THE PRICE OF CONVICTION

By Randall N. Bills

Shonick Dale

Near Tamar City, Tamar

Clan Wolf Occupation Zone

2 September, 3063

Twin cerulean beams of writhing energy converged on the hapless target. Blasted through the final constraints of aligned crystal steel armor across the titan’s already weakened center-line. Like a succubus delving under a sailor’s clothing for succulent flesh, the energy slipped needy filaments through multiple hair-line fissures, ravaging delicate internal components.

The seventy-ton war machine toppled backwards gracelessly. Nathan knew the thunder of its impact could not be heard for kilometers…but still wondered if they might not somehow detect it in Tamar City.

It was that important, quiaff? He loathed the timidity of his own question.

Nathan Wolf sighed, arched back and then neck, left and right, feeling the easing of taut muscles and the pleasurable crack of several vertebrae; tried on a smile for a battle well fought and found it…ill-fitting. Tried to distract himself. Did not think it would be so easy to dispatch the Summoner; by all accounts, MechWarrior Johansen is a superb pilot.

Apparently not this time. Nathan began to move his own mammoth machine out of the Circle of Equals.His attempt to distract himself failing.

I am a Star colonel.

Instead of the elation he should have felt, however, melancholy set in. He never would have imagined he would not feel pride and elation in equal measure at joining a new Galaxy.

He tried another tactic, pushing away dark thoughts by concentrating on his new ride: that always worked. Though he knew full well why they assigned him the prototype OmniMech, it still could not dislodge his pride in the machine.

At one hundred tons, it was the largest ’Mech that could be produced. Though it moved slower then he was accustomed to, the slow speed was more then made up for in firepower; over half of the ’Mechs total weight was devoted to pod space for weaponry. To top it off, it was protected by nineteen tons of standard armor.

Though Primary and Alpha configurations were impressive, he quickly fell in love with the Beta, which mounted twin extended range particle projector cannons along side twin extended range large lasers, with a plethora of medium pulse lasers and extended range medium lasers as secondary weapons. Despite the fact that it was still in trial runs, the Tomahawk had once again proved that in the right hands, it could take on any opponent and emerge the victor.

Still, despite his ultimate success, he catalogued the numerous system errors that still crept in, despite the best efforts of the Scientist Caste to eliminate the gremlins. He knew one day the Tomahawk would be massed produced and stalk dozens of worlds in blood and fury and achieve great victories for Clan Wolf…but that day was still some ways off. For now, just a few prototypes….

Too bad I cannot pilot it into the Hall. A true smile did find a good fit at the abrupt thought. Political words would avail them nothing against kilojoules of energy. He shook the fancy from his mind, smile sliding off as well.

Time to prepare for another type of battle…even if it is a battle already lost.

Clan Wolf Genetic Repository (Inner Sphere), Clan Hall

Tamar City, Tamar

Clan Wolf Occupation Zone

3 September, 3063

Nathan trudged across the square, toward Clan Wolf’s primary genetic repository in the Inner Sphere and the accompanying Clan Hall.Carrying the world on his shoulders. Only on Tamar for two months, that simply was not enough time to acclimatize a person to the world’s brutal 1.9 gravities. Two years would not be enough time! It was bad enough piloting a ’Mech under such conditions, strapped into a comman chair, but the simple act of walking was even worse.

Nathan only hoped to be gone before he acquired the Tamar blush. Why anyone would want to settle such a nasty place, with high gravities and almost no ozone layer—which allowed the system’s G6V-type star to roast your skin red—was beyond him. In the Clan homeworlds they had no choice, forced to settle primal and wasteland worlds because there were so few to choose from. But here, in the Inner Sphere, with thousands of worlds to colonize…

He did not think he would ever understand Inner Sphere ways, regardless of his political leanings or how long he dwelt among them.

The shadow of the repository fell across him and Nathan looked up at the grandeur of the building, only recently finished. The huge gothic edifice was not exactly like the Clan’s Katyusha City facility on Strana Mechty but was close enough to that magnificent structure for easy comparison. Slightly wider at the base, a heavier foundation to better support the tall, over-arching cathedral in this higher gravity, there was no doubt what Clan Wolf thought about themselves and their Inner Sphere holdings.Sometimes even he wondered at his Clan’s arrogance.

Passing into the building proper, his boot heels echoed like the reports of small arms fire; a fitting accompaniment to his current attitude of marching to war. Moving down the long main hallway, he angled left through a side entrance away from the repository itself and passed a lone Keeper; he formally nodded his head to honor a keeper of his Clan’s bloodlines. He then moved onto another, perpendicular hallway that took him through the only entrance to his Clan’s Inner Sphere Hall. This part of the building, he knew, had originally been the home of the Tamar Pact legislature, but with its inclusion in the new repository complex the façade had been altered almost beyond recognition.

Nathan turned right into the hallway that ran around the outside of the large, central Hall with its tiered benches and floor that could fit every Bloodnamed warrior in Clan Wolf. Finally, he stopped before the office door of his new Galaxy commander, Stevic Hawker. He clenched fists as though gripping the controls of his Tomahawk and rapped twice.

“Come in,” a voice said through the door.

Nathan immediately opened the door and presented himself to the superior warrior. “Star Colonel Nathan Wolf,” he said, standing ramrod straight.

For a long minute, silence greeted his announcement but he refused to move his eyes from the back wall. Slowly Galaxy Commander Stevic Hawker levered himself from out of his chair and into his field of vision. A large man—he appeared to stand about 2.1 meters—he had blond hair shorn down to within a centimeter of his scalp, a sharp nose and high cheek bones that fit his Bloodname, and eyes so dark they appeared black. Nathan wondered if he had originally been a part of an Elemental sibko.

“Star Colonel Nathan,” Hawker replied, deep voice more then fitting for his size. “I am glad to have you in my new Galaxy.”

“I am glad to be here Galaxy commander.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?” Nathan responded, suddenly put off balance. How could his new commander know of a displeasure voiced to no one?

“Glad to be in our new Galaxy?”

“Galaxy commander, I am pleased to serve my Clan where ever my Khan feels I am most needed. Not to mention, it is not often that new Galaxies are formed; it is an honor for any warrior to be included in the formation of one.”

“You are right on both accounts Star Colonel, but you still did not answer my question.”

Once more Nathan was thrown off balance. In his first meeting with his new Galaxy comman der, should he tell him he was not pleased to be included? Should he lie? The idea was repugnant. The silence began to stretch and he almost fidgeted from his lack of response.

“Commander,” he began, “I’m not sure—

“Your language is deteriorating,” Hawker cut in. He decisively slashed a hand through the air as though cutting off the conversation physically. “Your hesitation and language speak volumes and I will not force a…untruth…it is unworthy of a warrior, quiaff?”

“Aff my commander, it is.”

“However, regardless of your personal feelings, as you said, you will serve the Clan and that service requires you to support our new Galaxy. Fully.”

“I had no intention of doing otherwise, commander.”

“I thought not. However, do you know that our Omega Galaxy will be shipping out to the Periphery by the end of the week? Yours was the final Trial; the rest of the posts in the Galaxy have been filled and our assets have already been assigned.”

“The Periphery, commander?” Nathan said. Why would they send us out there?

“Have you heard rumors about Clan Steel Viper finding remnants of the Not-Named Clan in the Inner Sphere?”

The reference to the Clan that dared defy the Founder and were destroyed for their depravity sent a shiver down his spine. “Aff I heard those rumors and like any right minded warrior, I dismissed them. They were annihilated.”

Commander Hawker looked at him squarely, as though attempting to probe his sentence for Nathan’s true belief. “As you say, Star colonel. Nevertheless, there has been heavy raiding of late in the Periphery and our Khan has assigned us to put a stop to these attacks and to annihilate any Not-Named Clan remnants we might find.”

“What!” Nathan said, mind reeling. This has to be some joke! The thought that a remnant of the destroyed Clan had survived was exceptionally unlikely in his opinion. However, to think that such as they would be mounting attacks from with in the Periphery area of Clan Wolf’s Occupation Zone was beyond ludicrous. If they had managed to survive, they would either be on the far side of the galaxy from the Clans or they would have hidden themselves where no one would think to look.

“I believe I made myself clear.”

“But this simply makes no sense commander. That rumor is over a decade old, even if we could believe it.”

“But our Khan apparently does, Star colonel and as such, he is assigning an entire Galaxy, as is appropriate for such an action.” Though his voice never ventured off an even keel, the look in his dark eyes made Nathan swallow the words he was about to speak, and think.

Why would Khan Ward concoct such a story? After all, it simply could not be true. Then why?

With a suddenness that almost brought spots to his eyes and bile to the back of his throat he knew. He knew and the thought sickened him. The very reason why he had not wanted to be included in Omega Galaxy, a Galaxy he heard was filled almost entirely of warriors with Warden leanings—those who felt that Nicholas Kerensky had formed the Clans to safe guard the Inner Sphere against any outside threat. He himself believed in the Warden philosophy, but such leanings in a Crusader Clan were not popular, when Crusader warriors felt the Clans’ destiny was to return to the Inner Sphere and re-establish the Star League for the betterment of the entire Inner Sphere—even if that required the end of a particle projector cannon to see it done. That was doubly so when Warden leanings had led to a schism with in Clan Wolf not five years past, with a holistic slice of his Clan voluntarily exiling themselves to the Inner Sphere to protect it from the Clans themselves.

His distaste about joining Omega Galaxy was now confirmed. This was not a glorious assignment to finish off the last remnants of the traitor Clan. This was a death sentence, where his Khan hoped the Warden warriors of Omega Galaxy would die through attrition against raiders. Pirates. Bandits. He tongued moisture back into his mouth, sure of the bile this time.

For a moment, as he refocused on the here and now and met the eyes of his Galaxy commander, they both shared the distaste of their Khans’ apparent subterfuge. Yet Nathan nodded slowly, the return nod from his commander only cementing his feelings.

They were both Clansmen. We serve Clan Wolf. I serve Clan Wolf.

As he saluted Galaxy Commander Hawker and left to begin his own final preparations, he attempted to alleviate his dismal feelings: at least I will get off this rock.

Grimm City, Oberon VI

Clan Wolf Occupation Zone

17 December, 3063

“There is simply nothing here, colonel,” Star Captain Jutka said. His second-in-command tried not to let frustration boil into his voice, but Nathan knew how difficult it was.

Looking out through the computer generated forward screen of his Tomahawk, Nathan could only agree. The yellow-white light of the Oberon system’s F5III-class star cast a harsh glare onto the twisted mass of ruins that had once been a small city of some ten thousand people. The final battle of three clashes between the First Oberon Guards and the Eleventh Wolf Guards of Delta Galaxy in September of 3049 had left the trumped-up pirate kingdom destroyed and shown the Clans how depraved their Inner Sphere foe would be, as the Oberon Guards tried to use the city as a defense against Clan Wolf. The survivors had fled to the hills, where they had either eventually fled off-planet or had begun to reestablish normalcy.

“Aff Jutka. Once again it appears our reliable information was not so reliable,” Nathan responded. He could not help the resigned chuckle that slipped out. “I do not believe a single person has trod this ground for over a decade.”

“How many more worlds do we have to make planet fall on before we give up this wild cash? First The Edge, then Gustrell and now Oberon IV.”

“I do not know, Star captain, but regardless of what we believe, there have been raids and they must be coming from this region of space. As such, we will be out here until the job is done. “

“If the Second Wolf Assault Cluster had done their job, we would not be in this position.”

“Star captain!” Anger washed away his dry humor. “I will not have you vilify a Wolf Cluster because of their debacle on Icar. Do not forget that though they may be pirates, the stupidity of the Falcons has allowed them to field many of our own OmniMechs against us. More, regardless of what we may think of pirates, they have survived for centuries on the edges of humanity. Not to mention, they have survived and thrived after our Clan supposedly wiped out all pirate activity in this area almost two decades ago. They may be animals, but they are dangerous animals. Is that understood?”

“Aff, Star colonel,” came the only slightly chastened reply. It was an indication of how frustrated his warriors were when they took out their feelings on fellow Wolves. Were they all turning into Ice Hellions? He opened up a new commline.

“Galaxy Commander Hawker, this is Star Colonel Nathan. We have found no signs of pirate activity anywhere in this sector.” He paused for a moment, almost dreading the response.

“Understood, Star colonel. Report back to the DropShip. Time to move on.”

DropShip Savage Wolf

Pirate Jump Point, Butte Hold

Clan Wolf Occupation Zone

27 December, 3063

The Union-C-class DropShip rang as though it were a giant bell, struck by the hammer of the gods. Shook violently. Blood gushed into Nathan’s mouth as he accidently bit into his cheek. With nowhere to spit, he swallowed the coppery-tinged, warm liquid and tongued the wound with annoyance.

The Savage Wolf will not stand up to more of this.

“Savashri,” he cursed. He could stand the silence no longer and opened a commline to the bridge.

“Star Commodore Josef. What is our current situation?” Nathan said. He knew it unwise to bother the captain of a DropShip when under attack—not to mention Star commodore Josef was the commander of Omega Galaxies’ entire naval contingent—but enough was enough. Sitting in the dark of his cramped ’Mech cockpit and feeling the DropShip that carried him being shaken to bits in the depths of space, with him a hapless bovine along for the ride, made him furious; like all MechWarriors, there was nothing more enraging then what was occurring—a death they had no control over.

After almost sixty seconds without a reply, he was beginning to wonder if Star Commodore Josef had even heard his request when a terse replied echoed through his neurohelmet. “As before Star Colonel Nathan, as soon as we jumped in system, we spotted another JumpShip at this pirate point, some twenty thousand kilometers off our starboard side. They immediately dispatched their aerospace fighters, which began an in-run on us, while instrumentation reported the hostile vessel had begun to furl its solar sail. We obviously deployed our DropShips and fighters.”

Nathan ignored the sarcasm.

Another explosion rang against the DropShip and warning klaxons cut off any further discussion for the moment. Almost five minutes passed in increasing claustrophobia, as secondary explosions, along with almost continual muted weapons fire reached Nathan’s ears. Right as he was about to demand a Sitrep, a voice filled his ears once more.

“We cannot sustain this type of damage much longer Star colonel.” There was a pause, and Nathan suddenly knew their situation was dire in deed; Josef was not one to mince words. “We have seen over a Star of hostile aerospace fighters and…” he paused once more, which almost made the hair on Nathan’s neck stand on end, “they have already eliminated our aerospace assets. They are fielding a Kirghiz. They are…very good.”

Nathan was shocked into silence, his mind fractured down multiple pathways of thought.

He knew:

…knew they had a pitifully small aerospace fighter contingent for an entire Galaxy; only three Points (six fighters) had been assigned to Omega. Never the less, to lose all of them in one swoop was a blow.

…knew the stravag Falcons lost numerous assets to pirates, but never imagined such a prize as the hundred-ton Clan OmniFighter, which helped to explain the Wolf losses.

… had known Star Commodore Josef for years and for him to name Inner Sphere pilots ‘very good.’ meant they were superb indeed.

…knew they would all die for nothing, their blood wasted to the Clan.

Nathan violently shook himself from such weakness and chaos, banging his head back against the command couch, the bulk of the neurohelmet protecting him from the worst effects. An ugly, ironic smile twisted lips, as his words, spoken in harshness to his second-in-command, suddenly came back to haunt him. We are underestimating these pirates.

Another idea blossomed and try as he might, sitting in what was rapidly becoming a coffin, he could not shake it. Perhaps these were remnants of the Not-Named Clan. After all, how could pirates have become so embolden as to attack Clan units directly? Even with the known debacles of the Falcons in loosing Clan equipment to pirates, how could they have such large assets? As these thoughts tumbled through his mind, he became aware that silence had reigned for the last several minutes.

“Star commodore, what has occurred?”

Another pregnant pause stretched, giving his mind additional hectors of fertile soil to continue its conspiratorial thoughts before the commline came alive again. “They are retreating Star Colonel. Their vessel is prepared to jump out of system. It would appear their attack was to keep us off guard and away from their vessel before they could exit the system.”

“Savashri,” he cursed again. He knew it useless, but it galled to think the pirates could have inflicted such damage and yet were getting away. For a moment he railed against his Khan for wasting men in such a fashion. For assigning them too few aerospace fighters. For giving them an ancient Star Lord-class JumpShip that did not mount a Lithium-Fusion battery, which would have enabled them to immediately jump after the escaping pirates.

Several deep breaths later, he pulled his un-Clan like thoughts into line again and a weary resignation filled him; he pulled clenched fists from useless joysticks, and slipped a hand under the lip of the neurohelmet to scratch at the strap irritating his chin.

How much longer could his warriors continue? They were Clansmen, bred across generations to fight a standing foe in honorable combat. Even though the Inner Sphere taught them not all foes would be honorable, this enemy was worse by far. It could never be found and when it was, it attacked savagely, with the speed and swiftness of lightning, before vanishing, leaving only the after images of their havoc burned into the retina.

He pounded fists against the console once, twice. The pain a welcome feeling dislodging the hated frustration.

How much longer?

Sigurd Independent Light Assault Group HQ

Sigurd City, Sigurd

Clan Wolf Occupation Zone

22 January, 3064

The cold wind lashed out like an animal, tearing at his parka and finding every loose seam to work into; almost set his teeth chattering. However, it could not remove his disdain as Nathan walked with his Galaxy commander through the thickly falling snow towards the building in front of them. Its small size and dilapidated appearance made him want to laugh.

Sigurd Independent Light Assault Group HQ indeed. He snorted dismissively. More like a solahma clubhouse. Ice Hellion solahma. At least among the Clans such old warriors knew when their usefulness had ended and joined a solahma unit one last time to die for their Clan. Here, on this hellish frozen ball, these old men gathered around their fires and dared call themselves warriors. Yet one call from our incoming DropShips was enough to instantly quell them. They do not even come out into their own cold to greet us. His disgust only built.

Looking around at the rest of the run down city—more like an overgrown village—he could spot no facilities that could house a ’Mech, nor had their sensors been able to detect any. They are not even make-believe MechWarriors. He could contain himself no longer and spoke.

“Galaxy commander, why have we come here in person? This filth may or may not know something of what we need, though I doubt it, but why must we soil ourselves with their presence? Could we not have simply demanded an answer from our DropShip, informing them of the consequences of their silence?”

Stevic did not miss a stride as they closed on the building, but slowly turned his head to look at him. Despite the snow quickly becoming a curtain between them, his commander’s face—especially the eyes—beamed, almost preternaturally. A wry smile slid across his face, causing shadows to warp it in the perpetual twilight of this region’s winter season. When he spoke, his self-mocking tone fit the strange countenance.

“Unlike you Star colonel, I can no longer simply wish for the clean kill of the battle field. Instead, The Watch has sunk its teeth into me and I find that to accomplish what my Khan has commanded, I now must sometimes do those things I find repulsive. To look at a person’s face, to peer into their eyes, is to be able to perceive if they lie when a question is asked.”

As he turned back to negotiate the ice encrusted steps toward the building’s door, his words shook Nathan. He had not known that part of a Galaxy commander’s duties involved dealing with the Clan’s intelligence arm. Then again, why should he know that? The Watch only formed after we returned to the Inner Sphere, to combat the dishonorable and reprehensible ways in which the spheroids fought…should not be that surprising.

Passing through the door they immediately entered a large hall—the entire building seemed to be a warehouse with only a single main room, dispensing with the usual foyer, or any other outer rooms—where upwards of two-dozen men and women gathered at several large tables that clustered around an actual open flame. Though they all sported some type of military apparel, it was all it deplorable condition, with none of it matching. While most of the occupants were indeed old—the stench of old sweat, old soot, old fears…just old, gagged—Nathan was surprised to find one or two young faces.

However, as they entered, those faces quickly turned aside, their eyes furtive and scared.

They have been beaten, and often. It changed his opinion of them not at all.

The loud sound of metal scrapping on the bared concrete floor (not even ferrocrete) raised most eyes to where he and Stevic stood, where eyes widened in further fear and once again, quickly skipped away like oil on water; Nathan did not need to turn to feel the two and half meter tall presence of a Clan elemental power suit. Not that he expected any of this rabble to pose a threat, but the desperate could be the most dangerous.

“I am Galaxy Commander Stevic Hawker. Who is in command, here?” His voice echoed with power and authority and a man was already rising and moving forward before the echoes had died. Though the man was obviously frightened, the alacrity with which he moved forward told much. At least some in here have had formal military training…and have not sloughed it off in this snake den.

The man stopped almost two meters from them and bowed low before speaking in a voice filled with tension. “My name is Baldric and I am warleader here. How may I help Clan Wolf?” Nathan stiffened at the tone of voice, but since Stevic did not react at all, he held his tongue.

“Ah, Bladric, it is always nice to notice when Spheroids know our ways,” Stevic began in an almost condescending tone. For a moment Nathan was taken aback and the change in Baldric’s eyes almost put him into a combat stance. However, as the man lowered his head in acknowledgement—he could almost see the strain of remaining civil wearing at his composure—Nathan remembered Stevic’s previous words and realized he was trying to unbalance the man.

“As to how you may serve, it has come to our attention that not all are as accepting as you and your men of Clan Wolf’s dominion in this area. Have you heard of such as these?”

Though Baldric appeared to be straining to remain relaxed, something moved in his eyes before he spoke. “Unfortunately sir, their will always be those who do not understand what they have.”

If Stevic had not spoken of watching a person’s facial expression not moments before, Nathan knew he would have missed it. The man lied. Though his words were not a lie, his evasion was. He knows exactly what we are looking for.

“Yes, you are right,” Stevic said. “Though we are fair, there are those that feel our occupation is…too stern.” He chuckled softly as though speaking of an errant child. “I imagine they would change their tone if they were under the thumb of the Falcons…or had been under the Jaguars before their fall.”

“As you say, Galaxy commander.”

“Regardless, do you have specifics of what I speak of? Surly you have heard rumors. I can tell from viewing you and yours that your loyalty to Clan Wolf is unquestionable. You would not think of causing havoc.”

Once more, something moved in the man’s eyes and almost changed his facial expression. Anger. Nathan was sure of it. Stevic’s words had nothing to do with loyalty. The first savaging of the Oberon pirate kingdom had obviously rid this planet of most of their military hardware, as well as breaking most of the men. As such, even if they wanted to rebel, it would be suicide. Of course that did not mean they could not hide those that did. If you cannot rebel, rebel vicariously through those that can. It made a sick, twisted sort of spheroid sense.

“There are always rumors afoot. Treachery in places. Fighting in others. Clans attacking Clans. Should we believe all of them?” he finished, his voice not quit concealing the smugness.

He knew about the fighting between Clan Wolf and the Ghost Bears and he dared flaunt it! Once more, only the calm of Stevic kept Nathan from pulling that smugness out by the roots.

“Do you know anything of the Not-Name Clan,” Stevic said suddenly. The change in tone and direction of the question took the man by surprise and his blank look appeared to be the first frank expression he had used.

Stevic slowly shook his head, as he gazed around at the rest of the room. “I had hoped that by coming here in person, I could persuade you to provide the information we seek. However, though I do not glory in bloodshed, I have not and will never shirk from it. That you can stand before me and lie to my face, forfeits any largesse I might feel towards you. If you will not answer to sincere words, then I believe you will answer to other means.”

As he spoke, the tableau in the hall changed, as tension leapt to a vibrant level that was almost visible, with several men buffing out their chests as though daring the Clanners to do their worst, while most shrunk down into themselves, once again realizing that the scythe of death was falling. It was made all the more surreal by the casual way in which the words were delivered; once more, an adult chiding his children over their errant ways.

With out another word, Stevic turned and walked back out the door with Nathan in tow. The sound of wood being torn asunder as a Star of Elementals began forcing their way into the building from every side was explosive and cries of anger, but mostly of fear, rang out before the thrum of energy weapon discharges cut them off forever.

Nathan did not stop for a moment to contemplate the grizzly business behind him. Though he believed in the Warden philosophy—that the Clans had been created to protect the Inner Sphere—that protection did not extend to everyone. He was not a traitorous Wolf-in-Exile warrior, who would flee to tie their strings to the Inner Sphere. These people associated with pirates, denigrating themselves and setting themselves outside the law of any society. Further, they had sacrificed their honor and any hope of mercy by lying to their face. He did not even hitch a step as he continued back towards their DropShip; they would have the information they sought soon enough.

Location Unknown

Novo Cressidas, Star’s End

Clan Wolf Occupation Zone

11 April, 3064

“Savashri!” Nathan growled, as the rain of missiles swept past his second-in-command, breaching his Mad Dog’s cockpit; with no atmosphere to speak of, Jutka died painfully to decompression. Though he should have been awash in anger, or tipped into melancholy at the loss of so many Clan warriors, he found a calm that had been growing over the last few months.

Gripping his Tomahawk’s right-hand joystick, he brought the targeting reticule up and attempted to place it on the ’Mech that had launched the volley of missiles. The eighty-ton pirate Salamander—sporting a crest he did not recognize; a skull set on a circular black field, wearing a crown of gold, surrounding by stars—was already turning towards him, raising the blocky missile pod that was its left arm and the ’Mech was suddenly sheathed in smoke as sixty long-range missiles leapt into the air from the arm and right and left torsos.

Still attempting to achieve a weapons lock of his own, Nathan rammed the left-hand throttle full forward and his giant ’Mech lurched into motion. However, with only a maximum speed of fifty-four kilometer per hour, he only moved out of the path of half of the missiles before they spiraled down, their warheads greedy to taste his armor. Nathan gritted teeth as he rocked backwards under the explosions of just over twenty missiles. Copper sprang full-bodied and sharp in his mouth, as the cascading detonations set up disharmonic syncopations, beating at head, chest, arms and legs with the strength of the chemical detonations, hammering out the breath in his lungs and drawing out a headache as though a blade hot and heavy across his brow. As armor cascaded down to the barren soil, his ’Mech began listed hard to the left and the whine of the auto-stabilizing gyro housed in the Tomahawk’s chest set his teeth on edge with its hum, spiking the headache into further glory; using Nathan’s own sense of balance, fed into it by the neurohelmet he wore, the machine managed to stay on its feet as Nathan quickly adjusted the pitch and angle of his step, while practically throwing himself to the right. Even more surprising, despite the sudden sluggish movement, the Tomahawk kept some of its forward velocity, each metal-sheathed boot hammering the soil as though in defiance against the gravity desperate to pull it down.

Warning tones and flashing lights immediately lit up his damage schematic. A sudden spike in the ambient heat made him dizzy and he gasped for air, while his right hand shot forward to punch in the override on his fusion engine’s fail-safe shutdown. If he were not on the verge of death, it would almost be funny to think he was bathed in sweat when less then a meter away it was subzero.

A flick of his eyes drank in the damage; the missiles had managed to breach the Tomahawk’s right torso and the resulting explosive decompression had destroyed several pulse and extended range medium lasers.

More devastating, his engine had sustained over seventy percent damage; one more solid hit and the shielding on his engine would fail completely, rendering the awesome machine completely inert.

“This ends now,” he said, continuing to stride forward at an oblique angle. Moving the targeting reticle firmly onto the Salamander, where it burned the gold of a solid lock. Nathan flicked his index finger. Twin beams of coruscating azure, accompanied by the coherent ruby flash of dual lasers, crossed the distance in the blink of an eye to slam into the enemy machine.

His shot dead on target, all four shafts of energy converged on the center and right torso of the already damaged machine and blasted through the remaining protection to ravage the interior.

Secondary explosions lit the machine from within before it exploded outwards, tearing the entire right side of he Salamander away from the body. An ammunition explosion. Though there was a chance the pilot might have survived—it mounted Cellular Ammunition Storage Equipment, meaning the ammunition explosion would be kept from the MechWarrior—his machine was down and would not be getting up any time soon.

Sucking in a lungful of scorching air—tinged with blood, sweat and heated plastics and metal—Nathan looked around the landscape, attempting to locate another foe and once more marveled at his calm. Omega Galaxy had lost almost twenty warriors in the past ten months of pirate hunting, before ever attempting to land on this rock. Now, a full Cluster of forty-five warriors would be listed as killed in action and he had almost joined them. We will even have to report the loss of a Union-C-class DropShip.

Gazing at the dismal, inhospitable planet, barley visible through the feeble light cast by the system’s red dwarf star, the previous planets they had visited suddenly seemed like paradise. Never again would he complain about the gravity on Tamar.

He shook his head slowly at the memory of planet fall. The asteroid belt, whose mines and turret lasers had cut the Loping Wolf to shreds.the ion storms that constantly swept the planet and almost caused the Savage Wolf to crash. He would also never complain about planet fall again.

Nevertheless, they had arrived and finally caught the pirates at their base of operations. Two full Trinaries worth of ’Mechs, some thirty machines—many of them stolen Clan designs—along with a significant infantry force, fought back like a cornered badger. The size of the contingent surprised them, allowing the pirates a hasty retreat. Though Nathan’s warriors pursued them relentlessly, the defenders knew the terrain intimately, making them pay double for every unit they destroyed; Nathan was sure almost a third of the pirates got away. More, he was also confident this was not the base of operation for the pirates—simply one of many.

Regardless, there could be no denying the smashed remains of almost twenty machines. It may not have been a deathblow, but it was a large wound the pirates would not heal from anytime soon.

“Star Colonel Nathan, we cannot re-establish contact with the binary of pirate ’Mechs that eluded us,” Star Captain Beol said, voice interrupting Nathan’s reverie

“Aff, Star captain. Return immediately. Cease your search-and-destroy and return immediately.”.

He switched to another commline. “Galaxy commander, this is Star Colonel Nathan.”

“Aff, Star colonel. Report,” came the reply.

“We have successfully destroyed some twenty pirate ’Mechs, as well as eliminating a good portion of their infantry assets. The base they were using has been razed to the ground. However, the remaining ’Mechs elude us and with the number of cave openings I have witnessed, it will be very difficult to track them down.” What an understatement.

He paused for a moment, unsure of how to phrase his next statement, breath finally coming into normal volumes and his ’Mech’s heat exchange system making the air slightly this side of steam. “Commander, I do not believe the cost of eliminating these final pirates worth the effort. At this time,” he finished. Of course. Though most in the Galaxy were Wardens and hence did not always subject to the Crusader fanaticism of dying in combat rather then failing or retreating, you still had to be careful.

“I believe you are correct Star colonel, especially as I have been notified by Star Commodore Josef that another ion storm is imminent. For now, we have accomplished the task our Khan set before us. I feel there will be no raids from this area for some time to come, quiaff?”

“Aff commander. More, I believe we have finally put to rest the rumor of remnants of the Not-Named Clan operating out of this area. Not a single hint or clue in all our searching.”

“You believe so?”

Nathan was unsure of whether he could detect a smile in the disembodied voice.

“Then it must be so.”

Stevic’s words and tone of voice did nothing but confuse, until a secondary channel chirped; the private command channel for Galaxy Commander Hawker and his Star colonels. With something close to trepidation, he answered the call. “Galaxy commander?”

“You believe so?”

Nathan reeled back as though struck to have the same question, the same darkly amused tone, thrown into his face once more. He gritted teeth and leaned forward as though to face the storm.

“Aff, commander, I do,” he responded. Voice pitched with conviction and abruptly lacked. “Now Khan Ward will have to recall Omega Galaxy quiaff? It is one thing to assign a Galaxy of Clansmen to hunt for traitor Clan remnants. It is another to assign such a large force to simply hunt pirates and bandits.”

The pause on the line was almost palatable. “Neg, commander. You give our Khan too much credit.”

Nathan opened his mouth to angrily refute such a slight against their Khan, but Stevic beat him to it.

“I do not slight Khan Ward. Only some of his…misguided…actions. While some warriors may be individually pulled away and honored, the Galaxy will remain and languish in the Periphery.”

“But…” Nathan began, unable to believe. “We have accomplished our goal.”

“Aff, but we lost much. Too much. Perhaps we are only worthy for Periphery assignment. Or perhaps we have accomplished a great goal. We have become the premier protectors of the Periphery, hence Khan Ward should keep his ‘elite Periphery protectors’ in the Periphery. Quiaff?”

At the onslaught of Stevic’s words and the full implication of what they meant, Nathan expected anger and fear and further disbelief. Instead, he found the bedrock of his calm again. The words washed past and left bared and even greater stretch of a foundation that lay across his world, his universe, his existence and how he as tied to it.

The light of epiphany shown as hard and brutally honest as the most piercing class-A, white sun hanging high and clear in any sky, as though a terrible eye to burn away any self subterfuge.

He now knew his newfound calm and understanding. Knew that at his core, no one could change him, unless he allowed it. No one could alter his honor. Though he realized he might spend the rest of his life at such a dishonorable post, fighting pirates and bandits on the edge of civilization, it did not matter. He was a Clansman and if that was how he could serve his Clan then so be it! And perhaps—just perhaps—the crusaders Wolves would see and recongize such devotion.

And wonder if their philosophy was not the tainted one.