The Coming Storm

by Robert Merlow

3020. Eight years before the 4th Succession War. With the Inner Sphere on the precipice, a new player enters the great game. Two interlopers, united by hardship and displaced in a galaxy of perpetual war are set to completely up-end the balance and thrust the galaxy into a future that was once written. Based on the BattleTech roundtable "An Entry with a Bang" from spacebattles.

3. Part 3 - Rebuilding and Restitution

Rebuilding and Restitution

International Orbital Defense Headquarters

Low Earth Orbit

Sol System, Independent Systems Alliance Provisional Space

25 December 2005/860 AS

Christmas. Reports from all over the planet came in. All signaled the end of the last major combat actions of this war. General Mathews looked over the reports. Casualties were within the expected rate, a bit lower thanks to the equipment and support provided by the ISA. Those countries that experienced landings and were not signed on with the ISA suffered much more. Central Africa was particularly hard hit. Three DropShips landed and slaughtered countless thousands, only brought to heel when ISA transport ships managed to deploy and seized two of the vessels. The third wasn't so lucky. It was destroyed by one of the ISA orbital defenses after it had gotten into position and the DropShip tried to take off.

The upper atmosphere was a mess. Numerous satellites were caught in the nuclear and electromagnetic blasts of the nuclear defense platforms. It was going to take months to clean up the mess and replace the fallen satellites with those up to ISA spec. Cleaning up the upper atmosphere was estimated to take a couple of months, with construction drones from the Chani diverted to clean up duties.

Those hired during the battle proved their mettle, fighting against their former 'allies' with aplomb. They were valuable and were sure to prove themselves even more in their plans moving forward. They had already arranged for quarters for all of them at Fort Irwin. Current plans were to form them into a mercenary battalion, organized into their own companies. The captured raiders were being processed and interrogated. They were putting them to work in reconstruction projects all over the world. Some of them even showed interest in signing up for volunteer military service. All of them were very surprised at their treatment and how they weren't being tortured.

The civilians brought by the invaders were a different story. Many of the DropShips and JumpShips had quite an extensive civilian population, and when the JumpShips were captured many of them were left with just civilians aboard. The logistics involved in trying to house and possibly repatriate these people were complicated at best. Taking the JumpShips was trivial. The Chani and Stilgar launched transports and fighters and seized them with little effort. The one crewed by members of the Band of the Damned were a little bit difficult, but a low-powered pulse laser blast was enough to shut them up.

Captain Kyra Toft entered his office, holding a tablet, "General, how goes sifting through the piles and piles of reports?" She asked with a grin.

"It's a goddamn headache as always. Oh, Merry Christmas by the way."

"To you as well, General. I have the latest from Bashar Serov." She handed him the tablet.

"Thank you." He looked over the tablet, "Wait, seriously?"

"As a heart attack."

"He's talking about reactivating more planetary carriers and getting more crewmen, not to mention opening a military base on the Moon. I- We don't have the technology for a Moon colony, let alone a military-"

"Do you forget where you're sitting, General?" Toft asked, "You are on a converted orbital battle station with artificial gravity and shields. The thing the ISA lacked was the ability to support a large population. We now have that capacity. We provide the technology, Earth provides the manpower, we prosper."

Mathews leaned back in his chair. He kept forgetting that these ISA types were centuries ahead of not only Earth but the greater universe they were now a part of. It wasn't to say that Earth didn't have fantastically novel approaches to problems that the ISA had never considered, but overall the technology disparity was massive.

"Has this been run past the ISA Signatories yet?"

"Not yet, but Supreme Bashar Merlow will be arriving in a week's time to finalize the details of the treaty, give it a proper name, and sign the thing. This will be on the treaty. Serov thought as head of Earth's first orbital defense station, you should know."

"I see."

---

National Training Center

Fort Irwin, California

30 December 2005/3020

Barry Wise was irritated. Ever since the CNN reporter had seen the footage from the Battle of Newark, he wanted to do a piece on these mercenaries. Now, as he finally had the chance to visit Fort Irwin, the current home of the mercenary units stationed in the United States, a new problem reared its head.

Two-hundred angry protestors blocking the way into the base.

"What's their problem, anyway?" Pete Davis, his cameraman, asked.

"Not everyone likes the deal President Ryan and our ISA allies cut with these people." Wise stared dejectedly out the window, "Well, it seems like it will take a bit 'till we get through here. Good thing we're early. Might as well get out, get some footage and ask some questions, yeah?"

"Got it."

Leaving their broadcast van, Wise cut a short introduction before the pair closed in on the edge of the crowd, about one hundred meters from the entrance. Signs were everywhere, many of them bearing messages Wise hadn't seen since the Vietnam protests. He approached one of the louder protesters, a Hispanic man looking in his forties, holding a picture of a girl with the phrase 'Murderers!' written underneath.

"Excuse me, sir. Barry Wise, CNN. Mind if I ask you some questions."

The man was somewhat taken aback, "Sure. Jose Caballo."

"Nice to meet you, Jose. Could you tell me why you're here?"

"Isn't it obvious? Our government and their "allies' are openly negotiating with that mercenary scum! They want to hire the same kind of murderers that killed my daughter! I say we should take their guns, their robots, and put these monsters where they belong: JAIL!"

The crowd cheered. A ripple passed through.

"Over there!" someone shouted.

Wise looked beyond the fence. He spotted what the crowd was looking at. On the veranda of one of the buildings he saw several people in unfamiliar uniforms.

So, that's who I'm here to see.

"Look at the gall of those assholes," Caballo murmured, "they're standing there as if they own the place."

Wise took another look at the mercenaries. They looked confused and apprehensive thanks to the protestors gathered.

"Mr. Caballo," Wise began, "you are aware that these people assisted the National Guard in Newark to defeat the invaders and assist US citizens, right?"

"What kind of stupid question is that? Of course, they helped us. At gunpoint. Just proves they're opportunistic bastards and somewhat smarter than the rest of the pirate scum. If it weren't for the Army, they'd've done the same fucking things we've seen in Africa, Europe, and New Zealand! These guys are scum, pure and simp-"

Caballo's eyes snapped open, looking beyond the fence. Wise turned around.

"Get that on camera!" he yelled at Davis.

Several protestors had managed to climb the fence using some blankets to cover the wire. Now they were running towards the mercenaries, holding something in their hands. In the distance Wise could see some of the MPs closing in, desperate to stop the protestors. The small group of intruding protestors began throwing the stones in their hands. Their intended victims tried to evade and retreat from their attackers. It was too late. Wise could see a small spurt of blood and a small figure fall.

It was a child.

"Oh my God." Wise uttered.

"No…" Caballo whispered.

The whole crowd was stunned.

On the other side of the fence one of the mercenaries started to run at the stone-throwers with murder in his eyes, stopped just in time by several of the arriving MPs. More MPs dogpiled the intruders, subduing them as quickly as they could. The first mercenary shifted his attention to the fallen child, cradling them in his arms, crying for a medic before administering first aid.

Jesus, the blood. Wise thought to himself. He turned back to the camera, "Ladies and gentlemen, we just witnessed an attack by protestors here at Fort Irwin on the mercenaries currently stationed here. More as it develops."

Behind him were the distinct sirens of an ambulance. Medics had arrived and began loading the child into the vehicle.

---

Mercenary Administration Facility

"Barry Wise, CNN. This is my cameraman Pete Davis." Wise introduced themselves to the man currently sitting across from them.

Making his initial observations, Wise guessed he was in his early to mid-thirties. He wore a uniform colored in a foreign urban camouflage pattern with a unit insignia consisting of a shield with heraldry inside a light blue circle on the left shoulder with an unfamiliar rank marking on the right.

The man shook his hand, "Major Andreas Staedele, Buron Cavalry. Nice to meet you. Please, have a seat. From what I've gathered you've wanted to interview some mercenaries since we've arrived on the planet."

"Yes, Major. Thank you for having us. You don't mind the camera, do you?" Wise asked.

"Not at all. Just try to get my good side," Staedele replied with a smirk.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen. This is Barry Wise and I am sitting down with Major Andreas Staedele of the Buron Cavalry, one of the mercenary companies hired by the United States and the Independent Systems Alliance. Major, we appreciate your time."

"Not a problem, Barry."

"We already know some of the details of your unit thanks to the press release by the Press Secretary yesterday, so we'll get down to brass tacks. Would you tell our viewers why you arrived on this planet and why a company like yours would defect when others did not?"

"Quite the loaded first question there, Barry. It's a long story, so bear with me. Last year, my unit was nearly annihilated during what was supposed to be a routine assignment. Since then, the Buron Cavalry has been in severe financial distress. A few months ago, we were granted an appointment regarding an anti-pirate contract from a number of Periphery worlds to the north of the Inner Sphere. On the way, we planned to stop on Antallos to load up on supplies, food mostly. We also wanted to sniff around for some information. That was completely interrupted by Aden Vorax."

"Who is this Aden Vorax?" Wise asked.

"Vorax is the scummy tyrant that runs Port Kirin, the only spaceport on Antallos. He was scrounging up any and every pirate and mercenary he could get his hands on for the invasion of this planet. My unit was forced in as Vorax either bought out or forced every available JumpShip in the system to carry the invasion force. This caused us to miss the appointment."

"Why did you decide to join up?"

"We didn't have a choice. We missed our appointment, and Vorax exploited our trouble. He made some thinly veiled threats to leave us and our families broke and stranded on Antallos as easy pickings for the slavers."

"Families?"

"Yes, Barry. We have no formal homeworld. When our employer is unwilling or unable to house our families, they have to follow us into danger. When we're not on assignment, between contracts, our families go wherever we go."

"Why did you decide to defect?"

Staedele laughed, "Isn't that obvious, Barry? The moment your planet fired nukes at the DropShips, it was clear Vorax had no idea what this planet was capable of. Also, given how the contract was negotiated and the dangers of running through an orbital defense network, I decided to cancel the contract immediately. Not something I'd do in almost any other circumstance."

"Thank you, Major. You mentioned earlier that your company was nearly annihilated. Would you care to elaborate?" Wise saw Staedele's expression darken, his eyes betraying one of those who had seen something they had wished had never happened. He had seen this time and time again interviewing soldiers during his career.

"The Buron Cavalry used to be the size of an overstrength combined-arms battalion. We were hired by a local noble of House Davion to perform a pre-emptive strike against the Combine border-world of Thestria. Local Combine nobility were gathering supplies in preparation for a series of raid on the border with the Federated Suns. It was our job to destroy the supply stockpiles before the Dragon could put them to use. We succeeded." Staedele paused.

"What happened?"

"Immediately afterwards we found out that in addition to the militia units we were briefed on, the 21st Galedon Regulars were stationed on the planet. A full DCMS 'Mech regiment. We ran into an ambush spearheaded by their 1st Battalion and were bloodied, but we could hold our own while effecting a retreat. Then, a 21st scout lance found our DropShips and began to attack them. They were carrying our technical and medical support, many of them dependents of our combat troops. The rest of the 21st's 1st Battalion joined in on that attack. With our DropShips under fire, the fighting turned savage. It was a bloodbath. After almost an hour, it was over. We had beaten the Regulars. Most of their 'Mechs were littering the field, a few were running as fast they could."

Staedele took a moment to steady himself.

"We had beaten the Regulars, at the cost of every last 'Mech save the command lance. We lost our entire armored contingent, two of our three DropShips were damaged beyond timely repair, and two-thirds of our infantry lay dead. We lost three-hundred-twenty-seven people that day, dead or crippled for life. It was an unmitigaged disaster. We packed up what was left on the Distant Home as fast as we could and escaped the wrath of the remainder of the 21st. Back in Davion space, our employer apologized for the bad intelligence. Turns out they found out about the 21st's transfer two day after we left. They promised to take those dependents that has lost their relatives in the fighting that wanted out as well as our invalids. They granted them full citizenship, so they could get a head start, along with the money we provided them with. 'It is the least we can do,' they said."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room for a long while before Wise felt the appropriate time to break it.

"My condolences, Major." Wise allowed that to hang a moment. "How do you think things will continue from here forward?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. President Ryan and the ISA-types seem honest, but apparently a lot of people are against us even being here. Time will tell, I guess."

"Now, Major, we witnessed a rather shocking event earlier today. I have to ask, how is the child doing?"

For a moment, Staedele's eyes burned with anger. He allowed that to subside before he spoke.

"Beatrice Mell has suffered a cracked skull. She's comatose right now, but the doctors say that she'll be fine. Those that threw those stones are now in custody and I have been assured that they will be brought to trial. My personal opinion? A dependent of my unit had been attacked, nearly killed, right in front of her father. There's nothing more I'd like to do than find the bastard responsible and beat them to within an inch of their life. The rest of my unit would agree. The Cav is my family, Barry. If a member of your family, a child no less, was attacked by some assholes throwing rocks, wouldn't you want the same?"

Wise didn't have a chance to answer.

"However, we won't. Frankly, it wouldn't change what's happened and I've been assured that those responsible would face justice. I expect it will be served. I just hope something like that never happens again."

"Thank you, Major. We appreciate the time you've given us." Wise extended his hand.

Staedele took it, "The pleasure was mine, Barry."

"This is Barry Wise for CNN, reported from Fort Irwin. Stay with us."

---

Recreation Area

1 January 3021

Major Staedele sipped his coffee as he watched the few dozen protestors from the veranda. The signs were as colorful as ever: calling them murders, urging them to go home, things of that nature.

A lot less people over the last few days. Andreas thought to himself, Good thing they shipped us out to the middle of the desert. Keeps the numbers down.

The public backlash inferno against the hiring of interstellar mercenaries was still raging, but that it was showing signs of slowing down. The crowd had been absolutely massive when the news first broke that they had been hired by the ISA, and by extension the United States. He couldn't blame them. He and his people would have to earn the trust of the locals, and that took time.

Thinking about the outcome of the contract negotiations he and other company leaders that signed up before they had fired a shot, he wandered back into the building. Staedele rubbed his eyes. He had barely slept over the past few days. Nedeljko was there waiting for him.

"Andy! Hey, everyone's waiting on ya." His friend greeted.

"I know. I was waiting until New Years day to drop the news on everyone." Staedele glanced over his shoulder, "Crowd's shrinking."

"Yeah." Nedeljko looked through the window, "Seems the assault a couple days ago quieted them down some. Still wish it didn't happen."

Staedele nodded. He was glad that none of his people were armed. The consequences of that would have been… interesting.

The actual consequences resulted in all mercenary units being resituated deeper in the base. The video of a ten-year-old child being assaulted by protestors and her father desperately giving her first aid flew around the planet. Protests against their being signed lessened, as people could see that they had families and loved ones just like they did. It also prompted base security to tighten considerably. The protestors now had no chance of pulling off a stunt like that again.

"Any news on Bea?" Staedele asked.

"Yeah. Docs say she'll make a full recovery. Couple of weeks at most."

"Thank God for that." Staedele took another sip of his coffee, "C'mon. Let's go. Time to break the news to everyone."

Buron Cavalry Administration Facility

Staedele looked about the room. Everyone from the company's inner circle was gathered: officers, noncoms, 'MechWarriors, his wife, his aunt, their assistants, and several people responsible for their dependents. He cleared his throat, signaling the beginning of the meeting.

"Alright, people. Listen up. Happy New Year. We, as of yesterday, are officially under the employ of the United States of America and through them under the umbrella of the Independent Systems Alliance. I finished negotiations with Defense Secretary Tony Brentano, Bashar Thomas Serov, and signed the contract. We have to register as a Private Military Company plant-side for the contract to be ratified by the US. Marie, Hanna, that's you. We should hire some local lawyers, and see if we can get some legal counsel from the ISA. We need to see how their laws and the ISA's laws interact."

"Okay, finer details. We have a contract with a ten-year duration, with an additional clause that allows our employer to extend the contract for another five years in the last six months if they want. During that time, our employer has full command rights over our assets. It looks like right now they want us to train their people and advise them on both tactical and technical business. The contract gives them full rights to look at our stuff. We should also be ready for combat deployments. It seems Serov wants us to help form the core of a mercenary regiment. We would probably be at the heart of any planned attack against Antallos. I for one wouldn't mind taking part in that."

There was a murmur across the room. Not one of them would mind taking the fight back to Vorax. The details of their exact arrangements made with Vorax taken from the Port Kirin Milita's databanks had assuaged any reservations their employers had of them.

"During the contract, we will be provided supplies, maintenance, and technical upgrades by our hosts. Any upgrades made by our employers come with the clause that they cannot be used against them on future contracts, and any attempts to tamper with or reverse engineer the technology by non-approved parties will result in that piece of tech immediately self-terminating. They want to keep those cards close to their chest there."

A little consternation sounded from those assembled. They didn't like the idea of the locals poking around their tech, given the age and inability to produce new parts.

"Okay, we will also be paid a wage on par with our counterparts of the same rank inside their military. For that matter, a few of you will be promoted into a rank fitting their position and responsibilities. We'll handle that later, but hey, congratulations Captain Johnson."

A cheer broke out amongst the infantrymen. Another voice pierced the cacophony.

"What about the twenty-million C-bills?"

"That's a good question." Andreas responded, "We will get that at the end of the contract. There is a slight catch: we have to invest at least half of that back into their economy. I don't see a problem with that. Given what these people make, there's gonna be plenty for us to buy, not to mention the money we'll be spending privately. Hell, we might even be able to expand in the coming years if things go well."

An approving rumble passed through the room.

"Okay, with the contract details out of the way, let's get to some other items. One: we're gonna delay the old tradition of putting up our flag together with that of our employer until the media shitstorm dies down. Two: we will be based here for the foreseeable future. Three: interviews will continue. Get used to it. Four, and this goes for everyone: No one leaves the base for the next two months. Even after, it may be better for us to go incognito for a while. There are some rather stupid and resentful morons scattered amongst the locals."

"Last, but certainly not least: If you find yourself before a reporter, try not to cause a scene. Best thing you could do is send them my way. I'll handle them."

"Oh, after those two months are up, if anyone wants to go to Vegas they will set themselves up a budget and not take out any loans. Clear? It's just like when we were at Port Kirin."

Andreas took the opportunity to breathe.

"Okay, any questions?"

The room erupted in noise.

---

Capitol Hill

Washington DC, United States of America

2 January 2006/861 AS

Supreme Bashar Robert Merlow stood on the grounds of the Capitol Plaza, reflecting on the events of the past day. He and the Secretary of State finalized the details of the US' induction into the Independent Systems Alliance. They decided to name the treaty 'The Treaty for the Unification and Defense of Humanity.' A bit ostentatious, but events of interstellar import called for such things. He then did the same in Russia, China, Great Britain and the European Union. The rest of the countries who wished to join would be addressed in a session of the UN General Assembly later in the week. He was here today to see the treaty be ratified by a joint session of Congress in an assumed unanimous vote. Particulars of each nation's laws would still need to be adjusted in order to conform with ISA law, but that was a task to be delegated to others. Merlow had to worry about the broad strokes, the big picture.

There were numerous countries around the world that needed reconstruction assistance. There was still crushing poverty in parts of the world. There was still infrastructure that needed to be put in place before Earth could reap the full benefits of their admittance into the ISA. There were innumerable problems that only time could solve, and he was wishing that it would move itself faster.

A figure approached him from behind.

"Robert."

Merlow turned around, greeted by the approaching President Jack Ryan.

"Hello, Jack. Managed to take time out of your day to look upon your Capitol?"

"You could say that. I've pretty much lived in the Situation Room over the past few days." Ryan stretched his arms, "Nice to see the other parts of Washington, even for only a moment."

"What is this I hear about nuclear rearmament?" Merlow asked, concerned, "I've reports from multiple countries concerning restarting and increasing production of nuclear weapons."

"You work fast. See, given the current state of the universe and the fact that we could face invasion by two of the Inner Sphere's houses if they find out where we are, we need to be able to defend ourselves."

"Jack, forgive me for saying this, but that's utter lunacy. We have much cleaner ways to break an enemy before they reach the planet, not to mention it is in direct violation of the Ares Conventions."

"We never signed those conventions," Ryan noted, "and a nuclear shield to compliment the orbital defense platforms seems quite prudent."

Merlow shook his head, "When our production facilities come online, and Earth is a prosperous blue jewel, the need for such a deterrent is unnecessary."

"Robert, we are two worlds surrounded on all sides by a hostile universe. We need all the deterrent we can get."

Merlow sighed, "I suppose."

"Come on. We have to get back to the White House for dinner."

Merlow followed the President, both men's protection details following suit.

---

Mercenary Administration Facility

National Training Center, Fort Irwin, California

10 January 2006/3021/861 AS

Burgess Hale was happy. It had been months since he was incarcerated, recruited into the military, had his 'Mech taken away and relegated to be a poor bloody infantryman. Today he was about to be assigned to a 'Mech unit. For the first time in what felt like forever he was going to have a 'Mech to call his own. Beside him stood Idron Koltan, his former infantry commander and now being considered to pilot a 'Mech. They had told Koltan that his existing condition that made neurohelmets incompatible with his brain structure was not going to be a problem. He had proven that in the new simulators they had set up on base. Apparently, the technology in the neurohelmets used by Inner Sphere 'Mechs was 'severely antiquated' and upgrades to the interface made that problem a thing of the past.

"Hale!" It was Commander Simeonov, "You must be a happy little clam, eh?"

"That would be an understatement, sir." Hale replied, "I can't wait to get back in the harness."

"Good to hear, Hale. Good to hear. How about you, Koltan?"

"I never thought I'd ever be in a 'Mech, sir." Koltan replied, "The whole thing with my brain being screwy made the prospect impossible."

"Amazing what we can do with modern science." Simeonov looked over the transfer papers, "Let's see… You're both going to the same unit, with your existing teammates if they want to join you…"

Hale groaned, "Please don't tell me you put Mamoto in charge of something."

"Oh, hell no. That man is useless. Cracks under fire, has zero awareness, absolutely not. Useless. He's being interviewed constantly by our science boffins, but that man's nearly run his course. Probably give him some low impact job on base, maybe attach him to the Merchant Marine. If he can hawk goods as well as he can bullshit, then he has some use there. As for you two…"

Hale and Koltan sat in silence, eagerly awaiting the next words out of Simeonov's mouth.

"Ah, you two are going to be in our first all-ISA-manufactured 'Mech force. You guys are going to get the first Kartikeyas that roll of the line."

They just stared at him, dumbfounded.

"What?" Hale asked incredulously.

"Yeah, we're going to be manufacturing some test 'Mechs, see how they perform. You guys get to pilot some."

"I've never even heard of a Kartikeya. What in the hell is that?" Koltan asked.

"They're not going to be any design you're familiar with. Rest assured, they are going to be some of the finest 'Mechs ever seen, probably in the entire Inner Sphere."

They were speechless.

"Amazing, right?"

---

Ryan's 'Palace'

Butte Hold III

Butte Hold System, Periphery Space

12 January 3021

"So, tell me again," Redjack Ryan, bandit king extraordinaire, asked his guest while fondling the slave girl in his lap. "why should I give up my cozy little home here to spend the better part of a year crossing the Inner Sphere to a dump like Port Kirin?"

Because, you jackass, thought Ryan's guest, a man who called only called himself Arthur, you're expendable and we need a stalking horse to smoke out whatever high-tech world is near Port Kirin and smash it to bits… or trip any lethal booby traps that might have been laid. Wisely, Arthur refrained from saying that.

"I have it on good authority that the current administrator of Port Kirin knows the location of a world filled with lostech." Arthur said instead. "He's managed to scrape up a small rag tag band to go take over the place. Alas, he's keeping the location secret from everyone. However, if you go see him personally and use your very special… charm on him, I'm sure you could convince him to part with the coordinates."

The slave girl in Ryan's lap squealed as he squeezed hard with one hand. Arthur paid her no mind.

"A world with lostech?" Ryan said thoughtfully. "Rich?"

"Very rich if the rumors are true." Arthur assured him.

"If, if, that is the word," Ryan mused. "but you mentioned something about an army?"

"A very motley army." Arthur told him. "Pirates of course, but of far lower caliber than yourself. Your two battalions can handle them easily."

The slave girl whimpered miserably as Ryan pressed her head downward for more… oral services.

"It sounds too good to be true." Ryan told Arthur.

"Have I ever given you bad information before?" Arthur asked.

"Hmm, no," Ryan said. He leaned back to enjoy the slave girl's… work. "You know, I've been thinking this place is kind of small, boring even. Moving across the Inner Sphere might just be the change in scenery I'm looking for."

Well thank the Blessed Blake.

---

Post Exchange Food Court

National Training Center, California

Sol System, Independent Systems Alliance Provisional Space

15 January 3021

Tasha flipped through the book she just bought. It was, as she understood it, one of a series of thriller novels about the major political figures in the Inner Sphere set in the near future over the next half century. There was a huge display in the PX for 'BattleTech' material. Tasha had bought this particular volume, Heir to the Dragon, because it featured Theodore Kurita.

Overall, while the book was an entertaining read, the events in it ranged from the scarily plausible to the outright ludicrous. Hanse Davion marrying the heir of the Lyran Commonwealth to create a super-Successor State? Seemed pretty implausible, but on further inspection may have some merit. ComStar giving the Combine actual Star League-era 'Mechs was flat out implausible, but Theodore reforming the DCMS into an effective fighting force sounded plausible and nightmarish from the point of view of any good Federated Suns citizen.

Tasha was a good FedSuns citizen. The locals here didn't realize how good, otherwise they would not have let her roam so freely.

Fort Irwin was becoming a city in its own right, housing both pirates and civilians arrived on Earth thanks to the invasion. The locals had made it a point to separate the hapless civilians who were caught up in Vorax's ludicrous escapade from the actual die-hard pirates. They had even been apologetic when they had explained that they could not repatriate her right away. So, while the pirates were stuck in a small fenced-in plot of desert, Tasha and the other civilians had been put in temporary housing and given a living stipend until the people in charge figured out what to do with them.

"Ah, Tasha!" a familiar voice called to her, "Good day to you!"

Tasha looked up from her book to see Kearny. They were not friends, although their relationship had become decidedly less adversarial since they had both been trapped on this planet. Before, they had been quiet enemies. Now they had an unspoken understanding: she didn't tell the locals he was Interal Security Force, he didn't tell the locals she was Ministry of Information, Intelligence and Operations. His name was not really 'Kearny' any more than hers was 'Tasha.'

"Kearny," she noted the suit and hanger in his hand, "you seem unusually chipper today."

"I have an interview scheduled this week!" Kearny was obviously pleased about something. Being obvious about one's emotion was one of the first things an intelligence officer got drilled out of them, but he was not only pleased, he seemed positively giddy.

"More locals want to know about life in the Inner Sphere. I thought we already covered everything they want to know?"

"In a manner of speaking, but as you know there's nothing like a first-hand account."

"What's so special about this interview?"

"I suppose I could not tell you and keep you guessing," Kearny raised an eyebrow. Tasha gave him a glare, "but no. It's not big secret and I want to see your reaction. I'm going to meet with the Emperor!"

"The Emperor?" Tasha was confused, "I didn't think this planet had an Emperor. Hell, it hardly has a government."

"No, no, no, not the Emperor of the planet." Kearny shook his head, "The Emperor of Japan, direct descendent of the goddess Amaterasu. Better yet, one of the direct ancestors of our noble Coordinator will also be there!" He beamed, "It is a great honor. See you in a week, Tasha!"

Tasha watched as Kearny nearly skipped away like a happy child, his dreams coming true. Her mind was racing as she went over the implications of Kearny's meeting. Obviously, he was going to try and persuade the locals to ally themselves with the Combine. Given what she had seen so far this planet possessed both the firepower and the industrial might to seriously affect the balance of power between the Successor States. She didn't know the odds of Kearny succeeding, but it was pretty clear that she had a new objective beyond gathering information for her superiors. She had to get sway them to the Federated Suns.

She was effectively House Davion's ambassador to this world.

---

ComStar Central Headquarters

Hilton Head Complex, Terra

Sol System, ComStar Space

19 January 3021

"Precentor Stoker," an Adept said, addressing the august personage of the head of ComStar's intelligence agency ROM, "how are you enjoying the party?"

Stoker took a moment to regard the lowly adept. Under normal circumstances, the gulf or rank between the two of them meant that this young man would have never dared address him directly. The annual month-long New Year's celebration was one of the few occasions when underlings would mingle with superiors, but this direct approach was still unusual. Stoker wondered what he wanted. He vaguely recalled seeing this young man working a desk in one of ROM's analysis departments.

"Quite well, Adept," Stoker replied soothingly, "although I think the wine has been watered down a bit more than previous days. You, Adept?"

"I'm doing well enough, Precentor." The Adept heisted a moment, "I'm actually curious if any new information has come in on Vorax's Army."

"Ah? I've heard nothing. While an entire pirate regiment disappearing might concern some near Periphery world, it cannot be too important."

"Hmm… it fits…" The Adept murmured thoughtfully.

"What fits, Adept?" Stoker asked, annoyed.

"Apologies, Precentor. I've been looking at the intel data that was handed out to Vorax's army, and the more I look at it the more concerned I get."

"What is there to be concerned about? The data is obviously faked. Look at it! You would think Vorax was going to attack Terra, which is ridiculous on the face of it. Also, even if he were mad enough to do so, our defenses can more than handle one pesky pirate regiment."

"The data is too good to be a fake, Precentor. Far too good."

"What do you mean, Adept?"

"If you look closely at the data, Precentor," the Adept began, "you'll see that while the planet pictured is Terra, it's not the Terra of the present day. In fact, it's not the Terra of any day that I can find records for. There're too many small satellites in orbit, and not enough large stations. Where are the orbital factories, the shipyards, and all the other signs of space industrialization? The planetary technology and architecture and technology looked all wrong too. Why, there's video of engagements with aircraft and wet navy ships straight out of the twentieth century! Then there's this advanced technology loot that our Port Krin station reported. Where did THAT come from?" The Adept paused and took a breath. "My point, Precentor, is that if all this is a fake, it's a fake that's far, far too good to have been manufactured by Vorax. For that matter, we'd be hard pressed to make something so good."

"So, what do you think is going on Adept?" Stoker asked thoughtfully.

"I think Vorax is being played," the Adept replied. "I think there's an advanced lost colony out there that somehow suborned the Drakon's people, gave them fake data, and then sent them off to Port Kirin with the very intention of luring in pirates into a trap in order to gain mechs, JumpShips, and DropShips. They're advanced, probably a Star League colony, but short on people and resources, hence their need to lure pirates in."

"That theory is a little… wild, Adept," Stoker said.

"It's the most conservative theory I have, Precentor," the Adept replied. "Frankly, I've always been skeptical with the whole 'It's Kerensky's Army' thing some people use to explain everything, but it makes the most logical second choice. And for really wild theories, I can always say that twentieth century Terra has somehow time traveled to the present…"

"Ah, let's leave the sillier theories out of this, Adept," Stoker interrupted. He thought for a moment. "Hmm, your theory does seem a bit dodgy, but if the underlying data is sound, we will definitely have to investigate this. Good work, Adept… what was your name again?"

"Fox," the Adept replied. "Adept XV Mulligan Fox."

---

ISA Simulation Farm

National Training Center, Fort Irwin, California

Sol System, Independent Systems Alliance Provisional Space

22 January 2006/3021/861 AS

Hale jumped out of the simulator, cursing colorfully. It was the sixth time he'd run a simulated battle against AI today, and it was the sixth time he'd been cored out of his simulated Kartikeya. He had seen the specs of the new 'Mech and was confident in its abilities, but every single time he'd taken it out in combat, his lancemates had fallen in short order and he was left alone against a number of unknown opponents.

"Again!?" Hale yelled, "Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell are they able to move so well? How come I have such issues seeing them?"

"You aren't coordinating with the rest of the forces." Simeonov answered, looking over a tablet, "You don't wait for air support, you don't wait for the drone uplinks. You keep rushing forward twenty kilometers ahead of the line."

"No Inner Sphere 'Mechs can stand the firepower or collapse the shields of this simulated Kartikeya." Hale stared at Simeonov, "What the hell are we fighting against?"

"Well, if the source books are to be believed, we simply extrapolated the specs of higher-level tech and made some optimized 'Mechs."

"There is no way that anyone has weapons or 'Mechs that powerful-"

"Assumptions, Hale. They're the mother of all fuckups. We always assume a more powerful opponent unless proven otherwise. Your piloting is good, your situational awareness is solid. You just need to break out of some antiquated thinking."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Fire and maneuver. Communicate with your fire support and coordinate. Stop thinking that your 'Mech can take everything. Always assume that it can't. You have a significant mobility advantage over the enemy. Use it."

Hale sighed. He was so tired of getting his ass kicked by a computer. Simeonov clapped him on the shoulder.

"Listen, Hale, I understand the frustration. I understand having to get old habits beaten out of you. It takes time, but you can get there. Koltan has the advantage of not having to unlearn anything. He doesn't have your familiarity with 'Mech combat, but he's fighting like we fight: Fire and maneuver. Combined arms. He doesn't let his 'Mech take any damage unless it needs to."

"Fine. Let's run it again. I'll see if I've learned anything."

Hale reentered the simulator and strapped himself back in.

I'll be damned if I leave today without beating a goddamn computer.

---

Firing Range

13 February 2006/861 AS

Two mighty war machines strode across the dry ground. The BattleMechs took their positions, ready to demonstrate to any and all onlookers why they had been considered the lords of the BattleTech universe.

One was a Hunchback, Quasimodo reborn through the efforts of 'Mech techs and engineers refitting and rearming the hero machine from newly manufactured parts on Earth. On its shoulder was something never before seen in the annals of 'Mech warfare: a repeating rail gun capable of destroying any comparable platform at any range. Quasimodo demonstrated its terrifying capability by destroying a number of targets from two kilometers away to as close as three-hundred meters.

Alas, all eyes were on Quasimodo's partner this day.

"Is that a Mad Cat?" one of the visiting dignitaries watching the demonstration asked.

Indeed, the mighty machine did resemble the iconic Mad Cat of BattleTech lore. Its cylindrical body, bird-legged gait, thin arms, and boxy missile launchers formed a shape nearly unmistakable to all observers. The General at the podium explained, this 'Mech too had been assembled from the fallen, augmented with ISA technology. The voracious forces of Vorax had possessed few Catapults and Marauders, and all had fallen in battle. Their remains had been taken by skilled engineers and combined in an experiment of BattleMech construction. Thus, did the Mad Cat leap from the pages of fiction and into the real world, wielding the greatest weapons of Earth and the ISA.

In demonstration of its combat prowess, the Mad Cat unleashed its payload upon the dead and obsolete tanks serving their final purpose to their masters. Missiles forged in the many factories of Earth leapt out and completed their destruction in fire and flying shrapnel.

What is this? A challenger had entered at the far end of the field, seeking to demonstrate its own prowess. The challenger was but a lowly tank, a lowly box thing on treads with none of the elegant lines that the 'Mechs possessed. Why, it was laughable to think that such a thing could hope to challenge the mighty BattleMechs!

But challenge the tank did. It charged its betters even as consternation rose among the onlookers. The tank wove through its dead antiquated brethren, refusing to accept their fate to be mere target practice. The 'Mechs held their fire, perhaps stunned at the tank's temerity.

The tank neared and the 'Mechs could no longer accept such insolence. The onlookers gasped as the 'Mechs opened fire on the intruder. Quasimodo unleased the full fury of its repeating rail gun, shattering a seemingly invisible barrier that surrounded the tank. The Mad Cat unleashed an alpha strike, spreading missiles and pulse laser fire across the now exposed armor of the aggressor. Pulse lasers melted armor, missiles sent bits of shrapnel flying off multiple directions.

To the surprise of the crowd, the tank kept coming. As it came, its turret swiveled to bring its cannon as great as Quasimodo's own on the mighty Mad Cat. With a roar of fire and smoke, a flag popped out of the muzzle, delivering a message stitched in its threads.

BANG! YOU'RE DEAD!

"Ladies and Gentlemen," The General at the podium began as the tank drove between Quasimodo and the Mad Cat, stopping next to the General, "I am proud to announce that we have finalized the first designs of armor to match our ISA benefactor's technology manufactured here on Earth! Featuring the venerable repeating rail gun demonstrated by the Hunchback and the defensive capabilities you have all seen here, full scale production is expected to start…"

---

Outlying Trade Roads

Outpost

Rasalhague Military District, Draconis Combine Space

18 February 3021

Baron Ozama Joe, Lord of the planet Outpost, piloted his Phoenix Hawk down the cracked, grass-infested highway. He was tempted to throttle up his 'Mech to a run, but that meant leaving most of his loyal retainers behind. Following in his wake were the three light 'Mechs of his lance, piloted by his loyal samurai warriors. Strung out on the road behind them were the light tanks and APCs of Outpost's planetary militia battalion. It almost looked like a parade.

However, this was no fanciful outing. Ahead of Baron Joe was a column of dens, black smoke rising above the intervening forest. Its size and thickness told the Baron that the town was probably lost, burning to the ground even as he all but ran towards it. He cursed the militia for slowing him down, but some instinct told him that he would need them. If he could not save the town, perhaps he could punish the raiders.

Baron Joe rounded a bend in the road and the forest opened up, bringing the township into view. It was as bad as he had feared; every building he could see seemed to be on fire. In fact, it was worse than he had feared; bodies carpeted the road between him and the town, gunned downed as they fled or worse. His eyes skipped past bloody and naked bodies.

Fury filled Baron Joe, and he hit the button to broadcast on the common bands.

"Cowards!" he shouted into the ether as his people deployed around him. "Cowards and dishonorable dogs! You slay the helpless for no better reason than your own amusement! Come out and face my righteous wrath!"

"Weeeeell, since you put it so pretty, how can I refuse," a man's voice answered, laughing. A Quickdraw stepped out of the wall of fire and smoke. "I'm Ryan. Redjack Ryan. Maybe you heard of me?"

"Redjack Ryan?" Baron Joe repeated. "Then I will have the pleasure of taking your head and boasting how I defeated you in single combat."

"Ha! In your dreams, Baron," Ryan jeered. Around him, more mechs began stepping out of the flames, a great many more mechs. "Not that you'll ever dream again, I'll wager."

---

JumpShip White Elephant

High Earth Orbit

Sol System, Independent Systems Space

19 March 2006/3021/861 AS

Sitting in his seat on the bridge of the White Elephant, Captain Kurt Benson surveyed what used to be his domain with ire and grumpiness. His mood was caused mostly by the fact that his JumpShip was no longer truly his. This was perfectly illustrated by the people who crowded his bridge.

Over at the navigation station, his navigator Damian was watching in shock as engineers and technicians were replacing what they called 'antiquated garbage' with a new navigational computer. Over at another station, several scientists of dubious education had plugged in one of their so-called 'computers' plugged into the White Elephant's main frame, poring over the programming. Off to the side, more people were installing more equipment. Of course, there was the ever-threatening presence of the soldier by the bridge hatch.

It wasn't all bad, Benson had to admit even if just to himself. These people had been going over every JumpShip in the aborted invasion fleet. They wanted to learn how to build their own, so of course they wanted to examine everything. In the course of their investigations, they had taken to sending up supplies, manufacturing new parts, and in general refurbishing the JumpShips as they went along. A real boon to the repair work had been discovered on the Kip Branhagan in the form of a collection of maintenance manuals for Invader-class JumpShips. Now every Invader had at least one copy.

What really concerned Benson was these people's urge to tinker. Mucking around with the mainframe's programming was bad enough, but they were installing all sorts of new gear from sensors, a 'Virtual Intelligence', and something called ArtGrav. They claimed all of their gear were direct upgrades, but Benson wasn't so sure.

Benson glanced at the new holographic display attached to his station. He had never seen such resolution, such clarity from a holographic display in his entire life. It showed everything a Captain would need to know at a moment's notice. Even better, the display was completely customizable to suit his needs, an almost unheard of extravagance in any computer system, let alone one from a backwater world.

That was just the tip of the iceberg. Benson's chief engineer couldn't stop singing their praises. Maintenance issues long deterred by lack of money and parts were finally being fixed and outright upgraded. New, high tech tools were being added to their repair inventory. Most unnerving of all, several of his original crew members had signed up for some of the local correspondence courses, learning things that he didn't think were possible.

Of course, all this activity wasn't just for the hell of it. If he couldn't figure it out for himself, the local news told Benson what his ship was probably going to be used for. Obviously, the locals were going to launch a reprisal raid on Vorax and Port Kirin. The only question on everyone's minds was whether 'Earth' (here Benson's mind shied away from the unsettling implications that piece of knowledge threw up) was going to just raid Port Kirin or move in and take over outright. The ISA were playing their cards close to their collective chests, but the consensus of their discussion was a total take over.

Benson was skeptical about the whole thing. How could such primitives possibly hope to beat Vorax on his own ground? At the moment, Benson was expecting these guys to try, fail, and then drop a nuke or three on Port Kirin in frustration. Also, where the hell did the locals get-

"Why not?" one of the folks in an unknown military uniform asked. That drew Benson out of his own brooding thoughts, "Look, we've been doing this for centuries. The navigation math isn't any more complicated for jumps along the edge of the jump denial zone than it is at standard points. It's easy to do, predicting where a planet is going to be. Why don't you people jump in as close as you can?"

"Because… because it's just not done." Damien sputtered, "Everyone uses standard points."

"Is there a problem here?" Benson asked, swimming through the microgravity to the group.

"Captain," Damien said, relieved, "Please explain to this guy why we always use standard jump points to jump into a system.

"Is that all? We use standard points because it's the safest place to jump into."

"Jesus is it really that hard to break through to you people?" one of the other uniformed folks asked, exasperated, "Look, I understand that your KF drives aren't as sophisticated as ours, thus you have to jump to a point that is unaffected by a body's gravity. It's a spherical zone of denial, we understand that. Anywhere outside that sphere, you can jump using the same calculations as the standard points without resorting to the complexity that your pirate points have. So, why don't you guys just jump to the point along the sphere closest to your target destination?"

"Because it's dangerous." Benson replied, strangely happy. Finally, he got to lord his superiority over these yokels, "You can never know where the planet is at any given time and they create jump denial zones of their own."

"Do they not teach you people orbital mechanics?" the uniformed person facepalmed, "You can predict where a planet is going to be, barring a highly unlikely event. If a planet's last known location isn't too old and has a reasonably circular orbit, you should be able to calculate where the planet is right now."

"That planet has gravity too." Benson pointed out, disgruntled. He hadn't expected such a comeback, "It will bulge out the… the jump denial zone."

"Yes, it also has a known mass. It's not hard to determine exactly where to jump. You can calculate the maximum bulge and jump a bit further than that with your drives."

"There's…" Benson wracked his brain, looking for other arguments, "Standard points are clear of debris. Jumping in on the ecliptic increases the chance of collision with space debris."

"Even your drives annihilate anything occupying that particular point in space-time. The chances of encountering a piece of debris large enough to cause problems is lower than catching the full force of a supernova."

"What do you know about interstellar jumping!" Benson yelled, clearly tired of this farce, "You people don't even have starships!"

"Wow, someone hasn't been paying attention." The uniformed person rolled their eyes, "How did we get transports up here that weren't DropShips, then? How do we have aerospace fighters? Ignoramuses, the lot of you…"

Benson was gob smacked. He had forgotten, being wrapped up in this work after all. They had taken their JumpShips not with DropShips, but some other kind of vessels he had never seen before. Massive transports, fighters they couldn't see.

Who are these people?

---

Earth Orbital Defense Headquarters

Low Earth Orbit

28 March 2006/861 AS

"The Senate has passed the fourth piece of military legislation in many weeks, fast tracking critical funding to provide additional logistical support for the Independent Systems Alliance. The House and Senate bills are all but identical save some minor differences that are expected to be ironed out within the next two days then passed to President Ryan to sign. The White House issued a statement congratulating both chambers on moving quickly, but carefully, on the legislation. The United States funding will be rolling immediately after the legislation is passed, with a supplementary bill until the next fiscal year. To explain this in greater depth, we now go live to-"

*Click*

"-received the honor of the Hero of the Russian Federation in a medal ceremony at the Kremlin early today, his third such award in his long and distinguished military career. General Bondarenko's swift actions and decisive engagements have been pointed to by military analysts as a textbook example of utilizing Earth's assets against enemy formations. Some have criticized the use of three divisions to destroy an enemy invasion company as excessive. The Russian Government has denied these accusations saying quote, 'We offered the pirates the exact same quarter they offered us,' end quote. Widely known in military circles as the brilliant theater commander of Russian and NATO forces during the short war between the Russian Federation and the People's Republic of China, sources indicate that the General is on the short list of officers to lead Earth's contingent of forces in the overall organization of the ISA's-"

*Click*

"-are completely missing the point! These people are not just statistics. We are talking about billions upon billions of humans across the Inner Sphere, stuck in anything from a neo-feudal Japan where slavery is completely legal and there are no legal rights for their citizens to a war-mad ruler who honestly thinks that it is his or his children's destiny to rule the Inner Sphere. He's going to start a war on the day of his wedding. Us, along with our new ISA allies have the technology and moral obligation to give people a better chance-"

"You're completely misrepresenting the situation again. The Federated Commonwealth is the best hope for stability in the Inner Sphere, which we want to work with to change for the better. We can't shatter the established order and try to rebuild our own. That kind of hubris that is brought on by our newfound technological superiority is not only morally reprehensible, it's also-"

*Click*

"-lawsuit against Harmony Gold. Microsoft, who just last week finalized their completely buyout of the entirety of Intellectual Property beyond their initial stake of the FASA organization, is confident of a quick victory against the Japanese company for IP violations with their just released line of Warhammer and Phoenix Hawk model kits. Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer and Founder Bill Gates were unavailable for comment, but renowned legal expert Judith Sheindlin was quoted saying 'those poor SOBs' when told Microsoft's legal team was headed to Japan-"

*Click*

Mary Pat Foley turned off the holo display as she yet again wondered how in the hell her life and world had turned upside down so quickly.

It had been bad enough over past few years: Japan declaring war against the United States, Iran launching a bioweapon attack against the United States, fighting alongside the Russians to defend their motherland. These events, while outlandish, were eminently logical insomuch as events on Earth were concerned.

She drew the line when it came to seemingly impossible space-time relocation events resulting in a tabletop game coming to life and stomping around on her planet.

As head of Operations at the CIA she had to learn the accept the impossible and do her job. Her primary job, intelligence collection and dissemination, now extended to the governments of the planet, and those governments needed information to make their decisions. She just wasn't used to the average person having about as much information to work with as she did, at least not officially anyway. Still, it was a humbling experience to have her younger son brief her and her husband on BattleTech after the initial invasion.

Surprisingly, he had done a far better job at it than the people she was paying at the CIA to do the same. He had correctly guessed that his parents were far more interested in their opposite among the Inner Sphere than some junior-grade geek stammering on about how cool a Naval Laser battery was. Some of the stories he told as given through the novels were disturbing. If they were to be believed, it was as if these intelligence agencies picked up anyone and everyone off the street, gave them a spy novel, and told them to do their best.

She looked out the window of her new office. It was a trip, looking down on Earth from orbit. It added a very interesting part of her daily routine, mainly boarding an ISA transport at the Agency after parking, but she honestly couldn't beat it. Each of the major ISA treaty signatories with their own intelligence agency had offices aboard the station, expanding all the time thanks to the tireless work of construction drones. The events of the previous years leading up to the first invasion of Earth were wild enough, having overseen many of the operations to bring them to a close from her office in Langley. Now, with an office in orbit, she was a part of something much greater than any of those efforts combined.

The holo-display rang, denoting an incoming transmission. She dug through piles of reports, BattleTech field manuals, and various other pieces of paperwork transplanted from her old office to find the button and press the flashing light."

"Hey hon." The image of the Director of Central Intelligence, her husband, appeared in front of her, "How's it going?"

She shook her head, a tired smile on her face, "Super. I've got thirty candidates who know almost nothing about BattleTech down on the Farm who've signed on for the project. They're in isolation. We don't have to worry about contamination from the goddamn news, and our best people are working to get them ready."

"Good to hear." Ed replied, correctly guessing his wife's mood and not making any superfluous remarks.

Putting together a cadre of the best people they had for long term operations in the Inner Sphere was her major project right now. Long term, probably the most critical for Earth over the next decade. It didn't help that every operation they thought about putting together was being debated on CNN as anyone turned on the TV. The group they had assembled had to be carefully selected among those who had only cursory knowledge about the Inner Sphere. At 'The Farm,' they would be trained by the best they and the ISA had with as much hands-on experience from salvaged BattleTech technology and in-field reports as they could before being taken apart for their individual or group assignments, compartmentalizing each group from the other.

The fact that the media was blasting everything from the upcoming Fourth Succession War to the Clan Invasion and the Jihad by the Word of Blake as talking points on every major news network made finding the people they needed rather difficult.

But bitching to her husband about it wouldn't do anything but try and make him avoid her for the rest of the day. As he was technically her boss, it would make doing their jobs rather difficult… not to mention may waylay any romantic evening plans they had tonight.

"I thought you should know that everyone is assembling in the conference room. I'm heading down now if you're ready."

"I'm on my way." She confirmed with a sigh. She took a final gulp of tepid coffee, wincing at the temperature before heading out. Per habit, she ensured that her door was locked behind her and walked briskly to the turbolift, working briefly to clean up her appearance on the way. Ed, as well as the DDCI and the DDO were waiting. A brief exchange of nods and the four most powerful people in the Central Intelligence Agency descended down three floors before emerging in the conference room antechamber. They were still amazed that this station had been built in a matter of months and major construction was still underway. Spooks being spooks still insisted on advanced electronic countermeasures, and the ISA happily provided, sealing each room in the intelligence wing of the station in its own countermeasure bubble.

"Sergey Nikolay'ch!" Mary called as she entered the room. The man in question turned, a broad smile passed across his face as he walked towards her.

"Maria Foleyeva!" the Russian head of the SVR boomed back. The man kissed both cheeks Russian style, Mary flinching American style as they came together. Ed gave her an amused glance and made a beeline for Sir Basil Chareston, head of the British SIS, who was chatting away with Avi Ben Jakob, head of the Mossad. Both men absolute professionals in the field, as was the case with any individual in the room.

"These are most interesting times to be in our profession, are they not?" Sergey Golovko asked Mary Pat.

"I'd settle for a nice quiet break to be honest, Sergey." She replied sourly, speaking her perfect Russian. Golovko's English was good, but she had learned her Russian at the feet of her grandmother from the age of two and spoke with a polished elegance that she relished exercising when given the chance, "We have enough problems on this planet without taking on a few thousand more."

"And our job is to make sure that doesn't happen." Ed spoke up from a few meters away, getting the attention of everyone across the windowless room, "Let's get started."

Swiftly, the assembled people took their assigned seats. The large circular table had places set for thirty-two people, comprising representatives from the ISA signatory nations as well as their respective staves sitting along the tables and walls on the edge of the room. A man took his seat at the 'head' of the table, with the instantly recognizable Bashar Serov beside him. Everyone in the room were very senior players in the spook games, many of whom had been fighting shadow wars against one another for a very long time. The very important distinction was that they were all professionals. They all understood that business was business, it was never personal. That made it far easier for them to work together than their political masters were finding it to be. There were rules to the game, while unwritten were as real and immutable as the documents that founded their countries. That more than anything brought them together today.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the man at the 'head' of the table began, "I'm sure you don't need me to introduce myself, but I am Bashar Superior Marcus Scarman, Director of Intelligence for the Independent Systems Alliance. You already know Bashar Superior Serov here. As we all know, the ISA treaty which all of your countries signed and ratified made distinct provisions for a unified intelligence agency for coordination and collaboration of intelligence activities in defense of the ISA. Now, everyone here knows what we're up against and we've been liaising for several months before this meeting, but I hope this week we'll be able to hammer out a number of major operational frameworks to go forward with and present to the ISA's senior leadership, which would be us in this case. If you'll all open your briefing folders, you'll see that our preliminary working group has divided our efforts and workloads around several major components. They are, in no particular order: Intelligence Gathering; Asset Recovery; Strategic 'Shaping'; and Counterintelligence and infiltration of our contemporaries."

Scarman paused for a moment to ensure everyone was on the same page before offering a grim smile, "Suffice it to say, if the various intelligence agencies in the Inner Sphere really work as all of the source material we've studied shows, well…" he let the thought trail off, but there was a consensus of looks from around the room at just how horribly outclassed the Inner Sphere were on this playing field. They all shared the thought of how much fun this was going to be if all the source material was the truth of how things were done in the Inner Sphere.

"BUT, we don't assume such things, do we?" Scarman added with some force. Everyone around the table knew how powerfully dangerous assumptions were.

None of the gathered would dare make such an assumption. The way the intelligence services of LOKI, MIIO, ISF, SAFE, ROM and the Maskirovka worked, if the material could be believed, defied description and logic. It looked as if the Successor States had just hired a bunch of people off the street who had read one spy novel too many and been told to make an intelligence service using the aforementioned books as a guide. Some of the staggering, clumsy, unwieldly and downright idiotic mistakes made by these groups had given most of the people around the table reactions from laughter to downright fear at the possibility that a spook could really be that stupid. That quickly led everyone deciding that no one could possibly be that stupid, not in the real world. If they were, there would be no chance that these states would still be functioning at all on a planetary scale, let alone an interstellar one.

The conversation shifted to possible agents from the mercenaries hired, the pirates interred, and the civilians stranded on Earth after the previous invasion attempts. The exhaustive interrogations and debriefings of these people had been collated, compared with one another and the source material. It had shown terrifyingly consistent facts, attitudes, and beliefs of the absurd neo-feudal society that had been dominated for hundreds of years by an overwhelming desire to continue an unwinnable series of wars for the sake of waging war.

That work had uncovered four possible and two probable intelligence officers mixed in with the invasion force, which was unsurprising. The first agent, who just reeked of ISF from his debriefs, was now currently in Tokyo where the PSIA was very interested to see his actions after meeting with the Emperor. The second officer, who was the subject of fierce betting over whether she was MIIO or ROM, was being carefully held in a military base as a 'free' prisoner. She was being presented with all manner of BattleTech information to see how she handled it.

The topics of discussion shifted to Antallos. Information was shared by Scarman with the assembled about their first infiltration attempts and what the results of them were. Turning a DropShip as it landed was a huge coup and verified that ISA methods would work in the Inner Sphere. The other agencies better understood the environment of a 'free' world, and these worlds may just be the best locations to initiate any intelligence operations in the near term.

Long term, there was an understanding between everyone that one organization was more dangerous than all the others. One which they all considered the real enemy.

"Now," Scarman said, "we all understand that there is one threat to our fledgling existence that may destabilize the entirety of the Inner Sphere. With that, I'll hand the reins over to Ed Foley. Ed?"

"Thank you." Ed straightened the papers before him, "Now we have identified the greatest threat that we need to deal with before it deals with us. To understand this, we must take a short detour back to where it all started: a mid-level technician in the service of the Star League by the name of Jerome Blake…"

---

Cradle Civilian Administration Complex

Cradle

Sanctuary System, Independent Systems Alliance Space

1 April 861 AS/2006

State visits were always a little strange. The pomp and circumstance, the procedures to receive the head of another country, these were all things President Ryan was used to. What he wasn't used to, at least not yet, was visiting the head of an interstellar power. This was the site of the ISA's first settlement in 'this universe' so he was told and given the level of progress he would have guessed they had been here for years. He was informed that was not the case. They were closing in on the two-year mark, having arrived in January of last year. There were already extensive agricultural concerns, industrial facilities, residential zones, the beginning of space drydocks, even a small but thriving commercial market. The population was formed of just over a million people, with over a billion more in cryostasis, ready to be thawed out and put back into society as soon as there was room.

The lessons of previous wars were quite apparent. The planet was protected by a garrison fleet and a tight network of orbital defense platforms ready to destroy any errant intruders that came their way. There were early warning stations, ready to disrupt the jump drives of any ships that would wander into the system, giving the defenders time to seize the ships and prevent any form of communication from leaving. This is how defended Ryan wanted Earth to be, so fortified that even the Clans would question the logic of invading their planet.

The Civilian Administration Building was beautiful in its utilitarianism. Sparse yet aesthetic lines defined the facility, denoting its import and espousing the ISA's fervent belief in form serving function. He was briefed that the entire city could be under orbital siege for years and even if the shields collapsed, the buildings would hold. He supposed that came from a society that expected hostility at every corner yet approached those in need with unerring generosity. The entrance chamber had various artifacts from Earth, which blew his mind. A copy of the Declaration of Independence, the Magna Carta, Articles of Confederation, Unification of the Western Alliance, all of these were genuine articles recovered from Earth before the exodus of humanity from the war-torn world. He approached the Declaration, mind swimming that there could be two genuine articles of the formation of the United States in the universe.

Ryan's thoughts were interrupted by a person at the other end of the antechamber

"President Ryan," they began, "welcome to Cradle."

"Good of you to have me, uh, rather us I suppose." Ryan replied, walking over to them, "Where are the rest of the world leaders?"

"They are currently enjoying other parts of the city. They will be here in an hour."

"I guess I'm early then." Ryan extended his hand, "President Jack Ryan, United States of America.

"Pleasure." They grasped his hand, "Meztli Glass. First Councilor of the Civilian Council, but I suppose that is by default."

"I'm sorry?"

"Civilian Councilors are one per planet, each one being elected by its populace to represent them in the Civilian Council. Given Cradle was the only planet officially in the ISA until Earth decided to join us, well, I became First Councilor by default."

"I've read up on how the council system works, the partnership between the Council and the military Basharate. Why is it a partnership rather than the civilians having the final say in the matter?"

"Strategic flexibility, Ryan. Given the innumerable extenuating circumstances that we have encountered over the years, it was deemed necessary to allow the military to operate more independently of the civilian arm of the government. That is why military representatives met with Earth first. Our military is inevitably the first to encounter a new people, thus first contact is usually handled by them, as are initial diplomatic engagements. We on the civilian side of things get down to the nitty gritty of laws, governance, economics and so on."

"I see. I don't suppose we're going to elect a Councilor for Earth today."

Glass laughed, "Oh, no. We leave that up to each member world. How they select their Councilor is up to them as long as it abides by current ISA law. Even with our incredibly unique circumstances right now, we abide by the council system because despite all the wild happenings we have encountered, it works. It is flexible enough to deal with the ever-changing nature of the universe."

Nimble, even in affairs of state. Ryan began to understand how the ISA remained so successful.

"So, Councilor Glass, how long have you been at this whole politics business?" Ryan asked

"Long enough, and please call me Metz. I was first apart of the Liberty Congress as a Senator and have served in politics since our first exodus. I'm lucky that many of my friends and colleagues are still alive all these years later."

"How long ago was your first exodus?"

"Oh, a few decades ago at this point."

Ryan was stunned, "You don't look a day over thirty."

Glass laughed, "Thank you, I appreciate the compliment. Our medical technology has kept me looking like this for the past thirty years."

"How old are Bashars Merlow and Serov?" Ryan asked.

"State secrets, Ryan." They said with a wink, "Shall we continue into the main chambers? I'm sure there is more for you to discover here, along with more questions you will inevitably have."

"Uh, sure." Ryan followed Glass into the Council Chambers, filled with more questions and unsure if he would get the answers that day.

---

Minor City Outpost

Nykvarn

Rasalhague District, Draconis Combine Space

1 April 3021

Bullets flew back and forth down the street. Private Niles Strondheim ducked down behind the shell of a truck that he was using as cover as a stream of bullets whizzed past. Beside him, a young mother cradled her injured child, neither able to move to safety and medical help because of all the gunfire raging around them.

"Sergeant!" Strondheim shouted over the woman's head as he loaded his last magazine into his weapon. "I'm running low on ammo!"

"Yeah?" Strondheim's squad leader shouted back, popping up to let off a burst of rifle fire. He ducked back down in time to avoid the rounds spangling off his cover. "Well look on the bright side! So must they!"

"Who the fuck are these guys?" Strondheim asked after firing another burst.

"Hey, I'm just a mushroom," the Sergeant answered after firing another burst of his own. "I'm just kept in the dark and fed shit like everyone else, but I think these guys are pirates."

"This deep into the Combine?" Strondheim said, shocked enough that he forgot to pop out and shoot another few rounds.

"Yeah, go figure," the Sergeant said. His eyes flicked over to something behind Strondheim. "Oh, fuck."

Strondheim turned around to see a Firestarter looming over them and had just enough time to register that it wasn't painted in militia or DCMS colors before he and everyone else behind the truck were engulfed in flames.

Skies Above Groom Lake

Groom Lake Testing Facility

Sol System, Independent Systems Alliance Provisional Space

9 April 2006

The modified Leopard-class DropShip flew in low, so low that it had to rise slightly to clear the mountains surrounding its objective. Below, a semi-permanent camp of observers noted the DropShip's presence and obligingly took photographs and video of its passage. Once upon a time, those people would have been regarded as lunatic conspiracy theorists looking for proof of aliens. These days, the aliens were proven (if human), but a few UFO hunters remained, joined by even more people interested in seeing what the military was doing a this so-called 'secret' base.

The people in the Leopard paid them no mind. In fact, they didn't even realize that they were there. If they had, their egos might have been pumped up enough to do some fancy flying and give the ground-bound civilians a show. As it was, the pilot put the DropShip in a holding pattern, circling low above the base. In one of the Leopard's former aerospace fighter bays a small crew checked and double checked their instruments and confirmed they were indeed looking at their designated target for today's test. A request was sent to the pilot to adjust the Leopard's holding pattern, bringing the target to the circle's rough center. More minutes passed as the CIC made sure the target zone was clear of any live human beings.

While the crew waited, they studied the target. It was a misshapen lump, a two-hundred-plus ton block of metal that had resulted in a failed first attempt at Earth-manufactured mass-produced ISA-spec armor. Despite this, it was more than tough enough to replicate the armor of BT enemies and serve as today's target.

When they were given the all clear, two of the Leopard's 'Mech bay doors slid open, revealing not 'Mechs but many, many guns.

Eight of the new rotary rail guns fired as one, railing enough rounds to instantly obliterate any 'Mech standing in the field of fire. This was an accuracy test, however, not one to demonstrate firepower. At their highest rate of fire, the guns could annihilate a company of 'Mechs in seconds if the platform remained stable. The RRGs were not alone. Six upgraded 155mm howitzers added their multi-purpose shells to the mix, set for high explosive for this test. The target was obscured behind fireballs and shards of flying debris. Like their more rapid-fire cousins they had been equipped with a sophisticated and robust auto-loading system to maximize their rate of fire.

As they pummeled their target with unrelenting firepower, a captured pirate LRM carrier unloaded its full complement on the intruding DropShip. It would have been its full firepower had the long-range missiles still possessed their explosive payload. This was only a test, and the missiles still possessed their full flight capability, racing towards the Leopard to inflict simulated harm. Only the LRMs began falling in droves as four pulse lasers spewed a wall of photonic energy for them to slice themselves against. A majority of the surviving LRMs only lived because they were off target and missed not only the laser fire but the DropShip as well. Only three LRMs hit the DropShip, being absorbed by the new Earth-produced prototype shields, doing no damage to the DropShip itself.

Testing complete, the Leopard closed its bay doors and turned to return to base. Below, scientists and engineers swarmed the testing field to examine the much-reduced lump of armor.

---

Leopard DropShip Averly

Low Earth Orbit

13 April 2006/3021/861 AS

Captain Allister Davis frowned as he stood, unbelievably, at the entrance to the room that used to be the aerospace fighter deck. Sure, it had long since been converted to a cargo hold, but right now it didn't even resemble that.

I just had to get myself and my DropShip conscripted by Vorax, didn't I? He thought to himself. At least the Motherloders had stopped shooting at his DropShip when he waved the white flag, just moments after they stormed his DropShip.

He and his crew were treated well, but right now he had his doubt in whether or not he should just open the cargo bay doors and space them for what they had done to his ship. Hell, Averly might not be able to ever again transport 'Mechs with one bay converted into what the ISA folks called a 'RADAR Boom' He had seen RADAR systems before, none of them had the size of an entire 'Mech bay.

The technicians who had installed them and the massive weapons systems to match called the whole monstrosity a 'Combat Coordination Sensors Suite.' It was an absolutely enormous device that took up an entire bay. The other 'Mech bay was filled with weapons that could be fired down through the deck thanks to modifications that allowed the bay to open from below. From what was explained, the CCSS was used to help coordinate forces in a combat zone, and the weapons would help them when targets were called.

But what use was any of that while being in orbit around a planet?"

He shook his head as he slowly walked into the room and through the rows on consoles placed throughout the former cargo deck. Surprisingly enough the cables were neatly managed, out of the way of unsuspecting feet. The presence of gravity in orbit was still something he was getting used to. Apparently, these folks installed an 'artificial gravity' unit aboard his ship, allowing people to walk around normally while the field was active. He just couldn't understand it. Weren't these people supposed to be backwards savages?

"Captain Davis!" he heard the voice of Commander Allan Brigger behind him and had to suppress a sigh as he turned around. He didn't like that guy. He was reminded too much of people like Vorax, a somewhat slimy guy whose only job seemed to be to torture people like him who just wanted to get by.

"Commander Brigger." He put on his best fake smile, "I trust everything is going well?"

Brigger smiled that typical superior smile of his before nodding.

"It's going better than we had hoped," Brigger said, "though we will need to configure a few systems. The fire control cluster is giving us a little bit of a headache."

Davis would freely admit that went right over his head, but he would never in front of Brigger. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"So, you going to gut my ship even more?" he asked with another frown. Brigger laughed.

"To get the power output needed, certainly. Gonna be swapping the reactor core in a few days and adding another few weapons. You should be proud, Captain! Your DropShip is going to be the first Planetary Control DropShip the Inner Sphere has seen in centuries!"

Davis breathed in. He didn't want to have his ship gutted any further, and he didn't want to deal with Brigger anymore.

"If you'll excuse me," Davis turned around, "I have to take a look at engineering. Apparently, you guys use more energy than we expected."

"That's what the new reactor core is for!"

---

Headquarters, 2nd BattleMech Battalion, Independent Systems First Combined Army

National Training Center, Fort Irwin, California

15 April 2006/3021/861 AS

"Okay, does anyone have any other issues that need to be brought up?" Lieutenant Colonel Elroy Jackson asked, looking around at his assembled battalion officers. There was a general shaking of heads and blank stares, "Alright. Dismissed." As everyone got up and started filing out of the room, Jackson stopped one man in particular, "XO, hold a moment."

"Sir." Major Aladdin Al Azim replied.

As the rest of the officers left, Jackson studied the man that had been foisted on him as his XO. Jackson had expected not to like the man. Azim's appointment to the executive officer position stank of the worst political fenagling he had ever seen. For a start, the man was an alien, literally from another planet come to invade Earth only to have a change of heart when he found the holy city of his religion standing there. Another issue was that Azim was a 'Hero' which in Jackson's mind translated to 'glory hound who gets good soldiers killed.' Of course, there was the ever-touchy subject of religion.

Whatever Jackson had expected, the man he got wasn't it. Azim was a quiet man and a hard worker. What's more is he certainly looked as if he knew his business when it came to train everyone in BattleMech operations, adapting smoothly to the pilot/copilot system the ISA insisted upon. Azim certainly knew how to handle the 'independent contractors' that made up Charlie Company. Jackson had at best expected a cowboy. What he got was a Mahatma Gandhi who knew how to strategically apply violence.

Unless you brought up the Draconis Combine. Azim showed another side completely on that subject.

"Nice AAR, XO." Jackson said as the last officer filed out.

"Thank you, sir." Azim replied with a slight bow of his head.

"I especially like how you critiqued Jankowicz's performance without coming down too hard on the kid. Not enough officers have the feel for that kind of thing."

"I just did what any good officer would have, sir." Azim made the statement a certain fact.

"Of course you did," Jackson replied dryly, "but speaking officer to officer, I have to ask: How do you people do it?"

"Sir?"

"Let me be clear here. How the hell do you people," Jackson pointed at the ceiling, "manage to run any kind of military organization with the fucked-up logistics you must have?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you're taking about, sir."

"Azim, I'm a tanker," Jackson began, "or rather I'm an ex-tanker trying to learn how to be a 'MechWarrior. Piloting a 'Mech is easy. Running a 'Mech unit? My God, man, we're supposed to be a battalion of thirty-six 'Mechs. Because of our rather unique maintenance requirements we've a company of specialized mechanics, technicians, and honest-to-God scientists attached to us. In all my years in the Army, I've never seen a technical support unit attached directly to a mere battalion command. Then there are the 'Mechs themselves."

"The 'Mechs?"

"We have thirty-six 'Mechs. We drew the short end of the stick, and all our 'Mechs are mismatched jumbles of IS and ISA tech. We have a repair inventory that must carry parts for thirty different variants of 'Mech, with little to no standardization until the 'Mechs get replaced by native ISA designs. They each have different load outs, armor fittings, spare parts, ammo requirements, and God knows what else. We are lucky that the ISA can manufacture the parts and have upgraded all of the machines into some form of standardized maintenance requirements, but it's still a nightmare to organize these logistics! There's no logic here. Dozens of different designs, I can't- ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME, MAJOR!?"

"Ahem, sorry sir." Azim apologized, coughing, "Respectfully, sir, what you're going through his honestly better than what other 'Mech commanders throughout the Inner Sphere deal with every day. We don't have the luxury of having all the same types of BattleMechs in one unit. We have to use what we can get, and replacements more often than not will come from what can be salvaged off the battlefield. 'Mech production is so low that we can't afford to throw away any 'Mech just because its components aren't compatible with the other 'Mechs we already have. So, sir, be thankful of the standardization you do have. It's much better than what everyone else has to go through."

"Damnit, I know." Jackson sighed, "Sorry, XO, for blowing steam on you."

"It's what a good XO is for, sir."

"No, it's not." Jackson snorted, "Back to business. How are my people shaping up?"

"For the folks completely new to 'Mech piloting, not too bad actually." Azim answered, "The ISA has managed to assemble a truly talented pool of personnel, but they still need more training. Some like Dansel are as talented a student as one could ever wish for, but as a whole I expect the battalion pilots to be rated strictly average to good by the time we hit Port Kirin. That's deceptive because this copilot system the ISA insists on improves performance surprisingly well."

"Hmm…" Jackson thought a moment, "I don't like my people being anything less than the best but given the timetable I suppose it can't be helped. Still, if Port Kirin has more guns than we anticipate, I'd rather us be better."

"More training?" Azim asked.

"More training."

---

22 April 3021

"They can't do that!"

"Yeah, no way!"

"Fuck this, are they insane?"

"What th-"

"HEY!" Major Staedele shouted into the briefing room, "Shut it!"

They had taken the new that they would get copilots in their 'Mechs after a series of modifications rather badly.

Admittedly, my initial reaction wasn't much different. Staedele thought to himself

"Sorry people, but yes they can do that. In fact, they've already been modifying our 'Mechs. Full command rights and technical access, that's the contract. They say 'jump' we say 'how high' whether we like it or not. Believe me, I'm the first to say this is bullshit, but I doubt they'd ask any of us."

After that, the discussion went back and forth for another few minutes. The small group of grumpy but resigned 'MechWarriors were dismissed and told to enjoy the rest of the evening. The news that they would have a day off tomorrow did somewhat improve their mood.

Staedele didn't much care for the copilot idea, but he was curious. The last weeks had been rather nice. His lance had run training exercises against local units and he had found them to be very professional and quite fast learners. Their tankers soon figured out to utilize their significant range advantage and numerical superiority to nullify any sort of close-range and endurance advantage his 'Mechs had left. Not that he hadn't learned anything either. The combined arms MOUT exercise the day before had ended with a righteously pissed off US Major after his armor ran into an ambush by Staedele's lance. They had managed to evade aerial recon by using the terrain, a whole lot of preparation, and running their reactors low, not to mention a good dose of luck. Needless to say, the short-range slugfest defeating small units in quick and decisive actions had been brutally one-sided. Nearly an entire battalion of new tanks and IFVs had been cut into pieces before his lance had been brought down by artillery and air strikes. These had caused a lot of collateral damage and thus, in terms of the exercise, cause Blue Force to fail their objective despite the scenario having been intended as a last stand for Red Force.

How would the two 'Mech battalions they were assembling play out? Staedele guessed that their company, Charlie, would be the training cadre for the others at least in the beginning. It was composed almost entirely of defectors and mercenaries save Alpha company who had to learn the trade first. Well, except for Lieutenant Dansel. He had seen a few recordings of the wild run that Hunchback had and Staedele was genuinely looking forward to test Dansel a bit more. He certainly had talent. There was also Aladdin Al Azim. From what he'd seen and heard the man would make a fine CO. Of course, having about two dozen Muslims in is unit Staedele was pretty well informed about the new hero of Islam. Then there were all the other companies whom he hadn't seen in action yet. Oh well, this was going to be… interesting…

---

'Mech Bay

25 April 3021/2006/861 AS

Marie Staedele watched the local techs as they worked on the cockpit of the Black Knight with a strange mixture of paranoia, apprehension, and curiosity. She knew by now that these guys were wizards when it came to electronics, and there were those among them that knew how to speak to BattleMechs like she had never seen, but that still didn't assuage all of her misgivings about having others work on her 'Mechs. The sheer radicality of what these people were doing was something indescribable. Swapping out all the weapons, armor, cockpit, cooling, and even the reactor? The closest words she could come up with were 'miracle' and blasphemy.'

She shook her head. Chen was already watching in horror, trying to make sure these people wouldn't do lasting damage to the Black Knight, but it may have already been too late. She was more occupied by performing some routine maintenance and repair on the cooling system of her husband's Warhammer, the Altes Eisen. Of course, she was following her little hobby/obsession of searching the internals for the reason why small laser two was always doing whatever the hell it wanted to. Consequently, the Warhammer was standing in front of the catwalk she was on, its back facing her with a small part of the armor stripped off to allow easy access.

Just as she was about to stick here head back into the hole, one of the local technicians waved at her while walking in her direction. She waited for him to come over and shook his hand.

"Patrick Walton." The man introduced himself.

"Marie Staedele." She answered as the man's eyebrows raised, "Yes, that Staedele. The Major is my husband."

"Well, nice to meet you Mrs. Staedele." He motioned to the hole, "Would you mind if I take a look in that 'Mech? Not super familiar with how you guys do things, but I'm curious."

"No problem, Mr. Walton." She handed him her flashlight, "You might need that. Just don't touch anything without asking first."

"Ma'am, yes ma'am." He laughed before his upper body disappeared into hole. He whistled, "Nice."

A few minutes and some good questions from his later, Marie saw him tense a bit, "Something wrong, Mr. Walton?"

"No, just noticed the age disparity between these parts. This 'Mech's been through a lot."

"You certainly have that right."

"Seriously?" His voice was ripe with disbelief, "What year is it right now in the Inner Sphere?"

"3021. Why?"

"Huh. This cooling system was made in 2897. ISA standard procedure would have had this go in for refurbishment and retrofitting after fifty years of service, with a stamp to match. This has been running continuously for over a century?"

"One hundred twenty-four years, to be exact." She smiled. That situation had been coming up several times already with various techs.

"Not even ISA gear that is rated for centuries-long service goes without a major refitting every fifty years, usually much sooner. How is this working after all this time?"

"Well, regular maintenance and repair is all that's needed. Wouldn't surprise me if there are even older parts. Altes Eisen was bought by the founder of our unit back in 2862. Back then it wasn't factory-new, and the databank had been partially scrapped by a hit to the head. I don't think there's anyone who could actually tell you how old this machine is, but I wouldn't doubt if this one had seen the Second Succession War from the front row."

Walton raised an eyebrow, "Still, this thing needs more than a simple repair. Good thing we're working on this in a couple days."

"What do you mean?" she asked, somewhat worried.

"Take a look." He handed over the work order in his hands.

Weapons, armor, cockpit, cooling, reactor replacement. She read, "Is there going to be anything left of the original 'Mech?" she asked.

"Besides the endoskeleton? Not after we're done with it."

This left Marie's mouth agape, staring at the technician.

---

Headquarters

28 April 3021/2006/861 AS

Lieutenant Shizuka Banderas saluted, entering Staedele's office. She was Buron Cavalry's ISA Liaison, and he knew the look on her face.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Andreas asked.

"Major, your copilot is on his way." She answered with a pained expression.

"Difficult?"

"Major, if it were up to me I'd kick his ass up one side and down the other. I'm sure I wouldn't have a problem doing so."

"Well, see him in." Andreas readied himself.

"Major?"

"If he runs his mouth, you are more than welcome to put a fist in it. Easy." He motioned to the door, "Please, Lieutenant. See him in."

A young Captain entered his office, "Major Staedele, I presume?" his voice dripped with venom.

This is going to throw my entire timetable out the window if this lasts too long. He thought to himself

"Yes, Captain." He saluted the man, "May I ask your name?"

"Captain Hal Stoops, transfer from the 1st Armored. Reporting as your new copilot… sir."

Staedele noticed the pause. It was the same as he used to get months ago from the local military folks before they had completely situated in.

Jesus, not another goddamn reactionary. He thought to himself.

"Nice to meet you, Captain. You were due to arrive yesterday together with the other copilots. Now, if you'll excuse me, but I have a tight schedule today. Staff Sergeant Martin can show you your room. His office is down the hall, to the left."

"Sorry, sir, but shouldn't I be given a full rundown of your outfit?"

Now he's just sounding smug. This guy really wants to ruin my day.

"Fine, Captain. You'll get your tour. Follow me, please."

The tour had been a near disaster. Stoops made it clear with everything but words that he regarded the Cav scum and himself as their watchdog. Banderas was milliseconds from choking the Captain out multiple times during the tour. He had yelled at several of their personnel for minor, sometimes imaginary infractions. The man had shown an attitude that made it quite difficult for Staedele not to throw him out of his part of the base immediately. It didn't help that the man had all but insulted his wife when she was giving him the rundown on the safety rules of the 'Mech bay.

Fortunately, the tour was over. Banderas hadn't killed the man and Staedele had shown the Captain the portion of the base that housed the Buron Cav. The tour ended in the 'Mech bay, both to give the man a blink at what he'd be working with and because he'd be in time for something else he had on the schedule.

"That's it, Captain. Now, Staff Sergeant Martin over there will show you your room. I have to stay here. We're up for a full capability check on my Warhammer after the upgrades made to it.

Stoops was not about to let the Major get rid of him that easy.

"With all due respect, sir," he emphasized that word like a curse, "wouldn't it be the perfect opportunity to show me my new workplace?"

"Fine. I'll let the techs ready a second cooling vest. We're slated to get some of the new-spec jumpsuits from the ISA, but that's not until next week. Until then, we make do with what we've got." Staedele gritted his teeth.

"I can barely wait, Major."

Banderas motioned to him that she was ready and able to choke the Captain out at a moment's notice. He waved her off. He didn't want that going on any report.

Walking over to the techs, Staedele could hear Stoops murmur, "Pretty warm in here…"

That brought an evil grin to Staedele's face. Perhaps it would be a fun day after all…

---

30 April 3021/2006/860 AS

Staedele was filling out another batch of paperwork, asking himself if there would ever be an end to it. At least the last few days had worked out well. The copilots had turned out to be nice people and rather capable at their part in operating the 'Mechs. There was still a little ice between the mercenaries and the army folks, but that was thawing quickly.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in." Staedele called.

Lieutenant Banderas entered the room, bringing another young Lieutenant in tow.

"Major," Banderas began, "this is Lieutenant Shawn Reed."

"Sir!" the man saluted smartly.

"At ease, Lieutenant. We're not that strict with protocol here." Staedele returned the salute, "So, what brings you here, Lieutenant?"

"I've been ordered to report as your new copilot, sir." Reed answered.

"Ah, yes. Sorry, Lieutenant. I've been bogged down in paperwork all day. It's a pleasure to meet you." Staedele extended his hand.

"Not a problem, sir, and the pleasure is all mine." Reed shook his hand.

"Well, Lieutenant, it's already late so I don't think we'll be able to show you around the place today. Staff Sergeant Martin will show you your room. You can find his office down the hall, to the left."

"Thank you, sir." Reed's face became somewhat concerned, "Sir, may I ask you a question?"

"Shoot, Lieutenant."

"Sir, I was told that I'm not your first copilot. What happened to the first?"

That brought a thin smile to Staedele's lips, "Well, let's just say that he couldn't handle the heat."

---

Royal Palace

Tharkad

Tharkad System, Lyran Commonwealth Space

3 May 3021

A man in red overalls and a cap ran with all his might. He ran as if his life depended on it, because it did. But more than that, the life of his sovereign depended on it. The Princess had been taken hostage by the vilest of monsters, one that intended to ravish her and force her into a sham marriage to steal control of her kingdom, and he knew in his heart that he was the only one who could save her. So, he ran, he ran towards this monster's fortress. He ran past the usurper's minions, slaying some as he passed and simply leaving others behind; they were not fast enough to catch him. He ran across fields, he climbed up hills, he ran through tunnels, he leaped across chasms. He did not stop, and he did not slow down until he reached the fortress, but what he found there gave him pause and he hesitated just a little.

The fortress was not guarded by troops and not equipped with any sort of weapons. Its defenses were entirely natural; it was constructed on top of a volcano. Inside there were vents in the floor where magma threatened to bubble up and consume the unwary. These vents were small enough to leap across and there was no other way around them. It was designed by a madman. He could feel the heat rising, threatening to broil him even from this distance; the slightest miscalculation, the tinniest misstep, and death was certain. It was insanity. It was also the only way, so he leapt.

He continued to run and to leap, losing count of the number of magma vents he crossed. He was able to avoid many of the odd revolving flamethrowers concealed in the fortress walls with precise timing, but one simply had too much range. It burned him, his skin blistered and bubbled where the flames struck, he could feel himself growing smaller and weaker under the inhumane weapon's onslaught. Still he pressed on. He pressed on until he came to it.

The monster was not at all what he expected. This was no a man, it was a turtle the size of a BattleMech that walked on two legs, had giant deadly spikes, spewed fire from its mouth, and threw hammers in a ballistic arc at such a rate that one could almost mistake them for machine gun fire. And it was the last thing that stood between him and the Princess. So, Mario did the one and only thing that he could do. He ran with all his might. He ran under the fireballs, he ran under the rain of hammers, and he ran under the King of Koopas just slightly too slow. Mario's bones were crushed to dust by the weight of the giant creature and his body reduced to a red smear on the bridge. A sickening MIDI tune played to signal his end and young Melissa Steiner almost throw the DS in frustration. It was her last life. She was so close yet so far.

Melissa Steiner almost threw the DS but she didn't. She knew that this lostech toy was probably more valuable than a Battlemaster. All it did was play games, but that didn't matter. No one could produce anything like it; it was unique and irreplaceable. The packaging that it came in suggested that it had been mass produced before the Star League fell. Now it was a diversion that only royalty would possibly afford.

This particular item, which was unlike anything ever seen in the Lyran Commonwealth, came from a cache found by small time Periphery pirates of all things. It arrived on Tharkad in the hands of LIC agents who obtained it and a few other lostech devices from the same cache through a series of convoluted trades. The other items, small portable computers, were in a laboratory being taken apart and examined with the most powerful microscopes available. Melissa received the DS as a gift because a game machine was of little interest to engineers and scientists concerned with building better weapon systems.

Melissa found all of this curious. She found it curious that a tiny periphery world would have lostech of a sort that no one has even heard rumors of. She found it curious that the cardboard box the toy came in was bright and shiny, brand new in appearance, when it should have shown signs of centuries of wear and decay. But most of all she found that marks of origin that were stamped onto the machine's plastic case to be curious - "Nintendo of Australia" and "Made in Japan". She knew of these places, she read of them countless times. They were countries on Terra ages ago and they hadn't existed as independent entities in nearly a thousand years.

It was ancient, and it was brand new. Very curious indeed.

She could have attempted to discuss this with the scientists the who were examining the other lostech but that would have been pointless. No one listens to a kid, not even one who is destined to become Archon. Instead she scoured her vast bookshelf and found a monstrously thick tome about electronics design. She placed it on her desk, turned on her work lamp, and removed a tri-wing screwdriver from a drawer.

---

Mess Hall

National Training Center, Fort Irwin, California

Sol System, Independent Systems Alliance Provisional Space

5 May 2006/3021/861 AS

"Are you joking?" Natalie Rosswood asked Lieutenant Jacob Morgan as they sat down for breakfast.

"You know me by now, Natalie. I don't joke around when it comes to stuff like this." Morgan replied, taking a bite of omelette.

"You're telling me that my 'Mech is currently being torn apart, all its weapons, armor, reactor, cockpit, and cooling? On top of that, they're assigning me a copilot?"

"Right on the head." Morgan took another bite. They had taken more of a liking to one another after their initial dalliance that pretty much began her hiring on with this 'Independent Systems Alliance.'

Rosswood mulled it over. She suspected they wanted to saddle her with a navigator for some time. The Buron Cav had already undergone the process, and it was only a matter of time until her company was up for the same treatment. Part of her, the powerful and self-sufficient 'MechWarrior, felt affronted. The other part, the pragmatist that fought on the streets of Newark, admitted that would be pretty useful. She had always loved the actual fighting more than the boring scanner-gazing and target designation, so delegating those duties to someone else so she could do the real work wouldn't be so bad.

She really wanted Morgan in the cockpit with her. The others on base hadn't connected at the same level as she and Morgan. She didn't exactly know his full combat potential, but she had a feeling the man was more than capable in the ability to inflict violence upon an enemy. She took a bite of her admittedly good eggs.

"So, when do I meet my new copilot?" she asked, hoping for the answer.

"Well, I am your liaison and have known you the longest, so brass has decided to put me in the, what is it called, 'rumble seat?' with you."

She silently cheered in her mind, YES! Someone who won't constantly perv on me, and someone who understands me on some level.

"What are the exact details of the deployment?" she asked Morgan.

"Well, we're going to be subordinates in Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion. Given the status of your lance, it makes sense. You'll be the second in the company, and in the event that the Company Commander goes down, command of the lance goes to you."

Rosswood whistled, "Given the deal we already have, that's not bad. Only have to risk two of us on deployment. Pay?"

"Hazard plus kill bonus. No salvage. Usual deal, according to Bashar Serov. Keep in mind this is on top of the existing contract."

"Can't complain there." Rosswood took another bite, "Target's Antallos, right?"

"Correct. Oh, just to let you know, we won't be deploying in your Battlemaster. We're taking a rebuilt one."

"What? Why?"

"The ones that are rebuilt are currently in much better spec, and we need to keep studying your machine. Don't worry, once you've gotten into one of the new ones, you won't want to go back."

Rosswood rolled her eyes, "If you say so."

Someone caught Morgan's eyes, "Excuse me, Natalie. I have to go."

She watched the man quickly pace towards another woman wearing a similar uniform. He saluted her, and the pair walked off.

Brox loved Motherlode. Oh yes. People as far as the eye could see, people of every different shape and size.

Of course, if the natives were to be believed, Motherlode wasn't just Motherlode. It was Terra. The dream of every red-blooded Clansman was to set foot upon it, and here he was. The first trueborn Clansman to ever tread its hallowed ground.

So, in a way, it was still a motherlode. An even bigger motherlode than everyone thought, even if only in sentimental terms, and for clanners only, really.

The irony wasn't lost on him. The first Clansman to see holy Terra wasn't a Khan, or even a warrior. It was an ex-ex-bandit who couldn't even talk about what he'd seen.

Still, things were wrong. Terra wasn't where it should be. Indeed, if the natives were correct, there were now two Terras, and that would cause all sorts of trouble. It'd be fun to see what happened in the future. He wondered what his brothers and sisters back on Strana Mechty would think. He had little doubt the rest of the Ghost Bears would take it in stride, and seeing the witless Jaguars or Falcons pop a collective blood vessel would be worth it. Alas, if only he could return without being executed immediately. As it was, the most he could hope for was to see the waves this Terra would make in the universe.

The location wasn't the only thing that was off. Their technology was as schizophrenic as Captain Blue. On one hand, they had computers that put even the finest of the Clans to shame. The Diamond Sharks, the quintessential merchants of the Clans, didn't have anything this advanced in their inventory from what he had seen. The first thing Brox had done with his cut of the contract after converting some of it to the local currency was purchase a 'lap-top.' The idea of a computer you could actually carry was such a novelty that he simply had to have one. All he needed was some programs to go with it.

On the other hand, their weapons and armor were only beginning to modernize. They had only just begun to implement their own fusion power, and that was from the aid of these people from the 'Independent Systems Alliance.' What kind of world was on the brink of fusion power when they already had computers that easily surpassed the old Star League? It was madness.

Then, Brox nearly had a heart attack.

He had entered the PX of Fort Irwin to pick up something for his new computer. He had always enjoyed games, so he made a beeline for the games section. His shadow, a Terran intelligence officer no doubt, followed dutifully behind him. He approved of the caution. He wouldn't trust himself either, especially since he had already turned on his employers once. Granted, Vorax was amongst the lowest scum in the Sphere, but it still set a bad precedent.

It was then when he saw it.

There, on a back shelf, stood a shiny reflective box. Emblazoned on it were the words 'MechWarrior 3.' Other boxes labeled 'MechWarrior 4' were arrayed all around it, but he dismissed them and focused intensely on his original target. It had a particular 'Mech on the cover, a 'Mech he had seen, loved, and lost. His heart skipped a beat. Timber Wolf. He could recognize that silhouette anywhere.

His hands slipped over the box almost reverently, even as his mind exploded with sheer incredulous possibilities. How could these people have gotten it so right? He regretted not paying closer attention to Terran news broadcasts. Perhaps it might have shed some light on this mystery earlier.

Brox purchased the game and smiled absently at the pretty saleswoman behind the counter, his mind on other things.

Timber Wolves. How? When? What exactly did these people know of the Clans?

Brox was determined to find out.

---

Morgan kept pace with Fleet Captain Mariko Maeda, his immediate superior officer as an intelligence officer.

"Good work, Commander." She began simply, "Your work with that rag-tag company has been exemplary."

"Commander? Ma'am, I don't understand."

"Relax," Maeda said soothingly, "You're getting a promotion, Morgan. I'll put the bars on you soon, but we have other things that need to be discussed. In here." She steered them to an empty room in the Mess Hall. Deploying a small device from her uniform's pocket, she locked the door.

"Ma'am, couldn't we do this in your office?"

"What? I hardly ever get to use one of our pocket ECM units. They're nice."

"Okay, sure, ma'am." Morgan leaned against a wall, "What is there to discuss?"

"So, you already know we're headed to Antallos, correct?"

"Yes, and I am to be her copilot. She was rather pleased at that."

"I can imagine as much. What I wanted to make clear is your responsibilities as copilot."

"Besides relaying important data to the pilot?"

"Yes, besides that." Maeda sat down on a nearby chair, "In the event that 'MechWarrior Rosswood goes rogue, it is your responsibility to disable her and seize control of her 'Mech."

"Excuse me, Captain?"

"Morgan, I don't like asking this of you, but you need to ensure that on the battlefield Miss Natalie Rosswood isn't a liability. If she turns, you have to take control the 'Mech."

Morgan swallowed with severe hesitation, "I understand, ma'am."

"Good. Now that that bit of unpleasantness is out of the way, I would like to discuss something quite intriguing. You are familiar with 'MechWarrior Brox, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am. He has some strange things about him, but overall quite a good pilot."

"Yes, and it seems he may be a clanner."

Morgan paused and looked down at his superior officer, "Wait, what?"

"He expressed near reverence when he encountered the 'MechWarrior 3' box art at the PX earlier today. He also has some genetic anomalies similar to our own genetic engineering techniques. We had some doubts about the existence of the Clans, but if Brox is one…"

"We're going to want to have words with him. I understand."

"Good." Maeda approached the door.

"Shall I talk to him, Captain?"

"Neg, Commander." She responded with a chuckle, "Brox and I will have a nice chat in a few days about the weather."

"Aff, Captain." The pair of them laughed as Maeda unlocked the door, removed the device, and left the room.

---

'Mech Bay, 2nd BattleMech Battalion, Independent Systems First Combined Army

6 May 2006/3021/861 AS

"Dani, what have you guys done to these Battlemasters?" Rosswood asked as she entered the 'Mech bay. Four Battlemasters, all in various stages of de- and re-construction, stood at one end, surrounded by squads of technicians. Directing the work was Dani, her best friend and ever-helpful technician.

"Mmm? Oh, hey Nat! I've been working with the natives and these ISA types to get these into even better shape than before. Shadow Company generously donated their 'Mechs after surrendering to these people during the invasion, and the technology the ISA is bringing to the party is incredible! Getting all the parts installed was… actually easier than anticipated. Getting the systems talking to one another was a little bit more difficult, but the ISA just tore out the computers and replaced them with their own. With this thing, you'll have a direct data-feed to everyone else on your side, like a super-C3."

"C3?"

"It's a lostech thing. Really cool. I'd only heard stories about before we got here. Basically, you can share targeting and sensor data across your entire lance, except with this gear you can share that data across an entire army. Cool, right?"

"Sounds like it."

"Ooh, not only that, we added a laser designator to the side of the cockpit, so you can paint targets for artillery, missiles, or orbital strikes! These guys have orbital platforms, Nat! Also, if these guys aren't lying, their artillery and missiles are silly accurate."

"I was thinking more about that… whatever the hell you replaced the PPC with." Natalie motioned to the nearest Battlemaster, waving at its arm.

"Ah. Say hello to the rotary rail gun! You wanna punch holes in anything and everything from in your face to kilometers and kilometers away? This thing will delete whatever you look at without a care in the world. We also removed the machine guns to make way for additional cooling for the pulse lasers replacing the existing laser compliment! Oh, and the SRM payload is more potent and is much more accurate, but that's a given at this point."

"Wait, what in the hell is a rail gun?" Natalie asked.

"Have you ever heard of a Gauss Rifle? It's a lostech cannon that accelerates a slug at a fraction of the speed of light. It produces very little heat and packs more punch than an AC-10. These guys have a more powerful version of that that is also a variable rate of fire! Apparently, the locals came up with that particular innovation."

"What else?"

"Ooh, the armor, and the shields. The armor is much more effective, shrugging off hits and even self-repairing given enough time. Makes taking care of it in the field a cinch. The shields, now this stuff is straight out of fiction. It creates bubble of energy that shrugs of energy and kinetic blasts with ease, but if something is moving slow enough it will let it through. Enough hits will collapse it, but it's like having even more armor to work with! I mean, if these guys are telling the truth, these things will make you nigh invulnerable up to a point. These Terrans and this ISA are absolutely incredible."

"Terrans? Dani, come on. Don't tell me you believe this bullshit about Earth too?"

"Come on, Nat! It all fits! You can't tell me that the planet doesn't look like Terra from space."

Natalie relented, "Okay, sure. What else do you have for me?"

"Not much, just the comms equipment I mentioned earlier and the plugsuits, but that can wait." She stopped and leaned in close, "So, how are you and Jacob? After our night of passion, it seems you two have gotten rather close." She teased.

"Come on, it was one night." Rosswood deflected, "Besides, we've been too busy to do anything."

"Does that mean you wouldn't mind if I decided to-"

"I wouldn't mind if we share- Wait, hold on!"

Dani laughed. She had gotten a good rise out of her friend.

"A-anyway," Natalie attempted to regain her composure, "What's this about a plugsuit?"

"Heh heh," Dani pointed to the cloths rack beside the 'Mechs, "that's what one of the techs called it. It's a full body cooling and interface suit. Should keep you nice and chilly in the cockpit, while also providing improved responsiveness with the 'Mech. Take a look."

Natalie held up one of the black jumpsuits. It had plugs and tubes running all over it, shiny, and looked about two sizes too small. In fact, it looked more like fetish gear than a cooling suit.

"Don't get me wrong, a full body cooling suit sounds amazing, but does it really have to look so..."

"Look so what, Rosswood?" a voice asked behind her. Natalie instinctually twirled about and hid the suit behind her back.

"Hiii, Jacob." Dani greeted, her voice dripping in flirtatious overtones.

"Hello again Dani. Ah, the plugsuits are in. Trust the Japanese to make it so form-fitting." Morgan noted. He looked over Natalie, "Probably would look quite excellent on you, Natalie."

Natalie blushed. Dani took one of the male plugsuits off the rack and held it next to Morgan.

"I think this would look pretty great, Nat." Dani said, "Leaves so little to the imagination."

"Ahem," Morgan cleared his throat, "so, what do you think of the latest round of upgrades, Natalie?"

"I-uh…" Natalie took a moment to recompose herself, "All in all, everything looks rather good. I don't think I could possibly complain about the upgrades."

"Good!" Dani exclaimed, and wrapped her arms around the two, "Now, what do you say we get a drink? I think the three of use could use a little… lubrication, wouldn't you say?"

"Is she always so-"

"Can't shake her off a mark once she's found one." Natalie shook her head, "Fine. Let's go, but I'm not promising anything!"

"If you say~ so~" Dani lead the pair out of the 'Mech bay, nearly dragging them to the PX for booze.

---

ISV Chani

High Earth Orbit

12 May 861 AS

They were getting close, now. Earth was retooling and implementing their new technology at a dizzying pace. Fabricators on board both the Chani and the Stilgar were redirected to orbital defense manufacturing over the last month with Earth-based production taking over weapons, equipment, hardware and technology manufacturing. They were putting their recently acquired DropShips through the ringer, upgrading and refitting them to be infinitely more effective than their previous incarnations. The upgraded Union and Lion-class DropShips had surpassed their Q-ship Word of Blake source book specifications by all but the capitol missiles that the WoB ship carried. Shields, rail guns, particle accelerators, long-range lasers, Earth was coming along just fine. They were still working on manufacturing ISA-spec jump drives but estimates put the first production runs in one year at the latest. The Independent Systems Alliance had achieved their first goal since deciding to save Earth: jump-starting their civilization and getting them on the path to interstellar prominence.

Bashar Yuki Nagato was pleased with all the progress. She was working on training yet another round of crew to reactivate another dormant Planetary Carrier. It would still be helmed by an ISA-native bridge crew, but she knew that training the next batch would not take as long as her crew took to train. There were courses in place now, methods and key points to cover that would expedite the process. She was confident that whoever commanded the next vessel would be up to speed in a matter of a month after transferring a trained crew to them.

"Ma'am," her comms officer, a clone, called, "transmission from Supreme Bashar Merlow."

"Put him through." Nagato responded.

Merlow's holographic image appeared before her, "Yuki, good news."

"What is it, sir?"

"The Planetary Carrier Shadout Mapes has its bridge. Expect Bashar Norrington to be joining you next week."

"Good to hear. His crew, troops, and fighter pilots are ready for him. They will be ferried aboard as soon as he arrives."

"Absolutely fantastic." Merlow stated with a smile, "Antallos is going to have a hell of a time when we hit it."

"That they are, sir."

"On a much lighter note, how are you and Serov getting along?"

Nagato's eye twitched slightly, "Just fine, sir."

"Yuki, please. I understand your reservations and your previous history, but-"

"Transfer this to my ready room." Nagato ordered. Merlow's image disappeared from the bridge. She quickly paced from her command seat to her ready room.

"Yuki." Merlow's hologram began as she entered the room, "I understand he's abrasive. I know that better than anyone. I'm just asking if you two are working well together."

"We work very well when our interactions are kept to minimum." She responded curtly.

"What happened, Nagato? What kind of grudge do you still hold against the man?"

"I would really rather not speak of it, sir. It is in the past."

"It's a past that goes deep. If this is a problem, I can transfer your command. I'm sure Tessa wouldn't mind taking your spot here-"

"Sir, with all due respect, I am fine." Nagato said with some force, "Whatever problems may come up, I can work through them. I can assure you that it will not affect my performance here in any way."

"Are you certain, Yuki?" Merlow asked, clearly concerned.

"One hundred percent, sir."

"I trust your judgement." Merlow gave her a solemn nod, "Good luck. I expect Bashar Norrington's crew to be ready for him as soon as he arrives."

"Thank you, sir. They will be."

"That is all. Merlow out." His hologram disappeared from her ready room.

Nagato slumped down into her chair. She understood that Merlow cared, but she knew that whatever personal issues she had with her immediate superior in the system were secondary to her duties.

If only that insufferable bastard would stop trying to worm his way under my skin…

---

ISA Simulation Farm

National Training Center, Fort Irwin, California

15 May 2006/3021/861 AS

"Again!?"

Natalie sighed and rubbed her temples and released herself from the simulator. Captain Mariko Maeda was running everyone ragged for the past week. It was almost like she was running some heinous experiment designed to see just how long a 'MechWarrior could fight against insane odds before they lose it and self-detonate their reactor core.

Fighting an enemy that had at least four times the forces that Vorax could possibly call upon was one thing. Murphy's law and unexpected enemy reinforcements were something she could understand.

Giving the opposition Star League tech was another thing she could understand. Making training hell so combat wasn't was a principle she was familiar with. It didn't bother her. After all, she had used a Star League-era 'Mech for the past five years. She knew its weaknesses and drawbacks better than most. It was tough and simply better than normal Inner Sphere gear, but it wasn't unstoppable.

No, the problem was that the 'Star League' tech they simulated was wrong. It was simply too good. The PPCs struck harder and hit further than even the ERPPC she had used on her Battlemaster since she appropriated it from its previous owner. The missiles were too accurate, too deadly. The enemy 'Mechs were too fast for the armor and engines they were supposed to have.

Brox hadn't helped mattered. He had been acting strangely ever since they began their inter-unit training here at Fort Irwin. He switched between calm and giddy even more readily than before. He had always been a bit unstable in his moods, but now he switched on a hair trigger. One minute, she would be talking with him, the next he would be distracted. There were times where he wistfully stared at shelves with Motherloder 'BattleTech' fiction, or at the 'Wildcat' cobbled-together 'Mech from pieces of Catapults and Marauders. She had worked with Brox for five years, and she had always been pretty good at reading people. Something was definitely off here. She had a terrible feeling she was missing something.

The Motherloders weren't training her, and themselves to be fair, for taking down Vorax.

The question was, what kind of enemy has tech that's better than the Star League?

What was she missing?

Brox didn't know what to think. These people knew of the Clans. Their 'fiction' was anything but. They got Clan traditions down to the most exacting detail. The 'Mech designs, the descriptions of omnitech, everything was accurate.

This was the only reason he didn't dismiss the stories out of hand. Wardens like his own Ghost Bears voting to invade the Inner Sphere? Then, when the invasion was decided upon, sending only a part of the Clan's strength to invade the entirety of the Inner Sphere? Did his kin think the Spheroids would just roll over and submit if they took Terra? It's not like there wasn't enough to conquer. Bidding down one's forces to the minimum necessary was honorable to be sure, but all the Clans combined could have been pressed to take and rule the Scavenger States.

Oh, Tukayyid! Oh, Merciful Great Father, the idiocy of Tukayyid! Where were the logistics? Why had all the Clans save Wolf, even his beloved kin the Bears, fallen to victory disease? It was a blatantly obvious trap. Why hadn't they turned the trap against its handler and put the ComGuard to the torch? Why hadn't the Clans called for an immediate Trial of Refusal? Surrendering the initiative to the Inner Sphere was a guaranteed death sentence for the Clans.

There was no way the Clans he knew could be so foolish. Even the Falcons or Jaguars were more cunning than that. Yet, it was eerily plausible. A part of him understood just how things could go so wrong. It was altogether too easy to fall prey to one's conceit. Another part of him asked why he cared so much. He was no longer of the Clans. Indeed, if he showed his face on Strana Mechty and someone recognized him, he would be executed as a bandit. In a real sense, the Clans were his enemies.

Still, any failing on their part reflected poorly on him. Wasn't he raised in a sibko company, trained in a Clan BattleMech?

Brox's thoughts were interrupted by the familiar silhouette of a Timber Wolf, caught out of the corner of his eye. The damn thing was haunting him. He was starting to see it everywhere. In his breakfast cereal, on the Terran newscasts, he even thought Lady Natalie was starting to look vaguely like a Timber Wolf if he squinted at her just right…

"Ah, 'MechWarrior Brox. How do you like the Mad Cat? I wanted to call it the Wolf Hunter, but I was overruled."

Brox turned to the voice, coming face to face with Fleet Captain Mariko Maeda, Jacob Morgan's superior officer. The woman was gesturing towards the 'Mech he had seen out of the corner of his eye-

-Kerensky's blood! It was a Timber Wolf! This was no mere story or painting, no computer-rendered model. It was the real thing, standing with its back towards him, yet he could recognize the silhouette anywhere. The two box-like missile launchers on the shoulders, the reverse-jointed leg so popular amongst the Clans, the paired arms, loaded to the brim with weaponry. How had they gotten their hands on one? Where? When?

Then, the thing turned, to better maneuver its way to a nearby hanger.

He was almost disappointed in a way. It was a frankenmech, clearly from pieces of several wrecked 'Mechs, probably Catapults and Marauders. It certainly wasn't a true Timber Wolf.

They did fix Brox's only true complaint with the Timber Wolf: the heinously exposed cockpit. This one was plated over and armored, with only a tiny slit for viewing and what he guessed was an extendable sensor suite in the rear torso.

Brox reached down to his belt, retrieving the pad of paper he always carried with him to scrawl out a reply to the Captain.

He could see in the woman's eyes that his curious reaction had not gone unnoticed. The woman knew, or at least suspected.

The next words from her mouth confirmed it, "Do you know what the weather's like on Strana Mechty? I hear it's nice this time of year."

Brox chewed his lower lip before sighing and writing, "Let us cease this charade. Yes, I am of the Clans."

The Captain smiled, "Now we're getting somewhere. What is your purpose here?"

"Earning a living." Brox wrote, "I am in exile. If I were to return to my kin, I would be tried an executed."

"Not spying?" Maeda asked, "Interesting."

"You do not believe me."

"Maybe yes, maybe no." she shrugged, "At the moment, I'll take you at your word since it's the most plausible explanation. I will, of course, report this to my superiors."

"Of course." Brox wrote.

"In the meantime, tell me what you think of the OPFOR in our exercises." Maeda asked offhandedly.

"You are trying to simulate Clan technology and tactics. You expect to face the Clans in the future. However, your assessments of Clan technology are highly inaccurate for this purpose. Increase them by a factor of two or three and you will be closer to reality. In terms of piloting, you may use me as a baseline. I was only slightly above average in skill comparted to the rest of my sib."

"I suppose you have to try and make a game balanced when you ship it."

"Clarify?"

"Never mind. It's not important. I'm sure you'll figure it out anyway. What do you know about Clan technology? Anything about its principles, or how it's made?"

"No. I am a 'MechWarrior. I was only in the Technician Caste for a short time before I fled the Clan and became Dark. Battlefield statistics, I can help with. Production methods are beyond me."

"Thank you for your cooperation. It will reflect favorably upon you." Maeda checked a small device in her pocket, "I'll speak with my superiors and see if there anything they'll want to pick your brain for. Oh, and I'll see about reconstructing your vocal cords. It's awfully hard to get information out of you when you can't speak, quiaff?"

---

Herndon

Pesht District, Draconis Combine Space

20 May 3021

It was pure luck we could arrive when we did. Thought Chu-sa Pierre Mbutu bitterly as he surveyed the burnt remains of the city. A routine troop movement of the Pesht Regulars had been at Pesht's nadir jump point, just one jump away, when word came of the attack on Herndon. Still, they had arrived too late. The honor-less dogs who had done this having long since departed via pirate point.

A man in the ragged remains of a uniform was brought before him. He was burned and badly injured and had to lean on crutches to remain upright. He also appeared to be missing several body parts.

"Honored Chu-sa," the man said, making a credible attempt to bow. "I am Corporal Li Audrey, senior surviving member of the Herndon planetary militia."

"Report!" Mbutu barked harshly.

"Yes, honored Chu-sa," Audrey said. "Five days ago, the capitol city of Herndon, Hernopolis was hit by an estimated two battalions of mechs and supporting infantry forces."

"Two battalions?" Mbutu said incredulously. That was a force large enough to conquer a minor backwater like Herndon, not just merely raid. But if it was too large to be a raid, it was also far too small to hold a world in the middle of the mighty Draconis Combine! "Impossible!"

"As you say, honored Chu-sa," Audrey replied apologetically. "But that was what was reported. And I saw at least a company of mechs with my own eyes, and evidence of many more. They struck like lightning and slaughtered indiscriminately for two days before leaving as suddenly as they had come."

"And why do you live when your brothers and betters lie struck down?" Mbutu asked pointedly. "Why have you done less than give your life in defense of your people?"

"Oh, honored Chu-sa," Audrey said miserably. "I was buried alive by a fallen building late in the battle and was not dug out until after the raiders have left. I would have committed seppuku to cleanse my shame, but what little honor I have left demanded that I report what I know."

"And do you have anything more to report, Corporal?" Mbutu asked.

"Only that the leader of the raiders claimed to be someone named 'Redjack Ryan'."

"Huh," Mbutu grunted in surprise. Grudgingly, he nodded. "You have done well, Corporal." He took out a pen and began writing out a memo on his notepad.

"Thank you, honored Chu-sa."

"Take this to my secretary," Mbutu said, handing the memo to Audrey. "She will see to it that you have an appropriate second for your seppuku."

Audrey took the memo with his left hand. He used the stump of his right to salute as best he could. "Thank you, honored Chu-sa," he said again. There was no irony in his voice.

---

ISA Simulation Farm

National Training Center, Fort Irwin, California

Sol System, Independent Systems Alliance Provisional Space

21 May 2006/3021/861 AS

"Nat, our shields collapsed." Morgan reported, deathly calm.

"They hit us twice? No, all I saw was one PPC blast." Natalie replied.

"No. Looks like they turned up the OPFOR's gear again."

"But we were just starting to win!" Natalie was exasperated, "This is horseshit!"

"Less talking, more evading! We just lost two tons of armor!" Morgan looked over his display again, "Move south, we might be able to break line of sight."

"Jesus Christ, this is insane!" she roared, barely avoiding another PPC shot from an unknown location.

"Gods, there's no cover anywhere!" Morgan exclaimed, "Where the hell is our air cover?"

Natalie felt a terrible urge to bash her head against the 'Mech's displays.

Morgan sighed as light filled the cockpit, "And we're dead. Took a PPC straight to the cockpit."

"Damnit! Again, after we were making progress!"

"I know. There was no cover and the enemy were hellishly accurate."

"We need to coordinate better with the rest of our forces. Look here." Morgan brought up a point on the holodisplay, "If we request smoke cover next time, we should be able to break line of sight and move in closer to positively identify the enemy's location and unleash a volley of our own. If our armor is on the ball, they'll swing around and hit the enemy in the rear while we keep them pinned. I'll speak to the CO about it."

"Why are you telling me this?" Rosswood asked.

"Because, if you had a valid complaint, I would have taken it into consideration before bringing it up with the Company Commander."

---

28 May 2006/3021/861 AS

"Ha!" Rosswood exclaimed, "Fuck you, you 'Star League' shits! All your souped up lostech ain't worth shit when there's a Battlemaster's foot up your ass, is it?"

"Don't get too overconfident." Morgan replied, "Did you really have to close to melee range?"

"Yeah, I did. I had to send a message. Point is, this is the first solid victory we've achieved in the past few hellish engagements. I got to do it by sneaking up on these 'Star League' assholes and giving 'em a swift kick to the 'Mech balls!"

"Which you wouldn't have been able to achieve if the rest of the battalion wasn't on the ball. Combined arms are a beautiful thing. Notice how our combat capability is markedly improved when everyone works together?"

"I know," Natalie replied, leaning back in her harness, "it's just I've never actually had aerospace or artillery support before. DropShips are too valuable to risk, and aerospace fighters are too expensive to maintain. Artillery's cheap, but inaccurate as all hell."

"Not when you paint a target." Morgan shifted gears, "Listen, the ISA is holding an officer's ball and I need a date. Care to join me?"

"Do you really think-"

"If you don't come with me, Danielle will leap on me and I'll be stuck with her on my lap the entire time. I would greatly appreciate your soothing presence in the upcoming trial."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Rosswood pondered the thought.

Morgan cracked a smile. This complicated three-way relationship was interesting to say the least.

"But, I'll need to get a dress, and make-up. So, we're going shopping. We'll probably have to bring Dani, and we're going to need someone to help us carry all of our purchases…"

"Fine," Morgan sighed with a smile, "but only if you can keep her sufficiently distracted enough not to jump me during our excursion."

"Deal."

---

Planetary Carrier Shadout Mapes

High Earth Orbit

1 June 861 AS

The crew were much better than expected. Bashar Nagato had trained them well. Ship crewmen and officers were knowledgeable and effective in their duties. The marines and fighter jockeys were trained and ready to unleash vengeance on those who wished their world harm. Replacement parts and equipment had been manufactured, the Earth already covered in a protective blanket of orbital platforms and satellites. The beginnings of space drydocks were laid down, the first indication that true space-faring ships would be built by Earth in short order. Earth's DropShips and JumpShips were all refitted, capable of true space combat. There was even a program to begin training officers to crew the cruisers and destroyers sitting in mothballs in their little pocket universe.

Bashar James Norrington was impressed to say the least. Two months since he had been brought back from cryostasis and he had been brought up to speed. Just like Nagato, he found himself in awe of the fact that he was in a universe where there were two Earths, and this one seemed to be from the early 21st century. The people of the planet were united for the first time, brought together by two violent invasions that woke the planet up to the simple fact that they were not alone, and the universe was unforgiving. The ISA extending the olive branch was a classic 'Merlow peace under duress' diplomatic move, one he had grown to like over the years of serving together. Like many in the ISA's upper echelon, they had served together before the ISA even existed, being two officers within the Liberty Navy. He scoffed a moment. The fact that a man who was once a reporter working at the equivalent of a small-time paper would be leading a people that had crossed between universes never failed to make him laugh.

He understood what all this preparation was for. There was a world out there that ordered the attack on Earth, one that would need to learn the price of such action and in the process become another part of the Independent Systems Alliance. Warfare was not how they liked to sway worlds. Between the carrot and the stick, the ISA much preferred the carrot. It was easier to administer a populous that had seen the benefits of becoming a member world rather than having seen the consequences of crossing them. Maybe the populous would be grateful, but most intelligence pointed towards 'wait and see.' Port Kirin, from the intelligence reports, reminded him of the old Freeports on the edge of civilization, hotbeds for anything and everything the fringes of society would want.

Norrington was brought around from his thoughts by a beep from the door.

"Enter."

In strode Thomas Serov, old friend and his superior officer, entered his ready room with a wide grin on his face.

"Jimmy-boy!" Serov boomed, arms wide open.

"Goddamnit, get over here mate." Norrington embraced the man, "Why do you always tend to do that?"

"What?" Serov sat down at the small couch in Norrington's ready room.

"Just appear with no heads-up."

Serov shrugged, "Eh. Gotta keep ya on your toes, right?"

Norrington scoffed as he sat down behind his desk, "Sure. What do you need, Serov?"

"I'm just curious on how our new 'Mechs are coming along. The people on the ground are tired of using the simulators, and we're running up against the wire here."

"Well, considering that Nagato got the production-lines started on her ship, we're looking good. First Kartikeyas are rolling off the line for the first round of real-world testing. We'll send them planet-side and see what the grunts think."

"What do you think of the whole concept of 'Mech warfare?" Serov asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, from all the source material and evidence we've seen here, it's pretty much medieval warfare just with humanoid robots instead of knights on horseback."

"Given their ability to communicate, it makes sense that what constitutes interstellar states are a series of fiefdoms lead by a hereditary system." Norrington turned on his desktop holodisplay, revealing the ComStar insignia, "They are reliant on ComStar for FTL communication, and they can restrict that on a whim. That means that each planet must fend for themselves, which means fiefdoms. Shit, even us Bretonnians weren't so damn reliant on their royalty."

"Sure, but 'Mechs? Really?"

"These things seem to be apocalypse-proof, and there doesn't seem to be a 'greater mark of a warrior' than owning and piloting one. Bunch 'o horseshit if you ask me, mate."

"Oh, most definitely, but I guess if you can afford to keep one of these things running you just go with that. What astounds me is the manufacturing capacity of this universe. Earth and our three planetary carriers can probably outpace most of the Periphery states with what we have right now."

"Technological regression. Most of the people running the factories know how to push buttons and knobs. If anything breaks catastrophically, they don't know how to rebuild it, yeah?"

Serov sighed. He looked to the bookcase, "Please tell me you keep a bar back there."

"What do you take me for, a troglodyte?" Norrington pointed to the large globe next to his desk.

Serov smiled as he stood and opened the globe. Laid within were multiple liquors, the notable being an 815 bottle of Bretonnian Scotch. It was three quarters full.

"Care for a snifter?" Serov asked as he poured himself a glass of the liquid.

"Always." Norrington took a snifter, partaking in a small sip before placing it down on his desk. His desk communicator chimed, "Yes?"

"Bashar," the comms officer reported, "incoming transmission for Bashar Serov. It's President Ryan."

"Put him through."

The holographic image of Jack Ryan appeared in the room, facing Serov.

"Tom," Ryan greeted, "have I caught you at a bad time?"

"Not at all." Serov replied, lifting his snifter to the President, "What can I do for you?"

"Well, there is a celebration at the White House in the next week, commemorating the latest countries to join the ISA. Thought I would invite you and your senior staff. My people have already sent out the invitation, but I thought I should deliver this one myself."

"Mr. President," Norrington said from behind Ryan's image, "we would be more than happy to attend."

"You heard the man." Serov took another sip of the snifter, "Hell, we'll even bring presents! Some 'future booze' for ya."

Ryan laughed, "I look forward to it. Ryan out." The President's image blinked out.

"Fantastic." Serov said, "Now, I have question for you."

"Yes?" Norrington asked, reaching for his drink.

"Could you help me with Yuki?"

---

White House

Washington DC, United States of America

9 June 2006/3021/861 AS

The White House party to honor the newly inducted members of the Independent Systems Alliance was in full swing. After the required ceremonies, speeches, and photo ops, freshly minted First Lieutenant Tony Dansel was doing his very best to be unnoticed. The politicians and brass were bad enough, but it seemed that just about every soldier who wasn't lost in mindless awe considered him a reckless, unthinking maniac. The only people who seemed to understand the calculated, maniacal desperation that drove his actions were the mercenaries in attendance and some of the folks straight from the ISA. They had gone off to get uproariously drunk in some other wing of the White House and compare notes. Since Dansel's alcohol tolerance could be best described as 'one wine cooler, two wine cooler, three wine cooler, floor,' he had politely excused himself.

---

On the one end of the party, Commander Jacob Morgan sat at a table: Danielle MacShuibhne sat on one side; Natalie Rosswood sat on the other. Across from his sat the three most powerful members of the ISA stationed in Earth's local space: Bashar Superior Thomas Serov, commanding the ISV Stilgar; Bashar Yuki Nagato, commanding the ISV Chani; and Bashar James Norrington, commanding the newly arrived ISV Shadout Mapes. Morgan silently cursed to himself, wondering which member of the eternal pantheon he had angered to land himself in such an unfavorable position. Natalie and Jacob's relationship was… complicated. Their physical attraction towards one another was undeniable, but there was something deeper which the both of them didn't exactly know how to proceed with. Jacob and Dani, the relationship was much simpler, purely physical, but this was not the scenario he envisaged when sitting across from his superiors. Dani kept trying to play with him under the tablecloth as he vigorously attempted to keep her at bay, all the while Natalie giving them a side-eyed glance as his superior officers spoke.

Gods, why am I sat here? Why? He thought to himself.

"Commander," Serov lifted his drink, "I forgot to congratulate you on your promotion."

"Please," Morgan said, slightly pleading, "that's not necessary." He silently batted away Dani's intruding hand.

Yuki lifted her drink, "Nonsense, Commander. Your efforts were invaluable during the second invasion. Managing to turn these two ladies," Nagato nodded to Natalie and Dani, "and their DropShip is no mean feat."

Norrington raised his glass, "Agreed. Well done, chap. This is to you."

Morgan put on his best smile and lifted his own beverage to mimic his superiors.

Natalie followed suit, "I'm quite grateful to not have been vaporized thanks to him."

"Here, here!" Dani raised her glass.

Morgan took a quick glance at his immediate company. As the glasses clinked together, he noted the hands used by the women to his left and right. They were the hands away from him.

Oh no.

He felt two hands on his thighs.

Coordinated attack? Gods, help me!

---

Despite the roar of the crowd noise, this was the closest thing to a quiet moment to think he had been able to have since being assigned his 'Mech company. The techs were improving the Battlemasters every day, making little changes here and there. Four intact Battlemasters with their upgrades would make short work of anything in the Inner Sphere, but he still doubted his own abilities. During exercises he still looked to Rosswood for guidance. The woman knew Battlemasters better than anyone in the employ of the ISA (save perhaps Shadow Company, but that situation was complicated to say the least). Brox was something else. He was little more talkative ever since having new vocal chords implanted, but that man was an absolute beast in combat. He made use of the ISA upgrades to their 'Mechs quite effectively, showing that he could match their 'Star League' counterparts shot for shot. Jankowicz was different story. He was given a bump up for his actions in San Diego, but he still had a bit to go before he got used to the decreased mobility of the Battlemaster platform. His ruminations were interrupted by a new presence in front of him.

"Excuse me, aren't you Tony Dansel?" asked a young lady. She was entirely too young, her dress entirely too short, and now invaded his personal space entirely too closely.

He quickly became aware that the US Army Mess uniform, while possessed of a number of qualities, was not engineered to conceal the rapid involuntary redistribution of blood flow.

"Why yes miss," Dansel replied, frantically trying to open the distance between them, "and who might you be?"

"I'm Olivia, and I just wanted to express how grateful I am for everything you've done for your country." Unencumbered by any sense of shame or propriety, she rapidly backed him into a corner out of sight of the main floor.

"Well, I really appreciate that" Dansel's eyes darted about, looking for a way out, "now, if you'll excuse me I-yayayayayah!" He desperately grabbed for her hand before it could make its way anywhere more inappropriate.

An amused voice interrupted the proceedings, causing the two to freeze in place, "Now, Sally, I really don't think that you want to introduce your new boyfriend to your father by getting caught ravishing him in the ballroom."

Frantically looking for rescue, Dansel turned his head to see a female member of the Secret Service clearly shaking her head. Rapidly putting two and two to arrive at the square root of sixteen, he pushed his body faster than he had ever done in combat. In a blur, he was cowering behind his savior.

"You-you-you're," he stuttered, "you're Sally Ryan."

"And I'm Gwen Merritt. It's my job to keep this young lady safe and off the evening news. What did I tell you, Sally?"

Foiled, Sally Ryan readjusted her dress to cover skin that she had 'inadvertently' exposed, "I have to wait until I'm eighteen if I don't want you ratting me out to Dad." She looked at Dansel's cowering figure, "I just wanted to get him used to the idea a little."

"And I get to try him out first." Merritt turned to take in the Lieutenant's look of horrified betrayal. She whispered, "Don't worry, you're too young, but I do want to have a go at that Commander Simeonov if you could introduce me…"

"Umm, yeah, sure, gimmie a sec." Dansel grabbed a cocktail napkin and frantically scribbled down Simeonov's number. He thrusted it at her and beat a hasty retreat, "It was nice meeting both of you. SorryIthinkIhearyourfathercallingmeokaybyeeeee!" his voice faded as he attempted to set a new hundred-meter sprint time in an Army Mess uniform.

Sally looked hopefully toward her guard/confidant/surrogate sister, "So, Commander Simeonov. This means I don't have to give you first shot after all, right?"

"While I wouldn't mind, this gives me an excuse to coordinate with him to try to get that poor boy laid and unwound a bit. Besides, if I don't take the edge off he won't do a thing for you."

Thankfully unaware of the plot hatching behind him, Dansel sped away from the pair of women. After bowling over an ISA officer and nearly knocking two Congressmen off their feet, Dansel managed to stop himself before he plowed headfirst into the President.

His mouth took off, free from the constraints of pesky higher functions, "Mr. President, sir, it's an honor to be here. I would just like to take this opportunity to volunteer for whatever off-world mission you think I might be able to contribute."

Dansel's disheveled appearance and panicked expression greeted Ryan. He had a good guess of why. A quiet word from Andrea Price and his eldest daughter waving from the direct he had come confirmed it.

"I see you've met my daughter." Ryan said with a smile.

"Uh, yes sir. She's a, uh, she, umm… She's very impressive sir. Mr. President."

It was a relief for Ryan to deal with a problem so mundane, especially with the Secret Service in place to ensure matters never spiraled into a tailspin for his little girl. With these safeguards in place, he found himself in a position to mess with the young man just a little more.

"Well, you seem to have escaped with your virtue intact. Don't worry, son, I should be able to get you clear for at least four months."

Dansel sighed in relief, "Sir, thank you sir. I, uh-"

"Go on, see if you can find a life-threatening situation or two to calm your nerves." He watched the young man, filled with vim and vigor, storm through the main ballroom into the night.

That kid really needs to get laid. Ryan thought to himself.

It was only later that Ryan saw the result of what he unleashed on the night

---

Morgan's eye twitched. He slowly, carefully, moved his free hand under the table and tried to swat the intruders away. They were relentless. Where one retreated, another advanced. Jacob was fast, but they simply had him outnumbered. Dani shot him a sly smile as she took a sip of her drink. Natalie didn't even acknowledge him as she continued her attack. Morgan, try as he might, was losing ground. It was only through some miracle of distraction that the pair called off their assault.

"Gods, what the hell?" Serov exclaimed, nearly losing his drink all over the table as Dansel pushed by his back into the night.

"What got into the good Lieutenant?" Norrington wondered aloud, finishing his drink before it had a chance to spill.

"That is a good question." Morgan said. He finished his drink and quickly rose from the table, "Now, if you'll excuse me, Bashars."

"Please, take your time." Nagato replied, sipping her cocktail. She rose from her seat shortly after and headed outside.

Serov and Norrington glanced at one another, and Serov left after her. Norrington was left across the table from Dani and Natalie, who each gave one another a glance and hurried off after Morgan. Norrington rolled his eyes.

Really? Really. He sighed to himself, I guess another drink is in order. Without another word, Norrington left.

---

10 June 2006

"-from the nation's capital, it is reported that last night the 'Hero of the Desert' Lieutenant Tony Dansel has intervened in an armed robbery and three muggings, thwarting all attempts. When asked about the sudden uniformed vigilantism, he only replied 'Orders' before leaving the scene."

Jack sighed as his daughter glared at him, "How was I supposed to know he would take my advice so literally?"