BattleTech: Finding Jardine (Forgotten Worlds, Part Two): BattleTech Novella, #26

By Herbert A. Beas II

UNCOVERING THE SECRETS OF A LOST WORLD…

 

Interstellar explorer and freelance treasure hunter Dr. Brooklyn Stevens has made the find of a lifetime—an entire planet thought lost for centuries. Jardine was supposedly wiped off the maps of the Inner Sphere during the hard-fought Succession Wars, but the verdant forested world she and her adventuring partner just crash-landed on tells a much different story.

 

And so do its inhabitants. Dr. Stevens and her partner soon find themselves between two very different groups: one whose members are an unholy amalgamation of man and machine, the other a hardy group that lives off the land. Both groups are soon after Stevens and her knowledge about Jardine—one side to protect the planet from those that would seek to reclaim it, the other intent on killing anyone who knows of its existence. Caught between both sides, Brooklyn must uncover the mysteries of Jardine…and stay alive long enough to tell the universe about it…    
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
• Release date: Sep 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393274735

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

My beloved Brooke,

If there’s one thing I hate more than the notion of space travel, it’s the thought that it keeps taking you farther and farther away from home. The scholar in me knows full well that each discovery you make benefits all humanity, and I know you well enough to know the promise of Jardine had to be impossible to resist (if I weren’t such a craven coward, you know I’d have leaped at the chance, too!).

But none of that changes the fact that I miss my beautiful angel, and I hope you’ll be home with me again soon. These last few months have been an eternity without you.

Please be careful out there, my love. The wars may be over, but I doubt the Leaguers will be happy to see another Elsie sniffing around their backwaters.

And I doubt IE has changed its policies on ransom demands.

Forever in your heart!

Tyler Stevens

EXPLORER-CLASS JUMPSHIP SACAJAWEA

PIRATE JUMP POINT

HERAKLEION SYSTEM, FREE WORLDS LEAGUE

16 OCTOBER 3067

Two more bogeys, closing fast!

I have a track! Firing! … No joy! Damn, I never saw a fighter dodge like that in space!

Damn it, Lawrence! What’s taking so long?

Another goddamned minute! Keep your panties on and those bugs off us!

Stevens to Hara! We’re ready here! Standby to receive…

Jesus Mother-Loving Christ, that was close!

What are they trying to do? Ram us?

Splash One! Splash One!

Great shot, Juan! Hara, Sac is transmitting now! Get your fighters clear!

"Say again, Stevens? Say aga⁠—!"

"I said clear, damn it! We’re engaging now⁠—!"

"Shit! Klaw Flight! Disengage! Get away from that jumper! K-F forming! Disenga⁠—"

Impact! Brooke, impact !

"Schei—!"

"Jump—!

The universe shrank around Brooklyn Stevens in the blink of an eye. Time, space, and even the events of moments simply ceased to have any meaning as she suddenly felt herself melt into the infinite. Stars and planets spun around her, and she stretched her hands out to grab them.

One in particular tickled her fancy. With a giddy joy, she found it spinning its timeless way around a yellow-white star, a bone-white moon trailing behind. Giggling, she chased after the warm, cozy world. Feeling the cool waters of its deep blue oceans, the bustling life on its three large continents. She smiled as her eyes traced the eternally familiar landscapes, the cities she knew so well.

Honey, her mind sang to the planet, I’m home!

But as her fingers reached out to caress the world she knew as Donegal, arcs of golden fire appeared all across its surface. A rumbling cry rose as the fires spread. Cities, one by one, plunged into the seas, swallowed by chasms that formed, grew, and filled with glowing magma and dark salt water. Smoke and steam filled the skies, obscuring what remained.

No! Brooke heard herself scream as flames engulfed the world in her hands. "Tyler⁠—!"

Then, suddenly, without warning, everything slammed back down. The universe exploded in a rush of light and cold. She shrank to a pinpoint, swallowed in the void.

And the image of Donegal, engulfed in fire, vanished to the inky blackness of eternity…

She opened her eyes to find herself bent over the life-support control station, her hands still clutching the hard plastic yoke of the auxiliary weapons control she had been using mere moments before, as if she might float away if she let go. The displays in front of her flickered back to life as she struggled for breath, her heart pounding. Instead of targeting information, they now supplied a schematic of the Sacajawea’s sixty-seven decks, with color-coded climate-control information to indicate temperature, air pressure, and other vital signs. Only a secondary monitor maintained the weapons display.

But the indicators were green. Clear.

No threat detected.

Her stomach was doing somersaults. The taste of bile rose in her throat, and she gagged on it. She felt like months of her life had vanished in the last few seconds.

As if the cramps weren’t enough…

"Oh, Gottverdammte Scheiße! a voice swore, verbalizing Brooke’s own sentiments. With her neck muscles aching and her skull pounding, she turned to face the rail-thin, sweat-soaked form of Tibor Trouble" Mitternacht at the sail controls station next to her. Tibor’s station also hosted one of the bridge’s six auxiliary weapons-control boards, each of which served as a supplement and backup for the main fire-control console in the bridge’s outer ring.

Tibor’s eyes were still screwed shut, and he gasped for air through clenched teeth between a series of choking coughs. His head tilted to the left and he clutched at his ear with thin fingers; she assumed he heard the same screaming ringing in her head.

Swallowing acid again, Brooke swiveled her chair to take in the rest of the Sacajawea’s command center while her senses adjusted. The central deck held only four other crew stations in addition to the stations she and Tibor occupied—plus the unoccupied command chairs in the center—and three of the stations were presently occupied. Juan Lafferty, at the station-keeping drive console to Brooke’s left, had already shaken off his post-jump nausea, and ran a hand across his clean-shaven head as he sighed in relief.

Gretchen Morden, at the communications board across from Tibor, looked lost amid the unruly cloud of her own jet-black hair, until she brushed away enough of it to get a look at her console. And Lawrence Pohl, captain of the JumpShip, sat at the jump-control station opposite Juan, strong arms still braced against the console’s emergency handles.

For Bast’s sake, Lawrence, Brooke finally gasped, a little more warning would’ve been nice!

Lawrence shot her an ice-blue glare, a snarl contorting the peppered-gray stubble surrounding his chin. Did you not hear me scream ‘Jump!’ woman? he snarled. Blake’s blood! You tell Hara to lead pirates right up to us, and then have the nerve to complain about my jumping?

They didn’t need Hara’s aerojocks to lead them our way, Tibor grumbled, still cupping his ear. "Those guys were on a bombing run, and we were the primary."

Brooke blinked. Impact! Someone said impact! back there! Lawrence, she said, what’s our status?

Lawrence threw his gaze over to Gretchen, who nodded sagely—her hair once more contained in a bun to reveal plain, makeup-free features. As she turned cool brown eyes back to her station and went to work, Lawrence looked over his own monitors, assessing the data in seconds.

No significant hull damage. We took some light weapons fire, but between our guns, their range, and our out-jump, we likely knocked them out of play before they could do too much.

Brooke nodded, imagining for a moment the drifting hulls of wrecked pirate fighters now light-years away, torn asunder by the sheer power of the Sacajawea’s hyperspace field. At least four of the enemy craft had been screaming perilously close to the JumpShip when the Kearny-Fuchida fields engaged, warping Einsteinian space beyond all recognition and punching the Sac through the resulting breach.

Very few vessels within twenty or so kilometers of a jumping ship survived the intense release of energies and gravitational effects. For Hara’s sake, Brooke hoped every one of the enemy ships had gotten at least that close.

Across the bridge, Gretchen cleared her throat, drawing Lawrence’s attention again.

We’re on position, she said in a matter-of-fact voice. Visual triangulation confirms we are now on the solar equatorial plane of the Herakleion system. Close passive radar shows no contacts. And we’re receiving a signal⁠—

Signal? Tibor blurted. Brooke turned and saw him rubbing his temple. That explains the ringing…

You’re picking it up, too? she asked.

Tibor shrugged. While he didn’t often talk about them, the bionic implants that had replaced his left eye and his left inner ear—a legacy of his former career—were an open secret among the Sacajawea’s crew. Both were well-disguised as the genuine article, but close inspection revealed the color difference between his eyes that some took to indicate a glass cosmetic, and the faint scarring just below his left earlobe.

In truth, one of the features that elevated Tibor to Brooke’s best sensor operator and field scout was that he could see in infrared and even hear radio signals unaugmented by external equipment. Once upon a time, these capabilities made him an expert intelligence operative; even now, they enabled him to warn of possible pitfalls such as ambushes.

Or pick up stray transmissions.

It’s weak, he muttered, squinting as he focused on pinpointing the signal. Sounds like an automated warning sat.

That’s the one, Gretchen said with a nod. It’s coming from what looks like a buoy closer in-system. I can amplify.

Tibor nodded, then shook his