The Bureau of National Protection by Sapphire200182
Summary: The Covert Ops Commandoes have been influencing politics in the Inner Sphere for years. Check out this series of mini-stories to find out how! Rated T for equal portions of violence and profit.
Disclaimer: I don't own Mechs I pwn them.
BREAK
CHAPTER 1: ONLY A BOYNew Avalon Institute of Science,
New Avalon,
Crucis March,
Federated Suns.
Doctor Clara Phyllis walked down the hallway towards the room. As she passed by the cleaning staff, she received a "Hello, doctor," and acknowledged with a curt nod of the head.
She was prim and proper. She didn't dally with those of the lower caste. This was something the tough field-medic had learned after having spent several weeks with the Smoke Jaguars after Operation Bulldog.
Although she had been rescued towards the end of the third wave, Clara Phyllis had soaked up too much Clan-culture for a posting anywhere. Citing psychological problems, she'd suffered the indignity of being discharged 'honourably' and forced into the private sector.
In a place like the FedComm, where the military was revered as guardians of the realm, such a discharge was very nearly crippling to her career. Thank goodness after a month spent seducing the physician in charge of recruitment at the NAIS, the sultry blonde had secured a place in the NAIS.
As she neared the entrance to the room, two burly men in black tie and with huge, noticeable bulges in their pants glanced at her, then nodded to each other.
"Doctor Clara Phyllis?" they asked.
"Yes?" she said, mildly surprised.
"Our superior wishes to see you," they said, the faint hint of a grin passing over one's face.
She took a step back, startled and outraged. "What is this…?"
But as they moved forward, they didn't notice her arm curling behind her and under her jacket to the lumbar region, from which she whipped out a slim Mauser & Gray flechette gun.
Their reactions were admirable. As one drew out an IrianWorks Mark Six SureShot laser blaster from the bulge in his pants – the best from the Free Worlds League armourer – the other slammed a hand onto a panic button, which slid open a panel to reveal a Federated-Barrett Gauss rifle, the hand-held model.
But they had no chance against Dr. Phyllis. A single pull of the trigger saw a half dozen black polymer-composite darts spit out of the gun with a phut!.
"AAARGH!" the goon screamed once, then his cry was choked off. The flechettes had caught him in the neck, and a violent gurgling erupted as he clawed at his throat.
The other had nearly hefted up the Gauss rifle to bring it to bear on her when Clara's own IrianWorks SureShot blasted a hole into his torso.
From the waist to his neck, the man was not, and only his legs and head remained.
Clara moved into the corridor that led to the room as she pulsed her personal ID code into the fearsome-looking security system at the door. The autocannon-proof blast door slammed back to reveal an ordinary ward.
The ward was professionally kept, clean, with not a speck of dust anywhere. Clara strode into the room, taking notice of every detail of the spacious 50' by 20' room.
The patient was tucked up in bed, intravenous tubes running from his arms to a fearsome machine next to the bed. The patient's right arm lay over the end of the bed, and a dropped comic with gaudy caricatures of humanoid Mechs tearing at each other lay two inches from it.
Clara looked at the patient. She'd never had any of her own. In her line of work, a family and a life were the two things that operatives never had.
By now there was hammering at the door, and the muted blasts of a Gauss rifle could be heard. The door began to buckle after the fifteenth shot.
Swiftly, Clara plunged a needle into the patient's arm, and injected the chemical into his veins. The specially-engineered chemical would leave no trace, and to any doctor the patient would be fine.
In less than a week, however, Clara knew the deadly cells in the patient's body that were being beaten down by the NAIS's advanced medical technology would rise up again, boosted by her chemicals.
Though it was regrettable that the boy should die…well, business is business. At the end of the day, Clara could live with it.
She removed a vent from its position on the ceiling, vaulted up into it, and closed the vent behind her. The vent would lead up to the medical facility's rooftop, from which she could escape.
The blast door crashed down moments later, and five Cavalier battle-armoured troopers stormed into the room to find their sleeping ward intact and unharmed…or so they thought.
BREAK
A week later.
Unknown location,
Atreus,
Free Worlds League.
"My agent reports that it has been completed. My…condolences, my lord."
"Spare me your condolences. A completed Impavido-class WarShip would be worth much more than that spawn of a demoness."
The two men sat in an empty dining hall at one of the most expensive hotels on Atreus. Empty because the older one of the two had booked the entire hotel.
The other forked a chunk of his medium-rare lamb chop, and pushed it delicately into his mouth, savouring the bite with the finesse of a well-known, established gourmet.
"My total fee will be fifty million C-bills. As we of the Covert Ops Commandoes are the best, we expect a payment that reflects your appreciation of our skills."
The elder didn't even blink. "Done. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
"Thank you, kind sir."
Two tulip glasses arrived at the table. Both drinks were the same. Three measures of gin, one of vodka, half of the best Kina Lillet Atreus could offer, the Lillet Blanc variety. A twist of lemon garnished the remarkable drink.
"Done just the way you like it," said the elder, with a faint smile on his Oriental features.
"Why, thank you very much," said the other. "Shaken, not stirred?"
END
