To the Wild Frontier 03
Pascagoula
Edgeward Draconis March
Federated Suns
May 3025
Those who lived in the Davion Outback stared up at the night sky with all the intensity of the ancient astrologers that built pyramids and erected massive stone monoliths, all for much the same reason - they sought portents among the stars.
"Paw! Paw, there's a light!" Suzanne Klering jumped from the windowsill back inside, and then downstairs. "There's two lights!"
"Tarnation are you still doing awake?!" her father, Thomas Klering hurled back. "Stop climbing to the roof, you fool girl! Don't break your neck and go to sleep!"
On a farm in the Davion Outback, dinner was just after sunset. As soon as the lights were down, most everyone turned in. Early to bed, early to rise. The farm had an old methane-powered generator that sufficed to light up the living room and run some ancient radios and a primitive holo-reader.
"A light? From where, lil Missy?" asked Granpa Tucker Klering, sitting by the window on a rocking chair and puffing on a pipe. He looked out towards the fields and relaxed in the cool night air.
"Down north!"
The entire family froze.
Because the nadir jump point was right above the star, any dropship on the approach to a world was only properly visible from the hemisphere facing the system's sun. Which of course meant that for most of the time, the drive flare was invisible like the rest of the starry sky. Transit drives could only be visible when the dropships were close enough approaching the polar coordinates that even the side facing away from the sun, at night, could see two new points of light across the northern horizon.
Mother Winona Klering went over to her child and hugged her, much to Suzanne's protests that she was no longer a baby. Father Thomas, eldest brother Tucker the Second, and second brother Timothy, rushed outside.
"Dang," Second Tucker spat as he squinted towards the horizon. "She's right."
"Could just be a trader," said Timothy.
"If it were some Mule comin' in to trade with the capital, one woulda be enough. Two dropships? That's someone with mechs or summat and all the cargo for loot." The eldest son shook his head.
"What do we do, paw?" asked Timothy.
Thomas Clearing shook his head. "We're far enough from the city. Pirates like that want to go where the loot is. We don't got nothing to worry about."
He glanced towards the house, and his wife and daughter.
Unless the loot these raiders wanted were slaves, he did not say.
"We should have a listen to what the radio says," he finished up. "Maybe… maybe this won't be something that ends in blood."
-.
Pascagoula was considered a low-tech world. This meant anywhere from the dawn of industrialization up to an early 22nd century tech level. For this hard-scrabble farming world, this meant a level of technology and society that could be maintained near indefinitely at around the pre 1950s in certain areas, with a sprinkling of the 31st century in the homes of the nobility.
Radio was one of the few free luxuries in the Outback, if you happened to be close enough to the fusion-powered tower transmitter. Even someone with a simple crystal radio receiver, which required no power whatsoever, could have their lives eased a little bit by music, chatter, and news about the stars.
If you were far from the city, then you had to wait for the best time for radiowaves to bounce off the ionosphere at night. With the generator chugging in the background, the family settled in to listen from the night-time broadcast.
There was only old-timey jazz music.
After nearly half an hour, someone finally started speaking. "Welcome back, listeners! You are tuning into Thirty-Three Point Three FAST Ay Emmmm, shout out to all our folks out there in the Wilds! Now to update on our visitors - we don't have an HPG, so but they've been beaming radio down all this while to the starport. They say they're Davion. It's the Vagabond Schools!"
Everyone suddenly let out loud sighs of relief.
"Of course, because we don't have any of those fangled advanced equipment like what the military and Comstar uses, we can't be sure they are who they say they are just yet. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best, listeners!"
Thomas Klering scowled. "He's right. We have time. We can hide."
"Mmh." Grandpa Tucker puffed at his pipe. "Last time the raid got this far into the farm was in… '82 or 84, I think? We all went out to hide in a hole we dug in the forest. We came back to see everything ransacked. T'waren't no pirates though - it was the neighbors! Haw!"
The old man laughed and began slapping his own knee in hilarity.
Thomas was not laughing.
Then Grandpa Tucker said "Course, then mamaw died later that year cos the pirates looted all the meds and stole away all the doctors into slaves."
Suzanne, who was not old enough to have ever experienced a raid before, shivered in her mother's arms.
"Let's hope it really is just Davion," Thomas sighed.
"Psh, what's Davion good for?! They don't protect us anyhows, and now they come along making people do things. All this talk of free educating's just a trap ta get good boys and girls to sign up to soldiering and get kilt!" Grandpa Tucker spat.
Thomas Klering said nothing. He clutched his palms together under his nose.
"I heard soldiering pays a lot though," Second Tucker Klering said. "You get to eat well and ain't that much more painful than farm work. Families get a pension when you die."
The old man looked away and sagged into his rocking chair. "My brudder went off ta' war… and that's why we got that holo reader. He used to send holotapes talking about soldier life and all the planets he was going to. Tank commander lieutenant, that's pretty high living for a farmboy, huh?"
Grandpa Tucker emptied his pipe of ashes and sighed. "Kurita mech burned him alive in his tank. Died out there in some stupid Kurita world, how did he defend Davion with that? All the lords are all alike - they're gonna trap you with promise of glory and let you die for their stupid lines on a map. T'aint a good way to live, t'aint a good way to die…"
-.
A day later and the lights had vanished from the horizon. The DropShips had landed.
The night-time broadcast announced "Whoo-wee! Looks like we got lucky, listeners! It *is* Davion! Oh they are *armed*. If these battlemechs were out for blood there's no way we could've survived. But they're here as our friends, so they're aaaaaall riiiiiiight.
"Better news! They're here to give and to take. What they're taking is your children! There's a new Vagabond School set up on DeBerry, next star over. There's slots for a hundred children to get educated in the first steps to a real high class career - doctors, engineers, architects, artists, spacemen, you name it!
"But even if they don't go off to better futures offworld, after nine months they can come back with a specialization and tools to set up their own workshop. Veterinarians, mechanics, foremen, surveyors, and other jobs that can be finished with practical experience! All of this, for free. Everything will be provided by the Ministry of Education. You can't buy your way into this, folks!
"That means that for those hundred slots, it's a lottery! You got a week to bring your kids to sign up! All that matters is that they are from thirteen to fifteen!
"And then this goes into the next thing - what they're giving away. It's another lottery! There's sixteen Agro and Industrial Mechs up for grabs - thirty two in total! If you're signed up, then you're ready to win!
"If you're too far from the capital, don't worry. Davion's sending ships out to every town all over the world. But there's only so many seats in there. So if you can't make your way to New Fostoria on your own, then I guess it's up to each town to select down how many kids can fly out. Maybe another lottery?
"Oh no. Are we being afflicted by the sin of gambling? Haha, try not to get hooked on games of chance, dear listeners! It can ruin you!"
The family turned to the two children - Suzanne Klering, age thirteen. Timothy Klering, age fifteen.
"We shouldn't miss this," Winona Klering said firmly, her eyes ready to fight.
Thomas nodded. "It's gonna be expensive staying in the city though. Better be prepared to sleep inside the truck." It was hardly that bad. Without a load it was roomy enough and still protected from the elements. But the children had to get some treats if they're out in the big city. Maybe if it didn't pan out, he could get some schoolbook and some cheap holos instead. Their savings could still hold up for that.
This gambling for schooling thing… this would probably be just a loss, but it was a fine enough excuse to have a day of fun for the children, even if it would take two days of travel. Tucker was old enough now that he was more interested in just the next town over and finding a girl to marry.
-.
New Fostoria
Pascagoula
Federated Suns
Some time later
The whole planet only had a population of 61.5 million people. There were three continents - Colfax, which contained the planetary capital, Sylvan Lake, and Reynolds. Colfax carried 40 million, and its capital had a population of nearly 200,000 people.
The outskirts of the city were barren sandy ruins. There was a time when New Fostoria had a population of over a million.
But as they approached the center, there appeared that rarity of rarities - a traffic jam!
A patrolman on a motorcycle sidled up to the truck. "You there! Here to sign up your kids to the Vagabond School too?"
"Yes, sir!" replied Thomas Klering.
"Follow that road to the east," the patrolman pointed to a road that several vehicles were detaching from the logjam to move on. "There's another recruiting station set up at the end of it. After you sign up, *then* you can try to go into the city."
"Yessir, thank you sir!"
As Thomas turned the wheel, he wondered "Recruiting station? Huh. Wonder why they call it that?"
-.
"What the sam hill is this?! This is a military camp!" Thomas Klering muttered.
Four standing battlemechs glowered above the parking area. Farmers and other citizens nervously parked their vehicles and joined the lines. Small tents provided water and bread sticks for free. Cloth streamers hung from tall poles on either side of the plaza to put the center area in shade.
"Oooh!" Obviously the children were enamored by the Mechs. "So big! So that's a real BattleMech!"
A Vindicator, a Hunchback, and two Griffins, to be precise.
There were two more yellow mechs with a curious dome shape and odd lobster-like hands protruding off the belly of the machine instead of where shoulders should be. Those arm locations had instead a pair of cranes. If ever Thomas was asked what an IndustrialMech would look like, he was now sure of saying'yup, those look like IndustrialMechs all right'.
Two more much smaller mechs that looked like an egg with arms and legs and a carrying basket over their hips. Those were probably the Agromechs.
He could see people being helped in and out of the cockpits of the mechs. They remained locked in place, but the civilian mechs could swing around and try out movement and handling without the use of a neurohelmet. There were some small cargo pods that could be picked up to test the responsiveness of waldoes.
Eventually what drew his eye were the two lines at the far end of the old plaza, each in front of two flags. One had a long but orderly line. The red and gold sunburst behind a sword flag of the Federated Suns. Another had a small crescent of people watching from holos but unwilling to approach further. That one had the flag of the Star League above.
One of the tents was marked INFORMATION.
"Joining the Vagabond Schools waiting list is simple. Just fill out this form. Your children will have to join the line to get their biometrics and neural signature data taken. This will ensure no substitution or collusion can happen to the children. After that, they are due for a free health check-up. Adults too, if you want. Vaccinations are free as well."
"If it's all right to ask, what's that?" he pointed to the spot with the Star League flag.
"Oh, that is simply the SLDF recruiting station."
"The what."
"The SLDF recruiting station," the pale-blonde woman replied with a fixed smile.
"Uh, you… you all know that the SLDF are, like gone, right? The Star League fell hundreds of years ago."
"The Star League Defense Forces have returned. The Eridani Light Horse never left the Inner Sphere and they are looking for people to join the Third Regimental Combat Team."
What the hay is going on here?"
-.
While waiting for the children to process the line, Thomas inspected the information posters pasted on to the old walls.
BE ALL YOU CAN BE!
The Federated Suns doesn't just need soldiers!
For every man or woman in the AFFS, they need
the support of dozens of civilian specialists. They
need your help to keep fightin!
While others fight to defend the freedoms of good
people in the Federated Suns, it is also up to us
to make these worlds worthy of that defense.
Every citizen has the right to try to reach their
fullest potential. We need more teachers, doctors,
engineers, lawmen, large-scale farming and mining
specialists, drivers and pilots, space crew and more!
Be all you can be - don't let anyone stop you from
trying to achieve your dreams!
You don't have to do violence to serve. Make the
Worlds of the Federated Suns safe and lawful with
honest effort!
Sign up for the AFFS Collegiate Program today!
-.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side:
YOU ARE NOT COMING BACK.
Only by looking forward can you protect those
who stand behind you. You will carry the debt
of honor on your shoulders. Side by side with
your brothers and sisters in the SLDF, only you
can bring peace back into the Inner Sphere.
House Kurita is one main reason your life is full of
suffering. If they were not so intent on conquering
the entire Inner Sphere, things would be like in
the days of the Star League when taxes could be
put aside for peace and good works instead of
always fighting to keep the Draconis Combine
at bay.
For the wars to stop, the SLDF must come back
in strength to secure the borders. The Star
League can only be established again from the
Inside.
We are the SLDF 16th Army, 11th Corps,
3rd RCT-
ERIDANI LIGHT HORSE.
When Kerensky abandoned the Inner Sphere, we
remained, to maintain the virtues of the Star
League, and to welcome them when they return.
The time has come.
The Succession Wars for an empty throne will end.
We are rebuilding the Star League Defense Force.
You will have the finest training maintained since
Kerensky's own SLDF.
You will be armed with the best technology
and equipment have been long considered lostech.
You will ply the stars on new vessels made
for the new doctrine created just for you.
You will have the support of the finest logistical
network ever devised by man.
You will be part of the greatest endeavor since
the establishment of the Star League itself.
You will become fully a citizen of the Star League
with all its rights and responsibilities separate from
your Great House allegiances.
Prove yourself worthy of the name, and through
a thousand years across a thousand worlds,
you will only ever know victory.
Are you ready to be greater than yourself?
-.
"Are… are you allowed to *say* this?" someone asked the officer sitting behind the desk. People were looking around, but the plaza was clear of stones.
"The Third RCT has been reactivated. We are, once again, officially the SLDF. Do you see that line?" A box was painted onto the cleared bricks. A sign said Beyond this line is SLDF territory. AFFS law is superseded by SLDF law. "You are not coming back, because as long as you are a soldier of the SLDF, you are not anymore *a citizen of the Federated Suns*. We only need the ones ready to give up everything."
One of the parents pointed to the sign
RECRUITMENT LIMITS
Ages 14-16 only.
"Why do you want to take our children?!"
"MechWarriors are best trained from an early age," was the response.
The word was enough to send their bones ringing. MechWarrior. Across a thousand years, BattleMechs and those who fought in them were the elites among elites.
"Davion needs as many MechWarriors as they can have, don't they? Why would they even allow this?"
"Because we are the SLDF and we have a treaty."
Murmurs of disbelief greeted this declaration.
"I want to be MechWarrior!" shouted a boy. He shrugged off the hold of his parents, ran into the space, and faced the desk. His father shouted but hesitated on crossing the line. The man looked up nervously towards the BattleMechs.
"Child of the Federated Suns, be more mindful," said the recruiter. "Remember this - until you surrender your commission in SLDF, if you are a noble, you will not inherit. If your parents have property, you will not inherit. You will be leaving your family behind it would be years before you might see them again. Maybe even never again. If you just want to be a MechWarrior… then try joining the AFFS, maybe?"
The boy scoffed "Then what's all this then? If you don't want more MechWarriors, then just say so! You need me more than I need you!"
The recruiter yawned and turned back to his noteputer. "Our Assault Mechs need soldiers that are capable of following orders and working with a team."
That left the boy standing there, alone and hearing the tittering of the crowd. He clenched his fists, standing straight and trying not to cry from the humiliation. He turned around, shouting "You will regreeet thiiiss!"
The recruiter lets some time pass and then sighed. "Not even thirty seconds. Children sure do lack patience these days, huh? If they can't even get through that, they won't be able to get through basic training. Just be a doctor or something."
He pointed to the left. "The Neurohelmet Test is free anyway. There is no obligation to join up."
Then another teen stepped up. "I want to be a MechWarrior!"
"Not without your parent's permission, you can't."
"Don't got none! Uh… Sir!"
The recruiter looked up. The teen was a young man with scraggly brown hair. "How did you get here then?"
"I work! Sir! Hitched a ride with my boss! Sir!"
"Fine." The recruiter gestured to a nearby cockpit-like chair. "Sit down and put on the neurohelmet. That will measure your BattleMech control compatibility."
The boy saluted "Thank you sir!"
The boy sat on the chair and a robotic arm lowered the bucket-like helmet over his head. A hologram rose up from the floor in front of the chair. It was a Marauder BattleMech. The people let out a small 'ooh' of interest.
A digitized female voice said:
"Initiating control test one. Please imagine yourself and the BattleMech moving forward at the same time."
The boy lifted his foot slightly, and the simulated Mech raised its left leg. He leaned forward slightly, and the Mech took one forward step. Then it began rocking back and forth in place as the boy tried to get the other leg to move without the mech losing balance."
"Try not to think too hard about it," the recruiter advised. "Neurohelmets are there to make mechs move like your own body. Relax and move naturally."
The mech took one sliding step forward. Then another. Then finally a few steps of real movement.
Then the mech fell flat on its face.
"Initiating control test two. Please move the arms according to the directions."
On the holo, arrows overlaid the image. Move the arms up. Left. Right. Down. Upper Left. Etc.
"Please twist the torso according to the directions."
And then after that, a more complicated sequence of moving the arms while twisting the torso.
"Initiating control test three. Pull the trigger and imagine firing weapons from each arm."
The holo let out a loud *FSHRAK!* of a PPC bolt. People jerked back in surprise. Someone clapped.
"Initiating control test three. Movement in combat. Please imagine moving forward and aiming towards the provided target."
A small sphere appeared a short distance away from the simulated Marauder. The Marauder took a few step, fired its PPCs, missed, and fell flat on its face again.
The chair let out some beeps and boops, and then with a chime displayed on the LCD screen atop the testing chair:
MECH CONTROL COMPATIBILITY: 77.13%.
PASS.
A few more people started clapping.
"Hey, kiddo. Did you sign up to the Vagabond School? What's your name?" the recruiter asked.
"Y-yes sir! I'm… Billyson, sir! Just Billyson."
"Come over here, Billy." The recruiter then passed a small data slate and a credstick to the boy. "If you pull out from the vagabond school class lottery that gives someone else a free slot. Are you sure you want to sign off your life to the SLDF?"
The boy turned to look for his boss. The squat pimpled man that owned a restaurant nodded. "Sure I'm sure, sir!"
"Congratulations. Here, present this to the guards. You have a signing bonus of five hundred C-bills, free lodging at the hostel until we leave, and a thousand C-bills of child support remuneration to whoever you designate as your guardian. Relax and settle everything you want to do in this world. You're not coming back."
Suddenly knowing money was involved had everyone in an uproar.
"I want to sign up!"
"Hey! Can my child be a mechwarrior too?!"
"Can girls be a mechwarrior?!"
There was a loud piercing sound as someone stepped over the yellow line. The gun turrets behind the recruiter spun up. Abruptly, people remembered that SLDF military law meant that anyone trespassing could be shot and Davion wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
"One at a time, please," said the recruiter. "The test is, after all, free to take. There is no obligation to join. The results of this test would be valid for joining the AFFS later, if that is your preference."
Thomas felt tugging at his sleeves. He looked down to see that his children had already finished signing up to the School Lottery. Now Suzanne was looking up at him with big doe eyes for a test.
"No!" Thomas Klearing immediately yelled at them.
One of the parents raised their hand. "Can adults be tested too?"
"Sure, why not?" the recruiter responded. "We will bring out some more testing chairs and set up a separate line."
-.
"I wanted to try…" Suzanne pouted. "It's not fair."
"Paw… if I can be a MechWarrior, that's big. Instead of gambling on a school, it's a sure thing!"
"What, and just abandon your family so easily? You're gonna spit in our eye for raising you to live just like that? I'm not letting it be! That's for orphans and people who ain't wanted by their families!" Thomas grunted. "Instead of a mech… here, try out the agromech."
"There's a lot of people, prolly not going to get this anyway…" Timothy murmured mulishly.
He soon changed his mind however. The Ruralmech was, unlike the neurohelmet simulation of a BattleMech, was a real thing. The waldoes responded perfectly, and the height of the machine made him feel powerful.
The smaller Ergomechs were 15 tons and subject to stricter supervision were now being allowed to walk and run and pick up and toss things, five minutes per test pilot. Now the pair of small ultralight mechs were doing a catch and throw game.
Those controls were very refined and responsive for comparatively crude physical-motion tracking of an IndustrialMech Cockpit compared to a BattleMech cockpit's direct brain-to-machine balancing interface. In fact, that was one thing they was better off with - the neurohelmet was also responsible for the pilot having the chance to black out due to sensory overload when the machine take grievous damage.
Thomas Klering was handed a pamphlet explaining the details of the 30-ton Ruralmech. "Can this run on liquified methane?" he asked the roving support staff.
"It doesn't sir."
"Then what's the fuel? Gasoline?"
"It doesn't sir. Need any fuel, that is. It's fusion-powered."
The farmer boggled. "And you're just giving this away?!"
The ELH support personnel winced. "We… have *a lot* of Ruralmechs."
Suzanne had managed to slip away and ran for the lines to the neurohelmet test.
-.
"Suzanne! Where are you girl?!" Thomas Klering shouted.
"She's not at the mechwarrior lines," Timothy responded with a wheeze, having just ran from there. The line was getting long, it was getting late in the afternoon, and his heart pained from missing his chance.
"Paw!" Suzanne shouted back, waving from the food booth. "Look! I got free ice pops!"
The girl showed them three flavored frozen candies.
"Where'd you get this?"
The girl pointed to a booth handing out free treats. It was right next to another tent labeled
AEROSPACE FIGHTER PILOT
COMPATIBILITY TESTING
"Aw come on!" Thomas Klering felt like ripping the hat off his head and throwing it to the ground in consternation.