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[plodder]

Getting up from the ground, the tech watched as his friendly assailant stalked towards the gallery. It held the sponsor for the Blood Name in the Grand Melee. The tech didn't trust that one, though it was not his job or place to even think about a mighty Clan warrior, or any Clan warrior. The tech was like many of his kind. He had risen in a Clan sibko through the grueling training. Enduring all types of tests and evaluations until the day he had the final test, the Trial of Position. His mech had flayed the armor off his opponent, he had even stripped the adversaries weapons to nothing but a small pulse laser, then, his mech's gyro had failed. It was not damaged, it was a bad component. The tech that had worked on his mech,had not tested the gyro after power was supplied, so the dreams of being a mighty warrior died that day. Given a choice of being a tech for mech's, or being assigned to general mechanical maintenance, he had decided to be the best mech tech possible, never to allow a mech he worked on to fail anyone, like the mech with a bad gyro had failed him. The sponsor ........

Edited by plodder, 15 March 2014 - 08:51 PM.

[plodder]

His mech had not failed him, his command and their comprehension of the situation their intelligence had destroyed any chance of victory, any chance of going home. His men captured, their rides disabled or destroyed, yet, he still continued fighting, avoiding, slipping traps, till the high forests swallowed his signature, saving him to fight another day. Wondering if that day would bring any justice, vengence, or any redeeming emotion, he shut down his machine, his other self, so they slept, neither dreamed, neither hoped, just powered down.

Edited by plodder, 10 November 2013 - 06:53 AM.

[plodder]

There was a time when Wars were fought without Battle Mechs. Those times were long ago, and far away. It is within my hands to limit such wars in these times. There will be more innocent lives lost if the Mech Battles are reduced, but this way eventually leads to stability and peace. Peace it shall be, and my name shall be despised and loved. I am as any other man. The route to the place named the Lost Moon has been a family secret for a very log time. There should still remain all that is needed to continue our lives beyond our I.S. homes.
This is my belief and our hope. K.

Edited by plodder, 21 June 2016 - 10:19 AM.

[plodder]

The guard tells the lawyer, "this s.o.b is not worth the effort to spit on." Grabbing the key card to unlock the cell, he noticed how low the prisoner looks. Just like a coward criminal anywhere, big and tough when he has help, but just a weakling, no matter the size of the man. Just a bully. The cell door opens, the lawyer walks in and sits on the bench bolted to the floor, puts down his data tablet. "What's the deal? You given up? Sure your case is bad, but buck up man!"
The prisoner, without giving any tell tails, had bitten his tongue and inner cheek. With a mouth full of blood and saliva, he grabs with his free hand his own throat, eyes bulging, forhead furrowed as if in fear, then allows the spit and blood stream between his lips, doubling to his knees, while still sitting on his cot, and on the small food tray he has concealed under him.

6 hrs later
In the front of an expansive desk the man stood at attention.
Yes sir, I was in charge of the prisoner sir. I am sorry sir. Yes, the Lawyer is fine. Too fine if you ask me Sir. Sullenly, he looks the officer in the eye, Sir, all he needed to do to stop the prisoner, was to shout, Quinn the other guard on duty was in the office break room and would have heard it. No Sir, he was supposed to be watching the monitor.
The officer shakes his head in digust. You will be taken from guard duty, bad knee or not. I have seen the vid feed. You were knocked down with a food tray you should have removed 2 hrs before this incident happened. You are fortunate the prisoner chose to gag, then tie you up with the lawyer's clothes, taking your uniform for an easier escape. He could have killed you both, he has the training, backed up with ability. Almost grinning, sarcasm dripping from ever syllable, I am sure you regret your lack of personal hygiene, seeing what the ex prisoner used as your gag. How could you wear anything that filthy man?! Disgusting...
The guard, as red any man could be, and still have his breath, left shamed face as he was dismissed.

Edited by plodder, 21 June 2016 - 10:22 AM.

[anonymous161]

So this is a book. Man you got time on your hands I just dont have anymore.

[plodder]

August 16th 2724

Looking at the field test of the Atlas, seeing little different except one in component divergence, yet seeing a great vertiginous effort given, strived for in each component placed, it was if a master builder,or genius artist builder, hand crafted each bolt, weld, wire and electronic device to maximum superiority regardless of time or production hard costs. A hand made Mech? The oddest thing was not the engine, but that there were two engines. There were 2 engines in the beast!!! They were xl225's with an unusual armor insulating with exterior qualities in the internal shielding. It is the smoothest most perfectly machine the officer, or his master chief had ever seen, or imagined could exist. It was something that cannot be done, yet here it was. It was a 100 ton atlas that weighed 113.5 tons, yet was unperceptively larger by the naked eye.
Sitting in mech bay 3 was an Impossibility to their understanding.

6 months later, after 3 hugely successful engagements, the mech and Hatchet were lost in an action against a Merc enhanced pirate raid.
The Atlas, made on the Lost Moon was itself lost. For a time anyhow...

Edited by plodder, 21 June 2016 - 10:37 AM.

[plodder]

I can't believe THIS!!!

My MECH!!! They are taking her!!!

This cannot be TRUE!!!

Jake stood there lost. The Ostscout OTT-7K was loaded in a civilian dropship, locked and loaded, with no chance of reversing the situation.
He had thrown a fit, fists, and a guard in an attempt to recover what was his! That was hours ago. It was Maisey that had stopped him, and convinced him to stop the useless gesture of freeing the family mech from it's clamping moorings. She had been afraid he might react badly when he found out the mech was to be taken away. To be assigned to someone else, in a system who knows where. Though his reaction surpassed anything she had imagined. She had asked to be at hand when he found out, to let her handle it. She was granted her request, and she had controlled him in the end. One would think a 6'2" young man could just brush off a 5' nothing girl weighing it at less than 42 kilos, but not little miss Maisey. Red haired firestarter, brawler tomboy, mech mechanic, and 100% mean when determined, don't you dare think about mister or I'll rip your head off with my fingernails, kind of lady.
She hit him with her wrench when he would not listen to her, continuing to break the security locks. His shoulder will be fine, but when he started yelling how unfair, they are thieves, and was turning purple, she hit him in the ribs, and they might take a while to heal.
In disbelief he looked up at her. I love you brother, but I will not allow you to dirty our family name by your stupidity. Do not make me strike you again. I might cry, and I do not need that right now. I will tell you something I suggested I would not tell you. You have been assigned a mech for heavy training, and light duty assignments.
Jake stood there lost........

Edited by plodder, 12 May 2014 - 10:32 AM.

[plodder]

The Ancient one felt a responsibility to his employees. As an engineer, and inventor, and as wealthy as most established governments, he took pryde in the long range plans he had planned and honed. They had very good genetics in the individuals, and groups he assembled for his project on the Lost Moon. All knew it was a one way trip, an adventure into breaking into higher scientific realms of productions, and development. The vast money spent, was forwarded to families or institutions his people had chosen, but, incentive was a tricky thing, hard to engineer. Luckily, he was a master's master of such things.
The breeding vat was online and producing well. Able to splice and combine genetics at will without the messy interrelationship drama was very important. There was not enough population to continue to propagation at a sustainable rate, so, the breeding tanks solved a major problem everyone was concerned about. Some thought it silly to rely on only the new method, and helped the population in the traditional ways. Lighting his tobacco pipe, he enjoyed the strong tobacco flavor of a Virginia blended with perique. Smoke tendrils floating up like smoke of a destroyed mech, a beautiful thing, if one is on the right side of things...

Edited by plodder, 13 May 2014 - 10:09 PM.

[plodder]

Sitting in his Highlander, with bottle of 300 year old Scotch. It's value beyond contemplation. The wonderful aroma, the amazing complex layers of flavors, dark flavors of refined smoky peats, ancient oaks, leafy fall nights, blending with the lightest notes of spring summer and sunny cold winter's days. All to dance on the senses in an unbelievable way, maybe in a singular and perfect way, never to be reached or duplicated before or ever again.
He gripped the half drunk bottle, enjoying it while hating it. His brother had given him the dark news over a week ago, but he got the missive today after breakfast of corned beefed hash and a pile of eggs. It took 20 min to read, but only 7 words are remembered "Your Love and your 1st born died. The mother of his children was dead. His first born son dead. His grief deeper than the bottle's ability to match.
His woman gave him this bottle of Scotch. It had been in her family for 200 years.
Looking with dispare and love at the bottle, " I love you Honey, I miss you, I should have been there! Take care of our boy in Heaven, give him a hug for me..I love you!......."
After more tears and Scotch, Jake's father started his Highlander, ran it cool and slow to the front lines. They were active tonight, good!
Running with silent comms, 3 enemy mechs downed, 3 times that retreated as as a result of the drunken Scotsman's contribution to his fellow's battle on his off duty time. It was a rage of destruction that fired the elite pilot, but it was a cold rage, a solemn fury, a determination with it's own life. Better that then no life, maybe...
Fear the vengeance of a patient man

Edited by plodder, 21 June 2016 - 10:53 AM.

[plodder]

After their date, she was fillied with a silly happiness, a bouncing bubbling joy she had never felt before, at least about a man, and what a man!
He was smart, witty, considerate, and easy going, serious, but not about himself. He thinks I'm pretty! Mr. Kerensky, I think I am in love, but how can I be, I don't even know you. Maybe I will ask you that on our next date. As an engineer, I wonder how you will answer that? She giggles sweetly, and gets ready for bed. The genetics lab needs some material, so she will need to get up early. She sighs happlily thinking about her time tonight.

[plodder]

Our priority needs to be on forming a vast pool of heredity, but loveliness has it's own virtues. This nurse's generic material will play it's part in many of the upcoming generations. What legs, what a beauty, those almond eyes could capture populations on their own!

Edited by plodder, 09 October 2014 - 07:08 PM.

[plodder]

Jake, you've shown your light Mech skills are far beyond your years. you are a testament to your fathers and uncles training and inborn talent.
I believe you have what it takes, to be an excellent pilot in several weight classes. Your next step in training, will be in an assault class mech.
I do not believe the step to medium would be difficult for you, and I need to stretch your potential.
I find that the best light pilots make the best assault pilots. Usually they hate the slow cumbersome Mech.
It is this hatred, this slow grinding inability to run out of harm's way, that channels natural talent combined with practiced skill, into an elite Assault pilot.
Knowing how a light Mech can move and dance, allows you as an Assault Mech to know how to know the next probable position a light Mech will put himself in, and knowing the timing of how that light mech will get there.
This gives you an advantage in taking light to medium Mechs down. I'm sure you have operated an Assault Mech at some time, yet, I'm sure that was only an experience, not a lifestyle.
Beginning tonight, after today's indoctrination of your Assault Mech, you will be living in your Mech for the next 30 days. You will fine tune your skills in movement and in mock battles until I feel you are at a place to begin your real training.

The commander takes Jake to the hanger, points to Jake's resigned Mech. Jake is struck dumb in disbelief, flummoxed at his good fortune, there is no other Mech in the area the commander is pointing towards. There it is,standing there, powered down, undeniable. It is a hundred tons of the most dreaded Mech known. An Atlas D-DC, fitted with a ultra AC 20, 2 large pulse lasers, 3 SRM 4's. This was his namesake uncle's Mech. The uncle that disappeared 6 years ago. The uncle that taught him to hunt and fish, to wrestle and swear. Tears come to Jake's eyes, threatening to spill.He had no daughters or sons, and aunt Margaret wouldn't allow the militia to use or borrow it. She must have given permissions for me alone to use it? Bless her soul, I will make her proud, and do right by uncle Jake's memory.
Jake spends the next 11 hours listing to the chief explain and have the Chief's Techs point out every operating system checkpoint, safety protocols, everything to know about his new ride. He told him the mech was one of a kind, that it was a closely held secret that few knew, even among us here, and must remain so as a condition of it being on loan to you and this operation.
The chief also made him aware that any scratched paint, damaged item, failed part, or strange odor, in this Mech will be addressed/repaired personally by Jake.
that night Jake did not so much sleep, as, collapse into a semi coma, but it was a happy, coma, in the Atlas's cockpit.

Edited by plodder, 21 June 2016 - 11:01 AM.

[plodder]

Lol, thanks,, man! Um, I didn't learn how. I tried, but I was already a senior in high school before a teacher gave any time to help beyond the curriculum. I had asked and tried, but....
Pm me if you have specific constantly recurring mistakes. I know they are there, but I can only do so much with the time I have. If you want to act as editor I can pm to you before posting.
I am also bad at lore, timelines and technical issues. I have read many of the books, and own about 40 or so, but research is time consuming.
thanks.,.,.,,,.,
another b.s. plodduction

[plodder]

Periphery; Moon Base Dakota. Decommissioned corporate outpost transfer facility. Bulk transfer of minimally processed high grade ores.

No one must know. The Dropship will arrive without prior notification. The facilities must be ready for operations without any personnel. I can tell you it will not be within the next three months, but after that make sure the stock piles are in place and the moon abandoned. They will have their own Techs and staff. You must not let curiosity whisper in your ear. If it does, it will be speaking words of ruin, so avoid it at all cost. That is not a threat, it will just be out of my hands.

Edited by plodder, 15 April 2016 - 11:14 PM.

[plodder]

Reality has intruded for too long. The Lost Moon's personnel and leadership have long since past their plans, the hopes and technological advances on to others. Some heavily enhanced Battlemechs, and some interesting tales have made it back to known space, slowly circulating through few of the great houses, and none of the military, save through the Kerensky bloodline.

The old man puffed his pipe, eyebrows furrowed at the request form before him. The young engineer that had made great strides in the myomer facility had taken his young bride off moon as stowaways with the enhanced Ostscout being shipped to a backwater world. The substitute Battlemech would be an excellent surprise for the recipient, but the couple had information that could imperial much of the surreptitious science being done, if word was let to the wrong ears.
The request form was from security, desiring the freedom to follow and take care of the couple, elevating the security threat.
Sticking his finger in his pipe to push flat the tobacco to help its waning coal, then puffing energetically, reviving the English Tobacco's fire, with his other hand, this ancient engineer opened up the desk drawer. The note he grabbed seemed heavy. After reading it one last time before making the decision, his eyebrows unfurrowed, relaxing a bit. The young man apologized for leaving, and assured he would not pass on the scientific research developed on the moon. He claimed to miss home, and his hope was to have children in the town he grew up in. Old, stubborn, grumpy, and unemotional as he was, the ancient engineer qwirked a small grin, remembering his own childhood memories. "Enjoy your life Mr Kerensky, may you find what hope too." He whispered reminiscing to himself.

Edited by plodder, 24 December 2017 - 09:07 PM.

[plodder]

Tears fall as words dribble from lips too long ago kissed and far away released from burdens heavy yet truly cherished.

[plodder]

I am going to start rewrite this simple story, then complete it. I just finished the 1st post. My grammar is horrible. I will see how badly I have done in the other areas as well.