Chapter 16: Next Target
September 30, 3025
Unclaimed Space
Kimi System
Once again Donavan sat across from the captive Xi. The Capellan pilot had regained control over her expression, locked in a severe mask. Only her white-knuckled grip on the photograph he'd left her hinted at the strain she was under.
Finally, he broke the silence. "It occurs to me that while you've made clear that you do not wish to return home if it looked like a failure, you have not told me what you would like to have happen. If I gave you the choice, what would you do? Where would you go?"
She stared at him in confusion. "What?"
"Well," he continued reasonably, "for starters, I would guess that you would rather not be dropped off on Kimi, for example."
Xi shook her head quickly.
"So you would prefer…"
"I… do not know."
Donavan watched her closely, searching for any hint of duplicity without finding any, then shrugged. "Alright, Xi, let me put my cards on the table here. You are, or at least were, in the Warrior House Dai Da Chi. I don't know much about them other than their reputation as ruthless, cunning opponents that put almost as much emphasis on hand-to-hand and small arms training as 'Mech piloting, and you were doing spec ops type work. Part of me suspects you're a Maskirovka agent here to infiltrate us. That part of me says I should put you in total isolation and dump you on some backwater planet far, far away, or just toss you out the airlock. You've already seen too much of our operation. But another part of me thinks you are who you say you are, and I don't want to throw away a dispossessed MechWarrior who fought well. But I can't keep you prisoner. This place isn't built for it, and I don't have the manpower for it. But I can't just let you roam the ship, either—you could do far too much damage. So here's my offer: I want to hire you, short term. We'll work you hard so we can keep an eye on you and you'll be too tired to cause trouble. Then, when we get somewhere suitable, we'll drop you off."
Xi stared at the wall, thinking it over. "To work for an enemy of the Confederation, it is treason."
Donavan nodded. "Yes. Taking money from me would mean you are no longer a Capellan soldier. You would start fresh, unable to go back." He shrugged. "If you are Maskirovka, you might be able to spin it to your superiors as a cover, but the doubt would follow you wherever you went."
Her nose flared in anger. "I am not Maskirovka… and now, I am not Capellan, either. I accept your offer."
"Good. Welcome to your new life. I presume you don't want to continue using your name in case it gets back to your old unit. So, what shall we call you?"
"I was born Anastasia Xi. But now… now, I am Elena Golubev."
…
The word had gone out across the station that the locals were in lockdown again, which slowed the pace of the salvagers considerably. But it also made it the perfect opportunity to focus on selling their wares to the Wolves, with a healthy discount and pat on the back for kicking the Capellans out of the system and helping out some of their own.
Just one system away from the massive shipyards and trade of Lyreton, that made Kimi focus on somewhat less than legal fare… by other peoples' standards, anyway. For now, the only rules were the ones the traders came up with themselves, and they had no compunction with selling whatever they could scavenge.
As a result, their wares were eclectic, to say the least. Foodstuffs, personal and infantry weapons from across the Periphery and Inner Sphere, body armor of dubious origins, cooling vests, 'Mech parts and weapons, medical supplies, and on and on it went.
Donavan had a long list from Dr. Harrin, Yang, Sumire, and even a few from Behemoth for the 'MechWarriors, but he had delegated most of that, because he had one item in mind.
He stood before the Crimson Lance's pavilion on the space station and looked up at the Phoenix Hawk towering over him at eleven meters tall. It was still battered from its time down on the planet, but it was in one piece, it was a useful reconnaissance 'Mech, and most importantly, it was available for sale.
Slant put a hand on the Phoenix Hawk's foot fondly. "I hate to part with her, I really do. But you guys really pulled us out of the fire down there, and the Capellans will be looking for me if it sticks around here, so I'll sell it to you, and at a discount to boot - three and a half million even."
They shook on it, and Donavan called Yang on the comms to see about transporting it to the Argo.
October 1, 3025
Unclaimed Space
Kimi System
Donavan woke with a start at the notification buzzer. With a muttered curse he rolled over and hit the acknowledge button without opening his eyes. "Yes? What did she do?" he rasped.
"Uh… Commander, you have a priority message from Lady Arano."
Well, at least the newly dubbed Elena hadn't decided to kill them all yet. Then he registered the message he'd just received and cracked open an eye and glanced at the clock bolted to his nightstand in case they lost gravity. It was late into the night shift, only an hour or so before his alarm was set to go off. "Alright. I'll take it in ten minutes."
"Yes, sir."
Well, the borrowed Canopian pilots were polite, at least. After washing his face and rinsing his mouth he jogged to the operations room still wearing his pajamas of running shorts and a ratty t-shirt that would let him run straight to the MechBay in an emergency, ignoring the surprised looks of the small night shift.
Operations was big, even by the Argo's standards. The room had seating for forty people in a pinch, with tight packed chairs, a small lectern with a mic, and a built-in holographic display. Still rubbing his eyes, he sat down next to the display and typed in his authorization code to unlock the message.
Above him appeared a three-dimensional projection of Lady Kamea Arano. She wore a full cooling suit, a more capable, rare, and far more expensive version of the cooling vest Donavan routinely wore. The cooling suit had been embroidered with the red and gold of House Arano, her only insignia a painstakingly detailed cormorant. She was missing her neurohelmet, leaving her artfully draped hair to add a touch of regality to the harsh image.
"Donavan, I hope this message finds you well. We are preparing our next strike against the Directorate. I need you to be ready with your people. We struck the opening blow at Weldry. Now, the invasion begins in earnest. The target is Foxtrot Seventeen. Timetable Alpha Four. Until then, good luck."
She nodded a signal to the recorder and the message cut off. Donavan immediately accessed the ship's computer and pulled up the cypher system they'd established with Lady Arno before she'd handed over the Argo, then nodded grimly.
They were to meet at Panzyr II two months from today. With the vagaries of coordinating multiple ships across deep space, two months was an aggressive, but doable, timetable. And he had precisely that long to get his people ready for war.
He reached out to ping the command team, then paused. It might be soon given how much work they had to do between now and then, but letting his people get that last hour of sleep wouldn't make a difference in the end. So instead, he set up a timed call to go out shortly after day shift started and went back to find some food and take a shower.
…
Donavan looked across the team and felt the butterflies in his stomach settle a little. These were good, competent people. If anyone could help him steer through this conflict, it was them.
Darius sat front and center, eyes curious. His connections would be invaluable—getting resupplied in a warzone was always a tall order. Yang lounged in his chair a row back, deliberately flouting the rigid, calculating reputation of his Capellan roots, and stifling a yawn. Sumire sat in the front but off to the side, her eyes already narrowed in thought, political senses tingling. Behemoth sat three rows back, her face impassive, left foot tapping unconsciously. Emergency meetings usually meant pain for the pilots, and she knew it. And finally, Dr. Harrin sat with perfect posture precisely in the middle of the available seating.
Without further ado, he started the meeting. "We got a message this morning. Here it is." He tapped a command into the lectern and once again Kamea popped into being. He let the words wash over him and instead watched the reactions of his people. Sumire's mind churned, processing information like a computer, while Darius just soaked it all in like a sponge. Behemoth watched impassively, while Yang, the most experienced in large-scale conflict, looked uneasy. A few moments later the video concluded, and he killed the projection.
"I've run the codes against what Kamea left for us. The target is Panzyr II and the kickoff date is two months from today." He entered another command and a new display sprung to life to show a pleasant-looking planet. "This is Panzyr II. Its climate is cold, with big ice caps and lots of tundra, but the equator is fairly temperate with decent agriculture. The SLDF built a big spaceport here. Thanks to its desirable characteristics and, more importantly, ideal jumping off point for entering the rest of the Aurigan Reach, it seems to have been hotly contested during the Amaris Civil War way back when. It saw major orbital combat, and now has a massive, constantly shifting debris field around it. There are still large, somewhat intact pieces, but it has been long enough that much of the field has shattered into small, fast-moving pieces. The locals set up a monster computer system down there to track the debris and guide in ships, but there was a large population die-off before they could get it running properly for relief efforts."
Yang raised a hand.
"Yes?"
"Any idea who won?"
"Does it matter?"
"No, just thought I'd ask."
Donavan shrugged. "This is the Civil War we're talking about. It's safe to say that the aggressors won, whoever they were, because there's no sign the planet was nuked to deny it to the other side."
Yang nodded. "Good point."
"Other than the primary spaceport, which is significantly decayed, and a small palace complex nearby for the local rulers of House Decimis, there's not much there worth mentioning. Very limited manufacturing, agriculture-grade and lighter. The population is poor and seems to have embraced the isolation that their nasty near-orbit forces on them. Another few generations and there won't be anything left without some outside intervention. So... thoughts?"
There was silence for a long moment. Behemoth glanced around the room, then spoke up. "What are we supposed to do? Like you said, there's nothing of value, which means no guards, especially if getting them back out to redeploy somewhere else is hard."
Donavan nodded. "A fair point, and my mistake. I forgot to mention that this isn't just ruled by House Decimis – this is the House's headquarters so at least the House Guard will be there, though it's not clear if they'll be shooting at us or helping us with the token Directorate force."
Sumire jumped in. "It's a good choice, actually. A very good choice."
Donavan gestured for her to continue. "The Periphery isn't like the Inner Sphere in a lot of ways, but one of the big differences is that small kingdoms come and go all the time. In the Inner Sphere you can usually keep loyal to the nation and outlast a local conflict between leadership, but not so much out here, so there is a lot more emphasis on making sure you are on the winning side than there is debate about which is the right side. Lady Arano needs to show that she can win before anyone in the Directorate's reach will be willing to stick their neck out. There may not be much in the way of resources down there worth holding, but once she's got the planet, she'll have a forward staging point and she can just turn off the navigation system and the planet is practically invulnerable. If Lady Arano can take it, she can hold it, and as weeks turn to months everyone will see she took a planet and held it despite everything the Directorate could do. Add into that that a Founding House flipped sides and lived to tell about it, and the other Houses will start to pay attention."
"I like it," added Darius, nodding with growing enthusiasm.
Donavan killed the display. "I think you're right, Sumire. It does seem like a good target—highly visible, easily defensible, and probably lightly guarded. But it's also only the start. Even if this goes off without a hitch, it's a long road to Coromodir and resupply is going to be difficult, at best. We're going to need more pilots, more 'Mechs, more ammunition and spares. That includes supplies for you, Dr. Harrin. A lot of this is going to be unpredictable, but I want us as prepared as we can be. For the moment, I want each of you to write up all the supplies you can't live without for a six-month long stint with high intensity operations. I think the campaign will take longer than that, but I hope we'll be able to get at least one resupply in. I also hope that we'll be used a little more sparingly, if for no other reason than that we're Lady Arano's only asset that's not borrowed, but you put out fires with whatever is on hand at the time. Once we have that, we'll meet again tomorrow and see if we can come up with a plan to buy, beg, borrow, and steal those supplies. I want at least the outline of a plan by the time we get to the JumpShip pickup site."
He met each of their eyes in turn. "We've got three months, people. Let's get to work."
…
Donavan leaned back in the copilot's chair of the Argo and tried to make himself relax despite the somewhat anxious glance of one of the Magistracy pilots. Next to him in the pilot's chair, Sumire sat gracefully, apparently unperturbed by the news. "So... that seemed to go alright."
Sumire nodded, glanced over the instruments one more time, then gave Donavan her attention. After a moment's hesitation she adjusted her chair to lean back into a more relaxed position as well. "So far, yes. But there's a lot that could go wrong, politically speaking," she said quietly so the Magistracy pilot couldn't overhear.
Donavan grimaced. "I know. I appreciate you not going too far down that rabbit hole in front of the others, by the way."
"Of course. There's enough to worry about, and without more information we're just speculating."
"Well, feel free to speculate away with me. I think the target is good, and you're right about how important perception is, but parking on Panzyr for too long loses the momentum. We have to keep pressing forward, and the next targets aren't great. And then there's Lady Centrella. The Canopians want the Reach destabilized so the Taurians have to look over their shoulder. But if Lady Arano starts to win, how likely do you think they are to pull the rug out from under us?"
Sumire considered. "That depends. The more Houses she can get to back her, the less she has to rely on her Canopian troops. And they'll want to keep a good relationship with her if she actually wins, of course. They'll probably only pull out completely if it looks like we're going to lose decisively. I'm more concerned that they'll start to drag their heels if it looks like she'll actually win – their best-case scenario is a prolonged, dragged-out conflict. So if I'm right, the only way to win is to win big."
Donavan smiled. "No guts, no galaxy, right?"
Sumire sighed.
October 3, 3025
Unclaimed Space
Mandalas System
The Argo was steadily cruising towards the planet Mandalas in the Mandalas System, but it was still two full days out. The system was one jump closer to the Aurigan Reach and somehow even more backwater than the Kimi System was. Donavan didn't even know how many planets were in the system, and he was pretty sure the locals didn't, either. The only thing it had going for it was that it was on the trading circle that ran rimward from the shipyards of Lyreton all the way out to Rockwellawan, then swung up through Coromodir, Itrom, and Panzyr.
But that was all for the future. For now, he had two days in which to get done a mountain of work.
His first stop was the 'Mech Bay. As ever, the place was humming with activity as 'MechTechs scrambled over the monster machines and smelled strongly of oil and the slightly burnt smell of fusion engines.
He took in the scene, standing well back from the scaffolding, considering. All six stalls were full now. The two Locusts were the only light 'Mechs, standing shoulder to shoulder in a single stall. Then there was Behemoth's Shadow Hawk, Glitch's Vindicator, the Centurion from Lady Arano, the Phoenix Hawk they'd just purchased, and the heaviest of them all, the Catapult they'd salvaged on Kimi. That was enough firepower to take over some planets, and it was all at his command. It was a heady feeling, but whenever he needed to get grounded he just had to look at their monthly expense reports… or talk to Sumire.
And they weren't exactly in great shape. The 'MechTechs were busy repairing damaged superstructure, after which they would replace destroyed or damaged weapons, and add literally tons of ablative armor onto the walking death machines. It took a lot of sweat and time, and he hoped they would all be ready to go by the time they arrived.
And that wasn't all they were up to. Yang was personally supervising a handful of 'MechTechs and their prisoner-turned-employee Elena Golubev in unpacking crates of hundreds of rounds of auto-cannon ammunition in various calibers and pallets of long-range and short-range missiles.
He turned to go, forcing himself not to look at the pile of salvage they'd accumulated, that contained a few pieces of what had once been his Blackjack and Dekker's Spider, along with other accumulated odds and ends.
Back out in the hallways, he didn't have to dodge around as many hazards as Farah's crew steadily made progress getting the ship put back together. They were actively re-ducting now, not just replacing broken or damaged parts, and he was eager for that to be done. So it was with slightly lower than usual risk to life and limb that he made it to Pod A's MedBay.
Alone on the ship, the MedBay was in pristine condition, with rows of hospital beds lined with clean sheets laid out. Donavan shuddered quietly, remembering his own unpleasant visits to MedBays. At least the Argo's seemed to be well-supplied.
At the moment the only occupant was Amir "Dekker" Kowalski. He was sleeping, his arm in a sling, and he elected to let him lie and instead headed over to the office to speak with Dr. Harrin. It was a short conversation, as was often the case with her, about medical supplies.
Finally headed over to the lounge, half of which Dr. Murad had declared ready for habitation, to grab dinner. And after that, it was back to the paperwork.
October 5, 3025
Unclaimed Space
Mandalas System
The Commander leaned back in his flimsy folding chair set up under an awning that kept the sun off, but did little to stop the intense heat and humidity of the planet Mandalas after which the system was named that had him sweating since he'd stepped off the Leopard. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to distract him from his discomfort, either. The outdoor farmer's market was about as busy as it got on this planet, and the two-dozen odd stalls selling grains and fruits weren't exactly the kind of place he'd expect to pick up a job.
He fanned himself with a small woven fan he'd picked up from two stalls down and turned to Darius on the chair next to him. The XO, irritatingly, seemed completely unfazed by the oppressive climate. "Darius, you're sure you have something for us here?" He gestured at the simply dressed, hardworking farmers around them.
"There's more to this place than meets the eye," replied Darius, keeping his voice low. "These folks didn't just come out of nowhere – they're religious separatists from Herotitus that took a hard-line stance against the Taurians when they showed up with their New Hedons movement and their wannabe Canopian pleasure industry. Hard enough that they pooled their resources and were dropped off here to make a life for themselves, completely unsupported. They're tough, stubborn, and believers through and through."
"Fair enough," conceded Donavan, "but I'm still not seeing where we come in."
Darius lowered his voice even further to just above a whisper. "They're failing. They've worked their butts off for years now, but while they farm enough to feed themselves with some surplus, they can only stretch it so far using machinery they can't afford to replace. They're off the beaten track, and shipping anything off planet is expensive enough it costs as much as a luxury good even if it's just cash crops. There's not enough money coming in from off world, and that means no spares for the tractors, no medicine for the sick, and pretty limited education. Their dream is falling apart around them, and they can all see the writing on the wall."
"So they're desperate."
Darius hesitated for a moment, then continued. "It's trickier than that. They are desperate, or will be soon enough, but remember these are religious separatists. I haven't pegged their religion down yet; it seems to be some sort of blend between Christianity and Islam, with a splash of Hindu, but it's got a lot of hard edges to it. And the first generation, they're pretty hardcore believers. But while the planet is isolated, they're not totally cut off, and some of the younger generation are looking at the dead end that's coming to them, and then at the little glimpses of the outside galaxy that people like us bring in, and they're asking some real tough questions. After a while, people stop taking 'Have faith' as an answer."
Donavan took another closer look around them. "I see. So, what kind of offers are we looking at?"
"There are three that pay enough to be worth even considering. For starters, there are pirates buzzing around. They know there's little money or equipment here, but there is food, and even pirates need to eat. The locals have been giving them food instead of a fight they don't really have a chance of winning. They're offering to pay us, mostly in foodstuffs, to get rid of them."
The Commander frowned. "And what's to stop the next bunch moving in and stepping on them even harder?"
"Nothing. But for folks as stubborn as these, it goes against the grain to hand over your hard-earned work. And we could use the food, too."
"What kind of opposition are we looking at?"
Darius shrugged. "No hard info, but it sounds like not much. Some ground troops, a few tanks, and a Locust or two. It sounds like they started off-world and ended up stranded here. If they're this far out in the sticks, they don't have much going for them."
Donavan considered that for a moment. "And the other two?"
"Keep this quiet, but some of the younger people here have put together a little movement. They want us to be the muscle while they have a change in leadership."
Donavan scoffed. "And what happens after we leave?"
"Don't look at me. They're young and desperate, and I'm not sure how many of them are planning on sticking around afterwards."
"Now I'm afraid to ask about the last job."
The XO sighed. "For good reason. These kids might have forgotten that, at heart, they live in a small town, and nothing stays secret in a small town. The religious counsel that runs this place knows what they're up to and wants us to take out the ringleaders."
Donavan swore under his breath. "Their own kids…"
"Yeah, I know. And their priorities are pretty clear, too. They'll pay food for the pirates, but they're putting up what has to be most of the hard currency on the planet to kill off these toy rebels."
"I don't like it."
"Me either, Commander, but we are about to kick off a campaign that, in the best-case scenario, is going to be long and hard."
Donavan nodded grimly. "I know, Darius, I know."
…
The ops room on the Leopard was illuminated by the large holographic board which showed a heavily forested region of large, old-growth trees looming over dense undergrowth. Blinking in the display were green icons for three medium and one light 'Mechs standing down there in the darkness of local nighttime.
The Commander felt distinctly uncomfortable standing over the board. Those 'Mechs had enough firepower to take on the rest of the planet, yet he still felt vulnerable letting them go without him. But Dr. Harrin had laid down the law, so he was banned from combat for at least another month. "Alright people, this is Leopard Actual, ready check."
"Behemoth, ready." Her Shadow Hawk stood steadily.
"Glitch, ready. Don't worry, Commander, we got this." Jessica's Vindicator waved in the darkness, and Donavan couldn't help but smile.
"Medusa, ready." The mercenary's Locust practically bounced with eagerness.
"Sunshine, ready." The former soldier's voice was as dour as ever.
"Alright lance, our intel is spotty at best, but we've narrowed down the pirate base's location to about ten klicks into this mess of jungle. Ideally, you'll catch them off guard and capture whatever heavy equipment they have, but don't take any changes." He toggled the comm to a private line to Behemoth. "Alright, remember to keep Medusa reigned in, he's excitable and it's been a while since he's been out."
"Wolf, I know. We talked about all of this. I have this."
Donavan couldn't help but grin at the patient, almost placating tone coming from the enormous, intimidating woman. "You're right. I guess I'm just worrying like a damned staff puke." He flipped back to the lance channel. "Behemoth, the lance is yours. Good hunting. Leopard Actual clear."
"Copy, Leopard Actual. Lance, let's go. Medusa, you're lead, but keep it close in these cramped spaces, just like we planned. Sunshine, trail Medusa about fifty meters back, then…"
Donavan listened in, drawing comfort from the easy confidence in Behemoth's voice. The Leopard shuddered slightly as it set down a few kilometers from the drop site. The door to ops opened and Sumire stepped inside. She glanced through the cramped room and nodded to the other occupants. "Darius, Dekker, Sumo."
Darius gave her an absent nod, eyes locked on the display, as did Sumo. On the other side of the display, Amir looked up. "Thank you, ma'am. It's good to be back on the Leopard. Another week or so, and Dr. Harrin might let me tie my own shoes."
She smiled encouragingly. "We'll get you back down there yet, Dekker. And at least you're here to comfort Donavan; he looks about ready to have a stroke." They each turned to watch Donavan who was staring at the board, oblivious to the exchange. His brain registered his name and he looked up. "What?"
Sumire laughed, and even the ever-professional Dekker cracked a smile. Sumire gave Dekker a little push then turned and left for the cockpit.
"She's right, Commander," said Dekker. "Relax. You have good people down there, and in that mess, it will take them maybe thirty minutes to make contact, assuming the targets are there at all. You won't do them any good if you've exhausted yourself before it even starts."
Donavan frowned, then took in his own posture. He stood stiffly, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched and arms tense. He took a breath and forced his body to relax at what felt like one muscle at a time. "This is much worse than being out there."
Dekker nodded. "Yes, sir, it is when you care about the people going out into harm's way. You'll get used to it."
…
Behemoth glared out her cockpit window. The darkness made the trees seem to leap out in front of her, and about ten minutes ago it had started raining heavily, sending torrents of water everywhere and turning the already squishy ground into a massive mud pit.
What a mess. She glanced at the time, then back to her map. At this rate they weren't going to get there for another two hours, and it would be getting light by then. She hit the comms. "Medusa, Behemoth, er, Lead, whatever. Get back here. At this rate we'll be late even if we don't get stuck in the mud. We're going to backtrack then swing east on the path I'm pushing out to you now."
…
From the Leopard, Donavan's eyebrows raised, then he nodded approvingly as the lance changed course.
…
Kurt Rambel yawned and rolled out of bed. The cramped tent held all of Dresden's squad still sleeping in the oppressive jungle humidity. He stretched, climbing to his feet with another yawn, and stepped outside. It was still dark outside with just the faintest light on the horizon marking the upcoming dawn.
Ugh. It had been a long time since he'd been a farmer, uncomfortably like the people on this planet, but the habit of waking earlier died hard. Well, they did what they had to do to survive, and so did he. He grabbed a torch and shined it out into the dark to check for animals. Something nasty had gotten Clem last week, and he wasn't planning to let that happen to him. The way was clear, and in good news, the drizzle of rain was starting to clear up.
He picked his way carefully down to the river. After another quick look around he pinned the flashlight between his neck and shoulder and dropped his shorts to take a piss in the water. He sighed contentedly, then frowned as the water rippled. What the hell?
The water exploded as a BattleMech surged upwards on spindly legs. Kurt froze as he found himself staring down two heavy machine guns wielded by 'Mech less than ten meters from his nose. The cockpit canopy popped open and a smug-looking man with a grin and a handgun looked down at him.
"Put your hands up nice and quiet, buddy. Neither of us wants me to use the big guns on you. We'll just stay here while my friends give your camp a little visit."
Kurt raised his hands, and his shorts splashed in the water.
…
Donavan looked out across the makeshift pirate camp with something close to pity. These people were in a pretty bad way. The pirates lived in three tents that offered little in the way of protection from the elements. They had managed to put together a ramshackle hangar of sorts from what looked like stolen housing prefabs with a wall torn out in the middle. Two banged-up Locusts stood there, in various states of disrepair. They were in at least good enough condition to stomp their way around the area enough to make a small clearing, where they'd parked four ramshackle Scorpion light tanks, exposed to the elements.
The pirates themselves were all out in the open under Medusa's watchful eyes. They were a sad lot, wearing threadbare clothes, and more than one looking decidedly thin.
Donavan wiped the sweat from his forehead as Yang tromped over, splashing mud all over his orange jumpsuit. "Alright Yang, what have we got?"
The big man sighed dramatically. "It's a mess, boss. In my books no 'Mech is truly beyond repair, but these jokers seem to be doing their best to prove me wrong. Locust number one," he pointed over his shoulder, "is your normal 1V garden variety Locust. From the markings it was built by Majesty Metals next door in the Magistracy, and about the best I can say about it is that it can still walk… I think. And one of the machine guns might still work. Locust number two is the FedSuns version, the 1M that drops the machine guns and most of the armor for two LRM-5's. The LTV 160 fusion in those things is damn near indestructible, but that was put to the test here. It would take me weeks to get it moving again without a full shop. The good news there is that it's been busted so long that it stayed out of the rain, so the LRM's look like they'll still work."
"And the tanks?"
Yang waved dismissively. "Total loss. You want my advice, see if you can trade them to the locals. Maybe they'll be able to scare off the next set of pirates to move in."
Donavan waffled. "I don't know, those A/C 5's are tempting."
"Those Quicksell-produced Deleon 5 autocannons, you mean. Trust me boss, you don't want to touch anything built by Quicksell. They've never even heard of quality control, and they're practically the definition of buyer beware. They're the budget manufacturer for a reason."
The Commander sighed. "I suppose you know best, Yang."
Yang frowned. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just… don't like our next contract, that's all."
"Ah." The MechTech nodded sympathetically. "Well, you'll think of something."
