New Cartagena, New Amazon System
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Aquila Nebula, Deep Periphery
09 January, 3012
James looked over the battlefield from the truck.
Cyberic C-99s, the unarmed unarmoured support units, crawled over it. Picking at the wreckage of 'Mechs, still extinguishing fires that had broken out, cleaning spilt coolant, carrying off broken pieces of armour, and disposing of the remaining undetonated ammunition.
Fields that had once been covered in crops were now marred by muddy holes, where BattleMechs had stepped, or ammunition had struck. Vast swaths had been burned to dust by laser, leaving scars in the land.
Scattered like corpses were the remnants of the fallen 'Mechs. Carefully, recovery AutoMechs, taken out of storage aboard the landed Mule, moved across the land, picking up and hauling away damaged and dead-but-otherwise-intact 'Mechs from both sides. The C-101s had already removed any survivors, taken as prisoners, and the C-99 has removed the remaining corpses.
James winced as he saw a Beetle-class Auto'Mech, its head smashed inwards, tear in half as it was hoisted up by a VeeMech-class, Maintainer variant. The recovery and repair unit looked down at the mangled remains. It almost looked like its shoulder slumped.
A brief signal to another recovery 'Mech saw them working together, hoisting the remains of the light 'Mech onto a Cyberic piloted recovery vehicle.
James sat back in the seat of the truck, captured from the pirate motor pool when they stormed the fortress.
"I've seen enough. Back to the HQ." He ordered the C-99 sitting in the driver's seat, his face impassive.
"By your command." It intoned, before pressing down on the pedal.
Away from the Nadir Point
Marilla and the two others gritted their teeth as the 'DropShip' rumbled. They understood the basics, having been aboard several by this point. But that did not make the voyage pleasant.
Nevertheless, the rumble aboard the modified DropShip, converted from Pirate use to something Matrix had called an AutoMech DropShip, as well as a Union-E Cargo Hauler, meant that they could talk without being overheard.
Are these people gods? Are they just the servants of a god?
Those were the two questions in their minds.
Eventually, they became accustomed to the thrum of the engines. The shaking of the craft as it travelled through space.
Marilla unstrapped herself from the seat and shakily stood. She was not used to sitting still for hours, nor moving in 1g acceleration.
She stretched her legs and experimented with moving about the cabin assigned to them, as the other stood and began to do the same, tired of sitting.
"Seven days of this." One of them groaned. "I'll go mad."
"It's not that bad. The first trip out here was the same time." Another countered, stretching. "The noise will make it hard to sleep though."
Marilla ignored that chatter as she tried to organise her thoughts.
"It occurs to me, that we can't know if this Imperious Leader is a god or not until we meet him." She said after a moment more to think.
"How can you say that? He crushed the enslavers in mere days!" One of the others protested. Her face was covered in disbelief, and no little amount of fear. "None of the tribes has been able to do that, not even the Great Tribes in the Sphere, or the other gods!"
"He might just be another person, like the Enslavers, but not an enslaver." Marilla shrugged, uncaring. "We won't know until we meet him."
New Cartagena
Marta was a teacher.
A short woman, she had suffered through hardships, like most of the planet had, under pirate rule. She recognised, thanks to her predecessor, that knowledge was necessary. Knowledge to feed the population, knowledge to treat injury and disease, and to maintain and use equipment left behind by their ancestors.
The pirates had not been stupid, not totally. They had recognised her value. It kept her and her students safe, for the most part, even if she wasn't as highly regarded as some others, such as the now-deceased local crime lords and rulership.
She was, however, not important enough to warrant a meeting. Thus, she was left rather flabbergasted when a man in a metal suit (or were they robots, some sort of Star League lostech?) arrived in front of the school and delivered a message, requesting her presence before the Imperious Leader at her earliest convenience.
She was the only teacher in the city of New Portabella, though not for lack of trying. Most of her students were pressed into support roles by the pirates or helped maintain the local infrastructure. Some assisted her, but she lacked the same resources her teacher had once had. The books, ancient textbooks, manuals, history books, and Star League-era Almanac, had deteriorated over the years, and the last had been destroyed during a power struggle that had burned down the old school, a building that dated back to before the pirates had taken over.
Unwilling to risk angering the new leadership, she presented herself to the front gates of the old pirate palace.
Rather than the usual collection of bored, motley pirate infantry, the guards stood at attention, their silver armour gleaming in the afternoon sun. Their black visors were illuminated faintly by a red light, sweeping across from side to side. It was the only movement they made, as they stood perfectly still.
Marta swallowed as she marched up to the guards.
With a swiftness that left her breathless, they checked her for weapons, and escorted her inside, past the outer walls and ruined defences, through rows and soldiers standing at attention in their silver armour, into the main building and up several floors.
She blinked.
There were dozens of people, seated around long tables, with smaller robots, and they were robots with their exposed servos and myomers, serving out food.
The people wore a mix of ratty clothing, homespun fabrics, and clothing that was better-called pieces of jewellery, as it covered as much. The former slaves of the pirates, she assumed.
Every so often, some of the people wearing the jewellery would be given clothes, leave, and then return wearing new, more covering clothing.
It was not a sight she expected to see.
"Ah, you're the local teacher, I assume?" A voice called out over the din of people celebrating their new freedom.
Marta blinked and spun to face the speaker.
The man was young but walked with confidence and an easy smile. His eyes were bright and cheerful. Beside him marched a machine like the ones at the gate, but gold-plated.
"I hope my request wasn't troublesome." The man, apparently the Imperious Leader, continued. "But hopefully, this will make up for any interruptions."
He was dressed in simple clothes, lacking the opulence of most pirate lords she had seen at a distance. His dark blonde hair was swept back. The look should have made him look youthful, but instead, he seemed closer to Marta's age, without the strain of the many years.
"Come, let me show you why I requested your presence." He started to turn and lead her to a side room, then paused. He turned back to her and offered his hand "Ah, my apologies. My name is James."
"Marta." She relaxed slightly as she shook it. He was no pirate lord, that much was certain. Of course, an ambitious would-be interstellar ruler would be a double-edged sword. She remembered talk in the city about how the Successor States threw away millions to achieve the House Lord's ambitions.
"Now," James resumed as he led her down a hallway, passing more machines carrying equipment in and treasures and other pirate goods out, as the gold-plated one followed him. "As I understand it, the education system, such as it is, is composed of yourself, a few parents acting as volunteers, and some assistants, yes?"
"In this city, yes," Marta answered truthfully. "I believe Fire Forge in the south has a few more teachers, but it also relies more heavily on the industry the Pirates brought to the world to produce armour and equipment. Most of the education is minimal, and done in apprenticeships."
James nodded, a look of sympathy on his face.
"Knowledge is precious, but not something that gains in value if hoarded." He said, cryptically. "To that end, what do you need to expand your capabilities?"
Marta blinked.
It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realise what he was asking. What he was saying.
They came to a stop in front of a room, tucked away. Light filtered in from the raised courtyard across from it, between a series of pillars. Inside, past the open doors, were books. Hundreds of them, stacked on each other, tucked away on shelves, even full shelves against a back wall.
"Fortunately, a former pirate lord, it would seem, was a bookworm." James smiled. "I'll set about making copies. Unfortunately, most of these are fiction, but there are a few textbooks. Modern stuff, from the Lyran Commonwealth mostly, so hardly Star League quality, but… I also have some digital textbooks I will print out."
Marta just gaped at the treasure trove of knowledge. There were hundreds of books.
"I… I don't know what to say…" She strangled out, struggling to keep her jaw from flailing. "It's…"
"Not enough to bring you completely up to Successor State level, that will take generations, but my machines and forces should be able to, in the short term, make up the difference." James shrugged an expression of regret on his face. "But my intentions are not completely altruistic. There are a couple of areas I am going to push, mostly military, medical, and pharmaceutical, in the short term."
Marta nodded. There was always a price, but at least he was being honest about it.
"I… understand. May I request that medical training take the highest priority? It would go a long way to help the planet." She hesitated, before choosing to risk his generosity. "Also, several of my former students were… encouraged to work for the pirates, in support roles. Mostly technicians and a few mechanics."
James smiled at her.
"I'll see to it that you are given a list of faces. I can't guarantee they will be pardoned, but some are likely guilty of nothing more than being forced into a bad situation, especially if they are only technicians."
"Thank you." Marta sighed in relief.
"So, bossman," James blinked as one of the former prisoners of the pirates waved him down after he had set up a room for Marta to use to sort through the books. In time, it would be a temporary office of the Ministry of Education.
The woman was at most a year older than him, with thick black hair, done tightly in a bun, that contrasted with her pale skin. A pair of hot pink cybernetic eyes studied him. A mercenary that had been taken prisoner in a recent raid, and a native to Canopus.
She leaned back on her stool, batter her eyes and angled her chest to attract attention to it.
"Mind if I ask some questions?" She said, gesturing to the seat next to her.
Perhaps the posture and expression she wore might have been alluring. If so, it was ruined by the fact that she had crumbs from a piece of bread and gravy from the meal on her plate still on her face.
"I don't mind, but you might want to wipe your face." James smiled as he sat down.
The woman blushed and cursed under her breath, using a napkin to clean her face. Another former prisoner, a dancer taken from some periphery world according to the pirate's logs, snickered at her neighbour's expense, as she devoured the food on her plate. The man across the table from her, a local labourer forced into slavery, rolled his eyes, as he wolfed down his meal.
"So, what's on your mind?" James asked after she finished wiping her face off.
"A couple of things, mostly I'm trying to figure out where to go from here." She replied. "I won't insult you by asking where you found the lostech robots, but… you got room for another Mechwarrior?"
"Potentially," James replied, considering it. "I'll set up a sim, and let you go against some of my own. Do you have any officer experience?"
"Yeah. Used to run a lance… didn't end well. Ended up in debt and forced into the Periphery." She admitted, wincing. "Half my people joined the pirates, most of the rest died. I… I'm good in a 'Mech. I'm no gunslinger, but I can hold my own. Just don't trust me with finances."
James nodded.
"What was the main issue you faced?"
"Ah… honestly, we kept having parts disappear, plus some employers snubbed us on pay. Damages started to pile up…" She shrugged. "Anyway, the other question is… what sort of lostech did you dig up?"
"Well don't go asking him that." A man at a nearby table interrupted. "Beggin' your pardon sir. But lady, seriously, why would you go bugging him about that?"
"'Cause, my eyes are dying." She stated bluntly, before turning back to James. "These pretty orbs are, as you probably guessed, fake. And I'm rather far away from being able to get a replacement from anywhere in the Magistracy."
"I have information on making something similar, and I might be able to get something fabricated," James explained, calmly, and careful to keep any expression that might be taken as insulted from his face. "How long do yours have?"
"I… don't know. Could be months, could be minutes." She shrugged, flashing a sad smile. "When the pirates stormed the dropship… they hit me pretty hard in the head. I lived, but it broke something in my eyes. Diagnostics aren't functioning right, got no colour in one eye, and the other gives me a migraine if I leave it on too long."
James leaned back and thought it over.
"Alright, ask one of the C-99s to lead you to me once you are done eating. I'll see what I can do." James said. "Now, any other questions?"
"Great!" The woman cheered, before pausing. "Uh, actually, yeah, did you already eat?"
"I did." James lied. Law 4: Always say less than necessary. Sticking around too much risked talking too much and he needed to maintain some distance from them, not to mention, there was the risk of one of them blabbing to ComStar.
The less information they had, the better. As it was, unverified rumours of robots used in combat would be discarded as periphery nonsense, if it was limited to just a handful of people. It would be taken seriously once more word reached the Inner Sphere, but for now, James had time, something he intended to fully use.
Those that joined him, well, that was another story.
Later that night, James collapsed, exhausted, into a chair. The room had been converted into a small lab. The Canopian woman, named Lara Watkins, had gotten her eyes adjusted here, before James had it prepared for other work. Her eyes had only needed a few wires replaced and resoldered.
James had originally intended to tinker, to try and develop a better commander for the Cyberic forces. Something akin to a Cylon IL model, a senior officer and advisor. Unfortunately, he lacked the time.
The city needed work done, which he needed to order done. The population had wounded, who needed medicine, which he needed to authorise to be distributed. IndustrialMechs needed to be converted to be used in industrial acts. Factories needed to be sited and established. Schools needed to be built and staffed, with a government built to support them. Plans needed to be made to fully secure the planet. He had met with and talked with many of the other people that had been prisoners or slaves of the pirates. They wanted places to be, or a ride home.
In the end, James had set a tentative goal of a trip to the Inner Sphere in about a year's time, once he had secured the surrounding systems, and established some sort of Command-and-Control network. As it was, if he was unavailable, his forces would be paralysed, unable to take offensive action.
And while these things weighed on James, they were not the heaviest to bear. In fact, they were among the easiest thanks to his strangely, enhanced mental faculties. And that strange fact was the source of his greatest stress. A great, glaring unknown in his mind.
He had awoken suddenly aboard the bridge of the Invader DropShip he had eventually named Charlemagne. His mind racing at speeds that it informed him were unusual for a human and filled with knowledge and sciences he had never realised or considered. The knowledge of robotics he had spoken of to Lara was merely the tip of the iceberg.
When he had spoken to others, he knew what emotion they were experiencing, based on subtle expressions. He knew how to school his face and body to express the emotion he desired to display, and what emotion would provoke the desired response.
That wasn't even mentioning his knowledge of biology, or cybernetics. Kearny-Fuchida physics. BattleMechs. Politics, psychology, biology, and economics. He had, at all times, a book in his mind informing him of everything he needed to know, to a point.
All the technology he had access to, he knew. Anything beyond that was not in his mind. Lithium-Fusion Batteries, Hyper-Pulse Generators, and other post-3060 or Star League tech not used or known in the California Nebula books were out of his immediate reach.
The application of that knowledge was still up to him. He needed to judge when to use it, and when not to, as well as when to simply keep his mouth shut. It was technical knowledge, not experience, albeit to an impressive degree.
Yet, as the price for that knowledge, he knew he was missing around three months of his life. Three months, completely blank. Longer than it would take to get from where he awoke, to the California Nebula, though that didn't completely rule some possibilities out when considering magic.
Part of him feared that he was the plaything of some cosmic horror beyond human understanding.
Gently, he pulled the blade at his side from its sheath. Several of the C-101s and C-102s carried them, including all the commanders.
Yet, his had been modified, beyond the gold plate and decoration.
They were Mithrelite Deflector vibroswords, using similar technology that generated defensive plasma screens around DropShips and WarShips. A crackling energy field would be generated around the blade, letting it cut most materials. Less efficient than the Plasma Vibroblades he also had access to, but the size of their field could be used as mobile cover, like a small shield.
But his had one slight variation.
Holding it in his hand, he thumbed the activator.
The blade sprang to life. The broad field crackled around the twin-pronged blades of the sword, generating an orange glow that flickered like flames.
James stared at the burning blade in his hands, before sighing in defeat. He would not get answered, but the blade, found in his person when he first awoke, did hint towards one possibility.
As he stood and extinguished the blade, returning it to its sheath, he hummed the first few lines of a song, walking towards the room he had taken as his sleeping quarters.
"From the ashes we will rise, we take to the stars, a new beginning for mankind, under his banner we unite…"