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The Universe, 3028


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With a mighty push, the Tana rose from its ferrocrete landing berth, plumes of smoke rolling past the flight station's spherical viewports as the vessel broke free of Sheratan's gravity. The inertia of the ship's movement pushed me back against my jumpseat, and the outline of the Gellen's Heights spaceport quickly rolled into view as the planet fell away beneath us. Moments later, the deafening roar of the vessel's engines was accompanied by a low 'boom' reverberating through the ship's hull, an indication that we'd broken through the sound barrier.

"Charles sure doesn't waste any time on the throttle, does he?" I yelled over the cacophony to my seat-mate, a goateed fellow with a dark complexion.

"Time is money!" the man replied, his gravelly baritone complimenting his tough-guy appearance.

Tendrils of flame whipped past my field of view, and I gripped the carton of my Bountiful Burger tightly as I watched the gradient of the horizon transitioning from pale blue to inky-black. My stomach gave a lurch as the ship doubled-down on its acceleration, the g-forces of escape velocity increasing to a nearly-unbearable level.

"Is it always like this?" I asked.

"No - not always," the man replied. "Sometimes we fly harder!"

Abruptly, and before I had a chance to formulate a response, the roar of the Tana's engines ceased. I suddenly found myself weightless; floating against the harness that, moments before, I'd barely needed. Through the viewport, I could see a spectacular field of stars - one which, disconcertingly, was beginning to spin in a clockwise direction. As I watched, the Tana lurched again, and the stars began to move downward, gravity overtaking us again.

"That's - uh - that's - " I stammered, pointing at the view.

"We're flying nose-down," my seat-mate laughed. "It's the only way these little aerodyne DropShips can maintain gravity. The thrust is coming from the ship's belly."

"I'd heard of this, but I've never experienced it!" I exclaimed. "Seeing the stars go the wrong way is weird."

"You get used to it," the man chuckled. "Welcome aboard, by the way. I'm Marius Lennox - Charles' IT guy and occasional gun-for-hire. You got a name?"

"Jackson. Jackson McKenna," I responded, extending a handshake. "I'm hitching a ride out to Outreach. You could say I'm a gun-for-hire too. Sometimes. Sorta."

"Free agent, huh?" Marius nodded. "Nice. I do this job because it keeps me out of worse trouble."

A chime echoed through the crew compartment, and an indicator light near its entrance flickered from red to green.

"Anyway - we just broke orbit - it'll be a couple of days out to the JumpShip. Feel free to get settled in. Give a shout if you need anything while you're with us," Marius continued, unbuckling his seat harness. "I'm going up to the bridge for a bit. Maybe I'll run into you later."

"What should I do?" I asked, the sudden realization hitting me that I had nothing to do and nowhere to be.

"I dunno - we've got some games in the mess hall and a pretty good support rig down in the 'Mech Bay if you need to do any system work. Otherwise - relax!"

Easier said than done... I thought to myself. Glancing down at the now-cold Bountiful Burger I held in my hands, I reasoned that having my first meal in nearly twelve hours was as good a starting point as any.

Unstrapping my seatbelt, I pulled myself to my feet and took a few steps forward. My stride felt noticeably lighter; Charles apparently favored a level of gravity slightly less than Sheratan's. As I made my way down the ship's corridor, I was stopped in my tracks by the sudden appearance of a tall figure sliding down an access ladder from the upper compartment, landing boots-first with a loud thunk on the corridor's deckplates. It was Commander Maxwell.

"Hey there," Charles greeted me, smoothing out the wrinkles in his flight suit as he approached me. "Looks like you survived liftoff."

"It was a little different than how it usually goes on a civilian transport, but, yeah," I nodded. Holding up the Bountiful Burger package, I added, "I was gonna go eat this thing."

"If that's what floats your boat," Charles acknowledged, "though if you can hold out for a bit longer, Dexter and Chef were going to collaborate on some kind of shepherd's pie recipe that he picked up at the Stewart Inn on Solaris. You're welcome to join us."

"That guy cooks?" I blurted, the imagery of Dexter fussing over a meal's presentation standing in stark contrast to the hot-headed zealot I'd seen in the mess hall earlier.

"Dexter is full of surprises," the commander chuckled.

"Actually, all of you seem to be," I replied. "You're not what I would have expected mercenaries to be like."

"I try to keep us away from the stereotypes," Charles responded. "This galaxy has enough incivility as it is. One of the reasons I brought the unit back from the Periphery."

"I know you said that it was the same as any other place," I began as we rounded the corner into the mess hall, "but seriously, how come you came back? The Inner Sphere is pretty crowded. I'd have thought you stood to make better money out where there are fewer resources."

"It's a really complicated subject," Charles replied, leaning against a bulkhead as I went through the motions of stuffing the Bountiful Burger carton into a nearby matter recycler. "The easiest way to summarize it is that as fucked up as things can get around here, the Periphery is worse. Far worse. Have you studied history at all?"

"Yeah, why do you ask?"

"Well, in many areas, the Periphery states haven't made significant cultural strides since the Amaris Civil War. There's a bloodbath available for taking on nearly every planet. The political infighting is insane."

"That sounds like good money for a mercenary," I answered, surprised at Charles' response. "Why wouldn't you stick with it?"

"Because that's all there is out there," Charles sighed, "and frankly, there's more to life than 'get rich until you get shot.' At least, that's what I believed, and what the folks on this ship believed. So we split up the company. Those who wanted to stay behind did so; the rest of us headed into the Inner Sphere with this DropShip, four 'Mechs, and enough capital to start a new outfit."

"You mean that this is your entire company?" I balked.

"For the moment, yeah. We're looking at an old military base outside of Gellen's Heights that we can re-purpose as a headquarters. The rest of our assets stayed behind with the group that split off from us in the Periphery. In the very immediate term, though, this ship is home."

"That's hardcore," I replied.

"It keeps us in a ready state, I suppose," Charles laughed. "Speaking of readiness - that 'Mech of yours represents one quarter of the available defenses on this ship at the moment. How combat ready is it?"

"Um..." I stammered. "I've never used it."

"If that's so, after lunch," Charles replied, "we're going to solve that problem."

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The rec area of the mess hall felt warm and welcoming, outfit with a ratty sofa and two worn but comfortable chairs set before a large trivid holoscreen. Commander Maxwell took place of prominence, his lanky form sprawled out horizontally on the couch, arm draped casually along its headrest, while I found an accommodating spot in one of the armchairs. Nearby, a trio of Maxwell's crew huddled around a table bedecked with colored hexagons laid out like a map, atop which sat stacks of paper with charts and numbers on them, along with eight tiny metal BattleMechs. The occasional clatter of dice rolling on the table was punctuated with jovial and raucous outbursts from the crew as the game took what seemed to be an endless series of exciting twists and turns. The atmosphere was upbeat and soothing.

"I meant what I said, Charles. This isn't like the typical mercenary unit I'm used to seeing," I observed.

"Define 'typical mercenary unit,'" Charles replied with a hint of amusement in his tone.

"You know. Rough-and-tumble. Grizzled and battle-hardened. Ex-cons turning over a new leaf. Tattooed space jocks with more ammunition than - "

"I get the picture," Charles interjected. "You watch too many tri-vids. The real world is a far more diverse - and far more colorful - place. And as I said, this unit tries to hold onto the few shreds of civility that our line of work offers us. Now, if I could break into the field that your friend Hastings is in - "

"Hastings isn't my friend," I interrupted. Charles cast me a quizzical glance.

"Right, I forgot. You just like to make dangerous bets with even more dangerous people. At any rate, do you know what Hastings' hobby is? When he's not doing his day job as a Revenue Agency director?"

"I know he hangs out in bars and blows his income on stupid bets," I replied.

"You really don't know? He's an armchair archaeologist. Belongs to a group of loosely-affiliated businessmen with disposable incomes called 'Interstellar Expeditions,'" Charles answered. "Their hobbies range from searching for extraterrestrial intelligence to investigating conspiracy theories and even, occasionally, doing some legitimate historical research. Why do you think he's got you chasing some Star League relic off in the backwoods of some random jungle planet?"

"The thought had occurred to me that he just might be trying to get me killed," I deadpanned.

"Could be, but I think not. Ever since the discovery of the Helm Memory Core, groups like IE have been clamoring for a piece of the proverbial pie. There is a lot of money to be made in LosTech - if you can get your hands on it before the ComStar Explorer Corps does. I suspect your wager made you a pawn in a very real excursion backed by the idle wealthy. For whatever reason, Hastings wanted to keep his hands clean - and maintain a modicum of plausible deniability - as pertains to this particular outing. Even I didn't know why we were transporting you until you filled in the missing pieces back on Sheratan. We just got a contract from him to haul you from Point A to Point B, no questions asked. Given that he paid the typical asking rate for a full MRBC engagement contract, I figured that there was more to this milk run than met the eye."

Charles' words were far from reassuring. "How far in over my head do you think I might be?"

"It's hard to say," Charles answered, leaning forward and pulling a cigar from a pocket humidor. Flicking its ignition patch, he leaned back and relaxed in its resulting aromatic haze. "We didn't run an intel job on your ultimate destination. But I'm damned curious - and a fair amount of that interest is motivated by the fact that for some reason, I like you, and I'd rather you didn't go off and get yourself killed."

"Thanks," I replied, "I do prefer to be alive."

"As do we all. But I digress. One thing you can be certain of - if Interstellar Expeditions has gotten wind of some untapped cache, you can rest assured that ComStar - and ROM, by extension - know about it too. I hope you're prepared for some nasty negotiations if you arrive at the site at the same time that they do."

"You're kidding me," I blurted out. "I'm competing with ComStar here?"

"I didn't say that you were for sure," came the reply. "But you'd better be prepared for the contingency."

"Come with me," I offered. "With this ship, and your 'Mechs, and those guys over there," I added, pointing to the contingent of MechWarriors who had begun to file into the mess hall, "the odds would be far better than if -"

"Oh, no, no no," Charles replied, holding up a hand. "I can't afford to get us blown out of the sky right now. This DropShip and the assets aboard it are all we've got at the moment. I do not want to be on the receiving end of a ROM WarShip. As I said - Interstellar Expeditions is a rich man's game."

"Fine, I get it," I sighed, hanging my head. "Could you at least give me some pointers?"

"That, I can do," the commander smiled. "But let's eat first."

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30 minutes later...

Lunch had been a whirlwind of frenetic energy, gregarious conversation, and astoundingly-good food for DropShip fare. Charles Maxwell was definitely an outlier as I'd come to understand mercenaries. While his crew was comprised of a mashup of misfits from all sorts of different backgrounds, it was clear to me that his personnel vetting process seemed to largely weed out the characters of ill repute that frequented many hiring halls. Instead, the vibe that his crew gave off was almost one of family - their personalities were warm, their conversation engaging and cerebral, the mutual respect and camaraderie they held for one another apparent. Not what I'd typically seen at the spaceport on Sheratan, nor in most tri-vids I'd watched. In the movies, mercenaries were frequently portrayed as larger-than-life 'Mech jocks with itchy trigger fingers and a fixation on profit. At the spaceport, the mercenaries I'd seen were more reserved, but still held a modicum of the rough-and-tumble depicted in the movies. By comparison, Maxwell's crew seemed almost better-suited to exploration and adventure than running security details and holding battle lines. I could only imagine what sort of contracts he must chase.

"Here we are, Mister McKenna," Charles announced as we walked into the cramped but serviceable bay which held the Centurion issued to me by Hastings. The mottled browns and grays of the leviathan machine's armor glinted in the artificial illumination of its work gantry, and a dim, orange glow of instrumentation radiated from the confines of its cockpit, which stood open to receive me. "You ready to do some systems tests?"

I gazed at the machine with trepidation. Though I'd spent countless hours driving a civilian 'Mech at the spaceport, and countless more playing out simulated battles at holo arcades, I'd never actually set foot in a real BattleMech.

"Well, I..."

The sudden, sharp scratch of a cigar's ignition patch being struck interrupted my train of thought. The heavy smell of cherry-laden tobacco wafted through the air. I turned to see Charles leaning against a bulkhead, slowly exhaling a long plume of smoke, balancing the lit stogie in one hand and a neurohelmet in the other.

"You know, those things could kill you," I blurted out, gesturing at the cigar.

"So could one of these, if it's not calibrated right," Charles replied, tossing the neurohelmet in my direction. Awkwardly, I grabbed it, fumbling it several times while somehow managing to avoid dropping it. "You don't have any inner ear problems or brain damage, right?"

"None as far as I'm aware?" I replied, questioningly.

"Good - that could really mess stuff up for you," the commander replied. "Ok, hop on up there. Marius should be along in just a minute to help get you dialed in. I'm going to go over to the bay on the other side of the hall. Once you're set up, we'll run through a couple of combat drills."

"How...?" I asked, confused. Normally, combat exercises had to be run in a dedicated simulator. The Tana didn't seem spacious enough to carry much in the way of simulation equipment. If there was any on board, I hadn't seen it.

"It pays to have an I.T. guy and reformed hacker on your crew," Charles laughed as the man I'd met earlier on our ascent out of the spaceport entered the bay. "How's it going, Marius? I was just about to tell our passenger about our training setup."

"Ah, yeah," Marius replied. "Some of the folks were getting a little stir-crazy on our way back from the Periphery. We took two simulation pods with us when we headed out, but we didn't have a lot of room to set them up with all the other gear we were carrying. Commander Walsh came up with the idea to fire them up in the cargo bay anyway, and I plugged them into the network on the Tana. Then, after some creative code work, I was able to get the maintenance computers to act as nodes and relay the data to and from the BattleMechs in each hangar, complete with simulated video feeds in their cockpits. So now we have four really expensive battle pods that no one has to climb over all kinds of cargo and other random shit to get at."

"That's amazing," I marveled.

"Ain't nothing, really," Marius laughed. "Just a side project. Climb on into your Centurion and I'll show you how it works."

"I'll leave you fellas to it," Charles smiled, clapping the technician on the shoulder and making his way out into the corridor while Marius and I climbed aboard a nearby lift.

"So, what's your story? How'd you get hooked up with Aegis Division?" I asked.

The lift gave a lurch as it carried us into the air. "Well...best I start from the beginning," Marius laughed. "I grew up on Hachiman in the Draconis Combine. Ever heard of it?"

I shook my head 'no.' "I don't know too much about the Combine," I replied.

The lift lurched to a stop. Across from us, the cockpit of the Centurion loomed. A pool of blue-orange light spilled across its pilot's chair, making it look like some kind of ethereal throne as we approached.

"Anyway, my folks were I.T. executives; I guess you could say that computers were my playground as a kid. I even ended up going to school at a technology academy. Did pretty good there. At least, until one of my professors found out I was using the skills I was learning to run a side job as what you could call an....information broker. Have a seat here," Marius continued, ducking through the hatch in the side of the Centurion's head and gesturing at its pilot's chair. "No need to put on the cooling vest - we're not gonna run any simulations with actual heat."

"That's good to know," I laughed, nervously. Turning around, I eased myself into the pilot's seat. It felt worn and battered, yet comfortable. I could only imagine the number of adventures it had carried its previous occupants on.

"So anyway, I left the academy on...less than amicable terms, even though they couldn't prove I did anything actually illegal. I managed to get a job at Victory Industries. Tried to keep my record clean. If information on a salvage breakthrough leaked, well, there was no evidence that it was my fault. Except - one record I'd cleaned up managed to come to the attention of the Internal Security Force, who considered that evidence enough. Hit that button over there." Marius pointed to a glowing red button on the pilot's console marked 'RDY.' Cautiously, I pressed it with a single finger. In an instant, the instrumentation panels which wrapped around the Centurion's cockpit flickered to life, transitioning from dim hues of blue and orange to vibrant greens and yellows. A myriad of system test chirps and beeps soon followed, accompanied by the whir of a computer's drives spinning up.

"Alright, now, plug that thing's cables into the receptacle over your head," Marius continued, pointing at the neurohemet I still carried. "After ISF caught me, I needed to get out of town and I needed to become a new man. Literally. I burned through a bunch of connections to cover my tracks and make it out to the Periphery. At that point, I decided - for my own health - to retire from information brokering. As I said before, I took this gig because it keeps me out of worse trouble."

"So you're a technician - not a pilot?" I asked, plugging the nerohelmet's cables into their jacks with a solid 'click.'

"Little bit of both. Charles has been letting me apprentice with Dexter - you met him, right? Kinda crazy Lyran who calls himself 'Abaddon?' Anyway, I've been learning the ropes a bit here and there - though honestly, Charles mostly leverages my...information acquisition...abilities. Go ahead and pop that helmet on. I'm gonna go down to the workstation. We'll fire up your diagnostic interpretation computer and get you calibrated."

Nodding, I slipped the helmet onto my head and pulled its visor down into my field of view. Its heavy tint darkened my surroundings. A blinking green cursor flickered to life, followed by a scroll of system startup output.

"Diagnostic mode enabled. All systems set to passive mode. Reactor offline. Sensors online. Weapons systems online. All functioning systems - nominal," a soft, artificial voice reported. A wire-frame representation of the Centurion appeared, overlaid by HUD data showing the status of each of its critical components.

"Okay, Jackson!" Marius' voice boomed over the 'Mech bay' s P.A. system. "I've got all of your systems in simulation mode. I'm gonna load up a training program. We'll use that to get you and your 'Mech better acquainted. You ready?"

I took a deep breath.

"Let's do it," I replied.

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DropShip Tana
En route to Sheratan Jump Point
October 12, 3028
___________________________

A series of perpendicular green lines exploded outward from the center of my visual field, racing toward the horizon and tracing the shapes of trees, hills, roadways, rocky outcroppings, and two low-rise commercial buildings into existence in every direction. A firestorm of colors and textures soon followed, cascading across the digital world and filling the landscape with rich detail as the sky faded to a pastel blue, punctuated at intervals by fluffy blue clouds. Utopian and tranquil, the setting betrayed the purpose of the simulation in a deceptively-calming manner.

"Welcome to Marius Township, Jackson," crackled the voice of Charles Maxwell in an unexpected stereo resonance. I jumped, startled - I'd never heard a transmission over an actual combat neurohelmet before, and the audio fidelity was much crisper and realistic than I'd been expecting - not at all like the simulator on Sheratan. Switching the Centurion's transmitter to 'VOX,' I spoke a reply into my headset's microphone.

"'Marius Township'? He named the simulation after himself?"

"Yes, 'he' did," came the reply - except it wasn't spoken by Charles. It was Marius himself, who I'd forgotten was monitoring the simulation. I blushed with embarrassment. "The way I look at it, the rules aren't any different than they were back in the Ancient West - you build the town, you get the naming rights."

"The man's got a point, you know," Charles replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "Marius' electronic proving ground is quite a technological marvel, and it's shown itself to be really useful on many an occasion. Let's get you dialed in, shall we?"

"Roger that," I answered.

"Jackson, I'm gonna release your gyro lock, okay? Let's get you and the Centurion on the same page and make sure you can keep your balance."

I gripped the arms of my command chair. "Okay - go ahead."

A series of quiet pops and hisses reverberated through the cockpit. Suddenly, the Centurion slumped forward, lurching forcefully against its support straps. A sea of slightly-pixelated grass surged into my field of view.

"Whoa! Holy crap!" I exclaimed.

"Relax, Jackson - I've got you," Marius responded, calmly. "Your neurohelmet is way out of calibration. If you'd tried to use it like this, you probably would have gotten about two steps out of the gantry before falling over. Let me see if I can get it dialed back for you. This might tingle a little bit."

"What are you going to - oh, wow," I stammered, my vision growing momentarily blurry and my head feeling swimmy. 

"Take it easy. I'm re-calibrating the interface to align with your neural patterns. Headaches and visual aberrations are par for the course. Hang tight a second. It's gonna pass."

As the last of Marius' words reached my ears, the world snapped back into sharp focus, and the Centurion slowly righted itself. The line of the simulated horizon rose into view, a flock of digital birds rising into the sky beyond a nearby treeline.

"How's that feel?" Marius inquired.

"That's a lot better," I exhaled, releasing a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding.

"Good. Initial calibration checks out. Let's do some extended evaluation. Go ahead and push the throttle forward, and see if you can get to the top of this ridge over here."

A neon-yellow nav point winked into existence a short distance away at the apex of a low-slung grassy outcropping.

"Easy peasy!" I exclaimed, pushing the Centurion's throttle up to full. Much to my surprise, the BattleMech heaved drunkenly into a sloppy, staggering run - not at all what I'd expected.

"Whoa! Marius! I think something's wrong."

"Slow it down, tiger. This isn't a video game. The 'Mech you're driving is actually taking neural feedback from your brain and translating it into its own sense of balance. You ever drive one of these things before?"

"In real life? I drove cargo loaders at a spaceport."

"Okay, that's not exactly the same thing," Marius laughed. "This is a much more intricate piece of machinery designed to literally be a walking, running, fighting avatar of you. It's going to take more than just a couple of minutes and some button-mashing to get a neural map of that extent established. Go ahead and take the throttle down to one quarter."

"Gladly," I answered, easing back on the stick. The Centurion's movement evened out, and I found myself moving at a steady trot toward the grassy mesa. As I drew nearer to it, I could see a very gently-sloping path winding toward the top of the escarpment. Gingerly, I pushed my feet against the BattleMech's steering pedals, guiding the 50-ton war machine into a gradual yaw to the right.

"That's good, that's good," the voice in my helmet observed. "You didn't fall down. The steering's taking a liking to you. Go ahead and take it up to half throttle, and see if you can get up the hill."

"Alright," I affirmed. Pushing the throttle forward until I felt it click at the halfway mark, I noted the Centurion's performance changing.

"Marius, it's getting a bit rougher. I still have the stick just fine, but it feels twitchy."

"Nice catch, Jackson. You're a quick study. Yeah, there's a bit of a deviation. I'll get it smoothed out. Keep the throttle there until you get to the top of the hill. When you reach the overlook, stop the 'Mech."

"You got it." 

I stomped the Centurion up the hillside, observing with amazement how easily the machine negotiated uneven footing and loose earth. Unlike the flat, unrealistic movement of the BattleMechs in video games, there was an almost organic quality to the way that the Centurion moved. Though I white-knuckled its controls, I could sense that the machine was actually taking its cues from my mind to maintain its footing and bearing - something even the cargo haulers weren't particularly known to be able to do in more than the most primitive way. Despite being battered and worn out, my new ride retained an incredible elegance and sophistication.

Reaching the top of the ridge, I gently pulled the throttle down, and took in the scenery as the Centurion lumbered to a halt. Stretching out before me was a lush, green valley, bisected by a glistening,  azure-blue river. A road comprised of freshly-laid tarmac wound off into the distance, disappearing into a tree line flanked by a gray, concrete office building nearly identical to the one just a stone's throw from my current location.

"Locomotion's looking good, Jackson. You ready to add some basic weapons tests to the mix?"

"Oh yeah," I grinned. "That's my favorite part."

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"Alright, Jackson," Marius' voice crackled, "I'm turning weapon control over to you. Just like your real-world ride, the simulation of your Centurion carries two Medium Lasers, an Autocannon/10, and an LRM-10 launcher. You're going to be most effective at short and medium range, but for the purposes of this exercise, I want you to make it a point to try to hit from all ranges. In addition to helping you get better-acquainted with this 'Mech, doing so will also help me get your brain's execution of combat maneuvers and targeting behavior mapped."

"Ok. Should I just, uh, blow up anything to start with?" I asked, as a targeting reticle flickered to life on my display.

"I mean, you could, but wouldn't you rather spar with something capable of fighting back?" interjected the voice of Commander Maxwell, accompanied by a powerful background roar. As I attempted to formulate an answer, a blue and white Catapult rose terrifyingly into view from behind the nearer of the two office buildings, lances of emerald energy beams exploding from its gun ports and arcing past my Centurion's canopy as the 65-ton war machine landed with a heavy thud on the low-rise's roof.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed, wheeling my BattleMech around and forcing it into a full back down the hill, attempting to put as much distance between it and my adversary as possible. Despite the Centurion quickly accelerating to its maximum speed of 64.8 KPH as it descended from the mesa, I noticed that the radar blip representing Charles' war machine didn't seem to be getting any further away. Toggling my BattleMech's rear camera on, I was greeted by the sight of the Catapult charging after me.

"How did you - "

"Jump jets," Charles' voice replied. "They don't just go up and down. Best not to forget that."

"I don't think you need to worry about that!" I replied. "But, you're not flying now. How the hell are you keeping up with me? I have the weight advantage."

"Not all things are created equal," came the reply. "The stock configuration of this thing is actually pretty evenly-matched with your Centurion. Be glad I didn't bring out the King Crab."

"Well, let's hope that balance of power extends to weapons!" I exclaimed. Yanking down on the throttle, I brought the Centurion to a jarring halt while simultaneously whipping it into a 180-degree turn. As Charles' lumbering, birdlike 'Mech advanced toward me, I snapped off a combined-arms blast of autocannon and laser fire directly into the Catapult's center of mass. Much to my surprise, the weapons fire found its mark, a line of smoking pock-marks tracing their way across Charles' cockpit, accompanied by glowing, orange rivulets of armor slagging away.

"Woohoo! Who's yo daddy?" I cheered, pumping a victorious fist in the air.

"Nice shooting, hotshot," my adversary chuckled. "Let's see if that good fortune holds."

The Catapult lunged into the air again, riding on a plume of smoke and flame as it soared over me, coming to land with an earth-shaking impact off my left flank. A series of heavy impacts heralded the shriek of warning klaxons and flashing damage indicators as Charles' salvo of quad laser fire savaged the Centurion's left arm and torso.

"Holy Jehoshaphat, you hit hard," I grumbled. Swinging the 'Mech around to face my assailant, I brought its autocannon to bear, squeezing off another devastating volley of ballistic rounds. A cascade of sparks burst from the Catapult's nose as Charles backpedaled rapidly, increasing the distance between our two armored combatants.

"That neurohelmet seems to be calibrating well at close range," Charles remarked. "Let's see how it performs once we open things up a bit."

"Exactly what did you have in mind?"

A series of flashes burst from the missile racks attached to the Catapult's shoulders.

"Oh, hell," I sighed.

Thirty long-range missiles corkscrewed across the battlefield, smashing into and around my unfortunate Centurion like a swarm of angry bees. Damage indicators wailed, and my 'Mech's structural diagram was bathed in red as the warheads tore past its armor and savaged multiple structural members. I returned fire with my LRM-10 suite, watching in disappointment as the volley collided haphazardly with a stand of trees behind which Charles had taken cover, setting the foliage alight. More emerald laser fire spat out from behind the greenery, failing to land true and glancing harmlessly past my Centurion.

"Seems I've got you pinned!" I laughed, pushing my BattleMech's throttle forward and sprinting toward the burning trees. As I rounded the end of the grove and moved to draw a bead on the trapped Catapult, I found that my quarry was missing.

"You've gotta start thinking three-dimensionally, Jackson. It's going to mean the difference between life and death sooner than you realize."

"What? Where are you? Oh crap," I blurted out as my eyes scanned upward. There, atop the roof of the tower opposite where we'd begun the engagement, was Charles' Catapult, looming over me. Seconds later, a blossom of flame and explosions engulfed my field of view as the BattleMech delivered a final, devastating alpha strike directly into my Centurion's torso.

I let out a defeated sigh as the screen of my neurohelmet went dark, replaced with flashing red text which read, "SIMULATION COMPLETE - BATTLEMECH INOPERATIVE."

"Three dimensions is a lot to keep track of," I muttered. "I'm pretty sure I'm having a hard enough time keeping track of just one."

"Don't worry about it," Charles laughed. "We have fourteen days to solve that problem."

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Two weeks later...

October 24, 3028
DropShip Tana
On final approach to Outreach
___________________________

Two weeks of time had gone by in an instant. Charles, making good on his word, had partnered me with BattleMech-certified members of his crew at every opportunity, both in the simulator and out, to try to sharpen my mettle and prepare me for the very insane adventure which lay ahead. Consequently, I'd been able to get an up-close-and-personal look at the cross-section of people in his employ, and they were quite a colorful bunch.

First Lieutenant Mara Walsh, nicknamed 'Foxglove' on the field, was the initial acquaintance I'd made aboard the Tana, and was Aegis Division's executive officer. A Taurian by nationality, she shared a common background with Charles in that she'd originally been born into a gentry family. However, she'd left that life after finding it to be unfulfilling, and struck out on her own to put her formal schooling in engineering design to good use with Longwood's Bluecoats, a Taurian mercenary unit. While with the unit, Walsh apprenticed as a MechWarrior, and she ultimately became a free agent after buying out her retiring master's BattleMech, an ON1-K Orion named 'Perses.' Later in her career, during a stopover on New Vandenburg, she accepted a contract to fill a temporary vacancy on Aegis Division's roster when Charles was injured and unable to carry out field command responsibilities. Upon his recovery, Charles was so impressed with her ability to quickly step in and lead in his stead that he'd offered her a full-time position as the unit's second-in-command - an offer which she'd accepted.

Lieutenant Alexander Blackwood - who went by 'Traveler' as his callsign, was a hard-luck case who Charles had run across while perusing the black market on Mechdur. The story went that Charles had purchased a set of old-school Magna 400P medium pulse lasers from Alexander - at an exorbitant price - and wanted to install them on his personal CPLT-C1 Catapult, 'Tyche'. But apparently, when Charles' MechTech did so, one of the lasers kept blowing out its focusing lens, and the other wouldn't fire at all. On returning to the market to try to convince the merchant to take the units back for credit, Charles was instead won over by Alexander's confidence that he could troubleshoot the issue. Accompanying Charles back to the Tana Alexander not only successfully resolved the firing issues with both lasers, but also was able to improve Tyche's overall targeting profile, demonstrating the BattleMech's new abilities with exceptional marksmanship. Charles learned that Alexander was an experienced, dispossessed MechWarrior - an expatriate from the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns, no less - who had turned to arms sales in the Periphery to try to make enough money to help support his extended family in the Inner Sphere. As Charles had recently acquired a KGC-0000 King Crab, Tyche was without a regular pilot, and a disciplined marksman seemed to be an excellent fit to pilot the fire support 'Mech in his stead. Charles thus extended an offer of employment to Alexander - under the condition that he protect Tyche zealously. Alexander was quite happy to accept the terms of hire and leave behind a life of feast-or-famine for a steady paycheck, and very quickly proved his worth to the unit.

"And then there was me," a sudden, brisk German accent interjected. I glanced up from my journal to see Dexter Friedman peering over my shoulder, squinting at my narrative.

Oh, yes...Dexter...

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"Yeah, Dexter. I definitely couldn't forget about you."

"Dankeschon, Jackson," the MechWarrior grinned - creepily - before wandering off.

I sat, flipping my stylus around in my fingers for several long moments, trying to center my thoughts. I had to admit that, of Charles' MechWarriors, Warrant Officer Dexter 'Abaddon' Friedman was the person about whom I knew the least. He originally hailed from the Lyran Commonwealth and was the unit's lead electronic warfare specialist. Incredibly, he was also a former ComStar Adept, who, despite his near-fanatical reverence for Jerome Blake, quite literally walked off the job with one of ComStar's RVN-1X Ravens during a training exercise. How he actually managed to get to the Periphery without being immediately apprehended by ROM agents or glassed into nonexistence by a ComStar WarShip was a total unknown, but somehow, after fleeing to the travel hub on Rollis, he ended up in a bar on Laconis, drowning his sorrows in alcohol and rambling about the teachings of Blake to everyone within earshot. As it so happened, one of those people within earshot was Charles Maxwell - who had been largely ignoring him - at least, until Dexter made a passing remark about the Raven being the only thing left to his name. At that point, I'm told, Charles interjected with, simply, "I'm sorry, did you say you were looking for a job?" The rest, as they say, was history.

Dexter's personality could best be described as...unpredictable. He had a tendency to fluctuate wildly between friendliness, intense irritability, and cold detachment. I learned very quickly that a particularly sensitive topic was his Raven, call-signed 'Aether.' He had an incredibly deep reverence for the machine, considering it to be an actual instrument of the divine, and was sincerely-entrenched in the belief that, without performing specific rituals before powering up the BattleMech, it would simply not function correctly. And he was a fantastic pilot. In my training sessions with him, I'd been amazed at the efficacy with which he was able to use his Raven not only as an ECM platform and versatile scout, but also as a weapon of direct engagement. And he just never seemed to get hit - by anything. Outside of the cockpit, the man was also an electronics genius, understanding technology better than seemingly anyone else aboard the Tana. Given the veritable Swiss Army Knife of talents that Dexter seemed to possess, I could definitely understand why Charles was willing to put up with the man's eccentricities. Marius, who'd been apprenticing under Dexter, and was himself something of a technological whizkid, was thus an ideal student.

There was one other person aboard the Tana who I'd seen in passing - someone by the callsign of 'Radar,' but she kept very much to herself and seemed to stay isolated on the bridge. I didn't know too much about her. What I knew came from bits and pieces I'd picked up from others. 

'Radar' was more formally known as Warrant Officer Alyssa Chase. 30 years old, she was also a former ComStar Acolyte. Rumor had it that she'd been exiled (and nearly executed) by ComStar for assisting Dexter with his theft of the Raven from the Order. While in hiding on Smithon, Taurians struck the planet as part of the larger House Arano crisis. Aegis Division was called in as one of the mercenary units responsible for defending the world while its civilians escaped. During the evacuation, Alyssa was spotted amongst the fleeing citizenry by Dexter, who directed her to the staging area for Aegis Division's DropShip. Knowing that Alyssa was not safe anywhere from the reaches of ROM, Dexter convinced Charles Maxwell to allow her to become a permanent attach� to the mercenary unit. She now apparently provides intelligence-gathering and technology-consulting services, and serves as a relief pilot for the unit's scouts.

A sudden chime interrupted my train of thought.

"Now hear this - now hear this - we are making planetfall in ten minutes. Secure all loose gear and assume your landing stations. We are beginning our descent."

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ELSEWHERE.....
SOLARIS 7
MAP: Ishiyama
 
A bunch of flashes of light bursted by the windsdhield of my Thug BattleMech as I charged at the opponent in the area. He was in a Rampage BattleMech that was loaded with all kinds of crazy weapons, and right now, they were all bursting at me.
 
"Steven Jenkins, I will cremate you!" he screamed over the comms at me. The pilot was Nakagang Tai Chi, a Mechwarrior that was notorious in Kurita because he was a dirty player. I ran my Mech into a full bore to come right at him and unleashed my PPCs right into the Rampage's chest. Sharp bolts of lightning flew everywhere as the Mech's armor was sundered to pieces where the PPCs had hit.
 
"You won't get a chance!" I yelled back. "I'm undefeated in this arena and I'm not about to let a dishonorable pig like you get the high ground!" I screamed, and at the same time shooting double SRMs at his Mech. I drove my Mech forward over a ridge and suddenly found myself slipping down the other side. The crowd roared and cheered at me as I regained my pilot controls and started pushing back up the hill.
 
"Now I have you in my grip!" Nagakang cackled. His breath was so bad I could almost smell it over the radio as he intoned. I started shooting back at him, but I had faltered too late...millions of rounds of leathal death were flying at me from his arsenal of weapons now bringing target on me.
 
"Oh shit, you gotta protect me, I'm a sitting duck if I - " my words to the referee were cut off as the bombarding of the Rampage made landfall on my Thug. I watched as my cockpit disintegrated and caught on Fire around me. My pants were lit ablaze as the cockpit exploded everywhere and my Mech became a dumb wreck on legs. I yanked hard on the ejection handle to bail out, but the knob ripped off in my hands!
 
"BALL DAMN IT!" I screamed in rage, cursing at my ancestors. As I bent over to try to manually release the ejection, the rockets suddenly lit off and my Ejection Seat went flipping into the air with me attached, whipping wildly everywhere as it flew uncontrolled over the audience!
 
"AGGGHGGGHHGGHHHHHHH!" I screamed as my stomach turned into knots and the blur of the arena flipping past looked like one of those ancient magic Eye posters from primitive Earth. Suddenly, I saw a wall coming up on me and as it got to inches away, my Mind went to another place...
 
<FLASHBACK>
 
I am on Archimedes. My Sensei is there...Sensei Ronald, an ancient man of Wisdom, before me, telling me of the ancient arts.
 
"Steven Jenkins, you are here to learn the ancient Archimedian arts of combat. Only the chosen are allowed to know that which dwells within. Are you ready for your Mind to be entered?"
"Yes." I said, deeply. "My life was created to know the techniques of combat. I can know no other."
 
"Then we will begin." he said. Sensei Ronald approached me and put a Guiding Hand on my forehead. Then he began a deep humming. A humming which grew and deepened as the room turned white, and then...can't remember...
 
<FLASH>
 
I was back on Solaris 7, flying through the air strapped to an ejection seat that was about to smash into a wall. And then it did. It impacted so hard that the ejection seat smashed into a billion pieces that rained down and mutilated innocents in the audence, and I fell into the lap of a huge guy who had a tub of popcorn and a chilli cheese dog that went all over me as I landed on it. The man swore angry words at me and dumped his beer on me as he pushed me to the ground, which at least put out the fire that used to be my pants. I covered my exposed and wounded body in shame as I sobbed into the concrete at the dishonor of my loss. Then the voice of Duncan Fisher came on the PA system.
 
"STEVE JENKINS HAS LOST TO NAGAKAI TAI CHI. WE HAVE A NEW CHAMPION. STEVEN JENKINS WILL CLEAN OUT HIS LOCKER AND EXIT THE ARENA."
 
What was I going to do now????
 
"You spilled my food, asshole." the fat man said, and then poured another beer on my head.
Edited by Charles Maxwell
Mass font cleanup following an issue with the forum skin.
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We're not doing colors anymore?

I wandered down the streets of SOLARIS7 sobbing tears in rain. I'd seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannh�user Gate. All those things were made nothing by the rendering of my mech and a crash into the wall of the Arena map. I screamed into the Night as I walked. All I had were my burned up shorts with chili sauce spilled on the crotch and my gym bag. My mech had got so blew up that there wasn't even anything left worth salvaging. I just left it all to some obnoxious junk Trader who gave me a bunch of C-Bills and nothing else. How could I be a Successful Businessman if I invented didn't even have enough money to buy a new mech???

I had to go to the bathroom really bad. I had been holding it since my ejection seat accident and now my bladder felt like it was going to burst. Because I had lost the match I could not use the bathroom at the arena. Because I had been banned from the locker room for not being the champion anymore. But luckily I saw a porta potty coming up on the sidewalk. I banged on the door and hollered to see if anybody was inside it. But all I heard was my own voice in the rain. So I went inside. It was dark and peaceful even though it smelled like turd, probably because it hasn't been emptied out in a while. I sat alone in there, alone, with my thoughts and also the flies, I guess. As I sat there getting relieved, I suddenly saw a poster on the inside wall of the porta potty. It said MERCENARIES WANTED - - - ALL SKILL LEVELS ALL EQUIPMENT PROVIDED - - - OUTREACH. I couldn't believe my good fate. A minute ago I was so lost about where to go but now I knew that there was a second chance, if I could only reach it...

I had to get to Outreach!!

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Harlech Interplanetary DropPort
Harlech, Romulus
Outreach
October 24, 3029
_____________________________

With a gentle 'whump,' the DropShip Tana eased onto its ferrocrete landing pad, the roar of its drive engines transitioning from a guttural roar to a slowly-fading whine. I slowly unbuckled my seat harness and rose to my feet, glancing at my seatmate, Alexander Blackwood, as I did so.

"So, I guess this is it, huh?" I asked, not sure how to broach the subject of disembarking.

"Ayuh," Blackwood replied with a sideways grin. "This is the big boy planet."

"'Big boy planet?'" I asked, raising an eyebrow. The terminology was unfamiliar to me.

"Outreach is the mercenary hub of the Inner Sphere. I'm sure you know that. It's also home to all kinds of corporate interests, social hubs, and of course, the Outreach Hiring Hall. This is where you want to come to cut your teeth and get yourself fully-immersed in the gun-for-hire culture. It's a big place - you know where you're going from here?"

"I'm supposed to meet the Black Phalanx Company's DropShip Estoc here tomorrow. That's all I know."

Blackwood nodded. "Alright, then. Well, there's a bunch of places you can stay over on Lakefront Drive. And if you get a wild hair and want to see the sights that this place has to offer, go up to the Hiring Hall on Cameron Road. It'll blow your mind."

"Hey, thanks, Alex. It's been great travelling with you guys," I smiled, shaking his hand as we made our way to the airlock.

"Yeah, it's been fun having you aboard, too. Good luck with everything," the MechWarrior replied. "Don't get yourself killed or anything."

"I'll try my best," I replied, with a measure more of confidence than I actually had. With a friendly wave, I made my way down the boarding gantry into the Outreach twilight. In the dusky sky, a myriad of twinkling lights passed overhead as various craft made their way to and from the surface, while others transited between the spaceport and the city, which glistened in the distance. All around me swirled the frenzied activities of a major travel hub - cargo loaders came and went, spacecraft landed and departed, and support vehicles swarmed across the tarmac like dispersed herds of animals migrating in all directions. In the center of it all, at the bottom of the boarding ramp, was Captain Maxwell.

"Came to make sure I got off the ship without wrecking anything?" I joked. Maxwell turned toward me and chuckled.

"Nah, I forgave you for the food slot incident," Charles laughed. "I'm just here for the fresh air. Well, as fresh as the pollution-laden air of a mostly urban planet can get."

I nodded, heaving my duffel bag over a shoulder.

"I want to thank you for all the training and stuff you gave me while I was on board, Charles. It really might mean the difference between me making it out of this and not."

"Don't mention it," Maxwell replied, nonchalantly. "I'm sure my staff benefited from being able to train you as well."

I nodded. "If nothing else, it gave me a boost of confidence that I think I really needed."

"Hold onto that feeling," Charles replied. “Get up every morning and tell yourself, "‘I can do this.""

"Sometimes, things are easier to believe before I'm up and moving, though," I laughed, half-jokingly.

"Bull shit," Charles answered, bluntly. "A great woman once said, "Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.” You can accomplish anything you put your mind to. I know you can. I did it. So can you."

"Your belief in me means a lot," I replied. "I hope when this is all over we run into each other again."

"I'm sure we will, Jackson. I'm sure we will. Good luck, my friend," the commander smiled, clapping me on the shoulder before making his way up the Tana's gantryway. "Be excellent."

I watched as Charles disappeared into the DropShip, and then, at length, I turned to face the city. With the protective environment of Aegis Division and their DropShip no longer available to me, my situation somehow felt more primal, dangerous, and real than it it had up until this point.

With the safety net gone, it was time to see what I was made of.

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