Natural Selection

Nelson lowered the glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Raising them once more he saw the BattleMasterswing its right PPC toward the Kell Hound line, then bring it back as it overcorrected the first targeting maneuver. My God. . .

Nelson held the glasses out for Bates. "Yeah, I see."

The security man reached for the binoculars and never saw Nelson's right knee come up and around. The knee caught Bates in the groin, doubling him over, then Nelson brought the binoculars down and clipped him behind the right ear. Bates toppled from the hovercar and landed unconscious on the ground.

Nelson jumped down beside him and laid the glasses on his chest. "Sorry, my friend, but you wouldn't have understood." He hopped into the hovercar and freed the shotgun from the scabbard on the left side of the vehicle. Laying it on the seat beside him, he started the car and sent it speeding toward the settlement.

* * *

Phelan knew that when the first exchange came his 'Mech would be targeted for destruction. Though well-armored for a light 'Mech, it was nothing in comparison to the Man O'WarConal piloted. That 'Mech was an OmniMech—top-of-the-line Clan war materiel like the Warhawkin which Ra

The rest of the Thirty-first Solahma had BattleMechs that were equal to or slightly less than what the Kell Hounds had arrayed against them. Because the Thirty-first were intended to be fighting bandits, the Clans wasted none of their new 'Mechs on them. Conal's OmniMech was a relic of the glory he had once known.

The battle lines were drawn just over a kilometer apart. Ready reports filled Phelan's secondary monitor. The Hounds were ready. He adjusted his pistol and decided he was too. He keyed his radio.

"Conal Ward, you are hereby stripped of your command of the Thirty-first Wolf Solahma. You are to report to me immediately. You will be placed under arrest, pending a court-martial for insubordination and disobeying a superior officer. All those in your command are hereby offered amnesty if they leave you now."

He watched his holographic battle display, but, as he expected, none of the Wolves on the other side moved. He spotted Conal in the center of the enemy formation and saw the Red Corsair coming up beside him. "It does not have to end this way, Conal."

Conal's derisive laugh burst into Phelan's neurohelmet. "I was wrong when I said you were a Wolf before, Phelan. You are still an I

Phelan flipped his radio over to Tac One. "It is time."

* * *

Nelson Geist steered the stolen hovercar through the streets he had wandered ages ago. The town was not as neat and clean as it had been in the simulation, but he instantly recognized every aspect of it. It sent a shiver down his spine and started him sweating. He stopped the vehicle, got out-and vomited.

He remained on his hands and knees, his chest heaving as his stomach tried to purge itself. He mentally demanded that it stop. I am here for a purpose.He wiped his mouth on his left sleeve. She had contempt for me. She saw me as weak. I amnot weak!

Reaching up, he grabbed the edge of the hovercar and pulled himself to his feet. From the car he took the pump shotgun and jacked a shell into the chamber. The weapon dangled from his right hand by the pistolgrip as he stalked across the empty plaza toward the main building. "I know where you are. I have you. You are mine."

* * *

The Kell Hound close assault lances entered the gap between the two forces as their fire support lances sent flight after flight of missiles arcing up and over them. Chris Kell fought the leftward rotation of his charging Thunderboltwhen its shoulder-mounted LRM launcher sent a flight of fifteen missiles at the enemy. Keeping his crosshairs steady on the Clintthat was his target, he let go with his extended range large laser and the trio of medium pulse lasers in his arsenal.

Two of the pulse lasers missed at that range, but the third slashed open the armor on the Clint'sright arm. Semi-molten armor plates dropped to the ground, exposing metal bones, synthetic muscles, and the complex mechanism of the 'Mech's particle projection ca

Four of the missiles Chris had launched slammed home in the same spot, blasting away the last of the armor and causing some internal damage. When another set of missiles savaged the armor on the 'Mech's right leg, Chris thought the machine had wobbled a bit, but it stayed upright.

The Clint'sreturn fire hit the Thunderbolthard, the PPC devouring nearly a ton of armor on the left side of the 'Mech's chest. The two pulse lasers mounted in the Clint'storso converged on the Thunderbolt'smidline. They cut bubbling furrows in the armor over the big 'Mech's heart, but failed to breach it. Chris successfully fought the unbalancing effect of losing so much armor, and kept his 'Mech charging forward.

* * *

Nelson Geist spat on the tile floor of the dimly lit corridor. Down below the surface of the planet the heat was intense, and he felt sweat soaking his shirt. Droplets of perspiration also ran down his temples and speckled his upper lip. He licked it off, then wiped his half-hand on his pants before returning it to the shotgun's pump.

As he crept down the hallway toward the forbidden corridor, a nervous smile stole over his face. If I were in a 'Mech, I would have a cooling vest and I would be bone-dry in a cockpit five times as hot as this.He glanced down and checked for the hundredth time to see that the gun's safety was off.

Turning the corner Nelson felt a constriction in his throat. He nearly panicked, imagining for a second that somehow the shock-collar had been again fitted around his neck. His half-hand clawed at his collar, but when he felt only flesh and the burning rake of his fingernails, he leaned back against the wall. This time there is nothing to stop you.

He wiped stinging sweat out of his eyes and resumed his trek to the end of the corridor. There, just as he had seen in the simulation, stood two closed doors. Almost closed,he corrected himself. A thin bar of yellowish light separated the doors. His smile returned, but his teeth clamped down to stifle any cry of triumph that might escape him.

Step by step, meter by meter, he paced his way forward silently. He forced himself to breathe through his nose, searching the musty dry air for any hint of her, but the only scent was the stink of his own vomit and perspiration. As he exhaled, the droplets of sweat that had collected around his nostrils sprayed down over his hands.

Nearing the doors he heard a pair of clicks. He glanced back the way he'd come, fearing the approach of guards armed to cut him down on the threshold of his goal. He saw no one and nothing behind him and realized that the noise had come from the room. He ran the sounds through his mind and could think of no weapon that sounded quite like that when cocked. Sounded more like the latches on a briefcase being opened.

Nelson took one last deep breath as he pushed the left door open noiselessly. In his time on the Tigressand in countless nightmares afterward he had imagined incredible and horrible things in the room beyond those doors. Torture chambers, a hall of horrors, a trophy room decorated with bits and pieces of individuals the Red Corsair had defeated, with the missing half of his hand featured prominently. Yet whatever he had imagined in fevered, malevolent dreams, none of it approached the malignant reality.