And turn to leave.
“I’ll hunt you down, you know.” Con’s voice is flat and low, the way it was when he first confronted me. Lethal—like a poisonous snake. “When I get my ’Mech...”
“Con!” Lucas’s hand is raised as if to strike his son. He lowers it slowly. Lines drawn heavy by life’s hand deepen on his face, revealing the battle within.
A battle my own father lost.
’Mech against ’Mech. Machine against human. Father against son.
There’s a chance my soul will heal.
But another soul will slowly leach away, minute by inexorable minute, until boy becomes man.
And man becomes machine.
COMMERCE IS ALL
by Steven Mohan, Jr.
Canopian Pleasure Circus Bacchanal
In orbit about Trondheimal, Illyrian
Palatinate
January 5 3033
Captain Douglas Berg stepped into the Hook-Up, the first outer-ring bar on the Canopian Pleasure Circus Bacchanal, and felt his jaw tighten.
The bar’s cheap sound system transformed the pounding music into one long screech punctuated by a back beat so deep that Berg felt its throb in his teeth. The bar was dimly lit except for occasional flashes of blue-white light that left him blinking away bright afterimages. The air was filled with a foul, blue haze and the mingled smells of tobacco and marijuana.
Sweat and desire.
He’d been on less chaotic battlefields.
How’d he let Sully talk him into this?
Thank God the Hook-Up was located in the outer ring where the DropShip’s spin was maximum. After seeing how weird this place was, he had no desire to visit one of the zero-gee places.
He turned to go and felt a strong hand clamp down on his arm. “Not trying to get away, are you?”
Berg turned to see his good friend Lieutenant Jason Sullivan staring at him, a broad grin stretched across his ugly face.
“Who me?” Berg asked innocently.
“C’mon,” said Sully in a slurred voice that told Berg the infantry officer was already well into his cups, “Might as well ‘ave a good time.” He sobered for a moment. “If Little Bob has his way it’ll be your last.”
H. R. “Little Bob” McIntyre was the ruthless dictator of the Circinus Federation, a gang of thieves, cutthroats, and rapists dressed up to look like a real government. The latest intel indicated that the Circinians were mobilizing troops and assembling DropShips. All signs pointed to a Federation invasion of the tiny Illyrian Palatinate.
And if that happened, Berg, Sully, and the rest of the mercenaries in Thor’s Army would be in the middle of the fighting.
But that didn’t mean that everyone in the Periphery had to know about it.
“This is not the place,” Berg hissed.
“You think they don’ know?” said Sully, pointing at the crowd with his glass. “The whole sector knows.”
“All right, stop it,” said Berg sharply, grabbing the other man by the tunic.
“Why do ya’ think the circus is in town,” asked Sully fiercely, “if not to collect our last few coins before the invasion comes?”
Berg slowly let go of his friend. He didn’t have an answer for that. It was rare for the Canopian pleasure ships to range through the Periphery as far coreward of the Magistracy as the Palatinate and here was the Bacchanal hanging in orbit about Trondheimal.
Sully grabbed him around the back of the neck and pulled Berg’s face close to his. “So ‘ave a good time, Dougie.” Then he let go of his friend and stumbled off into the semi-darkness.
Berg glanced around the room and sighed. Little chance of that. He waved for a drink without bothering to tell the ‘tender what he wanted and a glass of something appeared before him. He took a sip. Bad vodka. Good enough.
There was plenty of skin on display here at the Hook-Up, a good time for the asking. Long, platinum hair. Or white-blonde. Or red. Blue eyes, violet eyes, emerald eyes. Heavy breasts barely bound by shimmering silver tops that accented rather than covered.
It was crass. It was obvious.
It was boring.
Berg had promised Sully he would come to the bar and he’d come. He downed his vodka in one quick toss, turned to go.
And saw her.
She was nothing like the other women in the bar. She wore a dress the color of midnight that somehow managed to be sexy and classy at the same time. It hugged the curves of her slim body, which were nice without being overdone. Her skin was the color of rich mocha and set off nicely by gray-green eyes.
Berg tried to swallow and found he couldn’t.
She reached the bar and summoned the ‘tender with a look. He set a drink in front of her that Berg bet wasn’t bad vodka.
He stepped forward and slapped a C-bill down on the bar. “For the lady.”
She frowned. “That’s really not necessary,” she said coolly.
The ‘tender sat down a second drink to match the first.
“But it would be my great pleasure,” Berg said. “Perhaps there’s someplace we could go. And, uh, talk,” he said quickly.
Her gaze flickered to the MechWarrior insignia on his collar and then back to his face. “I don’t think you and I have anything to talk about.”
Berg blinked. He had to be the only man who could strike out in a pleasure circus. “Well, please take the drink anyway,” he said slowly. “I insist.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but a deep voice behind Berg said, “Thank you. I will.”
Berg turned to see a Circinus officer reaching for his drink. The man’s head was shaved except for a brown topknot that hung half-way down his back. The golden skull insignia on his black leather uniform made him a captain, though the indigo battle tattoos covering his face and neck suggested he was an extremely well-traveled
