Chapter 13: Surrounded

September 23rd, 3025

Unclaimed Space

Kimi System

The Kimi System was a strange one. Just one jump away from the bustling shipyards of Lyreton, right on the border of Capellan space, the Kimi System was home to two habitable planets, one arctic and one tropical, that had degraded all the way back to pre-spaceflight technology. The locals were ruled over by something called the New Salvationist Order, and as best he could tell, they worshiped in the old SLDF outposts, treating them like shrines.

Strange. But it did leave him wondering exactly what the Wolves were doing here. Donavan gestured at the information on the ops screen and gave his executive officer a questioning glance. "Darius?"

"Right. So, beyond what the download says, this is something of a buffer system between the Capellan Confederation and whatever power arises in the Periphery. Controlling a planet-full of religiously motivated insurgents is always a losing proposition; they care a little more than most about which flag is flying. The Directorate doesn't touch it because they don't want to expose themselves to the Capellans, which means there are two virtually untouched SLDF outposts down there filled with valuable tech, and a small space station is home to traders willing to pay for anyone to make a run on the outposts."

Sumire cut in. "If there really is Star League tech down there, why don't the Capellans just take it?"

"Our best guess is that it's not worth the cost. For starters they'd lose their buffer system, so they'd have to commit more forces to securing their border here. They're already sandwiched between the Federated Suns and the Free Worlds League, so they'll try to avoid having to fort up on this border as much as they can. And then there are the forces they'd have to commit to take it; pre-space flight doesn't mean harmless. They don't seem to have any 'Mechs, but they have thousands of serviceable battle tanks. And on the other end of the scale, these are two outposts, not full bases. It just doesn't seem to be worth it for them."

Donavan nodded. "So, where do we come in? I'm hoping you didn't volunteer us to stomp on some locals."

"No, actually. The locals don't much like it, but there are traders on a good-sized space station orbiting their planet. There's nothing they can do about it, though, so the two sides have come up with some unwritten rules here. Stealing from the old Star League sites is something of a game of cat and mouse they'll allow, but if anyone goes after the two main outposts they've turned into shrines, the whole planet goes into lockdown while they park an entire battalion of armored vehicles on the ruins, which dries up all trade. But we have a couple of options. Two of the trading groups got in a scuffle planetside over a claim. A bunch calling themselves the Crimson Lance won the fight, but their DropShip got damaged and is being repaired. Crimson Lance wants us to back them up until their DropShip can collect them. Acquisitions Limited claims that the find is theirs and Crimson Lance stole it, and wants us to snatch it back before that happens."

The Commander smiled. "A seller's market. The perks?"

"There won't be salvage rights on this one for obvious reasons, but both sides are offering higher cash up-front for the job. Acquisitions Limited has connections with Ceres Metals, who have a big manufacturing center next door on Ward in Capellan space. Might get us access to their goods. The Crimson Lance is small, but have made friends with the other traders here, who aren't happy that corporate folks are starting to move in on their turf. They've mentioned that everyone on the station is willing to pitch in with a discount to let the Capellans know to keep their noses out."

"Then there's the political angle," added Sumire. "If the Capellans get their fingers burned, they may be less willing to commit forces all the way out here to interfere with the rebellion… er, the Restoration."

Donavan frowned. That was a good point, actually. The political calculus was difficult enough just between the Directorate, Magistracy, and the Concordat without throwing the Capellan Confederation into the mix. "Well, I'm always willing to stick it to the Capellans when I can, and we are running low on supplies – that discount could come in handy. Plus, if they're looking to hire us to attack these folks, they probably don't have much left to throw against us themselves. Darius, work out the details with them and let's go bring these folks home."

The tropical planet, the name of which he couldn't remember, grew large in the window of the Leopard's cockpit. Donavan, wearing his fighting attire of running shorts and a cooling vest, thought through it one more time. The Crimson Lance were running light given the low profile they were trying to maintain – three lights and a medium, though they'd been a little cagey on the exact specs in case he'd decided to take up the Capellan-backed corporation on their offer. According to them, the Capellans had tried and failed to ambush them on their way out, instead running straight into their waiting DropShip. In the confusion, the DropShip had wrecked two light 'Mechs and bugged out, but not before eating a couple alpha strikes from two Vindicators. The PPC's had done a number on the DropShip's sensors, and they were still trying to get them sorted out.

Crimson Lance had half-heartedly asked that the Wolves unload their 'Mechs on the station and just go pick up their boys in the Leopard, but their heart hadn't been in it and Darius had just rolled his eyes. Donavan wasn't about to let anyone bring armed 'Mechs into his home. That was the oldest pirate move in the book.

So they were headed in. He nodded to himself. "Alright, I'm going to get ready for the drop."

Sumire spared him a quick glance over her shoulder. "Good luck."

"You too."

Wolf shuddered a moment as the neurohelmet feeds contacted his skin and he synched with the Blackjack. For a moment his brain seemed to expand, and then he could see through the 'Mech's eyes, hear through the 'Mech's sensors. He flicked on the comms.

"Wolf, ready check."

"Behemoth, ready."

"Glitch, ready."

"Sumo, ready."

"Standby." They were running heavier today, as the Crimson Lance were fielding primarily light 'Mechs. They would provide all the scouting he needed. He flipped back to the Leopard's sensor feed and watched as they swooped over a dense jungle, swathed in mist as evening fell. They were quite high up in the mountains, fifty or so kilometers from the SLDF outpost, nestled at the highest point as an observatory.

He frowned as the thermal sensor picked up a thin line winding its way up the mountainside. Were those… torches? Huh. That must be some sort of pilgrimage up to the outpost, and he couldn't help but whistle. That was one hell of a hike, trail or no, gaining something like a kilometer of altitude.

Sensors pinged as they picked up a tight-beam signal from the 'Mechs, hidden behind thick tree cover. With all the background heat, it would be next to impossible to find them without it, unless they started firing off JumpJets.

Sumire soared past them and eased to a hover one valley over about a dozen meters off the ground. There wasn't a clear space to land that he could see, so the semi-clear spot where the DropShip's engines bent the trees to the breaking point would have to do. The loading ramp's light flickered from red to a blinking yellow, indicating caution, and the ramp lowered.

Behemoth went first, jumping out and feathering her JumpJets to soften the fall. Even so, she hit with an incredible thud. One by one they piled out and Wolf gave Sumire the all-clear to soar off into the night. As the exterior lights of the Leopard faded away, the evening darkness descended.

"Lance, Wolf. Let's go. Sight-lines suck; Sumo, you've got our heaviest short-range weapons, so you take point, but keep it close together, people."

Sumo clicked his mic in acknowledgement and moved forward, maneuvering the Centurion carefully between trees. Fortunately this was an old-growth forest, so the medium 'Mech's head just brushed the bottom of the canopy. Anything taller and she would be completely blind, crashing into trees and boulders she couldn't see and risking a fall. Still, even seeing where they were going, 'Mechs were huge, and no-one would accuse them of being precision instruments. He winced as she snapped a tree like twig, smearing sap across a leg and sending an explosion of local birds into the sky, marking their location. Hopefully they wouldn't be noticed in the dark.

Behemoth's Shadow Hawk followed not far behind, trying to keep in the cleared path the Centurion had blazed. It helped to preserve the forest, but it also hid how many of them there were from any potential pursuers. Wolf followed, with Glitch bringing up the rear.

Even crawling along as they were, it was tough going. The terrain was extremely rough, for which Wolf was grateful—one of the main advantages 'Mechs had over tanks was the ability to maneuver in this sort of environment.

"Wolf, Sumo. Contact with Crimson Lance established."

"Copy." He switched channels to the one provided by the Crimson Lance's people on the station. "Crimson Lance, this is Wolf of Donavan's Wolves. We were hired to escort you to safety. We have you on sensors and are approaching. I say again, friendlies approaching from the east."

After a few moments of silence a new voice came on the line, understandably a little anxious. The approach of 'Mechs that you weren't completely sure were friendly was always a nervous moment. "Wolf, this is Slant of the Crimson Lance. It's good to see you, we were getting a little lonely out here. No sign of Acquisitions since they hit the DropShip, and nothing from the locals, either. It's been pretty quiet."

"Copy, Slant. On approach."

They moved forward cautiously until they reached a small clearing. A Phoenix Hawk medium 'Mech stood guard in the middle of the open space, weapons trained downwards in a ready stance that wasn't threatening, but was ready to turn threatening at any moment. Around it, tucked back at the edge of the tree line, were three more light 'Mechs covered in camouflage tarps.

Wolf eased the Blackjack to a halt and flicked on the comms again, dialing back the power all the way back so even Star League tech would have a hard time locating them beyond a kilometer or so away. "Slant, Wolf. Your people hired us to escort your lance to safety. After talking it over with them, the plan is to take it slow over the next couple of days, laying low during the day and traveling during the night. We'll meet up with your DropsShip at the coordinates I'm transferring now at midnight local time on any night starting four nights from now. The container you see in the Centurion's hand has emergency supplies for you."

"Wolf, Slant. Sounds good to me. We'll follow your lead."

"Copy. By way of introduction, Behemoth is my number two in the Shadow Hawk, Glitch is in the Vindicator, and Sumo is in the Centurion. Behemoth, you have first watch. Slant, if you would split watches with us."

"You got it. My number two is Crossover, along with Longtooth and Quickie. Longtooth, you have first watch with Behemoth."

"Alright Wolves, let's settle in. We'll saddle up at 0200 local time and head for objective one."

And that was that – now they waited. Between the sensors of three light 'Mechs and five medium 'Mechs he wasn't overly concerned with being snuck up on by the battered remnants of the Acquisitions Limited lance, and there wasn't much chance of the locals getting tanks through this terrain. He took one more look out the cockpit, then started the shutdown sequence. The Blackjack's fusion engine spun down, lights flickering as they switched to auxiliary power. He unlatched and yanked down on the manual release lever, and the cockpit hissed open.

His neurohelmet immediately fogged up as hot jungle air rushed in. He tugged it off, the leads pulling at his hair, and already missed the advanced model he'd destroyed keeping his skull intact. After hanging his helmet on the rack he reached behind the pilot's couch and pulled out his survival kit and climbed carefully down the exterior handholds of the 'Mech.

His shoes hit the dirt and he looked around, surrounded by millions of C-bills worth of BattleMechs and pristine nature, marked only by the churned dirt and broken branches where the machines had walked into the clearing.

A bird fluttered past, and despite all the firepower around him, he felt distinctly exposed as the breeze made his cooling vest flutter. He shouldered his pack and looked for a good spot to set up his one-man pup tent.

The communicator on his wrist buzzed silently thirty minutes prior to their departure time. With a grunt he turned off the alarm and rubbed his eyes tiredly in the dark. The spindly cot wasn't especially comfortable, but at least it kept him off the ground. He'd managed maybe an hour of uncomfortable sleep. The temperature had dropped and he'd gone from dripping in sweat to shivering.

An army of insects buzzed outside in the night air as he sat up. Okay. Back to work. He unzipped the tent and quickly broke it down, packing it up with the cot into his survival kit, squinting in the dim light of the ready lights from the two 'Mechs on watch, then stepped behind a small screen of underbrush to the designated spot to relieve himself.

Once back in the cockpit he left the fusion engine powered down for the moment, instead flicking on the lance comms channel. "Sumo, Wolf. How are we doing?"

"A creature between a lion and a bear came through about an hour ago. Nothing else to interrupt the tedium."

"Anything from our new friends?"

"No. They do seem reassured by our presence."

"I see." He couldn't disagree with their sentiment – stuck on a hostile planet without transport was not a good place to be. "Alright. If the others aren't up fifteen minutes to go-time give them a ping.

"Acknowledged."

He spent the next few minutes getting himself ready, stretching, and enjoying the last few minutes before getting back into the cockpit for long hours. At last it was time, and he scrambled up into his cockpit. The comm pinged as the last member of the lance came online, and he toggled the comms again. "Lance, Wolf, ready check."

The pilots acknowledged, and he switched over to the shared channel. "Slant, this is Wolf."

"Wolf, Slant, go ahead."

"We're ready for a long night of walking. We'll put the Centurion up front, the Shadow Hawk in close cover. Keep your Phoenix Hawk anchoring the center with the lights, and I'll be trail. The Vindicator will be overwatch up on the ridge."

"Sounds good, Wolf. I'm afraid I've got a bit of a wrinkle, though. One of our 'Mechs is having some engine trouble. Nothing too bad—the fusion engine is warming up slowly. It will take another hour or so to be ready to move. I want to put as much distance as we can between us and that outpost, and the light can catch up without too much trouble, so I say we carry on and let it catch up."

Wolf winced. 'Mech malfunctions were depressingly common, especially without a 'MechTech as gifted as Yang around, and the last thing they needed was an engine malfunction. It didn't pay to take risks with fusion reactors. Still, it was a little surprising that it was a Wasp that had the problem. The extremely common platform, at least as far as 'Mechs went, meant it was very well understood, and the GM 120 engine powering it had been around for centuries. On the other hand, that might be why the pilot thought they could get a handle on it without 'MechTech support.

And perhaps most importantly, Slant hadn't asked that anyone on his lance stay behind with them. "Alright Slant, keep me updated. Let's go."

They didn't set the world on fire with their pace. Sumo went first, his stocky Centurion blazing a trail both figuratively and literally as he stripped branches and ripped out saplings with his passage. The other Medium 'Mechs did their best to follow in the same path to make it a little more difficult to track them from overhead, and as a nice side effect limited environmental damage. The agile Wasps moved more nimbly than their heavier counterparts, dialing back their speed to avoid running out ahead.

It was exactly the opposite of their normal procedures, but the mission was to protect the light 'Mechs, so they'd make do. It was slow going, picking their way through dense woods in the dark. It was also a little mind-numbing as one hour turned into two, then three, and eyes grew heavy. He almost nodded off, jerking awake again as the Blackjack slipped in a small gully he'd missed. The armless 'Mech flailed, but he managed to keep it upright. He gave himself a shake and checked the time. The sky was starting to lighten a little. What? He checked the map—they were still short of the objective for the night. Their pace was getting slower and slower.

"Slant, Wolf. It's getting light and our pace is slowing. I don't think we're going to make the objective. Why don't you send out the Wasps and find us a spot nearby to settle down."

"Copy, Wolf," responded his counterpart, a little anxiously. "You sure we can't press on a little longer?"

"Yes. We've got plenty of time – better not to risk an accident pushing too hard."

Slant didn't sound entirely convinced, but acquiesced. A moment later the Wasps bounded away, and a pang of jealousy shot through him. Light 'Mechs were a little closer to human-sized and a lot more dexterous; still far less than a human, but it made them much less physically and psychologically demanding on the pilot. The jealousy was short-lived, however. The tradeoff was that they were far, far easier to bring down in a fight.

A few minutes later Slant passed on coordinates and the column changed course.

That pattern continued for the next two nights, doing their best to sleep during the day and carefully picking their way forward at night without lights. And it was wearing on them. Wolf woke up tired and stiff in a cot he was quickly growing to hate. Wait… it was still light? Evening was still settling in, he should have had another couple of desperately needed hours of sleep, so what had woken him?

His communicator buzzed again, and he answered it groggily. "Wolf here."

"Wolf, it's Glitch," said Jessica with an unusual strain of worry in her voice. "Sorry to wake you, but we've got a bird overhead in a search pattern."

Wolf jerked upright on the cot. "What? Explain."

"It's an atmo-only flier, an airplane. It's too big to be a fighter, so I didn't think much of it when it first flew over maybe a hundred klicks away, but then it came back the other direction, maybe eighty klicks this time, about an hour later. I called you when it passed again a few seconds ago, sixty klicks this time. That's gotta be a search pattern."

"I think you're right. Alright, give me a minute to think."

"Copy."

Okay. His immediate instinct was to wake everyone up and get ready to move, but they were all as tired as he was, and going hot just as overhead sensors, however primitive, passed over was a great way to get spotted. They had decent overhead cover, and the 'Mechs were mostly powered down, so the odds of being spotted if they stayed put were fairly low.

For the moment, then, they would do nothing to call attention to themselves. He took a breath and settled back down on the cot. Still… he had to wonder what the locals were doing all the way out here, something like 150 kilometers from the SLDF outpost. They didn't have any mechs, and not even a truck, much less a tank on treads, could get over that terrain quickly enough to get this far, so why were they looking out here? Unless… did the Crimson Lance take something that could be tracked somehow?

Now that he thought about it, what exactly had they taken? None of their 'Mechs had any exterior storage compartments, so it wasn't anything bulky. That made it something small enough to fit inside a cockpit. But if it was that small, why bring a full lance of 'Mechs? There was no way a recon lance could shoot their way out, so why bother to bring more than one or two lights?

Unless…

"Glitch, Wolf. Have you caught sight of that third 'Mech?"

"Not really. It comes in late and they get it settled down and under the tarps quickly. I didn't recognize it, but it wasn't that unusual. Seemed a little over-gunned, so probably a skirmisher meant to hit hard and run while it cools off."

"I see. I'm going to get some food and then I'll join you on watch. Let me know if that search pattern changes."

"Copy."

Twenty minutes later he was in the Blackjack, settling into the command couch. He left the cockpit ajar to air out, tapped the controls, and took a closer look at the friendly 'Mechs through his passive sensors. The Phoenix Hawk looked pretty much as expected. The famous 45-ton medium 'Mech had the standard weapons array, consisting of a large laser held in the 'Mech's right hand, and a medium laser and heavy machine gun in each forearm, which gave the Phoenix Hawk the unique appearance of being an eleven-meter tall exo-suit.

It also bore some signs of the times. The powerful Star League era Tek-Battlecom communications systems, externally mounted on the head like a soldier's helmet communication system, had been replaced with something else, almost certainly because nobody knew how to fix them anymore. The only oddity about it was that it had a Rumble Seat, a spot for a second pilot usually used for training purposes.

He turned his attention to the three lights under camouflage netting. All three were kneeling for easier pilot access, which made identifying them a little trickier. Still, even covered up and bent over, he would recognize the Wasp anywhere, one of the most common BattleMechs in the galaxy. The third mystery 'Mech, however, had an oddly rounded head he didn't recognize.

He gave the targeting computer a run at it. Unfortunately, the tarp baffled the old computer system, and the best it could do was spit out guesses. Hmm… no, they hadn't fit an Atlas assault 'Mech into that tiny body. No, it wasn't a Mackie, the granddaddy of all 'Mechs, though the thought made him smile. The next name, however, got his attention. He glanced up from the image to the tarp, back down, then up at the 'Mech again. They didn't find a Mongoose up there… did they?

As he read the specs on the readout it started to make sense. The Mongoose was a classic SLDF light 'Mech meant to replace the Locust, but ended up turning into the standard command 'Mech for light and recon lances instead, a role that had more or less disappeared as the knowledge to build and maintain the advanced computer systems that allowed it to fill that role was lost in the incalculable destruction of the Succession Wars. Everybody had wanted Mongooses, especially their Beagle Active Probe sensor system, so everybody had gone out of their way to destroy everyone else's. But if there was a place to find an intact SLDF long-range, deep reconnaissance 'Mech, an abandoned outpost on the edge of old SLDF space in the Periphery was where it would be.

And while the Beagle was the real prize, the 'Mech itself was quite good. Five tons of advanced, and now irreplaceable, Ferro-Fibrous armor made the light 'Mech almost as well protected as his Blackjack carrying eight-and-a-half tons of standard ablative armor, despite having twenty tons of mass on the smaller 'Mech. It packed a punch, too, with three medium lasers and one small laser, so no ammunition to worry about on deep reconnaissance. Combine that with speed that matched a Locust, and it hit harder, moved faster, and was tougher than any light 'Mech currently in the field. A competent pilot in that thing could take on both Wasps, and a good one could give the Phoenix Hawk a run for its money.

That, unfortunately, was a problem. And the more he thought about it, the more of a problem it was. This wasn't just an interesting bit of old tech, this was a highly sought after advanced weapon system that the Great Houses would go to great lengths to take. It wasn't as terrifying as if they'd stumbled upon a semi-mythical Memory Core, which would move entire armies, but once word of this got out, there would be assassins and mercenaries aplenty. But of more immediate concern, even a light 'Mech wasn't exactly small. If the locals hadn't noticed it was missing yet, they would soon, and they would know exactly what they were looking for. Worse still, the Mongoose was fast, but it didn't have JumpJets, so they were all stuck at a relative crawl through these woods for days. At best.

The sooner they got moving, the better. No wonder Slant had been so anxious to keep going.

He looked up just as an old-fashioned airplane flew over maybe forty kilometers away. He squinted up through the canopy at the distant plane, surprised at how big it was. Glitch was right though, it was flying low and slow, definitely a search pattern. It passed out of sight behind the trees and he turned to his navigation system, filled with data they'd received from the Crimson Lance people on the station and supplemented by what Sumire had pulled from the DropShip sensors on the way in.

They had been dropping altitude for the last three days, coming down out of the mountains and into the foothills and flatter terrain where they could really gain some ground. The plan had been to get far enough away that nobody would notice the DropShips.

That all changed, though, if the locals knew they'd stolen a 'Mech. And given how they'd started a search pattern almost on top of them three days later, it seemed like they also had a frighteningly good handle on how fast 'Mechs moved. Or Medium 'Mechs, at least—if they'd only had lights they'd have been long gone by now.

If they knew what 'Mechs could do, and they were still looking for them, then moving out into open terrain where their tanks could come into play now seemed like a terrible idea, but his communications systems couldn't reach the DropShip in orbit, and Sumire wasn't about to fly the Leopard right into an aircraft search group to ask how he was doing and risk giving them away.

No, they were going to have to make a break for it—the question was when. But for now, he wanted to have a frank conversation with Slant. He headed back down to the ground, spread out the maps over a large rock, and called over Slant. The lance commander turned out to be a forty-something balding man with a massive scar across his left cheek and up his nose, which was obviously the source of his callsign. Slant looked as tired as Wolf felt, with bags under red-rimmed eyes and the unmistakable smell of a man who's spent too long in the cockpit. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah, it's time you told me exactly what it was you got your hands on in that outpost."

Slant's expression went from open to shut in an instant. "No offense, Wolf, but I'm not seeing how that's any of your business. Your job is getting us to the pickup zone."

Wolf wasn't surprised, but they didn't have time to play this game if he was right. "Let me tell you what I think, Slant. I think you didn't drop a whole lance down here for some random bit of tech. I think you didn't drop with a whole lance at all—you brought two Wasps as your eyes and the smallest 'Mech you could find with a Rumble Seat and brought down a spare pilot. I think that your fourth 'Mech isn't having engine trouble at all, but is actually a Mongoose you stole from that outpost."

Slant blinked. "Where are you going with this, Wolf?"

"If there were 'Mechs in there, then the Kimi locals know what 'Mechs are, and probably have a fair idea of what they can do. And most importantly, how fast they can go. We're about to break out into the open where the tanks can get at us," he said, jabbing a finger down at the map, "and suddenly we have aircraft running a search pattern over us. Here's where I'm going with this – I think there's a good chance that a battalion of tanks is out there waiting for us to hit the flat. And if you do have a Mongoose, I'd like to use it and see what's waiting for us."

Slant paled. "The natives are running a search pattern?"

Wolf nodded and tersely explained what he and Glitch had seen.

"Alright Wolf, you've made your point, so I'll put my cards on the table here—we did get a Mongoose. And you're right that it's not hanging back because of engine trouble, or at least not only because of engine trouble. Fusion engines are tough, especially SLDF engines, but nobody had touched that thing for centuries and its limping along at something like fifty klicks per hour, and we're not sure why. The rest of the reason, though, is because it's keeping an eye on the Capellans behind us."

Wolf glared at him, furious. "And why did you not think to mention this before now?"

"Because it doesn't make any sense! They're staying well out of normal sensor range, and they're moving even slower than we are! Unless they have their own Mongoose with boosted sensor range they can't know where we are. Hell, from what we can see they aren't following us at all, they're just moving in the same direction, almost forty klicks north."

Wolf swore and poured over the maps. "Alright, we're here, moving east and down the pass to the flatlands and the DropShip pickup zones. The south is open and near a major city and military base. So our only other option would be…"

Slant grunted. "To jump over the ridge to the north and try our luck down another pass. And the Capellans just happen to be perfectly placed to block us and blow us to pieces from the high ground."

Wolf nodded. "They know we're here."

"But how? Without the Mongoose we wouldn't have the faintest idea they were here; how can they see us?"

Wolf bit his lip, thinking hard. "Is it possible they hacked into the local systems somehow? Feeding off their flyovers?"

"No. The Capellans had a bad couple run-ins with these people over the last few years. They don't know much about how good equipment works, but they have gone to great lengths to keep their systems secure. Hell, they use buried wires for their sensitive stuff that's pretty much undetectable."

Wolf paused as a new, terrible thought occurred to him. "Slant, what would it take to get the Capellans back in the good graces of these people?"

"A lot. The Capellans raided an outpost with a heavy lance, shot up the place when they did it, too. They'd have to come up with some way to convince the nutjobs that they'd seen the light and respected their holy sites."

"Something like, say, helping them catch thieves and returning stolen relics?"

Slant hesitated. "Maybe. I see what you're thinking, Wolf, but I'm still not buying it. You don't just call these guys up. When they go on lockdown they ignore everything anyone else has to say. I just can't see them even picking up the phone, much less coordinating with one set of off-worlders against another on the fly."

Wolf stabbed the map with his finger. "They are coordinating! It's too perfect to be an accident. You say they wouldn't pick up the phone after you hit them? Then what about before?"

The commander shook his head stubbornly. "Even if that were true, even if they wanted to catch us red-handed and turn us over, why set the trap way the hell out here? We would have been long gone except—" He froze, then seemed to sag in on himself. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" He looked up from the map at Wolf imploringly. "The 'Mechs that ran into the leopard, they were a couple Vindicators and some Stingers. What's been following us is something else – a handful of Fleas and two Catapults. They're perfect for this sort of blocking maneuver, and we haven't seen any trace of a DropShip aside from yours. They must have been down here waiting. And they wouldn't do all this hoping a Vindicator got a lucky hit on our Leopard, either. It was a setup."

Wolf nodded grimly. "That's what I'm thinking, too. I have no idea where you got compromised—could be where you got the lead, whoever picked your drop site, maybe even your pilot. But this," he gestured over the map, "is a deathtrap. They've been slowly tightening the noose while we wear ourselves down thinking we're being stealthy, then hit us just when we think we're out."

Slant grimaced. "So now what? We run?"

He shook his head. "We're still too far from the drop sites. They'd close in on us out in the open after we run ourselves ragged, either getting to maul us without our being able to fight back, or turning around to fight them and whatever tanks the locals have. Look, just so I have an idea of our options here, how badly would your people react to just giving back the Mongoose and walking away?"

Slant waived dismissively. "Doesn't matter, because the locals would kill us on the spot. I've seen it happen."

"I figured as much. Alright, grab your best thinker and I'll get mine and let's see what we can come up with. If they've been watching us this whole time then we have at least a couple hours until they'll expect us to move. That's how long we have to figure out a way out of this mess."