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Major
Posts: 6226
punch the glitter right off him!
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Chapter 1: Wherein we set up the obvious dramatic backstory
New Delos, Macintosh
Crucis March, Federated Suns
Circa 3025
He was a little tipsy when it happened, on his way back to the crappy little apartment he'd called home for the last few weeks. It had been a celebration, or a memorial, whatever. He'd been commemorating his decision to put aside his life of poverty, of hand to mouth living, in favor of wealth, leisure, and prosperity.
He'd been asked to leave the bar when he'd broken a bottle over another patron's head (the owner of the establishment was extremely forgiving, besides, the other guy had kinda deserved it). The bartender had demanded his keys, but he didn't have a car to use keys on. That was another thing that was going to change. No more walking through the rain along overflowing canals, no more public transportation. He'd have to get a car to go with his new house. Maybe two. The standard pattern around these parts seemed to be two car garages. Might as well fill it up.
And domestic tranquility. A wife to settle down with him, spend his money, squirt out his babies, and some sort of pet animal. Local wildlife was heavily avian, so probably some sort of bird locked up in a cage to look pretty. He hated birds.
An accountant to manage his wealth, a personal trainer to keep him fit, private tutors for the children. College funds... did they have colleges around here? Folks back home liked to say they didn't, that for all its military power the Suns could never figure out how to manage a decent education system. They probably did. At the very least there were plenty of signs around, with words and everything, so someone was teaching people to read.
Yep, he was going to be a big man soon, never wondering about the next meal, except for which utensil to use.
He passed a homeless guy standing next to a burning barrel, trying to keep warm against the evening chill. He didn't really notice the cold until he saw the guy, then he pulled his uniform jacket a little tighter around himself. That was another thing, nice coats, expensive synth leather (the really nice stuff was more expensive than skinning a real animal) lined with fur from endangered animals native to planets on the other side of human space.
He caught sight of an expensive hoverlimo coming down the road ahead of him. Mingling, putting up with high society. This whole damn planet was built on old money. He wondered if he'd fit in. Technically, his money would be almost as old as theirs, give or take a few centuries. Sure, he wouldn't be in the interstellar mogul leagues, but he'd be doing pretty well. How does old money respond to instant millionaires?
Dressy clothes, tuxes, suits, gold plated jewel encrusted pimp canes, that was another thing he didn't have. He'd left his dress uniform behind when he'd been asked to leave.
As the hoverlimo approached, he noticed it was moving erratically. That was yet another thing, how wealthy did you have to be before you could blow off traffic laws? How much would it cost to keep a lawyer on retainer in case his sons got caught with a hooker and a kilo of uncut dream dust? No, that was silly, they didn't have dream dust around here.
The hoverlimo shot by fast. He didn't pay it much heed until he heard it hit the canal fence behind him. He didn't even turn around until he heard it hit the water.
He turned around, expecting to see the hoverlimo skimming along the water's surface. He didn't even register the lack of noise from the vehicle's fans until he saw that it wasn't moving in any proper direction. It was moving all right, ahead and down. Somehow the vehicle had lost power, and now it was sinking fast while the current swept it along.
And without even thinking about it, he was running towards it. The canal was about as full as it could get short of flood stage, and the water was moving fast. Anybody who was too drunk to drive wouldn't be able to get out of that alone.
He dived in, fully aware that he was probably also too drunk to get out again.
As he hit the water, he thought of another thing he'd probably need when he was rich. A portable phone.
-----
HQ, Taurian Guards Second Battalion, Echo Company
Taurus, the Hyades Cluster
Taurian Concordat
Subaltern Sharon Bedford took a seat next to her commander, as fit her position as Echo Company's executive officer.
"So are you good with this arrangement?" Brigadier Kevin Gelman asked her. She nodded.
"It works for me," she said. "This Long kid isn't going to be too happy."
Kevin laughed. "It's never too early to learn that the TDF is all about disappointments," he said. "If we're lucky, he'll learn to appreciate the bitch position. You and Lyanna did pretty well."
"I was just happy they let me in the Guard," Sharon admitted. She'd finished at the top of her class at the premier military academy in the Concordat, but some bad personal choices had marred her record before she'd finished at the Ecole Militair. That the TDF had overlooked those mistakes and actually offered her a post with Echo Company, even if it wasn't initially a command position, was extraordinary. "And Lyanna's looking forward to a command of her own when she's finished this tour."
"She's earned it," Kevin said. "And it's about time for her to rotate out. We can look into that once we clear current jobs off the board." Echo Company was a cadre unit, taking on the best of the Concordat's academy graduates and giving them a chance to learn as a part of the most elite regiment in the TDF, but few of its members remained for long before they were rotated to other units. Only Kevin, Sharon, and Sig (who led the third lance) were considered "full timers", and their principle job was introducing the new meat to the realities of military service.
Sharon suspected that Kevin was doing the same for her with this new batch. While reshuffling the personnel, he'd stripped all of the experienced warriors from her lance and moved them over to his own and Sig's units. She'd have three completely green recruits to shepherd. After four years with Echo Company it was finally time for her own final exam.
Kevin glanced at the clock. "You think we've made them wait long enough?"
"Probably," Sharon said. Their new recruits had been waiting outside Kevin's office for the last two hours. As he put it, the initial wait built character.
Kevin hit a buzzer to signal the clerk outside. There was no point in using an intercom, the clerk knew what the buzz meant.
Half a moment later, five young, fresh-faced individuals in cleaned and pressed uniforms entered the office.
God they look young. Sharon couldn't help but marvel at the sight, trying to remember what it was like to look so eager and nervous. How do they make being twenty four feel old?
"Let me be the first to welcome you to Echo Company of the Taurian Guards," Kevin said. "You're here because you are the best and brightest that our great nation's military academies have to offer. Whether or not this is a scathing criticism of the state of our military education remains to be seen."
The new arrivals had a mixture of expressions. The one Sharon identified as Senior Cornet Richard Long seemed a little put out, either by the waiting or his new commander's sarcasm. Another, towards the back, looked a little confused. That would be Elliot Hollis, a phenomenal pilot, his file had said, but out of his depth outside of a cockpit. The other three went with nervous laughter.
"The principle role of Echo Company is to deprogram the nonsense they shoveled into you at the academy," Kevin continued, "but don't expect an easy tour. Echo Company is an active combat unit, and I happen to believe very strongly that you learn best when I throw you off a cliff."
That led Elliot to nervously raise his hand, a confused, scared look on his face. "Uhh... sir..."
"It's just an expression, Mr. Hollis." Kevin paused as though considering it. "...Probably."
Elliot did his best to look like he understood. "Oh," he said as he put his hand down.
"Now to assignments. Senior Cornet Long."
Long came to attention. "Sir."
"You will be assigned the number four position in the command lance."
There was a significant pause, Long looked positively hurt. Sharon had called it right, he'd been expecting a command of his own. He was full of himself, convinced he was entitled because of his skills or his performance at the academy. "Sir, I'm... My rank..."
"Your rank is mechwarrior. Nothing more until I say otherwise." Kevin was completely unapologetic. "I'm sure you're very proud of your performance, and you probably should be, but grades and test scores don't make you fit to command. You'll learn to take orders, learn to listen to people who know more than you, before you get to give orders."
The statement stung Long like a reprimand, but he did a good job of keeping it to himself. Sharon was sure he didn't think he'd deserved it, though she couldn't imagine why he thought they'd make space for him to command a lance right away. His shoulders straightened again. "Yes, Brigadier."
Kevin moved on without another thought. "Cornet Hollis."
The young man straightened into a nervous salute. "Sir."
"You'll be assigned to the scout lance. It's a good team, listen to what they teach you, learn from them, and you'll do well."
Sharon mentally nodded. It was a good fit. Elliot's natural talent was considerable, but despite what Kevin had said, this was one case where he couldn't be "thrown off a cliff". He was slow... and that hurt his confidence. He'd need someone who could guide him in the right direction and take the time needed to help him along. Sig and his crew were an excellent choice.
Sharon noticed that Long looked even more hurt hearing about Elliot's assignment. He apparently wasn't happy about having basically the same assignment as someone he obviously considered inferior.
"As for the rest of you, Cornets Averhill, Westland, and Worth, I leave you in the capable hands of Subaltern Bedford." The three new officers each acknowledged their assignment. "Cornet Worth, keep in mind that your new lance commander has specific orders to shoot you if you cause a problem."
The expression on Brad Worth's face was mostly surprise, with just a hint of fear. It made Sharon want to smile even more. Yeah, they put that in your file too. Brad Worth's scores had been great, good enough to earn him cross training for special warfare duties, and probably good enough to earn him a spot in one of the special task groups once he had some seasoning. He wasn't perfect, though. His black mark had to do with women. "Excess fraternization". He'd be the sole male in Sharon's Fire lance.
Is Kevin trying to make sure my job is as adventurous as possible, or is he reminding me where I came from? That wasn't a line of thought she wanted to dwell on, five years past or not.
"Traditionally, new arrivals get some time to acclimate to their new surroundings, and this won't be different." Kevin looked at his watch theatrically before continuing. "You have ten minutes. Find your quarters, stow your gear, then get to the mech bays and get your machines prepped for transit. This company is lifting off in two hours."
The confusion was obvious on all their faces, and for a moment, the new recruits made no move at all.
"Shoo," Kevin said. "Anything not on the dropship in two hours gets left behind."
That was enough to get them moving. The young officers filed out of the room, and Sharon waited until the door closed behind them before speaking up.
"Didn't you have the tech crews prep and load their mechs when they arrived?"
Kevin nodded. "Fifty bulls says they panic for a good twenty minutes before someone gets the bright idea to ask what happened to their mechs."
"And our liftoff time is in one hour."
That netted a grin. "Whoops. I'm sure the ground crew will enlighten them, hopefully before they tell them where their mechs are."
"And when we get to the jump point and they find out we've got a two day layover before the Jumpship can take us out of system?"
Kevin's grin never left his face. "Then they'll know they're in the TDF. We're going to have a long trip ahead of us between now and when we get to Serenity. We can play get to know your lancemates later, for now, they get the whole experience."
Very little changed. The experience had been the same for Sharon when she'd joined Echo. Undoubtedly the same for Kevin himself when he joined. "They seem capable." She offered.
Kevin shook his head. "Long is offended that nobody named him Marshal yet, Hollis can't catch subtlety with both hands, Averhill looks like a porn star, Westland can't handle a kitchen knife without losing a finger, and Worth hasn't realized that good looks don't get him anywhere in the service. Yeah, I'm thrilled about these guys."
Kevin's style of command was a bit softer than his predecessor. "You're fortunate your scores were so good, senior cornet, they did wonders to cover up all the traitor semen crusted around your mouth." She smiled. The new troops were getting off easy. "So Worth's your favorite?" she asked wickedly.
"Too straight for my tastes, subaltern," Kevin said without missing a beat. "'sides which, that sort of thing never goes well on the job, you know that better than any of us."
She felt a bit of shame at the reminder. She couldn't fault Kevin any, she had set herself up for it. The difference is it wasn't being with Sam that caused the problem, it was Sam being Sam.
"It seems like these kids are getting younger and dumber every tour," Kevin continued. "I'm almost afraid how they'll screw up this milk run to Serenity. God help us if crazy ole Tom turns out to be right for once and we have to lead them into a real war."
He really does sound like Sam. It was times like this that she could do without. Kevin was the same age, same cynical personality, even the same general body type. At least there was contrast. As close as they were, she knew Kevin would never hit on her.
Unbidden, she found herself wondering what Sam was up to right now. Freelancing, womanizing, living it up, pointing out how everybody's shit except for him, same old thing probably.
-----
New Delos, Macintosh
Not quite out to sea yet
Sam Palmer managed to get to the driver side door. He wasn't sure how he did it, but there he was. What he saw sucked.
Calm, rational, assess the situation. Concentrate on turning crap into less crap. The driver's head was laying against the wheel, and Sam could see the the blood already crusting on his bottom lip and chin. He definitely wasn't moving under his own power.
The current was trying hard to rip him away from the slowly sinking vehicle, he wasn't sure how long he could maintain his grip, much less make his way to the passenger compartment, but he could see someone in there. She didn't look fully conscious, but she was moving. She wouldn't be soon if she drowned in her limo.
There was a flash of pain and light behind Sam's eyes as something struck him in the face. It was enough to make his grip slip free, and for a moment he panicked, flailing for any handhold he could get before the current swept him away. Somehow, he managed to get a hold of the hood of the limo, just enough to swing his body in front of the windshield.
With the car's bulk as a temporary refuge from the current, he took a moment to catch his breath. Amber Grove wasn't enough, huh dipshit? When are you going to learn that doing the right thing gets you screwed? All right, now what?
The immediate problem was getting in to get the woman out. Simple... right... At least for that he had the proper tool.
While one hand clung to the car for dear life, he reached into his jacket and drew his pistol, happy to find out that it hadn't been lost in the water. Careful where you aim, there's someone alive in there. He took aim at the windshield and pulled the trigger.
Even through the sound of the gunshot, he heard the ricochet. "Shit!" The windshield was armored. "Congratulations, VIP quality is going to get you killed!"
He saw a face on the other side of the windshield. The woman was conscious and had made her way to the front of the car. She pounded on the windshield to get his attention.
"Open a window!" he shouted at her. "Climb out, do something useful you stupid bitch!"
He didn't know if she could hear him or not, but she seemed to understand what he was saying. She slipped over to the passenger side and jammed a finger down on the window button.
Sam was expecting nothing to happen, so it was a surprise to see the window come down. The woman had probably a few seconds before the water began pouring in, and she used it well, scrambling through the open window and climbing on to the car's roof.
Sam followed her up and, finally getting a close up look, was dumbstruck for just a moment.
She looked like Sharon. Or at least what Sharon looked like five years ago. Same cute hair plastered down against her head by the water, same impish youth and dubious innocence...
"We're still sinking, cowboy," she pointed out. "Are you going to help me out, or stare at me some more?"
That snapped him out of it. "Can you swim?"
"Not very well," the woman admitted.
"Then hold on to me, and concentrate on not drowning."
"We have to get Harry out," she protested, "he's sick." It didn't take much effort to figure out who she was talking about.
"He's already dead," Sam countered. "There's no time."
Something seemed to war in her eyes, but the water reached the open window that moment and the car started to slip away right under them. As the water surrounded them, she threw her arms around him and held on as he pushed back into the current and let it carry them away.
----
They came ashore a ways downstream, in the residential area where the unyielding cement of the canal gave way to slightly more yielding soil. Once he'd gotten them out of the water and onto the grass, he felt pretty content to lie there for a while.
The woman... it was difficult thinking of her as a woman at this point, the more he looked at her, the younger she seemed... she was sitting next to him, staring at the canal they'd just climbed out of.
"I could tell he wasn't feeling good," she was saying. "He didn't complain but I could see he was suffering. I should have never made him take me out tonight."
"Knock it off," Sam said. "Maybe you screwed up, maybe he did by trying to laugh off whatever was making him sick, it doesn't change what happened. Blaming yourself won't make things right."
He saw the tears. "Then what makes it right?" she asked.
"Nothing," Sam said. "Nothing makes it right. You can't take it back, you can't fix things, all you can do is cope with how things are."
She didn't look like she wanted to believe him, not that that surprised him or anything. The more he looked at her, the less of Sharon he saw. The face was a bit different, hair was the wrong color, the tank top she wore was pink instead of white.
"You're a mercenary," she said to him.
"What makes you say that?" he asked. Maybe she thought he was cold blooded or something.
"Your uniform jacket isn't militia or Federated Suns standard issue," she pointed out.
"You're something like seventeen Terran standard," he shot back. "How would you know a Fed uniform from the latest at Reynards?"
A look of annoyance passed across her face. "Nineteen actually," she said. "Not all young society women are completely clueless."
Fair enough. "Yeah, I guess you could say I freelance, at least until tomorrow."
For whatever reason, something about what he said seemed to irritate her. "You're assuming a great deal."
"I'm assuming what?" he was confused. "I'm sorry, but I got hit in the head back there. Did I black out for part of this conversation?"
She looked exasperated. "Look, I'm grateful to you for saving my life, but that doesn't mean my husband's going to hire some wandering mercenary..."
Yeah, he was missing something. "Lady, I've only been on planet for a few weeks. I don't even know who you are." That seemed to catch her by surprise.
"But... the way you were looking at me..."
"You reminded me of someone I used to know," he explained. "I'm not looking for work. Yeah, I'm broke, I can't afford the rent on the warehouse for my battlemech, much less repairs or anything like that, but it's not a problem. I'm getting out of the game. Once I sell the old girl off I'll have all the money I'll need for a long time."
"So you just jumped in to save me?"
She sounded like it was something inconcievable. "I felt like doing something stupid."
That made her expression change to an impish grin. "In that case, kind sir, I am doubly grateful. May I ask your name?"
Sam could hear sirens in the distance. He leaned his head back to look up into the cloudy sky. "Sam Palmer."
She seemed to hear them to. "Well, Sam Palmer, when my security detail gets here, the least we can do is take you to my home so that my husband can show his gratitude."
Nothing about that sounded fun at all. "Couldn't you just drop me off at my place? Send me a commemorative gift basket or something?"
"I'm afraid that won't do," she said. "It would be unseemly if the noble ruler of Macintosh did not properly reward the man who saved his beloved wife."
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Major
Posts: 6250
There are no fish in my pond.
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Sam, meet the Hubby...
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Monsters in the Sky!
Moderator
Posts: 20560
Luft Konteradmiral, K.u.K. Luftflotte
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TAG
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Warrant Officer
Posts: 463
Gunslinger
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Nice start off be good to see where this goes, thanx.
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Major
Posts: 5676
Hogan!
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"My gratitude is non-negotiable." dammit now I can't remember the character's name but it is from Royal Pains
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Warrant Officer
Posts: 689
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Interesting start. Looking forward to more.
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Major
Posts: 6226
punch the glitter right off him!
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Chapter 2: Sufficient spinning ancestors might push Taurus out of orbit
Royal Palace, New Delos
Macintosh
Sometime after lunch
"This is so wrong on so many levels."
All Sam had wanted was a commemorative gift basket. If necessary, he would have shaken Count Degrassy's hand, paused for a photo op, whatever. The noble could get on with his life ignoring the commoner, the commoner could get on with his life ignoring the noble, everybody would have been happy.
But no, that wasn't good enough. The Count had not been available to meet him, but the servants had been happy to inform Sam that he was to be a guest of honor at a ball the noble lord was throwing. Over what, Sam had no idea. By the time he thought to decline, they were already whisking him away to be stripped and washed.
They were insidious. Trim, teenage lasses (the oldest was maybe sixteen) who seemed embarrased to be washing the nude body of a fit male adult. They moved quickly, and he complied with their wishes out of embarrassment, just to get it done before somebody's head exploded...
...lousy word choice.
They had him cleaned and dried and half way to dressed before he remembered to try to decline his invitation. All they did was giggle and keep dressing him. They giggled again when he finally spoke up on what they were dressing him in.
"It was very brave of you to save our lady, kind sir," one of the girls said as she finished buttoning the sunburst that made up most of the front of his borrowed jacket and lightly pushed him into a chair. "Lift your foot up please."
"Dressing me in this is not the way to show your gratitude," Sam protested as the girl began buckling a spur to one boot.
"The count's orders, kind sir," a girl dragging a brush through his hair said. "You look very dashing."
"That's a matter of opinion," Sam said. "This stuff itches."
"Nonsense," the one straightening his jacket said. She was blushing, stumbling a little in her speech. Trying to sound as professional as her fellow servants, but obviously flustered. What is it with me and younger girls? "It's made of the finest material."
"I'm allergic," Sam complained.
"You are not," the girl on boot duty let one foot drop. "Your other foot please. You're just being discourteous."
"I'm letting a bunch of high school girls dress me up in a getup that would get me shot in my hometown, how much more courteous can I get?"
"Your own clothes are ruined," brush girl stated, "and hardly suiting besides. Even if you had appropriate attire at your home, which, kind sir, I am sorry to say is doubtful, there would be no time to get it before the ball. Our lord merely wishes you to be attired appropriately for your station."
"Shows he knows nothing about my station," Sam said. "If he did, he'd give me jeans, a t-shirt, and a satchel charge."
"Oh behave yourself." This voice came from behind him, and by now it was fairly familiar. "I will not have the man on my arm look like a slob."
"Oh, mistress Amy!" The girls fled from Sam en-mass to flock around their countess. Sam took the moment to get to his now spurred feet and step over to the full length mirror. Every footstep jingled an irritating jingle, and no matter how he looked at himself, he knew he looked wrong.
The servant girls were jabbering with the countess... Countess Amy Kendall-Degrassy. He'd probably need to remember that in the future... jabbering with her about her terrifying experience, trying to vicariously absorb the adventure like girls reading a romance novel. Nice of her to leave out the part about the dead guy.
Interesting comparison. Dashing, rough around the edges loner saves beautiful young princess from death, As a reward he is to escort her to the ball. He's not happy with the whole formality, she's fairly indifferent, neither of them expect very much. A scene much like this, she comes into the room, he's facing away, he turns around, their eyes meet, and BOOM! Spellbound! She's smitten to see him so handsome, the ice around his heart begins to melt to see her so beautiful... Hell, let's get on with it then.
He turned around, and for a moment there indeed was stunned silence.
She did look good. The dress was slinky, sexy but elegant, not overblown, not trashy, a simple gray number that fit just right in all the right ways. That, by the way, was not the reason for the silence between them.
She also looked pissed. The last girl who looked that pissed at Sam gave him a black eye (though he had deserved it).
"Umm... whatever it is, I didn't do it?"
Her expression changed in an instant. The anger was gone, the charm was back. "The uniform looks good on you, Mr. Palmer."
Sam looked down at the AFFS dress uniform he'd been wrapped in. "No, it doesn't," he said. "Your husband's idea, and not to sound ungrateful, but it's not exactly my style of clothing. I guess it's about the only formal wear they have to offer."
"We all have to accept things we might not like," the countess said as she stepped forward. "I have other things I would like to be doing right now, but my lord husband commands my presence, and he commands that my savior escort me in proper attire." She smoothly took Sam's arm. "This will likely be a trial for both of us, shall we face it together?"
-----
Conference room, TCS Francis Marion
Outbound from Taurus
Sharon wasn't sitting by her commanding officer this time. Instead, she shared a table with her new lance mates. For their first proper meeting with the new blood, each lance sat together at one of four tables surrounding a central holographic projector. The fourth table was taken up by the two pilots of the aerospace lance, which had been attached to Echo for the duration of the present operation.
"I see we all made it aboard," Kevin said as he got up from his seat. He began slowly making a circuit of the room, sparing a glance for each one of the warriors under his command. The new meat probably thought it was predatory behavior, watching them like a hawk, waiting for them to make a mistake, waiting to pounce.
Sharon knew that Kevin just liked to pace on the job. As he told her, bastardized half aerojocks like him weren't prone to keeping still.
"It took some of you a bit longer than it should have to ensure your gear was squared away and ready for transport," Kevin continued. "You can do better than that."
Senior Cornet Long felt the moment was right to speak up. "Sir, you gave us wrong information. There was no way we could have known..."
"Precisely, mechwarrior Long." Kevin put special effort into emphasizing Long's role in the unit without sparing a syllable on his rank. "The point of your military training isn't to prepare you for when everything goes right. If everything went right, they wouldn't need us. The Taurian Defense Force has seventeen hundred mechwarriors defending thirty two star systems and billions of people. When things go wrong, you won't have the pleasure of textbook perfect organization, ideal fighting conditions, or probably even a cooperative high command that will give you whatever you need. The only thing you may have to depend on is yourself. Your first lesson is to stop whining when the crap hits and adjust to it."
Long seemed stung by the rebuke. Like he did at their first meeting, he seemed to retreat back into military decorum. "Understood, sir."
"The second lesson," Kevin turned his attention away from Long to address the entire company, or at the very least its newest members. "You are expected to know everything at all times. That means if by some chance you fail to live up to that expectation, don't stand around and look stupid. The tech crew says it took ten minutes of running around like a bunch of cadets before one of you bothered to ask where your mechs were." To Sharon he seemed mostly annoyed because he'd bet on twenty minutes. "Cornet Hollis, asking the crew chief was the right decision. Failing to ask immediately was the wrong decision. Next time, if you don't know the answer, ask someone who does. As for the rest of you, waiting for Hollis to make the right decision for you was the stupid decision. Congratulations, you've all failed your first test."
Sometimes it was unpleasant to watch Kevin work. He was being unfair to the new officers. He even knew it and would freely admit to it. That too was part of the point. Life wasn't fair. Life and death in the grips of gigantic war machines was even less so.
"Fortunately for you and your careers, the TDF mandates that I be a generous commander. It also mandates that I cannot turn this ship around, so we are stuck with each other. Let's move on to business that doesn't have to do with you people being a bunch of screw-ups."
Kevin clicked a remote control in the direction of the projector and a holographic world materialized into view.
"This is Serenity," Kevin said. "It is a sparsely inhabited little mudball formally abandoned by the Taurian Concordat at the end of the Second Succession War. Today it is home to less than fifty thousand dirt poor farmers, and ruled by King Alaric Dompair, a man on reasonably cordial terms with the Concordat. Until recently, the Concordat's interest in this planet has been fairly minimal. Ships bring in tools and medical supplies when they can, primarily for humanitarian reasons, but they also bring back a trickle of gold and occasionally natives who come to the Concordat for an education."
Kevin made it back to his table and took his seat. "It is also of some archeological significance, which is how the Taurian Defense Force has gotten involved. A Taurian civilian archeological team studying the ruins on Serenity has discovered evidence of a Star League era military outpost. The diggers have sold the rights to any military hardware to the Taurian Government, and it's our job to provide additional security to the dig site in cooperation with the planetary militia."
Kevin leaned back in his chair. "Those are the basics. Each one of you has a noteputer, and all the relevant files have been uploaded. I expect you to know every detail in them by the time we touch dirt again. In the meanwhile, we have a long trip ahead of us before we reach our destination, and we've got four sim-pods aboard this ship. Each lance is working its ass off all the way to Serenity to make sure it can actually function as a lance. For those of you who think I'm being too hard on you, we're just getting warmed up."
-----
Still muckin about the Royal Palace, New Delos
Macintosh
"So who did you leave behind?" the countess asked as they walked down a long corridor empty save for classical columns, suits of armor, antique paintings, and strange artifacts of modern man's technological history.
It was a surprising question. So far Sam had gotten the impression that the Countess of Macintosh cared little for the people around her, and was likely to notice less. Typical noble behavior. "Who says I left someone behind, milady?"
"Please stop that milady nonsense, at least when we're alone. I'm Amy." She turned her head to look at him and smile. "And by the way you looked at me out in the canal, I almost had you pegged as one of my stalkers. If I reminded you of someone that someone must have been pretty special."
"How do you know I'm not one of your stalkers?" Sam asked. It would get him out of this ball... into a jail cell, but still nonetheless not here.
"You aren't drooling enough, Mr. Palmer," the countess... or rather Amy pointed out. "Besides, you didn't know who I was."
"I could start if you like," Sam said. "Heavy breathing... I could awkwardly try to kiss you." Like she said, neither of them wanted to be here right now, and it would be an easy out for both of them.
That somehow made her smile again. "I think if either of us were interested in kissing it wouldn't be awkward and it would have happened already."
That made Sam blink. It was an odd thing to say... and disturbingly perceptive on her part. "I don't know, this whole scene could have been ripped from Myrcella. We could find ourselves naked in a linen closet at any moment."
"Sorry," Amy said. "I don't read tawdry romance."
Sam's wit got the better of him. "Hah, I'm surprised to see anybody around here read at all." Though she was right, Myrcella was more than a bit on the trashy side.
"That's fairly elitist of you," Amy said. "Are you trying to seduce me, annoy me, or just get out of answering my question?"
Sam thought for a moment. "No, yes, and you think very highly of your feminine wiles if you think I need an excuse not to answer a personal question. You showed off that you noticed something about me, and you shared something about you. We could psychoanalyze each other for a while, and we'd get to the point where we find out we're a couple of lonely people looking for companionship, and even so we're not really that in to each other. Nah, this ain't Myrcella, more like Stars of the Pleiades. We're probably perfect for each other and neither of us care, because we don't believe in perfect anymore."
Amy thought for a moment. "The male and female protagonists got together at the end of Pleiades."
Sam was appropriately impressed, at least one Fed Suns citizen really was literate. "Yeah, the author totally caved to the fans. Last book ruined the series, total shark jump."
"Shark jump?" The confusion on Amy's face was evident.
"Sorry, my curious dialect, it's the same thing that makes me speak so familiarly with a noblewoman I just met a few hours ago. Especially bored noblewomen who let me get away with it." Purely for effect, he scratched his head. "It's the getting away with it part that's confusing." Even back home, where noble blood was no big thing, the liberties he was taking in talking to this woman would be crossing a line. Damn you, you're supposed to be incensed and refuse to let me escort you.
This netted a sigh. "I could plead boredom," she said, "but I don't have much choice in the matter. The uniform makes it clear that my husband will be offering you a job before the night is done, so I expect I will be seeing a lot more of you."
Well that was a little confusing. "I thought you said he wasn't hiring."
"He wasn't," Amy said. "The last position in his pet mech company had already been allocated to someone else. Unfortunately, your qualifications seem to have taken that candidate out of contention." Some of the frustration from before was back.
"I'm not sure how he judged my qualifications. I don't remember submitting a resume," Sam said. "I do remember something about getting out of the business..." A few hours ago, he was celebrating his near future fortune as a rich civilian. "Besides, I'm not fond of the uniform. I don't think there's much he can offer me to make me want to wear it."
"My husband can be very persuasive," Amy assured him, "and you have a qualification he values deeply over the other candidate."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes," Amy said. "You aren't his fragile, defenseless little toy wife. Oh look, here's the ballroom."
-----
TCS Francis Marion
Long caught up with Sharon in the corridor after the meeting had broken up. She was busy hurrying her charges to the simulator pods (she'd made sure to secure the first spot in the training rotation) and she was pretty sure she wasn't going to be happy with the interruption.
"Can the three of you find the sim pods without me?" she asked of her mechwarriors. Cornet Averhill answered for all three of them.
"We'll be fine, ma'am," she said. There was something that seemed off about Cornet Cindy Averhill. Kevin's description of "porn star" wasn't completely accurate, she looked too good for that. She looked like she should be modeling summer fashion rather than piloting a battlemech. And everything she said sounded way too cute to be real. "If we get lost, we'll ask someone for help."
I'll get used to it, I hope. "Then go ahead, I'll catch up." She waited for her mechwarriors to pass out of sight before turning her attention back to Long. "What's on your mind, Cornet Long?"
Long stayed silent for a moment, apparently visibly disconcerted that Sharon had omitted the "senior" from his rank. It was hardly a requirement, just a simple means of identifying the junior officers with command training, but he obviously took it seriously.
Sharon got tired of waiting. "I have training time to mark off, Cornet Long, out with it."
For a moment it looked like he wanted to clam up and walk away, but at the last minute he seemed to find his nerve. "How did you do it?" he asked.
She had an idea where he was going, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him. "You're going to have to be more specific than that, Cornet."
He showed more spine here than he had with his commanding officer. "Ma'am, I don't know what he expects of me. The way he's pushing, the way he shoved me down to a junior post like that..."
"You can stop there, Cornet," Sharon said. "In addition to the brigadier, there's also me, Subaltern Nichols, and Subaltern Black ahead of you in seniority. Any one of us is already certified for company command. Subaltern Black will get her own company once this tour is over, Nichols and myself passed on our own companies to stay with Echo. Why should he pass one of us up to give you a lance?"
There was a moment's hesitation in Long's eyes. Clearly he hadn't thought of things that way, but he wasn't quite willing to give up. "Ma'am, I'm supposed to be learning from this company, but if I'm not allowed to use the skills I've been taught..."
"You'll get that chance when the brigadier says you're ready for it," Sharon said. "You've been in this company for all of five hours. If you want to accomplish something while you're here, then follow your commander's orders and pay attention to what your lance mates can teach you. If all you want is a command, put in for a transfer when we're done with this operation. the Brigadier will be happy to fast track it for you. Now if that's all..."
The young officer looked defeated, or maybe a little humbled, Sharon hoped the later. "Thank you for your time, Ma'am," he said.
Sharon turned to head after her lance, but she only got a few steps before Long spoke up again.
"Was this how it was for you?"
Sharon stopped, but didn't turn around. "Worse."
"Because of Amber Grove?"
That made her want to smile. It was unpleasant to think about Sam, but at least she'd made peace with what had happened on Amber Grove. "No, Brigadier Gelman is a tommy bear compared to our old CO. I'm sure you have something you should be doing Cornet Long."
She didn't spare a glance to see for herself, but she imagined the young mechwarrior saluting. "Yes Ma'am, thank you for your time."
Sharon didn't waste time acknowledging his words, instead she started off again after her mechwarriors.
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Captain
Posts: 2471
Warning: Bullets come out this end...
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TAG! Two chapters and I'm already hooked...
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Lieutenant
Posts: 1270
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yippeee!! more stuff to sit and bitch for about lack of updates  DT |
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Major
Posts: 6226
punch the glitter right off him!
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Well maybe if you guys would bust out some pie money...  |
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Lieutenant
Posts: 1230
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Well maybe if you guys would bust out some pie money... MMMmmmMMMMmmmm, pie!  |
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Monsters in the Sky!
Moderator
Posts: 20560
Luft Konteradmiral, K.u.K. Luftflotte
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Well maybe if you guys would bust out some pie money... Wrong genre. Leviathans has pie  W. |
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Major
Posts: 6226
punch the glitter right off him!
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Chapter 3: The sad part is he gets along with the Davions better than his own people
The Grand Ballroom of the Royal Palace
New Delos, Macintosh, etc
They weren't announced as they entered the ballroom. At least that was something. Nonetheless, Sam immediately felt out of place... and... well... a little creeped out.
There were of course the typical things you could expect. Finely dressed gentlemen with finely dressed ladies on their arms (most ladies wore gowns that were a lot more elaborate and overblown than Amy's dress). Marble floors, high ceilings, a small orchestra (large band? Sam didn't know where the cutoff point was) in the corner of the room playing some bastardized modern form of fifteen hundred year old musical numbers. Folks on the dance floor actually trying to enjoy themselves, charm their dates, get lucky, whatever. Other groups standing about mingling. Servants moving among the crowds offering drinks or snacks.
The creepy part was... okay, there were two creepy parts. The first was he was in a large room full of Davion high society and he hadn't spontaneously combusted. The second was the servants. They were teenage girls in maid getups. All of them.
"I'm a pilgrim in an unholy land," he said. "Can I ask how old your husband is?" Not a male servant to be seen, not an adult female servant to be seen... he was hoping for young. A spoiled brat kid who ran on hormones would be so much better than the alternative...
Amy didn't get the chance to answer. The crowd parted before them and the Count Degrassy made his appearance.
Well so much for that. Maybe sixty years of age, probably more. And what's with those girls following behind him? I keep thinking I've figured out all the levels of wrong and he keeps digging up more.
The Count Degrassy (Sam knew it was him by the way everyone moved out of his way, and by the servants that followed two steps behind) made no effort to hide the signs of age. His face was beginning to show wrinkles, his hair could charitably be called salt and pepper. He leaned not unnoticeably on the jewel encrusted cane he had his hand on. One eye was milk white, a scar crossed his face from the right cheek to the left temple. Sam suspected a considerable degree of reconstructive surgery had been necessary to put his face in order, but for some reason they'd stopped halfway.
"You sure didn't marry him for his looks," Sam whispered.
He felt Amy dig her nails in to his arm a bit to remind him to hold his tongue. Then she slipped off his arm and approached her husband.
"My dear wife," the count said as he reached out to take Amy's hand, "It does my heart good to see you well from the day's adventure."
His wife dutifully leaned forward to briefly kiss her husband, an act Sam found incredibly brave, before gesturing towards Sam.
"My lord Husband, may I present Sam Palmer, the brave gentleman who saved my life."
"A brave man indeed," the count agreed as he turned his attention towards Sam. "To jump into such raging water with no regard for your safety. I am grateful to you for rescuing my wife."
"Thank you, milord," Sam said... he felt kinda dirty saying it. "I'm sorry that I couldn't save Harry as well."
Sam saw a flash of pain in Amy's eyes, but from the Count he saw only brief confusion. He caught on pretty quick though. "His death is regrettable, of course," he said. "But I am certain you did everything within your power."
Couldn't save a favored pet? Dreadful unfortunate, but I'm sure you did your best. I hate the ****** nobility.
"We have many things we need to discuss, you and I," the count continued. "However for the moment I feel I must steal my wife for a dance. If you will excuse us?"
Sam nodded his understanding and the count and countess departed. It was an unsettling sight to see the nineteen year old girl led to the dance floor by her aging husband.
I wouldn't be surprised if he married her on her eighteenth birthday, as much barely in barely legal as possible, with plenty of younger flesh available on the side. Another advantage of being wealthy and powerful, people turn a blind eye to your perversions.
A servant girl stepped up to him and held a tray out. "Would you care for a drink, kind sir?"
Sam took a flute of champagne from the tray. "Thank you, I could use one." He recognized her pretty easily. It was one of the girls that had dressed him against his will, the flustered one. "You're taking a bit for granted, though," he said. "How do you know I'm kind?"
If he needed confirmation, the flustered look was back. "We are expected to say it whenever we address a man," she explained, "however, if I may be bold, I am certain it is appropriate for you."
There was a blush, a little hesitation when she said it. "That's kind of you to say," Sam replied.
"Thank you, kind sir," the girl said. "Please don't think poorly of my lord the Count, he has been very kind in his own way to all of us."
That was a surprising insight on her part. Not so much the very kind in his own way part, that was the kind of thing an abuse victim said about their abuser. But the fact that she picked up on his distaste, that was a neat trick. "You're pretty good at reading people."
"Thank you, kind sir." The kind sirs were getting a little annoying, but if she picked up on that it didn't stop her from continuing to use the term. "It's one of the reasons I'm here."
Another surprising statement. So they were more than just arm candy or bed warmers, they served as eyes. He wondered if the girl was supposed to tell him that, or if she'd just blurted it out of her own accord.
"I should return to my duties," the girl said. "If you require anything, you may ask any of us for assistance."
For some reason that made Sam want to laugh. "I might need a crash course in blue blood etiquette," he said. "I'm completely out of my depth here."
"If you would allow, sir? You may find the northwest corner of the room more comfortable." The servant was kind enough to gesture in the appropriate direction before slipping back into the crowd. With no idea of what awaited him, but nothing better to do, Sam followed her advice.
Maneuvering through the crowd wasn't as difficult as he expected it to be, and he was happy that for the most part nobody deigned to talk to him. Either word of his exploits hadn't reached high society, or they still considered him beneath their notice.
What he found in the northwest corner of the room was... pretty damn curious.
One of these things isn't like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong...
There were eleven uniformed figures clustered towards the northwest corner of the room, clearly sticking together, probably out of self defense in an unfamiliar setting. Ten of them were wearing the same Davion dress greens he'd been stuffed into, though these actually had rank insignia. For the most part they looked uncomfortable with the spectacle around them, trying to place themselves above it... or at least as far away as possible.
The last of them stood apart from the rest, leaning against the wall. She was wearing a different uniform, but something that was still very familiar. Red tunic with gold buttons and black lapels, black trousers, brown beret on her head indoors in casual disregard of military discipline. No rank insignia on her lapel, but the buttons said officer, and the beret said mechwarrior. She caught his stare, and rolled her eyes as though he'd just badly propositioned her.
One of the others stepped forward to introduce himself. "Looks like we've got our twelfth man," he said as he offered his hand. "Captain Greg Savoy, the commander of this bunch of malcontents. The servants are saying you fished the countess out of the canal. I sure hope you're bringing more than swimming skill to i Company."
Sam accepted the hand, this Captain Savoy had a firm grip to him. "Everybody keeps getting ahead of themselves," he said. "Don't let the clothes fool you, nobody's offered me a job yet, and I haven't accepted anything. I just got shanghaied because I did something stupid that paid off."
Something about that made Captain Savoy laugh. "A lot of very good military careers started out just like that," he said. "If the Count's got you in full dress, the job is yours if you want it. No reason not to take it."
"Umm... I can think of a few," Sam said. "I'm not exactly from around here."
"No big thing," Savoy dismissed it like it was completely irrelevant. "Mac isn't exactly a breeding ground for mechwarriors. Half the company are Davion's own native sons, the rest come from all over the place." He began pointing out personnel to Sam. "Sean, the guy you'll be serving under when you get badgered into taking the job, is from the LyrCom. Hunsacker and Astares are Canopean, and Astares has a kid brother in the training lance. Hell, Xian's a Capellan defector and ole Ironbox Hollingsworth in the corner there is from the Taurian Concordat. You can't get much more hostile than that."
Well, two of us might do it. "I would think the Suns could spare a regular garrison of its own to protect this planet."
"Yeah," Captain Savoy agreed. "There's a regiment of merc mechs hanging around to protect the factories, plus some March Militia conventionals. Our company's sort of the Count's little pet project, and New Avalon's not too interested in helping out, so he takes what he can get."
"Kinda a foreign legion, huh?" Against his better judgment, Sam found himself curious. "What's he want it for? Sounds like the Suns keeps this place pretty well protected."
Captain Savoy just shrugged. "Used to be the whole thing was a gift for his new wife. She was halfway through Albion when her parents yanked her out and announced she was marrying the Count, to become a proper lady of the nobility or some bullshit like that. She wasn't too happy to hear that, at least so they say."
"So the Count gave her a mech company to make her feel better?"
Captain Savoy laughed. "No, recruited a bunch of other people to staff his new company, then told her she could join when she was ready. Ready never seems to come. She almost got him to let her fill the last spot, then you showed up."
"Timing's everything, huh? Well when I refuse she'll get another chance. She any good?"
That netted a lecherous grin, as though there was a subtext to Sam's question that he really wasn't going for. "Depends on what you mean," Captain Savoy said. "She's a solid mech pilot, good enough to be serving in the regulars at least. It's not enough for the Count to let her actually serve, however." He caught sight of a servant carrying a tray of drinks. "If you'll excuse me," he slipped past. "I'm going to go drink. We'll do the whole meet and greet after you take the job."
"I'm not taking the job," Sam protested.
"That's what they all say."
Most of the others acknowledged Sam's presence with a look and a nod, but the one hanging back from the group, the one Captain Savoy had tagged "Ironbox", seemed to make special effort to look completely disinterested. That was enough to grab Sam's interest.
He could see the exasperation in her eyes as he approached, and he heard the frustrated sigh when he leaned against the wall next to her. "You're a curious sight," he said. "I'm Sam."
"That's nice," the contempt was dripping from her tongue. "Can you spell curious?"
Hey, literacy jokes are my shtick. "You're indoors you know," Sam pointed out. "The beret's supposed to come off."
"Inside fedrat doors," Ms. Ironbox countered. "Doesn't count. If you're trying to get in my pants, don't. They don't make strong enough anti-nausea medication. Go rape one of the servant girls or get the countess drunk and leave me be."
Wow, if I wasn't so sure you'd bite my head off after coitus I might actually be attracted to you right now. "Got your gold buttons in 'twenty one, am I right?"
The statement, distinct to the TDF and graduates of the Ecole Militair, caught her by surprise. "Cute."
"Professor Hillerman's last year, his 'hate everything foreign' speech to the graduating cadets." That and she looked about the right age.
Knowing they had common ground didn't do anything to help her mellow. "Professor Hillerman wasn't as crazy as they said he was," she said. "If you think being Taurian makes you more attractive you're sorely screwed up in the head. You're still wearing one of their uniforms."
Okay, he tried to be friendly, he'd been curious to see another Taurian, and he thought she might find talking to someone from the homeland a nice change of pace, but ****** it. "If you think your boobs are worth this aggravation, you've got a stupidly high opinion of yourself. As for the uniform, do you know what kind of shit flows through that canal during a rainstorm? Mostly shit. My clothes are borrowed, you signed on, what's your excuse?"
Her retort was to hit him as hard as she could. It was almost enough to put his lights out, and it was definitely enough to drop him to the floor.
"Nice debating technique," he said as he gathered himself back to his feet. "Very Laconis Anarchist Party."
"******," she hissed.
"Bitch," he snapped.
Sam heard a polite cough from behind him. It occurred to him that a scene was probably being made when he turned around and saw a bunch of disapproving eyes on the two of them. At the front of the crowd (though oddly enough he didn't look like he disapproved) was Count Degrassy himself.
"At least we know you have spirit," he said with a mirthful smirk. "Mr. Palmer, if I might tear you away from your rousing debate, there are some things I wish to discuss."
He probably should have felt shame for what he did, but nothing was popping up as he followed the Count outside. He noticed Amy wasn't around as the Count led him into the cool night air of a garden. He kinda wanted to inquire, but he held his tongue.
The Count answered him anyway. "My wife was not feeling well and begged my leave to retire for the night," he explained. He stopped walking once they were well away from the party. "Samuel Palmer," he said, seeming to cotemplate Sam down to the last subatomic particle. "A freelance mechwarrior of no repute who was this morning celebrating his iminent retirement from the battlefield, and in the process narrowly avoided charges of assault and disorderly conduct. Good fortune makes you angry I see."
The man gathered his information pretty quickly. "What good fortune is that?" Sam asked. His luck had been pretty lousy these last five years.
"Wealth, Mr. Palmer," Count Degrassey said. "That Warhammer you have stored in one of my warehouses will net you considerable wealth. More money than Lillian here..." he gestured to the servant that stood next to him "...has ever seen in her lifetime. Enough to live richly, never feeling material wants for the rest of your life. And it was wealth you always had. Likely as not it was given to you as you came of age by parents encouraging you to follow their footsteps. The destitute massess I have swept off the streets every night dream of having such fortune as that."
Sam was never comfortable with these sorts of arguments. He hated it when people pointed out how little he was actually being victimized. "Okay, so I'm lucky, and tomorrow I'll be rich. Are you going to offer me more money than that to join your little army?"
Count Degrassy laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Palmer, I'm going to offer you less. Ten percent above the current payrate for your rank in the Taurian Defense Forces, as well as parts, ammunition, and technical support for your battlemech. It's a generous offer to be certain, but you will never have the wealth you would have if you sold your machine and lived off the proceeds. In the short term you would operate under a consulting contract of sorts. You would not be required to enlist in the AFFS, but you would be subject to the orders of your superiors."
It was a generous offer, better than he'd ever gotten these last five years freelancing. "And why would I take the deal rather than getting more money selling my mech?"
Count Degrassy's smile gave him the willies. "Do you know why there are so many freelancers like you wandering the Inner Sphere, Mr. Palmer?"
"Five arrogant sphincters fighting their grandfathers' war?"
"Not at all," Count Degrassy said. "Freelance warfare is a very risky and generally unprofitable business, especially in this era where every battlemech is such a valuable possession. The house lords will continue their actions regardless of the pressence of mercenaries like you, perhaps even more efficiently if they were able to secure control of the numerous privately owned machines floating around the Inner Sphere. The wandering mercenary exists because it's who they are. It's a part of them, a part of you. Selling your battlemech may make you wealthy, but you hate to think about what you'd be giving up. Wandering mercenaries are mercenaries because they enjoy it."
Well no shit Poirot. "Supposing that's true, what makes you think I'd want to work for a Davion nobleman?"
The smile seemed less insidious now, more pained nostalga. "As fashionable as it might be for you to hate us, most of your people don't really care one way or another about what happened five hundred years ago. Not even your new friend in there really hates the people she now works with." He tapped the scar that ran across his face with one finger... one prosthetic finger on a hand that up close was clearly artificial. "Taurian raiders did this to me thirty years ago during a raid on Malagrotta, along with taking my hand, my first wife, and my daughter. I was a mechwarrior on the field of combat, so you might say my injuries were understandable, even a forseeable consequence. My wife and child were civilians caught in the crossfire. You are free to dislike me if you wish, you may even find me detestable. You certainly wouldn't be the first, but if I've put what I've lost to your people behind me, I expect you to hate me for what I've actually done and not the banner that flies over my head."
Sam hated it even more when people pointed out he was being an ass. Unfortunately, the man had a point. Sam didn't really want to give up his mech. He never had. He just didn't have much of a choice at the time. Now he did, but he wasn't sure it wasn't a lousy choice. "So it isn't good enough to say I hate the Davions. Can I say I don't want to work for you because I don't like you?"
Count Degrassy looked impassive. "That's something only you can answer."
He was surprised to realize it (and reluctant to admit it), but Count Degrassy was making a tempting offer. "What about the girls?"
"You can't have one." Degrassy said deadpan.
Another surprise. He didn't expect a nobleman to have a sense of humour.
"I recruited them from a number of less fortunate worlds along the frontier," Degrassy explained. "They work as servants in my household, for as long as they're willing, or when they reach adulthood. In exchange, they recieve lodging, a living allowance, and an education they couldn't recieve otherwise. Lillian here is studying biology in her off hours."
It sounded honest and decent, even benevolent, but something about it still had Sam on edge. The only unfortunates you can find to help are teenage girls? "And what do they have to do in exchange?"
"Far less than they might have to do to get by on their homeworlds," Degrassy stated simply. "You're a very suspicious individual, Mr. Palmer. What's more, you actually seem to care. Others see what you see, have the same suspicions, tell themselves they feel the appropriate level of disgust, and put the whole thing out of their minds. You are actually bothered by your suspicions. I find that admirable. Other freelancers might be swayed by the money, or the adventure, or the prestige, but perhaps none of that is enough for you. Your reason for being a mechwarrior is the most basic and idealistic. I think you'll accept my offer so that you can try to find out just what kind of horrible man I am, and what you can do to stop it. At heart, you want nothing more than to be a knight in shining armor."
"Who knows," Sam said. "You might be right. I won't wear the uniform. You got over your grief and your hate, whatever, admirable I guess. It doesn't have any bearing on me. The rest is fine. I'll take a subaltern's pay plus ten percent, a chance to get my Warhammer running up to par, and I'll work for you as long as I can stomach it, or until a better deal comes along."
Count Degrassy nodded. "Your terms are acceptable. On the books you'll be listed as a security consultant to Apple Computers Interstellar. That will make the AFFS happy. It will be up to your skills to ensure the rest of i Company is happy with the arrangement."
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Monsters in the Sky!
Moderator
Posts: 20560
Luft Konteradmiral, K.u.K. Luftflotte
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Liam, I think you've made a typo, twice now. It's "iCompany", not "i Company" W. |
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Sergeant
Posts: 163
Second place is the first loser......
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Loving it, great start.
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Major
Posts: 6250
There are no fish in my pond.
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iMechs too?
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Major
Posts: 6226
punch the glitter right off him!
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Liam, I think you've made a typo, twice now. It's "iCompany", not "i Company" W. My heresy only goes so far. iMechs too?
Twice as expensive for the same functionality of regular mechs, but if you need to find the nearest 'mech part store, there's an app for that. |
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Monsters in the Sky!
Moderator
Posts: 20560
Luft Konteradmiral, K.u.K. Luftflotte
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Just remember, the Apple 240 SFE isn't compatible with the VOX 240 either |
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Warrant Officer
Posts: 463
Gunslinger
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Very good so far, and remember us Fedrats is just like any one else. We're just nicer about it when we screw you.
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Major
Posts: 6226
punch the glitter right off him!
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Chapter Four: At least it's not an all seeing eye.
Simulated landscape
TCS Francis Marion
"The truth is the war had nothing to do with uniting humanity." That was Cornet Averhill talking over the lance channel while their simulated battlemechs stalked across a landscape of ones and zeroes pleasingly arranged into detailed terrain and skittish wildlife. "The men pulling the strings behind the Star League just wanted to make sure their rivals wouldn't ever be able to harm them again."
Sharon was content to allow the conversation to continue, but she found the subject pretty silly. It was actually amazing that Averhill could make even ancient oddball conspiracy theories sound cute. The voice, the tone, the pitch, how she described what she believed made Sharon think of adorable stuffed illuminati-cats stabbing freemason-bulls in dark alleys in gumdrop cities and burying the corpses in isolated fields on lolipop farms.
Sam didn't leave soon enough, I still think too much like him.
"Wow," Cornet Worth said, trying to sound as though he believed every word of it. Averhill was the best looking woman in the lance after all. "I never thought about it that way."
"So if they were trying to hide from the Illuminati, or whatever, why did they advertise their logo on the national emblem?" That was from Cornet Westland, who seemed a bit more skeptical. That the Taurian national emblem, as well as most of its military insignia and unit banners, had been derived from earlier masonic symbology had been one of Averhill's first assertions.
"I don't know," Averhill responded. "Maybe they thought it would look so blatant that the Illuminati wouldn't take it too seriously, maybe they figured the changes would be enough to keep outsiders from figuring it out but let allies know where they were safe. I know, it sounds crazy, but..."
"Tallyho!" Worth broke in. "Two fast movers inbound from the high atmosphere!"
Sharon saw them on her scope as well, though she wasn't sure why. This was supposed to be a lance exercise. Given their makeup, airpower was a lousy choice for exercising the entire lance. "Spread out." she ordered. "Keep moving, keep your eyes open for ground forces, the air power is my problem." Her three lancemates acknowledged, their scout mechs picking up the pace and shaking out into a dispered formation to avoid getting caught bunched up. Sharon throttled her own Archer back to give her as stable a firing platform as possible. Either you forgot that you swapped most of my support mechs for scouts or you've got something evil in mind... and I don't think you forgot.
She caught visible sight of them just as they began their dive on her. Aiming on taking me out of the picture early... wait a minute! The simulator computer couldn't recognize what she was facing, but she could... Oh you son of a bitch!
She got a solid tone and fired a half second before the fighters did. She wouldn't see what she hit until the debrief however, as all her screens suddenly went white.
Head hits, two precise head hits. I'm dead, and Kevin's been playing with the code again. She took a breath before speaking. "Kevin, I know you can hear me. Two Blue Raptors? You wrecked the last one left in the known universe. How is that supposed to make sense?"
Kevin's voice came across the comms, his amusement clear as a bell as he sang. "Who keeps Brinton off the maps, who keeps Kerensky under wraps? We do! We do!"
"Ha ha," Sharon said. "I thought the higher ups told you to stop doing stuff like this."
"No," Kevin replied. "They told me to stop arming the wildlife with anti-mech weapons, then they said no weapons at all. Then they vetoed the UAP. Nobody ever said anything about extinct LAM prototypes. What are you complaining about? You got one, and the headshot code only works on you. It's almost a fair fight. If I were being cruel, I would have used a decent LAM. Here, have a listen."
Sharon heard panicked shouts (and one surprisingly level headed voice) as Kevin allowed her to listen in on the lance comm channel.
"Oh crap, how the hell are we supposed to deal with this thing!"
"Calm down, keep moving, we're faster than it is."
"Screw that Averhill, it flies!"
"It's not flying right now, just keep moving and keep on it!"
It was amazing to hear. "Is that the same Averhill?" Sharon found herself asking.
"Apparently she's cute as can be, a little ditzy, a firm believer in conspiracy theories that make no sense, and an excellent mech pilot and leader," Kevin almost sounded impressed. "You think we can sell her story to a studio on New Kyoto? Whoops! There goes Worth... At least they got the gun arm, I told PPL the Raptor was shit for protection, in addition to being shit for everything else. Don't know why I had to crash it before they decided it was a lousy idea. I had to screw around with the code just to get it to fly... Averhill's down. We might have to leave that out of the sales pitch."
Westland lasted a bit longer, but in the end the result was defeat for Sharon's lance. She wondered how her crew was handling it, even though they had nothing to complain about.
"You've still got time booked," Kevin pointed out. "Ready for more abuse?"
"Something where I actually get to do something this time?" Sharon asked. "I'd like to try out some tricks to see if these kids have the hang of spotting for me. TN-24?"
"And you call me sadistic?" Kevin laughed. "I'll call it up."
Sharon switched back over to the lance channel. "All right children," she said. "Warmup is over. Now we start the hard work. Target rich environment, multiple rapidly changing objectives, friendlies in the area, and unavoidably close in combat."
The white screens resolved into a new simulated environment, a burning, ruined city at night. Taurian Nightmare #24, part of a series of simulations detailing a massive Davion invasion of Taurus.
"Now let's have some fun."
-----
Fort Lisa, empty part of Macintosh
Bright and early the next day
Sam had been awoken before the sun was up by a knock at his door. The party hadn't lasted long for him (with the countess already gone, he had no obligation to stick around, and he hadn't felt like introducing himself properly to his new co-workers), he'd gotten a good amount of sleep, certainly more than he'd gotten on some of his deployments. That didn't make the wakeup call enjoyable or even okay.
The man at the door had wasted no time whisking him away in a nicely appointed hoverlimo not too disimilar to the one that had sunk in the canal. Sam didn't get a chance to shower or change from his pajamas, and the only explanation the driver offered was that he was taking Sam to his first day of work.
There was breakfast in the passenger's compartment waiting for him. Nothing too fancy or overblown, or too unhealthy. quillar and blueberry pancakes, a slice of meat of some sort, a dish of various fruits, a glass of juice, a small glass of milk. No coffee. It was good stuff, but that last part stuck with Sam.... no coffee this early in the morning...
While he ate, the driver passed back some documents for him to read and sign. The first indicated his rights and responsibilities as an independent security consultant for Apple Computers Interstellar. A fairly standard mercenary retainer contract with a six month term of service and the option of renewal, except written in civilian legalspeak rather than cold military language. Proactive demonstration and application of agressive security techniques... I'm going to have to remember that one. The next dealt with his compensation. He got his subaltern's pay plus ten percent (though the previous set of papers indicated he had no authority over anyone), plus paid medical coverage for the duration of his service, optional housing on base, and parts, repairs, and maintenance for his battlemech. Not a bad deal overall. The last was a statement that released Apple Computers Interstellar from all liability or responsibility not already outlined in the previous contracts should something bad happen to him while performing his duties. He signed all three.
He noticed that the Count's signature was absent from the documents, but there wasn't much point in raising any questions yet.
The scenery went by out his window; they were quickly leaving the city behind. Where they were bound, the driver hadn't said.
"So why are the drivers male?" Sam found himself asking. It was something to talk about at least.
"The house servants are usually too young to drive," the driver said. "Though they'll usually learn to drive before their service with the Count is concluded, he doesn't like to use them for those purposes."
Afraid they'll run for it? "You'd think he would give you guys some time off after what happened."
"The count believes very strongly that the functions of government must remain operational even after a tragedy," the driver explained. He didn't sound like he completely agreed. "He asks no more of his employees than he asks of himself."
Sam had heard that said of a lot of especially tough senior officers, but never with so little conviction. "I'm sorry I couldn't save Harry."
"There is no way you could have, sir," the driver said. "The police already recovered the body and confirmed that he was dead before the car hit the water. It's kind of you to say, but it wasn't your fault, any more than it was the countess'. She's already arranged to ensure that his family will be taken care of. There's nothing more anybody could do. I've lost a friend, but I would have lost him regardless of where he was or whether you had been there to intervene. You saved the countess, and for that I am grateful."
It was the kind of thing you expected to hear, but to Sam's ear it sounded less than completely sincere. Platitudes don't make losing a friend hurt less.The driver seemed to have exhausted his desire for comunication, and Sam didn't try to push things. The rest of the trip passed in silence. The urban scenery gave way to flat, open country dotted with dairy farms. It was as true here as it had been back home, farm country never smelled good. Eventually, even these signs of life gave way to empty fields. After about another half hour of pure nothing, they reached a sprawling compound. The sign over its front gate read "Fort Lisa".
"Wonder where the name came from," Sam mused aloud. He recieved no response.
Guards posted at the gate checked the driver's ID before admitting them into the compound, and the driver let him out at the main entrance. A man in uniform was waiting.
"They didn't give you much time to get down here," he said, no doubt noting Sam's attire. "Mr. Palmer, I'm Corporal Hamilton. I'll take you to your base quarters where you can get changed for your final exam. If you'll follow me?"
Sam followed, but he didn't understand. "My final what?"
"I guess nobody had a chance to tell you. I'm sorry, everything's been so rushed." The corporal's appology seemed genuine. "It's standard practice, all new mechwarriors have to pass a standard training run before the count officially signs off on them joining i company. They shipped your Warhammer out here last night and the tech crew has been all over it getting it ready. It'll be waiting for you in the main hangar."
He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He may have stated his intent to accept the job, but private property is private property. "What's the hurry all about?"
"I don't know sir," the corporal said. "The count's got everybody jumping. I've never seen anything like it."
"I have," Sam said. Every time a Davion unit so much as sneezed in the direction of the Concordat, the Protector had everybody rushing to be ready for invasion. I wonder if it's too much to hope that this guy is crazy, because I was hoping for an adjustment period before being thrown into someone else's war.
"Here we are sir," the coporal said, indicating the door in front of him. "They want you on the field in thirty minutes, so I'll wait out here while you get changed."
-----
Cafeteria, TCS Francis Marion
Sharon was halfway through a sandwich when Kevin sat down next to her. "Aren't you supposed to be observing the simulator runs?" she asked.
"Nah," Kevin said. "Sig and Lyanna are so professional it's boring. Your lance, though... three green kids, that never stops being funny."
Sharon shook her head. Kevin was determined to never change his ways. I'm going to be a probi until the day I die.
"How'd your team look?" Kevin asked seriously.
"Pretty good," Sharon said. "They were unsteady starting out, and your Blue Raptor stunt didn't help much. The second run was rough on them, but that's the point. They'll hold together."
"Glad to hear it," Kevin said. "Averhill looked damn solid past her whole cuteness thing, and Worth did a helluva good job during the second run. Which means by default..." Kevin let his voice trail off, expecting the obvious response.
Kevin's fourteenth law, there's always a problem, no exceptions. "Westland's doing great," Sharon said. "I'm not sure if she knows that. I think she keeps looking for a way to stand out, and she can't get that it isn't her, it's the league she's in. I think I want to name her my lance second."
Kevin raised an eyebrow. "You want to risk putting the one with confidence problems in charge? Let's see if you can sell it to me Subaltern."
"I can get her over her confidence problem," Sharon insisted. "That's not the huge concern. I know, right now Averhill looks like the best choice, and she's going to do great things, but not leading this team. Worth's still thinking with his penis. He's sweet on Averhill, she's too nice be professional about shooting him down, and it's a problem. If I get taken out of the picture, I'd be more comfortable knowing Worth is taking orders from Westland rather than Averhill's tits."
Kevin seemed to consider her words for a while. "Good enough," he said. "Sound reasoning, nothing I can fault. Okay then. Westland gets the number two spot. Though I wonder about something..."
Sharon waited.
"I'm wondering when you're going to get over Amber Grove."
Sharon felt a twinge of emotional discomfort. "I thought you said my reasoning was sound."
Kevin nodded. "It is, if you'd suggested Averhill for the number two spot I probably would have told you no... she's too cute to scare anybody. It's the reasoning that led to that reasoning that has me wondering. You need to depend on your number two to handle things if you get taken out, I need to depend on you to handle things if I get taken out. I need to be sure you'll concentrate on doing right by the company, and not on avoiding a repeat of what happened in the past. You do understand that neither you nor any of your kids are Sam Palmer, don't you?"
-----
Mech Bay, Fort Lisa
Macintosh
Sam had taken advantage of the shower in his new quarters to get cleaned up before changing into the mechwarrior gear they had helpfully layed out for him. It was a dirty (so to speak) little secret among the usually vain mechwarrior comunity, but many mechwarriors didn't bother showering before taking their mechs out, arguing that there was no point given the sweat generating heat of a battlemech cockpit. For Sam feeling clean was something he indulged in whenever possible, along with sleep and hot, well prepared meals. Never take these things for granted, because you never know when you'll get your next chance.
Afterwards he'd been led to the mech bay, where he was greeted by one of the most heavily tatooed men he'd ever seen. Rob Fitzroy looked like a refugee from one of those pulp stories about the periphery (the onese where every other mech has an eyepatch, mohawk, and spikey mace), right down to the artificial leg... and apparently he was the lead tech.
Despite the look, though, he was very professional. He gave Sam a thorough rundown of the work he did, and didn't raise any complaints when Sam checked his machine over himself. In fact, he complemented him on it.
"Some of your types take our work for granted," he explained. "Back home some of the techs made a fortune bootlegging mech parts, and the pilots didn't even know it was happening. Hell, that's how I paid for college."
Sam stopped for a moment from his inspection and looked back. "You are single handedly giving everyone in the periphery a bad name, you know that?" The tech laughed.
"Ain't everybody can be all pretty an refined like Taurus," he countered. "Hell I had to steal and cheat just to get a chance to learn to read." He gestured towards the battlemech. "It's a sweet ride you've got there."
"Not sure I'm fond of the paint scheme," Sam said. "You pilot?" That got another laugh.
"God no," Fitzroy said. "I leave it for you nut jobs to bust up such works of art as these. You don't see many hothammers on this side o' the border in this good of shape."
"Not a whole lot of shooting going on back home," Sam explained. "And I haven't had much luck in the freelancing department." He took a moment to take in the sight of his machine, twelve meters and seventy tons of firepower and technology, standing almost like it was at attention, waiting for a chance to see action. The original Concordat Cuirassiers paint scheme had been stripped off and replaced with an unadorned coat of brick red. At least they didn't stencil on a Davion sunburst while they were at it. He found himself looking for the two squares of bare metal, the spots where Colonel Montaine had personally ordered Doug Owen to strip off the Taurian emblem and the regimental crest, but the efficient techs had painted over them. Senseless to get annoyed about it. I should have painted over them years ago.
"She's only twenty years old," Sam found himself elaborating, "off a VMI production line. They do a short run of Ls every couple of years, and my old man managed to snag one when I was a kid. She passed to me after my dad passed on, and I've had her ever since. She and I have been through a lot." He took another long look at his machine. "So'd you steal anything?"
"My student loans are all paid," Fitzroy said with yet another laugh. He obviously enjoyed his laughter. "Your missile bay is loaded with simulated rounds. You have a training program installed?" If the Star League had had any worthwhile benefit it was to get everybody on the same page for technology. Most battlemechs used the same standardized training protocols across the Inner Sphere, making it a reasonably simple matter to turn actual warfare into a game.
Of course, fearing sabotage from people they didn't know or trust, some of the more paranoid freelance warriors would disable the training program, so nobody could break in to the computer and neuter it without the pilot knowing. Others, who had to scavenge what they could get to keep their mech running, often had to adapt non-standard computers to their battlemechs, and sometimes some software didn't make it on the new system. Fortunately in this case, Sam was neither paranoid nor desperate. "Yeah, my training protocols are up to date and factory standard," he said.
"Good 'nough," Fitzroy said. "You're clear to go. Once you're powered up, switch over to your training program and give control a ring on channel seven. They'll stear you where you need to go. According to the boards your call sign is Fuji." He didn't wait for an inquiry. "Don't ask me, I don't know what it means either. Good hunting."
The tech seemed in a hurry to depart, so Sam concentrated on getting to his machine, which entailed a twelve meter climb. It was one of the consequences of using large, bipedal war machines, they were a lot harder to get into than a ground vehicle. Sam's dad used to tell him that the reason the Hegemony invented the battlemech in the first place was because their tank crews were getting too fat. Between the weight sweated off in combat and the exercise most mechwarriors got just getting into the things, Sam could almost believe it.
One thing was certain, Sam decided once he reached the top, being out of the saddle as much as he was lately showed. I'm out of shape, probably couldn't make drill time right now... That's something else I need to work on.
He found the cockpit pretty much as he'd left it. There were things that were out of place, his dashboard thomashead (not as complementary as it sounded) was on the wrong side of the control console and the cockpit smelled of a different cleaning agent than he usually used (he prided himself on making sure his cockpit didn't smell like decades of sweat). Aside from that everything seemed to be in order as he dropped down into his command chair and started through his startup sequence. First connecting the cooling vest and making sure his neurohelmet was properly seated on his head and shoulders before bringing the machine to life.
The first thing the machine did for him was demand he prove who he was. "Voiceprint identification required." Sam used to wonder why anybody would give their computer system such a disturbingly sexy voice... then he realized his dad had done it, and that pretty much answered that. Dad was a good man, but he could equate a disturbingly large number of things with sex.
"Samuel Palmer," he pronounced his name carefully to avoid error. Most pilots preferred to save the voiceprint for later in the startup sequence. Sam prefered it if the computer made sure it knew who he was before turning anything else on.
"Voiceprint confirmed, proceed with security passphrase." Like always, Sam couldn't help but imagine the computer being pouty. Somehow it seemed so offended to think it had to wait on the human user.
Some mechwarriors chose something deeply symbolic for their security passphrase, using it less as a security mesure and more as a daily affirmation of their beliefs. Sam prefered to use something from an organization he was a member of back in less exiled days. "Lapis reprobatus caput anguli."
"Passphrase confirmed, proceeding with startup."
Sam felt his machine come to life, the brief heat spike as the fusion reactor came up to full power, the feeling of cold fingers sliding across his chest (he used to think of them as cold worms, but ever since a memorable winter training mission with Sharon long ago, the finger had quickly taken over) as coolant began circulating through his cooling vest, the very brief sensation of disorientation as his neurohelmet kicked into full operation. And of course the status monitors displaying lists of information as the battlemech's computer system completed booting up. Very quickly, the machine was fully at his command.... and it felt good. It had been far too long.
Before going any further he went with Fitzroy's suggestion and engaged the standard training protocols. This dialed down the power of his energy weapons to something approaching harmless (unprotected people weren't exactly safe, but mech armor would survive just fine) and started up a program between the mech's various diagnostic and control computers to simulate real combat. His battlemech would register impacts from the down powered weapons and special training rounds and respond accordingly, mostly as though the mech were actually damaged. It wasn't as good as some of the more elaborate custom training rigs out there, but it was good enough for basic use.
He switched his comm system over to Channel Seven. "Control, this is Fuji. I am powered up, and I understand you've got somewhere to send me?"
"Acknowledged, Fuji." The voice on the other end sounded like a young woman. Sam was beginning to wonder if this planet had a shortage of men or something. "Once you're clear of the hanger, you'll need to stear 75 and follow the road out of the base. Once you're clear of the east gate, you will recieve further instructions. Please ensure your weaponry is set to training levels before departing.."
"Stear seventy five and head out of the base, make sure the ray guns are set to stun. Gotcha. Fuji is on his way out."
The voice on the other end laughed at the second part of his acknowledgement. "Good luck Fuji," she said.
Sam started his battlemech moving. "Safety regulations are a pain sometimes, old friend," he said to his machine, taking a moment to place the tommyhead back where it belonged on his control console. "If they hadn't told me to make sure your weapons were set to training levels, I might not have known they intend to jump me once I'm clear of the base. Why don't you and I see what this i Company is made of?"
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Major
Posts: 6250
There are no fish in my pond.
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Nice Stonecutter reference  |
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Major
Posts: 6226
punch the glitter right off him!
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Chapter Five: Hey look, simulated explosions and villain stereotypes!
Outside Fort Lisa
Macintosh
Sam had just cleared the gate when his comm system begged his attention. "Fuji, this is Grannysmith Lead." The voice on the other end had a clearly Lyran accent. Sam wasn't sure what he thought about that. The only Lyrans he'd ever dealt with were sales reps trying to sell the Concordat weapons. Somehow it brought up some humourous memories "If you will please stear 88, we can meet up and discuss your future with the company."
"Understood, Grannysmith Lead," Sam responded, trying to suppress an involuntary chuckle And maybe I can interest you in a slightly used Zeus, only one hundred years old, fully refurbished, only minor structural damage "See you in a bit." He noticed that a course of 88 degrees took him offroad, nothing to be seen but scattered woods and rolling hills ahead of him. Good ambush country...
He didn't have to wait long. His warhammer was just passing into the trees, maybe no more than three hundred meters from the gate, when he spotted something...
His weapons were coming around before he'd even properly processed what he was seeing, which was good, the mass was reacting only slightly slower than he was. Sam tapped both PPC triggers as the mass was ripping free from its shroud. Nice thought, the woods are dense enough to hide you, but you need to work on your technique. The Stinger had freed itself from its netting just in time to take both simulated hits. The mech stopped imediately and froze in an at rest position, simulating a kill. Sloppy, kid, you wouldn't cut it in the... Sam's mech began to shudder and warnings began to sound before he could complete the thought, his secondary display told him all he needed to know...
The second mech was just emerging from its hiding place as Sam's Warhammer came around. Damn, waiting behind me... was it luck, or were you enough of a dick to use your less competant friend as bait? The agressor started circling around as Sam slapped at him with a PPC and kept his own mech moving. Two lasers, extra missile ports, Shadowhawk-D. You're either lucky or clever, and you don't move like a rookie, but you aren't hard enough for this fight.
The Shadowhawk tightened its circle, trying to close in, obviously anxious to bring as many weapons to bear as possible. Sam saw no reason not to oblige him. As the range dropped, he hit the Shadowhawk again with both PPCs, imediately following up with missles and lasers. The Shadowhawk was only slightly slower on the draw. Low powered light and paint rounds found their mark across Sam's machine as the mech's heat pretended to spike from his own barrage.
The Shadowhawk paused for half a second, one arm hanging limp, the autocannon now elevated in a totally non-threatening posture to simulate its destruction, then it started moving again.
Sam spared half a second to tap a shutdown override before hitting the shadowhawk again with a PPC blast... He wasn't going to get much ground speed out of his machine while it was still pretending to be heat addled. Rookie mistake on my part. In a real fight the Hawk would be booking it right now, but in simulated combat he's got nothing to lose... he can risk pressing me. You don't impress anybody by being careless, dumbass.
The PPC blast splashed onto the right side of the Shadowhawk, but it wasn't enough to stop the enemy's answering barrage of laser and missile fire. The damage was nothing severe, but that wouldn't last much longer, Sam didn't have much choice but to hit the enemy again with both PPCs, landing both shots almost dead center. Finally, the Shadowhawk came to a stop.
Sam waited for the simulated heat to disipate before getting the mech going again. That was more work than it should have been. God, I must be rusty.
The fella on the other side of the comm sounded like he might agree. "Pushed a bit hard there, Fuji."
Sam found himself laughing. "My ole pappy used to say Hammers don't have armor for caution, Granny Lead. 'Sides which, no morning coffee makes me cranky."
"We'll have a full pot waiting for you if you can make it here. Let's see if you can handle something a little more challenging."
Two more contacts popped up on Sam's radar, still distant, but closing in. Must have been hiding under the same RAM netting as the first two. Apparently we're past the sneaky part of our program.
"So what's your background?" Grannysmith Lead asked as a small flight of LRMs began impacting around Sam's Warhammer.
Sam turned his mech in the direction of a dense patch of woods. He wasn't much interested in trying to duel with an LRM carrier without something to hide behind. "This how you usually conduct your interviews? Graduated from Ecole Militair, class of fourteen."
"It's worked so far. Not familiar with that one. A good academy?"
Sam watched two machines appear at the top of a nearby hill. Another Shad, definitely not a D. Firestarter. This'll be interesting. "Best anywhere." he said with pride. The two hostiles were splitting up. "Six years on active duty with the TDF, three in a field command, two lance, one company xo. One year serving as an instructor."
The Shadowhawk let loose a burst of autocannon fire, coloring the trees around Sam an unflattering shade of yellow. In response Sam backed his machine up a bit more, deeper into the woods, while keeping an eye on the moving Firestarter. It was textbook, the Shadowhawk pressed from the front, while the faster, lighter hitting Firestarter worked his way to the rear. Take on the Shadowhawk, and the Firestarter slips behind you. Turn to engage the Firestarter, and the Shadowhawk takes the backshot. Lots of outnumbered guys died that way, but if the ground was right...
"Why'd you go freelance?"
The Firestarter was tightening up his approach... he wasn't willing to stray into range yet, but he was starting to dance on the edge. The Shadowhawk closed in, letting loose a flight of missiles with little affect. He seemed uncertain about whether or not he wanted to follow Sam into the woods. Sam spared a glance towards his terrain readout, and another for his radar display. Almost there, if the other guy will just cooperate... here fishy fishy fishy. "Political persecution," he said into the comm system. "I was on the losing side of the perpetual war between the big enders and little enders."
Grannysmith Lead chuckled. "Liliputian joke. Somewhat appropriate considering our chosen profession."
Right about there. The trees were now obscuring his view of the Shadowhawk, and Sam swung his mech around. "It's not as fun when you're actually literate enough to get the reference," he said as he set his mech into a run. The firestarter was right ahead of him.
"I'll put it down as resigned under duress. You do know the Shadowhawk can jump, right?"
Sam slammed his mech into a skidding stop and swung the machine around again. "Yeah," he said as his guns came in line with the Shadowhawk now flying through the air towards him. "The more he has to, the more his shooting is going to suck. Your Firestarter's too cautious. It's going to take him at least twenty seconds to get close enough to do anything." As the ground exploded around his mech in a spray of dirt and paint, and his secondary monitor pointed out fresh impacts against the Warhammer's armor, Sam cut loose on his airborn opponent with both PPCs. Just waiting long enough for some of the heat to bleed off, he sent his machine hurtling directly at the Shadowhawk at top speed while slashing into it with his lasers and missiles. Let's see if you play chicken where you're from...
The Shadowhawk seemed to hesitated for half a moment, slashing at Sam's charging Warhammer with his laser while two missiles flew past harmlessly. For that moment, the mech didn't move as the Warhammer ran towards it like a freight train... then, at the last possible second, the pilot seemed to decide Sam really was serious and jumped away again, back under the cover of the trees.
The Firestarter landed behind Sam's mech just in time to realize he'd be facing a machine twice his size alone. The light mech's lasers pretended to cut into back armor as Sam swung his machine's torso around as far as it could go, bringing a single PPC into firing position.
He missed, but it was enough to spook the Firestarter into jumping out of sight again, most likely to regroup with his lancemate.
"Would you have actually hit Mechwarrior Astares if he hadn't jumped away?" Grannysmith asked.
"I'll tell you after the fight," Sam replied with a smile. Of course he wouldn't have. The point of simulated combat was to avoid real damage. But being outnumbered, he didn't feel bad about his opponents assuming he was a little crazy.
"You seem intent on sucking all the sportsmanship out of our little game."
"Good sportsmanship is for the weak minded," Sam replied. Rule 3. His sensors told him that neither of his enemies had gone far. Their next move would be together.
-----
Office of the Chief of Staff of the Planetary Guard
Royal Palace, Port Dompair
Serenity
Rhianna Astley did not look happy to see the state of her office. Or more likely, she wasn't happy with the current occupant.
Or possibly it was the guards watching her and the restraints she was in. That was also a fair bet.
The medic left unobtrusively as the prisoner was brought in to her former office. The man who would decide her fate would have prefered more time to deal with his appearance, the gash across his forehead, his somewhat disheveled appearance would undercut the sense that he was in control of the situation. His aide in particular would be displeased with his lack of attention to the small details. The small details were often key to maintaining control over someone who did not wish to be controlled.
Unfortunately, he had little time for that at the moment. "Rhianna Astley," he said calmly, almost nonchalantly. "Chief of staff for the planetary guard, chief technician of this world's only battlemech lance, chief instructor at this world's only institute of higher learning and lover of the Crown Prince himself. It is an impressive list of credentials, especially considering your youth."
The young woman chose not to answer.
"There are many plesantries that I am expected to go through, many platitudes to be uttered, many pretty words I am supposed to say to encourage your cooperation with your new overlords, but perhaps it is better to quickly get down to business. I am Captain Tsien Liao of the Capellan Confederation, and your world, your people, your lives are now in the hands of myself and the troops under my command. Whether our ocupation will be short and merciful or long and terrible is largely up to you."
He hadn't expected her to say anything to that, either. He wasn't disappointed.
"It was your General Bradley who gave us your name," he explained further. The Maskirovka's briefing had been... sparse. They'd had almost no information on names or faces, save for the King and his Crown Prince, and roughly what they had to defend themselves. Tsien's forces had gone in virtually blind, and it had cost them in a number of ways. Rhianna Astley was just one of numerous prisoners taken when the palace had fallen, and they may have missed her significance entirely if not for some carefully applied brutality. "Don't worry, he did not betray you lightly. He only gave you up when I threatened to hand his daughter over to my troops for their entertainment."
That finally elicited a response. "You monstrous..."
"Yes, yes, we could go on and on about the horrible things I do." He walked back to the desk and took a seat in the chair... ofhandedly wondering where a young woman on a dirtfarming planet in the periphery could get such a comfortable chair. I'll have to take this chair with me when we leave. "It's why I refrain from growing a mustache. The important thing you need to learn is that I'm not above particularly anything to complete my task here. If you are uncooperative, we'll alternate between doing horrible things to you and horrible things to your countrymen... actually..." he paused as though reconsidering. "...probably mostly the countrywomen. I know, distasteful and at this point cliche. But you see, my soldiers have been in space for quite a while. They need a chance to unwind."
"You won't do it," the girl said defiantly. "You won't risk turning us all against you."
"Why is that? It's not like I want or need the planet. We don't have to rule your people. It's perfectly viable to gun them down, or otherwise deal with them as needed. In fact, the only locals on this planet who's compliance we're even interested in is you and your crown prince."
"There's nothing on this planet that you could want," she protested. She sounded desperate. Not desperate enough to avoid lying however.
"We both know that isn't true, and since you chose to lie to me, one squad gets to get lucky tonight." He pulled a comm from his belt. "Subcommander Wieck," he said into it. "Select a pleasing example and instruct your squad to do what comes naturally."
The girl lunged at him, only to be slammed face first into the desk by her guards.
"Oh don't look at me with those hate filled eyes," he said as he looked down at her. It wasn't strictly accurate, with her head pinned to the desk like that she couldn't actually look at him. "I'm simply following my script. Blame my bloodline, my superiors, some cosmic force that decided I must be a villain... hell, blame your patrons for failing to hide your secrets from us. I don't care. It won't change your situation. What comes of our pressence here is entirely in your hands. Either you will cooperate and no harm will come to you and yours, or you won't, and you'll get to learn first hand why your ancestors didn't sign the Ares Convention."
He waited for the moment to let his words sink in before continuing, nodding to the guards to let her head up from the table. They maintained a solid grip on her. "Now, to resume. You are the Chief of staff for the planetary guard, and all those other professional titles I've already forgotten, yes?"
She looked defeated as she nodded her head.
"And you are the Crown Prince's lover?"
Another nod. "But I'm not... I'm not anything special to him. You won't be able to use me against him."
"Oh, I'm certain you're selling yourself short." A search of the Prince's quarters had turned up letters revealing a much different picture. The Crown Prince was not only smitten, but a hopeless romatic. It was practically a storybook romance between a highborn man and his lowborn beloved. Tsien decided to let her little lie pass regardless. "Assuming that you do your job with any degree of competency, you will already know that your prince and his mech lance were not in the city when we struck. While we've managed to locate and eliminate most of his comrades, he himself has eluded us. Where might he be hiding?"
"I don't know."
"Most unfortunate," Captain Liao said. "Have you any guesses?"
"I don't know, he could be anywhere."
Tsien gave her one of those regretfull looks. "As I said, the course of the occupation is entirely in your hands. I'm not sure you're trying hard enough." He reached again for the comm on his belt.
"NO!"
Tsien stopped. "I'm sorry, do you want to watch? How thoughtless of me, we can have a monitor brought up..."
"I can't... I don't know where he is!"
"Some might fathom a guess at this point," Tsien suggested lightly. His even, sadistic tone never wavered a bit. "Consider it for a while."
He dismissively waved the girl away, and the guards led her out of her room. His aide waited until the girl was gone before entering the room.
"An unprofitable session?" he asked.
"We cannot expect miracles overnight," Tsien reminded the man. "Civilians have seen her brought here, word will travel, and she will serve her purpose. Either the militia's mech lance will stay well clear of us, she will give us the information we need to locate and eliminate them, or her prince will ride in to save her. Whatever works. As long as she never knows what's not really going on with her people, she'll have little incentive to resist."
If Tsien's tenuous link to the royal bloodline had brough him anything, it was an understanding that perception could often be more important than reality. As long Miss Astley believed other people were suffering for her resistance, there wasn't really much reason to actually have other people suffering. Pointless cruelty was the stock and trade of bad holovid villains, but it wasn't the work of professional warriors.
Of course the aide didn't much approve of mind games. He favored a more direct approach. "The prospectors that nearly killed you were a bit more cooperative," he said. "Chemical interrogation works faster."
Tsien leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. It was a very nice chair. "But it's so boring!" he protested. "Drugs go in, words come out, eventually the subject's brain shrivels up to the size of a walnut, so very predictable." He sighed. "What did you learn?"
"They were close to the cache's location, had it narrowed down to a handful of sites. It won't take us long to isolate the right one."
"I'm glad to hear I didn't get cracked in the head for nothing," Tsien said. During the takeover, while the rest of the mech lance and most of his infantry took the capital city, he had indulged in a small bit of foolishness by neutralizing a local archeological dig singlehandedly. The prospectors had had mechs, three workmechs and a rusted old stinger. It shouldn't have been a serious threat, but the gash on his head reminded him of his close call with a tree wielding Powerman. "Have the lance and our infantry ready to load up and move as soon as our diggers can agree on their first candidate site." He didn't have enough troops both cover his surveyors and hold the capital, at least not until the local mech lance was finally delt with. "Make sure to bring our prisoner along, and this chair, it's a very nice chair."
The aide seemed unwavered by Captain Liao's last order. "There is more, sir," he said. "Our prisoners are convinced that the cache contains a Star League Library Core."
It was enough to give Captain Liao pause. He took a deep breath to calm the giddy feeling rushing through him. "And to think our superiors considered this a fools quest." A Star League Library Core... it would be one of the greatest treasures they could possibly find. It was almost too much to hope for. "We shall, of course, refrain from celebrating until we have it in our hands. Let's hurry things along. It won't be long before our friends from the TDF get here, I would like to be gone before they arrive."
The aide nodded his understanding.
"Oh yes," Tsien said. "Unload the medical supplies we brought with us, we did promise them medicine when we were making our approach." It was their cover entering the system that they were a freighter hauling medicine. "Fifty tons of acetylsalicylic acid is the least we can do to reward their hospitality."
The aide looked at him for a moment. "I fear, Captain, that I will never understand your sense of humour."
Tsien laughed. "Don't worry, you will when you have one of your own."
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Captain
Posts: 2471
Warning: Bullets come out this end...
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That sadistic bastard Tsien might just make me a Liao fan after all these years. I have a suspicion that 50 tons of Tylenol might not be enough for the headache that's coming.
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Major
Posts: 4242
The Betrayed
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"My gratitude is non-negotiable." dammit now I can't remember the character's name but it is from Royal Pains
Boris? |
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Major
Posts: 6226
punch the glitter right off him!
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And as a bonus, here's two more scenarios!
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Lieutenant
Posts: 1230
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That sadistic bastard Tsien might just make me a Liao fan after all these years. I have a suspicion that 50 tons of Tylenol might not be enough for the headache that's coming.
Tylenol is acetaminophen. Tsien left 50 tons of plain old aspirin. |
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Master Sergeant
Posts: 313
I slay stars!
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rlollerskates
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Captain
Posts: 2471
Warning: Bullets come out this end...
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Tylenol is acetaminophen. Tsien left 50 tons of plain old aspirin.
Well, it is the wonder drug that works wonders... |
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Warrant Officer
Posts: 689
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Some headache. 50 tons of aspirin.
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Monsters in the Sky!
Moderator
Posts: 20560
Luft Konteradmiral, K.u.K. Luftflotte
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50 tons of aspirin might just be able to deal with this:  W |
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Sergeant
Posts: 177
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Tylenol is acetaminophen. Tsien left 50 tons of plain old aspirin.
Aspirin is a mix of acetylsalicylic acid and caffeine, not acetaminophen. |
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Lieutenant
Posts: 1230
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Aspirin is a mix of acetylsalicylic acid and caffeine, not acetaminophen. No, aspirin is the chemical common name for acetylsalicyclic acid. In countries (which does not included the US) where Aspirin is a registered trademark owned by Bayer, the generic term is acetylsalicylic acid (ASA). Caffeine is added to the formulation to increase the absorption in the stomach, since ASA is only slightly soluble in an acidic environment. |
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