Chapter 3: Unequal Footing

Morning classes went as expected. Colonel Lee had prepped me as well as he could in the short amount of time we had before I was shunted off to Hephaestus Academy. Early physical training at Hate Academy focused on endurance and reflexes. Added to the strenuous exercise was awareness and judgment training. Kilometer long obstacle courses, with slow moving padded balls the size of my fist being shot at the cadets, made for a challenging setup.

Ten different courses; mud, water, swamp, urban, forest, and open fields were the only ones we, as freshmen, were allowed to use. The rest were reserved for the higher-grade cadets only. Freshmen weren’t even explained the other’s usage or what the other course types were.

In the first week of training, we were instructed to run the first course, the muddy one, for two hours without the added difficulties of the balls being shot at us. But only for the first week. The mud course was the only course that we would get the ‘privilege’ of previewing, our PT instructor informed us.

I felt like I flew through the small boulder laden lightly-muddy course. Larson, Josh, and a few others kept up with me. That wasn’t discounting two of the girls who beat us boys according to the scoreboard.

I stared at the monitor, along with a few of my classmates, and watched to see how they did it. My conclusion was that they were lighter of foot and nimbler than I, didn’t sit well with me. And I didn’t think that I was the only one who felt that way from the comments of those around me.

I watched the girls’ movements on the viewer a few more times before running the course in reverse to its beginning for the next run with survival packs. Only by running the course in its original intent would it be graded and timed. By running the course through the mud and over the imbedded obstacles to its start point we could get extra practice in, but that was it. Transports waited in case a cadet was injured, but otherwise there was a concrete path for us to return to the start area instead of traversing through the thick mud.

I wasn’t the only one who returned through the muddy course instead of taking the easy route along the dry path. Eighty percent of the 125 freshmen cadets which ran through our specific mud also course so too. While we slogged through the mud, the other half of the freshmen class were slotted in simulator training.

Our class was scheduled to swap after the sequence of the two-hour sessions next trimester depending on the first trimester’s results.

“Well, how did Leon do?”

“Seventh overall. Lea Che and her bitch of a sister came in first and second. But,” Marshal paused after reading from both lists.

“But what, asshole?” Josh asked while scanning his homework.

“But he came in first overall with a twenty kilogram pack. And not by a small margin either. Those two sisters will have to work if they want to keep pace with that monster.”

“Imagine what will happen once the projectiles activate in the course. He’ll demolish everyone,” Josh speculated. “If what Leon said was true last night, he was fleeing from active fire almost every time he left his cave.”

“You only planned for the top ten in PT anyway. I don’t see that changing anything,” Marshal commented uncaringly.

The simulators at Hate were state of the art. Unlike the ones I trained on with Colonel Lee and his regiment, which were at least a generation out of date. Those Command sent to Vista did have a major feature though, which the ones in the academy wasn’t supposed to have. One that the Grey’s Mechs specs were all up to date along with the AIs which emulated their honor-bound base eight formations.

The first training Mech that the simulators forced us to pilot was a 45 ton (45t), frontline great-swordsman Mech named the Vanquisher. An eighty year old Mech, whose reliability and cost to performance ratio had long been established in Mech companies around the galaxy.

But there were none on my home world of Vista, and the only time I had ever seen one before was in the introductory class that Colonel Lee pushed me through on the journey to Hate Academy.

Greatsword Mechs in Vista didn’t fare well, daggers and short ranged lasers or similar weapons were the most effective weapons in the dense jungles and heavy forested areas of the warm and wet world I grew up on.

To say that I was clumsy piloting the large Mech was an understatement. That and I had no idea of the Mech’s true capabilities. So, in my two hours in the simulated cockpit, I decided to experiment and practice balance and maneuvering the Mech while testing its capabilities.

“Not unexpected, yet still I feel disappointed watching his skills,” Major Deering noted.

“The only Mechs he had piloted before being rescued was a Gray Locus and something called a Fury. The Federation hasn’t released the specs on that one yet, but Cadet Young will be bringing his to the Academy for all of us to look at and experience.”

“What do you know about it, General White?” Captain Du asked. She was the head of the Mech research department at the Academy and xeno-Mechs were her specialty.

“It’s the Gray’s newest 45t medium weight skirmisher. As with all Gray light and medium Mechs, this one comes equipped with a single medium energy weapon, but it’s not a phaser and it’s not located in the chest or the shoulder.”

“General,” Captain Du chastised for leaving the assembled instructors hanging.

“I heard, not that I was told anything, mind you,” General White stated depreciatingly, “that the weapon is mounted where the head should be, and that is the only ranged weapon mounted on the Mech. The Fury comes with two short handheld weapons.

“And one other thing, the Federation is sending their own maintenance team along with the Mech and they will quarter here until High Command gives its approval for information release. Until then, cadet Young’s Mech will be billeted separately and maintained separately by the Federation.”

“Why did you agree to this, General?” Major Deering asked. He had his own ideas, but wanted to get the Superintendent’s thoughts.

“It’ll be good for the cadets to see advanced Gray Mechs in action and, since our new golden boy wants to play with one, it gives the others here a singular chance before leaving for their future posts in Federation Command.”

“What about balanced competition among the cadets, are you going to ignore that, General? If this cadet is allowed to pilot an advanced Gray Mech, won’t that give him a foot up? It isn’t like he doesn’t have one already with his practical experience,” Major Deering argued.

“That all depends on his capabilities, does it not?”

“He sucks,” Josh Pentecost noted of his rival’s piloting skills.

“Maybe. It’s too early to tell,” Marshall replied. They had finished their time in the simulators, but it looked like Leon had started later than the rest of the class by fifteen minutes, since that was how much time was left on his timer.

“He’s having problems avoiding the mid-range attacks from that turret emplacement. He probably never even stepped foot in a Mech over 20t before,” Josh pressed.

“Cadet Lieutenant, he’s not dodging the shots from the turret. I think he is trying to get hit by them,” Cadet Adams observed the strange movements of their cadet Captain and tried to understand his motivation of getting hit by the lasers from the turrets.

The simulators gave a pain feedback escalating to match the strength of the attack.

The next ten minutes became an ongoing debate on freshman cadet Captain Leon Young’s actions inside the simulator.

I opened the simulator after disconnecting the leads, only to find dozens of cadets standing around the viewers and looking at me funny.

“Hi,” I said, embarrassed. I knew that my performance was pretty bad, but I didn’t think it deserved a group dissing.

“Cadet Captain?” A blonde girl cadet stepped forward. One that I recognized from her knowledge of which Mech I piloted for the majority of the time I was on Vista.

“Yes, Adams?”

“Were you trying to get hit?”

“I was.” I hoped that I didn’t suck that bad to get hit that often without trying.

“May I ask why?” she followed up.

“I’ve never piloted or even seen the Vanquisher in action. I was trying to get a feel of how much damage it could take and how maneuverable the Mech was.”

“That’s what we thought. What Mech are you bringing to the Academy?”

“It hasn’t arrived yet. The Federation is giving my Mech one last go-over before delivering it. Until then, I am not allowed to say,” I hoped that answer would let me escape to my dorm to study. I knew that I was starting behind everyone else and had to put extra effort in to at least break even.

I doubted that I would ever come even remotely close to the students that were at the top of the list scholastically, grades-wise. But that didn’t mean that I couldn’t try.

I escaped while she and a few others speculated on my Mech. I even had a few people the next day try and pry the information out of me. It seemed that someone set up a wager board with odds on what my Mech was. The closest guess would win the pot.

When I asked Josh about this pool the following night, he admitted that he started it and if there was a dispute that I would be the ultimate judge. When he offered me a cut when I didn’t say anything for a minute, he couldn’t help but laugh and I joined him.

Laughter was something that I did little of in the last few years. On hearing my own, I turned away from Josh overcome with tears at that thought and the memory of dad.

He quieted as I returned to my room, alone.

The following day, I went to ask Marshal a question about the Vanquisher set up in the simulator after Human-Mech mechanics class when an older cadet turned and told me to ‘fuck off, can’t you see I’m busy’.

“I’m not allowed to kill him, right, cadet Lieutenant?” I asked Marshal, ignoring the bone headed idiot towering over the both of us.

“No, Leon, they frown upon killing our fellow cadets. You can duel him or give him a demerit, report him for insubordination, or pretend he is a monkey who escaped from a xeno-zoo.” The normally serious Marshal ended the list of possible punishments with a flat joke. That enough was to let me know that this guy probably should be let off with a warning.

“Who are you?” I asked the senior cadet. From the looks of his age, he was probably a senior classman.

“Let me guess, you are the new hot shit in the baby class. Let me tell you right now, your rank don’t mean shit outside of the other babies in the crib.”

“Marshal, put this cadet down for a possible demerit forfeit and have him report to punishment detail. I’ll see you in my office at 18:00 sharp.” Ignoring the ‘monkey’, I left my business with Marshal until later. I had a class in five minutes.

“Fuck you, cadet Captain Babyface. I challenge you to a duel, if you got the balls.”

I kept walking yet still accepted his challenge, “Find me after you complete your punishment detail and I might consider it,” I called out before turning the corner.

...

“What’s with that guy?” I asked Marshal as I slowed to slog through the mud with him.

“He was ordered by a group of seniors to challenge you. His name is Tolemy and is a low-ranking senior. He probably screwed up somewhere and was given a choice of defeating you in a duel or get a full demerit. But it looks like he went too far and was pegged with the demerit anyway. I wouldn’t worry about him unless your Mech doesn’t arrive soon.”

“I was promised that it would be here tomorrow. And no, I won’t say who is going to win the pool.” He too placed a wager with his cousin. Marshal correctly picked the class of Mech, but not it’s weapon loadout nor it’s manufacturer. He was close, but left off the odd beam-type weapon that my Mech had installed in place of its head.

...

I was summoned at 02:12 to Mech hangar 24-A, ruining any chance of sleep for the night.

The counter invasion on Vista was more than successful. The Federation jumped into the system with overwhelming forces and quickly took control of the system with hundreds of dropships converging on strategic positions, quickly retaking the major cities around the world.

Thankfully, the Grays weren’t genocidal like the Hive. The Grays did take slaves and not for food like the bugs did and by all accounts just used them as field labor and treated them fairly well.

Still, over half of the small population of Vista died in the first few months of the Gray’s invasion, as civilians took up arms and tried the best that they could.

What did this have to do with my new Mech?

My home world had little money left to rebuild the infrastructure or hire mercenaries to protect themselves from pirates and bandits.

Yes, the Federation was going to install a permanent outpost in the system to watch out for Grays and other hostiles, but Vista was a low priority system with few inhabitants even before the Grays landed. After clearing the planet of all the remaining Gray Mech installations, the Federation planned on evacuating the rest of their forces the following year.

One day, when Colonel Lee was telling me of the Federation’s progress, he showed me the complete list of known Gray Mechs to make identifying my prizes easier since more than a few were in the never seen before category.

One Mech was left off his list but stood out from my memories. I thought it looked cool and the specs were higher than everything else on this planet, but never saw that Mech engage in a battle, the owner never even chased me the few times I tried to provoke it. That meant that the pilot had to have been high enough ranking that he didn’t have to stoop to my level, regardless of how many of his Mechs I killed.

“Colonel,” I said that day. “You’re the planetary governor, right?”

“Temporary Governor. What do you want, kid?”

I had watched mercenaries bargain, trade, and bicker since I was born. Being raised in dad’s repair garage showed me how adults bargained for things that they wanted when they didn’t exactly have money on hand.

“This Mech, I want it.” I brought up the image from my persecomp of the Gray leader’s Mech I had been admiring. “In trade, I’ll give the planetary congress an eighth of my salvage in exchange.”

“Half,” he countered.

“A quarter. You know damn well that I can buy a top of the line Mech for that many credits. I have the salvage rights to seventy-three light and medium Mechs and almost two hundred gargoyles. A quarter or I shop elsewhere.”

“None of your cockpits are intact!” he complained.

“Not true, nine are in good shape.” Other than missing a leg or two, which I had plenty of, they could be fixed and fielded in days.

“Damn, kid. And here I made sure you got to keep that salvage and now you are using it against me? Where are your scruples?”

“Vista needs credits. But I’m not willing to give more than a quarter of my salvage to them. I was all alone out there until you arrived,” I pointed to the swamp. And no one came to help me. Using the excuse that I was too far away didn’t wash. The surviving settlements knew I where I was by the few conversations we had over short ranged radios.

“So, where is my cut then?”

“Don’t give me that shit, old man. I already gave you your pick.” Of the Mechs that I captured he meant, and he had taken the best one too. “Now, do I get my Mech or not?”

“Damnit, kid...”

“Thanks, Colonel. We both know that the planet government needs the funds more than I do. Oh, and Colonel, please don’t forget all of the loadouts.”

“!@#$%^&*”

...

I wasn’t the only one here to greet my new Mech. General White, the superintendent of the Academy, was standing next to Major Deering, the officer in charge of our class, who would stay with us all the way through graduation, and Captain Du. Her, I wasn’t sure what her duties were, just that she taught my Human-Mech interface class.

Beside those three Academy officers stood a blonde officer with the Federation Mech Maintenance Corps badge on her arm.

“Are you Cadet Leon Young?” the Federation officer broke off her conversation with Captain Du to address me.

“Yes, sir.”

“Name and serial number,” she ordered for verification.

“I am cadet Leon Young, Ma’am. Serial number 68-587R-687Q-698M-9000.”

“Sign here and add your ident.” She offered an electronic bill of lading along with a DNA/Sn scan for verification.

“Good. My orders state that other than Federation specified individuals cleared by Admiral Birkenhouser, no one may enter your cockpit or board your Mech, even to rescue your sorry ass. Is that understood, cadet Young?”

“Yes, sir!” I snapped.

“I was just discussing this with General White. Cadet Young, you are the only one cleared to enter this facility and your Mech. As the operator of this Academy, the Superintendent may examine your Mech from the outside and also has full rights to tell you when and where you may use this experimental Mech. No one else. Is that clear, Cadet Young?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If General White deems that these measures are not to his liking, then YOU cadet, must arrange for a substitute Mech for your time at Hate Academy. Is that clear, Cadet Young?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s see this fucking beautiful Mech of yours, cadet. General White, would you like to see your student’s Mech?”

“I would love to, Major Flowers,” General White replied with a smile.

Why was he happy at being the only to enter the hangar? I had no clue. Yet I didn’t think that the rest of the faculty here would take the Major’s orders as pleasantly as the academy’s superintendent did.

Up close and personal, the 45t Gray designed and built experimental Fury series Mech, formerly owned by the invading army’s planetary governor, was beautiful.

The camouflage painted humanoid Mech towered over me at twelve meters in height. Instead of a head, the Mech supported a hooded, medium-range, medium-class Beam Cannon. Sheathed in each arm, with the hilt overlapping the back of the wrists, were a pair of daggers. The Larkin-Smith fusion mono-edged daggers were perfect against light and medium armor or against critical weak spots on heavier Mechs that all Mechs had. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the specific type of energy field surrounding the daggers couldn’t be used efficiently on larger weapon types. The power expenditure for a slight increase in length escalated exponentially after two meters. By keeping the Daggers under the magical two-meter length, they could actually be used for a full battle’s duration.

In theory.

Against heavily armored Mechs, such as knights, I would have my work cut out for me. Only by targeting the joints or cockpit would I have a chance of success. Not that I would need to worry about a knight hurting me in a solo match. Their bulk would slow them down too much to do any real damage. Or even keep up with me if I chose to relocate.

And that was just my daggers.

The 120-degree front facing turreted Beam Cannon was rated on the border between a medium and a heavy energy weapon class. It had a limited number of usages in a solo fight just from the overheating potential, but it was great for that surprise wallop.

The supply crates were piled up as high as the Mech container informing me that my loadouts were still packed away for later unloading. I wouldn’t be using those until they were approved and released by Command.

“She’s exactly as you left it, Cadet Young. The Federation plucked four of these beauties from somewhere else and don’t need yours anymore. Thankfully, the power cores had been refitted before you left Vista or fielding this beast would bankrupt you,” Major Flowers reminded me.

“Major Flowers, do you have the blueprints for the Fury?” General White asked.

“No, General. No one does. Right now, HQ is drawing them up as we speak. I was promised a set as soon as they get a complete one. Then I am ordered to compare Cadet Young’s Mech with the ones in HQ’s possession.”