Chapter 27
May 16th, 3025
Parliament Hall
Suk II
Orsula scowled at her agent reporting the bad news. "Apologies, ma'am. Pro-Lyran influence in the city is at an apex given the majority of the population feel a civic duty to make this attack as hard as possible for their enemies." The dislike the Commonwealth and the Combine had for each other, both on a cultural and historic level was one of the most heated in the entire Inner Sphere. It spanned dozens of planets across the coreward portion of the two empires, towards the center of the milky way. It was also what north would be on 2-d maps.
"Shall I enact Doolittle?" The agent asked, keeping eye contact to avoid the plunging neckline of her dress. Difficulty ensued, given her eyes were near her hear lustrous, curly raven hair which cascaded around her tanned chest and shoulders.
Doolittle referred to one of many various forms of commando raids on the water treatment plants. This specific one was a plan that enacted hitting the larger plants, of which seven remained. From there, she could spin public opinion against the RoughRiders who were more decisively engaged with the impending assault. Either that, or they would spread out to help defend the eighteen remaining smaller plants.
She wasn't exactly sure what LaPointe and his cronies were going to do without Hansen there to hold their hands. He had a few more weeks until he returned from negotiations at the Lyran Capitol. The two companies on deployment hunting pirates were due in another five to six weeks, but they might return early.
And screw this whole thing up, she thought quickly. "Yes, though please wait until the day before they land. I want them to have the option of defending and when they don't, the blame will fall on them. In the meantime, keep the fires burning in the capitol. Maximum spin against the RoughRiders. Refrain from using any burning bags until the Dracs are decisively engaged." She crossed her arms with a solemn look and stood, forcing the agent to move his eyes higher up. It didn't help that crossing her arms hoisted her chest up a few inches, either. It truly was a test of willpower.
Brown bags referred to the use of the gun-cam virus, which at least from reports relayed by Militia techs, nobody seems to have found. It was an unusual virus, that would keep moving itself from file to file amongst millions and millions of lines of code in such elaborate rhythm. It might spend a few hours in the computers that regulate proper coolant to the fusion reactor, then ten minutes up in the sensor array, then move back to the gun cams.
The only weakness of the virus was its semi-automation. It couldn't disable anything other than the gun-cams, and it needed to move itself to an area in the lines of code that cascaded down along something to do with the actual cameras. Thus, it was a risky endeavor, and one best started in a very long fight, where more and more of the forces on the side of the defenders would no longer be able to see where they were aiming. But it also made it almost uncatchable until that time came to activate it.
"One more thing. Remove one of the smaller plants, to add emphasis on protecting them as well. Do not worry, nobody will go thirsty this season, and they are simple to repair." He already knew that, and so did she. But the general public doesn't need to know, she thought silently, and those speaking the voice of reason in an angry mob can easily be singled out and silenced.
"Yes, my lady." For what seemed like the fiftieth time, he executed a bow that was more of a convenient way to get a full glimpse of her beauty, even for a split second, while lowering his head.
If I stay alive long enough, I will have seen her enough times in this bow, that I can construct my own personal memory of her, looking at her however I like. To pay such a price on my soul is worth it for such a rare opportunity.
Channel 8 nightly news at 11
Mach 'Beh
"Our studio has recently learned of several pro-Lyran looting sprees in the southern portions of Kingsgard, one of the southern districts of the capitol. What you are about to see are graphic images and are not for the faint of heart. We will offer you a moment to remove any young children from the room."
The screen flashed to a brief intermission with peaceful music, though most parents had already sent their kids to bed. Schools let out much earlier on Suk II, given the sweltering heat made for poor learning during the summer months, despite excellent school facilities. The "nightly news" at eleven o'clock was known across the planet for pulling no punches, so concerned parents would send their children to bed well before then.
This was also the best time to air any propaganda or for people to find whatever excuse they wanted to do almost whatever they wanted, given the situation. If anyone wanted a reason to get rowdy, they only needed to stay up late.
The screen then flashed to several bodies lying on the ground, unmoving, outside a chain of electronics stores, fashion boutiques, and once-lively coffee shops where you could get a pump of caffeine in any drink you liked, even if it didn't have caffeine with it. A shop with the sign "Godfrey's Caramel Goodies" had smoke coming out of it, and someone was laid across the bottom of the glass window with a massive pool of blood at the bottom.
"What you are seeing are the results of several pro-Lyran rallies earlier tonight, where seven people are confirmed dead and another twenty-two injured. Several people remain in critical condition at Fuchida Memorial Hospital. When we spoke with one of the organizers of the event, and how it later snowballed out of control, Carl Semirg had this to say."
The screen switched rapidly from the carnage to a very angry-looking and unattractive man, who shook his finger a lot and used very big head and mouth movements to draw the eye in. "When people are upset, they will go against the bonds of society to make their opinions heard. Our rally was peaceful, and what happened was well after the rally ended. But if people have dissatisfaction with the way things are going on the planet deep within their hearts, it's only a matter of time before it finds its way out." His voice was grating, almost irritating to listen to, and he never made eye contact with the camera.
Carl Semirg wasn't even a real person. A person like him in such a public position was a caricature that had been planted before the election campaign began, as a contingency plan while their inside man gathered more and more influence with pro-Lyran officials and the general public. He was designed from head to toe to be annoying, hard to look at, and even harder to like.
He was designed to be synonymous with hating Lyran supporters. This made it much easier for people to justify their own selfish actions and made it easier to convert to a pro-Combine lifestyle.
Having heard enough, Martin finally turned off the screen with the circle-and-point motion the devices on this planet all followed. "Ugh!" Was all he could get out. He was butt-naked again, his skin still glistening from his shower. "Whoever's getting people ready for a Drac-lead government is doing a really fragging good job. I wish this planet still used hand-held remotes so I could throw it at something and do twice the damage."
Martin was familiar with propaganda, and knew this person probably had less than a year on the payroll with pro-Lyrans. He knew the public would probably never see his face again, as they'd ask him to leave after associating him with this event. He would become some new face somewhere else while he built a nest egg on whatever planet he wanted. But it wouldn't matter. The words in his speech were quite heartfelt and struck a chord, but he's such an unlikeable character that pro-Dracs will blame everything on him at this point.
A disposable scapegoat.
Pearl was sitting nearby and couldn't help but giggle at Martin's penchant for breaking small things. Or using smaller things to break larger things. He was known for trashing several motel rooms while on leave. When she heard about the circle-point method of turning things on and off here, she never stopped ribbing him about it.
"No doubt that's going to make our stay here suck just a little bit more, but we'll be in the woods getting shot at by Dracs anyway."
"I really, really hope you guys don't get persuaded into some kind of urban riot control when this is over, because I want no part of it. It's totally out of our wheelhouse for about nineteen reasons I can list." Martin's missing left pinky toe was the source of his favorite number he would always default to on the fly. He was also a compulsive gambler and usually left his paycheck in the care of his two best friends, so he didn't lose any other digits. "Besides, the further I stay away from a big city, the better off my wallet is."
"We'll just put you out front so you're the furthest south of Mach 'Beh than anyone else," she said, and they both got a chuckle. The Coyotes were all leaving Firebase Yankee tomorrow to go dig in at Paphos Forest, so the mood was a mix of drunken debauchery and peace and quiet, depending on who you hung out with. The three toasted Rhys Kang every night with a shot since his death, but they gave Emily the night off from that to get some more sleep.
Everyone who was busy getting used to their new 'mechs in a hurry had spent the better part of the last forty-eight hours putting their new rides through the ringer to find out any little hiccups they'd need to know about.
Pearl and Martin had come in from an evening "run" which consisted of putting her new Trebuchet through a series of sprints, jumps, twists, turns, and other straining maneuvers. Everything tested out fine during their "cardio" except for a slight hitch the left foot of the Treb. Emily's new Catapult had had a similar problem, and the night shift of RoughRider techs were sorting both of those out before they left. Tarzan had offered to test the Cat since Emily was on one more day of no-'mech duty and the RoughRider doctor insisted on it, even getting LaPointe to honor his wishes and ask her to hold off.
Unfortunately, Tarzan and Presto were both out of this coming fight, not having 'mechs of their own. Tarzan was still tagging along to help with the days and days of digging various holes. Everyone figured Tarzan was a competition runner during his spare time at this point, given how he was able to get away after ejecting, and having several bruised ribs to boot.
Presto was out for much longer. They had to medevac him like Emily, and he had a compound fracture in his wrist, plus whiplash from the shot that sent him crashing to the ground with authority, wrecking his Firefly even further. Despite that, Presto was not jealous of the amount of digging he got out of for the indefinite future.
"Can I ask you a serious question, Pearl?" Martin suddenly looked very serious as he sat down on the couch next to her, patting her hand.
"Shoot."
"Anything happens, I want you to send everything in my account to my dad back on Hesperus. We finally had a chance to reconnect during our recruiting trip, and I want him to have it. Help him get his modi business back up and running with some non-family help."
Danek Modifications was a well-respected customization company on Hesperus, and how Martin got to start piloting at an early age. They specialized in light and medium 'mechs, and specialized further in humanoid 'mechs bound for Solaris. His father even offered eye-catching gold-plated panels as a form of adding highlights to certain parts of most humanoids. Nobody took him up on the offer. It was expensive and ridiculous, but his father would always offer it, mostly as a joke. When Martin wasn't going to take over the business, they lost contact with each other for years, and his father went broke when he became disabled.
"That's sweet, Marty, but you're going to give it to him yourself. Well, some Comstar hoodie is probably going to give it to him, but we can pay him a little extra to do it with some real flair. Maybe some chanting. Now go put some underwear on and let's toast Chrome one more time before bed."
He smiled and stretched. He was technically on a form of clothing, being the towel he sat on. Clothes on him was a different story. The two women had gotten over that long ago, but it made for funny incidents with the other personnel that were moving in while they packed up. He would always offer a "Jenner hug" but nobody took him up on the offer. The entire company had a pool going on whether or not he would start a nudist colony when he retired.
"I can drink just fine like this!"
"And last time that happened, Dusselhoff came in and you were laid out like The Vitruvian Man on the pool table. Ass-up. Let's not go through that again."
"Meh. Someone already put a towel over me by then. Kinda disappointing, really."
