TEXT: BATTLECORPS
  OLD LEGENDS 
  NEVER DIE
  Louisa M. Swann
  
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  Lost Tavern 
  On the edge of Silas’s Outpost 
  Novo Tressida 
  Magistracy of Canopus 
  The Periphery 
  5 April 3064
  The man wore his years like a burlesque dancer wears her boa—
  with panache. The set of his broad shoulders and the upward tilt 
  of his chin let me know power lurked beneath the plain leather 
  vest and recycled military trousers, despite the white mane and 
  shaggy white eyebrows. An equally white flavor-savor mustache 
  topped off the ensemble.
  One look from those piercing cat eyes would set most men back 
  in their seats without so much as a word.
  But I wasn’t a man and I wasn’t intimidated. 
  I polished an invisible speck from the goblet in my hand. “So, 
  Captain. What brings a merc like you to a lonely bar like this?”
  The man reeked of trouble—a concoction of Adventure cologne 
  and early morning sweat with a little desert dust thrown in for 
  good measure.
  “Your mother,” Fortran Merrick said. He eased a leg over the 
  nearest stool and blew out an explosive breath, his face turning a 
  nice radish red. “The woman has me planting desert begonias.”
  I polished another speck and grimaced. I’d been experiencing 
  similar torture for going on two months now. “That’s my mom—
  Rachel “Show-No-Mercy” Bell, mistress of creative torture.”
  For years I’d tried to figure out why I loved the woman—Mom 
  and I got along about as well as grease and water. Maybe it was 
  her sparkling green eyes, full of life and ready to dabble in deadly 
  mischief. Maybe it was the simple fact she gave up her pirating 
  and cradled my developing body in her own for nine agonizing 
  months before turning me loose on the universe.
  Or maybe I was still just trying to win her approval. 
  Whatever the reason, when Mom called, I came running. 
  
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  That’s why I’d agreed to take a break from my lucrative smug-
  gling business. Work the tavern while she took a little R & R after 
  snapping her right arm in three places.  Bouncing disagreeable 
  customers tended to have a down side, though Mom didn’t really 
  want to admit it.
  But the woman was healed now. Time she got back to work tend-
  ing her own bar. 
  “Next thing you know,” Merrick said as he stretched his back 
  with a long, self-pitying groan, “she’s gonna have me decorating 
  the outside of this place.”
  The Lost Tavern was almost as eccentric as its owner. Set into 
  the base of a ten-kilometer plateau, draped with snakeweed and 
  barberry vines, the building’s metal sides bore the years a little 
  less well than Fortran Merrick did. And Rachel Bell was trying to 
  mold both.
  I actually felt a bit sorry for the man. “She has a knack for smack-
  ing someone over the head and making them like it, you know 
  that.”
  “I’m learning.” He glanced at the road-weary customer nursing a 
  drink at the far end of the bar. “Busy, huh?”
  “Swamped.” How the hell a man like Merrick ended up in the 
  middle of miles of desert and high plateaus, both spotted with 
  devil’s fork cactus, deadly dune brush thorns, and various not-so-
  friendly local creatures was a story I really wanted to hear and 
  probably never would.
  It also was the reason I couldn’t quite bring myself to trust the 
  man—or believe my mother was actually thinking of making their 
  relationship permanent.
  The problem wasn’t Mom remarrying; after all, my father died 
  close to ten years ago. No. What I couldn’t figure out was why 
  Rachel Bell—a woman who made a high speed chase through an 
  asteroid field seem like walk in the park—would settle for a man 
  who’d get down on his knees and plant begonias?
  Silas Bell would have walked into the fiery brimstone of Hell be-
  fore he’d done such a thing. But then my father had been a manic, 
  blood-sucking pirate whose sole purpose in life was to enjoy him-
  self at the expense of others. 
  Nobody told Silas Bell what to do, not even my mother. 
  
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  The door slammed open and searing desert wind blasted through, 
  leaving behind a tumble of dried stinkweed, dirt, and three very 
  undistinguished patrons.
  “You boys can have a seat anywhere you like.” I set the goblet 
  I’d been polishing into oblivion carefully among the other glasses 
  beneath the bar counter. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
  Merrick ran a calloused palm over his face. “I’ll have my usual.”
  I kept my eyes on the newcomers as they wandered into the main 
  room. I didn’t really have a bartender’s patience, but I’d promised 
  Mom I’d try. 
  “You gotta perty place here,” the taller of the three said. I scanned 
  the heavy weaponry hanging at his side. The other two were just 
  as well armed.
  “I’ll tell my mother how much you appreciate the ambiance.”
  The inside of the Lost Tavern had just as much character as the 
  outside: bulkhead-style walls hung with decorative tapestries 
  handwoven by the local Omniss, gentle multi-hued clothes draped 
  over tables bolted to a plated floor. Hand-carved Omniss chairs 
  waited patiently at each, the guileless forms managing to blend 
  wood and metal with a grace only my mother could achieve.
  She was not going to be happy if these offworlders decided to 
  play rough.
  A quick search of the refrigeration unit turned up Merrick’s 
  beverage of choice. I pulled off the cap, slid the chilled bottle of 
  Centurian Bubble-Up into Merrick’s waiting hand. Not a real manly 
  drink, but my mother’s rules on drinking were rather unbreakable.
  The big guy at the far end of the bar didn’t know any of that. His 
  derisive snort made Merrick and I both turn his way.
  “Easy does it,” I said under my breath. The look on Merrick’s face 
  was about as readable as a dune rat’s sneer.
  Pulling a towel from the sink, I worked my way down the bar, 
  meticulously wiping every speck of dirt from the intriguing in-
  lay of aeroship parts and ironwood found only in the deserts on 
  Milligan’s World. The design was my mother’s, the handiwork that 
  of an eighty-year old Omniss woodworker.
  “Is there anything else I can get you?” I asked, taking a final 
  swipe where the man’s hand had just been resting. Only one 
  
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  more day, I reminded myself. After this shift I’d be back in space 
  where I belonged and my mother would deal with these idiots. 
  Her arm had a limited range of motion, but she was once again 
  capable of dishing out a tongue-lashing that could send grown 
  men into hiding.
  I studied the offworlder while I waited for his order. The big 
  man’s face had the same timeless aura as Merrick’s, but there the 
  resemblance ended. Dark skin that looked like it had been tanned 
  and cured in the desert sun. Hair and eyes to match. By the amount 
  of alcohol he’d already consumed, it was more than likely he’d 
  preserved every cell in his body. Dump this guy in the ground and 
  he’d probably still be staring at you when all the other corpses had 
  gone their natural way.
  Without saying a word he reached down, dug something from 
  his boot, and laid it on the counter.
  Merrick’s shoulders stiffened.
  I’d been chewed up and spit out by worse things than a wise-
  ass merc, though. Without missing a beat, I took the still wiggling 
  sand roach between forefinger and thumb and squeezed until it 
  stopped squirming.
  “I tolerate a lot of things in here.” I tossed the roach into a trash 
  receptacle tucked beneath the counter, spread both hands on the 
  bar, and drilled the man with a hard gaze. “The one thing I don’t 
  tolerate is troublemakers. You want trouble, you take your boys 
  and go on down the road.”
  That caught the offworlder by surprise. “How’d you know they 
  were with me?”
  “It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?  You all smell like you’ve been mak-
  ing love to a Draconian skunk.”
  The room exploded in a riot of guffaws and deep belly chuckles. 
  Everyone laughed except the man I locked gazes with. His eyes 
  were sharp, in spite of his sour alcoholic breath. I returned his look, 
  stare for stare, until he finally slapped the counter and grinned. 
  “You got my number, don’t you, sweetheart. Name’s Connie Clark, 
  and I guess there is a little something else you can do for me.”
  Sweetheart. I’d decked men twice my size for taking such lib-
  erties. But I kept my face expressionless while Merrick sipped 
  his Bubble-Up. Might as well find out what the idiots were after. 
  Information was, after all, one of the benefits of working in a bar. 
  
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  You never knew what kind of tidbits you’d pick up. Tidbits a girl 
  could capitalize on—in a business kinda way, of course.
  “The Nova Hunter,” Clark said, carefully watching my face. “Tell 
  me about her.”
  I groaned and went back to polishing glasses as a chuckle crept 
  out of Merrick’s beard. Treasure hunters. Worse than a band of 
  out-of-work thugs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
  “That’s not what I hear. I hear you know the real story behind the 
  Nova, not the story every treasure hunter and scavenger knows. 
  Sort of an insider’s point of view,” Clark said. “Why don’t you give 
  me another shot of that cleaner you call whiskey?”
  Cleaner. Right. I’d heard rotgut called a lot of things in my 
  time—from the ubiquitous liquor to alcohol to moonshine and 
  whiskey—but I’d never heard it described as “cleaner.” Some of 
  the stuff I’d consumed during my travels would probably qualify, 
  come to think of it.
  “I think you’ve had enough.” Chairs scraped as the group in the 
  main room stood up. Maybe it was time to stop polishing glasses 
  and start cleaning up the floor–with smart-mouthed customers.
  Merrick rose to his feet.
  I held out my right hand and he settled back on the edge of his 
  stool with a frown. My left hand eased around the cool butt of the 
  shotgun mounted just under the left of the counter. “I hope you 
  didn’t pay for that information. Everyone and their brother knows 
  my father shipped out on the Nova Hunter. Doesn’t mean he had 
  anything to do with her disappearance.”
  A situation that had plagued our lives ever since,  especially 
  since my father had up and disappeared into the  unexplored area 
  of space nicknamed the Pirate’s Belt not long afterward.
  I grinned at Merrick. “Next thing you know he’ll be claiming I 
  know how to find the Paymon’s Staff!”
  Merrick’s lips thinned in amusement, but he didn’t pick up on 
  the cue. The old fart just sipped his Bubble-Up without saying a 
  word. 
  “I’d considered that possibility,” Clark said after giving Merrick 
  the once over. “Could be the same man planned both hijackings. 
  Both had to be planned by somebody on the inside.”
  
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  “Sounds like a bunch of hooey to me,” Merrick finally said. He 
  downed the rest of his Bubble-Up in one gulp. “The Paymon’s 
  Staff is just an old man’s pipe dream. But I was on the Nova. They 
  did a head count after the hijacking, dead bodies and all. No one 
  turned up missing. If there’d been someone on the inside, they 
  would have disappeared with the ship.”
  “Besides, you can’t just stick a DropShip in your pocket and walk 
  away,” I said, wondering at Merrick’s reticence. Hell, he loved talk-
  ing about the Nova Hunter, especially the story of how my father 
  threw himself in front of the captain and saved the man’s life dur-
  ing the hijacking.
  What Merrick didn’t know—what no one knew except a handful 
  of men and most of them were dead—was that Silas Bell had tried 
  to stop the hijacking and had gotten a bullet in the brain to show 
  for it.
  Bullet in the brain would’ve killed most normal men, but my fa-
  ther had abandoned all claims to normalcy years ago. He floated 
  around space in an escape pod until rescue crews found him. Then 
  they bagged and tagged his “body” and stuck him in line for burial 
  along with the rest of Nova’s crew. 
  How my father escaped from that particular constipation was a 
  story he never told. Said it was good to keep folks guessing about 
  the real mysteries of life. 
  I’d finally stopped guessing when I turned sixteen. By then I 
  figured he’d simply done what he always did: paid someone off. 
  Either that or he’d killed them. 
  Shortly after the Nova incident, he hooked up with the woman 
  who was to become his first mate and his wife—Rachel Murdock. 
  Together they proceeded to plunder, rape, and murder in the man-
  ner of true pirates while that bullet slowly ate away at his health 
  and sanity.  He wouldn’t let anyone touch him. Said he didn’t want 
  to end up like a rotten turnip just because some idiot couldn’t keep 
  their hand steady. So he lived with the pain and Mom and I lived 
  with a raging lunatic.
  Until he finally took matters into his own hands and blew the of-
  fending missile away along with half of his head. 
  “You gonna polish a hole clean through that bar you keep rub-
  bing at it like that.” 
  
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  I glanced up to find both men staring at me, eyebrows raised. 
  “Just seeing if you were awake,” I said with a shrug. I started pull-
  ing trays from a low wall cupboard. Rush hour was coming up and 
  Mom would be here any minute with the fancy little snacks she 
  liked to prepare. Little finger sandwiches, some kind of liver paste, 
  probably some of those birds indigenous to Milligan’s World—the 
  ones so tiny you didn’t even have to pull out the bones—stuffed 
  with mushrooms and Mom’s “secret” ingredients. Just thinking 
  about it was enough to make my stomach growl.
  “Looks like I threw good money after bad information.” Connie 
  Clark slapped some change on the counter and raised his glass. 
  “Here’s to old legends. May they never die.”
  Sand crickets sang a dirge to the stars as I stepped outside and 
  locked the Lost Tavern’s massive door. Milligan’s World sat on the 
  edge of nowhere without even a moon to call its own. But the 
  night’s darkness came with a certain amount of freedom. Take 
  away sight and the other senses become more acute.
  One of the reasons Mom and I couldn’t see eye to eye was be-
  cause I refused to follow in my father’s footsteps. “If you’re going 
  to run his business,” Mom said, hands on ample hips, “you do it 
  the way your father did. Otherwise, you might as well let the real 
  men take over.”
  Fat chance. Silas Bell and I had one thing in common—I didn’t 
  let anyone tell me what to do either, at least not as far as business 
  went. I took over the Fortress-class DropShip, spent time, guts, 
  and money, and put together the best crew inside or outside the 
  Inner Sphere. 
  And tonight I was going back to that crew. Nothing left for me to 
  do here except give Mom a hug good-bye.
  While it was a straight shot down the road to my mother’s house, 
  I preferred the off-road route. The pistol on my belt thumped gen-
  tly against my hip as I jogged through cactus and dodged barberry 
  vines. The exercise kept my senses honed and reactions quick. 
  Punishment for failure was swift: stinging cactus spines and steely 
  barberry thorns leave an immediate impression.
  
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  A single glow illuminated the desert as I approached the edge of 
  town. I knew the source; I didn’t know the why.
  I shivered in spite of the night’s warmth. There could be a good 
  reason why the light still shone in my mother’s house, but none of 
  the reasons that came to mind had a positive image.
  Death had been a part of my life almost from the time I could 
  walk. I didn’t fear death. I respected it. And with that respect came 
  an ability to sense the dark predator’s approach. Tonight death 
  hung around my mother’s house like a funeral pall, its whispers 
  weaving in and out of the cricket song without bothering to har-
  monize.
  The crickets stopped singing.
  Adrenalin sharpened my perceptions to a painful edge as I pulled 
  my pistol free. A pebble crunched and I dropped into a crouch 
  before I realized I was hearing my own footsteps. The scent of 
  fresh-turned earth and Merrick’s begonias mingled with a metallic 
  odor. An odor I didn’t want to identify.
  Keeping my breathing slow, I eased up next to the kitchen win-
  dow and peeked inside.
  Except for shadows cast by the light in the other room, the kitch-
  en appeared empty.
  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end with that creepy, 
  crawly being-watched sensation. I dropped back into a crouch and 
  spun so my back brushed the wall. The putrid stench of rotting 
  flesh and dirty wet robes assaulted my nose at the same time I 
  spotted two pairs of red eyes off to my right.
  Wild jacotes. The nastiest scavengers this side of the Belt.
  I snatched a stone from the ground and hurled it at the smelly 
  beasts.
  The eyes disappeared.
  They’d be back, but hopefully not until I’d found out what was 
  going on inside my mother’s house.
  Keeping my movements slow and silent as the night itself, I 
  turned the knob and opened the kitchen door.
  
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  The first thing I recognized was the smell. Blood had been spilled 
  here. Lots of blood.
  No wonder the jacotes had been so adventurous.
  I quelled the urge to run headlong through the house like a child 
  seeking solace. My stomach tightened in a nauseated knot as I 
  forced myself to go slowly until my eyes adjusted to the light. A 
  deep breath brought calm to my body. One more breath and I was 
  no longer the caring daughter, but a trained professional.
  The door whispered shut behind me. I left it unlatched, a precau-
  tion learned on my first excursion with my father. “In this business 
  you never know when you’ll need to make a fast getaway,” Silas 
  Bell used to say with a wink. “Always make sure you leave a clean 
  escape route. It could save your life one day.” 
  Moving quieter than a desert mouse, I crept through the kitchen 
  and paused at the archway into the main living area.
  My mother had to be the neatest person in the galaxy. I’d never 
  known a person who could collect as much “stuff” as she did and 
  never have a mess in her house. Every square centimeter of the 
  tiny cottage was put to work supporting shelves or paintings or 
  providing backdrop for exotic furniture.
  She would never leave a spilled wine glass on the floor.
  Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. 
  I inched my way toward the sofa, stopped at the sight of my 
  mother sprawled on her stomach next to a broken statue. She 
  looked smaller somehow. 
  Frail. A word I would have never connected with Rachel Bell. 
  Aside from her silver hair being a little on the mussed side, how-
  ever, I couldn’t see any signs of violence. Not from this angle. 
  Hope fluttered helpless wings deep inside my breast; at the 
  same time my stomach roiled with nausea. She didn’t look hurt, 
  but instinct told me the woman who’d seemed unbreakable was 
  as shattered as the statue beside her.
  “Rachel?  Mom?”
  
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  Quickly, I knelt among jagged ceramic shards and felt for a pulse 
  I knew wouldn’t be there. A gut punch would’ve been easier to 
  take than realizing my suspicions had been right on the money.
  I lifted my mother’s limp shoulder and rolled her toward me.
  That’s when I saw the blood I’d smelled a few moments before. 
  A sticky pond, reaching from the gaping wound on her neck deep 
  into the shadows beneath the sofa, painted the floor rust red. 
  My professional facade splintered. 
  For what seemed an eternity I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, 
  couldn’t even feel the pistol in my hand. 
  The sound of labored breathing penetrated my stupor. Hair 
  crawled on the back of my neck. I stepped to the end of the couch, 
  pistol at the ready, and found Merrick crumpled against the paneled 
  wall. His pulse beat strong, but he was out for the proverbial count.
  I went through the rest of the house, puzzled to find the place 
  hadn’t even been ransacked. Nothing was missing as far as I could 
  tell. Except for the mess in the living room, the house looked com-
  pletely normal.
  What the hell was going on?
  The radio on my hip buzzed just as I popped into the bathroom 
  for a look-see. The sound and sudden appearance of another per-
  son almost had me shooting out my mother’s bathroom mirror. 
  Seven years bad luck was definitely not what I needed right now.
  I climbed back into my skin and shut off the buzzer with a muf-
  fled curse before finishing my sweep of the bathroom.
  All clear.
  On my way back to Merrick I slid my pistol back into its holster, 
  snatched the radio from my belt. “This is Bell.”
  “’Bout time you answered your squawker. Where you been?”
  “I’ve been busy, Flapjack. What’s up?” I squatted beside Merrick. 
  Searched his head for wounds.
  “Thought you wanted a ride, Captain.”
  “Hang on a minute, Buck.” I clipped the radio back on my belt as 
  Merrick moaned. In one smooth motion I hunkered back on my 
  heels, pulled my pistol, watched the man’s eyelids flutter open. 
  
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  Merrick seemed to have trouble focusing. He stared at the pistol. 
  At me. “What’s going on?”
  “I was hoping you could tell me.” I stood and moved aside, giving 
  him a spectator’s view of the living room. The big man glanced at 
  my mother and his already gray skin went ghastly pale. “Rachel?”
  “She’s dead.” The pain hit again, hard and fast, threatening to 
  tear me apart from the inside out. I clenched my teeth until my 
  jaw ached.
  Merrick collapsed against the wall, stunned. He rubbed a hand 
  over his face. “She was just sitting here, reviewing the bar records. 
  I was in the bathroom. Thought I heard a noise. Came out here to 
  check and something crashed into my head...”
  I swallowed hard against the lump that seemed determined to 
  choke off whatever oxygen managed to survive the violence in 
  this room. The caring daughter didn’t want to stay locked away. 
  She wanted to scream and rage and break down like a young 
  girl whose doll just got stomped on by an older brother playing 
  ’Mech. 
  But the daughter’s way wouldn’t solve anything right now.
  The Omniss would take care of my mother. She’d been friends 
  with Elders and children alike. They’d give her a proper burial, 
  probably more proper than I could ever manage.
  What I had to decide was what to do with this guy.
  “Clark did this. Him and his thugs. I caught a glimpse of them 
  before I went down.” 
  My caution meter soared. “Caught a glimpse when he whacked 
  you from behind?”
  My mother had trusted Merrick, but then she had him wrapped 
  around her finger like a love-starved python.
  And look where that got her. 
  Technically, Merrick hadn’t killed Rachel Bell, but he hadn’t saved 
  her either.
  “I’m going after the bastard.” Merrick struggled to his feet. Blood 
  trickled down his forehead and into his white beard. I stared at the 
  red tracks. The blood was real, that much I could tell. It was the 
  rest of his story I didn’t quite believe.
  
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  I reached out a hand as Merrick swayed. “You’re not in condition 
  to go anywhere except the nearest Omniss medcenter.”
  “Look. Clark wants the Nova Hunter,” Merrick insisted. “I know 
  more about the Hunter than any man alive. Let’s set up a trap...”
  Had to hand it to him. The old man was persistent. 
  But it wasn’t his persistence that had my attention. It was the 
  blood-red wine trembling in the glass remaining on the end ta-
  ble. I stared at the glass as the wine quivered again in a way only 
  earthquakes or traveling BattleMechs could create.
  The only ’Mechs I knew of on this planet were stationed at the 
  garrison and they weren’t likely to be out at this time of night.
  “Did Clark say anything about bringing along ’Mechs?” 
  Merrick shrugged, a gesture I wasn’t sure how to interpret. 
  I studied the quivering wine, the apprehension in my gut solidi-
  fying into certainty. Clark or no Clark, trouble was on the road 
  tonight. ’Mech-size trouble.
  Grief clawed deep inside my chest as I pulled Merrick away from 
  my mother’s body. The time for helping her was past. Time to re-
  group and move on.
  “Yo, Buck,” I said into the radio. “Keep an eye out. ’Mechs are 
  dancing tonight and it looks like we’re hosting the party. We’ll 
  meet you at the halfway point.”
  “We?”
  “I’ll explain later.”
  “Ten four, Jussy. I’m already on my way.”
  Buck Jackson was the only one who could call me Jussy and 
  live. He’d joined the crew over nine years ago, during my “prov-
  ing” time, then became first officer two years after signing on. I 
  almost considered trusting the guy. Not enough to leave him with 
  the coordinates for our next rendezvous while I wasn’t on board 
  ship or with traveling money. Just almost.
  I turned to Merrick. The best way to know what an enemy or pro-
  spective enemy was up to was to keep him or her close at hand. 
  “Do you think you can walk or am I going to have to carry you?”
  
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  Merrick gave me a lopsided grin. “I’ve taken worse hits than this. 
  Lead on.”
  The silence outside spoke louder than the trembling ground. 
  Even the crickets knew trouble was brewing in their territory. I 
  sniffed the air, searching for signs the jacotes were still near, but 
  could only smell Merrick’s sour sweat. The man didn’t do half bad 
  following me through the dark night. I touched the butt of my pis-
  tol, wondering again if he was as injured as he appeared to be.
  I shook off the suspicions. Too many years spent watching my 
  back. Merrick had never done anything to warrant my distrust— 
  except plant desert begonias. I’d have to keep that in mind.
  The scent of crushed sage stung my nose at the same time I 
  heard the peculiar thrum that could come only from a hovertruck. 
  I put a hand on Merrick’s arm. “Hold on.”
  “Justin?” Buck’s familiar whisper washed over me like a warm 
  shower.
  “Here.” I tugged Merrick toward the road. Buck met us partway, 
  though I wasn’t quite sure how he managed to find us.
  “You two sound like a couple of mud buffaloes,” Buck said as 
  he took Merrick’s arm. “Looks like those ’Mechs decided to take a 
  short cut. I saw them head off through the desert on a bee line for 
  our little gal. She’s hanging out ground-side waiting for our arrival. 
  They must’ve picked her up on their sensors. Lars and Peg were 
  suiting up when I left. They’re probably having a good time right 
  about now.”
  Good to know the bad guys no longer had the element of sur-
  prise on their side, though I didn’t feel so good about being this 
  far from the action.
  We piled into the cab. Buck rammed the accelerator to the floor 
  and the hovertruck leaped forward. We flew past the bar, head-
  lights out. Buck swerved to the left, coaxing the transport off the 
  road with a dust-raising hiss.
  Dust and diesel fumes filled the cab. Merrick’s head lolled against 
  the back of the seat. His color didn’t look so good, at least what I 
  could see of it from the dashboard lights. He sagged in the seat 
  like a sack of limp oatmeal. 
  The truck bucked over a low rise, launching us toward the ceiling, 
  and filling the cab with more dust. Merrick moaned.
  
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  Buck shot a glance my direction. “So, you have a nice vacation?”
  “Mom’s dead.” My voice cracked in spite of my struggle to keep 
  it devoid of emotion. A hard lump lodged in my throat somewhere 
  between a swallow and a choke. The engine’s rumble seemed to 
  grow in volume. 
  “I’m sorry,” Buck said after a moment. He reached over and put 
  a warm hand on my shoulder. “You want to tell me what hap-
  pened?”
  In short, terse sentences I related everything from the moment of 
  Clark’s arrival at the bar until the discovery of my mother’s murder.
  “So, they think they found the Nova Hunter,” Buck said. 
  It could have been either question or statement; I chose the lat-
  ter and didn’t answer. After a moment Buck eased the transport to 
  a stop and pointed at a wild display of red laser light playing off 
  the plateau escarpment. Searing beams interspersed with blue 
  flicks of artificial lightning revealed the battle scene ahead with 
  strobe-like intensity.
  “Looks like you’ll get your shot at revenge,” Buck said.
  The desert below the escarpment had been transformed into a 
  deadly playground. Ahead, the Fortress’s domed light illuminat-
  ed the desert around her base. Guns blazed as she struck out at 
  the attacking ’Mechs. From this distance it looked like a bunch of 
  Canopian chihuahuas nipping at a Terran bull.
  I recognized our two ’Mechs: Peg’s SDR-9K Venom and Lars’ 
  FS9-C Firestarter. There were five other ’Mechs that weren’t on 
  our team, including one gut-sucking AWS-9Q Awesome.
  I’d never been much of a spectator; no reason to start now. 
  Especially when my DropShip was the game prize. There was a 
  whole desert out there to maneuver in. The trick would be to get 
  in close without being blasted to bits. Then it was a simple matter 
  of anticipating the enemy’s movements, finding the right opening, 
  scooting through before a big, bad ’Mech stomped on us, and we 
  were home free.
  No sweat.
  I eyeballed the distance over the torn clumps of sage and jagged 
  blast pits. 
  “How far?” I asked Buck.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Old Legends Never Die • Page 16
  “About ten klicks.” 
  There was only one way to do this. I looked at Buck. “Trade plac-
  es with me.”
  Battle sounds faded as our gazes locked. For a moment it seemed 
  Buck would challenge my decision to drive. 
  “We both know I can handle this thing in my sleep,” Buck said. I 
  gave a quick nod. Buck’s driving wasn’t the issue here. This was 
  about being in control. If we were going to drive down the road 
  of death, I wanted to be at the helm. It was my right as captain of 
  this crew. 
  A right I would not relinquish.
  Buck shoved open the driver’s door and grinned. “Let’s do it 
  then.”
  I scooted into the warm spot Buck left behind and picked up the 
  radio mike. “This is Bell. Prepare to drop the loading ramp on my 
  mark.”
  “Keep your eyes open,” I said as Buck climbed in the passenger’s 
  side. “This is gonna be one helluva ride.”
  As long as the attacking ’Mechs had their attention focused else-
  where the transport stood a chance. We’d come in on their blind 
  side and stay as inconspicuous as possible. Once they got a fix on 
  us though, we were ’Mechball fodder.
  The hovertruck shot forward, an arrogant mouse among a horde 
  of marauding cats. My stomach dropped somewhere down around 
  my toes as I tried to keep an eye on the action and keep our hides 
  intact at the same time. I hugged the base of the escarpment, tak-
  ing advantage of whatever measly cover remained, while Clark’s 
  crew slammed salvo after salvo into our pathetic forces. 
  Lasers ripped into Peg’s Venom, sending shrapnel skittering off 
  into the night as her ’Mech’s left arm careened off into the dark-
  ness.
  The Awesome’s barrels glowed, gearing up for a PPC burst. The 
  transport slipped sideways as I dodged a laser pulse and goosed 
  the accelerator.
  “Get the hell out of there, Peg,” I shouted at the window as the 
  Awesome fired its deadly lightning. What was she doing?  The 
  Venom could dance circles around that sluggish Awesome...
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Old Legends Never Die • Page 17
  Frustration ignited in my 
  chest at the same time the 
  lightning swept across Peg’s 
  armor, found the weak spot on 
  the right side of the Venom’s 
  torso, and penetrated the light-
  ly shielded engine.
  The sky lit up with another 
  explosion. ’Mech parts rained 
  down around us, the shrapnel 
  pinging on the roof with a hol-
  low clang. I peered through 
  the smoke and debris, seeking 
  sight of the Venom.
  The ’Mech was gone.
  I chewed my lip and dodged another misguided missile. Including 
  my Vindicator and Buck’s Tarantula, we had enough firepower to 
  join the party, but delaying our departure increased the chance of 
  a takeover. 
  “’Mechs who run and hide away, get revenge another day,” I 
  muttered. Another one of my father’s illustrious sayings. One that 
  left a bad taste in my mouth. But there were other things in life 
  besides taste. 
  It only took a blink to see the bad guys had decided to pick on 
  Lars. They seemed to be leaving the DropShip pretty much alone 
  in spite of the fact she was spewing a good amount of firepower 
  their way. 
  There was a good-size gap opening up to the right of the DropShip. 
  Just enough room for a hovertruck to scoot through.
  If the truck was fast.
  I gritted my teeth and banked toward the Fortress. “Have Lars 
  follow us in.”
  Forward Acceleration slammed us back in our seats as I acceler-
  ated on a bee line toward the DropShip. What we were doing was 
  pure suicide, but what the hell?  We had three things going for us: 
  the element of surprise, my excellent driving skill, and balls the size 
  of a DropShip.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Old Legends Never Die • Page 18
  Buck muttered something about sitting ducks as the hovertruck 
  fishtailed. I grinned. 
  After all, what is life without a little challenge? 
  But the Awesome must’ve been reading my mind. Sand erupted 
  in front of the transport’s right fender.
  “Keep your tongue outta your teeth and hang on.” I dodged a hail 
  of incoming laser fire. 
  Buck keyed the radio mike. “Hey, Stevadore. It’s time to rock and 
  roll.”
  The Fortress’s lights glared on the windshield. We were going to 
  make it. 
  “Looks like we’ve got company.” Buck pointed to the right. The 
  Awesome was headed toward the DropShip on an intercept course. 
  It wouldn’t do to have an enemy ’Mech leap aboard in front of the 
  transport. I eyeballed the distance between the hovertruck, the 
  DropShip and the oncoming ’Mech.
  We still had the advantage. Barely.
  Closer, I told myself. Just a little bit closer. 
  There!
  I jerked my head in a nod, somehow managing to keep ahead of 
  the laser tracking our flank.
  “Deploy the loading ramp,” Buck said into the radio.
  “Ten-four.”
  I held my breath and swerved to avoid a nasty kick the Awesome 
  aimed our way. The ramp inched its way to the ground as the trans-
  port drew closer. For a moment I wondered if maybe I’d made the 
  call too late, but the second before we crashed into the lip of the 
  ramp, it finished its groundward drop.
  “Hang on!” With a teeth-jarring lurch the hovertruck bucked onto 
  the ramp and into the cargo bay.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Old Legends Never Die • Page 19
  I left Merrick in Buck’s capable hands and raced toward the lift. 
  There was one more thing I could do that would clean my mouth 
  and help us get away at the same time. 
  A hard blast shook the ship as I stopped beside the gunnery sta-
  tion. A new man—one Buck had brought on board—sat in the near 
  gunner’s chair. I could just order him to take out the Awesome, but 
  watching someone else acquire the target wasn’t the same as do-
  ing it myself. “Move.”
  The man waited a second too long to relinquish his seat. In less 
  time than it took him to blink, he found himself face to face with 
  the bulkhead. I slid into his seat and took over the control board.
  From what little I’d seen of Clark, I figured he’d have to be pilot-
  ing the Awesome. He was just that kind of guy.
  The screen in front of me showed ’Mechs headed for the hills. 
  Smart guys. Anyone—man or ’Mech—caught in the thruster 
  blast when we took off was dead meat, to put it mildly.
  I rapidly scanned the fleeing targets, found the ’Mech I want-
  ed, punched in the coordinates, and activated the targeting lock. 
  “Looks like you found your treasure, Connie-boy.”
  In less than a heartbeat, the Fortress unleashed her entire reper-
  toire of weaponry. When the dust cleared, nothing remained but a 
  pile of debris too small to even salvage. 
  “That’s for Mom!”
  I hit the comm button. “Get us out of here, Stevie.”
  Thrusters roared and the DropShip trembled with the effort of 
  lifting her not-inconsiderable hulk back into space.
  I gave the gunner back his seat with instructions to do as much 
  damage as he could before we got out of range, then headed down 
  to find out how Merrick was doing.
  Stars exploded like flaming meteorites as something cold and 
  hard slammed into the side of my head when I walked into sick 
  bay. The last thing I remembered on the way into black oblivion 
  was Merrick’s triumphant face.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Old Legends Never Die • Page 20
  “I should kill you now.” 
  The voice echoed inside my head, along with what felt like a bat-
  talion of timpani drums pounding out a death march.
  The surface beneath me was soft, not hard like a floor. An acidic 
  odor stung my nose, letting me know I was still in sick bay. I sat up 
  and almost fell off the treatment table.
  A chuckle assaulted my left ear. I looked over my shoulder into 
  Merrick’s satisfied eyes. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this 
  moment.”
  I couldn’t seem to think clearly. Couldn’t get a handle on what 
  was happening. I glanced at the medic lying still on the next bed. 
  “What the hell is this all about?”
  “Your father,” Merrick said. “And this ship.”
  He stood and strutted around in front of me, thumbs hooked in 
  the waist of his pants. He didn’t sound like a retired military man 
  anymore. Didn’t look like one either. He looked like a man just this 
  side of going nova.
  The room spun circles and my stomach heaved. I needed to get 
  myself focused or life was going to be short. Very, very short. “I 
  thought you were friends...”
  “Friends?” Merrick snorted. “Bell didn’t have any friends. He 
  made that perfectly clear. He confronted me when he found me 
  sabotaging the Nova. Said he was going to tell the captain. But I 
  knew what he was up to. If I didn’t do something, he’d take over 
  the ship himself; leave me behind while he made off with an em-
  peror’s fortune.”
  My mind worked hard to try to catch up. “So you shot him.”
  “I had to. Don’t you see?  But he ruined my plan anyway. The 
  crew I’d hired took off with the Nova and left me behind to take 
  the heat. The charges were dropped—with your father dead, they 
  didn’t have any proof I’d done anything. Then I found out Silas Bell 
  was still alive and I knew I’d been double-crossed.”
  I rubbed my head and tried to stall. “So you were working with 
  Clark.”
  Merrick grimaced. “Just the means to an end that didn’t seem to 
  be happening fast enough. If I’d had to plant one more begonia, I 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Old Legends Never Die • Page 21
  would’ve strangled your mother without getting the information 
  I needed.”
  I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. “You killed her.”
  Merrick sucked on his mustache. “Your mother was too smart for 
  her own good. Clark stopped by, left me a message. Unfortunately, 
  she figured it out before I got home and was waiting, wine in hand, 
  when I arrived. Not a normal thing for your mother, you know. 
  She’d probably laced the wine with devil’s weed or some equally 
  nasty stuff. I pretended to take the bait and...”
  “...sliced her throat,” I finished. Rage washed red through my vi-
  sion as I drove my hands hard at Merrick’s throat. He grabbed my 
  left wrist, twisted hard, and stepped to the side. I dropped to the 
  floor, gasping.
  “I need a few answers before I finish you off,” Merrick said. His 
  voice stayed casual, but I could see the anticipation in his eyes. 
  “Your mother was extremely cooperative—she just didn’t know it. 
  There are ways other than bullying and torture to gather informa-
  tion. You just have to find the method that suits your intended 
  victim. With your mother, I played to her arrogance. She couldn’t 
  resist dropping little hints here and there. I simply put all the bits 
  and pieces together from what I already knew and here we are.”
  He twisted my arm hard. “You will give me the coordinates for 
  hooking up with the JumpShip. Then you will tell me where your 
  father hid all that treasure.”
  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rage still twisted my 
  stomach into knots, but my vision was once again clear. I’d kept 
  the JumpShip coordinates confidential on purpose, to keep my 
  crew from taking off without their captain. Giving Merrick the co-
  ordinates would not only give him the upper hand.
  It would end my life.
  Think, you idiot. Think.
  Merrick dropped my arm in disgust. “The time for obtaining in-
  formation in a pleasurable way is past. The bits and pieces I gather 
  from you, my dear, will be painfully extracted.”
  The hell with all this thinking. It was payback time.
  Merrick had been quite an actor, but I’d learned from a real pro. 
  I started to stand, moaned and fell to the floor. Merrick bent down 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Old Legends Never Die • Page 22
  and grabbed my arm. I slipped a hand around his neck, used my 
  body weight and all the strength I could muster, and slammed the 
  big man’s head into the edge of the bed.
  The room went red, then white as rage obliterated all else but 
  the need to kill the man in front of me. I bent my arm and jabbed 
  downward into the space between neck and head directly below 
  his left ear with a satisfying crack.
  Merrick’s feet slid out from under him and the big man hit the 
  floor. No time to think, to worry about projectile shots puncturing 
  the bulkhead. If I didn’t take care of this creep, he’d take care of 
  me. In less than a heartbeat I pulled my pistol from his belt, cham-
  bered a round, and squeezed the trigger. 
  One of the reasons I dealt on the shady side of the mercantile 
  trade as opposed to filling my father’s pirate boots was the killing. 
  I hated it. But I felt no remorse as I stared at Merrick’s limp body. 
  Maybe I was more my father’s daughter than I wanted to admit.
  The echo hadn’t fully receded before I was on my way to the 
  bridge. I had no idea how long I’d been out or who else Merrick 
  had compromised.
  The floor rumbled, feeding me information as I ran. The ship was 
  changing direction. I grabbed a wall rung, the maneuver threaten-
  ing to buckle my knees. I waited a moment, willing strength back 
  into my legs, then cautiously approached the bridge.
  There was no time to find another weapon, but the pistol was 
  all I really needed. Buck was the only one on board this ship who 
  came close to beating me in a shootout. Not only did I always hit 
  my target; my shots were always dead center.
  Well, almost always. But in situations like this, almost doesn’t 
  count.
  Pistol in hand, I positioned myself to one side as the bridge door 
  hissed open. 
  No shout of alarm, no shots fired.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Old Legends Never Die • Page 23
  I glanced around the edge of the doorway and peered in. 
  Buck’s lanky frame filled the captain’s chair like he belonged 
  there. 
  I clenched my jaw, tightened the grip on my pistol. You’re too 
  damn suspicious, a voice whispered in my mind. I forced myself 
  to relax just slightly, but relaxed wasn’t natural. Not for me. Not 
  for the situation.
  Pasting a grin on my face, I lowered the pistol as if to return it to 
  its holster and stepped onto the bridge.
  “Thanks for filling in,” I said with a nod. “I’ll take over now.”
  The silence grew so thick you could slice it with a butter knife. 
  Hell, even the instruments seemed muted.
  Then Buck smiled. “I don’t think so, Jussy.”
  I stood still. Blake’s blood, how I hated being right. Might as 
  well play the game to its bitter end. “What the hell are you talking 
  about?”
  Buck’s gun was in his hand. And it was pointed at me. A shootout 
  on board a DropShip—not my idea of fun. But I knew I wouldn’t 
  miss, and evidently Buck figured the same thing. Either that or he 
  figured I wouldn’t have the balls to pull the trigger. “It’s over now, 
  Jussy. Put the gun down.”
  One of the ironies of life is how well children repeat the histories 
  of their parents. I’d just killed the man who betrayed my father. 
  Now I was facing a betrayal of my own. Not really that unusual 
  considering the venue.
  Eyes failed to meet mine as I glanced around the room at my 
  “loyal” crew. Smugglers were a cut above pirates in my mind. But 
  I never let myself forget that, pirate or smuggler, both types were 
  motivated by the same driving force: greed. The men watching 
  me would let this scene play out, then declare their loyalty to who-
  ever came out on top.
  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Buck.” The rage I’d felt during the con-
  frontation with Merrick had cooled to an icy calm. I had one chance 
  and I took it.
  Both pistols flashed almost simultaneously. The explosive sound 
  careened off the bulkhead walls, pounding my eardrums. Pain 
  seared through my left shoulder, but I didn’t fall.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Old Legends Never Die • Page 24
  Neither did Buck.
  “I said, that’s my seat.” The stench of burnt sulfur stung my nose 
  and an overwhelming urge to lie down and sleep for a couple of 
  years washed over me. I lifted my chin. Stood my ground.
  Buck gave a lopsided grin as he stared down at the blood oozing 
  through his vest.
  “I guess you’d better take it then.” His body convulsed once. Then 
  he was still.
  I reached the captain’s chair before anyone could think to stop 
  me. Buck’s body hit the floor with a loud thud. I held the pistol at 
  the ready, gazed into the eyes of the crew—my crew. 
  “Anyone else feel a need to try out this chair?”
  No one offered up a challenge. I gave a nod and issued instruc-
  tions to the pilot to take us to the rendezvous point. A JumpShip 
  was waiting to take our DropShip to her next meeting with des-
  tiny.
  Wordlessly two crewmen carried Buck from the bridge. Such a 
  price to pay, I thought. 
  There was no treasure on board this DropShip. Buck knew that. 
  But it probably wasn’t the treasure he was concerned about. He 
  wanted the ship. 
  What he didn’t realize—what none of them realized—was that 
  this DropShip wasn’t the Nova Hunter. If my father had known the 
  Nova’s location, he’d taken the secret with him to his grave, along 
  with the secret of the Paymon’s Staff, another old legend hardly 
  worth the telling.
  For some folks, that is.
  Old legends never die, I thought. They just fade into oblivion.
   
  The End
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/BattleTech [multi]/EXTRA/Novels/Battlecorps Novels/Old Legends Never Die - Louisa M. Swann.pdf