David Lear Republic Army Base

Murchison City, Murchison

January 15, 3131, Local Spring

Jarome Keller smiled as the high walls of David Lear Republic Army Base hove into view. She had passed her initial exams, and been accepted into the Third Triarii Protectors of the Republic Army. She'd received all her basic training, and today was her first day as a proper MechWarrior Candidate.

The bus she was riding wheezed and rattled to a halt, and she shot to her feet, grabbing her go-bag and hustling off the bus with the rest of the new candidates. The next hour was organized military mayhem, and Jarome had her housing assignment, training schedule, and had filled out all her necessary paperwork.

She climbed down the stairs and found the office of her instructor, Captain Michael O'Malley. His door was open, so she knocked on the doorframe and paused, waiting for an answer.

"Enter," was the reply, the voice a deep, resonant baritone, warm and rich, a commander's voice.

Jarome entered the office, snapping to attention with a crisp salute. "Sir, MechWarrior Candidate Jarome Keller reporting for duty!"

Facing her, a tall man uncoiled himself from an office chair and crisply returned the salute. He was a broad-shouldered man, and his body language proclaimed him to be a veteran soldier. As he brought his hand down, he began to speak; "Candidate Keller, yes, I've been expecting you. I'm Captain Michael O'Malley, and I will be responsible for your transformation into a MechWarrior." He reached down and picked up a simple black duffel bag and handed it to her. "Come on, Jarome. Let's get you suited up and see what you're made of." He brushed by the startled Jarome, and walked briskly down the hallway, his boots soundless on the tile.

Jarome scrambled after him, catching up to the Captain just as he stepped inside the elevator. She considered talking, saying something, anything, to break the silence, but she couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be idiotic. She was spared, however, as the elevator pinged and opened. She stayed right next to O'Malley, until he gestured to a door to the side. "There you are, Jarome. Go in, get changed, and head out the back door, I'll be waiting for you there."

"Yes, Captain," Jarome said, coming to attention with a soft snap of boot heels. She ducked through the door, found an unoccupied locker, and pressed her thumb to the lock. It clicked open, and she set her duffel bag down on the expanded-metal mesh bench behind her. She slipped out of her duty uniform, right down to her underwear, and opened the duffel. It held a new Warrior suit, an expansion of the Coolant Vest that had been a staple of MechWarriors everywhere for centuries; it was a skintight network of coolant tubes encased in a Nomex fire-retardant shell that simultaneously cool her in battle and protect her from fire, a real life-saver in battle.

Sealing it over her chest, she momentarily wondered how O'Malley had gotten a suit so perfectly fitted to her before they ever met, and shrugged. It didn't matter, really. Next she pulled a survival vest, a thin mesh covering festooned with pockets for all kinds of gear: emergency rations, a radio, flashlight, and flares, matches, first aid kit, everything she would need if she ever had the bad luck to be forced from her 'Mech.

The next piece of equipment was a simple web belt that she slung snugly around her slender waist; from the right side an equally slender laser pistol hung down. She quickly secured its tie-down, and bent to seal on her boots. Standing, she slowly, reverently pulled the last object from the duffel.

It was plain white, with Republic burgundy and gray stripes over the crown, but it was the culmination of hundreds of years of Human invention and determination. Through this one piece of equipment, mankind had become the master of the BattleMech; it was a neurohelmet. She carefully cradled the helmet in her arms and stepped out the rear door of the locker room and emerged into the 'Mechbay.

O'Malley, standing next to the railing at the end of the elevated walkway Jarome found herself on, turned and nodded gravely to her. He was clad in a burgundy Warrior suit exactly the same to hers, save for the Triarii Protectors patch on his left arm and a heavy slugthrower slung low on his thigh. He carried a neurohelmet of his own, identical in model to hers, but his carried a beautifully painted phoenix. He gestured to a short, burly man next to him. "Right then, Candidate Keller. In bay six is a CLN-7V Chameleon; follow Sergeant Galan here," the burly man nodded to Jarome. "And mount up. We'll take the field and see how you do outside the simulators."

"Yes, Captain!" Jarome followed Galan closely and reached the Chameleon without incident. She stared at the huge machine, awe and pride swelling in her chest. The Chameleon really wasn't anything all that special, just a training machine, but it was still fifty tons of armored mayhem. It mounted a Defiance large laser in the right arm, along with a Defiance B3M medium laser. Another B3M was mounted in the left arm, above the battlefist, and three small lasers teamed up with two machine guns in the center torso. It was fast, well armed and armored, and capable of leaping up to 180 meters in a single bound.

"Go on up, ma'am, and strap in," Galan said. "The neural interface has been switched to an open setting, so you'll be able to plug right in with no problems." He patted her on the shoulder. "And good luck!"

"Thank you, sergeant," Jarome replied, trading salutes with the man. She climbed carefully over the Chameleon's shoulder and slid through the hatch, settling into the ejection seat and pulling the hatch closed above her. Situating herself, she quickly plugged in her coolant lines for her Warrior suit and strapped in. Once she was ready, she carefully slipped the neurohelmet over her head for the first time. It was roughly bowl shaped, with a wide visor that would seal with the rest of the helmet once she engaged, but for now rested on the forehead of the helmet, safely out of the way. She locked the collar of her jumpsuit to the base of the helmet, and secured the air hose that would blow fresh, cool, moist air for her to breathe and the neural lines that would supply her own sense of balance to the machine.

Her head swam as the banks of neural receptors in the helmet synchronized her equilibrium with her 'Mech's gyros. A rush of euphoria washed over her, and she wrapped her hands around hands around the controls and settled her feet on the foot pedals as the dizziness passed. Opening a COM channel, she smiled and spoke: "This is Keller, ready to move out; requesting departure clearance."

O'Malley's voice crackled back over her headset. "Very good, Jarome; come on out of the bay and track on my beacon. Be ready for anything."

"Roger that, Captain," she throttled up, and with a ponderous, thundering tread, her Chameleon stepped out onto the concrete floor, passing several empty 'Mechbays and a few other training machines. At the end of the bay, a ramp carried Jarome and her 'Mech out of the underground facility and into the bright sunshine. Looking about, she found herself on a huge practice field, with some buildings to her left, a mocked-up truck part to her right, and miles of rolling hills all around her. Somewhere out here was Captain O'Malley.

Pulling up her navigational map, she checked the radio beacon and throttled up, charging forward at full speed, exulting in the rush of power the Vlar 300 fusion engine gave her. She bounded along a road at sixty miles an hour, heading for the buildings to the left with a wide grin.

Meanwhile, Michael shared a grin, albeit a rather predatory one. He was crouched behind a metal building, using its magnetic signature to screen his own. Carefully, he reached up above his head and activated the MILES gear, special training equipment that would allow him to synchronize the battle computer aboard his END-6Q Enfield with the computer aboard Jarome's Chameleon.

She bounded along, clearly not expecting ambush, and as she passed the metal warehouse, Michael stood his 'Mech up and centered his crosshairs on the center of the Chameleon's back. The dot in the center of his reticule burned gold, and he let fly, hammering at Jarome with the simulated fury of an LB-10X Autocannon and the blazing caress of a large pulse laser, two medium lasers, and a small laser. He was washed in a roiling cloud of heat, but he kept the Enfield moving, stepping out into the open and angling right. His Warrior suit inflated slightly, and cold fluid surged around him, protecting him from the blast of hot air.

Jarome felt the impact of the simulated assault in a head-spinning rush of neural feedback from her helmet, howling alarms on her control board, and in the rocking stagger inflicted by her computer on her gyros. The blasts had "vaporized" her rear armor and caused severe internal damage, and now she was building heat, core damage and two destroyed heatsinks contributing to the overheating of her 'Mech.

She wheeled her 'Mech, bringing her speed down to turn more tightly and instinctively moved left, trying to face her attacker. As she pivoted, she clicked the safety off her weapons, determined to show whoever had ambushed her that she still had sharp teeth. Her 'Mech finished its hard turn and she leveled her large laser at-

At nothing.

With a vicious grin, Michael zeroed in on Jarome's back once more, pouring a simulated fusillade into the exposed reactor. Jarome was shaken violently, and her 'Mech shut down. Her main console remained lit, however, informing her that her reactor had lost integrity and she was now radioactive dust. She thumped her head against the console and swore feebly. She had been beyond easy meat; what on Earth had given her the idea that she could actually be a MechWarrior?

Her earphones crackled, and she hunched her shoulders, expecting to be berated by O'Malley. However, his voice held no harshness at all, but rather a warm tone that brought a faint smile to her face and banished the lump of ice in her stomach. "What did you just learn, Jarome?"

She licked her lips nervously. "Always expect an ambush?"

She jumped slightly as her 'Mech came back to life with a shrill rumble. Her earphones crackled again. "That's correct Jarome. I'm over here on your right." Jarome brought her Chameleon around, and her eyes widened as she saw how close Michael had been.

"Now, then; join up on me, and let's go finish this exercise," he said, and she could envision a smile on his face. Jarome smiled in return, and loped along next to his Enfield, the two 'Mechs, weighing in at a hundred tons together, shook the ground violently as they ran. "The next portion of our exercise involves holograms of BattleMechs. We'll run the course, and defeat any 'Mechs that the range computer throws our way. Be advised, your on-board computer will record damage realistically, including neural feedback."

"Roger that, Captain; I'm right with you." Jarome matched actions to words, and kept her Chameleon in tight to Michael's left side, forty meters behind him. Ahead lay a motley collection of buildings, parks, and lots of smashed up ground vehicles. She checked her sensors, and watched her surroundings carefully.

Trotting forward now at just thirty five miles per hour, they entered the range. She tried to watch every direction at once, and her hand gripped the firing stick tightly. Suddenly, O'Malley's 'Mech pounded forward and tucked itself against a wall.

"Jarome! Two 'Mechs inbound fast, looking like a Wasp and an Owens. Watch for ambush, and engage!" O'Malley's Enfield dropped back, and Jarome knew she was on her own in this fight. For an instant, she felt alone, naked. The two opposing 'Mechs were faster, and combined they would out mass her machine fifty five tons to fifty.

Her headset came alive. "Remember this, Jarome. One warrior fighting has an immediate advantage- she has infinitely better coordination than two." O'Malley's voice, calm and steady, focused her, sharpened her. She grinned wildly, joyously, and slammed her throttle open, bolting forward at sixty miles per hour.

The Wasp matched her speed, and broke to her right. The Owens snapped left, and accelerated to more than eighty miles an hour. Jarome knew this tactic- the enemy would try to flank her and destroy her rear armor. None of that, she thought, and smashed both feet down on her foot pedals. Her 'Mech launched into the air on superheated columns of steam, and she leapt over a line of buildings, blocking the Owens' line of sight.

She kept her throttle firewalled, and the Wasp burst out of cover, straight into her sights. Her reticule burned gold, and she cut loose with her heavy firepower, burning hard red light into the enemy 'Mech. Armor burned white-hot and plates burst off, and the Wasp staggered, the simulation incorporating the damage in real-time.

Jarome knew better than to stick around, so she jumped again, putting another row of buildings between herself and the enemy. She grounded, and began to turn and engage the Owens, when she realized how hot she was. Her body was bathed in sweat, despite the efforts of her Warrior suit, and the heat bar was just below the red line. Still, her jump had bought her time, and the Chameleon was up to the challenge, heat sinks dissipating the burden with gratifying swiftness.

As the heat level dropped to an acceptable level, Jarome opened her throttle, and began hunting once more. Her Magnetic Anomaly Detector (MAD) gear, indicated thirty five tons of fast moving heavy metal, so she dropped into a crouch next to a parking garage filled with old cars, and patiently waited.

Her patience was soon rewarded with a beautiful side-shot against the Owens. She pressed her triggers and blasted away, carefully sighting in on the machine's left leg. Her COM opened again, and O'Malley's voice echoed once more. "Good idea, Jarome. Remember, you can always reach a knee."

She grinned and savaged the crippled Owens, destroying its left arm and the Long Range Missile (LRM)-5 launcher contained within. Dancing her 'Mech around the Owens, she took advantage of her superior weight, armor, and weaponry, and methodically pounded the light machine to death. It finally toppled, just forty seconds after her first shot.

She crouched down behind the garage once more, and allowed her 'Mech to cool. Her sensors told her of another machine, one with a limp, coming down the boulevard parallel to hers. She eased her throttles up, and began to look for the Wasp. She was faster than the light machine, but the opposing pilot was wily and knew his trade, employing his superior heat dissipation to snipe at her and then jump away through alleys and gaps far too small for her own Chameleon. She finally got a lock on the Wasp, forcing it to jump away in a high arc- where it exploded in mid air.

O'Malley's Enfield walked around the opposite side of the battered structure that Jarome had used, the huge LB-10X Autocannon smoking in its right arm. "Good idea, Jarome," O'Malley said, "You're learning fast."

Jarome grinned happily. "Thanks, Captain. Where do we go from here?"

"Through the last of the course. We still have to reach the Beacon." O'Malley's Enfield pointed up the street with its autocannon, and Jarome moved that direction. They moved carefully and quickly, slicing through the industrial environment.

A brilliant beam slashed out and struck O'Malley. Even as armor burst and turned to slag under the fury of a Particle Projection Cannon (PPC) strike, O'Malley had his machine ducking left, his autocannon roaring and his lasers blazing. A PNT-9Q Panther, sporting glistening blue paintwork, staggered and shook as autocannon shells pulverized armor, sending it flying as glittering dust and the large pulse laser joined with the three smaller lasers to melt and burn off even more.

Jarome watched carefully, and drilled a second 'Mech, a 45-ton Vindicator, with a full laser barrage. The Vindicator turned to her and returned fire, but Jarome had her Chameleon moving behind a building, which soaked up five missiles and the PPC blast. One missile crashed into her shoulder, but it did nothing more than scar the simulated paint of her machine.

On her secondary monitor, Jarome watched in wonder as Michael engaged the blue Panther as well as a second golden Panther. Each blasted away with PPCs and missiles, but Michael twisted and dodged, whirling about with the grace of a dancer. He fired, pounding both machines mercilessly, destroying armor and driving both Panthers back with relentless efficiency. One Panther, armor savaged and reactor burning, toppled backwards as its simulated pilot ejected. The second attempted to jump away over a line of buildings, but was ensnared in a full barrage of heavy weapons fire from O'Malley's Enfield, and tumbled over into a building, where it remained stuck, legs kicking feebly.

Jarome was snapped back to the present as the Vindicator blasted her Chameleon with its PPC. The electrical fury of the man-made lightning made her heads-up display (HUD) waver, but she danced her 'Mech back and locked her gunsight on the enemy machine. She let fly with everything she had, even her machine guns, and pounded the enemy 'Mech. She twisted her torso right and moved left; complicating the enemy's firing solution.

She was partially successful in that, as the PPC flew wide, but the spread of Streak Short Range Missiles (SRMs) pounded her 'Mech, three impacting on her legs, one blasting her left arm, and the last two smacking into her right arm. Unfazed, she blasted back, her large laser boring deep into the Vindicator, which shook, and then exploded in a brilliant blue flash as the Vindicator's reactor lost integrity.

Jarome carefully stepped out, re-joining O'Malley, his voice filling her ears once more. "We're close, Jarome. Just another kilometer, but it's all open ground. Be careful, and let's go."

O'Malley moved out first, and Jarome followed. They kept their speed up and moved their machines around, making their approach harder to target. The beacon was a tall spike driven deep into the earth, set on top of a hill that reared up out of the flat square of earth.

A deep rumble rattled the ground, and Jarome felt her mouth dry out and fear punched her in the gut as an Atlas rose out of the ground. It was 100 tons worth of terror, ferro-fibrous, and brutal weaponry, its cockpit fashioned into the face of Death itself.

"Jarome! Break hard right and engage on the move- standing against this monster toe to toe is suicide!" O'Malley's Enfield snapped left, its weapons blazing and its legs churning in a desperate effort to stay out of the Atlas' crosshairs.

Seeing the Enfield moving so decisively enervated Jarome and she dashed forward. The Atlas was tracking O'Malley, and so she had a bare few seconds of grace from the devastating firepower arrayed before her. Deciding in an instant that a standing fight with the hundred ton Atlas would never work, Jarome slammed her footpedals to the floorboards, launching her 'Mech high into the air. She had only seen this done in holovids, but the basic principle seemed sound enough, if more than a little crazy. As she reached the peak of her jump, she pulled her legs in under her and let fly with her lasers; the small lasers missed completely, but the large laser and one of the mediums seared hard light into the huge machine's ferroglass canopy.

The ferroglass heated and softened just instants before Jarome's Chameleon drove its feet through it, smashing the cockpit and reducing the pilot to a red smear- or it would have.

Instead her Chameleon finished its jump and landed gently on the hard ground. The hologram of the Atlas faded away to nothing, and O'Malley's voice, filled with stunned admiration, echoed in her ears. "Damn, Jarome!" He said, "That was some kind of stunt!"

Jarome's face flushed with pleasure. "Thank you, Captain!" she exclaimed delightedly. Grinning from ear to ear under her helmet, she moved her 'Mech to the beacon and tapped it with her battlefist. A horn sounded, and she knew that she'd won.