MWWR-5

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== Chapter 5 - Mechwarrior: Wild Rose ==
In Orbit
New St Andrews IV, The Periphery
Rimward of the Circinus Federation
10 April 3077
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          “Blossom, status report?”
              “Status is…hands are full,” Marie muttered back.  “I just got to the cockpit.  Commencing start-up procedure.”
              She had just managed to slide into the Broken Blossom’s cockpit and turn on the backup power before the commline had lit up.  After she pulled the hatch shut behind her it was oppressively dark inside, lit just by the indicator lights.  She took out a small utility flashlight she’d brought with her for this purpose, looking around the dim confines of the cockpit.  She’d spent every free minute over the last two months sitting in here and learning the controls as best she could, but being in the cockpit still put her on edge.  She swore she could still smell Jain’s odor in the command chair, and she could see finger marks in the joysticks from where she’d been gripping them on her flight off Huntington.  But now the Sirocco was approaching New St. Andrews, and she had to swallow that fear.  The Hussars would need her to actually get moving soon and show she was worth the effort of keeping around.
              She set about her preparations.  She had already stripped down to her shorts and tank top.  She sat on the command chair and strapped the cooling vest on over her torso.  Then she turned her attention to what she’d brought with her: a case she had been traveling with for years, carrying it packed in with her luggage as she and her mother had hopped from one planet to another. 
              She pressed her thumb to a small print scanner on the case.  It hissed and split open, revealing a padded interior that snugly held a shiny metallic helmet.  Marie carefully pulled it from the box and held it almost reverently between her hands. It was a neurohelmet, a gift from her father.  He’d even had it engraved with a black rose with prominent thorns, the symbol of his mercenary unit. 
              The neurohelmet had the same input/output ports that her training helmet did, but that was where the similarities ended.  Whereas the training helmet had been a tremendous, bulky affair that weighed on her like a pile of bricks, this thing weighed less than two kilos.  It was also smaller, not extending over the shoulders like a typical neurohelmet.  It looked sleeker too; still militaristic in design, but with smoother, cleaner lines.
              She could tell from the spartan efficiency of the design that it was Clan technology, which meant it was more advanced than anything available in the Inner Sphere.  It was also unbelievably rare; the Clans didn’t part with any of their technology without a fight.  Getting a fresh neurohelmet from them would take a combination of skill and luck not often seen.  Fortunately for her, her father had had that combination.  It had seen him through Tukayyid, and through years of fighting the Clans afterwards. 
              She blushed despite herself, thinking of the enormous effort it must have taken her father to get one of these neurohelmets.  He’d set two aside for his children, locking them up for safekeeping until they were ready. 
              How many times had she taken this helmet out of its case over the years, just to look at it and think about what it promised?  She’d even put it on her head a few times as a kid, dreaming about piloting a ‘Mech or flying an aerospace fighter.  Now here she was sitting in a machine that was both of those things.  Maybe it wasn’t the life she or her father had planned on, but it made her chest tight to be sitting here.
              Marie took a breath and pulled the helmet on over her head.  It fit snugly, but not uncomfortably so.  The viewing window was clear, and wider than the training helmet’s had been, giving her better peripheral vision.  There was no sign of the separate internal monitor she was used to either.  She turned her head back and forth, getting a feel for the weight on her head before she unplugged the training helmet, tossed it behind the command chair, plugged the new helmet into the Broken Blossom, and keyed in the activation code.
              She shuddered as the neurohelmet booted up, ice running down her spine as it imprinted on her alpha brainwaves.  It suddenly felt tight on her skull, like her brain was being squished inside of her.  Her head swam with a sudden wave of dizziness.
              She resisted the urge to pull the helmet off, and instead started making adjustments, fiddling with the knobs on the back and tweaking the input/output feeds.  Slowly the pressure on her head faded and it stopped feeling like she was swimming in static.  She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision.  A new neurohelmet always had a learning curve for her.  She knew it was safer to keep the old one, but sitting in the Blossom, about to take it out as an actual pilot for the first time, she couldn’t resist the chance to finally put her father’s gift to use.
              All around her the Blossom woke up as the reactor finished warming up and came fully online.  The control board came to life, bathing her in middling amber light from the indicators.  A sub-display winked to life with the wireframe of the aerospace fighter, still a mix of green and yellow with the patchwork repairs. 
              She immediately noticed the difference in the neurohelmet.  First, she could turn her head, letting her see the Blossom’s whole cockpit.  The main viewscreen in front of her was only part of the story.  To her left, right, and overhead were more display screens showing the view outside, mimicking an old-world fighter cockpit canopy.  It was certainly clearer than the tiny view through her old neurohelmet’s internal screen had been.  As though summoned by that thought, the familiar compressed view appeared at the lower edge of her sight superimposed over the cockpit controls, giving her a strange double-vision effect.  Her eyes widened as she realized the neurohelmet was projecting the compressed view directly onto her retinas.
              “Okay old girl,” she whispered to the ‘Mech, patting the control console.  “I stood up for you, so work with me, all right?” 
              She went through the usual pre-launch checklist for an aerospace fighter, and double-checked the board – she hadn’t been able to actually fly the Blossom since landing on the Sirocco, but she’d at least had time to familiarize herself with the controls and reconfigure them for a left-handed pilot.  She’d also found the eject – a pair of pull cords at the base of the seat.  She hoped she wouldn’t need those.  At least the fuel gauge showed she still had three-quarters of a tank left. 
              She finished her preparations by finding an oxygen hose that had been tucked under the seat and connecting it to a socket on the front of the helmet.  Some ‘Mechs provided breathing hoses as a backup if the cockpit seals failed in a hostile environment, but most mechwarriors didn’t bother with them.  Aerospace fighter pilots, on the other hand, almost always had a high-purity oxygen feed to help them power through high-g maneuvers.  She appreciated that the Blossom included those hoses, and that she’d been able to find them while she’d been combing over the cockpit.
              “This is the Broken Blossom,” she said into her helmet’s mic.  “Reactor is up, all systems are green.”
              “Copy that Blossom, launch bay opening in 15.”
              She did another full systems check, going through diagnostics of the Blossom’s computer systems and double-checking weapons and fuel.  Before she knew it alarm klaxons were blaring outside, and the aerospace fighter bay depressurized.  The huge bay door opened up ahead of her, and blast shields lifted into place behind her. 
              “This is Blossom, confirming launch door is clear.  Looks a lot cleaner than the last dropship I got kicked out of.”
              The operator on the other end did not laugh at her joke, but she told herself it at least got a smile.  “Roger Blossom, clear for launch in 50 seconds.”
              The dropship was getting set up for its atmospheric entry, which was a delicate operation at best.  It had to rotate to the right orientation to hit the atmosphere, switching from rocketing through vacuum to flying through air.  Now on top of that it had to give a good launch window to the aerospace fighter that the mercenary lance was insisting on launching.  It was standard procedure, Caradin had told the captain.  Mercenary units had to have a procession, she’d said.  It was part of the formal changing of the guard.  It wouldn’t do for their newest recruit to sit quietly in a hangar bay.
              Marie was sure the captain hadn’t liked the extra maneuver, even moreso for a pilot who had caused him so much trouble at the beginning of the trip.  On the other hand, she thought, maybe he’ll be happy to spit me out of his boat.
              “…2…1…launch,” the operator’s voice said in her ear.
              Marie nodded in response and pushed the throttle forward.  She did not go to maximum thrust – a classic mistake of rookie pilots.  They were still in vacuum, so with no atmospheric friction going full-throttle right out of the bay would send her halfway around the planet before she could course-correct.  A gentle boost got her clear of the Sirocco, which immediately rotated away, closing the bay door behind her.  She flipped her middle finger at the image of the ship in her view.  “Good riddance,” she muttered.
              The Blossom’s landing gear retracted into the fuselage, jury-rigged front struts and all.  With that secured, Marie set about making her own entry to New St. Andrews’ atmosphere.  This had been the second-hardest part of aerospace fighter training, right after landing.  She had done plenty of simulated entries, but only done the real thing a handful of times.  She mentally crossed her fingers and tightened her grip on the controls.  Much like when she’d been walking overland, the Blossom’s computers were handling the complicated details.  All Marie had to do was keep the craft on an entry vector displayed on the main screen, and not think about how deviating off that path meant she would either burn up in the atmosphere or plow into the planet like a meteor. 
              She flew towards the planet, her eyes sweeping periodically over the board to make sure no alerts had come up.  She also kept an eye on the Sirocco as it prepared for its own entry.  It had switched from its belly thrusters over to its main rear engines, flying like a conventional aircraft on its stubby wings as it approached the planet’s atmosphere.  As Marie watched, the Sirocco’s lower armor began to glow red with the heat of atmospheric entry.  She followed alongside it, keeping the Blossom level as fire streaked past the cockpit.  She did her best to stay calm, reminding herself that the armor on the craft had been built to withstand heavy laser fire, and its fusion engine was more than strong enough to control her flight in spite of things like wind resistance or gravity.  After several tense minutes, the flames streaking past her faded and the screens cleared up, presenting her with a clear view of New St. Andrews. 
              It was refreshing to see so much land below her.  Huntington had been mostly water, with the planet’s population squeezed into collections of archipelagos that were jokingly called “continents.”  In stark contrast, New St. Andrews had broad green landmasses stretching out in all directions.  From this altitude Marie could see how the planet had been only partially colonized.  The land was covered in dark green forests, broken up with swaths of large farmland standing out as a brighter green, dotted with towers that amplified the weak sunlight falling on the native crops that were thriving under modern farming technology. 
              She noticed the aerospace fighter was handling more sluggishly than she remembered.  It had been tricky enough to fly back on Huntington, but now it felt like she was fighting the controls to get the fighter aimed in the right direction.  Just adjusting to a new atmosphere, she reasoned.  Huntington had had a pretty thin atmosphere, something that had taken her lungs some time to adjust to.  New St. Andrews had a more normal atmospheric pressure.  At least she wouldn’t spend the first few days being constantly winded.
              Once she’d steadied her flight, she hit the commline.  “This is Blossom, I’ve entered atmosphere,” she announced.
              “Roger that Blossom, you are clear for approach,” Caradin’s voice responded.  “Give them a show for us.”
              “Roger that.”
              She angled the Blossom towards the spaceport and pushed the throttle up.  The Sirocco was quickly left behind as she shot down.  The coordinates in her computer were for the spaceport, but it was impossible to miss the city of Kilrymont just a few kilometers away from it.  It was a modest settlement compared to what she’d seen on Huntington.  New St. Andrews had a total worldwide population of just over five million, and only about a tenth of that was in Kilrymont.  Most of the population apparently preferred to be out in the wilderness, living off the land.
              “Give them a show, huh?” Marie asked herself.  She turned the Blossom, arcing her flight path over the city and lazily corkscrewing through a clumsy barrel roll.  She shot past the city close enough that windows must have been shaking with the thunder from her engines, then banked the Blossom into a sharp turn.  She grit her teeth against the g-forces, easing up after a moment as she became distinctly aware of just how much mass was leaning into the turn and she realized she was wasn’t sure what the Blossom’s structural tolerance was.  She awkwardly leveled off and decided the clumsy fly-by was the best she’d be able to manage right now.  She pointed the nose back towards the spaceport.
              Landing was a relatively simple affair; the control tower on the spaceport had been trying to get in touch with her since she’d started coming down from orbit.  By the time she came in for a landing the controller was sounding especially annoyed.  The man still directed her to the spaceport’s main landing strip, with a warning that she would have to clear the runway shortly for the incoming dropship.
              The landing gear thankfully extended without jamming, and she swooped in to a rough but successful landing.  She let out a breath she’d been holding and started taxiing off the runway as a flag operator signaled her off to the side.  The Broken Blossom had barely cleared the runway when a pair of black cars were rolling towards her.  Detecting her attention, her neurohelmet magnified the view of them without being asked.  She could tell they weren’t spaceport personnel; no engineer would drive cars that fancy.
              The door of the lead car opened up as soon as it had pulled to a stop in front of her.  A small man with greasy hair climbed out and stomped towards her, angrily adjusting the glasses that were hanging off of his nose.
              “What is this supposed to be?!” the man shouted at her.  The external speakers picked up his voice easily enough, and the magnified display gave her a good view of the vein popping out on his forehead.
              Marie sighed and blinked hard.  She already had a behind-the-eyeballs headache that was threatening to become much more intense.  Her body still wasn’t used to the Blossom, and now she’d given herself a new neurohelmet to adjust to as well.  She had very little patience for stodgy officials  at the moment.  She thumbed the button for the external speakers.
              “It’s an aerospace fighter,” she said to him.  “Do you need thicker lenses or something?”
              The man’s face somehow grew a few shades redder than it already was.  “Did you not read the terms of the contract?” he shouted up at her.  He slapped his hand on a pack of papers he’d been carrying.  “We were expecting four BattleMechs today.  We did not contract to supply or house a jet!”
              “Aerospace fighter,” she corrected.  Her eyes fell on the lever on the side of the control board.  What the hell. “But fine, you want a Battlemech?  No problem.”  She grabbed the lever and put her weight behind it, pushing it all the way to the top of its track.
              She shivered, her sense of balance swimming as the neurohelmet struggled to adjust to a ‘Mech function it clearly had not been designed for.  She kept her eyes on the display all the same, watching as the Broken Blossom split open along seams, the arms and legs dropping down to the ground, then the landing gear and wings lifted up and folded away behind the ‘Mech.  The nosecone swung down over the ‘Mech’s chest, leaving the disembodied cockpit to become the head.  As the panels of the ‘Mech closed back up to form a solid armored carapace she noticed, with some embarrassment, that the transformation did not leave her standing on her feet, but rather down on all fours.  Biting her lip in consternation, she pulled back on the controls and the Blossom sat up, now resting on its knees.  Her embarrassment was quickly tempered as she saw the shocked look on the official’s face.  He’d even dropped the packet of papers he’d been clutching so firmly a moment ago.
              “The other guys are coming in now, in case you didn’t notice,” she announced to the man, and jerked the Blossom’s arm up to point a thumb back at the descending dropship.  Behind her, the Sirocco was making its final approach.
              The man just stood there speechless. Calling that a success, she set about getting the Blossom’s legs under her.  One foot came up and touched down, but as she tried to stand a profound sense of vertigo hit her, the new neurohelmet – and new Pilot – still trying to adjust to the unfamiliar ‘Mech they were connected to. The ‘Mech’s gyro screamed and the Blossom staggered, losing her balance.  She came down hard on one arm, the hand hitting the ground splayed-out, a scant few meters from the shocked official.
              Marie winced.  “…let’s just say I meant to do that,” she whispered to herself.  She tried again, moving more deliberately this time.  Keeping the one arm braced on the ground for balance, she managed to get one foot on the ground, then the other. She carefully extended the ‘Mech’s legs, standing up shakily.
              Her head cleared as the Blossom stood, happening so abruptly that Marie’s breath caught.  Suddenly the ground felt steady under her.  On top of that, she became distinctly aware of the bulk of the Broken Blossom around her.  It almost felt like a heavy suit hanging off her body, letting her know it was there.  She squared her shoulders and tried to adjust to the new sensations, and the ‘Mech swayed in place, following her movements.  Marie’s eyes widened at that.  Her training neurohelmet had let the ‘Mech share her balance, but this was a whole new level of connection to a machine.
              “Just needed some time to get used to me, huh?” she asked the ‘Mech.
              By the time the Blossom had caught her balance, the Sirocco had landed.  Marie carefully moved the ‘Mech to step towards the ship and stand at attention outside the massive bay doors.  She listened to the comm chatter over the radio for a few minutes as the crew on board did their final checks.  Before long the bay doors started opening. 
              First out was Caradin’s Fleetfoot, the Raptor.  The small birdlike mech stepped out furtively, followed closely by Wolfgang’s Commando. According to Caradin, Wolfgang refused to come up with a name for his ‘Mech, so she’d given him the unimaginative callsign ‘Wolf.’
              Lumbering out the other side of the Sirocco came Hoshino’s Charger, taller and broader than either of the other two mechs.  Hoshino’s ride definitely earned its name as the Hunk of Junk; it looked like a patchwork mess of repairs that spoke of years of service.  As for Thomas, the Dispossessed man was waiting inside the dropship, watching. Marie imagined he was burning with frustration at not being able to join in the procession.
              Marie took a moment to take in the sight of the BattleMechs.  She had had time to become familiar with the Hussars’ rides, with each pilot having plenty to say about his or her machine, but this was her first time seeing them up and moving.  Before, they had just been metal blocks.  Now they were alive, titans walking around with the humans below standing well away.
              She could see the Hussars were still sporting the damage from Huntington.  All three ‘Mechs had scars in their armor.  Still, Caradin had them line up outside the dropship, like soldiers standing for review.  Taking that as a cue, Marie maneuvered the Blossom up to the group, trying to fall into line with the lance. 
              The ‘Mech moved ponderously, Marie becoming uncomfortably aware of how she was sitting on top of fifty tons of moving parts balanced on a pair of legs.  The gyro spun furiously under her as she moved, keeping her upright.  She could feel the attention of the Hussars on her, watching her try to walk.
              The display garnered some attention, at least.  Marie noticed a lot of gawkers were staring at her and the other Hussars’ ‘Mechs from the ground.  She looked down at the displays, reddening a little as she noticed the Blossom still had her old Hudson’s Hammers paint job, dotted with obvious armor patches and sporting different colors than the rest of the lance.  Even though the Hussars’ ‘Mechs were obviously damaged, next to them the Blossom looked secondhand.
              “Holly’s Hussars, reporting for duty,” Caradin announced from the Raptor. 
              The suited official managed to recover himself and make his way over to the assembled BattleMechs.  After flipping through his papers he directed them to a ‘Mech bay on one edge of the spaceport. 
              The ‘Mech bay was surprisingly large.  Marie counted enough hangars for a full company of BattleMechs. At the moment the Hussars were the only ‘Mechs there.  As Marie parked the Blossom, she wondered just what this job was going to entail.
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