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[plodder]

July 21, 2724 Lost Moon

The Atlas was shipped as a regular unit. The fortunate new owner would realise the Unique qualities soon enough, and it would be difficult to know its actual producer, but impossible to know its place of manufature, for it was built on the hidden facilities of the lost moon.

Edited by plodder, 09 April 2012 - 12:21 PM.

[plodder]

3061

The crowds were in the stands, each part of Clan society was present, the Grand Melee was about to begin. Each combatant was there to accomplish the most important goal A Clan Mechwarrior can fight for, A Bloodname. 32 Warriors, each a testimony of excellence in battle, sponsored by those that wish to see an outcome. They are sponsored to allow the Mechwarrior attain the available Bloodname, yet one was sponsored to fail. He was too good, his favor growing too large, this Warrior's supporter, was his only enemy, the support was an ends to a means. While all Clan Warriors seek honor, not all have it.

The Mechwarrior was large enough to be mistaken as an elemental, he also had their grace and bearing of physical power that goes along with it. Fierce of mind, balanced of thought, precise in action, as well as welcoming of camaraderie, an unusual combination for the selfish determined Clanners. With a broad grin, he comments to his tech that is putting an access plate back, “if you were not a freebirth stravag, I would compliment you on your amazing skill and abilities, but since are, I tell you, I am satisfied with you work, but you are slow, old one.” Laughing quitely, the 45 year old chief tech, bows in respect, then replies, “Thank you for your patience and understanding Ristar.” Throwing his head back, the warrior lightly strikes the tech's shoulder, and laughs loudly at the stravags audacity. The tech falls to his side, the ground thuds at the impact, the breath leaves, and is a while in returning. This makes the Warrior grin broader, then walk away to speak with his sponsor.

Edited by plodder, 29 March 2012 - 02:30 PM.

[plodder]

Thank you Warrant officer Clancy, She is as good as mine. I know, you say say “it cannot be done,” but I think that is just silly. I am a man, she is a woman, so it is only natural that Maisie and me should find some time to share. Really, I don't care that her family ties her to a greater lineage than that of mine, I am sure she gets tired of such archaic thoughts that people have. I myself am nothing but a mech jock, scrambling my way up the ladder. My only goal is to succeed at every thing I strive for. Why should she care that I was an orphan, raised by a pack of wolves, Dragoons that is, ha! Relax man, why are you so adamant that I avoid her? Clancy boldly pokes his finger at the Lieutenant, scowling uncharacteristically, looking very serious, and troubled,” You should not play with her feelings SIR! She has just lost her brother and mother, if you had any decency, any kind of heart, you would not look to have a conquest for your own selfish pleasure. I know it is not place to say such things, but we have crossed a line here already sir, snd besides that, do you know what damage it could do to your carrer if you were to hurt that young beauty? Really sir, you should reconsider your direction of thought, sir.” Himself starting to scowl, wondering if Clancy's points were too solid to ignore out of hand. “Well Clancy, defender of young maidens, honor, and careers, if you are right, then who would be eligible to spend time with the lovely young Maisie? When would the appropriate time be for this mystical fortunate be over? Really Clance, I see your points, and I do not want to be a trouble to her, but, somehow, I need to know her, it is not only her obvious physical attractiveness, but some, I don't know, electrical signal her personality transmits.”

[plodder]

August 16 2724
Sir, Hatchet's Atlas has arrived late last night. I took it out this morning, and there seems to be some irregularities sir. No, nothing wrong, but I am taking off some access panels in a few minutes to see what modifications were made. Yes sir, I do, the Atlas outperformed the factory specs easily, too easily in my opinion. The feel was all wrong to sir, there was less vibration than any Atlas I have operated, the power output was higher, the systems quicker. Sir, it felt as smooth and responsive as any mech I have had the pleasure to operate sir. Ok, I will be in mech bay 3, see you there sir.

[plodder]

Sitting in his cell with his palms on his face, his mind remorselessly spins, conjures his failings, his ever desperate attempts to be better than he is. In battles, pushing himself recklessly to find favor in his peers eyes. At the drinking brothels, swallowing the swill in copious amounts to have acceptance, then bed every wench that crossed his path. It was sickening how he was so predictable, so weak in his desires. An image of the woman and her son dying, came to him unbidden, and it affected him more then he thought he could feel anymore. He has been a hard man in a hard man's world. Expectations again, failed to meet their goals. She was so beautiful, so proud looking, then, dead... Raising his head, a strange light began to gleam in his eyes. It was not the tears, he had shed them, and they only brought more darkness connected to the self loathing, though there was a loathing is his eyes. The light was the light of determination, powered by the realization that only the damned or the recently saved have. A determination of task goal acceptance, I have nothing to lose, I only have my next breath. They cannot do anything to me that will not be done to me anyway. I have lived my life to please others, in hope, that it would allow me to feel a part of something, anything, so nothing is my reward! They would say "It Can't Be Done," but I do not care, I have given that up with my failures. My father raised me to be a good man, my mother loved me, and has lost all hope for me ever becoming the good man I should have been. I will accomplish every last task I attempt, or I will die in the attempt! Raising his chin not in pride, but acceptance. I serve myself by; escaping and help the remnants of the family I helped destroy. If my death is what they need, they will have it, but not back stabbing cutthroats I have worked for! A noise down the cell corridor, some people are coming, the guard, and a man with a brief case, it must be the lawyer they talked about. Making himself look dejected, shoulders slumped, mouth slightly opened, eyes dulled by the half closed lids, the visitors see only the prisoners obvious surrender of will and hope, and not the plastic tray his hand lightly rests upon, or they dismiss the possibilities it could entail.

Edited by plodder, 27 April 2014 - 02:35 PM.

[Magneton]

This is amazing, making my work day all that much better.
Thank you OP.

[plodder]

Jake

Hidden behind walls closed off within his mind, Jake's memories persisted in the attempt to penetrate & scale these wall. Walls thrown up out of need & desire. Desiring to be alone with his life now, alone & dependent on no other. To avoid those memories of togetherness of hearth and family, with its whisperings of peace and comforts lost. Father was out there somewhere, on another world, challenging or defending some foreign soil, standing in harms way, as Duty and his Passions lead him. The walls in Jake's mind were holding back the flood of memories, though he could hear them shouting now & begging, demanding for his attentions. Reminding Jake's need to have the past stay in the past. He must stay strong, not give in to the beckoning call, leading him to a dark place, crouched in a puddle of his tears. He must stay strong, persevere, then, when his father returns, if he returns, he will see that his son Jake has done right to make amends. Perhaps with that, his father would also see Jake is worthy to claim his surname,and not be seen as a child anymore, but a man in thought and deed?!
Maisey came towards Jake's table in the spacious cafeteria. Jake looked at her coming, noticing also, most of the men's eyes following his sisters rolling gate, with appreciative speculations on each of their ugly mugs. Apparently ignorant of her affect, or disinterested, she confidently strolled his way. A few of the men had the courtesy to look away when they noticed Jake's gimlet eye on them, others did not. Maisey, sweet little, smart little, tart little Maisey," that's what father lovingly called to her, when feeling that softness that fathers apparently feel for their daughters. It seemed appropriate too, especially the tart part, Jake mused, smirking a bit. The swelling & soreness mostly gone now, from the blow she had given him last week. She had been furious when she understood their mother and brother were dead, that it was his actions which started the conditions to their murders. Crud, what does she want? I hope she does not want to ask me how i am feeling, or, do I miss them? I will leave if she does, if I can.........

[Knt Maverick]

ok..quickquestion... WHAT THE HELL YOU DOING WRITTING THIS NOVEL HERE!!!??? GET THIS CHIT PUBLISHED AND HELP BRING BACK THE BATTLETECH NOVELS!!! lol...--b.t.w, am planning on saving the pages and doing a little light reading tonight, now that i've found this.

[plodder]

, Thank you, but the real writers are about, they will take the torch up if allowed. I read their stuff and am ever humbled by the fun scratches I make in the MWO soil, compared to theirs..

[Knt Maverick]

Still, I think the BT novels should return. Once started writing my own back in the 8th or 9th grade. Opened up with a battle scene, using my own callsign, and the callsigns of my fellow clansmen (Scorpions) and one of our most heated rivals who changed Company names frequently, (UNITY, WaR, WikeDKlownZ--this last name could be misspelled). but, after 3 front & back college-ruled notebook pages and nearly 7/8ths through that one fight, somehow i lost that particular notbook. I suspect one of my teachers held onto it for themselves, but, i was praised on the level of detail and action that just those few pages contained. --story-timeline was barely 5 mins.. lol.

Maybe MWO will help me recover some of the details and thoughts and i'll pick up the pencil again and actually complete something thistime.

Keep up the work:)--and i look forward to the rest (if there is any) of this story.

[plodder]

That may be Jake, but you are just a lad, and if we let you do everything you have a mind to, where would it end? I have a responsibility to your family to ensure your ability to survive this action. Yes that little mission we had you perform went off brilliantly, and you yourself showed you have the makings of a superior mechwarrior someday, but honestly, the only reason I allowed you to be the secret eyes and ears, was your refusal to allow anyone else use your family's mech. I do not have a mech that has such a light signature on this side of the planet. Listen now Jake, I do not want to ever say this again, and hate to say it now, your training was exemplary, very much so, since, you were not the primary trainee in your father's and uncles' plans. From what I understand, is, that "this" Ostscout has some kind of special history, and was planned in a larger scale, project, something above my pay grade to know any of the details. My point is, the mech is your family's mech, but it is not necessarily your mech, I have allowed you latitude due to the unfortunate events, but, you may lose your mech due to you being too young, too untrained, too bull headed about "your" mission with these interlopers, also, you may lose the mech to the greater needs that be. I am sorry, but you need to hear that and understand all its ramifications. The mech was your father's, he promised its use specifically for the project, and your uncle is on the ownership papers too, we had it checked out. If the mech is reassigned, be assured, you will be trained further, receiving a mech to use, but for now, I am proudly putting you down on the roles with my regiment as a trainee, with all its duties and privileges. You look a little surprised. Did you think you were going to haunt these halls, unattached? Now get out of here, and report to Lt. So'and'So. Dismissed. Jake left, not saying a word, not happy at the new restrictions being placed upon him, but somehow comforted by them all the same. The Major frowned slightly as Jake left the office, pondering what was so special about this Ostscout. True, the Ostscout was probably one of the purest, most capable scout mechs ever designed,but, for those involved in whatever was being staged, well, it was above his pay grade. No need to tie up the brain with riddles without answers.

Edited by plodder, 25 June 2012 - 02:26 PM.

[plodder]

Feb. 12, 2721 Lost Moon

View message: The thin faced man, tense by nature if not by facial expression, made his report as recorded on the vis-screen, in an unprofessional and casual way, as usual...

It can't be done!!!!You cannot not redesign Myomer fiber to the specifications you demand! I do not care how many teams you put on the project, or how you bury it it C-bills, it is impossible.....We have made strides sir, 16% increase in overall performance. You have seen the reports, frankly, we have hit a wall, and what you are expecting cannot be done. Now the strength portion of the performance enhancements has the overall increase of 23% bringing up the overall performance numbers. The controlling of precision movement is -8%, the power consumption is astronomically high.
The only good thing we have discovered in the last 6 months is the heat variable. It seems that there is a mild grade increase in efficiency when the fibers get above the normal operating temperatures. The heatsink bank had a failure in mod 3 lab. They are running the durability on all the Myomer fiber we make. Tech Renard was on duty. He felt ill, but decided he was well enough to get through his shift, but he was grossly wrong. He had appendicitis problem, it ended in surgery, and his replacement never arrived. Needless to say, precautions have been put in place to make sure that type of neglect of a test never happens again. The Myomer ran overheating gradually for 4.6 hours, where they eventually failed. There are new sets of tests and conditions I recommend. The fibers tear themselves easier when they peaked in their efficiency, so in these tests, I need to recommend the restrictions for Myomer mass be ignored, and the fibers be made larger to hold up for the testing required. Again, what you ask is impossible, but you are paying me an ungodly amount of C-bills to lead this secret project of yours, so I continue to do my best. It will not be good enough, you need to realize that. Thank you for your support though, this is truly an amazing undertaking my friend.
The message ends with the man giving a quirkish grin, knowing in his his eyes, that he is in the right, yet hoping otherwise.

The ancient one sets back, pipe in jaw, puffs his acrid bitter smoke into a cloud around him, thinking, this may be important. Instinct whispering to him once again, yes this may be what we need, It can be done, given time and C-bills.

Edited by plodder, 09 July 2012 - 11:06 AM.

[plodder]

Feb. 14, 2721 Lost Moon

Renard Kerensky, was feeling much better, his appendicitis attack had been bad, and he knew he could have died, but to fail in his duty was maybe worse! He had been raised to be thoughtful and diligent in duty, and in life. Now here he was, in the most important part of his life, on a secret world, no, moon, far from known space, dedicated to science, within a group of ultimately dedicated scientists, and he had utterly failed. I know they will not fire me, where could I go? But they may relegate me to some unimportant assignment. This is my home, my new world, we will populate it and grow. I knew this was a one way trip, but to have put such shame on myself so soon, so utterly, what will I do to redeem myself?


A thin faced man enters into Renard's room, he did not knock, he does not smile or apologize, he has an intense demeanor, a arrogance of sorts. "Ranard, do you know what you are responsible for? Do you know what happened at your post after you were taken to the infirmary?" Pausing contemplatively, softening a bit around the eyes, he continues," No, I see you don't... Quit that fearful look you are giving me Tech, this may be the very break we have been looking for..........The man goes on for at least an hour before a nurse rudely tells him to leave. Renard thinks,"So that is the Superintendent of this project, and he is as thankful for my illness, as I am for the pretty, rude,nurse." After the Super leaves, Renard says "Excuse me nurse, I want to thank you for that kindness, can I thank you by taking you out for dinner next week?"

[plodder]

The ambush had been a success, well within the operating parameters with as little damage as the Major had planned for. Hanson, now a Regular in the Highlander unit, was no stranger to the mercenary way of life and death. He believed he knew a well planned and executed operation, and that ambush fit the bill! And heck, those sheepherders pulled off objectives as if they were born to it, not a loose group of backward herders they are! Sure, they looked like some yokel locals without a concern to the enemy troops, just like planned, but heck, if the bad guys had sniffed a ruse, they would have mowed down the sheepherders and their women, but they were amazingly as cool as a winters breeze, not a hitch or a stumble. The way they disabled those individual mercenaries, and disabled their equipment, it was dynamic, worthy of a trained unit, it seems odd? “I wonder if Master Sargent Glasshope has anything to add to my thoughts,” Hanson mutters to himself, in a hopeful, yet doubting variance in is voice and mind.

Edited by plodder, 29 August 2012 - 10:16 AM.

[plodder]

"Glass, I need your final recommendation on Hanson. I will pass him on to the next cycle of possibles if you can't give him a thumbs up, but, I have a good feeling on this one, and I never give up on a good hunch. So what will it be Master Sargent?" The Major puffed on his favorite briar, peering thoughtfully at Master Sargent Glasshope, and patiently waited......"Well sir," Glass didn't look the Major in the eye, but looked towards the barracks where Hanson was laying on his bunk, oblivious to the conversation, or even the subject he was a part of, his future on the line, his never dreamed of hope, blossoming just 50 meters away. "Sir, he is a bit raw, not ready with experience, not competent enough to lead a unit. Heck, He can barely follow orders to the letter, but..., there is that hunch you have, and truthfully, I have it too. I think it would be a mistake to pass up this opportunity. I say without confidence, yet with conviction, put him in this cycle. If he flushes out, then reassign him to me, I will always be proud to serve with him, he is a man sure as daylight is good sir." Puffing methodically and slowly, the Major let the M. Sergent's words mingle in the air, with the smoke above him. As the smoke slowly dissipated, the words concentrated in the mind of the Major. Should he entrust this Hanson with the secret of Troke? The trainer for hand to hand combat, the expert of demolition? "Ok, he is in." Leaning back in his chair, a satisfied look on his battle hardened face., He luxuriously puffs an exaggerated puff of smoke, releases it in a slow relieved blow. "Thanks Glass, I think this is the right thing, hope he doesn't screw it up. I want to see his face when he finds out he has been accepted to the Royal Black Watch, because truthfully, besides the fact I think this is the right thing, I really like this kid."

Edited by plodder, 31 August 2012 - 10:37 AM.

[Mechxican JAKE]

Good stuff man, keep it flowing.

[plodder]

Maisey, sweet little, smart little, tart little Maisey

Maisey was everyones friend. The old craggy veterans enjoyed her tomboy no fuss manner, she reminded them of days long gone, even if they wouldn't quite admit it. Times when beautiful young women were their every thought, then, when they became their wifes, and eventually daughters and some, even grand daughters. They found it comforting to have her around, remember why they have dedicated their lives to protecting the Highlander way of life. The single younger men, from those that barely knew they were men, to those in their middle age, could not help but want to be near her. More than a few felt they would make a perfect life mate for her. If it were not for proprieties, and common manly fears, she would be besought upon day and night. This is a mercenary unit, not full of angels or priests, but still a tight military operation, so it is not so surprising, that after only a month after her older brother and mothers death, she had recently been approached by a few of the braver, or foolhardy of the Highlander men. The attention was not unwelcome, well most of it. Not feeling particularly pretty, believing the attention was equally being shared upon the other available woman in the unit, she appreciated the fumbling, bold, and imaginative plays for here attention. She was right about the other women getting their share of attention. She was woefully wrong on the other score though. She was gorgeous, drop dead, "line up boys, and get a look at this" kind of looks. Her family background kept many of the hounds off her trail, her intimidating beauty did most of the rest. She found herself going back in her thoughts to the young officer with Warrant Officer Clancy a while back. He had not approached her, though he was often around, doing some type of busy work or another. He didn't seem to be one of those arrogant tall handsome men, the type that expected ladies to say yes to whatever they suggested. He was tall and handsome. She was attracted by that, but she was intrigued by his self control. He obviously liked her, was not shy like many of the other men, he was holding back for reasons she could guess. It could be that he liked her, but not enough to risk involvement with her family ties. There he is now. She looks at him as he is coming down the corridor towards th alcove she working in. Behind him is Clancy, blind to everything but the tablet he is reading out loud from to the Lieutenant. “I wonder if he knows I am technically a civilian?” She whispers under her breath, a gleam in her eye, for the mischief she is about to create.

[plodder]

"Sir, sorry to bother you at this late hour, but you did want me to inform you if there was any news about the Ostscout sir. No sir, it is not in our possesion. I have word that it was active in a defensive raid on planet. I have some coffee here sir, if you want the report now."

[plodder]

"Ach!!! What type of piddle did the sky lords set upon us now?" Before the short and rangy man, is a group of brawny men. Physically fit men, of every age and size. "Aye there, you!" The rangy man, a shepherd by his look and kit, points at a youngish man, perhaps 24, maybe 28 cycles old, standing toward the back of the congregation of 15 or so men. The man has a welcoming face, a face that obviously smiles a fair amount, but still has flint in his hardening blue eyes. "Yes sir!" Is the shouted response. Yes, You there boy, come here. Look lively man." The man, a recruit actually, carefully avoids pushing anyone out of his way as he rushes to the front to face his new master, his new challenge. "Where ya from boy?" The accent part Highlander, part Solaris street, and something not quite explainable. "Aye, I see. Let me ask you this; does your mother love ya son?" Surprised at the question, trying to figure out the trap being laid for him, he, hesitates, and then replies. The instructor looks at his charge, this recruit with a look of bewilderment and disappointment. "What do you mean? You think so? What kind of a son gives an answer like that? What is wrong? You thought her milk was sour, and ya bite the paps that fed ya?" The recruit answers, but is cut off by the sneering instructor." So you now say, she loves ya? Good! Now listen closely..." The shepherd YELLS," Your mother aint here HERE!!! An none of these pretty bairns ye come here be give’n a shipp’s(sheep’s) ***** if'n ya's live'n or dye'n boy! If ya be think'n t'other, or, even if'n they be think'n be care'n bout such, that will soon change! Do you know why your’n here, you big ugly excuse of a Scot? Highlander?my stinking arse. If the your'n group tis considered da best the Highlanders av (have), God elp us! We and the future's doomed. Why are you looking at me? Did I tell ya, you'n could be look'n at me?" Now, in a quiet and smooth, yet rasping whisper, which hinted at caring, suggested hope, though truly filled with sarcasm, the shepherd asks, "What is it boy? You look as if'n ya be angerd, did I hurt your girly little feelings? Oh, I see I av. Stepping back a meter or so, he points to the group of mixed Highlanders, officers, privates, sergeants. “Boy, ya may be a Senior NCO where you come from, but here, ya be a mewling kitten. This once I will give ya a chance to satisfy the anger of you'n girlish soul. Pick three of yoan girlfriends there" pointing at the group of men,"and beat me to hell if ya can, otherwise get on yoan knees & lick ma boots!!!" Picking 1, 2, 3, the men move in coordination to attack the smaller rangy shepherd/instructor. When it was done, the entire group of would be attackers, are, unconscious, two with broken bones the SNCO laying in a pile of his own vomit. With a pleasant grin, reminiscent of the Jack'o lantern of "The Winter's Day Feast," the shepherd looks at the remaining group, pauses to look them all in the eye, then without mirth or gravity emotionlessly speaks, "You can help your new enemies to the infirmary. You are all volunteers, you stupid basswords." Turning away the shepherd/instructor thinks.......

Edited by plodder, 28 October 2012 - 02:01 PM.

[plodder]

The nurse was a a common girl, a pleasant woman in most respects, a bit particular to those that knew her well, but she was beautiful to those that eyes to see, but she did not know any of this. She was just flattered that the man asked her to dinner. He was not a good looking man, but those eyes, filled with so much intensity, so much piercing intelligence, and that shade of blue, glacier blue...maybe could break her rules on seeing a patient out of work? The Lost Moon had a limited selection of men to spend time with anyhow. Yes Mr. Kerensky, I think that would be pleasant. She blushed prettily as he beamed his joyess smile, and his eyes glittered with obvious delight.

Edited by plodder, 09 January 2013 - 07:34 PM.