DC Heroes: MechWarrior I
By: Christopher W. Blaine
e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com
Chapter 2 Justice City New GothamGotham Commonwealth
December 24, 3030"You will provide me with the information I requested and you will provide it now!" Bruce bellowed, slamming his fist on the desk. General Alfred Pennyworth regarded him with a cold stare. It was enough to make even the headstrong Archon-Prince back down.
"You will refrain from destroying my furniture, my prince; I need it so I can go through all of the paperwork that this government generates. In case you have forgotten, until you turn twenty-one, I am the Archon-Regent." Alfred allowed that to sink in for a moment before he leaned back in his chair. He cast a quick glance over to a younger man who insisted on smoking despite the signs that indicated it was prohibited.
Lieutenant James Gordon nodded and pulled the cigarette from his lips before speaking. "We have the information, Prince Bruce, but it has not been verified. Oracle has many ways of doing things, but it can't perform miracles. Sometimes a trail is too cold to follow."
Bruce swallowed, trying to regain his lost composure. He needed to somehow demonstrate to these men he was worthy of their respect. Getting angry did not seem to do it. "I am eighteen years old, which means under Commonwealth law I'm an adult, so I would appreciate it if you would treat me like one. My parents were killed in front of me, gentlemen, and nobody has ever been brought to justice over it." He stepped back and smoothed his cadet uniform. He was one year into his studies at the Gotham BattleMech Institute, the premier military training academy in the Commonwealth. He had been granted leave for Christmas, a holiday leftover from man's time on Terra and one that was favored on the worlds of the Gotham Commonwealth. "My father was a great man; my mother was equally as great. I know, general, that you served with them honorably and that you and Oracle have put forth every effort to seek out the person who killed them. What I'm saying is maybe its time for a different perspective."
"Begging the Prince's pardon," Jim said, crushing out his cigarette in a candy dish, "but exactly what qualifies you to assess forensic and intelligence information."
"I am quite skilled at both, as my previous studies indicate," Bruce said with some measure of pride. Alfred said nothing, instead watching to see of Bruce could dictate as well as his father had.
"Be that as it may, sir," Jim said, bowing his head, "you still do not have the need-to-know. You are, with all due respect, only a cadet in a military academy."
Alfred's eyes drifted from Jim over to Bruce and he could see that the boy was straining himself from simply beating the intelligence agent. Jim Gordon was good, a damn good agent who would most likely go far if he played his cards right. He was a by-the-book type of agent that was sorely needed in Oracle, which had seemed to have fostered an attitude much akin to the Terran Wild West. Many in Oracle thought that they did not have to answer to anyone but their Commissioner, who was a life appointee from Thomas Wayne's time as Archon. Even though he was the Archon-General, Alfred could do nothing about it.
Bruce put a hand on the desktop for support. "Be that as it may, Agent Gordon," Bruce started, using the more familiar title with the Oracle man, "in three years, I will be the Archon and Oracle will have to surrender the information to me. I wonder if I will be in a favorable mood that day or will I begin to rethink postings?"
Gordon shook his head. "If you are trying to threaten me your highness…"
Bruce cut him off with a cold stare. "I'm not threatening, I'm telling you. Now or later, it doesn't matter to me, but it will to your career."
There was an odd silence, interrupted only by the constant tick-tock of Alfred's large grandfather clock. It was an item the general had built himself many years before. Jim pulled out another cigarette and lit it, then pointed it at Alfred. "You were right, general, he did threaten my job. Same thing Thomas would have done."
Alfred nodded. "Indeed. I was afraid he would simply have stated he would have you shot."
Bruce watched the exchange with mixed emotions. He had been set up, tested on how well he could use his influence and he had passed by not going overboard. He didn't like the idea, though. "Don't do that again," he said as he stood up stiffly.
Alfred's smile dropped away and was replaced by a hard stare. It was commonly referred to as his "ass-chewing" look. "See here, young sir…"
Bruce held up a hand. "No! You listen. My whole life I've been held up to this standard my father set and I'm tired of it. My father was a great leader, a great man and a good husband. He was the best damn father in the Inner Sphere and I loved him more than words can say. But I'm not him. I don't agree with everything he did and I don't agree with how he set things up and when I am Archon, it will be different."
Jim tried to say something but Alfred held a finger up. "You may not want to be compared to your father, master Bruce, but you will be, if not by us then by the people. That is the price you pay in order to rule. I am not even of the Wayne bloodline, yet every decision I make is compared to the legacy that Thomas Wayne left. For you, it will be ten times worse because you are the heir apparent, the savior of the Gotham people."
"That isn't fair! I should be able to do things my way…"
"Ruling is not about doing things your way," Alfred said, his voice never wavering. "You rule by the consent of the ruled and you must do things their way. If the people demand security, then you have to decide how to provide it. You don't decide the people need to be secured."
"This is not a democracy," Bruce replied, sticking his chest out. "I was born to the throne."
"Do not delude yourself; all governments are democracies, some are just more democratic than others. The people will decide if you get to continue to rule. If they love you, they will respect your decisions; if they don't…"
Bruce shook his head. "What does this have to do with my request?"
Alfred's tone became softer, but his expression did not change. "What would you do with the information, Archon-Prince? Would you run off in search of vengeance?"
"Yes! Yes I would," Bruce replied. "The people need to know that crimes will be avenged!"
"No, the people need to know that their leader is not going to go off half-cocked and plunge the Commonwealth into war! What if you discover that your father was assassinated by order of Katar Hol? Would you declare war on the Thanagarian Combine? We just finished one with them…"
Bruce bit his lip, allowing Alfred to continue. The Archon-General finally stood up and came around from behind the desk. "Bruce, I know the pain that burns deep in your heart, but you have to look at the bigger picture. The Commonwealth has gone without a true leader for a decade and it is tired. Tired of war and wondering what direction we will be going in. The people want a leader to rally around. Yes, Thomas deserves revenge, but until we are absolutely sure, we can't do anything."
"Then why do you hide the information from me?"
Jim replied. "Because there isn't any. The 'mech pilot was never found, we assumed he had confederates nearby that got him out of the area. His 'mech was a Bane, an assault type that never became popular because of its cost."
Bruce spread his hands out wide. "This is all common knowledge. What about the initials my father saw on it?"
Alfred put a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Burned away. We don't know what they were; even Thomas wasn't sure."
"We can tell you this," Jim said as he took a long drag, "your father's 'mech had been fitted with armor plating that was one-third the thickness of standard armor."
That was news to Bruce. It was something he had suspected but could not prove. His father's Batman had been confiscated by Oracle and he had not seen it since. "Did you question the techs? The Master Technician?"
"They were all dead by the time Oracle got around to finding them."
Bruce stared at the floor. There was no secret vat of knowledge as he had hoped for all of these years. He had prayed that there was information and that Oracle was simply holding it for him until he reached the proper age. Then he would march into battle and smite down those who had betrayed his father like an avenging god of war. It was not to be and his disappointment seemed to fill the room.
Alfred removed his hand and went over to the Christmas tree he had in his office. Alfred had no family of his own, Bruce was surprised to see so many gifts under it. He had assumed that they were simply there for show. The Archon-General stopped down and picked up a small package and then brought it to Bruce. "Merry Christmas," he said.
Bruce's mood lightened a bit as he took the small box. It was wrapped in paper bearing the Wayne Crest, a gloved fist raised in front of the yellow and black symbol of a bat. It was the bat that had started the Wayne family fortune on old Terra several centuries before. The bats would pollinate several rare species of flowering plants that the Wayne's would sell. It seemed almost ridiculous today, but it had been before the Industrial Revolution.
Bruce looked up, sadness in his eyes. "I didn't get anything for you."
"I would hope that a cadet would have better things to do than go shopping," Alfred said with a wink. "Think nothing of it, master Bruce; the fact that you decided to spend this holiday with this tired old man is more than enough present for me."
Bruce began to blush. "And here I was screaming at you…"
"You have your mother's passion, but you need to remember your father's temperament. The time will come, young prince, I promise you, when you shall be the one to make the decisions and then you will understand the burden I am under. I too wish to tear up House Hol's possessions looking for the bastard that murdered my two greatest friends, but I can't. Neither can you. You are the Archon-Prince, heir to the throne; your place is here for now."
Bruce nodded and opened the package. He did not notice as Jim exited the room quietly, taking the now ruined candy dish with him. The wrapping paper dropped to the hardwood floor and Bruce reached into a small white box and pull out a set of keys. He wasn't quite sure what to say and Alfred seemed to be amused at the prince's confusion.
"In the days of old," Alfred began, not wanting to torture the younger man any further, "it was customary for a father to bestow a vehicle upon the favored son at the holidays. Generally, this was signified by the passing on of keys."
"Ford?" Bruce asked, looking at the letters printed on the keys. "Is that good?"
Alfred smiled. "It was a minor vehicle manufacturer before the exodus from Terra, however they are only representative of my gift. The true gift is outside," Alfred swept his arm towards the large window behind the desk. Bruce gave him a wry look and then ran over to the window.
The first true snowstorm of the season was working holiday magic on the grounds of the royal estate. Bruce had to take his hand and wipe away the fog that had formed on the windows and he put his face up to it. Then he cupped his eyes so he could see farther out and was rewarded with a sight every cadet dreams of.
"Oh my God," he whispered as he beheld the sight of his Christmas present. He quickly turned back to Alfred. "Is it really for me?"
Alfred nodded. "It was mine when I was your age, given to me by my uncle prior to my leaving the Metropolitan Suns for service to the Commonwealth. It was, at the time, the only House Luthor design that could be found outside of the Suns."
Bruce looked upon the bird-like 'mech, colored in the red and gold colors of the Metropolitan Suns, seeing the tell-tale machine guns and small lasers sticking out of the stubby arms. The 'mech was a 65-ton Firestorm and it was now his. "I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing, lad, just remember that it's a close quarters fighter, no long range weapons," Alfred said as he accepted a cup of eggnog from a servant. The servant offered Bruce a cup, which he took with thanks. "It would not be fitting for a prince to be dispossessed."
Bruce smiled. All MechWarriors had to have a BattleMech in order to do their job. It was the minimum requirement; all of the training and talent did no good without something to put that skill to use. Any warrior worth his salt was fearful of being dispossessed…left without a 'mech. "I promise I'll take good care of her."
Alfred sipped at his cup, delighting in the light taste of alcohol. "You might want to paint her a different color scheme, something more akin to the dark colors of Gotham…"
"Maybe…we'll see…" Bruce said, a twinkle in his eye. Alfred knew that look and it bothered him greatly. The Archon-Prince just thought of something and Alfred could already tell it wasn't anything pleasant. "When can I take her out?"
Alfred shrugged. "As you stated before, you are an adult now Cadet Wayne."
Bruce downed his eggnog and bowed. "By the general's leave."
Alfred returned the bow. "Please hurry back; I'm planning on a late supper before my guests arrive."
Bruce looked up. "Guests?"
Alfred chuckled. "I said I was appreciative of you coming, I did not say I was a hermit locked away in my castle. Captain John Grayson and his family are joining us as well as Lieutenant Selina Kyle, the new Four." The members of the 1st Gotham Guards command lance were known as One, Two, Three and Four. When Bruce assumed the throne as Archon, he would immediately become One. Just as his father had been.
"I look forward to seeing him again," Bruce lied. The fact was that John Grayson intimidated Bruce. He was cocky and sure of himself and a true to life hero. He reminded Bruce too much of his father. The only good point, besides looking at John's pretty wife, was their son Dick. Though Bruce was eleven years older, he looked upon the little boy as a younger brother.
Bruce did not wait for a reply, but instead set his cup down and left the room as soon as possible. Once in the hallway, he took off at a run. The sight of the BattleMech had filled him with joy, but he knew that it was short-lived. He could feel the black mood slowly creeping up his spine, threatening to chill that part of his brain that held his dearest memories.
Black voices spoke in gray tones to him, telling him to avenge his parents' deaths. He wanted so much to listen to Alfred and to Jim Gordon. He wanted so much to believe that if he was simply patient, then the answers would become clear.
He didn't want clear answers, though, he wanted blood. He wanted the blood of his parents' murderer on his hands. Face me, killer! The words had echoed through his head for years, ever since he had watched the giant metal foot crush his father into a puddle of…God how he hated the word…goo!
He kicked open the doors and stepped out into the cold wintry night. The guards at the doors did not move anything except their eyes, watching as the prince ran through the snow, stumbling sometimes, nearly falling completely as he reached the 2-1/2 story tall BattleMech.
The legs were like an ostrich, which is why it was referred to as an avian design. The Metropolitan Suns were known for coming up with new and interesting ways of putting 'mechs together and the Firestorm was only one example. He appreciated that Alfred was giving up a prized possession for Bruce, but it was with mixed emotions he accepted it. He laid an ungloved hand on the leg, trying to see if he could sense the raw power that was just under the surface. He noted that the armor was all brand new, indicating that Alfred had put forth much of his own money to repair the machine.
Bruce had seen pictures from the early days of his father's reign of this 'mech. It was designed to be a boxer of sorts, a heavy 'mech that stepped into the middle of the action and slugged it out with infantry and support vehicles. It was a feared design in the Keystone Confederation, where speed was considered the primary consideration in designing BattleMechs. House Allen did not like to get close, preferring lightning quick attacks and then fading into the mists. The Firestorm had been a rude awakening during the Third Succession War for Celestial Prince Walter Allen.
During a rather brutal battle in late 3007, Colonel Alfred Pennyworth led the 14th New Amsterdam Dragoons to a decisive victory over the 199th Keystone Fusiliers. In that five hours of heavy 'mech combat, the Firestorm that was now Bruce's had succeeded in taking down nine enemy 'mechs before it had to be returned to the rear. No more ammunition and burnt capacitors in the lasers had rendered the 'mech useless. It was the battle that secured Alfred a generalship, which he still held today.
It wasn't a Batman, though, and looking at the crimson and yellow coloring, Bruce knew that he would never pilot one. Certainly there were still several Batman 'mechs out there, but it had been his father's machine. He needed something of his own, but he wasn't sure what it would be. Bruce was fond of the Black Knight design, a general 'mech design found throughout the Inner Sphere, but he would not turn down a present such as this. For the next few years, it seemed, this was going to be his steed.
He patted the leg like it was a favored horse and turned to walk away. It was far too late to go for a walk and it was Christmas Eve after all. He nearly knocked over the person who was coming up behind him. "Hey, jerk!" a female voice called out.
Bruce apologized immediately but the woman was having none of it. "A cadet! I should have known. What the hell are you doing out here?" Bruce noted that the woman was dressed in the formal uniform of a MechWarrior with officer's bars on her collar.
"Excuse me?" Bruce replied, standing straight up. The woman took a good look at him and then smiled.
"The Archon-Prince, we finally meet," she said from behind perfect teeth. It wasn't all that was perfect about her either. Long black hair, not at all what one expected from a MechWarrior, hung loose and seemed to shimmer in the moon's glow. As he took in the rest of her athletic figure, he wondered how her neurohelmet was able to read her brain patterns through all of the beautiful hair. He felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch it.
"If you know who I am then you know why I'm here," Bruce relied, sticking his chest out a little farther.
"I saw someone around the general's 'mech so I investigated. That's my job, Cadet Wayne." She seemed to be enjoying referring to him by anything that would not indicate a status above hers.
"Thank you, Lieutenant Kyle," he said, seeing the name badge on her chest. "Once I assume the throne, I will ensure that a letter of commendation for service above and beyond the call of duty is entered in your record," Bruce replied with a bow.
She made a poor curtsy. "Why thank you so much, Cadet Prince Wayne; are you going to mention how you nearly trampled me as well?"
"It was an accident," he said, apologizing again.
"MechWarriors have to know where they are going at all times, Cadet! There is no 'oops' when you are piloting a hundred tons of pure meanness!"
"I said I was sorry!"
"Not good enough, Cadet. One day, you and I are going to be in the same lance and I don't want to worry about you stepping on my in the middle of a battle!" She put her hands on her hips, shapely hips he decided, and seemed to dare him to respond. "Do I have your promise you'll watch it next time? I can't spend my career watching your ass."
"Don't you worry about my ass! Worry about your ass! Oh, and I'll be watching your ass, you wait and see," Bruce said as he stomped off, not bothering to salute. When he was a few meters away, he realized what he had said and turned to apologize yet again. When he looked, she was smiling.
"Watching my ass, eh? Hope you enjoy the view, handsome," she said before turning around and walking off in the opposite direction.
Bruce shook his head, vowing he would never embarrass himself in such a manner ever again.
"Do you often spill drinks on women's chests, or am I a special case, cadet?" Lt. Kyle remarked as she looked down at her ruined uniform blouse. Mary Grayson, wife of Captain John Grayson and a former aeropilot herself, started wiping off the excess with a damp cloth.
Bruce's head burned and his vision was getting fuzzy. Little Dick Grayson was laughing in a corner, thinking that this was the best party he had ever been to. Several servants moved in to surround the infuriated lt. Kyle, but she waved them away. "I'll clean myself off, thank you." She then bowed her head to Bruce. "And thank you, my prince, I will treasure this moment forever."
As she left to clean up, Mary in tow, John Grayson slapped Bruce on the back. "That is a sure fire way to get noticed, my prince."
"Indeed. I never realized you had such a way with the ladies," Alfred commented as he refilled Bruce's glass. Handing it back he whispered. "You definitely are not your father in that regard."
Bruce felt like running and jumping out the window so he could cool his burning face in the virgin snow. He had not meant to spill his drink, especially on the officer that he found himself attracted to despite his better judgment. When he had seen her, he immediately remembered when Alfred had told him about the new MechWarrior in the command lance.
To be accepted into the command lance and not hold a command position in the military indicated someone of great skill. He guessed by her apparent age that Selina Kyle was probably no more than four years older than him. Alfred had corrected him by stating that Selina had just graduated from the same academy Bruce was attending.
"She had a four-point-oh grade point average her last year. Finished the obstacle course just under your father's time. Defeated 6 enemy 'mechs in the final simulator exercise and single-handedly routed a superior force in the final practical. In other words, she's the best MechWarrior to have ever graduated from a Gotham institute." Bruce had remained in shock for several seconds and then looked back at her. Beautiful and deadly. His heart was racing and he wondered if her off-handed comment about him being handsome had been the truth.
His had planned to dazzle her with talk of…well, he wasn't quite sure, but the dark voices in his mind seemed to quiet down as he approached her. Then he had tripped on something, most likely his tongue he assumed, and the rest was now a vary bad event indeed.
"I just wanted to say hello," Bruce said sheepishly. He looked at the clock. It was time for bed.
"A helluva way to do it," John Grayson said. "I think she likes you. If you had done that to me, I would have beaten the snot out of you. That is if I were a young, desirable and single woman who happened to be asking about you before you came back in."
Bruce smiled. "She asked about me?" Christmas was the time of forgiveness.
John nodded. "General, what was her comment?"
Alfred tapped his chin with a finger. "Ah, yes, If memory serves me, something along the lines of her posterior attracting your gaze."
"She used the word 'gawk', I thought."
Dick also chimed in. "Brucie is in love! Brucie is in love!"
Bruce slowly turned and looked out the window at his Firestorm, trying to will it fire on him and end all of the merriment at his expense. Nothing happened and he resigned himself to a night full of tortures beyond imagining.
Ho. Ho. Ho.