Blue Skye

17 March 3050

Headquarters of the 17th Skye Rangers

Mariah’s Pinnacle, Barcelona

Chahar Province, Federated Commonwealth

Leftenant Margaidh Lewis cursed, and ran her fingers through her sandy-coloured hair. She was lying on the floor in the cockpit of her Battlemech, with her head in a panel. Components of the weapons control system were scattered on the floor around her. Angie, her Tech, popped her head into the hatch, with a broad grin on her face.

“Got one, Margaidh,” she said.

Margaidh sat up to look and banged her head on the overhanging panel. “Och, shit,” she swore, in a broad Scottish accent. Rubbing her head, she breathed in hard and wriggled into the space behind the seat to let Angie in. While Margaidh was not overweight, she was tall and well-built and the Shadow Hawk’s cockpit was a tight fit even with only one occupant.

“It’s the laser that does it,” Angie said as she squeezed herself into the bottom of the cockpit and started to install the new circuit board she had brought with her. “The Shadow Hawk control circuits are made for autocannon, not heavy lasers. I’ll have to re-wire it.”

“I don’t understand it,” Margaidh said with a frown. “This Mech’s had a Magna Mk. III in place of the autocannon for the past sixty-odd years. My mother never had any trouble with it.”

Angie grunted. “If your mother wanted Magna-threes, she should have had a Rifleman.” She struggled with the circuit board for a few minutes, then gave an exclamation of satisfaction, and closed the panel with a bang. “That should do it,” she said. “Let’s give it a go.”

Margaidh slid into the seat and powered up the weapon systems. A row of amber lights turned green one by one as each weapon in turn came onto standby, and she smiled. “A-1, Angie, you’ve done it again.”

The Battlemech, of which Margaidh’s blue Shadow Hawk was a typical example, had been the mainstay of warfare for over six hundred years. The majority were vast bipedal machines, either humanoid or bird-shaped, averaging twelve meters tall and ammassing up to a hundred tons. Looking like vast robots but controlled by a single warrior in a cockpit, they bristled with weapons that were capable of incredible destruction.

Since the fall of the Star League three hundred years ago, the technology required to build new Battlemechs had been gradually lost in the mists of time. Now it was possible only to repair existing Mechs, and while many parts were still manufactured, others could be obtained only by cannibalising other, more badly damaged Mechs. A good Technician was one who could keep a Mech in good working order with the minimum of resources. ‘Spit and baling twine’ was a phrase Angie used frequently.

Angie grinned, and started collecting her tools together, while Margaidh turned off the weapon systems and let them cool. “The Blue Skye is a fine Mech,” the Tech said as she ducked out of the cockpit. “Just look after it. Remember, the less I see of you, the better.”

After Angie had gone, Margaidh headed back to her quarters, to change out of her overalls and into her uniform. She had already missed morning simulator practise; if she didn’t show up for her scheduled afternoon patrol, she would be in deep trouble.

Not that there was any need for afternoon patrol out here on Barcelona, a backwater place on the periphery of the Commonwealth, where nothing ever happened. At least the weather was good, which was a bonus. Margaidh was more accustomed to the dull grey skies of Summer, her home planet. It was home too of the 17th Skye Rangers, the regiment whose badge she wore with pride, as had her mother and grandmother before her.

She had just turned the corner on the way to the junior officer’s mess when she heard a stern and familiar voice behind her. “Lewis!” Margaidh stopped mid-stride, and screwed her eyes shut in anticipation. Then with her nicest smile, she turned around.