Raiders of the Inner Sphere
- Chapter 6 -
Interlude: Intelligence, Politics, Trade, and Brown Pants[]
<<Previous Chapter - Return to Story Index - Next Chapter>>
Intelligence. It is one of the most valuable assets that any competent military seeks before planning any operation. It is what can make an operation a resounding success, or an absolute debacle. Information on an enemy's forces, their locations, their reinforcements, and of course, their plans and intent, allows a commander to coordinate their own forces and actions in the best form possible to achieve victory. However, when that intel is lacking, whether it be insufficient in quantity or details or false information provided by the enemy or through subterfuge, what at first seemed like a guaranteed success can result in total annihilation at the enemy's hand. The Star League Defense Force learned this harsh lesson during the Periphery Uprising and later on, the Star League Civil War when they were caught off-guard by the Secret Army of the Periphery alongside rebels equipped with top of the line equipment, vehicles, and battlemechs. They paid their price in blood and metal. When Amaris unleashed a navy far more powerful than any suspected, including his secret battleships, the Star League Navy suffered their first major defeat since the Reunification War. It is through these lessons that we keep watch; for even the most innocuous piece of information may give us the warning needed to head off disaster, or find unexpected success.
-Recorded Lecture from ROM Archives. Record date: 2812. Speaker: [Redacted]
The Hyper-Pulse Generator, or HPG is perhaps the single greatest invention of Humanity since the Kearny-Fuchida Drive, its creation allowing for humanity to communicate near-effortlessly across the stars. Prior to its creation, all messages and data could only be relayed by jumpships, ferried with their holds or those of dropships, beforing being physically carried across the vast gulf between the stars and worlds. A system more akin to the Pony Express and postal services of ancient Terra, the former being renewed as a name for this method of operation.
With the HPG, every single inhabited world of the Star League, from Terra to the Periphery, can communicate effortlessly with their neighbors. With an HPG, economical data can be traded near instantly between neighboring systems, orders and receipts sent and received within the week or even a day across the length of a Great House, and communications between friends and family simply being a matter of transmitting from an HPG station, rather than waiting upon an available dropship and jumpship, before praying neither were intercepted by pirates.
From the HPG, the economy has seen an explosive growth with every world added to the HPG Network, as more and more trade is conducted between new entities, and across greater distances. Piracy has fallen as the SLDF and House forces can now respond to worlds calling for help, even across systems.
And today marks the finalization of the HPG Network. As the last of the HPG Stations come online, for the first time in human history since the First Exodus, every single inhabited world within the Star League is connected together like never before. Even as I speak, my words are being retransmitted to other worlds in the Star League. Let it be said, on this day, that humanity enters into a new Golden Age of Prosperity, by the glory of the Star League, the capabilities of the HPG Network, the protection of the SLDF, and the grace of the Cameron!
Long Live the Star League! Long Live the Cameron Dynasty!
-Excerpt from June 3rd, 2700 TNN (Terra News Network) Broadcast Special: HPG Network; From Mother Terra to the Periphery.
Let no person, or group of people, obstruct the spread of knowledge. We stand for the enlightenment and protection of all mankind. It is our task, and will be our descendant's task, to keep the science of nature alive until such time as the science of man's soul has advanced to once again allow unification into a glorious Star League.
-Jerome Blake
God help me, it is done. The Terran Alliance has fallen. The Civil War ended. The politicians who marched us into this crisis were either forced to bend the knee by the people, or on the run from the very people they exploited. Even now, their former forces, the public, and my command, are hunting down and rooting out the remnants of those who fled or still resist. The people's justice to be enacted upon them. And yet, I have done the most heinous act possible. I have opened Pandora's Box.
I do not regret what I have done, the decisions I have made, or the orders I have given. Should these records ever come to light, let it be known, with certainty and without question, were I given the opportunity to change my actions, I would only change that to ensure the casualties were fewer. But I also realize the magnitude of what I have done. I have irrefutably demonstrated the value, and effectiveness of orbital bombardment.
And now, so too will the rest of humanity. The other nations will soon follow suit, as they develop their own warships, their own doctrines and stratagems. And my actions will be studied for it.
By my hands, Terra will be prosperous once more. By my actions, may humanity survive.
-Excerpt from the private journals of then Admiral James McKenna.
Chapter 6-1[]
Palace
HPG-Reception
Avalon City
New Avalon, Federated Suns
March 1st, 3019
The HPG subdivision of the Information-Gathering Services Division of MIIO of the First Prince's staff was not the most glamorous of positions, but it was not unimportant either. Every HPG transmission sent to the New Avalon would be relayed through the Division, so long as it was not clearly earmarked for the AFFS or DMI.
That being said, it wasn't a position that saw any excitement either. The most excitement being when something rather personal came through, or someone started ranting about receiving paperwork clearly already processed for another division. Among other complaints. And that boredom suited HPG Coded Transmissions Officer Richard Uni just fine. A boring job in the safest city in the Federated Suns, with a guaranteed paycheck, benefits, and perks? Yes, please, had been his answer when he first joined the Prince's staff ten years ago.
Now he was training as a Code Translator, being trusted with the work, and had been for the last five months. And today was the first of the documents he would do solo. Inserting the data-stick into his computer, he saw the message appear on his screen: a mass of gibberish, as it should be. And a One-Time Pad message, as the first decoding attempt returned more unreadable gibberish, barring the specific OTP code needed.
He pulled the corresponding data-stick for decoding from a tray in his desk, slotting it into the computer. The screen abruptly shut-down before rebooting, displaying only a single message. "PROCESSING". Then text began to appear. Next to the computer, pages started coming out from the printer, face down.
The first few lines confused him for a moment as he recalled his training. The first few lines of a One-Time coded transmission were meant to determine just how it was meant for after decoding, while appearing to be nonsensical statements and other gibberish. On top of making it more difficult for any intercepted messages to be decoded.
"You fucking donkey! This crab is so raw, I can hear it clucking!"
{<"General Quarters, General Quarters, All hands man your battlestations. Fore and up on starboard side, down and aft on the port side. Set ship to condition 'Zenith', and brace for transition. General Quarters, General Quarters.">}
The first one was easy enough. "Raw" being the keyword in this instance, basically to deliver the message as is after decoding. No further processing. But the second…he tried to remember.
"Oh fuck me…" Richard whispered, his heart skipped a beat as he remembered. He grabbed the small stack of paper, hoping he was wrong.
He was right. At the top of the first page, it was largely blank but for three words.
====EMERGENCY PRIORITY REPORT====
The Code Translator in training bolted from his chair, actually kicking it back with enough force to slam to the ground. His coworkers all stopped and turned at the noise, some asking what was going on. But Richard ignored all that, blood thundering in his ears as he shoved the papers into a folder, barring the front page which he stapled to the front.
Then, he started running. Charging out of the room, he saw a pair of his coworkers entering, talking quietly to each other. Without a word, he shoved his way past them, knocking them over, ignoring their cries and yells. It didn't take long when he found the Deputy Minister, officially the second highest ranking officer of MIIO, and the highest ranking individual still in their office.
Crashing into their office, the door slammed with enough force to shake the wall it struck. The Deputy Minister glared at Richard. Before they could speak, Richard belted out, "This needs to get to the First Prince, Immediat-OFH" That was all he got out before the two AFFS guards tackled him to the ground.
Deputy Minister Quinitus Allard glared at Richard from his desk, muttering something the latter couldn't hear, before they sighed, "You know as well as I do that there are rules and procedures for many contingencies in MIIO," He motioned for the guards to let him up,"but there are proper prot-"
"Fuck the protocols, look at the folder." Richard, who was still on the ground, shoved their arm up and forward, raising the folder in hand. The Deputy was flashed with the front page that read: EMERGENCY PRIORITY REPORT.
Sighing, Quinitus rose and stepped around his desk. "As I was saying, there are many protocols and this is what your supervisors are for." They admonished as they took the report and began reading. As he read the report, Quinitus's eyes widened with each line before he snapped the folder shut. Moving towards one of the many cabinets in his office, before opening one. Quickly leafing through the files before he grabbed one, then leaving at what could only be called a brisk jogging pace.
Richard could only sigh in relief, having passed the buck. Turning his head, he saw the two AFFS guards staring dumbfounded towards the door, before looking back at Richard, then the door, then him again. "So uh…you guys are going to let me up now, right?"
Chapter 6-2[]
Privy Council Chambers
Hanse repressed the urge to sigh as the meeting of the Privy Council finally came to a close. While each meeting was always important, and thus demanded his full attention, even Hanse Davion had his days where he wished the meeting would end soon, and this one had dragged on for hours. Reports regarding new acquisitions from Draconis March of a new variant of the Sparrowhawk being fielded by the DCMS, and a new missile carrier entering service with the LCAF. Though what had taken up most of the meeting had been news regarding the Wolf's Dragoons and their latest disappearance. The Wolf's Dragoons had fallen off the map once before, back in 3008, when they had been under contract with the Federated Suns and the late Ian Davion. The DMI had attempted to follow the Wolf's Dragoons, both in 3008 and now.
"However, all efforts to track the Wolf's Dragoons have failed. As before, my Prince, the entirety of their forces, including all dependants, were last seen jumping from the coreward border of the FWL. If events were to repeat, we will not see them for another year, and likely, in the employ of the Lyran Commonwealth." Field Marshal Scott Wilson of the DMI concluded, "Wherever they go sir, they go to great pains to keep it secret."
"Any updates as to where they may be heading?" Hanse quickly reviewed the theories that had been posited before; ranging from an absolutely massive Star League cache on par with at least a fully stocked Castle Brian, to several Star League era factories, and even entire colonies, from the Star League or Kerensky's Exodus. Each theory differed considerably, and had their own sub-theories, but it was agreed that whenever the Wolf's Dragoons left, they would return back to full strength, in both personnel and equipment; including battlemechs.
The various members of the Privy Council each responded in the negative. "Very well, if that is al-" The relative calm of the Council was broken by a series of very loud knocks. The guards stationed at the door immediately turned, raising their weapons halfway. Any interruption of the Privy Council was highly unusual, as there were few with the authority or actual reasons to do so. But at the very least whoever it was, was vetted by the DMI and MIIO both. "Let them in!" The door guards saluted before opening the doors, revealing Quintus Allard. "Mr. Allard, I trust you have a good reason for interrupting this meeting?"
"My apologies, my Prince, but a message just came through the HPG. A Priority Report, and sir, you will want to read this." Taking a moment, Quintus observed the rest of the council, "Though I would recommend the audience be limited to just your Champion, and the Intelligence ministers."
Hanse watched for a moment before nodding. The remainder of the Council saluted before departing with the guards, leaving only Hanse, Prince's Champion Yvonne Davion, MIIO Minister Nicholas Truston, and DMI Field Marshal Scott Wilson, along with Quintus himself. As the doors closed, Hanse spoke, "What is it, Quintus? If you're willing to interrupt a meeting of the Privy Council, it has to be serious."
With the privacy granted to them, Quintus allowed himself to relax, and speak to his friend, "It is Hanse. According to the meta-data, the message is from the Periphery. The sender felt it was important enough to use a One Time Pad." Walking forward, Quinitus handed the report to Hanse. Opening the document, Hanse began to read, his eyes widening with each line.
EMERGENCY PRIORITY REPORT
TRANSFER TO FIRST PRINCE IMMEDIATELY
UNKNOWN FORCES ARRIVED IN PERIPHERY. ANNIHILATED RAIDING PIRATE COMPANY AND SUPPORTING ELEMENTS WITH NEGLIGIBLE CASUALTIES.
LIKELIHOOD OF PRE-STAR LEAGUE HEGEMONY/ALLIANCE DESCENDANTS. SELF-IDENTIFIED AS TERRANS.
ADVANCED TECHNOLOGICAL CAPABILITIES.
STAR LEAGUE ROYAL DIVISION STANDARDS.
UNKNOWN TECHNOLOGIES CONFIRMED.
POSSIBLY/PROBABLE BEYOND STARLEAGUE.
TO THE FIRST PRINCE: WARSHIPS CONFIRMED.
REPEAT. WARSHIPS CONFIRMED.
CLASS: UNKNOWN
TONNAGE UNKNOWN.
DIMENSIONS: UNKNOWN.
CONFIRMED: NINE WARSHIPS.
ONE FLAGSHIP
EIGHT BATTLESHIP-SCALE ESCORTS.
FLEET OF DROPSHIPS.
NO JUMPSHIPS SPOTTED.
NUMBER OF DROPSHIPS IN EXCESS OF ALL KNOWN CAPABILITIES.
MAKING BEST SPEED FOR NEW AVALON.
VISUAL AND AUDIO PROOF EN-ROUTE.
UTILIZING EMERGENCY FUNDS TO ACCELERATE TRAVEL.
The remaining pages were the meta-data of the message, which Hanse ignored for the moment before handing it over to Yvonne. Reading through it, her brow furrowed before she passed it to Marshal Wilson. "Who was it?" Yvonne demanded, "And where exactly was it sent from?"
"Lieutenant General Jade Devereaux, retired, she was formerly attached to the Second Syrtis Fusiliers, serving as CO of their Logistics Division. Prior to that, she was part of the Capellan March Militia, making her name overhauling the logistics of Ridgebrook Capellan March Militia. She was attached to the Fusiliers to return their own logistics to an acceptable state." Allard placed a folder before them with the retired General's photo paperclipped to the front. "Her full CSV is here, but suffice it to say, she had an eye for detail and analysis, more so than most if I'm to be honest but no real military command potential. She retired. As far as her presence on Dumassas, she admitted her family's heritage to the planet when she signed on."
"So we can trust the information to be valid for now. Confirm authorization of her use of emergency funds, and prepare payments for any agreements that have already been made." Hanse pinched the bridge of his nose. Retired AFFS officers, if they were sufficiently trusted, could be given a small number of one time pad sheets in case of an emergency. Such codes were drawn from their own separate pool for retirees, just in case they were stolen by the enemy or accidentally released into the wild if an individual's mental acuity ever degraded. Each message from such individuals were to be analyzed thoroughly, just in case they were sent in a fit of dementia, or had been stolen. The fact that Quintus had brought the message directly to them, it spoke volumes. "Yet it still seems impossible, but when the Wolf's Dragoons are also taken in consideration,"
"What's the old saying, 'Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is enemy action?" Marshall Wilson flipped open the CSV, reading through its contents, "She looks dependable, and unless she's got some kind of rapid dementia, we can take her at her word for now. Then we can review whatever intel she brings with us. For now, it's likely best to assume she has all her facilities and this information is accurate." As Wilson shut the folder, he sighed before turning to Hanse, "Whoever these newcomers are, they either came from the Deep Periphery, or somehow managed to avoid all of my agents' notice while traveling through another House. And with nine warships alone, the latter is impossible."
"Agreed, whoever these people are, they aren't from around here. Nicholas, have there been any new agents?"
"No, none of my people have reported any new unknown agents." Nicholas read through the message again, "If these newcomers did send in any agents beforehand, they are far better than any other agency."
"Whoever these people are, we can't just ignore them. But we shouldn't approach them with a mailed fist either." Yvonne turned to face Hanse directly. "Their fleet composition is unusual to say the least. The sheer amount of firepower is one thing but the rest…"
"Agreed." Hanse had noticed the oddity as well. "Their fleet doesn't scream an invasion force or anything of the sort. They have a flagship large enough that battleships are its escorts, but the lack of any other warship indicates either an overwhelming confidence in their capacity to engage any fleet composition, these ships are the only survivors of a larger fleet, or something else we lack the information to infer." No one spoke as they each began theorizing on the mystery fleet, yet at the forefront of everyone's mind was the threat they posed.
Warships were the single greatest siege weapons and the ultimate weapon of the Inner Sphere since the first warship, the Terran Alliance's Dreadnought-class, was launched in 2300. With warships, one could interdict a system's jump-points, effectively blockading the system. Or become a Sword of Damocles by stationing above a planet, or annihilate its surface with orbital bombardment. Entire nations were forged and destroyed by warships, and the Federated Suns were no exception to this.
Hanse had read the reports of such orbital bombardments, from the Age of War to the Second Succession War, the Tintavel Massacre, the Amaris nukes, and more. Entire cities and worlds had been glassed, and even without warships, dropships had been used as delivery vehicles for nuclear weapons.
The only defense against a warship was a Space Defense System or another warship, and the former could be as varied as the warships themselves. With the former ranging from ground-to-low orbit capital weapon batteries and space-based defense platforms and drone weapons. And the Succession wars had seen these defenses, both SDS and warships, rendered extinct in the Inner Sphere. The last warships consumed in the Eighth Battle of Hesperus II in 2853, and the last functional SDS systems of the defunct Terran Hegemony in the hands of ComStar. In short, the only remaining defenses any of the Great Houses had against a warship was a massed ASF deployment, armed with as many nuclear weapons as they could manage.
And Hanse wasn't sure if he had enough nukes for these nine warships. That wasn't to say that the Suns didn't have enough nukes to destroy the warships directly if it came to it, that much was certain. If the ships were standing still, had no patrols, and offered no resistance. It was a question if they had enough for the attrition losses before they could be launched, and how many of the missiles would survive to get within range of detonation, let alone contact. And such a question was impossible to theorize.
Hanse sighed, "We need more information. And we can't just wait for Ms. Devereaux to arrive with her information. Nicholas, Quintus, I want you to send some people to Dumassas as a preliminary group, soft-approaches only. We don't need to make enemies of these people."
"We can send a small group of people under the guise of tourists and merchants. If I recall, Dumassas still possesses several functional munitions factories, and there are the ruins of the Star League Logistics Hub facility." Nicholas added. "We can release some articles regarding the Hub and get some real tourists traveling there as chaff."
"Good, but I also want a follow-up force as well once we know what Ms. Devereaux knows; the preliminary group can inform them of what they learn after they arrive. Also, start reviewing our forces for those we can trust with nuclear ordinance, we'll need to start preparing for the possible contingencies. Yvonne?"
"I'll see about our inventories on nuclear armaments, and considering what targets we are looking at, we may need to manufacture more of the larger warheads." The Prince's Champion replied, before she looked at Hanse. "If we do end up having to use them, we will be dangerously depleted on warheads after this."
Hanse could only lean back and sigh, "I know, but we have to prepare for every possible contingency we can. While all of you are making your preparations, I will be making my own. Peace has to be maintained, whoever these people are."
Chapter 6-3[]
ROM: Mu/Mu Division
Hilton Head, North America
Terra, ComStar Space
March 26th, 3019
To the Inner Sphere and Periphery, ComStar was known as the neutral facilitator, operating all of the HPGs left behind by the Star League, allowing unrestricted communication between any and all parties who wished it. And able to pay the fees, of course. Beyond this, they were known as an impartial news provider, the founder and operator of the Mercenary Review Board, and for its philanthropist works.
Unbeknownst to most though, was the existence of ROM, ComStar's own Intelligence Agency. Located throughout Terra and ComStar's HPGs, ROM was without equal amongst its peers, at least in ComStar's view. This belief was not without merit, with ComStar's access to much of the Hegemony's technology, and through their control of the HPG's, ROM possessed unparalleled access to the communications of all the Great Houses.
That said, ComStar was not infallible, and simply being able to read the mail did not guarantee intelligence. As many operatives working in ROM's Mu/Mu Information and Analysis Branch understood. Thus, every message from any agent of the Great Houses had to be monitored and reviewed for any potential intelligence.
Obviously, this included any encrypted message, "Where was this sent from?" Demi-Precentor Che would normally not have a meeting with one of her juniors regarding encrypted messages, yet the one before her had apparently felt justified in flagging a particular message as 'Potential priority'.
"It was from Macintosh, sir. A Class-A HPG, but they paid for a priority transmission to New Avalon." Senior Hildren Soudn replied. "I felt it deserved further scrutiny for more than just that reason, though, sir."
The Demi-Precentor raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Just what reasons did you feel this message deserved greater attention?"
Adept Soudn sat up straighter in her chair, "As you know, Sir. OTP codes are near impossible to crack, but we have learned to identify them when we receive them. This message was encrypted, so the value of its contents is clear. But one of our ROM Agents on Macintosh also included a report of its sender. In their report, they were identified as a retired officer of the AFFS. In addition, they utilized a line of credit connected to the AFFS to pay for priority seating on the next dropship heading towards Cambino."
"While that does warrant some further scrutiny, I noticed that you felt this message also warranted review for a possible fact-finding mission." The Demi-Precentor noted, his tone clearly indicating he did not feel the same. "Let me tell you something Adept. Despite how it may appear to be, ComStar does not have the resources to investigate every potential lead or irregularity, Blake be blessed if we did. You were right that this does warrant further scrutiny, but it does not warrant investigation. At the very least, not by our hands."
"Sir? What do you mean?"
"We will utilize the AFFS and allow them to investigate this world for us." And if the Demi-Precentor was honest with himself, such a message would lead to more cohesive intelligence landing in his lap in the future regardless, if there was something to it. Still, he could use this moment as an assessment. "As you are feeling so concerned regarding this message, I am willing to send you to the HPG on New Avalon with the authority to monitor and observe any messages in regards to this instance." This was the test and carrot in one; many Adepts were hungry for the opportunity to prove themselves, and the chance to advance their careers. He could see the spark of ambition on Adept Soudn's eye. "Are you up for it, Adept? Be aware, you may not be able to come back to Terra for some time, if ever, if this ends up for nought." Course, every carrot had to come with a stick. This would be the first real test. A post of Terra was highly sought after by all of ComStar, let alone within the Hilton Head. Tens of thousand of ComStar's Acolytes, Adepts, Demi-Precentors, and even some Precentors, would go their whole lives without ever walking on Terra, to say nothing of the halls of the Hilton Head. And there was the trepidation now, fighting the Adept's ambition. "Well, Adept?"
For a moment, the Adept said nothing. Ambition and fear dueling it out within her mind, lasting but a moment before they closed their eyes and took a breath. When they opened their eyes, there was no more fear or worry within them.
"When do I leave, sir?"
Chapter 6-4[]
The Hub
Landing Pad 1
Dumassas, Independent Periphery World
January 3rd, 3019
Every merchant would, at some point in their career, come across a trade opportunity that could drag them to ruin, or propel them to new heights. And for those successful, more than once would such circumstances find them. And those merchants would all ask themselves the same basic question: 'How did I end up here?'. Sometimes followed by; 'Mistakes were made.'
Today was most certainly one of those days, Kun-ge Bashairu felt as he waited for the landing pad manager to review his credentials. He had heard rumors that a pirate band with a good amount of firepower was planning to hit Dumassas. The planet was just within the Federated Suns border, and from what he could find, Dumassas still had a surviving ammunition industry. One healthy enough that several of his fellow merchants and even himself had detoured to the planet when passing through the region. Easier and better to stock up on ammunition to sell before arriving at an industrial hub or any other planet with a defended population, after all. So he had sold off most of his ammo, bought some new stock, and then headed off. Now here he was, behind him, his Mule-class dropship, one of the bay doors open, revealing the interior and his employees waiting within. Correction, as he glanced back, they were cowering behind his wares. He couldn't blame them for that, since he would be right there with them if he could. Especially because of what was in-front of him.
Directly in front was the Pad supervisor, reviewing the noteputer Kun-ge had handed over, who themselves were flanked by a quartet of men in what he could only power armor and carrying support machine-guns like they were rifles! But that didn't make him want to run. If anything the power armor made him virtually salivate. Whoever they were, their armor didn't look like it was patchwork or otherwise cobbled together. No, it was properly manufactured, and they were brand-new! The armor was gleaming in the midday sunlight, barely a scratch to be seen on their blue and white paint. That meant this was not only properly manufactured, but it was potentially still being manufactured. And they came with weapons purpose-designed for them! If he could just get even a hundred of them, and the spare parts to go with them. Or even just a dozen suits, it could net him enough cash to set him up for life!
Any ideas of blurting out if he could acquire any samples died stillborne because of what was behind them and surrounding his dropship. A half dozen mechs of a design and with weapons he had never seen before. He was no mechwarrior or even mechtech, but had bought, sold, and haggled over enough battlemechs in his lifetime to be familiar with them, but these were completely new, and unknown.
Its legs were digitigrade, like those of a Locust. Or a Marauder, now that he looked closer. The main chassis looked almost like a stunted Marauder, even the cockpit design and location were similar. The main differences were in the torso-mounted missile pods, and the arms, or rather, the guns that served as arms. The stunted Marauders were armed with some of the most massive cannons he had ever seen before! And he had sold more than his fair share of Class-20 autocannons! Each gun-arm was equipped with six barrels, and he recognized a rotary when he saw one, but no one had ever developed a mech-scale rotary autocannon before! The weight they must have and their damage potential…And those missile pods were nothing to sneeze at either. At a glance, they looked like LRM-5 launchers, but the missiles were far far too large for that. But SRM launchers only came in even numbers, so they were not a match either. And like the power armor, aside from some odd scorch marks, looked entirely brand new.
"Well, everything looks fine." The supervisor said as he returned Bashiru's noteputer, "I took the liberty of uploading a basic map for you, and some contact information as well for the local data-net. If you want any help unloading your wares, let me or someone else know and we'll arrange something for you. In the meantime, you can help yourself to a Mohican to get around, that's the four-wheelers parked everywhere. No need for a key, just a push-start." Yet another question added to the list; who the hell made these 'Mohicans' and how much did they go for they were just left lying around?
"Thank you, I would like to request a few workmechs if any are currently free. Though, if I may ask, just where did you get that armor and these mechs?" Bashiru watched as the supervisor waved at the individuals in power armor, they quickly departed, satisfied they were no longer needed.
Turning back to the merchant, the supervisor replied, "Those things? It's Koprulu tech. They call it CMC-300 power armor, you'll be seeing a lot of these guys around, the Terrans are pretty protective of the Hub. "
Terrans? Was he saying that these suits were from Terra? And they were protecting the spaceport? But that wasn't possible, Terra and the rest of the Sol System was under the control of ComStar, and if they had set-up shop somewhere outside an HPG, it would have been all over the news! Unless these people were from some long forgotten Hegemony colony? He had so many questions, and he was a merchant if nothing else…
"When you say Terrans, surely you don't mean that, er,"
"That they're from Terra? Nope, they aren't from around here either. They're from somewhere called the Koprulu Sector. Once asked one of them if they could point it out on a star map. They just shrugged and said they didn't know anything beyond the fact it was rimward."
While Bashiru was disappointed by the answer, he wasn't surprised and he was. Clearly whoever the makers were, they weren't from Terra, or at least not recently. The fact that he had never heard of this 'Koprulu sector' didn't mean much to him. He was a merchant, not a stellar cartographer after all. It just meant he'd have to ask these individuals directly. Firming himself, he decided to focus on what answers he could get. "So they are selling these, 'CMCs' then? Where might I inquire about purchasing them?"
"Ha! Good luck with that!" The supervisor laughed, "They don't exactly have a need for C-Bills or want really. Between the deal they got going on with the governess and their own industry, they can pretty much make whatever they want."
"Oh I am certain I will be able to negotiate an agreement with them. Trade is more than just the exchange of currency for goods after all. No matter how industrious they are, I'm certain I have something they'll want." After a pirate attack, every world was willing to pay top dollar for spare parts and new armaments to replace what had been lost. And he was confident that he had come prepared.
Inside his Mule were a plethora of combat vehicles; several LRM Carriers and SRM Carriers, a couple of Bulldog heavy tanks, and even a Partisan Heavy tank! It was even a rare experimental model armed with five AC/2s rather than the usual quad AC/5 armament. The bulk of his cargo space was spare parts and loose weapons, including parts for his personal ride and pride and joy; a Schrek PPC Carrier. Though if it came down to, he did have his other 'insurance policies'; a CN9-A Centurion, and a CDA-2A Cicada. The former was for any customers that might start getting uppity or otherwise belligerent, and the latter for chasing down any potential thieves who absconded with his wares. While the two mechwarriors on his payroll might not like it, he had the right to sell those mechs, and if need be, their contracts with them as well.
Bashiru's confidence faltered though when the supervisor snorted, "Yeah, you might have to offer up a lot more than you think." Bashiru was about to ask for the man to elaborate when the supervisor raised his arms, gesturing behind him. "You see all of this? The entire Hub used to be just overgrown and decaying ruins. There wasn't anything of value here. Hell, there was a crater turning into a lake right next to us, between the landing pads. Between that and some of it being radioactive, the Hub's been abandoned for more than 60 years!" It was clear where this was going, and Bashiru's confidence was crumbling piece by piece. "All of this? The entire Hub? The Terrans rebuilt all of it, they expanded it, and they started working six months ago!" As the supervisor went on, their excitement rose as quickly as the merchant's confidence crumbled. "And you know what the most insane part of this is? They've done all this while they were building their new colony! Ha! Hell of a way to say hi to your new neighbors, huh? Oh, speaking of which, you'll want to head there if you want to try buying some CMC or anything else."
"Where m-" Bashiru swallowed the lump in his throat. "And where might I find their colony?" The supervisor pointed behind him. Turning, Bashiru felt his confidence shatter entirely as his jaw dropped. 'That's not a new colony!' He screamed internally, 'That's a damn small city!'
Chapter 6-5[]
January 15th, 3019
It had been nearly three weeks since Kun-ge Bashairu had landed on Dumassas, expecting to sell off some metal with parts, and leaving with a nice pile of C-bills before moving on to sell more of his wares. Now, he was leaving with his Mule nearly empty, and with a grin stretching from ear to ear. As he watched his crew moving what meager cargo he had throughout the bays, trying to achieve an equal weight distribution, Kun-Ge could still scarcely believe his luck, and the fortune he was going to make, and had made. These Terrans had technology that had not been seen since the Fall of the Star League, and had never been seen before. Or at least, he had never heard of it being made by the Star League.
He had to negotiate directly with the 'Terrans' as they called themselves, which was an interesting affair in itself. He met with a Lieutenant Abernathy, a wonderful woman he had to admit, and a hardened veteran. Disappointingly, she had made it very clear from the start that no weapons technology would be sold to him by the Terrans. When he had asked, she replied: "The Succession Wars is not our war. We will not supply any arms to any side until the War comes to a permanent end." He had tried to argue, bargain, and only just kept himself from begging for even just small arms. He still had his pride as a Lyran merchant, damn it! Yet, the Lieutenant had stubbornly answered; no. "Commander Raynor has ordered that no armaments or munitions are to be sold, regardless of the price. This is not our war."
In spite of that restriction, he had gained quite a selection, if in a limited quantity, of goods. He had actually managed to secure some samples of power armor. Fucking Power Armor. And this wasn't the basic exoskeleton with some armor attached and tethered to a power socket, no this was power armor straight out of science fiction. Enhanced strength and endurance. Visor systems. Internal power systems and heat-sinks. Though, they weren't the models he had seen walking around. Those were CMC-300s, what the Terrans considered to be their main-stay model. He had been granted allowance to purchase what they called Pressurized Power Suits, and the last Generation model; the CMC-200.They both had shiny new shells, with a basic black and white paint job to differentiate parts, and the manuals for operating and maintaining them. But he wasn't fooled. He knew these were old and obsolete stock that they were trying to unload on him. "That's too shiny. Even fresh models get a stress test and scratches. That's been refurbished." That had been his first thought.
But power armor was power armor. He recalled how he had asked for a demonstration, just to prove the models were operational, only for them to turn it on him.
He sniggered at the memory, and thankfully his crew had actually kept recording. He kept trying to move in the armor, the lieutenant providing some bits of advice, and in about an hour he could actually walk normally. What had he said at the time? Oh right, ""This sounds like a scam I'd run on some Periphery Rube. I want to see it in action." Well he had, and now he had some footage to go with the armor. While the Terrans had been reluctant to trade any of 200-series models, only willing to sell him a half dozen suits, the PPSs had been a different story. Those, the Terrans, had been more than willing to sell to him in bulk; trading almost a hundred and fifty PPSs! They took up most of the spaces on the Mule, including the second deck. And that had been just his first purchase! The PPS would net him more than a nice and tidy profit, but he would be keeping a few for his own crew, and he had special plans for the six CMC-200 suits he managed to acquire.
Though those were among the most unique of them. The two other main purchases were much more mundane, and yet one of them was almost just as valuable. Taking up the bulk of the used space were five dozen 'Mohicans', what the Terrans sold as their common civilian vehicle. At first glance they were nothing special; just a four wheeled civilian vehicle with an ICE. Sure they were fast, but there were other vehicles that were just as fast if not faster. And it was durable, designed for the outback yet controllable for an urban environment. But the kicker was the ICE. He had asked for its output, and then did the math to determine its rating. It was, in a word, incredible. It had the tonnage of the smaller ICE, yet almost double the output. Individually, only the engine was something special. But all together? The racers on Solaris VII were going to go apeshit once he let some of them take one of the Mohicans on a test-drive. All of that in one-package, even unarmed, the damn thing was a rammer's dream-car! It didn't even need reinforcement beforehand! He already knew just where to go on Solaris VII to sell them when he got there. Those were the most spread out, taking up space on the primary and secondary decks. With the food items he had secured; approximately 16 tons of various food and drink, and a collection of 'Greatest Hits', these were the few items he would be able to sell freely to civilians, instead of reserving them for special buyers.
But dominating the space in the Mule as his crew were planning their placement, were the only mechs left in his possession: a trio of Gen-1 T-280 Space Construction Vehicles; the Terran IndustrialMech. The three mechs had cost him not only his personal Schreck PPC carrier, but his battlemechs and the contracts for his mechwarriors. And all the parts and supplies he had just for them. And it was more than worth it in his opinion. IndustrialMechs were an increasingly rare sight in the Inner Sphere, with almost all the factories that made them stripped for parts or converted into battlemech factories. While individually, no IndustrialMech was worth more than a battlemech, every world with a functioning space port and industries wanted them. And the T-280, or SCV as the Terrans called them, was perhaps the best IndustrialMech Kun-ge had ever heard of. A power-drill arm and power-claw that could also serve as a fusion cutter and plasma welder? With thrusters that granted it a hover capability over solid ground? Already it was head and shoulders above many other industrialmech designs with that alone. Then there were the other systems; such as the mapper, vacuum capability, and full NBC shielding? And it even ran off of batteries for power that could be charged through solar energy!
IndustrialMechs they may be, he was certain if he sold even just one to the right buyer, he would have enough to get a replacement battlemech. Admittedly, that required selling them to either one of the Great Houses directly, on the capital world for best results, or one of the surviving corporations that made both battlemechs and IndustrialMechs. The various systems on the mech, even just the battery systems, would be worth a fortune in reverse-engineering! Once he sold all three of them, he might be able to retire on their sale. Wouldn't that be something? And still that wasn't the last of it, with the last of his purchases and the contract with it being the most valuable of what he had bargained for without question.
Isolated within the most secure of his holds, usually meant to hold any losTech he might have found, and his most expensive wares, were several large containers. They held the one thing that truly made him believe that whoever these 'Terrans' were, were not to be trifled with: Cold Fusion Cells. Cold Fusion being the ability to achieve nuclear fusion without needing the intense pressure and temperatures that traditional fusion required, and the related shielding needed to protect against it and the radiation generated. It was considered to be both the holy grail and a total fantasy in the Inner Sphere for Fusion technologies, and with good reason. Since the first fusion engine created by the Terran Alliance in 2021, the technology had never come close to anything like Cold Fusion by any measure, least of all commercially viable. Kun-Ge wasn't well-versed in the history or science, but he had talked with enough engineers, techs, and the occasional scientist while selling his wares to know that the furthest anyone had gotten was experimenting and testing some theories, but that had been the only thing anyone remembered since then.
For someone to achieve cold-fusion, whatever the means, it was either a total farce, or the greatest invention since the first commercialized Fusion engine by General Motors! And these Terrans had cracked it decades ago! While the ones he had were brand new, they were reproductions of a design that had fallen out of use decades ago, barring some industrial use. Each cell was a bulky item, twenty centimeters wide, two hundred and fifty tall, and thirty-five centimeters long. He wasn't sure just how much power they generated, the details on the datapad he had been given to go with the CFCs had gone over his head. What he did know was that each one of those was equal to the modern versions that were utilized in the Terran CMC-300 armor, and each suit had a total of twelve cartridges, giving it enough power for a full month of intense combat operations!
There were some caveats though: the CFCs only created the fusion reaction. They still needed to be inserted or otherwise connected to a generator of some kind to draw power from the CFC. Aside from that, to never crack the cells unless wearing thermally protective clothing from the cold generated by the CFC's interior components, and that these older cells had a whooping ten times greater failure rate than modern cells if used in the field for anything. That was something he was going to keep under wraps until the last stages of the sale, if at all.
.jpg){kind=link}
Schrek PPC Carrier
How had he paid for all of this, his crew had asked? Well, it was simple. He traded everything. Everything he had stored aboard the Mule had been traded over to the Terrans in exchange. The SRM and LRM carriers, the Bulldog tanks, even his personal Shreck PPC carrier! All of the ammo, and spare parts, and even the myomer bundles had been spent in this deal. Even his two mechs had not been exempted from the trading, nor their mechwarriors. That particular deal had been the hardest for him to make, and the easiest. Oh the mechwarriors had NOT been happy in the slightest about their contracts being sold, least until he had an opportunity to speak with them.
Chapter 6-6[]
Terran Colony Haven-Sanctum
Joe Ray's Bar III
"So, what can you offer us?" Graven Hill had his ever present laptop open, next to a mai-tai. "Raynor here might have bought your contracts," pointing at the mercenary leader in question, "But that's just because they came with your rides. And he trusts me to know if he made a good deal or not."
"Aside from what it says in our contracts?" Hans "Butterbrick" Schlim asked in return, standing at perfect LCAF parade rest. "We're able to perform basic garrison duty, show the flag and rundown tasks. We also are fully certified under the MRB-"
"So you're a basic ass mech-jockey. Woopty doo." Graven interrupted, "I don't do no-name outfits or units, kid. Every contract I've got, they'd made something of themselves, and got themselves a rep. So unless you want to be just sitting on your ass until your next ride off this planet, you've got to show me something."
"I was getting there…" The reedy Mechjock snapped. "We are also certified under the MRB to do training missions and have a high rating with those missions. Since, from what I've seen, you only field those weird LAMs," Referring to the Vikings, guarding the spaceport and the entry gate to Sanctum respectively. "If you want whichever greener than grass drunkard you had stumbling that Blackjack and Locust around to do it with any degree of proficiency past 'Periphery Farmer in his Agromech after a half dozen pints', you need an instructor. Which is where we come in." Butterbrick took a deep breath. "As I am a Sanglamore Military Academy graduate, I can teach you how to do these things." The Raiders had managed to repair one of the Blackjacks, and the pirates had more than a few spare neurohelmets onboard their dropships. The Locust in question being one of three new light mechs of the Dumassas Planetary Defense Force. Yet with no veterans to train them, and they were not about to trust the one surviving pirate mechwarrior, there had been a rather…steep learning curve. The Blackjack was thankfully disarmed, otherwise its guns would likely have been mangled from how many times it had fallen face-first.
"Uh, huh. And I'm assuming your callsign is just a bad joke?" Hill retorted, "It doesn't take an officer to see where the name came from." Referring to the apparently truly timeless saying, 'There is nothing more dangerous than a second lieutenant with a map, a compass, and a sense of direction.'
"Well- I- How-" Hans sputtered.
His companion snorted, "He got the name 'cause during land-nav training he got so turned around he ended up becoming an unscheduled ambush drill for another class… three klicks away from where he was supposed to end up." Hill snorted into his mai-tai, spraying the cocktail, while Raynor fell back into his chair, laughing.
"I did end up winning that ambush!" Hans protested, "Not many people can say they bushwacked a Thunderbolt and Crusader on range day and won! With nothing but a Lance of Lights at that!"
"Subtle as a brick. If Frederick Steiner didn't already exist, they'd be calling you the Hammer!"
"At least I didn't get 'Karen' for a call-sign! You still sleeping with your Codes-and-Conduct manual?" He snarked back.
Debora Tula 'Karen' Halphen flipped the bird at her fellow mechwarrior. "I fucking told you, I stopped doing that shit before I even signed up!"
"Do I even want to know?" Hill waved at the bartender for a replacement mai-tai. "If the definition of 'Karen' has changed here in the last five hundred years…" Before Debora could get up to stop him, Hans smoothly stepped around the table, putting the two terrans and the table between himself and her.
"She had a fling with the 'rules' while she was with the AFFS. Apparently she reported anyone and everyone for even the tiniest infractions." Hans side-stepped as Debora threw her own drink, dodging it neatly, the bottle shattering against an empty table. "Didn't matter if it was a cadet, her sergeant, or the base commander. You infracted, she reported. Got drummed out, if rumors are true, for trying to report Michael Hasek-Davion himself!"
With a screech, she grabbed the remains of Hill's mai-tai to chuck it as well, "I had a good reason for it!"
Before she could finish the throw, Raynor grabbed her wrist, aborting the throw. Chuckling, he looked at the pair of mechwarriors before turning to Hill, who was calmly drinking from his replacement cocktail. "I think they'll fit right in, Mr. Hill. Now, how's about we talk some more about your contracts with Raynor's Raiders?"
In exchange for the two mechs, their mechwarriors with contracts, and all of the spare parts, ammo, and armor he had set aside for them, along with his PPC Carrier and all spare parts, he had not only gained four hundred or so Cold Fusion Cells, but two contracts as well. The first contract was the Terrans agreeing to manufacture another four to five hundred CFCs per month exclusively for him, for the next six months, and exclusive off-worlder purchasing rights until the end of those months, or his pick-up of the last batch of CFCs, whichever came first. The other contract was much more enticing. The Terrans had a wishlist of certain types of battlemechs they wanted. If Kun-Ge was able to acquire such mechs, and they were in fully-operational condition; the Terrans would pay for the full price of the mech, the transport costs, and then an additional five to ten percent of the mech's price on-top, effectively guaranteeing him profit. There was no exclusivity with this contract, but it would be on a first come first served basis, but with allowances for potential exceptions. Beyond that wishlist, for the first unit of a model the Terrans did not already possess, they would pay the same price, with a negotiable bonus on-top. Off the top of his head, he recalled them wanting; an Anti-Air mech, a heavy general purpose mech, and a heavy assault mech. Or in terms of products, a Rifleman, a Marauder, and an Atlas, and the easiest to acquire would be a RFL-3N, MAD-3R and AS7-D. Well, he said easy, but these were heavy and assault mechs, and all of them were constantly in demand by every House military, mercenary, and militia group. Still, he was certain he could secure them. And with this new contract, he would be set for life! As soon as he managed to arrive on Tharkad, that is.
Course, like any good merchant, even one that was largely as law-abiding as he was, there was the more illicit cargo he managed to purchase. While the Terran leadership had put a total ban on arms sales, that didn't mean that there weren't other avenues…He had spent more time than he had liked at the bars, diners, and dives in the city, fishing for opportunity, but it had paid dividends. A pair of civilians, farmers really, were willing to sell him a pair of rifles. Gauss rifles. More accurately, infantry scale gauss rifles. AGR-14 gauss rifles, firing 8mm cartridges at supersonic or subsonic speeds. And he had been fleeced hard for the pair, and a couple of empty magazines and one full magazine, giving the farmers two full crates of GM brand laser rifles, and four entire crates of power packs to go with. And he had accused the farmers as much.
As Kun-Ge looked at the two open cases before him, each only holding one rifle and four magazines, with only one magazine loaded per case, he looked at the six crates he had just traded away. And at the farmers grinning mercilessly at their newly acquired prizes. "You are fleecing me, you know that?"
The farmers smirked back unashamedly, one of them took a sip from a beer can, "Yerp. But you plan to sell these guns for a lot more than the worth of these pew pew guns don't ya boyo?"
Kun-Ge's opinion of the two jumped up several notches, he hadn't thought the two would have been smart enough to realize that. Knowing that there was no point in pretending otherwise, he simply shrugged. "Well... You are not wrong."
And they weren't. Both cases were tucked away in his personal quarters, and locked within a hidden compartment under his bed. The two rifles would be going straight to the Archon, and hopefully, landing him a title and landhold to go with it!
In the weeks and months that would follow the merchant's departure from Dumassas, rumors would begin to circulate. Originating from the Periphery, eventually reaching as far as the spinward border of the Lyran Commonwealth. Of a merchant selling unknown technologies, of brand new workmechs, supposed power-armor, and even cold-fusion.
As many would dismiss these rumors as little more than the rambling of drunks and tall-tales of the charlatans, there would be as many whose interest was sparked by the prospect of such technologies. Merchants, mercenaries, corporations, and Houses, would travel and send agents to investigate these rumors. As the merchant traveled towards Terra and the Lyran Commonwealth, more and more agents would arrive onto the worlds they passed by, and those that were neighboring. Those who found naught but empty words would leave disappointed, and report their investigations as a fool's endeavor. While the few who found the merchant, or his sold wares, found there to be truth to the tales, and learned of a once largely forgotten world in the Periphery. Of Dumassas.
And so would begin the next Gold Rush of the Age.
Chapter 6-7[]
Duchy of Andurien
Andurien, Free Worlds League
July 4th, 3019
Free World Irregulars Mercenary Company
Overlord-Class Dropship Collingwood
Mobile Long-Tom Gunnery Compartment
"So let's see… that's the holiday bonuses and various gifts all dealt out… what's left on the schedule?" A tall, stocky man asked. Emek Ramay was someone who looked like they walked off the set of an Immortal Warrior production and acted the same, but his skills in his custom painted mech made many who snickered at the FedSun kepi on his head keep quiet whenever the man went off about glory and honor. "Twig?"
A man who smelled like spent gunpowder, engine grease, and was missing a chunk of his eyebrows looked up from his [Noteputer]] filled with columns and charts. "Christmas bonuses even though over half the crew aren't Christian and it's the middle of July? Yeah, they're all sent out. The last job with the Regulans paid well enough we didn't need to dip into the reserves in order to make sure everyone had enough spending cash to drown themselves in booze and canopus hookers. And it's Trig, not Twig, Kapitan." Slavomír "Twig/Trig" Rmoutil snarked, emphasizing his rank, and yet again reminding his fellow Irregular for the umpteenth time.
Emek Ramay simply shrugged with a smug grin, "Sure it is, Major. And don't blame me for the Christmas stuff, it's the Anduriens. They're weird like that."
"Right, you boys done with that?" The third member of the command staff asked. Kapitan Thora Krog leaned forward and returned the plastic christmas tree decorated with a Cameron Star back to the gun breach as she pulled a noteputer of her own from the bag at her feet. "Merry Christmas," the tanker led with, "We've got a new Priority Job."
"Oh come on, I just fixed up your Chevalier after that stint with the Locust, we're flush with cash and only halfway through projected leave, do we have to head out already?" Slavomir asked. "I've only got the armory stocked with half the amount of shells I want and the gunnery crew needs a break after we got jumped by that headhunter team."
Thora Krog shook her head and spoke in a crisp Danish accented English, "This is from our Priority client." All levity gone from her tones faster than a loose Kroner in the Commonwealth.
Trig raised a hand, paused, and put it back down. "You sure it's them?"
"Read it yourself." She said, throwing the noteputer onto the table. Kapitan Ramay snatched before it had finished sliding, intercepting it on its path to the Major. Thora dropped into a seat across from the two before popping the top of a can of Pharaoh beer.
"15/85 salvage rights, full munitions and repair insurance, extra pay, and a rough JumpShip schedule? Yeah, that's them. Jeeze, someone's got a fire under their ass if they're offering this." The Free Worlds League native sighed. "Right, looks like we're going to have to cut the partying short. Ondráčková is going to hate me for making her wrangle up her circus of maniacs this soon from leave." All of them gave a brief shudder at the prospect of one of them having to relay the order to the Nadporučík. Not only did she take her job seriously, she took her infantry and her own relaxation seriously. And that was before the fact that she could bench-press any one of them one-handed came to mind. Ramay threw the noteputer at Slavomir, who caught it.
.jpg){kind=link}
Wolverine Medium 'Mech
"The Nadporučík knows her duty and will probably not hold it against you. Maybe." Major Slavomir suggested as he read the noteputer. The artillery commander cursed under his breath as he read the details before throwing it for the second time onto the table. The deadpan look he received at the suggestion from his peers only made him shrug. "Maybe grab Rotmistr Pešek? She's always been sweet on him after she helped him take down that Wolverine. He's a mechjock now, but still remembers how to wrangle infantry." That was, of course, not counting the rumors the two of them were an item. Not that anyone would dare say such in ear shot of either of the two.
"Well this is a delightful way to end our Christmas break." Kapitan Ramay groused, "Hey, don't the Unfinished Book people have something about this? Business being right after the holidays?"
"No, I think that's the Word of Blake." Kapitan Krog leaned back in their chair, "Something, ah… nevermind, I can't remember. Something a street preacher was crowing about."
Kapitan Ramay simply shrugged his large shoulders again. "Well, if there's nothing else…"
"Actually…" Major Rmoutil replied, reaching into a hatch in the gun deck normally used to store spare artillery shells and pulled out a handful of packages. "Merry Christmas. Or whatever winter holiday you celebrate, Thora."
Ignored by the three commanders, the Noteputer with their contract sat on the table, apathetic to the holiday festivity happening above it.
On its LCD screen, a single planet's name: Dumassas
Chapter 6-8[]
Palace
Tharkad, Lyran Commonwealth
May 28th, 3019
As Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth, Katrina Steiner could expect anywhere from a thousand to several million messages per day addressed to her from any number of sources. From the anonymous that had, for some reason, paid the funds for an HPG transmission if they weren't already on Tharkad, to the Estates General and other high ranking individuals. With the messages ranging from veiled threats and general praise from the general public, to those claiming to have critical information vital to the Archon and the Commonwealth, with the overwhelming bulk of those messages being relegated to the trash bin, LIC, or in rare instances, to LOKI. It could be said less than a percent of a percent of all messages for the Archon ever actually got to her staff, let alone the Archon themselves.
Today was an exception, as Archon Katrina Steiner found herself in a meeting with the Chancellor of the Lyran Intelligence Corps Simon Johnson, and a handful of trusted others. "How credible do you find this merchant and their message? The claims he made are rather outlandish, if I am being generous." A message addressed to the Archon had come to the attention of the LIC, from a Mr. Kun-ge Bashairu. The contents of the message had been marked as a priority message from the merchant, with extraordinary claims of advanced technology. Ranging from brand new and unseen IndustrialMechs and enhanced ICEs, to Power Armor and Cold Fusion Cells, the latter of which had not existed even at the height of the Star League, as far as Katrina was aware of.
"On its own, there is a veneer of truth to the merchant's words. A handful of included images with the promises of video as well." Simon reported, with a stoic tone. "He claims to have video proof to be delivered on arrival, along with already agreeing to whatever security checks we deem necessary."
"But that's not it, isn't it, Simon? I know you too well." Simon only gave a minute shrug in acquiescence. He had been the one to help her escape assassins sent by her predecessor and uncle, Alessandor Steiner, when the man had been Archon.
"We've reached out to our agents in the Federated Suns, to try and assess the veracity of the merchant's claims. Their findings are rather…"
"Damning?" It wouldn't be the first time that someone had tried to fleece and deceive the Archon. Such was practically a way of life in the Commonwealth, many within and without the Commonwealth would argue.
"Quite the contrary." Simon motioned for one of his staff, who passed a noteputer to the Archon's staff, which was given to the Archon. "Per your standing orders, all investigations were soft approaches only, and even then, it gave us considerable evidence that the merchant's claim may be more honest than originally assessed." As Katrina read through the reports, it was clear what her Chancellor meant. Rumors had been flying on dozens of worlds of a merchant with technology that was right out of a science-fiction holodrama. The same technology that Mr. Bashiru claimed to have in his possession.
She set the report down, seeing as she could read it in-depth later. Right now, though, she needed a truncated version. "Tell me, is Hanse Davion aware of any of this? Have there been any signs of activity?" While the Federated Suns and Lyran Commonwealth were not actively hostile to each other, and were in fact downright friendly compared to every other Great House's relation with the others, they were still not allies at the moment.
"By all appearances, yes. He deployed RCTs from both the Avalon Hussars and Crucis Lancers to at least two of the worlds the merchant stopped by on his way across their territory. By all accounts, they seem to be on escort duty. I can only surmise that they will be transporting the goods back to New Avalon. Speaking of, my people reported there was some excitement at the NAIS, further backing the theory."
And that was quite promising, of both the technology and the message, Katrina thought. Hanse Davion was known as 'The Fox' for a reason. He wasn't one prone to flights of fancy and wasteful actions on mere rumors. If he was treating this with such earnestness, then it could only mean that there was a high degree of truth to all this. That, and/or there was something that Hanse knew that the LIC had not heard of yet. That, of course, left the only option to the Commonwealth. "Do we know where Mr. Bashiru alleges his merchandise came from? I can't imagine it was from the Federated Suns."
Simon activated the hologram projector on the table between them, projecting the image of a planet between them. "The world in question is called Dumassas, located in the Periphery and what was once territory of the Taurian Concordat."
"Then you know what we need to do. Dispatch a team to Dumassas, and make contact with them. If they are as capable as Mr. Bashiru claims, their technology could change the entire course of the Inner Sphere."
The Chancellor of the LIC only gave a solemn nod. "I've already begun. Agents closest to the world are already on their way, and will be the contacts for a second team."
"And their cover? The usual free traders?" Referring to one of the more common covers the LIC used to get around the Inner Sphere, to the best of her knowledge.
"For the second group. The first will be as tourists and settlers. By my estimates, the second team will be arriving around mid-year."
"Very well then. Moving on, I have heard that Snord's Irregulars are in the final stages of their vendetta against House Marik…"
Chapter 6-9[]
Palace - Foyer of Office of the First Prince
New Avalon, Federated Suns
April 1st, 3019
Lieutenant General (Retired) Jade Devereaux resisted the urge to fidget in her seat, as she awaited to be called. While at the age of sixty, she found that some things seemed to grow easier while others grew harder, waiting to be called into the Office of the First Prince was the most nerve-wracking experience of her life thus far. And she was including unexpected raids in that comparison! Her satchel felt like it weighed several tons, rather than the few pounds it actually was. Her camera, and all of her data-sticks were long gone, taken by MIIO and DMI for analysis more than sixteen hours ago.
That's how long she had been on New Avalon, sixteen hours. Not minutes after disembarking the AFFS dropship, MIIO and DMI agents had approached her, relieving her of her camera and the accompanying container of data-sticks for it. Then she had been led into a, admittedly comfortable and roomy, holding cell, and been left to her devices for almost two hours. Then agents from both MIIO and DMI had debriefed her for the next six hours, leaving her for another two hours, before coming back for yet another two more hours of debriefing. Finally leaving her to her own devices almost six hours before they had brought her up just outside the First Prince's Office. They had given her food when she asked, though she regretted it as she took a subtle sniff of her clothes, wincing as the stench of a Federated Fast Food Triple Honey-Glazed stacker, with fries, wafted from them. 'Maybe I should have asked for two salads…' Jade thought to herself, just as she heard someone approaching. Looking up, she found herself staring at a MIIO uniform.
Getting on her feet, she snapped off a salute, "Sir!"
The salute was returned, "At east, General. You're retired, you don't have to snap off a salute every time now." They offered their hand, "Deputy Minister Quintus Allard," He introduced himself as Jade shook his hand. "I must say, the information you brought has been…quite enlightening. The First Prince will meet with you now." As Quintus turned, he sniffed the air, thankfully not making any remarks.
Approaching the First Prince's Office, the quartet of guards saluted the pair before opening the doors, closing them as the pair entered. Inside, Jade's attention was firmly held by the sight of Hanse Davion at his desk, itself covered in photos, several noteputers, and a monitor. Seated beside him were the Prince's Champion; Yvonne Davion, the MIIO Minister Nicholas Truston, and DMI Field Marshal Scott Wilson. As all three looked up, Hanse gave them a grim smile, signaling them to approach and take a seat. Quintus quickly took a seat to the left of the Field Marshall, leaving only the chair directly in front of the desk, and facing the First Prince and the members of the Privy Council.
Steeling her nerves, she took the chair, which was incredibly plush and comfortable, setting her satchel on the ground beside her. Resisting the urge to lean back, she sat upright. Hanse simply smiled, "Be at ease, Ms. Devereaux, this isn't an interrogation. This is more of a debriefing, and I simply wish to hear your own impressions on these 'Terrans', I believe you call them?"
The retired Lieutenant General relaxed as she entered familiar ground. "That's what they call themselves, sir. It's more of their heritage and history, as opposed to their homeworld or allegiance. I can draft a more detailed report, but if what I learned of their history is correct, sir, their colony predates the Terran Hegemony, and was likely started by the Terran Alliance." She had already written several reports during her trip from Dumassas to New Avalon, all of which had likely already been reviewed by those before her. "For what it's worth, sir, I believe them. If they are lying, this is the greatest effort to sell a fabricated story like this."
.png){kind=link}
Behemoth Class Battlecruiser
Nicholas nodded in appreciation, "I'll take you up on your offer, but we've come to similar conclusions. But we can cover discussions regarding their history on a later date. Right now, our primary concern is their warships. We've seen the material you provided us, but we would also like to know your thoughts as well." Taking one of the noteputers, the Minister brought up the image of one of the warships in question up on the monitor. "In your report, you stated that this is one of their 'battlecruisers', a Behemoth-class to be specific. Though our first question is in regard to the angle of the photo. How did you get so close as to take this photo? Did they allow flights into the upper atmosphere for you to take this photo?"
The photo in question had been of one of the Battlecruisers, with a backdrop of the stars and the glowing outline of a sun from beneath. She had been expecting the question, and she didn't like what her response would provoke. "I didn't, sir." Unsurprisingly, everyone had the general reaction of disbelief and suspicion as she elaborated, "All photos and video of the warships were provided to me by either the Terrans themselves, or were taken from the dropship as it burned for the jumpship. We were only allowed to take a small handful of the latter as well, sir. The only ones I took myself were when I was on the ground. The Hub had a lot of tourists, they didn't notice one more among the few hundred. And you know old birds, sir. Where there's one of us, there's going to be a dozen more at least. The locals are all very protective of the Terrans, sir. That particular photo was the basis for one of their older propaganda posters. I managed to secure an unaltered copy for myself as a tourist, from the Terrans." The disappointment was clear upon the faces of her superiors, yet there was little that she could do or have done.
Yvonne Davion turned her lips at the news, "Not entirely surprising, were you able to learn anything about them otherwise? For one thing, something to explain their construction?" The Prince's Champion referring to the incredibly unusual hammerhead structure, with the considerably thinner neck, along with the nacelles on the 'wings'. Compared to the usual construction of both jumpships and warships throughout history, with ships getting longer and greater in diameter, like needles flying through space. It flew, pun not intended, in the face of everything the Inner Sphere knew and believed about warship design. "Hard to believe this thing is a warship with that kind of design."
Jade shook her head, "No, ma'am. I was able to get some details, but as far as why they were designed as such, the only answer I managed to get was that, to quote, 'Maybe someone took the phrase Ramming Speed too literally. However, I did learn of some of their specifications. If I may?" Reaching for one of the noteputers. When Hanse nodded, she took it, explaining as she typed, "While those who knew the finer details were unwilling to divulge them, the general capabilities were public knowledge. The Terrans, both their civilians and military, were not disinclined to not share the information." The monitor changed to a simple spreadsheet, Jade explaining as numbers were added.
"It has a length of at least 1.7 kilometers, with a width between 300 meters at the narrowest point, up to 1.3 kilometers at the widest. I wasn't able to get the tonnage though, my apologies, but no one actually knew the answer, or even a ballpark figure to give me. While I wasn't able to get an exact number or details, I was able to learn at least some of its armaments." She paused for a moment, expecting questions. When none came, she continued, "It's equipped with an unspecified number of laser batteries as its primary weapons system, which are supplemented by an array of point defense gauss turrets and missile batteries across the ship. However it compares to our equivalents is unknown, but sirs, these are systems that we have an analog to compare to in the future. And sir, they have eight." Jade stopped here, letting them digest the information.
As the five most powerful individuals in the figures spoke in low voices, the trepidation in their voices was almost palpable. "1.7 kilometers?? That can't be right. Did anyone ever even build a warship approaching that size??" Marshall Wilson hissed, "And the damn thing has a head bigger than most dropships! And they have eight of them!"
"I don't know, but I'm more concerned about their weapons. Naval lasers, those I can understand, but gauss rifles for Point-Defenses? Either they have targeting systems more precise and accurate than even the SLDF ever had, or we're missing something here. Gauss rifles aren't the greatest for point defense against something like massed fighters if that's all they have." Yvonne added, "But the fact that they only have them is screaming they aren't like our gauss rifles."
"Someone did build warships almost as big, once." Hanse stared at a printout of the Behemoth on his desk, smiling slightly. "I built a lot of models of warships when I was a teenager. I was particularly fond of the battleships. The McKenna-class of the Star League, our own Camelot-class, even the Concordat's Samantha Calderon and the Free World's League Atreus-class." The smile fell off his face now, "But all of those were outsized by the Rim Worlds Republic's Stephan Amaris-class. 1.6 kilometers in length, and just over a million tons. It was outmassed, but it was the longest battleship that existed. The only ships that were larger were the Yardships, but they weren't designed for line combat. And they call it a damn battlecruiser."
As the others paled at the implication, Hanse resisted the urge to slump in his chair at the realization. When they had read the report, they had assumed it was a typo, or a misprint of some kind, with Hanse praying that it had been the case, or the Lieutenant General was going senile. Only he had realized at the time what both the size and class had implied. Battlecruisers were the in-between Battleships and cruisers, being designed to be able to outrun the former, and outgun the latter in any and all engagements. This usually resulted in the ships coincidentally being between the two types of ships in size.
If these Behemoth-class were only a battlecruiser, Hanse didn't want to know how big the Terrans made their Battleships. Yet, that was only the tip of this iceberg. There was still one more capital ship left to discuss.
"What can you tell us about this flagship of theirs? It must be something unique, if you were able to identify it as the flagship. Or were you told such?" Nicholas asked in a plain voice, though there was a slight nervous tremor in his words.
"The former, sir. There simply was no mistaking it as anything else. I was only able to acquire limited information, including its name." Jade suppressed the urge to swallow, even as her mouth seemed to feel drier than the deserts of Terra. "It is the ship with an arrowhead prow." Jade watched as Quintus Allard pulled out a poster and unfurled it on the table; this time of a ship largely identical to the Behemoth-class they had seen before. The main differences being an arrowhead instead of a hammerhead-shaped prow, seen from below, and the very obvious four quadruple-gun turrets on the stern. The front of the ship aimed upward, towards the edge of the poster. Emblazoned above it were the words: "The Terran Confederacy Needs You!" Written below the ship was: "Join the Colonial Program!" and "Find a New Home in the Stars Beyond!".
Nodding to give confirmation, she continued, "They call her the Hestia's Hearth, Kraken-class. She is approximately two and a quarter kilometers in length, approximately one hundred and fifty years old, she is the oldest ship in their fleet by a wide margin."
This time, there was only an air of resignation by all, with Wilson muttering; "Of course they get bigger", before asking; "Do you have information on their armaments?"
"No, sir. Everyone I spoke to was adamant that it was unarmed, which I dismissed as misinformation. Whatever she is armed with, they weren't willing to divulge." No one voiced any level of disagreement. One didn't make a ship larger than literally any other vessel in human history, just to leave it unarmed, or disarm it as the case may be. Not since the first primitive jumpships, and certainly not any warships.
"At the very least, we now know what they consider to be a battleship." Yvonne commented sarcastically. "That'll be of big help."
Looking back at the retired AFFS officer, Hanse resisted the urge to sigh, "General, before we proceed any further, why did you not include this information in your initial report? It seems that you were aware of their dimensions and class prior to the dispatch."
"My apologies, sir, but I didn't want to risk anyone acquiring the information prior to its arrival on New Avalon. Even with the use of a OTP code, I did not wish for anyone else to acquire the information."
A reasonable enough explanation, if only barely. The encryption used should have been virtually unbreakable, but once it was decrypted. Everyone on New Avalon should be vetted to the highest levels, but Hanse knew that was a polite fiction at best. Even now, there were likely ROM, ISF, and MASK agents reporting back home events on the Federation Capital World. "Apologies accepted, now, are there any other shocks you'd like to share with us?"
Jade gulped slightly, "There is, sir. The Terrans also stated that the ship was equipped with what they called a 'Yamato cannon'. The only information I could get was that it was spinal-mounted, and to quote one of their marines, "Yessir the Yamato on the Hyperion takes your average sunshine in a can and spits it out like a death beam. Quite the light show, Missy.""
Stunned silence was the only response before Marshall Wilson slammed his fist on the desk, sending some papers flying, "They're equipped with a fucking Casaba-Howitzer?! You didn't include that in your report, General!"
Jade, rather than being cowed, glared at her superior, "My apologies, sir, but without further information, and quite frankly, the ludicrous description, I felt it warranted being kept out of any system until I arrived on New Avalon!" Her voice rising towards the end as the stress of the last few months finally came to a head, "Either the Terrans are outright lying, or they have a weapon that apparently turns a damn nuke into some kind of death ray! My apologies for deciding that this information shouldn't be shared where it might be leaked!" Jade shot to her feet as she all but shouted at the Field Marshall, who was glaring right back at her. Once, such a glare from a superior officer would have seen her snapping to attention, awaiting the inevitable dressing down, but now she was retired, stressed out, and no longer cared, only returning the glare with the same ferocity.
The Marshall broke first, turning away from Devereaux, who returned to her seat. "God fucking damn it...a fucking Casaba-Howtizer…They actually made it work…"
"Marshall?" Quintus was the one to speak, "Perhaps you might explain to the rest of us what a..Casaba-Howtizer is?" His words were tinged with a hint of concern, and fear, from the Marshall's reaction.
"A Casaba-Howitzer is, basically, channeling the entirety of a nuclear explosion into a cohesive beam of energy. The greater the yield of the nuclear charge, the greater power of the beam. The concept is older than space flight, but no one, not the Terran Alliance, the Hegemony, or even the Star League, ever managed to make it work. Or if they did, never said a damn thing about it." Wilson took a deep breath, "Theoretically, this is a weapon that can outclass literally every naval weapons system ever built. And it's a fucking spinal mount, that means they probably and basically built the ship around the damn thing! There's no telling just how powerful this 'Yamato cannon' might be. And with eight, maybe even nine of them…even if we had the full might of the AFFS Navy at its height…" The Marshall trailed off, muttering about yields, containment fields, and energy requirements as a dreadful silence fell on them all.
Minister Nicholas coughed, "Right so, we can worry about their warships more in-depth later, for now, let us move on. In your initial message, you indicated that the Terrans possessed equipment on par with the SLDF's Royal Divisions? Or even surpassing them?"
"I wasn't able to get proper specifications, but I was able to speak with several eyewitnesses, and get a first-hand look at their mechs and some of their combat vehicles. They only appear to have two mechs; an ultra-light, and a medium mech."
"And what makes you say they are on par with Royal units?" The Marshall pressed, "Just the generalities for now, we can discuss specifics at a later date." He amended before Jade could respond.
"Understood, sir, and they may be beyond the Star League. They only deployed two mechs before I was able to secure transport offworld, an ultra-light and a medium. The Ultra-lights, called Goliaths, were equipped with both autocannons and missile arrays, and their mediums, Vikings, were armed with missile arrays and, as incredible as it sounds, a pair of rotary autocannons." The photos she had provided backed up her claims of both mechs, in all their glory.
"And you only saw these two models? No others?"
"If they had any others, they didn't see fit to deploy them in any capacity. Though considering the sheer number of both ultra-lights and mediums, by my count, they had at least a Star League Battalion of each." Hanse quickly recalled the composition of said unit, four companies of four lances. At a battalion each…
"Sixty-four mechs for each, one hundred twenty-eight mechs total." Yvonne's voice didn't have a tremor as she spoke, but rather a hint of respect and what could be mistaken for awe. "No one's fielded mechs in that number of the same model since the Star League. Hell, I don't think even the Star League did that." Going unsaid was how no one fielded anything but a single lance's worth of the same mech, if at all, with the rare occasion of their being two lances. The loss of technology and the factories that built them made it virtually impossible to field more than that number of identical or near identical mechs, and even then, it was more often than not, light mechs found in such numbers. "They likely only deployed a small force, but what about the rest of their forces? Anyone fielding this many mechs isn't going to forget about Combined Arms."
The debriefing would go on well into the day and the evening, as Jade recounted what she had seen on Dumassas. The Terran Siege Tank, equipped with twin cannons and capable of transforming into artillery, along with the Hellion scout car, with what looked like a pintle-mounted flamer. As incredible as the former had been, it had been quickly passed over for the moment, in favor of the more fantastical examples. Specifically the Terrans hover technology that did not rely on skirts or turbofans, mounted on the Vulture scout bike, and the Diamondback tank and its twin gauss rifles and its genuine hover capabilities.
It was then Jade came to the subject she had been most dreading since arriving on New Avalon, more than the news of the Combat Vehicles, the Battlemechs, or even the Warship. The Terran Marine Corps, and their Power Armor.
Hanse rose from his chair, and he swore he heard his bones creaking as he did, "Thank you, General." The others all rose, with Jade and the Field Marshall saluting the First Prince who returned it. "You've brought us a wealth of information, and deserve to be rewarded for this. For now though, you're dismissed. The rewards can be discussed another day, for now though, get some rest."
"Thank you, sir." Jade didn't say anything further, the exhaustion on her face though, was plain to see. Rather than risking saying something foolish, she simply stepped back and left the Prince's office. As the doors closed behind her, Hanse sat back down in his chair, inviting the others to do the same.
"Drinks anyone?" Hanse asked as Yvonne Davion raised her hand.
"Just bring out the damn bottles," She snarked, her own exhaustion clear in her voice as she spoke, not as the Prince's Champion, but with the familiarity of an 'aunt'. "I feel for the poor bloody infantry too much already. Now hearing talk of power armor? We might run out of money for widows if this tech spreads to the Snakes." Hanse pulled out a quartet of glasses from his desk, along with three bottles, popping the cork from one and pouring several shots per glass. With the privacy afforded to them, all four could relax and not worry about putting on the proper airs. Of course, this also meant they no longer had to censor themselves.
"Fuck that!" Marshall Wilson snatched one of the glasses before downing the entire go in one swig. The Marshall not noticing how Hanse glared at the action, or Quinitus wincing at the sight. "What I want to know is where the hell are they making them? Just how much money do these people have to be arming every John, Jane, and Dick with Power Armor?? Then there's these 'heavy suits'; a damn walking armored flamer straight off a Firestarter, and then there's their freaking Marau-"
"That's enough, Marshall!" Cutting off the Marshall's ranting, Hanse pushed the glasses forward to the others before taking his own. Unlike Wilson, Hanse made the effort to properly enjoy his drink. A 'shroom vodka from New Earth, he took small sips, enjoying the taste and the burn from the alcohol. "Yes, these Terrans are a major concern, but that is no reason to be losing your head like this! In light of these exceptional circumstances, I'll overlook your outbursts today." Wilson, properly chastised, just nodded before refilling his glass from one of the other bottles.
"Doesn't change that he's right." Yvonne held one of the photos showing a quartet of marines in what Jade referred to as CMC-300, armed with C-14 'Gauss Rifles'. "Power armor can't be cheap, even if it's just junk. And this, this isn't junk. I don't think even the Lyrans or the Star League could have afforded this."
"I don't believe there were even rumors of their existence, at least nothing credible." Nicholas added, "I still consider myself a historian, and the closest anyone ever came were industrial exoskeletons. I believe even the most basic of exoskeletons still cost around today's equivalent of one hundred twenty thousand C-Bills."
"Presuming that these Terrans also put the same amount of funding and care into the rest of their armed forces as they do their infantry, and their navy," Quintus continued, "And IF we take the claims of the CMC being able to withstand fire from a three centimeter laser, even only briefly, as fact, then the Terrans may be fielding the single most formidable army in the history of the Inner Sphere. We should know better in a few weeks." Referring to the shipment of Terran power armor they had acquired off a merchant passing through the Federated Suns through New Avalon, among other samples. The merchant in question had been allowed to pass freely and onward to the Lyran Commonwealth, per standing orders to allow free trade.
"May god have mercy on the bloody infantry, because these Terrans certainly won't." Yvonne raised her glass in toast, "Or can't, might be more accurate. If these 'C-14's are anything like their mech counterparts, we'll be better off using tanks against them." Hanse saw the Marshall grimace at the idea, but he had to agree. He could see the massacre even now, if the AFFS were to be matched up against Terran Marines. Gauss slugs perforating the men and women in armor meant to stand up against battle rifles and laser pistols, each slug going through only God knew how many before stopping. All the while Federated Long Rifle fire bouncing off thick shields and power armor, and SRMs being blunted by the same shields until the last of the AFFS were brought low. Even lighter combat vehicles might just be meat for the grinder. "Just what the bloody hell kind of wars were they fighting that they arm theirs with gauss rifles?" A chill settled in the room at the question. Gauss Rifles were not only LosTech, but the most powerful ballistic weapon in the history of the Inner Sphere, whether it be mech or naval. Not for its damage potential, but the combination of range, precision, power, and the ability to, on occasion, pierce through armor instead of necessitating total ablation. Never had it been applied to infantry weapons, so the very notion it was standard issue, could only mean a peer or greater opponent that necessitated it.
"If it wasn't someone else in power armor of their own, I don't believe we want to know." The First Prince's words were touched by a hint of fear and trepidation of the idea of such foes, let alone of his forces having to contend with them. But that was a discussion for another day, hopefully never if Hanse was lucky. For now though, there were more immediate decisions to be made. "We can discuss how else the Terrans are possibly the greatest army since the Exodus of the SLDF later. Right now, we need to make sure that no one drags the Suns into a war with the Terrans when we don't need to."
"I'll begin drafting orders for our higher ranking officers in the Periphery. I'll personally sign them so some idiots don't raid them by accident." The Prince's Champion slammed down her glass on the table, "I swear, if that fucking idiot gets involved, I'll step on him with an Atlas." No hints were needed to guess at who Yvonne was referring to, with her personal hatred of the Hasek family, or Hasek-Davions as the current patriarch demanded to be called. Much as she may have wanted to send an order to the March Lords, and probably punch-deliver one to Michael Hasek-Davion, it was better to keep them out of the loop for now. Yvonne rose, saluting Hanse before leaving.
"I will form a group to study what we know of the Terrans as it stands, and what tactics and counter-measures we can utilize against them." Marshall Wilson replaced his glass with the photos on the table, "With your permission, I'll offer Ms. Devereaux the option of reactivating her commission or signing on as a civilian consultant for this team. She is currently our foremost, and only, expert on the Terrans."
"You have it. Form the team, then send in your budget requests after, we may find ourselves in need of such options sooner rather than later." Hanse replied somewhat tiredly, the mental exhaustion beginning to set in. Marshall Wilson saluted, as he was gathering up the intelligence documents in a case, Hanse reached out, blocking the Marshal's hand. Wilson looked briefly at Hanse before withdrawing his hand, packing the rest of the documents in a case before leaving.
"We've already formed the follow-up team for Dumassas." MIIO Minister Truston pulled out a noteputer, tapping on it as he spoke, "There are twenty of them in total, all of them very good at soft intelligence, and more than capable of a quiet retreat if found. Just as a precaution, I'll be amending their briefing to include some of what we've learned of the Terrans, and ensure that they do not risk creating hostilities. I've pulled up their dossiers if you wish to review them."
"Good, friendly diplomatic relations will be preferable to any other intel if that's the trade-off." The Minister of MIIO simply nodded in agreement, setting the noteputer on the desk before he too left the office as well, only pausing to nod to his own deputy Minister, who joined his superior in leaving.
As the doors shut one more time, Hanse, now alone, slumped over his desk. Glass in one hand as he took hold of some of the photos left behind. Of a battlecruiser, powered down mechs in a row, a patrolling squad of marines in power armor. All of it, technology now lost or never was, and on his front door. All that power, and the man behind it…he began to recall his lessons on the Age of War and the Succession Wars. Of the criticality of warships to a nation's very existence, and felt a familiar sense of dread. Try as he might, he couldn't place where he had felt such before.
His eyes shifted around the office, until finally landing on the statue on his desk; of him and Dana Stephenson, on Christmas Day. With the engagement ring he had given her sitting within its base. Looking at it, he realized just when he had felt such dread before. The first time, when he had heard of the death of his brother, First Prince Ian Davion, and the second, when he had seen Dana die. Shifting his gaze between the statue and the photo of the Battlecruiser, Hanse made a quiet prayer, "Dear God Almighty…give me the strength to see my nation through this."
Chapter Notes[]
- Author's Chapter Notes
- First, phew, three months since the last major update. Sorry about that all, but with my need to stockpile chapters, it helps me avoid writing myself into corners quite a bit and well...lets just say that the latest (unposted) chapter has been fighting me. Then I got out about 16k words or so in a week and change. So yeah...that happened.
I hope everyone enjoys the chapter. Please, leave me a comment of what you think, what you liked, and anything else.
If anyone has any omake ideas, please feel free to post. For me, Omakes are one of the greatet things an author can receive, especially quality omakes. Topped by recognition by other accomplished authors perhaps. (And a few people I recognize, holy crap.)
But I do have one major request:
Please let me know how accurately or inaccurately I have portrayed the canon battletech characters in my story. Did I do them justice, or am I way off base? I want to do them justice, with changes to their character that make sense because of the new OCP that is the Terrans having them simply by existing, let alone actual interactions with them.
If anyone could suggest any improvements as well, I would gladly appreciate it.
Credit to [1] and Knolden for all their help with the chapter!
Credit to 50 for his Free World Irregulars, who, as he describes them, are absolute flustercluck of a unit at times. Ha! Hope you all liked them, they'll be appearing more in the story.