Star Type: G8V Position in System: 4 (of 6) Number of Moons: 1 (Lanna) Days to Jump Point: 6 Surface Water: 74% Atm. Pressure: Standard (Tainted) Surface Gravity: 1.00 Equatorial Temp: 31° C Highest Native Life: Mammals Population: 302,000,000 Governor: Lonni Johanna Planetary Legate: Umberto Cabot
OVERVIEW:
Originally known as Tau Ceti IV, the first inhabitable world seen by human eyes beyond the Terran solar system was so much like home, its discoverers on the TAS Pathfinder were quick to rename it New Earth when they arrived in orbit in December of 2108. Offering almost everything found on Terra herself, from abundant water supply to deep mineral, chemical, and metal ore deposits, eager colonists and corporate entities alike flocked to this new world. It comes as no surprise, then, that by the peak of the Star League era, New Earth was one of the most heavily industrialized and developed planets in the Terran Hegemony. Five major SLDF contractors set up their headquarters on New Earth, along with such successful enterprises as the New Earth Trading Company (NETC). All five continents—McKenna in the northwest, Lanhold to its east, the massive Neoasia in the south, the island continent of Kellargo, and even the north polar continent of Arctiqua—boasted major cities and heavy industry. Dozens of Castles Brian were set up on New Earth as well, and the Star League even built the famous Combat College of New Earth outside the capital city of Foundation Point, on McKenna. During the Amaris crisis, the college, most of the Castles Brian, all the major factories, and close to half the planet’s largest population centers were destroyed by Amaris troops using every means available when it became clear they could not hold the planet. The world’s gutted infrastructure and war-ravaged environment left the survivors shocked and demoralized, victims of widespread famine and disease—particularly the virulent New Earth Pox. The centuries of decline that followed, despite being under the banner of the wealthy Lyran state, did little to help pull the world out of the ruins, largely due to the continuous raiding and open warfare between the Lyrans and their neighbors. Only the NETC remained through it all, a last vestige of the once-mighty Star League and the only viable large corporation still active on New Earth. Headquartered in Meredith, on Neoasia, the NETC retains its status as a premier transport and trade facilitator The capital of Tau Ceti IV is the metropolis of New Foundation, and it is the city out of which the Legionnaires are based.
Located in the heart of the run-down, ramshackle outskirts of New Foundation, the Legionnaires' compound occupies an entire city block, and is comprised of a mishmash of formerly-abandoned warehouses and industrial facilities, clustered together in a crumbling industrial park whose purpose was long ago forgotten. A shabby, five-story brownstone tenement, set in the center of the compound, serves as the company's corporate headquarters, and doubles as housing for the twenty-four employees of the organization.
Here, the sweeping cityscapes of the more privileged districts have given way to broken, run-down tenements and seedy-looking shops, and the meticulously paved and finely manicured boulevards have deteriorated into a rough mixture of gravel and broken ferrocrete. Alleys lead off in all directions, holding dark promise of lethal peril. It's a safe conclustion that this end of town is widely regarded as nothing more than "slums."
_________________________
April 14, 3067 Outskirts of New Foundation Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) - 1834 Hours _________________________
As I drove down the pothole-ridden avenue which led away from the upscale commercial district and into the city's outskirts, my com unit chirped with a text message from the MRBC. Reaching toward my belt, I held the sedan's steering wheel with one hand, and flipped the comm unit's screen open with the other.
Captain Maxwell -
Your MRBC grant application has been denied. The Most Blessed Credit Union has classified you as an 'investment risk' due to your previous affiliation with ComStar.
I cringed at the message - no doubt my slip of the tounge did little to bolster my credibility with the MRBC - and there was no easy explanation to give. And before I could even entertain giving the organization the...difficult...explanation, I needed to know that I could trust them - and moreover, I needed to impress upon them the absolute need to trust me. A great deal was at stake.
I quickly tapped out a brief reply.
If it pleases you, I would like to discuss this further. Give me a location at which I may meet with your agents tomorrow.
Pressing the 'send' button, I laid the comm unit on the seat beside me, and continued my drive through the rainy night. As the sweeping cityscapes of the more privilaged districts slowly transitioned into broken, run-down tenements and seedy-looking shops, the paved tarmac slowly gave way to a rough mixture of gravel and broken ferrocrete - the local authorities had long ago stopped maintaining the roadway here - and it was all I could do to keep the sedan under control as it was jostled violently from side-to-side. The area was definitely approaching the term known as 'slums.'
Turning onto a narrow boulevard with the ironic moniker of 'Hope Street,' I slowed as I approached the abandoned industrial park that was home to the Legionnaires mercenary unit. Although the complex was comprised largely of a dozen or so massive warehouses whose structural integrity was in serious question, several manufacturing plants with technology nearly a century out of date, and a low-rise tenement which should have been condemned a decade ago, it suited the needs of our operation, and had been a great steal at a mere fifty million C-Bills upon our acquisition of the entire city block some time ago.
I pulled the sedan into the narrow drive which led into the compound, and pressed my thumb against a biometric reader which would raise the yardarm and lower the traffic block obstructing my path. Unfortunately, neither happened. I ran my thumb across the reader several more times, but to no avail. In frustration, I jammed my finger against the 'call' button.
"Control. Van De Graff speaking."
"It's Maxwell - the gate's malfunctioned again."
"Blake's blood! All right, Captain...you're going to have to park it curbside for tonight...we'll have a Humvee meet you on the other side of the barrier."
Even inside the compound - which is above-par compared to our surroundings - the quality of the ferrocrete surfacing leaves room for improvement. "Heh. Now that's the understatement of the year, I don't mind tellin' you..."” I do things like that sometimes. Mutter answers to questions nobody asked, and reply to statements no one else heard. Isn't that a sign of madness? Talking to yourself? Anyway, the point is that the roads here are a tad on the rough side. This was never more evident than in the stretch of pressed ferrocrete opening from between the reformed warehouses, a concourse that serves as the main thoroughfare of the legionnaires' compound. Pulling out of the ex-industrial building designated as our motor-pool, I aligned the Humvees' four wheels as best I could on the discordant roadway and gritted my teeth against the oncoming jolts and bounces.
It's a bit of a mission, y'know? A real quest. By the time you've bumped and jostled your way to the end of it, grunting and swearing, muscles tense from fighting with various vehicle controls, you feel like you've run the distance on foot rather than driven. Not that I'm a stranger to running, right? But with the compound gate controls on the fritz again, it's a trip that I've had to make more than you would think necessary.
The sky was seething, grey clouds chasing and swallowing each other, reforming and regurgitating in a deluge of motion. In the semi-darkness of oncoming night, my headlights picked out a few other personnel walking from one building to another, but any activity seemed subdued by the fading light. The shadowed outlines of the entry drive and accompanying traffic blocks came into sharp relief as the powerful lamps washed over them, along with a man standing hunched besides the yardarm, looking up at the sky with a face that shifted between concern and a good old frown.
I pulled the big military four wheel drive into a long slow turn to bleed off speed; riding out the last few slips and bumps before coming to a comparatively gentle halt beside the man. I quickly threw open the door and dropped the short distance to the roadway, black boots sounding a grating thud on the uneven surface. Windy is one of those words, isn't it? It can describe anything from the gentlest of breezes to the most heavy-handed of gales. This particular wind had enough bite to make me pull my jacket tighter around my torso before bringing my right hand up in salute. "Evening, Captain. What's the word? I know you said you'd walk, but control sent me out since I was already in the motor-pool. Gate's on the blink again?" Captain Benjamin Maxwell's face changed to a grin as he crossed around the front of the vehicle, heading for the passenger side. "That it is, Talus. I'll have to put it on the 'to do' list of things that desperately need patching up around here." He popped open the door and hauled himself up inside. Briefly shifting for comfort in the hard backed military seating. "Shall we get moving before it rains?" I turned around and stepped back up to the driver side door, mirroring his motion and laying my hands across the wheel. "Sounds like a plan, sir. Where to?"”
Hoo boy, this is good. I'm pumped to get back on this horse.
It wasn’t long before rain ran thick off my slicker. My hurried footsteps splashed puddles and kicked up mud and dirt from the poorly kept road. The pitter-patter of smaller, faster steps weren’t far behind.
Here, in this vermin ridden slum, now more than ever, I realised these were the all-or-nothing days. Good and bad days had become a muddied and blurred mess. On this tired work horse we called the Inner Sphere, only the all-or-nothing days existed. That and pain.
I didn’t have time to think about the events that had lead me to this very moment. Here and now; that’s all that mattered. I barged into the run down hotel like a drunkard navigating an urgently needed toilet. The hotel porter hardly noticed me. That was the beauty of places like these. Nobody asked questions and everybody took money. It was a good thing too as I was still bleeding handsomely.
My bloodied hand fumbled the lock while my other hand’s grip tightened around my earlier successfully acquired objective. With some aggravating effort, the door locks released and I stumbled into my room.
“Bastard thing!” I hissed under my breath. I struggled with the clasp on my rain slicker. After a final, albeit painful heave, the slicker crumbled to the floor, dampening the dirty brown rug that was placed in front of my bed. “Sit over there.” I instructed. I felt almost guilty I had thought of this boy as an objective earlier. The more I thought about it, the more my headache intensified. I had retrieved the child, completed my objective and that was all there was too it. For now at least.
The child did as he was instructed. Well, he got half way there. His emotionless eyes caught a glimpse of a moth that was resting on the window pane. Suddenly, he became a deer caught in full frontal view of headlights. Without moving a muscle, he carefully watched the equally still insect. It didn’t matter, not for now. I had more pressing matters to attend to.
I stumbled into the attached bathroom and caught first sight of my earlier inflicted wound. A piece of shrapnel was sticking out of my side, just below my rib cage.
“Damn grenade…” I cursed as I tore out the small 1 x 1 inch piece of jagged metal. By Blake did it hurt, and I would have sworn blue, bloody murder had I not remembered I was in the presence of a child (not that it mattered anyway, given his condition). Giving out several, pain ridden pants, I tore open the vacuum packaging on my last remaining hypodermic needle. With a deep breath, I plunged the needle into my wound, making sure it would chemically cauterise the wound while curing any sepsis I could incur later.
“Hard part’s over.” I grunted, unravelling a length of bandage to wrap around my body. “Hard part’s over…”
When I returned to the bedroom, the child’s curiosity had spiked again. Now he was standing directly below the centre light, watching as the moth danced and head butted the bulb furiously. The child’s hand reached out in an awkward manner. It was similar to an industrial robot’s arm, only moving in one single direction at a time. His digits were moving as if they were performing carefully thought out calculations. I watched until he realised that no matter how outstretched his arm was he could not reach the moth. Standing perfectly still, his complexion did not change. What an odd child.
“Do you have a name?” The child didn’t respond. I wearily made my way towards the bed and sat down on the edge. I needed rest. “Don't talk much, do you? I’ll name you tomorrow. For now, I need to rest.” I fell backwards onto the bed with tiredness settling it’s weary head on my shoulders.
April 14, 3067 Legionnaires Compound New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) _______________________________________
Talus had a pinache for good timing, whether it involved delivering that last critical hit that proved decisive in battle, or, more mundanely, retreiving a down-on-luck officer from the pouring rain. Even the circumstances of his hiring had been thanks to good timing - during my last visit to the MRBC Hiring Hall on Outreach, a seemingly-promising MechWarrior I'd just signed on was carted off by the local authorities at the exact moment Talus was approaching me to inquire about employment. Good timing, indeed.
"Thanks for the lift," I replied. "Let's get the hell out of here. I've got a possible lead waiting back at the office that might interest you."
____________________________
Stepping quickly across the battered threshold, I pulled the tenement's lobby door closed behind me as torrents of rain billowed past. In keeping with the spirit of Murphy's Law, the light drizzle had evolved into a powerful downpour just as Talus had put the Humvee in 'park,' soaking both of us through every layer of our uniforms and leaving the both of us shivering from the cold.
Pushing a wet tuft of hair from my forehead, I pulled off my saturated gloves, and made my way toward the rickety wooden stairs leading up to the second floor. My waterlogged high-quarter boots made wet, squishing sounds as I walked on the dirty linoleum of the building's lobby, kicking up old newspapers, dried leaves, and assorted other refuse as I did so. As I stepped onto the staircase's landing, its ancient, wooden boards creaked in loud protest.
"Who's there?"
The voice was that of Corporal Nicholas Schuster, tech officer of the unit and an accomplished BattleMech pilot. The young Lyran had originally been a member of the local constabulatory, but had been separated from the department due to an untreatable asthmatic condition. Shortly thereafter, he had found his way to our unit, and I was eager to add him to our ranks.
"It's Maxwell. You going to shoot me now," I muttered, "or torture me by sparing my life?"
Schuster appeared on the second story landing, peering down at me and lighting an aeromatic Yak 42 as I made my way to the top of the staircase.
"The wet t-shirt look is a good one for you,"the Corporal chuckled as I sloshed to a stop at his level."And to answer your question, torture is always much more fun."
"Thanks," I smirked, clapping a soaking wet hand on Schuster's meticulously-pressed epulet, and maneuvering past him into the ratty hallway which led to the small administrative offices of the fledgling company. "Got a minute?"
"Of course,"the Lyran replied, adding dramatic emphasis to the end of his sentence. The entire organization had been working overtime to try and bring our finances back into the black over the past week, and the stress of the added hours was beginning to show. I wanted to believe that our efforts were, in some way, paying off, but the responses I'd managed to get thus far were questionable at best.
The single, forty-watt lightbulb which illuminated the corridor cast disfigured shadows across the crumbling walls and the trash-strewn floor as Talus, Schuster, and I made our way into the mahogany-paneled office. Although the rest of the building was in dire need of condemnation, this particular suite had somehow managed to maintain its classic charm, and looked like something straight out of a Dixon Hill novel. Frosted glass panes separated the reception area from the assorted doorways leading off into various sub-offices, and the floor, hewn from authentic mahogany, shone brightly under a heavy coat of sealant. I shrugged off my gray uniform coat, and made my way past the vacant receptionist's desk and into my office, where the familiar smells of cheap booze, cigar smoke, and gun oil welcomed me home.
"I spoke with the MRBC this evening," I began, tossing my coat onto a nearby stand, and easing into the well-worn padded desk chair dominating the center of the room. Its casters squeaked loudly as I rolled toward my desk.
"So I heard,"Schuster replied, pulling the door closed behind him, as Talus walked over to the water cooler."Hobson told me."
"I figured as much."
The water cooler bubbled loudly as Talus prepared a cup of water for himself. After a moment, the MechWarrior made his way over to the desk to join us, sinking into one of the four ratty but comfortable chairs arranged in a semi-circle for guests and clients.
"How did it go?"
I shook my head, and handed him a printout of the text message I'd received earlier in the evening. After scrutinizing it for a moment, Schuster shrugged, and placed the printout on a near corner of the desk, where it assumed place of prominence atop two empty Domination Pizza boxes, the tagline "You've Got Thirty Minutes - OR ELSE" blaring from their lids.
"Think they'll keep the appointment?"
I shook my head.
"I doubt it. Van De Graff phoned me after I got back to tell me that Murlance is part of a task force bound for Styx that is due to shove off tomorrow morning. But in all actuality, that buys us some time."
Talus looked quizzical.
"To do what?"he interjected.
I retrieved an oversized manilla folder from beneath a pile of bills marked "past due," and leafed through it briefly before withdrawing several black-and-white surveillence photos.
"To make that fake Stone Rhino we've got listed in our public inventory a reality."
April 14, 3067 The STARSHIP Cantina New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) _______________________________________ My senses reeled as I found myself in a dark, grimy bar with a cooking pit sunk in the middle. In the pit a large, unidentifiable animal had been spitted, and was slowly turning over a bank of lasers running at low power. Squinting at the lasers, I recognized, under the grease, the armament of a Mark IV tramp freighter.
Suspended over the pit, in the middle of the room, was the bar itself. The barkeep, a morbidly overweight fellow bedecked with tattoos, had done a halfhearted job of stringing up a series of extremely harzardous Christmas lights in an effort to liven things up a bit. He leaned on one arm, and ignored me as I walked in, instead observing the server droids as they trundled by, delivering food and drinks. A holovid screen over the bar blared assorted ComStar programming, and a knot of off-duty technicians yelled and threw beer cans at it as they watched.
The décor here was once neo-western - a fashion that went out 350 years ago - but decades of neglect and fights had erased all but the most enduring features of the original decoration. At several tables patrons were gambling, though it wasn't clear what the stakes were, or even the game. A bank of holos across one wall was showing Elvis singing 'You ain't nothing but a Mad Dog.’ I winced at the volume and wondered whose idea it was to clone long dead singing stars.
As the crash of breaking dishes and shattering glassware mingled with the general rowdy atmosphere of the bar, a pallid youth with a cyberhacker haircut (shaved down the middle to take the receptor for a cranial jack) stared through me vacantly, jacked into a coin-op VR machine in the corner.
Most of the tables were taken, but there were a few vacancies.
The crack of billiards breaking on a felt pool table, coupled with the clink of glassware and the invigorating, generally rowdy and energized atmosphere of the inner-city bar set an upbeat mood as I watched four wooden, solid-colored balls drop into their respective pockets and clatter down the return chutes.
"I'll be damned. On your opening break, no less. Must be that 'luck of the Irish' you were referring to, eh, Higgins?"
"'tis not luck...'tis skill, laddie! And judgin' from yer last two games, I'd say you could stand to learn a fing or two from me!"The Northwind Highlander's well-inebriated compatriots dissolved into drunken laughter as I smirked at the well-intentioned jab. Ambling over to the table, I applied a liberal amount of chalk to the end of my pool cue, before leaning over the faux-mahogany bumpers to line up my shot. With a swift jab, I sent the cue-ball spinning across the table, sinking two stripes and displacing a number of solids, one of which came to rest dangerously close to the outer edge of a corner pocket.
"Not bad for a beginner,"Higgins quipped, taking a slam of his ale before returning to the game.
"I'm not exactly a 'beginner,' you know...in fact - "
"Ah, but ya play like one!"Higgins laughed, wiping his mouth with a grimy sleeve and lining up his next shot."Now, let's show you how it's done!"
It was time to start kicking for a new life. Mom and dad were dead, I had to get over it. Grandma and Grandpa Flint should have taken the dive long ago, yet somehow their bodies were still as lively as a kids.
It was annoying. Every day I had to wake up to this blasted oldie music crap, get fed some sort of... I don't even know what it could be called. Trash soup, maybe? Who cares, I'm done with them. I've got my own life to live now, not a second to spare. So I got kicked out of one of the most prestigious schools in the Universe; they weren't teaching me anything but a bunch of ludicrous self-righteous rhetoric anyway. Won't get a good job now, though, just because I stood up for something I believed in. This world is messed up.
And so now I'm in a bar, watching a bunch of drunk idiots wasting their lives just for a good friggin' time. I don't need to drink to have a good time! They won't even remember their blasted 'fun' afterwards.
My attention was taken away from these thoughts, though, as a new patron shuffled onto the scene. There was something... shining about him. Not physically, no he looked just a rowdy as the rest of the gangs around these parts. But, something else made him stand out. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, maybe simply his idle gaze as he walked to one of the vacant tables.
I stood up. It seemed to me like this was the kind of guy I could find a job through. Maybe fate put him here for a reason, maybe I could finally earn my way into a career. My dreams were instantly cut short as my first step landed my drink on a particularly hardy, most certainly drunken, customer.
Not a word passed before his giant fist was colliding into my face. An instant later, I was on the ground. No doubt my nose was bleeding. It took every ounce of energy I had to keep myself conscious. The bar was a blur, a loud, loud blur. Nothing seemed to make sense, just a fury of lights passing back and forth, a torrent of noise that I was certainly would rupture my eardrum and break my ossicles. It was too much. For my own sake, I let my mind fade. The world turned to silent darkness as I slipped into an unconscious sleep.
“Steiner PPC, please,” I nodded to the barkeep, who grunted at me before commencing the drink preparation. I glanced at the holoscreens over the bar, watching some poor fool in a Clint get his ass handed to him by an opponent in a Zeus. I pointed to the carnage, eliciting peals of laughter from an off-duty cop seated nearby. The free-for-all matches on Solaris VII were so entertaining.
A louder-than-usual sound of shattering plates and furniture being violently displaced interrupted my train of thought as the bartender dove across his bar in a failed attack lunge toward a hulking patron who had just slugged a fellow half his size to the floor. The barkeep's attack missed, and he plowed into a series of tables, displacing drunkards and lowlifes in a cellulose-jiggling impact that was both morbid and fascinating all at the same time. I stood up from my table, and strode toward the heart of the commotion. I could see a couple of cops approaching from the other side of the hazy bar, looking cooly nonchalant.
After all, this sort of thing was entirely commonplace around here.
The bartender landed a beefy punch in the thug's eye as I reached the scene of the commotion. Staggering backwards, the larger of the two men ducked under a second jackhammer punch from the barkeep, before lunging forward and shoving the bartender aside, which resulted in a second spectacular explosion of flatware and furnishings. Stepping around the clash of the titans, I walked over to the now-unconscious smaller combatant, who was laid out on the floor of the bar like an insect splattered on the windshield of an APC. I grabbed the man by the back of his coat and pulled him out of the melee, dumping him haphazardly in a nearby booth before shaking him by the shoulder in an attempt to rouse him from his stupor.
April 14, 3067 Outside New Foundation city limits New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) _______________________________________
The sharp crack resounded from the high banked hills followed quickly by two more retorts of a rifle rolling out over the range. Allowing the small cloud of debris to drift away from the target down range I resighted through the 4x scope attached to the rails of my new LMAR-14M combat rifle. My lips curling up slightly into a small grin as I see the 3 black dots on the target tightly grouped together, if a little high and to the right.
"Looks like just another small adjustment here," I muttered to myself as I took the screwdriver and made a minute adjustment to one of the refinement screws on the scope mount and then another tiny turn with another screw, "and there, and we should be good."
I settled back in behind the rifle, which was currently fixed in a special mount to allow for proper sighting, and slipped my finger into the trigger guard. Fingering the safety back into fire mode I lined up the shot on the new target which had automatically been moved into place. Taking in a deep breath I slowly let it out and pulled the trigger, then quickly released it with the same pressure and pulled it two more times to send another three rounds down range at the awaiting target. This time I broke into a full smile as I saw the 3 black holes lined up almost perfectly in a tight triangle well within the bullseye.
The sudden crack of thunder, nature's own form of a gunshot, caused me to look up and notice with dismay the darkening clouds along the horizon. Removing my rifle from the sighting mount I turned and headed back towards the militarized ATV I had driven to the range on. I give a little nod and two finger salute to the man sitting in the bulletproof guard post at the edge of the range as I pass.
"Heading home already Wolf?"[\color][color=red] he called out as he waved.
"Yeah, gonna head back to base before that rain hits" I gesture back over my shoulder towards the horizon with a nod of my head.
He laughs and shakes his head a little,"I don't remember a little rain ever keeping you off the range, besides you know that knew rifle is gonna work rain or shine. Wish I had enough c-bills stashed away somewhere to buy me one of them babies."
"Well you should come work for us Dave, you know the Legionnaires pay pretty good. As for the rain, we just got a new piece of expensive equipment that IS a little sensitive and I want to make sure that lackey of a Chief Engineer I've got gets it indoors before the rain destroys it."
"You know thats not what the latest rumour about the Legionnaires is, some people say the MRBC is going to repo every piece of equipment you've got, right down to the nice little toy there," he says with a slight chuckle as he points at the 100HP military ATV. "Besides, I'm quite comfy here, I mean I get to sit around all day and shoot a gun whenever I want and I never have to worry about someone shooting back at me."
"Fair enough, and you know, you can't put too much stock in rumours. People will say just about anything if they think it'll get people to listen."
"True, true. Well anyways you better get going, your going to be hard pressed to beat that rain I think, even with your crazy driving."
"See you later Dave," I called as I hoped onto the ATV and fired up its oversized engine.
Dropping the LMAR-14M into the holster along the side of the ATVs body I take another quick look at the horizon and decide to pull out the rain slicker from the rear storage compartment and hastily throw it on before popping the clutch and racing out of the old firing range.
The hard packed dirt roads in the country side past the New Foundation city limits made it easy going for a while, the ATV winding up to 90km/h (60mph) with ease as the large engine rumbled beneath me. The large ferro-glass windshield cutting out almost all the wind that would otherwise be pelting my exposed face with dirt. As I neared the city limits the roads turned into a half paved, half gravel disaster that forced me to reduce my speed by a third in order to avoid jarring myself into unconciousness. As it was the ATV rocked and bounced rather viciously despite its heavier weight and stability, and I was forced several times to cut off road to avoid the worse sections where pieces of ferro-crete were sticking up at near 90 degree angles to the road. Apparently the New Foundation public works department hadn't been out this way since the last Battlemech came trucking through.
As Dave had said I didnt beat the rain, though it didnt start to really come down until I could see the compound itself. By that point the rain slicker was pretty much through already, though it had kept most of the rain out it really didnt do anything against the cold penetrating through your clothes. As I pulled up to the compound I ran my finger through the biometric scanner and was pleasantly greated with the grinding of metal as the barricade lowered and traffic arms raised up to admit entrance, there was a reason I drove around to the far side of the compound most of the time, the northern gate usually worked alright, but too many times I had trouble at both the eastern and southern gates to bother with them. Driving towards the motorpool I notice the large empty transport bed parked near one the better looking structures and smile thinkingScott may be a bit of lackey at times, but the Chief can definately be relied on when it counts.
Entering the motorpool through the large bay doors, which automatically opened as I approached, I parked the ATV in an empty stall and shake off the rain slicker, leaving it out to dry across the back storage compartment of the ATV. Walking back towards the smaller doorway closest to the next facility I look outside after opening the door. Thankfully due to the buildings the rain was coming more or less straight down here and I didnt get blasted with water when I pulled the door open. Looking up to sky it didnt look like the rain was about to stop any time soon so I grabbed a fresh rain coat from the nearby hangers, this one unfortunately without a hood, and wrapped it tight around me. Popping the collar up to at least attempt to stop the rain from running in around my neck I hunch over a bit run out into the rain heading towards the administrative building of the Legionnaires compound.
Back at the STARSHIP Cantina ___________________________
"Hey. Wake up. You ok?"
"Mom?"
Everything was still hazy. If the man's face had contorted, I couldn't tell. Heck, he could have been ranting about the meaning of life and I wouldn't have picked up a word. Those words... they had sent me back into my past. Years back, the critical point of my life. Oh all I wanted to do was bask in that moment, to enjoy the images before me. Even if it was just an illusion of my mind, it was as real as all dreams were.
But no... I was here, I couldn't let myself seep back into regret. Time moved forward, not back, and if I kept dwelling on the past then I'd be left in it. I struggled to sit upright. It was a daunting task in its own right. Sure, I'd been in my own share of fights before. Even won a few. But that guy was drunk. He had no sense about him, he swung with every ounce of strength in his body with no regard for humanity. Ah, what it meant to be drunk; all or nothing, all for nothing.
What it meant was that my nose was probably broken. It didn't take a genius to understand what the seering pain and splattered blood meant. Fortunately, a broken nose heals in time. The drunkard would be suffering for that outburst for a long while, if the bartender's reaction was any indication.
My mind turned back to the matter at hand. This guy had went into the heat of battle and dragged me out of there and, though he could certainly have been gentler, had ensured I was still... alive, I guess. I owed him my gratitude, if nothing else.
"Thanks. I'll be fine, just a little blood. I owe you one, what's your name?"
I'm gonna kind of start my character over a bit since we started over
I hit the streets in the pouring rain. Everyone on this stravag planet seemed to like me, even though I was no longer part of Clan Wolf-in-Exile. After failing my Trial of Position, I decided to head to the Inner Sphere to try and make a living for myself. Unfortunately not many people, or mercs, were looking for a Clan Mechwarrior.
I pulled my jacket, colored in black and orange in my former Clan's colors, closer over my neck. I looked both ways outside of the HQ for some small-time mercenary force. Not knowing where to go next I headed to my left, leaving my fate to The Founder. "Will I ever find my place in this universe?", I muttered to myself.
Just as I was losing all hope I stumbled upon a gate to my left. I stopped and looked at the sign outside. It read "Legionnaires". I cocked my head to the side and thought why not? I pushed the buzzer on the outer speaker hoping someone was sitting at their station.
The glass gently cooled the inside of my hand as chilled water splashed into it from the purifier, the gentle gurgling noise at once soothing and teasing, speaking volumes about it’s refreshing wetness to my throat, filled as it was with the bitter tang of Corporal Schusters’ smoke. Water’s good like that. It can be many things at once. As good a liquid as any to be reliant on, I figure. I tuned back into the unfolding conversation, unsure if I my presence was still required. From my vantage point in the far corner of the office, all I could see were the backs of both Schuster and the Captain – The Corporal sitting before the Captains' desk, listening as Maxwell rummaged around the various cabinets behind his desk and relayed the outcome of his trip to the MRBC. “Think they’ll keep the appointment?”Schuster glanced up from a printout he was reading and placed it on the haphazardly cluttered workspace. I took a gulp of my water as the Corporal inhaled deeply from his cigarette. I savoured the sensation of the light, quick coolness spreading through my chest. That’s why Nick was a good man, from what I could see. Not a lot could faze him, and consequently he could assimilate and apply information with a quicksure confidence. That and he seemed to have some level of disregard for formal rank obligations. I admire a man with chutzpah. Ben glanced up at me and nodded at a chair as he replied. I complied and sank into one of the worn-down-but-functional affairs next to Schuster. “I doubt it. Van De Graff phoned me after I got back, to tell me that Murlance is part of a task force bound for Styx that is due to shove off tomorrow morning. But in all actuality, that buys us some time.” This had me confused. I thought we were hoping, if not relying on the MRBC’s blessing. The way Captain Maxwell put it though, sounded like he was happy with this turnout. That’d be just like Benjamin, too right. Some sort of hobbled-together plan or maverick new job, just in time to make payroll. Always worth a listen. “Time to do what?” I asked blandly, jumping in front of Nick as he was opening his mouth to speak. A brief glint sparkled in Captain Maxwell’s eyes, as if he was pleased I asked. He deftly produced what he had been looking for behind his desk, and with a flourish sent a handful of photographs spinning onto to the desk in front of me. That's another thing about this legionnaire crowd that surprises me; how well connected some of these them are. I don’t know where or how he’d acquired them, but the mixture of grainy, black and white shots, some aerial, some sub-orbital, clearly showed the massive proportions of a heavy battlemech on various open-air fields and undergoing various refits in some compound. I tentatively assumed whole group of photos to be of the same mech, at the same compound, although its location was a mystery to me as the shots were unmarked, even by date or organisation. Ben gave me and Schuster a few moments grace to look over them, then answered my question. “To make that fake Stone Rhino we’ve got listed in our public inventory a reality.” Nick, naturally, was unfazed.“Maxwell, you sneaky –“ “A Stone Rhino? That’s some serious tonnage, sir.” I, however, was. “Yes, yes it is Talus. Which is what makes it such a valuable asset to us. With that kind of heavyweight on our side, it opens up a lot more contracts for us. Contracts that we need.” I was intrigued. Very intrigued. I drained my glass, shrugged my jacket into a more comfortable position and leaned forward over the desk. Benjamin met my eyes steadily, the hint of glee flashing in them again. “Sounds like a plan, sir.” I said evenly. “Enlighten me.”
Legionnaires Compound New Foundation, Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) April 14, 3067 __________________________________
I chuckled, and accepted the folder back from Talus, who stared across the desk at me in disbelief.
"I figured you might say that."
Talus took a long swig of his water, and leaned forward in his chair.
"How did you find out that the Kell Hounds even had a detachment operating on Saffel? With a Stone Rhino readily available, no less?"
I tossed the folder onto my desk, and folded my hands in my lap, smiling smugly.
"It's really quite remarkable how willing guns for hire are to sell information when one of their own goes rogue."
The MechWarrior shook his head.
"I won't argue with you on that one."
"You want the details?"
"Please."
I grinned.
"According to the Kell Hounds, one of their MechWarriors, a nut-job by the name of Hadrian "Fury" Isis, bitter over the overthrow of Archon Nondi Steiner and her forces by Peter Steiner-Davion and his Kell Hound allies, has gone rogue, taking a dropship and the two lances under his command, and fleeing into Draconis Combine space. Disguised as a detachment of the Davion-controlled Federated Commonwealth, he apparently intends to incite a major conflict between House Kurita and House Davion by launching a direct attack against Saffel - which is a planet that has historically been a major point of contention between the two factions.
"This has thrown the Kell Hounds into a panic. They cannot respond directly to this situation, because an incursion into Combine space by a traditionally Davion-loyal force would be looked upon by House Kurita as an act of war, even if they were there to prevent an incident. Beyond this, if it were to become public that a detachment of one of the largest, and most respected, mercenary units had gone rogue, it would be disasterous for both the Kell Hounds and the MRBC itself.
"With that said, the Kell Hounds have proposed that we get our hands dirty for them. They want us to track down and capture Captain Isis, and eliminate, with extreme prejudice, the remainder of his lance. The Kell Hound dropship needs to be destroyed to prevent it from falling into Kurita hands and being used as evidence to support a war.
Now, the Kell Hounds want this handled quietly. Neither House Kurita nor House Davion are to know of the nature of this mission. If we fail, the consequences could be catastrophic."
Talus balked visibly at the suggestion."With all due respect, sir, we barely have enough fuel and ammo to carry out a contract here on New Earth, let alone halfway across the quadrant. As it stands now, we're paying back loans by taking out loans. I don't know that we can handle this one, especially with only one lance."
"Where does the Stone Rhino fit into all of this?"Schuster interrupted.
"The Rhino, as it would happen, is what proved to be Isis' undoing. The Kell Hounds had recently acquired it from a third party - don't ask - I don't know, and I don't want to know - and they had it warehoused on Outreach. When Isis lost his mind and decided to go vigilante, he stole the 'Mech and made off with it. What he didn't realize at the time was that the Kell Hounds had lo-jacked it. It was simply a matter of tracing the beacon's signal to its source in order to find him. The Kell Hounds are offering first right of salvage to it if we can pull the whole affair off."
"So all we need to do is travel to Saffel, hoping our intel is correct, and slug our way through Isis' defenders, grab both him and the Stone Rhino and run, all the while praying that the Draconis Combine doesn't have any reenforcements in the area."
"That's pretty much it."
The Corporal looked dubious.
"Let me see that report,"he muttered, reaching for the folder. I slowly pressed it into his hand, casting him a reluctant look. Schuster glanced through it, finally pausing on the section marked 'Force Composition.'
"A Cyclops, an Anihillator, two UrbanMechs, a Bushwaker, a Black Hawk and an Uziel. Oh, and a coolant truck with accompanying recovery vehicle. Are they planning to sit out this little soiré?"
I grimaced.
"There is a very good possibility those assets will be present when we make planetfall."
"Another leap of faith?"
"Essentially. But I really don't see us having many other options. Our proficiency rating is dismal right now. It's the only contract anyone wants to offer us."
Schuster sighed, staring at the intelligence reports for several minutes before snapping the folder shut and tossing it onto my desk.
My thoughts were cut short as the intercom system at the vacant receptionist's desk began buzzing incessantly. Excusing myself from the office, I walked out to the lobby and jammed my finger down on the call button.
Shrugging off the now soaked rain coat and hanging it up in the slim chance that it might dry before it was needed again, I made my way up the old rickety stairs as the creaked and groaned beneath my combat boots. Grimacing slightly at one rather loud groan and wondering to myself when one of the the stairs might actually give out instead of just moaning in protest.
An incessant beeping began emitting from my right hip as I reached the second floor landing and I reached down flipped the communicator out of the hip holster on my fatigues. The relatively large display screen showed a snapshot of Scott MacRae, my Chief Engineer, and displayed his contact info. Hitting the confirm button I leaned against the doorway leading into the administrative wing of the Legionnaires compound, or at least the tattered hallway that represented it.
Hey Chief, whats up?
Well the Tesla IITM VR-11306710-AXTSP is almost all setup, thought I'd let you know that it should be running within an hour but...
Why can't you just use plain english Scott? I mean its much easier just to say the 'Mech Simulator, Sim pod, or just about anything than reciting the damn things make model and serial number.I replied, interupting Scott before he could finish.
Well maybe sometimes I just like to sound like I know what I'm talking about, anyways. There is a slight problem.
Isn't there always? Alright what is it?
Well, I dont know how much you paid for this thing, nor do I want to know, but its archaic at best. I've almost got it all hooked up but its only got one program loaded for it. I mean that not a big deal, except that it will only handle ONE program. I mean the thing needs a major overhaul if you want it to actually be viable piece of equipment. The sim pod can only have a single program at a time loaded on it and with its technology it'll take a couple hours to change it out. Thankfully I've got a quick fix for that, its easy enough to upgrade the storage space. The real issue is that the coding for the unit is garbage. The engine used to render the environment is at least 30 years old, and from what I've seen I doubt if the machine would recognize a loadout with anything beyond some basic Tech 2 Inner Sphere stuff, forget anything Clan. And the graphics, my god man, I dont think I've seen anything that pixelated since I tried to illegally pirate some p...
OK, I get it Chief, it has some issues. But for the price of it, I'm not surprised. It runs, thats the main thing. And if I know you, which I'm pretty sure I do fairly well after 10 years, I know you'll have more fun upgrading and fixing it than I ever will running a sim in it.[\color] [color=red]Once again I interupted him, sometimes you had to or else he'd keep running off on tangents and technical details, ... or end up giving information that you generally wish he would have kept to himself.
Your right about that lad, but its gonna take some time. Anyways I'll be down here in the basement if you feel a need to come check her out.
Alright, thanks for the update Chief. Talk to you later.
Slipping my phone/communicator back into the hip holster I continue to make my way down the hall, stepping inside one of the first offices I nodded to Nick Schuster who was currently busy with someone on the intercom located at the reception desk and continued towards the office behind where I could now see Ben and Talus sitting at the desk.I wonder if Ben's decided to give the Stone Rhino contract a try I know he's been itching to get his hands on that beast since his contacts made mention of it, or maybe the MRBC finally gave us that loan? Heh, like that'll happen after last time ... well guess we'll see soon enough.I thought to myself as I entered the office.
I was just about leave when the answer came through the speaker. I got close to the microphone so I didnt have to yell and make the person deaf from hearing me yell.
"My name is Alex Thorn. I am a Mechwarrior looking for an outfit to join. I was wondering if the Legionnaires were looking for any Mechwarriors?"
I let go of the button to listen for a reply. After a few moments of listening to the rain pound on me and the gate in front of me a short reply came."Just one moment Mr. Thorn."
I shifted my weight slightly. The man was obviously consulting his superior. What is there the freebirth could be asking, I thought to myself. Just then the voice returned."My commander will speak with you inside."
I smiled. "Aff."
"The gate..."The voice stopped for a few moments then regained his composure."Is not working you will have to walk to the front of the compound."I looked at the gate with a grimace, but whiped it off quickly and made a quick stroll to the front building in the compound.
April 14, 3067 The STARSHIP Cantina New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) _______________________________________
"Thanks, I'll be fine. I owe you one. What's your name?"
I grabbed a handful of napkins from a nearby dispenser, and handed them to the fellow, the device wailing a shrill alarm to alert the establishment's overseers that I had helped myself to too many. I figured that at the moment, stolen napkins were the least of the barkeep's concerns.
"Hobson. Mark Hobson. I'm a gunslinger. Well, at least, when business is good. Hasn't been any work for our outfit in a while. Been flying AeroTaxis part time to make ends meet. Course, that isn't exactly paying the bills either, but it's better than nothing. Gives me a few credits to drown my sorrows with. But I digress. You got a name? And what the hell brings you to this shining temple of purity and tranquility?"
Tired and greedy. If I could sum up this place in two words, they would be tired and greedy. A fitting choice for a forsaken slum.
The sky continued to cry acidic tears over this wounded slum. The soles of my boots ground into the wet and discarded roads as I made my way towards my destination.
Now that I had completed the first phase of my plan, I needed to get started on the second. I had arranged to meet a man who could acquire things. Important things. Specifically forged papers and reports from the MRBC. With these papers, I could guarantee a working place within a mercenary unit. This job would work as the perfect cover. It would be the last place he would expect to find us. It would keep me and the child safe, if only for a short time span. However, it wasn't fool proof. I was still running along a fine edge. For now though, I had become the edge. I tightened my rain slicker and watched as the child following behind me mimicked my exact actions.
”Everything will work out...” I muttered, reminding myself of the beauty of this place. Nobody asks any questions and everybody took money.
___________________________
It took slightly longer to arrive outside the Cantina than planned. My wound still hadn't fully healed and if things did turne 'south' at this meeting, I didn't want my wound to have torn open before any would-be-unpleasantness. Rushing would only have undone the healing process so far.
I looked over the entrance of the bar and quickly noticed the back alley my contact had spoke about. He said his name was Bill, but I wasn't buying it. People in 'Bill's' line of work never reveal their real names. Especially not to strangers and out-of-town folk like me. It meant that I had to be on my guard at all times. Still, I edged my way closer to the meeting spot and soon found myself in the damp and dark alley.
“Bill?” I called quietly. A shadowy figure emerged. He was a stout man. Middle aged and had a rough look about him. He rubbed at his moustache before adjusting his soggy red and blue baseball cap.
“That'll be me. You're late” He grunted. “You alone? Besides the kid I mean...”
I raised an eyebrow. “I presume that's a rhetoric question?”
Bill let out a groggy, wicked chuckle. He reached into the inside pocket of his long, brown leather jacket and produced several official looking dossiers.
“I got 'em fresh off the print today. It'll cost extra though. An extra 5k's ought to do it. You didn't tell me I'd have to do one for the kid too when I gave you the first quote. Do we still have a deal?” His eyes became thin slits and his grin became wide. Money grabbing bastard.
“We have a deal...” I reluctantly agreed, tossing over the c-bill data cube. Bill eyes glinted excitedly.
“I can arrange to give you the extra 5k's tomorrow--” He cut my sentence short.
“Hold on a minute! How about this... you can keep the papers and the money. I'll take the kid instead.”
“What? No deal!” I grunted firmly. Something was wrong. He was too overconfident. He watched over me for a moment before making his mind up.
“Son, you just had to make this a whole lot more difficult, didn't you?” Two other equally unpleasant figures appeared from the shadows, each brandishing weapons. “I heard about the break in at the orphanage, over on the better side of town. That was you, wasn't it?”
“You treacherous dog!” I snarled, taking a step in front of the child.
“Now, now. Let's not be too hasty...” Bill's goons chambered a round into their pistols, stopping me dead in my tracks. “The orphanage that kid comes from – they put up a hefty reward for whoever returns him. I can get double that if I return both of the kids you stole. So I'll ask you once – where is the other one?”
“... I don't know where he is. Somebody else took him.” I reluctantly answered. “And even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I remained resilient. Treacherous dog!
“So unwise.” He muttered before motioning to the thug on his left. “Take them both. We'll have to ask this gentlemen further questions in a more... discreet location.”
Training his gun on me, the large grunt made his way to my right hand side. A fatal mistake.
“Come on kid, you're--” His sentence was cut short as he went to grab the child.
What he didn't know, what nobody other than myself and one well paid hotel porter knew, was that the child was safe and far away from this place. That was the beauty of this place. Nobody askes any questions and everybody took money. The hard part is figuring out who the really greedy ones are.
The goon's hand went through the holographic image of the child I had crafted earlier. The small projector I was wearing on my rain slicker flickered off, causing the illusion to disappear. In that same instance, my hands sprang from under the unzipped slicker and had locked onto his wrist. A twist and a snap soon had the hired muscle in my grip, acting as a handy human shield. The gun, still held in the man's claw discharged two rounds. The first round glanced the second armed hooligan's right shoulder, while the second round smashed into the soft side of his arm joint. He crumbled to the floor, screaming in agony as blood, cartilage and bone splinters painted the graffiti coated walls of the alleyway.
“B-b-bastard! You tricked me!” Bill stammered. My eyes rolled at the irony.
“Let's make a deal...” I said, twisting my human shield's hand again, forcing him to shoot himself in the foot. I pushing him aside and, taking his weapon for my own, I point the pistol in Bill's general direction. “You can keep your life if you hand over the papers...”
“Y-Yes! Yes! Anything!” He stuttered.
“But since this is a last minute deal... it'll cost you extra...”
A moment later... ___________________________
“Outstanding work. I do believe I got a fair deal, don't you?” Of coarse, he couldn't reply. I had already gagged Bill and both of his men before tying them to a drain pipe. “That was a rhetoric question by the way Bill. Or Bob. Whatever your real name is; not that it matters now.”
I buried the forged papers into my top breast pocket and zipped up my coat and overalls.
“Fortunately for me, the loud music from the bar next door provided enough noise to suppress our ruckus. That was your intention, wasn't it? To meet me in an area where no one would hear your gunshots? You must be a professional at stabbing people in the back. I can only wonder how many people you have killed or maimed this way...” I pulled the hood up on my slicker before turning my back to them.
“However, you wont be doing that any more. Not without your trigger fingers...” I threw all of their severed index fingers, their left and their right, to some hungry rats. “... I shouldn't think it'll be too long before someone finds you.” I took a few more steps towards street walk.
“Learn from this. Then maybe, just maybe, you will understand why you were punished...”
I took my hurried leave, thankful to have come away with both the papers and my life. That was a shave too close to call.
Tired. Greedy. Those two words summed up this place perfectly.
LEGIONNAIRES Compound New Foundation, Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) April 14, 3067 _______________________________________
I sighed heavily as I toggled the comm unit off. This Alex Thorn fellow was only the latest in a long string of unemployed guns-for-hire, looking for work on New Earth, to show up at our gates. I was certain he wouldn't be the last, either.
The jingle of a bell being struck by an opening door down in the building's foyer caught my attention, and I rose to my feet, negotiating my way down the ragged corridor and to the top of the winding staircase which led down to the tenemant's main lobby. As I came down to the main landing, I noticed a dark-haired, younger fellow, with a powerful build and steely look about him, brushing rain from his soggy leather longcoat and gazing up at me with an almost-predatory expression on his countenance.
"I'm Corporal Nick Schuster, Tech Officer, Legionnaires mercenary unit. How may we assist you, Mister...erm...Thorn, was it?"
"That is correct,"Thorn intoned, his words very clear and precisely delivered."Alex Thorn."
"A pleasure to meet you," I replied. "I understand you're looking for work. What's your background?"
"I understand you're looking for work. What's your background?"
I stood my ground and looked him in the eye as I explained my past.
"I come from the planet Arc-Royal. I am a former member of Clan Wolf-in-Exile under House Kerensky. I failed my Trial of Position as a Mechwarrior. Instead of being put in a lower caste I opted for geis. I am hoping to find a unit to join, to consider as a new sibko, and to regain my honor. I bring with me a Marauder IIC, that I was allowed to take with me on my geis." I watched as he looked at me in shock. I kept my steady stance, but in my heart almost knew that I would be turned down yet again, and all for being a Clanner.
The LEGIONNAIRES mercenary unit was no stranger to the bizarre and unexpected; however, this was definitely a new one for me.
An out-of-work Clanner looking for employment? The economy has definitely gone to shit...
An uncomfortable pause passed between us as I struggled to formulate a response.
"Well, Mr. Thorn," I began, awkwardly, "you're definitely one of the more...unique...applicants that's wandered through our door lately. I have to say that adding a Marauder IIC and its pilot to our roster would certainly do good things for the unit."
Thorn's expression softened a bit.
"Unfortunately, we're so broke right now that we can't meet the payroll obligations we've already got, and the upkeep costs on our DropShip and the 'Mechs we do have right now are nearly putting us out of business completely. Unless you're willing to work for food, and a roof over your head, such as it is," I replied, guesturing toward a large crack in the ceiling through which rainwater was steadily trickling, "I don't know that we could afford to keep you."
April 14, 3067 Legionnaires Compound New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) _______________________________________
"Well, I - "
The sound of the desk intercom buzzing loudly interrupted Schuster's reply. As the Lyran excused himself from the meeting to attend to the caller, I looked toward Talus.
"Frankly, sir, and with the utmost respect - to me, it sounds like a suicide mission."
I nodded.
"I'm not too thrilled about it either, but it's all we've got. We're six months behind on the property taxes for this hellhole, payroll is coming due and we don't have enough in the bank to cover everyone, the power is about to get cut off because the bills aren't getting paid, and we've got only half a tank of gas in the Thorin to get us to Solaris VII if we end up getting evicted. This operation is going to collapse completely unless something changes, and right now," I emphasized, looking down at the folder marked 'MRBC Contract 1182: Broken Arrow,' "this is all we've got."
A silent resignation fell across Talus as the gale-force winds which whipped through our compound drove marble-sized drops of rain against the office's windows. A distant clap of thunder boomed, adding punctuation to the moment. In the lobby, Corporal Schuster's boots could be heard thudding out into the corridor, the sound growing softer and softer as he walked.
"Am I interrupting?"
The voice caught me off-guard, and I sat bolt-upright in my chair, my right hand instinctively reaching for my microgauss pistol as I looked toward the source of the sound. Standing in the doorway to the office, leaning casually against the door frame, was Captain Adam Wolf, a long-time acquaintance and co-commander of the unit.
"Captain Wolf."
"Feeling a bit jumpy, Ben?"Wolf smiled, as I relaxed my grip on the pistol.
"Let's just say I've had better days," I sighed. "Hopefully you're not about to make it any worse."
April 14, 3067 The STARSHIP Cantina New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) _______________________________________
Thunder rumbled as I glanced at my watch, taking note of the time as I shrugged on my longcoat. The brawl between the proprietor of the bar and an obviously-inebriated Neanderthal had been dispersed in the predictable fashion - with the jowly bartender retreating back to his rotisserie, the thug getting tossed out into the street, and the victim being completely ignored.
Typical justice in the 31st century.
Stepping over shattered furniture, spilled victuals, and displaced drunkards too sloppy to stand, I made my way toward the exit. As I stepped out, a powerful wind gusted in, snatching the door from my hand and slamming it violently against the wall, a torrent of raindrops pelting me unrelentingly as I ventured into the gale. As I made my way curbside to the waiting sedan, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a hunched-over figure in a soggy cloak glowering at me from a nearby alley.
April 14, 3067 Legionnaires Compound New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) _______________________________________
"Feeling a bit jumpy, Ben?" I smile as Ben relaxed back into his chair, his arm barely showing the movement of his hand slipping from the grip of his sidearm.
"Let's just say I've had better days," I sighed. "Hopefully you're not about to make it any worse."
It must have been bad news bout the MRBC if he's jumpy enough to grab his gun inside our own compound I thought to myself as I stepped into the room. Still smiling I shook my head slightly, "I hear ya, and while sometimes I admit its fun to plague you with trivial problems just to see your reaction, thats not why I'm here."
Glancing down at the desk and catching the MRBC and Arrow words on the manilla folder laying there, "I've got some good news actually, that sim pod we ordered last quarter, the one that got delayed in shipping cause somebody on their end screwed up which jump it was going out on. Well it finally made it, its downstairs and nearly operational right now. I've got Chief working the kinks out of it right now, so thats at least one more assest that we can legitimately have listed."
"While thats good, I highly doubt its worth nearly enough for what the MRBC is expecting,"replied Ben as folded his hands and leaned back a bit in his chair, "but it will help a little at least."
Nodding my head towards the desk and the folder on it I said, "I see it looks like Broken Arrow may actually become a reality. I gotta admit getting our hands on a functioning," then with a slight chuckle, "or at least semi-functioning by the time we get it, Stone Rhino is damn tempting."
Placing my hands on the back of the chair sitting beside Talus I look back and forth between them, addressing them both. "I couldn't help but overhear the suicide mission part, and while it may seem that way we definately do have knack for pulling off the impossible. Hell I can count at least half a dozen times since John Wolf died that the Legionnaires should have been liquidated, destroyed, or disbanded and yet every time we've managed to pull our bacon from the fire. As far as the chances of pulling this off, yeah they are slim. But I couldn't help but overhear a bit of talk from the lobby downstairs before I came in here. Sounds like we may have a new recruit, and I could be wrong but it sounded like he had a IIC model of a 'mech though I didnt catch which one."
The last words that registered in my head were 'new recruit,' although part of me thought I heard 'IIC' somewhere in the equation as well.
Another body on the payroll? What the hell? Half the senior staff are going to be getting IOUs this pay period as it is...
I leaned back in my chair and let the thoughts sink in. It sounded like Wolf was sold on the guy already, and while we were technically equals in terms of rank, his seniority in the unit quashed mine as tenure went. With a sigh of resignation, I retrieved a cigar from my pocket humidor, and lit it, rolling it between my fingers and watching the smoke rise from it thoughtfully.
Damn Yak 42s don't hold a candle to an Arturo Fuente Opus X...Blake's blood, I'd kill for one right now...
I'd gotten hooked on the things when I was 14. I'd been hooked ever since. I knew they were killing me. Frankly, I didn't give a damn. It was one of the few comforts I had left in life.
"All right. Bring him up here. Let's see what the cat dragged in."
I nodded my head. "That is quite alright. I just need some place to work. Food and shelter will be sufficient for now." The man nodded in return."Excellent. Follow me. Our commander will want to speak with you."He turned and headed for the stairs. I quickly caught up, but kept my distance from him as he led me down the corridor from which he had come. He quietly knocked on the frame of a doorway.
"Come in,"a voice boomed from within. I quietly stepped through the doorway as the man gestured for me to enter. There sitting in a chair smoking a cigar was who I imagined was the commander and leader of the Legionnaires. The smoke from his cigar made my nostrils flair but I refused to show any other discomfort. What a way to destroy your body, I thought. I looked to my left and noticed another man that had been leaning against the wall. When my gaze reached his he straightened up. The man with the cigar spoke. "Im Captain Benjamin Maxwell. This is my co-commander Captain Wolf,"he said as he gestured to the man against the wall."I understand you are wanting to join the Legionnaires."
I kept my gaze on the man named Wolf for a moment before turning to this Benjamin. "That would be correct. According to mister Schuster here you can not afford to pay me except with food and shelter. That is fine with me. I also bring with me a Marauder IIC." A small smile crept onto my face as I saw Benjamin's eyebrows slightly rise at the mention of my 'Mech.
Man I feel I am so much better at this now that I'm a little older and now that I've read a lot of the books.
A contract for a suicide mission and a Clanner willing to work for food...this was turning into an interesting evening indeed.
"Well then, Mister Thorn, I suppose we have an arrangement. You do understand that, at least for the moment, the maintenance on your 'Mech will be slim to none - we can send a flatbed and help you make arrangements to get it here - but that's about it. Quiaff?"
The use of Clan terminology by a freeborn elicited a raised eyebrow from Thorn.
"Aff, Captain Maxwell."
"Now, I believe before we can formalize these arrangements, Lieutenant Braddock, our recruitment analyst - and crack field medic - has some standard questions for you..."
Alex, your writing is fantastic! I enjoy reading your stuff.
April 14, 3067 The STARSHIP Cantina New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) ____________________________________________
I made sure to keep that name fresh in my mind. Not only had that guy just saved my backside, but it seemed he had some connections. A gunslinger... not that they were always these righteous folk. Maybe that was the odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. Someone whose entire life revolved around shooting down some other folk just saved me from a nice, harsh beating. There was more to this guy, more to Mark Hobson, than met the eye.
"Name's Lance Callahan. Out of a job, out of life. Came here scrounging up what food and goods I can, trying to find some work in these parts."
I knew it would sound desperate, but I didn't have much of a choice.
"Say, you wouldn't happen to know where I could find a job around these parts, do ya?
As long as I didn't offend the guy... he was in a bad position after all and I might have just been twisting the knife... but as long as I wasn't, then maybe it would just work out.
Captains Wolf and Maxwell continued to discuss the legionnaires’ situation over my head as I sat silently in the chair I’d claimed. My mind was still in a spin from trying to keep up with this plan the two Captains had hatched, particularly the part with likelihood of imminent death. I sure could pick ‘em, right? I’d signed on with this crowd because it had seemed to be the small fish. Struggling, perhaps, circling the drain, but none the less low-key. This is exactly what I needed after everything of the last few years.
I could see it in Captain Maxwell’s face the day I’d wandered over across the length of that MRBC hall, attracted by the ruckus of a police intervention. It was a look that had said ‘We’re hanging on by the skin of our teeth, but so help us we’ll hang on.’ A look that had reminded me of those last days in ’65. ‘Course, that’s all academic. The more immediate point was that I’d found a neat compromise between my need to stay the course, avoid making waves- to sort myself out- and my somewhat more instinctual need to take some action, any action. Action that’d see me back in a cockpit again was good. Not that any other 'mech would light a candle to Proteus in my eyes. A thing of beauty, she was - I miss her. I know she’d miss me. That’s a sign of madness, isn’t it? Personifying inanimate objects? A moot point. Besides, over the better part of a year I’d fitted myself nicely into their company (even made lieutenant after that debacle on Raine), and they in turn had proved themselves to be more than I’d bargained for. It’s hard to tell whether that’s a good or a bad thing. On one hand, I thought I was only here to keep busy while I drifted along with... I don’t even know what anymore. On the other hand, this crew was beginning to gather momentum. I could feel it. They were aiming high, where I thought I’d given up on the bigtime. Never the less, I found myself pulled into being a part of a greater effort, something larger than myself to strive for. I’d missed the sensation.
I nearly fell out of my chair when I realised there was someone new in the room. Trying to inconspicuously regain my composure, I self-consciously shrugged the jacket straighter across my shoulders and tuned back in to the unfolding conversation. The newcomer was addressing Captain Maxwell. “That would be correct. According to Mr Schuster here you cannot afford to pay me except with food and shelter. That is fine with me. I also bring with me a Marauder IIC.” He spoke with the hard-edged vowels and heavily-formed words of a clanner. I snapped my view quickly up and down his form, trying to gauge him. I couldn’t imagine what business would bring full-blooded clan-raised to the doorstep of a small-time outfit like the Legionnaires. Willing to work without the promise of a pay check. By that alone, there had to be a catch. I eyeballed him more closely, taking in the rain-soaked clothing, the set of his face, the hard angle to his eyebrows. His eyes. I couldn’t get a good look at them, fixed as they were on Benjamin, but I couldn’t detect anything too badly off-kilter in them.
Benjamin had replied while I was doing this, making sure this man understood just how little was on offer for him here. He still seemed eager to be reeled in. I’m sure Captains Wolf and Maxwell were delighted to do the reeling in, if he truly was bringing his own functional Clan mech with him. I’d seen Marauders before. A nice piece of work. I quenched the twinge of emotion that accompanied the thought, and stood up as Captain Maxwell mentioned my name, introducing me to this Mr Thorn. I shot a look at him for the ‘Crack field medic’ comment, which was a reference to the operation on Raine. I’d been one of a few pilots from the ground team the still holding enough vital fluids to function at one-hundred percent, and had been forced to reach back through the years for my rudimentary field medicine training from my years in the Menabar PDF. Captain Maxwell had given me my bars that day, after I’d gauzed his burns. In response to my glare, Benjamin simply winked at me and gestured with his head at the newcomer, before he departed down the hallway in stride with Captain Wolf - back to discussing the upcoming operation. I looked over at the newcomer, this Mr Thorn. He stood tall, shoulder to shoulder with me, and met my gaze.
“Lieutenant Braddock.” Inwardly I winced at the formality I wasn’t accustomed to, but I quickly reconciled myself with it. Clanners are all about the hierarchy. I smiled genially at him and pushed one of the chairs with my boot into a position facing mine. “Have a seat, Mr Thorn. Have you got a birthname I can use? Incidentally, you can call me Talus, or Marcus if you really want to get picky.” Thorn inspected the chair momentarily, seeming a little wary. I took note. He slowly sank into the chair, still dripping a little moisture on the flooring. “Alex Thorn, of Clan Wolf.” I leaned forward, again searching the man’s face, particularly focusing on his deep, impassive eyes. “Well, it’s good to meet you, Alex. Now that’s about as standard as my questions get, I’m afraid. I want to know one thing; what brings a blooded Clanner like you to our humble operation, as opposed to any other?” “I will speak bluntly as you do, Marc-us.” He seemed to be trying the name on for size, inspecting it for a fit on me.“I failed my Trial of Position, and undertook Geis as an alternative to staying with my Clan in a position of dishonour. Do you understand?” I kept watch on those eyes, and they remained resolutely locked with my own. I nodded in understanding, motioned him to continue. “Many would turn me away for my blood and my upbringing, and how can I prove myself if I am not given the opportunity? A smaller company such as this outfit is much more likely to overlook this for need of my skills. Is my reasoning sound?” I held his gaze a moment longer. There was anger in there, but it was directed elsewhere. Determination filled them, along with the smallest hint of hopefulness. I digested the rest of his story, and then stood up sharply, extending my hand in offering. His tale was believable, and it explained his willingness to work without coin. The chance to prove himself was motivation enough. “Alright then, Alex. I’m willing to bet you’ve got a lot to offer us. We’ll need to sit down later and get some proper details together for a personnel file and aptitude report - but in the meantime, I think I can be the first to say; “Welcome to the Legionnaires.” Alex stood with me, and gripped my hand in a firm shake. I like that in someone. A firm shake. Speaks volumes about their character. “Thank you, Marcus.” I called out for Corporal Schuster, who down the stairs at his desk. “The Corporal will see to you from here, Alex. I’ll see you soon.”
I waved my farewell and left the room, heading for the buildings’ exit. As I walked, I pulled a communicator out of the lower pocket of my cargo fatigues and fired off a quick message to Captain Maxwell;“He should work out fine, passed him back to Schuster. Another gun hand for this next op couldn’t hurt our chances. – Talus.”Hmm. I had reminded myself of the recently surfaced plan for the outfits’ next operation. I frowned involuntarily. This unit was aiming high.
I was hungry. Grabbing a bite to eat couldn’t hurt our chances either.
The "interview" if you wanted to call it that with Marcus was short. I liked that, being a Clanner, yet there was something about it that bothered me. Then it hit me. The Legionnaires are not used to working with a Clansmen. Captain Maxwell was the only one that seemed to be comfortable around me. I nodded to Schuster as he walked in.
"Is there a place were I can get some dry clothes? Or at least to dry these?" I looked down at the clothes that were plastered to me from the rain.
Schuster smiled and waved for me to follow him."Right this way."He looked back at me as we walked down a corridor that lead to what I assumed was the barracks."You will have to dry those clothes. I don't think we have any that will fit you. We will order some for you. Sorry for the inconvenience."
I smiled. I did not bother me. I was happy to find a home where I could regain my honor. Maybe, just maybe, these Legionnaires will become my new sibko. The thought thrilled me. There were days that I missed being on Arc-Royal in the presence of Phelan Kell, but I never let those thoughts hinder my progress. Just I had finished my last thought Schuster motioned through a doorway. Inside were two bunks.
"You will be rooming with me if you dont mind. The laundry room is just down the hall; last door on the left. If youll excuse me I have some business to attend to."I smiled and nodded. It was not unusual for us to bunk with several members of our sibko, but this would be take some time to get used to. I was glad at the fact that my "roommate" would be Schuster. Apart from the Captain Schuster was the only one that had shown me any kindness on this planet so far.
I was able to find a spare towel in the room. I wrapped around myself after taking off the wet clothes. I had decided that I would not offend anyone here, unlike in my sibko at home where we were not ashamed of being naked. I walked down to the laundry room and put my clothes in to dry. A short time later they were finished and I put them back on, enjoying the warmth they provided after being soaked from the rain. I then decided to roam the building in hopes to find more Legionnaire members to introduce myself to, or to become more familiar with the ones I had already met.
The fluorescent lighting buzzed and flickered erratically, setting an almost-eerie ambiance in the cramped and tattered confines of what loosely could be referred to as our 'mess hall.' In all actuality, the space had been used as a morgue by a previous tenant, and, although much of the machinery had been removed from it by the time the Legionnaires acquired the property, much still remained to serve as a reminder of the room's grim past. The only real reason it was now considered a 'cafeteria' was because it was where people ate food.
Or what could abstractly be defined as food.
With a tremendous, metallic 'clank,' accompanied by a series of epileptic heaves and vibrations, the AutoVendor shuddered to life, a deep gurgling emanating from its bowels as the machine vomited a torrent of watery beef stew directly into its dispenser alcove. Belatedly, a styrofoam bowl dropped into the mess, becoming coated with the victuals as they continued to spray down. After several seconds of unrelenting carnage, the violence finally ceased, and a dancing smiley face materialized on the AutoVendor's selection screen. With a cheery 'ding,' a steel tray crashed down on the meal, crushed the styrofoam bowel, and smeared beef stock down the front of the machine as it slid off the pile of stew and clattered to the floor. After a momentary pause, a set of shrink-wrapped silverware was deposited unceremoniously onto the foody mess by the off-kilter AutoVendor, which promptly switched its alcove light off.
I stared blankly at the machine.
"This thing represents the worst investment we ever made."
"I can't argue with you on that one,"Captain Wolf chuckled, retrieving a box of Kuritan take-out from a wall-mounted refrigeration unit. The climate-controlled drawer was originally used for storing corpses, but it now served to hold food not fit for corpses.
Unfortunately, pizza and tofu were just about all we could afford.
More to come on this post...this is all I had time to get up on my lunch break.
"Want some?"Wolf inquired, offering the box to me.
"I'll pass, thanks," I muttered, pouring a generous amount of Lyran vodka into a coffee mug, and settling down in one of the eight lawn chairs which surrounded our ping-pong table-turned-dining table. The lighting dimmed noticably as the Captain reheated his meal, ancient circuit breakers threatening to overload under the strain of the microwave's hungry current pull. At length, he joined me at the table, picking at his leftovers with chopsticks.
"Something wrong with your drink?"Wolf quipped, biting into an egg roll.
"Yeah," I replied, gazing into the mug. There was only a shot's worth of alcohol beckoning to me from within, but I might as well have been staring into a bottomless abyss. "We're out of booze."
"Ah, alcohol,"Wolf chuckled,"the cause of, and solution to, all of life's little problems. But seriously, what's on your mind?"
A near-tangible silence hung in the air between us.
"Failure," I replied, "is not an option. We can't afford to lose the company. And yet, we now find ourselves facing the nightmare scenario: we have to risk it all in order to save it. I don't like it. Even less so now that I've drawn up a preliminary force composition. Have a look."
I switched my PDA to 'presentation mode,' and, turning off the mess hall's lights, activated the device's holoprojector. A three-dimensional representation of the assets available to our motley group exploded into existence, transforming the ping-pong table into a simulated tactical overview.
PROPOSED FORCE COMPOSITION Operation: Broken Arrow
BATTLEMECH ASSETS: Pilot: Captain Adam Wolf Callsign: 'Gunman' BattleMech: TBD
Pilot: Lieutenant Marcus Braddock Callsign: 'Talus' BattleMech: TBD
Pilot: Captain Benjamin Maxwell Callsign: 'Rogue' BattleMech: Ursa
Pilot: Corporal Nick Schuster Callsign: 'Mantis' BattleMech: Raptor
INFANTRY ASSETS: Squad Name: 'The Five Horsemen' Composition: Shock Troopers (5) Commander: Sergeant Eric Van de Graff
SUPPORT: 1 x Condor Tank 1 x VV1 Ranger 1 x Savior Recovery Vehicle
AEROTECH ASSETS: Aurora-class DropShip
END OF FILE
As the force composition appeared, I reached into the image, and withdrew holographic representations of each asset, placing them on the table one at a time, until at last a handful of miniature BattleMechs, infantry, and support vehicles stood before us, their images flickering intermittantly as the holoprojector adjusted and degaussed itself. I then called up the intel concerning Isis' band of rebels, and overlaid it atop our own, graphically displaying just how badly outgunned and outnumbered we were.
"How in the hell are we going to pull this off?"
The hum of the holoprojector and the pounding of the rain offered precious few answers.
The hotel door clattered closed, sounding the electronic chime a second time. The diaphragm inside the speaker had been perforated long ago, causing the 'welcome' jingle to sound strangulated. It suited the god awful tone of this run down hell hole.
“Was he any trouble?” I asked the porter. His wrinkled, grizzly face was nose deep in a nudie magazine and it took him a moment to even become aware of my presence. “Do you think you should be reading something like that in front of a kid?”
“Like he'd even take notice. He's been sat by that vending machine since you left. Hasn't budged a damn inch.” The porter replied, picking at his stained teeth in a vein attempt to dislodge whatever trace of food he had left behind. I looked to my right and saw the child crouching on his tip toes, staring deeply into the dim, flickering light of the AutoVend 3000 machine. He basked in the warm rays of it's gentle hum, seemingly contempt with the machine's company. Strangely, to his right, he had collected all the single serving UHT milk cartons. From the tens of cartons, he had delicately stacked them, one on top of the other until they were as tall as he was crouched. With the last carton, he planted the foundations for a new milk carton tower, adding to it by taking away parts from the first one.
“How strange...” I thought. “He's just been sat there this entire time?”
“That's what I said, didn't I?” The porter replied, closing his magazine and placing it behind the counter he was sat at. “Now, about the other half of my fee...”
I struggled to take my eyes of the child's irregular behaviour. I was quickly brought back to the porter's attention by a crisp snap of the fingers and an open palm.
“... Sorry. Here. It's all there.”
“Great...” He said, without counting any of the credits. “... now, unfortunately, I have to ask you to leave.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look, I know you mean no harm stranger, but while you were away, something occurred to me. I've had shifty people come here before, but I've never been asked to baby sit a damn kid. Not once. Then it clicked – you're both wanted...” I could see where he was going with this.
“And you're worried I'm going to bring trouble back here? Say no more. I'll be taking my leave shortly.”
“Thank you stranger. Thank you for not being difficult... I'm sorry I have do this...” He said genuinely. “I know you mean no harm to me, and I don't know what you and that kid got yourselves into, but I cant be involved.”
“No, I understand. If anyone does happen to ask for us, I'd appreciate it if you'd give them a false lead. Tell them you overheard us talking about travelling east and far away from this place.” I started walking towards the stairs and to my room. “I'll collect my things and settle when I return.”
“No need stranger. I've gotten enough money from you already. Let's just call this a... mutual understanding between two people who have been on the run for longer than they both can remember...” The old man cryptically replied.
Turn down the right corner in this slum and you'll find the unexpected. Even mutual respect between two strangers. I didn't know his past and I didn't want to. It did make me reflect on myself for a moment though. How long would I be running for?
Dah! Sorry that took so long to do! More to come tomorow!
The question hung in the air like a warning klaxon of an overheating fusion reactor, delicately balanced on the edge were one mistake could cause unheard of destruction and doom for those involved. Nonetheless it was a question that had needed to be voiced and needed an answer, even if it wasnt easy.
"To be blunt, I'm not sure"
"Well that sounds reassuring," responded Maxwell almost as soon as I had it out my mouth.
"Well its not going to be easy," I began.
"Understatement of the year,"came Ben's reply with just a hint of a chuckle in semi-hushed voice.
"But if you just look at the numbers here," I waved my hand above the little holographic tactical display on our lovely ping-pong table, "it looks impossible. These numbers aren't entirely accurate though. Numbers for one can't account for individual capabilities of the pilots, I mean sure they like to try and assign us ranks based on levels of proficiency but I've seen quote unquote," making the little quotations with my hands as I spoke, "green pilots outmaneouver and outgun veterans. Plus the numbers never take into account the team aspect of a group. We work amazingly well as a unit, yeah we may have a few new faces lately but there's just something about us on the battlefield, we all just seem to click."
Ben slowly nodded a bit as I talked, it was all stuff he already knew, just sometimes we all needed a little reminder, and it was true. There was just something about the Legionnaires unit, we always seemed to fit together and work really well as a team.
"You know as well as I do that we are a formidable force on the battlefield, despite what the MRBC may think at the moment, they just look at the last couple of operations where we unfortunately got screwed. Whether it was horrendously inaccurate intel, conditions outside of our control, or simply an outright setup to f*ck us over, and yes I'm still better with the Free Worlds League over THAT one."
"Yeah they did a good number on us with that particular incident, but all the same."Mention of the Old Kentucky incident got a momentary chuckle out of Ben, though his currently melancholy look returned all to quickly.
Reaching over and taping in a few commands I brought up the TRO and graphical display of my current 'mech "I know right now I've just got the Thunderbolt TDR-9NAIS in the 'mech bay, its a great 'mech but weighing in at only 65 tonnes it just doesnt have the kind of mass we could use on this OP. Its got decent firepower, but depending on how long til we have to depart, I've got another option."
Maxwell looked at me curiously, obviously interested in what possible options I could have right now. Working several more commands into the PDA I pulled up another graphical image, this one of a seemingly standard 85 tonne BattleMaster though with a few visible changes to the weapons.
"As you know I've got family back on Outreach still, well some time ago my father acquired an older BattleMaster BLR-4S, working in the Battlemech facilities there gave him access to some very good opportunities to refit the machine as money permitted. Between part time running cargo and the extra money I sent him when the Legionnaires were financially sound he did an almost complete refit of the unit. Although the TRO isnt currently in the system here, I've got a copy of one from the last tranmission I got from my parents a few weeks back."
Entering a final few commands into PDA I displayed two approximate delivery times based on whether it gets shipped here to Tau Ceti IV first or if we meet up in transit to Saffel for the OP. Also displayed was very basic overview of the BattleMaster BLR-WL1.(Just added the full TRO on the boards and linked it here - Adam)
"As you can see its got 27 tons of Hardened armor, an LB-10X AC, an AC/5 with AP rounds, a set of 3 ER small lasers and 3 ER medium lasers, and finally an ATM-3 with HE missiles. Its got the tonnage I think we need for this mission, and not only does it pack a punch but it can take one hell of a beating too. And the only issue with getting it would be time, its rightfully mine since I turned 25. I've just had no direct need of it since then."
"I dont know what Talus has got for a 'mech at the moment, and I dont know if the BattleMaster would be enough to tip the scale in our favour, " I said as I looked over the enemy force composition again, even with the 85 tonne BattleMaster added they enemy force still outweighed us from 65 to 150 tonnes depending on what Talus had for a 'mech, not to mention numerical superiority "but I think it at the very least makes it a plausible endeavour. We're aren't going to get away from it scott-free but the payoff will more than pay for repair on the 'mechs, even if we destroy most of them, plus we finally get that Stone Rhino too. Its like you said, failure is not an option, so we simply won't fail." I reached across the table and placed my hand on Ben's shoulder and smiled as I said the last sentence, putting as much conviction and positive tone on it as I could without making it sound forced.Let's hope its as easy to follow through with as it is to say. I thought to myself as I continued to smile.
April 14, 3067 The STARSHIP Cantina New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) ____________________________________________
A job. Everybody hates them, yet everybody wants one, but no one's got them to give.
In the aftermath of the FedCom civil war, the average Joe Citizen was about as likely to find a job as they were to have a JumpShip fly out of their ass. Smashed towns & cities, a ramping back down of military manufacturing, and a faltering of the economy as a whole had deposited scores of blue-collar workers into the unemployment line. Of course, the privileged elite, or those fortunate enough to have 'connections' were mostly spared. But the rest of us? Well, we mostly got screwed.
I'd been an AeroJock in my previous life. Flew luxury liners between Terra, New Earth, and the Chaos March. I made a good living that way. Sure, the hours were long, and the repitition could get tedious at times, but flying was in my blood. I couldn't see myself doing anything else.
But then the war hit. The Steiners and the Davions started throwing punches. The spaceliner industry tanked. I guess flying first class isn't as fun when you're being shot at. The pink slips went out, and I got the axe. Next came the repo notice, the eviction notice, and all the other 'notices' that come with bankruptcy. So I did what every other unemployed bum in Prefecture X was doing, and jumped on a transport to Outreach. I figured my background as a pilot could land me a job working as freelance cannon fodder for the first mercenary outfit willing to throw a few credits my way. I really didn't care who hired me; money was money, and mercenary money was reputed to be easy, albeit dirty money.
Apparently, I wasn't the only one looking to get hired.
When I arrived at the Harlech Hiring Hall, the scene was nothing short of chaotic. Thousands of applicants packed the building, all vying for the relatively few positions that were available. I didn't even bother trying my luck. I knew it would be a waste of time.
Instead, I aimlessly wandered the spaceport, scoping out the myriad craft that were berthed there. Eventually, I reached the far end of the yard, where I stumbled upon an old Aurora-class DropShip that had definitely seen better days. Its bay doors were closed, preventing me from seeing what kind of hardware was embarked on it. But the boarding ramp was down, and the man who I would come to know as Captain Benjamin Maxwell, and some lackey astech who obviously had little to know experience working on avionics were struggling to get the old spacecraft's NavComm unit replaced. I offered a hand, and got the vessel up and running again - as best as could be expected from a fifty-year-old vessel that had seen more action than a prostitute on Solaris VII. The Captain was impressed, and offered me a job flying for his unit. The Legionnaires turned out to be a decent enough operation, although they seemed to be running on a horrendously bad streak of luck. Lately, the contracts had dried up, and many of us grunts wound up having to moonlight to make up for the loss in pay. And now, I had before me a guy who was down on his luck and looking for anything he could get his hands on to put a few credits in his pocket and a meal in his stomach. A situation I was intimately familiar with.
"Look, I can't promise you anything, but I can at least get you patched up. We've got a Mister Handy robot we've loaded with some TriageROMS that can...well...it can at least prevent you from...getting any worse. Our compound is down on Hope Street. I can give you a lift if you need a ride."
The aching in my nose hadn't subsided, I was sure of that. However, the very thought of some motion in my life eased the pain. Maybe I couldn't get a job, but at the very least I could end up with a connection or two.
I still couldn't decide who exactly 'we' was supposed to be though. From the way Hobson talked and walked I would have taken him for some rich-off gun-for-hire. He had mentioned, though, he was stuck doing taxi work, which meant that whatever outfit he was gunning for wasn't worth much more than the tasteless drinks of this hut. I needed a place to sit down, to call home. A job, no, a career. A life.
Even if he couldn't get me that, anywhere was better than here. Plus he was offering a free lift. It would be rude to have turned down such an offer, right?
Slowly climbing up out of the bench, I nodded my head. "Alright, yeah, a lift sounds great." I grabbed another napkin as we shuffled our way towards the exit. I never knew how small a bloody nose could feel as my life started down this new, unfamiliar path.
“Alright then Bonesy, let’s see what this does for you...” I withdrew my head from the torso casing of the construct and flicked off the handheld flashlight. ‘Sawbones,’ the Legionnaires’ antiquated and often malfunctioning medical construct, lay prone on the bench before me, tracks whirring forlornly in the air and its multitude of appendages spread about it in an eclectic fashion.
There you go; two choice words for just about everything in this compound - Antiquated and malfunctioning. I like to do things with my hands though, y’know? Fix things, refit things, build things. Often it’s just a comfort thing, something to keep my hands busy while I mull things over. But in a situation like this, with nearly everything mechanical, electrical or computational on the blink, it becomes quite a handy habit to have.
In this instance, however, there was a more directed and ultimately self-serving goal in mind. I’d returned to my quarters, head still afire with thoughts and worries, the early evenings’ events playing and replaying through my unconscious mind. My conscious mind, of course, had been engaged with the nightly dilemma; risk my life trying to rustle up some chow for myself - or risk my life in the mess hall trying to coax a meal out of the autovendor. The lateral frame of mind that the occurrences and plans of the day had put me in, combined with the lack of appeal from either choice, had convinced me to revive a shelved project from the preceding month – Teach Bonesy to cook.
I’d acquired some program feeds for and older class of chef-construct that I was reasonably sure Sawbones (an older 443SATA Surgical-And-Triage-Aid unit) would be compatible with, along with autovendor preparation data (recipes) that I hoped its many limb-attachments could be tasked to prepare (I’d had to appropriate several of these from our own Autovend system on the sly, including my personal favourite; warm beef stew ). For the last hour, by myself in the block designated as our medbay (it was only ever frequented by myself and the Captains, anyway), I had worked diligently under the bright fluorescent lights to install these new routines into our one and only semi-competent on-site surgeon.
I bolted the access panel back into place made sure everything was in a semblance of order, before I slid my arms underneath and heaved the heavy chassis off the retasked surgical table, standing it gingerly on the hard tiling. I gave a deep, apprehensive breath and held it as I clicked the heavy old switch underneath the sensor suite. Nothing happened. Then, with a sudden click and buzz that surprised me, the optical sensor lit up in the semblance of life and Sawbones' torso whipped around in a quick three-hundred-and-sixty degree spin. It stopped when it caught sight of me, and regained its’ composure before executing a quick bend of the chassis that approximated a bow. “Модель робота господина Полезн хирургическая 443SATA дальше. Развертка начиная системы. Предупреждение: обнаруженное изменение системы. Опорожненная гарантированность. Пожалуйста свяжитесь обслуживание клиента RobCo для помощи.”
Great. Just when you think you’ve done it all, and are just about ready for some hearty beef stew, the bucket of bolts starts speaking tongues. Just my luck, make no mistake.
"Пожалуйста заявите природу медицинской аварийной ситуации - " With no better ideas, I snatched up the ratcheted bolt-wrench I’d used to remove its casing and primly clubbed the robot in the hump where the CPU resided. Its extra-lingual rant cut short, and the lights behind its optics flickered momentarily. There was a pregnant pause, during which I considered giving it another for good measure. Then it looked up at me and started speaking good, honest English. “Oh, Greetings Lieutenant Braddock. I didn’t see you there. “ I smiled as it began to boot up its other primary systems, tracks whirring and appendages extending and retracting at random. It gave a sudden sharp beep, and addressed me again. “I regret to inform you, sir, that your recent unregistered upgrade to my hardware has voided the warranty.”It paused in an almost human display of hesitation.“...Please don’t hit me again.” I laughed, and put the wrench back down on the bench in the least-threatening manner I could manage. Sawbones, meanwhile, began to potter around the surgical table, searching for things to diagnose as per his primary function. I watched it for a few moments, alert for any abnormal (well, more erratic than usual) behaviour. Satisfied, I reasoned that a test of his new abilities was in order. “Bonesy – Meal Number #32 – Beef Stew, Prepare and Serve.” The construct perked up and swivelled in my direction, and after a few seconds whirring, replied. “Unable to comply. I’m sorry, sir. Approximate raw material required – 1kg of consumption-grade meat-product.” Ah. I knew I’d forgotten something. Trust me to go through all this, only to forget that in order to cook food, one needs food in the first place. Before I could reason through this conundrum any further, I was interrupted by the door clanging open and a pair of men stepping through into the medbay. I looked around expecting to see Captains Maxwell and Wolf, but instead was greeted by Sergeant Hobson leading a complete stranger. “Evening, sir.” Hobbes spoke genially. He was a likeable person, and had a strong down-to-earth sensibility that I found commanded trust.“I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I’ve just brought you a patient – This man here ended up snorting some other drunkards’ fist at the Starship Cantina, and I offered him a little help.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Bringing every brawler at the bar who gets himself snotted isn’t going to copy down well with MRBC HMOs, you know Sergea-“ I was cut off by Bonesy, who’d noticed the injured man was attempting to examine him closely. The man was eyeing the inquisitive little bot warily and backing away. “Scan completed. Fracture pattern in nasal cartilage concurrent with a hypothesised delivery of several kilograms of focussed impact pressure. Been fighting, have we sir?” The newcomer bumped into the wall. He’d backed up as far as he could, and now Sawbones had his quarry cornered. Hobson and I watched the exchange mutely. I was used to his antics, Hobson somewhat less so. We both found it amusing. The newcomer looked at us imploringly as Bonesy prodded him with several extended arms. “Recommended treatment – Setting of fractured cartilage with nasal splint, combined with shots of Coaguline and anti-inflammatory. I am qualified to apply. Please lie down on an appropriate surface. I recommend the bench to your right, sir.” The man glanced, worried, at Hobson. Hobson looked at me. I sighed and nodded at the man. “Go ahead. I’m sure Bonesy can handle something this simple in short order.” He switched his gaze to me for a moment longer, then nodded and made his way to the bench without a word. Sawbones followed him, whirring and beeping in an excitable manner. “Care to introduce us, Hobson?” I asked, sweeping my arm grandly towards the newcomer. The Sergeant took a moment to pull his words together and spoke. “His name is Callahan, Lance Callahan. Pulled him out a scrap he’d inadvertently started with a careless spill. A bit of a wanderer, but he’s in New Foundation looking for work.” “Work, is it? Is he hoping to join our merry little band? Speaking of which, you should see the man we had in here earlier – A full-blooded Clanner, signing on with this small-time outfit. That’s something new, I don’t mind telling you.” Hobson raised an eyebrow at this.“Signs of the times, Lieutenant? Everyone’s going it a bit rough these days. I me-“ He was interrupted by a yelp of pain that sounded tinged with fear. We both swung around to see the man Callahan trying to push one of Sawbones' flailing appendages away from his face. His nose was wedged nicely into a metal ‘v’ splint, but it looked like Bonesy wasn’t finished yet. It gave a sudden quiver and its optics flickered again. “Suitable meat product located,”it chimed out, prodding the bloody raw mess of Callahans’ nose and receiving a more disgruntled yelp this time,“Lieutenant Braddock, does your ‘Prepare and Serve’ directive for ‘Meal Number #32 – Beef Stew’ still apply?” I hurriedly crossed the intervening distance and slapped the bots’ off switch whole-handed. Bonesy immediately went limp, balancing on its tracks as its optics dimmed to nothing. I felt two pairs of eyes staring very intently at me. It was high time to get those two out of here. “Well Mr Callahan, your nose is looking better already! How are you feeling? Sergeant, why don’t you take him down to the mess hall for some grub, before it gets too late? If you’re still interested in applying, I’m sure you can find Corporal Schuster somewhere around there...” My verbal tirade drifted to an end as I herded them out of the doorway and closed it behind them with a soft clank. I turned back around and took in the inert form of Sawbones... Suddenly, a quick meal from the mess hall didn’t seem quite so terrible – at least for tonight.
Pushing open the door again, boots thunking gently on the solid flooring, I walked after Sergeant Hobson towards the mess.
The new voice broke the reflective silence that Wolf and I were mired in, and caused me to look toward the door. There, leaning on the door frame, with Mark Hobson and a stranger who looked like he'd been in a fistfight with an Elemental in tow, was Lieutenant Braddock.
"Beg your pardon?"
"I'll be piloting a Catapult. More precisely, the old, dust-covered one we've got parked in the back of the hangar. That is, if the techs can get the fusion core fired up. It's been sitting in storage for eight months."
I nodded a simple affirmation. The Lieutenant's show of support spoke for itself.
"And what about you?" I already knew Hobson's answer. He just needed to say it.
"Well, provided I can get the Thorin into orbit and docked with the JumpShip without it flying apart - and that's a big if - count me in."
"With respect, sir, when is the soonest my Marauder can be transported here?"
The voice came from the rear of the group. As Talus and the newcomer stepped aside, Alex Thorn, accompanied by Corporal Schuster, strode into the cafeteria.
"Give the details to Mister Schuster, and we can send a flatbed out tonight. I presume it is planetside?" I inquired. Thorn nodded an affirmation.
We might just be able to pull this off...
I looked toward the newcomer.
"I don't believe we've been introduced," I began, extending a hand. "I'm Captain Benjamin Maxwell. Will you be joining us on our little foray? At this point, we can take all the guns we can get."
It had been little over twenty minutes since I left the hotel. I decided to read over the forged papers I had received earlier. The bus shelter we were sitting in provided enough shelter to stop the documents from getting wet.
The reports detailed a fairly average background on myself. I had graduated from a fairly average and unheard of mercenary school with slightly better-than-average grades. It was exactly what I wanted. If I had over sold myself to whatever mercenary unit I was going to eventually join, it would have look suspicious. I also decided to keep my real name on the documents because, simply put, I was a terrible liar. If I started making up an over complicated background story and false name, I could easily have slipped up. The best way to hide, in this case at least, was to hide in plain view.
My eyes scanned through the details until something caught my attention. Under the 'dependants' heading read 'Near Kintaro'.
“... Near?” I looked up and watched as the child stared deeply into the rain. “What a strange name to choose...”
I continued to read the paragraph. It read 'Relation – adopted son...'
“Hmm... that could cause an issue...” It was only a minor issue, but if discovered, it could blow my cover wide open. If the mercenary unit I decided to join read their local newspapers, they would more than likely hear about the break in at the orphanage. If they had a brain cell between then, they could easily put two and two together. With Bill out of the picture, there was no way I could get this changed now. My only option was to go with the flow.
“Well at least I have a name for you now. Near Kintaro...” I said, watching as the kid stuck his hand out into the rain. His eyes were staring intently as the droplets hit and ran off his skin. “... a strange name for a strange kid...”
I caught off guard as my mobile device sounded loudly. I flipped open the screen and saw I had one new message. It simply read 'Order's up! Vivi G'. At last. Some good news.
“Come on Near... we're going to visit a friend of ours.”
_____________________
“What took so long, handsome!?” Echoed a sweet and husky voice. Vivian Green, or Vivi G to her friends, owned a warehouse just on the outskirts of town. On the outside, Vivi G ran a small motor shop, working on various vehicles and mechs. It fronted real grease monkey work. In her spare time, however, Vivi G enjoyed doing favours for her friends. I just happened to be within her circle of trust.
“Have you seen the weather outside?” I called back, scanning the area and finding no sign of her. The warehouse was large and contained a couple flat bed trucks for unloading and transporting large vehicles, several vehicles with their hoods up and their insides being tinkered on and overshadowing everything else were three mechs, all stationed in their births. To my right, a set of sturdy stairs led to an over head office and to a balcony that led to the mech births (or the 'mech deck' as Vivi liked to call it).
“Doesn't mean you couldn't have taken a cab, space ninja...” She chuckled, making here appearance in the door frame to the over head office. “Step into my office – we have business to attend to...”
Vivi's office was a real throw back to the older days. Pictures of muscle cars from the 1950's coated the walls. Diagrams to long obsolete engines and blue prints to retro dashboard components replaced pin ups of super models and their kind.
Vivi was a real sucker for anything with four wheels and an engine So great was her passion, that it had landed her in some serious debt with serious people. When she couldn't pony up the cash, the debt collectors decided to take out their frustrations on her face. Fortunately she still has one working eye. The second time she couldn't repay her debt, they force her right arm into a mechanical press. The third and final time she couldn't afford the money, I just happened to walk by. She never heard from them again and hence my summoning here. She wanted to return the favour to saving her life.
“Want a beer?” She said, slinging herself into her office swivel chair. She grasped at the mini fridge door handle with her artificial limb, revealing several cans of cheap booze.
“I'll pass this time. I don't want to be drank under the table again.” I declined, causing a wide smirk to cross her face.
“Suit yourself honey...” She replied, sticking her boots on the nearby desk and opening the can. “I'd offer the little guy one, but he doesn't look the drinking type...”
“Har-har.” I replied sarcastically. Near had taken fancy to a small model car on Vivi's desk. Rather than pick it up and play with it, he rested his nose in the edge of the table and measured it up with his eyes, scanning the dimensions and thoroughly inspecting the detail. G had noticed this herself and raised an eyebrow.
“You sure have strange friends space ninja!”
“You don't want to know the half of it...” I said, taking a seat across from her. I sunk into the couch and felt as if I could drift off to sleep.
“I can imagine!” She paused to let out an unapologetic belch. “Onto business! First off, I couldn't get exactly what you wanted. The only STG-6S I could find was no good. The previous pilot had overused the MASC system too much and caused the actuators to seize.”
“Hmm, not good.”
“I did, however, managed to get hold of a STG-6L. If you can get hold of an ECM suite, you can make use of the on board stealth armour. Otherwise, you'll have to wait a couple weeks before my contacts can get hold of one.”
“Unfortunately I'm pressed for time. I'll take what you've got and come back for the ECM suite when you have it in stock.”
“Okay. I'll let you know as soon as I have that.” She said, taking another mouthful of beer. “I have some good news and some bad news though.”
“Go on...” I grimaced.
“First off, don't take this personally, but in order to get these things 'under the radar' I had to think out side of the box. I outsourced to some people on the black market I had never worked with before. That way it made sure the mech would be completely untraceable. I can say that the two medium lasers are top of the range. The movement and limb actuators are also in great condition. That's the good news. Now, aside from the missing ECM suite, someone didn't seal the cockpit correctly...”
“And?”
“And... the cockpit kind of got damp. Mould set in pretty deep and ruined several instrumental panels. Certain things work and others don't. For instance... the ejector seat's a no go.”
“Jeez Vivi, I might as well pilot a a giant bulls eye!”
“You did said the merc thing was only a cover – are you actually going to go on missions?”
“It will be just a cover, but I'm fairly sure that, from time to time, I'll have to do a job that I'm paid to do!”
“Look...” She sighed, hunching forward in her seat. “... I'm sorry I couldn't get anything better and I know I owe you more than that... I really did try my best with this Kintaro.”
I laid back into the couch some more and let out a sigh. She really was being genuine.
“I know you did your best. Sorry if I was sounding a little ungrateful. I've just had a lot on my mind recently...”
“Its okay. I cant even begin to imagine what you've been through already.” She said, reaching over to her desk and pulling out a small flyer. “I do have this though. I've found you a mercenary unit that's worth looking into.”
I caught the flyer she tossed to me and unravelled it.
Out of the boiling pot and into the flame. So much happened in so short a time. Not even a day ago, I'd never even been to this part of the city. Now the man in charge of a mercenary outfit wanted me to pick up a gun and run headlong into... something. What had I gotten myself into?
Hobson was a good guy, and if this base were any indication, these guys could use all the help they could get. From the moment I walked in, I could tell things were bad. The constant pitter-patter of the leaking roof was only the beginning. Some of the cracks were so large I wasn't sure how the building was still standing. I had spotted two or three doors that looked bolted shut; I could only imagine what those housed. Don't even get me started on that medical machine... more like a death machine! One second longer and that thing would have ripped my nose off. Of course, I did owe it for that painfully uncomfortable slice of metal that was stiffening my nose back into position. And besides, that work table nearby that was littered with all sorts of fancy electronics and tools proved that the man was to blame, not the machine.
That was two I owed these people now. I'm pretty sure going with them would count as a lot more than two. Plus, I had asked for a job. Hobson followed through, that's for sure. Not that it was much of a job. But, it was a start. Who knew what life would bring for me.
Then again... I'd never even held a gun before. And these guys were talking about 'Mechs! And Hobson, was he the pilot? Flying a JumpShip? What could they possibly want me to do, throw sticks at big walking robots? I was young, I had a life to live. Yeah right. That life involved throwing my knowledge to the big dogs, getting eaten up simply for their self-serving mindsets. I needed something, and this was... something. Maybe I couldn't pilot a 'Mech, or fly a ship or shoot a gun. But I could learn. That's what made me who I was, that's what got me through school. I wasn't born a genius. I earned what I was, I studied hard to get where I was. If mercenary work is what a Doctorate gets you, then so be it. I just hoped they had something for me, I couldn't make a 'Mech show up out of my back pocket. And then what would it be? Something with lots of tonnage, or may...
My thoughts trailed off as I realized how much time had passed since the Captain had introduced himself. I looked up from my imagination to find the group staring, patiently waiting. Strangely enough, it didn't seem awkward. I even swore the Captain had some sort of glint in his eye, as if... as if he was reading my mind. It must have been my imagination, nothing else, but still. I could tell, this was where I needed to be. These were my kind of people.
I finally put my hand out, firmly shaking the Captain's.
"Nice to meet you Captain, I'm Lance Callahan. Mr. Hobson here pulled me out of the thick back at the Cantina, and brought me by for a quick hook-up for my nose.
As for 'all the guns you can get,' the way I see, I owe you and Mr. Hobson. Picking up a gun is the least I could do, but... I've never picked up a gun in my life."
"I might have just screwed up," I murmered to Alex Thorn, who stood beside me with an impassive look on his face. "I don't know that we have the time to teach this guy everything he needs to know."
Thorn cast a disapproving gaze at me, steely eyes seeming to penetrate every layer of my being and sending a chill down my spine.
"There is always time,"the Clan warrior fired back, his voice hovering just above a whisper."Allow me to craft him into the warrior he needs to be."
Bits and pieces of the conversation betweeen Callahan and Captain Maxwell registered in my head as I took in the magnitude of the statement Thorn had just made. The new recruit's background sounded about as bland as the AutoVendor's half-assed attempt at the cup of coffee I now gripped in my hand. Something about a Doctorate in something or other - I didn't catch what it was. First place in a fine-arts competition on Sheratan - what the hell was this guy doing in New Foundation?
"Provided he survives the interview," I whispered back, "I think you're gonna have your work cut out for you."
I watched as the scene unfolded before me. Sergeant Hobson shared his concern with me, and I too felt some concern for someone who had never lifted a gun in his life joining us. The man continued to give his accomplishments. In Clan society his achievements would make a science caste member bow in reverence but make a warrior caste member scoff. I was ready to take on the challenge of training him if Captain Maxwell permitted me to.
"I will have him ready. If my kind can train children then he should be no problem," I whispered to Hobson. He still showed great concern in his eyes, but I nodded, letting him know that all would be well. Captain Maxwell nodded slowly as he listened to this Lance. One thing I noticed about the Captain was that he was always calm. Something in his eyes showed that he knew the dangers of Lance joining, yet there was a fire that showed that he could trust the man to learn and become a great warrior, and a powerful asset to the Legionnaires.
Politely excusing myself from the cafeteria, I walked down the crumbling hall which led from the mortuary-turned-dining area, and stepped into the foyer. There were enough people vying for Captain Maxwell's attention at the moment, and I had other matters to attend to if we really were looking at dusting off in just a matter of days - or even hours. I had overheard Hobson's whispered conversation with Thorn, and even though I had the utmost respect for his skill, and even found in him a trust to the point of letting him room with me, I still wondered if he could pull a miracle out of his hat. It was only a matter of days to the Tau Ceti IV jump point, and from there, we would be jumping directly to Saffel. That gave him very little time to transform a Rhodes Scholar into a front-line grunt. I just hoped he didn't intend to try and teach the guy how to pilot a BattleMech. You can't learn that overnight.
I sat on the edge of the counter in the foyer, and took a glance at the ROM the Clan warrior had given me containing the whereabouts of his Marauder IIC. He'd stored it in a warehouse down at the Capital's spaceport, which gave me a subtle sense of relief - I didn't really want to have to fight my way through street thugs and marauding tech pirates in some god-forsaken ghetto just to go retrieve a hunk of hardware - a very valuable hunk of hardware, mind you, but hardware nonetheless. I had a feeling we'd be doing plenty of that once we made planetfall.
I leaned back, and listened to the patter of raindrops on the building, mixed with the wet 'plops' of water leaking through its many cracks. Hopefully Thorn would be along soon enough. I wasn't about to try transporting a Clan BattleMech on my own.
I felt my confidence running short. Everything seemed so heavily reliant on this 'skill' that I lacked. Sure, I had knowledge, but experience was an irreplaceable part of a powerful unit. I'd never touched a gun before, and they all seemed... dumbfounded by that. I was just a normal citizen... sort of.... living a normal life... sort of. Well, even if I wasn't so normal, I wasn't THEIR kind of crazy. Or was I?
The conversation drifted forward, but my mouth was rambling without my conscious effort. I only caught a handful of comments as they passed between us.
"A Doctorate, yes. Been off-world for quite a few experiments, as well. Even had a couple of mercenary security units in 'Mechs guard me on occasion. So, I've seen action. From the third person. Not that hard to learn, though. I can tell you the workings of a 'Mech's fusion reactor. It's only a step up from there to control it and all its parts."
Maxwell didn't seem to like it. At least he didn't let on if he did. That glint hadn't left his eyes though, perhaps the only piece of confidence I had to live off. I desperately needed a job, and this... this might just be a welcome change of pace. It really couldn't be too hard to drive a 'Mech, right? Not with all I knew. I'd studied the workings of 'Mechs. Half my classes were based around the technology of today. I probably knew more about how a 'Mech worked than these guys did. Right?
I had to sell it though, had to let him know I was willing to work for it. I'll push myself as hard as I have to. I'll make it work. A 'Mech. I'd show them, I could prove to them that I'd drive that thing better than any of them could! Eventually... it would take time, no doubt. But I'd do it, I'd be the best MechWarrior on the planet, no the Universe! Just give me a chance, just give me some time.
"Even if I have to start low, a simple mechanic. An aerospace fighter, maybe, I've touched based with those a bit. I mean, not the fighting kind, but some of the simpler craft.
Actually, one time I had an experiment with one of those fighters. I took one up into the atmosphere and had to do some crazy maneuvers. We were measuring the effects of the drag forces against a new style of wing we'd just put on..."
I'm not sure how long my tangent lasted before Maxwell froze my tongue with a risen hand.
The rain, until now only a perpetual background drumming through layers of solid building, immediately began soaking me the moment I stepped out of the threshold and down the step. I pulled my jacket tight and buttoned up the front, hunching over to catch the worst of the deluge on my shoulders. The thick soles of my boots slapped out a wet staccato rhythm in the numberless rivulets coursing over every square inch of the ferrocrete surfacing.
It was all very noir, wasn’t it? All that was missing was the streetlamp, some dank piano undertones, and perhaps a stylish hat for myself. My mood was similarly dark. While Captain Maxwell was the CO (well, one of), it was clear that even he had doubts about this latest scheme. I could tell that he was second-guessing himself, looking for a measure of approval and support from everyone around him. I know I would. To that end, I’d made a show of throwing my support behind him back in the mess hall, for his benefit as much as that of the various new fish who had been present. When I’d first signed on with this unit, after that year or so wandering in a daze, I’d made the decision to throw my lot in with them. I’d made the decision to stand beside them when they needed it. If that meant putting aside personal worries and experiences to present a self-assured face to a team that needed it, then that’s what they’d have. It didn’t mean I could discount or assuage my own concerns entirely, though. But I had confidence. In myself, and in the unit. Take it from me – that can account for a whole lot.
I reached the closest entry to an old administration block, retooled and designated as company quarters. A few lights were still on this late, although many of these would have been low-wattage guidance bulbs, kept burning at all hours. Although it was only a relatively short distance that separated it from the mess hall, the prevailing rain had already saturated my hair and run down inside the jacket, dampening the fatigue shirt underneath. The indifferent grey sky still churned and tossed like an inverted sea, although the clouds were now barely visible in the cloaked light of this planets' single moon. I hopped quickly up the ‘crete slab of the landing and under the old buildings’ eaves, reducing the rain abruptly to noise once more. Without fresh water coursing over and around me, the constant wind began to chill me, the cold sinking into my skin as the water was wicked away. I quickly yanked open the door, to its groaning protest, and slipped through into the markedly warmer interior. With one hand deftly unbuttoning the jacket with movements practiced a thousandfold times over the years, booted feet treading lighter and slower now, I made my way along the first floor hall to the buildings’ stairwell and ascended.
First thing tomorrow, I promised myself. First thing tomorrow I’d head to the warehouses and get that Catapult out of storage. Rope some techs into give me a hand with the diagnostics. Get her over to the ‘Mechbay for some no doubt necessary upkeep. See what could be improved.
The door to my quarters had an old, nautical looking bolt that took both hands to draw open while I eased my feet out of their loosened boots. They could drip dry in the corridor while I saw to the rest of me. Immediately inside I took off the jacket and hung it by the doorway, the triple shooting-star of insignia of the Starponies’ now facing out across the room from its’ back. I absently brushed droplets of rainwater from it with the flat of my hand.
Tomorrow we’ll sort things out. Tomorrow we’ll set things up. Tomorrow we’ll begin our work in earnest. But tonight, tonight I needed to sleep on it.
My quarters were a curious (to outsiders, of course) mix of the fastidiously tidy and the rampantly eclectic. I pulled the damp fatigue-tee over my head and threw it in a small spare footlocker (which was already missing its lid) I had appropriated for organising my laundry. Stepping lightly over another footlocker and past an alcove housing a small desk and an ITAC unit, I faced the squat military bunk. Unmade, naturally.
Tomorrow, I could feel, would be the start of a new existence for the Legionnaires. A new lease on life for myself. First things first, though. Sleep, and dreams.
[Wasn't that a colourful bit of prose then, boys and girls? Makes an unusual change from remembering to change font colours.]
The cockpit opened with a struggled, ripping sound.
“Dear god...” I nearly muttered aloud.
“Don't look so grim handsome. It's not all bad news.” Vivian chirped, commenting on my grimacing face.
It was a shambles. The soft fabric seat had become bloated with mould. It's colour, whatever it had been before, was replaced with thick, dark green fur. Some of the metal dials had rusted slightly, some of them had a large build up of condensation on the inside of the glass panel and others had cracked from god-knows-what conditions this thing had been put through. And the smell! God, the smell! A fly would have thrown up in this thing.
“It's not?” I eventually replied. She enthusiastically climbed into the cockpit, ignoring the mould and decay.
“Well, for starters the two medium lasers are current generation and fairly new. Secondly, I took the functioning computer system and its components from the obsolete STG-6S and installed them into this one. You wont need to worry about the important things not working. Although that said, heat management will be a little bit more difficult...”
“Will I have to worry about actuators malfunctioning?”
“You shouldn't. The main things you need to watch out for are communication errors, synchronisation errors and short circuits. Oh, and whatever you do, don't be put into a position where you have to use the ejector seat!”
I stared in utter disbelief.
“Vivi – I cant pilot this thing! I mean, don't get me wrong, I know you did your best and everything, but what am I supposed to do on the field? Stand back and let everyone else do the fighting because I'm not quite equipped for the job?” Vivian smirked a little and raised an eyebrow. I sighed in frustration. “You know what I mean!”
“Well then, wait until I get it all fixed. I mean, it'll take a few months to-”
“That's too long. Besides, I don't have any place to stay.”
“Then stay with me. There's no rush...”
“I cant do that...” I sighed, sitting on the edge of the cockpit with my back to her. “If I did, I couldn't guarantee your safety.”
Vivi sat up in the cockpit seat, concern covering her face.
“You're in pretty deep aren't you?”
“It's probably best if you didn't know...” I said, looking back into the office. Near was still inspecting the model vintage car with avid attention. I felt her soft hand rub my shoulder.
“You know, for someone who saved my life, I'm doing a crappy job at returning you the favour, aren't I space ninja?” She said, causing a light chuckle to escape my lips.
“Don't say dumb things. You never owed me anything. I just needed a favour and you pulled through. If anything, I should be more grateful.” I replied, petting her hand lightly with my own. Though I couldn't see the warm smile spreading across her face, I knew it was there.
“When and where do you need this thing transported to?”
“Ideally today, tomorrow at the latest, to the Legionnaire compound. I'm going to speak with them in about an hour. If what you've told me is correct, they should be in dire need of a spare wheel like me.”
“Well, I'll tell you what space ninja. If you get accepted, I'll deliver this thing to you first thing tomorrow morning. By then, I'll have figured out a manual work around for this ejector seat. I'll also throw in a few pine fresheners to cover the smell of old people this cockpit reminds me off.” She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, resting her head next to mine. Her cold metal embrace reminded me how grateful she was to still be alive.
“I suppose it'll do...” I jokingly replied. “Make sure its 'fresh pine scent' and not 'new mech scent'...”
“Idiot... you're supposed to sound more appreciative!”
Legionnaires' Compound Outskirts of New Foundation Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) - April 14, 3067 ____________________________________
"Thank you, Mister Callahan. Your background and qualifications make for an enviable resume. The only question I have is - what in the hell are you doing here?"
I already knew why. The rocket-scientist-wannabe was in the same quagmire as everyone else in this godforsaken galaxy. Too many applicants, not enough jobs to go around. He'd probably cycled through three, maybe even four dozen star systems looking for work that was better-suited to him, and had just as likely been turned down. The reasons were probably many, and as always, trivial. Better-qualified (read: better-connected) applicants had ousted him at one turn, and those willing to work for less than the going rate for a Doctorate had bested him at another. In desparation, he ended up where everyone with a pocketful of credentials but few credits to bribe with does - in some smokey dive stepping on the wrong guy's toes, and catching hell for it. If Hobson hadn't been in the right place at the right time, Callahan probably would have ended up in jail - or even dead. I knew the newcomer wasn't prepared for what he was about to get himself into - it was obvious when he'd walked in with his nose held together with a bent piece of steel that looked like something Sawbones yanked off a wall socket. But I also could see in him that he was willing to do whatever it took to survive - and that meant willing to learn. The drive to succeed, at any cost, shone in his eyes with a firey desparation. Callahan knew that this was his last, and best shot at avoiding having his young life cut terribly short - and perhaps, I detected, the chance to beat some manner of unfathomable legacy that had haunted him from a very early age.
"I suppose it's because it was meant to be,"Callahan replied, a tone of simplistic honesty coloring his words. I knew the answer was a cop-out, but I let it go, because deep down, there were forces at work far greater than he - or anyone with even a modicum of humility - would want to expose to someone who, for all intents and purposes, represented a near-total stranger.
"Fair enough," I nodded. "Welcome aboard. As you seem to have already struck up a good relationship with our Mister Hobson, go ahead and get set up in his spare bunk. Mister Thorn here," I continued, gesturing toward the Clan warrior, who stood near the doorway, his hulking form casting imposing shadows in the uneven lighting, "has volunteered to teach you everything you need to know about not getting killed. Learn from him. And do it quickly. We dust off in 48 hours. After that it's only a matter of days to Saffel."
And our rendezvous with destiny...
A momentary look of surprise crossed Alex's face at his realization that I had overheard his comments, but it was quickly replaced with a resolute nod.
Legionnaires' Compound Outskirts of New Foundation Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) - April 16, 3067 0500 Hours ____________________________________
The grating, shrill buzz of my alarm clock slashed through the warm embrace of my peaceful slumber like a katana at a Kuritan meet & greet. An open-palmed slap, delivered by the most conscious part of my body, elicited the alarm clock's silence, as well as its ensuing ricochet off the far bulkhead. Bleary-eyed, I slowly woke, glancing out the window and making note of the same relentless downpour that had been plaguing us for the better part of three days.
What a fucking wonderful day to fly...
As I slid to the floor, my feet landing on ice-cold ferrocrete momentarily before transitioning to a pair of bedroom slippers, I noticed that the lower bunk, occupied by Lance Callahan, was already vacant and meticulously made.
Does that guy ever sleep?
Shrugging on a robe with the slogan 'My Other Car is a DropShip' loudly printed on its back, I stumbled into the attached bathroom, one of the few concessions to comfort in the compound, and went about my morning hygine ritual, before at last emerging and making my way down the corridor to the mess hall, dressed and pressed, but only marginally awake.
A boom of thunder heralded my arrival in the retrofitted morgue, where Talus was already seated, eating a breakfast that looked suspiciously well-prepared. Had I been more conscious, I might have made a comment about it. But that wasn't happening this morning.
"Morning," I mumbled, shuffling over to the AutoVendor and mashing the selection screen for 'black coffee' followed by 'peaches and cream oatmeal.' As the contraption began filling a mug with watery-looking brown liquid, while simultaneously regurgitating a substance resembling gorilla vomit into a bowl, I glanced toward the seated Lieutenant.
"Did you manage to get that Catapult aboard? I heard the techs had a hell of a time with a couple of the 'Mechs last night."
The look on the fellow's face said everything I needed to know. Breakfast was to be skipped. Whatever putrid sludge the automatic food slot was dispensing for the morning meal didn't appear to be fit for vermin, let alone humans. No, it was definitely a fortified protein pack sort of day. There were definitely plenty of those to go around, along with ancient MREs, and a duplicate autovendor on board the Thorin. Maybe I'd try my luck with that one. One thing was for sure though: after a long night of loading uncooperative Mechs and support materials aboard what amounted to a garbage scow with fusion drives had left me angling for a shower. I figured that might just be the best option at the moment.
“Well, here goes…” I muttered, standing outside the Legionnaire compound. The heavy rain had begun to subside slightly and had become a cold, lazy drizzle. Even the rain got tired and weary in this city. I anxiously pressed the intercom button and a loud buzz rang out. After a moments pause, an exhausted voice replied.
“… Hello?”
It was now my time to shine. No going back now.
“Yes, hello sir. My name is Kazuki Kintaro. I have transfer papers from the MRBC. I need to speak with whoever is in command.” I said loudly and clearly as a gust of wind caused a nearby puddle ripple violently and kick up water onto my already damp clothes. After a brief pause, the gate next to me strained and groaned before shifting an entire inch.
“Damn…” The person on the intercom sighed. “You’ll have to walk to the front entrance. We have problems with the gate.”
“Understood!” I replied.
______________________
“I trust you found the entrance okay?” The gentleman said as he took a sip of what I presumed was coffee from a Styrofoam cup. He grimaced at the bitter taste and it seemed he had almost regretted drinking it in the first place. I nodded and was about to reply before the man introduced himself.
“Captain Maxwell – how can I help?”
“Mechwarrior Kazuki Kintaro. I have transfer papers from the MRBC. I am to be assigned to this unit effective immediately…” I lied, handing over the false documents. Maxwell put his coffee aside on the empty reception desk and, after wiping his clammy hands dry, grasped the papers. He flicked through them back and forth.
“You asked to come here?” He questioned. I decided to reply with a smile and take it as a rhetoric question. He continued to read over my dossier, briefly running his eyes over the paragraphs.
“It says here you have a child?”
“Yes sir – adopted.” I said, watching as Maxwell raised an eyebrow. Near was stood behind me by the enterance door, staring up at a flickering light.
“It says you need onsite accommodation. Does that mean your son will be staying here?”
“Well, we’ve only just arrived here sir and –"
“Listen, we don’t run a baby sitting service here, mechwarrior.”
“He’s thirteen Captain – he doesn’t need baby sitting. He just needs a roof over his head for now…” I replied. This wasn’t looking good...
*Please note this is taking place on April 14th whereas the current time frame is April 16th. If theres a problem, let me know and I'll edit my post!*
Legionnaires' Compound Outskirts of New Foundation Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) - April 15, 3067 2100 Hours _____________________________________________
As I made my way into the bowels of one of the lesser dilapted buildings within the compound, I reflected on our current state of affairs. Within the last couple of days we had gained three new members to our merry little band of mercenaries, not an uncommon thing in this day and age, but when considering the state of our finances it was interesting. Two of the new recruits looked real promising, the Clan warrior Alex Thorn, despite having failed his Trial of Position, was definately a much needed asset. Just looking at the improvement he'd made with our new egghead buddy in the past 2 days was impressive, not to mention the fact that he also had a Marauder IIC in good working order. The other promising recruit was a fellow named Kazuki Kintaru, he definately had some quirks about him and there was just something that didnt quite sit right about him. Its not that I didnt like the man it just felt like he was hiding something or maybe someone, I wasn't really sure. He seemed to get along very well with everyone, and he was a capable 'mech pilot, even if they Stinger he possessed had clearly seen much better days. The third recruit was the intelligent Lance Callahan, while he quite literally had no combat experience, let alone training, when he arrived he had made some amazing improvements in such a short time. Under the guidance of Alex Thorn he now was semi-competant in general combat, he knew how to fire a gun and, thanks in large part to his experience through some experiments of his, he could almost pilot a 'mech. God knows I wouldn't want him in one for combat, but he could at least keep it upright and walking, that was a start.
My thoughts trailed off as I neared my objective, having descended the last set of metal stairs, the old wooden ones leading to the basement had long since rotten away and been replaced by these now rusty metal ones, I grimaced slightly as one of the few remaining flourescents flickered madly before going out for good.
Add another thing to the to-do list around here,I thought shaking my head. Stepping through the doorway into much better lighting I spotted Chief Engineer MacRae elbows deep into a mess of wires and machinery sticking out the side of a large pod like structure.
"Hey Scotty, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" I called out good-naturedly.
"Got myself into? I'm pretty sure it was you that wanted this bucket of bolts set up down here. Bloody thing is on the fritz again, everytime I try to hook up some new storage for it it goes off."
"Well can't you just beat it with a wrench or something?" I chuckled, as Scott whipped around looking at me like I was talking about blowing up a Brian's Cache or something.
"Hit it with a wrench you say? How about I use a Gauss Rifle to attach armor rivets to your 'mech. Or maybe you'd like me to clout you upside the head with a wrench, see if you can't think straight for a change."
"Woah, woah, slow down there Chief. I wasn't serious, at least not completely serious. Anyways, the reason I came down is to find out how come your still messing with this thing instead of upstairs in the 'mech bay making sure we get everything loaded on the Thorin."
"Bloody hell, that old thing needs to be loaded up tonight?" replied Scott as he began to turn back towards the mass of tangled wires still hanging half out of the simulation pod.
"Well preferably by midday tomorrow, which means tonight, if we're going to make it to the jumpship in time."
With a few more grumblings under his breath Scott leaned back into the partly disassembled sim pod and removed a pouch of tools from God knows where within the tangled mess. With a few quick strides he reached the workbench along the wall and deposited the tools there while he retrieved an "Out of Order" sign to stick to the side door of the pod. I wondered why he even bothered at first, but the considered the state of about half of the old machinary in the place and decided that a bundle of wires hanging out the side didnt necessarily mean it didnt work.
"Well let's get a move on, did you find out if that BattleMaster of yours is coming in from Outreach? Or are you sticking with the Thunderbolt?" asked the Chief as we re-entered the dimly lit corridor and made our way upstairs.
"Well I sent a message through the HPG a couple days back, there's just no way of getting it here before we have to lift off, but providing my parents don't run into any trouble getting transport for it we may be able to get it before we jump. I gave them all the data I could about our departure, encoded and referring to it as all merchant stuff of course, so they know the time frame to get it here. According to their last message, I just got it this morning, we lucked out, barring any unforseen issues they should have it off planet by now and on its way to one of two jumpships. One is heading here immediately, the other just happens to be heading past Saffel and was going to be stopping there or at Fomalhaut to recharge. If they can't make the time frame to get it here before we jump, they can meet us at Saffel's jump point and transfer the battlemech to us as cargo."
"How in the bloody hell, do you get so lucky with this shit? I mean I could try and get a piece of equipment as popular as a medium laser from Hesperus II and pay top notch dollar for it, including extra to speed up the shipping, and be lucky to get it inside a month half the time. But you, you make one little phone call to dear ol' Dad and bang he's knocking on your front door with a beautiful 'mech in a week."
"What can I say, my family is well connected, I've got ties to the Dragoons, faint as they may be, and my Dad made a lot of friends in the merchant sectors."
"Yeah, yeah."Scott said with a hearty chuckle.
By this time we were up the stairs and entering into the 'mech bay, or at least the large hanger-like building that had been refitted to serve as our 'mech bay. There was currently several tractors sitting near the entrance with their engines idling, two of which had battlemech's already loaded and strapped down while a third was currently in the process of getting Kintaru's Stinger loaded. A fourth tractor sat off to the side currently unattended but presumably being held for the old Catapult that was appeared to be in the warm up stages of its fusion reactor but was probably giving the techs some trouble having sat in storage for so long.
"Well I'm going to go see how many of these 'mech tractors the boys borrowed from New Foundations Starport, God knows we only had two of the damn things last time I was up here. If you want to get your Thunderbolt prepped for transport we should be good."called Scotty as he trotted off towards a group of techs around one of the loaded tractor transports.
New Foundation Spaceport New Foundation Tau Ceti IV (New Earth) - April 16, 3067 0600 Hours _____________________________________________
We had successfully managed to load just about every piece of equipment that we had that was operational and thought to be of use for this particular mission. There were still a few stragglers bringing up some more equipment or supplies, but the heavy activity at the spaceport that had lasted well into the morning hours had become nothing more than a slow trickle. Aside from seeing the old Catapult act likes it leg fell asleep or suddenly came down with a case of dead leg, the unloading of the Battlemech's and the reloading of them onto the Thorin was mostly uneventful, though I did hear that had a little more trouble with some of the stuff back at our compound. I say mostly because there was that one incident with the Stinger but that really wasn't his fault.
Rubbing a hand across my face I shook my head a bit to get the last of the sleepiness cleared from my mind. Having just spent the past 3 hours asleep half curled into the front seat of truck that seemed to be designed for a man at least a foot shorter than me, I was a little groggy and understandably stiff. Stretching my arms out to the back I began to make my way across to the nearest admin office on the space port grounds, smoothing out the wrinkles in my now day old fatigues to make myself a little more presentable.
Upon reaching the office door I give it a little pull but the door barely budges, checking my way I see that its 0615 hours and try to door again figuring that it should be open. Looking over to the side I see a small sign that says Hours above it, it reads
Hours of Operations 0700 - 1600 Mon thru Sat 0900 - 1400 Sun
Throwing my hands up in the air I turn around and mutter "Freaking figures," to nobody in particular and make my way back towards the Thorin to see what all was left to be loaded.
“Morning.”Sergeant Hobson muttered through a haze of sleep that was almost visibly obscuring his robed form.
He was eyeing my bacon. I was immediately on guard, sitting up straighter in my chair, squaring myself off against him. Not that he noticed. The part of my brain that was in charge of tense combat situations quickly took the lead, weighing up the pros and cons of knocking him out and trying to convince him he’d fallen down the stairs. Then the Good Samaritan in me spoke up and proposed that I offer him some out of laudable generosity. Finally my more mercenary, business minded lobe (the unassuming dark-horse of the lot), convinced me to make a compromise; sell the bacon to Hobson at a reasonable profit.
“Well, Sergeant. I’ll tell you what-“ “Did you manage to get that Catapult aboard? I heard the techs had a hell of a time with a couple of the 'Mechs last night."
He hadn’t noticed. That’s when you know things are rough, right? When you’re so sleep-taken that even well-grilled bacon passes you by. I wasn’t sure if I should be inwardly glad or disappointed.
Quickly aborting the clandestine operation, I shrugged my jacket away from my neck and adopted a more affable pose. There had indeed been all sorts of delays and troubles last night, although thankfully few of them were mine. “We did, eventually. I tell you, after we managed to get the reactor turning over again and I’d been walking her back and forth over the ‘Mechbay all day, I’d figured all the kinks had been worked out.” I took a pause there, wolfed a few slices of bacon and toast, and washed it down with a lukewarm caffeine hit. Hobson settled for rubbing his eyes again and sniffing half-heartedly at the forlorn-looking meal before him. He mumbled something that may have been an affirmation or a question. “Not a chance, apparently. We’d trucked it over to the starport in the second convoy, but when we reactivated it to take position in the Thorins' Mechbay, the myomers in the left knee joint must have seized up or been rendered inert somehow - nearly tripped the thing over! Now that’s something we could do without showing off in a public starport, I don’t mind telling you...” Hobson seemed to perk up after taking a sip from his drink, from the caffeine or the horror of ingesting the autovends’ creations I couldn’t tell. He leaned forward over the retasked mortuary table, making decent eye contact for the first time this morning. “You don’t know the half of it. Have you seen the weather this morning? Suffice to say the sky is on a roll. Not exactly the makings of a smooth ascent.” I nodded through another mouthful. I had seen the look of things outside. I’d been seeing it all night, having only just come back from a mere three hours sleep, one of which had been in the back of a Humvee at the starport (cold, and unexpectedly sharp). Still, after we had managed to coax the Catapult into moving again, we’d made fairly good progress. “Well, on the upwards spin of things, we managed to get most of it out of the way by o-three-hundred. I think Captain Wolf is still over at the starport making sure we get our clearance. All I’ve got to do is round up my carry-on luggage, and get Bonesy and the last few medical supplies over to the Thorins’ medbay.” Sometime during my turn at speaking, when I hadn’t been paying attention to him, Hobson had screwed up his face, pinched his nose and poured the bowl of oddly-spotted muck down his throat. At least that’s how I visualised it happening – like I said, I hadn’t seen him swallow it.
He cleared his throat noisily and stood, his chair squealing briefly on the flooring. He swayed a little on the spot. In a few seconds I downed the last of my breakfast and mirrored him, albeit with a bit more finesse, not being on the verge of unconsciousness as the sergeant was. “At any rate, I have a Humvee parked outside with Sawbones already stored in a footlocker in the back. After I run over to my quarters for some things and take a quick shower, I’ll be taking it on over to the starport if you want a lift.” He grunted in agreement and made a somewhat more revitalised attempt at shuffling for the exit. I watched him go for a few seconds, bemused, and then followed him out.
The two days I had to train Lance were filled with drills, shooting ranges, and several lectures. I could see in his eyes the first day that he really wanted to pilot a 'Mech, but I knew that with the time frame we were in and with the danger of the mission there would be no way to teach him that. I did however teach him the basics after convincing Captain Maxwell to let Lance rid in my 'Mech in the extra seat that was in it. If the occasion arrised I had given Lance a program on his noteputer that would allow him to hack into an enemy 'Mech so he could pilot it, if the 'Mech was in any condition to do so.
The rest of those days were spent going over assault rifles, which Lance seemed to be the most proficient in, and explosive ordinance. At the end of the second day, the night before we lifted off, I patted Lance on the shoulder.
"You are ready my friend for this mission. There is no more I can teach you in the time we have." I smiled at him. He still seemed slightly uneasy about the mission, but that was a normal thing. He nodded back. "Thanks Thorn. You've given me plenty of training. I couldn't have done it without you."
I rocked back in a deep laughter, which caused Lance to look at me strangely. "No thanks are needed. We are now sibkin." I stopped laughing and patted him on the shoulder again. "Come we have much preparing to do."
After a night of not sleeping, and seeing to the loading of my Marauder IIC, I felt as prepared as I could be. Much like the befriending of Schuster, I had quickly befriended Lance, much due to the training in my own opinion. We walked through the starport to our dropship together. There, standing watching as everything that was needed for the trip and mission was put on board, was Captain Maxwell. I nodded as I came up to him.
"Is Lance ready?", he asked as he looked at man standing behind me.
"Aff. As ready as he will be." I looked back at Lance and then back to Maxwell. "If we are lucky to attain another battlemech I would say that he is at an aptitude to pilot one, with the proper training." The captain nodded. "Very good Thorn."I smiled as I picked up my bag, and nodded for Lance to follow. I boarded the starship and found a room where me and Lance could bunk. After setting our stuff down I got prepared for the trip to the Jumpship that would take us out of system.
I strode into the cramped confines of the Thorin's bridge, making note of the myriad exposed wires, incomplete circuit boards, and unshielded lighting fixtures that dominated the semi-overhauled command center. A scheduled refit from Earthwerks had been cut short following a surprise attack on the company's shipyards, and the unfinished Aurora was shipped back to Tau Ceti IV with a promise of completion once the 'war' was 'over.'
I chuckled at the irony of the statement.
"Captain on the bridge!"Sergeant Hobson announced, leaping from the command chair and snapping to attention. The assorted techs and support staff present followed suit.
"As you were," I smiled, returning the gestures. "Where's Captain Wolf?"
"He's in the avionics bay,"Hobson replied, moving to stand alongside me as I continued to take in the sight of a command center reduced to the barest of operating conditions."The NavComm system blew out again, and...well...you get the idea,"Hobson continued, gesturing at the gutted consoles that surrounded us."He's hell-bent on getting it up and running before dustoff, even if he has to do it himself."
I nodded a grim affirmation, and breathed a sigh. I hadn't yet had the opportunity to speak with Wolf concerning a laundry list of other myriad 'issues' that were likely to crop up before we'd even made planetfall. We were both certainly going to have our work cut out for us.
"Can you assure me that we will be able to dust off even if Captain Wolf is unsuccessful?"
Our 1,600-ton aerodyne military transport, an Aurora-class DropShip dubbed 'Thorin,' was old, malfunctioning, and probably should have been relegated to the boneyards of the Tetsuhara Proving Grounds to be used for target practice over a decade ago. But in spite of its shortcomings, the vessel still had its advantages. Along the vessel's considerable length were spread four modular cargo bays - two on each side - that were each capable of transporting a pair of BattleMechs, or which could be individually reconfigured into a dual-tiered design to be used for the berthing of support vehicles and other assets. She was moderately armed as well, boasting five Class 5 autocannons situated along the dorsal side of her hull, a pair of heavy lasers slung under her nose on a turret capable of covering a three hundred and sixty-degree firing arc, and two 20-rack LRM launchers, one fore, and one aft.
Her creature comforts were fairly spartan, however. As was the case with the Union class of DropShips, an Aurora's crew quarters were equally as spartan. The entire crew, whether front-line grunts or support personnel, had to cram themselves into a single, tiny bunkroom with neither viewports nor recreational facilities. Lieutenant Braddock and Lieutenant Schuster shared another microscopic bunkroom, while the captain's private quarters took up an area just large enough to accommodate a single bed and washbasin, requiring Captains Maxwell and Wolf to make use of the unit in twelve-hour rotations. The Thorin's sanitary facilities were likewise as limited, and the air recirculation system was as small and unsophisticated as possible. Frequent breakdowns were typical, often creating an atmosphere redolent of sweat and body odor.
In other words, it was a far cry from the leviathan luxury liners I'd piloted in a life that now seemed as distant and surreal as one of those dreams which, the more you try to remember, the more you forget.
Which was just as well, I surmised. The less I remembered about my previous life, in which I had been afforded a private dining hall and opulent quarters that would have made an AFFS fleet commander jealous, stood in stark contrast to my cot in a communal sleeping bay, and a battered vending machine in a cramped foodservice hall that smelled like old socks.
And now I had the dubious honor of piloting the beast into orbit, in the middle of the worst gale I'd seen since I'd first set foot on Tau Ceti IV. Sure, we had six high-end fusion drives working in our favor, but the Thorin was a spacecraft first, and an aircraft second. A distant second, at that. Although she was an aerodyne by definition, she was only slightly more aerodynamic than a ferrocrete brick. A set of atmospheric stabilization fins mounted at the stern, above and to either side of the drives, along with a bevy of maneuvering thrusters, provided the sole means of steady flight under normal weather conditions. And while those worked well enough under said conditions, I'd never attempted to fly her under conditions as utterly abnormal as these.
Makes an unusual change from remembering to change font colours.]