DARIUS AND THE HEARTBREAKER
THE MISADVENTURES OF DARIUS DAVION
- 3 -
PROLOGUE
KILLARNEY
3048
CHRISTMAS EVE
The Kuritans have a saying; that two comets which have crossed courses may never again meet, but two men always shall. I was reminded of this little truism this very afternoon in the worst possible way.
I've been back on Killarney, since my visit to New Avalon and Katty's birthday ball, for a couple of weeks now and have been busy getting back into the swing of things. Particularly my duties as a noble when it comes to the selection of likely candidates for military training. Naturally my selection process tends to be a little different to those used on other Fed Suns worlds; specifically I put a lot of time and effort into finding the fittest, most beautiful, and athletic gals I can and then put them through a deuced rigorous regime before signing off on them. Indeed I understand some of the wiseacres at the Department of the Army and Navy have started referring to my recruits as 'the Killarney Chorusline'.
Well then, I'd ridden out this morning, that is Christmas Eve of the year 3048, on Petal, my favourite Turin mare, about 'recruiting business'. Like Avalon City back on New Avalon, our family pile is located in the northern hemisphere of the planet and at a location where the seasons relate correctly to the old Terran calendar. So we are presently in mid winter and the snow here is appropriately deep, crisp and even.
Young Judith O'Flaherty, today's candidate for military service, is just the kind of minx that meets my exacting measure. Eighteen, with long blonde hair, big blue eyes, pouting lips, and legs that go on forever. I shall not go into salacious details, for it don't really relate to what happened after, but suffice to say she took to my direction quickly and we enjoyed a damn fine morning ensconced in a snug little cottage I keep on our estate for just such meetings. Mind you I must be getting old, for she'd quite exhausted me and I had to order her to stand down a couple of times just to catch my breath.
Anyhoo, picture me if you will, retired Hauptmann General Darius Davion KFS, OD, ME etc etc, clattering back into the courtyard of Killarney Manor after my morning's exercise, dressed in tweed riding jacket, silk shirt, riding breeches and boots. A fine figure of a nobleman still, if I do say so myself, despite my fifty five busy years of age, my full head of black hair is showing only a little gray at the temples and if I'm a tad scarred and wrinkled, well folk tell me it just makes me look rugged and interesting.
I slid skillfully down Petal's flank and patted her affectionately, before letting one of the stablehands lead her away, then crunched through the snow towards the main house, which is a massive, hundred and three room, neo-Victorian style mansion. Standing at the open west entrance was our head butler, Farnsworth, an Avalonian of course, the best that money can buy and the very image of an efficient lackey. He had a maid standing ready with a glass of sherry for me, which I took with a nod, but then he gave a little cough to indicate he had something to say.
"There is a gentleman waiting to see you sir." I glanced at him. His hawklike nose was raised just a little and I guessed Farnsworth didn't think much of this visitor. I shrugged.
"Well out with it man, who is he?"
"He gave his name as Smith sir, a Mr John Smith, he said he is collecting for a 'War Orphan Fund', that he served under you during the '39 and was sure you'd wish to make a donation. I have allowed him to wait for you in the west library.
He seemed rather down at heel sir ..." I nodded briskly, well you probably find you have to deal with beggars like this rogue sounded to be yourself. I actually quite enjoy a chance to send 'em flying with a boot up the arse and a bellowed curse, and after my bout with Judith I was in fine fettle for a spot of bullying. So with a spring in my step I made my way through the west wing, where I heard the sound of distant singing and remembered my monstrous mother had a choir of local children in performing carols for her elsewhere in the building. As I opened the door to the west library the choir began to sing Silent Night.
The west library is a long room, with ceiling high book shelves along the back wall, a fireplace, three polished tables and several stuffed red leather armchairs. A Christmas Tree stood in the far corner, coloured lights and tinsel sparkling. I strode in, noting firstly that two of the armchairs had been moved to sit opposite each other in front of the merrily crackling fire, then I realised that I couldn't see this John Smith anywhere ... and that there was a faint damp, musty, smell in the air. I stopped in the middle of the room, puzzled as to where this cheeky beggar was hiding, when the door closed behind me with a bang and a harsh voice rasped at my shoulder.
"'Allo Dick ... 'appy fracking Christmas." I jumped about three feet in raw terror as suddenly I was naked and in chains again, kneeling before the most depraved mound of suet I ever met and that same voice was shouting from behind me;
"That ain't no Darius fracking Davion ... that there's Dirty Dick Dergeezi ... Redjack's ol' First Gun."
It couldn't be the same man, it was impossible. My blood froze and I swung around to find it certainly was possible, as there he stood.
He'd never been a big man, unlike his brother, but now, a quarter of a century since I'd last seen him, he was much thinner and gaunter, like he was literally wasting away. His skin was jaundiced looking and his dark hair was wispy thin over his pate. Stubble covered his jaw, his eyes glittered at me and his thin lipped slash of a mouth was twisted into the mean grimace that passed with him for a grin. The same smile-grimace I'd seen when he was taking the neurolash to Redjack and Valasek's victims, or when he was setting his moronic beast of a brother onto his enemies. He was wearing a filthy and damp looking blue serge civilian suit and held a grubby handkerchief in his left hand and a heavy long barreled Mydron needle pistol in his right. The twin of the pistol I still kept in my study. It's muzzle pointed directly at my groin.
"Oh God no ... how did you? Look please don't ... we can talk this through." I babbled in terror and he sneer grinned all the more.
"Aw that's nice, that's real nice Dick. You 'member your ol' buddy Elmo. I fought you might 'ave fergot me." Elmo Porrath was not someone I was ever likely to forget. He was high up there in my list of people I'd be happy never to see again, right alongside Redjack Ryan, Valasek, Zakahashi, Vesar Kristofur, and yes, Happy Hanse himself.
Porrath was a pirate. He'd served under the flags of both Ryan and Valasek, he was a murderer, a thief, a torturer, a rapist, a brutal, ruthless man, who absolutely lacked any shred of a conscience and now here he was stood in my home on Killarney, deep in the safe fat heart of the Federated Suns. It was crazy. Insane.
"Now then Dick, why don't we sit us down and 'ave us a chat." He motioned with the needler towards the chairs before the fireplace and I staggered over, collapsing into the chair shaking with fear. He sat opposite me, then let rip a serious sounding throaty, rattling cough into his handkerchief. He kept the gun steadily levelled on me though and I recalled very well just how deadly a shot he was.
"Well Dick, this is a right purty berth you've got yerself 'ere ... right purty. Still you always was smart. Always 'ad yer eye on the prize eh?
Takes me back seeing yer again. Well we've lived the days ain't we though, two ol' Brethren of the Black like us?
Why, don't I 'member those times at the 'Old, wiv Redjack and you drunk as Ellsie judges, while Jake, Stromsky, Fingers and me flayed the backs off them Rassy-hagger pilgrims. D'yer 'member Dick?
Or when you beat Redjack at poker, playing fer that Snake tart, an' Redjack 'ee got so sore 'bout it 'ee cut orf yer fracking paw! Gawd didn' we laugh? 'Call that a winning 'and?' He said, d'yer 'member?
Or when you shot up that fusion plant on Lysidas and poisoned 'arf the fracking planet ... that were stoney, even Redjack said so. 'This fellows the next best thing to me.' He said. D'yer 'member?
Or when we 'it Deia and ripped the guts out o' them Skye Rangers? I can still see yer burning down that town, what were it's name again, brother? Ah who 'members eh?
Or when you and me took the neuro whips to them Ellsie tarts 'till they near burst! An' wiv Redjack sitting there watching the 'ole time, getting sloppy on beer. Heh heh, an' you got so tired out you kept dropping yer whip, so Redjack warned yer you'd join 'em on the rack if yer did it again.
Then there was when you an' me was wiv Valasek. 'Ee thought you was just golden, well once 'ee 'eard you was that same Dirty Dick who'd been Redjack's First Gun an' the only man who Redjack ever called 'is friend. Running slaves 'tween Port Krin and the Combine, that were a sweet trick weren't it Dick, an' you came up wiv it."
I'd sat there staring appalled at this monster from my secret past, throughout his sneering little tour down memory lane, as the faint sound of the carol singers rendition of Silent Night continued beyond the library. Then I couldn't control my mortal terror any more, my gorge rose, burning my throat, and I literally threw up. I gasped and gazed through tears at him, as he looked at me with those cold eyes that had gazed serenely over scenes of unspeakable horror and barbarity.
"'Ave a drink Dick. Pour me one too, for ol' times sake, why don't yer." I staggered to the drinks cabinet and poured two large measures of Bismarck whiskey into crystal tumblers, then walked back, aware all the time of that needler tracking me. He took the glass and raised it to me in the old spacers toast.
"Bright Stars Dick ..." To which I responded;
"... And easy planets." We both drank, he smacked his lips in appreciation of the excellent malt and I plucked up the courage to try to talk to him, perhaps to bribe him to leave me unharmed.
"Elmo how in the Sphere did you get here?" I asked and he shrugged nonchalantly.
"I stayed wiv Wilson's mob after you took Lyran leave from us. Doing crappy merc jobs mostly. Then earlier this year young Danny, Wilson's lad, 'ee wanted ter try 'is 'and on the Games World, so 'ee talked me into getting 'im there. Wilson, 'ee gave Danny Ella y'see. Well, getting over the border ain't no 'ard fing for an ol'corsair like me, so we slipped froo sweet an' easy.
Now, I've sent Danny on his way ... 'eel do well on Solaris I fink ... good pilot 'ee is, proper buckethead fru and fru. But I couldn't pass the 'ome of the famous Darius Davion ... me ol' mate Dick ... wivout paying a visit now could I?" I gulped some more whiskey, seeing the killing light flicker in Porrath's eyes.
"Err, you don't look well Elmo." I said and he shook his head at me and coughed again, then rasped out;
"I'm dying Dick. Cancer. It's eating me up inside. I ain't got long, maybe a year or two at most."
"Well, perhaps ... perhaps I can pay for you to be cured, I have contacts with the best Canopian physicians. I'd wager they can cure-"
"Nah Dick, nice of you ter offer ... but it's terminal. I'm okay wiv it. Though I do 'ave one fing left I need to do before I go." I gulped the last of my whiskey, then asked what that might be. He grinned again.
"Yer ain't asked about Jake yet Dick?" Jake was Elmo's brutal simpleton of a brother, they'd been inseparable and if Jake wasn't with Elmo here I firmly expected he was dead. I was right too.
"He died five years after you shot 'im on Dormandaine. The wound never 'ealed right yer see. The needles they got into 'is lungs, he was coughing up blood for months 'fore he finally carked it. Bad death 'ee had ... bad." I quivered at this awful news. I'd killed this pyscopath's beloved baby brother with the very needler he was now holding on me. I had no doubt that his one remaining wish was to see me dead. This was certainly not how I'd hoped to be spending the holiday season.
"So then Dick, let's get to it. I was gonna just kill yer, but seeing yer sitting there like Lord Muckety Muck, filthy wiv the scratch you stole from us. I'm finking now you might suffer more if I just took yer bollocks off and leave yer dickless." He carried on in graphic detail and I fell forward from my chair onto my knees pleading, whining, and begging him to leave me be. Whimpering in a complete state of funk. It was at that precise moment that the library door opened and in swept ma'ma. Lydia Davion neé Campbell, the Countess of Killarney herself. She was wearing a long red gown, had a League made purse slung over her arm and seemed to be in one of her moods.
"Darius! What's all this about a charity collection? You know we only give through official channels. I won't have you frittering money away on beggars and probable conmen. What ... on ... Terra?" Porrath didn't turn, his needler remained trained on me, but he snapped an order at mother in his dry rattle of a voice.
"Close the door your fracking majesty, sit the frack down and shut the frack up. Or I'll kill your precious bleeding son 'ere." I've never heard anyone speak to mother in that manner before and she looked stunned with surprise. She flicked her gimlet gaze over the grim tableau before her, then did as Porrath ordered, sitting with her purse in her lap. Porrath shot her one glance, then returned his attention to me.
"She know about you and me Dick? 'Bout what you did in the Out, during yer younger days?" I shook my head, sobbing in terror still.
"Darius ... who is this dreadful man?" Mother asked in a quiet voice, and Porrath grinned at me again.
"Oh I'm dreadful all right. Ain't I just though Dick? But then you're dreadful too ain't yer. Both as bad as each other I'd say. Now then, I fink I'll get down to it, brace yerself Dick ... this is gonna 'urt ... it's gonna 'urt bad." I wailed and squeezed my eyes shut, threw myself to one side and scrambled on all fours away, it was futile, he had a direct bead on me after all, but I had to at least try. I soiled my trousers when I heard the gun go off and fell forwards, thinking my end had finally caught up with me.
"Oh do get up Darius, you horrid creature." Mother said harshly from behind me and I suddenly realised I had felt no pain. Turning, still shaking badly, I saw that mother was holding a small four barreled magnum, smoke was curling slowly from it's muzzle and Porrath's head was twisted unnaturally onto his left shoulder. With a clunk, the needler fell from his lifeless hand and blood began to flow liberally from his bullet shot noggin.
"It's a good thing I at least have the good sense to carry a weapon at all times." Ma'ma said, "One never knows when one will need it. Now, why was that horrid fellow calling you Dick? Urgg, you smell atrocious you ghastly thing. What? Why are you hugging me? Get off of me this instant!"
* * *
Well I've rarely felt so grateful to my mother. I didn't even care about the epic telling off I received for 'bringing common criminals into the house', as if I'd invited Porrath around for a Christmas drink or something? The idiots from the local constabulary were quickly summoned and mother has been hailed as a local heroine, who valiantly bested an 'unknown' criminal who was going to rob and kill us. I didn't think it a good idea to admit to any knowledge of Porrath's identity, or to my past association with him, and told mother he'd clearly mistaken me for someone else. So the matter will be safely and quickly forgotten ... who'd have thought Elmo Porrath, the notorious Periphery outlaw, would die nameless on Killarney, at my mother's hand?
I'm sitting now in my private study, where I keep my personal treasures. Before me on my desk lie my pair of Mydron needlers, gleaming wickedly under the reading lamp. They sit as mute reminder of the awful events that led me out into the Outer Sphere region of the Periphery twenty five years ago and the nightmare events that happened during that period of my life.
I was going to write about my time in the Marik Civil War next, but Porrath's visit has drawn my mind back to that fearful business with Valasek and I can now think of nothing else. The problem I have is where to begin. Do I start with how I first met Elmo and Jake Porrath? No, that is a story for another day, for it would mean detailing a year and more in the service of Redjack Ryan. Do I start in 3024 then, when I was forced into joining that lunatic mission into the Periphery? No ... first I must tell you about a romance I had with one of the best MechWarriors I ever met ... for my affair with her was to be the direct cause of my having to head into the Out ... it began on New Ivaarsen, during the Kuritan invasion of 3021.
PART ONE
NEW IVAARSEN
3021
MID SEPTEMBER
1
"Good evening Sir, welcome to the Land of the Green Sun. It's a real honour to meet you."
I stepped down from the Fury Class troop ship's ramp, taking in the open expanse of Fort Bormen Starport's Military Adjunct. It was the usual bland bunker-like blockhouses, hangars, scorched landing bays and skittering Techs. Standing at attention before me, dressed in crisply ironed green fatigues, with the patch of the Seventh Crucis Lancers on his sleeve and carrying the white epaulette of a Subaltern upon his shoulder, was a fresh faced and scrubbed seeming young chap with baby blue eyes and buzz cut blonde hair, who looked to be about sixteen. The days dying light washed the scene in a faintly opalescent haze and I noted with a start the setting sun to my left was indeed a shimmering greenish hue. As I knew New Ivaarsen's star was yellow white I blinked in surprise.
"It's an atmospheric condition Sir, has to do with the sunlight refracting at an angle off of the planet's atmosphere ... or something like that. I'm told the same effect is known to occur rarely even back on Earth, but we get that show every sunrise and sunset here. Pretty ain't it?" It was certainly an unusual sight and I nodded, then pasted my best self-deprecating Darius-Do-Good grin across my mug, held out my hand and beamed.
"Indeed it is old chap, and you can call me Darius." He pumped my hand excitedly, in the admiring way I was well used to by then.
"Gosh, but well I mean ... I can't believe it's really you ... Darius Davion. The Hero of Mallory's World, the chap who pulled old Ian's body out of the flames, the man who tried to take an entire city single handed, who fought his way out of Sandsedge, the only man to survive the redoubt at Kent's Hill last year, the chap who-" Normally I don't mind basking in the adoration of my peers, but there was a sharp evening wind picking up and after several days caged up on a DropShip I fancied finding my quarters, having a quick shower, then seeing what the local night life was like. So I clapped a manly hand on his shoulder and acted embarrassed.
"Whoa there old son. I know who I am thanks, just a youngish officer like your good self who don't want no special treatment. How about you give me your name and show me across to my quarters?" He blushed and fell over himself apologising.
"Oh I'm most awfully sorry. Damned silly of me. I'm Subaltern John D. John, Recon Lance, Christoph's Company, Clifton's Battalion, Seventh Crucis Lancers."
"John John eh? That's quite a unique name." Gads I thought to myself, but his parents must have been crueler even than mine, to land the lad with such a ridiculous sounding handle, but I didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with the local officers so let him ramble on, as I picked up my luggage and we strode across the ferrocrete. He gushed about his 'long family line', how his umpteen brothers were all also serving AFFS MechWarriors, that generations of Johns before them had also fought for our House and so on. He was one of your clean limbed, eager schoolboy types that I usually detest, but he had such an infectious easy charm about him, I found myself uncharacteristically warming to him.
"So John John, how are we set here? I understand I'm to report to Leftenant General Stuart?" I'd been assigned to the staff of Leftenant General Arlin Stuart, the officer in command of all AFFS and PUG forces on New Ivaarsen, and was fairly sure that for a change this would be a nice quiet, cushy, little posting. Well despite the fact that New Ivaarsen was within a Jump or two of the Kuritan border, I had learned upon receiving my orders that Stuart was a newly made Leftenant General and only in charge now because the planet was regarded as being at a very low risk of attack for the next few months.
Y'see New Ivaarsen is one of our agricultural worlds, a breadbasket planet, and raids on such worlds tend to be made just before the end of the harvest, in order to destroy the collected crop yield and prevent it being shipped to other Fed Suns worlds, many of which rely on outside food supply for survival. New Ivaarsen had completed it's annual harvest the previous month, at the end of August.
When the great 'grain fleet' of twenty odd Mule DropShips had blasted off carrying tens of thousands of tons of processed crops and grain, most of the Seventh Crucis Lancers, who had been standing watch over the vast storehouses and processing plants, were redeployed elsewhere along the border. There were still the local grain stores to protect though, so aside from the usual conventional forces of the New Ivie Ugly-PUGs, we still had a company of the Seventh Crucis, the entire Second New Ivaarsen Chasseurs 'Mech Regiment and a battalion of the mercenary unit Narhal's Raiders stationed on world. Which I regarded as a force more than strong enough to dissuade a Kuritan raid aimed at the remaining grain supplies. After some of the scrapes I'd gotten into since I'd returned to active service in the AFFS two years before, I thought finally I'd landed on my feet and might be able to enjoy a few months of loafing in safety. However young John very nearly burst my bubble of complacency right there and then.
"Yes Sir ... err ... that is, Darius. The General is out on Panopea, the submersible C³ Centre off the south coast, coordinating the hunt for the Snake 'Mechs. You should spend your night here in Bormen, then you're to be shipped across to Panopea tomorrow." My skin went cold and I fought to keep my query casual sounding and free from any stammer of fear.
"Snake 'Mechs?" He glanced over at me with a grin, clearly thinking Dashing Darius had smelt action and was quivering to be let loose like an attack dog.
"Yes Sir, were you not appraised of the Kuritan incursion during your journey in from the JumpPoint?" I shook my head. Christ and Conrad! The Kuritans were here! I'd landed out of the frying pan and into the fire yet again.
"Two weeks ago, you must have missed the HPG message that was sent to March Command; just after the Grain Fleet Jumped, a DCA military JumpShip slipped in at a Pirate Point a day out and dropped four Leopards. They came in fast, split up, atmo-dropped one 'Mech each at four separate points across the Lowland Flats, then lifted out and returned to the JumpShip, which then Jumped away immediately. The General is of the opinion they are suicide raiders, sent to do as much damage to the farmlands as they can. We've been able to prevent much actual harm so far, but have yet to have caught them ... and they seem to be avoiding 'Mech to 'Mech combat." I relaxed a little, well four 'Mechs didn't stand a chance against our garrison here. Still it was not what I'd wanted to be hearing and my instinct for survival was nagging at me that there was more to this than young John's little story. I decided to dig for more information, whilst acting out my role as the fire-eating madman everyone thought I was.
"Four Snake 'Mechs have been running around burning and killing for two weeks and we've yet to take 'em to task? I'm just glad I had my 'Mech sent ahead of me." I growled, acting all angry indignation. Of course Falstaff, my Victor, might have reached the planet aboard a supply ship last week, but I had no intention of getting in the blasted thing if I could possibly help it.
"From sightings we've ascertained they're OTT-7J Ostscouts Sir ... damn nippy when they want to be. As I say, they seem to be deliberately avoiding our patrols and run off at the first sight of us." He looked embarrassed at admitting to his idol that they'd failed to run down these Kuritan raiders, but I was gnawing at my lip.
"Why haven't your aero-wing been able to knock them out? Surely these farmlands they're charging about are wide open spaces ... shouldn't be hard to find twelve meter high 'Mechs on them?" He shook his head and nodded at the sky.
"It's the wind Sir." I grunted my understanding. New Ivaarsen was widely known for it's fierce windstorms, that regularly howled shrieking down out of the Upland Mountains and scoured across the Flats. John nodded and continued.
"Windstorms are pretty much a daily event over the Flats, the locals live with them all their lives and call what you and I would refer to as a tornado a light breeze. It makes for fierce turbulence and any air activity is very dangerous. Indeed the locals never fly, they all seem to have a mortal fear of it, understandable I guess. We've sent up unmanned spotter drones, but they keep getting knocked down by sudden squalls." We reached a jeep as, pointedly, the wind began to hammer at our backs with quite a strong force. I was relieved to chuck my bags in the back, get in and pull the top up, cutting off that sudden battering blow. John climbed into the driving seat and started the engine, then steered us out through several checkpoints, where each time local PUG PBIs snapped to attention as we passed.
"Ostscouts eh? Seems like a pretty weak 'Mech to send raiders in, especially if they're acting separated from each other. Isn't it more likely they're scouting out the lay of the land? Ostscouts carry specialised mapping tech ... they could be creating maps of potential DropZones for a stronger force." I felt my skin prickle in terror as I said the words and the idea solidified in my mind. They had to be scouts ... for what could very well be a later full scale invasion.
"It's possible Sir, but the General has said he is certain that's not the case. He's of the opinion I'm told that after the Kuritans got kicked off of Harrow's Sun last year, which was before my time with the regiment to my sorrow, they've been scared off of making any moves against us larger than raids ... and that with the successful departure of the Grain Fleet it wouldn't be economically worth the risk of a raid against us here. Also with the present fighting between the Lyrans and the Snakes the General doesn't feel that the DCMS would have the available troops to deploy against us." I decided in a second, that if this was an accurate summary of Arlin Stuart's opinions the man was clearly a dangerously misinformed fool.
I'd been on Harrow's Sun when the Kuritans landed an army spear headed by no less than four crack 'Mech regiments on us and very nearly wiped us off the face of that world ... they'd only left in the end due to the imminent arrival of massive AFFS reinforcements, not because they'd been beat. Since the retreat from Harrow's Sun the Combine had seen stiff fighting against Wolf's Dragoons on the Steiner Front, indeed only a month before I arrived on New Ivaarsen I'd been reading about an attack on the Combine held world of Dromini IV by two regiments of the Dragoons. The Combine had responded to the Dragoon attacks of the past year by sending Sword of Light regiments against several Lyran worlds, including Morningside, Fatima and Fort Loudon. However I knew from bitter personal experience the bloodlust of the Combine was never to be underestimated, that pathological hatred of us drove that entire nation, and that they had many more regiments they could still throw against us.
I decided I would try to convince Stuart to call up reinforcements as soon as I met him and struggled to control my nagging sense of impending disaster. Turning my attention away from John, who chattered away about the usual stuff and nothing young soldiers are interested in, I watched as we drove through the green tinted twilight under search lights mounted along the vast anti-'Mech defence walls that ringed the city of Fort Bormen.
The city itself certainly lived up to it's militaristic name, like many border world cities it was built within a massive, multi-kilometer wide, circle of walls and defences, which bristled with gun emplacements, hardpoints and bunkers. Driving through towering ninety meter high gates, we trundled into a maze of narrow little streets, the buildings were almost all built in a strange style, of ferrocrete, though with multiple triangular roofs made of dark wood. They looked vaguely churchlike and somehow sinister to me.
"The New Ivies hark back to a mix of Icelandic and British colonists I'm told." John said catching me staring at the buildings. "They call this style of building neo-stave architecture, I'm told after a kind of Scandinavian church. They're a pretty religious bunch by the way. Never seen NACC churches more packed than here."
I returned my gaze to the streets gloomily at the prospect of a world full of boring Bible-wallopers; watching tall, sturdy, men and women hunched into the wind, stomping along presumably after knocking off for the day. They were dressed in plain, dark coloured clothes, their faces were uniformly leathery and unsmiling. Dour was the word that sprang into my mind and I never lost that view of them. Let me tell you you've never heard a more depressing thing than a New Ivie choir murdering a hymn. They are frankly amongst the most miserable people I ever struck across. They all seem to have pale gray eyes, wind hardened skin, thick fair hair and smile so rarely it must actually hurt their faces. They speak with a yokel like drawl, are supremely impervious to the hideous extremes of their planet's weather, gaze at you like you aren't there half the time and whenever you ask them a direct question they have the maddening habit of pondering slowly then replying;
"Waal now ... Ahm not rightly shoor."
They do hate the Kuritans though and unusually for a border world had only been under Kuritan occupation the once. Which was during the early years of the First Succession War. Thinking about it, after they left the Snakes probably had the good sense never to want to go back, that is until perhaps they forgot what the place was like.
* * *
John drove me to his Company's billets, which were located in a towering triple floored neo-stave building, with shuttered windows, dark wooden roofs, and beams decorating the simple gray ferrocrete walls.
"Used to be a local merchant's house I'm told." John advised me. "Until he was arrested and deported for pedaling booze ... the Ivies are pretty hot against that kind of thing and even have prohibition laws." He led me into the warmth of the house, whose front door had the company details stenciled upon it, then started showing me around. It was when we wandered into a pleasant billiard room that I spotted her and for the first time since arriving on New Ivaarsen I felt glad to be there.
"Ah here's a couple of my Company mates Darius, allow me to introduce you to them. That rogue about to pot the black is MechWarrior Mark Paniopolo and the lovely lady he seems to have beaten for once is MechWarrior Paula Stilson."
PART THREE
THE PERIPHERY
3024
MAY - DECEMBER
28
The Periphery, the Big Black, the Beyond, the Hinterworlds, Empty Space, the Outer Void, the Wilderness Worlds, Out Yonder, or even simply 'The Out' as many Inner Sphere spacers refer to it. I've heard that vast nebulous region, which lies between ourselves and the anterior space of the uncharted Galaxy beyond, called many names and each and every one of them raises goose bumps on my arms, causes my hands to shake, and my mouth to dry with fear. For out there lie the howling wastes, where all the weaknesses and vices of mankind have wrought many shades of living hell across countless worlds, and where I have suffered some of the most appalling times of my life.
D'you know though, I've heard it being said lately that the Periphery isn't really all that bad, when taken as a whole and compared to the worst bits of the Inner Sphere. I first heard this crapulous theory earlier this very year (Editor - 3048), while on my way back to report to Hanse on New Avalon about my part in that perilous Taurian business I'd been dragged into by my old Academy 'buddy', Justin bloody Allard, and I feel it may give you some idea of my views on the Periphery in general before I return to the account of my part in the Bloom Expedition of 3024.
So then, this fall I'd stopped off at Islamabad JumpStation intending to grab a decent curry during the layover, and perhaps avail myself of the famously skilled local females, when this freshly scrubbed looking young bit of a 'cultural anthropologist' had talked me into giving her an interview, which would focus upon my knowledge of 'Periphery Societies', as she had put it. She was pretty enough, in a bespectacled, looking-down-her-nose, damn-you-me-lad, kind of way, but I'd only agreed to speak to her because she'd promised to shell out for my dinner, and more importantly she had NAIS credentials and I'd not wanted to piss on that place again what with Hanse already thirsting for my blood.
Well the interview had started out well enough, with her allowing me to yarn away about my glory days, which consisted of course of quite a good deal of lying and dissembling, while munching away upon an excellent dish of Tandoori Chicken. However she soon began to push her pet theory, which I understand these days is not an uncommon one amongst the trendy young academic, revisionist, cultural relativist, set.
"Are you saying then, that you believe the Periphery to be less advanced proportionately than the Inner Sphere then Hauptmann General Davion?" She asked while I was half way through telling her a pretty true account of the time I was chased around an adobe walled maze, by the Caliph of Astrokaszy's pet hunting leopards, while that bastard and his court watched from above, cheering and pelting me the whole time with dates. Well, I was so surprised at her ridiculous question I nearly blew a half chewed mouthful of poppadom in her sour looking face.
"What ... are you joking?" I asked, scratching my head, thinking the lass was pulling my plonker in some way.
"Not at all General," She replied, in a mighty high handed tone of voice. "I'm merely suggesting that if one takes into account the highly advanced major super powers and the numerous other rapidly developing multi-planet alliances of the Periphery, is it not perhaps time we all reappraised our rather old fashioned ... and ... forgive me, bigoted opinions; that we are in some way more civilised than those who dwell outside the grasp of our war mongering Inner Sphere Houses?"
"Bigoted?" I roared, my blood rushing to my head. "Highly advanced?" At which I choked on my mouthful of food, and she was forced to push a glass of water at me. I gulped it down, then jabbed my finger at her angrily.
"Now see here young missy." I growled. "I don't know if you've ever been Out Yonder, but from the sounds of it you haven't!"
"Actually I was on a lecturing tour of the six Taurian universities just this year, when your little war blew up, and I was forced to return to the Suns because of the tensions." She sniffed, unfazed by my anger.
"Oh right," I grunted. "So you've visited a Taurian university campus or two and think that makes you an expert on the rest of the Periphery do you?
Well let me put you straight young lady, I've travelled from one end of the Out to the other in my time, and have visited worlds which you won't find on any university map, and which I doubt you've even heard of. I've seen the Periphery in all it's horror, and yes all it's wonder too, and I assure you that no matter how many new schools there might be in the Pleides, or how many new nations might rise or fall outside the borders of civilised space, as they always have out there by the way, it won't change the fact that most of the Periphery is an ignorant, backward, pestilential, poverty stricken, hellhole." I paused to draw breath, giving her time to clear her throat angrily.
"Well I can see you are every bit as closed minded as your aggressively militarist background would suggest." She sneered, causing my ire to rise all the more.
"Closed minded? Hah! Aggressively militarist? Hah! I'd like to see you try interviewing most of the important Periphery leaders'; that robot eyed madman Tommy 'the Bull' Calderon for instance is about the most aggressive bloody militarist I ever met, and see how open minded you find Redjack Ryan say, or that whipper snapper Morrison, or Hefty Helmar?
Why they'd show you closed minded, as just for fun, they had your tongue pulled out, or had the skin flayed from your back, or had you sawn in half!" I cried out at the top of my voice, causing diners at nearby tables to gasp and sputter in offended horror, while secretly listening in of course. My expert scholar however was not about to let me get the last word in that easily.
"That you cite mainly the names of some of the few, very unrepresentative, Periphery criminals, characterised by our Inner Spherist propaganda engines as 'pirates', only shows your partiality and lack of understanding of the truth of the typical 'Periphery experience' today. Why Redjack is but one, admittedly unpleasant I'm sure, individual. However there are over two billion people living perfectly civilised lives on Taurus alone, another half a billion on Canopus, and then there are the thousands of hardy souls for example who have banded together in search of better, safer, lives in such developing nations as the new Rim Collection. Come, come, General, look beyond the horrors of the past, which I accept you clearly lived through to some degree, and concede that life in the Periphery for most of it's inhabitants is these days improving year on year.
As for Protector Calderon, he is what we have made him surely. Who can blame the man for being paranoid about an AFFS invasion when our government's policies for his entire lifetime have been geared around waging aggressive war and the violent conquest of our neighbours?" She sipped her iced water, her eyes flashing triumphantly, as she obviously thought she had the better of me.
"Hmph, well I'll give you that more people live in the Taurian and Canopian states, than perhaps are to be found across the rest of the Periphery put together." I grudgingly replied. "But that still leaves one hell of a lot of poor souls who are spread across the rest of the waste worlds. Oh and don't try to lecture me about the Rim Collection, it's only still there today because that ass Moroney had the rare good sense to persuade me to train his little army. Now I've left, I give that place ten years tops, before Morrison and his thugs, or some other pirate band, steam straight in there and sack the whole place.
You need to understand missy, that not even including certain little places I've visited out in the Deep Black, which I'm sure no one else knows about, there are over sixty states out there ... not including the Concordat, the Magistracy, and the Outworlds. Sixty! Okay, many are one world or less in size, but nevertheless they all have populations that typically suffer lives of grinding poverty, agrarian servitude, and all too often outright barbarism and slavery. The mass of unnoticed independent worlds are more often than not water and resource poor, they usually lack what we'd consider even the most basic medical supplies, and thus starvation, malnutrition, and disease are extremely common. Also, as I have said ignorance is the order of the day, crackpot religious cults and beliefs abound, and there are plenty of examples where the typical level of culture would shock Attila the Hun!
Go to the peasants out there on Novo Franklin say, or Astrokaszy, or the Rim worlds, or on any one of the numerous ex-Outworlds Outer Sphere splinter planets, or on your precious Taurian new colony worlds even, see how better-off and happy they seem living their short bitter lives of grim serfdom. Go to Niops, and see how free the bulk of it's slave populace are. Or to the Marian Hegemony with it's ridiculous pretensions, and try interviewing it's violent piratical military commanders. Go to the Outworlds Alliance planets where they all scrabble in the dirt to survive, and most marry a handful of women each, often their own sisters, try to talk to them about their appreciation of high art, or politics. Hah!" I snorted, well I'd laid it on a bit heavy I'll own, but still my point was pretty sound in my opinion.
"I'm sure there's some truth in what you say." The obstinate little wench said slowly in reply. "But ... one could make a case that much of the Inner Sphere is 'backward', and 'ignorant'. Look at the brutal military tyrannies of the Combine and the Capellan Confederation, the murderous police states that crush the mass of the populace under the feet of their 'Mechs. Look at the erosion of long cherished liberties in the Free Worlds League at the moment, or at the shameful conditions of life endured by the poor folk of our own, so called, Outback planets."
I shrugged. "Well if you're saying a good deal of the Inner Sphere ain't much of a place to live, then I'll agree with you, but I thought we were talking about the Periphery. Just because most of our Outback planets for example have a standard of life that would embarrass a caveman, that don't change the fact they're still better off than folk on your typical independent Periphery world."
And so our conversation went on, with me recounting tale after tale of my travels to prove my point; stories of hollow cheeked, polio and rickets blighted, peasant children starving while their betters duelled in BattleMechs ... of mass executions of commoners on Astrokaszy thanks to the religious mania of the Caliph ... of the slave markets of Antallos, where I was buyer, seller, and slave at different times of my life ... of Taurian ghost colonies, wiped out by fever and plague ... of the countless two-pig agrarian towns burning and sacked by this or that pirate band ... the rapine ... the pillage ... the carnage.
For her part, my interviewer grew more and more determined not to concede to my points, and eventually I grew tired of the argument and stood to leave.
"I will say this though," I murmured, half to myself, looking down at my Canopian prosthetic hand. "There is great good out there too. But who wants to dig for pearls in a mountain of blood, gore, and shit?"