Way of the Messenger – Part One
A brief note: It’s been 14 years since Wars of Reaving dropped for the BattleTech line. It remains one of my favorite projects to write and execute. I was recently looking over the book after being away from it for a few years and realized I still had notes on a follow-up story. This story details Jana’s flight to the Inner Sphere, to carry out her brother’s final mission and deliver the Kerensky giftake to the Wolves.
So here’s part one of my unofficial three-part serial of that story.
Ashes of Strana Mechty
The Kerensky Blood Chapel burned.
Jana moved through the wreckage of the inner colonnade, breath rasping against the mask’s filter. Smoke drifted through the shattered marble columns like restless ghosts. Heat shimmered above pools of molten glass that had once been windows—the Founder’s icons now blistered beyond sight.
Each step felt like sacrilege, her boots grinding ash where acolytes once prayed. She told herself it didn’t matter. The Clans had defiled this place long before the flames.
The satchel struck her hip as she ran, the strap biting into her shoulder. Under her jacket, the data chip pressed cold against her skin—small, sharp, and far too heavy.
Autocannon fire cracked outside. Jana dropped low, pressed to the splintered archway, and glanced into the courtyard. The air burned orange. A half-collapsed statue of Nicholas Kerensky leaned among toppled pillars, its face blackened but its gaze still severe. Beyond it, a Grendel lay broken—Akule’s Grendel—one arm folded beneath its hull, cockpit dark.
She made herself look away.
“DropPort lockdown in thirty minutes,” a voice crackled over comms. “If you’re not on a ship by then, you won’t be.”
The line went dead. Orders enough.
Jana ran again, through firelight and falling ash. The gardens of Svoboda Zemylya had become wasteland—marble shattered, trees burned to stumps, soil cratered by ’Mech impacts. The air stank of scorched armor and coolant.
Overhead, aerospace fighters cut through the low clouds, contrails glowing red against the fire. One dove too low and vanished into smoke. A heartbeat later, the world shook.
She climbed a broken wall, dropped into a service alley slick with soot and runoff. Crouch. Check. Run. The rhythm was muscle memory—Akule’s training made instinct. He’d have told her she was still too stiff. He’d have been right.
The generator hut offered cover. Inside, the lights flickered amber, washing the outline of a dead technician across a cracked console. Jana slid behind it and pulled the chip free. She slotted it into the port.
A voice filled the air—calm, steady, tired but unbending. She recognized Star Colonel Ramil Kerensky, now the former commander of Clan Wolf’s Watch here on Strana Mechty.
“Locate the merchant and the vessel listed. Show the chip when asked. He will take care of you. Once you lift, make for the Wolf Occupation Zone and the Khans. The chip carries your Watch authorizations. Present them to any Wolf officer you find. They will know.”
The recording faded. Jana rested her hand on the console, eyes closed for a moment. Then she pocketed the chip and stepped back into the smoke.
Two warriors argued ahead—Coyote dialect. She ducked behind a wall until they passed, rifles low.
“Wolf dogs,” one muttered.
When they were gone, she slipped south.
The road to Katyusha was lined with burned-out transports. Civilians moved in clusters, castes mixed—unthinkable days ago. Warriors patrolled in scavenged armor, insignia scraped away. The Clans’ unity was dying faster than the city.
At a checkpoint, a Coyote with a hand scanner stepped forward. A Star Adder flanked him, rifle loose but ready.
“Identification.”
Jana handed over a Technician’s badge she’d stolen earlier. The scanner hesitated.
“Hold.”
She tilted her wrist, flashing the etched seal on her watch. “Priority audit.”
The Adder frowned. The Coyote studied her, then waved her through.
“Go.”
She heard him mutter as she passed.
“The Wolves should never have trusted abtakha.”
Jana didn’t break stride.
The DropPort lights burned through haze—white slicing across the red sky. The air reeked of propellant and melting polymer. Alarms blared from every direction.
She ran faster, keeping to shadow. A small DropShip squatted at the far strip, hull silver beneath grime. The name across its prow read Vox Lyra. The Diamond Shark emblem gleamed faint beneath soot.
Her palm unit pinged.
CONTACT: FACTOR TURAL ROSHIN — RAMP FOUR.
Perfect.
Two deckhands guarded the ramp. Above them stood a tall man in a grease-stained vest, one hand on the railing, eyes sharp.
“Factor Roshin,” she called. “I have authorization to board.”
He studied her—ash-streaked face, blood on her hands—then nodded at her glowing seal. “Let’s see it.”
She slotted the chip into her unit. Gold encryption flared. Genuine.
He scanned it, expression unreadable. “Higher clearance than I usually see. And trouble with it.”
“I’m only freight.”
“That’s what everyone says. Get aboard.”
The Vox Lyra smelled of oil and old air. Roshin led her to a small compartment with two chairs and a locker, then sealed the hatch.
“You’re Watch,” he said flatly. “I don’t like carrying ghosts.”
“Then think of me as cargo. Payment on delivery.”
“Delivery where?”
“Wolf Occupation Zone.”
He whistled. “Long run for a Wolf to make.”
“Longer to fail.”
He nodded once. “Stay clear of the crew. We’ve got enough ghosts already.” He left her with the hum of the engines. She settled into a nearby crash seat bolted to the DropShips interior.
Minutes later, his voice came over the shipwide comms. “Control’s gone dark. We’re lifting blind. Strap in. Burning fast.”
The deck shuddered as the thrusters fired. Gravity slammed her back. The hull rattled like a drum. “Two contacts inbound, no IFF.” One of the anonymous crew.
“Guns online,” Roshin ordered.
A blast rocked the ship. Jana glimpsed tracer fire through the viewport—a Star Adder fighter clawing for their hull.
A crewman darted past, then stopped, turning to face her. “You any good with a turret?” He had to shout over the engine whine that shook the vessel.
“I’ve handled worse.”
“Then prove it.” He darted off, leading her forward.
The turret bay stank of ozone. Jana dropped into the seat, harness locked. The reticle lit. She tracked the fighter – an ancient Adder Sparrowhawk – and fired.
The Buccaneer‘s cannons tore it apart. The fighter tumbled away, a brief flare in the dark.
“Hit confirmed.” Jana wiped the sweat from her brow.
“Nice shooting,” Roshin said. “Now let’s leave before the whole damn Clan remembers they hate us.”
The ship climbed. Lightning crawled the hull. Then stillness—orbit. Strana Mechty hung below, half-shrouded in cloud and flame. Jana whispered to the glass, her fingers lightly touching.
“For Akule. For the Way.”
Silence answered.
Later, Roshin found her still strapped in. “You’re better with a gun than half my crew.”
“Practice.”
“One thing,” he said. “Your clearance pinged twice—once from your chip, once from somewhere else in-system. Same code.”
“Someone copied it?”
“Maybe. Or maybe they want me to think so. Either way, you’ve brought us company.”
“How long to the JumpShip?”
“Two days. Pirate point past the fifth orbit. Quiet route.” He paused at the hatch. “Keep that satchel close. If anyone asks, tell them it’s none of their business.”
“That part’s easy.”
He almost smiled. “I doubt it.” The hatch sealed.
Jana watched the shrinking planet, fires dimming to embers. The hum of the engines was steady—motion, not safety.
Two days. Enough for pursuit.
She unstrapped, flexed her legs, and touched the chip. Still warm. Still alive.
Sleep came slowly.
Around the corner from the communal bunkroom, two voices whispered through an open maintenance hatch.
“She’s aboard. Signal confirmed.”
“And the plan?”
“When they reach the trade route. No mistakes.”
“The Society will want confirmation.”
“Don’t say that name. Death follows swiftly.”
The hatch clicked shut.
Jana didn’t hear them. She was already drifting. In her dreams, marble burned again, and Akule’s voice carried through the smoke.
“Carry the Way.“
Outside, the Vox Lyra rose toward the black edge of the system. Two days to the jump point, and a hundred unseen dangers between here and home.
Parts II and III of the Way of the Messenger to come soon.