Lupercalia, Wolf System
Meiji Shogunate, 6th District
He had been running for weeks now it seemed. Running through dry desert, searing daylight, freezing nights. Ragnar was alone in the desert on a death world, not an enviable position for any man. Less enviable when being hunted by other Lupercalians, men and beasts. His pursuers were no where in sight but they couldn't be much further back. The intense heat of the day was sapping what little strength he had left. A pile of bones would be all he left if he stopped now. Ragnar would stop only when dead, he continued to lope forward, constantly scanning the horizon all about him on a sea of loose sand. Searching for the puffs of dust in the distance to mark their catching up. Out of food and low on water, less than half a canteen now, Ragnar was finally starting to regret his more recent life choices.
Ragnar had been a proud son of the War Chief of the Burnt Brothers tribe, at 14 Summers, Ragnar had been days from his chance to join the warrior lodge of his tribe. That vaunted collection of the tribes fiercest warriors. Though they required a grueling initiation to join their ranks, Ragnar had dreamed of nothing else his whole short life. Ragnar's own father, Luther Stone-Hand, had been War Chief of the Burnt Brothers, commanding both the warrior lodge and the Tribal Council. Ragnar, like most of the tribe, had assumed his own rise to the position many years from now when the War Chief finally died.
The old Chief's sudden and mysterious death, at the hands of out land assassins, had lead to an upheaval in the Tribal Council and the Lodge. War Captain Rigus had refused to bend the knee to an un-blooded boy. Many of his warriors, though they felt a certain trepidation at ignoring the Traditions, followed their War Captain's lead and refused to accept the boy-Chief as their own. They instead named Rigus their new War Chief, refusing to even hear the Council's complaints. Council members that continued to resist were killed, their property and authority given to Council members more open to Rigus's vision of the future. Ragnar had seen the writing on the walls, with two canteens of water and a hunting pack stuffed with food and essential gear, he made out for the open desert in the middle of the night. Rigus dispatched twenty of his own warriors to track and end the boy's run.
The location of the tribe's oasis, a 4 days walk from the next nearest known oasis, meant Ragnar had one trick that he hoped his pursuers would not anticipate. Two years earlier Ragnar had discovered an underground pool several miles from the Tribes current encampment, in the opposite direction of the nearest oasis. He hadn't had the time to fully explore the odd cavern beneath the desert, but he had quickly stuck his head down the hole that dropped at least a dozen feet to a dark pool of gently lapping water. With out a flash light or torch he hadn't been able to see much more of the cavern, but he had the impression it was massive.
Ragnar had run a wide loop first away from his actual destination, then once he had lost the hunters, he had turned to his true goal. His hope that he could hole up for a few days in the cavern, and wait for his pursuers to give up the chase and return to encampment.
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Ragnar was close now, with no sight of the hunters, he knew he had a chance. A few minutes later, Ragnar came to the low cairn of stones he had set up years ago to mark his find. Smiling at his fortune, Ragnar dug down into the sand with his hands and after only a dozen inches came to the thick Juni bush branches he had hid the discovery with. Prying them out of the sand and setting them aside, Ragnar pulled his pack off and tying a long nylon rip cord lowered its weight down into the cavern.
Tied off on a stake at the lip of the hole, his pack dangled just above the deep pool of water at the bottom. Ragnar then pulled out two iron stakes he had brought just for this part of his plan. He jammed first one then the other spike in to the sides of the tunnel dropping down, lowering himself down on them. Pressing his back against one side of the tunnel, and his knees against the other side of the narrow deep hole. Then once his weight was settled, he pulled out one spike and plunged it back into the rock and dirt wall of the tunnel a foot lower than the other spike. Alternating the spikes and moving slowly, Ragnar made it the ten feet of the tunnel, then dangling about fifteen feet above his pack and the pool, he dropped.
The fall landed with a splash, as Ragnar drove back to the surface with powerful kicks he realized it was much deeper than he had originally thought. That wasn't what froze his breath in his chest. Though the cavern was dark, what little light filtering in through the hole in the cavern's ceiling cast everything in shadow and shades of grey. The pool looked to be about 20 feet wide in circumference, and much deeper. It wasn't natural as Ragnar had first suspected.
The sides of the pool were clearly artificial, their planes and angles to perfect for nature's random touch. Reaching up to his pack he disconnected the D-ring holding it to the nylon rip cord. Keeping his pack above his head he kicked himself over to the lip of the pool and tossed his pack over the side.
Retrieving his hand torch from his pack, he flipped its switch and slowly swung the light first around the perimeter of the cavern then across its low ceiling. This was definitely not natural, the grey walls were clearly poured material of some sort, and the massive room was far from empty. As Ragnar's torch beam panned the room it crossed over dozens of massive statues, inhuman monster forms. Ragnar approached the nearest towering creature, and standing at it's feet panned his light up.
Realization hit Ragnar like a ton of bricks, these were not statues at all, and this was certainly no cavern. These were the god like mecha that strode the stars, jumping through the great gates that connected the galaxy, to wage war at their master's command. This was a mecha bay of some sort.
Long lost or forgotten, here lay a treasure trove worth more than all the weapons and tech the Burnt Brothers possessed. While the Burnt Brothers possessed a pair of very old, very run down Red Ant mechas, they rarely used them for more than carrying gear from one encampment to the next, and fighting off the smaller bands of raiders they came across. The parts and know how to keep them running were too expensive for the Brothers to risk them for much else.
Here however sat a full platoon of mecha. Nine mecha total stood in the hanger, cables and hoses linking them to the gantries hanging above them. Walking past them Ragnar counted four Red Ants, four Anzus, and one larger Dread mecha. The 45 ton mecha was bigger than anything Ragnar had ever seen, save maybe a desert Dragon, the massive lizards that stalked the dunes of Lupercalia. Ragnar continued his search of the bay, until he came to the end farthest from the pool. There he found a hatch, a pair of sliding steel doors sealed tight. Searching around the frame he found a simple pull bar and keeping his torch pointing forward and his personal sidearm, a Shogunate PJ-79 .45 caliber slug thrower at the ready, he waited for the doors to finish grinding open he spun around the corner and into the now visible hall way behind the hatch. Surprisingly there were light strips, glowing bright, in 2" panels leading down the hall, broken only by the two doors on each side of the corridor. The hall way ended in another steel blast hatch.
"Well hello, and welcome to my den little pup, what do you want here?" The voice startled Ragnar, he nearly leaped out of his skin as he spun searching for its source.
"Who are you, where are you, show yourself now!" Ragnar snarled at the empty hall. He spotted the speakers mounted in the ceiling then. "Come out of hiding and face me, whoever you are!"
"Calm, little pup." The voice responded, then continued. "You have entered my home, uninvited and armed. I can only assume for nefarious purposes, as the young are so often inclined." An obvious humor carried in the voice.
"I have come only seeking Sanctuary." Ragnar blurted, eyes scanning the hall watching the doors. "I am hunted and running low on supplies."
"How many hunt you, why do they hunt you?" The bodiless voice asked.
"I only know many hunt me, for the blood in my veins." Ragnar told the tale of the last few days, feeling foolish talking to an empty corridor. Upon its completion the voice spoke again. "Alright pup, I grant you Sanctuary in my Den, you may eat of my stocks and drink my wine and ale. Welcome to my merry little band of killers." The mike keyed off audibly over the speakers and the first door to Ragnar's left slid into the wall and bright light poured out into the hall.
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A face far to young to match the voice over the speakers popped out of the room with a wry smile pasted over it. "Gonna wait for a personal invite there Burnt Brother, or ya gonna come on in" The youth piped out. The face disappeared into the room and Ragnar followed, his mind spinning.
"I am no Burnt Brother" Ragnar growled as he followed the other youth into the room. The room was obviously a dining hall. Great iron Dragon Spears with burst charges mounted lined the wall on each side leading back to a wall covered in shields. The tower shields commonly used by dragon slayers for protection against the dragon's acidic spit, were an assortment colors and heraldic devices. A massive rough hewn trundle table dominated the room, with long benches lining it. The table itself easily thirty feet long, was heaped high with smoked meats and long loafs of crusty bread. Seated at the table, over a dozen rough warriors were staring at the new comer. Horns of ale and goblets of wine in calloused hands, these warriors didn't look anything like the men of Ragnar's tribe. Their attire a wild assortment of tribal styles, Ragnar could only make out a few of the styles as tribes he knew of. These were clearly not men of common blood, a raucous assortment of skin tones and hair colors, shapes and sizes made for the most diverse table of men Ragnar had ever seen in his short life.
"Apologies then no-tribe, my name is Floki, and I am errr was the youngest warrior of the Iron Wolves" the pale skinned youth said as he waved his hand to encompass the seated men. "These of course are the other warriors of our tribe. We don't have no women or kids of our own yet. The Captain says we need better gear and more experience before we start dreamin of farms and fat wives." Floki rambled on as he lead Ragnar to the table and a seat at the end nearest the door. "I don't much care about farms or wives yet, but I take my Trial later this season, hopefully I'll earn the driver's seat of one of the Anzus, I like their speed over the Red Ants myself."
"Floki, give the pup a chance to eat. You can talk his ear off tonight, I'm billeting him with you." The Voice from the speakers. The War Captain, sitting at the head of the table.
"That is," he continued, "if the lost pup wants a pack now that he is no longer a Burnt Brother."
"I do sir, if I may also attempt your warrior trials. I was only days away from the warrior initiation of the Brothers." Ragnar said with no hesitation.
"Hmm, with us but a moment and already you wish to fight with us? I like you pup, your wish is granted." Pointing at Floki he continued, "You will take him to the bays this night before you rack out. Show him the simulators and how they work. Tomorrow at 0430 I expect you both in there until chow time. Then right back after till the evening chow."
"Aye War Captain!" Floki responded after popping up from his seat and taking the position of attention with his feet together at a 45 degree angle and his hands straight down along the seems of his loose fitting tan trousers. After the Captain nodded at him, Floki dropped back down to the bench and back to eating and drinking.
The warriors all continued to eat and drink their fill till later into the night. The War Captain retired shortly after issuing his orders to Floki concerning the found pup. After the meal, Floki informed Ragnar of their duty to clean up the hall every night after the final meal of the day. Ragnar, accustomed to the initiations of a few Lupercalia tribes was unsurprised, young men the world over were kept busy to the point of exhaustion regularly. It certainly cut down on child hood death rates due to boredom.
Afterwords, the two boys headed to the simulators. Floki was only a summer older than Ragnar as he found out on the walk out of the hall and back into the Mecha bay. Unseen during his initial entrance to the bay, and only after Floki keyed in a command in a panel next to the hatch turning on the lights, did he see them. A line of 15 simulators were set 5 meters apart on each side of the bay. Ragnar had only ever heard of simulators being located in the Valley of the Tech-Shamans.
The shaman of the valley were the true power of Lupercalia, building the great war machines that made life on Lupercalia possible if at the same time more dangerous. No one crossed the Tech-Shamans, it was claimed by some that they had weapons that could kill a world with but a push of a button. You had to bring trade goods and the staples of life on Lupercalia to the Shamans to barter for new tech gear. Ragnar never understood why the Shamans would take things like the acid pouches of desert dragons or their horns in exchange for maintenance on Mecha, new weapons or even the Mecha themselves. That they did trade, made possible the constant struggles for control of the Niode Gates on Lupercalia along with the oasis' and small settlements that dotted the world. Without the Tech-Shaman, many of the tribes would be incapable of even testing their own boys for the ability to make the neural connections to their tribes Mecha.
"Here is where we will be spending all of our free time until the Trial begins." Floki explained as he guided Ragnar to the pod nearest the hatch. "Go ahead and pop that latch next to the door of the pod and get on in and belt up."
As Ragnar did as instructed, he noticed that the set up was very similar to the Red Ants cockpit he had been training on as a Burnt Brother. A few screens were mounted slightly different and the pod seemed even tighter than the real deal, but was close enough that Ragnar could almost believe he was really in a cockpit meters off the deck. After finishing buckling up and hitting the red button marked "PWR ON" Ragnar waited. The pod began to come alive, going through an obvious test circuit the boards in the cock pit went through a systematic light up then the pod itself shuddered then began to sway forward and back then side to side. After a few moments of this the pod settled down and Ragnar felt the Neural link, jacked into the receptacle on the back of his neck come alive. Instantly he was seeing and feeling a world that did not exist, the simulator replaced his own awareness with a simulated world outside of his pod/cockpit.
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"Alright Ragnar, I have you set up on an entry level training run. You'll encounter a couple of random encounters on a basic patrol route. The sims will train you not only on basic mecha operations up to master pilot skills, it will also teach you our Tribes battle doctrine. Pay attention and you'll do fine man." Floki said.
"Aye Floki." Ragnar responded. "I noticed that my weapons pods are showing locked, whats up with that?"
"Good job Ragnar, first test is paying attention to your machine, it'll keep you alive in a live fire war." Floki's laughing voice sounded over the comms.
"I just flipped the switch out here, you should be good to go." Floki said. He continued, " Alright from here out your on your own, I'll be out here monitoring your progress. Good hunting."
With that, the comm circuit went dead in Ragnar's ears. "Alrighty, lets do this "lost pup"." Ragnar spoke into the empty pod. Ragnar began walking his simulated Red Ant out of the virtual bay and into a virtual Lupercalia. In short order the computer was giving Ragnar orders and marking mission targets on his HUD. Fifty minutes into what was quickly becoming a boring run, all hell broke loose. Alarms began blaring in his cockpit warning Ragnar of incoming fire.
Seeing nothing on his screens, Ragnar brought his Ant up to a quick run through the forest of stone obelisks that dotted the virtual terrain. Any one of the massive natural structures could be hiding an enemy mecha behind it. The scanners on the virtual Ant were all to similar to the real thing, poor range and and not the most precise. As he sped up a line of puffs in the dirt behind him gave away his attackers position. Seeing the near misses in the rear view cam, Ragnar quickly spun his mecha around the next obelisk and searched for his hunter.
Only a dozen meters ahead of him and still turning to catch up to Ragnar's quick sprint, a heavier Anzu stood, lasers pivoting on their mounts even faster than the mecha itself. Ragnar grinned as his targeting reticule came on line with the Anzu's cockpit at point blank range for mecha. Mashing both triggers on the dual control sticks in his hands, he unleashed all 4 of the Fury lasers mounted to his Ant's exterior. The heat of all 4 beams being unleashed at once brought up a wave of heat in the pod. Real sweat began to pour off of Ragnar as he poured on the fire. Beam after beam slammed into the Anzu cutting armor plate from it's frame. As the Anzu was finally coming to bear on him with it's own lasers and what appeared to be a missile launcher, one of the Fury beams cut into and through the Anzu's cockpit. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the Anzu dropped to the ground sending vibrations through the simulated ground.
Just as Ragnar began to feel the exultation of victory, alarms once again blared out. The rapid squeal of the alarm told Ragnar he was about to receive missiles. Once again Ragnar tried to speed his Ant up into a sprint to get out of the kill zone. Too late to escape, warheads began falling around Ragnar, several slamming into his Ant tearing great rents in his armor and nearly knocking Ragnar senseless. Struggling to keep his mecha standing and moving, Ragnar's brain was screaming, the neural link was taking a beating along with the mecha passing the sensations to Ragnar. Feeling himself losing the battle to keep his mecha upright he felt it begin to slip. Then another alarm began screaming for his attention, then everything went black.
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As the hatch to the pod swung open and liht from the bay flooded in, Ragnar began unbuckling from the pod. He was still unsure of what happened when Floki stepped to the pod and offered a hand down. Ragnar, still angry over his mecha clearly dying, smacked Floki's hand away and jumped down to the bays deck.
"What the hell happened Floki? I killed the Anzu then out of no where I was getting hit then dead." Ragnar complained.
"It was a Luison Ragnar, he came up behind you while you were playing with the Anzu." Floki said seriously, then his normally light tone. "You have to always watch your six Ragnar, ya never know whos going to be coming up it."
Ragnar was still frustrated over the sudden loss, but embarrassed by lashing out at Floki. "I had expected to do better is all Floki, my apologies for not accepting your hand earlier."
"No worries Ragnar, we're all Wolves here, tempers can get frayed in training." Floki said. "Just remember, when we drive mecha we tend to get bigger than life. You have to keep your awareness about you even when your packing heat like Marsodin's own Devine Legions."
Ragnar's breath caught at mention of the war god's name. His own tribe worshiped Thorus the god of light and rain, nearly as opposite of the war god as you could find in the diverse pantheon of Lupercalia's typically bloody religions. Only the warriors of his old tribe had been allowed to utter Marsodin's name, and then only before battle to ask his blessing along side Thorus's own blessing. Ragnar knew he had a lot to learn about these Iron Wolves. He had never heard of the tribe at any of the Great Moots. Nearly all the tribes currently in any given part of Lupercalia came together peacefully once every summer to trade daughters, weapons and tech.
After Floki finished shutting down the simulator, he led Ragnar to their assigned billeting. "You've had a long day, and I promise we will get far too little sleep tonight, but feel free to ask me anything. I've only been with our War Captain for about a year now, but I can answer most questions you probably have on your first day."
Ragnar found his pack had already been placed on a bunk in the small room. The room, more a monks cell, had a pair of bunks mounted to the walls with two wall lockers taking up the entire wall opposite the door. After Floki showed Ragnar to the communal shower blocks and toilets, Ragnar wanted nothing else but to lay down and try to process the days events. As soon as his head hit the pillow on his rack he was already snoring.
Floki watched with a look of amusement on his face. He could remember his first days with the tribe, and Ragnar seemed to be handling it all very well. Being an outcast on Lupercalia if only for a few days was brutal. You were fair game to any other tribe that came across you. You had no chance against most of the wild life on planet. Even the desert dragons which could swallow a man whole, hunted in packs here. Being taken in so quickly was a blessing on this world.
A blessing Floki himself knew of well. His own tribe had been wiped out by another when he was a younger boy. Floki had hid beneath his own mothers body for a day and a night. The Iron Wolves found him
when they came upon the wreckage of the encampment. The Captain had taken his bond even though he was still a boy and put him to work in the tribe. He spent those first days cleaning gear and doing what ever the tribe's techs and warriors told him to do.
Ragnar had made mistakes in his first simulator run, but even at his own young age, Floki knew that he was looking at a prodigy. Floki had seen veteran members of the tribe fall without even spotting one of the two mecha. Ragnar found one and killed him, a bit more experience and he would have been looking for further threats past the first.
Floki decided he liked this former Burnt Brother. He suspected that Ragnar would be driving a mecha as soon as himself if not sooner. The War Captain had plans for the Wolves, and though Floki was still just an apprentice warrior, he knew they included recruiting warriors of quality and courage to his banner. Like many Lupercalians the War Captain hoped to take his warriors through the Gates and raid other worlds and seek loot and conquest across the stars. There was a whole galaxy out there for the taking if you were hungry enough. Floki could feel the War Captain's hunger.
Like all of the Wolves, Floki had come to worship Marsodin, he knew his path to the Great Halls was a glorious death in battle. While
the Halls had their appeal, like all of the Wolves, Floki intended to live a long and loot filled life before making that final address change. The War Captain was the one that would make this all happen. Well, with a few lost pups anyway.
Submitted by Justin Bertelli#583634