Author's note: once again, Mechwarrior is the property of the FASA
corporation. I hate being indebted to anyone, but for this story I am, so here
goes: I owe Arhuaine and her story Blue Skye Dreams (it's good. Read it!) for
A) Inspiring me to write this sequel, B) providing me with a lot of background
information on the Clans, and C) Giving me s bunch of plot ideas. Also, this
is a sequel to ChronoMech. I'm writing it as a separate story because A) This
one's completely independent and B) This is after the crossover is finished.
This is set during MechWarrior 3. Please R&R (and point out any inaccuracies
as far as the Battletech universe is concerned, so I can fix them in upcoming
fics)
Tom turned around to face Czeny, who had pulled his knife. Czeny was
obviously getting ready to kill, because he was raising the knife. Before he
could land it, though, Menaz spoke up.
"I suppose the stravag is getting the better end of the deal. Who
would want to live as Czeny's bondsman?"
Czeny's knife wavered, then fell to his side as he considered
Menaz's statement. Tom didn't know if Czeny knew how unstable people though he
was, or how much of a jerk. Menaz seemed to be the only person he got along
with at all; everyone else avoided pissing him off because he was as good in a
'mech as he said he was. Then Czeny turned to Menaz.
"I know what you are trying to do; you are trying to get me to spare
this stravags life so your friends in intelligence can find out what they
want, quiaff?"
"Aff. You saw right through me. I must be slipping," Menaz didn't
seem the distraught by Czeny's discovery of his plan, "So you will kill kim,
quiaff?"
"Neg," Czeny said with a furious look "I comprehend your concerns. I
will not kill him, so as not to deny our Clan of any information."
Two weeks later, Ursa-4 time, Tom was staring glumly up at the sky.
Czeny had put the handcuffs back on him, but had refrained from stabbing him
again. Either he was slipping, getting nicer, or hadn't been thinking.
Judging from Czeny's attitude, Tom was inclined to think the ladder. Then he
looked up and saw a dropship descending through the clouds. Even at that
distance, you could clearly see the emblem of Clan Smoke Jaguar emblazoned on
the side.
Loading the dropship was done quickly and efficiently. The 'mech
pilots quickly went and stowed their machines, then climbed into the personnel
seats. Tom and the other prisoners we checked for weapons, then locked into
their seats. As the ship lifted off, Tom looked back at Ursa-4. It looked like
it should: urban centers razed, and the remains of an orbital defense
platform still in high orbit. The planet was supposed to be untouchable,
unless you could get you hands on the nearby world of Xymelshia. Which the
Jaguars had.
"Admiring the view, freebirth?" Czeny cut in on his thoughts. "You
will have bigger things to worry about soon. But for whatever it is worth:
Xymelshia is not nearly as damaged as that place is; we took it almost
intact." He grinned and turned away.
A few weeks later, they arrived on the world of Schuyler. Tom was put
in a cell-like room, where, a few hours later, Czeny walked in.
"All right, stravag, this is something I should have done a long time
ago, but I did not have the proper materials. Show me your wrist."
"Why?"
"So I can do what I have to."
Deciding not to irk Czeny too much, Tom made a fist with his left
hand and held it out. Czeny reached out and quickly tied a woven chord in the
Smoke Jaguar colors around his wrist. Tom looked at it in distaste.
"Although you're more of summer," Tom murmured to himself in a mock
camp voice "I think a woven bracelet would complement you perfectly ...maybe a
...wuggghhh!" His commentary was abruptly terminated by Czeny throwing a
punch into his sternum.
"I heard that. Do not make fun of the bondchord. It might be the last
thing you do. What is your name?"
"My NAME? You've been beating the shit out of me for three weeks and
you don't know my name?"
"I have your dogtags," Czeny replied as he produced them "But there
seems to be a bit of trouble with your first name. I am assuming that Tom is a
contraction, but I am not sure-"
"It's not."
"Not a contraction? Your parents seem to have had strange tastes in
nomenclature. Anyway, what is your name?"
"What the fuck? It's right there on the...the tags there!"
"Well, now it is not."
"What the fuck?"
"You are officially my bondsman. You are now Tom of Clan Smoke
Jaguar, and do not forget it, stravag. You are not even a freebirth now,
because even freebirths are warriors. Now follow me. Intelligence wants to
talk to you."
Tom seemed to wake up three days later. He remembered being taken
into a small, poorly lit room and being asked some stupid questions (Name,
rank, favorite color (He was guessing that was a control question))
and some not-so-stupid questions (strength of the Draconis Combine,
information about the new Inner Sphere OmniMechs, a lot of technical questions
about Inner Sphere 'mech computers). When he had started to refuse to tell
them what they wanted to know, they had begun to inflict pain on him. Menaz
had been right; compared to them, Czeny was easy.
After he had given in and told them what they wanted to know, they
had started the quiz all over again from the beginning. They had stressed the
technical questions most of all, obviously cross-referencing has
answers. He didn't remember a lot of other specifics, but he did know that he
had told them the truth, as far as he knew.
Czeny reappeared two days later. He was looking nastier than usual, and
had a booklet with him.
"All right, stravag, we have some thing to go over. Since you are bound
to me, Menaz decided that it would be judicious to tell you about your new
people, Tom of Clan Smoke Jaguar. You are part of the laborer caste now, and
unless you prove yourself to be a warrior, will remain as such. Unless the
Ghost Bears attack and claim this world, there is no real chance that you will
get out of our hands, so I suggest that you accept your new status."
"You're fucking nuts-" Tom began
"No, I am not," Czeny cut him off "and that is something you need to
work on. Contractions are not used in the Clans of Kerensky. I suggest that you
do not, also. In addition, we attach a non-stravag word to the end of
rhetorical questions: quineg if the expected answer is neg, and quiaff if the
answer is aff."
"What're-"
"What are."
"What're-"
"WHAT ARE." Czeny was starting to look abnormally dangerous.
"OK, fine, WHAT ARE neg and aff?"
"Neg is... neg is... neg is the reply that counters the origional
statement. It declares that the inital statement is not, in fact the case.
Inversely, aff confirms the intial proposition."
"Sort of like 'no' and 'yes'. And why don't..." Czeny reached for his
knife and Tom quickly tried to figure out how to restructure the sentance "why
do you people not use contractions?"
"Why do you despise us and our ways? Why do you go to great lenghts to
spite me?"
"Because-"
"Because that is the way it is, that's all. That is just, at this
point, how people work. This is the convention; oppose it at your own risk."
"Want a second opinon?"
"Listen. You get what I am saying, asshole bravado aside; do not use
contractions. Now about the bondchord-"
"This?" Tom asked, holding up his wrist with the chord on it.
"Yes, that. It shows that you are a bondsman, and you are honor-bound
to bear it as you should; it will only be removed if you become an abtakha, or
are released. Even if you become bound to another clan, it will only be
supplanted by one of their colors."
"Ab-"
"An abtakha is a captured warrior that has been adopted into his Clan
as a worrior. I will be very surprised if you become one."
"So it's...it is a very hard position to obtain?"
Czeny looked mildly amused. "You could say that, yes. Even for a
bloodnamed warror of another clan, it is an extreme challange. For one such as
you, a member of the laborer caste, and a freebirth, it is basically
unobtainable. I heard that there was one such as you who became an abtakha in
Clan Wolf about a decade ago, but the Jaguars have much higher standards.
Besides, there was the blood of one of the bloodlines in Clan Wolf in her. You
have no such distinction." He flipped Tom the booklet. "Here. This is a
pamphlet about Smoke Jaguar society that another bondsman composed about
thirty years ago. I did not want to waste any more of my time than I could, so
read this. You start work tomorrow."
Tom had started the booklet, but had given up after about twenty
minutes. The author had either been on crack or was having some flashbacks to
his Inner Sphere days, because the language was a mishmash between Inner
Sphere Standard English and Clanspeech (or whatever it was called). The author
couldn't seem to decide between 'no' and 'neg', and kept putting stupid
rehtorical questions in to prove his mistery of quiaff and quineg. Deciding to
read the presumed sequil ("A guide to Smoke Jaguar society after detox.") he
tossed the book on the floor and fell asleep.
He awoke when his eardrums seemed to explode. He could hear an
ulrtasonic tone, almost too high for the human ear to hear, but piercing
enough to cause a lot of pain. His eyes popped open and the blurry figure of
Czeny swam into view. "Aw, shit, you."
Czeny considered for a moment, then looped two fingers into Tom's
bondchord. With one deft twist, he applied enough pressure to Tom's wrist to
make him think that it was caught in a vice. Tom yelped and jerked the chord
out of Czeny's reach. Czeny snickered and dropped something on Tom's bunk.
"Here are your new duds. Wear them, because they show what you are; a
laborer of Clan Smoke Jaguar."
"Oh, I am, am I?"
"Trust me, you are." Czeny replied as his hand flew to a lump in his
left sleeve. Tom quickly grabbed the Jaguar clothes, because he knew that Czeny
had about seven inches of carbon-fiber blade hidden there.
*Paranoiacs may never learn, but they will break down prisoners P.D.Q.*
Twenty minutes later, Tom headed down the corridor towards the place
Czeny had told him to go. It turned out to be the 'mech loading bay.
There were about 150-200 Clan OmniMechs standing around, none of which
apperared to be either damaged or armed. There were about twenty other
laborers standing around, about half of them bondsmen. Then the shift boss, or
whatever the person in charge of the laborers here was called, showed up.
Tom gulped. The boss had obviously been bred for being an elemental
pilot, because he was easily 7'3". He also knew every laborer there,
because he started giving out sheets of printed instructions for that day's
shift. When he reached Tom, he stopped.
"So you are the new bondsman, huh? OK, work with Tanner there. He'll
show you the ropes. Who are you bonded to, anyway?"
"Czeny." The name attracted a lot of looks.
"Huh. Alright. Now get to work, people!"
"Hey," Tom heard a voice behind him. He spun, only to see another
bondsman, presumably Tanner, standing there. "you are the new one. All right,
let us see what there is to do." He consulted the paper.
"What does this shift do, anyway?" Tom asked Tanner.
"Battlemech outfitting. Between campaigns, battlemechs are brought
here, stripped completly down, checked out, then reloaded. We have to do the
reloading. Alright, first stop: captured Orion. Good one for a newbie."
When they reached the Orion in question, Tom looked up at it. It
didn't look nearly as impressive as it did on the battlefield, particularly
because it was so stripped down that you could see through it in some spots.
"All right," Tanner said, putting the sheet away "First order of
business: the engine." Reaching into his pocket, he produced a sort of remote
control with a small screen on it. It was actually reminiscent of the
"cellular telephones" that Tom had seen in his history textbook when he was
still young, only larger. Tanner punched in his PIN and waited for the
computer to confirm. When it did, he started going through the menus, talking
to himself "all right...select engine... Vlar 300XL... workspace..." he
glanced at the ground. Following suit, Tom realized that the floor in the work
area had been devided into a about seven hundred squares, each of them with a
'mech on it and a number. Hearing a humming sound above him, he looked and saw
a large series of large grasping claws hanging from the ceiling. One of them
was moving. It slid along the rails on the ceiling to a high gap in the wall
that was about five meters high and seven meters wide. There didn't seem to be
any door into that area.
About a minute later, the claw returned, carring a 'mech power plant.
It carried the engine over to their aera, lowered it about ten meters, then
stopped.
"Here," Tanner said as he started to make it lower slowly
"fine-tuning. I have to make the engine lower into the battlemech so it will
sit in the chassis unaided. Then we will have to actually hook it up."
When the engine was loaded, the two of them climbed up into the head.
Looking around, Tom saw that the normal control panels had been replaced by
panels that had no buttons, only a large series of sockets with labels next to
them.
"Testing panels. Those make sure that as soon as we get the battlemech
outfitted, we don't run amock with it. The Jaguars are almost as practical as
the Ghost Bears; all you can use those panels for is testing to see if the
components are recieving power."
"You're from Clan Ghost Bear?" Tom asked as they climbed into the
center torso.
"Aff. You are from the Inner Sphere, quiaff?"
"Yes...I mean aff. How could you tell?"
"You used a contraction just then."
"Damn! I'll have to work on that."
Tanner demonstrated how to connect the power leads to the
drive motivators. "You should hook up the legs and arms. I will get the torso
and head. So, where in the Inner Sphere are you from?"
"The Draconis Combine," Tom said as he started feeding the leads into
one of the motivators. It wasn't particularly hard, but it was time-consuming.
"What Clan would that be?"
"Damned if I know. Let's see... where are we now?"
"Schuyler. Nova Cat and Smoke Jaguar occupation zone. I think we're
right on the edge of the Ghost Bear occupation zone."
"All right," Tom said as he locked the leads in "lessee... I mean let
us see. The galaxy currently looks like a pie that was cut by someone with
Parkinson's, so if we're... we are near the Ghost Bears, the Draconis Combine
is the wedge on the other side of this occupation zone."
"I think I know what you are talking about. So," he glanced at Tom's
bondchord "who are you bonded to? I take it you were captured by the Xymelshia
raiding party."
"Czeny. It wasn't on-"
He was inturrupted by Tanner's look. "Czeny. What's his bloodname?"
"Damned if I know. Why?"
"If he is the one I think he is, you are in for it. Does he act
psychopathic?"
"And how."
"Does he carry a steel-carbon fiber knife?"
"Hell yes."
"You are in for it. He is supposed to be very unstable; they only keep
him around because he's such a good battlemech pilot. He would be a ristar if
they were not afraid of what would happen if attained any sort of command."
"Two things: first, what's a ristar, and second, how do you know so
much about him?"
"A ristar is a highly gifted, up-and-coming officer. I know all of
these things because he is one of the most notorious people around here. He
respects no one, and the only way to control him, even for his superiors, is
through fear. And as you probably know, he's very hard to scare."
"Damn right. Who are you bonded to?"
"Jeinna. She is an Elemental pilot, and tough as nails. I heard that
she once fought off a robber by picking him up and throwing him out of a
window. When he caught the light emplacement, she tore it out of the ceiling
and threw it out with him."
An hour later, they had made sure that the engine was fully engaged.
Then they started loading weapons onto the Orion. That was easier, because the
Orion had obviously been modified by Jaguar technicians to accept more
weaponry than a non-OmniMech would normally be capable of. After the weaponry
was fully emplaced (Tom noticed that the Clan weapons seemed smaller than the
ones he had seen in the Inner Sphere), troble arose with the armor.
"All right, we are supposed to use something called the 'Valiant
Lamellor' series." He turned to Tom "say, you are a stravag. What is the
'Valiant Lamellor' series, anyway?"
"Oh, it's...it is this old-fashioned shit that they put on Orions and
sometimes Champions. It's got a specific heat about 20% higher than that of
standard armor, and it is about twice as expensive."
"Ah. Only used when cost is no object. I see..." he consulted his
remote "SHIT! We're down to two tons of the stuff."
"So what, we'll have to order more?"
"You want to pay for it? No, we'll have to substitute something else.
You tell the boss while I see what there is to spare."
"What, you want me to take the flack?"
"No, he will not kill you... much. He (and the pilots) get extremely
angry if you change something and do not tell them. Have you ever seen
Elemental pilots enraged?"
"Point."
Walking up to the boss, he discovered, that he wasn't sure what to
say. If this Elemental pilot character was as dangerous as he was supposed to
be, saying the wrong thing could be fatal. "Hello?"
The boss turned around, considered for a moment, then siezed Tom by
his head with one hand. Lifting him up like a basketball, he looked straight
at him. "Is this how you address a member of the warrior caste?"
"Ummm...no, sir."
"WHAT WAS THAT?"
"Neg, sir!"
"That is what I thought. What gives?"
"There seems to be a problem with the armor, sir. The supply of
Valiant Lamellor seems to be exhaused."
"So substitute standard armor, you dumbass fuckface."
"Yes..aff, sir."
The boss dropped him, and he headed back to work, his head still
hurting where it had been gripped.
corporation. I hate being indebted to anyone, but for this story I am, so here
goes: I owe Arhuaine and her story Blue Skye Dreams (it's good. Read it!) for
A) Inspiring me to write this sequel, B) providing me with a lot of background
information on the Clans, and C) Giving me s bunch of plot ideas. Also, this
is a sequel to ChronoMech. I'm writing it as a separate story because A) This
one's completely independent and B) This is after the crossover is finished.
This is set during MechWarrior 3. Please R&R (and point out any inaccuracies
as far as the Battletech universe is concerned, so I can fix them in upcoming
fics)
Tom turned around to face Czeny, who had pulled his knife. Czeny was
obviously getting ready to kill, because he was raising the knife. Before he
could land it, though, Menaz spoke up.
"I suppose the stravag is getting the better end of the deal. Who
would want to live as Czeny's bondsman?"
Czeny's knife wavered, then fell to his side as he considered
Menaz's statement. Tom didn't know if Czeny knew how unstable people though he
was, or how much of a jerk. Menaz seemed to be the only person he got along
with at all; everyone else avoided pissing him off because he was as good in a
'mech as he said he was. Then Czeny turned to Menaz.
"I know what you are trying to do; you are trying to get me to spare
this stravags life so your friends in intelligence can find out what they
want, quiaff?"
"Aff. You saw right through me. I must be slipping," Menaz didn't
seem the distraught by Czeny's discovery of his plan, "So you will kill kim,
quiaff?"
"Neg," Czeny said with a furious look "I comprehend your concerns. I
will not kill him, so as not to deny our Clan of any information."
Two weeks later, Ursa-4 time, Tom was staring glumly up at the sky.
Czeny had put the handcuffs back on him, but had refrained from stabbing him
again. Either he was slipping, getting nicer, or hadn't been thinking.
Judging from Czeny's attitude, Tom was inclined to think the ladder. Then he
looked up and saw a dropship descending through the clouds. Even at that
distance, you could clearly see the emblem of Clan Smoke Jaguar emblazoned on
the side.
Loading the dropship was done quickly and efficiently. The 'mech
pilots quickly went and stowed their machines, then climbed into the personnel
seats. Tom and the other prisoners we checked for weapons, then locked into
their seats. As the ship lifted off, Tom looked back at Ursa-4. It looked like
it should: urban centers razed, and the remains of an orbital defense
platform still in high orbit. The planet was supposed to be untouchable,
unless you could get you hands on the nearby world of Xymelshia. Which the
Jaguars had.
"Admiring the view, freebirth?" Czeny cut in on his thoughts. "You
will have bigger things to worry about soon. But for whatever it is worth:
Xymelshia is not nearly as damaged as that place is; we took it almost
intact." He grinned and turned away.
A few weeks later, they arrived on the world of Schuyler. Tom was put
in a cell-like room, where, a few hours later, Czeny walked in.
"All right, stravag, this is something I should have done a long time
ago, but I did not have the proper materials. Show me your wrist."
"Why?"
"So I can do what I have to."
Deciding not to irk Czeny too much, Tom made a fist with his left
hand and held it out. Czeny reached out and quickly tied a woven chord in the
Smoke Jaguar colors around his wrist. Tom looked at it in distaste.
"Although you're more of summer," Tom murmured to himself in a mock
camp voice "I think a woven bracelet would complement you perfectly ...maybe a
...wuggghhh!" His commentary was abruptly terminated by Czeny throwing a
punch into his sternum.
"I heard that. Do not make fun of the bondchord. It might be the last
thing you do. What is your name?"
"My NAME? You've been beating the shit out of me for three weeks and
you don't know my name?"
"I have your dogtags," Czeny replied as he produced them "But there
seems to be a bit of trouble with your first name. I am assuming that Tom is a
contraction, but I am not sure-"
"It's not."
"Not a contraction? Your parents seem to have had strange tastes in
nomenclature. Anyway, what is your name?"
"What the fuck? It's right there on the...the tags there!"
"Well, now it is not."
"What the fuck?"
"You are officially my bondsman. You are now Tom of Clan Smoke
Jaguar, and do not forget it, stravag. You are not even a freebirth now,
because even freebirths are warriors. Now follow me. Intelligence wants to
talk to you."
Tom seemed to wake up three days later. He remembered being taken
into a small, poorly lit room and being asked some stupid questions (Name,
rank, favorite color (He was guessing that was a control question))
and some not-so-stupid questions (strength of the Draconis Combine,
information about the new Inner Sphere OmniMechs, a lot of technical questions
about Inner Sphere 'mech computers). When he had started to refuse to tell
them what they wanted to know, they had begun to inflict pain on him. Menaz
had been right; compared to them, Czeny was easy.
After he had given in and told them what they wanted to know, they
had started the quiz all over again from the beginning. They had stressed the
technical questions most of all, obviously cross-referencing has
answers. He didn't remember a lot of other specifics, but he did know that he
had told them the truth, as far as he knew.
Czeny reappeared two days later. He was looking nastier than usual, and
had a booklet with him.
"All right, stravag, we have some thing to go over. Since you are bound
to me, Menaz decided that it would be judicious to tell you about your new
people, Tom of Clan Smoke Jaguar. You are part of the laborer caste now, and
unless you prove yourself to be a warrior, will remain as such. Unless the
Ghost Bears attack and claim this world, there is no real chance that you will
get out of our hands, so I suggest that you accept your new status."
"You're fucking nuts-" Tom began
"No, I am not," Czeny cut him off "and that is something you need to
work on. Contractions are not used in the Clans of Kerensky. I suggest that you
do not, also. In addition, we attach a non-stravag word to the end of
rhetorical questions: quineg if the expected answer is neg, and quiaff if the
answer is aff."
"What're-"
"What are."
"What're-"
"WHAT ARE." Czeny was starting to look abnormally dangerous.
"OK, fine, WHAT ARE neg and aff?"
"Neg is... neg is... neg is the reply that counters the origional
statement. It declares that the inital statement is not, in fact the case.
Inversely, aff confirms the intial proposition."
"Sort of like 'no' and 'yes'. And why don't..." Czeny reached for his
knife and Tom quickly tried to figure out how to restructure the sentance "why
do you people not use contractions?"
"Why do you despise us and our ways? Why do you go to great lenghts to
spite me?"
"Because-"
"Because that is the way it is, that's all. That is just, at this
point, how people work. This is the convention; oppose it at your own risk."
"Want a second opinon?"
"Listen. You get what I am saying, asshole bravado aside; do not use
contractions. Now about the bondchord-"
"This?" Tom asked, holding up his wrist with the chord on it.
"Yes, that. It shows that you are a bondsman, and you are honor-bound
to bear it as you should; it will only be removed if you become an abtakha, or
are released. Even if you become bound to another clan, it will only be
supplanted by one of their colors."
"Ab-"
"An abtakha is a captured warrior that has been adopted into his Clan
as a worrior. I will be very surprised if you become one."
"So it's...it is a very hard position to obtain?"
Czeny looked mildly amused. "You could say that, yes. Even for a
bloodnamed warror of another clan, it is an extreme challange. For one such as
you, a member of the laborer caste, and a freebirth, it is basically
unobtainable. I heard that there was one such as you who became an abtakha in
Clan Wolf about a decade ago, but the Jaguars have much higher standards.
Besides, there was the blood of one of the bloodlines in Clan Wolf in her. You
have no such distinction." He flipped Tom the booklet. "Here. This is a
pamphlet about Smoke Jaguar society that another bondsman composed about
thirty years ago. I did not want to waste any more of my time than I could, so
read this. You start work tomorrow."
Tom had started the booklet, but had given up after about twenty
minutes. The author had either been on crack or was having some flashbacks to
his Inner Sphere days, because the language was a mishmash between Inner
Sphere Standard English and Clanspeech (or whatever it was called). The author
couldn't seem to decide between 'no' and 'neg', and kept putting stupid
rehtorical questions in to prove his mistery of quiaff and quineg. Deciding to
read the presumed sequil ("A guide to Smoke Jaguar society after detox.") he
tossed the book on the floor and fell asleep.
He awoke when his eardrums seemed to explode. He could hear an
ulrtasonic tone, almost too high for the human ear to hear, but piercing
enough to cause a lot of pain. His eyes popped open and the blurry figure of
Czeny swam into view. "Aw, shit, you."
Czeny considered for a moment, then looped two fingers into Tom's
bondchord. With one deft twist, he applied enough pressure to Tom's wrist to
make him think that it was caught in a vice. Tom yelped and jerked the chord
out of Czeny's reach. Czeny snickered and dropped something on Tom's bunk.
"Here are your new duds. Wear them, because they show what you are; a
laborer of Clan Smoke Jaguar."
"Oh, I am, am I?"
"Trust me, you are." Czeny replied as his hand flew to a lump in his
left sleeve. Tom quickly grabbed the Jaguar clothes, because he knew that Czeny
had about seven inches of carbon-fiber blade hidden there.
*Paranoiacs may never learn, but they will break down prisoners P.D.Q.*
Twenty minutes later, Tom headed down the corridor towards the place
Czeny had told him to go. It turned out to be the 'mech loading bay.
There were about 150-200 Clan OmniMechs standing around, none of which
apperared to be either damaged or armed. There were about twenty other
laborers standing around, about half of them bondsmen. Then the shift boss, or
whatever the person in charge of the laborers here was called, showed up.
Tom gulped. The boss had obviously been bred for being an elemental
pilot, because he was easily 7'3". He also knew every laborer there,
because he started giving out sheets of printed instructions for that day's
shift. When he reached Tom, he stopped.
"So you are the new bondsman, huh? OK, work with Tanner there. He'll
show you the ropes. Who are you bonded to, anyway?"
"Czeny." The name attracted a lot of looks.
"Huh. Alright. Now get to work, people!"
"Hey," Tom heard a voice behind him. He spun, only to see another
bondsman, presumably Tanner, standing there. "you are the new one. All right,
let us see what there is to do." He consulted the paper.
"What does this shift do, anyway?" Tom asked Tanner.
"Battlemech outfitting. Between campaigns, battlemechs are brought
here, stripped completly down, checked out, then reloaded. We have to do the
reloading. Alright, first stop: captured Orion. Good one for a newbie."
When they reached the Orion in question, Tom looked up at it. It
didn't look nearly as impressive as it did on the battlefield, particularly
because it was so stripped down that you could see through it in some spots.
"All right," Tanner said, putting the sheet away "First order of
business: the engine." Reaching into his pocket, he produced a sort of remote
control with a small screen on it. It was actually reminiscent of the
"cellular telephones" that Tom had seen in his history textbook when he was
still young, only larger. Tanner punched in his PIN and waited for the
computer to confirm. When it did, he started going through the menus, talking
to himself "all right...select engine... Vlar 300XL... workspace..." he
glanced at the ground. Following suit, Tom realized that the floor in the work
area had been devided into a about seven hundred squares, each of them with a
'mech on it and a number. Hearing a humming sound above him, he looked and saw
a large series of large grasping claws hanging from the ceiling. One of them
was moving. It slid along the rails on the ceiling to a high gap in the wall
that was about five meters high and seven meters wide. There didn't seem to be
any door into that area.
About a minute later, the claw returned, carring a 'mech power plant.
It carried the engine over to their aera, lowered it about ten meters, then
stopped.
"Here," Tanner said as he started to make it lower slowly
"fine-tuning. I have to make the engine lower into the battlemech so it will
sit in the chassis unaided. Then we will have to actually hook it up."
When the engine was loaded, the two of them climbed up into the head.
Looking around, Tom saw that the normal control panels had been replaced by
panels that had no buttons, only a large series of sockets with labels next to
them.
"Testing panels. Those make sure that as soon as we get the battlemech
outfitted, we don't run amock with it. The Jaguars are almost as practical as
the Ghost Bears; all you can use those panels for is testing to see if the
components are recieving power."
"You're from Clan Ghost Bear?" Tom asked as they climbed into the
center torso.
"Aff. You are from the Inner Sphere, quiaff?"
"Yes...I mean aff. How could you tell?"
"You used a contraction just then."
"Damn! I'll have to work on that."
Tanner demonstrated how to connect the power leads to the
drive motivators. "You should hook up the legs and arms. I will get the torso
and head. So, where in the Inner Sphere are you from?"
"The Draconis Combine," Tom said as he started feeding the leads into
one of the motivators. It wasn't particularly hard, but it was time-consuming.
"What Clan would that be?"
"Damned if I know. Let's see... where are we now?"
"Schuyler. Nova Cat and Smoke Jaguar occupation zone. I think we're
right on the edge of the Ghost Bear occupation zone."
"All right," Tom said as he locked the leads in "lessee... I mean let
us see. The galaxy currently looks like a pie that was cut by someone with
Parkinson's, so if we're... we are near the Ghost Bears, the Draconis Combine
is the wedge on the other side of this occupation zone."
"I think I know what you are talking about. So," he glanced at Tom's
bondchord "who are you bonded to? I take it you were captured by the Xymelshia
raiding party."
"Czeny. It wasn't on-"
He was inturrupted by Tanner's look. "Czeny. What's his bloodname?"
"Damned if I know. Why?"
"If he is the one I think he is, you are in for it. Does he act
psychopathic?"
"And how."
"Does he carry a steel-carbon fiber knife?"
"Hell yes."
"You are in for it. He is supposed to be very unstable; they only keep
him around because he's such a good battlemech pilot. He would be a ristar if
they were not afraid of what would happen if attained any sort of command."
"Two things: first, what's a ristar, and second, how do you know so
much about him?"
"A ristar is a highly gifted, up-and-coming officer. I know all of
these things because he is one of the most notorious people around here. He
respects no one, and the only way to control him, even for his superiors, is
through fear. And as you probably know, he's very hard to scare."
"Damn right. Who are you bonded to?"
"Jeinna. She is an Elemental pilot, and tough as nails. I heard that
she once fought off a robber by picking him up and throwing him out of a
window. When he caught the light emplacement, she tore it out of the ceiling
and threw it out with him."
An hour later, they had made sure that the engine was fully engaged.
Then they started loading weapons onto the Orion. That was easier, because the
Orion had obviously been modified by Jaguar technicians to accept more
weaponry than a non-OmniMech would normally be capable of. After the weaponry
was fully emplaced (Tom noticed that the Clan weapons seemed smaller than the
ones he had seen in the Inner Sphere), troble arose with the armor.
"All right, we are supposed to use something called the 'Valiant
Lamellor' series." He turned to Tom "say, you are a stravag. What is the
'Valiant Lamellor' series, anyway?"
"Oh, it's...it is this old-fashioned shit that they put on Orions and
sometimes Champions. It's got a specific heat about 20% higher than that of
standard armor, and it is about twice as expensive."
"Ah. Only used when cost is no object. I see..." he consulted his
remote "SHIT! We're down to two tons of the stuff."
"So what, we'll have to order more?"
"You want to pay for it? No, we'll have to substitute something else.
You tell the boss while I see what there is to spare."
"What, you want me to take the flack?"
"No, he will not kill you... much. He (and the pilots) get extremely
angry if you change something and do not tell them. Have you ever seen
Elemental pilots enraged?"
"Point."
Walking up to the boss, he discovered, that he wasn't sure what to
say. If this Elemental pilot character was as dangerous as he was supposed to
be, saying the wrong thing could be fatal. "Hello?"
The boss turned around, considered for a moment, then siezed Tom by
his head with one hand. Lifting him up like a basketball, he looked straight
at him. "Is this how you address a member of the warrior caste?"
"Ummm...no, sir."
"WHAT WAS THAT?"
"Neg, sir!"
"That is what I thought. What gives?"
"There seems to be a problem with the armor, sir. The supply of
Valiant Lamellor seems to be exhaused."
"So substitute standard armor, you dumbass fuckface."
"Yes..aff, sir."
The boss dropped him, and he headed back to work, his head still
hurting where it had been gripped.