Fury of the Jokers Wild

by CSS Stravag

Jokers Wild Set 3. After 400 years, the exiled Blue Cosmos gets their chance to come back to finish the purification of the Earth Sphere. Their mad quest to cleanse the human race will not go unchallenged by the worlds of the new Star Empires, and on one of those worlds, a runaway lady will take up the challenge... (Rated T: V, L, SC)

4. Discoveries

(Joker's Wild, Set 3: Fury Of The Jokers Wild)
(Chapter 03: Discoveries)

(14 February, CE 476, 1630 Hours Local (Dendez West) Time)
(Mackie's Club, City of Westport, Dendez Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)

Cleaned up though she was and not obligated to a duty shift today, Sionet needed only one good look at the kitchen at the beginning of dinner rush to know that Mackie was short on staff and why he had been quick to offer her a position.

The decision only took her four seconds. "Where do you want me?" Sionet asked after she stepped in the kitchen.

"Can you take over the dishwashing so I can get on the grills?" Mackie asked.

"Will do," Sionet immediately said. Hand-washing dishes and use of an autoclave was not unheard of in the Brelle Household, so she knew the process well. A spare apron was hanging on the wall next to the door she had been rescued by, so she took it up and tied it off to somewhat protect her shirt and pants, and figured sometime tomorrow she would get directions to the store that Kristi knew the Rigos did not go to. (She did not know that Kristi was already planning on taking her up there, and would be pleasantly surprised by that turn of events.)

The cleaning process was simplistic, almost an autopilot task to Sionet except for the fact that this outfit relied pretty heavily on bleach which kept knocking her out of any form of zen or trance in doing her duties. She liked the smell of bleach compared to some chemicals, but on the best of days she had to admit that it was a very offensive smell that could cut through even a loud thought process in quantity.

"Already on it?" Kyle asked before he set down a tray of used dinnerware and began offloading into the soapy bleach water.

"Everyone starts somewhere, figure I'd get my start right now."

"Well, no rest for the wearied, we'll keep at it pretty constant until Seven-Thirty or Eight, maybe longer if that party on the far side keeps going," Kyle finished offloading his bin and headed back out to continue the collection process.

"Galley shuts down around 9, after that only dry snacks," a different guy said before he set his bin of dishes on the counter and began offloading them. "Name's Julio. You the new girl?"

"Guilty," Sionet said. "Sionet."

"Welcome to the party house," he said before he finished his offload and returned to table bussing.

Sionet reflected that the dish throughput she had already handled in her first ten minutes exceeded the entire usual meal throughput for the Brelle Mansion — by no means a large mansion amongst the Mafiosi — and she still had a full sink to show for it. Idly she wondered if there was some manner of hidden reserve in her newfound genetic lineage that she could tap to make this process faster, but figured that not likely. The Mendel genetics program was designed in the same fashion as the old Magi genetics program, in that it was designed for incremental and controlled gains and to improve the genetic normal of the Empire. The possibility that she was some kind of descendant of a super-Coordinator or something of that nature was highly unlikely, she figured.

So, she bent to her task with a savagery that she used for tasks that she had to do but really did not like, and in so doing her throughput improved as the clock ticked down and the hours marched by. The pace of incoming bins of dishes began slowing down in the neighborhood of 1930, much as Kyle said it would, and with it Sionet began getting a minute here and there to stretch out and breathe, to observe the happenings in the club and to chat with the head cook, Francis.

"So, what kind of piece do you carry, girl?" Sionet looked to the questioner who had approached the island in the center of the kitchen, and was surprised to see a girl roughly her age and almost exactly her size, and even similar appearance except for a ponytail of near-fluorescent-red hair.

"Browning Hi-Power," Sionet answered immediately. "You?"

"CZ P10. Heard good things about the Browning, though. Next time we do a range day, mind if I run a mag through it?"

"Trade a mag for a mag?" Sionet asked in counter. She had heard good things about CZ as a manufacturer in the past, but never used one of their products.

"Deal," the lady answered immediately. "Nike, by the way. You're Sionet?"

"Guilty," Sionet said. "So, you're the lady with the bunk next to my assigned."

"Well, hope you've already labeled your clothes, I can tell at a glance half the guys are going to get ours mixed up in laundry detail."

"Way ahead of you," Sionet produced the prior-assigned sharpie from her bra band and waved it at Nike before she slipped it back in.

"I get the feeling you're going to fit in here real well," Nike said with a smile. "Job's no fun, but I stay here for the crew."

"That makes it all the worthwhile," a larger lady than either Nike or Sionet said as she joined the other waitress at the island. "Talia. If you're in the corner, I have the bed across the aisle."

"Sionet in the corner," said refugee waved a spoon over her shoulder before she dunked it into the bleach water for a washing. "By the by, what hours does the club operate?"

"You work here and don't know that yet?" Talia asked with a hint of shock to voice.

Sionet checked the clock on the wall and saw the time to be 2015. "In my defense, I've only been in the club seven hours total and working for about four hours. Prior to that, I was a transient trying to find a new start."

"Not digging on it, just wasn't sure about your story," Talia pointed out.

"Well, everyone starts somewhere, and we run from noon to midnight, Tuesday through Sunday," Mackie said. "We're closed Monday, because fuck Mondays. Worst day of the week, there oughta be a law."

"Beats having a Sunday off," Sionet said with a shrug. "Half of everything is closed on a Sunday, which means all you get to do is sit at home with your thumb implanted." With her latest load in the autoclave, Sionet leaned against a section of the counter that she knew was clean and thus would not bleach-spot her shirt or pants.

"Yeah, I suspect you'll fit in here pretty well, already salty enough for this crowd. Welcome to the party, now time for me to get back to the party, I've got another three and a half before I can call it a night." With a nod and wave, Talia was out the door and headed back into the tables area.

"Love to hear your story, but if you don't want to tell, I'm not going to needle you for it," Francis said before he started sharpening one of his kitchen knives. "Got any hobbies?"

"Prior to fleeing Kileska, spent a lot of time on the range," Sionet said truthfully. "Was a pretty decent shot, but I'm way too small to go Infantry. Other than that, just trying to survive Rural Kileska life without going insane."

"This isn't exactly rural, so you'll find something around here. Mine's collecting and forging knives, swords, similar," Francis pointed out. "If you ever need any steel sharpened, give me a shout."

"Will do," Sionet nodded. She wanted to ask him about if he had a folder she could buy off him, but the arrival of a bin of dishes put an end to that line of thinking quickly.

Sionet had no way of knowing that below her feet in the basement of the facility was her future, and those around her would be part of that future as well.

-x-x-x-

(14 February, CE 476, 2000 Hours Zulu Time)
(Blue Cosmos Interrogator-class Recon Jumpship Red Road (BIJ-014))
(Dimensional Location: Random coordinates (Jump location 24 of Tour 4))

"If I remember correctly, if you go back twenty generations, we're all related," Rico Chevalier pointed out the genetic issue at hand.

"At twenty generations, we're less than 1 percent related. By the numbers, that only counts in your mind, not in your genetics," the Engineering Officer countered. "After ten generations, you're less than one tenth of a percent related if I'm doing the math right," Mikhail Borros sunk the knife a little deeper.

"He's right, at ten generations you are related zero point zero-nine-seven-six percent, or ninety-seven thousandths of a percent related, not even a full tenth of a percent." Henrietta cleared the calculator from her monitor. She brought her weapons interface back up, but as a realistic matter she had no expectation of needing it.

Rico snorted. "Okay, I'll give you that much," the Flight Boss answered. "Still, it says something."

"Well, two angles you have to consider there," Henrietta said. "One, I'd apply that standard ONLY to Blue Terra. By the numbers, we can't confirm that there is any uncontaminated persons on Old Terra, and God help those people born artificially like Mendel was planning, because they sure as hell ain't human."

"Preach it, sister," Mikhail said before he made an adjustment to his console.

"Second, there is no genetic commonality with the pukes that came off the Mjolnr and Golden Phoenix. They can claim to be human, but how much? Completely? Partially? Not at all? And how many of them had genetic engineering in their bloodlines? As there are scant records of that stuff, anyone that we can reasonably assume is related to someone who came off one of the fleets needs to be exterminated. Take no chances."

"That I wholeheartedly agree with," Rico shook a fist in the air above him.

"We don't have a choice, if we want to make the world blue and pure again, we have to do them all," Mikhail expounded on the point. "And God only knows where that taint has spread throughout the other nations, so the prevailing thought of having to purify all the nations of old, well, I don't see a way around it."

"At least we're assured everyone that came to Blue Terra was on the level, no Coordinator taint there," Henrietta said.

"And you, Kara? What's your stance?" Mikhail asked of the one person on the bridge that had been quiet throughout their debate.

An answer was quick to come from the Jump Engineer: "Two-thirds of my family are Isolated Blue adherents, I am not in that tribe," Kara Orenbroeke said from her station above the others (relative to the keel — since a Jumpship had no artificial gravity except in the rotating sections, the bridge had stations both on the ceiling and on the floor, equally dispersed).

"Ah, fun times with the Isolated Blue pukes," Rico grumped. "The one part of Blue Cosmos society that is convinced we should not purify the old world."

"They do have a minor point, though," Henrietta interjected. "After 400 years of genetic tinkering and probably a bunch of conflicts, they will be exceedingly dangerous. We will have to really work to purify the world, and they won't take it sitting down, either. Once we start on one or two, we'll have to deal with most of them, if not all."

"We'll have to deal with them all, we flatten them all," Rico said. "I'm not saying they will be pushovers — whoever believes that are stark raving dumbasses — but I do believe in the superiority of the Blue and Pure World. We'll have a rough time, but we will win through the day."

You have no basis for thinking that, we've not seen or fought these pukes for 400 years, God only knows how bad this is going to be, Kara thought but did not say. "Like I said, I'm not an adherent of Isolated Blue, and I'm here in the Interrogator Project for a reason, but I do have severe reservations about going to Old Terra and trying to purify it. Does it need to be done? Definitely, we need to purify all of it. Are we going to succeed? Objectively, probably not."

"And what gives you that idea?" Mikhail asked.

"Before I answer that question, Mikhail, how long have you been an engineer?"

"A little over 18 years," Engineering Officer Borros answered.

"Have you done the reproduction math between us and the old world?" Kara asked in series.

"No, we don't have accurate birth rate information for them," Mikhail pointed out.

"So what's the prudent step in that case?" Kara continued down the path.

"Kill them all and count the bodies," Rico answered before Mikhail said anything more.

"And that beckons the question, exactly how many are there to kill?" Kara asked.

"Doesn't matter," Rico said. "One, ten thousand, a hundred planets' worth, we kill however many it takes," Rico Chevalier said.

Kara sighed. Your funeral, buddy. I wonder if I can find a way to surrender before these wankers get me killed? She asked inside the confines of her own mind, knowing that she was committing a grave sin against the orthodoxy of Blue Terra in so thinking.

The conversation would circulate around the topic some more, but in this group the same as many others, there never was the prudent conclusion: the Blue Cosmos exiles numbered less than 4 million at start, and Mendel alone numbered over three billion persons after all held territory was accounted for. The number disparity between the two was extensive and would only become more so over the centuries, but Blue Cosmos had allowed themselves to disregard that fact…

-x-x-x-

(15 February, CE 476, 0030 Hours Local (Dendez West) Time)
(Mackie's Club, City of Westport, Dendez Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)

By law in Westport, bars and clubs had to close no later than 0030 in the morning, and Mackie's Club was no exception to that rule.

Cleaning the club up after the midnight end of the clubbing for the day was a fairly simple task. The floors were all short-pile industrial and business carpeting, so Harvey and Kyle broke out the industrial vacuum cleaners to get the crumbs and paper bits cleaned up. Table cleanup fell to the waitresses, what little there was of it; the patrons that came to Mackie's Club were generally a bit better than the average for the club scene, so there was at least a modicum of self-policing for trash cleanup.

The Kitchen detail ran for more than an hour after the close of the galley, and with that Sionet spent about an hour processing cooking utensils and pans, then took up a mop to make sure that the floor was up to code for the kitchen. There was always the specter of a surprise inspection by the health department, so keeping the facility clean and ready was always a wise idea.

After the kitchen cleanup was completed to specification, Sionet decided to hang out at the kitchen door and listen to the music for a few. She wasn't the biggest fan of club music, techno, similar, but it beat the pants off what little radio was available at the Brelle mansion — of the three accessible radio stations she could get in her room, two were Country/Western and the third was a Talk and News station. How exactly Country music had made the leap from 20th century America to CE-era Atlantic Federation intact was something of a mystery to scholars, and how it had made the even less rational leap from the Atlantic Federation territories to rural Carver V absolutely mystified Sionet. She could think of no more annoying happenstance in terms of entertainment than to be constantly reminded of the tribulations of country life and the impossibilities of the rural dating scene, but some people still loved it so.

Last call drinks were issued out at 2300, and some of the patrons began filtering out early, some with their chosen relation for the night, some solo, but by the midnight call the crowd had thinned a bit. Then with the vacuuming and table cleaning, and Sionet on the mop again for the dance floor, and all was declared clean and ready for tomorrow's startup. With that final inspection, the crews broke down and headed for their rooms.

"Well, you're still here, which means the duty hasn't scared you off yet," Nike commented from behind Sionet on their way up the stairs.

"Been a while since I've done that much that quickly, but not impossible," Sionet admitted.

"Sore?" Nike asked after they entered the girls' dormitory.

"Right now? No. Will I be in the morning? Oh hell yes," Sionet expected as much and was willing to admit it.

"Got you covered, new girl," one of the waitresses said before she took up a bottle from her nightstand and flipped it to Sionet. The runaway had no trouble catching it. "Ibuprofen, helps beat down all the minor aches and bruises of a working day. Keep it, I've got a spare."

"Thank you…" Sionet trailed off her acknowledgement after she realized she did not know the lady's name.

"Beatrice. Head waitress and hostess," she said.

"Sionet." She gave a short bow and sat down on the edge of her bed. The bottle was of the typical child safety type, align the two notches on the lid and push up to pop it off, so she did and dispensed herself two, then closed it up and put the bottle in her nightstand drawer.

"So what's your story?" Beatrice asked.

"Short version, fled Kileska to get out of a mafiosi entanglement, been wandering Dendez looking for a new start since then," Sionet said truthfully — though even she had to admit that the detail work would easily put shame to the 'short version' of her story.

"How dramatic an entanglement?" Talia asked while she was stripping down for her evening shower. Sionet already figured her a bit older than the rest of the crew, and most certainly the largest of the five in the room; once down to bra and panties, Sionet had her confirmation that Talia was at least six cup sizes larger than her, maybe more (1). It was also obvious that she had stretch marks from at least one pregnancy in the past, but no child around meant that she had given him or her up for adoption or over to a creche in years past.

"Well, pretty much someone was going to die if I did not disappear, so I chose to walk away rather than go to the grave with a few others," Sionet admitted. Again, she forced herself to silently admit that the detail work would have been hellishly spectacular if she could get away with discussing it.

"Well, don't know if this counts as a 'new start', but welcome," the last of the unknown waitresses said after she came in behind Kristi. "Name's Miriam. I heard you do the dishes now?"

"Not sure if that's my permanent assignment, but that's where I am for now," Sionet shrugged about it. "Could be worse. I am horrible about scrubbing bathrooms, keep barfing whenever I try."

"Thankfully Julio steps up to do that, guy's got a steel stomach," Miriam took up her bunk and splayed out.

"Now that we're up to five persons for the shower, need to revamp times again," Kristi used a dry-erase marker to pencil in new times for the shower allotments.

"Down to 12 minutes each," Talia sighed. "We need to pool for a larger water heater."

"I like being forced to take a quick shower," Miriam countered. "No dallying in watersports when we should be sleeping."

"Sionet, there's a stopwatch in the shower for this. Set yourself a twelve minute timer and try to go fast so you don't get caught at the end rinsing," Nike explained and recommended.

"I feel like this is going to get interesting," Sionet said warily. She had access to her accumulated savings and allowances that she didn't normally chew through, some 400,000 C-bills, but was not going to make any mention of that available funding unless she got to a position of real comfort with the crew here — and even then never a full total.

-x-x-x-

(15 February, CE 476, 0530 Hours Zulu Time)
(Commercial Block 6, Strip 2, Mendel Colony, Protectorate of Mendel)

The stop at the red light and crossing section was pro forma for any person in Mendel, and all else being equal, rather welcomed to the early-morning jogger. The officer in question could easily do the entire run in one swoop, but a quick break while traffic surged forward was a handy happenstance for her. A few extra seconds to cool off hurts nobody, she thought passively while waiting for the light to change over and allow pedestrians to cross.

There was some other foot traffic at the intersection, but if any of them recognized the morning jogger, they made no mention of it. Military personnel stationed in the colony tended to do morning PT by jogging around the various 'Strips' (land sections) of the old Island III colony, and such was no different for even the higher-ranking officers in the upper echelons of Mendel. Thus, when the light flipped and allowed the pedestrian group to cross the intersection, the morning jogger was on her way without any further ado.

Sallah Inoue, Division Commander Mendel, crossed the road and took off through Memorial Park on her usual Friday Morning PT route. She kept a different route for every day of the week, partially to change up the physical aspects involved in the route, part security to prevent being pinned down on one given route and thus become an easy target for a foreign adversary. Today, being a Friday, meant that she crossed laterally through Memorial Park and ended her jog at the restaurant block known as Commercial Block 6. From there, she had her choice of morning cuisine, then a couple blocks walk back to the Administration Building and the clean-up before the start of her day.

(Sallah, as with many of the high-place officers of Mendel, had learned that while military personnel tended to ignore a little bit of the odor of a soldier that had been working out, most politicians and diplomats did not ignore it and took ready notice. And Sallah knew she was on the high end of such offense: if she did not have a post-workout shower, she knew the boob sweat was quite noticeable to those around her. The fact that she knew was largely the product of her Psionics, but she would not let on that she knew that others knew. Espionage was something that she came naturally to and vexed her at the same time.)

When she arrived at CB6, the choice of where to pick up her breakfast was not a difficult one this morning. The smell of cinnamon buns readily drew her to Wesley's Bakery on the south edge of the block, always a favorite of the DC dating back to her days in the Tueborn Creche in Lodonia.

"Morning, Division Commander!" the retired Mortar Infantryman at the sales counter gave her a quick wave between customer checkouts.

"Morning, Petey, how goes?" Sallah asked after the door chime ended.

"Usual, milady," the cashier shrugged.

"Any specials this morning?" the Division Commander asked.

"Ten percent off a dozen mixed, if you assemble your own," Petey answered, meaning doughnuts.

"I like that," Sallah said with a nod. "How soon until those cinnamon buns are ready?" she asked when she realized that the smell was them still baking, not yet ready for deployment.

"Uh," Petey had to bend backwards a bit to see the timer panel. "Five minutes, ma'am."

"Hot and fresh, just the way I like them," Sallah said with a smile. While she waited for the cinnamon buns, she took the remaining baking time to assemble two dozen doughnuts for the C-Level staff so they had a sweet treat for a day. It was a small gesture, all else being equal, but helped with morale and was a civil thing to do for the office. Sallah had always valued relationships and proper conduct over efficiency of management, and it showed.

Ten minutes later, Sallah had her two boxes of doughnuts, a four-pack of cinnamon buns, and was on her way to the Administration Building. Fifteen minutes beyond that exit, the Division Commander was in an elevator up to the 6th floor workout room for the building, and specifically the showers within the locker room. A quick shower later and a change into her officer's uniform, and Sallah Inoue was ready for the day.

Another elevator ride up and she stepped off the lift at the tenth floor of the Administration Building. As soon as she put one foot on the carpet: "Division Commander on Deck!" the admin assistant half-shouted.

"Morning, Chelsea, as you were," Sallah said as she sat down the two boxes of doughnuts and popped them open, then stopped to stretch. "Morning briefing ready?"

"Almost, ma'am. Got a few new ones for you."

"Grab a doughnut and come in when you are ready," DC Inoue said. She made her way into her office with the four cinnamon buns and a disposable plate to help protect the ancient desk within. Once seated, her first thing was to log into her computer so that she was ready to begin her day after the morning brief.

Star Colonel Chelsea was only 90 seconds behind the Division Commander. "Man, I can smell that cinnamon over here," Chelsea said before she took a bite of a frosted doughnut.

"I always have 'em double-dusted with extra cinnamon, absolutely love it," Sallah said. "Where do we start today?"

"Well, the oddball out is probably going to be the best start position. The envoy and intern from Orb, Morrigan Seiran, will be arriving at the colony today."

"Any special arrival ceremony planned?" Sallah had somewhat become used to receiving envoys and diplomats, and expected some pomp and circumstance in such happenings.

"None, she requested low-key and nothing special. Unlike the rest of the family, book on her is that she is not one of those who likes the trappings of power," the Star Colonel said.

"Personal trajectory?" Sallah asked.

"She is on track to go Naval Officer and probably Admiralty, which is why she wants to intern in with our command level, learn how to run the big hardware and high-level operations," the Star Colonel posited a guess. She was mostly correct, the other part being that she wanted out of the somewhat-toxic internship requirements in Orb's navy.

"We shall have to give her some shadow time on one of the ships. Is Poro scheduled here at the Admin Building today?" By which she was asking about Star Admiral Poro Andras, the present commanding officer of the ultra-carrier Mendel.

"Not today, but he will be in tomorrow. Going to ask if he has an open slot for a shadow?" Sallah nodded affirmative. "Will put it on your itinerary for tomorrow," Chelsea said quickly.

"Likely she will need six months to a year to acclimate to the corporate culture of the Touman before she would be a good fit for shadowing on the Mendel, so I would expect her to hang around here or on field deploy with some of the terrestrial units for the time being," Sallah pointed out. "After that, once she shows the readiness for it, we shall discuss a fleet shadow."

"Makes sense, milady," the administrative assistant Star Colonel nodded. "Second, readiness reports from Carver V are in early, Century Commander Michel Malthus is on top of his forces and keeps things sharp, so his reports are fairly decent…" Chelsea started down the list of the common military minutiae that the Division Commander had to oversee.

Sallah paid attention to all of it, even if some of it was droll and really could be handled at a lower level than hers, because she knew that it only took one spark from any direction for the shit to light off into a raging inferno. And, as history showed, when the balloon goes up you fight the war with the army you had, not the army you necessarily wanted to have or thought was the right match for the battle. Even if, in this case, it appeared that there was no specific expectation of having to go to war in the foreseeable future.

-x-x-x-

(15 February, CE 476, 0800 Hours Local (Dendez West) Time)
(Mackie's Club, City of Westport, Dendez Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)

Sionet was not the first or last through the shower, though she was downstairs for the 0800 morning briefing first amongst the ladies.

"Morning, how do you feel?" Mackie asked.

"Sore, more sore than I expected. Need to get something more powerful than Ibuprofen," Sionet admitted.

"Use Excedrin, it's what works for me," Kyle said.

"You're the new girl?" one of the boys asked.

"Hai," Sionet nodded to the larger guy.

"Harvey. Welcome to the madhouse," he offered his hand for a shake, which Sionet took.

"Watch out for him, he hits on anything that uses the other bathroom," Talia said after she entered the main club area. She was not alone, Nike and Miriam were with her as well.

"Not going to deny this, gotta keep on trying," Harvey said. He did not make any other moves, though, as the rest of the crew entered within the space of a minute.

"All right, settle down," Mackie declared. "First, good hustle last night, things got a bit busier than we anticipated and we kept pace very well. We also got the floor and kitchen cleaned up and ready for today in a big hurry as well, so very good work to all of you. And welcome to our newest crew addition, Sionet. For now, Sionet will be doing mopping and dishes, which frees me up to the grill so we can cycle patrons faster."

"Welcome," one of the guys who she had not been introduced to gave her a wave.

"Second matter, I have a posting out for temps again, but the temp agencies are having trouble finding bodies so don't expect a huge amount of relief for the time being. I know you want to ramp down to more normal hours, but we're stuck where we are until someone gets adventurous enough."

"The lament of evil overlords everywhere, good help is so hard to find," Julio said with a dark chuckle.

"I feel their pain, certainly," Mackie said. "Third, laundry detail will be spacing out a bit now that we have a new resident. Sionet's turn on the washer and dryer will be," and Mackie checked his notepad, then looked back up to the crew, "day after tomorrow. Kristi can give you the run-down on that process and where to retrieve your clothes after being washed."

"Thanks!" Sionet said.

"Fourth, Kristi is making a run up to Zabby's today, anything we need?" Mackie asked of the crew.

"Can we get some dishpans to replace the losses? It's easier and faster if we can just drop a full pan and grab a spare than it is to offload on Sionet," Julio asked.

"I'll look into it," Kristi said.

"Mind if I come with?" Nike asked the proprietress.

"Got room for one more if anyone wants to tag along," Kristi asked. Nobody spoke up. "Guess it's three to Zabby's before shifts today."

"Any questions?" Mackie opened the floor. No questions were to be had, so: "All right, make sure any of you still under school regs, get your stuff done as quickly as possible. Tonight is a Friday, so we'll be busy all the way to close."

-x-

(15 minutes later)
(Zabby's General Store, Northern Westport, Dendez Continent, Carver V)

"Been to a Zabby's before?" Nike asked.

"Not often," Sionet said truthfully. "Mother usually did the shopping for the family, I was to stay home and do my schoolwork fully and promptly;" Which second part was only partially truthful. Sionet's orders were indeed to do her schoolwork promptly each day, even Mafiosi did not escape that requirement, but if anyone did the shopping at such a 'low-brow' store as Zabby's it would be Aurora or Mick, who were roughly the lowest two rungs on the ladder in the Brelle family.

"Well, what do you need most?" Nike asked.

"Some more clothes, I think I only have about six sets," Sionet admitted. "That's if I get creative with my pants."

"Okay, we can work on that," Nike said. "Need us to get anything else?" she asked Kristi.

"Just stay out of trouble, you two," Kristi admonished them before she grabbed a cart and headed toward the household goods section.

"We get most of our stuff delivered, but there are some things we get here for the Club that are just more intelligent than buying them from our vendors. And, we all take passes at the store because ordering clothes online is unreliable."

"Not an option for my family," Sionet said. "We're too rural for timely delivery service."

"Man, being that far out in the wilds, that would be awesome! I want to experience that at least once or twice in my life," Nike continued pulling Sionet into the heart of the clothes racks.

"It's quiet, peaceful, but it gets to you after a while. I was always thankful for a boarding school week, got to talk to other students my age," Sionet said. There was always an air about such days, primarily because her last name at the time was rather recognizable in their area, but most of the kids ignored it.

"Well, there's a mix in the crew now. Miriam and I are both a bit younger than you, Beatrice I think is about the same age, and Talia is twenty, so you've got someone to talk to about just about anything," Nike said before she stopped in the area where she needed to be. "So, here we go. Is the plain-jane-almost-army look what you prefer?"

"Yeah, it's what works for me most of the time. I like being comfortable and not being too noticeable."

"Well, one thing I know we need to work on, your choice of underwear," Nike said. "It's obvious you're using a minimizer and it's not comfortable for you."

"No joke," Sionet flexed her shoulders unconsciously.

"Well, what size are you normally?" Sionet answered truthfully. "Whoohoo! I keep the title of the smallest on the crew for another round! And now, gotta make you look proper." Nike grabbed up several sets of more proper undergarments for Sionet to try on. "Get to it, dressing room is over there."

"I'm wondering if you are going to be a bad influence on me in the long run," Sionet said with a raised eyebrow, but indeed did take her choice of clothes into the dressing room, along with a couple shirts she had been eyeing. "Anyway, question comes to mind. Why are you worried about being the smallest in the outfit?"

"Saves me trouble. Harvey wants nothing to do with a Pettanko, so I'm generally safe from his hitting on me but not safe from his acid tongue. He doesn't have a read on you yet, but once he thinks he has you figured out, he'll start working an angle on you to try to get into your pants."

"Oh wow, whoever tagged this bra must have been drunk, it is two sizes smaller than what the tag says," Sionet slung it over the dressing room door top to drape over it. "Okay, this one is good. So, Harvey is the crew's lech?"

"He's been reprimanded more than once for inappropriate conduct and threatened with being thrown out or reported for civil rights violations," Nike confirmed. "I take it the ones on the left are no-go?"

"Hai, my right is the discard pile, I'm keeping the good ones in here. And this shirt is good."

"Flip me the hangars and I'll start putting them away."

"Don't worry about it," the clerk for the fitting rooms said. "We have to wash everything tested, so just pass them to me and I'll see to them."

"Thanks," Nike said. "How're you doing by the numbers?" Nike asked.

"Eight yes, four no," Sionet flipped the fourth no-dice article over the door frame, and Nike took it down to hand off to the fitting room clerk. "Got another set?"

"Pop your door," Nike had another set waiting to hand off to Sionet, including another four shirts. "You have an aversion to pink?"

"More of a dark red fan, myself, or dark blue. I like darker colors."

"Got it," Nike said. "Start testing while I assemble another set. And pants?"

"Something with pockets. The more, the better," Sionet said with some strain. "Ah, that drunk labeller strikes again!" The bra in question went over the frame of the door a moment later.

"Wow, that was in the opposite direction, that's almost Talia's size," Nike said after she picked up the article in question.

"Almost? Damn." the bra in question was about 6 cups larger than Sionet's size, and Nike had admitted that Talia was larger still. She could use her bra band for some serious storage, Sionet thought.

"She had two kids, gave both of them up for adoption. First one she doesn't talk about, second one was a cute guy one-night-stand. If you were wondering, that is."

"Well, that was always a warning from my mother, it only takes one good creampie at the right time, so I've always been cautious about that," Sionet said. Nike's snigger about that covered for a snort from Sionet, because that was exactly how she was conceived from Leon Neider.

"I'll be back with some pants. How much budget do you have to work with?" Nike asked.

"I've got a few bucks squirreled away, but I don't want to push it. Grab me three?" Sionet noted.

"Three with pockets. Back in a few!" Nike trotted off into the distance while Sionet continued testing articles. A couple were discarded, most she retained. She was not worried about weight for carrying right now, she felt that she was not at hazard of having to relocate after finding the hidden gem of Mackie's Club.

"How's it going in there?" Kristi asked from the far side of the door.

"Whoever did these hanging softlines has a drunkard on the payroll, I think about a third are mistagged," Sionet said bluntly.

"The guy we have on the washer set doesn't pay much attention," the clerk acknowledged.

"I'm about half done, you need any help?" Kristi asked.

"So far so good," Sionet said. "Almost done, Nike is hunting down some pants right now."

"Good, I'm headed to cleaning supplies next, come over that way when you are done," Kristi moved on as Nike came back.

"They didn't have anything in urban camo, sorry." Nike hefted the pants over the top of the door frame for Sionet to grab.

"It is what it is," Sionet said dejectedly. "At least there's no rhinestones on these."

"We're going to have to work on this," Nike said. "You may not want to look too hot, but you've got to do something to show a good side."

"Oh boy," Sionet grumped. She knew that she was in for a time trying to stay low-key with a bedmate that was determined to make her stand out. She did not know that she would quickly become her own worst enemy in terms of stealth, and rather soon at that.

-x-x-x-

(15 February, CE 476, 1000 Hours Zulu Time)
(Allster Enterprises Orbital Manufacturing and Engineering Station Freya)

Cordelia hadn't been closeted since the destructive first test of the Dendrobium II, but by the same token she had really only been out and about in the public parts of the station during the overnight hours — Cordelia was a nighthawk by genetic proclivity, one of those rare ten percent of persons who functioned best on an inverted schedule and did her best work alone. On the flipside, she was also something of an introvert but not to the point of being a shut-in, and she did like to get out to chat and stretch and just hear the latest around the station. So, tracksuit and bandana on, she set out on Residential Level 6 for a jog around the 1550 meters of corridor.

One lap, nothing special.

Two laps, Cordelia stopped to say hello to one of the galley staff, the lady she suspected was the master baker who did the most delicious yeast rolls.

Three laps, again nothing special.

Four laps, Cordelia could tell she was starting to work up a bit of a sweat, which is what she wanted. Unlike her sisters, Cordelia did not have the supermodel physique or genetics that pointed in that direction, and had quickly found out that she had to rely on physical exertion to stay in decent shape. More to the point, working in zero-gravity as much as she did, she had to keep a strict workout schedule just to prevent loss of bone density and muscle tone. She didn't entertain any notions of being in combat shape, but she did know that if she expected to ever pilot the full-up Dendrobium II unit, she would have to be in damn good physical condition for it.

Fifth lap, the strain was starting to build up in her legs, and thus a smile to her face. Her personal preference was to go to the point of physical discomfort, which for the jog around the Residential blocks was something on the order of 9 laps.

Sixth lap, partway around the 'north' side of the ring she came across one of the school classes that had let out, which included her secret-admirer-dick-pic-artist. "Heyo! Cordelia!" The class head (not the artist) shouted and waved as she approached the classroom area.

"Morning!" Cordelia half-shouted as she approached the group and slowed down to a semi-jog-in-place. "How's going?"

"That's what we want to know, we haven't heard any good news since your first flight!" Marie said.

"What? I thought the school groups did regular news briefs, and we've been sending daily updates from the projects," Cordelia pointed to the bay.

"Haven't heard anything since the launch report," Marie confirmed.

"Okay, that's some bullshit, I know the foreman's been doing two daily briefs. I'll have to ask around about it," Cordelia said, and after she said so, could see the glowering face of their instructor from just beyond the door to the classroom.

"Well, if we're not going to get it from the Instructors, might as well ask you," the tallest of the guys in the class said. Cordelia figured that of all the persons in the class, she was probably most inclined to sleep with Liam and least likely to get any such action, primarily due to the fact that he had his choice of ladies on the station and Cordelia was nowhere near the hottest.

"Well, did you hear that the first run was a partial success?" Cordelia asked.

"Uh, I did from my father, nothing official," the class artist (and dick pic artist) answered. "What's the skinny?"

"Got out, ran it to the stops, got it back in the bay mostly intact," Allster said with some satisfaction. "So, 95 percent win there. Did have some structural shearing near the engines, present thinking is bad titanium in some of the beams caused a cascade failure," she played out the official line with a straight face, since the engineer in Cordelia knew that their saboteur could be a relative of one of these kids and she had to play dumb to keep the ruse up. "That made flying it home a bit interesting, but not impossible. We're working on rebuilding for another test in a few weeks."

"That's good, you came home safe," Marie said with heartfelt cheer. Cordelia had quickly come to like Marie since she wasn't the typical teenage bag of envy and was a good lady in any other regard.

"Any word on weapons?" the class artist asked.

"Oh hell no, I'm not even thinking about that for another six months minimum, longer if things keep breaking under the engine stress," Cordelia said. "Right now I've got mass placeholders on the Orchis II unit to keep balance and test my hardware limits, and that's it."

"Now now, class, we can't be disturbing the engineers every time they pass by," their instructor said. "Class will resume momentarily, please head inside."

"A moment, Allen, got a request for you," Cordelia pinged the class artist.

"Yo," Allen said even despite the dour look from the Instructor.

"Got a request for you to pass on to the class artist that does the genital artwork on the launch bay windows. I'm pretty sure you're not it, but you do know the culprit, so I'm respectfully requesting you pass on a request." Cordelia said.

He arched an eyebrow but otherwise kept his composure, which Cordelia liked. "What's up?" he asked.

"Officially I'm supposed to tell him to knock it off. Unofficially half the staff considers it hilarious, so I'm not going to make a federal case out of it. Tell 'im to keep on keepin' on, and don't get caught or I will have to take action."

"I'll pass that on at lunch, thanks!" Allen ducked into the class and headed to his seat forthwith, and Cordelia resumed her jog to the fading dirty look from the instructor. Those dirty, glowering looks told Cordelia where the information logjam was at, so she figured she'd have to make the rounds on a more routine basis to do what the instructor was unwilling to do.

-x-x-x-

(15 February, CE 476, 1445 Hours Local (Dendez West) Time)
(Mackie's Club, City of Westport, Dendez Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)

"How you holding up?" Kyle asked as he approached the sink with a partial bin. It was sufficiently early in the day that traffic was slow and they both had some room to breathe.

"Not bad so far, Excedrin helps." Sionet finished rinsing her last plate off and set it in the autoclave to sterilize, then closed and activated the unit.

"Don't overdo it, you can cause damage to your liver, and getting those rebuilt by nanomachine is expensive," Kyle said as he leaned up against the island behind Sionet.

"You?" Sionet asked.

"No, my grandmother. Sucked Excedrin down at double the rate on the bottle, ended up trashing her liver and kidneys," Kyle explained.

"Well, thanks, but I meant how are you holding up?" Sionet asked after she wiped off a patch of counter and hopped up on it.

"Some days are harder than others," Kyle said. "Today will be a stiff one, weekends always are."

"And then we clean up, turn around, do it again," Sionet said. "I can think of much worse lives, and much better ones. What's your goal?"

"Don't know, don't really have much of one since my parents were slain. You?" Kyle asked.

"Short-term, staying out of the eyes of the Mafiosi. Long term? Not sure." Sionet deliberately would not speak of her personal goal for the time being, at least until she had an idea what direction she needed to go for training.

"Always a good idea to avoid the ministrations of those scum," Kyle scoffed. "You're in sympathetic company, at the minimum. The future is what the future shall be, worry about it later I guess."

"Left alone long enough, though, and the future that could be becomes the past that never was and the regrets of the day," Sionet cautioned him. "That's my free advice of the day."

"Another round," Julio slid the new dishpan of dirty dishes through the dirty dishes return and almost to Sionet's hip. "Sorry for interrupting."

"Work is such a four-letter word some days," Kyle groused.

"It is what it is," Sionet slid off the counter and ran her bleach rag across where she was sitting before she offloaded the pan into her dishwater. Kyle departed the kitchen to make his next rounds as well, leaving Sionet pretty much alone since the grill staff (right now, just Mackie) was out back on break.

"I'm not going to say anything since you wiped off the counter after you cleared it, just make sure you're not up on a counter when an inspector comes by," Mack said on his way in the door and back to the grill.

"Can do!" Sionet said as she started offloading dishes from the second autoclave that were now clean and sterilized and ready for use.

The words she said to Kyle were as much meant for her own ears as his, she realized. She knew intellectually that she didn't have time to waste on hesitation, if she wanted to make grade for Gundam piloting placement, she had to start racking up scores - and soon. Mentally she did the scheduling on it and realized that her next good option for doing some searching and route planning was about three days hence, when she was scheduled off (to avoid going too far past 50 working hours). She would need that time to find the pod center, find her route for it that would avoid Mafiosi entanglements, and get registered / set up for it. After that, depending on transit times, she figured she could do a match a day and maybe a half-day at the sim center on her days off. The suspicion would not take long to build in the others in the crew here, but she figured she had options for playing it off – doubly so if she could get good enough fast enough to generate any amount of interest in her skills.

"You were right, you know," Mack said as he was cleaning and scraping his grill plates. "If you intend a future, you have to work for it and go for it. Waiting is a bad thing when time is at stake. I don't remember who said it, or what phrasing exactly, but I've always lived by the phrase 'never be caught doing nothing. Always be doing something, even if it is the wrong thing it is better than nothing' if I remember correctly."

"Wise words to live by," Sionet acknowledged. "Still working out how to go about my future, though."

"Everyone grapples with that problem," Mackie acknowledged. "Some get it early, others get nothing in the way of progress until their 40s."

"And then it's a bit late to do some of the things you wanted to do," Frank said after he closed the back door to the kitchen. "How's things shaping up so far, Mack?"

"Ramping up pretty steady, like every other Friday. Hope you're ready for it."

"Fun times," Frank said before he slipped on his apron and tied it off.

Sionet continued her washing of the dishes, quiet but steady in her duty of the business. It was not the most glamorous job in the kitchen, but a vital one, and one that she swore she would do properly and completely if for no other reason than to make sure she did not have to go looking for new residence. After all, doing dishes five days a week was a small price to pay for room, board, free meals, and a decent crew to live in (or hide amongst, if one wanted to look at it in that frame of mind).

-x-x-x-

(15 February, CE 476, 1550 Hours Local (Blue Cosmos Mountain) Time)
(SERE School Field Training Area, North Dakota, Blue Terra)

Sylvie watched the helicopter spool up and trail back toward the base. Kevin did not, he was already on the way into the forest area with his survival pack and already had a hiking stick he found barely ten meters into the forest edge.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sylvie asked.

"We both have to make the grade for a night out in the country, and personally speaking, I'm fine with having you along for it," Kevin said.

"Aren't you worried I might do something to you out here?" Sylvie asked as she closed up on her erstwhile competition.

"Nah, not at all," Kevin Azrael used his stick to poke through a snowdrift, and it went far deeper than he expected. "Step light here, this may be a creekbed or culvert."

"Right," Sylvie made to jump over it, and only barely stuck the landing.

"No, I'm not worried about our piloting rivalry, girl, because killing or crippling me means you'd be haunted by the question forevermore. And if something breaks loose, you'd want a good wingman when the shit hits the fan," Cadet Azrael took a long step over another snowdrift, and Sylvie followed suit.

"Good point. I like Tania, Emilea and Hamer, but the two of us could easily smoke all three of them and probably do it without a scratch on our machines," Sylvie said.

"The prosecution rests, Your Honor," Kevin hopped over a half-iced fast-flowing creek and paused while Sylvie did the same. "We'll go up toward the head of the creek and find a good site for an encampment there. Single shelter or two smaller ones?"

"Hell no to the individual accommodations, if I'm going to freeze to death I want company," Sylvie said as cover for her personal purpose.

"Two persons shelter it is," Kevin waved her farther up the creek bed until they came to a small clearing near a bend in the creek. "This will do," he said after he jabbed his walking stick into the ground and it only sunk in a half-meter.

"What's the plan?" Sylvie asked.

"Fire first, sooner we get a fire going, the better. Since we're in a tree stand, find some dropped branches and logs and we'll start there," Kevin sat his survival pack down and extracted the folding shovel from it. And keep an ear out for animals!"

"Will do!" Sylvie darted off into the thicker parts of the tree stand to find branches while Kevin began digging them a shelter location. Given the ground was frosted, they would have to use the excavation pick on the back of their survival shovels to get a hollow-out for the shelter, but just clearing down to the ground would be sufficient for their fire and cooking pit.

Sylvie was back in ten minutes with several good-sized branches, including a large one sufficient for the main spar of a shelter. "How's this?"

"Good start, set the big one aside and we'll strip it for the shelter. The rest we can use for the fire. You remember how to do a Platform Fire?"

"We're cooking something? I thought we had ration bars in our packs," Sylvie wasn't a big fan of the ration bars on account of taste, but they worked.

"About sixty meters off, I popped a rabbit," and after Kevin pointed, Sylvie could somewhat see the deceased hare. "Always assume that you'll need to save the ration bars for later, especially when you can catch dinner on your own."

"Makes sense," Sylvie headed off to the downed hare to collect it and bring it back.

On her way out, Kevin watched her pass by.

-x-

(4 hours later)

The small forest had given up plenty of usable wood and foliage for their shelter, so they had a proper single-pole hide dug a few centimeters below ground level, piled with a good rim around the dugout, and covered heartily with cedar branches, loose foliage, and a spare mylar survival blanket that Kevin thought to pack in his survival pack. They had cooked rabbit for a meal supplemented with some mulberries found on a tree not far from their campsite, they had filtered some creek water through a survival filter and then boiled it to make sure there were no parasites, and the fire had been rebuilt in the Log Cabin style to generate extra heat since the temperature was dropping fast.

"Not a bad turnout for a day's hard survival work," Sylvie said.

"Honestly, I kind of hope that we get assigned to a less obnoxious planet for the invasion, if it comes during our lifetimes that is," Kevin countered. "Yeah, we just proved we can do this, but it would be so much better if we didn't have to bust our asses to make it through the night."

Sylvie laughed at the soured tone of voice from her cohort. "I can't argue that one. Springtime weather would be much better, or even summer," she said.

"Summer would be awesome, given the mini-lake we found up this creek," Kevin said. "We'll have to visit it here in six months with swimwear, when it's not so obnoxiously cold."

"You're on, mister," Sylvie said.

Kevin sighed. "Part of me wants to go to sleep after the day's toil and trouble, but part of me doesn't feel right about it."

"Oh, I definitely don't want you to go to sleep yet," Sylvie said.

"Really? What's on your mind?" Kevin asked, but already had something of a suspicion as to what she intended.

"Well, you know how some of the girls get all hot and bothered when you and I square off?" Sylvie asked.

"Yeah, the recordings of them being perverts find their way to me after a day or two," Kevin said.

"They're convinced we're on the down low," Sylvie pointed out the reason for those recordings.

"And they're rubbing it to that thought? That is equal parts creepy, hilarious, and perverse in my opinion. What's your take?"

"Hilarious and perverse, definitely, but I don't find it creepy. I consider it more of a cheerleading thing," Sylvie said.

Kevin was silent for a few seconds. "So you want to?"

"I kept saying I wanted to hold off for a guy I could tolerate, and you're about it for the class," Cadet Stonebridge admitted.

"Now that is an honor, milady Stonebridge," Kevin said with gravitas. "I accept."

Two zippers were pulled in the seconds thereafter.

-x-x-x-

(15 February, CE 476, 2245 Hours Local (Dendez West) Time)
(Mackie's Club, City of Westport, Dendez Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)

Upstairs in the girl's dorm, Sionet curled up with her tablet and activated the 'secured' mode on her tablet by her fingerprint and her long-form security code. Two clicks later and Sionet had her secure chat client active

PALADIN started the chat process off. GOOD SHOPPING RUN THIS MORNING, NO MAFIOSI PRESENCE OR LINKS DETECTED. YOUR OLD CODEX RECORD WILL NOT CHANGE, BUT THE PURCHASE TOTAL WILL BE REFLECTED ON YOUR NEW CODEX. GOING BY YOUR PURCHASES, IT WOULD SEEM YOU ARE COMFORTABLE WITH REMAINING?

SO FAR SO GOOD, Sionet answered with a smile. She had a very good feeling about the outfit, minus one certain lecher who was obviously trying to feel her out (or, alternately, feel her up).

ANY OUTSTANDING CONCERNS AT THIS TIME?

CAN YOU DO A DIVE ON A HARVEY LEEDS, 19, MALE, MY HEIGHT PLUS 6, ROUGHLY 70 KILOS. HAS A REPUTATION IN THIS CREW AS A BIT OF A LECHER, WANT TO KNOW IF THIS IS A CONCERN.

STANDBY, the AI entity answered. CONFIRMED, WAS BOOTED OUT OF A SIMILAR WORK-HOUSING PROGRAM IN IVERCE 11 MONTHS AGO FOR INAPPROPRIATE CONDUCT WITH A FEMALE STAFFER. NO CHARGES FILED, BUT REPORT FROM THE INVESTIGATING MILITARY POLICE SAID THAT HE WAS ONE AFFIDAVIT AWAY FROM 20 YEARS IN A BRIG, AND TWO AWAY FROM SUMMARY EXECUTION.

Sionet nodded at her screen, which was seen by the AI entity through a special integrated security camera that was not visible to her. POSSIBLE HE DID NOT LEARN THE LESSON THE FIRST OR MULTIPLE TIMES PRIOR.

I ADVISE CAUTION WHEN DEALING WITH PERSONS OF THIS NATURE. DOUBLY SO IF YOU FALL INTO THE CATEGORY OR CATEGORIES HE IS AFTER. ALSO ADVISE YOU DO NOT MENTION THAT YOU KNOW ABOUT HIS HISTORY, THAT COULD SET OFF A VIOLENT REACTION.

DULY NOTED, Sionet answered. She already intended both caution and circumspection in dealing with Harvey, if for no other reason to avoid his attempts. She would not understand until much later that such attempts at avoidance and deflection would only make his attempts more persistent.

PROGRESS TOWARD DECIDING ON THE CENTER YOU WILL USE?

Sionet snorted. HAVE NOT HAD AN OPPORTUNITY TO SCOUT MY ROUTE YET, she answered by the text client. PLANNED EXPEDITION IS THREE DAYS HENCE.

YOU WILL NEED TO INVEST IN A GOOD BICYCLE FOR THE TRIP. SINCE THIS IS HEADED INLAND, THERE WILL BE A SLIGHT UPWARD GRADIENT DEPENDING ON THE EXACT ROUTE CHOSEN. EITHER A GOOD MOUNTAIN BIKE OR A GOOD RACER BIKE WOULD DO THE JOB, SOMETHING WITH GOOD SPREAD OF GEARS WOULD MAXIMIZE SPEED FOR ENERGY OUTPUT.

"Efficiency is a good goal," Sionet told herself quietly. PROBABLY A RACER BIKE, IN THIS CASE. IF I INTEND TO DO ANY TRAIL RIDING, I CAN INVEST IN A MOUNTAIN BIKE IN THE LEAD-UP TO IT.

I WILL TAG SOME BIKE SHOPS IN YOUR AREA WITH DECENT PRICES.

Sionet figured a question was in order. DO YOU ASSIST TO THIS DEGREE WITH ALL THE 383-BLUE ESCAPEES?

The answer was a few moments in the coming, but… SOME MORE THAN OTHERS, the AI entity answered. SOME HOLD ONTO THE HEADSTRONG POSTURE OF THE MAFIOSI, SOME WANT TO GO IT SOLO OR CLOSE TO IT, OTHERS ARE A LITTLE MORE FORTHRIGHT ABOUT ACCEPTING ASSISTANCE. AND, SINCE I SPEND A LOT OF DOWNTIME BETWEEN ASSIGNMENTS, ASSISTING THE 383 PERSONS HAS BECOME SOMETHING OF A HOBBY OF MINE. THOUGH, I WILL ADMIT THAT YOU ARE SOMETHING OF A SPECIAL CASE, ONE OF THE FEW WHO EXPLICITLY WISHED TO NOT JUST DEPART THE MAFIOSI RANKS, BUT TO BECOME ONE OF THE MOST CHALLENGING OF MOBILE WARFARE SPECIALISTS, A GUNDAM PILOT, IS TRULY RARE AMONGST MAFIOSI.

And that point segued into another question Sionet had been mulling over for some time: I HAVE HEARD FROM SEVERAL PERSONS THAT NOT JUST RAW SCORES, BUT ALSO FEATS ARE A BIG CONSIDERATION IN SELECTION. WHAT IS THE MOTIVATION BEHIND IT?

SCORES ONLY TELL SO MUCH OF A STORY, AND NOT ALWAYS AN ACCURATE STORY AT THAT. IT IS POSSIBLE TO GAIN THE ABILITY TO MIN/MAX SCORES AND YET BE EFFECTIVELY USELESS OR NEARLY SO ON A PROPER BATTLEFIELD. THE PURSUIT OF FEATS, BE THOSE FEATS MILESTONE ACHIEVEMENTS OR SPECIAL MISSION ACHIEVEMENTS, CHANGES THE NAME OF THE GAME QUITE A BIT, IN THAT YOU HAVE TO HAVE MASTERY OF YOUR MACHINE AND YOUR TACTICAL OR STRATEGIC ACUMEN MUST BE IN TOP SHAPE TO COMPLETE THESE MISSIONS IN THE SAME FASHION THAT THE HEROES OF OLD DID SO. IF YOU WANT TO BEST THE HEROES OF OLD, THOUGH, YOU MUST DO BETTER THAN JUST MATCH THEM, YOU NEED TO HAVE SKILLS IN EXCESS OF THOSE HEROES — AND THOSE CLASSIFICATIONS OF SKILLS CANNOT BE FAKED.

Sionet snorted at that thought. Best someone like Kou Uraki or Garrod Ran or Heero Yuy? There's a damn big tall order, she thought behind a passive face. Which led to another question: HAS IT BEEN DONE? HOW MANY OF THE OLD ACES HAVE BEEN MATCHED OR BESTED?

PALADIN took over a minute to answer. OVER THE PAST CENTURY, EACH ONE OF THE ACES OF DAYS AND HISTORIES PAST HAS BEEN BESTED INDIVIDUALLY. MOST PERSONS CAPABLE OF MATCHING OR BESTING ONE HAVE BEEN ABLE TO DEFEAT THE RECORDS OF BETWEEN ONE AND FOUR OF THE ACES. A HANDFUL OF PERSONS OVER THE YEARS HAS MANAGED TO DO TEN OR MORE. ONLY TWO PERSONS IN THE PAST CENTURY, HOWEVER, HAVE RUN THE BOARD: DIVISION COMMANDER NOMI LOUSSIER DID SO THIRTY YEARS AGO, AND YOUR FATHER LEON NEIDER DID SO WHEN HE WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL.

That thought shocked Sionet to a degree. Her father was on the list of possibles to have matched or bested all of the recorded aces of histories past? Idly she wondered if that included their great ancestor Auel Neider and his instructor, the nigh-terrifying Gerald Lightbringer.

SO, TO BECOME GOOD ENOUGH TO BE NOTICED, I WILL NEED TO BECOME GOOD ENOUGH TO HAMMER ON THE RECORDS OF THE LEGENDS PAST, Sionet replied. I WILL TRULY HAVE SOME WORK CUT OUT FOR ME. I WONDER IF IT WOULD BE POSSIBLE TO SET UP MY OWN ARRAY OF PODS IN THE VICINITY? She asked as something of a wan joke.

I CAN DO SOME WONDERS WITH GRANTS AND SHADOWY BANK ACCOUNTS, BUT I DON'T THINK I CAN MAKE AN INVESTMENT OF THAT SIZE FLY.

"One could hope," Sionet grumped. Her watch chimed, signaling that it was time for her to head downstairs and start preparations for cleanup. PREP TIME FOR NIGHTLY CLEANUP. SIGNING OFF, THANKS FOR THE EXPLANATION!

HAVE A GOOD EVENING, SIONET.

Sionet locked her tablet, stowed it in her armoire, and headed back downstairs to her mop and bucket. Idly she wondered how that would be recorded in history, if she made the grade and became an ace herself?

-x-x-x-

(16 February, CE 476, 0030 Hours Local (UTC-6) Time)
(Amazon Basin NTC, Peruvian Province, 100 km east of Iquitos, USSA Home Terra provinces)

"Last shot, girl, if we don't make the grade on this hop we both fail out and RTU," by which he meant that they were 'Returned to Unit' and were out of the Quin Mantha program.

"I am aware," the Remote Weapons Operator of their pair said sharply.

"Bunny Four, Command, declare status," Pilot Albertson heard over the radio.

"Command, Bunny Four, second engine stage heating up now, final system checks in progress. ETA 20 seconds to deployment readiness," Pilot Candidate Albertson said.

"Bunny Four, this is Cobra," a new voice came across the radio. Cobra, or more specifically Lieutenant General Miguel "Cobra" Garrick, was still an active Quin Mantha pilot in addition to being the chief instructor for the Quin Mantha training program. "You two are on the edge for piloting and remote weapons. This Hop makes or breaks it for you: either you achieve 70% and continue, or you score below 70% and are failed out. Remember, good enough is not good enough by definition, as both friend and foe are constantly pushing harder, finding better pilot candidates of their own to counter us and others. There is no room for skating, here, when the next balloon goes up we will need the best of the best on the line. Understood?"

"Sir!" Remote Weapons Operator Elisabeth Berenike answered immediately.

"I've already failed out three pilots and two RWOs from Bunny 4 this year. Not that they were not good, but they definitely weren't good enough. Standards are high; demands out in the fleet are higher still. The timer starts now."

Stevie Albertson put his left hand on the throttle. "Bunny Four, launching!" Albertson drove the throttle forward and started preparing himself mentally for the coming maneuver work.

Once outside the training center perimeter and into the actual weapons range, both Stevie and Elisabeth could start sensing the targets around them. "I'm feeling them this time," Elisabeth said.

"Can you target them?" Stevie asked.

"I think so," Elisabeth closed her eyes and focused on the remote weapons pod in the tail binder of the Quin Mantha. After a moment, the pod ejected ten of the remote weapons and the anti-grav system within took hold to provide flight in the atmosphere. The rocket motor and apogee motors on the weapons propelled them to the target points and Elisabeth began chopping up the targets with aimed fire. "Got some!"

"Good, my turn," Stevie drove the Quin Mantha through a stand of jungle trees — always a hazard in the Amazon Basin — and when he cleared the tree cluster he came out just over two targets. Immediately the Psycommu Target Augmenters clicked off and ejected from the targets, though Stevie still shredded the targets with beam cannon shots from his arms. He took a moment to use the chest-mounted beam guns to destroy a column of tank targets that did not have Psycommu Target Augments on them — a sneaky trick that would not hold in real-world engagements, as any kind of presence could be sensed by a good Newtype. Lastly, he used the back-mounted particle guns to drop a Drone over the battlefield that had an augmenter.

"Got some more," Elisabeth pushed her Newtype Weapons Control to the point of mental break, but in so doing was able to get the best range of control she had ever done so — better, even, than four other teams so far. The funnels ranged outward several kilometers and blasted a dozen more targets in less than a full minute, then had to return to the container to recharge. In the interim, she launched another set of ten to range to the north and begin silencing targets. "How are we doing?" Cadet Berenike asked after her second shot of five from this second wave of funnels.

"Not well enough, we need to pick up the pace," Stevie answered before he sabered down a couple of Mobile Suit targets and blasted an artillery column on a trail, none of which had augmenters on them.

I don't want to lose! This has been what I've been working for! Elisabeth fumed in her mind at the trajectory that she felt she was headed on — failure. That frustration with being so close and yet still not enough caused a reaction in her mind where her mind went crystal clear and her Newtype senses reached out triple the distance she had ever felt her reach before.

-x-

The Lieutenant General could sense in Bunny 4 the instant mental flare from both of the crew, and it quickly frightened him how much they expanded in a short breath worth of time.

"She was — wait, what?" the Operator over Bunny 4 asked in shock.

Cobra simply chuckled as she launched the other twenty funnels and vectored all thirty out towards dozens of targets.

"Jesus, sweet Jesus, she's using her funnels like a veteran!" a separate Operator said in shock.

Cobra chuckled again after the pilot cleaved two simulates of Gundams in half in an almost-unrecognizable maneuver. When he was not hacking them to pieces, he had quickly mastered targeting more than two or three targets at a time.

"This is insane! Where did they get this good?"

"The threat of failure can drive some people to collapse, others it drives to greater heights," Lieutenant General Garrick said. "We'll see how far they keep this up, and what their next sortie looks like," 'Cobra' said.

"They're pushing 97 percent in their AO, sir! How the hell did they go from sub-par to damn near Ace in the flip of a switch?" the Operations Officer for the NTC asked.

"I have my theories, but I won't say anything until I have some research time," the Lieutenant General said.

"That's it, sir, 100 percent," the Operator over Bunny 4 said. "They killed 'em all."

"Call them in," 'Cobra' ordered.

"Bunny 4, Operations, reporting all targets have been cleared. Return to base, troops, you've earned your win for a day."

"Copy all, Bunny 4 returning to base," Stevie answered.

"When the Quin Mantha lands and is racked, have the cockpit recorder and black box pulled and delivered to my base immediately, do not log or copy the recorders, how copy?"

"Understood, sir!"

"Everyone in this room, listen up! What you just witnessed may have been something on the near-shore of a miracle! I'll look into it, none of you breathe a word about this at any level or to anyone outside this room under any circumstances. If it was a fluke, so be it and further training will shake them out. If it was what I think it is, we may have a troop capable of knocking Mendel off their high horse! Let's not spoil this surprise!"

-x-x-x-

(16 February, CE 476, 1310 Hours Local (Dendez West) Time)
(Mackie's Club, City of Westport, Dendez Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)

Sionet thought she had sensed… something… while she was processing her first load of dishes. She had looked around the club briefly as a way to assuage her inner fears, and whence she saw nothing untoward, she went back to her dishes even with the feeling never completely going away.

The first and loudest indicator of the problem actually being within spitting distance of her workstation was the accent. One of the things that distinguished the Mafiosi groups from the others was the mannerism of speaking: the mafia groups spoke only in English (but, like any proper Mendel citizen could also easily speak Japanese), they spoke with a distinct accent, and they completely eschewed the Clan Standard English / Magi Adapted Clan Terminology that permeated speaking throughout the Empire and now the Protectorate. That combination made them stick out horribly in a crowd, anyone with a discerning ear could easily pick out a Mafiosi at distance, and for Sionet it was no different. (Thankfully, she could fight her accent in most particulars, so could sneak under the radar easily. It didn't hurt, either, that Sionet preferred Japanese for day-to-day speech, which effectively invalidated her accent to begin with.)

She could hear it through the counter hatch in the wall next to the dish-drainer sink, the hatch that the busboys (Kyle and Julio) normally slid their dishpans through to her. The hatch had the typical hanging plastic strips in place to obscure the view through to the kitchen, so Sionet standing at the sink was relatively safe from discovery.

Confirmation of her inner fear on the matter came about five minutes after she first heard the voice.

"I don't want to spook you, girl, but I think the table just outside the door is a couple of the local Mafiosi," Julio said.

"I know there's a mafiosi within a few feet of the door, don't make any mention that I'm here," Sionet said quietly and in Japanese, to make sure she was not heard properly by the tangos.

"Got it," Julio said after he dropped his dishpan and grabbed an empty. Sionet began unloading and soaking in bleach water, then used a bleach rag to wipe the pan down and set it aside for the next swap.

Confirmation from Kyle, whom Sionet was beginning to understand was something of an expert on the various Mafiosi groups, came shortly thereafter. "Hey, did you know we have two of the local Mafiosi in the club right now?" he asked quietly after dropping his load of dishes.

Sionet nodded affirmatively. "Don't stir them up, don't piss them off, don't even interact with them, just take the dishes and keep going about like normal. The less you draw attention to yourself, the less likely they'll do anything to you. The last thing we need is ten more Mafiosi looking into who lives here."

"Good point, we've both got reasons to avoid scrutiny." Kyle took a moment to bang the newly washed empty dishpan on the counter a couple times to shake out some of the water. "Thanks for the recommendation."

"I don't really have anything for the Mafiosi, I don't really have anything against the Mafiosi. I know some people don't particularly like them, I know some people hate them because they've lost family to them, but personally they really never bothered me one way or the other." Francis said from the grill side of the island.

"You know where I fall on that list," Kyle said darkly, but thankfully quiet enough that he would not be heard outside the kitchen.

"I know they have a bad reputation, and in a lot of cases that is entirely deserved, but there are some organizations that do better than others. There are even some groups that try to help the community out. And at the end of the day, every Mafia group wants to have a decent community to live in, there's no two ways about that. Who wants to be the landlord of a slum?"

"Helping out only covers so much," Kyle pointed out.

"And not enough in most cases," Sionet agreed. "Still, something is better than nothing, and nothing would be better than their criminal conduct."

Kyle had to admit that, as much as he didn't want to agree with Sionet's appraisal, it was accurate. The Mafiosi were many things, but they most certainly were not slumlords. They went out of their way to clean up the homeless and petty criminal elements, and anyone who tried opening a drug trade in their territory did not survive for long. They were even fairly strict in places about housing upkeep and urban renewal, which Kyle admitted he could get behind — except for the whole sticking point of two Mafiosi groups that had been involved in the death of his parents. He would not realize until some years down the road that it was the first truism from Sionet that made him rethink some of his Mafiosi hatred.

"It is what it is," Francis said from the grill. "Every group is going to have the occasional shithead, though some groups have more than others."

"Can't argue with that," Sionet said, shrugged, and turned back to her pile of dishes to process. Part of her mind still bristled at comments against the Mafiosi in general, even if the rest of her conscious thought process had walked away from the Mafiosi for the exact reason that Kyle held an animus toward the Mafiosi groups: no matter the good they do, at the end of the day the Mafiosi were still hierarchies of criminals.

And she had grown up in one such family. The more she thought about it, the more she dreaded having to tell that story to Kyle.

-x-x-x-

(16 February, CE 476, 2200 Hours Local (Kileska East) Time)
(Tsukiko's Simulation Environment, Sakato Residence, Rural Kileska Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)

"So…" the blue-haired AI lady in front of Tsukiko trailed a thought off.

"So, yeah," Tsukiko responded, then smiled. "Roll it."

"Rolling," and the lady tossed the dice. "What did we make?"

"Nine," Tsukiko said.

"Okay, then, it's time for full-auto fun!" Gumi half-shouted with a fist in the air.

Tsukiko sighed in the silence gap in the moments thereafter. It was not the energy from any of the fifteen AI simulates she had in the server constellation, but the sheer enthusiasm they all showed for a range day in general and a full-auto range day in particular that somewhat worried Tsukiko. Having 15 open-sourced AI Entities was one thing, having 15 AI entities that had a love for weapons was somewhat vexing to the budding AI programmer / operator. She knew she had not programmed that into any of the AI entities…

A hand on her (simulated) shoulder caused Tsukiko to look to her left, at Meiko. "They've been wanting to blow off some steam for a while now," she said.

"Range day is great for it," Tsukiko admitted, more to fortify her own resolve than anything else.

"Amen to that," Luka said on her way past Tsukiko and toward the simulated armory for their hangout.

In truth, Tsukiko was running 16 AI entities in her constellation — 15 that were set up solely to run a personae in the simulation and one that was set up to do world generation and control. The simulation that she absolutely loved taking a dive into was a cut from Cosmic Era Earth in the early CE400s, before Mendel started sliding toward a more politically correct stance but after the world had almost completely healed from the trauma of the Earth Alliance era. The world sim was a persistent and ongoing simulation run in real-time during periods where Tsukiko was inside, and with a minimum of abstraction but a 3-to-1 time compression when nobody was linked into it.

Thankfully, Tsukiko's ongoing work around the continent allowed her to keep up the maintenance on the helo, helped with maintenance and expansion of the family farmstead, and most critical of all, allowed her to purchase a large residential fusion reactor that had enough wattage generation to power her servers and the rest of the farm. Since that lofty investment, she had quickly found out that running hardware undervoltage tended to reduce its lifespan, hence her earlier problems with processor blowouts. It wasn't that the AI entities were hard on the hardware, the power situation was suboptimal to her stack.

And she still did not have any major offers for AI Programming on Carver V, and one piddly internship offer that was unpaid and utterly unworkable on Capolla. Given that the stated world was primarily industrial and if she was to spend 40 hours a week unpaid, there was little hope of that being a financially solvent career path. Hence, she was still working on farm equipment and the occasional industrial automation system around Kileska, and had even received a few job offers that were still below her net income as a freelancer but were sorely tempting.

"Best to get your gats on and vent some steam while you're not out in the wilds toasting circuit boards," Yukari deftly pointed at the armory for the simulated town shooting range with her right bunny ear, which Tsukiko always found mesmerizing.

Tsukiko quickly snapped out of the bunny-ear hypnosis. "Hey! Wildly unfair, girl! I'll have you know I haven't burned a circuit board in over a year!"

Yuzuki Yukari arched an eyebrow. "Over a year? What about that one time six months ago, you said it was Farmer Anderson's problem harvester?" The AI-driven Vocaloid needled their friend and programmer.

"I'm not claiming that one, manufacturer listed it as a power regulator burnout," Tsukiko said with a tone of finality.

"Ah, so Hareg did accept responsibility for it," Gakpo had taken an interest in Tsukiko's work, and even used the server-attached multi-planar scanner / sensor unit to inspect the parts to see if they were depot-recoverable or if they needed to be returned to manufacturer for recycling. Truth to tell, Tsukiko was very thankful for the assistance from her AI entities with her work, anything that sped up the repair processes or allowed her to re-service equipment was welcome.

"Grudgingly, but they did, so my record is clear," Tsukiko said. "So, I say let's forget work and get some firepower on!"

"A moment, if I may?" A voice requested from behind Tsukiko, which caused her to look over her shoulder at the speaker.

"Sure, Lumi. Yukari, can you prep me a -249 with only a foregrip, holo sight, and magnifier?"

"Sure you don't want a PEX unit?"

"I am not lasing for airstrikes or artillery, Yukari," Tsukiko said in a droll tone. It was a common theme with Yukari, she loved accessories for some reason. The more the better, on her phone, her car, her home appliances, and especially on her choice of firearms.

"Okay, I'll carry the PEX unit," the bunny-girl singer headed toward the range armory while whistling one of her songs.

Tsukiko turned to the last of the Vocaloids she had spun up in the simulation, Lumi. Truth to tell, she wasn't even sure if she had stayed within close territory to the established or fandom persona information on the Vocaloids she had used as the personae of her AI entities. The information that Tsukiko had dredged out of the data cores on the Mjolnr was scant and very much incomplete, leaving her to fill in the gaps from whole cloth.

On the other hand, what she had filled in and created from that whole cloth, was absolutely marvelous to watch evolve over the years into a collection of AI friends that she visited every time she was home.

"What's on your mind, Lumi?" Tsukiko asked plainly.

"I wanted to talk to you about that strange thing you saw when you were taking a shower out in the forest preserve."

"Yes, the thing that felt like I was looking through someone else's eyes at something," Tsukiko had confided in Lumi the following day, which was only nine days ago.

"I did some research on it, when others at your homestead were not using the bandwidth. I found something that is equal parts exhilarating and disturbing, and I was able to cross-type what you saw floating in the repair bay, I think."

"I'll start with the floating object. What do you think it is?" Tsukiko had felt enamored of the object that was being observed, but she wasn't sure why.

"My best guess is some variant of a Dendrobium Mobile Fortress unit, but much larger," Lumi said.

"That's a weird thing to imagine," Tsukiko grumped.

"Oh no, from what you described, I do not believe you imagined it," Lumi corrected the shorter and younger lady.

"Come again?" Tsukiko asked.

"That is the first part that you passed over in favor of the hardware," and Lumi tapped Tsukiko on the forehead with two fingers, which was always unnerving to Tsukiko. "From what you described, feeling like you were in a completely different body, in a completely different place, I believe you may have experienced Newtype Mental Linking and Newtype Mental Transposition."

"Wait, what? As in, I somehow mentally linked with someone else and was looking at an oversized Dendrobium?"

"That is my best guess, yes," Lumi said in a calm, almost matter-of-fact tone.

"That is both bizarre and awesome," Tsukiko admitted. "Just, don't tell anyone about it. If it is a secret project, best we not be the ones to break secrecy on it, that could end badly."

"Hai, I suggest we bury the thought for a while, and revisit it if new information comes up. And, as you suggested, today is a good day to vent frustrations and ventilate paper."

"Agreed to both. After you," Tsukiko waved toward the group's armory.

-x-x-x-

(17 February, CE 476, 0800 Hours Local (Blue Cosmos Mountain) Time)
(Parade Ground, Blue Cosmos Pilot Academy Newground, North American continent, Blue Terra)

"And lastly, I wish to end today's ceremony with a word of wisdom from the first headmaster of the Academy. I quote: 'Always train like tomorrow will be the day that the crusade begins anew and we must go home to Old Terra, for someday that will be just exactly what we do.' Truer words were never spoken by Morgan Chevalier or by any Academy Commandant since. We must take it to heart, because we don't know when the Interrogator project will find something, or if they ever will, or if the space monsters will come for us in a fit of rage, we must always be ready. And on that note, I congratulate the 355th graduating class for meeting all readiness requirements."

The speech halted for a brief moment when the crowd erupted in cheering.

"With that said, as is tradition of the Academy, we shall honor the top students of the class. The following five students, please step forward as you are called. Azrael, Kevin," Kevin stood up and quicktime-marched forward. "Stonebridge, Sylvie," Sylvie was quick to do the same, march forward and take position. "Leene, Tania," Sylvie was quickly joined by her best friend in the class. "Leeds, Emilea," the fourth recruit was up and in place in a hurry. "Leene, Hamer," Tania's twin brother joined them at the front. "These five have achieved full piloting marks for the class and have been assigned Gundams, as well as an assignment to the newest Archangel III-class ship in preparation for the coming conflict. God be with you five."

"Huzzah!" The class shouted. "Huzzah!" They repeated a moment later. "Huzzah!" The class and spectators finished the traditional chant of celebration.

"And, in honor of the top two pilots of the class, Kevin Azrael and Sylvie Stonebridge, they have been issued their personal choice of Gundams with full honors." Behind the stage, a pair of MS transports activated the hydraulic lifts to raise up the machines in question. "Please pull the covers." Two academy workers pulled a drawstring that loosed the tarps over the machines, revealing them to the class.

"Hot damn," Tania breathed after the two machines were revealed. "Perfect Strike Noir III and a Forbidden Charon. Jesus tapdancing Christ."

The Forbidden Charon was the easier of the two to reconcile, as Sylvie had made a lot of noise over the years of training about it. Her father had been a Forbidden pilot in decades past, and now she was going to take the family legacy up a notch. The Forbidden Charon took the base-mode Forbidden, gave it an even more wicked scythe, added two more mobile shields to the back of the 'attack mode' frame for blocking or deflecting more beam fire, and increased the power of the Geschmeidig Panzer defensive system to the point that it could theoretically deflect a Naval Particle Cannon. The internal weapons for the unit were changed up from a plasma cannon to a much more powerful multi-phase beam cannon, the rail guns on the attack mode had been doubled, and the arm-mounted 115mm guns had been changed out to 85mm rotary autocannons (a design ripped off of the Gundam NT-1 brought by the Mjolnr and recorded in action by the Blue Cosmos exiles).

The Perfect Strike Noir was something of a head scratcher to the 355 Class, as they figured Kyle would go for a Purifier Gundam — the best of the best machines in production in Blue Cosmos, as it was based off captured footage of the Freedom Gundam and improved for use by Blue Cosmos. Instead, the choice of Perfect Strike Noir III seemed like a step down for Kevin, but there was no doubt that he could pull some serious mission with it. The Strike Noir was an attempt to create an improved Strike Gundam in years past, and it succeeded, though with little fanfare as the five Strike Noir machines issued to troops in the battles around Chicago made no notable difference against the Magi. The Strike Noir III was the latest model produced on Blue Terra, incorporated a hefty fusion reactor, Variable Phase Shift armor, and had full Striker Pack capability. The Perfect Noir Pack used by it combined the beam blade wings of the Noir Striker, the flight wings and engines of the Aile Striker, the composite shield of the IWSP Striker, the shoulder pod and Agni cannon of the Launcher Striker, the Schwert Gewehr of the Sword Striker, and an updated rifle from the Lightning Striker that functioned both as a rapid-fire railgun with an underslung beam rifle. It was the ultimate multi-role weapons pack, but not the ultimate machine in use by Blue Cosmos.

"Surprised you went with that one," Sylvie said.

"I'll do the multi-role work, you cover my ass," Kevin said quietly.

"Works for me," Sylvie said quietly.

"Pilots Azrael, Stonebridge, please mount up and prepare to move out!" the Commandant said. Their destination was obvious, the graving dock for their assigned ship was only 30 kilometers west of the academy.

"Yes sir!" Azrael and Stonebridge jogged over to the rope ladders for their cockpits, then climbed up and into their Gundams.

They would be hangared at their new post in less than 90 minutes, and their future together would begin shortly thereafter.

-x-x-x-

(17 February, CE 476, 0915 Hours Local (Dendez West) Time)
(Mackie's Club, City of Westport, Dendez Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)

Sionet knew when Kristi came into the girl's bunks, the hour of learning the laundry detail was at hand. Part of her dreaded this, she knew the general process from shadowing the maids around the house in years past, but she had never had to do the laundry herself.

"Didn't even have to say anything?" Kristi asked as Sionet stepped out of the room.

"I've been expecting this," Sionet said. "Best to learn the process now."

"Okay, then, good to see we don't have to have an argument about it," Kristi said. "You'd be surprised how often I have to threaten no laundry service to the residents to get compliance."

"Doesn't make sense," Sionet said as she followed Kristi down into the basement. The staircase was claustrophobic, she gaped that she barely had room to extend her arm at the elbow without touching a wall to either side on the way down. "This is something that isn't optional. Someone has to do the laundry, and in an arrangement like this, makes sense that we'd all have to do it."

"You, young miss, are rather logical for your age," Kristi reached in and pulled closed a door to the right of the bottom of the staircase and opened the door on the left, then flicked on the lights. "Here we are. We have three sets of industrial washing machines, one for whites, one for delicates, and one for heavies. We could stand to break things down a bit more, but we'd have to have better power run down here for it."

"And having an electrician in for that is costly," Sionet completed the thought.

"And I don't trust having Mack do the wiring himself for something this big and powerful. He used to pilot Omnimechs, he never was good at repairing them after the fact," Kristi said.

"Can't deny that," Mack said before he opened the door across the hallway and ducked in. He made a show of closing the door after the fact, which told Sionet that leaving doors open was a sticking point for Kristi.

"So, you're going to have to run multiple cycles to get everything cleared," Kristi said.

"And then the fun with sorting and hanging," Sionet concluded the overarching process.

"Yeah. Thankfully most everyone is pretty good about labeling their clothes, and you're already apprised about it, so I expect it should just be a sorting job. Anything that is not labeled properly, there is a separate hangar pole for lost-and-found and a separate basket. Any orphans get piled in and you can pick through them as needed," Kristi pointed out. On the 'known' rack, she took the name tape off for a person that was no longer on the crew, put a new strip of masking tape on it, and labeled it for Sionet. "Anything you can clearly identify goes on the rack for those persons, and don't mix up underwear on purpose. Nobody likes a joker that swaps people's undies around."

"Cute thought, but no," Sionet said.

"Okay, have you used a washing machine such as this before?" Kristi asked.

"Seen them used, haven't done it myself," Sionet answered readily. "Clothes in, set cycle, soap and softener in, press 'go'?"

"That's the process," Kristi confirmed. "Powder is one scoop for a half load or less, scoop and a half for up to the green line, two scoops up to the red line. Don't fill the machine past the red line, they go apeshit if you do. Drying, we use one dryer sheet and two sets of fabric balls per load. The fabric balls are reusable, make sure to rescue them between loads. They like to hide in bra cups and men's underwear."

"Got it, I think," Sionet said. The instructions weren't difficult, but it was a lot to remember.

"I have a cheat sheet on the wall next to the soap for it," Kristi pointed out. "I'll watch you load up the first load of whites, then it is over to you for the rest."

"Go time," Sionet said, then sighed.

Loading up the wash was not difficult, just pull out the whites from the laundry bin and toss them into the first washer – designated 'whites and linens only'. She started by adding bleach to the bleach dispenser, as this was the only machine that it was supposed to be used in, and then added her soap ration for the run – in this case, a full load and two full scoops. The last thing was to check the machine was set for the right cycle and press the 'go' button.

"How'd I do?"

"Good round, I'll leave the rest to you. Any questions?"

Sionet shook her head. "I'll take care of it."

"Give me a shout if you need anything. Or give Mack a shout if he's in the next room over," Kristi pointed at the door in question.

"By the by, what is in there?" Sionet asked.

"Storage and unused equipment, mostly," Kristi said. "Stuff that I don't know why we don't just sell it and be done with it, that kind of room."

"Huh, well, everyone has a junk closet, just like there is always a junk drawer," Sionet said. She bent to the laundry bin again and started pulling out the delicates – underwear, bras, shirts, similar, and started throwing them in the second washer.

"And that's the process. I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks," Sionet said as the proprietress departed and headed back upstairs.

Sionet continued loading the second washer until she was reasonably sure that she had fished out the delicates for the load, and this first load was only about 75 percent full so she gave the machine a scoop and a half of detergent, a capful of softener, and verified the cycle was set properly before she pressed the go button.

"Be back down in a minute if you need anything," Mackie half-shouted into the laundry room to overcome the running machines.

"Thank you!" Sionet waved a towel over her shoulder at him while she continued tossing articles into the third machine (heavies – pants, towels, similar) into the machine.

It did not take her long to fill the machine to the red line on the window, as this was the load with the large and bulky materials. Unfortunately, it was also the one classification of load for the day that had more than one run lined up, so she knew she would be back down here for another cycle set, above and beyond the necessity of drying everything. A full two scoops of detergent, fabric softener, and a slap on the 'go' button to get the machine running, and it was done.

Once she checked her surroundings for anything of note that she needed to see to, Sionet nodded and headed out to the hallway to go upstairs. Before she made it a pace toward the stairs, she realized that Mack had left the door open on the storage room so she reached in to close it. She did not get her hand fully around the doorknob before something in the room caught her eye – a familiar shape in the mostly-darkened room stopped her cold and caused her to straighten up. After a moment of staring into the blackness, trying to figure out what it was that caught her attention, she took a moment to root around on the adjacent wall to the door for a light switch; she found it, albeit the hard way when she touched an exposed ground and caused a rather painful noisy ground short across her finger. That fault, though, told her where the switch was and she flipped it.

After the lights clicked on audibly, Sionet froze up mentally. She wasn't sure how long she was standing there, staring at disbelief in the objects in question, but she eventually was wrested from her mental paralysis by the return of the proprietor.

"Hey, kid, y'all right?" Mackie asked.

Sionet looked away from the objects and back to Mackie, then to the row of objects again, and back to Mackie. "I… I didn't know you had an array of Sim pods under here," she said quietly.

Mackie shrugged. "Never came up, what's the big deal?" Mack asked.

Sionet sighed. "I've been trying to find a nearby pod center that accepts public walk-ins, is reasonably close to here, and doesn't have a Mafiosi hangout across the road, and the closest I could come up with is going to be about four kilometers bike ride from here. And then this," Sionet waved a finger at the nearest of the pods.

"Four kilometers, and you were planning on biking that? I'd guess daily, given your expression," Mackie said.

"Yes, I was planning that," Sionet admitted.

Mackie nodded after a moment's contemplation. "What is your goal?" he asked.

"Since I was young, I always wanted to be a Gundam Pilot. Family circumstances tried to drive a wedge between myself and that desire, but it never went away," Sionet admitted. "So, now that I am out on my own, I intended to try to put myself to that goal."

"If you're looking for a merc posting or private firm, I think you can do it, but if you're after a Commando posting, you have a real uphill battle ahead of you," Mackie said. "And that uphill battle starts with these things," he rapped a knuckle on the side of the pod nearest to the door; "This is a twenty-array of pods and only three are functional. Even more critical for this array is that it has been offline and deregistered for years. I have thought a couple times about having it reactivated and restored to functional, but never bit the bullet. Always something else to pay for when you have your own business."

"Do you have an idea on the cost?" Sionet asked, still staring somewhere into the space beyond the pods.

"No idea. As my wife pointed out earlier, I was much more at home destroying things than repairing them," Mackie pointed out.

"Well, I have to know if there is a future in this for me or if I need to start looking elsewhere," Sionet admitted, then shrugged. "I'll pull manufacturer information from the pods and call in a rep. I have a few bucks available to me, worst case he provides an estimate and we boot him out the door."

"And best case, restoring the array to functional is financially doable," this comment wasn't from Mackie, but from Kristi standing in the door behind Sionet. "And, if we get the pod array up, we can charge membership for people to come in off the street, which covers costs at the minimum."

"I am fine with that," Mackie said. "I'll even pay you back for the repairs, since it is my array," Mackie pointed out.

"Deal," Sionet acknowledged the agreement. "Back in a minute."

Sionet bolted up the stairs from the basement, took the ten meters separation to the upstairs staircase at a dead sprint, and charged up to the third floor in a big hurry. She missed barreling Beatrice over on her way in by a matter of a pair of seconds; if Sionet had been a moment later, they would have collided just inside the door to the girl's dorm area. "Holy shit, speed demon! What's going on?"

"My off-duty life may have just gotten a whole hell of a lot simpler," Sionet said in a rush as she opened her armoire and pulled the tablet out. "I'll explain later. Gotta go!" Sionet was fast to close up her armoire and bolt back out of the room, then pelted down the stairs three at a time to get back to the basement in a hurry. Kristi was still leaning against the door, but Mackie had moved to the nearest pod to pull serial information from it.

"What's the tablet for?"

"Take a picture of the serial plate and send it to the tech, so they know what is here."

"Here's the tag, do your stuff," Mackie pointed the tag out and Sionet snapped a picture of it with the camera on her tablet. She moved to the controller tower for the array, found the manufacturer plate on it, and snapped a picture of it as well. Once on her tablet, she had no trouble reading the manufacturer information from it by magnifying the picture.

"Allster Enterprises. Suddenly I expect this may get expensive," Sionet said with some worry to voice. "No matter, even if I have to do the array a couple pods at a time, it is still doable. At least they have a service number on the tag," and Sionet opened her phone app on the tablet to dial in the number, and the tablet started ringing. It only rang thrice before someone answered.

"Allster Enterprises Dendez Repair Depot," the voice answered.

"Yes, I would like to inquire about having maintenance and reactivation done on an older pod array?" Sionet asked.

"We can schedule a technician for it, ma'am," the Allster rep said. "Do you have a serial number from a pod or controller tower?"

"One from both, ma'am, can your system receive SMS pictures?" Sionet asked.

"Affirm, please send them." Sionet drop-shipped the pictures she had taken to the number in question. "I have them, thank you. Processing the Serials now. Okay, this array was installed at Mackie's Club, Westport, on Hallestrom Road, is this the same location they are now?"

"One building west from where they were initially installed, 3265 Hallestrom as opposed to my old address of 3297 Hallestrom," Mackie corrected the old records.

"Understood, sir. What is the condition of the array at this time?" She asked.

"Three pods functional but well out of date, seventeen pods inoperable for one reason or another, and the array controller is offline and deregistered," Mackie gave the full run-down.

"Copy all. We have a technician in the area, he can be in tomorrow at 0800 to look at the pod cluster and give an estimate on repairs. Would you like me to schedule him in?" the repair dispatcher asked.

"Please do," Sionet said. "I'll make sure I am awake for it."

"If not you, then I will be," Mackie said.

"Technician is scheduled. Thank you for using Allster Enterprise equipment. Anything else I can help with?" the repair controller asked.

"Thank you, that is more than ample," Sionet said with some cheer.

"Have a good evening, miss," the repair controller said before the call disconnected.

"Tomorrow," Sionet sighed. "Anticipation is going to kill me between now and then." On the plus side, Sionet reminded herself that the following day was a Monday, meaning no major work or cleaning around the club. And she was scheduled off the next day after that.

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Author's Chapter Afterword:

Third full chapter, and now you're starting to see things pre-positioned for the coming shitstorm.

That said, I can tell you already that the dice have thrown more than a few wicked rolls in the next several chapters, mainly due to the situation around Newtypes in the Protectorate. And the Mafia angles. And the whole training thing. And the political situation on Home Terra. Suffice it to say that there is no clean break for anybody on the horizon, and I can guaran-damn-tee that some of the coming events will be shocking. Very shocking as to the rolls that some of these events received. Be prepared to see more than a few good plot points nuked by the dice, and a few more good plot points created from whole cloth by a dice roll.

Now, on the big one for the chapter, Sionet has found her pod center — literally downstairs from her bunk, not the four-kilometer bike trek she was expecting. The fact that she has easy access to a pod center will definitely allow her to kick up her training regimen, once it is repaired. That process and the inevitable trial run will be covered in the next chapter, and you will get a big kick out of Sionet's first day or two on the Pods. And things will only spiral from there, whether that spiral is up or down I shall not say.

The next chapter will begin shifting the story toward the inevitable conflict, with a couple events that will enable the coming shitstorm to merge into a supercell of shit and destruction. And, as this chapter posits, there are some other conflicts that could arise given the right (or wrong) preconditions that do not necessarily involve the Blue and Pure World. There are also parties in play that think they should have control over far more than they can reasonably grasp, so you may see them spark off at an inopportune time in the coming story. Or not. The dice can sometimes shaft a plan, the dice can sometimes amplify a plan. We shall see what the dice have to say, ne?

Always remember the words of Von Clausewitz: "War is an extension of politics by other means."

This is the last of the chapters I am doing for the New Years '23 Dump, so my next work will likely be an existing story — I am presently feeling like visiting the tales of the Atrebas and moving MMC2 forward. I know it's not one of the more visited of works, but it tells a story that haunts me, haunts my thoughts, and the best way to exorcize the narrative is by way of writing it! I'm probably going to take a day or two break, though, in the past month I've written somewhere around 35K words total so I'm thinking a quick break on Satisfactory or The Planet Crafter is on the menu.

That's it for this chapter.

NEXT UP: Sionet gets her wish, an easily-accessible pod center. Sionet also gets what she wished for in a training regimen...

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Review Replies: As this is part of the First chapters dump, no reviews yet. If you have anything to say, I want to hear it!

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The Gripe Sheet:

No gripes yet. As always, thanks to Takeshi Yamato for keeping my writing straight and throwing random ideas at me to generate new plot lines. If you see anything, point it out and I will clarify or correct.

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Footnotes:

(1): In following with Magi tradition, the Mendel of now uses Japanese bra sizing, which is smaller increments between sizes. Talia would be sized as a 36DD in American sizing.