SmoMir Chpt 2

==Mirrorsmoke Company - Chapter 2 -==
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New Oslo System, Draconis Combine
June, 3018 
"Dav, long time no see! Let's get you the hell out of here."
 
Logan's voice was an eerie thing to hear from someone near two heads taller than me. But hearing it regardless lifted a weight I didn't know I had on my shoulders.
 
"Stray, what the hell is going on?" I asked. I was still in front of the basement doors, my body shielding the kids inside. I could feel some of their heads pressing against my back, trying to peek at the soldier who was relaying Logan. "Who are these men?"
 
"They're with me, Dav." He said. The soldier didn't move, didn't so much as twitch as he relayed Logan like a puppet. Stock-still like how a mannequin would model clothes. I couldn't even see his eyes under the veil. "They were supposed to be extracting you last night but then a mech showed up and, well, that kind of threw a wrench in my plans."
 
"...You led the 'mech to us!?" Of course. Of course it had to be some half assed plan that backfired spectacularly. I couldn't expect anything less from you, Logan.
 
"No, I didn't," he said quickly, "Nobody should have known what I was planning, and no way could they have responded like that quickly."
 
"We almost died because of you, idiot!"
 
"Feel free to kick my ass later as atonement, right now we need to get you all out of here. DCMS scouts should be on their way trying to sniff around the place. And they won't be showing up with infantry."
 
Fuck. Fuck. He was right. This was no time to be running around like I was having a tantrum. I turned to the kids behind me, "Okay, people. These guys are friendly. We are hopping on a ride with them."
 
"My boys will be driving you to a dropship, and I'll explain everything to you there, I promise." Logan said, before cutting the connection. The soldier moved ahead, without saying anything to us.
 
Within moments, half a dozen military vans drove up to us, their original passengers climbing up on the roofs, presumably to make room for us.
 
I led all of my kids to them. Some disliked the idea of leaving, and others outright were bawling their eyes out again as they saw our home destroyed. I hated the idea of having to split all of us up, but my sense of urgency and fear welled up at the thought of having to actually witness a combat ready Battlemech.
 
I was the last to embark, taking some time to reassure some of the kids before slamming the doors shut. We drove as fast as we reasonably could under the thick groves of New Oslo's forests, and went deeper and deeper. It was a tense drive; despite the blue calmness of the day, and the scenes of greenery behind a pair of legs outside the window, it didn't relieve that little voice in my head that kept whispering dread. Despite the fact that we were going to be safe. That we were out of the Combine's clutches.
 
We were now traitors. We were going to be hunted. I just hoped Logan's new found friends–whoever they were–were more lenient with their leashes. I was sure they were Lyrans from how advanced their gear was. But the color of their armor didn't match any house that I could recognize, and the sleek design–so different from the segmented plates that the regular Combine infantry uses–made it all the more harder to pin down.
 
I certainly wouldn't know of any infantry that wore some kind of netting on their heads like wedding veils.
 
But while I stewed in my own thoughts, the other passengers alongside me didn't share my fears. Ed was happily feeling the wind on his face as he opened the window on his side. Mack raged–as she usually does–and was muttering curses under her breath as she picked off pieces of dust and debris off her raven mop of hair. And Lisbeth… Lisbeth was becoming more and more annoyed at the driver for ignoring her overly curious nature. She had, for the better part of the hour, failed to strike a conversation with the soldier driving them to wherever.
 
Eventually however, the vans parked into a clearing, into a wet marsh of tall grass so wide it nearly stretched a quarter mile. The soldiers above us jumped down, and our drivers opened the door for us. We had no choice but to follow. Some of my kids had to be goaded, and some even had to be forcibly pushed along. It wouldn't have been so bad, if not for the fact that the soldiers were so quiet. Too quiet. The most we could get out of them were the harsh sounds of a language we couldn't understand; too distorted and garbled like a radio with bad reception that further discouraged any more communication.
 
Our heels were deep into the ground, and our old shoes and sandals were useless at warding away the damp mud and water of the earth below us. I didn't know what we were doing here, and asking questions were only met with cold silence.
 
The area around us was devoid of sound, and not even the birds had so much as given us a warble in the trees. My gut roiled, and my pulse quickened. I could feel the roof of my mouth drying and my tongue desperately trying to find moisture as I began to breathe rapidly through my mouth. My calves were as taut as rope as I eyed one of the soldier's hands that had rested on his holstered pistol.
 
Everything that had been taught to me told me this was a trap.
 
A sudden tingle in my spine caused me to shiver, and I felt a strange buzzing on my tongue that quickly permeated across my skin somehow, making the hairs of my arms stand up. As if I was standing by a live wire, and I considered, for a split second, going for that pistol.
 
Then the treeline shifted, like a mirage. I had to squint my eyes to even make sense of what I was seeing all around me. The trees and grass morphed and shimmered exactly like what holograms did, but it was impossibly lifelike! And there was a shape through the light show. The dropship, I realized in surprise. That surprise turned to awe as I noticed there were two more ships hidden beside it. These men had set up some sort of holographic canopy covering the surrounding area of the three dropships, like one giant optical illusion.
 
Then the holograms disappeared.
 
I wasn't alone in my surprise. The bright and sunny day was blotted out from above us and it took a moment before my eyes adjusted to the shade, and even then, it didn't help one bit. My kids and I yelped and all of a sudden it was as if we were in a different world. The sound of what seemed like a busy town hit us like a sucker punch, and the first thing we saw was a platoon of soldiers, all dressed in their ominous black and gray.
 
But these ones were different.
 
These were more heavily armored, with more prominent armor plates around the torso, but still sharing the same sleek design as the ones who had rescued us. Thin sheets of metal were strapped across their arms and legs, all connected onto their backs with what I could only describe as an external–and robotic–spinal column.
 
They were collecting armaments from other returning soldiers, putting rifles of various make and designs I didn't recognize onto large crates, their size about as big as a dining room table. Ed swore he even saw rocket launchers at one point.
 
While I saw a man who, with just a quick tug of his arm, hefted a full crate onto his shoulder, and began walking towards the ships without even slowing down.
 
The effortlessness of the act made me drop my jaw.
 
"Enjoying the show, kids?" I heard somebody ask, and I turned my head towards a kid I could hardly recognize.
 
It was Logan, who I swore got a little bit taller after all these months. Gone was the spiky black hair that threatened to cover the dark browns of his eyes, and was replaced by a more practical military fade. His cheeks were more filled and the dark spots around his eyes had disappeared completely. He had worn the same clothes as these soldiers, though it was more like it was for field officers rather than something for frontline combat. He was less like the hunched rat I last saw him as, and looked more like a regal noble heir greeting raggedy orphans at a charity event for some media stunt.
 
He certainly had the smug smile down pat.
 
He held his arms wide–both of his arms–as if waiting for me to embrace him. I wouldn't lie, there was a small part of me going misty eyed at this reunion. Just the sheer relief at seeing him safe and sound made all the shit I've had to deal with so far bearable.
 
So I did what any reasonable elder brother did to a sibling.
 
I took him up on his promise.
 
My feet anchored themselves onto the ground, and my hips twisted to supply my fist with the right amount of force to really make it hurt, and aimed it right at Logan's face with all the love and frustration I could muster behind it. It connected with a sharp crack, and immediately his smug smile was reduced to an unhappy smirk.
 
"Okay, I deserved that, Hundsen." He gritted, rubbing his cheek. Damn right, Stray. His eyes had started turning pink, though I was sure it was from the long reunion, and most certainly not from me punching him, of course.
 
Only then did I hug him. Tightly. And he did much the same.
 
I heard laughter from the audience behind me, the loudest clearly being Kristin, and it quickly turned into cheers, as they all gathered around, both confused and awed at his appearance. He was given the works from all of us, high fives, hugs and more threats of violence–particularly by Kristin.
 
"Logan," I started, before we got all too distracted by the happy moment. "Who are these people?"
 
He took a good long look at me, and I could tell it was some kind deliberation on his end that had kept his mouth shut. I'd known Stray long enough that he always preferred to keep his cards close to his chest.
 
"...It would be better if I showed you," he finally said.
 
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Flying, I decided, was an awful experience. It was my first time, and I hated it. The feeling of my stomach sinking like a lead brick as the dropship vertically took off, the slight heavy kick that pushed me into my seat as it accelerated into speeds I didn't know was possible. The worst was definitely the seating, as Logan's men had stuffed us back into the vans like we were canned meat.
 
But eventually, the lingering dread and stress I felt would fade, and the fatigue that I kept at bay had finally taken its hold on me. The last sight I saw were my troopers Ed, Mack and Lisbeth, all slumped over their seats equally exhausted.
 
Sleep would be dreamless, just like these few nights have been. But not even my wildest dreams could conjure something of this scale.
 
I eventually woke to the sound of the ship's landing gear touching solid ground, and the dull roar of the engines dying down to a soft whistle. Then–a groan–and I felt the floor beneath us move downwards for what seemed like half a minute before settling with a loud metal click.
 
Logan loudly tapped on the windows to wake everybody up, before opening the doors.
 
"Get everybody ready," he said, "this is something I want you guys to see."
 
He gathered us all to the end of the ship, towards the giant door, and I relished the chance to finally stretch my legs out of the cramped space.
 
The lights dimmed all throughout the ship and most of what I could see were the silhouettes of my kids, and in the air was a curious anticipation as they squirmed and whispered to each other about what this was all about.
 
Then, the click of the hatch's locks sprung open, and light slowly seeped into the hull as the door slowly opened and the world just somehow kept getting bigger and bigger. We all collectively sucked in air, from both wonder and fear in equal measure as we took our first steps outside of the ship.
 
Logan took us to an ancient Star League base that we've only heard in stories–he took us to a Castle Brian.
 
We were like insects stuck inside a house so wide we'd need wings just to get around the place end to end, and instead of furniture was an array of machines and hardware so vast and so alien I could hardly know their purpose. Automated welders and vehicles were operating by themselves somehow, and those few gigantic machines that did need men, needed crews of them just so it could work.
 
And that was just for the non-military hardware.
 
Over at the distance, were 'mechs. A dozen of them, lined up in neat rows; standing atop spinning gantries that made it seem as if you were looking at a display case while you were window browsing at a shop somewhere. Even at this distance, I could tell they were new–too new–as the crews were applying paint on them with their color.
 
I'd seen Chargers and Dragons and Panthers, and all the other iconic Combine 'Mechs that they so often made us watch in military parades, and even in televised broadcasts that we were allowed to watch I could recognize some of the enemy 'mechs that they had been fighting.
 
But these were different somehow, and I didn't know why I thought that way. They looked eerily similar to Centurions, but naked and too sleek to look like they could carry an autocannon on its arm. A Star League prototype maybe?
 
And there were different appearances. One had a crew applying what seems to be boxes on its body, and turned it bulky and menacing but still retaining its shape. Another had a shroud on it that I suspected to be similar to the holographic material that the dropships used, as its color shifted and shimmered while a man was flashing a light on its surface.
 
Just what the hell are they doing to these 'mechs?
 
"Welcome to Blacksite Mike-Sierra-Victor-6-4." Logan said, walking ahead of us, arms stretched wide as he took me out of my thoughts. "Or as I like to call it, Massif Vault."
 
Then it dawned on me, all those months ago. "The coordinates–this was what that Vid-Phone of yours was showing you!?"
 
He nodded. "The grand prize from the most convoluted game of scavenger hunt I've ever played."
 
"That's not funny, Logan," I couldn't help but raise my voice. "You mean to tell me you found people living in a fucking Castle Brian and they just took you in?"
 
"Ah, I'm going to stop you there," he held up a finger in front of me, "You're jumping to the wrong conclusions."
 
"What else is it then?"
 
"You don't understand, Dav. I don't work for anybody," He crossed his arms. "And these aren't real people."
 
My confusion must have shown in my face, as he motioned for a soldier to come forward. One of the ones that were with us in the dropship.
 
"Subaltern, lift up your veil, kindly." Logan said, and the soldier complied. What was supposed to be his face was a glass plate. At first I had thought it to be some kind of advanced helmet, but his head would have been too small for a human being to fit in it. What should have been eyes, a nose and a mouth was instead a smooth dark pane of glass that housed, I assume, machinery and wires instead of a brain.
 
"You've been living alone with these… robots, all this time?"
 
He nodded. "I still haven't managed to work out how to synthesize their voice without making it too robotic, but they have personality in spades."
 
There was a brief pause, and I wondered if my outburst had made him upset.
 
"You know," Logan continued, "I remember the last time we talked, that night. You asked me if this whole thing was a gamble, and if I was sure this would be the right call."
 
"I guess it's time to say–" He put a hand on my arm. "Well, I'm gambling now."
 
He then pulled the sleeve up his left arm, and it looked as if it was never lopped off, completely matching the rest of his pale-bronze skin. Then he flexed, and flaps and vents came out like it was a metal flower blooming. That got me stepping back a few steps, and had me startled. Out of those vents came a shimmering mist, bright in cascading colors like a mini-fireworks show. It was very slick-like; it reminded me of oil puddles when they touched water, but airborne.
 
"This base isn't just some lostech find of the century I'm showing off to you, Dav. To all of you. The reason why I took you all here is because–"
 
The mist was roiling, and heat came out of it so intensely as if I was putting my head over a boiling pot despite being just a few feet away from it. He was looking at his own arm, examining it like one would examine a bloodied hand.
 
"The Combine has taken from us. Stolen from us. Our freedoms"–he glanced at Kristin–"Our childhood. The Combine has beaten us bloody to the ground for the crime of being born from its enemies."
 
"We have all suffered under the hand of the Dragon. I say it's time we repay him."
 
Every word was said with anger I knew had been bubbling for some time now. Years, even. Every word, a poisonous thought that I knew he sowed in the minds of my children and I. And now he was reaping it, like hateful acid that burnt away the lies and fear. There was an idea forming that stilled my tongue, my jaw clenched shut so it would not give shape, but I was sure it was already in the minds of these kids.
 
"I ask you now as my family, if not in blood, but in circumstance."
 
My kids were stock still, hypnotized by Logan's insane rant, and I couldn't even deny them this. I saw my kids shedding tears of anger, unable to process the emotion. Some had started cheering, their throats becoming hoarse. I looked around, Mack was desperately holding back a snarl–the gash across her face looking even more sinister–as her hands balled bloody into fists. Ed's head was somewhere in the clouds, and on his mousy face was despair I had never seen on my once unflappable little brother.
 
"To join me in this vault; not just to fight for our injustice, but for the people of New Oslo, of Trondheim, of Tukayyid–"
 
He looked straight at me, as he turned whatever-that-was-on-his-arm off, my blue eyes meeting his brown. I lost and looked away, closing them and I prayed to him not to say it. Not to give a voice to a dream that had already taken the lives of countless before us.
 
"–of Rasalhague."
 
Because inevitably it would fall to me to keep them from getting themselves killed.
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Chapter 2