A Fist Full of C-Bills - Character Background thread

[Malich]

Fallon II
Federated Suns
30-12-3032

The wind whipped across the open, concrete landing pad of the spaceport raising more dust and grit that stung Johannes Sergio Rabagliati's face despite the hooded poncho over his head and the scarf wrapped to cover his mouth and nose. Standing on the ramp of the Union Class Dropship "Stainless Chrome" offered little protection from either the stifling heat or the vicious windblown sand but did at least offer him the chance to get off planet finally.

The drawback was going to be the same as he had encountered with the "Tenacious Lander", "Sally B" and the "Bucket". He let out an audible sigh and dropped his head to shield his eyes a little until the captain of the ship, or at least his representative, came to see why a lone, hooded figure was standing on the ramp of his ship.

Johannes looked around the main hold. It was spartan compared to the Union's he had sailed in as a soldier. The BattleMech gantries that were used to hold 'Mechs during transit were still present but much of the equipment used to perform heavy maintenance were missing though several large overhead cranes had been fitted to help move cargo around the bay. From a gantry round the top of the bay a woman in spacer's coveralls slammed open a hatch and stomped around the grid metal walkway. she made it to a steeply angled ladder, grabbed both handrails and kicked off with both feet. She slid the 20 feet to the bay deck landing and landed in a way that carried the forward momentum in a way that made it look smooth and practiced.

"Danson, you better get that damn computer glitch fixed before i get back up there or so help me god i'm going to dump you on this dirtball."

A male torso poked round the hatchway high above the bay and a hand waved a wordless dismissal of the barked order.

"And who are you?"

The woman was striking. Short, but striking. Her hair was buzz cut short and flame red but that seemed to just add to the air of toughness she was using to fill up the space around her. Her coveralls were unmarked and left it hard to tell what shape she was underneath but her entrance to the bay hinted at power.

"A potential client. And you are?"

The woman scowled and then took a deep breath, ducking her chin to her chest as she did so. As she raised it again he saw her force herself to calm down.

"Sorry, we had a pump under compensate during the run down here. Got down to the planet to find we'd melted a chunk of the number three nacelle. All down to a computer glitch THAT SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE FIXED THREE MONTHS AGO." She turned as she shouted this last part and aimed the comment back towards the gantry hatch. "I'm Captain Molly Steele." She stopped, a look of challenge crossed her face.

He was thankful for the mask that hid the smile that formed at one corner of his mouth. Stainless Chrome Molly Steele. He suspected her parents must have had a funny sense of humour. Thankfully, so had his.

"I'm Johannes Sergio Rabagliati, most folks just call me Mutt. I'm looking for passage from here to Idlewind."

"That's way over the border in Drac territory. Long way to go for a single passenger and no guarantee that i'll pick up anything else on the way. It'll be expensive."

"I hope it won't just be me. I'm putting together a little expedition and am planning to recruit a few other people to help me."

"Expedition for what?"

"I have the location of a Star League outpost that supposedly was left on the planet when Kerensky pulled out. I think it might still hold something of value."

She stopped for a second and looked at him. "You're kidding!"

"Not one bit. I have a family heirloom from a relative who was on planet at the time of the pull out. It doesn't list specific locations but there's enough loose references to give me a rough idea of where to look."

"Surely it's been stripped by now? It's been centuries."

"The book says there were two facilities on the planet. A decoy and the primary. I'm hoping the primary is still there. That's what the references lead to."

"And what's there?"

Mutt looked down at the ground. "I don't know. The book just talks about the facility."

"Let's go talk in my office."

[Malich]

Captain's Cabin
Dropship "Stainless Chrome"
Fallon II
Federated Suns
31-12-3032

"So, let me get this straight. You have a treasure map, an honest to goodness treasure map. X marks the spot and all that jazz?"

The captain's cabin was nothing to write home about. A room no bigger than Mutt's old bedroom but pulling duty as living quarters, head and office. The desk was strewn with papers ranging from customs forms to daily logs, the bed was strewn with clothes and the floor was strewn with the overflow from both. Mutt had expected more but something suggested this was not the normal state of the room.

"not quite. I have a 300 year old diary written in near illegible cursive by a man who I suspect was not 100% in his right mind about the whereabouts of a secret Star League facility that he claims was wiped from the records."

"that's not filling me with a huge amount of confidence Mr Rabagliati." Captain Steele swept a drift of papers from the desk into a box file and propped her riding boot clad feet up on the desk. "So, explain to me again why you think this diary means anything?"

Mutt reached into his poncho, liberally adding more dust to the floor of the cabin, and pulled out a wooden pistol case and a data disk. The disk he threw onto the table and the pistol case he placed on his lap. He popped the latches and pulled out a plain looking laser pistol. Steele's feet hit the deck with a thump as she rocked forward in her chair again.

"Is that...?"

"A Star League Mark II laser pistol, standard side arm of the Star League Defence Forces.  This one i found with the diary. The case is a presentation case that came with it. Take a look at the data chip."

Steele powered up her tablet and slotted the chip home. The chip had a single file on it which she opened.

"Star League Defence Force Idlewind, Facility No2, Quartermaster's stock take record, third quarter, 2784. This is a record for the facility?"

"Just keep looking." Steele scrolled through the equipment lists. Parts, weapons, ammunition, uniforms, medical supplies, vehicles, shuttles, BattleMechs, the list went on and on. Mutt passed the pistol to her. "Check the record for that serial number."

"Pistol, Laser, MkII, Serial number GF-138-2707F. Base Armoury, Cabinet four, rack B."

"This pistol was in that rack, on that base, as General Kerensky was removing 80% of the SLDF out to who knows where. The diary tells me that the base was shut down, information purged, and that it was left as a resupply post if the SLDF ever came back to the Inner Sphere."

"And you think it's still there?"

"I think that if even a fraction of it is still there it's worth finding out."

"And how do you plan on funding this little expedition?"

That was the question Mutt had been dreading. "I have limited funding. I have enough to fuel the Dropship, pay for passage and probably enough to feed a few dozen people for the trip and a few months afterwards. The rest of it will have to be shares in the proceeds for anyone who signs up."

Steele looked up to the ceiling, Mutt didn't know specifically what she was thinking but he knew the look of someone just offered the best deal they'd heard in a while.

"What's my deal?"

"A half share for each of the crew, a share for yourself, and two shares for the ship before overheads. If i'm right that it should see you more than covered for wear and tear with a nice pot left over.  Pilots, MechWarriors and vehicle commanders or owners get a full share, crewmen a hand share. There's a few specialists I might need to reward a little higher but that will depend on the calibre. My direct team get a share each and I get ten because i have to outlay a bit and the information is mine."

"That sounds mostly fair, I want 5 for the ship. This bucket isn't cheap to run and I could use some funds to overhaul her."

"Four, we both know that's where the bartering will end up."

"Done. And if we get there and there's nothing..."

"Then i think paying you might be the least of my worries."


Fallon Tribune
02-01-3033
AM Edition
Classified Section

WANTED: Skilled warriors, technicians and expedition crew for investigative expedition to DC space. No combat expected but maybe required. Must have own tools of the trade. Room, Board and Transportation provided to destination. Payment by shares of any valuables recovered. For details contact Johannes @ Box 270.

[Malich]

Flashback

Hunter's Valley
New Sudets Mountains
Fallon II
16-07-3028

The Rifleman was ancient, it smelled ancient, it moved like a rheumatic old man and every step made it groan like a tree about to fall in the wood. The Engine ran warm, the gyro worked two steps out of every three and there was a worrying grind from the D2j tracking array that caused it to occasionally fail to rotate. But the 'Mech was his finally, if he could keep it. Mutt was the eight member of his family to pilot the Rifleman since she passed through the gates of the Kalon factory over three centuries before. The 'Mech was a bit like Grandfather's old broom. It had had three new heads and four new handles, but it was still the same broom. Mutt shifted in the command chair, trying to find a comfortable spot.

"I swear, this must be the only original part on this thing." Mutt adjusted the gain on the sensor system again and sighed. "Control, this is Four Two. If there's anything out here I can't see it. Any word from Four One?"

"Four Two. Negative. Four One had something but they lost it at the mouth of the pass. You and Four Four are to move through the pass and flush them through."

Mutt didn't trigger the mic "Of course we are." He looked to the Wasp riding next to him and sighed again.

"Charlie, we're heading in, push ahead a bit an keep your eyes open If someone really did land round here this is a perfect place for an ambush."

"Roger Four Two, moving out."

The wasp took off at speed for a minute, putting a few hundred meters between the 'Mechs before he slowed to match the slow, pondering steps of the Rifleman.  The valley was closing in,  narrowing to less than a hundred meters and strewn with boulders that made the going even more difficult. Mutt watched the wasp enter the boulder field.... and disintegrate. A laser beam swept across the 'Mech's left leg, piercing the armour and touching off the ammunition stored there. The pilot never had a chance to eject as hundreds of kilograms of ammunition and rocket fuel created a fireball that filled the valley.  From the shadows at the edge of the valley and sheltered from the scanners stepped a huge Stalker class BattleMech and a small, but no less deadly, Dragon. Mutt triggered a long burst from both autocannons that rattled rounds off the stalker's armoured hide and the rocks around it but he knew it was going to be wasted effort.

"Control this is Four Two, Contact. Stalker and Dragon class 'Mechs at the pass." Mutt triggered the twin large lasers and felt the heat in the cockpit spike almost unbearably. The Rifleman slowed as the heat affected the control circuits and myomer. Missiles began to rain down around him, flaking armour from the Rifleman.

"Four Two. Roger, can you hold for three zero minutes. Reinforcements are on route."

Lasers and autocannon shells began to rip into the armour as well. Alarms sounded warning of breaches to the chest and damage to the engine. Computerised voices informed  him of systems going off line and of heat build up. Mutt ignored them and kept reversing, autocannons ineffectively chattering at the approaching enemy forces. The 'Mechs were unmarked, appeared to be functional and were more than a match for his heirloom Rifleman.

"Core breach imminent."

"Of course it is. This is Four Two, punching out."

Mutt slammed himself back in the command chair and reach over his head to pull the face shield down that would also engage the ejection mechanism. In less than a second there that a bang, a rush of cold air and then acceleration that tried to force his spine down through the chair. Two second later he was floating on the ejection system's parachute towards the rocky top of the valley wall as the two raider BattleMechs stomped north towards Four One.

[Stormcrow]

42nd Avalon Hussars Officer's Main Ballroom
Fallon II
Federated Suns
31-12-3032
2357

Jocasta, resplendent in her crimson red silk evening gown, made her way around the ballroom with a glass of champagne. She had been here for less than thian hourrty minutes, having arrived fashionably late for the New Years Eve festivities. She was here as the invited guest of Colonel Anton Moncrief, the G-2 for the 42nd Avalon Hussars, for whom she had done some analysis for. The reason she was so late is that she didn't want to be dragged into long conversations with a bunch of stuffy officers and their wives. The lot of them were absolute dullards. True, they were intelligent and well-versed, but dullards nonethless.

When she came to this world to retire some eighteen months ago, she thought this world would be just right for her and husband, Ruben. But within weeks, her husband had emptied their joint accounts and was caught trying to flee Fallon II with some little bint that he met at one of the local coffee houses. It's been six months since her divorce was finalized and Ruben had been sentenced to tens years in prison. She was bored, bored out of her skull. She needed a new challenge, something that would make her feel alive again. Hopefully that something would take her off of this planet and erase the bitter memories of it.

She came back to the real world as the crowd started the countdown on the final seconds of 3032. As the countdown approached zero, she ardently hoped that 3033 would be a better year. As the orchestra struck up 'Auld Lang Syne', she finished her glass of champagne and made her way for the exit.

[Malich]

FLASHBACK

Office of the Commandant
Ian Davion Barracks
Port Matilda Militia Facility
Port Matilda
23-07-3028

Militia commandant General Irlam Waters looked over the report that Mutt had dropped on his system the night before and then raised his eye to stare at Mutt.

"This is a fine report Lieutenant Rabagliati. Well written, concise and covering all the salient details."

Mutt smiled and mentally uncrossed his fingers, thinking that if the General agreed with the report he would agree with the conclusions too.

"Alas, I cannot agree with the conclusions."

Mutt mentally kicked himself for jinxing it. "In what way sir?"

"While I agree your unit was overwhelmed and that you were inadequately supported at the time of the ambush I am afraid that it is the conclusion of the JAG corps that the support provided to you was adequate in general and that had you held as requested you would have been fine. Therefore, the extenuating circumstances clause on your contract with the militia. Therefore we shall not be replacing your BattleMech either from the salvage taken from the raiders or from central supplies."

Mutt looked across the desk aghast at what he had just been told. "Excuse me Sir, but did the investigating officer happen to mention how I was supposed to hold against two BattleMechs, the lightest of which equalled my weight and the other which our massed me by twenty five tons?"

"It was determined that if you had turned and broken off the engagement the raiders would have turned and headed for Four One."

"So, I was to expose my light, rear armour to a heavier enemy and hope they didn't just blow me to hell." Mutt felt his temper spiking and fought to rein himself in. "So what am I supposed to do now?"

"You'll receive the standard payout should you choose to resign you commission to the Militia. Or you could change to an infantry commission, or a technical one?"

"You'll forgive me for saying, Sir, that none of those are really acceptable to me as a MechWarrior. That Rifleman has been in my family for nearly three centuries. My Four times great grandfather bought it fresh off the Kalon line in a moment of family good fortune... mostly ended by the purchase of that rifleman. And now you're telling me that my best option is fifty thousand C-Bills as a golden goodbye?"

"It's the best we can offer Lieutenant Rabagliati."

[Latro]

Fallon Deux
Fed Suns
2 January 3033


"Hee hee hee. Hey mon - I t'ink you want to get up before you gets wet."

Gunner Reslo's left eye twitched then reluctantly fluttered open. A vein or something in that orb throbbed and for less than a second his view of the world warped slightly. He groaned in a manner that eloquently communicated his immediate thoughts and feelings on what that one eyed view of the current universe meant to him at this moment. The groan furthermore managed to convey his opinion on 1) people who woke up early and managed to be as alive and chipper as his erstwhile interlocutor 2) the early heat of the day already at least 38*C and 3) life in general. His eye, eager to be out of the harsh light, slid shut on its own accord.

"Ahaha. Din' be like dat, it be a beautiful day. Now gitcher arse up hoojie and move or you be regrettin' it."

He rolled his eyes (as they were still closed the effect was quite lost on the owner of the disembodied voice) and put a hand to his forehead to massage his temples.

“You t’ink ah’m a lyin’ mon? Dat was ma’ las’ warnin’”

Gunner was about to tell the Voice what he thought of his warnings when a warm gentle deluge of water splattered across the dry skin of his face. He spluttered and moved quicker than someone might expect into a sitting position and about a meter to his left.

“Dat’s bettah. I needs to watah dese otter plants here. There you are ma lovelies, drink it in.”

Wincing as he ran fingers through his now wet hair Gunner managed to croak “What day is it?” before devoting his energies to focusing on the old man shuffling amongst the large ceramic pots that had until very recently been his impromptu bedding. Green blobs came into focus first. Large pepper and tomato plants heavy with fruit grew at the foot of corn stalks and cannabis plants. Bean vines artfully wound themselves up the taller plants, gravid with pods. One of the pots was behind him and he leaned back against it. Its curve and warmth felt good against his back, which was starting to lodge formal protests from the night spent on the sandstone flagstones. He looked up and saw a network of wooden beams extending from the domicile, each supporting an awning made from light fabrics and fantastically coloured. A slight breeze made them move and shift.

“Dàtiáo. What planet is this?”

“It be T’ursday. Janr’y th’ t’ird. T’irty Ti’rty T’ree. And da planet be Fallon Deux. And merde!” The old man reappeared from behind the plant pots. An older negro gentleman, somewhat heavy set, with an insane tangle of greying dreadlocks. He wore faded third hand clothing and a pair of hideous carpet slippers flopped loosely as he shuffled towards Gunner. “Gunner Reslo, YOU a cul muet! Do you forget who I am?”

Reslo stared at the apparition blearily as the cogs and gears of his synaptic net meshed teeth and took on the neural load. ‘I am Gunner Reslo’ Yes... that sounded right. And this man was...“H... Haile?”

He rubbed his face again. This had been the bender to beat all benders. Four days... gone. No memory of anything from when he had started drinking at that hole in the wall public house since the weekend before New Year’s eve. No notion of where he was or who the people around him were. Not good. Was he so desperate to forget his situation? 

Survey says: YES

Once started the trickle of memories became a flood. Haile Sendaris. Retired merchant from whom he was renting a room to stay in. Renting from Haile because he could no longer afford a decent hotel room. Couldn’t afford a hotel room because his mech, an Ostroc with the unlikely name of Boxcar, had to be housed in a licensed mech hanger.

Haile’s deep and ruddy chuckle sounded pleasant in the confines of his small garden. “Dat’s right! Old Haile. Cul muet - All dem brain cells ain’t gone yet. Yet...” he added with another chuckle.

“Dàtiáo, Haile. I’m... sorry. Been a bit rough the last few days.”

“I’d say almost a week by da’ smell o’ you. You go wash up. I gots somet’ing to show you, but I don’ wanna be down wind from you at da’ moment.”

Tempus Fugit...

A long shower wasn’t enough. It took two before Gunner felt human enough to sheepishly seek out Haile again. He found him behind the building, liberally pouring fuel from a red cannister into a open 200 liter barrel.

“Stan’ back. Gonna be a good fire ball here.”

They stepped back a few paces. Haile expertly lit a wooden match then flicked it towards the barrel. Accuracy was not a factor. The open flame flew through the invisible fume cloud and...

The ascending fireball created a micro vacuum that sucked air into its hungry embrace with a *WHUMP* that was more felt than heard. Reslo felt to make sure his eyebrows were intact.

“HEHE! Now DAT’S a fire!” Haile chortled gleefully and grinned as he handed Gunner a sheet of paper. “Here dis for you. Found it posted at de’ market dis mornin’. I suggest you take it. Only work for a mech driver like you on dis shiteball planet. You can come back an’ stay wit’ me if’n you evah make it back. Heh. Burn you stinkin’ hoojie!” he yelled at the black smoke belching from the barrel.

Gunner read what was clearly an advert for work. Hand written with one end ripped into tassles for taking a number.

WANTED: Skilled warriors, technicians and expedition crew for investigative expedition to DC space. No combat expected but maybe required. Must have own tools of the trade. Room, Board and Transportation provided to destination. Payment by shares of any valuables recovered. For details contact Johannes @ Box 270.

Gunner snorted. For real?

The fire began to smell... odd.

“Haile - what the frell are you burning?”

“Your clothes. Nasssty! Ain’t no way no one was evah gonna wear dem t'ings agin' anyway!”

Gunner looked at the ad again and sighed. It sounded dreadful, but it truly was the only game in town...

[worktroll]

Fallon Deux
Fed Suns
30th December 3032



The cockpit glass of the DigLord not only filtered out the harsh UV rays of the sun, it also blocked most of the noise coming from the massive rock slicer as it slid through the local sandstone. Cutting blades made (according to the ads) to spaceship armour standards, designed for cutting through solid rock, made quick work of the soft sedimentary deposits. Getting close, Digger thought. ’Bout ten more minutes ‘till we’re done, then into town for the celebrations t’morrow. A hard earned thirst means a big cold beer, eh?

The whine of the cutter suddenly turned into a noisy clatter, loud enough to make the ‘Mech operator wince. Another bloody boulder! What sort of flamin’ mess was this place a hundred million years ago? Occasional lumps of volcanic granite showed up in the sedimentary beds laid down long ago, which was the main reason the Five Hand Ranch had hired an IndustrialMech to build their new irrigation channels. The boulders, weighing hundreds of tons, were too heavy for standard earth-moving equipment to move. Fortunately, Digger had another option.

With practiced ease, he cut power to the rock slicer, and pivoted the DigLord until its left arm approached the obstacle. With an intimidating whine, the multidrill head which the IndustrialMech carried instead of a hand swung up to speed. While not as capable of breaking large quantities of stone as the rock cutter, the multidrill could cut its way through almost anything – including ‘Mech armour, Digger remembered fondly. Strewth, that Stinger pilot is never going to forget that in a hurry!

At 65 tons, the DigLord weighed as much as a heavy BattleMech, and certainly looked armoured and intimidating. Digger knew full well though that it was no match for a real heavy ‘Mech, oe even many medius. Doesn’t mean I can’t bully any lights slow enough for me to catch though. He’d done many exercises with the Fallon militia, mainly working with their engineer company on hasty fortifications or disaster exercises, but he’d managed to use the ‘Mech’s fluid guns and mining gear to intimidate infantry. They’re still sore about Keong’s Stinger, though. Yup, I shouldn’t have powered the drill, but he was such a mouthy bastard, I swear he was asking for an ‘accident’.

Once the bounder had been chewed out of the way, and he’d finished the cut up to where the lock would be installed, he noticed it was an hour past finishing time. Turning around, he grunted. More or less as he’d expected, the dump trucks and front loader who’d been clearing the spoil were long gone.  Unexpected was the ute belonging to the Five Hand manager, Dave O’Fleer, parked back from the dry canal. Digger waved the rock slicer at the car, then marched the ‘Mech over to it.

Opening the cockpit bubble let the hot, arid dusty air in for the first time in hours. Swearing under his breath, Digger dug out a pair of tinted goggles and a disreputable bush hat, and put them on. He slid down the chain ladder. There was more than usual grit in the air, much coming from the neglected spoil heaps. “Arvo, O’Fleer” he said. “That lot”, jerking an elbow at the heaps, “is going to be blown back to buggery by the time the shovel mob are back. What brings you out here?”

O’Fleer shrugged. “Figured you’d appreciate if I gave you this today.” He handed over a thick envelope.

Digger riffled the D-bills inside with his thumb. “Bit more than I was expecting. Holiday bonus?”

“Termination bonus.”

“What?” Digger stared at the manager. “But … “

“No, you didn’t do anything – this time”, the manager explained. “But we’re shutting down the project. Water allocations came through, and we missed out. Bigtime,” he spread his arms. “What can you do?”

“You can bloody well march on the buggers at Hydro and –“

O’Fleer sighed. “No use, Digger. The desal plant’s down again.”

“Those fancy goddam filters again?”
“Yup”, O’Fleer nodded. “Crock of shite they’ve been since they built the plant. Looks like NAIS isn’t quite as clever as they thought they were. Anything remotely potable’s going into the cities for the foreseeable future – certainly not wasting any on dry-land cropping.”

Digger slumped. “Shite. Shite, shite, shite.”

“You’ll get work, won’t you? Horrabin is still hiring?”

Digger spat into the dust. “I’ll root my own drillhead before I’ll work for those clowns again. Besides, no way will they hire me again. Dumb mercs might fall for the company store, but not Mum Drager’s little boy, no way. And since the war, all the reconstruction money’s gone to war-hit planets, not here. And I was just about to make the last payment on Chesty here!” He looked at the envelope again, more carefully this time. Might be enough, if I don’t pay me rent until I get some more work. Coughing, he said “Well, thanks for the bonus, O’Fleer. Appreciated. Hope things turn out for you soon. Mind, ‘fraid I don’t have enough diesel to make it back to town – got ahead of schedule, you know how it is.”

O’Fleer visibly relaxed. Probably worried I was going to lose it, thought Digger, smiling faintly. The manager thought, and then said “Look, you did a good job for us – not your fault this has fallen to pieces.” He grabbed his comm from his belt. “Jenkins? No? Where is he? Oh, doesn’t matter. I’m sending Digger up to you. Fill his tank for him, right – yes, diesel. Yup, and a decent fill. My authority.” He looked up. “Hit Depot 3 – you got enough to get there?” When Digger nodded, he continued. “I’ve told them to top your tanks – consider it a New Year’s bonus. You’ll have plenty to get back to town, and a bit extra to tide you over.  Thanks, Digger – hope the new year brings us all some luck.”

The two men shook hands, then O’Fleer climbed back into his ute and drove off. The roostertail of dust spread out behind the car. Digger thought for a moment, then began climbing back up the chain ladder.

Once in the cockpit, he started up the twin diesels powering the IndustrialMech, and began to move off. A sudden fancy struck him, and he checked his control panel. His gauges showed four and a half tons of water still onboard, in six tanks. He pivoted, approached the dry canal he’d laboriously dug, and then triggered the ‘Mech’s fluid guns to empty all but one tank of water at low velocity. For once – and probably the only time – water ran down the canal.

There’s a fine line between “fill his tank” and “fill his tanks”, Digger thought. And five extra tons of fuel aren’t going to hurt if I’ve got to find another job toot sweet. He'd enjoyed the work for Five Hands; O'Fleer was a bastard, but all bosses were, and he was a human bastard. Not like the suits at Horrabin. But with the drawdown in the local economy as the Suns tried to repair its economy post 4th-War, his big DigLord was turning into an expensive luxury. With the Militia likely to pull their contract with him, he was likely to find himself proud owner of a multi-million D-bill IndustrialMech, without the funds to operate it.

"This does not look good, me old china plate."



Fallon Deux
Fed Suns
2 January 3033

Digger had reached the conclusion that New Year's was absolutely the worst time of year to look for work. Anyone not on holiday was drunk, or hungover, and you just spent your time and money trying to comm people who weren't interested in talking to you. Worse, he'd seen a couple of MiningMechs - smaller, less capable, but undeniably cheaper to run - at the DropPort being painted in Horrabin colours. Looks like there'll be no work on this flamin' planet for an honest digger, at this rate.

He'd managed a frugal New Year celebration on money that should have gone to his landlord, and was sipping on a mug of Donegal Roast instant erzacaff - it might taste like crap, but it's cheap, and after one cup of this, nothing else seems quite so bad - when an ad caught his eye.

Technician, check. Own tools of trade, check. Board paid for, check. Well, might be worth trying. Reaching  for his comm, he began punching numbers.






 

[zeitgeist]

Sultzaberger farm
Fallon Dos
Fed Suns
2 January 3033

Kal woke up early, finally feeling free from a particularly insistent new year's hangover.  Shuffling through the darkness, he managed to start a pot of coffee and preform his morning necessities without waking anyone. Taking a mug and a roll, he walked outside and turned towards the equipment barn, the predawn light turning the tan dust a blueish gray.

Inside the barn, he made his way to the back corner where Camerone stood, her Avalon Hussars' gray looking almost presentable, even after two years of farm work. Finishing his breakfast before climbing the rope ladder to the cockpit, he settled into the command couch and started bringing the communications system online. Aside from a half-hour drive into town, the Griffin's ageing Neil 6k system was the only link to the rest of the world--the domestic communications terminal in the house had died back in September, and both his parents were more concerned in blaming each other for it than actually spending the money to get it fixed.

Opening the early edition of the Tribune, he started with the sports section (the Wings had beat the Jumpers 3-2 in the 10th) before moving to weather (hot and dry, shocking) and politics (Exclusive: First photos of Princess Katherine). By this point sunlight was shining through the eastern windows of the barn, and sounds of activity could be heard outside as the rest of the family began their day. In no rush to get started on the day's chores, Kal began reading through the classifieds.

WANTED: Skilled warriors, technicians and expedition crew for investigative expedition to DC space. No combat expected but maybe required. Must have own tools of the trade. Room, Board and Transportation provided to destination. Payment by shares of any valuables recovered. For details contact Johannes @ Box 270.

He had to read the message three times before he could believe it. Expedition to DC space! Six years in the 42nd, and the closest he'd gotten to Snake space was a one-month mission to Damevang acting on the rumor of a Drac raiding force. Bringing up two-way communications, he sent a hasty message to Box 270 and scrambled back to the house to break the new to he folks.

[Dave Talley]

ok
write up transplanted to correct thread

fiction to follow soon

[Malich]

Just a note for other folks for the future

Character Bios to the OOC thread, character story posts here. My fault for being a little flexible with the naming perhaps.

[Malich]

FLASHBACK

Rabagliati Home
North Spoon Ranch
100km NE Port Matilda
24-07-3028

The ranch's own Tractor unit pulled the flat bed with the twisted remains of Mutt's Rifleman, both lower legs and a salvaged Autocannon,  into the dusty area between the barns, feed silos and the monstrous water tower and wheezed to a halt. Mutt pushed the door to the cab open and grunted in pain as his back protested as he swung himself down to the dirt.

"Hector, take this scrap round the back and call me when Mr Steptoe gets here."

The gruff man in the cab grunted something in reply but Mutt wasn't really listening. He was staring at the ten bedroom, Spanish style ranch house that had been his family's home for the last two hundred years. He sighed, steeled himself and began to stride (limp) towards it. Climbing the steps, the door was opened for him by a man in his late sixties and wearing a suit that, were it not for the air conditioning in the house, would be far too warm for the planet.

"Good afternoon Master Rabagliati. Your Grandfather is in his room. Can I take your coat?"

"Good morning Sims. Thank you. How is he?"

"Not well Sir. The doctor gives him less than a week. Though I gather he is in no pain thanks to the medication."

"Can you bring the bottle of Wernke?"

Sims' stopped and gave Mutt a sombre look.

"Ah... very good sir."

Mutt tried to take the steps two at a time and pulled up short after the first few steps and decided to just let his body rest and took the steps singly. Damned ejection seats. Mutt stopped at the door to his Grandfather's suite and straightened his new tie and then knocked on the door. The room smelled of anticeptics and ozone and the primary sound came from the hiss of the nebuliser at the side of his grandfather leather recliner. The old man was dressed, as he always had been, in denim dungarees and a checked cotton shirt. His boots were immaculately polished as they always were every morning, cleaned and polished by his own hands, a habit Mutt had endeavoured to copy.

"Hello Boy." The old man's voice was muffled by the mask but understandable. Mutt watched him focus his eyes on Mutt's white shirt and blue tie. "Oh.  Well, that's disappointing. Come and sit down and tell me what happened."

Mutt limped over and dropped into the chair opposite. There was a knock at the door and Sims came into the room with a silver tray containing two glasses and a dusty, faded bottle of whiskey. The butler made no sound, just dropped the tray and left wordlessly.

"We were ambushed. Charlie Urquhart bought it in the first shot. Stalker and a Dragon came out of the little side canyon up at Hunter's Canyon. They might even have been in the old mine for all I know. Toni Field and Jay Donner were right the way up by Kinsman, call it thirty minutes away. Nothing I could do really. Reactor breached and I punched out. Militia have told me that they're not going to let us claim on the insurance because i was adequately supported. So i have a 50k payoff, a zero/zero club tie and pin and a gap in my schedule to fill."

"Ah. Pop the bottle then."

Mutt reached out and picked up the three hundred year old bottle of scotch. It had been purchased on the same day as the Rifleman under strict orders that it would only be opened to toast the death of the 'Mech. Mutt twisted off the foil cap and pulled the cork from the bottle before pouring two small glasses. He passed one to his grandfather and kept one for himself.

"Here's mud in your eye." Mutt knocked the glass back and nearly doubled over, spitting a portion of the glass back out onto the tray. "Dear gods. That's foul." He picked the bottle up and sniffed cautiously at the opening.

"Three hundred years and the damn things unplattable. Not your fault boy. My father should have trashed the 'Mech back in the big one. Been an Albatross for decades. So, what are you going to do with yourself boy?""

"If i knew, i'd tell you. You know the Ranch isn't for me?"

The old mach coughed out a chuckle and smiled "Boy, last time you tried to herd it took Tom a week to gather everything back together. You're too much of an adventurer. Tom and the boys have made me an offer for the ranch. It's not quite face value but they've earned the right to make a good go of it and i'm minded to take their offer."

"Good. Give you a nice little nest egg for your retirement."

"Come on boy. You know as well as i do that I'm a goner. Doc Crow gives me a week, two at the outside. It's gone too far, too fast. I've told Tom to hold off two weeks and to buy it from you. The paperwork shouldn't be ready until then anyway. You're the last of my line. The last Rabagliati. You're young, your single, no ties. Get off this dustbowl and make something of yourself."

"If I had an idea of what to do, I would Sir."

The old man reached to the bookshelf to his right and pulled out an old, hard backed notebook. The book was nothing more fancy that a shop bought diary or note book. The kind of thing you'd pick up from a stationery store for less than a C-Bill. Bit it looked old, well read.

"Well, it's funny you should mention that."

[zeitgeist]

Sultzaberger farm
Fallon Dos
Fed Suns
3 January 3033

Kal glanced around the equipment barn, the building looked larger than normal, the family's machinery moved outside to make space for the rows of tables and the people sitting at them. His parents had called every relative in a 75 kilometer radius, and he was in the middle of the largest collection of cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings and distant relations he'd seen in a decade.

"That damn mech's been in the family for three centuries, and you're gonna risk it on some whim to see Drac space?"

He turned back to his father, "It's not much of a risk, the ad said no combat expected."

"If no combat's expected, why do they want mechwarriors?"

His father's tone attracted the attention of severraal nearby relatives, who thankfully interrupted him before he could launch into a full chewing out.

"You're going to Drac space, Kal?"

"Of course he ain't, weren't you listening to Uncle Ray?"

"If you're going into the Combine, can you bring back one of those dresses the men all wear? I need a present for Mikey's birthday."

"I hear Snake planets are covered in rice paddies."

"No, that's Cappies, the Snakes all have cherry trees and tea plants."

"Dave's been through Drac territory, he says the cities smell funny."

"Dave says everything smells funny."

Kal listened as a ripple of debate spread across the barn. Sultzabergers approached arguments with a passion and devotion akin the how certain Draconian noble houses viewed sword smithing. Within ten minutes every person in attendance seemed to be expressing at least two differing opinions on a multitude of subjects ranging from the outcome of the Fourth War to the current weather. Kal took advantage of the chaos to walk outside.

"Hey, kid, I think you're gonna need this."

His grandfather was leaning against the side of the barn, smoking a pipe and holding out Kal's neurohelmet.

"Thanks, grandpa, but I don't think I'm gonna need it."

"Like hell you ain't. Get out and live life for a while, kid. I spent seven years as a merc during the Third, and I had the time of my life. You ever hear how we lost a Union dropship to the Elsies?"

"The Lyrans shot down your dropship?"

"Shot down? Hell, no, we were working for them. I'll tell you the story when you get back. Now I suggest you get some gear packed and get going. From the sound of things in there, it'll be a couple of hours before anyone notices you're gone."

[Malich]

FLASHBACK

Mutt's Trailer
North Spoon Ranch
100km NE Port Matilda
17-04-3030

The knock at the door pulled Mutt back to reality from his study of the topographical maps he had been able to obtain of Idlewind. He had been living in a fourth hand trailer on what had been his family's farm for the last 2 years, husbanding his resources for what his math told him would be an expensive little jaunt to Idlewind in the next couple of years

"Come on in."

The door opened allowing the dry heat of the Fallon morning to invade his space. The heat was followed by two people in dusty denim and sweat stained cotton. One male, one female.

"Vicky,  Hector. What can I do for you?"

Vicky was a friend, they had known each other for years, even had a bit of a fling once, but she was the daughter of Sims the butler and as such it had been frowned upon by some people. She was one of the ranch hands, a fine shot with a rifle and employed to watch the herds and to pick of any predators off that might find fresh meat a tasty treat. She could dress like a lady and cuss like a sailor when she chose to.

Hector Alvarez was the driver of the farm tractor rig, a competent hand with construction equipment and a steady head in a crisis. Tall, broad and strong he was a perfect ranch hand, but not much of a talker.

"We want in" Unsurprisingly i was Vicky who spoke as she dropped her self onto the sofa and kicked her booted legs onto the arm. Her light shirt shifted exposing a certain amount of skin that Mutt pointedly tried not to look at and the handle of he autopistol riding on her left hip.

"In?"

"You're going hunting for what's in your Grandfather's book. And we want to come with you."

Mutt leaned back in his hair and let the stylus drop to the table. "If I am, what makes you think i want to risk you on some damn fool crusade?"

"What makes you think we can't help? You're going to be in the middle of nowhere, looking for something which may or may not exist with locals looking to shiv you at every turn. you'll need someone to look out for you while you're busy surveying and digging. There's ten of us who are looking to get off Fallon, at least for a bit. We're all fit, we're all healthy, we can all shoot, some of us are even Militia men. We've talked it though. We've told our family what we're planning and most of them are ok with it."

"Is your father?"

"No, he's not. But he's also not going to stop me because he knows he'll lose if he tried.  It's a good little squad we're putting together."

Mutt sighed "Who d you have?"

"Yves, Alan, Mel and Jacob. Gives you a core fire team. You know they're used to working together already and Mel is almost done with her militia medical training. Myself and Monty already wrok as marksman spotter. He signed up as soon as i mentioned it. Something about not breaking up a good team. Then there's Denis, Marek and Giuseppe."

"Denis the mountain guide?"

"More than that. Denis the avalanche preventer. Did you know that 4x4 with the Heavy Recoilless Rifle on it was his own property? He's been training Marek and Giuseppe how to work it. That gives you some heavy support if you need it."

"How long have you been planning this?"

"About eight weeks. We wanted to make sure you couldn't disagree."

"What makes you think i can't disagree?"

"Because you know it makes sense, because we're already organised without you having to lift a finger. It gives you a core of people you know and trust, it brings you in a range of skills you wouldn't otherwise have without paying a huge amount of money for and we're willing to work for a share of the profits."

"And if there are no profits?"

Hector stirred for the first time from his position by the door. "Then you'll have paid for out food and travel to somewhere where, hopefully, we can either find a better life, or better opportunities to move somewhere else. And who knows Hoss, you might just make us rich."

[Malich]

FLASHBACK

North Spoon Ranch
100km NE Port Matilda
11-11-3031 11:01Z

The people in the ranch yard started to move again as a whistle blew signifying the end of the minutes silence. Armistice Day / Memorial day was not always followed on the varied worlds of Humanity but the militia on Fallon II had a tradition of a minutes silence and the ranch had followed tradition since long before Mutt had been born. Mutt was stood in a knot of people he had started to consider his "unit"

They'd taken over one of the old tin sheds which now contained the three vehicles they considered their transport, a table full of maps and documents and a rickety old AC unit. As soon as the silence was over they wandered back into relative cool of the metal building.

"It's no good. I'm not going to be able to get a 'Mech and still pay for a decent sized unit to come with us."

Mel walked over to the table and leaned against, bending at the waist and shuffling some papers around.

"You'll be healthier walking in with us anyway. And you can't marvel at everything in a Star League Cache in one of those tin cans. Besides, you'll have plenty to choose from once we unlock it."

"If there is anything there, yes, i guess I shall. And the rest of you will all be rich."

"You keep saying that Hoss" piped in Alvarez "I hope you're right."

"Even if the place was stripped, you heard what happened out on Helm a few years ago. there could be data we can sell, old computer cores..."

"... Crazed zealots trying to kill us."  Yves quipped. The bulky machinegunner popped a can of energy drink and took a long swig.

"That's why we're doing this quiet like. We'll recruit the unit 2-3 days before we leave and then hopefully leave the rumours behind. I'll also not be telling people where we're going until we're on the ship and away. With the exception of the flight crew i guess."

[Grognard]

Fallon II
Minerburg
Johann's

     Stephan Rojas enjoyed his plate of BBQ.  Given the austerity of this world and the toughness of the local meat production animals, the BBQ was juicy and succulent.  Sadly, his companionship for the meal rather soured the entire experience.  Katherine Dean, current AuPair to his beloved children, sat across the table from him with a scowl on her pinched features.  She had warmed his bed a few times, but now... now she wanted much, much more: a raise and a payoff.

     "Stephan, I know how rich you really are.  That savings account for the kids? 900,000 Kroner!  And that 'Mech..."  She shuddered. "That terrible war machine: you don't need it.  It's easily worth 2 million c-bills, probably more.  I just want a piece of the pie.  I want to got to New Avalon and finish my Psychology degree.  I want OFF this dustball!"  She leered at Stephen.. "With you or without you... 'cause I don't NEED your body to get your money.  I'll say it again: 200,000 C-bills and I dont tell the Constabulary about the infamous Rojas the Red who's hiding out as Steve Richards.  For 600,000 C-bills and I'm outta here, never to bother you again.  Make it an even MILLION, and I'll never tell the Duchess where I saw you and her great-grandchildren."
 
    Stephan closed his eyes and kept chewing.  It was really sad. Thud and Jenny had been right again.  This was the third au pair/governess to try this tactic.  Let them see the money and see the leverage: and they immediately wanted More or All of everything.  But this one... Katherine was especially stupid.  She had already contacted the Duchess.  His few contacts on Andurian had informed him almost immediately.  Happily, the Duchess was a bit busy with the Mariks at the moment to pursue an old grudge with him ... at least, he hoped so. The waiter wandered by and raised an eyebrow, to which Stephan (he was using an old alias; RICHARDS) nodded and received a fresh glass of Tamibiqui Dark.  After the waiter moved away, Stephen decided to try logic and compassion as an arguement. 

     "Look Katherine, that money is all I have to pay for everything  the kiddos need.  School, clothes, food..." He swallowed and looked her in the eye. "it even pays your salary, Katherine.  It's all I have left to keep us out of the poorhouse and the Duchess' clutches.  As for my VALK.... it more than pays for itself.  Locals don't frak with MechWarriors; at least the SMART ones don't.  For now, I'm done with dinner and this conversation: let's go."

     Katherine was still scowling when they left Johann's Diner. She was still scowling when he turned the groundcar onto the PT-1 highway.  She scowled deeper when she realized he was heading away from town, and out into the wastes.  Stephan sighed to himself; he really should have done this sooner, but he had let her bedroom antics distract him.  Now he was going to have to do something that would leave him feeling a cad.

Stephan broke the silence with his rumbling tone as they drove. "Are you pregnant?"
The shock on her face answered his question, but she  answered anyway. "Of course not!  How stupid do you think I am?"
Stehpan coasted to a stop and answered her. "Stupid enough to piss me off and endanger my family.  Stupid enough to get into a car with someone who doesn't care if you live another day. Finally, stupid enough that I will enjoy your long, long walk to the nearest population center.  Get out."

Stephan popped the side door and shoved her out of the door. "If I ever see you again... I'll kill you.  Here is a thousand C-bills.  Your possessions will be left at the apartment.  Goodbye, Katherine." With that, Stephan slammed the door shut and spun the groundcar in a U turn, and headed to the Mech bays nearest the Spaceport.  Katherine, mouth ajar, Cbills held limply in her hand, watched him go.
 

2 hours later
Mech Bays,
Fallon Spaceport

Thud Waller. Mech Tech. Middle aged, married, skinny as a rail.  Laconic.  Vicious sense of humor. Stephen Rojas' best man, Mech Tech and only true friend.  Thud Waller didn't say a word when Rojas' rented groundcar rolled into the bay, sans a female passenger.  Naught but a raised eyebrow while he cleaned a lubrication fitting behind the right knee of Rojas' VALKYRIE.  His studied indifference continued until Rojas stepped out of the car and looked up at him.

"Told ya so." drawled Thud.  Rojas nodded.  "There's an 'investigative' expedition headed into Snake space real soon.  Local guy looking to make good.  Seems legit.  Jenny is inside with the kids. She is also breaking out our legit documentation so we don't run askew the MRBC when we hire with that expedition."

Rojas cocked his head.."What makes you think we'll be joining that expedition?  I might just head the opposite direction."

Thud laughed and shook his head; "because it is a paying gig and it is further away from the Duchess?  Go inside and tell the kids. Me 'n Jenny will start packing."

Rojas laughed and headed into the small office space included in the hangar lease.  Before he reached the door, he stopped to consider the 9 meter tall BattleMech that stood in the bay.  "Oh, my SIGRUN, grant me victory today." he breathed the old Norse prayer.  The VALKYRIE stood impassive, but didnt deign to answer his prayer. 

SIGRUN stood glistening in the bay light. Creamy light grey with red trim the Mech was kept in pristine condition, its paint scheme identical to that of the very first VALKYRIE that ever stepped from the factory doors of Corean Enterprises. The single identifier was a Norse valkyrie which carried a shield emblazoned with the family arms of Rojas.  Stephan snorted. He had never attempted to obscure the identifiers on his 'Mech. 

     Stephan Rojas' Mech was rare in the extreme.  It had a factory-installed Right Hand and the medium laser which usually fired through the wrist, was mounted to the top of the forearm.  He had only seen one other in all his years.  It was rare enough that he had Thud keep a couple of spare hands and laser mounts.  Oddly enough, every Rojas Valkyrie had been configured as such.  The pristine condition of his Mech actually helped pay for itself.  Everytime he arrived at a new planet, he would make copies of the original factory Operating System and maintenance manual of SIGRUN.  He and Thud had found that most units had lost their maintenance documentation over the centuries, and Corean didn't include it gratis... which made every copy very valuable. 

Additionally, the OS of SIGRUN was very, very old.  It had been salvaged from his many times great grandmother's VALKYRIE over 300 years ago.  Part of the Rojas family heritage had been the copying of the original system to every new VALKYRIE that the family had fielded.  To the Rojas family, it gave them the ability to mount every rookie Rojas on what amounted to a veteran warhorse.  Hundreds of years of feints, dodges and other manuevers as well as the battle history and every 'Mech configuration that a Rojas had faced.  This family OS wasn't shared with outsiders, but Thud kept an archive of factory OS to sell.

     Stephan shook himself free of his woolgathering.  Time to go see what job that Jenny had found for him.  That, and bear up to the "I told you so's" they were sure to inflict.  'Investigative' expedition, hunh?  Probably looking for LosTech or somesort.  Well, it was definitely time to blow this dustball.

[Decoy]

FLASHBACK


To: Sergeant Alison York, 15th Marik Militia, Wasat, Free Worlds League
From: Astech Mechwarrior Liam York, Wylie's Coyotes, Bromhead, Federated Suns

March 19, 3024
Dear Alison,
     It's always tricky to see what the censors will allow and disallow, so I hope I can get the gist of my message across. Firstly, it's good to hear that you've gotten a promotion and a new ride. It's good to see the Free Worlds League finally doing something about that.  It's sad it took Mom retiring and you spending nearly decade in a hand me down Locust.

I can trump you, though. A couple of years ago, the Taurians left behind a piece of junk after they got smashed trying to raid some ammo supplies. Due to my status as head astech, I got first crack at trying to put it back together.

Last week, I finally finished! She was certified as combat capable and I had the deeds made out. You're looking at the proud owner of a JM6-S Jagermech! You can stop laughing now. They're fine 'mechs when in their element.  I'll be careful anyways. I don't want to be an astech again just because I did something stupid.

Still, all I have to do now is wait out the rest of my tour with the Coyotes and I'll be free! Who knows? Maybe I can form that mercenary unit we talked about when we were little. Heh.  If I had a lance CO spot open for you, would you take it? 

Love you
Liam



     
     

[SethsMatches]

FLASHBACK

Early December 3032

Kiva had specifically avoided any opportunity to see the planet she was approaching; both from on the Jumpship itself and on the journey down in the dropship. She didn't want to ruin her first impression of this new planet.

“I promised myself I wouldn't stop travelling until my travel budget runs out or I reach the arse end of nowhere. Let's see what this planet looks like…”

As she approached the boarding ramp the dry, dusty and gusting wind began to blow her hair into frenzy. Expletives followed.

A few moments after organising her hair into a bun…

“Yup, I'll call this the arse end of nowhere."

[Ian Sharpe]

Fallon II

"Why ya gotta be that way, Johnny?"

Seated in front of his so-called CO, Hart gave a shrug.  "Dunno, Cap'n.  Bored." 

His Captain, an inflated rank if there ever was one for a lance leader, exhaled noisily.  "Its a cushy gig, kid.  I don't get it.  Don't you like it here?  Yer getting paid, keeping yer mech running, not getting shot at.  OK, sure, Fallon is a hole.  But you aint doing so bad here.  His Nibs thinks yer some kinda hotshot." 

The minor lord that employed Hart as part of his 'household guard' did have a high opinion of Hart.  He was the only one in his employ to see combat in the last thirty years.  Hart bit back that retort, not wanting an argument.  "Yeah, OK.  A hotshot whose job is what, exactly?  Looking sharp for some backwater nobody.  Being the one that's gonna get sent in if the probes riot?  Its shit.  A shit life.  I thought we'd at least have dealt with some raids or something.  Instead we had what?  Wargames with the CattleMechs?  Slapping a machine gun on those things is about all Fallon needs.  It doesn't bloody need me!"

Captain Mathers, much older than Hart, looked across the table at him.  His normal approach, the concerned uncle routine, worked fine with the other two jocks.  Of course, they were younger than Hart, kids of previous members.  Mathers hadn't seen combat in twenty-five years, and nothing like what Hart had seen.  Water raids, here and there.  No big battles.  He scratched his thinning hair, exhaled noisily again. 

"Ya know, Johnny, I liked you.  I figured ya just needed some, responsibility, I guess.  Made you XO, had ya slated to take over for me when i retired.  Nice peaceful life.  But ya can't do it, can ya?  Be honest with me."

John looked around the office for a few seconds, then back at his boss.  "No.  Probably not.  This life...its not for me."

Mathers reached into his desk, grabbing a slightly crumpled piece of paper.  He handed it across to John, who took it, not yet looking at it. 

"What is it?  My walking papers?"

"Maybe.  Take a look-see."

Hart straightened it out, then read the ad.  "You serious?"

"Ya ever know me to kid ya?"  Mathers changed his tone.  "Look, Johnny.  I don't know what else to do with ya.  So go.  I'll fix it with His Nibs.  Ya think there's a better offer out there?  Take it.  But we both know there ain't.  That's yer ticket off world.  To whatever action it is they got going.  Worst comes to worst, yer at least getting off Fallon, right?  Then ya can do whatever."

Hart stayed quiet, reading and re-reading the paper a few times.  Finally, he looked back across the desk.  "Cap, I, uh, thanks.  I mean that." 

"I know, Johnny.  Now get outta here.  I got work to do." 

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Hart quickly left the office, heading to his quarters.  He looked inside, not seeing much he wanted to take.  He was already wearing his guns, and the sword.  He didn't wear it like they did in the Combine.  It worked a lot better in a Euro style sword belt, he found.  They thought he did it because he knew how to use it, but honestly, it was just because he thought it made people take him more seriously. 

Quickly, he placed the call on his battered noteputer.  He wanted to see if they still had an opening.  "Must be somebody important to head into the Combine looking for him," he thought aloud.  Well, he would find out soon enough. 

[Latro]

Fallon Deux
Tara’s Tipperary
Capital City
Fed Suns
2 January 3033
Around 2-ish



Fire flared with the a rasp and snap, then subsided as it was sucked into the tip of the cigarette that dangled between Gunner’s lips. The embers crackled and began to glow. He waved the flame out, neatly tossing the match into a grimy ashtray on the bar surface before him.

It was a filthy habit, he knew...

He knew...

And yet... as insane as it might sound, once upon a time he had had to force himself to learn the habit in order to survive. Frelling Cappies, especially the Servitor’s, all smoked like bloody chimneys. It was like a damned national pastime or something. He’d been on the run, from whom he was not entirely sure, and the only way that presented itself for him to disappear had been to blend in with the lowest of the Capellan low. A non-smoking Servitor would have made him stick out as surely as if he’d painted himself blue. And thus...

He inhaled deeply and briefly held the smoke in his mouth, savoring the taste and rush, and exhaled after a heart’s beat.

Smoke rose in seductive coils and he stared into the sworls as if trying to read their meaning, his mind drifting to the distant past. In his mind’s eye he again watched as an Archer suffered a hit to an ammo bin, the unleased destructive force ripping through the stricken mech until argent flames burst out through the cockpit canopy; a PPC blast lancing the cockpit of a Marauder, the slow fall as the dead mech sprawled fell heavily to the ground; the elation of seeing the ejection seat of a good friend glide gracefully to the ground, the humor of the parachute gently shrouding the pilot in a near perfect circle, and the absolute horror watching the heavy heavy foot of a backpedaling Warhammer, one of their own unit, land solidly on the ejected pilot as she struggled to get out from beneath the fabric; finding the that same Warhammer pilot three days later swaying gently, his tongue swollen and face purple from the tightened noose around his neck, hanging from the rope he (or someone else?) had thrown over a rafter in the barracks they were billeted in...

“And later I’m going to a Bakrim yoga class, then I’m taking my dog for a walk. He is SO cute!...”

The woman sitting next to him was talking incessantly, as if she felt it was her duty to fill in the quiet cracks of the universe. Damned mech-bunny had practically stuck her hands down his pants as soon as he sat down, looking for a free drink from someone who was obviously a mech jock. He blatantly ignored her as he sipped his beer from the bottle.

Solaris. It was where he needed to be. Someplace where he could be on his own with no one dependant on him (‘and HOW exactly is that different from our current situation?’ said his True voice from the black depths of his mind), where he could just get into an arena and FIGHT for the pure joy of it. None of these crap assignments on crap worlds for crap employers, ‘taking orders’, and relying on others to watch his back. None of this... getting close... to people if he didn’t want to.

Some people had tried to get close to him. Haile’s friendly face came to his mind. And Jarrod’s. And  Zouhoun’s and a half dozen other people who had helped him. Unbidden and without thought of thanks. He couldn’t thank them now. He would never be able to thank most of them. Haile though... he needed to let him know how much he appreciated the old man this last year. He’d insinuated himself into Gunner’s routine since the day he’d been marooned on this craptastic planet. Damned if Haile wasn’t the first father figure he’d ever had. His own mother and father were many years dead now, victims of an accidental explosive decompression on the Jump Ship they’d served together on, that Gunner had in fact been BORN on. They said when they had recovered their bodies from deep space the had been found floating, hands clasped in a grip that would last forever. Gunner had been delivered to the care of an uncle of the Jumpship captain on the game world Solaris. He had been a caring if distant man, and he had been raised with the his daughter Reyna as if they were siblings.

“And tomorrow I’ll go to another yoga session. I try to go every day. See how toned I am?”

Another sip of the beer. He wondered where she was now. Last news from Solaris said she was moving up in the ranks. She had always been a better pilot than he was, and that was partly the reason why he had decided to go to Westerhand. He couldn’t fight her, not if there was ever even a slim chance that he might accidentally kill her. Nor could he bear the thought of her beating him either, so off he went to claim the title of “Peerless Supreming Better Champion” on Westerhand in the Capellan Confederation. The last time he had seen her face was what, seven years past?

Reslo sighed and looked at the mech bunny sitting next to him out of the corner of his eyes. She seemed familiar. Extremely  blonde. High cheek bones and a fine straight nose. Incredible blue eyes. But young, very very young...

“I usually only drink wine, but today I’m having a martini. I don’t know why...”

Ealeni Sanselas. She reminded him of Ealeni Sanselas, the long dead pilot of the Archer whose ammo bin had been hit. Much younger of course, and without the care worn wrinkles to the corners of her eyes. He had carried a torch for her, they all had... and she and her laughter and intelligence were gone. Just gone.

“I’m a nurse at the city hospital. I work the night shift ‘cos I’m the lowest on the totem pole, but I don’t mind...”

And now... to start over again? To join a half-assed unit on a half-assed mission. Yes it would get him off Fallon II, but was he ready to open himself to others? Was he ready for the soul numbing pain when someone you’d learn to care for died violently?

“It’s all about the people you work with. If you’re with a good group of people it somehow makes the shitiest situation OK.”

Gunner stared blankly. His cigarette was gone, the beer bottle empty, and his throat was feeling raspy. “Wh... What did you say? About people?”

“I just think that in the end its the people you travel with in life that make it all worth going on.” She smiled as if that explained everything. “That’s all.”

Reslo stared at his hands on the edge of the bar. The people  people you travel with in life that make it all worth going on... She was right, of course. And if he owed a thanks to all those people who had helped him, perhaps he owed them something else as well. Pay it forward...

It might be the oddest reason he had ever elected to sign on to a merc unit, but he was suddenly ready to move forward. Step off the cliff and the universe will provide a parachute.

“What was your name?” he asked the girl.

“Abby.” She smiled at him hopefully.

Well Abby. Your next drink, whatever it might be, is on me.” he laid down a five C-Bill note on the table as he got up. “My name is Gunner and I am pleased to meet you. I have to go and see someone. My only advice to you, before I go, is to listen to your OWN advice. It truly is all about people.”

He stopped halfway to the door and turned. “Oh. and don’t spend too much time in places like this.”

[Dave Talley]

Fallon II

the No-Tell Motel
5 Jan, 3033


Franz was annoyed, really annoyed. Once again, a scheduled jumpship had not shown up so he had missed yet another connection, stuck on this dirtball for another month or more. As was his morning ritual at the diner, he scanned every bit of news he could find on the local net checking for news updates. He would occasionally jot down a note in the noteputer, keeping track of any noted raids or pirate activity. He also regularly checked the bulletins for local veterans organizations and even swap shops.
He was primarily annoyed since this last delay had meant he was not going to get to try out for the Kelll Hounds,  then he saw the ad....

After calling the number in the ad, Franz went for an interview, apparently seemed competent enough for a second interview with a local named Mutt.

[Stormcrow]

Fallon II
Morning Glory Airfield
03 Jan 3033


Jocasta decided early this morning that she wanted to fly. Instead of heading to the militia base where her Hellcat was parked, she went to the Morning Glory airfield to see if you she could rent one of the planes there. She had done this numerous times since arrinving on Fallon II. Sure, most of the planes here were single-engined prop birds built with technology more than a millenia old, but it was a more visceral sensation to fly one of these birds.

As she flew along the coast in the rented Fleercraft Staggerwing, she contemplated the advert she had seen on the Interweb. Sure the details of the job were non-existent, but it offered her a cheap and easy way off the planet. This is something that she wanted. No, it was something she needed. She threw the Staggerwing into a steep dive, then pulled up, rolling the plane 180 degrees and initiated an outside loop. Now inverted and with the blood rushing to her head, she decided that she would send an e-mail out to arrange an interview.

Rolling the plane back into a normal flight characteristic, she changed her course and headed back to Morning Glory.

[SethsMatches]

FLASHBACK

Later that day in early December:

The single working cargo door on this dropper meant that because her 4x4 bakkie was secured at the ‘back’ Kiva had some time to kill after loading her toolbox, travel bag and travel chest before she could drive into town.

While waiting in the driver's seat with her feet resting above the cubbyhole on the passenger side she tried connecting to the local wireless net to see just how far this particular world had fallen.

(Not too far apparently), she thought, as a simple but functional welcome site appeared on her screen.
(Now to find a hairdresser and a room, in that order)

Not only would a hairdresser allow her hair to get a proper wash – thrice damned water usage limits on the dropper – but she could use it to get grassroots information about where she could find an affordable room and perhaps even good work. (I really hope there’re some mechs on this rock… If I have to rebuild one more combine harvester engine I'll go madder than Max!)

[codesurge]

Fallon II
Raven’s Nest
04 Jan 3033

The night was still young. That was the thought that stuck in Saori’s head as she leaned against the pillar and raised her Fallon’s Folly to her lips. The cocktail was a bittersweet blend of strong imported vodka, gin, local cherry syrup and topped with an olive. While a little stronger than what she had been expecting, it provided a nice break from the stiflingly boring conversation she had been having with a local businessman who’d been trying to show off his rather exaggerated wealth. Some people back on Rasalhague might have accused her for using her looks to get her way, but she was no naïve sitting duck debutante.  Nice try, but no cigar.

Scanning the room, it appeared to her that the majority of the guests who’d attended the party organized by a local celebrity lifestyle magazine were either staggering around in a half-drunken stupor, lying around in an alcohol-induced snooze or hooking up with other party-goers. That’s what happened when you mixed an open bar with wannabe socialites who clearly overestimated their tolerance for hard alcohol.

It clearly wasn’t what Saori had been expecting, but the nightlife on Fallon was clearly nowhere near the flashy parties and glittering social events that she’d been partaking in back on Rasalhague. Granted, she hadn’t really enjoyed herself the whole night and with no business ‘result’ to take the sting off the failed party, it was going to be a night to forget.

Setting her cocktail glass on the high table beside her, Saori flicked a lock of shoulder-length hair back before walking towards the main door of the club. As she ducked between groups of drunken guests, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Dismissing it as being an accidental touch, she was about to move on when a more insistent repeated tap caused her to whirl around.

The man who had been trying to get her attention was of average height and build; instantly forgettable if it hadn’t been for his mismatched eye colors, with one gray eye and one blue eye, offset by a shock of brown hair cut short. She wasn’t surprised to see Jim Tarkinson, the playboy son of the mining magnate who’d hired her to defend his assets on Fallon, at such a party. Nonetheless, he was a decent fellow and a passable MechWarrior who’d been her partner on the mission. He was the closest thing she had to a friend on a forsaken rock like this.

“Hey Jimmy, it’s good to see you again,” she exclaimed with a smile as she briefly embraced him. “What brings you to a sketchy party like this?”

“Huh, I thought I should be asking the question about a gal like you,” chuckled Jim. “Looking good. Dressed up to impress Fallon’s finest eh?”

Saori rolled her eyes in response to the ludicrous question and gestured towards the door.

“I’m done here and heading out. Do you want to share a ride back? You live pretty close to me, from what I remember.”

“Nah. Thanks, but no thanks,” grinned Jim as he stuck a thumb in the direction of the bar. “Alcohol’s still flowing so I’m a going. I’ll see you around then.”

Waving goodbye at Jim, she took two steps towards the door when she heard him call her name. Turning around, she saw him offering her a half-crumpled piece of paper with some faint print on it.

“I saw this tacked onto the wall in the men’s restroom. Figure you might want to take a look,” remarked Jim with a wry grin before disappearing back into the crowd.

Overcoming her distaste for the rather unsavory source of the document (she didn’t want to know how it got there), she straightened it out to read the relatively small print on it. Obviously an advertisement, it was brief and to the point, a want ad for hired help to perform an “investigative expedition to DC space”. Immediately, her mind went back to the family that she had back on Rasalhague, memories of her younger days and happier times floating through her mind. Perhaps an expense-paid trip back to Kuritan space was a good break from the monotonous security jobs that she’d been taking up in recent months.

Noting the box number on the ad for future reference, she folded the sheet into a neat square before tucking it into the small white purse she carried with her. With her head held high, Saori walked out of the club with the faintest of smiles on her lips. Perhaps the night had held some promise after all.

[Warclaw]

Fallon II
“Fool's Gold” Bar
03 Jan 3033


“Bloody Merchants.”  David hissed before he tossed back the last of his cheap beer and slammed the empty mug down.  “That'll teach me to trust a damned shopkeeper again!  And a Davion at that!  My old mother would skin me if she knew.”

Checking his wallet, he grimaced.  His funds were almost exhausted.  Well...all but a thick wad of nearly worthless company script. 

The contract had SEEMED to be on the square when he signed on to provide security for a corporate facility.  Decent pay, full technical support, and even a guarantee of mech replacement should the worst happen.

Unfortunately, as they say, the devil was in the details.  The pay turned out to be in company script, spendable only in the company store, at vastly inflated prices, the support turned out to be a collection of barely trained apprentices, and mech replacement....

Raising his voice, David snarled at the bartender.  “Another.  And if there's a decent newsrag on this dustball, one of those too.”

The old Centurion David had been driving might not have been much to look at, but it was a solid machine, and he'd rode it well.  When the Combine raiders had come calling, he'd more than accounted for himself, downing a Panther and a Jenner before being forced to eject when the raider leader's Phoenix Hawk had managed to get behind him and punch a laser through his mech's back armor, igniting his remaining ammunition.  He'd only barely managed to eject before the old mech went up in a ball of fire.

David supposed it was at least partially his own fault for not reading the contract carefully enough.  The paper did indeed specify a replacement mech, but buried in the fine print was a clause that allowed the company to substitute “A suitable alternate unit, with monetary compensation for variances in value.”.

What that meant to David, in the end, was that he was handed the control codes to the Panther he'd just blown into near scrap metal, and a pile of the aforementioned company script.

Now, repairing a shot-up mech is never cheap, even under the best of conditions.  Trying to do so on the wrong side of the border to get parts, added on top of the need to deal with a company well aware of the fact that he was essentially a captive market....What monies he had soon evaporated.

Three months later, he finally had a functional mech and an almost empty wallet.  Assuming the repairs held up under field conditions that is.  It had taken parts from half a dozen scrapped Panthers to piece David's new ride back into shape, and he wasn't certain everything would hold together exactly as intended.  Oh, it all looked good on the test readouts, but until it was REALLY stressed, he wouldn't be sure.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the bartender dropping a paper onto the bar in front of him and setting a beer next to it.

Tossing a couple Davion house-bills on the bar, David sighed and flipped the paper open.  Taking a sip of the barely cool brew, he quickly found himself scanning the ad section.  The sort of jobs to be found there would be sneered at by more upscale mercenaries, but at this point beggars couldn't afford to be too choosy.

About halfway down the page, he stopped.

WANTED: Skilled warriors, technicians and expedition crew for investigative expedition to DC space. No combat expected but maybe required. Must have own tools of the trade. Room, Board and Transportation provided to destination. Payment by shares of any valuables recovered. For details contact Johannes @ Box 270.

Nodding slightly to himself, he thought this just might be the one. 

Risky, and only a potential payoff, instead of a regular paycheck, but potentially...Besides, they were going across the border into DC space.  Who knew, he might get a chance at a better mech, or at least some spare parts for his current ride.  And at very least, he wouldn't be stuck in a dive bar on a Davion craphole.

[SethsMatches]

(Say what you want about this planet being the arse end of nowhere but these people know how to have fun. They may never have heard about a Slow-Fox hover-cross but this little ‘jig’ of theirs is fantastic!) Kiva thought to herself as the farmer’s New Year’s party swirled around her.

3… 2… 1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!

As the party erupted into cheers Kiva flopped down onto a hay bale next to the farmer who’d invited her to this New Year’s shindig.

“Thank you for inviting me. You people know how to dance and have a good time.”

“Ain’t nothing to it! Least I could do after what you done.” The farmer said through his happy alcohol haze.

“Did you know that the last tech we had out here said that the entire hip actuator assembly would have to be replaced to get that cattlemech running again. Ain’t no hobbling cattlemech with a gammy hip gonna keep up with the herd. You saved me and mine a lot of heartache miss. I mean that.”

While she’d had to work more hours than she’d quoted to get the cattlemech running again she’d made enough to get by a while longer and the challenge of finding the real fault had been worth it. The ankle balance sensor had fallen out of alignment and had been trying to force the hip actuators to overcompensate for a tilt that wasn’t there, which had led to the hip locking up to prevent the leg shearing itself off. It was the odd footprints that had given it away.

“Gammy feet” she chuckled to herself, “Reminds me of this Commando that came in during my time with the 26th …”
It was only once she’d finished telling her story that she realised the farmer may have no idea that she was referring to the 26th Lyran Guards and the Lyran front of the Fourth Succession War – it was annoying how many FedSunners were ignorant of just how well the Lyrans had done against the Draconis Combine, but that was not a thought for such fun times.

“If I may suggest miss, you shouldn’t stay in a place like this. The way you told that story tells me you need a bit of adventure in your life to keep you sane. Get of this rock while you still can so you can visit us one day.” He said with a knowing wink.

“Not until you dance with me one last time” she demanded as she pulled him into the music and firelight.

When checking the newsfeeds the next day:

Fallon Tribune
02-01-3033
AM Edition
Classified Section

WANTED: Skilled warriors, technicians and expedition crew for investigative expedition to DC space. No combat expected but maybe required. Must have own tools of the trade. Room, Board and Transportation provided to destination. Payment by shares of any valuables recovered. For details contact Johannes @ Box 270.

(I wonder if they’ll take me on their little adventure) she thought as she began typing up an interview request and prepped her credentials.

[Malich]

Office 31
2278 Mirnada Davion Avenue
Port Miranda
03-01-3033 - 13:54Z

Twenty five C-Bills a day rented you a very basic office on the second floor of the a three storey brick and glass office block in the middle of the North East warehouse district. Mutt had paid up front for 5 days and scheduled meetings once every hour to ensure that he had time to do a quick interview, do a background check and get a drink before the next applicant arrived. The morning of the first day had been a total bust. Four applicants, none of them with anything to really offer the mission and one of them who had outright lied about his qualifications.

Mutt straightened the room as he waited for the next candidate. The table was cleared of papers, the 2 chairs were reset at opposite sides, Mutt's angled so his back was to the wall opposite the door and the window was to his left so he could watch people coming and going.

Mutt looked at the document pack for the next candidate, Reslo, Gunner. Mechwarrior. Owner operator though it didn't specify what he piloted. No details of his history though a simple data search indicated that a Gunner Reslo was listed as having taken part in the Games on Solaris VII. the age was right and a grainy picture gave Mutt something to work with if this person arrived. Mutt stared out the window and saw a man who almost matched the picture on the file. This man was older, a little worn around the edges. Mutt caught a glance of his reflection in the window and smiled to himself "Which of us isn't I guess."

Mutt waited for a couple of minutes before there was a knock at the door to the little office and the office "secretary" opened it and poked her head round. "Your two o'clock Mr Rabagliati" Mutt nodded and waved for her to let the man in. The man who entered showed a confident air, a touch of arrogance perhaps but that was not uncommon in MechWarriors, Mutt himself was guilty of it from time to time.

"Ah, Mr Reslo?"   

Reslo nodded and offered his hand across the desk. The grip was firm but not a trial of strength unlike the faker this morning. " Mr...? your mentioned in the reply to my message to the box number."

"My name is Johannes Rabagliati. You can call me Mutt, most folks find it easier"

"Rabagl... Um... yes. Mutt is easier. It is a pleasure to meet you Mutt."

At a gesture, the man pulled out the second chair and dropped into it without ceremony. The Secretary asked if either of them wanted a drink but they both declined and she left with a nod and a smile.

"I see from your reply you're a MechWarrior. May i ask what you pilot?"

"Currently I have a slightly modified Ostroc that I picked up after the war. My ride of preference is the Warhammer, but I lost my last 'hammer, and had to make do with what I could find"

Mutt could tell there was a story there but he knew he'd have to wait for the warrior to be comfortable to share it. "Ah, well at least you found something. I am currently without a 'Mech. But that's hopefully going to change if this little expedition is successful.

Reslo nodded and shifted slightly in his chair, moving into a more attentive position. "I'm glad you brought that subject up as I've been rather curious about your advert. It's a little enigmatic, but I suppose a bit of vagueness is often critical to most military missions. can you elaborate?"

"This isn't military per se, in fact I'd prefer it to be a simple trip out and back. No little adventures if you will. It's a property recovery mission. I can't be much more specific than that until we're away from Fallon II. But there is the potential for shares of a profit that could be a six to seven figure sum for each full share holder... If everything goes as planned."

"And what sort of remuneration are we talking about if it does NOT go as planned?"

Mutt had been expecting this question, Reslo was the first person who had asked it showing that he'd been on the wrong end of a bad deal before. He hoped the answer would be sufficient for the man.

"Ah, well, that's the gamble. I can provide food, board and travel to the site and for a limited period on planet. Probably not more than a month. After that I can provide travel onward travel to Engadine or Unzmarkt. You'll get basic maintenance while you're with the unit. But that will be it. At best it's a break even proposition for 6-7 months."

"hmm... So in essence you are describing a make or break business venture with absolutely no guarantee of eventual pay-off. Tell me why else, beyond your estimated return on investment, someone should sign up with you Mr. Mutt?"

Mutt smiled and looked down at the table top. "Yup. Doesn't that sound like fun?" Mutt looked back up and let the smile drop from his face.

 "Yeah, that's about it. If it works, it pays off big. if it sort of works it pays off a little. But if someone opens their trap and blabs there's a good chance we end up with nothing but an addendum to the Drac's Death to Mercs edict." Mutt let that sink in and then delivered the counter offer. "So that's the offer. 6 months guaranteed food and lodgings with the chance to make a fortune or lose everything. But i know it's the best deal on Fallon II or any world within three jumps unless you want to sign on with the 42nd and pay at the company store?"

Reslo nodded and Mutt suspected that he already knew that this was the best offer around currently.

"So, Drac space eh? Well I've never been to the Combine and to quote a famous tactician: Certainty of death." He raised one hand in front of his eyes, finger and thumb pressed firmly together "small chance of success. What are we waiting for?"

The two men shook hands on an agreement sealed.

"Then welcome aboard Mr Reslo. I've got a few checks to make before I give you final confirmation but i don't see it being anything significant. Unless there is something you want to tell me now?"

Mutt noted Reslo pause for a heartbeat, he already knew Reslo had secrets but now he wondered if there was something serious he wasn't telling him?

"Nothing significant to me Mutt. I'm just a 'Mech jock marooned here on Fallon II looking for a way off. When do we begin?

"Well, if you want to start moving your gear from wherever it is currently, we'll be travelling on the Dropship "Stainless Chrome". I'll comm' Captain Steele to let you know she is coming. Bunk assignments could be a bit fluid though. just to warn you."

"Ermmm,  what sort of dropper might the Stainless Chrome be?"

Mutt couldn't help but smile again. "Well, she started out as a Union 'Mech Hauler. Right now she's a big empty hold. with a couple of gantries remaining. Like is said, this is all a bit of a shoestring currently. But she flies and she'll carry what we have so far. we may need to source a cargo hauler on Idlewind depending upon the nature of what we recover. You, as an owner operator, will be entitled to a full share of the profit after costs have been recovered."

Mutt saw Reslo's jaw grind slightly at the mention of the ship class but he fought past it. "I dislike Unions but I know that we don't always get what we want in life. If I bring my 'Mech there later today could they square it away then? Only I'm paying a hefty daily tab to keep it down at the militia 'parking garage."

"Yeah, that shouldn't be a problem. If you're first in you can have first crack at a Gantry if there's anything you need doing. Labour'll be provided but you'll have to supply parts for anything beyond the usual 100, 500 or thousand hour services.

"Sounds fair. I can manage that."

"I'll let Captain Steele Know you're on your way then. Any other questions Mr Reslo?"

"When do we lift - I have a few loose ends to tie up here on Fallon before we go."

"I'm aiming for departure on the 8th. I have 4 days of interviews and then 3 days to wrap up and get everything squared on-board."

"Sounds good. I look forward to working with you Mutt."

"Likewise. Lets hope you're still saying that in 6 months"

[monbvol]

Office 31
2278 Mirnada Davion Avenue
Port Miranda
06-01-3033 - 08:58Z

Mutt watched out the window as his next interview walked up to the building.  He had reviewed her jacket and holovids.

As he waited for her to trek up the stairs he savored what was left of his morning coffee.  He was glad this would be one of the last interviews he'd have to do.  The monotony was starting to get to him.




Katherine hated this world.  She hated most worlds.  She belonged in space.  She hoped the coffee would at least be good as she was still adjusting to the local time.  As she entered the office she could smell the pot in the corner.

"Ah, Ms Greene. Tea and Coffee in the corner if you want to help yourself to a cup and grab a seat."

"Thank you Mister Rabagliati.  And please call me Kathy.  Everybody does."  Kathy responded as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"And you may call me Mutt." Mutt took a sip of his coffee and leant back in his seat. "I hope you don't mind if this seams a little cookie cooker but i've been doing these for a few days now and it's all sort of blurring together. What's made you pick this job over signing on with one of the trade guilds or shipping lines?"

"I've heard from the other applicants milling about town that this is a high risk high reward job.  Frankly that is what I need right now."  Kathy answered as she savored her own cup of coffee.

"Well, I can see from your jacket that you scored high on aircraft handling though your gunnery scores are a little below average though still a passing grade. I assume you can handle yourself in a fight? I need capable combat pilots who can escort a Dropship and provide close air support for the ground team if necessary."

"I will get your ship where it is going no problem.  If you'd like a first hand demonstration I have a spare suit that will fit you."  Kathy answered before taking a drink from her coffee.

"Ah, thank you but no. I'm too much of a fan of both feet on the ground. Well, at most ten meters up in a 'Mech cockpit. To be fair i'm not expecting trouble. But. not expecting it and not planning for it are two different things."

Mutt makes a few notes on his data slate.

"Well, I've only had 2 pilot respondents so far so the slot is open if you want it. Do you have any questions?"

"When do we leave?"  Kathy swigged the last of her cup of coffee.

[Grognard]

2 JAN 3033
Fallon II
Spaceport
Mech Bays

Jenney Waller was giving Scandanavian (Norwegian) instruction to Ivor Rojas(10) when Stephan Rojas entered
the small offices being shared as business and family spaces. She caught Stephan's eye and gave him a long
slow wink .. an obvious unsaid 'I told you so'.  Stephan just shook his head and patted Ivor's head. 

A few seconds later, Angelina Rojas ( 8 ) reacted to his presence with a squeal of joy. "DADDY!  Uncle Thud let
me run a 1st level diagnostic on SIGRUN's navigation system!  Lo hice realmente buena!  Uncle Thud said so!
Can we go for an ICEE treat at the FoodKourt? Ivor's Scani homework is almost done! Jeg har øvd mitt språk i
dag! I helped with the laundry today, and my room is clean.  Aunt Jenny says my language schoolwork is way
ahead of schedule. Så kan vi gå till Glass parlor?" This was all rattled off in one nearly incoherent breath,
in a mixture of Spanish, Scandanavian and English, which left the little female breathless and still hyper excited.

Stephan laughed and scooped her up in a hug, burying his face in her wild mane of blonde hair.
"Settle down, my little Valkyrie.  I have some important news for you and Ivor."
At the mention of his name, Ivor turned his steel grey eyes to his father.
"I had to let Ms. Katherine go.  We could not agree on her pay rate and request for an upgraded apartment."
Stephan sighed at the sight of Jenny's upraised eyebrow. "I'm really sorry, kids."

Ivor blinked twice, then shrugged. "It is okay, Father. It was nice to have a new teacher around, but Aunt
Jenny is still the best Language instructor around.  Look at 'Lina... she speaks 5 languages now, and I saw
her looking up new language courses today.  And that is because of Aunt Jenny."  Ivor closed his tablet.
"Father, we had hoped you would find a new wife ... I gather Ms Katherine did not meet the expectations. 
As for money: I know that Academy won't be cheap."

Stephan grunted. Then changed the subject. "Kiddos, go get your outdoor gear on.. we will go out to eat
tonight; maybe Mickey Cheeses' for pizza?  Followed by a visit to the ice cream palor, perhaps?"
That pronouncement instigated a spirited rush to the family quarters by the children.
Stephan hissed an exhalation thru his teeth as they left.

Jenny Waller spoke up for the first time. "So the bitch tried the blackmail routine, eh?  Which one? Tattle
to the Duchess or 'gee, I'm pregnant'?  And where is she, anyway? oh, BTW: I Told You So."

Stephan groaned and dropped to an office chair.  "Okay, Ms. Senior Agent Jenny Waller, late of the FWLM
Intelligence... She tried to pull the tattler trick.  But she also said she wasn't pregnant.  Apparently,
stupidity during intercourse is my personal trait.  I left her on the side of Highway 1, about 80 km outta
town.  But I also stopped by her apartment and planted my 'stolen' souvenier laser pistol and some poorly
forged ID in her luggage.  Finally, I called the Constabulary to report the theft and I had fired her on
suspicion.  I'll let the Constables find the evidence... it'll give any statement she gives nearly zero
weight.  And thanks for telling me so.  Now what is this I hear about an expedition into Snake space? 
Finally, what DO my financials look like?"

Jenny shook her head at him.
"First, I was never an agent. I was an office clerk for a MW in Intelligence.
Second, the 'suspicion of theft' trick and the forged ID was a good idea.
Third, you have an interview with a Mr. Johannes on the 4th, in the afternoon. 
Last, we have 19,000 Cbills and 33,000 Kroner on hand.  We may get an additional 4000 kroner from the
militia, if they decide to buy the maintenance manuals we put up for sale. Most of that 4000 will go to pay
for the last month's rent on the Mech bay, the apartments, the groundcar and the utilities.

Then there is the 5 tons of parts in storage and the 25,000 Eagles in the bank at Salem.  It seems our
numbers were just right there: the monthly interest is just enough to pay the monthly storage bill.
Finally, there is the last 6 tons of weapons components we have for sale on New Avalon.  The auction house
has put 249,000 Cbills in escrow for the previous sales and states that this last lot will probably go
between 40k and 60k Cbills.  Given a decent rate of interest, there might be just enough to send Ivor to
either Aitutaki Academy or Point Barrow Academy.  Barring a tenfold increase in finances, NAIS is out of the
question entirely."

Stephan rubbed his jaw and looked down the hallway to verify the children were getting ready.  "With her gift
of language and sunny personality, Angelina might make a wonderful diplomat someday.  But if I can't afford
to send Ivor to NAIS, I sure can't afford the University of Vienna on Terra.  Even if Comstar gave her a
scholarship.  But I think I'm worrying too far into the future.  What info do you have on this expedition gig?"

Jenny put down her stylus as her husband walked into the office. "Well, Stephan, from what I can dig up; it
seems to be honest.  Operating on a shoestring, but honest.  The clerk in the Starport office told me they
rented some cheap office space for a few days and they seem to be connected with that UNION cargoship out on
the west pad, but real info is sparse."

Thud spoke in his thick Southern Norwegian accent. "Ah gets a guud gut feeling, boss. Ah tink day be okay. 
SIGRUN is a happy 'Mech.  Ah tink it be time t' leave dis place."

Stephan nodded. "Okay.  I'll interview and hopefully we can beat feet soon.  For now;" he paused to check his
holstered sidearm as the children swarmed back into the office, ready to leave. "For now, let's have some fun!"

[Warclaw]

Office 31
2278 Miranda Davion Avenue
Port Miranda
05-01-33 - 11:00Z 



David nodded to the secretary as she showed him in, and softly thanked her before she left the room.

"Mr Navarre?"

Turning to where his prospective new employer sat, he nodded.  "Yes.  Etienne Navarre, though I go by "David" most of the time.  Easier for a lot of people to pronounce."

“I grew up in a very, eclectic, household. names are not a problem to me Mr Navarre. Coffee ad tea in the corner if you want it. Then you can grab a seat."

David shrugged.  "Your secretary made sure I had a fresh cup while I waited.  I believe I'm good for the moment."  He sat and waited for Mutt to list out the details of the job.

"I'm in need of a small unit to protect a recovery missing in DC space. The specifics of the mission and the location are need to know until we're off Fallon. It has the potential to be fairly proffitable if we're successful. It also has the potential to be a total loss if it goes wrong. The bare minimum is a 6 month contract. food, board and basic maintenance provided as well as drop-off on either Engadine or Unzmarkt. Worst case scenario is 6 months from now you're in the same situation you are now but half way across the Inner Sphere."

David sighed.  "About what I expected then.  High risk, and only the potential of reward....Normally I'd pass, but..."  He shrugged.  "My personal fortunes have waned a bit over the last year, and opportunities don't seem to be quite as numerous as they once were."

Smiling ruefully, he chuckled cynically.  'At least I might have the chance to pick up some spare parts for my new mech."

"Anything is possible. May i ask what you pilot currently?"

"A Panther.  Used to drive a Centurion, but I took an ammo hit on my last job, and that was what my employer came up with for a replacement mech.  Took quite a bit to get it back up to snuff.  As you might imagine, parts for a Panther are hard to come by on this side of the border."

"Ah, yes I can imagine. Then yes, you should be a little better on the other side if we're lucky. To be fair i am hoping this will be a non-combat special but i'd be a fool if i planed for the best."

David grinned.  "If you wish to hear the gods laugh, tell them your plans."

Mutt taps his breast pocket. "Oh no, These stay with me until we're safely outbound from our destination"

David nodded.  "Good, you aren't a fool then.  Always a good trait in an employer.  Two people can keep a secret only if one of them is dead."

"I'll share when it's safe to do so. Hard to plan a company scale operation when 90% of the people involved don't know what's going on."

David shrugged.  "Until you get on site, 95% of the mission will be canned anyway.  An escort mission is an escort mission.  We'll have plenty of time to sweat local details en-route.  And I've yet to see a mission that command didn't have to scramble to change plans on due to incorrect or incomplete info."

"Yeah, lack of info cost me my 'Mech. Not planning to put too many folks through that little upset"

Spreading his hands wide, David sighed.  "I'm more concerned with co-ordination between the pilots.  Putting together a team like this is possible, but without time to work together...even a good amount of sim-time would be useful...it'll be hard to get the mech-jocks to work as a true team."

"I'm aware of that, but we're short on time, money and opportunity. We can do some limited training by linking mechs together but that's about as much use as playing computer games. I'm hoping we'll have some time on arrival for a little more realism."

David nodded.  "That would be helpful.  Are you able to share the rough T.O.E. of the expedition?"

"Mr Navarre, at this point I'm not even sure if  half the people i am interviewing are even going to show up." Mutt smiles and laughs as he says this.

David laughed.  "That's about par for ANY merc op.  Why do you think most units are constantly hiring?  Between drop-outs, no-shows, and wanna-be's with padded brag-sheets you learn to go with the 80/20 rule.  Figure 80% of your prospects are crap, and 20% MIGHT be worth a second look."

“I'm doing a bit better that that so far. I've had to weed out maybe half of who i've seen for not having a ride, or not being willing to work for promises.

David shrugged.  "I'd expect to lose a few more along the way.  If you're lucky you won't have too many ditch before lift-off.  And if I were you I'd have a plan in place for if you find that any of your hire's brag-sheets and their actual skills don't exactly match up.  Job I had a couple years back, we had to fire almost half a company for just that reason."

“Ah, I'm prepared. I may not be some plannet hopping wannabe, but i've run a business and done the dirty work for it. *mutt lets a half smile cross his face. "I assume you're not being economical with the truth on here?" *gestures to the data slate

David shrugged.  "It's a brag-sheet.  Everything on it is true.  Now, I'll admit I left a couple jobs off the list, but I didn't think you'd care how well I washed dishes for beer money while in the Academy.  And I don't think I have to tell you that I didn't include any references that I thought might trash my rep.  But that's standard stuff."

"That's fine as long as there's nothing here that's going to bring the MRBC or worse down on the rest of us when we're out there?"

David laughed.  "No, nothing like that.  Maybe a few outraged fathers and a forgotten bar-bill or two, but nothing that'll follow me to you."

"Over due tabs come out of your share.... so do child maintenance payments."

"No kids...that I know of.  And the bar tabs are on the other side of the Confederation.  If I ever get back out that way I'll settle up, but I rather doubt you'll see them spending thousands of c-bills to chase down fifty or so."

"Fair enough, Unless you have any questions I'll spend a bit of time tonight verifying a few things and will contact you tomorrow with confirmation?"

David nodded.  "Sounds good to me.  Where are we setting up for loading?"

"Dropship Stainless Chrome, she the battered looking mostly Union Class out at the field. Once I've contacted you with confirmation I'll let Captain Steele know you're on your way."

"Got it.  Do you want me to contact you?  Or should I wait for a call?"

"Wait for the call. If you've heard nothing in 24 hours just drop me a message through the Box270 address."

David nodded and stood, extending his hand.  "I'll expect to hear from you then."

*shakes * "Have a good day Mr Navarre. I'll be in touch"

[Malich]

(I know some folks still have interviews to post but I need to move onto to posts about the departure so Mutt is jumping forward to the night of departure)


Cemetery Hill
North Spoon Ranch
07-01-3033 21:00Z

Mutt walked into the fenced area that formed the burial place of nearly 500 years of his family, ranch hands with no other family and a few treasured pets and horses. The hillside was predominantly scrub but this section has grass that was as well tended as that of the finest lawns of the great houses of the Inner Sphere. Trees lined the white, picket fence and everything was immaculately tended.

Every generation had expanded the plot which meant there was only the vaguest of logical progression as to whom was buried where but Mutt knew exactly where he was going. He stepped up to the newest grave in the cemetery. The grave was marked with a simple headstone and after a few years there was barely a ripple in the grass to show where it had been cut to allow his Grandfather to be placed in the earth. The graves to the left held his parents, the one to the right his grandmother. This little patch of ground represented his closest family and potentially his biggest regret.

As he stopped he pulled the hat off his head and held it down by his side. "Hello folks." He stopped, he always found it kind of difficult to stand on a dark hillside talking to four patched of stone and grass.

"I'm leaving tomorrow and am not sure exactly when I'll be back, or what state I'll be in when I do. I'm going after Grandfather's treasure and after that it's anyone's guess where I'll go next. But it's in my will that even if i don't make it back alive, I'm to be shipped back here one way or the other to be put here beside you all."

The wind stirred the warm air of the evening and rustled the branches of the Terran Oak Tree that had been planted here by the first Rabagliati to claim this patch of Fallon II.

"Tom and the others say they'll keep this plot just the way it should be and I've left a little grant to make sure they're not out of pocket doing so." He looked around, below him the Ranch was lit and there were signs of activity in the house which now housed twenty of the ranch hands in comfort and showed only a few traces of the former occupants.

"The ranch is doing well. Tom says the market's good this year and he expects about 1500 C-Bills a head and he's got nearly two thousand head to send to market. He also says he thinks he's going to be able to stud that young stallion Grandfather got over in Morristown."

In the distance the glow of Port Matilda could just be seen where the streetlights reflected off the cloud that hung down that way. "Tom's also going to keep that paddock over on the South Downs free. He's had offers from a few developers after it for the view. He's said that if I can come back with 100k he'll let me have it. If think once I'm done with wherever this takes me I'll build a nice little house there and think about settling down. I've put a few C-Bills into a few little ventures that i hope will have fruited by the time I get back. I'll live off the proceeds and, if Idlewind is all the books says it is, the proceeds from the lecture circuit and the vast wealth I hope to bring home."

Mutt took once last look around the Cemetery. He knew that there were nearly four hundred people, six hundred pets and at least a dozen horses in the ground around him. Everyone of them had built the ranch and the family to the point where he was now.

"Good Bye, I WILL be back."

He started back towards the gate but stopped himself and headed to the far end of the cemetery, the second oldest section of it. One of the graves there, marked with a stone shaped like a Cameron Star, held "Peter Julius Rabagliati, Husband, Father, Soldier. Despite his brotherhood he held onto his duty".

"I'm not sure if this is what you would have wanted Sir. But we're going looking for your lost post. I hope it can revive the Family."

Mutt firmly placed the hat back on his head and headed back to his trailer for what would be his last night on the Planet for a while.