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#1 Thom Frankfurt

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Posted 19 May 2013 - 12:35 AM

[[Prologe]]

Warlock Stables
International Zone
Solaris City, Solaris VII
August 11th 3060 15:19 hrs

"Oh excuse me." Acolyte Nathan Fuller states while side stepping the reeking psychotic (judging from the way he muttered incoherently to himself) homeless man. His politeness was rewarded with a withering glare and a splash as the ComStar acolyte sank halfway up to his ankle in a puddle of questionable fluid. With a look of disgust, Nathan shook his foot hoping to fling some of liquid off his foot. Sighing heavily, forced the thought of any bacterial infections he may have just received and confirmed that he had the correct address.

1112 Warlock Stables, Dickinson Avenue...

He looked around once more at the sprawling Solarian Slums and shook his head in disgust, he really hated coming to this part of town. Shaking the thoughts from mind, he pushed his way through the tinted double doors. He was immediately greeted by an grey room dominated by a massive oak desk with a fossil of a lady with a riot of iron grey hair behind it.

"Hello, may I help you?" Cassandra asked in her outrageous accent. Nathan was a bit taken back by the old lady's friendly greeting, but thought the friendliness was a welcome change.

"Package for DeMarkus Frankfurt, I was instructed to give it to him myself." He stood upright, trying to show grandma that he was unwilling to back down from his charge. The woman nodded and held up a walkie-talkie, depressed the activate button and spoke clearly, with her funky accent.

"Kaylee, there's an acolyte here from Comstar, he says that he has a package for DeMarkus." There was a slight pause punctuated with muffles before Cassandra's walkie, popped and a rather friendly voice shot back with a 'I'll be right there.'

With a grunt of satisfaction, Nathan eyeballed the various plaques and paintings placed about awards and decorations honoring Warlock Stables and it's gladiators.
**********************************************

"Kaylee, there's an acolyte here from Comstar, he says that he has a package for DeMarkus." Cass' voice sounded over her walkie, loosing none of the Wallcian's strange accent. Kaylee looked up from where she was overseeing two green techs work and with difficulty the master tech palmed the device all the while casting a concerned look in the direction of the office that overlooked the stable's mechyard. The place where her husband DeMarkus spent his days overlooking the activity taking place in the yard.

"I'll be right there." She stated while trying to sound as cheery as possible. She then made a beeline across the yard to the technician offices that connected to the main entrance, where this toaster-worshiper waited for her to escort him to her husband. Pausing she took a longing look over her domain and sighed heavily, wondering why ComStar would have a package for Mar. Opening the door she beheld the man that caused her so much worry. Pockmarked face, with lank greasy red hair, dressed in a soiled yellow acolyte's robe, the man stood idling looking over a painting of Mad-Jack Churchill hoisting a foaming mug of beer.

"Hi I'm Kaylee!" she beamed in her cheery way despite how much she didn't want to. She had the desired effect though, the man was surprised by outgoingness and stood dumbfounded for a second. Awkwardly the young man smiled and shook her hand. "I'll take the package right up to Mar." She smiled again, but it died as crater-face shook his head stubbornly.

"Sorry Ma'am, I am to give this to Mr. Frankfurt myself." He simply stated.

"Oh?" She arched a white streaked auburn eyebrow. "Alright... I guess I'll lead you up. Come this way." She began leading him out to the mechyard to the stairwell that would lead up to Mar's office. "So what's so important about this package?" she fished. "Honestly I don't know. I was instructed to give it to Mr. Frankfurt, that's all I know." Kay dropped the subject as the two continued walking on, her mind racing on what this mysterious package may be.

Reaching the stair's landing before the office, she paused then opened up the door.

"Sweetie, there's a man here from ComStar for you."
********************************************************

DeMarkus could feel the slight vibrations through the floor as someone, or in this case someone's came up the stairs. The vibrating stopped momentary before the office's door creaked open.

"Sweetie, there's a man here from ComStar for you." Kay blurted out by way of greeting/warning. The elderly Frankfurt then turned slowly in his chair to regard the acolyte curiously before rising with difficulty.

"Hey's how's you's a doing?" DeMarkus asked, butchering the English language as always. "I'm fine sir. This is for you." Nathan held out the parcel to the snowy manned scarred man. "The Peace of Blake be with yo-" DeMarkus cut him off. "Stay's, I's a's may's need tos make's a's response an I's ain't a leaving dis building less I's gotta." DeMarkus stated matter of fact.

With that the man looked over the envelope and tore it open, revealing a vid disc emblazoned with a rust red double T across the front. "Wat's dis?"
the elderly man asked, as he removed the disc and slipped it into the desk mounted disc player. The acolyte shrugged for an answer. There was a burst of static which was quickly replaced by the thuggish visage of his son Thom.

"Hiya's Pop!" The mohawked man smiled a toothy grin. "Hey's der's no way tos say dis easy, so if you'sa watchind dis, I'msa dead." The image shrugged and nodded and DeMarkus could feel Kaylee's strong grip grab his shoulder firmly. "Oh my Gawsh, Mar I'm so sorr-" the tech was cut off by Thom bursting out with a hysterical laugh. "Hey's I'msa sorry, I'ms just busting your balls. I'msa alive an well. I's won da HardCore Open Invitational, an went back to St. Ives." Thom sighed at that. "Dat's a mess, Pop, I'sa never seen fighting like dat and I'sa hate to say dis, but St. Ives can't win dat one... da CapCon got's too many warriors, it's only a matter of time before Candance throws da towel in, I's says two three years tops. But dat ain't da reason I's messaging ya... I got someting in da works, someting big.... "

DeMarkus lost interest as his son rambled on in his plans, he could have sworn he heard the words Thom's Terrors, and something about his own mercenary command, but he was too focused on the happening's down in the mechyard. He watched as a swarm of technicians worked on a clan omnimech, a Man'O'war and where his old mech, the Cataphract called PainBringer stood forgotten in a corner collecting dust. He felt a pang of regret at that moment, that his son wasn't coming home to help run the business...

#2 Thom Frankfurt

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Posted 19 May 2013 - 01:53 AM

Cargo/mech bay 3
Union Class Dropship, Achilles Pride
Deep Space,
27th, Feb, 3061, 16:58


Thom dragged his finger across the top of the stack of armored plates cutting a path through the thick layer of dust atop of the ferrous-titanium plate. Chuckling to himself he then doodled a happy face before turning back to his work of doing a physical inventory of the supplies that the Terror's picked up on Outreach. He than began to grumble as he began his count along the numerous storage racking that dominated the interior of bay three.

Twenty tons armor, ferro fiberous plate, check... He suddenly stopped counting and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated numbers unless they had money signs in front of them. Sighing, he decided to take a break and headed out a man door that connected bay three to bay two with the clanging of his grav boots heralding his approach.

Stooping through the hatch he stopped and looked upon the impressive sight of Juri's Stalker backed into it's cubicle. He then smiled as a funny feeling came to him, he felt warm and fuzzy. What was it, pride? He suddenly nodded, it had to be pride. He strode out amongst the bay looking at the resting war machines. Besides the Stalker, there was a Vulcan, and next to that, a Centurion, and a rare quad design. And in mech bay one there were more battlemechs, all warriors that came to his call, from every corner of the Inner Sphere they came to his banner.

They all had their own reason's for being there. For some it was just what they knew how to do. For one it was a way to make a second income while field testing her companies products, and for some (mainly the Pride's crew) they had faith in him to lead them to fortune and glory. Making his way to bay one he looked over the battlemechs there. He paused in his walk and skimmed over the frozen avatars of war.

He patted the foot of his seventy five ton monstrosity and looked it over appreciatively. Usually a design that the Lyran's and himself would call a 'light mech,' The Marauder sat powered down heavily armored, in a brilliant dark green scale paint scheme and bristling with heavy weapons. While this mech design in particular was feared and respected across the Inner Sphere, this one was special. For two of it's former owner's were infamous, feared, and respected not only across the Sphere but beyond to the Clan Home worlds. Where even to this day vat-brat sibkos where hushed into behaving with threats that the Black Widow would come for them.

"You know's I's probablys could'a buy a Daishi from da Wolves for hows much I'sa paid for you." He patted the foot again. "Still you'sa got me's off Indicass in one piece."

He smiled up at his mech, the mech that once belonged to Natasha Kerensky and the Bounty Hunter and felt that sense of pride that he knew that his life long work hasn't been for naught. He had a small army of men and women, who would come to his cause, bringing their own machines of destruction. And his own mech, one of the most feared and infamous to have ever exist was ready to bring pain and misery to his most hated enemy, the only one that had dealt him a defeat, Clan Jade Falcon.

With a long sigh and an energetic spring in his step he returned to doing his inventory.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 19 May 2013 - 03:33 AM.


#3 Thom Frankfurt

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Posted 19 May 2013 - 12:39 PM

Union Class Dropship, Achilles Pride
Deep Space,
28th, Feb, 3061, 09:00hrs

Tap, tap, tap...The sound of somebody tapping their finger against the intercom's mic reverberated throughout the entire Union Class quickly followed by the whoosh of someone blowing into the mic. "Hey's is dis ting, even on? It is? Oh s**t.. ahem.. Dis is Major Thom to ground control, Im'sa stepping throughs da door, an I'msa floating en da most particular of way, an da starts look avery different today...uh.. someting, someting, and Planet Earth es very blue?" The funky accent trailed off momentarly and was replaced by a slight chuckle.

"Hey Yo's all MechWarriors, we'sa having a mission briefing within da hour, I'lls be filling yous en on dis latest bit of info dat the Irregulars have bless us with... You's know da place, so get yer a$$es der before 10:00, I'sa ain't waiting for you if yer late. Savy?" With that the voice ceased and the unpleasantly loud clatter of the mic being hung reechoed thought the Union.
*********************

As Thom hung up the intercom phone like talking unit, he hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his cargo pants. And smiled smugly.

"Not bad eh, Davos?" The elderly spacer rolled his eyes at the Warlockian's question. "I wouldn't quit my day job if I were you Thomas." The old man then walked off leaving Thom staring at his back. "..Hey's wat's dat supposed to mean?" The mercenary then made his way to where the briefing was going to take place.

#4 Spokes

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Posted 21 May 2013 - 05:55 PM

Harlech, Outreach
Chaos March
2 December, 3060 -- 13:00 Hrs

The rain beat a steady tempo on the windows, obscuring the view of run down buildings as the water played on the glass. A distant flash of lightning rebounded off the inner wall, reflecting a woman's face on the pane. The brief murmur of static in her earpiece preceded the rolling boom of thunder by several seconds.

"No, we've already had this discussion! I'm going, and that's final."

More clothes go into the open duffel on the bed. The woman reaches into the tiny closet, hesitates, then pulls the lone dress uniform off the rack.

"Because the Havoks can't afford to pay me enough to. . .no. No, it isn't. Because I'm barely floating the interest as it is and a little more isn't going. . ."

The woman balled her fists and pressed them into the mattress, letting her arms take some of her weight. She closed her eyes against the voice in the earpiece. It was quiet for a long moment-- the only sound in the tiny room was the drumming of the rain.

"I can't do this anymore," her words soft and pensive, "I can't sit in that office and stare at those walls, waiting to hear who's coming back and who isn't. I need to do this, while I still can. You know. . ."

The woman pushes back up to a standing position, rolling her eyes as she turns and heads for a desk tucked against the far wall.

"No, even if I knew that, I couldn't tell you. That's not how this works. About a year I think, give or take. I know you will. I'll see you when I see you."

The earpiece chirped as she toggled the off switch and sat down at the desk.

More paperwork. Progress reports for the repairs on her BattleMech, mixed with loan documents, bank statements, and a few "past due" notices for good measure. One stack had been set off to the side-- the paper was expensive and the ink crisp as if it had just been printed. The pages rustled as she flipped through the stack for the hundredth time, fingers tracing over the text she had all but memorized.

Sometimes the only way out is forward. She signed 'Li-Hua Taishu', the neat script taking up the exact amount of space allowed by the signature line. The pen dropped to the desk with a clatter-- the page grew warm and tingled under her thumb as the embedded verigraph scanned her DNA. She was committed.

The signed contract went into a sealable duraplast binder, along with her pilot dossier and assorted financial records. Only one thing was missing-- she pulled a blank datachit from a drawer, dropped it into a slot on the desk and hit the 'record' button. She started to speak, stopped, stared hard at the little red light, and tried again.

"Oh I hate these things. If you're watching this, I guess it means I'm not coming back after all. . ."

#5 Spokes

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Posted 21 May 2013 - 09:24 PM

Mech Bay 2
Union Class Dropship Achilles Pride
Deep Space
28 February, 3061 -- 08:30 Hrs

The magnetic pads on the grav slippers sent a metallic 'thump' echoing through the bay with each measured step. Li hated the things, but without them it would be far too easy to end up floating helplessly in the oversized compartment. She pulled one foot free, brought it forward, and eased it towards the deck, wincing as the magnets sucked her foot down the last few inches.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

A massive Stalker dominated the bay, looking for the all the world like an assault dropship that had decided to sprout legs in order to teach its lesser brethren a thing or two about war. The enormous BattleMech seemed to stare at the Centurion berthed directly across from it, a war-worn dragon facing down the armored knight that had dared to enter its lair. The yellow '10' painted on the deck in front of the Centurion looked fresh, while the '12' in front of the Stalker had worn almost entirely away-- only the first digit could still be clearly seen.

Her Scorpion was squatting on the Centurion's left. The four legs had been tucked in close to compensate for the limited floor space-- where the other machines stood proud, the Scorpion looked like a bug waiting to be squashed. Dark gray paint covered most of the 'Mech, broken only by the crimson and amber bands coiling up the right foreleg between the crimson foot and amber knee cap. The Havoks' logo, a 'wheel' of eight crimson and amber arrows radiating from a central point, graced the glacis plate between the spotlight and sensor wand.

Li planted both feet on the yellow '9', her long hair floating loose as she reached up to touch the underside of the Scorpion's hull. The glazed armor cast a dull, blurry reflection of her hand and forearm as she got close-- the ghost hand reached down to touch her own as she made contact with the polished metal.

"Hello old friend."

Edited by Spokes, 21 May 2013 - 09:27 PM.


#6 MacabreDerek

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Posted 22 May 2013 - 08:05 PM

Union Class Dropship, Achilles Pride
Deep Space,
28th, Feb, 3061, 08:57hrs


The floresant light peered through the cracks between the over-slung sheet of her bottom bunk, designed for what little privacy was avalible with a shared barracks bunk. That dim lighting was all Juri needed as she sat up in her bed, most of the others had already left the room.

She had been awake for hours, but couldn't bring herself out of bed. Clear rubber tubes ran up under the sleeve of an angel-white kimono she wore, it's soft fabric offering comfort, despite the many fresh and faded blood stains that littered it's arms and hem. The morphine dripped into her veins, and she was savouring the moment of bliss, a moment where the threat of pain didn't perpetuate her mind, or that horrific feeling of her insides being churned with shattered glass.

Reaching over to her feet where several bags of her gear were sitting on her bed, she shuffled through them. In among the clothes were tubes, bottles upon bottles of pills, each a different type of pain killer or some other sort of medication she found useful to keep her able to do her job.

Her job... Juri cracked a grin. It had been some time since she had found work. There was definetly some questions as to why Thom took her on with the Terrors. Her battle record spoke well, of that she had no doubt, but Thom didn't strike her as particularly thick, his research had to show something.

Opening a second bag, the smile on Juri's face faded. The dim light shown a piece of medical equipment, a crude machine of her own build. It was hard enough to put a person through dialysis in a hospital, but this device was archaic. Still, the idea of going through this treatment was much better than the alternative of having her liver shut down or going through overdose, an unfortunet reality for those who self-medicate as much as she did.

Among the filters she pulled out her PDA. The screen hads a warm green glow that filled her bunk, as she chuckled. "Living with Complex Regional Pain Disorder - A Survivor's Guide". She forgot how she opened the file on a whim trying to figure out how to explain her situation to those who needed to be informed. It became very difficult to explain the difference between a junkie and a person in desperate pain management.

Maybe there isn't.

Looking at the tubes in her arm, she rolled up the bloody robe along her arm to see the syringes poking into her skin, kept company by track marks of recent and not so recent treatments. Removing the tape holding them in place, the tiny droplets of red that remained as the needles shifted reminded her of the damage she was doing to herself for a moment of rest. Pulling them out gently, she slipped them into a cup careful not to bend them. Pouring some hooch into the cup, she would leave them in there to sanitize for later use.

Wrapping up her equipment and storing it safely, tucking it away in among her sterile clothes, Juri's lithe fingers gripped hold of one of the bottles of pills. 200mg of a perscription Flupirtine would do, trying to keep the Opianic use to a minimum.

Checking her PDA she set the timer to when it would be 'safer' to take them. The morphine would wear off in a few hours but would take longer to leave her system, mixing the two would not help matters.

"Hey Yo's all MechWarriors, we'sa having a mission briefing within da hour, I'lls be filling yous en on dis latest bit of info dat the Irregulars have bless us with... You's know da place, so get yer a$$es der before 10:00, I'sa ain't waiting for you if yer late. Savy?" The intercom rang.

She untied the strand holding her white kimono and let it fall from her back. The cold air brushing into her bunk felt calming, and she inhaled deeply. A moment of relaxation struck her, and she wanted to hang onto it as long as she could.

But there was business to attend to. She pulled a long sleeved black shirt over her head and dressed informally. Pulling away the heavy blanket that draped down from the top bunk the light hit her eyes and she flinched. Looking at the sedatives in hand, Juri made the false promise she made to herself every time she left her bunk, that she would not need them. That did not stop her from putting them in her pocket.

Getting up from her bunk, the dizzyness took hold, and her hand braced her would-be fall clutching the top bunk. Her eyes fell low to see one of many decks of cards she had in possession and smiled. The cards kept her hands sharp and mind preoccupied. More so it was a good way to gauge how well she was doing as far as fine motor skills without it seemingly being too obvious.

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

It had been a long trek to the briefing room. The room was too bright, and the cold steel bulkhead made it feel more like a prison cell than an official's board. She seemed to be the first there, and she was grateful for it. The whole walk she had to keep near the walls to stop from falling over, though she believed she simply looked groggy and 'just woke up' to the others. That was the hope anyway.

Sitting at one of the edge seats near the presenter, she pulled out the deck of cards and started shuffling, her eyes watching her hands observing the precision of the cuts and rainbow shuffles. "Three of Clubs sixteen cards down." She put the deck down, and flipped the top card over to reveal it. She did so again and again until she turned over the fifteenth card, which was a ten of diamonds. The sixteenth card still at the top of the deck, she looked at it nervously, questioning her read, the precision of the slight. Did she sober up at all on her way to the breifing room?

She drew the card from the top of the deck and turned it over...

#7 Spokes

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Posted 23 May 2013 - 03:53 PM

Mech Bay 2
Union Class Dropship Achilles Pride
Deep Space
28 February, 3061 -- 08:59 Hrs

The 'Mech was well fastened to the deck, and it didn't look like anything had been damaged in transport. Hand-over-hand, careful, careful. . . just need to check one more spo. . .

Li jerked back in surprise as the screeching peal of feedback from the overhead speaker ripped through the bay. No no nonono! Her arms flailed, finger tips sliding over the smooth metal surface. Muscles strained to cross the last critical bit of space, but it was too late.

The ghost reflection looked sad as it stretched its arms towards her.

The screech was replaced by a thunderous tapping sound, and then the rushing whoosh of someone blowing into the receiver. Li brought her leg up, her face a mask of concentration as she reached out with the mag slipper on her foot. The blurry ghost cocked its head and wiggled its toes at her-- the gap was less than a handspan, but it might as well have been a kilometer.

"Hey's is dis ting, even on? It is? Oh s**t. . ."

Li roared in frustration and lunged out with her leg. The motion sent her cartwheeling out into the mech bay.

"Dis is Major Thom to ground control, Im'sa stepping throughs da door, an I'msa floating en da most particular of way. . ."

Sh*t.

". . .an da starts look avery different today...uh.. someting, someting, and Planet Earth es very blue?"

Li crossed her arms and tumbled slowly through a cloud of hair.

"Hey Yo's all MechWarriors, we'sa having a mission briefing within da hour, I'lls be filling yous en on dis latest bit of info dat the Irregulars have bless us with... You's know da place, so get yer a$$es der before 10:00, I'sa ain't waiting for you if yer late. Savy?"

More feedback from the speaker. Takka-takka-thump-rattle *click*

The sound from the speaker died, leaving only the soft susurrus of the air ducts.

Well, this is not my finest moment ever. . .

"Ah, hello? Anybody? Little help here?"

#8 The Shepherd

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Posted 23 May 2013 - 07:53 PM

Harlech Metal-Works warehouse and supply area.
Harlech, Planet Outreach
Chaos March
4 December, 3060 -- 15:30 Hrs


“What do you mean it’s not here?!? I secured it in storage bay 25M, right side, second gantry from the back. It was next to a damaged Centurion in the corner. The Centurion had a crumpled right shoulder plate , two PPC strike marks on the left torso, a buckled right...”
“Well you didn’t secure it very well kid,” the storage master cut him off, It’s not here anymore.”
“Really?” Cees raised an eyebrow, “you haven't checked any manifests since I arrived. How do you know?”
“Because I pulled that beat up Centurion out of that bay this last week, overstayed its lease. I’d have noticed an Uziel sitting right next to it.”
If the albino’s white eyebrow could have travelled any higher up his forehead, it would have.
“Standing.”
“Uhh... what?”
“Standing right next to it. If it were sitting, You'd have knocked it over.”
It was the storage master’s turn to raise an eyebrow, “Right. Standing. Look kid, I only took over this place just over a year ago. How long was it in there? If the lease ran ou-”
“I paid a 5 year lease on the space. Up front, on the 15th of November, 3058.” The anger in the shorter man’s voice was giving way to a more resigned tone.
“Well, like I said, either you didn't secure it very well or someone’s already picked it up.”
“Not possible. Only I know it’s in there. I made sure it was moved in there specifically when no-one was around. I also secured it with Class 17 mag-lock foot clamps. Not even an Atlas can break out of them. To break the lock not only do you need to use a specially designed electro-magnet to nullify the mag-log, but you’d need to cut through the clamps themselves. That’s noisy time consuming work. Someone, would notice. And if they didn’t then, you’re not protecting your facilities very well.”
The storage master just shook his head, “I’m telling you, It’s not there. If you’d like, I’ll go check my manifests, bring them back out and take you to the bay to show you.”
“Yes, I would like. Go on then.”

Thom watched as the albino tore into the Harlech Metal-Works storage master with something akin to pity. But, he wasn't sure as to who he should have felt pity towards, the possibly dispossessed albino MechWarrior, or to the storage worker who was probably about to have an mud-hole stomped into his chest. The mercenary gave a chuckle as the storage master's shoulders slumped and he turned to fetch the manifest like a dog with it's tail between it's legs. He then turned to regard the abnormal mech-jock. The Warlockian almost wanted to share some words with the possibly rideless albino, but desided against it as the man stood there visibly quaking with rage and a murdurious glare shooting into the worker's back.

At length the man returned with the manifest and handed the clipboard to the albino and turned his attention to Thom.

"Yes sir, how may I help you?" the laborer asked with a nervous glance the other MechWarrior's way.

"Yeah, I'd alikes to place an's order." The mohawked warrior stated, barely managing to keep from chuckling as the man's brow crinkled up in concentration, Thom's accent had a way of doing that to people.

"Yes? Ah, go right on up through the roll up door. The main office is on the right, and one of the girls there can help you." He offered while turning back towards the other MechWarrior with something akin to dread.

Thom turned to reguard the warrior and their eyes met, and Thom hooked a thumb in the worker's direction. "Dis fu**ing guy." Then turned to walk off to talk to the 'girls.'



The Rust-bucket.
Harlech, Planet Outreach
Chaos March
4 December, 3060 – 20:43 Hrs

The Rust-bucket was a typical 31st century waterhole. Gloomy lighting contrasted with bright neon lights advertising the local brew. Above a much abused ceiling fan lazily chopped away at the thick pall of tobacco smoke that seemed to cling to the bar's ceiling. In the far corner a holo-vid player played scenes from the latest matches from Solaris as off duty soldiers and base personnel hovered around it like tribals around a fire.

Occasionally a hoot or holler would erupt from the group but Thom paid it no mind. He was busy admiring the Rust-Bucket, the sculpted image of a Trebuchet formed out of actual mech armor that made for an unusual decoration. Thom held no love for the missile boat, but he had to admit that the sculptor had talent and took pride in his work.

Sighing T then looked into the depths of his pint wondering when the bartender would get done with flirting with some decent looking off duty tech long enough to pour him another Timburki Dark. The door then yawned opened casting a bright light through the gloom and out of it, stormed the Albino from earlier. If T had to take a guess, things weren't going well with him Uziel. And as the warrior stomped up to the bar his thoughts were confirmed as the young man whipped out his noteputer and began to stab away at the keys with a boney finger.

Giving out the light giggle that he sometimes did when he was buzzed (I do this) he wandered on down the bar towards the striking out bartender, as he neared he set his now empty glass down hard, impolitely interrupting the tech's excuse of why she couldn't go out later tonight and earning sour looks from the bartender.

"Hey yo, der's someting wrong wit my's glass..." The Warlockian trailed off.

"Oh yeah. What's that merc?" Snapped the unkempt barman.

"It'sa empty." He spitted the swill man with a steely glare. The two locked gazes momentarily, but reluctantly the man backed off and poured a tall glass of the black stuff for Thom, who noted that the barman was giving him more head (I mean foam, really! LMFAO)than he would have liked, but decided not to push it. After all the man most likely had a baseball bat or shotgun stashed underneath the bar. After pouring the glass, the man returned with Thom's glass and cast a withering look his way as the tech half stumbled off to rejoin her friends around the vid player.

"Three L-bills." The man grumbled while pushing a strand of hair over his balding pate.

"Put's it on my's tab." rumbled Thom in is outlandish accent while setting a black card with the RAI logo on it. "An gets another one for em." the mercenary nodded his had towards the end of the bar where Cees was still angrily typing away.

Visibly upset with Thom's actions, yet needing the money, the man made off to pour another glass. When the bartender returned, Thom took up both glasses and smirked at the portly man. "Tanks."

He then headed on over to where the abnormal man sat, glaring at the note-puter like he wished it would catch fire.

"Hey yo, you's eva get dat mech of yer's outta storage?"

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

He’s lying. So what... he’s stolen my mech already and sold it? Or does he suddenly realise the opportunity for a quick sale? Hmm... got to play this right... Detail. Throw him with detail.

“What do you mean it’s not here?!? I secured it in storage bay 25M, right side, second gantry from the back. It was next to a damaged Centurion in the corner. The Centurion had a crumpled right shoulder plate , two PPC strike marks on the left torso, a buckled right...”
“Well you didn’t secure it very well kid,” the storage master cut him off, It’s not here anymore.”

He’s good. But he’s leaning back on his right foot. Defensive but adapting. He hasn’t sold it. Yet.

“Really?” Cees raised an eyebrow, “you haven't checked any manifests since I arrived. How do you know?”
Good appear on the ball and knowledgeable. He’ll suspect something if this isn't played to the hilt.
“Because I pulled that beat up Centurion out of that bay this last week, overstayed its lease. I’d have noticed an Uziel sitting right next to it.”
Good. An opening for a parry.
If the albino’s white eyebrow could have travelled any higher up his forehead, it would have.
“Standing.”
“Uhh.. what?”
“Standing right next to it. If it were sitting, You'd have knocked it over.”
It was the storage master’s turn to raise an eyebrow, “Right. Standing. Look kid, I only took over this place just over a year ago. How long was it in there? If the lease ran ou-”
“I paid a 5 year lease on the space. Up front, on the 15th of November, 3058.” The anger in the shorter man’s voice was giving way to a more resigned tone.
Good. he’s taken the bait, time to reel him in.
“Well, like I said, either you didn't secure it very well or someone’s already picked it up.”
“Not possible. Only I know it’s in there. I made sure it was moved in there specifically when no-one was around. I also secured it with Class 17 mag-lock foot clamps. Not even an Atlas can break out of them. To break the lock not only do you need to use a specially designed electro-magnet to nullify the mag-log, but you’d need to cut through the clamps themselves. That’s noisey, time consuming work. Someone, would notice. And if they didn’t then, you’re not protecting your facilities very well.”
Yes, that’ll work. Give him what he needs and keep up on the personal barbs.

The storage master just shook his head, “I’m telling you, It’s not there. If you’d like, I’ll go check my manifests, bring them back out and take you to the bay to show you.”

Good, very good. Let him have the time to move it or change something to pull off his con. Ha. Con. I could laugh.
“Yes, I would like. Go on then.”
The storage master left the strange looking man standing there impatiently while he returned to a quartermaster's office.
Right, If it’s actually still there, he’ll need to pull something pretty damn tricky off to hide it in such a short period of time...

At length the man returned with the manifest and handed the clipboard to the albino and turned his attention to Thom.
Hmm, what took him so long?

"Yes sir, how may I help you?" the laborer asked with a nervous glance the other MechWarrior's way.

"Yeah, I'd alikes to place an's order." The mohawked warrior stated, barely managing to keep from chuckling as the man's brow crinkled up in concentration, Thom's accent had a way of doing that to people.

"Yes? Ah, go right on up through the roll up door. The main office is on the right, and one of the girls there can help you." He offered while turning back towards the other MechWarrior with something akin to dread.

Thom turned to reguard the warrior and their eyes met, and Thom hooked a thumb in the worker's direction. "Dis fu**ing guy." Then turned to walk off to talk to the 'girls.'


Where have I seen that face before...
Cees wracked his memory for the man, something distinctive about him, the limp mohawk... that accent.
Later. A mere curiosity. Time for the task at hand...

Once the men had reached the row of storage bays numbered 22M through 27M, Cees peeled his eyes for any details he could make out. They eventually stopped in front of a great sliding door with the giant sized numerals “25M” painted across its height and length.
“Here it is, I’ll open it up for you. Feel free to look wherever you want,” the storage master said.
Cocky. Cocky and sloppy.
Cees could see it. He’d had his suspicions over the logistics of the con, and they’d been confirmed. The bays were arranged in pairs, two bays per building. 22M and 23M, 24M and 25M and so on. Doors 24M and 25M had been swapped over. And the cleaner end of door 25M, otherwise shielded from the elements when flush in its own normal door, was now exposed.
You think you’re so clever...

The storage master produced a remote from a coverall pocket. Cees already had his hands in the pockets of his loose civvy cargos. He thumbed a short range scanner just in time. As soon as the other man pressed a button on a remote, the door started to slide open.
Not a complicated remote control unit. Good.
After the doors had completed their cycle, Cees strode into the bay moving straight to the back right corner. As he rounded the bulk of a burned out Victor, he slowed and made a show of visibly sighing and looking defeated.
“Well, I guess you’re right.” He turned back to the storage master, “it’s not here. Show me that manifest again?”




Just outside the Rust Bucket’s main entrance.
Harlech, Planet Outreach
Chaos March
4 December, 3060 – 20:44 Hrs

Thom Frankfurt. Warlockian, 34 years old. Mercenary, former part time bandit and short lived Solaris Grand Camp... before being stipped of his title for cheating. Current known affiliations with Rouge’ Armored Irregulars. Current whereabouts unknown...
Cees knew he’d seen this guy’s profile before. He’d stumbled over it when researching Solaris matches on a whim. Something about lone pilot tactics... he couldnt trace back the logic train.
No matter. He’s here now, and he’s an opportunity.

Cees closed the lid on the MercNet file currently on the screen of his noteputer and slipped it back into his shoulder satchel. Taking in a breath before he breached the threshold on the unsavory watering hole, he strode in, genuinely scowling at the aesthetic, noting with disgust the arrangement of armoured plates resembling a Trebuchet.
There, at the bar. Good.
Cees made his mark and made sure to sit at around the L bend of the bar from him, clearly within sight. He whipped out his noteputer and made about shoving the open MercNet file to the side of the screen with prejudice, appearing obstinant, opening up a page of known S07 servo control remote frequencies, copying the algorithms and queuing them to transfer to his pocket scanner and oscillator.
Sell it. Sell it to the last...

"Hey yo, you's eva get dat mech of yer's outta storage?"
Cees finally allowed himself the first victory grin of the day as he looked up.
“Not yet Thom, not yet. But that’s where you come in...”
He turned the noteputer around and showed him the open MercNet file on the man himself and the copying frequencies.
“Interested in going and getting it?”



Thom was caught off guard and it was easy to tell by the sudden set of his jaw and the way his eyes became two steely slivers. The look was very shrewd and calculating. Very...Liao.

Not sure what this guys angle is. Could be a bounty hunter? Nah he'd be shooting already, maybe another one of Dad's babysitters checking in on him. Nah couldn't be, he wouldn't have had need for the theatrics of having a mech locked up in storage... Need to buy time.

"Whoa der. You'sa have a plan on wat you's gonna do once you'sa get it out of da warehouse? Because if you's look about ders a whole bunch of FedCom bozoos around, and I's a don't tink they'll be taking da idea of a lone mech running amok too well wit da..." he waved his hand around in a circular motion as he searched for the right words. "delicate political situation."

The thuggish man then smirked and took a sip from his glass.

"So's let's cut through da bullshrimp, wat are you's atinking about?"


Cees watched the Warlockian’s reaction with something resembling glee. This was going better than he’d intended. He got the distinct impression from this man that they were on an intellectual par. He’d always liked Capellans...
Well, former Capellans. Technically.

“The brutes won’t be a problem,” Cees stated cheerfully, picking up the drink to take a sip, but not before doffing the glass to Thom in thanks.
Ok that was a mistake...
It took all of his bluffing effort and experience not to visibly recoil from the thick, vile liquid.
He put the glass down and managed a smile.
“My Uziel has the IFF transponder codes of an LAAF Lieutenant already loaded in. And I’m familiar with their protocols enough to talk my way past anyone asking questions. As for the political... situation,” Cees mimicked Thom's circular gesture, “that’s part of the reason I need to get myself off planet. Can’t have anyone looting storage bays for usable mechs if either side decide they need more hardware.”
He hazarded another sip at the drink to keep the familiar pretence up.
Slightly better second time around. How can anyone want to drink this?

“There’s a hauling dropship with a spare mech gantry leaving tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred I can book passage on,” he swivelled the noteputer to himself for a second, keying a tab with the flight details, before swivelling back to show Thom, “I can be off-world sooner than the thickheaded Loyalists can blink. However, you were looking to place a munitions order back at the Metal Works. Which means you’re planning, or on your way to an Op. If you’ve got a spare slot in your line-up...”

Before he could utter the committing words, something dropped in his gut. And it wasn’t the foul beer. He’d planned to sell the mech once he’d gotten off world, using the profits to set up his own consulting business, charging for tactical appraisals and logistical advice. It would be a slow start, a slower one with just the near ten mil he could get for his near pristine mech. A challenge, but not nearly as challenging and lucrative as climbing back into that cockpit and...
Cees blinked.
His acute memory flashed the image of his sister’s coffin being lowered into the ground before his mind’s eye.
No. Don’t scowl, no emotion. Sell the offer.
“I'd like to offer my services,” he instantly and deliberately switched his smile to a cold, even tempered gaze, locking eye contact with the other man, “No...bullshrimp.”


Thom nodded as the man spoke, slowly revealing peeks of his plan to steal this mech that rightfully (or not) his. The man's scheme seemed doable, albeit risky. But, the chance of having the empty slot in the Terror's roster filled swayed whatever conservative thoughts he may have had to the repercussions of aiding in the possible theft of a battlemech.

"As a matter's of fact, der is a hole in my's roster. But I'msa gonna need to knows a bit more about ya before's I'sa just go's off an break who knows how many laws, and possibly hurt whateva relations I'sa have wit da current government here. For starters is dat mech yours like you's say it is? An if so, how much combat have you'sa seen?"

The merc then took a healthy pull from his glass and smirked as the albino looked on with a look of distaste.


He keeps drinking it like he enjoys it... ugh...
The other schemer’s position was reasonable. And indeed, on the face of it, Cees’ plan was highly illegal. He knew that. The question was, how to sell it?
He’s clever, he’ll know he’s being lied to. A believable half truth then. He’ll know it’s not everything, but he’ll respect that every man has his secrets...

“For ... starters,” he pushed the 2/3 full glass of dark beer away from him on the countertop, skimming it along its own precipitation, “I hate whatever concoction this is, thank you for the gesture but Blake’s blood it’s aweful. I hope you appreciate my honesty, you strike me as a man who doesn’t like pretence. And rightfully so. ”
He clasped and placed his hands squarely in front of his noteputer and looked at Thom plainly. “My name is Cees Anthoniessen-Bradford. I’ve managed to keep the second half of my ... prestigious surname, under wraps throughout my activities here,” he inclined his hand about himself, “though people may still recognise me, rather hard to miss, as you can tell. Aside from my professional experience and that I’m still technically a Lieutenant in the LAAF, that’s as about much as I’m saying about myself, just to be safe. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up again in public.”

He brought the specs and a picture of his Uziel, complete with distinctive Wolf warpaint, up onto the noteputer’s screen before swivelling it again.
“My mech is practically brand new. It’s had some armour replaced and it took a particularly bad hit from an AC20 in the right torso. Gyroscope had to be re-stabilised. The MG bin is currently empty and will need re-loading, SRMs are still stocked and I’ve mounted a c3 Slave unit. That’s it. It’s a solid unit.”

He swivelled the noteputer back to himself and keyed up an image he’d hoped he’d not have to use.
“As for my own combat experience...” he blinked and forced himself to look at the picture. It had been used in the Coventry Media as a poster of victory over the Clanners, post invasion, 3058.
Working its way around the sphere, by some point or another, few hadn’t at least seen it in passing.
It had been taken by an opportunistic and advancing footslogger, who had apparently sold the shot for a small fortune. In the foreground was a wrecked and smouldering Jade Falcon Vulture, Clan emblem clear to see. Just behind and to the left was a Battlemaster, in a similar state, cockpit and Fed Com badge blackened and torso ruptured by what could only have been an ammunition explosion.

Standing over the two mechs, cast against a rising sun, was a third, battlescarred and looking down at the evidence of battle, wolf warpaint snarling at the defeated clanner.

It was known as The White Wolf of Coventry. An Uziel. Cees’ Uziel.

The photographer had doctored the photo and pasted a worn Lyran emblem onto his mech, adding to the symbolism. It was the talk of the Alliance for a while.
What people hadn’t heard was the comm. garbled sound of his hated sister burning to death, trapped inside her own cockpit. The sound had drowned out the heat and scream of his systems as he’d ripped into the clan mech, standing, taking hits and pummelling it with strike after strike of PPC and SRM fire. Briefly, there in the bar, it drowned out his own thoughts.

Sell it SELL IT.
He halved the size of the image and brought his specs file up underneath it on the screen, before swivelling the screen back for Thom to see.
“...I think the evidence speaks for itself.”


He doesn’t like Timburki Dark? How is that even possible?

"Sorry's you'sa don't like it? You's don't?" Thom asked incuriously in an almost hurt matter. With that he gestured to the barkeep to come on over.

"Hey yo, Barkeep! Git dis guy whateva he wants." He then started looking over Cees' noteputer attempting to make mental notes but failing miserably, but none the less he read on. With lips mumbling as he half slured half spoked in his outlandish accent.

"Lieutenant?" the Warlockian cackled like some insidious master plan was coming together. "dat means dat you's got some academy training, right?" The mercenary then went back to look over the data on the noteputer, mostly post battle assessments and statistics, but did show a famous picture of an Uziel standing triumphantly over the carcasses of a Battlemaster and Falcon Vulture. Thom then stopped reading to take another pull from his glass, skewering Clees the whole time. After settling his now empty glass down he kept the stare on, as if he was attempting to stare straight into the albino's soul.

"I'sa won't be muttering yer name anymore den necessary. We's already got one big name wit da group. So, are you'sa good wit numbers?" he suddenly asked fishing for some of Cees' more academic knowledge.

Fantastic, a company commander who can't count.
As the bartender grumpily sauntered over, Cees studied the odd man closer.
Initially, he simply thought that Thom’s mannerisms were due to his eccentricity. Now however, it became apparent that coupled with his talent for ruining the English language, he was also firmly drunk.
Do I even need to try? Despite the... unsavoury memories, this sell is a complete walkover...

“Just a scotch please. On the rocks,” at least he could drink the fiery liquid without retching.

Hell, with the way he’s knocking them back, I’d be surprised if he remembers my name come the morning.
“Particularly. If you’re happy to let me take a look at your books, I should be able to assist in that respect as well... Though it may increase my principal sign on rate somewhat,” he grinned mirthlessly as he emphasized his last statement, ensuring it penetrated Thom’s inebriated haze.

"Im'sa not expecting ya to wrestle with dis paper tiger out of the kindness of yer heart. You'lls be paid fer it. Ting is I'sa need a fighter dat can help running da business end of tings. I'sa got warriors, and I's got some eggheads. I'sa don't have too many warrior-eggheads."

Thom paused and grabbed a handful of pretzels from a nearby bowl and set upon tossing them into his mouth.
“it'd be usefull to have a mech as fast as your's providing target info for da slow mechs wit da big guns."


Hmm...
So his Uziel would be among the fastest mechs in the unit. No dedicated scouts meant either operating next to blind, or they were heavy enough to survive a stand up slugging match. He didn’t fancy either option, the Lyran long line being his most despised tactic. A heavy reliance on good intel or ground pounders then.
Hopefully.

Taking a sip at his scotch and wincing slightly at the burn of the straight spirit, Cees smiled at the prospect of getting paid for the administrative duties. Most people would dread the thought of organising the logistics of a mech company. Cees was genuinely excited.
“Fantastic. Some forewarning however, I’m not a trained scout. I’ll simply be calling targets if you push me up front. My loadout’s more dedicated fast fire support after all.”
Another sip, half finishing the drink.
“So. I have to ask, what exactly am I getting myself into here?”


"Well a I can'ts say too much, da RAI are playing dis one close to der chests."

He nodded like that was all he could say, but he didn't want to leave the albino totally in the dark.

"It's a raid, but we's going en force an gonna be tangoing wit some old friends of yers." He pointed at the man's noteputer like that explaned everything. "We's helping dem with mech support an dey's ahelping us with well everything else. It'sa smash an grab, but we's gonna be holding da place while dey snatch up loot. But, full salvage rights an I's don't know about you's but I's wouldn't mind having one of dem new vat-brat missile launchers..."

He trailed off suddenly and skeward Clees with something akin to interest.

"So you's up for another bout wit da Falcons?"


Cees absorbed the rest of the information subconsciously, storing it away for later assessment. Thom kept talking, but right at that moment, it was all he could do to keep snarling back at the man.
Clans. Falcons. Victory. Humiliation... Stasia.

Rage. Pure, unfiltered, unrequited rage boiled inside him.
Mere mention of the scum who robbed him of his rightful superiority over... her, would normally make his striking face curl into an animalistic visage. The prospect of fighting them again however...

Now. Now emotion is suitable.

Cees sat and stared at Thom for a few, full, awkward seconds before uttering a single word. It dripped with malice, venom and was laced with anticipation, accompanied by a demonic grin.

“Yes.”


Thom chuckled upon the man's answer dripping with venom and hatred, he was slowly growing fond of the freak.

"You know's da way you's says dat would make most commanders worried. But's not me, I feel da same way about dem test-tube babies. So's I'lls make you's a deal, we's awatch each others back an try to keeps one another from foolishly gettin demselves killed. Deal?"



The grin was still plastered on Cees face as he raised the last of his scotch and saluted the other man, “Deal.”
He knocked the last bit back and winced again, breaking his expression.

Ok. Calm. Be calm. Not fighting them yet...
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and opened them again, exhaling and focusing back on Thom with the same cold, calculating look as before the mention of the Falcons.
“First things first though. I need to get my mech back. And yes, it’s mine. I own it. The storage master was trying to swindle me out of it back at the Metal Works. We’ll just be... stealing it back.”

He swivelled the noteputer back to himself and signalled for Thom to come and look over his shoulder. He brought Thom up to speed with what occurred back at the storage bay once he and the storage master were out of his sight.

“So. Plan is, sneak back in there, open the doors and walk right back out with the mech. I have the door remote frequency and a deciphering override if there’s encryption on it,” he pulled the frequency back up and placed his scanner/oscillator on the counter next to the noteputer, “I reported the ‘theft’ to the authorities with him and pulled some strings to ensure the bay is getting investigated tomorrow morning at 10am. Which means...” he pulled up an info file on the foot-clamps next to another file on the loading and moving cranes standard across HMW bays, “ he’ll need to get it out of the clamps and move it tomorrow morning once his cranes disengage their anti-theft protocols at 9pm.”
He grinned to himself at the irony.

“He’ll have spent an hour using the mag-lock key I saw present in the bay to dis-engage the maglocks on the clamps, 4 hours cutting through the clamp locks themselves, needing 2 more to complete the job and another half hour to lock down and secure the bay. Which puts our window to get in and out...” he did the simple calculation quickly, but slow enough for Thom to follow on the screen, “between 0315 and 0600, when the first crews begin their rotations.”
He finished the brief leaving the work schedule acquired from the foreman of the storage bays open on the screen.
Ridiculously easy bribe...

“I could pull this off by myself, however I’d feel a lot better with someone like yourself watching my back while I work, in case of any complications...”
He grinned mischievously up at Thom, “What do you say?”

"It sounds like you's have dis all thought out. But what do you'sa want me to do? Hold dem up wit a SMG or act like an irate customer missing some ordered parts? Heh I'ms sure dat wit da authorities bond to show's up at anytime dey'd want me happy an quiet for sure... Or's I could always just waddle my’s Marauder through the place..."

Cees smirked.
I’d pay to see that...
“No, thank you, but if you’ve got an SMG, then bring one. We shouldn’t need it however. The storage facilities are only lightly guarded. Understandable, pretty much everything in there is bolted down or locked up tight. The only real obstacle is walking the mech out. I’ll just have to adapt to whatever security they have and try not to shoot anyone.”
He pulled up a map of the Storage facility and the surrounding streets, pointing to a corner on the southeast side. “Meet me here at 0300. By then I’ll have found the patrol route of any guards and the best point of entry. And... err...” He regarded Thom’s clothes... “you know what? you’ll be fine. Just make this the last one of these if you please,” he pushed the rest of his unfinished Timburki Dark over on the bar.


"Fair enough." Thom downed the last of his beer and made a note in his noteputer to remind his drunken *** that he had a place to be at 0315.

"Okay's I'msa gonna go take a nap an I'lls see you's in da morn."

With that Thom got up and left the bar, only stopping long enough to pay his tab and retrieve his RAI card.


Cees watched Thom leave before losing his noteputer and packing it away. He waited until two other patrons had left before exiting the bar and took a winding path back to the small hotel in which he was staying.
Can never be too careful...

Opening the door to his spartanly furnished room, he did his usual once over check of locations of items in the room, ensuring nothing had been moved, searched through or otherwise disturbed.
He nodded to himself in satisfaction and set about packing all of his things into a black backpack. There wasn’t much, the most important being his regular tool of the trade. It was a large harddrive full of encryption algorithms, stored codes, news files and dossiers, a library for recent current events, possible work opportunities and means to exploit them. Ruggedized against any conceivable event, he still neatly packed his clothes and personal effects around it, hoping to add extra cushioning.

He changed out of his normal civilian gear and donned a skin-tight composite material jumpsuit, designed to regulate body temperature, wick moisture and sweat from his skin, and compress his muscles and diaphragm to increase cardio performance and recovery. Over this, he slipped on fitted black cargos and a combat webbing vest, adorned with climbing gear, lockpick belt, (manual and electronic) and a slip under the backplate for his noteputer, which he slid in. Next, he strapped his old LAAF service pistol’s holster to his leg and clipped the pack onto his webbing. He confirmed a good charge on the pistol’s magazine and holstered it.

Right, time to go to work...


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

Outside Harlech Metal Works storage yards.
Harlech, Planet Outreach
Chaos March
5 December, 3060 – 03:14 Hrs


Cees knelt behind the low cover provided by a roadside barrier. Keeping his head down, he glanced at his wristwatch, the dial read 03:14.
Good. Thom would be here soon. The secondary timer on the digital display had already reset and was counting down from 12 minutes 30 seconds again. That was their window to get in. There was no assigned guard for the main gate, just two patrols of two people, moving in opposite directions around the compound, rendezvousing at the gate as their crossover point.
Peering up over the barrier, he watched as the patrols rounded the corners of the entrance and admin block and out of sight.

He frowned though, between the darkness of his cover and the gate was still 50 metres of open, well lit ground. Traversing it would be fine, but he had to get it open before making the dash.
The gate itself was controlled by yet another remote control. He’d managed to isolate the frequency used by the control panel on the gate by throwing some trash over the fence and fooling a guard into opening the gate to check it out. The transmission from the guard’s remote had been too brief however to process the encryption. He’d gotten the profile from the burst transmission however and his noteputer was busy isolating the code. According to his custom written, and very expensive decryption and emulation program, it’d be done in 8 minutes. That left them with narrow opening this patrol round, however he didn’t want to leave the entry much later.
The unsettling part of the heist was the uncertainty of the state of his mech once they’d gotten in. The storage master may well have cut the mech out of it’s clamps, but he could have done any number of things to the mech itself... apart from turning it on. He allowed himself a grin at the prospect of the swindler attempting to move the mech under its own steam, only to have it deliver an electric shock through the crash couch if the incorrect passcode was entered on powerup.
Just try it...
He waited another minute before popping his head up and scanning the surrounds, keeping an eye out for Thom, from whatever direction he was approaching from.
Come on... be on time...


"Stumblin through da streets, drunk as funk, searchin for an orifice's dough I'sa tink I'ms outta luck..." Thom trailed off is rendition of an Ancient Terran punk song as he exited the alley that deposited him onto the street leading up to the HMW warehouse.

Sighing heavily he attempted to ready himself as well as he could, but the pounding in his head wasn't helping. He stopped for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing himself for drinking himself to the point where he'd be hung over. But this wasn't a well thought out plan from his perspective, if he'd known that he'd be doing anything like this he'd have stayed far away from any forms of alcohol... But this wasn't planned. And he was desperate to have the hole in his roster filled. And if Cees was everything he'd said he was, he'd be an excellent XO. And that afford Thom with more opportunities to manage his band of misfits and keep an eye on the bunch of cut-throats while avoiding the dull boring part of the job. Win win for him. Well, that was if he didn't end up locked up in some a stockade by the time the sun came up. With a nervous look at his chronometer he doubled his pace and made haste for the building.

With a sigh he reached into his leather jacket and thumbed of the strap over his holstered Nakjama laser pistol and made sure it was readily available if things didn't go accordingly to plan. One could never be too safe afterall...


Cees saw a figure approach from the far end of the street. He slowly ducked down behind the barrier again, careful not to make any sudden movements and startle the person. So far, the street in the industrial district had been clear of third parties stumbling through. At this hour of the morning, anyone coming past would be moving with a purpose.
As more light was cast on the figure, he caught a glimpse of a printed shirt under a jacket and smiled.
Good, he's here...
He waited a moment longer to completely identify the figure and checked the time again 03:16.
Not too bad.
He stood and waved a half-jogging Thom over to his hiding spot. As he approached, he noted the pained look on the man’s face.
“Morning, I take it you slept well then?” he asked with a hint of a grin.


"Not really." Thom gave the albino a crooked smile as he looked in the direction of the warehouse.

"Sorry's I'ms late. My zipper got stuck." The Warlockian offered like that explained his tardiness while hunkering down next to the Lyran.

"Okais, so's how we'sa doing dis?" Thom asked while flipping off the safety for his Nakjama laser pistol.


“We’re walking in, and out the front door,” Cees smirked, “Well, more a skulking dash in and a casual but loud walk out. I’ve almost got...”
He waited another two seconds for the progress bar on the emulation software to fill before watching a similar, but near instant process compete on his oscillator.
“There, Ok. I’ve got the gate’s control encryption. The guards will be back in...” he glanced at his watch, “approximately ten minutes. Hopefully we can be in and out by then. If not, we’ll have to wait for their next pass.”

He eyed the distance between their two crouched selves and the gate again tentatively. He enjoyed few things more than simply walking into somewhere as if he worked there, doing a job and walking right back out. This would be slightly different however.
He detached the two devices and slipped the noteputer back into the dedicated pouch in his pack, keying an “open” command with his oscillator with his other hand. Across the way, the gate clunked and began opening with a droning whirr.
I swear it wasn’t that loud when the guard opened it...

“Low, quiet, fast. To the dark behind the gatehouse. Go.”
Cees rounded the barricade and lead the nervous charge over the open ground. He reached the dark patch beyond the gatehouse without incident and eyed off the row of storage bays where his mech was stored. There was a good shadow-hopping route over there. Perfect. He looked back to see if Thom had followed in a similar fashion... and to ensure he was past the gate before closing it again.

Thom caught up to him just as the gates slid back closed. He paused momentarily, Thom’s and his own breathing now sounding louder than the gate.
No sign of the guards. Good.

He used a silent military sign at Thom to stay quiet and follow, but got a confused tilt of the head and an opening mouth to reply in return.
Okay, so his academy training really is as bad as he says...
Cees quickly put a finger to his lips and pointed at each shadow on the way to the row in turn, hoping he’d catch on.
Thom gave him a crooked grin of realisation and a thumbs up.
Rolling his eyes as he turned back to the path ahead, he made a low dash to the next shadowy patch of cover. When it was clear Thom was following, he hopped along the line until he reached the juncture where the storage master had lead him along the row of bays.
There it was, Bay 25. Door back on the correct side again. He pointed again at the bay so Thom could see their destination. Another grin and a nod back.
He’s enjoying this...
Cees grimaced subtly to himself, despite his hideous butchering of the English language and poor sense of style, he was growing to like this man.
First getting back in a mech and now making a friend? I really am going crazy.

He skulked across the row of doors until they eventually came to number 25. Pulling out his oscillator, he thumbed through codes until he brought up the code the storage master had used for the door.
Hope this makes less noise than the main gate...

The grinding screech of six huge doors opening at once proved him horribly wrong. It was loud enough to make Thom clap his hands over his ears and given how many concerts the punk styled man had most likely attended over the years, that was pretty damn loud.
Startled, he quickly hit the code again, reversing the door’s motors and shutting them all.
“Let’s not do that again,” he said, looking over apologetically at Thom. He still had his hands over his ears,“Wha?” he asked loudly.
Cees scowled and pulled the other man’s hands away from his head.
“I said, lets not do that again. Cover me. I’ll need to isolate the problem. And they probably know we’re here now, or they’re on their way to check out the noise.”
“Yeah, righ’. You’s just gets da right door open. I’lls keep dem off us.” he said drawing his pistol and peering with almost ridiculous intensity back the way they’d come.
He whipped out his noteputer and jacked the oscillator in, pulling up the code up from a pre-prepared hotkey and set the computer about analysing it. He’d matched the code he’d pulled from the storage master’s remote with a number of other possible control units in the event that it carried a level of encryption. His research had indicated that it being a simple unit prevented an encryption on the carrier signal, evidently he was wrong.
A customised set up then. Damn.
The computer finished analysing it and again came to the same conclusion. How then?
He glanced at his watch, precious seconds slipped away.
Damn! Damn! Damn!

“Yo, what if’s we just open dem up again and slip through dis one then jus close dem again? Guards won’ know which one’s we’s in.”

Cees looked up from the computer and wasted more vital seconds staring at the man, who was now looking sideways at him and cocking an eyebrow in his direction.

...he’s a genius. I should have thought of that.
“Thom. You’re a genius, but I’d already thought of that. There’s no guarantee it’ll work again if it’s encrypted.” It was a feeble excuse, but still a plausible one.
“Right now, I’s don’ think it could hurt yeah?”
He blinked at the strange man.
Yeah, I like this guy. Dammit.

“Okay.” he said simply and detached the oscillator again, thumbing the control. The six doors began opening again with the same screeching sound. He closed and slotted his noteputer back into his pack and tapped Thom on the shoulder, who was still looking at the guards’ anticipated direction.
“Come on.”
Once they were through the narrow gap between bulkhead and door, he thumbed the control again, driving it back shut. Just before they were enveloped in darkness, he flicked on his chest mounted flashlight and pocketed the oscillator.
“With any luck, hearing two sounds, they might think we’re still outside. Now...”
He swept across the storage bay with the beam of light, towards the back right corner. The light settled on a pair of two-toed feet, disengaged and cut loose heavy clamps resting either side of them.

Yes.

He leaned back and confirmed his conclusion. There it was, white wolf emblem still near pristine on the side of the cockpit pod.
His Uziel.
“Quickly,” he barked in a loud whisper and ran over to the feet. He’d already assessed from stock pictures where he needed to make hand and foot holds to climb up to the cockpit and trigger the manual canopy release. The batteries may still have had charge after three years, but he’d removed the remote cockpit release from the auxiliary power systems intentionally upon acquiring the mech, along with the rungs for scaling up to the cockpit. Ironically, as a theft deterrent. Back then the main capacitors had held charge for more than long enough for his customised remote to work.
“I’ll let you up in a bit, I need a minute to climb up first,” he looked back at Thom for an ok and got squinted nod in response, “Keep an ear out.”
He looked back up at the mech and spotted his first hand hold.
After almost another minute he’d reached the side of the cockpit and clipped himself onto the bottom half with a climbing hook.
He depressed a hidden switch beneath the lip of an armour plate and popped the manual release panel open. After punching in his old PIN, the hatch actuators groaned and released the seals on the cockpit with a suck and pop.
Reaching up and grabbing a handle on the inside of the glass canopy, he detached and swung himself onto the command couch.
“I’m in,” he called again in a harsh whisper, “I’m sending down a zip line on a motor. Hold the button on the handle and It’ll winch you up.”
He took the made to order winch from its compartment under the couch, clipping and clamping it onto its terminal on the canopy over his head. As he switched it on and waited for it to draw power from the auxiliaries, he took a moment to glance around the cockpit of his old mech, memories of the last time he sat here flooding back in.
No! Not now. Later. Deal with it later.

“I’s cant see nothin’ down here. Got a light?”
Cees blinked again, looking around for some way to illuminate the floor for Thom.
Come on. Get. It. Together.
“I’m dropping my flashlight. Get ready to catch.”
He took the light out of its pouch on his chest and leaned over the side of the cockpit, holding it out.
“Okays,” Thom said, squinting again against the light.
He dropped it and leaned back, not having enough time to visually confirm if Thom had managed to catch it. A smack and a metallic clunk confirmed his suspicions.
“Sorry,” he called and set about detaching his pack and tossing it to the back of the cockpit space, “Line’s coming down.”
Pressing a button on the winch, he fed the handle down the side of the cockpit, immediately beginning to activate the backup and then primary systems of the mech. A cold start like this would take another minute at least. The guards would be outside the doors by the time he was ready to walk out. He heard the winch reach the bottom and begin its ascent back up.

Almost too late, he started and called out,”Swing your legs near the top, you’ll crack your skull on the armor otherwise.”
A buck in the line followed by a hand grabbing the lip of the cockpit made him sigh in relief.
“Think It’sa bit late for that,” Thom grumbled and swung into the cramped space behind the couch, rubbing his head.
“Sorry,” he said again, genuinely this time, flipping the final switch in the cold start sequence and hitting the canopy’s close control.
The mech powered up, but the boards remained red. Cees disliked verbal command interfaces, much preferring to manage everything himself. As a result, he’d disabled the b!tching betty auto startup sequence and voice code lock. Instead he reached under the couch in front of him and pressed three hidden buttons simultaneously, then again, exactly two counts later. If he didn't get it right, the chair would deliver him a nasty electric shock.
He chuffed as the boards went green and he punched on all systems, including weapons. He caught the PPCs though before their capacitors could pull charge from the reactor. The noise of the systems charging would be too loud at this point. He could still hold the element of surprise on the guards outside once all the doors opened at once.
“Okay. Here we go.” he said at full volume, donning his neurohelmet.
Lets see if I can’t remember how to do this...

Expecting the wave of nausea to strike him as the neurohelmet drew on his sense of balance to stabilise the gyro, he still lurched slightly as it kicked him in the gut. He could never get used to the sensation. Clutching the control stick, he wiggled it to test the twist of the torso and hit the control again on his oscillator.
That same grinding screech of metal on metal could be heard through the thick, reinforced glass of the cockpit. Cees throttled up to a walk and slowly turned and approached the growing gap between door and bay.

Nothing yet in the dimly lit space beyond the bay, a good sign that he could still maintain the surprise advantage. The guards would eventually spot him, but he could get a good lead on them back to the gate this way.
Cees held his breath as he pushed the throttle forward, twisted his torso to the side facing the main gate and took the Uziel into a slow canter through the gap.
He judged it correctly. Just. The bulkhead passed mere feet in front of him and he immediately pushed the drive pedals to bring his legs back to match his torso.
Nothing in front of him. Good.

He flicked on his vision strip and took a glance at the area behind him in the compressed image. There they were, two guards at the far end of the row, turning to face the fleeing mech. A mischievous grin inched its way onto Cees’ face. Walking in and out the front door undetected was indeed his favourite heist method, but he did still enjoy watching his helpless marks realise they’d been had. He saw one point and break into a run after them, closely followed by their partner as he reached the end of the row and turned the corner to the main gate.
Slightly more nausea kicked him as he used his balance to keep the mech from skidding on the unyielding tarmac road round the turn. He throttled up to a run now to close the distance to the gate, slowing eventually as he came to it, keying his oscillator again in time to allow him the clearance to get through.

Once through the gate, he keyed the oscillator again, closing it behind him and hopefully giving the guards a final obstacle in their pursuit.
That was much closer than I would have liked.
He set the mech into a steady canter down the wide, straight industrial road.
“Okay,” he said, with a thinly veiled sigh of relief, pulling up a three year old, but still hopefully current map of the surrounding area on the main console, “where’s your dropship?”
He peered around and back to Thom, seeing the still pained expression on his face, “And err... are you alright?”

Damn. I actually feel bad too.


"Yeah's I's okay, just knocked myself's a good one on yer mech dat's all." The Warlockian rubbed at the short stubble on the side of his head where a knot the size of a goose eggs was forming. He then looked around the cockpit of the Uziel with a appraising eye while holding onto the back of the command console and bulkhead with a white knuckled grip.

"Damn, I'sa forgot how tiny des medium's cockpit's can be. Oh yeah, da 'Pride is out on da Spaceport Tarmac. Fifth ship out, you's can'ts miss it, it's da Yellow Union wit-" he chanced a glance at his chronometer and cracked a crooked grin, "a bunch o' guys most likely just finishing wit loading it's up."

Thom then leaned down to look through the ballistic ferro-glass canopy at the passing scenery as Cees directed the Uziel towards the rapidly growing eggshaped structures in the distance.

"So where'd you's learn at dat fancy hacker stuff? You's actually paid attention during you're technical classes?"

Chuckling, Thom then stood back up and returned to looking the smallish cockpit over.

Cees chuckled back, “Yes. Yes I did. Though i’ve picked up most of what I know on the job. They certainly didn’t teach us how to break into a secure compound in the academy.”
Though they really should have. Guerrilla warfare tactics would have been handy for the students to know... and I wouldn't have had to waste my time teaching it to them when they -actually- needed it.

They were making steady progress towards the spaceport. He’d taken the mech on one or two turns to break line of sight with the storage facility’s gate, but stuck to the main roads. Now that they were clear, he could pretend they were just minding their own business on the way to a dropship.
He checked his vision stip again out of habit, still nothing behind them... suddenly though, he saw movement in the compressed spot right in front of them. Almost too late, he flicked it away and pulled back to a slow walk.

An APC had pulled in front of them, not quite barring their path on the wide road, but the official Outreach sigill on the side of the vehicle made its intentions quite clear.
A light on his comm board lit up, requesting a channel.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured over his shoulder, “I’ll handle it.”
Cees punched the open channel button on the comm board and put his game face on.
The patrol officer in the APC couldn’t see him, but Cees believed it always helped to add tone to his voice.
“Yes?” he asked in the most sardonic and bothered tone he could muster.
“Unidentified pilot, this is Officer Mason of the HCPD. You are ordered to power down and submit to a search of your battlemech.”
Not missing a beat, Cees fired back, “Under whose authority Officer? I guarantee you, I do not fall under your jurisdiction.”
The officer seemed to pause for a moment.
Good, on the back foot already.
“Under the authority of the Dragoons kid, who do you think?”
Cees grinned, this might actually be fun, “Really, Uncle Freddy got old Jamie himself to tell you to come down here, at this hour of the morning, to search my mech, for no good reason?”
Another pause, the officer’s previous authoritarian tone slightly shaken, “Wh- what?”
“Look, officer, I’m going to ignore the fact that you held up a lieutenant of the LAAF while on official business. I’m even going to ignore the fact that you didn’t recognise the poster mech for repelling the Clan incursion of ‘58. But what I will -not- ignore, is your car number when I crush it flat it while I continue on my way. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
To drive home the point, he took one step forward with his mech.
“Wait! wait... please sir, just one moment,” the officer sounded sufficiently cowed.
An alert on his sensor screens let Cees know that his mech was being actively scanned. His IFF was automatically activated on startup and would have been detectable by a passive scan. It was true that his transponder code was three years old, however he knew that the LAAF hadn't refreshed their code protocols in that time. It struck him then that the fact that the APC hadn’t immediately been able to tell his name and rank was a worrying fact. Perhaps since his mech had dropped off of the grid, the city garrison had taken his code out of their general systems. Chances were that this officer wouldn’t report this incident in, but if he did, it might raise a red flag among the local authorities, which might get back to...
“Lieutenant Bradbury, sir,” the officer’s fearful tone broke through Cees’ reverie, “I won’t keep you any longer. Please accept my humble apologies.”
“Of course officer, you’re just doing your job” Cees’ game face was still up, but he still allowed himself a smirk, he was in character after all, “kindly move your vehicle out of the way?”
The APC backed up, turned and raced off down a perpendicular street.

“I did say I could talk my way out of any eventuality,” he smugly stated back over his shoulder to Thom, “and I hope you don’t mind, but that was rather enjoyable.”
He turned back to face him as he throttled back up, and was met by a cheeky grin and a shake of the head.
“We’ll have a clean run to the dropship from here.”
He turned back to the road and directed the Uziel the next few kilometres to the entrance to the spaceport.

Thom was right. The dropship was definitely hard to miss. Cees cringed as he rounded the corner of the gantry line.
“Oh Blake’s blood man... Really?”
The Union class dropship was painted a disgusting shade of mustard yellow with a horribly styled ancient greek decal on the side.
It’s not even classically accurate...
Again, he leaned back to face Thom,
“What? You’s don't like it?”
“No, I just adore the paint scheme... just please tell me that the decor theme isn't mirrored on the inside?”
Thom laughed as they walked up to the ramp to the ship’s storage bay.
“Ok, perhaps I’d better let you out here?” Cees said as the workers finishing loading the dropship turned to face the new-coming mech with suspicion, “And perhaps chaperone me in? I don't think those burly fellows would take kindly to an intruder.“
Thom laughed again as Cees popped the hatch onthe cockpit. “Same as before, take the winch handle and press the button.”


Thom looked over he should to answer the albino's question as he made his way towards the ajar hatch.

"Nah, most of da insides on da ship are relatively new's only likes a..uh, fourteen years old." He stopped hanging half in and out of the hatch. "We's been slowly fixing it up over da years since da Falcon's attacked Barcelona. Dis bucket barely held together as we's went through the atmosphere. Sit tight, I'll get da techs to direct you's to yer bay." Thom then climbed out onto the Mech's shoulder to address the on looking laborers and technicians.

"HEY YOU'S GUYS!!" Thom cackled as the group of men stood looking on dumbfounded as he swung off the mechs shoulder and flew down the winch's cable to the ground below. He then strutter-stepped up to the trio of Battle Magic technicians he hired on at Outreach. The one named Eugene said something in his odd dialect while smiling at the Uziel.

"Eh?" Thom asked, cocking an eyebrow. The man repeated himself louder and clearer but still the Warlockian was unable to decipher the funky accent. "He says that that Uziel is a beautiful design." Added the deep voiced Asian technician who Thom regarded then turned to look over the Uziel.

"Yeah's it is a Purdy ting. Dis our new pilot, Cees. Have him' stow his mech in da spare gantry,” the mercenary then stooped down upon his customary spot at the edge of the gangplank as one of the Battle Magic techs directed the 50 ton mech to it's berth with well practiced hand gestures. Thom then leaned against the bulkhead as the other techs continued securing the supplies he ordered from Harlech Metal Works.

Cees eyeballed the innards of the Pride while absentmindedly following the directions of the technician guiding him to the cubical where his Uziel would be stored, and from what he'd seen Thom's explanation of everything being fairly new was accurate. But Cees wasn't sure of what to make of the drop ship which seemed to be caught somewhere halfway between a cargo freighter and an military ship. While two of the mechbays were dominated with mech cubicles the third was comprised of an elaborate series of ferro titanium storage racking that was slowly being filled with the supplies that knuckle dragging Warlockian had been procuring.

And from the sight of it, it appeared that the mercenary was preparing for a drawn out engagement. Armored plating, both ferro-fiberous and standard plate filled a good portion. A dozen heat sinks laid strapped down as well as numerous containers holding the various munitions that the Thom's Terrors would be using on their Op. Begrudgingly he nodded in satisfaction, at least it seemed that the man knew how to prepare for a fight. With that thought in mind he backed his Uziel into the cubical and began his shut down sequence. When that was finished he hopped on out and descended to the floor to be greeted by a greasy jump suited technical with a shrimp eating grin. The man muttered something in some outlandish dialect. Cees looked like he was just about to ask the man to spit the d*ck out of his mouth and repeat himself when Thom interjected.

"Yo. Eugene here's will take it from ahere, Let me shows you's to yer bunk."

#9 Sparks Murphey

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Posted 23 May 2013 - 09:39 PM

Mech Bay 2
Union Class Dropship Achilles Pride
Deep Space
28 February, 3061 -- 08:59 Hrs

Even after more than two decades of military space travel, zero-G still freaked Adrianna out. Like right now, when her inner ear was telling her she was “falling” head first into the tall bay that held her Centurion. She grabbed a handhold on her way past the big machine’s shoulder, and anchored herself to it’s arm with her magboots.

On the other side of the Centurion, her Quickscell-assigned tech, Zoé Winchester, floated along side the machine’s right arm. The panels covering the rotary autocannon were slid open, and a collection of tools hung in the air around her. Adrianna felt mildly jealous. This was Zoé’s first tour as a combat tech, and already she seemed at home in the DropShip’s bay.

“How are the repairs going?” Arianna asked.

“Got the replacement S9-45 in place fine,” the young tech replied, “but I'm still not sure what was causing the surges. Until we can find the source, I'm keeping the MASC disconnected for safety.”

Arianna glanced down at the dents in the bay floor left by the Centurion earlier unexpected spasm. She was glad no one had been in the way when that 20 volt surge had hit the actuator rail. Glader still that Quickscell were picking up the bill for the damage. This Centurion made her feel like an horse breaker, and the 'Mech itself her most difficult charge. Despite the best efforts of Zoé and herself, the Centurion did not want to be tamed.

“Any idea when it'll be back online?”

“If I knew where the problem was, I could tell you,” Zoé replied, “Of course, if I knew where the problem was, I have fixed it already.”

The bay's speakers crackled to life, cutting off Adrianna’s response.

Hey's is dis ting, even on? It is? Oh s**t.. ahem.. Dis is Major Thom to ground control, Im’sa stepping throughs da door, an I’msa floating en da most particular of way, an da starts look avery different today...uh.. someting, someting, and Planet Earth es very blue?” The funky accent trailed off momentarily and was replaced by a slight chuckle.

Hey Yo’s all MechWarriors, we’sa having a mission briefing within da hour, I’lls be filling yous en on dis latest bit of info dat the Irregulars have bless us with... You’s know da place, so get yer a$$es der before 10:00, I’sa ain’t waiting for you if yer late. Savy?

The silence that followed was broken by another voice. “Ah, hello? Anybody? Little help here?” Gently spinning through the bay was the lanky form of Li-Hua Taishu, who’d obviously become detached from her Scorpion.

“Hang on, I'll get a cable,” Adrianna said, pushing herself ‘down’ towards the equipment stores at the foot of the Centurion.

“Never mind that. Here, catch,” Zoé said, bracing herself and giving her toolbox a shove towards Li. Adrianna wondered for a moment what was in it that would help the stranded MechWarrior, until she realised it was the toolbox itself. It had to weigh 10 kilograms, and it's momentum added to Li's should be enough to carry both back to the Scorpion. Assuming Li caught it, that was. Another way Zoé was adapting to freefall embarrassingly fast.

#10 The Shepherd

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Posted 26 May 2013 - 05:21 AM

Crew quarters
Union Class Dropship, Achilles Pride
Deep Space
28 February, 3061 -- 09:00hrs Hrs

Two pale hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee, drinking in its warmth. Highly susceptible to extremes in temperature, Cees relished the almost sickening sensation that crept up his arms. He hated extended space travel. Not for the Zero G, he’d forced himself to cope with the same kick in the gut over and over each time he climbed into a cockpit.
It was the cold. The sapping, ever-present cold that sucked his body’s heat out through the harshly filtered air. He knew the internal temperature of the dropship was regulated, conditioned to be maintained to the terran standards. But it was still everywhere. Every piece of metal in the ship was connected. Every piece linked back to the outer hull of the spacecraft and the extreme emptiness of deep space.

Appearances. Keep up appearances of control.

He stifled a shiver and resisted the temptation of zipping his jumpsuit all the way up. After another few moments, he pried his hands away from the slowly receding warmth of the mug and went back to sorting through papers and correlating them with the figures being fed to him through his noteputer.
Sitting by himself in the Achilles Pride mess, taking up a whole table designed to accommodate the trays of four hungry workers, he methodically and therapeutically wrestled with the most dreaded aspect of being the Executive Officer of a Mercenary Unit.

Paperwork.
Endless mounds of paperwork.
Where most would have balked at the thought of matching figures, accounting for expenses and reviewing inventory, Cees truly felt at home. His face a stern mask of concentration and concern with his assigned tasks, the crew knew better than to bother him.
And that suited Cees perfectly.

During the relatively short time he had spent aboard ship, he had gone through the laborious task of learning every crew member’s name and their role. He hated the social nicety, but appreciated the need for his integration into the crew. He had a feeling that he’d be on this ship for a fair amount of time. Now, and after this current op was pulled off. It seemed though, that the necessary special attention to the other Mechwarriors he’d be working with was well invested. To his immense surprise and initial self-disgust, he’d actually grown quite fond of interacting with Thom. The times he could decipher what the wily Warlockian’s dialect that was.
The others seemed to accept him, if not warily. That was good. The last thing he wanted was to babysit a unit of thick, green blockheads itching for fame or glory.
Adrianna was especially interesting. She had a hard, analytical edge to her that Cees found intriguing.

Watch her. She’s almost as calculating as you are.

Images of her and the expressions she made in certain situations ran around his head as he stared blankly at a wireframe mockup and tech specs of her modified Centurion.
The edge of a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth
A challenge...

Tap, tap, tap...”Hey's is dis ting, even on? It is? Oh s**t.. ahem.. Dis is Major Thom to ground control, Im'sa stepping throughs da door, an I'msa floating en da most particular of way, an da starts look avery different today...uh.. someting, someting, and Planet Earth es very blue?" The funky accent trailed off momentarly and was replaced by a slight chuckle.

"Hey Yo's all MechWarriors, we'sa having a mission briefing within da hour, I'lls be filling yous en on dis latest bit of info dat the Irregulars have bless us with... You's know da place, so get yer a$$es der before 10:00, I'sa ain't waiting for you if yer late. Savy?"

The sudden interruption to his thoughts caused Cees to start, but by the time Thom had finished his strange and highly unprofessional summons, he had already detached his papers from the tacky coating covering the tables to prevent trays floating away in zero G.

Good. More information. Finally we can start planning this op properly.

Once everything was packed neatly and with careful segmentation into a tome of a binding folder, Cees closed his noteputer and strode for the exit. One of the Battle Magic techs entered coming the other way, the strange one called Eugene who spoke with what he could only assume was some kind of impediment.
The tech smiled at him and declared something in his odd mode of speech, poking a thumb up to the PA speaker above them.
“I know, right?” Cees replied passing him and smiling back.
Learning the annoying and ridiculous phrase since coming aboard was a necessary evil. It seemed to get him out of every potentially awkward encounter he’d yet found himself in.


Stashing the folder and his noteputer in a locker next to his assigned bunk, he changed into his exercise gear and spent the remainder of the next hour performing the peculiar action of using a rowing machine in the absence of gravity.
Taking what passed as a shower and changing back again, he made his way off to the briefing, habitually arriving 5 minutes early.

Edited by The Shepherd, 26 May 2013 - 05:22 AM.


#11 Spokes

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Posted 26 May 2013 - 03:49 PM

Mech Bay 2
Union Class Dropship Achilles Pride
Deep Space
28 February, 3061 -- 09:00 Hrs

“Never mind that. Here, catch,”

Li craned her neck and caught sight of the metal box floating towards her. Muscle memory that had lain dormant for decades suddenly resurfaced-- she tucked her legs, accelerating her spin as the box closed the distance. Li looked over her shoulder one final time, made an adjustment, then scissored her legs out to slow her tumble so she was facing the toolbox just as it made contact.

There was a loud clack as Li caught the box with her right arm, bringing her left across to stabilize it. The impact had the desired effect-- she came to rest in a kneeling position, the mag slipper on her right foot locked tight to the Scorpion's hull, toolbox cradled protectively with both arms.

Li turned back to the two women floating next to the Centurion, some happy memory playing across her face. The look of surprise shifted as her already sallow complexion suddenly took on an unhealthy green tinge. She made eye contact with Zoé, feinting once to make sure the tech was ready, then passed the toolbox back across the bay.

Li's "thank you" came out as a strangled belch. Waving instead, Li brought her other hand up to her mouth, the nausea plainly visible in her expression. After a few moments, she started to slowly make her way down off her 'Mech and then out towards the lower hatch leading out of the bay.

#12 Thom Frankfurt

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Posted 27 May 2013 - 06:00 PM

Mess Hall
Union Class Dropship, Achilles Pride
Deep Space, Lyran Alliance?
28th February, 9:45hrs.


The not-quite-so-young Warlockian had changed quite some bit since blundering into the Irregular amidst the chaos of the Clan Invasion. Whereas before Thom was tall and lanky, like a bean pole, he had filled out. Many hours spend exercising and Yoga [Snickers, you know he's only doing it so he could try to suck his own d**k. J/k it's actually how he kills time during trips between stars] had built up strong wiry muscle. Steely grey eyes stared out of a leathery skinned face, twinkling mischievously. Thom was 'dressed to impress' today, trying to look every bit the professional. A black and blue striped [Vertically] silk dress shirt hugged the mercenary's frame. He even wore a tie! A blacken strip of fabric embroidered with the logo for Warlock Stables, [Mickey Mouse wearing the wizard hat from 'Fantasia.' DeMarkus has a thing for Mickey.] which the Warlockian futilely smoothed down in the nil gravity. A black leather belt with a massive wrought iron belt buckle in the shape of a club suit [from a deck of cards] with silver inlaid skulls grinning out from each flanges of the club held up black cargo pants and grav boots completed the ensemble.

Several tattoos dotted/enhanced/marred the mercs skin. On his right forearm there were several, a broken horseshoe, a blackened and wilted looking four leafed clover, and a bloody severed rabbit's foot with the words 'Bad Luck' circling the ink work. On his left forearm was a black heart shaped tattoo, a black and greyish metallic looking vulture, and a portrait of an older looking man. Across the mercs knuckles were the words 'Hard-Core.' tatted in a flat black, a reference to the Banshee assault mech he piloted on Solaris for a season.

Thom then tugged at the collar of his shirt in an obvious sign of discomfort, revealing a new tattoo. A set of green lips, with scabs still flaking off. From the way he fidgeted at the shirt and toyed with the tie, it was apparent to anyone bothering to pay attention that he wasn't used to fancy silk shirts or ties, and that he'd be more comfortable in a tattered Iron Maiden shirt or his heavily studded leather jacket.

With a clang clang clang Thom strode into the mess and found Juri already sitting at one of the mounted steel tables, shuffling a deck of cards expertly with a pained look upon her face. Smirking, the Warlockian silently took his place at the head of the table and prepared himself for sharing what little he knew about their OP, and he had to admit it was less than stellar... Over then course of the next fifteen minutes the rest of the Terror's joined them and as they did he felt the prideful sensation renewed. His troops... like him rough around the edges, but professional enough to get the job done.

Adrianna was as sharp as a whip, possessing a neigh genius level IQ and enough business savvy to help him skirt around his problems with Blackneburg by recommending purchases from Quicksell. Granted she also worked as a test pilot fielding their experimental equipment, but she was a tough as they came, a vetran of the Clan wars.

Juri was a wild card. While fully capable as a warrior, he had heard some troubling things in the rumor mill about the former Combine warrior. Medical issiues and drug problems was what he had heard, but he wasn't concerned about that as long as she preformed her duties admirably. Plus it was also useful to have a cardsharp in your corner, that and an assault pilot was always something nice to have an assault pilot on your side.

Li-Hua Taishu was new to Thom. But the offer of cold hard C-bills pushed the strapped for cash warrior over the edge and made her sign up with the Terror's with hardly a second thought. The sick pallor of the woman, made T wince inwardly as it was apparent that space travel was something the woman was not accustomed to or comfortable with.

Cees Thomas Anthonissen AKA White-Wolf, was an oddity. Despite that, the self loathing albino displayed an intelligence on par with Adrianna. The way the odd man, approached Thom at the Rust Bucket, and coerced him into aiding him with the very possible theft of a battlemech. Despite the questionable actions on the Outreach that involved a break in and a early morning stroll in an Uziel though the streets of Harlech. The man had proved resourceful, and his service so far as XO had been exemplary, allowing Thom to keep a watchful eye on the Terrors and take a more 'hands on' approach with the day to day duties as CO.

Azman was a Maverick. Thom was him during the 'Sack of Rundvik’, FRR-Vekfaren, in early 3049 when the Dalian Guard attempted to overthrow the local government and make the planet a bandit's playground. Though Thom personally didn't witness the brown coated mercenaries actions there, he had to assume that the man was skilled, smart, or lucky enough to scrape through that mess. And Thom was a firm believer in having skilled, smart, and lucky people on his side.

He looked over the others quickly and silently nodded to the lot one by one. Right at 10:00 hours Thom suddenly he slapped his hand down hard upon the steel table, the resounding crack had the desired effect of silencing the buzzing conversations and was well worth the stinging sensation on his hand.

"Okay's now if's I's agot everyones attention..." He trailed off laughing on the inside as some of the mercs leaned in with anticipation wanting to hear the news. "We's got a job but you's already know dat, dis ain't exactly a pleasure cruise afterall." He said finally before breaking out in a huge smile. "We's agonna be's aworking wit da Green Hearts. If you's a don't know, dey's a decent bunch of mud munchers... Der's not much dat da Irregular guy was awilling to say, but I's a know it's a smash and grab. We's ahold da ground while da PBI's load up cargo haulers." He paused to let them try to decipher his speech before continuing on.

"I's a don't know's where we's a going, or who we's a gonna be fighting... though Vantas said asometing likesa 'I'sa can't tells yous anow, old friend. But dey are ones dat you's apersonally haves a reason for fighting.'" The mercenary smiled a blood thirsty grin.

"So I'sa tinking dat we'sa going up against da Flacons, but you'sa never know... But's I do know dat we's acatching a ride on one of dem warships. Da pay is good too, damned good, wit full salvage rights. So Spokes and Juri's, I'sa want you's tos be aready to drag off anyting worth salvaging. Especially if it'sa vat-brat tech. An dat goes for da lot of you's, if you's have hands on yer mech I's expect it to have someting in it when we's bug out... Savvy?"

Thom looked over the lot of mercenaries trying to get a feel for what they thought about the prospect of tangoing with the Clans. Cees has a feral grin and bloodthirsty look in his eye, and Thom couldn't help but wondering if he had the the same look on his own face. The other's had mixed reactions.

"Hey, don'ta look some glum. Der's aplenty of guys on Outreach dat wish dey were here. We'sa can make a lot of cash on dis trip. An remember dat you's knew dat when I's signed us up for dis OP the posting listed heavy combat wit da possibility of rich reward. Now, any questions, concerns?"

#13 The Shepherd

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Posted 28 May 2013 - 09:59 PM

Calm. Remain calm and in control. Not there yet...
Cees gripped the table in front of him, knuckles whiter than the human norm. He’d known from the get go that they’d be fighting Falcons, but now they had the opportunity to plot their demise.
Not to mention my revenge...

People who thought with normal, rational mindsets, influenced by fear and dread, would have balked at the idea of pitting themselves against the Clans on their home turf.
Not Cees. He didn’t even notice the reactions of his fellows.

“What Planet?” he asked with a sneer of delight, “Unit strengths? Preliminary intel? The Irregulars would have to have a damn good tip off on a tech cache to commit to this raid.”

#14 Thom Frankfurt

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Posted 28 May 2013 - 10:58 PM

“What Planet?” Cees asked with a sneer of delight, “Unit strengths? Preliminary intel? The Irregulars would have to have a damn good tip off on a tech cache to commit to this raid.”

The albino fired off the questions rapidly and Thom shrugged.

"Questions I'sa don't know da answers to. Da Irregulars are aworking closely wit ComStar so I'sa tink dat it's likely dat theys getting der inte from dem but da Irregulars are being tight lipped... But, we's got mudmunchers and dem warships flying around over our heads when we'sa get der wherevera we'sa going, so der better be some damn good stuff lying around.."

#15 Listless Nomad

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Posted 29 May 2013 - 09:33 AM

“Outlaw 2-4, this is Outlaw Actual. You are to move to waypoint Bravo Bravo immediately over.”

“Outlaw 2-4, do you copy? Outlaw 2-4 come in over.”

Leutnant Andrew Wheeler ignored the radio strapped to his belt as he frantically ran through the dense underbrush towards the downed Blackjack omnimech smoldering before him. Explosions and gunfire rumbled in the distance, and machineguns chattered away much closer than Andrew would have liked.

“Outlaw 2-4, you are to proceed to waypoint Bravo Bravo and rally up with Outlaw 1-3 for immediate evac. That’s an order!”

Autocannon fire and static hissed through the radio in the background, lending emphasis to his commander’s order that he evacuate the area immediately, but instead, Andrew was outside of his mech and in the open…exposed. As he ran through the brush, Adam Scott, another member of his lance, met him at the downed mech. Frantically; he climbed through the shattered cockpit glass of the mech and began screaming for him.

“Oh God, oh God oh God DOCCC”

With his small kit in his hand, Andrew raced to the mech, tossed his bag through the cockpit and heaved himself into the shattered cockpit of his lance commander. Adam was furiously shaking the body of Lola Scott, his wife. Her left arm had been torn away, she had shrapnel wounds all over her body, and the majority of her skin had been blackened. It was obvious she had been killed instantly. Minutes earlier he had watched an SRM detonate directly over her cockpit, unceremonially dropping the mech on its side, with smoke pouring from the wound. Andrew had known there had been little hope, but he had to try. His lancemates depended on him.

“Come on Adam, we have to go now.” Andrew was gently tugging on his arm as Adam continued to shake Lola’s limp body. His voice was quiet, but insistent, as the radio clipped to Andrew’s belt crackled to life again.

“Outlaw 2-4 this is Outlaw Actual. Answer me ******* it! We have confirmed Elemental activity in your area. Get the hell out of-“ Without warning a man’s voice screamed from the background.

“MADCAATT! Oh Jesus they found us!”

Outlaw Actual’s voice came back on the radio, speaking to the man in the background rather than Andrew.

“Get the hell out of here! Move to Phase Line-“ A tremendous explosion cut off the rest of what Outlaw Actual was saying, and the radio went dead afterward. Andrew reached down to turn off the radio and silence the static before grabbing Adam’s arm with both of his.

“Adam you have to leave her. She’s gone and we have to go. She wouldn’t want you to die out here because of her. We have to go!”

Angrily, Adam wrenched his arm away from Andrew.

“Get the hell off of me.” Adam then turned to cradled Lola’s lifeless body and spoke in soothing tones to her. “Doc’s going to fix you up baby. Everything is going to be all better. Don’t you fret. Doc is going to make it ok. Aren’t you Doc? Doc? DOC!”

Cockpit of the Mad Cat “Donegal Doll”
Mech Bay 1
Union Class Dropship Achilles Pride
Deep Space
28 February, 3061 -- 08:59 Hrs

Andrew awoke with a start, his arms folded across his chest and a frown on his face. He’d hoped that repairing this mech, sleeping in its cockpit, and throwing everything he had into making the mech his would have stopped the nightmares, but it only seemed to make them worse. It seemed that almost every time he closed his eyes, he was back there, watching everyone around him die over and over and over again. Signing up for a real combat mission probably hadn’t helped things either. Nonetheless, his old sense of duty remained, and he took a few deep breaths to sooth his mind. He’d made a commitment to these people, and he’d be damned if ghosts from the past kept him from fulfilling his mission.

After a few moments, Andrew yawned widely while stretching before slapping the five-point restraint system that had kept him in his command chair while he slept. As he did so, a muffled crackling came through the cockpit glass, announcing that someone was trying to use the aging PA system aboard the ship.

Hey Yo’s all MechWarriors, we’sa having a mission briefing within da hour, I’lls be filling yous en on dis latest bit of info dat the Irregulars have bless us with... You’s know da place, so get yer a$$es der before 10:00, I’sa ain’t waiting for you if yer late. Savy?

Wheeler smirked at his new commander’s “unique” accent. It was as funny to him now as it was the day they met.

The Raven Loft
Harlech, Planet Outreach
Chaos March
30 November, 3060 – 22:43 Hrs

“A yous a sure you can gets it here? I don’t like no one takin me for a ride…savy?”

Andrew met the mercenary commander’s gaze with his own, and tried to control his emotions. Despite the impressive amount of Timburki Dark the stranger had consumed, he still seemed together mentally, and not someone to be trifled with. Still, Andrew did not like having his word, or his honor questioned. Taking a moment to steady his voice, Andrew replied with an icy tone.

“When I say something, I mean it. I’ve got a Mad Cat, and it’s in good shape. She’s already on the way here to Outreach and will arrive before you depart. From what you’ve said, you might be tangling with some serious customers, and I’m telling you I’m willing to fight for you.”

Andrew leaned back from the table and put his hands in his lap, trying to keep the fact they were shaking from showing. He was so close to his low awaited pay day that he could barely contain himself. Inwardly he worried that he had guessed right and that his faux bravado would resonate with the man.

The man who had introduced himself as Thom Frankfurt took a swig from his glass and studied Andrew thoughtfully, before speaking once more in a serious tone.

“Yous took a big risk letting that little piece of information slip to a total stranger. What’s to stop be from a killin yous when your baby gets here? Hmmm?”

Although Andrew tried to not let it show on his face, inwardly he was cursing his trusting nature. Of course he was a fool to just give out a secret like that.

I should have been more careful! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

As he watched the man sitting across from him, Andrew briefly tightened the grip on the knife strapped to his thigh, before instantly relaxing it as the man burst out laughing.

A few nearby heads turned to look as Thom tried to wipe the mirth from his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be a very good merc ifa I went went arounds killin anyone good enough to capture a mad cat! Ifa yous can gets it here before we leave – yous got a spot in the Terrors!”

At that, an enormous grin broke out across Andrew’s face and he shook Thom’s hand vigorously.

“She’ll be here Mr. Frankfurt. I won’t let you down.”

Thom returned his handshake before pinching a passing bar maid’s hindquarters.

“Bring her a down to the Achilles Pride when she arrives and we’ll make sure she gets a spot. Now go ana grab yourself another drink! We’s have cause to celebrate!”

Mess Hall
Union Class Dropship, Achilles Pride
Deep Space, Lyran Alliance
28th February, 9:55hrs.

With his Lyran field cap pulled low over his eyes, Andrew snuck into the back of the mess hall and sat alone, craning his neck to try to hear Thom’s briefing. After fighting his way from under the tarp that concealed his Mad Cat, he’d made his way silently to the mess hall, nodding politely to a couple of passing techs in the passageway. Ever since Tarazed, Andrew had, had trouble making friends – especially those he knew he was going into combat with. Andrew could feel himself slipping into another unpleasant memory, but shook himself to stave it off. Unfortunately, his reverie had caused him to zone out much of the briefing.

"Questions I'sa don't know da answers to. Da Irregulars are aworking closely wit ComStar so I'sa tink dat it's likely dat theys getting der inte from dem but da Irregulars are being tight lipped... But, we's got mudmunchers and dem warships flying around over our heads when we'sa get der wherevera we'sa going, so der better be some damn good stuff lying around.."

Andrew’s ears perked up at the thought of salvage, but stayed quiet for now. It was clear Thom didn’t have a lot of answers, and there was no sense bringing a lot of attention on himself at this point. Therefore, Andrew sat and listened as others chattered amongst themselves and waited.

Edited by Listless Nomad, 19 June 2013 - 02:44 PM.


#16 Spokes

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Posted 29 May 2013 - 07:36 PM

Mess Hall
Union Class Dropship Achilles Pride
Deep Space, Lyran Alliance
28 February, 10:00 Hrs.

Li managed to make eye contact and nod as Thom looked around, but otherwise kept her vision locked on the center of the table. The solid, not moving table. Eyes steady, no sudden movements. Give the pills a chance to work. . .

CRACK!! Her head snapped up as Thom brought his hand down on the table to start the meeting. Her inner ear kept right on going though, giving her the sensation of tumbling end over end.

"Okay's now if's I's agot everyones attention..."

I will not throw up. I will not throw up. . .

Thom's strange accent filled the room, the mangled syllables doing nothing to calm her roiling stomach. Li let her attention wander around the table, her mind offering up a long ago memory-- "bouncing out" callsigns in the Able's Aces barracks.

Let's see. . .

The sleep addled woman working the playing cards back and forth in her hands? Deck.

The white skinned man with the strange eyes? Chalk.

How about the one with the odd, far away look? The one with the. . .coat! Duster!

"If you's a don't know, dey's a decent bunch of mud munchers. . .Der's not much dat da Irregular guy was awilling to say, but I's a know it's a smash and grab. . ."

Li blinked hard, swallowing against the bile in the back of her throat. She could feel the bulk of the space sick bag riding in her jumpsuit pocket.

Oh, no no no, not gonna throw up! How about the one in the back, the one trying to climb into his hat? Ballcap.

The dark-haired woman from the Mech bay? Li couldn't quite keep the mirth off her face. Toolbox.

". . .But dey are ones dat you's apersonally haves a reason for fighting. . .'"

Li turned back to the heavily tattooed man at the head of the table, and found she didn't know where to start. Tats? Locks?

"So I'sa tinking dat we'sa going up against da Flacons, but you'sa never know... But's I do know dat we's acatching a ride on one of dem warships."

"Let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech." Li couldn't help but smile.

Babel.

"So Spokes and Juri's, I'sa want you's tos be aready to drag off anyting worth salvaging." Li looked over and made eye contact with Deck, then nodded at Thom.

Thom called for questions, and Chalk jumped in with a quick fusillade, leaping out across the table in voice if not quite in body. The two men could not have been more different, one barely holding his enthusiasm in check, the other radiating nonchalance. Li brought her attention back to Thom as he finished answering.

". . .so der better be some damn good stuff lying around.."

Li cleared her throat. "On that note, we seem to be a little long on 'smash' and a little short on 'grab'. I'm going to need hands on the ground to hook up the drag lines and once they're attached I can't release them from the cockpit. If we get into combat and I'm chained to ten tons of dead weight. . ."

Li trailed off, her face a tight mask.

Huh. I'm gonna throw up.

She stood slowly, quickly discovering that the mag slippers did not allow for a quick, quiet or remotely dignified exit from the room.

And for the woman bringing up her lunch in the hallway?

Yak-sack. Uuurrrrrlllegh. . .

Edited by Spokes, 29 May 2013 - 07:51 PM.


#17 Spokes

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Posted 05 June 2013 - 03:40 PM

0 for 2 here Li. You're asking these people to trust you with their lives and they can't even trust you to sit through a staff meeting? Straighten it up.

Li eased back into the room, thankful at least that she'd chosen a chair near the door. A quick smile, a mumbled apology, and she was back in her seat.

"Sorry about that, I really shouldn't have had that extra helping this morning. Where were we?"

#18 The Shepherd

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Posted 05 June 2013 - 08:49 PM

Movement out the corner of Cees’ fixed gaze drew his attention away from the Warlockian CO. He tracked Li’s retreat, wretching, and return to the meeting with a look of reproach and mild amusement. A copy of the pilot’s tac-profile flashed in front of his mind’s eye

Jumpjet trained and a quad mech manoeuvrability specialist. Acclimatised to changes of momentum. Orbital drop trained and experienced, so no stranger to zero-G either... hmm...

"Sorry about that, I really shouldn't have had that extra helping this morning. Where were we?"
Body language suggests a falsification. Must check medical records for evidence of recent inner-ear damage... later.

“We were about,” he paused for effect and switched his disturbingly pink stare back to Thom, “to discuss our displeasure with the Irregulars not sharing what I’m sure is a wealth of knowledge about our opponents. While I understand they may be tight-lipped until the op is committed and we’re burning for atmo, capitalising on the time we have to plan the strike in detail is essential.”
He glanced around the table to blank and reserved expressions, “Believe me, I know.”
Turning back to Thom he narrowed his eyes critically, “Their lack of disclosure has nothing to do with the tarped up piece of cargo in the hold next to my mech... does it?”

#19 Thom Frankfurt

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Posted 09 June 2013 - 02:13 AM

Mess Hall
Union Class Dropship Achilles Pride
Deep Space, Lyran Alliance
28 February, 10:07 Hrs.


Something was going on, he wasn't sure what, but there was obliviously going down from the way some of the cut-throats stopped staring at him and began making questioning glances in the direction of the door. Straining his ears he heard some chuckles and the words 'sick' 'up-chucking.'

Oh great, one of my minion's suffer from jump sickness. Need to get Cynthia on it...

He then heard Cees' edged voice cutting through the silence.

“We were about,” he paused for effect and switched his disturbingly pink stare back to Thom, “to discuss our displeasure with the Irregulars not sharing what I’m sure is a wealth of knowledge about our opponents. While I understand they may be tight-lipped until the op is committed and we’re burning for atmo, capitalising on the time we have to plan the strike in detail is essential.”
He glanced around the table to blank and reserved expressions, “Believe me, I know.”
Turning back to Thom he narrowed his eyes critically, “Their lack of disclosure has nothing to do with the tarped up piece of cargo in the hold next to my mech... does it?”


"Yeah I'sa agree wit ya. I'sa don't like da thought of hitting dirtside somewheres an not knowing wat da funk is going on... I'sa guess dey're compensating wit da good pay, support, an salvage. Shrimp happens, we'sa gonna have to learn to deal wit it, an in da meantime I'lls bug da Irregulars for info. Vantas has a tendency to's be chatty when he has a skinful of liquor."

Thom smiled at the thought of getting his old friend (well as far as Thom and friends go back) rip roaring drunk. But quickly sobered up as he thought about what to say about the tarped up MadCat un the mechbay.

"Da cargo is one of you guys' mech's." The Warlock answered truthfully not sure what other to say. "Da owner chose to covers it up." Thom shrugged like he didn't care, but hoped that the albino would drop the issue with that.

"So... anyting else?" the mercenary commander arched an eyebrow while eyeballing the assembled warriors.

#20 Sparks Murphey

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Posted 12 June 2013 - 10:49 PM

Mess Hall
Union Class Dropship Achilles Pride
Deep Space, Lyran Alliance

28 February, 10:07 Hrs.

“Out of professional self-interest, sir, is there anything under the tarp that my other employers should remain ignorant of? If it's some kind of prototype, I can understand some legal types could get tetchy if another just like it suddenly turns up,” Arianna said, raising her hands defensively, “Not trying to pry, just need to know where I stand.”

Absently, she tried to guess who might own the mysterious package. Li-Hua Taishu would have been a good pick, but for the fact that she’d seen her with her Scorpion earlier. She was pretty sure she had Thom Frankfurt and Cees Anthonissen pegged for their rides. That left Juri Kutsuu and Andrew Wheeler. Some investigation might be in order...





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