TEXT: BattleCorps
  REHAB
  Louisa M. Swann
  
  BattleCorps
  Rehab • Page 
  J.A. Outpost 
  Anywhere 
  Jade Falcon Occupation Zone 
  1 December 3068
  Come Hell’s Horses or high water, Jarad was about to kick some 
  serious butt. Not much else to do out here in the middle of nowhere. 
  Of course, Anywhere couldn’t really be considered nowhere. The 
  planet had its own outpost manned by an entire Star from the illus-
  trious Eleventh PGC, the best damn cluster in the Omega Galaxy 
  (even if they rotated here from Bone Norman twice a year). Jarad 
  himself would ‘Mechstomp anyone who dared say otherwise.
  Hell, he’d ‘Mechstomp the entire universe—even though he’d 
  never stomped a ’Mech before. Bombed plenty of ‘em in his time. 
  The air was his domain. Or had been. Bella was the first ’Mech he’d 
  ever piloted. A damn fine ride—for a ProtoMech.
  At least she would be if they ever got out of this blasted ware-
  house.
  Maybe he should hurry things along, blow the place to smither-
  eens…only that wouldn’t work ‘cause they were still inside…
  Jarad giggled into his commlink. “Hey, Degra. What’d you pump 
  me up with? Isss great!”
  “A bit of this and a bit of that.” Degra’s high voice crackled in 
  Jarad’s ears. A coolness spread through his left arm and sudden-
  ly the world didn’t look quite so bright. He turned to protest and 
  bumped the scientist’s head with his neurohelmet.
  “Stop fooling around and concentrate,” Degra said, his pointy-face 
  stuck in its usual frown. The ladder clanked against the ProtoMech 
  as he fiddled with the intravenous tube inserted through Jarad’s 
  body suit. The drugs pumped through it were supposed to keep 
  Jarad in touch with the real world.
  Jarad blinked, trying to clear the haze from his vision. Now his 
  head felt like a friggin’ furball and the inside of his suit was turning 
  into a major heat sink.
  “Uh, Degra…”
  “Hold on a moment. I have one more minor adjustment to 
  make.”
  
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  Minor. Right. Why the hell’d he ever let Degra talk him into this 
  “rehabilitation program” anyway? If he’d realized the crackpot sci-
  entist was gonna be messing around with his already-messed up 
  head...
  The coolness in his arm turned to burning fire. Suddenly the haze 
  was gone and so were the fuzzies. A faint metallic taste lingered 
  on his tongue, but Jarad could handle bad taste.
  “That’s more like it!” Jarad flexed his wrists and watched the 
  gray and black body suit crinkle.
  “Let us hope I have the proper mixture this time.” The scientist 
  settled back on his perch, looking like a grumpy Terran crow. “Are 
  you ready to give it a go?”
  “You bet your sweet patootie.” Jarad activated his EI system. Let 
  out a whoop as the warehouse around him came into sharp fo-
  cus.
  The scientist sure had an odd accumulation of “stuff.” Degra had 
  taken an abandoned supply warehouse big enough to store five 
  light ’Mechs and filled a whole wall with shelves and work tables 
  loaded with scavenged ’Mech parts. A hovertruck and hovercrane 
  were parked along the other wall. The back corner held a heating 
  unit that needed repair, but that didn’t matter. Not now. Not when 
  Jarad was finally seeing through the eyes of a ’Mech!
  “Cool beans!”
  “Where did you acquire such a quaint expression?” Degra 
  asked.
  “Don’t remember,” Jarad replied. Unfortunately, he did remem-
  ber, though he’d never admit it. Not to Degra. Not to anyone. The 
  time he’d spent as a captive lingered like a nightmare in the back 
  of Jarad’s tangled mind.
  A nightmare he’d worked for years to erase from memory and 
  had succeeded.
  Until a little “incident” turned all his mental control switches 
  to “off.” One of the hazards of being an aerospace pilot. It could 
  have been worse. He could have turned into a homicidal maniac, 
  or worse—a raving lunatic.
  Degra gave a thumbs up, the hatch closed, and Jarad was on his 
  own.
  
  BattleCorps
  Rehab • Page 
  A vibrant pulsing filled the warehouse as the ProtoMech pow-
  ered up. Degra D clenched his jaw and watched the Erinyes stretch 
  to her full height.
  Magnificent.
  Without those stupid wings, the ProtoMech cut a much cleaner 
  profile. Cutting down on tonnage and wind resistance should in-
  crease her cruising speed by at least a third.
  Degra reconsidered—maybe not quite a third, considering the 
  new supercharger clamped to her back. She had gained a bit of 
  weight there, and a little bit more with the new weapon systems 
  he had added.
  A powerful feeling rushed through Degra—the sweet feeling 
  of success. Standing in front of him was proof the ProtoMechs 
  were not inferior to their larger brethren. Once the Khan saw what 
  Degra’s upgraded design was capable of, she would bring the 
  Erinyes production back on line.
  She had to…and Etienne be damned!
  The ProtoMech lurched toward the warehouse door, stumbled, 
  and almost fell.
  Degra keyed the commlink. “Idiot! I told you to concentrate.”
  If that fool of a pilot messed up, if Jarad turned out to be more 
  goose than hawk, Degra would have his disgraced head on a plat-
  ter. How in the world he had managed to get through training was 
  a mystery Degra could not quite fathom.
  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Jarad said.
  Degra’s head started to pound. He had meticulously searched for 
  a candidate to pilot his Erinyes, but failed aerospace pilots were 
  difficult to come by. Then Jarad had shown up. No memory, or so 
  he claimed. But a volunteer was a volunteer after all.
  If Degra had thought the matter through more carefully, he would 
  have realized that anyone who volunteered for duty on this planet 
  had to be more than a little insane.
  “You gonna open the door or what?”
  
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  Degra stalked over to a control panel beside his work table and 
  jabbed the button marked “open.” At the far end of the warehouse, 
  the main door reticulated upward. Icy wind sent snow swirling 
  across the ferrocrete floor. Crisp air swept the comforting smell 
  of oil and fuel from the warehouse—along with a majority of the 
  heat.
  “Hey, Degra. Wanna see me make a snow angel?”
  Yes, Degra would definitely have preferred a different pilot for 
  Bella’s maiden voyage.
  Metal scraped as the ProtoMech moved one cautious step at a 
  time. Jarad had done fairly well during the dry runs—the scientist 
  reminded himself—when he could keep his mind on the job.
  The ProtoMech strode without hesitation into the blowing 
  snow.
  “Remember to focus,” Degra yelled into the commlink. Then, as 
  an afterthought, “and watch your language. One more contrac-
  tion, and I will be forced to make your life more miserable than it 
  already is.”
  Interesting how a simple habit could move a nonviolent person 
  such as himself to contemplate acts of torture.
  Degra leaned against the doorway and tried to catch his breath. 
  The storm was not supposed to be here until tomorrow. He could 
  barely see the ProtoMech through the shifting snow. Half a klick 
  already separated Bella from the warehouse; a few more steps 
  and she would disappear altogether.
  Maybe they should have waited until the weather cleared.
  The ProtoMech moved gracefully across icy ground without any 
  apparent loss of traction, evidence that the new, anti-slip soles 
  were a worthwhile addition.
  Degra blew on rapidly cooling fingers. A few more minutes 
  outside would give him a chance to run a check on Bella’s sur-
  vival systems. The vid feed would keep him connected to both 
  ProtoMech and pilot…
  “You expecting visitors?”
  What little hair was on the back of Degra’s neck rose like a 
  DropShip headed for space. The main outpost was located about 
  five klicks north of the warehouse. Maybe the captain had finally 
  
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  decided to check out Degra’s project. “If you are worried about the 
  infantrymen…”
  “Not our guys I’m worried about.”
  “What?” Degra squinted uselessly into the blinding snow. 
  Moisture dampened his palms in spite of the frigid cold.
  “It’s the other guys that’ve got me sweating pigs. No idea who 
  they are. But we got a whole nest of ‘em.”
  “Abort the exercise! Do you hear me, you sorry excuse for a pi-
  lot? Bring my ProtoMech back here.”
  Jarad ignored the voice screaming through the commlink. Like 
  hell he’d abort. What better way to test-drive a war machine?
  Scientists and techies were good for building things and putting 
  pieces back together. That was their job.
  It was his job—and Bella’s—to knock the bad guys into oblivion.
  Jarad let his body relax into the ProtoMech’s rhythm. He saw 
  through the howling snowstorm with startling clarity, and what he 
  saw sent anger surging through his veins.
  What looked like a Dragon—bearing no insignia Jarad recog-
  nized—was only twenty klicks from the outpost and closing fast, 
  four suits of battle armor at its heels. Pirates? But could pirates 
  have battle armor, even if they were inferior Spheroid designs?
  A quick scan showed rapidly disappearing tracks leading down 
  out of mountains barely tall enough to hide a DropShip behind. 
  The pirates probably thought they could use the storm. Sneak up 
  on the outpost and take it without even breaking a sweat.
  “Think again, you morons.” Easy enough to cut the attackers off. 
  He might not have a full contingent of aerial bombs, but Bella was 
  one kick-ass ProtoMech.
  Victory was in the air. He could smell it.
  Time to kick some surat butt.
  
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  Degra peered through the snow-encrusted windshield and 
  goosed the hovertruck as hard as he dared. The truck slewed side-
  ways down a snowy slope, then straightened out.
  The monitor on the dash displayed two images: one of Jarad, 
  lips spread in a feral grin; the other of a Dragon bearing down on 
  the outpost. Jarad had Bella on a direct intercept course.
   Degra ground his teeth. This was not good, not good at all. The 
  Erinyes was a valuable prototype, not a play toy. This was her first 
  field test.
  He would not let it be her last.
  “Meet me at the testing platform,” Degra said, maneuvering 
  around an anonymous white lump. He took a deep breath to quiet 
  the worms writhing in his stomach.
  Snow slushed beneath the hovertruck as it slewed sideways off 
  another snow bank. Degra clutched the wheel, corrected the slide, 
  bit his lip until a metallic taste filled his mouth.
  Only a few more klicks to his testing platform. Then he’d bring 
  this so-called battle to an end.
  The body suit’s cooling system seemed a bit off. Jarad made a 
  mental note. He’d give Degra a glitch list after their little skirmish 
  was over. No use getting the scientist any more agitated than he 
  already was.
  Nice that the ProtoMech moved like a second skin now that Jarad 
  was used to the systems. All he had to do was start the motion, 
  keep it firmly in his mind, and Bella did all the rest.
  His head ached for some reason. He’d had the same kind of 
  headaches as a pilot—just before he wacked out. But the drugs 
  were supposed to take care of all that. Jarad ignored the pain and 
  
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  concentrated on the Dragon. There had to be some way to distract 
  that ’Mech.
  Maybe it was time to try out Bella’s new weapon.
  It took a couple of tries to get the rifle free of the powerpack—
  has to be a better way to deploy it—but finally the laser weapon 
  sat stiffly in Bella’s hands.
  “Lock and load.”
  Jarad fired a pulsing burst of laser fire at the Dragon’s cockpit. 
  The shot skipped harmlessly over the ’Mech’s shoulder. But it defi-
  nitely caught the ’Mech’s attention.
  The Dragon turned towards the Erinyes while the battle armor 
  stayed their course. Wind howled outside, hurling icy snow across 
  Bella’s face. Through the swirling snow, Jarad saw the Dragon 
  pick up speed.
  “Come on, baby,” Jarad hummed. “Come to Mama.”
  Degra groaned. Unless he did something fast, both his rehabili-
  tation projects would go up in a blaze of fire.
  “Target his weak points,” Degra commanded. “Knees, elbows…”
  “Give me some credit, huh? I used to bomb these things with my 
  eyes closed, remember?”
  “Bombing targets from the air is not the same as…”
  Laser fire pulsed from the prototype rifle in a spray of garish or-
  ange. Steam poured from pockmarked snow like tiny geysers.
  “Use the m-pods.” Degra ground his teeth and veered off to the 
  left.
  “Um. M-pods. Right. Except I have to get how close to use these 
  things?”
  Doomed. Doomed, a tiny voice whispered in Degra’s mind, but 
  the scientist refused to give up. “Just do it!”
  
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  A huge, snow-covered hump blocked Degra’s progress. He 
  stopped the hovertruck and climbed from the cab.
  Time for a little shoveling.
  Bees swarmed in Jarad’s skull—nasty, buzzy, sting-y bees. He 
  squeezed his eyes tight together, felt his connection with the 
  ProtoMech fade.
  “No,” Jarad muttered. “Not again.”
  Degra’s wonder drugs must be wearing off. With a burst of raw 
  willpower, Jarad compartmentalized the pain. He narrowed his fo-
  cus. Brought the short-range missile on line.
  Fired. It was just a distraction, but it would do. For now. Jarad clamped 
  the rifle back on the powerpack; absolutely have to make that easier.
  Jarad broke into a jog, ignoring the way each step seemed to 
  pierce his brain with metal spikes.
  An arc of electric blue streamed from the Dragon’s right arm. 
  Jarad dodged right, letting the PPC fire pass harmlessly to his left. 
  The ’Mech pilot was using his sensors, but his aim was off.
  Pirate indeed.
  Jarad swung Bella into a collision course with the ’Mech. The Dragon 
  fired again, plowing a glowing furrow through the snow at Bella’s heels. 
  Jarad passed the Dragon at a thundering run. Fired off the m-pods.
  The ProtoMech rocked forward as shrapnel went flying past.
  “Perfect.” The commlink crackled. “Now get yourself out of 
  harm’s way.”
  Jarad took a quick look at the Dragon wobbling behind him. The 
  m-pods hadn’t taken the leg completely off, but it had definitely 
  crippled the ’Mech.
  Suddenly the world spun and Bella went down hard on one knee. 
  The impact sent pain shooting through Jarad’s leg. He checked his 
  sensors, but there was no sign of a hit.
  
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  “Stay down.” Degra commanded. The commlink went silent.
  Stay down? Like a damned sitting target? Jarad glanced at the 
  testing platform a couple of klicks away. The scientist had uncov-
  ered what looked like five or six dismembered ’Mech arms.
  Jarad sighed, pulled the rifle free once again, and dropped the 
  ProtoMech flat on her stomach. Somehow the world smelled worse 
  down here. Maybe it was just the fear oozing from his pores.
  “Target the canopy,” Degra ordered.
  A small squeeze on the trigger lit the Dragon’s cockpit with a 
  miniscule red dot. Suddenly, the snow around the testing platform 
  exploded, catapulting a missile into the air. 
  Jarad couldn’t believe his eyes. Talk about recycling. Degra had 
  somehow transformed old ’Mech parts into catapults…
  The Dragon rocked backward as the missile exploded against 
  the cockpit nose.
  “Again!” shouted Degra. Blood pulsing in his ears, Jarad aimed, 
  made a slight adjustment. Held…
  The Dragon jigged sideways at the last minute. The missile 
  caught the left shoulder and exploded. Not a standard short- or 
  long-range missile at all…what were they?
  Jarad closed his eyes. Opened them.
  The Dragon was on the run, only he wasn’t running away. He 
  was headed straight toward Bella.
  “Again!” Degra ordered.
  Jarad took a deep breath and focused. Normal cockpit noises—
  light hums and whirs along with the occasional clicks—all faded.
  An easy squeeze on the trigger sent laser light pulsing through 
  the Dragon’s canopy. Light that was followed seconds later by a 
  missile.
  This time the missile found its target.
  The explosion shook the ground and sent pieces of shrapnel fly-
  ing through the air with clumps of frozen snow.
  Jarad stayed face down, frozen in pain. He forced himself to 
  feel—the command seat holding him close, the sweat tickling in-
  
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  side his body suit—anything to stay in the here and now. Carefully, 
  Jarad turned his head. Bella turned with him.
  “Better late than never,” Degra’s voice crackled in Jarad’s ear. He 
  raised his head, found scientist and hovertruck parked in front of 
  Bella’s nose.
  A quick survey of the terrain showed the Dragon down and the 
  battle armor tangling with Jade Falcon Elementals. Jade Falcon 
  appeared to be winning.
  Jarad moaned and maneuvered Bella into a sitting position. 
  “Don’t blame me. I’m only the test pilot.”
  His whole body ached and his head felt like someone’d used it 
  for an exercise ball, but hey, they were all still alive and kicking.
  Not bad for a worthless ProtoMech and an out-of-commission 
  aerospace jock.
  “If you can get your hands on another one of these babies,” Jarad 
  said as he carefully maneuvered Bella to her feet. “I know a pilot 
  we can probably bring on board.  He’s not as nutty as me, but I’m 
  sure you won’t hold that against him.”
  Degra climbed in the cab and slammed the hovertruck door. 
  “There is another.”
  Jarad laughed. “How’d you get to be a scientist anyway? You 
  pay somebody off?”
  “I beg your pardon…”
  “Come on now, don’t get your panties all bunched up again.” 
  Jarad headed back toward the warehouse. “I was just having 
  some fun. I think you got something here, Degra, old boy. We get 
  enough of these things together and the Khan will have to take 
  notice.”
  The hovertruck followed in silence. Then Degra said. “I will agree 
  to your proposal—with one condition: you watch…”
  “…my language.” Jarad laughed. “It is a deal. Now come on. We 
  got some rehabilitating to do.”
  
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