GOODWIN MANOR

BLUE MOUNTAINS

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

02:41, 18 April 3044

The walk up to Goodwin’s house had taken half an hour at a steady walking pace for the old man’s ‘Mech, taking them off the main road and up a path through the forest barely wide enough for it to avoid branches scraping its broad shoulders on either side. Now she had a chance, Elise could inspect the machine, seeing it was registering as a TDR-5LS. She didn’t recognise the variant – and she knew most ‘Mechs in AFFS service – but the fact her Clint did suggested it might be an out of production model.

While their motley almost-lance kept comms silence on theway up, following the dark shape of the Thunderbolt as it led the way between the long rows of trunks, inside of the ‘Mech had been a different matter. Anne refused to shut up for the entire journey, talking about this and that, though nothing of consequence like she refused to let the silence settle in at any cost, even if Elise didn’t reply to what she said.

As annoying as Elise found it, at least it had kept her mind from wandering from their dark path down somewhere even worse.

Eventually they passed through an open gate, almost missed in the dark and the unchecked vegetation crowding around it. It was more an ornament than a fortification anyway, a wrought-iron portal that glinted with black gloss in the headlights of the Manticore, lit now they were as far from the main road as they could be. If it had been closed, the Clint would have been able to step over it without issue and she doubted Walters’ driver would have even felt a bump as they went through it.

On the other side, the forest dissipated to reveal a wide clearing of wild lawn and a long gravel drive, leading a good couple of hundred metres towards a grander house than Elise would have imagined on a planet like Gillingham. It was made of cut, grey local stone and dark timber, fashioned in a New-Neo-Baroque style that would not have been out of place on one of the Federation’s core worlds, consisting of a main body and two flanking wings.

All of the windows were tall and impressive, numbering in the dozens across three spacious floors on either side. Each was an empty portal like the eyes of a corpse, only the solitary glow of a lamp above the double doors giving any sign of habitation.

Anne let out a low, appreciative whistle from over her shoulder.

There was a large red outbuilding like a barn off to one side, the open doors enough to admit a BattleMech, and it was there that Goodwin was leading them. Floodlights lit automatically at their approach, revealing within it a full ‘Mech gantry and its accompanying paraphernalia.

The Thunderbolt moved to one side, flanking the road by the doorway, giving room for Elise to get by.

“Go on in,” he said, gesturing with the ‘Mech’s open palm. “Look like you need it more than I do, even with my bad knees.”

Elise wondered if the Thunderbolt had damaged its actuators during the fall then realised the old man was talking about his knees, flesh and bone. Dismounting from a ‘Mech using the integral rope ladder could be a taxing experience, even for someone young and fit.

In the light spilling from the barn she could see the heavy much clearer now. It was painted in a quartered scheme of dark red and brown, some kind of heraldic crest on its left arm rendered unreadable by buckled armour plates and smeared mud from when it had undergone its little fall. She moved the Clint past Walters’ tank – the same Gillingham militia blue as her ‘Mech – as it parked up opposite Goodwin, made her way into the barn, and backed carefully into the bay, taking more care than when she had come out of the last one.

Proximity sensors showing she was in a good position, Elise locked the Clint’s actuators and went through the rote proceedings of shutting down its systems in the correct sequence, finalising by locking the command console.

And then the ‘Mech was silent.

She put her hands in her lap and sat back, eyes closed, biting her lip until she tasted the hot iron tang of blood to hold back the scream she desperately wanted to let loose. Blinking back tears, she pulled off her neurohelmet with shaking hands and put it to one side, making sure she quickly wiped her eyes when the sound of unbuckling restraints came from behind her.

“Oh god that’s good,” Anne commented, sounding like she was stretching out.

Elise ignored her, a rapid slideshow of the night’s events playing on the back of her eyes, interspersed by invading memories from her years at war.

“Right then, out the chair.”

Elise opened her eyes, looking up to see Anne’s staring sternly back at her from next to the command chair. “Pardon?”

“Out the chair,” Anne repeated. “Can’t get a look at that knee with you in there, can I?”

Knee? Oh bugger me, ow that hurts! Elise thought as all the corporal sensations came flooding back in. Her knee was throbbing where she had caught it on the chair, her bad leg was aching from the exertion, and her head was caught in the grip of a nasty tension headache. Beside that she was hungry, thirsty, and really needed the bathroom, not to mention the sheer, profound exhaustion she felt.

With great effort, she unbuckled her restraints and hauled herself up and out of the chair, ending up sitting on the cool metal floor beside it. Her knee was a mess of blood and bruising, the impact having cut away a flap of skin the size of a small coin. Even though she had endured worse, she still winced to look at it.

Anne sat in front of her, cross-legged and rummaging through her bag, pulling out small packets and laying them neatly by her. There was a focus to the nurse now, a sense of purpose, like Elise had done her part and now it was time for she to do hers.

“Pain?” she asked.

“Yeah…”

She brandished a small bottle at Elise. “Paracetamol, take two.”

Elise did so as Anne began opening the packets, hissing in pain as some kind of antiseptic wipe passed over her wounded knee. Despite the closeness of the situation and the vulnerability she felt, Elise found some of her tension ease away as she watched the nurse get to work. She was thorough, methodical, but gentle, and it was a strange sensation for Elise to feel like someone was caring for her. It was nice.

She was a little taken aback when the wound was cleaned and dressed in no time at all.

“Is that it?” she blurted.

“What, want me to kiss it better?” Anne asked, packing away her things.

“I-,” Elise started, then shook her head.

“Kidding,” Anne flashed her an impish grin.

Elise shook her head then stood, a little shakily, and began to make her way to the access hatch.

“Elise?”

She turned back. “Hmm?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get some actual clothes on before we meet our new friends.”

“Oh.” The battle garb of the average MechWarrior was little better than what she was wearing now, but even so it would probably cut the wrong image if she presented herself in mismatched bra and sensible pants.

Suitably dressed in clothes that still smelled of smoke, the two women made their way down the gantry – apparently in better condition than the militia one – and out into the cool night air where the players in their motley little band were gathering. On the way past she looked up at the Clint, grimacing at the state of the poor machine. It looked a sorry sight with most of the armour melted or pulverised from its right side, the arm and opposite leg showing the thick green ropes of exposed myomer. There was not an inch of paint that wasn’t scratched or marred in some way.

Not a lot she could do about it now.

Every movement hurt and every step felt far too slow, but Elise kept a brave face when she joined the others.

Goodwin was obvious by his cooling vest and uncomfortably short shorts. He was a slender man slightly taller than her and held himself well, only a mild stoop betraying the age evident in the wrinkles of his rich dark skin and the grey hair that hung in long braids down to the middle of his back.

Slouching around the tank were gathered a trio that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a dive bar. Two men and a woman, they could have been anywhere between twenty-five and fifty, their overalls stained with oil and other things, their demeanour suspicious and their eyes roving, taking in everything around them.

“Which of you is Walters?” she demanded.

“I am.” The voice, even younger without the attenuation of a comm channel, came from up in the cupola of the tank’s turret. Walters looked as androgynous as they sounded, their Asiatic features still bearing the smoothness of youth. They couldn’t have been more than twenty five and that was being generous.

They gave a kid like this command? She wondered internally, checking herself when she reminded, Weren’t you that old when you lost yours?

“You must be… Ellie, was it?”

Elise sighed and nodded.

“And you’re Nurse Lyons.”

“None other,” Anne gave a little wave, received by an acknowledging nod from Walters.

They gestured at the tankers in turn. “This is Owais Vincent, my driver, Fraser Trujillo, my gunner, and Cara Potts, my operator.”

The crew waved with varying degrees of enthusiasm and the driver, a tall man with a five o’clock shadow firmly entrenched on his gaunt face, busied himself lighting a cigarette.

A soft yet insistent clearing of the throat came from behind Elise.

“My apologies, Mister Goodwin,” Walters said sincerely. “Thank you for inviting us to your home.”

The old man nodded in polite acceptance.

“Please, Monty or Montgomery if you need to be formal,” he told them. “Now why don’t you come down from there and we can go inside, get some rest?”

Walters nodded and rapped his knuckles on the side of the tank, chucking a long object out of the cupola – Is that a leg?! – which Trujillo, short and stout, with a widow’s peak, caught deftly. Potts, a gaunt, heavily-tattooed woman with furtive eyes, moved to the side of the tank and helped the captain down from their perch. Out in the open, Elise could see they were missing their left leg below the knee.

Prosthetic installed and feet under them, Walters looked around as if daring anyone to question what they had just seen.

“After you, then,” they said.

Undaunted and unfazed, Montgomery began ambling down the road towards the house with Walters, Anne, and Elise in tow, the captain managing to keep pace with them. The rest of the Manticore’s crew stayed behind, already engaged in a check of their vehicle, pulling up panels and unpacking a set of tools.

Elise looked up at the building as they came closer, seeming to loom over them in the near-darkness. A place like this would have had a platoon of staff just to maintain everything and keep it clean, even if only the old man was in residence.

“Monty, where is everyone?” Anne asked for her.

“Oh, it’s just me here,” Montgomery replied, a mask of unconcern not quite managing to conceal the hint of emotion in his voice. “Kids flew the nest decades ago and my wife has been passed on for six years now.”

“Isn’t there anyone to help you out at all?”

Montgomery seemed to consider the question, chewing his lip.

“No, no, just me,” he admitted, pushing open one of the doors twice as tall as he was – apparently unlocked – and leading them into an echoing entrance hall, the sweeping rise of a grand staircase disappearing up into the gloom. “Mr Sandoval still comes up once a year to service Maximus, but I had to let the help go summer before last.”

“How come?”

He didn’t answer, clomping across the chequer-tiled floor and bringing them into a sitting room panelled with varnished wood and richly decorated with hanging cloths and paintings, switching on the lights and settling into a comfortable armchair that seemed at odds with the almost antique nature of the rest of the furniture. From the folded blanket and small stack of books on a side table, Elise was sure the man slept here. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for them to sit.

“Right!” he said, vigorously slapping the armrests. “What’s the plan, captain?”

“Right, yes,” Walters took the hint, turning to Elise. “You said you think there’s a company of ‘Mechs in the town?”

“There’s a dropper on the pad I think is a Union and I’ve personally seen eight distinct BattleMechs along with at least a platoon of infantry,” Elise nodded. “It’s probably safe to assume there’s more.”

“Enemy casualties?” Walters asked.

“Four downed ‘Mechs confirmed, including the Rifleman,” she explained. “Indeterminate number of infantry casualties.”

“Elise destroyed three of those herself,” Anne chimed in.

Walters looked at the nurse, then at Elise, their eyes narrowed. “What did you say your qualifications were?”

“I’m Powerman certified,” she responded in perfect deadpan.

The captain continued to look at her for a moment longer then sighed, shaking their head.

“We need clearer heads to asses this situation properly, I don’t think the pirates are going anywhere,” they said. “Go and get some rest, we’ll reconvene in a few hours.”

“Good idea,” Montgomery agreed. “Help yourselves to food and whatever, and if you need any clothes then take whatever you want from my sons or daughters rooms… they aren’t coming back for it.”

Elise wanted to ask directions but the old man was already leaned back, eyes closed, with his hands folded on his belly.

 

 

06:49

Anne Lyons was a nurse. On most planets in the Inner Sphere that meant at least two years of formal education at a nice modern teaching hospital, with experienced instructors and the latest in medical technology. In a place like Gillingham, however, such luxuries could only be dreamed of.

The nearest university was more than a jump away so all training needed to be done on the job, with young hopefuls thrown in at the proverbial deep end, dealing with normally-preventable diseases, horrific agricultural trauma, and cobbled together equipment before they had even left their teens. It created a breed of hardy, resilient professionals that could cope with the rough, often brutal way of life in the Outback. It also meant she was in the odd situation of legally not being allowed to work on a ward outside Gillingham but also being quite desirable to trauma teams in the AFFS.

The doctor situation was even worse. You had to go off-world if you wanted to get an MD, which already excluded most of those smart enough for it, and half of those that made the journey never bothered coming back. Because of this, the citizens of Gillingham had to rely on a dwindling supply of ageing practitioners or a rotating cast of volunteer medics from more affluent worlds who came to do the bare minimum, pat themselves on the back, then leave after a year with a more padded résumé.

To be fair on some of them, they did actually stay and put proper effort in, but they were in the minority, leaving nurses like Anne to fill in the gaps where they reasonably could. She could prescribe, do examinations, and even diagnose and treat some of the more common ailments – if she had the necessary resources to hand of course.

This kind of experience made her observant, both about her surroundings and the people she was treating, which was a useful skill when a beef farmer with leg ulcers and the shakes was telling you they were absolutely taking their diabetes medication, yes ma’am nurse. She could instinctively tell when someone wasn’t quite telling you everything.

Anne stepped out onto the front steps of the grand house, the sky above them a pale blue now the clouds of the night had been chased away, the bright sun not yet having made it over the wall of the forest, thick and green, turning their clearing into an isolated bay where the events of last night seemed a distant memory.

She sat down on the top step, next to Elise, who barely acknowledged her presence. The woman had changed out of her smoky clothes, donning warm weather sportswear under the dirty jacket that was the only concession against the morning chill, her copper hair unbound and tumbling messily around her head. Similarly, Anne had decided against returning to her stained uniform, opting for sensible yet comfortable casual clothes she had found in one of Monty’s daughter’s rooms.

It had been a strange experience rooting through the place, the empty, dust-covered chambers making her feel like she was looting some ancient temple of its treasures.

“You get any sleep?” she asked.

Elise shrugged. She was fidgeting, leg bouncing, fingers linking and unlinking, eyes flicking warily towards the barn and back again.

“I tried...” she said.

“Nightmares?” Anne asked, though she knew the answer. They had all camped out in the living room where Monty snoozed indomitably away and she had heard the other woman shifting and mumbling in her sleep, eventually waking with a start and giving up on sleep. Anne had given her a little time before following. Not like she was getting much sleep either.

A small nod.

“Bit of a bugger, aren’t they?”

An agreeing grunt.

Anne watched the distant trees as the breeze rustled through their green boughs, carefully choosing her words.

“So it’s obvious from your accent you’re an offworlder, which isn’t too remarkable in of itself,” she began, leading with an irrefutable yet uncontroversial statement. “And Powerman certified or no, you really seem like you know how to handle a BattleMech.”

She left the statement hanging. Most times when dealing with someone it was best to not make direct accusations unless you needed to be confrontational. Instead, you floated an idea and let them figure out if and how they wanted to answer it.

The silence stretched from seconds to a minute, to two then three, and Anne was about to give up on that line of inquiry when Elise finally spoke.

“I grew up in a place like this, you know,” she said.

“What, Gillingham?”

“No… like this,” Elise gestured at the grand house behind them.

“I see.”

“My family were well-monied and well-connected,” she continued. “I was given the best education, the best food and things, moved in circles with only the best that high society had to offer. I even met Melissa once.”

“Steiner-Davion?”

“None other. Painfully gorgeous, extraordinarily humble and kind, incredibly smart and thoughtful too. A real unfair combination to measure the rest of us against. If she wasn’t already taken, anyway,” Elise was rambling a little, her eyes unfocused as she looked into the distant past, but Anne encouraged her with nods and “Mhmms”. “My parents were… driven, and I let them drive me. I gathered the best and brightest around me, I pushed myself into the NAIS then through to the top ten percent of my class when I graduated, coming straight out into a commission. I had it all. I was even engaged to the Hasek lad.”

“What, Morgan?”

“God no, his cousin Drew. It was a…more of a political union, I suppose.”

Anne kept thoughts to herself about that one.

“I was a MechWarrior and a damn good one too, but it all fell apart in ‘39. I lost my family’s Victor, most of my command, and the experience… I don’t know… broke through years of emotional repression and turned me into an absolute gibbering wreck…” Elise’s voice cracked a little as she went on. “I resigned my commission, called off my engagement, and found that though I was surrounded by people, none of them were really my friends. The closest I’d had were in my company and, well, they were in no position to help…”

“What about your family?”

Elise scoffed. “What about them? They were the worst. My so-called ‘friends’ only abandoned me, whereas my parents constantly reminded me of the shame I brought on them and my siblings trampled me in a rush to be the next favourite. Hell, the only person in my family I actually liked died in ‘34…”

Silent tears ran down her freckled cheeks, her hands now shaking. Anne reached out and took one of them, expecting Elise to flinch away, though was pleasantly surprised when she clung to it like a lifeline. A deep, shuddering breath later and Elise was talking again. “I couldn’t handle it any more and could only see two options left so I ran instead of… doing the other thing… I ran as far as I could and, well, ended up here. I got a place, a job, learned what the word ‘struth’ meant and tried my best to rebuild...”

It was a lot to take in. This woman had been through a lot in life, and though she had known objectively worse cases of suffering, trauma was all relative and it would only cause more harm to bring that up.

“If you hadn’t ended up here, I would be dead,” Anne pointed out. “So from an entirely selfish point of view, I’m glad you did.”

Elise looked at her then, eyebrows furrowed and mouth half open as if she was only just realising something important.

“Yeah… Yeah I suppose that’s true,” she agreed, looking away with the hint of a smile.

“You’ve done a good job of rebuilding things on your terms, as far as I can tell,” Anne encouraged, squeezing her hand one more time before extricating it from the other woman’s grip. “Don’t stop now or I’ll get annoyed.”

Elise snorted with amusement but it quickly faded.

“Well, it was going fine until…” she frowned and stuck a hand in her jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled envelope.

“What’s that?”

“I… don’t know…” Elise admitted. “It’s a message from my old commander, arrived… god, I can’t believe it was only yesterday.”

“What does it say?”

Elise shrugged and handed it over. “Can you… read it for me…?”

It was a vulnerable moment for Elise so how could Anne refuse?

She took the envelope and carefully opened it, slipping out the small piece of Comstar-branded paper from within. It was short and succinct – you paid by the character after all – with all the warmth of a rock in winter.

“Exp cmdrs. needed in 2 FedCom. Muster Sarna. Offer Major rank.”

Elise sat thoughtfully after Anne read it out, staring at her hands with a scowl.

“Hell of an offer,” Anne commented.

“Yeah…”

“You, uh…”

“One thing at a time…” Elise replied quietly.

Anne turned when she head the arrhythmic stomps of Captain Walters coming out of the house.

“Glad you’re both relaxing,” they said flatly. “Strategy meeting. Now.”

The captain turned and left again without waiting for a response, leaving them both sat with only the whisper of wind to break the silence as Elise carefully put the piece of paper away and they followed the young officer back inside the empty old house.