(ooc: fyi, this is my current "live" story; it is being updated every few days in shorter blocks on another forum, but chapter length compilations of those shorter posts should be posted here every week or so.)

"Damn, man, in town they said you was dead!"

"Yes, pilot, why didn't you check in when..."

An electronic voice says, "Simulation ending." The visor display retracts from my face and...

"BOY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN THERE?!"

"Where's Joe?!"

I look up to see Captain Howard angrily glaring down at me and Marty with a very puzzled look. I'm not completely sure what I've done wrong, but judging from the Captain's face I'm pretty sure it's serious.

"How did you get logged in under Joe's sim ID?" It is not a question, more like a demand, and I rather be shot than invite the wrath due for failing to answer the Captain.

"Joe lets me log in every week when he is out, especially Friday mornings before ten."

"When did you say?" Marty now seems more interested than confused. He and the Captain share a quick look and now look back at me.

Captain Howard queries, "And what do you do when you are in before ten on Fridays? For that matter, how long have you been doing it?"

I look back and forth between the two of them hunched over the sim cockpit and worry that I'm getting Joe into a world of trouble... and wonder what is the right way to answer that will keep me in my job and Joe from restricting me from piloting the simulation at least occasionally. Finally, I just settle for the simple truth, "He lets me run some of his favorite sims and it's been probably six months. Please, Sir, I didn't mean to get him in trouble."

To the Captain, Marty says, "well, if Joe is toast and Paddy here has been doing his qualifying for the last six months, maybe we won't have as much trouble tomorrow."

They both look down at me and I feel really odd.

...

Ok, before I get too far, let me tell you a bit about me. My name is Padraig O'Brian, but most folks call me Paddy. I am the crew chief, mechanic, ammo loader, weapon polisher, mech washer, mud scrubber and occasional vomit cleaner for an old Raven piloted by the sometimes sober Lieutenant Joseph Green. Even though I'm just seventeen, I'm actually getting pretty good at my job here in a little two lance 'Mech merc unit called the Green Zone Riders (don't ask me where that name came from, I just work here).

Now before you get your pants in a knot about my age, I bet I'm the equal of your best mechanic. Around here, even old gray-headed Master Wolte who crews the Colonel's old Dragon accepts me as capable, and he has fought in real wars.

Ok, I gotta admit it's just natural for me. You see, my da is a mechanic. Granda, too. Fixing things is in my blood... sorta. Once I grew big enough to hold a torque wrench, I was invited into the shop. The lads figured out quickly that if they showed me anything once, I caught on and could help... and when I was old enough, just to do it on my own. I always wanted to know what things did and why, by the time I was 13, I pretty much understood the complex systems that made up the heavy farming and transport machinery that modern life seems to depend on. Soon after, da started taking me all over the planet to help with big contracts. I was never the best on our teams, that was da, but I was close and I knew it. When I turned 15, I finally got tired of being in da's shadow and wanted to prove I could do things on my own.

Da listened when I sounded off, but said I was not ready. Even worse, he said I needed time to mature. At the time I thought he was angry and hurt that I didn't want to stay and inherit the business, but now I'm not so sure. Didn't matter, I felt burdened to be there in our shop. I needed change.

I remember that the advert was pretty simple: "Heavy equipment mechanic needed. Great pay and travel opportunities. Need Immediately." I sent what was asked for to the contact number, thinking it was a long shot, but wanting any chance to make my mark... on my own.

Almost before I sent my info, I had their reply. In retrospect, it might have seemed they were a bit too eager... almost desperate... to talk with me. Yeah, I neglected to accurately present my age; an act of omission rather than lying with a false number.

It was Master Chief Wolte who met me in that downtown warehouse near the Spaceport. Face like chiseled granite, I hadn't learned yet to read what he thought, but his questions were direct and he soon had me assemble what looked like a large hydraulic actuator and install it onto what I now know was a Hunchback lower-leg assembly. Testing wiring bundles followed, then diagnosing a simulated problem in what I now know was a myomer bundle. It was not until he asked me to troubleshoot and repair the alignment on a large bore weapon with complicated magnetic coils and capacitors that I began to suspect that this was something more than the average job.

I remember looking at him and asking, "just who would I be working for?"

He laughed and answered, "The Green Zone Riders, a Battlemech Mercenary Corps. Still interested?"

I guess I saw nothing but glory in the very idea, without thinking through the reality of life like this. I was younger and very excited at the chance to do even more than I thought my da could ever do... and I said, "Yes."

In the end, I was offered the job. I wondered that he never even asked my age, but I now think he didn't care. My problem was, they were leaving the next morning and I could not get home in time to talk it over with da. Master Wolte needed an answer then, and I again said, "Yes."

Now I'm on a dropship parked at the edge of a hot spaceport on a dusty little world at the border of the Periphery... I don't even know the stupid planet's name. I work on our least glamorous 'Mech, a RVN-2X. If I understand its history correctly, it was captured by the Federated Suns many years ago from the Capellans and refitted, then after a murky period wound up being added to our stable from the selection of some dealer on Solaris VII. By the time I got to be its caretaker, it had been rebuilt and refitted to the point of battle-worthiness, but not much more. The job of keeping it running has meant a lot of long nights, especially considering the casual and somewhat haphazard approach to piloting that Joe brings to the command chair.

...

"You will be in my office in twenty minutes of I'll have you scrubbingdeck plates until we have a rock I think I can fairly to drop you off on."

"Yes, Sir."

They exchange looks again and the Captain strides off.

"Am I in trouble?" I ask Marty.

He smiles and cryptically answers, "Define 'trouble'."

As he too walks away, I have to wonder...

...

Captain Howard's office is so sparse I might have mistaken it for a school counselor's office back home. It has one desk with a less than comfortable looking chair parked on it's far side. There is a little folding chair that I think I am supposed to sit in, but right now I have a lot more nervous energy than such a frail looking thing could contain. Along one wall are what look like 'Mech schematics, some appear to have been hand drawn, others printed in some kind of relief so they at least appear to have a shallow third dimension. Other than a pair of combat boots in the corner, the whole place has about the same sterile sense that fills the nurse's office at the other end of the deck.

Waiting in the relative still of a landed dropship, I try not to imagine all the kinds of trouble I'm in and if my sim use is illicit enough to earn me an escort out into the starport with my few belongings in a box. Kinda hate to admit it, but right now I'm not all that worried about how much trouble I'll get Joe into.

There are two doors into the room, one behind me and one just left of the desk, the latter opens suddenly and in stride three people: Captain Howard is first in line, one of the light pilots comes second, and Colonel Jackson Greer follows briskly.

Captain Howard is about as tall as I am, maybe five or so centimeters taller, but then again maybe not. He seems about average build, neither soft or hard, if you know what I mean... and if I were to guess, I'd say he is in his thirties or forties, especially since there is no sign of gray in his mustache. Right now, he is dressed about like he was twenty minutes or so ago: black combat jacket, a black shirt of some sort under it, and black pants.

The light pilot is a pretty young woman, maybe ten centimeters shorter than I, with a light but wiry frame. I think her first name is Fatima, but she doesn't hang out with anyone I know, so I'm not sure. I am fairly certain that she pilots our newer Raven, a 3L, for the Colonel's lance... and while I know Joe doesn't seem to like her, he has a solid respect for her skills. She too is in the informal uniform of a combat jacket, shirt, and heavy pants, but hers are a vibrant royal blue.

Colonel Greer seems a bit ruffled, I might almost guess he was sleeping and had to get ready in a hurry for this. Dressed in the same gear as the Captain, but with gold trim on his sleeves and at the shirt collar, even while seeming slightly unprepared, he gives off a sense of presence that evokes a loyal impulse... he is our leader and only a fool would miss it. He has a close cropped beard and mustache with just a little gray adding texture; I would guess he is about fifty, but looks both fit and strong.

At their entrance, I try to remember how some of the pilots come to attention when they show up and hope I'm not embarrassing myself by attempting some semblance of that pose. The Colonel tilts his head just a little as I do this, not sure what he is thinking, but he at least has noticed.

...

Captain Howard speaks first, "Mr. O'Brian, would you tell the Colonel what you told me about your sim use under Lieutenant Green's id?"

"Um, yes, sir. Well, you see, I didn't mean to get Joe, er... Lieutenant Green, into any trouble, sir. I didn't mean to..."

"O'Brian," the Colonel interrupts, "don't worry about Joe. I want to know what you have done." He doesn't seem really angry... in fact I'm not at all sure what he could be thinking right now, but I had better answer anyway.

"Yes, sir. I pretend to pilot Joe's 'Mech in some of his favorite sims."

"And when do you do this?"

"Whenever I have free time, but he gives me Friday mornings off just to relax and do it uninterrupted. He says it will help my productivity to become familiar with his Raven's controls in a simulated use environment."

The Raven pilot looks over at the Colonel, then back at me.

Captain Howard picks up, "just how did you get him to let you into the sim under his id in the first place?"

I try to remember, it has been months now. They are all three staring at me, I think they almost expect me to lie.

"I was in Joe's... um... Lieutenant Green's cockpit, seems I was running a targeting diagnostic... oh, yeah, I had just done a test on the right arm weapon after replacing a damaged powersource. I had set the unit to power up the alignment beam and hud reticule when he leaned over the side of the cockpit and asked what I was doing. I explained and he looked at me funny; I figured he was..." my voice trails off as I try to think of some way of saying it.

"Drunk or drugged?" the Colonel finishes my sentence.

I guess I can't really help Joe by being less than honest, "Yes, sir. Anyway, he said something about not being able to use a 'Mech without being a pilot and I didn't argue... instead I asked if he could teach me how. I don't know why, I just think 'Mechs are pretty extraordinary and wanted to know what it takes to actually walk one out."

Captain and Colonel exchange glances again; it's like they know something I don't.

The lady light pilot asks, "so he showed you?"

"Yes, Ma'am. It took a weekend to get it down enough that he said he would have to teach me more lessons by acting as my opponent. One on one, we played three sim drops, and he won two out of three." I smile a little with a pinch of pride showing, "but that was the last time he won more than he lost."

The Colonel's stare is intense, "Can you follow orders?"

...

I am back in the sim cockpit, this time with an actual neurohelm on. But unlike my easy spars with Joe, this time I will face a sober and probably serious opponent: Lieutenant Fatima al-Zafirah, the other Raven pilot.

Unexpectedly, I hear the Colonel over my headset, "O'Brian, I will give you a series of orders. Carry them out in the simulation to the best of your ability until or unless I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, sir," I hear myself respond.

"This will be a cradle insertion. Have you ever done a hot drop in your sims?"

"No, sir."

"Ok, cradles are normally not under your control anyway, so all you need to know is that at first you will not feel the gyro's. They will only be released to your control moments before the cradle releases you at the surface."

"Feel the gyros?"

I can hear talking in the background as the Colonel's voice comes on again, "You have never piloted your sims with a neurohelmet connection, have you, son?"

"No, sir. But I can learn."

I hear him chuckling as he keys back up, "That's the spirit. You'll get the hang of it really quickly. OK, when you touch down, crouch your 'Mech, run a combat diagnostic and then take all weapons hot."

"Yes, sir."

"Good luck, Mr. OBrian."

"Thank you, sir."

...

The virtual world flickers once and then becomes almost real. I seem to be both jolting and floating down through something that looks like a gray mist... no, now I can see that these are clouds and I'm almost through. Below me, a broad countryside of choppy green and granite hills and azure lakes opens as I seem to get closer. In the not too distance, a range of more precipitous slopes rises to sharp crags. Truly in the distance, there are peaks that seem to already tower above me, some snow covered and others completely lost in the clouds.

I have an instant of panic, the ground near a small lake seems to be approaching very quickly and I feel the near vertigo of falling from a high place. My palms seem suddenly wet and I shiver once. Can I really handle a 'Mech in a test like this? Should I just give up and accept whatever punishment they have in mind?

No, I am in a 'Mech, a Raven 2X... and I am a pilot, if only in a sim. I will have no fear, just as if I were in the real thing at a battle. No man or woman will make me afraid. I am an O'Brian. I am strong.

A strange sensation fills my body, like I am suddenly very agile. I have never felt this, it is like there is a new power in me.

I feel the cradle release the 'Mech and a moment later I am standing on the ground. No... wait... I am in a 'Mech, aren't I? In the artificial sim cockpit I see me in the command seat, why do I feel like I'm suddenly standing up?

"Remember to crouch your 'Mech first," the Colonel instructs, breaking the disorienting sense that I'm not doing what I feel like I'm doing.

"How do I do that?" I ask, as I remember his original instructions.

"Tell the ai to crouch the 'Mech."

"Crouch the 'Mech, please."

"Yes, Sir." It is a woman's voice that speaks, but she seems a lot nicer than the one Joe calls "hitching Betty" in the sims.

Suddenly and without warning I seem to have crouched down. I can almost feel my legs bend and I know that I'm keeping myself balanced. My right hand leaves the stick and I realize that my legs and the rest of me are still seated.

"Is this what you mean by feeling the gyros?"

"I would guess what you are experiencing is part of it. I have never tried to explain it to anyone, but I would guess that yes, you are experiencing that first marriage of man with machine."

"Wow."

...

I start to think of the things I was to do and key the combat diagnostic command on the small console that tucks under the sensor screen.

"Frame undamaged and ready," the warm, almost smoky, voice of the ai intones.

"Reactor online, power at five percent."

I see the indicators going through their progressions and hear her call each system when it checks out.

Finally, "All systems go for combat."

What was next? Oh, yeah... I flick the safeties off and hear the hum as the the laser's capacitors load up with charge and the missile loading system racks six missiles into my launch tubes. There are only two weapons on this Raven, a large pulse laser in my left torso and a SRM6 in my right. My right arm has a TAG unit mounted, but it only helps semi-locked ordinance... something I don't expect to encounter here.

"Good start, pilot. Now, stand your 'Mech, and move about a hundred meters offshore to your left... map grid AlphaFoxtrot 117."

I pull up the Battlemap and see that the coordinates are about 300 meters West Northwest of my position, then click the map away and bump the throttle up to about 20%. I wonder where Lt. Al-Zafirah might be hiding and try to move with the scant cover to the last point before I have to head out into the open. I rotate the torso and look for enemy contact indications... but see nothing of note.

I reach the spot and have an interesting sensation of almost floating. The water comes almost up to the cockpit windows here and wavelets play with the Raven's nose, sometimes splashing, sometimes making it seem to bob a little. There isn't any significant wind, and as far as the distant shore I notice only hints of mountain reflection in the almost unruffled surface.

Back and forth I swing the Raven head, stirring a little wake and bubble trail with each motion. If she is nearby, she will spot me while I'm still mostly helpless.

The urge to move, to do something, builds. I wish I knew what to anticipate, but I don't. I check the infrared and see nothing that looks like the hint of a moving mech. Again, my palms seem to be sweating a lot, especially the one on the throttle. I wonder if they forgot about me, maybe something happened in the control room. Why didn't they give me more instructions before they left? Do they want to see if I'll show some initiative and go looking for the Lieutenant on my own.

In my mind, I hear that question again, "Can you follow orders?"

Maybe this is part of the test, to see if I can do as I'm told without having to do my own thing or have all the answers.

...

A fish of some sort jumps after a mayfly only a few meters in front of my nose. I imagine the sound of the splash, but there is silence in my ears.

I bring up the battle map again and study it. In the spars with Joe, we were never so far apart that I needed to consider a map, but this thing must be huge. I zoom in an order, and then an order again. It must be some sat map with a 3d dataset to help set the hills and valleys into perspective. I note that my position is represented with just an icon, I would guess that the map is not a "live" view, probably set on some world with historic satellite imagery.

Every ten seconds or so, I click the map away and check my surroundings, then bring it back up. I zoom back to the original magnification. Fifty rows by fifty columns... if the scale is accurate, the map must cover 2500 or so square kilometers. I zoom back another order and realize that there must be a nearly continental basis for the map.

I nearly jump as I hear, "That is a three meter tactical battle map. What that means is it resolves objects down to three meters in size. That particular map covers roughly one degree of longitude for that planet."

"Thank you, sir."

"You are welcome, pilot. Now, move back to the shore and along it to the little bay at AlphaHotel 97."

"Yes, sir."

Throttle up to what would be a comfortable walk on land, but seems a veritable crawl here. Things get easier the closer I get to shore, and the sense of buoyancy and gentle rocking diminish until I sense them no more.

I am suddenly aware that I have no sense of urgency, of danger. Something Marty said while fitting me for the neurohelm sounds in my mind as if an alarm had shrieked in my ears, "ALWAYS watch out for al-Zafirah, she knows her stuff."

Things I have learned to do while evading Joe in spars invade my sense and I begin arhythmically moving the throttle, making small course adjustments in as arbitrary a manner as possible, and looking in all directions as I go. Nothing on sensors, no IR signature, nothing...

I pick my way slowly along, ever aware that the Lieutenant may be shadowing me just out of sensor range, waiting for a clear shot. Still, I keep on, moving my 'Mech to minimize exposure while still getting to the bay ahead in something I hope will be a reasonable amount of time.

…...

BOOOOMMMMM!

The sound rattles the little 'Mech cockpit, but I see no damage. I am, however, suddenly driven by instinct into moving quickly to the nearest bank for shelter.

"What was that?!"

The ai answers, "from the frequency, probably a near miss on the cockpit from a gauss round."

That seems odd, Lt. Al-Zafirah's Raven doesn't mount a gauss. Well... did anyone actually say she would be dropping in one?

"Thank you," I finally reply, rather out of habit.

"You are welcome." Wow, this ai is actually sort of intelligent.

I pull up the battle map and try to figure out where the shot could have come from. I had just passed a creek, perhaps back in the hills to my right? The lake shore to my left seems barren and close to two kilometers to it's nearest point.

What should I do? The Colonel gave me orders, but he didn't know about this. Well... no... wait, this is a sim; of course he knows. What is the test here?

"Colonel Greer, I just had a gauss fired at me. Do you want me to go back and investigate or continue with my orders?"

The comms are quiet, but in asking the question, I think I already know the answer.

I key the mic live again, "Continuing as originally ordered. Moving on carefully."

I thrust the throttle forward, as if the power of my motion might make the Raven accelerate just a bit faster. Sprinting to the next cover protecting my right flank, trying to still move a little unpredictably, I see a rock face explode from an impact just before I come even with it. She led me by too much, I'm safe... this time. She must be behind me and to my right. I pivot to see behind me, but either she is staying in cover or out of my sensor range. I double check with heat, but nothing shows back there. Looking forward, I know I have a couple kilometers left to get to the bay, perhaps a bit of maneuvering will get me there in one piece, then I can maybe hide and catch her as she comes up.

...

Throttle up and down, turning and twisting as I go, I make the fastest time I can to the bay. Neither seeing nor hearing another shot, I am rather congratulating myself as I step onto the rather stony beach.

TSSSSSS!

The Raven's nose glows from the lasers that seem to converge on it out of nowhere. My hud shows the center torso as a rather angry orange. I pivot towards the fire and glimpse another Raven arcing around a corner about three hundred meters away.

"Those lasers will be ineffective underwater. Head out to the center of the bay." The colonel's voice is as even and unemotional as if he were declaring it "day" when a sun is up.

While I muse on this, my reflexes obey and I'm running straight into the water. I worry for a moment that I won't be able to defend myself when she comes back, especially as I get closer to having just the upper torso and cockpit exposed.

"Sealing weapons," the ai intones, and distant mechanical sounds tell me they are both secure from the water now.

The further out I go, the deeper I go. Well over my head now, I see only the ripples on the surface up above.

In front of me, however, are what look like ruins. The stone bones of buildings seem to mark a drowned hamlet... one that, as I go deeper, obviously once had at least some Battlemech presence. I begin to follow a pathway of sorts between algae encrusted carcases of destroyed 'Mechs, not always or even usually recognizing them as I pass.

The whole thing seems so surreal, and come to think of it... it makes no sense. Small schools of minnows dart in and out of holes where weapon fire ripped gashes into the armor and underlying components. Was there a damn built and the town got flooded? Some climactic catastrophe that deluged the place?

The sensors beep and I can see a red triangle approaching from my right. I target it and see it is Lt. Al-Zafirah's Raven approaching. I can't really see much in the water, things kinda fade to a blue haze about forty meters out.

"Pilot, I need you to follow me." That sounds like what little I remember her voice to be, but why would I want to follow an enemy?

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but my orders are to move here."

Again, I sense the Colonel chuckling as he says, "Very good, O'Brian. I am now going to change your orders: I will have the Lieutenant become an ally. You are to follow her on whichever flank she asks you to. Stay within either sensor or visual range until you reach your original insertion point. If she requires assistance, you are to provide it. Do you understand your orders?"

"I think so, sir. Well... kinda..."

"What do you not understand?"

"Sorry to have to ask a stupid question, sir, but what does 'flank' mean in this situation?"

He is laughing as he answers, "on a side, a little behind but never very far away. It is a position that helps protect her from attacks from behind."

"Thank you, sir."

"Two more things, pilot."

"Yes, sir?"

"First, the only stupid question is the one you don't ask when you don't understand. Second, you probably don't know that Lt. Al-Zafirah's Raven has something that limits how far out from you she will show on your sensors. Be very careful not to stray too far or lose sight of her, no matter how complicated her movements seem."

"Yes, sir." I hope I'm up to it, but I try not to show any hesitation.

The Raven is about 50 meters in front of me when the mech indicators in my hud switch from enemy red to friendly cyan.

Again, I hear Lt. Al-Zafirah's voice in my headset, "Pilot, I need you to follow me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She turns just a bit and passes me closely on the right.

"I want you on my right flank about fifty by a hundred." I try to sort out what she means by the numbers and am about to ask when she adds, "that would be fifty meters back and about a hundred meters to my right."

I fall a bit behind and look for a way to move to the right, but nothing presents itself until we have moved a several hundred meters. As it opens out, I move at an angle to her and get about where she asked me, then move to match her pace. I am certain now that everything we have done so far has a purpose and sense that this is somehow the final test... and I SO don't want to mess it up.

Her head breaks the surface and the 'Mech begins to pick up speed. I match it as best I can, though at first I am a bit distracted at how her mech seems to surge a lot.

No, wait, those are throttle variations like I have learned to do. Her pattern is very different, but she is also a good pilot, maybe I can learn something that I can use against Joe the next time we spar.

My Raven's head breaks the water, too. I can see her torso swing back and forth, she is looking for something, anything. I can clearly see that she has no gauss mounted on her 'Mech, now I have to wonder.

"Lt. Al-Zafirah?"

"Yes, Pilot."

"I got shot at by a gauss twice, up ahead near that creek in Alpha... um... what is 'G' called?"

"Golf"

"Thanks. AlphaGolf 102. Came from my right then, so our left now."

"Very good. Thank you."

I notice her moving a bit closer to the bank and hugging it's contours more. I feel a bit more exposed, but this is where she wants me.

...

My Raven tromps along, splashing through ankle deep water, sometimes sinking a bit deeper, but never too far. All the while, this new sensation of actually doing the walking myself, add a bit of wonder to the sim and the reality that I'm not actually doing anything beyond piloting.

A jet of water plumes up to the right of the Lieutenant's 'Mech. I see her suddenly start moving in a complicated dance, the 'Mech becomes completely unpredictable in it's speed and direction.

"Pilot," she says quickly, "evade the fire, but continue to cover my flank as best you can."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Her Raven darts towards where the fire must have originated, but she is never moving in a straight line.

BOOOOMMMMM!

I however, have been paying attention to her piloting and mostly forgotten mine. I have just lost my right arm and the TAG with it. I find cover quickly, but am shocked at just how easy it was to wing my ride. Looking over, I can see mangled metal and strands of myomer lit by some kind of electrical flickering.

The ai speaks up, "right arm destroyed. TAG destroyed. Right torso armor at 74 percent. Right shoulder joint has minor frame damage."

"Thanks."

"You are welcome."

Lt. Al-Zafirah's Raven has disappeared from my sensors... how?... nevermind. Throttle up, dancing towards where I last saw her...

BOOOOMMMMM!

The screen goes dark and I hear the ai alert, "EJECTING!"