Traffic - First Place, Summer Fiction Contest

Federated Suns Major

This story was written for the Summer Fiction Contest of 2006. It is based on the picture below and must contain most of the elements in the picture.

Traffic

Chapter One

“Citizens of City One, we have come to your aid in your time of greatest need. You have struggled long against your oppressors, and we have heard your cries for freedom. The Draconis Combine wants you to know that even now, our forces are landing in …”

Thud!

“…to make sure no one is injured in our fight against your cruel ‘democratic’ dictatorship, we urge you to remain indoors as much as possible and stay tuned to this station. Further…”

Thump!

“Manny! What are you doing? You almost hit me with that last one!”

Paul Tsongas rose to his feet alongside the rear wheel-well of a micro-van. Reaching into the open window, he impatiently stabbed at a knob on a control panel. The Combine announcer’s voice fell blissfully silent. Paul wiped sweat off his brow as he stepped back to cast a critical eye over the van. Powered by electric fuel cells, this model was several years old and looked it. A crack was starting across the windshield on the passenger side, and colorful stickers representing several popular music acts dotted the side and rear panels. The blue paint had begun to peel in places, and the rear tires were showing considerable wear. It was one of these the young man rolled to the sidewalk, as he stepped around the sleeping bags which had landed on and near the van. “Hey! Manny! I’m serious! That last one nearly knocked the van off its jack!”

The young man stretched, then reached down and grabbed hold of another tire, this one brand new and ready to mount. He began rolling the tire around the other side. Slender, ebon-skinned and in his late twenties, this wasn’t the first time Paul had changed a tire, but it was usually one on his bicycle. Manny owned and drove the van – Paul much preferred the freedom of a bike, though it had its drawbacks. He was, in fact, the only one at Beach Engineering who pedaled to work.

It was one of many things that set him apart from the rest of the office. As a result, he was considered a loner, and paid the usual penalties for being outside the social pale. But he was also respected as a professional. He was very good at what he did, which was electronic system design. From 3D circuit boards to the latest quantum effect chips, Paul knew how to wring the maximum from design software, and he consistently found ways to shorten production startup time and reduce expense.

Paul did not have many friends at work or anywhere else, for that matter. His parents lived up North - they’d retired and moved to a small town a few hours away. As an only child, he was familiar with making his own amusements. Unfortunately, this meant he got along better with machines than with people. The few individuals Paul called ‘friend’ were invariably close ones, as if their rarity required them to occupy multiple niches in his life. A good example was Manny. The only friend he had at work was also his roommate and sounding board, and an agreeable companion when the two went out on the town for a ‘shout’. They made an unlikely pair.

Paul had common sense and a knack for figuring out machines. He was bookish and kept to himself. Manny had an innate eye for beauty and the ability to render it in clay and plastic. He also had a social life busy enough for three ordinary people. It was an arrangement that seemed doomed, at first glance. But the old saying “opposites attract” was at least partly true in Apartment 23. They did, in fact, share many things. One was a devotion to work that was single-minded. Even the women they occasionally dated did not interfere. Or at least, not much.

“Second story, nice view, two bedrooms, one bath, all modern amenities” was how the rental ad read, and it had been true. The price was positively astounding. Of course, the ad left out little things, which prospective tenants did not discover until after they closely inspected this ‘dream deal’. For example, the building was over seventy years old, with all the problems that implied. And you had to descend to the basement to wash your clothes.
This last was something terribly archaic. Built-in laundries were as commonplace as toilets in modern apartments, and a unit that did not have one, might as well have an outhouse in the backyard. It was often a deal-breaker. But the high windows had charmed Paul, with their view of the City. And the small balcony in the back clinched the deal. It looked out over a neat tangle of garden vegetables and various kinds of tall flowering plants that reminded Paul of home.

Manny had found the juxtaposed order and anarchy of the centercourt garden to be just what he needed for inspiration and relaxation. The rest was window dressing. A room to sleep in, reliable electrical and ComNet connections, running water – these were all Manny needed. The price was right, too. Paul split the rent and utilities with Manny, an amicable arrangement that had endured nearly three years now.

A head poked out from a second story apartment window. His brown hair pulled back into a pony tail, Manny Sivowitz had a wide, friendly face and an easy smile. His aquiline nose completed a picture that many women found irresistible. “Sorry about that, Paul. I just got tired of running up and down the stairs. And the sleeping bags don’t care.”

He watched the other man bolting the new tire on for a few moments, then said “Hey, don’t forget to check the charge on our spare fuel cell. Mike said he connected it in parallel with the regular one, but if our baby is gonna make it to the Evacuation Center, it’s gotta work right the first time.”

Pulling his head back inside, Manny returned to the bedroom, and resumed ransacking the drawers to find clothing he needed. An old trunk was on the bed, already half full. Next to it were several rolled up posters and paintings, part of his collection. Manny was the Art Guru at Beach Engineering. In his early twenties, Manny was officially in charge of Package Design for Beach Engineering’s line of equipment. Most of these products were industrial. Some were even military. But the Boss had long ago recognized the selling power of an attractive, ergonomic casing, and Manny was one of the best designers in the business. That he was also the firm’s Netsite designer, as well as enormously popular with the rest of the staff, was an added bonus. These qualities made it easier for the Boss to overlook Manny’s “bursts of inspiration”. And there had been plenty.

For example, there was the time Manny decided to turn the entire roof of the Hennessy Building into an after-hours party zone. Or the time he brought an electric grill in, and served hot dogs to the staff – from his cubicle. The most outrageous stunt had been when Manny and an unidentified female companion had gotten drunk, and decided around midnight to do a piece of performance art which involved running stark naked through the City park while waving multicolored lights. This singular event had been appreciated by nearly everyone - except the police. They finally released Manny - in his underwear, and without his companion – when the Boss came down at seven o’clock the next morning to post bail.

Although he loved his job, Manny hated to work in a cubicle. As a result, he was most often seen around the office, visiting other cubicles and chatting with customers and staff alike. It was at the apartment that Manny did his real work. The Boss did not seem to mind this arrangement, as long as Manny produced.

Beach Engineering was currently working on several government contracts, most involving military targeting and control systems. Paul was involved in the design phase of the latest contract. He had six months of work that he had been finalizing in the evenings at home. Company policy was that no one could take work home when it involved contracts with top secret ratings. But Paul convinced the Boss that an encrypted computer would be enough security, and that the increased productivity would be worth the risk. So far it had, and the Boss was content with this arrangement as well.

The evacuation order had been passed over a week ago, and ninety percent of the City’s population was now scattered across the Territory. Many were in the Northern Evacuation Center, including Paul’s parents. Beach Engineering was one of a handful of firms whose work was considered “Vital to the National Interest”, and so Paul and Manny and the rest of the office crew were allowed to remain in the City, continuing their work until literally the last minute.

The last minute had finally come.

When the Mandatory Evacuation Alarm sounded at noon, the rise and fall of the siren could be heard all the way out in the suburbs. Two hours later, it was still sounding as Paul and Manny packed the last of their valuables and necessary items in the overloaded van. Manny had taken Paul’s place and was attempting to jam another mystery bundle into the back when Paul appeared at the window and shouted down to him.

“Manny, have you seen my portable computer? I can’t seem to find it. Did you pack it already?”

Manny thought for a moment, then replied “No. Hey, isn’t that the super-secret little number the Boss bought for you?”

Paul made a face. “Yeah. I’m really screwed if it gets lost. All my work for the past six months is on that thing. I was supposed to update the mainframe tomorrow with this week’s work, but you know what a madhouse the office was today.” He ran his hands through tight, curly black hair. “Gimme a hand up here when you’re done, okay? I really gotta find that thing.”

Manny finished repacking the van so that his trunk fit, then bounded up the stairs to the second-story apartment the two shared. After fifteen minutes of intense searching, the only thing they’d accomplished was to turn the contents of the apartment upside down, and fill the air with a soundtrack made up mostly of Paul’s heartfelt cursing.

“Well, it looks like it’s not here”, said Manny helpfully. Paul’s only response was another string of curses. “Hey, it’s not my fault! Maybe you left it at work”, replied Manny. Paul sat on the couch and held his head between his hands, as he rubbed his temples in slow circles.

“Yeah, yeah”, he muttered. “What a time to have a brain fart.” Paul looked over at the pile of clothing in the corner, and spied his bicycle helmet. Suddenly, an idea formed, and grabbing the helmet, he moved swiftly to the window overlooking the street, and the City beyond.

“Oh, man. You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?” Manny asked. He shook his head in disgust.

Paul stared intently at the City. A pair of helicopters in blue and white livery buzzed low over the distant rooftops, headed towards the waterfront Docks. “Manny, I don’t see smoke or anything down there right now, and usually you see missiles and stuff when they’re fighting… right?” He looked at his friend hopefully.

Manny looked out the window, sighed, and said “No, there doesn’t seem to be much going on out there, but they started at the Docks, so no telling how long it will last.”

Paul pulled the helmet on and began moving towards the front door as he fastened the strap around his chin. “The Hennessy Building is in South City, so it should take them even longer to get there. I gotta try, Manny. This means my job if I lose that work. I’ll bet Sprague didn’t even back up our mainframe to offsite storage before he left.”

Manny nodded as he studied the City skyline. Leon Sprague was their supervisor. The man was notorious for his drive to climb the corporate ladder, using his fellow workers as rungs. He’d co-opted many of the small jobs and responsibilities of the office. Despite his position as Supervisor, he wanted as much padding in his annual evaluation as he could get. If nothing else, it made him look busy. But the truth was that Leon didn’t do most of the actual work associated with the titles. He preferred instead to dole the various chores out to his chosen favorites, and take credit for their efforts.

Unfortunately, often these jobs were done at the last possible minute, just in time to avoid disaster. The computer memory backup was probably one that had slipped under Leon’s personal radar. Thinking back, Paul remembered Sprague looking unusually subdued when the word was passed to evacuate the building. Paul had put this down to nerves – everyone was rattled at the thought of invasion. It was refreshing to see that Sprague was human, too. But now, Paul wasn’t so sure. Maybe the guy had realized on the way out what would happen to his career if the mainframe or the building were lost.

The thought that Beach Engineering might be destroyed before he could retrieve his portable unit spurred Paul on. He raced out the door, grabbed his bike from the landing, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and began descending the stairs. “Wait up for me! I should only be about an hour!” he flung back at Manny, who watched him from the top of the landing. The younger man stood there for a few seconds, as Paul vanished out the front door. Then, seized by a sudden impulse, Manny said “Oh, hell no. You’re not leaving me here by myself.” And with that, Manny ran down the hallway to another apartment.

Paul was already a block down the road when he heard someone yell his name from behind. Coming to a stop, he looked back and saw Manny charging towards him on another bicycle. The bike was obviously too small, and as his roommate drew closer, Paul could see it was a woman’s model. The whole scene would have been comical, but for the distant booming of gunfire.

“Manny, you’re supposed to stay back and wait for me! What if someone steals the van or our stuff?”

An incredulous Manny just stared at Paul for long seconds, huffing as he caught his breath from the sudden sprint. He finally blurted out “Damnit, Paul, there isn’t another soul for miles! We’ve been practically alone for a week. Who the heck is gonna steal an old van, anyway? There’s no one left to do it. As for leaving me back there,” and here Manny spat on the ground, “what am I supposed to do if you don’t show up? Rescue your silly ass? I think this is crazy, but you’re gonna need someone to watch your back down there.” Still breathing hard, he shifted uncomfortably on the borrowed bike, and added “Besides, I need the exercise.”

Paul shook his head. Looking in the other man’s eyes, he saw only resolve, and resigned himself to the inevitable. “Okay. Let’s get going. Keep your head down and follow my lead.”

For the next thirty minutes, the two men wound their way through deserted streets, pausing at each intersection to look for any movement. Once, they saw a large red and white van, the kind often used to deliver supplies to shops and restaurants. Only this one wasn’t dropping things off. It had been backed up on to the sidewalk in front of a consumer electronics store. The men loading the van moved through a broken storefront window with new computers and tri-vids. They paused only a moment when they spotted the two cyclists. One man shrugged, and the crew resumed stuffing their stolen goods into the back of the truck. There were no sirens, no alarms and no police. Manny and Paul hesitated only a moment before they continued on, pedaling furiously across streets and open parking lots. Their ears strained for any sign of the troops who were supposed to defend the City. Luck was with them for most of the trip, but eventually, they were spotted.

After a hasty scan of yet another deserted avenue, Paul had been satisfied that nothing was moving. They were halfway across the street when, from a block away, they heard someone shout “HALT!” Of course, both men pedaled even harder, and had just made the alley when a shot rang out. “Jesus, Manny, they saw us!” cried Paul. Manny just kept pedaling, but it was obvious they weren’t going to make the next street before being caught. Steel waste bins lined the alley – they were moving into the City’s industrial section, and the bins were getting larger.

Manny dismounted, shot a look up the alley to where they’d entered, and flung his bicycle into the nearest waste bin. It made a muffled ringing as it hit one side and came to rest on a pile of trash. “Hurry up!” he hissed to Paul. Paul quickly followed suit. The two hoisted themselves up and into a nearby bin, closing the top behind them. Paul hunkered down. “Jesus, it stinks in here!” he whispered to Manny, but there was no reply.

Paul could see very little except for a tiny bit of light streaming in under the edges of the lid. Manny whispered “Don’t move, don’t talk. They can hear anything you do; these things are like amplifiers.” Paul nodded, and then realized the other man couldn’t see him. So he just sat, shifting slightly to keep from cramping up. They waited. And waited. And waited. Less than four minutes had passed, but it seemed much longer, when they heard the sound of boots running on pavement. And voices.

“They went down an alley. We’re in it now, sir.”

The reply, tinny and obviously from the speaker of a comset, came a few seconds later. “Good. See if you can catch them. But don’t waste time. If they show any resistance, shoot to kill. We don’t have the time or manpower for prisoners, especially looters.”

“Yes, sir”

***********
Senior Corporal Deborah Fagan put the comset away, and surveyed the alley. She saw nothing but garbage bins and stairwells leading down to basement levels. A breeze blew some trash towards them. Her fellow squadmates approached from behind. One slung his rifle over a shoulder as he reported. “Ma’am, we looked in the stairwells, but so far, the doors have been locked, with no sign of forced entry. Maybe they made it out of the alley?” He paused then added, “The longer we stay here the bigger their lead gets. I vote we move on.”

Corporal Fagan cast a withering glance at the soldier. The newer recruits were getting mouthy, now that they were actually close to combat. She didn’t want to deal with insubordination when the bullets started flying. “O’Malley, I’ll let you know when you get a ‘vote’. It sure as hell isn’t now.” Turning away, she muttered to herself “I can’t believe they got through here so fast.” She jerked her head towards a rust-streaked bin, and in a commanding voice, said “Let’s check a few of these out.”

The other soldier wrinkled his nose. He gestured towards the rusty bin with his rifle muzzle. “Yes, ma’am. The Combine is moving into the City, and meanwhile, we’re rooting through garbage.” He spat. “They looked like they were on bicycles. If we get moving, we might get a shot at them.”

The Corporal had a sharp retort on her lips when the comset buzzed. “Yes, sir?”

“Corporal, get your squad together and meet us over at 3rd and Tesla. We’ve got reports of Combine activity in the area.”

“Yes, sir.” Corporal Fagan paused. “Sir, what about the looters we spotted?”

The reply was swift. “Forget them! If we lose the City, it won’t matter if looters steal everything down to the bare concrete. Now get moving, and let me know when you’re there.”

“Yes, sir!” Deborah replaced the comset, and shouldered her own rifle. She kicked the nearest garbage bin in frustration. The looters were as good as gone. “Let’s go!” she shouted, and the three soldiers hustled back up the alley to rejoin the rest of their squad.

**************
A terrified Manny and Paul breathed as quietly as they could. The trash bin they were in still reverberated from the soldier’s kick. They waited until they could no longer hear footsteps - and then waited some more. Finally, Paul began to breathe a little deeper. Slowly raising the lid, he inhaled the wonderful aroma of spring air as it rushed in and replaced the funk of rotting vegetables. “Damn, that was close.”

The two spent several minutes waiting to see if the soldiers would return, but the alley remained empty of anything but the echoes of distant shellfire. Finally, Paul threw the lid open and the two men jumped out. Manny quickly climbed into the larger bin to retrieve their bicycles, passing each out to Paul. As he climbed out, Manny stopped, then pointed towards the exit from the alley. “Look! There’s our building!” Paul followed his gaze, and recognized the familiar tan brickwork and bluish crown of the refurbished old building a short distance away.

Adrenaline-driven and increasingly paranoid, Paul and Manny covered the next three blocks with no other encounters, and approached the Hennessy Building. Racing around the back, they hid their bicycles between a large garbage compacting unit and the building itself. Huddling there, they checked one more time to make sure the loading dock was clear, and made a dash for the access door.

End of Chapter One.

Federated Suns Leftenant General

First chapter looks good ugly Laughing

Federated Suns Major

This story was written for the Summer Fiction Contest of 2006. It is based on the picture below and must contain most of the elements in the picture.

Traffic

Chapter Two

The sound of distant thunder accompanied the late spring sun as it continued its long descent towards the western horizon. There was not a cloud in the sky. A military helicopter, flying low and headed North, sped past only a few blocks away. Paul took all of this in as Manny swiped his keycard in the door’s access reader. Manny punched his code in, and then waited. A green light and a muted ‘pop’ announced that the door was open, and the two slipped inside. They were on the basement level. Relief washed over Paul as they trotted up the hallway. Getting shot as a looter had been his number-one fear. Now that they were inside, he relaxed a bit, but kept up with Manny. Another couple of minute’s wait for the old elevator, and they were on their way up. Their sweat-soaked heads cooled in a breeze from the overhead fan as they took stock of the situation.

“We don’t have to worry too much about being caught now, but I’m surprised the building still has electrical power”, Paul said. “There’s no telling how long it will stay on. I have to get my computer and get out of here before the lights go off and the doors seal.”

Manny turned his head under the breeze from the ventilation. “You know the computer’s recorded us coming in here. Gonna be fun explaining that to the Boss when this is all over,” he said.

Paul sighed. “I guess I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it,” he said wryly. The two were silent for a moment as the elevator passed the second floor. Then Paul turned to Manny and asked “And how did you know that trash bins act like amplifiers?”

Manny grinned. “Remember my performance art in the Park?”

Paul grinned back. “Yeah, I sure do. The Boss didn’t stop laughing about it for a week.”

Manny ducked his head in a mock bow to the accolade. He continued, “Well, when the cops were chasing us, I decided a trash bin was a good place to hide. It wasn’t. Later, one of the cops told me they’d gone right by us and were about to leave the alley, when they’d heard my girlfriend giggle. From fifteen meters away.”

The elevator stopped at the fourth floor, the doors opening onto a dimly lit hallway. Exiting, both men quickly turned left and moved towards the darkened offices of Beach Engineering. Another swipe of the keycard and they were moving rapidly down the rows of cubicles towards their own desks. Manny was resigned to his cubicle – not that he ever stayed there for long. But Paul loved a view of the outdoors, and so he had worked hard for two years. His reward from the Bakerly Project had not been, like so many others, a fat bonus. He had instead chosen a desk and workstation beside one of the large windows.

Now seated next to that same window, Paul could hear muffled thunder as it rumbled periodically. From habit, Paul immediately turned on his desktop terminal, and began looking for his portable computer. He quickly found it in a side drawer. Upon opening it, he realized that the all-important memory card had been removed. “Dammit! Looks like Leon took my memory card!”

Manny’s voice drifted up from his cubicle, where he was fiddling with his own computer. “Probably wants to make you look bad in front of the Boss. Again.”

Paul winced. “Yeah.” He slammed the lid of the portable computer shut. “’Stupid programmer leaves valuable secret stuff lying around. Look who saved it from being stolen’. Just what I need.”

Manny spoke again. “Did you have your work saved anywhere else?”

Paul thought about it for a moment, chewing his lip. “As a matter of fact, I have most of it on our mainframe, except for the last week’s work. I guess I could download that, if I can find another memory card.” He looked over at Manny, who was headed towards the entrance. “Hey, where are you going?”

Over his shoulder, Manny shot back “The bathroom, man. Can’t think with a full bladder.” Minutes later, Manny returned to find Paul ransacking desks, opening drawers, and then slamming them shut with a curse. “What’s up, Paul?”

Paul cursed again. “I can’t find any terabyte storage cards. No one has any squirreled away – nothing!”

Manny stood for a moment, eyes closed, his hand on his chin in an exaggerated pose of deep thought. “Hmmm, let’s see. The only guy around here who ever seems to have them is Dan Logan. By a strange coincidence, he’s also the guy in charge of office supplies. I deduce from this, plus the well-known fact that said employee is a complete ass-kissing tool, that he’s been holding back on us.” Suddenly opening his eyes, he turned to Paul and, in his best radio announcer’s voice, shouted “To the cheap bastard’s desk!” A few minutes and several hard kicks later, Manny pulled something from the ruined desk drawer. He held up one of the expensive memory cards, still wrapped in its protective case. Pointing down, he crowed, “There’s more where that came from!”

With that, Manny tossed the precious card to Paul, who caught and unwrapped it. Paul felt hope spring anew, but still grumbled. “Geez, did you have to bust up his desk? I only needed one.”

Manny shrugged, and turned his attention to the other cubicles in the area. “While you download, I’m gonna snoop around for some juicy stuff. You never know what I’ll find.” Paul shook his head as he turned his attention to the desktop computer. Disconnecting the network cables, he plugged them into his portable unit and slipped the new memory card into its slot. His feeling of elation evaporated a few minutes later as he navigated the mainframe’s system and reached a dead end. “Manny, we have a PROB-lem!”

Manny looked up over the top of a cubicle. “What now? Is the mainframe shut down?”

Paul stared at the screen. “No, it’s not that bad. But almost. The mainframe won’t let me in with my own password. Looks like Leon locked everyone out.”

Manny came out from the cubicle with a puzzled look on his face, “Wonder why he’d do that? Think he’s got something to hide?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t know. Probably just a routine security measure, but there’s no way for me to get in.” He looked over at Manny.

Manny shrugged and turned away. Then, struck by an idea, he said, “Wait! Let me check something.”

Racing into the unpopular supervisor’s office, he rummaged around for a few minutes before re-emerging with a picture cube, holding it triumphantly aloft. “I heard a rumor going around the office….”, and with this, he began removing pictures from the cube. The third picture was a group photo of Leon, posing with a handful of the ‘Employee of the Month” winners. Looking on the back of the picture, Manny whooped. “I KNEW IT! That sonofagun has been an item with Lorinda for over a year now, but no one ever saw them together outside of work. Check this out, Paul. Try entering ‘L-zero-R-one-N-D-AT symbol” for that password.”

Paul did this, and was stunned when the screen flashed “ACCESS GRANTED”. He was in. “How did you do that?” he demanded as he began to search through the mainframe’s root directories.

“Easy,” replied Manny. “Leon wrote his password on the back of the only picture of him and Lorinda together. I guess that’s his idea of sticking it to The Man – and everyone else here.” Manny re-inserted the picture into the cube, and went into the supervisor’s office to place it squarely in the center of the man’s desk.

As he exited the supervisor’s office and headed back to rummage among the cubicles, Manny felt a series of vibrations through the floor. He stopped. “What was that?”

Paul was hunched over his computer, preoccupied with his search through the enormous database. “I have no idea. Probably an explosion,” he remarked absently, his eyes still on the screen. The vibrations stopped. Paul promptly resumed his frantic search.

The building vibrated again, and this time the vibrations continued, steadily getting stronger. “See? Paul, I’m tellin’ you that’s no explosion. It’s too regular. Listen!”

They both listened for a few more seconds. “I think you’re right”, said Paul, as he got up and joined the younger man to look out onto the street below. “Sounds like it’s coming from downtown.” They looked at each other then rushed together into the supervisor’s office. Peering down the avenue through the North window, Manny hissed, “I see it!”

“See what? I don’t see anything!” Paul hissed back.

Manny grabbed Paul’s shoulder, and pointed with his other hand. “Right there! See?! It’s a BattleMech.”

“Yeah…..yeah, I see it now. Damn, that thing is huge!”

They continued to watch the metal giant as it lumbered slowly down the avenue towards them. It stopped again, turning and firing a barrage of missiles from the upper torso towards some distant target to the East. Paul stared at it in fascination. It dawned on him that, if the BattleMech continued on its course, it would pass right by their building. Only seven or eight blocks away, he could see that the metal feet were crushing the pavement. Manny gave a low whistle. “Wow. Don’t wanna be in the house when the Mayor gets the bill for that mess.” But Paul was already trotting back to his computer. “I’m having trouble finding my files. I’ve looked over nearly the entire database, and it looks like my work is mixed in with other data.

“Well, what did you expect?” Manny followed at a stroll, hands jammed deep into his pockets. “I thought that stuff would be encrypted, or something.” Paul cursed as he tried another combination. “Yeah, well, I have my project folder here”, and he pointed to the screen, “but the actual information is scattered all over the database. It looks like Leon was prepping it for upload, but didn’t quite finish the job. I could use his password again, but it would take hours just to find and extract my data.”

Manny leaned over Paul’s shoulder and peered at the screen. “Sooooo…what are you going to do about it?” The building began to shudder again. “It better be quick. Staying here much longer is gonna be bad for our health.”

Ignoring the vibrations and the younger man’s questions, Paul studied the screen. He cursed, slapped the side of the monitor, then pushed his chair away from the desk and turned to Manny. Leaning back, Paul cracked his knuckles and said, “I knew Leon was incompetent, but this takes the cake. You know how he’s supposed to upload the mainframe’s storage drives every three months? Looks like he hasn’t done it for at least five.” Paul looked out the window. “Another half hour and the jerk would have gotten away with it too.” he mused aloud.

An idea occurred to him. Paul whirled in the chair and began typing furiously. He stopped, muttering to himself “I might just be able to…” A few more keystrokes and, still staring at the screen, Paul asked in a louder voice “Manny, you said there were more terabyte memory cards in that drawer. How many?”

Manny hustled over to the drawer, reached in, and pulled out a handful. “Looks like about ten. How many do you need?” He could hear the tension in Paul’s voice as the older man snapped “All of them! Just bring them all!”

Manny quickly dumped them in a cardboard box and carried them over. “What are you going to do, Paul? Download the entire database?” He meant it as a joke, but was startled when Paul turned and said, with a serious look, “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, buddy. I have no choice.” He began numbering the memory cards with a marker.

End of Chapter Two.

Federated Suns Major

This story was written for the Summer Fiction Contest of 2006. It is based on the picture below and must contain most of the elements in the picture.

Traffic

Chapter Three

Paul loaded the seventh disk at the computer’s prompt, and then leaned back in his chair. He looked out the window at the building across the street. The City GearWorks building was empty. Like most other non-essential businesses, they’d been evacuated over a week ago. City GearWorks was a machine shop and foundry, and Paul knew several people there. Mostly he’d met them on lunch breaks. At least one of them rode a bike to work, as he did. Paul often ate his lunch over at the GearWorks with his fellow cyclist, despite the fact they weren’t really close, and despite the outrageous prices they charged for a bottle of water or soda from their vending machine. It was a welcome respite from the social lunches back at Beach Engineering. Even what you brought for lunch was a topic for gossip. God help you if it wasn’t the right lunch, eaten with the right people.

Paul half-smiled at the memories. When it was first installed, the GearWorks owner publicly pointed to the retro-style vending machine as an “employee advantage”. Most of the folks who used it – not all of them employees – had quickly tired of the overpriced product. They had little choice, however. In the South End of the City, there weren’t many places where you could buy retail food, unless you found a vending machine. Or brought your own from home. All the restaurants, cafés and coffee shops were located Uptown. Paul had heard a rumor that the owner himself was making a handsome profit off that machine’s sales. He didn’t doubt it.

Beeeeep!

The computer’s electronic prompt sounded again, a counterpoint to the muted booming from outside. Paul removed the full memory card and inserted a new one. He glanced over at the box – only three cards left. He did a quick mental calculation, and estimated he would have just enough left to copy the entire project’s database. It would be close, though. He raised his voice “Manny, are you still in Leon’s office? I know you miss him, but damn!”

Manny stuck his head out the office door. “Right, like I’d ever come between you two. You make such a nice couple.” He frowned. “Paul, that BattleMech we saw is getting closer. Could you maybe hurry it up?”

“I’m going as fast as I can. Hey! Can you dig me up one more terabyte card? Maybe Leon has one squirreled away in there.”

Manny shook his head. “You don’t ask much, do you?” He disappeared back into the office. Paul continued to load and wait, his gaze wandering across the street to the GearWorks loading dock, where he’d eaten so many peaceful meals. To his surprise, a squad of soldiers had appeared right smack in the middle of the concrete pad. They were Home Guard, if his knowledge of uniforms was right. Paul’s first instinct was to slide lower into his chair, but he gradually realized they couldn’t see him through the tinted windows. He sat up straighter and watched with fascination as they worked on some piece of equipment. Then three of the soldiers dragged the equipment off into the alley behind the City GearWorks building, leaving two or three troops in the loading area. Paul could make out one soldier carrying a shoulder-fired missile.

Beeeeep!

Paul swapped cards again, as Manny whooped “Oh yeah!” The younger man bounded out of the office, waving a memory card. “Found it under the desk in a hidey hole. Bet he’s got his love letters from Lorinda in there!”

Paul grabbed at the disk, inspecting it. With his marker, he quickly labeled it and set it next to the last disk. “Hate to say it, but those letters are gonna sleep with the fishes if I need that disk.”

“Oh, nooo!” complained Manny. “Man, I wanted some dirt on him in the worst way. You know, for later.”

The building vibrated again, the strongest tremor yet. “Manny, why don’t you go check on that BattleMech?” Manny nodded and headed back to the corner office. Paul drummed his fingers on the desk, impatient. He looked down into the GearWorks loading area. The soldiers were gone. “Or maybe they’ve gone off for a bite to eat, too,” he thought. His stomach growled. Paul wondered if Manny could find any food. The guy seemed to know where everything was.

Beeeeep!

“One more after this, and I’m outta here,” Paul muttered to himself. It looked like that last disk wouldn’t be necessary. Suddenly, from the corner office, Manny shouted “Crap!” and burst out of the office, running towards Paul. “Hey Paul? It’s, like, right on top of us, and getting closer! About a block away, and it’s moving pretty fast!” The vibrations through the floor bore testimony to that. In time with the shaking, Paul could hear a faint crunching. Dust motes drifted down from the ceiling. He moved cautiously towards the window and peered out sideways, north, towards City Center.

“WHOA! Sh*t!” he swore. Shocked, he stumbled backwards as the five-story-tall BattleMech came striding into view. It came to a stop not more than a meter and a half from his window. Paul’s stumbling turned into a fall as he tripped over his chair. His head banged against another desk as he landed on his back, and he swore again. Manny skittered to a stop then stared out at the sight of the monster war machine. “You know, for a Catholic, you sure cuss a lot,” he remarked absently to Paul, as the older man rubbed the back of his head and muttered. Getting back to his feet, Paul crouched behind his desk. “Manny, stay down! The pilot might see you!”

Beeeeep!

Paul crept over to the computer. He slowly set the chair back on its wheels, rose, and seated himself in a hunched-over position. Looking around for the box of disks, he noticed it on the floor next to the window. Slowly, he leaned over and grabbed the cardboard box by one flap. As he did, he glanced out the window. The two troopers were back in the loading area, with their rocket launcher, partially concealed behind a trash bin. Smoothly Paul drew the box back to the desk, swiftly Paul swapped the last of the memory cards, and silently Paul sat there, head down, eyes glued to the monster outside his window, as he waited for the computer to finish. He decided that looking the BattleMech over was as good a way to pass the time as any – and smiled at the thought. In spite of his nerves and the throbbing lump on his head, the situation was funny. As though he could look at anything else! It would be like talking up the latest football scores at home with your friends while there was a tank parked in the middle of the living room.

The BattleMech seemed to be mostly rocket launchers, one mounted on each shoulder, and large barrels where the hands ought to be. Smoke trailed from the launch tubes. As he watched, the ‘Mech raised one ‘hand’ and a blinding beam of deep blue light shot out from the barrel, towards an unknown target to the South. Paul blinked his eyes furiously as he shoved the chair back from the window. “That was bright, huh?”, Manny said from somewhere in the jungle of cubicles. Spots still covered Paul’s eyes as he looked across the street and noted the missile-toting soldiers back on the loading dock’s concrete pad. They appeared to be setting their launcher up to fire at the ‘Mech..

Beeeeep!

Still blinking, with yellow afterimages in his eyes, Paul checked the computer screen. The download was complete. He hurriedly disconnected the portable unit, not even bothering to log out of the system. Grabbing his backpack, Paul stuffed the computer and all the memory cards inside and tied it shut. In a slightly strained voice, he said “Manny! I’m done. Let’s get the heck out of here!”

Manny’s voice floated up again from somewhere in the cubicles “Hey, you should see what I found!” Paul cursed as he trotted towards the source of the voice. Manny stood up and waved, a camera in his hand.

As if on cue, the windows exploded. Individual glass panes blew inward, propelled by shrapnel from an explosion on the BattleMech’s torso.

Paul caught the flash out of the corner of his eye, and instinctively dropped to the carpeted floor just before a wave of hot gasses, molten metal and shattered window scythed through the office area. He crawled the last few meters over bits of wood and glass towards Manny, who was huddled in a cubicle. “W-what the heck was that?” Manny stammered. Paul was speechless for a moment. His heart was pounding, and he felt sick, but he managed to blurt out “How should I know?! Let’s go!” Manny nodded vigorously. With Paul in the lead, the two men crawled back out towards the main area, but it soon became apparent they were risking cuts and burns on their hands and knees if they crawled any further. With a finger to his lips, Paul signaled to Manny that they should stand. “Get ready to run, okay?! On my signal….” The two crept away from the cubicles and closer to the gaping windows, as they maneuvered around shattered glass.

They could see the BattleMech standing outside. It still rocked a bit, as though the explosion had unbalanced it. The cockpit was just above their level, between the massive missile launchers, and they could make out a dim figure inside, through the heavy glazing. A portion of the upper left torso was gouged out, the edges of the armor still glowing. “Cool! said Manny, all fear forgotten at the incredible sight. Paul muttered “Yeah, just peachy.” In a louder voice, he continued “Okay, new plan. Keep still.” He paused. “If we stay put, he won’t spot us. We’ll wait for him to move on.” Another flash sent Paul into a crouch, with his arms over his eyes and face. It was seconds before he realized the flash had come from behind him. Slowly rising, he half turned, to see Manny holding the camera, busily punching the adjustment buttons for another shot. “Sweet Jesus! Manny, what are you doing?!”

Manny looked up. “What? I’m getting some souvenirs for my old man. He’s a real military buff. Sorry about the flash – I didn’t know it was set.” He looked down at the camera controls again. “There, it’s off now.” Satisfied, Manny held the camera up, and peered through the rangefinder as he pointed it at the ‘Mech. “I don’t think Dad’s ever seen this model before.”

“NO!!” Paul hissed “If that pilot saw that flash, you and I will…” He stopped as Manny slowly lowered the camera, staring past Paul out the window. Paul turned to see what Manny was looking at. Adrenaline flooded his system at the sight that met his eyes.

From behind him, Paul heard Manny say in a small voice “Too late.”

End of Chapter Three.

Federated Suns Major

This story was written for the Summer Fiction Contest of 2006. It is based on the picture below and must contain most of the elements in the picture.

Traffic

Chapter Four

*************
Wriggling uncomfortably, Master Sergeant Hiromi Momohara tried to ignore the twin distractions of a full bladder and a poorly fitted seat. Thank God the neurohelmet was her own. Brought from her last assignment, it was the only thing she couldn’t complain about in this new machine. Not that you’d actually hear her complain. Hiromi had worked hard to get this assignment, piloting a Panther for several years and turning down several comfortable rear echelon assignments. The sacrifices had been worth it – this new machine was no Panther, but it was one of the first of a new line of long-range support ‘Mechs. And if she had to suppress the urge to piss while trying to fight in a badly designed cockpit, then so be it.

She suspected that the ceremonial pot of tea marking their departure for combat had not been simply a gesture of kindness from her fellow pilots. Nor was the disabled personal waste disposal unit – in a brand-new ‘Mech! – merely an unhappy coincidence. Hiromi was used to the endless hazing by her fellow ‘Mechwarriors, but it was beginning to get out of hand. Still…….there were many of her peers who were worse off.

Hiromi had been fortunate in her assignment. This regiment’s Commanding Officer was quite enlightened, regarding the potential of a woman in the cockpit. Otherwise, Hiromi might have ended up like many of her fellow female classmates. Some were assigned to desk jobs on garrison duty. Some stuck it out for a while, piloting any cast-off ‘Mech they could get. But even the toughest were gradually worn down by the endless, subtle, silent pressure from their fellow male Mechwarriors to leave the fighting to the men. Many quit. Others had effectively ended their careers warming some senior officer’s bed.

She stopped [walking] and stood still, glancing at her heads-up display. A voice crackled in her helmet’s earphone.

“Yes, sir?”

Another crackling query, “I have it in range.”

A pause, then more discreet crackling, “Full salvo? Yes, sir!”

Hiromi swung her [torso] towards the South end of the City, and another flight of missiles from her twin LRM-15s streaked away at supersonic speeds. Moments later, another voice muttered in her earphone; congratulations for a good shot. With a slight bow of her head, Hiromi murmured “Arigato” into the helmet mike, a smile on her lips.

“Our first instructor warned us about personal entanglements”, Hiromi thought to herself as she resumed [walking] down the avenue. “She told us point-blank. ‘Never get involved with fellow officers, especially those assigned to your unit. When you mix business with pleasure, your pleasure soon becomes your business. And you are lost to the Coordinator as a valuable MechWarrior’.” Although sorely tempted by handsome lancemates, as well as the occasional offer of advancement, money and patronage from above, Hiromi had kept to herself and was moving up through the ranks as quickly as could be expected.

“I miss my Panther,”, Hiromi thought wistfully as she carefully [stepped] around a wrecked tank which blocked the avenue. “It walked almost as fast as this new machine can run. I would have simply jumped over this junk. And I had hands!” As far as she was concerned, the Panther was a sports car. This new machine drove like a cement truck.

Hiromi looked at the sensor displays, but could see no significant targets within direct fire range. There were always the helicopters to shoot, of course. For now, though, they were just too fast. Her four AC2s weren’t accurate enough while she was constantly on the move. If she stopped long enough to draw a bead on a helo, it would have to be in a secure area. And those did not exist, here in the City. The defenders had gone over to guerilla tactics early on. It seemed as if they were using every building for cover.

“Oh, for a quiet place to stop and take a leak”, she thought. The 90-ton ‘Mech jarred her poor bladder with each step. Hiromi decided that the very first thing the Techs were going to do with this obscenity of a cockpit was repair the toilet facility. And she would find out who among her support crew had sabotaged it. Hiromi did not need traitors at her back, not when her hands were already full with battlefield responsibilities.

“They dangled the promise of upgrades to my Little Kitty after this assignment. I wonder if they’ll let me have the new heat exchangers?” The Panther had been in very bad condition when she was assigned to it. Her first Commanding Officer had put her dead last on the repair and supplies list, and she’d barely been able to fight when sent out with her lance. But clever use of her jump jets and a determination to stick to her machine’s range eventually won Hiromi respect from her lancemates. Soon, parts became mysteriously available for her ‘Mech, and Hiromi’s lance began to get choice assignments. It was while awaiting another recon patrol that Hiromi was tapped by the new Commanding Officer for transfer to an Assault Lance.

She had not wanted to go, initially. What did she know about those huge blobs of ferrosteel? They could barely get out of their own way! But her CO discretely mentioned new wonders coming down the supply pipeline; things like endosteel skeletons, extended range particle projectors, improved missile launchers and even heat exchangers which shed twice the heat of the current designs. Would it not be a fine thing for a MechWarrior to have all these incorporated into his – or her – machine?

But these things went only to those who proved themselves worthy. A MechWarrior must demonstrate that he – or she - was capable of accomplishing their part of the Coordinator’s plan. Flexibility was the watchword now. A MechWarrior’s ability to expertly pilot more than one class of BattleMech gave Commanding Officers a valuable tool in the fight for victory over the Combine’s enemies. And victory inspired generosity.

He had left it at that, letting Hiromi fill in the blanks. Of course, none of this was promised to her in so many words, but it served the purpose. She began training in the new machine the following week. And here she was, patiently and competently guiding the big clumsy hulk through its paces. Hiromi continued to [walk], crushing the pavement as she went, and gradually pulled up alongside of one of the last tall buildings in the City’s South district. “Tall”, for a ‘MechWarrior, was anything over three stories high. Ahead, she could see the crowd of low-lying buildings typical of an industrial area. They beckoned with a siren’s song of safety. You could see troops on the rooftops; better still, you could shoot at them!

So far, Hiromi’s company had lost three BattleMechs to enemy fire, all of it coming from the windows of surrounding buildings. Two Assault-class missile boats, one general-purpose Heavy ‘Mech; gone in a moment, along with their seasoned pilots. And all unmarked save for the smoking ruin of the cockpit, mute testimony to point-blank head shots from anti-BattleMech missile launchers.

Thinking about the casualties sent a shiver through Hiromi, and the ache from her bladder intensified. She no longer felt safe. Tons of armor surrounded her [arms], [legs] and [torso], but none of it was any good if someone had a ‘Mech-killer pointed at her [head]. With a swallow, Hiromi glanced to the left at the old brick and iron building, four stories tall, about two meters away. The topmost row of windows was just below the level of her cockpit. The multi-paned windows were all intact, the one-way glass reflecting her image. “Nothing there”, she thought. Broken windows were a sure sign that something unpleasant waited inside. She turned her gaze to the right, towards a two-story building with a sign on the front proclaiming “CITY GEARWORKS”. Sudden movement caught her eye.

Something had just shifted in the area adjacent to the lower building. There! Hiromi spotted two troopers using a large trash bin for cover. One appeared to carry one of the dreaded rocket launchers. Hiromi took another step. As she did, the two soldiers suddenly ran out into the open. Standing together, one pointed towards her and shouted while the other readied a one-shot missile launcher. Another step, and she could bring her brace of autocannons to bear on the threat. But as she raised her left [leg], a sensor alarm went off in her cockpit. “I’m being lit up!”, Hiromi had time to think, just before an iridescent bolt of coherent light slammed into her left [torso].

The energy melted armor off the front of her BattleMech so fast that the shockwave from the explosion propelled a half-ton of molten slag in all directions. Some of it sprayed out towards the two troopers, who ducked back behind the waste bin. The rest shattered the taller building’s one-way windowpanes, which exploded inward. But Hiromi noticed none of this. Caught in mid-stride, the combination of physical and mental shock set her teetering wildly on one [leg]. The feedback from her [torso] carried the sensations of impact and [pain], threatening to overwhelm her senses. Hiromi struggled to get the ninety-ton machine back under control. Finally, internal gyroscopic systems overcame the instability, and the ‘Mech came back down heavily onto its two feet.

At first, Hiromi frantically scanned the ‘Mech’s damage indicators. Satisfied that nothing vital had been damaged, she next turned her attention to long-range sensors. Another BattleMech showed up at extreme long range, but Hiromi realized that she’d probably been hit by a very lucky shot. She was not going to waste ammo on return fire. It wasn’t authorized, and besides, the range was too great. Meanwhile, something nagged at the back of her mind. An odd, yet familiar odor drifted through the cockpit. She glanced over at the open area next to “CITY GEARWORKS”, but the troops were not in sight. [Standing] there in the middle of the ruined street, her awareness of [body] faded a bit. It was then that Hiromi finally realized what was wrong.

She’d wet her pants.

A wave of embarrassment flushed her face, followed closely by anger and a host of other emotions; anger at her “brother” pilots for putting her in this situation; helplessness in the face of anonymous death, which seemed to lurk in every building. And finally, a sense of shame and dread mixed together. Shame at the thought that she – an experienced MechWarrior - had pissed her own suit! And dread at the anticipation of future shame, as she explained to her Techs why they had to clean urine from the cockpit couch. Hiromi was one short step away from losing control. And suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of light. It came from the left, from the inside of the taller building.

A quick look confirmed her worst fears – there were figures inside the deserted building, clearly visible through the ruined windows. She could see two of them standing just on the other side of the window, slowly backing up. With a rising scream, Hiromi snapped. Visions of smoking cockpits filled her mind’s eye as she twisted her [torso] ponderously to the right. Slamming the yoke and joysticks, she whipped her [torso] and left [arm] as hard as she could towards the building, her [arm] outstretched. The massive [arm] crashed into the open window. With ninety tons of BattleMech behind it, Hiromi’s [arm] sliced onward through fifty-year old brick wall as though it were wet cardboard. Window, wall, window, wall; and all the while, Hiromi triggered the large laser again and again.

“COWARDS!!!”.

*****************

“Oh, CRAP!!” Outside, Paul could see the BattleMech swing to the right as it raised its huge left arm. He knew a backhand coming when he saw one. “RUN!!!” But Manny was already sprinting north, towards the exit. Paul scrambling in the other direction, doing a broken-field dash through shards of glass and bits of window frame towards the dubious safety of the cubicles. Behind him came a deafening BOOM as the ‘Mech’s arm connected with the remains of the window and then the building itself. The building shook violently. Paul threw himself towards the back office, the Boss’s own sanctum. He landed prone on the carpet just as the gigantic hiss of a battle laser sounded.

The roar of the BattleMech’s arm smashing through brick and steel was a counterpoint to the WHUMP of rapidly expanding superheated air and exploding computer displays. A cubicle screen fell on him, its upper half ablaze. Paul screamed as he frantically kicked it away and crawled towards the Boss’s office. The heavy wooden door was also burning. Fear of the flames made him hesitate, and Paul was almost overcome by noxious plastic fumes before he finally got up the courage to reach through the flames and snatch at the hot door handle. Coughing and nursing a scorched hand, he plunged into the relative calm of the office, shouldering the smoking door shut behind him.

The room was filled with a slight haze of smoke. “It’s a dead end”, thought Paul. “Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.” he croaked aloud to himself. There was a window in the back of the large office, but after opening it with his good hand, Paul realized this was no way out. It was a fifteen-meter drop to the hard concrete of the loading dock. Despair began to creep in. Finally, he pawed at the handle of a non-descript door on the north wall. “Probably just a closet. I am so screwed!” But when Paul opened the door he was facing a row of sinks and urinals. As he hurried through, he recalled someone once mentioning the locked janitor’s closet in the bathroom. So it was true! The ‘closet door’ actually opened onto the Boss’s office! All this time, it had been the Boss’s way to avoid a very long walk to relieve himself. “And come to work late without anyone noticing”, Paul thought as he pulled the door shut behind him.

Paul rushed to a sink and held his burned hand under a tap as he turned the faucet. Nothing happened. There was no water pressure. In desperation, Paul checked each sink before finally shoving his hand into a toilet bowl of cool and (relatively) clean water. The pain subsided. After a few minutes, Paul removed his hand from the bowl and inspected it. It was red, but not blistered. The pain began to gradually return so Paul soaked it again. As he did, he heard a creaking, groaning sound from the roof.

“Crap. The roof’s gonna cave in!” he thought. He jerked his hand out of the water and ran for the bathroom door. Outside, Paul was immediately surrounded by thick, choking smoke. He crouched low, cradling his throbbing hand. Taking little sips of polluted air, he faced the elevators. He could just make out the blistered paint on the metal doors. “There’s no way I can use those now.” Another thought occurred to him, and though he was already beginning to cough, Paul managed to shout “MANNY! MANNY! ARE YOU OKAY?!”

A muffled “OVER HERE!” came through the emergency exit door at the end of the hallway. As Paul scuttled towards the door, it opened slightly and Manny peered out. “Goddamn, did you see that, Paul?! It took out most of the outer wall!” Paul hacked and coughed as he stumbled towards the door. Manny quickly opened it and helped him into the escape stairwell. The door slowly closed behind them as they both raced down the stairs.

End of Chapter Four.

Federated Suns Leftenant Colonel

Very nice so far, but what's with the words in brackets? [torso], [arm], ect.......

Craig

Federated Suns Major

trboturtle wrote:

Very nice so far, but what's with the words in brackets? [torso], [arm], ect.......

Craig

It describes movement and awareness of her BattleMech, as opposed to her own body. She has to shift between kinesthetic sensory awareness of her body and her [body] in order to coordinate operation of her 'Mech. I thought it worked rather well, although it takes some getting used to. I will continue to use this literary device in future stories, as well.

Cent13

Federated Suns Major

This story was written for the Summer Fiction Contest of 2006. It is based on the picture below and must contain most of the elements in the picture.

Traffic

Chapter Five

***************

Hiromi fought back tears of rage as she finished her swing at the building. Most of the fourth floor was now in ruins. The roof threatened to collapse at any moment, and Hiromi quickly sobered at the thought that her [arm] could be caught and pinned in the collapse. She quickly hauled her [arm] out of the sagging wreckage. Shattered bricks and burning office furniture spilled out, falling to the street below. Most of the supporting brickwork and steel girders were gone, and heavy black smoke poured from the ugly gash. Hiromi could see flames flickering dimly inside. “That will teach the scum to sneak around behind my back”, she thought with grim satisfaction. As she swung to the right, she could see the two troops had resumed their position.

Aiming at the Mauler’s head, Private Rob Jogerst had acquired a really good lock. He was about to fire the shoulder-mounted missile when the Mauler suddenly and violently attacked a nearby building. Rob lowered the launcher and began to head for cover again, but stopped as he realized what the ‘Mech was doing. Seconds later he had another lock on the giant target. It was not as good as the first, but time was running out. As the ninety ton Mauler turned towards him, Rob mentally cursed the poor lock and took the shot anyway. The rocket streaked across ten meters towards Hiromi’s BattleMech. Private Jogerst tossed the launcher aside and joined his teammate in a run for cover.

The missile struck Hiromi’s right [torso] but did minimal damage. She barely noticed it. Her rage was now under control. She kicked through the flimsy chain-link fence surrounding the loading dock and stomped along the concrete pad. She muttered aloud “I’m going to teach these honor-less bastards what it means to screw with a BattleMech”. Hiromi centered her autocannon reticle on the image of the soldiers frantically trying to break into the locked building. Linking all four weapons to the single gun sight, Hiromi whispered “Gotcha” as she pressed the trigger.

********************

As they hustled down flight after flight of the concrete stairwell, Paul and Manny could feel the Hennessy Building vibrate. Neither said a word as they redoubled their efforts to get clear of the building. They finally reached the basement level and sprinted down the narrow hallway towards the loading dock doors. Paul caught Manny by the shirt and hauled him back just as the younger man was about to yank the door open and plunge through. “Hold up! Hold….up”, Paul half shouted, panting as he caught his breath. “We don’t…know what’s….what’s out there.” Hands on his knees, Paul hacked up phlegm through a sore throat. He spat. “Just…..crack the door a bit and look first.”

Manny carefully opened the door and peeked outside. Seeing nothing at first, he opened it a bit wider and then suddenly shut it. “Jeez,” he said. “There’s, like, a whole bunch of soldiers out there, moving around in the loading area.”

Paul, who had by this time gotten his breath back, elbowed Manny aside and cracked the door open again. He caught a glimpse of troops heading around to the front of the building. The loading dock was otherwise clear. He was about to close the door again when the building shuddered violently, and a breeze puffed towards them from the bowels of the collapsing structure. “Okay,” he whispered hoarsely, “let’s see if we can get to our bikes.” And with that, Paul glanced around quickly one last time, whipped the door open and made a dash for the trash compactor. Within seconds, he was behind it. Manny joined him a few moments later. Concrete dust puffed out the loading dock door just before it closed.

Space was tight behind the compactor, and in less than a minute Paul decided they were going to have to make a break for it. It was now or never. His throat ached as he whispered his plan to Manny. “The Combine troops can’t be far behind their BattleMechs, and the gap between the invaders and our Home Guard might be the only chance we’ll get.” Manny nodded mutely. The two slowly raised their heads above the compactor to see if the coast was still clear. It was.

Paul winced as he grabbed for his bike with his burned hand, but there was no help for it. He would just have to suck it up until they got home. If they could get home. Heads swiveling back and forth like radar dishes, the two men raced on their bikes around the corner of the building and up onto the sidewalk. They stopped only when they reached the main street, which had been buckled and ruined.

“We’re gonna have to carry the bikes. The road is worthless now,” said Paul.

Manny looked up and down the street, then pointed north where the Battlemech had come from. “I see troops way down there”. He turned. “And down there doesn’t look any better” he added as he gestured south toward the slowly receding Mauler. It had stopped three blocks away and was now under fire.

Paul glanced around, then picked up his bike and hissed “We’ve gotta get out of here. Follow me!”. The two crossed the street, picking their way across ruined concrete slabs. “Over here!” shouted Paul, as he headed towards the City Gearworks loading area.

The chain link fence was smashed flat, and most of the loading area pavement was crushed. Giant footprints were everywhere. It was obvious that the BattleMech had been here, probably chasing the troops which had threatened it earlier. A portion of the GearWork’s ground floor wall was kicked in, and the rest was pockmarked with cannon shell holes. The hated soda machine lay on its side, soda cans spilling out of it and across the ruined lot.

“Oh, man! Check it out!” shouted Manny, but Paul did not linger. Behind them, the roof of the Hennessy Building finally collapsed into what remained of the fourth floor. Paul raced through the lot, towards the other stretch of fence which enclosed the area. He swung his lightweight bike over the top of the fence, dropping it into the alley on the other side. Paul followed it and hunkered down behind a dumpster. Catching his breath and nursing his aching hand, he realized he was alone.

“Manny! Manny!” he hissed and half-shouted. A few seconds passed with no reply – then came the sound of a bicycle dropping onto pavement. A moment later, his friend joined him. Out of breath, Manny could not speak for a few seconds.

“What the heck were you doing?!” Paul demanded. Manny grinned as he gleefully unzipped a backpack filled with soda cans.

He gloated. “All those years, GearWorks has been gouging us with overpriced sodas. The tables have finally turned!” When there was no reply, he looked up from his booty to Paul’s face and fell silent. Paul didn’t speak, but the look of dismay, even horror, was evident. “Ooooh…what now?” Manny blurted out.

“Manny, what are you doing?! Sweet Jesus, if any soldiers catch us with that bag full of swag, they’ll shoot us for looting!” As this sank in, Manny’s smile turned sickly.

“Jeez, ya really think so? Jeez. Guess I better ditch this stuff.” He swallowed. Looking around nervously, he dumped the cans into the nearest basement stairwell. When the last can tumbled out, Manny zipped the backpack up again. The pair crept out to the corner of the alley, and began checking the street. With carefully timed movement, they began the slow journey back to their apartment.

As they were leaving the industrial section, they saw the red and white van again. The vehicle had run up onto the sidewalk and into the front of a building. Smoke came from under the hood. Peering at it from an alley across the street, Paul and Manny saw that the van had been badly shot up by small arms fire. One figure was slumped in the smoldering cab; a bloody arm dangled out the window. In the street at the rear of the van, two men lay in the street. Their bodies were contorted in a final rest from the day’s labors. Dark pools extended from each corpse and met in the middle. “Looks like they got those looters”, observed Paul quietly.

“Yeah”, Manny replied. “And here I thought our government didn’t care”. With that, they continued their torturously slow trek. More than once, they took refuge in or behind trash bins. They’d even hidden inside an abandoned car, as they racked their brains for another route around a missile team which had set itself up in the middle of a bridge. This bridge was one of two connecting the City to the East Side. The team left on its own after an hour and the two continued on.

Three hours after they’d started their mission, the two young men finally made it home. Paul felt immense relief when he saw the old van still parked by the curb in front of their apartment. “Thank you, Lord”, he thought. His hand trembled as he crossed himself. Dashing up the stairs, Manny and Paul tossed their bikes aside and checked on the utilities. “Electricity is out”, Paul verified. “How’s the water pressure?”

Manny responded by flushing the toilet. As the tank refilled itself, he shouted “Dibs on the hot water!” and stripped. Paul busied himself with first aid to his burned hand and some minor cuts he’d gotten from the window explosion. He was waiting and ready for his own shower when Manny emerged. Halfway through, the water turned cold and began petering out. Paul finished quickly and left the bathroom pulling on a clean T-shirt. As he walked into the living room he noticed Manny was talking on his portable phone. As he got closer, Manny said something and closed the unit with a snap.

“What’s going on?” Paul asked, who stood by the picture window. “I thought the phone network was down. One of your girlfriends checking up on you?”

Manny ignored him and pointed out the window. “Look.”

Paul followed the direction of Manny’s finger. Down the street about ten blocks away and all but concealed by the trees lining the avenue was another BattleMech. It was smaller than the one they’d seen downtown, but it seemed much faster and was working its way up the hill towards them. A thrill of fear ran through Paul. “No. Crap! Not again. C’mon, Manny, we have to leave before that thing can see our van.” Without another word both men grabbed their water bottles and backpacks, and raced for the old van.

Paul threw his backpack in behind his seat, and had just slammed the door shut when Manny engaged the drive. The old van jerked, then slowly pulled away from the curb and headed up the last fifty meters of the hill. All the while Paul looked out the back window, his arm hooked over his seat. He watched the BattleMech like a hawk – or, rather, like a terrified mouse – until they turned the corner and began winding their way out to the highway leading north. “I don’t think he saw us”, said Paul. Manny floored the accelerator anyway. Outside the wind began to pick up as clouds appeared on the Western horizon.

As they turned onto the onramp, Paul looked back at the City. Backlit by the evening sun, pillars of thick black smoke rose from several sections of downtown. Hauling the backpack around from behind his seat, he opened it and took out the computer. Paul jacked it into the dashboard for power. As the small van began to pick up speed, Paul realized he probably held the only existing records of the firm’s current work. He felt giddy. He was a hero! But the feeling vanished as it occurred to him that it was his and Manny’s fault the building had been trashed in the first place.

Manny could barely contain his excitement. “Oh boy. Have we got a story to tell!”

Paul turned to him, closed the computer, and said “Not a chance. Unless you want to get fired and sent to prison. If we hadn’t been there - if you hadn’t been flashing your camera - none of that would have happened.” As Manny considered this, Paul continued. “The thing of it is, we’ll have to mention it.” He shook the backpack for emphasis. “I think I have the only copies of Beach Engineering’s work for the past six months right in these memory cards”. Manny glanced over at him in awe. Paul continued, “We can save the day, but only if you don’t mention the part about the Battlemech. Just ‘we got in and we got out’. You can even keep your pictures for your Dad if you want. But don’t tell anyone what happened in the office or we’re both gonna be in prison for a long time”.

Manny nodded, his attention on the road. Minutes passed in silence. They come to an intersection. To the left was the North Evacuation Center, one of three refugee camps. The City lay behind them to the west. The South Evacuation Center was down the road to their right and at least four days away. To the east was a mountain range which took two days to reach. Manny looked in the rear-view mirror, sighed, and turned to Paul.

“I haven’t been totally honest with you, buddy. You know that extra fuel cell? That’s not just so we can get to the Evacuation Center. It’s so we can maybe make it to the mountains, where my Dad and his friends are right now.” Manny paused. “That is, if you want to go.”

Paul stared uncomprehendingly. Finally, he found the words and said “Manny, I thought the plan was to get to the Evacuation Center, wait out the Kuritans, and then come home again. What are you talking about?”

Manny replied, “Paul, this isn’t a simple raid. Remember my phone call back in the apartment? That was my Dad. The broadcasts, the fact that they’ve attacked the City, the early evacuation – this is a pitched battle for the continent, maybe even the planet.”

“This is serious stuff, Paul. The winner gets the spoils. That would be us. The Combine broadcast was their way of re-writing history. They don’t bother with that unless they intend to occupy.” Manny paused. “They won’t stop there. When they’ve convinced everyone that it was our idea to ask ‘em over for dinner, they’ll begin what my Dad calls the “compulsory re-education of the ideologically unfit”.

Manny paused, looking out at the road. “Dad says guys like you, you’ll have it easy. A year in a re-education center, then a tracking collar, and you’ll be right back in your cubicle, crunching circuits for Uncle Ted. Guys like me…..”

Paul waited. Finally, he asked “Guys like you?.....”

Manny went on. “Guys like me, they don’t want. Or need. We don’t have any technical skills. We’re just artists. Weaklings. Dead weight. They’ll take the stupid ones and put them to work. But the smart ones will go to a re-education center, a special one. Our class will last a single day, and at the end, everyone is guaranteed to graduate.”

Paul frowned. “What do you mean, one day? You said re-education lasted a year.”

Manny grimaced. “Yeah, for guys like you. But guys like me, we have no useful skills, we’re too smart to buy their line of crap, and we’re too independent to work in a labor crew for long. Before you know it, we’ll be off and joining up with the real Resistance. So they deal with us like they always have. My Dad says I’ll probably spend the day digging a big ditch, alongside a bunch of other artists and musicians and designers. And when we’re done, they’ll line us up along the sides of that ditch, and shoot us dead. After that, a bulldozer will shove the dirt back over our bodies, and that’ll be the end of it.”

A moment of silence passed. The electric motor purred quietly. A early-evening breeze began picking up, faintly hissing through the thin rope tying their belongings to the top of the van. A hint of overdue spring rains wafted in through the open windows as evening drew close.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me, Manny,” was all a stunned Paul could manage.

“No. Dad says that’s how they’ve always done it. Their kind perfected the process a long time ago. After a thousand years, you can be sure they’re efficient. But I’ll tell you this…my people” and here Manny fingered a Star of David hanging around his neck, “they made a promise to each other, and to their children, back before men even reached orbit around Terra. Two words.”

Paul was still. He’d never seen this side of his friend, not in all the years they’d shared the apartment.

Manny reached down and grasped the parking brake. He glanced over at Paul. “Never again.” He looked away, and then said, “Look, if we go to the Evac center, and the Combine wins, we’ll just be easier to round up. If we go up to the mountains with my Dad and his buddies, and the Combine goes away, then we’ll have been on a nice camping trip. What do you want to do when they start shooting us? Me, I want to shoot back.”

Paul did not hesitate, “Always wanted to see the mountains.”

Manny grinned. He released the parking brake. The van accelerated as it crossed the intersection and began the long journey to the Eastern Mountains. Manny pulled a can of soda with a familiar label from his coat pocket, and popped the top. Paul stared.

“What?” demanded Manny “I was thirsty!” Grasping the steering wheel with his left hand, he toasted Paul. In his best radio announcer’s voice, Manny boomed “This refreshing drink has been brought to you by – the Draconis Combine! With branches damn near everywhere. The Draconis Combine! Whose motto is, “If You Don’t Like Our Dictatorship, You Can Always Be Shot”. He knocked back a swallow of warm soda and stared at the road ahead.

Paul shook his head. He looked sideways at Manny, then reached over and snatched the soda out of his hand. He glared defiantly at Manny as he drank the last of the soda. Paul wiped his mouth, tossed the can out the window, and said “What? I was thirsty!”

Manny smiled again, another big grin. He clapped Paul on the shoulder and shifted to overdrive. The cool spring air began to sing though the roof tie-downs as their van reached cruising speed. The next few years were going to be tough, maybe the hardest thing they’d ever do. And life would never be the same again. But it was good to have someone like Paul at his back. A few minutes passed before Manny broke the silence. “Paul, to be honest, the Boss has been talking for the past four months about moving out to an industrial park. Someplace in the suburbs. Says the traffic downtown had gotten to the point where our central location just wasn’t worth the hassle anymore.”

Paul nodded. “Yeah, I heard the same rumor. Looks like his mind’s been made up for him. I was hoping he wouldn’t, though. We had a real sweet deal with that apartment being so close, and all.” He looked out the window. In the sideview mirror he could see the sun behind them as it sank towards the horizon. Paul watched the passing suburbs gradually turn into farmland. He thought about the times he’d almost been run down while riding his bike to work. And the way Manny complained about the constant lack of affordable parking. And the sound of a BattleMech arm smashing through old brick and steel.

“Yeah”, Paul thought to himself, “sometimes traffic can be a real b*tch.”

The End

Credits:

Many thanks to Steve “Typhoon” Williams and John “Thylacine” Satak, without whom this story would not exist. Steve very thoughtfully guided me through six drafts, helping me to overcome my own writing blind spots and inspiring me to do better. John was instrumental in helping me to polish my dialogue, and fill the gaping holes in the plotline – all from the comfort of his bed, where he listened to me type until he fell asleep. This story is dedicated to them.

– Steve “The Butcher” Satak, aka Centurion13
4 August 2006

Northwind Highlanders General

MOST Excellent Work!
I can see how this was a tough contest to judge.
Your use of the 'literary device' to switch between BattleMech movement and
personal movement is very different.
I'd say it is unique to your style: if you like it, keep it.
Still, BIG SMILEY 4 U 2...

Blackhawks Warrant Officer

Excellent story. Two Thumbs Up

up

Federated Suns Leftenant General

Sry I hadn't commented on this earlier, but the story was really good!

I enjoyed it a lot and I'm glad you stuck with the prolonged contest, lol.

Good stuff Steve!