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Part 1: The Restless Warrior |
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| Part 5: Don't Get Mad...Get Even |
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Outskirts of Port Racice, Laz awoke, cold, hungry and with a crushing headache. He groaned loudly, putting his hands to his head: it felt like it was going to explode. When he opened his eyes, he found it was dark. He could just make out the station wagon as a darker shadow, parked just a few yards away on the verge, watery moonlight shining through its windows. As he began to take in his surroundings he realized he was lying in a ditch – he could feel the wet grass making his clothes damp. Slowly, the events of the past few hours came back to him and the anger that coursed through him helped dull the pain of his pounding head. The surge of adrenaline that came with the anger helped him get unsteadily to his feet. He staggered over to the barn and his worst fears were confirmed - the Lao-Hu was gone! There were numerous tyre tracks in the dirt and some of the nearby trees sported broken branches – they’d evidently had trouble manoeuvering the loader into place. He searched the spot where he had left the car’s owner, but he seemed to have disappeared along with the mech. He made his way to the car, walked round to the driver’s side door and got in. He sank heavily into the vinyl-upholstered seat and sat for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts and figure out his next move. A thought occurred to him and he reached under the seat – his service pistol was still there! He let out a loud sigh of relief. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and with his plan fixed firmly in his mind, he jammed the keycard into its dashboard slot, revved the engine and headed into the city once more… The streets were deserted at this time of night – morning actually, Laz found, as he checked his watch and saw it was 1:30AM. He followed the now-familiar streets that led him back to Gurney Salvage Co, this time parking the car right beside the entrance. Not surprisingly, there was no sign or sound of any activity at this late hour. He tentatively tried the door he had used last time – as expected it was locked. Looking around anxiously, he pulled his laser pistol from his jacket, flicked off the safety and, using short, controlled bursts, burned through the lock. He kicked the door open and jumped back, pistol at the ready, half expecting alarms to start ringing or a booby-trap of some kind. To his immense relief, nothing of the kind happened. He entered cautiously, mindful of the fact there could still be traps or alarm triggers inside, moving slowly down the aisles. It took several moments for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom of the workshop’s interior: once they had however, he found he could move more quickly. The familiar scents of a repair shop assaulted his senses, making him wrinkle his nose slightly. As he came out of the maze of storage racks into the main work area, a sight greeted him that made him stop in his tracks. In front of him was his Lao-Hu – or what was left of it. True to his word, Gurney and his men had begun dismantling it. The LB-20X autocannon that normally occupied its right shoulder was missing – as were both the arms. It stood in its forlorn state in a row of mechs, all in similar states of deconstruction, surrounded by scaffolding and tools. |
| Part 6: Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Hot |
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Gurney Salvage Co, A boiling rage filled Laz, which he struggled to contain – he needed to stay cool if he was to salvage anything out of this situation. Looking to his left, he saw a flight of stairs leading to an overhead walkway, at the end of which was an office. He headed towards it, on his way picking up a large, heavy work lamp that had been left near a partially gutted Raven...So much for Capellan mechs not being popular he thought. The office's heavy steel door was secured with an electronic keypad-type lock. The windows were barred with horizontal steel bars and a momentary wave of despair hit him – it looked like there was no way in. Then he remembered the pistol in his jacket. Firing short bursts at the welded ends, he was able to weaken the joints of three bars enough to yank them loose – creating a gap just big enough for him to crawl through. Carefully laying the bars on the metal grating of the walkway, he picked the lamp up and shone it round the interior of the office, looking for motion sensors, cameras or any other devices that might betray his presence. Seeing no obvious threat, he swung the torch sharply at the single-pane glass – jerking his arm back quickly as broken shards scattered everywhere. Smashing away any jagged edges that might injure him, he crawled through the gap and found himself crouching on a large metal desk. His earlier visual sweep of the room hadn’t revealed what he was looking for, so he jumped down onto the floor, pulled the chair from under the desk and looked underneath. Sure enough, there it was – a false floor panel, barely distinguishable from those around it. Working his penknife around the edges he levered it up and tossed it to one side, exposing the safe concealed underneath. Seeing the usual combination lock on the door, he paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Standing back up, he scanned the room for clues. His gaze came to rest on the pictures that lined the walls – no doubt some of Mr Gurney’s more famous customers. There were holo-prints of a Marauder, a Jagermech, a Centurion and several others. Gut instinct told him to try the Marauder. Carefully taking the picture down and turning it over, he saw a scrap of paper wedged into the frame. Pulling it out he saw a 6-digit number scrawled on it…of course a man like Gurney wouldn’t trust his memory with something that important. He doubtless changed it every month or so in case his employees somehow found out. Laz tossed the picture in a bin that stood next to a dirty bookcase piled with manuals and technical journals and hurried back to the safe. With trembling hands and bated breath, he twisted the dial in the correct sequence, fearing it would be empty. However, when he opened the door he was greeted with the sight of bundles of C-bills, many of them grease-stained and torn, but usable currency nonetheless. He gave a low whistle – there had to be tens of thousands’ worth in there! Grabbing a dirty holdall from where it lay next to the bookcase, he stuffed the bundles of bills into it and zipped it shut, jumping back onto the desk and exiting the office the way he’d entered. He made his way back down to the workshop, stopping and looking round him figuring out how to execute the final phase of his plan. He found a storeroom filled with cylinders of compressed gas, lubricants, cleaning fluids, dirty rags…all the paraphernalia one would expect to find. He grabbed a can of light-grade lubricant and walked over to a portable welding rig. He connected the two electrodes to a welding rod, before opening the tin of lubricant and pouring a puddle over the rod. He then walked slowly back to the storeroom, leaving a trail of light liquid grease as he went. Throwing the empty can into the cupboard, he found a screwdriver and pierced several more cans, allowing their contents to puddle on the floor. He walked back to the welding rig, switched it on and waited. Sparks flew as the machine sent a massive surge of current through the rod, designed to melt sheet metal. The rod quickly grew red hot and the lubricant began to smoke as it heated up. In a matter of minutes the rod became white-hot, eventually melting and breaking the circuit. It didn’t matter though – the grease had already caught fire, sending a trail of fire towards the cupboard. Realising he had only a matter of minutes, Laz grabbed the holdall and ran from the workshop, following the path between the storage racks he’d taken on his way in. He’d just made the exit when he heard several muffled bangs, which he guessed were the other tins of flammables exploding. He slammed the door behind him and hurried to the car…he didn’t want to be around when the gas cylinders started cooking off! |
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