into the lounge. There were muffled noises followed by a slap and Jace struck. One step brought him into view and his pistol spat twice, blowing hair and bone in an untidy clump against the wall.

The man being beaten was unknown to him and close to death. He groaned “Maddie” and raised a weak hand to indicate the sleeping quarters.
Ice flashed to steam in Jace’s veins. He may well loath his birth mother, but she was blood. Recovering and checking a second pistol he walked to the entranceway, kneeling with a pistol in each hand. An unintelligible shout brought curses from the closed room and hurrying footsteps.

One of the pirates strode into the room, shirtless and brandishing a pistol. Jace shot him through his right knee and then calmly in the forehead as he rose. A crashing boot opened the sleeping quarters and Jace strode in, pistols spitting death.

Chapter Four

Dropship Broken Promise
City Centre
Inner End

Captain Grigori Avellar spat at his Star Captain’s feet. Their rank distinction would have seemed trivial yet Grigori was one of the Blood and Moore a simple Clan warrior. It was humourous in the extreme to think that such an arrogant prick as Moore had to toe the line. He was beneath the contempt of one of the Seven Pirate Lords, yet bore watching.

“How many did you say?” roared Grigori, kicking a nearby chair in his rage. “You lost how many men?”

“I didn’t say I lost any,” sneered Moore, “I know exactly where their bodies, or at least most of them, are to be found.”

A gloved hand snapped back and struck Moore across the face. Rage burned in his eyes, yet he held himself back. The guards lining the wall would have emptied their pistols into him the moment he raised his own hand.

“Hold your tongue,” snarled Grigori, “before I remove its offending presence.”

“Yes, Captain,” mumbled Moore, his right hand twitching involuntarily next to his own pistol.

Grigori saw the unconscious tell-tale and smiled, “Please feel free to reach for your pistol if it comforts you…”

Moore snatched his hand away and stood straighter.

“Good. Now give me a true account of your failings.”

Grigori was concerned, although he tried hard not to show it. No trace had been found of the offending Emergency Pod and he could almost feel the connection here. Someone had survived the landing and was doing their damn best to spoil his happy time.

“Whilst we were preparing the city for your arrival,” said Moore, gritting his
teeth against one more insult, “some of our men tried to search one of the more affluent districts.”

“Looting? Without my say so?” asked Grigori.

“No, Captain,” replied Moore, “merely looking for suitable candidates for your own pleasure.”

“I take it that they found none, then,” smirked Grigori.

“Oh, they had already found a few, and had even sent some back to our temporary barracks before their luck ran out,” said Moore.

“It appear that they kicked open the wrong door. What remaining evidence that there is, suggests that they were overzealous in their attempts to prove the quality of their chosen examples. Someone surprised them and took offense.”

“That,” said Grigori, “would explain perhaps three or four of the bodies, not the full twelve!”

“True,” conceded Moore, “however another group of our fine warriors decided that they should not miss out on the fun and paid for their
misjudgement.”

“Is that it?” queried Grigori, hoping that it would not get any worse.

“Well, I would have said so,” replied Moore, with a wicked smile on his face, “but it seems that we keep losing men. Not mine, I can assure you, but it appears that three or four of your own men are also missing. Two the first night, and two more last night.”

“How did they die?” asked Grigori, curious in spite of himself.

“A single shot to the back of the head. Very professional,” said Moore.

“No, you fool,” snarled Grigori, “in what circumstances?”

“Oh, sorry,” said Moore, “they would guarding the perimeters of our landing zone and the temporary Mech quarters. Most disconcerting.”

“And are your Mech’s safe from such an intrusion?” Grigori was hoping that he was wrong, but this one had proven to be clever.

Star Captain Moore’s face paled, in his anger and scorn for Grigori’s men he had just assumed the reason for the killings was a simple revenge. Not that there could be a different objective.

“I am sure that the intruder did not breach the inner perimeter.”

“How sure?” asked Grigori as the cabin trembled in time to nearby explosions. “Sure enough to stake your life on it?”

Alarms wailed as Moore raced from the cabin, whether in fear of the consequences of his juvenile lapse in security or anger at his own stupidity was unclear. The thump of a Mech’s feet reached him as he sprinted for the exit ramp.

Open-mouthed, he skidded to a halt as the bloodied-head daubed on his own Hellion Prime stalked past. The upper torso twisted and laser fire spat back towards the Mech’s idle brothers and sisters. Moore gritted his teeth as a flight of Long Range Missiles thundered into the ordnance depot igniting fuel and weapons. The Mech turned back and he straightened as the four medium lasers focused on him.

Streak Missiles and lasers spoke together and hammered into the Dropship Broken Promise. Captain Grigori Avellar looked certain to miss out on his own peculiar festivities thought Moore as he flew through the air, the blast of a missile saving his life. Not that it was a bad thing, it was just that Moore was unsure of his own fate. He slammed into the floor, breath rushing from his lungs and gazed up at his own machine as it moved towards him. The last thing which passed through his mind, before five and a half tons of Ferro-Fibrous armour, was that he just didn’t have enough time left to find out.

Chapter Five

Dropship Reaver’s Pride
Inner End System

Paula Williams smiled sweetly at her XO, causing him to shudder in anticipation of her anger. Smiles were few and far between and never boded well for those around her.

“What are you receiving from Avellar’s Jumpship?” she asked, swiveling in her chair. They had left her own ship recharging when no replies had been forthcoming.

“Still nothing, Captain,” replied Tomkins, “ although we are receiving some kind of garbled message from the surface.

It was not unusual for Avellar’s ship to ignore them. Courtesy was not high on the list of attributes belonging to one of the Pirate Lords, however she would have expected some recognition of her presence.

“Captain!” her navigator announced, “They’ve jumped.”

Paula slammed her fist on the side of her command chair, what was going on and where was Diana?

“Tell our forces to be ready,” she snapped, “I do not think that they will welcome us with open arms, especially if something has happened to Diana.”

The klaxon sounded warning Mech crews to be ready for imminent drop, aerospace fighters flashed past the viewport, some slowing to escort the Dropship and others accelerating towards the planet. In-fighting amongst the Pirate Lords was avoided if at all possible. Somehow Paula thought that this would not be one of those times.

Alstrom Shipping Lines Scrapyard
Inner End

Jarvis heard the scream of fighters and jogged across to the main office. Borst was out in the city, recovering some items for them. He was adept at convincing ex-shipmates to part with both hard-won loot and essential spare parts, but for now it seemed as though their purple patch was over.

“Visitors,” she grunted as she mounted the three short steps to Jace’s office.

“I noticed,” said Jace, indicating the small holo-projector on his desk, “do you know who this is?”

“This is Dropship Reaver’s Pride. We claim this world on behalf of our mistress. All resistance will be crushed….Are you listening you scumbag?”

“I think we need Borst and the boys back right now, Boss,” commented Jarvis, “that’s Paula Williams, one of the Seven. A nasty piece of work, if I do say so.”

Jace was surprised. For Jarvis to call her a nasty piece of work, meant she was probably a lot worse than Grigori had ever been.

“Paula Williams,” mused Jace, “she doesn’t sound that terrible…wait a minute, did you say Williams?”

“Yeah,” said Jarvis, “she and her sister Diana…”

“Crap!” gasped, Jace, reaching for the communications console, “get everyone back here and hide the merchandise. We may just be in a little trouble.”

“A little tr…what did you do?” Jarvis was grinning now, the more she got to know Jace the better she liked him.

“Let’s just say I met her sister in orbit and it didn’t end well.”

“Where is she now?” asked Jarvis, curious for an answer.

“Still in orbit as far as I know,” said Jace sheepishly, “ or at least some of her is…”

Jarvis roared with laughter, slapping Jace on the back and knocking him off his chair in her enthusiasm.

“Boss,” she gasped, “you never cease to amaze me.”

She was still laughing as she stomped her way to the yard, and her task of camouflaging the pair of Mech’s they had recovered amongst the rest of the scrap.

As he reached for his communicator he received another broadcast on an open channel, this time from the Planetary Governor’s office. The signal was open, the message not. Why would the Governor’s Office be sending an encrypted message to the pirates? His smile had disappeared, a frown replacing it. Things seemed to be hotting up.

He triggered the recall signal and sat back in his chair, trying to piece together the puzzle. What did the pirates want on Inner End, and who exactly was offering it to them?

Chapter Six

Alstrom Shipping Lines Scrapyard
Inner End

“Cease and desist!”

The amplified voice boomed through the Mech’s speakers, breaking into even Borst’s limited concentration. He looked up from where he was pounding a pirate’s head into the rear bed of the truck and grinned at the huge machine. The Adder was unique both in its paint job and its pilot.

Borst hammered his foe’s face into the nearest protrusion of twisted metal and turned to face the new arrival.

“Borst? Is that you?”

“Of course it is you midget,” roared Borst throwing the piece of tubing in his free hand at the Mech, “and what gives you the right to spoil our fun?”

Tossing away a mangled arm he had somehow acquired in his other hand, Borst moved closer, keeping a wary eye on the fixed flamer mount. He had seen what the thing could do to unarmoured infantry and really was not looking for first-hand experience.

“I was told to come here and dispose of the malcontents,” boomed the voice once again, “It appears that I was sent to the right location.”

Even echoing around the yard itself, the refined tones of the Mech pilot’s voice caused Borst to wince.

“Ronin, baby,” cooed Jarvis as she kicked an unconscious, or perhaps dead, pirate out of her way, “come to Mama.”

There was a shocked silence, and then the flamer began to rotate.

“Seems like you’re still mad, honey,” grinned Jarvis, “don’t you want some sugar?”

Whatever Ronin was about to say, or do, was interrupted by the sound of incoming missiles.

“Never a dull moment,” grumbled Borst.

“You can say that again,” agreed Jace, appearing by his side, “but this time you can’t really blame me. Run!”

“What,” gasped Borst, “did you do this time?

“Well,” answered Jace, “it seemed a shame not to let Paula know about her sister, and the truck had a shiny new communicator inside. I thought she took it very well.”

“Yeah,” agreed Borst, “you should see her when she’s really mad.”

“Friend of yours?” asked Jace of Jarvis, as she arrived to help them uncover the Hellion Prime’s camouflage

“I thought so,” said Jarvis, sounding a little rebuffed, “he does have a bit of a temper, but….the making up is usually fun.”

Jace roared with laughter as he scrambled up the ladder, turning to point at the Mech bathed in smoke and fire.

“It looks as though you’ll be in for a wild night then…”

Alstrom Shipping Lines Scrapyard
Inner End

“What are you doing, Boss?” asked Jarvis, as she followed him through a ramshackle pile of equipment.

Jace grinned, tapping the side of his nose with an oil-stained finger.

“Oh, I love secrets,” mumbled Ronin sarcastically.

“it’s a present…” said Jace, as they reached a tarpaulin-covered shape, “and one I thought I would save until the opportune moment. This seems a good time though.”

Jarvis had been amazed by the quantity of scrap piled in apparently useless mountains in the open expanse which was the yard. She now realized that the haphazard piles were in fact camouflage for carefully guarded equipment. Jace’s depiction of his father as a useless drunk seemed to hold less true as time passed and she wondered what the real story was.

“Here we are,” said Jace brightly as he unveiled the tracked vehicle.  Part truck, part tank;  it was neither one thing nor the other, the chassis supporting the upper torso of a headless Mech.

“Yes…” hissed Borst as he saw the auto-cannons attached to the cast-off Mech, “you got ammunition?”

“Of course,” grinned Jace, “I saved some special rounds just for you.”

“You sure you never made this for Ronin?” quipped Jarvis, “It’s about his size…”

She ducked anticipating the prosthetic arm aimed roughly at her head, laughing at Ronin’s curses.

“This is for Borst,” grunted Jace, ignoring the interplay between the two of them, as he heaved away debris from a stack of boxes, “now stop the courting ritual and help me load him up.”

Borst was drooling as he rubbed his hands along the pair of LB 10-X Auto-cannons. The rear of the Mech was sheared away to reveal an armoured access to a recessed compartment with holo-screen.

“Who’s going to drive this?” asked Jarvis, “Borst is not the most…agile with mechanized equipment.”

“You are,” replied Jace, “as well as being in control of the tracking system and the machine guns.”

“What was this?” she asked, the crudely welded structure taking on a new light as he explained its features.

“My science project,” replied Jace,  “enjoy…”

*

Ronin followed Jace out of the maze of scrap and hurried to keep up. Behind him the roar of The Beast’s engine starting made him speed up. He would not put it past Jarvis to try and drive over him for a little fun. Borst had christened the mutated equipment with its new name in an almost religious ecstasy.  Boys and their toys was a strangled euphemism, but in this case very true. The cluster rounds now loaded into the auto-cannons had Borst itching to try them out and Ronin wanted to make sure he was not seen as a target.

“Get in your Mech,” said Jace coldly as he began to run towards his own machine, a blue-light pulsing on the communicator at his belt, “we are about to have visitors.”

“Oh, and any other orders my liege?” Ronin asked caustically.

Jace stopped and stared once at Ronin, before resuming his dash towards the Hellion Prime. Ronin began his own mad rush towards the Adder, the deadly promise in the young man’s eyes convincing him of his place in the scheme of things, and his value if he disobeyed orders. This was a Pirate Lord by nature, if not birth, and Ronin knew what the outcome would be if he dawdled in reaching his machine. Out of the frying pan and into the hottest fire from hell…who could wish for more?