Temptown, Harlech,

Outreach, Chaos March,

1^st May 3068

 

“What do you mean, Landar is dead?” Frank Meronac demanded of Lieutenant Mitchell.

“You heard me.” The police detective was unfazed, and continued reading the file in his hands. “A man matching his description was gunned down in a brawl in Temptown two weeks ago. The body was found, and his face was positively identified. His remains were cremated just yesterday, and his possessions were left to one,” he took a closer look at the file, “Forsen Mandela. That’s you.”

“Huh?” The merchant was puzzled. “Why does his stuff go to me?”

The Lieutenant flipped through a few pages on his file searching for the entry before replying, “Uh, because there was a letter in his apartment which stated that all his belongings go to you?”

“And that’s good enough?”

“Yes.” Mitchell answered curtly. He had better things to do than cater to these two mercenaries.

“And what about the killer?” Frank asked.

“Some deadbeat who ran away before he was caught. Murders like this are a dime a dozen in Temptown. We don’t have the resources, nor inclination, to pursue this matter further.” He closed the file with a slap, and threw it on his desk.

“A man got killed and that’s all you have to say?” Frank was incredulous, his eyes wide. “What sort of policeman are you?”

“The sort who doesn’t give a damn about those thugs on the street.” Mitchell snarled. “They can kill themselves off for all I care. Not my business, and none of yours too.”

Frank fought down the urge to strangle the man, but he knew that it was a lost cause.

He looked at Forsen, “Let’s get Landar’s stuff, and then outta this dump.” The merchant nodded his head in agreement.

Forsen didn’t look too unhappy though, because all the profits for the trip was his.

Or would have, if he and the other operators hadn’t agreed to Frank’s conscription of their ships for his brand new mercenary brigade.

Frank had offered generous terms, dangling a share of the profits from the sale of the advanced technology before him and his crew, which he had immediately accepted.

Even better was the potential, the opportunity, to change the transport business forever.

The police had already run through the Landar’s items once already, but when no discernable clues were found, they simply palmed everything off to Forsen. It was a quick process involving several forms, and a bored storeman passing over the stiff in a duffel bag, also belonging to Landar. Frank had the feeling that this sort of thing happened everyday, and that the police were glad to be rid of the stuff.

Frank ran over his choices over the past few weeks in his mind as they walked out of the Temptown police station, a drab and gray three floor affair that did little to inspire law and order in its grimy surroundings. Graffiti was scribbled over its walls, in bright colors that served as a sharp contrast to the building’s dullness. Slung over Forsen’s shoulders was the bag filled with Landar’s belongings.

To discourage muggers from thinking they were easy marks, Frank and Forsen wore their handguns openly, while Frank wore a bulletproof vest under his jacket.

Almost immediately after the drone warship was destroyed, another programmed archive in the files had appeared to the people in the command center. Pascal Thome had been smart and quick enough to hide the information from the clanners present, waiting until Frank and Ian returned before breaking the data to them.

After the Falcons had left Einstein, about the very first thing he and the others did was to board the nearest dropship to the alien space facility.

An alien spacecraft production facility! Right in the middle of the asteroid belt, it was basically a huge asteroid itself, the size of a small moon. And if that wasn’t enough, there were two alien spacecraft within its voluminous hangars, each the size of a jumpship, but with far greater cargo and carrying capacities, and armed to the teeth with advanced weaponry.

The reason given for the late revelation was the fear the Qlictorio had of the drones talking control of the facility, much like the underground base. As usual, they had devised another elaborate program requirement before allowing the new owners of their legacy access to the space facility.

Frank had felt a bit betrayed as he tried to understand the justification for the Qlictorio’s convoluted plots. The ships could have saved quite a few lives if they had been revealed at the very beginning, instead of after the battle, when so much had already been lost.

Daniela Mattlov, who had elected to remain behind as bondsman to Ian Dorlacen after she lost to him in the duel, had been furious at Frank’s sleight of hand. It had taken Ian a few

days to calm her down. And in the end, Frank said he never did recall any agreement that they were obligated to share spacecraft with the Falcons, sticking to the letter, but not the spirit, of the agreement.

All they had agreed was that the Falcons would leave with all the data from the Star League and alien archives, while the base would go to the mercs, who had after all, discovered it first. And strictly speaking, the alien space facility was part of the base.

It was a moot point. The Falcons were gone, back to the Clan Occupation Zone sans one Black Lion warship, many warriors, and many mechs.

Galaxy Commander Lizabet Danforth had been informed of the possible threat from beyond known space, but she had told them the chances of the clans taking the warning seriously was very slim. After all, who cared about the invasion of little green men when there were more than enough enemies already on your border?

And besides, the attitude of most clansmen regarding aliens was that “if they appeared, we would destroy them all too!”

A dangerous attitude, after what Frank had seen of their technology, of which the drones were the lowest rung.

He took comfort in a book Ian had lent him, “Wisdom of The Universe”, by Homer Kellogi. There was one paragraph which Frank found very apt for their situation now.

“What is a homeworld, you ask? I’ll tell you: a homeworld is any chunk of rock in space where man can live, whether it is Terra or new Terra or some other Terra. And I can promise you, if there are any little green men who try to push us off, they are going to have a real fight on their hands.”

That had sounded nice, but also disturbing. Frank had no wish to have the entire galaxy embroiled in war in the future, for it had seemed to be humanity’s one bane that they would never be rid of.

Jean Posavatz had also gone back to Roche, after the Goliath Scorpion Hunter class jumpship Far Traveler reappeared in-system two weeks after their last battle. The Bleeding Past went with her, along with the same items and information the Falcons had taken.

Des Winters, and the majority of his retinue, stayed on Einstein. The Seeker had not explained his reasons, but Frank guessed it had something to do with Deserk’s death. He had accompanied them to Outreach, where Captain Sheik and Bryan brought him to the Inland South area of the city.

Deserk’s death was only one of many losses they had endured, even if it was one that had struck closest to Frank. He was saddened by the warrior’s sacrifice, but the hardest hit was still Descartin Winters, who still seemed like a zombie even after Ian had counseled him.

Throughout the journey here, and few weeks before they left, Descartin had not touched the controls of a mech or anything similar even once. Not for simulator battles, not for live fire practices, not for mech drills.

He spent all the time in his room, where screams of anger and hurt could be occasionally heard. Sometimes, they could hear sounds of things crashing onto the floor, or of fists hitting the wall with tremendous force. Des came out only for food and to relieve himself, but it always took either Yoshino, Tina, or Wolkul, his personal technician, to remind him.

His Sage, Lorik, was too busy having fun with all the new science he had discovered. The elemental had survived the battle unscathed, and with a great deal of respect earned after he had killed a Lemming singlehandedly.

Frank had planned to sell the tech off to the Houses, with the mercs all getting a cut of the profits. He, Ian, Jadine Sheik and several other leaders had planned for some long hours before they came up with a workable deal.

All of the merc present had agreed to Frank’s scheme, and in true mercenary fashion, the commanders of the strongest groups got the main command positions.

Frank, as de facto commander of the Raiders, got posted as second in command, answering only to Ian Dorlacen, whose Lancers were the single largest command.

Next in line were the others, Hamirah Rasouf and Robert Feehan, who were tentatively assigned as regimental colonels, even if there weren’t any real regiments set up yet.

They needed to make a trip back to Outreach, both to settle loose ends and to get into contact with the houses to sell their technology. Ian and Frank led a small contingent of mercs, leaving Robert Feehan in charge of Einstein, where his prior experience as a regimental commander could be put to good use training the new formations. But they needed to get the spacecraft ready first, since nobody wanted to go back on the oh-so-vulnerable jumpships.

It took the jumpship crews three weeks to get used to the new alien spacecraft and the advanced navigational systems, which also needed refitting to make them suitable for human operators. Some science fiction buff had dubbed them Nautilus, after Captain Nemo’s famous and fictional ship of the seas, and the name stuck, for these ships were far more advanced than anything humanity had, much like the make-believe Nautilus in the 19^th century.

It was a lot of testing and experimentation before Lorik and Forsen were convinced that the ships were fully dependable. The first Nautilus, which they named Nemo, after the fictitious captain, had been the one to carry them all the way from Einstein to Outreach in just under a month, at a FTL speed of about 20 LY per day.

They had modified the hull of the Nemo at great effort to support four dropships, of which only two were used for the journey to Outreach. The other Nautilus, christened Ahab after a popular vote, was still undergoing refitting at the space yard, which the spacers had given the unflattering name of “Galactic Pit Stop for Hitchhikers”, inspired by the title of an old book. Frank had a sneaking suspicion that any future Nautilus would be named after Horatio Hornblower and other famous ship captains from novels.

Well, provided they could get even the minimal manpower to operate the yard. Even the refitting of the Nemo had required practically their entire tech force. For once, Frank didn’t have a plan to produce ships, or even mechs on world, for that matter, despite the functional factories and facilities on Einstein. Heck, there were even massive borehole mines that could extract huge amounts of material for use, provided there was enough manpower.

The Ahab was slated to make runs to outlying systems in the Periphery, particularly in the Rim Collective, to trade for food and supplies. Each dropship would be armed with battle armor troops and mechs to discourage piracy. The Ahab itself would be a final deterrent, but Frank hoped it would not come to that.

Frank recalled the month spent in hyperspace on the Nemo. The trip was quite comfortable, actually, and even the few personnel with known TDS were unaffected, which gave credence to the hypothesis that it was the highly disruptive energies in the zone accessed by the KF drive that caused the debilitating effects.

Hyperspace had been a orange place, filled with small black shapes. Lorik had explained the black spheres as gravity field echoes in hyperspace of stars and planets. To Frank, the black shapes often passed by quickly, which also gave him a rough gauge of their speed in real space.

They could have gone faster, but they decided to err on the side of caution. Nobody wanted to end up ‘lost’ in space if the hyperspace drive failed.

They had exited about two days worth of dropship travel away from Outreach’s zenith jump point, and proceeded to the planet with their dropships burning in at a standard 1G acceleration.

Jadine Sheik got them through the tangle of security checks caused by their unorthodox entry into the system, which Frank had insisted on because he did not want anyone to know of the Nautilus.

Both dropships carried a mix of mercenary commanders, and spies exposed by Jadine Sheik’s Wolfnet list and some judicious testing of all personnel by her and Benny Greaves, who Ian vouchsafed for, and was assigned to help Jadine root out the remaining spies, due to his spec ops training.

Hamirah Rasouf had been mortified to learn that Benny was actually a spy from the Taurian Concordat, as was Frank. And as he thought about it, Frank realized that Ian never really told him about his own connections to the Taurian Concordat, or why he thought Benny could be fully trusted. Even if Benny had agreed to work for them and not reveal any secrets from Einstein.

Most of the spies, however, were die-hard loyalists to their governments, and almost all of them refused to swear allegiance to the new merc unit they were forming on Einstein. There were five from MIIO, three from LIC, eight utterly inept operatives from SAFE, two from the Maskirovka, two from the ISF, four from Comstar ROM, three from the Periphery not counting Benny, and most ominously, two from Word of Blake ROM.

Frank hated the Wobblies, primarily for their beliefs. He had been raised on a poor world without much in the way of technology, and he had no desire to see humanity plunged into a dark age before rising again. To Frank, technology was neither inherently good, nor evil.

But the alien tech did have some ominous implications, especially the sentient/machine interface, which Lorik had renamed Man/Machine Interface, and nicknamed MMI for short. It promised incredible advances for mech control technology, but Frank was worried about the abuses that are possible with such direct intrusions into the brain.

Still, the few scientifically trained people they had with them were not enough to fully decode and understand the new technology, and Frank had already decided that they would sell off the Star League information before thinking of selling the alien tech next. He wanted to let their own scientific staff and their own mechs have a crack at the new tech first.

Failing that, he had a plan to get some of the best and brightest minds in the Inner Sphere to Einstein, playing on the many contacts he had made at his alma mater, the NAIS. He had wanted to go to New Avalon anyway, but it wasn’t for business at first.

Interestingly, the one Star League Defense Force intelligence officer they identified, a lone Sagittaire pilot named Annette Fourier, agreed to work with them, on the grounds that they would reveal the information to the Houses in time, which Ian had easily agreed to. Ian had thought of assigning her as their liaison officer to the Star League.

So they had landed at the Harlech Interstellar DropPort after a system transit of nine days from the time they detached from the Nemo, at which point Wolf Dragoon security took custody of the unrepentant spies for ‘disposal’ to their respective embassies.

Frank was smart enough, however, to have each group of operatives carry several ‘advertisements’ for the purchase of the advanced data back to their Houses, complete with contact info for transactions. Even if the paper ads did not convince the House leaders, it was a foregone conclusion that the spies’ own testimonials would.

For this trip to Temptown, Frank had accompanied Forsen just to talk to the man who had started this whole business, specifically because of the discrepancies that had cropped up between Forsen’s retelling of the man’s story and Ally’s records.

Landar had claimed to have landed on the planet with a pirate band, but there was no record of any KF jump into the system for the past hundred years!

Not only that, but the small portable defense shield he had used to convince Forsen had turned out to be available only to the aliens, and not the Star League. And even the small device he had given Forsen had some crucial design differences with those of the Qlictorio.

Which all added up to one huge mysterious puzzle. And Frank hated puzzles, especially when they had cost so much in lives and material.

The key machine they had used to get into the base had its components fused, rendering the device unusable ever again. Lorik had been puzzled at this, because it had clearly been meant for reuse. Yet another mystery, because nobody had been spotted tampering with the machine, according to the surveillance cameras.

And the circumstances of Landar’s death had raised all sorts of question marks in Frank’s mind. It seemed too pat, too coincidental. It was entirely possible that Landar was still alive, but for what possible reason? Unless he was working for some hidden agency that wanted them to find the alien base, and then…

And then what? Frank couldn’t figure it out, try as he might, while he walked along the streets of Harlech towards the Inland South residential area.

I have conspiracies on the brain, Frank observed sourly as he nodded in greeting to a huge elemental policeman on patrol, clad in a blue uniform, his retractable truncheon swinging easily by his side.

Frank hoped there would be clues in the items in the bag, though he didn’t hold out much hope. If they had really wanted to hide their tracks, surely they wouldn’t be so stupid as to leave clues in the bag, right?

One can always hope, he told himself. And he wanted those responsible to explain exactly to him why all the subterfuge, the sleight of hand, of which Landar’s ‘death’ was one, was needed.

Frank halted suddenly as he remembered something. Forsen went on for a few more steps before turning around to look at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh, Forsen, can you go get Descartin instead? I have to go to the Comstar station.” Frank smiled weakly from embarrassment. “I need to send a message to my girlfriend and my parents, and maybe check for any messages from them too.”

Forsen snickered, “What, can’t wait for a few more minutes?”

“Forsen, you don’t know how it feels like. I’ll meet you and the others at the Goat, ok?” Frank started running off without waiting for a reply, “Bye!”

Which left Forsen Mandela staring at the pavement tracks caused by Frank’s sudden departure. “Damn youths nowadays…” Forsen muttered under his breath.

 

Halting at the gate of a low fence, where a small path led to a small house with two floors, Descartin Winters debated internally whether to carry on his current path. The fingers of his right hand clutched a letter from Deserk, while his left carried a bag filled with a few items he had bought at the mall with the money Ian had given him.

He had been a liability to everybody in the previous two months. He had avoided anything and everything that had once been a normal part of his life, concentrating on his Great Work, where he direct his sorrow and energies to the music synthesizer. He had lost all taste for war and fighting, not caring for the results of the latest mech exercise by the mercs, or even some experimental new technology they were trying out, where once he would have been the first in line.

And even more than that, he feared the inner demon within him that had been unleashed during the battle. It had made him invincible.

It had also terrified him.

So breaking all manner of treaties and agreements, Descartin Winters traveled to Outreach, far behind the lines of the clan front. In a way, he wasn’t breaking anything, though Ian had commented that Comstar would have a fit once they knew about his presence.

And that was before considering the reaction of Khan Ariel Suravov. There was a very good chance that he would be declared a rogue by the clan, but Des did not care. After all, he should have been killed in the last battle. Every day that came after was merely a bonus, one he did not really appreciate.

Captain Sheik and Bryan had already walked up to the door, and were waiting for him to join them. Yoshino Ihara waited behind him, patient as ever, one hand resting easily on his katana.

Why am I doing this? He asked himself. As part of my repentance for surviving? Or simply to increase my ache in my soul?

Another part of his mind answered back. Because Deserk asked you to do this. That letter was for his wife. He trusted you to carry out his last wishes.

What was that Ian Dorlacen had said about a healing process? Handling pain being easier when it was shared?

Des did not really subscribe to the idea of sharing his grief, but it still laid within him, a palpable sorrow that even now threatened to send him over the abyss of despair.

He made his decision, pushing against the gate and nodding to Bryan as he walked resolutely to the door to join them. He could hear the creak of the gate as Yoshino followed, the oil on the hinges worn away by constant use.

After all, he had come this far. Better to get it over with, he told himself sternly.

Bryan raised his hand to knock, and his knuckles rapped sharply against the wooden door twice, three times, as he called out, “Reena! It’s me, Bryan! We’re back from our mission!”

“Bryan?” A woman shouted from inside the house. “Hold on for a moment!”

The door was soon opened by a tall woman with short black hair. Her brown eyes conveyed warmth and strength at the same time. Her arms were white with flour powder, as was her face, though she had cleaned her face up a bit with a piece of cloth.

“Bryan!” She saw Jadine Sheik. “Captain Sheik! You’re back! Where’s Deserk?”

Jadine Sheik cleared her throat to speak, but Des could already see the realization and horror dawning in Reena’s eyes.

Sheik spoke with a formal, emotionless tone. “I regret to inform you that Mechwarrior Deserk was killed in action on the planet Einstein. He…”

She was cut off by Reena, who collapsed to the floor near the door, one hand clutching the side of the door, while the other clasped the front of her dress. She muttered in shock, “No, no, no. It’s not possible.”

Descartin swallowed hard. “Deserk is dead. I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. He died with courage and honor. He saved my life.”

Reena looked up at him. Her teary eyes brightened for a while, thinking he was Deserk, but they faded as she realized he was someone else.

“Who…” She asked, as the first tears began to flow.

He answered. “Deserk was my brother. We grew up in the same sibko. I am Descartin Winters, and I owe your husband, my brother, more than I could ever repay.”

“Let’s go in and talk.” Jadine said as she moved beside the grieving Reena, wrapped one arm around a shoulder, and supported her into the house. Bryan and Des went in as well, while Yoshino closed the door behind them.

They sat down in the living room, while Bryan went into the kitchen to make some tea for the distraught Reena. The sofas were comfortable and a small baby crib hung nearby, where the smallest occupant of the house lay sleeping. Des put his items down on a nearby table.

“Tell me everything, Captain. I want to know.” Reena said in a small voice, even as she tried to hold herself together to listen to Jadine. She tried to hold back her crying, but to no avail, even as she reached into a pocket for a handkerchief.

Sheik shook her head. “I wasn’t there, but Star Captain Winters was. Let him tell you what happened.”

Des sighed. “It was an all out fight. Our foes came on without mercy, without remorse. Deserk went with me to hold up a group of enemy reinforcements to buy time for the rest of our forces. We were badly outnumbered, but we held on. In the end, however, he was killed by an orbital bombardment from a warship overhead. Before he died, he destroyed my mech to make me eject, and that saved my life.”

Reena visibly paled. “Orbital bombardment? Who would dare to use such tactics?”

Des clenched his fists. “I wish I can tell you more, but the long and short of it is that the agencies responsible for Deserk’s death have paid in full for their crimes.” The vehemence in his voice permeated the room, a sign of his rage.

He relaxed his hands, and the air, the atmosphere around him did likewise. “He left you a letter. I think you should read it.” He reached over and plucked the envelope from the table, handing it to Reena.

She opened the envelope and took out the letter, unfolding it carefully as though it was coated with acid.

Reena spent a few minutes reading it, weeping silently.

She finished the letter, and fell back into the sofa.

“What did he tell you?” Des did not wish to intrude on her grief any more than necessary, but in a way, he was also sharing her pain.

“He knew he was going to die.” The letter shook in her hands. “He wrote to tell me that he loved me, that he was sorry for not being here for young Rachel’s birth, that he was sorry for not being here for me in the future. He said he just knew that it was inevitable.”

What she had said was also the gist of the letter Deserk had left to him. Descartin had been furious when he had realized that if he had been a bit more perceptive before the battle, he might have been able to pick up Deserk’s unease. And things might have been different.

“So what are you going to do now?” Sheik asked.

Just then, the baby in the crib began to cry. And no wonder, as the sense of gloom in the house was so strong that it was almost a physical presence. Reena quickly moved over to the crib and held Rachel in her strong arms, cooing and swaying gently to lull the child to sleep. Strangely enough, that brought some color back to Reena’s pale face.

“I still have 4 months of maternity leave before I return to active duty.” She said softly. “After that, we had planned to go into the Home Guard command, and work shifts, while we would be able to raise a real family here on Outreach. Deserk said he did not want Rachel to grow up in a sibko, where only hardship awaited her.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. Tomorrow was so bright. Now… now all I see is darkness. I don’t know what to do. I have to work, and then somebody will have to watch Rachel. She’ll have to be sent to some child-care center in the day.” Even as she spoke, she was already considering her options and discarding the least helpful ones.

Des stood up, and walked over to the crib. “May I?” He asked, as he offered to carry the baby.

When Reena hesitated, he said, “Deserk was my brother by blood, so that makes this child my niece. I will never harm her.”

In fact, Star Captain Descartin Winters, for all his journeys, travels, and battles, had never held a child before in his life, but he was not about to be dissuaded by his lack of experience. Reena handed him the child gingerly, and he was tentative at first, treating Rachel like a porcelain vase.

Yoshino Ihara and the others stared on in amazement as Rachel initially cried loudly, her lungs bursting with sound, before being gradually calmed to sleep by the muscular clanner, who mimicked what he had seen and swayed his arms soothingly to an inner rhythm.

“A strong child.” Des remarked, surprised that he could even feel pride in this freebirth, this natural-born child of Deserk’s. The most striking features were her eyes, which were the same eyes that stared back at him every day in the mirror, and the eyes which he had shared with Deserk.

As he held the child, Descartin understood why Reena had seemed better after carrying the baby. In a way, it was a strong reminder that Deserk was still with them, in the child, his flesh and blood.

These children are our future, Des realized. That was what Deserk was also fighting for, what he had died for.

He looked at Reena as he slowly laid the baby into the crib. “Ms...” He was unsure how to address her.

“Just call me Reena. I was also a product of the iron wombs.” Nameless, was the unspoken thought.

“Reena. I am sorry that events had turned out as they did on Einstein. Whatever happened there must remain secret for yet some time, but rest assured, I will not let his death, his sacrifice, be in vain. Whatever happens next, know that I am willing to help whenever you require it.”

“And so are we. The Dragoons will never abandon the family of such a brave warrior. I was there too. And I made a promise.” Bryan said as he walked in with a tray of tea. “And uh, sorry for taking so long. I had some trouble with the water heater.”

They all sat down again, and before an awkward silence set in, Reena asked Des to describe his childhood with Deserk, of which Deserk had said little to her. She did not press further on the details of Deserk’s death, as she probably knew as a warrior herself that some matters have to be kept secret.

They drank tea, and ate some biscuits which Reena made herself. There was even some laughter when Des recounted some of their misdeeds in the sibko, even as cadets in training.

As he related his youth, Des realized that by doing so, they were both recalling their happy memories with Deserk in their minds, and it helped to assuage the grief.

Time passed quickly, and before he knew it, it was almost five in the afternoon, when they would have to meet up with Ian and the others at the Goat.

Reena had seemingly accepted Deserk’s death by then, though the anguish in her was still visible. But she was on the way to recovery, and Des finally understood what Ian had meant about sharing pain, because his heart did not hurt so much either.

He handed her the bag of presents he had bought at the mall, containing some toys and books for the child, including a cuddly Nova Cat plushie that he would not touch with a ten foot pole under normal circumstances. He offered some money as well, knowing full well that it was not his, but rather Ian’s, but Reena refused.

It was the very least he could do. But with this last task accomplished, he felt empty.

Is there anything left in the world for me to do?

 

//route> Outreach-Woodstock; through to <New Avalon>; receive >Clarice Ferguson //encode text//

 

Dearest Clarice,

            Sorry for not sending this out earlier, but I just got back to Outreach. Ahead of schedule, I might add.

            I’m fine, and all my limbs are in working condition, which is more than I can say for many of the other mercs who went to the Periphery. I nearly got killed more times than I could remember, but somehow I made it. If your father hadn’t been so stubborn, I wouldn’t have to risk my neck in the first place. I would getting a cushy garrison job with some Davion Guard unit, rebuilding after the civil war.

            Still, I can’t say this trip has been a waste. Far from it. I’ve learnt a lot, and seen a lot in these few months. Can’t say more, but let’s just say I’m getting closer to my goal of getting your father to accept us. If he still doesn’t, then we’ll elope. There’s this paradise in the Periphery…

            Yeah, I know, he might decide to take his anger out on my parents. That’s always the sticky part. They aren’t willing to leave Lackland.

            So how are things going with you? Is there a lot of work at the hospital? I certainly hope not. In any case, take care of yourself. Doctors aren’t of any use to anyone if they’re sick themselves.

And how’s the research going? I heard just before I left that funds were going to be pulled because they needed it for rebuilding, which would be a damn shame. There’re many people who would benefit from your work. Maybe you could get Doc Banzai to help.

            I miss you a lot. I miss your voice, the smell of you, the way you laugh at me whenever I did something stupid or funny. I miss having someone to talk to, when I could just be myself.

            There’s a file document for my parents attached to this message. It’s in condensed form, so help me transmit to it them, because it’s cheaper to do it from New Avalon.

            With a bit of luck, I will be going to New Avalon in a few weeks time, so we might finally get some time together again. It’s supposedly for business, but being near the top of new management has its advantages.

            I’ll tell you more when I get back. Take care.

With all my love,

Frank

Frank nodded to the Comstar acolyte as the white clad technician compiled the message into the batch of data to be sent out.

He checked his watch. He was getting late for their meeting in The Goat’s Tavern, a favorite hangout for mercenaries on Outreach.

 

Ian Dorlacen stared at Daniela Mattlov in disbelief as she polished off her third cheeseburger in as many minutes.

“Is anything the matter?” She asked on seeing his shocked expression.

“Uh, I know the food here is good, but can you stop gorging yourself like that? People are staring.” He took a look around as he rotated his head, the grimace apparent on his face.

“They can stare all they want. I am not doing anything wrong, quiaff?” Ian winced at her use of the clan word. He really did not want to draw any more attention to themselves than they already had.

“No, but tell me. Have you ever had a hamburger before?”

“I have never eaten something as good as this.” She said between mouthfuls. “All I had while in the sibko and serving in the clan were combat rations. Even in the occupation zones, we were not allowed to wander out into the freebirth cities. The Khans did not want us to become corrupted by their ways. Policing was left to the lower castes and the failed warriors.”

But you’re getting corrupted now anyway. Score one for living in the Inner Sphere. Ian wondered, not for the first time, why Daniela had insisted on becoming his bondsman after he had defeated her. He had expected her to simply accept the loss and return with her unit back to her clan. Instead, she had stayed with him, as well as the surviving elementals he had captured in his first battle. The reason she gave him was it was honor and clan custom.

She was not the only one. Much to Peggy Yeager’s chagrin, Galietra Binneti had decided to stay on as well, citing that it was the Lancers who had taken him as a bondsman. He was quickly put in charge of their aerospace contingent, composed of the few remaining Seraphs and a handful of standard fighters that had survived the campaign.

He could always feel a certain tension between him and Daniela, but he could barely figure out what it was, and he was afraid to try. During the two months they had spent together, she had complained incessantly that he was not treating her like a proper bondswoman, granting her all the rights and privileges of a warrior despite her own insistence that she earn them first.

There was simply nothing to earn. She was an elite warrior, and even if she had fought and killed members of his unit, Ian could hardly bring himself to hate her. That was one advantage of fighting in mechs. Combat and death were largely impersonal affairs, and in the twists and turns of the wars of mankind in the past thousand years, there have been more than enough cases of foes turned comrades.

Trying to get his troops to accept her was slightly more difficult, but they also understood. It wasn’t personal, it was just business and duty. In the ever changing environs of the Chaos March, they were more than used to such changes in allegiances.

Ian had brought her, along with Benny, to Outreach. While it was largely to settle the affairs of the new unit they were forming, Ian also had another objective, to find out more about the situation of the Taurian Concordat before deciding how to return to Taurus.

The mercs had a chain of succession if anything happened to the main commanders, or the ‘ringleaders’, as Hamirah Rasouf, now a Brevet-Major, had commented ungraciously. Ian had a feeling he would not be in charge for much longer, and that command would eventually be handed to Frank.

They had entered the restaurant twenty minutes ago, with Lorik and Tina in tow. Seated around two tables arranged next to each other, they ate and talked quietly while waiting for Frank and the others to show up.

Ian caught a movement towards their table out of the corner of his eye. He turned around to see a Chinese man dressed in a fashionable black suit, holding a wine glass in his right hand even as his left hand came up amicably up in a sign of greeting to Ian. The long nails of the fingers on his left hand glittered with reflected golden light according to the traditional Liao custom.

“Good evening, Major Dorlacen. I trust you are well after your excursion to the Periphery?” In this one question, Mandrinn Lin De Jian served notice that he knew about the new ‘arrangement’ the mercs had set up, and his intention to persuade Ian to pass on to his government the data for the discovered technology.

The vultures start to gather. Ian tensed himself inwardly for the negotiation that was about to start. He pasted a smile on his face, and answered back. “I’m very well, Mandrinn Lin, thank you for asking.”

“Ahhh,” Lin drew out a long breath as he sat down on an empty chair and placed his glass on the table. The others looked at Ian expectantly, but he waved them to keep to their own business. This was something he could handle without their help, and they would not be able to understand the intricacies of the situation anyway.

Lin continued, “It is good that you are fine. There are certain issues that need to be discussed…”

Never losing the smile on his face, Ian interjected, “You can discuss them with the lawyers we have hired in the city. They are more than willing to settle the issues of payment and data transfer.”

“Surely there is no need for such middlemen,” Lin replied smoothly, “After all, we have worked together for many times now. That should be reason enough for us to come to an agreement that would be beneficial to everyone. That technology you have found could be the savior of all humanity.”

Wow, they got the info out of their operatives that quickly? Ian thought.

Ian decided to dance around the topic. “Which House Liao and the Capellan Confederation thinks it is? Sorry, but I’m willing to sell it to all the Houses equally, so that everybody would be on even footing. Also a chance at more profit.” Ian took a swig from the bottle of bear in front of him. “We’re not the Gray Death Legion, and I’m not a goody two shoes who is willing to save the human race from itself etcetera blah, blah, blah.”

Ian stared hard into Lin’s eyes. “You want it? You pay for it. Same as everybody else, and everybody gets a chance.”

“I know you are a businessman at heart, and simply seeking more profit, but the more.. shall we say… partisan members of your little band might just decide to sell the information on their own, and earn more that way.”

Ian dismissed that with a shake of his head. “Maybe, but they are all stuck on the cache world now, and they know that there are many who have paid blood for that knowledge, and that the others will gladly strip their hides if they decide to strike out on their own.”

“I was referring to you, Major Ian.” Lin arched his fingers, the long nails intercrossing to form an X. “You have contacts with a certain government at the highest levels, am I correct? That would place your loyalties in a rather… precarious position.” Lin smiled as if delighted at seeing a fly caught in the web of a pet spider.

Benny paled as he overheard Lin speak, while Ian narrowed his eyes. Daniela polished off her cheeseburger, and stared at them with puzzlement written on her face. He knows, and that must mean that Sun-Tzu Liao knows too. Lin has never hinted that he knew about my true identity before, or they would have tried to capitalize on it before.

Ian started to feel a bit trapped. Still, I should never have discounted the abilities of the Maskirovka. No, they are certainly not stupid, but I’m not either. You are saying all this because you want me to get you the data at a cheap price, and to your House only. I will not be threatened this way. Two can play at that game.

“My loyalties are mine to decide, but rest assured that I would try to be as fair as possible to all potential buyers. I won’t be like the mercenary commander on Carver, who went one way then the other. Didn’t the HPG on that world go down a few weeks before their independence?” Ian rubbed his chin speculatively.

It was a deadly hand he was playing, alluding to the destruction of the Comstar HPG compound by mercenaries under the employ of House Liao. He had been on Carver at the time as well, extricating the last remnants of forces loyal to House Marik from that war torn planet.

It was purely coincidence that he met the merc commander who had carried out the assault on the moon when the Lancers worked for the pro-independence forces later. The merc commander was more than happy to turn over the evidence to him, in return for the use of Ian’s hired jumpship to transport them to the Periphery, where they could hide out from Katrina Steiner’s wrath until the civil war ended.

That same evidence was in his pocket, ready as insurance should House Liao ever try to screw them over a contract. Comstar would jump onto the Liaos like a trachazoi on steroids should their attack on the HPG become known. Ian had never envisioned using it for threatening the Capellans to keep his identity a secret. For the time being.

Because the matter of his identity might be a moot point in a few more months anyway.

Lin shifted uncomfortably, a sign that Ian’s subtle attack had hit home. “It was an accident, I think. Thank you for the information, in any case. The Chancellor sends his regards, for you have been most efficient while in the service of the Capellan people, and he does not wish to see your talents wasted. He has expressed a wish that you would accept his invitation to form a new unit for the Confederation. Has you answer changed?”

Cold day in hell before it does, especially now, Ian thought. “No, my answer has not changed. I think we have talked long enough. I have issues to discuss with my dinner companions. Have a pleasant evening.” He was essentially terminating the conversation with the last statement.

“Very well then. You know where to contact us if you should change your mind. I shall leave you to your dinner.” Lin stood up and bowed slightly before leaving. He walked away calmly, but Ian could sense that he was seething on the inside.

That’s one win, but there’ll be more. Hopefully, we can get out of here and leave things to the lawyers before anybody else thinks to short circuit the process by coming to me or Frank directly. Try beating them. Hah! Ian grinned to himself.

Ian saw the door to the restaurant open as Descartin Winters, Yoshino Ihara, Forsen Mandela, Bryan, and Jadine Sheik walked in. They looked around for a while before spotting his table. As they started walking towards Ian’s table, a flustered Frank Meronac burst in, drawing a glare from the waitress near the door.

Frank grinned sheepishly before joining the group. Ian greeted the newcomers with a wave.

“Good to see you all here. Have a seat, and place a food order. The stuff here is great, just ask Daniela. She’s gonna have to work all that excess meat off after really grubbing all those burgers down.” He ignored her as she stared at him indignantly.

A waitress took their orders, and it was not long before the food was on their table. They started eating while discussing the happenings of the day.

Ian started first. “I’ve set up an office in the Hiring Hall. Cost quite a sum, but the security there will ensure that nobody will dare mess with us because they’ll be ticking off the Dragoons as well. The data we’ve brought with us have been stored there, ready for sale, so to speak, to potential buyers.”

They had brought 5% of the Star League research files on the Nile to Outreach, where they would be sold to the Houses at a hefty price. The data would also serve as proof of their find of the Star League base world, evidence that they had yet more info to be sold at a trickle at a time. Frank and Ian were bent on milking this cash cow for all it was worth. And so did all the other mercs.

“I’ve reviewed the security arrangements, and they’re pretty good. I’ve got my contract lawyer Fabien Dacort to handle the negotiations. You guys don’t have to worry. He’s been with me for the past ten years, and utterly reliable. He’s not here because he’s still preparing the office at the Hiring Hall. I expect the money to come rolling in soon.”

“Any questions? I’ll bring you guys to see Fabien tomorrow at our new office.”

When nobody had any, Ian turned to Frank, “Did you find the man you were looking for?”

Frank replied. “Nope. We went to the address he gave Forsen, but the landlord told us he was dead. We didn’t believe it, but a trip down to the local cops confirmed it.” He shrugged. “They found this bag in his room, and they put everything he owned into the bag. There was a note telling them to simply hand over the contents over to Forsen should anything happen to him.

He asked Ian, “Is that the way things work in Temptown?”

Ian answered. “Yup. There’re no real rules in that place, and even the police are there simply to keep the violence from spilling over to the other sectors. Sometimes they just stick around to pick up the pieces.”

He remembered his first two years when putting together the Lancers. Many of his first contracts had been made in Temptown, and many of his first recruits had also been dragged off the bars of the shady ghetto. He had many bad memories of the place, and after he and the Lancers had gained some respectability, they had left Temptown and never looked back.

Frank snorted. “In any case, I don’t believe Landar is dead. I think he is probably still alive, and got some poor sap to stand in for his death scene. I was thinking that the stuff in the bag might help us.”

“Wait.” Lorik interjected. “There is a problem with your logic. If he is still alive, then he would not have left any clues behind, quiaff?”

“Yeah,” Frank agreed, “but there must be more to this. Why did he send us to the Periphery? How did he know there was a Star League base there? All evidence we found on Einstein, plus what Des had found, indicates that nobody else was supposed to know about the Star League presence on that world, much less the alien base there. So who else knew, and why didn’t they claim it for themselves?”

Ian gestured to the bag, “Let’s find out. Maybe it would have some clues.”

Forsen zipped the bag open, and the first thing that came to sight were several “Soldier of Fortune” magazines, which were in the 11^th century of their publication. Ian and Bryan flipped through them, but they found nothing out of the ordinary.

Next out were some “Penthouse” issues featuring scantily clad women on their covers, which brought a flush to the faces of the men, while Daniela wondered why there were even such publications in the first place.

Evidently, like the demand for mercs, human tastes hadn’t changed much in the past thousand years either.

Forsen took out several thick books, which were in stark contrast to the magazines, since they were academic in nature. There were two on history, and another on philosophy, while another one dealt with politics. Ian couldn’t figure it out. Landar had seemed like a typical pirate on the surface.

On the surface. Ian was sure that Frank was correct. Landar was no more a simple pirate out for a quick buck than he was just a simple mercenary commander. There was someone behind it all, and Ian shuddered inwardly as he tried to guess at the organization responsible, which probably had in their possession advanced technology, and the most important asset of all in the war torn Inner Sphere.

Non-existence. Or at least as close to it as anything could get in the Inner Sphere. The fact that nobody knew about it was the same as being non-existent, right?

“Hey, look at this!” Bryan exclaimed as he held up a key chain in his hands. There was a key and a tag on it.

That drew all their attention to it, as Bryan handed it over to Ian, who inspected it.

“A clue.” Ian said, “A real one this time. It’s a locker key, I think, and the logo on the key tag belongs to the DropPort, so I would say that this Landar probably has a locker in the starport.”

“But what’s the number?” Bryan asked.

Ian flipped the tag around, only to be confronted with several weird symbols. Strange, there were supposed to be numbers there, indicating the locker number.

“I don’t know. There’s only these strange symbols.” He passed the key chain around the table, letting everybody have a look at the key chain.

When it got to Frank, he nearly dropped the tag like a hot potato when he saw the symbols.

“What is it?” Ian demanded.

“Those symbols…” Frank paused, “They’re numbers all right. But in a language that nobody else should know.”

Ian arched an eyebrow critically. “Get to the point.”

“The symbols are in the language of the Qlictorio. I ran across enough of them during my research that I can make out their equivalents in Arabic numerals. They used a decimal system too.” Frank took a closer look at the tag, and said, “The number’s 4892.”

“That’s probably the locker which this key opens.” Lorik agreed. “But am I the only one who feels uneasy about this?”

Ian finished off his bottle of beer, hoping that the alcohol would dispel the sinking feeling in his guts. “This whole business stinks. But we have no choice but to follow it through. I think we’re being led by the nose, but our best shot right now is just to follow the steps laid out in front of us until we can figure out what’s going on. So let’s finish our dinner, and then off to the DropPort we go.”

 

Standing in front of items locker 4892 in the Harlech Interstellar DropPort, Frank Meronac wished for the umpteenth time that his hands wouldn’t shake so badly as he rummaged in his pockets for the key. They had left Bryan and Lorik in the carpark, and Jadine in the Goat’s Tavern, in case it had turned out to be a trap.

Ian and Des Winters waited patiently beside him, as the others crowded around expectantly. The locker area they were in was deserted, leaving them the only people around. It was late at night, after all.

“Frank, can you hurry it up, or do you want me to take over?” Yoshino Ihara asked.

“I can handle it, I can handle it,” Frank mumbled disagreeably as his hands finally came up with the key.

Frank still had to fumble for a while before he managed to push the key into the keyhole of the green colored locker. He heard a sign of resignation from Yoshino as he did so.

Frank turned the key around until a clear click was heard, indicating that the small locker door was open.

Frank looked at the faces around him. “You guys ready?”

Everybody nodded. Frank took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

He swung the door open, and there was…

A wooden box, about the size of a large file.

Frank took out the box gingerly, as though it might explode at any moment. He noticed a strange symbol on the box. It was an eye situated in a triangular pyramid. There was a strange sense of foreboding around the symbol as he stared at it, trying to make sense of it all.

“Open it!” Daniela ordered.

Frank stopped looking at the cover, and lifted the lid off the box carefully. He handed the lid over to Yoshino.

There was a single sheet of paper in the box.

Frank took out the sheet, trying unsuccessfully to calm his frazzled nerves. He couldn’t understand why he was feeling this way, but he just knew that what was on that sheet of paper might change their lives forever.

He started reading aloud to the others.

 

“Greetings, mercenaries. Congratulations on your find of the alien civilization, which was only possible reason why you were able to find the locker which the box with this sheet of paper was in.”

“Now, you must be very curious, and you must have a lot of questions. I hereby apologize for the lies and falsehoods I had to use to get you to the alien base world. Know that it was necessary for such steps to be taken. You certainly have been informed by now that some massive alien horde is probably bearing down on the Inner Sphere. In a few years time.“

“As for who I am, that cannot be revealed yet. Yes, you may call me Landar for now, for that is indeed one of my names, but by no means the only one I have. And before anyone accuses me of murder, I did not get anyone killed during my ‘murder’. It was simply a well staged act. And paying off the morgue personnel and the cremationists did the rest.”

“So I have some questions for you. Answer them as best if you can if you want to track me down. This is my challenge. Prove your worth by solving this puzzle.”

“Who was the big winner in the recent civil war that ended? Which world is their capital, so to speak?”

“What is the sole guarantor of freedom? Free information or guns? And who has it all?”

“What happened on that grassy knoll?”

“Who was Akern Sanders? What did he do, and where did he get his inspiration from?”

“Who are you? Be warned, the answer may be more than you suspect.”

“Last of all, ponder this little poem.”

“All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.”

“Sorry for plagiarizing somebody’s else’s work, but figure out the meaning of that poem, and who it applies to.”

“Here’s a major hint. One of you guys.”

“The last question. What does the symbol on the box mean?”

“That is about it. Think carefully on the clues I have given you, and then find me if you can. I shall reveal all when you do. I would wish you luck, but then again I think I need it all for myself.”

“Best regards, Landar.”

 

Frank Meronac looked up, disbelief plain on his face.

“Do any of you believe this crap?”