The Brotherhood of Battle
Chapter Seven – Hostile Negotiations
"There were a lot of questions asked that day, and plenty of unsteady alliances. Even more itchy trigger fingers, though. I'm telling you, if looks could kill, that IMC turncoat would be dead a hundred times over before he even set foot in the mess hall." - Cheng 'Bish' Lorck, Militia Technician
Jake came to with a loud ringing in his ears. He felt dizzy and disoriented as he opened his eyes to look around at his scenery. Lincoln's movements were groggy, as if he'd just woken up from a long nap, and Jake found it difficult to focus his vision on any one particular thing, but he attempted to shake off his fatigue as he tried to make out his surroundings.
It was dark. Very dark.
The only source of light was a very bright bulb shining directly on him from a high ceiling. The room was small, only slightly bigger than a standard prison cell. Plain white walls surrounded Jake on all sides, a black metal door being the only thing to break the monotony of the room.
As Jake stirred from his unsteady state, he attempted to stand, only to be held in place by restraints digging into his hands behind his back while he sat on a metal chair. The position was moderately uncomfortable, but he doubted the Militia were going to make life easy on him – not until he'd proven they could trust him.
Lincoln squinted as he tried to make out the details of his new surrounding, blinded by the bright light hanging above him, he could hardly see the room around him. He pulled against his restraints, but his efforts ended in futility and only served to cut into his wrists. He seethed as he felt a rivulet of his blood snake down his hand and drip onto the floor. The manacles were far too tight to grant him any wiggle room. Not that he wanted to free himself; Jake just wanted to be a bit more comfortable.
He still wore his IMC Pilot armour, but his helmet had been removed, as well as his B3 Wingman, both taken who-knows-where. He wondered if Spades' chip was still safely tucked inside his breast pocket, but Jake knew he wouldn't be able to reach it in his current position, hands shackled behind his back. Even if Lincoln could get it out, the chip wouldn't be of any use to him anyway without a Titan chassis.
Suddenly, the door in the corner of the room was pulled open, and three figures entered the room. They didn't speak; instead they watched Jake, gauging his response to their entrance. Lincoln didn't say a word, but flicked his gaze between the three figures frequently, wondering who they were.
"IMC piece-of-shit." Jake heard one of them mutter; deep and masculine.
"State your name, rank and intention." A different voice asked, female. Jake blinked before realising she was talking to him. He opened his mouth to speak.
"Jake Lincoln, Pilot First Rank..." He paused, searching for the right word, then smiled "...fun?"
"I like him already." The third figure sniggered, a deep Russian accent dripping through his chortles.
The female figure who had addressed Jake stepped forward from the shadows into the light. Sarah Briggs, one of the Militia's leading figures. A very high-priority target for the IMC. She stood before him, a pistol dangling from her waist.
"One of my Pilot's tells me that you boarded our dropship before it could take off, is that correct?" She asked him, the rhetorical manner of the remark not lost on Jake.
Jake nodded.
"He also tells me that, instead of trying to stop his Squad's escape, you surrendered."
He nodded again.
"Why?" She asked.
Jake was silent. It was a simple question, but it was more difficult to answer.
"They've killed people." Jake started, trying to begin a sentence that would explain sufficiently why he wanted to defect.
"The IMC has killed a lot of people, so have we. So what? That's war." Sarah pointed out.
"Let me rephrase; they've murdered people. Innocents, back at that village on the colony? It was a massacre, and they didn't even bat an eye. I don't want to become that."
"Become what?"
"A monster." He responded. "Someone who stands by and watches the wrath of evil men unfold onto those who don't deserve it."
"You sound less like a Pilot, and more like a philosopher." Sarah told him, a mark of disdain clear in her voice. "One of my chief engineers doesn't think you're worth keeping around. Actually, he doesn't even think you'd be worth the bullet that would go between your eyes." She gestured to the figure that had cussed at Jake. "He recommends that we should extract information from you, and then dump your body out of the airlock."
Jake swallowed, trying not to let this woman intimidate him.
"Whereas Vodnik over there," she thumbed at the other figure, a Pilot, "Well, he thinks that you've got guts, and if what he thinks about you is true, then you might get to live."
"And what is it that he thinks about me?" Jake asked, trying to prompt her to answer.
"He says you're a deserter. A traitor to the IMC, and your squad. He thinks you've got big ideas of joining the Militia. Ringing any bells?"
"Sarah-" The Militia Pilot tried to cut in, she just raised a silencing finger at him.
"I am a deserter, yes, that's true." Jake admitted, bowing his head in shame. "I defected. Betrayed my mentor, and cut all ties to the IMC. I guess you could call me a traitor, that's one way to put it."
"It's the only way I can think of putting it." Sarah interrupted, her tone cold and condescending. "Why? Can you think of another name that means 'someone who stabbed their allies in the back'?"
"Someone who woke up." Jake told her firmly, raising his head again and staring at her, dead in the eye. She almost stepped back. "Someone who opened their eyes and realised that the pedestal the IMC put themselves upon is built on the bodies of those they trampled over to reach the top. They've burned and murdered and snuffed out anyone who tried to stand up to them."
Sarah didn't break her gaze with the chained Pilot.
"I don't want that to be my role to play in the grand scheme of things. I refuse to be the puppet of some malevolent entity that wants to conquer and dominate the freedom of ordinary, innocent people." Jake finished. "I want redemption."
Sarah stared at him for a very long time. A full minute of silence crawled by the four men and women in the room. Eventually, the Russian Pilot behind her cleared his throat.
"Sarah, a moment?" Vodnik asked politely. She nodded and the pair left the room, leaving Jake alone with the mysterious figure that didn't seem to like him very much. He'd been the one who'd spoken ill of him when the trio had first entered the room.
Jake watched him silently as the figure paced to and fro. They didn't exchange any words, but Jake could practically feel the figure's fiery stare burning into him. If looks could kill, Lincoln would probably be a pile of ash right about now. Jake offered a small smile to him.
"So..." Jake sniffed, "what colour's your toothbrush?"
The man stopped pacing, caught off-guard by the question.
"What?" He replied.
"The colour? Of your toothbrush?"
"Shut up." The man growled.
"Christ, I'm just trying to make conversation, mate." Jake replied, exasperated.
VIIIIIV
"What's this about, Vlad?" Sarah demanded, rounding on him as soon as he shut the door to the interrogation room.
"I don't think we should kill him." He told her. Sarah pulled a face.
"Who said I was going to kill him?" She replied.
"Please." Vodnik scoffed. "I know that look. It's written all over your face. You're going to get whatever information you can out of him, and then eject him into space."
"So? It's one less IMC Pilot to worry about."
"But he's not IMC. Not anymore."
"How are you so sure?"
Vodnik shrugged.
"He took a big risk just getting onto the transport, probably had to fight or subdue other IMC personnel. I think he's got a legitimate reason to leave, don't you?"
Now it was Sarah's turn to scoff.
"An IMC Pilot just magically grows a conscience because of a few murdered civilians? When was the last time that happened?" Sarah addressed him with a harsh tone.
Vodnik swallowed a lump in his throat, and Sarah's face softened immediately.
"Vlad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"The point is," Vodnik cut her off before she could say more, "I was IMC as well. I defected, and you trust me."
"But you're different."
"How?"
She sighed, shrugging. "You just are. You had a reason to defect. As far as I can tell, he doesn't. Seriously, how often does an IMC – a Pilot at that – suddenly realise he's batting for the wrong side?"
"What's that old Earth saying? "Never look a gift horse in the mouth?"" Vlad asked her, deflecting her supposition. "Besides, with recent losses, we need every man we can get."
"They know that! The IMC!" She almost shouted. "What if they just sent him to spy on us? Evaluate our resources and tear us apart from the inside?"
"It's a risk we're going to have to take." He spoke at a calm and measured volume. "Listen, put him on my Squad. You find something to give me some leverage on him, and then if he betrays us; I'll kill him myself. How's that sound?"
Sarah pondered it for a while, weighing up her options.
"Fine." She caved. Vodnik smiled. "But what are we going to use as influence to keep him in line?"
"What makes a Pilot a Pilot?" Vodnik smirked.
"What?" She asked, confused.
"What separates a Pilot from every other unit on the battlefield?" He asked.
Sarah shrugged.
"A Titan."
She scoffed. "How the fuck could he smuggle a Titan onto the ship?"
"He couldn't, but I'll bet you anything that he at least kept the Operating System. I wouldn't leave Leonidas behind if I were the one switching sides."
VIIIIV
After a little while, Vodnik and Sarah came back into the room. She sighed and gestured for Vodnik to proceed. The Pilot promptly walked up to Jake, crouched down in front of him and looked him dead in the eyes.
"You're here to fight for us?" Vlad asked.
"Yes." Jake nodded.
"You want to redeem yourself, get back at the IMC for what they did to those innocent people?"
"Just point me at a target." Jake reaffirmed him.
"Then welcome to Bandit Squad." Vodnik told him, moving to go behind Jake's chair, unlocking the handcuffs that held him in place. "The name's Vladimir Zuyev. Or 'Vodnik', whichever is fine with me. Sarah doesn't trust you yet. You're ex-IMC, so you're not Militia in her eyes."
"But I am in yours?" Jake asked, rubbing his wrists as he was set free from his cuffs. Vodnik stood back up, nodding.
"Anyone who wants to stand up against the IMC is Militia in my book. If we're going to pull off what we've got planned, we're going to need every able body we can get."
Jake stood, stretching and cracking his bones to wear out the aching in his body.
"And what is it you're planning?"
Vodnik shared a look with Sarah.
"That is... classified. We don't know you, and for the moment, we do not trust you either. I am sure you understand?" The Pilot almost apologised.
"I get it. Compartmentalisation, and all that." Jake shrugged, then smiled. "I mean, I could be a spy for all you know, right? That's what you're worried about." He addressed that question to Sarah, who said nothing.
"You're saying you aren't?" Vodnik asked for her.
"I want to be here, sir." Jake replied, a stern truth to his words.
"Then you won't mind handing over your Operating System, if that is the case." Vodnik told him, holding out a palm.
"What?" Jake looked at him in shock.
"Your A.I. chip." Vlad dropped his voice to a whisper, so Sarah couldn't hear their conversation. "You want her to trust you? This is the first step." Vodnik assured him, under his breath.
Jake stared at his open palm for while, debating whether or not to hand him Spades, his only link left to his old life.
"I'll get it back?" He asked without looking at the other Pilot.
"We'll see." Vodnik told him.
Jake unzipped his breast pocket and dug inside to extract the A.I. chip, taking it out, he handed it over to the older Pilot with a nervous exhalation.
"Take care of him, yeah?" Lincoln asked.
"Of course. Now, come with me." Vlad instructed him, unlocking the door and guiding him through corridors and hallways.
Jake noticed that the environment wasn't unlike the Argonaut. Hallways that connected to dozens of doors, making Jake wonder where they lead. The structure was also very similar to the layout of the Argonaut, but somehow seemed smaller, as if the ship had been squashed down to fit into a smaller version of itself. The walls were grimy and rusted, and seemed weathered and aged.
"What is this place?" Jake asked.
"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet. Can't you tell? We scavenged it off some old friends of yours." Vodnik told him without looking back.
"This ship belongs to the IMC?" Jake asked, almost in disbelief.
"Belonged." Vodnik corrected. "Like I said, they didn't need it anymore, so we took it off their hands."
"You mean you stole it?"
"Oh, 'stole' is such a... harsh word." Vodnik replied. Jake could practically hear the smile on his face. "I much prefer the term 'liberated'."
"Right." Jake said.
"Don't worry, we didn't hurt anyone really. She was just sitting there, tethered to a low-orbit refuelling station a few years back. Occupied by a skeleton crew of engineers and scientists. It was a pretty simple swindle, really."
"Yeah, I've seen what you do to scientists." Jake muttered, thinking back to the outpost where he'd found the bodies of countless scientists and unarmed soldiers when he'd been a part of Goblin Squad.
"You're referring to some of our more... questionable operations, no?" Vodnik asked.
"You've done them?" Jake replied.
"I know about them, but my squad's never actually performed one. Big difference. I never carry out such morbid operations; it's a rule of mine. I have no intention of harming innocents, if I can help it. Even if they are affiliated to the IMC." Vodnik assured Lincoln. "In fact, Sarah usually hires mercenary groups to deal with the more questionable missions. Their morality is persuaded by credits, you see."
Jake nodded, but said nothing.
"So what's she called?" Jake asked.
"Oh, the ship?" Vlad chuckled. "Well, when she was IMC, she was some boring serial of numbers and letters. We changed that, seeing as she's fighting for us now." Vodnik turned to him, grinning like a madman.
"Her name isthe MCS Sparrow." Vodnik humbly told him, clearly proud of the ship he served on. "She's not the strongest, but she packs a decent punch. And she's fast, very fast."
Jake smirked, for all the wear and tear; she wasn't a half bad ship. The pride that Vlad obviously held for the vessel was evident in his expression, and Jake knew just from that, if nothing else, Vlad was a loyal man. Loyal to this ship, loyal to his Squad and loyal to the Militia. Vodnik turned, smiling. He looked at Jake's battered and scarred armour, his eyes roaming over it. He huffed.
"You'll need a change of armour. Having a Pilot on board sporting IMC colours won't fly well with the crew. Come on; let's get you to the armoury." Vodnik instructed him, guiding him further into the depths of the spacecraft.
VIIIIIV
"There you are." The quarter-master announced to the pair of Pilots. "It's all second-hand, I'm afraid, but it'll protect you from bullets long enough for you to make a difference."
A helmet; scratched and scarred like the rest of the impact-resistant armour it accompanied. Standard-issue Militia Pilot armour. Worn-in, and stinking of sweat, Jake inspected it with a keen eye. He'd already stripped from his IMC issued armour, trading it in for the Militia version. In his mind, it felt like a down-grade, but Jake was proud to sport the colours of the M-COR, ready to fight for a better Frontier.
"What's that?" Vodnik asked Jake, gesturing to the playing-card strapped by tape onto his new shoulder-guard.
"A memory." Jake confessed, deliberately vague.
Vlad raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"And the source of my callsign. Kind of." Jake smiled, remembering the card game that he had played with David and Miller early in his Pilot training.
"Do tell." Vodnik asked, prompting him to answer.
"Ace." Jake chuckled. "Goes along pretty well with my Titan OS. He's called Spades."
"Ace of Spades?" Vodnik nodded.
"You like it?" Jake asked.
"Da." He replied in Russian. "It has a nice ring to it. Come, there are a few people I would like for you to meet." Vodnik instructed, urging Jake to follow him.
Lincoln complied, holding his apparel in one arm, and his helmet under the crook of his other.
"You're Russian, right? I couldn't quite pin down your accent." Jake enquired, trying to make conversation.
"Not quite. I am not from Rodina – the Motherland. I come from a colony on the Outer Rim that is occupied by many of my people." He laughed, clearly happy to talk about his birthplace. "And you, Ace, where are you from?"
Jake smiled at Vlad's rough pronunciation of his callsign, and shook his head in amusement.
"I come from Earth." Jake replied.
"Ah, yes!" Vlad hollered. "The crown jewel! If I had known, I would've kissed your hand."
Jake laughed at the man's comedy. "A country called Great Britain. England, in particular. Ladies love the accent."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, we've been carefully bred to have it so that people think they can trust us. We're really quite charming, you know."
"I can tell. Perhaps you would like some tea and crumpets when we reach the galley?" Vodnik mocked.
Jake just smiled. By now, they had arrived at a door, slightly more out of the way, but Jake could guess why. If his experience with Hazard had taught him anything, as well as the similar layouts between the Argonaut and the Sparrow were anything to go by, then this was probably the barracks where the other members of Bandit Squad would be.
His new home.
Vodnik waved his hand over a motion-sensor, and the door slid up into the wall, revealing the room within. Similarly to Hazards bunk, this one was cluttered with various objects and memorabilia that all evidently pointed to the assumption that this was where highly-trained killing machines came to sleep and socialise. For now, though, the room was empty, Jake and Vlad being the only occupants.
It wasn't as well kept as the IMC version; disassembled guns were strewn across the floor. Pistols and rifles pieced apart, receivers, bullet casings and attachments were placed around the room in various stages of disassemble or reassemble. The IMC barracks where Jake had stayed had a very uniform ambience. Everything had had its place in the room, objects were neat and well-kept.
Whereas Bandit's barracks looked like someone had detonated a grenade in it, and hadn't bothered to clean up the mess.
Beds were pushed to the edges of the room; chalk sketching and blueprints were etched onto the floor. The walls were decorated with posters of half-naked women, as well as banners of the Militia on flags that hung from the ceiling – a mean-looking skull with glowing orange eyes and an eye-patch over one of its cavities.
Spray-painted murals were also plastered onto the wall above each bed. One of them was a slogan in Russian, with a silhouette of a woman and a child underneath against a plain white background. Another was of a skull, half covered by a gas mask. Yet another was a shattered beer bottle. The murals seemed to range from the frankly ridiculous to the haunting and macabre.
Jake pointed at the spray-paint wall paintings, drawing Vodnik's attention to the one with a Russian phrase on it.
"What are all of these?" He asked. Vodnik exhaled and bowed his head.
"They are testaments to the legacy of every Pilot in Bandit." He pointed at a few. "You'll be able to create yours when you earn your place here."
"Which one's yours?"
Vodnik nodded towards the mural with the Russian phrase on it, with the silhouettes beneath it.
"It means; 'for the fallen'." Vlad translated. "The shadows are my wife and child, stolen from me by the inaction of the IMC." He sighed sadly. "I was one of the IMC's better Pilots before an operation gone wrong killed my wife Maria and fourteen-year-old daughter Sacha. She would have been twenty this year."
"Oh, wow." Jake felt guilty somehow for the deaths of his loved ones. "I'm so sorry."
"It is not your fault, druzhishche. Besides, enough people who were not responsible have apologised. I intend to make the ones who were to blame pay." Vodnik replied in a stern tone.
"What about the others? What do they mean?" Jake enquired. He was curious, but also wanted to change the subject and not risk upsetting the Russian.
"They are all individual pieces. You would have to ask the 'artists' who created them." Vodnik laughed; clearly the word artist was one he didn't often attribute to his men. "Speaking of, I think it is high time you met your fellow comrades, you'll be fighting with them soon enough."
Jake nodded as the man led him out of the room, only pausing briefly to allow Jake to put his armour down on his bed, telling Lincoln that he could sort it out later.
VIIIIIV
"I don't like it, Bish." Sarah told the technician in a stern voice.
The hacker just sighed, he'd learned to just let the woman vent for a little while. She always calmed down in the end.
"You never do." He replied, tapping away at his keyboard.
"I mean, how often does an IMC Pilot just desert?" She asked him, pacing furiously from each side of the small room to the other.
"Not as often as I'd like." Bish said, never taking his eyes away from his screen.
Sarah paused, looking at him. "What?"
Bish looked up from his computer, caught like a rabbit in the headlights.
"I mean, they've got training, equipment, advanced Titan Operating Systems when they're part of the IMC. Anytime they desert and join us, we get all of those things onto our side." Bish hastily explained. He knew his argument made no sense, but it was all he could think to say in that moment.
"But what if it's all a ruse?" Sarah just returned to pacing the room.
"Vlad seems to know what he's doing." Bish tried to reassure her.
"It's not Zuyev I'm worried about."
"You're sure about that, are you?"
She ignored him.
"I trust Vlad with my life, Bish, but I don't know if it was the right thing to do to let that IMC Pilot onto his squad."
"Only time will tell, Sarah." Bish replied, then chuckled. "It's not like Jake would be the most outlandish Pilot that Vodnik has on his squad."
VIIIIIV
Together, Jake and Vlad made their way to the mess hall, which, like everything else, was practically a carbon-copy of the Argonaut's, albeit on a smaller scale. Now that Lincoln was in his Militia fatigues, the Grunts and other crew-members couldn't tell he'd been a part of the IMC, and Jake was relieved that he wasn't getting any shifty stares.
At least, for now.
It almost felt like he belonged here.
The large room was loud, full of men and women who laughed and conversed about whatever they could think of. Wherever he looked, Lincoln could almost always make out a smile or a genuine grin on the faces of these men and women. It certainly felt happier than what he been used to back when he was a part of the IMC.
"It feels like a family." Jake told Vlad as their trays were loaded with mash potato and synthetic meat and artificial gravy. Vodnik smiled warmly.
"It is." He replied. "We're all under one banner here. We all fight for tomorrow. There's no paycheck, no reward other than the sweat on your back and the blood on your hands." Vlad explained.
"Christ, mate, you sound like one of those propaganda vids." Jake laughed.
"I suppose I do. But is not propaganda if it is truth, da?" Vodnik said, tapping his nose with a finger, smirking.
By now, their trays had been loaded with food. Vodnik whistled for Jake to follow him, and the Russian lead the younger Pilot to a table at the far end of the mess hall, in the corner, as far into the shadows as it could manage. Four other men sat around the table, all focused on their meals, or on each other. They were quiet, their conversations murmured and hushed. One of them sharpened what looked like a machete with an oil stone. Another was flipping a coin over and over again, and the other two were disassembling and reassembling their sidearms, trying to be faster than the other. Jake instantly knew what they were.
Pilots.
They didn't bother to look at Vodnik as he took a seat, but when Jake approached, they fell silent, stopped what they were doing and stared at him with unblinking eyes, full of fire and contempt. They knew who he was, what he'd been, why he was here. Jake didn't breathe, his limbs paralysed with what felt like a need to walk away from the men.
It was Vodnik who broke the ice.
"Sit down, Jake." He commanded. Lincoln was thankful for his authoritative tone, otherwise he doubted he'd have been able to budge. "Boys, this is Jake Lincoln. Play nice."
Setting his tray down on the table sounded so loud to Jake's ears, the noise from the other crew in the mess hall was drowned out by the sheer nerves and awkwardness he felt in that moment. Jake forced himself to look up from his food to glance at the Pilots one by one.
"Morning, lads. Nice to meet you." He offered.
They continued to stare; watching Jake nervously took a spoonful of mashed potatoes and put them into his mouth. One of the Pilots sighed.
"New recruit, Vodnik?" He asked.
"He's been assigned to us. Be nice." Vlad just shrugged.
Another Pilot who'd been flipping a coin scoffed, crossing his arms.
"What? Sarah ran out of volunteers, so she's recruiting from the damn IMC now?"
The others laughed, except Vodnik and Jake.
"You were not there, Breaker, when he jumped into our shuttle, were you?" Vlad asked sarcastically.
"No, sir." The Pilot's face dropped.
"He gave up everything to join the cause, so watch your mouth." Vodnik pointed his fork at the younger Pilot to get his point across.
"So, he's a traitor?" Another asked, already knowing the answer, no doubt. "Who's to say he won't stab us in the back too?"
"I won't." Lincoln reaffirmed him.
"I've only got your word for that, you IMC scum." The man accused.
"That is enough, Golsan. Uvolit yego." Vodnik hardened his tone, glaring at the man.
Golsan held up his hands in mock surrender, although his attitude to Jake didn't change. His death-stares could melt metal, but he went back to disassembling and reassembling his sidearm. Lincoln looked at the remaining two Pilots, waiting for them to try out their own jabs on him.
"Castillo, anything to say? You are being uncharacteristically quiet." Vodnik prompted.
The man sharpening his knife stopped his flowing movements and put down the oil stone, casting a glance over to Jake with a beady eye. He smiled a toothy grin at Ace and shrugged theatrically.
"Who cares? As long as he knows friend from foe, I don't give a shit." He responded.
"He's IMC." Golsan piped up again. Vodnik shot him a glare. "Sorry, ex-IMC, I don't know if he knows who his allies are, us or them."
"Good point." Castillo laughed, like a crazed hyena enjoying a fresh kill, then he looked squarely at Jake, pointing his machete directly at his face. "Just don't shoot me, and I won't shove my friend here..." he gestured to the knife, "...down your throat."
"That is enough! All of you." Vodnik stood, pointing at every single member of his Squad. "Be quiet, or I will make you. And that will not be pretty."
The Pilots all shuffled awkwardly, they'd pushed too far. Jake didn't mind. Their scepticism was understandable, and he hadn't expected every Pilot to accept him as well as Vodnik had.
"Need I remind you that I was IMC?" Vodnik asked them, though none replied. "I know some of you have history with them as well that you're not exactly proud of..." Vodnik glared at Golsan and Breaker in particular, "...but we should not deny him an opportunity. He is on the team, whether you like it or not."
A moment of silence went by before Golsan and Breaker stood.
"I still don't think it's a good idea, sir, but it's your funeral." Breaker informed Vodnik before approaching Jake and offering him his hand.
"Noted." Vodnik said as he sat back down and went back to eating.
"I'm John." Breaker told Jake as the ex-IMC Pilot took his hand and shook it. Golsan just scoffed and walked away.
"Pleasure. No hard feelings, right?" Jake replied sheepishly with an awkward grin on his face.
"Right." John told him sarcastically before releasing his grip and walking away.
Castillo stood next and approached Jake. He didn't offer a hand or any other kind of welcoming gesture, but nodded to him.
"The name's Alan. Alan Castillo. Call me Scope, if you want. I'm the team's resident sniper." He explained, then he took out his machete. "This is Rosita, be nice to her, she bites."
As if to illustrate his point, he ran a finger along the edge of the blade, taking it away and showed Jake the bloody cut that it left there. Jake recoiled slightly and Alan laughed as he sucked on his finger to clean the blood off of it and walked away, leaving Jake behind with Vlad and another Pilot that hadn't spoken yet.
"Fair warning; Castillo's about this far from being classed as criminally insane, but he's a damn good shot." The last Pilot told Jake, drawing his attention. He popped a cigarette in his mouth and lit it as he stood and walked up to Jake.
"Desmond Lockett." He held out a hand, waiting for Jake to shake it. Lincoln did so; noticing that the man had a strong grip. "'Spectre' in the field, if you don't mind."
"You're not an IMC hater?" Jake asked. "Every else seems to want to kill me in my sleep."
"Only until you earn their trust." Desmond explained. "Don't worry, you'll get there."
"I appreciate the hint." Jake smiled. Desmond reciprocated with a nod.
"I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt though. For now, at least."
Vodnik put down his fork, looking at Desmond. "Spectre, would you mind being Jake's liaison for a few days? I have things to do, and I think the others would khvostovik him the first chance they get if I am not there to talk them down."
Spectre thought about for a moment, but eventually nodded. "Sure thing. You've already shown him where he'll be sleeping?"
Vodnik nodded, then pointed to his meal. "I am going to eat, then rest for a while. I will have to write up my report before the day is out too. Would you mind giving Lincoln the rest of the tour?"
Desmond nodded. "I don't see any harm in it."
Jake smiled; happy that one other member of Bandit besides Vlad didn't hate him from the get-go. Ace stood up, having finished his meal, ready to follow Desmond wherever he lead him.
"Udachi!" Vodnik shouted to them, laughing, as the duo walked away.
VIIIIIV
The Sparrow wasn't a very large ship, in relation to the size Jake had gotten accustomed to when serving on the Argonaut. It took about an hour to see everything he was allowed to. The armoury, bridge, engine room – a lot of it was pretty standard stuff, though it all held the similar rusted and worn-in decor that ran through the entire ship as the common theme.
Last of all, Jake was taken to see the Titan Drop Bay, where a Pilot's Titan would be held by magnetic locks to a roof-rack and dropped onto a combat zone. However, in times like these, when the ship was simply travelling and wasn't in a combat-ready state, the Drop Bay was a bustle of activity and commotion.
As Jake and Desmond walked in, the ex-IMC Pilot smiled at the sight before him. Technicians ran to and fro between several offline Titan chassis' and computer terminals, taking pieces of scrap, and welding them to the war-machines in attempts to repair them or further develop armour plating. Automated drones shuffled between workstations with distinctly robotic movements. Slim framework and slow and calculated footsteps, painted a bright orange colour with smiley faces spray-painted onto the monitors on their heads.
"What's with the automated assistance?" Jake asked, gazing at the machines that carried supplies between workstations.
"The Marvins? Most of them are salvaged or repurposed labour from backwater IMC facilities."
"What do you use them for?" Jake asked, eyeing one in particular that dragged a crate from one end of the Drop Bay to the other, completely by itself.
"Manufacturing, mostly. They're replaceable labourers. We use them so we don't have to waste manpower doing menial tasks." Desmond shot Jake a look. "Did the IMC not use them?"
Jake shrugged.
"Not really. They reprogrammed Spectres for that kind of thing, if it needed doing." Jake explained as he wandered past the Titan chassis'. The bustle of work going on around him was constant and Jake had to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of machinery and apparatus clanging together.
"I suppose the IMC had disposable labour anyway, right? Volunteers from the core systems, things like that. Don't even need androids if there's a perfectly capable person willing to do a job, you know?"
Jake nodded in agreement, then turned to Spectre.
"What did you bring me here for?" Lincoln asked, raising his voice again to be heard over the activity in the Drop Bay.
"There're some people I want you to meet." Desmond smiled, waving Jake to follow him through the crowds. Desmond navigated the men and women easily, dodging Marvin's and stepping over obstacles in his path. Jake followed as closely as he could, but stumbled a few times, or bumped into people once or twice, often earning him a dirty look.
Eventually, they came out the other side together, and Jake was presented with a technician's dream laid out before him. Workbenches, racks full of tools and equipment, all modified for specific purposes. Jake could make out a plasma torch, a maintenance jack and an access tuner. Bits and pieces of metal and scrap lay out in organised piles. Disassembled rifles made for humans, and weaponry made for Titans were also in pieces around the workspace. In the middle of it all, was a twenty foot Atlas Titan, currently armless with its cockpit jammed open. Sparks flew from somewhere behind it, and the sound of metal banging on the steel-titanium chassis.
Next to the right leg of the Atlas stood a Marvin with customised black paint and yellow highlights, holding an industrial blowtorch. It gave a glance to the two approaching Pilots, and gave them a few welcoming beeps and shrill tones in greeting. Jake waved back with a smile at the Marvin as Desmond looked around, whistling in appreciation, then called out.
"Oi, Sprocket! Where are you?!" He yelled. Immediately, the sparks from behind the Titan ceased, as did the banging, followed by a loud thud.
"Fuck." A voice muttered. "You made me drop my ion-torch, Des!"
A man emerged from behind the Atlas, clad in oily mechanic overalls with the sleeves rolled up. He wrung his dirty hands in a rag, but it did very little to actually clean them. A habit, Jake supposed. His face was marked with streaks of grease and he had scratches and cuts all over his forearms, but he still bore a wide grin as he approached the pair. The man maintained his smile as he shook hands with both men, and Jake realised he had a strong grip for someone so small.
"How're doing, man? It's been a while." Sprocket greeted Desmond. "How are those upgrades on Scarecrow working out?"
"It's been too long, Max." Desmond smirked. "And, yeah, they've been pretty good to us so far. I've yet to really put the new leg servos' and the flash core to their limits, but I'm satisfied with how she's holding up."
"That's great news!" Max replied, then thumbed over to Jake. "Who's the new guy?"
"How'd you know?" Jake asked with a small smirk. Max turned to Lincoln.
"Buddy, I'm the Head Titan Engineer on the Sparrow." He told Jake with a hint of sarcasm. "I know every damn Pilot on this ship because I know their Titans." The man replied with a wide smile. "Max Colman, people call me Sprocket, like the cog. I keep every Pilot's big-badass-buddy in working condition for when you need him."
Max pointed at the armless Atlas as if to express his point.
"Jake Lincoln, but Ace is fine." Lincoln replied.
"Ace, huh?" Sprocket chuckled. "What is it with you Pilots and your callsigns? You get more narcissistic with every new recruit."
Jake genuinely laughed at that. "I can assure you, Max, I earned it." Lincoln's mind briefly flashed with the memories of David training him and playing cards with Miller, but he shook away the thought away to escape the guilt.
"Oh?" Sprocket probed.
"Yeah, I play a mean hand of poker." Jake explained. "I shoot pretty good too."
Sprocket laughed. "I can tell we're going to be friends, Ace."
The Marvin that had been working on the Atlas' leg cooed and whistled at the enginner. He tutted at the machine.
"Never you mind that, Nigel." He sighed, then wiped his eyes as if to think. Sprocket clicked his fingers at the android, as if an idea had struck him. "Just use the depleted-uranium plating to adjust the heat-dispersion module. That should keep the condensers from overheating, okay?"
The Marvin, 'Nigel', cooed again and shuffled towards a pile of scrap in obedience.
Desmond politely coughed. "Now that you're both introduced, I wanted to ask you about that prototype you've been working on?"
"Project Forefront?" Max's eyebrows climbed his forehead, returning his attention to the Pilots. "How'd you know about that?"
"It's a small ship, Sprocket. You know I have ears?" Desmond pointed out. Max hummed in thought, but nodded.
"Can't trust a rumour-mill these days, can you? Yeah, we're working on... something. But I've got my hands full with maintenance most of the time, so I've got the Ranger twins to head up the project." Max shrugged. "I trust 'em. They're good people, you know?"
Desmond nodded. "I won't pry, Sprocket, I was just curious."
"Right, sure you were." Max smiled knowingly. "But you want to know when it's finished, don't you?"
Desmond held up his hands in mocking surrender, but a telling smirk was already appearing on his face. Jake was too confused to ask what they were talking about.
"There've been a couple of hiccups with the neural link, but I'm not the one to talk to about software. At the rate those Ranger twins are keeping up? I'd say a couple of weeks, maximum? Check in with Justin and Emma, if you're so 'curious'." Max laughed as he used finger waggles to quote Desmond. "Those kids know more than me, if I'm honest."
Spectre gasped theatrically. "Can I get that in writing? Someone knows more about engineering than the Great Max Colman?"
Sprocket whipped Desmond's arm with his rag, eliciting a wince of pain from the other man. Max just chuckled, then pointed a finger at the pair of Pilots.
"Now, don't you go telling anyone, alright?" He smiled.
"What kind of neural hiccups?" Jake asked.
"I don't know. I'm no technician, Ace." Max shrugged. "Apparently, the Ranger twins are having trouble establishing a connection between the operator and the machine. The link requires a new kind of link chip that the IMC are outfitting their more recent Pilots with."
Jake hummed in thought, wondering if he should reveal himself to the Titan Engineer as ex-IMC, but thought better of it.
"So, it's a new model of Titan?" Desmond asked with a wide smile. Max widened his eyes ever so slightly. He'd said too much.
"Don't go spreading it around, you hear?" Sprocket warned the enthusiastic Pilot. "We don't want the IMC catching wind of it, so shut your mouth. It's going to be one hell of an ace up our sleeve, if reports are to be believed."
Desmond's face became serious suddenly, and he nodded. "Got it, Sprocket. Don't worry, our lips are sealed." Spectre nudged Lincoln. "Right, Jake?"
"Right. Of course."
Max waved his hands to them, as if wafting away a fart. "Now, off with you. I've got shit to do, alright?"
As if to emphasise, he clicked his fingers at his Marvin, Nigel, and the robot turned and cooed at him, tilting its head questioningly.
"Not there, you hunk of junk!" He pointed at a separate place on the chassis. "Reinforce the plating near the shock absorbers and the motor actuators – not the damn weather seals!"
The Marvin whistled sadly and went to work on the areas that Sprocket had specified.
"Bloody hell, Nigel..." Max muttered to himself.
As the pair of Pilots wandered off, Jake waved the Marvin goodbye, wondering if he should have actually said something about his implant, and how it might work with the neural link issue the Militia technicians were having. His implant was designed to allow him to command a Titan when separated from it, but to also work in a more advanced symbiosis when inside the cockpit.
Jake doubted that the Militia would let him anywhere near Project Forefront for now though, so he decided to keep the secrets about his implant under wraps, at least until he'd earned the trust of Bandit Squad. Desmond looked at his watch, the cracked his neck. Jake looked at the other man as they exited the Titan Drop Bay.
"Fancy a drink?" Spectre offered. "Its lights out in an hour or so, and the tour's pretty much finished. The bar at the other end of the ship does some pretty good old Earth classics."
"Like what?" Jake asked, eyes narrowing. He was tired, but he wasn't sure whether to call it a night or stay with Desmond.
"There's this drink they do called a 'Flaming Zambuka'. Crazy, strong stuff. You in? The rest of Bandit will probably be there." Spectre smiled.
Jake thought about it for a long moment, then sighed.
"I'm just not feeling up to it. I've had a hell of a day, mate." Jake admitted. He felt guilty for not being able to go with his new friend, but he was just too tired.
Desmond shrugged, not too bothered.
"Don't worry about it." Spectre smirked. "Maybe some other time, yeah?"
"Definitely." Jake nodded. "I'll owe it to you, seeing as I missed out on this one."
"Want me to direct you back to the barracks?" Desmond asked.
"No, thanks, I should be okay." Jake replied, already wandering off down the corridor.
"Alright, sleep well, Lincoln." Desmond tipped his head to the other Pilot as strode off in the other direction, presumably towards the bar.
VIIIIIV
Jake sighed loudly as he rubbed his eyes and cracked his knuckles. He rolled his neck a few times too, trying to get rid of the knot in his neck. It had been one hell of a day, and Jake would be glad to finish it at last. He finished a yawn just as he began to make out voices from around the next corner in the corridor.
Two voices, one distinctly male, and the other obviously female.
Jake narrowed his eyes as he started to make out the words of their conversation. The man sounded hoarse and rough, and Lincoln supposed he might be an older man, but the female was young, but sounded tired and defeated.
"...IMC plans you grabbed for us on the Odyssey added up to more intel than we've scraped together over the past year and a half." The woman told her compatriot.
Jake stopped on the corner, not yet willing to risk a peek at the duo, but he listened intently instead.
"It was the least I could do for you, Sarah. What those bastards did to my village showed me the true enemy that day. I'm awake now." The male replied sternly.
Sarah? The Militia commander?
"We're glad to have you on our side, Macallan. Still, I don't see how we can act on the intel you got us. It's just... impossible. I doubt even an army of Pilots could do what you're suggesting – an army we don't have."
"So, we recruit more." Macallan told her. "The resources and manpower is out there, Sarah, we just need to uncover them and take them for ourselves. If we can boost our own strength, while crippling the IMC's, we just might stand a chance – make it an even playing field."
"That's risky, Mac." Sarah replied. "We aren't exactly popular in these parts."
"You leave that to me. Once people hear about what the IMC did to my colony, they'll sign up in droves." Macallan reassured. "You focus on getting together a plan to take out Demeter."
Jake's eyes widened. Demeter? The IMC stronghold of the Frontier? That planet was a fortress, blockaded by fleets of dreadnoughts and frigates. Not to mention the surface was covered entirely by an occupying military force. Taking Demeter would be a massive blow to the IMC, but it was far from possible, especially with the losses the Militia had taken recently.
"I have the foundations of something we think could work, but it all relies on a proxy threat to the IMC – a distraction, to draw at least part of the blockade away to take on Demeter at the right time."
"Where do we start?" Sarah prompted.
"With one of my old contacts in Angel City."
"A friend?"
"More of an acquaintance these days. Been a while since we've talked, but he owes me one."
"Who?" Sarah pressed.
"His name's Robert Taube, but most people call him Barker."
"Barker?" Jake could hear the confusion in her voice.
"He never shuts up." Macallan chuckled. "But to get to him, we'll need to draw the IMC's attention away from the City first. It doesn't have to be anything big, but it'll have to be substantial to make the Angel City occupying force send reinforcements to wherever the distraction happens."
"There's a High-Value Target that we've been trying to eliminate in the jungles on the other side of the planet." Sarah hummed.
"An assassination?" Macallan asked.
"A small Pilot infiltration team goes in without Titan support and eliminates the target, destroying the outpost he's stationed on." Sarah nodded. "Kick the hornet's nest, so to speak. Angel City will send their troops to investigate, and we'll extract Barker while they're a few men short."
"They'll call us terrorists, or worse." Macallan sighed. "But we can't play by their rules."
"Sticks and stones, Mac. We've been called worse before." Sarah reassured.
"Still..." Macallan heaved a sigh. "Screw it, seems like our best option right now. Question is; who will you send in?"
"That's easy." Sarah smiled. "Vodnik and his Bandits can handle anything I throw at them. I'll brief them first thing tomorrow morning."
"Alright, enough talk about war. I need a drink." Macallan concluded, and Jake felt panic rise in his chest as he heard the pair begin walking in his direction, his only cover from their sight being the corner of the wall.
Frantically, Jake did the only thing he could think of. He quickly shut himself inside the nearest broom closet and held his breath as the two commanding officers rounded the corner, mere moments after he had closed the door.
Jake watched their shadows stride past the closet, and he breathed a sigh of relief as their voices faded from his hiding place. He waited another minute before grabbing the door handle and letting himself out, just to be certain he wouldn't be caught.
Jake raised an eyebrow at the absurdity of a Pilot hiding in a broom closet. They were meant to be seen as remorseless, killing machines with no empathy and the ability to command who lived and died on the battlefield – yet here he was, tripping over a bucket as he ungracefully came out of the closet. Jake was glad that nobody was around to record it and put it on the hyper-net.
He did himself a small chuckle though, wondering at the absurd nature of what it would be like watching a Pilot exit from a broom cupboard like some kind of hermit cleaning lady. With a scratch of his head and another stifled yawn, Jake made his way back to Bandit's barracks, crashing into one of the spare beds and succumbing to his exhaustion almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
VIIIIIV
Well, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Seeing as I didn't update for while recently, I tried to get this one out faster than usual to make up for the drought you guys had for a month and a half before Chapter Six came out. By the way, most words or phrases that Vodnik says are typically swear words, apologies or other pretty obvious things that should fit the scenario he's in. If you need clarification – Google Translate!
OC's (In order of appearance):
Vladimir 'Vodnik' Zuyev, Justin and Emma Ranger – Mac Gustah
John Breaker - titanfallpilotarchives
Palmer 'Phoros' Golsan – Spartan Golsan-017
Desmond 'Spectre' Lockett – Xx13DeathsxX
Max 'Sprocket' Colman, Nigel the Marvin - Bladezzkiller
Alan 'Scope' Castillo is my one XD
Anyway, onto the replies:
Xx13DeathsxX
Definitely worth the wait to read and I'm glad that Ace is now with the Militia. I can't wait to see what happens in the next chapter.
So am I. I only kept him with the IMC for so long so he could build the relationship with David and other important IMC characters featured in the game, otherwise I would've put with Sarah and the Militia far sooner. And, trust me, next chapter is going to be awesome.
Mac Gustah
I love the little addition to Vlad's character with the gun. You're really fleshing him out very well. And Ace had finally reached the Militia! God, I can't wait for the next chapter :) Keep up the good work!
I'm taking particular care of all of the OC's, it's just Vodnik and Desmond that got a chance to shine in this one, as well as Max Colman. I just wanted to do your character justice, seeing as I love fleshing out backstory and a unique personality to each character.
Gotasegway
Keep up the amazing work! I love the way you describe what Jake is going through.
Also: dammit, a cliff-hanger :-D
I'll do my best to keep you entertained. I'm doing this for you guys, and I'm thankful you all seem to like it so much. I've been told I'm much better at writing dialogue than I am at writing action scenes, but I enjoy writing both just as much as I enjoyed writing my other stories. Well, at least there wasn't a cliff-hanger for this chapter blasting finger-guns and winking, 'ayyyyy'
See you on the Frontier, Pilots.
Reilly
