8

March 30, 2991

Federated Suns

Crusis March

Cholis

Morten Estate

Arne Keev had been a prisoner of House Morten for more than 3 months now, but in truth it felt like years. He was no longer living in a cell, thank god, but his quarters were still locked down. He lived next to the other mechwarriors in an apartment complex a few hundred meters from the primary mech bay, but with a guard stationed outside his door at all times and the window sealed shut. He received no guests, and had all meals delivered to him along with various packaged items in his kitchenette that he could snack on whenever he liked.

Honestly, these were far better accommodations than he'd had at any point in his 46 years of life, but the lack of alcohol had been driving him crazy. He'd thought the 23 pounds he'd lost had something to do with it, but the slightly ripped forearms he had to stare at daily said otherwise. He'd put on a fair amount of muscle since he'd got here, for he had nothing to do but work out and watch entertainment videos and news broadcasts.

And there was only so much news a warrior could take before their brain started to turn into goop.

But twice a day every day a security escort would come, knock on his door, and take him over to the academy building that housed the simulators and he'd get a chance to earn a reduced sentence as well as some C-bills. It was the only thing that kept him going with no alcohol, no women, and no real entertainment.

He barely recognized himself in the mirror after the withdrawal headaches went away. His face was trim, his muscles bulkier than they'd ever been before in his life, and the beer gut he'd carried since before he could remember had shrunken considerable due to all the treadmill work he'd been doing to make himself tired enough to sleep more of the hours between simulator sessions and make the days go faster.

And while there was no god damn meat, he had to admit the food was better here. Nothing rotted, badly mixed, or overcooked. He'd hated most of it early, but after getting used to the bland tastes and raw fruit, he'd actually started to like it. That's how far gone he was here, and when he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure how he was going to adapt when he got out…assuming the First Lord would hold up his end of the deal.

But he struck him as the honest type, though he had nothing but the one conversation to base that on. Yet, if you judged this noble family on their training sims, then they were ramrod straight stiff ass stuffy brats, for the kind of punishment he was laying down on their cadets was never-ending. He was actually terrorizing them…and enjoyed it! He wouldn't want to be in their shoes, or having to go through the monotonous trials he'd heard about. Those didn't have a live opponent in them, but were automated so they remained exactly the same each time. And when someone passed one, they had to do it over and over again until they got to a selected number before being allowed to move on.

Those would-be mechwarriors were being put through hell, and he was part of dishing it out to them. He was also seeing how rapidly they improved, and it was beginning to get harder and harder to beat up on the older ones, but fortunately in the last week a few brand new recruits had come in and they sucked bad. He was earning quite a few C-Bills off of those brats, while the others he was having to work hard to take down in a variety of mechs he had never piloted before.

That meant he had to learn as well…and given he had nothing else to do he was. Along with his 'entertainment' options in his quarters, there was an abundance of training material, from which he was getting some of his weight lifting workouts, but it also had everything from aerofighter strategy, to infantry tactics, to mathematics…who would even need that other than techs…and there was a huge catalog of information regarding mechs, tactics, weapon systems, and the methodology of House Morten warfare.

And apparently some of their old militia from another planet had arrived to boost their ranks. He'd been paired with some of them to further terrorize the recruits, but had not been allowed to face any of them in simulated combat. That said, he could tell they were seasoned by the way they ripped through the trainees, and because he was on their 'side' in the training drills, he was linked into their comm chatter, so for once he could actually speak to someone other than his guards.

They already knew who he was and how he had gotten here, but since they hadn't been on planet at the time they didn't seem to have any hostility towards him. On the contrary, rather, they sort of took him under their wing…which was infuriating…and collaborated with him on how best to really teach the trainees the lesson of humility. It was in some of these sessions where the experienced mechwarriors had to take on superior numbers that he had grown to respect the House Morten militia. And since he'd already been studying their tactics, he was able to slip into their formations and understand their shorthand lingo regarding certain maneuvers.

When the trainees had numerical superiority, he had to work hard with the militia to win those team missions. And because every win chipped another week off his sentence, he put aside all his negative emotions and just focused on winning.

He wasn't sure when he had actually started to like these guys, but it hadn't taken very long. He actually felt more in place with them than he had the Red Baron's people, and that was confusing him greatly on what he would do once he eventually got out of here.

Other than get drunk and laid as soon as possible.

5 weeks later…

Stephan felt relief every time a jumpship would arrive with more of his people, but as he constantly monitored incoming jumpships, something else he'd been waiting for finally arrived.

And when it did, it sent everyone in the know on the planet into a jaw-dropping uproar.

"Are you serious?" Thorsen asked via the wall screen in Stephan's office.

"Quite. I bought it before I left New Avalon to come here. It's just taken all this time to cover the distance. She has horrible recharge times, Harris. Between 1-2 months and no batteries."

"I can't believe a Sequoia is going to be basing out of my system," he said, shaking his head in awe. "Do we even have enough cargo mass to justify that?"

"Nope," Stephan said honestly. "I bought her as an investment for future operations. Once we grow large enough, then she'll come into use. For now, she's just going to sit there until needed."

"Nobody is making new ones yet, right? Or did I miss a news update somewhere?"

"Still lostech," Stephan said, referring to advanced Star League equipment that the Inner Sphere hadn't yet relearned how to make, but they were still operating any number of lostech infrastructure, mechs, aerofighters, jumpships, etc that had escaped destruction thus far. And with the phobia of actually destroying jumpships and other things hard to make, the lostech Sequoia-class jumpships had been carefully preserved and protected over the past centuries, for only they had the size and cargo capacity to ship grain and other foodstuffs from the agro-heavy exporting worlds to other planets that desperately relied on their sustenance…of which there were a great many in the Federated Suns.

"How did you get your hands on one?"

"The First Prince pulled a few strings and bought an available one. Then he sold it to me at cost. I'm as surprised as you that I was able to get it."

"I doubt that," the Duke said with a chuckle. "I still can't believe that just jumped in."

"And inside it is a lot of stuff I've ordered that it's picked up along the way…including 200 promised mechs from House Davion in compensation for what my family wasn't able to take off Neubenn."

The Duke's jaw, already dropped at the arrival of the almost mythical Sequoia, nearly hit the floor with that last admission.

"They're all used," Stephan added, "and will need refitted, but with the arrival of some of my old militia, I don't think you're going to have to worry about the Red Baron or anyone else showing up here to cause trouble again."

"My boy, you're like the real life incarnation of Santa Claus as far as I'm concerned."

"And you're by far the most eager child to accept gifts. Most Dukes would see my good fortune as something to fear or something they could steal."

Harris's eyes stiffened slightly. "I was a General before I was a Duke, and part of me will forever be a General. Paranoia drives one to shoot at things that are harmless and gives your position away, so I know better than to imagine trouble where there is none. I wait and let trouble rear its ugly head before I worry about it."

"Quite pragmatic."

"The military usually is."

"Depends on which military you're talking about," Stephan amended. "And to that point, while I don't begrudge you increasing the size of your forces, might I suggest you spend some of your increasing tax trickle," he said, getting a chuckle out of the Duke, "on some domestic concerns."

"Such as?" he asked without any trace of resentment.

"Once we start opening up new worlds out there, people are going to want to come. At least, after we get some proper cities established. People we invite…and people we don't…will show up here at Cholis, which will eventually become known as the doorway to House Morten. They'll sense opportunity and want to camp out here, so you might want to start pitching a few tents to rent them."

"Are you suggesting a surge in population growth?"

"I am."

"Music to my ears…but you're right about housing. We don't have much to go around now, as far as excess is concerned. How popular do you imagine we're going to get?"

"The trade route alone will bring with it attention. Me even more once people realize what we're up to out here. This is going to be a pass-through system, but I'd prefer if you made it more of a destination itself so people would understand they have to come here to ask permission to move further on."

"You want your privacy out there?"

"No such thing, but if they have a nice world here to wait on while they beg me to let them come, they'll camp out here rather than run their jumpships onto my front lawn and pull the old 'we have nowhere to go' routine."

"So my success here will benefit you as a kind of twin entity?"

"I'm not looking to pluck worlds away from the Federated Suns, and I want Cholis to be the best of neighbors, not as a tiny doormat, but as a worthy peer so we can have each other's backs whatever may come."

"I'm all ears," the Duke said, with his tone shift suggesting he sensed trouble.

Stephan sighed. Harris was a friend more than a Duke, and he'd been becoming something of a confidant as well. He'd tell him things he'd never mention to Carroll Davion…and she lived at his Estate.

"Maybe I'm being paranoid after getting dispossessed, but the history of the Inner Sphere is a long trail of back stabbings with little real loyalty. I'd say you're one of the exceptions. You'd never betray the Federated Suns, would you?"

"Not on my life."

"My independence comes from First Prince Andrew Davion. His heirs might not feel beholden to his promise."

"And the more developed Cholis is, it demonstrates you're not trying to take a piece out of their inheritance."

"Among other things."

"Let me clear something up for you, Stephan. If Andrew's heir comes here and orders me to command an army and invade your soon to be worlds…I won't do it. The First Prince made a deal with you, and lest there be some bad behavior on your part, I feel it's my duty to honor that deal on his behalf no matter what his children might have to say about it."

"That'll get you dispossessed faster than I was."

"You have to draw the line of honor somewhere, and you can't let others maneuver the line around to their liking. I hold the Cholis duchy as long as I maintain my honor. I will not hold it in any other manner."

"Lucky I picked you then, though to be honest, the fact this system actually has an HPG terminal was the major factor, along with a few other things. Guess Santa came to me early."

"Too much good luck for one planet?"

"I hope not. Right now most people still think this is the backwater."

"That's because it is," the Duke said with a smirk.

"Temporarily," Stephan amended. "I intend for it to become an oasis of civilization."

"And we're the doormat for this oasis?"

"Hopefully a really thick, impressive one," he said deadpan.

"Message received loud and clear. Leave planetary defense unofficially up to you and get to work building more infrastructure."

"More infrastructure, more people, more tax revenue. It's a snowball when you do it right."

"As I've been learning from Paul. Thanks again for sending him my way."

"He has little to do right now anyway. Keeps him in practice."

"Are you going to go visit your new acquisition?"

Stephan shook his head. "No, but Sarah is. If you want to disappear for a week or so, feel free to hitch a ride up."

"I wish I could, but you know well the work a Duke has to do…when he actually works and doesn't pawn it off on subordinates. But still, that's got to be an impressive sight up close, let alone on the inside."

"Don't worry, I'm sure Sarah will take plenty of pictures…"

After three days of nearly constant thrust at 1.2 g, the Green Pearl finally arrived at the Zenith jump point where the Sequoia-1-class jumpship was parked, but with two of its dropships detached and hovering closely nearby. Those would be the guardians, who not only were making room at a docking port on the otherwise filled ship, but were positioning themselves slightly away from the behemoth to get into better firing positions should they need to engage the approaching dropship.

The thick shaft of the jumpship stretched for more than 8 kilometers…more a space station than a ship, if you were being honest…but this was the smallest of the three types of Sequoia, not to mention the mysterious 4th found in the lostech blueprints entrusted to House Morten. But still, these vessels were in a league of their own, carrying the bulk of their cargo inside their hull and leaving only a pitiful amount in the holds of the attached 30 dropships.

Most jumpships were usually built for transport of dropships while the dropships held the cargo, but the reverse was true here. The dropships were merely the ferry boys to and from a planet, and given the vessel could hold almost a billion tons of supplies, it made Rannel's eyes bulge to actually see it out the viewscreen on the Green Pearl's bridge as she and Sarah rode it up to meet the legacy crew that came with it.

The solar sails were already out, stretching from six huge pylons that had extruded from the sides of the main shaft and slowly flexed backwards to form the ribs of an umbrella, out of which the dozens of solar sails were extended, making them look like leaves on a tree branch.

She'd never seen a ship design more aptly named in her life.

The base of the 'tree trunk' was thinker than the rest, with the nose cone containing two huge rotating discs…but you couldn't see them, for they were hidden behind a carapace of armor that kept the moving sections concealed. It almost looked like there was a pot at the base of the tree into which it was planted, but she knew that pot contained hundreds of people, some of whom lived their entire lives on this ship. They would be born into the commanding family, serve onboard, and eventually die here, while the rest of the crew would sign on for extended tours of duty and then cycle out.

The commanding family of this vessel was the McFarlanes, and the ship itself was called the Stars' Herald. Stephan had decided not to rename this one, or replace the crew…otherwise they'd have to assault it with an army of infantry to take it away from the McFarlanes. They were as possessive of it as any legacy family, all of whom rivaled the Great Houses in the Inner Sphere with their claims to their heritage, despite the fact they didn't own the damn thing anymore, and never had.

But no point in rocking the boat unless there was a reason to, so Sarah and Rannel watched the station-sized ship grow and grow before they gently kissed up against it, a tiny squirrel grasping to the trunk of the massive tree, and docked just upwards of the 'pot' on the front end, taking the place of the last on a row of modified Overlord-class dropships that were a full 30% larger than standard.

When you had a lot of cargo to get onboard, the less week-long round trips you had to make the better.

This variant was often referred to as a 'tick-class,' but never on any official paperwork. Yet that's exactly what the large white ovoid ships resembled stuck into the hull. Their smaller Union-class dropship seemed out of place nestling in next to them.

Once the Green Pearl was attached and everything secured, Sarah and Rannel took a boarding party through the airlock and were met by a detachment of armed guards stuck to the floor through either magnetic strips or Velcro, all with holstered rifles across their backs, standing at attention in the zero g hallway as a man in what looked like a civilian uniform waited at the far end of the columns.

Sarah climbed her way through using the handholds on the ceiling with Rannel following a few handholds behind as second position in a short train of ants making their way into the massive technological tree.

"Lords Morten, I presume," the man said with a firm expression that didn't belie any emotion.

"I'm Sarah Morten, Lord of Logistics for House Morten. Behind me is Rannel Morten, Lord of Technology."

"A pleasure to meet you both. As we discussed, there are to be no weapons brought onboard."

"We didn't bring any," she said, pushing off the ceiling slightly so her body essentially stood 'hanging' like a monkey to face him as she retained one of the handholds for balance. "And as we're about to discuss, you don't give us orders. Legacy or not, we own this jumpship now."

"The orders were not mine, but the Captain's," the man said dismissively. "You will need to discuss it with him. This way."

Sarah kept her mouth shut and just followed the man as he walked on the floor with little clicks while she had to pull along using the handholds for what seemed like forever before they came to an elevator.

"It will hold eight. The rest of your party will wait here, and I will stay with them," he said, opening the door to reveal another person inside. "She will escort you to the bridge."

Sarah, Rannel, and five of their staff members…four of whom were also family…pulled themselves into the lift before the doors closed.

"You'll want to get your feet like mine," the woman said in a much more friendly voice. "We're about to enter the artificial gravity."

Everyone swung around and hung with their feet down as the woman hit a button and lift began to move, shoving them towards the ceiling for a moment before they started to feel the slightest pull beneath their feet and to the side.

Sarah hand walked down the wall while the others half fell onto each other as everyone tried to swing to one side as the car moved out on the rotational cylinder. Once they got their feet on the floor they found the transition wasn't too difficult and managed to stay standing as the gravity increased to about half a g, then the movement of the lift stopped and the doors opened to another short corridor with four more guards standing outside two large double doors.

The woman walked out first as if everything was routine and Sarah followed, passing by the guards who followed them with their eyes but did not so much as move a muscle otherwise, and entered the large bridge complex that held some 30 people working, or at least sitting at, different stations.

"Captain, our guests," the woman said, gesturing to the man wearing an elegant hat that matched the white and gold uniforms everyone wore.

"Owners," Sarah corrected, taking none of the slight. "Captain McFarlane, I am Lord Sarah Morten, Lord of Logistics, and that happens to be the branch of our command that this ship now falls under. That makes me your boss."

"So it does," he said evenly, accepting her handshake. "Welcome onboard."

"Thank you. To say this is anything less than impressive would be a disservice, but what I cannot ignore is the guards. They're not ours, so they'll have to be swapped out."

"It is traditional for legacy families to have their own shipboard guards to ward off attempts to…"

"…dispossess you," she finished abruptly. "If you want to continue commanding this ship, you'll do so by integrating yourself into House Morten, not by standing apart. We're not renting this ship, Captain, we bought it in a massive investment for future operations, and being born here doesn't give any of you veto power over our decisions."

The Captain locked eyes with her for a moment, but he didn't share the same acid-like stares Sarah was noticing from the others.

"With an asset as valuable as this, we can't afford to take chances, Lord Morten. If we let our guard down, a known dropship seized by unknown parties could come onboard, kill the crew, and steal the ship with far less expense than what you paid for it. Having security is essential to prevent such hijackings from happening again."

Sarah raised an eyebrow, not just in response to that last statement but to his diplomatic skills. "It's been seized before?"

"72 years ago it was taken for nearly 4 months by mercenaries before the Federated Suns sent in overwhelming force and took it back. We made changes after that to prevent it from happening again so easily."

"Who hired the mercs?"

"There was no proof, but those of the crew that survived were convinced it was the Draconis Combine."

"Where did they expect to run? This ship is so damn slow it can't escape anywhere."

"It made one jump beyond the recharge network, then the mercenaries abandoned it just prior to being assaulted by a Federated Suns fleet. They had their own jumpship waiting and successfully fled, but not before 72 of the crew died. It was seen as a harassing attack at the time, and it delayed the grain shipments to 3 planets long enough that malnutrition and food riots broke out on two of them."

Sarah grimaced, knowing too well what it meant to have food shipments not arrive at your local stores on time. Most people didn't keep a reserve in their homes and lived day to day expecting it to be there. Starvation was an ugly, painful way to die, but it always came with riots first as people figured they had to do something to survive…or just had no inhibitions left knowing that they would.

"Captain McFarlane," she said stiffly. "I don't want to dispossess you. My family was recently dispossessed of the planet Neubenn, which has a population of 3.2 billion," she said, emphasizing the magnitude of that number. "But as we rebuild out here, I cannot allow anything to be unsecured. We are technically an independent Periphery state in the making, and we will never let what happened to us by dictatorial fiat happen again. Nor will we let this ship be stolen from us by any party, including her incumbent crew. Do you understand me?"

"As you said, we're too slow to run away, and we take our jobs quite seriously. There needs to be security here so your asset isn't stolen or disrupted. I have no problem with you bringing your own security as long as they are professional enough to do the job without incident. All it would take is one well trained saboteur to get onboard to destroy the entire ship," he said, malice in his voice. "No chance of that happening can be allowed."

"The entire ship?" Rannel asked, taking a step forward beside Sarah. "How is that possible unless the cargo is explosive? The mass is far too great for a reactor overload to destroy more than a small piece of it."

"A quirk of the jump drives, I'm afraid. This ship is far too big to operate on one, so links a series of them in concert. If not properly aligned, they will tear the ship apart traveling to the same destination a few tenths of a second in difference, or to entirely different locations. There are many safeguards in place to prevent this from accidentally happening, but if one knew how to bypass them, the ship would rip itself apart without any need for explosions."

"That is fascinating…" Rannel said before catching herself, "and horrifying. Has that ever occurred on other ships?"

"Not since the Star League prototype tests. Every Sequoia-class jumpship has operated perfectly since they were commissioned, and I intend to keep it that way on Stars' Herald."

"As do I," Sarah said firmly, "which is why I am here to do a thorough review of all ship's functions and procedures, changing them as necessary to fit within House Morten standards. I can assure you that after all the C-Bills we spent on this beauty, we're not messing around either."

"Then we understand one another," the Captain said with a nod. "How long do you require for your assessment before we start loading cargo?"

Sarah winced slightly. "There won't be any cargo loading for some time, Captain. Our operations out here are just beginning, and this ship's usefulness will come later. For now, your orders are to sit in place and wait until called for. If you like, there's a nice planet down there to give your people some shore leave…something I think you rarely have the luxury of."

"Do you mean to say you are sidelining this ship?" the XO said, standing to the left of the Captain so far away that Sarah didn't even register him as part of the conversation.

"Temporarily yes," she said, matching his stare.

"What sort of duties," the Captain interjected before the XO could respond, "do you see us having once the lull ends?"

"We're on the edge of the Periphery, Captain. Food is even scarcer out here than in the Inner Sphere. You'll be feeding planets again, but first we have to get our agricultural production online. I'm afraid your cargo hold will not be full of anything for a very long time, but down the road it will be vital to colonizing a new swath of stars for Humanity and bringing civilization to those who have little of it now."

"We're pushing the edge of the map?" he said, surprised.

"Stars that are not on the Federated Suns' map, at least. Cholis is our base of operations as we expand outward, but we're not planning on moving you around until we get some aerofighters to cover you. As it is, we don't have more than a few armed dropships within our navy, but that's changing soon."

"I saw the aerofighters on the manifest."

"They need to be refurbished and competent pilots trained or recruited. We are moving quite fast in our buildup, Captain, but we are barely at the beginning of our endeavors. Patience is needed, and I am serious about taking the opportunity for some shore leave. Make use of the luxury while you have it."

"I will consider that, Lord Morten. But first, would you like a tour or to get down to brass tacs?"

Sarah thumbed over her shoulder to Rannel. "She needs a tour, but I want to start running numbers with you. I'm the one that has to keep this beast supplied or you starve up here."

"Steven," the Captain said, gesturing to his XO. "Take the others on the tour. I'll take Lord Morten to my cabin and we'll begin crunching numbers."

"Yes, sir," he said reluctantly as he motioned to Rannel and the others to follow him off to the side towards another bridge exit. The Captain let them get started, then inclined a hand in the direction of a simple door not too far away.

"My office," he said, leading the way as the rest of the bridge crew stood like stunned statues not fully contemplating what had just happened.