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Author Topic: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu  (Read 603 times)

Red Pins

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The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« on: 20 February 2021, 00:40:11 »
Ok, cards on the table.  I've been enjoying Cannonshop's Ngo stories, they make my day when I find something new.  So, I've been working on something that touches the same kinds of topics and ideas, but I wanted it in MY AU setting.  They're a weird bunch, but I thought it could be cool.

Most of these ideas aren't my own.  They might include;
  • Cutters – ships smaller than a Destroyer, so between 50-100,000 tons.
  • Kinetic-kill vehicles based on dropships.
  • Nukes
  • ‘Jump Capacitors’ - a kind of Primitive L-F battery for Primitive Jump- and WarShips
  • New, interesting stuff.  Creative stuff.  (Canon stuff is like overcooked, leftover White Cheddar Mac & Cheese.  You can live on it, but  :ugly_stupid:  )
  • What I call, 'old-fashioned Sci-fi concepts'.  Stuff I read from the used bookstore, printed in the 50's, 60's, and 70's.

Mostly, I'm looking for comments; I've gotten a fair number of views on other sites but nobody seems willing to tell me what they think.  So I'm here.

So, TL;DR - Canonshop's ideas, mixed with some of mine, a bunch of classic Sci-fi novels, and a bunch of other creative people here on the forum.  30,000 words and more coming.  Sooner or later it'll get boring, and I'll quit.

Enjoy!  (Or tell me why, so I can try to do better.)

*edit - UGH!  I can't figure out how to transfer the italiacs, font size, etc. from Word to the forum.  And the character limit.  Well, I'll keep up a page or two every day or two - that's about all I can write in a single sitting.
« Last Edit: 20 February 2021, 01:35:03 by Red Pins »
...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
The New Clans:Volume One
Clan Devil Wasp * Clan Carnoraptor * Clan Frost Ape * Clan Surf Dragon * Clan Tundra Leopard
Now with MORE GROGNARD!  ...I think I'm done.  I've played long enough to earn a pension, fer cryin' out loud!  IlClan and out in <REDACTED>!
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DOC_Agren

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #1 on: 20 February 2021, 01:06:13 »
okay those old sci book novels sound interest and mixed with Cannonshop style  :thumbsup:
"For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!"

Red Pins

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #2 on: 20 February 2021, 01:31:54 »
The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu

By Red Pins


<CHAPTER 1>

  The Star Empire and United Lombian Congress were at peace once again, with the alien starfish and their crazy

  At the beginning of the Fourth Interstellar War betw

  People can do #%&*, why can’t they put lies on screen at will?

  It was a frustrating start to the next masochistic orgy of the round trip back to Yellen for the next two weeks.  He’d done all the usual calming exercises, stayed up absurdly late drinking the night before, and was slouched in his bunk with an airsick bag next to his pillow.  The battered notepad (Note; get new notepad from stores.) had survived last night, an auspicious start to the day.  He was a little annoyed that whoever the Star Empire, ULC, and the aliens were, they hadn’t been around to explain the casus belli of IW4 this morning, but it was hardly the first time he’d started cold, just staring at the typewriter until the mental diarrhea poured forth.

  Long ago during the gReat War

  Throwing opening lines at the top of the page was hardly new, either.  Perhaps – satire?

  The Basic Principles of bullsh

  Ok, there were places he just didn’t want to go left.  That was a good thing.  It meant he hadn’t gone completely bat-#%&* crazy.

  He frowned.  Two weeks in one of Kraken‘s passenger cabins is punishment enough.  Will I have to put up with being bored as well, or go broke paying for smuggled liquor to get drunk for two disjointed lines of text a night, or what?


^^^^^^^^^^^^

  Listlessly putting photons on the screen suddenly held little interest for him, and Mother Nature helped motivate him to unstrap the zero-G netting making sure he hadn’t been asleep mid-air when the Kraken’s leisurely trip deeper in-system had started last night.

 Having had the foresight to change into a standard-pattern red jumpsuit and ID tag (both identifying him as a useless mudfoot) before joining the rest of the Khan’s entourage in the VIP lounge of the ship’s spin-grav deck last night, all he had to do to start the day was toss the useless notepad onto the disheveled blanket and sheets of his bunk and push his feet into the anti-static velcro booties to stagger to the hatch.

  The small, gray-painted cabin was easy on the toes, having very little in terms of standard furniture - everything other than the sealed closet and compact wall electronics unit with monitor, speaker, and detachable keyboard was still stored in the transit position.  Taking the grab bar in the passageway to help support his wobbly legs as he made his way on shuffling feet to the head down the passageway before opening the hatch (Again.) and choosing one of the dozen or so stalls at random, closing the flimsy hatch (Again!) and lowed the reasonably loose garment to his ankles before successfully navigating the narrow oval of the seat, leaning back as engineering and nature took their turns coming to the forefront of life in space.

  The engineering, once fascinating and new, now failed to interest him, and a short time later nature was reasonably satisfied as well.  Returning to the passageway, the soft chime and slow increase in the lighting as he made his way to the mess set aside for the VIPs was less important than the smell of coffee and hot grease.  The combination brought a wince to his face as he turned into the compartment and a low murmur of laughter greeted him.

  Well, it wasn’t something he hadn’t experienced before.  On the whole, the grins of the crewmen attending to the small number of VIPs present led him to believe he had managed to entertain and amuse rather than insult and annoy the people he relied on for-

  “Coffee, Dr. Chu?”, asked the brawny-looking, blond-haired man in crisp blue jumpsuit on the other side of the counter, proffering him a drinking bulb with the little slider on it locked to show a small red window on the side with one hand.

  Nodding cautiously, he reached out and accepted with a muttered, “Thanks, Andrew.”

  “Hell of a speech last night, Doc,” Andrew said.  “You had the crew in tears.  Are any of those books you talked about real?”

  Taking his first sip, Jeremy gagged a bit in surprise, carefully letting the bulb close as he began coughing and wheezing, feeling the pounding of his pulse in his head and neck.

  Finally holding off the coughing long enough to take a few controlled breaths, he had to stop and try to think back to the night before.  He didn’t – quite – remember everything.  The VIP lounge on the Kraken’s spin deck, sharing his bottle with a young lady on the crew, and an invite to try something the Ship’s Engineering section called ‘Screech’, but-  Oh, Hell.  What did I do this time?

  “Sorry, what was that?  I –ah– there are a lot of books”, he said lamely.

  Andrew had the widest, most shit-eating grin, displaying his sickeningly perfect, gleaming white teeth, he noted.  The normally pale spacer complexion was practically dim in comparison.

  “I think it was the ‘Moon’s Mistress’ that got me.  Did somebody really write about war crimes like that?”

  The coffee was good, but he was finally remembering the little tin of painkillers and – medicine – he had stashed away in his bags just in case the alcohol ran out.  And, more importantly, the time before the inevitable arrival of the higher-ranking VIPs looking to start their day with a pleasantly full belly and their own bulbs of Andrew’s brew.  Still, if all he had done was rant about books…

  “’The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress’?”

  At Andrew’s shrug, he moved over to snag a couple of pastries, then started reciting.  “Robert Heinlein, North American author – a moon colony declares independence, and use a sort of primitive Maglev to drop rocks on Terra.  It – doesn’t end well.”

  “Sorry, I’ve gotta go-“, he began, but Andrew interrupted him.

  “I’d grab a juice from Susan, over there-“, he said.  “And get out before the Clan Council asks you to sit with them.  They normally come and see me first, so you better-”

  He was speaking to an empty space, as Jeremy immediately started sidling along the side of the coffee station to snatch up a bulb of juice from the table and headed for the exit – only to spin and start murmuring nonsense over an empty chair at a convenient table, keeping an eye out for the inevitable brass-asses to walk by, focused on Andrew and his helpful distraction, starting to juggle a handful of coffee bulbs.

  Fortunately, he had shaved his head before the trip, trying not to stick out like a sore thumb – he was able to slip out while the VIPs clustered around the coffee station.

  Pills, shower, meeting…

  “Good morning, Doctor Chu!”

  Crap.

  The cheerful voice of Kraken’s Captain nearly made him jump out of his skin, but a blurted, “’Scuse me…” and a panicked rush out of the compartment and out of earshot kept him from being further embarrassed.  A week of being trapped on board his ship had undoubtedly brought his idiosyncrasies for alcohol and creative writing to the attention of those maintaining order on the flagship of the Clan’s Navy, and thus the Captain.

  Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t pooped in a fishbowl before…  Figuratively.

  A hurried walk back to his cabin brought him to the end of Andrew’s bulb, and a quick visit to the head with a change of clothes and toiletry bag left him reasonably ready to face the music.  Walking back and leaving everything on the increasingly cluttered bunk with a shrug, he chugged the warm juice and tossed it on top of the mess.

  The walk through the ship’s narrow corridors was uneventful, although the coffee table at the end of the first meeting room was a welcome sight.  The platter of snacks still had the wrapping on, but he was happy to help the missing attendant finish getting the room ready – a minute later, rearranging the platter to cover for the missing pieces (Butter and raisin tarts, my favorite!) and slightly changing the seating arrangements at the table to hide behind the hirsute figure of the Labor Caste representative and putting him on his left, above the midpoint of the table.  Not coincidently, beside the shapely figure of the Merchant representative, Cynthia McIntosh.

  I’d rather chew an arm off, myself.  Further proof women and Scientists shouldn’t mix.  What the heck is ‘Screech’, anyway?

  Fortified with a tasty breakfast and a second bulb of coffee, he considered wandering down the corridor again to visit the head, then reconsidered, and began walking purposefully down the hall instead.

  The Noble Scientist, man on a mission – don’t wet yourself in a long, boring meeting.

  It wasn’t a long walk, or a long stay, and the second bulb was empty by the time he got back.  Fortunately, Laborer representative Ivan Malenkov was chatting up and flexing for Cynthia in between extolling weight training until collapsing into a state of exhaustion and the virility of Capellan immigrants to her amusement.

  He could pinpoint the second his subdued entrance was noticed was noticed by the ring of aides and hangers-on, as smiles disappeared and bland faces moved in a circle around the room, but the representatives themselves were more subdued.

  Cynthia’s showing more teeth than normal - I wonder if she has bad news again?

  The boisterous attitude in the room began to dissipate and he moved to his (new) seat to sit in Ivan’s shadow, hoping Ivan’s natural boisterous high spirts would forestall Cynthia’s typical saccharine morning greeting.

  I swear, if I hear, “Hi-diddly-ho, neighborino!”  I’ll puke all over Ivan today.  No, he thought. I’ll puke all over her economic update.

  Past Ivan’s bulk, he could see and hear her rap her papers on the table to straighten them.  Damn it.  Must be good news for a change.

  Rather than let her get in her digs in he invented a racking cough – Thank you, Wake Improv Society – as Robert Cairns came up on his right – avoiding Ivan’s bulk, half-turned to face Cynthia and flexing a bicep again – and neatly dropped a folder in front of him.

  Good old Bob!  He instantly straightened and fixed the serious “I’m a SCIENTIST”-look on his face just as the first of the Khans came in, followed by the rest of the breakfast crowd.  Beady, shifty eyes in a politician's face caught his, instantly, and he was struck how much like a weasel the senior Khan resembled.

  As the aides, go-fers, ass-kissers, and yes-men shook out and the typical life-or-death struggle for pride of place along the walls behind their patrons began and the Khans took their places at the head of the table, The Weasel piped up.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like you to give us the room for a few moments, please,” he said.

Crap.  Bob, nobody’s fool and having been on the sidelines of more than a few loud conversations involving his boss’ professional demeanor, was off like a shot.  Well, he couldn’t blame him for that.

  The struggle for relevance among the small fry didn’t end – rather, it became a slow march from the room as the most self-important lingered beside their champions, their own aides slowing the mob further.  It was slow torture, as the other representatives took the time to chat and network amongst themselves until the hatch closed, and as The Weasel himself leaned forward he found himself sweating as the focus of the room suddenly congealed.

  “So, Dr. Chu.  Would you like to expand on your claims of last night? Or,” The Weasel leaned back, “do you need a reminder?”

  What the HELL did I say?

  “Ah,” he started.  “Well.”

  Clearing his throat – That Bitch Cynthia is practically lying on the table for a better view! – he realized that whatever he had done this time, it looked like he had a ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ Card (Something most of the people at this table wouldn’t understand without a lecture.) if he could deliver on whatever boast or wild story he had come up with this time – he tried again, avoiding the suddenly intense looks from the head of the table.

  “I’m sorry, Khan Fernandez, my memories of last night are appallingly vague – a member of the crew seems to have introduced me to something called ‘Screech’ last night, some kind of distilled alcohol produced illegally onboard the ship by the Engineering department…  What, exactly,” he said, trying to keep the suddenly plaintive, whiney tone out of his voice, “…did I say?”

  “Cynthia?”

  Shit!  Her eyes practically GLOWED!

  Ivan uncharacteristically took the opportunity to push his chair back from the table with a squeal of rubber on the steel of the deck, the better to keep himself out of the discussion and allowing Cynthia and the Khans at the head of the table to face him directly, while keeping his face carefully neutral.  Cynthia smiled – If you could call it that - and the rest of the table turned to watch them.

  “I think it was the way you insisted you could wipe out Kerensky’s dezClans in a couple years without the expense of making the New Clans their military equals in a few decades with a free hand,” she said.  “Something about fighting like somebody who lived in space, not a drunken Warrior rolling in the mud, who hadn’t read the classics?”

  Crap.

  He could feel himself nodding; it didn’t matter if he said it or remembered, but Andrew’s comment at least put it in context.  And it gave him a chance to spin it off.

  “Well.”  Something in Cynthia’s smile just irritated him immensely, and he found himself smiling and turning to face her.  “I can see why you’d be concerned, but it really is something people have known for generations.”

  “Really,” The Weasel intoned coldly, clearly unimpressed at the insinuation he was the Commander-in-Chief of a bunch of idiots rolling in the mud.  “Please, do explain, Dr. Chu.  ‘Classic’ what?”
 
  “Science fiction has hashed and re-hashed the same questions for hundreds of years, Khan Fernandez,” he began.  Smile – Don’t forget to smile – People hate that.  “Everything around you – every situation – has probably been written about at some point.  Wars of annihilation are a favorite topic in science fiction – so – yes, there are viewpoints not considered by the New Clans.”

  He shrugged.  “Blind spots are hardly a new thing.”

  “Perhaps you could offer some details…rather than smug conversation, Doctor?”

  He shrugged, trying not to seem desperate to deflect attention from himself.

  “I feel sure I can offer something more detailed, sir.  Is there a situation you have in mind?”

  “Well,” interrupted Cynthia with that smile still on her face, pushing her file folder down the table.  “We have a situation in the Edge with our mining facilities you might be able to help with.”

  “Well,” he said, smiling back and taking a first look at the neat typewritten sheets.  “I’ll take a look tonight.”  You BITCH!

  “Alright,” said The Weasel.  “We’ll see where Dr. Chu can take us.  In the meantime, we have work to do.  Bring them back in, and let’s get started.”

  “…And Dr. Chu…,” began the Khan, beady eyes meeting his.  “I expect you to be too busy to come to my attention, again.”


^^^^^^^^^^^^

...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
The New Clans:Volume One
Clan Devil Wasp * Clan Carnoraptor * Clan Frost Ape * Clan Surf Dragon * Clan Tundra Leopard
Now with MORE GROGNARD!  ...I think I'm done.  I've played long enough to earn a pension, fer cryin' out loud!  IlClan and out in <REDACTED>!
Glitter - the herpes of the craft supply world.

Red Pins

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #3 on: 20 February 2021, 01:32:27 »
  The folder was burning a hole in his hand until he could hand it off to Bob, taking his customary place out of the line of fire from his boss.  He came back with props, though; a pair of plain, ordinary-looking notebooks.  Wondering if Bob had been in on the ambush, he said nothing and did his best to pay attention to the meeting.

  Andrew’s brew and the refills managed to sustain him for a while after the jolt of the life-or-death bureaucratic infighting began to wear off, but having Bob reach past his shoulder with a fresh bulb of coffee and a pair of cookies on top of one of the notebooks just before the break set a precedent among the gathered aides, and they began moving to secure a bulb and goodies for their superiors.  Good ol’ Bob!

  Using the general murmur and futile attempts to carry on until the scheduled break to peek inside the notebook, he found Bob had managed to add Cynthia’s documents inside along with a stylus to take notes. Whatever they’re paying you, Bob, I hope it’s enough to keep you. He began scanning Cynthia’s report; it boiled down to a rather basic resource-gathering problem, with no clear problem and no subsequent answer.

  The Primitive Aquilla II JumpShips being mass-produced by several shipyards across the Legacy Cluster were simple, utilitarian ships with clearly-defined drawbacks accepted without complaint for one reason; the original Aquilla had been the first WarShip of the Terran Hegemony and despite their age were among the most advanced and versatile ships the Cluster could manufacture, utilizing later-Hegemony and early-Star League technologies and research stored within the League’s massive Prometheus database to improve the design significantly.

  The break came and went, and rather than huddle over a folder acting like he didn’t have a clue, he used the opportunity to join the line for the head and send Bob for something more substantial than cookies and Danish.  Back early, he flipped to the back of the notebook and began doodling, trying to remember which of hundreds of books might have something relevant to the issue.

  Ten minutes later, all he had were rough maps of the Clan’s resource colony Jump routes in the Edge, a half-remembered garrison list, sketches of planets and spaceships, a stick figure in stocks with the legend ‘BITCH’, and another empty napkin that had held a ham and cheese on toasted rye.  Can’t wait for her to try snooping, he thought happily.

  But an idea eluded him.  Probably why The Bitch had brought it out – ‘Business as usual’ was always the hardest thing to change, since so many people and vested interests looking for ways to save pennies on every transaction were involved.  Shaving those pennies meant somebody was going to buy their own island, or moon, or… Whatever…

  MOONS…  Asteroids – millions of rocks in the explored systems of the Cluster ALONE.  Space-based populations DON’T NEED planets.  Who, What, When, Where, Why, AND HOW do they?!

  He felt That Feeling again.  He dropped the stylus to the table, feeling faint, sweaty, hands suddenly clammy and shaking.  EUREKA!  It was all he could do not to ‘SQUEE!’ out loud.  The concept of asteroid mining had supplied the Terran Hegemony during their rise to leadership of the Star League through to the Amaris Coup.  It was hard to concentrate with The Weasel’s droning on the next meeting topic, but…

  Scribbling out instructions to investigate the basic assumptions behind his theory before ordering his deputy on Wake to begin a more in-depth investigation, he waved Bob forward for the notebook – Good ol’ Bob – with a whispered instruction to see to it he had something to present before the Kraken reached orbit, preferably at least a day before their arrival, the better to empty a boot-load of piss into the smug face of The Bitch and her supporters before more of her advisors were able to pass judgement and change the outcome.

  Speaking of which…

  Keeping a grip on the notebook, he leaned forward to give additional instructions.

  “I’ll crucify the person who lets something – anything – slip before this is confirmed, Bob.  Anyone.  Got it?”

  Bob nodded, non-committal face unreadable, and turned to leave the room quietly.

  He couldn’t keep a smug smile off his face as Ivan turned to reprove him for disturbing the course of the meeting, but he did give a condescending nod before leaning back to consider the idea further as The Weasel continued to drone on.

  The meeting took forever, as the minutiae of running a multi-planet state in a federal system led by idiots with guns and communist sympathizers covered such ridiculous topics as equipping ‘Wet Floor’ signs with suction cups to remain in place on ships and stations in Kraken-claimed star systems.  Not the best use of his time, he judged.

  On the plus side, it was a productive meeting for his latest brainstorm, as Bob – Good ol’ Bob! – had been able to confirm several supporting facts and leads on… ‘Enforced Immigration’ in several cases with links to zero-G cultures – descendants of JumpShip owner/operators mostly, but station dwellers with unconfirmed claims in some cases.

  A particularly promising bit of news put one of them on the Kraken – the Ship’s engineer.  He was looking forward to discussing ‘Screech’ and how it was made illegally aboard the Kraken under his nose (or protection).

  The urge to cackle like a mad Scientist was nearly irresistible a few times, but eventually the formalities were over and Bob – Good ol’ Bob! – took point to smooth the ruffled feathers of the useless drones gathering around the table.  Deep in thought as Bob managed to lead him from the room without undue confrontation, he emerged from the hatch looking forward to meeting with the department head and hopefully shaking him down for the information he was looking for.

  Now that he thought of it, there were other threads he could pull to do something about the depressing lack of innovation and creativity in the Scientist Caste.  Clearly, the Ryan Cartel had pioneered linked hyperspace fields as early as three- or four hundred years ago and the techniques had simply vanished over time.  Why not move metallic asteroids rather than chunks of ice?  And the Word of Blake, religious fanatics and toaster-worshippers that they were, had mastered ‘super Jump’ capabilities during the Jihad, while the Republic’s HPG Blackout and the Fortress suggested some kind of related hyperspace phenomenon.

  It was times like these he was proud of being a theoretical physicist, so much easier to make claims than prove them!  Promise them the sky, deliver the clouds, I always say!  Nobody expects perfection!

  More work for Bob, and those busybodies in the Caste planetside advocating exploring the sorry state of his credentials after immigrating under a cloud of suspicion back home.  Somehow, he couldn’t find much in the line of sympathy for telling others to shut up and do their jobs.

  Finding the Ship’s Chief Engineer was simplicity itself; use his VIP status to summon the man to one of the many small, unoccupied compartments where he might pump the man for information while Bob stood guard to deter snoops.  Snoops that don’t work for me, he amended.  Fortunately, there was still time for a proper lunch, and the VIP lounge was a perk of his new rank he was eager to enjoy – except for the rest of the Council that had no duties aboard, and enough rank to enjoy it – as he waited impatiently for lunch now that the hangover was mostly gone.

  The vid, with premiers of shows at least five years old from the Inner Sphere that recent immigrants like himself still remembered watching, was at least entertaining most of the cluster of occupants with footage of the Cluster’s ELM (Extra-Light ‘Mech) gladiatorial tourneys from Legacy itself.  A few, like himself, were scattered around the room attending to their own concerns and he was able to order a quick lunch from the mess attendant and sit to pretend being busy with some notebooks of the useless Caste reports as a front, he began re-reading Bob’s initial report.

  It was all circumstantial, of course, but the – man?  (It was some kind of ethnic name, he noted. Better not to try using it for now.)  - Commander Murphy had experience with deep space and low-G colonies in the Inner Sphere.  Reading deeper into the man’s file, it quickly became clear he might have the experience necessary to make a substantial contribution to his new project.

  Materials engineer, Jump Navigation, EVA and Small Craft qualifications…  Perfect!

  The wait for lunch went quickly as all he was interested in was another sandwich and a bulb of coffee – he had become used to simple meals aboard ship on the eighteen month voyage to the Cluster, and it had been appallingly easy to return to the routine – and enjoyed the fresh-baked bread available to VIPs immensely.

  Finishing the bulb, he got up and began sorting the reports into a reasonably compact bundle as Bob and what he presumed to be the Ship’s Engineer walked into the compartment.  Surprisingly, the Engineer was a young woman in her mid-twenties, with close-cropped dark hair and what looked like a custom-fitted vac suit with the stencils of a Star Commander on her chest and shoulders and ‘MURPHY’ along her left collarbone, with a helmet in a sling under one arm.

  Leaving the reports to Bob with a wave – Good ol’ Bob – he turned a smile toward the young woman, hoping to perhaps overawe her with his new rank, making her less hostile to accommodating his needs and easier to deal with.  In his experience, being jerked out of routine and forced to satisfy bosses with no apparent need to interrupt the smooth operation of her department was highly annoying, so…

  “Good morning, Commander Murphy.  Sorry to bother you, but I have some questions you might be uniquely qualified to answer,” he began.  “What do you know about zero-G colonies and orbital mining done in the Inner Sphere?”

  “A fair bit, sir,” she replied in a clear alto voice; Jeremy found himself wishing he could spend more time with her in a social scene where the professional demeanors gave way to friendlier ones, but…

  “Is there something specific?”

  For a brief moment Jeremy found himself trying to frame questions that would conceal his attempt to upstage The Bitch, and realized there was a simpler way to ensure Cynthia’s staff had no warning he was about to cut her legs out from under her.  Nice legs, he admitted privately.

  “Commander Murphy, do I have your assurance to keep our conversation confidential for now?  Politics are involved, and I’m sure you’d appreciate not getting them splashed on you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then let’s go find a nice compartment.  Bob?”

  The meeting had cleared out of this morning’s conference room, and the efficient crew had already cleaned and prepared it for use, although nothing further was scheduled since the Kraken was due to enter orbit in another two days.  Entering the room and approaching the closest end of the table, he slid the chair out from under the edge of the table and grasped the end of the Velcro strap across the back of the chair and allowed it to spring up and reveal the back and head rest, turning it to face the Chief Engineer as she used the strap to pull her own chair from under the table and release it before falling into it with a grateful sigh.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

   As interviews go, he thought, this one is so disappointing it isn’t funny.

  It hadn’t been surprising that the grand old stories were full of holes, bad physics, and outright lies – even though he preferred the theoretical aspects rather than sweating bullets ironing out the practical side of things, he knew that most of the advances in physics and the sciences in books and stories were generally just that.  Plot devices that enabled a story to be told, supports but not the story itself.

  Ciara – surprisingly easy to pronounce once you heard her say it – was a gem even if the shine of his own idea had blinded him.  The possibility of orbital mining remained, but there was no economic way to compete with the normal methods of resource extraction.  The cost of transport, however, was the deciding factor according to The Bitch’s reports.

  The conversation had quickly shifted from what she knew and could confirm, to what she suggested and he was able to confirm, both from the report and briefings describing the situation the Clan faced as he took office about three months ago.  The infrastructure – What there was, he conceded – was scattered about, unfocused on any specific field in particular – and the trend of specializing in relatively narrow fields was becoming more common across the Cluster as trade agreements compensated for the weaknesses of the individual Clans.

  The most successful Clans had recognized that weakness for what it was, and sacrificed military and thus political strength to focus first on mobilizing their population to achieve self-sufficiency and then been able to close the economic gap and begin supplying the less insightful Clans with the necessities of daily life.

  However, if he and Ciara had anything to say about it, that might change.  Clan Kraken did have a significant number of space-borne assets, after all, as a primarily Aerospace-oriented Clan.  The question was, what might be used to more effectively, what could be modified – redesigned and built, he amended – and what needed to be replaced outright.

  “So, you’re sure about this?” he asked.

  Ciara nodded.  “The Folk – vac dwellers generally – are generally more efficient than mudfooted sailors given the expense of the resources they have to use.  It looks efficient because it is, but that efficiency is something spacers sacrifice for in other ways.  Jump governors, for example – a good nav can pick a 20- or 30-second Point with detailed enough charts, and the best a 10-second one, but outsiders never see the time and money invested to be able to predict those Points accurately.”

  “…And the risk to ships and crews are enough to ensure they never make those jumps, by limiting them to Points the computer can confirm with enough statistical likelihood to be likely not to result in an accident.  Which is why most of the drift colonies exist beyond the grav limits of the local star – it’s safer and less expensive.”

  “Exactly.” Ciara said, smiling in encouragement.  It was a very nice smile, he noted.  Her dark eyes seemed to sparkle in the light.

  “Which also explains how and why orbital mining is generally limited to the Folk, as well.”

  “The Belters in the Sol system didn’t all move out voluntarily – but once the infrastructure and survivors reached a critical mass…”

  “…The Hegemony was willing to invest in it heavily, taking advantage of it to satisfy their military and political needs,” he finished sourly.  “Having grown their own independence movement and being surrounded by formerly loyal colonies forced to consider their own military and political needs before the Terran Alliance’s.”

  Ciara just nodded and leaned back in her chair.  The smaller conference rooms had a minimum of obtrusive computer terminals, and Kraken’s computer network hadn’t contained anything to confirm or deny her claims, but they sounded familiar enough he hadn’t questioned them. 

  “So, we have a couple options.  Business as usual – all our competitors use the same business model, so until something changes, we’re not taking a loss.”

  Crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair, he continued to watch Ciara for clues.  “Invest in something to change the status quo.  Given the circumstances are completely different from those in the Sol system, it seems unlikely we’d see a favorable return-on-investment in the short term.  That leaves altering some kind of outside process or variable, one in favor of us, or unfavorable to our competitors.”

  Coming to his feet, he arched his back and stretched, moving the chair back to its storage position, and came around the table to brace his feet and hold out a hand to the Commander.

  Taking it with a look of gratitude, she accepted the assistance, coming up from the chair and turning to put her own away.  He took the opportunity to imagine the lithe form he expected under the suit, but turned away and moved to open the hatch and wait for her rather than risk offending her and make their relationship more difficult.

  “Unless you have further suggestions, I’d say we’re done for now, Commander.  It was a nice idea, but a bit of a longshot, and the Merchant Representative isn’t one for friendly suggestions that don’t benefit her personally, or her Caste.” He said with a small shrug.

  Ciara had finished putting the chair away, and began to walk past him, no doubt to go take off the vac suit for something more comfortable.

  “Well – Yes, Sir.  It’s been something of a hobby, but…”  She came to a stop and tilted her head, narrowing her eyes.  He found himself wishing, again, that he might see her in something less utilitarian.  “I think I may be onto something, but without access to computers, testing equipment and experts I can’t take it much further.”

  He found himself shrugging again, reaching into his jumpsuit pockets for the small, polished wooden money clip he used to hold a half-dozen of the business cards he’d ordered.  It had turned out the personal contact information of the Clan’s Chief Scientist wasn’t really in high demand, but it wasn’t a total loss, as he palmed a card and with a flick made the card appear as if by magic, twisting it in his fingers to show his contact information on the front.

A little pricey, perhaps, given the embossed logo of the Clan on the back, and it was the first time he’d been able to palm one off on somebody, but it never hurt.  He’d never get the cost of them back from the printer, and it beat cutting them up and using them to make furniture for the house of cards he’d glued together and left on his desk as a conversation starter.

  Ciara looked sufficiently impressed at the sleight of hand, and accepted with a smile, but gave him a smirk and offered him card back.  Eh?  Confused, he looked at the card, realizing it was upside down.  ‘Fulsome Printing – for all your printing needs.  Order new cards today!’  Damn it…  Rolling his eyes, he palmed another card and held it out, rolling his eyes, letting a small sigh escape.

  Twelve hours into my day, and I’ve managed to survive a near-discipline experience with The Weasel and his Bitch only to have a stroke of not-genius and embarrass myself in front of a pretty girl I’ll probably never meet again.

  Still, he thought, noticing they were nearly the same height as she giggled and started out the hatch, off to whatever else she had to do with her watch, he hoped he’d see her again.  Totally worth it, though.  Closing the hatch, he turned to Bob – Good ol’ Bob – who had watched the two of them with a blank face.

  “What’s for dinner, Bob?”

  Turning on his heel, he struck out in the opposite direction down the companionway.  Behind him, he could hear Bob trying to pull out his com while following and shifting the bundle of notebooks side to side.  At least I don’t need to call another boring meeting.
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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #4 on: 20 February 2021, 16:05:56 »
<Chapter 2>

  Well, that was a waste of time.

  The round-trip had taken most of a month of his time, a Primitive WarShip out of its normal duties, and the only thing he had to show for it was the disapproval of a majority of the Clan Council and a pleasant memory of seeing the confusion and anger on Bob’s face when he realized he had been too busy to remember to ensure his luggage had been sent down from Kraken when they disembarked for the passenger shuttle to the surface of Wake.  Good ol’ Bob!

  At least the trip home from Wake City hadn’t been a total waste, letting him visit several of the major Scientist installations and assess their politicized - And generally worthless - unproductive efforts to improve the lot of the rest of the Clan.  He hadn’t been willing to consider moving those facilities – rocking the boat was never a good idea when you were the new kid on the block – but he could feel the urge to put his back against a wall when they cornered him in the halls and tried to justify their positions and funding to remain in charge.

  Like a bucket of crabs.

  At least the cabbie was distracting Bob, stuck with him in the front seat.  He had claimed the rear of the cramped hover taxi, putting his travel bag on the seat beside him and stretching his legs between the bucket seats.  Bob, responsible for taking care of the luggage, had missed the chance to claim it and no doubt wished he could dissuade the driver from babbling on cheerfully to rest in the comfortable seat.

  The comfortable ride of the ground-effect vehicle and smaller windows in the rear let him close his eyes and try to catch a quick nap as the taxi smoothly accelerated and began the trip to the Scientific Caste Headquarters here in Yellen.  On the plus side, his own office and apartment were less than an hour away at this speed, while he still had boxes to empty, paperwork to read and no doubt the typical mountain of business correspondence to respond to.

  With the example of old Professor Arnolds from the College of Mathematics in mind, he had spurned the opportunity to have some sexy young airhead run the office to approach the ranks of the bitter old dragons to lure one of them to help him keep the Caste running smoothly.  The looks on the faces of senior staff cowed and sitting quietly in chairs waiting to be admitted to the office of a much younger man by Mrs. Moseby had reassured him it was the right move to no end.

  The daily reports of Caste activities, the bane of his existence so far, had never failed to arrive in a steady stream, in one instance forwarded by the Merchant Jumpship that Mrs. Moseby had commandeered and sent after him with a particularly urgent message to head off a bit of distasteful budget politicking that poisoned his relationship with Cynthia van der Waal fairly thoroughly as the delay to her Caste’s dealings had reflected badly on her Quarterly reports.

  It was plain there was going to be a significant amount of re-focusing on the strengths and eventual goals of the Caste under his administration, but as of yet, he had nothing to focus on other than the continuing harassment of the other Castes.  What he needed were the insights of retired leadership that knew where bodies were – figuratively – buried and could identify the big players in the game with impunity.

  The Caste had been in the middle of a free-for-all when The Weasel had decided to look for fresh leadership outside the Caste, and when interviewed on the basis of his – slightly – inaccurate resume, he had been able to pitch a focus on, “reviewing the lack of scientific progress’ and ‘proper use of funding for rewarding scientific achievement”.  Parroting his mentor’s line had dutifully impressed the rest of the Clan Council, and whatever qualifications he might have over-exaggerated, he was approved by the Council to manage the Caste, rather than justify his academic standing.

  Another sore point for the rest of the Old Guard who think you need a Doctorate to lead fellow Scientists to water.

  In his experience, he had never met a more close-minded bunch – Whatever their age and sex – who had a tendency to refuse to admit what color the sky was.  But for now, a quick stop to check in with Mrs. Moseby and a day or two of recovery before formally coming back to the office to pick up the reins and start showing the whip.  Year-end was nigh, and funding was the eternal Achilles heel of the smug old bastards who kept promising results and bringing in IOUs in exchange for patronage.

  He made a grimace, anticipating the weeks of staring into budget and cost/return analysis files to come, spending time separating fighting egotists and trying to allocate grants based on potential returns from professional con men who knew how to write proposals.  Scientists that promised the moon and funded their mistress’ housing and stipend.  It was a high price to pay, given the perks.  And given the way the taxi was beginning to decelerate and weave back and forth as it entered Yellen’s city limits, he was about to start find out how deep the pile was, and if there was a pony buried in it somewhere.

Shit.


^^^^^^^^^^^^
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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #5 on: 20 February 2021, 16:07:24 »
  The arrival at the three-floor, brick faced office building was suitably subdued, leaving Bob – Good ol’ Bob! – to oversee the return of his luggage to his nearby apartment before being dismissed to look to his own pent-up in-box and heading home for a long-ish weekend to recover from their trip before reporting back Monday.

  Earnest-sounding best wishes for the weekend were exchanged, and with a light heart and heavy feet, he decided to take it easy and call the elevator rather than fight ‘Bureaucrat’s bottom’ today.  Having arranged for a ‘Thank You!’ bouquet of flowers for helping thwart the attempt to slip a grant proposal through his administration by adding it to the Khan’s daily mail, he was relieved it hadn’t been destroyed by some overeager security guard.  They're probably as intimidated as anybody else is, he decided.

  Despite having approved her transfer to his office, he was as guilty of walking lightly around her as anyone else, he supposed.  At least the break had left her enough peace and quiet to use the authority in his absence to bring in and train another one of the dragons to ensure the smooth operation of the office during her infrequent absences.  The perfunctory greetings and thanks for each other’s efforts exchanged, he opened the polished wooden door from Mrs. Mosby’s domain to his own.

  The office was no doubt smaller than what he was entitled to, but the polished wood of the trim and floors combined with the wavy fronds of what passed for Wake’s tropical plants and their fresh scent softened the glitter in the sparkling white plaster that surrounded it.  The massive desk of the same polished wood and blotter of dark leather complemented the leather-bound chair neatly, the computer workstation and phone built into the desk left the only clutter on his desk the monitor and piles of reports that had accumulated during his absence.  The blank, whiter spots on the walls where the large portraits or prints had hung were still a jarring distraction from the perfection of the rest of the room, but he supposed it was a small price to pay, given he had no intention of letting images of the former occupant and his ‘I Love Me’ wall – Walls, he amended – survive the carpet bombing of the previous administration’s toadies that followed his appointment.

  At least his extended absence should have allowed things to die down, he’d hate to find out it was all for nothing.  In the meantime, the filing system he had arranged with Mrs. Moseby was showing the occasional tell-tale red stickers sticking out of the stack of folders and storage media on his desk.

  Shuffling things around, it turned out to be only three of the folders and envelopes required an immediate answer, while the rest were set aside as ‘Personal’ to be dealt with tomorrow morning at home.  Complaints of safety violations and requests for grants with year-end approaching were nothing new, but the fallout of the latest episode of ‘Budget warfare’ was fast becoming a minor scandal of its own; it seemed joint projects with the IlKhan’s Development Program were on the line and if Clan Kraken wanted to benefit from the expenses so far, they were duty-bound to reconsider meeting their obligations…

  Shrugging, he pulled open the drawers to pull out a heavy file of cancelled projects and bundled it together for Mrs. Moseby to append a summary of why funding for the joint Heartforge program had been suspended and ask The Weasel to make a decision to go ahead or not.

  Merchants making deals without using their own money, again, he snorted.  Well, The Bitch would learn to keep her greedy hands off what didn’t belong to her sooner or later.  Looking around the office, he made a note to have Mrs. Moseby find some suitable art to cover the blank spots.  Making a point of prosecuting an official for bribery and embezzlement and moving out of the rat’s nest of competing bureaucrats in the Scientist complex in Wake City made sense when you needed to separate ass-kissers and people doing real science from the Laborers keeping the system running, but if he was going to continue working from here he may as well put something on the walls.

  Calling the security desk, he arranged for a ride home, and was ready to walk out and say goodbye to the dragons for the weekend when Lunette Walker made an entrance with reports voice-recorded for him to catch up over the weekend.  The bubbly young blonde woman in her early twenties wore one of her sunny smiles, and with her penchant for well-fitted, silk blouses and dark skirts with low heeled shoes, was surely one of his most questionable hires for the Yallow offices.

...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #6 on: 20 February 2021, 16:13:11 »
Sweet! I can enter modify on the other forum, copy, and italiacs and everything comes over!  That really speeds things up.
...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #7 on: 20 February 2021, 16:17:53 »
  The only daughter of one of the security men assigned to the building when he arrived to investigate the enormous renovation expense crossing his desk, Lunette was perfectly suited to the ‘honey trap’ strategy.  On top of being young and beautiful, her access to restricted Caste information and reports, personal contacts through the entire building through the social committee and reporting on the various individuals approaching her for casual information on the interior workings of his personal office, she also worked part-time as building security.

  Having seen home video of Lunette gleefully recounting beating her five older brothers scores at the range and holding her own in the bruising roughhousing with five older brothers before her parents immigrated to the Cluster from the Taurian Concordat had convinced him to offer her a job.  Now training with her brothers in martial arts, in another two years she’d reach eighteen and enlist in the Kraken Touman with his commendation or change Clan affiliation, but for now there were no records of her skills.

  Perhaps, this is one of those cases of being too smart for your own good, he mused as Mrs. Moseby intercepted the recordings with aplomb, her blank face turning to look at him as Lunette began recounting concerts and dates and boys before bouncing from the room.  Her enthusiasm and smile were infectious, and he found himself grinning as he made sure to place the personal documents Mrs. Moseby had left for him to attend to in his travel bag for the taxi ride to his apartment.  It hadn’t been until his trip with the Clan Council to let the turmoil die down that Mrs. Moseby had any need to know and screen the reports Lunette had prepared for him, but those reports and a lifetime of administrative experience in the Caste had caused her to begin an investigation that had led to the bad feelings between the two representatives aboard ship.

  Despite his decision to keep the truth of her role quiet, the better to ensure her safety as well as his own, he couldn’t help but want to brag.  Mrs. Moseby had probably thought her new boss had delusions of being the second coming of Niccolò Machiavelli, but she kept it hidden well as she went to her desk for one of the discrete security bags kept in the office for the rare times he chose to take things from the office to work from home.  Carefully putting the security bag between notepads and personal documents, he gave Mrs. Moseby a cheerful goodbye and with a promise to check in over the next couple days manfully took the three flights of stairs down rather than wait for the elevator and left.

  The taxi company, serving riders from several other Clan and federal agencies present on Wake, had provided a driver with a Kraken Reserve commission and military ID, and once Security had confirmed his identity he was allowed to walk out and climb into the vehicle by himself.  Today, his driver was Lev Parma, whose skill driving the small ICE vehicle on the crowded streets of Yallow during rush hour said good things about the way he handled driving one of the massive Heavy tanks during training.  Always reticent to talk much due to his strong accent and weak vocabulary, he was a relaxing driver to end the day with, and a short trip later he was waving goodbye as an officer from the building’s security booth helped him from the car and walked him into the building.

  “Still a little spooked by all this security”, he admitted to the day guard as he was admitted.

  “You get used to it, or so I’m told,” the guard said with a shrug.  “At this point, you’re only the administrator for a small province.  I wonder what the IlKhan and his staff have to go through.”

  Trading small talk as the guard called the elevator, he had to admit he had done it to himself as he reached for his keys and inserted and turned the lock-out key that allowed him to reach the top floor without interruptions.  Reaching the top, he put the elevator back into normal operation and fumbled with his keys to open the deadbolt.  For whatever reason, having embezzled enough to set a mistress up close to the Yallow office, he had been surprisingly cheap when it came to providing for her.

  The vaguely Asian woman had cooperated with the Kraken Policing Authority, but opening the door to her home, he admitted that whoever had redecorated her lover’s office clearly hadn’t been involved here.  The room looked like any other small apartment, in his experience, albeit with a better view.  Tossing his keys on the table and putting the backpack beside them, he kicked off his shoes and left them beside the luggage Bob – Good ol’ Bob – had ordered delivered.    The urge to go to bed overwhelmed him, and he succumbed without struggle.

  Tomorrow can wait.
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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #8 on: 20 February 2021, 16:21:31 »
^^^^^^^^^^^^

  The alarm went off at 6 a.m., local.  He snapped awake and hammered the ‘snooze’ button, enjoying the warm blankets for nine more minutes before turning it off and getting up to stagger into the bathroom to start the day.  Teeth brushed, showered and shaved he came back to drop the towel on the floor, throw the blankets back and just lie on the soft bed, luxuriating in the comfort.

  Today, what’s today?  Conference call with The Bitch, grants to finalize, and – mmm – doughnuts!

  In the week and a half since coming home, the Yallow offices had been busy, having no shortage of conference calls and visitors to liven things up.  Similarly, the amount of mail had increased to the point of having Lunette take up arms with a letter opener to sort some of the overflow.  Most of the letters were complaints that Lunette simply recycled.  Some of them were so insulting, she forwarded them to the Mrs. Moseby and the KPA to be dealt with.  A few more were legitimate mail, flyers, etc.  And a couple more were ‘sciency’.

  Still, the topic of returning to the Scientist Enclave in Wake City had come up again after teleconferencing the latest meeting of the Clan Council, and he was running out of excuses to remain in the small suburban facility now that most of the Caste was re-aligning with his administration’s goals and planning guidelines.  Representatives of both the Khan and his Merchant representative had also seemed to slow or cease their disruptive behavior toward the Caste as several more prominent (and lackluster) Scientists refused to abandon the sort of behavior that brought them to his attention and were defunded or demoted within the Caste.

  Getting up and moving over to the spacious walk in closet, he sat on the convenient bench and began getting dressed in the conservative business suit he favored for the office.  Almost time to check today’s donuts for quality and get ready for more complaints, he thought sourly.  At least I’m likely to approve of the donuts.

  The Security crew (Bill and Ted, again) had been right; the security eventually became invisible.  Security was its smooth, predicable self, and he arrived in time to walk up the stairs with the boxes of donuts himself, panting around the small bag of fresh donuts sent with the order by a grateful owner for the support of the Caste.  Mrs. Moseby, already at the office and organizing the conference call to begin his morning shook her head at the sight of him walking backwards through the door to the office, but waved good morning from her desk as he headed for the break room and a strong cup of coffee.

  Retiring to the office with his coffee and doughnuts in hand gave him a few minutes to check the conference agenda Mrs. Moseby had left on his desk, glancing at the names of people joining the call, and start going through the mail Lunette and Mrs. Moseby had approved of.

With nothing better to do, he set aside coupons to Mr. Horton’s growing donut empire and approved some small renovations to the Chief Scientist’s quarters in the capital to make it feel more homey, and found himself considering the larger stack of ‘sciency’ proposals and grant applications that had made it in under the wire, wondering if he had time to tackle the smaller ones before it was too late.

  Too late, he thought, as the ‘call waiting’ indicator lit up and Mrs. Moseby announced the call over the speaker built into the desk.  The Bitch would never be one of his favorite people, but at least she was prompt.

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #9 on: 20 February 2021, 22:15:56 »
Interesting

But not surprising that the clans don't have access to the classic SciFi novels
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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #10 on: 21 February 2021, 03:25:42 »
Yeah, I don't get back to the topic for a while, but I do eventually cover giant wheels with a fusion engine for throwing rocks.  A lot of the old sci-fi isn't relevant, but orbital mechanics are.

I'm still wracking my brains, but if you want to suggest something, feel free.
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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #11 on: 21 February 2021, 11:12:34 »
  “Good morning, Chief Scientist Chu, here.”

  Putting the rest of the mail aside for the moment, he pulled a pen and hand-made notepad from the office’s paper recycling from the desk drawer, and dated it, adding ‘Conference Call’ to the top.  He knew it irritated Mrs. Moseby to have to transcribe – or more accurately, have Lunette transcribe it – his notes from ‘scraps of paper’, but another of Professor Andersons’ little quirks seemed to have followed him to the Cluster.

  It hadn’t been really appropriate for the Professor, either, but somehow it fit.  He could still remember being handed a half-dozen on the pads, rather than formal office stationary, and being told brusquely to supply his own pens.  He found himself smirking as he took a sip of his coffee, remembering how he had become adept at hiding a half-dozen of them on his person, only to surrender them one at a time to the Professor for one reason or another.  It had been the Professor’s introduction to office management, waiting for him to run out and ask him why he wasn’t keeping better track of expenditures and letting his superiors waste his supplies willy-nilly.

  “Merchant Factor van der Waal speaking.”

  As the functionaries down the line began to announce themselves, he began reconsider.  Coffee and THREE donuts wouldn’t be enough.  May as well do something useful in the down time and read the minutes later.

  Sorting the proposal and applications into separate piles he began the process of dividing the smaller of the two piles further into disciplines.  Being a Theoretical Physicist, there wasn’t a lot of biology, chemistry, and other disciplines that he knew much about, but somebody had to be grown up enough to make the bunch of squabbling, egotistical children act like adults.  All he had to do was consult with other professionals to make a reasonable assessment of the likelihood of success, and determine the most potentially rewarding, the most likely to succeed and the least likely to be expensive failures.

  Humming as Cynthia’s second began the agenda, he relaxed a bit; for the next little while, there wasn’t much chance of being involved, so he dared to open the first of the grant applications and start making notes.  That opportunity vanished in an instant, as Cynthia’s proxies began complaining about inter-Caste cooperation and the need for unity.

  Unity?  Unity?! 

  He could feel himself building up a good head of steam, listening to the juniors in both Castes accusing each other.  The donut bag was empty, the coffee was gone, three sheets of notes detailing names, dates and times was about to become four, and he was sure this would go on until somebody – Probably me – lost their temper and made a scene.  Enough, already.

“Excuse me – Excuse me, Chu here – Factor, would you be so kind as to gather these complaints and forward them to me, please.”

  Taking a calming breath, he continued.  “Clearly, there have been some unexpected frictions here.  Please forward those complaints, and I’ll consider how best to resolve them…  Now, can we return to…excuse me, can we begin the agenda, please.”

  “Factor van der Waal here – of course, Dr. Chu.”

  That Bitch.  As the head of a Caste, addressed by the head of another Caste, ‘Doctor’ was not his title, and the long-term members of the Castes on both sides knew it.

  “The title you seem to seem to have forgotten is, ‘Scientist’, or if we want to be more formal, ‘Chief Scientist’, Factor.  And judging from the complaints so far, the Scientists accused of not cooperating with your bean-counters are simply following the orders of their superiors - Me, in other words,” he said coldly.

  “Among other things, we don’t pay delivery or fuel taxes, we don’t expense meals, lodging or other internal expenses, and,” he paused to restrain his temper – “We don’t pay ‘insurance’, ‘finder’s fees’ or to put it bluntly – bribes.”

  “Nor do we supply your bean-counters with requisitioned supplies and equipment belonging to the Caste.  At least,” he added thoughtfully, “Not any more.  Your requests for ‘Unity’ are not going to be met with understanding when the saKhan has to assign the KPA to locate and return my assets to Scientist facilities if their reasonable requests for their equipment are ignored.”
...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #12 on: 21 February 2021, 11:18:57 »
  Taking a deep breath, he tried to shake the stress from his neck and arms from leaning over the table.

  “This meeting is over, Factor.  Please have your staff contact my office and reschedule it.  Scientist Caste officials, you may sign off.”

  Matching word to deed, he carefully ended the call, slumping in his chair, paperwork forgotten.  That Bitch.

  Looking across his desk, he decided another donut and a fresh cup were the only solution, then thought better of it.  He needed to take a walk for a few minutes.  Unfortunately, the only real workout in the building was walking up and down a few flights of stairs, but it beat sitting at his desk for The Bitch to call back.

  I really, really need some political help, here.  Pulling himself out of the chair and opening the door to stalk to the stairwell, he started down, putting his foot on every step until he reached the bottom.  Turning and starting up the stairs at a run he took the first two flights two steps at a time, using the handrails to help pull himself up until he reached the bottom of the third where he again put his foot on every step, slowing breathing and heartrate down to something just a little higher than normal and turned in for another coffee.  Judging by the burn in his legs, it was time to lay off the donuts.

  Steeling himself for Mrs. Moseby’s disapproval, he walked briskly back to the office expecting to face the wrath of the head bean counter, only to hear Mrs. Moseby addressing one of the Khans as he walked down the hall.

  Joy.  My cup runneth over. Pointing to his office with a scowl, he didn’t hide his frustration and made sure to slam the door.  Mrs. Moseby will forgive me.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

  It was the Khan, and he was unhappy.  Well, he didn’t care much about how much the Khan’s goon was outraged at being spoken to like that.  Far better to draw the line, here and now, with the facts on his side at the beginning of his administration rather than try to justify doing so later.  According to his contract, it would take Federal intervention to remove him.  The Khan could bluster, browbeat him and waste his time making him listen but unless he gave in couldn’t make him back down.

  And the Khan tried.

  He had seen the Professor politely refuse an administrative request any number of times.  There had been only one issue that blew up like this then, a major donation and endowment on the line as the heir to one of the major politically connected families in the Federated Suns was accused of cheating in a first-Semester class at NAIS.  The professor had taken to blowing bubbles and smoking cigarettes during calls and meetings with visitors trying to excuse him.  He hadn’t quite understood why then, but he wished he had something to do now as the Khan went on.   Reminding himself to stay polite and non-committal, he started doodling on the rest of the pad before beginning to rip sheets off to crumple into balls and throw around the room.

  Eventually the Khan’s voice got hoarser and hoarser before giving up the idea he could overrule his Chief Scientist and hanging up with a threat to come out to the Yallow offices to order him to cooperate personally.  He could already guess the next step; tell aides and ‘Yes-Men’ to find somebody else to browbeat and convince to cooperate.

  Over my dead body, he thought morosely.  And that takes a new, more personal meaning in a military society.

  Fortunately, most Scientists were not just egotistical, but stiff-necked and territorial besides.  It was likely nothing would happen, but sending a quick message to the senior members of the Caste outlining his reasoning and warning them what to expect seemed warranted.  The rest of the day was fielding calls and questions from juniors suddenly under fire for doing their job, and Lunette was pressed into service collecting requests and picking up lunch for the rest of the office staff.

  Even Bob was pressed into an empty desk and told to reassure callers they were simply following orders and not be intimidated.  Good ol’ Bob!  Eventually, the calls abated and The Bitch had to try doing her own dirty work.  By that time, he took inordinate pleasure apologizing for eating lunch during the conversation while trying to be as politely annoying as possible until The Bitch eventually hung up in disgust.  Too wound up to get anything effective done, he just gave up trying to get real work done and left the office early, leaving the pile of files on Mrs. Moseby’s desk with a note for her to file them for review next Quarter.

  One more reason not to transfer the office back to Wake City, he noted to himself as he walked through the door to his apartment building and called the elevator.  The only thing worse than arguing with these people is having them spit in your face as they yell.

  Exiting the elevator, he paused outside the door to the apartment, wondering if he should do something to keep from bringing the bitterness of such a day home.  Thinking for a few seconds he shrugged and opened the door anyway, kicking off shoes and throwing his keys on the table before making a beeline for the shower.  Whatever followed him home today, it was still better than trying to separate work and personal life after moving back to Wake City in another month or two.

  The rest of the night had a lot of similarities to the one after Professor Andrews’ successor had fired and replaced him, as the take-out graciously brought up by security and carefully hoarded chocolate and snacks gave way to beer and then harder liquor, followed by a shower and early bedtime.  Today had sucked; better to clean it off and come back ready for more fallout tomorrow.  As he reset the alarm and climbed into bed, a thought struck him, and he went back to the small kitchen to prepare a small container of soapy water to bring with him.  It wasn’t much, but the small show of defiance suddenly made him sure he could weather the controversy, no matter what happened.
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Red Pins

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #13 on: 21 February 2021, 11:25:00 »
^^^^^^^^^^^^

  The alarm went off at five am, right on schedule, making him cross the room to turn it off.  Dawn had broken an hour earlier, and rather than get up to pull the blinds and curtains closed, he had simply moved to the couch and sat watching the sunlight creep across the wall with some of the leftover snacks and one of the books he had brought with him to the Cluster.

  Dressing for the office had new significance today; he expected another round of dressing downs and calls for ‘Unity’, perhaps from visitors to the Yallow office to try and intimidate him.

  It didn’t work with the Professor, and it ISN’T going to work with ME, he thought mordantly.  It wasn’t until he began putting his shoes on that he realized that unlike the Professor, he was responsible for facilities across Wake and the system itself.  Why be a stationary target, when I can be a moving one?

  After all, his office maintained a minimum of several vehicles for his exclusive use, even if they were headquartered in Wake City rather than locally.  Standing at the table making his first cup of coffee for the trip to the office, he picked up the bubble fluid and started playing with it until the coffee was ready.  There’s no reason to allow things to fester, either.  I’m not about to dignify this harassment by wasting my time on it.

A sinister chuckle escaped him as he put the container back down and poured coffee and milk into a travel mug. Bob’s going to freak out.  Suddenly, things didn’t look so bad.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

  “Good morning, everyone.  Mrs. Moseby, has Bob made it in yet?”

  “Good morning, Dr. Chu.  He’s in his office right now.”

  Hmm.  He paused for a moment, torn between acknowledging the official communications or just ignoring them and being on his way.  On the other hand, what’s that phrase?  ‘Behind every great man is his secretary?’

  “Mrs. Moseby, would you mind joining me in my office for a moment?”  He had just enough time to log onto the desk computer and waved at the seats in front of the desk as Mrs. Moseby came in with a small dictation pad.  “Please, sit down.”

  Mrs. Moseby, as always, seemed to enjoy hiding behind her poker face.  Struggling to find the right phrasing as he leaned back in his chair, he continued.  “This harassment of the Scientist Caste has to stop.  I need the rank-and-file to step forward with complaints, and I need someone practical to solve them.  I’m going to assign Bob to a temporary management position as liaison to the other Castes.  Give him whatever administrative assistance you think he needs, but don’t assign someone lightly – I have a feeling these complaints will dry up in a few days or weeks.”

  “While he’s getting organized, I want an itinerary planned for next week to visit some of the larger, but more isolated facilities off planet and the Heartforge facility before coming back to the new office at Wake City.”

  “Yes, sir,” she responded. 

  Waiting for her to finish her notes, He nodded back.  “Thank you.  I’ll be leaving as soon as possible for the first stop on this inspection tour, so please ask Security for a team and forward the itinerary to them.  In the meantime, I’ll ask Bob to come up for a meeting this morning and explain his new duties.”

  Mrs. Moseby nodded and added a few lines more.

  “And ask Lunette to bring in the proposals and grant requests we had to put aside yesterday.  There may be nothing significant, but that funding isn’t something to pass up given how the Khan seems to prefer immediate returns.”  With a final nod and jotted note she left to begin working on his requests, and he turned to the phone to have Bob come up to his office for the bad news.
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mikecj

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #14 on: 21 February 2021, 13:18:55 »
Thanks for sharing this.
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Red Pins

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #15 on: 21 February 2021, 15:20:47 »
Thanks for sharing this.

Well - thanks.  I am trying to get better, comments help.  Have to get people to comment first, though, so here I am.
...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
The New Clans:Volume One
Clan Devil Wasp * Clan Carnoraptor * Clan Frost Ape * Clan Surf Dragon * Clan Tundra Leopard
Now with MORE GROGNARD!  ...I think I'm done.  I've played long enough to earn a pension, fer cryin' out loud!  IlClan and out in <REDACTED>!
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Red Pins

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #16 on: 22 February 2021, 22:15:09 »
^^^^^^^^^^^^
  Watching Bob leave the office and not quite slam the door behind him was enough to make him smile, and as Lunette knocked and came in after him with the documents he had asked for he dipped his improvised bubble wand into the soap and water mixture on his desk and put his sock feet up on the desk, leaning as far back as his chair would go before blowing experimentally.  The stream of small bubbles made him feel a great deal more optimistic as Lunette’s laughter prompted a big grin of his own and he waggled his feet goodbye as she turned to leave the office.

  Watching her go, he took a few minutes to remember how the professor had done much the same thing, for much the same reason.  As a young grad student, he’d been shocked as steams of bubbles and curses had filled the office after the Professor had hung up on the Chancellor of the NAIS and told the shocked secretary to hold his calls, but he could understand it now.

  Pulling the first of the folders loose and opening it, he brought his feet down from the desk and started organizing himself properly, sorting folders into piles and deciding which had promise and which needed to go to peer review for approval before going for lunch.  Neither the Khan or The Bitch made an effort to disturb his morning, although putting aside the remaining folders after lunch to confront his ‘In’ box revealed a steadily tapering off stream of complaints over minor issues that made him glad he had handed the whole petty mess over to Bob.  Good ol’ Bob!

  Deciding to stay out of it now that Bob was dealing with it, he treated himself to a few minutes of blowing bubbles with his feet on the desk, congratulating himself for navigating the first official crisis in office.  Nothing to do with me, and integrity intact.  Another job well done!

  Still, the rest of the folders sitting on his desk needed to be vanquished to end the day on a high note.  Sighing, he got up to put the mostly empty bottle of bubble fluid aside and walked to the break room for another cup of coffee on itchy legs considering using the stairwell for a few seconds before yawning and going back to the office to grind his way through for another hour or two before calling it a day.

  Only one of the remaining proposals caught his interest, proposing to try and instigate a bad Hyperspace Jump to gather data on the phenomenon.  Leaning back in the chair again, he noted that testing the hypothesis depended on both a functioning K-F drive and the growing FTL communications net across the Cluster to locate the emergence.

  This is interesting.  Using multiple Fax machines to try to confirm emergence somewhere within range of the shell of receivers…  It could work.  K-F theory and Hyperspace interaction isn’t a widely-studied field, after all.  Except for the Blakists…

  The documented ‘super Jump’ capability of some Blakist vessels during the Jihad was certainly a glaring clue that the technology was still capable of being refined.  Which is odd, given the economic and military impetus to refining Kearney and Fuchida’s work…

  Taking another sip of coffee, he reached the end of the cup and grimaced.  This is worth a closer look, he told himself.  But the COST.

  Getting up and walking to the break room for another cup, he found himself ambling through the halls, sipping his coffee, not wanting to go back to his office and turned a corner to enter the stairwell and do the same thing with the next floor down.

  I can’t justify the cost of an experiment on that scale, he admitted.  Is that why nobody’s really looked at this kind of experiment?  How long has that been going on?

  Bob was busy on the phone when he walked past his office, the aide to the former interim Chief Scientist looking red-faced and clearly angry about something.   Good ol’ Bob.  Rather than distract him from his misery, he just held up the cup in salute as he ambled by.  He managed to make it to the ground floor before the cup was finished, filling it again from the Security station.

  Walking back upstairs, he went back to the office and took down the dog-eared copy of Theoretical Physics, signed by the Professor, taking the time to read the signature and dedication again; You’ll go further faster if you’re pushed rather than just following blindly.  Prof. A. Andrews.  What the Hell was the Professor trying to say?

  Sitting back down at the desk, he took the time to check the index and re-read the few references to Kearney and Fuchida’s work.  Finally putting the text down, he left a note on the file to request any further available information on K-F theory and opened the next file to try and finish the last two before going home for the night.

...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
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Red Pins

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #17 on: 22 February 2021, 22:34:19 »
^^^^^^^^^^^^

  Bob’s efforts to deal with the continuing (but steadily decreasing) complaints were showing fruit – Good ol’ Bob! – as the VTOL came in for an early morning landing on the field adjacent to the DropShip that would be home for the next month.  KPA Inspectors accompanied by Technicians and Laborers had been forced to show up at Bob’s request after his trip had been delayed twice, and the saKhan had been forced to discipline his own troops for their performance (Lack of it, really, he thought smugly.).  At least one Merchant had also been caught bribing the Port authorities to change launch times for different cargoes, a side benefit to the proctology suddenly focused on the facility.

  The resulting fallout had also apparently triggered a civil war in the Warrior Caste, as the saKhan pointedly removed the Weasel’s supporters from their posts overnight.  The Union-class DropShip Fortitude had apparently been uninvolved, and beyond the relief to see him leave after his tour he expected the ship and crew to be reasonably tolerant of the ‘dirty feet’ in their domain.

  Still, its good to know ‘business as usual’ isn’t tolerated by everybody else.

  The buildup to today’s launch seemed to be running smoothly, and as the blades began to slow and the co-pilot came around the nose to assist him removing his luggage from his craft, an officer began to approach the pad, introducing himself and pointed them toward the DropShip in Kraken colors.  Already wearing the jumpsuit issued to him on the last, ill-fated trip, he was soon crossing the field with a similarly attired Bob and the four-man Security team in tow to join the comings and goings at the main boarding ramp, all of them presenting their boarding passes and accepting a guide to transport and secure their luggage in their quarters for the first leg of their tour.

  The crew seemed competent and uninterested in their passengers except where the two groups interacted, and their group were quickly familiarized with the protective suits they would wear during inspections of orbital facilities and in transit aboard the various small craft before the customary flight briefing.  Still new to the experience despite the long trip emigrating to the Cluster, he arranged for an exterior camera feed to the room’s small monitor, something their guide was able to explain how to do without blinking.

  Despite his eagerness to watch the launch, it seemed to lack the romance of earlier landings and take-offs; within the hour, the Fortitude broke orbit and was under a steady .5G as it accelerated to their first destination, a L-5 facility responsible for design and manufacture of the delicate light sails deployed to recharge the massive batteries of the Clan’s JumpShips.

  At least trying to redesign them, he thought.  Another technology basically unchanged from the centuries of refinement by Star League scientists and engineers.  The imprimatur of the Star League and the Inner Sphere still lingered three hundred years later, as the high-water mark of humanity’s technological development.

  Except for the Kerensky’s Clans, at least.  And if Deep Periphery states like ours could exist in secret, what might come of the disappearance of the Word of Blake, another of the endless factions with a scientific bent and obsession for Terra?

...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
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Red Pins

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #18 on: 22 February 2021, 22:34:59 »
^^^^^^^^^^^^

  It took almost as long to travel the last few kilometers as it did to inspect the facility, and despite the interest he felt in both the station and the different processes and materials being experimented on, he was aware they were basically once again going over data pioneered hundreds of years ago.  The concept continued to bother him during and after the fact, leading him to be cautious discussing future operations and funding with the station administrator, and it kept nagging at him after they had returned to the DropShip and gravity returned as crewmen assisted with the removal of their suits.

  In fact, the station, although competently operated and maintained, was limited to the slow pace of Kraken shipbuilding; although the Cluster as a whole was churning out Aquilla IIs as quickly as possible, there was enough duplication of effort to make the continued existence of the station a foregone conclusion if the Khan hadn’t insisted on maintaining its existence to create an independent shipbuilding industry purely from Clan resources.

  Seeing nothing that needed the Caste’s support to develop, he made the decision to explore removing the facility from the list of Scientist-supported projects, and returned to his cabin where he formally notified the station’s administrator of his decision and began writing the preliminary report to the Clan Council to transfer the station to control of the Technician Caste.  Day-to-day operation was more in the tradition of the Technicians, anyway, and as the Fortitude began the longer trip to their second stop, he belatedly called the station administrator to ask him to forward the names of Scientist Caste personnel, their roles and reason for working on the station.

  Bingo.  Every one of the technical specialists were members of the Caste who developed the process and were never replaced due to the ‘military requirement’ of production for the Kraken Touman.  Taking time to draft a quick note for the Clan Council and administrator, he pointed out enough time had passed for a reasonable turnover to Technician control, and Scientist resources would be reassigned shortly.

  Glad I’m out here after all, he thought resignedly.  I wonder how many more situations like this are out there?  More work for Bob and Mrs. Moseby, I guess.

  Ending the first day of his escape to space with more turmoil for the other Castes hadn’t been the plan, but it wasn’t like he could just ignore the situation.  He was developing a real urge to hunt down the former Chief Scientist and shake him down to find out what else was waiting to ambush him like this.

  At least the return of gravity to the Fortitude had left him with an appetite, and he closed the small workspace to go in search of the head to freshen up before heading to the mess.  The short trips back and forth across the system meant there would probably be enough fresh fruits and vegetables to ensure the crew were grateful enough for the presence of the VIPs to provide a welcome change in the fairly monotonous diet they put up with on longer trips, and he meant to take advantage of that to try and weasel his way onto the bridge to watch during the week-long trip.


^^^^^^^^^^^^

  The rest of the Wake facilities were almost a let-down; well established bases on hazardous atmospheric inner planets and the Warrior Caste’s crown jewel of the Wake system, the Anchor Yard, building the cargo ships the Clan’s economy desperately needed.  None of them were properly able to function without Scientist Caste support; rather than step further into the minefield of Clan politics, he made a formal appeal for teaching materials to the Council, reasoning growing their own Scientists would benefit all the Castes as it would reliably expand the pool of educated workers rather than hoping to attract qualified refugees, the supply of which was over-extended among the Clans and Civil Government as a whole.

  Ironically the Clan was lukewarm in their relations with the Frost Apes; a middling economic and military power, their homeworld of Da Vinci was the home of the Cluster’s sole University and their major source of income.  Becoming indebted to the ‘Flakey Apes’ on an ongoing basis wasn’t something he looked forward to arguing in front of the Council, but he didn’t see a better idea on the horizon.

  Saying goodbye to their new friends on the Fortitude took only a few minutes, although presenting the Captain with the care package sent up by Mrs. Moseby while the passengers moved awkwardly towards the hatch in microgravity brought a few smiles to the faces of the crew who were shipping out with the Fortitude on a tour of ‘tender duty’, ferrying raw materials from surface to orbit out on the Edge.  No doubt the fresh coffee and chocolates would be appreciated, but he had to wonder how much of it would be traded along the way.

  The single moon of Wake, Anchor was home to both a growing community of lunar-dwelling support staff for the Anchor Yards in orbit above it and a small boneyard of ships awaiting recycling.  The voyage to the Cluster was generally hard on the JumpShips found working in the Periphery of the Inner Sphere, most of them already in poor repair, and although the New Clans were willing to provide temporary repairs in exchange for crews and ships willing to ‘immigrate’, they were unable to do the kind of major repairs Yards in the Inner Sphere were able to provide.

  Those ships found themselves bought out as salvage, waiting on Yards like this one to crush and re-process its K-F core for one of the new Aquilla IIs.  At least most of the crews of those ships found themselves in high demand, able to trade shares of the value of their old ship for a stake in the new one, keeping them out of the gravity well with the rest of the groundlings.  Kraken was back from a tour of the Cluster’s Faction Worlds on schedule, Jumping in from Wake’s L2 point and beginning to boost back to Wake, where she would swing by for fresh supplies and passengers on her way back out, passengers included, and this time he had better things to do than try to write fiction again.

  Memories of his last trip on the flagship of the Kraken naval fleet made him shudder, but at least he should be able to have a private discussion about the bootleg alcohol with the pretty Engineer in private.  Perhaps on a tour of the military aspects of the ship; not being interested at the time he had skipped following the Khan about the ship looking at the bits that killed people and broke things, but if he had to win budget discussions to stir moribund Scientists from researching better materials to manufacture Jump sails from it might be easier if there was a gun on one end to interest the Khan.

  Which says how much of a challenge its going to be to do any planning for anything other than what they need right now.  I swear, this’ no way to run an interstellar civilization.  I wonder if anybody else worries about that?

  Still, the Anchor Yards beckoned, and the small craft to bring them to the station was on a schedule, too.  Bidding farewell to the Captain and crew remaining, he allowed the crew to assist him floating to the hatch where he joined the boarding line, being the last to board and securing himself in the seat next to Bob.  Bob was already secured and sealed, no surprise there, so rather than bother trying to talk to him he simply closed his suit’s faceplate and waited.

  Soon enough one of the crew of the small craft closed the hatch and moved along the aisle, holding a thumb up and waiting to receive a confirming gesture back until the rows of passengers confirmed they were secured and sealed.  Disappearing into the nose of the craft it took a moment before the familiar red warning strobe of the decompression warning began to light the interior, the lighting changing to the steady red and the now-familiar ‘thump’ of the shuttle released from its docking point in the bay marked the beginning of their little trip to the moon’s surface.

  The ovoid small craft made the trip in less than an hour as the faint gravity – About .4G, if I remember rightly – gradually took hold and the Pilot dropped them gently to the surface.  Familiar with the routine now, the rows of passengers waited for the ‘bus’ to be rolled out to pick them up.  As the lighting switched back to the steady white and the strobe began to flash, the crewman reversed his trip to stand by at the hatch until the gentle ‘thunk’ once again sounded.  Checking indicators and the sliding door of the check valve to physically check the air pressure on the other side of the hatch, the hatch was opened and he returned the thumbs up of the crewman to unstrap and gently push himself out of the seat until the magnetic boots landed on the deck with a gentle click and he approached the hatch and ladder waiting for him.

  Guided by the crewman, he came down the ladder easily to meet another waiting at the bottom who directed him to the front of the vehicle where a second waited to ensure he attached himself to a pole running from floor to ceiling and took ahold of the hand grip he was offered tightly.  Bob and the Security team joined him a few minutes later, and they began to talk about the experience on a separate channel from the rest of the passengers, all of whom moved quickly to their places with the assurance of experienced travelers.

  In minutes, the crew had returned to the controls in front of him, and the bus began moving across the lunar surface to pull alongside one of the large domes that slowly came into his field of vision from his place.  The familiar noises announced the final transfer to the base proper, and he concentrated on not flailing around when the hatch to his side opened to reveal a short walk to the airlock.  Taking six at a time, their party was met on the inside of the other hatch and hand signals confirmed they could open their face plates or helmets before being told to climb aboard the small electric vehicle waiting to take them deeper into the base.

...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
The New Clans:Volume One
Clan Devil Wasp * Clan Carnoraptor * Clan Frost Ape * Clan Surf Dragon * Clan Tundra Leopard
Now with MORE GROGNARD!  ...I think I'm done.  I've played long enough to earn a pension, fer cryin' out loud!  IlClan and out in <REDACTED>!
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DOC_Agren

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #19 on: 23 February 2021, 22:35:20 »
?? am I getting this right Chu isn't from clan space but the Inner Sphere?

Quote
And if Deep Periphery states like ours could exist in secret, what might come of the disappearance of the Word of Blake, another of the endless factions with a scientific bent and obsession for Terra?
given those crazy people plans scary things
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Red Pins

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Re: The (theoretical) War Crimes of Jimmy Chu
« Reply #20 on: 24 February 2021, 08:19:54 »
Yeah, the New Clans can't match Kerenskys clans birthdays with iron wombs in the Cluster, so they use immigration and educated people from the IS to make up the difference.
...Visit the Legacy Cluster...
The New Clans:Volume One
Clan Devil Wasp * Clan Carnoraptor * Clan Frost Ape * Clan Surf Dragon * Clan Tundra Leopard
Now with MORE GROGNARD!  ...I think I'm done.  I've played long enough to earn a pension, fer cryin' out loud!  IlClan and out in <REDACTED>!
Glitter - the herpes of the craft supply world.

 

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