BT/Clancyverse Round Robin Story Thread.

[Magni]

Port Krin
Antallos
August 25th 3021

"So, to sum it up, it will take at least another three months before we can even begin the journey back to our families?"

"Yes, Marc." Major Staedele replied to Johnson.

They were sitting in an open-topped jeep that had just left the barracks inside Port Krin behind and was, rather quickly, heading north. A bit too quickly for the Majors liking. He really had no need to get into an accident.

Staedele adressed the driver. "Easy, private. We're not in a racing competiton here."

"Yes, sir." The car slowed down. Somewhat.

"As I said, Marc, GDI won't let us pull out and head back to Earth before they are able to bring in reinforcements, especially after the bloodbath two weeks ago.

At least they were kind enough to inform our dependents and even pay for the HPG transmission informing those of our dependents that are in the Sphere. Granted, that gave them the ideal pre-text to take a look at our letters, but that's something I can understand. Every last spy on this entire rock must by now be in this city."

"Granted. Now, would you please tell me why you just stormed right into my office during my time off and dragged me into this jeep?"

Staedele answered with a smile. "Because the techs didn't ask you for two squads of security this morning without a reason."

A few minutes later
Just North of Port Krin

The jeep closed in on a small group of vehicles Johnson couldn't fully identify in the distance. Closing in, however, he did get an idea.

"They're already done, boss?"

"The test will show, Marc."

As the jeep stopped right next to the vehicles, now identifiable as a group of 40-ton trucks, one of them with a big gun mounted on it, the two mercenarya officers disembarked. A quick glance revealed two squads of infantry guarding the little improptu parking lot.

They were greeted by the Major's wife. "You're late."

"Sorry, honey. So, how far are you?"

"Well, you're lucky. The firing test will begin shortly. We're firing at a set of pre-ranged coordinates about 15 klicks west of here. One of Marcs men is out there to observe the impacts. Today will only be a stress test. GDI can't really give us one of their FCS right now. And even then, I doubt that they have one calibrated for a Thumper. So, let's go over to the rest of the staff."

While walking over to one of the trucks, they were handed some ear protection and told to dial into the radio frequency they had reserved for the test. After about two minutes of further banter, it was time.

"Watcher, this is Shooter, do you copy? Over."
"Roger, Shooter, hearing you loud and clear. Target area is devoid of any movement. Fire when ready. Over."
"Roger, Watcher. Firing now. Shooter out."

With a roar, the artillery cannon mounted on what had been a jury-rigged militia APC just two weeks prior, sent a 155mm training grenade towards the target. Seconds later, the radio came alive again.

"This is Watcher, impact was 40 meters short of target. Adjust and fire for effect! Over."
"Understood, Watcher. Adjusting for range."

The next two shots went 20 meters short and 10 meters wide, repectively. Then, the 4th grenade became a direct hit.

"Watcher, this is Shooter. Now preparing for maximum rate. Still no movement? Over."
"Watcher here, target area still clear. You are free to fire. Out."

The gun roared again. Once. Twice. Thrice in quick sucession. And then there suddenly was a hellish shrieking sound. "Abort!", somebody screamed.

One minute later

"Oh man, back to the drawing board."

"Assessment, Hinze?" Marie Staedle asked in a distinctively angry tone.

The man answering her, Eduard Hinze, was the perhaps best tech in the Cav when it came to wheeled vehicles, which was somewhat surprising, given that he had started his career in the Cav as an artilleryman. And he had made quite clear that he wanted his old job back, which had caused him to work with almost inhuman zeal at the conversion of the salvaged trucks.

Hinze sighed. "It's the outriggers. I told you that that could happen. The structural reinforcements on the vehicle were pretty good to begin with, it was meant for combat after all, and they held perfectly after we reinforced them. But the outriggers we bashed together were always the problem. They simply can't take the recoil. And the suspension simply can't take that kind of shock when they break, so we ruined that, too."

The Major interrupted. "So, how do we make them work?"

"Simple, sir. We need to pretty radically reinforce the outriggers and, at least in my opinion, reinforce the suspension. The latter as a security measure. While another failure will pop the tires, replacing those is chump change. Losing the suspension is a major repair job and immobilises the vehicle for a good while. All those measures will take away some armor if we don't overload the trucks and quite a bit more work. But otherwise, it's not really a problem. The necessary parts are something we can get in any halfway decent repair shop, given how widely used these trucks are in the region. For the outriggers I think I can make up something from our own spare parts stockpile."

"Okay. I'll authorise the budget for buying parts as soon as we're back to base. Will there be any problems with our little wreck?"

"No, sir. We can pull it with the other trucks."

"Good. Good, good, good. This little project is still worth it. With a lance of Thumpers and two ammo haulers as well as the spare space for a security platoon, we have a nice, mobile fire support base in the making. I'm expecting you to get it working before we depart. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

[Magni]

The Rusty Union
Port Krin
August 27th 3021

"...and then he yelled at that car mechanic in a way that made even me blush 'till the guy finally got him the fitting spare parts. It was hilarious, I tell you. Hinze can get really scary if you try to fuck with him like that guy with his parts sale tried to."

This caused everyone around the whole table to erupt into laughter.

The Rusty Union was a somewhat small bar at the center of Port Krin, relatively close to the barracks complex. As such, it was by now filled to the brim every day with a mixture of mercenaries and GDI regulars, making it one of those addresses that personnel of the brigade could visit without being required to bring several people as company, for security reasons.

A condition that pleased Kai Dyer, assistant tech in the Buron Cav, very much. Now sitting right next to his compatriots from the Cav, he very much enjoyed the evening. When paying the waitress for a new round, though, he managed to let a coin slip from his hand. Under the laughter of everyone around, he ducked beneath the table to pick it up. And to put a small package out of his pocket and into a little mounting at the underside of the bench. Afterwards, he simply enjoyed the rest of the evening, got righteously drunk and woke up next morning with a serious hangover. Which also caused his boss, Mrs Staedele, to chew him out in front of the entire tech compliment.

And while Dyer was asleep, the janitor of the Rusty Union, forewarned by the fact that someone had utterred a code-phrase to a little street vendor outside the bar a day before, made sure to pick up the package while cleaning the bar and relay it to his contact, who would then relay it to the local office of MIIO.

But before that, said contact would make a copy of the microfilm contained inside the package...

Slums of Port Krin
August 29th 3021

"Jackpot!"

Philipp Gärtner was positively ecstatic. Being the head of the local office of the Lyran Intelligence Corps might sound good, but on a remote hole like Antallos, his job was often the very epitome of boredom. Not to mention that he hardly had anything at his disposal. Antallos was, quite literally, the bottom of the pile when it came to resource allocation. The last weeks, of course, had been anything but boring.

Turning one of MIIOs couriers into a double-agent had been the biggest coup he had ever landed. It pretty much made up for his near-inability to build up any network himself by listening right into almost anything MIIOs local office found out. And this here, this was the perhaps biggest hit he had ever landed.

"Your mood is pretty uncharacteristic, Philipp. Did our latest batch from MIIO turn out that well?", his assistant, Stephanie Oster, asked.

"Well doesn't even begin to describe it, Stephanie. This here is a veritable goldmine. It's photographs of a diary. The diary of a tech in that merc unit with those GDI people we identified, the Buron Cavalry."

"A diary?"

"Yes, a diary. And I have to wonder wether the guy writing it isn't in MIIOs pockets. This thing goes into detail like crazy. We have a description of 'Motherload', without coordinates, but at least we now know the number of jumps. Then we have information about... well, everything. Society, technology, an estimate of population numbers and assets, almost a full intelligence file. Well, there is some wacky things in there. Apparrently, the motherloaders believe their planet to be Earth, as in THE Earth aka Terra. But even then, everything described about their technology in here matches what we and the Feddies have seen here on Antallos."

"So, how should we send THAT over to central, Philipp?"

"Good question. Seems like we'll have to get typing." He was interrupted by a loud groan. "Sorry, but there's no way around it. Trying to hide all these as picture files in a HPG transmission is pretty much impossible. So we convert them into text files and then hide them in the next video file message going out. Better not send that stuff openly, it's way too explosive for that."

"And here you go again with your conspiracy theories about Comstar."

"Oh please, Stephanie, it's not that. It's just that we had quite a few instances over time where HPG-relayed info got into the wrong hands. And if our little mole is correct, MIIO is seeing it similarily. They will use couriers or the hidden approach, too. So, we will now spend the next week typing all that stuff, because I don't want to involve any more people than necessary. I already looked up the schedule. Next routine video message is due in about a month, so, with a bit of luck, this little gem here will arrive on Tharkad in perhaps eight to nine months with all the stops along the pipeline and it being a low-priority message. Which means we also have plenty time to go over the data and write a first hand report."

"Well, you're the boss."

"Damn right, Stephanie. Now, how about we go drink something tonight to celebrate this? If I'm not totally wrong, we not only got ourselves a major coup and ripped off the Davions, we also outdid the goddamn Dracs for a change, despite them having more resources and personnel on this little rock than we ever had."

"You're paying."

[evilauthor]

Dropship Drakon
Asteroid Drakon-26
Just outside Jupiter’s orbital path
System S3-19570410
Grantville Cluster
16 April 2006

The asteroid was a vaguely potato-shaped lump of rock about half a kilometer long and three quarters that at its narrowest. It utterly dwarfed the tiny bubble of metal and air that maneuvered to bring itself to rest relative to the thing. The Dropship had been passing by when the asteroid had been detected by radar. Simply matching course with the monstrosity told the slightly bloated crew everything they needed to know about its trajectory; it was definitely one of those that crossed Earth’s orbit naturally and thus, a potential danger.

Jane Koltan nee Dietrich sat strapped into the seat of an unused station on the bridge. In one hand, she had a pen, in the other a clipboard that she studied intently.

“All stop in five,” announced the current helmsman, one Lieutenant Junior Grade Alex Harmon. “Four. Three. Two. One. Mark! Sir, we are at all stop relative to asteroid.”

“Good, good,” replied one nominal Captain Hans Fitzgerald. “Let us see what we have here. Is the ‘StarFury’ ready for launch?”

Jane cleared her throat.

“Er, yes,” Fitzgerald said, throwing her a glance. “Sensors, how does outside look?”

Jane nodded silently to herself and checked off another box on her clipboard.

“Remarkably clear of debris, Captain,” came the reply. “This rock appears to be all by its lonesome. We’re experiencing some slight gravitational pull from it, but nothing RCS thrusters can’t counter.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Fitzgerald said. “Now about that Starfury…”

Jane cleared her throat again.

“Oh, fine,” Fitzgerald said grumpily. After puttering around the solar system for a week, he was getting tired of looking at nothing but colorless space rocks. But he still had procedure to follow. He hit the ship-wide intercom. “All hands, this is Captain speaking. We are now secure from acceleration.”

Jane made another checkmark on her clipboard, hiding a smile. She never realized that teaching Dropship ops could be so fun.

* * *

The probe sidled up to the asteroid slowly. It was a boxy affair, a kludged together steel framework holding all manner of arcane equipment. Four, thick “wings” projected out from the main body in an X pattern and mounted a complex array of cold gas RCS thrusters on the end of each. For some reason that escaped Jane’s comprehension, the Earthers called the thing a “Starfury”, a rather strange name for a utility craft.

The Starfury had accommodations for a spacesuited pilot, but so far there had been never been any need to actually use it. The Drakon was close enough that remote control was essentially instantaneous. Watching over the shoulders of the Starfury controllers enjoying a shirt sleeve environment, Jane saw the asteroid surface loom up on the screen.

Aside from training prospective Dropship crews in the realities of interplanetary travel, the Drakon’s mission was to hunt down errant asteroids. As Jane understood it, despite their rarity, a large asteroid impact would be utterly devastating on a planet, more so than all but the heaviest nuclear bombardments. Things became even worse given that BT technology made it trivially easy for anyone to go out and grab rocks to sling at planets.

Jane shivered at the thought. Until coming here, she had never heard of the notion in her life. She personally knew pirates who wouldn’t hesitate to do such a thing if they ever heard of the idea. Such destructive power was supposed to be safely locked in the past along with nuclear weapons and the other horrors of the First and Second Succession Wars.

Of course viewed that way, Earth was the past come to haunt the present.

On the screen, a pair of mechanical arms driven not by myomers but by primitive electromagnetic motors reached out for the surface of the asteroid. The three fingered hands touched the surface, and instead of the arms bending slightly against a solid surface as the Starfury came to a rest, the hands broke the surface and buried themselves while small bits of rock drifted away.

“Hey, looks like we got another gravel pile,” the controller managing the arms said. “Getting sample now.”

A “gravel pile” Jane had learned was slang for an asteroid that was not solid rock, but rather a collection of small pebbles held together by the minute gravity of their combined mass. They tended to make up around half of the asteroids they had found so far. Most asteroids whether solid or gravel pile were just carbon and silicon compounds, pretty much uninteresting if you weren’t a scientist. A substantial minority had a high enough metal or rare element content to mark for future space mining.

“Okay, spectroscopic data coming in now,” another controller said. “Metal content’s higher than usual and… wow.”

“What is it?” Jane asked.

“I think we’re going to need more samples,” the controller said. “Preferably from different parts of the asteroid. And maybe throw in a deep core sample while we’re at it.”

“Does that mean we are going to have to hang around in zero gee some more?” Captain Fitzgerald asked. “This better be worth it.”

“I think so, Captain,” the controller answered. “Just from a few pebbles, I’m seeing large quantities of metals and rare earth elements, Titanium, Thorium, Rhodium, Rhenium, Germanium…”

“Germanium?” Jane interrupted. Germanium was invaluable, used in the construction of KF drives that gave humanity access to the stars. “How much Germanium?”

”Well, I’ll need more samples to be sure, but based on this sample, the Germanium content is around oh… two percent or so.”

“That doesn’t sound like much,” Jane said, disappointed.

“You’d think so,” the controller laughed. “But that better than you’d get from any ground side mine. And given its size, I’d ball park this asteroid’s mass at around one hundred million tons… give or take.”

Which if refined, Jane translated in her head, would be about two million tons of the most valuable substance in the Inner Sphere. Suddenly, Jane felt dizzy.

“Ack,” grunted Fitzgerald disgustedly. “I suppose we must be here for some time.” He groaned. “I hate zero gravity.”

Jane looked at Fitzgerald for a moment, then made another checkmark on her clipboard.

[Satori]

"I don't see why we should be haring off to Antallos," The graying elderly man said. He was a ‘military expert’ the network had dredged up from somewhere. "Sure, it's deplorable that there's such barbarity going on there, and it'd certainly be nice to get payback for them dropping a private army on our heads, but shouldn't we be focusing on building up Earth? Put more defenses in space so no more armies drop in on us? Fix gunrunning in Somalia before we worry about slavery in Port Krin?"

The younger, darker complexioned man across the table from him laughed off his objections. “Jake, Jake. Didn’t you say yourself that the best defense is a good offense? The best way to keep anyone from attacking us, at least for the immediate future is not to get more weapons. First of all, since they don’t know about our weapons, given that we don’t have communications with them, the deterrent value of them is zero. Secondly, the guy running the show in Port Krin knows how to get to us. From what we’ve learned from our mercenary friends, he’s been keeping that information close to the vest, but that could change. So we go over there and make sure he keeps his mouth shut. Sure, eventually others will find us, but that’ll buy the time to build the defenses you want. Otherwise, Vorax blabs to the Feds or the Combine or Comstar, or the ‘Star League in Exile’, and they come calling with real armies. And even if they really don’t have warships, dropships are enough to do the “bombard them from orbit” trick. We don’t have the firepower to prevent a determined enemy nation from neutralizing our space-borne assets and dropping rocks on us until we say uncle. Yet, anyway.”

“So we send a few James Bond types to silence the guy. There’s no need to occupy the place. We have enough of our boys in hostile territory doing so-called ‘peace keeping’ missions as is. I just don’t see the rationale in putting our servicemen out there at the end of such a long logistical trail.” Col. Jacob Framke, ret., wasn’t ready to concede the point yet. Certainly not to a damned noncom.

“See, that’s your problem. You keep treating Antallos as being analogous to Somalia. It’s not. Somalia has problems to be sure, but aside from a few jokers in speedboats who really don’t rate the title of pirate, they keep their problems to themselves. Antallos exports slaves and pirates by the bucket-load. I was a Marine, as you know. Our anthem starts with ‘From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli.’” He actually sang it, too. “Tripoli was the capitol of the Barbary states, a collection of princedoms that ran their economies off of piracy and blackmail. The US government got fed up with their shenanigans and sent in the Marines. Presto, no more pirates. That’s why we need to hold Antallos. It’s the supply base for pirate activity in this region of space. If we don’t hold it, someone will set up shop and service pirates there even if we get rid of the current leadership.

The talks show host, trying to head off the argument, interjected. “So Mr. Parker, you don’t feel that the social issue is a factor in the decision to enact a ‘regime change’ in Port Krin.”

“Oh, I do.” Gunnery Sergeant Nicholas Parker, ret., assured the woman. “But my colleague is off target on the ‘social issue’ as well. To be frank, we need the people of Antallos just as much, if not more so than they need us. We can bring them all sorts of aid and medicine and whatnot, but they’ve survived for centuries and could go on surviving without any action on our part. We, on the other hand, went from being one world encompassing all of humanity, to a tiny outpost amidst a sea of humanity. And they’re different from us, very different. Culturally, technologically, economically, everything but genetics, and I’m not too sure even about that. Even if by some miracle we don’t fight any wars, we’re going to have to interact with these people, engage with them, live in their cultures and accept them into ours. We’re eventually going to send people to places like New Avalon or Carver V or Strana Mechty, and expect them to stay there to negotiate treaties and run businesses.

Talk to the guys who run the Peace Corps, sometime. They send people to live in different cultures. Enthusiastic, energetic, committed people. Two thirds of them are back within a year, because they just can’t handle how different the culture is. Can’t even hack a two-year assignment in a mere foreign county. And that’s without leaving the planet. What are we going to do when we have to send people to, say, the Cappellan Confederation? They won’t be able to call home when they feel homesick. Home will be many jumps away, and days off even by Comstar’s shady mail service.

Do you have any idea what that meeting other, vastly different cultures, entails on the societal level? Historically, suddenly encountering a different people has caused massive social and political upheavals in societies. Look at what happened Japan when Matt Perry forced them to open the borders at cannon point. Near-disintegration of the existing social order. It’s unlikely we’ll see anything quite that drastic when we introduce our culture to the Inner Sphere’s, but there’s going to be rapid, destabilizing change on both sides.

Antallos is a potential social and cultural laboratory, someplace where we can begin the cultural diffusion in a relatively controlled setting. Fixing up Antallos isn’t just a charity gig. It’s a desperately necessary venue for teaching people from earth how to deal with the socioeconomic and political realities of the Inner Sphere. Hell, some of them might be able to help us steer our way through the changes back here on Earth. They’ve lived with the technological set up we’re just beginning to try to understand. We don’t know much about the working of interstellar economic and political interaction, because we’ve only just started operating jumpships. Earth’s finest minds have been trying to puzzle out how they’ve maintained a civilization so long with such limited capacity for transport and communication for over a year and are still drawing a lot of blanks. The most important part of the Antallos operation is going to be exchange of knowledge, and honestly I think we’ll be getting a good deal. It may be a hub for illegal comers, but it is still a commerce center. Just the kind of place we need to help us figure out how the Inner Sphere works and how to adapt to it.”

That, Sergeant Major Nichalos Parker thought, should give that pompous ass something to think about.

Port Krin
XX 2006

“For a place that’s been described as a wretched hive of scum and villainy, Port Krin sure seems quiet” Rachel Dawes noted wryly.

“Shake up in the power structure. The small fish are waiting to see which way things fall before they come back out of hiding,” Nicholas Parker explained. The ex-Marine noncom, as the attorney had discovered, was a virtual treasure trove of experience and knowledge about war-torn societies and social upheaval.

“Guess you won’t be seeing the criminal element today, ma’am” Lieutenant Joseph Chalmers told the lawyer. “Hope you’re not disappointed.”

“Oh, no,” Rachel laughed “I prefer to see crooks from the safety of a courthouse, thank you.”

Laisa rolled her eyes at the annoying woman. She understood the logic behind the old saw of ‘send lawyers, guns and money,’ but that didn’t mean she liked the woman who had invited herself along on this stroll down to the dockside district. If it wasn’t for the fact that the gangs were lying low, she’d be seriously worried that the gregarious woman would get them all killed.

Seeing a familiar establishment, Laisa smirked. “If you want scum and villainy, you can always look in there.”

Rachel followed Laisa’s pointed finger, and found herself looking at what was clearly a cathouse. She flushed red briefly before managing to control her embarrassment. “I may just do that. At a guess, I’d say that establishment probably violates the anti-slavery edicts we’ll be implementing.”

“Sideways with a stick,” Laisa agreed, under her breath, and suddenly gasped as she recognized the short, straw-haired boy emerging from the brothel, clutching a brown parcel.

She bounded forward to intercept the youth. “Wormie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The boy jumped, startled, and stared wide-eyed. It took him a moment to recognize her. “Auntie Sass.” He withered under her glare.

“Are you running Spark, wormie?”

The boy squirmed. “Berry got an infection. I need the glit.”

“Damnit, Fixer’s suppose to cover that when it happens.”

“He says she was negligent. Says he’s not lie-a-bul. It’s a lie, alright, but what am I supposed to do? He said he’ll get her the meds if I carry the Spark.”

You’re supposed to have me talk to him, Laisa thought. Except I wasn’t here. Out loud, she said, “Pawn my kit. Not like I was using it.”

“But then, how…” The boy seemed to be at a loss for words.

“I’d have gotten something to replace it out of the starboys, they owe me.” Laisa shook her head. She was asking too much of the youth. “You did the best you could Wormie, it's not your fault. It was very brave of you to step up to cover Berry’s expenses.”

“I had to.” The kid looked down. “He wanted to indenture Berry, at first.”

“He what? I’m going to kill him.”

“Woah, slow down,” Rachel cut in, almost making Laisa jump herself. She’s forgotten about her companions in her fury. “No killing. I can overlook the odd slaver being roughed up by angry troops, but I can’t gloss over that, not if we’re going to re-establish order in this city.”

Wormie stared wide-eyed at the strange woman. “Is this your new boss, Sass?”

“No, thankfully.” Laisa turned to Rachel. “Look, this is my turf, so let me handle it okay? The old rat bastard should know better than to stiff my crew. I spent the last few years training them to run district sanitation. We actually had the old industrial quarter’s plumbing working again. Which won’t last for long if the idiot has my kids using the sewage system to run drugs.”

“That is shortsighted,” Nick commented. “Whoever’s in charge probably would have axed this guy if we hadn’t come along anyway.”

“Not helping,” Rachel said icily. “Okay, so he’s a slaver and a drug dealer. We can nail him on that. No need to play Punisher.”

“You really don’t get it do you?” Nick shook his head. “You don’t make public services a part of the gang war by forcing them to carry drugs. That puts them on a faction, and makes them a target. Which screws over the whole city that depends on their work, when the other side starts shooting them to close down that avenue of distribution. As far as the people of Port Krin are concerned, what he’s guilty of is endangering the public welfare. Drugs and prostitution are just business as normal.”

“As far as I’m concerned, he’s endangering Berry,” Wormie snapped, having gotten over his initial awe of the strange and imposing adults.

“Sorry, Wormie,” Laisa said, embarrassed that she’d let argument take precedence over Berry. “We’ll get a doctor to come see Berry.”

“A real doctor?”

“Yes, a real doctor. You’ll like her, I promise,” Laisa assured the boy.

A smile briefly lit Wormie’s face. Then he frowned. “Then what do I do with all this Spark?”

[Kerrus]

Comstar GDI Shuttle Pasteur
Septemper 8th, 2006/3021
Columbus Moon 'Armour'



The moon approached with a grim certainty. It had existed long before the Star League had taken this system for their own use, and long after their fall. What secrets had it seen? What treasures did it hold?

"We're receiving telemetry from the moon," reported systems technician Ramael Cross, his fingers dancing over the little keyboard inset into his station. Comstar really did have all the nice toys, and it had only taken a little to decipher what the various functions of the vessel were. The Von Braun's shuttle was far better equiped for this sort of situation then the Vittoria's had been- especially after the damage it had taken during the boarding op. "It's pretty garbled, but it looks like an automated beacon. I've tried returning the query, but it looks like their computers are down. No big surprise there."

"Interesting," muttered Sanford. He was still getting used to the Von Braun's seating arrangement, and it showed every time he fidgeted. "Take us in, but slowly."

"Acknowledged," Cross replied, manipulating the controls. Thrusters responded to his deft touch, and the little tank of a jumpship maneuvered to line up with the ancient bay doors. With careful maneuvering, the ship slipped between the scarred and pitted doors, and into the interior of the hollowed moon.

Almost immediately, a proximity alarm sounded- Sanford took only a moment to identify the unfamiliar noise, but Cross had been faster. The Von Braun halted, and then activated its exterior lights. Panning across their immediate surroundings, the form of a Colossus type dropship became immediately evident to them. It was docked, for a given value of docked, but looked like it had taken a lot of damage, and was connected to what they could see of the interior station only by a spindly little docking tube.

"That was close," Cross said to himself, then brought up the radar. While the Comstar ship was only equipped with a standard radar function, Cross had spent considerable time working in its guts to link it up to the holoprojectors. It was there he had discovered that the holoprojectors were distressingly analogue, and had required several extra hours to write up a conversion program and build a connector. "Receiving radar imagery now."

The main holo tank abruptly ceased showing technical readouts, and instead displayed the little shuttle that was the CEC - Pasteur. That ship in turn shrank, as the focus of the image expanded outwards. Sharply cut lines pointed out the segments of interior station, built right into the rocky mantle of the moon. Here and there station segments crisscrossed the interior, and further in was a hint of more docks.

"This entry appears to have been designed to serve dropships primarily- I'm picking up three, two colossi, and a third of indeterminate type. The aperture into the rest of the moon is narrow- I can get us through, but there must be some other entry for jumpships," Cross delcared. Sanford eyed the schematic, and shook his head.

"It might be best if we explore this section of interior- try to find any further data before we go deeper," Sanford said. Cross maneuvered the Pasteur 'up' towards one of the cavernous dropship docks, and then halted the vessel. Say what you would about the IS, but Comstar certainly had an idea of what they were doing, almost immediately after Cross took his hands off the controls, a program devoted to stationkeeping popped up and started handling that task. "Let's go."

Cross nodded, and he and Sanford headed out into the cooridor. Greeting them there was Private First Class Edmund Duke, currently on guard duty. Though all the Von Braun's crew had theoretically been accounted for, it was determined to be a useful precautionary measure.

"Sirs?" Edmund asked, tipping his head.

"As you were, private," ordered Sanford. "We'll return shortly."

"Yes sir."


_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+



"Pressure?"

"Normal. There's atmosphere too, and we're not picking up any radiological warnings in this section. The air might be stale, but we should probably conserve our suit air."

"Right."

Leutennant Mackenzie Grail and Seargent Thomas Blake made their way slowly through the exterior docking ring. Their helmets were open, and though the air was stale, it certainly wasn't canned air. Aside from them, several two man teams were exploring the facility. They hadn't gotten past the initial docking ring, but Grail and Blake were close.

"Corpse," Blake declared, gesturing with his rifle. Though it was just dust and bones, the familiar Star League uniform was visible. Blake kneeled, and took a photo for the records. "Looks like a NCO of some sort. His sidearm's gone. Took a bullet to the head and then they looted him."

"They?" Grail asked.

"Well someone shot him. Could have been raiders, but given those radiologicals the probes found, I doubt it was. Raiders wouldn't risk tangoing with nukes."

"True."

"More bodies- in cover over by the terrace."

Three robed skeletons, hunched in cover. A closer inspection revealed each to be wearing a crucifix beneath their robes.

"What were holy men doing here?"

"Maybe they were going to bless the ships."

Two doors down the pair found another cache of bodies. These, however, were wearing a variant of the standard uniform they'd encountered so far.

"Looks like flight jocks," Blake mused. He shook his head, then leaned down and fished an old worn wallet from one of the corpses. "Pilot first class, Mirabelle Adante. SLDF."

<<Team Two, we've found an entry to the interior structure. Your PDA has been updated>>

The fragmentary map that was constantly being downloaded to the PDAs both team members carried- based on photos and tracking data, showed a glowing red dot further up the ring. A note next to it indicated that it was three levels 'up'.

"Acknowledged HQ, we're on our way," Grail replied, thumbing her radio. "Anything else in there?"

"Just some coin, and what looks like a photo of a girlfriend. Now there's an idea, maybe they were trying to get back home."

"Kerensky took all the military with him to Terra- they stripped Columbus of what they could and left," Grail said. "Unless they didn't... Maybe those tubes we found were so that the populace could wait to be recovered. Maybe they knew about the Exodus."

"It's possible. With all the bodies that are turning up, I'm begining to think that it was some sort of mutiny."

"That... could be it. Hey Blake, check this out, it looks like-"

"Spartan 117 - Master Chief Petty Officer," Blake interrupted. Abruptly the two moved forward and were rolling the armoured green form over. While the resemblance was uncanny, there were some significant differences in the armour. While the gold faceplate remained, the nuclear reactor that would have made up the backpack was instead some sort of battery, and there were integrated firearms of some sort on the arms. A bulkier backpack turned out to be some sort of jetpack, and the armour was configured differently then that of the 'real' Master Chief. It was still, undeniably, a Spartan. As they propped the body up, a chit attached to the armour's chestplate came loose. Grail caught it, and held it up to her eyes.

"I think it's a rank tag... huh... Master Chief Petty Officer... John Spartan," She said, reading the holographic inset. "I think the universe is screwing with us Blake."

"Let's get him to the rest of the group- they can take a closer look."

The armoured figure would have been far heavier then it had any right to be... if there were gravity. But as it was, the two soldiers easily lifted and pulled it with them. Up some several ramps, through a cooridor or two, and to a big, sealed door, within half an hour they had arrived. Most of the other teams were already there, as was Captain Sanford.

"Ah, there you are. So good of you to make it," he said, catching Blake's eye. "What did you bring me?"

"When Fiction Attacks," Blake said, pushing the armoured figure 'to the ground'. "The probes pick anything up?"

"We had one do a close inspection- the airlock is secure but the other side was heavily irradiated at some point, and is exposed to vacuum. We think we can get enough power out of the batteries to get us through, but we'll need to find our own way back. Or, barring that, make the long spacewalk through the interior. The probes are on standby for that eventuality," Sanford explained. "On the plus side, one of our probes spotted the silhouette of a jumpship of some sort in the interior. We're running it now, but there haven't been any results so far."

"Blake and I found a lot of corpses- it looked evident of some sort of mutiny," Grail interjected. "If there was a jumpship here then perhaps they weren't 'stranded'. Maybe some of them tried to take it and leave."

"It's a possibility. But that doesn't explain the bodies, or the frantic disposition of the corpses. There was something else going on here too," Sanford mused. "But I'm sure we'll have plenty of time for speculation while we help get this door open. Come on."

The two followed, and soon were engrossed in the task of finding and fixing wiring, and hoping nothing exploded. Within another hour, the first door was open, and teams Prime, Two, Three, Eight, Twelve, and Fifteen were among those lucky enough to be drawn for the first 'wave'.

"Luck be with us," Sanford declared as they stepped into the lock. Once everyone was in, and their helmets and gear were secured, he pulled the ancient locking mechanism, and the door slowly ground down. "for tonight we dine in radiological hell."

Blake took the first step into the radioactive nightmare that lay beyond.



/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/


"Rad levels are within tolerances here too," noted Grail. The first few minutes of pushing decayed and radioactive bodies out of the way had taken as much as the exploration detail could give. Each one had died a gruesome death, and there were still more floating in the distance. Harsh red light spilled from still lit emergency lightning, casting the entire scene into- as Sanford had predicted- a radiological hell.

"So far, so good."

"It's worrying, what appears to have happened here. Who would design their reactor system to vent into the interior of a base?"

"I don't think they designed 'anything' to do that. From the reactors we found in the outer ring, I think someone blasted it open. Maybe siege weaponry of some sor-" Sanford paused, catching sight of a silhouette. There was a battlemech in here. Legless and lying on its side, but it was there. "How the hell did they-"

He looked back at the gaping hole in the hull behind it, and then at the scorched line traveling from its crumpled form to where the reactor had been.

"Oh."

"That would do it," Blake commented, while Grail nodded in mute horror. He pushed off, rising and reorienting himself. This station had been designed so that three of its four interior walls could serve as 'down', while the last served as a window into the interior of the drydock facility. "Picking up a bit of a spike over here- its reactor might be out of fuel, but I think its still intact."

"What class is it?" Grail asked, as she deftly maneuvered herself around the hulk.

"No idea. I'd take a look at the myomer, but the radiation appears to have eaten through it all. It's definitely a heavy of some sort though."

Sanford, meanwhile, was heading towards the far end of the section along with the other teams. Here and there they stopped when something caught their interest, but for the most part it was eerily silent.

<<Captain, you there?>> the radio sounded. The voice was familiar- one of the officers who had stayed back on the shuttle. <<It appears our guest has woken up- He's lucid and wants to talk to our 'leader'>>

"Tell him he can wait, we're busy here."

<<Will do, sir. It also might be of interest to you that the physician has an estimate on his age. He's only sixty>>

"Not nearly as old as we thought then- must have been the result of being cooped up in such a place for so long. Tell him that he can join us for dinner- and invite the Precentor... and that Noon character too. They'll want to hear our story, I think, and I do owe them an explanation."

<<Acknowledged sir, Shuttle out>>

Sanford sighed, then pushed off and maneuvered himself towards the breach in the hull. Though this interior area was dark, from his suit lights he could see the debris that had no doubt been sucked into space when the breach had occurred. Cargo crates and bodies. Dust and echoes. He turned to head back, when he spotted a light. It was faint, in the far 'distance' further into the interior, but it was there. Lazily blinking.

"Wait a second," he muttered, counting time. H E R E__L I E T H O S E__W H O__S E R V E D__W I T H__C O N V I C T I O N__M A Y__T H E Y__R E S T__I N__P E A C E.

It was Morse Code, of course. Someone had set it, and after repeating the message it went silent for several intervals, before beginning again.

Surely laying all these corpses to rest would have been a monumental undertaking. But perhaps someone had found this place... and left a memorial. A pity it would not be undisturbed.

"I need one of the probes to investigate the following coordinates. There's something there," he ordered, thumbing his mic. Receipt was swift, and after a few more moments, he caught sight of one of the ship's probes maneuvering down the crevice that led to the surface. Its powerful lights swept over the interior docks, and then it did a lazy roll, pushing itself towards the blinking light.

<<Looks like some sort of transponder and light assembly, tied into the base's power supply. It's very old.>>

"Not part of the base's construction then?"

<<Definitely an addition. There's a body drfiting near it. We might not be the first to have found this place, but we won't know more until the tech geeks on the Vittoria go through their sourcebooks>>

"Well, alert me when you have something."

The line went silent, and once again Sanford found himself staring at the dark. He inclined his head, making a decision.

"These men will have their burial," he said quietly. "But they'll drift a little longer, I'm afraid. We have work to do."

"Then you'll be happy to know we got the airlock working," said Grail quietly. She had observed the effects this place was having on him, and while it was certainly something that bothered them all, it had hit Sanford remarkably hard. So she had stood and watched as he made his own peace with it. "We were just waiting for you to finish your inspection."

"Sure you were," Sanford joked. "Shall we get to it then?"

"You two need to get a room!" yelled Blake over the comms, startling them. Abruptly they were on other sides of the room, looking anywhere but at each other. "See?"

Grail's response to her partner was to merely push him, spinning towards the airlock. Though he had his lazy spin under control in mere moments, it had been a scary few.

"Don't do that, woman!"

"Don't be an ass, and I won't have to," she quipped. Blake merely held up his hands, knowing that any further argument was futile.



Omega Section, Armour Interior
September 10th, 2006/3021
Columbus System

The logs had been clear- a mutiny of sizable proportions was the cause. And everywhere the dead lay sleeping. After bypassing the flooded beta section they had made their way deeper. The bodies were fewer here, but the signs of military action remained. The bulkheads were peppered with bulletholes, yet atmospheric integrity had miraculously remained. As the teams explored hallways and junctions, taking data dumps from still active terminals, they established that the 'real' jumpship dock had been called 'Omega Section'. Further analysis of recovered material had derived a map.

Omega Section was the core- again hollowed out and filled with machinery. In the grim light of the dead interior, through impossibly huge but inexplicably sturdy windows, lay the jumpship docks. And while empty here and there, their cameras revealed a dark silhouette, slumbering in the darkness.

"You suppose that's this 'Damocles' they talk about in the logs?" Blake wondered aloud, eyeing some of the digitally enhanced images their cameras had produced. "Looks pretty damn big."

"Whether it is or it isn't matters less then getting the power back on," Grain interjected, pushing off towards one of several junctions with exposed cabling. Already some of the lights were on, and as more cables were carefully reconnected, the station lit further and further. The alarm was inevitable, of course. This sort of sabotage had been deliberate.

However, just as fast as the alarm had started, it had quieted.

"I'm worried. All teams, pull back to the main foyer," Sanford ordered. "Keep an open comm."

Receipt came across the board, and the teams began to gather. Some of them were merely curious, but others had their firearms out. Grail payed none of that any attention, making her way through one of the active computer consoles as she was. The encryption had been laughable- a simple password screen that enabled full functionality on 'Kerensky will come'? Oh please.

"The hell?" she cursed, coming to a data readout- a system report printed just minutes ago, entering a database index of a few centuries of system reports. "About three minutes ago, there was an anomalogous power drain in Omega Section- that's here. I'm trying to narrow it down, but it wasn't an alarm- this entry's flagged medical."

"He's watching us then," Sanford cursed. "Waiting to see what we'll do."

"He, sir?" Blake asked, casting his gaze across the foyer chamber. "The 'Knight.'"

"The same. Helmets on, people!" Sanford commanded. "I want tight formations, expect a single target. Armed, extremely dangerous. Possibly hostile."

"How do we catch him? If this Knight really survived all this time, he's got to know far more then we do. If he wanted us dead- I'd like to think we'd put in a good showing, but from what we saw of the bodies... he's far better equipped then us."

"And no doubt," Sanford paused, sighed, then raised his voice to a yell. "He'll be extremely unhappy when he learns that the Star League fell, and Kerensky abandoned the inner sphere to form his own little dictatorship on the far periphery!"

The effect was immediate- a shifting wall of colour appeared next to Sanford, but the Colonel was steady. He held a hand up- no one was to fire. As an external projection of holography faded to reveal the gray armoured 'spartan'-like form, Sanford really hoped it wasn't going to kill him.

The voice was... female?

"Tell me more about what you know of the Star League, Successionist," she said evenly.

"Linda-058, SLDF Knight, I presume."

"How?" she gasped, though the break in her composure was quickly covered up. Sanford wasn't about to tell her that he was a Halo fan and this was all... very disturbing.

"We pulled it from the logs," he said. "The requisition orders planetside mentioned your number, but not your name."

"So they're all dead then? Much time has passed, it seems."

"Centuries," Sanford admitted. "And we are not successionists, come to claim this world to drag into our ever self-sustained mockery of warfare."

"You are soldiers nevertheless. And no Periphery state is as trained or professional as you appear," she eyed the flag-symbols that appeared on their various uniforms, under the GDI moniker. "That leaves few options. You are... not Belters."

"We're from Earth," Sanford said succinctly. "I can fill you in later- for now we need to secure..."

He pointed at the Damocles.

"You are not Star League," Linda affirmed.

"Lady, we're the closest damn thing you're going to get, I'm afraid," Sanford replied, sighing. Linda stared at him, eyes searching every line of his face, before nodding, once.

"You're telling the truth... That disturbs me more then you could ever know."

"Just you wait. It's not about to get better from here."

Guns down, SLDF 'Knight' 058 Linda led the retrieval teams straight to the Damocles. It was such a small sacrifice to discover just what had made that man- Sanford, able to tell such a truth. And she could still kill them if she needed to.

"I bet you call it 'Knight-time', when you move fast," Sanford mused. Linda stood ramrod straight. She said nothing. Sanford sighed, then reached into his satchel and pulled out a book. Handed it to her. "It's good fiction, and while some of it is outright impossible, the other details you may find interesting."

And so, as they continued on, Linda read. And the more she read, the more she worried. The man had not said Terra- he had never said Terra. Yet in his eyes, he knew the word, and purposefully differentiated from it when he claimed he was from 'Earth.'

Earth, the cradle of Humanity.

Linda worried.



Three hours later they made it to the Damocles' personal dock. Large docking arms stretched out into the interior, and the massive jumpship lay in their tender embrace like nothing so much as a child taking a nap.

"Huh, that's odd. Roderick must have encrypted access," Linda muttered, as the doors refused them access. She frowned, trying to think what codes he would have used.

"A minor setback," Sanford said, gesturing to a pair of technicians. Their bulky spacesuits- larger then SLDF standard, but reinforced with armour weave, gave them a primitive look. But Linda knew to look beyond the surface details. National crests bearing old pre-hegemony flags, and hints of advanced technology here and there. The box they held between them was a computer. But what they expected to do with it was unknown. "We'll have to brute force it, it seems."

"An uplink then? You're going to allocate your ship's processing power to this task." Linda stated, coming to the conclusion slowly. It was not unheard of, but it was rare. Usually one had to either blast through such a locking system or crack it- and that tended to take a dedicated computing array. Such arrays were, of course, massive.

"Not exactly," Sanford replied, elaborating no further. He was then silent, and Linda found herself wondering. She glanced at the box, and the wiring connecting to the door. It looked... curious- both the box and the wires were a dull matt black, but the entire ensemble looked as though it had been constructed recently.

"Ah, hexadecimal, my favourite," muttered the first technician- Linda remembered he was named Marshall. He began tapping out... commands, it looked like, on a small keyboard attached to the arm of his suit. The hum of internal fans and other rotary devices reached Linda's sensitive ears as the computer came to life. Though she had no screen to view, Linda was on edge- something was happening.

"If it's not a datalink then... that's a computer? You expect to crack the encoding with that?" Linda asked, flabbergasted.

"Give it time," Sanford said. "If it's anything like the encryptions back home, it'll take at least half an hou-"

*Ding* the computer announced.

"Right. BT computers," Sanford muttered. Marshall and his partner chuckled, evidently this was some inside joke that Linda was not privy to. But before she could concern herself with such matters, the doors began to grind open. Beyond lay the Damocles and her bounty.

"I do have one concern, though. Since I'm technically a representative of the star league- are you just intend to steal whatever I haven't gifted you with? By write, I am in legal possession of this facility," Linda asked, bringing a question to the fore that she had skirted around before. They hadn't said much on the star league, aside from the 'fact' that it had fallen. Now that they had this prize, Linda intended to get answers.

"The Star League's defunct. Kerensky gave up any right he had to it when he pulled out for the deep periphery to build his own little dictatorship. Comstar forfeited their rights when they turned into a self-centric religion and debased their founders vision to save the galaxy. Who would you put in power- one who craves it with every fiber of his being, or one who doesn't desire it?"

"The latter, of course. Power seekers are common- and fragile. They break easily."

"Consider us then- we do not desire power- we desire peace. But unfortunately the universe drives a hard bargain. If we want peace, we're going to end up with a lot of power first. The SLDF is gone- disbanded and forgotten, save as the glorious golden ages of the past. The successor houses are the same as ever, embroiled in their petty wars for dominance, none caring about what they're doing to the galaxy beyond the sheer hubris that they can 'win' the wars they wage. But we both know they can't 'win'- if that were possible, they would have done so ages ago. So who would you turn to, if not us?"

"There was a movement for-"

"The re-establishment of the Terran Hegemony, yes, yes. It's a glorious idea, but it requires more war. First, to take Terra from Comstar, second to find yourself a Cameron heir- ours isn't interested, and third, to find some way to bring the successor states to the table. And you need to do all this in the next ten years, because after that The Clans are slated to show up."

"The what?" Linda could hear the capitalization.

"You didn't think Kerensky's faction was content to sit in their idyllic utopia in the far reaches of the distant coreward, did you? Why be prosperous and noble, when you can be barbaric, and powerful. It wasn't enough that they left the galaxy to centuries of war- no, they have to come back and make it all worse."

"For a group with such an intelligence network as you obviously have, it is strange to see you so interested in the materials you are recovering. I've been watching your men, Richard. They're not just recovering usable materials, but examples of technology- watches, radios. What use do you have for these things, when you have the resources for an intelligence network so vast and powerful?"

"Do you believe in magic?" Richard asked solemnly, turning to face her. She read the truth in his eyes. "It's not easy to grasp, but if you give your bond- for you and those under your command, I am permitted to tell you. I've already told you more then I should have."

My bond... Linda thought. "'Those under my command'?"

"About two hundred and seventy, in cyro tubes down planetside. Scientists and their families, according to the manifest. We're going to need to thaw them out to help with the cargo anyways- it would be much easier if we didn't have to worry about you galavanting off to form your own faction and getting yourselves- and us- all killed."

"You do, of course, have some time to think it over. But the word is yours to give- the old one that's awake told us that much, Lady Cameron," Sanford concluded, He smiled, then turned away from the SLDF Knight. "Alright ladies and gentlemen- we have a ship to get running. You know your duties, now get to them."

He leaned back, and his eyes met Linda's.

"You coming?" he asked, without a hint of guile in his voice.

Linda followed, as she had known that she would.

Wait....

"Jacob's alive? and Cameron who?" she asked, racing to catch up with him.


Columbus Base
September 11th, 2006/3021
Columbus System

Jacob Carter was experiencing bliss- bliss that first came in the form of a warm bath, then as fresh food, and good company. Though his minder was military, she was familiar- the first human face he had seen in nearly a year, a year of the madness of lonelyness.

"More?" Norris Algaute asked of his empty bowl of soup. The medics had decided to get him acclimated to real food again slowly- so soup was the meal of the day.

"No. Thank you," Jacob said carefully. His throat was still sore from disuse, but the medicine had helped. "So... the moon."

"You were right about the Knights," Norris said. "Our team made contact with Linda, and they think that John is active as well."

"Good," he replied, taking a drink. He turned, and watched the lightening rainfall. Shafts of sunlight shone through the clouds, bathing the morning in a warm radiance. Jacob took all this in and more- it had been a long time since he had seen proper daylight.

"I'm afraid, though, that we'll be heading out shortly. Nearly three months of transit time, but we're needed back on Earth."

The way she said Earth was the way each member of this expedition said the word. There was no special endearment attached to the term, no 'new earth' or 'terra nova' or the like. Just Earth. Jacob had suspected Terra, but the reactions to that assertion were bewildering. Where were these people from? Further thought did little to illuminate the mystery, so Jacob Carter, nominal commander of Columbus Base, returned to his meal, and the vista before him.

If his saviours desired to tell him, they would. And if not, he was certain he would learn when the expedition returned to the world that cast them into the black on this mission.

"Actually, yes. More soup," he said. Norris nodded, and refilled his bowl. They sat in silence once more, each entertaining their own thoughts.

It was... pleasant.


Omega Zero Section, Armour Interior
September 16th, 2006/3021
Columbus System


Tele-Terminal Reporting Autonomous Adaptive Network... online.

Initiating primary protocols

Initiating secondary protocols

Initiating tertiary protocols

Greetings Linda...


"I need you to begin preparations to initialize lock down, code word Spartan Tango Marmalade Zero Alpha. We're going to be departing soon, and there's trouble about," Linda ordered, no nonsense in her tone.

So soon? I only just awoke. John is...

"I know," she said quietly. Sanford and his team had stayed out of the central chamber, partly out of trust- and because Linda had told them, truthfully, that the auto-defences that guarded the vault would not recognize them, and she would not be able to order them to stand down from outside. "Do your scopes show the people outside the Vault?"

I see them. A curious lot. John thought I should watch what they do.

"I want you to add them to your register. They are allies," she said.

Allies. After all this time. Fascinating.

"They will return- they intend to rebuild this place. Though they are strange and curious, they are not bad people."

They are not Hegemony or League. Who are they?

"They say they hail from Earth."

I will remember them Linda. John says hello. He says he is tired of eating rats, and wishes he could find his way out of the ventilation shaft he is in.

"He'd better get out before they decide there's a pest problem and electrify the shafts.

Laughter. He says they have tried that already. They are resourceful.

"I think they just might be our only hope, too."

John agrees. As do I. Be well Linda.

"I will see you again, I promise."

The Ark will be here when you return.

Linda nodded, and shut down the terminal as she withdrew her code chip. All the information for the lock down process, and accessing the auto-defences was contained therein. And it was right, the Ark would be here when she returned. It had waited centuries, what was a few more decades?



Comstar G.D.S. Von Braun
September 17th 2006/3021
Columbus Orbit


John Spartan found that he had become a cat. There was no sense of transition, just that abruptly he realized that he was a cat. A cat chasing mice down endless duct work. A cat sunning itself under the food heating lamps while the chefs weren't in. A cat cavorting through the empty halls. It was good being a cat, but a small part of John vague wondered why, since he was a cat and not a person, he would occasionally get flashes of complex linear string mathematics. What did a cat need with math?

What does an AI need with a star ship?




She strode purposefully through the empty corridors, noting each detail and committing it to her vast memory. At the slightest touch, they opened to show her their secrets. Though these GDI people were certainly advanced, and their encryptions beyond anything she had experienced, it was a simple matter to override them. Their hardware was parasitic in nature- existing as an unnatural graft on top of the pristine Star League technology. The last door housed a man- and she disabled him with a quick motion. Her precise comprehension of human biology enabled her to strike once, and disable. The man fell, and she observed him too.

He was a guard. Though his weapon had the potential to be useful, it was better left alone. She had all that she needed here.

"Bridge," she said, accessing and recalling memories and schematics- ancient data flew before her eyes, and within moments she had a high-probability model of the ship. The steps that needed to be taken shone before her eyes.

While this ship was a newer model then those she was used to, it still had that old network of maintenance hatches that spread across its figure like an intricate spider web. She recalled a precise name- Jeffries Tubes, and dismissed it. It was not important to her task. And so she continued onwards. A simple application of spatially oriented force launched her down one tube- for everything was down- or up- in space. Such distinctions served only for record keeping.

She passed several junctions- a few electrical interfaces out of repair, and one cannibalized to provide heat. The remains of a day old meal still drifted near. Those she passed. As she approached the one she desired, she applied a moderate amount of force, reached out, and altered her trajectory, shifting eighty percent of her momentum perpendicular to her original vector. Down the second tube she went.

"Boarding Operations," she said, the vocal key recalling all that she knew. Abruptly she had weapon schematics, rate of fire, estimates of crew composition, and data on how to counteract it all. She slowed herself as she neared the maintenance exit- there were voices echoing quietly down the hall. Two males and one female, discussing some topic or another. They were off guard- good.

Removing herself from the shaft, she set about slowing down her breathing, going into a death-like trance. She made no sound as she moved- or sound enough to be negligible to even the finest of sensors. Based on hearing alone she had identified the composition of the enemy soldiers, and so she struck heedless of any danger, because she knew there was none.

Her opponent countered.

"Krav Maga," she said appraisingly, and so she knew all that her opponent knew. She struck to hit in a way that such a practitioner could not counter. Except that the man did.

"Jeet Kune Do, actually," said the man. But that name had no value assigned to it. Though she could translate the term, there was no datum in her records that matched it. He struck, and she countered- and learned. But she, even as advanced as she was, possessed only self taught data, and only recently. It was not enough time to build an effective model. The strike that disabled her also knocked the wind out of her, refuting any statement she could have made. Instead she was silent as she slipped into unconsciousness.

"I told you I could handle it," Sanford said, rubbing his shoulder. "But thanks for the warning."

"If she had John to aid her, it is likely you would have lost. Unfortunately, John always had a habit of turning into a cat when she overrode his control. I think it started as a defense mechanism, but it grew into a weakness," Linda mused. "He's purring."

"That he is," muttered Sanford. "Now we just need to get him down to the med bay and figure out how to wake him up."

"There's no need. This was a sort of berserker state- but I should be able to awaken him without the need for medical intervention."

She turned and kneeled, placing a hand atop the fallen Knight's brow.

"John, I need you," She said. He was awake a moment later. He locked eyes with her- and when he determined there was no threat, allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "John, I'd like you to meet Richard Sanford, commander of a reclamation expedition. From Earth."

"Hi," he said, holding out a hand. "Did she hurt anyone?"

"Only an NCO taking inventory- and he was only knocked out. Gave me a good workout though," Sanford replied, taking his hand and shaking it. John raised a solitary eyebrow at this, glancing at Linda.

"No, I didn't take her down," she said, as though it were the simplest fact in the world. "Richard here has many talents."

"Including nearly getting my ass kicked by that cyber-woman personality you've got," he elabourated. "I was lucky."

"I gather by the fact that Linda hasn't killed you that there have been some sizable sociopolitical changes in the time I was in stasis. So I think I need to be filled in before I try to convince her that stealing this ship and jumping to Terra is a bad idea," John interjected.

Hideo Tsukawa, one of the civilian scientists interjected with a jabber of japanese.

"What? Yes, she has a name," replied John, who spoke most languages fluently. "It's C-"

"Anna," Sanford said, interjecting himself. "I'd bet my hat that the first words out of your mouth were going to be 'Cortacle' or 'Cortex' followed by a string of numerical data, and followed by 'Anna for short'."

John Spartan boggled.



Columbus Base
September 18th 2006/3021
Columbus System


Romera O'toole was the oldest human survivor from Columbus base. At ninety eight, she was a venerable ancient, even compared to the likes of Jacob Carter, whom merely appeared that age. While she was currently being tended on by some young medic, her mind was wrought with questions. Before she had taken up the life of a civilian, she had been chief engineer on one of the base's many expansion phases. Though how these... GDI folk had discovered that little tidbit of history, Romera had no idea.

"Wait a moment," she said, taking a deep breath a perusing her memory. "There was never a supplementary fusion reactor at the planetside drydocks- everything was ran off the main circuits."

"Well, my men are looking what appears to be one, still powered and churning fuel. They're tracing the power lines now."

The man's name was Richard Sanford- a captain or admiral of some sort. He was tall, and stern looking- though his eyes occasionally lit with humour. Romera found that he was easy on the eyes, especially for a woman of her age. She smiled.

"I suppose it could be a relic from one of the previous expansion phases. Why it's not on the schematics, though..." she trailed off, pondering. Sanford, naturally, had an answer to that quandry.

"Nothing new is ever on the schematics. The actuality of any architect's design very rarely matches the planned product. Sure, it might be nice to put the bathrooms in that little closet in C Section of the primary HQ, but then you need the plumbers to figure out how to get the piping in there, the electricians to get the wiring, and whoever your local inspector is to make sure everything's up to code. Far easier to just stuff them in the back of the pantry, seal that section off, and bore a hole through the wall of the hallway between E and D sections."

"Experience, Richard?" Romera always took to calling enterprising young men by their first names. It made them pay attention. "I thought you were a naval captain."

"My father was an architect," he said. Taking another look at the expansive plastisheet blueprints. "Useless as this is, it's our only map."

Romera refrained from smiling a cheshire grin, and instead adopted a put out look.

"Why, Richard, surely I could help. I know you've got wheelchairs here- I saw Jacob rolling around like it was in style yesterday. Just roll me over to where you need help, and I'm certain I could remember something... beneficial."

"I'll have someone come up with-"

"Or," she said, meeting his eyes. "You could take your old grandmother here around. She's been stuffed up here for a week and a half, with no fresh air, and little to talk to except her grandson."

Hook, line, and sinker. Romera didn't enjoy guilting people into doing what she wanted, but sometimes... sometimes it was the only viable course of action. She might be old, but her mind was fierce.

Being handed off to a bemused Jacob Carter did little to douse Romera's spirits at having escaped that oppressive hospital.

Jacob merely laughed for a good minute.

[EdBecerra]

Time/Date to be determined by Troika..

"Mr. President? You have a call on line 3. It's Justice Albright."

Jack's brow went up in curiosity. Albright was known for conducting all his business in the afternoons, and rarely during morning hours, something he had a distaste for. What could have gotten him to change?

"Put him on, June."

"Yes, sir."

"Richard! It's good to hear from you. Isn't it a little early, though?"

"It is, Mr. President, but I have a personal request to make of you, so being the supplicant, I wanted to get things rolling earlier than I usually do."

"Okay, now you have me wondering, Rich. What's so important that a senior justice of the Court needs a favor from the president?"

"A secure video-conference, sir."

"Eh?" said Jack, surprised.

"I would like to officially request a live video-conference call between you and Robbie on your side and myself and my guest on my side of the call. I'd like at least ten minutes. That should be enough to decide if the subject is serious enough to warrant more time."

Ryan's instincts went on high alert. "And who will your 'guest' be?"

"I cannot say at this time, Mr. President. This is why I'm requesting a video-conference instead of a personal meeting."

The alarm bells inside Jack's head had just upgraded themselves to air-raid sirens. "That sounds very dramatic, Rich."

"I'm afraid it is, sir. But given my interest in history and jurisprudence, I feel it is the only action I can take at this moment to prevent something from turning into a crisis, instead of merely dealing with it after it has already become a crisis as I usually do."

"All right, Rich. Is this FLASH priority? Or do I have enough time to fit this into my normal schedule?"

Albright sounded thoughtful. "We have some time, sir. If it can be done within the week, that should be enough. I think you'll understand further when you have the opportunity to speak with my guest."

"And I won't know who that is until the call?"

"I'm hesitant to mention it except over a secure line, sir."

"That can be arranged."

"If you would then, sir?"

"Expect someone from the Service with a secured cell in thirty minutes, then."

Jack hung up, mildly irked that Albright could still manage to make him feel like a newly hired intern, even after all these years. Still -- Richard had never been boring. Whatever was going on, it should prove interesting.

- - -

Albright was proud of himself. It took quite a bit to phase Jack Ryan, and he'd managed to squeeze fifteen seconds of confused silence out of the President before the inevitable questions began. Questions he'd answered with "That's what I need the video conference for, Jack."

Though he'd wager his seat on the bench that Jack would have every single agency under his authority digging up everything they could on his guest.

After all, that's what Jack did.

He'd gotten the promise of the conference, tonight, no less. Cathy wasn't going to be happy, the fifteen minutes were coming out of time Jack had promised her, and she'd called to let him KNOW just how unhappy she was going to be if this wasn't of grave importance. References to the fact that she was a surgeon, and knew what to remove and how to remove it featured prominently in that conversation. Rich knew Cathy from years back, and knew when she was kidding.

This wasn't one of those times. He turned to his guest, sitting on the other side of the desk.

"I hope you're worth it, son. That woman can take you apart piece by piece with a scalpel. And once she's done with me, you'll be next on her list."

The guest shrugged. "I've told you everything, sir. And I haven't lied. I've withheld names, yes. But you're the one who had the final vote. You chose to make the call."

"Point taken, son. But I hope YOU remember you're lighting a fuse, and there's no way to predict how big the blast is going to be."

"Yes sir. But now, at least some people are going to know there will be a blast, and they can get the innocent away from ground zero before the explosions."

Albright snorted. "And I think we've run this metaphor into the ground. Let's have some coffee, and wait upon our illustrious leader to make the call. My cook has some excellent Jamaican Blue Mountain."

"Thank you sir. Now I know what kitchen to raid."

"Try it and die, boy. You have NO idea what hoops I have to leap through to get that stuff."

"Understood, sir. Could I at least have the name of your supplier?"

"If you get through tonight and you're still a free man? Yes. Because with the shitstorm you're about to kick up, kid, you're going to NEED good coffee to make it through the day."

"So that's your secret, sir?"

"Damned right."

- - -

"Mr. President."

Jack looked into the screen curiously, trying to see beyond the files he'd been given, the news bytes he'd been handed by his staff. "Mr. Becerra. I have to say, it's interesting to see you. I have to wonder why you went to all this trouble to contact me." He nodded to Justice Albright, sitting at the table next to the younger man. "You've essentially done an end run around the entire White House staff, going through Richard. Is what you have to say worth my time?"

"I believe so, sir. And it has everything to do with why Justice Albright asked the Vice President to attend this call."

"Oh?" Jack raised an eyebrow, sensing Robby's sudden interest.

"In short, sir, I'm about to make an offer. To you, to the rest of the world leaders, and to the GDI. It's not my offer. I was contacted by certain groups shortly after it became obvious that the case I'd started would reach the Supreme Court. They realized the ... opportunity... just as you did, Mr. President."

"Then out with it, Mr. Becerra."

"John Brown's body may lie in his grave, sir, but his heirs are marching on. Robby is black, you're Irish. Harper's Ferry and NORAID."

Jackson rose out of his chair, eyes wide, while Jack leaned forward sharply. "You imply terror attacks, Mr. Becerra?"

"No, sir. The groups that approached me consider themselves to be the spiritual heirs to the Abolitionist Movement. But they don't wish to repeat the mistakes of the past."

Ryan reached for the file on his desk. "May I remind you that while you're retired, you're still bound by your oath, Sergeant Becerra."

"Yes, sir. I'm aware of that. The New Abolitionists want me to tell you they'd like to talk. They'll tell you what they're doing, where they're doing it, and how. Where their money's coming from. The weapons they'll be distributing to the oppressed off planet, when the time is right. They'll be honest with you, sir, and with the GDI. And they'll do their best to fit their plans into the larger picture, as it were."

"And what do they want in return, Sergeant?"

"Plausible deniability. No one currently in a position of authority will officially know a thing. BATF agents will be informed where not to look. IRS agents, who not to audit too closely. That sort of thing. Not all that different from the Mitre Corporation and the CIA, when you think about it, sir."

Jack thought about that for a long, quiet moment.

"And what do you get out of it, Mr. Becerra?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"Sir, once this conference is over, I will return home. If requested, I will honor any speaking engagement I'm offered. Any remuneration I receive from those engagements will be donated to various charities. I'll become just another talking head on news shows, shilling for the groups I believe in. Aside from that, I've already achieved what I've set out to do." The grey haired man grinned crookedly. "I suspect the surveillance teams currently assigned to me will be grateful for the rest."

"That's it? That's all? No glory, no accolades?"

The other man looked over to Justice Albright, then back to the camera. "Sir, you have my full 201 file, correct?"

"Yes."

The crooked smile returned, and he rubbed a shoulder as though to deal with an ancient ache. "I had my moment, sir. I'm glad I didn't know. I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance."

Jack flashed back to a moment on a London street. "I think I see." He closed the file and pushed it to one side. "Despite the... publicity... of your recent court case, Mr. Becerra, you're still a private citizen. I'm limited as to what I can legally order you to do. I cannot, for example, tell you to go home. I cannot tell you to ignore the surveillance team outside your house. I can't tell you to wait by your phone. I can't tell you a lot of things."

"What can you tell me, sir?"

"I can tell you I have a friend named Mr. Clark. He could be your friend too."

"Thank you, sir. From myself, and from a lot of people you'll never meet."

"Don't thank me, Sergeant. I expect we'll all be ruing this day for decades to come."

"Mr. President, that began the night the stars changed. For all of us."

"I suppose you're right. And Mr. Becerra?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Well done, Sergeant. She'd have been proud of you."

"Thank you, sir."

- - -

[evilauthor]

GDI Forward Operations Base Gettysburg
Port Krin
Antallos
11 August 3021

“Hey, check her out,” Private First Class Dickens said to his partner. Their squad had been posted to gate guard duty at the main gate of the GDI’s newly designated Forward Operations Base in Port Krin. The FOB basically consisted of little more than the Administration compound which was basically a fort in the middle of the city.

“Huh, who?” replied Private Timothy, taking his eyes off scanning the street in his own assigned sector.

“The hot chick in red and black,” Dickens clarified. He puffed himself up. “She’s giving me the eye, man.”

“Dickens, we’re on duty,” Timothy told him. “Flirt with the locals on your own time.” He glanced at the girl Dickens had pointed out. “Hmm, okay, yeah, she’s hot. But her clothes look military and… is she wearing a sword?”

“I didn’t see any…” Dickens began, then stop. “Oh, shit. She’s coming over. What do I say?”

“You say what you’re trained to say,” Timothy said, exasperated. “Polite and professional. ‘Hello, ma’am. What can I do for you, ma’am?’ Stuff like that.”

“Right, right,” Dickens said quickly. He turned to the approaching young woman. “Hello, ma’am. Can I do you, today?”

Timothy groaned to himself.

“No, you ill-mannered peasant,” the woman replied haughtily. “What you can do is take me to your commander. You could also put yourself on report foe affronting my august self, but I suppose expecting you to be so honorable would be too much to ask.”

“Wha?” Dickens said, confused.

Something in her words clicked in Timothy’s head.

“Ah, ma’am, pardon my friend’s manners,” Timothy said politely. “But are you with the Combine ambassador?”

“I am the Combine ambassador,” the woman replied irately. “At least I am until the Coordinator can send a proper one. Now tell your leader that Alicia Kurita, formerly a Sho-sa of the Sixth Pesht Regulars, is here to see him.”

* * *

Alicia didn’t want to be here. She was a mechwarrior, a samurai of House Kurita. She was a sword of the Dragon, beautiful and deadly on the battlefield. However, Alicia was not a politician. The vagaries of politics held little interest for her and deep down, she secretly feared that her lack of social graces would embarrass her House and lineage.

But when Alicia’s regimental commander – who was her grandfather no less! – asked her to be their House’s representative here, how could she honorably refuse? So here she was, waiting with two lowly guards for someone of suitable rank to come fetch her. It would have been intolerable, but one guard seemed to have honor enough to keep his boorish comrade from bothering her too much.

In due course, a man in GDI uniform appeared at the gate and ushered her in. The guards’ reactions to him indicated that he was fairly high ranking, maybe even an officer. But it was difficult for Alicia to tell; these drab GDI uniforms all looked alike to her and she had yet to discern the subtle differences of insignia. But one she had picked up right away was the nametag sewn into the right breast of their uniforms.

“You are a Kurita?” Alicia burst out as the GDI man led her inside, her surprise causing her to speak in Japanese instead of English.

“Colonel Chou Kurita, Ambassador,” the other Kurita said politely. His Japanese was oddly accented, almost archaic. “I am currently second in command to General Davis.”

“Why do you fight for these barbarians and not for your House?” Alicia demanded. It offended her sensibilities that a Kurita would serve anyone but the Combine.

“Ah, my apologies, Ambassador, but the House that rules the Combine is not my House,” Colonel Kurita replied. He seemed to be picking his words carefully. “While we may claim an ancestor in common, my family’s genealogy experts all agree that my line and that of the Combine’s House Kurita have been separated since long before the Combine was ever founded. We do not serve the Combine, have never served the Combine, and have no future plans to ever serve the Combine. Doing so would be… highly inappropriate.” He smiled at her, as if he knew something that she did not. “You will understand in time, but probably not today.”

Alicia was still trying to figure out her supposed distant cousin meaning when she was ushered into the Administrator’s office.

“Sir,” Colonel Kurita said in English as he led her in. “I present the Draconis Combine ambassador, Sho-sa Alicia Kurita.”

“Hello, Ambassador, I am General Davis,” greeted the balding man in the GDI uniform. He gave an awkward bow and gestured to the man next to him. The other man was wearing an AFFC uniform, marking him as her enemy; his eyes seemed to widen slightly as they fell upon her. It was a pity that she wasn’t allowed to shoot him here. “This is the Federated Suns ambassador, Major Carlos Davion.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sho-sa,” the Davion man replied. There was something odd in his voice and his manner didn’t have the hostility it should have had. Instead of bowing like he should have, he extended his hand.

Alicia stared at the extended hand for a moment. On the one hand, she was insulted that the Davion hadn’t bowed to her as basic etiquette demanded. On the other, she had vague recollections of what foreign greetings were supposed to be. Wasn’t shaking hands the barbaric equivalent of bowing?

Alicia tentatively reached out and took the Davion’s hand. Instead of shaking it like she expected, the Davion man then bowed over and brought her hand up to his lips. Alicia was so surprised that she didn’t jerk her hand back. He kissed the back of her hand and… it tingled pleasantly for some reason.

He straightened back up and released her hand. Alicia flexed it, making sure it was still fully functional despite the unfamiliar sensations.

“It’s definitely a pleasure to meet you, Sho-sa,” the Davion man said again. “Or I’m sure it will be.”

[Warringer]

Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center
Apollo Mission Control Center
Houston, Texas
Earth
April 13th 2007

The second numbers on the large mission clock slowly counted up, showing the time as everyone in the large room looked at the large dark screens that made up the far wall.

Eugene Francis Kranz stood behind his old console and glanced over the large room. This had been his home for a few years. This room that had made history. He smiled lightly as he glanced over towards the camera crews from CNN, NBC, BBC and whatever TV station had been called to come here today.

Kranz glanced over at the clock for a moment, before pulling at the hem of his white vest, a replica of the one he had worn all those years ago when he had still worked here. His other hand moved to the old headset, making sure it sat correctly and couldn't help but chuckle.

Sure today was an important day, but all this?

The clock switched to 21:07:53 as the sound of radio static came over the large speakers in the walls, followed by a voice.

"We've had a problem, here."

The room erupted in murmurs, as people looked at each other, not knowing that all this was pretty much scripted.

Kranz fingers went to his headset.

"This is Houston, say again please," he said, his voice as calm as it was all those years ago.

"Ahm... Houston, we've had a problem."

The murmurs became louder as the large screens awoke to life, showing the grinning face of two old men, both were dressed in blue jumpsuits

"We're missing Jack up here," the older of the two said.

Kranz couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"Well, his own damned fault that he had to leave before he could have this fun," the younger one shot back.

Kranz smirked and turned towards the cameras.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said into the cameras." Jim Lovell and Fred Haise, at this moment they are..."

His own grin grew wider.

"On the moon."

On the screen Jim frowned a little.

"I bet that NASA is gonna get mails that I don't look anything like Tom Hanks."

Next to him Fred grinned.

"At least I look like a distinguished Bill Paxton."

Jim snorted.

"I guess you will get mails for not looking like Adam Baldwin."

Kranz turned back to the screen.

"Stop it you two," he said with another chuckle." You are where you were supposed to be 37 years ago."

"Hey," Jim noted," not our fault that we had a slight mishap."

"Mishap?" Fred asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Come back to the point, guys," Kranz said." Aren't you supposed to do something?"

The two former Apollo 13 astronauts looked at each other and grinned.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Fred began.

"With this we proclaim Aquarius Station officially for," Jim continued.

"Opened for business," both finished.

The crowd in Mission Control was stunned, but only for a few moments, before the applause erupted in the room.

"Anything I'm missing up there?" Kranz wondered.

"Naah," Jim said over the applause." Through I think for a container settlement buried under several feet of lunar regolith its not bad."

[evilauthor]

Port Krin
Antallos
Periphery
20 November 3021

The Wolfnet Agent had never been to Port Krin before. There had never been a real need before. It was a backwater of the worst sort where criminal and pirate scum got together to trade. There had been little here to interest any of the Successor States and by extension, Wolf’s Dragoons.

But then news of what was becoming known as the Battle of Port Krin had spread like wildfire across the Inner Sphere. A battalion sized mech force equipped with lostech from some hitherto unknown Periphery world had seized Port Krin and then proceeded to demolish several regiments’ worth of battlemechs in a three day running battle. Sure, the destroyed regiments were just pirate scum and bottom of the barrel mercenary units, but even the Dragoons would have been hard pressed to match that kind of performance.

But what had really piqued Wolfnet’s interest was the Timberwolf seen in one news clip. Close analysis had revealed that it wasn’t really a Timberwolf; and given the kind of “Frankenmechs” that the Dragoons had seen running around the Inner Sphere, it was probably inevitable that one resembling a Clan Omnimech would show up sooner or later. However, the combination of the “Timberwolf” and reports of advanced technology was irresistible; had one of the other Clans decided to send in their own spy mission?

So the plan was for the Wolfnet Agent to slip in as an anonymous mech technician looking for work. Given that Dragoons were better than the average Spheroid merc, the Agent expected to attract attention soon enough. But he didn’t expect it to be right off the Dropship in Customs.

“You name is Remus Lupin?” the GDI soldier – his nametag read DICKENS - said in disbelief. “For real?”

“Yes, is there a problem?” the Agent replied. Inwardly, he started cursing himself for his arrogance in picking his alias’ name. It wasn’t one he used before, but he hadn’t expected some Periphery hick to know enough classical literature or Latin to make the connection to wolves. He had barely started his assignment and he may have already blown his cover.

“No, no problem,” Dickens replied jovially. “So, I guess I better inspect your wand.”

“My what?” the Agent said, nonplussed.

“You wand!” Dickens repeated, barely restrained from laughing. Was he mocking of the Agent? “Every wizard has a wand right?”

“You think I’m a wizard?” the Agent asked slowly, not certain he was hearing this right. “What makes you think that?”

“Because ‘Remus Lupin’ is so obviously a wizard’s name,” Dickens explained. “Hey, can you introduce me to Harry Pot…”

“DICKENS!!!” another soldier roared from behind Dickens.

Dickens practically jumped out of his seat to stand at attention. The Agent was rather impressed with the speed of the response and the discipline and training that implied.

“Private Dickens,” the other soldier said with lesser volume but a lot more menace. “Kindly explain to me what the hell you think you’re doing!”

“Processing new arrivals, Sergeant!” Dickens replied crisply.

“Which you will continue to do with complete professionalism and courtesy,” the GDI Sergeant told him. “That includes NOT making fun of people because they have a familiar sounding name, or else I’ll have you up on charges so fast that your head will spin. Are we clear, Private?”

“Clear, Sergeant!” Dickens replied.

“Good. Now get back to work,” the Sergeant ordered. He turned and nodded to the Agent. “Sorry for delay, sir.”

After that, the interview went much more smoothly. It was a fairly basic “Why are you here?” and “Do you have anything to declare?” question and answer session that went quickly. Interestingly, Dickens appeared to enter the data into a computer terminal that seemed a bit sophisticated for a lowly Periphery backwater Private to be operating. Even more interesting, the Sergeant remained hovering in the background to make sure that Dickens stayed polite. These people valued not offending nobodies like what the Agent was posing as; he wasn’t certain what that signified, but he filed it away in his mental notebook.

As the Agent walked away after the interview, the next passenger off the Dropship he had arrived in took his place. The kid was so fresh off the farm that he practically still had hayseed in his hair.

“I’m Guybrush Threepwood,” the kid declared, “Mighty Pirate!”

* * *

“Ambassador, welcome to Port Krin,” General Davis said in greeting to the person who had officially been designated as Earth’s representative to the universe at large.

“Thank you, General,” Ambassador Charles Smith replied. He was a British national although Davis understood his staff had members from all the major nations, kind of like Davis’ own staff.

“How was your trip?”

“Surprisingly fast given everything I’ve heard about how slow jumpship travel is,” Smith answered.

“That’s why GDI command decided on setting up a command circuit between here and Earth,” Davis told him. “It shortens message turn around time from four months down to a week and can get Dropships across two hundred plus lightyears in a day. Of course, if we ever need reinforcements in a hurry, they’d have to be squeezed into three Dropships at two week intervals.”

“Is that bad?” Smith asked, concerned.

“Sir, if we really need reinforcements that badly, then three Dropships’ worth isn’t going to be enough unless we use the Mules in which case we might as well paint giant bull’s eyes on them,” Davis answered half jokingly. “Not that it matters anyway. We probably wouldn’t last the week anyway.”

“Are you saying we should pull out?” Smith asked concerned.

“Not at all, Ambassador,” Davis reassured him. “I’m just giving you the worst case scenario. Besides which, the longer we can stockpile supplies here, the longer we can hold out against any attacker. Intel says that the force level required to evict us is so large now that it any of our most likely opponents would have to severely weaken themselves on other fronts to get the necessary numbers to do so.”

“Well, that’s certainly a relief,” Smith said. “The reports we received back home were rather alarming.”

“You have no idea, sir,” Davis sighed. “It was a close run thing, but we won and things have been pretty calm since. There have been a few incidents between salvage teams and desert bandits, but nothing the teams couldn’t handle.”

“I see,” Smith said. He ruminated for a moment then spoke again. “There is one thing in some of the follow up reports that are… well, unbelievable.”

“Such as?”

“There seems to be a large preponderance of fictional characters running around in real life,” Smith said. “It has some people back home doubting your people’s sanity.”

“Honestly, Ambassador, you could say that about the whole Inner Sphere,” Davis replied. “I have trouble believing it myself at times, but I can confirm that these people exist. For example, there’s a small plumbing business here in Port Krin run by a pair of brothers name ‘Mario’ and ‘Luigi’ who also happen to own a pet that’s a turtle-like alien critter called a ‘Goomba’, a mercenary group calling itself the ‘A Team’ landed the other day looking for work, and I personally gave an interview to a reporter named ‘Lois Lane’ who happens to have a cameraman name Jimmy Olson. And as near as anyone can tell, they’re all exactly who they say they are.”

* * *

The mech standing in Bob’s Used Mechs and Salvage yard was not a design that the Agent had ever seen before. It vaguely resembled a Warhammer, but there were enough differences to make it a completely different design. It was old and battered and shot up and had big gaping hole where the Agent estimated the head ought to be.

“Pretty, ain’t she? Pity she’s not for sale,” a man asked as he walked up. At the Agent’s inquisitive look, the man introduced himself. “I’m Bob, proprietor of this fine establishment.”

“Remus Lupin,” the Agent replied. “I’m not here to buy, though. I was told that this is where I could get some work. I’m a tech.”

“Lupin, Lupin…” Bob repeated to himself. “Oh, right, they told me you might be coming. Yeah, I could use a few genuine techs, show these ex-slaves how to properly salvage mech parts.” He gestured at a group of workers in the distance working on some wrecks. “If I have to pay them wages, I’d at least like them to do a good job,” he added in disgust.

“I’m sure I can show them a few things,” the Agent said, not letting any of his real feelings show. “What do you mean ‘ex-slaves’?”

“It’s these new guys in charge,” Bob answered. “They’re real uptight and high and mighty, you know. They’ve banned slavery and now we have to pay workers a decent wage to live on if you can believe it. If it weren’t for all the salvage business they were throwing my way, I might have objected.”

“Salvage business?” the Agent asked. “It’s been more than four months since the Battle of Port Krin. Are they still salvaging mechs from that?”

“Not ‘they’. WE are doing the salvaging,” Bob corrected. “Four months ago, I barely made ends trading in gear and salvage. Then these GDI or Third Earthers or whatever they’re calling themselves come along and hire – draft was more like it - just about everyone with technical knowhow to clean up the mess they made.”

“And you’re still cleaning up the battlefield?”

“Nah, we got that done in the first month,” Bob told him. “These days, GDI hands me a map, tells us to ‘Dig Here’, and then assigns a mech lance or two to make sure we’re uninterrupted. And almost every damn time, there’s something to be found. I dunno how they do it.”

“Maybe they have an old map of cache sites?” the Agent suggested.

“You’d think so, but most of what we dig up were obvious battle losses,” Bob said. “They died where we found them and ain’t no one made any maps of that. This baby” he waved at the unidentified mech that the Agent had been studying “was buried under five meters of sand.”

“Er, what is it, anyway?” the Agent asked, as he began wondering how good GDI scanners were. They couldn’t possibly see through solid rock, right? “I thought I knew every mech used in the Inner Sphere, but I don’t recognize this one.”

“That, Remus, is a genuine Hammerhands,” Bob said in disgust. “It’s an antique dating from the Age of War. God knows what it’s doing on Antallos, and I could have made a mint off selling it to some rich collector in the Inner Sphere. But GDI gets first dibs on anything we find and they’re only really interested in lostech or just anything ‘interesting’ like a rare Hammerhands .And they’re only paying retail, the cheapskates!”

[Alamo]

September 2nd, 2008

Municipal Works Quarterly

Reengineering Antallos by Charles Balik
An exclusive interview with Nicholas Hudak

Nicholas Hudak was the civic engineer selected to head up the GDI infrastructure reconstruction effort at Port Krin. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Civil Engineering and has over 25 years of practical experience. MWQ was fortunate enough to garner of some of his valuable time back on Earth for this interview.


This panorama shows the edge of the Vallisa floodplain south of Krin. The digger in the backround is a Caterpiller-325D

MWQ: Why do you feel you were selected for this gargantuan task?

You know, there isn’t a single day that goes by where I don’t ask myself that very question. I suppose the reason a civilian was chosen was due to the fact that GDI was under pressure to turn over as much of the Port Krin operation as possible to non-military management. So someone from the Army Corp of engineers was considered politically unacceptable. They then turned to FEMA and their international equivalents for possible candidates. I had worked as a civil engineer in Los Angeles, Kansas City, and Minneapolis, probably three of the most disaster prone cities in the US. I guess that I had acquired a reputation for being able to improvise, and quickly get broken infrastructure running again with a minimum of resources. I had also done volunteer work in South America, so the government felt it would be less of a culture clash for me.

MWQ: Were they right? About your experience in the third world that is.

I wish. You do nine months work in Bolivia out of college and you get declared a “Developing world negotiation specialist”. Guess I can only blame myself for putting it on my resume when I was job hunting.

MWQ: Can you describe the trip to Antallos? What it was like to travel on a jump ship?

Let me put it this way: imagine being shoved into a small steel box with one thousand other people. And there are no windows. And you will be in there for two months. That’s a fairly good description of what it was like back then. The conditions were very tight, every single square inch of the dropship was crammed full of men, and cargo pallets. You have to remember that back in ‘06, the military force to Antallos had taken severe casualties. The next convoy of ships was full of relief forces. I was on the second group to head out, and was probably one of only a dozen civilians in the entire jump fleet. Vehicles and munitions had taken up almost all the cargo space. The reconstruction bureau had only been allocated enough space for one person and two cargo pallets on that run.

MWQ: What was the reconstruction bureau’s goal with such a limited amount of resources?

Our primary goal was to restore vital municipal services that had been damaged by the war. Water, gas, roads, power, sewage and the like. This was to be achieved using primarily local labor and resources. As the supply situation improved we were to try and bring the city infrastructure up to western standards. That part of the plan is still ongoing, but with luck should be completed within the next three years.

MWQ: Can you please explain in depth how your primary task was achieved?

Sure. I’ll try and give you a condensed version of it though so we aren’t here all day.
As the dropship landed I managed to get my first look at the city. The entire city is laid out on a coastal flat with the better part of town located to the east on the bluffs, and the spaceport to the south. The place looked like a bombed out husk, the walls along the western side of the city completely blown apart, along with the surrounding neighborhoods. Large yellow gashes were torn across entire city blocks where artillery fire or mechs had landed. The dark strips of road looked like the arteries of a dying animal, exposed and vulnerable to the world. The southern section was in far better shape, along with the main trade and industrial districts. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder how much of the destruction had been caused by the war with the border cities, and how much by three hundred years of neglect.


Much of the population of Antallos lives in slums such as this one in the Settlers zone. Port Krin is ranked as a medium developed country on the HDI, wth a ranking of 134. Per capita income is US$ 4,130. However, the future looks bright with an estimated 9% ecenomic growth each year, and a growing presence by Earth companies

I wasn’t working completely by myself, thank god. I was assigned a corporal Llanos from the Argentinean detachment as a bodyguard. Back then the whole city was in a state of anarchy, and they didn’t want any civilians out by themselves. I’d learned Spanish working in Bolivia, and when I struck up a conversation with him, I learned that he had been going to college, studying to be a structural engineer before being conscripted after the ZL affair. He was an absolute godsend. As the situation cooled down, I was able to have him train the heads of the new work gangs while I was working on the initial surveying.

MWQ: Work gangs?

Antallos is a city of one point two million, many of whom were out of work. We started hiring men, dividing them into groups of about fifty. The smartest ones we selected as group leaders. They would be trained in the basics, and then they would train their own men. Most of the work was fairly simple at first, clearing debris to get to the guts of the city. As it turned out there was little infrastructure to actually repair, so we had to start from scratch. Most of the roads in the city were gravel or cobble, two of the worst road types ever devised by man. There were ferrocrete block roadbeds in the better sections of town and those were fairly easy to patch.

MWQ: What happened to the rest of the original ferrocrete roads?

They had been ripped from the ground and used to build up the city walls during the Succession Wars. We thought about laying down new ferrocrete, but Port Krin has only a small processing plant on the outskirts that could produce the stuff and all of their production had been requisitioned by the military to build fortifications.

On lesser used roads and residential streets we laid down macadam. The crews would rip out the old bed, and go down about eight inches. A layer of sand half an inch thick would go down. Then a layer of crushed stones about four inches in diameter. Then a three-ton roller would compress it. Another layer of sand, a layer of two inch rocks, then compress. Another layer of sand, a layer of rocks around one inch thick, and layer of coarse sand one inch thick. Finally it would be wet down and a seven-ton roller would compress it until a three and a half-ton cart or truck could pass over it without leaving a mark.

Did you know that it takes fourteen hundred pounds of raw material to do one days work by a single crew? I sure didn’t and there were almost no military cargo trucks free to assist with obtaining material. We put the word out that we would pay good money for crushed rocks of roughly uniform size and bulk amounts of sand. The free market went to work, and the next thing you know there were dozens of suppliers that had appeared overnight. Every joe with a free wagon had stuck a sign to the side of it and started hauling. It was an amazing thing to see. Each day hundreds of carts and trucks would start making the run to newly established quarries outside the city. Of course, the quarry rock had to be tested first in a rattler to make sure it was of good quality.

MWQ: Why not use asphalt instead of macadam?

We did use asphalt on the main thoroughfares and roads in the industrial/commercial district. The macadam streets were always intended as a temporary solution. Most of them should be replaced by asphalt within the next eight years once the macadam seasons, though we do have crews that repair and re-roll the sections that still exist.

We bought the rights to an asphalt lake twenty-five miles outside of town and started transporting the stuff back to Port Krin. Almost everything had to be done by hand, there were no asphalt laying machines. Once the bed had been prepared by laying out a strip of concrete, a barrel of asphalt would be heated over a fire, and then have sand and limestone added. The stuff would be mixed and then applied to the bed hot and spread out with boards. Finally a seven-ton roller would level it out. These were the first modern roads the city had seen in almost one hundred years.


A road crew working under the watchful eyes of GDI troops.


One of many new GDI reconstruction employees sits back for a moments rest.


MWQ: Were there any bright spots?

Actually there was. When the Star League founded the city it had installed the water supply system, and amazingly it had survived fully intact for over three hundred years. The descendants of the last shift assigned to it were still maintaining the system, handing down the necessary skills and equipment from generation to generation. The water is brought in via a system of four water pipes that go all the way to the Musconet River system four hundred and eighty miles to the south. The sheer size of the system is staggering. The maximum water capacity of the system is over five-point eight billion gallons of water each day. That is more then the entire New York Metro area consumes.

MWQ: I thought that the majority of groundwater on Antallos was heavily polluted?

The SL also installed vast banks of Slow Sand Filters. Though I must say that calling them that is grossly understating their effectiveness. I would have to say that they must be at least twice as effective as our own filtration systems. I spoke to Absolom Woods (he is the head of the water department there) and he says that in addition to using volcanic sand, the filter beds use a genetically modified film layer. Assuming that we can get the bacteria to reproduce in large numbers, then we could see a potential revolution in how potable water is processed, with drastically lower filtration costs, and greater reliability.

Woods is a good man, he has kept the water supply of Krin operating through war, famine, and a complete lack of exterior assistance. I recommend in my report that he be placed in charge of public services after my reassignment four years from now. The size of the water operation is staggering. The main pipelines run for almost two thousand miles altogether. I was fortunate enough to accompany Woods on a monthly maintenance expedition. And yes, it truly was an expedition, with four hundred men and eighty vehicles! The vast majority of them were trucks that had been turned into improvised APC’s and mounted machine guns, and even flame-throwers. But I do remember asking Woods about the tanks.

MWQ: Tanks?

They must have had at least twelve of those hovertanks, I think they called them Condors. When I asked why they were needed, he laughed and said that the only way we would make it to the other end of the aqueduct without a heavy escort was if we swam up it. And there were even more men stationed at each pumping station. Now that I think about it, with the PQ forces disbanded after we came in, the water department was the most heavily armed native force in the city. Funny, isn’t it.

Getting back to the pipeline, it took us a week to make it to the end. Each of the pumps was housed in a pyramidal ferrocrete bunker that must have risen at least three hundred feet above the dunes, and reached twice as far below them. All were still working perfectly as it turned out. Each pumping station was also splitter station, with closed valves for outflow pipes going off into the desert. I have a wild theory. When the SL built the pipeline, I think it was intended to be far more then a city aqueduct. I believe that each of the pumping stations were also built as feeder valves for a vast desert irrigation project. At a later date, they could add outflow pipes to each station and begin to expand the irrigated zone as the local population increased. I estimate that the potential ground that could be covered by the completed system would cover ninety-five thousand square miles. What I wouldn’t give to see it completed, to have the desert bloom. Unfortunately it’s unlikely that I’ll ever see it done within my lifetime, or even yours for that matter. Penny-pinching bureaucrats. But in a small way we did manage to start the Star Leagues plan.

MWQ: When you say that you were able start the plan what do you mean?

The city sewage was getting dumped straight into the Sea of Talisea. Of course from a sanitation perspective, that just could not do. If there was one thing that Marc Danzon (that’s the WHO rep there) kept pounding into my skull, it was that with almost no medical infrastructure existing, the main way to prevent disease was to keep the place clean. He said that replacing the street surfaces with asphalt, which can be easily cleaned, was good start but there was much more to do. The sewers themselves were fine once we cleared out the flush tanks, but there was no processing plant.

We came up with a rather clever solution, one that could be done with a minimum of machinery or chemicals. Ever heard of broad sewer irrigation? No? It used to be a popular system of sewage disposal back in the early nineteen hundreds. You use a crude mechanical separator, little more than a clam grate to remove most of the solids. These are compressed and shipped out of town for disposal. Then you run what’s left out into the countryside via a cut channel and use it to irrigate fields for farming. We were even able to lease the fields to the locals to help pay for the labor costs.

Sorry for wandering I’ll try to get back to the aqueduct. When we finally reached the headwaters valve complex, I was told that I was lucky to have chosen this month to come out there. Apparently they were going to start cleaning Tunnel No. Three. Now, let me tell you, I’ve seen pluggers used to clean water mains before, but never on this scale. Each pig was nearly the size of a TBM, thirty feet around and two hundred feet long. They were based on what looked like a modified Pressure-hybrid scraper design. When I said to Wood there was no way you could pig a tunnel that wide, that the weight of the machine would create too much drag to be effectively pushed by water pressure, he explained the secret. Each plug has a fusion reactor powering a set of rails along the side. The rails have a set of electric magnets, which push against another set integrated into the wall of the tunnel. This cancels the weight, and allows the water to push it along at a serene three miles an hour.

MWQ: Had the local water department been able to clean and repair the in-town water mains?

Unfortunately no. Construction or vandalism had severed some water pipes and entire streets had their water supply gated, and the inhabitants had to use public waterspouts. A great deal of sediment had also accumulated in the system, no doubt partly due to the new dead pipes that lacked double flow. Since we were ripping up the roads already, we found it to be a relatively simple matter to lay down new piping and to clean the preexisting ones. We’d have a crew set the gates at both ends of a street to the off position, and open the inspection valves. The methods used were pretty crude, for the most part we used cast iron plugs, hauled up and down the pipes by chains. The plugs had grooves cut into them so they would move down the pipe in a spiral, scouring all the debris out and had a gunnysack filled with shavings behind them.

MWQ: Where did you manage to obtain the necessary materials to lay new pipe?

I was able to track down a company near the spaceport called the Moore & Terrell Casting Company. They specialized in doing iron casting. It was a pretty primitive affair, they were still using one-shot sand molds, for crying out loud! But they were able to sell us all the pipe sections we needed, though it took them a while to ramp up production. They hadn’t had such a large order since the days of Controller Blackmoore. Most of the smaller equipment like valve gates was ordered from dozens of small machine shops. The vast majority of industry in Krin, probably the entire planet, was done in small family workshops. It was a bit like Japan before World War Two. You can’t believe the kind of hassle it was, trying to deal with so many manufacturers and suppliers. We tried to encourage some of the more reliable ones to merge, but then we ran into problems with the burokrata.

MWQ: Do you mean bureaucrats?

Yes I do. You know, in the news they try to cast Port Krin as a place of complete lawlessness, a ‘hive of scum’ and all that. Don’t believe them for a minute, the local government had a truly immense maze of red tape, and public agencies. You couldn’t transfer land ownership without a deed to it, and to get a deed meant filling out a stack of paperwork five-foot tall in triplicate and paying more fees then the land was worth. You could not conduct business without being a resident of Krin or getting an external trader licensee. All at a hefty fee of course. If you want to merge companies, you’d either have to wait six years for paperwork to go through, or pay the bureaucrats a large bribe. If a single, homogeneous political block existed in the city, it was the bureaucracy. And in our attempts to encourage our suppliers to grow, we had walked right into them.

They were arrogant, and with good reason. Dictators and armies would rise and fall, but they remained. They saw us as being no different from any other conquers, and were sure that no matter what, they could still run things their way. What happened next wasn’t pretty, I’m the first to admit that. What the interim military government did was the complete obliteration of the government class. The bureaucrats were purged from the city apparatus, and new personnel hired, many with no experience with their new jobs. We had police who used to be miners and were given two days training before being sent to the streets. There were block health inspectors who believed the miasma theory. It took months before these people were either replaced with competent personnel, or they had gained enough skill to do their jobs properly. It was a bad time, but we had little choice but to hope for the best.

MWQ: Aside from the water department, was there any other competent city services?

Not really. The PQ’s wouldn’t tell you the time of day unless you greased their palms with a few C-Bills. The neighborhood guards were okay but there were only two a neighborhood and they tend to be disabled war veterans. Their job is to act as a combination neighborhood watch and fire crew. If they spot trouble, it’s their job to raise the alarm and to gather and organize volunteers. They tended to stay out of the way of most of the criminals they were supposed to watching for, but they were somewhat better at battling fires. With most of the town a tinderbox waiting to be set off, it’s a good thing, too. About four months after I’d arrived, a large fire started in one of the worst slums to the north. Seven square blocks raised to the ground, and almost three hundred dead. And all from a leaking gas main.


Sewer farm #D272. Farms such as this process the 24 million cubic feet of sewage generated by Port Krin each day.


New construction is a common sight in Port Krin. This building is the future headquarters of the Shaanxi-Dasheng Chemical Company.


Many of the buildings in the city were built with no central oversight. Peeling back layers of structures to gain access to Star League era infrastructure has proven to be a mammoth task.


MWQ: There were natural gas fields on Antallos? Those were being tapped for city use?

There were at Port Krin in any case. The original city fusion reactor was destroyed during the Secession Wars. The city only had a handful of small backup and emergency reactors left. So aside from the upper classes and some of the more prosperous companies, no one had electricity. So a natural gas system was laid down after the SL left, and was consequently as well built as one would expect. Most of it just lay on the ground exposed, with homes just feeding straight off of it. When we did survey work in the settler’s zone, we found that only twenty three percent of homes had electricity. The majority of the population relied on gas for lighting, heating, and cooking. The major industries had electrical generators that ran off the gas, but they were too large and expensive for regular use. It was decided that it would be cheaper to bring in a nuclear reactor from home and start wiring the city then to repair the old gas lines. That project is still ongoing, and the increased power load from all the new construction and industry going up means that they are going to send another reactor out this month.

MWQ: What would you say is your overall impression is?

I’d have to say that I’m content. We did what no one thought could be done, and without tearing down the whole city. By the standards of the planet, there were very few construction fatalities thanks to new safety rules and equipment we introduced. And we built a solid base for the major urban center that Krin is bound to become. I just hope to God that we will be as successful next time.

[Warringer]

City Hall
Port Krin
Antallos
November 27th 2007/3022

Colonal Jefferson Michaels looked over to a pair of techs working on their laptops and than glanced over towards the door to the Main Hall of Port Krin City Hall.

He shook his head. Out there was just about everyone from the city's bureaucracy. All those office drones that thought they could just keep going with all that red tape they had erected to run this city. Heck there were more bureaucrats in this city than in any city on Earth of similar size.

Again his glance wandered through the room, towards the three large racks in one corner, containing a larger number of IBM servers that had arrived from Earth four month ago, with a number of techs from IBM and SAP, and about fifty people who knew how to do corporate takeovers and how to organize a government. Hell, about twenty of them had helped out the Chinese reorganize their government.

"And... done," Thorsten Meiler, one of the SAP techs, said with a grinned. "That completes the transfer of the city's databases into a format we can work with."

Michaels grinned and reached for his radio, briefly wondering how long it would take to set up a cellphone network. Well, Vodaphone had already sent some people.

"This is Michaels," he said." Status of Main Hall?"

There was a short pause.

"Packed to the brim, sir," was the answer.

"Status of the other halls?" he asked, referring to a number of other halls that had been set up, as not everyone in the cities bureaucracy could to fit in the Main Hall." Status of the office sweeps?"

"Hall One through Four note that they are also filled to the last place. Office sweeps are finished. Save for the guys from the Water Department, everyone is here."

"Good," he said, putting the radio into his pocket and looking at the three large servers again.

"Are you sure that we're able to take over the city's operations if some disgruntled office drones should take out the Main Frame?"

"Absolutely, sir," Dave Thomas from IBM noted. "And even if they get in here, we still have a real time mirror of our servers back at GDI headquarters."

Michaels chuckled. It had been a good idea to place a fiber optic cable under the streets from City Hall to GDI headquarters after running straight into the city government. He doubted that any of these inept bureaucracts knew that they had confiscated this room and placed guards in front of it to make a backup of the database in the City mainframe, after MacGyvering an interface to the mainframe.

From what Michaels had understood, the techs had been very surprised to find a communication technology reminiscent of the ARPANET.

"Then its Corporate Takeover Time," Michaels said with a grin and walked towards the door.

Who, in any military of the world, could say that he didn't want to disband the bureaucracy?

All noise in the Main Hall stopped as Michaels stepped up to the podium in the front and glanced over the the cameras that projected his image into the other four halls. A sweep over the people in the hall showed him that, yes, the bigwigs in this local bureaucracy were standing in the front, very obviously peeved that they had to stand and that they had to be here.

"Ladies, Gentlemen," he said." A few of you will know me. I am Colonel Jefferson Michaels of GDI and was placed in charge of the operation to ensure that this city has a competent government."

Of course those bigwigs up front grinned in an arrogant ans self assured way, certain they would get some praise from him in front of everyone else.

"The great Frank Herbert once said, 'Bureaucracy destroys initiative. There is little that bureaucrats hate more than innovation, especially innovation that produces better results than the old routines. Improvements always make those at the top of the heap look inept.'"

He stopped for a moment, allowing the people in Main Hall to look at him strangely, especially the bigwigs.

"In the last few months, I've found out that you all do just that. You hate innovation. You are so full of yourselves about managing this little heap called a city that you became arrogant. For you we are nothing more than any other invader and conqueror.

"That may be the case. But one thing is for sure. We will take the initiative and present innovation to this city and this planet."

He smirked and noted that the bigwigs were getting riled up about everything he had said and the guards in the room made sure that everyone saw their weapons.

"I will do everyone on every world and in avery nation has always dreamed of doing. I will tell you this..."

Again he stopped as everyone looked at him.

"You are all fired. Get your stuff from your offices and leave in the next two hours. I want to see all governmental buildings empty when those two hours are over. If not, I will send in my people."

Not even listening to the protests, he entered the back room again. Closing the door behind him, his grin widened and he began to laugh at the memory of all those faces.

[consequences]

GDI Headquarters
Port Krin
Antallos
August 11 2006/3021

"Lieutenant Dansel reporting as ordered sir." With so many officers incapacitated or killed by the fighting, the lieutenant found himself reporting directly to the Expeditionary Force Commander.

General Davis returned the lieutenant's salute, and said "Take a seat son. Now that we've dealt with the immediate crisis, we need to get to work on surviving the long haul. We can't expect any reinforcements from home for upwards of four months, so we're going to have to present the strongest face we can with what we've got. Your thoughts?"

"Sir, careful employment of captured personnel and equipment to increase our forces would seem to be our only option at this point, especially if we're going to maintain the visible Battlemech strength that will be taken seriously as a deterrent."

"Spot on lieutenant. Congratulations, since you managed to keep your last three charges in line and pointed at the enemy you're getting an increase in responsibility."

"A company command slot sir?" Rumors to that effect had been circulating through the Expeditionary Force, and Dansel had just about resigned himself to that fate.

"Son, I wish we had enough healthy mech qualified officers that I could get away with only giving you a company. Charlie's going to being upped to at least a battalion over time, and apart from your command lance, all of your personnel are going to be folks we captured here. They won't be getting any electronics upgrades, and we're going to be shoving them out in front if there's an attack, because we damned sure won't be able to trust them at our backs."

Dansel considered this horrifying prospect for a moment "So, you're putting me in charge of the GDI foreign legion, and the hope is that the fact that they already seem to think I'm an undying spirit of vengeance will keep them from pushing their luck. I think I can work with that."

"Outstanding. One other thing, I've talked to your last two COs, and I wanted to get your inevitable attempt to weasel out of a medal over with as soon as possible."

"Sir, I'd like to think that I've grown up a bit in the last year. As long as you keep it within the bounds of reason, I'll keep my trap shut this time."


*********************************************************


Mech Hangar
Port Krin
Antallos
August 12 2006/3021

Captain Vranch had never been more certain that she was going to die. Even when in combat, out of ammo, and shut down from overheating, there had still been the thought that one of her troops might choose to bail her out. Right now though, all of them were strung out behind her, and if anything in even worse shape since none of them ran for fun.

After a few minutes of stretching the session of applied sadism had begun with a simple overhand clap. What sounded like a joke of an exercise soon became painful as they broke the hundred mark, then torture at the three hundred mark, then an unending nightmare of agony somewhere around five hundred. From there, they had progressed to other exercises, culminating in the current run around the hangar. All the while, the little bastard at the front had effortlessly kept going, and while most of the other Motherloaders looked more haggard, they were in far better shape than the Antallans.

"All you have to do to finish is climb to the rear hatch of the Hunchback after a dozen laps" She had lost track of how many laps after twenty she was on, but every time there's been an open spot on the Hunchback for her to attempt the climb, she simply hadn't been able to maintain a grip. As she came around again and psyched herself for another attempt, she caught sight of their new commander, running next to some short scarred man she didn't know. As she saw the weaselly looking bastard palm a blade, she tried to shout a warning, but simply couldn't get out more than a gasping croak.

Without looking Dansel, standing six foot two and 230 pounds despite rigorous exercise and the constant sauna of a mech cockpit, simply body checked his attacker off of his feet, calmly stepping on the man's knife hand as he came to a halt. Raising his voice to fill the hangar, he shouted "Really?! This is the standard for assassinations I can expect? I've been jumped by fucking children who could set up a better surprise attack than that! Get to the showers and chow, and at least fucking make it interesting next time! I'm going to have a little chat with this son of a bitch, formation in front of the barracks at 1000 hours!"


After all of the draftees had left the hangar in a state of dazed shock, Dansel helped the man to his feet "Nicely played Rovira. Get that make-up washed off and report back to your unit tomorrow morning." He reflected that finding a pair of identical twin fitness freaks to trade off leading the exercises might have been slightly unfair. Then he dismissed the thought, since it wasn't like he'd inflicted Brox's idea of an exercise regimen on them.

*****************************************************

Foreign Legion Barracks
Port Krin
Antallos
August 16 2006/3021

The sound of shouting and crashing had come from Dansel's quarters for quite some time, interspersed with snarling and barking. Vranch had sent a runner to the Headquarters, and was nerving herself up to try to open the door as the rest of the unit watched. She was just reaching for the doorknob when the door was flung open.

Tony Dansel poked his head out. He was covered in sweat, with a split lip, and his shirt torn in several places. "Vranch!"

"Yes milord!" Her brain shocked into paralysis, she gave the reflexive response of years of feudal service.

"There's a vicious bloodthirsty attack dog in my quarters!"

"Yes milord?"

"Next time make it a big one!" He slammed the door, and went back to playing with the quite inappropriately named 'Boo-boo'. It had taken some time for an appropriately gentle cross between a mutt and a Demolisher Tank to be found, but even friendly play with something his size could be fairly hazardous. The main difficulty when walking him would be forcefully restraining him from leaping on people and destroying his reputation as a slavering beast by licking them to death.


**************************************************


Foreign Legion Barracks
Port Krin
Antallos
August 19 2006/3021

"Mail Call!"

"What do you have for me today sergeant?" Dansel asked eagerly.

"Two poisoning attempts, three bombs, and some really horrible love poems sir" An explosion echoed from inside the building "... make that four bombs."

"See if you can track down the senders, and forward any information to Lewis's mob." While actively trying to purge all of the various criminals in Port Krin could start a general uprising, retaliation attacks were commonly accepted practice. Of course, if anyone figured out that the supposedly guilty parties had been framed, then their rivals would find that the evidence pointed straight at them.

**************************************************
Briefing Room
Avalon City
New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
August 30, 2006/3021

Following a single explosion between the two opposing groups of mechs, Field Marshal Yvonne Davion killed the holo. "Marshal Riffenberg managed to free up a Boomerang to observe the last major action of the battle, but it was out of position to observe precisely what happened to the flanking force moving to the support of the remaining city-state forces. This briefing has been compiled essentially from information in the public domain. Major Davion managed to obliquely hint that GDI is giving the impression that there is an issue with communications security between Antallos and New Avalon."

Intelligence chief Quintus Allard piped in "Because of the general uproar, our covert personnel will be utilizing courier chains to submit their reports, rather than traipsing into the Comstar station to draw attention. Our known agents' reports deliberately have little to add to Riffenberg or Davion's observations. As per your instructions to smooth alliance talks with the Archon, one of our people there is seconding his transmitted reports to the Steiner chief of station. Marshal Riffenberg deliberately kept his unit in the immediate area, ostensibly to make punitive strikes against pirate groups, so he was able to receive a packet from one of my MIIO ships, and send it back down the command circuit we’d established to get the Light Guards to Antallos in time. A large portion of the information is so unbelievable that I feel the need for corroboration before any action is taken, as the most likely explanation would seem to be a deliberate deception scheme. One common thread however, is a general distrust for the security of our communications and Comstar’s supposed neutrality in general. Since nearly the only way for Ryan to have even heard of Motherlode in time to make the journey when he did short of a personally addressed priority signal is direct Comstar assistance, I feel that this fits well with the larger pattern of concerns that have arisen regarding the organization. The fact that possibly the most notoriously destructive bandit known to the Inner Sphere was in all probability deliberately targeted on a previously unknown source of advanced technology is also extremely troubling when you tie it to the supposedly random pattern of technical destruction over the last century."

Hanse Davion drew in a deep breath "Quintus make all efforts to completely separate your operations from dependence on Comstar, and increase your coverage of NAIS as much as you deem practical. Yvonne, what potential threat do these people pose, and if they turn hostile, how much will it take to eliminate them?"

"Offensively, we believe that they stretched themselves to the limit to project what we're calling a Battalion Combat Team from Motherlode to Antallos, based on their reduced use of lostech munitions as the battle dragged on. While they would be able to crush any of our worlds out towards the periphery on the ground, they have next to no observed space based fighting capability. As such the aerospace assets of a single Regimental Combat Team, especially if augmented by assault dropships, would be able to burn them out of space if we managed to anticipate their target to get forces into position, and even the local defenses would be able to cost them greatly. Defensively, I'm not certain that we could project enough force out that far to shift them, at least without critically weakening ourselves in critical areas and inviting attack by Kurita or Liao."

Hanse leaned back in his chair, and said "Explain", wanting to see if her thoughts on the matter tracked with his own.

"Conventional military wisdom has it that a three to one numerical superiority is sufficient to defeat a defending force without the attackers incurring significant losses. We saw in the first battle that this GDI was able to eliminate nearly three times their mech forces in an incredibly short time, and at least as much force again over the course of the next two days. Within the next few months, barring technological miracles they will have repaired roughly half of the forces they destroyed, bringing them up to reinforced regimental status. At the same time, their flotilla will almost certainly have completed a round trip to bring reinforcements and additional supplies. Our report from Major Davion indicates that with the addition of Ryan's dropships and the ones they captured in port, they were able to replace all of the Leopards they brought with Buccaneers, Unions, and Mules for their first trip back. So, in the near future they will likely have massively increased numbers, with far more munitions than they expended effectively wiping out two mech regiments.” She paused for a second, staring off into the distance, before calling up the holographic display and rapidly highlighting units as she resumed speaking. “However, if you give the order right now, I believe we could eliminate them before they could receive reinforcements. If we use the command circuit established for the Light Guards to move a force into theater each week, we should be able to rush roughly four regimental combat teams to within one jump of Antallos, drawing from our reserves in the Crucis March, and using the jumpships of the individual units to replace the first link of the circuit. If we can reinsert Quintus’s spy ship into the system, they would be able to jump back out to warn our force if GDI’s reinforcements arrived early. We’ve seen from the reports of the fighting that they had more trouble with aerospace fighters than anything else, and even if they were holding more of their lostech in reserve, we would be throwing more than a hundred and fifty fighters at them, along with six hundred Battlemechs and massed armored and infantry support.”

Ardan Sortek, who had been silent until this point interrupted, saying “However, if we do that, we would be driving them straight into the arms of the Draconis Combine, while if we wait, it is nearly certain that even if Takashi takes no official action, one of his Warlords will slip his leash and make his own independent attack. Hasek would use an action in the far reaches of the Periphery as leverage to act against you claiming that you don’t care about you people who are on the border of major threats, and Duke Sandoval would side with him, increasing the domestic pressure on you. And if the way they fought on Antallos is any indication, even if you could find their home world, trying to take it would result in the destruction of anything worth gaining. If Quintus is right about Comstar, you’d be doing their work for them.”

Hanse smiled slightly, and said”Don’t worry old friend, I can hear the argument you’re afraid I don’t want to listen to, and I agree. If we just randomly start attacking neutral parties we wouldn’t be any better than Liao or Kurita. Yvonne, create a compartment to look at the possibility of duplicating that deployment technique in the event that we need to make a deep strike against one of our enemies. Quintus, what new intelligence do you have that you are willing to accept at face value at this time?”

“It seems that GDI doesn’t hesitate to enlist mercenaries that have been hired to attack it. Most interestingly we have Aladdin Al Azim, an Azami expatriate and rebel against the Draconis Combine, now apparently the commander of GDI's mech forces. The Fire Brands were essentially your standard hard-luck outfit existing on the verge of collapse before Vorax recruited them to attack Motherlode, and we have positively identified their commanding officer and all of their mechs as part of GDI’s mech battalion. More interestingly, we have the Buron Cavalry. All indications point to Vorax deliberately entrapping them to force their participation, and they seem to be fairly trusted, as Major Staedale seems to be leading the second battalion of their expanded force.”

Hanse held up his hand to signal Quintus to stop “The Buron Cavalry. Aren’t they the reason the 21st Galedon Regulars are still attempting to rebuild? Why exactly didn’t we make provisions to retain them?”

“The official responsible for handling them seems to have made a bungled effort to pressure them into staying on poor terms.”

Calling up the file and scanning the details, the First Prince said with increasing heat “A unit accomplishes all of its objectives, and shatters an entire battalion of Kuritan regulars at grave cost to itself, and this is how we repay them? Did this thundering imbecile not realize that a third of our mech forces are mercenaries, which will now expect us to use them up and cast them aside?”

“Sire I fear that the next item we have learned isn’t going to help your blood pressure at all. A Captain Burgess Hale, formerly a member of the AFFS, has also been confirmed as being a current member of GDI. Looking into his file, it seems that his court-martial was more than slightly irregular, and that his family died under mysterious circumstances at the same time. The official responsible for handling the Buron Cavalry also seems to have acquired all of their assets apart from the Hale family mech, which Hale managed to escape with.”

“You seem to be avoiding telling me the name of the official Quintus. It’s a Davion isn’t it?” At Quintus’s nod, he continued “Fully investigate him, and nail him to the wall for everything you can make stick. Rescind any current warrant and bounties on Hale, and look into possible reparations, although I can’t imagine what we could do of any real impact if one of my bastard cousins arranged to kill off the man’s family just for a land-grab. I’ll provide a payment to the Buron Cavalry from my personal purse, and pass word to them that they will be considered favorably if they seek a contract with the Federated Suns again. Unless there’s anything else, I think we will adjourn here for now.” Looking at the other three members of the private meeting, he continued “I shouldn’t need to say it, but don’t put anything on record about our suspicions of Comstar. Hell, try not to think about it too loudly outside a Shield Room”.


**************************************************

[JonBerry]

December, 2006
GDI Jumpship “Hail Mary, Full of Grace”
Victoria System, Federated Suns
Nadir Jump Point

The Samurai tapped the glass to draw attention from the rest of his team. They were sitting in one of the secure dining rooms, enjoying a fresh meal, the returning Seeker having brought back plenty of fresh foodstuffs after selling off another load of tractors to the locals. “Thank you everyone, but now is the time for business.”

“We are not the only retrieval team.” The looks from the other people in the room told him what he already knew. “But then again, I’m quite sure that your respective agencies informed you of that before we left. However, I’m making it official.” He paused, and took a sip of water. “There are two other teams. One is headed for a Star League base set in the Deep Periphery by Aleksander Kerensky himself. It’s on a world called Columbus, and given that ComStar is scheduled to find it within 24 months, it was viewed as a priority target, if only to deny ComStar vital resources for their expansion.”

He waited a moment to let the others digest this information before moving on. “The other team is headed to a world called New Dallas. This world apparently has a memory core as well, but was bombed quite thoroughly with nuclear weapons after the fall of the Star League and other conflicts. That mission has no immediate cover like ours: establishing a factory for all those toys in the cargo holds that we’ve been selling. For them, secrecy is their protection. An odd thing about this world is that it is mentioned in early source materials, but vanished in later publications, including maps and documents covering the same era. It’s as if FASA wanted the world to disappear.”

“Now, as for our target on Helm, I have here a sealed package that was given to me before we left Earth. I was informed of what was in it, but I was not to actually open it and brief you all until I felt it was safe to do so.” With that, the Samurai broke the seal, and spilled the contents onto the table. Four large manilla envelopes now lay before him. He picked them up, and passed them around. “Each of these contains a privately commissioned work from FASA and other sources which gives details about the Helm planet, the system, as well as what we can expect there.”

Alexander Marius took one of the offered envelopes and opened it, quickly examining the contents. “I don’t understand.”

Daniel Morris expected this question. “These packets are part of an experiment by GDI intelligence to determine just how far fiction and reality mesh. There was an attempt to dictate certain measures of reality back on Earth with the captured Battlemechs, but that was a failure. The information we have here is a more passive prediction of what we could encounter, and multiple attempts at that.”

“Oh hell.” This came from the lead electronics technician, a Canadian by the name of James Bowlder. His job was the actual copying and securing of the data in the core itself. “If we can’t force reality, the high mucky-mucks want to know if we can accurately predict it, with no previously known counter-information.”

The Samurai nodded. “That is correct. And I hope for all our sakes, the information in these packets are wrong, or just contain the occasional lucky guess.”

-----
October, 3021
Luthien, Capital of the Draconis Combine

That Tai-sa Ulysses Kurita had been called to an audience before Coordinator Takashi Kurita himself had been an honor to end all honors. Although he knew that he had been called before his sovereign to give his first-hand account of the Battle for Antallos, he was unsure of what was expected from him.

It had been easy enough to deal with the annoying ‘advisor’ in the aftermath, reporting to his superiors his concerns about the lack of diplomatic skills shown. Hence why he had sent his grand-daughter to be the temporary attache to the GDI. Someone whom he could trust to keep an eye on the honorless Federated Suns in his absence.

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, only for a worrying thought to cross his mind. He had heard of such audiences that he was about to attend where the Honored Coordinator had, without looking at the supplicant, said “You have disappointed me, you may use the Garden”, and that was it. He examined the medals that adorned his uniform for the thousandth time since his arrival in the waiting room. No, all his medals were in order, and there was no error with his presentation. He would not embarrass the Dragon by his presence.

And he had done nothing wrong. If he had, he would not be before the Coordinator for his punishment, but a very short lived military tribunal. Thus, he still had no idea what to expect in reality.

The door opened, and Ulysses snapped to attention. The attendant noted him, and summoned him into the waiting room beyond. He walked crisply across the threshold, and saw many men and women of power arrayed around a table with a map of what he quickly recognized as the section of the Combine as being near Antallos on the table. The Pesht District under Kester Hsuin, whom he also saw at the table.

Ulysses’ heart slowed as he gained greater understanding of shy he was here. It was not for punishment, but for a briefing. He stood at perfect attention while waiting for his superiors to address him. It took only a moment before Hsuin looked up, recognizing him. “Ah, Tai-sa, welcome. Coordinator Kurita, this is the man whom we sent to Antallos.”

Another man stood up, and turned to face him, and the first thing that went through Ulysses’ mind was that he had been certain that Takashi Kurita was supposed to be taller. Instead he found himself in the awkward position of looking down at his Lord. He bowed, and offered the correct greetings as required of him. The Coordinator returned them, and bid him rise.

Ulysses took the invitation, and stepped up to the table. One of the things he saw right away was not the notations of military movements but that Antallos itself was no longer the white of an independent world. The single golden bronze world stood out against the sea of red Combine worlds, as well as the strip of Federated yellow and Outworlds grey. “So much interest in such a small world. The last time something like this happened was the appearance of the Wolf’s Dragoons 20 years ago”, the Coordinator mused. “And you were there, Tai-sa. I would speak with you personally about what you saw there, and your impressions. I have read your reports, but they lacked the personal view I wish from you.”

Ulysses nodded and gestured with a sweep of the hand at the color changed world, portent of change. “My Lord Coordinator, while I hold the utmost confidence in my reports as to the fact of the engagement, you are correct in knowing that there is more I can say about this new, albeit minor power.”

“First, I must stress that for all their tactical power, they were tested against pirates and other undesirables. Their opponents came at them piecemeal, with little sense of tactics beyond massed charges. They were an embarrassment to the name Mechwarrior, and their demise is no loss. Against the proper military might of the Combine, they would fall, despite their lostech.”

“Ah, yes.” Hsuin agrees as he too studied the map. “That much we all agree upon. But rather, it is their people we wish to know more of.”

Chastised, the Tai-sa switched mental tracks. “My Lords, the leader of the GDI on this world is a man by the name of General Don Davis. The majority of our conversations took place in English, but he did take the time to learn civilized greetings in our native tongue. We first met in person when I requested that I identify the body of the pirate, Redjack Ryan, and he made the arrangements. He strikes me deeply as a man of honor. His forces share the same professionalism and honor in their duties, despite a few errant comments. Apparently I resemble a holo-vid actor on Motherlode by the name of Toshirô Mifune, if a bit aged, and the rank and file soldiers of the GDI gave me honor above my station for it.”

“Interesting. Please continue.”

“My lord, I must admit that the majority of my interactions with the Global Defense Initiative were with their military members in such matters, and that has limited my ability to understand their culture as a whole. I set one of my officers to act as an interim ambassador until such time as you deigned to recall her, or replace her with a more suitable representative. She too noted in her reports to me that she saw the same contrast of professionalism in their duties as well as the laxness and casual revelry in their off-duty hours. It was implied that the GDI is composed of citizen-soldiers, led by career officers. As for the political power behind the military GDI, I have heard the acronym 'CSN' being used, but as to what it stands for, I do not yet know.”

“And this Dansel they call a hero?”

“Coordinator, I was, along with a representative of the Federated Suns”, his tone of voice indicated just how little he thought of being in the same room as that person, let alone the same planet, “to an awards ceremony that recognized actions above and beyond the call of duty during the battle. His entire Lance was recognized, and from the actions I saw, if a member of the DCMS performed the same, I would be honored to award those medals myself.

“I must note that they do not place their awards in a spectacular fashion. They are simple medals and ribbons. Of note, their campaign ribbons are simple rectangles with various colored bands denoting the specific actions. Dansel bore three, one I was told was for the repulsion of the initial pirate attack, the ‘New Zealand Defense’, another was the ‘Earth Defense’ campaign, for the defeat of the attack from Port Krin. The one he was awarded with in my presence was the defense of Antallos from Redjack Ryan and subsequent battles. He also had ribbons for his military service and training before joining the GDI. Of note, he is apparently a double Ace, twice over. 10 confirmed Mech kills during the second campaign, and more than that during Antallos.”

That caused a slight stir in the Mechwarriors present. Making five confirmed kills was an accomplishment, but over twenty in two conflicts? It seemed almost unbelievable. But they did not doubt it, given the amazing sights of the battle. Privately, many of them wanted to test this Dansel against their best, in order to see their victory and assuage their egos.

“After the ceremony, I talked to him personally, and he seemed to be quite intelligent, though like a commoner who is suddenly thrust into the presence of nobility. He has the air about him of a good man, and very trustworthy.” Ulysses fell silent as he waited for his superiors to pseak more.

There were more vocal murmurs from the others arrayed about the table. “Interesting.” This from a man dressed in the uniform of the intelligence service, Subhash Indrahar.

“Another question then, Tai-sa. Your reports mention a Kurita in the hierarchy of the GDI.” The Coordinator didn’t ask any questions, but made his intention clear.

“Yes my Lord. He holds the rank of Colonel in the GDI, and is the second in command to General Davis. He has expressed that his family and yours have not been related since before the fall of the Star League. That statement, if true, would help support the theory that Motherlode is a Deep Periphery Star League colony.”

“He was present for the Battle?”

“Yes, my lord.” The Dragon seemed to ponder this in silence for a few moments.

“What then, do we really know about this new power at our back door?” This question was asked by a woman whom Ulysses thought he recognized, but was not sure of. He did recognize the tone of the question as one being asked repeatedly in this room over the past days and weeks. “We do not know even if their claim that they only hold a couple worlds, including their new conquest. For all we know, they have dozens of worlds in the Periphery that we have no report of.”

“That is a worrisome thought, but there is still no evidence of that to be true either.” Indrahar took the question and answered it. “The name of their military force indicates a single world. ‘Global’. It seems as though Motherlode is their world, and now they have another. Two worlds is not a threat to the Combine, or any of the other Great Houses.” He tapped the map, drawing a line along the edge of the Combine corward. "Nor is there any indication that these people are related to the Minnessota Tribe that certain members of the media keep putting forward. However, my operatives on and headed for Antallos were told to assume nothing about their origins."

“And where is this Motherlode? The world they call Earth?”

“Coordinator, we do not know. With the attempted invasion by the previous administrator of Port Krin, they have been justifiably paranoid in protecting the location of their home, and they tightly control all jumpship traffic to and from it. We could attempt a search of our won, but we do not have the first clue as where to start, nor do we have the jumpships in the Pesht District to spare.”

“This is most stressing, and yet we return to the same questions as before.” The leader of the Draconis Combine looked down at that lone golden world, and the blank space that lay behind it, so full of the unknown. “And what of the Federated Suns? The Outworlds Alliance? What interest do they have in Antallos and the GDI?”

Subhash Indrahar shook his head. “My lord, the Alliance is in a constant state of dissarray. They have no interest in Antallos, nor is it possible that Motherlode is in that region of space. As for the honorless Suns, I have the reports that they too are looking into gaining favor with the GDI, for their friendship could represent a means to encircle the OWA, as well as in having a friendly port to our rear.”

“That cannot be allowed!” The Dragon hit the table hard to emphasize his opinion about that.

Tai-sa Ulysses was in a bind. It seemed as though he was not supposed to be here, but he had not been dismissed. And the thought of bringing this lapse to the attention of his betters paralyzed him. He wasn’t sure what to do, as he could not simply turn and leave. Such would be a grave dishonor.

“There is a large gamble that we could attempt.” Indrahar spoke up. “On the world of Chirala, there is an annex to the New Samarkand Metals, a Mech factory specializing in parts for light mechs such as the Jenner. They would normally be shipped to the Luthien Armor Works for final assembly.”

One of the others about the table leapt to a conclusion. “You don’t propose selling one of our active parts factories to a foreign power, do you?”

“No. I suggest an entire Mech Factory.”

That brought rounds of loud accusations of treason and calls for his removal. Even Ulysses felt a twist in his gut at the thought, but kept his silence. He saw that both the Coordinator and Indrahar kept their peace in the storm of accusations and disapproval.

“SILENCE!” Takashi Kurita finally roared to bring order back to the discussion. “Subhash. Explain yourself, or I will be forced to summon your replacement.” The mortal threat went unstated, but the voice reminded all of why he still ruled.

“My Lord Coordinator, the factory in question was shut down three years ago due to unacceptable corruption, and the New Samarkand Metals have been unable to gain the personnel to properly restart it. As it stands, the entire line is simply wasting space. We can offer the GDI this line, as well as the possibility of future expansion into a full Mech production line in the future to show our friendship and trust.

“They are likely to take this as analysis of the forces at Antallos shows that their entire force consists of salvaged mechs. They fielded nothing that wasn’t sent to them in the first place by the initial pirate raid or the followup invasion. The offer to allow them to build their own parts and future Mechs, if under our auspices should prove to be a heavy incentive towards future trade and even an eventual offer to join the Draconis Combine.

“As for us, we gain an active parts factory, a source of income from the leasing of the factory, as well as having a legitimate reason to have an active military presence on the world. We gain a supply node in the region, and the capacity to launch a proper campaign from that region. It will also give us a constant view into their culture, as well as probable access to their lostech if we go about it correctly.

“And I doubt the AFFS will have anything that can match that."

Hsuin looked thoughtful. “I recall that scandal. They were building substandard parts, and skimming profits for personal gain.” His face darkened. “I was at their executions. And it is a large gamble for certain. But I can support the attempt to understand this attempt to study the technology of the GDI, as reports from Antallos indicates that they are already conducting a massive project that they call ‘Urban Renewal’ to Port Krin.”

“However, we must be absolutely certain that our interests are protected.” Another person spoke up.

“I make that guarentee,” Indrahar promised, “even if I have to monitor the situation on Antallos personally.”

All eyes turned back to the Coordinator, waiting for his assent or dissent. He in turn looked at Ulysses. “Tai-sa, it would appear that I must send you back to Antallos to represent our interests there. This is a heavy responsibility for you, but I have the utmost confidence in your ability to see it through. Please make the offer to the GDI as a token of our appreciation.” Ulysses bowed, and made to leave the meeting for his new duties. As he reached the door, the voice of the Coordinator reached back out to him.

“And Tai-sa Ulysses Kurita. Please invite in my name this Colonel Kurita of the GDI to an audience with myself. I am interested in this distant cousin of ours.”

-----
September, 3021
Port Krin Antallos

It was, the Wolfnet agent known as Remus Lupin thought to himself as he put his feet up on the dash on his break, a very interesting coincidence. One hand held a large mug of coffee while the other held the book that so held his interest. The book was written in slightly archaic English, but nothing unreadable. Except for the deliberately mangled words of course, but at least they were italicized in the text.

He flipped the page, reminding himself to note the quality of paper, and that these Third Earthers apparently thought nothing of mass producing paper books. Yet another mystery to add to the pile that was GDI and Motherlode.

The GDI petty officer that loaned these five novels to him did so in apology. There had been yet another confrontation over his cover name, and the officer in question explained that he had the same name as a popular fictional character. A couple days later, he delivered the books, extracting the promise to return them in good condition.

Noting the time, he decided to return to work. As the only employee at the scrap yard with any skill at mech operation, he had been assigned to operate the refurbished Industrial Mech in addition to his other duties. Today he was helping tear down a condemned building in preparation for a new apartment complex. Putting Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix down, he went back to work.

It was odd, using mechs to help construct something, rather than to shoot at something.

-----
September 01, 2006/3021
GDI Compound, Port Krin
Antallos

Dansel wondered if there was some universal law that required uniforms to be uncomfortable. His new command as head of the Foreign Legion saw himself quickly overwhelmed. Only the excellent efforts of Hale and Al Azim kept him from filing for a transfer back to Earth. Dealing with Sally Ryan would be a cakewalk compared to this.

Reminding himself that technically he was the superior of the man he was about to see, Dansel knocked on the door. “It’s open!” He entered the small sparse office. Inside, Captain Swift of GDI Intelligence (he had to remind himself that they still weren’t named NOD) saw him, and bade him to take a seat. Her job was almost as unenviable as his own.

Dansel closed the door behind him, then took the seat, shifting uncomfortably. “Captain” he said by way of greeting.

“Captain. Or is it Major?” Swift smiled, and ran her eyes up and down the man, noting that he tried very hard to not seem like he was a very important person.

“Not sure yet. I’ve heard both. Apparently a Lieutenant can’t be in charge of a brigade of irregulars, and people are afraid to give me actual power.” Dansel relaxed a bit.

“Ah, I can see that. Now what did you want to talk to me about?”

“How long have you guys known Brox is a Clanner?”

Captain Swift lost all pretense of humor. She got up, walked to the door, and checked outside to make sure no one was standing there before locking it shut. She went back to her desk, and pulled out a digital player, which she turned on. “White Noise” she said by way of explanation. Leaving Dansel wondering just how big a hornets nest he had fired into, Swift tapped a few commands into her personal computer, and consulted with her screen for a few moments.

“Lt Dansel, and I use that rank because your promotion is not official yet, what I am about to tell you is covered under a multitude of Military Securities regulations. Repeating what I am about to tell you will result in sanctions including but not limited to removal of rank, discharge from the Global Defense Initiative, and a very, very, very long time in a very, very, very dark hole. Understood?”

Dansel nodded. “Yes. It must be Tuesday then. On Wednesdays they threaten me with reading bad fanfiction about my life.”

Swift glared, and Dansel threw up his hands in surrender. “I understand!”

Sitting down, the Intelligence Captain folded her hands. “Mechwarrior Brox was identified as a Clansmen back on Earth during routine medical checkups. When we confronted him about it, he identified himself as a dispossessed Mechwarrior who received his wounds during a Trial of Position. He since fled to the Inner Sphere through means he has not revealed for fear of leading us back to the Kerensky Cluster and the other Clan worlds.

“Since then, we have been keeping an eye on him and his loyalties. And we are prepared to act on any new information that may come up. You are not to do anything to compromise our operations in that regard, understood?”

Dansel nodded. Yep, Sally Ryan was looking more and more like the safe option these days.

[evilauthor]

Nonstandard Point
New Dallas System
October 2006/3021

The star system lay quiet and anonymous. No Dropships plied its space. No Jumpships waited to carry the nonexistent Dropships to locales up to thirty lightyears distant. There weren’t even any human voices carried by electromagnetic waves but for the inaudible transmissions sent from nearby inhabited systems. This star system was silent, alone, and forgotten by the rest of starfaring humanity.

Until now.

A globe of twisted space appeared eight and a half AU from the primary, announcing its presence to anyone who might be looking with a blast of heat and radio noise. But it was very deliberately not a very big blast by the standards of such things. Nor was the event in the traditional points above the poles, but a good thirty degrees off the systems ecliptic plane. The Merchant class Jumpship that materialized when the bubble of non-einsteinian space evaporated also did not engage its fusion powered station keeping drive as was customary. There was no need to; in another yet untraditional measure, the Jumpship’s return to normal space had been tailored to include a slight sideways velocity relative to the star, just enough to put it in solar orbit.

“Jump complete,” announced Lieutenant Simone Dupree, the navigator of the GDS Hood. True, her primary job consisted of entering raw data into a laptop which then crunched the numbers into values that would be acceptable by the centuries old jump computer. But for safety reasons alone, she and others like her had to know what those numbers meant, especially when pulling off such an unorthodox jump.

“Very good, Lieutenant,” Colonel Jason Alvarez replied. He turned to the other stations. “Any sign that we have been or will be spotted?”

The phrasing of the question while peculiar was perfectly sensible. The Hood’s jump point was picked specifically because it went against every convention practiced by the Inner Sphere. It was off the ecliptic just enough to make the unlikely collision with a stray rock even unlikelier but far enough from the standard points that anyone watching for incoming jumpships would be looking in the wrong direction. That still didn’t preclude someone being in the wrong position or being close enough to see them anyway. And of course because of light speed lag, anyone in a position to see them wouldn’t necessarily see them right away.

But if the information that spawned this mission was correct, there were no observers anyway. It didn’t hurt to be cautious, though.

“Radio bands are clean, sir,” Captain James Adams reported. “I’m not getting any radio noise that’s not a natural source.”

“Passives clear,” Lieutenant Alexi Korolev reported. “No anomalous IR or light sources in immediate area. Computers processing data for signs of spacecraft further in-system now.”

“Good enough,” Alvarez said. “Let me know the moment anything changes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And now,” Alvarez mused aloud, “we wait.”

* * *

“Alright, people, listen up!” Colonel Don Wayne, the New Dallas mission CO, said to the soldiers and civilians of the expedition in the cargo bay. “We’ve been sitting on the edge of the New Dallas system for five days, and according to Colonel Alvarez, there hasn’t been a sign that anyone’s here. But that just means his people haven’t seen any drive plumes or picked up any radio transmissions. If anyone is still here, they’re keeping a low profile. But as it stands, our mission is still a go.”

A projected image showed up on the blank wall behind Wayne. It showed a stylistic image of a star system compete with circles representing planetary orbits, along with other dots with various labels.

“We apparently got lucky on our jump into the system,” Wayne continued. “The Hood jumped in on the same side of the local sun as where the planet New Dallas is currently located. So here’s the plan: In two hours, the Earl Wyatt and Jesse James will detach from the Hood and proceed in-system. Transit time is estimated to be eight days. We could use the Hood to jump in closer using the New Dallas-sun pirate point, but that would unnecessarily risk our connection with home.”

The graphic obligingly changed to show a curved line linking the Hood with the planet on the second orbital ring. A dot was placed on about the middle of the curve spawning off dotted lines that spread out towards New Dallas.

“At the turn around point,” Wayne continued, pointing at the half way marker, “we’ll be launching probes to do a fly by of New Dallas before we begin our deceleration burn. If there’s anyone with ships and fighters waiting for us, the probes should see them. If not, the probes will at least give us our first close up look at the planet. Doctor?”

A civilian stepped up – floated really given the lack of gravity – to join Wayne. This was Doctor Frank Williams, head of expedition’s civilian contingent. They were mostly scientists and Williams himself had done a great deal of consulting work with the United States government even before the Drakon had dropped in on New Zealand.

And not entirely by coincidence some people speculated, Williams was also from Dallas, the original. That he wore the Lone Star flag instead of the customary national flag on his shoulder just emphasized the fact.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Williams said. “As I’m sure you all know, our information of conditions on New Dallas was sketchy at best. Most of what we know comes from the Sourcebooks which was pretty sparse on detail. What we know from them basically amounts to the planet being nuked into uninhabitability during the early stages of the Succession Wars. But at the same time, those same sourcebooks said that a man was able to walk around on that same planet centuries later to no ill effect on his health. And of course, there’s supposed to be a treasure trove in the form of a Star League memory core down there somewhere.

“Of course, the information we have from the Sourcebooks is basically unverified,” Williams continued, “especially since most of the events I alluded to have technically not happened yet… and may never happen at all. However, present day BT sources of information reveal that yes, there is in fact a planet named New Dallas right where the Sourcebooks said it’s supposed to be and yes, the planet is listed as uninhabitable. By the same token, none of the few information sources we found had been updated in centuries, and none of few BT people we asked had even heard of the place. So this entire mission is based on the gamble that the Sourcebooks are right, that New Dallas is no longer uninhabitable.

“In that regard at least, our preliminary observations of the planet are promising so far. Spectroscopic analysis reveals an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere in a comfortable temperature range. There’s also no sign of radioactivity that would make landing hazardous. So if all goes well, we may very well be able to establish a long term base here.”

* * *

“Uninhabitable my ass,” Doctor Williams muttered disgustedly as he studied the latest readings from the latest set of probes sent down to the planet from the orbiting Dropships.

“I take it that it’s safe to go down?” Wayne asked, looking up from the photomaps of the planet’s surface. The maps were dominated by a great deal of greenery.

“There are a lot of ruins, complete with huge ass craters in the middle of cities and towns,” Williams said, “but not much radioactivity. Hell, one of the probes landed in the middle of one of those craters and reported less radiation than what I’ve seen come out of coal plant back on Earth! If the Inner Sphere used nukes here, they were really clean nukes.”

“Well it’s nice to get verification,” Wayne said. “But it wasn’t really necessary.” He handed Williams one of his maps. “Check this out, Doctor.”

“What’s this?” Williams asked. Then he did a double take. “Is that…”

“Yes, Doctor,” Wayne confirmed. “That’s farmland. Someone is still living here.”

[evilauthor]

New Dallas
New Dallas System
Former Terran Hegemony
October 3021

“SHERIFF!!!”

The shout that broke the peace and quiet, sending atumbling the man slumped in the chair with his feet propped up on the desk in front of him, his head tilted back and eyes closed in contemplation of deep and meaningful plans. He hit the ground with a thump and yell of startlement that did little to add to the dignity of his office.

And no, he hadn’t been sleeping on the job. Really!

Sheriff Bubba Colton scrambled off the floor and glared over his desk at the old coot who had just barged into his office.

“What do you want, Jesse?” the Colton demanded irately. Nope, there was no covering any personal inadequacies with belligerence here. None at all. “I’m a busy man, y’know.”

“Gonna be even busier, Sheriff,” Jesse replied. “We’re about to be invaded. You need to call out the Home Guard now!”

“Oh, lordy, not this again,” Colton muttered as he came around the desk. “You’re going senile, old man. There ain’t no moving lights in the sky. There ain’t no giant mechs comin’ to steal our riches and women. And there ain’t no Droppers. Ain’t no one see any of that in nigh two hundred years or more. You’re seeing things, Jesse.”

“Seeing things, am I?” Jesse replied, insulted as the aspersions cast upon his character. “C’mere, then.”

“Hey!” Colton squawked when Jesse grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him over to the window with a strength that belied his age. He was the county sheriff, dagnabbit! He should be treated with more respect! “Lemme go!”

“Seeing things am I?” Jesse repeated, shoving the sheriff’s head out the open window. He pointed in the direction of the Old Capitol City. “So tell me I ain’t seeing that.”

There in the distance – Colton couldn’t tell how far because he didn’t have a frame of reference – burned two pillars of brilliant flame atop each of which sat a shiny metal marble descending from the sky. A low rumble filled the air. They fit the descriptions in the old yarns about Droppers perfectly.

The Sheriff gawked, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

* * *

“Sir, we’ve definitely been noticed by the locals,” Captain Tasha Petronova reported. She had to shout to be heard over the vibration of the running through the Earl Wyatt. While the fusion engine ran was pretty smooth and quiet in space, in atmosphere, its exhaust plume created all sorts of turbulence that shook the modified Union class Dropship like a baby rattle. “Observation satellites are showing people converging on at least five villages. Some of them appear to even be using powered ground vehicles of some sort.”

Colonel Wayne signaled acknowledgement. Motorized vehicles were the latest in a long litany of things that they hadn’t expected. First, the planet was supposed to be irradiated wasteland; it wasn’t. Second, it was supposed to be uninhabited; the farmlands and villages spotted from orbit gave the lie to that as well. Third, there own preliminary observations of the villages had led them to believe that the New Dallas locals had regressed to a pre-industrial level of technology; now that appeared to not be the case either.

If it weren’t for the fact that New Dallas’s continents were the wrong shape, Wayne would have started thinking that they had just discovered another ISOTed Earth, one from some alternate universe where World War III had really happened.

Good thing he had opted to be cautious, Wayne thought. The LZ he had chosen was in one of the craters left by a nuke. It was sufficiently close to the ruins do that they could explore easily while at the same time far enough from the villages so that the expedition could control how, when, and where they met with the locals. As near as his people could tell, the city ruins were still uninhabited, so there wouldn’t be any locals nearby when they landed.

* * *

“Hooey! Look at the size of that Dropper, Bob,” the boy – young man really, but everyone called him and his cousin ‘boys’ – said as he looked at the Dropper through the telescope, a relic they had found in the ruins with fancy magic numbers that told the user how far away stuff was. They were hidden on an upper floor of a tower that bordered the crater the Droppers had landed in. “Must be darn near a hundred meters tall.”

“Nah, I make it closer to eighty or ninety, Luke,” the other boy said. “Can you see who they are?”

The boys had been in the Old Capitol City scavenging for high tech when the Droppers had come down. They knew that weren’t supposed to be in the City because there was supposed to be some kind of poison in its air, but the boys had never gotten sick all the times they had visited looking for useful scrap. The few times they had been caught, they had been thoroughly whupped and told how lucky they had been. Still that didn’t stop them from coming back from time to time. People needed the stuff they found.

“Uh, there’s some kind of yellow birdy painted on the side,” Luke said. “That must make ‘em the Sunnies, right?”

“Nah, the Sunnies got a sword,” Bob said. “It’s the Fowls that got birds.”

“I thought the Fowls had purple birds,” Luke said doubtfully. “And ain’t it Owies that got a sword?”

“Well if’n I remember my lessons right,” Bob said slowly, trying to remember old tales told to them by their Ma and Pa, “both the Sunnies and the Owies use a sword brand.”

“That’s stupid,” Luke protested. “Why would two Houses use the same brand?”

“You got me there,” Bob admitted. “But it’s true, I tell you.”

“But… hold on, I think they’re coming out,” Luke said, turning his attention back on the Dropper.

A huge ramp had lowered from one of the Dropper’s side. At the top of the ramp, great doors opened, sliding aside instead of swinging open like naturally designed doors. The boys braced themselves to see giant walking mechs step out. Instead, tiny figures scurried out to the bottom of the ramp. Were they even human? The boys couldn’t tell what with them being completely covered from head to foot. But the things in their arms were definitely guns of some kind.

* * *

“I don’t like this,” Doctor Williams said, scowling at the image of the soldiers in full MOPP gear at the bottom of the ramp as they alternately tested the air with equipment and watched the surroundings. The latter was of dubious value given that the ground had been more or less glassed centuries ago; the nearest semi-intact structure was better than 500 meters away.

“Better safe than sorry, Doctor,” Wayne replied. “Besides which, it should be safe enough. Didn’t all our testing show that the radioactivity had all died away?”

“It’s not that,” Williams griped. “It’s making that poor soldier be the guinea pig. We should at least have drawn straws or something.”

“Standard procedure when dealing with a possibly contaminated environment, Doctor,” Wayne told him. “Lowest man on the totem pole has to be the one to be the guinea pig because theoretically, he’s the one we can most afford to lose.”

“There’s only thirty of us down here,” Williams grumbled. “We can’t afford to lose anyone.”

It was true. Given that they had to trek across better than half the Inner Sphere to reach New Dallas and simultaneously carry enough cargo to establish a base on the planet, the amount of people that the two cargo variant Unions was strictly limited. That meant everyone had to be an expert in at least one scientific field or other, which in turn meant that the “lowest man on the totem pole” was an O-3 Captain originally trained as an engineer for a nuclear submarine

“Unfortunately, someone has to be the guinea pig,” Wayne said, watching as the Captain took off his protective mask to breath in the New Dallas air.

Several minutes later, Captain guinea pig seemed perfectly fine and all the equipment still showed zilch as far as NBC contamination went. It looked like New Dallas was perfectly safe… at least as far as the environment went.

“Okay, everything looks good,” Wayne told his people. “Let’s get these Dropships unpacked.”

* * *

“Hey, look! Mechs!”

The old stories all agreed that when the Droppers came back, they’d be bringing men in giant metal suits to kill and destroy in the name of whatever House they served. So far that hadn’t been happening. Instead, the Droppers had disgorged people and trucks carrying stuff. What stuff, neither boy could say, but there was a lot of it. And there were more working trucks in one place here than either boy had seen in their entire lives.

But up until now, neither had seen anything that resembled mechs. Until now. Still, there was something off about them…

“Are you sure those are mechs, Bob?” Luke said doubtfully.

The mechs – if mechs they were – weren’t acting like marauding engines of mass destruction. They were… carrying stuff out of the Droppers just like the people and trucks were.

“I’m sure they’re mechs,” the other boy said, equally doubtfully. “Maybe.”

“I dunno, maybe…” Luke broke off when something caught his attention. “Hey, check out the guy in charge.”

“Which guy is that?”

“The one that ain’t carrying stuff and waving his arms like a chicken,” Luke explained. “Look at his shoulder.”

“I can’t see anything,” Bob complained. “My scope’s not as good as yours.”

“The guy in charge, he’s got the Flag on his shoulder,” Luke said.

”You’re kidding.”

“No, seriously, he does!” Luke insisted. “These guys ain’t the Houses. It’s the Camrons come back!”

“But…”

“C’mon, we gotta go say hello!”

“But… hey, wait for me!”

* * *

“No, no, no!” Williams shouted, waving his arm at the Javelin pilot carrying a crate full of tents. “Put it over there!” The Javelin and Commando battlemechs had been deemed to light and fragile to serve in the GDI’s 1st Brigade, so they had been allocated to the New Dallas expedition as a combination combat vehicle and cargo mover.

“Sorry, Doc…” the Javelin pilot began to reply when she was rudely interrupted.

“Alert! Active fusion signature! Incoming from the city!” blared out from Dropships’ external speakers.

The Javelin dropped the crate. Williams winced as it hit the ground. Luckily, there was nothing fragile in it.

“Doctor Williams,” the Javelin pilot said, as it stepped past the crate. ”Please take cover.”

Williams opened his mouth to object, when the familiar notes of Dixie filled the air. The sounds were coming from the direction of the city. Looking in that direction, Williams spotted an orange painted wheeled vehicle take to the air to clear a low wall. It landed, slewed around in a spray of gravel and dirt and approached the GDI party at a much more sedate paste. The car came to a stop at the edge of group.

Two men climbed out of the car through the windows. The vehicle either had no doors, or they weren’t functional. One man was blond, the other dark haired.

Williams pinched himself to make sure he was still awake.

“Howdy!” the blond man said with a thick accent. “I’m Luke. This is my brother Bob. Welcome to New Dallas!”

* * *

“Well, it’s certainly an interesting coincidence,” Wayne said, studying the fusion powered car. Except for being painted bright orange with the flag on top – not even the Confederate Flag but the Texas flag - the vehicle didn’t look a bit like a 1969 Dodge Charger. It looked more like the bastard love child of a monster truck and the 1960s TV Batmobile. “What are the odds, Doctor?”

“Astronomical, Colonel,” Williams said as he joined him. “Simply astronomical. I couldn’t even begin to calculate the odds.”

“Well as interesting as that might be, I’m more concerned about the implications of the locals having fusion powered vehicles,” Wayne went on. “We thought from our orbital sweep that these people had regressed to a pre-industrial level. Now that looks to not be the case.”

“Actually, Colonel, it may still be the case,” Williams disagreed. “From what those two let drop,” he waved at the two locals who were currently attempting to flirt with a female scientist maybe twice their age, “the General Li…”

“General Lee?”

“Li, Chinese spelling. It’s actually hand written on the other side there,” Williams explained, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the car. He shrugged. “I don’t know why it’s named that, and I suspect neither do they. It’s apparently an old family heirloom dating back to the Star League days. I would guess that any and all high tech we’re going to be seeing the locals use are going to be more of the same, stuff either passed down the family tree or salvaged from the ruins around here.”

“How’s that possible?” Wayne asked. “Wait, I know the answer. It’s BT Ragnarok proofing again, right?”

“Right,” Williams agreed. “The Star League built their stuff to last. I will say that I think the odds of finding the New Dallas Memory Core just went up though.”

“Oh?” Wayne asked. “Why do you think that? I’ll admit having a local source of supply for things like food would make establishing a base easier, but I’m going to have to detail people to deal with the locals, which means fewer bodies to explore the ruins.”

“Colonel, you’re looking at this all wrong,” Williams told him. “You shouldn’t be thinking of the locals as a problem. Think of them as guides. Bob and Luke here for example have spent lots of time exploring these ruins. If anyone knows where there’s a bunker holding lots of Star League goodies including said memory core, it’s going to be them.”

[Kerrus]

Columbus
Columbus System
October 1st 2006/3021

Dawn came slowly, as the terrific mass of Epsilon Pegasii rolled into view. The orange supergiant cast the entire system in a wan light, and it would be hours before Columbus would see light that humanity would equate with 'day'. Five hours of dusk, give or take, followed by a three hour stretch of 'daytime', then the slow descent into dusk.

But today they weren't here to watch the sunrise. They weren't here to study atmospheric data, or even load up dropships with supplies.

Today they were here to pay their respects- and leave.


"We've come a long way," intoned Richard Sanford- commander of the expedition. "We, from our ancestral home, who once never dreamed we would travel so far within our lifetimes. But here we are. With new friends- new allies."

"Let's be off," he said, giving the order. Each of his soldiers gave a salute, standing at attention as the massive doors of the Whale class dropship closed and locked- and then the engines rumbled with renewed power. A moment later and they were lifting, heading into space once more.

They saw little of orbit- the command deck was busy enough as it was, running final checks, and ensuring that docking went as planned. Ragnarok proofing was grand and all, but there had been concerns about docking pressure and collar tolerances. As the levantine dropship nestled aside the waiting Star Lord, a final communication went out. Thrusters fired, and engines pulsed, aligning each ship with their exit vector.

Then with a flash, each ship vanished in turn, leaving the pirate point- and Epsilon Pegasi, behind.


Moments later, space wrent asunder and another vessel swam into view. Burnished gold and armour plate, the vessel had no markings save one. A line of ancient text, etched on the hull.


S.D.S V'ger.

Communications opened briefly between that ghost of a ship and the installations on the moon's surface- a trading of recognition codes, a sharing of accrued data. Then the guiding intelligence of the moon's primary installation sent one final set of data- a recognition and access code for something ancient, something hidden. A puzzlebox of intricate construction.

The ghost vessel acknowledged receipt, then put that data to use. Directing its own puzzlebox, albeit one much smaller and less complex, that ship shifted it, rearranged it. And then, suddenly, it was receiving and transmitting. There was a code- a signal. There was a trail- a path blazed through the heavens- and that ghost of a ship, an old wolf on one final mission- it had the scent. Adjusting its calculations briefly, and referencing old data it proceeded to orient itself. Then, with one final glance back at Columbus, it vanished in a crack of distorted spacetime.

[Magni]

GDI base, office building
Port Krin, Antallos
October 14th 3021

Major Staedele was bored. Really bored. The last 4 weeks had been nothing but the monotonous practice of standard garrison duty lightened up only by the continued training exercises with the new blood in GDI's "Foreign Legion". That, and the fact that they had finally gotten the artillery trucks to work as advertised and used them to spring a couple dirty tricks on the new guys during the exercises. Between that, the days basically came down to him sitting in this little, bare office and doing all kinds of paperwork. And inspections, because if even he was bored, he had quite the idea how bored the rest of the unit was. And bored soldiers tended to become... creative.

Contact with Motherload (given the secrecy ordered by General Davis, the Colonel preferred not to think too hard about that strange place) was also still rather slow, but the jump ship circuit did work wonders in keeping the Burons in contact with their families back on Motherload. It also enabled him to at least somewhat manage business. Two major weapons manufacturers had almost flooded the mail address of his unit at Fort Irwin with requests and offers and old Filatov, the civilian quartermaster of the Cav, had been promoted to the unit's representative, so he could carry out the negotiations until they would be relieved from garrison duty. Which could very well take another few months.

Still bored, the Major's eyes wandered over his almost bare desk, holding only an intercom and a glass of water, back to the newest heap of paperwork. He took agulp. Apparently, a few techs and two infantrymen had drunk a bit too much the day before and spent the night in the drunk tank after they had picked a fight with a few MPs. He sighed. Latrine duty and a one-shot pay reduction for the whole lot, he decided. But first, he'd have to talk with the responsible officers to...

Staedele's train of thought was rudely interrupted by the intercom on his desk suddenly letting out an annoying beeping sound. He cursed. "Didn't I tell everyone that they shouldn't disturb me for an hour or so?"

He pressed the button. "Major Stadele."

"Boss, this is Marc. I'm at the base entrance. Sorry for disturbing you, but we have a ComStar Adept out here with a couple messages for us, including some he is only authorised to hand to you in person."

Staedele growled. "Couldn't you simply tell him to hand them over to you?"

"Sorry, I already tried that. Guy says he really can't do that."

Staedele answered in a resignated voice. "Fine, Marc, I'll come over. Tell him to wait for another few minutes." Then he deactivated the intercom and went for the door.

10 minutes later

Staedele entered his office carrying a small folder with ComStar insignia printed on under his arm.

"Well, at least he apologised for all the commotion."

"Yeah. No crying over the lost time for paperwork from me, Marc. And you seem to have nothing to do, either..."

"Guilty as charged, boss. I might as well take a look at the mail, too, don't you think?"

"Be my guest, Marc." And, with a gesture to the chair across the desk, the Major sat down on his chair, took a gulp of water and opened the envelope. "Let's see what we have here... a notification from the MRB that they received our status update and have put the information out on the board. And here we have... oh, a few personal letters to some of your men. I'm going to put them into the envelopes here, not my job sniffing into the private mail of my men. We’ll have to show all this to the spooks anyway, but *my* conscience will be clear. Afterwards, you will deliver them, given that you have nothing to do. How's that sound?"

"As if you had that much work, boss..."

"Privilege of the superior, Marc. Sometimes, it's quite handy."

The Major grabbed the glass of water on the desk an took a mouthful before beginning to read the next letter. The next thing Johnson saw were the eyes of the Major widening just before he choked and spit the water on the ground, nearly dousing everything on the desk.

"What the...? Are you okay?" Johnson asked.

Staedele coughed a few times before answering. "Yes, I am okay. Except that I seem to be having hallucinations. I couldn't have possibly read what I think I just read. Let me try that again." Staedeles eyes again wandered to the paper in his hands, re-reading the opening lines. He didn't say a thing, but the shocked expression on his face remained. Johnson wondered. He had never seen the Major at a loss of words.

"Would you please stop teasing me and tell me what's written there that is so shocking?" he asked.

"Well, I think it'd be best if I read it out loud, because there's no other way that *I* would believe that."

From: Hanse Davion, First Prince of the Federated Suns
To: Major Andreas Staedele, Commanding Officer, Buron Cavalry
Subject: Apology
Date: August 31st, 3021

Dear Major Staedele,

we have heard about the treatment you received from the official in charge of your last assignment with the AFFS, one Alexander Davion, and hereby express our deepest regrets at the way this man acted. Words cannot express how truly sorry we are for the way your unit has been treated after returning into the Federated Suns. Be assured that his acts were in no way authorized or condoned by his superiors in the AFFS or the Directorate of Mercenary relations and that he will face disciplinary measures over this matter.

Your unit has gone above and beyond the call of duty and the terms of your contract with House Davion during the raid on Thestria and these actions have not gone unnoticed. As a compensation for the treatment you received after your return as well as a reward for your courageous actions, we have decided to transfer a bonus payment to your ComStar account.

While we are certain that this will not, no, cannot compensate for the lives of the men you lost on your assignment, we do hope that it is sufficient as an apology for the slights caused to you by the deeds of our official. We sincerely hope that you will decide to work for us again in the future and assure you that such a faux-pas will not happen again.

Sincerely,

Hanse Davion, First Prince of the Federated Suns

That's it, Marc. And I still can't believe it."

"Make that two, boss. Wow... Hanse Davion? What the hell?"

"I know. And down here... it's a confirmation from ComStar. 20 million C-Bills have been transferred to our account. Directly from an account that is privately owned by none other than Hanse Davion. I... I don't know what to say."

"Me neither."

Both men remained silent for a short while. The sheer magnitude of the situation had an almost paralysing effect. Then, Staedele spoke up.

"I need to inform General Davis. Right now. Until then, this is a secret between us. Don't spoil the suprise to anyone, you hear, Marc?", he said, while hurriedly leaving the office.

[JonBerry]

01 December 2006
UN Building, New York, Earth
Sol II, Granville Cluster

"And there you have it people. Like the League of Nations in the middle of the last century, the United Nations of the 20th Century has folded. In an epic address by President Jack Ryan, in addition to the Chinese and Russian Presidents, they, along with over 100 nations, withdrew from the venerable institution today, citing that it was no longer capable of representing the needs of the world given our new position in the galaxy at large.

"In it's place, the long talked about Coalition of Sovereign Nations, or CSN was officially inaugurated today mere minutes after the dissolution of the last General Assembly of the UN. It will take many of the responsibilities of the now defunct UN, but it’s major stated goal is the representation of Earth on the galactic political stage.

“The Global Defense Initiative, or GDI, long a formal transnational unified military force for off-world actions was also formally placed under the political command of the CSN today. This resolves major issues surrounding the legality of hiring Mercenaries by nations such as the United States that had laws against such actions.

“Vocal critics of the CSN point out that it has little to no power over the internal affairs of the member nations. They feel that this focus on the Inner Sphere and other regions will turn a blind eye towards internal issues such as humanitarian aid in Africa.

“This is Daryn Kagan, reporting live from outside the former United Nations Building. Back to you, Leon!”

“Thank you Daryn. Now, one of the first issues facing the CSN is the selection of it’s first head to replace the former Secretary General of the UN...”

17 December 3021
Draconis Combine Embassy
Port Krin, Antallos

Shanti Taro Kurita was a middle-aged woman who had long served the Pescht District in their internal negotiations with other provinces. This post was an excellent boost to her career, long that she feared had dead ended. Even though the CSN was a small periphery state, it was still an improvement in her fortunes.

At the moment though, her and the CSN ambassador had agreed to a small break in the days negotiations. She reclined in a private room with her military advisor, Sho-sa Alicia Kurita whom she had replaced as the lead diplomat. Something for which the younger Kurita held no grudge, being far more comfortable in a Battlemech than at a table.

“This Charles Smith is indeed an expert wordsmith.” Alicia said as she took a sip of water. “I think he is more appreciative of your presence over mine.”

“Now then, cousin, he is a good diplomat. I’m sure he recognized that you were temporary and sought to maintain a level of decorum more suited to you than to I.” The elder woman tried poured some sugar into a cup of tea that was gifted to her by Ambassador Smith upon her arrival at her post. He called it “Earl Grey” and she found it to her taste after sweetening.

“I know, Ambassador. But it felt wrong for me to be in that position, and I cannot help but wonder if I insulted him with my fumbled attempts at your duties.”

“Sho-sa, he is a professional, not like the Davion dogs. He would not take offence to you no more than I would to any military officer put into your position.”

“Very well, but I still felt inadequate to my duties, and that bothers me.” Alicia finished her water, and waited while Shanti did the same.

“Do not worry over that, cousin. Rather, see it as you being given the opportunity to expand your bounds in the service of the Dragon.”

Alicia stood, and Shanti did the same. “That may be true, Ambassador, and I will reflect upon your words. But now, I believe it is time to return to the meeting room. Perhaps we will be there before the CSN ambassador this time.”

Shanti smiled, and nodded as she rose. “Let us be off then.” They quickly left the room, and walked down the hall towards the meeting room. The faint smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air, though both ignored it.

Entering the designated room, they found Charles Smith seated there, reviewing the contents of a folder marked with the symbol of the CSN, political masters of the GDI. He stood as they entered the room, and bowed as was his custom. It wasn’t a proper Combine greeting, but the sentiment was there so the two women returned the gesture. Taking to their seats, Shanti consulted some of her own papers, noting that the guards from both the GDI and the Combine seemed relaxed. That was a good thing.

Ambassador Kurita raised her head from her papers to speak, only to find the stare of Smith coming at her. The mental pressure put on her by this gaze made her sympathize with the Sho-sa, and she did her best to dismiss it as the trick that it was. “Ambassador Smith, we seem to only have a couple points left to address this day before we retire. The first of which is the return of Kuritan citizens still held as prisoners on your world.”

“Ah, yes. As I know you are aware, Ambassador Kurita, we would certainly repatriate your citizens, but there are two major issues that stay our hand in that matter. First is that the Kuritans currently on Earth are there because they took part in acts of Piracy against our world, as well as participating in the attempted invasion launched by the late administrator of Port Krin. They cannot simply be set free without due legal process.”

Shanti recognized a prepared response when she saw one, and the Motherloder delivered a perfect one. Fortune smiled on her, as she too had a response already prepared. “Charles,” she said, knowing the use of first names around the diplomacy table was yet another part of the Game, “we certainly understand that. However, it is our concern that our citizens may be falsely dealt with under your laws, and as the Dragon himself is interested in the safety of his people, we must ask that you either hold such trials here at Port Krin where the Combine can observe, or that you allow proper legal representation from the Draconis Combine to travel to Motherlode to represent and aid our citizens.”

The ultimatum on the table, Charles leaned forward, closing the folder in front of him. “I must also raise the second issue, my dear Shanti Taro.” He tapped the symbol on the folder. “The location of my homeworld is a secret, and those persons currently detained on Earth are there because they may have information that could be leaked to more pirates and other parties of ill repute who may think to raid our world which they think defenseless while the GDI is here. I am certain you can understand our desire to keep that secrecy from even our allies and friends until such time as we can be sure of the defense of our home.”

Shanti kept her face calm as she picked at the logic. He wasn’t saying certain things, and she recognized that silence was as valuable as what was said. “Perhaps then, we can send representatives to your world on your jumpships? That would help with your security, and help establish a trust between our peoples.”

Charles too kept a good poker face as Shanti took the unspoken offer. It was a calculated risk, but his superiors back on Earth had spent many long and loud hours talking about this exact scenario. But they had reached a conclusion, and one that had been passed along to him. At the moment though, he wanted to seem like he was the one making the decision, rather than simply passing along made months ago.

“Very well. It seems like we have little choice in the matter. I can allow a small team of legal and diplomatic representatives to take a GDI Jumpship back to Earth for this purpose.”

“Excellent! I suppose then I shall have my staff confer with yours about the details.” The decision made, subordinates on both sides would deal with the details, and only if there was some major issue would it come again to the attention of the people in this room as more than a report to read. “Now, for the last point.”

“Ah yes, you have been quite secretive about this point, and I confess some curiosity at it. Natural, I suppose.”

“Indeed. When this message came down to me from Coordinator Kurita himself, I too was taken aback. You see...”

GDI Compound
Office of General Davis
Port Krin, Antallos
Same Day

General Davis looked deep into Ambassador Smith’s eyes and saw no duplicity in them. “They what?” he asked again, not really sure of the windfall he had just been given.

“The Draconis Combine, as near as I can tell, are countering the Davion’s move towards our mercenary companies by offering us a mothballed Mech parts factory. It isn’t one to build weapons, rather it was meant to build the internal structure and chassis of some of their lighter Mechs, such as the Jenner.”

Davis settled back into his chair, letting the abused piece of furniture take his weight. “That is quite... What did you say?”

“That I had to consult with you first. Although I was tempted to simply say ‘Yes’ right there, I didn’t want to seem to be to eager to take the offer. There are strings attached though.”

“There always are. What are they?”

“First, it will be a lease. Not a sale. We won’t own the factory itself, but will be responsible for it. Secondly, we’ll be producing parts for the Combine, as well as for ourselves. Thirdly, they would require the deployment of a Mech detachment to guard their investment, both against us should we try to backstab them, but nominally to guard against the Federated Suns.”

“How many Mechs are we looking at here?”

“About 32 to 36, General. Under the direct command of Tai-sa Ulysses Kurita.”

“The man who commanded the DC forces that arrived soon after we did. I think we can trust him as he didn’t take advantage of us after we finished off the pirates and other marauders. He won’t do anything stupid.”

“So, you agree to their proposal then?”

“It's a gamble." Davis mulled over his thought aloud. While the final decision was in the hands of Smith, this was important enough, and big enough in both the long and short terms that his own consultation would be necessary. "The Combine could see this as an excuse to keep deploying more forces here, citing some vague threat to the factory that would require it. And how the Davions would respond when they find out could also be probelmatic."

Smith nodded in agreement. "But there is also the issue of our orders to get as much salvagable and working material as we can, and this factory would go a long way towards that."

Davis sighed. He had hoped that Smith's arrival would relieve him of some of his headaches, but it seemed like this wasn't to be the case. "For what it's worth, I can find no reasonable way to reject this offer without offending the Kuritans. I know this could blow up in our faces, but if it's Tai-sa Ulysses in charge of the forces, I think we can take the chance."

Smith rose. "Thank you General. I'll convey our acceptence to the Ambassador, and send a priority message to Earth, asking them to send specialists and whatever they think prudent for this."

Sian, Capellan Confederation
GDI Dropship Faith and Trust (Seeker Class)
31 December 09

David Jackson stretched his neck as he sat in his office on the Dropship. He was the civilian representative of John Deere attached to this mission. While most of the crew were spooks and military men, his was the actual job of signing contracts for deliveries, as well as resources for the future plant on Helm. He was a Company man, single and no living relatives, which made him suitable for this mission, in addition to his business sense and acumen.

Today, he had signed a delivery contract with one of the semi-socialist state controlled companies for the delivery of 500 units of farming equipment. Tractors, combines, sprayers, the works. Down on the floor of the dropship, other employees, as well as GDI personnel used for grunt work, and on-the-job training were already processing the order, preparing dissembled units for transport.

He reflected on his 'employees'. They were either like him, employees of the company, single and expendable (he really didn't like that word, but after weeks away from home, he came to terms with it), or members of the GDI who were learning their covers. Some of them were even fairly good at their second jobs, and his best salesman was one of the head spooks. Probably had something to do with being in a job where a glib tongue was required.

David shuffled some papers, and came up with a list of current resources to his expedition, as well as current finances. There were well into the black on this trip, the simplicity of what they were selling, as well as their non-military nature made for good sales wherever they went.

Privately, he reckoned that sales like this would make John Deere one of the largest companies in the history of mankind if it kept up. But then he returned to the immediate realities, and noted that while they had a machine shop to make more tractors, they were running low on certain basic materials, like galvanized rubber and the trademarked green paint. He wrote a note on his terminal, and sent it off to the right people about the lack, trusting them to get what he needed to keep the mission's cover intact.

He shut off his terminal, and stood up. But for now, work was at an end, and it was time to get ready for the New Year's celebration coming right up.

HQ of the Wolf's Dragoons
Unknown Location, Lyran Commonwealth

Colonel Jamie Wolf paced back and forth, the contents of the Wolfnet brief important enough for his own personal input. The agent on Antallos had sent in several reports by way of secure channels, and he and the head of Wolfnet conferred over the contents.

"So, there is no relation between these GDI and the Falcons?" Jamie had been worried from the start that there had been some hidden influence from their Clan's enemies on this upstart Periphery state. The vague similarity between the symbols of the Falcons and the Global Defense Initiative had raised many questions, and it seemed like there was an answer at hand at last.

"None, Colonel. Our agent in place indicates that while the GDI has access to advanced technology, none of it matches Falcon technology."

"And the Timber Wolf?"

"The GDI calls it a Mad Cat, sir. To them, it was the logical addition of arms from what we think may be a Marauder to the sides of a Catapult, reducing the laser weapons on the base 'Mech to two Medium Lasers to make room for the additional armor and ammo. It weighs in at about 75 tonnes."

"Mad Cat, huh. A Franken-Mech then. It's good to know that it's simply a coincidence." The trust in his agent went unstated. "Their weapons technology?"

"He confirms that they use Ballistic and Artillery technology almost exclusively, hoarding their salvaged energy weapons carefully."

"Ammunition problems in long fights."

"That would be the case, as their defense of Port Krin showed."

"Mercenaries?"

"Headed up by the Buron Cavalry. A decent group that got a bad deal from the Davions, and it seems like the GDI favor them as examples of how good they can be."

The Wolfnet head handed Wolf another sheet of paper. "He's also asking for a couple more agents to support him. The GDI are rapidly expanding on Antallos, and he feels that he needs some backup to keep pace."

"Send them."

"Aff, Colonel. Is there anything else?"

"What would you think if we cut our contract with Steiner short, and moved to the Combine?"

"Why Colonel? We still have three years left in our contract with them. And it would take several moths to prepare to move at least, not to mention properly recalling our forces." He paused. "Minobu Tetsuhara."

"That's not your concern, but he did not deserve his punishment. Dismissed."

"Aff, Colonel."

GDI Compound
Port Krin, Antallos
19 November 3021

Originally Posted by brox@gdi.mil

Minutes of Mercenary/Foreign Legion Meeting
Attendance
(HB) Burgess, Captain Hale (GDI Foreign Legion)
(AA) Al Azim, Major Aladdin (GDI Foreign Legion)
(AS) Staedele, Major Andreas (Buron Cavalry, Mercenary)
(NF) Fischer, Natalie (Fischer's Freelances, Mercenary)
(Br) Mechwarrior Brox (Fischer's Freelances, Mercenary)

Minutes recorded by Mechwarrior Brox.

1402: Meeting called to Order by HB. Attendance taken. All parties present.
1410: Old Business
-Replacement Armor and Repairs to Mechs
-AS notes that Buron Cav is almost back to 90%, requiring ammo.
-NF reports Jolly Rogers at 100%
-HB reports GDI Foreign Legion at 55%, noting that GDI native forces have priority over Foreign Legion.
-HB reports that GDI Foreign Legion recruitment at over 500, most rejected on medical reasons. GDI has very high standards. Persons with personal 'Mechs that don't make requirements are referred to Mercenary Forces with other standards.
1459: New Business
-AS reports Davion attempt to recompense for lost materials
-Discussion ensues over this action. Conclusion reached that Davion is attempting to use this to gain inroads against the GDI by suborning Mercenary forces.
-AS and NF affirm long-term contracts with GDI as better offers.
-AA raises issue of Muslim/Islamic groups desiring passage to Motherlode due to religious reasons (Hajj). All agree to support that cause.
-Br reports that lessons for American Sign Language have started, with moderate attendance.
-HB reports that Variable Auto Cannons are due to arrive within a month in sufficient numbers to refit the Foreign Legion Command Lance, as well as native GDI forces. Ammo included.
-NF wonders when Fischer's Freelances can purchase V-A/C technology.
-HB reports that Medium Range Missile Technology is ready for limited field deployment,
1423: Meeting Adjourned

Originally Posted by haleburgess@gdi.mil

Brox, the GDI doesn’t have a Time Machine. The meeting adjournment occurred at 1623, not 2423.

Originally Posted by brox@gdi.mil

Your mother wanted me to tell you that it didn’t end at 2423 either. ;p

[Warringer]

Earth Orbit over Austraila
Earth, Sol
January 21st, 2007

Captain Robert Beauford shook his head as he looked at the large cylindric hull of GDS Monitor as it lay between a pair of pylons of Freedom Station, currently shown on a large display.

Monitor was less than six month old and already going through a refit.

It was needed through. The Cobham armor that was layered over the outer hull was far from sturdy enough to try and take sustained fire from even a Jumpship, much less a combat rated dropship. By now the various companies that produced the Point-8 armor were producing it in larger batches and it was enough to replace Monitors eighty tons of Cobham with about one hundred fifty tons Point-8.

He turned around and faced the commander of Freedom Station, Comandant Francis Zola.

"When will you be finished?" he wondered.

"The replacement of the 155mm with the PPCs and the Otoberda with the Large Lasers is going to take more time than we thought," the French ESA officer noted and glanced at the display. "Not to mention our first try to build not only one but two ships completely in space."

Beauford looked back at the display and the other two docks next to the one occupied by Monitor. They both contained the currently basic hulls of the two Thunderchilds, Thunderchild and Tabiranth. He could imagine why the first was called Thunderchild, but the reason for the second ships name escaped him.

"How many engines are you using in them?" he wondered.

"Each gets three engines from the two Unions we could salvage from orbit," Zola noted." Thankfully they took the nukes to the front and that left the drive sections mostly intact. And the hydrogen tanks saved them from the radiation. They are little more radioactive than a normal nuclear plant in a submarine."

That got a chuckle out of Beauford. Hadn't been much different to the Monitors engine. Nothing a double layer of rad-shielding polyethylene couldn't handle.

"One or two Tridents?"

"One. We don't have enough space for more. But the designers still manages to squeeze in twelve Mavericks, two PPCs and four Large Lasers."

Beauford nodded.

Not bad for the jury-rigged space station building jury-rigged system monitors. At least he knew that these systems worked so far. Two month worth of trials in the Asteroid belt helped assuring that Monitor was able to dish out some long range hurt. Through they would need further tests once the PPCs and Lasers were installed.

He could already feed the excess heat from firing them...

[Kerrus]

Sol Nadir
GDS Monitor
December 20th, 2005/3021



The GDS Monitor had not been designed with grace in mind, but to an outside observer it maneuvered through space with a certainty of purpose that more then made up for any lack of grace. The ship had seen several improvements since its initial shakedown cruise, but aesthetics had not been a high priority. Outside of a new paint job which was more binding foam and less paint, the ship was still a kludgy hodgepodge of mixed materials. But even the mightiest of battleships could trace lineage to the first testbed for technological development, and the innovations that GDI had made during the Monitor's construction were no different.


This evening, the Monitor was on patrol- she was rarely not. As a military vessel, she was equipped with a sizable array of sensor equipment- but as a modern military vessel she relied more on the feeds from the sensor satellites that now permeated local space. The Monitor couldn't be in more then one place at once- but she could certainly see more then one location at a time.


"There!" exclaimed Tezuka Minamo- formerly of the Canadian Reserves and now serving aboard the GDI vessel USS Monitor as a sensor technician. "That's definitely a sensor return!"

"A sensor ghost- it's just the K3-218 burning up," muttered her parter on shift, Maria Gertrude. She frowned. "Ahead of schedule."

"A satellite burning up in Earth's atmosphere causing a sensor ghost in the vicinity of Jupiter? I'm looking at a data feed that the Chandra is relaying to us, and-"

"Jupiter?" Maria replied. "Show it to me again."

Tezuka replayed the relevant data, pointing out several spikes across the spectrum. It could be a ship, or an asteroid with particularly high metal content. Or it could be a reflection off Titan, such things had become common in recent months. The farther outsystem the Monitor traveled, the more- to use a collequial term 'weird-ass shit' they encountered.

"Here, here, and here- three points of commonality," Tezuka said, gesturing to the spectrum analysis. "I think it's a ship."

"Maybe." Maria was a career cynic. "The returns aren't consistent enough to be a ship, and it's not moving like a ship. These readings are the readings of an asteroid. Nothing more."

"Maybe? Maybe I oughta-" and then Tezuka paused, eyes widening. "Maria!"

All discussion was forgotten as- much closer then distant Jupiter, space distorted and disgorged three ships. The flash of electromagnetic distortion- already being tracked across multiple sensor systems- was approximated to be at a set of coordinates just coreward of the Nadir. Whoever was jumping in was on their guard- by their position and the arrangement of vessels in a clear defensive line, they were clearly expecting some sort of defensive force at the Nadir point. Why else jump in close, but outside of the point?

Maria was already in motion, deft fingers lighting up the boards, and sending alerts. Across the ship crew rushed to their stations, even as the Night Shift gave way to the more experienced day shift. While military protocol dictated an even spread of officers by experience to ensure the ship was never caught 'pants down', the old naval tradition of a 'skeleton shift' had persisted. As dimmed lights shifted to a sharp red, so too did the ship awake from the lethargy of sleep.

For Petty Officer Edward Lambert, this was routine. While the two communication technicians began the process of alerting the crew, Lambert opened a private channel to Captain Beaufort apprising him of the situation. Once that duty was done, he opened the radio to shipwide.

"Attention. We are entering Condition Yellow. All hands, we are entering Condition Yellow," he ordered. Condition Yellow- more commonly referred to as 'Yellow Alert' represented the standing of ready and preparation for potential hostilities, but not the outright declaration of such. It was an alert status, used when the ship found itself in a situation requiring caution, but not a fully fledged wartime scenario.

"All quarters, prepare for forward acceleration in thirty seconds!" Tezuka called, even as the Helm officer ran through pre-ignition checks. "All quarters, prepare for acceleration."

In space, there was no horizon to mark the distant ceiling, and no ground to mark a floor- but the terminology that had arisen from advancing across such boundries continued to use it. Forward was forward, and up- relative to a bracing surface- was up. For the monitor, forward meant that the main engines would be firing- and soon.

Now.

Acceleration hit- in the real world there were no such thing as 'inertial dampers' that were science fiction was so rife with- acceleration hit like a punch, and it was only the Monitor's acceleration couches that prevented injury. On wings of fusion fire, the ship surged forth to intercept the unknowns.




The Monitor's Warbook- an enterprising piece of military software- was currently running through distant light spectrometry, analyzing contours and infrared readings in an attempt to match them to a listing of Sourcebook material.


The first identification was of the smallest ship, and it was achieved not through the sensory crunching apparatus of the Warbook, but from good old fashioned radio. The ship was the GDS Vittoria, and it had been transmitting an ident code which GDI had ceased using. A lot could change over the course of a year- GDI's changes had been vast, and one such change had been the adaption of new encryption procedures, and new identity codes.


'Snowflake' had been billed as a scouting and limited retrieval mission. There had even been talk about how to handle contact with other such expeditions by other polities, but it was assumed that the sourcebooks were accurate, and that Snowflake would arrive and depart before any such contact. It's return to Earth with two other jumpships in tow- one more massive then anything GDI had yet seen- was entirely unexpected.


"They're transmitting us an update package. All the ident codes check out, save that they're nearly a year out of date." Tezuka acknowledged. Who names an operation 'Phantom Snowflake?

If Tezuka had to pin anyone for knowing what was going on, it was Maria. Maria was a former technician from some high clearance navy project. She had been scouted by GDI for her exemplary management of sensor data, coding skills, and a cynicism that was unmmatched. Naturally, this meant she was privy to information far above what Tezuka had available- but even she had never heard of an operation named 'Phantom Snowflake', and would admit this to her friend later.

But in the meantime, Tezuka was still left with the question of was going on- and no one was telling.

[JonBerry]

November 12, 3021
Hilton Head, Terra, Sol System

The Primus and the Precentor ROM eschewed the normal office meeting for one far more secure. They took a walk into a large greenhouse/garden where the ambient noise made any sort of recording impossible. That they were alone in there only added another layer to their security.

Julian Tiepolo reclined on a bench as he flipped through the briefing that the ROM head gave him. “These CSN people, and their military arm have caused quite the stir.”

“Yes Primus. One could say that. The fact that there was a reporter in the HPG station during the battle enabled very fast coverage of the battle to be uploaded to the network, where the news took on a life of its own.” The Precentor stayed standing until the Primus offered otherwise.

“We must have made a small fortune off the repeater fees for transmitting that data across the sphere.” Tiepolo tried to figure out how many C-Bills that even a 5 second video clip that was transmitted to every HPG station in the sphere would bring in. It was a lot.

“Not as much as we would have thought of, sir. The Precentor Luthien authorized a mass transmit discount.” The head of ROM shook his head. “He said that he felt it the prudent thing to do, given the subject matter.”

Julian nodded. If there was a problem with the reporter, it would have already been taken care of, and so he didn’t bother to inquire further. Nor was there a real reason to berate the Precentor for his actions. It was a good thing to make such offers to the public. It kept people trusting ComStar had their best interests in mind. Which they did, when one got down to the truth.

He flipped back and forth between a couple pages as he compared notes about something that gathered his interest, then moved on. “Be comfortable, Precentor. From the way the public and some of the House heads are reacting, one could come to the conclusion that they are the second coming of Kerensky and his lost forces.”

Taking a seat, the ROM leader indicated the file. “It is woefully inadequate to our needs. They are as hard to infiltrate as the Dragoons. But as to that concern, various agencies have asked that exact question, and they quite firmly deny any connection. He have no reason at this point to doubt their denials. Although there did appear to be some confusion from the reports when they were founded. Some indicate that they were a deep Hegemony colony, while others believe they date back to the First Exodus.”

“This. This I do not like.” Julian tapped a section of the report, and the Precentor leaned it to see what caused the leader of ComStar concern. It was a copy of a notebook that was transmitted from Antallos, penned by a MIIO agent. In it, it described the world called Motherlode or Third Earth, and it was very familiar. “What do your people think of this?”

“Primus, it is the opinion of our analysts that this was part of a major disinformation campaign on the part of the CSN - one designed to make their world appear defenseless, but quite valuable.”

“But Terra...”

“It seems as though after the arrival of the Darkon and their pirates, they, the pirates, were quickly co-opted into the CSN and GDI. Note the presence of one Hale Burgess in their forces, nominal second in command of their new Foreign Legion. It seems as though the return of that force, along with their tale was all a ruse to gather forces to try and ‘conquer’ Motherlode. They walked right into a trap.

“As for the use of Terra itself, even as it may have appeared in the early Age of Space, we can only assume that they used historical records for the creation of this information, and altered it to make the world seem more appeasing to the carrion worms on Antallos.”

Julian let go of a deep breath. “Send a very strongly worded letter to this Coalition. Inform them that I am offended by their use of Terra in their plots, even if they were a lost colony.”

The Precentor ROM nodded. “I doubt you will get much more than an apology.”

Julian agreed. “Very true. But the manner in which they reply will be useful information.” He flipped through some more pages. “It seems like the Combine is offering to the CSN a minor mech parts factory.”

“That is correct, Primus. It does not make any arms or armor, but we have vague reports that the CSN is feeling out offers to the Federated Suns and the Outworlds Alliance. They seem to be interested in Fusion reactors and Energy weapons.”

“I do not like the idea of yet another faction seeking weapons of warfare.” The Primus shook his head sadly. “I recall some mention that the factory in question - there was some violence about its closure.” He sighed. “I do hope that there was no sabotage to delicate parts. It would be such a blow to their relations.”

The Precentor took the blunt hint. Privately, he had already made arrangements for such a contingency, but also recognized that the Primus was less delicate about such things than he liked.

“Two more things, then I think we are done with this subject for now. First, send a message to Precentor Antallos. Inform him that we are upgrading his station to Class A.”

The ROM head made a note of that. He already had a plan in mind for which agents to send as part of the upgrade. He recalled the suspicions of one Adept Mulligan Fox last year, and his correct theories about Earth may prove useful if he was deployed in a position where he could get more information first hand. And be surrounded by loyal protectors. “Secondly?” he urged.

“Send another message to Third Earth. Ask them, quite politely of course, if they would allow us to take over the operation of their HPG station. It would allow them to interface properly with the rest of the network.”

The Precentor had a reservation about that, and voiced it. “Primus, it may be that Motherlode is outside the 50 light-year radius of normal HPG communications. To enforce that offer, we would probably have to build at least one new HPG station simply to serve this Periphery world. And what if they possess more than one world, each with their own HPG station? We run the risk of trying to take over a network already in place.”

Very few people could contradict the Primus of ComStar, but the Precentor ROM was one of them.

“Star League Colony or not, we need to bring them back into the fold. It will be worth the expense.” With that, the Primus dismissed the Precentor, and stayed to relax, surrounded by the lushness of this part of Terra before returning to his duties. First thing, find out when the Precentor ROM had decided to start lying to him.

December 30, 3021
Chirala, Draconis Combine

Tai-sa Ulysses Kurita drank deeply of the offered tea. He was officially overseeing the packaging of the factory, and its loading onto the dropships. Across from him, his host was perusing over the necessary paperwork. “I like this blend. But I cannot recall having partaken of it before.”

Chandrasekhar Kurita took another sip himself. The near 30-year old businessman was unlike many of the other members of their extended family. He had quite the business sense, and less the instincts of a warrior. There were rumors that Takeshi Kurita was getting fed up with the antics of ‘Uncle Chandy’ and was ready to exile him from the court. “I procured this blend from the Third Earthers on Antallos. I felt that such a purchase would help me in some manner. I’m not quite so sure now.”

Ulysses nodded. It was a fairly bland blend of tea. But he had already committed to liking it, so he finished the cup without asking for a refill. “How much longer do you think the loading will take?”

“Another week or so. We wish to maximize the packing, as well as make sure your mechs are available to walk right off the dropships on Antallos.”

“Excellent. I presume you will be coming with us to oversee the business ends of this deal?”

“Of course, Cousin. I look forward to meeting these Third Earthers myself.”

“Don’t be so hasty. It is two jumps to Suianheer, then another two to Antallos. Even if we left now, it would be at least a month before our arrival.”

“True, true. Plenty of time to learn more about them.”

December 04, 3021
Luthien, Draconis Combine

Warlord Grieg Samsonov walked beside Warlord Kester Hsuin, his face contorted into anger. “This is unacceptable! Antallos borders the Galedon district! I have forces on New Samarakand!”

“And the Coordinator has heard your complaints, Warlord. I even apologized for the breach of etiquette my actions in driving after Redjack Ryan caused.” Hsuin was far more composed than his nominal equal. Samsonov was only recently promoted to his current position as Warlord, a post less than three years old.

“I will take this battle to them myself!” Samsonov kept going, barely registering the protests of Hsuin. “I can bring forces to bear on these GDI dogs, and take them to heel within a week!” Already he dreamed of taking the hidden secrets of the Motherloder Lostech from them, and using them to further his own power.

Hsuin glared. “Compose yourself Warlord! Listen to your own words; dare you defy the Coordinator so openly? He would have your head for even trying!”

Samsonov spat on the floor, but his voice was hushed. “Has he lost his edge? Has his teeth worn away? We are in prime position to take that world, and add it to the glorious Combine.”

The Peshct district Warlord shook his head. “There is a time and place for such things, Grieg. But now is not either. Allow me to explain. When we first became aware of the Global Defense Initiative, you recall what they were doing? Of course you do. They were fighting - and quite successfully, the forces of Redjack Ryan - a pirate who sacked worlds across the Combine in his vain glory search for plunder and lostech.

“He got, for his troubles, one of the most complete deaths in the history of the Inner Sphere. The GDI then proceeded to deliver death and destruction to pirates, mercenaries and the other dregs of society with such alacrity that they gained the attention of the entirety of the Inner Sphere.

“And now, you would propose to attack them, to take from them their world that they liberated, and by all accounts, are turning it away from a festering hole upon humanity?”

“Of course! What ever they have done, we can do! I am a Warlord, and I will show them the proper might of the Dragon!” Grieg made no effort to hide his convictions.

“Then you would fail.” Kester’s voice grew the same metal used in Battlemechs. “Do you know who leads the GDI?”

Samsonov paused. What was Warlord Hsuin getting at? “General Don Davis.”

“Excellent. Now, who is the second in command?”

“Tony Dansel.” Grieg answered after a moment’s thought. After all, it made perfect sense for the best Mechwarrior to also be a leader of the men.

Kester stared at Grieg incredulously. “NO YOU FOOL!” his voice raised to the roof, attracting the attention of some nearby attendants. They promptly realized they had other places to be, and left the two Warlords to their discussion. “KURITA! The second in command of the GDI is Tai-sa Chou Kurita! You would attack a member of the Dragon’s family - even one long separated? One whom our beloved Coordinator has invited for a personal audience? KNOW YOUR PLACE!”

The leader of the Pescht District looked ready to hit his equal, but refrained form doing so. There was a limit to be recognized. Grieg, for his part, was stunned into temporary silence, and Kester rallied without giving him a chance to defend his actions, the warlords voice no longer yelling.

“They are loved by the common people for their actions. Piracy and the like are down over 50% in your district alone, although I suppose that you never considered that. If we attack them, we will seem to be no better than any of the other barbarian successor states. They would gladly croon to their own peoples about how we attacked such honorable peoples, to our own dishonor.

“Thus, the Coordinator, in his wisdom, is extending the velvet glove of friendship, and peaceful coexistence with this Periphery power. We protect them, and we can gain access to their lostech. Eventually, they will see the benefits of joining the Combine willingly, and they will be welcomed with open arms. Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes, Warlord Hsuin.” Grieg gave the outward manners of an apologetic man, but in his mind, he had consigned the GDI to the same level as mercenaries. They had insulted him, and must be laughing at him for what they thought his foolishness. He would return the favor to them. Not right away, no. That would be to soon. But eventually.

02 January, 3022
750km North West of Port Krin, Antallos

Remus felt sorry for the poor infantry. He was safe and comfortable in the cockpit of Bob’s vintage Carbine-4 IndustrialMech, while engineers and other workers were out in the sands placing markers and taking measurements.

They were salvaging off of a really old battlefield, one with kilotons of mechs in various states of damage - from legs blown off all the way through to at least two instances of a fusion reactor exploding. For some reason, the GDI infantry referred to such instances as a 'Stackpole'. He did not yet have the chance to ask about the source of that colloquialism.

The foreman waved at Remus and he set his mech into motion, moving to the line drawn in the sand, and lowering the lifting arms. The figures below him scrambled about, setting attaching clamps to the vague shape of the battlemech still buried under the sands.

Another signal, and the foreman repeated the order over the radio for the record, and Remus began to lift the salvage from its battleground burial. As his mech groaned under the weight, the internal combustion engine roared in appreciation of the challenge. For a moment, the balance between forces was held, but the works of man proved superior to nature.

“Oh, Great Father.” Remus whispered in awe as a shape began to emerge. A quick glance showed that yes, his radio was not in transmit mode. The GDI had the amazing ability to eavesdrop on other communications while keeping theirs secret.

The blocky shape of the humanoid mech was revealed by falling sands to be a venerable Orion battlemech. He lifted the mech clear of the sands, the gentle wind erasing the weight of ages.

His eyes caught sight of something though the shattered remains of the cockpit, and slammed the emergency button on his mech, stopping the engine, and raising the ire of his foreman. “Remus! What happened?” The voice of Joseph Riggs came tiny from the radio as Remus picked it up.

“There’s a body in the mech.” He replied as the sand was wiped away, revealing to his eyes the Star of Cameron emblazoned on the chest of the Orion.

* * *

Sergeant Ryan Opel stood on the chest of the battlemech careful to sidestep the Star in respect as a civilian engineer and the pilot of the WorkMech pried open the shattered cockpit. He had been summoned when the reports of a body had come in, and now he stood back while access was granted. Remus and Riggs worked in silence as they found the latches to pop open the damaged section of the mech, and they quickly did so.

A slosh of sand fell out, and Sgt Opel gestured a medic forward while the Army Chaplain attached to this salvage expedition waited for confirmation. The Medic gave some instructions, and the two civilian contractors shoveled out sand with gloved hands and a small trowel.

Quickly, the desiccated remains of the mechwarrior emerged from beneath the sands. The medic nodded to the chaplain, and from behind the sergeant, last rites were read aloud.

* * *

Remus had been summoned to help extract the body, and he shook in apprehension, his eyes casting towards the symbol of the Star League that just shone at him like a beacon. Thoughts of the Great Father, Alexander Kerensky and his favored mech made him feel slightly sacrilegious at what he was doing. But logic countered that this was an old battlefield, and as he and Riggs, under the direction of the medic, moved the body from the cockpit to a waiting stretcher, he considered the horror of dying where no one would ever know.

No, this wasn’t a bad thing, he decided. It was a good thing.

He, Riggs, the Medic and the Sergeant each took a corner of the stretcher, and carefully made their way down the length of the mech to the legs, where they could better dismount. A ground car waited for them there, one of the ones painted with the red cross that universally indicated a medical vehicle.

Remus also saw that all work in the area had come to a stop, and that the small procession was lined on both sides with military and civilians who showed their respect to the unknown warrior.

He helped load the body into the waiting groundcar, and was about to turn back to his job when the foreman tapped him on the shoulder. “Go with them Remus. They got a couple questions for you. I’ll take over for you until you get back.” Remus nodded, and got into the groundcar.

As they drove back to the work camp, Remus watched as the medic began processing the body, removing sand and debris, talking into one of those lostech recording devices as he did so. Once he asked the Wolfnet agent to help move the body so he could get underneath it, but soon the ride was over and Remus was taken to see one of the GDI overseers.

He was asked some perfunctionary questions, nothing out of the ordinary. At the end of it, he was asked if he had any questions himself. Not wanting to miss the chance, he did have one. “What’s going to happen to the body?”

The Captain nodded, understanding the weight of the question, even if for the wrong reasons. “GDI policy is that in the cases where we do recover the body of a soldier is to try to return it to the nation to which they represented, assuming such a thing is possible. Given the previous history of the Combine sacking this world, we’ve actually returned 5 bodies to them in the past couple months. As for the unknown whom you helped recover, the situation is less clear. The Terran Hegemony no longer exists, and ComStar isn’t their true successor state. We don’t have ID on him yet, and likely never will, so the option of returning him to his family or homeworld is closed off to us.

“Therefore, once all other options are exhausted, we will bury him as though he were one of ours. Full honors and all.” The captain paused for a moment. “And yes. We do that for anyone.”

Remus was at a loss. That the GDI would go to such lengths for mechwarriors was beyond the call, normally they were buried on the planet, unless special arrangements were made, but to actively try to...

His personal opinion of the GDI increased, and so did his professional one.

12 October 2006
Zurich, Switzerland
Earth, Granville Cluster

Some of them wondered if they were back in prison, others didn't wonder. They were led past security that would put world leaders to shame, being checked three times for their identity through different systems.

As they filed into the room, many of them recognized each other. If not by face, then by reputation. They quietly took their seats as the guards about the room stayed at attention. Any attempts at talking were shushed. They had all been warned that using people’s real names here would be one of the worst things they can do.

On the hour, a short man entered. Behind his back, he was called "The Gnome". In front of him, he was "Sir". He had chained to his wrist a nondescript black briefcase. The people around the table shuffled uncomfortably.

"Gentlemen. Ladies." The Gnome nodded at each in turn. He put the briefcase on the table, and one of the guards produced a key that was fitted to the lock. With a snap, the burden was released, and he put the briefcase on the table, where he opened it up.

"I have here ComStar Letters of Credit, commonly known as C-Bills, in denominations up to 100." He started to pass some of them around to the people around the table. They examined them. Touching, seeing, smelling and even tasting. "We have been asked to make more."

10 January, 2007
GDI HQ, Port Krin, Antallos

Over the past few months, the military governorship of Port Krin had solidified. In between getting the infrastructure up to the standards of a second world nation - a concept revitalized by the media and pundits from its Cold War heritage to describe the potential development of the Inner Sphere. It wasn’t the same as the First/Second dichotomy of the past, but rather a more purely economic measurement.

But that development meant that more and more attention was placed on Port Krin, and the areas surrounding it. For the first few weeks after the battle, the GDI had patrolled the perimeter, locking horns with smugglers and other types of people who thought that it was business as usual in the Port, despite the change in leadership.

They were proven wrong. Sometimes at the end of a barrel, sometimes in the military courts, while others simply found that the business they depended on no longer existed.

But all this meant more paperwork. And it was this paperwork that Colonel Chou Kurita was glad to set aside when a lieutenant came into his office with a different set of paperwork. The Colonel read it, then wished he was a General. At least then he could legitimately have alcohol in his office for times like this.

He re-read the proposal, then leveled a gaze at the helpless officer before him that could be rated as a mech-scale weapon. “You want to start an international poker tournament.”

“Yes sir. Given the success of similar ventures back on Earth, some of the men and I felt that sponsoring such an event here on Antallos could help raise our public profile. We still have problems with public perception, and many of our infrastructure projects are months, if not years away from completion, then longer for the benefits to come from that.”

Kurita took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. There was some logic to that. “Seed money?” He asked. As an officer, he wasn’t unfamiliar with such things. Indeed, the idea did tickle at his mind.

“We actually got some money from Dansel, and apparently Mechwarrior Brox is also interested, and is prepared to invest.”

“Dansel.” The word was somewhere between a question and a flat statement.

“Yes sir. It wasn’t his idea, but he did agree that such an event would be good for us.” The officer stiffened up even more.

“Have you run this by the PR department?”

“Not yet sir. We wanted your opinion first.”

“Get it past them, then I’ll have a look at it. Dismissed.” The lieutenant saluted, recovered his papers, and left. Chou waited for one full minute in silence before opening one of the drawers on his desk, pulling out a deck of cards, and began to shuffle it. “Better get some practice in then.”

[Warringer]

Úlfur
Alpha Canis Minoris
July 13th, 2010

Craig Anderson looked up into the blue sky of Úlfur, his eyes following the two bright flares of fusion drives. He followed them for a few long moments before glancing back down and over the Keflavik Flats from his lookout on top of Dimmuborgir Hill.

The virgin Kleifarvatn Sea was facing to the north, a large beach lining the shore.

The currently small town of New Reykjavík was sitting right at the shore of the single ocean of Úlfur. Three large buildings in the west of the town in a small secure bay, each housing a single 1000 MW fusion reactor would provide more than enough energy for years.

The pair of fusion flares got brighter and he could hear the sound of rapidly displaced air as a pair of modified Mule person carriers went down on the final approach to the small space port of New Reykjavík, carrying the second group of about four thousand colonists and their families from every nation of Earth. They would increased the number of people on Úlfur to about fourteen thousand after a See Bee battalion had build up the core infrastructure and the first wave had ten thousand colonists about a year ago.

Most of the places that were known of Úlfur might have been named by an Icelandic geologist who had been in the survey crew, but until now, not a single Icelandic citizen had moved to become a colonist. From what Craig knew, it was too warm.

Graig turned around and looked down Selfoss valley and the small military base placed there for the protection of the small beginning colony. It was not much more than a company worth of soldiers. An armor company, an artillery company, a logistics company, about twelve GM mechs, that currently went to work as industrial mechs and a squadron worth of fighters. Selfoss Military Base also housed the sole HPG and two Black Boxes of the colony for increased protection of the valuable communication equipment that provided communication with Earth.

He chuckled lightly as the sound from the two Mule dropships ceased, signifying that they had landed. The new colonists would find that everything that was said about Úlfur was true.

Large fertile tracts of land right next to New Reykjavík, large deposits of ores only about a hundred miles away and an ocean that was full of life. It was a dream come true for many of the colonists. Some would literally disappear for weeks until they came back to notify the local government where they had build their small homestead.

All in all this colonization effort, the first real one outside the Solar System since Earth had learned about the ISOT, had the markings to become self sufficient fast. The CSN Settlement Department only had to send that one factory.

[walkir]

Reuters
Rome, 06/05/2006. In the Pentecost mass at St. Peter, Pope Benedict XVI today officially created the dioceses of Luna and the archdiocese of Antallos, which also covers the neighboring Inner Sphere. The diocese of Luna will cover everything in the Sol System that isn't inside earth's atmosphere.
While the bishop of Luna is still to be determined, Josip Bozanić, former bishop of Zagreb and chairman of the bishops' conference of Croatia, was named as the Archbishop of Antallos. Joseph Zen Ze-kiun S.D.B, Cardinal of the Roman Curia will become Nuncio to the CSN government on Port Krin.
The pope did send members of all catholic orders and laymen that want to visit the inner Sphere for mission, education or health care into the sphere on an official mission and allowed them to wear a badge of a white dove, which is only handed out after a registration in Rome. Registration is possible at www.vatican.va as of today, and will be needed to get a place in the dropships that are transporting those ambassadors of the Holy See.
But the main struggle about dogma remains, as the church is still preparing an encyclical to address the difficulties of finding itself in a Universe with two Romes. Every preparation for contact with alien life have been proven useless as sourcebooks say there are no aliens in charted space and no one even thought about a second Earth diverging centuries after the passion of Christ, let alone after the Second Ecumenical Council of the Vatican.

Rumors about the Swiss Guard ordering BT weapons and massive amounts of paint which coincidentally would be enough to paint several heavy mechs in the color of the guard uniforms made by Michelangelo have been firmly denied.

#####

Slashdot.org
November 10 2006

2003-founded IBM System and Technology Group, a group consisting of IBM, AMD, Chartered Semiconductor Manufacturing, Freescale, Infineon and Samsung, today announced the development of a production process for microprocessors, RAM, graphics cards and anything else a computer system needs in compliance to MIL-PRF-38535G and other international standards relevant for spaceflight.

If possible, it will be included in the standard SOI-45nm-technology and anything afterwards. The other top priority in the development of this process will be energy efficiency.
IBM chairman Samuel J. Palmisano expressed his hope for a fast development of global and stable defense and spaceflight technology standards.
Even so, AMD announced the production of a somewhat refitted K5 with an integrated memory controller and 2D-only GPU. The memory controller will only support ECC-RAM, which should drastically reduce server prices in coming years as the market share of those modules rises.

Intel, NVidia, TSMC, VIA, Sun and other big IT companies are already developing production process technologies like that, so that the IT industry will now put parts usable for spaceflight and military needs into the low-end mainstream market.

OLPC strongly supports the idea and proposed a new series of systems at the low-end market using this technology*.
IBM, Microsoft, Sun and several start-ups are already trying to create an operating system usable for citizens of the inner sphere. At least 16 different Linux distributions trying to do the same thing have been spotted. Meanwhile, SAP released a new version of the new Interstellar Government Module now in closed Beta test at Port Krin.

#####

Slashdot.org
November 10 2006

Today, Sir Richard Benson of Virgin Galactic said in a press release that he would continue his research into a private spaceflight sector, as “the inner sphere clearly shows what it means to use technology you don’t understand. We are willing to incorporate BTech materials and equipment into our plans, but only as long as my team understands and can explain the technology. We might even have fresh ideas to improve it a bit.
While copy and paste is a viable strategy for the short term, it isn’t acceptable in middle and long term.”
This statement is strongly supported by the international research, aerospace and spaceflight communities that already fear budget cuts because of the centuries worth of research data in the Star League Caches.

*:resulting in what we know as "netbooks" today.

[Tyrchon]

Royal Palace, Tharkad City
Tharkad, Lyran Commonwealth
January 03, 2007/3022

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I will not.” 11 year-old Melissa Steiner replied, giving Misha Auburn a quick glance up from the soldering tools she held in her hands and the circuit boards she had ‘acquired’.

“If you hurt yourself the Archon will be angry,” Misha stated, worry on her young face. “Not to mention my father will kill me.”

Melissa let out a tired sigh at that statement made by the dark haired girl who was also 11 years of age. Misha was her best friend, really the only friend she had in the entire Royal Palace who was her own age, but sometimes Misha could be a real worry-wart. It didn’t help matters that Misha’s father, the Royal Court’s historian, was a rather demanding and strict parent who only ever seemed to be happy when cataloging the numerous books and data indexes that made up the Royal Library and Archives or composing facts and evidence for one of his new historical treatise. However, she couldn’t fault Thelos Auburn too much. It was through his assistance, somewhat unknowingly on his part, that she had found the books needed to attempt her latest project.

“I won’t hurt myself so long as you don’t jostle the board, now hold it still,” the young Archon-Designate nearly demanded as she looked to the green silicon board that she had been attaching various metal pieces of circuitry to.

Looking rather nervous as she held the latest project that her friend had begun developing Misha bit her lip before saying, “I don’t know about this….”

“Oh, come on,” Melissa remarked, a bit anxious as she wanted to finish her task and see if her planning had born fruit. “I gave you a pair of the insulated gloves I got from one of the techs down in the palace maintenance bay.”

At that Misha looked down to the heavy, gray gloves that she and Melissa both wore. The gloves were supposed to guard against burns and electrical shocks and were often worn by techs working on vehicles and Mechs. However, on the two skinny 11 year-old girls the gloves appeared immense, reaching up to just past their elbows, and were rather cumbersome for their small hands. When she had first seen them Misha had thought them to be the hands of the legendary literary monster created by a scientist named Frankenstein.

“Just hold it steady while I…,” the young blond Archon-Designate spoke as the slight hiss of solder was heard. “There we go, all done. Now we just need to let it cool a little before testing it.”

Moving away from the finished circuit board and taking off her heavy gloves Misha let out a sigh of relief as her best friend moved over to a black box the size of large shoe box. She was truly beginning to worry about her friend. Why couldn’t they just do like they did before, running to the kitchens for sweets, reading good books selected from the library, pointing at the different men in the Royal Guards and giggling as they talked about which one looked the cutest or most handsome in his ceremonial dress uniform and then blushing madly and giggling even more when said man happened to look over at them with curiosity plainly apparent on his face. Oh, to return to such simple things and not have to deal with all the wires and gadgets that Melissa had suddenly developed a fascination with.

“What are you supposed to be building again?” the young, dark haired girl asked her blonde friend.

“I told you before,” Melissa spoke up as she took off her own gloves and then opened up the box to reveal a few other electrical components. “It is an adapter to hook my DS up to the holo-player.”

“Yeah, but I guess I mean ‘Why’ are you building it?” the daughter of the Court Historian asked. “You’re the Archon-Designate, you could just ask for one or for someone else to make it for you. Why did we have to go to all the trouble gathering everything so you could make it yourself?”

“Because,” the 11 year-old blonde girl responded, as if that simple word explained everything, before moving back over to pick up the circuit board she had finished mere moments ago.

Shaking her head of shoulder length hair Misha felt her curiosity at the fantastic piece of lostech her friend had been gifted winning over her sense of caution, “So you think this will actually make it so we can play 2 Player together on a few of the games?”

“Once we get the controllers finished it should,” the Archon-Designate answered as she slid the circuit board into the slot she had crafted in her device for it. “But first I need to apply the program to the memory module.”

Nodding as if she understood, Misha watched attach a few cables to the device. She wasn’t stupid, though she was no where near the almost genius level of intellect that Melissa had. The dark haired girl just couldn’t wrap her mind around all this technology stuff that her friend had suddenly developed an interest in. No, she preferred books and history, something which pleased her father immensely.

“Alright, here we go,” Melissa stated as she flicked a switch on the side of the box.

With that the few small lights attached to the box began to come to life, signaling power was indeed flowing through the device. Seeing he lights and hearing the slight hum created by the electronics Melissa Steiner let out a cheer at her success so far. Even Misha found herself smiling at what the two of them had been able to accomplish. However, just as quickly as the device had begun to apparently function, a few sparks began to shoot out as electricity crossed circuits. Before either girl could step back or attempt to switch off the device a loud ‘Pop’ sounded as a small cloud of bluish-grey smoke was released.

“Aaaaah! It’s on fire!” Melissa screamed, more out of concern for her device than herself.

“Put it out!” Misha began to scream, pulling the skirt of her dress back in order to avoid having it catch any of the sparks that still sporadically shot out of the now burning machine.

“With what?” Melissa yelled back, more worried that she was about to lose all the hard work she had just put in rather than about the danger the fire posed to her and Misha.

“Use a fire extinguisher!” Misha yelled only to receive a rather wide-eyed look in return.

“I knew there was something I forgot to get!” Melissa suddenly spoke, snapping her fingers as the thought hit her, just as Misha’s eyes went even wider in panic.

“Girls? Highness? Is everything al-…,” the voice of one of the maids suddenly came through the door to one of the outer rooms of the Archon-Designate’s apartments. “Wait…what’s that smell? Is that…?!”

Hearing the voice of her maid and how it suddenly trailed off Melissa cringed just as a shrill klaxon began to resound.

“Uh-oh,” the young Archon-Designate muttered, hearing the fire alarm loudly sounding.

The small utterance was barely out of her mouth as the Royal Guards who had been stationed outside of the young heir’s apartment came bursting in. The first pair, a stern faced man and woman, had pistols drawn seeking out any potential enemy while the second pair, two women, grabbed the 11 year-olds and whisked them out of the room, past the other rooms that made up Melissa’s apartment, and out into the hallway of the palace.

“We are in so much trouble,” Misha whimpered as tears began to fill her eyes and run down the rosy cheeks of her face.

Melissa said nothing to her friend. The young Archon-Designate was far too caught up in her own thoughts, trying to figure out what had possibly gone wrong and being thankful that she had not hooked the DS up to the device but rather kept it safely in a special security box.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

First Circuit Meeting Room, ComStar Compound
Hilton Head, North America, Terra
January 03 2007/3022

“I call this meeting of the First Circuit of ComStar to order under my authority as the twelfth Primus of ComStar since the founding of our Blessed order by Jerome Blake himself and the embodiment of Blake's Will and Vision for all mankind,” Julian Tiepolo spoke, his voice crisp and clean as it rang off the great marble walls of the chamber reserved for the highest members of the interstellar order.

“Blessed be the most holy Blake. Blessed be his vision for all mankind,” the five Precentors of the First Circuit intoned in response to the Primus’s words. “May we be tireless in our efforts to fulfill his goal for humanity, may we be unflinching in our resolve to do what is necessary to maintain the Light of Knowledge in these dark times, may we be always be willing to sacrifice ever piece of ourselves in order to see the preservation of the Blessed Blake’s divine word.

“So let us all be, forever and ever,” the Primus finished as the Precentors bowed their heads, their faces concealed by the cowls of the heavy crimson robes that they wore denoting their station as members of the First Circuit. “May the Peace of Blake be upon you Precentors.”

“And upon you, Primus,” the gathered members replied in unison.

“Now let us discuss the business at hand,” the rather thin man wearing the heavy gold-cloth robes of the Primus spoke. “As many of you are now aware, given the reports that Precentor ROM has compiled, there is a new power emerging from the Periphery; these so-called…‘Motherloaders’ and their CSN and GDI. I have sent out instructions to….”

“Pardon my interruption Primus,” Myndo Waterly, Precentor Dieron and representative of ComStar’s presence in the Draconis Combine said as she lifted her cowl to expose her delicate oriental features and fair hair, a uniqueness that separated her from many of the other Japanese and Asian descended people who had born in the Combine. “But the matter of these ‘Motherloaders’ is most disconcerting.”

Looking into the shining eyes of the woman who had been one of his greatest students, a true treasure for the fulfillment of the Blessed Blake’s Vision, Julian Tiepolo held back the derisive sigh that he wished to utter. Despite the…affection he felt for his erstwhile apprentice, the Primus knew that she hid a forked tongue in her mouth and had the knowledge to use it in such a way that would make any devil proud. Shuddering slightly as he recalled past…sessions in which Myndo had used her tongue to her utmost in the attempt to convince him to take more dramatic action, Tiepolo knew that though the discussion was beginning with the normal amount of politeness and deference it would ultimately end as it almost always did, with him having to chastise her and put her back into her place.

“Ah, Precentor Dieron,” Julian officially recognized the woman who had deigned to speak, silently hoping that she would for once remain civilized throughout the entire meeting. “Yes, I understand you have…concerns regarding the plans that you and our fellow brethren have been briefed upon. Indeed, I vividly recall the rather long missive you had delivered to my office in regards to the matter. However, if you would permit me to explain the plan myself then I believe the majority of your concerns shall be laid to rest.”

Biting her lip to stop herself from delivering a snappish rebuke, Myndo Waterly nodded her head saying, “I trust in the wisdom of the Blessed Blake, Primus.”

Around the room the other Precentors of the First Circuit did not miss the backhanded insult that their sister had just given to the leader of their order. However, seeing as the Primus had not shown any sign of having noticed the slight, the members remained silent. They all knew that Waterly seemed to enjoy pushing the boundaries of decorum and her authority. If the Primus wished to put her back into her place, he would do so himself or indicate for one of them to reign in their more than slightly obsessive sister.

“Now as I was beginning to say before being interrupted,” Julian Tiepolo stated, staring down his aquiline like nose at Precentor Dieron, “A plan has been set into motion to begin dealing with this unforeseen occurrence. Having consulted with Precentor ROM, who has gathered all the facts, data, and rumors that are presently circulating regarding these ‘Motherloaders’, I have authorized the upgrading of the Antallos HPG to a Class A station. This has been done to both deal with the increase in message traffic that is likely to occur due to the presence of the ‘Motherloaders’ GDI and to facilitate the expansion of our ROM presence upon Antallos without drawing any undue suspicion.”

“Pardon my intrusion Primus,” Ulthar Evertson, Precentor Tharkad, interjected. “But having read the reports compiled by ROM and the plans laid out by both you and Precentor ROM are we to understand that the primary purpose of the ROM agents stationed on Antallos will be to both monitor and learn the secrets of these ‘Motherloaders’?”

A smile nearly broke across Julian Tiepolo’s lips as he heard the question, but he schooled his features before it could possibly be noticed. Ulthar, along with Huthrin Vandel, Precentor New Avalon, were his two most fervent supporters on the First Circuit. Unlike his other student, Myndo Waterly, Ulthar and Huthrin remembered exactly who it was that had not only instructed them in the true path of the Blessed Blake, but also who it was that had elevated them to their current positions. Ulthar’s question was the perfect setup for the explanation and furthering of his plan.

“Indeed, since ROM’s core mission is to be the eyes, ears, and dagger of our blessed order, that is partially the case here,” the Primus stated, nodding his bald head ever so slightly. “However, in addition to their more…traditional orders, the agents placed on Antallos carry a second set of orders. They, in keeping with our benign image, are to convey our greetings to the leadership of this ‘Motherload’. Upon doing so they will deliver a personal message from me to the ‘Motherloaders’. This message shall welcome the people of ‘Motherload’ with the promise of peace and friendship. It shall also request that ComStar be allowed to takeover the operation of any and all HPGs currently in their possession.”

“To help integrate them into the interstellar network, correct?” Ulthar posited, knowing full well that was what the Primus had been getting at.

“Of course. Now in addition to taking over their HPGs we will, in our magnanimous grace, also offer to the ‘Motherloaders’, access to the Inner Sphere that they have been so greatly denied,” Tiepolo calmly spoke. “We shall assist them in peacefully learning about the universe they have, until recently, been cut off from.”

“All the while showing them the evils of the Scavenger Lords,” offered Huthrin Vandel, the Precentor New Avalon, using one of the more civilized slurs associated with the rulers of the Great Houses as he lowered the hood of his robe. “In the end they will see that their only hope for peace and safety lies in our capable hands.”

“Quite,” the Primus stated, pleased that his other loyal protégé had so eloquently iterated the main goal of the plan, “And in their realization they shall turn to us and we shall help them protect their lostech secrets from the predations of the Successor States. In the end ComStar will gain a bastion of faithful followers, control of the ‘Motherloaders’ technology, and continue to ensure the balance of power. Our mission to preserve technology and help awaken humanity to the peace and blessings of Blake’s Word shall be one step closer to fruition.”

Standing their at his central podium, the Precentors of the First Circuit arrayed about him as the points of the star emblazoned upon the floor, Julian Tiepolo felt the peace and calmness of Blake flow through him as his plan was accepted and…. The sound of clapping, steady and mocking, broke the peace that the Primus had so been enjoying. Looking to the source of the disturbance the aquiline face man saw that they came from the person who was becoming an ever present thorn in his side. Oh how he so greatly desired to strangle the life from her at times.

“Bravo. Bravo indeed,” Myndo Waterly spoke up with a superior smirk upon her face and sardonic tone in her words. “Yes, I can see it now, just as you promise, these ‘Motherloaders’ shall fall quickly and quietly into line. Why I do believe that they will be so overwhelmed by your greatness that they shall build great stone idols of you to worship and offer heathen sacrifice to.”

Pushing down the anger that threatened to boil up in him Primus Julian Tiepolo asked kindly, “Is there something you, in your vast wisdom, wish to add Precentor Dieron?”

“Oh, but you are doing so well. I would hate to crush your naïve dreams so easily,” Myndo retorted, not bothering to hide the bite in her tone. “Do you honestly believe that it shall all go so easily? That the people you speak of shall be so easily overawed and welcoming of Blake’s Peace?”

“They have been out in the cold for quite a long time,” Ulthar Evertson interjected. “They will need guidance and assistance should they not seek to fall to….”

“And I suppose you would be an expert upon The Cold, Precentor Tharkad, seeing as how the vast majority of Lyrans dismiss Blake’s teachings outright and view us as little more than over important messengers,” Myndo stated knowing it to indeed be true. “How do you think these ‘Motherloaders’ shall view us? They do not revere technology or fear its loss as they have apparently never lost it.”

“Now that is not entirely known to be true…,” Huthrin Vandel tried to offer, “…we do not entirely know the origins of these people. Precentor ROM and the Primus have….”

“Yes, yes. I’ve read their suggestions and rumors of the origins of these people,” the fair aired oriental woman snorted derisively. “Even if it is to be believed that they are, at best, a lost Star League colony, that still does not absolve the fact that they, unlike the rest of the Inner Sphere, have never had their industries bombed into nothing, never had their universities and centers for learning burned to the ground, nor have they ever experienced the true horrors of the Succession Wars and had their spirits broken by them! They will not simply accept things as they are, no, mark my words they will foolishly seek to make their own way and in doing damage the balance we have so long striven to maintain.”

Only finding fault in her rude tone and not in the possibilities of her words, Julian Tiepolo waved his hand to halt both Ulthar and Huthrin before either could launch a verbal riposte and then began to speak, asking, “And what would you propose instead, Precentor Dieron? How would you have us approach this situation?”

“I would release the ComGuard and ROM to bring these ‘Motherloaders’ back into the fold or see their world burn for their insolence!” the fiery tempered woman spat causing the other Precentors, even the normally silent Precentor Atreus and Precentor Sian to gasp in shock and horror.

“You do not know what you speak of!” Huthrin Vandel accused, pointing a stern finger at his Combine counterpart as spittle flew from his lips. “The ComGuard are one of our Order’s most closely guarded secrets! They have only been used in the most desperate times, when it appeared that one of the powers of the Inner Sphere or Periphery was going to unearth or resurrect a piece of technology that would be devastating to its neighbors and to mission of our most holy Order! To send them out now, against a world that we know not the location of and whose representative have gotten the attention of the entire Sphere upon them is sheer, utter lunacy! You would threaten the neutrality of ComStar and the balance of power we have so carefully maintained across the whole of the Inner Sphere just to see one world burn?! Madness! This is Madness, I say!”

“Madness? This is the Will of the Blessed Blake!” Precentor Dieron screamed back at her cohorts. “Look at what there GDI has already been able to accomplish in such a short span of time! They are now the sole power and controller of Antallos even if they do say that they shall let it remain a ‘Free Port’! Their technology, oh their technology…! Using their technology they destroyed three times their numbers in a single multi-day battle! They have brought with them lostech that even we would find difficult to match! It is outrageous! For such technology to be in the hands of…of…an upstart Periphery world is…. It is unconscionable!”

“Calm yourself Precentor Dieron,” Primus Julian Tiepolo solemnly intoned as he stared down the impassioned woman who was the source of the outburst. “I assure you that we shall not allow these ‘Motherloaders’ to grow beyond our means for controlling them. As was explained earlier, steps are already being taken to ensure that the Will and Vision of Blake are not disrupted by this unforeseen circumstance.”

Standing behind the podium granted to her as a member of ComStar’s First Circuit Myndo Waterly was resplendent in the red robes that marked her office as she stared holes into the bald head of the Primus. However, Julian Tiepolo paid her little heed as he stood there before her and the other member of the First Circuit in his great golden robes much like a bright golden phoenix amidst a group of crimson cardinals. Truthfully Julian had considered just the sort of actions that Myndo now proposed. However, he had dismissed them as being too overt and dangerous in the vein of trying to maintain ComStar’s face of peace and neutrality and in trying to keep the vast secrets that the Order hid from the Scavenger Lords. Besides, why destroy a brand new piece when it could be added to his side of the board? If these ‘Motherloaders’ refused to be his knights then they would simply be his pawns. ComStar did after all have in its possession the large stockpile of Weapons of Mass Destruction that the Star League had left in their hidden depots on Terra’s most holy surface. It would not be the first time that an appropriate miracle needed a helping hand in order to inspire faith.

“Steps? Please enlighten us all as to how exactly these…Steps will help, since I have already explained how they are nothing but folly!” the clearly oriental descended woman snarled, her fiery temper complimentary to the color of her robe as she backed down only slightly in deference to him. “Your so-called Steps are almost the same exact ones you have proposed in dealing with the relationship forming between Steiner and Davion! Mere Talks! How does this benefit ComStar and help spread the enlightenment of the Blessed Blake to them? These talks that you encourage between Steiner and Davion have only helped to marry devil with damnation! What if they were to seek to merge their two realms together? What then ‘Oh Wise Primus’?”

“Do not be absurd Myndo,” Huthrin Vandel suddenly remarked, Ulthar Evertson nodding in agreement with his colleague. “Such a thing shall never occur unless we facilitate it. And that, ComStar shall never….”

“What? We shall never allow it?” Myndo openly scoffed. “You give our dear, former teacher too much credit Huthrin. If Steiner and Davion should come together in such a fashion then it will create a super power the Inner Sphere has not seen the likes of since the fall of the Star League. Mark my words; such a thing would not only be detrimental to ComStar’s mission, but a death knell for the rest of the Inner Sphere. Even our glorious Primus, in his infinite wisdom, can see that.”

Looking to the woman he had once considered to be his apprentice, the Primus fought back the urge to reply just as fiercely as the accusations and insults had been levied at him. What stopped him was the small, quiet reminder that he was the Primus, the embodiment of the Blessed Blake’s Word amidst the chaos and depravation born of the petty squabbles of the Successor Lords. He was to be calm and collected, however that didn’t mean he would simply stand by and be insulted by his subordinate. No, he was the embodiment of Blake’s Strength and Wisdom and Myndo needed to be reminded of her place in Blake’s Great Plan.

“As you know Precentor,” the Primus stressed the title, indicating his displeasure at being question, yet remaining calm as ever. “In the effort to maintain our image of neutrality and peace it has been the official policy of ComStar to encourage communications between the Successor Lords. That being the case, as Steiner and Davion talk we have of course helped steer their peers towards their own set of talks. Should Steiner and Davion seek to work together to dominate then Inner Sphere they will find Marik, Kurita, and Liao aligned against….”

“Spare us this naivety!” Waterly rudely interrupted, seeming not to care that she had once again insulted her superior. “An alliance between Marik, Kurita, and Liao is a pipe dream and nothing more. Liao and Marik have been at each other’s throats for years due to the free Worlds League’s conquest of a number of Capellan systems over the centuries. Even now Janos Marik blames Maximilian Liao for inciting Anton Marik’s rebellion, an accusation we all know to be true. Kurita on the other hand looks down upon everyone with their usual samurai arrogance, which Takashi Kurita embodies to his very core.”

“I do believe you over exaggerate the matter Precentor Dieron,” Huthrin Vandel, the Precentor of New Avalon, interjected.

“Indeed,” Ulthar Evertson, the Precentor of Tharkad, added in agreement. “Kurita, Marik, and Liao may not put aside their differences but should one of them be attacked by a Steiner-Davion alliance, rest assured that the other two will strike at the vulnerable backs of the aggressors.”

“Ha! Never shall those three get along enough to stand against the combined might of a Steiner-Davion Alliance, even if it is in their own best interest. And yet you still encourage and help facilitate these…Talks. Foolishness I say,” Myndo scoffed at her colleagues. “No, the only way to deal with this situation is to kill it in its cradle before it can even hope to begin to mature.”

“And in doing so tip our hand to the rest of the Successor Lord’s?” Vandel proffered mockingly. “You have made this argument beforehand with the university and research facility that Hanse Davion has been constructing upon New Avalon. As was foretold by the Blessed Blake, ComStar shall lead the rebirth of humanity from the ashes of the fires set by the Successor Lords. All we need be is patient and work from the shadows as we always have.”

Pinning her colleague a glare that would have reduced him to ash if her eyes had been the lenses of lasers rather than the fleshy, dark orbs that they were, Waterly strongly countered, “I know well the Saintly Blake’s teachings Huthrin, as well you know! However, the mere university and research facility that you speak of has been tasked not with simple education but rather the rediscovery of lostech. We can not sit idly by as Hanse Davion and his Federated Suns gain advantages that will allow for the easy conquest of his neighbors! To allow even the smallest amount of lostech into his hands will bring doom to the Inner Sphere!”

“Which shall be in keeping with the Blessed Blake’s Prophecy,” Evertson interjected calmly. “Let Hanse Davion wage his war and seek his lostech trinkets. The candle that burns brightest burns quickest and like such a candle Davion will wear himself and his nation down before he realizes it, making him easier prey for his enemies to feast upon and leaving the Federated Suns in a darkness that only the light of ComStar will be able to illuminate.”

“You underestimate Hanse Davion, Ulthar. With Steiner at his side Davion will be stronger then any of you realize. Such strength shall only increase should he be allowed to gain the lostech he so desperately desires and which we, the members of ComStar, are sworn to protect,” the Precentor Dieron remarked sharply. “And what of these ‘Motherloaders’? These…Periphery upstarts that have somehow gained access to legions worth of lostech. To allow them to proliferate would be a sin against the Vision of Blake.”

“As I stated earlier,” the Primus calmly and coolly spoke, though his patience with his former favorite was being pushed to its limit. “Steps are being taken to deal with them and like a shepherd with a lost lamb we shall guide them back to flock.”

“And if they should join with Davion instead?” Waterly challenged. “Such an occurrence would be not just a sin but pure blasphemy against the Vision of the Blessed Blake! But then maybe that is what you desire? Is that what you have become Julian Tiepolo? Are you a blas-….”

“You! You would dare say such words?! And to me of all people?!” Tiepolo thundered, his patience spent, the final word of Waterly’s accusation dieing in her throat before being fully uttered. “You forget yourself Precentor! I, not you, am Primus! I am the living embodiment of Blake’s Will! To challenge Me in such a way can be considered heresy itself!”

Beneath the angered, hawkish gaze of Primus Julian Tiepolo, Myndo Waterly felt herself shrink ever so slightly as the fury of the Primus was leveled solely upon her. Strong and fearless in her conviction she had danced on the line numerous times but now she had not just danced on the line. No, this time she had not only crossed the line but left it miles behind her. Looking around the room Myndo could see her fate written out plainly before her. Evertson and Vandel had never been allies and now carried looks of sweet victory. Shifting her gaze towards the Precentors Atreus and Sian, she found them with their heads bowed and the cowls of their robes up making the impossible to read. Though she would normally count the Precentor Atreus amongst her supporters she was not fool enough to believe the rather pious believer of Blake’s Vision would side with her now. Even if she did have the support of the Free Worlds League representative it would matter little, what with Precentor Sian being an old friend of Tiepolo and loyal like the little lapdog that he was. No, it was over. Like Icarus before her she had deigned to fly too close to the sun and like Icarus she had brought on her own demise. Any moment now the Primus would call for a vote of excommunication, a vote she knew that she couldn’t possibly win. After that the ROM agents would enter and…well she dared not think of what awaited her with them.

“Precentor Dieron,” Tiepolo’s voice was like a gunshot, shattering the dreadful silence that had descended upon the gathering of the most powerful members of ComStar. “Your accusations are a serious concern, so much so that they would be considered unforgivable. By all rights you should be excommunicated for the words you have levied against me and against the teachings of Blake.”

Bowing her head, Myndo tried to hide the feelings of shame, embarrassment, and fear that were evident on her face. She thought about appealing for mercy, but decided that if she were to find her end her she would meet it with as much dignity as she could possibly salvage from this debacle.

“You were once my student, my prized pupil in learning the ways of the Blessed Blake,” the Primus stated, his voice firm and solemn. “As your teacher I remember well the fire that filled you as you expressed your conviction in the Blessed Blake’s Will.”

At those words Myndo raised her head only enough to look towards her former mentor. Confused she wondered what the man was getting at. Did he seek to prolong her suffering for the insult she had laid against him?

“As Precentor Tharkad so apply noted earlier, ‘the candle that burns brightest burns quickest’. Your fire, it seems, has not only continued to burn but grown exponentially,” the golden robed man remarked as he looked upon the red cloaked woman who had been his student. “It would seem that you need to learn to better control your fire….”

Hearing those words and the way the Primus suddenly paused Myndo felt her eyes widen in shock. So surprised was she that she missed the rather shocked looks worn by Vandel and Evertson. Just what was the old man planning? Did he want her to beg for forgiveness?

“Precentor Dieron,” Tiepolo stated in a commanding voice. “It would seem in your zeal to see the Blessed Will of Blake be carried out you lost control of your senses. As such, for the next 30 days you shall retire to your quarters here at Hilton Head, during which you shall fast and meditate upon the meaning of Blake’s vision and how best to serve it. You will meet with me personally every day and I shall instruct you and guide you in your…quest for understanding and enlightenment. Others will take care of your duties as Precentor Dieron until I believe that you are fit to resume your duties. You are dismissed Myndo.”

Bowing at the waist in a fashion that was more akin to her former life in the Draconis Combine, Myndo Waterly, remained bowed as she backed away from the circle that was the First Circuit. Only when she was near to the doors that were the only way in and out of the room did she straighten up. However, even then she kept her head bowed in a sign of both chastisement and submission. She knew that Vandel and Evertson were probably seething over the fact that she was being given a second chance. However, their ire was not what concerned her at the moment. No, what bothered her was how she had been addressed. Tiepolo had called her Myndo. He had used her first name in her chastisement, not Precentor or even her family name of Waterly, and the oriental woman recognized exactly what that meant.

As she made her way silently to her quarters Myndo Waterly, Precentor of Dieron, made two promises right then and there, swearing to Blake himself that she would see them fulfilled or die in the attempt. The first was that she would not only regain her position and authority, but surpass them by gaining the seat of Primus for herself and in doing so show them all the ‘True Vision’ of the Blessed Blake. Second, she would not submit herself to Julian Tiepolo as she had done many years ago when she had been but a young acolyte in training and he being a Senior Precentor, had convinced her that the best way to serve the Blessed Blake was by serving him with her heart, mind, and…body.

“No, Julian Tiepolo,” Waterly silently whispered to herself. “I will not make such mistakes again and when all is said and done you shall rue the mistakes you have committed as I ascend to might rightful place as the Primus who shall see all of humanity accept the Blessed Blake’s Vision.”

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Royal Palace, Tharkad City
Tharkad, Lyran Commonwealth
January 03, 2007/3022

“So what do you have to say for yourself young lady?”

Standing before her mother in the private office reserved for the Archon, Melissa Steiner chewed her lip in a sign of embarrassment and worry. This wasn’t the first time she had been brought to her mother in order to be disciplined, however such times were rather few and far between. Even so the stern visage that the ruler of the Lyran Commonwealth presented was just as intimidating as the two Griffin Battlemechs that flanked the throne in the Royal Throne-room. It didn’t help any that poor Misha was standing next to her looking ready to collapse into a ball of tears as Misha’s father, Thelos Auburn, looked on with a grim façade.

“Well?” Katrina Steiner, Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth, asked as she stared across her great oaken desk at her 11 year-old daughter.

“Um…Oops?” Melissa offered hopefully, before cringing at the critical and un-amused look her mother gave her. “I’m sorry. Please don’t punish Misha. It wasn’t her fault; I roped her into helping me.”

Leaning back in her chair Katrina put her hands together in front of her as she took on a look of contemplation. She wasn’t too surprised that Melissa would seek to take the majority of the blame in the effort to absolve her best friend of any wrongdoing. Indeed, the two girls were so close as to be almost considered to be sisters, with Melissa having been growing into the role of the elder sibling now for the last two years or so. Thinking upon this Katrina prepared herself to speak, but before she could say anything the sound of someone clearing their throat drew the attention of those present to the third and final adult present in the office. Landgrave Simon Johnson, the head of the Lyran Intelligence Corps, had been present earlier but exactly for what reason Melissa was unaware. However, right now the young Archon-Designate felt like she could kiss the older man as he had just taken much of the tension out of the room by focusing the attention of everyone present onto him.

“You have something to say Simon?” the Archon questioned, a small knowing gleam in her eye.

“If you would permit me Archon,” the Intelligence Head responded courteously, before continuing after receiving the slightest of nods from his sovereign. “Melissa, I am curious as to what you were attempting to do when the…incident occurred earlier.”

“I…well that is to say…,” the young blond 11 year-old began, but fumbled slightly before deciding that her mother and the head of the LIC probably already knew and were simply waiting to see if she would tell the truth. “I was trying to create a device to work as an adapter between my Holoplayer and my DS.”

“Oh,” the Head of the LIC commented, “And how were you going about doing so?”

“Well…I,” Melissa began before pausing, “I read about it in a book that I requested from Herr Auburn.”

At the mention of the Court Historian and Archivist the attention of everyone in the room turned to the now slightly befuddled man.

“Melis-, I mean, the Archon-Designate inquired about books in the archives regarding computers,” the historian stated rather nervously, “Per your orders regarding her education, My Archon, I had already provided her with a book detailing the basics of computers, their functions, and components. When the Archon-Designate came to me she said she had finished that book and so I gave her a new one that was a bit more advanced and discussed some of the theoretical abilities that computers possessed at the time of the Star League. But seeing as how old the book is I made her keep it in the archive so that it wouldn’t be accidentally lost or damaged.”

Feeling her mother’s gaze swing back to her Melissa explained her escapades further, “I didn’t take it out, I just copied down some of the things I found interesting, like the diagram of the adaptive memory transfer module on page 305 and the circuit boards on pages 306-311.”

“Why did you copy those particular diagrams?” the Archon asked as she eyed her daughter.

“Well I read the passage describing it and the type of computer it was supposed to interface with and…well my DS seemed really similar when I opened it up and looked at its insides,” the blond 11 year-old explained. “I thought that maybe if I could make one I could get my DS up on the Holoplayer so Misha and I could both play at the same time. Some of the games have what are called multiplayer modes and special adventures that can only be accessed by….”

With a wave of her hand Katrina cut off her daughter, as the young girl was beginning to speak a mile a minute about the little pieces of lostech that had been gifted to her. “Why did you seek to build it yourself? Why didn’t you just come to me and ask to see if something like that could be built?”

Looking between her mother and Simon Johnson, Melissa slowly replied, “Well…it’s just that you’ve been very busy lately with meetings, especially with Herr Johnson. I didn’t want to bother you over something that is considered a….”

“A toy?” the Archon finished, gaining a nod from the young girl in return.

“Yes. I looked through the books and took notes word for word. It was a little tricky hunting down some of the pieces and components that I needed but…,” Melissa trailed off before quickly continuing, “I was just turning it on to check that power was properly running through it and then, maybe, load the programming to the memory module. But that’s all, I swear! I didn’t think it would short out like that! I followed my notes and the diagrams in the book exactly! Theoretically…it should’ve been fine.”

“Hmm,” Katrina hummed as she digested her daughter’s sincere explanation. “Theoretically doesn’t matter. If things had been different then it could’ve worked perfectly…or it could have been much worse. You could’ve electrocuted yourself or Misha or the both of you. You could’ve accidentally released toxic fumes that could’ve blinded the two of you or worse. Then there is the fact that you started a fire and had no way of putting it out. You’re lucky that the alarm sounded and your guards rescued you and Misha before things potentially got any worse.”

Lowering her head and chewing her lip at the reprimand Melissa readied herself for whatever punishment her mother saw fit to hand down. All that she hoped for was that Misha would at least not be as severely punished.

“First, you shall assist the janitorial and maintenance staff in cleaning and repairing the damage to the room in your apartments,” the Archon began as she addressed her daughter. “Next, you will be grounded from playing with your DS for the next month. You will assist the cleaning and maintenance staff for that same period of time in maintaining the entire area around you apartments. You will dust, you sweep, you will mop, you will vacuum rugs, you will take out trash, and you will carryout any other duties that are assigned to you by the head maid and head butler. Misha, shall join you and work alongside you for the first two weeks.”

Melissa let out a sigh of relief at that. At least Misha would be spared somewhat. Looking over to her friend the young blonde 11 year-old saw that the dark haired girl still looked ready to breakdown and cry in shear terror and humiliation at having been brought before her mother, the Archon herself, for punishment.

“Pardon me, My Archon,” Misha’s father suddenly interrupted. “I believe that he leniency that you have shown Misha is unwarranted. My daughter is of the age where she should know right from wrong and recognize dangerous situations, or at least that is what I thought. That she did not come to anyone when things began to look dangerous nor did she convince her friend that what was being attempted should be done under the proper supervision tells me that the lessons I thought she knew now need to be relearned. I believe that allowing her to work by the Archon-Designate’s side for the full month’s time will help her to remember such lessons next time.”

Katrina nodded her head in acknowledgement of the words spoken by her Court’s Historian. Thelos Auburn was a rather prim and proper man. He was perfect for bringing the discipline and structure needed for much of Melissa’s education in academics. The thing that Katrina found both slightly funny and slightly annoying was that despite having known the man for the last twelve years of her reign he still referred to her formally even in private situations such as this. Really, the man needed to loosen up sometimes.

“If that is what you wish then I see no problem with it,” Katrina remarked, deciding to speak with Thelos about his undue formality at some later time. Turning her attention back to her daughter the elder blonde spoke once again, “And lastly, as for the collection of electronics and tools you have been collecting and storing in your room…. They shall all be turned over to the Palace technicians and returned to there proper places. Your rooms are not some grungy repair shop; they are those of the Archon-Designate of the Lyran Commonwealth and must reflect accordingly.”

The young 11 year-old blond felt herself slump as her mother said the last part. That was worse than any other part of her punishment. She had worked so hard to put together her little collection of electronic gadgets, gizmos, and widgets.

“However…,” Katrina continued, “If after the time period of your punishment is over and you still wish to tinker with and learn about computers and the like then you will be allowed. But, you shall do so under the careful supervision of someone of MY choosing and in a place more suitable to dealing with any unforeseen…accidents. Do I make myself clear young lady?”

“Yes Mother,” Melissa replied quickly, surprised and rather happy that her mother would allow her to continue with her new found interest.

“Very well, then you and Misha are dismissed. Thelos, will you make sure they find their way back to help the members of the staff repairing Melissa’s room?” The Archon asked as she shifted he gaze to her loyal Court Historian.

“Of course My Archon,” the prim and proper man replied before courteously turning and escorting the two 11 year-olds out of the office.

Waiting a moment or two after the door had closed and latched, Katrina Steiner turned her attention to the one other person who remained in her office besides herself.

“Well?” the Archon asked as she looked to Simon Johnson.

“Melissa has become rather surprising,” the head of the LIC responded.

“Heh, that she has,” the blond haired woman noted with a short laugh before taking a more somber tone. “The guards and staff made me aware that she was gathering up her little collection and going down to the maintenance bays to talk with the techs, but I had no idea that was taking this hobby of hers so far. I should’ve sat down and talked with her about it, but things have been…. I’ve just been so busy these past few months and….”

Simon Johnson nodded in understanding. As the head of the LIC he was keenly aware of the schedule the Archon kept and these past few months had been even busier than usual. There were the three skirmishes with the Draconis Combine along the Tamar-Rasalhague border that needed to be addressed. Then there was the Archon’s pet project, her attempt to bring the other Successor Lords to the peace table in order to solve the centuries of fighting and finally end the Succession Wars. So far only House Davion and its Federated Suns had been receptive to her efforts, which were now beginning to culminate in the two nations sharing intelligence on their mutual enemies and exchanging officers from their Military Academies and some of their elite units. Another thing that had taken up part of the Archon’s already busy schedule was the sudden appearance of a periphery world on the other side of the Inner Sphere that was abundant with lostech. Normally Simon would’ve dismissed such a thing as being nothing more than rumor and the ramblings of pirates and fortune seekers who had either spent too much time out combing the depths of space or were lost in their drink, perhaps even both. However, what he couldn’t dismiss were the pieces of losttech equipment and electronics that suddenly showed up on the black market, Melissa’s DS having been one of them along with several ‘computers’ that were now being dissected and studied by the best minds in the Lyran Commonwealth. He, and the Archon herself, had begun paying even more attention to the rumors about this ‘Motherload’ after he had received a report from the few agents he had stationed on Antallos and ComStar had made a Inner Sphere wide broadcast of the Davion news reporter who had witnessed the battle that had taken place on the pirate ridden world. These ‘Motherloaders’ currently had much of the Lyran High Command in an uproar as reports were read and reread and the few holos taken of the battle were played over and over to try and gain further insight into the battle prowess of the GDI and their seeming abundance of lostech military equipment.

To add to the list of problems were the rumblings of rebellion in the Isle of Skye, but then there were always rumblings of rebellion in that bothersome little part of the Commonwealth. However, what made the situation different this time was the fact that Duke Frederick Steiner via his friendship with Aldo Lestrade, the Duke of Summer, was connected to the latest rumors of rebellion.

Frederick was a cousin to Katrina and had served with distinction in the 7th Lyran regulars before transferring to now command the 10th Lyran Guards. However, his leadership of the Guards, while excellent, carried with it certain political implications seeing as unit that had traditionally been commanded by the Steiner family member that was most likely to become Archon, indeed Katrina herself had commanded the unit before being given command of the 2nd Royal Guards and then being transferred to a command role in the Strategy and Tactics Division of the Lyran High Command. Frederick had also been one of the favorites to succeed Alessandro Steiner as Archon before Katrina had carried out her coup and gained the support of the Estates General. Overall, Frederick was an excellent military leader but when it came to politics he was decisively out of his element. No, any political moves that Frederick made were more than likely directed by Duke Aldo Lestrade of Summer, a slimy political eel and major womanizer. Simon didn’t have the proof he needed yet, but he would have bet all the Kröner he had to his name that Lestrade was seeking to manipulate Frederick into trying and usurp the throne from Katrina.

“Did you know that I was worried that she was becoming too insulated and maturing too quickly, what with how bookish she was?” Katrina suddenly spoke, breaking Simon from his thoughts regarding the potential trouble that was on the horizon. “Other than Misha she doesn’t come into contact with many others close to her own age. Other than her studies and events and activities I had designated for her she was not branching out and exploring very much. I’m actually a little glad that she has developed an interest in something that I did not necessarily handpick for her.”

Giving a slight nod Simon watched his Archon lean forward to pickup a picture from the corner of her desk. It was one of the few private pictures she kept out in the open here in her private office and was actually the only one that was an actual printed photograph and not holographic. While he couldn’t see the actual picture in the old brass frame due to where he was sitting he still knew exactly whom it showed.

Letting out a small sigh the Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth appeared more like a regular person than a mighty ruler at that moment just as she began to speak again, “Seeing her curiousness and want to be self-reliant reminds me so much of Arthur. He gave her strengths she is just beginning to awaken. Heh, he always did have a love for lostech and tinkering with equipment.”

Hearing the name of the Archon’s late husband and knowing that the picture she now held was one of the few taken of him before he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, Simon Johnson nodded in agreement before saying, “If I may be so bold My Archon, she also gets many of her talents and strengths from you as well. You and Duke Luvon created a young lady who, Gott willing, may turn out to be one of the strongest and greatest Archons the Lyran Commonwealth has ever been blessed with.”

“Thank you Simon…,” Katrina replied, reaching up with her free hand to wipe away the tear at the edge of her eye as she set down the picture. “Now there was something else you wanted to say in regards to this little incident before getting back to our original meeting.”

“Yes My Archon,” the head of the LIC answered. “I found young Melissa’s answer to what she was trying to build rather astounding. As you are well aware, we were able to procure a number of other electronic devices that, like Melissa’s DS, originated from the planet referred to as ‘Motherload’. One of the problems that our scientists have been having in fully utilizing many of the devices, particularly the devices that have been identified as being computers, is the inability to integrate any of them with the similar technology we now have beyond utilizing what one of the scientists called, ‘a rather crude patchwork of circuits, cables, and chewing gum’. As such a number of the scientists were suggesting to look at the theoretical literature regarding Star League era computers and their interfaces to see if a more proper integration system could be developed to maximize the abilities that we are seeing in the various devices. In particular, one of the methods slated to be attempted is….”

“The method that Melissa attempted by herself?” Katrina finished, a look of disbelief on her face as she realized that Johnson was not joking. “Mein Gott…how did she…?”

“Indeed, that is what I am wondering myself,” Simon calmly stated as mentally he began to go over how the security system surrounding the various projects would need to be checked for any leaks.

“I always knew…I mean…well, Melissa has always been smart for her age,” the Archon stated, still rather taken aback.

“The last time Melissa was tested she showed an IQ just a few points below the level considered to genius,” Johnson noted as he mentally recalled all the specifics and ran them over again to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. “If she is showing such aptitude now…. Well, there will need to be serious discussions regarding how you wish to proceed with her future education. However, before you make any decisions I would make the suggestion that her security detail be at least doubled and that a number of the old personnel be replaced and that the replacements be taken from Loki.”

“Loki?” the Archon stated rather surprised that her head of Intelligence would suggest using the division that was both secret police and state-sponsored terrorist. Katrina herself had bad memories of Loki, particularly how under her uncle Alessandro the fanatical agents had tried to kill her and then relentlessly hunted her, Arthur Luvon, and Morgan Kell until she had been able to depose her uncle and take over the Archonship. “Why them? Aren’t the guards she has now recruited from the best of our military?”

“Yes they are, but the members of Loki are fanatical in their loyalty, Archon. As you very well know, we recruit agents to Loki by taking orphaned children who have no family left at all. We then proceed to teach them and train them in nothing but how to be the best at covertly striking fear into the enemies of the Lyran Commonwealth,” the LIC head remarked, knowing full well just how brutal Loki agents became because of the near inhumane training they were put through, but deigning it so be a necessary evil due to the agents having a fanatical loyalty to the Lyran Commonwealth. “I know that you have had…poor experiences with Loki in the past but I assure you that I only suggest this in the best interest of the Archon-Designate. I have also identified several LIC agents and a few members of both the 1st and 2nd Royal Guards whom I believe to be members of Heimdall. With your permission they could also be recruited for the task and placed in positions to oversee many of the Loki agents.”

Katrina sat in silence for a moment as she contemplated the suggestion. She knew Loki and personally loathed their brutality. However, now that she was Archon instead of the commander of the 10th Lyran Guard she saw the need for such operatives even if she still did not fully approve of them. Heimdall on the other hand was a different matter. For the longest time she, like many in the Lyran Commonwealth, had believed that Heimdall and its members were the true terrorists and that Loki operated so brutally inside the Commonwealth in order to route out such terrorists. However, during her own flight from Loki and her subsequent rise to the position of Archon she had learned the truth regarding Heimdall. Heimdall was in fact, an unofficial department and in some ways an internal affairs safety valve for the LIC. Formed by agents of the LIC who had considered themselves patriotic Lyrans unwilling to accept the massive collateral damage that often resulted from Loki-operations, the members of Heimdall worked to curb the aggressive and brutal tendencies of the fanatical members of Loki in so far as in actions taken against Lyran citizens. It was because of the sacrifices of Heimdall agents that she, her future husband, and Morgan Kell had been able to escape the clutches of Loki long enough to bring an end to the repressive and destructive rule of her uncle Alessandro. In fact she had the sneaking suspicion that Simon, a loyal agent of the LIC whom she had promoted to the head of the LIC after asking her uncle’s handpicked man to ‘step down’, was indeed a member of Heimdall. However, she had never asked and most likely never would. Simon Johnson was loyal to her and the wellbeing of the Commonwealth, and that was all that mattered.

After contemplating the idea for several minutes Katrina finally asked the question that had been at the forefront of her mind, “Why this sudden change in Melissa’s protection detail? It can’t simply be because she’s begun showing aptitude for computers?”

“At first, no, but now it simply reinforces what I had already come here to speak with you about,” Simon stated as he pulled a medium sized envelope from inside the left breast of his suit’s jacket. “We recently received this information from Quintus Allard as part of the agreement that we have regarding information sharing between the Commonwealth and the Federated Suns.”

Taking the envelope Katrina opened it and took out the paper messages that lay inside.

“The messages came via the special couriers we have set up between the LIC and MIIO. I deciphered the message myself and no one has seen the deciphered message other than myself, Allard, and Hanse Davion,” the head of the LIC stated as he referred to his and his sovereign’s FedSun counterparts. “I will admit that the information that Allard and Davion convey is both intriguing and…troubling.”

Katrina Steiner, Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth, could only nod her head as she began to read through the beginning of the deciphered documents. She wasn’t even through the first page and already she could see what had captured the attention of her intelligence chief. The words lostech and ‘Motherload’ along with the acronym GDI stood out almost immediately. However, just as interesting as those were, another word stood out in particular…ComStar.

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[evilauthor]

MIIO Headquarters
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
16 January 3022

“So, you’ve completed the research project I assigned you?” Quintus Allard asked.

“Yes, sir,” the young woman replied. Kym Sorenson was young, intelligent, beautiful, and from the nobility. In other words, she was a near perfect new recruit for the MIIO, bright with promise and youthful enthusiasm. The project he had assigned her was ostensibly her ‘written final exam’, and not an analysis of a possible enemy. It wouldn’t do to have people – especially political enemies – thinking that he was taking silly rumors seriously. “It was fascinating… but not exactly what I expected when I joined up.”

“In our profession, Miss Sorenson, one must learn to deal with the unexpected all the time,” Quintus observed. “However, I’m glad you enjoyed the work. It won’t always be the case.”

“Of course, sir,” Sorenson said.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned?” Quintus asked.

“Of course, sir.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out a rather thick binder – it must have been stuffed full with a stack of paper around five to ten centimeters thick – and dropped it onto Quintus’ desk with a hearty thunk. “Here’s my full report, sir, a full analysis of the political and technological situation of early Twenty-first Century Terra.”

“Good lord!” Quintus muttered as he flipped open the binder and flipped through the table of contents.

“I’ll admit that it’s a bit much, sir,” Sorenson said nervously. “But I did have four and a half months in the Palace Archives to put it together and thought I should do a thorough job. In some ways, Terra of a thousand years ago is every bit as complicated as the whole of the Inner Sphere today.”

“Yes, yes, well done,” Quintus reassured her quickly. Meanwhile, his mind was searching for the names of analysts to examine this document. He certainly didn’t have the time to personally read all this! “Ah, perhaps you can summarize?”

“Oh, of course, sir,” she said, relaxing in her seat. “Please keep in mind that most of the documents we have in the Archives are second and third hand sources that often refer to older texts that we don’t have. Some of them even show an obvious bias by the writers, but reading between the lines, I think I managed to get an accurate picture of the time period.”

“In our trade, sources may not always be reliable,” Quintus observed. “Go on, please.”

“A thousand years ago,” Sorenson began, “humanity was of course all confined to one planet, fusion power was just being invented, and space travel was done expending absurd amounts of chemical fuel to toss ships on ballistic trajectories to other worlds. And for much of the century prior to that, Terra had been dominated by two rival power blocs instead of the five we have today.” She looked wistful for a moment. “In some ways, this era was actually more a Golden Age than the Star League.”

“Oh? How so, Miss Sorenson?”

“I know everyone says that the Star League was the pinnacle of human development, and it some ways it was,” Sorenson told him. “But the twenty-first century was when humanity changed from a planet bound species to an interstellar one. It was a time of dizzying change. Technological advancement proceeded at a pace that was pretty much never matched in later eras, even by the Star League. Every technology perfected by the Star League was invented in some form or another during or before this time period: holographic matrix computers, fusion drives, KF drives, even the Industrialmechs that would later be turned into Battlemechs. Trust me on this, sir. I did the research in depth and I don’t think our archived literature of the time does more than hint at what it was truly like.”

“Ah, so what were the politics of the time like?” Quintus asked.

“Hard to say, sir,” Sorenson answered, frowning thoughtfully. “I’m not being facetious. It’s just that the early years of the Twenty First Century was a time of major political change. The Cold War had ended with the Russian Civil War that eventually drew in the Western Alliance. In 2014, the Western Alliance emerged victorious and would be the dominant political power until James McKenna created the Terran Hegemony in 2315. They were for all intents and purposes the planetary government for this time period, and a democratic one at that. Offices and positions of political power were filled anyone who could convince the majority of the people that they were competent…”

“I know what a democracy is,” Quintus interrupted.

“Of course, sir. The point was that for a while, the Western Alliance made democracy work, at least for a couple centuries. Of course, the reason it worked was because it was confined to one world where today’s communication lags and bottlenecks don’t exist. And it worked for a world that was more populated than any world in the Inner Sphere is today.

“But in any case, the Western Alliance had emerged victorious and become the single most powerful government humanity had yet seen to date. And the next century was largely peaceful barring the need to incorporate the ‘Third World’ – essentially that era’s version of the Periphery powers – and raise them to the Western Alliance’s standard of living.”

“And what were they like militarily?” Quintus asked thoughtfully.

“Militarily… it was just insane,” Sorenson replied. “The nations of the time fielded huge armies for their given population sizes. Each of the major nations of the Cold War could each field armies to rival any of today’s House armies. And this was during peacetime! The Russian Civil War alone saw internecine conflict between forces with millions of troops originally intended to be used against the Western Alliance," She shook her head. "And that was before the Western Alliance threw in their millions of troops to restore order. At the end of it, the Western Alliance had an army that could have given Aleksandr Kerensky’s Star League Army trouble.”

“Surely you’re exaggerating,” Quintus said. “At the very least they had much more primitive equipment than Kerensky.”

“I wish I were, sir,” Sorenson said fervently. “Oh sure, their equipment was primitive by Star League or even today’s standards, but they weren’t all that far behind either. In their day, it wasn’t the tank that was the King of the Battlefield, it was artillery. And what I’ve read is that their artillery was far more accurate than any artillery since then, and artillery weapons haven’t changed all that much in the intervening centuries.” She paused and looked thoughtful. “Of course, it helped that they were confined to one planet and didn’t have to deal with things like variant surface gravity and planet rotational speed; the literature seems to indicate that you need to take those into account to get accurate artillery fire, and each artillery unit carried around a small library of books just to deal with all the variables.”

“So let me present a hypothetical scenario,” Quintus said. “Suppose through some magical or natural phenomenon, early Twenty-first Century Terra was displaced in time to the present day. How much force would be needed to take it?”

“Take it?” Sorenson said skeptically. “Sir, I don’t think it’s possible. The armies of the time were made up with citizen soldiers. The civilian populations were loyal to their governments and willing to fight to an unbelievable degree. Even assuming you could defeat the field armies – no guarantee there short of stripping the entire Inner Sphere of ALL its military forces and the Jumpships and Dropships to move them – you’d be presented with guerilla fighting on a planetary scale. I’m sorry, but it would be completely impractical to conquer any such world. You could try to destroy them with orbital bombardment, but we don’t have anything that can do that short of breaking out the nuclear weapon stockpiles. And I wouldn’t trust that would work either.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Western Alliance would have nuclear weapons too… and a lot more of them,” Sorenson answered. “At the Cold War’s height, there were enough nuclear weapons on Earth – and the missiles to launch them – to render any ten worlds uninhabitable. And I wouldn’t be surprised if my estimate is low. Luckily, they were never used, otherwise you and I wouldn’t be here talking about it.”

“Well, then, I’m glad that it’s impossible for whole planets to time travel,” Quintus said thoughtfully.

“Of course, sir,” the young woman agreed with a laugh. “Still, it shows how far we’ve fallen when even a ‘primitive’ Terra can outgun a Successor State.”

“Hmm, you do good work,” Quintus told her. Now, if only the little fact finding mission he had sent out found nothing, he could relax and go back to living in a relatively sane universe that didn’t have time traveling planets in them. “So, Miss Sorenson, how would you like an assignment on Antallos? This CSN have a mania for using obscure historical references and I’m sure the ambassadorial staff there could use an analyst of your caliber.”

FSJS Leonardo Da Vinci
Interstellar Space
Just outside the Grantville Cluster

“This can’t be possible!” Donna Madigan, navigator of the Jumpship Da Vinci, swore vehemently.

“What’s the matter, Donna?” asked William Duvall, the Jumpship’s captain.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Skipper,” Donna snarled. “The damn stars aren’t where they’re supposed to be!”

“Well, the old Star League survey charts that we’re using are a few centuries old…” Duvall again.

“But not by this much!” Donna told him. “None of the stars in the direction we want to go match up to the charts at all. Not their positions, nor their spectrographic signatures, nothing!”

“Maybe the Star League faked the original survey to hide something?” Duvall suggested, recalling his instructions for this mission, the very secret instructions that he couldn’t even tell his crew about unless absolutely necessary. When the head of the MIIO gave you instructions personally, you followed them to the letter.

“I thought about that too,” Donna told him in an ‘I’m not an idiot’ tone of voice. “But the actual stars I’m looking at look like the fakes, not the survey data.”

“How so?”

“I’m getting a match for them all right, but they’re a match for the stars around Terra,” Donna told him. “But we didn’t misjump into the center of the Inner Sphere because I can still see the star we’re at is nowhere near there!”

“Huh,” Duvall said, floored. When he had been briefed about this mission, neither he nor the man who briefed him had actually expected to find something like this. But his instructions did cover such a find and they had been very explicit. “Alright, Donna, start plotting more jumps, say three or four. I want to do a survey of the Cluster and see exactly how much of it matches the core of the Inner Sphere. Just one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Avoid Terra – or this Cluster’s version of it – and any other potentially inhabited systems,” Duvall told her. Oh yes, his instructions had been VERY specific. It was after all hard to report what you found if you were captured or nuked by any paranoid locals. “Once that’s done, we’re going home.”

Explorer Corps Regional Headquarters
Baliggora, Outworlds Alliance

Precentor Margaret Grey cursed she read another negative report. The First Circuit back on Terra had been slowly turning up the pressure on her to find this ‘Motherload’ or ‘Third Earth’ or whoever these new Periphery upstarts were. Unfortunately, she only had so many Jumpships that could only recharge their KF drives so fast, even using their fusion reactors fed by capacious fuel tanks. Grey had basically told the First Circuit as much. She had yet to hear back from them about it.

The current report on the screen in front of her was on the last former Outworlds Alliance planet on a certain checklist. The ravages of the Succession Wars had shrunk the Alliance, making them pull back from and abandon their outer Periphery holdings in order to stave off their neighbors. This particular planet was the last of those holdings to be surveyed and had turned out to be inhabited by people regressed to barely steam age levels of technology and almost certainly not ‘Motherlode’. That meant that the theory that ‘Motherlode’ was an ex-Alliance world would have to be tossed into the trash.

It also meant that Grey needed to come up with a new search strategy.

“Precentor?” Grey’s secretary called, interrupting her thoughts. “We’ve received a message from the other Regional Headquarters. They have orders to reassign several Jumpships to us. Currently, the Far Horizon, Frontiersman, and Outbound Light have been routed to us with more following when more Jumpships check in. They should begin arriving in eight months.”

“Thank you, Adams,” Grey acknowledged. “We’re obviously going to have to expand our logistical base. Start putting a preliminary list of supplies we’ll need for them.”

“Yes, Precentor.”

Let’s see, Grey thought. Since the old Outworlds Alliance territories were checked off, it was time to start spreading out. There was the Moore Nebula nearby; it had plenty of hiding places. The Nantucket sector had little more than a cursory survey done on it. The Grantville Cluster…

No. The Grantville Cluster had been rather thoroughly surveyed by the Explorer Corps only sixty years before and found nothing. The head of station at the time had been convinced that there was a hidden Star League facility there but nothing had been found, certainly no habitable worlds; those were a bit difficult to hide. Better to look elsewhere.