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Crossover Bad Things Come in Twos (Mass Effect AU/Gundam Iron-Blooded Orphans)

Chapter 21
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member

    Chapter 21

    As Kudelia Aina Bernstein’s broadcast, stretched across the bridge window of the Montag Company’s Briscoe class transport, shifted into the announcement that humanity was not alone in the universe, McGillis Fareed laughed.

    He rarely laughed out loud and this hard – in fact, his sides were starting to hurt because he was laughing so hard – but it was the only suitable reaction for this. In one fell swoop, Tekkadan and Teiwaz had disrupted everything, and in the process, tarnished Gjallarhorn’s reputation beyond anyone’s expectations. McGillis sensed the hand of McMurdo Barriston in the idea to use the aliens in this way, but the execution was all Tekkadan and Kudelia Aina Bernstein, and they delivered it with aplomb.

    “Bravo,” he said as his laughter died down, and he paid attention to the aliens’ words.

    “Listen to them,” Todo muttered at his side. “They’re practically daring Gjallarhorn to touch them.”

    McGillis smiled as the Arianrhod fleet’s mobile suits came to a halt. “The Seven Stars won’t allow it. It would turn an already bad situation into a disaster.”

    “If you say so boss,” Todo replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

    McGillis took stock of the bridge crews’ reactions. They were in various states of shock, although as far as he could discern, none of them were incapable of handling their duties. That would be sufficient to execute the next phase of his plan, although it would be less than optimal – at the very least, he expected some reluctance and trepidation at the thought of rendezvousing with Tekkadan.

    As soon as the broadcast ended, he gave the order to proceed to the prearranged coordinates – there was a slight hesitation, but nothing too worrying. Satisfied, McGillis proceeded to his quarters, removing his coat and carefully laying the mask in a box that fit inside his luggage.

    As he finished putting the box away, the intercom came to life. “Sir, you’ve got an urgent call from a… Gaelio Bauduin on your private line.”

    McGillis nodded to himself. Early in the planning of this mission, he had brought up the point that communication in the field might be necessary, and had set up this line to facilitate that. The fact that it did not go to a passenger vessel was something Gjallarhorn overlooked, although some falsified records made it harder for them to notice that.

    “Very well, put him on,” McGillis replied, tossing his vest and tie on the bed. In his button-down shirt and slacks, he not only distanced himself from his appearance on Dort 3, but he looked like one of the higher ranked workers without a sweater on. Normally, he wouldn’t be concerned with Gaelio even being aware of details like that, but he’d presented said details during the planning phase of the mission and therefore needed them to maintain his cover.

    McGillis sat down and pulled the folding desk down from its stowed position, allowing the built-in monitor to pop up and come to life. When Gaelio’s face appeared onscreen, he was struck by how out of sorts the other man was. His face was pale and sweaty, his hair was mussed up far beyond what a helmet would do, and he seemed to be shaking a bit.

    “McGillis?” Gaelio’s voice sounded as shaky as he seemed to be, and more than a little childish too. “Where are you?”

    “I’m on the transport. It looks like our intelligence was off base – there wasn’t a single sign of Kudelia on Dort 2. It seems she was on Dort 3 the whole time.”

    Gaelio’s eyes widened at the mention of the girl’s name. “Did you see her message? Did you see—” The scion of House Bauduin pressed a hand to the side of his head. “This can’t be real, can it?”

    McGillis sat there, mouth slightly agape as he processed what he was seeing. “I think it is very real.” He paused. “I take it you didn’t succeed in your part of the mission?”

    Gaelio looked down for a second, and when he looked back at the camera, his eyes were watering. “N-no… and… and Ein didn’t make it.”

    “Are you sure?” McGillis found the young Gjallarhorn ensign to be a rather dour and narrowminded individual, but one that was useful in spite of his limitations. If he was merely heavily wounded, Ein could serve as a valuable test subject for one of McGillis’ long term projects.

    “I… I’m pretty sure.” Gaelio’s self-control continued its sliding decline. “I-I saw-“

    A notification popped up on the screen, interrupting whatever Gaelio was going to say. It was a message from the bridge, letting him know there was a pending call from Lord Bauduin. McGillis raised his eyebrows in surprise, then returned his attention to his friend.

    “Gaelio, your father is trying to call me.” That seemed to calm the shaken major a bit. “As soon as I’m done talking to him, I’ll have him call you, alright?”

    “Ye-yeah, that sounds good.” Gaelio’s nod was a bit too fast and still a little shaky, but he at least didn’t seem to be in the midst of a mental breakdown. “I-I’ll talk to you later then.”

    The connection cut from Gaelio’s end, allowing the signal from Vingolf to immediately replace it. The image of Gallus Bauduin’s face was grim and more than a little anxious. “McGillis, things are falling apart down here – I hope you have an explanation for… for this disaster.”

    Making sure his own face was appropriately grim, he reiterated his explanation, then added, “Gaelio and I should have foreseen the possibility of Teiwaz and Tekkadan colluding with the aliens to deceive us.”

    “No, don’t blame yourselves,” Gallus muttered wearily. “We all missed that possibility. And now we’re paying for it, dearly.” He sighed deeply, then ran his hand over his mouth. “How soon can you return to Vingolf?”

    “Once the lockdown is lifted, it shouldn’t take me more than 24 hours to return.” On the inside, McGillis smiled – the elder Bauduin’s didn’t know that his ship had already departed Dort airspace, and the figure he’d given was more than enough time to conclude his business with Tekkadan.

    “Good. There’ll be a board of inquiry into this – not due to anything you or Gaelio did,” Gallus added. “Standard procedure for a combat mission with casualties.”

    “I am well aware of that, sir.” McGillis hesitated, which caught the man’s attention, as he knew it would. “About Gaelio… it might be best if you call him right away.”

    “What happened to him?” For a moment, McGillis was taken aback by the sudden harshness in Gallus’ voice, before realizing it was merely an expression of his anxiety and parental concern.

    “Gaelio’s physically fine, but…” Again, he hesitated. “He just lost his protégé, and I think that caused the news to hit him harder that it might have otherwise.”

    “I see.” Gallus’ expression softened, and a wave of relief and exhaustion briefly crossed his face. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get on it right away.”

    “No thanks are necessary, sir. I’m only doing what any friend would do.”

    “Don’t be so modest, McGillis. Just get back here as soon as you can.” Once again the connection cut out, leaving McGillis alone with his thoughts.

    Gaelio’s situation was intriguing, to say the least. While he hadn’t suffered a full mental breakdown yet – or at least, he didn’t appear to have, his mental state meant that he was likely far more susceptible to manipulation than he’d normally be. And that made him a far more useful asset alive than dead, given the uncertain timeframe McGillis now had to achieve his goals. If done properly, it wouldn’t take much to leverage Gaelio’s own misgivings about Gjallarhorn’s behavior and actions into firm support for McGillis’ own plans.

    As he contemplated this, he became aware of an odd sensation, one that he realized, after several seconds, was relief. Relief that he no longer needed to kill his best – his only – friend. That realization shamed him.

    Is this truly how weak my resolve is? He asked himself. How can I reach the heights that Agnika Kaieru achieved, never mind surpass them, if this is how I feel when I avoid the truly great sacrifices?

    There was no answer in the silent cabin.



    “The DCN launch is on its way.”

    With that, Orga sighed in relief and sagged into the captain’s chair. For such a tumultuous day, it felt like it’d taken a week to get through it all, and he was starting to feel a little burnt out. Thankfully, Kudelia and Vass had offered to shepherd the news crew off the ship, a task that had taken three times as long as it should have, because the reporters kept stopping to talk to various human and non-human crew members. The practical part of him didn’t blame them – they could string that footage out for at least a week and make good money off of it, but he just wanted to be done with today. After months of dread, a little relief was something he was looking forward to.

    With Eugene at the helm punching in the coordinates for their rendezvous with their mysterious “friend” from Dort 3, Orga seriously contemplated closing his eyes and sleeping for a bit. That hope was dashed when the communications console began bleeping.

    “I’ve got it,” Chad announced, moving from his station over to Fumitan’s old position. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he remembered that she’d never be around to help them again. “It’s a call from home base, back on Mars!”

    “Wha-“ Orga cut himself off as he realized what was going on. “Put them on the main viewer.”

    Dexter Culastor, the treasurer of Tekkadan, appeared on screen. He was in one of the office workspaces with multiple computers, and in the background, a whole lot of children were at the workstations. As the meek, glasses wearing accountant started speaking, Orga could swear all the kids were saying some variation of “Please hold.”

    “Uh, boss, we have a situation here.” The middle aged man shifted uncomfortably and wiped some sweat off his brow. “We’re getting bombarded by calls from news agencies throughout the system, asking for more information on some aliens?”

    It took a second for Orga to realize what he said. “Wait, you haven’t seen the news?”

    “No, I’ve seen it – some of the kids were watching TV when Ms. Kudelia’s speech came on, so I listened in.”

    Orga thought the man was remarkably nonplussed about the whole thing, but that was probably a good thing.

    That said, he hadn’t expected – and in retrospect, he should have – a media blitz on headquarters once the news got out. It wouldn’t take anyone long to figure out where Tekkadan’s base was and what its contact info was, because it was on public record in the Arbrau databases, as required by law. And a news organization would naturally have plenty of people on hand to search for things like that, especially when the story of the century – perhaps of all centuries – happened.

    “Alright, here’s what I want you to do. Tell them all that you’ve got nothing more to say, and that we’ll talk to them once we get to Edmonton.”

    “You want me to send that as an official statement?”

    Orga shrugged. “I mean, make it sound a little better, but yeah, basically.”

    Dexter sighed. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but thanks, boss. I’ll get it done as fast as possible.”

    The connection cut off, and an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

    After several long moments, Biscuit Griffon, sitting in the copilot’s chair, spoke up. “Hey Orga… do you think we should see what the news is saying?”

    “I honestly don’t know.” Orga’s voice sounded a little hollow in his own ears. “Where would we even start?”

    The three other teens in the room looked at each other.

    “How about Earth news?” Eugene suggested. “We’re going there eventually, so we might as well see what they think.”

    “Alright then. Chad, get us some news.”

    “Right, boss.” Chad fiddled with the controls for a few minutes. “How does MultiNational News sound?”

    “Perfect. Put it on, nice and big.”

    A video window spanning the whole main viewport appeared, showing a frazzled looking black woman sitting behind a polished metal and glass curved desk. A news ticker feed whirled wildly at the bottom, while a large red banner, going from one side of the window to the other, declared in large, bold white text WE ARE NOT ALONE. The weight of that proclamation dazed Orga for a second, and distracted him from the reporter’s words.

    “If you are just joining us, mankind has just learned that life outside this solar system exists. At 3:18 Greenwich Mean Time, during a statement condemning a Gjallarhorn false flag attack against the laborers of the Dort Colonies, Kudelia Aina Bernstein introduced the crew of an alien exploratory vessel that has been stranded in our solar system. Miguel Masterson has been gathering details on this historic story – Miguel, what’s new?”

    The camera cut to an equally frazzled, but somewhat dazed middle-aged man somewhere backstage in the news facility. He was surrounded by people frantically using their workstation computers – every screen in the camera’s view had something related to Kudelia’s statement.

    “Well Diedra, Dort Colony Network is currently running a live broadcast of the return of its anchors. We’re getting word that they’ll be held in medical isolation for a few days as a precaution, to prevent the spread of alien germs.” The man paused, looking down and holding a finger to an earpiece before continuing. “This just in – the Martian private military company Tekkadan has put out an official statement that reads ‘At this time, Tekkadan Headquarters has no additional information to provide regarding the aliens or the company’s relationship with said aliens. Any and all questions should be forwarded to Tekkadan representatives, once they arrive in Edmonton.’”

    “I see we made quite the impression,” a familiar voice said from the rear of the bridge. Orga turned his chair sharply – there stood Dr. Vass and Kudelia, and he hadn’t even heard them enter. He noted that Kudelia looked a little gobsmacked by it all, and he found it hard to blame her. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you put on a business network? I find that they are a little less likely to waste time on minutia.”

    Orga rotated his chair back to face the screen. “Chad?”

    “Gimme a second… okay, let’s try this.”

    The video flickered black for a second, then resolved onto a new broadcast. Unlike the last news set, there was a great deal of wood in the furniture, as well as a large sign hanging from the ceiling announcing that they were watching the “InterPlanetary Business Network.” A pale, bald middle aged man sat this news desk, while a bored looking Asian woman sat across from him.

    “This just in – Dort Company stock has dropped 33% in the last fifteen minutes. Trinie, given what we’ve seen, what are the odds that this freefall won’t continue?”

    The woman simply said, “Well Bill, that depends on whether the company can convince investors that it’s not as culpable in what is likely to be the worst PR disaster in human history as it appears to be. From the outside, it looks like they hired Gjallarhorn to kill workers who wanted better pay and better living conditions. That’s going to be hard to shake.”

    A sudden realization struck Orga. “Hey, Biscuit. Now might be a good time to send a message to your brother.”

    Biscuit turned towards him in confusion, then understanding dawned on him. “Can I use your office?”

    “Sure.”

    Orga looked off to the side, catching Kudelia’s face out of the corner of his eye. She was staring straight at the IPBN video feed, her expression shifting between astonishment, shock, and horror. As the anchors droned on about the various upheavals and potential financial impact of the existence of aliens, she finally managed to choke out a few words. “This is what we did?”

    Orga glanced back at the screen and nodded. “Yup.”

    “And you’re fine with that?”

    He gave her a quick once over, and wrote off Kudelia’s attitude as a delayed stress reaction. “Honestly, I figure that after a few days, things will settle down and get back to normal for everyone, except for Gjallarhorn. They’re probably in for a whole lot of trouble right now.”

    Kudelia started to say something, then shook her head. “You might be right. So, what are we doing now?”

    “Well, we’re following up on this message we got on Dort 3.” Orga pulled the paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Vass. “Whoever left it also put a tracker on you – that’s how we managed to find out where you were.”

    She moved to his side and leaned on the arm of his chair. “If that was left in my room, then that person was the same one who threatened me and Fumitan, and I want nothing to do with him.”

    Orga’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me more.”

    “He barged into my room, told me that… told me stuff about the workers’ revolt and about Fumitan.” Frustration spread across her face as she realized Orga wasn’t being persuaded. “He hid his face under a gold mask! He could’ve killed us – or worse!”

    “Kudelia,” Vass said in a gentle voice, laying a friendly hand on her shoulder. “You do realize that you’ve only made it more imperative that we meet this individual?”

    She looked at him in disbelief. “What?!”

    “That man was clearly a covert agent,” the Salarian patiently explained. “One connected to a well-informed source of information and with at least some resources. The fact that you and Fumitan were allowed to leave indicates that there was at least some value to him and his employers in keeping you alive, which means we may share common interests and could possibly form an alliance with these people.”

    That shook her out of her outrage, and she seemed to shrink in on herself, her face a sea of troubles. Orga looked over at Chad and Eugene, and the uncertainty in their eyes said all that needed to be said.

    “We’ll continue as planned to this rendezvous,” he announced. “I want to hear this guy out… because like it or not, we’re going to need every ally we can get. We embarrassed Gjallarhorn so bad, they’ll literally write about it in the history books – so they’ll come down on us harder than we can imagine. I want every edge I can get before that happens.” He turned to face Kudelia. “That said, if he turns out to be potential threat, I won’t hesitate to take him out – permanently.”

    Kudelia locked eyes with him and nodded. “That’s fine by me.”

    “Good.” Orga turned back to the front of the bridge. “Full speed ahead. We’ve got an appointment to keep.”



    For the first time in centuries, the council chambers of the Seven Stars of Gjallarhorn were the bustling hive of activity that they originally were. Some aides darted in and out of the room, delivering tablets containing data or news reports from throughout the system, while other aides huddled by the outside walls, maintaining muted conversations with colleagues outside the room. Every so often, someone would burst in with a new bit of catastrophy for their attention.

    Gallus Bauduin chugged half a glass of water in an attempt to moderate the growing migraine pounding in his right temple. He knew he’d regret it soon, but the last thing he needed to do was lose his temper, as Lord Nemo Baklazan did early in the meeting.

    That said, he could not fault Baklazan for his enraged rant at Lord Ellion – the commander of the Arianrhod fleet had certainly set up and tipped most of the dominos that led to this disaster, and the chain reaction was still going. A small part of him realized that they wouldn’t know the full extent of it for years, possibly decades, down the line – it was simply too big to grasp the entire picture.

    One of the aides whispering along the walls stepped forward. “Sirs, we’ve just confirmed that massive protests are forming outside all groundside facilities throughout the system. What are your orders?”

    “Lock down the bases,” Iznario Fareed growled before Ellion could say anything. “If the perimeters are breached, use non-lethal weaponry only. Civilian casualties are to be avoided at all costs.”

    Another aide burst into the room, holding up a tablet with a news report. “Sirs, the President of the African Union has just put out warrants for the arrests of the Dort Company executive board, as well as a statement denouncing the Arianrhod fleet!”

    “No surprise there,” mumbled the portly Elek Falk. “He had protestors practically on his door step – what else was he to do?”

    “He could’ve showed some spine!” Iok Kujan shot back. “He came to us to mediate the dispute!”

    “I suspect he assumed that the mediation would actually involve negotiation, as opposed to he actually received,” Gallus wearily replied, studiously avoiding Rustal Ellion’s face. “Like it or not, we did kill a large number of his citizens, so we have to deal with that… on top of this whole alien situation.”

    Carta Issue, head of the Issue family and commander of the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet, sat up straighter at that. “The Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet stands ready to defend Earth, if necessary.”

    “A situation that only exists because your analysts failed to account for the possibility that the aliens remained in this system,” Ellion dryly observed, staring Gallus down.

    The elder Bauduin felt his jaw set as tried to keep his disdain from leaking into his voice. “I seem to recall no one, including yourself, even posing said possibility. It seems that if there’s a blindspot in our thinking, it is one shared equally among all the Seven Stars and members of Gjallarhorn.”

    “The good thing is,” Lord Falk interjected, “we know the aliens aren’t hostile.”

    Carta frowned, and not for the first time, Gallus was stuck by how young she seemed… and it felt like she was a child just yesterday. I need to stop thinking about how old I’m getting. He sighed, and cast another glance at her. It’s a shame that she and Gaelio never became a couple… that would have simplified so many things. He paused and reconsidered that. Actually, her and McGillis would’ve been fine too, and would’ve avoided some of her… eccentricities, but then I’d have to worry more about Almiria…

    “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Lord Falk.” Carta gestured to one of the tablets strewn on the table. “Yes, I know the aliens said they came in peace, but we have no evidence pointing to that.”

    “The fact that we’re still alive is all the evidence we need.”

    Carta let out an exasperated sigh. “I still don’t follow.”

    “The aliens have a ship that can travel faster than light, yes?”

    “I suppose so…”

    “Then they could have had it come here and dropped a rock on us, or whatever it is these aliens do to wage war on each other, and escaped before our forces could have reacted.”

    Everyone paused as that realization sank in.

    “Wait a second,” Iok held up a finger to emphasize his point. “Didn’t they say their ship was disabled?”

    “No, they said they suffered an accident outside of Jupiter’s orbit,” Lord Baklazan reminded them. “They never said what that accident was or what it did.”

    “We should—”

    Rustal Ellion never got to finish that thought, as a new Gjallarhorn officer burst into the room, panting like crazy. It took a second for him to catch his breath, which gave Gallus enough time to realize the man was from the Gjallarhorn Judge Advocate General branch. What do they have to do with this?

    “Sirs,” he started, before having to take in another deep breath. “The economic blocks… they’ve all invoked 9-22-R protections on anything related to the aliens!”

    Each member of the Seven Stars glanced at the others in complete befuddlement before Carta Issue asked the question on all their minds: “What does that even mean?”

    Taken aback by the question, the JAG officer took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. “Article 9, section 22, clause R of the Vingolf Proclamation defines the circumstances under which the four economic blocks can refuse Gjallarhorn mediation for inter-block diplomatic issues and restrict our access to said negotiations.” He gulped, as he got to the really bad news. “The wording differs in each message, but all the blocks state that the alien situation is a matter to be negotiated amongst themselves, and that Gjallarhorn is barred from any and all events related to them until a date yet to be specified… which will be determined once the aliens arrive in Edmonton.”

    Gallus buried his face in his hands, almost certain that this news was circulating throughout the system at that very moment. Rustal Ellion and Inzario Fareed’s mouths were compressed into equally dour scowls, while Carta and Iok began arguing with the beleaguered JAG officer over the utility of such a clause, and the final two Seven Stars slumped back in their chairs. And yet more information flowed into the room as the world continued to react to the news, awash in the chaos of such an untimely revelation.

    Gallus knew that there’d be a light at the end of this long, miserable tunnel… but at the moment, it was nowhere in sight.



    Author's Notes: Hope you enjoy catching up with our good friend McGillis and his reaction to the last chapter. That ending bit of his section is a reaction to his words and actions in the S1 and S2 finales, which reveal a lot about his mindset and attitude throughout the show - and this is the point where he is going to diverge from his canon counterpart, as an indirect result of these events. It won't be as big as Gaelio's divergence, but it should be equally interesting.

    One thing that IBO could've used was a little more insight into what the people of the worlds were getting as news, so I worked that into the Orga section. We never did find out about whatever happened to the Dort Company, but having your workers getting shot on TV is really bad for the stock value, so they probably got into a bit of trouble. Well, in this timeline, they're probably going to be facing even worse trouble.

    I had a little fun in the obligatory Seven Stars react section - if you're familiar with certain parts of the US legal code, you'll spot the reference. Since we never see the Vingolf Proclamation on screen (and it's only referred to on a piece of onscreen text), I picture it as a sort of US Constitution type of document, where people (especially the Seven Stars) are probably only familiar with the opening and random sections that they use to justify whatever it is they're doing, if at all. Of course, them getting locked out of diplomatic functions related to the aliens is least that could happen to them, but hey, there's still time for things to develop.
     
    Chapter 22
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member

    Chapter 22

    McGillis raised an eyebrow under his mask as his transport’s airlock umbilical connected to the Hammerhead. He had expected the Isaribi to arrive alone, but somehow, the Teiwaz ship had managed to slip past the slowly dispersing Gjallarhorn fleet to make this rendezvous. Naturally, that increased the odds of them being discovered, and he’d put the crew on high alert to ensure that Gjallarhorn did not interrupt this meeting, but it spoke either to a lack of confidence or lack of trust (or both, he supposed) on Tekkadan’s behalf.

    As he stepped aboard, he was met by Naze Turbine and Amida Arca, both of whom he’d extensively researched as part of his preparations for this mission. They were quite guarded in their manner, but introducing himself as a representative of the Montag Company was enough to earn the privilege of being escorted to their lounge, which was lavish, but not ostentatious, to his eye. He appreciated the restraint on display – it was all quite tasteful, and set a comfortable atmosphere for the meeting.

    McGillis sat alone on one couch, while everyone else sat or stood next to the chairs on the other side of the room. He recognized all the humans, of course, and it was interesting to note the expressions on Orga Itsuka and Biscuit Griffon’s faces – clearly, Kudelia had told them something of their encounter on Dort 3. The most intriguing person in the room was one of the aliens, wearing what appeared to be a fully sealed spacesuit – it took McGillis a moment to realize this was the Dr. Vass from Kudelia’s broadcast.

    Interesting, he thought. Is he simply a representative of the aliens, or an advisor? The spacesuit clearly indicates he fears transmitting a disease to me, yet he had no reservations about exposing the Dort Colony Network anchors to that same risk.

    Then again, all things were not equal. To some degree, the revelation of their existence at Dort had been preplanned, so it was likely the anchors were given some sort of vaccination against alien diseases prior to their departure. McGillis’ visit was, from their perspective, entirely foreseen, and therefore could not receive such considerations.

    What he could tell, as he looked over the alien’s face through his helmet’s transparent faceplate, was that this Dr. Vass was, in his own way, as perceptive and deadly as Mikazuki Augus. Deception would do him no favors here.

    But then, he didn’t need to deceive them at all.

    “Alright, Mr. No Name, how about you tell us who you are and who you’re working for,” Orga said, not even bothering to hide his hostility and suspicion. McGillis found the lack of pretense quite refreshing.

    “As I told you, I represent the Montag Company.” That done, he added, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Bernstein” to gauge their reactions.

    Orga and Biscuit tensed at that, but Kudelia herself showed no reaction to it, a subtle display of resolve that he appreciated. It seems my confidence in her is not misplaced.

    Naze leaned forward. “Now, tell us your proposal.”

    “We have the means necessary to provide you with a reentry ship down to Earth.” That gave them pause, and he leaned forward, keeping his masked face aimed directly at Kudelia. “You desire a revolution, and we’d like to extend our support… if that’s agreeable to you, miss.”

    “So, you’re offering to be our advocate?” Naze straightened up in his chair. “I could have sworn you were here to talk business.”

    “Yes, of course I am.” Sensing the increased scrutiny on him, especially from the alien doctor, McGillis laid out what the Montag Company wanted. “When you’ve achieved your goals, Nobliss Gordon and McMurdo Barriston will each gain the rights to all half-metals. To put it simply, my company wants in.”

    There were various degrees of surprise on the humans’ faces – Naze, Amida, Orga, and Biscuit seemed more surprised that he would mention the Gordon-Barriston connection, while Kudelia seemed shocked that such a connection existed. Dr. Vass, for his part, merely seemed curious.

    “Now I understand,” Naze replied, sitting up straighter.

    “What do you say?” McGillis directed the question at Kudelia.

    “Negotiations haven’t started yet.” Her reply was cool and calm, exactly what was needed for this situation. “Do you think they’ll succeed?”

    “Based on what I’ve seen at the Dort colonies, I have reason to believe they will.” He allowed himself a slight smile. “And since the economic blocks have barred Gjallarhorn from all diplomatic events involving your guests,” tipping his head towards Vass, “the only real concern is if they find a way to circumvent that restriction and intervene.”

    “How soon do you need an answer?” Naze interjected.

    “Afraid we don’t have a lot of time left. Please, make your decision quickly.”

    Kudelia closed her eyes for a few moments, nodded to herself, then reopened them. “Alright, we’ll do it.”

    Now, that’s interesting, McGillis thought. What are you thinking, Ms. Kudelia Aina Bernstein?

    All he said was, “Excellent. If you’ll allow my transport to dock with the Isaribi, we can begin transferring over some supplies we brought, as a gesture of good faith.”

    “My people will handle that,” Orga announced, looking over at McGillis. “No offense – just don’t want to waste time with… certain hassles.”

    “I understand completely.” He leaned back on the couch. “It would be a bother to provide full immunizations to my crew on such short notice.”

    Orga’s face scrunched up in suspicion at that.

    “Since our business is concluded, I believe it would be best for you to return to your ship,” Naze added, glancing in Orga’s direction.

    “Certainly.” McGillis paused, then added, “That said, I would like a word with the good doctor. It’s not everyday that one gets to meet someone from another species.”

    The other humans looked at Vass, who looked amused by the request. “I see no harm in granting his request.”

    “Alright then.” Naze stood up and gestured for the others to follow. “Just make sure he finds his way back to his ship.”

    “Of course.” The alien stayed silent as they filed out of the room, waiting until the doors closed to ask, “So, who are you, really?”

    In reply, McGillis removed his mask and placed it on the table, then stood and placed his hand over his heart. “Specialist Major McGillis Fareed of Gjallarhorn’s Inspection Bureau.”

    Interesting.” Vass seemed genuinely intrigued by this revelation and sat in the chair Kudelia abandoned. “Why approach us this way?”

    “Two reasons – first, Tekkadan has no reason to trust me. We fought in Mars orbit, so they’ll suspect that I am trying to lure them into a trap – something I have no intention of doing,” McGillis assured him. “Second, I’m doing this as a favor to the Montag Company. They support my goals, so in return, I represented them in this business venture.”

    “And those goals would be?”

    “I want to reform Gjallarhorn, and finally put an end to all the corruption.” He paused, and added, “I’m not sure how familiar you are with the state of our solar system, but it is safe to say that things are nowhere near where they should be. The Seven Stars, the rulers of Gjallarhorn, care only about increasing their own power, instead of adhering to the vision of the organization’s founder.”

    “This founder of yours…”

    “Agnika Kaieru,” McGillis supplied.

    “What was his vision?”

    “This is a simplification, of course, but he desired a more egalitarian society, with far more freedoms than we have now, and with far less of the lingering problems that have persisted under Gjallarhorn’s current regime.”

    Vass considered this, tapping the chin of his helmet. “I assume that your interest in Tekkadan began before our presence in this system was known.”

    “Indeed it did. I’ve been impressed by what Tekkadan has accomplished, ever since we first met on Mars.” Now, McGillis thought, is the time to find out what I truly need to know. “Mikazuki Augus, in particular, was quite adept in his use of the Alaya-Vijnana System.”

    The Salarian’s eyes narrowed, almost as if he was trying to peer into the depths of McGillis’ soul. “Let us drop the pretense. What do you want with Tekkadan?”

    “It’s quite simple. I need allies outside of Gjallarhorn, ones with the power to help bring forth the changes necessary for its reform… and since we share mutual interests, they are an ideal choice.” McGillis leaned forward. “Tell me, do any among your crewmates have extensive knowledge of cybernetics?”

    “As it so happens, I do.”

    Very interesting. “Then it might interest you to know that the Alaya-Vijnana is the key to unleashing the full power of the Gundams… the ability to surpass all human limitations, to become engines of destruction without peer.”

    Vass considered this. “How much data on the Alaya-Vijnana do you have?”

    “Gjallarhorn has enough to reconstruct a version superior to the one proliferated throughout the Outer Spheres, but it has never been tested,” McGillis admitted. “Naturally, there were… concerns about implanting it in healthy test subjects, and there hasn’t been a situation where it could be justified as a medical necessity either.”

    “I have been collecting data on the system and its effects,” the Salarian replied, “in the hopes of devising a way to prevent people from suffering brain damage or countering damage incurred from botched implantations or misuse. However, my efforts would be greatly sped up if I had a comprehensive understanding of the Alaya-Vijnana.”

    A noble cause, but one that can easily benefit me, McGillis thought. “I propose a deal – in exchange for all the data you require, you assist in completing the improved version of the Alaya-Vijnana.”

    Again, the alien’s eyes narrowed. “For what purpose?”

    “There is one, specific Gundam that requires the pilot to use the Alaya-Vijnana.” He paused, mulling over how much that admission would cost him. “My plans were originally conceived with a decade or more in mind. Your presence here has distrupted that timetable.”

    “So you want every edge you can get.” Vass nodded, clearly choosing not to press matters further for his own reasons. “Very well, I accept your deal… on the condition that I can tell Orga your true nature.”

    McGillis considered both the risks and benefits of this addendum, and came to a swift conclusion. “Very well, I agree, but if either of you tell anyone outside of Tekkadan, both deals are off.”

    Vass nodded, then stood and offered his hand. “It’s a deal then.”

    McGillis put his mask back on, then shook the Salarian’s hand. “A pleasure doing business with you, Doctor.”

    As he headed toward the door, Vass added, “I do have one last question – why are you doing this?”

    McGillis paused and looked back at the alien, for once at a loss for words, unable to condense his life into something that could be conveyed with something as crude as language.

    “I see.” Vass shrugged. “I suppose for people such as yourself, it is easy to lose sight of what set you on your path in the first place, especially when you are plotting years into the future.” His tone hardened. “I expect an answer by the time the improved system is completed.”

    “I understand,” was all McGillis said before he stepped through the door.



    Iznario Fareed scowled in the solitude of his office, tapping his fingers on his desk as he waited for his call to go through. Before the alien crisis erupted, this call would have taken a minute at most to connect. It was currently ten minutes… and counting.

    Finally, the screen on his desk displayed the harried face of Henri Fleurs, his political ally inside Arbrau. He was heavily connected to her campaign for the Prime Minister position, which would allow him to indirectly control a quarter of the economic blocs – quite the coup, given his position in the Seven Stars. Yet that made her at least somewhat responsible for the most recent indignity upon Gjallarhorn, the 9-22-R sanctions against their involvement with the aliens.

    The old woman’s pink hair was tied up in a tight bun, but tufts stuck out at random, a sign that she’d been running her hands through it in frustration.

    “What can I do for you, Iznario?” she asked in a tone that made it clear that people had been demanding much from her.

    “That should be obvious,” he calmly remarked. “I saw the roll call for Arbrau’s vote on imposing 9-22-R restrictions on us. It was rather unanimous.”

    She let out a short snort of derision. “Is that what this is about?” She paused and sighed deeply. “Iznario, I had no other choice. All of our constituents were calling for action, and to be honest, it would have cost me too much political capital to not vote for it. And I cannot afford that, especially with Makanai making his intent to run known.”

    The previous Prime Minister, one Togonosuke Makanai, had been caught up in a carefully plotted corruption scandal – normally a political death sentence, but Makanai was extraordinarily popular and many citizens felt all he violated was an obscure technicality. Unfortunately, Fleurs was running for his vacated position, and that meant the two of them had a vested interest in preventing Kudelia Aina Bernstein from reaching Edmonton.

    “I see.” His scowl returned. “My ability to aid you with your troubles is… limited, given the restrictions imposed upon us.”

    “Believe me, I am well aware of that.” Fleurs paused, rooting around on her desk for something. “However, there is an angle that can be worked. Edmonton doesn’t have much in the way in hotels and other temporary housing, and we’ve already noticed a massive surge in people making reservations in order to be here when the aliens arrive. Gjallarhorn might be able to provide temporary housing and other services to ensure things run smoothly during such a historic event.”

    Iznario leaned back in his chair and considered the proposal. It was reasonable, and allowed him to postion assets in place to limit Kudelia’s access to the city, but there was still a major hurdle. “What guarantee do you have that the rest of the Arbrau parliament will agree to this?”

    “Oh, that’s quite easy – money.” Fleurs smiled. “If you, by which I mean Gjallarhorn, cover the costs of keeping these people housed and fed, then they will have few objections. Call it an act of good will or reparations for Dort, or whatever face-saving excuse you want.”

    He frowned at that, but it was true. Right now, Gjallarhorn’s public perception was at its lowest point in centuries – perhaps ever – and that had to be dealt with. Unfortunately, it was hard to do so without admitting Gjallarhorn had erred, something which further undermined the organization’s power and prestige. Any admission of weakness encouraged rebels and pirates to act, and he was sure that the current chaos was stirring those groups into a frenzy.

    “I will consider it,” he said, adding, “Keep me appraised.”

    “Of course.” Fleurs cut the connection, leaving Iznario to his thoughts. All things considered, her plan was fairly sound, although he wanted nothing of the financial responsibility for it. Ideally, Rustal Ellion would foot the bill, since his fleet precipitated the crisis.

    Fortuitously, the man himself arrived in Iznario’s office not five minutes later. After shaking hands and the usual pleasantries, both men stood looking out the window, neither willing to give the other a sign of weakness. Silence reigned until Ellion spoke.

    “We find ourselves in a conundrum,” he said slowly. “The current situation has placed… obstacles to our authority, ones we cannot easily sidestep or ignore. And even more unfortunately, I believe our fellow Seven Stars are not capable of guiding us through this crisis.”

    “An interesting perspective,” Iznario allowed. “Do you have some sort of proposal in mind?”

    “Not yet,” Ellion scowled as he grudgingly admitted that. “What we must do is be prepared to take advantage of any opportunities that arise to restore our standing.”

    “Even if they require us to humble ourselves a bit?” When Ellion glared at him, he clarified, adding, “I mean only in a financial or public relations sense.”

    Ellion’s scowl intensified. He was clearly unhappy with the idea, but simply said, “Depending on what the concession is, it maybe an acceptable course of action.”

    “I see.” Iznario nodded to himself. “If such an opportunity arises, I will certainly consult you. I assume you will do the same if our roles were reversed.”

    “Naturally.” A half-smile crossed Ellion’s face. “I’m glad you agree that cooperation is the best way for us to remove this blemish on Gjallarhorn’s record.”

    With that, he left the room, leaving Iznario to silent contemplation. He was sure that Ellion was also maneuvering to mitigate the damage from the alien revelation, but beyond that, he could not say. Arguably, Ellion was in the superior position, due to his direct control of the Arianrhod fleet and indirect control of the forces under Iok Kujan’s direct control, but Iznario had his own forces and indirect control of the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet under Carta Issue’s command. Politically, though, his was arguably the better position, at least for influencing the course of events…

    And that, Iznario thought, is the difference between us. I do not need pointless demonstrations of military strength to justify my position. Far better to control things behind the scenes, so that the chances of… unpleasantness are minimized. I will wait a while before presenting Henri’s proposal to him, to emphasize that point.

    Iznario nodded and returned to his desk, satisfied by his reasoning and secure in his purpose.



    Nevara Char put her feet up on the desk in the office assigned to her in the Black Site. It wasn’t much beyond a cubicle with an ergonomic chair, a fairly standard faux-wood desk, a computer terminal, and some monitors on the walls, but it was a nice place for getting away from everyone and everything else. With work slowly progressing on retrofitting the Thrill Seeker with an Ahab reactor, most of her crew was busy either helping the humans understand various bits of Citadel space tech or spinning their heels.

    Unluckily for Nevara, she had an unending deluge of paperwork to deal with, as she had to authorize everything involving her crew or the ship. Today’s drudgery was approving the disassembly of the complex electronics in one of the ship’s many survey probes. They were far beyond anything the humans had, so naturally Teiwaz wanted to copy them, mostly so they could avoid sending expensive ships and crews into hazardous shoal zones.

    Of course, given recent events, her work was going much slower than usual, as an unending stream of people kept stopping by to ask her if she’d heard the latest bits of news. In fact, she had a monitor cycling through various channels at half-hour intervals, albeit muted and with the closed captions on. She barely paid it any attention now, checking it every so often when the paperwork got too boring.

    “Hey Captain, what’s new?”

    She looked up to see Vorhess leaning on the door frame, his coveralls covered in numerous grease and oil stains.

    “Not much,” she replied, returning her gaze to her work monitor. “The humans are all flailing about. Just about the only thing they all agree on is that Gjallarhorn shooting workers is bad.”

    “Even Gjallarhorn?” the Batarian engineer had a small smile on his face as he asked the question.

    “Well, no, not them, but they haven’t said anything since Kudelia put on her little show.” Nevara looked up and shrugged. “I think they’re hoping that the whole thing will blow over soon, which is… kinda delusional, but hey, I’m not the one in charge over there.”

    “Well, I don’t think any of the folks on Earth are going to let them forget this kerfuffle any time soon.” Vorhess stretched his arms out, working a kink out of his shoulders. “Are we going to get our shot at the limelight anytime soon?”

    “Nope. Nobody’s going to bother us until after Orga shows up at the Arbrau election with Vass and the others.” Nevara gave the Batarian a lopsided grin. “Between you and me, I'm glad Orga's keeping that spotlight on himself, because we're nowhere near ready to get cameras shoved in our face. So, any chance the ship will be in one piece by then?”

    He grimaced. “Well, the hull maybe, but not the interior. It’s going to take a hell of a lot longer to setup those waveguides and put the floors back together.”

    “So… no guided tours anytime soon.”

    “Nope. Pretty sure those Teiwaz bigwigs aren’t going to be happy about that.”

    Nevara snorted. “I think they want to see how much money they can bilk from each and every company that wants access to the ship, and the bids haven’t come in yet. The media is still going nuts about us existing, so give it a week or so before that’s even really a thing.”

    “Makes sense,” Vorhess acknowledged. “I guess we aren’t going to have a chance to get off this rock until then?”

    “Right, and odds are, we’re just going to be going to Mars or Saisei.” The weary Asari shrugged and once again returned her attention to the paperwork. “But hey, at least it’ll be a change of scenery, right?”

    He chuckled. “It sure will. You mind if I spread that tidbit among the crew?”

    “Pretty sure I told someone about that already, but sure, go ahead.”

    Vorhess sighed and ran his hand over the back of his head. “So, uh, you aren’t going kinda nuts after cooping yourself up in this room, are you?”

    The Asari’s face scrunched in confusion as she looked up. “Where did that come from?”

    “Well, you’ve been in here all day… actually, most days lately, and you aren’t hanging out with the rest of us,” he explained. “People are starting to wonder if you’ve cracked.”

    “Oh, that.” She made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I’m trying the ‘cool and detached leader’ thing… I guess it isn’t working, going by what you’re saying.”

    “Yeah, I don’t think that’s your style.” Vorhess shrugged. “Not really sure what is, but I figure you’ll sort that out once we get the ship up and running.”

    “Oh great, just gotta wait… however many months that’s going to take.” Nevara frowned and looked at her desk closely. “You know, the humans have this phrase: ‘captaining a desk.’ Do you think we could rig up some mass effect fields on this desk, weld the chair to it, and get it to work as a hover vehicle?”

    It took a few seconds for the engineer to process the absurdity of that request. His simple response was to grab her arm and pull her out of the office. “That’s it, you need to get out and spend some time doing literally anything else.”

    As he dragged his captain through halls too narrow to accommodate the full width of a desk, Vorhess muttered to himself, “They don’t pay me enough to deal with this shit.”



    Author's Notes: When it comes to advancing McGillis' character, one has to think about the canon character, and figure out what his flaws are. And one of those flaws is that, for all his awareness of the events that set him on this path, he doesn't seem fully aware of his own motivations/personality elements. And you might be like "Huh, there was a whole episode on that?", but follow me here - why exactly does McGillis care about reforming Gjallarhorn and why does he act way more moral than the rest of Gjallarhorn, besides him being an Agnika Kaieru fanboy? If he's all about power so he can't be victimized again, he shouldn't care about that; if he's that big a fanboy, he'd just be "whatever Agnika created is perfect, therefore the people are the problem - kill them and that'll fix the problem", and he's not quite that either. So there's this weird do-gooder part of his personality that he seems either unaware of or in denial of (which would not entirely be a surprise), and Vass' challenge is going to make him confront that.

    In terms of the Seven Stars, Rustal and Iznario seemed to be the main movers and shakers during the S1 era (before McGillis gets Iznario booted), and of the two, Iznario seems A) the less intelligent of the two, and B) the greedier of the two. So these two doing an end run around the newly imposed restrictions on Gjallarhorn's authority makes total sense, even if it's probably a terrible idea with a huge chance of backfiring.

    Since it's been a while since we last saw the Thrill Seeker's crew, I felt like giving us a little humorous look at our newly promoted captain spinning her wheels in paperwork hell.
     
    Chapter 23
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member

    Chapter 23

    Two specks hurtled towards the bright blue ball that was Earth, with nothing daring to cross their path.

    “Still nothing on LIDAR or IR,” Rala T’Pani announced as she swiped her hands on the haptic display in front of her. Orga, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat of one of the alien shuttles, couldn’t make sense of most of the readouts, which were still in Asari text, but he nodded anyway, acknowledging the report.

    For the first time in a week, he felt somewhat calm and relaxed. He wasn’t particularly thrilled that Tekkadan’s mysterious ally was actually a Gjallarhorn officer of dubious reliability, but he at least had resolved the other mystery, the one his own crew was hiding from him. Apparently, no one felt like bringing up Tekkadan’s hygiene habits and lack of deordant during the trip from Saisei to the Dort colonies, which annoyed him to no end. Thankfully, Kudelia’s shopping trip solved that problem – each crew member had been issued a deordant stick, and all the boys were urged to take at least one shower a day, preferably after their duty shifts.

    “That normal?”

    The Asari pilot waggled her head from side to side. “Well, normally, no. The IR signature of our drive plume should’ve given away the Isaribi’s location, and our deceleration and reentry burn should give our position away, but Treia says your sensor packages might not even have iR sensors, so who knows.”

    Orga frowned. “She’s not sure?”

    “Well, she didn’t feel like digging into the hardware and potentially breaking something while the ship wasn’t docked.” Rala smirked. “She also said she couldn’t vouch for anything CGS did.”

    “No surprise there. I don’t think Maruba cheaped out on anything on purpose, but I really doubt he had the cash on hand to get the highest quality repairs.”

    In the first few days after the Announcement (as the media had come to call it), the upper echelons of Tekkadan had brainstormed a preliminary plan of action. The alien shuttles, with their anti-gravity capabilities, offered them a way to quickly get to and from Earth… and unlike using a reentry ship, didn’t require them to commit their ground assets to a possibly one way trip. Once they talked to Togonosuke Makanai, they could figure out how to handle the political aspects of their entire situation and their arrival at Edmonton.

    That said, after everything they’d been through, learning that the Arbrau prime minister was in the Oceanian Federation, an entire hemisphere away from his country, set off alarm bells in Orga’s head.

    Reentry came and went without any problems, which also put him on edge. Sure, Gjallarhorn’s ground based assets wouldn’t be able to quickly scramble and attack them – they were going to a remote island, after all – but the orbital ones could just drop right on top of them. Granted, the shuttles made getting out of there far easier, but if they were damaged or destroyed, then they’d be stuck, with no way to actually fight.

    Man, life was way easier when I didn’t think about this stuff all the time.

    “Hey boss, we’re closing on 1000 meters above the island. You ready to let them know we’re here?”

    Orga looked over the holographic panel in front of him, trying and failing to find anything familiar in the text or iconography. “I’ve got no idea what to press.”

    Rala glanced at it from the corner of her eye and pointed to an icon in the middle of the right edge. “Tap that – it’ll turn green during broadcast, then tap it again to cut the line.”

    On her signal, he tapped the button and said, “Millenium Island control, this Orga Itsuka, leader of Tekkadan. I’ve got Kudelia Aina Bernstein aboard, requesting permission to land and met Togonosuke Makanai, over.”

    The Asari gave him an encouraging nod as she double checked her readouts. Both shuttles were hovering in place over the island’s airstrip, ready to land the moment clearance was given.

    A few minutes later, a man responded on the radio. “Tekkadan shuttles, permission granted. We’ll have escorts on the ground ready to meet you.”

    “I appreciate that. Tekkadan out.” Orga tapped the button, then looked over to his pilot. “Now, how about talking to the other shuttle?”

    “I got that.” She hit a button on her haptic display. “What’s the word, boss?”

    “Alright, we’re going in. Everyone who isn’t human, seal up those suits nice and tight.” At Orga’s signal, she cut the line and brought the shuttle down slowly, landing right on the dotted line in the middle of the airstrip. After the light thump, Rala pulled on her helmet as Orga exited the cockpit and stepped into the passenger compartment. Only a half dozen people were there – a contingency in case they had to evac Makanai and his people. Kudelia, Mikazuki, and Ride represented the human half of Tekkadan, while the Asari and Salarians were pretty anonymous behind their helmet faceplates. “Okay guys, remember, keep an eye out for Gjallarhorn, and maintain a 10 meter perimeter around the shuttles. Don’t be too rude about it, but make sure it isn’t breached.”

    “Got it, boss!” Ride exclaimed, cocking the rifle resting on his lap.

    “You ready, Kudelia?”

    She nodded.

    “Alright, cover your eyes.” Orga turned and pressed a button on the outer bulkhead. A burst of sunlight and warm, humid, salty air flooded into the compartment as hull panels hinged outward and slid out of the way. All the humans blinked repeatedly and squinted as their eyes acclimated to the sudden change in brightness before stepping out onto the warm asphalt. A man in a suit stood next to a van parked on the very edge of the airstrip, well outside the still unestablished perimeter.

    He and Kudelia walked towards the man as Vass, Biscuit, and Merribit emerged from the other shuttle. Orga barely paid any mind to Vass snapping off orders to get samples of this or that as he greeted the man. “You’re gonna take us to Mr. Makanai?”

    “Uh, yes sir.” The man, who’d been staring at Dr. Vass and the other aliens, motioned towards the van and opened the doors for them. The five Tekkadan members piled into the van, with Orga sitting shotgun, for a short, ten minute drive down the partially paved road from the landing strip to a beach in the middle of the atoll. From the beach extended a pier connected to a large complex of wooden shacks elevated above the water, which to Orga’s mind was an absurdly exposed and vulnerable residence. He wasn’t sure what aquatic assets Gjallarhorn had, but it didn’t take a military expert to see that someone with swimming gear could easily plant charges on the struts keeping the buildings above water.

    “Quite interesting,” Vass observed as the driver called someone inside the complex. “The island reminds me a bit of Surkesh – the Salarian homeworld – I did some research work there many years ago,” he explained. “That said, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this was a private resort for politician or business mogul.”

    “Makes sense,” Orga replied. That would at least explain why all this stuff was here in the middle of nowhere, and why Makanai was here too.

    The gate on the pier slid open and they were allowed to proceed into the complex, where they were escorted to the room where Makanai awaited them, sitting on the floor. Despite the comically huge beard and affable manner, or perhaps because of his manner, he struck Orga as someone in the same mold as McMurdo Barriston. Which meant he had to be on his toes at all times, because Makanai could easily screw them over in service of his own agenda.

    “I’m Togonosuke Makanai,” he said, which was quite redundant, because each and every one of his guests had seen his picture prior to landing. “I’ve been waiting to meet you… for a while, in fact. Can I get you something to eat?”

    The last thing we need is to get bogged down in pointless bullshit, Orga thought. “Mr. Makanai, look… we don’t have much time. Think you could hurry this up a little?”

    “Don’t worry about Gjallarhorn, my boy,” the old man replied in a tone that did anything but reassure Orga, especially since he started playing with his beard. “They won’t come here, I can guarantee that.”

    The whole group exchanged skeptical looks, with Kudelia asking the obvious question: “How can you be so certain of that, Mr. Makanai?”

    “Do you have any idea which jurisdiction this island belongs to, young miss?”

    The Tekkadan group as a whole answered, “The Oceanian Federation,” with various degrees of annoyance.

    “I see you’re all well informed!” Makanai exclaimed. “Gjallarhorn needs the Federation’s permission to come out here… permission they’re not at all inclined to give.”

    “Yeah, well, Gjallarhorn seems to do what it wants, in our experience,” Orga commented. “Besides, what does the Oceanian Federation get out of helping us out? Besides the obvious ‘let’s look good to the aliens’ thing.”

    “Well, let’s see,” Makanai looked up at the ceiling as he continued playing with his beard. “You’re popular, for one, so popular that the Federation would give you a medal if they could. You’ve embarrassed Gjallarhorn like no one else ever has, which appeals to all the anti-Gjallarhorn factions in the Federation. And since the African Union is going to reform the Dort Colonies, once they sort out who’s responsible for the massacre, the laborers are going to receive working conditions equal to those on Earth. The economic disruption of your actions will serve as a great boon for the other economic blocks as well. And having benefited from such a magnificent event, the Oceanian Federation would never sell you out to Gjallarhorn.”

    Orga could tell from Kudelia’s posture that she felt torn about that revelation. “Their wishes came through...”

    “That they did!” Makanai cheerfully replied. “Now, what was it again? The reason you guys came here, I mean?”

    Orga groaned, but Kudelia simply said, “We’re here to discuss the deregulation of Martian half-metal by Arbrau, sir.”

    “Ah yes, of course!” Makanai slapped his knee several times. “It’s long overdue! Truth be told, that’s always something I’ve always wanted to see realized as well!”

    Even as Kudelia and Merribit looked at each other in excitement, Orga gave Biscuit and Vass skeptical looks. Everything sounded too good to be true, which meant there was probably going to be some massive catch coming out soon.

    Makanai didn’t disappoint. “But sadly, that’s impossible right now.”

    “Here we go,” Orga muttered under his breath.

    “What? Why?” Kudelia demanded.

    “Because I fell from power and I’m currently living in exile,” the old man explained. “In other words, I have absolutely no power over anything.”

    It was all too much for Orga. Literally too many people died getting to this point for such a lackluster payoff, never mind how it reflected on Tekkadan. Sure, they earned a place in history, but failing to complete a job meant no one would take them seriously as a PMC. They’d just be a curiosity, doomed to be forgotten once novelty of aliens wore off. “Listen to me, old man – you better have something you can do, otherwise we’ll leave you here, eating our dust!”

    Vass was the only one to not whip their head around at Orga’s outburst, and for the Salarian’s part, he merely seemed amused by it.

    The affable persona sloughed off Makanai as he simply said, “Don’t worry, there are still ways to turn this around.”

    Makanai looked around the room, carefully scrutinizing each person before elaborating. “First of all, as you’re surely aware, there’s an upcoming election for the Arbrau prime minister’s seat in Edmonton, where you’re already going. It shouldn’t be too difficult to allow one old man to tag along with you.”

    “What about your people here?” Biscuit asked before Orga could.

    “Almost all of them are Oceanian citizens… and besides, it’s better to have witnesses for what we’re going to do,” the exiled politician replied. “Second, my political opponents seriously overreached when they prosecuted me for campaign finance fraud – they only got me on a technicality, and my resignation and exile were presented as an alternative to prolonging litigation and political instability. There’s literally nothing keeping me from campaigning for reelection, especially if I don’t step foot in Arbrau territory until right before the vote.

    “Third, and very conveniently for us, my main opponent in Henri Fleurs, a woman who can rather easily be financially connected to Gjallarhorn. And given their general poor reputation of late, we can use that against her.” Makanai smiled and slipped back into the friendly old man persona. “So you see, things aren’t as bad as they seem!”

    The Tekkadan members looked at each other, with various degrees of uncertainty and distrust plain on their faces.

    “Can we have some time to think this over?” Kudelia asked.

    “Absolutely!” Makanai slapped his knee, then stood up. “Try not to take too long though.”

    A few minutes after he left, Vass stood up, stretched his legs, and began pacing around the room. “Very interesting. I found the lack of threats – implied or otherwise – quite telling… and beneficial to us.”

    “How so?” Merribit asked, struggling a bit to get off the floor. Vass offered her a hand and gently pulled her onto her feet.

    “It indicates he knows he has far less leverage to compel us to aid him.” A smirk crossed the Salarian doctor’s face. “As Orga so eloquently put it, there’s very little stopping us from simply leaving him on this island. So he’s being friendlier and less adversarial than he might be if Tekkadan was working within the constraints of existing human technology.”

    “So, he needs us more than we need him,” Kudelia muttered half to herself. “Do you think he’s being honest about half-metal deregulation?”

    “Unfortunately, I haven’t done the research into his political positions to answer that question,” Vass replied. “But I suspect that, at the very minimum, it isn’t all that harmful to him and his political aspirations.”

    “That’s all good,” Biscuit interjected, “but we can’t forget he has some kind of plan he wants us to help him with. Remember, he said ‘it’s better to have witnesses for what we’re going to do’ – we need to know what that is before we commit ourselves to anything, otherwise we could wind up in another situation like Dort.”

    “We’re not doing that again,” Orga muttered as he too got on his feet. “We’ll be upfront with Makanai about it – if he tells us what it is, we bring him along if it’s not going to screw us over. If he doesn’t tell us, or we’ll get screwed in the process, we ditch him. Sound good?”

    Everyone nodded.

    “Alright, how the hell do we let him know we’re ready?”

    It took several minutes of searching before they found an attendant who could alert Makanai that they were ready, but less than a minute after that, he returned to the room they’d met him in.

    “So, I hear you’ve made a decision,” he said by way of greeting.

    “We have,” Orga replied. “But let’s get two things straight. First, we’re not a free taxi service. If you want us to take you to Edmonton, it’s going to cost you. And second, we need to know what you’ve got planned, otherwise we’re going to turn down this job of yours.”

    Once again, Makanai’s mask of geniality disappeared. “I see. And what makes you think you have any right to know what I’ve got planned?”

    Orga smirked. “Because I’m the man with two alien shuttles that can do things you wouldn’t believe. I can make your arrival in Edmonton the biggest damn thing in the world, and besides, you might put your own skin on the line if whatever you do blows up in all our faces… and I don’t think you’re that dumb.”

    The mask returned on the wily old politician. “Very good points! And I suppose telling you is fair. After all, I got the idea after seeing how you handled things at Dort…”



    The Seven Stars were once more gathered for their weekly meeting, one they all hoped would be far less contentious and stressful than the immediate aftermath of the Dort situation. Things were far from back to normal though – even the routine tasks had been disrupted to one degree or another by the aliens’ arrival and the ensuing political upheavals. There was a constant air of uncertainty in the room, as they all awaited the other shoe dropping at Edmonton.

    For Rustal Ellion, the situation was far from ideal, but still manageable. The African Union’s highly publicized investigation of the Dort incident was moving astonishingly quickly – already there was testimony that Gjallarhorn pressured the Dort Company into refusing to negotiate with the workers. Ellion had been forced to enact one of his more unpleasant contingencies, scapegoating the officer on scene at the Dort 3 company headquarters, in the hopes of appeasing the Union and easing some of the political unrest.

    Another factor to consider was the media. The fact that Nobliss Gordon had enough financial power to sway them into defying Gjallarhorn’s media blackout of the Dort conflict meant that relying on soft power to influence them was no longer a reliable option. He had zero expectations of being able to stop them from covering the aliens – there was simply too much money in it for them, never mind how it appealed to the “journalists cover history in the making” sentiment. But when it came to negative coverage of Gjallarhorn’s actions, he was now willing to make use of the many skeletons in their closets to sink those stories. He suspected most news companies would rather cooperate than risk their reputations be tarnished; therefore, the mere threat of revealing those facts would keep them in line.

    As for Ellion’s primary ally in this trying time, Iznario Fareed, the man was certainly capable of some level of subtlty and planning. Whether or not that would be to their and Gjallarhorn’s benefit was yet to be seen. He had tentatively supported Iznario’s proposal to use temporary housing for Edmonton’s growing tourist population as a pretext for placing troops around the city to deny Tekkadan access. However, he’d carefully distanced himself from the situation by only providing funding, leaving Iznario in charge of the actual administration and execution. While that put him at a disadvantage if these efforts succeeded, as the Fareed family would claim all the credit, it minimized the risk to himself and the Arianrhod fleet if they failed, which was a very real possibility.

    He sighed as he picked up a tablet full of reports. The one current selected was a preliminary report on the technical aspects of the apparent alien weapon encountered at Dort, which one of the many Gjallarhorn scientists would be briefing them on. For the sake of time and avoiding complications for the board of inquiry on the Dort mission (which they’d spent a great deal of time deciding who’d be on it), this report handled all the technical aspects of the investigation, which meant the actual text was a stupefying bore.

    “As you can see,” the middle aged woman began, “the single most important conclusion we have, based on our analysis of all the damaged mobile suits, is that the weapon does not penetrate nanolaminate armor.”

    Carta Issue scrolled down on her tablet before setting it down. “I’m not sure how you reached that conclusion, given the damage seen.”

    “Ma’am, based on our analysis, which is admittedly only a preliminary one, all the damage comes primarily from the armor plate being stressed far beyond its designed tolerances. In basic terms, they simply hit it so hard that it punched through or deformed all the metal in its path, while not breaching the nanotube matrix itself.”

    “But what did they hit those mobile suits with?” asked Gallus Bauduin.

    “That’s incredibly difficult to ascertain,” the scientist admitted. “We’ve found odd deposits of atypical material in the damaged areas, which leads us to believe some sort of projectile is used. However, the composition, shape, and velocity of said projectile is hard to determine. The material is smeared over an incredibly large area of each impact site, to the point where we’re not certain if it liquified on impact.”

    “I see that the Gundam Kimaris suffered less damage than our Grazes,” Ellion noted as he scrolled through the report. “What is the significance of that?”

    “Yes sir, Kimaris did suffer less damage, but that is a result of two factors – thicker overall armor in the section affected, and higher quality armor material.” The woman paused, clearly put off by what she had to say next. “Our Grazes suffered heavily due to their thinner armor, which is composed of plates that provide roughly 75-80% of the protection of Calamity War era armor for a given thickness, but is cheaper and faster to make.”

    “What does this mean for our next generation mobile suit designs?” Nemo Baklazan’s voice held a note of suppressed panic.

    “Sir, at the moment, it’s literally impossible to tell,” the scientist replied. “We have literally zero context for this weapon and its performance relative to other alien weaponry. If this is fairly standard grade weaponry, then we may have to reconsider the existing design paradigms of our mobile suits.”

    Elek Falk decided it was time to interject his own question into the proceedings. “What, if anything, does this tell us about the capabilities of their warships?”

    “Sir, it’s impossible to—” She never got a chance to complete her statement, as a junior officer burst into the room, panting heavily. It was an unpleasant reminder of the previous week’s chaos, and foretold nothing good at all.

    “Apologies sirs, but we just received a message directly from the president of the Oceanian Federation,” the man announced, “protesting the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet’s violation of their sovereign territory.”

    “What in the world are they talking about?” Gallus asked the room, missing Carta Issue slowly slouching in her chair.

    “Commander Issue,” Ellion said in a casual, offhand manner, “perhaps you could enlighten us? The Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet is under your command, after all.”

    To his amusement, she went from trying to inch under the table to ramrod straight in her chair. “Several hours ago, we detected two objects entering the atmosphere, on a trajectory towards a remote island in the Oceanian Federation. I dispatched a small contingent of three vessels to investigate what they were, and to render aid if necessary.”

    “Did you request permission from the Federation first? Or notify them about why you wished to send ships into their territory?” Ellion asked.

    She began shrinking in her seat. “I-I believe so…” Her voice cracked. “I’d have to check?”

    Lords Falk and Baklazan groaned at that, while Gallus Bauduin buried his face in one of his palms. The sour expression on Iznario Fareed’s face exceeded the one on Ellion’s own face, while Iok Kujan looked completely mystified by their reactions. However, no one looked more uncomfortable than the poor messenger.

    “What is it?” Ellion urged the man. “Is there more?”

    “Ah, yes sir.” He gulped and looked down at the tablet he was holding. “It – ah – appears that Togunoske Makanai has… enlisted the aid of the aliens and is travelling with them to Edmonton. He made the announcement in a publicly posted campaign ad.”

    The room became deathly silent as the implications sank in.

    Iznario broke the silence by dismissing all the non-Seven Stars from the room. Once that was done, he simply asked, “What do we do now?”

    What indeed? Rustal thought, as his mind raced to consider all the available options and the myriad consequences of each one. Things were becoming more complicated and less predictable by the minute, much to his displeasure. It was harder and harder to maintain an orderly and smoothly operating socioeconomic system across all the planets and various colonies, and that disruption would eventually make its way to the common citizen. Gjallarhorn’s main goal was to enable the vast majority – not the entirety, since that was impossible – of humanity to maintain a comfortable way of life, and a stable economy and political system were key to that.

    He sighed, longing for a cup of water to help take the edge of the growing throbbing in his temples. These fools seek to upset order, thinking only about how it benefits them, he thought, without considering how it affects the greater whole. A small disruption here and there could be smoothed over quite easily, as Gjallarhorn’s history showed, but those corrections had been possible due to Gjallarhorn’s overwhelming power.

    For Rustal Ellion, one particularly unpleasant potential outcome of a sustained disruption was Gjallarhorn’s loss of power. The threat of Gjallarhorn intervention was usually enough of a deterrent to prevent large scale conflict from erupting. Without that, what, if anything, prevented a return to the chaos of the Calamity War? And who would lead humanity into the stars, if not Gjallarhorn?



    Todo Mirconen sighed, staring out the back window of the limo he shared with Anastasia Avilova. He felt distinctly uncomfortable in the business suit he wore, even though the clothes were nowhere near as rough on the inside as some of the other getups he’d tried. It was all due to where he was and who he was going to talk to in a massive jump above his pay grade.

    Because he was in Perth, Australia, one of the major hubs of the Oceanian Federation’s bureaucracy, and he had a message to deliver to the secretary of state.

    Todo mentally went over the paperthin cover story for his presence at Avilova’s meeting with the secretary of state. He was Tod Marconi, a consultant with the Montag Company, assisting Avilova with finalizing the contract for an infrastructure upgrade on some of the smaller islands. Supposedly, that was the best they could whip together in a few days, but he had his doubts about that. It felt lazy and thrown together, and if a total novice at spycraft like him could notice that, an intelligence agency could see right through it in an instant.

    Maybe that’s the point, he thought, sneaking a look at Avilova. She was busy going over contract details (presumably) on a tablet, pointedly ignoring Todo and the suitcase by his feet.

    He frowned when the limo passed the office building where the meeting was to be held – a news van was there, right in front of the steps leading up to the front door. The limo instead pulled up to the rear of the building, where several nondescript security guards were waiting. As they looked over the pair’s credentials, Todo casually asked one of them, “So, what’s up with the news guys?”

    The guard looked at him in confusion. “You haven’t heard? Gjallarhorn’s Outer Earth something or other straight up invaded a resort island, and everyone’s banging on the doors trying to get an official statement?”

    Todo and Avilova shared a look of total surprise.

    “We were up to our necks in paperwork on the flight here,” she explained as the guard led them inside. “I take it there’ll be a bit of a wait thanks to the – uh – recent happenings?”

    “Probably,” the guard replied as they entered an elevator. “I’ll take you to a waiting area, then the Mr. Munu will call you once he’s free.”

    The waiting area was a fairly nice conference room, minus the center table, with leather couches along the walls and TV screens on the walls to hide the fact that it was buried within the center of the building. Each screen had a different news outlet covering some bit or other of news, with most of the stories revolving around the aliens or Gjallarhorn’s latest misstep. Todo got a chuckle out of the cellphone footage, shot from what looked like an air traffic control tower, of the Gjallarhorn amphibious assault carriers approaching the shore. He couldn’t tell if the camera man was brave or just too scared to run away, but it was just the right amount of foreboding to make the whole affair seem even more ominous than it was.

    Avilova, for her part, frowned as she examined that footage. “Isn’t that the island the former prime minister of Arbrau was exiled to?”

    “That Makanai fellow?” Todo thought about it for a second. “I think I voted for him.”

    “You, vote?” she scoffed.

    “Once or twice.” A defensive tone crept into his voice. “When it really mattered.”

    Before she could ask for specifics, an aide entered the room, announcing that Munu was ready to see them.

    Paul Munu looked like any other fancy bigwig to Todo: well kempt, wearing nice clothes, and used his office to shove his power in your face. He rolled his eyes at the polished wood furniture, the various awards, certificates, and paintings on the wall, and settled into one of chairs facing his desk. He waited until Avilova took her seat, so Munu got the message that she was in charge, and let his mind wander a bit as the two of them dealt with the boring contract stuff.

    He snapped back to reality when Munu glanced at him and said, “So, what exactly does this consultant do? He hasn’t said a word since he got here.”

    “Let’s put pen to paper and finalize our business before we address that issue,” Avilova smoothly replied.

    “Ms. Avilova, why would I sign anything for anyone who’d deceive me?” Munu’s eyes and tone left no doubt in Todo’s mind that the man was seconds away from calling security. At best, they’d be tossed out on the street – at worst, they’d be locked away in a holding cell for at least a few hours… maybe permanently, in his case. He wasn’t sure if the Montag Company would stick their necks out for him, at least not in a situation like this.

    Chuckling, Avilova locked eyes with Munu, as if daring him to go though with his threat. “First of all, Mr. Secretary, no signatures mean no deal. No deal means no new sewage and water treatment plants in the Micronesian isles. No plants mean a very big stain on your political record, especially since you’re aiming for the presidency down the line.”

    As Munu’s mouth compressed into a tight scowl, she pressed on. “Second, no signature means I take Mr. Marconi and the very valuable information he has to our next destination, the SAU, where I’m sure they’ll be quite eager to jump on the opportunity we’re presenting them. Third, I happen to know you absolutely loathe Gjallarhorn’s interference in that human trafficking investigation you ran a few years back. I don’t think you’d like the miss the opportunity to get some payback for that, and today’s little incident.”

    Munu face became more sour, and he glanced between his two guests several times before grabbing the contract tablet and angrily scribbling his signature on it. Avilova signed it next, then uploaded it to the relevant servers. “Wonderful. Now, Mr. Secretary, my associate will make his presentation.”

    “Right,” Todo hastily began. “So, Mr. Munu, I hear you don’t like Gjallarhorn.”

    “Get to the point,” Munu growled.

    “Okay, okay.” Todo held up his hands in a placating gesture. “My boss, you see, is a Gjallarhorn officer pretty high up in the chain. He’s not at the top, but he’s pretty well connected to all the big wigs… and a lot of the guys champing at the bit to kick them out.”

    “Really?” Munu leaned back, steepling his fingers as he considered this. “I wasn’t aware of any… discontent in Gjallarhorn.”

    “Yeah, well, it’s there. Plenty of folks aren’t happy with the way things are run, and the whole Dort thing just poured more fuel on the fire.” Todo paused, then added, “I’m talking mostly about the massacre thing, not the whole ‘aliens showed up’ thing, although that really shook people up.”

    “So… what is it that your employer wants, exactly?”

    “Right now, he just wants to let you know that he exists, and is willing to cut deals – you scratch his back, he scratches yours, that kind of thing.” Todo placed the case on the desk and opened it. “To show he’s legit, he wanted me to give this to you: the report on the aliens, written before they showed up at Dort.”

    Todo savored the man’s gobsmacked expression as he handed the bound hardcopy over. “The whole thing is there – the only thing that isn’t is my boss’s name. It’s nothing personal, but he doesn’t want word to get back to Gjallarhorn about this, and he’s pretty sure there’s a few spies lurking around here.”

    “They knew about the aliens the whole time?” Munu managed to say as he gingerly held the document.

    “Eh, depends on how you define ‘whole time,’” Todo replied, sticking his right pinky in his ear to scratch a growing itch. “It was like two months before Dort.”

    It took Munu a second to find his voice. “You know I’ll have to report this and have it verified.”

    “Sure, do whatever. My boss expected that.” Todo reached into the briefcase again, then placed a thumb drive on the desk. “That’s got a digital copy – same deal, his name isn’t in it – and info for how to get in touch with me if you guys want to talk some more.”

    Munu simply nodded. “Is that all?”

    “Yeah, pretty much,” Todo replied, taking care not to touch his sweaty forehead. His back and feet were absolutely drenched in sweat, and he hadn’t even realized it before now. Damn, that stressed me out harder than I thought.

    “Thank you for your time.” Munu didn’t rise or offer to shake their hands, instead looking lost in thought as he contemplated what he’d been given.

    After being escorted out of the building and back into their limo, Todo wiped his forehead with the first loose piece of paper towel he could find lying around. Avilova merely grunted at this, a huge step up from the time he’d used the sleeve of his dress shirt to do the same thing.

    “So, can we at least get dinner in town, or are we stuck eating airplane food again?” he asked as he settled back into his seat.

    “Airplane food. Even at supersonic speeds, it’s an eight-hour flight,” Avilova replied, pulling up the iternery on her tablet.

    “What, you don’t have faster planes you can use?”

    “We do, we just use them for the really serious business. Besides, the meetings in the SAU and Arbrau aren’t urgent, and we need more time for the situation in the African Union to stabilize.” She sighed. “We think the worst is over, but we still don’t know if all our contacts are still in place. There’s supposed to be a big wave of resignations coming, and some of them may be caught up in that.”

    “Sucks for them,” Todo replied, ignoring her sharp glare.

    “You do know that this could make things harder for your boss, right?”

    “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Todo patted the briefcase. “I think this’ll be the key to all the doors we need to open.”



    Author's Notes: The political stew thickens. A lot of Makanai's backstory is not covered in the actual show (or any secondary sources), so I had to figure something that was bad enough to get him kicked out, but somehow not bad enough to A) get him permanently banned from participating in the election, and B) have most of the populace vote against him. I also figured that Makanai would be savvy enough to whip together something that would catch the public's attention and exploit any gaffes Gjallarhorn might make.

    The African Union situation in canon was another place where you could see the wonky timeline stuff. Here, I have it moving super fast by government standards, but still taking far longer than in canon to resolve, partly due to how much worse it was PR-wise.

    Figuring out how to characterize Rustal Ellion was pretty hard, mostly because he really doesn't get all that much development in the actual show. So I made him a big picture sort of guy who's focusing on the wrong things and as a result, is blind to the many problems of maintaining the status quo. I feel like that's the best way to jive his behavior throughout the whole of S2 with the fact that he's consistent in drastically overreacting to things like workers wanting better working conditions and colonies wanting to be independent.
     
    Chapter 25
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member

    Chapter 25

    There were only six hours before the election.

    Aboard Carta Issue’s command cruiser, the crew was in the middle of a shift change, with the Alpha Shift personnel relieving their Beta Shift compatriots. The rotation was non-standard, designed to put the best people in position to handle the most perilous stretch of the final hours. As a result, Carta and her handpicked team – all well trained in mobile suit combat, all blonde with green eyes – were ready and waiting on the bridge when the Isaribi appeared.

    “Reaction on Ariadne,” one of the sensor operators announced. “Confirming Ahab wave. It matches the reported ship.”

    “It’s about time.” Carta didn’t even bother to keep her irritation to herself. The past few days had been nothing but drills, waiting, and mounting anxiety, and Tekkadan’s appearance brought only a small measure of relief. She had a limited window of opportunity to deal with them without risking Iznario Fareed’s wrath, and it required making use of every second available. “Battlestations! Ready all weapons!”

    As the alert rang out all over the ship and the accompanying cruisers of her flotilla, her resentment burned. “The Regulatory Bureau says our fleet is just around for show and nothing more. But soon they’ll know our true strength! Then they’ll never mock us again!”

    She raised her right hand and shouted, “FOR WE ARE THE OUTER EARTH ORBIT REGULATORY JOINT FLEET!”

    On cue and with the near perfect precision of many, many hours of constant drilling, Carta’s team replied, “WE ARE PERSEVERANT AND FORTITUDINOUS!”

    Unfortunately for one of them, they were not fast enough for the keen ears of Carta Issue. “Second from right – too slow!”

    “Sorry – forgive me, Commander.”

    “Alright,” she said, her voice squeaking with anticipation, “let’s crush these space rats!”

    She settled herself into the captain’s chair, aware that it would take at least a few minutes before the enemy vessel would enter into effective weapons range. While the chair wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, it was comfortable enough to take the edge off the tension. By the time Tekkadan’s assault carrier reached the point where signal lights could be employed to deter it, her mood had lightened significantly.

    “It feels like overkill to dispatch such a large welcome for one measly assault ship,” she said, emphasizing word the measly. With about a dozen ships in formation, the weight of the flotilla’s sustained gunfire would easily overwhelm the armor on any of the ubiquitous assault ships in the solar system. While the wreck would probably be salvageable to one degree or another, most of the crew wouldn’t survive.

    She allowed herself a smug smile as her fleet used visual signals to tell the carrier to halt and be boarded for inspection. If they failed to do so, she had cause to use force against them; if they did, she could delay their arrival until after the election was complete, and at the very least apprehend the mobile suit pilots. It might not be the most satisfying way to avenge Gaelio’s fallen protégé and his mentor, but it was (probably) legal.

    “we aren’t receiving any response,” one of her officers reported.

    Her smile grew even wider. “Give them a crushing blow!”

    Less than a minute later, the entire fleet fired its main batteries at the oncoming ship, reducing it to a cloud of purplish-gray dust.

    Carta leaned back in her chair. “All too easy.”

    Then an alert chime rang, one of her officers announcing, “Ahab wave increasing! They’re closing in!”

    The supposedly destroyed assault carrier burst out of the cloud at a steep upward angle, proceeding in that direction before wildly veering into a dive. As the ship’s visual sensors struggled to keep up with the enemy’s erratic and rapid course changes, Carta spotted something trailing the assault carrier. She frowned, and turned to her sensor operator.

    “What is that?”

    “Not sure, ma’am,” the man replied as he furiously worked his console. “It doesn’t have an Ahab wave though.”

    Her frowned deepened. “Project their course on the main screen.”

    A wildly uneven zig-zag appeared on the display at the front of the bridge, a 2D representation of the target’s motions. Even factoring that in, it was clear that Tekkadan was closing in on the Gjallarhorn fleet. While that was obvious and necessary on their part, that made the fact that they were towing something far more confusing.

    Unless…

    In a flash of realization, she unraveled the whole plan. Tekkadan’s carrier was likely towing a reentry shuttle for their mobile suits, and possibly Kudelia and the aliens. Once they got close enough to Earth, they would cut the line and let the shuttle’s momentum fling it past the fleet and into the atmosphere, while the carrier scurried off to hide.

    “How clever,” she said aloud, letting her thoughts seep out into the open. “But we won’t tolerate your scheming, Tekkadan. All ships, switch to proximity detonation rounds! Fire at will!”

    As the Gjallarhorn cruisers began a steady beat of gunfire, the Isaribi’s course became even more erratic. Dozens upon dozens of rounds sped past the target, harmlessly detonating in empty space as the weapon officers struggled to keep up and predict the assault carrier’s movements. A few lucky shots rocked both oncoming vessels every so often, but not hard enough to cripple, destroy, or deter them.

    But inevitably, the unforeseen happened. As the carrier snapped sharply onto a new upward vector, the tow line snapped, flinging the reentry shuttle directly at the fleet. While it took a few seconds for the Gjallarhorn weapons officers to realize their good fortune, a tidal wave of explosive rounds quickly occupied the same space as the shuttle, disintegrating it.

    Except that instead of producing a normal debris cloud, a pink, sparkling cloud swept over the fleet, cutting off all communications and sensors.

    Carta leaned forward towards the black main screen of her bridge as the sensor operator announced, “Monitor lost! Datalink cut with friendly ships!”

    “Come on!” she muttered, “Get that screen working!”

    Briefly, she cursed the fact that retracting her ship’s bridge denied her the ability to simply see out the window that doubled as the main screen.

    “Optical sight has lost the targets!” another crewman announced.

    “The LCS is cut. We can’t communicate!” yet another replied.

    The sensor operator finally added something of value. “They’ve deployed nano-mirror chaff!”

    “But I thought that wasn’t suited for use in a combat situation!” the weapons officer shot back.

    For her part, Carta didn’t care about minutia like that. What was important was that there was a fairly simple solution to the problem… one that apparently didn’t come to mind for most of her officers. She would have to complain to the Academy commandant about that, once the mission was completed.

    “Keep your head.” She calmly stood up and swept her left arm out. “Now, all ships with light signals – irradiate the area with maximum LCS. Fire missiles with timed fuses simultaneously! Burn away that ancient chaff!”

    A barrage of missiles rippled from each ship, detonating inside the cloud and turning the area into a sea of fire for a brief instant. When the monitor updated, it showed nothing but empty space, and for a brief instant, Carta Issue was satisfied. Then a nagging voice in her head said, That was a decoy… so where’s the real shuttle?

    “LCS has recovered,” her comms officer announced, his voice growing louder as he read off a newly arrived message. “Our ground installations report three craft on a reentry vector for Edmonton!”

    “What! How did they-“ Carta cut herself off, having figured out the gambit. The Tekkadan shuttles had coasted on momentum on a lower orbit behind her fleet, while the assault carrier diverted their attention.

    A surge of rage and humiliation washed over her. What will they say about me now? That the scion of the Issue family is an incompetent fool? That’ll be the day – all I have to do is make sure they don’t ever set foot in the city itself. “Plot an intercept course and prepare mobile suits for orbital drop!”

    As her officers hurried to execute their new orders, she thought of Iznario Fareed and what he’d think of her actions. And just as quickly, she realized that whatever he had to say could never matter as much as the family’s honor. For better or worse, the legacy of Issue family was hers to uphold, and in the end, it was better to damned for doing what was right than praised for doing what was proper.

    Her conscience clear and her resolve firmly in place, Carta Issue raced to face destiny.



    It’s time, Azee Gurumin thought as the reentry shuttle bucked and juddered upon touching down on the pavement of an abandoned train station just outside of Edmonton. The screech of the huge shuttle’s tires reverberated throughout the payload bay, bouncing off the nine mobile suits, dozens of mobile workers, and assorted containers packed with supplies. With a final bone rattling lurch, the shuttle came to a stop, allowing the massive bay doors to split open and reveal the Canadian sky.

    Azee wasted no time on appreciating the sight – she’d been given command of this part of the mission, and there was about a thousand things to do before Gjallarhorn arrived. “Alright, we’re here. Mobile workers, secure the perimeter of the facility. Infantry teams, sweep and clear the structures. Akihiro, take your wingmen, secure the water tower hill, and maintain watch. Everyone else, start unloading supplies as soon as we get the all clear.”

    Thanks to over a week’s worth of reconnaissance flights, disguised as propaganda drops, Tekkadan had a fairly comprehensive overview of where Gjallarhorn’s forces were deployed. This old train station, bracketed by a canal or dried out river and forest on side, and what seemed like an old quarry from an aborted mining operation, was one of a few locations that would have been a perfect spot for housing the thousands of travelers who’d come to see the aliens’ arrival. Instead, they’d been left empty, just ripe for the taking.

    It was an obvious trap, but one that could work to Tekkadan’s advantage.

    Within ten minutes, the report was in – no one was there, and there wasn’t a single sign of sabotage or booby traps.

    “Gjallarhorn must either think we’re stupid, or they really wanted to sell the idea that this isn’t a trap,” Azee muttered to Lafter on a private line.

    “Could be either one,” Lafter replied as she set her Hyakuren/Rouei to work moving supplies. “How long before they get here?”

    Azee consulted a tablet full of data and conclusions from the mission briefing, including where the nearest Gjallarhorn forward operating bases were. “Technically, we should be seeing Gjallarhorn forces any minute now. I think we’ll get a little extra time just to make it look less like they were ready to pounce on us the second we landed.”

    Fifteen minutes after that, they received the first reports of Gjallarhorn mobile suits moving in on their position.

    “Alright Akihiro, get off that hill – you’re silhouetting yourself up there. Mikazuki, get your squad over to the quarry immediately.” Azee looked over the shuttle’s payload bay – 100% empty, all supplies on the pavement. Some of the mobile workers were busy dragging the containers away to safer positions, but there was nothing more they could really do. “Lafter, Shino, and I will join you in a minute. Anyone have eyes on the main road?”

    “I’ve got the main road covered,” a unfamiliar male voice replied – she couldn’t tell if it was one of the older boys or one of the aliens, and at this point, it didn’t matter. “It looks like there’s a line of mobile workers blocking the road a few klicks down, but I can’t see anything else.”

    “Could be worse. I want a squad of mobile workers on our end of the road, and remember, do not fire unless you’re fired upon.” Azee paused as she whipped her mobile suit around and began heading to the quarry. “That includes the mobile suits, especially Gusion.”

    For this mission, Gusion Rebake had been given the Maratist cannon – the mobile suit’s head mounted high sensitivity sensors combined with the alien cannon’s firepower seemed like a devastating sniper loadout, and with the odds stacked against them, Orga felt there was nothing to be lost by trying it. With two Landman (Azee cringed internally every time she thought about that) Rodis, one of which was piloted by Masahiro Altland (another thing she wasn’t exactly thrilled about, mostly due to concerns about putting him in such a stressful situation), to defend against enemies closing in on Gusion, that left six other mobile suits free to roam around and deal with whatever forces Gjallarhorn chose to throw at the facility. Every mobile suit carried at least two melee weapons in addition to various projectile weapons, and the containers held enough spare weapons and ammo to keep them going for days, assuming they could break contact long enough to resupply.

    As Azee’s squad crested the rise separating the train station from the quarry, she spotted a half dozen Grazes speeding towards them. Whether intimidated by the appearance of a third trio of mobile suits or obeying orders, the Gjallarhorn mobile suits opened fire as they charged, missing their targets by wide margins. In response, Gusion Rebake’s face armor slid into its long-range aiming configuration, the Gundam calmly raising its unearthly weapon, sending a booming thwump echoing across the battlefield. Before the first Graze was sent tumbling into the dirt by a hammerhead round slamming into the cockpit, a second round had been fired; it also found its mark, causing the other Grazes to adopt a crisscross maneuvering pattern.

    “Damn it, I can’t get a shot…”

    “Don’t worry about it, Akihiro, we can take it from here.” Azee grimaced as she considered her options. “Shino, take point, but don’t let them draw you too far out. We need to be able to cover you.”

    “Got it,” he replied, sounding quite confident in his abilities. Unfortunately, Azee didn’t share that confidence. Despite getting some sense knocked into him a few months back, he still tended to be a bit too hotblooded for his own good in combat drills. If he got baited into fighting multiple opponents, he could easily find himself cutoff and neutralized.

    Of course, an eight against four matchup was hard to screw up, and before they knew it, all six Grazes were crumpled heaps on the ground. Then the next wave arrived, a full dozen mobile suits. Even with the benefit of the cool Edmonton air aiding in dissipating the Maratist’s heat, Akihiro only managed to hit three of the Gjallarhorn units before he had to pause to let the gun cool.

    Barbatos surged to the front, blasting away with its 300mm smoothbore cannons. Two unfortunate Grazes were taken out almost immediately as the high caliber rounds slammed into their chests. The rest scattered, taking gunfire from Mikazuki’s wingmen and Azee’s squad as they advanced. Two more mass accelerator rounds from Gusion took out another pair of Grazes before both Barbatos burst past the Gjallarhorn line and shot two more in the back.

    At least we haven’t had to switch to melee combat yet, Azee thought as she dumped another burst of gunfire into a Graze. That emptied her rifle’s magazine, but as she reloaded, she noted with satisfaction that one of the mobile suit’s hip mounted hover units was reduced to smoke, flame, and mangled metal. Then another dozen Grazes appeared on the field.

    The battle became a furious blur. Mobile suits dropped, shot by Gusion or Barbatos. Rifles were damaged or tossed aside, and melee weapons came out, clanging off mobile suit armor. At some point, Azee spotted Barbatos using a 300mm cannon as a club, shearing the head off a Graze and causing the mobile suit to topple into one of its squadmates.

    As the chaos grew, Azee saw Shino by himself on the other side of the battlefield, as a pair of Grazes bore down on him. For whatever reason, these pilots decided to taunt him on an open channel, so she got hear “Think you can take me?” and “Don’t forget about me!” in thick Scottish accents, right before Shino got in on the act, shouting “I’ll show you a thing or three!”

    Luckily for all involved, at least on Tekkadan’s side, Shino managed to dispatch his opponents and fall back towards his allies without too much trouble.

    Just as another wave of Gjallarhorn reinforcements appeared and forced Azee to seriously consider falling back to the train station, seven Grazes dropped out of the sky. The combatants scattered as they tried to avoid seven massive heat shields plummeting and burying themselves in the dirt, even as the seven new Grazes – all fancier models than the ones they’d been facing so far – hovered into formation alongside each other. All seven stabbed their swords into the ground as they posed, and a loudspeaker rang out with a woman’s voice: “WE ARE THE OUTER EARTH ORBIT JOINT REGULATORY FLEET!”

    In unison, male voices shouted “WE ARE PERSEVERANT AND FORTITUDINOUS!”

    Then a mass accelerator round smashed into the cockpit of the second Graze from the right.

    Akihiro’s voice broke in over the comm line. “It was okay to shoot, right?”

    “Of course it was,”
    Mikazuki assured him.

    “Barbarians!” the woman shouted, still on the loudspeaker. “Where are your manners?!”

    Mikazuki answered by smashing another one of the new arrivals with Barbatos’ mace, at which point the battle resumed.



    Mikazuki felt drops of sweat running down his face as he did his best to avoid getting overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemies charging at him. As luck would have it, he’d had the foresight to unzip the top of his space suit while unloading supplies from the shuttle, but the cockpit’s AC wasn’t doing much to ease the stress he felt. I’m pretty sure Orga didn’t think there’d be this many mobile suits fighting so soon, he thought as he swung Barbatos’ mace into another unlucky Graze, before using the boosters to pull back.

    Maybe I need to use something different. He dropped the mace and pulled a new weapon off the Gundam’s backpack, one that was simply designated Large Special Mace in the Gundam’s display. It was far longer than the old mace, giving Barbatos a longer reach. Yeah, I think that’ll do.

    Weapon sub mode available, the Gundam whispered in his mind.

    He didn’t have time to think on that, as three Grazes charged him at the same time. Cutting the thrusters, Barbatos shuddered as its heels dug into the earth, bracing itself before committing to the swing. In a single sweeping move, the oversized head of the wrench slammed into the side of each of the three Gjallarhorn mobile suits, knocking them to the ground. Before he could finish them off, he sensed a fourth one attempting to sneak up behind him. He swung the mace into the direction of the oncoming mobile suit, then activated the mace’s sub mode.

    The bulbous head of the mace split open, then shut around the front armor of the Graze’s chest, crushing the pilot into a thin paste. Seizing the opportunity provided to him, Mikazuki tossed the defeated Graze at the three he’d disabled earlier, incapacitating them long enough for him to finish off all three. Before he could move on to another enemy, a badly garbled transmission cut in on an open channel. He couldn’t understand it all, but he did catch bits and pieces, including “APC”, “Kudelia”, and “mobile workers.”

    Almost immediately, three of the surviving fancy Grazes that had dropped from orbit split off and headed for the city, cutting through the forest to get to the road. Before Mikazuki could say a word, Azee spoke to him over the comm line. “Don’t worry about us – make sure they don’t get to the city.”

    He wanted to ask Are you sure about that?, but he knew the answer. They’d make do – or die trying.

    Luckily for him, the Gjallarhorn mobile suits were smashing their way through the forest, leaving a nice trail for him to follow, as well as slowing them down enough for him to easily catch up. Barbatos had two arm mortar rounds left, which he fired into the closest Graze as soon as they got within a few hundred meters of the road. Unfortunately, the rounds didn’t cripple the enemy mobile suit, merely knocking it off course and into the trees. Mikazuki was forced to waste valuable seconds smashing the cockpit with his mace – this far from support and supplies, he couldn’t leave any enemies alive, ready to stab him in the back.

    When he reached where the trail lead onto the road, there was a Graze standing there, in the same pose they’d done earlier.

    “You shall not—”

    The Gjallarhorn pilot never had a chance to finish his sentence, as Mikazuki opened the mace’s jaw and used its built in chainsaw to rip him apart.

    As Barbatos surveyed the battlefield, Mikazuki hesitated a moment. The last Graze, the commander’s unit, was speeding down the road, blasting away with its rifle. He had no idea what it was shooting, but he was fairly certain that it was probably the commando team Orga had snuck into the city on the last shuttle recon flight. Orga’s orders were clear – unless Gjallarhorn entered the city, none of Tekkadan’s mobile suits could enter the city to support their operations there.

    Mikazuki considered his options. He wasn’t sure how close he could get to the city before it’d cause problems with the power systems. He had two weapons left – the large special mace and the sword, which was still mounted on Barbatos’ backpack. There was an enemy mobile suit heading toward the city and would probably start firing into it any second.

    The mace fell to the ground, the sword taking its place. Barbatos accelerated towards the edge of the city, towards an invisible line that would only be crossed if circumstances demanded it. The choices had been made, and Mikazuki was prepared to stand by them – no matter the outcome.



    Author's notes: Well, here's the first half of the battle. The geography threw me for a bit of a loop on initial rewatch of the episodes for this, mostly because I thought the quarry was in between the train station and the city, when it's the opposite. Also, it's a weirdly large complex for an abandoned train station, to the point where it looks like it could serve as airport for STOL (Short Take Off and Landing) aircraft. I figured there had to be Gjallarhorn bases around Edmonton, since the Grazes were just jetting off on their hover packs in episode 24 of season 1, and it seems unlikely that they'd have hundreds of miles/KM range, at least based on how lame the hover packs seem to be. There's a few empty spots between towns/major roads that seem like viable locations for bases, especially in a post-Calamity War world where some of these old towns may have died out due to the war/its aftermath.

    Yes, I know I only showed what happened with one of the shuttles. I know where the other two are, and that's why it's a two chapter battle.
     
    Chapter 26
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member

    Chapter 26

    For Carta Issue, the entire day had been one rolling disaster. It started with the embarrassment in orbit, then with the miserable showing her men showed upon reaching the surface. Now she was basically on her own, bashing through the forest with her Graze Ritter as her men covered the rear. Still, it saved time over trying to fight her way through Tekkadan’s impromptu base and going the full length of the road.

    As she burst through the forrest onto the road itself, she surveyed where the Gjallarhorn mobile worker blockade was supposed to be via the head mounted telescopic sensor. The mobile workers were there, facing the wrong direction, rolling away from their positions, with an APC in the middle of their formation. Looks like we interpreted that garbled transmission correctly.

    She frowned – there were mobile workers guarding another bridge a few miles down, and they hadn’t moved at all. She wasn’t sure what that was about; part of her wanted to berate them for their inaction, but that was balanced out by the fact that their orders didn’t allow them to do anything without being engaged first. Before she could contact them, her last subordinate reported in, saying the Gundam was on their tail.

    All I have to do is destroy the APC,
    Carta mused. Kudelia and Makanai should be there, and killing them defeats Tekkadan, more or less. The aliens were peripheral to the whole thing, after all. It didn’t really matter what they wanted – this whole thing began with Kudelia, and there was a poetry to avenging Gaelio’s fallen comrade by killing her right in front of the Gundam.

    “Hold position where I exited the forest,” she ordered her subordinate, painfully aware that all the rest were dead. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your deaths weren’t in vain. “Delay the Gundam as long as you can, then retreat.”

    “Aye sir,”
    he replied, no trace of fear or hesitation in his voice, even though they both knew he wasn’t likely to survive the day.

    She scowled as she opened up the throttles on her hover units and raced down the road, cursing that she’d been reduced to this. She also kept an eye on her sensor readouts, looking for the two other shuttles that had reentered the atmosphere. They were alien craft, and as far as she knew, they weren’t armed, but Tekkadan had already tricked her once, and she wasn’t going to allow them to trick her again.

    Thankfully, she was catching up to the mobile workers and APC, but they were already pulling deeper into the city, and she was well aware of how bad it would look if a Gajllarhorn mobile suit caused a massive blackout. Even worse, she didn’t know what was in the area, like whether or not there was a hospital nearby – the only thing worse than causing a blackout was causing a blackout that killed people.
    A quick glance at the streets showed them devoid of people, either because they were all gathering some place else or were evacuated by Gjallarhorn prior to Tekkadan making planetfall.

    Knowing she’d get censured for sure, she raised the Graze’s rifle and opened fire.

    Either by sheer luck or careful observation, the Tekkadan vehicles began swerving wildly to avoid the 120mm rifle rounds. One unlucky mobile worker was sent careening into the first floor of a building, demolishing a small shop or restaurant in the process. Another went spinning like a top through an intersection, a smoking mess that didn’t move an inch once it managed to stop.

    Then a round hit the pavement mere feet from the passenger side of the APC, blowing it apart into a thick, black cloud of smoke.

    It happened so fast that Carta didn’t even have time to pull back on the throttle before the Graze Ritter barreled through the smoke. She jerked the controls a bit too hard, causing the mobile suit to judder and smash into the side of a building. When it finally came to a stop in the middle of the street, she cringed at the huge gouge, fully aware that there were huge holes in the pavement on the otherside of the billowing curtain of smoke.

    I need to confirm the kill,
    Carta thought as she surveyed the ruined street. Not just for regulation’s sake, but for Gaelio’s and her own – If I’m going to have to grovel for forgiveness from some politician, I can at least hold my head up high knowing I accomplished the mission. She carefully maneuvered the Ritter over to where the APC was burning; the vehicle lay on its side, wheels facing the mobile suit. Gently pressing the tip of the Ritter’s toe on one of the wheels, she flipped it back upright.

    It was then that she realized two things. First, the other mobile workers had all disappeared. Second, that there’d never been anyone in the APC in the first place.

    The passenger compartment had been stuffed full of barrels of whatever was producing the noxious black smoke, and in the driver’s compartment, various electronic components – including parts of an infantry LCS system – replaced the vehicle’s dashboard.

    It was a decoy,
    Carta thought, reeling in disbelief. Not once, but twice, in the same day, she had been duped by Tekkadan.

    Her hands tightened around the controls as a potent mix of rage and humiliation brewed inside her. There was no way to mitigate the damage to her reputation now – if there was one thing no one could defend themselves against, it was you should haves and all too real property damage. She would be publicly condemned and mocked for years after this, and worst of all, possibly relegated to some deadend position where rebuilding her honor and restoring the family name was impossible.

    So when the Ahab wave alert began ringing, Carta didn’t hesitate at all to raise the Graze Ritter’s rifle and open fire, even with the smoke still obscuring her view. There was so little left for her to lose that the satisfaction of vengeance was all she could look forward to.

    She didn’t expect Barbatos bursting through the smoke and swinging a giant katana right through the joint in the Ritter’s right arm.

    Even as the rifle fired off a final few rounds on its way to the ground, she drew her Graze’s knight sword with its left hand. Old training from endless drilling reasserted itself as she swung her own blade at the Gundam. Her anger grew as the space rat piloting it did a fairly good job of blocking or parrying many of her blows, even as he maneuvered in an unfamiliar style – Yet another damn alien thing they’re using against me.

    Then Barbatos parried and redirected one of her swings up and over its head, taking the opportunity to thrust its blade into the Graze Ritter’s chest. Carta barely managed to dodge to the left, temporarily deafened as the blade sliced into the outer layer of armor on the right side of the torso. She took the mobile suit back a few steps to gain some distance, holding the sword out to ward off the next attack.

    Even though her hearing was slowly recovering, she felt the need to vent some of the anger within her on an open channel. “You damn space rats! You’ve humiliated me at every turn, ruined the reputation of my family! I am Carta Issue and—”

    “You talk too much,”
    the Gundam pilot finally responded, sounding young and completely uninterested in Carta’s grievences as he activated the mobile suit’s boosters. With its hands on the hilt and the blade, the Gundam thrust its sword, even as the Ritter attempted to block the blow. Despite her best efforts, she merely deflected the blade a bit as her sword hit Barbatos’ left arm.

    The impact snapped Carta’s head back even as a searing pain flared in her right side and she came up short of breath. Coughing hard to clear her lungs, she tasted blood in her mouth as a sudden wave of fatigue hit her. Looking down, she realized why – the tip of the Gundam’s sword had punched through the side of her cockpit… and right into her, at the bottom of her rib cage. Blood soaked her flight suit and poured down the blade as all sensation fled her limbs, her arms flopping uselessly to side or on to the blade.

    As her vision faded with the slow leak of her life blood, her final thoughts were of the man she loved.



    Déjà vu all over again, Orga thought, once again sitting in the cockpit of Shuttle 1, as the whole crew finally agreed to call it. This reentry into Earth’s atmosphere was much like his first, with two notable differences. First, the two alien shuttles were joined by the massive reentry shuttle, and second, Rala T’Pani wasn’t the pilot on this mission.

    Instead, Mavek Tolan, the usual pilot for Shuttle 2, was the pilot for this flight, with Rala a passenger on the other shuttle. It was, Orga knew, a pain in the ass and all his fault – he picked her for the Announcement, and for consistency’s sake, he was going to stick with her for the diplomacy to come. That meant Shuttle 2 was in the hands of one of the backup pilots from the Thrill Seeker, a skilled but not as experienced Asari… which was why it was hauling VIPs, instead of getting into the fray.

    That said, being regaled with Tolan’s hovercar racing stories made up for it a bit.

    The Salarian’s gripping tale of how he evaded cops on Gorot II during an off the books hovercar race was interrupted by a pinging chime. A quick glance at the display in front of him told the pilot everything he needed to know. “Looks we’ve got a pair of Arbrau fighters coming up behind us. They’re still subsonic, but closing fast.”

    Orga looked over at the readout and frowned. “Any way to know if they’re about to shoot us?”

    “Well, since we don’t know what radar frequencies they use for target locks, no.” Tolan paused and considered things a bit further. “Also, since they’re behind us, they can just fire heat seeking missiles and have them follow our engines’ thermal plume right to us.”

    “Great.” To be fair, Orga hadn’t expected anything better. Makanai’s man on the ground, Lasker Alessi, didn’t have access to military info like that and wouldn’t risk his own neck to get it, not when he was busy trying to keep Makanai’s reelection campaign going.

    “Gonna move us a little further away from the reentry shuttle,” the pilot added. “Just in case they try to shoot us with a cannon – don’t want rounds bouncing off the kinetic barriers and into the big shuttle.”

    “They probably won’t get that close,” Orga muttered. “Depends on whether the electronics are shielded against Ahab waves.”

    “Think they have missiles with shielded electronics?”

    “No clue,” Orga admitted. “Montag either didn’t feel like sharing that info with us or couldn’t get it.” He had no idea which was true, nor did he particularly care at the moment. While Lasker Alessi hadn’t provided hard intel on military hardware and capabilities, he did pass on the fact that Arbrau’s military wanted nothing to do with the current political brew-ha-ha. Odds were good that they could just talk their way past any Arbrau forces that challenged them.

    “Wait a second – we’re getting a signal.”

    A scratchy voice – likely an artifact of low signal quality or incomplete processing – came over the speaker. “Unidentified aircraft, this is Tornado Flight. State your identity and intentions immediately. If you do not comply, hostile action will be taken.”

    Orga tapped on controls. “Tornado Flight, this is Orga Itsuka of Tekkadan. We have Togonosuke Makanai, Kudelia Aina Bernstein, and alien envoys aboard our shuttles, as well as a security detail to protect them from Gjallarhorn or other hostile actors.”

    The Arbrau pilot was silent for a long time – long enough tha Orga seriously considered asking if there was a problem. Thankfully, the flight leader replied before he had to take that step. “Tekkadan, what is your destination?”

    “The train station at…” Orga pulled a piece of paper out of one of his jacket pockets and read off the string of geographic coordinates. Once again, a long silence followed.

    “Tekkadan, permission to land is granted. Advise that you maintain a direct course to your destination – Gjallarhorn air assets have been spotted in the area. Arbrau has no operational control over said assets and no information on their rules of engagement. Tornado Flight out.”


    On the display, the two Arbrau planes pulled back and angled slightly away from the three shuttles.

    “Is it just me, or were they quick to toss Gjallarhorn under the bus?” Tolan asked.

    “I think their bosses told them to cover Arbrau’s ass.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I bet they saw how Dort blew up in Gjallarhorn’s face and decided to make us someone else’s problem.”

    The two of them chuckled at that.

    The good vibes didn’t last long though. The uncontested landing of the reentry shuttle put Orga on edge, especially as he started watching the local Edmonton news broadcasts. The fact of the matter was that Gjallarhorn could easily make Tekkadan look like the aggressors, simply by doing nothing while the mercenaries set up a base of operations outside the city. On the other hand, literally everything up until now pointed to them trying to kill Kudelia, whether it was to actually accomplish anything or just out of sheer stubbornness was anyone’s guess.

    The point was rather academic, as the newscasts broadcast images of huge crowds throughout the city and crowding around the parliament building. The worst nightmare of any military commander was fighting while moving though a mass of panicking civilians, and Orga could all too easily see Gjallarhorn mobile workers blundering their way through the crowds. If they were smart, they would move their forces around the crowds, probably along locked down, prepared routes. If they weren’t, there’d be a lot of civilian casualties.

    As the shuttles drifted slowly toward the city proper, Gjallarhorn mobile suits closed in on Tekkadan’s ground forces; on the news, broadcasters were cutting to field reporters covering Gjallarhorn mobile workers abandoning the temporary housing areas they were supposed to protect.

    All Orga said was “It’s time,” and the shuttle nosed up and shot thousands of feet into the air, high enough to see the entire city. VI controlled image capture and analysis systems, intended for planetary surveys, highlighted the position of each and every mobile worker in less than a minute, projecting possible courses for them and updating every few minutes with new data. It was a level of battlefield intelligence Orga had never experienced before, and the rush of exhilaration almost overwhelmed him.

    Almost.

    “Alright, our ground team should be dealing with this group here.” Orga tapped where a group of mobile workers had gathered on the other end of the bridge leading to the train station. Placed in an abandoned building during one of the last propaganda drops and recon flights, the ground team had a simple, yet dangerous task: get Gjallarhorn to forget all about the shuttles buzzing around. Part of that was neutralizing the nearby troops and using their assets to distract the other Gjallarhorn units. “We’ve got some groups that’ll be passing real close to the safe houses, so those are our priority targets. The mobile workers on the highways aren’t a problem, so we can leave them alone.”

    Tolan took a quick peek at the map before returning his attention to his sensor readouts. “What about the ones near the parliament building?”

    “We can’t do anything about those – chances are any missed shots will go into the crowds. It’s up to the protection detail to keep the VIPs safe.” Orga grimaced before opening a comm channel to Shuttle 2 and giving them their new orders. “Alright, let’s do it.”

    “Alright, let’s do this.” The Salarian pilot kicked the shuttle into a high speed dive towards street level, pulling and slowing down with only a few hundred feet to spare. Orga’s stomach lurched as they whizzed between buildings and above parked cars and buses, but that quickly passed when he saw the line of mobile workers rolling down the street. The Gjallarhorn units waited until they reached an intersection to spread out into a square formation, levelling their guns at the shuttle.

    As Orga activated the weapons systems, he still had a sliver of hope that it was all a bluff on their part, and no one would start firing within the city limits. Then one of the mobile workers opened fire – whether due to nerves or orders, no one could tell – and he pumped mass accelerator rounds into each and every one of them. It was only when he heard Tolan’s “oof” that he realized that the enemy’s fire had deflected off the kinetic barrier and demolished the corner of a low-rise building’s roof.

    Tipping forward, the shuttle entered the intersection, pointing its tail to the sky, then spun counterclockwise before leveling out and speeding down another street to take on the next set of Gjallarhorn mobile workers.



    Scattered all over Edmonton were small, nondescript houses, each with a secret passage directly to the parliament building. Built in the aftermath of the Calamity War, during Edmonton’s transition from a mere Canadian city to the capital of Arbrau, the safehouses were a tightly kept secret, only given to the Prime Minister and their protection detail upon election. When Togonuske Makanai had been sent into exile, he kept a list of their locations, just in case he somehow found himself in Edmonton once again.

    A light breeze rustled his clothes as he stepped out of Tekkadan’s alien shuttle and onto the pavement, an aftereffect of its thrusters. Half a block away was one of the safehouses, well within a brisk walk’s pace for an old man like him. A half dozen soldiers, an eclectic mix of humans and aliens, were busy setting a perimeter while the rest of the passengers disembarked, sweeping their eyes and those odd “omni-tool” devices every which way.

    As the group pulled together and began moving, he found himself next to the always interesting Dr. Vass. “That was quite a smooth flight, wouldn’t you say?”

    “Considering the circumstances, quite smooth,” the doctor replied, even as he frowned. “I’m surprised by the lack of civilians on the street though.”

    “I suspect my good friend Henri Fleurs kept them at home or out of the way, at Gjallarhorn’s insistence, most likely.” He raised an eyebrow as an alien and human raced ahead to the door of the safehouse, then flung the door open and entered it. They both moved in unison, like a well-made watch, despite the fact that the two groups had only been together for two months.

    Then again,
    he thought with some amusement, there are probably only so many ways to do such a simple job.

    Once the all clear was given, the entire group shuffled inside. Immediately, another pair of soldiers began setting up explosive charges at the door, while the first pair flung open the panel over the staircase to the secret passage before Makanai could point it out. He felt little chagrin over that – with those scanners of theirs, it would’ve been a bad sign if they hadn’t found it.

    He took a few steps towards the staircase, only for a Batarian arm to block his path.

    “Gotta let them make sure it’s clear,” Pazness explained. “We can’t take the risk that Fleurs does know about these passages, not when we can’t get any reinforcements.”

    Makanai nodded, conceding the point.

    The climb down the stair case was an exercise in exchanging one claustrophobic environment for another. While the corridor was wide enough for three people to comfortably walk side by side, the harsh concrete walls and red LED lights embedded in the ceiling seemed to close in on the people within. Their footsteps echoed down the length of the passage, which seemed to extend forever, if not for the helpful signs posted every half-kilometer, pointing to and listing the distance from each end. The air was dusty and stale, and every breath seemed to take more effort than it should have.

    After what seemed like an eternity, the group arrived at the exit into the parliament building, stopping at the foot of the staircase to plan the next move.

    “Alright, Lyena, get up there and make sure the room’s clear,” Pazness ordered as the VIPs huddled together.

    Kudelia bumped into Makanai, whispering “Do you think anyone’s up there?”

    “At a time like this? Not a chance.” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “Each of the entrances is a room that’s set aside for some administrative or maintenance role. This one’s full of cleaning supplies.”

    “So, we’re fine unless everyone up there has a bad case of food poisoning?” Rala T’Pani, the Asari representative, asked.

    A few weak chuckles and smiles brightened the mood a bit as the report came in. “Looks like the room’s clear, but there’s a lot of people all over the place. We won’t be able to get anywhere without getting spotted.”

    “Well, we kinda expected that,” Pazness replied. “We did announce to the whole solar system that we’d be here, so…” He shrugged.

    Makanai cast his eye on the others, gauging their reactions. None seemed surprised, or even a bit reluctant to proceed. After a moment, Pazness gave the order to open the hatch. A dull thunk reverberated through the space, causing everyone to cringe – while not painfully loud, it was still strong enough to be heard by anyone in the building above. After a few minutes, the all clear came through, and the group ascended the stairs, finding themselves precisely where they were supposed to be – a room full of cleaning supplies, all shoved on to racks, in the sort of discombobulated arrangement that naturally emerged when tired people had to find the same things day after day after day.

    “Alright, we’re here,” Pazness announced, nudging a mop bucket aside before Kudelia or Makanai’s clothes could get inside the thing. “Question is, do we want to do the PR thing, or do it by the book?”

    The aliens looked to Kudelia and Makanai, and he noted with some amusement that everyone – Kudelia included – expected him to speak up. He decided to oblige them. “I think that playing to the cameras would help, although that means keeping our armed guards” he tilted his head at them “out of sight. We wouldn’t want to cause a panic, would we?”

    Everyone looked at each other and nodded in silent agreement, despite the skepticism on their faces.

    Stepping through the door, the three aliens and two humans arranged themselves into a line with Makanai in the middle, Kudelia and Pazness to his right, and Rala and Vass on his left. Turning a corner ran them smack dab into a group of journalists and bored aides, who immediately began taking out their phones to take photos and video of the event. As directed, everyone in the group smiled and waved, but said nothing, even as the journalists began lobbing questions their way. Even as more and more people filtered into their path, none got in the way of their progress, perhaps out of fear of causing an interstellar incident… or fear that their employers wouldn’t take kindly to them causing bad publicity.

    Approaching the parliament chambers proper was like stepping on stage at a sold out red carpet premiere. The cacophony made it impossible to hear what, if anything, was being discussed inside, but it provided a bit of ambiance when Makanai pushed the doors open. All conversation screeched to a halt as they stepped inside.

    “Apologies for the commotion,” he said without a shred of sincerity, completely aware of how his arrival and the accompanying spectacle ruined Henri Fleurs’ carefully planned schemes. “I believe I promised to be here with these fine people, and despite some outside interference, I think we made good time.”

    The expression on Fleurs’ face was absolutely delicious, as she struggled to contain her fear and anger, but Makanai kept his own expression friendly and casual. He knew that Tekkadan’s propaganda drops had shaken Fleurs’ base and swayed most of the moderates sitting on the fence. He could afford to take the high road, and to be honest, seeing her dig herself deeper and deeper into a hole was quite amusing.

    Besides, he already had a coup de grâce planned for poor Henri Fleurs, and it’d be a shame to not use it.

    After settling the aliens in the public viewing gallery, there was only the formality of handing off his allotted speaking time to Kudelia.

    “Are you certain that’s okay?” She asked it in a tone that told him her concern was about the procedural aspect of things, not due to any anxiety on her part.

    He gave her a slight smile. “Go up there and talk about everything you’ve been keeping inside.”

    She gave him a small smile of her own before stepping up to the podium. As he settled into a seat next to Lasker Alessi, he kept an eye on everyone else’s reactions to the girl’s speech. To his experienced ear, he could tell she’d practiced it a few times, but it still had the pauses and hitches of an impromptu speech – a sign that she probably wasn’t entirely confident in her script. That said, the emotion she put into it was genuine, and he found himself thinking, What can this girl do if she gets a bit more experience and some good writers to help her?

    He noted with some satisfaction that even his own allies felt some shame when Kudelia pointed out the injustices they could right, but that was tempered by the knowledge that they could only go so far, thanks to Gjallarhorn.

    Then again, that might not be as big a hurdle anymore,
    he thought. Depending on how big a spectacle Gjallarhorn was making by fighting Tekkadan, the other economic blocks might have enough leverage to bring them to heel. Even if we can’t get them to let us to divest ourselves of Mars, we can at least grease the wheels a bit.

    Once Kudelia’s speech concluded, all that remained was waiting for the votes to come in. A steady stream of pro-Makanai votes turned into a tidal wave as soon as word spread of a Gjallarhorn mobile suit rampage on the outskirts of the city. Long before sunset, the outcome was as obvious as it was inevitable – Togonosuke Makanai was once more prime minister of Arbrau. Once the congratulations from the career politicians were all handled and Henri Fleurs slinked off to brood, it was time to do the hardest part of the job – address the mass of people who weren’t even here to see him.

    Ah well, I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to help them,
    he thought as he stepped out on to the stairs of the parliament building. The Gjallarhorn troops and mobile workers had long since disappeared, recalled by someone or other in the chain of command after the rampaging Graze debacle. Instead, Edmonton Police Department personel kept the crowds and media a safe distance away from the building.

    An aide, one of the many twenty-somethings that lurked around the parliament, handed Makanai a microphone as he surveyed the crowd and their many signs. Some of the signs were clearly support for himself and/or Kudelia, but the vast majority were intended for the alien visitors, including several that were complete nonsense (probably failed attempts to make messages in their native language) or had lewd interpretations (possibly including some of the nonsense ones). He considered the mass of humanity, spanning from all across the world and possibly even beyond it, and settled on what to say.

    “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Edmonton. I know many of you aren’t here to see me, so I’ll keep this victory speech short. I’d like to thank my staff, Kudelia Aina Bernstein, Tekkadan, and our special guests for their work on my behalf. If it wasn’t for their tireless efforts, I wouldn’t be standing here, droning on and on.” As he expected, there was a smattering of polite claps and laughter. “Before I hand the mic over, I’d like to wish my opponent, Henri Fleurs, good luck and success in her future ventures, after a hard-fought campaign. Now, the moment you were all promised, all those months ago.”

    The entire crowd erupted in cheers as the aliens stepped forward and received the microphone, leaving unable to do anything more than smile and wave in embarrassment. Once the noise died down, Dr. Vass began speaking.

    “Thank you, all of you, for this display of hospitality. If there is one constant we have seen in our time in your solar system, it is the human capacity for generosity and hospitality.” Vass paused and considered his next words carefully. “Over a year and a half ago, my comrades and I left the galactic community we called home, seeking new worlds and new civilizations. And while our journey was marred by the tragic loss of several of our senior officers, we found you – humanity, and a renewed sense of purpose.”

    The silence as he handed off the microphone to Rala T’Pani was only interrupted by the snapping of camera shutters (or the digital facsimile thereof).

    “I dunno if there’s really any way to get you guys to understand just how big Citadel space is,” the Asari began. “There’s trillions of people and thousands of planets out there, each with their own twist on how they do things. It can get really overwhelming if you think about.” She hesitated a moment. “You know, usually, the way things go, us exploratory guys find a world, introduce ourselves if they’re advanced enough, then leave and make way for the big “welcome to the galaxy” party. There’s not a lot of time for new guys to adjust when you do things that way, so I think us being here for the long haul is probably a better for everyone.”

    She quickly handed off the microphone to Pazness, who grimaced and received it like it was a live grenade. “Look, I know a bunch of you are probably looking at us, thinking “these guys travel the stars, they’ve got everything all sorted out.” Well, we don’t – and I’m talking about our little crew, and all the people out there who don’t even know you exist yet. We’re just everyday folks like you, trying to make a living as best we can… so don’t come looking to us for any profound “meaning of life” stuff. Everybody’s on the same level when it comes to that.”

    The Batarian lowered the microphone as an awkward silence settled in over the crowd, a silence Makanai broke by slowly clapping his hands. As he predicted, Kudelia and the crowd soon joined in, producing a tidal wave of sound that reverberated off the buildings around them. At the peak of the cacophony, Lasker Alessi slipped in next to him, and shouted in his ear.

    “We’ve gotten the leaders of the other blocs to the reception site,” Makanai’s long time aide and ally told him. “All we need to do is get there.”

    Makanai simply nodded, unwilling to shout in a subordinate’s face in public, even if it was necessary. As planned, the head of the other economic blocs had stayed far away from parliament, even if it was the obvious place to gain some PR points. Besides of the obvious security concerns that came with large crowds, there was the issue of Gjallarhorn’s presence and the potential implication of foreign influence in the elections, both political landmines that everyone wanted to avoid.

    Tiptoeing his way over to Vass, Makanai likewise shouted in the Salarian’s ear. After a quick nod, Vass activated his omni-tool, quickly tapped a few buttons, then took the microphone out of Pazness’ hand. With the clapping dying down at this point, the doctor spoke once more.

    “I’d like to once again thank you for your presence,” he said as one of the shuttles came to a stop almostly directly overhead and began slowly descending. “We’re looking forward to meeting your leaders. Hopefully, in the next few days, we’ll have made great progress in uniting humanity with the wider galaxy. Until then, keep us in your thoughts.”

    Another chorus of applause broke out as the aliens and Makanai’s retinue boarded the shuttle. As soon as the doors closed, Vass slumped back in his seat, looking exhausted, while Rala and Pazness shifted uncomfortably. Makanai gave the trio an amused appraisal of their efforts. “Not bad, for amateurs. Could have used a bit more of a cohesive message, but emphasizing that you are common people plays well to masses, and makes up for any diplomatic faux pas you make.”

    “Well, that is a relief,” Vass replied. “I simply imitated the speeches I heard back in our part of the galaxy. I didn’t really expect it to work well.”

    “Same here,” Rala admitted.

    Pazness held up his hands. “I just made some stuff up on the fly. I don’t pay attention to that kind of stuff.”

    Makanai chuckled at that. “Well, I just hope you can keep it up, because we’re going to spend the next few hours making friends and influencing people.”



    Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out, but the Monday after when I posted the last one was the start of 5 weeks of mandatory overtime. That burned me out and sucked up a lot of the time I would've used to get this out sooner, but I managed to sneak in some writing time last week, which allowed me to get it out now.

    I am fully aware of the irony that, in the universe where Carta Issue did not challenge Mikazuki to a duel, she dies to him in a 1-v-1 duel. Fate is a cruel mistress sometimes.

    CGS and Tekkadan's intel gathering abilities never really impressed me in the show, although that's arguably due to most of their operations taking place far away from their primary bases of operation. I figured that even obsolete/civilian gear from ME would be superior to what we'd have today in terms of information gathering/network centric warfare, and a massive step up over the apparent nothing that Tekkadan had.

    There'll be a few chapters of wrap up (2-3 maybe, depends on how I parcel things out) and a new Gaelio Must Suffer before this arc is done, then we get to the real canon breaking.
     
    Chapter 27
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member

    Chapter 27

    The morning after didn’t hit Orga like a ton of bricks, thanks to his hard-earned experience getting hammered on Saisei. He’d paced himself well at Makanai’s victory party, drinking plenty of water and having just enough food to soak up most of the alcohol he’d imbibed. He didn’t really remember the names of most of the officials he’d met, but that was more down to the sheer number of them than being drunk.

    His one regret was drinking a great deal of that “amber bach” beer – the stomach ache it gave him was probably the single worst thing he had to deal with, but he couldn’t deny that it cleaned out the digestive tract like nothing he’d ever seen before.

    Biscuit hadn’t been as lucky. Never the partying type, he’d been hit hard by even the restrained amount of alcoholic beverages he’d tried. Luckily, he’d stayed away from the beer Orga had drunk, but that still left him nearly lifeless and wincing as he picked at his breakfast. Unfortunately for the two of them, they had an eleven o’clock meeting with the defense minister in the parliament building. Nobody knew what it was about, but that was a small thing in the grand scheme.

    One of the better things about taking over the train station as Tekkadan’s Earth base of operations was the pre-existing amenities. In general, all the living areas were much nicer than those in the old CGS base, despite the station being abandoned for several years. Orga hoped to get everyone back aboard the Isaribi and on their way to Mars before they got too used to the creature comforts.

    But one of those creature comforts, a wide double bank of wide screen monitors mounted to the ceiling of the cafeteria, was proving quite useful. Someone had set them up to catch local news broadcasts, and while the coverage wasn’t as comprehensive as the day before, it was just as informative. Literally every channel made sure to mention that the leaders of all four economic blocks were already secreted away, discussing something, which excited the news hosts to no end.

    A familiar, if sleep deprived, voice caught Orga’s attention as he gently nudged Biscuit’s cup of water closer to him. “There you are.”

    He turned to find a tired Azee staring at him, eyes half open. “Hey.”

    “Must have been some party,” she observed. “You look terrible.”

    “You look tired.” It was as much an observation as a statement of fact. She’d been up well into the night handling things while Orga and the others had been busy surviving the diplomatic ordeal.

    “Yeah, well…” She shrugged. “Just wanted to let you know Makanai’s people are working on getting that Graze Mikazuki dragged out of the city shipped back to Gjallarhorn. They’re also keeping the road blocked on their end, so the journalists won’t be swarming all the place.”

    “Good.” Orga took a sip of his own drink, a hot mug of coffee, then set it down when something occurred to him. “Are we getting hammered with calls for-“

    “Literally every kind of interview or whatever? Yeah.” Azee rubbed her eyes with her right hand. “I told them to call back tomorrow, that we’ll see what we can do after we’ve settled in.”

    “Thanks. Anything else?”

    The corners of her mouth pulled up a bit. “Naze’ll be flying down on one of the shuttles later today. Might get here around lunch time.”

    “Damn, I’ll probably be in the city by then,” Orga replied, taking another sip of coffee. “Do you know how long he’s staying down here?”

    “No, but you’ll probably get some time to chat.”

    “That’d be nice. Get some sleep, Azee. You’ve earned it.”

    The silver haired woman just chuckled and muttered “Don’t I know it” under breath as she headed towards the barracks.

    “So, Biscuit, how’re you feeling?”

    A muted groan was the only reply to that.

    “I hear you. At least we won’t have to deal with reporters in our face.” A smile spread on Orga’s face as he thought some more on that. “You know, it could be worse. We could make them interview Mika.”

    Biscuit groaned even louder. “I don’t think that’ll end well.”

    “Yeah, you’re probably right… but it’d still be funny.” The mental image of a reporter shoving a microphone in Mikazuki’s face and waiting for a response, while he pulled out a Mars palm and ate it, kept the smile plastered Orga’s face. Sure, whatever Mikazuki actually said would either be nonchalant or seem weird to the comparatively well-off folks on Earth, but it was almost worth paying that price to see that kind of awkwardness in person.

    Any further exploration of this idea was interrupted by the arrival of Rala and Pazness, both carrying breakfast and steaming hot mugs of coffee. Clearly exhausted, the two aliens had squinted their way to Orga’s table, weaving their way through the clumps of people eating breakfast prior to their duties. They sat down with an audible thump in their chairs, exchanging simple nods of acknowledgement with the humans before tearing at their food.

    “Morning.” The aliens paused and looked at Orga, waiting for whatever followup would come with the greeting. “Where’s the doc?”

    “Haven’t seen him since we got here,” the Asari replied, quickly returning to her meal. At the reception, she’d done a variety of demonstrations of her biotics; as a result, she was eating a double serving, trying to make up all the calories she’d expended the night before.

    “He’s probably asleep in some corner somewhere,” Pazness added as he jabbed his fork at various bits of food. “That or he’s talking to the hospitals about vaccines.” He brought his fork to his mouth, then paused. “Actually, he could be doing both. I bet he’s got a VI program that’d automatically do it for him.”

    “Huh.” Orga took a bite of his own food, which had turned lukewarm. “Well, it shouldn’t be a problem. Biscuit and I’ll be heading out in a bit, but that’s the only big thing going on today.”

    A polite “Mmm” was the only response he got, but he could see the relief on their faces.

    Not even a half hour later, Biscuit and Orga flopped into the back of an armored car Arbrau had provided them. A pair of mobile workers escorted them across the bridge, where four police cars took over their escort. Reporters and casual onlookers lined the sidewalks, snapping pictures on phones and cameras as the Martian boys surveyed the streets. Yellow caution tape and orange detour signs made it obvious where Gjallarhorn had wrought destruction the day before, while a conspicuous amount of trash on the streets either meant the populace had partied hard that night, or all that cruft had been blown around during the battle.

    The armored car pulled into the back of the parliament building, where two anonymous guards hurried Biscuit and Orga inside. After walking down a few corridors and up a flight of stairs, they found themselves in an empty, windowless conference room. Already waiting for them was a mocca skinned bald man in a well tailored suit, one that Orga vaguely recognized from the night before.

    “Welcome, gentlemen,” the bald man said as he stood and offered his hand. Both Tekkadan men shook it and sat in the seats he offered them. “I’m Tom Madden, defense minister. We probably met last night, but only for a minute.”

    Sensing the lifeline the older man was offering, Orga said, “Orga Itsuka. I was wondering why you looked so familiar, so it’s nice to put a name to the face.”

    After Biscuit likewise introduced himself, Madden produced a tablet from under the table and set it down, off to the side. “I’m sure you’re aware that Mr. Makanai is quite busy at the moment – in fact, that’s why he handed this particular job off to me. Amazingly, the press hasn’t gotten wind of what exactly he and the other block leaders are up to, but it’s only a matter of time before rumors start, and once that happens, the whole damn solar system is going to hear fifty different theories about what’s going on.”

    Orga wasn’t quite sure he was keeping up with where the conversation was going or what Madden was talking about, but he nodded in agreement. “That’s a big problem. What’s he going to do about it?”

    “Try to get everyone to hammer out a political response today for this blooming onion of a clusterfuck Gjallarhorn has made.” Madden shook his head in disbelief. “We got the leaders of all four economic blocks in the same room at 6 AM. We’ve never seen this before – ever.”

    “So where do we fit in?” Biscuit asked, shifting in his seat and trying hard not to look uncomfortable.

    “Mr. Makanai wants a military response to go with the political one.” Madden leaned back in his seat. “Arbrau’s military is, when you get down to it, pretty much a paper tiger. We’ve got a well-maintained fighting force, but no experience to back that up, especially when it comes to fighting mobile suits.”

    With great effort, Orga kept his face clear of any reaction to this proclamation. “You want us to fight Gjallarhorn for you?”

    Madden shook his head. “No, that’s not what we have in mind. Instead, we’d like to contract your company to train our forces.”

    Orga leaned back in his seat, nodding as he thought it over. A government contract was, at the very least, a guaranteed source of income, and extremely low risk compared to the usual PMC fare. Depending on how long it lasted, it could provide a steady revenue stream to offset any high cost operations or a weak market for their services. “We’d be happy to help with that.”

    “Excellent.” The defense minister picked his neglected tablet back up. “Since Mr. Makanai wants this deal closed out as soon as possible, we’ll hammer out most of the details here, then let the lawyers fancy up the language later.”

    “Uh huh.” Orga and Biscuit glanced at each other, both thinking the same thing – Something’s up with this. “Where do you want to start?”

    “Well, let’s see… an initial short-term contract with an option for renewal seems like the best option, wouldn’t you say? How about three years to start?”

    “That sounds fine…” Biscuit gave Orga a helpless shrug, getting the same shrug in response.

    Madden, preoccupied with making and reading notes, didn’t notice their growing discomfort. “You’ve already set up shop in that train station, so we can let you have that once we have the lawyers figure out who actually owns that place. Worst case, we’ll make you pay a token fee to use the property.”

    “Okay…” Orga rubbed his chin. “We can make whatever security upgrades we feel we need, right?”

    “I don’t see any problem with that.” Madden put the tablet down. “Why do you ask?”

    The two young mercenaries shared another look and sighed as they realized how far down the rabbit hole they were going to go. “Well, you see…”



    It was 5 PM, and the parliament building was once more bustling with people. Kudelia, Naze, Vass, Rala, and Pazness were all particulates in the churning mass of politicians, bureaucrats, and news media inside its walls. A nondescript set of Abrau bodyguards slowly pushed people aside, guiding the VIPs to room where a press conference was set to be held. All the while, reporters pointed cameras at them, their overlapping voices merging into an indistinguishable roar.

    Once inside the large conference room, things improved, simply because it seemed that the unspoken agreement in the room was to keep as far away from each other. Biscuit and Orga were already there, sticking out like sore thumbs in their olive green Tekkadan uniforms. A smile spread across Kudelia’s face as they approached, which quickly spread to their faces and eased a bit of the tension.

    “So Orga, what have you been up to?” Naze asked, glancing around the room. “I don’t think you set up this little party all by yourself.”

    Orga snorted. “What, this? It’s all Makanai’s thing, his “diplomatic response” to Gjallarhorn.”

    “He got this all done in one day?” Kudelia looked around the room, taking in the scene. She saw the leaders of all the economic blocks, plus most of their top aides, scattered about, keeping their distance from the journalists. “That’s incredible… I mean, I knew the economic blocks already didn’t like Gjallarhorn, but getting anything done in diplomacy usually takes a lot more time.”

    “I guess yesterday’s schenanigans got them calling for blood.” Naze sighed and shrugged, the corners of his mouth pulling up. “Anyway, I’ve got some good news for you.”

    “And we’ve got some for you guys,” Orga replied, starting an awkward silence as both men tried to figure out who should go first.

    Pazness rolled his eyes and broke the stalemate. “Do you want us to do that thing you humans do – what was it, flip a coin – to decide who goes first?” The Batarian was fully aware that other species flipped coins, but added that little flourish to emphasize the absurdity of the situation.

    Orga’s response was simple. “Biscuit, you tell them.”

    “Huh? Um, well, it’s not finalized yet, but Tekkadan is getting a contract to help train Arbrau’s military.” He gave them a sheepish grin. “Apparently we really impressed Mr. Makanai.”

    The aliens glanced over at Kudelia and Naze to gauge the appropriate response to the news. For his part, Naze looked suitably impressed, while Kudelia was more effusive in her response. “That’s fantastic! It’s the kind of low risk job you were looking for, right?”

    “Yeah, pretty much.” Orga shrugged, even as he smiled. “Honestly, we’re not going to be making a whole lot of money, since we’re adding more overhead, but it gives us some cushion to work with.”

    “Well, now I’m glad I didn’t go first. I would’ve hated to steal your thunder.” Naze said, a broad smile spreading on his face. “I think you’ll appreciate this too, though. Tekkadan’s going to be in the entertainment business.”

    “That means what, exactly?” Vass asked, in a suspicious, yet amused tone.

    “You’ll be in charge of licensing all the media the Thrill Seeker’s crew brought with them.” Naze’s expression became more serious. “I know it’s a big responsibility, but this is the Old Man’s way of giving you as much help as he can. Money’s going to be hard to come by for a while, so he’s giving you a long-term source of revenue, instead of loans.”

    As a gobsmacked Orga struggled to process this latest windfall, Rala added a keen observation. “Sounds like a good side hustle for the guys working over here.”

    “It sure does…” Still overwhelmed by Tekkadan’s good fortune, Orga looked over at Naze for some guidance. “Got any advice?”

    “Not really, but don’t worry – Teiwaz will supply some help for your new Earth branch,” the older man replied. “I can make a few rec-“

    Before he could continue, a voice came over the loudspeakers installed in the front of the room. “Please take your seats. The press conference will begin in five minutes.”

    Orga grimaced at that, much to the confusion of the recent arrivals. As Biscuit led them towards their chairs, he explained, saying “Mr. Makanai got us front row seats.”

    “Oh boy.” Naze’s voice conveyed his total lack of enthusiasm. “Do you think I could sit in the back row? I’m supposed to avoid getting Teiwaz formally associated with the economic blocks.”

    “No, he was pretty insistent on that,” Orga replied as they sat down.

    “No doubt he wishes to imply Teiwaz and the blocks are aligned,” Vass commented. “That and/or he’s trying to impress Teiwaz and gain more favorable terms for access to our technology.”

    Naze groaned, earning small smiles from the rest of the group.

    The ambient buzz in the room died down as the leaders stepped out on the short, elevated stage behind the speakers. Occassional camera flashes flared as three of the leaders – those of the SAU, African Union, and Oceanian Federation – sat down on three of the four chairs set on that stage. The fourth leader, Makanai, approached the podium and tapped the microphone, then waited until he received a signal from the back of the room.

    “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. As I’m sure you all know, I am Togunoske Makanai, prime minister of Arbrau. My collegues, the esteemed leaders of the other economic blocks of Earth, and I have come to you today to discuss a unified vision of the future.

    “As I am sure you are aware, after the horrible atrocity committed by Gjallarhorn at the Dort colony, an act that endangered the lives of the noble alien explorers stranded here in our solar system, each and every nation represented here took action. We barred Gjallarhorn from involving itself in any diplomatic matters concerning these new arrivals, through mechanisms Gjallarhorn itself established. Unfortunately, as yesterday proved, Gjallarhorn disregarded those wishes, endangering the lives of countless people, and forcing us to take action to prevent similar disasters from occurring in the future.”

    Makanai stepped away from the podium and headed towards the empty seat, passing a middle-aged woman with light brown skin and dark red hair on her way to take the podium. Orga leaned towards Naze and whispered, “Who’s that?”

    “Martina Rodriguez, leader of the SAU.” He tilted his head towards the stage. “The other two sitting with Makanai are Nguyen Van Tomas, president of the Oceanian Federation, and Tobias Merkel, president of the African Union.”

    “Lots of presidents,” Orga muttered.

    “Side effect of the Calamity War.” Naze got the words out before Rodriguez began speaking.

    “Gjallarhorn’s actions have made it clear that it considers itself above the law, even its own laws, and cannot be trusted with the responsibility of guiding humanity to the stars. To that end, our governments have come together to form a Multi-National Committee on Extraterrestrial Affairs, which will establish a groundwork for human expansion outside the solar system and our interactions with other species. This organization, whose charter has already been ratified, has taken one such step by extending the rights and protections afforded to our citizens to the newest inhabitants of our solar system.”

    With that, Rodriguez ceded the podium to Nguyen, an Asian man who looked almost as old as Makanai, but with a full head of silver hair. “In addition, the Multi-National Committee on Extraterrestrial Affairs will help facilitate and coordinate business ventures throughout the Inner and Outer Spheres relating to the development of space infrastructure and derivitives of alien technology. This is to ensure the safety of the general public and to prevent pointless corporate conflicts that could stymie progress in these fields.”

    That said, Nguyen handed the podium off to Merkel, a pale, particularly dour looking middle-aged man. His brown hair had streaks of gray that glinted in the intense lighting of the room. “In order to ensure that Gjallarhorn does not interfere with the Committee, we have established a policy to deter its unjustified meddling. This policy includes a five-year moratorium on Gjallarhorn involvement in research and development of alien technology, subject to review and possible extension in three years. Any company working on such technology through a Committee partnership that knowingly provides Gjallarhorn with access to that data will have their partnership revoked, fines leveed, and be blacklisted from participation in Committee partnerships until Gjallarhorn’s moratorium period ends.

    “In addition, Gjallarhorn’s property tax exemption for its bases in our territories has been revoked. We will wait until the end of this week for Gjallarhorn to respond to the charges that Lord Iznario Fareed deliberately interfered in the Arbrau election by attempting to detain Prime Minister Makanai prior to the election deadline. We will then finalize the tax rate for those properties, and use the funds to help cover the costs of reconstruction and medical care for those who were injured in Gjallarhorn’s unjustified attacks over the past few months.”

    With that, Merkel stepped back from the podium. The other leaders stood up, then walked out of the room with him, leaving everyone else in stunned silence. The Tekkadan members recovered first, nervously looking at each other.

    “We’ve got news people behind us, right?” Pazness whispered.

    “A few rows back,” Rala confirmed, doing her best not to turn around.

    “We’d have 30 seconds, at most, before they swarmed us,” Vass added, sighing deeply.

    Biscuit leaned over to Orga. “What are we supposed to say?”

    Orga, then the rest of the group, looked over to Kudelia, who blinked hard, then sighed. “Just say you had no idea this was going to happen.”

    Naze stared off into the middle distance, his expression saying “How did I wind up in this mess?” Then he shook his head and straightened his jacket as much as he could. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Hopefully, we won’t make fools of ourselves on system-wide TV.”

    With that, they all stood, turned, and faced the oncoming wall of reporters.



    Once again, the Seven Stars – or more accurately, five of the six surviving members of the Seven Stars – found themselves in the council chambers, dealing with the latest political crisis. Lord Rustal Ellion found himself in the most advantageous position possible, completely free and cleared of any involvement in the matter at hand, and not directly dealing with the aftermath of Iznario Fareed’s folly. The elder Fareed, while smart enough to not be in Edmonton during Tekkadan’s arrival, had set up a paltry smokescreen to disguise the fact that he was in operational control of the assets in Edmonton proper. Less that 24 hours after the events in question, the Inspection Bureau had concluded that Iznario was largely responsible for the disaster, with the question of whether or not he had pressured Carta Issue into participating still being investigated.

    Ellion considered the mood in the room. Gallus Bauduin looked miserable – no doubt due to how close that family had been to Carta Issue, but also likely the result of so much bad news piling up in the past month. Elek Falk was sweating profusely and dabbing his face with a handkerchief, while Nemo Baklazan stared morosely at the tablet in front of him. Iok Kujan, naturally, was the most hotblooded and energetic in the room.

    “This is outrageous! Who do they think they are, issuing a statement like this?”

    Ellion took a sip of water and read through the JAG office summaries of the Multi-National Committee on Extraterrestrial Affairs documents. He wondered how many paralegals had been thrown at the task, given the short turn around time for the work. It was comprehensive and sobering – Makanai (clearly the mastermind, given how quickly this had all occurred) clearly had had an army of his own lawyers involved in crafting the legal foundations of the organization.

    Gallus sighed and wearily replied to Iok’s outburst. “Lord Kujan, whether or not you find the whole thing presumptious doesn’t matter. What does matter is the fact that our options are limited, since they are using every possible clause set in the Vingolf Proclamation relating to the rights of the economic blocks as the basis of this committee of theirs.”

    “So?”

    Ellion closed his eyes and quietly counted to fifteen, trying hard not to snap at the boy.

    “Lord Kujan,” Falk interjected, sweating a bit less now. “Given the recent… unpleasantness of the past month, Gjallarhorn failing to abide by the terms of the Vingolf Proclamation could convince the economic blocks to take… drastic actions against us.”

    The youngest of the Seven Stars crossed his arms and shook his head in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re even thinking of allowing them to go through with this!”

    Youth, Ellion thought with some amusement. He was never that hotblooded, but there were times when he’d been frustrated with the decisions made by older members of the council. “There are two important reasons to permit them their folly. First, Iznario Fareed and Carta Issue have already paid the price for their transgressions – with that, we have leverage to mitigate their planned economic sanctions against us. Remember, they are subject to public opinion in ways we are not, and will likely choose a moderate figure to avoid public criticism.”

    He took another sip of water. “Second, we need time. Time to learn about these aliens and the civilization they come from, time to prepare adequate measures to deal with them, and most importantly, time for the political situation to stabilize. There are limits to what we can accomplish at the moment – by giving the economic blocks a symbolic victory now, the passage of time will allow us access to the information we need and make the blocks more receptive to cooperating with us.”

    The older men nodded, leaving a scowling Iok with nothing else to say.

    Nemo Baklazan spoke next. “Before we proceed, we need to settle the matter of succession for Lord Issue and Fareed. Having a replacement in place should convince the block leaders that we are sincere in our efforts to prevent such mishaps in the future.”

    “McGillis Fareed is the only real option,” Falk noted. “Sadly, no one considered what would happen if one or more Seven Star families lost their heir. He will have to take on the roles and responsibilities for both the Issue and Fareed family.”

    Ellion narrowed his eyes at that. “Has the Inspection Bureau cleared him of any involvement in his father’s actions?”

    “Not yet, but from the latest report, they believe that, at most, he had tangential awareness of some of Iznario’s dealings,” Falk replied, then paused. “McGillis has brought up the possibility that Carta’s actions were personally motivated, rather than part of Iznario’s scheme.”

    “I see.” Ellion shrugged. “Then we should install him as the new lord of House Fareed as soon as they clear him. I believe the customary elevation in rank is three grades?”

    Lord Baklazan delved deep into the vast store of knowledge at his disposal, accumultated over the long decades of his service. “Correct. Once on the council, he would have the rank of Brigadier General.”

    I wonder, McGillis Fareed… did you plan this outcome, or were you truly as ignorant as you claim to be? Ellion considered what he knew about the younger Fareed, and amended his thought. Or are you merely taking advantage of your father’s foolishness and obtaining a measure of revenge in the process?

    Certainly, there was bound to be little love lost between the two. Ellion himself had seen the signs of physical abuse inflicted on a young McGillis, but had been unable to investigate the matter further. Iznario Fareed had been a notoriously private man, and the revelation that he’d fathered a bastard child had been met with much surprise. It had been an improvement over the increasingly insane rumors that had proliferated over the years though, like the one claiming he was serial killer.

    Gallus Bauduin summoned some hidden reserve of energy and straightened in his chair. “With that settled, I’ll handle notifying this… committee of Lord Fareed’s impending exile and replacement.”

    Exile was the harshest punishment explicitly laid out for members of the Seven Stars, reserved for the most heinous actions or most blatant abuses of power. In the immediate post-Calamity War era, it was seen as a more humane and politically sensitive punishment than a long jail sentence or execution. As a matter of principle, Rustal Ellion found it an indesicive punishment, but it at least provided a contingency if the replacement proved to be worse than their disgraced predecessor.

    “You’ve already got your hands full, Lord Bauduin,” Elek Falk interjected. “One of us should handle that.”

    “I would gladly take on that role,” Iok announced, missing the grimaces crossing everyone else’s face at the pronouncement.

    “Your enthusiasm is noted and appreciated, Lord Kujan,” Baklazan replied. “But I will handle this task. As the most senior member of this august body, the block leaders will more readily accept the message if I personally convey it. They may see anything else as an insult.”

    Iok scowled, but said nothing. Sulking again, I see, Ellion thought. He considered the best way to break the young man out of it as the meeting came to an end. Allowing him to go on a combat operation to vent his frustration was out of the question, due to the risk of him dying. Even though his death was a viable way to strengthen his own position and eliminate the possibility of deadlocks, Rustal Ellion had been friends with the boy’s father, and would not disgrace the man’s memory and legacy by doing anything less than his best effort to mentor the boy.

    As he mulled over his options, a half-remembered comment rose to the surface. Yes, he thought, a slow smile crossing his face, that will do…

    He sidled up to Iok as the Seven Stars dispersed, and placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “My head chef says he has happened upon a new steak tartare recipe. Perhaps we should sample this new delicacy of his tonight.”

    As expected, Iok’s foul mood brightened almost immediately. “That sounds fantastic, Master Rustal!”

    “Then let’s make it so.”

    As the two of them set off for dinner, a stray thought crossed Rustal Ellion’s mind. A shame most problems are not so simple to solve.



    Author's Notes: The political fallout begins now. The S1 finale never really made it clear how much time passed between the battle in Edmonton on election day and the epilogue, but it couldn't be more than a week or two. Since the severity of Gjallarhorn's fuck up is much greater here, I figured hashing out a contract for Tekkadan would happen much faster, for political reasons that will be explained in the next chapter.

    Creating a semi-united front for the economic blocks is something I've had planned for a while, since it A) is yet another way to screw over Gjallarhorn within the limitations of the setting, and B) serves as a useful springboard for the very end of the story. If there's anything that can unite multiple nations, it's flipping the bird at whoever ignored their grand proclamations and showed a grand willingness to violate national sovereignty.

    Naturally, the Seven Stars have a mess to clean up. But before we go more into that, it's time for a new Gaelio Must Suffer, with a lot more angst than usual.
     
    Chapter 28
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member

    Chapter 28

    Here we go again, Kudelia thought as she sat in yet another chair, in yet another room filled with camera people, with an earpiece feeding her the interviewer’s questions, getting bombarded by the LED lamps lighting up the room. A small screen a few feet in front of her showed the middle-aged woman conducting the interview, a newscaster from the Strategic Alliance Union… she thought. In the week after the four blocks created their Multi-National Committee on Extraterrestrial Affairs, she’d bounced between dozens of newsrooms and remote setups, taking all sorts of questions about current affairs, even ones that she wasn’t qualified to answer.

    At least this interview was just about her opinions on the latest proclamations from the MNCEA (a terrible acronym, in her opinion). “So Ms. Bernstein, what do you think of the finalized sanctions on Gjallarhorn?”

    “Well, Sally—” Kudelia at least remembered this lady’s first name, although anything more than that was lost to the ocean of names she’d heard in the past few days – “I’m not a financial expert, so I’ll defer to the MNCEA on whether the 10% tax is enough. But it’s a good first step towards taking care of Gjallarhorn’s victims, especially on the Dort Colonies.”

    There was a gleam in the newscaster’s eye when she mentioned Dort. “Speaking of the Dort Colonies, what’s your opinion on the calls to recall President Merkel?”

    The image of a weary, defeated Tobias Merkel flashed before her eyes. When they’d met in private, the African Union president had bluntly told her of his expectation that he and most of his cabinet would soon be kicked out of office. “I understand why people feel President Merkel shoulders some of the blame for the Dort massacre, but he approached Gjallarhorn in good faith, believing them to be a neutral third party. They took advantage of his trust for their own ends.”

    “That much is for certain.” The newswoman checked her notes. “As a leading spokeswoman for Martian independence, you’ve certainly accomplished a great deal in your short time on Earth. All the MNCEA members have followed Arbrau’s lead in deregulating half-metals, an initiative you championed. Is this a sign that Martian independence is around the corner?”

    Kudelia smiled, remembering her interaction with the SAU’s president. Marina Rodriguez had been amazingly straightforward on the topic of Martian independence – “We only maintain control of our territory on Mars because Gjallarhorn doesn’t allow us to divest ourselves of it. The moment that becomes a viable option, the SAU will cede its claims. Unlike the other blocks, we’re not interested in promoting a pretense for their benefit.”

    “I think that’s putting the cart before the horse,” she replied. “Deregulating half-metals gives Mars the freedom to build its economy and improve the standard of living for the population. I’m glad that the leaders of the other blocks decided to ease their regulations at the same time as Arbrau, mostly because it helps give a future Martian government a more solid foundation.”

    “So, you don’t see Mars gaining its independence any time soon?”

    It was a trick question, one that Kudelia had heard at least a half dozen times now. “Right now, I think we’re several years away. If Gjallarhorn is willing to come to the table and discuss the matter, I’m sure the leaders of the economic blocks would be happy to hear them out.”

    The female newscaster kept her politely positive expression, but the young Martian could tell that she was disappointed that there’d be no juicy scoops or gotcha moments out of this interview. “One final question – Any thoughts on Tekkadan’s new role as a media company?”

    “I’m thrilled that they have an opportunity to expand their horizons beyond purely military work,” Kudelia replied. “One of the biggest problems in Chryse – all the cities on Mars, really – is that there isn’t any real large-scale economic diversity. Private military companies and farming are the two major above-board industries, and everything else is small, private businesses that simply can’t create enough jobs for the population. This is a big step towards solving that problem.”

    “That’s all the time we have today. Thank you, Ms. Bernstein.”

    “You’re welcome, Sally.” Kudelia kept the smile on her face until the signal cut out and the red light on the camera turned off. She breathed a sigh of relief and walked out of the room, heading to a private waiting area with a private guard following discreetly behind her. The guard, an Arbrau citizen who wasn’t a member of Tekkadan, was Makanai’s “suggestion,” a precaution against anyone getting too “friendly”. She’d accepted it as a bit of political gamesmanship on Arbrau’s end – Makanai wanted to show that Arbrau was strong enough to protect her while she was on Earth, so refusing the offer would not only insult him, but highlight a lack of trust between the two.

    Pulling out her phone, she checked out the growing list of events on her schedule. Thankfully, the number of media appointments was steeply dropping off, instead replaced by a bewildering number of political cabinet and non-governmental organization meetings. Of course, none of them were this week, as she still had to fill out a mountain of non-disclosure agreements to sit-in on the non-military, non-classified proceedings – which was going to be the rest of her day.

    Since she was stuck in downtown Edmonton and it was almost lunch time, Kudelia had to choose between dozens of unfamiliar dining options. Until now, she’d be able to dodge the problem by having lunch at Tekkadan’s base or having her bodyguard fetch meals from convenience stores. Now that she was going to be living there for the next few months, at least, there was no time like the present to start experimenting and seeing which ones struck her fancy.

    After picking one of the more unusually named venues, the Commodore Restaurant, she and her bodyguard set out through midday Edmonton traffic, which was supposedly better than the morning or evening rush hours. As far as she could tell, the main difference was that multi-passenger electric carts were the majority of lunch time traffic, serving as taxis to and from the various offices and restaurants. Using her phone to hail one of the carts, it was a quick, five-minute hop to an incredibly unassuming row of businesses.

    Kudelia was used to hole-in-the-wall dining establishments in Chryse – most restaurants fit that description, and most of the activist community couldn’t afford to go to the few higher end offerings in the city. But the Commodore Restaurant was peak hole-in-the-wall, consisting of a simple, flat façade of brick, glass, metal, and three overhead signs sticking out in a pentagon arrangement. Writing in the corners of the glass windows announced “Good Food – Good Prices – Great Value!” and “All Day Breakfast!”, which was pretty typical of such venues.

    She had prepared herself for the possibility of running into some government official she’d met, simply because of the location and its proximity to Parliament. But seeing Togonosuke Makanai at the counter, ordering lunch, was so surreal that she felt like looking around for hidden cameras. But that would’ve been rude, and it didn’t matter, because Makanai cheerfully greeted her before she could do anything.

    “Fancy meeting you here!” He gestured for her to come up to the counter. “I was just about to finish my order.” Turning his attention to the cashier, he added, “I’ll cover her order.”

    Oh boy, next time we both eat here, I’ll have to pay, a voice in the back of her head said as she looked over the menu and scrambled to figure out what to order. “I’ll have… uh… the Reuben with salad on the side and… a sweet tea.”

    She followed Makanai to one of the tables after he paid, while her bodyguard and Makanai’s hung out a discrete distance away.

    “So, I see you’re exploring Edmonton’s culinary delights… no better place to start than right here,” he cheerfully said. “You know, this is one of the oldest restaurants in the city, owned by one family since long before the Calamity War, starting in… the 1940s, I believe.”

    “That was… World War II?” Kudelia hedged. While she was well educated, most of the pre-Calamity War history in her text books was heavily abridged and condensed to save time. “The one with the first nuclear weapons?”

    “Sounds about right.” The old man dropped his voice for a bit of a conspiratorial air. “You know, I try to eat at least one meal a week here. Not just because the food is good, but it helps me keep a finger on the pulse of the city.”

    “Really?”

    “It works,” Makanai confirmed. “You’d be surprised what people will tell you over a meal. Like, for instance, how are your friends doing? The ones heading back to Mars, I mean.”

    Kudelia blinked hard, disoriented by the switch in topic. “Uh, they’re doing great. Gjallarhorn hasn’t bothered them, which is good. They’ll be back on Mars in about six weeks.”

    “That’s good.” Makanai nodded as his bodyguard brought over their food and drinks. “I’m sure they’ll get a hero’s welcome, but it’ll be a lot smaller than the one they would’ve gotten if the trip was shorter.”

    “I think that’s for the best, honestly,” Kudelia replied, taking a sip of her tea. It tasted a bit different than what she was used to, possibly because of better quality ingredients, possibly because of the entirely different environment she was in. “I don’t think Orga and the others would be comfortable with a big parade or anything like that.”

    “Ah well, then it’s good thing us politicos in Edmonton were a big enough draw to keep that from happening,” Makanai said with a smile, as he sliced into his corned beef. “Eventually everything will settle down into a new normal, then the media will find some new thing to catch their attention.”

    “Like what?” Kudelia asked, taking a bite of her Reuben. The flavor explosion caught her by surprise – if there was one thing for sure, sandwiches in Edmonton were made with much better ingredients than the ones on Mars.

    “Oh, you know, personal or political scandals, unexpected events, natural disasters… that sort of thing,” Makanai took a sip of his drink. “The bigger, the better. Naturally, they’d love to have a crystal ball to see what’s coming next, but it’s more interesting when no one knows what next, don’t you think?”



    It was only the second time Nevara Char had met McMurdo Barriston in person, and fittingly, it was in his home on Saisei. Since he’d visited her on her home turf, it made sense to return the favor, especially if it kept her away from the annoyingly inquisitive media types. She found the little island facing a window into space to be a bit ostentatious, but Nevara wouldn’t have been surprised to see something like it on a C-Space orbital habitat. If there was enough money involved, there could be whatever weird design you wanted.

    Sitting in his office with a small box of food in her lap – rice, two small egg rolls, shrimp tempura, and dipping sauce – she felt slightly ridiculous, although not as much as she would’ve if she’d been forced to use “chop sticks” to grab her food. Despite some humans at the Black Site trying to teach the aliens how to use them, few got the hang of them – and the Salarians couldn’t use them at all, since they didn’t have enough fingers. She was much more comfortable with a fork – or even a spork.

    “So,” he said, a friendly smile on his face, “how is your newfound celebrity status working out?”

    “Uh… well, I didn’t expect to be mobbed by journalists trying to get me into interviews,” she replied, taking a bite of rice. “Some of them literally threw their cards at me.”

    The head of Teiwaz sighed and gave her a tired smile. “I have to apologize on their behalf. For most of them, this is probably the closest thing they’ve had to a big break in their entire careers. Saisei’s a backwater if you aren’t a financial, industry, or local news person – most of the real juicy stuff is on Earth.”

    “Mmmm…” The Asari nodded her head as she bit into one of the shrimp. “Well, I guess we’ll put up with it for now. Maybe I can toss some of the journalists into one of those big meet-and-greets we’ve got planned for the scientists.”

    Barriston threw his head back and laughed. “I suppose we could do that, but I don’t want to deal with the legal headaches if they die of boredom.”

    Nevara chuckled at that.

    As the Old Man’s laughter died off, his expression became more serious. “Now, getting down to business… We’re getting a lot of interest in the ship from our partners.” He held up a hand to forestall any complaints. “I don’t plan to sell the Thrill Seeker or anything like that, but they’re willing to toss in money to speed up the repairs… in exchange for certain considerations.”

    The rookie captain sighed. “Am I going to be ferrying VIPs on publicity cruises?”

    “Possibly, but they’re more interested in using it to protect their existing assets or support their own efforts to find Calamity War era information archives.” Barriston gave her a wry smile. “The fact of the matter is that us non-Gjallarhorn folks are still behind our pre-Calamity War ancestors in a few fields, so people will pay a pretty penny for anything that could close the gap. I remember when a shipment of unused Calamity War era CNC machines went up for auction – I was a kid back then, and I remember hearing that the winning bidder had to hire a PMC to deliver them, just to avoid their competitors hiring pirates or a PMC to steal the entire shipment.”

    “Mmmm.” The Asari bit off half of one of the egg rolls, showering the rest of her meal with pieces of the fried rice roll. “So, they want us to do our old job, except instead of looking for inhabitable planets, they want us to look for treasure?”

    “More or less.”

    “Fine by me.” Nevara paused as she realized something. “Some of those companies are your competitors, right? Wouldn’t there be some conflicts of interest there?”

    “Some, potentially.” Barriston leaned back and smiled. “Luckily, there’s the fact that one ship can only be in one place at one time. If we can’t accommodate their needs alongside our other partners, we’ll simply provide them with samples of our new line of probes for no charge.”

    Again, Nevara acknowledged the Old Man’s keen insight with a chuckle.

    “What we need from you, specifically, is help marketing these services.”

    “Please don’t tell me I have to go on tour trying to sell this stuff,” the Asari moaned. She would’ve buried her face in her hands too, if they weren’t holding her food. “The paperwork is bad enough, but that’s crossing the line. I wasn’t even any good at oratory in school!”

    Barriston just looked on with a mildly sympathetic face and said, “We could just have you do video presentations.”

    “Great, just make me do another thing I’m not great at…” She took a deep breath and shrugged. “Who am I kidding, it’s probably one of the fairer deals I’ve been offered in my life.”

    “Fantastic. I’ll put you in contact with the marketing agencies we’ve hired to handle this.”

    After some closing pleasantries, Nevara was escorted off the island; upon landfall, she reconnected with a small group of friends exploring Saisei’s amenities. It was a mish-mash of Asari and Salarians, all of them young, all of them still marveling at Nevara’s ascendance to the captaincy. While they weren’t much help with the young captain’s crushing insecurities, they served an entirely different purpose – ribbing the hell out of her, which was therapeutic in its own way.

    Thasa Madir, one of the planetary survey technicians, responded to the latest turn in Nevara’s career in her typical manner. Lowering her voice to a calm, flat tone, she began an improvised, mocking monologue. “Hello, I’m Captain Nevara Char, and I’d like to talk to you about our planetary survey services. We provide you with the finest technology, human and otherwise, to get the job done. For a measly rate of—”

    Groaning, one of the Salarians, a relief helmsman by the name of Nist Schells, shook his head in disbelief. “Why do you sound like an Illium infomercial?”

    “Because her mom worked for a marketing agency on Illium,” Nevera replied, then pointed straight at Thasa. “Also, congratulations on your new job as marketing consultant.”

    “Wait, what?” The disoriented Asari blanched as the rest of the group started snickering.

    “That little demo you just did was so convincing, I just had to hire you for your marketing prowess,” the captain replied, marveling at how she maintained a straight face. “Now, where are we headed?”

    “Well, there’s a brewery that gives free samples after a tour,” Schells offered.

    Turning to the rest of the Asari in the group, Nevara put on her best captain impression. “Alright, girls. Keep it together. I better not see any of you doing anything stupid, especially getting drunk enough to flash people. If you do, I’m docking your shore leave privileges for a year.” Satisfied that she’d been sufficiently captainly, she returned her attention to Shnells. “Lead on.”



    McGillis Fareed contemplated the massive form looming above him. It was a prototype Graze, designed as part of an attempt to reclaim the power of the Alaya-Vijnana System, languishing in the depths of Vingolf due to no one having the courage – or need – to receive the necessary implants. It was one of the secrets he had learned about from his so-called father, although it hadn’t been a particularly well-kept secret – Iznario had casually mentioned research into the topic at one point, and the only thing blocking McGillis’ access at the time was his lack of appropriate clearances. Once he’d been promoted to major, his Inspection Bureau credentials had granted him full access.

    He looked over his shoulder as footsteps echoed in the vast chamber, then returned his attention to the mobile suit. The person he had arranged to meet had arrived, one of the scientists responsible for the creation of Alaya-Vijnana System incorporated into it. Dr. Chandrasekar, from McGillis’ research into the man, had been quite diligent in his research and development of the hardware, and the lack of a proper conclusion had made him easy to recruit.

    “It’s a shame that no opportunities to complete the project presented themselves,” Chandrasekar said as he stood next to the general. “But the aliens may present a solution to the problem.”

    “I’ve also considered that,” McGillis replied. “It’ll take some time, but I believe I can get you in contact with them directly.”

    Naturally, Chandrasekar didn’t know about his dealings with Tekkadan, so some amount of stalling was required… however, that was to their benefit. The Montag Company needed time to build a convincing cover for the doctor, and there were few avenues for direct access to the aliens at the moment. Even Todo Mirconen’s utility as a go-between was curtailed at the moment, given his contact with government officials and the heightened scrutiny in the aftermath of Iznario’s failed power play and Carta’s bumbling.

    “In that case, I believe it would be prudent to provide them with all the available project data,” the graying scientist offered.

    The corners of McGillis’ mouth lifted a bit. “I was thinking the same thing.”

    “It will be ready within the month.” Chandrasekar paused and considered the Graze. “What will become of this?”

    It was a pertinent question, given that the MNCEA’s economic sanctions fell primarily on the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet and the Arianrhod fleet. They hit the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet hard, due to the large number of installations across Earth and its smaller budget relative to the Arianrhod fleet. The projections that McGillis had seen were sobering, and he was already busy trying to find ways to work around the newfound burden.

    “From what I understand, this whole project was funded outside of the normal channels. The prototype will remain here, in storage, until someone deems it necessary to scrap it.” With that, McGillis walked away, lost in thought. In a bit of irony, he found himself stuck in the awkward position of having the perfect asset to further his agenda, and no way to deliver it to anyone who could use it. Shipping it to Tekkadan would give them a notable boost to their forces, even if they had to install an inferior Alaya-Vijnana System into it, but moving such a large mobile suit was not something that could be missed.

    Before he knew it, he was in his office, waiting for Gaelio to report to him. In a concession to his friend’s comfort, he had brought in a rolling office chair as he considered whether or not to add more furniture to the cavernous room. For McGillis’ part, he would’ve rather subdivided the massive room and worked from there to furnish the office, although he was self-aware enough to admit he was perfectly willing to just leave the room as it was. However, that simply wasn’t practical if he was going to have Gaelio stop by on a regular basis.

    An hour later, McGillis was neck deep in paperwork, and Gaelio had yet to appear. It was beginning to irritate him, even as he acknowledged that Gaelio’s ongoing depression could be used to his advantage. If he had to prop up a Gaelio who couldn’t bring himself to report for duty on time for months on end, then he might as well have killed him and spared himself the trouble.

    Just as these thoughts coalesced, Gaelio arrived, carrying a small package wrapped in brown paper in his left hand. McGillis stood and shook his hand, then offered him the chair. As Gaelio sat down, McGillis simply said, “Relax, Gaelio, this is simply an informal briefing on your new role and responsibilities.”

    The lack of interest in the other man’s eyes was obvious, but McGillis could tolerate it… for now.

    “As I’m sure you know, the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet is, for all intents and purposes, a paper tiger. The performance of Carta’s elite squad at Edmonton proves that.” McGillis leaned back in his chair. “To be brutally honest, I’m fairly certain that, as of this moment, we’re the two most combat experienced officers in the fleet. That cannot stand. We need to improve the combat readiness of the fleet, and quickly. Since I’ll be occupied with various administrative and operational tasks, you’ll be in charge in overseeing the fleet training regiment.”

    When Gaelio didn’t react to this, he added, “I know losing Ein and Carta in such a short time hit you hard. But I think we both want to honor her memory, and I can see no better way to do so than making her fleet the bar others are measured by.”

    There was a slight shift in Gaelio’s expression, enough to tell him that his words had affected him, enough to let McGillis know it was time.

    “But more than that, Gaelio, is the fact that we are in a position to truly make Gjallarhorn the honorable institution that Carta believed it was. You and I both know that corruption runs rampant throughout Gjallarhorn – my father is clear proof of that.” McGillis didn’t bother hiding his distaste for Iznario, since Gaelio knew there was bad blood between them. “But clearing out the corruption is not enough. The system itself is broken. You and I both know it – the fact that Iok Kujan is a member of the Seven Stars without an ounce of experience proves it.”

    McGillis noticed that as he spoke, Gaelio showed more and more interest, escaping whatever mental fog he was experiencing.

    “In fact, one could consider Carta’s death the result of the system pushing her too far,” the general continued, taking a more thoughtful tone, as if he was sounding out the idea. “We both know how Carta tried so hard to live up to the Issue family’s reputation… that might have led her to make the choices she made.” He paused, as if considering something. “In fact, Carta might still be with us if not for that emphasis on family lineages instead of personal achievements.”

    A quick look at Gaelio told McGillis it was time to put the final touches on his pitch. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, infusing it with urgency. “You and I both know that there is discontent in the ranks, now more than ever. The corruption and dysfunction is evident to even the greenest recruit, and they are looking for leaders who share their concerns and will take action to fix the wrongs they see around them. You and I are in the perfect position to be those leaders, to give them the guidance and support they need.” He stood up and offered his hand to Gaelio. “I need your help, Gaelio. Join me, and together, we can rebuild Gjallarhorn as the beacon of hope and honor it should be.”

    For a long minute, Gaelio simply sat there, clearly overwhelmed by the offer. Don’t make me regret letting you live, McGillis thought as he stood there, waiting for a response, any response. At last, Gaelio shook his head, then stood up and firmly grasped McGillis’ hand. There was steely resolution in his eyes, even as the confusion and apathy lingered.

    “Alright,” Gaelio rasped. “I’m with you. When do we start?”

    McGillis smiled – a small one, by an average person’s standards, but practically a grin by his – and put a reassuring hand on Gaelio’s shoulder. “Soon. But first, finish up your leave. I want you rested and ready – we have a long road ahead of us.”

    “Right.” Gaelio nodded and headed to the door, still a bit shaky, almost like someone roused from a deep sleep.

    As McGillis began sitting back down, he noticed the package Gaelio had been carrying, now lying on the table. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, trying to decipher what it was. “What’s this?”

    Gaelio paused by the door, hesitating enough that McGillis was concerned that he was already backsliding into his funk. “It’s… uh… something I found in Carta’s office. I thought you might want it.”

    “Thank you,” McGillis said slowly, once again turning it over. As soon as Gaelio left, he placed it back on the table, close to the drawers, out of general unease at what it could be. He turned back to his work, whittling away at the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated during the handful of days where no one was officially in command of the fleet.

    Several hours later, McGillis finally returned his attention to the mysterious package. The sun was setting, casting long shadows through the massive window behind him, signaling that it was time to head back to his quarters. He picked it up and slowly began pulling off the brown wrapping paper, relaxing when he saw it was merely a picture of himself, Gaelio, and Carta on the day they graduated from the military academy. Considering the photo for a moment, he placed it on his desk, next to the computer, before leaving.

    Behind McGillis, the setting sun had turned the ocean panorama into a blood red expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see.



    Author's notes: Well, we've done it. We've gotten past the stations of canon, and the next arc is going off into its own direction. A new status quo is coming, and life in the Post Disaster solar system is heading to a new normal, which is what the first two sections are establishing.

    Hope you like McGillis' Palpatine moment at the end. After beating down Gaelio for so long, it feels good to have him finally move in a positive direction. I had some ideas for what to do with what would've been Graze Ein, but I realized that a mobile suit that's been mothballed for some time isn't necessarily going to belong to one fleet or another, since that would lead to a paper trail that would tip off a lot of people to its existence... and I never got the impression most people knew it existed until it dropped into Edmonton in canon.
     
    Chapter 29
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 29

    Six months passed in the blink of an eye.

    For Tekkadan’s Earth Branch, that time had been spent converting the abandoned train station they called home into a proper military base and the hub of a potential media empire. Several buildings that would’ve been left empty or used as storage had been cleared out, given a full rework of the electrical systems, and been stuffed with a small fortune in computers and other hardware. As software engineers at the Black Site completed conversion programs and plug-ins for human software, more and more alien media was being fed into the growing mass of data churning through the computers.

    To Pazness, this was old news. But as the de facto senior noncommissioned officer among the alien crew, he had to follow Chad and the Teiwaz representative around as they gave some human journalist a tour. As much as he respected Chester Boivin’s business acumen – and his ability to admit he had no idea about military matters, the Batarian didn’t appreciate being part of a painfully boring PR stunt.

    Well, she’s going to be Mars Branch’s problem soon.

    “What you see here,” Boivin gestured towards a massive expanse of server racks, “is the result of corporate partnerships with some of the best hardware and software vendors on the market. All of this hardware, even on the used market, would cost a fortune.”

    When Orga had setup Earth Branch, he’d had a wide selection of Teiwaz affiliated advisors to choose from. Boivin rose to the top of the list, despite his seemingly average, balding middle management appearance, because he was a startup guru, taking half-baked business ventures and turning them into successes against the odds. Even when something didn’t pan out, he made sure the failure wasn’t a ruinous one. And in the process, he’d built up a long list of connections and favors, and many of those had been called in for the herculean undertaking that Boivin was talking up.

    “What we’re doing is taking the raw, unadulterated original alien media, splitting the audio and video, and then converting it all to common media formats.” He tapped a panel on one of the racks. “Each one of these has a dozen redundantly linked optical storage units, so a few hundred years from now, people can pop one of these into an optical reader and pull the raw files for conversion into new media formats.”

    The gauntlet containing Pazness’ omni-tool vibrated, and after a quick look to make sure the humans weren’t paying attention to him, he activated it. The message was a simple notification that Kudelia and the Griffon siblings had arrived on the base, which he acknowledged, silently grateful that everyone had agreed that having a documentarian shove a camera in Kudelia’s face right as she showed up was a bad idea.

    The journalist/documentarian/whatever – a human woman by the name of Caitlyn Staziak – nodded before asking a question. “This is a lot of equipment… your power bill has to be enormous.”

    “You are cor—wrong,” Boivin repied, barely missing a beat. “With the four mobile suits on our base, plus extensive battery and conventional backup power supplies, we don’t actually draw that much power from the municipal power grid, which helps bring our overhead down.”

    Several dozen yards down the way, a small group of humans and aliens walked in, then began working at the monitor terminal at the end of the server row. Pazness barely had a chance to give Chad a warning gesture before the camera man swung their way, leading Staziak to her next question. “This is a pretty complicated system. How do you handle any problems that might crop up?”

    Chad straightened up as the camera fell on him. “Right now, we’ve got a few people who’re trained to handle basic system monitoring. Over the next few months, we’ll have them train everyone else to their level, then we’ll work on training the best people to handle higher level work.”

    If Pazness hadn’t spent nearly a year amongst Tekkadan, he would’ve dismissed that as typical PR fluffery. But Tekkadan didn’t have enough people to afford anyone but the best getting promoted up the ladder – or the best that was available, at the very least. If there was any weakness in Tekkadan, it was that they didn’t have enough officer and non-commisssioned officer level talent, and most of what they had was on Mars or on the Thrill Seeker. Between him, Chad, Takaki, and Aston – one of the Brewers kids, the entire formal command structure could be counted on the fingers of one non-Salarian hand.

    Just another thing to work on, the Batarian thought wearily. Maybe we can finally get around to that, now that we’ve got this working alright.

    “Anyway,” Boivin continued, retaking control of the interview, “right now, we’ve partnered with distributors in each economic block to get our content out to the public. Right now, we’ve had an easier time pushing through audio-based content to them, as well as our original productions, like Simik and Iella React, but we have a mix of documentaries and dramas that should be on the market soon.” He smiled, but with just enough chagrin in it to foreshadow his next words. “No firm timetable on that yet, and our partners are responsible for the advertising, so we can’t announce what exactly is coming out.”

    The Batarian let the documentarian’s follow up questions fade into the background as he mentally looked ahead to next stage of the tour. They’d all head to the hangars, where the mobile workers and mobile suits were stored, a potential nightmare of a place for two total civilians to poke around. And after that was the walkthrough of the living areas – between taking background footage and getting interviews with whoever caught their eye, Pazness figured they’d be too tired to bother Kudelia much before their flight to Mars.

    Well, one can hope, anyway, he thought as the group began moving again. If he was honest, things were going okay – not great, but okay, and that was better than anyone could have expected. If things stayed that way, life on Earth would be a nice, comfortable – if boring and predictable – exile for the Thrill Seeker crew, and a decent step up for the kids from Mars.

    Pazness couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself. Just when you think everything’s going smoothly, something crazy will happen.



    A chorus of “Heys” and “Great to see yous” washed over Kudelia as she entered the mess hall, although a lot of it wasn’t just for her. Cookie, Cracker, and Biscuit Griffon were right on her heels, and they were just as warmly received, especially by those who’d lived on Mars. It wasn’t anything like home, but for the past six months, having a little slice of Mars she could run away to helped her deal with inevitable yearning to return.

    Of course, the fact that Tekkadan had a bi-weekly shuttle circuit running between Earth and Mars (and occasionally Saisei, for an extra fee) meant that she could’ve gone back several months earlier, but Makanai’s lessons had taken root. Going back at the earliest opportunity would’ve given ammunition to any detractors lurking around Parliament – and they were always lurking somewhere. But after six months, taking a two-week vacation was an extravagance she could afford, because it wasn’t a sign that she was tucking her tail between her legs and running home at the earliest opportunity. Everyone in Edmonton knew she would be back, and that fact would loom in her opponents’ minds.

    But the whole point of the vacation was to get away from the cutthroat world of politics that Makanai thrived in, and to touch base with the many, many people on Mars that Kudelia knew and cared about. She’d already bowed to the inevitable and scheduled two days just for meeting with other activists, which was threatening to grow into three days, due to the sheer amount of people who wanted to meet her. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew she had a responsibility to listen to as many of them as she could. Kudelia was as politically connected as a Martian could hope to be, and that meant she was the only real conduit between the activist community and the policymakers in Arbrau.

    After navigating through the throng of people and getting the lunch special – a turkey burger with fries – Kudelia and company managed to find themselves a four-person table by a window. Thankfully, everyone was giving them space after passing through the gauntlet, so there was actually time for the conversation she’d wanted to have when they first met up at the gate. “So, how’d your trip to the Dort Colonies go?”

    “It was great!” Cookie replied, grabbing a handful of fries and dunking them all at once into the ketchup she’d poured onto her plate. “Savarin showed us all around the colonies. I had no idea so many people remembered us!”

    “Yeah, we left Dort when we were really young,” Cracker confirmed, lifting her burger, then squinting at the patty. “Why’s the meat gray?”

    Kudelia smiled as she took a sip of her drink. “It’s turkey meat. If you don’t put a lot of colorful spices in it, it’ll always turn out that way.”

    “You cook, Miss Kudelia?” Cookie asked around a mouthful of fries.

    “A little. I don’t get to do it a lot, since it’s easier to pick up lunch in the city and I have a lot of dinners with important people.”

    Cracker took a bite of her burger. “How come they don’t make these like those chicken sandwiches we had?”

    “What do you mean?” Biscuit asked, as he bit into his own burger.

    “You know, with the crunchy bread on the outside of the meat?”

    Biscuit looked at Kudelia, who simply shrugged in admission of her ignorance on the topic. “I don’t know. I guess it wouldn’t be a burger if it was?”

    “That’s dumb,” Cracker pronounced as she continued to eat the burger in question.

    The two teens at the table chuckled at that.

    “So, how are things going for you?” he asked, picking at his fries.

    “Well, you know, it’s a lot of meetings and taking notes,” Kudelia admitted. “I have the most fun when I help Mr. Makanai go through some of the speeches people write for him.”

    A confused look crossed Biscuit’s face. “Why?”

    “You’d be amazed by how many extra words people stuff into things to make themselves seem smart.” She smiled, then sighed and played with her drink. “You know, I’m not really looking forward to having a camera in my face right now.”

    “Yeah… we tried to schedule things so you wouldn’t have to deal with this, but…” Biscuit shrugged. “To be honest, I get the feeling that it would’ve worked out this way no matter what we tried to do. It’d be weird to not involve you – you were the one to make the Announcement at Dort, after all.”

    “I know, I know.” Kudelia gave him a tired smile. “I just don’t want my entire vacation to be wrapped up in other people’s projects.”

    Much to her surprise, it took three hours before the documentary crew crossed her path, and it was only because the shuttle had arrived. She suspected, but didn’t ask, that everyone had conspired to make that happen, and appreciated the effort, but it didn’t make the meeting any less exhausting. What did throw her off was how casual they were.

    “Caitlyn Staziak,” the woman said, offering her hand to Kudelia. Her shoulder length blonde hair, short sleeved button-down shirt over a long sleeved white undershirt, and casual fit slacks made her look more like a college student or a barista on a day off than an investigative journalist. Maybe that’s the point, Kudelia thought as she took the hand and gave it a firm shake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

    “I’m sure it is.” Something in that statement bothered her. Kudelia wasn’t too familiar with the dizzying array of Earth journalists; she’d mostly dealt with Martian news organizations prior to the Dort incident. That led her to ask, “Did you try to interview me before?”

    “Ah, well,” Caitlyn shrugged, something that made her look even less like a journalist. “I dunno if anybody in the organization actually told you, but I tried to get over to Mars to cover the independence movement before all the craziness. It all fell through because the bean counters thought the time and money costs were too high.”

    “Oh, I see.”

    “Uh huh.” Caitlyn casually tossed a thumb over her shoulder at her camera man. “This is Ed. He handles the tech.”

    Ed, a red head with closely cropped hair and a simple outfit of a blue T-shirt and cargo pants, raised his free hand. “Yo.”

    Kudelia looked sideways at him. “He doesn’t say much, does he?”

    “He’s the camera man, so…” The journalist shrugged again.

    A group of younger boys broke up the conversation with the loud clack of hard plastic cases hitting the deck of the shuttle’s cabin. Ed, completely placid until that moment, glared at the boys standing on the other side of the shuttle.

    “Hey, be careful with those! The gear inside costs a fortune!”

    One of the boys, a former Brewer named Derma, casually tossed a suitcase on top of the cases, then turned to get another from his cohorts. “Yeah, we know. We inspected those already.”

    Caitlyn interposed herself between her cameraman and the unimpressed child soldier. “Don’t mind Ed, he’s just a little touchy when it comes to the hardware.”

    Ed pursed his lips, but said nothing.

    Once the cargo was loaded, the passengers climbed inside, taking seats wherever they could. To Kudelia’s lack of surprise, Caitlyn and Ed managed to place themselves close enough that they might talk to her on camera, but far enough to plausibly deny they wanted to. Once the hatches shut, the two journalists looked around uneasily, realizing for the first time that they were in completely alien territory.

    “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Tekkadan Courier Flights. My name is Mavek Tolan, and I’ll be your pilot today. Our flight time to Chyrse, Mars is two and half hours. Please buckle up and prepare for liftoff.”

    Kudelia hid a smile; clearly, someone had decided to yank the newcomers’ chains, and Tolan had executed it with aplomb.

    With a slight shiver, the shuttle levitated, then angled its nose up and shot off into the sky, with only a slight tug of acceleration on the passengers. As the shuttle leveled out, it pitched slightly to give the passengers a view of Earth. On the other side, some of the colonies shined brightly in the distance, and for an instant, one could believe in the illusion that humanity had achieved peace and harmony after the Calamity War.

    As Earth shrunk further and further into the distance, the passengers all dove into their own private little worlds to pass the time. The Griffons sat together, watching a movie on a tablet; Caitlyn and Ed setup an impromptu editing station by connecting a laptop and portable monitor to their camera; Kudelia, using a trick she’d learned on the long trip from Mars to Earth, nodded off into a deep sleep. A nudge on the shoulder woke her up, and checking her watch, she saw that only fifteen minutes remained.

    “I thought you’d want to be awake for this,” Biscuit explained.

    “Awake for what?” Kudelia rubbed her eyes and stretched out her arms and legs, slowly flexing the muscles in them.

    Biscuit pointed out the window, where a small red dot was growing in size. After a moment or two, she realized what she was looking at – Mars. A wave of emotions came over her, some positive, some negative, and her breath caught for a few seconds. After taking a deep breath, she noticed the small smile on Biscuit’s face, and nodded. This is what coming home feels like.

    Cookie and Cracker hopped over to the window and pointed at the planet. “We’re almost there!”

    “Almost is a relative term, kids,” Caitlyn said with a small smile. “But I have to say, if this is what the future of spaceflight is, I’m all for it.”

    The corners of Kudelia’s mouth pulled up. “I’m sure we’ll get there, some day.”

    “Sure we will.” Caitlyn looked at Ed, who was busy tapping away at the computer. “Hurry up, Ed. We’re missing out on some great B roll.”

    “Gimme a second.” He tapped in a final command, then grabbed the camera and moved over to the window. He stood there, filming the approaching planet, until the very last moment before reentry sent him scurrying into his seat and strapping himself in. Kudelia stifled a laugh as Ed and Caitlyn looked at each in confusion through the gentle reentry; they were clearly used to the much rougher rides human shuttles went through.

    The shuttle passed over Sakura Pretzel’s farm as the sun dipped below the horizon, unleashing a dazzling spectacle as light played off the acres of corn fields. Just beyond that was the expanse of dull Martian dirt that Tekkadan’s base jutted out of, an oasis of light and activity in the barren wastes outside of Chyrse. The shuttle came to a stop right outside the hangars and slowly landed with polished ease. Kudelia braced herself for the wave of sensation that she suspected would wash over her when the hatches opened, but as soon as the first breath of iron tinted air entered her lungs, her knees nearly gave way as the flood of memories hit her.

    Or perhaps it was merely the presence of Mikazuki Augus among the welcoming party.

    “Damn, the air really is different here,” Caitlyn muttered to herself before stepping out of the shuttle and approaching Orga, standing at the head of the group. “Caitlyn Staziak. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

    She offered her hand to Orga, who took it and shook it. “Same here. How was the trip?”

    “Definitely way nicer than I expected,” the journalist replied, glancing at the handful of boys moving into the shuttle. “You’re not going to introduce me to your crew?”

    “Don’t need to.” A slight smile crossed Orga’s face. “You’re just in time for dinner, so you’ll get to meet everyone in one go.” He chuckled as Cookie and Cracker let out of whoop of joy and ran off towards the mess hall, with Biscuit racing to follow them. “By the way, Kudelia, your old room’s just the way you left it.”

    “Thanks,” she replied, trying hard not to reflexively add “boss” to the end of the sentence. She didn’t feel like explaining the complicated relationship they all shared to an outsider – and she realized with a start that Caitlyn and Ed had fallen into that category without a thought – at the moment. Instead, she looked for Mikazuki, who was hauling Ed’s precious equipment to a cart in the hangar, as Orga led the Earthers off.

    “Hey,” Mikazuki said in his matter of fact way, placing the crate on top of the cart with a surprising amount of care.

    Kudelia couldn’t help but smile at Mikazuki being himself. “How’ve you been, Mikazuki?”

    “Alright.” He stepped out of the way of the other boys, the first two dumping their burdens with no disregard for the safety of the contents within. The others placed them with much greater caution, for Mikazuki’s disapproving frown was an unmistakable promise of hard work in their futures. “Alright, let’s go eat.” With that, he turned around and headed out of the hangar, adding, “Atra made barbecue.”

    Unable to help herself, Kudelia chuckled as she followed in his footsteps, thinking It’s good to be home.



    Once again, McGillis Fareed found himself in the slowly congealing new normal of the Seven Stars meetings. Elek Falk’s paranoia about the alien starship had settled into a constant, low level anxiety that tinted every aspect of his decision making. Gallus Bauduin, now far less despondent than when McGillis first joined the council, and Nemo Baklazan were a moderating force that appealed to caution and continuity. Iok Kujan was as hotblooded as ever, and Rustal Ellion remained resolutely pragmatic and focused on maintaining order within an increasingly chaotic system.

    McGillis almost found that admirable, if it weren’t for the endemic corruption and poverty rampant everywhere.

    However, that same corruption handed him a brand-new opportunity, one that was the centerpiece of this particular meeting.

    “And now, I believe it is time for Lord Fareed to brief us on the results of the Zalmfort investigation,” Baklazan announced in his role as moderator.

    “Thank you, Lord Baklazan.” McGillis consulted the tablet before him, aware of how complex the subject matter was. “As we are all aware, six months ago – shortly after what is popularly called “the Announcement” – Lord Zalmfort sent his daughter Mina to the Dort colonies. On her return trip, the shuttle exploded, apparently killing her. Circumstantial evidence pointed to the Nadira family being responsible; Lord Nadira protested and claimed to be innocent of the charges, which I investigated, with the aid of Major Gaelio Bauduin. Unfortunately, the evidence supporting House Nadira’s innocence was inconclusive, and they were accordingly stripped of their positions and assets.”

    Pausing, he took a sip of water before continuing. “Last week, forces under the direct command of Sylt Zalmfort, head of the Zalmfort family, attacked members of the Tanto Tempo organization in Dort airspace. Zadiel Zalmfort, Sylt’s son, deliberately engaged Tanto Tempo mobile suits in close proximity to one of the colonies, causing elements of Lord Ellion’s Arianrhod fleet to intervene.”

    “As if we needed another disaster involving Dort,” Falk muttered.

    McGillis raised an eyebrow, but said nothing in reply, and continued the report. “All surviving Zalmfort assets and personnel at the scene were captured. Upon interrogation, Zadiel Zalmfort revealed that his sister’s death was the result of his father’s plot to seize the assets and responsibilities of the Nadira family, and that when he confronted his father with this information, Sylt Zalmfort admitted to his crimes, but used his position as house head to force Zadiel to support him. Since the Zalmfort family controlled the Inspection Bureau, there was no one for Zadiel to turn to for aid, leading him to draw the Arianrhod fleet in to expose his father’s crimes.”

    Gallus shook his head in disgust. “What a mess. Now, what do we do about it?”

    “Given our stance on corruption since Lord Fareed’s father disgraced himself, our course of action is clear,” Ellion replied, taking a sip of water. “Given House Zalmfort’s crimes, the only appropriate recompense is to exile the Zalmfort family and transfer their holdings to the Nadira family.”

    Ever the traditionalist when it benefits you, McGillis thought, knowing that the Nadira family would likely align itself more closely to Ellion’s house as a result of their role in resolving the situation. “With all due respect, Lord Ellion, the situation calls for a more nuanced response.”

    Ellion merely raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

    “There are many factors at play, and there is a case for leniency to some of the Zalmfort line.” McGillis paused and looked around the table. “First, it is obvious that having the Inspection Bureau be directly controllable by any of the houses makes it a target of the very corruption it’s intended to root out. We have been lucky that House Nadira’s leadership has been of consistent character and fortitude, but as Lord Zalmfort’s brief tenure shows, the Inspection Bureau cannot do its job if its leader is corrupt.”

    Everyone nodded.

    “Second, it is clear that some among the lesser houses are fully aware of how to weaponize the Inspection Bureau and our own mandate to eliminate corruption in order to aid in their own corrupt plans. In fact, it’s likely that we’ve already lost several lesser houses to similar schemes, and that many houses we hold in good standing are actually criminals – or their descendants.” McGillis sat back in his chair. “It occurs to me that by preserving the precedent of redistributing a house’s possessions and responsibilities simply encourages this type of corruption, because there is no other way for them to grow in power and prestige.”

    Gallus, Baklazan, and Falk seemed lost in thought, while Iok frowned and Ellion kept his face carefully blank.

    “Third, despite his flagrant disregard for the safety of the Dort colonies, I believe Zadriel Zalmfort is an officer that can be rehabilitated, given his role in exposing his father’s crimes.” McGillis held up his hand as Iok reared up to protest. “His course of action was highly flawed, but consider his perspective. The Inspection Bureau was under the control of his father, who admitted his crimes to him. All of our policies on reporting corruption require reporting said malfeasance to the Inspection Bureau. Zadiel Zalmfort himself has no strong connections to any of us, the only people with higher authority who could investigate his claims objectively. There are no mechanisms in place for a member of a house to unseat a house head without the Inspection Bureau’s involvement, meaning that the only way for Zadiel Zalmfort to remove his father would be to murder him – a course of action I believe would mark him as unfit to remain in Gjallarhorn under any circumstances.”

    Even Iok grudgingly acknowledged the point.

    “It’s clear that you’ve given the situation a great deal of thought, Lord Fareed.” Ellion’s face betrayed little beyond a mild curiosity. “Do you have a proposal to deal with these problems?”

    Let’s see what you make of this, Rustal Ellion. “I do have a set of proposal that could at least mitigate some of the flaws I have highlighted.” McGillis scrolled his tablet to the pertinent information. “First, remove the Inspection Bureau from House Nadira’s purview and have it operate as an independent arm of Gjallarhorn, reporting directly to the Seven Stars. Possibly with clauses barring anyone with direct succession to a house head from serving as Director General.”

    “That seems reasonable enough,” Baklazan commented. “The original charter had them under House Nadira to ensure that they had the resources to engage in enforcement actions, but our current supply lines and infrastructure should be able to make them a force equal to the lesser houses.”

    Rustal Ellion frowned. “Ships, mobile suits, and supplies are not an issue, and neither is administrative personnel. But proven crews are hard to come by, and that was what House Nadira primarily provided.”

    “Why not take House Zalmfort’s ships and crews?” Iok suggested. “Given their crimes, it’s a fitting punishment!”

    Gallus Bauduin sighed and shook his head. “While your idea has merit, Lord Kujan, doing that would gut House Zalmfort’s fighting strength, making them useless in fulfilling their responsibilities. Besides, I feel we should allow Lord Fareed to finish listing his proposals, then argue the best ways of implementing them.”

    “Thank you, Lord Bauduin,” McGillis replied, smiling internally at how everything was playing out. “Second, it is clear that our policy of redistributing the possessions and responsibilities of the lesser houses is flawed and should be ended, given the perverse incentives it creates. It is equally clear that it will take some time to create a comprehensive replacement policy. My third proposal is something of an experiment – the rehabilitation of House Zalmfort. Instead of exiling the whole family and transferring their retainers, possessions, and responsibilities to House Nadira, we may consider a more nuanced approach – exile Sylt Zalmfort and his direct accomplices in the conspiracy, while installing Zadiel Zalmfort as the new head of the house. Zadiel would be demoted in rank and placed as a ward of House Nadira, which will handle most of House Zalmfort’s responsibilities, for some period of time – a decade, perhaps – and if the Inspection Bureau affirms that he and his house have not committed any further crimes, House Zalmfort would be restored to its full standing.”

    “That’s ridiculous!” Iok shouted. “Zadiel Zalmfort may not have been responsible for his father’s crimes, but House Zalmfort did benefit from them! Allowing them to remain in existence shows the lesser houses that we’re going soft!”

    Rustal Ellion said nothing, stroking his beard as Nemo Baklazan entered the conversation. “Remember Lord Kujan, this proposal is an experiment. There is nothing obligating us to give other houses the same treatment, even if we do adopt this measure.”

    “There is merit to Lord Fareed’s proposal,” Ellion finally announced, leaning back in his chair. “At the very least, it further disincentivizes the backstabbing we have seen in this incident. Few would attempt such a scheme if it meant that their successor’s fate was possibly in their target’s hands.”

    Iok visibly deflated as Gallus Bauduin added, “Besides, it would be hypocritical of us to give Lord Fareed an opportunity to redeem his family’s name, while denying someone of a lesser house the same opportunity.”

    “I support the proposal as one measure to combat corruption,” Elek Falk commented. “Perhaps an independent Inspection Bureau would be able to assist in crafting better policies to deal with these problems.”

    “This does lead us back to the discussion of where the Inspection Bureau should source its enforcement personnel,” Baklazan remarked. “It would not be unreasonable to source some personnel from House Zalmfort as reparations for their role in this situation.”

    There were general nods of agreement.

    “The question is a matter of proportion,” Baklazan continued, stroking his long beard. “20% percent or more is quite unreasonable, wouldn’t you say?”

    “Quite,” Falk agreed.

    “Perhaps 10% would be a reasonable figure,” Gallus Bauduin added, checking his tablet. “We don’t want to upset the balance amongst the lower houses too much.”

    There were nods all around the table, with the exception of Iok Kujan, who just scowled.

    “In addition, as a sign of how seriously the Seven Stars take this issue, I propose transferring a small portion of the Arianrhod and Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet to the new independent Inspection Bureau,” Rustal Ellion added, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at McGillis Fareed.

    I see your gambit, Rustal Ellion, McGillis thought to himself, keeping a nonchalant expression on his face. If I object, I cast myself as a hypocrite, holding myself to double standards. If I support your proposal, I weaken my forces… at least, as far as you know.

    “I believe I can support 2% of my existing command transferring to the Inspection Bureau.” His voice held a casual air to it. “Naturally, there will be some redistribution of existing assets to cover any gaps, but since there were planned reorganizations already in the works, disruptions should be minimal.”

    Ellion’s eyes narrowed, but he too kept his face nonchalant. “Transferring 2% of the Arianrhod fleet should present no difficulties.”

    “Excellent, excellent,” Baklazan interjected, breaking the tension forming between the two. “That should be more than sufficient to convince the lower houses that we are fully committed to this initiative.”

    As the discussion moved on to more mundane matters of administrivia, McGillis allowed himself to relax a bit. Rustal Ellion made no objectionable suggestions or probing questions, so for the moment, it seemed that both sides had taken each other’s measures. Eventually, there would be another round of sparring, continuing until a new status quo emerged.

    There was nothing wrong with a new status quo… as long as it benefitted McGillis Fareed’s long-term vision of a restored Gjallarhorn.

    As the meeting adjourned and he discussed some trivialities with Gallus Bauduin – as well as mentioning that Gaelio helped draft his proposals – McGillis thought carefully about the long game between himself and Rustal Ellion. At the moment, there was no benefit to maintaining the current circumstances – the political and force differential between their two fleets was definitively tilted in Rustal Ellion’s favor. In fact, he was already thinking of a potential stratagem to correct that imbalance.

    Entering his office, which now sported a wide couch in front of his desk so Gaelio and their aides wouldn’t spend every meeting standing, McGillis began mentally tallying the assets he needed to fully capitalize on the longshot gambit he had crafted. Todo, for one, was going to be heavily involved, as the later stages of the plan required the cooperation of the economic blocs. While he was already forming a tenous alliance with them, he would have to accelerate that process if he was to succeed.

    When Gaelio entered the room, obstensibly to report on the latest updates on the fleet’s training regiment, McGillis began explaining the outcome of the meeting. Gaelio’s take on the situation was fairly simple: “Well, I guess we’ve got some sway on House Zalmfort and Nadira. Who are we sending to the Inspection Bureau?”

    “Obviously, I’d prefer to send loyalists to our cause, but not at the expense of our best soldiers.” McGillis sighed, an expression of frustration that he was only willing to show to his best friend. “If there are loyal troops of middling quality, I suppose that would be the best to provide at the moment. It would be easier to simply shove the worst of the troops or anyone whose loyalties aren’t known for certain, but that not only could bias the Inspection Bureau against us, but also make it easy for Rustal Ellion to infiltrate the Bureau and subvert it. Besides, we have no real way to gauge anyone’s loyalty to me – there’s been too little time since Carta’s death for the majority to make a judgment of me, one way or the other.”

    Despite his best efforts to hide it, Gaelio had winced upon hearing Carta’s name. “I’ll see what I can do with the personnel roster – I’m assuming you want whole units transferred, not individuals.” When McGillis nodded, he continued. “I’m guessing there’s something bigger you’ve got planned.”

    McGillis smiled at that. “You know me well, my friend. We both know of the power Rustal Ellion possesses, both militarily and politically. Military power is something that can be mitigated, through clever strategy, resolute will, and sheer determination. But that soft power… that is something that we must deprive him of, even as we build up our own.”

    “Cut to the chase McGillis. You don’t need to sell me on this.”

    But I do, McGillis thought. You are still blind to the true brutality of this world we live in, even though I have helped you see so much. “It’s a fairly simple plan, in concept anyway. First, we find the most likely methods Rustal uses to “influence” those outside of Gjallarhorn. Todo has already started making some inquiries on that front. The lynchpin of the plan is the most difficult part – we need the Arianrhod fleet to overstep their limits. After that, all that’s left is contriving some excuse to purge Rustal’s influence in the aftermath.”

    Gaelio looked at him and sighed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re dancing around something?”

    “If you recall my interview with Professor Järvinen, the professor pointed out some… intriguing oddities in space exploration that occurred shortly before the Calamity War.” McGillis folded his hands before them. “I believe there may be an alien presence on Mars, far from the colonized areas.”

    That got the younger Bauduin to sit up straight on the couch. “What?”

    “Apparently, Martian survey satellites of the era detected unusal mass concentrations and magnetic field shifting in the Promethei Planum region. No one managed to investigate before the mobile armors began their onslaught.” The corners of the blonde’s mouth quirked up a bit. “The odd mass readings seem to be in line with the basic information on the alien “mass effect” technology that’s been released to the public, wouldn’t you say.”

    Gaelio ran a hand over his mouth. “If you’re right… this could be huge. Not just for us, but for humanity.” His eyes flicked down as he thought some more on the topic. “That’s your trap for Rustal, isn’t it? He would jump on that in an instant.”

    “Exactly.” McGillis allowed himself a small smile. Especially given the other bait I intend to lay.

    “But there’s a problem with this plan,” Gaelio added. “You need someone to find this thing and someone who can fight off whatever force Rustal sends to take that alien artifact or whatever is.”

    “I’ve already given it some thought, and I have a solution that neatly handles both.” McGillis leaned back in his chair and prepared for Gaelio’s inevitable outburst. “Tekkadan. They have the technology and combat capability to fulfill the role.”

    Gaelio froze, every joint locked rigid as he stared at his friend and commanding officer. “What did you say?”

    “You heard me.”

    Gaelio bolted to his feet and slammed his hands down on McGillis’ desk. “You cannot be serious.” His voice turned into a growl of barely restrained fury. “They killed Carta and Ein.”

    Sighing with exhaustion and irritation, McGillis stared his best friend down. “I am fully cognizant of that fact. That doesn’t change the fact that they’re the best choice for this operation. Nor does it change the fact that your lack of emotional control will get you killed, just like Carta.”

    “WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Gaelio shouted, clenching his hands into fists.

    McGillis slowly rose from his chair, forcing Gaelio to stand and look him in the eye. “I had hoped that you would have learned something from Ein and Carta’s tragic deaths, but it is clear that self-reflection is something completely alien to you. For instance, this insistence on blaming Tekkadan for their deaths. Any reasonable person would recognize that, just as we had a duty to capture them, Tekkadan had a duty to protect Kudelia Aina Bernstein by any means necessary.”

    Before Gaelio could respond, McGillis pressed on. “Stubbornness can be dealt with. But your inability to reign in your emotions makes you a liability to yourself and those around you.” He paused, and considered how best to convey a truth he himself had learned all those years ago, through the constant pain and suffering. “It is alright if you feel angry that Carta and Ein died… but you must be able to focus that anger and not let it blind you. As you are now, I cannot afford to put you on front line duty… I will not allow you to put me in a position where I have to explain how you got yourself killed to Almiria.”

    Almost immediately, McGillis felt… not quite regret, but turmoil for invoking Almiria’s name. Part of it was no doubt the fact that he pitied her for the situation Iznario and Gallus had put her in. Another part was that he recognized that it was an incredibly manipulative move, and yet another part was that it was unvarnished truth. At this point, after summoning the will to talk himself into not killing Gaelio, letting his best friend get himself killed was simply unacceptable, especially when he would have to bear that horrible responsibility.

    The part that confused him the most was that he actually cared about Almiria’s well being, and that was particularly bothersome. He wasn’t in a situation where he could properly analyze that, as Gaelio’s stricken expression showed that the emotional blade had struck home, but it would have to be done later, if only to assure himself he hadn’t become overly sentimental.

    “I know this is hard for you to understand,” he continued, “but the anger burning inside you is useless if you let it control you. You must find a way to reign it in.” He prepared himself for his friend’s reaction to another ugly truth. “Tekkadan has the fire in them, and they tempered it in ice. That is the strength that allowed them to stand against us from the start, and if you cannot find your own version of that strength, you will never match them.”

    Gaelio’s expression turned to stone, even as his jaw worked from side to side. Finally, he rasped out in a gravely voice, “If that’ll be all, General.”

    “Dismissed, Major.” With that, Gaelio turned on his heel and exited the office, leaving a suddenly exhausted McGillis to sag into his chair. As he turned to contemplate the endless expanse of the ocean, sparing a glance at the graduation photo, he could not deny the truth in front of him.

    If Gaelio could not change his perspective on his own, McGillis would have to force that change upon him.

    No matter the cost to their friendship.



    Author's notes: Well, this took longer than I wanted to come out. Some of that was that I was playing through the IBO campaign of G Generation Cross Rays to refresh myself on the events of IBO, some was me deciding to play though the IBO Gekko campaign (which led to McGillis' section starting out the way it did), some of that was IRL stuff trying to get a small business going during COVID-19 BS, and an unfortunate amount of it was writer's block, which really hit hard during the first two sections.

    So yeah, Radice is completely out of the picture, at least as far as Tekkadan is concerned. He's just a random cog in the Teiwaz machine, which you'll get some info on later. Ironically enough, I can channel some real life experience into Kudelia's business on Mars in later chapters.

    In terms of integrating the IBO Gekko stuff, McGillis' play here really seems to be stuff that probably should've happened in IBO proper, but the usual segregation between animation and side material probably got in the way. The whole thing about Mars is something I put in the original story idea I posted ages ago, but initially I wasn't going to reveal that plan here, but I decided that doing it here would give me more time for Naze and Orga to hang out in the next chapter. And yeah, we're pushing Gaelio a little bit further down his character arc, because that's the only way his character works.

    Not particularly thrilled that I brought up the Almiria thing, but I think that I managed to establish that is not in season 2 tragically creepy mode yet.
     
    Chapter 30
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 30

    Something small and grey bounced on the surface of Teiwaz’s Black Site asteroid.

    When observed closer to ground level, the bouncing object revealed itself to be a Czenki 4203 APC, its odd mix of angles and curves betraying its alien heritage. Six wheels, all on independent suspension mounts, dug into the pulverized dust on the asteroid’s surface and flung it out into space. Atop the vehicle, a small turret rotated, with an old 90mm mass accelerator fitted with a dented and worn barrel shroud mounted in the middle, with a mass accelerator machine gun and particle beam projector bracketing it to the sides. The barrels of all three guns independently rotated up and down as the vehicle made its way along the pitted surface, targeting nothing but arbitrary points in space.

    Inside the vehicle, Nevara Char was having a blast in the driver’s seat. One of the few highlights of the long trip out of Citadel space had been joyriding on alien planets and moons, to the point that shore leave revolved around the order in which crew members got their chance to drive. It had been a dark day when one of the junior officers had cut on the jump jets a little too late after racing up a slope at 100 kph and damaged the APC’s original structural frame. For Nevara, who was one of the unfortunates waiting for her driving slot, it’d been a shot to the gut that lingered through the initial encounter with Tekkadan.

    In the back, Vorhess and a group of human and alien technicians were busy checking readouts on tablets, making sure the newly repaired vehicle was operating to spec. The Czenki 4203 was designed to be a cheap, cheerful, and durable transportation option for planetary survey and first/second-wave colonization operations, which explained the modular construction of the vehicle. Czenki, as it proudly boasted its advertising, had consulted hundreds of planetary surveyors, explorers, and colonists, then crafted the ultimate vehicle for handling the top 50 causes of vehicle damage and destruction. It was a list that included thresher maws surfacing directly under the vehicle, running over land mines, operator error, sinkholes, operating near molten lava, and jumping over angry Krogan firing anti-vehicle rounds, amongst many other notable causes.

    The ultimate benefit of this was that Czenki hadn’t bothered to use mass effect field forged materials in the structural frame that the wheels, jump jets, and ground penetrating scanners used, and even better, all those components were designed to be easily removed from an existing frame. As a result, Teiwaz’s engineers determined that mobile suit frame materials were more than adequate as a substitute, stripped all the parts off the damaged frame, forged a new frame, and mounted the old hardware on the new frame within three months. In fact, the work would have been done even faster, if not for initial difficulties in determining what tolerances were necessary for the various mounts, as well as creating new taps in alien thread pitches for all the bolts.

    “You know, you don’t have to run over every single outcropping on this rock,” Vorhess commented as the vehicle shuddered a bit.

    “Hey, you guys said you wanted a stress test, so you’re getting one,” Nevara shot back as she weaved around a vaguely triangular boulder.

    A few weak chuckles died off as she fired the jump jets, then let the vehicle slowly drift back to the surface, letting the new automatic safety fire the jump jets before landing. When Milena Dantius purchased this particular Czenki 4203, the factory original safety had functioned perfectly, but somewhere along the numerous journeys on alien planets, the automatic safety had failed. So, naturally, thousands of light-years from the nearest dealership, and not having packed a spare or cracked the Fabrication Rights Management encryption on the device template, the crew had made do with eyeballing the timing, leading to the inevitable result.

    An irritating beep-beep-beep began blaring, which Nevara cut off with a quick tap on a side panel. “Alright folks, time to head back for the big show.”

    Ten minutes later, she walked into the test control center set up for the Thrill Seeker’s moment of glory. Today was the day when they’d fire up the Ahab reactor and see if the ship was fit to fly. Technically, the power up sequence had already been done, and the inertial compensators were all online and tested. The only thing that remained to do was fully power up the artificial gravity and see how many unanticipated malfunctions occurred due to Ahab wave exposure.

    “So, how’re things going?” she asked, looking from screen to screen as technicians muttered to each other and called out readings. One large display was focused on the exterior of the ship, once again welded together into one piece. The old weathered Turian paint had been carefully stripped off in preparation for adding a layer of nanolaminate armor. Naturally, the new paint job was the subject of much debate, because some people wanted the closest to the original paint scheme for authenticity, others wanted it to look distinctive but not too alien, and still more just wanted to keep the paint costs down. Another large screen displayed, just below the CIC’s ceiling panels, a baseball hovering in zero-G, which was the traditional test object for artificial gravity systems.

    “Everything seems good to go… so far,” one of the human technicians, a scruffy looking man with the name tag “DAVIS,” replied. “All the data we’re getting is consistent with a good grav system install.”

    The Asari officer nodded, and looked at the ball again. According to the humans, baseballs were used for this task because they were cheap, easily expended items with decent enough accelerometers to track whether or not artificial gravity was kicking in. Of course, they weren’t relying only on the ball’s sensors – the camera feeds focused on the ball were being fed into computers that were analyzing the footage to determine the ball’s rate of descent.

    “Only a half hour more of this,” Vorhess commented as he entered the room. “You sure you want to be here for this?”

    Nevara turned and gave the Batarian engineer her best sardonic expression. “Hey, I was told that this should be done to my satisfaction, so I’m going to stay here until I’m satisfied.”

    “Really. Coulda sworn you were just putting off the paperwork for your little joyride.”

    “Huh, that never crossed my mind.” She gave him a quick wink. “What about you? Going to stay for the show?”

    He shrugged, leaning against the back of a console. “Might as well. We already have the repair teams ready to go if something goes wrong, it’s just a matter of whether they’ll be needed or not.”

    The soft chatter in the room continued as the procedure proceeded apace. Every so often, the descent would pause as the artificial gravity was shut off to verify that all sensors were synchronized and properly calibrated. At the end of the process, the baseball was rolling normally across the deck, at which point Davis announced “Entry team 1, you are green to go.”

    On a smaller side screen, a live feed from one of the docking ports showed a team of humans and aliens entering one of the airlocks, tossing a baseball in first to determine if the gravity was behaving normally. After retrieving the ball, the camera feed switched to a body cam on the leader, who threw the ball into every new compartment the group entered. Nevara sighed in irritation as the camera swung widely from side to side, only giving her glimpses of oddly flickering haptic and physical displays here and there.

    “Oh boy, there goes another load of half-metal,” Vorhess grumbled as he looked over some of the other screens and their video feeds. “Looks like Milena didn’t stick with a single supplier when she had the ship refurbed. If she had, we’d probably have everything work or be broken, not this weird hodge-podge.”

    “How long to get it all fixed?” Nevara didn’t particularly care about the amount of time to get the job done, but she needed to know for the official report. She already knew that Jastley Dominokols, the deputy head of Teiwaz, was riled up about how long it was taking to get the ship back up and running, so heading off his complaints was a major priority.

    Sighing, the Batarian rubbed his face. “It’s hard to tell, since they haven’t checked every compartment, so… maybe three weeks?”

    Given all the problems that’d been encountered in the process of refitting the Thrill Seeker, Vorhess tended to go for the most pessimistic estimate on repair and alteration times.

    “Great, I’ll let the big wigs know the earliest we can do a shakedown cruise is three weeks.” The young Asari turned around and slapped the Batarian on the shoulder. “Look on the bright side – at least we don’t have to have some documentarian or whatever poking around.”



    Caitlyn Staziak stifled a yawn as she walked out of the Tekkadan mess hall and ducked into a building to to avoid the ever-rising sun. Digging her phone out of her pocket, she nodded at the people passing by her – some she recognized by name, others she didn’t – and checked her itinerary for the day. For the past two days, she and Ed had done easy, unobtrusive work: lots of B roll, getting to know people who might have interesting stories, having people fill out the onerous release forms to let them show up in the documentary… With all that out of the way, now they could proceed with actual filming.

    Caitlyn’s first in-depth interview subject would be the enigmatic Dr. Vass. Despite some interviews on Earth in the immediate aftermath of the Arbrau election, the Salarian doctor remained a mystery in terms of… well, everything. Most of her sources indicated that he was corresponding a lot with medical institutions and specialists, which made total sense – the alien was a doctor, after all – but some of the specialties involved were quite interesting.

    She wound her way through the nearly identical looking worn corridors to Ed’s room. The door was open, and inside, the cameraman was going through his final preparations, stashing cleaning wipes, extra memory cards, and battery packs all over his person. Some might have called it paranoid, but Caitlyn had worked with camera people who weren’t anywhere near as diligent and paid the price, so she indulged him in his overpreparation.

    Besides, on Mars, lord knows how hard it’ll be to get a replacement, she thought. Things that were at best an inconvenience on Earth were a pain in the ass here on Mars, and that already spoke volumes about the situation.

    Ed gave himself a final pat down and nodded, grabbing the camera off the bed. “Alright, ready to go.”

    “Great.” Caitlyn started off towards Vass’ office with Ed on her heels, only getting turned around once in the maze of unlabelled doors that was between the two locations.

    The door to the infirmary office was already open when they got there, the Salarian doctor tapping away at his computer without a care in the world. He didn’t even look up when they stopped. He just finished his work, then turned and said, “Ah, Ms. Staziak! It must be time for our appointment!”

    There was something about the alien’s tone of voice that bothered her. The enthusiasm was real – she’d interviewed enough people to know when someone was faking it, even if all the little cues a human had weren’t there. But there was something to his voice that made her feel like she was under a microscope, instead of the other way around.

    “It sure is,” she replied, taking a polite look around. The office was a bit cleaner than the rest of the base she’d seen, even if it was just as worn, with a computer terminal in the far corner as part of a wrap around desk. One wall had a window and door into the actual infirmary, while the other was dominated by empty shelves over a set of drawers and cabinets. Boxes of old books and other miscellaneous items sat on the counter top, presumably from whoever last occupied the office, but she couldn’t discount the possibility that they were his property. “Are you comfortable here, or do you want to move somewhere else?”

    “This is fine for the preliminaries.”

    After a few minutes of Ed putting up small LED lights to make things a bit more photogenic, the interview started in earnest. Caitlyn patiently worked her way through the preliminaries, which was much easier than it would’ve been with a human interview subject. There were so many interesting tangents to get into, just due to Vass’ nature, that actually talking to him was quite a pleasant experience. Most of it would wind up on the digital cutting room floor or perhaps used as advertisement fodder, but it beat talking to the 9000th executive, politician, or activist who went to a university, met someone with connections, and experienced a meteoric rise afterwards.

    At last, she got the conversation where she wanted it. “So, doctor, it seems like you’re doing a lot of research into… controversial subjects.” She consulted her phone, reading off the list of highly restricted research topics. “Human genetic research, neural alteration, medical implants, the Alaya-Vijnana System… the list goes on and on. I know there’s probably a lot of taboos that don’t cross cultural lines, but as an average person, that sounds very suspicious.”

    “Ah, yes, I would imagine it would have a… sinister air, to the uninformed,” Vass replied, not even perturbed by the question. In fact, that made Caitlyn wonder if he wanted her to ask about those things. “It’s easier to explain things if you see them for yourselves.”

    With that, the alien got out of his chair and walked out the door, forcing the humans to hastily follow. Soon, they found themselves in dingier and dingier parts of the base, areas that clearly weren’t being used on a regular basis… or at all. Caitlyn couldn’t tell if the grime on the floors and walls was black due to age or being a foul mix of who knows what, and she imagined it’d be easier on her peace of mind if she didn’t know.

    “Ah, here we are,” Vass announced, stopping at a seemingly random door. “I must warn you, what you are about to see might be quite disturbing.”

    The door snapped open and inside… The two humans carefully stepped inside and began looking over the place, peering at crude operating tables and esoteric equipment, all draped in plastic and bearing unique identifier tags. Caitlyn flicked her eyes towards the ceiling and noted the dim cast of the lights, and realized why the place bothered her. It all had the air of some kind of horror movie lair, where all sorts of tortures and atrocities would take place.

    “What you see before you,” Vass swept one hand in an arc that encompassed the entire room, “is one of the most heinous cases of exploitation of sapient life I have seen.”

    Ed had already brought the camera to bear on the Salarian, who proceeded to pace around the room as he continued. “All of this is the foul legacy of Chryse Guard Security, who forcibly implanted cybernetics into children, with no regard for sanitation, safety, or medical ethics.” Even Caitlyn, someone with a near total lack of experience in reading alien expressions, could see the sheer disgust and indignation on Vass’s face. “A conservative estimate is that 50% of the fatalities could’ve been avoided by regular disinfection of the tools used to implant the Alaya-Vijnana nanomachines. At least 30% of those who were crippled by failed integration into their nervous system wouldn’t have suffered that fate if the operators had bothered to learn how to adjust the appropriate settings. That there are only about two hundred known children in Chryse’s slums whose disability is traceable to the botched implantations speaks more to the high rate of suicide and general lack of medical care that killed the rest.”

    Okay, you might have bit off more than you can chew, Caitlyn thought to herself, licking her lips as she tried to figure out where to take her line of questioning. Oh what the hell, I don’t understand most of this jargon, I might as well go the obvious route, since the audience doesn’t understand it either. “Couldn’t you learn everything you needed from examining the machines and taking them apart?”

    Vass chuckled and shifted into more of a professorial mode. “Oh, we gathered plenty of data from functional examples of Alaya-Vijnana implants and our examination of the machinery here, but to truly understand a system as complex and finely integrated as this requires a holistic comprehension of how it was crafted. When you understand the intent behind each and every design decision of this level of wetware, then you can safely alter it.”

    She nodded, then paused. “Alter it? Don’t you mean remove it?”

    “Removing nanotech cybernetics is a difficult task,” Vass explained, ignoring Ed as he silently scuttled to the side to get a new shot. “It’s not a simple plug-and-play operation, like replacing a replacement limb or eye. If you are lucky, you can render a nanite based implant inert and instruct it to essentially dissolve, then allow it to be excreted through natural body fluids. But for something that intertwines itself into the nervous system, well…” The alien doctor sighed. “The most you can do is make sure the wetware interface is properly configured and augment the organic components if the load placed on them is excessive.”

    “That means…?”

    “Individually examining each patient and crafting a treatment regiment for each one,” the Salarian elaborated. “Obviously, if I had access to a proper, state of the art medical facility, I could assure decent outcomes for most, if not all of those children. As it is…” He sighed and shrugged. “At best, I might be able to give some of the paralyzed children a limited amount of mobility.”

    It took Caitlyn a few moments to formulate a response to that. “Don’t the hospitals here have…”

    “The necessary resources?” A dark chuckle came out of Vass’ mouth. “Within the first two weeks of making planetfall, I went to inspect the local medical facilities. They are… inadequate for this kind of work.” He shook his head in frustration. “Theoretically, Gjallarhorn’s medical facilities should be available for critical care at that level, but I highly doubt that they would cooperate in this venture.”

    “I—I had no idea things were that bad.”

    “Well, isn’t that part of the reason you’re here? To learn kind of crucible could create such formidable youngsters as Tekkadan and Kudelia Aina Bernstein?”

    The documentarian gave him a sheepish smile. “You’ve got me there.”

    Nodding, the Salarian returned the smile. “Now, perhaps we should leave this dark and depressing place and discuss more uplifting subjects. Perhaps you would be interested in our hydroponics bays, where we grow an assortment of fruits and vegetables from Citadel space to help feed everyone on the base, as well as producing seeds for sale to local farms.” His smile grew. “I think you would be quite interested in one of our specimens, a tuber from Tuchanka – it’s quite delicious when deep fried.”

    Caitlyn shot glance at Ed, who gave her a thumbs up. “Lead on, doctor.”



    Orga rubbed his eyes and took a sip of his coffee, looking suspiciously around the arrival terminal of the Hakofune space station. The station was officially neutral territory, where civilian ships from all the economic blocks could dock and unload cargo, but it was still administered by Gjallarhorn. As far as he was concerned, he was potentially in enemy territory, which was why he had an armed guard in Shuttle 2 and an Asari bodyguard with him. He didn’t anticipate problems, but if Gjallarhorn decided to start some, he at least was ready to get his ass out of there in a hurry.

    To be honest, he wasn’t really eager to be here at a painfully early hour, but there were two reasons for it. First, it bought him a little time before he had to give an interview to Caitlyn Staziak for her documentary, which he didn’t look forward to at all. Not because she bothered him as a person (he had to admit to checking her out once or twice) or because he wasn’t used to interviews (he’d had to do dozens of them on Earth), but because he worried that the weight of everything he was doing would settle in and crush him partway through.

    Second, Naze Turbine was coming by for the first time since they’d parted ways after Edmonton, even if it was only for a day.

    Orga had hoped to spend more time with his mentor, but Naze had hinted that he was on stop secret Teiwaz business. What that was, he had no idea, but from what little Naze had given away, it seemed like the Hammerhead was working its way from Jupiter to the inner spheres. That meant it was probably related to the aliens in some way, although from what he’d heard, progress was slow on that kind of stuff.

    His thoughts were interrupted by the nearby door sliding open, revealing Naze in his white suit and Amida hanging off his arm. The smile on the older man’s face grew wider as he spotted who was waiting for him. “Orga! How are you!”

    As Orga approached to give him a handshake, Naze pulled some cash from his left pocket and handed it to a smirking Amida.

    “We had a little bet going,” Amida explained, “about whether or not you’d be the first person Naze here would see once we docked.”

    Naze gave Orga a helpless shrug. “I lost.”

    “Well, next time, give me a heads up, brother,” Orga said with a chuckle.

    “Maybe I will.” Naze turned to his wife. “Amida, darling, would you—”

    “Handle the boring paperwork?” She had a sly smile on her face. “Of course, dear. You boys go and enjoy your alone time, alright?”

    Naze put a hand on Orga’s back and gently turned him towards the door. As they walked in, Asari bodyguard in tow, an exasperated expression crossed the older man’s face. “Here’s a lesson for you Orga – when you find that special woman that you just can’t let go, you have to be ready for her to yank your chain whenever you give her an opening. And of course, you have to be ready to yank her chain.”

    “Uh… right.” Orga hadn’t bothered thinking about getting into relationship for months, just due to Tekkadan’s operations getting more and more complex. The closest thing he’d had to romance in his life had been some flirting with Merribit, but to be honest, it didn’t really bother him that it’d just stopped at some point after Edmonton.

    “You’re young, Orga, so there’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to get to know someone,” Naze continued, guiding the group deeper into the ship. “Now, there’s some business we have to attend to.”

    Orga glanced over his shoulder. “Is it secret business?”

    “Only to anyone who isn’t in Teiwaz and Tekkadan,” Naze replied as he squinted at the doors they were passing by. “Ah, here it is.”

    After a few taps on the keypad next to the door, the door slid open to reveal a small compartment, perhaps not more than a few square meters, full of computer equipment, complete with a keyboard and monitor. Naze turned and gestured to the hardware around them. “Well, here we are. You’re looking at a human made quantum entanglement communicator.”

    Orga looked at the hardware, then at his mentor. “Okay…”

    “You’re getting two of them – one for the Isaribi, and one for your base,” the older man explained. “They’ll be shipped to you in pieces, but I have to give you a key component in person.” He wagged a finger at Orga. “Come look at this.”

    Orga followed Naze to what looked like a large, double latched metal storage container. Upon unlatching it, Naze flipped open the lid and pulled out a thick circuit board that he handed off to Orga. “This here is the heart of the system.”

    Orga leaned over and peered inside. A layer of cubes interconnected cubes, about the size of a 9-ounce shot glass, filled out the bottom of the container. Each cube had a connector port on the top, and he suspected each of the other sides did too. “What’s that stuff?”

    “Each of those cubes allows you to connect to one other facility with a QEC,” Naze explained. “One of them is a direct line to the Old Man, two of them are going to be your direct lines to me, and so on. The egg heads call it a “peer to peer network,” which basically means that every Teiwaz facility is going to be connected to each other… once everyone gets the new hardware. Right now, the priority is on getting all the major operations in the inner spheres equipped, so I have a cargo hold full of the stuff, all officially listed as ‘surplus computer hardware,’ which is technically accurate.”

    It took Orga a minute or so to roll the words over in his mind. “So you’re saying we’ve got an untraceable communications net that no one can takeover, right?”

    “Exactly!” Naze took back the circuit board and reinstalled it in the machine, then snapped the cover back into place. “What’s even better is that once we get all our ships equipped with these, we won’t have to worry about whether or not we’re in Ariadne range to make any calls we need to.”

    “Are we going to be using these QECs from now on?”

    “Only for urgent or secret business,” Naze replied as they walked out of the room. “Everyone in the Teiwaz top brass may not agree on everything, but they all agree that stopping our routine comm traffic would raise too many questions.”

    “Yeah, that’d look pretty suspicious,” Orga agreed. “So, how are things going out there?”

    “A lot better now that we have that new navigation software that—” Naze paused, trying to dredge up the name, “Rala? – made for us. You wouldn’t believe how much time and fuel consumption we’re cutting off our course with it. I’m having it installed in every ship that docks at our base.”

    “I’ll let her know you like it.” Orga smiled. The Asari pilot had gotten together with a few alien shipmates on the cruise back to Mars to revamp the Isaribi’s navigation suite, which was merely adequate to the task. While the process took a bit longer than the voyage home, the new software promised to make future trips faster and cheaper.

    “Honestly, I’d like to thank her in person, but I’ve got a schedule to keep.” A mischevious twinkle appeared in the older man’s eye. “The Old Man loves that we can charge a premium on Teiwaz shipping, now that we’re the fastest in the business.”

    “Uh huh.”

    “Well, if we’re really being honest, I prefer being out here to dealing with all the board room drama these days.” Naze shuddered, something Orga felt was exaggerated for effect. “Plus I get to have the one division that isn’t spending tons of money.” He paused and looked up at the ceiling as he tried to recall something. “By the way, I have some other good news. You’ll be getting a job soon from the Old Man – we’ve got some prototype mobile suits that could use some field testing on Mars.”

    “New mobile suits? That seems pretty fast.” Orga didn’t bother keeping the doubt out of his voice.

    “Well, you have to keep in mind that mobile suit designers are always working on something new,” Naze replied. “You can’t just have them stop once they finish one mobile suit. If you do that, they get rusty. So once they finished all the Teiwaz frame designs, they started working on a cheaper, more mass production frame. Plus, these days, a lot of the hard work is handled by computers.”

    “I’ll take your word for it.” He filed that away for later.

    “So, how are things going for you?” Naze asked, turning the earlier question around.

    Orga shrugged. “I mean, we’re not starving or anything, but we’re not raking in the big bucks with the media stuff either. Right now, it’s just more paperwork.”

    “I’m not really surprised by that. Everyone else I talk to is complaining about how they’re not making much money off of alien tech either.” The trio finally reached Naze’s office, which was furnished in much the same style as his formal meeting room. In one corner, tucked behind a fine wooden desk, was a safe, which the older man unlocked, while using his body to block his guests’ view of the combination lock. He placed three small plastic cases full of the cubes on the desk. “Here you go: one for the Isaribi, one for your base here, and one for Earth branch.”

    “I thought you were going to deliver the – uh – cubes to Earth branch?” Orga paused as Naze handed him an empty, nondescript duffel bag, which the teen carefully placed the three boxes into.

    “I could do that and risk Arbrau customs finding them, or I could just have you guys take it on the next shuttle to Edmonton.” Naze smiled. “You’ve got to make the most of your opportunities, no matter how small they are.”

    “Uh huh.” Orga ran a hand through his hair. “Let me guess, you want me to buddy up to whoever’s hiring us to test those new mobile suits.”

    “Well, you don’t have to be buddies, but making your own connections is always a good move.” Naze sighed and leaned on the safe. “Like it or not, you’re in charge of a large operation, even though the media side isn’t really making money yet. Getting to know the rest of the big wigs is par for the course.“

    Orga took a big breath, held it for a few seconds, and then blew it out. Easy for you to say, he thought. “Any advice?”

    “Well, in this specific case, just go into it like you would do with any contract negotiation. Be respectful, keep calm, and be noncommittal if anything might be a problem.” Naze paused and rolled his eyes. “Be glad you’re not doing this at one of the meetups on Saisei. Sometimes people have a bit too much to drink and get a bit… adversarial.”

    “Great.”

    The older man smiled and closed his eyes. “The good news is that most of the problems go away if you’re successful. If there’s one thing no can dispute, it’s bringing in lots of money.” He opened his eyes and widened his grin. “How do you think I get away with so much?”

    “I thought it was because you suck up—” Orga’s mock ribbing was interrupted by his omni-tool gauntlet vibrating. Scowling, he activated the haptic interface and tapped the offending notification icon. “Who the hell— Oh, it’s—uh—Montag.”

    “Has he contacted you since we last met?” Naze’s eyes had narrowed at Orga’s hesitation with Montag’s name.

    “No. This the first time.” Pausing, the teen stared at the unopened message in his inbox, then finally shutdown the holographic display.

    “You’re not going to read it?”

    “Nah, I figure if I did it now, I’d be preoccupied during the interview and then I’ll get a whole bunch of uncomfortable questions I don’t want to deal with. Besides, he sent a text message, instead of trying to call me directly. That means whatever he wants, it’s not that time sensitive.”

    Naze’s suspicious gaze remained on Orga. “Have you found out anything about him that I should know about?”

    “Not really. Well… Vass thinks he’s super dedicated to a cause or might just be deluded.” Orga tried to keep his face still, even as he grappled with the fact that he wasn’t sure why he was keeping this secret to begin with. As far as he could tell, the secrecy was mostly to keep McGillis’ involvement in events hidden from Gjallarhorn. He shrugged. “It’s hard to get a feel for the guy when we’ve barely done any business with him.”

    Nodding, Naze visibly relaxed. “The Old Man had some people do some digging on this Montag, and hit nothing but dead ends. I won’t tell you to not work with Montag, but if he asks you to do something… extreme, you should bring it to me or the Old Man. It’s not like you can’t get a hold of us at any time with these QECs.”

    “I’ll do that.”

    “Good.” Naze stretched and cracked his neck. “So… are you seeing anyone? Because I have plenty of pointers if you need help...”

    Orga merely sputtered and glared at the dapper gentleman who verbally burned him.



    Author's Notes: Hope you like the world building exercise I went on with the APC, as well as clarifying the status of the Thrill Seeker. As someone who does machining and machining adjacent work, I can tell you tolerances are a bitch, as well as thread pitches.

    Given Vass' profession, I couldn't imagine him not being pissed at the shit job the CGS guys did with implanting kids with cybernetics on a technical level, never mind the obvious moral issues with that. Also, given the general shit state of the Chryse economy, I figured the state of medical care is pretty bad, and wrote accordingly. I plan to do more with the Tuchankan potatoes as well.

    One thing I wanted to do with this chapter was definitively settle how Teiwaz is going to be handling the QEC comm network. I decided to go with a more decentralized approach, mostly because McMurdo Barriston is smart enough to see the disadvantages of centralized comm networks when hostile aliens are a thing.

    Thanks to some random blog, I was reminded of the big ass space station from season 2 in orbit of Mars, which answered something I was confused about (where do the civilian ships dock). Originally, I was thinking about having Orga go through the interview, but this chapter is long enough already. Also, I was worried about whether a 6 month turn around time for Shiden prototypes was unrealistic, then the USAF straight up said they used AI to design and build a plane in a year, so that's not even a problem.
     
    Chapter 31
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 31

    Sweet cigar smoke filled the opulent office and the lungs of its occupants. Velvet cushioned couches, real teak furniture, and fancy pieces of art, all imported from Earth, highlighted the wealth of the men in the room. A placard on one of the shelves full of small art pieces bore the Teiwaz logo.

    Jastley Dominokols blew out a puff of smoke and watched it drift towards the ceiling, then looked at the man behind the desk. The older man, with prominent streaks of gray running through his dark hair, wore only a teal button-down shirt, a black tie, and gray slacks, let out a few shorter puffs of smoke. He was Augustus McIntyre, the CEO of IOS, the mobile suit and ship foundry owned by Teiwaz, and therefore one of the top men in the company.

    “Like I was saying,” Dominokols replied, getting back to the discussion they were having before he’d stepped out to use the bathroom. “You and the Turbines are the only revenue positive divisions we’ve got right now.”

    As someone steeped in the guts of the various financial markets, that proclamation sent chills up the Teiwaz executive’s spine… and a spike of jealousy through him. But in one of the few good things about Teiwaz at the moment, the company was a private enterprise. No one outside the company had any stock in it, which was good, because Dominokols knew investors would be raising a hellstorm about the losses. It wasn’t speculation – he knew it was happening, because he listened to the quarterly earnings calls for some of the companies Teiwaz was partnering with to exploit the alien technology windfall, and all of those were losing just as much money as Teiwaz is.

    “Yeah, well, that’s because both of us are just doing what we’ve always done.” McIntyre took a slow drag on his cigar. “Naze’s crew does one goddamn thing: get things from point A to point B. Sure, he’s got some new alien nav thingy that makes his job easier, but he’s not doing research and development or any of the other money sinks we’ve got going.” After another drag, the executive continued. “Now, as for us, we’re just running existing production lines and setting up a simplified line for a new, more cost-effective product in the Shiden. The only thing we had to do to the thing was make sure it could be easily upgraded if anything worthwhile came out of the R&D slush pile.”

    “I’m thrilled for you,” was Dominokols’ sardonic reply. “But we need the markets to stabilize. Even if it’s just for our partners’ sakes.”

    McIntyre shook his head, either in disbelief or disgust. “I miss the days when that stuff actually was connected to your product.”

    “Those days ended way before the Calamity War,” Dominokols noted with some irritation.

    “A shame.” Before McIntyre could add anything more, a notification chime rang out. “Right, it’s almost time for my little chat with Naze’s understudy.” An amused glint shone in his eyes. “Listen in. It might be good for a laugh… but don’t say anything.”

    Dominokols scowled, but said nothing, even though he found Orga Itsuka as irritating as Naze Turbine was. Even after all these months, the fact that the teenager had more or less taken control of the aliens and their vehicles annoyed him to no end. The fact that, due to the Sazuki Blood Oath between Orga and Naze, any financial boons Tekkadan gained from their absorption of the aliens also bolstered Naze’s standing was another issue.

    Being neither blind, nor an idiot, Dominokols was totally aware that, despite not making any moves towards that goal, Naze was regarded as the obvious successor to the Old Man. McMurdo Barriston’s well known relationship with Naze was common knowledge among the highest echelons of the organization. And for the moment, it was a non-factor, because Naze was busy flying his ship and the Old Man was in good health. But Dominokols knew one day there’d be a reckoning, and he intended to have everything lined up so that he would be the Old Man’s successor, as it should be.

    McIntyre tapped a few buttons on his computer and moved the swivel mounted screen in directly in front of him. Scowling, Jastley scooched over on the couch to see the man’s face, then cringed as he heard the tell-tale buzz of audio over computer speakers.

    “Mr. Itsuka, you’re right on time.” McInytre took a drag off his cigar. “We’re both busy men, so I won’t waste any time on preliminaries. I assume Naze told about this job.”

    “He told me the basics, but not much beyond that,” the teenager replied. “I assume this is when we get into specifics.”

    A small smile crossed the IOS executive’s face. “Yes, it is. Quite frankly, it’s a waste of time and money to ship a bunch of Shidens – that’s what the new mobile suits are called – to Earth for testing, when you’re closer and have all sorts of fun environmental challenges to deal with.”

    “I understand.” The teen paused for a second. “What kind of tests are you looking for? Obviously, you want to know if your Shidens work in gravity, but besides that, what are your priorities?”

    “Hmm… well, the priorities would be reliability testing, especially since Euro Electronics will be supplying some new weapons that also need testing.” McIntyre paused. “You’ve got plenty of people who’ve never been in a mobile suit before – human and alien – so this is a good chance to see if my test pilots are full of shit or not when it comes to piloting the Shiden being easy to learn.”

    “I see…” Orga’s voice petered out, uncertain of the executive’s burst of candor. “What about combat testing? Let’s say I have a job where I need mobile suits – can I use your Shidens, and if so, will your pilots follow my orders?”

    Dominokols narrowed his eyes at that. The kid is up to something. Just what that something was, he didn’t know, but it was only a matter of time before it revealed itself. Odds were that it was going to shake out in Naze’s favor, either directly or indirectly, and/or rile up Gjallarhorn, because that seemed to be how everything Tekkadan did worked out.

    “Real life combat testing…” McIntyre waved his free hand in a vague manner. “That’s fine. Ideal, even. Gives the Shiden more credibility. The most important thing is making sure the frames and the combat data are recovered.” He puffed a bit on his cigar. “Besides, we’re sending you techs and spare parts, so you should be able to fix any routine damage they take.”

    The conversation moved on to more mundane matters, ending with an agreement to have a finalized contract done by the end of the week. Dominokols shook his head in disbelief, saying only, “You’re handing those kids way too much on a platter.”

    “Maybe,” McIntyre admitted, mashing the stubby remnant of his cigar in an ash tray on his desk. “But the way I see it, this could be a good PR play, like the Old Man is doing with that company Kudelia Aina Bernstein is setting up. Plus they’ve got connections to Arbrau, so I can get an order from these kids and from part of the MNCEA. Worst case, I get data that I can use to improve the product. No matter what I do, I can’t lose.”

    “If you say so,” was Dominokols’ polite response. “Just seems like you’re giving the kids too much leeway.”

    “Well, I figure that it’s better for me to stay out of the way of the Old Man’s favorites,” the older executive replied. “Whether or not they fail or not is all on them.”

    Smart move, Dominokols grudgingly admitted. If someone didn’t approve of Tekkadan, it was probably better to keep quiet and not make waves… at the moment. In the future, though…. Dominokols filed that thought away for later and changed the subject.

    “So, any progress on those probes?”



    Paul Munu nodded at the two guards to the Oceanian Federation’s most secure location, the president’s private briefing room, held out his arms, and spread out his legs. He rolled his eyes as the guards ran scanning wands over his body and the thin brief case he carried, before one of them went off to a computer terminal – set at an angle so that the screen faced a corner – and unlocked the door. Munu had been through the process so many times that he didn’t bother to hesitate and simply walked in.

    The room was simple, with video displays along every wall and a long meeting table with accompanying chairs. Nothing else was present, providing few opportunities for anyone to sneak a listening device in unnoticed. President Nguyen Van Tomas sat at the head of the table, with a paper notepad in front of him, and gestured for Paul to take a seat to his left.

    “So, Paul, what news do you bring from the MNCEA?”

    Munu placed the brief case on the table and opened it, pulling out a thin stack of papers, all treated with a special coating that would obliterate any ink on the page with a simple bit of UV light exposure. “The usual lack of progress on most fronts. In financial terms, every one is throwing money at the problem of reverse engineering the alien technology while trying to learn the basic principles. The only companies with viable products are a pair of medical companies who have been collaborating with the famous Dr. Vass.”

    Van Tomas made a note on his paper. “What are they working on?”

    Munu shuffled through his papers until he found the relevant information. “They describe it as a ‘genetically engineered bioplasm infused with medical nanomachines that tightly grips flesh until subjected to a specific ultrasound frequency.’ It’s intended for first aid applications. They’re calling it ‘medi-gel.’”

    “How soon can it be made available?” Van Tomas asked, making another note.

    “Given the progress they are making in medical trials, they are certain that medi-gel will be approved by all relevant health agencies within the next 6 months.” Munu paused and consulted the documents. “The companies involved are proposing licensing manufacturing of medi-gel to firms in each economic block and the Martian territories, in order to reduce the logistical hurdles of meeting the high demand they project for the product.” Munu looked the president in the eyes. “Based on Ambassador Wong and our agents’ inquiries, it seems that the initial 15% licensing fee is just trial balloon, to see if anyone is desperate enough to pay it. The consensus is that the initial fee will be no higher than 10% for the first few years, then dropping to around 5%, although that is subject to change if a better deal can be worked out.”

    The president nodded and made another note. “Tell Ambassador Wong that if he cannot secure a better deal, the 10% initial license is acceptable. I am sure that some in the Parliament will object, although I suspect they will relent if I propose tax cuts on alien technology derived ventures.”

    Munu jotted that down on a blank sheet. “Any priorities I should keep in mind?”

    “I would like our initial production facility to be in our Martian colony.” Van Tomas noted Munu’s raised eyebrows. “Two reasons. First, private industry here will take care of setting up medi-gel production in our territory. Mars is not so lucky. Second, we need to continue to stoke the discontent towards Gjallarhorn. A new status quo is solidifying, and it is not yet to our advantage.”

    Licking his lips, Munu glanced around the room, which was swept for electronic bugs at least four times a day and immediately before the president arrived. “That’s a… bold assessment, sir.”

    “Unfortunately, I know at least one other leader agrees with me.” The president was referring to Makanai, a close personal friend from his college exchange program days. “The combination of the Mars business and the aliens has given us the perfect opportunity to force a political realignment.” Van Tomas leaned back in comtemplative silence. “Did you know, Paul, that at the end of the Calamity War, that Gjallarhorn pieced together the economic blocks out of what was left of the pre-war governments?”

    “I did.” Munu knew the president was going somewhere with this, so he felt no need to reply.

    “Naturally, Gjallarhorn ensured that they maintained the upper hand,” Von Tomas continued. “And to be fair, in the first few decades of the reconstruction, that was necessary. However, we are long past that point. The balance must be redressed, and quickly, otherwise Gjallarhorn will effectively rule humanity once we expand to the stars.”

    Munu nodded. “That may explain this other bit of news. Our contact inside of Gjallarhorn wishes to make direct contact with you. He wants you to provide him with a countersign phrase to confirm his identity.”

    “Interesting.” The president considered his notepad. “I assume your Mr. Marconi will be the courier.”

    “Of course, sir. I recommend placing whatever countersign you create in a tamper-sealed envelope.” Munu gave him a mirthless smile. “Our associates in Arbrau finally managed to dig up his background, and were kind enough to pass it along.”

    “Ah, what insights have they provided?”

    “Not much, I am afraid.” Munu slid the relevant paper over. “His real name is Todo Mirconen, an Arbrau national born and raised in Chryse. A string of minor misdemeanors and the fact that he worked for Tekkadan for a short time before being fired for “unsatisfactory performance.” He dropped off the grid around that time, then reappeared on Earth a few months later, sometimes in the company of Ms. Avilova. He’s been spotted going to the Tekkadan base outside Edmonton a handful of times.”

    “So, he was recruited by our Gjallarhorn ‘friend,’ then shipped from Mars to Earth on a Gjallarhorn vessel.” Stroking his chin, Von Tomas considered the document before him. “So, he’s a disposable, deniable go-between for our friend, but also a direct connection to the faction with the most access to the aliens and their technology. Whoever our secret ally is, they are smart enough to start building an external coalition to oppose Gjallarhorn, without being too obvious about it.”

    “I must admit, sir, I am growing a bit… concerned that this might be one of two things.” Munu paused and considered his next words. “First, this might be a counter-intelligence operation, aimed at luring us into a position where they can justifiably excuse armed intervention. Second, we may be entangling ourselves in something that exceeds the abilities of this plotter… something that, however well intentioned, is doomed to failure.”

    Von Tomas leaned back in his chair and considered his secretary of state quietly. The silence lasted so long, Munu began fidgeting in his seat, until the president spoke up. “Yes, Paul, there is great risk in what we are doing. But there is no real choice for us in this – we must proceed.” His expression shifted a hair. “I know you have loftier ambitions. But if the Arbrau affair has proven anything, it is that Gjallarhorn is already trying to subvert our governments for their own ends. That cannot be allowed to happen. At the same time, Gjallarhorn is a black box, completely impenetrable to us outsiders… except for this one tiny crack. So I… and the others, in all likelihood, will exploit that crack, no matter how dangerous that path is, because I cannot afford not to.”

    Grimacing, Munu nodded in understanding.

    “I know you have your doubts, Paul, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Then the president did something his subordinate had never seen before: he gave Paul a shit-eating grin. “Besides, how does the saying go? Turnabout is fair play.”



    The weekly Tekkadan Mars branch meeting had been a staple of Orga’s tenure as leader. Every Wednesday, Orga and his most important employees would gather, discuss the state of the business, and workshop ideas on how to improve things. Naturally, this was the main casuality of the documentary process.

    The reason was simple: unless you were visiting a brothel, doing roadwork, or on a construction site, there was literally nothing to do at night in Chryse. Businesses typically closed at 5PM, with grocery stores and a handful of restaurants closing a few hours later. Even the base essentially shutdown at night, with only the night watch officially working. Unofficially, a few small groups of people were working on pet projects, including fabbing an arcade in an unused room in the lower levels.

    Naturally, that meant Caitlyn Staziak shot mostly during the day, aside from one-on-one interviews with various staff members. That led to people being unavailable at different times, so Orga just gave up trying to schedule around that and told everyone to meet after dinner. And so he found himself in a meeting with Merribit, Yukinojo, Mikazuki, Akihiro, Eugene, Biscuit, Vass, Rala, and Raeka long after the sun had set.

    The only reason Staziak wasn’t in there, filming them, was because Orga had firmly established that these meetings often involved confidential business matters, and were therefore off limits.

    As usual, he allowed everyone else to get their piece in before he spoke up. There wasn’t much in terms of problems, beyond the headache of having to increase the protection detail attached to Kudelia’s upcoming public appearances, due to the documentarian’s presence. Things would’ve been far worse if everyone hadn’t convinced both parties to avoid any trips to the slums. Vass’ regular trips were already a nightmare, and keeping an eye on three extra people inclined to wander off and poke around would’ve just made everyone’s lives harder.

    Now it was Orga’s turn to speak, and he decided to let them have the good news first. “Alright, I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that we just finalized a contract with IOS to help them field test their new mobile suits. They’ll be coming around in a few weeks, hopefully after a stop to pick up the APC, now that it’s fixed.” He looked directly at Raeka, who’d been vocally complaining about one specific issue. “Everyone who isn’t already trained as a mobile suit pilot is going to get a chance to pilot them as part of the tests.”

    “It’s about time,” the contrarian Salarian replied, although he couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto his face.

    “If you and everyone else like them, I’ll think about putting in an order with IOS.” Orga shared pained glances with Eugene and Biscuit. “I know Dexter’s going to complain, but the Thrill Seeker should finish its shakedown and be ready to take on contract survey work before we finish up the mobile suit testing, so that should get us some extra income to cover costs, at least until the media stuff gets going.”

    Everyone knew that Tekkadan’s accountant was stressing over their finances on a consistent basis, even with the deals they’d already worked out.

    “More mobile suits mean more techs, supplies, and work,” Eugene pointed out. “We’ll probably need a second ship too.”

    “Yeah, well…” Orga shrugged. “At least we could do more work, I guess.” He sighed deeply. “The bad news is that our friend Montag got in touch with me.”

    Everyone sat up straight, and Orga felt Vass’ probing gaze poring every aspect of his behavior. “He says he’s got a lead on what might be an alien facility on Mars, somewhere in Promethei Planum. I’m thinking that the mobile suit trials give us good cover to get there and do a search, but… that’s just the half the plan.” He licked his lips as he tried to find the best way to say what needed to be said. “The other half is us fighting the Gjallarhorn force that’s going to take the facility, if it’s there. That’s why I want to know what you guys think before I do anything.”

    There was a moment of silence, then almost everyone began asking questions at once. Orga held up his hands, then pointed at Rala.

    “First of all, this is fucking crazy. Second, what the hell’s going to happen to Earth Branch if we do this?”

    Vass remained silent, still watching Orga’s every move.

    “Gjallarhorn’s not going to bother them for two reasons. First, we’ll be going up against whatever force the Arianrhod fleet – the guys we faced at Dort – send to take the facility.” He paused, glanced at Vass’ unreadable face, then came to a decision. “Second – and this information cannot leave this room – ‘Montag’ is actually Brigadier General McGillis Fareed, the commander of the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet… the people who’d be going after Earth Branch. He’ll protect them from any retaliation.”

    As Orga pulled up McGillis’ picture on his omni-tool, he noted the surprise on Vass’ face, not from the facts themselves, but from the decision to reveal them. The next thing he noticed was Biscuit’s look of confused recognition as he dredged through his memories, and Mikazuki’s—

    “Oh, it’s the Chocolate Man.”

    Every head turned towards the shortest member of the group, then Biscuit gasped in recognition. “That’s right, he was one of the Gjallarhorn officers in the car Cookie and Cracker ran in front of!”

    Scowling, Eugene turned to Orga, gesturing at the photo. “How the hell are we supposed to trust this guy? He probably came after us when we were getting off Mars!”

    “You do realize that he was probably working to further his agenda, while also following whatever orders he was operating under at the time,” Vass replied.

    “What is his agenda, anyway?” Merribit interjected. “Why even create this plan if he’s part of Gjallarhorn? Wouldn’t he want this alien base for himself?”

    “Assuming it’s real,” Yukinojo added, glancing over at the aliens.

    Raeka was deep in thought, a sight most of the humans weren’t familiar with. After several long seconds, he finally said, “Did this Fareed guy tell you why he thought there was an alien facility there?”

    Orga nodded. “He said some pre-Calamity War probes found, and I’m quoting, ‘unusal mass concentrations and magnetic field shifts’ in the area.”

    Raeka grimaced and looked at Rala, who nodded back at him. “He might be onto something. Our exploration training taught us that things like that are often signs of a Prothean artifact or facility.”

    That stopped the conversation for a moment, as they all absorbed the true gravity of the situation.

    “This brings us back to why Fareed’s doing this,” Merribit said slowly. “What is he getting out of all this?”

    Orga sighed, knowing no one would be satisified with the answer. “He says Gjallarhorn is corrupt and he wants to reform it. What he means by that, I don’t know.”

    “Well, he’s not wrong about the ‘Gjallarhorn is corrupt’ thing,” Rala opined. “Still doesn’t explain why he’s just not taking the Prothean facility for himself.”

    “If you’ve read many history books, this sort of thing is quite common.” Vass was in full on lecture mode now. “One individual or faction in a complex political situation attempts to engineer situations that help discredit and/or advantage one faction or another to counterbalance a competitor. Taking the facility is not his goal. Most likely, his aim is to damage some competitor inside Gjallarhorn, and possibly strengthen the MNCEA in some way. At the very least, he’s probably expecting the MNCEA to support our efforts to keep the facility out of Gjallarhorn’s hands.”

    “Right, the MNCEA is all about Gjallarhorn not getting its hands on alien tech,” Yukinojo added. “And they can put the squeeze on Gjallarhorn with more taxes. Makes sense that they might get involved in this mess.”

    “But why should we get involved in Gjallarhorn’s problems to begin with?” Merribit’s pleading tone cut Orga to the bone. “I thought we were staying away from high risk jobs.”

    Struggling to find an adequate answer, a wave of relief washed over Orga when Akihiro raised his hand. “Go ahead, Akihiro.”

    “I’ve got a question.” He waited until everyone was looking at him. “Where is Promethei Planum?”

    It was a simple question, with a nice, clean answer. “The south pole, more or less.”

    “How are we going to get there?”

    Another easy one. “We’ll take some shuttles and the Isaribi, load the mobile suits and whatever else we need from the ship to the shuttles, and land.”

    “How are we going to get back?”

    It took a few seconds for Orga to realize Oh shit, that is a good question, by which time he’d already opened his mouth, only to impotently close it when he had no real answer.

    Chuckling, Yukinojo merely said, “Looks like we might be putting the cart before the horse here.”

    “So what do we need to pull this off?” Orga asked, torn between the twin hopes of there being an answer and there not being one.

    “We’ll need an HLV – a Heavy Lift Vehicle,” Yukinojo replied, explaining the acronym to the baffled aliens. “It’s a big vertical take off and landing transport that can make it to orbit with a payload of mobile suits. Chryse hasn’t had one in my lifetime. I don’t know about the other colonies on Mars.”

    “Biscuit, Eugene – look into that.” Pausing, Orga racked his brain for any pertinent information. “Kudelia hasn’t told us everything about her big announcement this week, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s going to ask us to bring VIPs over from the other colonies or deliver stuff there. That’d be a good time to see if we can cut a deal with someone who owns an HLV.”

    Biscuit and Eugene shared a dubious look at each other, but nodded.

    “Maybe we should try to find someone who’s willing to work directly for us,” Rala suggested. “We should be able to save some money that way, right?”

    “It’s complicated,” Biscuit replied, greatly understating the matter. “But that could work.”

    Once again, Merribit cut in. “We’re talking about whether we can do this, but no one’s asking if we should.” She paused and looked around the table. “I don’t think anything good can come from this. We’d be putting our lives in danger for someone else’s gain, when we don’t have to get involved in his problems.”

    The aliens looked at each other and shrugged.

    “Look,” Raeka said, “this is big picture political stuff, human political stuff. We just don’t know enough to say what’s right or not.” He paused and grimaced. “That said, if you ever want to find that outpost, time might be running out. If the data McGillis has is pre-Calamity War, that’s over 300 years old. That Prothean outpost or whatever it is might run out of power today or another few centuries from now, but once it does, it’ll be a lot harder to find it.”

    Eugene grimaced. “Look boss, I hate to say it… but Merribit might be right on this. Don’t get me wrong, I like the idea of screwing Gjallarhorn over, especially after what they did at Dort, but I don’t want to start a fight with them. Not when they’re guaranteed to toss everything they’ve got at us if we find that Prothean base.”

    “I have to agree with Eugene.” Biscuit refused to look Orga in the eye, which bothered him immensely. He didn’t have a problem with anyone being scared, but it was almost as if Biscuit expected Orga would reprimand him for his decision, even though they’d disagreed plenty of times before. Then again, maybe he’s worried about what’d happen to Cookie and Cracker if this goes badly. “We should stay out of it. Maybe we can tell Mr. Makanai about it and let the MNCEA handle it.”

    Orga had to admit that was an appealing idea, but he also knew that they didn’t really have any real military assets, either on Earth or on Mars. That left PMCs and mercenaries, which meant Tekkadan would get sucked in anyway, unless they outright refused to participate. And doing something like that when the stakes were so big might bite them in the ass later. Was it worth risking their reputation like that?

    Akihiro had his eyes closed, clearly deep in thought. When the silence grew to uncomfortable levels, Orga simply called on him to give his opinion. The big man opened his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m not sure what we should do, but I’ll follow your lead.”

    The amount of faith and loyalty in those few words nearly knocked the wind out him, but Orga managed to keep it together before facing the person whose opinion mattered most of all: Mikazuki. He was aware that Vass’ eyes were watching him, assessing him, but none of that concerned him. He could feel Mikazuki’s eyes cutting into him, through him, and yet, this time, he felt there was no judgment or anticipation. It was unsettling for some reason, but Orga couldn’t explain why.

    Then all Mikazuki said was “What do you think, Orga?”

    The question, so unexpected, made him rock back in his seat.

    “I think you’ve all made good points,” he said slowly, trying to piece together his feelings as he spoke, “and to be honest, I’ve had a lot of the same thoughts. But we have to be honest with ourselves.” He was picking up speed as he went, as everything started clicking into place in his head. “The only reason we’re having this conversation is because we were lucky enough to have Dr. Vass stop Milena Dantius. If it wasn’t for that, the Batarians would probably be on their way to kick our asses.”

    He paused and looked around at his companions. “We bought ourselves and Earth a hell of a lot of time, but at any moment, some other aliens could show up and wreck everything. And more importantly, Gjallarhorn is looking for an excuse to come after us after the way we embarrassed them at Dort and Edmonton. Yeah, we can avoid getting into a fight now, but we’re just kicking the can down the road if we do that. If that happens, we might wind up facing them on their home turf, but if we do this, they’ll be facing us on ours.”

    Orga took a deep breath before continuing. “I think we should do this, but on our terms. If we can’t find an HLV, we’ll be upfront with McGillis and tell him we can’t do it. If we can, I’ll have Kudelia take a message to Makanai about this, and if he can get the MNCEA to back this play, I’ll make the final decision based on what we’ve got.” He once again looked each of them in the eye. “I’m not going to back ourselves into a corner if I can help it.”

    With that, the meeting adjourned, with everyone slowly filing out, until only Vass and Orga remained. Orga waited until the door closed and they were totally alone, then said, “You didn’t say much during the meeting.”

    “No, I didn’t,” Vass freely admitted. “The others didn’t need to hear what I have to say.” The Salarian paused and nodded. “It’s good to see you considering the larger picture, as well as the long-term consequences of your decisions. That said, I wish this sort of conundrum wasn’t placed at your feet so soon.”

    “You think I made the right decision?” If there was anyone Orga was comfortable second-guessing himself in front of, it was Vass. Besides, he suspected the alien would criticize him if he didn’t admit his own uncertainty.

    Vass took a deep breath. “I think you’ve made reasonable choices, given the information we know. It would help if we understood more of McGillis’ strategy, as well as his motives. I’ve already given the obvious interpretation of McGillis’ maneuvering, but this might all be a misdirection while he works towards some other goal… or he’s working multiple angles at once. Discerning these things is difficult without a great deal more information.”

    “You know, you’re not making me feel any better.”

    “Ah well, if it’s any comfort, I suspect this plan was improvised fairly recently.” Vass smiled. “The fact that McGillis is sending us to find a possible Prothean outpost tells me that he obtained this information at some point after our arrival in the system.”

    Orga’s expression brightened as he realized the implications. “He’s making some of this up as he goes.”

    “That’s very likely. We are an unexpected variable that no one could have predicted.” Standing, the doctor gave Orga a pat on the shoulder as he headed to the door. “We’re all in uncharted territory now.”

    Nodding, Orga leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath, letting it out slow. It turned into a yawn halfway through, and he realized with a start that he was tired, that whole process had drained him. Stretching, he got up and headed out the door, turning out the lights as he left. To his total lack of surprise, Mikazuki was waiting outside, munching on his Mars Palms.

    “Hey Mika.” The silently started walking towards the barracks, and after a while Orga felt the need to say something. “Thanks for speaking up in the meeting.”

    Mikazuki looked up at him. Anyone else might have had a hard time reading the shorter teen’s face, but Orga could tell he was a bit confused by the comment.

    “If you hadn’t asked me that question, I wouldn’t have said what I said.” Orga sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess it’s a boss thing… keeping a brave face for everybody, that kind of thing. I’m not really used to explaining stuff like that, so it’s easier to not say it.”

    Mikazuki shrugged, his body language saying “If you say so” without having to utter a word.

    “Anyway, you and Akihiro backing me up on this means a lot.” Orga yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Man, I’m beat. I’ll see you in the morning, Mika.”

    Mikazuki nodded, and as they bumped forearms, Orga could see the smile in Mikazuki’s eyes.



    Author's Notes: Yeah, I decided we needed a chapter with some screentime for notorious shitbag Jastley, just to show that rivalry is a thing that is continuing its snowballing growth. The hardest part of that section was figuring out what the appropriate part of the Teiwaz conglomerate would actually build the mobile suits, because Gundam Wiki isn't the most helpful site out there.

    The other two sections wound up being two sides of the same coin: setting up stakes and motivations for people to go along with McGillis' somewhat crazy plan. Let's face it, even canon Orga would be super reluctant to go along with this plan, and he's a hell of lot more reckless than Orga has become in this story. So, given that Edmonton wasn't quite the PR nightmare for Gjallarhorn that it was in canon, since Graze Ein wasn't a thing that highlighted their hypocrisy, I felt it made sense that Orga might fear retaliation for making them look bad. The economic blocks' reasons to get in good with McGillis are pretty obvious, given the political situation.

    Also, super medi-gel! I felt it was fitting to not have medi-gel exist in this story until now, because in ME canon, medi-gel was a human invention. Since IBO humanity has some pretty OP medical nanotechnology, medi-gel should be even more effective.
     
    Chapter 32
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 32

    Chryse has some old world charm to it, Caitlyn Staziak thought as she stared out of the rear windows of an older sedan that Tekkadan had rented. It was the first time she’d actually gotten to see the city in person, and anything that wasn’t obviously early colonial infrastructure had the same sort of aesthetic as the surviving 1600s architecture she’d seen in parts of Europe and North America. But she could see that a lot of the buildings weren’t in the greatest shape, unlike on Earth, where great pains were taken to maintain the historic districts for tourism purposes. There just wasn’t enough money to go around.

    Ed was naturally filming everything, and had even convinced the aliens to whip up some temporary mounts to stick a few small action cameras on top of the car to get cleaner footage. Of course, whether anything useful came out was an open question. Just getting getting to the main highway required going on some pretty rough looking roads, and it was just as likely that the lenses were caked with dirt or cracked by random debris.

    Of course, the building they were heading to, the city’s convention center, was a little newer looking, but it was just a plain blue-gray office building in the part of town overlooking the valley. It wasn’t even particularly large, which made it a joke compared to actual convention centers she’d seen on Earth and the colonies. It was the perfect encapsulation of Chryse, a city whose population had long since outgrown what it could provide.

    The car stopped on one side of the building, behind the other Tekkadan car, and the Salarian bodyguard in the front seat (Caitlyn blanked on his name – there were too many faces in Tekkadan to remember on such short notice) turned around. “Time to get out, folks. Don’t forget your cameras.”

    As three of the four occupants stepped out, leaving the driver in the car, Ed went around the car, popping the four roof cameras off, then slipped them into a compartment on the heavy backpack full of gear that he heaved onto his shoulders. He was loaded for bear with batteries and backup gear, because they were here for an all-day session of schmoozing with the local Martian independence crowd. For Staziak, it was probably the closest she’d get to “ground level” coverage of how bad things were on Mars. To be fair, she understood why none of the Tekkadan people wanted her to get hurt for a wide variety of professional reasons. They just got in the way of her instinctual need to dig into every aspect of the story.

    The documentary crew was quickly shuffled inside the building through the back door and led to the elevators. Much to her annoyance, Kudelia went up first with her bodyguards – an Asari and Mikazuki Augus – while she and Ed were forced to wait for another elevator. If Tekkadan was going to clamp down on where she could go, she wanted as much access as she could get to everything else.

    Thankfully, Kudelia was savvy enough to wait for her companions to arrive before heading into the main meeting hall. Inside the room were dozens of people in fairly casual dress, either sitting at round tables or simply standing around, conversing with each other. As soon as Kudelia entered the room, many of them stopped, then began swarming towards her. Staziak recognized a few of them from her research into the independence movement, but soon she was being introduced to these people, and she swore there was a mischievous glint in the teenager’s eye as she directed people to the documentarian.

    After what seemed like an hour of introductions and proffered business cards, Staziak eventually wound up in a “first row” seat with a handful of the activists. By “front row,” they meant the round table closest to the speaker’s podium, with a terrible view of the projector screen mounted on the wall behind it. After a brief introduction by one of the other attendees, Kudelia stepped up to the podium, plugged in a memory stick, and began speaking.

    “First of all, I’d like to say that it’s wonderful to be with all of you again. It’s been nearly a year since I’ve seen most of you, and I’m proud to say that there’s been a lot of progress towards an economically independent Mars.” There was a great deal of clapping, and much to her irritation, Staziak couldn’t easily look around to examine everyone else’s reactions to Kudelia’s words. “There’s still plenty of work to do to get where we want to be, and well, that’s what I’m here to talk about.”

    There was another wave of clapping as Kudelia put up a slide on the projector that read ADMOSS COMPANY PROPOSAL.

    “What I have here is a basic proposal for a charitable non-profit organization, one that I hope to refine after getting one-on-one feedback from each and every one of you. Since I’ve been working Edmonton these past few months, much of the basic paperwork has already been filed, which means a faster turn around time for this project.” The redheaded teenager advanced the slides. The new slide heading read COMPANY STRUCTURE, with ADMOSS COMPANY below it and three branching arrows pointing to smaller headings that Staziak had a hard time reading from her seat. “The company is going to have three basic operating divisions. The first will be a partnership with Teiwaz to handle mining operations here in Chryse. 25% of the gross revenue from Admoss Company’s cut of the profits will go into paying for operational costs, while the rest will go to funding the second division, a combined school and orphanage. The Montag Company has already agreed to build the facility at no cost, thanks to negotiations with Prime Minister Makanai, and Nobliss Gordon has promised additional funding for upkeep and operations.”

    Staziak narrowed her eyes at that. It was a small thing, easy for most people to miss in the general upbeat tone of the whole presentation, but there hadn’t been any real enthusiasm when Kudelia brought up Nobliss Gordon. In fact, there was more enthusiasm about Makanai helping, which struck her as odd, because politicians rarely were the people activists relied on.

    “The third division of Admoss Company is focused on dealing with the twin problems of malnutrition and the general lack of high value cash crops for farmers to make a sustainable living off of.” Kudelia advanced the slides again, this time to one titled ALIEN CROPS, which was filled with nothing but pictures of alien fruits and vegetables. Undoubtedly odd to most of the people in the room, but quite familiar to the documentarian, who had gotten a painfully in-depth explanation about each and every one of them… although she had to admit, they were all pretty tasty.

    “At the moment, the plan is to develop a distribution network across all the Martian colonies, selling seeds to small to medium sized farms. In terms of financials, at most 50% of the revenue can be allocated to operational costs, while the rest is used to help train farmers, provide meals to the homeless, and other charitable activities.” Kudelia paused and looked at the audience. “These are just preliminary plans, and I hope to get a lot of input on how to improve them from you all.”

    After some platitudes, Kudelia wrapped up the presentation and announced that the one-on-one meetings would proceed in alphabetical order, which suited Staziak fine. It gave her some time to mingle with the people at her table, and there was plenty of time to get footage with the rest. So she gently began pumping the activists for info, with Ed taking a seat to get a cozier camera angle.

    It didn’t take much to get them talking. That was her gift – the ability to read people, combined with her own genuine interest in the subject matter of her documentaries. It was rather amazing what you could get people to reveal by just showing interest in a person’s job or life.

    Most of it was flavor, a mix of war stories about the activist scene before and after Kudelia’s arrival on the scene. After some gentle steering, Staziak got Brubacker, a balding ebony skinned man, to more contemporary subjects.

    “Now, when it comes to our newest residents…” Brubacker paused, clearly relishing his turn as raconteur. “Honestly, I cannot say enough good things about them. That doctor of theirs in particular.”

    “A miracle worker,” a middle-aged woman by the name of Constance Williams interjected. “I won’t deny that our homegrown health and charitable agencies have done great work, but that Dr. Vass has done far more with practically nothing. Imagine what he could do with a proper hospital.” Williams paused as an event aide told Brubacker that it was time for him to speak with Kudelia. “Honestly, we’re all aware that money makes the worlds go around. So we understand why Miss Kudelia is engaging in these partnerships, but it’s… a bit frustrating that corporate money is getting involved.”

    “Is it because it’s not Martian money, or just corporate involvement in general?”

    Williams barked out a harsh laugh. “Both, really! Corporate money always comes with strings attached, but if it was Martian money, there’s more reason to believe that it’s being given out of a genuine desire to help the community, instead of as a tax break or a PR stunt or whatever.” She paused and tapped her finger on her chin. “Well, the Montag Company has always been more of a philanthropic agency, but they’re an exception.”

    Staziak simply nodded and smiled, letting Williams expound on the issues she had with the conditions on Mars and what resources were available. Thankfully, Williams became engrossed in a conversation with a colleague from another table, freeing the documentarian to go off and mingle with the other activists. That led her to share a table with Allium Gyojan, the leader of Terra Liberionis.

    On first glance, he was an unimpressive, middle-aged man in a blue turtleneck sweater, but Staziak sensed that there was more lurking under the pleasant fascade he was presenting. Then again, once you got him started, it was pretty easy to tell what that was.

    “Obviously, Miss Bernstein has been a great contributor to the cause of Martian independence,” Gyojan was saying. “She’s certainly a celebrity throughout the system, a key link to the Arbrau government and Teiwaz, and our newest residents. But I fear she might be becoming too much of a focus for the movement.”

    “How so?”

    “Well…” Gyojan paused for a few moments, stalling to figure out the least damning way to make his point. “The truth is, donors are always looking to maximize their investment. My organization, Terra Liberionis, has already seen a 25% decline in contributions since the Arbrau general election. I fully expect most of them to back Miss Bernstein’s organization, once it gets off the ground, despite the fact that this Admoss Company is not engaging in political action.”

    “So, it’s all about how deep the pocket books are?”

    Chuckling darkly, his reply was simple: “Here on Mars, there are few people with deep pockets. And those that do are not ones to spend frivolously.”

    Steering the conversation into safer territory, Staziak was left with one question she knew she couldn’t ask, and would never get an answer to if she did. It was something she’d seen plenty of times on Earth and the colonies whenever she interacted with these sorts of groups. They all lived for and benefited from the cause, so what happened once they actually achieved their goal?

    She had a funny feeling that Kudelia was the only one to have thought that far ahead.



    Mikazuki clambered up into Shuttle 1, taking a seat right next to Biscuit, as Kudelia, Staziak and Ed, and the protection detail settled into their chosen locations. This was the last flight to the other colonies as part of Kudelia’s press tour for her new company, and the last opportunity for Tekkadan to get its hands on an HLV. After visiting the SAU and African Union colonies, only the Oceanian Federation one was left to scout out.

    As Biscuit’s bodyguard for the negotiations, he knew that all the HLV owners wanted too much money or demanded things that Orga would never agree to. The odds were that these two HLV owners would follow the same pattern: ask for a lot of money and/or contract terms Orga would refuse, politely decline and accept the Tekkadan business card, and send them on their way. The end result would be Tekkadan refusing to be part of the Chocolate Man’s plan, because no HLV meant no way to get the mobile suits to the spot where the alien outpost might be.

    Mikazuki completely understood Orga’s decision to take up the Chocolate Man’s offer… with conditions. Gjallarhorn was like the many bullies they’d seen on the streets of Chryse: you could run and hide from them for a while, but inevitably, there’d come a moment when fighting was the only way to get them to stop. The trick to winning was setting as many things in your favor before the fight even started. Orga was good with that, so they wound up winning a lot.

    He also understood why Orga was not enthusiastic about the plan. Gjallarhorn had a huge fleet and way more mobile suits than they could ever hope to beat. They were relying on the Chocolate Man having a lot of say in things to keep them safe, which they couldn’t depend on. There were a lot of things that could go wrong, and he understood why everyone was secretly hoping that they could refuse the job.

    The Gundam pilot took a quick glance at Staziak. Orga knew she’d ask a lot of questions about what he and Biscuit were doing, so she’d been told that they were trying to contract someone with an HLV to help with a mobile suit testing job they were hired to do. It was the truth, but not all of it – just enough to keep her from snooping around and possibly causing trouble for everyone.

    A dust cloud enveloped the shuttle as it lifted off, and Mikazuki watched the dust slowly drift back down to the ground as the alien vehicle gained altitude. The experience of riding the alien shuttle was completely different than the shuttle Tekkadan had used to get off Mars, all the way back when their journey with Kudelia began. That it showed the superiority of alien technology over that of human technology in the same field was obvious. But part of him wondered if he’d live long enough to see humanity create their own mass effect powered shuttles.

    A lifetime on the hard streets of Chryse and in the CGS made those kinds of thoughts idle dreams. When death was around every corner, long term thinking was pointless. Mikazuki himself would admit his dream of being a farmer was wildly optimistic… but things were changing, in Tekkadan and on Mars in general. These days, he couldn’t say anything was impossible.

    The shuttle settled into orbit of Mars, then gently accelerated in the direction of the Oceanian colony, Cahya. Rocking as it entered the atmosphere, the pilot began a leisurely corkscrew path down to the city’s spaceport, giving the passengers ample time to survey their destination. As they shed altitude, a familiar picture appeared, that of scattered districts of small buildings, mixed with roads and old monolithic structures from long before the Calamity War. A smattering of farms, a junkyard, and what looked like a small base or two completed the archetype that all Martian colonies inhabited.

    Mikazuki’s keen eyes looked over the city, searching for what they had come to obtain. After the last few trips, he was familiar with what an HLV looked like from the air—

    He blinked and motioned to Biscuit. “There’s three HLVs here.”

    “What?” Biscuit moved over to the window and peered at the city. “Our information only said there were two.” He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his head. “I guess the public info is out of date…”

    Mikazuki narrowed his eyes. Unexpected things usually caused problems in his experience, and in a foreign city, problems could get messy quite easily. He hadn’t had to shoot or kill anyone yet, but there was plenty of time for it to happen.

    After touchdown and assigning a small guard to keep the shuttle safe (always a worry when in non-Tekkadan controlled territory), Mikazuki and Biscuit climbed into a chauffeured car with a local driver. MIkazuki frowned as he caught his first glance of the driver, a mid-to-late twenties looking stoner-type. There were plenty of them in Chryse, and any of them would sell out a person in a heart-beat. They tended to have a hard time keeping jobs, and what jobs they did keep were often small-time gigs like this. Anyone with an agenda could easily bribe them with a relative pittance.

    Neither member of Tekkadan bothered asking the driver about the mysterious third HLV, instead opting to go directly to first of the two HLV owners. Like all the others, the building was on the outskirts of town, with the vehicle itself towering over most of the structures in the vicinity. And like the previous trips, they were given a friendly welcome, a tour, and an offer that Tekkadan absolutely could not afford to accept.

    When the second HLV turned out to be on the exact opposite side of town, Mikazuki and Biscuit inferred that there might some kind of gentlemen’s agreement to split business between the two. While they went through the motions again, they were listening for any clues about the relationship between the competing HLV owners, as well as the mysterious third HLV. All they got was some offense at visiting the competition – which Biscuit explained away as just visiting in alphabetical order – and what seemed like an overt attempt to ignore the fact that a third HLV existed within the city limits.

    After the negotiations hit the same brick walls all the others did, Mikazuki and Biscuit walked out to the car, only to find it empty and with a note under the wipers: “Out for lunch.”

    “Well,” Biscuit looked down the street, which was lined with food trucks and temporary eating arrangements, “maybe we can find him.”

    Mikazuki shrugged, mostly because he suspected that the driver was actually trying to score some drugs.

    After fifteen minutes of going down the line in a fruitless search for the driver, both boys decided to grab a meal of their own, staying together for safety’s sake. They chose a food truck with a big “KOREAN BBQ” label slapped on the side in English, not really expecting much of anything besides a good meal. It happened to be the break they were waiting for.

    The cashier was a teenage girl, a few years older than either of the two Tekkadan boys, who might not have given them anything beyond good food, if Mikazuki hadn’t turned to see if where a free table was, and in the process, showed off the Tekkadan logo on the back of his jacket.

    “Hey, you’re those Tekkadan guys, right?!” As Mikazuki swung around to look at her, she leaned in towards Biscuit and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You’re here for an HLV, right?”

    Casting his eyes about without looking too conspicuous, Biscuit lowered his voice too in reply. “What makes you think that?”

    “Nobody comes here unless they work here or need an HLV.” The cashier took another quick look around. “You know there’s a third HLV here?”

    “We may have seen that on the way in,” Biscuit admitted as Mikazuki kept an eye out for eavesdroppers.

    “Well, the lady – her name’s Lisa – who owns it is a regular at my folks place,” the girl added, again glancing around. “The big guys don’t want her to cut in on their market… and I’m kinda worried how far they’ll go.”

    “We’ll see what we can do…” Biscuit paused, keeping the same low tone. “Do you happen to know how to get there?”

    She quickly wrote the address down and handed it to him, along with his receipt. Both boys silently slipped her some extra cash as thanks, then took their food and ate it quietly, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. Towards the end of their meal, they were joined by their driver, who’d stumbled out of the brick cube that served as the public bathrooms. The way he sniffled and his bloodshot eyes convinced Mikazuki that he’d scored a quick high, but neither Tekkadan boy brought it up.

    “So… uh… anywhere else you want to go?” The driver managed to not slur his words, implying that he was functional enough to get them there without crashing. “Besides back to the spaceport?”

    “Yeah, Patel’s Scrap & Stuff.”

    The driver didn’t even shrug. “Sure, whatever. Ready to go?”

    Five minutes later, they were on the road again.

    Patel’s Scrap & Stuff was a scrap heap covering dozens of square miles, with HLV being the single largest intact object within viewing distance, towering above even the tallest buildings nearby. While the other HLVs they’s seen had been weathered, the one here was covered in stains, corrosion, and flaking paint. As Biscuit negotiated with Patel, an old Indian man who looked about Makanai’s age, to get inside, Mikazuki kept an eye on the driver, who was cranking his seat back for a nap. Even at this late stage, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that the driver could sell them out, and resolved that if he did sell them out, he would die first when the ambush happened.

    Once inside, the two Tekkadan boys walked past row after row of rusting, partly disassembled vehicles, mobile workers, and heavy machinery on their way to the HLV’s ramp. To the side of the ramp was a wooden post with a box mounted on it and a sign that read “Call to come in”. Biscuit picked up the phone inside, clicked the CALL button, and said, “Uh… Hello? We’d like to speak to the owner.”

    An uncomfortable silence settled upon them, and after five minutes, Mikazuki just shrugged at the helpless Biscuit. Sighing, the other boy looked at the phone, pressed the CALL button a few times, and tried again. Five minutes after that, he hung up the phone, peered into the maw of the HLV, and sighed. “Think there’s a phone in there?”

    “Maybe.” Having spent the last few minutes visually inspecting the phone line – it didn’t seem to be broken – Mikazuki could guess what the plan was going to be.

    “Alright, we go in, find a phone, and try to get in touch with this Lisa lady.” Biscuit started towards the ramp, but Mikazuki grabbed his wrist.

    “I’ll go in first.”

    With that, he slowly walked inside, one hand ready to grab the silenced mass effect pistol he carried. As his eyes adjusted to the darker lighting inside the HLV, he spotted a phone tucked into an alcove directly opposite the door. That alcove was bracketed by a pair of massive white legs, which were connected to banged up mobile suit that was missing its left arm and had thick cables connected to the reactor. The rest of the compartment was crammed full of crates and miscellaneous debris in various states of decay.

    After peeking into some of the darker corners, he used hand signals to give Biscuit the all clear, then began looking for a hatch, just in case the phone didn’t work. Mikazuki’s suspicions were confirmed when Biscuit tried to call, then shook his head. By that time, he’d found the hatch, dogged tight, but not locked, much to his surprise. Considering their surroundings, and the implied threat to Lisa, leaving a door unlocked was an invitation for disaster. His best efforts at inspecting the ceiling hadn’t spotted any surveillance cameras, but he supposed there might be some mixed in with the varied equipment mounted up there.

    The hatch led directly into a heavily reinforced square spiral staircase, which they grudgingly climbed. After a few levels with hatches on the outside bulkhead, clearly part of the hangar they had just been in, there was a sizable gap before the next hatch appeared, this time on the inside bulkhead. These hatches had a viewport and a phone next to them, but were all locked, and given Biscuit didn’t even bother trying the phone, devoid of obvious signs of life.

    Finally, at the top, at the last hatch, there was a sign of life.

    “I think that might be her,” Biscuit muttered as he peered through the viewport. He picked up the phone, then when a bell failed to ring, he kicked the hatch three times to get her attention.

    Mikazuki was impressed when a blistering wave of profanity blasted through the phone loud enough for him to hear, especially since he suspected the phone was sound-powered. It took a few minutes for Biscuit to explain about the other broken phones, which was followed by more cursing, the line going dead, and then the hatch opening to reveal an angry Asian woman.

    “Goddamn fuses blew out again,” she said. She was at most in her mid-twenties, with a pony-tail reaching down between her shoulders and a heavily stained gray jumpsuit. Mikazuki wouldn’t have been surprised to see her with the Turbines, except that the anger wouldn’t have fit in at all. “Get in here and tell me who the hell you are.”

    “Uh, we’re with Tekkadan,” Biscuit replied as they walked into the compartment. The room was covered in control panels, tool boxes, parts, and rags, with the only window in sight being on a hatch on the opposite side. The thing that stuck out the most were the pair of chairs in the center of the room, each attached to two thick columns, with swing out instrument and control panels mounted to the chairs themselves.

    “Tekka—oh right, the b— kids with the aliens.” Lisa spotted Mikazuki examining the chairs, and said, “They rotate so that they face the ceiling when you launch and land. Helps with the G forces.” Returning her attention to Biscuit, she said, “So, you guys want an HLV. How’d you guys hear about me?”

    “Well, we saw your HLV when we flew in, and the cashier at a food truck told us to come here.”

    As Biscuit and Lisa settled into the business conversation, Mikazuki felt comfortable enough to take his eyes off of her and examine the rest of the compartment in greater detail. As he peered at the various boxes, he noted that the conversation was going much better than the others. For one thing, Lisa was actually looking at the material Biscuit was handing her.

    Wandering around, he found himself looking a box of rags. Normally, this would’ve been unremarkable, except on the top of the pile was a light gray rag that had a large red stain. In fact, it was multiple stains overlapping each other.

    Lisa noticed him looking at the rags and announced, “That’s the one I use when I get cut up working on this thing.” She rolled up one of her sleeves to show a number of thin scars, presumably from working in the messy environment.

    Mikazuki wasn’t sure that explained all the blood on the rag, but he left it alone… for now.

    As soon as the conversation turned towards hiring her as a Tekkadan employee, he felt somewhat confident that a deal would happen, especially when she started asking about health benefits. That said, he still had doubts, once of which was voiced by Biscuit: “Are you sure this thing is spaceworthy?”

    “First thing I checked after I got it,” Lisa replied. “The paint is trashed, but the hull is in good shape. It’ll get up to orbit and back without any problems… at least once. Don’t have enough money to pay for more fuel.”

    “Uh huh.” Biscuit made a note of that, then asked, “What about all the systems inside?”

    “Well, the bum I got this from told me the avionics and life support fine, and everything I’ve done to test them says they work.” She shrugged and gestured towards the rest of the massive craft. “It’s all the other stuff that’s various levels of fucked.”

    Biscuit sighed and ran his hand over the back of his head. “Okay, well, I’ll take what we’ve got to my boss, and if he likes it, we’ll work out the finer details remotely before having you come over.”

    “Yeah, sure, kid.” The woman got on her feet, putting the papers he’d given her to the side and fished for a business card in one of her pockets. “This is how to get in touch with me.”

    Biscuit pocketed the card and handed over a Tekkadan one. “Alright, we’ll be leaving now.”

    Mikazuki moved towards the hatch, noting that Lisa said nothing and refused to turn her back on them.

    Once they were halfway down the stairs, he said, “I think she’s sick.”

    “Yeah, I kinda got that feeling when she started asking about benefits.” Biscuit shook his head and sighed. “I just hope it isn’t something major. I don’t think Orga would say no to hiring her, just because of that, but it’d suck if she wound up in a hospital for months… Although I guess that’d be a reason for Orga to back out of the deal with… uh… Montag.”

    Mikazuki nodded, expecting that sort of reaction. Then a thought occurred to him. “Do you think the Chocolate Man could have some guys keep an eye on things here?”

    “I dunno, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.” Again, Biscuit sighed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Todo had some contacts who could do the job.”

    That resolved the major worry the Gundam pilot had, that the competing HLV owners might attempt to eliminate their competitor if they learned she had a client. Even though there was zero chance that either Tekkadan boy would tell the driver about it, the stoner could ruin things by simply mentioning their trip to the scrap yard to the wrong person. In simpler times, they could’ve just shot him as a precaution, but since they were here on business at the same time Kudelia was, it’d cause a lot of problems.

    Mikazuki couldn’t wait to get back to Chryse, because there was a simple, ugly truth he’d learned on these trips: all these places were the same, but at least at home, you knew who could trust.



    The end of week state of the fleet briefing was something Gaelio dreaded, not because of the work or who he was doing it with, but because of the seating arrangement.

    When McGillis had brought in the large, black leather couch (technically a sofa, but it was listed as a couch) for meetings, he chose a model with five seats, allowing the three officers to maintain a comfortable and professional distance from each other. Gaelio wholeheartedly approved of the reasoning behind the couch and the specific model chosen. He just didn’t like being the one stuck in the middle.

    To his left was Lieutenant Isurugi Camice, a man from the colonies and a crucial connection to the growing mass of discontent amongst the ranks. Gaelio wasn’t sure exactly how and when Isurugi had come to McGillis’ attention, but the man’s service record was impeccable, with the only apparent explanation for his low rank was lack of interest or connections in the political side of Gjallarhorn. He was exactly the kind of person that McGillis’ reform platform would appeal to, which was why he was McGillis’ aide… and he happened to be way too much like the late Ein Dalton for Gaelio’s comfort.

    On the right was Lieutenant Clair Heathrow, a brunette with a pixie cut and a bubbly personality, who was Gaelio’s aide. Besides being quite competent, she won the role by virtue of not being Ein Dalton. She was friendly and outgoing, and most importantly, she had a lot of stories to tell. Some of them were the typical stuff one would expect from a low-ranking soldier – comical misadventures and headbanging tales of incompetence – while others were created whole cloth from her imagination, tales of Gundams fighting menaces in entirely different histories. Unsurprisingly, she was thinking about a career in the entertainment business after her term of service was done.

    Thankfully, this week was a short meeting, mostly covering training progression and proposals for materiel and personnel to transfer to the Inspection Bureau. The steady improvements in performance were all welcome and took the edge off of the impending cuts, but it was all just going through the motions for the two senior officers. All the real decision making would be happening later that night, at McGillis’ house.

    When the meeting adjourned, Gaelio made sure to spend a few moments checking on the well-being of his aide. “You guys still on for that reunion of yours?”

    “Yup, everyone managed to make it just in the nick of time.” Claire’s irrepressible peppiness was infectious, and Gaelio found himself smiling. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

    He waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, I’d just be stealing the spotlight. This night’s for you guys – it’s not often you can get together with most of your academy buddies, and you should enjoy not having a senior officer hanging around… even if they’re as handsome and dashing as I am.”

    The two of them shared a laugh at that, with Gaelio breathing a sigh of relief afterwards. A distracted Claire was a Claire who wouldn’t be around to pass on inconvenient messages or start questioning the social lives of her superiors. While Gaelio felt she would be onboard with the reform agenda, he questioned her ability to keep a secret, especially if it was a good story.

    Proceeding home to shed his uniform, he confronted the most formidable obstacle on his journey to McGillis’ place: his sister. As usual, Almiria complained a lot whenever she was left out of a social gathering with McGillis, but this was the exact sort of thing she couldn’t be associated with. Not just because she was a child and didn’t need to be involved in the political side of Gjallarhorn any more than she was, but as a ten-year-old girl, she had absolutely no concept of operational security and secrecy, and would probably blab the secret plans to her father or classmates. If that happened, Rustal Ellion would eliminate the two of them without hesitation.

    So he did his best to make the whole thing completely unappealing to a child. “Look, all we’re going to be doing is having dinner and complaining about budgets. You’re not going to miss anything.”

    “Uh huh.” Almiria’s skeptical tone and expression so full of doubt that Gaelio began shifting uneasily and looking for a quick exit to the conversation. “Is that all you’re going to talk about?”

    “No, we’re going to talk about how to hide from nosy little girls.”

    The withering glare and way Almiria spun on her heel in disgust made him feel ancient, as the memory of a high school girlfriend who’d done the same thing to him many years back suddenly resurfaced. Gaelio decided to add a mental note to warn McGillis about the vicissitudes of women, especially ones who felt like they weren’t getting enough attention. He wasn’t sure exactly how McGillis’ next visit to the Bauduin household would go, but he expected a lot of pouting was in their future.

    After the usual commute to the Fareed family home, Gaelio found himself in the dining room, enjoying seared barracuda with rice pilaf. While McGillis had fired a number of the long-time staff after his father's exile, the cooks had either been spared or replaced with equally skilled chefs, because the meal was exquisite. After some dinner chatter, including the heads up on the Almiria situation, the two men retired to the parlor, where McGillis had a backgammon game set up on the coffee table.

    “Just something to get us into the right mindset,” McGillis explained as he distributed the pieces. “Todo will be calling us in a bit to update us on what he’s found.”

    “Oh boy, I can’t wait,” Gaelio replied, setting himself on the white side of the board. “No stakes, right?”

    “No need to make this more complicated than it needs to be.” McGillis set a tablet to the side, shook his dice, rolled them, and moved his first two pieces. “Right now, I’m having Todo focus mostly on finding out how Rustal controls the media.”

    Rolling his own dice, Gaelio advanced his first pieces. “Makes sense. As long as he controls the media, he can shape the narrative however he wants.”

    “Exactly.” Once again, McGillis advanced his rearmost pieces. “Todo’s investigation has already borne some fruit. Whatever Rustal has is not quite as powerful as a sufficiently large amount of money. That was how the Announcement was made – Nobliss Gordon was able to pay them enough money to ignore the communications blackout at Dort.”

    “Think he knew about that?”

    McGillis shook his head. “From what Tekkadan and Teiwaz have publicly revealed, as well as their behavior over the last few months, the information was heavily compartmentalized. I wouldn’t be surprised if he learned about it when everyone else did.”

    Any follow up questions Gaelio had died in his throat as Todo’s call came in. The voice quality wasn’t the best, presumably because of whatever means McGillis was securing the line, but it was clear enough to do the job.

    “Ey boss, checking in as usual.”

    “Any progress?” McGillis barely skipped a beat as he continued playing the game.

    “Well, first, the brats have a request.” Todo paused and the faint sound of rustling papers could be heard. “They want to know if you could provide some muscle to protect someone in the Oceanian colony on Mars. Some kind of turf war is going on and someone they want to hire is in the middle of it.”

    McGillis played with a lock of his hair as Gaelio made his latest move. “What does this person do?”

    “They’ve got an HLV.”

    Gaelio looked up sharply at that. He’d done his homework after McGillis proposed having Tekkadan set a trap for the Arianrhod fleet, and knew that an HLV was required for them to play their part in the scheme. What surprised him was that Tekkadan was going along with the plan to begin with, and he wondered what, if anything, McGillis had that could compel them to cooperate.

    “Use whatever funds are available in the accounts I’ve made available,” McGillis said without a hint of hesitation. “I’ll leave the details to you. I’m sure you have contacts who can provide the appropriate services.”

    “Gotcha.” Once again, the rustling of paper could be heard. “Anyway, been digging into the stuff you asked me to. Nothing concrete, but there’s a lot of sketchy financial stuff here. Somebody who’s better at looking at this kinda thing could tell you if it’s anything useful.”

    “I see.” McGillis sighed. “I’ll see if I can find a discrete financial analyst to examine that information.”

    “Anyway, I’m moving on to crime stuff. I’ve heard about some sketchy things that might be related to the job.”

    “Keep your eyes open,” the general advised. “And try not to be too obvious when delving into court records. Trying to access high profile case files may attract undo attention.”

    “I hear ya, boss. Anything else?”

    “Not at the moment.” McGillis cut the line and looked at Gaelio. “You have questions.”

    “Well, yeah.” Gaelio leaned back in his seat and rubbed his face. “I get looking into financial records, but why criminal records?”

    His best friend gave him a “come on, man” look that made Gaelio hot under the collar. “Consider that Rustal Ellion’s plan for the Dort colonies involved a premeditated false flag attack. He clearly has no moral scruples when it comes to accomplishing his goals. It would not be a stretch for him to interfere in the prosecution of criminals in order to gain leverage over specific, powerful individuals in the media.”

    Gaelio turned that over in his mind a few times, and eventually, it clicked. “Okay, let’s say he did do that… How are we going to deal with it?”

    “That will depend on how exactly Rustal managed to interfere with the cases.” Frowning, McGillis turned his attention back to the game board, where both players had clumped their pieces close enough to impede the other’s movement. “Ideally, we’d be able to arrest them again for new cases of the same crimes. Unfortunately, going after one of these individuals would tip him off, so in order to deal with them properly, we’d need a way to simultaneously apprehend them all.”

    “And obviously, we’d need current intel, and probably the cooperation of the economic blocks to do that, because they’re not going to be happy with us running an operation that big.” Gaelio ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if we can talk them into it, not with Gjallarhorn’s reputation the way it is now, and especially not after Rustal makes his play for that Mars installation that may or may not exist.”

    “You might be surprised.” McGillis leaned back into his chair. “Part of my mandate is rehabilitating relations with the economic blocks. I’m pursuing several avenues to that end.”

    “Okay…” Gaelio would’ve let the point pass, but there was something nagging at the edge of his consciousness that forced him to confront it. “How in the world do you intend to get them to work with us on this? It’s not like you’re going to tell them we’re going to lead a revolt against the Arianrhod fleet.”

    The silence that followed and McGillis’ lack of expression sent spikes of ice through his heart.

    “You can’t be serious,” Gaelio added. “If you tell them that, then the odds of Rustal finding out about us go up… a lot.”

    “Perhaps,” McGillis acknowledged. “But if we limit the number of people who are aware of us, we should still be safe, while gaining the benefits of additional support from outside of Gjallarhorn.”

    “Okay, but is that worth the risk? We still have plenty of time to build up our support base.”

    “Not necessarily.” McGillis motioned to the backgammon board. “At the moment, we’re in a position to stymie Rustal and his agenda, while not being able to advance our own agenda beyond token moves.” He held up a hand as Gaelio began to protest. “Consider the larger picture. If Rustal successfully positions himself in the dominant leadership position, he will inevitably shape the interstellar foreign policy of humanity. At that point, our ability to enact change will be eliminated, so we must defeat him before that point, which will be sooner than either of us might anticipate. Therefore, we must look outside Gjallarhorn for anything that could provide us with a potential advantage when that time comes.”

    “I see where you’re coming from.” Gaelio spoke slowly, piecing together multiple threads of his troubled thoughts. “But I think you’re rushing things, and when you get down to it… this is a Gjallarhorn problem. We shouldn’t need to get outsiders involved.”

    McGillis nodded thoughtfully. “You are right that in an ideal world, we wouldn’t need the support of outside factions. However, this is not an ideal world.” Something in his eyes changed, something Gaelio could not quite explain, but knew was important in some way he couldn’t quite grasp. “Simply trying to unseat Rustal Ellion under the banner of a just cause will accomplish nothing. He will simply manipulate public opinion through the use of a false flag attack or some other deception, which could win him a protracted conflict. Therefore, we must amass as much force as possible to bring the conflict to a swift and decisive end as quickly as possible… and if we can’t win, we must make it a Pyrrhic victory for him.”

    A chill ran down Gaelio’s spine upon hearing those words. “Why?”

    “Because if we don’t, nothing will change.” McGillis locked his with his friend, and Gaelio felt a jolt of energy pass between them. “You said that I am rushing things, but I believe with every fiber in my being that we’re living on borrowed time. The aliens Tekkadan encountered are merely the first humanity has encountered… and any day, more could come. Gjallarhorn as it is now is not ready to meet them on their terms. You and I both know that whatever policy crafted by the current leadership for interstellar expansion will be an extension of existing policy… and the problems of today will continue. And when the aliens come, they will be able to force humanity to accept their terms, because Gjallarhorn will have ceded the initiative.”

    Dazed, Gaelio sat there, absorbing McGillis’ screed. He had to admit that it was all very compelling and well reasoned, which was to be expected. McGillis always had a clarity of vision that Gaelio envied – in fact, that drove much of Gaelio’s attempts to gain his attention in the early years of their friendship. But something about the way he approached things showed a clear disconnect with the things Gaelio held to be true... and that bothered him.

    “So… what are the economic blocks going to get out of this?” He asked, trying to figure out the source of his discomfort. “Besides taking Rustal Ellion out of the picture.”

    “That’s quite simple, really.” McGillis’ voice was steady and confident, daring Gaelio to find fault with the plan. “The ability to shape the future.”



    Author's Notes: This took a little bit longer than I was hoping for, but at least I got it in before the New Year!

    The Admoss Company is really vaguely defined in terms of how it operates in canon, so I went with my best guess of how it could be organized, then added some crossover specific stuff on top. We get surprisingly little info about the larger movement supporting Kudelia, so I had to include that guy from season 2, and I figured I might as well set up that resentment now.

    If you're a big Gundam nerd, you may recognize the name Claire Heathrow and be like "What's she doing here?" The answer is "She's in all the Gundam works, that's how she knows all the references." Also, making OCs gets tiring, and I'm going to need a bunch for the Shiden test team, so I decided incorporating my little head canon would let me avoid making a spreadsheet for all my OCs for a few more weeks.

    Also, I have eaten barracuda and can personally attest to it being good. If you're ever in a seafood restaurant in coastal Florida and see it on the menu, make sure you try it.
     
    Chapter 33
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 33

    “You know, I forgot how much I missed flying this old tub.” Nevara stood in the private communications center on the Thrill Seeker, a small compartment that only existed to house the holographic projector for the Quantum Entanglement Communcator. It was just large enough for three people to stand side-by-side, with one side having the holographic projector hardware jutting out of the overhead and bulkheads. “I mean, sure, we’re going super slow and could run into problems at any moment, but we’re out of the asteroid, at least.”

    “Yeah, I imagine months of paperwork was a nightmare,” the image of Orga Itsuka replied. Because none the human QEC installations were hooked up to the full sensor suites that were common in Citadel space, the holograms were all flat images floating in air. Attempts to have the computer extrapolate a 3D human hologram tended to end in disaster, as the algorithms assumed that the humans had Asari skull structures and created nightmares.
    “How are things going?”

    “Fine, for now. The Ahab reactor is doing fine, the inertial compensators are doing great, the fusion torches are burning hard and strong. Everyone in the system knows where we are now, but we only lit up once we were far enough away from the Black Site.” Nevara yawned and stretched out, feeling the synthetic leather of her new Tekkadan jacket tighten around her shoulders. The khaki and black jackets, paired with khaki pants, were the new, official uniform for anyone who wasn’t a holdover from CGS. “We’ll be rendezvousing with the Turbines transport in a few hours, hand off the APC, and then proceed back to the asteroid belt to begin properly shaking this ship down.”

    “That’s good. Things are shaking out pretty well over here. We should have the HLV refurbished by the time they get here.” Orga leaned back in his chair. “By the way, I got your memo about the tamper seals on the APC container. That seems like it’s a bit much.”

    “Hey, I don’t know what those IOS nimrods might try to do when they’re bored.” She shrugged. “I know the Turbines and us Tekkadan folks are pros, but I don’t want to take a chance on some adrenaline junkie test pilot doing something stupid and trying to blame us.”

    “I get that, I just don’t get why you had to carbon-copy it to the Turbines and Teiwaz too.”

    “Eh, force of habit. Milena was kinda anal about things, so we got used to sending stuff to as many people as possible to cover our asses.” Again, the Asari shrugged. “I figured that it wouldn’t hurt and make us look good to some of the more annoying brass.”

    Orga’s eyes narrowed. “Has anyone been causing trouble?”

    “Nah, but that Jastley guy is pretty annoying. He’s kind of a stuck-up asshole, you know what I mean? I don’t think you’ve run into him before, but he’s always complaining about how long and how expensive work on the Seeker is going.”

    “How come I’m only hearing about this now?” Orga’s face was a strange mix of concern and annoyance, and Nevara wondered what he was thinking.

    “Well, for one thing, we didn’t have a direct, private line, and I wasn’t going to put any of that stuff through a comm system Teiwaz might’ve tapped. And to be honest, you didn’t need the stress.”

    “Are you even sure this thing isn’t tapped?”

    “Don’t worry, Vorhess cleaned out Dr. Vass’ bugs and made sure no one spliced anything into the system.” Nevara gave him a rueful smile. “We’ve got weekly checks to make sure no one screws with anything, just in case.”

    Orga chuckled. “We should probably do that too.” His omni-tool suddenly flashed to life, and he let out a deep sigh. “Time for more paperwork.”

    “Nothing too severe, I hope.”

    “No, just tedious. Work visa and permits for the HLV and its pilot.” Orga gave her an impish smirk. “Would’ve been way worse if Kudelia wasn’t greasing the wheels a bit and I couldn’t charge the hours to IOS, since it’s related to the test job.”

    “Well, have fun, I guess.”

    “You too.” With that, the call ended, and Nevara faced a terrible challenge: getting out of the room.

    Once, this would have been no challenge at all, but as part of the shakedown testing, it seemed like every possible cubic inch of the interior had some sort of sensor in it. Human, Citadel, or both, it didn’t matter – if it wasn’t a bathroom, bunk, or private quarters, sensors were going to be there. Making things worse was the few dozen human scientists and techs aboard who weren’t used to moving about the ship, meaning that every few hours, someone blundered into a sensor, which required someone to fix it… while not banging into another sensor along the way or during the repair process.

    Nevara couldn’t wait to punt the things out the airlock or into the storage lockers they came from.

    By the time she reached the CIC, she’d nearly tipped over three sensors and accidentally knocked one at elbow height off a bulkhead, then hastily put it back on its adhesive mountings. Her elbow ached from the impact, a dull throbbing that sharpened whenever she worked the joint. Weaving her way to consoles around the galaxy map, she noted Mr. Chen’s flat expression – a sign that that usually patient, easygoing man was just as annoyed and frustrated with the situation as the crew was.

    “Are we on schedule for the rendezvous?”

    “Aye, Captain,” Chen’s response was free of the emotions he was feeling. “Sotenburi Maru is sticking to the outer edge of the Ariadne route and cruising at normal velocity for a transport of her class.” He worked the console in front of him and brought up a projection of the other ship’s course. “Since Gjallarhorn has picked up the flare from the fusion torches, they’ll have to proceed along the route for a bit before going on a more efficient course.”

    Nevara examined the diagram. “You know, we could alter course and open up the throttles a little more. Meet them sooner and pull attention away from their actual course, you know? I mean, I get why you guys want to hide the fact that Teiwaz has software that can plot better courses, but the faster we get through testing, the faster we can get all this crap off the ship.”

    Chen gave the Asari a sympathetic, but exasperated look. “Captain, I agree that the current situation is less than ideal, but you must understand that there are many eyes on us, besides Gjallarhorn. Mr. Barriston does not want the competition to know too much about this ship’s true abilities, or our breakthroughs in other fields.”

    “Great, great. Are the scientists at least getting data? Because I think we’d have a mutiny on our hands if this drags out too long.”

    “I believe the scientists – human and otherwise – are the only ones enthusiastic about the current circumstances,” Chen dryly noted. “The preliminary reports match the limited data observed on the Isaribi.”

    “Good, because I was worried for a bit about the eezo evaporating or irradiating everything.” Nevara sighed as she examined the maze of sensors in the compartment. “What do you think about a week or two of shore leave on Saisei for the crew, once this is all over?”

    “That should be easy enough to arrange.”

    Nevara nodded and looked for a free tablet. “I’ll let the crew know once all the red tape is dealt with. Hopefully we’ll be halfway through the whole process before then, because I bet everyone’ll need the morale boost.”

    With that done, she set herself up on the galaxy map ramp with a tablet, and began working through yet more paperwork. She set aside anything involving making ads for long after shakedown, when her mental state would allow her to actually put up with the bullshit required. The tedium of requisition forms soothed her nerves a bit, and before she knew it, both ships were in communications range.

    One of the benefits of human ownership was getting everything configured for proper tightbeam laser communications between ships, which hadn’t been possible during first contact. Setting aside the issues with software incompatibility, the human ships had totally different standardized laser comm placements than Citadel ones. Both sides had been projecting lasers at random hull plating, and it hadn’t been worth the trouble to manually sweep the beams to find receptor-emitter arrays. Now, the process was automated, and all it took was a press of a button.

    As Nevara stretched out her cramping muscles (it turned out sitting on a ramp wasn’t a great idea), the image of the Turbines captain appeared on a holographic display above the rail of the captain’s podium. This one was a dark-skinned woman with long, braided hair that rose from the center of her head and hung down her back. Like most Turbines, she wore a white jumpsuit with a stylized T emblazoned on it.

    “So, you’re the new neighbors,” the woman said in an accent Nevara couldn’t place, partly due to her general lack of familiarity with Earth accents. “I’m Captain Joann Owosekun. It’s nice to finally meet you, even if it’s at the end of a laser.”

    “Captain Nevara Char, and I have to say, it’s nice to see some new faces.” The young Asari gave the human a wry grin. “Nearly a year of patching up the old girl didn’t leave us much time to socialize.”

    Owosekun’s face was full of sympathy that only spacers could share. “At least you’re flying now.”

    “There is that. How’re the passengers doing?”

    “Mixed bag.” The human captain shrugged. “They’re all bored, but the techs are getting on the nerves of my techs. You were right to worry about them poking about.”

    “Won-der-ful.” Nevara was proud that she learned how to say that particular bit of sarcasm in its native language; a translator would’ve botched it. “So, how do you want to handle the transfer.”

    “It’s pretty simple job. We get within a klick, have you cut gravity in your hangar, and have mobile workers move the package.” For whatever reason, Owosekun avoided mentioning the APC directly. “Shouldn’t take too long, but our schedule is flexible enough that I’ve got some time for a tour.”

    As much as the young captain would’ve loved to pick the brain of the human veteran, she knew the ship was in not in any shape to show to outsiders. “As much as I’d love to, you’d better take a – what’s the human term? Rain check? The scientists have made a bit of a mess over here.”

    “Guess I’ll have to wait awhile.” The human captain’s playful tone eased Nevara’s nerves, and the Asari thought there might be some flirtation there too, but since she wasn’t too familiar with human courting behavior, she decided against leaping to conclusions.

    She’d seen the training videos where explorers caused diplomatic incidents by misinterpreting little nuances, and she wasn’t going to get her name added to that list of infamy.

    “If we’re ever at Saisei, give me a call, and I’ll make it happen.” Putting on her winningest smile, Nevara managed to navigate through some more small talk before the call ended. It wasn’t a terrible experience, but after a few hour of paperwork, simple conversation was an unexpected burden. I need some coffee, she groused. Well, no, I need this crap off my ship, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon.

    Sighing, she trudged off towards the mess hall, weaving her way through the obstacle course in front of her. Just who knows how many more weeks of this to go….



    The omni-tool on Orga’s arm lit up and vibrated right as he reached the control room at the top of the tower by the front gate of Tekkadan’s base. He caught the end of Eugene’s announcement for everyone to get under cover and put on ear protection as he swept his eyes over the concrete island of the base. It was a tiny dot of flatness in a sea of Martian hills and cliffs, with as little above the surface as humanly possible. The control tower and fuel tanks were the tallest structures protruding out of the concrete slabs, and even then, they were strictly functional.

    The latest logistical nightmare in the HLV saga, after simply finding one at an acceptable cost, was figuring out where to land the thing. There wasn’t enough room to simply land it on the base without blocking any number of topside hatches or ramps, never mind the long-term recurring issues with rocket blast and fumes. After getting used to the convenience of anti-grav shuttles being able to land just about anywhere, having to deal with these problems was a brutal reminder of how far human technology needed to go to match galactic civilization.

    Caitlyn Staziak and Ed barrelled their way into the room, interrupting his thoughts.

    “Has it started yet?” she asked, slightly out of breath. To Orga’s knowledge, she’d been getting her ears talked off by Treia T’Pani, who could go on for hours about the Gundams. In fact, he’d been hoping that she’d keep Staziak out of the whole process, but that had been a forlorn hope, especially with her two weeks on Mars rapidly running out.

    “Nah, you haven’t missed anything,” Orga replied, taking a look at the prepared patch of flattened dirt outside the base perimeter. That was the landing pad for the HLV, at least until they scrounged enough money to afford expanding the base’s flattop to include a safe landing zone.

    Considering all the other things that were fighting for priority funding, that was probably not going to happen anytime soon.

    “There it is!” One of the lookouts leaning up to the glass pointed into the sky, causing the documentary crew to rush over to start filming.

    Orga glanced over at Eugene, who’d switched positions to handle the comm gear.

    “Haven’t picked up anything, but that doesn’t really mean anything with that flying hunk of junk.” Eugene sighed and scratched his head. “I figure we’re not really in trouble until she’s about a klick off the ground. If we can’t get in touch with her then, something’s probably wrong.”

    “Not great, but I can live with that. We’ve got tracking on her?”

    “Yup. Ahab wave detector only, but that’s fine until she gets close to the ground.” The presence of a mobile suit aboard the HLV meant that the radar set built into the tower was useless, but the Ahab wave detector was an adequate substitute for monitoring the HLV’s altitude.

    Nodding, Orga could do nothing but wait with the rest of them. The range reading on the detector steadily grew smaller, and after some time, a dull roar began to be heard. It grew louder and louder as the HLV descended, even through the ear plugs he was wearing.

    “Tekkadan ground control, is this shit comm gear working? Over.”

    Eugene rolled his eyes and spoke into the comm unit as Orga stifled a chuckle. “This is Tekkadan ground control. We read you. Everything’s looking good down here.”

    “Good, because I don’t feel like trusting this pile of scrap I’ve got as flight controls for the landing.”

    At her prompting, Eugene began repeating the altitude readings the detector gave him. Thousands of meters quickly became hundreds of meters, at which point the HLV slowed and the tension increased. Because the sensor was mounted at the top of the tower, a zero reading meant that the HLV would be at the same height… and ground level would be a negative reading. Even though they’d taken the time to precisely measure the height difference between the top of the tower and where the HLV should stop for a safe landing, the truth was that it was all up to the pilot to nail the landing. If she didn’t, Tekkadan would have a very expensive mess to cleanup.

    The exhaust plume of the HLV’s engines caused the tower’s windows to polarize, and the resulting mix of smoke and dust quickly obscured everything but the glowing thrust of the massive vessel. Eugene wiped the sweat on his brow onto the sleeve of his jacket as he rattled off readings in the tens of meters, then into the negatives, before slumping back into his chair in exhaustion when the roaring rockets died down and the pilot simply reported “Touchdown.”

    The massive cloud of dust and smoke slowly drifted and dispersed in the weak wind passing though the area, allowing the bulk of the craft to reveal itself. The nose of the HLV was nearly even with the top of the tower, reaching halfway up the windows. Unfortunately, without an external hatch at the right height or any sort of safe structure to assemble a connecting bridge on, everyone involved was forced to wait until the dust and fumes dissipated before meeting the newest member of Tekkadan.

    Dropping into the nearest chair, Orga examined Eugene, who was still recovering from the tense landing. “How long we gotta wait?”

    “Half hour,” the blonde replied. “At least, I think it’s supposed to be a half hour.”

    “Plenty of time for a nap.” Orga gave his second-in-command a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You’ve earned it.”

    “Thanks,” Eugene mumbled in reply, before taking the advice to heart. For his part, Orga went over the legal documents involved with hiring a foreign national on his omni-tool. One of the upsides to Kudelia being around was that the normally languid bureaucracy in Chryse was running at full tilt, obviously trying to get positive word of mouth sent to Edmonton. Everybody knew it wouldn’t fool anyone, but Orga was more than willing to reap the benefits.

    Since he’d done most of the work already, this just meant going through filled out forms and checking to make sure that there weren’t any annoying typos or missed signatures. A single error could grind things to a halt because some keyboard clacking desk jockey decided to be anal retentive. The tedious task made the half-hour a slow grind, but better a slow half hour when he’d be doing nothing anyway than a chunk of time he needed for something else.

    After quickly checking his omni-tool’s clock, he saved the documents and began clambering down the stairs, then weaved his way through the corridors to the hangar, where a jeep was already waiting to take him to the HLV. Much to his annoyance, Caitlyn Staziak and had beat him there, and were standing by the jeep, their expressions telling exactly what they wanted.

    “Sorry, Ms. Staziak,” he said as he slipped into the passenger’s seat. “No room for extra passengers on this trip. If you want some nice shots of the HLV, I’m sure you can set yourself up top.”

    “Mr. Itsuka, I’m supposed to be documenting what life’s like here.” She tried giving him her most charming smile. “You don’t think catching the first moments of a new employee’s life here counts?”

    Nearly a year ago, that smile might’ve made him buckle. Now, he just chuckled. “I get where you’re coming from. But here’s where I’m coming from – I haven’t met this person until today, and until they sign on the dotted line, they’re not my employee. So I can’t guarantee how she’ll react to having a camera shoved in her face, and I’d rather not find out the hard way.”

    Flustered, she looked at Ed, whose shrug said Yeah, he’s got a point. “Alright, I’ll settle for the long shots. Come on, Ed.”

    After watching the two of them walk off, he told the driver to take off, and as the jeep crossed the threshold of the ramp to the surface, Orga cursed and fanned his hand in front of his nose. A sharp chemical odor mixed with the irony dirt smell of the dust filling the air. This is going to be a pain in the ass if we get this HLV running regularly.

    The short drive into the HLV’s shadow reinforced the intimidating reality of the situation he’d gotten them all into.

    As he contemplated the situation and whether or not Tekkadan was irrevocably committed to McGillis’ plan, the ramp lowered and settled into the pulverized dirt with a loud crunch. Orga stepped out of the jeep and waited for the pilot to emerge. When she did, she looked exactly as Biscuit and Mikazuki described, with one deviation: her expression. He was quite familiar with it, in fact, because he’d worn it during the CGS days.

    It was one of defiance. Challenging him to prove that all this was worth her while. Not quite the same as when he’d given the CGS thugs lip, but it was in the same neighborhood.

    “Lisa Huynh,” she said, waiting waiting for his reaction.

    He held out his hand and kept a smile on his face. “Nice to meet you. Orga Itsuka.”

    She shook his hand, her expression not shifting an inch. “We gonna get down to business?”

    “After you.” He gestured to the jeep and sat down as soon as she was inside.

    If there was any doubt she was a survivor of the mean streets of Mars, it evaporated on the way back into the base. Of the corner of his eye, he spotted her slightly shifting in her seat, trying to catch as many angles with her eyes as possible. That was a trick people often used when going in the back alleys, when they thought an ambush was possible, but didn’t want to be too obvious about it.

    To keep her from getting spooked, he’d ordered everyone to ignore her, at least until the paperwork was signed. It was easier to ease someone into a big group when they knew where they stood, or at least, that’s what Orga figured. He’d tried to read some business and leadership books, and when they weren’t boring him with testimonials, they often dressed up obvious points with a lot of pointless extra words to look smart.

    Luckily, the corridors were pretty empty, and everyone had gotten the message. The handful of people who were walking around did nothing more than nod in acknowledgment, and somehow, Caitlyn Staziak didn’t shove her camera in their faces. Whoever was running interference deserved a bonus, assuming that Staziak wasn’t just reading between the lines of his earlier warning.

    Once they arrived in the office, he simply handed her the tablet with the relevant forms and set himself down in his chair. As Lisa slowly and carefully read everything, there was one thing he felt could bridge the awkward silence in the room. “Quick question: how’d you get your hands on that HLV of yours.” When she looked up sharply, he added, “From what I heard, competition was pretty stiff. I was wondering how you got in the game is all.”

    As she began filling out spaces in the form, the Oceanian simply said, “I won in it in a card game.”

    “Uh huh.” He waited for some detail.

    “No, seriously.” She stifled a cough before continuing. “He was looking to get some fast cash to deal with medical bills, and managed to get winning streak going before I came along. After a few rounds trading wins and chatting, I told him he could take the whole pot in exchange for his HLV if I won the next round.”

    “You never found out what happened to him?”

    Lisa shrugged as she returned to filling out her forms. “Never bothered to check on him, but I did set up a security system in case his OCD riddled ass came back.” She gave him a hard look tinged with disbelief. “The son of a bitch had an entire compartment filled with old ass, original Earth media, and there were five copies of each thing he had. Dunno where the hell he got all that stuff, but each one fetches a big fucking pile of money.”

    Orga filed that nugget of info away for later. Odds were high that they would sell some of that stuff to offset future costs, but now he also needed to make sure that Tekkadan hadn’t blundered into some weird scheme the former owner had been running with his supposed competition. Another thing to see if McGillis can deal with.

    One thing he noticed, as time went on, was that his new employee was grimacing a lot. That wasn’t necessarily a problem, because the paperwork was a massive pain in the ass, but he recognized the kind of grimace she was making. It was the one you made when you were busy and fighting the pain of an injury, because if you didn't, you might not survive.

    He remembered Mikazuki and Biscuit’s report on their encounter, and warning klaxons began ringing in his head.

    Amazingly, everything held together long enough for him to receive and approve the paperwork and give her a handshake to formally welcome her into Tekkadan. Not five seconds after that, she had a coughing fit, one that covered her hand in blood. Guess that answers that question, he thought bitterly, as he eased her back into her chair and activated his omni-tool.

    “Medical emergency, my office!” he shouted, then began rooting around his desk for something to soak up all the blood on hand.

    Dr. Vass and his chief nurse burst into the room within a minute of the call, with Eugene hot on their heels. As soon as Vass waved his omni-tool over Lisa, Orga was already motioning for Vass to do whatever it was he was going to ask permission for. He turned his attention back to his omni-tool and opened a new channel. “Treia, round up everyone who’s got a hardsuit and scan that HLV from top to bottom. Let me know if there’s anything that’s a health hazard on that ship.”

    Eugene flattened himself against a wall to let the medical personnel haul Lisa out of the room, then side-stepped inside. “You alright?”

    Orga pulled off his jacket and inspected it. “Yeah, I didn’t get anything on me.”

    Sighing in relief, the blonde flopped into the nearest seat. “You can bet Ms. Documentary is going to be sticking her nose in this.”

    “Oh yeah.” Orga slumped into his own seat and stared at the ceiling. “Might as well let her. It’d probably look suspicious if we cut her out of the loop.”

    “What do we do if Lisa doesn’t make it?”

    Orga pressed his hands to his face. “Lawyers.”

    “What about…”

    “I tell him we can’t do it.” He slowly sat up and sighed. “There’s no way we can do the job if we have to figure out how to train people to fly the damn HLV.”

    Eugene nodded slowly. “Alright, sounds like a plan.” He stood up and ran a hand through his hair. “When do you want a report on this mess?”

    “When Vass and Treia are done.” Orga rubbed his face and sighed again. “Let them know I want to see them in person… and that this’ll probably be on camera.”

    Emotionally exhausted, the leader of Tekkadan closed his eyes and nodded off into a deep, dreamless sleep. When his door chime rudely yanked him back to consciousness, a quick check of omni-tool revealed he’d been out for a little over two hours. Shaking his head to fully wake himself up, he signaled he was ready to receive his visitors.

    After Caitlyn and Ed milled about for the best camera angles, Treia and Vass sat down in front of his desk, while Eugene leaned against the wall. While the human Tekkadan members and the Salarian doctor were effortlessly ignoring the documentary crew, Treia kept moving her eyes in their direction, then catching herself.

    Orga quietly considered the situation, then simply asked, “So, how’s Lisa?”

    “Thankfully, she’ll make a full recovery in a week or so,” Vass replied, keeping his tone light and casual. “I took her up to the Isaribi to use the medical nanomachines to repair the damage to her lungs. It seems she managed to inhale something that perforated her aveoli, but not to the point of completely rupturing them.” The doctor frowned. “If she had waited a week or two more, the damage might have been irreversible and potentially fatal.”

    Something about that jogged Orga’s memory and made him mentally rewind through his conversation with his newest employee. “Could something on the HLV do that?” He stroked his chin as he reconstructed the conversation. “Lisa said the previous owner had health problems too, and it seems pretty suspicious that she got this lung problem after she got the thing.”

    “It’s certainly possible. There are plenty of substances that can harm organic tissues if inhaled or ingested.”

    “Well, I’ve got some news on that front.” Treia pulled up a video on her omni-tool. It showed someone in a hardsuit in a dark, poorly lit part of the HLV touching some wiring and winding up with dust on their glove and in the air around them. “We found a bunch of wiring bundles with insulation that disintegrated a long time ago. I haven’t done a real in-depth analysis of that dust, but I’d bet you she breathed in a bunch of that stuff while she was working in the guts and screwed up her lungs.”

    “I can handle the analysis in the morning,” Vass offered. “That way, we’ll know what kind of respiratory protection will be necessary to safely work aboard.”

    Orga nodded in approval. “How bad are things in there?”

    “Well, I’ll say this for the newbie – she got her hands on a lot of salvaged electronics and labelled everything.” Treia gave him a confident smile. “Once we can talk with her and figure out what is what, it’s just a matter of testing out the PCBs, cleaning out the dust, and replacing all that bad insulation. If we get all hands on deck, it should take a week or two if we’re lucky. Worst case, we’ll need the fab unit on the Seeker to whip up some replacements.”

    “That fast?” Orga asked, surprised by the response.

    “Well, we’ve got a ton of people who can do the grunt work, and we know the major functional systems work. It shouldn’t take too much time to fix up the electronics to a point where they’re reliable.” The Asari paused. “Obviously, we need to get this thing a full inspection and workup in a proper facility, but that’d be down the line a few months, when we can afford to pay for that.”

    “Alright, that makes sense.” Orga tapped his chin, dredging his memory some more. “What about that mobile suit that’s aboard?”

    “Well, it’s pretty beat up, but once we fuel it and arm it, it should work.” She gave him a tired sigh. “I mean that in more ways than one. I think we can get one of the Graze arms in storage onto the thing, but it’s going to involve a lot of checking tolerances and possibly some jerry-rigging. And the thing doesn’t have any weapons, so we’re going to have use some of the spares for Ryusei-go to arm it.”

    “Speaking of Ryusei-go…” Eugene interjected. “Do we want to give Shino the new unit?”

    “I don’t want to commit to anything besides fixing the thing,” Orga firmly stated. “Getting the HLV running smoothly is first priority. Once that’s done, we can argue about who gets to pilot our new mobile suit.” He paused and considered his next orders. “Alright, it’s getting late, so use whatever time’s left today to work up an action plan for tomorrow. I want us to get off to a rolling start tomorrow.”

    Everyone filed out aside from Staziak and Ed, and in the silence that settled, Orga contemplated the documentarian as she slipped into the seat in front of him. She wants something profound, something she can sell without a problem.

    Then it came to him like a bolt of lightning.

    All he said was, “A woman put her life on the line to get a chance of getting good health care. If that doesn’t tell you everything about Mars, I don’t know what will.”

    Then he walked out, leaving two shocked citizens of Earth in his wake.



    It’s not goodbye for real, Kudelia thought to herself as she packed her bags. It’s just a few more months in Edmonton, then I’ll be back… running a non-profit.

    She sighed, which caught the attention of Atra, who was helping her pack. “What’s wrong, Miss Kudelia?”

    “Nothing, really.” She smiled. “Just psyching myself out a little by thinking too far ahead.”
    Atra looked at her in confusion. “Aren’t you still on vacation? Why are you thinking about work when you don’t have to?”

    Kudelia opened her mouth to reply, then closed it when she realized the other girl had a
    point. “You know, I never thought of it that way.”

    Smiling her disarming smile, Atra kept folding and putting clothes in the suitcase, secure in the knowledge that she’d put Kudelia on the right track.

    “So, where’s Mikazuki? I didn’t see him at breakfast.”

    “He and Akihiro did their workout real early this morning and came in late for breakfast,” Atra explained. “Orga made them supervisors for the big poking-at-things job.”

    Kudelia smile twisted in bemusement and confusion. “Is that what everyone’s calling it?”

    “Uh… no, but that’s what it basically is,” Atra replied. “I tried it out for a bit the other day. It’s okay, but it’s really boring. It’s not really my thing.”

    “Well, the important thing is that you tried.” Mentally, Kudelia was cheering that Atra even tried to do something besides cooking and cleaning. It was alright if those were the things she wanted to do, but at least she was willing to try things outside her wheelhouse. “You know, you’re pretty lucky that you found something you enjoy doing on your first try. It can take people a while to find a career they enjoy, and some people never do.”

    Once everything was packed, the pair put the luggage in a cart right outside the room, then moved on to the kitchen. Several large pans were in the oven, a tradition of Atra’s since the Earth branch opened. Once the regular shuttle circuit was established, she set aside a decent portion of the day’s meals for transport to Earth, to give the Martians stuck on Earth bit of home cooking. Other Tekkadan members filmed video messages for friends back on Earth and elsewhere, then sent them on the shuttle and received whatever messages their friends made.

    It was slow and sometimes frustrating, but it was the only way to economically keep the hundreds of Tekkadan members in regular communication with each other. Simply put, a regular call from Earth to Mars, even without quantum cryptography, was expensive enough that frequent communications in volume were limited to larger businesses and governments, who could afford the expense. Without something like the Citadel’s comm-relay network to bring the price of real-time communications down, the two mass effect shuttles in Tekkadan’s procession made old fashioned couriers the best line of communications for anything that wasn’t official business.

    And since Caitlyn Staziak was probably off filming some people filming their messages, as was the tradition for every documentary Kudelia had seen about groups of people who were separated from each other for long stretches of time, it meant she wasn’t it the mess hall to bother them.

    “Hey Masahiro,” she said as slipped into the kitchen with Atra. “How are things going?”
    Akihiro’s younger brother had changed a lot in the last six months. By the time Tekkadan had landed at Edmonton, he’d put on enough weight to lose the emaciated look he had as a Brewer. His once thick hair had been trimmed down to half its former thickness, and he was beginning to show some muscle tone, a testament to Dr. Vass’ efforts to improve the nutrition in the children’s diets.

    “Everything looks like it’s going alright.” He gave a sheepish grin to Atra. “I didn’t burn anything this time.”

    Atra opened up the oven and pulled out one of the pans. “Yup, looking good!”

    Before Kudelia could lean over and take a look for herself, a familiar voice called out to her from the other side. She turned to see Orga standing by the mess hall counter with a tired smile on his face. “Getting some last minute cooking in?”

    “Well, it’s better than last minute camera time.” She gave Orga a knowing smile. “I know there’s going to be a big scene when we leave, so I’m soaking in some normalcy.”

    “You should’ve seen her face when I told her I don’t do schmaltzy messages to all of Earth branch.” Orga shook his head and shrugged. “She’s really trying a bit too hard to pull the heart strings.”

    “Maybe… I think she’s just trying to convey the whole family vibe in a way audiences will get,” Kudelia offered. “Sometimes, people have a hard time understanding something unless it’s presented in a pretty in-your-face way.”

    Orga merely grunted at that. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you a favor. I’ve got a message I want to send to Makanai, for his eyes only.” He paused and reconsidered that statement. “Well, if he wants to show it to you, that’s fine, but it’s just some boring business stuff.”

    “Uh huh.” Kudelia looked at him for a second, then shrugged. “Alright, I’ll take it.”
    He handed over a small memory stick, which she quickly pocketed.

    With that, he departed and Kudelia got back to cooking. By the time lunch rolled around, a crate with a half dozen pans of Chryse sausage casserole was loaded on the shuttle, idly waiting for the humans to complete their farewell. Outside, Kudelia said her goodbyes, all while ignoring the camera practically in her face. Thankfully, it was nothing maudlin, especially since everyone knew she’d be returning permanently in a few months.

    As soon as she stepped inside and ducked out of the camera’s field of view, she sagged into the nearest seat, eager to get away from the microscope. When the documentary team entered, they also flopped into their seats, just as tired with their roles in the whole endeavor. As the shuttle took off, Kudelia caught Staziak’s eye and received a tired, but satisfied smile in return.

    Looks like we both more or less accomplished what we set out to do, Kudelia thought as she returned the smile. Well, at least I hope so. There’s a lot of work to be done on Mars…

    With that, she closed her eyes and nodded off.

    A tap on her shoulder jolted her awake. She shook her head and blinked hard before processing who it was that woke her up.

    “Have a good nap?” Staziak held out her hand and pulled Kudelia to her feet. “We’re about five minutes out from landing.”

    “I’d say so.” She stretched and rolled her neck from side to side. “I missed the whole flight.”

    “Well, when the trip’s fast, that’s a good way to skip the boring part of travel.” Staziak gave the teenager a sly wink. “Helps when you don’t have any work to do.”

    It was late afternoon in Edmonton when they arrived, and almost immediately, Kudelia was dragged into Earth Branch’s biweekly rituals of reconnecting with their far flung brethren. People constantly asked her about everything that she saw or did on Mars, eager to get morsels of information that friends hadn’t passed on. By the time she left, well after dinner, she was wrung out enough that flopping on her bed seemed an appealing prospect. But the next day was a workday, so she knew that getting back into her routine was crucial. It was only then that she remembered the chip Orga had given her; she placed it next to her work phone, which she’d left on Earth, since no one in Edmonton would be able to reach her on Mars anyway.

    The next morning, with only a hint of jet-lag, Kudelia made her way to Parliament, fielding enough casual vacation questions to drown an elephant. As she settled back into the routine of boring meetings and recitations of poll results that told no one anything of value, she played with the memory card Orga gave her. By the time lunch rolled around, she remembered exactly why she’d gone on vacation in the first place.

    But she remembered what she had to do, and managed to catch Makanai in his office before he left for lunch. “By the way, Mr. Makanai, Orga wanted me to give this you.”

    He raised his eyebrow as he accepted the memory card. “What’s this about?”

    She shrugged. “He said it was business related, but didn’t really explain how. I know Tekkadan is going to be testing some new mobile suits soon, so it might be related to that.”

    “These are trying times,“ the old man replied, playing with the tip of his beard. “I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to recommendations on good military hardware.”

    He placed the card into the appropriate slot on his computer, and immediately, a video of Orga in his office appeared on the screen. Makanai motioned for Kudelia to stand next to him as he pressed the play button.

    “Hello, Mr. Makanai. I won’t waste your time with this. I have a… business proposition to run by you and the rest of the MNCEA. I’ve gotten word of a potential source of alien technology on Mars, and once I receive a shipment of new mobile suits from Teiwaz, I am willing to investigate… if I have the support and financial backing of the MNCEA members.” Orga paused and took a deep breath. “I’ll be upfront with you. My source tells me there’s a 100% chance that Gjallarhorn will send military forces to secure the site, if it exists. Without MNCEA support, it’s too dangerous for Tekkadan to look into this. We just don’t have the military assets on hand to hold whatever we find, even if we convinced Teiwaz to lend us the Thrill Seeker. With the backing of all the economic blocks, we’d be in a better position to recruit allies to help us.”

    The rest of the message was simply instructions on how to let Orga know if the proposition was accepted or not.

    As Makanai contemplated the screen, his expression serious, all that ran through Kudelia’s mind was What have you gotten yourself into, Orga?

    “Judging by your expression, you didn’t know anything about this.”

    The old man’s words jolted her out of her reverie. “No sir, I didn’t.”

    He leaned back in his chair and nodded. “That’s for the best.” The corner of his mouth pulled up and a mischievous twinkle appeared in his eye. “Be a dear and get yourself a nice lunch. I’ll be making some phone calls.”



    Author's notes: Well, I was planning to post this yesterday, but IRL stuff got in the way.

    Finally got most of the pieces together, so things will be accelerating. Added one more cameo, because why the fuck not. Also added an OSHA violation, because poor Martians can't afford proper ventilator masks... assuming the hardware stores A) exist or B) have them.
     
    Chapter 34
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 34

    Captain Nevara Char never looked as bored as she did now.

    The reason was simple: the science guys were testing the effects of Ahab wave and mass effect field interactions by incrementally cranking up the kinetic barriers. 5% at a time. Once every half hour. During her shift.

    She completely understood the scientific rationale for all of it. But it was exactly this kind of mindnumbing boredom that led her away from pursuing science as a young maiden for the somewhat less tedious life of deep space adventuring. Now she was sitting in her ready room, reading a bunch of not-entirely boring news articles about supply line disruptions as companies demanded more and more esoteric materials and products for their reverse engineering efforts.

    The door chime ringing barely managed to get her attention. “Come in.”

    The new science officer, a Salarian by the name of Arlaw Giziki, stepped inside. “Uh… Captain… we might have a problem.”

    “Mmm?” Nevara gave him a raised eyebrow.

    “Well, uh, we’ve noticed some abnormalities with the kinetic barrier strength. We’ve been noticing growing variances in field strength as we’ve increased power to the mass effect field, and they seem to be growing larger as we proceed through the test cycle. We’re at what should be 50% power, and we’re getting an extra 20% field strength.”

    “Is there any danger to the ship? Because this seems pretty great.” The Asari was genuinely confused by why this issue was being brought up to her at this point. “More efficiency and all that.”

    “I suppose you could say that, but we’re getting more dark energy out of nowhere, if you will. It’s quite perplexing.”

    “We’ve got the Ahab reactor now,” Nevara pointed out. “The humans didn’t think it was putting out dark energy, but they admit they might be wrong, since Gjallarhorn keeps tight control of the actual physics of that stuff.”

    Giziki shook his head. “We already checked for that. The wave forms are different, and Ahab particles do exist, sort of like how photons are both a particle and wave. We’re not sure exactly sure what’s going on.”

    “So why not do more tests? That’s why we’re out here,” she pointed out, allowing some irritation to slip into her voice. Is he worried about covering his ass? Is that why he’s here?

    “That’s just it – we’d like to know how far we can proceed, in case things get a bit… out of control.”

    Nevara sighed and wondered how much of this was left over Dantius-era behavior and how much was because everyone on the ship knew how much Teiwaz wanted it out there earning money. Okay, I really haven’t really gotten people on board with my command style either… because I haven’t had much commanding to do.

    “Alright, here’s what we’ll do,” she replied. “Do some quick number crunching to predict where you’ll hit 100% strength, just for comparison, then do however many tests to get to 100% and stop. Then work up a briefing for me and the XO with what you’ve got.”

    Giziki nodded and hurried out of the room, leaving Nevara alone with her reading again. Well, I guess I could start writing the inevitable “we’ve got a problem” report…

    Several hours later, at the beginning of third shift, she found herself sitting in the wardroom with the XO, Mr. Chen (who’d invited himself to the meeting), Giziki, and the chief human scientist, Brennan Madden. She wasn’t quite sure how the graying human scientist managed to talk his way out of whatever he was working on at Saisei, but she appreciated having the best Teiwaz scientist aboard for a simple reason: it meant that anything they said was bulletproof. If Madden said something was weird and needed to be tested further, then none of the Teiwaz brass could complain about it, because he was their man.

    “So, what do you have for us?” she asked, taking a bite out of the pretzel she’d been eating in the mess hall, before the scientists rudely interrupted her dinner.

    “It’s a new kind of physics, for both our peoples,” Madden began. “We seem to have stumbled onto some kind of amplification effect when dark energy and Ahab waves or particles interact. We’re getting more mass effect field strength than we should be seeing at the rated power levels through the core.”

    “There’s nothing harmful to people or the ship?” the XO asked.

    Giziki spoke up when Madden paused. “Nothing we can detect with our equipment, at the very least. And as far as we can tell, the eezo aboard isn’t being harmed either.”

    Nevara sighed in relief. “Okay, so what do you guys know? Besides what you just told us.”

    “We haven’t been able to mathematically model the phenomena yet,” Madden replied, sliding a tablet over to her. “As you can see, our projected field strength curve doesn’t match our results, and both are far off from the usual exponential power/field strength ratio. It might be logarithmic, assuming the curve doesn’t suddenly plateau relatively quickly.”

    “Is there a practical benefit to this?” Mr. Chen asked, leaning over to look at the chart on the tablet.

    “We might be looking at a revolutionary advance in mass effect technology,” Giziki replied, practically bouncing in his seat. “Mass effect core size and power requirements were always limiting factors in speed and other performance categories. If we can learn to harness this phenomena, we might be able to eliminate these constraints all together!” He rubbed his hands together. “Imagine – we could one day do away with the concept of a standalone mass effect core, and simply encase an Ahab reactor in eezo and harness some of the electrical output to achieve the same effect!”

    “Uh huh.” Nevara held up a hand to forestall the possible torrent of technobabble or excited theorizing. “What do you guys need to figure this out? Besides time.”

    “Well, it would help if we could requisition the shuttles and use their sensors to assess what’s happening at the field perimeter.” Madden smoothly stepped back into the conversation, redirecting the discussion towards the practical. “Right now, it’s a process of elimation for how and where the phenomena is manifesting. Since we have plenty of sensors inside the ship, and thus a large amount of data to analyze, it’s simpler to work our way in from the outside.”

    “I assume you’ve got some sort of way to figure out if whatever’s happening is happening out there, right?” Nevara didn’t actually expect an answer, really; she was just reminding the scientists not to waste everyone’s time.

    “We’ve got our staff devising experiments as we speak,” Giziki asserted.

    The Asari nodded. “Alright then, I’ll send word to Teiwaz and try to work out when we can get the shuttles out of Orga’s hands. Make sure you send a manifest of everything you think you might need to me and Mr. Chen, so we can work out the logistics of this.” She paused a moment. “Make sure you consult with the engineers, make sure there’s a way to find out if this new weirdness isn’t wearing things out.”

    With that, the meeting adjourned, leaving Nevara feeling relatively positive about the whole situation. Sure, it meant more sitting around and dealing with complaints from the Teiwaz brass, but on the other hand, things on the ship were going smoothly. She’d been presented with a problem, then done all the captain-y things a captain should do, and without a lot the anxiety and angst she’d been dealing with in the past few months.

    So why did she feel like she missed something?

    As she stepped inside her ready room, Nevara scowled and pinched the bridge of her nose. She recognized this sensation from the endless hours of testing at the various schools she’d passed through. It was always one of those complicated math word problems or some essay prompt where there was an obvious, but easily overlooked fact that was super critical to the whole thing. She hated those with a passion, because it always made her feel like a dumbass whenever the professor pointed out her oversight.

    Okay, first, make the calls, then figure out what the hell you missed this time.



    On Mars, yet another shoe dropped.

    Orga stared out at the landing strip just outside Chryse and sighed. Weeks of hard work by the entire Tekkadan team had gotten the HLV safe enough to use at least a few times, just in time for the test team to arrive. Then Mother Nature – or the human addled version that existed on Mars – threw a new wrench in the works.

    “How’s it looking, Biscuit?” he called over his shoulder.

    “Looks like the weather should hold long enough to get things set up the way you want them,” Biscuit replied, tapping on his omni-tool. “But you know how that goes.”

    Orga merely grunted as Biscuit stepped out of the idling Jeep, then looked up as a series of dull booms heralded the arrival of a trio of shuttles from orbit. The lead shuttle lazily spiraled down as the others circled above, touching down with an earsplitting screech. An aircraft tractor dragged it over to the small building that served as the terminal, then chugged its way back to prepare for the next shuttle.

    Out stepped a half dozen people, all carrying luggage and in various outfits that ranged from business casual to whatever the person in question just threw on in the morning. An average looking man of indistinguishable ethnicity, wearing the business casual button-down and slacks, stepped forward and offered a hand to Orga. “Ellis Moses, test team manager.”

    “Orga Itsuka,” the teen replied, firmly shaking the man’s hand, despite the condescending tone in the older man’s voice. He gestured towards Biscuit. “This is Biscuit Griffon, my chief logistics officer.”

    “A pleasure,” Moses replied in an equally condescending tone, but offered his hand to Biscuit anyway. He gestured to the people next to him. “These are the test pilots, as well as the chief technician.

    “Dutch.” A tall, buff black man in an olive green shirt, pants, and vest with odd, goggle-like sunglasses nodded.

    “Hal.” Next to Dutch was a lithe, smirking man of vaguely Eurasian descent dressed in a tight black t-shirt and tight pants. One eye was hidden behind his bangs, while the other displayed a cruel kind of mischeviousness. Orga had seen his kind before on the streets of Chryse and knew exactly the depths he’d sink to if given a chance.

    “Mayer.” A pale woman in a ridiculous outfit that looked like a black dress shirt tucked into a dark gray or purple body stocking with a vest on top and calf high boots nodded. Her dark hair and blue eye shadow gave her a mysterious air, and Orga knew she’d be the talk of the base as soon as she arrived. I wonder how many guys won’t get anywhere with this one.”

    “Detmer.” The only other woman on the team was a redhead whose body language just radiated a kind of arrogance that’d rub everyone the wrong way. Her outfit was a simple blue and white tracksuit.

    “Rens Kafka.” At the end of the line, an older man, probably as old or a little older as Yukinojo, wearing what looked like a two-piece denim jumpsuit, smiled.

    After the obligatory round of handshaking, with a surprising amount of variety in enthusiasm, Orga looked over at Moses and said, “Now that that’s out of the way, there’s some business to attend to. We’re going to have to speed up offloading the hardware – we’ve got about four hours before a big dust storm is going to come through the area, and everything needs to be there by then.” He gave the IOS man a wry grin. “I figure that it’ll be a nice torture test for your new mobile suits.”

    Moses’ mouth compressed into a thin line before he said, “Yeah, it should be. Nice to get that out of the way.” He turned to Kafka, whose expression made it obvious how much he wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours. “Rens, how about you help the boys and girls get everything moving.”

    “I’ll get right on it.” He hesitated a moment.

    “Don’t worry about your stuff,” Orga smoothly interjected. “I’ll take it for you.” After seeing the man’s grateful nod, he turned back towards the truck. “Gurji! Time to get the APC!”

    The Salarian guard stepped out of the truck and did a rocket assisted jump over it, then proceeded to rocket hop over to the shuttle. It was arguably unnecessary, but it was a relatively subtle reminder of what Tekkadan had available. Plus, he wanted to have a very private chat with these people, and nothing was more convenient than a fairly long drive in an APC.

    Ten minutes later, they all clambered inside, with Biscuit upfront next to Gurji, and Orga directly across from the IOS contingent. He made a show of strapping himself in, then surveyed the interior of the vehicle – something all the other humans were doing as well. Like the shuttles and the Thrill Seeker, the interior was well laid out and just slickly designed enough to make comparable human vehicles feel like they were centuries out of date.

    “Weapons safe, road’s clear, and we’re off,” Gurji announced, gently easing the vehicle up to speed.

    Orga nodded in approval as the Czenki rolled smoothly over what was, at best, a road with subpar maintenance. “Alright then. Time for some ground rules.” He leaned forward. “First off, we understand and respect your position as IOS representatives and experts on the Shiden. We’re going to ask you to at least respect us as possible customers. Second, the contract I worked out with IOS specifically states that when it comes to safety and military operations, you and your personnel will defer to the onsite contractors – that being us.” He locked eyes with the manager. “Is that understood.”

    Moses worked his jaw from side to side for a few seconds before saying, “Yes.”

    Orga hadn’t missed the amused expressions on the test pilots’ faces. “Third, the IOS contract also says that the onsite contractors have broad latitude and discretion when it comes to non-firing disciplinary action.” That got Hal and Detmer to drop their smiles, although Dutch and Mayer’s expressions remained unchanged – but then, Orga suspected they weren’t going to be the troublemakers. “Now, I don’t think there’ll be any problems, but… don’t think we’ll put up with any old bullshit either.”

    That out of the way, he returned his attention to Moses. “I assume you’ve got a fancy presentation for everyone, right?”

    The manager gave him another thin smile. “Of course.”

    “Well, you should have plenty of time to scout out a spot to give everyone the rundown.”

    After finishing out the trip in near silence, aside from Gurji and Biscuit alerting the guards to their arrival, the familiar noise and bustle of activity on the base was a welcome return to normalcy. After handing off Kafka’s bag to one of the younger kids and sending the IOS people off to their quarters, he made his way to the top of the tower. Eugene was there, coordinating the efforts to prepare the base to lockdown for the storm.

    “How’s everything going?”

    “We should be good to go once the IOS people get here.” Eugene sighed as the first heavy truck bearing equipment rolled into sight in the distance. “We all know what to do to prep for the storms, but it’ll depends on how fast they get everything over here. The storm doesn’t look like it’s speeding up, but who knows how long that’ll keep up.”

    Orga nodded as he looked towards the wastelands, where a large bank of red-brown clouds was already visible. “I might need you and Biscuit to keep an eye on things then.”

    Eugene grunted in acknowledgment as the truck pulled in through the gate.

    Offloading the trucks took a painful amount of time, even with Kafka reprioritizing the shipping order and getting Tekkadan personnel to assist. By the time the four Shidens were topside and loaded down with all their weapons, the sky had darkened and the first gusts of wind were hitting the base, rattling the storm shutters. Everyone was underground, aside from a small team in the tower, who were charged with keeping an eye on the storm as it passed.

    The IOS presentation was well after the outer edges of the massive dust cloud hit the base, and every so often, the crowd of pilots, prospective pilots, and technicians could hear the rattling of storm shutters in the distance during the worst of the wind gusts. A simple dual roll-up screen setup in front of a number of crates served as the viewing area.

    “The STH-16 Shiden is Teiwaz’s next generation mass production mobile suit.” Moses easily recited his speech from memory, and Orga got some sense how the man got to his position. He was particularly good at the sales side of the business, especially when he got to the cost slide, emphasizing the low per unit and long term maintenance costs. It was almost enough to offset the fact that each Shiden was a quite a bit weaker than a Graze or a Hyakuren, and that the standard projected deployment model was a four unit mobile suit team vs Gjallarhorn’s three unit team.

    Orga made several notes on his omni-tool throughout the presentation, then refocused his attention as Moses began speaking about the new weapons from Euro Electronics. The melee weapons were not really interesting to him, even if the armor breaker sword was based on an alien design. What did interest him was the new ranged weapon.

    “Next up is what Euro Electronics calls the Magnetic Rifle.” Moses clicked remote controlling the presentation to display an oddly rectangular rifle with a great deal of exposed framing, components, and wire bundles. “It uses magnetic coils to accelerate a metal projectile to near-hypersonic velocities. It’s designed to be easily upgradable to mass effect technology, assuming we can get our hands on more element zero and this thing proves to be reliable. They sent us all but one of their prototypes, so eight complete rifles, and as many spares, magazines, and ammo were available. They say they’ve got more ammo on the way,” he clicked the remote again, “thanks to how simple the projectile design is.”

    Moses began expounding on the ammunition, which was basically a pyramid shaped iron projectile with a tip and core of softer metal that would vaporize or expand upon impact, and how it mimicked the effect of mass effect fired sledgehammer rounds. Orga took note of that – it would definitely simplify logistics if someone local could make those rounds. He had very little expectation that any of the other projectiles Euro Electronics were supposedly working on, which he wasn’t entirely sure existed, would be contracted out for production. But the standard rounds… those he could see being licensed out to contractors, especially if Euro was trying to push hard for wide market adoption.

    He sighed deeply as he walked back to his room. They were getting closer and closer to the point of no return, but he still hadn’t committed yet. At the same time, it felt like everything was falling into place, and sooner, rather than later, he’d have to make the hardest call of his life.



    Eugene Sevenstark cursed as he considered the day’s agenda. The aftermath of the storm included slow, painstaking disassembly, photography, and cleaning of the four Shidens and the associated magnetic rifles. At the same time, the IOS techs were busy putting together the one simulator and taking a look at the mobile suit that’d been in the HLV, and Tekkadan’s own technicians were busy making sure that the base and HLV weren’t damaged. Then there was the new headache Lisa had dropped on him this morning, regarding one of the test pilots.

    “I recognize that ‘Hal’ guy,” Lisa had told him and Orga hours earlier. “He was a gang member back in Cahya about six, seven years back. Used to run a small crew that’d shakedown people for money or do hits for other crews. Supposedly, he did some fucked up shit to his girlfriend after he caught her with a sidepiece, then he disappeared off the face of the planet.” She looked away and into the middle distance. “I thought he might’ve killed himself or got taken out by one of his crew…”

    He’d shared a look with Orga at the odd display from their latest employee. Even after recovering from her lung damage, she was often cantankerous and contrarian. Seeing her like this was somewhat unsettling.

    “So… uh… I guess you had some friends who got caught up in that,” Orga had awkwardly replied.

    When she looked back at them, there was fire in her eyes. “That motherfucker never bothered being precise. If you were there, you’d be lucky if it was quick. If it wasn’t… well, it’d be messy either way.”

    If Eugene hadn’t seen the same dossiers that Orga had, the two men probably would’ve been exchanging blows over it. But Eugene had, and it was apparent that IOS had completely omitted any personal history that didn’t have to do with their mobile suit piloting experience. He wasn’t exactly sure why – maybe IOS had tamed this particular nutjob, but it seemed very suspicious that they’d send him without warning fellow members of Teiwaz about his past.

    Unless they’re looking to stab us in the back. The last thing Tekkadan needed, in Eugene’s opinion was more enemies. It was bad enough that Gjallarhorn was at the top of that list. Even with the knowledge that they had an ally on the inside, the fact of the matter was that you didn’t need more enemies if Gjallarhorn was on your list. The biggest military in the solar system hating your guts wasn’t a good sign of a long and health life.

    Which was why, as much as he hated to admit it, Orga was right about one thing – it was better to face Gjallarhorn on Tekkadan’s home turf.

    His almost daily foray into that depressing state of affairs was interrupted by his omni-tool turning on. A simple text message read: NEED YOU TOPSIDE.

    He sighed and made his way there, squinting as the bright sunlight hit his eyes. Yukinojo waved him over to where one of the new magnetic rifles was mounted in a cradle, as people swarmed the red-stained mobile suits or swept Mars dust away from the work area. When Eugene finally made it to where the largest clump of people were standing, he gained a new appreciation for the rifle’s size.

    “What’s up?”

    Yukinojo’s look screamed ‘you’re going to love this.’ “One of the new guys here,” he inclined his head towards the IOS people, “decided to do an electronics test. Problem was, they didn’t do a good enough job of cleaning out the dust, and that stuff is just conductive enough that you got one big short circuit.”

    Eugene groaned and fought the urge to bury his face in his palms. “How bad is it?”

    “Well, depending on whether or not the short was confined to the electronics and not the actual operating mechanisms of the rifle, it’s either a matter of replacing a bunch of fried control boards or writing off the whole unit,” the IOS chief technician – whose name wasn’t immediately coming to mind – replied.

    “Great.” Eugene looked at the huge piece of equipment and sighed. “What do you need me to do?”

    “Well, it might be a good idea if you and Biscuit start the paperwork for trying to get replacement parts,” Yukinojo suggested. “We should be done going over it by mid-day tomorrow, at the latest, so once that’s done, we can push the parts order out immediately.”

    Eugene groaned and made a note on his omni-tool. The only relief was that they weren’t going to have to pay for the replacement parts – the whole point of the exercise was to see what’d break in real world use before production truly began. It wasn’t a good omen that things were already going this bad this soon.

    He decided to make his way back to his office via the hangar, just to see what was up. In one corner, Yamagi and Shino were helping assemble the Shiden simulator, while on the entire opposite side, Lisa and some IOS tech were chatting about… something. Since he knew Yamagi and Shino weren’t going to cause any problems in the near future, he made his way to where Tekkadan’s newest employee was.

    By the time he walked over, the tech was heading off to do something. “Problem?”

    “No, Mr. Big Dick Deputy Boss Man.” For whatever reason, Lisa felt the need to rib Eugene whenever he checked in on her. Admittedly, he might’ve overdone it the first week she’d been able to walk around after getting her lungs healed, but then, she was their expert on HLVs and they needed to make sure she didn’t keel over and die on them anytime soon. “Just asking about some parts we could use for the HLV simulator.”

    Eugene grunted. “Well, put in a part order. We’ll probably be ordering some stuff from Euro Electronics soon, so we can try to get whatever you need in with that shipment.”

    Lisa nodded, then leaned in and dropped her voice. “So… uh, what’s up with those two?”

    With a jerk of her head, she motioned towards Yamagi and Shino.

    Eugene narrowed his eyes. He’d gotten this question from some of the aliens, and what seemed like innocent curiosity from them was suspicious from another human. “Why do you want to know?”

    “Because it looks like that blonde kid – Yamamoto or whatever – has a crush on your dumbass friend, and I want to know if I’m crazy or not for seeing that.”

    He spent a few seconds wording his response. “No, you’re not crazy, and his name is Yamagi.”

    “Is there a pool on when Captain Dumbass will get the message?”

    This time, the reply was immediate and backed with a sigh. “Yes, but you didn’t hear about it from me. Go ask one of the Asari.” He straightened up and added, “Get your part order to Biscuit by mid-day tomorrow.”

    “Got, Deputy Boss.” Lisa headed off into the depths of the base, leaving Eugene worried about what new trouble she’d get herself into.

    As he wound his way through the base, he considered the Shino/Yamagi situation. To be honest, he didn’t get the whole “guys being into other guys” thing, but he grew up on the streets of Chryse, so he knew there were way worse things than that. Part of him hoped it was a onesided crush Yamagi would grow out of, partly because Eugene was fairly sure Shino really liked banging women (and was quietly concerned Shino might wind up with a kid out of nowhere), and partly because it made for a nightmare of new rules he and Orga would probably have to make to cover relationships between Tekkadan personnel. At the very least, Shino being completely oblivious to Yamagi’s feelings bought them some time.

    He’d barely managed to make it to the office and get some of the paperwork started before two members of the test team came looking for him.

    “Hey, Mr. Deputy Boss.” Dutch’s voice was pretty deep, but his tone was casual, perhaps even friendly. Eugene didn’t like that his eyes weren’t visible, but didn’t say anything. Things were civil, and he wanted to keep them that way. “I hear you’re the man to go for our request.”

    Eugene raised an eyebrow. “And that would be?”

    “Hal and I want to scope out the canyons, get a feel for what terrain might make for a good spot to test out the Shidens.”

    That seemed completely reasonable. “By air or ground?”

    “Ground. You don’t have any of those fancy alien shuttles sitting around right now, and I’d like to get this done before another crazy dust storm rolls through.”

    Eugene examined Dutch for a few seconds, then flicked his eyes to the test pilot’s companion. Hal hadn’t said anything, but just stood there, smirking. Then he shrugged and checked the time. Everything they’d asked for was what Orga had categorized as a reasonable request. “Alright, give me fifteen minutes to have a truck prepped and I’ll meet you there.”

    As soon as the two IOS men left, the teen began making calls. For better or worse, he had to be the driver, because he at least knew that Hal was a threat. It wouldn’t be right to send someone else who was less prepared for that possibility. By the time he made it to the hangar, he had a thin mass effect machine pistol concealed in his jacket and standing orders to send out a search party if he didn’t check in via radio at regular intervals.

    Eugene grimaced as Hal strapped himself into the front passenger’s seat, while Dutch sat in the back with a paper map and compass. It was a pain in the ass to keep an eye on the rough trails and where Hal’s hands were, but Eugene grudgingly admitted to himself that it would’ve been worse if Hal was in the back seat. It wasn’t until the base started shrinking into the distance that Dutch asked for him to pull over.

    The truck idled as Dutch stepped out of the vehicle, walked to the edge of the gorge, and consulted his map for a few seconds. He took out a pair of binoculars and began visually sweeping the length of the gorge, leaving Hal and Eugene alone with their thoughts.

    Then Hal decided to open his mouth.

    “So, Deputy Boss Man, got yourself a woman?” Hal’s tone was a mix of mockery, a pinch of cruelty, and more than a bit of relish, and it was clear he was playing with Eugene.

    “Nah, it’s been a busy six months,” he replied after a moment. He kept his tone casual – any sign of weakness was something Hal would pounce on. “Besides, the money isn’t rolling in yet. Once that happens, we’ll be drowning in girls.”

    Hal chuckled at that. “Oh, they will.” His tone shifted into something more casual, yet still rife with malice. “See, the thing is, you have to sort out the golddiggers from the ones who think you’re an up and coming man of the world. What you want is a loyal woman, one who’ll stick with you through anything and everything.”

    Eugene raised his eyebrows. Tone aside, this spiel was actually… pretty reasonable.

    “Now, you can take your chances finding one, but if you’re smart,” Hal tapped his temple, “you’ll learn how to make ‘em loyal.”

    There it is, Eugene thought with a sigh. What’s this psycho gonna toss at me? “Uh huh.”

    “Believe me, there’s nothing worse than a woman who doesn’t stay loyal.” Hal’s voice was ice cold, and he was staring out into the distance, lost in some memory. “Especially if you—“

    Whatever would’ve come next was cut off by Dutch climbing back in the truck. “Let’s go a few klicks further out.”

    Another stretch of silence among the passengers that was only interrupted by Dutch pointing at a few structures in a branch of the gourge. “What’s that?”

    “Farm settlement!” Eugene shouted back.

    Dutch grunted and made a note on his map.

    There were two more stops before Dutch made the call to turn back, and neither stop provided anything as… interesting a conversation as that first stop. What Eugene did learn was that none of the test pilots held their manager in high regard.

    “Here’s a tip, kid,” Dutch shouted over the wheels cutting into the Martian dust. “Don’t hire managers who’ve never done the thing they’re supposed to manage.”

    “Yeah, half the time, they’re some smoothtalking piece of shit who steals all the credit when things are good, and blames everyone doing the hard work when they overpromise and underdeliver,” Hal added.

    Man, better tell Orga not to let Moses out of the base with these guys, Eugene thought as he worked the steering wheel. They’d probably find a way to off him and make it look like an accident.

    “Now, Moses isn’t the worst of these clowns that I’ve worked with,” Dutch added, “but the only way to get anything done under his watch is to tell him as little as possible to get something greenlit.”

    “Well, he’s going to have a stick up his ass for the next little bit. He’s looking for that big bonus for getting this thing on the market fast.”

    “Uh huh.” Eugene wasn’t sure where the conversation was going, so he improvised. “So, he’ll be pretty pissed at the tech guys for frying that rifle.”

    “Oh yeah,” Hal chuckled. “But he can’t actually do anything.” He tapped his temple. “See, IOS was smart – Kafka and all his boys are under the Engineering Department’s management, and just loaned out to scrubs like Moses to get the job done.”

    “And the EngDep knows shit like that is going to happen to the prototypes once they hit field testing, so there’s no blowback,” Dutch added. “Moses here is the spin man. If the Shiden program crashes and burns, he’ll find some way to spin it as a temporary set back. If it does well, he’ll blow smoke up everyone’s asses and make it sound like the best thing since sliced bread. If he had his way, he’d cherry pick all the tests and make sure the Shiden passed with flying colors.” Dutch smiled, which looked more frightening than anything. “That’s why professionals like us work up test scenarios in the field, so REMFs like him can’t do anything but rubber stamp ‘em.”

    “REMF?”

    “Rear Echelon Mother Fuckers,” Dutch explained, emphasizing the ‘mother fuckers’ part. “Way I hear it, you boys know the type quite intimately.”

    “Oh yeah.” Eugene thoughts went to Maruba, the former CGS owner turned asteroid laborer. “We had a few back in the day.”

    As they drove back on to the base, Eugene spotted Dutch looking at the clouds of dust billowing out of the Shidens. The burly test pilot smiled and shook his head. “Looks like we’ll have a couple extra days to train you guys up.”

    Hal shook his head and sighed. “I hate babysitting.” Then a quick smile crossed his face. “On the other hand… this means more opportunities to get some one-on-one time with those space babes of yours.”

    Eugene looked over at the IOS test pilot and debated whether or not to pass on Lisa’s warning to the Asari, just to see how they’d deal with him. He decided, for the sake of diplomacy, that it was better to be safe than sorry, and make it clear that the biotic asskicking needed to be kept in check.

    As he parked the truck, he spotted yet another person running over to give him yet another thing to deal with. Can’t wait to see what this is.

    Ah, well, it’s all part of a day’s work when you’re the boss’ right hand man.




    Author's notes: This took longer than I hoped for two reasons: 1) the passing of my grandfather, and 2) far more importantly, Windows Update fucking wiping the first version of this chapter. I hadn't gotten more than half way through the first third of the chapter, but let me assure you, I was pissed.

    That said, I think it was for the best, since we're moving the plot at a better pace than I initially planned it. I initally planned to open with Eugene and prepping for the test team's arrival, then more Thrill Seeker stuff, then having the test team arrive. The final order came out different, but I think it works much better than what I was going for initially, and it still has the friendly dunking on Shino I intended.

    Also, this is officially the point where I have had to start a spreadsheet to track the names, factions, jobs, and alignments of the secondary and tertiary OC characters. I tried to come up with two Tomino style character names, then gave up and decided more references can't hurt.
     
    Chapter 35
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 35

    “Alright people, keep an eye out, this is their home turf.” Inside the cockpit of one of the Shidens, Dutch was in his element. Clad in a light gray test pilot jumpsuit, the dark skinned man looked over the various displays as he talked to his subordinates. “They’ve probably got a few tricks up their sleeves, so stay alert – and get your ass out of the exercise if there’s any mechanical failures.”

    It’d taken three days to completely purge the dust from the frame and exposed mechanics of the Shidens, and even now, there was probably dust coating various surfaces and components in the machines. Even cleaning sulfur dioxide off the suits after a test landing on Io wasn’t as much of a pain as Mars dust. He had no idea why it was that way, but it made everything harder than it needed to be.

    Probably doesn’t help that they loosened up the tolerances on some of these things, he thought as he double checked his squad’s formation. IOS had, in the name of faster and cheaper production, lowered the performance targets for the Shiden, making it somewhat weaker than a Graze one-on-one. Therefore, those same geniuses decided that having a four unit mobile suit team would be an appropriate counter to the typical three unit Graze team. It was also, Dutch noticed, a great excuse to push larger orders from clients.

    For this exercise, Tekkadan’s mobile suit team would serve as stand-ins for a Gjallarhorn unit, even though all of their units exceeded the standard specs of a Graze. Both sides had conventional weapons loaded with training paint rounds, which IOS hadn’t made yet for the magnetic rifles.

    Not that it mattered, because the mag rifles were still being cleaned out. It was a minor miracle that they’d only fried the control boards for one rifle so far, considering how dangerous the dust was.

    Then again, they thought sending the things out with exposed wiring bundles was a great idea, Dutch thought as they moved into the drill area, sufficiently far from the lone farming outpost in the base’s vicinity.

    The winding gorge suddenly revealed Tekkadan’s Gundams and Dutch cursed as he tried to dodge and lay down suppression fire.

    IOS’ intel package on Barbatos had been a few months out of date by the time the team arrived on Mars. The Gundam had been refitted with Graze Ritter shoulder armor, increased frontal torso armor, and thruster units on the side skirts; for this exercise, it wasn’t carrying the alien cannon, to avoid damage to the irreplaceable weapon. Technically, the Gundam’s mobility had decreased as a result of the modifications, but it was still a pain in the ass to pin down.

    Gusion Rebake was thankfully restrained to only a rifle and axe, otherwise the exercise would’ve turned ugly. As it was, Hal and Meyer were busy trying to pin it down while dodging its counterfire, leaving Dutch and Detmer the unenviable task of pinning down Mikazuki, while Shino danced around and tried to get clean shots at all of them. Dutch admired the strategy behind it: Tekkadan knew Shino was the weak link in their fireteam (in more ways than one) and did their best to work around it. And even better, it was something Gjallarhorn might do too.

    “Detmer, on the count of three, kick up dust, then fire on Shino as we break contact with Mikazuki.”

    “Roger that.”

    Dutch grinned. Detmer could be a stuck up ass most of the time, but her head was on straight whenever she was in combat. “One…” Dutch tried to dodge a round from Barbatos and wound up having it wing his left shoulder armor. “Two…” One of Shino’s shots went wide and created a small dust cloud behind Detmer. “Three!”

    Detmer fired off her Shiden’s thrusters, staying in place until a large cloud engulfed the three mobile suits. Then, at Dutch’s signal, the two slid their mobile suits backwards, unloading their entire magazines into Shino’s Ryusei-Go. Blue paint splotches appeared all over the arms, torso, and head, and the pair hastily reloaded as they dodged Mikazuki’s counterattack.

    “Goddamn it, I’m out,” Shino announced.

    Probably only a mission kill, Dutch thought, but I’ll take it.

    Barbatos then jerked backwards and slid back towards Gusion. Dutch had seen enough combat to know when a pilot was doing things because of orders, and this was one of those times. He didn’t know how much of the kid’s combat record was puffed up bullshit or not, but from the moment he’d laid eyes on him, Dutch knew Mikazuki was a killer. Even Hal afforded him some respect, which said a lot – that man was a predator, wading into battle to bathe in the blood of his enemies. If a man like that was on his best behavior around someone, it meant they might be as good or better in the killing department.

    Dutch figured that in a normal engagement, not this weird simulation scenario, Mikazuki would’ve probably proceeded to cripple/kill him and Detmer, then proceeded back to help Akihiro. Then again, Akihiro probably wouldn’t have needed the help to begin with, because he literally wouldn’t be fighting with two arms folded up in his armor. They weren’t used to playing an opposing force, and that was to the IOS team’s benefit.

    Then a flashing light on a display to Dutch’s left caught his attention. He checked the readout and cursed, then shouted at the cockpit voice recorder. “Kafka, for fuck’s sake, we need to sort out some gaskets or whatever for the motors! I just lost my left elbow motor, and I bet it’s that goddamn Mars dust!”

    On the plus side, that arm had a shield mounted to it and the system safeties locked the joint into position, so the arm wouldn’t flop around. On the negative, he literally couldn’t reload his rifle without passing it to his Shiden’s left hand, use the right hand to grab the magazine and insert it, then switch hands again. He was literally better off ditching the rifle and switching to melee weapons… except he hated the partisan, since using it one handed was a risky affair. A good enemy pilot could easily wrestle control of something that long away from its owner.

    On the other hand, the armor breaker swords that were available were fucking nightmares to handle one handed, due to their odd balance, so it could’ve been way worse.

    And much to Dutch’s disgust, the exercise quickly fell apart after that. All the other Shidens began suffering minor failures too, culminating in Mayer’s Shiden’s left knee motor failing to lock as she braced her unit for a melee strike, allowing Akihiro to take her out as the Shiden stumbled into the gorge wall, which opened him up for Hal to target the spine of the Gundam and mission kill Gusion. Of course, Mikazuki then responded by grabbing hold of Dutch’s partisan and using the Shiden as a club against the remaining two IOS units, at which point, all the Shidens had various warning indicators firing off.

    Upon returning to base for debrief, there was only one thing to be said.

    “We’re not getting any usuable results until this dust problem is sorted out.” Dutch looked over at Moses, who scowled before conceding the point.

    “Dutch is right, this is a major product issue.” He looked over at the chief technician. “Kafka, have you and your people whipped up a solution yet?”

    The older man looked at the manager, his expression calm and collected, and merely said, “We’re still cataloging which parts are most susceptible to the dust. Once we’ve got that, we’ll have some gaskets and other seals produced and fitted to the relevant components. Shouldn’t take more than a week to get them made and delivered.”

    “Really.” Moses looked over at Dutch. “The test schedule is already out the window, what’s one more delay?” He locked eyes with Kafka. “Will the mag rifles be ready to go by the time your new gaskets get here?”

    “We’ll probably be receiving the materials for refitting the mag rifles at the same time, so we’ll probably be splitting time between the two.” The chief technician shrugged. “It’ll take a lot of time either way. A lot of this stuff would’ve been better done at the factory… if they’d known about the problem to begin with.”

    The test team manager’s sour expression told everyone his opinion. “Alright, I want honest opinions on Orga’s proposed addition to the test schedule, in light of these problems.”

    “It’d be useful to gather more data, at the very least,” Kafka admitted. “The environmental conditions outside the colony band are totally different than the polar regions. We might discover whole new problems.”

    “Wonderful.”

    Dutch shrugged. “Can’t hurt to get more uptime on the machines, maybe get some of the Tekkadan folks some hands on time in safe real world conditions.”

    “Some battle drills too,” Detmer added as she examined her nails.

    Moses made a note on the tablet in front of him. “Alright, we’re done here. I expect your written reports first thing in the morning.”

    Unsurprised by this latest petty demand, the test team members filed out of the room. Test pilots were a special breed, but they relied on having a good reputation – for a certain value of “good” – to keep working. No one was going to do anything stupid… yet. One of the problems of a backwater like Mars was the lack of distractions to keep people busy and away from annoying management types during dead times like this.

    Dutch sighed and began working out how he was going to keep his people out of trouble.



    Rustal Ellion once again sat in the Seven Stars council chambers, and once again, he found himself considering the ramifications of Gallus Bauduin’s intelligence. This time, it was simply that the alien spaceship in Teiwaz’s possession had finally resurfaced. However, it was quickly becoming clear that the Deep Space Telemetry division wasn’t up to snuff… and admittedly, probably working with outdated equipment.

    “So, Lord Bauduin, it’s safe to say that our detection capabilities in the outer solar system are completely inadequate?” It was an intentionally provocative question, a bit of hyperbole to see where the head of the Bauduin family stood.

    “Not completely, no. Overly focused on certain areas, probably well charted by the people it’s intended to watch, and likely outdated, yes.” Gallus sighed. “We have to face facts – we’re running into limitations due to our own relative lack of technological progress. If we had faster ships, we could expand our coverage and routinely upgrade our surveillance satellites in the outer regions of the solar system. We would never have 100% coverage, of course, but we’d have far more than we have now.”

    “Our Halfbeak class cruisers are too slow to make this kind of mission routine,” Ellion reluctantly acknowledged. “It’s another of our disadvantages, when compared to the aliens. Their mass effect technologies give them a speed advantage over our own forces once they arrive in-system. Even if both sides are constrained by speed-of-light sensors, their greater mobility would allow them to confound and bypass any forces not permanently garrisoning a planet or colony.”

    “A shame Teiwaz knows where the gaps in our surveillance coverage are,” Elek Falk muttered. “If we could observe the ship in action, we’d have some baseline to work with.”

    “Considering Teiwaz’s ability to misdirect and deceive us, I am not certain how valid any information gained through observing the ship’s shakedown trials would be,” McGillis Fareed observed. The young man was shaping up to be an interesting wild card, clearly with an agenda of his own, but one that sometimes meshed with Ellion’s own. Or, at the very least, did not interfere with his at this time. “I would not be surprised if the ship deliberately underperformed within our observation, in order to manipulate our data analysis.”

    “A valid point, Lord Fareed,” Nemo Baklazan replied, stroking his beard. “We underestimated Teiwaz in the past to disastrous results. We must not make that mistake again.”

    It was at this point that Iok predictably barged into the conversation. “Speaking of underestimating people, I believe we are not paying enough to Tekkadan’s activities.”

    Ellion internally sighed. He knew where this was going, and what the reaction would be. He couldn’t fault the boy’s instincts, but a wiser person would’ve brought up the issue in a less contentious manner.

    “Lord Kujan.” McGillis spoke slowly, in an attempt to keep the discussion from going out of control. “Tekkadan is already under the best surveillance we can manage. In fact, we know exactly what they are doing. They are fulfilling a contract with IOS to test new mobile suits and possibly new weapons, which is why we are expending extra resources from Mars Branch to observe the testing via orbital surveillance.”

    The blunt litany of facts staggered the boy for only a second. “True, but there’s a disturbing lack of scrutiny of this latest addition to their agenda.”

    Ellion quietly cursed whoever decided to route all reports from a command under Inspection Bureau investigation, as the Mars Branch was, to all the Seven Stars. While it was a sensible measure to ensure transparency, it provided ample fuel for the more imaginative to run wild with conspiracy theories. And Iok, who found the entire uneasy peace with the MNCEA, Teiwaz, and Tekkadan an affront, was exactly the kind of person who could be baited by the slightest sign of suspicious activity and blow it out of proportion.

    It didn’t mean he wasn’t right, but there was a danger in being certain of an outcome without the facts to back it up.

    “Yes, I can see the flight plan they submitted for flights to and from the Martian south pole might be a bit odd, but that seems within the parameters of their contract.” Falk nodded towards Ellion. “From what I recall, we test our own mobile suits in a variety of environments before beginning mass production. IOS apparently does the same.”

    Iok faltered, as Ellion knew he would. Even the fire and certainty of youth could do little against ironclad facts and overwhelming group sentiment. Still, he defended his point, albeit in a feeble way. “I was merely saying that we shouldn’t reject the possibility of some secret agenda in Tekkadan’s actions.”

    “We aren’t,” Gallus assured him. “But so far, none of our sources, to my knowledge, have indicated that there is anything suspicious in this. Admittedly, the events of the last several months have made it harder to fully grasp what the economic blocks are doing, but their strategy is clear enough – acquire alien technology to enrich and empower themselves.”

    Ellion looked over at McGillis. “Lord Fareed, I believe you have been working on improving relations with the economic blocks. What is your assessment of the situation?”

    It was a test of sorts, to see what was unsaid as much as what was said.

    “I believe that the economic blocks have been receptive to my attempts to open a dialogue and deescalate tensions.” McGillis spoke carefully, measuring every word. “Possibly because of my former posting to the Inspection Bureau or the fact that I was not on council when certain policy decisions were made.” There was no recrimination in his tone, but the wording made it clear what he was talking about. “However, either due to my father’s actions or the fact that I am the most junior member of this body, I suspect they are not willing to take my word at face value.”

    “And that means?” the ever impatient Iok prompted.

    “That there is a severe lack of trust, Lord Kujan.” McGillis locked eyes with the youngest member of the council. “Now that my forces are at a… sufficient level of readiness, I have put out feelers regarding cooperative ventures targeting international crime, to help build that trust.”

    Trust in Gjallarhorn as a whole, or just your Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet? Ellion wondered. Using politics to offset his fleet’s lesser military power would make sense for the younger man, assuming he was ambitious and trying to get the upper hand in Gjallarhorn’s own internal politicking. On the other hand, McGillis’ entire record was nothing but the man doing whatever it took to accomplish the missions he’d been given. And since the role of the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet is to keep an eye on Earth and be the point of contact with the economic blocks, we cannot complain too loudly about the results of your actions, no matter what your motives are.

    “Would you say there is any danger in this Multinational Committee on Extraterrestrial Affairs taking a more… aggressive posture towards us?” Ellion asked.

    Again, McGillis spoke with careful deliberation. “At this time, they seem to be content with their existing sanctions and focusing their resources on the development and exploitation of alien technology.” He paused for a second. “I would characterize the organization as reactive and opportunistic. They will not hesitate to exploit any situation for their own benefit, but they would not manufacture a crisis to do so. Nor do they have the military capability to directly challenge us.”

    That last fact was completely unsurprising to Ellion. While the economic blocks did have some mobile suits, they tended to be old Calamity War era models, obsolete units like the Geirall, or deliberately compromised, the upcoming Hloekk Graze. Teiwaz offering new mobile suits to the MNCEA members, even if they weren’t equipped with any alien derived technology, could eventually make things far less tilted in Gjallarhorn’s favor.

    Especially if the aliens managed to break the Ahab reactor bottleneck that gave Gjallarhorn its overwhelming edge in military strength.

    “We should be grateful that the MNCEA is so reasonable, at least for the moment,” Falk observed. “We don’t need any further destabilization of the solar system, not when we should be unifying our efforts to narrow the gap between our species and the rest of the galaxy.”

    “That would be easier to accomplish if the MNCEA hadn’t barred us from participating in those efforts,” Iok groused.

    Gallus Bauduin grimly smiled at that. “Considering that we likely would’ve done the same thing, at least initially, I doubt we can convince anyone that we’ve been wronged. Especially considering the other circumstances at the time.” Then he sighed. “That said, considering the broader implications and the fact that our… competition is struggling, I doubt that the MNCEA would be too harsh in its penalties if we peacefully acquired some alien technology.”

    “Are you suggesting we steal assets from Teiwaz?” McGillis narrowed his eyes at the elder Bauduin.

    “Not at all, just keep an open eye for any possible alien technology that isn’t in their control,” he replied. “Along with gathering as much information as we can about their reverse engineering efforts.”

    “That seems sensible,” Baklazan added. “Judging by the publicly revealed information about the aliens, it seems that discovering alien relics is something that happens on a not-infrequent rate in this “Citadel space” area. If we were to acquire technology that way, the MNCEA would have no grounds to protest.”

    There was much nodding around the table, although Ellion noticed McGillis hesitated a bit. “Is something on your mind, Lord Fareed?”

    “Simply this: the MNCEA’s reaction is mostly likely to be determined by the manner we secure any artifacts or the like. It would be best if it was done with the minimal amount of force required.” McGillis gave Ellion a grim smile of his own. “As I’ll be fielding the brunt of the MNCEA’s ire, it would be appreciated if the Arianrhod fleet restrained itself from mobilizing en masse and drawing unavoidable attention.”

    “A reasonable request, Lord Fareed,” Ellion granted. “It naturally depends on what could be found.”

    “Of course.”

    Some minor pleasantries followed before the meeting adjourned. I must admit, you pose an interesting challenge, McGillis Fareed. One that I need to prepare my wards for. Rustal smiled and sighed, knowing the process of educating them would be a long and arduous one. But for now, we are in alignment, and so I will do nothing to interfere with your work.

    But I will be ready for you.




    After two weeks of delays, hard work, and multiple practice skirmishes, it was finally time to risk a trip to Promethei Planum.

    Nervous energy coursed through Orga as he tracked the HLV’s launch on the Isaribi. During the long, boring wait for parts to (hopefully) fix the seemingly unending dust problems, the IOS technicians had helped refurbish the HLV’s interior and certify it ready for action. Not only that, they helped repair and refit the damaged mobile suit, supposedly the V04-1001 Waltraute, replacing its missing arm with that of a Graze Ritter. It wasn’t fully combat ready, but it was enough to use it during the mag rifle testing, which had wrecked one rifle already in a destructive test to measure the maximum rate of fire in an Earth type atmosphere.

    He relaxed a bit as the icon for the HLV continued on its way out of the atmosphere, causing the tracking display to zoom out.

    “Lisa reports all systems functioning,” Eugene announced from communication console.

    “Keep pace with her,” he ordered the helmsman, one of the younger boys who’d shown some aptitude at the helm during the first round trip to Earth. We’ll need to train up a lot more people on how to handle a ship before we get another one.

    Now that the Shidens weren’t constantly failing, he’d been impressed enough with their performance to start considering a large batch order. And with that came the need for another carrier, which he and Biscuit had already started doing some basic research into. Obviously, we’re gonna go with IOS to build it, but there are some nice designs out there. Hell, if you have enough money, you can even get a cheap version of Gjallarhorn’s main cruiser.

    “I wish we’d been able to do some testing,” Biscuit fretted as he worked one of the auxillary consoles. “If there’s a problem on re-entry…”

    “We did all the testing we could,” Orga reminded him. “But yeah, if there’s a problem, it’d be best if it happened while they’re out here.”

    The whole thing was a calculated risk. First, since no one had any idea exactly where the base was, he’d asked McGillis to forward the data he had to him. Second, after consulting various Martian atlases, they mapped out where the odd readings seemed to be. Third, they examined the gravity maps of the target area, which didn’t seem to indicate anything was there, but since mass effect technology was involved, meant nothing. The final step was to figure out a safe landing zone, which they determined should be five kilometers from edge of the search zone that lay on flat terrain. Hypothetically, the base or whatever it was wouldn’t extend out that far, but for all anyone knew, the HLV could simply crash through the roof of the place once it touched down.

    After several minutes of tense waiting, the HLV began its descent to the surface of the South Pole. The older boys kept their faces clear of any emotion, dreading the potential disaster that could befall the handful of people on this test flight. Aside from the HLV pilot, a small handful of mobile worker operators and a crew for the APC were aboard. Their job was to survey the immediate surroundings of the landing site, rule out the presence of the base there, and gather base line data for the IOS engineers to use to determine what tests they wanted to subject the mobile suits to.

    “Lisa reports they’ve touched down, no issues so far,” Eugene reported, sagging in relief.

    “Good. I want reports every two hours, unless something unexpected happens.” Orga paused and added, “Tell them they better not joy ride into a crater and get stuck there. I’ll dock their pay for three months if they do something that stupid.”

    Eugene whistled. “I’ll let them know.”

    “I’ll be in my office,” he replied, dealing with paperwork and worrying.

    There were fewer and fewer ways out of this deal he’d made. He still hadn’t committed to McGillis’ plan, but at this point, the only outs he had were the alien base not existing or his desperate Hail Mary – pass the buck to McMurdo Barriston. And he was pretty sure he’d get an earful from the Teiwaz executive and Naze for doing all this on his own initiative.

    What really worried him was the possibility that Gjallarhorn decided that Tekkadan filing flight plans, which they were legally obligated to do, and poking around the South Pole was enough to deploy the Arianrhod Fleet. While it’d be hilariously embarrassing if they made the months long trip to find nothing, Gjallarhorn deploying now would drastically cut the amount of time he had to find armaments and allies, plus it would deprive him of even the hope of support from the Thrill Seeker.

    Of course, Makanai had gotten back to him and assured him that the MNCEA would back him if they discovered an alien outpost. The wily old politician hadn’t specified anything beyond that, saying the specifics would have to wait until the Gjallarhorn response. That, naturally, did nothing to ease Orga’s concerns, but he could at least understand wanting the flexibility to scale up the amount of support if needed.

    The familiar boredom and burden of getting through the unending backlog of reports and other paperwork helped take the edge off his anxiety. He’d completely missed the first check in, not realizing it until he stepped away for a quick break. Things were boring, and in this case, boring was good.

    Upon returning to his office, he decided to tackle something that had caught his eye – a report from Dr. Vass on Gjallarhorn’s Alaya-Vijnana System info. Skipping the summary pages for the main content was a mistake – the body of the text was full of jargon and untranslated alien terms, footnotes, and references to things he’d never heard of. He went back to the summary, which was written more for someone on his level – absolutely no knowledge of cybernetics beyond the fact they existed.

    What the Salarian was saying – if Orga understood everything perfectly, which wasn’t guaranteed – was that a combination of gene therapies and nanotech tweaks could virtually eliminate the brain damage threat under normal circumstances. There were two requirements for this – collaborating with Gjallarhorn’s expert to work out any details, and getting access to the most cutting edge medical gear. The first one was a cakewalk – Orga was pretty sure that Vass was invited to some medical conference on Earth to talk about his medi-gel stuff, so that was a good way for the two to meet.

    Getting better equipment, though… that would require a lot of money. Even with the increased cash flow from the media side and the payout from the Shiden test job, there wouldn’t be enough money to afford anything that was an improvement over what they had now. And Vass specified that the medical equipment had to be human, instead of alien tech, because what was available on the Thrill Seeker wasn’t sophisticated enough to be used.

    Then it hit him all at once and he smiled. We won’t have to pay for it at all. All we have to do is claim a Gjallarhorn ship or two as salvage.

    It wouldn’t be easy, of course, but it could be done. Assuming that Gjallarhorn didn’t drown them in ships, of course. And that was naturally assuming that there was even an alien base to lure them in.

    Orga made a note on his omni-tool about the idea, which could be safely shelved for the moment.

    After about ten hours of driving around on the Martian surface, it was all over. The APC and mobile workers returned to Chryse aboard the HLV, while the Isaribi returned to its dock in a perfect display of anti-climax. When the skeleton crew set foot on Mars, Eugene even felt the need to bring it up. “Man, that was a whole lot of nothing.”

    Orga chuckled and shook his head. “What, you wanted some trouble?”

    “No, but…” he paused, looked around, and lowered his voice. “Waiting to get this over with is killing me.”

    “I know,” he reassured his second in command. “It’s been killing me too.” He sighed and looked around them at the Martian sunset. “But we gotta enjoy these boring days, because soon things’ll be heating up.”



    Author's notes: Pumped this one out pretty quick. I forgot to mention that the magnetic rifles are basically the ones in XCOM 2, just with a square muzzle cross section vs the rectangular one of the XCOM guns. Barbatos is finally in 6th Form, which in this universe would be the 5th Form, because the canon 5th Form never got made. The Shiden being super vulnerable to horrible dust is inspired by the long abandoned InRange TV dust test, where horrific Arizona dust caused plenty of failures. New designs, especially simplified ones, are particularly vulnerable to problems because the interactions of all the parts and external factors are never quite perfectly modeled.

    I considered having Gjallarhorn be totally blindsided by Tekkadan discovering the base, but then I realized that the Mars Branch station is probably serving as orbital-traffic control for the entire planet, or at least has to get copied in on any flight plans. Therefore, they're particularly primed to take the bait McGillis has placed for them.
     
    Last edited:
    Chapter 36
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 36

    President Nguyen Van Tomas sat behind the desk all presidents of the Oceanian Federation, contemplating the long, miserable road to the desk. He was not a political creature at heart; that was why he’d managed to remain in office so long. He was a man who just wanted to solve problems. Unfortunately, that often involved dealing with people, an often laborious and unprofitable venture. Since he did not have the charm and charisma of his good friend Makanai, it was a slow, grinding effort to get into a position where he could accomplish something of value.

    Then too many people made too many promises they couldn’t keep, and his reputation as a no-nonsense, non-partisan consensus bringer won him the presidency.

    As he waited for the latest call from the head of the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet, he considered the latest… opportunity that Makanai had briefed the other heads of state on. On the one hand, having a potential alien base would solve some of the pesky red tape and political bitching over Teiwaz having sole control over alien technology. On the other hand, the fact that this was on Mars was a political and logistical nightmare.

    On a third hand, if one was available, it was a perfect opportunity to lure Gjallarhorn into a politically embarrassing disaster… which made him very suspicious about the whole thing.

    Presumably, the inside man – who still hadn’t made contact – provided Tekkadan with this information for that effect. That was the reasonable assumption, but Van Tomas hated the uncertainty about the source and possibility of being manipulated. Even in this cloak-and-dagger game with Gjallarhorn, he preferred to know as much as possible upfront.

    A sharp pinging noise alerted him that the secure, quantum encrypted line to Vingolf was established, and within seconds, the image of McGillis Fareed appeared on the monitor of his desk.

    “Lord Fareed, a pleasure, as always.” It was not a lie, nor was it the whole truth. The young Fareed was a refreshing change of pace from his predecessor, the often haughty Carta Issue. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to avoid interacting with her of grating personality. Fareed, whatever his flaws were, was at least tolerable to deal with.

    No, the problem with dealing with McGillis Fareed was the fact that the man’s intentions were never clear. He seemed genuine enough in his attempts to repair the Outer Earth Orbit Regulatory Joint Fleet’s relationship with the Oceanian Federation, but whether that was because it was his job, for personal power, or for some other reason was debatable. That sort of ambiguity never boded well, in his experience.

    “Mr. President,” McGillis replied, as respectful as ever. “Today’s agenda is quite simple. I would like to propose a cooperative venture between my fleet and your police and military agencies, aimed at curbing crime. This would be a series of joint missions, hopefully taking place over the course of a month or two. Both sides would exchange intelligence, but Gjallarhorn forces would only deal with anything crossing the borders or in international waters.”

    Is he taking me for a fool, or is this just one of those proposals that we’re supposed to haggle over? Van Tomas considered the proposition for several long seconds, then shook his head. “What I see here, Lord Fareed, is a publicity stunt meant to bolster Gjallarhorn’s reputation. Yes, fighting crime is one of the many responsibilities of the government, but there is no clear benefit to the Oceanian Federation as a whole.”

    The corners of McGillis’ mouth pulled up. “The army is the poison…”

    “… and the people are the water in which the poison is mixed.” Van Tomas mentally reeled as he recited the counter sign, unprepared for this sudden revelation… and yet, there was no surprise at all. This new fact simply clicked into the puzzle that was McGillis Fareed as if it had always been there. “I must admit, Lord Fareed, I did not expect this revelation in this manner.”

    “Yes, well,” McGillis shrugged, an unexpected casual gesture from such a controlled person. “There was little to be gained by maintaining the subterfuge, especially with the potential upcoming events.”

    “Would you be referring to Tekkadan’s latest activities?”

    “Only their travel to the Martian south pole,” McGillis clarified. “The involvement of outside parties is not my doing.”

    “I see.” He paused and collected his thoughts. “Going back to your earlier proposal…”

    “That is merely the initial pitch I need you and your government to sell,” McGillis clarified, “preferably as soon as possible, before any revelations on Mars can be made public. The actual operation, which I hope to expand to include the colonies, will be a simultaneous strike on as many of Rustal Ellion’s agents as possible.”

    The Oceanian president frowned. “Why would you want… ah, you anticipate that your proposed venture will be delayed in reaction to your colleague’s response to the Mars situation, thereby giving you cover to restructure it appropriately.”

    “That and the inevitable political fall out will fall on me to clean up, anyway, giving me broader latitude,” McGillis affirmed. “Also, the delay will allow my agents and associates more time to analyze and utilize any intelligence your government can provide.”

    Van Tomas tapped his chin as he considered this new information. “My government attempted to prosecute certain individuals, but Gjallarhorn intervened in their cases. Would you be able to deal with them? Legally, of course?”

    “If there is enough evidence to justify it, and assuming that these individuals haven’t been liquidated, yes.” Again, the corners of McGillis’ mouth moved up. “That is why I would appreciate your information on these individuals being provided off the record. I’m sure whatever information exists in the Gjallarhorn databases is designed to make them seem far less important than they actually are.”

    “I assume you’ll want us to give you these documents via your man Mirconen.”

    McGillis was completely unphased by the statement. “That would be the most direct avenue.”

    “So, regarding the Mars issue…”

    “The current one, or Martian independence in general?”

    “The current one, although I would be interested in your stance on Martian independence as well.”

    “I have no interest in interfering with your positions in either case.” McGillis shrugged. “Ultimately, they are rather irrelevant when compared to the long-term tactical and strategic considerations of humanity’s place in the galaxy. But that is something for discussion at a later date, with all the other stakeholders.”

    Van Tomas’ eyes narrowed. Just what do you mean by that? But he wasn’t going to push too hard, at least not this early in the still fresh relationship. “That is good to hear.”

    “A word of caution – the rest of the Seven Stars intend to claim legal precedent from Citadel space to justify taking over any alien relics that might be found,” McGillis warned. “I’m sure that there is plenty of room for argument over whether or not is valid, but it would benefit your position to claim that Tekkadan was working under MNCEA direction the whole time.”

    “Noted. Is that all, Lord Fareed?”

    “For now.” McGillis nodded goodbye, then unceremoniously cut the line, leaving the Oceanian president to gather his thoughts.

    After several minutes, he came to several decisions. Pressing a control on his desk, he simply said, “Get me Paul Munu and a secure line to Prime Minister Makanai.”



    On Promethei Planum, mobile suits were fighting each other with rifles, projectiles booming dully in the thin atmosphere of the Martian pole. And none of them were piloted by Ride Mass, who was bouncing around in the Czenki APC with Raeka and a few other people, driving around in a grid pattern far away from the action. Since there was a random rotation of people for the job, Ride couldn’t complain too much about the duty, but it wasn’t anything he wanted to do, not when there was the much cooler job of piloting a mobile suit on hand. He was even wearing one of the terrible, cheap child-sized spacesuits for no reason he could discern at all.

    But it wasn’t all bad. The Asari driver had a playlist of light Zesha trance music playing and it had everyone’s heads bopping to the beat.

    “Why are we out here, anyway?” Ride finally bothered to ask, roughly two hours into the survey.

    “Boss wants to make sure all the ground’s safe for mobile suits to stand on,” Raeka replied offhand. “Doesn’t want any of them to get caught crashing through the roof of an underground spring or something.”

    Ride felt that explanation sounded off, but he couldn’t exactly pin down why.

    Two more hours passed, putting them near the edge of Deseado crater, at which point Raeka suddenly blurted out “Hold position!”

    The driver hit the brakes immediately, kicking up a dust cloud as the thrusters kicked in to kill the vehicle’s forward momentum. Raeka worked his control panel and frowned, adjusted some more settings, then continued frowning. After a few minutes of this, he decided to punt things upstairs. “Tekkadan One, this is Tekkadan Three. We might have something. Any chance you can give us some cover from snooping?”

    Orga’s voice came over the speakers. “Tekkadan Three, this is One. We’ll do what we can.”

    “Okay, we need to go around the rim of this crater here,” Raeka announced. “We’ll do a full loop, then we’ll see if we can get in via a shallow spot. If there isn’t one at the rim… we’ll have to risk going into the crater itself.”

    Ride narrowed his eyes. It was clear that Raeka was doing something secret, on Orga’s orders, but he didn’t like that humans were being kept out of the loop. It didn’t feel like the Tekkadan way of doing things. It better be something serious, ‘cause I don’t like this.

    He kept his thoughts to himself as the APC began making its circle around the crater, just in case it turned out to be worth it.

    Four hours later, the cantankerous Salarian shook his head. “Tekkadan Three to Tekkadan One. No go on the rim, will have to go inside the crater to look for an entrance.”

    There was a long pause and for a second, it seemed like the connection had simply cutoff. “Three, this is One. Are you sure you can get out of the crater safely?”

    “If we crank the mass reduction to the max, use the boosters, and get a good angle up the crater wall, it shouldn’t be a problem,” the driver replied. “With max traction, you can get up nearly 70 degree inclines in one of these babies.”

    “Alright, you’re cleared to go in. Try not to get stuck down there.”

    “Roger.” Raeka sighed and shook his head. “Alright, let’s try a corkscrew pattern down the walls to the floor of the crater. Maybe we’ll get lucky on the sides, because it’ll take forever to cover the floor.”

    Ride frowned. It sounded more and more like they were supposed to go underground, which totally went against what Raeka said earlier. Unless there’s something important underground, and the boss doesn’t want it to get damaged! That’s why he’s keeping the mobile suits away! He felt a surge of pride at working that all out in his head. Things were making more sense now.

    He gripped the arm rests of his chair as the APC went over the lip of the crater and proceeded to grind its way along the rim at a steep sideways angle. Various supply bags and tanks slid and pressed against their restraints, barely straining them in the weak gravity. The APC bucked like a bronco as it rolled over each and every boulder and outcropping in the sloping crater wall, the view out the windows a disorienting loop of red-brown surfaces.

    As the alien vehicle approached the end of its route, the driver fired the left side thrusters, kicking the vehicle into the air and allowing it to land on its wheels. “Hey, Maelon, get what you needed?”

    “Mmmm… Give me a second,” the Salarian replied, working his console. “Alright, I think there’s an ingress point at these coordinates.”

    Two minutes later, after a slight application of the boosters, the vehicle came to a stop a few hundred feet from the indicated spot. Raeka looked out a window and nodded. “Alright, anybody good at demolitions work?”

    No one raised their hands.

    “Anyone okay at demolitions?”

    Ride reluctantly raised his hand.

    “Great, you’re with me.” The Salarian unbuckled himself from his seat and made his way around the APC, grabbing various bits of equipment as Ride slipped into a load-bearing vest and hooked an oxygen tank onto his suit. Human and Salarian then donned their helmets, loaded themselves down with gear, and performed a final suit check on each other, before climbing in the back so a mass effect barrier could maintain the atmosphere up front for the other occupants. Once the atmosphere in their section was purged, the pair stepped out onto the harsh, unterraformed Martian wilds.

    The dull crunch of the dirt beneath his boots and the sound of his own breathing filled Ride’s ears as they made their way to the crater wall. Raeka began waving his omni-tool around, then motioned to Ride. “I’ll need charges around here,” he waved an arm in the outline of a door, “to clear out about 20 meters depth of material.”

    “Alright, gimme a few minutes.” Ride began pulling charges off his vest, adjusting the settings, and slapping them on rock face, occasionally with the Salarian’s help. He wasn’t joking when he said he was merely “okay” at demolitions – he knew how to set the charges, but anything more complex than that, like making sure that they didn’t cause an avalanche, wasn’t part of his training.

    Actually, now that he thought about it, he didn’t think it was part of any Tekkadan or CGS training. Gotta see if Gurji knows. He’s always into the weirdest stuff.

    Once the charges were set, the pair retreated behind an outcropping, then remotely detonated the explosives, kicking a massive plume of material into the thin Martian air. They waited five minutes for the debris to settle and to see whether there’d be a rock slide or other calamity, then inspected the results. Inside the hole they blasted, pulverized rock slowly sleeted off an odd, gray-green metal panel, piling up at the bottom and inside engravings on the surface. Raeka swept the dirt out of the engravings, then ran his omni-tool over them.

    “You’re not going to ask me what this is?” he asked Ride.

    “I already figured it out. It’s some secret base or something.” Ride tapped his foot impatiently.

    “Sure, but whose base is it?”

    “I dunno,” the boy replied, taking a hard look at the panel. None of the markings looked like anything he’d ever seen. “Definitely not us – humans, I mean. Not you guys either, cuz you just found us.” He shrugged. “Those Prometheans you guys got a lot of stuff from?”

    “Protheans. They’re called Protheans,” the Salarian corrected, grabbing a piece of equipment off his suit and mounting it on the surface. He tapped a few buttons on his omni-tool and a hidden door slid half the width of a person, before grinding to a halt. “Looks like this place lost atmo a long time ago. Hopefully we’ll be able to override the inner door without having to mess with the pressure sensor.”

    He grabbed the gadget and placed it back on his suit, then turned on his suit lights and slid past the half open door. Ride followed a few seconds later, after turning on his own light, and found himself inside a particularly bland airlock, with Raeka already working the controls for the inner door. Simply walking around kicked up a surprising amount of dust, and to their total lack of surprise, the inner door also jammed after opening halfway.

    “Congrats, kid,” Raeka blurted as Ride crossed into the base proper. “You’re now the first human to ever set foot in a Prothean ruin. Got anything for the history books?”

    Ride looked from side to side. They were in a corridor that extended into the distance at least a few hundred feet, and none of it looked particularly interesting. “I hope the inside is way cooler than this.”

    “That’s what you’re going with?”

    “Yup.” Having seen nothing interesting or useful anywhere in the vicinity, Ride asked the obvious question: “Where do we go now?”

    Raeka held up his omni-tool. “Follow me. Hopefully there’s enough juice to a terminal and whatever computers they’ve got here to pull critical info – a map, equipment status, inventory, that sort of thing.”

    That led them down the corridor, until the Salarian stopped right in front of a random wall panel. After waving his omni-tool at it for a few seconds, he began pulling parts of his suit and assembling them into a device that got slapped onto the panel. A few seconds later, a holographic interface appeared, its glow pulsing like a heart beat.

    “Great, this should give us what we need.” Raeka tapped on an indicator on the device. “Keep an eye on the power level. If it starts flashing yellow, we’re in trouble.”

    Oh boy, that sure sounds like fun,
    Ride groused to himself, setting himself in position as Raeka manipulated the haptic interface. The Salarian’s muttered curses and pleading grew in intensity as time seemed to stretch one moment into infinity. Only the three deep toned beeps letting Ride know he’d hit 50% oxygen in his tank broke the illusion. He looked over at Raeka, who was nervously running a hand over his face mask, watching the file transfer slowly work its way to completion.

    The old Prothean system managed to finish uploading right as Ride’s quarter tank warning went off, a few seconds before the power indicator on Raeka’s gadget began flashing yellow. The Salarian quickly shutdown the console, pulled the device, and stowed it as the pair began double timing it to the exit. The pace only slowed as they approached the airlock, slinking their way through the half-open doors. Raeka lagged behind Ride to seal the door and attach a small beacon to it, then bolted to the safety of the APC.

    Once the pair was back inside, they began shedding their equipment and packing it away. As Raeka finished, he tapped a few buttons on a console, and announced, “Tekkadan Three to One, we’re done here. Got a good result.”

    “I see.” Orga’s voice betrayed nothing. “Alright, get out of that crater and back home so we can see what you got.”



    One of the greatest conveniences of having Tekkadan run a courier route through the solar system was the ability to get important people to Saisei faster than normal. Of course, most of them never boarded at the publicly visible Tekkadan bases. Instead, they transferred off of already chartered flights to other destinations or off of private vessels to one of the alien shuttles, then were brought to Saisei, and vice versa.

    It was because of this convenience that McMurdo Barriston had the pleasure of Nobliss Gordon’s company. The head of Teiwaz felt it prudent to keep Gordon in the loop on product developments that might affect his side business. It also allowed Barriston to keep a closer eye on an ally whose vision left something to be desired.

    “I find myself impressed with the quality of your chefs,” Gordon said as he speared a tortellini drenched in marina sauce. “It’s as good as genuine Naples cooking.”

    “I’ll be sure to pass on your praise,” Barriston acknowledged as he sipped some wine. “But it helps that it’s easier to get fresh ingredients on a more regular basis.”

    “Ah yes, your little shuttle circuit must make things a great deal easier.” Gordon chuckled as he popped the meat-filled pasta into his mouth. “It’s a shame we all can’t scoot around the solar system so quickly. It would make things much easier.”

    “Well, the Turbines are using some… alien tips and tricks to cut travel time as much as they can, and IOS says they have a new generation of engines in the works, but really, the key to element zero.” Barriston took a bite of tortellini and chewed it before replying. “The main problem is that we don’t have enough of it. And it’s obviously not just floating around, otherwise we would’ve found it before now.”

    “You do have the alien ship…”

    “And given the mishap that stranded them here, the ship’s ability to travel outside the solar system has been compromised.” There was no circumstance where Barriston would reveal the truth behind the Thrill Seeker’s permanent presence in the solar system to Gordon. There was stirring the pot, and there was whipping it into a frenzy of paranoia; the latter was likely to be the result of Gordon’s usual way of handling things. “Besides, even if we did find some, we don’t have the facilities to handle it yet. That’s yet another thing that’s soaking up money.”

    Before Gordon could reply, an orange gauntlet materialized around Barriston’s left forearm. “Mr. Barriston, Orga Itsuka would like to speak with you and Naze Turbine on the secure line whenever it is convenient.”

    “Tell him…” Barriston looked at the clock built into the omni-tool. “I’ll be ready at the top of the hour. Let me know if that doesn’t work for Naze.” He then cut the line and allowed the device to return to its idle state. “It’s brand new – the first human made omni-tool. It’s missing at least half the features and has a quarter of the battery life of even the most basic Citadel ones, but it’ll make a nice museum piece.”

    “How much is it worth?”

    “Enough that we’re only considering selling or leasing the initial production batches to large organizations or government agencies that could make use of them.” Barriston sighed. “It might take a decade minimum for the production costs on this model to drop to the point that they’re viable for direct sale to consumers. Supposedly, in that same amount of time, the Citadel races managed to sell several hundred million of them when they first came out and achieve roughly 20% market saturation in a population of trillions.”

    Gordon rubbed his chin in contemplation. “So, is this your subtle hint that I should look into industrial investments?”

    “Not right now,” the head of Teiwaz snorted in derision. “If we can get the economic blocks to deregulate industrial startups, that’d be the time to do it.”

    With a bland expression, Gordon swirled his glass around. “So… what do you think the boy wants this time?”

    “I know you’re still sore about him managing to keep the news about the aliens secret,” Barriston replied, chewing on another piece of tortellini. “But think of it this way – you’ll probably be one of the first ones in on something new to stir the pot with.”

    Gordon’s expression soured. “We shall see.”

    My “friend,” you need to get over having your precious little martyr yanked away from you, Barriston thought. What Tekkadan did shook things up for years to come. He sighed and continued eating. The challenge working with someone focused primarily on short-term profits was that they got cranky when they didn’t get their piles of money right away. They also didn’t like having their “sure bet” plans getting derailed by unforeseen circumstances.

    After finishing their meal, the pair retired to Barriston’s office for the call. Gordon lounged on the couch, puffing on a cigar, while Barriston sat behind his desk, looking at the low quality images of Naze Turbine and Orga Itsuka on a screen. It’s not much, but piece of mind is worth the price and terrible quality.

    “So Orga, what’s so important that you had to call the two of us?” He said nothing about the boy’s obvious nervousness. Calling attention to it probably would make things worse, especially when it’d probably come out in conversation.

    “A while back, I got a tip from Montag about some alien tech that might be on Mars. I wasn’t sure it was legit, but I asked the aliens about it, and they said it might be worth checking out.” Orga paused and swallowed hard. “We just did some poking around while on the IOS job, and… Montag was right. There’s an alien base at the Martian south pole.”

    Gordon jerked forward, and Barriston flicked his eyes up and at the philanthropist in a silent warning to shut up. He also mentally added a note to devote more resources into investigating this "Montag" person and his agenda, and whether he knew of other alien artifacts in the solar system.

    “Why do I get the feeling that’s not the worst of it?” Naze asked, with an air of patient exhaustion.

    Orga’s nervousness intensified. “I may have… passed on Montag’s rumors to the MNCEA.”

    All the adults seeing or hearing the conversation closed their eyes in silent pain.

    “Do they know what you’ve found?” Barriston asked. There was a rather broad spectrum of responses he was considering, and he’d prefer having actual facts on hand before having to come down hard on the young man.

    “No sir, you and Naze are the only ones outside of Tekkadan who know. And only about a dozen people in Tekkadan know.”

    Barriston nodded – at least the boy had some sense, so perhaps a minor ass chewing would do.

    “So, you’re looking for us to tell you whether or not you should tell them.” Naze shook his head in amusement. “I have to admit, you had me worried for a second there.”

    Drumming his fingers on the arm rest of his chair, Teiwaz’s Old Man asked a simple question: “What exactly did you say to the MNCEA?”

    “That there might be an alien outpost on Mars… and that I’d like their support if we found it.” Orga had shed the nervous energy and settled into a more professional demeanor.

    “You didn’t guarantee anything, did you?”

    “No sir.”

    McMurdo Barriston found himself in the unenviable position of being presented with a fait accompli by an employee who’d done everything – as far as he knew – exactly as his superiors would’ve told him to, but with far greater stakes than normal. Then again, Orga had dropped a prize plum into his lap – the value of this facility was simply incalculable, and that meant he could extract a great many concessions from the MNCEA. But that of course left the elephant in the room to be addressed.

    “Does Gjallarhorn know what you’ve found?”

    “They shouldn’t. We put in flight plans to and from the pole as part of the Shiden tests.” The teenager grimaced. “They’ve put up satellite surveillance, but we’ve kept them from seeing where the base is.”

    Inconvenient, but not a deal killer.


    “Alright then. I want all the information you can get me on that outpost before I go making a deal with the MNCEA.”

    “We’ve already got a basic inventory and equipment status list that’s being translated,” Orga informed him. “I don’t know when it’ll be ready, but we can send it by any means you want.”

    “Might be best to send it physically on your next shuttle circuit,”
    Naze suggested. “Just to be on the safe side.”

    Barriston nodded in agreement, not wanting to push the comparatively crude human quantum entanglement communications systems past their limits. “I take it you haven’t had your people do anything besides an initial exploration, have you, Orga?”

    “No sir. We verified that the outpost exists and got the data, but we haven’t done anything beyond that. And as far as we can see, Gjallarhorn isn’t poking their noses in, beyond the satellite, I mean.”

    “Good, good.” Barriston leaned back in his chair and further considered his options. “I’ll withhold judgment on whether or not to provide you with extra resources to investigate the facility until after I speak with the MNCEA.” He gave the teen a friendly smile. “Naze and I have some other business to attend to. Let us know if anything changes.”

    He waited until after Orga’s image disappeared and Naze’s filled the screen to speak, sparing a glance at Gordon to remind the other man to keep quiet. “Once Orga gets that information to me, I’ll have you get in touch with the MNCEA, to let them know what we’ve found. After that though, I’ll personally handle negotiations over the facility.”

    Naze raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure, Old Man? You were pretty hands off last time.”

    “It’s because of how serious this is.” Barriston smiled. “I’m sure the rest of the board will complain about giving away some control of alien tech, but the timing on this is perfect for us to extract some major concessions from the MNCEA. Getting more of their money into the pot will allow us to cut back and stop leaning so heavily on you and IOS.”

    “What about Gjallarhorn? If they find out about this…”

    “Why do you think Orga asked for the MNCEA’s support?” Again, the head of Teiwaz smiled. “If we thread this needle very carefully, everyone will benefit, at the expense of a slight embarrassment or two on Gjallarhorn’s part.”

    “So… you want me to intentionally leak this.”

    “I don’t think you will leak this. Some random bureaucrat in the MNCEA…” Barriston shrugged. “That’s why I intend to bypass them and make the deal with real movers and shakers.”

    Naze’s dubious expression made it plain how optimistic he thought that was. “I’m surprised you didn’t come down on Orga like a ton of bricks.”

    “As far as we know, he did everything we would’ve told him to do to begin with. Being pro-active is fine, as long as you’re not stupid about it.” The older man chuckled. “You and Vass are doing a good job of moving him along. That said, try to encourage the kid to not shake up the solar system quite as often. It makes life harder for the rest of us.”

    “I’ll see what I can do.” The Turbines’ patriarch (in more ways than one) smiled at that. “If there’s anything else…”

    “I’ll call you. Have a great time explaining your “brother’s” latest escapades to Amida.” Both men laughed as the connection cut out, then Barriston looked over to Nobliss Gordon. The other man’s sour expression was leavened by consideration of the opportunity they’d just been given. “So, what do you think?”

    “I noticed you were kind enough to give me something to work with.” Gordon couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice, but aside from that, he was calm and collected. “I take it you want word of this to get out after your man Turbine gets in touch with the MNCEA.”

    “Naturally,” the Old Man replied. “I would keep it off the grapevine for a few days, give Gjallarhorn the opportunity to jump on the info and embarrass themselves. They’ll probably see it as an opportunity to make things even with the MNCEA.”

    He was already thinking ahead to the arguments with the board over getting in deeper into that political mess. But it was going to have to happen, no matter what – Teiwaz simply didn’t have the assets to protect and administer that site, even with Tekkadan already on Mars. Who better than the MNCEA, then?

    And if he played his cards right, he could earn a little extra cachet by positioning himself as a neutral broker between Earth and Mars.

    “If you really want to embarrass Gjallarhorn,” Gordon said in a speculative tone, “one of the best ways to do it is to let their imaginations get away with them. Maybe have Mr. Turbine mention that this outpost is some kind of astronomical facility or something equally impressive sounding. Then, if they attempt to take it and fail, reveal that it was far less important than they made it out to be.”

    The head of Teiwaz was unable contain his laughter. Once he regained control of himself, he merely said, “You have quite the imagination my friend.”

    Then the two men began planning in earnest.



    Author's notes: Not much to say here. More scheming, more plotting, everybody's getting on the same page.
     
    Chapter 37
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 37

    Two weeks after Iok Kujan’s latest paranoid, but completely accurate assessment of Tekkadan’s action, McGillis Fareed felt well at ease as he described the proposed cooperative action with the law enforcement agencies of Earth’s economic blocks. Most of the other Seven Stars were nodding in approval, while Rustal Ellion’s expression merely conveyed bland interest and Iok Kujan couldn’t hide his irritation at having to actually care about their opinions. He private wondered if it’d be worth it to find some way to trick the young man into making a fool of himself in a meeting. No, no need to manufacture something to accomplish that goal, he thought as Iok stewed. Sooner or later, something will make that undisciplined fool act out like the impetuous child that he is. Deliberately baiting him would probably only draw attention to me, when I can least afford it.

    “Also, given the current political uncertainties, I included a clause that allows for these operations to be rescheduled and reorganized as needed,” he added, again to approving nods from the neutral block of older members. “I felt it only prudent, given the concerns regarding Tekkadan’s activities.”

    “A wise course of action,” Ellion admitted. “We’ll need to repair relations with them sooner or later. Establishing a framework for that now saves us a great deal of effort, especially in light of new information obtained by our intelligence agents.”

    “That would be what, Lord Ellion?” Nemo Baklazan asked.

    “Teiwaz has found some sort of alien facility on Mars,” Ellion explained. Iok looked smug, while McGillis put on a grave expression. Gallus Bauduin, Nemo Baklazan, and Elek Falk couldn’t hide their shock at the revelation – their lack of imagination made them particularly easy targets. “Details are sparse and uncertain, such as the purpose of the installation, but one thing is clear: there will be direct negotiations between the heads of Teiwaz and the MNCEA member nations. Whether or not they formalize an alliance is unclear, but they will almost certainly divvy up whatever data and material is available between them. We are already working to infiltrate the partnerships here in the Inner Spheres, but anything done on Jupiter and beyond will be out of our reach.”

    The three older men looked at each other somberly. Only Falk spoke. “What do you propose?”

    “Using Mars Branch is a non-option. Not only are there still questions about their competence and loyalty, the fact of the matter is that deploying them to seize the site will make Ares Station a legitimate target for a retaliatory strike. If we lose Ares and orbital supremacy over Mars, the economic blocks might take the opportunity to seize our planetside bases.” Everyone nodded in agreement with the tactical assessment. “I propose deploying a nine ship expeditionary force to seize the facility and establish an initial beachhead. We can then mobilize convoys to ferry supplies to establish our facilities in the region and fortify the site against retaliatory counterattacks.”

    This time, McGillis leaned forward in shock with the neutral block. He couldn’t imagine Rustal Ellion sending any of the unarmed Biscoe class vessels on this mission, so that meant at least nine Halfbeak class ships with 20 mobile suits each. It would be 180 vs the eight mobile suits Tekkadan had on hand. It was long odds, but it might be doable if Tekkadan displayed some tactical brilliance.

    “That’s a large commitment of forces,” Gallus pointed out. “It’d be impossible for the MNCEA to miss it.”

    “Indeed, it is my hope that the deployment of the expeditionary force will cause the MNCEA to reconsider their ban on our involvement in alien technology research, allowing us to reach a peaceful resolution.” Ellion seemed completely sincere, but McGillis knew not to trust that surface impression. His goal was to humble the MNCEA, and he’d go to any lengths to do it. “That is why the expeditionary force will be comprised of three Skipjack class battleships, with six Halfbeak class cruisers as escorts.”

    McGillis’ guts turned to ice. 300 mobile suits and nine top of the line Gjallarhorn warships was too much for Tekkadan to handle. Unless…

    He began working the possibilities in his mind as Gallus Bauduin leaned forward and asked the question that was on almost everyone else’s minds. “300 mobile suits? Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

    “No, for two reasons.” Ellion remained calm and composed as most of his peers displayed some level of consternation. “First, having 37 to 1 odds makes it more likely that Tekkadan will see reason and withdraw instead of standing and fighting. They have faced long odds and numerical disadvantages before, and only the most overwhelming force possible will be sufficient to deter them.” Now Ellion allowed some irritation to surface. “Second, Tekkadan managed to block our surveillance of the site, and I anticipate they will continue to do so. Therefore, we will need a force large enough to garrison Promethei Planum, at least until we can find the specific location of the facility.”

    “Did they shoot down the satellite?” Baklazan asked?

    “No, they physically interposed their ship between the planet and the satellite.” Ellion’s dry reporting underscored his irritation. “We obtained a number of high resolution photographs of their assault carrier as a result.”

    McGillis hid a smile by folding his hands in front of his face and bracing his arms on the table. “When would this force begin the journey to Mars?”

    “No sooner than two weeks from now,” Ellion replied. “Skipjack is ready, but Gunnar and Odin are still undergoing post-deployment maintenance. The cruisers will be drawn from the ready reserves.”

    “Is there any way we can accelerate your time table?” Baklazan asked.

    Ellion paused a moment to consider. “At minimum, any supplies you would be able to offer would be appreciated. Ships and mobile suits, more so.”

    Baklazan’s expression made his doubts clear on that topic clear, so McGillis interjected himself into the conversation. “While I cannot publicly commit any forces to this mission, I can provide supplies… as well as a prototype ground assault unit. My forces have no use for it, and no one outside of Gjallarhorn has seen it before, so it won’t be associated with my fleet.” He made his expression apologetic. “There is only so much I can do without jeopardizing relations with the economic blocks.”

    Internally, he congratulated himself on not only disposing of a great deal of old materiel at Ellion’s expense, but finding an above-board method to deliver the prototype to Tekkadan. Even better, he’d irritated Iok Kujan with this move. Iok wanted his clear cut rivalry with McGillis, and by cooperating with Ellion in a token way, he muddied the waters and undercut the other man’s position.

    “I understand the constraints of your position,” came Ellion’s solemn reply, “and I welcome your support.”

    Gallus Bauduin and Nemo Baklazan also contributed supplies, while Iok offered a trio of cruisers. Elek Falk remained silent throughout this, then added his own contribution. “I would hope, Lord Ellion, that this expeditionary force would have standing orders to withdraw if the alien ship engages them or any facilities on Earth or the Moon.”

    This time, McGillis was able to keep a straight face. Elek Falk’s paranoia was paying dividends here. If he could impose some constraints on Ellion’s expeditionary force, even if they were mostly ignored or circumvented, Tekkadan might find a way to exploit their enemy’s rules of engagement.

    “You think there Teiwaz would allow the deployment of their prize vessel?”

    “What I think, Lord Ellion,” Falk primly replied, “is that these are the exact sort of circumstances that might encourage the MNCEA to take drastic action. The colonies are already in a near open state of revolt due to the Dort fiasco, we don’t need to pour fuel into a smoldering pit and turn it into a fire. Having some conditions on our side, even if we never convey them to the MNCEA, allows us leeway to deescalate things without recriminations.”

    Ellion spent a few seconds considering his peer’s words, then nodded. “Such provisions will be included in the expeditionary force’s orders.”

    The discussion then moved onto further refining the plan, and by the time the meeting adjourned, there was general confidence that it was sound and likely to work, barring a miracle on Tekkadan’s end. Therefore, for McGillis’ plan to succeed, he needed to figure out a way to help that miracle happen. Which meant punting a great deal of the logistics onto Gaelio’s shoulders, while juggling his complicated chain of alliances and his unavoidable duties at the same time.

    The only way to guarantee his own victory was to ensure Rustal Ellion failed. Spectacularly.



    Orga looked at the alien shuttle parked on the concrete of Tekkadan base, and marveled at the absolutely bizarre situation he found himself in. Contrary to his expectations, neither Naze nor McMurdo Barriston had gone off on him over what he’d done. Naze had privately chatted with him, sure, but it was more of a friendly reminder to not get in too deep with Montag.

    Then Teiwaz’s Old Man told him to scope out as much of the base as possible.

    That required some personnel reshuffling. Treia T’Pani and Vorhess were swapping positions for a bit, at Barriston’s insistence, which meant there was something going on there. Two scientists were coming over for a bit as well – Prothean experts, from what he’d been told. The names didn’t immediately jog any recollection of who they were, but that was to be expected. The scientists were usually holed up at the Blacksite or traveled to Saisei for R&R, for security reasons.

    So he wasn’t entirely surprised when two Batarians came out of the shuttle, along with an Asari. He hadn’t expected one of the scientists to be a Batarian, just because they were a minority of the alien crew, but it wasn’t too shocking. What did shock him were the two massive things that floated out of the shuttle after them. They were pristine white with black highlights, roughly rectangular objects about the height, width, and length of an average coffee table. He had no idea what they were, and their newness confused him.

    While he’d only spent a few hours on the Thrill Seeker, his impression of the alien ship was similar to that of the Isaribi – older and lived in, but unlike the ex-CGS vessel, better maintained and decorated for its long mission. While Milena Dantius was never as cheap as Maruba and his lackeys, she definitely left the impression of being a penny-pincher on her crew. Seeing what was possibly fresh off the production line equipment, which had to be decently expensive, didn’t mesh with that image.

    Vorhess saw his reaction and smiled. “Nice, aren’t they?” He motioned to his companions, starting with the Batarian: “Gepor Darpack, and that’s Ailer Driqua.” His grin broadened as he shrugged. “Figured you might have a hard time putting names to faces.”

    Orga gave him a quick nod of appreciation as he shook their hands. “So, what’re your new toys for?”

    “Let’s go inside and we’ll tell you all about it,” the engineer said, gesturing to one of the Tekkadan boys coming to offload supplies and luggage from the shuttle. After giving some quick instructions, he handed off a small remote and had the boy lead the hovering drones away for storage.

    Orga led the new arrivals to his office, and once seated, got straight to the point. “So, what’s the plan?”

    “Standard procedure in Citadel space,” Darpack explained. His skin was more yellowish in the middle than Vorhess’, and Orga had no idea if he was younger or older than the engineer. “Send in long term survey drones to map out the ruins and chart any hazards, plus examine the state of the power plant and life support equipment.”

    Driqua nodded in agreement. “Prothean hardware is pretty robust. Plenty of outposts have been found where a few worn out parts were the only things in the way of getting the thing back up to basic functionality.”

    “So that’s what those drones are for,” Orga reasoned. “Why do they look brand new?”

    “Because they are brand new. Milena got ‘em for free when she signed up with the Citadel Exploratory Authority.” Pazness gave the young human a wry grin. “That’s how the CEA gets everybody to play by their rules – they give out nice goodies and training for free, but you have to sign contracts and give up certain salvage rights.”

    “I see.” Frowning, Orga considered that for a few seconds. “How long would it take for them to go through the site?”

    “Each one is designed to go for at least three months before needing a reactor refueling and maintenance on the fabber systems.” Darpack smiled. “Since we’ve got what looks like an evac route floor plan, it should take a month tops for both to do the job.”

    “Okay, sure, but what then?” Orga looked each alien in the eyes – or tried his best, with the Batarians. “What’s the plan?”

    The two scientists looked at Pazness, who grimaced. “The Old Man wants us to fix up the power plant, life support, and the hangar bay mechanisms, which’ll require at least three people – us, probably – prior to the MNCEA setting up shop.”

    It took Orga a few seconds to tally that up and go through the mental math of why McMurdo Barriston would want to do that. Obviously, having some level of functionality to the Prothean base would make cutting a deal with the MNCEA easier, but wanting the hangar fixed meant one thing: he expected to get some of the spaceships listed in the facility inventory. He wasn’t sure that any of those even worked, never mind if the MNCEA would let Teiwaz take a few.

    “How are we supposed to do that?” he asked.

    “Well, the good news is that we brought parts to make an open source fabber unit,” Vorhess replied. “Took a little eezo from the old artificial gravity net on the Seeker, but once we get it put together, we should be able to make most parts.” He paused. “It’s going to need a big room though. You can stand in the thing once it’s put together.”

    “I don’t remember seeing something like that on the Thrill Seeker…

    “We use a smaller unit aboard the ship due to space constraints,” the engineer confirmed. “But we did whip one of these big ones for the Blacksite.”

    “What happens if we need to replace something that’s too big to fit in there?”

    The aliens looked at each other and shrugged.

    “Get someone to make a replacement, I guess,” Darpack suggested. “Maybe get a human equivalent part and try to adapt it?”

    After some back and forth over what preparations needed to be made, the meeting adjourned. Orga wandered off, lost in thought, until his feet brought him to the base’s hydroponics bays. Inside, tending the alien plants, was Mikazuki, on a break from piloting while the IOS team worked on the mobile suits after a hard week of testing.

    “What’cha working on, Mika?”

    Mikazuki clipped a few tendrils with leaves coming off them that hung over the lips of the long tubs of plants. “Keeping the—“ he leaned over to read the label “–Tuchankan tubers from growing out of control.”

    “Right, those things get all over the place.” Orga grimaced, remembering the first batch of tubers spreading their tendrils all over the floor. He reached over to a clipboard hanging off a hook attached to the shelving rack for the tubs. To his satisfaction, it showed that every three days, someone had come down and kept the plants in line. “How are they coming along?”

    “Should be ready next week,” Mikazuki replied, snipping away at the alien plant. “Atra wants to make a big batch of wedges for the IOS people.”

    “Oh, that should be fun,” he replied with a grin. Atra had experimented with the first batch, and the most popular results were the fries and wedges. Since the tubers looked like red potatoes, it wasn’t that surprising that they’d turn out a little spicy. Not too strong, but about the level of the zesty fries he’d tried in town. It’d be a nice surprise for the visitors.

    “Is something up? You usually don’t come down here.”

    “Ah, well…” Caught, he ran his hand over his mouth to stall for time. “Well, it’s just that… things are out of our hands now. The Old Man and the heads of the economic blocks are going to be making deals and we’re just going to be sitting here… waiting.”

    “I thought you wanted the Old Man making the deal.” There was a slight edge of curiosity in the shorter boy’s voice.

    “I figured it was the smart thing to do,” Orga replied. “Less chance of him yelling at us that way.”

    “So, you just don’t like waiting.”

    “Do you?” Mikazuki said nothing, so he continued. “This thing has been dragging on forever… I just want it over with, even if I know that we’re probably better off the longer it takes for Gjallarhorn to get involved.”

    “Mmm.”

    Orga raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

    Mikazuki shrugged.

    “You’re killing me here, Mika.”

    One corner of his mouth flicked up at that. “You need to relax.”

    Orga tried to fire back a retort, but came up short and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, probably.” He looked over at his friend. “I guess that’s what you’re doing here, huh?”

    Mikazuki looked at his shears thoughtfully.

    Chuckling, Orga gently slapped him on the shoulder. “You keep it up. I’ll try to find something fun to do.”



    Rustal Ellion solemnly watched over two mobile suits battling on the moon’s surface from the safety of a secure test facility. One was a standard Graze, the other a much taller unit with obvious Graze heritage, but unique enough to be its own line. The two mobile suits were dodging each other’s gun fire, although it was clear the Graze had better aim, with more of its shot landing on the larger suit’s armor. However, the larger suit shrugged off the hits and fired off salvos with the guns mounted in its shoulders, high speed bursts that made up for the misses with the number of rounds that hit the target.

    A bland, nondescript scientist walked up to him and spoke. “As you can see, there was a notable performance decrease due to replacing the original control system with a more conventional cockpit control setup. In particular, we had to jerry-rig a custom fire control system to handle the ranged weapons.”

    Ellion didn’t even spare the man a glance. “I assume pilot safety is up to the usual standards.”

    “Of course, sir.” The scientist looked down at the tablet he was holding. “We had to install performance limiters in the software though. This unit was designed for much higher speed input and feedback than a normal mobile suit, so much so that a normal pilot wouldn’t be able to keep up with the machine.”

    “These limiters do not interfere with the pilot’s ability to operate the machine, correct?”

    “No, sir.” The scientist paused as he consulted the tablet again. “We did install some extra thrusters to improve its maneuvering abilities in space, but beyond that, we haven’t made any major hardware additions.”

    “I see. Thank you for your report.” The scientist slinked off to one of the monitoring consoles, leaving Ellion to his thoughts.

    It was supreme irony, in his opinion, that five days after the decision had been made to organize his flotilla to Mars, the only positive progress towards outfitting that mission was McGillis Fareed handing him this moldering prototype. It spoke volumes about the early days of Gjallarhorn, where transferring mobile suits between various bases and commands needed to be done in great haste, but supplies were expected to be hoarded by the commands they were distributed to. He had no illusions about the quality of what he’d receive – it was almost certainly going to be old, but serviceable – but he hadn’t expected the red tape… or perhaps it was just incompetence and/or pettiness.

    While he naturally viewed anything approaching artificial intelligence with a great deal of suspicion, he wondered if it would be worthwhile to have something like the Citadel races’ Vis examine Gjallarhorn’s bureaucracy. There was clearly room for improvement; perhaps even having VI handle many of the public facing elements and tedious busy work would be worthwhile. Then again, they’d have to worry about what to do with all the formerly employed cogs in the machine – Gjallarhorn was not only the solar system’s greatest military, but the primary employer of citizens of Vingolf.

    He watched the rest of the mock battle and waited fifteen more minutes before heading towards the locker rooms. Having perfectly timed his approach, he arrived just as the pilot of McGillis Fareed’s gift, Lieutenant Julietta Juris. His ward immediately came to attention and saluted. “Master Rustal!”

    Ellion allowed himself a small smile before gesturing for her to relax. “Walk with me, Julietta.”

    She fell into position at his side with the crisp precision of a fresh academy graduate.

    “What is your impression of the prototype?”

    “It was… unique. But nothing I can’t handle, Master Rustal.”

    Sighing, Ellion reminded himself to one day, preferably when the solar system wasn’t being destabilized, to work on getting Julietta to be more expressive. “This is not a criticism of your abilities, but to be honest, Lieutenant, if it weren’t for the need to have our house represented on this mission, you wouldn’t be deploying with this unit.”

    Julietta was silent for a long moment, before admitting, “I don’t understand, Master Rustal.”

    He took a quick look around and lowered his voice. “This mission is a high risk operation that has a great deal of political weight to it. While Lord Fareed has not shown any signs of duplicity, there is still danger in sending you on this mission. The MNCEA and Tekkadan’s retaliation has been deemed worth the risk to materiel and personnel… as long as the objective is achieved. However, many soldiers may die, which is why Lord Kujan was expressly forbidden from participating in this operation.”

    “Then why I am allowed to go, sir?”

    “Because you haven’t been formally named my heir yet… and because if we are successful, it will be better for the victory to be under our banner than that of the Arianrhod fleet.” Ellion smiled thinly. “Keeping your status as my successor under wraps allows us room to maneuver, but also has its risks. I have cut orders to Commodore Rozhestvensky to keep you out of the most hazardous operations, but if the situation demands it…”

    The girl nodded in understanding, but he wondered if she truly understood the gravity of the situation.

    Then again, she was probably far more familiar with death than he was, decades removed from his last frontline action. She’d been plucked from the shattered decks of a cargo ship raided by pirates, locked in a storage compartment with a few other children as the rest of the ship was either blown apart to make access easier, or being searched deck by deck by spacesuited pirates. If not for the timely arrival of an Arianrhod fleet cruiser assigned to patrol the edges of the Ariadne routes, she would’ve likely died or been subjected to a life of slavery. And even before that, her life had been one of hardship and deprivation, on the edge of starvation as her family barely made a living crusing between the planets.

    As they continued walking, the pair entered a monorail to the spaceport facility. In the empty car, Ellion allowed himself to relax in one of the soft chairs, while Julietta was still ramrod straight in her seat. “We can speak freely here, Julietta.”

    She allowed herself to relax a little, releasing some of the tension in her lithe frame. “Master Rustal… there is a lot about this that I don’t understand.”

    “Hmm… well, this is as good a time as any to begin your political education,” he replied. “Simply put, we’re doing this to restore the original balance of power. Due to the way Dort played out and Iznario Fareed’s actions, we’ve been forced to allow the economic blocks to temporarily gain power over us. However, our role as peacekeepers and law enforcement, maintaining order throughout the solar system, demands that we be the dominant power.”

    “What happens if we aren’t?”

    “In an ideal world, we could be confident that the economic blocks would work together to benefit all humanity.” Ellion sighed and looked out the window, where Earth could be seen over the horizon. “Unfortunately, we do not live in an ideal world. Any unity amongst them will be short lived and will likely result in the kind of petty squabbling and wasteful conflicts that preceded the Calamity War. As they destabilize the solar system, everyone will suffer the effects. That is why we must be victorious.”

    She nodded in understanding. “That’s why Master Iok is so adamant about this.”

    He tried and didn’t quite succeed at stifling a laugh. “Iok has the clarity to see the potential outcome of this situation, but not the wisdom to see how to avoid it. That only comes with age and experience.”

    Again, the teenager nodded solemnly.

    The corners of his mouth lifted up at this unconscious mimicking of his own youth. He’d been an overly serious young man in his youth, burdened by the ever-present specter of responsibility being placed upon him. His friends had done much to shake him out of the rigidity born of knowing too early the weight of duty and obligation, but so much of the knowledge passed down by his father had cursed him. Romance had never come into his life, to his lack of surprise – if there was one thing he resented, it was the unending suspicion about people’s true motives that his father had fostered.

    But that sense of duty and obligation had mixed with his own growing desire to have children when circumstances placed Iok and Julietta in his life. With that emotional need fulfilled, he found himself developing greater patience and keener insight as he shepherded the next generation of Gjallarhorn along, which was paying off dividends during this trying time. He was certain McGillis Fareed planned to profit off this somehow, but without any evidence, he could point to no malfeasance on the younger man’s part. But that was fine with Ellion – unraveling the young Fareed’s scheme would be a diverting challenge.

    Especially once the MNCEA was put in its proper place, where it belonged.



    Author's Notes: Things are getting very spicy for our Tekkadan boys now. One thing I did was looking up the fleet numbers someone pulled up for Gjallarhorn ships, and... they're super fucking weird. The fact that they were super heavy on auxiliaries wasn't weird, it was the general vibe that there were only a few hundred capital ships total, especially when it comes to the Skipjack class (Gjallarhorn's not the kind of faction that'd make a one-off super capital ship, IMO). So I've gone with a much larger capital ship fleet, but one that's spread out.

    The 300 mobile suit count comes from the Skipjacks having 6 of the catapults that the Halfbeak class ships have, and those ships have 2 for 20 mobile suits.

    Tried adding a little more humanity to Rustal, but keeping the theme of being a Seven Star is actually shitty, in that putting all this pressure on people is not a great and probably fucks them up over the long term. It also leads them to completely inaccurate assessments of how the world works and the likely outcomes of their actions.
     
    Chapter 38
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 38

    “You know, you’ve stuck me in a shitty position.”

    Orga played with a holographic projection of the Prothean outpost’s interior as he spoke into a secure QCCS line to McGillis Fareed. He could zoom into the parts of the base that’d been surveyed by the drones and see the literal lay of the land, which astounded him in the amount of detail the automated units could acquire. Those parts that hadn’t been examined yet remained foggy and indistinct, promising nothing and delivering whatever 50,000 years of neglect could provide.

    “I must apologize,” the Gjallarhorn general replied on a voice only line. “I didn’t expect that Rustal Ellion would push for such an aggressive response, even in the face of political pressure. He wants to make this a bold statement to the MNCEA… which is why their lack of response is unusual. The flotilla is already three days out from their home base, and no statements have been made yet. I find this silence troubling.”

    Huh, I’m more in the loop than he is,
    Orga thought, amused by the reversal. “Old Man McMurdo Barriston told me to expect a statement any day now. Something about working out details before announcing a response.”

    “I see,” McGillis slowly replied. “So you know nothing?”

    “Yup.” Orga slowly spun the map around. “Got any other good news?”

    “It appears that Iok Kujan, the protégé of Rustal Ellion, managed to sneak aboard the flotilla, against instructions to not deploy with them.” Orga raised an eyebrow at the slight shift in tone that signaled great irritation on McGillis’ part. “As much as it pains me to do so, I must ask that you not destroy the Skipjack – which he is now aboard. I cannot afford for him to die at this point in time.”

    Orga frowned. “I don’t get it. If he’s your rival’s protégé, why wouldn’t you want him dead?”

    “For all of his flaws, Iok Kujan is still a member of the Seven Stars, and Rustal Ellion helped raise him. As a result, if he dies, all of his holdings will transfer to House Ellion, thereby strengthening his forces and creating the opportunity for a simple majority to push things through on the council.”

    Orga’s grunt in reply was cut off by his omni-tool projecting a large banner that said BREAKING NEWS, which was quickly replaced by a news feed. “Looks like the MNCEA might be making its statement.”

    There was a quick rustling on the other end of the line as McGillis tuned in. “Interesting – a live feed. I wonder if Nobliss Gordon is involved.”

    Orga said nothing. He was well aware that Gordon had tried to get Kudelia killed at Dort, and expected that if McGillis knew he knew, the Gjallarhorn general would find some way to manipulate him with that information. That said… he wouldn’t say no to an opportunity to kill him for the right reason. Gordon had tried to kill one of the Tekkadan family, and something like that couldn’t be forgotten or forgiven.

    The speech that quickly followed didn’t really surprise Orga in its contents. The MNCEA saying they were the ones to have Tekkadan investigate the possibility of an alien facility on Mars was an interesting twist – he wondered whose idea that was. He expected and got the MNCEA stating that they thought Gjallarhorn was spying on them and trying to circumvent the restrictions on their access to alien technology. Tekkadan being empowered to defend the site – check.

    What did surprise him was the declaration that the MNCEA was sending a convoy to take possession of the site… that’d arrive roughly two days after the projected arrival for the Gjallarhorn flotilla. It either spoke to confidence or arrogant presumption, but he got the sinking feeling Tekkadan was supposed to deliver that reality, no matter what. And he didn’t get the feeling there’d be any sort of dealmaking between the MNCEA and Gjallarhorn any time soon.

    He heard McGillis sigh. “Unfortunately, I have to deal with the political ramifications now. Send Todo a list of information you think you’ll need and I’ll have him deliver it to your Earth branch as soon as I can.”

    “Sure. Thanks,” Orga replied before the line cutoff. He barely looked up from the hologram when the door opened and let in Biscuit and Eugene. “You guys put out the statement?”

    Having been forewarned that some announcement was going to happen, they’d been able to prepare a statement ahead of time and push it to the media.

    “We did, but that’s not the problem,” was Biscuit’s cryptic reply.

    Eugene was scowling as hard as he ever did as he handed over a tablet. “You’re going to love this, Boss.”

    Orga scrolled through the one page document – surprisingly small for what was labelled a contract. The first few paragraphs were just detailing the responsibilities and funding for the contract, which were exactly what he expected for the former and very vague on the latter. It basically boiled down to “we’ll cover whatever costs are accrued” and included provisions for hiring additional reinforcements.

    Then he got to the third paragraph and he understood why this was being dropped in his lap. The entire thing was one line that read: “Tekkadan is hereby authorized to requisition any and all supplies or assistance in the solar system to perform this task, and legally authorized to engage in any and all militarily justifiable operations to fulfill this contract.” This was, as far as he could tell, a blank check for them to get and do anything, as long as it was military in nature.

    It was so mindboggling, he stared at it for a solid half minute before rereading it.

    “Get me Makanai,” he said without taking his eyes off the document. “This… this can’t possibly mean what I think it means.”

    It took a suspiciously short time to get a direct voice line to Makanai – in fact, it seemed like the prime minister of Arbrau had been waiting for this call.

    “Mr. Itsuka, it’s a pleasure,” Makanai said in a far too cheerful tone. “How can I help you?”

    “Uh, hello Mr. Makanai. I just have a few questions about this contract the MNCEA sent us.” Licking his lips, the teen tried to figure out a quick way to phrase his question politely. “So… it says here that we’re ‘legally authorized to engage in any and all militarily justifiable operations’… What exactly do you mean by that?”

    “Why, that’s simple! Exactly what’s written on the page!” He could practically hear the old man smiling. “It’s quite simple really – we know nothing about military matters, so we decided to get out of your way and give you the freedom to act as you see fit.”

    “Well, I appreciate that.” Orga honestly meant that, but he suspected that there was far more behind it. Not just because of Makanai’s involvement, but he knew McMurdo Barriston had to have at least verbally signed off on it, so there was something going on that he needed to know. “It’s just that… this is pretty… vague and open-ended. It’s hard to make sure I’m sticking with the intent of the contract, you know?”

    Makanai chuckled. “It’s really quite simple, my boy – under no circumstances can Gjallarhorn take control of that site. How you do it is not our concern.” In passing, Orga noted that his toned had hardened before lightening up again. “In fact, we’re trying to negotiate a peaceful settlement with Gjallarhorn. That’s why we’ve made the text of your contract available to the public.”

    Orga’s jaw dropped.

    Goddamn it, he’s boxing us into a corner. He wants us to fight them… just like McGillis wants. Are they working together, or does the MNCEA just want to give Gjallarhorn a bloody nose? A horrifying possibility came to his mind. What if it’s both?

    “Hopefully, they’ll see reason and order their little fleet back home, but if they don’t… well, you’ll figure out some way to deal with them. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”


    Swallowing hard to moisten his suddenly parched throat, Tekkadan’s leader simply said, “No, I think that’ll be all for now. Thanks for your time.”

    “It was no problem at all. We’re looking forward to the fruit of your work.” With that Makanai cut the line and left Orga to drown in the implications.

    After about five minutes of silence, he called Eugene and Biscuit back in.

    “It’s exactly what it says,” he told them, gesturing to the tablet on his desk. “The MNCEA is playing hardball. If Gjallarhorn doesn’t turn back, we’re allowed to do anything ‘militarily justifiable’ to stop them.” Running his hand over his chin, he added, “I don’t know if that includes retaliatory strikes, and I didn’t bring it up because I think they might go for it.”

    Biscuit looked vaguely ill, while Eugene looked dazed and ran his hand through his hair.

    “What the hell are we going to do?” the blonde asked. “I mean, we’re good, but we’re not that good.”

    “McGillis has promised to give us any intel we need. I’ll make a list and I want you two to add anything you can think of, then we’ll pass it on to Todo, so he can arrange for delivery.” Orga sighed. “He did tell me that they’ve got orders to retreat if the Thrill Seeker shows up, so I’ll make a call to the Old Man to see if he’ll lend it to us.”

    “Aren’t they still doing testing?” Eugene asked.

    Biscuit nodded. “They’re still trying to work out what’s going on with their mass effect fields. I guess technically they’re fine, besides that, but…”

    “I don’t want to bring them in unless we have to,” Orga replied. “And it doesn’t matter anyway – I wasn’t planning on siccing them on that flotilla until they reach Mars anyway. I want to run out the clock – maybe Gjallarhorn will do the smart thing and turn back. Even if they don’t, it’ll look better if we stick to the letter of the contract and defend the outpost.”

    A grim silence settled over the trio.

    “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll draw up that list of intel. Biscuit, tell the IOS guys we’re activating the combat service clause in the contract, then get me an inventory of every combat asset we’ve got. Eugene, start making some calls. We can hire on support for this job, and I want as many guns on our side as we can get. Tell ‘em money’s not a problem.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “I’m gonna need some time to figure out how to get us out of this mess.”



    Commodore Dominick Rozhestvensky paused as he stepped onto the bridge of his command and flagship, Skipjack. She was the first of her class, a battleship without peer in the solar system… and now potentially a floating death trap. His pride in commanding the jewel of the Arianrhod fleet was tempered by the fact that there was an entirely new ball game out there, and his ship wasn’t even fit to participate.

    Even as he nodded in acknowledgment as the officer of the deck announced his presence, he found his attention drawn to Lord Iok Kujan, who’d made a mess out of this already difficult operation with nothing but his sheer presence. He knew that the Inspection Bureau was going to give the entire flotilla a metaphorical full cavity search in order to find out how the hell he’d managed to slip past his handlers and hide aboard one of the cruisers detached to this battlegroup. He just hoped they wouldn’t go easy on the young man – it might teach him humility.

    At 50, his hair was starting to turn gray, and he suspected that the young member of the Seven Stars might turn more of it gray before the end of the mission. It didn’t help that at three days out, they were getting further and further from the Ariadne routes, which were regularly patrolled by Gjallarhorn ships that could easily afford to divert and pick him up. No, they were on an optimized course, one intended to get the ships to Mars as fast as the trio of Skipjack class ships could go. Their larger mass meant that they couldn’t keep up with their smaller Halfbeak class escorts, and therefore extended the amount of time it would take to get to their destination.

    “Lord Kujan,” he said with enough deference to rank to put the younger man at ease. “Have you found your accomodations to your liking?”

    Rozhestvensky was not at all surprised that the rest of the Seven Stars saw fit to punish him for allowing Iok to slip into his flotilla undetected by making the young man’s welfare his direct responsibility.

    “They were quite satisfactory,” Iok replied in a jocular tone. The commodore mentally debated about whether or not he was being sincere for several seconds, then deciding that Iok wasn’t that subtle.

    “I’m glad to hear that. What brings you to the bridge?” He kept his own tone friendly, even though he badly wanted to toss the man off the deck so he could get to the work of preparing the flotilla for battle. The prohibition on allowing the scion of House Kujan to go into combat meant he was free to spend time getting in everyone else’s way.

    “I was wondering if there was any word about the MNCEA. Unless they are blind, they must have noticed our deployment.”

    “Indeed, that’s why we bothered to go through the Ariadne route for a time,” Rozhestvensky replied as a yeoman handed him a tablet. “In fact, they have put out an official response.”

    He read it and sighed, handing it off to Iok so he could gather his thoughts. Comments like “unstoppable force” and “immovable object” immediately sprung to mind. Then he decided to wait for Iok’s reaction.

    “This is outrageous!” Heads turned at the volume of this proclamation.

    Rozhestvensky turned to the communications officer. “Alert all ships – we will be moving to Condition 2. And let the other captains that I wish to meet with them here, at 1200 hours.” He looked over at Iok. “You are invited, of course, Lord Kujan.”

    He barely paid attention to Iok’s reply as he went off to his ready room to handle the huge administrative burden of commanding nine ships. By the time he was done, it was fifteen minutes before the briefing and his eyes and fingers burned from the amount of typing to fill out forms. As he stepped into the wardroom, he calmly examined the captains of his battlegroup.

    Lena Mayer, a weather worn woman of Rozhestvensky’s age, commanded one of the other Skipjacks, Gunnar. Andres Short, contrary to his name, was a tall, lean man about a decade junior to the commodore, commanded Odin, the last Skipjack in the flotilla. Everyone else commanded Halfbeaks. Roosevelt Savage, a gray-haired and scarred veteran, commanded Brynjar. Kian Miller, the other woman in the group, was captain of Randel, while Yasin Lin, whose severe facial features made him look perpetually suspicious, commanded Arnbjorg. The three remaining captains, a bit younger than the Arianrhod fleet veterans, all came from House Kujan’s forces. Beatrice Singh, captain of Gleb, Kye Fuentes of Snorri, and Haider Lester of Audhild, were in their mid-to-late 30s. Rozhestvensky had checked their records and found them to be competent, but not spectacular commanders in various fleet exercises, and had deployed them accordingly.

    After returning the obligatory salute, he settled into his seat at the head of the table, while Iok sat directly opposite. The remaining nine settled into whatever available seats they could find, although the commodore couldn’t help but notice that both groups were unconsciously sorting themselves by their overarching loyalties. He sighed internally, but said nothing, knowing that building unit cohesion for this hastily thrown together flotilla would take some time.

    “Ladies and gentlemen, our mission has become… politically complicated.” Rozhestvensky sighed and looked at his fellow captains and Iok. Everyone looked annoyed by the proclamation. “The MNCEA has declared that Tekkadan is quote-unquote ‘authorized to engage in any and all militarily justifiable operations’ to defend the alien outpost.”

    Captain Mayer eyed her nominal superior. “Have we received a recall order, sir?”

    “Not yet. Whether or not we’ll receive updated orders is something I will not speculate on,” he replied. “Our standing orders are explicit on this – barring countermanding orders from Lord Ellion himself or the arrival of the alien spacecraft, we are to do everything in our power to take control of the outpost.”

    “Odds are we’ll see some half hearted attempts to negotiate a way out of a direct confrontation,” was Captain Short’s sarcastic observation. “I don’t think either side will back down – too much at stake for them.”

    “I would not speculate as to the reasoning and decision making of our superiors,” the commodore remarked, staring straight at Iok, who looked ready to make a comment before thinking better of it. “However, that leaves us with several operational concerns. First is maintaining a constant lookout for potential enemy craft – any vessel that is not Gjallarhorn affiliated must be challenged, but unless they open fire, authority to deploy weapons belongs to me. Is that understood?”

    A chorus of “yes, sirs” rang out, although the House Kujan captains were less than successful at hiding their irritation at the restrictions on their initiative.

    “Second, I want all of our crews thoroughly trained on rapid mobile suit deployment, anti-ship, and damage control operations.” The commodore looked at each of them in turn. “Tekkadan has proven to be a cunning opponent in the past. We must be ready for them when we do engage, since they have been given broad latitude in their operational orders. The only thing constraining them is optics – and if they do not care about that, they may inflict great damage.”

    He had a tiny bit of sympathy for Tekkadan. With their limited forces, the amount of firepower his battlegroup had must seem insurmountable. He only hoped they would see reason and stand aside, possibly only offering token resistance to fulfill their obligations. But he knew anyone backed into a corner could lash out with great violence, and he had to admit they were caught in one tight corner.

    Hopefully, they won’t do anything they – and we – will regret. Rozhestvensky was a realist – he knew that the Arianrhod fleet had done many unsavory things, all to maintain the peace and stability of solar system. Tekkadan and the MNCEA likely felt themselves justified in their resistance, something he could sympathize with, but that sympathy only went so far. Whatever legitimate grievances they had, they weren’t worth edging as close to all out war as he’d ever seen in his life, and certainly not any destruction that was wrought in the near future.

    “Third, we should begin wargaming scenarios for our combat drop operation to the Martian surface. Given the sparsity of intelligence, which will likely become even harder to attain once Tekkadan begins active interdiction of any surveillance satellites, we will have to anticipate our opponent’s actions and reactions to do so.”

    Captain Singh raised an eyebrow. “Considering how badly past attempts to anticipate Tekkadan have gone, I’m not sure that would do any good, sir.”

    “That is why we are beginning immediately.” The commodore touched a control on the bottom of the table and several wall panels retracted and slid down to reveal monitors. “Since we do not have a good grasp of the enemy’s mind, we must consider every possibility and every counter-strategy we can employ. They say no plan survives contact with the enemy – this is true. But by doing this, we will have a greater understanding of our opponent, so that if and when the time comes, nothing they do will surprise us.”

    United in purpose, the assembled captains began working in earnest.



    Orga Itsuka was tired, stressed out, and not at all looking forward to this meeting.

    Part of the stress came from the fact that, to his lack of surprise but great irritation, there wasn’t a single Martian PMC that was willing to actually do anything. The best they’d do, even with the promise of legal protection and payment, was offer hardware – hardware that was probably out of date or poorly maintained. He couldn’t blame them, necessarily, for not being enthusiastic about the whole thing, but it didn’t do anything to help Tekkadan in the here and now.

    Some more stress came from the fact that Dr. Vass was off trying to speed up testing and production of medi-gel, just in case they needed it. Orga was of two minds on this. On one hand, it would be helpful if it was around, because first aid was literally the worst part of fighting a battle. On the other, he had the sinking feeling that if there were injured people, things were already too far gone for Tekkadan to survive. The main problem was that it made Vass less available for direct consultation, even if he was primarily working out of Saisei and could be contacted via Teiwaz’s growing QEC network.

    The majority of his stress came from who he was meeting and how it had been arranged. Somehow, word about Tekkadan getting stiffed by the other Martian PMCs had gotten around, allowing Allium Gyojan to offer up his services as a middle man… in exchange for certain political favors. Biscuit had quickly turned up the reasons behind it – Gyojan’s organization was loosing money as more and more people backed Kudelia. By backing Tekkadan and asking, through Kudelia, for a future political position connected to the Prothean outpost, he was trying to flip a sinking ship into a more successful political career.

    He’d made the call to do Gyojan a favor and have Kudelia put in a good word for him – while explicitly telling the man that it guaranteed nothing.

    Still, for all he looked like a creep, the man accepted that graciously and put the call out.

    Now, Orga was going to meet with, in any other circumstances, the enemy – the Dawn Horizon Corps.

    While he would’ve preferred to have the homefield advantage by insisting the negotiations take place on Mars, that would’ve required sending a shuttle to pick up their leader, Sandoval Reuters. And since the pirates would’ve been stupid to not try to claim such a useful piece of technology for themselves in that situation, Orga decided it was easier and less of a pain in the ass to go to them… with a sizable backup force. While he and Biscuit would try to cut a deal with the pirate captain, they’d have no less than four bodyguards on hand: Gurji, Arienea B’Sayle, Dutch, and Hal – the latter two given some low end Batarian gear that was lying around. He wasn’t too thrilled by the way Hal was fawning over how deadly his new equipment was, but at the very least, he could rest easy knowing that the IOS test pilot would probably kill a decent number of pirates if things got out of control.

    The rest of the shuttle’s passenger compartment was stuffed with as many combat trained, non-mobile suit pilot personnel he could spare, armed with enough firepower that they could potentially take Reuters’ flagship if they had to.

    As the shuttle settled to a stop in the hangar of Reuters’ ship, he noted the armed guards ringing the catwalks. He looked over at Rala T’Pani, who was piloting Shuttle 1 for this mission, and she immediately pressed a button on her panel to activate external communications. “We’re here to talk business with your boss. I’ll give you five minutes to withdraw all but four people to escort us to the bridge, or else we’ll start blasting our way out.”

    To his satisfaction and relief, it only took a minute for the pirates to clear out. As he ducked out of the cockpit and into the passenger compartment, he gave his orders, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time he’d give them. Then the passenger door cracked open and his party floated out, much to the displeasure of the four goons assigned to escort them. Trying to keep casual, he dropped a warning to the apparent leader that his people would treat anyone getting closer than 20 meters as hostile.

    The trip to the bridge was silent and as direct as possible. At no point did any other crew members appear, either to deny them any ideas of how many people were aboard, or more likely, to prevent an “incident.” The only signs of life were on the bridge, where a handful of operators worked their consoles, while Sandoval Reuters stood on the upper level, backed by two twins wearing different colored bandanas.

    “Sandoval Reuters, Dawn Horizon Corps boss,” the imposing man with a bodybuilder’s physique said.

    “Orga Itsuka, Tekkadan boss.” Mikazuki had given Orga his trusty pistol, the one that’d saved their lives on that day in the Chryse alleys, and the bullseye on Reuters’ head made him wonder if he was a good enough shot to hit it. Then he discarded the thought and motioned to Biscuit. “Biscuit Griffon, chief intelligence officer.”

    Reuters’ eyes flicked over to Biscuit for half a second before looking over the Tekkadan bodyguards. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. I half expected you to try to cut a deal over QCCS.”

    Orga tried to play it cool, even as the sweat dripped down his back. “Some things are better done in person. And besides, I did my research. You’re a smart man, so I figured we could do business.”

    Reuters snorted. “And yet here you are, with four killers at your back, and who knows how many stuffed in that shuttle of yours.”

    “I’m not an idiot,” Orga replied, keeping his voice level through sheer effort. “I know what I’ve got, and I know people will kill for it. Gjallarhorn, in particular, but I’m not dumb enough to think that they’re the only ones who’d take their shot if I gave them an opening.”

    That got Reuters chuckling, and some of the tension in the room bled away. “Alright, let’s hear your proposal.”

    Biscuit pulled a memory stick from a pocket, which was taken by the green bandana twin. Everyone stepped back as the briefing table rose out of the floor. Once that was done, the pirate inserted the stick into a port, allowing several diagrams to appear.

    “The MNCEA has been giving us intelligence reports on the Gjallarhorn force. It’s composed of three Skipjack class battleships and six Halfbeak class cruisers, with a total of 300 mobile suits between them.” Biscuit pointed to the diagram of the Martian south pole. “Their target is an underground alien outpost whose location we will not reveal due to operational security. However, their main goal is to take control of that facility, which means they’ll have to land some portion of their mobile suit contingent on the planet.”

    “So, you want us to be your cannon fodder?” Reuters didn’t even keep the sarcasm and disdain out of his voice. “Because all I see here is a one-way, guaranteed ticket to death.”

    “Normally, it would be, but the MNCEA’s sources have passed along the operational orders for this task force,” Biscuit continued, tapping a portion of the screen to pull up the document in question. “The warships have to withdraw if the Thrill Seeker, the alien ship in our possession, appears on the scene. Without orbital support, the Gjallarhorn forces on the planet surface will be cutoff from resupply and forced to surrender.”

    Reuters peered thoughtfully at the orders as the pink bandana twin asked the obvious question. “Why not just have your ship be there when they show up? What do you even need us for?”

    “The MNCEA wants a spectacle,” Orga explained, drawing on Vass’ analysis of the vaguely worded mandate he’d been given, as well as his own knowledge of McGillis’ plans. “They want to really rub Gjallarhorn’s face in the dirt, and to that, we have to let them over-commit before we do anything.”

    “So, you just need a holding action,” Reuters observed, having finished reading the order documents.

    “More or less, but two of the Gjallarhorn battleships are getting destroyed, no matter what, to make the point clear.” Orga wouldn’t reveal anything he didn’t have to, but he felt that nicely emphasized how far the MNCEA was willing to go.

    The pirate captain tapped his chin with his finger. “This could be doable, but it’ll cost you big. How much are you willing to pay, and how much latitude are you going to be giving us?”

    “Well, since this will be a joint operation, you’ll be helping us develop the battle plan.” The teen hid a smile at Reuters’ surprise. “You’ve got a hell of a lot of experience doing commerce raiding and fighting on planets, so I’d be an idiot if I tried to make you follow any plan I made by myself. The only real limitations on the tactical level are simple: you can’t kill prisoners once they surrender, and we can’t use the main gun on the Thrill Seeker against ground targets, for safety reasons. We’ll handle dealing with the prisoners, since we’re empowered to do so in our MNCEA mandate.”

    Grunting, the pirate nodded.

    “Payment will be in two parts. First is cash from the account of Allium Gyojan. You’ll get 50% upfront, then the other half once the battle’s over. The half of the payment will be in salvage. 60/40 split, with you getting the majority share.”

    “70/30,” Reuters immediately countered.

    “60/40, with you getting first pick on every mobile suit. And I’ll let you use our HLV to get anything you claim off the planet, free of charge.”

    Reuters considered the offer for several long seconds. “I want two of the Gjallarhorn cruisers.”

    Orga shrugged. “Sure, we can have the Thrill Seeker take out—“

    The pirate held up a hand. “I see that I haven’t made myself clear.” He paused for effect. “When I say I want two Gjallarhorn cruisers, it means I want them intact and operational.”

    The two teens looked at each other, shocked by the pirate’s audacity.

    “I’m not sure whether or not that’s feasible… but since that doesn’t directly conflict with the main objective, we can work that into the battleplan,” Orga conceded, hiding his misgivings as best he could. “However, in return, we need a guarantee that you won’t attack Teiwaz or MNCEA affiliated shipping for… at least three years.”

    “Are you nuts?!” The pink bandana twin shouted, before the pirate captain raised his right hand to stifle the protests of his lieutenants.

    Reuters looked at Orga hard for a solid minute, then grudgingly said, “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

    Sighing in relief, Biscuit manipulated the controls of the briefing table to pull up another document. “This is a list of unused assets we have, along with everything we can purchase from other PMCs on Mars.”

    The green bandana twin whistled in appreciation at the length of the second list. “That MNCEA money must be real good to afford all this.”

    “Especially when it’s probably all junk,” Reuters observed. “No self-respecting PMC would part with their hardware unless they were hard up for money or had a guaranteed line on replacements already.”

    “But when you compare it against the value of 300 mobile suits…” Orga scrolled the list further down, to a list of salvage values, “plus parts from Gjallarhorn’s warships, it’s nothing.”

    The pirate captain eyed the younger man. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re looking to rob them blind.”

    Sensing that this might be the moment that everything was riding on, Orga smothered his anxieties and played it as cool as he could. “Gjallarhorn has cost us a lot people and money. I figure it’s time they paid back in full… and with interest.”

    A slow smile spread across Sandoval Reuters’ face. “I believe we’re both in agreement there.” He spread his hands wide, encompassing the briefing table and all the information on it. “So, shall we begin?”


    Author's Notes: Well, this took longer than I wanted, although to be honest, most of that is my fault for jumping onto a super intense and creatively challenging bootcamp a week before it started. It's fun though, but the first four weeks were hell due to not knowing shit about how to do the things we had to do.

    Anyway, I hope you enjoy the stations of canon being derailed even more. And I hope you get the history joke I've made. Big fight in next chapter... or two. Lots of moving pieces to this fight.
     
    Chapter 39
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 39

    Vorhess cursed as he ran the final hookups to portable generator he and his team of Asari and Salarians, not all of them engineers or even scientists, were using to kickstart the ancient Prothean fusion reactor back to life. Unlike most of their equipment, the generator was human made, and was hooked into a custom made adapter to allow it to interface with the alien systems. They’d done the numbers and checked everything thoroughly, so it should work.

    The Batarian engineer’s problem wasn’t the wildly different technologies he was working with or even his assistants. It was the pitch black abyss they were in. The same abyss he’d been forced to wander through on one too many search and clear operations of derelict ships.

    It said something when the good ones were the ghost ships with no one on them.

    So naturally, his priority was getting the lights on. That conveniently made working down in the abandoned base easier, so everyone agreed with it. Weeks of careful scanning, replacing worn out parts, and cleaning out horribly clogged hydrogen accumulators had led to this moment. And just in time too – the enemy was on their final approach. The teams working down in the underground facility didn’t know much beyond the bare outline of what was going to go on above them, but at the very least, they could contribute by bringing some, if not all, the ancient sensors online.

    Of course, things would’ve been way worse if the Protheans hadn’t left a convenient maintenance access tube near the reactor or if the tube had clogged with dust in the 50,000 years since the occupants either left or died. But fortune had smiled on them, and they were hoping it was still smiling, because the generator wasn’t designed to provide the kind of draw they were asking for. They had three generators – according to the calculations, each one could provide just enough power over a twenty minute window to get the reactor through the initial startup and into criticality, where it would be a self-sustaining reaction.

    It’d been a hard call, but in the end, the engineer preferred having three shots at success, rather than two – at best – via running a pair of generators.

    “Powering up consoles… now,” a Salarian announced.

    An Asari checked the various indicators on the circuit panel the generator was hooked into. “All systems seem fine.” She ran her omni-tool over the Prothean equipment. “Systems operating within acceptable parameters.”

    “Alright, let’s do it.” He worked the main control panel himself, knowing an expert hand was needed on such a delicate task. “Initializing hydrogen intake.”

    A countdown appeared on his helmet HUD, ticking down the time until the generator died. The Batarian engineer barely noticed as he snapped out order and kept watch over the finicky procedure to revive the reactor that’d been running longer than just about any civilization in the galaxy. He began to sweat as he worked harder and harder to keep up with the information he was seeing.

    “50% generator fuel,” announced one of his assistants.

    Vorhess checked the status displays. They were roughly a hair or two past halfway through the process, so things were more or less on track. He could work with that.

    His heart skipped a few beats as the hydrogen fuel was injected for the first time – the injector system had needed a lot of work, and he wasn’t entirely sure the new parts were good enough to get it to run. He let out a slow breath as the diagnostics indicated success and magnetic coils, which had been trickle charging their capacitors, flared to life. Now the race to finish truly began, as the power draw accelerated and the margins for error tightened.

    The sweat began dripping into his eyes and he cursed the helmet he wore as he furiously blinked and tried to keep up with the data the system provided. It was only until he heard the rest of the team cheering that he realized they’d done it. A quick check of the timer on his helmet, which had helpfully stopped when the reactor reached criticality, showed that 45 seconds of power had been left in the generator. A gutbusting laugh emerged from his mouth as he realized all their anxiety and pessimism was over nothing.

    After settling down, Vorhess returned to the practical matter of restoring limited functionality to the base. “Alright, the hard part’s done. Let’s take it easy on the old girl – give me 50% illumination and do it slowly.”

    A Salarian worked his console, bringing ancient ceiling lights slowly to life. A number of panels flickered or failed to illuminate, but that was alright. They could work around that. What they couldn’t work around was the ancient power grid failing.

    The Asari at the circuit breaker panel checked her readings. “We’re still good. Minor fluctuations as power load increased, but the grid is holding.”

    “Let me know if that changes.” Vorhess activated his omni-tool and opened a channel with the other team, led by Gepor Darpak. “Darpak, how’re things on your end?”

    “Well, the life support system has been fully reassembled, and as far as we can tell, it should work,” the other Batarian replied. “We’re ready to start initializing it when you are.”

    “Alright, let’s give it ten minutes before we start,” the engineer said, then switched back to the channel the rest of his team was on to pass on the word. “If anything looks dodgy, we’ll abort and see if we can fix it.”

    As his assistants went about monitoring the ancient alien hardware, he opened another channel, this time to the other Prothean expert, Ailer Driqua. “I need a sitrep on those electronics.”

    “Communications and sensors are fine on this end, but I have no idea how functional they’ll be through 50,000 years of dust, plus Ahab wave interference,” the Asari admitted. “We’re lucky the Ahab waves aren’t penetrating past the upper levels of the facility and that the Protheans shielded as much as they did.”

    “Yeah, well, we’re stuck with what we’ve got,” was Vorhess’ off-hand reply as he tweaked the magnetic containment field to avoid voltage spikes through the reactor’s super-conducting coils. “You checked out all the circuitry in the power feeds?”

    “Three times. It’s all good.”

    “Good. We’ll be trying to start initializing those systems in about twenty minutes, if everything goes well with life support.”

    “What do you want first?”

    “Comms,” the Batarian replied. “Sensors might tell us what’s going on, but unless we know who is who, we’re just going to be sitting here wondering who is doing what and if we’re winning.”

    And thank all that is holy that we don’t have pirates down here mucking with everything, Vorhess thought. It’s bad enough that we have to work with them up top and in space.

    Vorhess couldn’t complain about the pirates – he’d brought up his issues with their involvement and gotten the brutal truth. Tekkadan needed them, because no one else was crazy enough to sign on to this mission. But everyone in the upper echelons, to his relief, didn’t trust them at all and fully expected to be betrayed either once they won, or some nebulous point after that, but before the expiration of their agreement to avoid preying on MNCEA and Teiwaz shipping.

    “Understood. Just let us know when you’re ready to power us up.”

    “Will do.” He cut the connection and turned to his people. “Alright, let’s get final prep done. I bet we’re all just waiting to get these helmets off, so let’s make sure nothing goes wrong.”

    Soon enough, they began the process of reviving the life support. Not being in the room with Darpak and his people set every fiber of Vorhess’ being on edge, but he was of more use where he was at if something dire happened on this end. They could work around broken life support equipment. Replacing the fusion reactor wasn’t something that anyone considered a viable option, for many reasons, starting with the sheer amount of excavation required.

    “We’re firing up the life support system now,” Darpak announced. “We… ah… got a failure on primary intake pump pressure sensor… secondary sensor holding for now.”

    Add that to the list of parts to replace when this is over,
    Vorhess told himself. He was too busy keeping an eye on the various load readouts, which were slowly but steadily increasing. He had his hand over an emergency cutoff button – a single twitch would cut the connection to the life support complex before it could damage the reactor.

    “We have a go on carbon dioxide scrubbing. Oxygen production is… online. Currently spinning up to 25% capacity. All systems are stable.”

    Another set of cheers filled the room at the success. “Calm down people, we’ve got one more to go.”

    We’re doing pretty good so far, the engineer admitted to himself. When are the snags going to start?

    There were always snags. Always. Every civilization had its own independent phrase for it, which just showed how universal a concept it was.

    So it was almost a relief when Driqua reported “We’ve got a system fault here. Need to reset the breakers and check for damage. Looks like ten minutes, at least.”

    “Copy that, let me know when you’re ready to try again.”

    He quietly consulted the list of priority tasks he’d been given. With two out of the three main ones done, he could shuffle people around and start inspecting the hangar doors. He had no idea why he needed to do this, although he and Orga had tried to decipher McMurdo Barriston’s motives. The best guesses they had were just wanting to make it easier to access the base via a landing craft, taking some or all of the Prothean craft, or some combination of both.

    At that point, both men had decided to let the matter drop, and just worry about the far more pressing logistical issues, because they were probably better off not knowing.

    Working out a plan for that took enough time that Driqua and her team finished their systems checks, and began their second attempt at firing up the ancient Prothean systems. “We’ve initial power up, getting to boot interface… initializing diagnostics…”

    The Batarian began moving people around keeping half an ear open to the rolling status reports on the various systems. Enough was going right that he expected a snag or two around the corner. And he was not disappointed.

    “We’ve got a number of broken connections,” Driqua announced. “But that’s a minor problem. We’ve got warnings on all active sensor and communications emitters, so I’m not even sure those are intact enough to function. Passive sensors like gravimeters and seismographs seem to be fully functional though.”

    “Alright, get me an inventory of what’s functional and what’s damaged, gotta leave that around for the MNCEA to worry about.” A few taps on his omni-tool and a painfully long, five minute wait to pull up a video call to his boss later, Vorhess delivered the bad news. “Well, we’ve got the fusion reactor and life support fired up, but all we’ve got are short range passive detectors down here, and I’m not sure they’re worth anything with you guys stomping around up top.”

    “What, no super special space sensors that can see through rock?” The grainy video feed, bounced through a bunch of laser comm relays dropped by the survey drones, provided enough resolution to capture Orga’s tired expression. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Never mind, I’m just tired. We’ve spotted the Gjallarhorn fleet on final approach. You guys have everything you need?”

    “We’ll be fine for a day or so,” the Batarian assured the teenager. “We’re deep enough underground that we should be fine, even if a few mobile suits accidentally land on top of the facility.”

    Orga nodded, then took a deep breath. “You got everything ready in case we don’t win this?”

    Grimacing under his helmet, he simply nodded.

    “I’ll try to let you know if things are going badly… but if you don’t hear from us in 12 hours, we’re probably dead.”



    Dominick Rozhestvensky contemplated the looming image of Mars seen through the grand windows of his bridge. As he expected, all negotiations had failed. Neither side would give an inch, so he was committed to this potential folly.

    He wasn’t even sure what the best case scenario would be for a victory. Rebellion had flared up in the colonies once again, and Gjallarhorn intelligence intercepts indicated that the MNCEA was, at minimum, looking the other way as long as the rebels fought outside the confines of the colonies. Things had deteroriated even further in the past two weeks, as the rebels began targeting Gjallarhorn personnel and supply shuttles that docked at the colonies. The only positive in that regard was the MNCEA was cooperating to track down and apprehend those responsible.

    Theoretically, winning this battle should settle things down. Certainly, that seemed to be the assumption among the Seven Stars, and Iok Kujan in particular. But Rozhestvenky wondered about that. If anything, barring some disaster – like Tekkadan simply blowing apart the underground facility out of spite after Gjallarhorn took possession of it – things might escalate. Surely, if the MNCEA was willing to go this far to keep the alien facility and its technology out of Gjallarhorn’s hands, they would go to any length to prevent them from fully exploiting it.

    Once again, the commodore cursed the situation he was in. The past month and a half of drills showed that the Kujan ships were run competently, but the captains were a touch too aggressive, possibly due to Iok’s presence. As a result, he placed Beatrice Singh and the Gleb, the least excessively aggressive Kujan unit, at the front of the formation. Snorri and Audhild, under Fuentes and Lester respectively, were assigned to the flank corners of the diamond shaped formation. The other three Halfbeaks secured the remaining corners, with the three Skipjacks safely inside.

    The fact that this formation aimed to minimize friendly fire was apparently lost on the Kujan captains, with the possible exception of Singh.

    Turning to the tactical plot, where Iok Kujan was waiting, he straightened his posture in preparation for the conversation to come.

    “Situation report,” Rozhestvensky asked his yeoman, who began pulling up data on the large display.

    “No sign of any spaceborne assets at the moment, sir. The only thing remotely near the operational airspace are four chunks of ice that are too small to hide any combat units behind. Preliminary assessment is that we’re looking at possible wreckage from a destroyed belt colony or water tanker.”

    Frowning, the commodore considered that. “Any sign of their ships?”

    “No sir,” the yeoman replied. “No ships are visible, but they might be using the planet to hide from our sensors and Ares Station.”

    He nodded. “Have we launched a reconnaissance probe?”

    Nodding, the yeoman simply said, “We should be getting data… now, sir.”

    A video feed popped up on the display, with numerous small red boxes moving around the perimeters of several craters, and a group of five boxes towards the center of the target area. The camera zoomed in on one of the small boxes, revealing a mobile worker. Frowning, Rozhestvensky looked up at Iok. “Lord Kujan, what is your assessment?”

    The young man was taken aback by the question, but quickly rallied. “Well, it’s clearly an attempt to spread out our forces by forcing us to secure all these craters.”

    The commodore nodded in approval. “That’s my thought as well.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, we don’t know the size of the facility. It’s not impossible that all the craters are part of it.”

    “Well, at least we have plenty of mobile suits – they should easily take out the mobile workers,” Iok noted, then pointed at cluster of boxes, “before securing the… what is that?”

    The yeoman scrolled over to that part of the map. “Four mobile suits and an HLV, sir.”

    “We might not want to press too hard on the HLV and its defenders,” Rozhestvensky noted. “If we cut off their only avenue of escape, resistance will only intensify.”

    Iok frowned. “I thought we were going to broadcast a demand for their surrender.”

    “We are,” the commodore assured him. “With everything else that’s going on, it’s imperative that the solar system see that we conduct ourselves honorably. That includes handling this delicate situation with a certain amount of grace. Giving Tekkadan the ability to surrender cleanly allows us to avoid providing the rebels more propaganda and embarrasses the MNCEA.”

    “I see,” Iok replied, although Rozhestvensky wasn’t sure if the lesson truly took root. “I take it we’re using Plan Alpha-2?”

    During the long trip, multiple battleplans had been drawn up. Plan Alpha-2 was a simple, brute force planetary assault involving 2 waves of mobile suits, each with a hundred units. In this case, the first wave was going to be every Graze Schild in the fleet. Each Skipjack had half their mobile suit complement fitted out as Schilds for operations like this. Unfortunately, there weren’t provisions to outfit more units to the same standard, so the remaining 10 units were normal Grazes.
    The second wave was all going to be standard Grazes, pulled from each ship, leaving another hundred to be split among the Combat Space Patrol and a reserve reaction force, plus Lt. Juris’ custom unit. No matter where Tekkadan concentrated their forces, they’d be outnumbered.

    “Yes, but we’ll have to adjust the deployments,” the commodore noted. Much to his displeasure, he had to assign ten of the Schilds to deal with the HLV. On the other hand, that was ten less mobile suits that were going to be stomping around and flailing at small, highly mobile ground targets. He issued his orders, then considered the tactical plot again. “Which ship will be in position for optimal LCS communication with Tekkadan?”

    His yeoman consulted a readout. “That would be Gleb, sir.”

    “Inform Captain Singh that she is to relay the surrender demand after we have the first wave prepared for atmospheric entry, and to immediately notify me if they respond or try to signal anyone else.”

    Nodding, the commodore allowed his people to do their jobs, all the while trying to keep the stress from showing.

    It took several minutes for everything to be arranged, with the stream of mobile suits equipped with re-entry shields dividing into small clusters ahead of Gleb’s bow. To his disappointment, but lack of surprise, there was no response from Tekkadan. It was too late for anyone to back out of this foolishness, and now he was forced to fight literal children.

    He hoped that they would surrender before any lives were lost.

    “Begin drop operation,” he announced. “Prepare to—“

    “Sir, Gleb is reporting Tekkadan’s HLV is using its LCS, but not to transmit a response to our challenge.”

    “Then who are they—“ Iok began, before four small flashes happened in the distance.

    The bridges of the Snorri, Audhild, Gunnar, and Odin exploded.

    “Retract the bridge!” Rozhestvensky snapped, before he realized that someone had already triggered the retraction mechanism before he’d given the order. “Damage report on the fleet! I want to know what hit us and where it came from!”

    “Looks like… some kind of cannon fire from the ice chunks we observed earlier,” one of the sensor operators announced.

    “Commodore, Audhild and Snorri report their bridges have been destroyed, with collateral damage near the retraction mechanisms. They are assessing the damage,” one of the communications officers broke in. “Gunnar and Odin report heavy bridge damage – they’ve been vented to space, sir.”

    Lena Mayer and Andres Short, his most dependable captains, dead… before the fight even really started.

    “Get the second wave mobilized and ready to drop, have all damaged ships launch all mobile suits. I want every unit not dropping to maintain a tight CSP on their motherships.” Taking a deep breath, Rozhestvensky considered the situation. “Where is their carrier?”

    “It still hasn—“ A sensor operator reported, before breaking off as an alarm sounded. “Correction, Tekkadan assault carrier in-bound on an intercept course.”

    “All ships, lay down interdiction fire when possible. Avoid friendly fire,” the commodore ordered. “Try to keep them away from the second wave units.”

    Iok stepped up to the commodore’s side and spoke barely above a whisper. “Why aren’t we deploying the second wave already?”

    “Because I want a report on the conditions on the ground before I commit more forces,” Rozhestvensky replied in an equally low voice, mentally cursing this distraction from the status updates on the battle. He held out an arm to steady himself when the ship shivered a bit. “Wave one status update, now!”

    “Sir, they’re reporting that there are dozens of mobile suits on the ground,” one of the comm operators replied. “Rodi and Hexa frame units!”

    “Where did—“ Iok was cut off by a sensor operator announcing, “Tekkadan has deployed nano-mirror chaff!”

    “Fire missiles, timed fuses,” Rozhestvensky’s XO calmly ordered. Having read the after-action reports on Tekkadan’s orbital encounter with Carta Issue, the crews on all ships had been thoroughly briefed and drilled on the countermeasures to the tactic. The commodore nodded in approval; he had deferred responsibility for the ship to the XO to focus on managing the overall operation, and so far, his subordinate was keeping a cool head.

    “Detecting four additional assault carriers in-bound,” was the report from sensors as soon as the chaff finished burning away. “Wait – make that 8, no 10, repeat, one-zero assault carriers in-bound.” The operator looked up at the commodore. “Ahab reactor frequencies match known Dawn Horizon Corps ships, sir.”

    “Dawn Horizon Corps vessels launching mobile suits,” another operator added.

    “Tekkadan allied with pirates?!” exploded out of Iok’s mouth, but no one spared him but a single glance as he continued his invective about their lack of honor.

    “It makes sense,” the commodore grimly admitted. “Not many groups would be willing to face us, and few of them would have the mobility to make it here in time.” He turned his attention back to his sensor operators. “Have they launched mobile suits?”

    “Not yet, sir,” someone replied. “Correction – pirate carriers are launching mobile suits.”

    On the main display, several icons appeared, representing the pirate mobile suits. The commodore’s experienced eye picked out the obvious fact that one group of enemy mobile suits was angling to intercept his second wave… and his experience allowed him to see what the projected course line didn’t show: the fact that their course would allow them to quickly swing to intercept the main body of the fleet if they turned early enough. Of course, he also noticed that the numbers of enemy mobile suits only added up to about half the total capacity of the ten assault carriers, meaning the other half were on the planet.

    Rozhestvensky cursed under his breath as he realized the trap he was in. If he sent the second wave down, they would be trapped on the ground if/when Tekkadan and their pirate allies sprung some trap, gained a strategic advantage, or whatever it was they were planning to do. If second wave stayed in orbit, he could easily overwhelm the enemy units here, but lose the first wave to sheer attrition thanks to closer numerical parity. If he split the second wave, the pirates had a blocking force moving into position to prevent them from rejoining the main fleet, and 50 mobile suits might not be enough to turn the tide of the ground battle.

    As much as he admired the tactic, his analysis was interrupted by a new report. “Sir, multiple enemy vessels are on intercept courses with our damaged cruisers.”

    “Focus interdiction fire on them,” he snapped off, before pausing. “Where’s Tekkadan’s carrier?”

    “Orbiting our fleet and engaging the undamaged cruisers,” was the immediate reply.

    “Sir,” one of the communications officers interjected, “second wave is engaging pirate forces and requesting orders.”

    A new icon popped up on the main display, below Roosevelt Savage’s Brynjar.

    “Radiation surge! Five kilometers below Brynjar,” a sensor operator announced, seconds before a very familiar alarm began blaring and another operator shouted, “Ahab wave reaction!”



    The man known as Hal cursed as the Isaribi pulled yet another hairpin turn and jostled him in the cockpit of his Shiden.

    This homecoming was nothing special for him, beyond the conditions he’d be going into. He’d been back to Mars a few times after he’d been forced to run, and he’d felt nothing each time he stepped onto Martian soil. But that was to be expected.

    Once, Hal had been just another struggling orphan on Mars, the leader of a small time gang that managed to accrue enough money to have some power and weight in the slums. With that came hangers on, and with that, the affections of a girl and the possibility that his life could pivot out of the whirlwind of pain, fear, and violence that he was trapped in. In retrospect, he should’ve known better.

    Any chance he had of being a decent human being died the day he discovered his lover in bed with the beat cop that patrolled their section of the slums. Killing the cop had been easy, but the discovery had broken him, left him with nothing but an all encompassing need to understand. And when the last of her screams petered out, when he was covered her in still warm blood, that was when he understood.

    He left Mars having learned everything he needed to know to survive in the universe that had created him.

    Now, in his Shiden, he just felt the quickening of his pulse that always came before battle, as well as a growing irritation at the fact he wasn’t outside the ship yet, commanding his own fate. This was moderated by the fact that he didn’t feel many heavy caliber anti-ship rounds hit the assault carrier, which he attributed to the fact that the ship was being flung around like crazy. But it was a relief when they finally hurled the mobile suits out of the launch catapult and into the fray, even if he was speeding towards a hundred enemy mobile suits as Dutch’s wingman.

    All four mobile suits had as many weapons strapped to them as possible, mostly disposable launchers for various calibers of dumb-fire rockets. Dodging and weaving as much incoming fire as they could, the four new arrivals closed the range before firing all of their rockets into the mass of enemy Grazes. Detcord ignited as soon as the rockets left their launchers, cutting the metal cables tying them to the suits and turning the now empty tubes into battlefield clutter that might hopefully inconvenience an opponent. The rocket salvo, a mix of explosive, smoke, and inevitable dud warheads, broke the steady line of Gjallarhorn units and allowed the Gundams to peel off to cause chaos behind enemy lines.

    The pair of Shidens stuck together, mostly because they were already operating at a disadvantage, much to Hal’s displeasure. What was a slight power differential on the squad level was quickly scaling more towards a massive problem in a battle this large, and it was really only the Gundams and Dawn Horizon Corps splitting the opposition’s attention that kept them in the game. Not helping was the extra weapons and ammo strapped to the mobile suits, which threw off the handling, because nobody at IOS had ever thought anyone would ever deploy a unit like this.

    Hal had a long streak of profanity growing, interrupted only by complaints to the techs and engineers that had designed the Shiden, as well as brief snippets of warning or acknowledgment to Dutch. The two white mobile suits dodged and weaved their way around and sometime through enemy formations, firing their mag rifles as fast as the safeties allowed. At the moment, Hal cursed the fact that the mag rifles had a much slower rate of fire outside of an atmosphere, so he couldn’t lay down effective suppressive fire while using the shield to protect himself.

    Of course, he also had to keep an eye on his propellant levels. Normally, in a protracted engagement, a mobile suit would return to its carrier for rearming and refueling. But since the entire engagement wasn’t supposed to drag out, there was no plan to rearm and refuel. It didn’t even matter anyway – the Isaribi was off harassing various ships, so he’d have to burn more fuel trying to find them.

    And he was burning through quite a lot of fuel as he dinked and dodged around rifle fire from at least a dozen Grazes.

    Then the Ahab Wave detector went off, and Hal spared a quick glance at it. Just quickly eyeballing it, he recognized what it should be. “Dutch, the cavalry is here.”
    “About damn time,” his wingman growled. “Things are way too hot for us to be stretching this shit out.”

    “At least we’re not on the fucking planet,” Hal said through clenched teeth, spinning the Shiden to block some incoming fire before it could hit Dutch from behind.

    Dutch merely grunted before a lance of red fire emerged from the new arrival, spearing the Skipjack to port of the one in the middle. The beam arced its way through the ship, slicing it into two massive chunks, even as something above the ship turned into a brilliant nova of light. As Hal blinked the stars out of his eyes, he spotted a flashing error icon on one of the displays – whatever the light was, it the Ahab Wave detector to crash.

    “Dutch, can you hear me?” he called out, matching Dutch’s moves while doing his best to get a feel for the battlefield situation. At the very least, the explosion or whatever it was flashblinded or disoriented Gjallarhorn’s pilots, which he took advantage of by firing a few potshots at various Grazes.

    “Looks like some unlucky Gjallarhorn or pirate son of a bitch got vaped.” Dutch’s reply was a bit scratchier than usual, but still came through strong. “Have you checked your rad meter?”

    “No, but my Ahab detector’s out,” Hal growled.

    “Let’s just say anybody unlucky enough to get punted out into space is going to quite crispy.” Dutch fired off a few rounds into the now rallying Grazes. “Looks like Gjallarhorn’s getting their shit together. How about we show them a good time?”

    “Sounds good to me.” Hal managed to tamp down on the edge in his voice as his Shiden shivered from another impact. His pilot suit was already soaked through with sweat, and the cockpit air conditioning was starting to chill his body. He knew the armor wasn’t absolute cut rate trash, but the Shiden was never designed for this kind of fight.

    As if to emphasize that point, a number of indicators popped up as the hits increased, usually announcing that this servo or that armor plate was stressed. Hal spared them only a quick glance, aware that mobility and avoiding hits was the best armor in these kinds of chaotic furballs. He didn’t even bother checking his propellant levels as he jinked wildly, trying to keeping as close to Dutch as possible. If they got separated now, they’d be easy pickings for the Gjallarhorn pilots, even with the pirates as a distraction.

    Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another of the deadly beams cut through the starboard Skipjack. There wasn’t a massive flash this time, so the only thing he knew for sure was that nobody had been unlucky enough to get caught in the firing arc. For whatever reason, a good number of Grazes just stopped and looked back – maybe they were deployed from that ship, but whatever the reason, Hal was simply grateful they weren’t shooting at him. He already had enough on his plate.

    “For fuck’s sake, when are they going to quit?” Hal growled, firing off a salvo at a Graze getting too close for comfort. The plan, to his understanding, hinged on Gjallarhorn knowing when to quit. So far, it didn’t seem like anyone in charge had made the call yet, which meant more time for—

    Something struck the right side of his mag rifle, deflecting the aim so that round he fired skimmed the chest armor of his target. Pivoting the Shiden’s hand, he saw what had happened: a chunk of metal had sheared the cable bundle on that side, before embedding itself in the receiver. Hal cursed, trying to dodge the emboldened Graze and swap to a conventional rifle at the same time—

    A familiar looking mace whizzed over the Shiden’s shoulder and slammed into the Gjallarnhorn suit’s cockpit block. Flipping his primary monitor to a rear view, he spotted the familiar shilouette of Gundam Barbatos before it fired its thrusters and zoomed back into the fray. It burned that the little runt had saved his ass, but Hal managed to swallow down the acidic bile in his throat – pride didn’t matter as much as staying alive.

    “Dutch, my mag rifle’s out. Grab my ammo and I’ll grab your regular rifle ammo.”

    “Roger that.” The two mobile suits did their best to shake off pursuit before engaging the complicated dance of trading ammo. “Any idea when these assholes will get a clue?”

    “Your guess is as good as mine,” Hal replied, firing a burst of conventional rifle fire at a Graze peppering them with its own fire. “I’m hoping for a nice big withdrawal flare any day now…”



    Author's Notes: Well, this took long than I wanted to get out, just because my creative bandwidth was tied up with some group projects that were pretty stressful.

    Anyway, if you've spent any amount of time consuming Super Best Friends/Castle Super Beast content, you should be familiar with the concept of "You didn't win" and spite in fiction. It shouldn't surprise anyone that the opposition to Gjallarhorn subscribes to these philosophies, given the demonstrated douchebaggery displayed by the series' antagonists.

    If you're wondering about what was up with those exploding bridges, I encourage you to reread the chapters dealing with the aftermath of the final Brewers battle. You'll find the answer there.
     
    Chapter 40
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 40

    “Heads up, we’ve got heat signatures in the upper atmosphere! Count’s around 100!”

    Orga acknowledged the report with grunt. After weeks of tense anticipation, actually fighting the battle was a relief. That relief was countered by the massive pain in the ass he now dealt with: coordinating a large scale ground battle while most of his forces were only nominally under his control. He’d ceded general tactical control of Tekkadan’s space assets to Reuters, while retaining strategic control over their rules of engagement, in exchange for being given authority over the Dawn Horizon troops on the ground.

    So far, the pirates were following his orders, but the true test would come when Gjallarhorn assets touched the ground.

    “Do we have trajectories?” he asked.

    “Hold on…” Ariena B’Sayle was up in the front of the cabin of the Czenki APC, Orga’s mobile command center for this engagement. Also with him, in the rear of the cabin, were Biscuit Griffon and Ride Mass. Their responsibility was to monitor the status of the Tekkadan and Dawn Horizon forces. And upfront was Lisa, who supposedly had some street racing and offroading experience.

    The sudden jerk as the APC gunned the engine threw the humans in the back against their restraints and left Ariena squealing in terror.

    “Hey, try not to kill us back here!” Orga shouted as he rubbed his shoulders.

    The bone jarring shudder as the Czenki rolled over some protrusion was the only reply.

    “Trajectories,” he ground out in irritation.

    “Feeding them to you now,” Ariena replied, a second before the holographic display popped to life in front of him.

    He noted the number of enemy units and where they were projected to land. Relief and irritation warred with each other as he realized less enemy forces were on their way, but his plan relied on getting as many as possible on the surface. The reasoning was simple: battle was going to be won in space, but anything on the planet was going to be higher quality salvage, because the Gjallarhorn forces would have no choice but to surrender.

    Of course, they’d need to survive long enough to win. Naturally, there’d been plenty of brainstorming on this topic. Remotely operated decoys, fashioned out of the clapped out mobile workers from other Martian mercenary companies, were the bait. The actual mobile workers were hidden under tarps covered in Martian top soil, next to hastily converted shipping containers that served as shelters and first aid stations. Likewise, the Dawn Horizon Corps mobile suits were similarly camoflauged, although nothing could stop the Ahab waves emitted from their reactors.

    But even that could be turned to their advantage.

    To help even the odds and drag out the fight even longer, they’d been forced to find ways to mission kill the enemy mobile suits without dramatically harming them. Yukinojo, in consultation with several alien members, had worked up a plan: use scaled up disruptor rounds to trip the protective breakers to the cockpit avionics, which would shutdown the mobile suits. Thanks to owning their own Graze, they knew exactly how much current needed to be pumped in to do it, even if the 90mm mass accelerator’s rounds would just barely cross that threshold and the shuttles cannons couldn’t manage it.

    On top of that, Gurji, Hish, and some of the IOS technicians whipped up a chemical concoction that could jam up a mobile suit’s joints, but was easily dissolved with common solvents. Every missile and unguided rocket warhead had been swapped to the new payload, making the mobile workers a viable anti-mobile suit unit for once. Some improvised rocket launchers added to the fun.

    He snapped off orders for Biscuit and Ride to relay, then took over monitoring aerial targets from Ariena so she could handle gunnery. The enemy’s current force deployment was smaller than he’d hoped, but that gave his ground forces a bit more breathing room, so he could live with that. What Orga feared the most was a long slog of a battle, that the Gjallarhorn forces wouldn’t give up even if given the surrender order. His forces had a limited supply of munitions, aside from the mass accelerator equipped units, and short, brutal engagement in orbit and on the ground was the better fit for his forces.

    “Give everyone the heads up, Gjallarhorn’s hitting the dirt in thirty seconds!” he announced.

    The APC began weaving like crazy as the ground shuddered from the impacts of 100 mobile suits landing. Luckily, they’d fallen for his initial distraction and spread themselves into manageable clusters. But if the next wave of mobile suits, confirmed by the quick data burst sent from the salvaged 400mm cannons he’d left in orbit as his opening gambit, got authorization to land, they’d probably all land on in the vicinity of the HLV.

    “Fire off smoke canister 1 on all decoys.” Orga silently counted off until fifteen seconds went by, then snapped off his next order. “All squads, break cover and target at will. Priority is neutralizing units in proximity to the HLV.”

    His guts shifted in a disconcerting way as the Czenki suddenly leaped up and boosted forward, followed by a pair of shudders as it hit the dirt and Ariena snapped off a shot. Some part of Orga’s mind recalled that Lisa had offered Atra driving lessons, and immediately flagged that as a concern. Another part focused on the arrangement of dots on the screen and the APC vibrating from a near miss hitting the dirt behind it.

    As he expected, the battle was devolving in to a whirling mass of small skirmishes, with the defenders throwing the assaulting force off balance with their aggressive stance. He rattled off orders whenever it looked like Gjallarhorn would gain an upper hand, grimacing everytime a manned mobile worker was damaged or marked as destroyed. He became hyper-concious of the clock in a corner of the screen that ticked off every second since he’d given the order to fire off the guns in orbit.

    Orga’s thoughts were interrupted every so often as the Czenki dodged, weaved, and boosted its way across the battlefield. Ariena’s gunnery wasn’t the best, but between the few complete knockouts and the growing number of partially disabled Grazes on the field, a growing amount of weapons fire was coming in their direction. Slashing air attacks from the two shuttles and quick action from the mobile workers and emplaced rocket batteries helped keep the pressure off, but he was increasingly aware that every round fired was one round they wouldn’t be able to throw against the next wave of Gjallarhorn mobile suits.

    A notification popped up on his screen and after reading it twice, he fought the simultaneous urges to cheer and curse. “Send this to all units: second wave of Gjallarhorn mobile suits in bound. Stand ready to receive updates on projected trajectories.”

    Biscuit shot a look at him that screamed “we’re screwed,” a look Orga did his best to ignore.

    Pouring every last erg of confidence left in his body, he said what he knew could be famous last words: “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”



    Masahiro Altland cursed as a Graze Schild slammed its axe into the shield held in the Waltraute’s hand.

    It was times like these that he realized that for all the good things that came with his reunion with his brother, there seemed to be a growing list of bad things to go with them. Currently at the top of his list was piloting a busted up wreck of a mobile suit in a warzone. But he didn’t let that thought stop him from firing his mag rifle at the Graze, which was thankfully keeping its distance and holding its axe by the end of the long shaft.

    The problem was that the Graze had a lot of buddies next to him, with more on the way.

    Masahiro had gotten this terrible detail through the sheer bad luck of being the most experienced mobile suit pilot in Tekkadan who wasn’t already assigned to pilot something. Most of the Brewers had stayed on Earth, with the rest joining the Mars group. None of the pilots that stayed on Earth blamed him for going to Mars to be with his brother, but he sensed the envy at having family to be with.

    Personally, he would’ve preferred being up in orbit, fighting with his brother, to this… but only if he was in anything but this machine.

    The Waltarute had been in bad shape when Tekkadan got it, and the supplies and techs from the IOS test team had gotten it up to “slightly mobile turret" status. That meant that Gjallarhorn, already zeroing in on the obvious target that was the HLV, was guaranteed to realize there was a massive weakpoint in Tekkadan’s defenses. And the one thing Gjallarhorn liked doing was throwing tons of force at a problem until it went away.

    Naturally, Orga knew that they’d figure out that he was the weak link in the defense line, and stacked the deck accordingly. There were plenty of hidden rocket launchers and mobile workers to slow down the Gjallarhorn advance, at least for a little while. Of course, the rest of the group had plenty of backup, but he had the most concentrated in one spot.

    With well practiced ease, his left hand moved off the controls and tapped a set of buttons, triggering an improvised rocket launcher that buried just below the surface. Six rockets made it out of the launcher, creating a massive cloud of red dust, before the last two rockets blew up in their tubes. That last bit wasn’t entirely a surprise to Masahiro, as the Graze had basically been standing on top of the thing. The other rockets either slammed into the Graze’s left side or flew up into the air, then arced back down to the ground, hitting other Grazes in the process, blinding one.

    “Someone knock that thing down,” he said, barely paying attention to his own words as he slowly trained the mag rifle at a different Graze. His eyes darted towards the damage status indicators, making sure that nothing was in the orange, because that was as good as catastrophic damage when a mobile suit was this jerry-rigged, and took the shot, knocking the enemy machine back a few steps, allowing some mobile workers to attack the blinded Graze.

    The Ahab wave detector klaxon began blaring as the next wave of Gjallarhorn mobile suits began their final approaches. Masahiro quickly glanced at it – none of them were going to land right on top of him or anyone else in the circle around the HLV, so he focused his attention back on holding the line. A dust cloud billowed up into the air as the ground shivered, marking the toppling of the blinded Graze.

    Then there was a terrible shuddering as a hundred mobile suits hit the ground at roughly the same time. Off in the distance, he could see an explosion or two bulging out the dust cloud of the impacts, adding more vibrations to the seismic mess. All he could do was hope that no one died, or if they did, it was some of the pirates.

    Masahiro personally wasn’t happy with the choice to ally with the Dawn Horizon Corps. Back during his time as a Brewer, he’d overheard enough jealous gossip to know they were at least as bad as the Brewers, but more competent. But he’d seen the boss’s face when he announced that they were working with the Dawn Horizon Corps and knew nobody in Tekkadan liked the situation, so he didn’t press the issue.

    Didn’t mean he couldn’t take a little satisfaction at the pirates getting bloodied a bit.

    But right now, he needed them alive, because the numbers were now heavily slanted in Gjallarhorn’s favor. Without prompting, the defenders began firing at the new arrivals, who were scattered across the area in small groups, trying to keep them from reorganizing. It didn’t take a genius to see that if the majority of the enemy hit any one point, like the HLV, they’d crush the combined Tekkadan/Dawn Horizon Corps force.

    “Where the hell’s the Thrill Seeker?” he muttered under his breath. The whole plan revolved around Gjallarhorn surrendering when the alien ship showed up, and judging by the return fire he was seeing, Gjallarhorn hadn’t got the message. His gut cramped in fear as he realized that if things dragged out long enough, they might take potshots at the HLV just to screw over Tekkadan and the Dawn Horizon Corps.

    As he snapped off a few more shots to keep the enemy at bay, the Martian winds blew the macabe mix of dust and smoke over his mobile suit. Held at bay by the muzzle blasts of the magnetically accelerated rifle rounds, the noxious brew coated the rifle and barrel in a fine layer of dust. The next round was the last one, as something in the rifle shorted out and tripped an alarm Masahiro had no time or interest in reading.

    He did a quick look behind him, to make sure no allies were in the way, then tossed the rifle into the dirt and dumped its ammo, grabbing the conventional 120mm rifle mounted on the Waltarute’s back for this kind of situation. It was his only weapon now, because there was no way the patched together machine could survive a melee battle. He did his best to redirect the motion of grabbing the rifle to swing it towards a target, but it wasn’t as smooth as it would’ve been with an Alaya-Vijnana equipped suit. It took long enough that a group of Grazes had cut the distance between them and the first group in half, thanks to hover units mounted on their legs, and he had to lead his shots to get them to keep their distance.

    When the Ahab wave klaxon began blaring again, he took a quick look as he reloaded the mobile suit’s rifle – and smiled.



    As Mikazuki jinked Barbatos past a group of enemy Grazes, blasting them with his last proximity fused bazooka round, he kept an eye out for his true target.

    He was aware that his part of the mission was A) to help keep the two Shiden pilots alive and uncaptured, and B) cause as much chaos amongst the Gjallarhorn line, but Orga had given him an even more important mission. He had to capture the special mobile suit the Chocolate Man told them about. For whatever reason, he wanted them to have it, so Mikazuki had been briefed on it and even fought in simulated battles against it, based on the specs the Chocolate Man provided.

    He wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

    It was just like Dort – too many enemies to beat, too many ways to get overwhelmed and killed. If Orga’s plan didn’t work, they would all die. But Orga’s plan should work, he told himself. They have orders to run.

    In fact, he was surprised they were still fighting right now. The enemy should’ve immediately signaled their retreat after the Thrill Seeker cut their battleships in two. That made him worry that they had some kind of plan of their own, but, as he worked his way across the battlefield, he supposed they were too scared to do anything. That happened sometimes.

    Or maybe they were just shocked by how pretty the lights had been when the battleships were destroyed.

    One thing that annoyed him about this fight was how hard it was to keep track of Akihiro and the two IOS pilots. There was just so much stuff around him that he’d had to reduce the range of the Ahab wave detector to the bare minimum to see anything useful. LCS links with Gusion and the Shidens were short, as debris, expended weapons, and sometimes crippled mobile suits floated by and blocked lines of sight.

    Barbatos alerted him that the Shidens were above and to his right, encircled by a number of Grazes. He’d already ditched the bazooka by throwing it at a Graze that was in his way, plus expended his cannon ammunition and the various rockets once strapped to the Gundam. All he had left were the Maratist cannon, his mace, and one of the armor breaker swords.

    From the snippets of cursing he was hearing as Barbatos tried to make an LCS connection with the Shidens, things were going badly.

    He worked the controls to get a better position, fired a disruptor ammo round at one of the Grazes on one side of the Shidens, then did the only thing that made sense: he hurled the mace as hard as the Gundam could throw it. It slammed into a Graze’s chest, knocking it into the path of two approaching Grazes as the pilot struggled to compensate for the sudden impact. The Shidens quickly jetted away before their comrades could react, while swapping weapons, with Mikazuki adding extra discouragement by firing another mass accelerator round at the remaining Gjallarhorn troops.

    “Thanks for the assist.” The voice on the LCS line was so quiet and strained that Mikazuki had to check who it was. He was surprised that Hal would say anything like that, but he supposed it was a sign of respect.

    So he said, “No problem” in acknowledgment, before angling back towards the core of the battle.

    Barbatos’ voice rumbled Enemy signal flare detonation – message: Enage in armed retreat [Specific Timing Unknown – Non-standard flare configuration], a few seconds before Dutch cut-in on the LCS line: “About fucking time… looks like they’re sending out a reserve to help cover their guys’ retreat.”

    In the time it took Dutch to say those words, Barbatos had already found the target. Even better, it was coming towards him.

    He accelerated towards the enemy mobile suit, putting Barbatos between it and the battered pair of Shidens he’d just saved. Barbatos rumbled something about IFF Data Mismatch – Enemy unit designation EB-AX2 Graze Julia != EB-AX2 Graze Prototype, and as he started dodging rounds from its shoulder mounted cannons, he allowed himself some time to think.

    His mind went back to a conversation he had with Ecco Turbine back on Earth, about naming mobile suits. He remembered her saying that some people liked to name their mobile suits after themselves. That didn’t make any sense to him: if you died, that just made it inconvenient for the next person, who’d have to rename the mobile suit. But he supposed that people who did things like that didn’t expect to die.

    He snapped off a mass accelerator shot as soon as the gun cooled enough, ignoring the fairly low caliber autocannon rounds plinking off the Gundam’s skin. The giant Graze jinked to the left, almost evading the round, but it was too fast; the round hit the outer edge of the mobile suit’s right thigh, denting the armor and unleashing a writhing mass of energies into the limb. Mikazuki remembered Yukinojo saying that any part of the mobile suit hit by a disruptor round would lock up, to prevent further damage to the mechanisms inside. The enemy pilot certainly seemed to be struggling with the loss of the various thrusters mounted on the leg.

    He was dimly aware that his opponent was talking to him over an LCS line, but he didn’t pay attention to what the woman was saying. She did sound young though, maybe close to his age, which would’ve surprised him more if he hadn’t met the Turbines. He had no idea why she was talking so much – the only things that needed to be said during a fight were things that could keep you alive. That meant orders, status reports, and information that’d help coordinate units.

    In his experience, everyone who talked a lot in a fight just wound up distracting themselves.

    He jinked Barbatos left, circling around the enemy mobile suit to get a better situational awareness. Six Grazes were closing fast, and firing the Maratist now would spike the heat gauge and cause it lock up. That was no good – if he tried a cockpit shot and missed, then he wouldn’t be able to use the cannon to defend himself against the other mobile suits or try a second shot. That meant he had to use the sword.

    He supposed that no one would complain too much if he did it right.

    Mikazuki remembered the lessons Arienea gave him on how to wield the person-scaled version of the sword. The trick was to put as much force into the swing as possible, to smash through the armor. And there was a chance the sword could get stuck, which was why the hook for catching enemy blades doubled as a handle.

    He timed his strike so that the huge enemy mobile suit was between him and its allies, to block their lines of fire as he swung the sword. The enemy pilot tried to counter by spinning the mobile suit’s hand and intercepting the blade, but sword smashed through the middle of it, shattering the claw into hundreds of metal shards that sprayed out into space. The blade kept traveling up the length of the giant Graze’s arm, stopping three-quarters of the way through.

    A lesser pilot who hadn’t trained for this situation would’ve been caught by the left hook and pile bunker that followed shortly after the blade stopped. But Mikazuki had, so he dodged while retaining Barbatos’ grip on the blade, causing the pile bunker to uselessly eject itself into space. He planted both of the mobile suit’s feet on the chest of the larger mobile suit, then fired the thrusters at full power. Metal shuddered as the huge Graze’s joints and ruined limb encountered stresses they were never designed for, and to Mikazuki’s surprise, the Graze’s elbow joint gave out first, sending Barbatos flying off into space before he could cut the thrusters and pivot to face the enemy.

    The Gundam shuddered as 120mm rounds peppered its surface as he began moving laterally to assess the situation. Barbatos told him that the enemy warships were moving away at high speed, and that meant he had a choice to make. He could either keep fighting and risk dying, or disengage and let them retreat.

    He could hear Orga repeating his orders: “Remember, getting that mobile suit is just a bonus. Don’t get yourself killed doing it.”

    Mikazuki paused, only moving to dodge the enemy’s rushed gun fire as they began dragging the larger Graze back towards the fleeing Gjallarhorn warships. He looked at them for a second longer, then fired at and hit one of the regular Grazes, nodding in satisfaction. That would encourage them to retreat faster, as well as keep them too busy to cause problems.

    He watched the Grazes fly off into the distance, then turned and made his way back to the Isaribi, satisfied the job was done.



    Nevara Char walked the decks of the Thrill Seeker for what hopefully wouldn’t be the last time.

    Normally, she wouldn’t have to worry about a quick FTL hop inside of a solar system. Mass effect FTL had been a solved problem for thousands of years in Citadel space, after all. It should have been a simple navigation calculation, press a button, and boom, arrive at the destination.

    But no, the Ahab reactor had to radiate some funky waves that messed with the mass effect field strength… and who knew if the Ahab wave inertial dampeners could take the strain of decelerating from FTL speed.

    The scientists and engineers were 80% confident this little hop from two-light minutes below the plane of the ecliptic to the Martian south pole wouldn’t kill them. Supposedly that was actually a pretty good figure, given the number of unknowns. None of that made her feel any better, not when everything was riding on the Thrill Seeker showing up and doing its part.

    Of course, it was her job to make sure that they delivered, so she worried a lot.

    Her feet carried her from the hangar to the crew decks, then back down to the CIC, up to the cockpit, where the helmsman, a sleepy looking Asari by the name of Imava Ruios, sat.

    “Everything setup yet?”

    Imava yawned and looked up at her from the pilot’s seat. “The remote control uplink and the contingency algorithms? Yeah, they’re in the system and triple tested. Should all work.”

    “Great.” Nevara had full faith and confidence in Imava, who’d pulled their asses out of some tight spots in the past year with superb piloting. However, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the helmsman must’ve been one of those children whose parents shoved them in a mass effect bubble and bounced them around for extranet attention. She’d known a few kids in school whose parents had done that to them, and they all wound up being weirdos with assorted personality issues. “Just sit tight and stay ready.”

    She walked back to the captain’s podium, where Mr. Chen and Dr. Brendan Madden were waiting. For all the danger this could entail, there was a surprising number of human volunteers aboard. “You know, you guys don’t all have to be here for this.”

    The old scientist smiled at her. “And miss being among the first humans to fly faster than the speed of light? What scientist would willingly give up that opportunity?”

    “Oh, right, you guys don’t have FTL tech. I guess I just forgot about that, piloting my desk around.” Nevara looked at Mr. Chen, the Teiwaz watchdog. “How about you, Mr. Chen? Here for the history, or just the money?”

    “A little of both,” he replied. “I’m just glad my ex-wife doesn’t know, otherwise she’d bankrupt the solar system with the life insurance claims.”

    The scientist and Asari just stared at him for a few seconds, then began laughing.

    “I didn’t know you watched Main Line Movers,” Nevara replied as she caught her breath.

    Mr. Chen simply smiled and shrugged. “I just put it on in the background while doing the paperwork. Helps make the time go by.”

    She smiled back, the moment lasting just long enough that her omni-tool alarm clock flashing into life was a welcome break. Tapping it off, she walked up the podium and activated the intercom. “Alright people, we’re half an hour out from being the biggest badasses in the solar system… or dying trying. So do whatever you need to do to take the edge off, make sure everything is ready to go, and remember… we win just by showing up. Everything else we do is just the cherry on top of Gjallarhorn’s shame sundae.”

    Nevara cut the line, stepped back, and turned towards the two humans. “How did that sound for a big pre-battle speech?”

    “Not bad,” Mr. Chen replied. He usually understated things, so she took that as “good.”

    “Could have used a little less emphasis on the ‘dying trying’ part, but overall, quite acceptable.” Madden shrugged. “If you’re asking whether historians will find it wanting, well… I imagine they would comment on the somewhat unprofessional tone.”

    “Professionalism is for Turians,” she replied with a wink. “The Asari have always played it a little looser than the other species, so I’m completely in line with Asari standards. Unless you’re a Justicar.”

    That got a smile from the old human, and eased her nerves a bit before she looked over the battle plan for the umpteenth time.

    It was fairly simple, assuming everything worked properly. Do this and that to cause chaos in the enemy ranks and pin them in place in orbit, sucker the enemy into dropping most of their mobile suits onto Mars, have the Thrill Seeker show up and kick ass to send a message and leave a lot of salvage. Then accept the surrenders of every Gjallarhorn unit that couldn’t run away and rake in the cash.

    Of course, things couldn’t be simple. She had to worry about blowing up any allies in her field of fire. The enemy commander might be a stubborn ass and drag out the fight too long, getting lots of Tekkadan and pirate personnel killed. And a thousand other possible snags and nagging issues that made her head hurt.

    It was a relief when the signal from Mars came in, confirming that Tekkadan had made contact with the approaching Gjallarhorn fleet. But she kept an eye on the clock and ear on the reports one of the kids on the Isaribi was making, and she realized things weren’t going to plan. “Thrill Seeker to Isaribi, are those enemy mobile suits moving at all?”

    The plan was to go in when at least half of the enemy flotilla’s 300 strong mobile suits were either on or on their way to the ground. But only 100 mobile suits had made down so far, with 100 more just sitting there and soaking up attention and ammo that could be used on other targets.

    “Uh… no.”

    “Alright, look – Eugene,” Nevara decided to go over the head of the comm operator, to the only other ranking member of Tekkadan she could talk to. “It doesn’t look like this guy is going to make up his mind if we don’t give him a push.”

    “You sure about this…” Eugene’s voice was strained, no real surprise since the intense maneuvers required for this mission meant he had to use the assault carrier’s Alaya-Vijnana System. “I dunno if Orga can hold out if they drop on top of them.”

    “Well, we know that those ships have to run if the Seeker shows up, so we don’t really have all that much to lose by showing up.”

    “Alright… I’ll let our ‘allies’ know to stay out of your way. Try not to hit us either.”

    “Don’t worry Eugene, there’s no chance we can hit you, not with the way you drive,” Nevara joked as she cut the line, then brought up her omni-tool. “Imava, it’s go time.”

    “One FTL jump, ready to go!”

    The ship shivered under their feet as the mass effect core kicked in. Nevara herself barely budged, maybe swaying as much as on a day with with a tiny hint of breeze. As the hologram projection in front of her populated itself with crude models of the ships and hundreds of icons for the mobile suits, she couldn’t help saying, “Damn, these inertia dampeners are good.”

    She nodded in approval as the ship pivoted to bring its nose in line with the first target, one of the huge Skipjack class battleships. While technically a dreadnought mass warship by Citadel standards, it didn’t have the firepower and definitely didn’t have the shielding to rate as one. Nevara felt a sliver of pity and curiosity as the ancient weapon in the nose of the ship rumbled to life.

    The nanolaminate armor coating the hull of the Gjallarhorn battleship had been formulated to repell a specific threat, the beam cannons used by mobile armor. Its designers had no idea that anyone could make a particle beam that fired heavier atomic nuclei at beyond 2% of the speed of light. So when the Reaper particle beam flared to life, at a range of 5 kilometers, it was to the nanolaminate’s credit that it survived for 100 miliseconds.

    Then the coating vaporized and the beam cut into the thick hull of the Gunnar. The beam’s path, computer controlled and surgically precise, cut through bulkheads like a metal knife through a chilled cake. Those lucky enough to be in the initial point of impact vaporized without even knowing what killed them. The rest were cooked alive by the intense heat of the beam before their bodies vaporized, while the free electrons stripped from the particles at the edges of the beams disrupted the electronic nervous system of the mighty battleship. Automatic damage control systems that would have sealed the immediate hull breaches failed, blowing countless unlucky Gjallarhorn personnel into space. The lucky ones were quickly killed when the beam hit a Graze above the Gunnar, vaporizing it and breaching the reactor in a massive flare of lethal radiation.

    Nevara was unaware of this as she watched the holographic display in front of her. All she saw was the holographic representation of the beam cut the ship in half, with both parts slowly drifting away from each other. A number of radiation warning symbols appeared when the wave of radiation made its way past the hull of the ruined battleship.

    “Damn, we must’ve blown up a mobile suit.” A sudden chill swept over her. “Get me the Isaribi! Make sure we didn’t vaporize one of our own people!”

    Even as she fought down a wave of panic, the Thrill Seeker slid into position under its next target, holding its fire so the Reaper particle cannon could dump its waste heat into the ship’s heat sinks. As soon as the ship settled into position, it unleashed another precision beam of death, cutting the Odin apart like its sistership. Once that was done, the ancient weapon returned to its slumber, slowly shedding its heat.

    “Alright, fire for effect on the enemy warships, GARDIAN lasers only,” Nevara snapped out, even though the weapons officer had already been briefed on this part of the operation. While there was plenty of headroom in the heat sinks after only firing the particle beam twice, using the GARDIAN lasers would take longer to saturate the heat sinks, increasing combat endurance and ensuring that they wouldn’t need to pop the delicate and vulnerable radiators until Gjallarhorn far away.

    “We’re taking fire,” the weapons officer reported. “Not much coordination or drain on the kinetic barriers.”

    “Good, keep me posted if they start doing better.” Nevara manipulated the control panel on the podium rail, focusing the holographic display on the one hundred mobile suits hanging in orbit. She had no idea why they were just sitting there, fighting the pirates and their mobile suits. “Imava, maneuver us towards that big group of Gjallarhorn mobile suits sitting in orbit. I want to see if we can push them over the edge.”

    She adjusted the hologram again, pulling out the view enough to see the Thrill Seeker’s position relative to the mobile suits. As soon as the ship closed to within half the original distance, the mobile suits began entering Mars’ atmosphere en massee, much to her approval. “Alright, angle us back towards the capital ships, but have a reentry course ready to go.”

    Nevara tapped her foot, counting off the seconds as the battle dragged out. The five intact Gjallarhorn warships were putting up a fight, and maneuvering to support each other as best they could while being harassed by the Isaribi and the other pirate assault carriers. The mobile suits buzzed around the battlespace in enough numbers that the holo-display that the icons for them represented groups of at least two, with groups fading in and out as individual units split and regrouped according to the flow of the battle.

    Suddenly, a large heat source appeared on the display. “Looks like the Gjallarhorn flagship lit off a signal flare,” the weapons officer reported. “Based on our intel, it’s a customized withdrawl signal.”

    Nevara nodded. Orga had somehow gotten his hands on a boatload of Gjallarhorn documents and passed them on to her, allowing her to brief her own officers. She hadn’t asked where he got the documents and she didn’t want to know. She had enough to worry about.

    That said, things were going surprisingly well, all things considered. The fighting seemed to be dying off as the five Gjallarhorn ships pulled away, with a few dozen groups of mobile suits following them. “Isaribi, we’ll hold position for a few more minutes, then head to the surface.”

    “Acknowledged.”

    Channelling all her nervous energy into sounding authorative, she said, “Imava, when Gjallarhorn gets 50K from the nearest allied unit, make for the surface. Stop us a kilometer above the surface.”

    The holographic display reconfigured from the fleet tracker to the ship’s trajectory as the Thrill Seeker broke orbit and approached the surface. Nevara winced at the steep angle of entry, but she said nothing, given her earlier orders. At this point, getting to the surface fast mattered more than adhering to the standards she’d learned in school. The longer she took, the more kids might die, and she wasn’t going to let that happen on her watch.

    She felt a slight shiver as the ship crossed the threshold between the thin Martian atmosphere and the vacuum of space, then the subtle changes in the vibrations throbbing through the ship as it slowed to a hover. The holo display showed the battlefield below her ship, a chaotic war zone where the weapons fire was dying down as the combatants realized what was right above them.

    “Weapons, I want GARDIAN lasers targeted on some of those Grazes in case I need a few examples. Target cockpits only.” She opened a channel for all on the surface to hear. “Attention, Gjallarhorn mobile suits. This is Captain Nevara Char of the Asari Independent Vessel Thrill Seeker. Your motherships are either destroyed, captured, or have broken orbit. You have thirty seconds to drop your weapons and surrender.”

    She cut the channel, then turned to one of her operators. “Get me a direct line to Orga… or whoever’s in charge.”

    Goddess, I hope he didn’t bite it while we were waiting for Admiral Indescive to make up his mind.

    That would be the last thing she needed.

    A great weight rolled off her shoulders when she heard the familiar, albeit exhausted, voice of her boss. “I was wondering when you’d get around to showing up. Did you get lost on the way over here?”

    “No, just got held up by someone taking too long to make up their mind.” Nevara’s jocular tone faded out as she looked over the hologram again. “How are things down there?

    “Gjallarhorn may be assholes, but they’re not stupid.” Orga didn’t even try to hide the relief in his voice. “They pretty much all dropped their weapons as soon as you gave them the ultimatum, and even the stubborn ones realized they didn’t have any options pretty quick.”

    “Well, being stuck at the bottom of a gravity well tends to do that,” she replied. “So… now what?”

    “We figure out how to clean up the mess we made.”



    Author's Note: Here's an early Christmas present I probably could've delivered a bit sooner if my writing/coding laptop hadn't decided to die right before Thanksgiving, forcing me to get a replacement part way through writing this. So I decided to make it a 4 part chapter, instead of the usual 3, to make up for that... and let me get the battle wrapped in up so I can just do 2 chapters of aftermath before getting into the "Punished Gaelio Rises Up" arc. (He has not fully arrived yet.)

    I don't have any lore for what Main Line Movers is, beyond a piece of popular PD 320s era entertainment, so feel free to theory craft that.

    If you think Tekkadan just made the jackpot, well, just wait until the next chapter...
     
    Chapter 41
  • bullethead

    Part-time fanfic writer
    Super Moderator
    Staff Member
    Chapter 41

    Sandoval Reuters nodded as his lieutenants entered his office. The twins handed him two different tablets; a quick glance told him that one was the list of everything they’d salvaged, and the other was a list of everything they’d lost fighting alongside Tekkadan. The pirate captain knew he had a good haul, so he set the salvage list aside and started on the losses.

    “This isn’t too bad,” he commented, half to himself. “A shitload of ammo, true, but only a few dozen Human Debris, a handful of pilots, some mobile workers, and a few beat up Garm Rodis we could sell for parts if we have to.”

    He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Have either of you seen the news?”

    The twins shook their head, which didn’t surprise him. They’d been coordinating operations throughout the small flotilla to meet the deadline he’d set – namely, getting out of sight at least two hours before the MNCEA’s little convoy showed up.

    “The politicos are squirming a bit, having to explain why we’re here. Of course, they have their nice little outs about the carte blanche they handed to the kids over there,” he threw his thumb in the general direction of the Isaribi, “and the fact they didn’t pay us, but it’s fun watching those bastards fry a little.”

    “Speaking of pay…” the green bandana’d twin spoke up. “Gyojan’s second payment came through. Bank cleared it and everything.”

    “Good, we almost out of here.” Reuters swapped tablets, playing with one of the braids in his beard before he let out a small chuckle. “I like what I see here. 128 Grazes, mostly undamaged. 2 Halfbeak class cruisers, minus their bridges and with some bullet holes in the interior.” He frowned. “Not seeing a lot of anything from the battleships though.”

    “About that, boss…” the pink bandana’d twin winced. “About a third of the Debris we lost were the ones we tried sending into vented areas of those ships. They got shredded up by debris particles, and we couldn’t send anybody in through the airlocks because Tekkadan’s dragging all the trapped Gjallarhorn people out that way.”

    “Plus the captains are all complaining that their ships are overloaded. They’ve already ditched all the damaged mobile workers to cut down on mass,” his brother added. “We’re going to have to make a run back to base to dump all this stuff off before we can restart normal operations.”

    Reuters smiled. “Well, I think we can send our two newest additions to the fleet on a mission or two before they have to return.” His expression turned more serious. “I’ve already worked out a plan to deal with this.”

    He rotated the monitor of his desk computer to face the twins, then tapped a few buttons. “We’ll leave on this heading,” a blue line appeared on the screen, emerging from the icon indicating the Dawn Horizon Corps current position. “Once we get far enough away from Mars, we’ll hit this course,” he tapped a button, causing a green line to appear. “We’ll take 3 days to get there, but it’s a safe location to meet our transports, unload, and refuel.”

    Like any competent large pirate group, the Dawn Horizon Corps had a small asteroid base and a number of transports to support their operations. Typically, one or two transports tagged along during normal operations, hauling extra supplies and providing space for the loot, but they were left behind whenever there was a more combat focused job to be done. Transports were just too tempting a target in a big fleet battle, and losing one could fuck up the carefully thought out logistics of the organization.

    “We’ll give the captains the full brief on the plan once we’re halfway to the first waypoint, and figure out who wants to go hunting.” The corners of Reuters’ mouth rose. “We’ll have to move fast to get the most mileage out of our new ships. In a few months, every spacer will have updated their ship ID catalogue, but until then, we’ll have the best disguise money never paid for.”

    The pirates all smiled at that.

    “Anyway, as soon as we get the last of our people and loot off the surface and loaded up, we’re leaving.”

    “Good news on that, boss. We should be done within the hour,” the pink bandana’d twin informed him.

    “Still time to see if we can kick the kids off their big find,” his brother reminded them.

    Reuters looked at him, then began laughing. It took a while before he stopped, coughing and wheezing as he did. “Let those kids deal with all that government bullshit and whether or not Gjallarhorn has the balls to try to take it. You couldn’t pay me enough to sit in one spot, in the middle of fucking nowhere, and wait for them to come kick my ass!”

    He smiled. “I wish those kids all the luck in the world with their new headache. I’ll take my easy money over that any day of the week.”



    Exhausted and stressed out beyond all measure, all Orga wanted to do was crawl into his bunk and sleep for a few days. Instead, he found himself in a conversation with Augustus McIntyre, the IOS CEO, just over an hour before the MNCEA flotilla would arrive. And right before he had to talk to McMurdo Barriston, which could go in any number of ways.

    So he gulped down some hot coffee as the older man ranted a bit.

    “Have you seen the maintenance reports on my Shidens?! They’re practically walking piles of scrap!”

    “I talked with Rens Kafka earlier,” Orga replied, too tired to actually care about this, but bothering to be polite to a senior member of Teiwaz. “He told me that there’s no structural frame damage on any of them, and that the failed or damaged parts were easy to replace – as designed. And my chief mechanic backed him up on that.”

    McIntyre sputtered at the response, until Orga held up his hand. “Look, Mr. McIntyre, you hired us to help put the Shiden through its paces and see how it’d do on the military market. And we did that. From what I hear, prototypes are supposed to get banged up, so the production ones have all the kinks worked out.”

    Taking another sip of coffee to lubricate his throat, he continued. “As far as I’m concerned, I just gave you the biggest ad in the system for the Shiden. Honestly, if I were you, I’d be more worried about the mag rifles. They’re pretty good, but they break too easily.”

    The IOS executive’s face twisted as he bit back a profane blast. “I’ll take that under advisement.” He took a breath to calm himself down. “Are you going to put in an order for Shidens?”

    “We’re still examining and moving the mobile suits we’ve salvaged.” Orga took another sip, hiding a sigh behind the mug. “I can’t make any promises until my people finish.” He paused and thought, What would Vass do?

    Something something manipulate the guy. Figure out what he wants, use that to get him on our side, or less pissed at us. Yeah, that sounds about right.


    “I can’t commit to ordering Shidens right now, but either way, we’re going to need another carrier.” He noticed that McIntyre leaned back in his chair, now that they were talking business. “I’ve got plenty of salvage you can use for parts, including Ahab reactors.”

    “I see.” McIntyre’s face was practically unreadable, but at the very least, he wasn’t angry anymore. “We can provide a discount if you do order Shidens.”

    Man, he’s desperate to get someone to buy the things,
    Orga thought. “I appreciate that offer.” He paused as an idea came together in his head. “I’ve got some connections with the Arbrau military. I might be able to convince them to pick some up.”

    “I’d appreciate that.”

    Orga leaned over to check the time. “I’ve got a call with the Old Man shortly, so I’ll have to cut this short. I’ll have my people get in touch with your people as soon as we have everything sorted out over here.”

    McIntyre grudgingly nodded and cut the connection without another word, leaving the teenager to drain his coffee and push himself out of his seat. He grimaced as he placed pressure on the feet that’d fallen asleep during this latest stint in his office, then wobbled his way around the room to work out some of the nervous energy that’d built up over the course of the last conversation. Well, I think that went well…

    He quickly tapped out a note to Biscuit on his omni-tool about talking with IOS, then gingerly made his way to the bathroom, handing off the empty cup to someone carrying a tray of cups somewhere.

    Feeling refreshed, Orga braced himself for the next conversation, settling back into his chair. The caffeine had kicked in, so he at least felt somewhat alive. He sat up straighter as the QEC connection activated.

    “Orga! How are you doing?” The Old Man’s jovial tone helped ease the tension down a few notches.

    “Uh, we’re pretty busy over here. Still gathering salvage on the surface and moving it back to our base.”

    McMurdo Barriston nodded his head. “I take it none of your people were seriously injured?”

    “No, we got pretty lucky. The worst we had were a few people knocked around a bit.” Orga paused, trying to find the right words. “The mobile suits took the hardest hits, and, uh, the Shidens are going to be coming back a little worse for wear.”

    “None of them were captured, were they?”

    “No sir.”

    Barriston waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it then. Augustus gets a little possessive about his pet projects, but we put them through these sorts of things for a reason.” He paused and looked Orga in the eye. “Some people might complain about your… partnership with the Dawn Horizon Corps, but I’m not one of them.”

    “Thank you, sir.”

    “Now, the reason I’m calling you now is quite simple. I need you to collect the payment the MNCEA owes Teiwaz for the rights to access the facility and our experts on Prothean technology. \”

    Orga began nodding. “That’s why you had us examine the hangar mechanisms.”

    “Exactly. I couldn’t tell you why ahead of time, in case you were captured or compromised.” Barriston leaned forward, towards the camera. “Listen carefully now. You are to collect two of the Prothean craft in that base for delivery to the Black Site.”

    He held up a hand before Orga could reply. [i[“It’s my understanding that you have some large pieces of salvage you need moved out of Mars orbit.”[/i]

    “There’s four big chunks of battleship we’re looking to salvage,” the teen confirmed, not quite sure where the shift in conversation was going.

    “Have your people find out what’d be required to move them to the IOS yards. The Turbines are up to the challenge, and I’m sure you can spare the Thrill Seeker for convoy escort duty.”

    Nodding, Orga rolled that around in his mind, trying to read between the lines. So, he wants to use the convoy moving the battleship debris as cover for shipping the Prothean scout ships to the Black Site. “Would you prefer having us ship your payment on the Seeker or one of the Turbine ships?”

    “Whichever makes the most sense.” Barriston leaned back in his chair. “What matters most is that they’re delivered safely to the Black Site.”

    “We should be able to handle that,” Orga assured him.

    “Excellent. If the MNCEA gives you any trouble, remind them that you are only empowered to collect the promised payment.” The Old Man smiled. “I’m sure that the bureaucrats aren’t happy that we’re getting some of the loot they were supposed to get, but they should fall in line when they’re reminded of contractual obligations.”

    Orga smiled at that. “I’ll make sure they get the message.”

    “Good. Remember, you’re officially representing Teiwaz for the time being. Don’t let them push you around.”

    “I’ll keep that in mind.”

    Barriston looked at the teen for a moment, then nodded. “Keep up the good work, Orga. You’ve done well so far, and if you can keep delivering at this this level, you might be a direct Teiwaz subsidiary before you know it.”

    That was something he hadn’t really thought about, not with the constant stream of events over the past few months. In fact, this was the first time someone had brought it up that he could recall. Theoretically, that would give Tekkadan more respect in the Teiwaz hierarchy, but if Augustus McIntyre was anyone to go by, there were plenty of people higher up the ladder who’d have a problem with it.

    “Uh, thank you,” was all Orga said. “We’ll do our best.”

    The Old Man cut the connection, leaving Orga alone to gather his thoughts again. Gotta talk to Vass about this. And Biscuit. And Eugene. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his face. There was so much to do that his tired mind struggled to deal with it all. Alright, do this dumb briefing and PR stunt with the MNCEA first, then we can all chat about the future.

    A short nap later, Orga found himself next to the airlock with Biscuit, enjoying the sharpened senses and renewed clarity the brief respite had given him. It bothered him that was going to waste it all dealing with bureaucrats, but, on the other hand, maybe this was when he needed it the most. You never knew if and when they might try something, and he thought back to the Old Man’s advice.

    The pair stepped through the airlock and into a gangway connecting the Isaribi to the command ship of the MNCEA flotilla, a civilian ship that looked like an ocean-going yacht whose stern bulged into a cluster of powerful engines. They moved quickly, not trusting the collapsible structure to protect them from a possible debris strike. Even though both ships were floating a good distance from the site of the orbital battle, there was always a chance that some piece of metal could’ve been sent on an unfortunate orbital trajectory and cause problems.

    Too bad we couldn’t have taken the shuttle, Orga groused to himself as they neared the other ship’s external hatch. All of this for a stupid photo.

    Stepping inside the airlock and taking a quick breath to slow his racing heart, he thumbed the intercom panel next to the inner door. “Permission to come aboard?”

    “Permission granted,” a bored voice answered.

    The two teens waited for the door to cycle open, then stepped through to find a man with a navy blue pantsuit with a garish pin that read “MNCEA” in block letters, and a half dozen people with various types of cameras crammed into the corridor to Orga’s left. He did his best to ignore the flashes and cameramen not even five feet from him as he approached the stranger. He held out his hand and only said, “Orga Itsuka.”

    The man grasped his hand tightly and smiled as he shook it. “Adolphe Boniface.” He gave Biscuit the same reception, then gestured for both to follow him. “If you will, gentlemen, this way.”

    Orga fell in behind Boniface, keeping an ear out for the photographers behind them. After a few turns and corridor intersections, he frowned. “How’d you get the camera guys to stay put?”

    “Quite simple.” The MNCEA representative’s voice was flat now, all business, as they stepped into an elevator. However, the man’s accent – French, if Orga was guessing right – made it hard to tell if he was angry or just hauty. “If any of them break any rules or restrictions they agreed to prior to boarding, they get left in their country’s colony and have to arrange their own way home.”

    “That’s – uh – a bit harsh,” Biscuit commented. The two boys glanced at each other, concerned about the direction things were going.

    Boniface snorted in derision. “The press is useful in times like these, but one must know when to keep them in their place.”

    The elevator stopped and the trio walked down another corridor before Boniface stopped in front of a door and typed on its keypad. The door slid to reveal a large, sumptuous office, decorated with wood paneling, a sleek office desk and chair, a multi-layer coffee table, and a number of arm chairs and a couch facing the desk. The bulkheads were also covered with various pieces of art or large display screens.

    I guess this is what they mean by “working in style,” Orga thought. Is the rest of this ship like this?

    His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of an attractive older woman in a burgundy business suit with a white shirt. He did his best to keep his face blank, even as he stood up a little straighter. Boniface, surprisingly, seemed irritated by her presence and snapped off a cursory introduction. “Anastasia Avilova, Montag Company liason.”

    Orga raised an eyebrow, but refrained from saying anything more as she walked up and shook his hand. “Don’t mind Mr. Boniface here, he’s just miffed that the MNCEA called on our services.” She gave him a smile full of sparkling white teeth. “It’s pleasure to finally meet the illustrious leader of Tekkadan.”

    Months of exposure to Asari and Merribit Stapleton had given Orga a lot of experience dealing with older women, so he just blushed a bit in embarrassment, rather than be an embarrassment, when he introduced himself.

    He settled onto the couch with Biscuit to his right, Avilova to his left, and Boniface to Biscuit’s right, and waited for someone to say something. To his relief, it didn’t take much time for Boniface to get going. “Mr. Itsuka, while the MNCEA appreciates your hard work in defending this Prothean outpost, I must convey the displeasure of the member nations at known criminals being involved in this endeavor. It gives the impression that they condone their behavior when it’s beneficial to them.”

    Orga wasn’t entirely sure that was an untruth, but he felt some tension ease out of his muscles, because he and Biscuit had worked up a plan to deal with this. In fact, Biscuit was bringing up the contract on his omni-tool as Boniface spoke, projecting a holographic display to show it to the MNCEA representative.

    “Mr. Boniface, the MNCEA gave me this as a contract. It basically says I can do anything that’s militarily justifiable, and hire people to help us do it.” He held up his hand to keep Boniface from interrupting his train of thought. “Now, I get that government money going to pirates looks bad. But we used funds from a private donor to help pay the Dawn Horizon Corps. There’s nothing to worry about.”

    Well, there might be problems if Gyojan doesn’t get his position or they don’t pay him to make up for all the money he spent, but that’s not my problem.

    The MNCEA repsentative’s face twisted in frustration as he looked over the text of the contract and at the two teens. Finally, he waved at Biscuit to shutdown the display and leaned back in his chair. “Very well, I will convey your arguments to the member nations. Whether their leaders find them persuasive… I cannot say.” He took a deep breath. “Now, I would like to address the matter of garrisoning the facility—“

    “Excuse me.” Orga held up his hand again. “I appreciate that the MNCEA is satisfied with how we dealt with the Gjallarhorn issue, aside from the Dawn Horizon Corps showing up. But Tekkadan isn’t in any shape to fulfill a long term garrison contract, especially not here.”

    “What?” The Frenchman’s face turned an interesting shade of red at that, and Orga spotted Avilova trying hard not to laugh from the corner of his eye. “You have dozens of mobile suits and mobile workers, two ships, and hundreds of men at your command! You should easily be able to do this!”

    “Sir,” the teen tried to keep his voice calm and level to get the MNCEA resprentative to relax. “I could complain about how all my best combat units need repairs, but there’s a bigger problem. There’s no way to have a garrison when there’s no way to get them air. We had to buy air tanks to keep our people breathing while we waited for Gjallarhorn, and we barely had enough air to last 48 hours.”

    Boniface pressed his hands against his face and took a deep breath. “So what you’re saying is…”

    “There’s no logistical footprint to support a garrison at the moment,” Biscuit interjected, earning a sharp look from the MNCEA man. “We’d need a base on the surface for that to happen.”

    “But your own reports say you’ve gotten some of Prothean outpost’s systems online!”

    “Sir, the outpost is buried under kilometers of rock,” Orga explained. “And my Prothean experts and engineers tell me that hardware needs to be repaired. You need to build a surface base.”

    It was hard to ignore the large grin on Anastasia Avilova’s face as she said, “Mr. Boniface, my experts have been telling you the same things since we left Earth. I know the MNCEA is already tossing a good amount of money at this venture, but you can’t skimp on infrastructure for these kinds of projects. We’ve already worked up plans for a research complex that can easily be expanded to meet these needs.”

    The look of disgust Boniface tossed her way could’ve melted a hole in the side of a battleship. “Fine, have your people send their proposal over.” He looked over at Orga. “Can your people provide any possible assistance?”

    “Well, we were planning to dig a hole over the hangar to get the… hardware Mr. Barriston requested as payment…” Orga didn’t know how much Avilova knew, but he wasn’t taking any chances with a potential ally of McGillis. “If their engineers wouldn’t mind working with us, we could probably speed up any digging they need done.”

    Avilova’s expression was unreadable as she looked at him. “That can certainly be arranged. If I might be so bold, how exactly do you plan to dig that hole?”

    Biscuit squirmed in his seat in embarrassment as he said, “Using the Thrill Seeker’s particle beam cannon.”

    Avilova and Boniface looked at each other.

    “I suppose it would speed things up…” she admitted. “I would definitely want an engineering consultation, though.”

    “Fine,” Boniface verbally threw his hands up. “Before we jump down the rabbit hole of defining what you can actually accomplish in terms of protecting this facility, I must invite you to the reception tonight at 1800. We have member nation representatives aboard who would be most interested in meeting you and your crew, especially the captain of the Thrill Seeker.”

    Noting the flat tone the information was delivered in, Orga simply said, “We’ll be there.”

    “Excellent.” Taking a deep breath, Boniface forced a smile on his face. “So, while we’re here, let’s talk about what services you can provide at the moment and in the near future…”



    For Brigadier General McGillis Fareed, the times he appreciated the crucible of his childhood were few and far between. But this was one of them, as he faced the other members of the Seven Stars in the council chamber. It was taking a great deal of effort and resolve to project the image of dour concern plastered on his face, instead of the schadenfreude he felt as Rustal Ellion reluctantly read off the list of losses Commodore Rozhestvensky had provided.

    Granted, he loathed the loss of useful personnel and material as much as anyone else, but he could make an exception for the Arianrhod fleet.

    Ellion’s monotone report ground to a halt and McGillis decided to speak first, in the hopes of either guiding the conversation somewhere useful, or avoiding an inevitable discussion of retaliation against the MNCEA, Tekkadan, or both. “I must admit, the loss of 217 mobile suits, two battleships, and two cruisers is a massive blow to our force projection capabilities. But I am more concerned with the fact that two of our warships are now in the hands of pirates.”

    “I’ve already begun redeploying available fleet assets to the Ariadne commerce lanes, as well as had the appropriate authories update the identification databases.” Ellion’s voice was still flat as he looked directly at McGillis.

    “Yes, the involvement of the Dawn Horizon Corps is most concerning,” Nemo Baklazan interjected, causing both men to look his way. “I am surprised we did not see it coming.”

    “It’s quite simple, really.” McGillis folded his hands in front of him. “We were looking in the wrong direction. Our forensic accountants could detect and trace the monetary transfers from the MNCEA to Tekkadan or other mercenary groups that provided them hardware. Neither the MNCEA nor Tekkadan paid the Dawn Horizon Corps.”

    “So who did?” Gallus Bauduin leaned forward, intrigued by the twist.

    “I have four main suspects, listed in a report that I have passed onto you. They are all the newly announced deputy MNCEA representatives… who all hail from the Martian colonies, and all are noted leaders with… somewhat radical separatist views.”

    Gallus grunted in understanding. “One or all of them likely paid the Dawn Horizon Corps under the table in exchange for the position.”

    “That is the most likely scenario,” McGillis acknowledged.

    Elek Falk rubbed his chin. “It’s quite a devious move. Whether or not the MNCEA nations support Martian independence, they can claim that they do, or at least that they are listening closely to the people.”

    “And it means we cannot effectively discredit them without a verifiable paper trail connecting the MNCEA to their payment of the Dawn Horizon Corps.” Rustal Ellion’s understated anger was all the more menacing for the lack of volume or expression conveying it. “Therefore our most pressing concern is the amount of our hardware in the hands of a capable and cunning enemy. Since we are replacing over 200 mobile suits, I suggest we accelerate our current mobile suit development program to fill the gaps in our table of equipment and organization.”

    Baklazan frowned. “Did we not agree to halt mobile suit production until we had access to alien technology?”

    “We did,” Gallus acknowledged, “but that was before we lost swathes of units in a single enagement. While I’m sure we can covertly recover some of them once they appear on the black market, I think that we can make an exception in this situation. A limited production run for front line use seems reasonable to me.”

    The other lords nodded.

    “Now, on to the Tekkadan issue. We must consider measures to deal with this threat, now that—“

    “No.” Everyone around the table looked at Elek Falk, and once again, McGillis felt a certain relief that Iok Kujan was stuck on the Skipjack, unable to interfere in the proceedings. This display of spine from the older man was unexpected, and he was interested in seeing how it played out. “Lord Ellion, it seems you are unable to appreciate the fact that the only reason you did not lose nine ships and crews is because Tekkadan was fighting defensively. Not only that, but they were deliberately holding themselves back, presumably in an attempt to avoid killing their own allies.”

    The portly member of the Seven Stars had worked up a large head of steam and kept the rant going after a quick breath. “I will not allow you to get us all killed by escalating this any further, not when their capacity for retaliation is far beyond ours. We will not engage Tekkadan unless they initiate hostilities, am I understood?”

    Falk’s face had grown a rather interesting red color, and McGillis had quietly called up a menu on the tablet in front of him to call in medics. At the moment, Lord Falk was an asset, so it would’ve been a shame if the older man died. As Falk took in deep breaths and Ellion’s face grew increasingly sour, he contemplated pressing the button just to break the growing tension.

    Then Ellion looked away and said, “I understand, Lord Falk. Your position is… not unreasonable, so I will abide by it.”

    Everyone could hear the unspoken for now, but it allowed the tension simmer down, and gave McGillis the opportunity to cough as a means of drawing attention to himself.

    “Regarding Tekkadan… I believe that they are not a long term threat, so long as neither organization is working at cross purposes.” McGillis held up his tablet. “According to the reports from Mars Branch, they have been quite cooperative in terms of handing over the personnel they captured, as well as retrieving our fallen soldiers, with the caveat that some might be irretrievable due to being lost in space or vaporized, of course.”

    He held up a hand to forestall coming protests. “I am simply stating facts – alien technology and MNCEA ties aside, Tekkadan is adhering to the standards laid out for mercenary companies throughout the solar system. However,” he paused for effect, “Tekkadan is no longer a threat in the short to medium term.”

    McGillis smothered a smile as he saw the spark of interest in the other lords’ eyes. “Simply put, despite our losses, Tekkadan’s victory has broken them logistically. Our intelligence on the organization has been historically poor, but our best estimates put the human membership at around 250 boys, roughly aged between 10 and 17, with highly variable amounts of education. They have 7 confirmed mobile suits, with early reports from Commodore Rozhestvensky’s ground assault personnel indicating they might have added a Valkyria frame to their force, as well as a large number of mobile workers, and some sort of alien ground vehicle. And these forces are split on two worlds.”

    He leaned back and smiled. “No matter how many mobile suits Tekkadan chooses to sell, they will have to split whatever number they keep. Not only that, but they will have to expend time and money to train soldiers to use them and mechanics to maintain them, then split those personnel as well. In addition, they must repair and refit their units involved in the battle, replace all the expended supplies consumed, and all the other financial duties that a mercenary company must attend to. Even with alternate revenue sources to call on, Tekkadan will be too busy reorganizing their force and support structures to engage in any major combat operations for at least 12 to 18 months. At most, we’ll see limited deployments beyond Mars, with their Earth branch continuing its operations with Arbrau’s military.”

    The other lords considered this information in silence for a while. Elek Falk was the first to speak. “Based on your assessment, do you think Tekkadan will use their alien ship to make up for their lack of combat capabilities at the moment?”

    McGillis pondered the question for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Without knowing the operational constraints their Teiwaz associates may have put on them, it’s impossible to say. Their mandate from the MNCEA is broad enough that it could be viable.” He paused. “It is conceivable that the deterrent effect of its displayed firepower and mobility would make that unnecessary.”

    “I would agree with that assessment,” Gallus Bauduin interjected. “After all, that has just happened, right here, in this room.” He paused, looking each lord in the eyes. “Not only that, but we must consider that our response to this setback directly affects Lord Fareed’s abilities to mend fences with the economic blocks.”

    “On that matter…” McGillis spoke up, avoiding looking at Rustal Ellion to imply embarrassment. “The MNCEA has already notified me that intends to increase the sanctions on the Arianrhod fleet. They have not yet set a number, but I would not be surprised if it could be a doubling of your current rate.”

    Ellion’s expression grew sour again, and it took several seconds before he ground out a reply. “I would appreciate word of the finalized sanctions as soon as you receive it, Lord Fareed.”

    “Of course.”

    The meeting, already grim in tone, became excruciatingly uncomfortable, and the relief when it was adjourned with palpable. McGillis left alongside Gallus Bauduin, having already made arrangements to have dinner at his home.

    “I’m glad that Elek managed to talk Rustal into seeing reason,” the elder Bauduin admitted as they walked down the corridor leading to the council chamber. “The last thing we needed to do was make your job harder than it already is.”

    McGillis grunted in acknowledgement. “I’m just glad he didn’t get a chance to insist that my fleet intercept Tekkadan’s inevitable shipment of Grazes. He’s usually more restrained than that.”

    Gallus looked over at McGillis in confusion, then said, “Oh, of course, you haven’t heard. His heir sortied in that mobile suit you gave him. Could’ve gotten herself killed fighting one of their Gundams.”

    Not bothering to hide his surprise, mostly because it was unnecessary, he said, “I had no idea. Is she alright?”

    “Oh she’s fine,” Gallus replied, stopping at an elevator. “The mobile suit was managled a bit, but not a hair on her head was hurt.”

    McGillis internally breathed a sigh of relief that Tekkadan hadn’t managed to ensure that Iok Kujan would inherit all of Rustal Ellion’s assets. Aloud, he simply said, “I’m glad nothing happened. But it does make Lord Ellion’s behavior more understandable.”

    Gallus grunted in agreement, then shook his head. “That’s enough talking shop. I’d rather keep the dinner conversation light.”

    “Of course.” Already, McGillis was working these facts in his mind, fitting them into the puzzle that was his master plan. He just needed a little time to let things settle down, then he could strike his next blow against Rustal Ellion…



    Author's Notes: Well, here's a chapter of "Reality Ensues", with Tekkadan and the MNCEA taking it the most. Yeah, our boys are the big heroes, but they have to deal with the clean up, plus their own new problems from winning so hard. The upside is, way better mobile suits, way sooner, plus maybe that Teiwaz direct status a bit earlier than in canon.

    Also, yeah, Rustal's a bit salty, but him not being 100% rational is definitely a trait in canon, where he basically backed Tekkadan into a corner when Orga offered him a great deal, resulting in one guy soloing a shit-ton of his fleet in orbit, then Mika and Akihiro killing another fuckton of people. But he gets the Reginlaze a little sooner, and in much larger numbers... but not as many as he could have, if the MNCEA wasn't robbing a pretty chunk of his checkbook.

    So if you're wondering about the Gjallarhorn loss totals, it was 2 mobile suits directly/indirectly to the Thrill Seeker, then 215 captured in orbit or on the ground, split 60/40.
     
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