Small Stories

[TMA_1]

The Savana

the wind wasent acting as it usually does. It would blow with extremely powerful gales, and then calm to a standstill. There in the thicket, I could see the grass moving and churning like a yellow sea, endless in it's size. Beyond it were large mountains, grandparents of a young earth that forgot about it's heritage. It was all so beautiful, and yet it was so insanely sinister. Every time I do come out here, I see this beauty, and realize that it is mixed with disaster. Every time I do come out here, I see the people try to run from the dank and dirty swamps, only to be shot to death from a speck that is barely visable along a hill miles away.

People have said that it makes no sense, that there is no reason to be trapped in the swamp, but every time somebody tries to run from this damnable place, and into paradise they fall dead to the ground. I can only sit back and look, filled with dread that there is no hope.

I see this beautiful savana, and feel cursed to be in the position I am in. Lately I have come to this crossroads late at night just to look at the place I so long for, and Often I try and look to see if I can identify the glimmering dot a few miles away, the killer that never sleeps.

I have always wondered how the thing was able to kill at any time of the day, all day, and never slept...

This night is especially hard, as I view the beauty I, or my people will never hold. It is hard because of the thousands of invisible skeletons that lie beneath the grass. Nobody has ever escaped, and that is what scares me. I just want to look at the hellish paradise. I just want to look and forsake what my community told me.

I have been chosen, and have to run to safty.

I know though that I will become another skeleton of the savana.

[Vanguard3000]

I really like this. It's neat how so little is explained in the story - why are these people in the swamp, and why are they shot when they try to leave? Rather, it seems to take a more last-minute look at the situation - the dying/hiding man, and the sniper. Nothing else is all that important at the moment. I don't know if that makes much sense.

Anyway, it's very good. :)

[TMA_1]

exactly vanguard! It is from a dream I had, and I had a feeling of hopelessness in it as I saw a speck miles away that was undoubtedly the thing shooting at me. As soon as i was hit I woke up, it was a bizzare dream. I never have any coherant ones, just random and most of the time disturbing dreams.

anyways vanny you are right. Why are the people held back to the swamps, why was the guy chosen? well that wasent supposed to be answered. All you knew though is that there was a sense of doom (hopefully). The little bits of info add to the creepiness because it is so cryptic. Well glad you liked it man. :)

[Anathema]

I for one rarely remember any of my dreams in the morning :-

What I wondered was, did all of the people dead in the fields realise they would never make it but decided to run anyway?

[Inoculator9]

Think you had a past life as a sniper? ;)

[TMA_1]

Peculiar Drugs

"You

[Apollyon]

Well I don't see any irony, but it's well written. Might benefit from some checking, however.

[TMA_1]

hmmm, no irony? lol well I iwll change it so that it doesnt get confused.

[Danuary]

The second one was really good but theres a few mispellings.

[TMA_1]

thanks, dont worry about commenting about spelling or grammer if it isnt that bad, this isnt a spelling bee, it is a review.

[Wolf]

Hmm, would this be the place to post a BattleTech short story?

[exatreide]

sure...why not...

[TMA_1]

The Speaker of the Void:

The translation box spoke for the odd alien voice, and deciphered it to English.

"I welcome you on behalf of the Zar'eem, you will find that we are quite a peaceful people, and wish your species no harm. We have made contact with you though for a very specific reason. It is our hope that you will fulfill our needs. We have chosen four humans to answer our questions."

Johnson, aid to the president of the Confederated Nation States of Earth looked at the creature in curiosity,

Since the Zar'eem made first contact with humankind, nothing had been the same. At first, the technology of the alien race was terrifying; It undoubtedly was thousands of years beyond that of human kind. They came in peace though, and many men of earth and heavenly sciences wished to speak with the Zar'eem counsel. They would not talk to the scientists first, considering them materialists. They went to the philosophers and rationalists of earth. Zephen Malcolm and three other people, two men and one woman were chosen to represent earth. They were all special, and were chosen for their experience in each of their fields. Zephen Malcolm, an Ethics professor at Cambridge. Madelyn Stow, a poet and literature professor of Oxford, Richard Lewis, dean of U.C. Berkley, emirates professor of mathematics, and strangely enough a hermit by the name of Zeek. Nobody knew why he was chosen, but the aliens specifically chose him to be one of ther representatives.

"We have come to talk to the four people chosen, experts in the fields that we lack knowledge in. We have been blessed with an abundance of empirical thought. This has enabled us to tear apart Atoms, terraform planets, and even rip the bonds of space-time itself. We have achieved much wealth and power, but we lack the knowledge of spirituality, sensitivity, and emotional security.

We have lived as cold scientists for all of our existence, but exactly two thousand, two hundred, and sixty five years ago, a man came to us hailing from your world. He used no atomics, no lasers,

no mechanical enterprise to reach our world, only a thought. He gave us wisdom that we cannot fully comprehend; he told us that we have souls...

 We implore you to help us, and if you do we will give you our databanks of empirical wisdom. He told us that we would soon gratify each other, as one being mates with another. That we would fulfill each others needs. He was called Savior, and Father. He taught us of the great trial of life

called Sin. He has forgiven all creatures of the universe, and wishes us to live in harmony. He said

that his final prophesy was to unite the two of us in spiritual love. We have high hopes that you will help us understand this Savior."

Johnson was speechless, if he was thinking what he thought he was thinking, then the way mankind has been would change completely. He stepped back to talk with his aids, hushed whispers were given back and forth, and finally a resolution was made between them.

"This man you are talking about, I do believe I know of him. His name was Joshua in the original language of his people. It comes from early earth folk lore of a man that died on a wooden beam, professing to die for the sins of the world. He did so almost exactly around the time of your supposed meeting with him."

"Yes... he told us this, do go on." The voice box said in a vibrato.

"Well... It would be improper of me to speak of these matters. It would be best to talk to the four

men and women chosen by you to discuss this. By the way, you chose a man named Zeek, a Vagrant who has no home, relatively worthless to anybody. Why him?"

"He told us to choose them when the time came, no sentient is worthless. All creatures that have

souls are enabled to think beyond their own nature. We are all treasures, given by the Great Maker.

eons ago, when the Great Void was abolished, The Maker set it's plan in motion, we are apart of it.

 Yes... We wish to see the ambassadors. Send them to us as fast as you possibly can.

We wish to have this knowledge that we so desperately need."

This story will be continued in segments, this is just the first part of it. tell me what you think so far. :)

[Vanguard3000]

I liked your second (the drug one) story. Worthy of Bradbury, Huxley, et al. I'm a sucker for stories like that.

Your latest story also shows great promise, though I think you should put it in a separate thread, since it's going to be a two-parter. I like the idea of Zeek, especially when you think of Jesus' own humble life. Either that, or I'm way off about everything. ;)

[TMA_1]

Response to transmission from President Andelm concerning Zar’eem space travel:

We came here using an engine that distorts spatial reality. It is simple really, and one of your dramatic portrayals of space travel actually came close to the idea. I do believe you called the fanciful enactment “star trek”. We simply created a large matter converter and placed it upon a barge. This matter converter is basically an electro-magnetically shielded tube. A battery of lasers at one end would hit a fuel tablet composed of an element that you call “Thorium”. We use this element because it is the most abundant radioactive substance on our planet, and is easily converted to other elements. This tablet is bombarded by the laser battery. Once hit, a fusion reaction takes place, the thorium converts into heavier elements; the power output exponentially grows by over one hundred percent to start. The laser battery stops, recharges by the power created by the fusion reaction, and then pulses once again onto the heavier elements, and continues. All of this takes place within a fraction of a second. After about a second of these continued bursts, we have created spatial distortion waves. These waves “move” our ships, similar to “warp drive” or star trek. Our impulse engine is very effective, but we have found it impossible as of yet to reach speeds faster than the speed of light. There have been various projects formed to find ways of distorting time itself, similar to the way “warp drive” works. Though our impulse drive does distort time, it only does so in fractions, not nearly enough to alter space-time around the ship enough to change the constant of the speed of light. With the impulse drives, we are able to reach just thousands of decimals away from the speed of light itself. This is why it only took us around twenty five of your years to reach Sol from our star that you call “Vega”. Of course if you solve our problems, all of this information will be transferred over to you, as well as many other technological breakthroughs we have discovered.

My next transmission will come to you from my craft within three earth days. I am currently talking with the four ambassadors sent to us, and we are making remarkable headway, I will also bring up the issues of the Zar’eems surprising lack of religion throughout its civilization. I do hope that we may become enlightened from our long journey, as I hope you will receive similar enlightenment from us.

Alpha of the Royal Pride, Master of Zar’eem territories, Grand scientist of S’veer:

Ah’liel VreeBov

[Wolf]

War's Freedom, A Short Story in the World of BattleTech

The Thunderbolt stood for one last time.

Like an azure colossus, the cold blue Steiner paint scheme shone in the frigid, white sunlight. The ruins of the city stretched all around the metal titan, causing the pilot's mouth to twist upward -- a mockery of a smile -- in sad irony rather than levity.

Around the machine's legs, men scurried and hid, their orange uniforms and flak vests marking them as Davion in origin, but who were they, really, after all this? In one man's hand an assault rifle was visible to the pilot, as he sat secure in his harness and metal chamber fifteen meters in the air. He saw the rifle, and his warrior's mind, honed first by training and second by tragedy, marked it as useless. Another infantryman raised a large barreled weapon, and the computer-quick mind of the pilot logged it as a threat. Before either pilot or infantryman knew what had occurred, the poor grunt had evaporated in a wash of blue laser light.

The pilot's eyes blinked. Once, then twice. His false grin widened as did his melancholy. He had been fighting for too long, far too long. He glanced at his damage schematic, a bright yellow, red, and green wire frame displayed on a flatscreen, nestled somewhere in the technological warren of a 'Mech cockpit. The report told him he had suffered mild torso damage, moderate left arm damage, and moderate left leg damage.

Controls in hand, the warrior took a step, slow at first, hesitant not out of insecurity, but out of exhaustion. The machine responded, and one giant foot, weighing more than a ton, slammed into place in front of the other. With massive strides, infantry fell quickly through the shadow of the giant, looking upward either in shock or in grim determination. Their determination, however, mattered not to the titan. No weapons they possessed could hurt it.

Ruins passed. Concrete walls with gaping holes from damage and from blown-out windows. Refuse and all manner of destroyed items, the personal effects of anonymous victims, littered each and every floor. The city was cold now. Power had stopped flowing long ago, as one warring faction or the other thought its campaign would be best served by the plants' destruction. Factories no longer churned out the goods that fueled a society -- or an army, for that matter -- for the same reason. The city was dead and cold, the last signs of life being soldiers and machines of war that roamed, almost aimlessly, in always diminishing numbers.

The war had been going on for so long, that even the city had stopped burning, and the sky shone above, bright, cloudless blue. Was the Thunderbolt the last 'Mech on this world? Was he the last warrior? The questions should have frightened the pilot, but instead, the warrior merely resisted the urge to nod. Somehow, he understood.

Booms resounded throughout the cold winter air, though few remained to hear them. A rubble pile was compressed under titanium footfalls, craters were deepened, but the 'Mech's stride never faltered. It was the ultimate achievement of war, scientists had proclaimed.

Only fitting that one be present in the ultimate moments of this war's dying times.

He passed a large orange-painted shape, the bright color obscured by smoke, soot, and the familiar silver color of molten armor. Once a mighty sister-machine to the Thunderbolt, the 'Mech was barely recognizable as a Blackjack. Apparently, the pilot of this 'Mech had gambled and lost.

The thought came to the Thunderbolt pilot's face, and he showed his amusement by grinning briefly, and letting his face fall into the familiar state of... words failed the pilot. The word apathy did not fit, for he cared. After a thought in the pilot's lightning quick mind, he realized that there was no word for the feeling caused by caring so greatly about so much, and watching all be lost. What were he and his fellow pilots called by their states and kingdoms? Modern knights? The noble warriors of our age?

Burnt, mangled, and mutilated bodies passed under the shadow of the striding titan, a testament to modern chivalry.

How could we let it have come to this? The thought hung as it had for some weeks now.

This was the Thunderbolt's last battle. The Steiner's base was gone, a handful of units scattered across the world. No repairs, no reloads awaited the BattleMech. There was no point in going back, except, perhaps, to wish for a less violent death.

A whistle from his cockpit's threat identification system brought his head up in a snap towards the radar. His fingers working like hummingbirds over the keyboard, he brought up a schematic of the threat on the display.

A Victor.

The design that was the pride of the House of Davion. The machine outweighed him by twenty tons. It carried a more powerful gauss rifle than the Thunderbolt's PPC. It's short range missiles and various lasers were probably in better shape and number than the Steiner machine's. The pilot also had to take into consideration that anyone who had survived the battle to this day, especially a warrior in such a high-priority target, had to have been a veteran of great skill. A battle between the two machines would most likely result in the Steiner's death.

So be it, thought the Thunderbolt's pilot. After all, hadn't he stepped out into the cold, white sunlight to seek death to begin with?

*

The Davion pilot was prepared. The Steiners, though they had fought bravely, fighting conservatively and making the Davions pay for every Steiner man brought down, were ebbing on total collapse. The Victor marched through the city, knowing that it could not be beaten. A voice inside the Davion's mind, however, warned him against arrogance. Unconsciously, he knew this world was now worthless. Its people scattered and lost, its factories gone, its technology a ruin. Not to mention the horrendous losses on both sides!

A shake of his head waved the disturbing thoughts aside. This was a Davion world. The Victor was a tall and humanoid-shaped BattleMech. At eighty-five tons, and almost twenty meters in height, it towered over even some buildings.

A glance told the Davion that the buildings were all ruins. Filled with waste. Wasted machines. Wasted lives. Wasted potential. Wasted humanity.

Deep inside that Davion, in that place no other human ever allowed others to see, he vowed to himself that he would not let his sorrow take hold of him.

He stopped his giant machine of war, and stood in the cold winter's air. He thought about turning his body, and combining the thought with a turn of the machine's controls, the giant metal torso swung in the air. The Davion's eyes scanned the horizon. Looking for something, a threat, an ally, combat, or perhaps relief.

For anything.

All he saw, however, was blue. The sky was pure blue, and the frigid air lit by the cold sunlight, a mockery of what sunlight should be, cast everything in blue. The orange livery of his 'Mech was dulled by the blue. It frightened him. This world was originally Davion's, was it not? Were not the moons in orbit, invisible in the sky, named after the founding rulers of the Davion realm? Why, then, did this world choose to brighten the dark blue's of the Steiner invaders?

He shook the thought from his mind as he stared.

His cockpit bleeped at him. Shaking the pilot from his reverie, the Davion forced down his chaotic and fractured thoughts to examine the situation. His radar was registering a heat signature, unusual in this frigid hell, as well as large amounts of metal, and atomic radiation. His MechWarrior's mind snapped to attention like a flag snapping itself against its pole.

It was a BattleMech.

His eyes instantly falling upon his threat display, the schematic of a humanoid 'Mech, armed with PPC, lasers, and missiles appeared. The registry tag TBLT appeared above it. The Davion grinned.

It was a Thunderbolt, and his identify-friend-or-foe was blinking enmity-red.

Forcing any vestiges of his torn and worried thoughts from his mind, he brought the Victor around, and smashing through what was left of a storefront, he charged through the ruin to his target. At least, he thought, he would do his duty to his house.

*

The Steiner saw the Davion approaching long before the ground shook with the tremors of an eighty-five ton titan smashing through concrete and ruin. The Steiner twisted his controls masterfully, and brought the machine around a right-angle turn in the blink of an eye, fluctuating his footfalls so that he came out of the turn running at almost top-speed.

A crossroads approached, and the north-most road led to a town square. The southernmost and easternmost roads we're blocked with the piles of concrete and steel from the toppling of skyscrapers. The Thunderbolt stood in the westernmost approach. He stopped and swiveled his machine so that his feet faced the square, while his torso and sensors examined each edge of the crossroads.

The footfalls had stopped.

Some snow had gathered in the corners of streets and piles of ruin, and the frigid wind blew it away in tiny tornadoes. Nothing moved but the snow, and the Steiner had even stopped his machine, half out of conservative tactics, half out of respect for the only movement remaining on this barren world. The silence was overwhelming. Peacefully, the Steiner's eyes were distracted by the slow falling of snowflakes from above. His laser-fast brain burned any distracting thoughts away, and he knew something was wrong.

That was when the Victor slammed into his back from above and behind him.

*

The Davion punched furiously with his BattleMech's left hand. In fact, his only hand, as his right arm ended in the threatening barrel of a gauss rifle. The Thunderbolt nearly toppled under the punishment, but its pilot was expert at his trade. The Steiner 'Mech fell forward, landed on its left hand, and used the momentum to push itself back up, swiveling around in the same movement on one heel to stand straight, and facing the Davion.

The Davion fired, half out of shock, half out of fear of the Steiner's skill.

*

The Steiner felt the gauss slug rip into the right torso of his BattleMech. His mind felt a jolt, and his head itched. Soon, he knew, a headache would form from the surge of energy transmitted to the pilot from the 'Mech. Glancing instantly at his data panels, he saw that he had lost almost a ton of armor, as well as the use of the short range missile launchers.

Backpedaling as fast as he could, he brought up his right arm, which held the barrel of a PPC slung under the hand and wrist, and fired the fearsome weapon. The PPC flashed brightly, a rushing blue-white whip of man-made atomic energy ripped into the space between the two combatants and lashed a gash of molten-red metal across the Victor's torso. An action that occurred in the blink of an eye, as the bolt moved at the speed of light. Half of the Davion's short range missiles were now useless, as well. Heat flooded the Steiner's cockpit for the first time in what seemed like forever. The energy required to fire the massive weapon had spiked the fusion reactor at the heart of his machine. Slowly, it began to cool, and the air inside his 'Mech seemed even colder than before.

[Wolf]

Perhaps out of an urge to warm himself, he continued his attack. Triggering has lasers, the blue beams lanced down the roadway at the Victor, and the Steiner realized that his backpedaling had now led him into the ruined square.

*

The Davion's head was a cacophony of aching. Not from any guilt, worry, or fear, but from pure pain. The energy surge caused by the PPC caused the Davion's vision to swim, and he realized that this disorientation was being translated into the 'Mech's technological stability. As if a part of him, the Victor began to stumble. The Davion forced himself to think, he cleared his head, and brought the machine upright.

Out of sheer will power.

He saw lances of bright-blue energy flash past his cockpit as the trio of laser-barrels nestled under the Thunderbolt's cockpit discharged their batteries. One of the lances struck the Davion's arm, doing light damage.

He immediately pushed the Victor into a crouch, and aiming with his gauss rifle, sent a nickel-ferrous slug the size of a basketball hurtling towards the Steiner at near-sonic speeds. Before he could see what damage this had done, he aimed at the building to his left, and triggered his large laser mounted on his left arm. The weapon speared the structure with red energy, and the red glow of the structure showed that the cold concrete had been warmed by the attack.

The building began to sag, and the supports soon gave way, creating a pile in between the two warriors. It barely covered the Victor in its combat crouch.

*

The Steiner turned his 'Mech, once again, on a dime, and brought it around the square. To his right, a large fountain dominated the square. A pedestal stood prominently in the center, its statue long gone.

Before he could get far, however, a gauss slug rammed into the back of his 'Mech's left knee. Metal whined in protest (the pilot could've sworn it was pain, judging by the neural feedback), and the Thunderbolt's gait was remarkably slowed. He swiveled his torso as his 'Mech moved around the fountain just in time to see a shape standing up behind a pile of rubble that the Steiner could have sworn had not been there before.

The Victor stood straight, and fired the short-range missile pack that had survived. Six small warheads streaked into the square, lighting the gray and blue concrete with bloody reds and orange shades from the drive flares. Two missiles screamed past the Thunderbolt, near misses, as the other four slammed into the chest of the machine.

By some miracle, the Steiner kept his machine upright throughout the barrage, and he kept running around the fountain, making himself a harder target. Depressing the missile trigger, he sent a flight of his long-range-missiles mounted on his left shoulder. Though the long-range missiles were inaccurate in this urban environment, they would cause havoc. Fifteen warheads were released by the Steiner's attack. Four missiles slammed into the ground, and left craters to mark their passing. Another three found their way into various ruins behind the Victor. The remaining eight hit their mark.

Depressing the firing stud for his lasers, the Steiner's heart sank as only a single blue bolt shot from under him. A glance at his damage monitor reported that the other two medium lasers were now a memory. Another glance at his missile status reported one more flight of missiles remaining.

A cold wave of calm came over the pilot. Suddenly, things seemed to move slower. He saw the shrapnel and debris of his rocket attack slowly sailing through the sky. He turned his head to see the Victor slowly taking a step past its makeshift bunker. His face expressionless, but his mind clear as the blue sky, the warrior calmly prepared himself not just for battle, but for the battle's end. Man and machine, as one, turned to face the Davion.

*

Things were not going well. The Steiner's rocket barrage had damaged his remaining SRM pack, as well as taking out a medium laser placed under the pack itself. To make matters worse, another shot by a medium laser had melted the SRM mechanism. Only one more shot could be fired, and no reloads were possible until he returned to the Davion dropship for repairs. He pulled a lever to his right, and a half-ton worth of missile rounds spilled out of the back of his machine like a river of silver blood. He would be lighter and more mobile without the useless ammo.

Well, as light as any eighty-five ton monster could be.

He saw the Steiner steady his machine and bring it towards him, and suddenly he was overcome with fear. This Steiner must know the extent of his damage. Damage combined with inaccurate readings had made his schematic of the enemy unreliable, and he had no way of knowing the extent of his attacks. The only conclusion that his well-trained mind could come up with was that the Steiner believe that he could quickly dispatch the Victor.

Out of a desire for self-preservation, he brought his machine into a half-run. Moving around the opposite side of the fountain, he brought his machine's torso around and fired his last six short-range missiles along with a burning red lance of energy.

Only half the missiles found their mark, which was disappointing, for the Thunderbolt hardly moved. The laser, however, also found its mark. Tearing a jagged line into the thigh of the Steiner machine, the 'Mech was now assuredly crippled.

The Davion grinned, for he now knew of a way to end the conflict.

*

The Steiner knew that this day was to be his last. Fitting, he thought. Blue the color of his uniform, his nation, and his 'Mech. His lips were almost blue from the cold, the buildings and snow were tinted blue by the ever-blue sky. Under this blue sky, that which was blue would die.

He did not know why, but he smiled.

Bringing his most fearsome weapon to bear, he pulled the trigger without care. Oddly, his calm and serenity made his aim more accurate than he could have imagined. The Davion's attacks had crippled him, his 'Mech swaying involuntarily, with damaged gyro housing and torn legs. In another instant, blue was all that either warrior saw. The blue-white lightning lanced out once more, and ripped into the right arm of the Victor. When the Steiner's vision returned, he saw the arm hanging only by a twisted endo-steel bone, a handful of myomer fibers, and a sheet of blackened armor.

The gauss rifle was useless.

Hope almost entered into the Steiner's mind, but he pushed it aside. Even if he survived this conflict, how could anything about what happened on this world be considered a victory?

Nonetheless, he fired his last flight of missiles, almost out of conditioning. The missiles streaked across the fountain, and at such close range, all but one impacted on the Victor's chest. Spark and shrapnel shot in all directions.

In one last act of stoicism, the Steiner sat back in his command chair, the atmosphere in his cockpit cooling from his weapon fire. The PPC was recharging, and would not fire again for some time. His lasers were useless, all but for one. His missiles were gone, and his armor was a ruin.

He looked into the sky, filled only with calm.

*

The Davion grinned. The Steiner's attack was vicious, and was as coldly perfect and precise as any textbook example. However, there was a lesson the textbooks rarely taught, and often advocated against.

Pulling back on his controls, the Davion brought his machine's jumpjets online.

He felt his machine rise into the air, the plasma-energy released by the direction venting of his reactor's energy into jets pushed the massive machine into the air. Like an avatar of war, he could only imagine how must have looked to the Steiner pilot. He rose to a height of fifty-meters, and fired off one last laser shot. The bolt went wide, but he did not care.

Confident, the Davion brought his machine down, aiming for the Steiner 'Mech's head.

*

The Steiner was already staring into the spot where the Davion 'Mech halted his ascent. He knew what the Victor's pilot planned. His 'Mech stumbling, he knew of only one thing that he could do.

He let go.

*

The Davion was shocked. The Steiner 'Mech was falling backward. He knew that the fall would be critical, and that the Steiner, with all its damage, would never be able to bring the machine upright again. However, the Victor would land only on concrete, denying the Davion of the glorious victory in bringing death from above.

*

The Steiner pilot saw the Davion descend, and he brought his right arm -- the PPC arm -- upwards as he fell to the ground. He aimed for the Victor's gutted torso, and fired. Heat washed into the cockpit, and his neurohelmet surged with energetic fury. His head felt like splitting wide open, and he knew that he had done incredible damage to his 'Mech's circuitry. Firing the PPC too soon caused the reactor to work too hard to discharge the energy, and he saw on his panel's that the PPC had been damaged beyond operation by the discharge.

And, worst of all, his reactor was going critical. The Thunderbolt was dying.

*

The Davion was also denied the experience of ever landing. The PPC shot past ragged holes in the Victor's torso, twisting in its lighting-like path to strike close to the reactor housing. Just as a PPC-overload ruined the Thunderbolt, the discharge of energy into the reactor housing did the same for the Victor. The reactor spiked, and the housing split from the heat inside the heart of the machine. Released, the energy began to dissolve the 'Mech in a bright, white and orange flame. The Davion looked into the sky, hoping the blue would save him from the fire that soon engulfed him.

*

The Steiner's world went white and orange as the explosion tore the Victor out of existence. His own reactor was slowly climbing into the red-range. The pilot was hardly aware that he had turned off his damage displays until he noticed that without the interference from the green, yellow, and red, the blue was much more vibrant.

The 'Mech, the reactor warnings, the heat combating with cold, all faded away. The pilot just stared into the clear blue sky. Staring into infinity, he knew that he finally understood. He was aware of one final understanding, and he stared calmly into the eternity beyond him, into the comforting blue that he had been born, raised, and would now perish in. He felt a sense of excitement, was it because he understood? Or was it because all the horror, the pain, the exhaustion, was now over? He realized that, for the first time in many long years, he was happy.

He was happy because he was free. He stared into the blue sky, oblivious to the broken world and the war that desecrated everything around him, and just smiled.

He was free. Finally free.

Free.

[TMA_1]

good stuff wolfwiz!!!

I am almost finished with another draft of the story said above...

[Wolf]

Thanks, Infinite. I really appreciate any praise -- as you well know, it takes WORK to write this stuff!

I've begun work on a longer story, but, don't worry, I plan on releasing it bit by bit. Right now, it's set in the year 1938, but magic and machinery exist at the same time. As things are, I'm just going for action, less philosophy. But, it will be fun to see people guessing who's who with respect to history.

[Vanguard3000]

Holy crap. I didn't notice there was a story here I hadn't read. Nice one, Wolfwiz. I like how you took the angle of botht he Steiner and Davion MechWarriors. It was very well-written. It brings back good memories of playing MechWarrior 2: Mercenaries.

[Wolf]

Thanks, Vanguard. I'm sorry I didn't get to replying to this sooner, I didn't think people were still reading my stuff! I'm also glad someone here is also a MechWarrior fan, MechWarrior 2 must have been one of the first computer games I had ever played a great deal.

Even though I show both points of view, you can see that the story might be a little pro-Steiner. This is kind of funny, for I was always a bigger fan of the British-like Davions rather than the very German Steiners, even though they were a close second. In writing the story, I decided to portray the Steiners, the house who's insignia is a silver gauntlet on a blue field, who's 'Mechs are all painted in shades of blue (Lyran Blue), as a calm, stoic, and very philosophical mind-set. The Davions show the exact opposite, prideful, somewhat arrogant, with a little temper. This is not to say that they shouldn't be proud, House Davion was probably the most powerful house when all was said and done. However, I think the persona very much matched the cunning and brilliant personalities that house Davion has -- Hanse, of all of them, is a little prideful. I chose to make the conflict Steiner vs. Davion rather than Davion vs. Liao, or Kurita, because we hear so much about Davion's great military prowess, and wars with either power. Rarely do we hear about a devastating war between Davion and Steiner, even though they have occured. The alliance the two houses sign in the story line eventually breaks, and the two Houses (which had been almost completely dissolved into the massive Steiner-Davion family) launch perhaps the greatest war ever to be seen in the BattleTech universe.