Another Update for the story, I know these chapters don't seem like super interesting, but I need the foundations for what is coming, and trust me, it si going to be good


December 14th 3040

Wynn's Roost

Vazquez Field

Dawn had just broken over Vazquez field and the base was already wide awake.

Vazquez field was still a new post, parts of it were still being built, but it was also an active Spacy post even if, half the hangars were still occupied by scientists and engineers going over pieces of inner sphere technology.

Hangar 15 was almost empty, as it was only finished two days before. A single VF-11E sat in the middle of the hanger, before a small troop of men.

Lieutenant Commander Robert "Hacksaw" Eisenach paced before the assembled troop; he was a tall, lean man, he wearing a Spacy service tan uniform but without the cap. He slowly and deliberately as he glanced at each of the pilots the Wynn's Roost Militia had chosen for this scheme.

Scheme was a good word for it, after all. He was to train the troop before him into VF pilots, not an easy task to begin with, with the knowledge base of the militia he was more worried about the bad habits he'd have to have the recruits unlearn than anything else.

Hacksaw was the fleet's foremost expert on the 11E, he had won his stripes in one's cockpit and his Filibusters were the only spacy force to have tangled with the flying bricks that the local and pirates called ASFs and for all the odds stacked against them, they had done relatively well.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Lt. Commander Robert Eisenach, call sign Hacksaw. You can call me Commander, or Sir." He paused, facing the troop, "Behind me you can see what you will be learning to fly in the coming weeks: the Shinsei Industries VF-11E Thunderbolt," he paused for effect. "I could bog you with details, but so far I will tell you this much, she is ages beyond the airbreathers you were flying a week ago and far more mobile than any Mech you ever seen."

Eisenach's eyes zeroed in on one of the trainees: Francine Emerson. She was the exception to the lot, she wasn't part of the militia air wing but a MechWarrior, but she also had the qualifications of a military pilot, actually, she was the only one in the militia with both mech and ASF qualifications.

She was almost inexpressive; her steel hued eyes looking back without looking at him, though that last comment had caused her eyes to shift for a second.

"In the coming weeks you will learn everything there is to know about the Thunderbolt, Variable Fighters are unlike anything you have ever flow and speaking of which, you will also have to unlearn a lot of habits, good and bad, that you learned flying conventionals. But make no mistake; if you make this transition you will be joining an elite group of men and women."

Eisenach smiled to himself, the militia had high hopes on Emerson and not without reason, her dossier read like something out of a recruiting vid, perfect scores, perfect judgment calls, and very, very skilled. She wasn't blooded, yet: she had been too young to take part in the defense against last raid, and the local militia had done jack squat during the recent event, though that was mostly because the Spacy had interrupted the pirate's plans with their Dynamic Entry.

She had the drive and ambition and, in her CO's opinion, also had the right stuff. He was mildly impressed by her file and in the coming weeks he'd see how much of that was actually true.

For now, though, he wanted to see how far she, and all the other trainees, could go.

"Staff Sergeant Lopez will take you to your barracks," he said motioning towards a man in spacy field fatigues standing by the side of the troop, "But don't make yourselves too comfortable, First class starts at oh eight hundred in the Auditorium." He let a smile creep into his face.

"Dismissed!" he barked.


Fifteen minutes later Robert was entering his office, or rather, the office space. Vazquez field was coming along nicely, but it was still under construction and far from finished, that meant having to make sacrifices like sharing an office with his underlings.

His squadron, the Filibusters, had been the only one to dogfight with what the locals called AeroSpace Fighters and while it hadn't been a particularly intense fight, it was more than what the other squadrons involved could brag about. That had led the opfor teams to headhunt half of his command, the senior half to boot. Though it was probably an overreaction on his superior's part, like said before, it had been a very low intensity dogfight, especially with half the enemy flyers surrendering. He wasn't an expert on ASFs, not by a longshot, and neither were the rest of his squadron to be honest about it, however, a lot of brass wanted first hand recounts of the whole thing, especially with the armor and mass disparity involved in that furball.

The end result was that his squadron had been almost gutted.

Of course, Command had another assignment for him: the Council had decided to sell surplus T-bolts to the Wynn Roost Government and now the Wynn Militia was in need of pilots certified in Variable Fighters.

And guess whose responsibility was to turn the turn the militia into a variable force?

Though, it wasn't going to be an easy task in any shape or form. Command had provided what instructors they could spare: Eren Vister and Michiko Yoll, who were now at the auditorium preparing the first lecture. That, however, had still left quite a few slots open both of staff and additional instructors. Luckily he still had what remained un-poached of the Filibusters to fill in those roles. It wasn't an ideal match, but then again these were far from being the ideal circumstances.

"Boss, you're back!" came the all too happy for the hour voice of Miranda Cruz. He had known her for, at least, three years and where the petite redhead got her energy was still a mystery. She was, however, a diligent worker and a good pilot. Not good enough to serve as an instructor, she lacked the right mindset for it, and thus she was serving as his adjutant and general troubleshooter.

"How did it go?" she asked anxiously

"Think it went well enough, Miranda." He answered as he walked towards his desk. Though he did flash her a slim smile.

"Excellent, boss," she replied flashing a victory sign to him.

He nodded in reply and sat down. He had still some backlog of paperwork, electronic and otherwise, the latter in part to the Militia, to work though.

Miranda, in the meantime, headed back to her desk, sat on it and begun to fiddle with a datapad.

"Any news?" he finally asked his adjutant as he begun to dive into the forms.

"Well, supply came through with the paintball ammo, so we might be able to have some live fire duels as soon as the nuggets get up to speck."

"That is good to hear," Command preferred VR sims for most of the training, they were cheaper and easier on the machines and recruits, but Robert disagreed somewhat. The sim had its time and place, but nothing compared to real flight hours. Plus, the recruits under his care weren't rank amateurs; they were quite qualified in their own services.
In spite of their limited and somewhat primitive gear, the militia air force was a crack formation, filled with the best the locals could offer and the same went for the MechWarriors, they were the best and brightest Wynn's Roost could offer in the here and now.

That is not saying they were on the level, they certainly lacked the gear and the mentality, not to mention the battlefield experience, but they seemed to have the right stuff to excel and, now, it was his duty to make them fulfill their potential.

He blinked, that sounds way too much like something out of a recruitment vid, he thought.

He paused for a moment speaking of vids…

"Has command come through with the new sim data?" asked Robert.

"Not so far, boss, I've managed to talk to the chief researcher one Dr. Bonello. He let me know that it might take a few more weeks; they are still combing through the ASFs warbooks and processing it into our systems and that simply takes time," replied Miranda with a frown, "well, that was what he said, at least." She added, defensively.

"Bonello said that?" he hummed, "That is not good, we are on a schedule here," he frowned and paused for a second, in though, "Do this: tell him I need only a few models to begin with, nothing too fancy, perhaps a few of those 'light' Centurions or something in the same ballpark to play aggressor. If he tries to give you the walk about, hint him that you have a case of Armatta-5 to spare."

Miranda raised an eyebrow, "You have a case of Armatta to spare, Sir?"

He Grinned. Armatta-5 was a liquor that hydroponics ships sometimes produced on limited runs. A dark bitter liquid, with a slight fruity taste, that was naturally aged up to five years in wooden casks (nobody was quite sure where the crews had gotten the casks from, though or if they really existed). It was quite a luxury by fleet standards, where space was always at a premium, and a bit of an acquired taste.

Miranda nodded and matched his grin, "Sure thing, boss, but why the insistence on the ASFs, if I may ask?"

"Well, they are our most likely foe, short term. I know that we could wait a few weeks while we get the nuggets airworthy on the T-bolt, but I want to start with combat drills as soon as possible. That and they would make excellent attitude checks for the more adventurous of our trainees and even for us." Eisenach finished with a grim smile.

"That sounds reasonable, boss," replied a pale faced Miranda, "but it might be a tad too much for the t-bolts, I mean those flying bricks are something else and as much as I trust in the T-bolt, well, I'd rather we field something heavier against them or even using dronespam." She finished with a sour look on her face. It was proof of the resilience and danger that the ASFs represented that lead to a career fighter jock to consider the use of drones.

Drones were becoming more and more the backbone of the Spacy's air arm, it hadn't been true for the 53rd, but it had been, or rather would have been, only matter of time. Drones outperformed any VF, with the possible exception of the vaunted Evolution, by quite a margin. They were cheaper, easier to operate and didn't have a fragile human at the controls which meant no need to write a letter to next of kin if it was shot down or be limited to what Gs a pilot human could take.

Some people saw a lot of potential on the drones, hell, there had been talks of even replacing all VFs with drones.

The Sharon Apple Incident put that idea to the ground, luckily, since it had showed some serious weakness in the nature of such thoroughly automated systems.

That led to a third school of thought, the midway path: drone augmented squadrons, which was what the 53rd wanted to implement, eventually.

But that had been before the incident, and there were quite a few voices that insisted that it wasn't the best of times to experiment in doctrine or technology, not quite yet.

Robert shook himself from the mental reverie and sighed, "I agree," he finally replied with equal distaste. "But you are getting carried away, let's stay with the program: we are teaching the militia to fly VFs and to survive on the VFs. With luck the guys upstairs will come up with a new upgrade package or a better gunpod, or something, to narrow the right between the T-bolt and the local opposition but for the time being, we are it. That is why I wanted the Filibusters with me in this one, as short as it was; we are the only ones with real live experience against those tough sonsofbitches," he added for her benefit.


February 1st 3040

Wynn's Roost

Vazquez Field

Francine Emerson cursed under her breath as she ducked a volley of auto-cannon fire with her Thunderbolt.

Her Vf-11 kneeled for a second before launching itself again towards the next bit of cover all the while responding with her gunpod at the enemy VFs. She wasn't really aiming these shots, though, just trying to suppress the enemy till her wingman, Gustav Losteau, got into position.

That was the key here.

Honestly, she was having second thoughts about playing decoy. Sure it made sense, she was the better than Losteau in the VF, particularly in the Mech form, but he was taking his sweet time to do his part and, boy, were those burst getting close.

Well, at least they weren't facing off Mechs: that particular sim had been a pain in the ass and brutal to boot.

Carefully she eyed her scanner, they were trying to pin her in a pincer move. She cursed, she needed out of this particular cover, ASAP.

Eying the next terrain feature, a cardboard cutout in the shape of a house, she nodded. It was loser, and launched her machine towards it, top speed.

Halfway, she felt the tone of a lock on. On instinct, she sent her machine in a dive narrowly avoiding the streams of bullets that had followed soon after, or rather, avoided most of it.

"Left leg damaged, armor compromised, actuator compromised. Leg disabled," the computer monotoned as a small pop up showed a few bits of data on the damage itself.

She cursed, twisted the machine and flipped it on its back, finally coming to stop on the 'house' itself. That was it, it was over, but she wasn't going down alone.

Swearing she zeroed in on the lead VF and opened fire with the gun pod sending several streams worth of ammo towards it.

The enemy Thunderbolt was caught in the open; sure of its kill the green pilot hadn't expected a counterattack of any sort and had assumed Francine to be down for the count.

He now had the head turret completely covered in paint.

That, on the other hand, didn't stop its wingman from opening fire and splattering her machine's chest plate with paint.

Of course, that victory was short lived: Losteau, now in position, opened fire against the exposed back of the enemy VFs and dispatched them in short order.

Victory, of the Pyrrhic kind.

"Armor Breached, direct hit on cockpit, pilot maimed, Machine disabled," droned the computer and then all went dark in the cockpit for a second before she entered observer mode.


The Hangar was one of the largest buildings in the base, it was meant to house and maintain a squadron of twelve VFs. It was a plain, well lit building that still smelt like new, of moved earth, cement and fresh paint.

It had only been finished a month ago, after all.

The Four T-bolts were now standing in their battroid configuration in their respective bays, surrounded by the access and maintenance gantries.

They were covered in paint, grime and dirt of the day's excitement.

Assembled in the ground before them, the four pilots were standing at attention before Commander Eisenach.

Hacksaw had a guarded expression as he looked at each of the four trainees, trying his best to go for the 'intimidating figure of authority' role.

"Today you had your first taste of real combat ops in the Eleven. Not bad, not good either and you are the best of your class at sims. I expected better out of you, and will expect more of you four from now on. Understood?"

"Yessir." The trainees replied in unison.

'Hacksaw' paused for a moment before continuing, "Losteau, Roberts, Fergusson, you are dismissed; Emmerson, stay behind a moment."

After a sharp yesssir, three of the trainees saluted and withdrew while Francine, for her part, stood firm at attention.

She didn't have to wait for long, once her fellow trainees were out of earshot, the Commander looked straight at her.

"At ease Lieutenant," once she was Eisenach continued, "Tell me, Lieutenant, what did you do wrong today?"

"Sir?"

"You became a statistic, Lieutenant, that in itself is not wrong, especially this early into training, but the why you became statistic is." He deliberately empathized that last word for effect.

"Sir, I…" she tried to interject, looking a bit lost.

"Let me finish, Lieutenant," interrupted the commander, "you took a gamble, broke off your wingman and went off as decoy while he doubled back. That might be doable in a mech, maybe," he, again, empathized the last word, "but in a VF? That is the kind of recklessness that will get you and your wingmates killed. Make no mistake. Of course," he let a slim smile sneak into his face, "your idea was not without merit, at least from an intellectual point of view, and your skill in the cockpit is acceptable, but you will have to beat your bad habits, like abandoning your wingman, understood?"

"Yessir," she acknowledged.

"Good." He nodded.

"May I speak freely, Sir?" asked the Lieutenant after a moment of silence.

"Of course," came her superior's quick reply

"Sir, why am I being singled out?" she asked, her voice firm and even.

"Because you have potential Lieutenant, you know this, the Commanding General know this and made it very clear to me. Myself? I have some doubts about you, but I want to see your potential realized, not squandered, and for that we are going to make sure to keep you alive and your bad habits curbed. Understood?"

"I… yes.. I- Thank you Sir." She snapped after hesitating for a moment.

"Good. Dismissed."


February 9th 3040

Wynn's Roost

Vazquez Field

It was well past midnight at Vazquez Field and Francine Emerson was the burning midnight oil.

It all was Gustav's fault, in her opinion. It was he who made the offhand comment, though, it was her who had put two and two together and, like always, the punishment of a job well done was another, tougher job.

She returned to her age old habit of munching onto the end of her pencil. The paper needed to be delivered in electronic format, as was the custom of the Spacy, but she wasn't comfortable enough with the computers to make it all in one, plus paper and pencil helped her think.

The thing was that the Thunderbolt was an amazing machine; it was sleek, fast and reliable. But it was light, lighter than any mech or ASF she knew of either personally or though the warbook. That reflected on the weapon load-out: it was a bit on the anemic side and while it punched above its weight class, it simply wasn't enough; especially if the enemy decided to field heavy or assaults.

Sure, enough Thunderbolts would bring down even the mightiest of mechs, eventually, but at a cost, but the same thing could be said of any weapon system known to man.

The Barrier System changed the equation somewhat; it was capable of no-selling DEWs and making a mess of things for most other weapons, assuming the disk zeroed in properly. Course, the disk could only be in one place at the time, so in firepower heavy scenarios it meant relying on the SWAG armor which, while not ablative, wasn't all that tough and while it could let a VF to, more or less, ignore machine-guns, class 2 ACs and most missiles barrages, it was paper thin.

The bottom line was that it was too light and too flimsy compared to SL tech or even to the remnants they or, more worryingly, that the pirates had or could have.

That lightness of armor actually made sense; The VFs were made for fighting the Giants, the Zentraedi, not SL remnant equipped pirates.

And it wasn't like anyone here was suggesting to take the T-bolts against the pirates, at least not offensively.

Not as they were, not even with Shinsei's hypothetical F series upgrade, since it was mostly an avionics upgrade, hoping to fit in an improved ECM suite that could render it invisible to the standard sensor packages mounted in most BattleMechs, ASFs and other platforms while also fixing a few other minor things that would increase the competitiveness of the machine.

Bottomline? Even with that hypothetical upgrade it would still have a very thin armor with APA coated super parts and still very vulnerable to the Mk I Eyeball. Something any pirate smart enough, skilled enough or even lucky enough could exploit.

And then Gustav Losteau had to open his mouth and made that offhand comment. They had been training in Armored Thunderbolts as part of the program to familiarize themselves with all the options for the T-bolt.

The Armored pack T-bolt were normally utilized by spec. ops or as close in, essentially last line defense, for the fleet. It was thrice as heavy, while still maintaining agility above its weight class and an impressive array of weapons that would pause even heavy BattleMechs.

It was embarrassing that she had needed Gustav's input to put two and two together.

"It would make a dandy mech."

Indeed.

And once the idea hit, well, the commander had been impressed enough he had requested for her to draft the proposal.

Of course, it wasn't just to use the armored battroid as a mech: that would have been wasteful and borderline stupid, though it might do in the short term. No, the idea was much grander than that, it was to use them as basis for a mech design. Perhaps a bit heavier, perhaps a bit slower and for sure using the Standard plate the Spacy had dubbed APA as armor instead of the SWAG system, or even better the composite APA/SWAG that some of the UN Engineers had proposed.

She looked down at her thoroughly munched pencil and at her current notes.

She still needed a name for the machine. Oh sure odds where that a committee somewhere would veto it and replace it with something more 'politically savvy' but Dandy Mech had a ring to it.


February 10th 3040

Wynn's Roost System

Emerald Isle Station

The Emerald Isle Station was a brand new feature of the Wynn System. Like all Emerald Class Stations it was a prepackaged modular facility meant to be deployed by the pathfinding fleets, like the 53rd, on the worlds being prepared for colonization.

Normally placed in the Lagrangian points, this one had been deployed in geosynchronous orbit over Wynn's Roost's Startown due to the destructive emergence wave associated with KF travel and the fact that most Lagrangian points made for excellent pirate points as the locals called the additional emergence points besides the Solar Nadir/Zenith duo.

It was a mid-sized frontier station, as the Spacy measured such things, meant to support and service of colonial defense fleets during the early years of a colony, coupled with the construction capability of over a dozen unpressurized yards capable of putting together up to Northampton class ships every three months, give or take a few days, each. It also had the industrial capability to support that construction, though at the moment it was building a more modest, but equally important, array of vessels: system barges, mining ships, transport ships and other midscale crafts to support the deployed industrial vessels.

They were relatively cheap, ubiquitous and inexpensive and were starting to trawl the local spacelanes in an ever increasing number; Construction was limited only by the speed new crews could be trained. Luckily, the Wynn's by and large liked the idea of being spacehands, they tended to like most things that were UN related these days.

For Buford Lopez it had all being rather educational. The Taurians did some limited asteroid mining, but even they lacked the level of infrastructure these people were laying down in and around Wynn's.

It was not only a matter of mass, but of speed. Of course the Bulls didn't have anything like the massive Three Star, the Fortune Eight, to chug out infrastructure like it was going out of fashion. Hell, he was sure the Star League didn't have anything on that ballpark either.

They were rather free about information too. Maybe because they wanted to butter them up, he knew they did, but it didn't feel like the only reason, besides it felt more like a societal quirk than a staged scenario.

His crew's mood was still rather guarded. They had been on the run for quite a while and the idea of laying low in the wastes hadn't really panned as expected. First there had been that close encounter with pirates and then they had that fateful meeting with the Wolf. That had done a number of their world view.

Was doing and would be doing for the foreseeable future too.

So maybe Guarded wasn't the right word, shock was more like it.

Yes, shock.

When they had arrived in system and had been surpised by the amount of vessels moving to and fro. It didn't compare to Galax or any of the important systems of the inner sphere, but it was noteworthy, especially once they learned how recent it all was. It was further proof of how different these UNers were.

After their Emergence into the Nadir point, they had been directed first towards Wynn's L5 planetary point. A second jump that, thanks to Descartes ground breaking method, only took four days to charge and then they had been invited to dock with the Emerald Isle station.

Part of his instincts had rebelled at the idea: leaving the pirate point felt like resigning their getaway card. But the truth the UNers could track JumpShips in hyperspace, if they wished them ill, any escape options they had, save scenario 33, which was little more than a glorified collective suicide, were an illusion.

So he had accepted the invitation, on the caveat that their docking bay would be only accessible to the crew of the Lucretia and whomever they vetted. The UN agreed almost immediately, which showed he could have, and should have, asked for more.

Conditions aside, it had been an offer they could not refuse, the Lucretia was in dire need of some yard time and the crew could have used some R&R: laying low in the Outworld Wastes had been far more engaging than what Buford imagined, expected or desired.

That had been almost two months ago. Most of the crew had stayed with the ship: there was simply too much work to be done. A few had ventured down to the planet or to other ships in system, tours had been offered to these ships and to the Dyson herself. He himself had refused, too much to do, too much to oversee and too much paperwork to catch up, but some of his people had accepted visiting the massive WarShip and its city.

A city inside a warship. Who would have though? he mentally added with a bit of mirth. It was quite the idea

Of course, the residential blocks within the Emerald isle Station, he had been informed, were similar to the Dyson's 'city'.

The station's Residential and Recreation section, named Eire, for a reason that eluded the JumpShip captain, had been an eye opener. The Gravity he had expected. the holographic sunrise and sunset? That had hadn't.

Still, he wasn't one to look too closely to a gift horse in the mouth (just enough to make sure it was a horse and that no Greeks were inside)

The illusion of planetside had been impressive, even the smells were different. Sure, it was still canned air, but between the plants and trees (young but growing fast) and other details, it had resulted in a different taste to your regular recycled air. Not quite planetside but far more satisfying than any kind of bottled air he had experienced.

A pleasurable experience, all told, and one that had given the crew of the Lucretia some much needed downtime without the need of actually going down to the planet.

Right now he was in their dock's observation deck with the rest of the core officers of the mission. The O-deck still smelled of new, it was mostly empty, though it was obvious the place was intended to serve as a bar or a café of some sort, with the large observation port showing towards the dock itself, and the Lucretia.

A few work drones could be seen zipping to and, if you knew where to look, you could clearly see crew in pressure suits doing some work on the hull of the unique JumpShip.

It was an imposing view, in Buford's opinion.

Casting his thoughts aside, turned towards the table they were using for their impromptu conference and gave a meaningful glance at the other presents: his XO, Robert Bannson, the Chief Engineer, Descartes Clarke and the Chief Scientist, Frederich Von Glott.

"I think we have put it off for too long, so let's begin this meeting with the chief reason we are all here: what we are going to do next." He said matter of factly.

Slowly, Descartes and Frederich eyed one another before Frederich made a small nod. Descartes acknowledged him with a nod of his own and stood up.

"We've talked things with Frederich, and we believe there is a treasure trove of knowledge to be exploited here. The tentative feelers we've sent were well received and reciprocated." His voice was even and cautious, but there was a certain zest beneath it.

"That is interesting, they are willing to share their tech?" asked Bannson from his chair. He had his arms crossed and there was a pensive frown on his face.

"To a point, I believe," replied Frederich, with his slight Steiner accentuated common, "though it is probably going to be less share and more trade, but my colleague is right, there is a lot we can learn here, including a whole new take to KF physics, something that would be above and beyond the Count's wildest dreams."

"That assumes the Authorities will be in agreement with their intelligentsia," quipped Robert.

"Indeed," interjected Buford in his deep voice, "though from what I've talked to the Admiral, I think the Authorities might be willing to allow some trade, especially given with their offer of fitting the Lucretia with that Grav plating of theirs," he paused for a moment, his expression getting bitter, "that is, assuming they will let us go."

They all frowned at that.

"Well, I've been reading about their society, and have made even a few trips to the Dyson," noted Descartes, they all knew of his trips to the flagship of the fleet, it had left a profound impact on the Chief Engineer, "And I think they have a rather open society, far more open that you will find in the sphere, though I am not saying that there won't be underhandedness on their part: I just feel it would be unlikely to be on the level of a Successor State. Besides, I think the future of the sciences is here."

"A bold Claim," stated Buford.

"Yes, it is, and yet I feel I am understating things." Descartes elaborated, "We have recovered a lot of knowledge that has been lost since the fall of the League, Helm Core aside, we have also broke new ground in a number of fields, which is why we are in C* list." Descartes paused for effect.

They all nodded in agreement.

"But these people represent a different angle of approach to a lot of the same problems and to new problems we haven't even begun to consider. Yes, the opposite applies as well, we have a different angle and so on and so forth, But," the Chief engineer said empathizing that last bit "they also had access to something we thought impossible, a precursor civilization, one that from what I've read spanned the galaxy." They had been very open with that bit of knowledge and the knowledge about the Galactic Civil war. It could have been an act, but to what end? And why take all the effort to do so?

Buford shook his head; it wasn't the time nor the place for that train of thought.

"And yet imploded much like the Star league did," commented the Captain. Sure there were differences, no figure like Amaris to speed things up, as far as they knew, but by and large the circumstances were suspiciously similar, at least to an amateur like him with only access to the more common part of the tales.

"An all too human failing, and changes things very little," responded Descartes, "it is obvious their understanding far surpassed that of the Star League at its peak, even of the things the Hegemony kept from the rest of us, I'll wager."

"Don't take that Wager," sharply interjected Frederich.

They all shared a small laugh at that.

"That doesn't explain why we haven't found any evidence of these Zentradi or the Supervision Army or the Stellar Republic." Countered Robert.

"And with reason, an Armageddonic war like the one waged, being waged," Descartes corrected himself, "would leave little in the way of ruins and we need to keep in mind how little of the galaxy we haave actually explored. Besides, there is no way of knowing for certain that nobody has ever found proof, or that they lived to tell the tale." He added with an unusual grimness.

"I think that we are going a bit off topic here," interrupted Buford while Frederich nodded in agreement.

"Sorry captain," echoed both Robert and Descartes.

"Good, so, what are our plans then?" asked Buford.

"I think we should invest in the planet here," commented Frederich.

"You want to set up shop here?" cautiously asked the XO.

"I wouldn't say set up shop, completely, but setting up a branch of IU wouldn't be outside of our mission and would be, I think, in our best interests and those of our benefactor."

"We would still need to let the Count know about this and get his approval," noted Buford.

"We are a few months away from our HPG network and given Angin Muerto…" trailed off the XO, "Though, we could present him with a fait accompli," he tentatively added after a second of silence.

"That's right, Boss," added Descartes, "I mean, ComStar has had a very lucky streak tracking us this last year."

"That is a fair point, their success is worrisome and do keep in mind that setting up the branch office would be laying low in the wastes, after a fashion," agreed Frederich.

"Plus the Count had told us to keep our eyes open for any opportunities we might come across," commented Robert, arms crossed over his chest.

"I see, unanimous too. Good, I agree with you three. Now it is a matter of figuring which is the best way to inform our Boss of this development," Buford said with a slim smile on his face, "and about that, I have an idea." And the smile morphed into a full on grin.


February 16th 3041

Wynn's Roost

Rask Village

Helena Hollis was ready to climb walls from the nerves. Today had to be it.

Yes, today, she told herself, totally not like yesterday, today.

She had finished the prep school and given her exam. Of course, now it seemed that had been the easy part, compared to the waiting.

She was in her house's living room, sitting by the window, with a datapad by her side, trying, and failing, to distract herself from the current situation with a the Tales of the Valkyrie: a recompilation of stories from Space War One.

"Honey? Are you okay?" asked, Monica Hollis in a motherly tone as she approached her daughter.

"I… maybe?" her daughter replied, still looking at the window, "Don't know."

"Oh, honey, don't worry, everything will be all right, you'll see." She said, warmly, as she embraced her still sitting firstborn from behind.

"Mom," Helena half wined, half complained. It felt embarrassing when her mom did that.

But any further complain on her part died the moment she saw old man Lazarus, the town's mailman.

She felt a sudden weight grow in her guts as the old man did his rounds.

Slowly he stood in front of the Hollis house, all too slow, he removed something from his satchel and placed it in the mail box.

Helena didn't hesitate, she simple shoot off towards the door. She probably established a new land record, or so it felt to those who bore witness to the event, except old man Lazarus, he complained of being almost bowled over by a projectile of the Hollis kind.

Helena gripped tightly to the letter. Yes it was from the Dyson Institute. And she started feeling the pounding of a drum in her ears.

Slowly she opened the letter.

Frank Hollis was in his workshop by the house, when he heard it, he was working on a new cupboard for a client, a fleeter to boot; it was the unmistakable whooping shout of his firstborn.

He sighed. He still wasn't happy with the path Helena wanted to choose. Sure it wasn't the militia, but…

He heard the rapidly approaching footfalls and steeled himself, putting down his tools and prepared his best smile. He had his doubts, but it was his daughter's accomplishment and he was going to be happy for her, even if he'd rather have her working besides him.

He steeled himself.

The door snapped open, and the Hollis projectile came straight at him and almost tackled him over with a hug.

"IdiditIdidItImin!" she machinegunned so fast it was virtually impossible to figure out the words.

He hugged her back and smiled.

Ok, so maybe he was more than a little proud and the smile came easier than he expected.

His wife was standing in the doorframe with a smile and an 'I told you so' expression on her face.

He laughed; well perhaps Lucas would be interested on the family craft. Then again he too had been playing with nothing but that new toy plane of his.

It didn't matter at the moment, now it was Helena's moment.

"I am proud of you, kiddo," and he meant it too.


February 18th 3041

Wynn's Roost System

UNS Dyson, Dyson City

Neeka looked at the small room she was in. it was still very bare: Her bed, a far more comfortable affair than the one in the barracks, her desk, made of real wood and a single poster, that of a old VF-1 Valkyrie, dominated the walls.

She was sitting at her desk, working on the holoscreen of her computer, its background dominated by a hummingbird. A strange bird native to Earth, she had learned, small, fast and very, very pretty.

She smiled, life was good, the Ishimura's were good people, they were almost like… she struggled for a second looking for the right word: family, a faint voice added in her mind.

She was now Neeka Ishimura, and it felt good. Better than being just a number.

There was a knock on the door.

"Neeka, may I come in?" it was the voice of Martha, her foster parent. It was a weird word, but nice too. They were still getting to know one another, Her, Martha and Rodger, who was Martha's Husband, another weird term she was getting used to. By and large she liked both of them, Martha was warm and welcoming and she was a clone too. Rodger, he knew less, he worked in one of the ship's foundries and spent less time at home, but he made her laugh, and that was an emotion she really, really liked.

"Sure" she replied as she saved the paper she had just completed. She was learning a lot each day and would need to learn quite a lot more before the week was done.

The door opened and Martha entered the room with a tray in her hands.

"I brought you tea," smiled the older woman as she moved towards Neeka.

Tea was a bit of an acquired taste, but Neeka had come to the conclusion she liked that infusion, particularly the one called Earl Grey.

"I, Thank you, Martha," She replied with a matching smile and a small nod.

"Dearie, it was a pleasure." Matha commented as she put down the try on the desk, "so, how is the study going?"

Neeka blushed a bit, she wasn't sure why, though. "It is going," she admitted lamely, "I think I will make it in time."

As part of their integration to the fleet, she had been assigned to attend school, it was an interesting concept, but very weird, in her opinion.

"Why can't we simply download the knowledge and be done with it?" she asked Martha, after a moment of contemplation.

"Dearie, that is a tough question," there was a bitter expression in the older woman's face, but she cast it of quickly, "but the truth is that having knowledge and knowing are two different things. We can download knowledge, but knowing, wisdom," she empathized, "can only be acquired though learning. There are no shortcuts." She gravely added, before breaking into a new smile, "besides, you'll make bonds this way and those are as important as wisdom or knowledge." She concluded

Neeka blinked, twice, but nodded. She was still unconvinced, but would accept the wisdom of a superior, at least for the moment.

"Speaking of which, we should go buy your uniform today."

"Oh, right!" that sounded grand, she liked uniforms, they made her happy for some reason.


February 20th 3041

Wynn's Rook System

UNS Fortune Eight

The Three Star industrial Ships were the industrial backbone of any Spacy fleet. That was something newly minted Commodore Thaddeus Mitchelson knew very well. They were massive ships, built around a colossal OverTechnology Reactor so powerful that the back-up heat dissipation system was a massive radiator fin of fifteen Kilometers of length, almost three times longer than the ship itself.

And yet, each Three Star was unique: the cluster of factories that surrounded the main reactor were built as needed resulting in a ship where no member of it class was identical to one another, neither on size nor mass.

The Three Stars themselves weren't only factory vessels, they had a sizeable civilian section were the workers and their families lived in relative comfort. At least that was the case for the 53rd, where most ships were well below capacity and that meant the allotted personal space for the crews or passengers were somewhat relaxed to what one might find in, for instance, a Colony Fleet.

Of course, Thaddeus was cursing about that these days. While it was good for morale it also meant they had less qualified workers and while they were training new hands as fast as they could, there were bottlenecks starting to appear and there was no easy solution to that problem. Training new personnel took time and resources, which included the instructors.

Slowly he looked at the gantry in the pressurized bay. The massive shape of a mostly complete OverTechnology Reactor dominated the drydock. It was the core of the second Three Star they planed launching. The other one had been launched a day before, though calling it a Three Star was a vast exaggeration, the common nomenclature for the brand new ships of the class was One Star, unofficial as it were.

He turned towards the chief foreman, Adel Vost according to the nametag on his jumpsuit, who himself was busy with a small datapad.

"Foreman Vost, how is the schedule for the… Lucky Seven?" he said struggling with the suggested name of the new ship

"Perhaps another month, sir, we are a bit short on some critical, nothing serious, but with the manpower reassignments, well, production is a bit behind schedule across the board," he admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

That was an endemic problem they were having these days, in part due to Wynn's apprentice system, in part because they had only so many hands for too many jobs and finally because they were under a pressure to grow their industrial capabilities due to the Code Zulu.

In short, it was a mess, not a terrible mess, but a mess none the less and it was his duty to figure out a way to fix it, bonus points for pulling a solution from thin air.

"I understand, foreman," he paused looking at the worker exos in free fall outside the observation deck, "What about the production quotas?"

"That is more or less within schedule," replied the foreman with a shrug.

"Good to know," he frowned, "what about the R+D Teams?" While most of the teams were doing reverse engineering rather than groundbreaking research, they were also Thaddeus hope for the future.

"Well, that is another matter; they seem to be doing mostly fine, except the team working on the new prototype destroid. It seems they have found a hurdle."

Thaddeus blinked. That was an interesting, if alarming, news. The new prototype Destroid, officially called Jupiter, was little more than a modified Armored T-bolt with very few additional bells and whistles. It was a remarkable idea, something that, as far as Thaddeus was concerned, hadn't been attempted before. Best of it was that the idea was 100% local, which was a nice bonus, since it showed that the Wynns could pull their own weight in this alliance they were crafting.

The new machine promised to be cheaper than their mainline destroids, like the Cuirassier, faster too and would be designed from the ground up in the new layered composite, which was fast becoming his pride and joy. On the other hand it would be more fragile and would have less endurance than .

Rodger Locatelli, the Marine CO and Geoff Kuong were, never the less, very interested in the "new" machine for their own reasons; of course it still needed to pass the trials first, but if it did odds were it would be entering service in both branches as soon as they could retool any of the leftover Thunderbolt lines in the Fortune.

"Do you know what the hurdle is?" he asked the Foreman, in a neutral tone.

"I understand they were having some issues with balance in one of the prototypes," the man clarified, "the number 3, from what I understand"

"That's the one with the redesigned reactor, right?"

"Yep," acknowledged the Foreman.

That one was the most ambitious design and the one Thaddeus was less thrilled about.

Part of the attractive of the Jupiter was that they could use some of the Thunderbolt assembly lines they had shipped planetside to the WS Group, or whatever Shinsei was calling itself now.

Any added modification over the base model would mean extensive work on those lines and, the more it needed to be done, the more expensive and time consuming it would be to produce the new Destroid which, in turn, would make it less attractive both for the producer and for the buyer.

Not exactly his business to fix, the teams were a private endeavor that reported to the UN, but it was probably the best option they had for a quick fix Combat Destroid and he did have some stock of Shinsei in his portfolio.

"There are always teething issues," Thaddeus finally replied the senior engineer, "Especially when you have the attention of the top on you." It wasn't as if there was a pressing deadline on the prototypes, nobody expected them to be part of Tripoli, but with the Marines, the Army and the Militia interested there was bound to be a certain pressure on the Shinsei teams.

"Quoted for truth," replied the foreman replied the foreman with a slight smile.

Thaddeus shook his head, but smiled, it had been some time since he had heard that particular term.

"What about the MBR-12Bs" he said referring to the up armored Cuirassier model. That one was a far less ambitious design: just a replacement the armored shell with the new schema and presto. No need for a complex rebalances of the machine, at least anything that couldn't be done in an afternoon. No need for a redesign of the guts or the removal of the transformation actuators, which, now that he thought about it, could be what was impacting on the balance of the prototype.

"Well, that one should be entering limited production runs next week and, if all is right with the processes, we should see full scale production in two."

Thaddeus nodded and relaxed a bit. The 12b was going to be in production for a limited time. It was, after all, a stopgap model for the new formations, much like the refit packages for the base variant and would be superseded by a new model perhaps a year or two down the road.

It would probably be a Curiassier too, a bit bigger, a bit heavier, a bit more powerful and far more expensive but BattleMechs took a lot of killing. The Star League didn't follow the glass cannon approach to things that the Zentradi did and odds were the Destroid would have to be the main weapon in any engagement against the Successor States and their Battlemechs.

Still these research projects, basic as they were, would be the preparation for something far grander, assuming he could convince Thomes to allow him, Shinsei and RookGal to work on the Evolution data they had.

There was no two ways about it, the Evolution was a game changer and like all game changer it would take a lot of research to get it to the production line. But he was sure it was the only real response against the flying bricks the locals called Aerospace Crafts and it would be an ugly surprise against most BattleMechs too.

Plus he really wanted to take his shot at designing an Inertial Store Converter.


February 24th 3041

Wynn's Roost

Aurora Training Depot

Mordecai Davies was a proud Wynn, he was also very proud of being part of this New United Nations. Two months ago he and his friends had decided to take the small trip to the local recruitment booth wishing they could join the Spacy. The Staff sergeant there had been most helpful, though he had mentioned that the Spacy wasn't recruiting quite yet, they still needed to set up the flight school, he had told them.

That had left them downcast and disappointed, but the Sergeant had provided them with an alternative. An alternative that in his opinion was almost as good, if not better.

They could join into the army, now, and then transfer to the Spacy branch at a later date, in the mean time they would get to drive Destroids, the UN version of the BattleMech, and new ones to boot. Sure they weren't VFs, the Sergeant had assured them, but with experience in heavy machines switching branches would have been a jiffy once the school was set up.

That had changed their demeanor and had all quickly agreed and signed up before the cheerful Staff Sergeant.

However, the rest of his friends didn't quite pass the exams and were now in an infantry training bootcamp on the other side of the planet.

He, on the other hand, had passed the testing and was now part of the 1st Armored Training Battalion, Charlie Company.

So far it had all being exercises and classes, and a lot of running, but today was the day they were meeting the training machines. He was so pumped up!

Sure, it wasn't one of those awesome transforming mechs he had seen at the airshow, but it was still a BattleMech and those were still chick magnets not to mention being beyond cool.

Still, he was going to miss this place once the flight school was set up and his transfer was accepted, which was something that should be happening any day now

Now, if only his squad mates wouldn't laugh when he told them of his plans. It was rude!

Colonel, formerly Captain, Roderick Van Hassen was very busy. His promotion had come with far more strings attached than what he could have expected. It had been a huge rank bump, though less in practice as he had been functioning as Major Rodriguez replacement for some time already.

Geoff had just formalized his rank and then promoted him again and gave him this new assignment of training raw recruits into Destroid Jockeys.

They were using a modified abridged method, trying to churn as many troops as fast as possible, or at least as fast as the factories could pump out new Destroids, but…

"Worried, sir?" asked his aide, interrupting his internal monologue. Lieutenant Gabin Fotch was standing by his desk with a datapad, probably containing a new stack of documents, all in electronic format but all in need of being reviews in duplicate, at least.

"I am, Gavin," he took the time to look away from his holoscreen and into one of the small windows of his office, "I think we might be cutting more corners than we should."

"Ah," the aide acknowledged as he placed the datapad on Roderick's desk, "Well, it might be a bit above my pay grade, but, it is not like we have many options in that department."

"Indeed, that only makes it worse." He replied pensively.

"If I may, sir," started the younger man.

Roderick rolled his eyes, his aide was a tad too much into protocol for his own good, "Speak freely,"

"Thank you sir," he replied almost instantly, "I think you are too concerned about this, sir. I understand the situation is less than ideal, but the abridged methods do work as intended and as I understand the rookies aren't going to be used as vanguard anyway."

"That, lieutenant, is how the theory works. The enemy seldom cooperates with us in that department. Yes, I understand the plan and, what might surprise you, I agree with it. But it still assumes too much, like most plans."

"So, will you be bringing this up in your meeting with the General?"

"Yes, I doubt I will get the time we need, but at the same time, it is the least I should do."


February 27th 3041

Wynn's Roost

Aurora Training Depot

The Earth started shaking as the Destroids begun their maneuvers. Large plumes of smoke begun to form, as the machines moved though the parade ground.

Modecai loved every second of it.

The Trainers, called Jackrabbits, were gray machines of humanoid configuration, ten meters tall and twenty tones of mass, far lighter than most Destroids, and somewhat shorter, but it handled the same as the Curiassier, he had learned. It made sense: a Jackrabbit was essentially a barebones Curiassier, sans armor.

It was their second day with the Jackrabbits, and he was starting to like them a lot. Sure they didn't transform nor did they fly but they had a presence about them.

He quickly put the machine through the paces, gunning it, slowly, to keep in line with the rest of the troop. The troop itself had a haphazardly feel to it they weren't exactly in line and, he was sure, the Sarge was going to shout at them, and soon, about it.

They had marched a lot in the past few months and now they were doing the same, but surrounded in twenty tons of steel and alloy.

It was harder and easier. He couldn't command the machine with his mind like the BattleMechs were supposed to, but he could fine tune commands with it if he concentrated. But by and large it needed no prompt from him; the computer was more than capable of keeping the machine on its toes and to fill the blanks of his movements. It was quite the darnest device, in his opinion.

There were several other differences from the BattleMech, the helmet was lightweight and unike the one from Immortal Warrior, the cockpit seemed to remain rather cool and instead of the wrap around system, at least that was how the UN was calling it, they had a whole holographic sheath that showed the full 360 degrees around the cockpit.

It was functionally the same thing, from what his instructors told him, but it was a different application of the same idea. Sure, he'd had to turn from time to time to check the back area, but between those checks and their sensor packages they more than made up for any waknessess the system might had in comparison.

"And Stop!" the Sergeant's voice thundered. "Face left!"

The Sergeant's machine, which had been running to the side of the troop, come to a stop and then turned towards them.

Mordecai herd the command and tried to do the same, only to be collided with by the machine behind his. A tribute to his fledgling skills, he managed to recover, avoid the fall, and, a few seconds later, he was facing towards his instructors. His fellow trainees, by and large, had managed to pull the stop, but...

Crud, they were going to be screamed at again, he thought.

A small holographic window popped up in the HUD showing the Drill Sergeant, none too pleased about the state of affairs.

"That was a disgrace of a maneuver," the familiar voice of the drill sergeant started, his tone was even, but Mordecai could feel the hostility in his voice, "We are going to do it again, and again, till you get it right. Understood?"

"Yes Drill Sergeant!" he replied without hesitating, probably echoing the rest of his troop. It was impossible to know.

He was so going to miss this place once the transfer came though…


February 28th 3041

Onverwacht

The Keep

Robert Goodyear Ecklerson III looked at the setting sun from his balcony. The last few months had been more than interesting. The disappearance of Santiguez band had thrown out the balance of power of Onverwacht out of the window.

There were a few very interesting theories of what had happened to Santiguez, most were complete bullshit, though. He hadn't died trying to raid the OWA, that was for sure. Robert would have known, he had a few moles in the OWA military and the government.

He sipped a bit from his brandy.

Besides, while Santiguez had been a bit of an idiot, he hadn't been suicidal. The OWA banked high on the ASFs to protect their worlds. Running a gauntlet of their pilots was a complex proposition and unlike Robert, the man lacked contacts in the OWA to let him know if it was safe.

He could have found a lost tech cache and sold it to the Successor lords, unlikely, the man wasn't particularly able and, after Helm, the lostech market was drying up.

Still, it had been his disappearance what had allowed him to seize control of the whole system, of becoming the true Pirate King of Onverwacht.

There had been obstacles in his way; he had do away Luscious and his Marauders, for one. Those drunkards had been more trouble than their worth, but very skilled MechWarriors. However, there were several ways of skinning a cat: a bit of opium in the cigars he had so generously donated to them and well… it had been one sided, just how he liked it.

Then it had been a matter of giving a few scraps off his table to the masses, and that had been enough to earn their devotion, at least for a while. But people were like that.

There were a few challenges in the horizon, though, a few disgruntled hands, aching for a nice fat plunder and a few old hands looking for their retirement fund, which meant planning a raid or two, and then there was whatever had happened to Santiguez.

That bugged him more than it should have.

In the meantime he was going to enjoy the perks of his new station.

He felt the soft hands of his current courtesan trail over his muscles.

He smiled.

It was a good life.


Well, this marks the end of Chapter Six. Again, I am going to have to request reviews out of you, whether you liked it or detested or even if you fall in between, I'd like to know what you guys think!

Also, bear with me for a few more chapters, the action is coming...