The Universe, 3031

[Nicholas Schuster]

Site 187
Outskirts of Gellen's Heights
Sheratan, Tikonov Free Republic
April 14, 3031 (Thursday)
______________________________________________

"Whitley, go ahead." Captain Maxwell prompted.

Whitley? I thought to myself. It wasn't a name I had heard here before. I started to turn my head to see who the asker was, but before I could even finish the movement, the voice struck me dumb.

"I just wanted to be crystal clear on one thing - looks like you folks are running quite the charity here. I like to pick who's on my six, and it sure as hell ain't gonna be Butt Cone over there. I hope what you're trying to tell us is that we are gonna choose our lances when we get to Concord."

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as the gravely growl, the cocky tone, and the slight sinister way he said everything hit my ears. The last time I had heard it, I was on Nirasaki...betraying Hauptmann Albrecht, Aegis Division, the Crayven Corporation, and my own morals as I led Jack Whitley and all of Black Phalanx into what turned out to be a massacre, all because of my horribly misguided sense of duty to my country.

I felt like had come a long way since then. Most people didn't know about the crimes I'd committed or the fate I had consigned Whitley and all the others to by driving them right into their own obliteration. I even had a new identity, and William Kauffman and Captain Maxwell had worked hard to clear my charges and try to give me a new life. 

But now, a man who knew all those secrets, who had every reason to want to settle the score with me, and who held all the keys to undoing everything, was sitting behind me in a briefing for a mission where we'd be lancemates.

As I slowly turned around in my seat, my eyes accidentally locked with his, and I could tell he saw me. Something twitched at the corner of his mouth. I couldn't tell if it was trying to be a grin or a frown. He nodded subtly before looking back at Captain Maxwell without saying a word.

"What's wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost." said Levi as I turned back around to face the dias. 

"I did." I whispered.

[Charles Maxwell]

Site 187
Outskirts of Gellen's Heights
Sheratan, Tikonov Free Republic
April 14, 3031 (Thursday)
______________________________________________

The first question came from Idris and was a two-parter about the effectiveness of prototype battle armor in Concord's blizzard conditions and intelligence assets we'd be deploying to monitor the weather and survey the landscape upon planetfall. As Commander Jaeger addressed the first half of the topic, one of the large oak doors at the entrance to the auditorium swung open slightly. Our new recruit, Jack Whitley, slipped through the narrow opening, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible as he took a seat at the rear of the chamber. He was late, and he knew it, his glowering eyes scanning the room with a cold calculation as if he was challenging someone to call him out.

I inclined my head slightly in acknowledgment to him. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Shortly thereafter, Orlex finished his answer and then handed off to me for the second part of Idris's query.

"On the topic of intelligence assets that we'll be using on this gig to survey the land and its hazards? Suggesting drones and weather radar was exactly on point, Idris," I began, opening a sub-file in the briefing packet and bringing up the TO&E of support assets on the projector. "We'll be deploying a pair of NapFind recon drones to perform ongoing topographical and meteorological analysis."

As I spoke, wireframes of the drones and their projected flight patterns splashed onto the auditorium's large overview display, filling the chamber with flickers of green and white.

"These drones are equipped with the standard sort of imaging technology that can provide accurate intel on the battlefield conditions," I explained. "They can hover at low altitudes for detailed information and even boost themselves a bit higher for a wider view. But there's a hitch. They're not built with meteorology gear, and Concord's erratic weather patterns might cause some problems with their abilities to get around. To keep on top of which way the snow's blowing, we've appropriated a Command Van and a side-scan radar unit from Discount Dan's up in town and are working to integrate them with an interpreter. We'll station the Command Van at a high enough elevation relative to our operational area that it can give us a degree of advance warning on any incoming weather phenomenon, but we'll need to keep it mobile to avoid becoming a target."

The stoic Idris nodded but then added another question. "Sir, it sounds like a workable plan, but I do not believe we have anyone on staff who can interpret weather data, especially from such a makeshift setup."

"Well, you're not wrong there, Idris." I nodded, leaning against the lectern. "We've really had to stretch our resources after pulling this gig. But we do have a solution to that problem."

A flick of my wrist brought up a dossier name on the projector. "Specialist Curie Franklin: Medical assistant and science advisor. She's currently cross-training in meteorological data interpretation as well as battlefield triage and should be well-versed by the time we're into the world on Concord." 

A brief, incredulous laugh echoed from somewhere at the back of the room. My eyes darted around, failing to locate the offender. Commander Jaeger cast me a quick, questioning look and smoothly redirected my attention to an imaginary note on the podium display, actually resting his finger against Curie's name in the roster. It suddenly occurred to me that my choice to include her in the mission had been impulsive, without any of the usual discussions and careful thought with my second-in-command that usually went into such decisions. His surprise was understandable.

I muted my microphone in embarrassment and apologized, halting for a moment as I quickly tried to quantify the incident that led up to the decision. Eventually, I gave up, finding no words that could be repeated in a public setting, instead simply stating, "Just make sure there's plenty of extra towels aboard."

Orlex nodded, shrugging nonchalantly before turning his attention back to the briefing. The room fell silent as I fumbled with the display controls, collecting my thoughts and displaying a schematic showing the Command Van's hypothetical positioning in the field.

"We'll beam the telemetry to the Pandora from the Command Van's position, where Specialist Franklin will regularly interpret the information and advise command units of any changes in the weather conditions," I continued, an animation illustrating the path representing the telemetry's route from the Command Van to the Pandora. "She'll be monitoring as many data points as possible that indicate a sudden shift in visibility or wind conditions are imminent: changes in temperature, humidity, atmospheric pressure, and so forth. When not conducting a scheduled check of the conditions, Specialist Franklin will assist Doctor Aldon with medical duties."

"Thank you, sir," Idris nodded, returning to his seat. The next question came from Steve Jenkins, who, for reasons I couldn't fathom, was attired in a hospital gown tucked sloppily into the waistband of a pair of rumpled pants, attached to the seat of which was a dog cone that looked for all the world like a loose rocket fairing. Mercifully, Jaeger gave me a knowing look and stepped forward to intercept the question.

As he did so, I glanced again to the rear of the auditorium, where Jack Whitley was still slouched in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were finally focused on the screen, but an air of detachment surrounded him. He was here because he felt was obliged to be, not because he truly wanted to be part of the team. It wasn't going to be easy integrating him into the unit. But this was the path I'd chosen. Only time would tell how the decision was going to shake out.

[Curie Franklin]

Meanwhile...

Site 187
Outskirts of Gellen's Heights
Sheratan, Tikonov Free Republic
April 14, 3031 (Thursday)
______________________________________________

"How's the study coming along, Specialist Franklin?" Mallory queried, smiling as he spoke my new title. His words seemed laced with a peculiar blend of emotion I couldn't easily label but that I'd come to appreciate.

"Progressing," I replied, my voice flat as I continued to decipher the text about weather prediction on the data pad.

Mallory chuckled at my brevity. With his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and his glasses sliding down his nose, he looked like a professor.

"Cum...u...lo...nim...bus clouds," I continued, wrestling with the pronunciation. "Indications of thunderstorms; atmospheric instability."

"You're getting it," he beamed, looking pleased. "Though I have to admit, when I'd heard Captain Maxwell greenlit you for duty, I couldn't have predicted you'd be brushing up on meteorology instead of medical procedures."

"I want to help," I explained, shrugging slightly. "Besides. I like storms." I pointed at a series of complex weather models on the tablet.

"Do you really?" Mallory inquired, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Yes," I answered. The memories flashed in my field of consciousness - a vivid, beautiful storm I had once watched from the porch of my parents' farmhouse on Elgin. The sky was a raw, turbulent canvas of churning purples and blacks. The rain pelted the ground with an almost personal fury, and the wind whipped through the fields, bending the tall prairie grass to its will. I could feel the wetness on my face and the electric charge in the air. It was... exhilarating.

But it wasn't my memory.

"I...she..." I struggled, eventually finding my words. "Kathryn liked storms." Setting down the tablet, I buried my face in my hands, gripped by the sudden onslaught of confused emotions. For that one brief moment, I was back on that porch, the wind howling, rain streaming down my face. I was Kathryn.

Mallory kneeled beside me, removing his glasses and putting his arm around my shoulders. He said nothing, apparently able to read my body language.

"It's...difficult," I admitted, my voice breaking. "Remembering things that..." I stopped, swallowing hard, "are not mine."

Mallory remained silent, studying me. He didn't try to calm me down, absolve me of guilt, or tell me everything would be okay. Instead, he gave me a squeeze and patted my back. Too overwhelmed to continue the exhausting exercise of finding and forming words, I fumbled for the communication pad in my pocket, the same battered medical tablet that I first used to speak with Captain Maxwell in this very room.

I tapped hurriedly at the screen, pulling up the only phrase I needed at that moment.

"Thank you."

The phrase appeared across the old, worn screen in large, block letters. Mallory gave me an encouraging nod as he read my message. 

"Of course," he added. "I could offer you my philosophical take on the matter, but I'd rather hold off until you're ready to hear it."

I typed out a second sentence.

"Tell me. I need to understand."

At that, the doctor raised an eyebrow. "Understand what?"

I gestured vaguely at my head, not attempting to hide the frustration so evident in my motions. 

"What I am. Who I am,"  I furiously typed.

Mallory took his time, replacing his glasses and pulling a stool beside me. Sitting down, he looked thoughtfully at the ceiling before speaking. "I don't think I'm qualified to give you a definitive answer on that," he began, "But if you're asking for my opinion, which, as a disclaimer, is heavily biased in favor of ancient hippies from Greece and Rome, I'll offer it."

I nodded wordlessly.

"Well," the doctor offered, "I'd say that 'you' are a combination of experiences and memories. We all are. You just happen to have more of them than the average individual."

I scanned Mallory's face, his words slowly sinking in.

"More of them," I punched out, my hands clumsily navigating the tablet.

Mallory's response was unassuming and nonjudgmental as he nodded. "Human personalities are a result of osmosis - a combination of our own experiences and the perspectives we absorb from others."

He paused as if searching for the right words. "You - the person you are now - is an amalgamation of your lived experiences and the perspectives you've received from two incredibly strong and vibrant women. Each of those things has contributed to who you are now."

I picked up the tablet again and typed out the burning question in my mind.

"Do I have the right? To remember their experiences as my own?"

Mallory's expression softened, "That's a difficult question. It may be more meaningful to ask whether those memories contribute to who you are now rather than whether you have the 'right' to them. Can you give me an example?"

The concept rolled around in my head, prodding at corners I hadn't known were there.

"The storms," I replied out loud. "Kathryn's storms."

Mallory nodded, leaning back on his stool. "So, that sounds like it definitely contributes to who you are now. Curie Emily Franklin, who is currently experiencing life in her own unique way, likes storms. Kathryn's memory directly influences who you are."

His words were somewhat comforting, but the knot in my stomach still remained. I took a deep breath and started typing again.

"Do you think she would object?"

The words hung heavily in the silent infirmary. Mallory stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he took a deep breath and pushed his glasses back onto his face, leaning forward on the table and folding his hands gently.

"Well," he finally began cautiously, "much of you never stopped being Kathryn Franklin. Her memories are, in a physical sense, your memories as well. Your body, your brain, and all of the tangible parts that make up the person sitting next to me experienced those things. Perhaps a slightly different consciousness is driving now, but it doesn't negate the fact that these experiences occurred to this body," he motioned towards me, "to this entity."

Mallory's mouth twitched slightly as if he was wrestling with what to say next. 

"And if we were to view this from a more spiritual perspective and postulate that Kathryn is 'gone' because you're 'here,' then, no, I don't believe she would be upset with you for holding onto these memories. In fact, it could be seen as a means to keep parts of her alive that might have otherwise been lost."

He rose off the stool and walked over to a cabinet, pulling out an old, bound book titled "Understanding the Self: A Treatise on Existentialism." He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "Here's a passage that might help." He handed me the tome, pointing to a specific sentence on the page.

My fingers fumbled with the ancient, worn volume as I took it in my hands, the scent of old paper filling my nose. I squinted to read the faded text.

'One's self is but a conglomerate of yesterday's experiences, merged with the prevalent now, to forge tomorrow's identity. Each person is nothing but a sum of their past, ever-changing as new experiences are added and old ones fade. We are all constantly becoming.'

I pondered over those words for a moment, reading them repeatedly and processing their implications.

"In essence, we are all but a collection of moments," Mallory summarized. "Regardless of how those moments came to be."

I returned the book to him and retrieved the tablet, typing out a message full of self-doubt.

"No part of me lived Alyssa's memories. I took them. Made them me. And Alyssa is not gone."

Mallory looked at me thoughtfully. "You're right. Alyssa isn't gone, and she still has her memories. You both share them now, albeit in different ways. Perhaps the best way to think about it is that Kathryn represents your lived experiences, whereas Alyssa represents valuable learned perspective."

"Is that okay?" I typed. "For me to keep them? Some do not feel right."

Mallory paused before answering, his green eyes studying me intently. "Unfortunately, unlike a database table, once a human brain has captured a memory, removing it's not so easy. But," he continued, placing a hand gently on mine, "if it doesn't feel right, maybe you can try to file away that memory. Sort of place it in a separate folder, so to speak. Label it as 'inapplicable' or 'superfluous.' Separate it from the rest of you. The human mind is capable of remarkable things, Curie."

I nodded, digesting his words. His hand on mine felt warm and comforting - a stark contrast to the cold, analytical nature of our discussion. I liked this man. Mallory was a good person.

"Thank you," I whispered, feeling myself smiling. Putting away the tablet, I slipped off my stool and walked over to the doctor. I hesitated, then extended my arms and put them around him. I'd seen it done in so many memories, but I'd never attempted to initiate one before. It was a new experience, one that felt strangely right. I retreated quickly, though, worried I'd overstepped my boundaries. But Mallory merely chuckled, patting my arm reassuringly.

"No need to be skittish," he said with a wink, his words kind. "Hugs are not forbidden in this place."

"I should study," I concluded quietly. 

The doctor let out a laugh and took my hand in his. "I think you could use a short break from storms, metaphorical and otherwise. The other half of your job description clearly states 'medicine,' but it won't do you much good if you can't get to it."

His words were confusing. I searched my mind but came up empty for the meaning. "Can't...get...what?"

"What Steve might call the 'Party Cabinet.' I'm sure you remember that from your previous stint as a medical assistant with us," Mallory quipped as he led me to the storage closet adjacent to his office, its metal door secured with a fingerprint reader. "Behold. The cabinet."

"I remember," I nodded, holding out my hands and showing them to him. "No fingers then."

The doctor laughed, and I felt gratified that my attempt at humor had registered. "Right you are, kiddo. Let's get you enrolled in the system."

We made our way into Mallory's office. It was cluttered, but I found a strange sense of warmth and security in its disarray. It was a familiar, safe place where I recalled, even as a construct, having meaningful conversations with him about the human condition. And now, as he settled me into his office chair and turned on the computer terminal before me, I felt blanketed in the kind embrace of its tattered, eclectic environment.

Mallory reached past me and clicked a few icons, invoking the infirmary's access database. Locating my profile, he initiated the fingerprint enrollment application. The scanner on his desk lit up in a dim red. "Okay, it's showtime. Swipe one of your fingers across that reader."

I craned my neck to look back at him. "Which...one? There are ten."

"Any of those ten will do," Mallory chuckled. "Whichever one you feel most comfortable using as your all-access pass to the Pharmaceutical Playground."

I held out my hands before me again, stretching my fingers apart and studying them before determining that my right index finger would likely be the most efficient. Then, slowly, I reached out and slid it across the fingerprint scanner, a green light flickering on to indicate it had completed a full capture.

But then, an error message flashed on Mallory's terminal. "NO FINGERPRINT DETECTED," it blared in bright red text.

"Huh, that's odd," Mallory mused. "Let's reset and try again." He re-initialized the process, and I swiped my finger again, more vigorously this time.

"NO FINGERPRINT DETECTED," the computer repeated. The letters seemed bigger and more ominous this time. I wasn't sure how that was possible.

"This temperamental thing," the doctor grumbled, picking up the reader and vigorously tapping it against the desk's surface several times. "It's probably on the fritz again. Here, let me try."

I watched as he started the process again, this time, pressing his index finger against the device and moving it slowly across its surface. The green light illuminated for the third time.

"SUCCESSFUL CAPTURE," the terminal announced in large, green block letters. A moment later, a high-resolution picture of Mallory's fingerprint appeared on the screen.

"Alright, that's weird," Mallory mused. "Can I see your hand? Maybe you've got like, a callous or something."

I nodded, and Mallory turned my chair to face him. He took my right hand in his and overturned it so that my palm faced up. I watched as he squinted, looking closely at the tips of my fingers, first through his glasses, then over the top of them, then again through. He said nothing, but I could tell by his behavior that he'd encountered something abnormal. Eventually, and without ever looking away from my hand, he grabbed his magnifying desk lamp with his free arm. Dragging it toward us, myriad crashes heralded the lamp's approach as it unceremoniously bulldozed a path through the tabletop clutter.

"This won't hurt a bit," the doctor reassured me, clicking the lamp on and moving it very close to my proffered hand. As the bright, white light flooded my palm, Mallory leaned forward to gaze intently through the magnifier. Slowly and with an increasingly confused expression working its way across his countenance, he examined each of my fingertips, eventually releasing my right hand and repeating the process with the left. Once he finished, he turned off the lamp, maneuvered it back to its former location, and then sat down in one of the office's guest chairs with a pronounced sigh.

"Something...wrong?" I asked, feeling a mixture of nervousness and confusion rising within me.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it wrong," Mallory responded. "More like...unexpected."

I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. It was a gesture I found could prompt others to speak without being spoken to.

"You have no fingerprints," he explained. "I don't know how I missed that before. And, to be clear, you previously did have fingerprints. Captain Maxwell enrolled them when you subbed in for me aboard the Tachi. You probably remember that."

I nodded silently.

"This is going to sound entirely conspiratorial," Mallory continued, "but...have you noticed any other...identifying marks going missing? Birthmarks, freckles, scars, that sort of thing?"

"Yes," I acknowledged, remembering what I'd noticed aboard the Bacchanal. After our return to Site 187, I'd become curious once again and performed a more comprehensive survey. I rolled up my sleeves, turning my arms outward and inward for the doctor. "No freckles," I explained.

"Anything else?" Mallory prompted.

I rolled up one of my pant legs to my knee. "No scars."

The doctor nodded, his brow furrowing. "Is that everything?"

"No...hair?" I offered, remembering my initial observation in the Bacchanal's suite.

Mallory chuckled as I rolled my pant leg back down. "I'm afraid that, generally, unless it's above your neck, hair's not really an identifying feature. But it's a good data point to have, and, taken as a whole, I'm pretty sure I know why you looked like you had the world's worst sunburn from the shoulders down when you showed up here."

I found myself instinctively clasping my hands together in my lap, the tension in my body rising. Some part of me felt as though what the doctor was about to say next would be unsettling. I was correct in that assumption.

"I have a sneaking suspicion," he concluded, "that whatever those bastards at the hospital are up to, they want to make it as difficult as possible for the people they snatch to be identified."

I slowly nodded in agreement. His logic was sound. I filed the information away for future analysis. "This is a problem," I observed. 

To my surprise, Mallory chuckled. "I'll say it is," he quipped. "Every time I learn another thing about those goons, I age eighty years."

"No," I interjected, holding up my hands directly in his line of sight, "this is a problem."

The doctor paused for a long moment, appearing to be struggling with the meaning of my statement. Eventually, a large grin broke out across his face. "My god. You really know where the priorities are, don't you?"

"Party Cabinet access," I affirmed, "is important."

[Orlex Jaeger]

Site 187
Outskirts of Gellen's Heights
Sheratan, Tikonov Free Republic
April 14, 3031 (Thursday)
______________________________________________

Idris had brought up some valid concerns about equipment operations in colder climates and the type of intelligence assets we would have available to help mitigate our risks and gain valuable battlefield intel. While most gear would have little to no trouble with cold weather we would likely be facing we did field a relatively large amount of prototype or experimental gear that may not hold up the same.

"You are right that we have no data regarding how the ICE-S armour will function in the cold," I replied, addressing Idris, "However, the exoskeleton frame it is based on can handle temperatures to -20°C so it should be alright as far as base functions go. As you know batteries are not a fan of the cold so I would suspect you will have reduced operational time, as a mitigation I would recommend bringing an extra Support Power Pack so we can quick swap the armour's power pack if need be. The extended life support should be sufficient to protect the wearer, it is designed for hostile environments, including space, and barring an armour breach it shouldn't have any difficulty with these conditions. However, in the event of a blizzard or ice storm there is the potential for ice build up on the suit's extremities which could impede movement. Unfortunately we have no way of directly dealing with that currently, we may have to simply avoid any extended duration exposure at this point. Perhaps our new research division could design some sort of external defrosting system, either semi-portable or even attachable to the armour itself."

Idris nodded, seemingly content with the answer, a spark in his eye at the mention of the research division he had recently helped found.

"As for your other question, I'll defer Captain Maxwell for our additional assets," I continued.

The Captain went on to explain the extra equipment we would have on hand, some of which was on a loaner basis, to help mitigate our lack of familiarity with the local terrain and weather patterns. During the discussion I was surprised to hear that Curie would be accompanying us on this mission, although it was short lived as I quickly surmised the variety of skills and abilities she could potentially bring to the table. I discretely indicated Curie's name on the roster after catching Charles' attention, just to make sure I had heard correctly and inadvertently threw Maxwell off as he muttered something about needing extra towels. I wasn't exactly sure why he was at a loss for words but it was something that could wait until a more opportune time to discuss.

No sooner had Charles finished his explanation to Idris about our intelligence assets than Steve jumped up, or rather started bouncing on the spot with his hand up on account of him already standing, and wearing a hospital gown for some reason, as well as what could equally pass for a large model rocket's engine fairing or one of the surgical cones for dogs.

"Yes Steve, what is it?" I shot, not daring to ask about the strange apparatus attached to his derrière, or his attire.

"SIRS I have a question" Steve said.

Maxwell said, "Yes, yes what is it you need to know Steve?"

Steve then continued, "CDR Orlex I have a question, these temperatures look pretty Extreme, are there any weapons that do not work good in the cold, I have never did a job in a world as cold as what that says it is and I don't want to get Sundered on account of my Guns stop working because they're more froze up than a TV dinner SIR!!!"

"Not to worry Steve, our BattleMechs can handle any weather conditions we might find on Concord II, there is no need to be concerned about getting sundered due to malfunctioning weapons. In general though LRMs may be of limited use due to the Line Of Sight requirements and the reduced visibility caused by blizzards or other winter storms. If the storms are severe enough they could even cause additional scatter on any indirect fire we may try to employ as well. I doubt we will see it but I have heard of issues with laser weapons if sufficient ice crystals are formed and suspended in the air, they can diffuse the energy beams and hamper their range," I explained.

"Personal weapons might be a different story though," I elaborated, "Not that we are expecting much activity outside of our 'mechs this time around, but since personal weapons don't have the benefit of being powered by a fusion reactor extended periods in the extreme cold could negatively affect their performance, particularly energy based weapons. At the very least we might find that power packs will hold less of a charge, if the weapons are exposed for too long they could run into issues such as condensation or even ice formation on the internals, such as the focusing lens, which will also negatively impact their performance. Nothing catastrophic, and most things should be rectified by simply warming the weapons up to a normal temperature, but still things to be aware of."

After a few more general questions regarding logistics and one about whether a designer snowmobile suit would qualify for a personal requisition or not, which Charles deftly explained that while accommodations could be made for custom gear where appropriate, Aegis Division was not in the habit of catering to everyone's personal style, our new recruit Jack Whitley finally deemed it worthwhile to join into the discussion.

Charles and I had hired the man a few short days ago, although we had been looking over his dossier for nearly a week, he looked great on paper, ticked all the boxes, experience, successes, failures, perseverance and the skills to back up his merc mouth. Initially I had no idea there was history between him and Aegis, particularly with Charles, when I short listed him amongst a select group of other candidates. Charles recognized him immediately and filled me in on the backstory, or at least most of it, I wasn't so sure it was a good idea to hire him as it seemed there may have been some bad blood there but Charles convinced me otherwise and we decided to interview him for the position. We weren't looking to specifically replace Friedman, but we were now short on qualified MechWarriors and Jack fit that bill well, that and most of the candidates he was up against were either as green as Sheratan's grass plains or older than Terra itself. The fact that he was a dispossessed MechWarrior meant we'd have to supply him with a BattleMech but we had a few spares in storage and it meant his rates were cheaper too.

His interview was interesting, to say the least, he definitely fit the more stereotypical role of a merc with a mouth, all smug and full of himself, mostly full of shit and damn proud of it too. There was definitely some animosity towards Charles but he remained cordial, as much as could be expected for his type, and he made it through without incident, although I felt like there was some small part of Charles that was enjoying holding the position of power over this man and he made him squirm a little with some of the questions and contract details. That could be good though, keeping him on edge enough should help keep the man in line, hopefully.

As it was this was the first real meeting Jack had been involved in, though there had been opportunities to get involved with the team in various manners previously, and I was momentarily pleased when I saw his hand shoot up in the back of the room.

"Whitley, go ahead," called out Charles as he stood and locked eyes with Charles, traces of a smirk barely discernable in the dimly lit auditorium.

"I just wanted to be crystal clear on one thing - looks like you folks are running quite the charity here. I like to pick who's on my six, and it sure as hell ain't gonna be Butt Cone over there. I hope what you're trying to tell us is that we are gonna choose our lances when we get to Concord."

While I could appreciate that first time interactions with Steve tended to be ... memorable, I personally was not a fan of the undertone in the man's voice and decided now was the time to put him in his place, before he got too cocky, although that might be a lost cause on this one.

Stepping forward half a step I spoke up loud before Charles could respond, "Lance assignments will be given by Captain Charles and myself based on skills and operational needs as always. Personal preferences of course will be considered, once that right has been earned."

Whitley flashed a steely gaze at me but only held it for a moment before shrugging and sitting back down, it looked like he probably muttered something else but I couldn't hear it up front so I let it slide. This one was definitely going to be a challenge, especially if he didn't really want to be part of the team. Aegis Division had been quite lucky in the time I'd been with them, every member of the team wanted to be there and was willing to work with each to find their place, sure every one had their quirks but that variety and the fact that Aegis as a whole embraced that is what made us stronger than other comparable groups. It's hard to ride into hell and back as your literal job when you don't know if the person beside you is willing to do the same.

There were a couple more useful questions before the hall began to break into small groups of hushed conversations about this that and everything, with a nod to Charles he stepped forward and obtained everyone's attention one more time.

"If there are no further questions, then this briefing is over," called out Charles in his commanding voice, "Dismissed."

Almost as one the assembled members of Aegis Division began to separate into the same small groups that had been conversing moments before as they filed out of the room in an orderly fashion, Jack I noted slipped out the back as quickly as possible as though intentionally avoided any chance of someone trying to engage with him. 

Turning to Charles I sighed, "That one's going to be fun."

"Whitley? He'll be fine, just needs some time to adjust, he's not used to being on the bottom, yet," replied Charles with more confidence than I thought warranted.

With a shrug I turned to walk beside Charles as we followed the last of support staff out of the auditorium, "So why do we need extra towels with Curie?"

Charles faltered half a step and I swore his face went beat red for just a moment before he cleared his throat and shook his head, "Bit of a long story there. Well I guess it's not that long, just awkward, in need of context, and a more private setting."

"Well now you've piqued my interest, do share," I said, gesturing with my hand for Charles to lead the way to somewhere we could discuss the story.

"You're not going to let it go are you?" he inquired with a heavy sigh as he started moving again.

"Nope," I said with a mischievous smile, "Definitely not now if its making you this uncomfortable."

"Bastard," muttered Charles with a grin and shake of his head.

 

Edited February 17 by Orlex Jaeger

[William Kauffman]

Elsewhere...

Archaeological site Alpha-1 - "Castle Jones"
Somewhere beneath the Cabot Taiga
Meredith, New Earth - Lyran Commonwealth
April 14, 3031 (Thursday)
______________________________________________

The interior of the Star League-era Castle Brian's general storage facility stretched out before me, an impressive sight to behold even after a year of excavating, cataloging, and recovering what centuries of neglect had left behind. My eyes traced along the outlines of multiple BattleMechs still hidden away behind dust-covered canvas, standing silent sentry until they were called into action once again.

Major Hayes and I walked slowly along the bay's elevated catwalk, the precise footfalls of my footwear contrasting starkly with the heavy clanks of the major's boots. James was unusually quiet today, his usual banter replaced with a solemn silence that clung to everything like the dust surrounding us. 

"Out with it, Major," I prompted lightly as we continued our circuit of the hangar. 

Hayes sighed deeply, glancing around at the rafters as he collected his thoughts. "Some of this tech, sir...it's priceless. One of a kind, even. I don't relish the thought of sending anything we haven't successfully copied off to the front. You remember what happened to our Atlas."

I paused in my step, turning to face Hayes. His features were drawn, hard lines etched into a usually jovial countenance. He was right, of course. Sending off invaluable technology without proper replication felt like sending the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. 

"I do remember, Major," I answered calmly, not needing to add the images that flooded into my memory on their own accord. The war machine had come back from our previous recovery operation savaged, its ruined frame a testament to the sheer destructive power of the bandits attempting to appropriate what was ours. Though Aegis Division had come out on top, the thought of losing a piece of irreplaceable technology in the same way was indeed disconcerting. "Unfortunately, desperate times call for desperate measures."

Hayes nodded. "At a minimum, having the Dreams of Avarice out there on standby's a good insurance policy. If things end up going sideways and we're forced to intervene, it's comforting to know that Man-TLE probably won't even know what hit them."

"If they are forced to intervene, James," I corrected. The major stopped in his tracks.

"Sir? I assumed you'd want me heading out there, what with all the LosTech and prototypes we're shipping out to - "

I held up a hand, cutting him off. "Ordinarily, James, I most certainly would. However, given the...exceptionally sensitive...nature of our current predicament, I think it's best, from a public relations standpoint, if you remain here. You are the head of Research and Development. Our investors are already asking uncomfortable questions about Project Specter, questions that I have, to this point, been able to sidestep. But if you suddenly disappear during this critical juncture, those whispers will turn into shouts. We can't afford that, not now."

Hayes' brow furrowed in a mix of disappointment and understanding. "I see your point, sir, and I trust your judgment. It's just - we need somebody competent who can look after not just the gear but that entire ship."

I raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Are you implying you have less than competent people under your command, Major?" I challenged, a slight smirk playing at the corner of my mouth as I locked eyes with him. 

Major Hayes chuckled as he raised his hands in surrender. "No, sir, not at all. It's just that...this isn't a typical outing. As you've said time and again, the stakes are monumental. Competency and discretion are paramount."

I nodded appreciatively. "Indeed, Major. Which is why I have another solution in mind. I plan to reassign Captain Richard Leontis from the C.S.V. Imperium to the Dreams of Avarice as its temporary master, and your own Doctor Henry Reade will transfer over from Messenia Station to look after any toys you deem appropriate. He's not as familiar with LosTech as you are, but I'm confident he'll be able to get up to speed quickly."

Major Hayes nodded, seemingly relieved. "Good choices. Captain Leontis has always struck me as a man with a good head on his shoulders, and given his knack for surviving courier runs up and down the Kuritan border, he's certainly got the tactical acumen for the job. And Doctor Reade, he's got a sharp mind, quick with ideas. Comes up with some fairly wild solutions, but by the stars if he ain't reliable."

I tipped my head, acknowledging his approval. "Excellent. Then it seems there's only one task left for you to do, Major."

Hayes quirked an eyebrow at me inquisitively.

"Go shopping," I clarified, gesturing at the vast warehouse before us. "But remember: subtle, effective, and plausibly deniable. Everything is to be aboard the Dreams of Avarice in twenty-four hours. No excuses."

[Charles Maxwell]

40 days later...

MRCN Strumfänger
Concord II jump point
Concord system - Free Worlds League
May 24, 3031 (Tuesday)
______________________________________________

It'd been a fairly normal month-long transit to our latest gig, with our new Research and Development group engrossed in building out their new laboratory, Alyssa mining every piece of intelligence she could dig up about both of our theaters of operation, the technical corps readying our equipment for whatever the Lyrans planned to throw at us, and the MechWarriors, armored cavalry, and infantry doing the best they could to simply avoid losing their minds during the extended transit. Even Curie - now Specialist Franklin to the rest of the crew - had become incredibly proficient at her new dual role as a meteorologist and medical assistant, her motor skills and verbal abilities slowly but surely evolving as well.

But there was one task that no one else could do, one responsibility left entirely to me. A specter of the past that tainted the air with unfinished business. Inspecting the King Crab.

During our tactical review, Orlex and I had determined that Ares was likely to be far more effective in Concord's low visibility and unpredictable terrain than our venerable Catapult, Tyche. Nevertheless, I'd deliberately been avoiding the beast in which Mara Walsh's life had been abruptly and violently extinguished.

But today, Levi and I stood at the feet of the monstrous machine, looking up at the remarkably extensive restoration he and his team had managed to pull off. Ares towered above us, her dual autocannons projecting fearsome silhouettes, barely hinting at the formidable destructive power they could unleash. Her cockpit's once-mangled and twisted steel had been reshaped, the tears in her armor filled, and the scorched exterior repainted.  Once a shell of charred ferrosteel and tarnished pride, she now stood reborn and reforged. Yet, Ares' mere presence felt like an accusing finger, demanding resolution, silently asking why Mara had to die while I still lived.

As I slowly withdrew my pocket humidor of cigars from my pocket, Levi broke the silence. "She's done, Captain," he offered quietly.

"She certainly is," I replied, a heavy weight pressing down on my heart as I stared at the war machine and lit up, the smoky smell of cherries and tobacco offering a momentary distraction from the haunting sight before me.

Levi shifted uncomfortably, his gaze scanning the towering behemoth above us, then dropping to his hands. "Not everything is exactly the way you had it before," he offered. "But we did the best we could. Just thought you should know."

I took a long drag from my cigar, letting the smoke fill my lungs. I deliberately held the acrid taste in my lungs until it became unbearable, relishing the pain as a distraction from the memories that washed over me. 

"We...had to replace the cockpit...couldn't restore that. Too much damage," he added.

I exhaled slowly, tendrils of smoke escaping my lips and curling away into the mechanical cold of the 'Mech Bay. "That's probably for the best," I replied. "Repurposing the same cockpit where Mara..." My voice trailed off, a bitter taste lingering on my tongue.

Levi nodded, his gaze shifting back to the hulking BattleMech. "I heard about that...I'm so sorry, Captain. I can't imagine what you must be going through looking at this." His voice was low, the usual jovial tone absent.

I offered a half-hearted shrug, forcing a ghost of a smile onto my face. "War's a cruel mistress, Levi. She gives, and she takes. Mara knew...we all know that."

Levi looked at me with a kind of reverence that made me uncomfortable. Was it simply respect, or was it sympathy? I wasn't sure. "Captain," he replied, his voice cracking slightly. "If you're satisfied with the work, maybe there's some happier news we can talk about. The Research and Development lab, specifically."

"Oh?" I asked. With one final puff, I extinguished the cigar under my boot's heel. "I'd love to hear it. But before we do, I wanna thank you, Levi. You've done good work here. Mara...she'd be proud."

I saw Levi's eyes widen a bit as he nodded, a genuine smile finally gracing his face. "Thank you, Captain. That means a lot."

We made our way to the lower level of the DropShip's seventh deck, where access to the cargo bays and other auxiliary compartments was located. As we walked, I couldn't help but notice the look of anticipation in Levi's eyes. He was practically shaking with excitement. I could only imagine what the team's clever minds had been concocting in the R&D lab.

"I'm still not used to the idea that the Tachi...sorry...the Strumfänger...has a Research and Development division," I chuckled, stumbling over the ship's new name. We'd held a poll several weeks prior to rechristen the salvaged DropShip. The poll had received many suggestions, including Steve Jenkins' enthusiastic endorsement of SPACE BATTLESHIP YAMATO. But the staff had ultimately voted in favor of Strumfänger, or 'Storm Catcher,' in German, a nod to our outfit's penchant for always being able to best whatever challenge was laid in front of us.

"I think you'll like what we've been working on," Levi said as we finally reached the lab's entrance. A sign above the door read, "Danger: Brains at work." Levi smiled, gesturing toward it. "My personal touch."

As the quartermaster keyed in his personal access code, I couldn't help but feel a ripple of excitement. I'd seen Idris, Nick, and Levi's inventions before; they were pretty damn impressive. But the way Levi's eyes were shining this time, I suspected we were about to see something special.

"So, I gave you guys a 30-day challenge on that project shortlist: fingerprints for Curie, defroster tech for Idris' battle armor, and a new self-destruct detonator core for Nick's laser pistol. You making any headway on them?" I prompted as the door slid open. Levi simply nodded as the warm glow of the lab washed over us.

It was a cramped space: literally a partitioned-off section of the cargo deck improvised into a makeshift workshop, yet, as I stepped across the threshold, I could see that Nick, Idris, Levi, and Curie had taken on the challenge with gusto. The center of the room was dominated by an electronic planning table, its surface covered in notes, diagrams, and schematics. Along one wall, an extensive workbench sprawled, almost completely taken over by a couple of fabricators and a computer terminal, at which Nick currently stood, deeply engrossed in work. Another wall served as host to a miniature machine shop, complete with metal lathes and milling machines, and filled to the brim with all manner of tools and spare parts. The smell of hot metal and lubricant hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faintly sweet scent of soldering flux. Idris stood before it, meticulously working on what looked like a piece of armor.  

The third bulkhead was lined with rows of heavy-duty metal shelving from floor to ceiling and was stacked with everything from circuit boards to power packs. A haphazard assortment of half-dismantled machines and parts were scattered about, proof of the whirlwind of activity that had consumed the quartet for the better part of the month.

"Captain on deck!" Idris called out, noticing me.

"As you were," I quickly assured the group. "Far be it for me to interfere with the scientific process."

Levi smiled and looked toward me. "So, what do you think, Captain?"

"I think," I began, my eyes sweeping over the controlled chaos of their workshop, "that you've got something mighty remarkable here." The corners of my mouth curled in a small smile. "It's amazing what you've built in such a short time. By the way, where's Curie?"

The quartermaster chuckled and gestured toward the fourth bulkhead, which had been at my back when we entered. "Oh, she's over there, sir. Brainstorming."

I turned around and was met with an unexpected sight. Before me was a huge ferrosteel vat filled with water, nearly stretching from the floor to the ceiling. A ladder ran up its left side, presumably allowing access from the top. A heater and what looked like a circulator stood on its right, along with a series of hoses that snaked from a very large oxygen tank to the vat's rear.

Cut into the front of this contraption was a large viewport, through which I could see, illuminated by a soft azure light, Curie herself. Attired in a blue, high-collared, one-piece bathing suit, she floated serenely, a regulator in her mouth and her eyes closed in concentration. Her platinum hair glowed like a moonlit halo in the water, her arms extended, and fingers twitching occasionally. The sight was disconcerting and strangely serene at the same time.

"What...the hell...is that?"

"That, Captain," Levi grinned, "is a sensory deprivation tank. Curie's idea. I call it the 'Think Tank.'"

"Think Tank?" I repeated.

"Yeah. She says it helps her focus on research problems. I don't know about you, but I get my best thinking done in the shower. So, logically, even more water means more ideas, right?" Levi explained, looking at the tank with a hint of pride in his eyes. 

The sight of Curie floating there, lost in her own world, both comforted and unnerved me. "I don't know what surprises me more: the fact that you managed to build an immersion tank on a spaceship or that you found a designer bathing suit on one."

"Trust me, Captain," Levi chuckled. "The latter was all your wife. I gather she took Curie shopping before we dusted off. It was one of a few things they picked up."

"I should have guessed," I nodded, taking in the ethereal sight. "I don't mean to be indelicate," I continued gently, "but where's her scarf?"

Levi gestured to a small lockbox affixed to the top of the ladder. "It's in there, safe and dry. She only takes it off for this and puts it right back on the moment she steps out."

"Uh-huh," I nodded, the logical next question beginning to form in my mind. However, as it did so, my eyes drifted to a trio of privacy screens situated to the left of the tank. There, hanging from a hat stand affixed to the deck, were Curie's clothes...and multiple oversized towels. I sighed with a quiet sense of relief.

"Alright," I nodded, trying to get my mind back on topic. "Again, incredible work. You've definitely got the infrastructure laid out nicely. So, with that in mind, we're three days out from Concord. Where are we at with the development projects?"

Levi's mouth twitched slightly as though he were holding back a smile. "You mean the self-emptying umbrella stand?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You know what I mean."

Levi nodded, all traces of humor vanishing from his face. "Alright, let's start from the top..."

[Curie Franklin]

MRCN Strumfänger
Concord II jump point
Concord system - Free Worlds League
May 24, 3031 (Tuesday)
______________________________________________

The water swirled gently around my body, a current of warmth that wrapped me in a comforting embrace. The dim lighting in the tank cast a soft blue glow against my closed eyelids. The peaceful atmosphere allowed me to focus clearly, to sculpt ideas in the solitude of my mind. Levi called it the Think Tank. I found the name apt.

As I drifted in the serenity, my thoughts focused on the problem at hand: Idris' industrial combat exoskeleton suit. The frost. How to simulate extreme weather conditions within the confines of the Strumfänger.

We had found a theoretical solution for keeping the suit defrosted, using a heating mechanism that involved a conductive grid across the exoskeleton's outer shell. Small-scale tests in the ship's freezers revealed that the idea was sound, but we needed a way to test it at scale under the same conditions it would face on the battlefield: sub-zero environments, biting winds, blizzard-like snow. That was the real challenge. The suit was not a small thing. Standing at over two meters in height, it was a hulking piece of machinery that simply could not maneuver effectively when surrounded by boxes of frozen hamburger meat.

I sifted through my thoughts, letting them drift like my body in the stillness of the tank, considering all of the meteorology theory I'd learned over the last month. I visualized everything I'd come to know about blizzards, ice formation, and the environmental conditions that spawned such weather. Long minutes passed. And then, like a frostbitten flower blooming in the spring, an idea sprouted inside my head.

The ship's hangar bay.

But it would not be enough to simply open it to the vacuum of space. No, we would need something more...extreme. The freezing temperature would indeed be a start, but it wouldn't account for the wind and precipitation that could seize up the exoskeleton in a real-world scenario. Furthermore, removing oxygen from the bay would diminish the air's ability to conduct temperature, which our heating system needed to prove its efficiency. We needed to simulate both the temperature and the elements, a meteorological trifecta of wind, moisture, and cold. We needed a micro-climate. And immediately, my thoughts turned to Alyssa's memories, referencing the deep technical knowledge she acquired as a ComStar Adept.

She'd once learned the fundamental principles of everything needed to keep a DropShip moving and the crew alive. I began to think of the ship's supplementary systems, things we could repurpose. Chief among the concepts Alyssa had learned were the fuel supply and life support: for a fusion reactor, fuel equated to water, and for the crew, life support relied upon a generous supply of oxygen. I remembered a schematic Alyssa had seen of the fuel and oxygen line routing. Both of these resources were stored, pressurized, in gigantic cylinders deep within the bowels of the ship, their service lines snaking like arteries throughout the vessel's infrastructure. As I floated in the neutral buoyancy of my meditation chamber, the plan began to take shape.

There, in the hangar bay, we could rig an impromptu weather system. Lowering the internal temperature would be as simple as shutting off the heating systems and opening the exterior hangar doors enough to let in a bit of the cold vacuum of space. We could tap high-output sprinkler heads into the Strumfänger's water supply lines and create a downpour of rain. Bleed valves could be installed to vent the ship's oxygen lines into the bay at their maximum pressure, creating gale-force winds. And at the heart of this makeshift storm would stand Idris in his armored suit, testing its resistance against the onslaught as the combined conditions caused snow and ice to sheet over him. It would certainly be a spectacle to behold. But, more importantly, it would yield data.

I released the regulator from my mouth and kicked toward the surface. Breaking the water's edge, I reached toward the tank's hatch and gripped its release handle, turning it with a sense of purpose. Out of the chamber I climbed, water cascading off my bathing suit as I stepped onto the Think Tank's ladder. I paused momentarily, retrieving the key that hung around my wrist to unlock the safety deposit box containing my scarf. Retrieving the precious garment and wrapping it around my still-sodden neck, I descended the ladder and stepped out onto the cold steel floor of the lab. My skin prickled at the sudden chill, but I hardly noticed.

Wrapping a towel around my dripping form, I headed straight for the main lab area, not bothering to change into dry clothing. That was inefficient at the moment. Instead, I took stock of the personnel present with whom I could share my revelation. Idris, Nick, and Levi were already present. However, Levi was engaged in a hushed conversation with Captain Maxwell that registered as "intense," so I waited for an opportunity to address the group as a whole.

[Levi Wright]

"Alright, let's start from the top..." I was going to make it a pun but I realized after I'd started talking that none of the projects was really "higher up" than the others. "Or I guess just with the thing that's closest by, which is Curie's fingerprints."

 

I switched on the light inside the fume hood, where a patch of white silicone was curing inside a small metal mold. "Nick generated a new fingerprint that didn't match anyone else's - which was spookily easy, I thought we were going to have to photograph a monkey's finger or something - and then I machined a finger shaped dish into some aluminum and laser engraved the fingerprint onto the inside to make a mold. We should probably keep the hood shut since the silicone is really stinky and toxic at this stage, but here's the first mold we did," I said and handed it to Captain Maxwell.

 

"Did something go wrong with this one?" he asked.

 

"Not wrong really, the fingerprint lines just needed to be deeper, and making a version 2 was faster than figuring out how to line the laser up perfectly to re-cut the original. I'm also replacing a few of the fingerprint sensors around the ship - can you explain it, Nick?"

 

The clatter of mechanical keys stopped when Nick looked up from his terminal. "We have a mix of optical, capacative and ultrasonic fingerprint sensors," Nick explained. "The optical and ultrasonic ones both look at the shape of the fingerprint, but the capacitive sensor runs a current through it. Silicone isn't conductive, but we couldn't find a conductive material that could also be formed into a highly detailed shape and fit comfortably over a finger, so swapping out a few sensors was the easiest option."

 

Captain Maxwell nodded. "So she'll wear it somehow?"

 

"Yeah," Nick said, spinning in his chair. "It's not ideal - in some places we have both an ID card reader and a fingerprint sensor, which should be two factor auth - something you have and something you are. Curie's fingerprint won't be attached to her, so it's also something she has. We thought about prosthetic glue, but she said she'd have to wash her hands a lot when working in med bay. We're going to attach it to a glove for now, 'til we come up with something better."

 

"That sounds sensible," Captain Maxwell said. "What else do you have?"

 

"Well, we've all been working really hard on this:" I did a sweeping gesture, but it might've fell sort of flat since I was pointing at just one piece of Idris's exoskeleton inside the laser cutting machine.

 

"We are putting it together in the mech bay," Idris explained. "Conductive paint heats the outside of the armor, like a car windshield. Paint alone could scrape off in battle, so paint inside cut channels is more reliable."

 

I nodded. "We also added extra insulation to the wires that connect the heating grids on different armor pieces, so that the connections will stay flexible in the cold. And Nick did some computer math to find the patern that'd heat most evenly without having any single points of failure, in case the armor gets scraped or grazed by a bullet or something."

 

Idris crossed his arms on the back of a chair and leaned over the engraving machine, watching it work. "The hard part is the testing," he said. "We tested the left side and most of the right in the freezer, but there is barely space to walk. The suit must have full range of motion."

 

"We also want to test it against actual weather - wind and snow and stuff., I said. "We have a plan for a quick test when we touch down, but Curie's in the Think Tank trying to figure out a way to do some of those tests here on the ship."

 

"This all looks promising," Maxwell said. "Testing the armor as much as possible should be a priority while in transit - we need to be ready to go as soon as we touch down, and Idris needs to be able to rely on his equipment."

 

I nodded and said "of course," and really hoped Curie would come through, since she was our weather expert and I had no idea where we were going to get a snow storm from on a spaceship.

 

"How is the remote detontor coming?" Captain Maxwell asked, looking over our schematics for it that were spread all over the work table in the middle of the room.

 

"Really good," I said. "Actually, I thought Nick might want to give a demonstration at the shooting range later."

 

"It's safe, promise," Nick rushed to add. "We've been testing with plastic models of the pistol casing and lower-charge power packs, so the explosion's not too big."

 

"And there's two blast shields," I added.

 

"Levi really didn't want any accidents."

 

"Maybe we can wait til Curie is done in the Think Tank, though," I said. "She'd wanted to see the next test, and we've been trying not to do this too often since it destroys the power cell and the circuit on the gun."

 

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised anymore," Maxwell said, "she's a woman of many interests."

 

"It's completely safe," I said - we all wanted to protect Curie, but especially the captain, after what had happened. "There's plenty of hearing protection, too - with both earmuff thingies and the good earplugs, it'll just be pop."

 

Maxwell nodded. "In the meantime, do you have a minute, Levi?" He briefly caught Idris and Nick's eyes. "It's nothing especially interesting, just quartermaster things."

 

Oh shit, this was it. "Yeah, sure, of course." My voice threatened to squeak and my throat went dry.

 

Nick and Idris went back to their work, and I walked with Maxwell to the terminal where I could access the inventory spreadsheets I really hoped he was asking about, and not my continued career with Aegis.

 

Maxwell pulled over a chair from the table in the middle of the room and gestured for me to sit, so I plopped down in the computer's wheelie chair. He was smiling, like he was trying not to make me nervous, which made me really nervous. "I noticed you put in an application for the machinist job."

 

"Oh!" I said, really glad this conversation was about something other than me getting fired. "I thought I could be good at it, since I used the grinder at the auto shop to make parts we couldn't get spares for back on Oberon, and I've been doing a lot of work with the laser cutter here in R&D."

 

"I have no doubts you'd be up to the task," Maxwell said. "But I wanted to talk to you about why you put in the application - it's a more junior role than quartermaster, and the pay is less. Are you unhappy in your job?"

 

"No, it's not that, but..." I looked down at my feet, and then back up at the captain. "I really, really want to stay with Aegis division, if there's a place for me. You guys are the only friends I have, and we're doing important stuff. I thought you'd probably be looking for another quartermaster soon, who knew how to do spaceships and mechs, so I've been keeping an eye out for what else I can do, is all. I don't mind if it doesn't pay as much, I just want to stay - if I can, sir."

[Alexander Blackwood]

MRCN Strumfänger
Concord II jump point
Concord system - Free Worlds League
May 24, 3031 (Tuesday)
______________________________________________

"Hey guys!" I announced, stepping through the sliding door into what I understood to be the "R&D" operation that Captain Maxwell had greenlit. To my surprise, who greeted me wasn't a crowd of eggheads, but instead, a short, blonde-haired woman bizarrely attired in a scarf, swimsuit, and bath towel. 

"Hello," she stated flatly.

Taken aback, I blinked and rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't hallucinating from the fatigue of the trip to Concord. But no, it seemed this spectacle was all too real. 

"Are you...Specialist Franklin?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yes," she replied simply. Her eyes latched onto me with an intensity that was borderline unnerving. "Curie."

"Um, cool. My name's Alex," I offered.

"Alexander," she responded. Her tone was flat but not unkind. I was taken aback, not many people called me that. It was always "Alex," or "Blackwood."

"That's right," I replied, scratching my head and leaning on the door frame. She tilted her head to one side, her haunting blue eyes seeming to evaluate me in an almost inhuman way. "So...what's with the get-up, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"Oh," Curie answered. "I was thinking."

"Thinking?" I echoed, my eyebrows arching in confusion. 

"Yes," she answered enthusiastically, pointing at a huge vat of water behind her. "Think Tank."

"Well, I'll be," I chuckled, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of her earnest expression. She seemed to take my amusement in stride, giving me a small smile in return. "Can't say I've ever heard of anyone doin' their thinkin' in a tank, but each to their own. Anyway, I heard you all are supposed to be problem solvers, and I've got one for you."

"I am listening," she responded, casting the towel aside onto a nearby railing and striding toward the electronic table in the center of the room. At her statement, Nick Schuster and Idris Nasir, previously engrossed in their work, turned to hear my response. Curie made a gesture as if inviting me to continue. There was something about the way she looked at me. It was as though she was pulling words out of my mouth before I even spoke them.

"Well, it's about cooling systems," I started, gesturing vaguely with my hand as if trying to pull the concept from the air. "I've been running Tyche for years. Literal years. And don't get me wrong, she's a great 'Mech. Always brings me home. But damned if she doesn't run hot. And I mean real hot. Hotter than a sun-baked armadillo on the plains of Texas."

Curie gave a small nod, her eyes never leaving my face. Nick and Idris seemed similarly focused, their expressions serious.

"I've tried rerouting power, streamlining the coolant channels, even used a few off-market heat sinks. But no matter what I do, she always ends up runnin' hotter than a cat on a summer tin roof. Now, I ain't no handyman. I can't fix a thing. But I know that 'Mech like I know my own heart. And there's gotta be something we can do," I explained.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Maybe it's a design flaw?"

"No!" I exclaimed. "Tyche's already got double heat sinks, which, by the way, we can't replace whenever they get wrecked. There has got to be a happy medium between running pulse lasers and me getting roasted alive every time I fire 'em."

Curie nodded thoughtfully, her expression sparkling with a mix of curiosity and comprehension. "I understand," she replied, her tone simple but not lacking in intelligence. She moved with a graceful deliberateness, crossing over to a work board mounted on the far wall. "Tyche's hot. Fix it," she added, her voice matter-of-fact as she added a new line to the bottom of the list. "We'll see."

"Wow," I offered. "I thought I'd have to argue my case in front of a committee or something. You all are awesome."

Curie smiled at me as she walked back over. "No. We fix things. Alex," she replied with a subtle grin. It was strangely endearing, the way she simplified everything down to its core. As Idris and Nick returned to their activities, I paused, debating whether I should thank her and leave or linger a while to explore what felt like an unexpected rapport.

"Well, ah, appreciate your help, Curie," I began, unsure of how to continue. She was undeniably cute, and her awkwardness only added to her charm. "I, well, ah," I stuttered, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "If you need any more data, or anything, I can get it for you. I mean, I can even show you the 'Mech if you like."

Curie blinked at my invitation, an inquisitive expression flashing across her countenance before she nodded and responded, "Yes. I would like to see. Thank you."

"Alright," I nodded. "Looks like you're kinda tied up here, what with your bathing suit and Captain Maxwell and all, but you let me know when you're free, and we'll walk through it together."

Curie considered me for a moment, taking in my anticipation. She then turned toward the board on the wall, evaluating the tasks laid out before her. After a moment of silence, she turned back to me and simply said "Yes."

"Excellent. I look forward to it, ma'am," I responded, tipping my invisible hat in her direction and making my way toward the exit.

I found myself oddly excited about the prospect of spending time with this odd yet attractive person I'd just met. 

[Alyssa Maxwell]

Simultaneously...

MRCN Strumfänger
Concord II jump point
Concord system - Free Worlds League
May 24, 3031 (Tuesday)
______________________________________________

"That can't possibly be right," I protested, trying to reassure myself that there must be some misunderstanding. My eyes were fixed on the sterile med bay floor. The reality of my situation was sinking in with a force I hadn't quite anticipated. 

Mallory's matter-of-fact voice broke through my daze. "The test was absolutely conclusive, Alyssa." He paused and pushed his black-framed glasses up on his nose. His eyes met mine with a professional and empathetic look. 

"But I..." I stammered, still processing the situation. "How?"

"Curie's reviewing your records now," Mallory answered gently. "I mean, I guess apart from that, the obvious question is whether you and Charles...you know..." 

"Of course we do!" I interrupted, blushing furiously. "All the time. We're married, for goodness' sake. That's not the point."

Mallory had the grace to look abashed, but his eye had a playful twinkle. "Well, it's at least half the point."

"More than half," interjected Curie, her voice a contrast to the heavy tension filling the room. I glanced over to see her standing before a medical console, watching our exchange with focused concentration. She clutched a diagnostic tablet before her in a poised grip, but her eyes conveyed an unusual empathy that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Tell me," I begged, my gaze shifting between the two of them.

Curie continued to look at me with a soft, understanding expression. "Last birth control injection. Due April 20th, 3031. Missed," she explained.

"That doesn't make sense!" I exclaimed, rounding on Curie. "I mean, that would have been only..." I trailed off, attempting a mental calculation and failing miserably as my scattered thoughts wrestled with the implications. "That would have been only..."

"35 days, nine hours, 23 minutes, and 34 seconds," Curie's clinical voice supplied as she rocked back on her heels. "Correct."

"But I thought...I mean, that can't be right. We've had close calls before..." My voice trailed off again, a knot of anxiety turning in my stomach.

"Mistakes happen," Curie surmised simply. "Probability. Chance."

"Yeah, yeah, probability and chance," I grumbled, running a hand through my hair. "Charles is going to flip his lid."

"What makes you say that?" Mallory interjected, his tone light but eyes serious. "Charles loves you. This could be good news."

"Good news?" I scoffed, feeling the weight of our chaotic existence. "We exist on the fringes of civilization, constantly fighting battles for people who don't even know our names. The thought of bringing a child into this world seems insane to me."

I paced back and forth, stopping at a viewport displaying the endless expanse of space. My reflection stared back at me. "And now we're headed into another one of these dangerous missions. You know how he copes with stress. How do you expect he'll handle this news?"

An interminable silence ensued. Then, unexpectedly, a quiet voice chimed in.

"Fear. Anticipation. Joy." I turned to my right and saw Curie standing next to me. In that vulnerable moment, she seemed to tower over me, even though the difference in our height was only five centimeters. Her hands were folded behind her back, and her intense expression, as she gazed at the stars, conveyed a deep understanding of what I was feeling.

"You would know that, wouldn't you?" I asked, my voice breaking. She knew every secret, every fear, and yet here she stood, her words strangely comforting. For a moment, there was silence, and then Curie nodded.

"I remember," she said with an almost imperceptible smile, her voice carrying a note of empathy. "He loves you. Fear is natural."

"With fear comes strength," Mallory added, joining us at the viewport, his reflection appearing to the left of mine. "And a child...it's not just a responsibility, it's an opportunity. For joy, for growth, for a future."

I sighed, looking up at Curie. "And what if he's scared, too?" I dared to voice the question that had been gnawing at me for the past few moments. 

"Then be scared together," came her simple reply. For months, I'd been bothered by not knowing how the incomprehensible blend of personas and my memories, all forced together within her, operated and made her who she was. But now, the wisdom in her words was undeniable.

"I guess you're right," I admitted, wrapping my arms around myself as if to hold in the anxiety that I was sure was about to spill out into the open. "I just...I can't envision a mini Charles or even a mini-me running around, not in the middle of all this chaos. It's not exactly the ideal environment for child-rearing."

I felt Mallory put his arm around me comfortingly. "Life, kiddo, isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain."

To my surprise, I felt another arm slip around me as Curie mirrored Mallory's action. "Chaos is relative," she said cryptically.

"Easy for you to say," I quipped, a bit of my usual fire flaring up despite the turmoil. "Your brain's a supercomputer."