Dark Age - Patriot's Stand Part 10

"Mixed in with them were two armed buggies and two hoverbikes. They went off to shoot up Falkirk, here." Grace stopped there, letting the mercs examine the situation.

"What was your defense force?" Ben said.

"Three modified MiningMechs and three modified AgroMechs. MODs consisted of extra armor and hunting rifles forged into Gatling guns, field burners and rockets. Also fifty or so infantry with hunting rifles. A few had short-range rockets."

Victoria and Sean stood up, and came around to the side with George and Danny to look at the terrain.

Sean started to say something, but Victoria talked over him. "You set up your ambush at this bend in the road. Probably split your 'Mech MODs two, two and two. Same with your infantry." Victoria stooped to look up the valley from about where Grace's Pirate had stood.

"They spotted you way back there," she said, pointing to about the place Grace first spotted the raiders.

"He would have deployed against you, one of him against two of you being very good odds. Did any of you get out?"

"I got my entire command out with only a few wounded," Grace said.

The mercs emitted low whistles. "What didn't you tell me?" Victoria asked.

"She forgot to mention the work my diggers did," Chato said, and described his side of the battle.

"Surprises, surprises," the woman said.

"Coyote is a fine trickster."

"Ah, Ben, one after your heart." The albino said nothing. "Still; cannot be done," the woman said, returning to her place and the cooling stew. So did the boy.

"You got somethin' better on your dance card, darlin'?" Danny asked. Victoria said nothing.

"You the folks from Alkalurops?" a woman said from a table well across the room. Grace had noticed her come in by the back door and take a seat. Her hamburger was just arriving as Grace killed the display.

"Yes, we are," Grace admitted.

"I hear you want to hire a training detachment."

"Yes."

The woman, dark haired, with an olive complexion, took a bite of her burger. "Interesting set of tactical problems. Don't see the political forces behind them, though."

"You interested in taking the contract, Betsy?" Ben asked.

"A girl would have to be really crazy or really desperate to take that on. 'Course, I bet some of the kids volunteering for infantry duty might be cute. Let me know if you find anyone, honey. Gracie, isn't it?"

"Grace O'Malley," Grace shot back, feeling ready to throw in her cards and catch the next DropShip for home.

An old man sauntered into the bar, wiping his hands on a blue rag. He ordered a beer, finished with his rag, and when the stein arrived he turned to the full table, saluted them with the suds, then took a long pull. "Now, that's a collection of bad luck if ever I saw one. Back in the days when I had a real job, just the sight of all you hot jockeys would boil my blood."

Danny was out of his seat in a moment. He took Grace by the hand and pulled her across the room.

"Here's a guy you really need to meet. He's the only man I know who can take in three smashed-up 'Mechs and give you back four. Sven, I want you to meet a miner from Alkalurops, presently in the business of adding armor and guns to IndiMechs so they can stand up to BattleMechs."

"Glad to have known you," the man said, ignoring Grace's extended hand. "Let me know when the funeral's gonna be."

"Been in one fight and didn't need any funerals after," Grace said, tired of it all and ready to lose her temper for a full, redheaded run. "Don't plan on needing much from the preacher woman after the next fight, either. Got a guy named Mick who can fine-tune a 'Mech so well, I once took Pirate dancing, not wanting to get tired on my own feet."

"Your Mick that good with his gyros, huh?"

"Did just fine," Jobe tossed in. "Danced better than my number one wife."

"And don't you know, that when that eejit Brady got himself buried in a cave-in, Pirate pulled out three loaded dump cars with their full loads and what had fallen in on top of them. Three loads at once."

"So your Mick knows how to soup up an IndustrialMech engine as well as make a good gyro," the mechanic said slowly.

"And get fifteen percent more from a myomer bundle than the book ever claimed," Grace said, adding to Mick's accomplishments.

"Hmm," was all the old man answered.

A woman in a red bodysuit that left nothing to the imagination came in the back door and joined Betsy.

Kelly took her a salad she had already prepared and a drink.

"Syn, you're late. Missed out on a great discussion of how to get yourself killed helping hicks who don't want to be fleeced by the next raider coming through," said Betsy, her tablemate.

"There an empty slot in the raiders I can bid on?" the other woman asked.

"Thought you might want to help the farmers," Ben said.

"Me! You've obviously mistaken me for someone with time on her hands. I've got a hot date tonight.

Poker. No limit."

"The guy's wife know about this date?" Betsy asked.

"What she don't know can't hurt my tight little b.u.t.t."

"Well, if you're looking for something to do to make up for your wasted youth, you might check in at the port around midnight tonight. There's a DropShip headed for Alkalurops," Ben said.

"You going to be on it?" came from several mouths around the room, including Grace's. All she'd heard so far were nos. When had yes entered the conversation? h.e.l.l, she wasn't sure she wanted this bunch, anyway. There had to be better available than this crew of unemployed misfits.Yeah, right.

Ben shrugged. "I grow tired of doing the cops' job simply because they fail to do it themselves."

"You see something in that nap?" Danny asked.

"What I saw was my future. Whatyou will live, you must see for yourselves," Ben said, standing up.

"Sven, these good people tried to do what civilians are not expected to do. Their mechanics tried their best with tools never intended for such use. I think it is time that you and I spent some time in a junkyard.

You know a place with what they might need?"

"Ally's Goods and Not So Good?" Sven said.

"I fear that Grace's financial limitations will require us to spend most of our time among the not so good."

"Can't think of a better place to be." Sven grinned, then downed his drink.

"You guys going shopping?" Grace said, nailing down proof that this was a serious, for-real deal. She glanced at Chato and Jobe. They were grinning from ear to ear. So was she.

"Yes. I hope your smart card has plenty of room on it. I suspect my good friend Sven and a few MechWarriors may have some ideas about how they want to customize their 'Mech MODs."

Grace tapped her 'puter. "What's Abe Goldman's number?" Niki rattled it off before the Net answered.

Grace called him. "Mr. Goldman, some newfound friends would like to spend some of the money you haven't found for us for our gems and jewelry."

"Oh, dear," the man said. "This could be a problem. Where do they want to spend that money?"

"A place called Ally's Goods and Not So Good," she said.

"Ally Portencallens!"

"The selfsame gentleman we have in mind," Ben said.

"I will be there by the time you are," Abe promised. "I can't think of a better man I'd love to help cheat himself," he said, sounding very much like a man who had been offered a spare berth on the Olympic Haggling Squad.

6.

Galaport, Galatea Prefecture VIII, The Republic of the Sphere 29 May 3134; local summer.

The yard of Ally's Goods stretched over an entire block-a big one. A towering hangar with several bays ended with a gla.s.s-enclosed showroom displaying two nearly new BattleMechs. In the lot around it stood several used models showing wear and tear, or even major battle damage. A dinged 'Mech with a newly painted arm was pretty clear evidence that one had recently been ripped off. Several IndustrialMech MODs were also on display.

Sven took them to a human-sized side door. "Got some folks interested in your yard out back," he told a mechanic working in a 'Mech's c.o.c.kpit.

"You know where everything's at," the mechanic shouted, waving them through. "You put most of it there."

"Out back" stretched wrecks as far as the eye could see.

"I've heard there's a nearly complete Mackie somewhere back there," Danny said. "You ever seen it, Sven?"

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't-but it's not that antique we're after. Let's see how good you 'Mech sissies are at walking."

"Ah, such disrespect from the likes of grease monkeys," Danny responded.

"No 'Mech, no MechWarrior," Sven said, and took off at a pace Grace would not have expected from an old man. They walked down dirt paths with 'Mechs hulking over them on either side, some looking ready to walk out, others barely able to stand up. Many were already being parted out; right arms for a.s.sorted 'Mechs were piled next to a larger stack of left arms.

"I found what I want," Danny announced.

"And what might that be?" Victoria asked.

"Here's anAtlas with a kilt."

"A kilt?" The normally perfectly controlled woman almost missed her step. Grace turned to find Danny eyeing what looked like a complete, if greatly scarred,Atlas BattleMech. Towering over them, it offered shade against the sun, but Danny stood well back to get a good look at his heart's desire.

Grace studied the monster. "I don't see a skirt on that thing," she said, making sure to put a smile on her face.

"It's there, sorrowfully just painted on," the ex-Highlander said. Now Grace spotted a faded tartan among the rust marks and slashes from a line of slugs across the midriff.

"Now, I ask you, how could such a good 'Mech, with an obviously bloodthirsty pilot at its helm, ever end up in a place like this, I ask you," Danny said, shaking his head.

Victoria sighed. "The pilot, no doubt, had tastes and misjudgments similar to our friend's here, and paid the price for them. Mark the lesson, Sean: Intellect is nothing without discipline and control."

"And life is not worth the living if you let Biddy keep you on a leash, boy."

"Ms. Birdwell does know her battles and tactics, sir," Sean said, the first time Grace had heard anyone "sir" Danny O'Bannon. He ignored the honor and continued to gaze at theAtlas as the others followed Sven.

"What are we looking for?" Ben asked the mechanic.

"The lady here can't afford to buy the BattleMechs she needs, but she's got 'Mechs of her own. Well, what we're looking for are the tools to make the 'Mechs she's got into the BattleMechs she needs.

Tools, me boy, tools will do it."

When they found a rusting collection of junk against the back fence, Sven grinned. "Now, there, young woman, are the tools that will turn your worker machines into BattleMechs."

To Grace it looked like a pile of junk metal that ought to be recycled. "I don't see anything," she said diplomatically.

"See that rolling sheet over there?" Sven pointed. Grace saw a large metal box. Beside it were two sets of rollers, one upside down in the dirt. "I bet you thought when your friend Mick welded a double thickness of StrongArm plate to your pet 'Mech that he'd doubled your protection?"

"He said he did," Grace said.

"Sorry to argue with a man who knows his motors," Sven said, "but one plus one does not equal two in the armor business. Two centimeters of plate laid on top of two centimeters of plate is not as strong as four. You need four, or even six centimeters all the way around to distribute the hit, to give you the strength. That pile of junk over there lets me make a solid six-centimeter plate with all the composite layers in the right place. We need that," he said, turning to walk up the back fence. "We'll also need that shaper to form the plate to your frame," he said, pointing at another contraption.

"How many autocannons you got on your planet?" Sven asked.

"I don't know of any," Grace admitted.

"I'm gonna need that and that to forge barrels and machine action," Sven said, pointing, a grin coming over his face like a kid let loose in a toy store. "We'll need to soup up the engines. Mick good at that?"

Grace nodded. "I'll need that carbon extrusion plant over there," he pointed. "Adding all that weight to your IndiMechs means we'll be needing to reinforce the frames."

"Is there anything here for making rockets?" Grace asked.

Sven laughed. "You did homemade ones, right? They go corks.c.r.e.w.i.n.g off in all directions?" Grace nodded. "An autoclave is what you want. There's a beat-up one down the other end. You said you used a Gatling gun. Six barrels. How'd you hold 'em together?" Grace described steel bands to hold the barrels to a central core and carbon blocks to hold the barrels in place.

"Did it stay sighted in?"

"No. I had to fire a few slow rounds each time to work the gun into the target," Grace admitted.