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Chapter 19 - Time Enough For A Cat -
- Satan Steals The Show -[]
Grappling Titans[]
Palace of the First Prince
New Avalon, Federated Suns
November 1st, 3027
There are few bonds, I thought to myself, deeper than the simple thought of 'man, my parent is a fucking asshole', and it's starting to get really concerning how often this has come up in my life.
This wasn't a revolutionary thought to me, though: I'm pretty sure every other Duchess of Luxen had run into it a few times, waiting for the Magestrix to fall over dead of cocaine overdose or whatever killed them usually. Then again, being a Centrella was like that, I suppose. Just waiting for the moment, and trying to while away everything between the completion of a plot and the-
"Emma," I heard a voice growl, as my boyfriend looked out of his bed with a distinct air of confusion. "Why are you brooding by the fireplace again?"
"Because it's comfortable, and also I know I snore enough to keep you from getting a good night's sleep," I replied, smiling. "Morgan, go back to bed."
Stirring, Morgan Hasek-Davion decided to ignore me and plod over, wrapping himself over the back of my chair. It was an interesting experience, watching him try and bring his overlarge frame to bear on the armchair I was sprawled in under a blanket. "Not without you."
"Fine, fine," I sighed, going back with him. As he tucked himself around me like an extra duvet, I felt the stress flowing out of me. We'd been dating, officially, since that whole 'Tigress of Canopus' event when I'd whipped his ass back in school, and before that had been a sort of sexually charged rivalry that was really hard to explain to anyone else who ever saw us on the ranges together. A lot of it was just how different we were as pilots: a Phoenix Hawk driver like myself needed to think in vectors, in closing rates and ranging fire brackets, with some mechs having a Zone of Death to never cross and others being the type I could bludgeon into submission without fear. Morgan, though, and his never-to-be-insufficiently-annoying Atlas were creatures of the advance: never to doubt, never to step back, always trying to dictate the battle at the point of a Class-Twenty autocannon.
We'd taught each other a lot, being honest about it, which is probably why things boiled over into a relationship after I kissed him senseless on the couch back then. My experiences in the Reach had taught me respect for the enemy and my team, but Morgan had shown me what a good solitary pilot could do. In return, I'd shown him the wonders of mobility and adaptability, and we fought well together: with me covering his flanks, it was impossible to get out of reach of his Atlas' weapons. Of course, he took a little training to get used to having a proper wingman instead of just more parts to integrate into his Grand Plans, but I was willing to take the time. The fact I'd worked with an Atlas before meant I knew a few of his biases he couldn't consciously explain, and more importantly I knew how much terror that inspired in other people.
I couldn't think much more, though, curled up in Morgan's arms, and began to finally doze off again.
When we landed on Coromodir, it was bright out in reality, yet my dreams always painted it half-dark. In the sky, there hung the moon, while the belt of orbital stations spun like a ring of stars.
"Kamea. I'm at the arena. This whole fucking war's been one long string of mistakes, and I'll be damned if it ends with me choking on some Bull's ego. Come down, and we'll settle this like lords should- not get caught up in another damn proxy war."
Victoria Espinosa's first, last, and only communication of note. We were getting jammed into oblivion, and not even Kamea could get in touch with Argo. Looking across my shoulders, I grimaced. We had Marsden in her Trebuchet and Harricourt in a Valkyrie backing us up.
Over local comms, Kamea snorted. "I don't know about you all, but I'm going in."
"Ma'am, this isn't a good idea-" Marsden tried to protest, but Harricourt cut her off.
"We're behind you all the way, High Lady Arano."
I could practically feel the little chest-puff Kamea was doing in her cockpit at that. "Lucifer?" she asked, and my orders came back to light- orders from Kyalla herself.
Get Kamea on the throne, alive, and in one piece without compromising the Canopian units backstopping the Taurian border.
"I'm with you," I told Kamea, before running a quick hand over the Master Arm switches and making sure every gun was live.
"Ride or die," she said, pumping one Atlas fist. I just shook my head, and tuned it out, killing external comms for a moment.
"Either is fine," I said, finishing the expression. It was an old byword in the mech regiment of the Aranos, and nominally came from some ancient-ass SLDF Hussar regiment that had filtered into the nobility around here. I didn't care about the ghosts of the Star League- I knew it was a necrotic dream rolling forward, a corpse tied to the banner of five Great Houses with a skeletal hand reaching out from the north to claim what remained of the Inner Sphere with a casus belli to re-acquire the remains.
A black rain started pattering off the windows of my cockpit, another invention of nightmare. We were in ideal condition; clean mechs the lot of us. Notionally we were going to meet up with one of the Smithton battalions. Notionally. Now, as I jetted ahead to keep Harricourt in vision, thunder rattled. One of our Sniper batteries was opening up to dig out the Taurian armor somewhere, and a stick of cluster bombs was going off in the distance.
That's when it happened- a triple-tap of long lightning, the PPC fire slapping into Harricourt as he tried to identify where the hell Victoria was hiding. Now nightmare met history, as I threw my jets to full in case there were more guns pointed at us. A dark voice told me I didn't see ejection flares, nor was there any sign of life from his venting reactor core. Harricourt had died there, of overconfidence as much as anything else.
"Kamea! Two hundred meters, bearing one-two-seven!" I snapped, setting my ECM to 'counterfire' and transmission signals to 'hot code'. Now I was designating locks to the rest, and the LRMs just started pouring in. As I jumped again, dodging a spray of autocannon fire, I hissed, throwing my own PPCs into the mix. It was a desperate fight, a stupid fight, and I wanted out- but with Harricourt down, it was only me that could keep the locks. More PPC fire screamed past me, and I was sweating bullets under my cooling suit. An Awesome, a Rifleman, a Cataphract, and-
-another brace of LRMs, this one falling about my ears as I stared into the eyes of death-
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King Crab Assault 'Mech
-a King Crab.
"Kamea, it's ride or die time, and right now that 'ride' is 'ride the fuck away!" I yelled, frantically breaking locks and getting behind cover. "That's too fucking much metal!"
"They'll break," Kamea muttered, moving in. "They have to."
"That's a Taurian Rifleman, they won't fucking break!"
"Lucifer. Trust me."
No, my mind screamed. "No," my mouth yelled. Leaping up, the black rain trying to blind me, I went lasers hot, pushing my heat sinks as hard as I could. The Rifleman needed to die. As Kamea rounded the corner, I came out screaming.
The Rifleman wasn't focusing on me. His mistake. I was running hot and hard, blood in my eyes as I juked in behind him. Those arms could flip as much as he wanted- I'd seen that trick before, when I went Jaegermech hunting back on Panzyr. Slapping my jumpjets, the autocannon shells just eat turf behind me as I let my large pulse laser and mediums star savaging his topsides and backplates. Few pilots really understood how to aim out their gun-cams. It was strange, not part of the standard HUD. I didn't have that issue, as my lasers caught the center of mass, tearing through and lighting off the magazine of class-five ammo stored dead under the engine. One down.
Kamea was closing, her LRM salvos backed by Marsden's, but the Cataphract was too in-tune with the King Crab- it started firing on the poor Trebuchet. I was about to interfere, when a PPC blast caught me in the shoulder. That Awesome. I knew how to handle it, though, sliding in under his guns and starting to savage him.
"Kamea, falling back- that one went internal!" Marsden shouted. I couldn't see her. "Kamea? Kamea!"
I couldn't look- it was too tight in here, as I frantically tried to get in on the sides of the damn Awesome, constricted by the geography of the area. Frantically strafing left and right, dodging long lightning and an assault's massive fists, I tried to kill it as best I could.
"Engine blown, ejecting!" Marsden yelled. "Popping beacon, air support should be-"
-coming, I thought, as a pair of blips emerged in the back of my hindbrain. A pair of Meteors, bomb racks fat and full. "This is Ghast-1, where target, over."
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Cataphract Heavy 'Mech
"Grid square, 7750, target the enemy Cataphract!" I snapped, wincing as another PPC bolt hit me. Then, I couldn't hear at all. There were too many autocannons firing, Kamea coming around the final corner and Victoria meeting her, barrels hot and blazing. I could tell, right away, she wasn't winning- the damage wasn't in her favor, there was too many lasers going off- and I couldn't help.
Then the Awesome finally pinned me- three good PPC hits, enough to throw me and twist my ankle and send me to the ground. I could hear the bastard, panting over an open channel as he moved to put his gun to my head. "Any last words, bitch?"
"Don't flinch," I promised, and then the napalm fell. The Meteors had managed to stitch it across the Cataphract, but I was close enough to the Awesome that when it got hit, so did I. We were both boiling alive, but I had been here before. I knew my mech didn't care. He didn't, arms jerking uncontrollably as he tried to figure out what the hell he was doing. It didn't matter to me, as the flames glistened over my cockpit. I just brought my arms up, and dumped an entire alpha strike, clear into his faceplate. What was left of the head of the Awesome lolled about for a half-minute, before the machine fell over dead- and I was paralyzed, reactor down and fire keeping it impossible to cool.
Then the nightmare began in earnest. I was as paralyzed as my 'mech, half my mind eaten up by the screaming engine, trying and trying and trying to restart it as the interlocks kept me from touching it. I didn't know how to disable them- I'd never been taught- and as the fires sloughed off my armor I realized this was deliberate. I couldn't do anything but watch.
Watch as Kamea slugged it out with Victoria.
Watch as the Atlas was buried under weight of lead.
Watch as desperately, my best friend moved in to trade fists, lasers ripping her armor off as she frantically tried to close.
Watch as the pair stumbled, fist against boot and claw against gun.
Watch, knowing, screaming that in reality, another pass of the Meteors would napalm Victoria, knowing that in this nightmare the bombs would never fall.
Finally, the duel ended- Kamea's last round of autocannon ammunition screaming through the King Crab's guts hard enough to eject a rear armor plate, in exchange for Victoria's demented laughter.
"An empty magazine for a broken sword. Oh, how quaint."
Then, the claws went in, one of them managing to wrap around the head of that Royal Atlas. "Goodbye, Kamea."
This time, I woke up before the shot, in a cold sweat. Slowly peeling my way out of Morgan's arms, I went back to the chair by the fire, wrapping myself in an afghan to while away the night.
A Big Day for a Little Girl[]
Palace of the First Prince
October 23rd, 3027
Checking my sea-bag, I sighed. My situation, that of one Emma Centrella, was 'complex' to say the least. Never mind the fact that me dating Morgan had resulted in five separate shovel speeches- one from his mother, father, unit commander, uncle and head of state, and some chick I was pretty sure was part of the intelligence apparatus that was attached to him. Still, I'd managed to barely secure the First Prince's blessing for our little daliance, mostly by pointing out that I was a known factor in Morgan's corner while also being a decent enough political operator and spy to keep his six clear.
As much as I liked Morgan- our relationship had far too many hot and cold moments to say love yet- even I could recognize whatever room in his head he held for politics had been replaced a long time ago with More Fight Good. The main reason his MIIO handler had given me the shovel speech was because early on, before the whole 'yes we're dating' thing got finalized, I managed to cockblock her no less than fifteen or twenty times over the course of two weeks. Her disguise voodoo wasn't bad, but I was Canopian. I'd seen performers swap half their face and limbs, and learned to recognize them even through massive body shifts. Compared to that, a little makeup was nothing.
The fact he'd reacted to me telling him this once the bitch in question fucked off just got an "I see" and some vague muttering. Seriously! Vague muttering, almost verbatim!
Of course, now I was getting invited to room in the Palace. The First Prince himself had put his foot down preemptively on the question back when I'd been at NAIS the first time, but apparently the fact I'd been able to independently negotiate around most of my issues had gotten that resolved- that, and rumor had it that Ol' Hanse was getting very tempted to stick a fork in Kyalla's eye.
Considering said Centrella was still in the Auregian Reach, I had to applaud the man for having even less patience with her bullshit than I did.
Either way, I had to get myself moved from my current digs on over. After graduating NAIS, I'd needed to get the whole apartment thing sorted out, so I picked up a lease on a townhouse in some super-secure area that had a decent number of ducal residencies. Sure, it was expensive as fuck, but I could eat the cost since my loans to the Blades for the XL engine factory and Endosteel factory were both getting paid off at a decent clip, mostly by dint of taking the cash they were getting from the Canopian-Auregian bond issues for services in the war and applying it directly to the interest payments I was collecting off them. I also drew a notional paycheck from them for my services on Artru, but that money was gonna cut off soon since the 'please get our boss back' bounty was only worth so much.
So: Alas poor townhouse, hello new apartments in palace! It was a small set of rooms, just a bedroom and small sitting room with an ensuite and a fireplace, but it was better than my quarters on the Borozoi so I didn't care. Three cheers for spending my teenage years on a dropship, I guess! Either way, I was now in the den of the fox. Which was more than a little terrifying, because since I was in Hanse's rough social orbit on multiple levels.
Consider: this was the Federated Suns, a country in which part of the legal requirement to be an effective member of the national chain of succession was military service. I had that, albeit as a mercenary. It was also strongly suggested that important people have titles- which was covered in my capacity as the Duchess of Luxen. The best thing to back up a noble title and officer's commission, meanwhile, would be great feats. What sort of great feats? Being part of the group that had ended a civil war didn't hurt, or by jamming a boot in the Taurian's eye by eating a mixed battalion or reinforced company or whatever people wanted to call it alive, and oh by the way, nukes.
Incidentally, I really had to question what the FedSun's minters were smoking when they struck medals of the Order of Fiji, though; alias the 'congrats for surviving a nuclear battlefield' medal. Seriously, a wreath of palms? That just looked bad. Especially on the blaze-orange background. If I ever had to make one of those, we'd do it very differently.
I'm digressing, though. I was the most Federated Sun of a Canopian the court here ever did see, which meant I got invited to all the everything, which meant I frequently ended up meeting Hanse at events. For someone like me, who did most of her socializing through these balls, it was hell. I'd be trying to talk to a group of socialites, and then Royalty Approached. A week later, I could be holding a mini-court in some corner of a ball or social activity, and then Morgan would come in going "oh yes and remember tomorrow after range time the AFFS command needs you", and then boom, people would realize I'd get a chance to talk to the First Prince, and boom: there went the discussion. I wanted one day, one stinking day, not to have those responsibilities dangling over my head!
That was not to happen today, though, mostly because I was moving. Moving in. Notionally moving in with my boyfriend.
How the hell was this making my heart flutter like a fainting virgin in some Draconis soap opera anime? Come on! This was ridiculous! I couldn't explain my way out of this, no matter how much I wanted to!
Resisting the urge to yell into a pillow, I tried to focus myself. My seabag was packed, my meager supply of effects was packed, my 'mech's jump bag was packed, my Big Box of Cyberware Care was packed and triple-sealed, and my ability to distract myself from going off like cornered lemming was dropping by the minute.
Fortunately, that's when my phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Lucifer!" I heard Calypso say, her voice ringing out too-loud as always. "I, uh, we need to borrow a favor!"
I blinked. Calypso was one of the Blades, drove a Griffin -1N, and a bit of an utter dork. She was also still neck-deep in classes at NAIS that Tam was paying for out of company funds, and knew I didn't like talking too much about the whole politics thing. She wasn't a friend, sure, but she was a colleague who I got along with.
"What's the favor?" I asked, rolling my shoulders.
"We, uh, kinda need some help. I'm practicing teamwork drills with Nitya for our advanced mech piloting class, and I'm having a hard time reconciling our speed differences. So. I was wondering if you and that boyfriend of yours- uh, Mike?- the Atlas pilot could show us a few tricks."
Rolling my shoulders, I dug out my calender. Next day both Morgan and I were scheduled for the range was… Tuesday? "How does the 4th work for you?"
"Works fine! Your range or ours?"
"Yours, I know we can get back to NAIS without too much difficulty," I said lightly. "Let me call Mike, alright, and I'll email you back. Okay?"
"Thanks a ton, Lucifer. I'll owe you one, alright?"
"Don't worry about it, just get in good with Nitya. Nyan likes to organize lances by fighting pair, so if you want to stick together with her then stick together with her, alright?"
"Yeah, I want to keep her," Calypso muttered. "It's just, y'know, I want her more than her mech."
"Please tell me you're not falling in love with a lancemate," I muttered, pinching my nose. "You're sixteen."
"Excuse you, I turned seventeen a few weeks ago!"
"Thereby reinforcing my point. You can't even drink yet!"
"Shut up! We didn't give you any crap about Kamea, did we?"
I hissed. "That was strictly professional!"
"Strictly professional, sure, never mind she's nearly a decade your senior!" Calypso crowed at me. "Don't throw stones in glass houses, Lucifer!"
"Fine, whatever," I grumbled. "Do you want my help or not, Calypso? Because if you keep talking shit, you're not gonna get it."
"Touchy, much?" she asked. "Fine. Yes, I want your help. Tuesday is fine, NAIS ranges."
"Good. I'll see you there."
Hanging up with a click, I took a moment to swear. I was a Blade, alright, until it came time to talk to the kids Nyan was using to bulk out his forces. Man had a Capellan streak a saber wide under his fluffy exterior, and about as likely to get you cut too. Those 'cadet' soldiers under him were fiercely loyal in a way that terrified me, and their senses of humor were too sharp, ground to a bloody edge in the fighting and military living. Even Calypso, who'd only ever dropped into hell on Coromodir, had it- and Kasparov, Yves, and the real old ones were worse. They shouldn't have to worry about 'never fading away' when they were eighteen, damnit! I shouldn't have to worry about that!
…and yet worry I did.
Bah. I had moving to do, and the trucks were coming soon.
Where call my sign come from[]
NAIS Mech Ranges
November 4th, 3027
"Lucifer, rolling hot," I dictated to the Tower, pushing my Phoenix Hawk out of the hanger with a gentle rolling step. The grassy meadows of the field were clean and clear, excepting the two Atlases sizing each other up and the Griffin waiting for me.
Pulling to the pair, I blinked slowly. Neither Nitya or Calypso had standard parade paints for their mechs; with the former's Atlas still having the neon banding over the hands we put on for when it was construction duty time, and the later's Griffin with the same also added a massive blue-gold horse on the right breast. Well, customization wasn't a bad thing. Keying into their radio, I had to take a second as I heard them talking.
"Okay, no, that's- no," Morgan said, and I could practically hear him waving his hands animatedly. "Why would you bodily throw infantry into a building! That's not how you do a tactical insertion!"
"Nonsense," Calypso shot back. "We're not throwing infantry, we're throwing battle armor! Totally different thing, they've got jump jets and we're aiming for windows."
"Morgan, Calypso, Nitya," I said, jumping in the call. "I'm here, are you all good to go?"
"We've been good to go for twenty minutes," Nitya said, turning her Atlas' head to look straight at me. "Where were you?"
"Colonel du Bois had to have it explained to him by Felsner that I have permission to be in the Davion Heavy Guards stables," I explained dryly. "Felsner was unamused."
"Felsner?" Nitya asked.
"Field Marshal Ran Felsner," Morgan said dryly, using his arm to gesture to the large white and red stripe on his Atlas. "You know, CO Davion Heavy Guards RCT?"
"Ahhhh. Yeah that'll do it," Nitya muttered. "That unit's important."
Understatement, thy name is catgirls.
"Right, let's just get started before we run out of range time," I muttered. "First thing I need to show you all is how to do is a Dutch weave."
"It's a Thatch Weave and that's an ASF strategy-" Morgan muttered, this old debate rearing its head
"-unless you do it on the ground, then it's a Dutch weave. Just get ready to do the Atlas thing," I said, keying in the target deployment. Soon enough, we were looking at a bunch of inflatable targets: specifically, an Assault lance of a Charger, Rifleman, Archer, and Wasp.
"Fine. On three," Morgan said. "Three, two, one, go!"
With that, we were off. Morgan's job was simple: jinking run in, slowing to fire LRM salvos, while I zipped wide with both LPPCs blaring. Both of us were prioritizing the Rifleman, who's inflatable body quickly turned into a pincushion, before I snapped from a wide right to a wide left sweep, getting closer to Morgan.
"Alright, so while we're doing this," I explained as my large pulse laser snapped out, singing the target Wasp, "gonna talk through it. First part of a good Dutch is getting out wide, to focus fire on supporting elements. Lightly armored fire support mechs are a great target for this sort of thing."
"Once you're done with that," Morgan added, "expect your battle buddy to be covered in enemy attention, so you need to get that enemy fire where it belongs: right into your armor. If things have been going right, and they have been so far, you should be in range to do this."
With 'this' being a full alpha strike into the Charger simulacrum.
"If the sight of an Atlas putting everything he's got into an enemy mech does not in fact re-focus the priorities of the enemy lance nicely, that's why you're getting behind your friendly Atlas- going guns-dark for a minute is an excellent way to let them re-focus on the 'thing shooting me bad' mindset and you can dump heat for a moment," I added, moving back around the far side and opening back up. "Then you swing wide again."
Now I was putting fire into the Wasp, which sensibly deflated quickly, before I re-targeted to the Archer. It took a quick round of fisticuffs for Morgan to put the Charger in the ground- must have been simulating one of the slow ones with armor- while I threw on the jump jets to get past a bog and kept snap-firing at the Archer, slowly pulling closer.
"Normally at about this point the enemy is running, ejecting, or figuring out how to surrender," I said, grinning, "unless they're Taurians and you need to pry them out of the cockpit manually. So, let's try that one where the enemy isn't brain-dead."
Moving back to the starting point, I watched as the Recovery Drones went out, rolling up the giant inflatable mechs, before a new set were launched.
"Three, two, one, go!" Morgan snapped, and we were off again. This time, though, the enemy was attempting to keep the range open, and in doing so made it much harder to get things to work.
"You'll note that this enemy is doing the smart thing, and backing up. Therefore, you can tell they're actually smarter than a milk carton, since it means the Atlas is less of a threat," I explained, going wide out again. "This means as the weaver, you need to be a lot more on the ball. Did we fix the overheating issues on your ride, Calypso?"
"Not really."
"Then be careful with your heat loads, since you'll be skirmishing a lot longer this way," I said, finally putting down the rubber Wasp again, before turning in towards Morgan.
"Also note that your Atlas primary will run out of LRMs," Morgan added. "Which I'm about to do… now."
"Once the primary runs out of LRMs, that's when they're going pedal to the metal on closing the range," I kept going, ducking in behind Morgan for a brief second, before resuming fire on the Archer that was weirdly close. "So you're gonna want to fly wide at this point if you're not already going long."
"Got it," Calypso said, watching as I jetted out and started lighting the fuck out of the Rifleman. This time, though, the Archer and Charger tried to engage Morgan in melee- something I couldn't tolerate.
"A lot of time in melee, the enemy will do the 'smart' thing and try and double up on an Assault mech. This is common sense for them, so you need to stop that malarky before it gets your buddy killed. Generally, this means closing to point blank and letting them have it with both barrels," I explained, taking up a good position and savaging the Archer's rear quarter, forcing it to break off. The Charger, honorable mention to the trainer pilot running it, tried to keep swinging: unfortunately that didn't work against Morgan and his class-twenty Drac remover.
"That said, don't over-focus on the melee. Communication is critical," Morgan added, "and the enemy might have fire support left to go that needs to be handled."
"So I'm going to break off from the dead Archer, and go for the Rifleman," I explained, switching targets flawlessly, before putting a laser burst straight into the cockpit of the aformentioned fire support. That done, I then pressed close, running under the class-fives it was swinging, to shred out the rest of the mech. "Did you catch that?"
"Yeah, I got it," Calypso said, with a definitive 'umf' at the end. "Nitya, you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," she said. "Three, two, one, go!"
Same scenario as before: Archer, Rifleman, Charger, Wasp. As I sprinted to get a long view, things started off pretty well. Nitya was belting LRMs, Calypso was running wide, the Wasp went down like a piece of cake. It was going good- and then the Charger and Archer went in, while the Rifleman went out. Calypso did mostly the right thing, focusing in on the Archer, but she was in too tight- she couldn't get side and back shots to generate terminal effect like I could. Nitya was doing great, boxing the Charger down, but it wasn't fast enough: a quick check on her paper doll revealed some pretty significant left torso damage, and her right arm was nearly stripped. Compared to Morgan who'd been fairly yellow across the board? This wasn't great performance.
Still, they were winning- and Calypso managed to distract the Archer enough for Nitya to finish it off with her autocannons, before realizing that she didn't have anything to add to the fight with the Rifleman going on a few hundred meters ahead of her. So she charged in.
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, the fake Rifleman was savaging Calypso, who didn't have the good sense to fall back. Still, Nitya was fast on the draw, and more importantly willing to waste ammo. It was more luck than skill, but a class-twenty shell managed to clip the leg of the Rifleman from just outside maximum range, taking it to its knees. From there, a few good kicks on Calypso's part killed it.
Panting, Nitya called in. "How'd we do?"
"Morgan, you first," I said, deferring to let Atlas speak to Atlas.
"A little spendthrift on the LRM ammo, but otherwise pretty decent. I've heard rumors you have better lasers in development, though? Getting those would really help."
"Hah, no," Nitya said, joking. "I'd have to go to light PPCs, and those things are too heavy. I'm already pricing out upgrading to ferro armor, and an Artemis pack for the SRMs and LRMs. Unless we get 300 Extralights online, I'm kinda toasted for payload unless I'm awarded a Gauss as a treat."
"Oof. Emma, your turn."
"Outside of ride upgrades, we need to work on your mobility," I said, memory looking over the course. "You did a lot more snaking about than you needed to, and your stop-and-shoots were too long. Everything that was supposed to happen happened, it just wasn't timely enough to work well."
"Aye, captain. Any ride upgrades?"
"Get that PPC swapped out for a pair of lights, and get Artemis. I don't know why we haven't gone for a fleetwide Artemis pull, but it should have happened by now, especially on the one-launcher units. We really need to get some better heat sinking tech moving, though."
"I'll put in for that later, then," Calypso sighed. "Yang's gonna give me shit for the swaps, though."
"What, you put in for ride customization before?" I asked lightly.
"Yes. I don't want to talk about it."
"Fair enough, fair enough."
"She asked for, quote, 'the opening to the Night Parade of One Thousand Demons across the glacis', unquote, and got sad that Yang said no," Nitya said, shamelessly ratting her battle buddy out.
"Damnit, Nitya!"
I laughed. "Go talk to the battalion maintainer about mechanical rebuilds. Paint is something for your MechTech. Let's get this fixed sooner than later, alright?"
"Yes, Lucifer," the girls said, getting ready for another run.
>>"Emma, go to channel 7,"<< Morgan said, and I clicked over easily.
"I'm here, Morgan," I said, trying not to yawn. It was good to be mounted back up, but my engine was running at just the right vibration cycle to try and put me to sleep. "What's up?"
>>"I never asked, but how did you get the callsign Lucifer?"<<
I sighed. Now that I'd had the name for a few years it seemed kinda childish, but I was well and truely stuck with it. "So back in the war, our first big target wasn't Panzyr, which is the one most people talk about since that's what Tam talks about. The reality was, we started off in Weldry, a planet most notable for the giant mosquito swarms in summer, being freezing cold all year long, and having a massive POW camp we had to liberate…"