It's been too many years since I first found out about granpa. Da had never spoken about him before that day and mum never knew him. Honestly, if I hadn't stumbled across it, I bet my father would never have even told me about the old bunker... or said the words I still have etched on my life like gilt on a noble's blade; "You have Wolf blood."
...
It had been a dry summer filled with boisterous boy's games, full of competition, violence and challenge. The quiet morning ten days before my eleventh birthday was an exception; anticipated boredom hovered over my breakfast as unmistakably as aroma over summer sewage... my day was going to stink and I knew it. I wandered all morning through the woods behind the house, then meandered back to the barn around noon and took to hunting mice. I was pouncing on a hapless rodent when I spotted the trap door partly covered by old construction materials. Having spent most of my chore time in the barn, something new was a beacon to my interest. Unwilling to relinquish my feeble claim to relief, I had set to work clearing away panels, boards, pieces of shingle and the odd slice of stone. Finally bare, the heavy door still resisted my most emphatic exertions until I harnessed the loft's winch and chain. I think I expected some dusty mice-filled cellar, maybe some old bottles or boxes, but what light revealed was a huge concrete ramp sloping from near the front of the barn down to a set of massive metal doors.
Sometimes fortune favors my whims: this time I didn't run to the house but searched for da in the fields. Annoyance at my interruption vanished when I asked about the doors and what could lay behind them.
"Have you told your mum?" he asked quickly, his eyes looking intently at the house.
"No, Sir," I had replied.
"Good. Never do." The look he gave with these words convinced me that this was some terrible secret and I must not ever, EVER violate his instructions. He stood for an eternity in the fresh fragrant muck the tractor had recently churned, his features masked with an odd faraway look. His decision made, he beckoned me to follow. Rapidly we crossed the furrows, strode into the barn and approached the open hatchway.
"Close the doors, son," he gestured at the way we had just entered. I did, and he motioned me over. We climbed down into the darkness and he lit an electric torch before leading me to the very threshold of the massive metalworks.
"No one must ever know what I show you. They'll come for all of us if you do and they'll never believe we're innocent..."
I remember for a brief moment thinking that he was being pathetically dramatic, then he spoke to the doors, "Alexis, open the portal, please."
Smoothly, the immense doors slid back while the floor vibrated as if an entire mountain was sliding on rails... then awe overtook me and I began to understand.
Crouched in an old concrete bunker amid shadowed equipment I had never seen the like of was a BattleMech. Not a play mockup, but a battle-scarred warrior of conflicts past.
For those of you from districts that don't usually see a BattleMech, or "'Mech" for short, they are large walking weapons carrying machines. Most 'Mechs I've ever seen are at least three or four times taller than the tallest man I know. They walk on two complicated metal legs, I'm not really sure how, but it holds them upright. I don't really know how fast they can go, but when the one I'd seen moving walked by in a parade, the ground shook as if a loaded truck had fallen on it... for each step.
Unlike the pictures of heroic bone-white Word of Blake 'Mechs where the machinery usually seemed rather based on human shapes, this mottled gray craft had overly long bird-like legs with knees that bent backwards, mere stubs for arms, and a squat body that most resembled the decapitated head of some oversized crow.
"Alexis, are you here?" Da addressed the 'Mech as if it were alive and to my absolute astonishment, the craft not only answered but did so as if it knew him.
"Yes, Sean." It was a woman's voice, smooth and intelligent, flowing from speakers that must be hidden near the darkened windscreen that wrapped around its face. She continued, "It has been a long time since you visited me, Sir."
"Um, sorry about that, Mam. Alexis, this is my son, Padraig. Please grant him access to everything except weapons, he can even have those in an emergency."
"Aff, Sir. Safeties in place." Then, obviously addressing me, she continued, "Padraig, do you know I think you are named for my original pilot?"
I glanced at da and then let my stare return to the monstrous machine as I answered, "No Mam, I'm named for my Granpa."
"He does not know, Sean?"
"No Mam, not yet."
Silence.
"Shall I tell him more, Sir?"
Emotions plainly warred on da's normally neutral features. It took several minutes for him to come to a decision...
"When he comes back, you may answer any question you think appropriate. I need to talk with him first."
"As you wish, Sean."
"Please seal the bay when we leave, voice access for either of us."
"Aff, Sir"
The heavy doors trundled closed behind us as we climbed into the barn and walked back into the daylight. Sitting on an old bench near the apple tree, I noticed that da looked carefully around before speaking those fateful words...
"Son, you have Wolf blood."
I knew right away that he didn't mean the kind of wolf that wanders around in the forest, but the human Clan called "Wolf." It had been some five decades since the Clans had erupted into known space and one of the most powerful Clans was Wolf. I knew next to nothing about them, but my alleged link to the evil of the fabled Clans left me with nothing but dread. I eventually discovered I had questions too, many I haven't answered yet, but those flooding uncertainties took time... that afternoon was nothing but terror that we would be found and incinerated.
Adherents to the Word of Blake controlled this world, as the "Wobbies" still do. Having an unlicensed agricultural 'Mech was tantamount to instant conviction of capital crime; a hidden fully-weaponed war veteran, needless to say, would be even worse. Whatever you may think of the Wobbies, you must grant they're masters of both discovering secrets and executing criminals. I've never remembered much of what Da told me that afternoon, I was certain that they must already be listening in on some hidden comlink; in my distraction I couldn't focus on more than a few words at a time. What did soak through was that somehow my Granpa was an ex-officer from the Wolf Clan who had died in the war before Da was born. I did comprehend his insistence that we must make sure mum could never stumble onto our secret. Together we closed the trap door and covered it with old straw bales and heavy construction debris.
...
I've since learned that Da really knows little about the 'Mech and barely more about Granpa; Gran'mother had spoken rarely of him before she had succumbed to fever when Da was twelve. I found out that she had taken him to the bunker and introduced him to the 'Mech when he was even younger and that he has mostly lived in mortal terror that it would be found. Considering the Wobby purges that have popped up every few years, I suspect he was right.
How he has managed to keep it hidden from mum is still beyond me, though I have come to respect that he has manipulated their space to make the farmhouse her domain and the barn is his. Sure, they both enter the other's world, but neither questions the organization or management.
I've never gone back down the hole to visit the 'Mech; I only consider our secret secure in my head, knowing even the Blakist's best ROM snoops still can't actually read minds. Over time my interest in those mysteries under the barn has waned as my thoughts and time have moved towards studies and girls. At times, though, I've caught myself being fascinated when I stumble over the scattered fragments of information available at school on Wolf and the Clans in general. Even a part-time job in Horvath Timber's log hauler, an ancient salvaged 'Mech stripped down almost to the frame and adapted to lug bales of tree trunks down Horvath Mountain to the mill, tweaked my curiosity just a bit... what must it have been like to run its seventy tons with powerful weapons instead of uncut lumber.
So life went on and mum never knew about the trap door. Well, at least until yesterday...
