BT/Clancyverse Round Robin Story Thread.

[bluepencil]

HINODE Industrial Compact Test Facility
Hakone town, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan
21 January 2007/3022


Hakone was a town known more for its tourist spots (and being the setting of a certain controversial anime), a sleepy little place with a population of about fourteen thousand. Three months after the massed pirate attack against "Motherload", the national government in talks with the Heavy Industry conglomerates decided the place would be ideal for setting up their prototyping factories.

Two months later, the town's population had all but doubled. A pity that a few golf courses had to be sacrificed; but flat building sites were laid, airfields set up, and assembly plants were up and waiting for parts to arrive. Not unexpectedly, when truly motivated the Japanese Heavy Industry could put buildings up in a hurry; almost as if Gojira was on the way and some conveniently explodable city was needed as a decoy.

It was not just for sake of irony that the of heavy industry companies chose to build their 'mech facility on the site of what could have been Tokyo-3. There was, of course, no geofront underneath Hakone (to everyone's vast relief) but the mountains surrounding the area did provide seclusion and security.

Gora and Old Hakone were in easy reach through the Hakone Highway, however, that said highway had only one easily-blocked route to the east, towards the city of Odawara. The highway joined with the old Kyu-Tokaido road directly south of Mount Hakone, where there was a historic checkpoint. Beyond that, the highway merged with the Hakone Skyline road to the west; and the way out to the larger town of Gotemba was either through the Nagao or Kojri Pass; each again easily monitored.

Hakone was also on the connecting road between Tokyo and Kyoto. More importantly, Gotenba City to the west housed military facilities and a large training area for the modern Japanese Ground Self-Defense Force while Mishima City to the south and Odawara City to the northeast both had extensive sea and rail industrial and transport links.

Hakone was up on the mountains, but might as well have been an island. It was entirely self-contained, and supplies from the outside poured in a continuous stream. It was an information black hole, the pirates were kept in total isolation, and the Japanese public was not inclined to inquire too deeply into the secrecy. National pride was one thing, of course, but to build a battlemech was also business. Only a dog barks before he is prepared to show his strength.


Kakeru Apartment
JSDF Support Site, Hakone

Rick Cocker (or Riku Kakeru, as he preferred the locals' way of saying it) suffered because of the delay. Everyone else had adapted to the unlimited wellspring of weirdness that was "Motherload". As leader of their little band, he kept himself wound up, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The apartments were pre-fab structures, but extremely well-furnished. It was close to a hot springs inn, where the crew of the Leopard-class DropShip Daedalus were expected to partake of unlimited access to good food, happy company, nice long soaks, and mind-easing relaxation.
A short distance away was Gora, with its shops, temples, and old-time charms. Spending money was in no short supply, either.

He stared out at the restful mountain view. In his right hand he held a can of Coke. His father and Roy's father started the Skull Squadron mercenary unit. They had started off with [i]four[i] LAMs, three ASFs, and four light and medium 'mechs in a Lance. They were a very flexible recon and raiding company operating off two dropships.

Slowly, bit by bit, the years ate away at the families. Roy's father died first in some skirmish with the Mariks, then Davion ASFs destroyed one of the dropships, removing half of their number in one swoop. The years afterward had not been kind, whittling their assets down to just five 'mechs, the heaviest being Roy's 45-ton Phoenix Hawk.

Now Roy Gunter was dead. Rick had never really wanted to become a leader. His wife, Lisa, or Claudia, Roy's girlfriend... they would be so much better at it, but they weren't MechWarriors. The Demi-Lance and the supporting crew were now his to command. He could lead them nowhere.

He had to continually remind himself that he was not being held by Kuritans, that these people all loathe ever being compared to the scions of the Draconis Combine, but it remained that he was chained to the ground by hostages. They took away Roy, he had a right to hate them, but they intentionally made it so difficult to hold a grudge.

What kept ringing warning bells was that he knew that they knew that he knew it but they refused to act upon it. They were too polite, too considerate, and slowly a debt of honor was building.

Buron Cavalry, for example, was called to assist in the strike on Antallos. It was a loss of face to both him and the Japanese government that they could not do more to help, but a Light Lance was totally redundant there.

He was redundant here. He sighed. The Nippons were far more interested in their mechs than the mercenaries. The 'short-term' security contract was a joke; who maintained security over whom?

"I'm ready. Sorry to keep you waiting." The sliding screen door opened, and Rick turned to see his wife in a dazzlingly white uniform. 'RDF cut', his mind supplied, with the boldly-colored collar and all. Her long brown hair ended in curled bobs over her shoulder and under her neck.

Lisa Hales Cocker huffed. "I look ridiculous, don't I?"

"No, no, you look GOOD!" Rick quickly replied. She was seven years older than him and did not look it. Lisa had despaired of her serious, mature looks when younger, but as the years passed she changed very little. Just as beautiful as the day Rick realized he was in love.

"I know where this came from. I look like -her-." Meaning Misa Hayase, of course. Lisa adjusted her husband's collar and pushed a few curly tendrils of hair off his forehead. "Well, they got your messy hair right, at least. Our hosts are obsessed about turning dreams to reality... I'm still not sure if that's a good thing."

"Well, we now have Macross-style uniforms, Macross-style battlemechs, I'm pretty sure if they could actually build the SDF-1, they won't hesitate." That, he had to admit, would be awesome.

Lisa laughed lightly. "Quite."

Their people had adapted in different ways. The moment, the very exact INSTANT, that their technicians (and Ben) saw the SDF-1 undergo Modular Transformation in the Macross anime, they were hooked.

'Oh lordy, it is a crime that something this cool does not exist. How soon can you make something like that?! I want to help!'

They were like children. Max and Miriya were even worse. He had to worry about all of them.

There was a knocking at the door. Rick looked at his watch. "Okay, we still have about enough time to make it." The watch was one of those new devices with a touch calculator and mini-TV on its LCD screen. Rick was still getting used to the idea that he was wearing a goddamn computer on his wrist.

Lisa smiled again. She understood her husband's fears. "We may not be the stars of the show, but let's not disappoint our hosts too much, neh? Let's go."



Tokaido Road
Hakone

They did not talk much while inside the car. Very early on, Rick and Lisa had come to the horrid realization of what these Earthers, these Motherloaders, considered spying devices. Privacy was an illusion. Sure, they had given their word that no monitoring was going on, but it was not like Rick and the others could ever really know.

'It's what I would have done!' he thought, while watching the countryside go by. The passing of a year meant that the Nippons would have already squeezed out almost everything that they wanted to know. He had been extremely cooperative in their 'discussions' about light mech and infantry tactics, much like the rest of his overly grateful crew.

They had grown soft, used to luxury. None of them wanted it to stop.

Adapted? He almost snarled. Tamed, more like it. A large part of him was relieved, apart from a few incidents at least all their children were doing well. A life away from the battlefield... it was something he thought he would never be able to give them. It was almost worth his pride as a MechWarrior.

His gaze flicked to his wife. She understood that faintly panicked expression. 'Think they'll ever let us fight again?' he wanted to ask. A cook cooks, a painter paints, and a MechWarrior... without his skills, the opportunity to use them, Rick felt as if he did not really exist.

'Today, we will know.' Lisa tried to convey with a nod. She was getting annoyed at having the Daedalus used as nothing more than a lift service for satellites and equipment.

It was deeper than just feeling useless, she saw. The line between a mercenary and a pirate was a thin one, and even thinner still between a renegade, out-of-luck unit and someone who had no choice but to hit someone just to survive. Vorax's call for merc units was windfall for mercs reduced to just a single lance. The disaster that was 'Motherload' put even that to shame. They did not have to worry about anything, about starvation, about selling 'mechs and turning into a dedicated support outfit.

They were a family, a collection from all over the Inner Sphere bound not by ideology or greed but loyalty to each other. Nevertheless, a lot of their crew former Kuritans. It was just too easy to slip into conditioned obedience. Nippon was paradise to them. It was everything the Draconis Combine should be to its citizens. What Rick feared was being absorbed. Cultural poisoning. His family would lose itself amidst a society that did not really care about each of them.

They would forever be gaijin, foreigners, barbarians from beyond the stars. The children had some early trouble with that, and Rick remembered her daughter coming home crying and spitting about how the other kids were so stupid, so -weak-, 'they don't know anything but they get everything'.

--

He remembered the strange meeting with the elementary school principal.

Rick came from the Combine border. Lisa was from the Davion world of Lyceum. He offered his apologies and tuned out the conversation after that.

"The reed bends in the wind, and thus does not break."

"And it is men who build homes out of stone, against which the wind itself smashes itself in futility. She is the daughter of a MechWarrior, and too many of her family had already died to protect her birthright."

"This is no longer the Inner Sphere, Kakeru-san." the old man's voice held a warning note.

"Yes, it IS. Your people are one planet among thousands. My daughter will not grow up to be some pampered house -toy-. A part of her is -samurai-, and if those useless little girls can't deal with one of them having the skills to fight for her life, then they shouldn't have been stupid enough to think they could get away with it."

"Do not forget that your people invaded our world. You are here under our good graces. It would be most... unwise... to disturb the harmony of our school."

"Do not forget, sir, that you cannot ignore the rest of humanity out there. Your school may be safe and warm, but out there... is injustice, and hatred, and murder. Just as my daughter needs to learn to live a life of peace, so must your children realize that she will someday go back into that, to try to find some way of making it better.

Your GDI cannot solve everything by itself... for one thing, unless you mobilize most of this world's population, you would lack manpower. We... Spheroids... would have to fight for our own future. That is our right.

Forcing us to obey without explanation, refusing to accept the validity of our culture, or preventing us from defending ourselves; is the lack of honor we expect from any Successor Lord." Her smile widened. "The distance between you and the Kurita... would you care to demonstrate it some more?"

The principal adjusted his glasses. "You must understand that this cannot go unpunished."

"Oh, of course. Punish her. She will not complain. My daughter is -not weak-." She felt her husband's hand on her shoulder. She did not know just where to direct her own anger and frustration. "... do please warn the other children become more prudent. It is... ill-fitting, for a society supposedly so free, to be so... intolerant."

Strangely enough, Max and Miriya's twins, Dana and Flaro, had even less problems fitting in despite looking so obviously different. Like their parents, they had dyed their hair. Dana's temper was worthy of a Meltrandi, but her brother's thoughtful reticence brought admiring looks from the girls. Puzzled, he later asked "I keep -ignoring- them! Why would they even like me? Look. GO AWAY YOU VAPID LITTLE DRONES!" (squeals of glee) "See? It doesn't make sense! Nothing on this deranged planet makes any sense!"

--

"The nail that stands up gets hammered down." Lisa said later to everyone in the crew. "It's fine to be cooperative, but don't fall into the trap of trying too hard for rewards and approval. It's good, isn't it? This is a nice place to live in, it wouldn't be too bad if we never ever left, right? But we will always be gaijin. The more you try to become like them, the more they will reject you. The more you try to become part of their unique social order, the more they close up and shut you out.

But... as we learned from Miriya... they would tolerate being open and loud. Or just plain weird, like Max."

"Hey."

"But that's why I married him." Miriya cooed.

"Embrace that which makes you different, and the more they'll try to accept you. It makes them -prove- that they're a tolerant people, that have learned from the mistakes of their war-mongering ancestors. Let them prove that they changed... and let's all pretend, them and us, that the roots of the Draconis Combine aren't too close to the surface."

'And that's why I married her.', Rick had mused at the time, grinning proudly.



Second Floor Lounge
HINODE Research Center


Hakone was actually composed of several small towns, complementing each other as a greater tourist/spa region. The HINODE Industrial Compact had its main office in Motokone, south of Mount Hakone and around the southwest tip of Lake Ashino. It was a squat, chromed building that made jarring contrast against the artfully-arranged wooden buildings just a few blocks down. For some strange reason, the juxtaposition between old and new also appealed to the Japanese mind, so the local home-owners did not protest too much.

Or more likely, the increased tourism money the facility would provide when the security lifted.

Rick and Lisa were met by armed guards, who saluted first before escorting them in. Once inside though, the pair were left on their own.
The first floor held offices of mundane utility, mostly public relations and meeting rooms. The second floor was all for show. It was
mostly empty space, and the walls had either large windows or LCD wall-filling screens. Faint J-pop was in the air.

The people clustered into cliques; military folk discussing the potential uses of the technology, news from Antallos, and so on. The scientists and engineers looked nervous, unwilling to voice any details about their designs. Businessmen talked in hushed tones about their deals. The dignitaries and newsmen tried to mingle, but they did not have much information of their own to offer.

"Captain!" A tall man with exceptionally thick eyebrows and eyelashes raised his hand and approached. He wore a buttoned-up lab coat, with the nametag LANG. "And... Captain." He added with a grin towards Lisa.

"Emil, hello." Rick answered back, after an ethusiastic round of shaking hands. "It's been almost a month since we last saw you. Having fun?"

"Fun?! Hah! Do you have any idea how many nights of sleep we gave up just to get things -less likely- to fall apart, not to mention fuction, for the deadline? But it was fun, yes."

Lisa carefully looked around. "Would you care to show us around, Emil? Pretend that we haven't see any of this before?"

"Why, certainly, cap'n!"

Emil was thirty-seven years old, and had maintained their 'mechs just as his father had for Rick's father. Among the crew of the DropShip Daedalus, he had the easiest time adapting. The Nippons had no choice but to include the man who actually knew how to repair the LAM.

Disdain, being treated like some ignorant savage able only to parrot information; he could deal with that. He could deal with Kuritans. Very soon Hinode's engineers realized that for all their advantages in the scientific background, they still lacked even the most basic idea of how to put together a mech that KILLS. Quickly, efficiently. They thought of the battlemechs like a toy, a MECHA, completely missing the BATTLE part of battlemech.

"It took them many, many tests with the PPC we stripped from the Daedalus to accept that maybe making something smaller and lighter isn't as important as being able to take a hit and keep on ticking."

"The balance between cost and performance." said Lisa.

"Exactly. It's sort of pointless if they're building battlemechs for sale to the Inner Sphere."

"Still, wouldn't it be worth it simply to NOT get damaged as easily? I know the Nippons already altered our battlemechs with their scary-good sensors." Rick looked doubtful. A mech all filled up with 'lostech' would ironically be too good to risk being lost in battle. Another thing that might mean they would never be allowed off the planet.

"Actually, since most of our 'mechs cost between two to three million C-bills, I'm not sure how they keep arriving at the exact number without a running inventory, it doesn't really add much to the cost. Except that because the things are meant to be replaceable, the parts alone would be damn near worth a whole new mech by itself."

Stands, signs and booths showed the history and elements of battlemech technology. Rick's attention lingered on the old Mackie.

"What? But they can stamp out hundreds of these things." He had grown to deal with that the 'lostech' around him wasn't exactly lost, but it was boggling how so cheaply they could distribute the things. "You could pick up buckets of them."

Lisa nodded. "They're cheap and easy to obtain, here. But one world among thousands, remember?"

"Yep. Which would be easier to steal, a whole 'mech or a box of their tiny, tiny, targeting computers?" Emil shrugged. "Besides, it's not just LAMs they're building. They can be elegant a bit when it comes to the LAMs, since they know whoever wants it can afford the extras, but it's not going to make them any real money."

Lisa looked at the clusters of black-suited businessmen. Their faces were somber. The whole enterprise left many companies operating at a loss.

They walked around, discussing things only useful to those planning to run a merc unit unsupported for long stretches. They were mostly ignored, no longer 'news'. Emil brought the two to a row of pods on raised frames. The pods jerked left and right, up and down, and made loud sounds.

"Mech simulator pods?" Lisa's voice held approval.

Emil shook his head and gestured over to another display stand, containing a partially-disassembled MechWarrior escape pod. "No, actual cockpits. They insisted to GDI that every cockpit delivered can act as its own simulator. It won't have the 'rumbling' effect like those trainers, but under each chair is supposedly enough storage capacity to choke an HPG station."

"Why?"

Emil shrugged. "Something about a 'learning computer'. They don't really understand how the neurohelmet works, and what they can't understand... they don't trust. You've seen how these people try to figure out everything, right?"

Both nodded. "So... this is the cockpit we're going to use from now on?" It didn't look too different from the old version. The main screens had been replaced by larger LCDs, the canopy had nearly double the thickness of the odd 'transparent-but-still-almost-as-good-as-regular-armor' material. "What's with the armature?"

"Their targeting computers are different than ours. Theirs do all the aiming on their own, even when to pull the trigger, sounds kind of lazy, doesn't it? The neurohelmet blocks that when it comes to weapons in the arms. The Mechwarrior has to make a conscious decision to move the arms, and that means first he has to see the enemy before he can react. There's always going to be a delay."

"From how fast people can react and for the servos in the arms to move, right?" Lisa noted. The Nippons could mess with the computers all they liked, but there was always the physical advantage of skill. MechWarriors were each different, and a fraction of second was worth the difference between being respected or Dispossessed.

"Their computers -are- faster. Much faster." Rick grumbled.

"You know about force feedback, right, Captain? What this does is subtly nudge in advance the pilot to where he should point his arms. It works better with the 'plugsuit', since that would also warn about hits."

Lisa leaned closer to the display. "Interesting. Can the Inner Sphere copy this?"

"Well, they could, but they would need a Targeting Computer first. Those things are heavy AND expensive." Emil grinned. "But, as you can see, every cockpit we make will come with its own Targeting Computer. This is the GDI 'Small Cockpit', half the size and weight of any other in the Inner Sphere but with all the C3 capabilities of things three times heavier."

"I thought GDI was pushing for the 'double-seat cockpit'."

Emil let the moment hang a bit. He knew real reason. "Ah, yes... for 'situational awareness', they say. LAMs have to worry more about weight and should be mobile enough to gather their own recon. Mostly, being smaller also means it's easier to eject the pod as a whole."

"What about the things you're building that are -not- LAMs?"

"The Guardian Mobile battlemechs? They can have either double or single-seat cockpits depending on their roles. We'll probably end up using the single-seat Small Cockpit for export versions, since the feedback system is something that MechWarriors can understand."

"Why pay for two pilots when you only need one?"

"Right, captain."

Rick remained silent, lost in thought. When he spoke again, his tone was faintly accusing. "Emil, the Nippons have been pressuring me to outright SELL my father's mech to them. Even Roy's Phoenix Hawk."

"I... sorry, captain. If you ask me, it sounds like a good idea."

"And they did ask you first, didn't they? Why don't you tell me why being Dispossessed would be a good thing?!"

"You wouldn't be Dispossessed, exactly. Now that the Nippons have finished working out their RX-GNDM and RX-GM designs, they're ready to produce a better LAM based on the Phoenix Hawk."

"I will not give up my father's 'mech just for some shiny new Earther toy!"

"With all due respect, sir, she's an antique! She barely belongs on the the battlefield, where almost everything else is a threat. If we're going to be working for the Nippons, or anyone else, we're going to need bigger, more powerful mechs just to survive."

"That doesn't mean it's any better to just have her cut up and used as spare parts. An honorable end in battle..."

"Would kill you, sir." Emil sighed. "Stingers -are- flimsy."

"Well, maybe there is some other way of getting reinforced without having to give up our 'mechs..." said Lisa, trying to calm everyone. "Maybe a lease, or something like that." In a whisper she added "Rick, new 'mechs might mean they need us to do something that requires a stronger lance."

Louder now "Emil, can you tell us anything about what they want us to use?"

"Hmm... I can't really say, since there's still a lot to smooth out, but... you know they've been trying to duplicate conversion mechanisms to turn the other BattleMechs into Land-Air Mechs? Watch the demonstration later. It's going to be like that, only... better?" Emil's smile was weak and apologetic.

Rick still looked sour.


HINODE Demonstration Site
South of Lake Ashino

Hakone could not support proper Proving Grounds, it lacked enough flatland. Proper testing would have to be done elsewhere, maybe near Okinawa. There was a gantry for the DropShip Daedalus, so there would be no problem moving mechs around the country. However, for a little 'dog-and-pony' show it was sufficient.

The delegation had gathered in a small refreshments hut in what used to be the Hakone Kurakake Golf Course, directly south of Lake Ashino.
It was chosen because of its remoteness. Wild shots would have to cross the lake first before hitting anything valuable, or smack into the mountain range physically separating Shizuoka and Kanagawa Prefectures. The breeze off the lake kept things cool, despite that it was almost noon.

"Why is Shigeru Miyamoto here?" asked GDI representative Colonel Ronald Gallagher, discreetly gesturing with a cocktail glass.

"Because the best control system is one that doesn't constantly remind the pilot he is inside it." answered Dr. Nanbara. Nintendo was more than just a games company, it also dealt with hardware and artificial intelligence; incredibly, Wii architecture proved useful in providing a 'handsfree' interface for the mecha.

It was another major doctrinal stumbling block for the designers, that the neurohelmet interface was barely-understood technology, therefore Earth's equipment should not rely on it so much.

"Oh, Doctor Nanbara...!" a jovial rotund man approached and made a pitiful attempt of trying to bend on his stomach. Dr. Nanbara just extended her hand for a western greeting.

"No, no, no... you waste your words here, Gottleybu-sensei. What for, in finally carrying our share of the load? One does not congratulate the runner who lags behind, who edges back into the line."

"You do yourself, and your people an injustice, Doctor Nanbara. No matter how one looks at it, a whole new battlemech in under a year is a miracle."

"No, we cheated. The mecha you will find here, hah! They dare call it Earth's first home-built battlemechs? Without the... resources scavenged from Antallos, the production roadblock would never have been overcome." Dr. Ikumi Nanbara dismissively waved.

She looked positively tiny next to Dr. Hendrik Gottleib, who seemed more of an amorphous blob out of an impressionist's easel than a metallurgist, and Colonel Gallagher, seemingly a solid slab of dark muscle. In contrast her features were icy-sharp, eyes wide behind large round glasses, and much as her behaviour made her unpopular with her colleagues so did foreigners flock to her refreshing, if occasionally abusive, frankness.

"Have you met Colonel Gallagher, Gottleibu-sensei?"

"Oh, ja, yes. I believe we have met before. Hmm, how are those mech-scaled vibroblades doing for you?"

"They're... quite useful, Doctor. Thank you." Personally, he thought the two tons for the devices were wasted, as GDI sought to destroy the enemy well before they enter close range. "The new battlemechs may have more use for them, though. The ones we use don't exactly have useful arms." He turned to Dr. Nanbara. "If you're a cheater, doctor, then we're swindlers. We started out with many 'mechs to fiddle with, while you had to figure out how to build one from scratch."

"The reputation of the... may I say, Nipponese? as wizards of reverse-engineering and miniaturization is well-deserved." The round man's laugh was loud, and seemed forced.

Dr. Nanbara hid her mouth. "You are too used to thinking of us, and it is perfectly fine to say Japanese, as business competitors. Remember
that as it -is- business, we must also compete against each other inside the system."

The Japanese were far more likely to develop and patent the process rather than the product, for dominance of a superior model would only last so long until competitors could duplicate and improve upon the model.

Dr. Nanbara worked for Toshiba, world's largest producer of semiconductors, which a home field advantage by being able to draw a lot of man-and-brain-power from Mishima and Odawara. However (likely in part of her personality) she could never have participated in the V project, were it not for Professor Rei of Waseda University's personal request for his crisis team. Waseda University had as its alumni the CEOs of Toshiba, Honda, Mitsubishi and the co-founder of Sony.

The market crash of the nineties rubbed the seemingly invincible veneer off the keiretsu (otherwise known as crony capitalism), but loyalty was still the defining virtue. Dr. Nanbara found it tragicomic.

Professor Rei and his team ran roughshod over company scientists and engineers (backed by the support of big industry's top leaders) into ever simpler, easily reproduceable systems. Ironically, it the 'motherload' of surplus equipment from Port Krin (GDI was extremely careful not to refer to it as 'loot') that could finally get things going simply by leapfrogging many 'elegant' but impractical solutions. That Rei-sensei had deliberately stalled research on some projects to focus on others, had earlier brought frustration and criticism. It turned out that he had saved them a lot of unnecessary effort.

Dr. Nanbara flicked a look at Prof. Rei, who like her was a child of 'mixed blood'. A Nobel Prize winner, much as he brought a 'common-sense' approach to the utterly fresh field of true mecha engineering, he had very little sense when it came to his own life and relating to other people. His students often had to protect him from, well, himself. Distractedly he followed an officious-looking middle-aged man in a trim black suit. HINODE Vice-president Akametsu approached and greeted the Colonel.

"Colonel Ga-lagu-heru... it is an honor to speak with you again." The reedy man bowed. "May I introduce Aru-tur-o Morino Rei-sensei, our Project Chief?"

The soldier bowed. "Pleased to meet you, professor. And might I say...?" He blinked. "That is a truly -righteous- 'fro you have."

Prof. Rei bowed perfunctorily, and resumed staring off into the distance. "Hm? Yes. Nabeshin managed to infiltrate the last Inter-Departmental Poker Tournament and I lost a bet."

"This is supposed to be the second-most secure place in Japan. How can anyone just infiltrate it while dressed like Lupin the Third?!" Dr. Nanbara muttered under her breath.

-

A small stage held a panel of important observers and commentators. Rick was there, his white uniform and Prof. Rei's lab coat the only things brightening up the row of black suits. A man holding a microphone, some senior management official from a company, bid rote thanks and greetings to the assembly. "We are ready to begin. Gentlemen and ladies, please direct your attention north."

Two shapes skimmed the surface of the lake, v-lines intersecting. They approached quickly, veered off just before reaching the shore, letting those watching behold the distinctive silhouettes of the variable-geometry fighter planes. Valkyrie VF-1s, both painted flat white, with a black skull mark at the nose cone.

Gazes briefly flicked to Rick Cocker, now commander of the pirate group that attacked Japan. Their Lance only possessed one transforming Stinger LAM. The other, therefore, was a conversion.

The planes looped around and came to land. Thruster pods bent down out, becoming like the back-bent legs of a chicken, powerful jets still burning off the end of vectoring nozzles. Those thickened nozzles served like toes, as the the planes touched down.

There were grinding noises and metallic clanking as the planes bent into themselves. Wings folded back, the nose-cone bent down, the center frames split in halves, and cyclopean heads emerged. A blue stripe ran down one of the LAM's chest. That meant Max was its pilot, the other one with the red stripe was Miriya's mech; the Wasp.

Applause greeted the successful ASF to BattleMech conversion.

"We now know how to successfully convert existing Stingers, Wasps, Phoenix Hawks, and other battlemechs based on the VF-1 into LAMs. We may now attempt to create new LAM chassis suitable for rapid response."

"Is there any point to having transformable mecha?" one of the reporters asked. "Wouldn't the conversion equipment mean that they would never be as tough as ground mecha or as fast as fighters?"

Rick answered that. "They're usually used as scouts, since they're faster in the air than any other light mech can hope to run, while still being able to land and inspect more carefully. Of course, since all LAMs are VSTOL, we're also able to guard or observe places normally unreachable by other battlemechs."

"By using a EndoSteel frame and the lighter Small Cockpit, there is no weight penalty for the conversion equipment." Prof. Rei added, yawning.
"Well, not for the Wasp, at least. We waste half a ton with the Stinger, and one ton up to the Phoenix Hawk."

"LAMs, unlike conventional forces or battlemechs, can enter from orbit on their own. Drop pods, at least from what we know of what the Inner Sphere uses, make for slow and vulnerable targets, while DropShips are...unsubtle. This makes LAMs useful in surgical strikes against defenses or raiding behind enemy lines, and adding our stealth technology will only add to that." JSDF representative Shino Matsunaga finished up.

More questions erupted. "Please, please...." the announcer sought to regain control. "the demonstrations are not yet over."

"You are cleared for phase two." said Control from a neaby bivouac.

"Are you ready, dear wife?"

"Hah, just try to keep up, dear husband." Miriya replied, grinning fiercely.

The two LAMs switched back to Gerwalk mode and moved down the short airstrip. Once they had enough speed, they switched back to Fighter mode and burst up into the air.

A warning wail filled the area. "This is a live-fire test." came over the speakers. "Please remain in your assigned areas. Repeat, this is a live-fire test. To avoid accidents, please remain in your assigned areas."

The two LAMs burned to get as high as they could, kilometers up into the air. The Wasp was chosen for conversion because the HINODE designers were still unsure of having something that can break into orbit on its own. The engines fitted to the Wasp was not taken off a captured ASF, this one outright -bought- from the ASF-reliant Outworlds Alliance rather than looted off Antallos. Neither 'mech was equipped for the heat of re-entry, that was another test for another day.

Instead, at a satisfactory height, the two LAMs switched back to Mech configuration, their leg jets pulsing. Max and Miriya had an interesting relationship, as much lovers as rivals. The two LAMS swooped and bobbed and made acrobatics in the sky, releasing colored flares for effect. Soon enough however, it was time to go to work. They switched back to Gerwalk and waited, hovering. Targets popped out from the lake and from the nearby hills.

"The Stinger and the Wasp are thirty and twenty-ton mecha, the lightest in use. This often means that they have much less firepower and more fragile than any other battlemech that they encounter. Even medium vehicles are a threat."

Miriya transformed her Wasp into Mech/Battloid form and dropped in free-fall. She whooped excitely, before firing her foot jets to try and slow down the descent. The targets had darkened the air around her with clouds of simulated flak.

"Speed and long-range attacks seem the best method of minimizing its vulnerabilities, but the standard loadouts of both mechs were Medium lasers, Machine Guns and Short-Range Missiles, forcing rare and valuable machines to close in to fight where they might more easily be destroyed."

Miriya snapped out three Medium Laser shots in the space of two seconds, coring three targets. Their guns fell silent. She landed upon one of the pontoons, the platforms easily supporting twenty tons of weight. Tracer rounds burst her way, and she took cover behind the frame of the destroyed bullsye.

Miriya looked at her rear camera and fired at the nearest target with the rear-facing Small Laser mounted on the back of her Wasp's head. It took three hits before the target's computer marked itself as destroyed.

Her computer began registering hits from the hills. From on high, twin white streaks emerged from wing pods of Max's Stinger, still in Fighter mode. The missiles exploded at targets two kilometers away, and leaving her free to act.

"The easiest solution was to replace their dumb-fire Short-Range Missiles with our own self-guiding Long-Range Missiles."

Miriya began jumping from pontoon to pontoon, destroying targets on the way. Her computer marked her armor being chewed up by simulated AC/2 fire. Unlike Max, all she had were directed-energy weapons.

They even had to switch to a smaller, less-powerful 110 Fusion Engine brought from Antallos. She grinned again. But so what? Her Wasp used to have two tons of armor, a single Medium Laser and an SRM2. Now she had four tons of armor, THREE Medium Lasers, and a head-turret Small Laser. She transformed back to Gerwalk mode and started to strafe at the last remaining row of targets.

"Hah, I dare anyone think my Wasp's easy prey now." She had the firepower to take down 'mechs ten, even fifteen tons over her weight. For a twenty-ton 'mech, the lightest in use, that was almost insane. The fragiity of the mech she inherited meant never before could she really fight as she wanted.

Unfortunately she knew that HINODE turned her scout 'mech into a combat-capable version just to prove that they could. No matter. She could deal, as long as they gave her one of those new LAMs based on the Phoenix Hawk. Miriya licked her lips. Now what could they do with forty to forty-five tons instead of twenty?

"Energy weapons do have the advantage of never running out of ammo and cause good damage for their weight." the announcer as saying. "However, we still do not have many Lasers or PPCs, and there is a critical shortage of the smaller Fusion Engines required. This is why we are moving to a heavier chassis for the standard LAM, as there are more viable components for Medium mechs."

It as Max's turn to shine. He had an easier time of it, being that the Stinger had ten more tons to devote to weapons or armor. However, he remained in Gerwalk mode and by small jinks right and left somehow managed to avoid steams of computer-guided fire.

He launched two more missiles, then inexplicably zoomed forward, switching back to Fighter mode and racing his own missiles. The missiles won, of course, exploding targets on either side as Max suddenly switched modes and landed feet-first onto the hillside.

There were several large bright-LED screens that allowed visitions to follow the action. Gun-cameras from the targets showed only a brief flicker of white before being taken out.

Two Medium Lasers served well enough, and the Stinger ran cooler than the Wasp. Max demonstrated how to fight on steep slopes, using trees for cover, where no tank could really reach.

"Show off." Miriya huffed.

Soon enough, he too was done.

"Please prepare for phase three of the demonstration."

The two LAMs moved to near the shoreline. The second phase was easy, the targets were motionless after all. So the third phase should be against moving targets. Max and Miriya increased power to their sensors.

"Mech power-up detected." their computers warned.

Max barely had the time to notice the blip before there was the distinctive shriek of a PPC bolt cutting through the air. His displays fizzled out, and his mech in Gerwalk form crashed into the ground. "Oh." he said woozily. "A hit."

"Max!"

"Don't worry dear, this may be a live-fire exercise, but that was still a powered-down shot. The computer says I 'lost' most of my armor and one of my Medium Lasers."

"You will be avenged, husband. I will make sure the children will cherish and honor your memory." Miriya switched to fighter mode, zooming close to the ground and following the shoreline.

"Uh, dear? I'm not dead."

In Fighter mode, the Wasp LAM could only bring to bear one Medium Laser and one Small Laser. In Gerwalk, it could fire one Medium Laser and One Small Laser forward while another Medium Laser faced to the rear.

There was the shriek again, and a blue streak of energy passed uncomfortably close. It would have hit, if Miriya wasn't in the middle of a frantic fighter-to-battloid transformation in mid-air. She rolled and hit the ground hard.

PPCs had power, but also long refire rates. Miriya looked up to see the enemy emerge from cover. It was painted mostly white, with its upper torso blue, and carrying a shield that was eye-catchingly red.

"So this is the Gundam they're so secretive and so excited about..." Miriya whispered. Her computer noted it probably weighed fifty-five tons. "Oh, if only my husband was around. It looks like it has no long-range weapons other than the PPC."

Missiles streaked towards the Gundam. It hunkered down behind its shield, while Miriya took the chance to rush it.

On a private channel, Max said almost poutingly "Dear, you suck."

"Mmm."

Max now chuckled. "Have I told you 'I love you' lately?"

For the purposes of the exercise, Max's Wasp's missiles were repurposed LRM-5s, turned into LRM-2s. A ton of LRM-5 ammo usually had 24 missiles, HINODE split that into two hardpoints on either wing. He had the choice of either shooting off pairs of missiles to conserve ammo (like an LRM 2), or in pairs of three (like an LRM6). No one could really explain why is it that LRM launchers were in multiples of five but their ammo came in multiples of two.

He launched six missiles, and a few seconds later six again. A stream of tracers shot out from one of the holes in RX-GNDM head, left of the V-fin on its forehead. Eight out of twelve missiles were taken down by its head-cannon AMS, while the rest slammed into its shield.

Miriya's three Medium Lasers ate away at its shoulder and arm armor. Then, to her horror, she found at that the GNDM's right arm, holding the PPC, rested over the left arm holding the shield. It was pointed her way right from the start, when she thought that rushing from the left meant it would have to make an obvious move to bring its weapon to bear.

There was a flash, and a simulated kill. Miriya's Wasp powered down.

"Miriyaaa.... ahem. No, wait. MiriYAAAAA."

"Oh just shut up and kill this thing."

More difficult than it looked, for Max only had a single salvo left. He swooped down, in close range the AMS wouldn't have time to calculate and react, and his single Medium Laser might just score a lucky hit. The precious seconds while the PPC cooled down was his only chance.

The GNDM stood up and nailed his LAM right on the nose with three Medium Lasers. Then, as if to add insult to injury, the PPC again much sooner than he had anticipated.

"The shield contains additional heatsinks." Max noted as his mech crashed and powered down. "I guess there is a point in fighting defensively, right, dear?"

"Humf." Miriya crossed her arms over her bountiful chest. "I don't see no dead people."

"Aw..."

-

"Please be reminded that the performance of the LAMs in the demonstration is not indicative of the LAMs to be produced. As much as the VF series is intended for fast reaction strikes, the RX series are intended for the defensive. The Stinger and the Wasp are simply too light to compete as scout mecha, this is part of the reason why we are urging for a larger standard chassis."

Rick wasn't sure of what to feel. Max and Miriya had been humiliated out there, they were sent out to be knocked down. The pair didn't seem to mind, however. Even combined, their 'mechs weighed five tons less than the GNDM, the Gundam, a high-performance machine that would likely never see production.

It was the GM that mattered, a cheaper, scaled-down version for export.

The GM itself showed up at last, five tons lighter than the prototyping GNDM. The battlemech was painted an eye-searing orange. Like the GNDM, it had hid, powered-down, under camo netting nearby.

"Ben, what the hell?"

The orange GM waved at the crowd. "Hi, boss!"

The reporters were throwing questions around, and the panel was hard-pressed to answer them.

"How is the GM armed?"

"We don't have yet what they call omni technology, but the GM is capable of handling almost any ballistic weapon in its arm mounts and any energy weapon in its torso mounts. We are giving it a 'Improved Rifle' or the 'Variable Autocannon/5', three Medium Lasers, and a 20mm Vulcan Cannon that can double as an AMS. It should be enough for most things around its weight class. Customers who want better firepower or ammo independence will have to wait until we have more energy weapons."

"Can we mass-produce the VF or the GM? What is the most important factor limiting their production?"

"The lack of buyers is the obvious limit. From a more practical point of view, we cannot build any more mecha until we have more Fusion Engines and Reactors. The VF series are reserved for GDI's Marines and specialist units, and will likely never need to be 'mass-produced' in quantities that will impact other combat vehicles. GDI has already reserved twenty-four mechs, four lances of GMs and two squadrons of VF-1s, from the initial production run. Of course, this relies upon us first getting twenty-four new reactors."

"What can you say about the rumor that battlemech manufacturing will soon be moved away from Earth?"

"There are practical reasons for that. BT materials tend to be tougher and cheaper, and relocating production to somewhere they are more readily available, like Antallos, would also speed up production by assuring steady supply. Manufacturing battlemechs on Earth would mean shipping components from Antallos, then a completed battlemech back to Antallos, all before anyone can buy them. This would save time and costs."

"Isn't that a risk? Antallos is an obvious target."

"We are only relocating manufacturing, not the research facilities. There will of course be some scientific initiatives there, but not to the extent that it would threaten Earth if they are stolen, sabotaged, or destroyed. Profit, for battlemech manufacturers, is not going to be affected by distance from corporate headquarters."

"What about the battlemechs themselves? Won't giving the Inner Sphere better battlemechs make them more of a threat? Isn't it giving up our own advantage?"

"That is Comstar thinking. Earth has nothing to fear from battlemechs. Earth has no real need of battlemechs. It is why we are focusing on WarShip construction. Selling battlemechs would bring in currency while allowing our allies better means to defend themselves from predation."

On and on and on. Rick felt sick. He had managed to ignore it, to disbelieve it, but he could deny it no longer. These people, this planet, had all but declared war (even if cultural) over the entire Inner Sphere.

His family were under the care of madmen. A different sort of madness from the House Lords, of course, but still he felt things spiraling out of control. Others who had nothing but wealth, revenge or glory might accept this, but he simply could not trust his family to this great sweep of idealism.

The arrogance of it! A thousand years and hundreds of regiments could not change the Inner Sphere, how could a single world hope to affect thousands? How?! Even if the land beneath his feet was Earth, undeniable cradle of humanity, even Terra had grown insignificant in the passing of time. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. He did not understand. Nonetheless, he wanted to fight. He was a MechWarrior.


-
-

[evilauthor]

Township of Al’Isard
New Dallas
Former Terran Hegemony
October 2006/3021

For all its Texan cultural trappings, Colonel Wayne mused as he sat across the table from the local leaders, the planet of New Dallas had some decidedly non-Texan cultural artifacts. The town’s name for example suggested Arabic origins except that ‘Isard’ certainly wasn’t Arabic; Wayne actually wasn’t certain where the name originated from. Even individual names of the people he had been introduced to tended to run the gamut of different cultures on Earth.

Wayne put it down to the cultural mixing in the intervening centuries that he had heard about. God knew, his own version of the United States was getting pretty mixed even before the Drakon had first dropped into New Zealand.

“I must say, Colonel, the news you have for us is a might disappointing,” Boss Tycho Jefferson was saying. ‘Boss’ seemed to be an official title, somewhere between ‘Mayor’ and ‘Landlord’. If it was an inheritable title like so many in the Inner Sphere, the lack of deference shown by the other locals seemed to indicate that he wasn’t abusive of his power… or that his power was more circumscribed than elsewhere. “On the other hand, we been left alone since the Rain o’ Fire which from the sounds of it, was quite a blessing in disguise.”

“I imagine so. Mister Jefferson,” Wayne told him. “As near as we can tell, everyone else in the Inner Sphere has basically forgotten you exist, and the few that do remember think your world has been rendered uninhabitable.”

“Yeah, about that,” Sheriff Colton spoke up. “It’s my job to enforce the law around these parts and you people are breaking it by sitting in the Old Capital City. For your own health, I gotta ask you to move out of there.”

“If you’re talking about radiation poisoning, Sheriff, I assure you that we’re taking every precaution possible,” Wayne assured him.

“Precautions?” Jefferson asked, intrigued.

“Yes. When we decided to set up base here, we did it specifically because we heard that no one would be living here,” Wayne told them. “We also heard why, so we came equipped with every radiation detection and protective gear we could pack into the Dropships.”

“Really?” Jefferson mused. “Could we perhaps… I dunno… borrow some of this gear? Despite the injunction against going into the Old Capitol City, some people still do anyway, risking their life and the lives of any little ones they might yet have.” Wayne noted that he was careful not to mention the two such individuals that had made first contact with the GDI party. “Course, we have to punish them, but that’s always just a slap on the wrist, especially if they bring back something useful.”

“Boss!” Colton objected.

“Now, now, Bubba, you know it’s true,” Jefferson chided him. He turned back to Wayne. “Truth is Colonel, there’s stuff we need in the ruins of the old cities, things we can’t make anymore but which make life so much easier. You understand?”

“The Inner Sphere calls it lostech,” Wayne commented.

“Lostech… yes, that has quite the ring to it,” Jeffereson said, seemingly tasting the word. “So you’ll understand why I ask for your stuff.”

“I understand, Mister Jefferson, but it’s not necessary.” Wayne raised a hand to forestall protest. “As it happens, we’ve been running every test we can think of looking for hazardous levels of radiation and quite frankly, they’re all coming up negative. From what my people can tell, any radiation hazards left over from the… the ‘Rain of Fire’ centuries ago have long since died away. The ruins are perfectly safe to visit… well as much as any ruins are.”

“Safe? For real?” Jefferson said, surprised, awestruck, and… Wayne could have sworn that he just saw Jefferson’s eyes change into dollar signs, complete with the sound of a ringing cash register.

Suddenly Wayne wondered if he had made a mistake.

Old Capital City Ruins
New Dallas
Former Terran Hegemony

It was an odd procession of vehicles that wended its way through the debris choked streets of the ruined city. At the head was a bright orange muscle car originally built during the hey day of the Star League. Following it was a drab green humvee built in the closing years of the twentieth century. Following it was a flatbed HEMTT of the same vintage. And following them was a Javelin battlemech whose original build date was sometime in the depths of the Succession Wars.

Doctor Williams had to remind himself that this only looked strange to his Earthly sensibilities. Using disparate things together that had been built centuries apart from each other pretty much passed for normal in the Inner Sphere.

The lead vehicle pulled to a stop. Bob and Luke climbed out of the General Li as the others did the same behind them.

“Is there a problem?” Williams asked as he stepped out of the passenger side of the humvee.

“Naw, the place you want is just around the corner,” Luke said, pointing to the appropriate corner. “We just gotta go on foot from here.” He grinned and winked at Williams’ driver, Major Sonja Delacruz. “Place is cursed, don’t ya know.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous!” the Javelin’s current pilot, one Captain Howard Tiffany boomed over his external speakers. Without waiting for a reply his mech took one long stride for the corner.

“Wait…” Williams began.

Too late. Williams had barely begun when Tiffany’s Javelin cleared the corner. An instant later, a laser pulse seared itself into Williams’ vision as the beam flashed through the void just between the mech’s torso and arm, striking the ruin behind the mech in a thundering explosion.

As the people on the ground rushed for cover from the sudden raid of debris, Tiffany reacted instantly and backpedaled his mech out of line of sight of the shooter. He was partially successful, managing to get out of line of sight, but also tripping on a van sized piece of building that had been sitting in the middle of the street. The Javelin went over backwards and came down with a ground shaking crash.

“Tiffany! Are you okay?” Williams shouted.

“It missed me!” Tiffany replied over the loudspeaker, obviously shaken. “It was just three goddamned hundred meters away and it missed me! How the hell can it miss me?!”

“I’m telling ya’ll, place is cursed,” Luke commented with a laugh.

“Goddamn it, Tiffany, you better not have busted that mech!” Williams shouted. “If you have, if you so much as make another move without our say so you will no longer be a mech pilot, you hear? So help me God, if you endanger yourself or anyone else again, you will be spending the rest of your stay on New Dallas doing every shit duty imaginable and some I’ll personally invent for you. Do you understand me, soldier?!”

“Clear, sir!”

“Okay,” Williams said, calming down and turning to his local guides. “Now what was it that took a shot at Tiffany over there and how do we deal with it?”

Township of Al’Isard

“My friends,” Jefferson began, addressing the assembled people of Al’Isard. “Thanks to our new friends from the stars here, we are entering a new age. The poisons that plague the Old Cities are gone. It is now safe to go and reclaim the lost… the lostech of our forebears and reach new heights of prosperity.

“However, let’s not just go rushing in,” Jefferson went on. “Who knows how run down the Old Cities have become with the passing generations. We need to watch each other’s backs after all, make sure everyone is safe, organize…”

“And you’ll be doing the organizing, won’t you Tycho?” one of the citizens jeered.

“Naturally, Jesse,” Jefferson replied. If he noticed the sarcasm, he gave no sign of it. “I’ve spent my whole life organizing people. I ain’t called ‘Boss’ for nothing.”

“Sure, and I’ll bet you’ll charge a fee for anyone who wants to go,” Jesse went on. “Lord forbid we just walk over there with our own two feet.”

“Now, now, we are talking about the safety of the people going there…”

At this point, Wayne tuned out the argument starting over how to best loot the ruins. No one was paying any attention to him anyway and it wasn’t really any of his business. And he really did need to check in with the rest of his people.

He stepped out of the Town Hall. His humvee was parked on the cobblestone street in front of it. Captain Petronova waited with it, surrounded by and apparently entertaining curious local children. She stood up to attention when she noticed his approach.

“It goes well, sir?” Petronova asked.

“At the moment, the people here seem more concerned with looting the ruins than attacking us,” Wayne told her. “Of course, that doesn’t mean that their people won’t trip over ours while exploring, but at least we’re not at the ‘shoot on sight’ level of relations.” A large number of the Al’Isard citizens in the Town Hall had been carrying firearms if primitive ones that wouldn’t have been out of place in the late 19th century, making Wayne think he was in the Old West rather than on another planet. On the other hand, the planet was named ‘New Dallas’ after all. “Actually, I think I may have started a Gold Rush in there.”

“Gold Rush, sir?”

“Yeah, only with lostech instead of gold,” Wayne said. “Even if the locals don’t realize it yet, they’re going to have a problem with claim jumpers, armed robbery, and a flood of people from towns farther away looking to make a fortune.”

“Oh, American history, correct?” Petronova asked. At Wayne’s nod, she went on. “I’ll admit that is not a specialty of mine, but I have watched a few Westerns.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not seeing any way we can head this off,” Wayne told her. “Anything come up while I was inside?”

“Nothing but the regular check in, sir,” Petronova said. “But the children here have some interesting stories.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, shortly after the ‘Rain of Fire’, people were trying to rebuild some semblance of civilization,” Petronova told him. “But there was a problem with marauding gangs attacking communities and looting valuables. Civilization might have been totally lost right there, except that a single hero would often come out of nowhere, defeat the bandits, save the town, and presumably die heroically in the process. Except that this hero would show up in many places, save many towns, and defeat many gangs. This man is apparently idolized by the majority of New Dallas.”

“This couldn’t have been a bunch of different people doing the same thing in different places?” Wayne asked, not seeing the relevance to the present.

“Maybe,” Petronova said doubtfully. “But this hero figure was named ‘Max’.”

Wayne stared at her incredulously. She smiled back.

“I watched those movies too, once,” she added.

Old Capital City

“Doctor, this is crazy,” Major Delacruz told Williams.

“Nonsense, Major,” Williams replied as he double checked his gear, making sure everything was securely attached. “You heard what the boys said. That laser turret’s got a dodgy targeting system. It’s either too old or just not designed for shooting at people. As long as I don’t present a stationary target, it can’t hit me. We do need to get past it to get into the cache after all.”

According to what Luke and Bob had to say and confirmed by the recording made by Tiffany’s Javelin, the entrance to the Star League bunker was guarded by some kind of sentry turret with a laser. The area immediately in front of it was a kill zone as evidenced by the remains of several centuries old mechs littering it. But those same mech corpses provided perfect cover for people on foot if not for battlemechs and vehicles. The trick was simply to not expose yourself for too long; if you didn’t, the turret simply couldn’t hit you.

“Doctor, may I remind you that neither Luke nor Bob have actually ever tried entering the cache? The thing might get more accurate as you get closer to it,” Delacruz pointed out. “But that wasn’t my point. My point is that you’re one of this expedition’s leaders. Someone else should run the gauntlet. Let me do it.”

“Low man – or woman – on the totem pole, Major?” Williams shook his head. “No way, not this time. If it becomes necessary to hack the computers to shut off that turret, I’m the one most qualified to do it.” He turned around, facing the open area where the kill zone was. The first shelter should be off to his immediate right. “Okay, wish me luck.”

He took off at a sprint.

The laser blast scored the ground a twenty meters from his position, the beam passing more than a meter above his head and several meters behind him. The second shot struck after he reached the sheltering bulk of a downed mech that was far too mangled for Williams to identify. Taking a breather, Williams cautiously made his way to his left before sprinting again to the next mech.

The next two sprints went much the same way, with Williams occasionally having to shift course due to the lasers hitting the ground in front of him. But the biggest problem was the last hundred meters; there were no more sheltering wrecks in the kill zone.

“Okay, this ain’t a problem,” Williams said aloud, trying to convince himself. “I just have to zig zag and it can’t hit me, right? Right?”

The wreck seemed unimpressed, but said nothing.

“Okay, one, two, THREE!”

Williams ran for all that he was worth, dodging laser beams for all that he was worth. He was pretty fit, exercised regularly, especially on the trip out from Earth. But he was also weighted down with gear that hadn’t felt so heavy when he started out. And it didn’t help that the laser seemed to hit closer and closer with every shot. But he was almost there to the entrance. Fifty meters. Fourty. Thirty. Twenty…

At about ten meters, Williams tripped over an unseen pothole and went sprawling practically right in front of the laser turret. Looking up, he froze as he saw the energy weapon zero right in on his position. His life practically flashed right before his eyes.

”Bzzzt! I’m sorry,” the laser turret suddenly said with a voice that sounded a lot like the late Majel Barrett Roddenberry. ”But your ten thousand shot demonstration of the GM Sentinel 2800 has expired. To fully activate this system, please contact your nearest General Motors sales representative and purchase an authorized activation code.”

“Son of a bitch,” Williams muttered as he got up and dusted himself off. He made a mental note to write an apology to certain software distributors back on Earth. Suddenly, certain business practices didn’t look as bad as they used to.

[Tyrchon]

GDI Training Grounds, Outskirts of Port Krin
Antallos, Periphery
January 5, 2007/3022

Standing in the shade of a canopy that someone had fortunately erected to try and ward off the blazing sun that shown upon Antallos, Major Andreas Staedele of the Buron Cavalry raised his field glasses up to his eyes. Looking out onto the training ground he saw a number of fresh volunteers from Port Krin and the other city-states on Antallos going through a basic fitness evaluation. This was the second round of testing for this batch as the GDI Foreign Legion had already chosen the best recruits from the initial batch since GDI command had given the Legion first pick. Right now it was the turn of the Buron Cavalry to see if they wanted to pick up any fresh faces. Truth be told, Andreas already had his eye on a few new people that the Legion had not picked up, two of them even had their own Mechs. The biggest problem though was the loyalty he felt to the Cav.

After getting shoved through the meat grinder that had been the battle with the 21st Galedon Regulars it had taken every last C-Bill to the Cav’s name to get the unit back into a fighting condition and after that the contracts had dried up causing the monetary crisis that had forced the Buron Cavalry out into the Periphery. Unable to pay some of his troops and facing a long stay in the Periphery, Andreas had been forced to let a good number of men and women buy out of their contracts. He hadn’t been surprised that some wanted out, especially considering that the Periphery was often the place merc units down on their luck went off to die either slowly due to a lack of supplies and money or quickly by fighting pirates or becoming pirates themselves. No, what had surprised him was that a number of old friends, men and women he had considered to be family, had decided to leave and take their chances solo back on Galatea rather than out in the Periphery.

However, since the ill-fated attempt at invasion of Earth and the hiring of the Buron Cavalry by President Jack Ryan things had finally started looking up for the Cav. Money was no longer as great of an issue and getting parts and supplies for the Mechs and vehicles as well as for his people had turned out to be far easier than he had imagined. What was even more surprising was the fact that the United States of America, who held the Buron’s contract even if it was currently on loan to the GDI, had not tried to ‘Company Store’ them like a number of people and groups back in the Successor states would’ve. Sure the Cav wasn’t close to the level it was before tangling with the 21st, but it was getting better everyday and gaining strength far faster than Staedele had ever dreamed possible. Things were going so good that he had even sent messages to Galatea to see if any of the former Cav members wanted to hire back on. Of course he had needed to get permission from his employers for this first, but he had understood why. Earth was a sorely tempting target for anyone who thought they had what it took to come in and grab it. Security was paramount to protect the world, unspoiled by the fires of the Succession wars as it was, and that meant keeping any potential troublemakers and spies away as long as possible.

“Not the prettiest looking bunch I’ve ever seen,” Captain Celic ‘Ned’ Nedeljko commented from where he stood next to Staedele. “But then we aren’t lining ‘em up for a beauty pageant now are we.”

Andreas nodded in agreement. Most of the men and the few women out there were rather sloppy and unfit, not having had to do basic training in years or ever. Their looks weren’t that great either.

“Bah,” Captain Marc Johnson growled form the other side of Staedele. “Give me a few weeks with them or even time with some of the drill instructors back home and they’ll be in shape enough to at least not accidentally shoot one another.”

“Or us,” Celic offered with a smirk. “I’d hate to have come all this way, survived a nuclear death trap, and finally gotten to see the Cav start growing again only to wind up KIA because of friendly fire. Just think of how that would play out in the news back home…’Tragedy struck today when the heroic and handsome Celic ‘Ned’ Nedeljko was accidentally shot by a hick the Buron Cavalry had hired on at Antallos. Loved by his friends and comrades, Nedeljko was…’.”

Staedele tried his best to tune out humorous obituary that Ned was composing for himself, he tried even harder not to laugh when he heard a few of the ‘choice’ words Marc quietly spoke at how Celic was describing himself. However, at the same time Andreas Staedele was also slightly troubled by what both men had inadvertently said. Both had referred to Earth not as Earth but rather as home. Staedele had been discussing similar slips of the tongue with his wife over the last few days as Marie had also noticed many of the Cav’s members referring to the wayward planet in a more familiar and loving tone then what should’ve been expected.

Would he one day start referring to Earth as home? Would he even notice if he did? And what about his daughter Esther and the other children of the Cav who were currently back on Earth? Were they going to start thinking of it as home? Did they already think of it as such, for that matter? He had heard of merc groups turning local and/or becoming House units, but….

Giving a quick shake of his head to try and clear away the somewhat confusing thoughts Staedele turned his attention back to the potential recruits he was supposed to be evaluating. If someday a choice needed to be made then he would make it then and there, not before. Whatever happened though, the Buron Cavalry would stick together, that he promised himself.

“Ah there’s my boy.”

Pulling his binoculars down Andreas turned slightly to look towards Nedeljko who had spoken. The man was currently following a group of volunteers who were running through the makeshift obstacle course that the GDI had setup. Though the GDI Foreign Legion had gotten first pick Staedele had still sent his XO to check out the first round to see if the Legion might pass over a few diamonds in the rough. Apparently they had.

“Which one is he,” Marc Johnson asked, turning his own binoculars towards where Celic was indicating.

“He’s the kid with the unkempt brown hair currently coming up to the first wall,” the XO of the Buron Cavalry stated, “the skinny looking one.”

“They’re all kind of…,” Johnson began to say but paused before speaking in slight surprise, “Wow, look at ‘im climb. Kid’s got to be part squirrel or something.”

Turning his own binoculars towards the object of his two subordinates interest Staedele was a bit surprised to see the young man in question. Moving rapidly the brown haired boy was making short work of the walls and other obstacles placed before him. How’d this kid not get picked up by the Legion?

“Do we have a name for him?” Staedele asked, the first time he had spoke since he begun observing the potential recruits.

“Yeah, got it right here…,” Ned spoke as he picked up a clipboard from a nearby table. “Name’s Cody…John J. Cody. Age 19 years Terran standard, height 1.7 meters, weight 68.3 kilograms. Small little guy, ain’t he? Applying to be a Mechwarrior, but has experience as a tech working in his family’s salvage business. Doesn’t have his own Mech but isn’t listed as being dispossessed either. Based on that and his apparent age I’d say he’s never actually piloted one in combat before. Says here that he passed the written exam with 83% correct and passed the physical fitness course with a…94% rating. His sim scores are fairly average, but then if he hasn’t been able to pilot all that much then he will probably get better with more experience.”

Staedele frowned as he listened to the stats being read off. This…Cody was pretty darn good, far better than many of the other applicants. So why hadn’t the GDI picked him up for the Legion?

“What’s his background say?” the leader of the Buron Cavalry asked.

Flipping a page Celic grunted, “Huh, that’s odd. The kid only listed the Federated Suns as his origin, left nearly most of the other entries blank. Didn’t write down a whole lot else except for a few details regarding his experience working as a tech…. Oh….”

“Oh, what?” Andreas asked, already having a good guess in his mind but waiting for Celic to confirm it or not.

“There’s a note here from the GDI Intel boys,” the XO of the Cav said calmly. “Says the reason he wasn’t picked up by the Legion was because of his lack of background info and the suspicion that he lied on his application and during the initial interview. They say that they think he might be a potential ‘plant’ sent from one of the Successor States.”

“Can’t be,” Marc Johnson remarked with a scowl, “Spooks know better than to try and stick out this much. If he was supposed to be a spy the kid would’ve filled in every entry perfectly and have an airtight story behind him.”

Staedele silently nodded his head in agreement. The few spooks he had encountered back in the Sphere had always tried to be as slick as possible when dealing with him and people not directly in their chain of command. There was the possibility that this kid was a spy and simply using the reverse tactic of trying to provide as little information as possible in the hopes of tricking his way in but…. No, if he was to make a bet it would be that this John Cody was most likely hiding something personal out of the fear it would get him turned away. Still….

“Anything on there from Dansel or Hale?” Andreas asked, knowing that either officer, most likely both, had probably interviewed the kid during his evaluation with the Legion.

“Not really,” Celic remarked as he flipped through a few more pages to see if he had missed anything. “Just says that they met with him. There’s nothing about why they didn’t pick him up.”

Moving his left hand up to his chin to rub it as he thought, Andreas Staedele used his right hand to place his binoculars back into the small pouch he wore on his belt. If neither Hale nor Dansel had listed anything for this guy, what did that mean? The two usually left at least some inkling as to why a candidate had been rejected…or at least that was the impression he had gotten when he skimmed through some of the paperwork on the ride out to the testing grounds.

“What do you want to do?” Marc asked, looking only slightly away from the group he had been watching.

“Ned, have him come in for a ‘meet and greet’,” the leader of the Buron Cavalry said, deciding he’d talk with this John J. Cody before making a full decision. “I’ll be in the tent waiting. Marc….”

“I’ll keep my eyes open out here,” the leader of the Cav’s infantry stated, turning his binoculars back to watch the groups of potential recruits as his boss walked towards large tent set up nearby.

Walking briskly in order to avoid being out of the shade and in the burning Antallos sun for too long. Major Andreas Staedele was never happier then when he got to the portal of the large, sandy colored tent. Feeling the coolness of air-conditioning hit him as he opened the actual door that had been installed into the tent, the CO of the Buron Cavalry let out a contented sigh.

Honestly, the folks from Earth really did have some of the best toys. Forget for a moment all of the fancy electronics and computers that they had in abundance, forget the multitude of vehicles he had seen on the streets back on Earth, and forget the fact that they could not only replicate technology he had grown up with, and yet still barely understood at times, but also improve upon it. No, right now the thing he found most marvelous was this tent.

The Deployable Rapid Assembly Shelter or DRASH for short had been invented by the Americans, Staedele had found out, after they had fought a number of engagements in the deserts of Earth and had found that their old tents were simply too heavy, bulky, and hot to be carted out around and set up easily. The DRASH was easily divided up between a team of 6 or even 4 soldiers and then could be rapidly assembled almost anywhere it was taken. Even more impressive Staedele found was the fact that the tents could be linked together to form larger command centers and that electrical generators could easily be incorporated with the tents. But then such a thing would be necessary the man recognized, seeing as how lights, computers, and, best of all, air-conditioning had been thought to be things that that would be beneficial and necessary for a tent that could serve as a full command post. Oh the Inner Sphere had its share of command tents and mobile command posts Staedele knew, seeing as how he had been in many of them before, but none of them were as easily made, assembled, transported, or modified as the DRASH was. The things were even sealed to protect against biological and chemical attacks, though with the Ares Conventions such attacks were a remote possibility, but then nuclear attacks were also supposed to be unlikely and he had seen firsthand more nuclear blasts in the course of a single day than any other person outside of the First Succession War had.

“I’ve got to look into seeing if they’ll let us buy a few,” the Major noted to himself as he found the foldout armchair near a folding table that a GDI soldier had set up for him upon his arrival earlier in the day.

Nodding to the GDI soldier that handed him a cold canteen of water from the fairly good-sized refrigerator that hummed on one side of the tent, something else that Staedele greatly appreciated seeing as they were on a hot and dry desert world, Staedele watched the GDI personnel go about their business checking over the paperwork generated by the numerous applicants who toiled outside in the hot sun. Sipping the water in the canteen slowly the CO of the Buron Cavalry didn’t have to wait long before the door to the tent opened and in walked Celic Nedeljko followed by a rather hot, tired, and amazed looking John J. Cody. Watching the young man follow the older Mechwarrior, Staedele noted that Cody was much smaller than he initially thought he was, not just shorter but thinner as well.

“Mr. Cody, please, sit,” the leader of the Buron Cavalry stated as he indicated the foldout chair across form him that was empty. “It’s pretty hot out there. Care for some water?”

The young man stood uneasy for a moment before taking a seat and then nodded his head in the affirmative. Only a moment later Captain Celic Nedeljko handed the red faced ‘recruit’ a fresh canteen, the brown haired young man nearly dropping it as he flinched at the sudden cold touching his hot skin.

“Thank ya’ kindly, Ser,” the tired and terribly anxious Cody drawled before taking a sip from the canteen.

Watching the young man drink the water down steadily Staedele leaned back slightly in his chair. ‘Ned’ had gotten a canteen for himself as well and was now standing just behind young John Cody. They weren’t anticipating any trouble from the brown haired ‘recruit’, but then it never hurt to be cautious.

“I saw you out there on the obstacle course, Cody. You were moving through it pretty well, managed to even impress Marc Johnson my infantry commander. That’s not an easy thing to do,” Andreas stated calmly as he looked into the brown eyes of the young man in front of him.

“I’s just was doing what came natural, Ser,” John Cody stated, his slow accent bleeding through heavily. “Twas nuthin to it really.”

“Hmm,” the Major hummed before saying, “I’ll get straight to the point. Your test scores are better than to be expected for Port Krin and Antallos, your listed and demonstrated skills are impressive, and you seem to be a fairly confident Mechpilot. However, the GDI didn’t want you in the Legion. Why should I want you in the Buron Cavalry?”

Swallowing the water in his mouth Cody took a moment before answering, “As you sayed it Ser, I’s got skills ya’ll are looking for. Can’t right tell you why the….”

“Cut the crap!” Andreas growled forcefully as he stared into the eyes of the young man across from him. “You know what I’m asking you. No one with your skills and potential gets passed over without a damn good reason. By all rights you should probably already be in a merc unit or pirate group, but you aren’t. Instead you come looking to join the GDI’s Foreign Legion and when that doesn’t work you look to their mercenaries, mercenaries like me. Now this gets me curious. Why would someone like you come here looking to get in with us when you could easily get into somewhere else?”

Shaking slightly underneath the gaze of the Major, John Cody tried to reply, “Is ‘cause I don’t got no Mech of my o-….”

“Bullshit!” Celic Nedeljko stated forcefully, joining in on the conversation as he knew what Andreas was trying to do. “Mech or no, any number of the groups out in the Periphery would’ve picked you up…even if it was only for your abilities and experience as a tech. You know what we think? We think you’re some kind of spy…an agent sent here to gather intel on the GDI. The GDI think that too. So are you? Are you a spy?!”

“I ain’t no spy, Ser!” the brown haired recruit responded quickly and heatedly.

“Then what are you?” Major Staedele asked, leaning forward in his seat ever so slightly, all the while looking for the hint of a lie. “Your file says you’re from the FedSuns, but your accent isn’t from the Draconis March or even the closer provinces of the Crucis March. You could be from the Capellan March or the lower part of the Crucis March, but that still leaves the question of how you got all the way out here to Antallos.”

“I…I…,” the young man stuttered, the look on his face a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and…reticence?

“Tell us the truth kid,” ‘Ned’ said, as he crossed his arms and stood firmly behind the seated recruit. “If you do we promise that we’ll make certain tha-….”

“I can’t!” John Cody nearly shouted, interrupting the older Mechwarrior. “If…if I tells…. If I tells ya the truth then ya’ll send me away! Jus’ like dem Legion fellas did!”

“Not necessarily,” Andreas calmly replied, deciding that the young man needed only one more ‘push’ to tell them everything. “However, if you don’t tell us the truth then you most assuredly will get rejected…and most likely taken in for questioning by the GDI as to whether or not you are a spy. The GDI aren’t a cruel bunch, but they also aren’t ones to take chances with their security.”

Sitting there in the chair under the close scrutiny of the two Buron Cavalry officers, John J. Cody felt himself fidget as his emotions and thoughts warred with one another over what he should do. Looking around the tent the brown haired young man noticed that many of the GDI personnel and soldiers present were looking over at him either openly or somewhat discreetly. Feeling the eyes of nearly everyone present burning into him the young man’s thought flashed to the all the stories that he had heard of spies and interrogations as well as thinking about the possible consequences to him if they should decide he was a spy.

“Ah-…alright. I’sa tells you the truth,” the young man with the unkempt brown hair said quietly.

“Good,” Staedele commented, his plan having worked. “Why don’t you tell us where you’re from exactly?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat Cody replied nervously, “Ridgebrook…down yonder in the Capellan March.”

Hearing the name of the planet ‘Ned’ let out a low whistle, “That’s near the border with the Concordat. You’re a long way from home.”

Seeing the nervous young man nod slowly in agreement Andreas spoke, “That’s a prefecture capitol. What did you do their and why would you come all the way out here to Antallos?”

“Mah…mah family runs a salvage business back on Ridgebrook. We’s pretty well off, what with salvaging Mechs Duke Hasek-Davion wants, but Gran-dad likes to keep us all somewhat grounded so we’s know where we’s come from,” Cody stated, the explanation giving a hint as to why his accent was so thick seeing as how he had been born and raised on a prefecture capital. “Mah Ma just took over when Gran-dad retired not more than two years past.”

“So I guess that explains why you know so much about Mechs and can be called a tech,” Celic noted as he crossed his arms back over his chest.

Giving a swift nod John replied, “Yessuah, mah Ma had me with her nearly every day when she was working in ‘The Shop’. Same fer my older sis, ‘Lizabeth.”

“Alright, so answers where you’re from, what you did, some of who your family is, and such,” Staedele said as he made notes to have GDI intel look into later. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re out here on Antallos. If you were looking to pilot a Mech and see combat I’d suspect you wouldn’t have had much trouble joining the Capellan March Militia unit stationed on Ridgebrook or maybe even gotten into a spot with one of the more prestigious March units. If you were looking to become a mercenary…well Galatea and the other reputable hiring halls are nowhere near Antallos. Hell, even if you wanted to be a pirate, there are far closer places for you to go.”

Celic ‘Ned’ Nedeljko nodded in agreement with his commander. If the kid wanted to join up with a pirate band then the Pirates’ Haven cluster was far closer. Heck, even the Tortuga Dominions would have been a shorter trip than getting all the way out to Antallos and Port Krin. Something wasn’t adding up, heck a few things weren’t adding up.

“So I’ll ask you again,” Major Staedele sternly said, “Why are you out here on Antallos?”

“I…I…,” the young man stuttered, his nervousness having increased again. “I…. Is ‘cause o’ mah Da. I’ma looking for my Da.”

Hearing this, both Andreas and Celic saw Cody’s shoulders slump in defeat. The young man was either the best actor they had ever seen or he was the honestly telling them the truth now. It was time to find out which it was.

“Your father?” Celic asked, looking for any sign of deceit. “Why would you be all the way out here looking for your father? Wouldn’t he be back home working in the company salvage business?”

“No Ser.” John Cody stated confidently. “Mah Da was a Mechwarrior. Deh best the Ridgebrook CMM ever done saw. He could make his Centurion dance to a fiddle if someone got to the mind of play’en. He disappeared though…during a pirate raid.”

“But why would you come out here looking for him?” Andreas asked, legitimately confused. “If he was in the Ridgebrook CMM and was lost in a pirate attack he’d more likely be in the Confederation, the Concordat, the Pirates’ Haven, or even in someplace like the Magistracy of Canopus or the Tortuga Dominions. Raiders down in that neck of the woods don’t come all the way out here to sell off spoils or slaves.”

“Dat’s ‘causin he wasn’t lost back on Ridgebrook,” the young John Cody replied firmly. “He got lost fight’n out on Kesai IV.”

“Kesai IV?!” Captain ‘Ned’ Nedeljko stated, slightly dumfounded by the name of the planet that had just been mentioned. “That’s all the way up in the Draconis March! Hell, it sits right on the border with the fucking Combine! What in the Sam-Hell was he doing all the way out there if he was in the Capellan March Militia?!”

Major Andreas Staedele also wanted to know the answer to that. Sure, there had been scuttlebutt back when the Buron Cavalry had been in the Federated Suns that there was an idea floating about regarding trying to pull off massive interstellar war games…, but still? How did a Mechwarrior in the Ridgebrook CMM find his way up to the Draconis March? Sure Davion did like to shift troops around, but those with regional loyalties usually stayed in their home Marches. The only ones who ever had the potential to actually be shifted over to a different March were some of the elite combat units, not a March Militia unit. This just didn’t make any sense.

“I think you better start at the beginning, son,” Andreas Staedele stated coolly, his calmness a mask hiding the confusion he felt.

“Well ‘twas like this see,” John Cody began to explain. “Duke Hasek-Davion had to send his 8th Syrtis Fusiliers up to the Drac border about three years ago on account of the First Prince re-questing it, seeing as how the Draconis March Militia wasn’t doing too good and the Prince was getting pressured by them Sandovals.”

Celic and Andreas both nodded in understanding 3 years ago was roughly 3019/3020 and the Dracs had been running a number of raids over the border giving the Draconis March fits. The Sandovals hated the Combine with a passion as it was and Duke Aaron Sandoval, the current head of the March, had been incensed at that time over the raids. Sandoval had called for more troops on the border in order to launch his own raids back into the Combine’s territory. The Buron Cavalry had answered that call and made good money from it up until they had tangled with the 21st Galedon Regulars as their contract was coming up for renewal. He remembered the report around that time telling how a few Capellan March units and a few Crucis March units were being sent up to help out as well, but he couldn’t recall the names of the specific units being sent. However, that didn’t explain why a member of the CMM was out on the border when the Fusiliers had been sent.

“You said that the Duke had to send the 8th Syrtis Fusiliers,” Andreas voiced the question that was suddenly bothering him. “How did your father, a member of the Ridgebrook CMM, get sent along with them?”

“Well…,” the brown haired young man hesitated slightly. “Y’all know how there’s supposing to be some bad blood between the Duke and the Prince? Well, the Duke apparently didn’t wanna send the Fusiliers t’all, but then that there would’ve looked a might bit peculiar and disloyal, him refusin’ a re-quest from the Prince backed by them Sandovals.”

Once again both Andreas Staedele and Celic Nedeljko nodded in understanding and agreement. While neither man had ever met Hanse Davion or Michael Hasek-Davion it was not really a big secret that there was tension between the two. Supposedly it had started when First Prince Ian Davion had been killed by Yorinaga Kurita. Hanse, Ian’s younger brother, had been named as heir to the throne in the event of Ian’s demise should he not have a child and proper heir born of wedlock. Hanse’s right to succession had been challenged only by Michael Hasek-Davion, the Duke of New Syrtis, head of the Capellan March, and husband of Hanse and Ian’s half sister, Marie Davion-St. Claire. No one but a few people high up in the FedSuns’ government knew the exact details of what had occurred, but in the end it was plain as day that whatever had happened had left the two as less than friendly rivals. Oh sure, both men acted civilly with one another in font of the vids, but what was seen by the public was not what was always happening in private and it always seemed that when one man did something grand the other had to do something just a bit more spectacular.

“So how does you father fit into all of this?” Ned asked, voicing the question that Andreas also wanted answered.

“Well…Duke Hasek-Davion did as he was re-quested…well, sorta anyway,” Cody stated, his tone lowering slightly as if he was revealing a big secret. “Ya see Duke Hasek-Davion sent out‘ta call to all of the March Militias sayin’ that they needed to send a company of the best Mechwarriors, pilots, and infantry. Ya see he was….”

“He was creating a dummy unit to send in place of the 8th Syrtis Fusiliers,” Andreas Staedele interrupted, reaching the conclusion without Cody having to actually say it. “A bunch of smaller units from the militias…not enough to weaken the garrison on his worlds but enough to constitute an under-strength RCT. Let me guess, he put a few officers in charge of the unit and called it the 8th Syrtis Fusiliers Auxiliaries or something like that.”

“Yessuah,” John Cody nodded, looking a bit relieved that he didn’t have to say it. “Or at least that ‘twas what we’s was told. From things mah Gran-dad and Ma talked ‘bout the March Milita had done been told that a new unit was being formed to protect the March from the Cappies.”

“But instead Hasek-Davion gets to keep his Fusiliers where they are while sending a Fusiliers unit just like the First Prince asked,” Celic interjected with a look of disgust at the underhanded tactic. “I bet the officers he sent from the actual 8th were those he didn’t consider to be loyal enough to him.”

“Maybe,” the leader of the Buron Cavalry commented. “But if he did this then how come we’re just hearing about it now. I can’t think that Hanse Davion or the Sandovals wouldn’t have noticed, but it is possible. If the unit was already en route or arriving on station when the deception was noticed there probably wasn’t a whole lot that could do about it at the time. The Draconis March needed reinforcing and these were fresh troops they were getting, just not the exact ones they had asked for and been promised. Still….”

“It was probably some political backroom dealing that kept it from coming out and making them all look stupid,” Nedeljko offered with a frown considering the same type of dealing had put the Buron Cavalry on the chopping block and into such tight monetary straits. “Michael probably got a slap on the wrist and a stern, ‘don’t do it again’, while Hanse and the Sandovals got some sort of concession or other in return.”

“Hmmm,” Andreas hummed in agreement. “So I take it from what you’ve told us so far that your father made it to Kesai IV and then things went bad.”

Giving a sharp nod the brown haired young man replied, “Yessuah, though I don’t right know the details of what happened mah Ma and Gran-dad got a message from the AFFC saying that mah Da was Missing-in-Action after Kesai got raided. Said ‘twas pirates who’d done it, that they’d come looking to take advantage of the chaos and confusion the Dracs caused. It tore mah Ma up sumthing fierce getting that news.”

Major Andreas Staedele nodded in understanding. In the course of this career he had written and recorded a number of messages to inform the families of fallen Buron Cavalry members that their loved one had died or was missing and presumed dead. It was hard enough just thinking of what to say one of those messages, remembering how it was to actually receive one was…. With the command of the Burons being a family legacy Andreas Staedele knew exactly what it felt like to learn that a loved one was not coming home, that they had fallen in battle or worse…were simply gone. Now that he thought about it the Major felt old doubts and fears suddenly remerge, thoughts and feelings that chilled his core and made his stomach twist into knots. God, what would it be like for Marie or Esther if they got a letter from the GDI saying he was KIA or MIA? Marie would probably already know before any formal message since she was the Chief Tech and traveled with the Cav everywhere, but still…. What about Esther, what would his little girl think and feel and do?

Shaking his head slightly to try and get rid of the troubling thought, the leader of the Buron Cavalry asked, “What makes you think your father got carted off by the pirates? Or that he is even still alive?”

“Mah Da was a great Mechwarrior! He wouldn’t let no dirty ol’ pirate lick’em unless he’s was outnumbered or sumthing!” John J. Cody fired back quickly and with a bit of anger crawling into his voice. “They did’n find his body nowhere or any trace of his Mech! He had to have been taken by the pirates ‘cause he’d never just run from a fight! Mah Da is a great man! I know he’s alive! I’s just knows it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down there son,” Celic intervened as the young man started getting hysterical. “We didn’t mean to imply that your father is dead. It’s just that….”

“People who come out into the Periphery looking for miracles usually only find disappointment and death,” Andreas finished what Celic had not been able to say. “What makes you think that your father would have come to Antalllos anyways? If he got captured by the pirates that raided Kesai IV then he could be on any number of worlds on this side of the Periphery.”

Cody nodded, his brown hair falling down into his eyes, “I left home, a year an’ a half ago this May. I hopped a freighter head’n out to the Draconis March and landed on Mayetta two months later. It took me three months to find a ship heading for Kesai IV, but they wouldn’t take me on and I couldn’t sneak aboard so I had to wait another three to find one that ‘twas heading out that way and take me on as a tech. It took me two weeks to get to Kesai IV and I then spent the next week and three months talking to every person who’d seen the fight. All I got was that mah Da went out and didn’t come back. Then I heard a rumor in the spaceport that the pirates who’d raided Kesai had been spotted eleven months earlier headin’ to Antallos and sumthing about ‘a big score’.”

Andreas frowned at that little tid bit of info. That was almost the time period when the planning for the invasion of Earth had started and the pirates had started to gather for it. Had the group that Cody was looking for gone to Earth?

“Cody, the name of the pirate group you were trying to track, what was it?” the Major asked, hoping that he may be wrong.

“They’s was callin’ themselves ‘The Black Lightning Raiders’, Ser,” John answered quickly. “Why?”

“Just checking to see if the Cav or the GDI may have bumped into them,” Ned interjected before Andreas could. “I don’t recall hearing them mentioned amongst the pirates we and the GDI have tangled with so far.”

“You wouldn’t Ser,” Cody offered punctually. “It took me a month to find a ship and then two months of hopping ‘round the Outworlds Alliance before arriving on Antallos ‘bout three months ago. I’s spent everyday asking ‘bout them and everyone I talked to’s done told me that ‘The Black Lightning Raiders’ were on Antallos ‘til January last year, they’s got here the end of August jus’ before that and did some minor raiding out on the Combine, but now they’ve just up and disappeared again. I figure that with this GDI and such in control of Antallos they ain’t coming back seeing’s how them GDI folks don’t take too kindly to pirates and criminals.”

“They don’t at that,” Nedeljko chuckled darkly as he recalled the nuclear greeting the pirate fleet had received upon arrival at Earth.

“Yeah,” the brown haired young man nodded, “So’s I figures that they probably moved to one of the systems nearby maybe and since them GDI folks are cleaning up the Periphery my best chance of finding them is by signing on with the GDI or one of their mercs.”

Major Andreas Staedele sat back in his chair and let out a puff of air as he began to think the story over. The kid had heart, he’d give him that, and a good dose of courage for coming so far on his own. He even felt sorry for the kid slightly. He knew what it was like to lose the father you looked up to. The only problem was what would the kid do if they actually came across these ‘Black Lightning Raiders’? People hired for the Buron Cavalry had to be dependable and trustworthy, the reputation of the unit depended upon it. If the kid went off on a vengeance kick or simply up and left after hearing some rumor or other, well….

“Alright Cody I need to ask you a question and before you answer you have to know this,” Andreas stated clearly and sternly. “The Buron Cavalry are mercenaries and we may fight for money. However, we have our pride and reputation to consider and those are dependent upon our trustworthiness and reliability. Without those we aren’t worth anything and for the members of the Cav our word is our bond. Now, knowing that, I want you to be completely honest with me. If we do run into these pirates you’re looking for, what are you going to do? I know you want to find your father, but I can’t have you putting this unit or its employer in danger because you suddenly go irrational on us. I need to know that I can trust you.”

“You can count on me Ser,” the young John J. Cody spoke solemnly. “Mah Da told me before he left after my thirteenth birthday that, ‘a man is only as good as his word and that a man is judged by the actions that he does and does not take’. If I went and betrayed them principles then how could I look mah Da in the eye when I find’im?”

Staedele smiled slightly as he heard the young man with the unkempt brown hair give him his answer. Looking up at Ned he saw that the other man also had a small smile at those words. However, before he spoke to tell John J. Cody that the Buron Cavalry would be hiring him on Andreas caught the sight of Celic Nedeljko’s smile turning straight into a frown.

“Wait a minute,” the XO of the Buron Cavalry stated suddenly. “On your application you listed your age as being 19 years-old according to the Terran standard, but you just said that your father left after your 13th birthday. If you were….”

“Did I’s say thirteenth?” Cody suddenly said, a nervous little smile curling up the edges of his mouth. “Sorry ‘bout that. I meant to say sixteenth on the account of the diff-….”

Andreas Staedele recognized a lie when he heard it and immediately cut the ‘boy’ off with, “Don’t lie to me kid. I thought we already established that. How old are you really?”

Worrying his lip slightly as he felt the stares of the two men bearing down on him John Cody finally answered, “I…I…. Sixteen Ser. But’s I’s be turning seventeen middle o’ next month and that’s the Lord’s honest truth Ser! Major Dansel and Major Hale said that they couldn’t sign me up ‘cause my age, but they said that the Buron Cavalry wouldn’t have the same restriction. I can pilot and shoot as well as any man grown can. Please Ser! I’m sorry I’s lied to ya’ll but you folks are mah best hope right now finding mah Da!”

Leaning forward slightly Andreas suddenly realized from the boy’s words why exactly Dansel and Hale hadn’t written anything down about their interview with the kid, those cheeky bastards! GDI regulations stated that official GDI units couldn’t recruit anyone under the age of 17 Terran Standard years, but that 18 years was the preferred minimum age requirement because at 17 years the applicant needed the expressed written consent of a legal parent or a legal guardian or a special dispensation from a recognized Court of Law. With the only real Court of Law on Antallos being the one set up by the CSN and GDI to handle the numerous criminal trials of pirates and the criminals that they couldn’t tolerate it would’ve been difficult for the boy to get a Court order to allow entry into the Legion since the Court was currently backed up just from handling the affairs from after the takeover. Besides, there was no way they’d allow a kid who was still legally sixteen and on a quest to find his father to join a combat unit that was being staffed with types to be found on Antallos, even if those recruits were the better ones both morally and skill wise. However, even if the Buron Cavalry could technically recruit someone that didn’t meet the age requirements of the GDI it didn’t mean that Staedele would. There was still the reputation of the Cav to consider and the fact that the kid had lied twice rather than simply tell him the truth from the start.

“You say you’re telling us the truth, but how do we know that? You already lied to us at east twice by my count, how do we know that this isn’t another lie?” Celic questioned sternly, the usually mirthful man showing no signs of joking around. “What about what your father said about a man being only as good as his word and about how he is known and judged by the actions he does and does not take? Hmmm, well?”

“I…I…I’m sorry Ser honest I am, but I didn’t know if I’s could trust the Majors. I swear to you, this ain’t no lie!” young John Cody blurted out defensively.

“Oh yeah?!” Celic stated disbelievingly. “What about your family back home, huh? What about them? Did you even tell them that you were leaving on this mad journey of yours?”

“I…I,” the sixteen year-old stuttered slightly, “I…. No Ser, I…. They don’t know. Ma and Gran-dad would’da never ‘llowed me to leave if I told them. They were torn up sumthing fierce ‘bout mah Da and all…I…I didn’t wanna burden them more.”

“Jesus,” the XO of the Buron Cavlary swore. “Have you even thought about what they must be feeling knowing he’s missing and you’re God knows where?! You’ve been concentrating so much on your father you’ve forgotten what family you do have.”

“I…I guess so…. But I gotta find’em, at least know if he’s live or dead…sumthing!” the boy said before getting out of the chair and actually getting on his knees. “Please Ser! I know I done ya’ll wrong by lying, but please…. Please, don’t…. Even if it is only as a tech, even if it’s only as a laborer or servant…. Please Ser, give me a chance to find mah Da or at least make restitution to ya’ll!”

Staedele felt his face flush with embarrassment as the kid begged him on his knees. Around the tent he knew that work had come to a halt and everyone was staring at the scene taking place. Worse of all was that no matter his decision word would spread through the ranks of the GDI and probably reach General Davis and Colonel Kurita. He didn’t relish the idea of being questioned about why he had turned the boy away or why he had hired him on. No matter what stories would be told and rumors would circulate. Worse of all Marie would know by the end of the…no, forget the end of the day, she’d probably know within the next hour and be down here questioning him shortly afterwards…that or she’d be waiting for him back at the Distant Home.

He hated this. It was like the damn ‘La Mancha’ scenario that the various Mechwarrior Academies throughout the Sphere used to train cadets. No matter what he did he’d still lose somehow, the only question remaining was how badly he would lose.

“Kid…,” the leader of the Buron Cavalry began before seeing that the young recruit was still on his knees blabbering away apologies. Frustrated by it all Andreas growled, “Damn it Cody, pull yourself together for Christ’s sake!”

Those harsh words cut into the boy and stopped his blabbering almost immediately. Rising up swiftly the boy came to a perfect position of attention before responding, “Ser! Sorry Ser! I’s forgot myself and have shamed ya’ll and the Buron Cavalry! With your permission Ser….”

Andreas recognized what was being left unsaid. John J. Cody was giving him a perfect way out if he wanted to dismiss the boy. The question was if he should take it or not. Gaining a tech who knew what they were doing was essential for a unit like the Cav. And out here in the Periphery, well…the earth boys and girls were good and learned quickly, he’d give them that, but the Cav needed their own people and needed those people to know exactly what to do, how to do it, and to do it when it was needed most.

Looking over to his XO, the leader of the Buron Cavalry saw Celic Nedeljko give a subtle nod. God, the conversations later with Marc, Marie, and the GDI command were going to be bothersome.

“Recruit Cody,” Major Andreas Staedele stated in a perfect command tone. “After much consideration I, Major Andreas Staedele, as the CO of the Buron Cavalry, have decided that you will be offered a probationary contract with the Buron Cavalry as a junior technician.”

Blinking in surprise John Cody was silent for a moment before bursting out and exclaiming, “Ser! Thank you Ser! Ya’ll shan’t regret it! I’s promise I-….”

“The Major did not give you permission to speak Recruit Cody!” Celic thundered as he interrupted the jubilant boy. “The Buron Cavalry may be mercenaries but we still respect and observe the chain of command. Do you understand that Recruit Cody!”

“Yes Ser!” Cody returned immediately, his eyes staring straight ahead as he stood at full attention.

Hiding the small smile that threatened to crack his stern visage, Andreas spoke, “Recruit Cody, as part of your probationary contract you will be expected to fulfill all duties assigned to you just as if you were a full member of the Buron Cavalry. You will do exactly as you are told by your immediate superiors and those they designate. You will perform to the standards of the Chief Tech Staedele or you will not be here when your probationary period is over with. You will report to Captain Johnson every morning to train with his infantry unit. You must perform to his standards if you wish to remain with the Cav after your probationary period ends. Am I understood?!”

“Yes Ser!” john Cody enunciated clearly.

“And finally, in regards to your family…,” Andreas Staedele began to say, knowing that family was important. “You will send them a message telling them that you are on Antallos. You will tell them the entire truth of what you have done. I will have the Cav pay for the message to be sent seeing as how I will be sending along my own message regarding the situation. In this message I will explicitly tell your family that if they want you returned home then I will personally strap you into the first Dropship heading towards the FedSuns and the Capellan March. Is that understood?”

“Yes Ser!” the sixteen year-old answered clearly.

“Hale’s from down that way, I think,” Celic interjected. “Maybe part of the Crucis March nearby, I’m not sure. He may know a few of the jumpers and droppers that work down there.”

“Check with him and find out,” Andreas stated before turning to the table that was next to him.

Grabbing a few of the forms necessary the leader of the Buron Cavalry quickly scribbled several things down before turning and presenting them to the young man standing before him.

“John J. Cody, if you take and sign these forms you will be officially accepting the terms of the contract I have laid out before you and be recognized as legally binding,” the Major remarked firmly as he fulfilled his official obligations regarding the offering of positions within the Buron Cavalry. “You will be subject to all rules and laws established by the Buron Cavalry and its employer. If you are found in violation of any of the terms laid out here in or of any rules or laws that have been established and recognized, I and your immediate superiors will have the right to punish you as deemed fit or to decide to turn you over to our employer for proper legal proceedings as established under the rules and authority of the Mercenary Review Board and the GDI and CSN regulations regarding Private Military Contractors.”

Cody nodded his head and reached for the papers. However, Andreas Staedele did not release them; he was not quite finished just yet.

“Furthermore, by accepting these papers you give me your word that you will not seek to deceive or act against the Buron Cavalry in any way or seek to tarnish its reputation by doing so to its employer,” Andreas finished laying out the conditions necessitated by the rules that bound him and his unit. “Do you accept these conditions and terms as I have explained them to you and do you give me your word that you shall carry them out as I have described them to you?”

“Yes Ser,” John Cody replied firmly. “Thank’ya Ser, I’s won’t lets ya’ll down.”

“Very well then, read through these, fill them all out in full with the truth and then sign them and return them to me,” the CO of the Buron Cavalry stated as he indicated a cleared off table to the other side of the tent. “If you have any questions as you go through them you may ask me, Captain Nedeljko, or one of the GDI personnel present in this tent for clarification. After you have finished with those I will write up the necessary paperwork to have you transferred over to where the Cav’s personnel are stationed near the Distant Home and have you get a properly outfitted kit from the GDI quartermaster’s office.”

“Yes Ser. Thank ya, Ser,” the sixteen year-old recruit said as he accepted the papers before turning towards the table he had been pointed towards.

“Captain Nedeljko and I will be outside if you need us,” Staedele remarked as he rose from his seat, ‘Ned’ giving him a dirty look over the fact that they had to go back outside and leave the confines of the air-conditioned tent. “C’mon ‘Ned’, marc is probably wondering what the hell is going on.”

Stepping towards the door Celic spoke in a low-voice to his boss, “You know that this is either going to turn out to be the worst decision we’ve ever made or the best.”

“Heh,” Andreas stifled a short laugh before replying quietly. “Given all that has happened in the last year…. Who knows?”

Giving a shrug as he stepped out into the hot sun of Antallos the XO of the Buron Cavalry remarked, “Either way you’re going to be getting earfuls later on and that means that I’m going to be getting earfuls too. Man, it never seemed this rough when someone else was in charge.”

Stepping out of the tent behind his friend Andreas Staedele just shook his head. He wasn’t too worried what the GDI and General Davis would have to say about this. No, what really worried him was what his wife Marie and his aunt Hanna were going to say. Shuddering as the worst came to mind the CO of the Buron Cavalry turned towards the canopy only to pull up short.

Shit…he had forgotten about what Marc would say about all of it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Antallos Starport, GDI Military Section
Dropship Distant Home
Antallos, Periphery
January 5, 2007/3022

“And up ahead we have our very own home away from home,” Celic ‘Ned’ Nedeljko noted as he, Andreas Staedele, Marc Johnson, and John J. Cody all got out of the Humvee. “The Buron Cavalry’s own Distant Home.”

Looking upon the massive form of the Union Class Dropship young John Cody gapped, asking, “So…what’s its name?”

“The Distant Home,” Celic replied with a wry grin, “Or weren’t you paying attention to me kid?”

Face going from awed to worried in less than a millisecond, the newest recruit to the Buron Cavalry stuttered, “N…no Ser…I mean…Yes…Yes I’s was listening…but I….”

“Don’t sweat it kid,” Captain Marc Johnson, head of the Cav’s infantry stated as he clapped a mighty paw of a hand onto the youth’s left shoulder. “Captain Nedeljko is just messing with you a little. ‘Ned’ finds that particular joke funny and likes to use it with everyone when they are first introduced to the Home.”

“Ah,” Cody uttered with a nod, shifting the weight of the beat up old rucksack he carried on his shoulder as he tightened his grip on the small crate he carrie din his hands.

Walking slightly behind his three subordinates Andreas Staedele smiled slightly as Ned tried, in his own unique way, to officially welcome young John Cody to the Buron Cavalry. So far the kid was taking Celic’s ribbing rather well, especially considering that Ned had been cracking jokes and making smart remarks ever since the four of them had left the training grounds gone to the ComStar compound to send a message to Cody’s family and then stopped at the GDI Quartermaster to make sure the kid got outfitted with a proper kit. The boy had come to Antallos with little more than a small satchel of possessions and that would hardly be enough if he was to be expected to serve even his probationary term with the Cav. He had needed a two sets of coveralls, some shirts, a better pair of boots, some new skivvies, a few more pairs of socks, PT gear, some new hygiene supplies, a few….

“Uh boss?” Ned suddenly spoke, breaking Andreas’s thoughts. “Trouble at twelve o’clock sharp.”

Shifting his gaze to where his XO was advising Andreas felt his mouth suddenly go very dry as his eyes met two sets he knew very, very well. Standing at the top of the boarding ramp were Marie Staedele, Chief Tech for the Buron Cavalry and his wife, and Hanna Staedele, Captain of the Distant Home and his aunt. Though he and his party were still several yards from the bottom of the ramp Andreas immediately knew that both women were not happy just from the way both were standing there, arms crossed in front of their chests with each having one of their feet tapping expectantly.

“Oh shit,” the leader of the Cav whispered as he got to the bottom of the ramp and began ascending it.

“Captain Staedele, Chief Tech Staedele,” Marc greeted both women in his usual reserved manner and getting a simple nod in return from each.

“Hanna, Marie…,” Celic tried, a twitchy smile and nervous laugh in his voice. “Both of you ladies are looking rather lovely to-….”

“Shut it Ned.” Marie Staedele stated authoritatively.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the XO of the Cav responded quickly and without argument even though he technically outranked her.

“Andreas, dear sweet husband,” Marie began, her voice laced with venom. “I’ve heard quite the little rumor running around recently…something to do with a new recruit for the Cav.”

“Now Marie,” the leader of the Burons tried to explain, “You know that I have command authority and the right to hire….”

“Oh you have authority,” Hanna Staedele spoke, glaring directly at her nephew. “I recall your father having authority, but he still kept his Dropship Captain and Chief Tech in the loop and consulted with them regarding the hiring of new members.”

“Yes, well,” Andreas tried to counter, trying not to shrink under the harsh looks he was receiving. “This situation was a little…different and I….”

“Different,” Marie Staedele stated, tilting her head and letting some of her dark curls fall from underneath the cap she wore. “Please, dear sweet husband…please tell us how this situation was…different.”

“Yes nephew,” Hanna nearly growled, “please, do tell.”

“Um, before we get too far into this do you think we might be able to get in out of the heat a little? The sun is really starting to-…,” ‘Ned’ began only to stop immediately as two very annoyed females turned their glares upon him. “Or out here is fine.”

Seeing his good friend shrink swiftly beneath the glares of the two Staedele women Andreas suddenly found it incredibly difficult to swallow as they turned to look back in his direction. Mentally curing himself for his sympathy getting the better of him when he decided to hire John Cody, Andreas Staedele tried his best to think of a way to explain the situation in a manner that would not be construed as being insulting to the intelligence of either of the two women standing in front of him. So far he was not coming up with a whole hell of a lot.

“Well you see it’s kind of like this…,” the Major started as he began to tell the story and hope that somewhere along the way his wife and aunt would decide that the truth was enough of a reason not to skin him alive.

Now as Andreas Staedele began to recount the tale, beginning with how he and the other two Buron officers had gone out to the training ground, the object of the tale, and consequently the subject of concern for the upper echelon of the Buron Cavalry, was not paying as much attention to the story as one would have expected him too. John J. Cody, brave, foolish, and all of sixteen years of age had currently found something else to occupy his interest. Truthfully it wasn’t entirely his fault since it was standing right out there in the sunlight that entered into that massive Mech bay.

Framed almost perfectly by the sunlight was Small Laser 2 from Andreas Staedele’s own Warhammer. Currently in several pieces the weapon was stationed in just the right spot, Marie Staedele having placed it there herself, to catch the sunlight and illuminate the many inner workings of the laser. Having grown up in a family that ran the largest salvage operation on Ridgebrook and coincidentally the second largest salvage firm in the Capellan March, John Cody couldn’t help but be drawn to the weapon. Staring intently at the Small Laser, John Cody tilted his head to get a slightly better angle, completely ignoring the explanation his new boss was trying to give his other new bosses.

“That there ain’t right.”

Right in the midst of getting to the part where he and Celic had finally started getting the truth out of Cody, Andreas stopped himself as he suddenly heard the young voice of his newest employee speak up. What was Cody thinking suddenly jumping in like that? The Major knew that his wife and aunt already knew the story he was telling…well maybe not all of the minute details but still…. Was the kid trying to get them in deeper than they already were?

“Hmm?” Marie Staedele hummed as she turned her grease stained face towards the young man who had interrupted her husband’s attempt at explaining.

“It would appear that the boy has something to add to this conversation,” Hanna Staedele stated coolly. “Perhaps Andreas hasn’t been entirely forthcoming with….”

“Hey, I’m telling you the God’s honest truth and…,” the leader of the Burons began before clamming up as the two women turned their attention back towards him.

“So, you’re him, eh?” Marie asked, as she turned her attention back to the kid. “Is there something you wish to add? Perhaps there is something that my husband has been less than truthful about, Hmm?”

Suddenly realizing that he was being talked to Cody responded slowly, “Huh? Oh…uh, no Ma’am. The Major is telling it just like it is. He and the Cap’n picked my story apart right quick. Saw through me faster than a phony C-bill.”

“Really now?” the Chief Tech remarked, her mouth forming a small grin. “Then why is it you think there is something wrong with his tale?”

“Huh?” the young brown haired sixteen year-old responded before suddenly realizing he had spoken his earlier thought out loud. “Oh I’s wasn’t saying nothing ‘bout the story Ma’am.”

“Then what were you remarking upon young man?” Hanna asked, her voice nearly dripping with venom. “Something else that these three were doing while away from the ship today?”

“No Ma’am.” Cody answered promptly. “I’s was just saying how that there laser ain’t right.”

Looking over to the partially disassembled weapon Marie inquired further, “Oh, and what do you see that is the matter with it?”

“Well,” the young man started nervously, not because he was being put on the spot but rather because he would be commenting upon someone else’s work. “I’s can see that just from here the power couplings are wrong. Also, somebody went and used the wrong power conduit. Weapon is probably reversing most of the power that tries to get fed into it and all.”

Having been the primary tech for the Warhammer for the last decade or so and having stripped down and rebuilt that particular laser more times than she cared to remember, Marie Staedele asked in a stiflingly sweet voice, “Now what led you to form these…opinions young man?”

“Begging your pardon Ma’am,” the sixteen year-old began, “but these ain’t no opinions, they’s facts. That there laser is an Achernar built ChisComp 32 Small Laser, but the power couplings and feed lines are for a Magna Mk. I Small Laser. Now the two look rather similar, I know, but they operate slightly differently with their power ratios. That laser ain’t never going to work proper with those parts, no way no how.”

“For your information, boy,” the Chief Tech of the Cav stated rather harshly, “that laser is a Magna Mk. I Small Laser.”

“I’s hate to contradict you’s like this and all Ma’am,” Cody said, his voice remaining calm and clear except for his accent. “But that ain’t no Magna built laser. It is an Achernar built ChisComp 32 Small Laser…probably got stripped out o’ some ol’ Enforce most like.”

Andreas Staedele cringed as he heard John Cody contradict Marie. Contradicting his wife, the Chief Tech, was like…like…. Well it wasn’t good that’s for sure. Though he didn’t dare turn to look towards Celic, Staedele knew his friend was probably also cringing at the thought of what exactly Marie might do to the kid.

“Come with me,” Marie Staedele stated firmly as she grabbed Cody by his sweat-stained shirt and dragged him over to the partially disassembled weapon. “Now I want you to take a good, long look at this weapon and tell me again that it isn’t what I said it was.”

“I don’t need to look long Ma’am,” Cody responded as he reached for the tools next tot eh laser. “I’s can shows you that I’s right.”

Cringing further at the thought that the kid was digging his own grave, and subsequently his and Ned’s as well, Andreas bit his lower lip as he heard Celic quietly curse their luck for having finally run out. Stepping up next to the head of the Buron Cavalry, Hanna Staedele wore an indifferent façade on her face as she watched and waited. A few steps away Marc Johnson, seeming to be completely unperturbed by the entire course of events, simply folded his arms across his well muscled chest and waited. Watching his wife and his newest hire Andreas felt a cold shiver run up his spine as Cody apparently found what he was apparently looking for.

“See this here Ma’am,” John Cody noted as he pulled a small plate from the underside of the laser. “You’s see here what the serial is? It reads AC32-7918457. If this was no ChisComp and a Magna like you’s said it twas then it’d start with a MG prefix followed by a MkI and then numbers for the rest of the serial.”

Taking the small plate in hand Marie disappeared into the shadowed corners of the Mech Bay. Andreas didn’t need to be told where she was going as he already knew that his wife was going to check her tech and weapon manual. Well it wasn’t really a proper manual, it was more like a conglomeration of weapon and tech designs and certain facts linked with each. The massive tome was a bundle of flimsies, copies, and snippets that Marie’s father, the previous Chief Tech of the Cav, had begun putting together and which Marie continued to improve upon with ever little piece of info she happened to learn. When his wife went for that book Andreas knew that the chances were incredibly good that she’d find exactly what she was looking for.

Waiting a few moments, trying his best to ignore the heat of the Antallos sun that beat down upon him, Andreas Staedele bit his lower lip as he saw his wife come walking back, her stony expression having remained the same. The man bit down even harder on his own flesh when he saw his wife bypass young John Cody and instead head straight towards him.

“Did you send a message to his family?” Marie Staedele suddenly asked.

Letting out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding, Andreas answered quickly, his voice spiking slightly at first, “Yes! I mean yes dear, I made certain he sent them a message explaining where he was and what the situation is. I sent along my own message explaining things.”

“If they want him back we are sending him home,” the Chief Tech ordered rather than stated.

“Of course dear,” the leader of the Burons responded. “I said as much in my message to them, his family I mean. If they want him to come home I’ll personally strap him into the first Dropship headed that way.”

“He’s going to need things, a full kit and the necessary tech wear,” the dark haired woman once again ordered more than suggested.

“Already done,” Celic chimed in suddenly. “We stopped at the quartermaster’s and drew everything he needs and then-….”

Shooting the XO a merciless glare, causing Nedeljko to immediately be quiet again, Marie stated, “He’s a tech…and a probationary member at that.”

“Of course,” the CO spoke quickly in order to confirm his wife’s words. “He’s only sixteen after all. We don’t need the GDI or some media hound thinking we use child soldiers.”

Staring her husband straight in the eye, Marie Staedele spoke in a dangerous tone, “You, ‘Ned’, Hanna and I are going to have a serious talk later tonight regarding the hiring practices that you and ‘Ned’ used as well as whatever made you think that you can make such decisions without at least first consulting with either of the two of us.”

“Yes dear,” Andreas Staedele readily agreed, not wishing to have the wrath of the two Staedele women hanging over him for too long

“Very well,” Marie decisively noted, “Cody, or perhaps we’ll call you JJ since your name does happen to be John J. Cody….”

“JJ would be fine Ma’am,” the sixteen year-old responded. “Mah Ma and mah sister Lizabeth, she’s about a couple years older than me, that’s what they’s likes to call me.”

“Splendid,” the Chief Tech of the Buron Cavalry commented with a smile. “Well JJ, you can give your things to Ned, he’ll run them over to the barracks that our single males are sharing with their peers in the GDI. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to make sure everything gets stowed away properly for you.”

“Aw shucks, he don’t need to do that Ma’am,” JJ remarked, completely missing the tone and message that his new boss was trying to convey to XO.

“Oh but I insist, seeing as how you’ll be busy here,” the dark haired woman spoke as she walked back over to the partially disassembled laser. “I want you to rebuild this laser properly. You can do that, right?”

“Oh yes, of course Ma’am,” the young man said, nodding his head of unkempt brown hair vigorously. “I’s can have that put back right as rain in no time flat so long as I’s got the right parts.”

“Good,” Marie commented before taking on a thoughtful pose, “Hmm, I don’t think we have any parts for a ChisComp 32 anywhere…. Write up a list of what you need and then give it to the Major. He’ll wait here for it and then run over to one of the better salvage yards to get them for you. Hmm, on second thought you better go with him to make sure they are the right parts and will be suitable to our needs.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Cody replied calmly, not thinking that anything was amiss about the situation.

“Good, after you’re done with that come see me,” the woman stated as she shifted the tool belt that weighed heavily on her hips. “I can already think of a few other projects that need to be dealt with before we can call it a day.”

Watching his wife beginning to turn back to her work Andreas Staedele, leader of the Buron Cavalry, let out a sigh a of relief, though it didn’t do much good as his aunt walked by just at that moment and whapped him in the back of the head with her hand.

“Don’t forget the meeting later after all the work is done,” Hanna Staedele spoke coolly, “And remember to bring ‘Ned’ with you as well.”

“Yes Ma’am,” the Staedele male answered quickly a he rubbed the back of his head slightly out of shame and slightly out of the fact that she had just swatted him.

“Oh joy,” Celic spoke in a low tone, his arms already laden with John Cody’s things. “Hopefully it won’t be too-….”

“Oh and JJ!” Marie Staedele suddenly called out as she suddenly stopped walking and turned to look at the young man, at the same time sending a scathing look at her husband and his good friend. “Welcome to the Buron Cavalry. I hope that you’ll enjoy your stay with us.”

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Dropship Distant Home
Antallos, Periphery
January 11, 2007/3022

Stretching his back muscles as he walked down the corridor leading to the Distant Home’s Mech bay, Major Andreas Staedele fought to stay awake. It was close to 0100 hours and the Distant Home would be lifting off in the next seven hours in order to catch the Jumpship back to Earth. He should’ve been doing what the rest of the members of the Buron Cavalry were doing, getting some well deserved ‘sack time’ in their racks. However, despite feeling the strain of the day, having been making preparations for and discussing the return trip to Earth with his Aunt Hanna, who was the Captain of the Distant Home, there was one thing he needed to take care of still. When he had gone to the quarters he shared with his wife he found one major thing or rather person missing.

Passing through the doors that lead onto the upper gantry of the Mech Bay Andreas knew his wife would be here. It was process of elimination really. He had just spent the last five hours going over preparations with Hanna on the bridge before heading to his quarters. Marie had been in neither place and since she had not left any notice of having left the Dropship with one of the infantrymen that Marc posted as guards around the ship it was safe to assume she was somewhere in the Mech Bay.

Marie Staedele had a habit of working late, particularly on the day before the Buron Cavalry was scheduled to go anywhere. Marie, as Andreas had noted early in their relationship, was a perfectionist and always wanted to make sure everything had a place and that everything was in its place. Sure she would get greasy and grimy while working on the Mechs but that, at least according to her and Andreas knew better than to disagree, was something completely different.

Striding across the catwalk in the dimmed lights of the bay the leader of the Buron Cavalry spied the glint of a flashlight down near the leg of Christine Miller’s Black Knight and heard the soft ‘plink’ of tools. Coming to the nearest ladder the well muscled man made his way down, sliding on the rails once he was two-thirds of the way down and thus less likely to fall off and break his neck. Yeah, there would be something ironic. He had survived countless battles and even a nuclear holocaust only to die because he didn’t take his time properly descending a ladder. Ned would laugh himself to death if such a thing occurred.

Walking towards the 75-ton humanoid machine whose armor created the image of a medieval knight’s helm Andreas Staedele knew that if his wife was by herself at this late an hour then she was probably just tinkering and not actually fixing something critical. Which was a good thing because despite the contract the Cav currently had and the salvage the GDI was pulling off Antallos there was not a good supply of parts for the near ancient Mech, being a rarity even amongst the armies of the Successor Lords. Hmm, he’d have to look into seeing if some of the heavy machinery manufacturers back on Earth could retool to start producing spare parts for the Cav. Maybe he could work a deal with the U.S. and the GDI to help share the costs of such a project. Oh well, it was something to at least consider for the future.

Staying quiet as he came up behind his wife, who was busy fiddling with some component or other inside the right ankle of the machine, Andreas felt himself grin like the teenager he had once been. Marie was bent over just so, giving him the perfect angle to admire one of her finest…assets. Hmm, when was the last time they had made love? Andreas knew that not being able to remember did not speak to how long it had been but rather just how tired he was, but still…. Perhaps it was time he and Marie started talking about making a new little brother or sister for Esther. After all, neither of them was getting any younger.

“Hey there beautiful,” the leader of the Buron Cavalry spoke as he moved his hands onto the hips of his wife, smiling even more as she jumped in surprise.

“Gaaaaah!” Marie Staedele nearly screamed in surprise before turning and nearly ‘beaning’ her husband in the head with a wrench. “Andreas! Give a girl a little warning next time. You nearly scared the life out of me.”

“Oh I’m sorry young lady but you see,” the well muscled 33 year-old said as he pulled her in close, “I’m looking for my wife as our quarters are so cold and lonely when she isn’t around. Have you by chance seen her? She’s still as beautiful as the day I first spied on her when she was taking a shower.”

Giggling slightly and giving her husband a playful little push the 37 year-old woman remarked, “Oh, was that back when you were just an awkward, pimple faced teenager who was trying to see the nice firm body of the Chief Tech’s daughter, who just happened to be a few years older and far more mature than you were? Or was it back on that morning after our fifth date just before my father started knocking on the door demanding why I hadn’t reported for my shift on time?”

“Both,” Andreas stated as he and his wife shared a loving kiss there alone in the Mech Bay.

“Hmm, good answer,” the grease covered woman stated as the two of them finally broke their kiss. “I’ve forgotten how good you are with that mouth of yours.”

Smiling as he gazed into his wife’s eyes the CO of the Buron Cavalry playfully remarked, “Then let me take you back to our quarters and refresh you memory further.”

“But I’ve got work to do before we take off in a few hours,” Marie protested half-heartedly as she stopped her husband’s attempt to steal another kiss. “Christine was complaining about feeling some lag earlier and I want to….”

“It’ll keep,” Andreas remarked as he began pulling his wife away from her work. “Or if you like we can always start here an-….”

“Andreas!” Marie interrupted with a squeal and a short laugh more akin to that of a teenager than belonging to a woman who in a few years would be forty. “Stop, you’re terrible.”

“Oh? I don’t recall you ever complaining about it back when we were trying to make Esther,” the man stated with a wry grin. “In fact if I recall you used to love it when we snuck into my cockpit an-….”

“Um, Major…Chief…? Sir, Ma’am?”

Hearing the voice Major Andreas Staedele cringed and bit back the curses he wished to utter. All he had wanted to do was retire to his quarters, have some quality personal time with his wife, and then get a few good hours of rest before waking up and getting on their way back to Earth. Was that really too much to ask for? Stupid duties and responsibilities, always putting him in charge and….

“What do you need Berst?” Marie asked, recognizing the voice of the infantryman who was currently standing on the other side of the Mech Bay, the young man having politely not wandered over when he had heard the voices of the two people who basically kept the Cav going as well as signed his paychecks.

“Uh, um…well,” the Berst replied a little unconfident as he suddenly picked up on the dark glare the major was shooting him as the couple came out from behind Mech cubicle three. “Well Ma’am I’ve got a few dossiers for the Major. One of the GDI clerks just ran them over saying that they wanted to make sure we got them before we left to go back home. I radioed the Bridge and they said that they couldn’t get him on the horn in his quarters so Captain Staedele said that he had probably gone to the Mech bay and I should look for him here.”

Marie Staedele giggled faintly as she heard her husband curse his aunt for inadvertently ruining his opportunity, poor Andreas…so close and yet ever so far. She’d make it up to him, maybe not tonight but then they were scheduled to have a nice long stay back on Earth. Hanna could take Esther for a night…or maybe a weekend.

“Alright, I’ll take them off your hands,” the Chief Tech of the Buron Cavalry stated as she moved away from her husband and walked over to the waiting infantryman.

“Ma’am,” the young infantryman saluted a he handed over the dossiers before turning and saluting his leader. “Sir.”

Returning the salute silently Andreas Staedele watched the man walk out of the Mech bay. Waiting a moment or two to make sure he was gone the leader of the Buron Cavalry walked over to his wife. It was time to get back to what was important.

“Andreas, you should take a look at these,” Marie said as her husband tried to wrap his arms around her from behind.

“In the morning,” the athletically toned man replied as he began to kiss his wife’s neck.

“But they could be important,” Marie stated as she tried not fall for her husband’s ministrations.

“If it was important then they would’ve called me over to GDI HQ,” the CO of the Cav returned, not wanting to ruin his night with paperwork.

“Andreas,” Marie spoke with a tone full of warning.

Letting out a sigh as he knew his wife wouldn’t let the matter go until he at least looked at the dossiers Andreas Staedele unwound his arms from his wife’s torso. God, somebody in the GDI HQ was going to pay big if this was just some practical joke or regular paperwork that could’ve just been dropped onto the desk in the office next to his and his wife’s quarters. Moving around from behind his wife he reached out and took the proffered manila envelope with a GDI seal on it.

“Well I better see if I can get that ankle joint fixed,” Marie Staedele said as she turned to get back to work only to get stopped.

Grabbing his wife’s arm Major Staedele quickly said, “Oh no you don’t. I’m going to look at this and then we’re heading up to our nice comfy quarters.”

Looking at her husband and giving a playful smile, the dark haired woman responded, “That joint won’t fix itself and I have other things to do on our trip back beside waist time with it.”

“Then why waste time with it now? Have Chen or Dyer take care of it later,” the slightly frustrated man stated. “Hell, have Cody take a look at it. I hired him on as a junior tech in order to deal with crap like that.”

“I thought you hired him on because you felt sorry for him and could relate to him slightly,” Marie remarked as she gave a wry grin to her husband. “And I thought you said you hired him specifically as a tech because it wouldn’t cause problems back on earth with the folks who are already leery about having mercenaries about. I believe you said and I quote, ‘They already hate us for something we didn’t do. Why antagonize them and have them say we use child soldiers too’, or perhaps I heard you wrong.”

Sighing as his wife spoke the truth Andreas said, “Yeah, I guess I said that…. But still, I jumped through a lot of hoops with General Davis, Colonel Kurita, and Ambassador Smith when they found out that we had hired him on as a probationary member. I would think that you would have him in here working before we lift off in, oh…six hours and forty-two minutes.”

“I would but he put in a full day today and I don’t want to overwork him since he’s still new and technically a kid,” Marie Staedele, Chief Tech of the Buron Cavalry said. “We aren’t bringing him with us back to Earth so I had him pulling a double shift today. I had him look at the PPC on the Black Knight since one of the capacitors keeps coming close to overloading even though it looks and tests perfectly fine. Then I had him look over the Flashman’s left arm large laser as it keeps sending weird feedback back through the power couplings which is starting to fry them. Then he looked over the feed mechanism for the SRM launcher on your Warhammer before helping me test and run the safety checks on all of the reactors. Do you know how long it takes to make sure that the fusion rate is proper and that the neutrino signal being produced is not….”

Andreas let out a slight groan as his wife launched into her native tech speak or what he liked to call ‘equipment geek’ mode. He couldn’t argue with her like this normally as he only had a basic understanding of most of the things she talked about. He also couldn’t complain too loudly regarding John J. Cody, the Cav’s newest recruit. The kid was making a name and a home amongst the Buron Cavalry and he had only been part of it now for just about 5 days. The kid was fun, friendly, and had a knack of saying just the right thing at times…well that is if you could understand him with his thick accent and all.

Since arriving upon that first day Cody had found a definite home with the Cav’s techs. The boy had grown up in the salvage industry and was a veritable encyclopedia of knowledge regarding even the most obscure Mechs and their parts, at least when one could understand him past his long drawling accent. Chen and Marie fell in love with him for that knowledge and his seemingly magical fixing powers. Marc Johnson had also taken a shine to the boy as Cody, as promised, had shown up to every morning PT session that Marc ran with his infantry. The kid wasn’t up to snuff on his basics regarding hand-to-hand or small weapons, but he was learning fast and Andreas could already see the gleam in Marc’s eye over potentially adding a new infantry trooper who knew what to do because Marc had taught him it. At that Andreas had to sigh as Ned, Christine, and Tom Lemell, the Cav’s other Mechwarrior, were now looking into seeing how well the kid could do outside of a simulator and in an actual Mech, though none of them were eager to let the kid drive one of theirs. Between all of them Andreas prayed that by the time the answer came from the message sent to Cody’s family and his probationary period was over he wouldn’t have a fist fight over where the kid should go and what he should be.

What the leader of the Buron Cavalry was most grateful for though was the fact that both his wife and aunt were finally no longer glaring at him over the hire. Oh, they were still glaring at Ned, but that was to be expected and probably would last until they all got back and touched down on Earth. That was jus the way things were in the Cav. They were just one big, happy, slightly dysfunctional family at times.

Deciding he had heard enough of his wife’s ‘geek speak’ the Major of he Burons interrupted her with, “Honey, I’m opening the folder now. Do you want to see what mediocrity is inside or would you like me to keep it to myself?”

Sticking her tongue out playfully at her husband, Marie Staedele gave playful whine, “Spoil-sport Mech-jock.”

Rolling his eyes the man broke the sealed envelope and pulled out the folder inside. It was rather thin and only had a few papers in it from the looks of it.

“It’s from GDI intel,” Marie noted as she pointed to the small letter code that identified the origin of the folder.

“It’s probably just them sending along copies of the messages we received back from everyone who is coming back,” Andreas states rather assuredly, knowing that a number of the old Burons who had left the unit before it had went out into the Periphery were on their way back and would probably be waiting for the Cav when the unit got back to Antallos. “Or it has something to do with those Manticore tanks we were looking at getting.’

“Or it is them reminding us, especially you, Ned, and Marc, that we have to play nice with the Combine’s diplomatic party if we should happen to be ‘introduced’ to them after they have arrived on Earth,” Marie said, knowing that many of the members of the Burons, including herself, would never fully be able to reconcile with the Combine considering all of the battles that had been fought against the draconian nation. “You should still open it and see what it is.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the CO of the Cav noted, having already told most of the crew that they were to avoid the Combine party as much as they could if encountered. Damn Dracs, mark his words the CSN would regret trying to make friends with the ‘Snakes’ and it would be up to the GDI and Buron Cavalry to bail their asses out of the fire when one of the Dragon’s servants decided that another glorious conquest was needed to prove the superiority of House Kurita over all of the other Successor Lords.

Seeing her husband’s distraction Marie grabbed the folder out of his hands, eliciting a small ‘Hey!’ to escape him. Ignoring the half-hearted protest the chief Tech opened the file and began to skim its contents. Technically she shouldn’t have been since it had been addressed specifically to her husband as the CO of the Buron Cavalry. But then again she was his wife and the Chief Tech of the unit. She was going to find out sooner or later what was in it, one way or the other.

“See boring stuff,” Andreas said unconcerned not noticing the sudden look of concern that his wife had gotten as she read.

“Honey….”

“I told you we could leave it ‘til morning,” the major of the Cav stated, still not noticing his wife’s concern as he his mind went to other things.

“Andy….”

Just wanting to leave what was probably the same old bureaucratic crap that he normally dealt with behind him the muscular 33 year-old continued, “Now let’s get going and head up to our quarters an-….”

“Andreas!” Marie exclaimed forcefully, finally gaining his attention. “You need to read this. Now.”

Letting out a tired sigh and cursing whoever ‘up there’ was cock-blocking him like this, Andreas Staedele took the folder from his wife’s grasp. Looking to the first page the man began to read, however, instead of finding what he had expected he found something completely different. Continuing to read the frown that had formed on his face began to deepen further.

“What are we going to do?” Marie quietly asked.

Gritting his teeth as he finished the basic summary Andreas Staedele felt the concerned touch of his wife’s hand on his left shoulder. The folder contained a list of the security preliminary security checks that the GDI had been starting on the new and old personnel that the Burons had hired or were in the process of rehiring. So far GDI intel had cleared them all but were waiting to make final assessments once the personnel arrived on Antallos while the bulk of the Cav was away. Andreas wasn’t concerned about that, he had already discussed it with Captain Swift the head of GDI Intelligence on Antallos and had turned over everything he had on his people who would be returning to the unit. No, what concerned him was the small notice regarding the fifth document in the folder.

Someone, in the course of starting the investigations into the new and old members’ backgrounds had decided to cross-reference the list of names that had been compiled from the numerous interviews and interrogations of the pirates who had survived the battle for Port Krin as well as those who were back on Earth having survived their ill-fated invasion. It had been only meant as a precautionary measure to make sure that none of the people Andreas was bringing in had any ties to known pirate bands. However, in the course of doing this, one name had gotten flagged. Back on Earth there apparently was a pirate who had once been part of the ‘Black Lightning Raiders’. In the course of the interrogation this man had dropped the name of the 8th Syrtis Fusiliers Auxiliary and, of particular notice now, the name one Brevet-Lieutenant William T. Cody.

Looking to his wife Andreas shared with her a knowing look. On Earth there was currently a pirate who, before leaving Antallos, had seen the father of John J. Cody alive.

“As if life wasn’t complicated enough already,” the Mechwarrior spat as his wife rested a hand on his back.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Magni]

Distant Home,
on approach to Earth, Solar System, Granville Cluster
16 January, 2007/3022

"Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!" the alarm cheerfully sang. With a growl, Andreas Staedele slowly woke up, set up in his small bed and, finally, hit the clock with a full force blow of his fist, shutting up the annoying voice that had ripped him out of his sleep.

"I hate transition." he murmured while changing, reminding him that he had got all of 3 hours of sleep this "night" because of the synchronisation of their ships internal clock to GMT+1 standards. The message of a business meeting in Germany had reached them only two days ago, messing up the majors normal habit of gradually synching with the time on the planet they travelled to during approach. 'Well', he mused, 'at least we have gravity.' He hated zero g environments. He would rarely get decent sleep without gravity, a quirk he himself despised.

Seconds later, a banging on the bulkhead of his cabin ripped him out of these thoughts. "I'm coming, I'm coming." he shouted, slipping into his uniform. He walked over to the bulkhead, almost slipping in the process, opened it and stuck his head out, still looking halfway asleep.

"Good morning. You're looking horrible." his wife greeted him.

"Mornin'" he answered before kissing her on the cheek. "You look beautiful. Wha's up?"

"The briefing is in half an hour, everyone else is already awake, so I thought I'd make sure you wouldn't sleep in. I also got the final log on our new stuff." she said while holding a report in his face.

He yawned before responding, trying to sort out the confusing mess that his thoughts were at the moment. "Thanks. You can show it to me at the meeting. Right now, breakfast is more important. I won't even be able to think straight without some coffee."

Thirty minutes later

Entering the "wardroom", Staedele saw that everyone else was already seated and chatting around. He greeted them and sat down, a mug of coffee still in his hand, and looked around the table. His wife, the Mechwarriors of Iron Lance and Johnson were all present, waiting for him to open up the briefing.

"Well, as you all heard, I redirected us to land in Berlin, Germany. Sergei sent me a message just two days ago. Apparently, Heckler&Koch, the small arms producer we pegged for getting our caseless ammo, requested a meeting with us at the soonest possible time. We'll land in Germany in a about three hours, meet Sergei at the spaceport and then meet up with a couple of people H&K will send to escort us to their branch office in the city, where we will meet one of their officials. Sergei has been busy in the last few months, so I expect that the deal will be going well enough. Marc, Ned, you two are going to accompany me. We'll take one man of the infantry company with us, just in case we get complications. Apparently, there's still quite a few people on Motherload that don't like us. I'll leave choosing the man up to you, Marc, only one condition: He has to know German. The meeting will be held in English, but he can perhaps do us a favour by listening if they talk in German. Two people can hear more than one."

Johnson simply nodded at that.

"Now, because I'm not the heartless tyrant you all think I am," he waited for the laughter to die down, "everyone not going to the meeting will be taking off again and fly over to Ft Irwin and our families. And to curb your enthusiasm, you will be stuck unloading the gear while we'll be taking a comfortable commercial flight over to the US once we're done." he told them with a smile, earning some more laughs.

"What about the new guys?", Tom Lemell asked. "Why did we leave them and our new equipment on Antallos together with our two platoons?"

"Well," the Major responded, "that's because GDI Intelligence isn't willing to let everyone in on the identity of Motherload quite yet. That's also the reason we had to leave that kid, Cody, over there."

Again, Staedele thanked the fact that his contract had a rather high ceiling when it came to the maximum of how strong he could rebuild his unit and still have the running costs paid by GDI. And he made a mental note to request a chat with the captive ex-Black Lightning Raider GDI Intelligence had informed him of.

"We're looking at some golden times ahead the way it looks right now. Hell, even Benny is coming back. And he's bringing all the other treadheads."

Staedele had managed to contact Benjamin "Benny" Tavrel, the former CO of the Cav's tank company, two months ago.

"I still can't believe the old scoundrel was still hanging around on Layover after so much time," Nedeljko mused.

"Well, Ned, it seems like Aaron Sandoval was honest when he promised to take care of our layoffs after Thestria. Apparently, he used some of his connections and since then Benny and Co have been working as a cadre for the tank units of the Layover militia and the Quickscell Companies local factory security. It was a long shot trying to contact him, but it paid off. Now he, his men and a lance of Manticores, made by Quickscell are on the way to Antallos. I guess Quickscell can forgive us depriving them of their cadre, given the sale they made in return. And before anyone makes any bad jokes, it's the same tanks Benny and his boys used for the last few months, so we don't have to worry about having to raid Quickscell for the missing parts.

GDI intelligence will, of course, go through their records with a fine comb, but I vouched for every single one of the guys, so I don't think it will take them that long. After that, they'll do garrisson on Antallos and train with GDI, waiting for us to return.

Which means, we'll actually be more busy during the next months, what with recruiting our infantry up to two companies and recruiting the artillerymen as GDI greenlighted, but also training the newbies and trying to find someone to upgrade our newly aquired artillery a bit.

So, next point: You told me you have done an analysis on the new Mechs, Marie..."

Heckler&Koch Office,
Berlin, Germany
16 January, 2007/3022

"... and with that, we can begin production of the caseless ammunition in about three months", the H&K official ended his summary, looking at the four people seated across the table. The negotiations had gone smooth, mostly because the civilian representative of the mercenary outfit, Sergei Filatov had already negotiated most of the deal even before the owner and commanding officer of the company had arrived back on-planet.

"Very impressive, Mr. Schneider. And given that it will by your estimate take at least another week to fully start producing compatible firearms, my unit would be too happy to test and buy this initial production run", major Staedele answered. "I think we have a deal."

"Thank you, Major.", Schneider replied. He steadied himself. 'And now the other chance' "Now, for your other enquiry, I think we have a system you could use to outfit your second company with, the XM8. We discontinued production after none of the militaries we intended to sell it to took the offer, but we produced enough of them to easily outfit a company of infantrymen. The specifications are exactly what you enquired for. Highly modifiable, reliable and lightweight. It uses a 5.56mm cartridge which, as far as we understand, is not only widely used here on Earth, but also in the Inner Sphere. And, as a bonus, it comes with an integral reflex sight."

"That sounds perfect. I assume we will be allowed to test it before making a decision?"

"Of course, Major."

"So, Mr. Schneider", Filatov asked, his old face betraying no more emotions than it did during earlier meetings, "how much are these additional rifles cost us?"

Schneider stated a number and smiled at the reactions of the people seated across his position.

"That's awfully cheap. No way that that is going to make you any profit" , Marc Johnson interrupted.

"Yes, Mr. Johnson. But we have produced the rifles in question already, which means some sales are still better than none. Additionally, your unit using the XM8 will be a perfect advertisement for both the system and our company at large."

"Well, there's nothing to lose in testing it out," major Staedele answered. "You have yourself a willing tester here."

For the next half hour, final agreements were hammerred out before Major Staedele finally put his signature under the contract. And with one signature, the small arms related problems of the Buron cavalry were a thing of the past.

Before going, the Major had one last question.

"Mr. Schneider, your planned caseless assault rifle... it doesn't happen to be a direct copy of the TK Assault, does it?"

"Actually, major, we planned for it to be an almost 1:1 copy when it comes to the mechanism. At least the first model. Is there any problem with that? From what your statements and our evaluation said, the model seems to be a more than decent firearm." the man replied in a curious tone.

"Well, Mr. Schneider, the problem is that the TK is patented by Triesting-Kelang. They might just disapprove of someone selling copycats into the Inner Sphere. Just take it as a well-meant warning. Corporate competition inside the Inner Sphere can be rough. Very rough. And while TK is not exactly one of the biggest companies out there, it still is operating facilities on several dozen planets and has considerable political clout inside the Lyran Commonwealth. You might want to not provoke them."

"Yeah", Johnson added, "last guys I heard from that breached a TK patent and simply ignored the lawsuits ended up with a merc company flattening their main production line. Pretty ugly affair."

"Well, let that be our problem, gentlemen. We will most likely never sell any of the first batch into the Sphere anyway", Schneider plainly replied.

[evilauthor]

Star League Bunker
New Dallas
Former Terran Hegemony
October 2006/3021

“So, Bob, Luke, any ideas on how to get inside?” Williams asked looking up at the looming portal. The massive, sliding doors were solidly shut, barring any entrance to the Star League facility within. And just to emphasize the fact, the doors were pockmarked and scored with craters and laser burns, testimony to its ability to resist the last bunch of looters.

Of course, those looters also had to deal with working auto-defense turrets. Six of them lined the front of the entrance. Five of them had been destroyed or disabled by enemy weapons fire. The sixth had been intact enough to keep taking pot shots at passers by for the past couple centuries before it had disabled itself just before it would have shot Williams. A portable fusion reactor with capacitors hid in the shadow of one of the turrets with open cabling snaking to all of them; apparently it had been running off and on for centuries, a testimony to Star League era engineering. But the whole set up looked horribly improvised to Williams.

“I dunno, Doc,” Luke said, staring up at the same doors in awe. He shook his head. “We never found anything this big before.”

“But we have found locked vaults sometimes,” Bob added thoughtfully. “If this is like those, we ought to look for a panel with fancy buttons. We got real good with picking those.”

“Well good luck with this one,” Delacruz said disgustedly. She pointed at the door frame at about the location and height where an intercom or computer terminal might have been. In its place was a melted metal and plastic mess, victim of a long ago stray energy weapons blast.

“Yeah, that’d make things a might harder,” Bob admitted.

“There’s got to be a way inside,” Williams said to no one in particular. “It can’t be too hard or the Sourcebooks would have mentioned something.”

“The what?” Luke asked, curious.

“But, Doctor, you said it yourself, the info we had on New Dallas was very sketchy,” Delacruz pointed out. “There were lots of things about New Dallas that weren’t mentioned, like people still living here.”

“You know what they’re talking about?” Luke asked Bob.

“Not a clue, cuz,” Bob replied.

“Still, it couldn’t have been that hard,” Williams said. He sighed. “I guess maybe the Sourcebooks aren’t as magically all-knowing as I… as some people think they are.”

“How about we blast our way in?” Delacruz suggested. “Tiffany’s mech is carrying those bunker busters after all.”

“I dunno,” Williams replied thoughtfully. “The bunker could be rigged to blow if we try anything so crude, just like the one on Helm is supposed to be. What we really need is a cutting torch to make our own door in a door.”

“Doctor,” Delacruz began, giving the door a good thump. There wasn’t even a hint of vibration. “This thing’s pretty thick. I don’t think we got a cutting torch powerful enough to cut through it. We certainly don’t have enough propane.”

“Too bad that ray gun’s not working anymore,” Luke added, pointing at the now quiescent turret. “I bet you could use it to cut a door.”

“Actually, it still works,” Williams said absently. “It’s just programmed to not… Luke! You’re a genius!”

“He is?” Bob scoffed.

“I am?” Luke said at the same time, bewildered.

“Yes!” Williams said, making his way over to the turret. “BT… Star League tech’s pretty modular. We can disconnect the targeting computer and rig the laser to fire a low powered cutting beam instead of short high powered bursts.”

“You sure that’s possible, Doctor?” Delacruz asked.

“Possible?” Williams chortled as he pried open a panel on the turret’s side. “I was on the team that did it back on Earth with pirate salvage. It’ll be easy!”

Al’Isard
New Dallas

“So, you’re the man who started all this hullabaloo, eh?” a man said, catching Wayne’s attention. The town meeting had broken up for lunch which had to Wayne’s bemusement turned into a general party when people from neighboring towns had started arriving. This man was richly dressed for a local and the woman on his arm even more so. They also looked vaguely familiar for some reason.

“Colonel Donald Wayne, Global Defense Initiative,” Wayne said, extending his hand. “And you, sir, are…”

”Nelson, Boss John Romero Nelson from Al’Pelleon,” the man introduced himself. There was an undertone of suspicion and hostility in his voice and body language. But he took Wayne’s hand and shook it firmly. He nodded at the woman on his arm. “My wife, Jean Anne.”

“Now, J.R. Be nice,” Nelson’s wife chided to her husband. She shook Wayne’s hand after her husband let it go. “Nice to meet you, Colonel. Don’t mind my husband here if he’s a bit of an ungrateful bastard.”

“Jeannie!”

Wayne scrutinized them both. Now that he thought about it, they did bear a slight but marked resemblance to a younger Larry Hagman and Barbara Eden. No, he thought, let’s not even go there. The universe was crazy enough as it was.

“…just don’t see where they get off with the right to upsetting everything ‘round here,” J.R. was saying. “We had a good life, right? Outsiders from the sky are going to be nothing but trouble.”

“It wasn’t our intention to cause a social upset, Mister Nelson,” Wayne told the man. “In truth, we’d really like to be friends. At the very least, we’d like nothing better than to avoid trouble.”

“And how do we know that anything you say is the truth?” Nelson asked, still suspicious. “Hasn’t our poor world suffered enough? It’s cause we trusted outsiders like Kerensky,” he spat on the ground, “to protect us that we wound up with the Rain of Fire. How do we know you’re not more of the same?”

“In truth, you don’t,” Wayne admitted. “But trust is something that has to be built with time. It’s something we have to earn. And if you don’t mind me saying so, Mister Nelson, it’s something we’d like to have the opportunity to earn if you only let us.”

“Huh, well I’ll be,” Nelson said, surprised. “Honesty.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Petronova said, appearing out of the crowd. “Doctor Williams is on the radio asking for you.”

Star League Bunker
New Dallas

“Where the hell did all these people come from?” Williams wondered aloud while watching the crowd filter into the bunker. When Wayne had arrived at the bunker, it looked like he had brought the whole population of New Dallas with him. Everyone was looking around and gawking like tourists.

Of course, there was plenty to gawk at. The first of many chambers was a literal parking lot, half filled with civilian vehicles belonging to the citizens of New Dallas. The other half was filled with ancient military vehicles and tanks, damaged from the fighting action of centuries ago. There were other chambers, also partially filled with vehicles and mechs and crates unopened since they came from the factory. The bunker’s contents would have been the score of a lifetime in the Inner Sphere. What it meant for the people of New Dallas – or the GDI for that matter – was simply incalculable.

“Doctor, is it safe to let them wander around?” Wayne asked as he watched people poking at things and drifting off into side chambers.

“Good luck trying to prevent them,” snorted a finely dressed gent who was apparently following Wayne. Or at least he was dressed more richly than the crowd’s average. “I may be a Boss, but even I know what I can and can’t tell people to do.”

“Nonsense, J. R,” another richly dressed man said. “You just got to know how to talk to people and project authority.”

”Yeah?” J. R. replied. “Is that why all your people make fun of you, Tycho?”

“Actually, Colonel,” Williams replied, ignoring the byplay. “It should be pretty safe. We haven’t been able to sweep the place thoroughly of booby traps, but we’re pretty sure there’s no more automated gun turrets ready to shoot anyone who walks into their line of sight.”

“Ooh, that sounds bad,” J. R. said. He turned to the crowd and shouted. “NO ONE GO OFF ALONE! BUDDY RULES ARE IN EFFECT, PEOPLE!” That got a smattering of acknowledgements.

“So, Doctor,” Wayne began, taking Williams aside. “Did you find it?”

“Find what?” Tycho asked sharply.

“Actually, yes we did,” Williams answered. He gestured for them to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

It was a fine procession that Williams led into the bunker’s control room. In addition to Colonel Wayne, J.R, Tycho, and what seemed to be everyone even vaguely considered an authority figure on New Dallas had joined in to see what all the fuss was about. An open area at the front of the control room was filled with bodies laid out and covered with blankets. Over the corpses stood Bob and Luke, obviously trying to give last rites to the dead and making a hash of it.

“What…” someone began.

“These are the remains of command crew here,” Williams explained. “It looks like they died at their stations.”

“We should give them a proper burial,” J.R. said solemnly.

“That we should,” Tycho said a little less respectfully. His eyes flicked over to Wayne. “But you guys came here for something, something specific, and I don’t think it’s the dead.”

“True, we did,” Williams admitted. He walked over to what looked like a metal cabinet with a computer terminal built into it. The terminal was lit up and had a progress bar going. Next to the terminal were two neat stacks of cartridges. One pile had a note card labeled ‘Empty’. The other, much smaller pile was labeled ‘Done’. Williams placed a hand on the terminal. “This,” he said in hushed tones of awe, “this is what we came for.”

“Er, what is it?” Tycho asked, puzzled. “It don’t look all that impressive.”

“What is it?” Williams echoed. “It’s…”

”Doctor…” Wayne said warningly.

”Colonel, they deserve to know,” Williams argued. “And in a way, they need it as much as we do, if not more so.”

Wayne glanced at the crowd of New Dallas leaders and came to a decision. He nodded to Williams.

“What this is,” Williams said, patting the cabinet, “is possibly the most important thing on this planet and maybe even the entire Inner Sphere. We call it a ‘Memory Core’ and what makes it so valuable is that it contains knowledge.”

“How is that valuable?” Tycho asked, annoyed. He didn’t seem to understand, but here and there, some of the others showed dawning comprehension.

“This holds everything the Star League knew,” Williams said. “Everything about fusion reactors, computers, space travel…”

“It contains everything you need to know on how to recreate civilization from scratch,” Wayne broke in. “Mister Jefferson, you remember when you told me how your people needed to scavenge lostech because none of you knew how to build it all anymore?”

“I seem to recall something to that effect,” Tycho admitted.

“Well what the Memory Core does is tell you how to build lostech,” Wayne told him. “Not just one or two items. All of it. With the Memory Core, lostech need no longer be lost.”

“That’s… that’s…” J. R. began, obviously searching for words.

”That’s fantastic!” squealed the woman at J. R’s side.

“That’s hor…good, yes, good,” Tycho said, seemingly less than enthused. “Obviously, such knowledge needs to be carefully considered and in the hands of experts…”

“No.”

”Excuse me, Doctor,” Tycho said, turning to the speaker. “What was that?”

“No,” Williams repeated. “Knowledge is precious, but it does no good locked up and viewed only by a select few. For the Memory Core to do you people any good, it needs to be accessible where anyone and everyone can have access to it. Keeping it locked up does no one any good but the person holding the key. You want to really rebuild your civilization? Then let anyone who wants to know the contents of the Memory Core know it so that they can fully contribute to the rebuilding.”

“But, Doctor, there’s only the one Memory Core,” J. R. pointed out.

“What, this?” Williams said, looking at the cabinet. “This is actually just a main frame for holding and reading the core. There’s a whole room full of spare mainframes and portable readers just down the hall. But the contents of the core can all fit into one of these.” He picked up a surprisingly light cartridge from the side table. Say what you would about bulky, inefficient BT processors, but their data storage technology – particularly the one in his hand - rivaled any commercial hard drive currently produced by Earth... and without moving parts to boot! “We’re making copies as fast as we can. Think about it, every town can have a one.”

“Wait a sec,” Tycho said. “You’re just giving this to us?”

“Why not?” Williams said with a shrug. “We’ve already made a few copies for ourselves.”

“Free?” Tycho continued. Apparently he had trouble wrapping his mind around the concept.

“There there, Tycho,” J.R. said, patting the other man on the shoulder. “I know the idea’s a might hard for you, but I’m sure you’ll get ahold of it.” He turned to Wayne. “Still, Tycho does have a point even if he don’t know it. What do you folks get out of this anyway?”

“Aside from the Memory Core?” Wayne said. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “My orders were to establish a base here to support operations here in the Inner Sphere. And things would be a lot easier for me if we were friends with you and could trade for necessities like food. And now that I think about it, you being able to make and sell any parts we need would be a tremendous boost.”

“Sell?” Tycho said suddenly, perking up. “Did someone say ‘sell’?”

“Of course, the Memory Core isn’t much use if you don’t know the basics of what it’s talking about,” Williams mused aloud. He turned to Wayne. “So, Colonel, how do you feel about opening a university?”

[Kerrus]

Freedom Station Promenade
January 3rd 2007/3022
Earth, Grantville Cluster


"I still can't believe it," Linda said, watching the planet below. Wreathed in clouds, flickering storm patterns, and the reflected light of early morning, Terra was as beautiful as ever. But this wasn't the Terra Linda had grown up on. This was something so very strange and new. "Earth."

"We have to thank you for your assistance, Miss Cameron- I assure you that we need it," a voice said evenly. Linda turned, surprised at the intrusion.

The man was young, handsome, and wore the uniform of GDI's space navy- green and blue lines melding together to cut a striking figure. Russet hair framed a noble face, and green eyes glanced at her appraisingly.

"Michael Cameron- I've been assigned as your guide," he said smoothly. "You've been approved to go planetside- finally, and the powers that be must have thought it amusing to assign myself to you."

"You're a relation?" she asked, guardedly. The name was the same- but even in the heyday of the Star League there had been many who bore the name Cameron but not the lineage of that auspicious family.

"By my reckoning, you're my great- a dozen times or so removed- niece," Michael answered truthfully. He pursed his lips before continuing. "According to the sourcebooks, there's a direct Cameron ancestor of your family- one Jessica Cameron."

"The name's familiar- although I don't believe we've had a Jessica in the family in many years," Linda said, considering. "Of course, the family records were on Terra, and..."

"Well, I can confidently say that given what we've come to understand about what was formerly fiction, and is now reality, my sister is most assuredly your great grandmother, albeit several times a more distant one," Michael continued. He frowned, then straightened. "We were lucky she was in the books- they say she died in a car accident in 2012. I don't intend to let that happen this time around."


"What about John?" Linda asked, changing the subject. All this talk about futures and pasts and the strange circumstances that Earth had arrived here was making her feel quite odd. It was not a feeling she enjoyed. "When can I see him? For that matter- when can I see the others?"

Linda referred to the other survivors brought back from Columbus. They were all that remained of the Star League she had known- and Linda felt an obligation stronger then duty to ensure their welfare.

"You'll be happy to know that they've all finished their debriefing and are already planetside," Michael explained. He held up a hand to forestall further questions. "I would caution you, however, that there will be many questions. Outside of your debrief, there is much we do not yet know about your technology base, and because your people are the only real experts we have on the matter, there will be, well..."

"Eggheads on hand to pick our brains?" She finished.

"Exactly," Michael concluded. Then he smiled that wry smile again and turned to leave. "Our ride departs in half an hour. Your things have already been stowed- so I suggest you say your goodbyes. The station crew doesn't rotate out for another three weeks."

Linda nodded, and made to leave, when a pointed dart-like object made of paper sailed towards her. She snatched it out of the air, and unfolded it. It was a letter- written with a date and time, and a location- but the data was unfamiliar.

"Mother decided to invite you to Easter dinner- it's an esoteric tradition, but tradition is what makes us a family," Michael elabourated. "You don't have to come, but I'd suggest you do."

"We'll see- after I'm planetside," Linda replied. Then she turned away from her supposed 'Uncle' and departed. This 'Michael', an apparent relation despite the centuries of difference, was an interesting speaker. Not entirely suave, he nevertheless was possessed of a smug self-confidence that he carried wrapped around himself like a cloak. Making her way 'down' a ladder to the earthside section of Freedom Station, Linda turned her thoughts back to those under her protection. How were they handling this transition? Linda didn't want to spend the rest of her life as a library for these people- promise or no promise.

As she made her way towards the docking ring, she spotted a familiar figure, who turned and smiled at her.

"Hey Rinda!" called Shirase Tendo, formerly of the GDI Expedition FS. He smiled broadly.

Perhaps the eccentric technician could bring her up to speed, Linda considered. If anything, his poor grasp on the english language was apt to make her laugh.

She smiled and took his hand in hers.

"I'm glad to see you, Tendo-san," she said warmly. Tendo loosed a salvo of a smile at her use of the honourific. "It's good to be going home."

"Me too," Tendou confided. "Too stuffy up here."


Washington, DC
January 5th, 2007/3022
Earth, Grantville Cluster

For Rirchard Sanford, the return to Earth had been the end of a long, arduous mission, and the begining of another. Apparently World Government had sprung up in his absense. Apparently GDI had been ratified. Apparently Phantom Snowflake had been written off the books as a failure. It was amazing what missing a deadline by a month could do- and more amazing how much paperwork a triumphant return would produce.

"Still at it, sir?" the warm voice of Norris Algaute asked. The young woman had cleaned up remarkably since their return home- the depression she had been fighting with seemed to have finally departed, and Norris had reaffirmed her intent to stay with the now ratified Global Defence Initiative. That, of course, meant being assigned to the Columbus Aftermath project for the forseeable future- GDI had seen fit to assign those whom had taken part in the retrieval and stripping of the Colmumbus Facility to the operation that would put it all back together.

Officially, it they were on paid leave. They did not have to follow military schedules, or observe military protocols- although many did out of tradition. But they still had to work- even if it was much less work then they had done on their previous tour of duty.

Part of the assignment was familiarity- the scientists, displaced from the long gone Star League, were civilians. GDI had tried, precisely once, to swap out the expedition forces with new personnelle- but the civilians had not reacted well. Without Linda Cameron to guide them, or those friends they had made with their rescuers, they had clammed up and shut down. One man even had a psychotic break, and it was only through the immediate intervention of the Columbus Cat named 'Patch' that violence was prevented. While Richard had initially held the idea of bringing the collection of felines that his team had 'adopted' back to Earth to be rather silly, he had to admit that their presence had done much to calm the more emotionally unstable of the civilians.

"Still?" Richard paused, then sorted some more paperwork. "Oh lord, it's the morning- you're just up."

"Yes sir." Norris replied. "0600 hours, sir."

"Well then, I suppose I should get some sleep," he said groggily. "Captain's perogative."

"If you say so, sir," Norris replied. Richard narrowed his eyes. She was almost... bouncing.

"Did you want something, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Yes sir- I just wanted to tell you that Customs has authorized our two Knights to head planetside- they'll be here tomorrow," Norris explained- still excited, still shining like a lightbulb. "But that's only-"

"The other cats- I got the memo," Richard interjected. Any more bouncy happy perky talk and his headache threatened to increase tenfold.

"No sir. Or rather, not exactly, sir. The kittens are coming. The lottery came up with your name, so you get first pick," she exclaimed. "Personally, I wanted the red one, but Moonsilver isn't ready to part with them yet, and as I mentioned- there was the lottery, sir."

"The lottery?" Richard deadpanned.

"Yes sir."

"Who entered my name?"

"Oh, I couldn't begin to guess who would take such a risk, sir," Norris replied enthusiastically.

"Was it Blake?" he asked evenly. Norris just smiled that blinding smile.

"Goodbye sir- make sure to come see the kittens in the afternoon, sir," Norris finished. Richard blinked and she was gone. The clock read five minutes later, and it was then that Richard decided that maybe it really was time to hit the sack. Taking one last look at the droves of paperwork, he sighed, then headed for his quarters.

Sleep came quickly, and Richard dreamed of cats, Columbus, and an insistent voice calling his name.

Abruptly the dream seemed to jerk- and there was a familiar lookng cat...

It was, of course, Patch. Richard wasn't entirely sure why the cat kept showing up in his dreams- dream logic wasn't his strong point, and while he had been having such dreams since the addition of the small contingent of cats that the expedition had 'adopted', he rarely remembered any.

Tonight's dream involved coffee at Starbucks. Richard took his dark, while Patch took his with a bit of milk. They discussed the weather, GDI's plans for the material retrieved from Columbus, and even compared notes about who was driving the jaguar with tinted windows that sat parked outside on the street corner.

Then Patch paused for a moment, and said a most curious thing.

"You have to go, I think. You've got an important meeting."

"I have not," Richard replied, although dream logic being what it was, he was unsure if this was actually the case.

"You do. You need to get up," Patch replied.

"I need to..." and then Richard paused, and in his pause he paused again. Opening his eyes, he saw his room around him. He was awake. "I have an important meeting?"

He considered the fading remnants of the dream, curious about what it could mean. Throwing on his casual wear and giving his hair a brief combover, he stepped into the hall- and was abruptly knocked to the floor as the bolting form of Comstar Precentor Gabriel Ormus smashed into him. The two tangled, and while Richard was still groggy from sleep, he was aware enough to grapple properly, forcing the Comstar man into a headlock.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" he growled. Gabriel merely looked at him with eyes too wide. He started to say something, and then stopped, and started shaking in some sort of episode.

Abruptly four security men arrived around the corner. Richard gave them a half hearted salute as he attempted to haul the Precentor to his feet.

"He ran sir- bolted in the middle of his lunch meal. This isn't a prison- we had five men on him, but he knocked out two and-" one of the men elabourated.

"What's in this direction?" Richard asked, gesturing down the hall that Gabriel had been running.

"Access to the grounds, storage, the infirmary-"

"The Infirmary. Get his legs, we need to get this man a doctor!" Richard growled. Gabriel merely shook in place, eyes shut in pain.

As the security men helped Richard carry the Precentor to the infirmary, Richard's mind wandered, and he considered the reaction the Precentor was having. Who would want to poison him, and more importantly, who would risk actually doing so?



Far and away, a person who was two parts human being, one part battletech nerd, and one part crazy conspiracy theorist eyed the cat sunning itself on the window sill. His name was Terris O'niell, and he was a cook. He made a conscious effort not to shake- this was his first time killing someone, after all. It wouldn't do to break down and get caught, not when there were still so many more who needed his attention.

He knew what GDI was doing, how could he not. Genetic engineering, supersoldier programs- The ISOT was real, but everything they had told the populace was a lie. They weren't studying the technology to advance the human race, they were studying the technology so they could defect to Comstar or the Successor States. They didn't care about Earth, or her people.

Terris, naturally, refused to let that happen- he refused to let them screw over the world just like they'd screwed over his father. His father had gone to defend Earth- and instead was killed in a barfight by a bunch of rowdy pirates. GDI hadn't cared. They didn't even arrest the pirates- they just let them go, citing reasons of cost. That's all that mattered to them. Money.

[consequences]

Port Krin
Antallos
December 11, 2006/3021

A series of titanic explosions sounded in the background as an ammunition bunker succumbed to a stray PPC shot, as the Major’s voice snarled in Vranch’s ear on the company command circuit “No debate damnit, if we continue in to try to help the rest of the regiment we’re dead. Alpha Battalion’s already gone, and Bravo’s fading fast. Head for the dropships at maximum speed.

As Captain Vranch relayed the order and set her Warhammer into motion, the bizarre six legged mechs continued to tear apart the city and its defenders. Sergeant Mullen rapidly pulled ahead of the main body in his Jenner, and only had time to say “Contact, oh shi-“ before a single energy blast from an impossible distance tore straight through the center of his mech.

Dansel cursed inwardly as the headlong flight of his battalion faltered, of course the enemy would be in position to cut off their escape with previously undetected forces. His first instinct was to order a charge, but it could be said with some fairness that his first instinct was always to charge. Over the private command circuit, he said "Hale?", somehow infusing the one word with all of the meaning that would normally be contained in the phrase 'Holy crap we're screwed, please tell me you've figured a way out of this becuase you're so much better than me at this sort of thing'.

Captain Burgess Hale, XO of the GDI Foreign Legion began crisply issuing orders as the enemy proved that even its ridiculous equipment had limits by repeatedly missing as they closed the distance: "Unit to maintain sixty kph advance towards enemy, all mechs to maintain evasive manueveuring until 1600 meter distance is reached. Targeting assignments to follow."

As he put his mech into a one-handed zigzagging run while typing out targeting assigments and contingiencies, the Major's voice came on the unit circuit, "Hale is to be kept intact at all costs".

Gee, thanks boss the designated protectee thought as he continued assigning secondary and tertiary targets and unit groupings. Meanwhile, the fifteen enemy machines continued to scuttle forward, their increasingly accurate fire stymied for the moment by the speed and frantic dodging of Charlie battalion's mechwarriors.

Sergeant Samson's Enforcer was the first mech to fall, just as the battalion began to cross into the range where it's longest ranged units might hope to return fire at all effectively. The remaining five kilometers to the ordered engagement range passed with aching slowness, two minutes stretching out into an eternity as mech after mech was sent crashing to the ground or entirely obliterated, and the four Battlemasters in the lead took hit after hit to their armor.

When the order to fire was given, only thirty battlemechs remained on their feet. Lashing out as one, they vented their fury on a mere five targets. Shitpissfuckgodamnit Dansel raged internally as he saw three lasers and a PPC scour armor from the bulbous pod atop the target of his command lance without removing it. A second volley transformed it into a burning wreck, but by that time another nine of his people were gone, and his reactor was starting to go critical. Oh well, I did say at all costs. He thought resignedly, watching one of the remaining insectile bastards rush well ahead of the others and draw a bead on Hale's mech. Allowing the next volley to spin his Battlemaster, he turned the movement into a lunge, grabbing the offending machine with his one remaining arm a bare moment before a globe of silver fire consumed them both.

Twenty to nine now, the fight continued to rage as the remaining Legion mechs retargeted on only three of the invaders. Two of those targeted fell, but in exchange they claimed eight more GDI mechs. "Vranch, you have comma-" was all Hale was able to utter before a stuttering arc of plasma neatly decapitated his mech. At the same time, three more battlemechs exploded, just as the third targetted monstrosity finally crashed to the ground.

"All units engage Sierra Five" The last eight GDI mechs on the planet followed Captain Justine Vranch's command, but were unable to breach its impossibly thick armor as it shattered the legs of Von Braun's Awesome at point-blank range, contemptuously continuing to stride over its recumbent form.

Bellowing "Friss Scheiße!" over his loudspeakers, Von Braun jammed his arm mounted PPC into its thorax as he fired. Explosions cascaded throughout as it collapsed, crushing the assault mech beneath it.

Proving that they were slow learners, whatever their technical wizardry, one of the five attackers remaining continued its forward movement towards Burdoch's fallen Crusader "Birdy?" Vranch asked.

"Do it." Firing all of her remaining weapons, she cored through the Crusader's tattered armor to its ammunition. The resulting explosion sent the legless body of the alien mech tumbling. Vranch had no time to dwell on what she had just done, as a massive light filled her cockpit.






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















A hissing noise sounded as the simulator cracked open. Blinking in an attempt to clear her vision, Justine Vranch stepped out into the bay full of simulator pods. A voice spoke behind her "The Major said to tell you 'not bad'." Turning, she found Hale behind her, offering a water bottle and a towel.

"I wouldn't put it that way sir." Her first real chance to impress the old man with her ability to command independently, and all she'd done was get everyone killed. Well, almost everyone, Brox and Jankowsci's simulators were still closed, indicating that ther mechs were somehow still active.

"Trust me, the reason he's not here is because he's making his opinion known to the graders as we speak" Hale said, gesturing at the closing door to the control area.

"That was complete Bullshi-!" resonated throughout the bay, cut off as the door hissed to a close.

"Meanwhile, we haven't technically lost yet, since the Demonic Duo are still at it." Immediately after Hale spoke those words a groan resounded from the assembled members of the battalion. "Well, Brox is still at it anyway" he said as a fuming Jankowscki emerged.

In one of those bizarre twists of human events, GDI had come into possession of just over a full battalion of functional simulators, some the personal property of Vorax, a few belonging to the Krin militia, several more from the mercenary battalion Vorax had snuck on world, and more than two dozen that Ryan had been hauling as booty. Since the Foreign Legion was low on the priority list for mech repair, Dansel had managed to finagle extended simulator time. The asskicking they'd just received was by no means the first, although it was certainly the most completely one-sided to date.

Another groan rose from the unit watching the monitors as Brox finally got boxed in and had his left leg sheared off at the knee. Defiantly, the Battlemaster on the screen raised its remaining arm with middle finger extended, then immediately jammed it into the glowing barrel being leveled at its head. The resulting detonation ripped the weapon and mount from the spider-bot's body, and tore the badly damaged Battlemaster in half.



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



The assembled field grade officers looked up from Major Lewis collecting his winnings to see Dansel bracing to attention. "My apologies gentlemen, I felt the need to take the side of my unit for the sake of my public persona and maintaining their support".

Genral Davis smiled understandingly as he replied "Forgiven Major. Your thoughts on this exercise?" In his personal opinion Dansel had nothing to worry about after the way he'd quelled the near riot some idiot of a new arrival had started by spreading rumors about taking away the Legion's mechs, but he certainly understood the need to play it safe.

"We had no warning, the rest of the simulated regiment completely refused to respond to any attempts at communication or coordination, all of the support the mechs should have had was nowhere to be found, and if I'm not mistaken that was a cosmetically modifed front line 'Charlie' unit that just handed us our asses by popping up directly on our exit path. All in all as close to a textbook no-win scenario as I can imagine. When can my boys try it again?"

Davis made a show of studying the simulator schedule on the far wall and the Charlie battalion training schedule on his computer. "Ten days from now Major, and your battalion will have to give up an off-duty day to do it. Are you sure you want to inconvenience them for this?" As in nearly all things this was a test, the file on Dansel inluded the years-old NCOER detailing his tendency to coast if allowed to get away with it. The other two battalion commanders had been nearly as irate in actuality as their junior counterpart had made a show of being and already had their second run scheduled.

"Sir, I don't even think I remember what those words are supposed to mean to me personally, so they can suck it up."

"Then ten days it is. I'll have copies of the other battalions runs delivered to you so they don't have an unfair advantage. Dismissed Major" After Dansel had left, and the door closed, he turned to his officers. "Fifty on twenty-six kills for their next try."

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

Spotting the old man emerging from the control center, Burdoch shouted "Battalion, attention!"

"As you were, now gather round. Since we didn't manage to get it right, we get to try again in ten days time." As everyone present did the math, a groan started to build from the sub-audible. "At ease, if I wanted to hear moaning I'd have Brox take you on a run. Report to the briefing room in two hours for the After Action Review, and say farewell to your bunks, because you won't be seeing much of them for a while. Group, attention! Fall out! Hale, walk with me for a minute"

"Hard on them much?" Hale asked rhetorically as they made their way towards the officer's mess.

"It's the only way I know to express my love" was the deadpan reply. "If I let them know I care, then they'll be wanting hugs and bedtime stories. Aren't you supposed to be calling me 'sir' for their benefit anyway?" he asked?

"They can't hear us, and I thought you'd want to hear the latest bit of ass-kissing apology anyway. Apparently the AFFS has decided that I was on detached covert duty all these years, and my promotion to major was back-dated to a year and a half ago."

"Well congratulations, major, sir. How many oblique hints that they'd like you to come in for debriefing this time?"

"Just the one, I think they're starting to get the idea that I'm done with them. Besides, I'm still worried that Lewis managed to get a bomb implanted in me back on the 'Lode. The money's useful, and the holo of the bastard's execution was something to treasure, but what bridges they didn't burn I torched on the way out. Now that I have money, the thing to do would be to try to pull together a ramshackle mercenary unit, overextend myself, and go on the run from my debtors within the year. Of course, you managed to do that on GDI's dime, so I can watch the fireworks without going bankrupt."

"Yeah, about that whole being a multi-something whatever millionaire thing..." Dansel trailed off.

"What critically essential material did GDI forget this time?" After Dansel explained at length, Hale nodded. "Agreed. But I get to be there when you present the general with the bill, and I also get to refer to you as 'Bitch where's my money?' in private for the next week."

"When the hell did Johnson ever talk to you about that, and why would he have let that slip anyway?"

"From Lewis by way of Flake actually, it's just too damned funny not to share."

"And now I know why Johnson volunteered for that secret squirrel mission to parts unknown."


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


Port Krin
Antallos
December 22 2006/3021

Hale pointed at the screen "Look, right there" As the warrant officer rewound and resumed play in slow motion he continued "Those bastards were moving to respond to my commands before our people were." The results of that exercise still stung, they'd short-circuited start up as much as they'd dared, and moved in at blatantly unsafe speeds to hit the enemy while the other battalions were still at least drawing fire. They'd overrun the first group without problem, and expended the remnants of the notional Alpha Battalion to buy enough time to bring down the second, but the third had anticipated their positions inside the city and won the ensuing slugfest instead of walking into the planned ambush.

Warrant Officer Flake leaned back in his chair "Yup, I'd say it looks like they included a fairly hefty recognition program in the response algorithm to keep you from pulling anything sneaky."

"You don't seem even slightly surprised." Dansel said from over his other shoulder.

"Well, unfortunately, I really can't talk about any specifics. Hypothetically though, the guy in charge of simulation programming might be the kind of person who leans on others with the necessary skills when the lazy bastard is feeling overworked. And hypothetically, he might have had them handle the superb, incredibly accurate and detailed terrain modeling and physics interactions and also the communications monitoring software. It's possible, if something like that was going to happen, that said nameless individual might have tied them in to a worthless kludge of a tactical program practically lifted straight from a real time strategy game. But if something like that was going to happen, he'd probably at least have the sense to order the silence of his uncredited partners, so they wouldn't be able to provide details to an old friend and former room-mate." The warrant officer stared pointedly at the ceiling as he finished this monologue.

"You know, I'd thought that those secondary explosions were entirely too vivid. Why the hell did you become a stevedore anyway?"

"Same reason you did, numbnuts, sir. Shortest school, biggest bonus, largest college incentive. And last year re-classing was just impossible, I was barely able to get into warrant officer's school, so I'm stuck managing our cargo operations for all of an hour a day except for once a week when the dropships come in."

"So I take it that you need Team Bruce to sneak you out unnoticed?"

"Already made the arrangements. Project Voyeur is nearly done by the way, and Project Dynamic needs another infusion from the walking ATM before it stalls in about a week" he said, gesturing at Hale. "Take care, you bug-fuck crazy bastard."

"So, bitch where's my money, where do we go from here?"

"First, I bang my head on the wall a few hundred times for ever agreeing to that. Then we track down Laisa and whoever she points us to, take copious notes on innocuous subjects, and head back to the barracks. Then I figure out who we need to get to help us craft a battle language and then teach it to forty people in less than two weeks. After that, we can seriously get to work."

"Von Braun. Working on a masters in linguistics of all things".

"You know, if you're going to get to know my unit better than I do, you could at least have the decency to make a flow chart."

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



Office of 'Major' Tony Dansel
Port Krin, Antallos
December 29 2006/3021


Dansel looked up as the two entered his office, irritably returning their salutes as they reported. They knew he hated going through the Mickey Mouse bullshit with anyone who had been next to him as they held the line, which meant that they took pains to be as thoroughly correct as possible in their dealings with him as a means of getting his goat. "Take a seat. Since your situations are both fairly similar, I decided to combine both interviews to keep from repeating myself. Captain Brand, you specifically requested the official disbandment of the Fire Brands, and for your remaining personnel to be folded into the Foreign Legion, is that correct?"

"Yes sir. The support GDI has provided was far and above the bounds of the already generous contract, and while my unit could still reconstitute into a fighting force because of that support, if we left the employment of GDI at any point in the future there would be no chance of receiving equivalent support from any other faction. It seemed simpler to officially transfer to the ranks of GDI, and to let GDI enter into a long-term lease option on our machines in order to better take care of my people in the long-term." There were other reasons, but The Hulk was known for being notably irate with anyone he considered a whiner, and it was difficult to tell exactly what might cross that line with him some times.

"And the reason that you carefully aren't mentioning is that the new arrivals, despite a great deal of pressure from other survivors of the battle, are quietly making your lives and those of your people hell. Lieutenant Fischer, that same reason applies to you, but you have no wish to officially disband the Freelancers at this time, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"In addition, Captain you have run into a wall with regards to potential advancement in the regulars, since despite your efforts working up your ad hoc company, you've been passed over as Major Staedale's replacement as commander of Bravo Battalion, and if the rumor mill is to be believed, the provisional battalions they're forming on paper to be filled out with additional recovered equipment. So, Captain Brand , I have a job offer for you. The hours are shitty, and you'll be stuck trying to bring rank newbies up to a bare minimum of incompetence. Much of the time you'll lose your most promising people for reasons beyond your control, and just when you get them to the point they seem to be worth your breath to insult, they're going to be taken away from you and a fresh batch of dismal prospects will be dropped in your lap. Interested?"

Captain Brand suppressed a wince at the prospect of yet another test while stuck as a captain, but replied "Yes sir."

"Outstanding. Lieutenant Fischer, I have two offers for you. First, Brevet-Major Brand here is going to need competent company commanders to help him manage his load, if he doesn't decide he needs you as an XO more. Second, I'm going to need someone well-versed in small unit mech tactics to manage my command group, and I can't afford to break up any of my existing lances at this time. The second option doesn't come with even an ersatz promotion at this point I'm afraid."

"The second option sir." Inwardly, Natalie breathed a sigh of relief, Brox was her only real anchor on this planet(she ruthlessly suppressed the image of Greene's irrepressible grin appearing in her mind unbidden), and he'd been slowly drifting away from her.

"Fantastic. Brand, get with Hale about our training standards and the atrocity of force structure you're going to be saddled with in a little less than a month. Fischer stay one more moment please." Waiting a moment for Brand to exit the room, he then continued. "Lieutenant, I want you to consider where you want to be in ten or twenty years time. You've seen from what happened on Motherlode, and how a single unforeseeable disaster can result in a mercenary force being eradicated, and that without even factoring in the possibility of active betrayal by your employers. Don't stick to a path which holds no prospect of a real future just because it seemed like the only way to even have a chance of safety in the past. Whatever you decide, at least have a talk with Hale about finances. Dismissed."



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


Control Room
Port Krin
Antallos
January 5, 2007/3022

"So do you have anything new to throw at them today Captain?" After a total of eight different runthroughs each with the same result, most of the other officers felt they could no longer make the time to watch a foregone conclusion. Still, the least Colonel Aladdin Al Azim could do was watch their efforts in person. In addition, as the neutral party holding the bets, he was needed to make an accurate account to avoid disputes.

"Added a fifth grouping that will come in from just out of sensor range when I hit the button sir. Since none of them have done more than scratch the fourth yet, that should stop them cold."

" I see." the Colonel replied, carefully hiding his distaste. While his true ire might be reserved for the Draconis Combine, the ham-handed brute force approach of the Lyran Commonwealth held no appeal for him either, and this was entirely too reminiscent of their, for want of a better word, tactics.

"Well they've started. Wow, shaved a good thirty seconds off their previous start-up, and damn, but they're cranking out the communications. I guess Hale think micro-managing might do the trick this time." Glancing between the various screens, Captain Baker zoomed in on Alpha Battalion as they began to engage. His eyes widened as the first invader fell long before Charlie Battalion came in range "Huh that hasn't happened before. Wonder why it stepped out... now that isn't right." he said as Bravo Battalion also made an unassisted kill. The two computer run battalions were still losing four mechs for every kill they made, but the point was that they shouldn't have been making kills in the first place.

Amused, Aladdin said "Perhaps you haven't given them enough credit."

"No, it's got to be a fluke. What the Hell?!" the captain exclaimed as one of the attackers did a 180 for no apparent reason, exposing its back to the mechs it had been menacing. Moments later it turned back to face them, but not before an internal explosion had caused half its guns to go silent.

Charlie battalion continued its head long rush towards the city and the ongoing fighting. Its fire support lances slowed momentarily and a wave of LRMs leapt into the sky. Even the Colonel frowned at this, muttering "They can't possibly hope to hit a moving target at that range, especially with no line of sight. Realization dawned, and a growing smile slowly started to win the war with his normal impassive demeanor.

The descending wave of missiles landed, not on the mobile invaders, but on volatile storage tanks at a dozen locations. Cascading explosions erupted, battering the nearby enemies with repeated detonations. As one, the unit leveled its guns on the massive aqueduct and mammoth water storage towers. Bursting under the onslaught, a deluge of water poured over half of the invaders, and status displays rapidly turned red as battle damaged seals failed under the torrent.

"That can't work. Sir, you pilot a mech, you have to know that that can't possibly work" the captain said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It's true that mechs that suffer damage underwater can lose integrity even to hits that fail to penetrate the armor. I don't know if a temporary event such as that would have the same effect, as I honestly do not recall anything that would settle the matter one way or the other. I would say that in this instance it would depend on the specific programming of the simulator."

The captain watched in stony silence as the Legion joined the battle in earnest, and rapidly tore their remaining opponents in the city apart. Unlike in every previous battle, a full battalion of the computer controlled GDI mechs was still combat capable after the first two waves were eliminated, and they began following their simplistic programming and moving towards the third set of fifteen enemies as they came over the rebuilt Wall. The Foreign Legion followed close behind, and the GDI forces began to take fire as the insectoid machines crossed the port proper. "Well they're in the open now, so their fancy tricks won't do them any good."

"Hubris should be a four letter word captain." Even as the colonel spoke, thirty-seven mechs fired as one into a colossal fuel storage tank. The detonation, a heartbeat later, was in the kiloton range, and half a dozen of the closest GDI mechs were cast to the ground, with two more torn apart by shrapnel that had moments ago been the Opposing Force. Aladdin momentarily considered calling a halt to the exercise, before deciding that the humbling would likely be good for the captain, and that the troops more than deserved their moment of glory. As the two remaining groups were released, he leaned forward intently to watch the proceedings.


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


Briefing Room
Port Krin
Antallos
January 5, 2007/3022

A total of eighty-two personnel were crammed into the room, every mechwarrior and RTO of the line battalion apart from their commander and XO being present. They'd been given an hour and half to report back to allow for food and hygiene after Hale and Dansel were called into the control room. It was an hour after that deadline, and they were still waiting, while rumors spread about various senior officers making their way into the building. Mechwarrior Gary Evellin spotted the door opening and called the group to attention.

"As you were. First off, Hale's going to go down the list of screw-ups." Most of the occupants of the room did their best to suppress a wince, the Major was absolutely merciless about correcting errors, and if anything the XO was worse since he seemed to be able to effortlessly keep track of the entire battalion simultaneously.

"First off, Jankowscki. You're a great pilot. We all know you're a great pilot. This doesn't mean you get to grandstand, and it means that you definitely aren't allowed to do a victory dance on top of your last kill. Brox, as above, with the specific direction that you are never again to hump the decapitated head of an enemy mech." The two pilots singled out proceeded to raise the roof as the room broke up in laughter. Hale let it continue for a moment before mildly saying "At ease. Mullen, if you aren't going to fully use your Jenner's mobility I'm sure we can find an Urbanmech so you won't have to worry about having the option anymore. Roderick, when I tell you to engage Sierra Three, that means you engage Sierra Three, not Sierra Five. Burdoch, your lance's fire mission on Bandit Group four was delivered three seconds late from the mark given. It may have worked out, but you know damned well you didn't intend for that to happen." The Captain continued down his list with another twenty minor corrections before concluding "One last thing. Damned fine work Legionnaires, this simulation was supposed to be completely unwinnable even before they added the fifth group just for us."

A moment of shocked silence followed as the batalion attempted to make sense of a completely alien event: receiving un-alloyed praise. The room then erupted in cheers, which Dansel allowed to continue for a full minute before holding up his hand. As the troops quickly settled down he said" Now I have a little presentation to demonstrate exactly why we've tried to hammer you into the ground for the last five months. All of you have heard some version of the supposedly legendary run I made when Motherlode was hit, now it's time for you to see what happened."

On the projector screen a tactical display appeared, showing a single green icon and a dozen red lights at a distance. "The first thing to note is that for this battle happened in a location with a dedicated loyal population and sufficient landlines to keep friendly troops informed of enemy locations." Of course, Dansel hadn't received permission for full disclosure, so he left out the fact that while that was certainly the case, it was the satellite coverage and unmanned drones that actually kept the enemy under close observation.

The approach continued on fast forward for a few minutes then reverted to real time as the icon of the Hunchback crested a ridge at the same time one of the aerospace fighters ascended a thousand feet. "Here's where I made my first major error, if I had taken an extra two minutes to move a kilometer and a half to my left, there would have been sufficient tree cover that I might not have been spotted even if the enemy fighter had maintained that height. For the record, my mission objectives were to first eliminate the two Sabres if possible, and second, to keep the enemy occupied in the area so they wouldn't be able to intervene in any of the other battles going on on the planet. I was also to keep my mech vaguely intact if I could manage it."


The review continued, with every sub-par decision being mercilessly dissected as the battalion looked on with a growing sense of numb disbelief that someone would do anything other than incessantly brag about a victory against those kind of odds. "...In the end, the primary failures made fell in two areas. First, that I repeatedly took action with excessive haste and insufficient consideration. Jankowscki, what can happen when you take a panicked snapshot at a suddenly appearing target?"

"You end up buried under a thousand tons of metal."

"And second, that I failed to maintain situational awareness. Captain Hale, what happens when you don't keep track of your surroundings?"

"Some utter lunatic sneaks up on your mech on foot and burns through the rear hatch."

"You may have noticed that the review I just gave was more unforgiving than the ones you are used to receiving. That's because when Hale or I give a stupid order, that's our fault. Out there alone, it was my responsibility to keep track of everything going on, and to make all of the correct decisions in response to the situation. This is why GDI trains with an RTO, a mechwarrior can only do so much at once, which is why mech battles tend to devolve to a series of duels and small scale brawls. This is especially why Hale moved to the back seat once Graham was cleared for duty." Dansel waited a moment for all of that to sink it before continuing "At this point I have the usual good news bad news spiel. The good news is that you've outperformed the other two battalions. The bad news is that I'm going to expect you to continue to do so, and the officer in charge of simulations just got replaced by someone a lot more competent. So you can expect the training to get tougher, even if I've prevailed upon my superiors to make it against more realistic enemies in future sims. We're also going to be directly exercising against the other battalions in the near-future, since the last shipment of parts needed is due to arrive shortly. The bad news there is that in five days we'll be having an all-hands evolution to assist the techs in getting everything fitted as fast as possible. The good news is that after this evening, your time is your own until 0500 Friday, since by my count I owe you four days of downtime. You'll find new dress uniforms in the barracks, which you are required to wear for the party that starts at 1900. And if I catch any of you on your feet before noon tomorrow, I'll take that as proof that you really don't enjoy partying and time off, and assign you guard duty till everyone else gets back. Dismissed."


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

[JonBerry]

Sian, Capellan Confederation
Dropship Faith and Trust
01 January 2007

David rocked awake with the sounds of rockets roaring in his head. He was still tippy from the party last night, and this carried over as he promptly fell out his bunk onto the carpet below. Groggily, he pulled himself back up, and found himself face to glass with a small pitcher of water, one anchored against the acceleration.

He realized that the rockets were external, not internal, and that they must have taken off already. A glance at the clock indicated that he had somehow managed to sleep through liftoff some three hours previous. "I must be getting used to this, to sleep through take-off" David muttered to no one in particular. He grabbed the pitcher, and with a rip of velcro, drank deeply to help fight off the building hangover.

The John Deere representative pulled on some clothes, making sure at least his socks matched. Now that they were off world, his job load decreased as they headed back for their Jumpship. He drank the pitcher empty, then slipped on his shoes as he made his way towards the ships messhall. He entered the small room, and dropped the pitcher in with the other dirty dishes before grabbing a plate and getting himself some leftover breakfast.

Looking around, he saw Daniel, the leader of Tomb Raider sitting by himself. David invited himself to sit across from the Samurai. "Morning" he grumbled.

"Afternoon." Daniel countered. "Sleep well?"

"I'll tell you when I wake up." Juice from a fruit that wasn't found on Earth had found its way into his glass, and David chugged it down, the shock of the flavor snapped to the back of his head, where upon he let the front of it hit the table in front of him.

"Got quite the kick to it, don't you agree?" The Samurai just sounded so smug to the civilian's ears, "Although I hear that it is pretty good at kicking down a hangover."

"I'll tell you after I recover from it trying to kill me."

Daniel laughed. "Well, just be glad. We're meeting up with the Hail Mary, as well as a passenger dropship. They're paying us to take them closer to the Free Worlds League, so the usual lockdown on the jumpship is in effect when we get there."

David groaned. "Right. Keep all my stuff in my quarters. Don't go blabbing about Earth, and no playing the DS out in the open. Did you at least get my memo yesterday?"

"No, I haven’t checked since yesterday afternoon. Why? Anything important?"

The John Deere executive raised his head to look at the Samurai. "You didn't check your mail this morning? I thought you didn't party at all."

"No, no. Last night was definitely a case of having fun. I'm not the kind of person to be working 24/7, my friend. Even I relax and unwind."

"That... doesn't seem like you."

"It doesn't? Well then, it seems like all you've seen of me is my professional side. Remember, this is a three year round circuit. We're going to know a lot about each other by the time this is all done."

Mercenary Review Board
Galatea, Lyran Commonwealth
02 January 3022
Extract from Standard Updates sent to all Hiring Halls:

Antallos, Periphery:
Capital : Port Krin (CSN)
*Buron Cavalry, Employed by CSN (Global Defense Initiative). Current Status: Active, Full Strength. Long Term Contract. Rebuilding Armor corps. Rating: B+ (See Appendix 2A for updated OOB)
*Fire Brands, Employed by CSN (Global Defense Initiative). Current Status: Disbanded due to combat losses, survivors folded into Global Defense Initiative Foreign Legion. Rating: Not Applicable (See Appendix 2B for former OOB. See Appendix 3A for forces transferred to GDI-FL)
*Fischer’s Freelancers, Employed by CSN (Global Defense Initiative). Current Status: Active, Full Strength. Long Term Contract. Rating: C (See Appendix 2A for updated OOB)

...
Motherlode, Deep Periphery:
Capital: Unknown (CSN)
*Unknown Forces present on World. Presumed Global Defense Initiative presence. (See Section 2: Employers for details)

...

CSN
Capital: Motherlode
Military: Global Defense Initiative
Leader: House Ryan(?)
This Deep Periphery state possesses at least two worlds (see: Motherlode, Antallos). Heavy use of non-Mech forces. Passive hiring practices, favoring Combined Arms forces over pure Mech companies. Currently Hiring Mercenaries and Individuals (Antallos only). Rating: C (Locked due to new entry) (See Appendix 3A for known OOB)

Office of General Don Davis
GDI Headquarters, Antallos
16 January 2007

Captain Samantha Swift, head of GDI Intelligence on Antallos and Colonel Kurita were shown into the General's office by his aide. The officer closed the door behind them as Davis swept the last of the excess paperwork off his desk. "Afternoon," he greeted his two subordinate officers. They returned the greetings as they took their own seats, and prepared some of their own paperwork. The bi-monthly intelligence briefing was by now a standard for the three of them, the routine down pat.

"Coffee? Tea?" The general asked, despite already knowing the responses. Swift produced a mug, slightly battered, but the words World's Greatest Mom still quite prominent. Davis filled the cup, and then waited while Chou stirred some milk into his tea. He in turn filled his own mug with the dark liquid and waited while everyone prepared themselves. "So, what's new this week?" he eventually prompted.

"The Combine embassy reminded us that their legal delegation will be arriving on the same jumpships as the factory" Chou started off. "The Burons have left on the Circuit, and should arrive back at Sol within 24 hours. Then, the Boeing and BMW groups will board with their equipment, and circuit back to Antallos. They, and the factory should arrive in the first week of February. We'll then use the circuit to send the lawyers back to earth. They'll arrive mid-February then."

"Sounds good. Anything we need to do on our end for the Kuritans?" Davis looked over the paperwork involved. “At least, do we have a dropship that will meet the standards agreed upon by Ambassadors Smith and Kurita?”

“We do, General. Or rather, we will by the time they arrive. Earth is refitting one of the Unions to transport and host VIPs, rather than as a normal transport.” The Colonel sighed. “Apparently there are people back home already planning on visits to and from heads of state for the Combine, the FedSuns and the Alliance. Not to mention the USO tours.”

Davis nodded. "Alright then, seems like standard issue where foreign dignitaries are involved. From what I've heard back on Earth, the New Zealand Starport is still under construction adjacent to the Auckland International. So the dropship with the Kuritans may be rerouted to Berlin, as it's closer to The Hague, where the trials are taking place."

Chou blinked. "Problems with the Auckland site?"

“Environmental groups are protesting the planned expansion, native groups are raising hell, all on top of the usual infrastructure problems. The USA is trying to help out, but with other airports around the world being refitted to handle Dropships...” Davis let his statement trail off as he took another sip of coffee. “They may have to move the entire proposed facility either to the North Island, or onto the Australian mainland.” The three officers thought about that for a little bit before Davis moved the subject. “On the issue of infrastructure, how are preparations coming along for the factory?”

Swift fielded this question before Chou could reply. "The Combine provided some details about what was needed, and we selected a site in the industrial area on the south side of Port Krin to build the factory on. We hired local contractors to demolish and dismantle the abandoned factories there, and to lay the groundwork for the new one. We also have plans for a dedicated and secure residence for the Boeing/BMW employees. It's under construction now." The Colonel nodded his agreement, although it was his staff that did most of the work involved, with Intel checking details.

"Excellent. I'll get my aide to set a meeting for whoever is going to be in charge of that facility for a month after they arrive so I can get a briefing on what they need, as well as general questions." Davis made a note on a pad of paper, and put it where he could get at it later. "Next?"

"Burgess Hale and Warrior Brox, sir." Captain Swift said as she produced the personnel folders. "Mechwarrior Brox has been spending more and more time with Foreign Legion, and he is making indications that he would like to cancel his contract with Fischer's Freelancers and sign on with the Legion. Dansel, Burgess and Al Azim have already indicated their approval for that, should it happen."

"That could bite us in the ass down the line. With the likelihood of a Wolfnet agent on Antallos, and the use of the Foreign Legion to catch spies sent in with mechs to infiltrate us, we run the high risk of them coming down on us for having a Trueborn as one of our best pilots." Samantha flipped through some additional files. "Although there is no evidence of a Wolfnet agent anywhere - not that means anything if the source material is to go by. These people were apparently very good."

"Have you considered using Brox as bait?" Davis flipped open the relevant folder, and scanned the information therein.

"Not without his permission, and we still aren't sure how far we can trust him. We were actually hoping that the Mad Cat would draw their attention first, but so far the only enquiries have been from the Fed Suns and the Free Worlds League on the mechanics of adding the arms to the base hull. Purely technical stuff." Swift pointed out.

Davis coughed loudly, cutting off Chou's return remark before it began. "That is not an argument for the here and now. Dealing with any Wolfnet agents will occur when we find them, which, I must add, hasn't happened yet. Unless something has changed?" He fixed the two of them with a hard glare.

"No sir." "I have heard nothing."

The General nodded. "Now, about Major Hale?"

"I haven't heard anything bad about him." Chou interjected. "Is there a problem I wasn't aware of?"

"On the contrary, Colonel. Over the past couple months, we've seen a positive change in Burgess' behavior. When the Federated Suns Military retroactively promoted him, we, of course, gave him an equal field promotion." Swift opened the correct folder after a single misstep, and passed it to her superiors.

"Ah yes. And Aladdin Al Azim got Lieutenant Colonel thanks to the pressure from the Arabian kingdoms." Davis recalled. "He's an excellent staff officer."

Swift continued. "Yes sir, but well, based on his actions, both with running the Legion, and now with his own financing..." Her voice trailed off as Chou and Davis sighed. "Sirs?"

"Hale wants us to pay him back. We're still trying to figure out how to tell the politicians back on Earth that a large portion of our Mech forces are being privately funded through one man." Chou explained the conundrum.

"Oh" Swift dead panned. "Well, to get back on track, my section thinks we may have turned Major Hale." That brought a moments silence to the room. "Really?" The General voiced his concern as he noticed that his coffee was empty. He refilled it as Captain Swift elaborated.

"Yes. Burgess shows no signs of wanting to return to the service of the FedSuns, and his command was effectively folded into the GDI forces. Add to that our humane treatment of him after the initial raid - which is unheard of in the Sphere, and Intel now believes he is loyal to us."

"That's quite the change for a man who less than two years ago tried to rob Auckland at the point of a gun." Chou skimmed the relevant papers.

"Yes sir, but think of it from his point of view. We didn't execute him for piracy, we didn't torture him, or his crew for information. We kept our word with him, even during the invasion, and he earned the honest respect of the non-New Zealand forces during the battle of Antallos. He has no reason to leave us."

"I don't think the ANZAC forces in the GDI and CSN will ever forgive him." Davis said as he recalled the latest round of the prank war between Dansel and Burgess on one side, and the New Zealanders on the other. Something about a blue pill and a size-too-small plugsuit. "I presume you're keeping an eye on him?"

"Yes sir. We're still working out what to do with him. Normally, in our service, a turned agent gets retired to a comfortable lifestyle. But with Burgess, we can't exactly do that." Swift confessed a problem with this change, leaving the other two officers also thinking this over.

"Then I suggest we simply table any reactions to that for now, and treat Major Hale as normal." Chou rolled his neck. "Now, as for ComStar, we've sent their letters back to Earth on the Circuit, and explained that it would be at least six weeks before they got a reply. Precentor Long accepted our explanation. He also told us that there would be some disruptions in communications when the HPG facility is upgraded sometime in the next three to five months. We can expect..."

Tau Ceti, Granville Cluster
Fourth Planet (Unnamed)
18 January 2007

It had taken over a year from the first proposal for a jumpship and attendent dropships to be made available. The Jumpship, given the name Emerald City by the new CSN ownership had left the Solar system on the second of January.

Due to the lack of people trained in the fields of xeno-biology, xeno-geology and xeno-anything, the National Geographic Society, with the backing of the Royal Geographical Society, spearheaded the effort to put together crews with the capacities to explore the strange new worlds of the Granville Cluster inside the ISOT event horizon. In response, there had been a gargantuan upswing in the level of public and private donations to these orders, who quickly began to hire the crews and commission the equipment that was felt needed for the surveys.

Despite the source material pointing out that there were dozens of habitable worlds inside the radius of the ISOT, more pragmatic minds pointed out that the maps of the Inner Sphere had stars in the wrong places, and that the Star League held a vast monopoly on terraforming technology, which could be used to make habitable worlds. Thus, the first survey would consist of three systems, all within one jump of each other and Earth. Alpha Centauri, Tau Ceti and Epsilon Eridani were selected, although only Tau Ceti and Epsilon Eridani held much hope for a usable world.

The Emerald City had jumped into the Tau Ceti system on the 12th, and the dropship Dorothy Gale detached from the larger ship. As it began its burn towards the primary, the Gale and the City triangulated the distant points of light, searching for the ones that moved like planets and not background stars. Within 24 hours, they had identified 4 planetary orbits within 15 AU of the star, and the expected debris disc at 30-50AU. Expectations were raised on both ships when the third identified world was found to be withing the Golden zone for Tau Ceti, at 0.8 AU out.

As the dropship angled towards the planet, spectrogrpahy revealed the presence of nitrogen and oxygen as major components of the atmosphere, as well as water vapor. This led to a great deal of celebration on the Gale as they realized that this might be just as good as promised, if not better.

And so it was on the 18th of January that the Gale landed, and after a draw of straws to see who would be the lucky person to suitup and make first footsteps on this alien planet were the words uttered.

“I claim this planet in the name of Queen Ozma, and name it Oz!” Silence met this proclamation. Then came the yelling. Lots and lots of yelling.

[evilauthor]

Observation Lounge
Port Krin Spaceport
Port Krin, Antallos
15 March 3022

Every planet with any kind of regular Dropship traffic had its Dropship watchers, people who made it a hobby watching the comings and going of the huge spacecraft. Their reasons were varied. There were the children fascinated by the light and noise and the wonder of far off worlds. There were the old ones, ex-travelers who for whatever reason no longer wandered the stars and came for the memories of better times. Then there were the people who came for special occaisions when something more than the usual freight came in or went out.

Whatever their reasons, some of the busier spaceports set aside floor space so that interested observers could watch out of the elements. Port Krin had such a space, but it had long been neglected as an unnecessary luxury in the wake of the Star League’s collapse and the Succession Wars. Sometimes, an Administrator would clean the place up for special occasions, but never for its original purpose; and in any case, they’d inevitably let it lapse into neglect again.

Then the GDI had come in and taken over, cleaned up the place, and opened it to the public. Any interested party could come in be they commoner or noble, ex-slave or mercenary soldier. The GDI didn’t care; quite the contrary, they enforced an egalitarian standard and didn’t tolerate anyone forcing anyone else to leave just because of whatever social status they might have.

They also rented space for gift shops. Some of those shops even sold products made on ‘Earth’, although ‘Motherlode’ was still the more popular name despite it not being official in any way, shape or form. Some of those products were laughably primitive by any but the poorest worlds’ standards. Some were insanely cheap for what looked like lostech knick knacks. But most of Earth’s products were more often than not, some weird combination of both.

The man known as Remus Lupin examined the small camera he had just bought. It was expensive given his official income, but hardly bank breaking. At first glance it didn’t look like much. The manufacturer, Kodak, had decided to save some production costs by not putting the camera inside packaging, but actually make the camera part of the packaging. But the cheap, primitive appearance belied the advanced interior which took 2D images and stored them digitally. While not unheard of in the Inner Sphere, such systems were usually much heavier and bulkier than what Remus held in his hand. And they were always far, far more expensive than what he had just paid for this tiny thing.

Of course, the camera had come with a warning that the digital format used by the camera wasn’t compatible with any Inner Sphere made reader. But that was okay because there was a kiosk where camera buyers could print out hardcopies of pictures they had taken… for a small fee of course.

So armed with his new toy, Remus began snapping pictures like any good tourist.

“Alicia! You look as lovely and radiant as ever.”

“Davion dog! How dare you speak to me!”

“Now, now, Alicia. If you keep going on like that, people might think we were married or something.”

Remus’s attention was drawn over to where Carlos Davion and Alicia Kurita were. Both of them had been initially set up as provisional ambassadors for their respective nations until actual ambassadors arrived. The relations between the two had become rather infamous in short order. Carlos was something of a rake and womanizer with a taste for pretty women. “Pretty” didn’t do Alicia justice, and half the words that came out of her mouth involved either putting Davion down or fending off a specific Davion’s advances. Some of the people Remus worked with on Antallos were taking bets on when the two would wind up in bed together. Remus of course, was above such things.

But he snapped a picture of the two anyway.

Moving on, Remus made his way through the crowd. It was more crowded today than usual, what with a large number of high ranking and high status people present. GDI Dropships were coming landing today – already had in fact – but it wasn’t just the usual shipment of supplies and personnel coming in. It had been officially announced that a whole new Tank Battalion was coming in.

“…concerned that the Combine or the Suns might view this as buildup as an alarm?” the reporter Lois Lane was asking the GDI General when Remus drifted within earshot.

“Not at all, Miss Lane,” General Davis replied. “The First GDI Brigade has been understrength in tanks since the Battle of Port Krin despite replacement personnel and equipment sent to us. The new battalion is also bringing in new build tanks that have been designed with modern Inner Sphere weapons and technology in mind. I’m given to understand that they’re much more survivable than the Merkavas we’ve been using.”

“More survivable in what way, General?”

“Now, you understand that I can’t get into the details…”

Remus snapped a picture of them and moved on.

“Hey, look!” a child at the window announced. “They’re coming out!”

And indeed, a parade of vehicles began exiting the Mule class Dropship. They were pretty distant, but the kiosks here also happened to sell binoculars and telescopes. Remus didn’t have one, but even so, he could make out a few details despite the distance.

Like GDI’s Merkavas, these new tanks seemed to be armed with a single large weapon and a single smaller one for anti-personnel use. For some reason, the GDI disdained mounting arrays of secondary weaponry when they could just have one big one. But even so, there was something odd about these tanks that Remus couldn’t quite make out. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.

“Hey!” exclaimed a teenager with a telescope, “Where’s the armor?”

Remus snapped some more pictures.

General’s Office
GDI HQ
Port Krin, Antallos

“They sent you here without armor?!” Davis roared at the luckless CO of GDI’s Third Tank battalion.

“My apologies, General,” Lieutenant Colonel Wilhelm Schmidt said with a thick but understandable accent. “Command told us that standard BT grade armor was being produced in Port Krin and that we could get fitted out here.”

“They sent you. Here. Without armor,” Davis repeated.

“I know, sir,” Schmidt continued. “My officers and I objected to the order, as well as the rest of the chain of command. Or so I have heard.”

”They sent you here, to Antallos, without armor,” Davis said again, shaking his head.

“I am given to understand that there is a bottleneck on production of BT grade armor back home,” Schmidt explained. “Production priority is going to new tanks earmarked for national militaries and ship construction. Home is trying to increase production as fast as possible, but…” He shrugged helplessly.

“Colonel,” Davis sighed, “do the people have any idea what kind of black eye they just gave to our public image in the Inner Sphere?”

“Black eye, sir?” Schmidt asked, confused.

[Tyrchon]

Lockheed Martin Headquarters
Bethesda, Maryland
United States of America, Earth
January 17, 2007/3022

Brian Kirkpatrick silently stood in thought as he looked out through one of large reflective, one-way windows that covered the outside wall of the Lockheed Martin executive board room. The evening lights of Bethesda began to twinkle softly as the evening set in early as it was prone to do this time of year. Watching the lights come on helped to ease his unease. This wasn’t the first time he had been in this room. No, he had been here on numerous occasions beforehand to present projects and brief on them. However, this was the first time he had ever been in this room with so many people who were not only from outside of the company, but who had been direct competitors and enemy’s when he had begun working for Lockheed back in 1981.

“Brian,” Bob Stevens, the current CEO of Lockheed Martin spoke up. “It seems we have everyone here. If you’d please….”

Nodding his head in acknowledgment the 56 year-old engineer silently wondered how he had gotten to this point. By all rights he should’ve been getting ready for retirement in a few years, not preparing to head up the most ambitious project that the company had conceived of yet. He had worked on the F-22 and that fighter’s would be successor, the F-35, but this…this would leave both of those well and truly behind.

“Gentlemen,” Bob Stevens began as people found their seats around the large conference table or shifted in them to get more comfortable. “As you are all keenly aware Boeing industries and BMW both won the contract for the Mech factory that the Draconis Combine has gifted the CSN and moved to Antallos. You are aware of this as all of our companies attempted to win that contract for ourselves. This is the reason why we have all gathered here together.”

Looking around the room Stevens saw the faces of people whom he had met at many an aerospace conference, business conventions, and/or because Lockheed Martin had outbid them or been outbid by them for a contract. Each and every one of them internally seethed at the fact that hey had lost the multi-billion dollar contract offered to refurbish and then run the Mech factory. Though he was the only CEO present, something that had been decided in order to try and keep the new partnership between all of their companies secret until they were ready to announce as well as because Lockheed had been the one to propose the joint venture and do most of the leg work in getting every party to arrive, each person at the table was important enough to make decisions for the company they represented.

“Hmmph, the boys and girls down in legal were ready to start launching anti-trust suits and make accusations of corrupt business practices when Boeing won the contract,” Mark Liktos, a representative from Northrop Grumman, noted with a snort. “How exactly is this any different?”

“For that I turn you over to our resident lawyer-in-chief,” Bob said with a chuckle.

All eyes at the table turned to look at a white haired man wearing wireframe spectacles and dressed in a tweed suit. Nearly all of them knew who he was, Lord John Ashbury was a legend in international economics and law. The man had studied at Oxford and Harvard and had then proceeded to teach at both of his alma maters as well as at Stanford and Cambridge. He had also been on several advisory committees at the UN, the World Bank, and called in several times for G8 and G20 summits. He was literally one of the most knowledgeable men regarding trade law and economics currently alive.

“Yes, well, harrumph,” the immensely British man noted as he cleared his throat. “The answer to you question is in fact quite simple really. You see all of you gathered here are still separate companies and corporations. This venture you are entering into is basically a joint venture and partnership and not an actual merger. You are also acting in an international sense and with this distinction many of the domestic anti-trust laws can not be properly applied. At the same time because of the nature of this venture you are actually slipping through one of the larger loopholes in international trade agreements.”

“And should someone decide to target us,” Hikio Natsura, the representative from Mitsubishi, noted. “You will of course be defending us in whatever court is required, won’t you Ashbury-san?”

“Of course,” the white haired man returned with a grin. “You all will be, after all, paying me a considerable fee for my expertise and abilities. It would be impolite and against my contract to simply advise you and then not carry through on any actual legal concerns that should arise. However, considering the political playing field at the moment I doubt any major issues will be raised.”

“And even if they are it will most likely be too late and we will have already secured our position,” Bob Stevens commented.

“Yes, it does help when you have certain…connections,” Andre Grapillon the Dassault Group representative noted, knowing full well that every company represented in the room had major ties with their home governments and had quite the fair stable of politicians to call upon when and if needed.

“Oh come now,” U.S. Senator Robert McKynter of California, a leading member on the Senate Armed Services Committee, interjected with a chortle, “You make us sound so easy and rather untrustworthy…and after all that me and my colleagues have done to help facilitate this meeting.”

“Indeed,” Pierre Lefote, a leading member of the Palais Bourbon, commented, “It was not easy making sure this meeting and the other setting it up did not leak to the papers. Can you imagine how your competitors would feel knowing that you are all here preparing to launch what is essentially one of the greatest military proposals since the Manhattan Project?”

Around the table the gathered businessmen sent the small group of diplomats and politicians from their home countries nods of thanks. While the public would probably have been supportive of the group, what with the spirit of cooperation being so strong right now, many of their direct competitors would probably throw fits if they learned about the meetings that had laid the groundwork for this one. Thankfully their contacts with the political machine had paid off, keeping the entire affair relatively secret as they had gathered to here the some of the major aspects of the proposal that had been floated to them over the last few months. Now it was just a matter of hearing the major details of this venture that was drawing them together. Once that was done they could get down to the more specific points.

“Hmm, yes,” Bob hummed in agreement, this was indeed going to be a major endeavor. “Now I would like to focus our attention back on the matter at hand, the reason that we have come together and the overall goal of this venture. Brian, if you would please?”

Standing up and moving to the far wall as the light dimmed and the projection screen lit up, Brian Kirkpatrick began, “As you are all aware victory in modern warfare in the last century and into this new one has been decided ultimately by airpower. Dominance of the skies has led armies to victory as they were able to cut off their enemy’s supplies and reinforcements as well as reduce entire formations of troops to little more than the exercise of proverbially shooting fish in a barrel. To this end we have seen the development of some of the most fantastic airframes in order to secure and maintain the idea of air superiority and tactical ability.”

With those words the first slide came up. The images on the screen were of four well known aircraft, the F-117 Nighthawk, the B-2 Spirit, the F-22 Raptor, and the F-35 JSF.

“These were the greatest aircraft modern warfare has seen on this planet,” Brian stated with a hint of pride in his voice as he had worked directly in the last two. “They have the most sophisticated electronics packages, carried the best weapons, could out fly nearly everything else in the sky, and had the added advantage of utilizing ‘stealth’ technologies to hide them almost completely from sensors. However….”

The slide shifted. The images now being shown were now both familiar and yet still alien in nature. The screen now showed a Union class Dropship, a Leopard class Dropship, an Invader Class Jumpship, a Seydlitz Aerospace Fighter, and a Sparrowhawk Aerospace fighter.

“These are the new faces of power in the skies,” Kirkpatrick supplied as he highlighted and then enlarged each image as he went through them. “We have seen ships capable of entering and leaving the atmosphere under their own power and capable of doing so multiple times. These craft measure from being multi-storied giants to smaller, fleeter craft that can run rings around many of our most modern fighters. On top of that these craft have superior firepower and armor, meaning they can outlast anything we have in production. Now we are look-….”

“Ahem,” David Crowley of BAE Systems interrupted, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t a number of our current air superiority fighters shoot down these ‘superior’ fighters during the invasion?”

Taking an immediate dislike to the high and mighty tone the British man had effected…that or it was the Irish Catholic in him, Kirkpatrick sternly replied, “You are correct in that our fighters did manage to shoot down all of the Aerospace Fighters encountered during the invasion, however, that is neither a valid comparison of the technologies nor is it a true example of the purported capabilities of the enemies we will face in the future.”

“Gentlemen, if I may?” Bob Stevens interjected. “We have seen that our fighters can engage this new threat, however, doing so came with a high cost. Our current 4th generation and 5th generation fighters sent against the pirate invasion force killed ever pirate Aerospace Fighter, but in doing so they paid a heavy price. 4th generation fighters suffered a total of 47% casualty rate and 5th generation fighters, of whom the United States is currently the full operator of, suffered 15% casualty rate.”

“Such numbers are…deceptive,” Sergei Mischklov of Sukhoi threw in. “Battletech Aerospace Fighter is far deadlier than numbers suggest. Our pilots only encountered dozen or so of these Aerospace Fighters and these fighters were dispersed across globe, not concentrated.”

“Yes sir,” Brian Kirkpatrick agreed as he steered the conversation back to the presentation at hand. “Had the pirates concentrated their fighters and had more of them the casualty rates for the military squadrons who encountered them would have been much higher. If the pirates had been a well equipped House unit or ComStar unit with a dedicated Aerospace Fighter Corps the casualty estimates are staggering.”

“What are the estimates, Kirkpatrick-san,” Natsura inquired politely.

His unblinking eyes reflecting his seriousness, Kirkpatrick responded solemnly, “If our current squadrons were to encounter their Inner Sphere counterparts in a situation where numbers were equal…well it would be bad. Conservative estimates place the casualty rate for 4th generation equipped fighter squadrons at nearly 78% on the first day while 5th generation equipped units would have casualty rate of 46% on the first day while the Inner Sphere units would suffer anywhere from 32-56% casualty rates. As time progresses the numbers contin-….”

“Excuse me,” Ken Wilkerson of Daimler-Chrysler interrupted, “But why is there such an open range on enemy casualty rates?”

“Unlike our military air units,” Bob Stevens began, taking over for Brian. “The Inner Sphere has a far wider range of fighters to choose from and with which to compose their units according to the source material. We could face anything from the light fighters weighing in at 20tons to the assault fighters that weigh in at 100tons. Each weight class has its own advantages and disadvantages in terms of speed, armor, and weaponry. Our estimates are based upon encountering a mixed Aerospace fighter unit that has a variety of weights in it but focuses upon one or two particular classes for the core of the squadron. It would seem that many of my colleagues in the defense industry have been previously briefed on this matter beforehand. Even if we armed every fighter currently available with the missiles necessary to penetrated BT grade armor we would still see casualty rates nearly as high as the initial assessments. Recall that we said that these were conservative estimates. If the Inner Sphere sent a massed assault of their best Aerospace Fighters against us it could turn into a relative shooting gallery with our planes coming out on the losing end. BT Aerospace Fighters just have too many advantages in terms or armor and weapons at the moment.”

Looking around the table Stevens saw the faces of the representatives of Dassault, Sukhoi, Saab, Northrop Grumman, the Mikoyan-i-Gurevich Design Bureau, and even BAE systems all grimly nod in acknowledgement. Not a one of them dismissed the capabilities or the pilots employed by their home militaries, in fact they all felt a great deal of pride in having produced some of the finest aircraft and weapon systems ever and then discovering that the pilots chosen to use them had pushed them above and beyond what had originally been imagined. However, it was hard to dismiss stone-cold statistics and carefully crafted estimates, especially when those statistics and estimates meant the deaths of not only the pilots that flew the aircraft that they had labored so hard to produce but later on the deaths of themselves and all of the others that the pilots had sworn to defend.

“There is some good news, however,” Brian Kirkpatrick spoke, getting back to the presentation as he focused the screen onto the image of the F-22. “We do hold advantages in our ‘stealth’ capabilities and in the capabilities of the electronics employed in our fighters. The F-22 is currently the pinnacle of this advantage, limited only in quantity. The older 4th generation fighters, while not having ‘stealth’ capabilities, do still have an advantage in their electronic packages.”

“Such…advantages,” Ivan Gurelgo, the representative from MiG began, “Are hardly enough, that is what you are saying, yes?”

“That is correct sir,” Kirkpatrick answered with a nod of his head. “Even if we replaced every fighter the militaries of Earth have in service with F-22s it would not be enough. Our fighters are simply not built tough enough to take on and defeat their equivalent Battletech counterparts.”

“What about expanding missile production?” David Crowley inquired. “The GDI and many of our own national militaries are calling for better missiles that can punch through that thick armor that the Inner Sphere seems to love. Better missiles are going to cost us all less to make and still rake in a tidy profit for us.”

“It isn’t just about being able to counter this new foe,” Brian Kirkpatrick answered quickly. “Better missiles will only do so much. Battletech based Aerospace Fighters can literally appear almost out of nowhere should they be launched from a Dropship in orbit. Producing the requisite number of missiles to take on such threats is merely a temporary solution. In order to secure air superiority wherever Earth desires we will need something that is more than just a temporary measure.”

“This is why we have all gathered here,” Bob Stevens spoke up, as he poured himself a glass of water from one of the metal pitchers on the conference table. “We are here to address this problem as well as others that have been raised regarding the retention of air superiority for our various armed forces. Brian, if you would please….”

“Yes sir,” the Lockheed engineer replied as he shifted the image on the screen to one depicting a hanger filled with a number of new craft inside it. “Gentlemen, these are the spoils of war recovered from the fighting on Antallos. The GDI has shipped back nearly every fighter that they recovered there and have just recently released a list of these spoils as well as pictures of each design recovered. In total there are 8 different designs of fighter that have been recovered and these designs represent the entire gamut of the Inner Sphere’s weight class system.”

“8 different designs at our disposal and there are supposed to be even more in current service with Inner Sphere forces?” Wilkerson spoke up and let out a low whistle. “We’ll need to really play catch up if we want to field comparable aircraft before someone out there realizes that the GDI is significantly vulnerable to massed air assaults.

“Such an attack can be mitigated by properly outfitting ground forces with anti-air weaponry and by using numerous SAM launchers,” Andre Grapillon stated. “However, that would not be a perfect solution given that we could face massed air assaults, unless GDI forces are willing to detonate tactical nuclear weapons in the atmosphere over a battlefield that is.”

That statement brought a bit of uncomfortable silence to the meeting. The deployment of nuclear weapons had long been a bogeyman that all those present had grown up with during the Cold War. Using nukes to help fight off the pirate invasion of earth had been a decision made by the various nuclear powers belonging to the CSN and had been the first line of defense against an invader from space. However, using nuclear weaponry in space was one thing, using nukes in the atmosphere of a habitable planet or actually on the surface of such a world was something different. No one was truly willing to advocate such a thing partially out of old fears and partially due to the frenzy it would cause amidst the anti-proliferation and use groups.

“Hmm, yes, there is quite the number of types of craft flying about the Inner Sphere’s skies, not to mention the numerous Mech types tromping around on the ground. But then what would you expect from a civilization that is fighting using multiple refurbished weapons that have salvaged who knows how many times, ” Kirkpatrick stated, gaining a few short laughs from the assembled group as he broke the tension in the room. “Now as for the Aerospace Fighters, the GDI has available 6 Seydlitz, 4 Sholagar, 6 Sparrowhawk, 3 Corsairs, 2 Lucifer, 4 Shilone, 2 Stingray, and 2 Slayer Class Aerospace Fighters for R&D work. The first three that I named, according to the weight classification system that is utilized by the Inner Sphere, are all lights. The Corsair the Lucifer, Shilone, and Stingray are all mediums, and the Slayer is a heavy.”

“What? They didn’t capture any assault class fighters?” Crowley asked suddenly, a bit of arrogance in his noticeable British public school accented voice.

“That is a misnomer, as no such class exists,” Kirkpatrick corrected, wishing that the man had actually read the source material before coming to this meeting. “While Aerospace Fighters range from the lightest at 20tons and the heaviest being 100tons, much like BattleMechs do, they are not organized in the same weight classification system. You have lights, mediums, and heavies. Lights are anything from 20-45tons, mediums anything from 50-65tons, and heavies being 70-100tons.”

“Gentlemen,” Bob Stevens spoke up, drawing the focus back to what he considered to be of more importance than such semantics. “I believe that by working together to present a united bid we can gain access to the majority of these fighters if not all of them. From there we can test, tinker, and take apart these fighters in order to learn their secrets and then we c-….

“And then we begin producing our own fighters,” David Crowley finished with a wry grin. “Oh that’s good. That’s very good old boy. We’ll be able to dominate the fighter market for at least a decade if not longer should we all work together.”

“Exactly,” Stevens responded, slightly annoyed that the Brit had interrupted him. “However, this is but only a single part of our overall goal. Brian…?”

“Yes sir,” Kirkpatrick answered as the images on the screen switched to the images of several bulbous craft and a few aerodyne craft. “The GDI has also released a list of the Dropships that were captured on Antallos as well. They are making available for R&D a number of Unions and Leopards along with a few Buccaneers, a Leopard CV, several Mules, and a Fortress Class Dropship.”

“We will bid to get look at these as well, yes?” Gurelgo inquired quite assuredly.

“Of course,” Bob Stevens answered. “However, do to their larger nature I believe we should limit the bid to only look at the Fortress, the Leopard CV, a few Mules, a few Leopards, and a few of the Buccaneers.”

“Your reasoning being?” Hikio Natsura inquired, asking the question that weighed on the others minds.

“Each of those classes offers a far better overall look as well as a specific look at Dropship construction and use,” Brian Kirkpatrick answered, knowing that his boss would approve as this was part of the presentation. “The Mule Class Dropship is mainly a civilian freighter and carries little military value. The knowledge to build such a type of Dropship can be easily inferred from looking at the carrying capacity of the others. The Fortress Class in rather unique in that it is designed as a true ground assault craft, being heavily armored and armed with a BT artillery piece to help clear its landing zone. It can carry 12 Mechs, 12 armored vehicles of various sizes and weights, and 3 platoons of infantry. It is far better than the Union Class in both armor, armament, and carrying capacity and also not only rivals but also surpasses the larger Overlord Class in areas of armor and armament. The Leopard CV on the other hand, is a dedicated Aerospace Fighter Carrier and studying it would allow us insight into how to produce carrier Dropships of our own. The Buccaneers were originally going to be dismissed, but….”

“But in the course of the Battle for Prot Krin the GDI made great use of the Leopards they had modified to supply close air support,” Stevens interjected wanting to get to the meat of the discussion. “However, reports from the crews of those Leopards reported that it was somewhat difficult to keep the Leopards stable enough to provide the accurate fire needed to support ground troops. Some of the Lockheed Engineers believe that the Buccaneer may offer a more stable platform as it has larger wings than the Leopard does while mounting comparable armor.”

“We were under the impression at Daimler-Chrysler that all of the modified Leopards that went with the Expeditionary Force were heavily damaged, some of them even destroyed,” Ken Wilkerson interjected, voicing a concern that some at the table shared. “Forgive me for asking, but how would modified Buccaneers be any better?”

“Other than possibly having greater stability they wouldn’t,” Kirkpatrick answered, his boss holding up his hands to forestall any outbursts at that statement. “The Buccaneers are not solely being looked at for modification, such a thing is merely a stop-gap measure. We are instead proposing using the information gained from the modified Leopards’ performances and information from the Buccaneers to create a new ground support Dropship that will not only replicate the lauded abilities of the AC-130 ‘Spooky’ Gunship but also include the armor and armament necessary for such a Dropship to defend itself properly from airborne threats. This along with properly designed and employed Aerospace Fighters would give GDI forces air superiority as well as much needed close-air support.”

“Interesting,” Natsura spoke up, his tone remaining calm and polite, “We would copy the best designs to establish ourselves in the market relatively quickly and gain favor with an equipment hungry GDI. But back to the new designs that you think we should examine. Would these proposed Dropships also be able to carry the bombs that were only partially utilized by the modified Leopards on Antallos?”

“Yes sir, we are proposing that such a capability also be included,” Brian answered, taking a liking to the Japanese man who always seemed to ask pertinent questions. “Some of the engineers are suggesting possibly incorporating the bomb launcher designs from the B-2 as it would also allow such a Dropship to carry larger ordinance such as Tomahawk Cruise Missiles, the American made MOAB, the Russian made FOAB, the proposed Massive Ordinance Penetrator, as well as nuclear ordinance if necessary. We are also thinking that it could be utilized to deploy airborne troops and equipment needed by them.”

“Would these proposed Dropships also replace the Monitor class that is currently in service?” Ferdinand Stasel of Saab asked, entering the discussion for the first time.

“Possibly, we could build a true replacement for the Monitor class off of the same chassis and thus maximize our production capabilities while keeping costs down,” Bob Stevens answered, fielding the question in order to give Brian a chance to prepare to move onto to eh next major discussion point. “We can all agree that the Monitor class is a stop-gap measure seeing as how the only Monitor currently in service is a hodgepodge of technologies and parts. While it has been upgraded since its initial launch it would be hard pressed to fight off some of the true Assault Dropships that many of the Successor States have available according to the Battletech source materials. In the near future we will need true Assault Dropships and what the Battletech source material refers to as ‘Pocket’ Warships.”

“I’m unfamiliar with that last term,” David Crowley said, having only skimmed much of the BT material presented to him before this meeting. “What are these ‘Pocket’ Warships?”

Grinning slightly over the fact that British engineer had to ask such a question, what with the history of British naval forces and their battles, Stevens replied, “They are Assault Dropships that have been armed with Capital Class and Sub-capital Class weaponry. They are designed to easily kill any other Dropship out there and to be able to harass, cripple and/or kill all but the largest Warships by working in pairs or in larger groups.”

“I was under the impression that we didn’t have to worry about facing Warships for quite sometime,” Stasel remarked, leaning forward slightly to rest his elbows on the conference table. “I though the briefings and source materials all said that the Successor States lost their Warship fleets almost a full century ago.”

“They did, however, I would remind you that one major power in the Inner Sphere still has a large fleet of Warships and has managed to keep it a relative secret,” Kirkpatrick returned, flipping the images on the projector to the artistic renderings of BT Warships along with a logo that was becoming a familiar topic of discussion in many corporate communities. “According to the source material, ComStar has a large fleet of Warships and while the majority of these ships are mothballed and most likely lack trained crews to operate them it would only take a few of these craft to….”

“That is why we have nuclear shield being built,” Ivan Gurelgo interjected forcefully. “No ship will be able to threaten Earth so long as we have nuclear missiles deployed in orbit to defend us.”

“That may be sir, but such a shield is limited in its capabilities,” Brian commented and then began to explain. “The shield you are referring to only defends this planet. The GDI will need fighting ships to protect other worlds that we may colonize and acquire. Also, the shield, while formidable, is only one line of defense. Against a determined, fanatical enemy it would be prudent to have as many options and weapons as possible.”

Silence reigned in the conference room for a moment. Each man present, even if they hadn’t fully read their briefings or any of the Battletech source material, knew that ComStar was possibly the largest threat that Earth could potentially face in the near future merely from the hushed rumors and conversations that permeated the halls of their places of work. Not a single person who worked in an industry that was based upon what the Inner Sphere would consider advanced technology desired to see ComStar suddenly show up. The techno-cult was at this point in time still rather fanatical in their beliefs and would most likely either seek to take control of earth and its technologies or simply wipe them out completely. The order also had a rather nasty history of infiltration, assassination, sabotage, and kidnapping if the rumors and source materials were to be believed.

“This brings us to the final part of our presentation,” Bob Stevens noted, breaking the silence as he also nodded to Brian to continue.

Nodding in acknowledgement the engineer and father of four began to speak once again, “While the production of Aerospace Fighters and Dropships are a priority we should also look to begin designing and production of ‘true’ Warships in the future. Such ships would….”

“Pardon my interruption,” Mark Liktos said as he fidgeted with the pen in his hand. “But how exactly are we supposed to begin designing such craft. Unlike the fighters and Dropships we have no examples to work from other than artistic renderings and stats on game sheets. We all know that such things hardly constitute the necessary information to actually successfully design and produce an actual working craft.”

“You are correct sir,” Kirkpatrick answered. “However, we are predicting that we will possibly be able to gain access to real design specifications in the near future.”

“How?” Liktos asked, tapping his pen on the table for emphasis.

“Ahem,” Bob Stevens coughed into his fist, drawing he attention of everyone present. “Some of you are aware of this through your government contacts, others of you, however, are not. I have been given permission by the military and President Ryan, due to the nature of the information having passed to the Lockheed Skunk Works when we supplied a few engineers for the missions, to share this with those we deem as necessary to the completion of future projects.”

“Really?” Mark Liktos remarked, a hint of suspicion in his tone. “Forgive me for not believing you immediately but I’d like some confirmation from some of our political friends before I’m party to what could have us drawn up on charges of treason.”

“Of course,” Stevens returned knowingly. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind?”

“It’s true,” Congressman Douglas Adams of Tennessee, a prominent member of the Congressional Oversight Committee, commented. “I was in the meeting with a few others from my committee as well as members from the Armed Services Committee and the Secretary of Defense discussed the matter with the Joint Chiefs and the President.”

“The Prime Minister had a similar conversation which I was privy to,” William Dukard, one of the major power brokers in the British House of Commons, supplied. “Apparently our governments are all slightly worried about the fact that the enemy could appear on our doorstep again. The only solution they see at this time is cooperation and collaboration.”

“Now if your fear are put to rest…,” Bob said, getting a nod in return from the Northrop Grumman rep as well as a number of other people at the table. “Around the time of the Antallos mission two other missions were also launched. Each of these other missions involved the use of covert ops and Special Forces drawn from the states currently aligned in the CSN. The objective of these missions is to secure Star League era data cores, one being on the planet Helm and the other being on the lost planet of New Dallas. We are still waiting to hear back in regards to the success of these missions, but if even just one should succeed Earth will have access to many of the technologies and knowledge of the greatest power the Inner Sphere has so far seen.”

Silence once again covered the room as those who had not already known about the missions processed the new information. Those who had already known about the missions simply sat back in their chairs, wry grins on their faces as visions of the money to be made and the technologies to be explored danced in their heads. They may have lost out on the contract for the Mech factory on Antallos, but that was an old relic compared to what they could produce from the data that could soon be in their hands.

“Gentlemen,” Bob Stevens spoke, his tone commanding as the lights came up and Brian Kirkpatrick sat down. “You have heard the proposal and its goals. I have spoken personally with each and every one of your company’s CEOs. They assure me that each of you was sent here to not only evaluate but also formally sign on to the outlined project if you thought it to be worthwhile to your companies. So I ask you, will you work with us to make this proposal a reality?”

Mark Liktos of Northrop Grumman was the first to answer, “Heh, where do we sign up? Northrop will support this venture.”

“Good,” Stevens remarked, having suspected that the ties that Lockheed had fostered with Northrop over the years would pay off here. “The shipyards and dry-docks that your company has at Newport News could possibly be of great benefit to this venture.”

“Your proposal has great merit, Stevens-san,” Hikio Natsura of Mitsubishi commented. “Hmm, producing the craft that you proposed will be costly, but the benefits and rewards outweigh such costs. Many of my country men have fallen in love with their proposed Land-Air-Mechs. It will be enjoyable seeing their faces when we roll out our first fighters and Dropships in a mere fraction of the time they waste attempting to perfect their ‘toys’. Mitsubishi will agree to this venture as well.”

“Arigato my friend,” Stevens responded politely, having hoped that his rather logical and careful friend would decide to join. “You company has long been friendly with ours and we have produced some of the best electronics in the world together. The heavy industry and production lines that you operate could serve us all well.”

“Heh, well we’re in then,” Ken Wilkerson of Daimler Chrysler announced with a short laugh. “We’ve been working with Mitsubishi since the 1970’s, why break up a good thing when it is given the potential to not only grow further, but also rake in substantial profits as well.”

“Well then,” David Crowley noted with a smirk and a nod. “I guess we aught to get right to it, no need to delay further when there is money to be made.”

“We will also join this venture,” Ferdinand Stasel of Saab commented in his usual calm tone.

“As shall we,” Andre Grapillon of Dassault agreed with a nod. “As our American and British friends noted, the potential for substantial profits is too good to pass up.”

“Sergei, Ivan...what do you think?” Bob Stevens asked, turning his head to look at the two Russians, having suspected that they would be the toughest to convince.

“What you propose…is not easy,” Sergei Mischklov of Sukhoi returned, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “There is much distrust in my company despite the friendly relations that have been cultivated with the West and Mother-Russia becoming part of the NATO Alliance only a few years ago.”

“Da, is true,” Ivan Gurelgo of MiG said calmly in agreement with his fellow countryman. “Even if we should agree our government may not permit its two greatest aircraft makers to ally fully with wester-….”

“That point has actually been addressed according to my understanding,” Stevens interjected. “I have it on good authority that that President Ryan has spoken with your President about potential joint ventures. Such dialogue was begun even before the Auckland Raid. I believe it originated with talks regarding the F-35 project and the competing projects that both of your companies were trying to develop.”

“Da,” Josef Krusklov, a key player in the Federation Council of Russia, commented. “Both the President and the Prime Minister approved of the dialogue when we formerly entered into NATO. Your own…progress on such projects was felt to be…lacking, yes? It was originally thought that talks would properly motivate both companies, what with the spirit of capitalism so firmly rooted in us all now.”

While both Russian businessmen gritted their teeth at the slight insult to their companies they knew that it was partially deserved. It was no secret that both Sukhoi and MiG had been trying to develop a 5th generation ‘stealth’ fighter to compete against the American built F-22 and the newly designed F-35. It was also no secret that both projects had made lackluster progress due to funding problems and the small conflict between Russia and China a few years earlier. Both Russian companies had only developed basic prototypes, all of which had not lived up to the goals of the project, though secretly at least one had shown merit. However, that prototype had been lost, secretly sold off on the black market and subsequently destroyed through the efforts of the NSA, though that was not common knowledge.

Bob Stevens was one of the few who actually knew some of the details behind it and decided that now was the perfect time to set the hook he had baited, “I have also have it on good authority that President Ryan is contemplating sharing the technology behind the F-22 and F-35 project with those willing to work with us to develop what is needed for the defense of Earth and all of its peoples. Of course such technology can not just be given out freely, but those who are seen to be working hand in hand with others for the greater good will find favor and….”

“We would be granted access to the aircraft?” Sergei asked, the eagerness in his tone hardly hidden.

“Possibly, there would of course need to be assurances made that the technology would not be allowed to fall into the hands of some of the more rogue elements that still inhabit our world, that and making clear certain understandings regarding patents and keeping certain things classified for the security of all of our countries,” Bob replied, sure that he only needed to begin slowly reeling in now in order to land this big fish. “Lockheed Martin was the developer behind the F-22 and the F-35. Currently the F-35 has yet to enter full production and most likely never shall in light of recent developments. However, if we were to fold the F-35 project’s budget and specialists into our bid for this new project we would all gain a distinct advantage over any others who decided to toss their hat into the ring.”

“So long as you boys continue to play ball with the rest of us as part of NATO, the CSN, and the GDI, President Ryan has made indications that such exchanges would be permissible,” Adams commented, the Congressman leaning forward to fold his hands on the table. “However, we would need a guarantee from both of your companies that shared technologies would not be…misused.”

“Just as the President and Prime Minister have requested similar guarantees from the Americans,” Krusklov added, the Russian showing that he was indeed in-the-know.

“But of course,” Senator McKynter replied giving a slight nod. “We all know that sooner or later the Inner Sphere will come knocking on the door. To keep them polite we’ll need the necessary equipment and the best way to produce it in the numbers we all need is by working together rather than slitting each others throats.”

Pausing for a moment to contemplate the politicians’ words, Ivan Gurelgo finally spoke, “We would be looking at the inclusion of ‘stealth’ into all of projects, yes? It would be necessary for all of us to be…oh how do you say it? On same page of book?”

“Yes, we would indeed all need to be on the same page,” Stevens responded, deciding to le the final piece slip into place and land his catch. “While there of course would be some concerns regarding how to properly apply ‘stealth’ to craft that will be operating in space as well as repeatedly entering and exiting atmosphere, I’m sure we can come up with a proper solution if we were to have our best minds collaborate. There is also the data and materials left over from the failed SR-91 program and the military space shuttle program.”

With those words Robert J. Stevens, CEO of Lockheed Martin, knew he had hooked the two Russians. The SR-91 program had been a proposed project to replace the SR-71 with a craft that would not just fly close to the where atmosphere ended and space began, but actually fly in space in order to fulfill its mission and avoid detection. The military shuttle program was a smaller project that had met with limited success, with currently only a single craft in current use and mainly being used as a test bed for technology that NASA could not be trusted to use due to is classified nature. Both projects had been rumors and the stuff of legend in the aerospace community for years. However, Stevens knew that the Russians had long suspected the truth and greatly desired to actually see the data and info regarding the testing done for both the failed SR-91 and the single prototype military shuttle.

Licking his lips like a hungry wolf, Sergei Mischklov remarked, “So long as your government and mine approve and we can be assured of the sharing of necessary technologies for the mutual defense of Earth…I believe that I can agree to have Sukhoi join this venture.”

“Ivan?” Bob asked, waiting to see what the other Russian’s response would be.

“With guarantee that you personally give in writing then…,” the rather burly man began. “…Da. We shall work together to develop technology and tools necessary to fight those who would try and take advantage of Mother-Earth.”

“Excellent,” Stevens replied happily as he let a toothy grin crease his lips. “Lord Ashbury, if you would be so kind?”

“Ah, but of course,” the British man in the tweed suit remarked as he opened his briefcase and pulled out a large stack of papers. “These are the basic contracts that will be needed in order to formalize this joint venture on the behalves of your companies. Of course some of the details, such as production and testing sights, will need to be hammered out more fully once you all have successfully bid the proposed venture to the CSN and GDI, but that has been noted already. I believe you all brought along a few of your own lawyers in order to look these over?”

“Of course Ashbury-san,” Natsura commented politely, “It is not that we don’t trust you but….”

“Ah, no offense taken old boy,” the old British expert on economics and international law stated with a laugh, “It is the nature of business. One can’t be too careful.”

“I assure you that you will find everything that has been discussed here in those documents and that there are no surprises lurking in them,” Robert Stevens supplied as several young men and women clad in waiters attire walked into the room carrying bottles of champagne and fine crystal glasses. “We will all get what we desire by working together in this venture. We will defend our world, gain access to and produce the greatest technologies in the universe, and we will reap a great deal of profit in doing so.”

Every person at the table nodded their head in agreement, the sound of corks being popped accompanying them and punctuating their actions. They would all get what they desired and potentially more. The public relations windfall would be great as it would be just what the majority of the public desired, the image of cooperation and action be undertaken in the name of defending the world as a whole. Oh sure their would be those who would complain and raise certain issues, but then that is what all of the public relations personnel and lawyers that their companies employed were there for.

“Gentlemen, if you would join me,” Robert Stevens said, rising to his feet a glass of champagne in his hand as his fellows all received their own glasses of the sparkling alcohol. “To our dominance of the sky.”

“To our dominance of the sky!” all of the various men of different companies and nationalities intoned as they raised their glasses before drinking deeply.

Savoring the crisp taste of the champagne on his tongue Stevens spoke again with a grin, “Now let us all adjourn to the hall outside. I have made certain that proper refreshments are available for us to partake in on this momentous occasion.”

Filing out of the room the men all spoke with one another as they began to hash out the details that would need to be formalized once the venture truly began. There would need to be production lines set up, special tools and machines made, material scientists and engineers to prepare, resources to gather, designers and test pilots to get ready, and of course the different project teams to be assembled. Each of their companies would play a role and together they would all reap the profits.

“Sir,” Brian Kirkpatrick remarked as he came to stand next to his boss as they followed behind the throng of influential and powerful businessmen. “Do you think this will all work as you hope?”

“Oh don’t get me wrong Brian. I’m hardly naïve, just as none of them are,” Stevens replied as he noted that Sergei Mischklov had just found the Beluga Caviar that had been flown in fresh from Russia earlier in the day. “We all recognize that there will be problems and hiccups along the way. However, the potential for profit and dominating the market is just too good to pass up and that is not the only benefit. We will gain a great deal of political capital and public relations capital from the CSN and GDI when we formally announce our joint venture bid and our proposed projects. There are many who would say that working together in such fashion will not last long and will become impossible, but they don’t understand the situation properly.”

“What do you mean sir?” Kirkpatrick asked, already aware that he would most likely be heading up the Aerospace Fighter Project given his expertise and experience with both the F-22 and the F-35 and yet also aware that there would probably still be some protests regardless of his knowledge and experience.

“Have you ever met President Ryan before?” Stevens asked rhetorically, knowing that the engineer had not. “I have and I am pretty good friends with Vice President Jackson. President Ryan is a patriot and man of high character. However, he is also a pragmatist. He knows very well that no one country on this planet can hope to not only successfully defend Earth but also allow us to take our rightful position of power and respect in this universe we now find ourselves in. Ryan’s declaration regarding the CSN and GDI are proof enough of his feelings on the matter. By showing him a united front we will gain a great and powerful ally in the CSN and GDI and I do not doubt for an instance that he will be able to get many of the other major powers to go along with his ideas. It is rare to a see a leader who is so respected by the not only his allies but by his enemies as well. Well…what few enemies of his actually remain.”

Knowing that his boss referred to the past destruction of many of the rogue elements that had risen up in attempts to upset peace and order and how under President Ryan many of these threats had been judiciously put down, Brian remarked, “You make it sound as if he could potentially take over and become king if he wanted too.”

“Ha!” Stevens laughed loudly, drawing only cursorily glances as many of those present were engaged in their own conversations and telling each other stories and jokes. “Jack Ryan is beloved and respected by the majority of the people of this country and the world over, but having him take on such a position would be completely against his character. No, if anything he will most likely be selected as the first Chief Executive of the CSN, whenever the politicians get around to deciding such matters. Old Jack Ryan is the living breathing epitome of democratic and republican ideas. Heh, if I was a man who believed in reincarnation I’d almost say that he is the second coming of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, and John F. Kennedy all rolled into one.”

“From you lips to God’s ear, Sir,” Kirkpatrick noted as he too greatly respected President Ryan and fervently believed that the man would be the key to leading not only America, but Earth as a whole into a brighter future.

--------------------------------------

[Keiran Halcyon]

Lockheed Martin UK, Manning House
London, United Kingdom
Sol III, Grantville Cluster
25th January 2007/3022

Those assembled in the conference room which could comfortably seat fifty people heard the approach of their most important attendee well before they saw his massive frame enter the room. This was due to the thump of a prosthetic leg, which ended in a square, rubber-coated band, hitting the meticulously polished floor of the corridor outside. The bearded man, who was starting to go grey around his temples, was dressed in a custom made suit to accommodate the titanium prosthetic that served as his lower left leg. He hobbled in and nodded in greeting to all those in the room, the low din of chatter between the attendees died away immediately. The man came to stop beside the lectern and placed his notes on it, also opening a laptop which had been placed there earlier. The digital projector mounted from the ceiling came to life and after warming up properly showed the laptop’s screen greatly enlarged.

“Good morning, my name is Oliver Wendell Tyler; you all can call me Skip from now on, because we’re going to become very familiar with one another over the next decade or so. Most of you know who I am; those who don’t should’ve read the damn pre-briefing memos. We don’t have time to dick around playing the name game, so I’ll get right into it.” Skip tapped a few keys on the laptop, and the room was treated to rotating wire diagrams of various warships.

“As you know, we now have floating above us two large Star League era Shipyards and four smaller ones, plus the orbital factory to support them. Hooked up to this, after making appropriate backups, we have a Fleet Yard database core. You’re all looking at a small taste of what is inside this core.” Skip gestured to the large screen. The faces in the room looked eager, fascinated, drinking in the sight of the warships. “We will not be building any of them...”

A din erupted; ‘What?’ ‘You’re kidding!’ ‘Why?’ ‘Skip? What the f…’

Skip being the large guy he was, easily overpowered the noise and bellowed, “…as they are!” His glare promised unpleasant consequences and the room quieted again. “Of the designs for warships that the Star League used over the centuries and those the Clans will develop in the future (if the sourcebooks can be totally trusted) I can, with a few notable exceptions, state that all of them are…badly designed, over and under-engineered pieces of crap that will roll out of our new shipyards over my dead body.”

Skip saw the looks of doubt, but he had prepared for this. Many of the men and women before him had what was being termed ‘BTech fever’. With the gold mine of technologies, knowledge and resources Columbus Expedition had returned with, the Defence contractors of the world had turned into the equivalent of ravenous piranhas to get their hands on the SL data and technical specifications. It also meant that the people who had to use it, thought they were looking at holy writ of ‘how it should be done’. While that was true in the basic sense, it would be colossally stupid to assume that the final product had to resemble what was done before.

He tapped his laptop to show the next slide. “This is the Texas Class made by Krester Ship Construction. I’ve never seen something this ugly with the label ‘ship’ attached to it. Its design makes no sense at all, in both construction efficiency and the functions it performs. It’s like the designers started building with two mindsets at once; the front half of the ship based on square geometries, the rear on a cylinder design which juts upward at an angle. There is no unified hull architecture to speak of even among ships that are supposed to fulfil the same roles. Now this is mostly due to the fact that these classes were manufactured by entirely different companies over the course of centuries, but it’s hard to imagine after all this time that no school of thought had developed on what would be an efficient Destroyer, Cruiser or Battleship.”

A man from RKK Energiya raised a hand. “This is the Star League we are talking about; surely they have something in terms of design to offer us.”

“There are two Star League classes, and three designs from the future Clan, FedCom and Free Worlds League that has merit, but please keep in mind that…these are Star League or League-based designs; a government that had raw materials and resources available to it on a scale that is difficult to get ones head around. We have one planet and a single asteroid mine that is perhaps six months away from yielding any raw materials. Solar prospecting is ongoing but once that Mobile Tunnel Miner design is copied, adapted to our needs and suitable ore locations found, only then will we be able to really start laying down hulls.”

“Anyway, the five designs you should focus your attention on are…” Skip switched to the next slide, “the Potemkin troop carrier.” It was a massive one thousand five hundred meter long cylindrical ship which only slightly flared out on the rear near the Fusion Torch engines. “This ship holds the record for most dropship docking collars mounted on a single hull, twenty five, arranged in rings in centre section, its armament consists of sixteen Naval Lasers, eight Barracuda launchers for anti-ASF duty, and twenty four Heavy Naval PPCs. It’s mass…one million five hundred thousand tons.”

The screen now showed another slide. Skip’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Then we have the Fox class Corvette, due to be fielded in 3058 by the future FedCom and manufactured by Federated-Boeing Interstellar.”

Most of the faces in the room turned sour at the mere mention of the company that had won the contract to operate the Mech plant on Antallos with BMW. Most of those in the room wouldn't ever forget losing that hard fought contract bid.

Skip pointedly avoided commenting on that can of worms and continued. “The Fox class is a good and practical design, which is a deadly threat to anything short of another warship, and it will punch way above its weight class after we give it a nuclear makeover. The Lithium Fusion Batteries also give it the jump-in, blow the shit out of it, jump-out option, which makes it a very attractive design for a First Strike battle scenario.”

The screen changed again, another cylindrical ship roughly eight hundred meters long, but more organic in look and rounded features. “The Carrack class, in the Star League it served originally as an armed Merchant transport to run the dangerous Periphery trade routes. It also mounted an LF battery to get it out of dodge should it be ambushed. We armour it up properly, and give it the armament of the…” the projector screen now showed another ship, much more angular in design and a list of weaponry; 12x NAC/20s, 6 x NL45s, 8 x Medium NPPCs, 2 x Killer Whale Missile Launchers, 4 x Barracuda Missile Launchers. “…Sovetskii Soyuz class and we’ve got a proper escort for our Potemkin. Not to mention a Heavy Cruiser medium combatant instead of just a decently armed Merchant ship.”

“Then the sole Clan design of merit, the Conqueror class. As you can see it has a number of rather ridiculous elements considering it flies in space. The exposed bridge tower on top of the large aft section is the first thing I’d target when attacking it and there’s no possibility of gravity for the command crew unless the ship is under acceleration. Then the fore prow is…” Skip sighed as words failed him. “I’d like to ask what the designers were thinking…in fact I’m making it a rule from now on, anyone sends me a ship design with a prow, and you’re out of this joint-venture, period.” Everyone exchanged nervous looks.

“To get back to the Conqueror…its redeeming features to take note of are its high percentage of Naval Autocannons in comparison to its energy weaponry, this is to keep waste heat low. The Conqueror was originally based on the Kimagure class Star League pursuit cruiser, so using that we have a basis to work from. Its failing however was poor heat management; it only had enough heat sinks to fire a broadside at a single target at once. If the enemy attacked from multiple arcs…well the Kimagure saw its ass if that happened. To change that we need install Double Heat Sinks.”

“We can’t yet build DHS, but I'm hopeful the instructions found in the fleetyard core will be enough to change that. In any case, so keep your designs for the moment focused on mounting a higher percentage of ballistic weaponry. The Conqueror can also carry a large amount of ASFs, is extremely manoeuvrable, carries heavy armor, and has devastating firepower. Another ship to think about as an ASF Carrier is the Thera class, which will be introduced by Free Worlds League in 3060. Its shape is also more in line with what you should model on and it carries four full ASF regiments, my only complaint about it is that it’s significantly slower in comparison to the Conqueror.”

A Lockheed Martin rep asked. “I notice these ships, except for the Conqueror; all have a submarine-look to them. Coincidence, Skip?”

The former USN submariner frowned severely. “It just so happens that a cylindrical hull for a sub is something we know very well how to build Harold, since we’ve been doing it effectively since the late nineteenth century.” The Northrop Grumman Newport News group nodded emphatically in agreement. “Now that you know what to look at, you have to keep in mind the GDI space combat doctrine.”

Everyone in the room perked up at hearing that. A lot of people, which included rabid BT fans, scientists, academics, to your average Joe on the street, had flooded the public GDI internet server with suggestions of how to defend Earth and its ever expanding interests. The Doctrine was eventually going to be self-evident but GDI had kept it well under wraps. One of the reasons this meeting was so relatively small was the Top Secret clearance procedures and each attendee signing an NDA that, if violated, pretty much put you in solitary confinement for the rest of your life.

“The GDI has asked for what is tentatively termed a Deep Space Carrier, which will deploy our Monitor craft as the main combatant against enemy Warships, with aerospace fighters from our own ‘Conqueror/Thera class’ providing escort and combat protection. Our job is also to streamline the design of the Monitors that are currently patrolling Sol into a proper production model that isn’t an ugly kludge held together with spit, bubblegum and duct tape. These things need to be able to fit into our Carrier and allow crews to work on them. They need to fire nuclear missiles when the shit has really hit the fan, they need to smash an enemy with Autocannon and PPCs, and they need to be able to take out incoming missiles and enemy ASFs.”

“The Space Carrier represents a significant strategic investment in resources and manpower, so it needs as much protection as we can give it. Therefore, we need our own versions of the Conqueror/Thera, Carrack and Fox classes to give that protection.”

A hand went up belonging to an engineer from CASC. “What about our own design of ASF?”

Skip shook his head. “The team at Headquarters in Maryland will be handling that, our new Dropship class and we will also need to work with them on the Monitor design as well.”

The meeting continued in a similar vein, with the discussion delving into the administrative minutia of the Joint Venture. Skip adjourned the meeting after another two hours of Q and A in that respect.

“All right everyone, you will be leaving with secure flash drives carrying the data you need to do your CAD modelling, you have one week from today to give me some bare bones designs. We will then constructively critique them; you will go back and make your improvements afterwards. In the end, I want to present GDI with ship designs so perfect they'll have no suggested changes to offer. I also want to finally impress upon you the gravity of the job ahead of us.”

“Upon the ships we design in the next few weeks and build in the coming years rests the future of our children and theirs, the fate of our planet, heck, and the fate of the entire Inner Sphere. I’m a father of six children…” Skip glared meaningfully at the group, “…get it right.”

On that note Director Oliver ‘Skip’ Tyler dismissed the first formal meeting of the Joint Space Alliance Company – Warship Division.

8888888888888

Skip shut down the laptop, all the while eyeing the only remaining person in the room. Hhe had been standing at the back calmly observing everything but not interfering, Skip hadn’t expected him to either. “So what do you think, Captain Kamarov?”

Captain 2nd Rank Pyotr Kamarov dressed impeccably in his black Russian Navy Uniform adorned with the gold GDI Eagle pinned above the two rows of ‘salad bars’ he had earned in his career stepped forward and nodded, his Baltic features set in a cool mask. “It was an adequate briefing, Director. It remains to be seen if we will get any worthwhile designs.”

“Well, I’ m sure that a few of them will force me to shove my left leg up their asses, before they’ll wake up and realize that we can’t build most of the ships they hold dear to their hearts from the various sci-fi universes.”

Kamarov looked hesitant, which was a strange look on the normally cool Russian officer. In the few weeks Skip had known him; he hadn’t seen the man crack a smile once. “I have heard an interesting…I believe the American term is ‘scuttlebutt’, Director.”

“Oh?”

“That it is possible that Navy submarines will be deployed on other worlds in the future.”

“Captain, it’s definitely a future possibility. Where did you hear this?”

“A Captain from the British SBS mentioned it to me.”

Skip smirked knowingly. “Let me guess, Captain Spiers.”

Kamarov nodded. “How did you know, Director?”

Skip snorted in amusement. “Let’s just say that the good Captain has been rather enthusiastic about his idea. He probably heard of your appointment as my liaison and decided to encourage me further in a roundabout way. Well, he needn’t have bothered I’ve already decided to cut my teeth on this as my own project while the rest of JSAC is busy with the warship design; it’ll keep me busy until I put the final stamp of approval on the designs and we eventually head up to the shipyards.”

Kamarov was almost hopeful as he asked. “Do you mind sharing what you have so far, Director?”

“Not at all, we build a special Dropship that is able to land on water, using inflatable buoyancy systems; it then turns itself into a tiny harbour, before launching an SSN. We’ll make it look like a Mule class on the outside to keep it from being spotted as out of the ordinary, also put in a lot more guns and armour for protection, essentially turning it into a Q-ship. There’s a few protocols to work out as well on securing the sub for interstellar travel; for instance you need a supplemental water cooling system to keep the reactor at a manageable temp, power hook-ups from the Dropship to the sub and probably a few others I haven’t thought of yet…we will need to experiment with one of the retired 688s before we even think of putting a Seawolf, Akula or any other on a space voyage.”

“Indeed,” Kamarov looked somewhat relieved. “It’s good to know that in this new age we seamen will continue to have a place.”

Skip nodded emphatically. “Oh yes, Captain, don’t doubt that. In fact, I think in the future we sub drivers will make a big difference.”

[Keiran Halcyon]

Low Orbit, Antallos
29th January 2007

The Mule Class GDI Dropship orientated itself to initiate a de-orbit burn from its fusion engines. The egg shaped vessel rocked as the engines ignited, and less than a minute later, having shed most of its orbital velocity; it began the descent to Port Krin’s Spaceport. It was part of the standard run from the Command Circuit between Earth and Antallos and it was hardly unusual. It carried supplies and men for the GDI presence on the planet; however, on this trip inserted into the normalcy was the decidedly unusual. No one besides the Captain knew that the Dropship was actually running with two more passengers than officially listed and their respective equipment, and even he only knew enough not to ask questions that were way over his paygrade or clearance. When someone waved those credentials, he knew to just shut up and not even dream of the existence of the two passengers in question. He gave them their berth in an out of the way part of the Dropship as he could find, showed them where the escape pods were, especially the functional launch tube that lacked a pod, and got on with the business of captaining the ship.

The Dropship was well into the atmosphere now, riding a bright pillar of fusion flame that lit the night to slow its vertical velocity to landing parameters. As it passed from the mesosphere level into the stratosphere, the larger of the two ‘classified’ passengers, fully outfitted for his journey and objectives, climbed into the empty Launch tube. His fair companion had already interfaced her laptop into the tube systems and had overridden its command circuitry, preventing the Bridge from registering the tube opening at all.

He pulled the aviator mask that had been feeding him pure oxygen for the past half an hour away from his face. “Mind if I step outside a while Grim?”

Anna Grimsdóttír smirked at her partner. “Not at all, Sam.” She triggered the inner hatch shut and put on her well worn earphones and integrated microphone, powering up all the encrypted digital com gear. “You read me?”

“Clear as crystal, Grim.”

She turned to her laptop and brought up the ship status feed she had hacked into. It had been laughably easy and the NSA cryptographer wondered that if this was the state of Inner Sphere IT, then Third Echelon would have a much easier time squeezing itself into places it didn’t belong out here in the greater Galaxy. ‘What wonders never cease’ she mused. Here she and Sam were, slightly under two hundred light years from Earth, running a Splinter Cell op.

“Altitude forty-two k.”

It had been a thankfully short trip thanks to the Command circuit, Anna couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine what it must have been like for the GDI Expeditionary force. She was very much a city girl, born in Boston, and grew up around computers and puzzles, being cooped up in the closet that masqueraded as a room on board the Dropship was not her idea of a good time.

“Thirty-one k, stand by.” Her hand waited over the rather large red button, the manual launch – which would open the outer hatch and waited calmly for the ship’s altimeter to read twenty seven kilometers and pushed.

Sam Fischer, his helmet closed and oxygen systems feeding him properly heated and pressurized air; was ejected into the low stratosphere of Antallos. He overcame the initial disorientation from the acceleration and using the military free-fall boots and his arms, expertly righted himself to begin falling in the classic ‘arch’ or ‘belly to the earth’ free fall position. For a few brief moments he stayed level with the descending spheroid dropship, but its rapid deceleration and his rapid acceleration towards the ground soon meant that he was leaving it behind. He moved his body much like a plane would to pull away…getting cooked by the fusion plume of a dropship was not his idea of a good death.

His sub cochlear radio earpiece crackled and Anna’s voice transmitted itself directly into his eardrums. ‘Nice view out there, Sam?’

“Picturesque,” was his wry reply. The very odd star field shining down upon the expanding spider web lines of Port Krin’s artificial lighting would make a nice background wallpaper on his office computer in Third Echelon.

‘Huh, you get the fun old man, whilst I get the ride in what feels like a glorified interstellar gimbal machine.”

Sam chuckled and looked at his wrist altimeter. So far so good, his midnight black Mark V Tactical Operations Suit was keeping him nice and warm despite the subzero ambient temperatures around him, thanks to its thermoregulation system, and he was arcing his trajectory carefully over towards his general destination. He was probably being detected by GDI radar, but the stealth properties of his suit made the radar return well below the detection threshold programming that cancelled out birds from showing up on the screens. So at least, the DARPA liaison theorized.

“Approaching parafoil deployment altitude.”

The planet below had swollen considerably to dominate his vision, and he was no longer able to see its curvature. He adjusted his free-fall to now enter the more dangerous ‘head-to-earth’ position, his freefall rate increasing from 190 kilometers per hour to over 257. All his concentration had to go now into being absolutely stable and orientated; as such he now had to rely on his AAD (Auto Activation Device) to unfurl the parafoil. In his head he counted down his best mental estimate of when the AAD would activate…if it didn’t, he would have to pull back into ‘arch’ and deploy his reserve chute…this would increase his profile and he’d definitely be flagged by Radar as ‘suspect’. GDI would investigate and then this ‘blacker than black op’ would be forced into the ‘official’ spotlight.

In the end, his count was only two seconds off. At exactly eight thousand two hundred meters, the parafoil struts were unfurled, and the radar absorbent surfaces locked in place between them, forming a wing that in effect turned him into a human glider. With it came enough stability that let him move his arms freely again, into the control handles under either side of the wing. Carefully he twisted…turning the small flaps to correct his dive.

He had used the Switchblade parafoil once before, it had worked then, and DARPAs ingenuity didn’t fail him now…thank goodness. The thing was still technically in testing.

He had arrested his fall, but still had way too much speed and moved into an S-turn to bleed some of it off. Looking to his left, the arm which held his OPSAT – which had been reprogrammed to work on inertial guidance – he saw that his target was dead ahead, about nine kilometers distant. He’d make that easily.

“On target, Grim.”

“Good, I’d really have preferred we used the GDI spysat in orbit, but we’ll have to learn to make do without it if we’re going to be doing this again in the Inner Sphere.”

A minute of flight later Sam spotted his target in the night. The starlight and the buildings’ own lighting reflecting off its sloping, curved lines, and the unmistakable large dish that represented the business end of a Hyperpulse Generator on top.

“Time to get to work.”

8888888888888888

Sam Fisher crouched on the roof of the Comstar HPG station, using the shadow cast by the large antenna dish to remain unseen from any possible observers from the ground, whilst he refolded the parafoil and placed all the HAHO jump gear with it; all of which had been designed with this in mind. It all fit into a duffel bag that was as dark as his own Tactical suit, and he would leave it here for the duration of the mission, retrieving it on his way out…if things didn’t pan out and he was forced to use another exfiltration point, Anna could send a remote command to the duffel bag itself to detonate incendiary charges that were inserted in the linings – Comstar would find nothing but a misshapen lump of scorched black plastics and steel.

With that done he eyed the nearby cracked skylight; apparently damaged by the adjacent HPG dish at some point in the past. A feel of the dish mounting base revealed repair welds. ‘Guess some it must have been blasted off in the past.’ Sam carefully began pulling away the cracked sections of glass out of its housing.

He attached a rope around the base of the HPG dish and threaded it into his harness. The lobby below was darkened with minimal lighting. He gave an exaggerated nod to drop his trifocal vision goggles, observing the room in the green hues of low-light Vision. There was not a soul in sight from his vantage point but he spotted a fixed camera facing directly towards the public entrance, which also covered much of the room.

This wasn’t good enough so he carefully pushed down his fiber-optic camera – twisting it to do a more thorough sweep…and revealed a Comstar Acolyte seated in a far corner, fast asleep. ‘He’s not even patrolling,’ Sam thought derisively. There could be no evidence of any break-in, so it limited his means for proceeding somewhat but it wasn’t insurmountable.

He unslung the SC-20K. It was essentially a highly modified, 30-round, selective fire 5.56x45mm NATO bullpup assault rifle with a suppressor, a 1.5x reflex sight or a 2/4/6x scope, and had an underslung grenade launcher used to launch various less-than-lethal devices. He loaded one such device and carefully aimed at the camera, the weapon barely made a sound as it sent an EMP round to put it out of action.

He quickly looked into the fibre-op cam…the Acolyte was still asleep.

Moments later he had silently rappelled down into the lobby. He unhooked the rope and with a tiny remote, the Ascender he had attached at the base of the sat dish pulled the rope back up, but not completely, as it had to come back down for his exfiltration later.

Adopting a crouch, he walked carefully and efficiently forward, his soft, yet durable shoes preventing any sound from being made by his footfall on the plastic tile floor. He paused directly under the camera he had disabled earlier, and glanced at his watch. The small EMP device that had been stuck there fell right on time, and he easily snatched it out of the air. ‘Score another one for DARPA.’

He moved out of the lobby and into the main corridor, there were thankfully no lights here or cameras, but he froze when he saw what looked like laser emitters near the floor. Switching to thermal vision on his goggles, he noted that they weren’t active. “Very sloppy or it’s just broken down.’

Back to infrared vision, he continued forward and leaned against a corner, surveying the turn in corridor ahead before proceeding. The area ahead was fully lighted; there were two elevators, another Acolyte – this one looking half-awake and visibly struggling to remain so – and another camera.

Sam carefully removed his SC pistol, also from Fabrique National; the highly modified Five Seven with an attached suppressor fired twenty rounds of NATO 5.7mm ammunition. He was not allowed to kill anybody today, so it was filled with the most potent tranquilizer ammo that Third Echelon had access to. Presenting as little of the weapon around the corner as possible, he fired a dart directly into the Acolyte’ neck. ‘Good night sweetheart.’

He changed ammo at this point to fire a prototype device called an Optically Channeled Potentiator (OCP). They destroyed themselves on impact, unlike the EMP fired from his SC20, and were used to temporarily disrupt electronic devices, such as light fixtures, gun turrets and security cameras.

With the thirty seconds time he had; Sam rushed forward, removed the dart from the Acolyte, pressed both buttons on the elevators – his luck held out, one opened immediately; quickly glanced inside – no cameras and then pushed out the ceiling to find the access hatch, whilst thumbing the ‘Door Close’ button.

He made it into the elevator shaft with three seconds to spare.

‘So far so good, Sam.’ Grim praised. ‘Precentor Long’s office should be on the fifth floor and thermal imaging has shown the station mainframe on the third.”

8888888888888888

Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, the upper floors had more activity from the Acolytes and Adepts that called the Antallos HPG home. On the third floor Sam had to wait for a bored looking Adept to pass the elevator door, before he could push it open fully. The minimal lighting that the station kept itself under (to spare the lights and extend their life as much as possible probably) gave him a rather easy time of it to advance forward. At one point an Acolyte passed within three feet of him, and didn’t so much as suspect he was there – he might as well have been invisible.

There were more cameras on this level, some of which he didn’t even need to worry about because they had been gutted for parts. It was obvious that Antallos hadn’t been really that much of a priority for Comstar – which was due to change in a hurry no doubt, thanks to GDI’s presence. It was one of the reasons Third Echelon wanted the mission to happen now, as opposed to when (according analysts referencing from the Sourcebooks) the Antallos HPG would likely be upgraded to a higher priority station.

The din of the large mainframes cooling fans resonated throughout the level and he crouched just beside a door to a room that was the hottest he had seen so far, thanks to his own thermal vision. Taking out his fibre-op cam, he threaded it through the gap. The room beyond was almost ten meters in length and about six in width, on either side were two near continuous lengths of BT style computer mainframes, with integrated workstations, display screens and flashing lights spanning that length.

A single Adept was at one station, staring fixedly at the screen whilst tapping the keyboard under it. The room was fully lit – this was not going to be easy at all. Sam drew his pistol, and shot out the closest light to his left to create more darkness. The OCP round did its job permanently this time. He changed ammo to tranq darts and after checking no one was approaching in the hall, thumbed the door control directly above his head.

The doors hissed open on their servos. The light from the Mainframe room cut most of the darkness away, except for a patch on the opposite side of the hall, where Sam was now crouched.

“Hello?”

Sam obviously didn’t respond. He took aim and waited.

The Adept’s tone was now irritated. “Hellooo?”

Finally, there were footsteps and the red-robed Adept was framed in the doorway, his light adapted eyes might as well have been staring into a black hole – there was no way he could see Sam waiting for him.

The pistol gave a muted cough and the Adept gasped, clutching at his throat, and he simply slumped into a heap on the floor. Sam rushed forward thumbing the inner door controls to slide shut. He eyed the Adept, a man with hazel hair…perhaps in his late twenties. Picking him up was easy.

Sam deposited the unfortunate Adept in front of the workstation he had been using and pulled out the dart in his neck. He wasn’t worried about the man remembering anything about this experience…since Third Echelon’s tranq dart cocktail included Flunitrazepam. Sam scowled as he thought of the uses which other SOBs back on Earth used it for.

He posed the Adept to make it seem like he had simply fallen asleep at his station, and scanned the length of the mainframe for what he was looking for. He found it two thirds of the way along its length.

He carefully pulled off the panel. “Grim, I’ve found the interface port.”

‘Good, the Dropship has landed by the way.”

He pulled out the cord that had been specially interfaced with his radio system, and plugged into the computer socket that was common to BT IT systems.

“You getting anything?”

“Yeah, but signal strength is mid range, it’s all the EM emission from the mainframe…beginning Hydra worm upload…I’m getting five hundred kbps. Fifty seconds till upload completion.”

Sam aimed his pistol at the door and the familiar anxiousness of having to wait in a critical situation reared its familiar unwelcome head. The whole mission could go Fubar in the next minute, because he was now in essence tied to the damn mainframe until the worm upload was done.

“Twenty seconds…”

The din of the mainframe kept him from being able to hear any footsteps from the corridor as well.

“Ten seconds…”

“Five…”

“Four…”

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…upload is done.”

Sam pulled out the cable and its autowind mechanism pulled it back in so it was out of his way. He hurried to the door and surveyed the corridor with the fibre-op cam. His heart hammered in his chest as he saw of all people, Precentor Long walking past, in his pajamas and yawning as he went, a sandwich in his hand.

‘Going for a damn midnight snack.’ Sam thought in irritation.

When the Head of the Antallos HPG was out of sight, Sam got out of the Mainframe room and back into the shadows of the main third floor corridor. He breathed an inward sigh of relief. He had played heavy stakes before, where the lives of millions and the survival of his country rode on his actions…but here and now, it was the survival of every person that lived on Earth.

He moved back towards the elevators and once again into the shafts.

888888888888888

The fifth floor held the Precentor’s office and seemed to be devoted to archival storage; and it was a far cry from the massive server farms of the NSA, a good percentage of it was still hardcopy file cabinets. Not that NSA or Third Echelon had done away with hardcopy formats either; the Agency had to be somewhat immune to a ‘Doomsday scenario’ after all; if the use of electronics and technology were disrupted for any length of time. It seemed though that Comstar had taken that idea much further.

‘It’s somewhat nostalgic,’ Grim commented as he moved through a room lined with ceiling high file cabinets. “It’s like walking through early NSA or even the OSS. I guess the Succession Wars taught them to back up their data in multiple formats.”

While there was a lot here that Third Echelon would like to get their hands on, there was too much chance there were passive protections on the cabinets; something as simple as a thin strand of hair or thread stuck to the inside of a drawer. In any case, that was not Sam’s objective. While they knew Precentor Long’s office was on this floor, they didn’t know its exact location. As such he was busy with a systematic survey of every room. It was a frustrating process, as camera coverage on this floor was much better, and it ran down his OCP ammo.

Sam was thankful eventually for human hubris; as ‘Precentor Long’ was written in nice bold lettering to the side of the door in the north-east corner of the floor. Access to this office was the first proper security setup he’d seen in the HPG station; numeric keypad, retinal biometric scanner, with a camera watching over anyone who tried to access it.

He was crouched in the darkness on the opposite side of the corridor, outside the camera’s field of view and mentally rehearsed his actions. Taking a deep breath he aimed his pistol and fired.

30 seconds…

He rushed forward as fast as he dared, pulled out his fibre-op cam and snaked it under the door.

25 seconds…

“Triangulate my position now, Grim.”

‘Copy that.’

21 seconds…

He carefully did a slow right to left pan, surveying the office. Sam first impression was that it looked somewhat like a lawyer’s office; one entire wall was dominated by a bookshelf neatly arranged with volumes and not an inch wasted or unused. On a steel desk that was painted an off white, was a BT standard computer ‘desktop’ and stacks of neatly arranged paperwork. Another wall held an artist’s rendition of Terra and a massive starmap of the Inner Sphere, with the various Successor State territories colored in.

16 seconds…

He found his objective on the far wall behind the desk.

‘I’ve got your exact X,Y,Z coordinates Sam. Does his office have what we need?’

“Oh yes, like any man at the top, the Precentor likes to have a room with a view.”

‘Good, now get out of there.’

9 seconds…

Sam pulled back the fibre-op cam and moved out of view and back into the darkness. “I’ve found another exfil point in the elevator shaft that I can access with a bit of rewiring, it’ll lead me onto the roof and I can retrieve my gear from there.”

‘Now we don’t have to worry about your low OCP ammo.’

“I’ll see you at the rendezvous.”

888888888888888

Port Krin, Antallos
30th January 2007

Sam Fisher was now dressed in civilian clothes and used his high power binoculars to scan the HPG station just under a kilometer distant from apartment block that all the Boeing and BMW workers operating in the Combine-leased Mech factory would be using. He and Grim were sharing an apartment in the GDI secured building; their cover being that they were two survey engineers that had arrived from Earth to do a thorough inspection before declaring it safe for use.

He lowered the optics and walked away from the window to observe as Grim assembled the most ingenious surveillance device ever conceived in his own humble opinion.

She grinned at him, pushing her blonde hair out of the way, whilst screwing in the device to the tripod stand. “Done.”

Sam picked the device up at the base of the tripod and brought it over to the window. He made sure it was stable and placed his eye onto the aiming optics, which gave him an extremely magnified view from the telephoto lens. He could see the HPG station gleaming in the sunlight and some of its Comstar personnel were outside it, within the perimeter fence…some studying from books, others just generally chatting with each other or having their breakfast outside.

He moved the device’ crosshairs and panned up, scanning for their target… occasionally referencing from their calculations. “Got it, Grim.” She nodded and sat down behind her laptop, and executed the programs needed.

“Ready…lase it, Sam.”

He pushed down on the small red button.

An invisible Laser crossed the space between them and the reinforced window that lined the outer wall of Precentor Long’s office. The beam penetrated into the office and bounced off the picture of Terra, where the smooth plastic that covered it reflected it straight back to the receiver within the Laser Microphone; the minute differences in the distance traveled by the light as it reflected from the vibrating painting (when anybody in the room spoke or did anything to create noise) would be detected.

Grim put on a pair of military earphones attached to her laptop, tapped a few buttons on her keyboard and grinned. “I have signal and sound.”

Sam leaned away from the Laser Mike and folded his broad arms “Are we sure they don’t have a counter for this surveillance method?” The NSA made use of Laser Microphones extensively, but they also knew how to defeat the technology if it was ever used against them; for example all the glass of the NSA building in Fort Meade, Maryland had rippled layers to provide as poor reflective surface as possible for a laser. Then there were also the specialized light sensors in every office with a window which would sound an alert to a laser penetrating it.

“It’s possible, but the analysts doubt it – it’s lostech at the moment. Not to mention Antallos is as backwater as you can get, and it ‘was’ a nest for every scumbag, slaver and pirate on this side of the Inner Sphere. The HPG here is Class B only because of the business they brought. Even so, we can safely assume from your infiltration last night that they’re very last on the list to get equipment sent here from Terra – I mean its three and half months in one direction with a dedicated Jumpship.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised in appreciation. “That logistics is a nightmare. Except for his office…the Precentor probably got his security tech locally, never mind the state of the art stuff from Terra.”

“Exactly. I think we’ll probably find much the same situation on Enif and Dneiper.”

“It’s too bad it won’t last.”

Grim smiled ruefully. “Yeah, consensus is that with the splash GDI made here, that Antallos HPG will become Class A; that means a proper ROM contingent and much better security tech and procedures. We’ll have to develop a plan for getting around that.”

“That’ll make things much more…interesting. Well then, let’s listen to the typical day of Precentor Long, shall we?”

88888888888888888

Oval Office, The White House
Washington DC
Sol III, Grantville Cluster
12th February 2007

Jack Ryan stared out of the east facing windows that looked out onto the Rose Garden. He needed to take a break, but unfortunately the Galaxy would not allow that; since the GDI expansion onto Antallos and the return of Operation Phantom Snowflake, not to mention organizing another expedition to begin a full retrieval operation…his workload had only gotten greater…on top dealing with the domestic issues. Yes, he technically shared this load with all the other CSN states, but it didn’t seem like it.

His desk intercom beeped. “Mr. President, you have a call from the NSA on Line 3.”

Jack walked over to his phone. “This is Ryan.”

“Mr. President, I just wish to inform you that ‘Operation: Crusher’ is a go.”

“Good, carry on Mr Lambert.”

“Thank you, sir.” The line went dead.

Past presidents had not bothered with the nitty-gritty of the spy trade. Jack was not like those past presidents, having been in the spy trade himself, and he was most certainly not a ‘career’ politician. He wondered if he should propose a bill to affect the latter into law.

[evilauthor]

Seattle, Washington State,
United States, Earth,
Coalition of Sovereign Nations
12 April 2007/3022

Before the expectant crown of officials, reporters, cameras, and random onlookers, the doors of the great hangar parted. Rolling out of the hangar into the bright sun came the latest in Earth engineering. It had been named the Pioneer and it was the latest thing is spaceflight, a product of nearly two years of design and redesign as new technology became available. Finally, it was ready for the public eye.

To the disappointment of some, the Pioneer looked very much like the old, retired Space Shuttles. Like the old Shuttles, this new spacecraft had a boxy, blunt-nosed fuselage, as well as the doors on upper side of said fuselage. But there were some differences a discerning eye could make out, such as the seam running around the nose suggesting yet another cargo door, the single large exhaust on its rear compared to the original’s three, and the air intakes flanking the fuselage above the wings. The wings themselves were not a solid piece, but obviously designed to swivel wide for more lift. And any chance of mistaking the Pioneer for an old Shuttle was terminated by one of the actual Shuttles sitting on the tarmac nearby; the new version was visibly much larger than its ancestor as it rolled past. Minus its wings and tail, the old Shuttle looked like it could have been fitted into the Pioneer’s cargo bay with room to spare.

Pioneer continued to roll, taxiing past the crowd and onto a runway. As it did, a man from Boeing explained exactly what the Pioneer was. It wasn’t a military attack ship as some had speculated. It skin was far too thin for that, not even using the still expensive BT standard armor except in the most limited amounts necessary for atmospheric entry. It was also entirely unarmed, although its one thousand ton rated cargo bay could be outfitted with missile launchers in an emergency. Pioneer was also not a Dropship, lacking the expensive KF boom structure required for surviving interstellar jumps.

In truth, the Pioneer was the first pure civilian spacecraft made by Earth. It was intended to support the growing space-based industries throughout the Solar System. As such, it was little more than a fusion engine, life support sections, and a massive cargo bay all in a box and all made as cheaply as possible.

But the real significance of Pioneer was in its fusion engine. By BT standards, it was overweight, underpowered, and a fuel hog. But then again, unlike every other fusion engine that Earth and the CSN were currently using, no BT manufacturer had made this engine. This engine had not been salvaged from a wreck, confiscated from pirates, or bought from another world. The Pioneer was in fact using the first fusion engine ever constructed by Earth, and construction of the factories to mass produce more such engines were already under way. And once fusion engines could be produced en masse, the wealth and resources of the entire solar system would finally be open to everyone as privately owned spaceflight would then become a reality.

The Pioneer’s wings spread wide, and its main engine roared to shoot it down the runway. As it neared the end, its nose lifted up and Pioneer lifted into the air to the cheers of the crowd. And the nose continued to angle up as the prototype craft reached for space. Presently, its engine was taking in the external air and using it for reaction mass. But once the air became to thin for that to be effective, it would switch over to its internal fuel supply.

As the Pioneer all but vanished into the distance – its fusion tail would be visible for some time yet if not the ship itself – a reporter asked the Boeing man what massed produced fusion engines would mean for the military. Did GDI or any of the national militaries have plans for combat ships using the new fusion engines? The Boeing man’s reply was short and to the point.

“No comment.”

[PsyckoSama]

Lockheed SkunkWorks
Nevada Test and Training Range
Nevada, United States of America
25th April 2007/3022

Area 51

Slowly the hanger door slid open and from them emerged a sleek sliver shape. Reminiscent of the F22 in the nose, the delta winged prototype taxied onto the tarmac, the lower two of its four dart like tail stabilizers folded up to allow for clearance. While it was currently armed only with dummy weapons, the sun glittered off the two pods mounted into the wings while the larger mounting under the center made promises of the threat it would one day become.

The craft moved into a straight line and two gets of pure plasma, solar matter, were expelled from the rear like the fires of hell. Faster than any craft ever built on earth, the vehicle accelerated, pitching its nose up and taking to the air. With almost artistic simplicity the landing gear folded up and the lower two aft stabilizers folded down, completing its transformation from a awkward ground vehicle, to a sleek predator of the skies and opened its throttle.

With a earth shattering sonic boom, it was done. The MiG/Lockheed-Martin ASF-01 BearCat had officially translated from idea to reality. There was still much testing to be done, but Earth had officially taken the first tangible step to entering the Star-Fighter game.

From her place in the stands, Major Jane Ibrahim calmly smiled as sipped her mango drink, seemingly unaffected by the spontaneous celebration exploding around her. While for this this was a monumental occasion, for her it was just a moment of deeply set personal satisfaction.

For the past year she'd been a ranking advisor for this program, watching and helping as they developed it from nothing to what it was today. While it was not the most spectacular fighter in the Sphere she would admit, it really wasn't half bad. Armed to the teeth and armored like a tank, but with a trade off in speed. Easy to repair and easy to modify, with superior electronics and stealth features that made it difficult to spot at range. Yes, if it lived up to its promises, it had all the makings of a good fighter.

Her smile grew. And as soon as they finished working out the bugs, she'd own one. The King of Saudi Arabia has promised her one of the first production run, to be powered by the engine of a Stinger her husband had destroyed in the Battle of Mecca as his gift of respect to a hero of the faith. Sure, it would never have the same deeply felt emotional attachment of her families late Sparrowhawk, but she was sure as hell not going to turn down a chance to fly as a warrior once again.

She leaned back and her smile grew once again as she kicked her feet up on the rail in front of her.

Which variant to take? She wondered. The first model mounted a simple, reliable Class Five Autocannon. The A model was slotted to mount a larger laser imported from the Outworlds Alliance and some additional Heatsinks to keep her cool. The B a PPC, if they could find a reliable suppler. Finally, there was the C, which was to mount a internal rotary missile launcher and 12 of their terrific new Thunderbolt Multi-Aspect Missiles.

“Ah,” she said with a contented sigh. “Decisions, decisions.”

[walkir]

January 10, 2007/3022
OHB selected for the construction of 20 modular multi-purpose satellites to be deployed on Antallos

Vice-President Antonio Tajani today announced that the CSN has selected the consortium led by OHB-System AG for building and testing 20 satellites for the Antallos SkyEye system, a program of and funded jointly by the Coalition of Sovereign Nations and Global Defense Initiative.
Berry Smutny, CEO of OHB-System AG, stated upon learning of the decision “We are very pleased and honoured with the Commission’s decision. SkyEye is one of Earth’s most important infrastructure export programs. We will start and do our industrial job once we’re upgraded our factories; this is a big success for Bremen. We are very proud to serve this program along the road towards the creation of Antallos’ own dedicated satellite system“.
As a result of this decision, OHB-System will be assuming the role of prime contractor for the fabrication of the 20 satellites, including full responsibility for developing the satellite platform and overall integration of the satellites. The 20 satellites will be assembled in Bremen.

The SkyEye satellite system will be the first satellite built and designed to take advantage of the plentiful orbital lifting capacity, making weight savings a tertiary aim after EMP-hardening and multi-purpose functionality.
It consists of a modular system that will be able to host a wide range of payload modules up to ten metric tons, including TV and communication systems as well as RADAR, cameras or meteorological modules.
CSN ordered ten satellites for communications, traffic control and meteorology while GDI ordered another ten. The exact nature of their payload is not detailed, but they can use the same modules as the civilian satellites.
“We hope to sell those models to new founded colonies and are proud to be one of the first companies with a build to stock satellite production. The days of waiting for a start date are over, today’s challenge is to be able to deliver high-quality systems to our customers in a very short time.”
In the construction of the satellites, OHB will be able to harvest the many years of experience which they have amassed. Not least of all, OHB-System successfully built and launched the German SAR-Lupe radar reconnaissance system, a constellation of five satellites, on time and within budget.

OHB did bid for the new orbital nuclear platform but lost the contract to a consortium of EADS Astrium and Boeing Satellite Systems.


Port Krin Spaceport
Port Krin, Antallos
10 February 2007/3022

The door of the GDI dropship opened and five truck engines started. “Let’s see Port Krin.” Gefreiter Schulze said, driving his truck out of the first cargo-bay and transporting a transhospital container. Next to him sat Stabsarzt Koslowski, an actual doctor and officer, and while both of them belonged to the German Bundeswehr medical detachment, they had spoken English ever since leaving Earth to get used to it.

Led by a Canadian GDI jeep, the trucks painted with a bronze GDI eagle and transporting medical containers drove over the landing field and led for the crowded streets. “Looks like a mixture of 1001 nights and Heidelberg…” Koslowski commented, looking out of the window. “Well. And a fucking Airport.”

“Interesting mixture, Sir.” They were passing the first post and actually entered the narrow streets.
About half an hour later, a time which Koslowski used to point out he had read the briefing material soon becoming an actual tourist guide and pointing to every single construction site for schools, colleges, hospitals or religious buildings - there were a lot of them but Port Krin had more than a million inhabitants after all – they reached the first fence of the GDI base.

Tent cities had months ago been replaced by houses a lot better than the Antallos standard and there was a big influx of people wanting to help as well as dozens of construction sites, including several churches, mosques and synagogues. The first schools had already opened, while a lot of others and colleges or free public libraries were still being built.

Port Krins Infrastructure already had improving dramatically and it would go on as the first permanent hospitals and homes for the disabled were going to be build.

The street in front of the base was literally besieged by people - patients, beggars and citizens looking for a chance to get a ticket to “Motherlode”.
A cute brunette in a hot dress smiled to them and wanted to come nearer, but they were entering the camp at that moment.

Inside the base was a small city built from containers, passageways and tents. 100 of the Bundeswehrs 250 field hospital containers were placed here, and they were transporting another 25. The medical detachment was truly international, intermingled with members of Doctors without borders. There were shops and a post office, too.
It was even more crowded. The only areas relatively clear of people were the CSN embassy and the construction sites for several churches - including what looked like a small monastery - mosques and synagogues.

After stopping the truck and leaving it, Schulze looked at the inner fence, which actually was guarded and was greeted by another German truck driver.
“I wonder what’s behind that fence…”

“That? That’s Motherlode sector.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s for ‘Motherloders’.” He lowered his voice “A cinema, a few shops with beer from home, McDonalds, …”

“Ah, I see.” Schulze grinned “The comforts of home without telling too much.”

“Exactly. The innermost part is used by the actual troops. HQ, power plant, housing…”

“Thanks mate. I’ll buy you a beer, but now I have to go and fetch another container. Heck, they’re unloading them insanely fast!”


Later that evening.


Schulze entered a bar in Motherlode Sector. It looked like a mixture of a cheap restaurant and bar that wouldn't look wrong on any city on Earth, too. It was filled with various Earth citizens of all ethnicities and military or civilian vocations - bureaucrats, construction workers, priests of very different religions, soldiers, technicians, medics and many more.

“Hi!”

He looked around and saw the truck driver he met earlier. “Hi, may I take a seat?”

"Sure, welcome to the base. My buddies will come later."

"Thanks. It's nice over here." he seated himself.

"Yeah, much better than on that ship, don't you think...?"

Schulze grabbed the menu "Definitely. Wow, that's good. Burgers, fries, Schnitzels, Pizza, ... Beer. I take a Pils, what about you?"

"The taste of home... They have a rotating menu in the staff canteen with a different national food and a fitting cook every week. Works very well. And the cook here is actually Franco-Italian. I’ll take another Pils, thanks."

"Sounds good, very good… And what's that over there?" he pointed to a billboard that had attracted a sizable crowd.

“Oh, that's the movie schedule."

"Ah, what are they showing?"

"Well, people like 300. Just keeps running and running. But the most interesting thing on that schedule in the moment is the sports newscast. Football, that stuff the Americans call football, baseball, cricket… everything. I'll go to the cinema later and watch Bayern München vs. Borussia Dortmund."

"What, that game was..."

"Don't you dare!"

"Sorry. Seems like they do a lot to inform us about home... Just look at all those news magazines out there. TIME, Newsweek, Le Point, Maclean's, Die Zeit, Der Spiegel, The Week, Le Nouvel Observateur, Kommersant Vlast,...!"

"Yeah, that entire weekly stuff. There's even two 'weeks' - an Indian and an UK edition. We get infodumps from daily newspaper's websites into the internal net, too. We definitely can't complain about missing news over here. No Earth news may leave the sector, that's one of the reasons it's that popular. The only periodical allowed outside the base is the Antallos Gazette."

"There’s even a local newspaper in here?"

"Yes, it's written both for us and the locals to inform about changes on the city and its surroundings. There are spheroid reporters out there, of course, but this is written by some of our new local bureaucrats that at least have a hint of both worlds and a few ‘local’ Earthlings that write the ‘classified’ Earthling-only-part. If you leave the base, be prepared to be interviewed. They like to pick on newcomers. Be especially careful towards a Lois Lane, she already got some good coverage..."

"A reporter called Lois Lane? You got to be kidding me!"

[bluepencil]

Shushō Kantei Building
Tokyo, Japan
April 31, 2007/3022

Japan was an economic power, not a military one. Though it was (seventh) in the world in terms of military spending, its total forces remained too few to realistically defend all of its islands. Power rested on the corporations, who saw their commerce as the lifeblood of the nation. A few years back, a businessman named Raizo Yamata manipulated the corporation chiefs, helped put a lecherous and corrupt politian (Goto) into office as Prime Minister, handled the acquisition of ICBM technology from the Russians and the secret construction of launching sites, opened up the conspiracy with India and China, and forced the nation into a state of war against America. This was all to repay a 'Debt of Honor' from his parent's suicide death in Saipan during World War 2.

Yamata stoked fears about a trade war, or blocking Japanese products from American markets, as an attack against their economy. If they could not depend upon the American market for their resources, then they needed to secure it from other sources. In the conspiracy between China, India and Japan to gain access to the 'Northern Resource Area', the newly-discovered massive reserves of Siberian gold and oil, Japan made the first agressive move and prepared for the retaliation.

Not unexpectedly, instead of Japan gaining respect as a global power with its own nuclear arsenal, this aggression only made them lose 'face'. At the end of it, not only had Japan lost its secret store of nuclear ICBMs, but the global stock market had systematically collapsed the yen in the exact same manner that they had hoped to destroy the dollar.

The Prime Minister before that was Mogataru Koga, and he took back the office to end the insanity. He, along with the nation, still had a long way to go on the road to recovery from Goto's inept handling of the situation.

He stared out at the garden of the Kantei building, the Prime Minister's official workplace. He could see part of the National Diet Building, and again it struck him how little power the government itself seemed to have compared to the corporations.

Everyone involved knew just which corporation Yamata was in charge of, but for delicacy's sake no one mentioned it. The public knew that he had engineered the stock market sabotage, not the full extent of how much damage he had done to the nation. "He should suffer more than just several consecutive life sentences." Koga mused aloud.

"Just so, Prime Minister." replied his visitor. "However the other zaibatsu heads share equal blame. It is a pity they are now dead."

Koga turned and sat back down on his chair. Respectfully, Hoshi Nasuno did remained standing until as his direct superior motioned for him to sit as well. "We cannot make the corporations suffer too much for the actions of their directors." the Prime Minister added. "They had the first taste of what would become the Ryan Doctrine, and if more suffering must be assigned then it should be for all of us that we have allowed them to operate like feudal lords for long. So, Nasuno, tell me how our much longer our economy will have to bear the pains of their folly."

Hoshi Nasuno was Minister of Economy, Trade, and Industry. The Central Government Reform program had the MITI (Ministry of International Trade and Economy) merge with several other agencies related to economic activity, such as the Economic Planning Agency. This was part of the forced policy change pushed by the Americans after again winning a shooting war.

METI Minister Nasuno remembered that MITI escaped the judicious assassinations only because Yamata had bypassed their agency entirely. His predecessor had been ignominously fired, nonetheless."Our economy has just stabilized even with the depreciation of the yen. Our people continue to put their savings in banks, which fortunately means that essential capital is somewhat independent of the stock market."

"The zaibatsus must learn humility. The people do not know the banks are primarily responsible for this." Koga continued. Zaibatsus were vertically-oriented associations of companies, centered around a large holding company that holds stock in smaller companies, and a that bank provides loans and financial support. The Japanese people put their faith in banks, which in turn gave up loans that enabled the companies to attempt riskier methods of growth. The madness of military adventurism was fueled by the people's good faith. "We must all now try to keep calm and not muddy the waters, until the world is ready to trust us again."

War was not a rational act. They required America's continued goodwill, the trade deficit between them just another proof of their inextricable relationship. Japan depended upon a web of coinciding interests and obsessive diversification. Business was business.

Fortunately for them, other events quickly took over the world's attention. After Saddam Hussein's assassination, Iran and Iraq briefly unified into the United Islamic and launched an WMD attack against the US with the Ebola virus. This kicked off the second Persian Gulf War, and sent oil prices spinning. After having stabbed Japan in the back in the conspiracy to remove the US Navy from the Pacific, China took overt means of claiming the 'Northern Resource Area'. Russia and China fought until, again, America intervened after Russia got inducted into NATO.

Prime Minister Koga groaned and rubbed at his forehead. "As long as Jack Ryan is around, it seems some new disaster will arrive to test America's resolve and the quality their military hardware. This latest calamity may be more than even they can handle."

"We have been nothing less than generous to GDI in terms of material support. There is not much more we can do without directly contributing military forces, Koga-san."

"Yes, that is why I had asked for this meeting. How is this affecting our economy?"

"Our growth rate is still stagnant, but the need for new technologies is fueling a global trade boom. The lower price of oil is also helping to keep transport costs enough to prevent runaway inflation."

"Not enough. We must have access to the Inner Sphere's markets." Only GDI could clear the way.

The disconnect between the cold, formal logic of their boardrooms and the hysteria of their pop culture was well-known. Most deemed this the natural effect of a society that sees great virtue in conformity, in emotional repression in formal matters, that the informal has to work twice as hard to compensate. The rebels of today become that conservatives of tomorrow; or so the saying goes.

Foreign companies that had the most success in dealing with the Japanese recognized that there was no disconnect. The manager was just as hysterical towards profit as the teen to his leather jackets and the 'scene'. Government policy encouraged a culture bent towards the accumulation of wealth.

To have money was not being wealthy. Wealth was -resources-. Status all over the world was marked by greater access to resources; be it the rock star to millions in dollars and adoring fans, the Joint Chiefs of Staffs and the ability to direct military forces through the globe, and of course the salaryman out to get his son into the 'good' schools.

Profit was -survival-.

"We cannot afford war." Nasuno explained after first apologizing for having to state the obvious. "It is not just in terms of military expenditure, but in the interruption of trade that daily nourishes our whole society. But it is trade that ties us to the wellbeing of other nations. "

Koga nodded. "Indeed, it is why the zaibatsu could excuse their actions in that the Americans first deliberately attacked our economy." 'We may not like it, but the facts are clear. There is more room to expand on this planet.' he thought. The growth of every company in its market shares was necessarily at the expense of another. That was also why many other nations resented Japan's dominance in their own markets with hgh-quality yet affordable mass-produced good. Mass production also had its own peril, however. 'Someone needs to buy the goods we produce, or this economy is destroyed. Its energy is its own vulnerability.'

Commerce, wealth, was the health of the nation, and his thoughts of late drifted towards how to sustain that level of growth. It was for good reason that other nations resented the dominance of Japanese products in their own markets. 'The Inner Sphere is something different. There we must -build- the necessary markets.'

"It would only have delayed the inevitable. What affects one economy affects the world. Having antagonized the American and European markets, that would only leave China and India as the only appreciable sources of revenue. Surely they should have seen that these two have far less reason to be kindly disposed to our nation. Our old ally, America, held the advantage but for the most part did not press too hard. China and India, having inefficient economies of their own, would surely not hesitate to press their advantage."

"The plan was for a coordinated attack towards Siberia and the Northern Resource Area." Koga thought about it. It was Japanese resource explorers that first discovered the reserves. "We once held Sakhalin. Having it again would have granted us something our nation never posessed."

"Hai. Oil -is- the lifeblood of the worldwide economy."

Raizo Yamata tried to achieve economic independence through the acquisition of nuclear weapons and forcing other nations to accept a new equilibrium. It did not work. Ironically, Japan now had everything the man wanted, plus renewed investor confidence, all a -gift- from the skies.

"Fusion Power is a godsend.", Prime Minister Koga had to admit. It would finally allow them to wean off foreign oil and its unstable market, bringing the nation one step closer to its golden dream of self-sufficiency. That this also brought with it the knowledge of the existence of the Draconis Combine was a nightmare, but also something of a relief.

It was like they had spent the last fifty years preparing for just this moment. Just as the Emperor would never bow to the Coordinator, so would the Land of the Rising Sun never bow down to the Dragon.

He brought his attention back to the Trade Minister. "How much in the development of mecha costing us, compared to what you would have needed to do to stimulate the economy?"

"It is hard to define, Koga-san. Many of the new production lines have been set by the corporations' own initiative, and the capital they use come from the banks. Two years back we had to release three hundred billion dollars worth in 'bailout money'." Because the yen was in turmoil at the time, it was a more precise value. "That is now in open circulation. We have, as before, put our support in construction works, but with the extremely high uncertainty of possible aggression from the Inner Sphere, there is no way of knowing how long before Hakone and the industries supporting it can turn a profit. It could be anywhere from five years, twenty years, or next year."

The reduction in oil prices helped stave off its effects in the economy, but that would not last. "How much is GDI offering to recoup our losses?"

METI had provided Nasuno with the estimates and TROs of the products expected from HINODE. "In the next year, Hakone is expected to produce at least twelve GM-1 BattleMecha and eight VF-1 Land-Air Mecha. At about four million bills and five million C-bills estimated value each, and converting that into dollars, the expected gross return would be seven hundred sixty-five million dollars."

The Prime Minister groaned. "Pitiful."

"At this rate, it will take eight years for everyone involved to recoup their losses. As facilities for mass production are set up, and research in other nations allow for cheaper, more plentiful parts such as heatsinks, weapons, and armor, production costs are expected to decrease. However, Koga-san, it is true that the export market will likely provide the best return for our investment."

"This is from Hakone alone. What about other interests?"

"DropShip and WarShip development will likely take longer. We know how to build nuclear weapons and their launch vehicles, but no longer the ability as per the renewed treaty. Semiconductors, metals, and I.T. companies are already experiencing a minor boom of their own. This is enough to stimulate other related areas of the economy, that the effects of Hakone as a money sink do not yet reach the public."

"I see. Nasuno-san, I must ask then the important question. Can we afford to do -more-?"

"I would have to say... yes, Koga-san. GDI takes its funding from many different nations, and thus they can well afford to pick up locally-produced machinery. Increasing our support of GDI allows us to bring more elements to their operations area. Specialists, scientists, entrepreneurs, they are the key to opening up the new markets we need. The quality of our products in GDI's hands serve as sufficient demonstration for potential clients. Our foreign debt is expected to increase, and as orbital facilities go online the metals market will likely go the same way as oil. However, our economy would only suffer from not taking action."

Koga nodded. With every nation on Earth doing its own thing, banks were unwilling to call in their debts. Homeworld security took precedence over all things, allowing Japan to operate with a surprising degree of independence.

'The Japanese people forever renounce war as the sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes', thus went the line in their Constitution. Yamata's course was clear treason. Magnificently, building war machines or sending voluntary brigades to GDI would not count. The debate was loud and long, and once again the Emperor had to cast a tie-breaking vote.

Survival.

Japan was allowed to build up its military to whatever strength it deemed necessary. Japan had stabilized against the dollar again, and though the new anti-trust and anti-protectionism laws remained in effect the corporations experienced short-term vibrant growth in consumer products (though their investments would not pay off for quite a while) from accelerated market motion. Once again, exactly as Yamata had peddled to the corporate heads that went along with his intricately planned fit of pique. The only true limitation was that off-world, GDI held complete authority over these units.

'If only he had waited.' That amused the Prime Minister greatly. Of course it was impossible to know ahead of time about their ISOT event, but things had developed to make the entire debacle completely unnecessary. 'We have lost much, but now we have the chance to flourish without fear again.'

Mogataru Koga was determined not to let anyone, even the zaibatsu heads, fuck that up.

--
--

HINODE Industrial Compact Testing Facility
Hakone Region, Japan
April 31, 2007/3022

Mitsubishi Heavy Industries was one of the many corporations that joined the Joint Venture to produce Earth's first ASF. It soon became clear that 'too many cooks could spoil the broth' and companies began to seek out specific lines of interests that would help the process of ASF production.

Through all this however, Mitsubishi had to consider that with so many companies invested into the BearCat ASF, each of them still had plenty let over for their own schemes. With major players from to Sukhoi to Rolls-Royce in the game, they felt it was redundant to try and run the race to innovate but rather to wait and refine the technology.

Japan, with its capture of a functional LAM and several scout mechs with Jump Jets, had all that they needed to develop Fusion-powered engines for superior atmospheric performance. Data from this would then be fed into the BearCat's own avionics, still useful though it used a Fusion Rocket propulsion even in the atmosphere. The Americans in going against F-15J Eagles discovered that those Mitsubishi-made jets held superior radar sets, though expertise in stealth and sneaky manuevers still carried the day. That was the extent of their participation.

The Venture had decided to base the BearCat upon the JSF/F-35 airframe. It was a small airframe, and there was only so much that could be done, only so many parts that could be made to fit. Mitsubishi promised support in terms of actual production of the craft, not its development. Other companies were much better in such theoretical realms of expertise.

Mitsubishi had other obligations.

Mitsubishi, like most of the keiretsu mainstays, had to support the legions of suppliers that provided the parts and resources for their products. They made more than just cars. Sony, Hitachi and the other electronics giants were geared towards producing control parts and myomer bundles. Fortunately one did not need as much superconducting material. Nippon Steel, was the world's second largest producer of steel, but they were vastly more diversified and conducted research more than the one ahead, and thus had the natural inclination to figure out the riddle of Endo Steel. Mitsubishi Heavy Industries had a great stake in Fusion Engines and the Jump Jet/Thrusters.

Japan did not have the rose-tinted reverence others had towards Star League technology. It was -technology-, and therefore there was substantial determination in that they must be able to reverse-engineer it. Duplicating the existing parts proved a difficult but rewarding exercise.

"Many of my country men have fallen in love with their proposed Land-Air-Mechs. It will be enjoyable seeing their faces when we roll out our first fighters and Dropships in a mere fraction of the time they waste attempting to perfect their ‘toys’. Mitsubishi will agree to this venture as well.” Hikio Natsura of Mitsubishi had said in the meeting to discuss the Joint Venture to create the world's first ASF.

It was a logical enough perspective, he did not understand the obsession the companies had towards producing something just from 'anime'. Military necessities had to trump otaku leanings.

He had shown company disloyalty, however. Though events had set it aside, other nations had not yet forgotten that Japan attempted to sabotage the global market, and that Mitsubishi did not produce its own aircraft but rather just copied the designs of others.

Japanese industry had long been accused of not being able to innovate. Their Air Defense Force did not have any unique aircraft but rather used variants of those found in other nations. Their primary asset was the McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagle, manufactured under license and with Japanese electronics as the F-15J. Incidentally, by Mitsubishi. Other supersonic aircraft, the Mitsubishi T2 and the Kawasaki T4, were based off the SEPECAT Jaguar. The JASDF had expressed willingness to acquire the Eurofighter Typhoon for their next-generation fighter. Not since the end of WW2 had any completely new combat aircraft been produced in Japanese territory, by choice, it was far more efficient to purchase innovation and perfect the technology than to invest in basic development. From cars to computers, this had always been the route by which Japan had outpaced its competitors.

Mitsubishi Heavy Industries was considered small fry, in that gathering. He was young, and his fortright demeanor was good for dealing with foreign businessmen. Mitsubishi agreed, no qualms, with the Joint Venture. The company did not appreciate the insult he had delivered against his own countrymen.

The form was immaterial, but function followed -people- with reason and enthusiasm for the task. Like the same zaibatsu heads that mistook their role in the economy as health for the nation as whole, there were many in management who forgot the essential psychology of the very minds that produced their products.

One year later, he was chided for his lack of faith. Japan had outbid and was ready to produce the GM, the world's first true BattleMech well ahead of anyone else. The LAM project was not an AeroSpace Fighter, but a BattleMech frame with very high mobility values. In January of 2007, they had already duplicated the conversion mechanisms to enable existing BattleMechs to convert into LAMs. That was two more LAMs than what they had started out with.

They had to work very, very hard to recover the reputation Yamata's foolishness had cost them. They now had the additional pressure of moving from test to production, twenty-four new mecha in a year. There was no time to rest, exhausting as the development process as may be. Being chosen by GDI was not enough to make up for the dishonor, but it was a start.

-
-


Mitsubishi Heavy Industry produced everything from cars, to ships, to aircraft, and even nuclear power plants. They had less to risk from the market closure, but inevitably as its suppliers crashed and burned even the giant would become vulnerable.

The zaibatsu heads who went along with Koga had either mysteriously vanished or died very conspicuous deaths. A CEO was answerable to the Board of Directors of a company. They had to be held accountable too, but unfortunately Ministry of International Trade and Industry could not apply any real force against them. Shame and dishonor had to suffice. There was politics even inside the boardroom, and sometimes the majority took action even without the knowledge of certain others that would surely have objected or even tried to sabotage the consensus. These who had nothing to do with the disaster had now greater voice over the direction they must now go.

Hiroyuki Fukuda was fifty-four years old. He had no memories of the war, only of a nation fighting for every scrap of respectability. For him, it Japan had grown before his eyes like a rose in the rain, beautiful, fragile. To do as his grandfather and grandfather did, to sublimate his own will into something that would risk harm to the nation? Unthinkable! No one's pride, not even the Emperor's, should go before the safety of the nation and its citizens. Yamata and his manipulations... how so short-sighted! The corporations, in a total trade war, would suffer. But the nation would survive. It was in the present that one must endure to prepare for the future, not the reverse.

The Mitsubishi corporate jet touched down at one of the new Hakone airfields. A part of him thought it was a waste to lose so many excellent golf courses, but it was very small price to secure the future. The SUNRISE group was composed of practically every heavy-hitter in Japan's list of big businesses, along with the approval of the government, and thus though culturally they avoided direct confrontation when the collective acts it does so with monstrous force. Yamata's invisible take-over of the keiretsu and thus indirectly the government and its armed forces, had proved that. There were new checks and balances to make sure that no one would ever again confuse the wellbeing of their own companies for that of the nation.

'In many ways, coming here is unnecessary.' the old man mused as he let himself be led away by junior management flunkies, making only perfunctory gestures in return. 'It is the will of the Diet, the people, and the Emperor, that we will accept nothing less than success.'

This sort of brash optimism was not unprecedented, but fortunately unlike 1942 and Yamata's incredible gall in sabotaging the US stock market, crippling two aircraft carriers and sinking two submarines, plus the seizure of the Marianas (all just as the opening move) their results met up well with the predictions. Machines were no mystery. They were predictable. Plans were not the same as people, so many in the higher executive positions had lost sight of that.

Hakone was just the primary protyping and testing facility. Research into materials science went on all over Japan, taking priority one over all other concerns; even consumer products. There was a minor market shock, in that for a year, only a smattering of the expected ever-new and more sophisticated gadgets appeared in Akibahara.

HINODE's AeroSpace initiatives were primarily of Mitsubishi and Fuji Heavy Industries. The hangars and facilities were duplicates of their own facilities. Many of the essential research were still being carried out in the home laboratories, but Fukuda knew that true breakthroughs could happen nowhere else but here, in Hakone. The company car approached HANGAR 131, and the old man could feel the car's own metal skin start to vibrate.

As he stepped out of the car, the dull roar turned into the breath of a dragon. Fukuda smiled. There was nothing quite like the roar of jet engine, except perhaps Gojira-san's challenge to the world. Beyond profit, it was the fulfillment of mankind's old dream - to fly.

"FUKUDA-SAN!" Operations Manager Ono bowed low. "IT IS AN HONOR! THIS IS NOT A VERY HOSPITABLE PLACE. WHAT CAN WE DO FOR YOU?"

"WHERE IS HE?" Their voices sounded angry, but it was necessary. The noise was that loud. "WHERE IS MORINO REI?!"

"REI-SENSEI IS INSIDE. PLEASE WAIT A -" one of the technicians approached to give a combination headset radio/ear protectors to the old man. As soon as he put it on, the manager's voice became clearer through the headset. "Our deepest apologies, sir. Please wait a moment, and we will call for him."

"No need. Where is he? Inside, you say? Then I will go inside."

Manager Ono hesitated, but bowed again. Sure, the hangar was a 'Danger Zone' as long as the Jump Jet was turned on, but he had no authority to deny the inspection.

The hangar was big enough, but it was hard not to notice the Jump Jet on the far side. It blazed red, the glow pulsing on and off. The Jump Jet was laid on its side, on heavy mountings preventing it from moving no matter what. Nevertheless, sensors calculate how much mass that thrust was expected to lift.

"How long has this this been active?"

"Fourteen days and five hours now, Fukuda-san."

The old man nodded. It was standard procedure to perform a continued test for reliability. Two weeks was nothing really, he knew that Pratt and Whitney had concluded recently three thousand engine test hours for their F-35 engine. It was a shame that such an excellent engine would just be set aside for second-line airbreathing conventional fighters. He had many things to say about BT technology, but Fukuda openly admired their simple rugged resilience. If that was a BT Jump Jet, then it should be capable of much more than that. If that was a -copy- of a BT Jump Jet, then at the very least it should manage at least a dozen engine test hours without anything breaking loose.

Close by was the Nissan 175 Fusion Engine. The old man marveled at just how small it was, capable of matching up to power plants and here just devoted to warming up air into plasma. War was such a magnificent waste of potential. No matter.

On a raised gantry, Professor Rei stared at the assembly much like Galileo must have considered his Mona Lisa. He was tall, scruffy-looking, his hair still in the puffy afro. The old man decided he did not want to know. The professor's assistant for the day was Dr. Ikumi Nanbara.

"Has been getting enough sleep?"

"As far as we know, Fukuda-san." Contrary to rumors, she did not share Prof. Rei's bed. The man might as well have been asexual. She was not the first woman to find him infuriating for a variety of reasons, but someone had to take care of that useful brain. Prof. Rei had multiple doctorates, but preferred the title of professor, sensei, a teacher. By his own logic, that was what he was, wasn't he? He never cured anyone of anything. That same brain demanded nothing but total accuracy, even from himself. "But probably not."

Hiroyuki Fukuda was Athur Morino Rei's father-in-law. Being put in charge of both the GM and VF projects would have stank of nepotism, were it not for Prof. Rei so conspicuously -brilliant- in the scientific community. So brilliant, in fact, that it was why Fukuda had not raised more than a token protest when his only daughter had nine years back decided to marry her sweetheart straight from the university.

"Rei-sensei." the old man bowed stiffly.

"Fukuda-jiji." the scientist merely gave a brief nod. 'Old man Fukuda' that was what the honorific implied.

Between them, Dr. Nanbara looked unfortable. As much as she was popular among foreigners for her outspoken nature, so did being too blunt hamper her relationships with others. The two men's mannerisms were too direct to the point of antipathy.

"You weren't here during the tech demo." Prof. Rei continued.

"I'm surprised you even noticed." That was three months ago. Prof. Rei's long-term memory of mundane matters was notoriously unreliable. So was his short-term memory, for that matter.

The scientist nodded and turned back to the bank of monitors. "The demonstration date was set weeks in advance. I couldn't just disappear."

"She would not hold it against you." the old man replied. January 21 was the wedding day between Arthur Rei and Fuyumi Fukuda. The old man had visited her grave to explain.

What the two men shared was an understanding that had no need for the usual run-around. Hiroyuki Fukuda's own wife, Fuyumi's mother, had died soon after giving birth. His own mother had also died early, not from the Tokyo bombings directly, from the lack of hospitals and medicine. He had no idea how it was for his own father, but given that the man was born in era of rapid change from feudalism into industrialization, it was likely that he had his own difficulties. It was like a family curse.

As always, rather than deal with a painful memory head-on, both men just let work bury their attentions. "Is this Jump Jet one of their or one of ours?"

"Ours. It's a hybrid. There is a turbofan compressor to compensate for that we don't have enough superconductors to heat up the air to the degree of a normal BT Jump Jet."

Director Fukuda frowned. The reliability of the BT Jump Jet rested upon its brute simplicity. It took in air, heated it up with the Fusion Reactor until it became plasma, and vented it right out to hurl a 50-ton unaerodynamic lump of metal fifty meters straight into the air. However, any air intake was an obvious vulnerability and added mechanical complexity. "Is there any benefit to this arrangement?"

"Each JumpJet has its own intake. Compared to conventional engines, the inlets are tiny. Unlike normal jets, we require no fuel. Unlike BT jets, the plasma jet can provide as much thrust for less heat."

The implications did not escape the old man. "You can hover."

"We can hover."

The ability for a Variable Fighter to hover in place had long been a mainstay of Macross-style tactics. Though intended as mere entertainment, many of the minds behind the mechanical design of such things had spent long hours contemplating what it would take to make such movements possible.

Once attained, what could then be done? Prof. Rei explained how it was such a point of frustration (specially for Shoji Kawamori)that for some reason, BT LAMs were incapable of that most basic of VTOL capabilities. They had more than enough thrust for the job. Why did they require jumping and flying around rather than a controlled hover closer to the ground?

"It's true that jumping around makes it hard to predict what you'll do next, but what about the necesary delay between jumps? Look, the back-bent legs of LAM is really inefficient at walking and running." Compared to other avian-frame legs, the LAM's legs bent back too far just to keep its center of gravity.

It was in the nature of the Jump Jets. They were forced ramjets, relying on the expansion of hot gases out a nozzle to provide lift. The problem with venting plasma straight out the reactor was that energetic as the reaction may be, they were also extremely hot. All that heat has to go somewhere. The Jump Jets made one long burn, then cut off. A constant burn would strain the heatsinks to capacity, which left very little to the more practical effort of firing weapons to actually destroy the enemy.

"Is it THAT important that our Land-Air Mecha be capable of controlled hovering?"

Prof. Rei turned around, and his eyes lost the characteristic sleepy disinterest. "From what we know of how the Inner Sphere uses their mecha, a pilot jumps into the air, brakes suddenly with the leg thrusters, and goes into a barely-controlled crash landing. This makes their movements unpredictable. This is good. But this is VSTOL, not VTOL."

He gestured wildly in the air. "This accomplishes two things. First, the landing phase for the old maneuver goes from 'barely-controlled' into 'controllable', much safer and less stressful for the pilot. Second, hover mode functions not just in Gerwalk mode but in Battroid too. This is based on test results from the "Action" ZAKU Hover Lift System. In Gerwalk, this allows sustained movement of 300kph in whatever direction. In Battroid, it allows for brief bursts in speed and longer jumps, enough that the mecha should get far enough enough to transform safely."

"I suppose the reason why even the Star League did not pursue this area of research is mechanical complexity. How does it compare to the Fusion rockets of AeroSpace Fighters? How will this affect a LAM's performance in Fighter mode?"

"We have a problem with that." Prof. Rei conceded. "We give up 'Space' capability for efficiency in atmospheric operations. It can still manuever, of course, using fuel for propellant, but likely all it will need to do is to manuever for insertion. It does no good to try and fight -three- battles straight after another."

That was not good news for Mitsubishi, which looking to produce Japan's first production ASF. "So it cannot compete with ASFs?"

"Not in space, no."

"In the atmosphere?"

"We haven't done any tests, so it's impossible to say. The computer models do predict that the hybrid engine should perform to the level of a 'pure' Fusion thruster. It will depend more upon the shape of the airframe. " The rush of air helped immeasurably in terms of fuel efficiency. For so long, Earth had to hurl twenty or so tons of airframe into the sky past the speed of sound with two engines to provide thrust. The thrust provided by burning fuel sufficed through extensive research into making do with what they had never really considered as 'inferior' technology. Fusion-powered Engines were just that staggeringly more powerful. There would have been no point in trying to optimize conventional airbreathing engines to compete; never would they be able to carry as much weight for so long. Brute endurance was the defining advantage of the Fusion-powered jet.

Once again Mitsubishi was coaxing first-class performance out of a second-rate engine. As Prof. Rei explained, no one in the history of the Terran Hegemony saw any need to push the bar that far. Earth's own engines had such performance at low weight, perhaps as unto an XL ICE, simply because they had not known any better. This was all they had to work with, so there was a vested interest in improving it to the furthest possible extent.

Combining the performance-boosting components of the lightweight combustion jet engine to the enduring quality of the Fusion engine, they could therefore coax the same level of jump ability at half the expected jump heat and the same weight. It was too good to be true, Fukuda considered. There had to be an obvious disadvantage.

"How difficult would it be to produce this Hybrid Jump Jet?"

Prof. Rei shrugged. How the hell should he know? He provided technical solutions, not economic ones. Fortunately, as ever, his students were ready to cover his areas of disinterest.

"We have already sent the proposal over to the Mitsubishi Lab. The most difficult part of is finding materials that are sufficiently lightweight but still, as Rei-sensei said, PPC proof. Our electronics are very vulnerable to EMP effects." Dr. Nanbara bowed a bit, to apologize for not being able to give a direct value. "However, we can produce it with completely native parts and materials. Just as we have been told, the Americans have completed their Fusion Rocket, so are we ready to begin production."

"Most of this is software anyway." the professor added, losing interest again. "The Plasma Rate Governor should be 'black-boxed', and even if we export the Hybrid Engine, it would be difficult for anyone else to duplicate. The Inner Sphere would first have to find some way of integrating some automatic control mechanism just as small, lightweight, and responsive as our microchips."

Fukuda stared down at the burning Jump Jet engine again. The possibilities were enormous. It was not just for the LAM, but a hybrid Fusion jet engine if scaled up would allow for massive cargo capacities. Ships have always had the the advantage in that they were the cheapest way of transporting things all over the planet, if much slower than most other alternatives. There were now new oceans, new words, and new markets to explore. The Americans, with their space shuttle technology, were preparing an aerospace shuttle carrier. In the upper atmosphere, a ramjet could attain literally obscene fuel efficiencies, and with Fusion power practically free movement. Japan's recent sins had seen the closure of many opportunities, but space... no one could deny them that. They had in good faith poured funds and expertise into GDI. They had the -right-.

It would be much, much cheaper than having to build single-shot rockets just to throw a few tons outside of the gravity well. DropShips were too precious, too few, to ever become their primary launching mechanism. It would help that the Hybrid Engine would also put less strain on the environment than the pure Fusion exhaust of DropShips. Cheap lift capability was something that Japan sorely needed.

And they made this just for something that would go off to shoot things up. War. He sighed. What a waste. Fortunately desperation made for leaps normally no one would dare contemplate.

"Would you like to see the LAMs?" Prof. Rei asked suddenly.

Fukuda nodded slowly. The GMs were costly, but development costs for them were about half as much as that of the VF project. The BattleMech project was off its prototype stage and ready to be put into production. It was now time for Mitsubishi to see if its own investments were bearing fruit.

--
--

Inside the car and on the way to the second site, Hiroyuki Fukuda commented blandly "I have been to the second venture review meeting, and just as in the first, no one asked the stupidly obvious question." The other aerospace interests were subtly amused or disdainful at Japan's insistence on following the expensive LAM route.

Prof. Rei did not react. That stupidly obvious question was why he was put in charge of both GM and VF projects.

"It is a question that not even the inventors of the LAM asked. Why is that?"

Seeing the teacher was once again off somewhere distant, mentally, it was Dr. Nanbara who answered. "Even the Star League must deal with competition. The inventor of the LAM, Orguss Company, produced battlemechs. To try and compete with ASFs would have been disastrous, it was impossible to match ASF prices, but there was a reasonable cost comparison with existing Medium battlemechs. If the Star League did not do it, then obviously no one else saw worth in pursuing that line of inquiry. There was more profit in producing distinct other products."

They arrived at Hangar 140, and there the two LAMs rested. Miriya's Wasp LAM with the red trim remained in Battroid mode. It was used for agility tests in the humanoid frame. Max's Stinger LAM, with its blue trim, was in Fighter mode. The Stinger in Fighter mode had an uncanny resemblance to the F-15 Eagle and F-14 Tomcat Fighter Jets. Mitsubishi had the license to produce the F-15J air superiority fighter, and had steadily been tinkering with it over years and years.

-

Prof. Rei had decided to research by taking all the Macross, Dougram, and Gundam series DVDs and watching them in one long marathon session. Someone brought in Genesis Climber Mospeada, Megazone 23, and Bubblegum Crisis for comparison's sake. Then eventually they got to Full Metal Panic. Then FMP: Fumoffu. Before they knew it, they were watching the Melancholy of Suzumiya Haruhi.

The women of Prof. Rei's team had to drag them out of the room. "That's not research anymore! Get back to work, you lazy goofs!"

Two days later, Prof. Rei walked into the HINODE planning session and asked "Hey, we have an airframe that we know works with a Fusion reactor and is capable of supersonic flight or orbital insertion. Why don't we just use that as basis for the AeroSpace Fighter?"

Objections basically boiled down to 'the Star League didn't do it'. But why? If the mecha components were removed, the Stinger in fighter mode could perform to the level of known conventional fighters; the principles for agility and the control surfaces were in the familiar shapes. It was not like the Hellcat II, a broad-wing design, that for its ability in the air took up lots of hangar space. Had LexaTech decided to pursue an ASF using only the Stinger frame in Fighter mode, it would have come to light that such an ASF would cost only slightly more than half a Stinger LAM.

"We have the airframe. We can purchase Fusion Thruster technology." Prof. Rei added, in a completely unexcited tone. "Building on the Stinger frame, which is also the basis for the Phoenix Hawk frame, will reduce the amount of different parts we have to produce."

Later, to Emilio Lang, he summarized even further. "Let us fuck with their minds so that they will be completely unable to predict if what's after them is a LAM or an ASF."

-

"This is the shape of our production LAM..." Director Fukuda whispered appreciatively. The production LAMs and ASFs would have certain features changed to reduce air intake vulnerability and stealth purposes. The LAMs was the middle ground between 'Mech and ASF, sharing the qualities of both to cover for limited lift capability. HINODE had to build a pure ASF anyway, if just for performance comparisons.

Just as Japan had two years lead in BattleMech production, they had the better part of year to examine LAM transformation. One of those mode, of course, was as a Fighter. Fukuda wondered why the rest of the world was unable to look past the LAM and recognize that through it, Japanese Industry and Research already had the elements of a working BT AeroSpace Fighter. "What are you proposing for our production ratios?"

It was numbers, so Prof. Rei could recall it easily. "Well, for the LAM we're looking at 25% parts commonality with the ASF and 40% with the GM. I can tell you that according to the Technical Read-Out, the VF-1 LAM will cost only slightly more than the GM, while its ASF mode stripped of all Mecha parts will cost only about half of it to produce."

"I need something more specific than that, Rei-kun."

"The TRO don't really SAY how much it will cost for us to produce, you know. The calculations only say about the general prices of... stuff... in the Inner Sphere, and what they might be expecting to pay for a complete machine."

Fukuda nodded. "That is fine. We have intended our products for export value right from the start."

"So ka. I'll go get the TROs."

"I'll do it, Rei-sensei." Dr. Nanbara cut in. Likely as not, the professor would encounter some technician with a question or something shiny and completely forget about why he had gone into the hangar in the first place.

TROs served as overall guidelines for construction. Everyone there knew that ratcheted limits were for the sake of game balance, but it surprised even BT technicians that the mass ratios, specially between Engines and Internal Structures, were so close to reality. The prices were subject to vagaries of the different House markets of course, but the listed price was not more than two or three hundred thousand C-bills off. That was still a munificent sum, but a workable estimate.

Dr. Nanbara returned with several printouts.

"Our first priority with the LAM, unlike the GMs, is not for a robust weapons platform but just something that works according to specifications. It's very unlikely that any LAM would have to fight so soon. The Variable Fighter-1 prototype just needs to outperform the known capabilities of a stock Stinger or Phoenix Hawk LAM. The Space/Strike Fighter-1 is going to serve as the testbed machine to measure the performance of LAMs. The first production run will be trainers for the next line of true combat-capable machines."

Hiroyuki Fukuda put on his glasses and looked at the first looked at the LAM's TRO.

       
        BattleMech Technical Readout

Type/Model:    Variable Fighter-01 LAM Experimental  
Tech:          Inner Sphere / 3025
Config:        Land Air BattleMech
Rules:         Level 3, Standard design

Mass:          40 tons
Chassis:       Standard
Power Plant:   200 Nissan Fusion
Walking Speed: 54.0 km/h
Maximum Speed: 86.4 km/h
Jump Jets:     5 Standard Jump Jets
Jump Capacity: 150 meters
Armor Type:    Standard
Armament:      
  1 Light AC/5
  2 Medium Lasers
  2 Rocket Launcher 10 (OS)s
Manufacturer:  (Unknown)
  Location:    (Unknown)
Communications System:  (Unknown)
Targeting & Tracking System:  (Unknown)

--------------------------------------------------------
Type/Model:    VF-01 LAM Experimental
Mass:          40 tons

Equipment:                                 Crits    Mass
Int. Struct.:  67 pts Standard               0      4.00
Engine:        200 Fusion                    6      8.50
   Walking MP:   5
   Running MP:   8
   Jumping MP:   5 [15]
Heat Sinks:     10 Single                    2       .00
 (Heat Sink Loc: 1 LT, 1 RT)
Gyro:                                        4      2.00
Small Cockpit, Life Supt., Sensors:          4      2.00
Actuators: L: Sh+UA+LA+H    R: Sh+UA+LA+H   16       .00
Armor Factor:  128 pts Standard              0      8.00

                          Internal    Armor
                          Structure   Value
   Head:                      3          9      
   Center Torso:             12         16      
   Center Torso (Rear):                  5      
   L/R Side Torso:           10      14/14      
   L/R Side Torso (Rear):              5/5      
   L/R Arm:                   6      11/11      
   L/R Leg:                  10      19/19      

Weapons and Equipment    Loc  Heat  Ammo   Crits    Mass
--------------------------------------------------------
1 Light AC/5             RA      1   20      3      6.00
  (Ammo Locations: 1 RA)
1 Medium Laser           RT      3           1      1.00
1 Rocket Launcher 10 (OS)RT      3           1       .50
1 Medium Laser           LT      3           1      1.00
1 Rocket Launcher 10 (OS)LT      3           1       .50
5 Standard Jump Jets:                        5      2.50
 (Jump Jet Loc: 1 LT, 1 RT, 1 CT, 1 LL, 1 RL)
LAM Conversion Equipment:                    0      4.00
--------------------------------------------------------
TOTALS:                          7          44     40.00
Crits & Tons Left:                          34       .00

Calculated Factors:
Total Cost:        5,208,046 C-Bills
Battle Value:      1,092
Cost per BV:       4,769.27
Weapon Value:      575 / 575 (Ratio = .53 / .53)
Damage Factors:    SRDmg = 22;  MRDmg = 12;  LRDmg = 3
BattleForce2:      MP: 5J,  Armor/Structure: 3/3
                   Damage PB/M/L: 2/2/-,  Overheat: 0
                   Class: MM;  Point Value: 11

He frowned and looked again. "This does not use Endo Steel."

The most critical factor ramping up LAM costs was Endo Steel. The Japanese had taken command of that line of research, for while most of the other nations gave over the use of their captured DropShips for transport between Antallos and Earth, or for space exploitation, Japan dedicated its Leopard DropShip to pure research.

"Just like with the GM, there's going to be two types, one for GDI use and another for export." Dr. Rei was shifting his weight from one foot to the other and humming the 'Sobakasu' theme. "We save just one ton instead of nearly removing the weight penalty of conversion equipment with Endo Steel. The GDI LAM loses just one ton, the Export three tons."

It was already explained to Director Fukuda that the .5 tons of the Rocket Launcher/10 was a placeholder for a 500-kilogram bomb or two air-to-air missiles. The "Small Cockpit" was only in comparison to BT cockpits; by normal standards, compared to the one in the F-15J, it held luxurious leg room. "I see. How is the GDI Issue LAM different from this export version?"

"Not very much. That's just two tons advantage. More armor, of course, extra ammo for the VAC/5, and one more heatsink. The problem is that even the Hybrid Engine still produces heat, which limits how long it can go. All that jumping around keeps the LAM heat from building up unnecessarily. Two more heatsinks would mean that the GDI LAM can jump and hover for longer than the export version."

Internal and Export LAMs had the same level of firepower. Director Fukuda was unsure of the wisdom of that. It would help promote the idea that export LAMs were not intentionally crippled versions of true GDI LAMs. They were the best available. He smiled a bit. That was even literally true. The only other producer of LAMs, the Draconis Combine factory at Irece, produced LAMs that had a quarter less armor and half the firepower at only ten tons and one million C-bills less.

Others had made breakthroughs in Point Eight armor and carbon nanotubes, and were well on the way towards practical Fusion. That was fine. 'We can always purchase the technology later.' thought Fukuda.

On their side, surprisingly, it was Endo Steel that broke first. It was not so much an entirely new material but the arrangement of steel and carbon into a lattice. Unlike the KF-drive, most of what goes into a BattleMech still had to obey the laws of physics. Atoms could only be arranged in so many ways; often the most cursedly difficult portion was not the theory or proving its existence, but the practical production.

All they needed to know was that it -existed-. Steel was steel, no matter how one tried to change it. Not even the BT universe had alchemy, to change one element for another. It was very likely some form of alloy. It might not even be Endo 'Steel', just a brand name, but there were known alternatives to that too.

"It's either Endo Steel or Light Fusion." Prof. Rei added.

"What?"

"We have two main methods of reducing the weight of any mecha using a Fusion reactor. The first, is to use Endo Steel to reduce its overall mass but not its volume. The other is to strip out safety features of an existing Fusion Engine and use more lightweight shielding materials. Like Endo Steel, it's going to be slightly bulkier from all predictions. It won't be as vulnerable or hard to make an Extra-Light Engine, though."

"That sounds... dangerous."

"There's really no other way. We can't shrink a Fusion Engine anymore. We don't even know how to make any Fusion Reactor smaller than a building, must less to try messing with the fundamentals of something that already works." Prof. Rei nodded. "Oh, we're going to go down that route anyway."

"The Clans, Fukuda-san." Dr. Nanbara added helpfully. "We've had success duplicating basic materials, but much of Star League technology, specially in the bionics field, is stil beyond us. The Clans have Star League technology and are said to have been refining it for two hundred fifty years now."

Japan had in panic rapidly industrialized, from seeing the gap between it and and the West. Fukuda shuddered to imagine what it would be like to face someone with two hundred fifty years advantage.

"Endo Steel is safer, and more importantly, we already have it." he concluded. The other two nodded in assent.

As expected it could not be produced on Earth, and even in zero-G they wasted nine out of ten batches from the final phase of the process while inside the refitted DropShip Daedalus. Over a year, four days out of every week, they had slowly stockpiled a workable amount. Most of that went into the GNDM and the two LAM refits.

The old man smiled thinly. To be sure, they did not know if it was indeed the same as Star League Endo Steel. For all they knew, there were different types of material under the heading 'Endo Steel', after all, had they not several different theories as to its composition? The important thing was that 'Nihon-type' Endo Steel was at least as strong as the Standard frame (which was really nothing more than aluminium wrapped in good high-temperature steel and several other composites).

Endo Steel was, as expected, bulky. The memory of his flustered engineers amused him still; for them, savings in weight -naturally- came with a reduction in size. It made no sense to them. Miniaturization had always been the key.

Survivability, now; the order came from on high. Never again would Mitsubishi make the mistake of the Zeke, the Mitsubishi A6M Type Zero, trying to get first-rate performance out of a second-rate engine by sacrificing armor and the lives of its pilots. Whatever weight saved just went into armor, to counter the slightly greater fragility of the internal frame.

Next, affordability. The VF-1 LAM was intended to undercut all known LAMs in the Inner Sphere, so much so that the Federated Suns would be all over the machine trying to grab at something only the Kuritans could previously deploy in any sizable quantity. It was well suited to their own methods of mobile warfare. The Draconis Combine would either have to force their own factories to match the quality (a highly unlikely prospect) or mass buy from GDI and SUNRISE to upgrade their own line of LAM forces.

The Steiners? What, only five million? Bargain, bargain, bargain. Much as they might rely on heavy and assault 'mechs, something that could serve as both 'mech and fighter may -seem- like the perfect stopgap to their own woeful Medium/fast response doctrines.

Japan had absolutely no fear of not finding LAM buyers. The (gleeful) reaction of every Inner Sphere technician or MechWarrior they had interviewed so far bore out this scenario.

He turned to the next page, the SF-1 X AeroSpace version.

     AeroTech 2 Vessel Technical Readout
                                  VALIDATED

Class/Model/Name:  Space/Strike Fighter - 01 SF-01J
Tech:              Inner Sphere / 3025
Vessel Type:       Aerospace Fighter
Rules:             Level 2, Standard design
Rules Set:         AeroTech2

Mass:              50 tons
Length:            16 meters
Power Plant:       200 Fusion
Safe Thrust:       6
Maximum Thrust:    9
Armor Type:        Standard
Armament:          
    1 Large Laser
    2 RL 10 (OS)
    3 Medium Laser
    2 LRM 5
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Class/Model/Name:  Space/Strike Fighter - 01 SF-01J
Mass:              50 tons

Equipment:                                                              Mass
Power Plant:  200 Fusion                                                 8.50
Thrust:  Safe Thrust: 6  (5 at max bomb load)
      Maximum Thrust: 9  (8 at max bomb load)
Structural Integrity: 6                                                   .00
Total Heat Sinks:    17 Single                                           7.00
Fuel:                                                                    5.00
Cockpit & Attitude Thrusters:                                            3.00
Armor Type:  Standard  (200 total armor pts)                            12.50
                           Standard Scale Armor Pts
   Location:                            L / R
   Nose:                                 67
   Left/Right Wings:                  50/50
   Aft:                                  33

Weapons and Equipment      Loc        SRV    MRV    LRV    ERV  Heat    Mass
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 Large Laser              Nose         8      8     --     --    8      5.00
1 RL 10 (OS)               Nose         6      6     --     --    3       .50
1 RL 10 (OS)               Nose         6      6     --     --    3       .50
1 Medium Laser             Nose         5     --     --     --    3      1.00
1 Medium Laser             RW           5     --     --     --    3      1.00
1 Medium Laser             LW           5     --     --     --    3      1.00
1 LRM 5                    RW           3      3      3     --    2      2.00
1 LRM 5                    LW           3      3      3     --    2      2.00
  Ammo (LRM 5) 24          ---                                           1.00
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOTALS:                                                    Heat: 21     50.00
Tons Left:                                                                .00

External Stores Load:
   5 Laser-Guided (LG) Bombs       (5 tons)
   Total Stores Load               5 tons total
   Note: Safe Thrust is reduced from 6 to 5 at max bomb load.

Calculated Factors:
Total Cost:        2,390,208 C-Bills
Battle Value:      1,159
Cost per BV:       2,062.3
Weapon Value:      1,737 (Ratio = 1.50)
Damage Factors:    SRV = 30;  MRV = 14;  LRV = 1;  ERV = 0
BattleForce2:      MP: 6,  Armor/Structure: 5 / 0
                   Damage PB/M/L: 3/1/1,  Overheat: 0
                   Class: FM;  Point Value: 12
                   Specials: if

"Why is this fifty tons?" The proposed first-run VF-01 LAM was only 40 tons.

"Unlike mecha, the ASF does not need to obey the hardcoded limits of the BT gryo, Fukuda-san." Dr. Nanbara noted. "The only real consideration is the capacity of the engines. Because Rei-sensei intended the SF, VF, and GMs to use the same class 200 Fusion Engine, the Fusion Rocket Thrusters are capable of carrying an extra load with no reduction in manueverability. It is a Medium Fighter, and the maximum thrust of 4.5 G is a compromise between speed, fuel efficiency, and effective armament."

"One Large Laser, three Medium Lasers, and a mix of missiles." The old thought about what about that seemed most familiar. "Ah! The Export GM has as its armament one Large Laser and three Medium Lasers as well."

"If the GMs on the ground have PPCs, let the SFs carry a PPC as its most powerful weapon. If they have Lasers, let it have Lasers." Prof. Rei added. "Weapons are also included in parts commonality. Of course, since we haven't started production on any LAM or ASF, there is still time to decide if more armor or speed would be of better use."

"An ASF is less exotic technology. We can overcharge slightly with the LAM, but if we are to believe the listed price as how difficult it would be to produce in the Inner Sphere, then two million C-bills is worth almost half of a LAM or Mech of comparable firepower."

Prof. Rei nodded. "And thus why the inventors of the LAM buried any possible links to their products with any ASF. If their parts were unique, then the Star League had to buy up a sizable stockpile. For certain reasons, the ASF does seem more fragile in its internal structure, but we can attempt to fix that. Even if it costs almost as much as a GM, it's worth it if it becomes more capable of surviving a hit that manages to blow through the armor." What the hell was up with the six points of structural integrity? A LAM had over fifty points of it. Assigning arbitrary values to practical concerns was dangerous, of course, which was why Prof. Rei wanted to design the ASF with the same internal reinforcement as its LAM.

"How soon can you begin prototyping?"

Prof. Rei just shook his head. He was considering if it was worth it, to reduce the firepower of the ASF to exactly that of a LAM, just to ensure that the SF-1 was capable of taking sustained damage to its separate sections.

At seeing him unwilling to answer, Dr. Nanbara explained "The two LAMs you see here, plus the third experimental refit of a Phoenix Hawk, are the only LAMs we can have for the forseeable future. We need more Fusion Engines before we can go anywhere. The Americans are said to be using between Class 120 to 175 Engine for their new ASF, and these are reportedly very common Engines. We require the Class 200 as the balance between performance and weight for three different machines. It's also reportedly easy to find, the Outworld Alliance makes them, but we just don't have any. We are the only nation on Earth with the production lines ready to produce BattleMechs, but even the GM requires the Engine.

The ones showed at the demonstration used a class 240 Engine. We can't produce mecha like that, just using whatever Engine we can scrounge up." Those Engines were taken from salvaged Heavy Mechs.

"Understandable. We must look for easy logistics to support our own interests in GDI." Director Fukuda folded the TROs and handed back the papers. While interesting, it would crease his suit to keep them in his pocket. "The Near Periphery Trading Company has already sent out bids for as many Engines as it can have. Rest assured we will secure the Engines you require."

Prof. Rei blinked, back from whatever contemplations he had had strayed onto. "Hey, want to meet the LAM pilots?"

--
--

As the company car left the site, Hiroyuki Fukuda felt more at ease. Interacting with his son-in-law was still a tense, and frustrating affair (he understood well enough how the scientist had that effect on relatively saner people) but it was a productive journey. "These mercenaries are interesting." he had to admit. He had come to Hakone with the natural disdain towards the gaijin invaders. He had not expected them to be competent and possessing honor of their own. "Miriya Parina was most impressive."

"I noticed." Prof. Rei replied, yawning. He gestured with his hands. "Her breasts are out to here."

Fukuda chuckled lightly. "Even you are not that obtuse."

Dr. Nanbara snorted. "Men."

--
--

[evilauthor]

Cafeteria, Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Massachusetts, United States, Earth
1 May 2007/3022

“Hey, I finally had a chance to looked at the specs for that ‘Point Eight’ armor you guys are making,” Belle Frye said around a mouthful of pizza. Belle had always loved pizza, and she had sorely missed it when she had left Terra for a “short term assignment” to Columbus as a materials engineer. The base cook had also been a health food fanatic. Coming to Earth was like coming home… in more ways that one.

“Really? That’s good,” Josh Goldberg replied. He was a materials engineer too here at MIT getting retrained on all the new science technology to keep his knowledge from becoming obsolete. And for an early twenty-first century primitive barbarian, he was cute too, in Belle’s opinion. “So have you figured out what we’ve been doing wrong?”

“Sorry,” Belle said, shaking her head. She swallowed her current mouthful of food before speaking further. “I dunno what you guys are doing wrong. The material looks exactly like the standard armor. Maybe if I had an actual sample to look at…”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Josh told her. “Not that I expect much. I think the suits think that you already have too much on your plate.” He eyed her meal and smirked. “And I don’t mean your lunch either.”

Belle chuckled at that. Josh was fun, too!

“Tell me about it,” Belle said. “’How do you make room temperature superconductors?’ ‘How do you scale up production of crystalline polymers?’ ‘How do you Ragnarok-proof everything?’ I swear, I feel like I’m in one of those ISOT novels that you guy like so much.”

“You are in one of those ISOT novels,” Josh returned, wagging a finger at her. “Only it’s not a novel and the genre is popular because it actually happened to us.”

“Yeah, put that way, it doesn’t make work look so bad,” Belle agreed with a shiver. No one had yet to determine the cause, but with theories ranging from industrial accident in yet another universe to ‘Alien Space Bats’, each theory was simply more unsettling than the rest. A fifty lightyear radius of space shifted through time and space for no apparent reason? Could it happen again? Was it happening all the time without anyone noticing? The only consensus Earth could come up with was that since Earth was the apparent epicenter of the phenomenon, it couldn’t have been natural.

Belle cut off that thought. It was just too unsettling to think about. She decided to bring the subject back to the original topic.

“So about those armor specs,” Belle said, taking another bite of her pizza. “I did notice that they were incomplete.”

“Incomplete?” Josh asked, puzzled.

“Yeah. How are you spacing the layers?” Belle asked.

“Spacing?” Josh repeated, a look of dawning realization slowly creeping across his face.

“You know, spacing?” Belle said. She put a hand over the pizza slice in her hand, holding it just a few millimeters from touching it. “Standard armor is made in layers held a few micrometers apart at most. This helps prevent armor penetration by…”

“…by having the outer layers absorb, deflect, and/or shed the bulk of the energy of weapons fire while minimizing the amount being transferred to the layers underneath,” Josh finished. “Damn! We know this! Hell, we’ve made stuff like this! We just never applied it on such a tiny scale before! That’s why the stuff can bounce off high velocity APDFS rounds while lower velocity impact collisions can do more damage even if both carry the same amount of kinetic energy, right?”

“Pretty much,” Beller confirmed. “Armor piercing sabots like the ones you guys used try to do all their damage at once. That doesn’t work so good for modern armor; the outer most layer just soaks up all the impact energy. To defeat modern armor, you need to spread your damage out over time, hence the use of burst fire autocannon, long duration lasers, and what you guys call ‘missile spam’.”

“Or really strong explosions, or single ‘soft’ rounds that will flatten themselves on impact instead of bouncing off,” Josh added. He whistled in awe. “You know, we’re going to have to retool our production lines again?” He chuckled. “Yeah, I can just hear the bureaucrats screaming about the expense now…”

“’But we just spent boatloads of money on this!’” Belle mocked with a laugh.

“Ha, yeah,” Josh agreed. He looked at Belle funny. “So, um, are you doing anything later?”

[Knobby]

Fort Irwin
California, Earth
24 Mar 2007

After stepping out of a taxi in freshly pressed, unadorned khakis, Thomas Jerald O'Malley, until relatively recently a Captain in the 11th ACR (Armored Cavalry Regiment), squinted at the harsh desert terrain. After a look around, he put his slouch hat on and slipped the strap under his chin. "Nice to be home," he muttered to himself as he settled the duffel bag on his back after retrieving it from the taxi's trunk, and headed for the base gate.

Major Staedele's office

Standing at all of 178cm and 88kg, the wiry man standing at attention before Major Staedele wasn't all that special. Or, at least, nothing special until one looked into his hazel eyes, where one who knew what to look for could find the look of someone who's been around the block a few times.

"Normally I'd have a subordinate do this, but the timing of this application makes that impractical." Major Staedele added, a moment later, "At ease."

O'Malley dropped into Parade Rest position. "My apologies for that, but there were... personal issues that couldn't be rescheduled or delayed. They have no bearing on my application other than its timing, however."

"I see. Mr. O'Malley, the record in your personnel file is, in general, well above average. The only point that may be an issue, as far as I can see, is a barely passing pistol qualification score. You may be seeking to be an artillerist, but everyone in the Cav has to meet basic self defense requirements, including with pistols."

"Yes, sir, I'm aware of that. Gimme a