BattleTech: The Prodigy

by Ulquiorra9000

Chapter 10: The Lorins

Landing pad, Zeta facility, Goedwig

Lyran Alliance

January 25, 3073

When Lane stepped down the Leopard-class dropship's boarding ramp and onto the spaceport's tarmac, he stopped for a moment in awe. Around him sprawled endless rolling hills, huge lilac trees, and even a sparkling lake. For miles around beyond the pristine setting was a dense forest and snow-capped mountains beyond that.

"Let's move, Private," prodded one of the two Lorin guards who escorted the young man across the tarmac. After Lane had arrived here on LAAF jumpship, he had been transferred to this Lorin dropship to reach the planet itself.

"Just stopping to smell the roses," Lane joked as he got moving. "This place kind of reminds me of Strantor, but somehow even more beautiful."

The other guard grunted. "Don't let it fool you, boy. This training facility will make or break you. You'll be molded by centuries of martial study and practice. Merely being here is a privilege for any warrior."

Lane had to agree, at least on terms of scenery. A warm breeze picked up and he breathed deep, taking in the scent of a natural paradise. Then he set his eyes on the facility up ahead: shaped like a trapezoid, the white-walled building sat in the middle of a plain with a a few smaller facilities around it, including a VTOL landing pad, a 'mech hangar, and a full-blown military obstacle course with a sandy ground. As Lane walked, he watched a VTOL's rotors accelerate to full speed and the vehicle rose gracefully in the air. Then it roared off with a gust of wind.

As soon as Lane and his guards reached the front steps to the main building, a small party marched out to greet him. The man in the lead, who appeared to be in his late 20s and wore a long black overcoat, spread his arms out and proclaimed, "Croeso i Goedwig, Preifat. Rydym wedi bod yn disgwyl i chi."

Lane paused. "You speak French?"

Some of the others chuckled at the comment but the speaker scowled and lowered his arms. "No, Farlow. I speak Welsh, as do many Lorins. It's in our blood."

Lane flushed. "Sorry, I'm not good at languages. Ras took some French in high school, though. All I remember him telling me is parlez-vous francais?"

"Don't make an issue out of it. Most of us speak English too," the Lorin said, clearly annoyed. Then he calmed down and put a hand to his heart. "My name is Michael Lorin, head instructor here at Zeta facility on Goedwig." He lowered his hand.

"Nice to meet you." Lane took in Michael's features and something clicked in his mind. "You look familiar... is Boren your brother?"

Michael blinked. "Good eyes. Yes, my big brother Boren is an instructor at the Strantor Military Academy. My sister Jennifer graduated there last June."

"Me too. I was in her class, and now she fights in the Lionheart Braves regiment with me."

"Small world." Michael grinned, but Lane didn't quite like the looks of it. "If you're already familiar with us Lorins, you might know what to expect. Follow me and we'll get started. You might meet more of us during your workout."

Lane saluted. "Ready."

*o*o*o*o*

"I don't... think... I was ready for this!"

Lane huffed and gasped for breath as he strained to heave himself up for one more chin-up at the obstacle course. Not even the pleasant breeze and bright sun could distract him from his sweat-soaked shirt and aching chest.

"Almost there, Farlow! You gonna quit after twenty-six reps?" Michael hollered from a few meters away. He checked his stopwatch. "At this rate you'll be at the bottom of the scoreboard."

Grunting loudly, Lane heaved and brought his trembling chin above the bar one more time. "You guys... keep score?"

"Always. Competition keeps you sharp. One always needs a reason to excel, a drive," Michael told him. "The highest-ranked people here get bonuses and the ones on the bottom of the scoreboard..."

Lane managed another rep. "They what?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Michael put his hands into his pockets. "They do extra regimens."

"And... thirty!" Lane finished his last rep and his numb fingers slipped off the smooth steel bar. He let himself fall flat on his back on the sandy ground, staring up at the cloudless sky. He watched a brown hawk glide overhead on a thermal.

Michael's footsteps urged Lane to crawl to his feet, wincing at every movement. "I've done jumping jacks, did rope climbing, barbed wire crawl, now this," Lane wheezed, wobbling on his feet. "What else?"

"Get over there. Ring the bell." Michael pointed at the exquisite monkey bar set: four rows of monkey bars to let a quartet of trainees go at once. On the opposite end was a wooden platform with a small bell on it. A water pit sat under the bars, ready to catch anyone who fell.

Lane stared. "By myself? I thought you wanted competition for the exercises. That set can have four people on it at once. I assumed – whoa!" He jumped back when Michael drew a pistol from his belt.

The Lorin grinned wickedly and slid the action back with a menacing click. "Just soft dummy rounds, Farlow. Nothing lethal, but one hit from this and you'll fall flat on your ass." He waved the pistol for emphasis.

"I don't get it."

Michael indicated the monkey bars with his pistol. "Go ahead and make for the bell. I'll be down there taking shots at you. Evade me before I fire. Use your judgment to determine when I'm about to shoot."

"That's nuts!" Lane held up his hands palm-out. "I'll do your exercises and try to place well on your scoreboard, but this? With all due respect, how is all this going to improve me as a Mechwarrior? I did enough PT at the Strantor academy."

With a blur of motion, Michael swept his leg at Lane's ankles and shoved hard on the Private's shoulder. Like a sack of potatoes, Lane crumpled awkwardly to the sand. "It occurs to me that when people say 'with all due respect', they usually mean 'go to hell'," Michael commented as he towered over the younger man. "Is that what you meant, Farlow?"

Lane decided not to try and get up. "N-no, sir. I just don't see how this regimen is supposed to work. I'm not infantry."

"No, but all aspects of a warrior are considered very carefully here," Michael told him. "Discipline, technical expertise, courage, historical knowledge, diet, creativity, and much more have been factored into every training session ever done here, including yours. Now, haul ass and get to the monkey bars." He offered a hand and helped Lane to his feet.

"Okay. Monkey bars with a twist." Lane jogged to the monkey bar set, climbed the short ladder to the starting platform, and dusted his hands on his camo pants. He was simply dressed for the job: pants, boots and a white T-shirt. Without his neuro-helmet and fifty tons of metal around him, though, Lane felt vulnerable and feeble. He gripped the first row of bars and mentally steeled himself for what would come next.

Michael walked over to the water pit's bank and raised his pistol. "Ready... go!"

At once Lane leaped off the platform and worked his way across the bars, trying to juggle watching the upcoming bars and keeping an eye on Michael. The bar set seemed even longer now that Lane was working on it; there had to be a hundred bars to traverse. By the time Lane reached the seventeenth bar, Michael raised his pistol deliberately and tightened his finger. Lane could see the Lorin instructor leading his target.

With a huff, Lane reached back and set himself on the bar behind himself instead of the next one. The maneuver worked; Michael fired in the space where Lane had been, and the Private clearly heard the unforgiving whistle of the dummy round.

"Good! Keep it up!" Michael shouted from the shore.

Lane resisted the urge to respond and got himself back to work. Twenty... twenty-three... twenty-eight... Again Michael leveled his pistol at the trainee and fired. This time, because of the angle, Lane reached out with his right arm and hung onto the bar in the second row. Gripping the new bar with just one hand, Lane released his left arm and twisted as far as his right arm would allow. Michael's second practice round hissed through empty air.

"Halfway there!" Michael called out as Lane finally reached bar fifty. The Private felt his worn-out arms burning for release but he knew that he wasn't done yet. Michael was watching... and evaluating every move he made.

"Crap!" Lane muttered as he got close to the bell and Michael raised his weapon to fire again. Like the first time, Lane retreated to the previous bar to evade a shot, but then Michael took a step forward and prepared to fire again. This time Lane reached for another row of bars but in his rush, his hand slipped and his fingers slipped off the intended bar. He swung back on his other arm and lunged for another bar to secure himself, but he felt a sudden intense pressure in his gut as Michael's practice round nailed him. Lane felt both hands go slack in shock and he fell like a brick into the water pool.

On the upside, the sudden blast of cool water was a relief as Lane felt himself plunge into the pool. Trying not to choke on the water, he swam to the surface and spat out water out his mouth. He shook his sodden red hair and felt water droplets go everywhere.

"Almost there, Farlow. Not too bad for your first time," Michael pointed out as he watched the Private swim to the water pool's bank.

"I guess." Lane crawled onto the sand and once again fell onto his back in exhaustion. "Sorry, Michael, but I'm spent for today."

"Just as well. Today's PT session is over," Michael shrugged as he switched his pistol's safety back on and holstered the weapon. "When you're ready, hit the showers and change. Casual clothing will be provided. Then feel free to explore the place and meet the people around here."

Lane slowly moved a shaking hand to his forehead and saluted. "Roger that."

*o*o*o*o*

After showering and changing into the comfortable pants and shirt the Lorins provided, Lane finished tying his shoes and started poking around Zeta facility. He quickly realized that there wasn't a whole lot to see: mostly offices for contacting other Lorin cells across the Inner Sphere and classrooms for privately tutored students. The top floor was just administration and a grouchy old man shooed Lane away from there so the Private decided to get some more fresh air.

This is an Earth planet if I ever saw one, Lane thought fondly as he casually strolled down the stone cobbled pathways that ran through the expansive garden district. Here Lane found respite from the classrooms and obstacle course. Just flowerbeds, ponds, and gorgeous blossom trees and weeping willows. A few Lorins and their students milled about or else sat on wooden benches studying paperback books.

"Out of the way! Move!" came a hurried voice.

"Huh?" Lane started to turn but he was too late: a girl about a year his junior crashed into his arm on her way past him and he nearly fell over. "Hey! Careful!"

"Sorry!" the girl cried over her shoulder, but then her foot caught on a loose rock and she toppled over.

What a day. Lane approached the girl and offered a hand to help her up. "What's the big hurry?"

"Oh, it's no good. I'm late," the girl lamented, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. She wore a Lorin training uniform and had light brown hair that fell to her shoulders. "I was just relaxing out here when I lost track of time. I'm supposed to be at the live-fire 'mech exercise fields, but..."

"Well, you can take me there. I meant to find that place anyway to check it out," Lane offered brightly. "Lead the way."

The girl went slightly red, nodded, and set off again. "Sorry about running into you. I have a bad habit of losing track of time."

"Everyone forgets things sometimes," Lane consoled her as he walked with her. "I'm the new guy around here. Lane Farlow. I take it you're a Lorin?"

"Yeah. Rose Lorin. Youngest of six kids."

Lane gawked. "Six?"

Rose laughed lightly and absent-mindedly ran a hand through her hair. "That's right, but my mom and dad love us all equally. I'm the only one who's not a fully-fledged Mechwarrior or officer of some sort yet."

"By any chance, is Michael a brother of yours?"

"Yeah, he's the second-oldest of us. Boren is the eldest."

"So that means Jennifer's your sister?"

Rose smiled. "You've met a lot of us, it seems!"

"Boren works at the Strantor academy where Jennifer and I graduated."

"Oh, so you've already met my sister," Rose said eagerly. "What do you think of her?"

"Skilled, but a bit cold at times."

Rose laughed. "That sounds like her." She led Lane onto a side path over a hill. "I ask because she's rather hard on herself. She thinks she's not quite a model Lorin."

"Now that doesn't sound right. She's a model soldier! I mean, it's like she was born to do this," Lane argued. Maybe she was.

"I know. Maybe she just feels overshadowed by Catherine and Timothy, the other two siblings," Rose shrugged. "Jenny and I are the youngest so we have a lot to live up to. It's stressful being in the shadow of your peers, especially if those peers are your siblings."

At that Lane perked up. "I can understand that. My brother Ras left some serious footprints for me to follow."

Recognition flitted across Rose's gentle features. "Oh, the new commander of the Striking Tigers."

"You're well informed."

"Have to be. I'm a Lorin!" Rose laughed again and Lane shared the laugh, marveling at how fun Rose was to hang out with. He opened his mouth to say as much but decided against it.

Now Rose led her companion to the hilltop and Lane beheld a 'mech training field similar to the one back at his academy. The only difference was the skill of the pilots: far and beyond anything the trainees could muster back at Strantor. Lane stopped, staring in awe at the grace and control each pilot showed.

Rose folded her arms and stood by Lane. "Impressive, huh?"

Lane realized that his mouth was open and he snapped it closed before responding. "How old are those pilots?"

"Around our age, some a few years younger."

Feeling like a great weight had been set on his shoulders, Lane asked slowly, "And I'm supposed to reach their standards before leaving for my unit?"

Rose clapped a hand grimly on Lane's shoulder. "No. You'll have to exceed them or you'll never leave."

Lane stared in horror until Rose's countenance broke and she burst out laughing. "I'm kidding!" she giggled. "Goodness, no one can expect you to reach that level in just a few weeks. I mean, not to insult your skills or anything..."

"Don't worry, no offense taken." Lane fought to keep a straight face as he walked down the hill with Rose again. "You really had me going there for a second."

"I guess my joker streak is still going strong," Rose grinned as the two of them arrived at a check-in station. "Well, this is where we part for now," Rose told Lane. "You can watch from the bleachers if you want. I'll pilot a Wasp prime so you know which 'mech I'm in. Wish me luck!"

Lane hung back and gave her the thumbs-up. "Good luck out there."

"Thanks. Oh... and you know what?"

"What?"

Rose blushed again. "You're really fun to hang out with." Then, before Lane could say a word, she slipped into the 'mech hangar.