Ultima Ratio Regum: The Reboot

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So.  I know the idea to become a better writer is to practice, but just blurting out the story in a single pass and trying to go without a detailed Story/Chapter plan - not for me.  I'm not finished writing the first chapter, even but I feel much more confident I'll actually finish it now that I'm doing it my way.  It might not be the fastest told story, but I feel happier about the flow and grammar now that I'm not rushing through it without a real plan.

Quite a few small things have changed, mostly word choice and some descriptions after Andrew gets to the arena.  Hope you enjoy it.

[Red Pins]

Ultima Ratio Regum

By

Red Pins


Prologue

     When political means failed to curb the liberal attitudes of the Wolverines, the only remaining option was a military one, a final solution to remind the rest of the Clans of the need for unity.  But the cost of the first Trial of Annihilation was more than Nicolas had expected.  Knowing the stakes, Khan McEvedy ordered the retreat to Eden, but sent a spoiling force to capture the true prize of the Castle Brian concealed among the 331rst Division’s arms – the PROMETHEUS database, located and brought to the Pentagon from its hiding place in the Hegemony by the great general Aleksandr Kerensky and the SLDF.

     Eventually fleeing to the Inner Sphere, led by a single WarShip (a Lola III) with the stolen data core, a small group of volunteers turned back to spy on the rest of the Clans and establish ties with Clan Burrock while the rest of the Wolverine survivors circumnavigated the Inner Sphere, allying themselves with a refugee fleet while passing through the Valentina system to loose themselves in the Deep Periphery Rimward of the Taurian Concordat.  Eventually arriving at a trio of hospitable worlds (Legacy, Heritage, and Inheritance), the refugees declared their search for a new home over.  The Wolverines, however, continued outward, colonizing a double-star system and remaining isolated from their neighbors.

     The colonists eventually fell into civil war, much as the Pentagon worlds did, but the Wolverines had been alert to such an eventuality.  Spawning four smaller, more specialized sibClans and declaring itself IlClan Wolverine, Khan McEvedy claimed the right to lead the New Clans into battle as IlKhan.  The New Clans then staged an invasion to occupy facilities vital to the survival of the colonies as a peacekeeping force.

     As the war expanded to the rest of the Legacy Cluster, the civilian population began seeking the protection of the New Clans, foreswearing former allegiances to join them.  Eventually, the civil war ended.  A shrewd politician, McEvedy refused to accept the most troublesome of the former Civil Government citizens, but ordered the Clans to provide assistance rebuilding the colonies in exchange for recognition of the territory claimed by the New Clans during the civil war.  Over time, membership amongst the New Clans would drain a significant portion of the educated and talented seeking a more promising future, much as McEvedy intended.

     Twenty years after the civil war and the Spawning of the First Clans, McEvedy’s successor ordered the Spawning of the Second Clans to match the original number of Kerensky’s dezClans.  Each of the four First Clans and IlClan Wolverine subdivided again into four, further specializing in different fields by absorbing huge numbers of eager volunteers from the carcass of the Civil Government.  Although the Second Clans were (barely) self-sufficient, the New Clans as a whole were grateful for the ten-year Truce declared by the IlKhan.

     The threat of the Wolverine Annihilation was never far from the memories of House McEvedy, and the need to drastically expand the industrial base and Toumans of the New Clans led to a cautious policy of immigration, seeding the Periphery with small forces to find and guide refugees deeper into the Periphery before convoys brought them to the Legacy Cluster to live on the Civil Government worlds.  Once again, the New Clans absorbed the most educated and talented of the refugees.

     As the New Clan system matured, the need for a federal system allowed the Second Clans to force an agreement through the Grand Council to declare their home (or capital) systems off-limits to Trials, making the former Civil Government worlds and the newly-settled Faction Worlds a hotbed of Trials for glory and territory while safeguarding the smaller Clans’ industrial base, increasing the rate of growth.

     As the New Clans Spawned and expanded, the threat of extinction and the increasing numbers of Trials of all varieties encouraged new weapons and tactics – the New Clans quickly adapted existing weapons from the original Circe Brian Cache, then began limited manufacture of combat vehicles, eventually progressing to Primitive Battlemechs and AeroSpace Fighters until domestic manufacturing and education supported the creation of modern units.  Eventually intelligence from the Pentagon informants concerning the development of dezClan technology was brought to the Cluster, and ultra-modern, cutting-edge technology began to reach the Toumans of the New Clans.

     In isolation, the New Clans created new concepts to combine with the technologies developed by the Inner Sphere and Clans, resulting in missile-cell launchers, Partial AirMechs, Extra-Light ‘Mechs, Assault Components, twin-engine FighterShips, and a great many more.  But by 2963, the New Clans were on the cusp of a new development, the creation of a new generation of WarShips – the ultimate argument of Kings.

Chapter One


     “So.  Here we are – again.”

     The men and women around the triangular, glossy black conference table with gold inlay were stone-faced as the short, dark-haired Khan of Clan Kraken voiced his displeasure.  “Clan Kraken – mysterious and clever predator of the deeps – finds itself unable to dominate our chosen field.  While AeroSpace Fighters and FighterShips are sufficient to defend our possessions, we have made no headway in creating the first of a new generation of WarShips to crush our rivals in the Legacy Cluster.”

     Leveling a sulfurous glare at the heads of the civilian Castes, Khan Nigel Fernandez leapt to his full height, slamming his palms on the cool, grey granite surface of the table down forcefully, savoring the discomfited expressions and slight starts his action had provoked, and snarled, “Because we CAN… NOT… AFFORD IT!”

     Turning to face the wall behind him, Nigel studied the oil portrait he had commissioned of his successful bid for the rank of Khan of Clan Kraken.  The two AeroSpace Fighters jumped out vividly against the glue-and-green background of Wake, the heavier Ahab of his opponent trailing smoke and pieces of its fuselage as his faster, more maneuverable Rapier hung slightly above and behind it.

     The familiar memories of the vicious air-to-air combat calmed him, reminding him to look for the unexpected, and he took a deep breath, reaching out to steady the back of the spinning chair he had sent rolling backwards and forcing himself to control his anxiety before turning back to the table and the Caste reports that doomed his hopes to begin construction of the first new WarShip outside the dezClan homeworlds in nearly a century. 

     “When I became Khan, I swore to create a navy fit to dominate the Legacy Cluster.  After nearly fifty years, the time to fulfill the promise of our totem has come.”  In control of himself again, he turned to seat himself at the table once again.

     “If we can’t provide the scientific expertise – “, he said pointedly to the balding, grey-haired Chief of Scientists, “ - or provide more than a tithe of the manpower and materials necessary –“, as he spread the blame for their failure evenly across the remaining Castes, “- then we need to convince the IlKhan and our allies to aid us.”

     Glancing left and right across the table, he continued.  “I propose to use our access to the PROMETHEUS database as members of the IlKhan’s Joint Development Program to search for historical information on the TAS Charger, Earth’s first armed ship and the ancestor of the modern WarShip.”

     “Do I hear a Second?”

     “Seconded, my Khan”, was the quick response from Liam Paracelsus, representing the Scientist Caste.  The long grey fringe left atop his balding head began to shake as he nodded vigorously, his flabby jowls beginning to shake like an echo.  “Such an approach makes sense on many levels – we could approach our colleagues for support of your initiative as well several Khans expected to judge the results of some of our joint research projects –“

     “No.”  The Khan’s flat, emphatic voice cut like a laser across the older man’s growing enthusiasm.  “No, we don’t want to spread the news that the Kraken Warrior Caste wants to use orbital bombardment to exterminate our rivals.”

Leaning back slightly as Paracelsus flushed and polite laughter made the rounds of the various aides and Caste representatives around the room, Nigel was careful to note those who didn’t laugh – the ones who could be expected to be Paracelsus’ allies or rivals within the Caste.

  “No, I’ll send a courier to deliver our request to the IlKhan – the politics of the Grand Council could be to our advantage, here.”

     Nodding to the chastened Paracelsus, he continued.  “Our Scientists will be left to field the questions of their peers – nothing travels faster than rumor, especially among men and women who have to deal with confidential projects and information all day.”  Nigel gave a small, wry grin, adding, “It’s not like they can make polite conversation about the weather at the Heartforge facility.”

   Another round of laughter, this one far friendlier to the Scientists, traveled across the room.  Heartforge, one of the highest-security facilities within the Cluster, had been the focus of a massive assault by the Carnoraptors – the defending Cave Frogs had been forced to destroy the dams surrounding the former mine, as the initial attack caught the defenders by surprise – and although the ‘Raptors and Frogs had kept their feuding Warriors from violating the New Clan Rules of Engagement, no-one was eager to cross the no-man’s-land of FighterShips and Star League-era AeroSpace Fighters attempting to control the sub-orbitals and keep their opponent’s conventional aircraft from providing support.



#   #   #

     The Heartforge assault had been Clan Carnoraptor’s attempt to prove their worthiness to supplant Clan Dingo as a First Clan and Spawn their own Second Clan - and embarrass the bragging Cave Frogs by capturing their fortress.  The first warning had come as the elite 1st Carnoraptor Strike had been air-dropped over the target; the locks controlling the flow of the Rathgir River that fed the swamps guarding the South and Western approaches.

     The use of tactical nuclear warheads was a given, under the circumstances – and three of the weapons had been used, destroying the Rathgir swamp ecosystem, the locks, and the sole Mech Trinary to reach them.  Nearly two Clusters of Mobile Assault vehicles and Extra-Light Mechs charging into the swamps had become trapped as the water rose, and the attack had settled into a siege, with the Cave Frogs coming out ahead although the air battle was still being hotly contested.

#   #   #

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#   #   #

     Turning to Lars Sigmundson, the handsome blonde bearded man in the impeccable business suit to his left, he continued, “Our Merchants will begin asking to purchase options to buy large quantities of material suitable for such a project from several of the smaller suppliers – leave the Devil Wasps to question why they haven’t been approached after the rumors of a new project reach them.”  Lars nodded, waving aides forward to give whispered instructions.

     Nodding his head in return, Nigel rose from his chair to close the Council meeting, the action causing the groups of aides to begin standing and preparing to escort their superiors from the conference room.  “We’ll reconvene in a Standard month, gentlemen.”  In a quiet, but penetrating voice, he continued.

     “I want this issue expedited, with none of the normal Caste finger-pointing,” he said.  “This issue is too important, to me, personally.  I advise you…”   

#   #   #

     “…to remember that.”

     The subtle threat had no effect on the men and single woman in the room – hardly surprising, mused Richard McEvedy, as the recording came to an end.  The people seated at the glossy, black conference table in this room had heard – or more likely, made - every sort of threat in the course of their careers long before reaching the IlKhan’s private council.  The Intelligence agent in charge of the briefing quickly assembled his notes, tapped a section of the glossy, black lectern to deliver copies of his presentation to the attendees and minutes taken by unseen computer systems, and came to attention.  Richard dismissed the man with a grateful nod – the Silver Condor officer had given an excellent presentation, identifying the source of the rumors arriving with every courier.

     Waiting for the man to exit through the door behind him with his security escort, Richard brought up the formal, written request for the use of IlClan Wolverine’s PROMETHEUS database by the Joint Development Project to replicate the TAS Charger on a personal screen imbedded under the surface of the table and began to scroll through the document.  The Kraken proposal was full of the standard phrases and attestations, so cleverly written it might have brought tears to the eyes of any patriotic Clansman who read it – by this time, Richard found he preferred the blunt self-interest of Nigel’s proposal to the stirring pleas of some nameless Laborer who had probably written it.

     “So.  Comments?”

   At his right, the long, silky black hair of Khan Farrah McEvedy in her black Warrior Caste dress uniform moved freely around her pale face and pursed lips as she tapped the touch screen controls of the glossy black conference table, bringing up an image of the Lola III-class WarShip White Fang to life in front of her before flicking it towards the center of the table, where a much larger image of the Destroyer came into focus, green wire diagrams of prominent weapon bays and features to each side.

     “We moved most of the prominent Naval and AeroSpace supporters into the Krakens when they were Spawned.  It’s hardly a surprise they want to begin building a Navy.”  Tapping more keys, a series of charts and tables began to come up under the surface of the table as the WarShip winked out of existence.  “Despite the way we’ve ‘encouraged’ the merchant Captains of the JumpShips carrying refugees to remain in the Cluster, and bought captured JumpShips from pirates on the borders of the Periphery when and where we thought we could get away with it, we need more - lots more - before the economy is capable of supporting this kind of toy for the use of the Warrior Caste in any sort of usable numbers.”

     Leaning back in her chair and beginning to turn side-to-side in her comfortable office chair, she shrugged, turning to face the brown-haired man beside her dressed in a Technician’s jumpsuit.  “I’d say no, and continue with the plans in place to develop facilities able to begin production of the Merchant-class JumpShips.  Andrew?”

     Andrew Hanke, a broad man with a greying goatee and friendly smile in charge of the Wolverine Technical Caste, turned to manipulate his own controls before speaking, bringing up the archival image of TAS Charger and its technical readout.  “First, I agree with Farrah – it’s no surprise the Clans designated as Naval- and Aerospace support should be agitating for the tools to get the job done.”

     Leaning back in his own chair, the room’s subdued lighting brought out the occasional silver hairs on his head.  “On the other hand - the Aquila-class might represent more than just a new toy for the Warrior Caste – it could be just the kind of boot-strap we need to become self-sufficient in domestic JumpShip production.”

     “We took advantage of the PROMETHEUS core to cut decades off the development time of modern Mechs and weapon systems to field a military that wouldn’t just be a speed bump for the dezClans, but the engineering behind modern JumpShips requires tolerances we still can’t fully achieve.”  He shrugged.  “Frankly, I think we might have screwed up.”

     Several others around the table nodded as Andrew continued.

     “We wanted to avoid the problems with a transit drive, and move straight to the option that would show the maximum return on our economic growth – but the Aquila will be easier to build, be producing sooner, and need fewer highly-trained Technicians and crews.”

     “Running a fusion plant is not ‘simple’, and never will be,” interjected Farrah.

     “Building and Running a Primitive fusion plant is something we already have trained Technicians and Laborers to accomplish,” Andrew pointed out.  “We have production lines still supplying the Civil Government and the weaker Clans even through production and labor have shifted to modern plants, planned ahead for upgrades to current military designs…  Some of the weaker Clans have already bought and moved the manufacturing equipment to continue production.”

     “Nothing says we need to manufacture the same transit drive, either.”  He shrugged again.  “It would take a smarter man than me to give an off-the cuff answer, but I think something that can carry a Naval weapon might be possible.”

     “Would an engineering study be feasible?”, asked Richard.  “And how much would it push back progress on the Merchant project?”

     “Hard to say.  An off-the-cuff assessment would be only days, but a realistic one would take some of our best engineers off the project for months,” Andrew answered soberly.  “There’s a reason the DropShip and Jump collar made these ships obsolete – these ships would contribute to the bottom line, but what would happen to them when these ships are retired?”

     “That’s beside the limited Jump range – it may be that the shorter range gives a smaller detection footprint or some other military benefit I’m not aware of right now, but are all of you aware Intelligence reports have concluded the Devil Wasps have launched their prototype?  They’re designating it a ‘Pocket WarShip’ for now.”

#   #   #

     Taking a deep draft of the dark beer, Liam leaned back in the overstuffed chair behind his desk.  Befitting the Chief Scientist of one of the First Clans, the desk was a smaller copy of the glossy black conference table of the Clan Council.  Personalized readouts and inputs made the task of directing the scientific endeavors of an entire nation-state possible, interfacing with the complex systems of computers and databases to ensure his commands – and those of the Clan Council – were able to travel through the far-flung series of interstellar communication relays to their destination and remain secure.

     “Computer:  transcribe.”

     The soft chime distracted him for a moment, as it always did – an interest in the history of the late 20th Century had led a former assistant to replace the standard confirmation with a series of recorded vocal cues based upon the popular fiction of the period before he tired of it and ordered it removed – and he began speaking aloud for the benefit of the advanced computer to transcribe his message for encryption and dispatch it to the lead researcher of the JDP/Heartforge facility.

     "¿Que pasa?, Jose – as you might guess, this is hardly a routine call.  Politics is rearing its ugly head, again, my friend – Khan Fernandez is determined to push for the beginnings of a new research project with the JDP to determine what PROMETHEUS might contain on the history of the Terran Alliance, specifically the creation of the Aquilla-class JumpShip and its adaption to military use in the form of TAS Charger.”

     Taking the bowl of salted Terran peanuts from his desk, he took a moment to enjoy the contrast between the beer and the salty crunch before considering his message and the recipient.  Jose, son of an immigrant from Galisteo of the Southwestern Trinity worlds on the Free Worlds League Periphery, was an unexpectedly subtle man, and a brilliant Scientist.

     Most people believed it to be a case of insecurity due to his height, but Jose had actually embraced the ‘cowboy’ lifestyle as a means of overcoming an almost overwhelming case of shyness, embracing the brash and aggressive behavior of his heritage.  Liam almost snorted in derision, then took another pull on his bottle instead.  Jose and his wife Isabella had been an easy choice to represent the Kraken Scientist Caste to the rest of the IlKhan’s Joint Development Project – it was all too easy to forget that the fiery couple were in fact two of the brightest Scientists of the Clan.

     “Start shopping around the normal sorts of rumors – anything you think would help, nothing official but off the record comments by lower-level personnel already identified as security risks could help.  Ask your beautiful wife to start complaining about the extra time spent at the office – I know Sofia is too young to be trusted with this, but mentioning Uncle Liam and ‘bicycle’ in the same sentence as ‘JumpShip’ might help too.”

     “My staff is assembling a list of key-words for the search parameters – nothing really original, but they do sometimes come up with something overlooked – and the rest of the details for the new project will come with the next courier with Sofia’s birthday present.  Give Isabella my love.  Take care.”

     “Computer: end.”  Turning and opening the small refrigerator to one side of his desk, he pulled out a new bottle and twisted off the cap, took a long drink to get the taste of politics out of his mouth, then went back to the politics of rank.

     “Encrypt.  Recipient:  Jose Sanchez, Kraken J-D-P head, Heartforge.”

#   #   #

      The screaming crowd in the temporary stands were totally engrossed in the gun-camera footage on the giant projection screens on the floor of the factory - the fight between the two ELMs could be heard in a strange counterpoint, as the speakers around the base of the screens showing the different viewpoints immersed the crowd in the fight, only to be echoed a second later as sound propagated through the building.  It had been fairly simple to ask one of the Laborers moonlighting as scalpers where the fight was, but they weren’t called ‘scalpers’ for nothing.  Bennie’s kid was probably never going to pass the entrance exams for the next Pharmacy course intake, but the favor was in everybody’s best interest.

     The ground shook a little, and the crowd up ahead started catcalling and booing as the fall brought the fight to an end.  Taking advantage of the pause, the crowd quickly turned to the bookies and venders hovering on the outskirts.  The least drunk – or most observant, anyway – checked a step seeing the security team following him into the sold-out fights, before seeing the logo on the jacket he had chosen for tonight.

    Breaking into a wide grin and pulling a twenty-dollar bill from the pocket of his jacket, he waved at one of the beer venders nearest to him.  The vender waved back and clapped the young girl in a barmaid’s apron beside him on the shoulder, pointing at him and the men walking towards the match to ensure the bookies paid up and the prize money stayed where it was instead of filling some thief’s pocket.

      The young girl darted under the counter of the booth before lifting a gate and jogging across the factory floor with a case of bottles in both hands.  Coming up to Andrew the girl handed off the cases to the man beside him and threw both arms around him for a hug before glaring up at him.

     “The crowd’s been a little rowdier than normal with the title on the line – they egged them on a bit too much and the warm-up matches started about twenty minutes ago.  Where the hell was Security, and how much are we paying you again?”

     Andrew reached under her arms to pinch one of the ribs under the apron to get her to give a yelp of surprise and let go.  “Security was sitting in their booth until about twenty minutes ago, watching the first match and calling to bitch nobody was there yet to make sure the box office didn’t vanish and their cuts go missing with it.  Good thing a Chief Technician warrants a Security escort.  Here.”

     The girl plucked the twenty out of his hand, raising an eyebrow and giving him a questioning look.  “You and security get your drinks for free – what’s this?”

     “Every barmaid gets a tip, Bunny”, Andrew said.  “Put it away and let’s get to work.”

     Turning back to the match as the buzzer signaling the end of the first three minutes went off, he looked back at the catcalls from the security team to see the young girl’s glare as she pulled the top of the apron out to put her tip away, settling it back into place and accepting the empty cases back from the smiling men putting down their bottles to go to work.  “That’s getting old, you dumb ass!  I own the damn bar, now!”

     Waving at her father Andrew walked up to the booth to shake the grinning older man’s hand.  “Heinrich – good crowd tonight.  What do you have for me?”

     The balding man with the wispy grey tonsure and clean white apron over his rough-cut Laborer’s uniform twisted the top off a sweating bottle and passing it across the top of the bar, putting a case on the bar beside it.  “HO!  My grand-daughter’s going to kick that lazy ass between your shoulders for THAT!  You know she hates the attention now that she’s a successful Merchant.”

     Taking a cautious sip of the bottle, Andrew closed his eyes against the noisy crowd to enjoy the fine beer.  “You old bugger, you need to let your daughter buy you a brewery already.  Timbiqui must have pissed themselves worrying you’d go into business as a competitor.”

     Accepting the empty cases from his grand-daughter Heinrich scowled.  “Diese Schweine!  Vot the hell they need for wine?  My best not good enough?”

     The sharp poke from Bunny nearly caused him to spill the precious bottle as she joined the two men with a smile for the older man.  “Grampa, you have customers around the block when you choose.  Why not take advantage of your reputation?  No banker is going to say he never hear of you.”

     Heinrich shrugged and smiled, saying, “No place for a soul in a factory.  No craft.  What I do, I do for love.  Nothing else I want to do.”

     Turning back to restock for the next break, he crossed to the other side of the booth to let them talk privately.

     “So – if you paid a scalper to find the match tonight, it’s something that can’t wait.  What’s it this time?”, Bunny asked.

     Andrew took another appreciative sip of the cold beer before answering.  “I need to take care of business with Evan tonight before going home to sleep.  Something’s come up, and I need Evan to set up a team for something, but he leaves his comm with his wife at home on game nights.  I just thought I’d come over and say hello before the match.  How’s the bar doing?”

   Glancing towards a set of flags on the far side of the fight, the young woman narrowed her eyes a bit before answering.  “So the rumors are true, and you have to bother my fiancé’s mechanic right now?  Is our Khan insane?  There isn’t enough slack in the budget to get something like that off the ground, let alone the-“

     “That’s enough, Brunhilde”, Andrew finally interrupted, holding his hands and bottle in front of himself. 

     “It isn’t hard to guess what you want Evan to set up a team for, either.  Why not wait to talk to him tomorrow?”, Bunny asked angrily.

      Taking a deep, calming breath, Andrew found himself yawning, shaking his head to fight off the desire to go to home to bed, and tried to sound reasonable.

     “Why don’t I talk to him before the match, and get the reason for the official visit over with, so I can enjoy it?”, he said evenly.  “Since I bought the ticket out of my own pocket and bothered to wear the crew jacket he gave me for introducing him to his son’s major advertisers and the backer countersigning the loans that gave him Fever.”

     Although she started blushing, Bunny kept a stubborn glare focused on his chin, her bottom lip beginning to pout as she crossed her arms.

     A siren signaling the end of the match rose briefly over the noise of the crowd, as a crescendo of cheers and boos in turn drowned it out and signalled the beginning of a rush for the bookies and other venders as the fighters congratulated each other and the crew cleared their work areas of tools and personal items for the next match.

     Turning to grab the full case he reached out a hand, he asked, “Shall we head over to the pits?  Since I can’t put it these tickets on the expense account, I damn well want to enjoy it!”

#   #   #

     ‘Mechs had a long history of military service, and with their expansion into civilian applications some of those civilians had, privately, turned the unarmed and clumsy equipment back into weapons after hours.  Such had been the case until 2863, when a pair of drunken Laborers equipped with ICE-equipped LoaderMechs and tar-coated planks as ‘swords’ were discovered by Surf Dragon security forces.  Curious at the extent of the injuries of the suffered by the arresting officers, the Dragon Loremaster offered the two Laborers a choice; win a trial by combat to prove their worth, or spend a few years in the squalid conditions of the Dragon’s civilian prisons.

     Easily defeating a standard Infantry company, they were paraded before the Scientist Caste as an example of the weapons desired by the Dragon Warrior Caste, and a research project begun with IlClan Wolverine’s support eventually turned into the formal Joint Development Program – a Cluster-wide research and development program aimed at creating and improving new weapons technology.

#   #   #

     The crowds parted easily for Bunny, after the shapeless apron and sweater had been tossed behind the bar – most recognized the pretty face of Landing’s most successful fight promoter – and were willing to give way with nods of respect or toasts from bottles or plastic cups.  The next set of crews had moved on and the pit area was tight with fans and news crews reporting on the event, and the recovery vehicles burdened with their cargoes from the previous match were still moving slowly through the crowd.  As the second of the two vehicles pulled into a closed pit area to assess the damage, Andrew got his first glimpse of Fever, the twelve-foot Apprentice ELM.  Vaguely humanoid, the eighteen-ton Fever was one of the second-generation ELMs based on GM’s Marauder BattleMech, its heritage clear from the backwards canted legs and smooth dorsal section, broken by the pilot’s canopy and the massive shape of the design’s standard Large Pulse Laser.

     Even painted in a New Clan-standard urban camouflage pattern, Fever seemed to be poised in motion on the raised dias – waiting to explode into action.  Fans surrounding the pits were taking advantage of the sight, crowding around the defending champion for pictures and autographs, or focused on the scantily-clad young women waving and posing with fans between the Fever‘s legs.  Waving to the security guard next to the stage, Bunny took the man’s comm for a moment before giving it back and glancing at her Fiancé.  “Evan’s on his way to the front, and he’ll take you into the pit for your little talk.  Are you going to join the tech crew to watch from ringside, or in the stands?”

     “Ringside, of course!”, Andrew responded, laughing.  ‘Ringside’ had a special meaning to the aficionados of ELM arena fighting; cockpit- and gun-camera video had their advantages in fights that made use of live weaponry, but even the camouflaged cameras scattered through the arena couldn’t catch everything.  Armored cars, mounting remote cameras with seating for VIPs made up the difference, occasionally catching astonishing views of the fight close-up.  Those willing to risk taking a sometimes wildly rocking or bumpy ride had to admit the adrenalyn rush of watching the fight in person was addicting.  Even the occasional accident did nothing to reduce the number of spectators willing to take the risk of watching the match live. 

     Arriving to bring Andrew into the pit, Evan smiled and waved at the two as the security guard nodded to the two of them and turned back to watch the crowd.  Putting an arm around her shoulders to give her a hug, Andrew hefted the case of beer higher on his hip and went to join him.

*-Typos. Again.  And the security team.  Again.  I - never mind, saying I think that's all of them is just tempting fate.

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#   #   #

     “This is far enough – we need privacy for a few minutes, before I can go watch the match,” Andrew cautioned, reaching out to restrain Evan with a hand on the shoulder of the older man’s coveralls.  “I know rumor is faster than the average K-F drive, but this is one we want to encourage.”

     Turning to face him, Evan’s African features and bald head made him almost disappear in the darkened hall.  “Oh?”

     Nodding, Evan suddenly felt self-conscious, and chuckled.  “Let’s go out into the Pit – I just realized I was nodding, in the dark.  It’s been a long day, and it’s not over yet.”

     Evan gave a chuckle of his own, his teeth brighter than the rest of him before turning and beginning to move down the hall towards the lighted pit.  “I’m not so worried about seeing you in the dark,” Evan said.  “You practically glow.  You’re spending too much time in the office, old friend.  I always said politics turned people in zombies quoting musty old procedures and rules invented to justify their existence in the first place.”

     Andrew rolled his eyes and reached out in the growing light to hold the rail lightly as he kept his eyes averted from the light to preserve his returning night vision, the clinking of the beer bottles echoing off the walls.  “The pay is better, the hours aren’t as demanding, the cooler in the staff room office pantry comes with an entire shelf dedicated to keeping the beer ice-cold, and the cute twenty-year-old secretarial assistant they sent in to see if they could seduce me does squats,” he said in deadpan voice.  “My wife decided to get even with me for missing too many birthdays and anniversaries and asked her to stick around after working hours and remind me to go home.”

     Up ahead of him, Evan half-turned and stumbled at the same time as he broke out in guffaws.  Andrew nodded in satisfaction, as they entered the bright pool of light at the end of the tunnel and Evan turned back to face him.

     “GAWD!  That Beatrice has an evil streak you could fit a H/AC* in, doesn’t she?”  Andrew had to nod, but was smiling as he remembered the events after the late-night conversation with his wife when they had agreed he would accept promotion to the top rank of the Wolverine Technician Caste.

      “She does.”

     Glancing around at the empty area lit by the stroboscopic camera flashes from the audience and media and the steady fluorescent lighting overhead, Evan paused, looking carefully around before cautiously nodding.

     “The spy overhearing the conspirators in the deserted ELM pit just before the Championship match?  Somebody’s been reading Government propaganda, again,” said Andrew in a low voice with a hint of amusement clearly audible in his voice as he put down the case of beer.  “If you’re worried, don’t be – I have it from a ‘reliable source’ that it’s going to be in tomorrow’s news broadcasts.

     Reaching up to sketch quotations as he spoke, he gave Evan a smug grin.  “Nice to use the fiction of a free press to mislead people in our favor for a change.”

     Nodding his understanding, Evan came a few steps closer, crossing his arms and leaning back against the rail beside Andrew.

     “On a more serious note,” Andrew began, meeting Evan’s eyes and speaking more quietly now.  “There is more afoot than is safe to discuss here.  But you can consider yourself off the Merchant project with orders to report for a formal briefing forty-eight hours from now in my office.  Pack a bag for a couple weeks, and with any luck it won’t take even that long.  Finish the match, spend the day with Elsie, and come in Monday ready for a week of room service and boring conferences and eyestrain.”

     Seeing Evan understood, he smiled.  “I’ve already arranged for nightly comms, but standard security restrictions apply.  Can you keep a secret?”

     Rolling his eyes, Evan shook his head.  “Sure, tell me.”

     Leaning closer, Evan slapped Andrew on the shoulder and whispered in unison, “So can I.”  Straightening and rolling his eyes again, he added, “That was old years ago.  I swear you need to get out more, watching classic movies between meetings is rotting your brain.  Are you watching from ringside?”

     Andrew nodded.  “Here,” he said, hefting the case of beer.  “An apology – and bribe – and ten more to share with your wife.  There’s no room for it ringside, anyway.”

     “Then you better get moving,” Evan said, taking the case of beer from him.  “We’re moving to the arena in twenty minutes,” said Evan, waving goodbye as he turned to go.
     
* Author’s Note; A Heavy/Assault Component is a bastardized way of creating a ‘Mech over a hundred tons.  Assault Components are between 100-150 tons, Heavy ACs are between 150-200 tons.

[Red Pins]

     The armored car was reasonably comfortable, given the way the clamshell canopy sealed the valuable cameras and lenses between the paying passengers and the armored shell protecting the occupants.  Designed for the close-ranges and tight confines of arena fighting, the arrangement allowed the automated cameras to follow the fast-moving ELMs identified by IFF transmitters and kept the camera cars out of the pictures while maximizing the number of paying passengers crammed into the tight confines of the cars.

     The driver tonight, Lee Hinatsu, and Michael Wade, the electronics technician along to monitor the camera feed, were unrecognizable in their protective suits and helmets and restraints in the front seats of the vehicle as it navigated the twists and turns through the factory.  The unadorned factory walls of tonight’s match blurred as the nimble vehicle took up their assigned position to the rear of the defending Champion, Travis Jefferson and Fever, the ELM moving unaccountably slowly through the building and one of the other passengers breaking the silence to complain.

     “Damn, he’s slow – why’d we get stuck with him?”

     Scanning their surroundings from behind the wheel, Lee took advantage of Fever’s cautious pace to reply.  “My guess would be that’s his opening tactic, not running straight into Leslie’s Zippers and machine guns.”

     Andrew nodded to himself.  The night’s previous matches had highlighted the fast pace most of the Clan’s ELMs were capable of reaching, one of the classic trade-offs of light units to keep them alive on the battlefield, and the short ranges common to arena fighting favored the kinds of massive, short-range firepower that ended matches such as this with brutal speed.

     “Both sides want the best position to fight from,” Michael commented.  “Both sides’ve been studying the video of tonight’s matches, know how long it takes to get there, know the other guy’s weaknesses.”

     “Fever is heavier, slower, carries more armor and heatsinks, and can fire that Large Pulse laser all night,” Andrew noted.  “Eventually, those Zippers will run low on ammo and the only things Leslie will have left is speed and those machine guns.  That’s why only scouts and artillery spotters use them as primary weapons.”

     ‘Zippers’ were the final development to the ancient Autocannon, replacing the heavy loading mechanism and the risks of ammunition explosions with a single barrel packed with projectiles and blocks of solid propellant, detonated electronically.  Light enough for even ELMs to carry a single tube equivalent to an AC/20 with a single ton of ammunition, they offered incredible rates of fire but were useless until reloaded after the battle.  On the other hand, reloading could be accomplished extremely quickly with the appropriate equipment.

     Medium ELMs like Leslie’s DAKKA-DAKKA carried multiple barrels in smaller calibres, extending their endurance but making accuracy more of a problem when knock-out power counted.  The versatility of Improved-ACs and the multitude of ammunition types made up for it somewhat, but unlike their heavier cousins pilots were unable to pick and choose ammunition types during a fight, preventing them from adapting to a changing battlefield.

     “Jefferson is probably trying to throw Leslie off his game, sacrificing the better position, forcing him to adopt a weaker strategy and risk throwing away his damage potential on low-probability shots rather than offer an opportunity to end the match quickly before Fever’s ammo independence wins the match.”

     Andrew shrugged, knowing the other passengers would never see it.  “You’ve never been ringside, have you?”

     “Nah, I won the raffle at work – I couldn’t afford it.”

     “Then you’re in for a treat.  There’s no commentary, no advertising breaks, no overhead maps or CGI HUDs to take your attention from the match,” Andrew continued.  “Without distractions it seems longer but-“

     Andrew’s explanation was interrupted by the sudden spray of shrapnel across the canopy, as Leslie’s ELM sprayed a five-round burst into Fever and the wall around it.  Having held most of the ELM’s speed in reserve until now, Fever seemed to move blindingly fast, whipping around and firing at the retreating challenger as it tried to evade.  The cloud of smoke and falling dust refracted the strobing pulses of the laser, leaving spots in Andrew’s vision as Fever broke into a sprint to break contact.

     Used to the sudden violence of Leslie’s attack and expecting the visual effects of exposure to Jefferson’s counter-attack, Lee slammed the armored car into a brutal acceleration down a side tunnel, avoiding both pilots and getting out of the line of fire rather than keeping Fever in view.  Heart racing as Michael began checking the camera diagnostics and Lee began following the unheard directions from the Arena control room to return to shadowing his target from a safe distance, Andrew could only break into a grin as the rest of the passengers began to react to the encounter.

#   #   #

     “CRAP!”

     Seeing the icon of the charging ELM flicker into existence a split second before it solidified into a solid targeting lock, Travis squeezed the braking lever with his right hand while pushing the steering yoke to the stop.  The sudden deceleration quickly pushed Travis to the front of his saddle despite the restraints and years of practice, but Leslie’s fire had taken into account his early detection and he had led Fever too far ahead, expecting Travis to try and keep the forward momentum to break contact before he could make a second attack and only one of the armor-piercing rounds hit, blasting armor off the left arm.

     Pushing the steering yolk to the stops and turning his head further to the left brought the eighteen-ton ELM into a jarring twist, bringing the widening sighting reticule to bear on DAKKA’s silhouette as the impact and Fever’s sudden change in direction reduced the certainty of its targeting system.  Concentrating on moving the glowing dot in the middle of the target area over the ELM’s center of mass and reflexively clenching the triggers with the forefingers of both hands, Travis saw with satisfaction that the destructive pulses quickly regained their normal accuracy and remained focused on the nearest torso as Leslie’s hit-and-run strategy sought to protect him from return fire.

     Slamming the right foot pedal flat to the floor to regain the lost momentum, Travis watched the upper portion of Fever’s HUD to confirm Leslie’s withdrawal on the rear-mounted, motion-sensitive cameras as he straightened the yolk and the mounting acceleration rocked him back to the opposite end of the saddle.  The first encounter over, Travis’ eyes slid over the wire-frame diagram on the HUD.  As the diagram expanded to fill the bottom of the HUD, he noted the slight reddish-colored shading of the left arm, but quickly lifted his chin to concentrate on guiding Fever deeper into the arena.

     He never noticed the absence of the camera car.

[Red Pins]

#   #   #

     “The development of Extra-Light ‘Mechs (ELMs) was both helped and hindered by their association with Battlemechs; while many of the requirements and stra-tacs of Light ‘Mechs were easily adaptable to these unique units, the institutional viewpoint favoring the concept of a bipedal design using a standard cockpit nearly resulted in the failure of the project.  Pilots in bipedal prototypes with the familiar seated configuration were unable to fully control the agile units, frequently falling as g-forces overwhelmed their gyroscopic systems, caused in part by the high center of gravity.  After pilots familiar with high-speed motorcycles eventually convinced Technicians to adapt the control configuration to ELMs a secondary issue became quickly apparent as prototype cockpits began further testing; modern cockpits required enormous numbers of systems and controls, most of which had no equivalents or relevant function in ELMs.”

     “Advanced computer support eventually solved the problem, allowing pilots to choose options selected by a mixture of head movement and infra-red retinal tracking.  As pilots ‘looked’ at highlighted blocks visible in their helmet’s HUD by moving their heads, their eye movements selected from options available.  Test pilots further customized the system, simplifying basic operation and adapting a canopy similar to early fighter aircraft to allow pilots to visually locate and identify objects with the lightning-quick reaction times that quickly became synonymous to ELM pilots.  While offering less protection than the full-sized cockpit to fire- and heat-based attacks such as Inferno-armed SRMs or flamers, the speed and narrow profiles of ELMs are designed to minimize pilot casualties to such attacks.”

     -Excerpt, Introduction to “Military History and Development of the Legacy Cluster”.

#   #   #

* - I'm kind of surprised there aren't any comments or feedback so far - if you read it to here, what do you think?  I'm trying to do a better job than some of my earlier projects, any suggestions?

[Daryk]

I'm not a Clan fan, so the subject doesn't interest me much, but you're writing isn't bad.  I suggest adding another editing pass to make sure the spellchecker doesn't give you the wrong word (e.g., "yolk" vice "yoke").

[Red Pins]

I'm not a Clan fan, so the subject doesn't interest me much, but you're writing isn't bad.  I suggest adding another editing pass to make sure the spellchecker doesn't give you the wrong word (e.g., "yolk" vice "yoke").

Ugh.  Synonyms.  That's my fault, I forgot it was 'yoke'.

Well, glad to hear its OK so far.

[Daryk]

I blame Microsoft... You had it right the first instance, so my money is on the spellchecker correcting it the wrong way as you typed the other times.  Even if that isn't what happened, I still blame Microsoft for making us all complacent.

[Red Pins]

Okay, I got hung up there for a while, and wasn't sure I didn't want to start again, but here we go.

A couple minor tweaks before starting;

"triangular, gold-inlaid conference table" became "glossy black conference table with gold inlay"
"asking for offers option to buy" became " asking to purchase options"
"the illegal fight" became "the sold-out fights"
"standard infantry squad" became "standard infantry company"

5-6 pages of handwriting are already done, now comes the hard part - finding time to type.

[Red Pins]

Chapter 2

     “IlKhan, thanks for the meeting.”

     Richard took the hand Andrew offered him and shook it, closing the door to his working office firmly.  Identical to any number of middle-management offices, the wooden desk its desktop computer hid several unobtrusive switches in the center drawer, and Richard took a moment to sit down and open it to carefully flip two of them.  The electronic lock sealed the room as the Faraday cage surrounding the office activated, and the less intrusive digital recorders were taken off-line.

     “We’re secure,” he said, waving at the door.  “What’s so important I had to excuse myself from a meeting with the President of the Legacy Cluster Civil Government?”

     Settling himself in one of the chairs in front of the IlKhan’s desk, Andrew reached into his suit jacket and brought out a slim security case, leaning forward to put it on the desk.

     “Are you aware the engineering study on the Aquilla JumpShip is almost complete?  We have good news, and bad news.  The good news is, Clan industry meets or exceeds most of the requirements of the Aquilla.  It’s still early,” Andrew hedged.  “Our capabilities to supply the computer technology, K-F drive, and the transit drive are shaky, but continued investment in naval infrastructure would firm those up.  Estimates puts limited production a maximum of a decade away at the Legacy- and McEvedy Yards, and we expect production to increase as the economy grows.”

     “The bad news is - we focused on determining whether or not the design could be manufactured, but the Krakens took the opportunity for a fishing expedition and specified terms like ‘Capital’ and ‘weapons’ and got an unexpected bonus from the Prometheus data search – an abandoned Hegemony research project looking into smaller Capital-grade weapons.”

     Stiffening in his chair, Richard felt his good humor drain away as he contemplated the political and military upheaval Andrew had brought in with him.  Reaching for the security case, he placed it on one of the wear spots on the desktop, holding down one of the small buttons on the top of the case.  Watching an indicator light blink green three times, he opened the case without moving it and disarmed it before removing the storage unit and plugging it into the desktop as Andrew continued.

     “The project was cancelled, but these –we’re calling them ‘Sub-Capital’ weapons – would be a real threat to DropShips and unarmed JumpShips.  A real WarShip would just sneer at one, but the reduction in mass and size concerns would allow a squadron of Aquillas to carry enough of them to threaten one.”

     Leaning toward his desk, Andrew continued.  “After glancing over the information, it looks like limited production of several types could be possible in the same time frame, particularly if the Grand Council insists the JDP get involved.  Which they would.”

     Entering a security code to access the storage unit, Richard looked up as the computer began the decryption process.

     “Worst of all, they’re small enough to have potential applications for Drop- and FighterShips, as well as Heavy Components.  And that doesn’t begin to cover the kinds of creative tweaks I would expect after the technology spreads.  Just as a for-instance, we could be looking facing on-call orbital bombardment by small craft within a decade.”

     Leaning back in his chair, Andrew paused to allow Richard a moment to absorb the information contained in the single file on the drive.  Projected mass, ranges, ammunition requirements, and expected heat dissipation requirements filled the screen.

     “On the plus side, the data-mining used search terms generic enough to ensure nearly six hundred and twenty petabytes of information on the proposal to be identified as of interest, with less than two percent of interest to us right now.  Hard copy printouts of subject titles have been distributed, but since the program was cancelled all anyone has to go on is the alpha-numeric archive code assigned to it in the database.”

     “Since the engineering study has all but finished, there seems to be a perfect opportunity to bury the information in the project archives.”

     Removing the drive to put it back in the open case, Richard armed it and shut the lid before passing it across his desk to Andrew.

     “Do it.  I can already tell you what caused the Hegemony to cancel and probably destroy the rest of the project documentation and prototypes.  A House or Periphery state able to build these would have left the SLDF Navy with a massive arms race.  What the Clans would do with this is just as bad.”

     Andrew nodded, standing and putting the case back in his jacket pocket.

     “Be prepared to present this to the Council at the next session.  No data – nothing on the record – but as you said, the Aquilla was obsolete for a reason.  Sooner or later, JumpShip production will begin and once the design has been relegated to the lower-tier Clans, the potential to arm them with these sub-Capital weapons will let them defend themselves from the Krakens and the like.”

     “In the meantime, close the study as soon as appropriate.  The effort and expense of the standard Naval weaponry will go a long way to reducing production of an armed variant.”