An idea I've been toying with for years

All Along The Watchtower

It's somewhat liberating, not knowing your own past. Lot of people think there's something sad about being abandoned as a child, never knowing who your parents were, where they came from. Can't say I've ever felt that. Far from it, actually: no family means nothing to try to live up to, or possibly embarrass through failure.

I was just another scrawny little girl, with flame red hair and green-grey eyes, all elbows and knees, far too wild for all the couples who came to Our Lady of the Sacred Heart looking to adopt. A few did express an interest, but one made the mistake of letting slip exactly what they had in mind for me. He left handcuffed to a stretcher, my knife still embedded in his left thigh, just below his groin, his 'wife' spilling her guts to the police. Probably because I'd threatened to literally spill her guts if she didn't.

I was eleven at the time.

After that, they stopped putting my name forward for consideration. I was seen as too wild, too aggressive for the good people of... You know, I can't even remember the name of the planet I grew up on. How crazy is that?

By the time I turned sixteen, it became clear that I wasn't going to be taking holy orders, so I left the Sacred Heart of my own choice. One of the nuns, Sister Lucy... well, she'd had a rough start in life too, and was probably the only one there who actually liked me. Not saying that I was mistreated or anything, but I was, at best, tolerated by most of the order. But Sister Lucy always had my back, always stood up for me when the truancy officers or the police came calling. She realised what I was planning, and that there was no real way to stop me, so she handed me a small box, hugged me and sent me off with God's blessings.

Where I was going, God had no business, but I appreciated the roll of used bills and the push dagger she'd probably lifted from the box of confiscated items in the main office.

I used the knife for the first time two days later: some pimp thought he'd 'encourage' me to turn tricks for him down by the spaceport. Well, he didn't see my uppercut coming, and certainly didn't notice the razor sharp blade sticking out between my middle and ring fingers. I relived him of his billfold and jacket, and left him to bleed-out in the alleyway. My first kill, but I don't think anyone would call it anything but self-defence. Certainly wasn't going to be my last.

Now, life on the streets isn't easy, and I had no intention of making a living on my back. Not for any moral reasons or anything, just that you're less likely to be caught up in a dragnet if you have an, at least on paper, honest job. Thankfully, one of the things they did teach us at Sacred Heart was not to shy away from hard work, and I managed to get a job sweeping the floor and running errands at a warehouse down by the docks. The hours were long and the pay lousy, but it gave me a legitimate reason to be around the ships coming and going. Even then, I had no intention of sticking around on a world where half the cops already knew my name and face, but getting legitimate passage on a ship headed anywhere else wasn't easy, or cheap. That left me with just one option: find a ship willing to offer passage, no questions asked.

Just walking around, asking people if they'll give you a ride off world is a easy way to find a very bad time, so I played it smart. Took my time. A hustle here, a hustle there, helping people find buyers for all kinds of contraband heading in or out. Managed to build up some cash and a few good contacts along the way. Also helped me move up in my legitimate job, and by the time I turned eighteen, I even had my IndustrialMech license.

And that opened all kinds of doors.

See, the local Militia had a base adjacent to the spaceport, in case they had to respond in a hurry. A cargo master I'd done a few trades with let slip that he knew of a mercenary unit stationed just over the boarder that was always on the look-out for cheap BattleMechs, cash in hand and no questions asked. All they needed was someone with the brains and balls to sneak into the base, jump into a 'Mech and walk on out like they owned the place. Pilots ran regular sweeps of the spaceport, so nobody would think anything of it until a conveniently timed venting of steam from a certain DropShips heat exchanger provided all the cover needed to stroll up the ramp and into the cargo bay just before they boosted for orbit. Now, I ain't no fool: Grand Theft BattleMech can earn you some serious prison time... or a very short stay, if they decide that it ends with you dancing the hemp-fandango. Still, it'd get me off planet with enough cash in hand to get started somewhere else with fresh, clean identity papers.

Fortunate favours the bold, or so they say, and I was desperate enough to be very bold.

Dipping into my meagre savings, I managed to procure a set of Militia tech coveralls and what I was assured was a Neurohelmet Codebreaker, a piece of tech that could get me shot just for having it on my person. There was no way of testing it before show-time, so I had little choice but to trust that my contact wasn't trying to offload some junk components in a box.

Packing what few possessions I didn't want to leave behind into an old duffle, I boxed the rest of my meagre possessions up and arranged for them to be sent to Sister Lucy, figuring that they may be of some use to someone else down the line. I used my work pass to get into the spaceport, then left it, along with my other ID, in a store room, where I acquired a cleaning trolley. With my short hair hidden under a cap that I pulled down low to hide my face, I started out towards the Militia barracks.

It's often said that, so long as you look and act the part, nobody's likely to question what you're doing somewhere. And just another lowly Astech on their way to clean up somebody else's mess is so ubiquitous around anywhere big and heavy machinery is used that they're practically invisible. One would hope that a sentry on a military base would be at least be smart enough to ask for some form of ID, but I was just waved through without a second glance. Maybe it was because we were a quite little planet with nothing of value even for the people across the boarder to consider worth stealing, or maybe fortunate really was on my side.

Who knows? And, above all, who cares?

There were four 'Mechs in the hanger: two Wasps, a Javelin and a Valkyrie. The Valkyrie was undoubtedly the big prize, but also likely to draw the most attention, where as the Wasps were a fairly common sight around the spaceport. Making sure nobody was in sight, I stashed the cleaning trolley behind a shipping container, and grabbing my duffle, I hurried up the gantry to the cockpit hatch. Now, there is a whole world of difference between piloting a clapped-out, bound for the scrapheap LoaderMech and even the most basic of BattleMechs. Fortunately, all I had to do was walk the damn thing half way across the spaceport and up into the waiting DropShip. I certainly wasn't planning on getting into a battle.

Fortunately, the Wasp was booked into the base computer for diagnostics, so opening the hatch was easy. Dropping my bag behind the command couch, I dropped into the cramped cockpit. Now, unlike most BattleMechs, so-called 'BugMechs' like the Wasp don't have a traditional command couch: they're too small for that. Instead they have something closer to a motorcycle like arrangement, is the best I can describe it, where you basically stand up, with a padded saddle supporting your weight while you strap into a glorified backboard. It's far from comfortable, and I certainly wouldn't want to have to use the jump-jets: it would have been extremely uncomfortable to say the least.

Plugging in the Codebreaker, I let it do its job while I did my best to familiarise myself with the controls. I'd spent a few evenings at a local entertainment centre that had gaming pods, essentially stripped-down simulators of the type MechWarriors train on. They have only a fraction of the capabilities of a proper, military grade units, certainly nothing like the customisation you'd need to get used to a specific design. But, could with my training and experience with the LoaderMechs, I was hoping that I could at least fake it 'till I made it. Unfortunately, one thing I couldn't fake was radioing the control tower to try and pretend I was just another Militia pilot going out on patrol. I had no way of discovering what codewords and call-signs they used, let alone impersonating the voice of the Wasp's assigned pilot, even if I had known who it was.

The Codebreaker bleeped, indicating that it had found a brainwave pattern it thought the Mech's security system would accept. This was a risk, as there was no way of knowing for sure without slipping on the helmet and seeing what happened. If everything worked as advertised, I'd be good to go, but if not...

Powering up the Wasp, I felt a tingling sensation across my entire head, but no sharp pain and flashing warning lights. I started running through as much of the start-up process as I could remember from the basic handbook I'd found at the local library, an ancient book that looked old enough to have been printed during the last Succession War. In was almost done when I saw a flashing light on the communications system, indicating that someone was trying to open a direct link, and it wasn't over a Militia channel. Unsure if it might be my contact on the waiting DropShip, I opened the channel, but remained silent.

"You got guts, kid, I'll give you that." an unfamiliar voice chucked, "Now, if you do everything I say, maybe, just maybe, you'll live though this little adventure."

I kept silent, suddenly feeling very exposed, despite the fact that I was sitting in twenty-tons of death and destruction.

"Look, I've made this channel as secure as I can, but it pays to be cautious, so from here on out, I'll refer to you as... Joker." the voice continued, "You can call me Thief, which should confuse anyone listening in."

I leaned forward as best I could, looking for any sign that I'd been discovered.

"Listen up, Joker, because we ain't got time for me to be repeating myself." the vice hissed, "You need to move your as quickly, and do everything I say. Just because I'm looking out for you doesn't mean that I'm putting my ass on the line."

"Okay, Thief." I replied softly as I finished powering up the Wasp, "How do I get out of the Hanger without setting off every alarm on the planet?"

"Damn it kid, you telling me you haven't thought that far ahead? Calling you Joker was supposed to be, well, a joke, not prophetic!"

"I was planning on playing it by ear."

"I should have fucking known... Okay, listen up. The moment you step out of the hanger, the Control Tower is going to try and contact you. Do you know how to use the arm manipulators?"

"The gloves? Yeah: my old LoaderMech used a similar system."

"Good. Well, soon as the tower tries to raise you, I need you to tilt your Mech's head back to look up at it, then use your left arm to point at your head. That's pretty much the universal sign for a radio being stuck in revive only. They'll probably tell you to head for the maintenance depot on the far side of the main landing field."

I slowly walked the Wasp out into the open, and sure enough, the control tower challenged me the moment I stepped into view. With no better plan, I followed Thief's advice, and very much to my surprise, it worked just as he'd said it would. Cleared by the controller, who sounded like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, I started to make my way across the expanse of ferro-concrete towards the waiting DropShip, a distance that felt like it could be messed in light-years.

"Slow and steady, Joker, slow and steady." my mysterious benefactor advised, "You've got to at least look like you now what you doing."

"I'd be more inclined to believe you if I knew who you really are." I respond through gritted teeth, the simple act of walking the scout 'Mech without falling over taking most of my concentration, "How do I know you're not leading me into a trap"

"Well, I'm glad you're not completely stupid!" the voice laughed, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm here because Lucy was worried about you. Worried enough, she did the one thing she swore she'd never do, and reached out to me."

"You know Sister Lucy?" I asked, the shock almost making me stumble, before I quickly recovered.

"I knew her back when she was just Lucy, before she got a terminal case of Religion." Thief explained, "Back when we... Well, shit. Back when the two of us worked for your father."

I stopped dead in my tracks: nobody had ever mentioned either of my birth parents as any more than an abstract before. Sister Lucy had certainly given no indication that she knew anything about them.

"I know that that's a lot to just dump on you kid, but you need to keep moving before someone gets suspicious!" the voice goaded me into action once more.

"You know my father?" I asked, my mouth suddenly dry, and not just because of the adrenaline coursing through my body.

"I knew him about as well as anyone could claim to, back then. Not saying he's dead, just... Well, he's not the same man he used to be." Thief sounded strangely thoughtful, "I know this ain't exactly the time for deep, personal revaluations, but I've already broken a dozen or so promises, so if there's anything you want to know, now's the time to ask."

"Why... why was I given..." I swallowed down bile, "Why did they abandon me?"

"Shit kid, if nothing else, trust me when I say that that was an act of kindness! Neither of your parents were exactly the 'settle down and start a family' type. Your mother, who would kill me if she even suspected I was telling this, had her own reasons for handing you off to your father after you were born. Hate to break any dreams you had about being the long lost heir to the Cameron dynasty or anything stupid, but truth is, you're the result of a one-night-stand none of us saw coming and a faulty contraceptive implant."

I could feel a rage I had never experienced before building up inside me at his words.

"Suck it down, kid: you ain't the only one who's here by accident. About half the people in the galaxy weren't planned, by my guessing." Thief spoke softly, "I ain't telling you all this to hurt you, but because I feel that you have a right to know the truth, that's all. No, you weren't planned: your parents were MechWarriors, mercenaries, and that's not a life that encourages long term thinking. So yeah, you were unplanned, unexpected, and I'm sorry to say this, but unwanted too. That's the hand the universe has dealt you, but what you choose to do with it is completely up to you."

"So, what does this make you?" I asked, moving off again, "My fairy godfather?"

"Shit, you are definitely you daddy's kid!" Thief chuckled, "Let's just say that, when your father retired, I took on certain... responsibilities. Responsibilities that keep me busy, or I would have been here sooner. We handed you over to Lucy to look after because, despite everything I just said, you're still family. Now, we're not exactly the dictionary definition of family, but we look out for our own, and that meant keeping you safe, least 'till you were old enough to make your own mistakes. And believe me, if I wasn't watching your back, you' d be dead or in handcuffs by now."

I kept going, trying to process what I'd been told. Yeah, as I little kid, I used to lay in bed, imagining the day when my parents would arrive and take me away to some dream home where we'd live happily ever after. But that's not how life works, not in a universe where there's no shortage of orphans. So, the idea that I was nothing more than the unwanted byproduct of a drunken fumble wasn't exactly unexpected, given just how many kids at Sacred Heart had the same sad back-story. But that didn't mean that having it confirmed wasn't like a punch in the gut, emotionally speaking.

Still, it helped explain just why Sister Lucy always had my back, and oddly, I actually felt closer too her than I had before.

"Okay, Joker, you need to hold it right the hell there!" Thief's voice cut into my self-reflection.

I stopped the Wasp, and looked round to see the imposing bulk of an Overlord to my left. The main cargo hatch had just cracked open, and I could see a Thunderbolt standing at the top of the ramp. Now this wasn't some patchwork Militia hand-me-down like my stolen ride, but rather a pristine, damn-near factory fresh machine, the badge of of a front-line Regiment painted high on its chest. Soon as the ramp hit the ground, it started out, followed by a line of other heavy 'Mechs, all much bigger and more heavily armed than any Wasp.

"Fucking salute!" Thief snapped in my ear, and I found my right hand coming up, the gloves I wore translating the action to the Wasps own arm.

The Thunderbolt strode past, followed by an entire company of BattleMechs, each more than capable of swatting my Wasp like its namesake. But instead they marched past in perfect formation, the last in line, an immaculate Hunchback, turning and giving me the slightest of nods in return.

"Well, that was close." Thief laughed, the relief in his voice almost palpable, "I was worried there for a moment that I was going to have to get involved directly."

Soon as they were out of sight, and it was clear that no more were leaving the DropShip just yet, I started off again, picking a rout that got me out from under the Overlords guns as quickly as possible. If I wasn't ready to fight another 'Mech, I sure as shit wasn't ready to tangle with that kind of firepower. Fortunately, it wasn't long before I saw the DropShip I was headed for, the cargo hatch open and ready, even as steam rose from the preheating engines.

"I guess this is where I sign-off." Thief spoke for one last time, "I'd say 'don't do anything I wouldn't', but that doesn't exactly mean very much."

"Wait!" I hesitated, "You've got to tell me their names!"

"Knowing their names won't bring you nothing but hurt, kid. Trust me." Thief sounded hesitant, "On your left."

I looked to my left, just in time to see the menacing shape of a Marauder in two-tone green paint, symbols of various House Bills painted all over it, before it stepped back into the shadows of a large building.

"See you star side, Joker." the radio crackled with interference, then went silent.

The End