The tumbled ruin in front of me must have once been the Lake Oodai mechbay. Alexis has been unable to contact the bay if its hidden nearby and this structure, built into a sandstone bluff, is about what I might have expected in terms of location. There are no remains of doors, gantries, cranes, or storage; the place has been cleaned of salvage. There are, however, tall narrow cavities on either side of the opening and what might be the linear depression a rail would have sat in... exactly like the ones the doors back home used.

"Well, it looks like it was picked clean."

"Aff. There is little to investigate, sir."

I click the map up and look for my next objective. I'm at a point where I can choose one of several routes, there's a cache about eighty kilometers north, another about 110 to the northwest, and a mechbay about 150 kilometers slightly south of due west. The two northern routes commit me to the shorter more northerly route, but it's mainly in the storm shadow of the ice cap for almost 500 kilometers. The mechbay route, however, leaves several choices open for a while and does not appear so vulnerable to late winter storms. It will, however, lead away from my goal a bit before it heads north again.

"Have we gotten the weather yet?"

"Yes, I caught the sat rotation before we entered the hill's shadow; I got the forecasts for several locations along possible routes within a day's travel, along with as much of the news as I could get from that satellite.

"May I see the forecasts, please?"

"No problem, Paddy."

Nearest storm is days out, but there are high wind and blowing snow warnings for much of the area I would cover on a northern route.

"Looks like the southern route makes most sense. I think the mechbay near... hmmm, looks like a town on the sat, but no name. Do we have a three meter view of the area to the south of that next mechbay?"

"Aff. Zoom on the bay?"

"Aff, to ten meter first, please."

"As you wish, Padraig."

I'm certain it was a town; many even lines forming a mostly even grid with a few lines that run off at angles.

"Three meters on six by nine, please."

The map zooms and now it's obvious: whatever the city once was, it's a ruin now. Destroyed structures and cratered roads appear to be all that survives of what must once have been a pretty good sized town.

The bay appears to be about six klicks north of the farthest extent to the damage, and I notice that at least it has a name: Oakland Refuge Mechbay.

"Well, I think that's where we need to head," I say and throttle up.

"Did Patrick like music?"

"Aff, he loved it, though he might disagree with you about what is considered music."

"Did he have any favorites?"

"It depended on his mood. There were pieces he liked that are what you might consider Clan Rock, but he listened to recordings from ancient Terra far more often than modern music. He was especially fond of Irish artists from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries like Altan, the Chieftans, Seamus Ennis, Eden's Bridge, Paddy and the Shee, Sean Galway, and Shannon's Echo. In battle, he preferred tunes like The Battering Ram that he would loop to use the driving rhythms for a combat groove.

"A combat what?"

"Let me show you, sir."

A raw driving drum line with a floating tone weaving through it flows through my hearing like a soundtrack to the swaying of a running 'Mech. It's an infectious tune, I push the throttle up and match the rocking with the beat... we are doing a cool 120kph. I can imagine combat dancing with my timing set to this and am sure I would be better able to fight.

"Most Cool! This would have been excellent against the Fleas. What are the instruments?"

"A pair of non-electric folk instruments: a wind instrument called a 'flute' for melody and a drum called a 'bodhran' for the percussion."

The longer it plays, the more enthralled I am. "This is SLABBED! Let's use it next time I get into a dancing fight."

"As you wish, Paddy."

"So this is acrostic music?"

"If you mean 'acoustic' music, then yes. Have you never seen folk style musicians?"

"No, Mam, but I want to hear more of this kind of stuff."

"Aff, Sir. I have his library and can play what you wish. You may want to back off the throttle for now, though."

"Thanks for reminding me, mam." The addictive nature of the loop is captivating and I could easily have let my myomer burn itself out with a constant run before I tired of the endless dance. We slow back down to seventy.

"How about these for this pace, Paddy?"

She changes to another complex tune that moves along with the stride quite well and I find myself bobbing my head keeping time with the music.

"Most Jix, Mam!"

"Cool, Paddy."

"You said 'cool'!"

There's a smile in her voice as she says, "obviously, you are a bad influence on me."

I wonder what granpa would say about all this.

...

"CTC! Two klicks, multiple lighter units, all with Blakist identifiers."

There's smoke above the trees in that direction. I throttle to zero and click the map up.

"Three meter on us, please."

It enlarges and I see eight... no, nine... well, quite a few more still. They appear to be moving along a corridor from left to right, quite oblivious of us. Several appear to be crossing derelict buildings, perhaps they are choppers; others are sticking to the street centers.

"Convoy?"

"Not likely, the choppers are not in the right place to be protecting a convoy. Not entirely sure, but it looks a lot like a flanking maneuver. There is a fair amount of comm traffic from further into the city."

"Can we take them?"

"Up to you, sir. We have the raw firepower potential, but if this is a... CTC, slower aircraft, probably bombers, on an oblique towards the smoke. They will be within 500 meters in 20 seconds."

"Shut down now!"

The nose sags, the visor hud grows dark, and the engine stills.

"Risky move, Sir..."

"If they're on a bombing run, they may be too focused to notice us; even if they do, they are probably too late to change their minds and bomb us. If we can maintain surprise on the column, we can kill some Wobbies."

I can hear the bombers screaming low over the dreary wreckage of the city.

"Aff, Sir. Please note I did not say it was a bad move, just risky."

The roars are even more pronounced.

"Aff, thanks."

Now they reach a crescendo and I realize I'm biting my lip.

They're diminishing. Now silent.

"Power on, please."

The XL goes live and things wink back on. On the far side of the sensors, I can tell the aircraft are continuing, while nearer at hand the many lights are still moving as before. Time to kill a few Wobbies. Throttle to a fast walk, right a few blocks, line up along a deserted street for the lead elements and forward almost a klick to have a clear view.

I watch them, noticing also that further into the town the ruins are far more metalic and the sensors seem to be having trouble.

"Got that music ready, Mam?"

"Should I start it now?"

"When I say 'go'."

"Aff, Sir."

The first unit is a multi-barreled tank.

"Clear the safeties, please."

"Cleared, Sir."

I can see that the second unit's a Myrmidon; I get tone on the tank and launch missiles, then swing the ERLL onto the Myrmidon and fire. The latter explodes instantly, and my missiles find the quadcannon and rip it open too.

"Go!" I laugh and throttle up. The music starts and I'm running to my right down a side street. The column has stopped except for the choppers, all four of which are headed towards where I was. The beat fits my sprint to a corner a klick on and I turn sharply left, gyros spinning to max as I fly around the corner. A few blocks and then left again, and back at the choppers. They should cross my line of fire about now...

The laser slashes the second chopper out of the sky, I'm flying right at them, get tone on the fourth and fire. The missiles fly true and chopper three turns directly into my next laser shot. The column's starting to break up, I've turned left again and am running back towards my original contact position, with the lead chopper still trying to find me. Dancing to this music's a blast as I zigzag through the buildings and come out within the small laser's range of chopper one; a slice through its belly and the choppers are gone. I'm trying to reflank the column to the left while they are moving towards my original attack point.

"There are several new sets of comms that have gone into overload, sir. You have achieved a good surprise, but now we are likely to find out just whom they were reenforcing."

"Meanwhile, lets tag as many of these as possible."

"Aff, Sir."

Again, I double back, this time against their left flank. Another myrmidon appears and it dies with a laser hit. I'm already circling back when I realize that four of the units are still almost where they had first stopped along original street. I dance towards them, they must be long range targets or otherwise too valuable to engage... so I should pay them a visit. The music drives me on, still flanking and still sprinting. They are looking the wrong way, four LRM carriers... ERLL for the second, missiles for the third, and I'm close enough now to small laser the first before darting closer to town to loop for the last of them.

"CTC, medium at about 1500 meters... there's another unit close to it but it's not identifying friend or foe... looks like a medium also."

They are in the heart of the town, I wonder if the unidentified is the reason these units were headed around. I've come even with the last LRM carrier and swing my torso to get the shot while crossing the street... ERLL reaches out and blasts that Wobby to oblivion. Throttle push, maxed out, need to run enough to cool...

"CTC, Heavy, correction, two heavies, one at 1800 meters, but the other is under 800, nope, it is gone again, must be ECM. Several more of the nonaligned are showing also."

"A battle?"

"Considering their movements, it is likely."

I've moved far enough to cool and start to dance back towards the remainders of the column.

"CTC, a medium is moving towards our last fire position."

"In a hurry or cautiously?"

I get a clear shot on another quadcannon and let missiles fly. Between all the practice and this music, I seem to be mowing them down with an unexpected ease.

"Rather quickly. 800 meters."

Could I take a medium? I turn another corner and catch a myrmidon turning to try to meet me, I leave it exploding through molten armor. Two more of the original column left. The sensors show that the medium's moving towards me, about 600 meters out. I'm sprinting away, until it is more than a klick back, then angling again... can I get it to come out and play? Do I want to? I'm sure of the ECM, so he must be guessing where I am for now. I loop wide to keep him at a klick and see that he's slowing, again near the last location he would have had me on sensors. I slip along an alley and into a clear line of sight as I cross a street... a Bushwhacker!

"Scanned damage stats available on the medium."

The hud displays a new set of bars and I can recognize the damaged areas instantly: the armor on left and center torsos and the left arm is badly damaged, and the left leg appears close to losing myomer, there's no armor left on large sections of it.

The Bushie's moving again, back towards the column's last two units. I line up a street ahead of it and about 900 meters out of where I expect him... I can not afford to miss, and I stop and aim for the spot.

"Stop the music, please, Mam."

It goes silent at just the moment I see my opponent clear a building... tone, fire missiles, he's turning, I pick a section on his nose that's blackest and fire the ERLL... The nose armor glows brightly and melts off. He's headed for a building, tone, missiles again... nope, they hit the building behind him. I turn and run away from him, cutting over a street and watching him on the sensors. He had visual only, the ECM should have dropped me back off his sensors. The updated damage scan shows that he has no center torso armor and almost no left torso armor after my shot.

I want that 'Mech, through an alley, across a street, another alley with a torso turn at the end, there he is at range, I fire, and miss...

"DRAT!"

"Hard to hit a distant target while strafing with a direct fire weapon, Sir; all the more so in a Raven, its movement side to side is so pronounced."

I reverse and turn the corner, it looks like it's about to turn. I stop, tone, missiles, ERLL, the nose in front of the cockpit explodes into flames, part of the cockpit ejects itself into the atmosphere, the missiles plow into the exposed structure, and the 'Mech explodes, sending flaming bits of twisted scrap into a satisfying cloud of smoke.

I'm moving again, chasing the rapidly fleeing two units.

"CTC, Bombers again, they think they know where you are... two more, they will use the first ones to spot. Contact in ten."

Full throttle towards the smoke plume from the Bushie.

Above the footfall's thmp, thmp, thmp, I hear the distant roar and dart right into a side street, left onto the next one over and left again at the next alley. The roar's much louder, now the ground's shaking and I'm distantly aware that there are remnants of the blasts' concussions even here from ordinance that must be 500 meters away.

"Sir, do not let them close while you are between buildings."

The second pair is angling more towards me.

Throttle up, right along the street, the roar's growing, left at the next street, full throttle, it looks like they are turning to try to track me. I have a clear road in front of me, and I twist the torso around to face backwards, aiming for the sky. They will cross my line of sight any moment, but their arc will be wider than what they need to come over me, MAN, HE'S CLOSER THAN I THOUGHT! ERLL slices him open, but I can see the bomb already falling.

I'm turning the torso when the blast wave overtakes me. Suddenly I understand the effort that Patrick made to keep upright as Rocker is buffeted by the hypersonic concussion and its associated debris; the gyros are torquing at absolute maximum while the legs are trying to stay even with the accelerating torso. By a miracle or at least superior gyroscope construction, the Raven remains upright... until the other plane's bomb detonates to my right.

I'm buffeted in the chair and the already overtaxed gyros are not enough to keep my top heavy 'Mech from launching headfirst at a nearby building. The impact's dampened a great deal by the structure just being a shell of hollow cinder bricks, but it still feels like I'm having a bad day with my harness trying to break my collar bones. Remarkably, while the wall crumbles, it does give me time to get my feet somewhat shakily under me.

"Ok, enough of that. Lets get out of here."

"Aff, Sir. Minor damage to center torso and right arm armor, the bombs were just out of range to do more."

"Music again, please."

It starts, the drum line driving me and the flute thing lifting me, somehow. Throttle up to max, now clear enough of the ruins to see the bombers coming around for their second pass. Running right at them, tone on first, missiles away, ERLL on the second, missed it but the first is exploding, ER small catches the second as I veer away from the line and the bomb misses. I'm tracking it with torso, got tone, missiles again, and there's only one bomber left.

...

"Sir, we are being hailed."

"Ok, please open the channel."

"Who in the hells is out there?! Respond!"

"Just someone who hates Wobbies."

"Well, this is our contract and its our salvage! Stay away!"

Some thanks I get, almost makes me sorry I got involved. The final bomber's lining up again, but I have tone and launch its death volley.

"I suppose you knew about that column that was flanking you?"

"What column?"

"Four choppers and ten or so quads, Myrmidons, and LRM launchers."

"Say again."

"Two got away while I was fussing with the bombers, but you are welcome to move to the southeast about 1500 meters from your battle and see for yourself. I also took out the Bushie you had obligingly dinged up for me."

"Stand by."

I veer north, and obliquely away.

"Why? I've places to go and don't want to hassle with anyone as uptight as you are about your contract."

"Might be worth something to you."

"I'll stay in comm range."

Alexis comments, "Sir, if the bombers have relayed a vid of us, there will be more of them soon; at the very least the Blakists will send their fastest interceptors. Depending on orbital positions, they might even retask a satellite."

"Aff, guess I should have been a bit more cautious."

I back the throttle down to about 90kph and move a bit further away from the desolate city.

"Perhaps, but you did well, used you ECM to excellent advantage, and managed your heat well. Perhaps you cut it a bit close with the bombers, but you also took your time with the 'Mech and at this stage, it was a good kill... Bushwhackers are tough even with that amount of damage."

Man, does that feel good! "Thank you, Alexis. I appreciate your encouragement."

"You are welcome, Padraig."

"Unidentified 'Mech, your claim is confirmed. Probably enough salvage here that we can cut you in on something after all."

"Could it be a trap?"

"Possible, though they may just want to hire a pilot. It may be worth considering getting some cash."

I key the mic open, "I've got no place to sell salvage... could use cash or a job or two that will pay something, though."

"Might be able to work something out, come down into town."

"That might be a trap," Alexis comments.

"No offense, Sir, but I'll meet with one of you north of town. I like to keep my options open."

There's laughing on the other end, followed by, "well said. I like a man who knows when to be a bit more cautious."

...

From the trees I see a laser loaded heavy walking up the hill. His armor looks beaten up, but if he sees me, I'll have only a second or so to choose to escape, his lasers are enough to melt entirely through my whole 'Mech if he takes a shot.

"The 'Mech is a Black Knight, very old chassis, I don't think it was in your drills," offers my companion.

"Thanks, Mam."

The comms crackle to life, "well, pilot, you can see me. Care to return the favor?"

I key up, "well armed 'Mech you have there, Sir. Black Knight, right?"

"Very good, and yes it means that I can probably cut whatever you are in into pieces if the need arises. But I saw the spread back there and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Neither I nor my unit will fire on you if you'll come out and let me see who and what I'm dealing with."

Well, I am kind of committed to this course. "Power up, please, Alexis."

The heavy turns my way, I'm only 500 meters out. Throttle to a brisk walk, and though I do move in more of an arc as opposed to directly, I'm still heading that way.

"Very good, powered down, eh. Very nice."

Clearing the obstacles and I'm immediately covered as he turns to stay centered on me.

"You did that with a Raven?! Brass stones indeed! I certainly have work for you if you can scout as well as you can disrupt."

"Well, Sir, I guess it would depend, I'm probably average at best."

"Hmmm, humility and courtesy... you might not fit in..." there's hysterical laughter, and I would swear that more than one comm has been keyed.

"Damn right, can't have no 'Sir' stuff."

"Bayehd hay kiin gayeht yah intah duh hayalls tawkiin lak thayat." I need a translator for him, the accent's so thick.

Two more pipe up, but their language is too salty for repetition.

"Well, if I don't fit in, I should let you get back to your salvage."

"Mister, let me buy you a drink. You have a job." On the sensors, his unit goes friendly blue, and four more at the very edge of my range do also.

"Hay, dayer bawss, ha baht uhss?"

"Buy your own," he laughs and turns his 'Mech north towards the Oakland Refuge mechbay.

I throttle to a matching walk and head the same general direction.

"Be careful, Sir," Alexis breathes in my ear. "Mercs can be deadly fighters, but remember that it is money that brings them together and not common interest or even common morals."

As if to punctuate her comment, one of the other units gets on comm and talks about getting a girl or two drunk for the express purpose of manipulating them into having sex. His language is as vile as any I've ever heard and his intent's not far behind.

She continues, "When they know your age, they will probably attempt to manipulate you in one of many different ways that you would regret. Remember to deal with them as a pilot: you have survived and will take care of yourself. Whatever you have learned about such people, remember it now."

...

This isn't a bay like the one back home.

Set under a solid basalt cliff is a set of doors at least twice as large as any I've yet seen. They lead not into a room or bay, but into a massive gallery lined with equipment and full of people. Those appear to be shops, and there are more aisles in different directions, some large enough for 'Mechs, others obviously for lesser traffic.

And there are 'Mechs already here, most in good shape. The biggest is a Longbow, a veritable monster that reminds me of the one at the battle in Prontsi, though it didn't look so big then in the recording. Next to it is the first Lightray I've ever seen that wasn't pained Wobby White. The Black Knight stops in front of me and backs into a huge bay marked with a stories high number '5' painted in black across its back wall.

"Take number seven, next to mine over on your right. I'll let you use my crew-chief until you find one you like."

"Crew-chief?"

There's laughter from several of the pilots, then the leader says, "the guy who manages your repairs and equipment."

"Ah, sorry, Sir. I do my own repairs."

"What?!"

Rather than try to deal with what's said by the less appropriate speakers, I'm just filtering out what they say that's vulgar or worse.

"_ _ that, dumb _ _. You'll _ give u name."

I choose to answer the lead, "I take care of myself, Sir."

"No wonder that 'Mech looks so good. Ok, suit yourself, but I still want Jerry to talk to you. He gets things done and knows how the system works here. We don't own the place, we just work for them, so it won't do to piss everyone off."

I'm about to turn into the number seven bay when I realize that every other 'Mech is backed in. Doing the same, I face a medium in number eight that looks like it's in the middle of major surgery. Both arms are off, there's no armor and little myomer on the legs, and the center torso's similarly exposed. I can't even tell what it is, it's so stripped.

The remaining merc units trundle in: a Catapult, an Argus, a Bushwhacker, and an Chimera. All are damaged, the Argus and Bushwhacker seem to have gotten the worst of the fighting, though I would guess that the Chimera's missile pod is totaled too.

"Visor up, please."

I'm in 'natural' light again. A gantry swings beside my cockpit, shocking me at first. It takes a minute to realize that this is the route the other pilots are using to get out of their 'Mechs; none of them are kneeling and climbing out the way I'm used to.

"Alexis, how should I park you? I want to make sure you aren't tampered with."

"Very good, Sir. You want me to secure the 'Mech, so that would be your instruction, and normally it would be released only on your voice command with you immediately present."

"That works for me. What does it do?"

"The cockpit is sealed and all energized points are electrified. It also sets a self-destruct if integrity is attacked and you are not able to regain control of either the 'Mech or the LosTech chip."

"Pretty serious, but we aren't playing games, are we? If this is what granpa used, let's do it, Mam."

"It is what Patrick used, and I will engage it when you demech. Remember that your age is not your disadvantage, just your reality. There is a small box on the left plugged near where the hoses mount. It has a panic button that Patrick could use to set an alarm off on the 'Mech if ever he was in a bad situation. I should be able to direct any upset people to your location."

I reach down and pull the box off its plug. Inside there is indeed a thumb-sized red button.

"Upset people?"

"Trust me, Padraig, when the alarm goes off, everyone in this gallery will be upset unless they are completely deaf. In an emergency, that group of people who want the alarm to end can be an asset to diffuse a bad situation. Patrick used it once, but it saved his life... his opinion, not mine."

I pocket the box and am suddenly aware that there's someone standing on the gantry, looking in.

"Is there any way to keep them from looking into the 'Mech?"

"To block out light, the ferroglass can be double polarized to cut out the light, like this.

The canopy's windscreen goes nearly pitch black. Internal lights are the console and several other dials and displays. I stow my neurohelm and disconnect from the harness and hoses.

"Ok, thanks, Mam. Guess its time to get out. Canopy up, please."

I pull a leather tunic over my cooling suit and stand onto the gantry. There's a tall and rather imposing man standing just a bit back, watching my every move.

"Please close the canopy and secure the 'Mech."

"Aff, Sir." Her tone is odd, flat and mechanical. The canopy sinks, seals and I see a set of tiny red lights begin to blink on the canopy edge.

"I'm Tyrone, head of Tyrones' Terrors and pilot of the Black Knight."

He extends a hand for a handshake; I extend mine and there's a firm but unaggressive exchange.

Continuing, he says, "good, I hate shaking hands with a dead fish. You appear a bit younger than I expected."

"I'm Padraig. If you think I'm too young, Sir, I can be on my way. I've survived with my Raven since I inherited it from my da; you have to judge for yourself if I handle it well enough for what you need."

"Can you handle the sidearm?" he is pointing at the pistol holstered at my side.

I consider him for a moment and try to remember all that Mike said about carrying firearms.

"If I need to," I shrug. "Rather not need to though..." I look him square in the eye and quietly ask, "Do you expect that I'll need to use it if I stay?"

He's watching me carefully. "Probably not more than once. The garrison commander will want you to register a spent round before you get out into the rest of Oakland, you can fire one on the range at his office but...

"Wuht ehn da hayells? Heez juhs ah kiid!"

Tyrone raises a hand and the approaching character grows silent, though he continues to stride up to us. I would guess he's my height, about a meter seventy, and probably about fourty-five or fifty.

I notice another pilot headed our way, probably from the Argus. Tyrone's still looking me over and seems ready to speak again when a pair of voices below pick up...

"What the _? Where's th pilot?"

Hmmmm, maybe I should just ignore their foul language altogether.

"_ yeah, _ _! He' BOY!"

Ok, it goes down hill from there and I return my attention to Tyrone, who's now grinning with a bit of a raised eyebrow.

"Not exactly your style, is it?"

"No, Sir, not exactly."

"Whayell, Ahm Joe! Keyllehr Joe dey cawlz may!" I almost expect to see teeth in disarray when he grins, but except for the accent he seems as sharp as someone at a farmholders' meeting.

"Joe's my missile boater, that's his Cat. Joe, this is Padraig. You two will likely be working together."

Joe steps forward, hand out and we shake while exchanging greetings. He steps back again as a tall wiry man of indeterminate age walks calmly up. This one has an air of confidence just a touch removed from arrogance, an intelligent curiosity, and darker skin that emphasizes his intense eyes and friendly smile.

"My best brawler: Martin; the Argus is his domain. Martin this is..."

"Padraig, yes, I heard," then to me, "don't call him 'Sir', ok?"

Another handshake, this one a bit more aggressive at first, but relaxing when I rise to the challenge without making a battle of it. Martin nods approvingly and backs behind Tyrone. I can hear the offensive two coming up. It occurs to me that Martin's the only one of the five who hasn't commented on my age.

"Havin' a _ hard time getin' _ recruits, eh?"

"Hey _, can you even _ shave _ yet?"

Tyrone shrugs, "the redhead's Wallid and the short one's Idaho. We generally call them Wally and Spud. Be careful around them when they've been drinking. Like now..."

I am about to offer a hand, but theirs are firmly holding beverages and they just nod in my direction.

Tyrone smiles and finishes, "Ok, Padraig, lets get you checked in with the cops."