Brandon St. Jamais was frustrated now. Thoughts on hindsight and mental recriminations raced across his head as he continued to sweat because of his 'Mech reactor's oppressive heat. The desert sun was also complicating matters, taxing the Toyama's heat sinks to the maximum. His cooling vest was stuck to his chest as the perspiration rolled down his face and neck like a boiling waterfall. Although he felt that he was going to kill the delegates in the end, he should have captured the small group who surrendered to him near the DropShip crash sight. He could have gleaned information from them as to where the others were. As it so happened, his eagerness got the better of him when he ordered his unit to open fire on the hapless men and women and then joined in the frenzied bloodlust as well.
As he eased the 75-ton Toyama near a stretch of broken terrain, St. Jamais now wished he could have gotten them all in one sweep, recover the datadisk and be back on their way to Terra. As his aggravation boiled up within him, his BattleMech kicked over some dried canyon walls as he lashed out in frustration. A 50-ton Starslayer medium 'Mech ventured out from the other side of the wadi as the Toyama started trudging its way towards the north, smashing through the sand-carved canyons like a little child stepping on sand castles in the beach.
"I have swept the area to the north, Precentor." The Starslayer pilot said over the comm. frequency. "All clear, we can move on to the next search grid now."
"Go ahead," St. Jamais acknowledged, "be there in a bit." As his annoyance became even more acute, St. Jamais targeted a stretch of broken sand walls but he quickly hesitated at the last minute until his anger subsided. The weapons fire would additionally tax his 'Mech's heat sinks and he would not risk that just for the sake of letting off steam. Perhaps he needed to watch his private trivids so that he would feel better once he got back to the base camp.
As the Toyama turned and headed off over a sand dune to rendezvous with the rest of its unit, Dominic Durant let out a sigh of relief. The entire group of surviving delegates had hurriedly camouflaged themselves when they saw a number of WOB 'Mechs venture into the area that they were resting in and began a sweep to pinpoint if they were there. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one got accidentally stepped on by the massive BattleMechs as they trudged through where they were all hiding. Several close shaves happened when a gigantic 'Mech foot narrowly missed squishing Carlos Sanz by a matter of a few meters as it strode nearby.
As Durant looked around him, he could see everyone lying prone on the ground, using the dried canyon walls as cover. At least the 'Mechs that were in the area did not use active probes or the chance of spotting them would have increased dramatically. Several delegates placed sand-covered blankets over their bodies as an extra way to conceal themselves. After what seemed to be an eternity, Carlos Sanz got up and walked over to where Durant was and sat down beside him. Several others had begun to ease up after the close shave and tried resting out the day once again, their hands and lips twitching considerably as the adrenaline rush left their system.
"Another close call." Sanz said as he partially wiped the dust from his forehead. "How long can we keep this up?" He asked.
"As long as possible." Dominic said. "Another night of traveling and we should be close to the base of the mountains."
"I wonder," Sanz mused, "if we made the wrong decision."
"To resist?" Dominic said. "For better or for worse, we did it. The Blakists want something from us and I am going to find out what it is as soon as we get to the high ground."
"What are our chances, Major?"
"To be honest, very slim." Dominic answered.
"What about Captain Kerensky? Surely once she gets her 'Mech, the odds would be better, eh?" Sanz was trying to see the positive side of things and desperately looking for support of any kind.
"There is a good chance she is probably dead by now." Dominic said softly.
"What?" Sanz was aghast. "What makes you say that?"
"If the Blakists didn't get her, then the desert probably would have." Dominic said. "Seems we are up against a Level III WOB unit. That means they are battalion-sized, with air and infantry support; the Blakists favor combined-arms units. They seem to have no qualms about using nuclear weapons against us and it is only blind luck that has saved us so far. We are trapped like a rat in a cage."
Sanz looked out into the distance. The desert sky was a clear bright blue, if it weren't for these circumstances, he might have enjoyed this world. Durant was right; sooner or later they would be found and dealt with. There was no one to help them and the enemy had overwhelming firepower and numbers. "Then why are we still resisting?" Sanz asked incredulously.
"Because we got nothing better to do." Dominic said as he got up and brushed sand from his trousers. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Sanz, I have to check up on the others." With that, the SLDF Intelligence officer walked away.
The winds kept howling across the dunes, spreading a harsh blast of hot, dusty air while the sun cast its rays relentlessly unto the burning sands as the lone figure walked across the endless oceans of dust and desolation.
It must have been high afternoon, but she was no longer even sure of that. Her thoughts were in a daze as the aches and pains reverberated all over her bruised, battered body. The blood on her forehead mixed with sweat had finally dried and matted her tousled red hair. Her thoughts could barely coalesce into proper coherence as she stumbled on, ever forward. Her subconscious was willing her on, it was almost as if her conditioning took over despite the fact that she could no longer focus her concentration on anything other than to keep moving forward. But as to what lay in front of her, she couldn't think about what it was, the pain and thirst was taking up too much of herself.
As a few abstract thoughts began to manifest itself unto her brain, she wondered how many days had passed since her glider crashed while the enemy was attacking it. The recollections were a blur as she stumbled on the leeward side of a sand dune and nearly toppled over, but she regained her balance just in time and kept going. All that she could remember was that when she woke up, she was lying in a trough of sand, pieces of wreckage all around her. While her injuries were minor, she had lost all of her possessions including the life-giving water canisters. All she could remember now was that she was searching for something out in the desert.
At least she knew her name was Natasha and that she had recollections of being instructed on how to survive in desert environments. But as to who her teachers were, she was no longer sure; was it part of her previous life as a Clan warrior or was it when she was reincarnated to become an assassin for House Amaris? Her life was a ball of confusion and she could no longer differentiate between either of her memories. But the riddle of the origins in her mental thoughts could no longer be contemplated as she kept focusing on the problems at hand- how to survive in a dangerous and demanding environment.
Natasha knew for a fact that she should not be traveling during daylight, the chances for heat-related injuries were multiplying every minute that she was exposed to the scorching heat. But the Black Widow also knew that there was precious little time to reach her goal of finding her BattleMech and that impulse overrode any qualms about traveling through the heat of the day. The slight cramping on her legs, the cold, clammy skin and the darkened urine was already a clear indication that she was severely dehydrated and would eventually suffer heatstroke if she kept at it.
As she kept trudging along, she knew from memory that the adult body needed at least two to three liters of water a day; if one lost over fifteen percent of one's body fluids, death would surely occur. That she had already stopped sweating and was experiencing dizziness combined with nausea was a clear sign of heat exhaustion.
The Black Widow contemplated just giving up as she traversed another fifteen-foot tall dune as the scorching sands burned through her boots and seared her very soul. Just as she was about to give up and just lie onto the sand to die, she noticed that there seemed to be a rock outcropping several kilometers ahead. Hoping that it was closer than she thought, she gathered her remaining reserves of willpower and began trudging her way towards it. If she could just rest for a few hours, maybe she could find the energy to keep going.
After what seemed like an eternity, Natasha was able to make it to the jutting rocks. As she began to walk around it, hoping there was a small crevasse within the rock formation that she could crawl into, she almost fell over as her aching knees nearly buckled. As she tried propping herself up, she noticed a small crack in between two sand-colored boulders. As Natasha wriggled her way into it, she began to doze off into merciful unconsciousness as the coolness of the rock shade started to calm down her dying body.
A sharp pain on her hand immediately jolted her awake as she could feel a number of crawling things moving along her exposed forearms. Quickly scrambling out, Natasha moaned as she stared at her swollen palm. Hurriedly looking around, she noticed that the rock that she tried to get into had a nest of black widow spiders. She had apparently disturbed them and paid the price for it. As the pain of the venom's neurotoxin began to overwhelm her, Natasha numbly sat down onto a burning slab of rock and sighed through her broken, parched lips. She cursed herself for being careless, she was taught to always visually inspect an area before resting or lying down on it. It was quite incredulous to her as well that a seemingly uninhabited moon was teeming with life- and Terran life at that. Those last thoughts finally overwhelmed her and she fainted.
"Natasha." A voice from beyond taunted her.
"Natasha, I know you are awake." The voice continued. "Get up."
As the Black Widow opened her eyes and jolted up, she noticed that she was still lying on the rock slab in the middle of the desert. The sun was beginning to set as dusk began. Her right hand had swollen to the size of a melon as the pain continued to seep through her but she needed to be alert when she realized that she wasn't alone. As she desperately looked around she saw no one. Was she dreaming? How long was she unconscious?
"Over here." The voice commanded as it staggered her with its clarity and power.
Quickly turning around, she noticed that it looked like a hunched figure wearing a black robe, sitting on a rock. Peering closer, Natasha could see that it resembled an emaciated old man. The ancient one gave her a hissing laugh as he placed his craggy, withered palm out towards her in a gesture of peace.
"Who are you?" Natasha asked hoarsely. She tried to reach for her pistol but realized that she had lost it days before. After surmising that he would have killed her easily while she slept, Natasha decided not to provoke him.
"Just an old traveler of the desert." The old man replied.
"How did you get here? You are not with the Blakists and neither are you with the delegation." Natasha said softly. As night began to seep in, the temperature began to drop rapidly; the desert was a mixture of extremes.
"I have been here for a long, long time." The old man smiled with his crooked teeth and blackened gums.
"I must be dreaming." The Black Widow groaned. This desert moon was supposedly incapable of supporting life.
"Dreaming?" The old man laughed. His head was hairless and full of wrinkles that accentuated his vulture-like visage. "Look at your swollen hand. Could you dream of the black widow's venom seeping through your body? Is the pain but a delusion as well? Isn't it ironic that your own namesake has given you a sign?"
Natasha looked at her hand. The palm was discolored but the pain had somewhat subsided. Was the old man a delirium brought on by the spider's venom? If she was experiencing mental confusion then it was a sure sign of heat stroke. If she did not get rehydrated soon, she knew she would die.
"How could this be?" she asked. "Black widow spiders and now you. How?"
"Perhaps a tramp freighter that crashed centuries ago might have brought some unexpected stowaways that eventually formed an ecosystem, perhaps? Who knows?" The old man said as he stared out into the desert night. "But the one thing I can say about living creatures is their survivability. Even in the harshest conditions, life finds a way to adapt."
"How did you know my name?" the Black Widow asked. Her mind now seemed strangely clear, almost lucid. Was this the prior moment before the onset of death? Was she already dead? Did the spider's neurotoxin affect her mind somehow?
"The desert speaks to me." The old man laughed. "She is my wife, my lover, my mother, my provider. I know all of her secrets. When one such as you makes a trek across her, she tells me everything there is to know about you."
"You are a mirage- a hallucination. You are not real." Natasha said softly.
"Perhaps I am nothing more than a figment of your imagination just as you are about to cross the river Styx and into the underworld." The old man made another deep, throaty laugh. "Whatever the case, I am here. And you will not be rid of me."
"Leave me alone." Natasha said as she slumped back down onto the hard stone slab. "If I am going to die, let me die in peace."
"But what of your friends?" He taunted her with a bony finger. "Will you let them die as well?"
"They will die anyway." Natasha lamented. "I am cursed."
"Ah, I see. You finally give in to your dark fate. If that is the case, then why struggle? Why care for them when they will die anyway? Is this what you felt when Kieran died in your arms? Or when you killed your own lover?"
"Shut up. Leave me alone." She said softly. "You are a demon inside of me."
"If I am that, then you can't be rid of me." The old man laughed yet again. "You have been nothing more than a ghost in a shell. How pathetic, one with skills such as yours should never give up the fight."
"Why struggle?" Natasha wailed softly. Her body was extremely dehydrated that no tears came out of her swollen eyes. "Everything I have done has come to nothing."
"How weak you are." The old man said with disgust. "The reincarnation of one of the greatest MechWarriors in history is about to die like a mangy dog in the desert. What a waste."
"She died in battle," Natasha lamented about the fate of her original self, "and her love was killed as well. What difference does it make what I do now?"
"Had she been a simple woman, would her glories have lived on long after her death? Had she lived as a mother of children with a happy life, had the gods not destroyed her and laid her in dust, would any have sung of her songs or told of her tales in stories that men will listen to for all eternity?"
"You are asking me to fight? And for what?" Natasha was weary of it all. "Immortality? We will all be dead and nothing will change. That is war."
"'The wise ones will fly from war', that is true." The old man of the desert said as he quoted Euripides. "'But if war comes, to die well is to win the victor's crown.'"
"Just stop it. Stop tormenting me. I just want you to leave. Please."
"What you want? What you want? It was never about what you wanted." The old man said.
"What are you talking about?" Natasha said.
"You know what I am talking about." The old man said as he got up and began to walk out into the barren dunes.
"Wait!" Natasha cried hoarsely as she tried to get up after him. As she tried to pull herself up, her legs felt weak and she fell back unto the stone slab, skinning her elbows as she closed her eyes briefly to overcome the pain.
As the Black Widow looked around to try to find the old man, she noticed that he was gone. Was he nothing more than a hallucination? Was it her mind's fevered attempt to make some sense of the situation? Could it have been the final throes as she entered death's door?
While she lay there with her thoughts, Natasha had noticed that the desert had now cooled. It was almost as if the universe opened up its secrets to her. She could see the stars across the heavens as the gas giant cast an illuminating shadow on the horizon. Her mind was now clear. No longer did the darkness surround her. She had felt a spirit awakening inside of her, one of hope and overwhelming power. The pain in her hand had subsided to a mere itch for she knew it was no longer an issue. Was this then the key to immortality? Would living a life of peace and tranquility be a satisfaction if one is ultimately forgotten or would one live a short life- full of adventure and battle and be remembered in heroic tales forever? She knew that the fates were judging her as to what her decision was.
Getting up, Natasha brushed the clinging sand off her black jumpsuit as she began to marshal her energies into a single-minded pursuit towards her goal. As she rounded the rock shelf, she noticed an outline behind a sand dune just in front of her. After straddling the edge of the dune, she looked down and gave a dry, throaty laugh. Earlier that day she was ready to give up but now she realized that the goal was so close, she could just reach out and take it.
Near the base of the sand dune on the other side was her all-black Warhammer; staring back at her like some half-buried sphinx. Not far away was Palatine's Crusader, standing upright after a perfect landing. Both BattleMechs looked like desert monoliths guarding the barren desert sands. The layers of dust and the drag chutes must have cushioned their fall for both were fully loaded and in excellent condition.
