BattleTech: A Face Full of Blades (Author's Special Edition), page 1
More BattleTech Action
Available From Catalyst Press:
Trial Under Fire
Patriots and Tyrants
The Corps (A BattleTech Anthology)
Angry Voices In the Dark (A Short Story)
Also By Loren L. Coleman:
Cold Dead Fingers (An ICAS File)
Stalking The Void: A Story of Faith, and Lasers
Army Issues (A Military-Fantasy Short Story)
Last Valley ‘Til Home (A Military-Fantasy Short Novel)
A FACE FULL OF BLADES
Five Stories From Solaris VII
-Author's Edition-
Loren L. Coleman
Published by Catalyst Press
Copyright © 2011 The Topps Company, Inc.
BattleTech is a registered trademark of the Topps Company, Inc
Author Foreword:
The stories collected in A Face Full of Blades were written over several years and for a variety of different projects. They became popularly known as the "Unnamed Soldier" stories, since the main character who appears in each one is never actually identified.
Believe it or not, I was three stories into the series before I even realized that.
Each story in this series has a similar structure, beginning with a "character's voice" preamble where the Unnamed Soldier offers insight into his life as an infantryman and mercenary. Sometimes he even flashes a little knowledge of Solaris VII. But there is no real setting, or conflict, yet. Technically, craft-wise, you might argue that these openings are not even part of the given "story." They are voice, and the hook they offer is into the main character (and perhaps the theme, though I am not the best judge of that). Only later, inside the main body of the tale, will the character usually draw a line from his current story back to this preamble.
This structure was received very well by BattleTech fans. In fact, early in my career, at conventions and in some chat-room panels, it became one of my most remarked-upon techniques.
But why did I do this?
It's a writer's trick.
When I first sat down to write By The Numbers I had no idea who my character was going to be. No character = No story. One way to "discover" a character is to write something—anything—in a different voice. Let them ramble awhile. Get to know them. It's the literary equivalent of talking about the weather when you are stuck in an elevator with someone, and you want to gauge whether your time there is going to be boring, interesting, or scary.
I think I got lucky here, and found someone interesting. (More on that later, in future author's notes.)
Another risk I felt I was taking at the time was establishing the setting on Solaris VII. Not that readers don't enjoy the Game World. Obviously, it's a beloved part of the BattleTech universe and has been since that other writer sent one of his main characters there to become a local champion. Action, corruption, heroics, politics; Solaris has it all.
But my character, as it turns out, was not a MechWarrior. I honestly had no idea how fans would take to an ex-infantryman turned mercenary for a Solaris VII hero, and when I introduced Erik Gray into the narrative I worried a bit that Gray would steal the story away. Again, it didn't become apparent to me until the third tale (maybe two years later?) that I was actually writing a series of "buddy stories," and that one of the more interesting parts of my main character's personality was that he resisted it the entire time.
Told you. I was still getting to know the guy myself.
Five stories later, I think I've gotten to know this unnamed man pretty well. As well as anyone can, anyway. Still, there remains a great deal of speculation among fans that this character is the alter-ego or even a new (secret) identity for another existing BattleTech hero. Certainly that is a story device we (the authors) love, and have used a few times in BattleTech's twenty-five years. I won't say it's outside the realm of possibility. Good luck trying to place him, though. I'm the author, and I couldn't answer that question if I wanted to. Which I don't.
Maybe some day it will all click together, and I'll drop my head on the desk as I realize I've been writing about the secret, illegitimate child of Patrick Kell (wait, been done)... or of Victor Davion...(damn!). Or something.
In the meantime, though, I kind of like the idea that the Unnamed Soldier...well...is just this guy. Could be anyone.
Could be no one.
This is why I write. To discover, and to entertain.
Enjoy!
BY THE NUMBERS
Loren L. Coleman
Published by Catalyst Press
Copyright © 2011 The Topps Company, Inc.
BattleTech is a registered trademark of the Topps Company, Inc
Fourteen years I’ve been pushing my face into the blades.
Since I was sixteen. That’s when I lied about my age to the recruiter and scratched my mark on the dotted line. Trading a plow and staring at the business end of a horse all day for a Federated Long Rifle and life as seen over a set of iron sights. I’ll give them that: it was what they promised me, and it was what they delivered. That was the day I kicked the dirt of Issaba free from my heels and I’ve never looked back; never once regretted my decision. Not even when the numbers stretched so thin I never thought I’d make it out.
The numbers. Measured in seconds off a watch or simply by heartbeats or breaths, in a danger situation you played everything by them if you wanted to come out the other side. It’s how I live. How I’ve stayed alive in the trade of soldier, private security and now mercenary.
Fourteen years. And still I count each heartbeat as if it's my last.
* * *
This is how it went down:
A light drizzle fell over Solaris City. A cool, summer rain, the kind you actually appreciate when it comes, which swept in at a light angle on the night’s intermittent breeze, spattering against ferrocrete surfaces and drumming lightly against parked vehicles. The streets of Silesia, Lyran Sector, gleamed wetly under the streetlamps with the look of blue-black steel while the nearby walls surrounding the Skye Tiger Estate glistened a dark gray.
Skye Tiger. One of several stables that provided BattleMechs and warriors for games in the Solaris VII arenas. Its main facilities were located outside the city. This estate served as unofficial headquarters and in-city residence for current owner James Stroud. Known for its draconian measures to turn a profit, Skye Tiger was currently clawing for a position among the top five stables. And somewhere along the way it had made an enemy.
Well, several enemies likely—but at least one with incentive enough to sponsor this night’s mission. Our job was to knock them down a peg.
This was to be a standard sabotage raid, meant to punish Stroud. Pulling some political strings, he had recently acquired a captured Clan OmniMech which he intended to field in the games as an answer to Blackstar Stable’s renegade Smoke Jaguar warrior and the Diamond Shark cast-off now fighting for Lion City. It placed Stroud in serious running for prime time broadcast rights, which amounted to a lot of money and no little influence among the other owners. We were there to deprive him of his new toy before its debut tomorrow morning.
A few cut wires. A well-placed explosive charge or three from the pack I carried. It should have been easy.
I should have known better.
Shadows cloaked the alleyway directly across from the maintenance entrance which was to be our ingress point. We paused there, the three of us. Studying the approach. The stench of wet garbage encouraged light breathing. Twenty meters separated the three of us from the entrance. A long twenty meters of well-lit open street and sidewalk, and the two men standing guard with Rorynex submachine guns looked too alert for my tastes. I could drop them both, but orders called for minimal bloodshed. This one I’d leave to our special ops veteran.
“Wait here,” Stephen said, barely any breath behind his words. If they carried further than my ears or those of Jamie, our technician and security specialist, then maybe a rat rooting in the nearby garbage might have heard. No further, though. “Hold things together.”
He crept from the mouth of the alley and into the shadow of an abandoned car. Both Jaime and I leaned forward, following Stephen with our eyes as he worked his way closer. She leaned a bit too far, and I gently pulled her back with a hand laid on her shoulder. I read more curiosity than concern in her bright green eyes. Water beaded and ran off her hood, though enough misted on her brow to run a few drops down the side of her face.
I nodded meaningfully toward the guards then pressed myself back against the building. She bobbed her head in acknowledgment and settled back as well, waiting.
A large van rumbled down Miller Street, its dim lights making a weak stab at the road. Bakery van, already about its early-morning deliveries. I brought up my Intek laser rifle to cover Stephen, sure he would make his move. My first time working with the special operative veteran—with either of my teammates in fact—but some things were a constant on Solaris. Taking advantage of opportunities was one of them.
Stephen moved in a low crouch into the street as the cab of the van blocked him from the guards. Quick dodge around the back bumper and he was sprinting for the maintenance door, both arms extended. The guards were still following the movement of the van. The one on the left noticed danger first, but too late. I heard double whisper-coughs of Stephen’s dart guns and both guards jerked from the sting. Another doub
“Gehen,” I ordered Jaime, prodding her ahead of me. Unsure if she actually knew Deutsch, I said in English, “Go!”
She stumbled into a jog, and then raced across the street without a glance in either direction. I was not so complacent. My gaze strafed the upper wall and flicked right, left. Laser rifle elevated, I waited for an alert guard to poke his head over the thick stonework or around a corner.
Nothing. So far, by the numbers.
Stephen had holstered his dart pistols and was already at work on the door lock. Standard electronic keypad. He had the cover stripped off and was digging into the wiring. Bloody ubermann. I tapped him none too lightly.
“What is it? I’m busy?”
He’d hardly paid attention to our approach. Jaime waited nearby, shifting impatiently from one foot to another but not about to interrupt. Stephen obviously made her nervous. I jerked a thumb her direction.
“Isn’t that what she’s along for?”
Stephen stood half a head shorter than me, but he radiated military competence in the same way a fine Avanti sedan promises luxury. His dark brown eyes had a hint of Asian folds at the corners, and his gaze bore into mine. I watched his face as the preference for relying on his own skill fought with the common sense of using the team’s specialist. Reluctantly, he nodded. Stepped away. Jaime was at the panel at once, her slender fingers picking through the color-coded wiring faster and with greater confidence. He unslung a silenced Kyosa SMG from his right shoulder and turned to help cover the street.
I was still holding things together.
The door buzzed sharply as the magnetic lock worked back reinforced bolts. Jaime pulled it open. Stephen and I went through first, together. He covered the right side while I swung in to the left.
“Clear,” I whispered. He answered the same.
Besides the modest mansion fronting Inverness Avenue, in the back a previous stable owner had added a rather large workshop and small 'Mech bay. Our entrance split the difference between workshop and bay, and now we had our first decision. Our sponsor had been unable or unwilling to provide the exact location of the Omni. I preferred to think the former. Stephen shrugged and pointed his SMG barrel at the workshop. It was a guess, and obviously so, but I nodded agreement.
Gambling was also a constant on Solaris.
The workshop took too long to get into. Much better security than the maintenance entrance. Jaime got us through the door, finally, but Stephen held us up while he sprayed mist out of a small aerosol can. Three laser trip-beams crisscrossed the floor of the small office in which we found ourselves. The special ops veteran pointed to his own eyes and then at each beam, silently warning us of their location. We picked our way over them with care. Had to wait again as Jaime opened the next door.
Acrid scents of old grease and recent hot-metal work assailed us, but other than a few detached arms and a separated cockpit system we found nothing. The workshop did not hold the OmniMech, and the numbers were the wrong side of our scheduled halfway point.
Stephen glared at Jaime and I as if it were our fault, then spun on his heel and went back through the office. He didn’t wait for us and I had to guess at two of the laser trips.
We caught up to him at one of the ‘Mech bay’s rear utility doors. Again he was halfway through the security system. Deliberating over wire choices. More certain of herself, Jaime stepped right in and easily picked out the proper combinations to be cut and spliced. The lock droned its sharp buzz and Stephen shouldered his way through without waiting. Light spilled from within and voices rose in question. I followed on his heels, turning immediately left to cover his back.
A good thing, too.
Two men sat at a table set between stairs and another door, these guards now under the sights of Stephen’s submachine gun. But a third stood at a water cooler crowded behind the door we’d entered. The barrel of my Intek rifle jabbed into his chest right over the heart, arresting his move for the pistol riding beneath his left arm.
“Tranq them,” I said, prodding this one’s hands into the air and then spinning him to face the wall.
The whispering cough sounded loud in the confines of the room and I risked a glance back, thinking he had shot them with the silenced Kyosa. He hadn’t, though it remained pressed into the side of one man’s neck while he waited for the other to fall to the tranquilizer. He dealt with the second similarly, then walked over to stick a dart into the neck of my captive.
Jaime was standing near the door, hand hovering over the locking mechanism. “It’s keyed from this side,” she said, her voice questioning.
That was a bit strange, that the guards had locked the inner door against entry to their station.
Stephen shrugged and stepped toward the stairs. “I’m heading up.”
“We should stay together,” I suggested pointedly. Our time was short.
The veteran’s gaze was cold. “I’m heading up,” he said again, nestling a small device into one ear. A thin wire extended out and toward his mouth. “Keep in touch by commlinks, wakarimasu-ka?”
If I wondered about his possible Asian origins before, now I had my answer. I knew enough of the common phrases for Drac Japanese.
“Ja, I answered, “I understand. Wakarimasu.” I thought it an extra hazard, splitting our forces. But now was not the time to argue.
He took the stairs three at a time, lithe and light as a cat’s step. I watched him past the first bend. Joined Jaime at the door. She was a step ahead of me, deactivating the lock and pushing the door inward. A hand shot out of the dark and caught her by the wrist, pulling her in and around to block the door and my shot. A crude knife, nothing better than a piece of sharpened spring steel, pressed at her neck and stifled any scream.
“You’ve got no chance,” I said quickly, stalling any lethal move he might make. My laser rifle never wavered. He hid himself well behind Jaime, but not so well I couldn’t center a shot through his right eye. “Drop the blade and you’ll live.”
“Until you go cutting into my brain,” he said with no little sarcasm.
But then his head peaked around further and frowned as he saw the three unconscious guards and compared their uniform to my dark gray fatigues.
“You’re not Skye Tiger.”
His confusion stayed my finger for another few precious heartbeats. I also had the feeling I’d seen his face before. “Very good,” I agreed. “And your friends aren’t dead, just out.”
“They’re my jailers, not my friends.” Realizing his position, the man took his knife away from Jaime’s throat and pushed her away.
Commendable, except then he nearly bought himself a third eye when he stepped forward quickly in my direction. Riding the trigger on my laser rifle tightly, I nearly burned him down.
“You’ll take me with you,” he said, a touch of relief coloring a strong voice.
The man had the moves of a soldier, and acted as if he held the superior position when in reality he was a feather-touch pull from oblivion. I knew the attitude, if not the face.
“MechWarrior?” I asked.
He nodded. “Erik Gray,” he introduced himself.
The Gray Ghost. Now I placed his features, from the fight I had bet on a few months back. He’d managed an impressive showing against Kelley Metz of Tancred Stables. As I recall, he lost. I did too. Two hundred marks.
Now was not the time to recover a lost wager though. I shook my head, warning Jaime off. The tech had drawn her Nakjama laser pistol and reversed it for a club, prepared to drop Gray with the others.
“Check the other door,” I said, nodding back into the room which had served for the MechWarrior’s confinement. “Does that lead to the bay?”
He nodded, warily watching the end of the Intek barrel which had not wavered.
“Guards?”
“None,” he answered promptly. “But there will be at least one technician on duty in the controller’s room above.” He looked up at the ceiling.
