Battletech Welcome to the Jungle

???

The man was reclined in his chair, staring at his noteputer when his personal com rang. Lifting the device to his ear, he answered it.

“Hello,” he said. For a long moment there was silence.

“No, my source in Customs said the same thing. They’re clear. If they jumped over the border, it was out into the old Rim Worlds Republic territory, not into Drac space.”

Again, there was silence for a long moment as he listened.

“No, not a lot of details. My source did overhear the conversation. One of the Mechwarriors was happy to brag about the lance of Banshees they found, as if four obsolete relics even Kerensky didn’t want to take with him when he left were a major find,” he spoke up, then again after a shorter pause.

“Yes, three Streak SRM launchers with three tons of ammunition. Like I said, the kid had a mouth on him.

“No, I don’t think any more time would be productive. We’ve got more important things to do than investigate a single-company Merc outfit.

“I agree, that should be our top priority.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”


The Flying Pig, Hamarr, Sudeten
Tamar Domains, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
May 3rd, 3010

Reuben tilted his head back and drained his glass. He had a guess as to why the bar was named what it was, and if he was right, the owner had a great sense of humor.

Damn good beer, good food for bar fare, decent to good music, and pretty waitresses. Moreover, visiting didn’t break the budget, all conveniently located near the spaceport. No surprise the place, despite being a damn sight bigger than most clubs, was pretty packed. The bar itself was full, the dance floor was at capacity, and empty seats at tables were few and far between.

Speaking of pretty waitresses …

Alina, a brunette, though she was more striking than beautiful with that nose, dropped off his order of sausages with mustard. As Mike and AC across the table dug in, he slipped her a tip.

“Thanks for the quick service,” he said with a smile which she returned.

“I included a cup of our beer-cheese as well,” she said as she tucked the extra bit of cash away. “Hope you like it.”

He’d been luck enough to get Alina as his group’s waitress the first time he'd showed up at The Flying Pig, chaperoning a group of thirsty crewmen. She was fast, efficient, and hadn’t made a mistake yet, so he’d asked for the section she was working both times he’d been back.

Before his hungry tablemates devoured the whole lot, he reached in and grabbed a couple pieces of sausage and one of the cups of mustard. After a second, he also reached back in after the beer-cheese. It was worth a try. The lager Alina had recommended had turned out really well, after all.
A couple nibbles confirmed that everything was good. Surprisingly enough, the cheese went even better with the sausage than the mustard he usually enjoyed, but all of it tasted excellent after two months on a dropship.

Definitely better than the old place in Uniontown. I was so damn sick of Synth-Metal, his eyes swept across his table and two of the nearby ones where the other eleven crewmen he was supervising were sitting, getting drunk, and trying with mixed success to pick up whoever caught their eye.
Satisfied that no one looked to be about to do something stupid, he checked his watch. He’d been managing his own intake to keep from getting too impaired, but that last lager he’d tried had been damn good: black as pitch and with a taste a lot like good licorice.

He was debating whether or not he should order another yet when a glass plopped down on the table in front of him even as someone slid into the empty seat at his side.

He turned his head, a smart remark on his lips, only to hesitate. On a scale of one to dayum, the blonde who’d taken up the empty seat was somewhere around an eleven.

Since he was thirty and already balding, he seriously doubted she was there for his company, and his mind immediately jumped back to Captain Chapman’s instructions.

Gotta give it to her, looks like she called it. Still, hope sprang eternal.

“Good evening, Miss. I must confess it’s usually me buying a pretty lady drinks, not the other way around,” he said, a quick glance letting her know he appreciated the view, but wasn’t so rude as to stare. He had to talk a bit loudly to be heard, but the general noise and the music still would have made hearing anything of the conversation at the next table impossible.

“Well, you don’t look like you’re from around here,” the blonde said, her hand, nails painted red, waved to indicate the section of tables occupied by his crew. “It’s part of the reason I come here, I like hearing stories from offworlders. So, where are you from? Seen anything interesting lately?”

She gave every evidence of sincerity, and she really was gorgeous, but the look in her eyes didn’t match her expression. Oh well, his luck was like that. At least all he had to do was report on what she looked like and remember what information he was supposed to feed her. He’d even get to keep the cash.

Taking a drink, he discovered that it was, in fact, another stein of the lager he’d just been enjoying.
“Normally, I’d make you work for it, but you’ve got good taste in beer. Last place we were based was on Icar, though I’m sure you already know that. Anything else,” he raised the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his drink, thumb inscribing a circle across his first two fingers. “Well, Kroner keeps the ‘Sphere turning,”

The false interested expression dropped off the blonde’s face like it had never been there in the first place.

“Very well,” a few bills appeared in her hand as if by magic, and she passed them over.

Reuben counted them, and made a note of the total for his report. A goodly amount, but not enough to make him think he was liable to get shanked on the way back to the Implacable at the end of the night.

“Alright, you’ve bought yourself some answers, what do you want to know?” he asked.

“Who are you contracted to?” she asked immediately.

“That you’d have to ask Captain Chapman of the Boss about. They’ve been tight lipped about it. Didn’t even mention anything when I was doing the load calculations, which were a stone cold bitch.”
Reuben had kept his eyes on the blonde’s face throughout his response, and her expression had gone from vague irritation to interest.

“Oh? You’re the Loadmaster, then? What exactly are you carrying?”

That was a little trickier question to answer, and Reuben took another small drink of his beer to help order his thoughts before replying.

“Well, we’ve got a lance of ‘Mechs aboard, of course. That was the easy part: pair of Wasps, a Firestarter, and the Boss’s Banshee. Also got a bunch of military equipment. A not-so-small fortune, everything from lasers to cockpit electronics to full-up fusion engines. And for icing, three Lostech missile systems and three tons of ammunition,” he said, tacking the Lostech on the end and hoping it would distract her. Seemed his luck was in play, though, and she didn’t bite.

“And how many cockpit assemblies are you carrying compared to weapons?” She demanded.
That … wasn’t something he’d gotten guidance on answering. Still, he hadn’t been told not to answer it, so he was probably fine.

“I was more concerned with making sure everything was balanced than counting you understand, but there were about the same number of all the weapon systems except for the SRM launchers. Maybe half as many of those as there were anything else. As for other major systems,” Reuben paused to take another drink while he pretended to think. “I’d say about as many of those as there were SM-6s.”

That drew what was probably a curse from the blonde, though even sitting beside her, he couldn’t make out what she said reliably.

“Very well,” she said, slipping out of the seat, smile nowhere in evidence. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Oh, I will,” he replied, holding his own smile until she turned away before frowning himself. She apparently learned more than he wanted from his answer.

“You alright?”

The sudden question made him jump. With the noise, he hadn’t noticed Alina walking up beside him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Aside from good taste in lager, she wasn’t my type,” he joked.

Alina nodded.

“Seen her in here before, though usually she smiles and flirts more. She’s also started some fights.”

That was good information. In fact …

“And they let her back in here?” he inquired.

“Not like she throws a punch, just instigates things,” Alina replied.

“I see, thanks for the warning,” he said, and slipped a couple of the bills the blonde had given him to the waitress. “If you remember anything specific it could help a lot. I’m pretty sure she’s involved with corporate espionage at the least,” he explained.
Alina’s eyebrows rose, but she nodded and started to pass on the details of a few incidents.


Olivetti Weaponry Campus, Hamarr, Sudeten
Tamar Domains, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
May 5th, 3010

My escort opened the door to the boardroom, and just for a moment, I hesitated. I know there was a hitch in my step and I know my eyebrows shot up. I’d been expecting my little ploy with the reveal to get me pushed up the chain a layer or two.

I hadn’t expected to find myself sharing a room with Duke Michael Olivetti, first of his name, and two looming figures wearing body armor and carrying what was probably the Far Future’s version of the AK-47.

That’s the problem with going all-in without adequate intelligence. Sometimes you succeed too well. I was now in something of an awkward position, especially since I’d been caught flat-footed by this particular development. My options were definitely reduced-

And you’re taking too long to say something.

“Duke Olivetti,” I stated with a respectful bow of the head, “I admit, I wasn’t expecting to be speaking with you today,” the four day delay now made rather more sense than it had this morning. A duke presumably didn’t just change his appointments at a whim, even with a quarter-billion C-Bill transaction in the offing.

He also wasn’t being accompanied by anyone. Well, anyone who wasn’t clearly a bodyguard. I’d expected a boardroom scene with lawyers and accountants standing by. Showing up alone was supposed to be a counterpoint to that. Seemed like I’d lucked into proper protocol more or less by accident.

“Captain Weber,” the duke gave a slight nod in response to my own. “I find that meeting face to face is the swiftest way to sort the wheat from the chaff. Please, take a seat.”

I set my briefcase down on the table. Though clearly of quality manufacture, the conference table was smaller than I’d expected, which left me sitting quite near the man with whom I was about to enter negotiations. There were glasses and a pitcher of ice water within easy reach, so to buy myself a moment to think, I selected a glass for myself and poured. The duke had a similar setup near his own place, so I figured I didn’t need to ask if he wanted his glass topped up.

While my hands went through the motions, I considered what I wanted my approach here to be. I’d had a plan and some contingencies, but those had gone out the window when I opened the door. I needed to remain consistent with the face I’d already shown him, and hell, I was already using it as a mask for my interactions with ‘Mr. Appleton,’ so …

“I suppose it does let you take the measure of a person in a way that second hand messages or long-distance voice communication does not,” I allowed. “I’m afraid I’m not the best at those sort of judgement yet; I expected your Mister Keller to push me a few rungs further up the corporate ladder, but I didn’t anticipate that he’d bring you in directly.”

Duke Olivetti’s expression shifted just a fraction, enough to let me know he was reacting to what I’d said, but not how. As I’d expected, his poker face was excellent. Still, I was willing to provisionally cout my opening salvo as a success; I was pretty sure that I wasn’t what he’d expected.

“The expense of the material you have up for sale would need my authorization to proceed in any case, so there would be limited utility in opening any negotiation at a lower level,” he stated simply before moving on to the meat of the conversation.

“I understand that you have an itemized list of what you intend to offer for sale?” he asked. That had been one of the things his staff had asked to be prepared before the meeting, so he was right. I opened my briefcase and extracted the document. The letterhead wasn’t as fancy as the Olivetti Weaponry logo; in contrast to the missiles tracking across the green ‘O’ they used, ‘Catachan Arms Corporation’ was spelled out across two lines in plan black ink with the second ‘o’ replaced by a targeting reticle.

I’d prepared several copies in expectation of needing them for an entire negotiating team, so I passed one across the table and kept another for myself. Then I set in to wait as Duke Olivetti read the report.

Because I’m just that paranoid, I let my eyes play over the document, checking for about the tenth time that there weren’t any errors, misspellings, or other embarrassing screw-ups in it anywhere. It didn’t take me long, but then again I was familiar with what it said and how it was laid out. Still he didn’t seem to like what he was reading. He had a stern expression on his face, and it was taking him a long time to go thro-

A light went on above my head and a slight smile crossed my lips.

Oh, that’s clever, I admired the act. By using the paper as a prop he was letting the silence stretch out and waiting for me to fill it. As the seconds passed my slight smile grew into a grin, and when Duke Olivetti looked up, I reach up and acted out tipping an absent hat to him.

“A good strategy, Your Grace. Very subtle with the proposal as a prop.”

That surprised a chuckle out of him, after which he seemed to relax his strict control over his expression.

“Even people who are aware of the tactic tend to fall for it when the other party doesn’t seem to like what they’re reading,” he stated plainly.

“I believe it, but my father made sure I knew never to start negotiating against myself,” I relayed. The exchange left me feeling like I’d passed a test of sorts. One of my disadvantages coming in to this had been my apparent age. By handling this the way I had, I was pretty sure the duke wouldn’t be treating me like a young fool, which meant my words would carry more weight than they otherwise might. That was a layer of credibility I’d need to sell him on some parts of my business plan.

I was prepared to wait again, just in case he wanted to see if I’d let down my guard, but Duke Olivetti continued on directly to the dickering.

“As you no doubt expected, I’m interested in what you’re selling. Some parts more than others, but that depends on if the price is right. Customarily, there is a discount for bulk purchases due to it simplifying the shipping and handling processes.”

“Of course, Your Grace, and such a discount is already included in our proposal,” I said, moving into the one gambit that I was sure I’d be able to play. “As you no doubt suspect, the equipment in question is from a cache. That means all of it is made to Star League standards, not the unfortunate Succession Wars downgraded specs. Weapons systems and reactors will require less maintenance, communication systems are crisper and less vulnerable to interference, sensors are more accurate and faster, life support systems better at filtering out environmental hazards, and targeting systems quicker to identify targets and attain firing locks.”

After seeing what Comet’s Crossbow could do, I’d made sure to look over the technical specs for what we were hauling and compare them to what was currently available, and I had that documentation to back me up.

Duke Olivetti was correct, though, about wholesale versus retail prices. I knew there was no way I was as good at bargaining as he was, so I was going to get argued down. My hope was a final price ten percent under retail. I figured if I could manage that, I’d be winning out on the deal. Especially since I didn’t necessarily want it all paid in C-Bills.


The Flying Pig, Hamarr, Sudeten
Tamar Domains, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
May 8th, 3010

It was Reuben’s first time back to The Flying Pig to play chaperone in most of a week. If nothing else, he’d have disliked the blonde for the sheer amount of paperwork he’d had to do as a result of running into her. Still, Captain Chapman had been pleased by the first-hand account as well as the information he’d gotten from Alina about the blonde’s past activities.

The one thing he had gotten a bit of a chewing-out over was not even asking her name, but he’d been both a bit intoxicated at the time and concentrating on not spilling any beans he wasn’t supposed to spill.

He had been restricting himself to only a single pint of black lager though, just in case, so he was alert enough to notice the expression on Jorge’s face across from him in time to start to react.

That turned out to be a good thing as two fists grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and dragged him out of his chair.

“You son of a bitch!” roared a very large, tattooed man with pale skin and breath that smelled like a keg as he drew one meaty fist back.

So Reuben kneed him in the balls.

Unfortunately he had friends, but they didn’t seem to be expecting the way Reuben’s crewmates charged into the fray.

Reuben got an arm between another tattooed asshole’s fist and his face, bit still got knocked back into the table behind him. A scrambling hand landed on his heavy glass beer stein, which shattered satisfyingly on shithead number two’s skull, which was about the time Jorge broke a chair over a third tattooed jackass’s head.

He took another hit, this time unblocked, to the side of his own head, after which things became much more confused.

His next truly coherent memory was when the police arrived to break up the fight. Strangely, the first responders seemed to zero in on him, leading with handcuffs and no few threats.

They already had cuffs on him when Alina arrived and caused enough of a fuss that the second set of responding officers found her arguing with the first pair when they arrived, which was about the time the bar mostly stopped spinning.

“What seems to be the matter, Miss?” a guy in a cheap-looking suit asked. Detective, maybe?
Reuben open his mouth before the ‘miss’ registered. Moving his jaw made his head hurt worse, so he closed it with a grimace as Alina responded.

“I’m trying to tell that Scheißkopf over there that I was watching these tables all night, and they hadn’t moved since they got here, which means Reuben couldn’t have sexually assaulted anyone on the damn dance floor.

“Furthermore, that idiot,” she pointed at … huh, that guy he’d kneed in the balls didn’t look so tough laying on the floor in a puddle of vomit, “was the one that started the fight. He hauled Reuben out of his seat and tried to hit him. I saw it all from the kitchen door, and the security cameras will prove it!”

“You’re certain of that, miss?” The detective asked. “I’m sure it gets busy in here, so it would-”
Alina cut him off.

“Damn right I’m sure. These three tables,” she said, indicating where he and the rest of the crew from the Implacable had been sitting, “have been where that lot have been sitting for more than a week now. They order a lot, they tip well, and they don’t try to take liberties. You’re damn right I’ve been paying attention to them.”

“So they’re regulars?” the detective asked, something about his tone changing.

“Been coming here ever since their dropship landed,” Alina replied. “We get a lot of traffic from the spaceport, but most of it is either tourists, or crews that just want to get drunk or flirt with anything that catches their eye. None of that with them. Their Captain makes sure they’re supervised, so they police themselves. We haven’t had to involve the bouncers at all. It’s the sort of thing the staff notice.”

“Alright,” the detective responded, taking notes. He finally turned to Reuben and inquired, “What dropship are you on?”

“The Implacable, great big Overlord. Can’t miss her,” he answered, trying not to move his jaw.
That too drew some attention from the detective.

“Did you get hit in the head?” he asked. When Reuben answered in the affirmative, he shook his head. “Hell, they should have called for transport. We can’t legally interview you like this, no matter what that woman accused you of.”

That made Reuben suspicious even through his headache, but before he could decide what to do about it, Alina pounced.

“Blonde woman? A touch taller than me with big tits?” she inquired, and the detective zeroed in on her.

“You know her?”

“Ugh, that bitch. This is the third time she’s gotten a group of drunks wound up and pointed them at someone to start a fight. She’s a troublemaker, but she was nowhere near my section tonight. I keep an eye on her anytime she is to try to head off shit like this.”

“Alright,” the detective said, tucking away his noteputer, “I’ll need to talk to your manager to get the security roms.” He then turned his attention back to Reuben.

“Well get you transported just to make sure you don’t have a broken skull. We’ll need a statement, but if this checks out you won’t be in any trouble.”

“Understood, Detective,” he responded, then after the man walked away he turned back to Alina and abruptly felt himself tongue-tied.

“Uh, would you, um, maybe want to get coffee, uh, maybe tomorrow?” He asked, sounding like a damn idiot, and-

“Hmph, I thought you’d never ask,” Alina replied and slipped a piece of paper with her number on it into his hand before the paramedics escorted him to an ambulance.


Olivetti Weaponry Manufacturing Center, Outside Hamarr, Sudeten System
Tamar Domains, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
May 9th, 3010

I watched the quality control testing that Duke Olivetti had insisted on; as it took place down on the main manufacturing floor, I felt good about the deal we’d arrived at, and not even the probably-deliberate attempt to sideline my loadmaster and slow down the Implacable’s move from Hamarr’s spaceport to Olivetti’s private landing pads was diminishing that feeling.

The duke hadn’t been terribly interested in purchasing some of the things we’d brought along. The J. Edgar line that Olivetti had restored alongside the Star League era Thunderbolt line was fed by an ML line that was more than sufficient for their current needs, so he could have made do without the 5cm lasers we’d brought with us. Likewise the line that fed his Thunderbolt and Warhammer lines machine guns was also a reconstructed Star League era design that could have supplied enough of those weapons.

Unfortunately for him, the rarity of fusion engines rather outweighed those concerns, and there did seem to be a legitimate PPC shortage in the area given the way his engineers and techs were poring over every one that entered the factory and the speed at which they were disappearing again. I’d felt like he wasn’t pushing for as much of a discount as he would have normally and hadn’t known why until now. I suspected I now knew why the ‘PPC shortage’ existed, though I couldn’t be certain. Still, I’d succeeded in my first objective, which was reason enough to feel good about the situation.
Now I needed to make one last play.

It was only a few minutes before I heard the door open behind me. I turned and again greeted the duke with the Lyran-correct bowed head. He had a satisfied smile on his face and he’d left his bodyguards outside, which I took as good signs. Before I could ask if that meant things were going well, he seized the initiative.

“You were right about Star League standards. My rebuilt lines put out a better product than most, but my people say that what they’re seeing out of your shipment is everything you promised.

“Since we grabbed random lots to check, I’m satisfied that the quality requirement in the contract is met. How would you like payment?”

This was where the rubber met the road.

“Actually, Your Grace, I have a proposition for you,” I said, taking a deep breath to continue only for the duke to cut me off.

“I’m sorry, young man, but all of our ‘Mechs are spoken for. Even with the size of the shipment you just sold us, it’ll take time to turn the parts into usable machines,” he explained. “The earliest we could offer you an option on ‘Mechs would be a handful of Warhammers near the end of next year.”

For once, Michael Olivetti was reading from the wrong script. It was an entirely understandable error, given the Inner Sphere’s mania for giant robots and the fact he was talking to a mercenary who was known to command a company of ‘Mechs. I hadn’t been sure that my old standby would work out again, and it looked like it had.

“Oh, I know. That’s not what I was going to ask about,” I told him. “I actually wanted to know what it would cost me to borrow your HR department.”

That definitely took Duke Olivetti aback.

“You see, I’d like to see if we could do another deal. Up to this point I’ve let you assume that the cargo we’ve been negotiating about over the last few days was the majority of the ‘cache’ we found. They weren’t,” I stated plainly. I could now see that I had the duke’s total and complete attention.

“I can’t quite say that we hit the jackpot; Amaris didn’t trust his slave labor not to try to rebel if they had access to completed ‘Mechs or vehicles, but we certainly hit a jackpot,” I stated before the duke interjected.

“Factories. You have factories.”

Michael Olivetti hadn’t gotten to where he was in life from his start as a Foreman for Defiance by being a dummy. I nodded to acknowledge his statement before continuing.

“Only Amaris wasn’t paranoid enough. His slave labor subverted the local militia and rebelled. When it looked like he was losing, Amaris’s governor dusted the planet with a bioweapon. One able to linger long enough that the SLIC ship that came to investigate lost a ground team to it and wrote the planet off.

“The Captain of that ship was Johan Weber, my ancestor, and my crew followed hints he left in one of his journals to track down that planet. It appears that Catachan was where they built the guts for the RWR’s Warhammers and Thunderbolts. I’ve got factories for all the component parts except the chassis just sitting there.

“And because the governor dropped a bioweapon on them, those factories are all but pristine. All I need to start them up again is two years and a workforce capable of reading the manuals, replacing time-worn parts and seals, and firing them up again. In return for your help and for rendering payment for those parts in ways other than C-Bills, I’m willing to sign a contract with you guaranteeing First Right of Refusal for anything you need to produce WHM-6Rs and TDR-5Ss, and I can provide enough parts for you to more than double your production per year, if you can expand your chassis lines and final production lines.”
Michael Olivetti’s face was still, but his eyes gave his excitement away.

“We’re going to need to dicker over the particulars,” he acknowledged even as he extended his hand, “But you can take this as agreement in principle.”
I grasped his hand and shook it.


A/N: Some of you may note a divergence from canon in the chapter. I don’t have a copy of the 3039 TRO, so I was unaware of one of the things in it, and frankly it makes no sense to me. I’m marking it down as a case of FASAnomics and ignoring it.

In my timeline, Olivetti’s J. Edgar line was part of the ruined Star League era factory he discovered. It was brought online as Olivetti’s first product, then the Hunter was licensed from his former boss, then in early 3005 he brought the Thunderbolt line online, catapulting Olivetti Weaponry into the big leagues, followed by his newest product, the Warhammer line, more than four years later in 3009.

Apologies in advance if I missed something. TS is still turning my formatting into a wall of text.

???

A slight fist swept out, scattering the contents of the end table on to the floor, including a crystalline ashtray that promptly shattered. As the remains clattered on the tile, a male voice spoke up.

“If you’re quite finished-”

“I am damn well not!” a female voice all but shouted back. “Do you know what we invested in this operation? And all of it is wasted!”

There was a deliberate pause before the male voice spoke again.

“I am well aware of the cost, both in assets and prestige. We were anticipated and outmaneuvered. Masterfully. It does not necessarily follow that the investment in this operation was wasted.”

There was a long pause.

“Ah, I … take your meaning,” the woman finally responded.

“Indeed, the outcome was not the one we anticipated, but it has revealed information that our mutual target would likely have preferred to remain hidden. Now that the existence of a secondary location is known, we can examine records to determine the most probable location for Olivetti’s little black site. Once we’ve found it …”

“I see. It would be a shame if a pirate raid happened to ruin such a large investment.”

“Exactly. I also looked into the Mercenary company he hired to try to sneak this shipment by us. Their last public contract was on Icar, so we’ve got a direction to look in as well.”

“Galactic North. Beyond the border, do you think? An old Rim world?”

“Entirely possible. So in the future, do refrain from such histrionics until they’re actually appropriate.”


Olivetti Weaponry Manufacturing Center, Outside Hamarr, Sudeten System

Tamar Domains, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth

May 9th, 3010

Michael Olivetti smiled at the two men departing his office, giving no evidence that he’d just concluded some of the most intense negotiations in his career.

“Jacob, Zack, all clear?” he asked the detection specialists, though by their expressions he already knew the answer.

“All clear, Your Grace,” Jacob, the older of the two, answered.

“Good, good. Thank you for coming so quickly, and at this hour.”

“All part of the service, Your Grace,” Jacob said and tipped his hat.

That was a weight off Olivetti’s mind. He certainly didn’t want the conversation he was about to have to be overheard.

Walking into his office, he seated himself at his desk and punched in a familiar number. A few moments later, the TriVid projector came to life as the call was answered.

“Daddy? I was expecting to hear from you earlier in the day,” his daughter Narcissa said, then went on, “Did the deal fall through?”

He could understand the concern. Ever since Olivetti Weaponry’s small PPC line had been sabotaged, he and Narcissa had been trying to find a replacement source for the difficult to produce weapons.

Strangely, sources that had been available just weeks before had abruptly dried up. With no one selling and his first bi-annual delivery date upcoming, he had been faced with the prospect of defaulting on 20 ‘Mechs. Each of which would have activated a penalty clause in his company’s contract with the LCAF.

The monetary cost of that would have been bad enough, but it would also have damaged Olivetti Weaponry’s reputation. His was still a young company by the standards of the Inner Sphere. The way the penalties would have hit the bottom line wouldn’t have compared to what the damage to his reputation would have done to future investments and licensing deals.

A fate which had been averted by a bolt from the blue.

“No, but the situation is related, which is why I had my office swept for bugs and why I’m using the secure line. Young Mister Weber didn’t just find a forgotten supply depot; he claims to have found an intact series of feeder factories on an old Rim Worlds Republic planet.”

Narcissa gasped and her eyes widened.

“Indeed,” he said, encompassing her reaction with the comment. “He’s a very good salesman, good at subverting expectations and selling hard while you’re off balance. Even with warning from Keller about the way he’d taken him aback, he still managed to do the same thing to me this morning. He’s very smooth, especially given his age.”

“Maybe a touch too smooth?” his daughter asked, passing a hand through brown hair as she followed his train of thought.

“Just so. If he’s on the level, then this isn’t an opportunity to be missed. However, if he’s simply running some sort of longer-term scam or even just exaggerating, I need to know. That means I need someone I can trust absolutely to lay eyes on these assets before I risk taking out the loan we’d need to expand our Warhammer chassis line and clone the Final Assembly tooling.”

Sourcing more armor, heat sinks, and myomers should be trivial by comparison.

“I can certainly clear my calendar, but that will set back some of my efforts to network among the Court at Tamar. And if this last crisis has proved anything, it’s that we need more contacts in Trellshire, Skye, and Donegal.”

She was correct; outside of Duke Brewer who was in favor of anything that improved the power and security of the Lyran Commonwealth and Archduke Selvin Kelswa of Tamar who approved of the tax revenue and material Olivetti provided, he had few allies. His rapid rise to power and position had put more than one nose out of joint. Narcissa had been starting to change that by building a network of friends, acquaintances, and contacts, but in her absence some of the effect would almost certainly be lost. Even so …

“Unfortunately, I think your travel plans will have to change. The young notables of Tamar will have to do without your presence for a time,” he said after a moment. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Do you suppose your circle would be interested in stories about the ‘wild periphery’ when you got back?” he inquired. “Captain Weber was, of course, duly cautious about giving any firm details on precisely where his find is located, but he did have to admit it wasn’t in Lyran territory if he wanted to benefit from the Import Bill of 2804’s tax breaks for non-Lyran companies selling military supplies to approved LCAF suppliers.”

Narcissa, now nodding along, cut in.

“If I write and brag about the expedition out into unclaimed space you paid for in honor of my birthday next month, that would certainly be enough to keep my name relevant for a while. Of course, I’d have to have some stories to tell when I get back, but I can certainly come up with something over, what, four months? Five?”

“It sounds like you have a plan then,” Michael said. His daughter had a quick wit. She’d be a very good CEO once he was gone. Of course she was still learning, so …

“Also, if it turns out that Captain Weber is on the level, you will presumably have two months with him on the way back from the periphery to Sudeten. A budding business tycoon who’s fairly handsome and a baroness sharing a Dropship for two months. Well, anything might happen,” he said fighting back a grin.

“Daddy!” Narcissa objected, rapidly flushing at his insinuation, and he couldn’t help but laugh at her outrage.


Hamarr, Sudeten System

Tamar Domains, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth

May 14th, 3010

Jadon yawned as he entered the small flat he’d managed to secure for his family. It was two hours after noon, and he had about half a day before he had to be back at work for another twelve-hours-plus-Comp shift at the little machine shop where he’d finally gotten hired on to make parts for old tractors.

At least the apartment was quiet for the moment. The kids were still in school and his wife was at work for about another three hours, so he had time to get wound down and get to sleep before they got home.

As his mind was wont to do, it drifted back to the way jobs at Olivetti had dried up just after he and the family had arrived last year.

If only we’d been able to get on an earlier Dropship, he lamented for perhaps the dozenth time as he assembled a sandwich.

Still, he had a job that paid the bills, even if he was overqualified and underpaid and the school his kids were going to was a marginal improvement over their last one. If he and his wife weren’t really on speaking terms, well, she’d come around. She was worried, but once Olivetti started hiring again things would turn around.

Or, hell, maybe THI will be looking for some talent once things shake out after the arrests, he considered. Maybe calling there would be worth a shot.

Idly, his eyes sought out the phone, wondering if it was too soon to be the squeaky wheel, only to see that there was a message on the machine. With being so new to Sudeten, the message was unlikely to be someone calling to invite the family over for dinner.

I hope it isn’t the school, the last thing he needed was one of the kids getting into trouble. Bracing for bad news, he hit the play button.

“This message is for Mr. Jadon Ortiz. My name is Beth Simmons and I’m with Olivetti Weaponry’s HR department. We have an application on file for you, and I’m calling to inquire if you’re still interested in a position as a Production Engineer,”

The message continued, but he wasn’t in any condition to hear it. With a whoop, he jumped into the air and raised both fists in victory.

“Haha! Yes, yes, yes!” he called out, before realizing that the machine was playing back the woman’s number. He scrambled for a pen and some scrap paper then replayed the message, still grinning, to copy down the contact information.

Managing to dial the number with only once making a mistake due to his hands shaking, he waited for long moments for the extension to connect. After a handful of rings that felt like they took forever, the voice from his answering machine picked up.

“Hello, you’ve reached Beth Simmons, Human Resources.”

“Ah,” Jadon had to pause to clear his throat and his mouth felt like a desert. “Sorry about that, this is Jadon Ortiz returning your call. I am, indeed, still interested in a position as a Production Engineer at Olivetti.”

“Ah, Mister Ortiz! I have your file right here,” the woman remarked. “Your work experience looks good and we’ve reached out to your references and checked your education and background. Based on the results, I’m authorized to offer you employment at a salary of …”

She paused for a moment, then quoted a figure that was more than triple what he was making at the machine shop. The hours would almost certainly be better as well. Actually …

“Do you know yet what shift you’ll want me to work primarily?” At that there was a pause.

“Actually, this position isn’t on Sudeten. I’m not actually at liberty to discuss where it is until you’ve been in to sign an NDA. Passage will be covered for you and your dependents, though you’ll be on a bulk liner. A converted Mule, the Long Haul will be making the run,” and that was a point against. They’d made the trip to Sudeten on that dropship and his wife had hated it. Of course he’d have a guaranteed job at the end this time around. Realizing his thoughts had distracted him, he refocused on the conversation.

“-and you’ll be provided lodging by the company upon arrival. If you can come to our Hamarr campus today, I can get the preliminary paperwork out of the way and get you some more details.”

He looked at the clock and considered the prospect of another twelve plus hour shift making a piss poor wage. Then he considered the salary he’d been offered. Fuck it, I’ll call off for tonight. I warned them when I took the job that I might be getting a call and need to leave at the drop of a hat.

“Yeah, I can make it in an hour or so if I take public transportation.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you soon, Mister Ortiz.”


ComStar Enclave, Hamarr, Sudeten System

Tamar Domains, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth

May 20th, 3010

It was difficult to convince myself that I wasn’t walking into Mos Eisley. For all that most people in the Inner Sphere’s first thoughts if the phone company was brought up would be their business or charitable works, mine were rather different. The upper levels of management within ComStar weren’t concerned with feeding the poor or preserving technology. They were concerned with the exercise of power.

So while Sudeten’s HPG compound might not be the wretched hive of scum and villainy that Hilton Head on Terra was, it was the seat of an up and coming industrial world, and that meant it would have a Precentor that was looking to leverage that status for power.

I really didn’t want to draw any serious attention. Did not.

So, of course, as soon as I gave my name and ID to the receptionist, I was immediately informed that the station Precentor would need to speak to me. I know I wasn’t able to hide my surprise, but I could only hope any dismay would just look like befuddlement.

My mind was racing, trying to figure out what might have given me away and if I was about to be interrogated, disappeared, or just shot and stuck in a dumpster.

“Do you happen to know what about?” I inquired, trying to buy some time.

“Oh, yes, it says here that your contract arbitration has concluded.”

I felt the need to let out a sigh of relief, but suppressed it. This could still be the lead-in to a more subtle interrogation. I needed to keep my guard up. Worse, I needed to keep up my guard without looking like I was on guard.

“I hadn’t heard. I’d hate to waste the Precentor’s time, though. Weber’s Warriors is a small company.”

“It’s standard procedure to help prevent misunderstandings that at least a Demi-Precentor handle the resolution, and Demi-Precentor Anderson isn’t available today,” the woman explained.

All I could do at that point was nod.

“Alright, as long as I’m not going to have a Precentor annoyed that I’m wasting his time,” I said with my best charming smile. It drew a smile back, so I was willing to count it as a success.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she responded, “Blake calls us to serve. Rank just changes who and how.”

“I’m not a believer, but I can respect your sincerity,” I told her. It was just too bad I couldn’t expect high-ranked members of her organization to share it.

Another … Acolyte? Aspirant? Whatever they were called. A dude in a robe appeared to escort me to my unexpected, largely unwanted meeting.

The fact that he immediately led me down into the facility instead of up got my nerves twisting tighter. Dungeons and torture chambers were, after all, traditionally buried under castles.

On the other hand, if they were going to throw me in a cell or interrogate me, I was pretty much done for no matter what, so I followed along, doing the best I could to remember the route we were taking, just in case.

After a long ramp and an elevator ride, we stepped out into a more open office with an armored window overlooking …

I let out a whistle despite myself. The window opened onto a truly massive room full of machinery. It looked like something out of the dreams of the Adeptus Mechanicus, if lacking in two-headed eagles and skulls, so it was probably the Hyperpulse Generator itself. Mostly though …

“Good Lord, that must have been a pain in the ass to build.”

“A different time,” a voice from the side spoke up. It also revealed a moderately dark-skinned man in fancy red robes with a smile on his face. “This station is one of the few remaining examples of late 27th century building practices. It was actually one of the Phase One stations built after the technology was authorized for use in the Commonwealth.

“I enjoy seeing visitors’ first reactions to the sight, though I confess, yours wasn’t one of the more common ones,” the man spoke, then extended his hand. “I’m Duncan Vadekar, Precentor Sudeten.”

I took his hand and shook. He had a good grip and didn’t look like he was going to have me shot for disrespect, but I knew I was still blushing in embarrassment.

“Apologies. Hard to tell how far down we are, but I was remembering about where the water table is in Hamarr and noticed how much farther down the chamber there extends. Just keeping it all dry must have been a herculean task when the Star League set to building this place.” I offered, conciliatorily.

“Oh, I’m not offended,” the Precentor replied, “As I said, your reaction isn’t in the majority, but I’ve heard much the same before.”

Regaining a bit more of my composure, I nodded.

“I apologize for the language, anyway. My mother would be disappointed in my lack of manners, if nothing else,” I said, again shooting for ‘embarrassed but earnest.’

“Well, then I shall accept, but there’s really no need,” he said and gestured toward a door to the side that I hadn’t initially noted. The acolyte opened it for us and Precentor Vadekar ushered me into his office.

After taking a few minutes to get situated and look out at the HPG from the office’s window, he offered refreshments. I declined everything but a glass of water, and the Precentor got down to the point.

“Now, you requested Contract Arbitration for your company’s contract with the Duke of Icar on January eighth of this year, then after an incident of the fifteenth you were forced to leave the planet and subsequently the system after the Ducal Guard opened fire on your dropship.”

He paused in his recitation, so I chipped in.

“That’s sounds correct, though I don’t remember the time. The incident may have happened on the fourteenth.”

The Precentor nodded, and I resolved to bite my damn tongue in the future. The question had been pro forma and hadn’t needed any expounding on my part, but I was nervous.

“I’ve been asked to pass on thanks from the investigative team that handled this case. Due to the clear documentation you provided, this was much more of an open-and-shut process than is usual with contract arbitration.

“Because it was a very clear-cut case, the Duke was found to be entirely at fault for the incident in addition to standing in breach of contract on the items you noted. His attempt to claim breach of contract on your part was denied by investigators after the investigation team verified that he, in collaboration with the Lyran Guards unit on-planet, had obstructed delivery of a replacement cockpit for your company’s Griffin after payment had been provided. As you noted, this action was in violation of your contract and effectively invalidates his claim that your company failed to have a Lance of ‘Mechs ready to field as required by the contract.

“As such, the MRB investigation has found in your favor, and the outstanding balance owed to you has been collected, plus interest and penalties.”

With that declaration, he passed a sheet of paper across the desk to me. It was an itemized list of charges, and it was substantial, including the list price, not the salvage price, of a Blackjack, Vulcan, and Panther. The yearly planetary budget of Icar wasn’t a small amount, but the total bill had gone from a rounding error to a notable amount.

“Sir, this is-” I began, but he cut me off.

“The Review Board was very disturbed that one of our guaranteed contracts had been so flagrantly violated,” he said, looking me dead in the eye. “Thanks to your conscientious actions in a difficult time for you and your company, they were presented with an ironclad case.

“They elected to make an example in the aftermath, so that the next person or group that is tempted to violate their contract will remember what happened to Duke Ferguson. And think twice.”

That made a lot of sense. ComStar’s reputation was one of the foundations of their power, and it had been, if not damaged, then at least threatened by His Grace, the Duke of Icar’s actions.

But it also felt like a bribe.

I was a young man, on the outside at least, and it was always tempting for a young man to think that the world was fair. At one point in my life, having ComStar count coup for me would have been deeply satisfying, especially with the payout at the end. Now, though, it was just making me more suspicious.

Were they just hoping to cultivate me as a source? Or did they already suspect that I’d found something?

Either way, I needed to show a consistent face to avoid suspicion. At the same time, I needed to do something to help keep redress the fact that I was arguably in ComStar’s debt. In a flash, I knew what I could do.

“In that case, all I can do is say thank you for handling this situation,” I said and extended a hand. The Precentor and I again shook. Then, as I leaned back in my seat, I looked back down at the paper and let myself frown as if in consideration.

“You know, normally if I was going to make a donation it would be to a church, but I don’t actually know anything about the local churches. I do know that ComStar does good work all over the Inner Sphere with its charity work. I’d like to donate ten percent of this,” I said, waving the paper, “to whatever your department is that does charitable works.”

That seemed to catch the Precentor off guard, but even that was less something I saw than something I felt.

“I can certainly help you with that,” he said, but I waved him off.

“I’ve already taken a bunch of your time today. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“You aren’t a bother,” he insisted. “Besides, I want to see the expression on Marian’s face when you submit the paperwork for the donation.”

That surprised a laugh out of me.

“Well, in that case, lead on,” I said, and we swiftly departed the office.


Olivetti Industries Campus, Hamarr, Sudeten System

Tamar Domains, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth

May 20th, 3010

Even on a planet like Sudeten, there were dispossessed MechWarriors. Some had come hoping for a slot in Olivetti’s Corporate Security Force cum Ducal Guard, others were failed mercenaries, and yet more were young hopefuls.

Frankly, just dealing with the ones who’d hoped to join up with Olivetti was going to be enough of a headache. I’d copped to having found four machines. With our … known casualty, that meant I could believably hire five Mechwarriors for active duty. I could probably get away with hiring that many again as Techs or Astechs as their qualifications warranted. It was far from uncommon to get a foot in the door that way, just in case. Anyone who was paying attention to my purchases would probably just assume we’d taken more casualties than we actually had.

Honestly, if I were willing to let it be known that our landhold had a problem with the native wildlife trying to prey on our BattleMechs, I could have hired enough to run three shifts of patrols without any suspicion from that quarter, but nine or ten people was going to expand our pool of manpower by something like 16%. Better to integrate this crop of hirees before adding any more.

Besides, we’re going to have to work our tails off to get back up to standard. Expanding from a light Company of eight Elite-tier Mechwarriors up to a Battalion and a half meant letting people into cockpits that were either green as grass or rusty as old nails. The ones who were rusty just needed some time to blow that rust off.

The green ones, however, were going to need to be run through the sort of intense drilling and skirmishing with training weapons that dad had subjected me to before he finally let me have Striker Alpha. I wasn’t sure if the wildlife was going to act as an assistant or impediment to that yet.

On the one hand, patrols would be good awareness training if nothing else, but fighting the wildlife might teach bad habits. On the other hand, it would at least acquaint young pilots with the idea that there were things out there that could threaten their lordly MechWarrior selves.

Realizing I was dithering again, I refocused on the summary I’d been reading. After making my donation to ComStar’s charity wing, I’d actually been able to do what I’d gone there for in the first place: get dossiers on all the potential hirees that Olivetti’s HR had in their files.

So far, I’d interviewed a dozen dispossessed MechWarriors. Two I’d hired outright, liking what I’d read and what I’d seen of them enough to want them onboard. I also had three more that were pretty solid options for the ‘hiring as Astechs’ story. That still left four or five hires to make. Though, with what I was seeing so far for my next appointment, that might drop to three or four.

Meidlin Levy had been seriously considered by Olivetti Weaponry, but ultimately rejected. Officially, it was because most of her experience was in the Griffin, which they didn’t field.

Unofficially, it was because she hadn’t used a single reference from after her time at the Nagelring.

Olivetti’s people had taken that to mean that she’d underperformed or hadn’t adapted well to military life.

The documentation I’d gotten from ComStar had gone a bit deeper than that. It turned out that Miss Levy had been assigned to the 30th Lyran Guards after her time in the ‘Ring, and she hadn’t gotten along well with Colonel Gideon or the rest of his officers.

As a result, she’d quit in disgust after only serving the minimum service term.

Frankly, I was willing to take the absence of a good reference from Gideon as a positive reference in and of itself. ComStar couldn’t give me access to Miss Levy’s grades, but she had scored just outside the top ten percent of her class. I was perfectly willing to benefit from the LCAF’s loss in this case.

Assuming her personality wasn’t a total train wreck, at least. She wouldn’t be the first person to end up bitter after being treated badly by those in authority. Still, just because I felt for her didn’t mean I was going to invite someone truly toxic into the unit.

My ruminations were interrupted by an incoming call. I checked the time and nodded. If I’d made that bet with myself, I’d still be winning. Miss Levy was following the trend. Ten minutes early.

I answered the phone and listened to the secretary tell me what I already knew before thanking her and having her send Meidlin on back.

My first impression was that she looked surprisingly Japanese for someone with such a Jewish-sounding name. The second was that she looked excited, but not desperate the way some of the applicants had in the last couple days.

“Miss Levy,” I said, extending a hand to her as I stood. She took it and shook. Like most MechJocks she had a good grip. Better than most civilian men even. “Thank you for coming in today.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” she shot back. “I was actually thinking of moving on. As far as I knew, Olivetti wasn’t going to be hiring for a while yet.”

“Well, I can clear that up at least, Duke Olivetti is just letting me borrow his Human Resources department for a bit,” I explained as I reached for the paperwork. “I actually need you to sign an NDA before I can tell you much more.”

That drew a raised eyebrow, but didn’t seem to be a dealbreaker for her. For several minutes my borrowed office was silent except for the occasional sound of shuffling paper. Reaching the end of the document, Miss Levy signed and handed it back to me.

“Alright, this is very mysterious. Who are you with if not Olivetti?”

“I’m Alistair Weber, Captain of Weber’s Warriors,” I saw her recognize the name. “Aye, those Weber’s Warriors,” I acknowledged.

“Hell, I think I owe you a drink for what you did to Jackass Gideon,” she said, a wide grin breaking across her features.

I couldn’t hold back a snort at the nickname.

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. His officers and NCOs liked him well enough, but the troops knew he was a piece of shit.”

“And you were more in the troop’s camp than the officers?” I inquired.

That drew a scowl.

“Yeah, I was,” she said, not quite glaring at me. It was still a very intense look. “I grew up hearing stories about The Walking Hellfire from my uncle. He and grandpa both served in the Thirtieth, but I doubt they’d have even recognized the regiment. I tried for years to get a decent training budget out of that asshole without a hint of progress. Somehow there was always money for the Officers’ mess, but try to hit him up for training ammunition and the coffers were all tapped out. Heard he got a bunch of people killed when the Regulars showed up for a visit.”

“Why not report him, then?” I asked. I figured I knew what I was going to hear, but …

“With what evidence? Knowing something and proving it are two different things,” she said. “Besides, when I mustered out, I did report him for misappropriation of funds.” She shrugged.

“Nothing ever came of it. LCAF’s IG is worthless as a gelding put out to stud.”

That time I was able to keep a better lid on my reaction to the colloquialism. It was also about what I’d expected. Tried to work through channels, got nowhere, then got out.

“Well you’re right, he did get a lot of people killed when the Dracs hit Icar. He’s lucky the Warriors were guarding Uniontown and the Tungsten mine or it would have been worse than it was. But that brings us to why I asked you to come in for an interview.

“Your file says you piloted a Griffin for four years, but not what variant.”

“I’ve actually worked with both the -1N and -1S, but I’ve got four years in the -1S and only a year or so in the -1N,” Meidlin responded.

“Well that works out, because I’ve got a -1S with an empty seat. Unfortunately I don’t have it with me, but we can do a check ride today if you’re willing to try out a Firestarter or a Wasp…”


Many thanks to Yellowhammer, LordsFire, and Seraviel for canon compliance checking, idea bouncing, and beta reading. This chapter has been substantially improved by their efforts.

???

A man leaned back in a leather chair, hands folded in front of him.

“Weber’s Warriors have reappeared,” he noted calmly.

“They have,” the younger man sitting across from him acknowledged.

“Their young Captain seems to have held them together.”

The words were not quite an accusation.

“He has. Our intelligence on him appears to have been incomplete, or perhaps even deliberate disinformation.”

“In this case the mistake does not seem to have had critical consequences. Do not let it happen again.” After a moment, the older man continued. “What information has been obtained about their time out of contact?”

“It seems likely that Webers Warriors are currently employed by Olivetti Weaponry. It is an open secret that their dropship was used to transport a large cargo of high-value military supplies. It is also rumored that they made a very minor Lostech find. Streak missile launchers, but with only a small quantity of ammunition. Captain Weber was also noted to be piloting a Banshee. It and three other such machines were reportedly discovered alongside the limited Lostech.”

“Valuable for a small and frequently impoverished company, but nothing significant,” the elder of the two said. “I am more concerned that Olivetti has developed a secondary location without being discovered. That will be our focus moving forward.”

“Very well, I shall make arrangements.”


Dropship Implacable, Sudeten System

Tamar Domains, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth

May 24th, 3010

Everything seemed to take twice as long as I’d prefer. Duke Olivetti had insisted on sending a representative to take a look at the factories, and despite having copies of the manuals to show him and arguing around the point for most of an hour, I hadn’t been able to talk him out of it. That meant we had to wait for his daughter, Narcissa, to make all the preparations a baroness makes to go on safari in a far future where there is only war.

At least I wouldn’t have trouble remembering her name, even if I kept expecting her to be blonde.

I shook off that thought. I’d done well to get what I had regardless of the hiccup.

That thought in mind, I tallied up what I had been able to win out of my negotiations with Duke Olivetti. I wasn’t getting everything I wanted, at least not immediately. It wasn’t like you could just drive down the street to a dealership and pick up a squadron of ASFs, for instance.

On the other hand, Olivetti’s people had managed to get their hands on a converted Mule with a passenger complement of over 2100, and some small remaining capacity for hauling non-luggage cargo. They’d even managed to get a good price; the previous owners were looking to cut down on flights to Sudeten since Olivetti wasn’t hiring any more.

Yeah, that company was going to be annoyed.

I’d also heard back from Olivetti’s HR department. I wasn’t going to be getting quite as many workers as I’d hoped for, but they made a good point about bringing families along and at least trying to keep the genders among our immigrants balanced. And if we were light on indians, they’d come through on the chieftains. More than a dozen engineers of varying specialties, several managers and experienced foremen, and even the bacteriologist I’d asked for.

Aside from that, the Implacable’s mech bays that didn’t have the bits and bobs we needed to get our wrecked machines up and running again were being loaded with another set of oddball cargo. Meanwhile, the Aerospace bays and most of the Mule’s remaining hold volume were being packed with simple, robust essentials from a big box store that was basically Space Ikea.

That would leave us a bit light on food, but, well, I had a plan for that.

So with one item in abeyance and one in progress, I was left waiting for the safari party and one other passenger: the man who was approaching even now. Honestly, I considered him even more important than Narcissa.

Baron Sigmund Jones was, as his title indicated, one of the men outside of Michael himself most responsible for the success of Olivetti Weaponry. He’d been the one to take a damaged hovertank line and put it back into production, then figure out how to put a ruined Thunderbolt line back to work. When Duke Olivetti had been elevated to his current status, he hadn’t forgotten the man who’d helped get him there.

If Narcissa Olivetti’s presence was the one thing that most confounded me about this situation, then Baron Jones’ presence was the thing that was most confounding Duke Olivetti.

The man himself wasn’t much to look at. He had iron-grey hair with a handlebar mustache and just a hint of a paunch, but he had energy in his stride and his expression was fierce.

“Baron Jones,” I said, extending a hand. He gave it a terse shake but continued to walk into the dropship after barely a moment’s pause. Since it was either follow or be left behind, I set off alongside him.

“I’m too old to worry about political niceties. Call me Sigmund,” he said. “I understand you have manuals for these inactive lines?”

“I do. Both annotated and not,” I answered. He nodded.

“I would prefer to start with the Fusion Engines. Those are the most complicated and the most likely to cause problems. After that, I should like to speak with the other engineers you’ve hired to begin sorting out responsibilities for the startup prepwork,” he continued.

I’d been warned that he’d gotten bored without anything challenging to do, but I hadn’t expected the intensity. Very focused indeed.

“I can certainly get you access to the manuals, but I’m afraid your fellow Engineers are quartered on the Long Haul. There wasn’t room to bring them and their families on the Implacable,” I told him. Before he could respond to that, though, I hit him with a diversion I hoped would pique his interest.

“I do, however have a proposition for you, though reactivating the lines to supply Olivetti’s Warhammer-related needs will have to come first.”

“And that would be?” he asked.

“A moment, the relevant documents are in your quarters.”

The elderly engineer gave me a look I couldn’t decipher and ran the first two fingers on his right hand through his mustache, but he kept his peace until I showed him to his compartment. Immediately, he took a seat at the small desk.

“You think you’ve got a project for me that’ll hold my interest. More than just a few new lines to work on. Well, what is it?”

In anticipation of his desire to have reference materials at hand, I’d had both paper manuals and a noteputer delivered. From the stocked shelving unit, however, I pulled a compad. I unlocked it and set it on the desk in front of one of the best Engineers left in the Inner Sphere.

“There are more feeder factories than just those for Warhammers and Thunderbolts on Catachan,” I told him.

“I’ve got the feeder factories I need for that,” I pointed at the ‘Mech’s manual displayed on the compad’s screen, “just sitting there. What I don’t have is a way to produce the chassis or do final assembly,” I told him.

In spite of anything I’d expected, Baron Jones sat there, calmly reading through the introduction and then the table of contents without a single external reaction.

After what must have been five minutes, he looked up at me, and spoke without a hint of excitement.

“Aye, this’ll keep my attention for a while.”

But this time, when we shook hands, there was rather more respect behind the gesture.


Around noon I was finally called away from Baron Jones’ compartment by the arrival of my final guest for the trip.

Narcissa Olivetti could not have looked more like a noblewoman off on Safari if she was wearing white khakis and one of those British helmets. Thankfully, I’d been warned about the size of her party ahead of time, because I would have anticipated a bodyguard or two and maybe a maid of some sort.

She had three bodyguards, a maid, a wilderness survival expert who’d probably be the first person dead on Catachan if she actually needed him, and two ‘porters’ that were probably spies.

Drawn up to meet them, I had myself, Rowdy, and the twins. I’d have invited Captain Chapman, but she was supervising the preflight. For a big old beast like the Implacable that was a non-trivial task.

As the Baroness and her party closed in on our position, I got a better look at what she was wearing, and it gave me some hope that I wasn’t going to be subjected to a pampered pretty princess for two months. He clothes were well-made and embellished, but the fabrics were sturdy, not expensive silk like I’d half expected.

Though judging by Rowdy’s increased interest, I was the only one paying more attention to the clothes than the woman wearing them. Amusingly enough, it appeared that both the twins were sharpening their claws, metaphorically at least.

“Baroness Olivetti, good to finally meet you,” I said. I had to mentally stomp on my first reflex, which was to shake her hand. Instead I laid a polite kiss across her knuckles after a brief bow before introducing the rest of my lance.

“This is Phillip Wenkel,” Rowdy managed to not make an ass out of himself with his bow and kiss despite his obvious attraction. “And these are Marsha and Melody Fischer,” I concluded.

“Unfortunately, Captain Chapman is busy with the preflight so I’ll have to introduce you later.”

Narcissa gave a polite, reserved sort of smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she replied with all evidence of sincerity. Also discretion, since her second statement was an acknowledgment of my subtle request that we get a move on. “My porters have most of the baggage. If you could show my party where we will be quartered?”

I nodded and the twins and Rowdy peeled off to grab most of the rest of the luggage. While most of her entourage followed them off toward the empty ASF pilot’s section of the dropship, she and one bodyguard remained.

A glance had the bodyguard giving us some space to talk.

“You’re not pleased that we’re here,” she stated. Unspoken was the question, ‘why?’

“I trust my people to stay quiet about our find. They stuck with the Company through tough times when others voted with their feet,” I explained. “If you didn’t know, Weber’s Warriors used to be a battalion-sized ‘Mech force with more than a wing of Aerospace, plus owner/operators.

“Then one of my grandfather’s raids into the Combine ran into not just the Rasalhague Regulars, but most of a regiment of the Sword of Light-”

She couldn’t entirely hide her wince.

“-My dad got the Implacable out, but our ASFs all died covering their escape, and two full companies were cut off and unable to extract, including all our heavy BattleMechs.

“By the time I joined up, we were down to a pair of lances with only two mediums among that number. No owner/operators left. No prospects. If they were going to leave, they’d have left by now,” I reiterated.

“I don’t know your people,” I said, trying to be polite by leaving her out of it.

“Or me?” I tried not to react, but I probably didn’t manage to succeed.

“I came to Olivetti Weaponry because I figured a startup couldn’t have succeeded if they had a culture of corruption, but the last Lyran noble I dealt with tried to have me arrested on trumped-up charges after Weber’s Warriors saved a city and its associated mining infrastructure from a company-sized Drac raid. With our two Lances.”

I looked an increasingly uncomfortable Narcissa Olivetti straight in the eye.

“And this time we don’t even have an MRB contract to take refuge behind. Once bitten, twice shy.”

Unexpectedly, she rallied rather than … I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. An apology on behalf of the test of the Lyran nobility?

“Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to prove that the Olivettis are different than the Fergusons.”

I tilted my head a bit as I considered before nodding.

“Very well, then. Would you like me to escort you to where you and your people will be staying for the trip?” I asked. “You’ve got the squadron commander’s quarters in the ASF section.”

“Very well,” she said and I belatedly remembered to offer my arm.

After a few moments, she spoke up again.

“We strayed rather from what I intended to ask earlier,” Narcissa said. “I intended to inquire as to if you knew of any large animals my guide could hunt or any particularly picturesque sce-”

My laughter caused her to cut her question off in confusion.


Dropship Implacable, Steelton Orbit, Steelton System

Trellshire, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth

July 22nd, 3010

The spaceport at Cregan's Bluff was less prepared for and more concerned with having an Overlord preparing to land than Hamarr had been. The last time a big military dropship had landed here had been at the start of the Third Succession War.

Before then, Steelton had possessed one of the more powerful economies in the region. Founded as it had been by refugees from the Rasalhague Principality, the planet had been an exception to the usual periphery story. They’d lacked military manufacturing, but the civilian manufacturing sector had been strong and it had enabled significant industrial farming and militarily significant mining operations.

Then the Draconis Combine attacked. It was a distraction to help pull forces away from the Terran end of the border, but Combine Samurai weren’t ones to let an opportunity pass them by.

Steelton’s civilian manufacturing sector was gutted, and in the chaos of a new Succession War, there wasn’t the capital, political or monetary, to rebuild. As a result, the economy had dropped into a depression. Without good local manufacturing, upkeep on machinery used for farming and mining became more and more difficult.

Somewhere along the line, someone had been smart enough to rebuild what they could, even if the rebuilt industry was cruder than it had been. Steelton’s average tech level was more like early twentieth century than anything I’d have expected in the thirty-first century, but it was enough to maintain less advanced agricultural and mining machinery.

That was enough to keep everyone fed and keep enough material coming out of the mines to keep the occasional JumpShip stopping by. By that standard, Steelton was still better off than some periphery planets, but even the pirates didn’t raid here; not enough loot to be worth the risk against whatever mercenary unit or Regulars regiment happened to be present, the strategic position on the Combine border the only thing worth protecting.

Honestly, it wasn’t quite as bad as my summary made it sound; the planet’s climate was at least relatively pleasant and the populace wasn’t going hungry, so it could have been worse. But the economy had only stabilized and never really recovered. At first glance, there wasn’t much worth a second glance about Steelton.

As usual, judging the book by its cover was a mistake.

Steelton’s people had managed to drag their economy back to equilibrium by hard work and sheer stubborn grit. All it needed was an infusion of outside investment to kickstart the metaphorical engine. I might not have much use for Steelton’s mines with Catachan as mineral-rich and relatively untapped as it was, but I had great interest in its farms.

Already productive enough to feed the population with room to spare, a few advanced machines and techs to keep them working would boost that productivity by nearly an order of magnitude. By providing a market for that food, I would be injecting just the investment they needed. For that matter, once I could get the supply chains set up, we’d be more than doubling the frequency of Jumpship arrivals at Steelton with everything that implied: Extra custom from dropship crews on shore leave, purchases of simple luxuries unavailable on Catachan.

Once you started currency moving, the laws of physics and economics took over. Bars would buy more stock and hire more workers. Breweries would increase production and also hire more workers. Newly employed men and women would be able to afford small luxuries of their own.

More than that, though, eventually Catachan would need to import more tonnage than unprocessed food could support. Than meant a supporting infrastructure. Canneries, industrial freezing. Hell, they could grow cotton and raise sheep on Steelton, and we’d need clothes on Catachan. Industrial looms were what had originally kicked off the Industrial Revolution on Earth.

Catachan, as a Deathworld, would never be capable of supporting the population I would need to turn it into a center of manufacturing. Thankfully, if I was smart about this, it wouldn’t need to.

Having an Agri World one jump away sounded like a really good start.

And while I couldn’t just drive down the street to the ASF dealership and pick up a dozen to go, Olivetti could, and had, driven down to the local farming implements showroom and picked up better than two dozen machines powered by ICE engines that weren’t so complicated as to be incomprehensible, bit were definitely more fuel efficient than what they were currently using, and combining roles that would have required specialized machines back in the 21st Century.

In one pass, they could plant crops, spray weed-killers and pesticides, dole out fertilizer specifically tailored for the crop and the land it was to grow on, and spread a sort of miracle pellet that would soak up rain if there was too much while dispensing moisture as needed during dry spells.

One pass and done, while Steelton’s farmers currently had to make multiple passes with multiple implements and waste fuel and man-hours.

They were equally impressive when it was time to harvest. Switching out a few bins and a couple modules was all that was needed to turn them into combines that could do everything short of hand-pick the produce.

Assuming, of course, that the spaceport ever got back to us about landing.

“Want to bet that some poor bastard is kicking troops out of their beds right now?” Rowdy asked as he stared nonplussed at the communications equipment.

“It isn’t going to come alive just because you’re glaring at it,” I told him, recognizing the symptoms of his ADHD kicking in before I answered his question. “And no, that’s a sucker’s bet.”

There was silence for a few more moments before Rowdy started to fidget again.

“Seriously, don’t they have at least one person down there with a telescope? It isn’t as though we snuck in through a Pirate Point or anything,” he complained.

“Probably not one strong enough to pick up a single Dropship on the way in,” Captain Chapman answered before continuing, “and if you can’t keep quiet, I’ll throw you out.”

Rowdy simmered down again.

He was looking like he regretted not leaving on his own when we finally got clearance to land five minutes later.


Dropship Implacable, En route to Nadir Point, Steelton System

Trellshire, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth

July 29th, 3010

Negotiations were much smoother when you were negotiating from a position of strength, though not being out to gouge the people you were negotiating with helped. Once I convinced them that growing their economy was in my own best interests, at least.

I’d read some of the background material about the US military trying to get farming Co-ops started in Afghanistan back in my last life. What hadn’t worked very well with cranky, distrustful tribes worked much better with highly motivated Lyrans. I’d barely made the suggestion when heads perked up and discussions had started.

Hell, I hadn’t even had to suggest cash crops to them; they’d realized right away that growing too much food would just drive prices into the basement.

About all I’d had to do at that point was offload the techs and managers I’d hired to run the maintenance business I was setting up to service the super-tractors and import more as needed, sign the final agreements with the various Cooperatives that had been formed to reclaim old farmland and best make use of the machines, and indicate my interest in hiring some miners in the near future. Hopefully by the time I needed them, there would be applications on file to pick through.

It might even make me some friends in the poor Regulars regiment stuck guarding Steelton when the quality of life picked up a bit.

Mostly, though, I was glad for the break in jumps. A part of me wanted to make the run back to Sudeten when we were done showing Narcissa around on Catachan. The rest of me never wanted to see another Jumpship in person as long as I lived.

I’d have to send a senior representative in my place, though. And there’d be a bit of a detour, but according to the HPG message that had been waiting for me at Steelton’s HPG, Olivetti had drawn to the inside straight I’d asked them to fill, so a detour would be well worth the effort. Even in the circles I was moving in of late, the sort of cash I would need to lay down on the barrelhead for what I had them looking for a cheaper option on would have been extravagant.

Much better to make use of the resources we’ve got on hand. Leverage. So much is about leverage.

A knock at the hatch to my quarters interrupted my thoughts.

I crossed the couple of steps needed to make it there and swung the hatch open. The person I found waiting there was a bit of a surprise.

Narcissa had spent some time trying to convince me to be social early on in the flight, but between my TDS and the time I was spending with Baron Jones answering questions and planning out possibilities, I wasn’t terribly receptive. I was bad at that in the best of times, and between being sick and having a plan to work on, I tended to tunnel vision in and forget to have more than basic interactions with other people.

Narcissa took my moment of surprise to seize the initiative.

“Duke Stahle sent some spice-infused Vodka along after my visit. I thought we might share a glass and talk,” she said, bottle in hand.

It was a nice looking bottle. Probably something he was trying to push for export.

My mouth was already opening to defer, especially since alcohol was involved, but I bit back the impulse and waved her inside.

“I suppose there’s enough time before jumping out yet,” I said. Being under thrust at least made it possible to have a drink without resorting to workarounds.

I was glad she’d brought glasses with her. Since I didn’t drink, I didn’t maintain a supply of them in my quarters. She poured and we each took a sip.

It was good. The spice used was nothing I was familiar with, a bit of a bite like fresh-ground pepper, but a flavor more like smoked paprika.

“That’s pretty good,” I acknowledged, “I can see why he’d try to get you interested in buying some.”

Narcissa made a soft hum of agreement.

“Alcohol can be one of the things worth going out of your way for on Jumpship routes,” she agreed.

I took another sip, trying to work out something to say.

Narcissa, again, saved me from an awkward silence.

“We’re about to jump out beyond the Commonwealth’s borders. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to expound upon what precisely is waiting for us on arrival to wherever ‘Catachan’ is.”

She’d been pretty patient in holding off on asking. I still didn’t like it, but she was justified in doing so. As much trust as I was extending to her, she and her father were extending quite a bit back to me. She wasn’t his only child and she wasn’t the heir, but there were pirates that operated out this way and where we were going was functionally lawless.

“You won’t find Catachan on any maps,” I began, setting the glass aside. “That’s because Amaris used it as a prison. We don’t even know what it was called back when Amaris owned it because so little documentation survived. What we do know is that-”


Weber’s Holdfast, Catachan, Catachan System

Former Apollo Province, Unclaimed Territory

July 13th, 3010[/b]

It was highly entertaining watching Narcissa and her party take in the scenery after landing. Cameras had already come out and pictures were being taken of everything. The mountains, the city with its high walls, large even for fortifications built to support BattleMechs, more mountain pictures.

A quarter mile or so away, the Long Haul was offloading passengers caught between being glad to be off the dropship and distressed over the heavy gravity. Nearer at hand, Baron Jones appeared to have bullied one of the drivers into departing for the fallen highway over the pass. One of his first determinations had been that we would, in fact, need to get it functional again. I could only foresee that being a pain in the ass.

I was glad for the extra week I’d bought by jumping first to Catachan’s Nadir point and only then to the Pirate point between Catachan and her star. I didn’t think anyone in Narcissa’s party had caught the deception, and it would give us some camouflage about precisely where our location was. There were enough systems within two jumps of Steelton to make randomly searching for our location problematic.

It had also given my people enough time to conceal the cache ‘Mechs again. The only exceptions were three of the Banshees which would have to keep their speed down to conceal the extent of their abilities, because Mace and his crew had earned every Kroner of their munificent salaries; every single remaining Primitive ‘Mech from the cache had been converted to the Royal-quality version from the data core.

My effort, currently, was taken up by ‘supervising’ the movement of the supplies that would bring our lower-tech machines back to full function. If nothing else, they’d be good, relatively inexpensive trainers. Honestly, given the spares of Wasps and Commandos that were in our inventory, I figured the parts that I’d bought for those ‘Mechs would just land in storage. The others, though, would get Whirlwind, Flyin’ Fur and Talons First back on their feet.

Since we’d be relying on them and the lance of Banshees for any visible work while our VIP guest was here, that was an important task to get out of the way. Seeing another Space Big Rig departing, this time with the long-awaited Griffin cockpit module, I took a moment to check on the other half of the unloading.

Flat-packed furniture wasn’t as glamorous as the ‘mech parts, but it was an absolute necessity. More than two thousand people would need places to sit, eat, and sleep and furniture was one of the things that hadn’t tended to survive the centuries.

I wonder what some of those people are going to think when their first official day’s work is putting together the furniture for their apartments?

At the very least it would be a start on figuring out who could read a manual.

One last quick word with my loadmaster confirmed that the Fusion Engine for our Dervish was the final bit of hardware to load and a truck would be coming back for it as soon as one was available.

Less than a minute later, I was in my Banshee, firing up the Fusion Engine. The fact that I hadn’t had much chance to use it since leaving Catachan was actually a relief. I still had the muscle-memory for operating a BattleMech under Catachan’s heavy gravity.

“This is Bloodhound to VIP transport,” I called out once I was situated. “They done taking pictures yet?” I asked.

“Yes, Sir,” came the response, “ready to proceed to the five-south 280 facility.”

“Lead on,” I said, and we were off to the races.

A/N: Thanks to Seraviel, LordsFire and Yellowhammer for beta reading, idea bouncing, and canon compliance checking.

One more chapter before the end of the arc. Current plan is to timeskip after that and cover major events with Interludes.

Weber’s Holdfast, Catachan, Catachan System

Former Apollo Province, Unclaimed Territory

August 14th, 3010

It had been a long day, and I clearly wasn’t used to either the longer hours or the gravity yet. The local Star wasn’t even down but I was already ready for bed.

On the other hand, everyone else was exhausted, including our VIP and escort, so now was a great time to discuss things we didn’t want them to know. Plus, I’d missed a lot while I’d been galavanting around the Inner Sphere.

“Geraldine!” I called as I stepped into the room, “The hell have you been feeding everyone while I was gone?” I asked. I barely recognized the conference room from the last time we’d used it before I headed off to Sudeten.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said as she stood and swept me into a hug. We slapped each other on the back a couple of times and separated. Geraldine stepped past me and grabbed Rowdy while I grabbed Sammy with a laugh.

“Where the hell did you manage to get a Mule converted for passengers?” he demanded.

As we separated I glanced at Jimmy consideringly, but he looked like if I tried to give him a hug he’d try to unscrew my head. I shook his hand instead as Rowdy made a fool of himself trying to escape Geraldine.

I rolled my eyes. If he’d just accepted the hug instead of acting like a brat half his age, she’d have let him go by now. After the twins greeted our stay behind crew as well, we finally settled down to brief each other on how things had gone for each of us. I went first, detailing our time on Sudeten and the deal I’d negotiated with Olivetti, then mentioning the payment we’d gotten from Duke Ferguson via ComStar following our Contract Arbitration. After that, I described the trip to Steelton, and the prospects for our little subsidiary there and the number of inquiries they’d had from people looking for mining jobs by the time we jumped out.

“Well, that’s good to hear, but we might not need as many miners as we’d expected,” Geraldine told me as she launched into her own summary of events. “We found some records. Catachan was not only producing all the materials it needed for its own industry, it was also producing thousands of tons of ingots for export each year. We’ve got enough material stored in warehouses to run every factory on the planet for months at full production.

“We could work to get mines online, but they’re spread out all over the damn place. We think it might be a better idea to focus on forestry instead.”

That got a look from me before I remembered the walk down to source water before we left and the magscan readings I’d gotten from the trees.

“Hell, the trees are that metallic?” I asked.

“Not the trees themselves, but the ‘bark’ can be smelted down for iron, copper, tin, and a dozen rare earths. About the only thing we’ll need to actually mine is Tungsten. For whatever reason, they don’t seem to metabolize it well. We tracked down the series of smelters and separators that they used to process it back in Amaris’s day. If we can get it back to running at full capacity it ought to more than cover our needs.”

“How hard would that be to do? I have a feeling that cutting down trees with even primitive BattleMech armor will be a serious pain in the ass,” I predicted.

“Since we also found their maintenance shop and storage area for Lumberjack ForestryMechs? Not as hard as you’re thinking it will be. And I’ve never seen a stock Lumberjack before, but I doubt they have the cutting systems on these beasts. They seem to be pretty optimized for the job, which leads into our next tidbit,” she picked up something off of a side table and slid it down the table to me.

It looked a lot like granite, but instead of feeling cold like stone…

“We’re calling the type of tree a ‘silverwood,’ because of that right there. We chopped some down to make sure the Lumberjacks worked as advertised and discovered that the wood is fucking beautiful.”

She wasn’t wrong. The chunk I was holding had a faint grain structure that was recognizable if you looked, but the major features were the veins of what looked like silver through the wood like the patterns in granite or marble.

“Amaris had people burning the wood to collect the silver, but as a luxury good, I think that would sell for a hell of a lot more than the little bit of silver we could get out of it after processing.”

“I tend to agree,” I said, then my eyes narrowed. “Actually, we’ve got Narcissa Olivetti around. I think she’d be a good person to ask about partnering with for exports. If we can get the nobility interested in it, Silverwood might be almost as valuable an export as ‘Mech parts or refined metals.”

Everyone seemed sceptical about that statement, but with Narcissa Olivetti as a vector to inject the story into the right circles of High Society … It wasn’t a sure thing, but if she could make it a fad, the nobility of the Commonwealth would shell out big bucks to stay caught up with the Joneses.

Even after that sort of fashion was left behind by the nobles, upper class and upper-middle class families would probably latch on to it for a few more decades as it trickled down through society.

“Remind me to tell you the story of Blue John sometime,” I said as I bit back a yawn. “Anything else to cover?” I asked.

“Well, there is one thing,” Geraldine said with a grin.

I raised an eyebrow.

“We got around to finishing the survey of the space station. There was a third cargo bay, and it was packed full of Endosteel ingots, plates of FerroFibrous armor, and Freezers.”

I realized my jaw had dropped when the laughter started.

“Ha! Damn, the look on your face!” Geraldine said as I tried to regain some semblance of composure.

“I can see why you like surprising people, boss,” James drawled, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” I joked back before refocusing. “Any documentation on where those came from? There’d be no reason to ship material like that into the system without any final assembly lines.”

“The Techs say that the station’s computers are a mess. They think that someone tried to sabotage them, but didn’t really know how to finish the job.

“The upshot is that they might be able to reconstruct some of the documentation. Eventually. Since we’ve got so many other things to do, I figured it was a low priority.”

“Probably right about that,” I said, then bit back another yawn. “Unless there’s some other surprise?”

Looking around there didn’t seem to be.

“Then I’m gonna go fall face first into my bunk. This gravity is slaying me.”


The next morning I dragged myself out of bed before the sun was up. I had way too much to do and way too little time to do it in, so it was time to use the best, most top-tier superpower of command.

Delegation.

Lieutenant Levy was waiting for me in the designated briefing room off of a particular ‘Mech hangar in the old Amaris Dragoons base we were using for the charter members of the Catachan Arms Corporation. It hadn’t been hard to find quarters for the new hires we’d brought along.

“Meidlin,” I greeted her, returning the salute she’d rendered as I stepped into the room, “have a seat. We’ve got a lot to cover and limited time to get through everything.

“First, as you may have suspected,” I said as I sat down, “I understated quite a bit when I briefed you the first time. We found rather more than a Lance of outmoded Banshees here. With you and your fellow new-hires, we have very nearly a Battalion and a half of Mechwarriors.

“There are twin challenges related to this: very few of those Mechwarriors have any leadership experience, much less as officers, and we have more than four Battalions of BattleMechs.”

By the end of my brief sketch of the situation, Meidlin’s jaw had dropped and her eyes were wide. I really wanted to smirk at her, but that wouldn’t be appropriate. Besides, I really was on the clock. I had a laundry list of things I needed to do that was more than a foot long.

So I took a pair of rank tabs out of my pocket and slid them across the table.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Captain Levy. I liked what I saw of you on the trip out here, so for your sins, you’re going to be in charge of a company of Mediums. Most, if not all of them will be jump-capable. All of them will be fast,” I said, giving her a moment to sort out her thoughts as she held the insignia.

“Sir, that’s … I’m-I’ve only ever run a Lance before!” she objected.

“Congratulations, again, you’re in the same boat as my second in command,” I told her flat out. “You’ve at least got the benefit of a complete education. Geraldine had a semester and a half of Sanglamore before she ran afoul of the Old Boys Club and got thrown out.”

“She’s also a combat veteran and an elite Mechwarrior on top of that!” Meidlin pointed out.

“But she doesn’t know how to put together an organization chart or handle logistics in the field,” I said pointedly, “and she certainly hasn’t even thought about operational doctrine for a reinforced BattleMech regiment. For fuck’s sake, I’ve got a full company of artillery ‘Mechs and only the vaguest idea of how to use them. Right off the top of my head, I don’t even know how to call for fire!

“Willing to bet that someone who graduated from the ‘ring does.”

“I … well yes, sir,” she admitted. Before she could work on talking herself out of it again, I jumped back in with a topic change.

“So, the way the numbers work out, we’ve got enough ‘Mechs to run three Line battalions, each composed of a Light company, a Medium company, and a Heavy company with a fourth battalion split up into specialized companies. That doesn’t really fit into any of the standard Star League era force organizations.

“On the other hand, even if it did, we’re rather faster on average for a given weight than the standard Star League unit would be,” I said as I met her eyes.

“That is because our Light and Medium ‘Mechs use extra-light fusion engines.”

For a moment she didn’t react, still processing my initial description of the unit’s Org Chart. Then the keyword there hit and her eyes shot open.

“Sir, that’s … you’ve got a regiment with Lostech engines?”

“Not all. The trooper Heavies are running standard FEs, and so are half the Assaults. And the artillery ’Mechs, of course. With a Sniper jammed into their right side-torso, they just don’t have the room to mount an XLFE.” I said, “But that’s not all, we- well, let’s take a quick walk and I’ll show you.”

I pushed away from the table and headed towards the ‘Mech hangar. I could hear the newly minted Captain Levy following. It didn’t take long to make the trip; the briefing room was deliberately placed close by.

It was also guarded by some of our limited ground security. They didn’t slow us down much, but then they’d been expecting me. They also made the point to Captain Levy that this was a secure area.

Stepping inside revealed a BattleMech with a portable ‘Mech gantry set up around it. The torso was wide for a ‘Mech of its relatively modest tonnage, giving the impression of broad shoulders. The expression on Levy’s face made it clear she didn’t recognize it at all.

“The PX-4R Phoenix. A Rim Worlds Republic design, though this one started life as a -3R. Weighing in at fifty tons, it mounts a three hundred XLFE and six jump jets giving it a cruise just shy of sixty-five kilometers an hour, a sprint of just over ninety-seven, and a standing long jump of a hundred and eighty meters,” I gave that a moment to sink in before I continued.

“The right arm mounts an extended range PPC and a coaxial 5cm laser, another pair of 5cm lasers are located in the torso, with a final pair in the left arm. Its fifteen freezers will sink a standing alpha, but jump jet usage will cause overheating quickly. And any enemy expecting it to be lightly protected in exchange for all that dakka is going to be terribly disappointed to discover its carrying nine and a half tons of Ferro-Fibrous armor.”

I let her boggle for a moment before continuing.

“It’s fast enough to chase down enemy scout mechs and armed heavily enough to deal with them in just a salvo or two. In open terrain, it can outmaneuver any enemy heavy enough to threaten it while stinging them from beyond LRM range. In difficult terrain, it can drop in behind an enemy formation, shatter all but the heaviest rear armor, and then take back to the air before they can bring their main armament to bear. And all of it while as well protected as some heavy ‘Mechs.

“And we’ve got factories for everything we need to make more of them except the chassis itself,” I said. “For that matter, we have two other 50-ton designs that are basically variants of this with different weapon systems. One trades the entire secondary armament for a second ERPPC. The second swaps the PPC for a pair of ER 8cm lasers. ”

“Hell, sir, you don’t want Lyran doctrine for this, you want Feddie doctrine, or maybe Drac-” she started, but I cut her off.

“No, like I said, we need to develop an entirely new type of doctrine. Fighting like a Striker or Light Horse regiment isn’t going to fit. They’re meant to skirmish. Harass.

“We’ve got the mobility of a Light Horse Regiment and the firepower of a Hussar Regiment. We need to blind enemy formations with our Light units, fix them in position with our Mediums, then pound them to paste with artillery while our heavy units engage, the Lights hit their flanks, and the Mediums reposition to cut off their retreat.”

I stopped for a moment to let the enormity of the task sink in.

“XLFEs open up a whole new set of possibilities. They change the paradigm, so we need to change with it. Ahead of it.

“We will not be Hussars, nor Dragoons. They are heavy, and slow, and limited. Instead, we will borrow a trick from Gustavus Adolphus. We will be fast and agile; we need a unit that can stand off and pelt an enemy from range, then charge and rout them as soon as their formation becomes disordered. We will need to be the first of a new breed of Mechwarrior for a form of warfare that’s been lost since at least the First Succession War.

“And since we’re borrowing the trick from Gustavus Adolphus, we might as well borrow the name as well. In the Thirty Years War, the King of Sweden couldn’t afford to outfit masses of horsemen as Cuirassiers or Hussars, so he took a position of necessity and made of it a virtue, turning light, support cavalrymen into the choice cavalry unit for the remainder of the century and bringing about the beginning of the end of heavy cavalry until the invention of the tank more than three hundred years later. We will be Harquebusiers, and you, Captain Levy, are just the woman to work out how to take the concept of a Harquebusier Regiment and make of it a reality.”

Captain Levy looked up at the BattleMech for another few moments before she glanced back over at me.

“Going to be a lot of work, Sir,” then she grinned. “Don’t think I’m going to be sitting in my quarters wishing for something to happen, though, so it’s a massive improvement over working for the LCAF.”

I snorted, but the deflection didn’t bother me. I’d guessed right. Miss Levy had gone into the military looking for the sense of belonging she’d heard about in her Grandfather’s stories. She’d joined the Walking Hellfire looking for action and purpose. Instead, she’d found a Regiment run by a corrupt, miserable asshole of a man.

“No, Captain, I don’t think you’ll have much time at all to get bored. In the first place, you’ll have all the time in the field you could wish for. For one thing, we’ve got Forestry Mechs, and Catachan has predators that consider them just another part of the food chain. For another, we’ve got a bunch of Green MechWarriors to turn into soldiers worthy of the unit they’re now a part of. We’re going to be running a hell of a lot of exercises, and it’s probable that the local megafauna will be inserting themselves into those as well.

“The days here might be longer than standard, but that just means there’s fewer of them to pack the same amount of work into.”

“Aye, Sir,” she said, grin still in place. “When do we start?”

That was the unfortunate bit.

“Unfortunately, we need to hide as much of this as we can from Baroness Olivetti. Olivetti Weaponry are our partners, but that doesn’t mean Duke Olivetti might not try to pull a hostile takeover if he sees an opportunity,” I warned her, “so you really will be piloting a Griffin while she’s on planet instead of one of the cache ‘Mechs. You’ll mostly be working with the Mechwarriors that are going to be Lance leaders or NCOs, so you’ll have a decent feel for them before Narcissa leaves and I can dump the trainees on you.

“It’ll also give you time to read up on your ‘Mech and get a start on assembling First Battalion's Org Chart.”

She nodded then paused and seemed to hear what I’d said.

“Sir, do you mean my assigned ‘Mech, or …”

I smiled at her.

“You do as well as I expect and yes. Ownership for you and your heirs after you is on the table,” I acknowledged.

“Then I suppose I’d better get started,” she said with a grin.


Weber’s Holdfast, Catachan, Catachan System

Former Apollo Province, Unclaimed Territory

August 20th, 3010

A lot had happened in a very short amount of time, and my superpower of delegation was getting one hell of a workout. Baron Jones was serving admirably as my point man with the Engineering staff, but I still needed to attend meetings with them to ensure I was caught up with what they were up to. Survey work on the elevated highway over the pass had ended up creating a minor emergency. It turned out that some of what passed for grass down in the pass was of a different variety than what grew on the jungle side where most of the exploring had been done so far.

It had a higher metal content, and focused it into a flexible blade that went right through rubber like it didn’t exist.

Six replacement tires later, Rowdy got some exercise in his Firestarter burning a pathway across the pass. The elevated Highway now made rather more sense.

The stumps of the pilings that had supported it were driven deep into the bedrock, and still usable. That was a relief, since rebuilding those would have completely destroyed our timetables.

On the other hand, it pretty thoroughly wrecked my initial supposition that what brought the elevated highway down had been an earthquake. Not that it seemed terribly likely in any case, since it hadn’t notably affected any buildings in the city.

In any case, the Baron seemed confident that we could put new tops on the existing pilings, and then just lay a new road deck over top of them. I was less sanguine about it, but then I wasn’t used to bullshit Star League building materials. If he said we could do it, I had to take him at his word.

Still, that set of meetings had been yesterday; today was the business side of things. I walked into the conference room only a minute or so before the meeting was scheduled to start to find the presenter had the projector warmed up and sheets of paper laid out in front of seats.

Yes, PowerPoint presentations had survived the Succession Wars. No, they didn’t seem to be any better than the ones I’d been forced to sit through back in the twenty-first century. I needed to figure out how to reinstate the Ares Conventions and include any PowerPoint longer than fifteen minutes in them as a crime against Humanity.

What I wanted to do was sit down and start looking over the printed slides. What I ended up doing was shaking hands and making sure everyone knew that I knew who they were. I’d never been on this side of a business meeting before, and the juxtaposition wasn’t settling well with me.

Apparently one-on-one high-stakes negotiations with a far future industrialist didn’t prepare you for suddenly being The Boss for a project meeting. Who knew?

“Alright, Mister Rice, you have the floor,” I said once it was clear that everyone was assembled and ready to begin.

What followed wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Paul Rice was a pretty decent speaker, and he knew something about how to use a presentation to enhance what he was saying instead of just mindlessly repeating what was on the screen. Several times I wanted to interrupt to ask questions, but I’d hated that when I was one of the junior participants. In an effort to not be a hypocrite, I kept my mouth shut.

After only about two thirds of forever, it was finally over, the word ‘Questions?’ hanging on the wall.

“Got a couple, yeah,” I said, taking the advantage of being in charge to start things off. “You mentioned the lack of advanced automation as a positive. That seems counterintuitive to me. Can you clarify?”

“Uh, certainly,” Paul said and pursed his lips for a moment before continuing, “From a standpoint of manufacturing efficiency, there will come a point where we’ll miss the automation. For one thing, we need more workers this way than we would with full Star League era automation in place,” he paused to make sure I was following before he moved on.

“On the other hand, the lack of that automation means we can actually fix something when it breaks. It also means that we don’t have to train a bunch of entry-level, relatively unskilled workers to inspect, maintain, and repair fancy automated systems. That, in turn, means we’ve got better odds of making that two year timetable than I expected when I found out just how big a job this was going to be.”

“Related to that,” I interrupted, “I noticed that your plan is to raid this factory for cadre when you’re ready to reopen subsequent factories. Again, that seems counterproductive. Especially if running a Fusion Engine factory is as difficult as it seems to be.”

“Again, it isn’t ideal, but we aren’t going to find people with experience on, for example, an old General Motors model 397c optical welder. The best we’re going to do is find people with some general welding or optical welding experience that we can train up. Once the supply of experienced foremen and machinists we can recruit is gone, we’ll have to promote from in-house. I don’t see a choice but to rob Peter to pay Paul in this case.”

I nodded and let him move on to other questions. There was something there that was poking at me. Something Napoleon had said …

Just as the meeting was getting ready to break up, it finally came to me.

“One last item before we go our separate ways,” I said. “I’ve got an idea that ought to at least help our shortage of skilled workers, and in the long term could potentially eliminate it.” That definitely had their attention, though some of them looked awfully skeptical.

“From what you said, Mr. Rice, our entry-level workers are going to be doing a lot of tasks that automation would otherwise cover, correct? I mean, physical labor, pain-in-the-ass stuff?”

“That’s right,” he said, nodding along.

“In that case, and given the local gravity, there’s gonna be a fair few of them that are going to come to be dissatisfied with their jobs,” I continued.

“Uh, well,” he temporized, but I waved him off. I knew human nature. There would be.

“Well, why not make use of that? Make manuals available for workers with ambition to study on their own time. Make up a test, sort of a certification exam, for them to take when they’re done studying the manual. Take the best scorers on that when we’ve got openings, and even if they don’t have all the practical knowledge they’ll need, at least they’ll know the basics.

“Then sometime down the road, when we’re better established, set up a sort of junior college where workers can get hands-on experience in a safe environment. Instead of degrees, they graduate with certifications in optical welding or capacitor inspection or whatever else we need.”

“That does sound like a good idea,” Mr Rice said. “Hey, Chris, would you mind putting together a list of what positions we need most urgently? I can run it over to-”

With my management team working the problem, I departed. I had an appointment with our VIPs, and it wouldn’t do to dawdle. Besides, I knew my idea would work. If every French soldier carried a Marshal's baton in his knapsack, then every Catachan laborer would have a chance at a Machinist’s toolkit or an Engineer’s clipboard. If it bought me half the results it got the Emperor of France, I’d have the most satisfied workforce in the Inner Sphere.


Over the past week, my people and I had shown Narcissa Olivetti and her party every factory on the planet that didn’t produce lostech components. Honestly, I hadn’t been expecting what I got.

Instead of being content with a walkthrough, Narcissa had insisted on randomly inspecting sections of the lines. She’d poked her nose into and seemed familiar with pieces of machinery that I couldn’t even guess the functions of, and the longer she looked, the more smiles her expression tended towards.

I had a feeling that we were definitely going to be landing a contract to supply an expanded Olivetti Warhammer line, and probably the Thunderbolt line not long after that. The last real concern she had was our materials situation. There wasn’t much I could do about the Tungsten mine, records indicated that the most likely one for our preferences was well north of us in the mountains. We’d need the shuttles for transport, and my staff was so busy with other things that they hadn’t even had time to send a party to inspect it yet.

Not that we even had the miners to know what to look for, yet, but that problem would take care of itself in a few more weeks. The Long Haul’s crew had been easily able to get the conventional Mule sitting sealed up on the runway’s tarmac cleared for operations. Borrowing some experienced crewmen from both Captain Chapman and Captain Martin of the Long Haul had let us put crews that were good enough on both Mules. In less than a month we’d have a cargo of edibles and some more workers from Steelton.

I shook my head and refocused. Narcissa had wanted to take a look at our resource extraction operation to make sure that we could actually feed the feeder factories that fed parts to the factories that made what she wanted to buy. Supply chains. Whee!

So I was taking her out to observe the Lumberjacks as they worked. Geraldine was already present with a lance to keep an eye on them in case something bigger than the Catachan Antlion decided to put an IndustrialMech on the menu, so I felt reasonably safe taking my temporary ride out for a walk. The Banshee-3E’s cockpit had more in common with a Japanese apartment than it did with Striker Alpha’s. The jump seat behind mine had secondary view screens and another hook-up for a cooling vest, though it only had a headset rather than a full-up neurohelmet link.

I finished changing into a MechWarrior’s minimal clothing; Athletic shorts and a sleeveless shirt would be plenty warm, even at this height. If something did decide to take a swipe at the Lumberjacks, firing the PPC in the Banshee’s right torso would make sure I was grateful for the relatively cool air at this alti-

My train of thought derailed as I walked into the Mech Bay my Banshee was parked in. Narcissa had arrived before me and was waiting near the unnamed Banshee’s ladder. She too was wearing typical MechWarrior gear, but the shorts and sports bra were a departure from her customary attire. I’d known she was in good shape. I just hadn’t realized how good.

Only the fact that she was also wearing a cooling vest helped me keep from making an idiot of myself. Well, that and the fact that she was distracted talking to a couple of my Astechs. I took a moment to reassemble my wits while I made sure that the ground crew were mostly succeeding in not drooling all over her. I wasn’t sure whether or not I should be cursing efficient Lyran cooling vests or not right now. Then it occurred to me that I was going to be in a ‘Mech cockpit alone with her for an extended period of time. It was a damn good thing I probably wasn’t going to need to push the Banshee’s heat curve at all; the last thing I needed was for us to leave looking sweaty and mussed. People would talk.

“Baroness Olivetti,” I greeted her as I got within reasonable speaking distance. She still jumped, which did interesting things to her anatomy even with a cooling vest on. I tried not to notice. I also made a mental note to make some noise when I walked. Between my habitually light tread and the sandal/moccasins, I was going to accidentally sneak up on a sentry some time and get shot.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting. My last meeting ran a couple minutes long,” I apologized.

“That’s quite alright,” Narcissa replied, her hand drifting down from where it had come to rest over her cooling vest, “I was just discussing your ‘Mech here with Astechs Greene and Hasna. My training was in one of the Guard’s Thunderbolts, which they say has a similarly-sized cockpit?”

“I’ve never actually sat inside a T-bolt, so I’m not certain. I will say that there’s enough room in a Banshee to cram in a mini-fridge and a cot,” I replied, then hastened to add, “though I haven’t had the time or inclination to make any after-market modifications yet, so mine’s pretty utilitarian. The jump seat does have a good set of displays, though.”

“Very well then, I’m looking forward to the tour. I’ve never been inside an Assault ‘Mech before.”

I opened my mouth to tell her ‘Ladies first,’ then caught myself. Instead, I replied to what she’d said while starting up the ladder.

“Some would argue that the Banshee’s not actually an Assault ‘Mech, just a Medium with a weight problem,” I said. “That Thunderbolt you trained in has more firepower at any range, even if you need to exercise some trigger discipline to keep from pushing the sinks too far. Unless it takes engine damage or you’re fighting on a volcano, you can’t actually overheat a Banshee. You’d be better off pulling a heat sink, half a ton of armor, and the three centimeter face laser for a pair of five centimeter lasers. Then, at least, it would have something worth calling a secondary armament.”

“I’m surprised you’re piloting one if you don’t like the ‘Mech,” Narcissa responded from below me. Based on the way the ladder was moving, she wasn’t waiting for me to make it to the top.

“Let’s just say that the -3E lives down to its reputation. Too much engine for a ‘Mech of its tonnage, and all the armor in the world isn’t going to save you if you can’t clear out the enemy before they can get under your guns. Or finish off your friends and turn your flanks. The Awesome is twice the sniper a Banshee is for about two thirds the price and does it at eighty tons instead of ninety-five, plus it doesn’t carry ammunition that runs out or explodes if an enemy MechWarrior gets lucky.”

I hauled myself up and undogged the hatch, then extended a hand for Narcissa.

“It’s just that it's expected for the Captain of a mercenary unit to drive something a little more impressive than a Commando,” I said and shrugged. “Social expectations. What are you gonna do?”

That surprised a laugh out of her as I dropped down into the Banshee’s cockpit and started getting settled in. Narcissa was only a couple moments behind me, and after I showed her where to plug her cooling jacket in, we were off.

The silence was companionable for the first few minutes, but I felt it starting to get heavy as we started down out of the still quiet city.

“So, what was it like training on a Thunderbolt?” I asked, trying to spark a conversation. I succeeded, and Narcissa was happy to regale me with stories about learning how to pilot a BattleMech as a young noblewoman. By the time we arrived at the logging site, the atmosphere was much lighter.

Said camp was actually an interesting sight.

The Lumberjacks dwarfed most of their guards. With one of the converted Banshees, the twins in their Wasps, and Geraldine back in her old Dervish, it was rather like watching a single shepherd and his three corgis herd cattle.

I heard movement from the jump seat as Narcissa adjusted her position.

“You’re really cutting down trees for materials? I’d heard the gossip, of course, but I thought they were just having me on.”

“Switch to magscan,” I suggested as I raised the Banshee’s right hand in a motion reminiscent of a wave. I needed the practice with fine dexterity yet. Geraldine triggered the radio on and off twice. Nothing abnormal noted.

“Good lord!” Narcissa said behind me. If I hadn’t been wearing a heavy-ass neurohelmet, I would have nodded.

“Yeah, the ‘bark’ is just lousy with metals. We’ll still need to reopen one of the Tungsten mines, but other than that we really can get what we need for the moment out of logging,” I reached down beside my seat and grabbed what I’d left there earlier, handing it back to her over my shoulder.

“Besides, with mining, all you get as a byproduct is slag. I prefer that.”

The sound that Narcissa produced was almost a coo. I thought she’d appreciate the pattern.

“Is … is this real silver distributed through it?” she asked a touch hesitantly.

“Sure enough is,” I replied. “Amaris’s people just burned the wood to recover the metals. A shame and a waste.”

“Absolutely,” Narcissa agreed, “This is just beautiful!”

“Thought you might like it. We’re going to have a steady supply of it coming in, as well,” I said. “I don’t suppose Olivetti Weaponry would be interested in a sideline of luxury goods?”

“Oh, now you’re speaking my language!” she shot back, and I laughed. “We’ll need to come up with some gimmicks for marketing it, but this really could be all the rage in the court at Tamar next year. What are you calling it?”

“Just Silverwood at the moment,”

Narcissa made a definitely negative sound.

“No, that won’t do. It sounds far too common. It needs something more exotic to make it pop,” she said, consideringly.

“Replace ‘Silver’ with Argent?”I suggested.

“Hmm, Argentwood. Argentwood. Better, but not quite right,” she temporized. “Argent Oak, maybe?” she said, trailing off.

I hit the magnification on the main viewscreen and looked more closely at the leaves on the nearest bits of debris. They had six lobes, sort of like an oak leaf, but instead of being rounded, they narrowed to a point. They were also a red-orange color, which was what really suggested the name to me.

“How about Argent Maple?” I asked.

“Oh, I like that!” she responded immediately. “If I tell everyone that there’s a local myth about a variety that you can tap in the spring for silver sap, I’ll even have a good legend to go with it!”

This time I did shake my head despite wearing my heavy neurohelmet. The combination of delighted and mercenary bemused me.

“Hell, I’ll mention it. Some of my troops are worse than old women for gossiping. I bet it won’t take a week befo-”

Motion in the corner of my vision caught my eye, and I turned my head just in time to see at least a bit over a dozen hexapedal lizard things break out of the tree line in two groups. One of them cutting towards the main group of Lumberjacks, the second swirling around behind-

Melody hit her jump jets, shifting in midair to take the column of predators trying to surround her under fire while retreating toward my Banshee. Her Wasp’s laser hit home, but only one of the missiles followed suit. It was still enough to drop the one she hit. I wasn’t sure if it was dead or just injured, but it was good enough for the moment because the plasma wash from her jump jets had caused the rest of the pack to recoil. It also gave me a relatively easy shot.

I still managed to miss with the autocannon, tearing up an inoffensive bit of field between two of them, but my PPC was on target, and the critter I hit practically exploded as the coruscating beam of lightning flash-boiled most of its torso. That didn’t seem to be enough to dissuade the rest, though, because-

“Wasp pilot, two of the ones from the eastern column are closing on you.” Narcissa warned. Sure enough, most were still menacing the Lumberjacks even as Comet dropped LRMs on them while Marsha and the new guy in the Banshee tried to get a clear line of sight.

“I see ‘em”

So, pack hunters. Intelligent enough to work together and relentless enough to accept casualties. The cloud of LRMs spread across two more of the creatures. One went down, but the other simply had a few divots blasted into the primitive BattleMech armor that served it as an exoskeleton.

They tried to close in on Melody again, but this time she let the one in the lead get just a bit closer before she hit the jets. She’d timed it perfectly, and the thruster wash swept over its forequarters as she went airborne. It dropped, most of its frontal armor glowing cherry-red.

That seemed to be the limit. They turned and ran for the trees, but that just gave my fellow Banshee pilot a clear shot. Exercising great discipline, he stuck with only a single PPC shot and a burst of slugs from the LB-10X. The former hit nothing at all, but the autocannon shells spread one of the runners across about an acre of mountainside. I was just glad he hadn’t used cluster rounds. That would have been impossible to explain.

My own fire was less dramatic, but since they weren’t weaving around in pursuit anymore, I was able to explode another one with a PPC bolt before torso twisting slightly and walking the burst of autocannon fire up the back of a second. It too dropped, dead mid-stride as a surge of warm air entered the cockpit before the heat sinks caught up.

“Alright,” I called, “excitement’s over. Back to work.”

“You’re sure that’s safe?” Narcissa asked.

“With about half the pack dead? Predators run on a cost/benefit analysis. We just proved we’re not worth it. Unless they’re smart enough to be spiteful, they won’t be back, especially if we drag the bodies away,” I said as I set in to do just that. Our biologist would probably be interested in them if nothing else.

“Besides, now you’ve got another story to tell the Archduke’s court: the time a bunch of alien velociraptors ambushed you while you were on safari.”

“A point,” she said. “Do drag the most intact one back up to the Holdfast, will you? I’ll want a picture next to it.”

After a moment she followed that up.

“Do you suppose it would be too much to have me posing beside it holding one of those Mausers you found?”

I laughed so hard, I damn near lost control of my ‘Mech.

Thanks again to Seraviel, LordsFire, and Yellowhammer for beta reading, idea bouncing, and canon compliance checking.

Weber’s Holdfast, Catachan, Catachan System
Former Apollo Province, Unclaimed Territory
August 24th, 3010

I entered the fanciest of our conference rooms a couple minutes early. Narcissa still managed to be waiting for me, perfectly poised, bodyguard detail semi-watchfully propping up the wall behind her. They’d gotten pretty used to us by this point and the level of paranoia had decreased significantly.

It had taken a couple days to get everything arranged to at least allow a flyover of the Tungsten mine we had marked out as the most probable site to reactivate. From the air, there didn’t seem to be much damage, though by its very nature most of the facility was underground. Still, that had seemingly been enough for Narcissa to finally be satisfied with her round of inspections.

She stood as I entered and greeted me with a smile and a handshake. I reciprocated, then I pulled out a chair and took my seat as she returned to her own.

“So, then,” I began, “Baroness Olivetti, are you satisfied that the Catachan Arms Corporation has the facilities and plans in place to meet our end of the notional agreement between ourselves and Olivetti Weaponry?”

Narcissa smiled.

“I’m actually quite impressed. You certainly seem to have hit the ground running,” she complimented, “I am, indeed satisfied that your claims were neither deceitful nor mistaken. I consider the clause in our agreement stipulating that final approval is contingent upon an inspection of the Catachan Arms Corporation’s facilities to have been met.”

With that formal statement, she signed both copies of the document in front of her, then passed them to me.

I read them both, just to make sure, then signed as well.

With those four signatures, we were committed. When Narcissa departed, she’d be riding back to Sudeten with a cargo of lumber and much of our remaining stockpile of PPCs to tide Olivetti over until they could get their own small line up and running again.

In less than two years, Catachan would start making regular deliveries of my ‘Warhammer build kits’ to Olivetti. Fifty-two of them a year, which would double Olivetti’s current Warhammer production. With any luck, two years after that, we would be contractually obliged to begin providing a similar service for the Thunderbolt, though in that case we would be slightly less than doubling Olivetti’s production. The new line was only expected to produce fifty-six ‘Mechs per year. The best a ‘modern’ line could do just couldn’t compete with the Star League Era systems that Olivetti’s existing Thud line contained.

If we did score the deal, it would move Olivetti from a top-ten producer of BattleMechs in the Commonwealth solidly into the top five, so long as you calculated based on tonnage rather than number produ-

“Now that we’re done with old business, let’s move on to new business,” Narcissa said, surprising me. I hadn’t been aware we had any new business just yet.

“How long will it take you to restore production of Lostech from the factories here?” she asked, and my blood turned to ice.

“... And what makes you think we have any such things?” I asked, but I knew I’d taken too long to respond.

Narcissa inclined an eyebrow.

“How much do we need to pay and what guarantees do we need to give you before you’re willing to sell?” she asked. Then she waited.

She has to be fishing, I decided after a second’s thought, If she knew, she’d present her evidence. The knowledge didn’t help. I’d already tried to deflect, and she hadn’t taken the bait. I could deny her assertion, but …

I’d be lying to her face. Damn it, I hated it when people lied to my face. I had literally forgiven people for kicking me in the nuts faster than I’d forgiven people for lying to me.

More than that … Olivetti Weaponry and the Olivetti family were the closest things I had to allies in the upper echelon of the Lyran Commonwealth. At this point … either I could trust them, or I and my company were so far up Shit Creek that whether we had a paddle or not didn’t matter anyway.

“I really wish you hadn’t asked that question,” I said, and Narcissa’s guards’ posture jumped to full alertness. Now why-

I turned my eyes to them and glared.

“Simmer down. I’d have to be a damn fool to take any action against her. For heaven’s sake, how the hell would I present documents she supposedly signed to her dad and in the same breath, what? Claim she fell down the stairs? Got eaten by an Antlion? I’m disgruntled, not an idiot.”

I looked back at Narcissa to find her left hand on her chin, a single finger covering her lips. If I hadn't gotten to know her reasonably well, I don’t think I’d have recognized the grin she was concealing.

“We’ve found buried factories for 225, 240, 300, and 380 rated Extra-Light Fusion Engines, ERPPCs, ER 8cm lasers, LB-10X autocannon, Streak SRM-2s, and Gauss Rifles,” I related, watching as her eyes opened steadily wider. “Oh, and CASE. We’ve recovered enormous amounts of Ferro-Fibrous armor designed to fit multiple chassis, ingots of Endo Steel, and an absurd number of Freezers. Too many to be just the supplies for the Amaris Dragoon regiment that was garrisoning the planet before the prisoners tried to seize it back from them.

“We haven’t, however, found those factories yet. We’ve determined that there’s a line for cluster ammunition, but there doesn’t seem to be one for Streak SRMs.” I let the pronouncement hang in the air for a long moment before continuing.

“They’re in more or less the same condition as the above-ground factories. The problem, is that they’re so damn complicated that even with the manuals, we haven’t got a chance of getting them running in less than two years. We need to build a base of experienced personnel before we can even think about it.”

“That’s why you wanted access to our HR department,” Narcissa realized immediately.

I nodded.

“With the recent expansion of Olivetti to start up your Warhammer line, I knew you’d have a bunch of resumes on file from people who got there after you’d done most of your hiring, but were better qualified than anyone we were likely to find on our own.” I said.

Narcissa closed her eyes in a long blink and took a deep breath. “And what of that will be for sale?” she asked, tone almost level.

“ERPPCs for a Warhammer line. CASE. Freezers, assuming we can find the location of the factory. Likewise either Ferro-Fib or Endo. They’re bulky enough that I seriously doubt you could make both fit. Unfortunately, we don’t even have an XL engine close to the right size for a seventy-tonner.”

“And for Thunderbolt production?” she asked, and if I hadn’t watched her in shock a few moments before I’d never have believed it from her expression. Fast recovery.

I still hesitated for a second before I answered, but at this point there was no point in hiding the cache ‘Mechs. If nothing else, the fact that we had a good-sized garrison would be more reassuring than anything else.

“For that, we might as well take a walk. I’ve actually got some upgraded Thunderbolts we found in the cache here.” That got more or less the expected result, if on the lower end of the scale. Raised eyebrows wasn’t much, but I’d take it.

“And how are they configured?” she inquired.

I held up a finger as I dialed. When the phone connected, I spoke.

“Comet, could you send … Dillon to the number three hanger? He’s the Thunderbolt driver we picked up, right?”

There was a split-second hesitation before Geraldine answered.

“She figured it out, didn’t she?” It was rather more a statement than a question.

“That’s an occupational hazard when dealing with smart people.”

“Yeah, I’ll send him down,” she replied. “Don’t give away the farm before he gets there,” she cautioned grumpily.

“Comet, I’m hurt,” I said, letting a frown develop on my face to help project it with my voice. I wasn’t, but I’d take grousing over panic.

“I’ve seen what that woman looks like in MechWarrior getup. You may have a surprisingly level head on your shoulders, but you’re still a teenager.”

I maturely rolled my eyes and hung up on her.


“I would have expected a more substantial increase in firepower with the availability of advanced technology,” Narcissa said after a long moment of consideration. I’d given her the high points of the TDR-5R’s design as we watched Miss Dillon put one through its paces, and she wasn’t as impressed as she’d expected to be.

“Without an XL engine to put in it, there’s only so much you can do. I suppose you could stick a 300 in it, but even then you’re still deep in the trough.”

Unlike the rules that a game worked on, you could stick an engine that didn’t ‘fit’ in a ‘Mech. The price you paid for not using an ‘ideal’ rating was that for some complicated engineering reason -I couldn’t follow it beyond something about transfer ratios- you didn’t get a proportional speed increase for your tonnage until you hit the ideal engine rating.

That left you ‘climbing out of the trough.’ Even an engine rating five points off of the ideal didn’t quite get you to two thirds of the speed increase, and a 300 was 25 short of a Thud’s ‘ideal’ multiple.

“Indeed, and your point about the increased fragility is well taken as well. I didn’t realize that Extra-Light engines were so vulnerable to side-torso damage,” Narcissa acknowledged.

“Yeah, and like I said, the engineers that designed it went with the LB-10X instead of an ERPPC because they didn’t have enough ERPPCs available. We’ve sort of got the same problem right now. I presume you’re going to want them for Warhammers, right?” I asked as we walked back towards the hanger.

Narcissa shot me an eloquent look.

“Then assuming a teched up Warhammer line will still churn out fifty-two machines a year, that’s a hundred and four ERPPCs. Plus spares, since the LCAF will definitely demand some. That’s pretty close to half the yearly production of the line, according to the historical data.

“I’ll be happy to sell them to you, but I’ve got a project of my own that's going to need most of the rest of the line’s production. Once you add in the spares the LCAF will need for fixing battle damage, I’ll be lucky to have a couple left over to keep as replacements for the Warriors.”

Narcissa pursed her lips, but nodded her understanding.

“And when it comes to the main armament on a BattleMech, bigger really is better,” she said.

My brain immediately tried to jump off on a tangent, but I dragged the impulse into a dark alley and slit its throat. Then kick the corpse a couple times just to be sure. Really could not afford that distraction right now.

“For a big-damage hole-punching main gun with range, we’re able to supply either the ERPPC or the LB-10X. Again, same problem with Gauss Rifles as with ERPPCs. According to the historical records, they never did work out all the bugs with GR production, so it was a slow line.

“Best we could hope for - once we get it running at all - is thirty a year,” I told her.

“And that’s not even close to sufficient,” she agreed before continuing, “But why not utilize, say, a pair of Extended Range 8cm lasers instead?” she inquired.

“They’ve got a hair more range, and they don’t come with an ammo bomb or ammunition limits either.” I admitted. “On the other hand, the LB-10X does twenty-five percent more damage on a hit than an 8cm laser. When it comes to knocking holes in an enemy’s armor, that’s an important distinction. Between that and the versatility of cluster ammunition, they chose to go with the autocannon.

“The fact that the AC keeps the overall heat generated low is also a benefit. You could cram a pair of ER larges in there, but you would need to add heat sinks as well, so you’d lose the weight that you would save, even with freezers.

“Back of the envelope math, here, but you’d need to add five freezers just to maintain heat neutrality at a walk when using both lasers and the missile launcher. That’d bring you up to fifteen tons, and the Autocannon only weighs eleven. Thirteen with ammo,” I tallied mentally.

“Which means that in the end you have to hold back the LRM launcher with every other salvo to cool, so you actually lose long range firepower,” Narcissa says, following along with my thought exercise. “Tricky.”

“It really is,” I agreed. “With the additional anti-infantry capability from the cluster rounds, you could pull one of the Flamers for a 5cm laser, but that’s really the only option I see to add more punch to the loadout,” I concluded with a shrug. “It’s just too bad you can’t make Endo Steel fit too, that would save a lot of weight.”

Narcissa nodded along, but seemed distracted.

“Part of the problem is that, heat management aside, the Thunderbolt is a solid design without obvious weaknesses to shore up,” I asserted.

Narcissa nodded again, absently, then paused.

“Why can’t you?” she inquired. “Utilize Endosteel, that is?”

“Volume,” I responded, “There just isn’t room inside the chassis for the attachment points for the armor as well as a larger frame. You’d have to make the whole thing bigger, and that adds more weight which defeats the purpose.”

“That’s the torso,” Narcissa rebutted, “What about the limbs?”

I opened my mouth to answer her, then paused. A BattleMech’s legs were essentially devoted to holding up and moving the rest of the machine. Aside from the internal structure, actuators, and myomers, they didn’t contain much. Some models stuck heat sinks in the legs, but freezers wouldn’t fit. The arms …

“There’s room in the legs, even with attachment points for the armor, though you'd need to do a small redesign of the control runs. Arms would be tighter. Especially the right arm; with the feed system and everything, that autocannon takes up a lot of room,” I cautioned, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.

“But it could work?” Narcissa asked, intently.

“It could definitely work,” I agreed.

“It wouldn’t save you as much weight as a full replacement of the standard internal structure, but you could definitely save … I dunno, two or three tons on something the size of a Thunderbolt.”

“Enough to swap out the autocannon for a pair of extended range 8’s?” she inquired.

I tilted my head in consideration before I answered.

“You’d probably start running into volume problems with the heat sinks,” I cautioned. “What I would recommend is switching a Flamer for a 5cm laser, as we discussed, then adding more 5cm lasers with the saved tonnage. Probably in the left arm. Take advantage of the relatively cool long-range armament to beef up the secondary armament,” I recommended.

“Hell, pull the same trick we’re gonna use the first few times we get into fights: cover most of the lasers with false armor panels. Let the enemy think you’re short on close-range weapons, then blow the covers and light ‘em up when they commit to a knife fight.”

She nodded along, clearly thinking over the tactical implications. She didn’t look smug enough to be imagining the faces of the first group of Snakes to wind up on the sharp end of the ploy.

After a long moment of companionable silence, we arrived at the bay of one of the unassigned models. I shook myself and moved on to the second stage in my selling strategy.

“So, you interested in taking one for a test drive?”

“Oh, Mister Weber, I thought you’d never ask.”


Geraldine finally managed to drag herself away from the Company’s paperwork by the time Narcissa was slowly walking her borrowed Thunderbolt out of the hanger.

“How bad is it?” were the first words out of her mouth.

“Comet, you’re a natural pessimist,” I informed her.

She glared at me with one eye while taking in Narcissa’s performance with the other.

“She’ll probably want an exclusive contract. If she does, she’s going to be disappointed,” I surrendered after a long moment. “If nothing else, the Archon will demand our data so she can pass it on to DefHes.”

“I’d gotten that far,” Geraldine said, both eyes on the Thunderbolt now that I’d started talking.

“Without a finalized design, it’s the next best thing to impossible to come to terms on a contract, but she’ll want something on paper. I’m thinking we sign an agreement in principle to the basics for a Thunderbolt design, and agree to give Olivetti right of first refusal to enough ERPPCs for a notional Warhammer variant. A noncompete clause that commits us to stay out of their bailiwick in Heavy Mechs for half a century or so.”

“And in return?” she asked.

I stayed quiet for a while, watching Narcissa’s test drive. She wasn’t bad. Definitely better than the newbies we were working to integrate. Regular grade, but she didn’t meet the standards for a Veteran. Still not bad for someone who clearly favored the economic side of the Lyran Commonwealth’s warrior nobility.

And really, didn’t that say everything about the situation I’d been dropped in?

“Reciprocation,” I finally replied, “They agree to a noncompete clause in Mediums, they continue to feed us experienced personnel so we can get the factories functional, and they agree to assist in negotiations with the Archon.”

The last of those was the one that would be most valuable. Regiment of Lostech Battlemechs or not, if the Archon decided she wanted our stuff, there wasn’t a lot that we could do about it. Being outside the Commonwealth meant we didn’t even have the questionable protection of its laws.

With a Lyran corporation that was protected by those laws standing beside us, Archon Steiner would hopefully at least have to pretend to consider an accommodation instead of landing a Brigade and declaring ownership.

I gave myself a mental shake.

“Most likely outcome is that we settle on a price per unit that gives Olivetti a bulk discount,” I said. “I’m torn between charging what the market will bear, and not price gouging. Leaning towards the latter; we need goodwill more than we need quick cash.”

Silence reigned for a long moment as we observed the ongoing test drive.

I frowned.

“I feel like a damn used car salesman standing here like this,” I announced and turned to leave. “C’mon, let’s see if we can rustle up something to eat.”

It probably wasn’t going to help, but maybe distracting Narcissa with a light meal would keep her from fleecing me the way her father had.


Weber’s Holdfast, Catachan, Catachan System
Former Apollo Province, Unclaimed Territory
September 4th, 3010

With the Bacteriologist’s all clear, we’d given Narcissa a guided tour of the underground factories.

Once she was satisfied that we were neither crazy nor wildly exaggerating, negotiations had gone essentially as expected. I hadn’t had to come down quite as far as I’d expected on the price of the ‘Mech components, but seemingly in exchange, Narcissa had been utterly ruthless in going after a good price on the Argent Maple.

I’d held my own, but I was less conversant on exactly how much it was worth, so I knew she’d taken me for a bit of a ride.

Mostly, though, I’d been concerned with guarantees, and I’d gotten them. Most critically, a promise that Olivetti Weaponry would stand with the CAC on the one absolute requirement I intended to present to the Archon. With their backing, I figured that the odds of getting that concession were about even. Maybe sixty-forty in favor. Not bad for something that would turn the entire business ecosystem of the Inner Sphere on its head.

Comet had actually broken out some of her sake for after everything was concluded.

I’d taken the minimum required to be polite; Narcissa had seemingly intended to do the same only to discover that Geraldine had good taste in booze. She’d asked for a refill almost in spite of herself, then asked where Geraldine sourced her stash.

That may actually have done more to improve my second’s impression of her than anything else she’d done during her whole stay.

Now, however, everything was finished. Documents had been drawn up, argued, amended, drawn up again, read obsessively, then signed. All that was left was to wait until Smitty got back with the Mules. A quick unload and turn around on the Long Haul and-

“Why tell me?” Narcissa asked, derailing my train of thought entirely.

“Pardon?” I asked, reflexively trying to buy time for my brain to reengage.

“I could tell you knew I was bluffing, so why tell me? If you’d denied it, I wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on, and if you didn’t think I’d believe that, you could simply have admitted to the cache of ‘Mechs and parts you found,” she said, eyes serious. “Even if I was suspicious, I wouldn’t have had anything to go on but a gut feeling.”

In a way, I was surprised it had taken her so long to ask. In another, I was surprised she’d had to ask at all.

“My dad always told me, ‘Begin as you mean to continue,’” I said with a sigh. “I took great pains to avoid lying to you at any point. Omitting details? Yes. Outright lies? No.”

“That seems to be an odd stance to take,” she said intently, and I realized she’d been affected more by the alcohol than I’d thought. Another reason not to drink. Especially good sake on an empty stomach.

“It’s an indictment of the world we live in that you think so,” I asserted. “What it boils down to is that either I could trust you, or I couldn’t. And you and your father had been straight with me. I had no reason to distrust you. So I chose to extend my trust.”

Her face scrunched up. It was the most open expression I’d ever seen on her features.

“Right now you’re thinking that that is an incredibly naive belief,” I said, and her expression turned guilty for a second before she mastered herself.

“Again, an indictment of the universe,” I assured her, “not you.”

She paused for a long moment and looked at me before she spoke again.

“Why then, if you were concerned about security. Why not when we landed, or even once we were out into the Periphery?”

I could have fired off an answer. I almost did. Instead, I thought about the answer. The real answer, not a throwaway comment, and how to convey that answer.

“Because even after the trip here from Sudeten, I didn’t really know you,” I began. “More than that, until you signed that contract for the Warhammer line, all we had was a one-time agreement to trade equipment for money and services.

“Once you signed the contract, we weren’t just casual contacts or one-off customers. When we signed on those lines, my company inherited your enemies and you inherited ours. Don’t expect a warm welcome from Duke Ferguson, by the way.”

Narcissa gave an inelegant snort. It seems she’d met him before.

“We might be the Catachan Arms Company now, “I continued, “but our roots are as a mercenary company. What happens to a mercenary company that isn’t considered trustworthy?”

“Ah, a point,” she said. Untrustworthy or even just untrusted mercenaries didn’t tend to last very long in the Inner Sphere.

“But,” I took up the thread once more, “that runs both ways. It was good fortune that meant we had just the right thing to sell you at the right time, but I didn’t exactly pick Olivetti Weaponry’s name out of a hat. I discussed it with my officers and major shareholders and we came to the conclusion that you were the most trustworthy option we had, in addition to our ability to offer you a good long-term deal.

“With that in mind, I had a choice. I could either treat you like an ally, someone worthy of respect, or I could treat you like a potential enemy and risk making you one.

“I made the choice.”

“Just like that?” Narcissa asked me, eyes focused on me like a laser.

“Just like that,” I agreed.

Narcissa’s eyes closed and she took a deep breath. When she opened them, she had the look of someone who had reached a decision.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a longer-term alliance?” she asked.

It took me a moment to parse that. When I did, I know I started to blush.

I opened my mouth to reply, but caught myself. The last thing I wanted to do here was end up tasting boot leather. I let my head tilt to the side and really looked at the woman sitting across from me.

After a long moment, I too reached a decision.

“We’d make each other miserable,” I told her with no small amount of regret. She really was a beautiful woman. She had a sense of humor and a set of morals. I could do worse. But …

“I can tell by what you’ve said that you legitimately enjoy the court at Tamar.”

She was good at the politics and the games, and you only got that good if it was something you liked to do, as well as your job.

“If we married, I’d want you to spend time here, and it wouldn’t take you long to resent it,” I said. “And if I didn’t say anything or told you to go ahead and go network at Court, it wouldn’t take long before I started to resent you being gone all the time.”

“Resentment is about the worst possible foundation for a relationship.”

Narcissa frowned, but didn’t argue.

I felt intensely awkward as the silence extended. Finally she looked away with a huff.

“Daddy phrased it as a joke, but before he sent me out here he suggested sounding you out. I didn’t think I’d be interested.”

That was probably the nicest thing a woman had said to me in two decades. Mostly in my last life, I had been the rebound guy, because I was ‘safe.’

I cleared my throat, which had gotten unaccountably thick.

“To be fair, when I first met you, I didn’t think I’d be so tempted.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, a look in her eye that suggested I should be careful with my answer.

“That you have more to bring to the table than just daddy’s money and some impressive looks,” I told her with complete seriousness.

That may have been the first time I ever saw Narcissa Olivetti truly flustered by a compliment.


Weber’s Holdfast, Catachan, Catachan System
Former Apollo Province, Unclaimed Territory
September 16th, 3010

As the Implacable and the Long Haul ascended out of Catachan’s atmosphere, I felt like I should be giving a speech, maybe heading off to work on my ‘Mech, or at least saying something understated and profound.

Instead, I was off to a meeting with Baron Jones, who had finally gotten a chance to start working on his preferred project.

I hoped he wasn’t going to tell me that I was nuts for even suggesting it; with Narcissa heading back to Sudeten, it would be terribly embarrassing to have to send an HPG message on the next trip that we weren’t going to be able to make the five year deadline after all.

I shook my head as I stopped gawking after the dropships. Five years seemed like a long time to me, but I knew it would go faster that I anticipated. Someday soon, I’d look up and realize that it was the thirty-teens and we only had a couple years to finish up before it was time.

Project Phoenix was ambitious, and it was going to make us enemies. Not just a planetary Duke or a Megacorp here or there.

The phone company didn’t know it yet, but I was probably their public enemy number one. The Combine would be gunning for us for sure, and the Clans were out there somewhere, though whether they’d even be a concern this century … I didn’t remember. Man, but I wish I’d bothered to look up when they were scheduled to invade.

All I remembered was that there was supposed to be a covert scouting force that preceded them and then went native.

Maybe, in the end, it was a good thing that I didn’t know ahead of time what was supposed to happen when. After all, I was about to throw a rather large spanner into the works. Who knew when the pieces would stop falling and what might get moved up, pushed back, or butterflied away entirely.

I dodged around a trolley moving a heavy toolbox. There was getting to be more and more of that, which I took as a sign of progress.

At first, we’d rattled around in the old Amaris Dragoons compound like a handful of peas in a number ten can. After the trip to Sudeten and the first supply run/hiring binge to Steelton, there was a lot more activity. It made the Holdfast feel less like a tomb, and more like the city I hoped it would grow back into.

Hopefully, the lead Olivetti had run down for us would only speed up the trend; one of the shuttles had brought down a spare jump computer and loaded it on the Implacable before she took off. It would mean a two jump detour, but we had a chance to pick up a fifty percent stake in an Invader for little more than a couple weeks investment, some labor, and parts we had just sitting there. With a second JumpShip to make the Sudeten run for us, we could dedicate the Smitty to a regular Steelton run. Maybe even expand to Toland or some of the other nearby systems.

More traffic, more money changing hands, and more economic growth. Keep the pirates out of the way, and we’d have a shot at kicking off the economic Renaissance. Almost like it was part of a plan.

That made me grin even as my guts tried to clench. Project Phoenix was … ambitious. That the least ambitious part of it involved everybody from Webers Warriors ending up filthy rich should be an indicator. Because if I was stuck in the Grim, Dark Future, I was disinclined to let it remain grim or dark.

Thus ends book one. Expect some more Interludes as time skips forward before the second book (third arc) takes off.

Thanks again to LordsFire, Seraviel, and Yellowhammer for beta reading, idea bouncing, and canon compliance checking.