The Fires of Shadow

[masterarminas]

The Fires of Shadow

A Fictional Novel
Set within an Alternative BattleTech Universe

By

Stephen T Bynum

All Rights Reserved, 2013




Prologue

Nisip Codrii, Andrunadche’s Lament
Shadow, Kerensky Cluster
June 18, 3016

Terrence Kufahl—Khan of Clan Coyote—muttered a soft curse as he struggled to push his Kingfisher Prime through the primeval forests of the northern most continent of the Fire Mandrill’s capital world. It was appropriately named Shadow, he thought, as he peered through the twilight that perpetually cloaked this world. Technically, it was a moon, his more pedantic side insisted and his lips twisted in amusement. Orbiting one of the largest gas giants ever discovered, Shadow lay far outside of what many scientists considered the habitable zone. Indeed, the moon and its gas giant parent were so far distant that the blue star at the center of this system was noticeable merely as the brightest star in a shadowed night. It was the faint reflection of that star from the clouds of the massive gas planet that cloaked Shadow in what little illumination it had—combined with the massive auroras that lit up the sky almost the equator each and every single night. Between the two, there was enough light at least to allow for the growth of vegetation.

Ancient forests—all filled with ferns, moss, softwoods, and hardwoods—covered the nine continents and innumerable islands of this world-sized moon. Well, with the exception of the hundreds of towering volcanoes that poured ash and smoke and flame into the sky on a daily basis, adding to the sullen and oppressive atmosphere of this gloomy place. It was the volcanoes which made Shadow habitable—their heat, the geo-thermal activity of this world kept it warm enough to support life. It was even a pleasant world, compared to some—if one could ignore the lack of illumination and the constant tang of the sulfur and soot in the air one breathed.

Indeed, life thrived here—just not human life. Shadow was filled with native fish and amphibians and reptiles and insects in abundance. From the loathsome and lethal venom worms that took the life of one of the Mandrill Founders and gave this continent its name to rare carnivorous lizards—the Shadefell Monitor—fully half the weight of his OmniMech. Kufahl shook his head ruefully; and of course, he thought to himself, the SLDF of old couldn’t let well enough be. No, they had released scores—hundreds—of genetically modified species on all of the worlds of Kerensky Cluster and the Pentagon. Some were designed to control native pests—such as the Umbral Mongoose—and others; well, other existed just because some mad scientist thought it would be a good idea to play God.

Damn the Mandrills for their choice of a location for the factory that Kufahl had come here to claim this day—by right of Trial. Mick-Kreese may be one of their weaker Kindraa, but that alone did not make their leaders stupid.

No, the factory was located here, on the rugged and forested highlands of this remote northern continent. The Mandrills had built no roads, laid no rails, cleared none of the Nisip Codrii (the Sable Forest) that surrounded the complex. Instead, they relied on DropShips and shuttles to bring in supplies and workers—and remove the finished OmniMechs. It was for that reason—and the heavy aerospace defenses that surrounded the facility—that Kufahl and his Coyotes were now slogging through the torrential showers mixed with ice and ash. The Mandrills had granted safcon, after all, but only outside of a two hundred kilometer perimeter of the manufacturing complex. The one Coyote DropShip which had strayed across that line during the descent from orbit had been savaged, forcing an entire Trinary to return to orbit.

“FREEBIRTH!” Kufahl shouted as another of the limber branches of the fir-like trees slammed into his cockpit—the branches seldom broke when the Golden Keshik passed; instead, they bent and then snapped back with tremendous force. If it had not been so wet here, he would have instead burnt this entire forest to the ground. But then his scowl transformed into a smile as he crested the final ridge and saw the complex laid out below him—flood-lights illuminating the deep puddles of rain collected on the tarmac and roadways.

He started to give the order to advance, but his threat receiver suddenly began to blare as more than two score OmniMechs and BattleMechs—supported by hundreds of Elementals!—stood up from mud-filled pits covered with branches laden with long pine-needles.

The Kingfisher lurched as an actinic flash of light signaled the flight—and impact—of a PPC bolt . . . and then it spun around as a hail of slugs from a Class 20 autocannon slammed into its flank! The Khan snarled as the ancient Woodsman that had targeted him approached. A Woodsman!

“Know this, Warrior,” Kufahl broadcast. “You face a Khan today—and you pilot an obsolete relic of the past.”

“I face a braggart Jackal,” the radio crackled in return. “A Jackal who claims a prize that is not his—a prize that belongs to Mandrills alone who bled and suffered to build it.”

Kufahl ground his teeth, and he triggered all four of his lasers—two Large and two Medium Pulse Lasers—at the approaching heavy OmniMech. A wave of heat rolled over the Khan, but three of the iridescent beams struck home; unfortunately, the Wolves had built the Woodsman well, with thick armored skin that many modern OmniMechs lacked.

The Warrior remained on his feet even as the lasers burnt a scar across his armor in three places and he fired again—this time not with the slugs of a normal autocannon but instead with the Cluster munitions of an LB-20X. Alarms began to blare as two of the sub-munitions found a chink in the assault-weight OmniMechs armor; the two damaged his engine as well as rendered his short-range missile launcher useless.

The Coyote Khan toggled a switch almost without thinking as he unleashed a flight of ten long-range missiles, along with both Mediums and one of the Large. A port on the anterior of his OmniMech opened and the now useless Streak ammunition for the missile launcher was ejected into the shadow and rain-filled twilight.

“Who am I fighting, Warrior? I demand to know the name of one that I will kill today!”

The Woodsman answered with another hail of Cluster munitions—and along with them a dozen ER Small Lasers bathed the Kingfisher in coherent light. Coherent light that burned away a good portion of Kufahl’s armor plating—the Khan began to back up, but the Woodsman pressed forward after him.

“I am Thomas, honored to bear the Bloodname of Malone, Khan Kufahl,” the radio answered. “I am a Mandrill who holds the rank of Star Captain, and today, Jackal, you shall learn to fear our screech!”

“You are nothing more than a bandit! Using dezgra tactics—striking from ambush!”

“Much as your Clan and the accursed Horses did when they struck down Symthe-Jewel! Today, Jackal! TODAY! The Mandrills shall have our vengeance!”

Malone fired again—this time with all of his weapons. Armor melted away beneath the onslaught and the Cluster munitions once again found almost a dozen weak points. Terrence Kufahl screamed as his remaining long-range missiles detonated, the bio-feedback through his neural helmet causing his body to spasm . . . and two of the sub-munitions slammed home against his cockpit canopy. The first one failed to penetrate.

Not so the second; the scream of rage and pain of the Coyote Khan abruptly ended as the plasma jet of the shaped charge warhead enveloped him and filled the interior of the cramped cockpit.

[masterarminas]

Kindraa Hall Mick-Kreese, Chacma City
Shadow, Kerensky Cluster
June 23, 3016

“You certainly managed to kick over the Hellwasp hive this time, Thomas,” Kindraa Leader Emily Kreese announced in a sour voice as Thomas Malone entered her office. “The Coyotes are howling for your blood, Thomas . . . and Khan Goulet is inclined to give them just that.”

The Blood-Named Mandrill Warrior came to a halt in front of her desk; he stood there and said nothing.

Emily sighed and she shook her head. “The charges levied against you are serious, Malone!” she snapped. “You killed a Khan; you struck from ambush!”

“Begging your pardon, Kindraa Leader, but my forces did not strike from ambush,” Thomas answered with a sudden smile as he stood at-ease. “We were concealed, that is the truth—and we emerged from our concealment before engaging the Jackals.” His dark brown eyes glinted and he chuckled. “Are we to blame for the incompetence of the Coyote technicians in failing to calibrate their sensor arrays for the mineral concentrations within the soil and mud of the Nisip Codrii?”

“This is not a laughing matter!” she snapped.

The amusement in those dark eyes faded, replaced with a smoldering rage; his eyelids narrowed and the pale skin of his cheeks tightened. “No, Kindraa Leader, this matter is not one for levity, I agree. The Coyotes struck here,” he pounded his fist on her desk in cadence with his words, “on Shadow itself. They struck while the bulk of our forces were off-world; they struck with what should have been overwhelming force,” he spat, and then he visibly forced himself to calm down. “Khan Kufahl was expecting only garrison forces to contest his Trial for control of our facility. Against which he deployed a front-line Cluster—an elite front-line Cluster.”

The Kindraa Leader stood and she shook her head. “A Cluster which you managed to defeat . . . you defeated them with a hodge-podge amalgamation of free-birth Warriors and a handful of true-born.” She sighed again and sat back down. “Warriors in name alone, Thomas; you pulled in free-birth from police units and placed them in the cockpits of OmniMechs! You took command—without authorization!—over the sibkin at the Training Facility, and you fielded them against the Coyotes! You broke Khan Goulet’s bid!”

Thomas leaned down and placed his hands on her desk and he glared at the superior officer sitting there. “Better to break the bid of a spineless surat than to lose the Trial, quiaff?” he asked in a growl. And then he smiled that crooked smile once again. “Besides, it was not his place to bid to defend our facility—it was yours, Kindraa Leader.”

Emily ground her teeth and returned the stare unflinchingly. “I was off-world and you know it, Malone.” She looked away and her shoulders slumped as she sighed a third time. “Water under the bridge, Thomas,” she whispered. “Right now, we have to come up with a defense against the Coyote charges against you—otherwise Goulet will hand you to them and they will tear you to shreds.”

“Coyotes—they are Jackals. Wardens who take what is not theirs,” Thomas spat. “And howl with anguish when their noses are bloodied. They showed no honor when they Annihilated Smythe-Jewel; they showed none when they struck garrison forces with front-line OmniMechs! And now they yip and they yap at the Grand Council in protest for their loss.” Thomas stood up straight and he shook his head. “Far have they fallen from the Coyotes of old,” he whispered.

Damn him, Emily thought; I cannot disagree. “Goulet has offered the Coyotes compensation for their los-. . .,” she began.

“COMPENSATION!” bellowed Thomas . . . and the door to the outer office opened, her Elemental aide standing there, hand on his sidearm. Emily waved him away and the Warrior bowed and closed the door once more.

“They attack us, Kindraa Leader, and the Khan offers them compensation?” Thomas snarled.

“He feels that at the present time, Clan Fire Mandrill cannot afford to instigate a new feud; certainly that we cannot be seen to lose a vote in the Grand Council if the Coyotes press this issue there. And he has offered the Jackals your head.” She paused. “Literally, Thomas.”

There was silence for a moment and then Thomas Malone nodded. “Has Goulet arrived?”

Emily smiled. “Yes—he has. And I have spoken with the leaders of the Kindraa. While I cannot—I will not—sponsor your challenge . . . there are others who will do so.”

“I am no lapdog, nor a trained monkey held on a leash, Kindraa Leader,” Thomas warned.

The older woman shrugged. “The Khan is a symbol—nothing more. He has only the power that the Kindraa allow him to have. However, as you have said, Goulet is weak, cowardly, political. You will never rise in Mick-Kreese, Thomas—you bear the wrong Blood Name for that. But as Khan, as the Khan who bloodied the snout of the Coyotes, . . .,” her voice trailed off and she smiled.

And so did Thomas Malone.