BattleTech: Weapons Free (BattleCorps Anthology Vol. 3) by Jason Schmetzer

Author:Jason Schmetzer
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
Published: 2012-06-11T05:00:00+00:00

The drive to Gavin’s house was short and, for Nansa, tense. The situation was just plain weird. But in truth, they encountered only a couple of other vehicles on the trip. Middle of the night or no, Old Port City did seem to be on the verge of becoming a ghost town itself.

The Siriyah house was a narrow, three-story building crammed in between an entire streetful of similar brownstones, the only one with a light on the porch.

Inside, Gavin tossed his keys and wallet on a cluttered table. A woman stood at the top of the stairs, wearing sweatpants with a red sweater thrown over them. Her light brown hair was plaited into a thick braid that draped over her shoulder.

“Gavin? Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, hon. Just a ship in need of repairs and a pilot in need of a place to sleep.

There was movement behind the woman, and Nansa tensed, hand twitching towards her pistol. But the woman said, “Children! Go back to bed,” and there was the sound of small, scrambling feet, and Nansa relaxed, just a little.

“Nansa, this is my wife, Sally.”

Sally came down the stairs. She was shorter than Nansa, and slender to the point of delicate, seemingly fragile compared to Nansa’s stockier build. Her handshake was firm, though, and Nansa suspected that she was often underestimated.

“Can I get you anything? Food, drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Then let’s all get to bed.”

The third-floor guest room doubled as someone’s—probably Sally’s—art studio. Shards of colored glass littered a wide table next to a half finished window. The design beneath showed that the finished piece would be a mermaid in the waves.

A fragile, desperate art in war-torn times. It wasn’t something Nansa understood.

Nansa felt vulnerable being two stories away from the front door. She opened the window and leaned out. There was a fire escape. Good.

’Mechs. She shuddered. They represented everything she despised.

She left the window cracked open as she stripped down to her panties and black tank top. The pistol from her thigh went under the pillow before she slipped into bed. The sheets smelled of detergent, but they were soft and pilled, nearly threadbare in a few places. A port chief’s salary seemed to be commensurate with the heaviness of traffic in his port.

She could still hear and smell the ocean. She imagined that, in the distance, she could see the flash of lights from the battle. That was ridiculous, of course, but she couldn’t get the image out of her head.

That night, she dreamed of her parents, and what had happened to them.

It wasn’t a restful sleep.

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