Dominion Council Hall
Silverdale, Alshain
Rasalhague Dominion
8 June 3094

"That was closer than expected," Aleksei Hawkins said, wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand. More promptly began welling up in the cut. 
"The fight or the vote?" Cade asked wryly. 
The taller warrior glanced over at Cade darkly. 
"I have plenty left to thrash your Stravag hide," Aleksei threatened without malice. 
Both warriors laughed.
"I don't doubt it," Cade replied. "If I let you, that is."
"The vote," Aleksei said, sobering. "I thought the Khan made a good delivery and it seems the kind of motion that would be seen favorably by the Rasalhague populations. Right now, I would expect a lot more support in the council for that."
"Aff," Cade agreed. "And I think for any world except Santander, we would have it. But Santander has a reputation as a pirate world and has been such for hundreds of years. Even today there are bandits hiding in the wilderness regions of the world."
"Cade, the whole planet is wilderness," Aleksei pointed out. 
"True," Cade conceded. 
"And precisely because of the reputation the world has, they should endorse this plan," Aleksei continued.
"You need not convince me," Cade reminded him. "I fought hard to gain us support in the council. But I do see the other side here. Santander is far away, anything but self sufficient and with no valuable resources. Even the Rasalhaguians think of it as a backward, hopeless world filled with bandits and the dregs of society."
"Which means if we can make a nowhere world prosperous...or at least self sufficient, think what we can do where infrastructure already exists?"
"That is part of the oppositions point," Cade said. "They would rather skip this step and jump right into improving a world more people care about."
"We make this work and we will be seen as visionary," Aleksei shrugged. "I will take that risk."
"And if we fail we will be seen as naive fools," Cade smirked. 
"Guess you better do your job well out there then," Aleksei said, slapping Cade on the back. "Good luck out there."
Cade watched his friend stride away, accepting a towel from his aid to wipe away the sweat and blood from his successful defense of the council's vote. Star Captain Aleksei Hawkins was easily one of the best hand to hand fighters in the Dominion Touman. His skill behind the controls of his Executioner were nothing to sneer at either. 
If we form another binary in the 12th, I may offer him the command, Cade thought. Then again, I don't know how the 8th Bear Cuirasseers would get by without him. 
He glanced back to the center of the theater-like council chamber. A pair of warriors knelt beside the unconscious and bloodied form of Corine Hall. She had put up a vicious fight in opposition to the Santander plan. The punishment she had taken would certainly leave her off duty for a while however. 
Picking up his noteputer, Cade headed up the stairs for the doors out to the main hall. Slipping the earpiece of his communicator into place he keyed it on. He reached the doors just as Arianna's voice came across the line. 
"Go ahead, Star Colonel," the tech said.
"Arianna, tell Farrell to begin fueling the Legacy, Susquehanna and Hartford," he ordered. "Send a recall to Star Commander Antonius to return after his training and exercise in the south is complete."
"Understood," she replied. "Is there a rush on this?"
"Neg, Arianna," Cade replied. "We have some time. But we are shipping out again. We are just getting things started."
"Aff Star Colonel," she answered. "Will you be returning to the ship?"
Cade considered for a moment then glanced at his chrono. 
"Aff, but only briefly," he said. "Meet me at the ramp with my climbing harness in fifteen minutes."
Might be a long time until I can do this again.

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion



Ramenta Point
Cyea Inlet, Alshain 
Rasalhague Dominion 
9 June 3094


The scent of salt water lingered in the chill air as Cade stood staring out to sea. The Cyea Inlet was serene despite its intensity to a warrior too used to seeing such sights through the lens of combat. The wind whistling lowly across the rocks struck a sharp counterpoint to the rhythmic crash of the waves, reminding him of the danger the sea could pose despite its beauty.

As dawn crept over the waves on the horizon he drank in the sights and sounds. Four months on Alshain had passed too quickly. Once again he would be shipping out for a distant world, protecting the fringes of Dominion territory. One last night on the coast was exactly what he'd needed.

Waves crashing against the rocks three meters below the cliff he stood on seemed to bid him farewell in their own harsh way. 

It'll be a while until I see the ocean again, he reflected, staring at the blue-green water below. If rumors of Santander are true, it's a barren rock people should have to be sentenced to. Though I suppose few went there voluntarily in the first place. From the reports I've read, most people were dragged there by pirates or descended from them. Bringing them some civilization is the sort of progress the Dominion SHOULD be focused on.

Cade laughed shortly.

I sound like an idealistic kid fresh from the sibko.

Glancing at his chrono, he sighed. It was time to go.

"I spend more time in meetings than training now," he muttered. "Oh to be a lowly Star Commander again..."

With a final glance at the ocean, he slung his climbing harness and shoes over a shoulder. At least THIS was a meeting he was looking forward to. 


Silverdale, Alshain

The knock on the door drew Cade's attention from the noteputer in his hands. Standing in the doorway a lean, tan and solidly muscled man stood at attention. 

"Mechwarrior Shane, reporting for duty, Star Colonel," the warrior stated crisply. 

"Come in, Shane," Cade motioned toward the chair. "Pull the door shut."

Shane did as he was bid, pulling the office door closed before taking the offered seat. 

"Welcome to Silverdale," Cade said, shaking the younger warrior's hand. "How was the trip from Tukayyid?"

"It was fine, sir," Shane said. After a moment, he leaned forward, a frown crossing his features. "Star Colonel, may I ask a question, quiaff?"

"Aff, Shane, you may," Cade replied, anticipating the warriors query. 

Shane did not disappoint him.

"Why am I here?"

Cade set the noteputer aside on his spartan desk. 

"You know that answer, quiaff?" He replied. "You are here because I requested you."

"Aff, Star Colonel Cade," Shane agreed though the puzzled look on his face remained. "But I have spent the entire trip here wondering why. I am fresh from the sibko and you personally requested me assigned to the 12th Bear Guards even though I was not the best of my sibmates. I do not understand."

Cade steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. 

"That is not my assessment," he replied. "Though Jons scored two kills in his Trial of Position and Friedrich tended to come ahead in technical tests, they had a quality I did not like. They piloted with ferocity fed by emotion."

Cade tapped the screen of his noteputer, changing the display. Lines of data reflecting stress levels, heart rates and adrenaline levels appeared. All but one showed frequent spikes across the chart.

The last one, though displaying increased levels as well, were considerably closer to baseline throughout. 

"Aggression and anger have their place in combat," Cade conceded. "But the operations the 12th Bear Guards are often tagged for require even tempers and analytical minds. Your file indicates you have that."

Shane considered that, nodding as he thought. 

"Still," he pressed. "I feel others have these skills...as well as experience I do not."

"Aff," Cade agreed. "But they are not one of us. They are not of the MacKenzie bloodhouse."

"I am here because I am a MacKenzie?"

Cade shook his head.

"Neg," he replied. "You are here because you are a skilled warrior that I believe will fit well in my cluster. That you are from my bloodhouse is an added benefit but make no mistake, Shane, you will receive no special treatment here. If you are not up to the high standards of the 12th, I will transfer you out...or you will get killed."

Shane smirked.

"Of course, Star Colonel," he replied. "Thus is the nature of the clans."

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion


Hans Jorgensson Training Complex
Silverdale, Alshain
Rasalhague Dominion
8 June 3094

Star Captain Benjamin Noruff stared at the wall of monitors. The screens were showing a seemingly random assortment of corridors. The texture of the metal deck and bulkheads, the lighting and fixtures, all gave it the appearance of the bowels of a dropship or jumpship. 

In front of Benjamin sat a technician, manning the cameras and occasionally flicking through different views. 

As Benjamin watched, the view changed to a corridor where a point of warriors were breaching the door. They had the obvious size and bulk of elementals but instead of armor they wore thinly armored spacesuits and carried Mauser IICs, a hefty assault rifle based on the Star League Defense Force’s once standard-issue infantry rifle. Their faces were obscured by helmets. 

One by one they entered, cleared the area, and then one of them set to work on a computer terminal attached to the wall. They pulled a tray down, revealing a keyboard, and began attaching the tables that ran from one of the warrior’s hips to the terminal. 

“Cut power to the lights,” Benjamin ordered, folding his arms and peering closer.

The room suddenly went dark on the monitor. A second later the camera switched to a night vision mode. For a brief moment the warriors had frozen in their tracks. Then, realizing the computer terminal was still lit up; they continued working while a pair of warriors covered the only exit. 

“Now cut their Coms,” Benjamin ordered.

The technician did so. The warriors paused again, some of them tried to fix the problem but largely work resumed in the terminal.

Benjamin gave them a full 30 seconds, slowly shook his head in disappointment and then picked up a radio transmitter. 

“Edward, begin a security sweep, we have detected a power failure in section 7,”

Over the radio Benjamin heard.

“Aff Star Captain.”

Via another screen, Benjamin watched five more warriors move down the corridor, stepping softly, moving with a precise smooth flow that spoke to their talent. They were dressed the same way, in armored spacesuits, and also carrying Mauser IICs. Other than adorning a different color, they looked identical to the group now working in the dark. 

It did not take long for Point Commander Edward’s security force to find the intruders. A brief simulated firefight ensued, and then it was all over.

Talking to everyone on the network, Benjamin ordered them all to shower, change, and report to the debriefing room.


********************************************************

A few at a time, the warriors filed into the room. It was set up like a classroom, with some high tech equipment up front, tables and chairs, and conveniently, Elemental size seating. 

Within minutes, there were 25 Elementals in those seats. Benjamin Noruff stood up front, for a moment he found himself pretending to consult an old-fashioned clipboard but was really listening to the chatter in the room. These warriors were new to him and he was still getting a sense of their personalities and how they interacted as a group.

Being entirely freeborns, it was different from what Benjamin was accustomed to. He had served alongside plenty of freeborns, but four out of his five points were made up entirely of them. That was a first for him and in some respects a challenge.

“Ok listen up,” He began. “You all have trained hard today and learned some valuable skills. We are finally putting these boarding and capture theories into practice. Along the way we are also learning what not to do the next time.”

Benjamin looked up and sought out a particular face.

“Point Commander Tarth.”

The young freeborn warrior stood up, folding his massive and muscular hands behind his back in a parade-rest position. 

“Your capture team did well until you reached your third objective, you ignored two warning signs, the loss of power and the loss of communications, you thought they were merely training atmospherics, quaiff?” Benjamin asked. He made sure that his tone was thoughtful, rather than harsh or demeaning.

“Quineg Star Captain,” Tarth replied. “My team was close to completing our last objective; I did not want to abort with victory so close at hand.”

“I appreciate your honesty, but as you have probably figured out already, you made the wrong call,” Benjamin noted, making sure with a scan of the room that everyone understood he was talking to all of them. “Shutting off power, jamming communications, these are standard counter-boarding techniques and sometimes your first and only warning that the enemy is aware of your location and zeroing in on you. In such a situation it is better to relocate to a better tactical location and prepare for the fight that is coming. If you had defeated Edward’s security force, you could have potentially still won the exercise. Remember that tripping security can be turned against security, your actions can be used to reverse the situation and create a trap, do not get too fixated.”

Benjamin let it sink in, as he refocused on Tarth.

“Aff Star Captain,” Tarth replied.

Benjamin paused while Tarth sat and he surveyed the room carefully. The warriors looked tired, but they were used to that. There was still eagerness in their eyes. They had already completed the day’s schedule but he sensed that he could work them for another 3 or 4 hours before if he wanted to. 

“That is it for today, point commanders, check with Warrior Marshal by 2100 for tomorrow’s orders, dismissed,” Benjamin said.

The room broke up, the freeborn warriors headed out, most keeping quiet until they hit the corridor. 

After the last of them left, four warriors walked in. These faces were more familiar to Benjamin, they were the warriors of his command point, all of them Trueborn. They also served as his command staff for the 82nd Elemental Support Binary. Benjamin had recruited them individually, based on their talents.

As they came in, Benjamin grabbed a chair at one of the tables and turned it around. The warriors moved to sit in seats that would allow them to face him and each other, a crude circle formed. 

Warrior Charlotte spoke up first.

“You still think Tarth should be Point Commander?”

“You still have concerns?” Benjamin asked.

Charlotte nodded and Benjamin was reminded at how brilliant she could be when it came to battlefield communication. After they first met Benjamin had found himself learning things from her, despite the fact that she was so much younger than he was. It was obvious to make her the binary’s communication officer, responsible for setting up point, star and binary size battlefield networks, as well as their codes, encryption and other necessities. At the moment, focused on training, there was not much for her to do, so she was also playing a key role in evaluating Hector Star’s training progress. 

“You said it yourself, he got fixated on one task and ignored the signs, he tried to beat the clock and that only works some of the time,” Charlotte said frankly. 

“The only mistake he has made sense some we moved him up, that I can see, you have read his codex,” Benjamin offered. “His point has improved a great deal since he was promoted, his warriors proudly serve him, even today, I did not hear any complaining or blaming after they lost the exercise, the usual signs of failed leadership.”

“They are freeborn Star Captain,” Roldan, his intelligence officer spoke up. “They are not vying for a Trial of Bloodright, and they know their capacity for promotion is limited, you do not see the same kind of internal competition as you do with trueborns.”

That took Benjamin Noruff back a bit. He considered those words carefully before responding.

“You are saying that I am still assessing how they interact with each other, based on my experience with trueborns, quaiff?” Benjamin asked, already recognizing some truth to Roldan’s analysis.

“Aff.”

“What am I seeing then?” Benjamin asked frankly.

“Cohesion, teamwork,” Paul, his logistics officer chipped in. “They are just happy to be here, freeborns assigned to a Guards Cluster in Beta Galaxy, they are at the top of their game and they know it.”

“Aff, but do they not also want to succeed, to excel?” Benjamin asked.

“Aff,” Charlotte cut in. “But Trueborns feel the need to take away from each other to do this, the warriors you are serving with are the competition, freeborn warriors see it as possible to both excel and preserve the integrity of the team when there isn’t much to fight over.”

It was not that novel a concept to Benjamin; he was just surprised at the purity of it. For most trueborns, truly excelling meant standing out from the crowd, seeking the glory and recognition that earned a shot at a bloodname and promotions. It sometimes also meant challenging a superior to gain their rank and position, especially if they are underperforming. That was just the Clan way. It really had never occurred to him that freeborn warriors, less concerned about things that will never happen in the case of a bloodname, and are much harder to achieve at any level in the case of promotions, would feel that secure to not feel a continual sense of competition from their peers. For Benjamin, it was a continuous thing, like a buzzing in the back of his mind. Sometimes he could ignore it and forget it, but other times, such as the run up to his own Trial of Bloodright, it was in the forefront of his thoughts.

He was still learning to command these freeborns. It was not the first time he had been surprised by his lack of understanding. It probably would not be the last either. 

Simply mobilizing them into a working Elemental Star was easy enough, they had learned how to function in that capacity since their time in a freeborn sibko. They could have jumped into battle as Elementals almost as soon as the day they reported to their new assignment. But the 82nd Elemental Support Binary was learning how to be marines, zero-G combat experts, with skills in boarding and capture operations. It was an entirely different skillset that required training and remolding before they could be declared proficient. 

Even Benjamin had to admit to himself, the process would have been a lot smoother for him if his Star had consisted of at least a majority of trueborn warriors. From his point of view, he would have understood his “students” a lot better. But he had embraced the idea of a freeborn star, and would see it done. 

That thought reminded him…

“How did Paxon Star fare today?” Benjamin asked. “I am meeting Star Commander Anghel in a few minutes.”

Benjamin Noruff’s Hector Star was filled primarily with freeborns, but Star Commander Anghel’s Paxon Star was a purely trueborn unit. Together they were the proverbial ying and yang in the Binary. 

“Roldan’s classroom ‘tactical problem of the day’ really tricked them up,” Paul answered with a grin and a nod to his fellow warrior. 

“No one ever said dropping out of a Kirghiz’s troop bay to cut jumpship sails loose would be easy,” Rondal said with a smirk. “Fortunately it was just a simulation…and an unlikely scenario.”

“I will talk to Anghel about it then,” Benjamin said sitting up and signaling that the meeting was over. 

Star Captain Benjamin Noruff left the meeting and the day’s training feeling pretty good, about the day’s exercise and about his new command in general. He was beginning to get weary of training and hoped that something more exciting would happen soon.

Star Captain Benjamin Noruff
82nd Elemental Support Binary
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)


Silverhold, Alshain
Rasalhague Dominion 
10 June 3094

Mech bays always had a familiar, comforting feeling to Judea. As a warrior she had spent much of her early life near and in them. As a small girl she had frequently snuck out at night to watch Clan Wolf technicians at work maintaining the war machines she would one day pilot. 
After her defeat at Cade's hands several years ago, she had become even more acquainted with mechs and the cavernous bays that housed them as she served as bondsman. Some would have been put off by the drudgery of those days but Judea had endured and earned back her warrior status. 
Now the scent and sounds of a mechbay were old friends welcoming her home once more. Her duties as Alshain Nova exec kept her busy these days but she still found time to come to the bays and watch the techs at work on the massive war machines. 
"Star Commander," a tech stepped up, a Datapad in his hand. "We are loading Alshain Nova equipment in thirty minutes. Shall we move your mech aboard or would you prefer to pilot it in?"
Judea tucked a stray braid behind her ear.
"I will drive it aboard," she said, a grin creasing her features. "Thank you, technician Grant."
The tech seemed surprised that she knew his name but he nodded respectfully and headed back to other duties.
Looking out across the bay, Judea could see her Summoner in its gantry. Slightly taller than most omnimechs, it seemed to dominate the rest of the machines in the bay, save Cade's own Summoner. Even there though, her preference for the Gulf configuration edged the Star Colonel's by half a meter due to the missile launchers stacked on the left torso. 
Crossing through the bustling mechbay, she exchanged greetings with several techs and Mechwarrior Anike, who was overseeing a replacement of a faulty missile launcher on her Mad Dog. 
Reaching the foot of her ride, Judea checked in with the techs for a quick report on the machines status. A moment later she was mounting the ladder, climbing to the dome-like cockpit mounted just off center on the Omni.
Sliding into the cockpit, she reached back and dogged down the hatch. Closing her eyes, Judea reveled in the sudden silence as the sealed cockpit blocked out the usual hum of activity in the mechbay. 
It does strike me as amusing that we as warriors are the most comfortable in our cockpits, when we know we will almost certainly die in them, she thought. At least we are familiar with our coffins. 
Though it was a short distance and the Summoners heat sinks would easily keep her cool without weapons firing, Judea unzipped her jumpsuit and slid it down and over her boots. Folding it neatly, she tucked it behind the command couch. There was no need for an actual cooling vest. Cooling shorts and a sports bra would suffice.
As she brought the omnimech online, Judea watched the activity in the mechbay through her transpex view ports. She was looking toward the bay doors when a bit of commotion began there. Several techs hurriedly moved aside and Anike turned her attention away from the work being done to call a greeting as Cade MacKenzie strode through the doors. 
Cade stopped long enough to consult with a team of techs then headed for his Summoner. He handed his leather jacket and shemag off to a tech then began his climb. 
Grinning, Judea set her comm to tight beam a message to his ride, knowing as soon as he came online his comm panel would inform him of an incoming message.
Sure enough, as her sensors read the spike of heat from Cade's reactor, he replied.
"Alshain Six here, go ahead."
"Good morning, Cade," Judea said, watching his mech begin to march forward from its gantry. 
"Hello, Judea," he replied, turning the torso of his ride to face her. "Loading up your ride, Quiaff?"
"Aff and neg," Judea answered. "I will load up shortly...but it will be some time before we can get groundside again. I was going to take a few circuits around the drop port."
Cade chuckled openly over the comm.
"I will give you one better," he said. "Care to join me on an impromptu patrol?"
Judea maneuvered her Summoner to take up station of his left side.
"I would be honored, Star Colonel," she said. "Though we must be exercise caution."
A trace of confusion tinted Cade's voice.
"Caution?"
"Aff," she replied. "A pair of Summoners traveling together? People will think the Jade Falcons are invading."
This time Cade's laughter boomed over the comm. 
"True, Star Commander," he said. "Let us see how many we can terrify."

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion


Alshain Orbital Stardock A3
Alshain
Rasalhague Dominion
9 June 3094

In the shipyard above Alshain, several dropships sat in slips and dock facilities. Some were “wrapped”, held in areas that could be flooded with oxygen so that work could be done on the outer hull without bulky spacesuits. Others were merely docked, with tube-like structures hutting out from their hulls.

In one area of the docks, two vessels with close ties happened to be docked together. The Carrier-class Dropship Hartford and the Titan-class Dropship Traveller. To anyone else the ships were just two fighter carriers, but to Star Captain Tashira, one was her home and the other felt like returning home.

Those were her thoughts as the smallish Clan pilot-turned-dropship captain made her way through the zero-G dock. Although she wore gravity boots she found coasting faster, occasionally tugging on a rail and simply flying down the long line of the spacedock’s interior. She eventually reached a section that was busier. With workers and crewmen and pilots coming through, making no clear path to coast through, so she gripped the rail and slowly increased her grip, using the friction to bring her to a halt. Then she planted her feet and activated the gravity boots. 

She was close to her destination anyway.

As Tashira stepped aboard the Traveller, she found it surprisingly alien now. She had spent two years of her life aboard this vessel as her executive officer. But now it seemed a distant memory, a former home. Maybe it was because it was HER ship but the Hartford just elicited those feelings now.

Making her way through familiar passages, she was stopped once by a marine guard who asked to see her codex. Beyond that was the ship’s bridge and cockpit.

That place felt no different, but a woman there felt very familiar. Star Captain Victoria Chand was having a conversation with her chief engineer but spun as Tashira entered. Her face, a mix of Terran Asian features, smiled broadly. 

Tashira almost saluted, a force of habit. Finally freeing her arms she settled on a parade-rest position.

“Permission to come aboard Star Captain?” She said, her voice serious but her eyes joyful.

There was a frenzy of talking, like two old friends exchanging pleasantries before the two Star Captains left the bridge and headed to Victoria Chand’s quarters. Once they were inside, Victoria Chand started digging around a refrigerator in which everything was sealed or latched to keep items from floating away. She appeared with a couple of cans with straw-tops for sipping. 

A can came floating her way and Tashira grabbed it with her prosthetic arm. She smiled as she studied the label. 

“You have not changed, “Tashira said. “Strawberry lemonade, they should just make it official and hook up an IV. I was on this ship two years and I only ever saw you drink this and water.”

“And I could have done without the water,” Victoria smiled. “It is really good to see you Tashira.”

That familiar smile made Tashira feel right at home. When she had first stepped aboard the Traveller, she was practically fresh out of the naval academy, with just a tour of duty aboard a jumpship under her belt. Her post as executive officer had been how the Star Admirals had prepared her for command of her own vessel. Victoria Chand had been a surprisingly warm and friendly mentor. Tashira had learned a lot from her and even when she was promoted and moved on, Tashira had kept in touch. But rarely had they had the good fortune of both their ships being at the same place at the same time. 

“You are a lot better with that arm,” Victoria said nodding at the prosthetic. “I still remember how frustrated you used to get with that thing sometimes, but the way you caught that can was very natural.”

“The therapy has come a long way,” Tashira replied sparing a glance at those metal fingers. “It does not slow me down as much.”

“You know I heard about you, and your ship,” Victoria said. “After the Orestes rebellion, the story got out, how you stole your ship back and made a full power launch to escape, transit drive and all, I was thrilled, and proud, you were the talk of the fleet for a month.”

“It was exciting,” Tashira replied. “I hope I never have to try that again. In any case I still hear about the famous Traveller from time to time.”

Calling the ship famous was a stretch but also a compliment. The Traveller had a long history. She was of several Titan-class vessels named by Clan Hell’s Horses for famous war horses and the mounts of famous generals. Traveller’s inspiration went all the way back to the 1800’s, a civil war on Terra’s American continent and the mount of a famous rebel general. The ship itself had been captured in the same fight for Tokasha Mechworks that killed the famous Khan Kilbourne Jorgennson. After the Khan was killed was rallying his warriors, the enraged Bears smashed the Horses. The Traveller was stranded in-system at the end of the battle and taken as Isorla by the Bears. Ever since the ship, so connected with those historic events, had held a prestigious place in a fleet that possessed enough sentimentality to care about such things. 

Star Captain Victoria Chand was well-suited to command such a vessel. A very successful career as a pilot, and aspirations for naval command. The only thing inhibiting her was a lack of further ambition. Which sounds like a terrible thing but what Tashira always envied about Victoria was that she seemed content. Far more content than any warrior she had ever met. She was not racing to earn some next achievement. Nor lamenting failures or bad luck. She was content and she was happy. Tashira could easily imagine her as a Star Commodore, the next rung up the ladder, commanding a dropship star or a jumpship. But at some point the hard-charging Victoria Chang, after years of fighting and earning a bloodname and earning a prestigious command, had simply throttled back. 

That did not stop Tashira from having her own ambitions. A frequent topic of conversation. 

“I have been spending some time in the simulators,” Tashira stated. 

Victoria was moving around the cabin, putting few binders away and clearing a chair. She spoke as she found a seat.

“You still intend to go through with your plan then?” Victoria asked. “You wish to earn a bloodname?”

“Like every Trueborn warrior,” Tashira said. “Remember I volunteered for naval duty, I was not forced into it, I retain rights to a cockpit.”

Tashira could see the frustration and sadness well up in Victoria’s eyes, but she didn’t say a sour word about it. She had made her thoughts known to Tashira long ago. She was unlikely to get a nomination at this point, even if she did, the problems she was having with the prosthetic were always going to be there to some extent. Catching and holding items was one thing, handling the controls of an aerospace fighter in combat were another. To Victoria’s thinking, she should just accept what happened to her and be grateful that she landed on her feet. A dropship captain was a valuable commodity. She was not going to end up on the solahma heap anytime soon. It was true that a bloodname was still important for many reasons, but some of those reasons had become less important for Tashira. As a warrior of a minor and shared bloodname house, as a warrior born of Clan Diamond Shark, her chances of higher rank or a prestigious posting to something like a warship was extremely unlikely. 

Nor was she likely to be reassigned back to being a fighter pilot. She had volunteered for the naval academy, she had undergone years of training and preparation to join the naval arm. They weren’t going to put her back in command of a fighter trinary in a Cluster. 

The truth was, bloodname or not, command of the Hartford, or a vessel just like her, really was shaping up to the apex of Tashira’s career. That was probably the evaluation of everyone else, friend or not, and it was hard to refute it.

But Tashira was not ready to accept that. The one thing she could do to force the Clan to reevaluate her potential was to earn a Bloodname. To her mind she had to try. Her entire life she had always had a goal, a next step. It kept her focused, it gave her an outlet for her energy and drive. Maybe she needed it.

“I am not like you,” Tashira finally said, in the hopes of clearing the air. “I have always admired how you feel like you have found your place in the universe, but I want more, always have, probably always will.”

Victoria smiled again, that friendly smile, this time free of concern or worry.

“I know, it is how they train us to feel since the sibko, quaiff?” Victoria said. 

“Aff”

Victoria visibly changed the subject, and sat back to a more casual slouch posture.

“The whole shipyard is talking about this mission to Santander,” Victoria stated. “Bringing civilization to a rock with pirates and assassins, that could be exciting.”

“More exciting on the surface I imagine,” Tashira said. “All the dropships coming in will mean convoys, will mean escort duty.”

“Still,” Victoria said sipping her straw. “The Traveller is getting an electronics refit and then we are bound for yet another jump point patrol, this time over Orestes. The Trinary saw no action at all on our last patrol, they are hoping that there will be another rebellion so they can see some action.”

“You still hauling around the 145th Fighter Trinary?” Tashira asked. 

“Aff, the Star Rippers,” Victoria said. “Strange bunch of second-line veterans and sibkin nuggets. They are very green, we will have to train them up.”

“Have they at least replaced some of the old airframes?” Tashira asked. “I still remember that Gotha held together with duct tape.”

They both laughed with that flood of memories.

“Aff, Gotha-the-flying-Dodo finally went away, the techs just could not rate her flightworthy anymore, “ Victoria said. “Believe me they tried and the Star Admiral almost overruled them, but in the end it was settled. They took off four of our oldest airframes, you remember, those birds that make the Traveller look like a newborn cub, they gave us two Hydraspes and two of the oldest Visigoths I have ever seen.”

“Omnis?” Tashira was surprised at that. 

“Aff, the pilots are going bonkers, “Victoria said, pulling out a little Spheroid slang she had learned over the years. “You know all the senior officers are flying Omnis, and their point-mates but that’s it. So now I have these two Visigoths aboard and the pilots are constantly declaring Trials of Possession over who gets to fly them, it’s our newest fixation…and a big source of entertainment for the rest of us.”

They both laughed again. 

The conversation continued for a while. Tashira told Victoria about the incursion into Lyran space and how the Hartford swooped into battle to stop the LAAF fighter wing from taking out the jumpships. Victoria shared a more comedic tale over a smuggler who tried to escape Alshain with a caged Ghost Bear, and how it escaped and trashed the ship, and was still running loose when a suspicious Traveller intercepted and boarded it.

Time sailed past for both of them and Tashira was only brought back to the present when the communicator on her hip chimed a reminder at her.

They both left the quarters, tossing their strawberry lemonade cans into the sealed trash container. Then walked to the airlock. Tashira hated to leave this time, but a lingering thought made her push sentimentality aside. Aside from catching up with trothkin, her trip had a purpose, a questions he had wanted to ask for a while.

“You have been my mentor for a long time, if I do secure a place in a Trial of Bloodright, “Tashira said. “I want you there, advisor, trainer, take your pick, you will come with me quaiff?”

It felt a little like a trap. It gave Victoria little opening to say neg. But if she wanted to, she did not show it.

“Aff, of course I would be there,” She answered politely and firmly with that warm smile.

With that confirmation in hand, one more piece of her master plan in place, Star Captain Tashira left the ship and returned to the Hartford.


Star Captain Benjamin Noruff
82nd Elemental Support Binary
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)


Aletha's Legacy
Nadir Jump Point, Predlitz System
Rasalhague Dominion 
3 July 3094

Cade set aside the noteputer and rubbed his eyes. The monotony of space travel was getting to him. He longed to leave the ship...so much so he was actually looking forward to arriving on Santander.
I must be past saving if I'm excited to go there. 
"Bear Kroner for your thoughts?"
Cade glanced up to find Judea leaning against the hatch frame, watching him.
"I doubt they would be worth that much," Cade smirked. "They are too disorganized to be of value."
Judea stepped inside the tiny stateroom that served as Cade's office aboard. 
"Any particular topic you are fighting with?"
Cade sighed. 
"How to convince our friends in the 14th that this mission is important," he said. 
Judea shook her head.
"Some things cannot be changed," she replied. "Aside from Marin, the 14th Battle Cluster are almost entirely hardline Crusaders. They have not supported this proposal from day one. They would rather leave Santander to rot and good riddance."
"Aff," Cade agreed. "Dietrich Forrester said as much to me a few days ago."
Judea crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her braids behind her shoulders. 
"I am curious, Cade," her brow furrowed. "Why are you so concerned with this mission? You are always devoted to your tasks but this is more. This seems almost to be obsession. You have reviewed and studied every report of the world and every aspect of the projects. You have met with laborers, scientists and technicians to see to their requirements and understand their assignments...and you have encouraged us to do the same. Why?"
Cade let a half smile play across his face. 
"I think you already know," he said. 
"Maybe you give me more credit than you should," Judea replied. 
In response, Cade picked up the noteputer and tossed it to her. A touch to its screen brought up what he had been reading. Matching Cade's grin with one of her own, Judea looked back to him.
"The Shining Example Doctrine," she said. "You see this mission as an opportunity to put it into practice."
"Aff," Cade replied. "Constructing this water facility and building up the infrastructure on Santander is exactly what we need to do to be that example. We gain little here, militarily or economically. But it is still the right thing to do for our people, even if they may be hostile to us at first."
Judea nodded in understanding.
"And from all reports, there WILL be hostile reactions," she said. 
"Aff," Cade agreed. "We will have to temper our responses. Raids will happen, but if we retaliate with overwhelming force, we isolate others from accepting our assistance."
Judea handed the noteputer back.
"Yet overwhelming force is what the 14th is known for," she pointed out. "Marin will have his hands full keeping them in line."
"He always does," Cade said. "His warriors are firebrands, but they respect him." 
Judea shrugged. 
"Aff," she said. "But this assignment will test them. They are not known for patience...and this mission needs it."
Again Cade nodded. 
"I have been working on putting together a series of joint exercises between our units," he explained. "It'll serve to keep the 14th busy and our warriors sharp."
"Exploiting the rivalry we have with the Crusaders as a distraction," Judea smirked. "And the projection of force these exercises show off may cow some of the surrounding districts into falling in line."
"That had occurred to me as well," Cade said. 
Judea nodded, her braids rustling across her back as she did. She glanced at her wrist chrono. 
"You have given this enough to thought for now," she said. "You are a shining example to no one while mentally exhausted. Come get dinner with me and come back to this in the morning."
Sighing, Cade nodded wearily. 
"You are right," he replied. "Out in the black, we have nothing but time..."

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion


Daylam Rail Line Construction Site
Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion
10 August, 3093

Star Captain Benjamin Noruff had always tried to respect the “lower castes” as he was raised to think of them. He even had a better perspective on this than most warriors from his time living with them together as stranded survivors on New Homer. But the situation in front of him generated more than a professional courtesy or even a grudging respect, it was closer to genuine admiration.

Spread out before him the engineers and laborers were building the tracks for a railroad, slicing through the desert expanse that spun out in every direction as far as the eye could see. The sky was a bright vivid blue and the sun beat down on them. Occasionally a gust of hot wind would kick up, throwing sand in eyes and in any orifice it could find. Even after just an hour on the hot sand, Benjamin felt like he was be cleaning it out of his shoes and every pore in his body for the rest of his life. 

The admiration came from the heavy work the laborers and engineers were doing in spite of the heat. Trucks and heavy loaders were clearing a flat path. Rollers were packing down loose soil. Engineers were charting the track path and sticking flags in the ground to mark things. 

They laid track as they went, behind them was a massive train hauling all the tools, fuel and equipment they needed. The train included a couple cars that served as mobile housing for all the people involved. Santander’s capital colony (Benjamin struggled to call it a capital city) was beyond the horizon behind them. Their destination, the underground lake and the second colony, pumping station and pipeline being built there, was ahead of them beyond the horizon. 

The workers toiled in the dry heat of the desert. All that could be done to make it easier was done. Shelters were put up against the train. Places that were shaded and a touch cooler. Possible heat victims were promptly relieved and moved into the air conditioned living car of the train where they were treated by the physicians assigned to the train. Water was handed out cases at a time and every worker was required to drink every hour. Even then there were heat casualties already. Men and women who, for some unknown reason, were just more susceptible to the heat, and were sent back to Daylam. 

For the warriors of Hector Star, the heat was still a factor but they didn’t have to work as much. Dressed in field uniforms, wearing combat helmets and carrying Mauser IICs, their job was security. They guarded the train and the workers, and accompanied the engineers who sometimes ventured ahead. Even then, the heat was tough, and Benjamin had shifted his warriors from 8 hour shifts to 3 hour shifts. The change in rotation saw an instant improvement in performance as well as morale. Even a few hours relief in the shade or the air-conditioned train was enough to buoy spirits and ward away the early signs of dehydration and other heat-related problems.

Standing close to the train, Benjamin was pondering this when one of his warriors, Charlotte, stepped up to him.

“Star Captain, you wanted to see me quaiff?” Charlotte said as she approached, her face shadowed beneath her helmet and visor. 

“Aff,” Benjamin replied. “I just thought of something, have the off-duty Point Commanders check the night vision gear, I am sure we depleted the batteries last night and I want to make sure…”

Benjamin’s words cut out as he heard a strange new sound off to his left. He looked in that direction and saw some dust in the air that wasn’t very consistent with the view in any other direction.

The air was humming and roaring already with the sound of construction equipment, but he had become pretty attuned to those sounds, but what he was hearing now was new and distant.

Charlotte’s head and eyes followed her commanding officer’s.

“Do we have a party out that way?” She asked thoughtfully, clearly seeing the same thing.

“Neg, “Benjamin replied. “Did topographical call in any sandstorm activity?”

“Neg, clear skies for 100 kilometers at least,” Charlotte replied. 

The sounds were getting louder, still distant, but they seemed to be closing.

Benjamin reached into field uniform’s webbing, and hit a small button that was connected to the communication set beneath his helmet.

“Hector Star, this Hector Actual, go to Alert Two, repeat, go to Alert 2.”

The order sent the warriors scrambling. The already on-duty patrols were visibly scanning the horizon more aggressively and some warriors were flipping safeties off their weapons. The off-duty warriors in the train were scrambling to gear up.

Alert Two meant that the work crews weren’t being locked down. They continued to work. Benjamin was not prepared to take that step until there was a confirmed threat. 

It did not take long for that additional step to appear. Just a couple minutes later, a couple vehicles that looked like dune buggies appeared over the rise, followed by several four-legged large animals with riders on their backs. 

“Hector Star go Alert 1,” Benjamin ordered unslunging his Mauser IIC and quickly reporting what he was seeing.

The workers were now being told to take cover. Construction vehicles stopped moving and supervisors were waving their people to get into the train or to get prone. A few were scrambling into a recently cut ditch by the track. Just a heartbeat later a pair of warriors closest to the threat were reporting more details. 

“I have five light vehicles, and six horses, make that 8 horses, weapons visible, repeat, small arms visible…..”

One of Benjamin’s warriors fired first. A warning shot from a Mauser IIC went into the air, followed by a second. 

The new arrivals responded by trying to wheel around the warriors, yet still clearly trying to get at the train. 

Benjamin brought his Mauser IIC up and took aim at the closest vehicle. His was no warning shot, he pressed the trigger and a laser beam lanced out, striking the vehicle’s internal combustion engine. It didn’t seem to stop the vehicle, but the shot did cause the driver to begin a sharp turn as the man seated next to him raised a submachine gun and began to spray in Benjamin’s general direction.

In mostly blind luck, one of the first bullets fired actually struck Benjamin, glancing off his helmet. He wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t even stunned. It got his adrenaline pumping though, that heart-pounding rush of combat dropped over him like an injection.

The next few seconds were a blur. The dune buggies zig zag and many of them stopped on both sides of the train. Between 2 and 6 men got out of each. All dressed in desert garb, most wore simple goggles and brimmed caps. All were armed with rifles and sub-machine guns. They did not look like a formal military force, they looked the part of bandits.

They made no attempt to negotiate or talk, they simply shot at everything that moved. It was simple and it was violent. They moved fast, firing and occasionally throwing grenades or something comparable.

The men on horseback rode right through the construction site, shooting pistols at anything and everything. Some of them were screaming war cries and whooping and shouting in various languages. 

Benjamin took aim at one of the riders who was perilously close to an exposed worker still trying to get out of the cab of his dozer. He fired, and the rider’s arm was practically burned off. He fell screaming off his horse.

Some of the off-duty warriors went scrambling out of the train right into the firefight. There was no time for them to get organized, a couple of them simply hit the sand and started shooting one step out the door. One unlucky warrior stepped out of the door right into the path of a submachine gun round in his calf. He practically ignored it, hitting the sand and shooting a pistol angrily. 

More dune buggies appeared as well as more attackers on horseback. They all rode in hard and fast, shooting like wildmen and dispersing amongst and around the train and the construction site. Some of them dismounted and went for cover. Others stayed mobile, spinning around the sand and shooting. By Benjamin’s own count, his 25 warriors were now outnumbered. Not by much and certainly not in firepower, but there were a lot of question marks here about who the enemy was and what they wanted.

He told his Point Commanders to get their warriors organized and defend the site, while Benjamin marched back to the train and climbed inside the train car that was being used by his warriors. He passed the mostly-empty gun racks, and bunks and showers, and barely noticed the sweet cool air-conditioned air. He made his way to the desk with the radio in the back.

“Daylam Central this is Hector Actual with Work Party, come in,” he said into the radio.

A female voice acknowledged him.

“Daylam Central, Work Party is under attack, I repeat we are under attack by a hostile force of motorized infantry, they look like bandits, I count at least 30 hostiles, requesting the Quick Reaction Force at our location.”

There was a few questions and then confirmation. Help was on the way. 

Benjamin got off the radio and headed back out. The entire time he had been on the radio he had continued to hear a firefight just outside.

When he got back out there, he could see that the situation had deteriorated a bit. One dozer was on fire, from what he didn’t know. A couple dune buggies were also burning and one was flipped over. 

The smoke and fires seemed to be doing more to panic the workers than the shooting. Some of them were abandoning their cover and scrambling for the train. Big and metal, it seemed safer to them, like a bunker. But Benjamin found himself shouting at them to get down. Running in a straight line through a firefight was just a good way to get killed. For a moment Benjamin’s eyes focused on a group of 3 workers running together. His warrior-brain thought “easy targets” and he expected to see them get mowed down right before his eyes before he could do anything to prevent it. By luck or a deity or the bandits just not caring that much, they made it to the train and scrambled inside.

The train itself was under attack. A machine gun carried by a bandit riding in the back of a dune buggy was spraying the windows and doors. One of the warriors used the Mauser IIC’s grenade launcher to fire a grenade at him. It missed, but some of the shrapnel must have hit him because he went down screaming in pain and the machine gun’s long bursts stopped.

One of the riders on horseback went flying past Benjamin in a blur, he was holding something in his hand and threw it at the train. The bottle exploded into a fiery flame that engulfed part of one of the cars. He was bringing his horse around in a quick turn and reaching into his bag for another bottle as he came riding back in Benjamin’s direction.

Benjamin ran at the horseman, and as he got closer, Benjamin thrust his Mauser IIC up. The vibroblade bayonet caught the rider in the armpit, and knocked him off. The Mauser IIC was practically pulled from Benjamin’s hands as the attacker fell with a thump onto the dry sand. 

The attacker was still alive, sputtering curses in what sounded like accented Swedanese. Benjamin punched him in the face and knocked him out. He wanted at least one prisoner and this man was good enough.

When he looked up, he noticed for the first time that they were being robbed. Farther down the train’s rear cars, a couple dune buggies with truck-like backs to them were being loaded up. Two of the train’s cargo cars were open, and bandits were tossing containers and packages from the train into the truck-like buggies. Benjamin’s temper fumed as he realized what was really going on.

The attack on the workers was just a diversion…

In an instant he was on the radio communicating that fact to his warriors and shifting their focus. Those near the train were on their feet and headed for the robbers. One of the bandits off-loading the train’s valuable cargo was shot and fell into the space between the train and the dune buggy. His comrades quickly tossed him into the back of the vehicle before climbing in themselves and spraying pistol shots at the Clan warriors as the vehicle drivers got them moving out of the reach of the charging Clansmen.

Now the attackers were running. With the robbery over, the horsemen and the attacking dune buggies turned and were racing off in seemingly every direction. Many of them fired a few more shots into the air, or lobbed a final Molotov cocktail or grenade for good measure. The explosions and gunshots kicked up more sand and kept most of the warriors’ heads down for a few more precious seconds, enough time for the attackers to put a little distance between themselves and the Clan warriors. The targets soon seemed distant among the sand and haze of the flames and smoke of a dozen small fires. 

It was over. The sound of Mauser IICs shooting sputtered and stopped as the warriors attempted a few sniping shots and then began reloading the power packs in their weapons. A strange quiet settled over the battlefield. Only the generators on the train hummed away, everything else was quiet for several long seconds.

Benjamin found high ground and kept looking in every direction. The attackers had headed off in every compass direction but that didn’t mean that’s where they were actually going. They had scattered, but he wanted to see if they were linking up and heading off in a specific direction. But unfortunately he couldn’t. They kept going until the mirage-like haze of the horizon concealed them. 

“Surats,” he muttered angrily. 

Soon the workers reappeared from every crevice. Some had found shelter beneath their vehicles. Some had rolled under the train. Others appeared from the ditch. Some held heavy tools like weapons and were now studying the sand dunes with fearful and wary eyes. 

“Put out that fire!” came a shout from a worker. The first real directive from an older worker to several young men and women sent several of them scrambling to put out the fire that was spreading across one of the train cars. Other small fires were also quickly extinguished, many by simply jumping in a earth mover and smothering the fire with sand.

The worst of the fires was a bulldozer. Burning from a fire ignited by something shoved in its gas tank. There was no easy way to extinguish it, and the oils in its engine were too much of an explosive hazard. The workers backed off and let it burn. Their limited fire extinguishing equipment was inadequate to the task. There was no firefighting team with them. The best they could do was let it mostly burn out, and then pour sand on what was left to finally starve the flames. 

Within minutes, a collection of reinforcements from Daylam began to show up. OmniMechs from the Growling Bears were among them, but once they were present, they could do little more than stalk the desert. Some of the lighter ‘mechs began following the trails left by the dune buggies, while others stood like angry statues over the train, their mechwarriors scanning the horizon and their sensors for any sign of danger. Overhead, aerospace fighters appeared in pairs and began an aerial sweep and combat air patrol. 

The cavalry certainly made Benjamin feel better, and it gave the workers a newfound sense of security, but the damage was done. Within an hour they had taken stock of what had happened and Benjamin was standing in a semi-circle consulting with his warriors.

“Three warriors wounded, all minor wounds, all stable, one worker wounded, another has some burns, both will be evacuated,” Point Commander Edward reported. “One train car is unusable and that bulldozer is an obvious write-off.”

“What did they take?” Benjamin asked thoughtfully scratching a sandy eyelid. 

“The engineers are still checking inventory, but it looks like water, and some fuel drums and some random packages with other things, some mechanic parts, some lubricants, some batteries, a spare antenna,” Edward stated. “Total, a small percentage of what we got, and certainly not enough to stop operations, if that was their goal.”

“What was their goal?” Point Commander Tarth asked with obvious confusion. “At first I thought they were trying to wipe us out, or at least the work crew, but then it was a robbery that did not take very much, seems very ineffective, considering the vehicles they lost and the dozen or so casualties they took.”

“Not very valuable to us,” Benjamin interjected thoughtfully. “But a few cases of water could be a treasure to bandits on this world. It looks more like a robbery to me but I do not want to rule anything out.”

“What makes you think it was just a robbery?” Charlotte asked.

“I see a lot of bullet holes but if they wanted to knock out operations they could have done a lot more,” Benjamin replied. “They shot up the place but just enough to cause confusion and chaos, to make our heads spin, they had the opportunity to torch more of the construction vehicles and that would have really slowed down the project.”

“I thought they were just terrible shots,” Tarth retorted with a snort. “That they had to shoot the broadside of a train to hit anything.”

“That too,” Benjamin dared to smirk at that. “But the bottom line is that this has all the hallmarks of a bandit raid. We were told it might happen.”

“Did the quick reaction force at least get a lead on where they went sir?” Point Commander Edward asked.

“They are still looking, maybe they will find something, or maybe the prisoner we took will talk once the Watch gets ahold of him back in Daylam, until then, I know it is frustrating, but we just gotta push on, get the work crews working again, make them feel safe, pass on my compliments to your warriors, they did well today.”

With that the meeting broke up. Work would resume and their security over the workers would resume. The hot adrenaline rush of combat would be deflated and replaced by the monotony of the desert sun.


Star Captain Benjamin Noruff
82nd Elemental Support Binary
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)


Daylam, Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion
10 August 3094

	Pulling his shemagh tight against his face and adjusting a pair of dust goggles, Cade MacKenzie gazed out at the endless track of desert to the north as the jeep bounced along a ragged dirt road. Beside him in the open air vehicle, Star Colonel Marin Gurdel endured the dust and wind without the benefit of protection. His leathery skin seemed impervious to the discomfort and Cade found himself slightly envious of the older warriors impassivity. 
	Ahead, the small town of Daylam, charitably referred to as a city in briefings, rose out of the desert wastes. The collection of squat buildings would have been entirely beneath the notice of the senior officers if it had not been their destination. 
	A star of light battlemechs standing in a perfect row to the east of the settlement also drew notice. Rising out of the sands they easily towered over everything else in the endless, scorched landscape. 
	“Not an omnimech among them,” Marin noted as he took in the quintet of war machines. “This is the epitome of a backwater assignment. I would rather assault a world with nothing but a pistol and my mech shorts than accept a station here.”
	Cade nodded as he also studied the mechs.
	“I am certain those warriors would happily accept such a death if it meant leaving,” he agreed. 
	The nearest mech, an Incubus 3, turned its head to watch the convoy of vehicles crossing the desert. Behind Cade, a half dozen trucks and jeeps carried the initial teams of engineers and technicians to start the expansion of Daylam. A few warriors from both the Growling Bears and the Maulers were scattered among the lower castemen to hitch a ride into the town they were to help protect. 
	“I expect our Valdherre Gideon wants to give us a proper welcome,” Marin remarked. “He believes we expect to see his military preparedness.”
	“It is a political move,” Cade shrugged. “It is what he knows. He hopes to make a good impression with us and show he has everything in hand...especially if he does not. Also, keeping his mechs close discourages any raids from the wastelands. The settlements are far removed from one another and if no one will come to help if there is a raid here.”
	Marin nodded.
	“His power extends only to the reach of those mechs,” he noted wryly. 
	“Aff,” Cade agreed. “And that is the problem he has faced for a while. He has something to offer neighboring districts, protection. However, his force would be too spread thin if he actually committed them elsewhere.”
	The jeep rolled to a stop before the wind-pitted structure of the capital building. A simple two story structure, it hardly seemed up to the task of managing a massive construction project as the Dominion had in mind. 
	I’m sure one of the first projects will be the construction of a true governmental building to take over administration. Undoubtedly our Valdherre fears he will be replaced if he does not appear competent before two Star Colonels. That the Loremaster is not attending this first meeting may mean Gideon has cause for concern. 
	Crossing the short distance from the parking area to the front doors was enough for the heat to begin building up. Without the small comfort of the wind from the drive, the sun immediately became oppressive. Cade was grateful that he did not have far to go. 
	Stepping into the building, Cade pushed the shemagh back from his head and let the cloth hang loosely around his neck. Pulling off the dust goggles, he slid them casually up his arm. 
	Marin merely wiped some of the sweat and sand from his face, unperturbed by the light layer of dust that remained. 
	Valdherre Gideon looked decidedly uncomfortable in a tailored suit of deep blue and a silk tie with the Rasalhague Dominion crest printed across it. Still, as the warriors turned to him, he crossed the small foyer of the building and offered his hand, first to Marin then to Cade. 
	“Star Colonel Marin Gurdel, Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie,” he forced a pleasant smile. “It is an honor to have such respected warriors here in Daylam. Welcome to Santander Five.”
	Marin nodded the greeting. 
	“Thank you, Valdherre Gideon,” Cade replied. 
	“I am certain you have much to do, Star Colonels,” Gideon said, still all smiles. “But perhaps I can convince you to join me in an inspection of Daylam’s defense force? They are standing by for your review.”
	Marin shot Cade a look that said “I told you so.” 
	Cade gestured for the Valdherre to lead on. 
	“After you, Valdherre.”



	Gazing up at the star of mechs, Cade felt small. It was a familiar feeling from all the times he had walked among the avatars of warfare that he and his fellow warriors routinely rode into battle.
 	Despite the years surrounded by the war machines, looking up at five mechs towering over him still took his breath away. 
Even if they were mechs that would hardly have troubled his Summoner had he been in it. 
	Beside the Incubus 3, a Jenner IIC stood sporting a fresh coat of desert camouflage paint. The central machine, standing a couple meters ahead of the line to signify its place as the command mech, was a Bear Cub. Crimson slashes across its forearms and calves also stood to point out its station as star commander. 
	The fourth mech in line was an odd sight for a clan unit. An Inner Sphere built Mongoose was not often seen in the Touman of any clan. Despite the best efforts of the technicians, Cade could see clear indication that the mech was quite old though heavily updated. 
	Though such a machine would be decommissioned in most units, here on the frontiers a battlemech like this might just find use. It would not surprise me if it was isorla from bandits and could be hundreds of years old. 
	The last mech was also unusual for the Dominion, but for a different reason entirely. The Icestorm was definitely taken as Isorla at some point in the past, being as how the Dominion neither built nor traded for the outdated design. An extremely fast Clan Ice Hellion machine, it was not well regarded by most Dominion warriors. 
	Before the odd quintet of machines, their warriors stood at attention in full combat gear. 	Despite the wind blowing grit and dust across the weathered tarmac, the three men and two women in mech shorts, boots and cooling vests showed no notice. 
	Cade took his time looking over each of the machines. Behind each stood the team of technicians responsible for the upkeep of each mech. 
	After inspecting each machine, he gave a slight nod of approval to the techs. Stopping before the Mongoose, he studied the venerable machine at great length. 
	This mech may date from the star league itself. That they have maintained it and kept it in as good a condition as they have speaks well of the team here. 
	He nodded again, offering a slight smile of approval to the technicians. He noted silently that they stood a bit taller after his display but he turned his attention now to the warriors. 
	Stepping to the man in the center, Cade glanced at the nametag on his cooling vest. He carried himself proudly, despite the backwoods assignment he had been given. Well-muscled and hardened from time in the desert, he looked the part of a backwater commander who had seen more than a few scrapes. 
	“Star Commander Orson,” he said. “Your star is in fine shape.”
	“Thank you, Star Colonel,” Orson replied. 
	“How long have you been assigned to Daylam?”
	“Nineteen months, sir,” Orson said. 
	“That is quite a billet,” Cade said. “What sort of operations do you conduct here?”
	Orson remained impassive as he spoke, gazing past Cade and out into the wastelands. 
	“Reconnaissance, defense of the town and occasionally SAR missions, sir,” he replied. 
	“SAR?”
	“Yes sir,” Orson answered. “If a raid hits nearby settlements or sandstorms are particularly bad, we help getting medical help to the area.”
	Cade directed his attention to the mechs above. 
	“How far out do these operations take you?”
	“No more than fifty kilometers, sir,” the Star Commander’s voice betrayed a hint of frustration. 
	“How many settlements are within that range?”
	“Only three, sir,” Orson said. 
	“Why do you not push beyond that range? Your mechs could easily get considerably further into the wastes in no time.”
	“Aff, Star Colonel,” Orson agreed. “That is true. But if we venture to far from Daylam we leave it open to raids. There are too many in the area who would take full advantage of the vulnerability here to strike at the store houses or clinic.”
	“I see,” Cade replied, turning to Gideon. “Valdherre Gideon, I have seen no reports of raids in the area. Are these common occurrences?”
	Gideon affected a pained look. 
	“Not common, Star Colonel Cade,” he replied slowly. “Though not uncommon either.”
	Cade looked back to the mechs. 
	“Star Commander Orson, are these the same mechs you have had for the past nineteen months?”
	“Neg, Star Colonel,” the young officer replied. “There was a second Bear Cub, but it was badly damaged in combat. The Mongoose was captured in the same fight.”
	Cade again glanced at the badly worn machine. He shifted his attention to the techs standing by it. 
	“Is this machine fully repaired and ready for action?”
	“Aff, sir,” the lead technician replied. 
	“And what repairs were necessary to make it battleworthy?”
	“The center and right torso were badly damaged and required considerable armor and internal structure replacement,” the tech rattled off. “Fortunately, the engine was left undamaged. 	We replaced its standard complement of lasers with more efficient Extended Range versions and updated the targeting and communications systems accordingly.”
	Cade nodded, following the man’s explanation. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as the tech finished. 
	“Heat sinks?”
	The tech shook his head. 
	“It is a MON-67 model mech,” he replied. “The engine is not outfitted with double strength heat sinks and it is not possible to modify it without nearly rebuilding the mech from the ground up.”
	“So it is armed with three lasers, each of which alone uses seventy percent of its cooling potential,” Cade stated.
	The tech nodded slowly and Cade looked to the warrior before the machine.
	“Your name, mechwarrior?”
	“Jasen,” the man replied, standing taller. 
	Despite the hard look of the warrior’s physic, Cade noted he lacked the bulk of many warriors. He was slim, toned and undoubtedly strong but not with the mass he associated with Ghost Bear warriors. His brown hair was trimmed on the sides and back of his head though he wore a short ponytail from the longer hair on his scalp. 
	“You are a Freeborn warrior?” Cade asked. 
	“Aff,” Jasen replied firmly. There was no challenge in his voice but there was pride. 
	“And how many times have you piloted this mech in battle in its current configuration?”
	“Four engagements, Star Colonel,” Jasen said. 
	“You are fighting a machine with an intense heat curve in the desert,” Cade remarked. 	“That is impressive. How do you manage it?”
	A subtle smile cracked Jasen’s features. 
	“I am patient,” he replied. 
	“Explain.”
	Jasen turned his attention to the Mongoose. 
	“My ride is often faster than my opponents,” he explained. “I use that mobility to run up my opponents heat scale, dodging and staying at the edge of range. I frustrate them into firing repeatedly. As they slow, I fire, usually two lasers. The heat is uncomfortable but it’s survivable. I then start running again until the heat slacks off and I can do it all over again.”
	“That is not an optimal situation,” Cade commented wryly. 
	“It’s what it is, Star Colonel,” Jasen replied. “And battles are rarely fought in optimal circumstances. I would prefer not to have to use such tactics, but we have to make use of what we’ve got, quiaff?”
	Cade noticed the stiffening of Gideon at Jasen’s contractions. He also noted the dark gaze Orson shot his subordinate for speaking so frankly. 
	A smile creased Cade’s features as well. 
	“Aff, Jasen,” he replied. “That’s true.”
	Cade turned to Orson. 
	“Star Commander, I request this warrior be detached from his usual duties tomorrow to show my recon stars the local area.”
	Orson nodded curtly though Gideon’s jaw dropped at the request. He did his best to hide his reaction but he was not fast enough to avoid notice by Cade and Marin. 
	“You have done well with what you have here, Star Commander Orson,” Cade said loudly for the benefit of the assembled warriors and technicians. “Continue the good work.”
	As he turned, Cade gave a nod to the Valdherre. The man looked as though he was about to say something, but he caught Cade’s signal that the inspection was over as he headed back toward the office. Marin joined him. 
	“You did much to buck up morale here, if nothing else,” Marin remarked as they moved out of earshot. “Though why not let them choose which warrior to assist your scouts?”
	“Because Orson was looking to make a good impression,” Cade replied. “And he did. But that was his motivation. Jasen’s is not trying to prove anything. He can be trusted to show us the truth, not the best light on a situation.” 


Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion



Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion 
10 August 3094

The sound of someone vomiting outside brought Alejandro to a state of consciousness he could charitably call "awake". Groaning, he rubbed his pounding head, ignoring the stink of sweat that permeated his room despite the open windows. Already it felt like an oven inside.

Then again, living in the desert has that effect. 

He pushed his bulk into a sitting position as his thoughts slowly cleared. Belatedly he felt the presence of someone else in his bed. Turning, he looked over the nude forms of two women, a slender blonde and a deeply tanned black haired beauty. They were intertwined on the far side of the bed. Though both would have been considered beautiful women they were filthy. The blondes hair was starting to dread from sweat and there was dirt and grime under her nails. 

Time to send this one back to the slave pens, Alejandro thought. I was getting bored with her anyway. 

He realized through the haze of his hangover that the black haired woman had an eye open, watching him warily, fearfully. 

"You on the other hand," he whispered. "You I won't get tired of for a long time. Don't you worry about that."

Alejandro gave her a wink and saw her pull back in terror and revulsion. 

Chuckling to himself, the old Mechwarrior swung his legs out of bed. Still nude, he walked to the window overlooking his compound. Calling it a window was also charitable. The structure was mostly corrugated metal and plastic. It was several prefab structures all built together haphazardly. His windows were just holes cut in the metal walls to give him a view of the box canyon that made up the compound. 

Below, several slaves and a couple techs worked, trying to build a new shack for someone. Beside the new building, Torn, one of Alejandro's lieutenants, vomited again. 

Heh. Some people can't hold their tequila. 

A knock at the doorway sounded like autocannon rounds to his pounding head. Before he could reply, the curtain that served as his door was swung aside and Moira strode in. 

Clad in tall leather boots the color of fresh blood, black tights that left nothing to the imagination and a navy blue tank top, she was an image right from some of Alejandro's kinkier dreams. Long dark hair with a purple streak down one side only added to the image. The scars across her forearms and heavy pistol riding in a low sling holster on Moira's hips did put a dent in it though. 

"I didn't say come in," Alejandro coughed. 

"I don't recall asking," she replied. "Though if you want to find something to hide your shortcomings with, I understand."

"Ha! You think you're funny, Moira," he spat. "I'd be happy to show you a time you'll never forget."

"Save it for your whores," Moira shook her head. "If you're done screwing slave girls, there's something you should see at base."

Alejandro sighed, gazing out to the "command center", another shack on the opposite side of the small canyon. 

"I'm in no mood for dramatics," he said. "What is it?"

Moira shrugged, crossing her arms. 

"Fleet of dropships coming down on the northeast horizon," she said. "A dozen at least."

Alejandro was no longer groggy. 

"A dozen?"

"A dozen," Moira repeated. "Too far to tell, but I'd bet some are military."

A sense of dread passed through him. 

"Think the Bears are finally searching for us?"

"Could be," she replied. "Though seems far away to be after us."

"We need to know," Alejandro said, again looking out. "Get some of the others together and see if that idiot York can get the hovercraft working. Tell him we're shooting him if he doesn't."

"Will do," she paused as she turned to go. "Now for Gods sake put some clothes on your fat ass."

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion


Dessewffy Settlement
Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion
12 August 3094

The night air was so much cooler it qualified as cold. That was one thing Baross Somogyi never quite got used to on a desert world like Santander. Sitting in one of the settlement’s houses on furniture better suited to a temperate environment, he actually felt a chill and wish he had brought a jacket.

Baross didn’t like to show weakness, not around these people. The little settlement of Dessewffy had been kind to Baross and the rest of his crew. But they were still business partners, and mostly just that. The fact that they had gotten drunk together a few times. The fact that he had met their children and socialized. That edge of competitiveness, of business of each other still being a threat, never really evaporated. 

Baross’s thoughts were interrupted as his host returned. As always, Baross was struck by the unique blend of physical features that was Andrei Brown. For such a plain-sounding English name was backed by an interesting array of features. He was a big man, tall and thick, with a fat nose but a dark complexion. Baross was always left with the impression that he was part Mongolian, part everything else. Andrei was the Dessewffy’s leader and Baross respected him a great deal. There was a little fear in there, Dessewffy could be a rough place. The little desert community had its own system of right and wrong and those in the wrong were treated in ways that people back in the Inner Sphere would consider barbaric at best. But living on the fine edge between surviving and dying, there was no room for mistakes.

Perhaps that shared mentality was why their little arrangement had worked for so long.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, “Andrei said as his big frame casually plopped into a chair that was clearly designed for a much nicer mansion or noble’s home. 

Baross smiled politely.

“It’s no problem, I was just thinking you have a nice home,” Baross said. 

Andrei sort of grunted in reply. But Baross knew that was his way of saying “your kind but I don’t believe you.” Negotiating with the old man for so long, Baross had picked up on many of his more nuanced cues. 

“So,” Baross continued. “As I was saying, we picked up mechanical parts on that last run, I know parts for machines you don’t have is not normally valued very much, but I think you may be surprised….”

Andrei raised a hand and strangely shifted in his chair. Both reactions that zeroed Baross out and he found himself just staring.

Andrei’s demeanor changed. A hand came up and scratched at and straightened his beard a bit. But it was the expression on his face that bothered Baross. There was a sudden look of worry. In general it looked like bad news. Baross was used to occasional bad news. Dessewffy wasn’t interested in what they were selling. Or one of Baross’s mates got drunk and pissed off some of the little folk. But this seemed more severe than the usual hiccups. 

“A courier from Daylam arrived today,” Andrei stated. “The Dominion has come to Santander, in force.”

That did make Baross’s mouth go dry. But it raised more questions than anything else.

“Another security sweep?” Baross asked, hoping it was something routine.

“No, bigger,” Andrei replied. “There is a Galaxy of Clanners on Santander now.”

Baross felt his heart beating a little faster and he had to stifle his nervous reactions.

“Surely they are just passing through,” Baross offered. 

Andrei sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at Baross like a parent schooling a child. It was unsettling.

“They are building on Santander,” Andrei said. “I’m sure you can imagine…this changes everything. I am sorry Baross, but my people can’t do business with you, not now. Not while they are here, not while that ‘Valdherre’ has a Galaxy of Clan vat-borns at his back.”

There was a lot said there, and a lot unsaid. They were not safe. None of them. The full ramifications of what was happening was starting to sink in. Baross suddenly realized he had more important things he should be doing.

He stood up.

“I need to take this to my people,” Baross said. 

He could have left it at that but he decided an olive branch was helpful, if a bit optimistic.

“Maybe we’ll cross paths again one day.”

Andrei just smiled. That formal polite “maybe” kind of smile.

Baross was out of the home quick, walking through one of the few cluttered streets of Dessewffy’s center. There were a few goats and a few people mostly sitting and smoking pipes and drinking from cups after a hard day of life in the desert heat. They all knew who he was and so most avoided looking at him. In turn, Baross had too much on his mind for social calls. 

He walked straight through the little settlement to its perimeter. Not far from the small array of solar panels that gave Dessewffy its limited electricity, he found the rest of his people waiting. A couple of jeeps and a motorcycle and seven pirates who looked like they had just been bounced out of a bar. 

There wasn’t much to distinguish them from the locals. Their clothes were the same. But the way they carried themselves and their more muscular frames gave a lot away. Some of the tattoos helped. 

One of them spotted Baross coming and raised his hands in a gesture of confusion.

“Wouldn’t take our trade,” One of them complained. “Something about Clanners, I couldn’t even get a drunk.”

“They aren’t buying,” Baross explained, coming to a stop as the others gathered around him. “Andrei says there is a Dominion Galaxy at Daylam, says they are building.”

“Building what?” Someone asked.

“Don’t know, but you don’t send a Galaxy to secure something small,” Baross said. “Andrei can’t deal with us anymore, none of these people can, not with proper law and order just over the horizon.”

A pirate named Seagil spoke up.

“So he’s gotta act the proper Mayor and where does that leave us, what about our deal? Andrei’s people ain’t buying nothing from us?”

“There is no deal,” Baross said. “There’s nothing for us on Santander now.”

He nodded at the vehicles.

“We need to get back, we got a lot to figure out.”

Star Captain Benjamin Noruff
82nd Elemental Support Binary
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)


Airbase 80 kilometers from Dessewffy Settlement
Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion
12 August, 3094

When the two jeeps and a motorcycle returned to their base, their home, Baross Somogyi thought it reminded him of returning to a carrier. In the void of space, in the cockpit of a fighter, it was easy to feel alone with a giant sky of stars. Then to come back to the carrier, with its lights, its flaring thrusters and main drive. That represented home, safety, the presence of others. 

Returning from Dessewffy Settlement, crossing kilometers of desert in the darkness on a virtually non-existent road with nothing but blackness, headlights, searchlights and some stars in the sky. For a while that had felt like the void of space to him. It was comforting when the base came into few. It wasn’t particularly bright or lit up. The whole point of a hidden base was to keep it dark, but a few token lights marked home for them. As they got closer, the sand dunes that were really covered buildings and structures began to materialize out of the badlands. 

There was no security gate. Just a guard tower and someone in it who waved at them. 

There would be others soon. It in the pre-dawn hours, the run to Dessewffy wasn’t meant to return until hours later. The fact that they had returned so soon would alert others. 

Baross’s thought was proven correct when, as the three vehicles came to a stop in front of a closed hangar door, individuals began to appear. It was hard to make out faces, but the usual groups morphed into existence. Couples sharing the same bed, boarders found their squad mates. 

Some of them looked like they were awaiting one of the new arrivals to stand up in the jeep and just belt it out. Baross wasn’t game for that.

He just headed inside a nearby building without saying a word. The rest of the group who had made the run to Dessewffy stayed outside and they got the barrage of questions. Those of a station similar to Baross followed him. 

The base wasn’t much to look at. A smattering of buildings and hangars, some of which were big enough to hold a dropship. They weren’t even sure who built it or why. They just knew it was old. They had found something with a date on, the year 2597 cut into an ancient cargo container. The most popular theory of course was that the Star League built it. But Baross had always thought something about it’s simple low-tech construction and style struck him as a construct of the Draconis Combine. Others thought that because of the way everything was hidden, beneath rock and a layer of sand, to make it difficult to see or find, that it must have been one of Stephen Amaris’s projects. 

Whatever its origin, the base was a big deal for Baross and the band of pirates he had been flying with for a couple years now. 

That story was a long one, full of twists and turns. But the short-hand was that their pirate band was a mixed bag from different places. Unsurprisingly most had regional origins. There were a lot of former Combine citizens and proud Rasalhagians in the mix. But a healthy sprinkling of periphery denizens as well.

Baross Somogyis’s story was more exotic than most. He originally called the Marik Commonwealth of the Free Worlds League home, his Hungarian ancestry fairly typical of his neighborhood. He was trained as a pilot on New Olympia, at the Lloyd Marik-Stanley Aerospace School. He had flown Stingrays for the FWLM. But a friend and classmate had contacted him and offered him a spot in a mercenary fighter squadron he was putting together. Baross had no blue blood in his veins, he found his opportunities in the FWLM lacking and he was impatient. Being a mercenary sounded exotic and lucrative so he went for it.

That little outfit, the Space Chargers they called themselves, had struggled from the beginning. Finally taking a well-paying job riding shotgun for a company that actually sent jumpships and dropships into the periphery on purpose. Then things went bad, the convoy was betrayed from within, there was a mutiny. Most of Baross’s squadron mates were killed in their quarters or blasted out of the sky by the guns of the dropships they were trying to protect. 

He in his fighter and a shuttle of people managed to get away, jetting into deep space to escape as the mutineers won. They should have died then and there. But another jumpship came by and the merchant did the nice thing, rescuing the lot of them, even though they could have been a pirate Trojan horse. It only cost Baross the shot-up Sabre he had been flying.

The lot of them got dropped off on some periphery world that wasn’t found on most maps. There wasn’t much there, a single settlement and lots of snow. The air was so thin it was hard to breath. Baross had nothing to offer, no one was looking for a pilot. But he knew how to handle a pistol, that was something. So to keep from starving to death he was suddenly a hired gun for a business owner. But it wasn’t the kind of business model he was used to. There was no law and order, so the boss had to generate his own. If people crossed him, they died. If they refused to pay their debts, they died. Baross was an instrument of that. By the time he realized what had had gotten himself in to, it was too late to get out. He acquired a reputation and no one would hire him to do anything else. 

That lasted for a few months, until some genuine space pirates showed up, not to raid the place, but to deal and trade and drink and do drugs. By that point Baross had made a few enemies and had stained his soul with a few killings, just part of the job. Never in his life did he see anything glamorous about being a pirate, but if it meant he could get away from killing people at pistol range he was willing to try anything. He told a pirate that he was a pilot, proved it, and he was in. 

The pirates he signed on with called himself the Demons. It was about as unoriginal a name as anything, but they knew their trade. The group had an Intruder-class dropship for capturing vessels. It carried the boarding teams and the prize crew and some shuttles. They had a Leopard-CV for fighter support, and a Mule for hauling away the goods. A couple of Merchant-class Jumpships moved them around the stars. It was a bare bones operation but enough to do a job.

For two years Baross flew with the Demons. Mostly beyond the Draconis Combine. But they kept moving in search of prey. The group’s leader, self-styled Admiral Greene, had black market contacts that let him off-load the goods into the hands of buyers who tended to keep their word. Red was an enigma, a mystery. Obviously a man with a bounty on his head and a fake name. He had the swagger of a drug lord but the skills of a dropship captain. But it was his contacts that made him the most valuable. He knew how to move the goods, and he was good at utilizing spies and planning raids. 

After about two years of constant flying the Demons looked very different. Every one of the pilots that Baross had started with had died, usually under the guns of a merchant escort. But they lost of pilots to poorly maintained fighters simply breaking down. He was squadron commander now. He had cut his teeth on raids, he had scored kills in dogfights and crippled jumpships and dropships with the precision of a sniper. He had earned his keep and the respect of the pirates. Rarely did he have to threaten or kill anyone but he always visibly carried an expensive looking laser pistol just in case. The boarders had also changed a lot as attrition took its toll. A lot of them died in firefights. Admiral Greene was still in charge but some of the others were gone. The pirate life was rough and life expectancy was not high. Baross had managed to make a friend or three, but they tended to die. He had even shared a bed with a few consenting females among the Demns, but they tended to attract drama and stir the pot in ways he didn’t like, ways that could get him killed. Sticking to prostitutes was actually safer in his eyes. A position that would have seemed ridiculous to him ten years ago. 

Baross had changed a lot too. In truth he had expected to feel like a common criminal. Meaning, he expected to hate his own guts. In facts, in deeds, he was a bad man. But it was more complicated than he ever imagined. Good pirates were honest to their victims. Not because of ethnical or moral reasons, but good business practices. Traders didn’t power down their engines and let you board them unless they really believed you’d take the cargo and let them go. Pirates couldn’t trust each other unless you held to some simple but powerful codes and stuck to them. If you became untrustworthy you died. It was both more complicated and somehow more simplistic than anything he had experienced in the Inner Sphere. The line between life and death was a lot thinner. But things like keeping your word while also always projecting strength and building a reputation, both among the pirates and the merchants out there, took on powerful meaning. 

After two years as a pirate, Baross had long realized that the holovids had it all wrong about being a pirate. They weren’t ruthless thugs; they weren’t romantic outlaws. The truth was more complicated and more simple at the same time. Baross had murdered people when he needed to. But he had spared a lot of lives too. Any notion of getting rich was long gone. He was in it purely for survival. He had literally no place to go. It was a game to stay alive. He had committed too many crimes just to avoid starving to death. There was no place for him in civil society. 

The nomadic life was rough on the people, but it was rough on the equipment as well. After two years of flying everyone and everything in the Demons was run down and tired. They needed some downtime.

Finally they caught a big break. A trader they had raided for the third time decided to try and barter information than just turn over his cargo or do something suicidal like try to fight back. He told them about Santander V, about the Dessewffy Settlement, about the abandoned air base near it. 

Against their better instincts they let the trader lead them there. It was a big score, not because of goods taken, but getting a home. The air base was theirs for the taking, if they were willing to fix it up. The Dessewffy Settlement was living off any grid. They were willing to deal with pirates, to buy what they had to sell and vice versa. They had a home and good neighbors to boot. 

Settling down was usually a bad move for pirates. You stayed alive by continuing to run. Stopping meant a higher risk of getting caught. But the Demons were tired. They needed a safe harbor. They told themselves it was just for a while. So they could patch up the ships, get some time on real gravity and a spend some of the hard earned loot. The pirates and the people of Dessewffy both largely profited from doing business. Santander V wasn’t anything special, it was a miserable world, but no one seemed to care about it. So the Demons had felt safe.

All that was shattered in an instant when Andrei and told Baross that the Dessewffy was closed for business, and that there was a Dominion Galaxy of Clanners on Santander V. In that moment, everything changed. 

Baross moved into a room with no windows and waited for the others to come in. They did, Admiral Greene, the ship captains, some of the boarding crew leaders and a few others. They kept out all the junior people. 

There, Baross told them what he knew. Some of them tried to argue. Someone tried to argue it was fake. But from the faces and eyes in the room it was obvious that no one believed that. They had seen Dominion security sweeps before. In space and on the ground. But the force was always small and their base too hidden. If a ship was spotted flying in or out, they were always able to go dark and avoid detection. Space was big, it was easy to hide in the open. 

But hiding against an entire Galaxy was another matter. Worse was the news that the Clanners were building. No one built things on Santander V, that was a huge change to the status quo of the world. That it was happening in around Daylam, the Clanner’s official presence, told them this was government, and military, and civilization and all the things they had to run from.

There was arguing but the senior leaders quickly came to the consensus. Santander V was no longer safe, they had to leave. 

They told the others to prepare to liftoff. Then they began to plan their escape.

Star Captain Benjamin Noruff
82nd Elemental Support Binary
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)


Airbase 80 kilometers from Dessewffy Settlement
Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion
14 August, 3094

The air base had been a scene of frenzied activity for hours. To a casual observer it must have looked like chaos, but there was purpose to it.

First, the pirates gathered up their belongings and goods and began stowing everything in the dropships. Equipment, both large and small, weapons, tools supplies all of it. A few items too cumbersome or deemed unimportant were left behind, but not much. Pirates prized everything, so some were literally ripping the wiring off the walls. 

Restoring the dropships to flight status was harder work. The Intruder-class Merodeador (Marauder in Spanish) was just starting a major repair of her engines and had to be put back together. The Leopard CV-class Yellow Jacket and Mule-class Talisman were in better shape fortunately. But putting the Merodeador back together cost them a full 36 hours.

The good news was that the jumpships were ready. The Demons two Merchant-class Jumpships were at a conveniently named pirate point just past Santander III. So far from the solar system’s nadir and zenith jump points, the odds of their detection were virtually nill. 

If they pirates on the ground could get to them, they could make their escape.

Pirate pilot and squadron commander Baross Somogyi had put the repair time to good use. His squadron’s six fighters were prepped for flight, armed and ready. The sincere hope was that they would not be needed, but having the option was a good thing. 

The extra time was particularly helpful for Baross’s own pet project. The Clan-built Turk OmniFighter he flew was an oddity among the pirate band. The Turk and its sister ship were in pieces in containers when the Demons raided the Clan cargo dropship carrying them. 

The Demons’ technicians were not exactly the best, but they were aching to take a shot at a Clan machine. So they rebuilt the Turks. In the end only one was deemed flyable. A container or two had been missing from the original shipment so there was just enough missing parts for the second Turk to be unable to work. So they were using the second Turk as spare parts for the first and the Demons got a working Turk OmniFighter.

Admiral Greene had wanted to sell it. Baross had pleaded his case to keep it, citing the potential for intimidating merchants with the sight of a Clan fight. The vote had gone Greene’s way, but then Greene was unable to find a trustworthy buyer. So Baross got his way.

He had developed a fondness for the Turk. It had the speed and maneuverability to turn and burn with most Inner Sphere fighters, and even some Clan ones. But it also had a lot of firepower for a 50-ton fighter. Baross had flown a number of different fighters over the years, but the Turk was, hands-down, his favorite. 

The rest of his squadron flew older Inner Sphere fighters. Rank had its perks. 

All six fighters had already been loaded into the Yellow Jacket. 

When the time finally came, the air base threw off its camouflage and set about launching everything. 

On a lift of flame and smoke, the Intruder-class dropship was off first. Screaming up into the sky.

The Leopard-CV was next. The aerodyne used the long dusty, ill-kept runway to gain speed and then lift off. The crew was nervous, Baross knew, because of the fragile tail section. Leopard-CVs rarely entered atmosphere because of the chance of wrecking one. But the ship had needed work and the air base was the only place to do it. Baross and his pilots could do little more than strap in, hang on and hope that the ship didn’t break up on launch. 

With a headset on, listening to the chatter, he heard the report that the Talisman had launched.

All three ships were away.

Unfortunately, that was when they spotted the Clan fighters.

Maybe it was a spy, maybe it was bad timing, but there were Clan fighters out there. Over the horizon and so invisible from the ground, they suddenly lit up the radar screens on all three dropships as they rose higher into the sky. The radar systems officer on the Yellow Jacket was reporting 7 identifiable bogies. Baross immediately suspected that it was a full star, 10 fighters. 

Almost without thinking, he unstrapped from the couch and headed for the hangar where his Turk was stored. At the last moment he thought to look back and tell his squadron to get ready to launch. Their collective reactions was one of horror and disbelief. Baross just laughed, but he wasn’t even sure why.

************************************************

Being inside the cockpit of a fighter that is inside the launch being of an airborne dropship is a strange feeling. None of the movement felt right to Baross, probably because the front of the ship was off to his right somewhere. His Turk was located in one of the port side hangar bays and his fighter was facing the door.

In a few minutes, he had scrambled his pilots into their cockpits and had gotten some of the mechanics to prep the bays for launch. He hadn’t even thought to tell the Yellow Jacket’s Captain what he was doing.

When he finally punched in the radio and talked to the bridge, he got a lot of stunned responses. 

“You want to WHAT?”

“Someone needs to hold off those Clanners,” Barros answered. “At least try to lead them away.”

“That’s suicide Baross,” The tone was deadpan serious.

“Maybe, but I’d rather fight out there than sit in here,” Baross replied.

“I’ve never catted a fighter while in atmosphere,” Came the captain’s voice. “But I’ve heard stories.”

Baross knew what he meant. Catapult firing an aerospace fighter from a fast moving dropship in-atmosphere was a nice way to die. Any kind of uncontrollable spin, any loss of orientation or control, and the pilot would die. The odds of success weren’t great. Most professionals didn’t accept those odds. 

One of the other pilots cut in.

“Let’s at least wait until the Jacket is out of atmosphere, launch then.”

“No,” Baross said. “We need to tie up those Clanners while they are still in atmosphere, maybe even bring them down to the deck, it’ll be a lot harder for them to catchup to the Jacket then, they’ll have used too much fuel.”

There was silence then, the radio was quiet. All piped into the conversation were considering the situation.

Baross decided to break the silence.

“Radar plot, what are the Clan fighters doing?”

“Looks like they are moving to intercept.”

“See?” Baross said. “We’re out of time and out of options. Cap…launch us.”

There was a long pause.

“See you in hell Baross, Vert, launch’m!”

Ahead of Baross’s Turk, the outer door slid open. The launch bay was immediately filled with the rolling turbulence of air swashing through it. The bay wasn’t fully prepped for launch. A few loose items took flight and disappeared into the roaring air beyond.

When the catapult fired, that was when Baross got his first real pang of fear. He had sat in a launching fighter thousands of times. But never like this. 

His Turk emerged through the channel of air like it had flown through a waterfall. Instruments screamed at him. Sensors that told him things like wind speed and altitude and direction went completely haywire. For a moment he had trouble visualizing the horizon. Then he felt a sharp tug and realized he was in a spin and losing altitude.

Applying thrust and rudder and just enough pressure to the flight yoke, he corrected the spin and straightened out the fighter. He was pretty high up, above 40,000 feet. 

Switching his radar on and slapping the transmit key, Baross asked for his squadron to check in.

“I think Diego is gone,” Kailey, Diego’s wingwoman reported. “He spun out.”

One Chippewa of two, the other was gone.

Mark and Kerigan both flying Centurions, reported in.

The last was Baross’s wingman. The Sparrowhawk pilot Noah checked in and appeared off Baross’s starboard wing. 

Six launched, five survived. Honestly it was a better outcome than Baross had expected. But that made him feel worse. As the rush of the launch and the spin passed, Baross felt very alone and very strange. Up to that point he had acted and reacted on the facts. Based on his ideas of what needed to happen.

But now the reality of what he had done was sinking in. He had launched his squadron into a hopeless fight, he was getting them all killed. Even if they miraculously survived a fight with those Clan fighters, there was almost no chance that they’d have the fuel to catch up to the Yellow Jacket. Baross had, on his own initiative, started and executed a suicide run.

At that moment, he intensely wondered what the others were thinking. What was going through their minds. He had flown with these pilots a while, he knew their minds, their quirks. But this was new territory for all of them. 

One of the pilots, perhaps of a like-mind, obliged with an answer.

“Baross,” came Kerigan’s voice, a soft female voice that seemed far too gentle to be a pirate.

“Yeah,” Baross replied curtly.

“I knew this line of work was going to get me killed, but I didn’t think it would happen saving anyone…thanks for that.”

“Makes for a hot obituary,” Mark chimed in with a laugh.

Baross wanted to cry, he had to fight that off. Something in him broke in that moment. Some long stuck in his mind motion about his survival being more important than anything. All the things he had done to survive. All the lives he had destroyed; all the bad things he had done. He had managed to reconcile it all, package and compartmentalize it all under the category “what I had to do to survive.”

But this…he and his squadron were doing this, so that others could survive. He was sure he remembered that this notion, this idea, was a thing that part of him recognized. But not from this life, not since probably before he had become a mercenary, let alone a pirate.

This was part of the old Baross, and it was like getting a hug from a long lost friend.

The sentimentality lasted just seconds but it’s impact ran deep. But then it was over, and Baross’s eyes sought out the radar image.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” He finally managed to say, his voice sounding alien to him. 

“Those Clan fighters turning toward us?” Noah asked.

Baross checked the radar and swore under his breath. It didn’t look like they were turning. His radar was showing 10 signatures and they were climbing, like they were preparing to exit the atmosphere and enter space. They were higher and moving faster than Baross’s slowest fighter, they had little chance of an intercept.

“We gotta make then turn,” Kerigan suggested. “Anybody feel like a run on Daylam?”

“Won’t even get close,” Noah replied.

“Won’t have to, just have to look serious,” Kerigan stated with a laugh.

She was right, they needed to make the Clan fighters switch priorities. 

“Ok follow me, we’re headed for Daylam, if that doesn’t make them turn, I don’t know what will, shallow dive by arrow lances down to 10,000, throttle back to keep pace with Kailey,” Baross ordered.

The Turk OmniFighter rolled into a new heading. It slowed down considerably. Baross throttled back so that the Chippewa could keep up. 

It took three minutes, about two minutes longer than he expected, but the Clan fighters did turn. Six of the 10 turned and dove.

“Still leaves 4 for the Jacket,” Kailey noted. 

“If we give these 6 a hard enough time, maybe they’ll recall the rest,” Baross said. “Kailey, standoff attack, Mark, Kerigan, try to fight them within Kailey’s range, maybe she can throw some LRMs at your targets, Noah, cover my ass as usual.”

Baross’s Turk was loaded to the B configuration. He had a couple of ER Medium Lasers in the nose and a big ULTRA Autocannon on each wing. The autocannons only had ten bursts each, but they could do a lot of damage. It was a loadout not designed for long dogfights, he got good use out of it crippling dropship engines. But he wasn’t too interested in dragging out the fight, or winning it. He wanted to kill something, piss them off, force more of them to join in. For that, he was happy he had the autocannons. 

Kailey’s Chippewa had some decent missile firepower. But none of the other fighters in his squadron had more than one or two weapons of the modern era. The rest of their hardware was old by the FedCom Civil War. Baross had the best chance of a kill, he needed to make that happen.

As the six Clan fighters closed in, the radar and IFF system began to peg models. There were two Visigoths, two Avars and two Batus. Before Baross’s eyes, two of the icons began to disperse from the rest.

“The two Batu’s are closing in, high pass out of the sun,” Baross barked over the radio. “Don’t let them get a target, roll away then turn toward, now now now!”

Baross pushed his flight yoke hard to the right while also applying right rudder. The Turk rolled and dropped quickly. One of the Clan built Batu’s focused on him. A slew of laser pulses filled the air around the Turk and one struck a wing but the rest missed. In seconds the diving Batu had flashed past them.

Baross looked up and around, trying to catch a glimpse of the others. He saw a flicker off the wing of a Centurion rolling into a split-S and the coherent beam of a medium laser. 

The Batu were just the first round punch. The Clanners loved 1-on-1 fights, but when it came to pirates there was no such thing as equal treatment. While the Batu flashed past, the Avars and Visigoths were sliding in to attack. 

In combat, one’s situation awareness shrinks. It can be very difficult to just keep a fairly complete picture of what’s going on around you. Let alone what is happening with others. Baross lost any real sense of what the Centurions or the Chippewa were doing. Keeping track of the Sparrowhawk and the Clansmen was enough.

As the Visigoths came in, they fired away. Pellets from an LBX autocannon fired and Noah said something about being hit. One Visigoth dropped in behind them. Baross immediately spun and dove while Noah’s Sparrowhawk got on the tail of that Visigoth and began to hammer it with medium lasers. Just as it looked like Noah might actually get the kill, the Visigoth’s wingman suddenly swing back and put the Sparrowhawk in his crosshairs.

The Sparrowhawk got hammered. LBX pellets struck it, at least 4 Streak SRMs flew spiraling contrails and slammed into it. As Baross rolled into a turn, he saw Noah ejecting damaged and destroyed armor panels. At the same time the glow behind the Sparrowhawk increased in intensity as he tried to rocket away from the larger fighters.

As the two Visigoths crossed over each other, they were momentarily in a bad position to turn on his Turk. Baross took advantage of that. He nudged the throttle back bit to give him more maneuverability and put the crosshairs in front of the Visigoth that was beginning to turn away from him.

He flipped a switch on his flight yoke, and pressed the trigger.

Both wing-mounted autocannons belched a stream of shells. They crossed over the nearest Visigoth and some of the shells slammed into the one that was turning away. Shots laced up its left wing. Pieces of metal dropped away. The lasers fired next, cutting a nice chunk out of the Visigoth’s tail and hitting part of the aft fuselage.

The Turk’s autocannons belched again, and one of the streams of shells impacted the left wing again. This time at least one shell hit the left engine and it began to smoke. 

Baross was aware that the other Visigoth was turning in on him, but the target in front of him was damaged and unable to outturn him. He wanted this kill.

Risking jamming his weapons, Baross flipped the autocannons to ultra firing mode, adjusted his crosshairs position over the Visigoth as he began to pivot on its right wing, and fired again.

The autocannons fired twice as many shells this time. As the Visigoth turned, part of the forward fuselage appeared. The shells raked the Visigoth from front to back. Metal chunks and pieces fell away and something small exploded. The Visigoth suddenly lost speed and Baross had to pull up at the last second to avoid a collision.

As he sailed past, Baross rolled over onto his left wing in time to see the Visigoth going down. There was fire in around the pilot’s cockpit, meaning he either ejected or his cockpit was directly hit. 

There was no time to revel in the kill. The other Visigoth was snaking toward him, dodging fire from Noah’s Sparrowhawk.

Acting fast, Baross rolled the Turk into an almost flat inversion and pulled back on the yoke. The OmniFighter suddenly dropped and turned, gaining speed and turning rate. The Visigoth struggled to follow him. 

Just as Baross was starting to feel very good about his flying abilities, the Visigoth suddenly snap rolled. Losing speed, Noah’s smaller faster Sparrowhawk continued its turn and ended up out ahead of him. The Visigoth fired its lasers and the Sparrowhawk became a fireball. 

There was no time to process Noah’s death. Baross had to figure out what he was going to do next.

Before he managed that, Kailey’s Chippewa appeared. Two Batu fighters were slamming the rear of her flying wing. The Chippewa was trailing smoke and clearly about to fall. But the big flying wing managed to throw one last salvo at the Visigoth. Missiles and large lasers flew at the target. The lasers missed but some of the missiles hit, potmarking the damaged Visigoth.

But that was it, the Chippewa was done. Under the steady onslaught of fire from the two Batu, it suddenly lost thrust and began to fall. If Kailey was alive, she was unwilling or unable to punch out. It looked like a giant hand in the sky had been carrying the Chippewa and had simply released its grip, letting it fall to the ground. 

Something made Baross switch targets. Maybe it was the thought that he could bring down the smaller Batu with his autocannons, but he took the shot. Racing in at them and firing. But one dive and the other rolled and nothing connected.

A flashing light on his board caught Baross’s attention. He had left the autocannons on ultra and one of them had jammed. 

Suddenly the two Batu reappeared. Their precision was stunning. Rolling in from different sides they were like two ballet performers emerging from different sides of a stage to link together and dance. The Batu rolled into a line abreast behind him and both unloaded into the Turk from directly behind. 

One of the Batu had two forward PPCs and blasts of artificial lightning were just sailing past the Turk like heat was not a concern at all. One blast hit the Turk’s left wing and then something hard, perhaps a gauss rifle round, struck the Turk’s starboard autocannon and ripped it off. 

Baross tried to use the foot pedals but nothing happened. His rudder was stuck or gone. He dove to gain speed and tried to roll using the stick alone, but the more maneuverable Batu were all over him.

“Mark, Kerigan, anyone there?” Baross asked over the radio.

There was no answer. There was no one left. Baross was all alone. 

As his Turk began to fly apart under the fire of multiple Clan fighters, he had the slight satisfaction of looking at his radar screen and noting that the other 4 fighters rising the exit the atmosphere had turned and were coming down. The Yellow Jacket had a fighting chance to survive. They had succeeded at what they set out to do. 

It was a stream of solid shells from the Visigoth that finished off the Turk. Rolling onto the fray, the stream of shells hit the Turk’s underbelly and caused some of the autocannon ammunition to explode. The center of the fighter simply evaporated in the blast, and the wings were blasted in separate directions. The cockpit disintegrated in a hail of metal fragments. All of it became a cloud of falling metal that returned to the orange desert of Santander V.

Star Captain Benjamin Noruff
82nd Elemental Support Binary
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)


Work Site #1
Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion 
17 August 3094

"Here we are," senior technician Niko announced, bringing the jeep to a halt seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

A small shack of corrugated tin marked an otherwise empty expanse of desert. Cade was far from impressed but he had been warned there was little here at present. He leaned over and glanced at the odometer on the dash.

"Sixty two kilometers from Daylam," he said. "Close enough to stage out of the town but too far away to be easily guarded."

"Aff," Orson agreed from the passenger seat. "It is Gideon's concern that once the pumping station and pipeline is set up, others will come and raid it. Though the water is meant for everyone in the region it will mean accepting aid and orders from Daylam. They are very independent minded and would rather steal than cooperate."

"With more forces on the ground I would bet we can convince them otherwise," Cade commented. 

He turned his attention to Niko.

"When will construction begin?"

"The first survey teams were out this morning to scan the site," Niko replied. "They confirmed this is the best place to begin drilling. Laborers are loading up trucks to come out here first thing in the morning."

Cade's expression darkened.

"Do you not think that is something your security detail should know?"

Niko was taken aback.

"I am sorry, Star Colonel," he replied. "Star Captain Dietrich Forrester said his Trinary would be providing escort. I assumed he told you."

Cade fought back the wave of anger that threatened to erupt at this news. 

"Neg," he said. "He did not. I will have to speak with the 14th about effective communication."

Orson checked a wrist chrono then looked up to Cade.

"Star Colonel, if there is nothing else here, I should return," he said. "I am on duty in two hours."

Cade nodded, gesturing back to the jeep. As the trio took their places in the vehicle and settled their dust goggles back on, he turn to face Orson. 

"You have been here long enough to have a knowledge of the area, even if you have not patrolled far from base," he said. "Jasen told us of surrounding settlements. Does Daylam maintain relations with any of them, Quineg?"

"Formally, Neg," Orson replied. "But there is occasional contact with Huling and Samuel's Canyon."

"Then we begin with those," Cade said as Niko fired up the engine and kicked up a fresh cloud of dust, heading back toward Daylam.

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion


109 kilometers east of Daylam 
Santander V, Rasalhague Dominion
5 September 3094

Cade saw the settlement of Red Mule come into view as he marched his Summoner forward. Based around the wreck of an ancient dropship, much of the structures were shacks mixed with a handful of Adobe buildings spread out in hodgepodge fashion from the shell of the old Mule. 

Spread out in a wedge behind him, the rest of Alshain Nova marched at a steady pace. Ahead, Cade could see the community coming to life as the spotted the incoming mechs. People scurried in all directions as the alarm was raised. Cade watched a half dozen men and women scaling the rusted dropship hull that gave the town its name.

Zooming in the magnification on his holographic display, he spotted the SRM6 launcher partially hidden under a tarp. At the same time, the Omnimech sensors announced a new power source coming online. 

Too cool to be fusion power, but right in the range for an ICE, Cade thought. They must use a generator to power the missile launcher. 

"Six, I have a weapon systems coming online," Kyra announced. 

"Aff, I see it."

Cade throttled back his mech, spreading the Summoners weapon pods to the sides to signal a stop to the others. The unit came to a halt 300 meters from the edge of the settlement, just out of range of the hull mounted missile launcher. 

More movement at the near edge of the buildings drew his attention. A couple dozen men and women scrambled into slit trenches or took dubious cover behind some of the buildings. They carried a motley assortment of rifles and small arms which they promptly aimed toward the mechs. 

Courageous but utterly foolish, Cade thought. I respect their desire to fight but against such odds all they could accomplish would be their deaths and likely the destruction of the town as we root them out. 

"Locke, deploy," he said, keying his mic. "I see nothing that poses a threat to you aside from that missile launcher."

"Aff, Six," Locke replied as a series of clicks and the whoosh of jump jets announced the point of Elementals riding on Cade's Summoner leaping free. "We hold fire unless we are engaged by heavy weapons."

As Locke and his point landed and began marching toward the settlement, Cade switched over to external speakers.

"People of this settlement, we do not come to fight," he announced. "We are Alshain Nova of the 12th Bear Guards. We are sending forward a detachment to talk. We will not fire if you do not."

Again focusing on the crew manning the missile launcher, he watched as they exchanged uncertain looks. They were of assorted ages, from a teenager to a wrinkled, gray-haired man. None truly had the look of a warrior. 

"Six, do you think this will work?"

Cade glanced at his communications board. It was Shane asking. 

"It may not," he acknowledged. "But I would give them a chance for peaceful interaction rather than starting with war."

"I have movement," Locke announced. "Three people coming out, all armed." 

Cade glanced down at the trio of settlers walking out from their defenses. Their clothes were an interesting mix of styles. The man on the right wore dark fatigue pants and rough boots with a tank top. A shemag was draped around his shoulders and dust goggles were pushed up on his forehead.

The woman on the left wore loose, light colored clothing consisting mostly of an arabic thawb though belted and rolled up to offer ease of movement. She wore trousers and combat boots as well. 

The center figure wore khaki pants and sandals with a t-shirt with some odd design on it. A bandolier of rifle clips was strung across his chest and he had rough leather arm guards on both arms. 

This last man lead the delegation out to meet with the armored Elementals.

For several moments Locke and the settlers spoke. At one point, one looked back and waved at the others still huddling in their trenches and one by one, they stood or walked out into the open.

"That seems a good sign," Judea commented. 

"Aff," Cade agreed. 

Below, Locke turned back to look at Cade and the mechs. 

"Six, Governor Luke Zambas is willing to speak with you," Locke said. 

Cade smiled in the cockpit of his Summoner. 

"Tell the governor i will be right there," he said. 



If Cade had a waterless settlement in the desert, Luke Zambas would probably have been the last person he'd have chosen to run it. 

And judging on how well he's done here, I would have chosen wrong.

Luke handed him a battered tin cup of weak tea then took a seat on a heavily worn leather chair. 

With his old boots, stained khaki pants and a short sleeve shirt he resembled a middle aged factory worker. Still, there was a presence in his actions and words that Cade could see inspired his people. 

This is a man who has his people's respect, Cade thought. He doesn't rule through fear. He leads by example.

"So what do I call you," Luke asked, leaning back in his chair. "Star Colonel?"

"Aff, Governor," Cade replied. "Perhaps titles would be best for now."

The older man nodded as he took a sip of his tea.

"Then titles it is, Star Colonel," Luke said. "What do you want with us?"

"Simply speaking, we want to bring your settlement under the protection of the Dominion," Cade explained. 

Luke raised an eyebrow.

"And what would the entail?" He asked. "The Dominion has officially ruled this world for my entire life, yet you're the first Ghost Bear to visit us out here. We get by just fine being left to our own devices. So....why the sudden interest."

Cade leaned back in his chair as he explained.

"Because your town has become strategic, even if you do not yet realize it," Cade replied. 

Luke laughed as though Cade had told him a particularly clever joke. 

"That's a good one," he chuckled. "But I'll bite. Why is that?"

"Water," Cade answered simply. 

"We have only what we can trade for or recycle," Luke shook his head. "An no one wants recycled water out of our unit."

He laughed and gestured to the tea. 

"Hell, we don't even want it. That's why we make tea out if it. At least that masks the taste somewhat."

Cade shook his head. 

"Neg, I do not mean your water," the clansman said with a wry grin. "Water has been found nearby."

Luke sat waiting a moment as though for the punchline of a joke. As he realized his guest was not joking, he sobered.

"Where?"

"Daylam," Cade replied. "The Dominion is sending technicians and laborers to build wells to a massive underground lake. It is the first step in making Santander self sufficient."

"Self sufficient? Ha!" Luke shook his head. "That's a dream."

"Perhaps it will not happen in our lifetimes, but we must start somewhere," Cade replied. "The first construction projects have already begun. Naturally, the Varldherre expects raids on the facility. I am charged with security. I would rather not kill the people we hope to help though, hence I am here."

"And that brings us full circle," Luke responded. "What do you want?"

"To use your town as an outpost," Cade said casually. "I would station a force here to protect your community and guard the approach to the plant. We would also ask for additional laborers to work on the project or to improve your settlement here under our guidance."

Though still seeming skeptical, Luke leaned forward. 

"What improvements?"

"We will supply you with water, first off," Cade replied. "In addition, we would set up solar collectors to provide energy. Basic Medical facilities will be constructed and staffed. Food will be brought in as well."

Glad I took the time to meet with the engineers and learn the details of these projects. 

"This sounds too good to be true," Luke said. "Let me guess though, the catch is we lose our independence."

Cade shrugged.

"In a degree," he said. "You will fall under the jurisdiction of Vardleherre Gideon. I can not speak for if you will be replaced though it seems you do well here, Governor. I would recommend you stay in your position, leading at the local level."

"It's not really leading when someone else is telling you what you can and can't do," Luke said coolly. 

Cade took another sip of his tea.

"Vardleherre Gideon has much to worry about," he replied. "Micromanaging your community will not be high on his list of priorities."

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion


Santander V, Rasalhague Dominion 
22 August 3094

"Alshain Three reporting in," Kyra said, twisting the torso of her Cauldron Born left as she surveyed the seemingly endless wastes. "The road is clear through the ridges. Sawtooth Lead, bring them in." 

Star Commander Orson's voice crackled through her neurohelmet speakers"

"Roger, Three," he replied. "Convoy moving up."

Kyra throttled her mech up, loping out ahead of the convoy. Three kilometers behind her, six five ton trucks kicked up a line of dust clouds. In flanking positions around the supply trucks, Sawtooth Star patrolled along. 

"We have them from here, Three," Orson said as Kyra switched over. "Head on up Red Mule."

After three hours in the cramped cockpit of the Cauldron Born, the order was music to her ears. 

"Aff, Orson," she answered, bringing her Omnimech up to its full 86 kilometers per hour max speed. "Heading in."

Switching to a broad transmission she keyed her mic again.

"Red Mule control, this is Alshain Three coming in," she announced. "Convoy eight bravo is ten minutes behind me."

"We read you, Alshain Three," a bored voice replied. "You're clear to proceed. Park your mech in the north side of the hull."

Kyra cringed inwardly at the language but pushed the Trueborn reaction aside.

It is a different universe these days. 

"Aff, Red Mule," she replied. "North of the hull."

A moment later, Kyra's comm flashed, informing her of a tight beam message from Orson.

"Go ahead Sawtooth Lead," she said as switched over.

"Kyra, are you returning to Daylam or staying the night?"

"Star Colonel Cade left it up to me," she replied. "I have no qualms with piloting back at night."

Kyra thought of the deeply tanned Star Commander and a few possibilities played out in her mind, all quite pleasing. 

"Unless there is good reason to stay..."

"Perhaps we can discuss such a reason in my quarters?"

"Hmmm.... I trust you have a convincing argument," she said, a grin sliding across her features.

With her diversion for the night in mind, she crested the last low ridge before Red Mule. Continuing at a sprint, she charged the mech down the hill, reveling in the rush she felt knowing the mech was just barely under control.

"Sawtooth Star to Daylam, convoy is under attack!"

As the frantic call erupted across the open channel, Kyra twisted her mech around in a shaky 180. A wave of dread washed over her as she mentally calculated the amount of time it would take to sprint back to the convoy. 

Stravag! I moved at full speed to get to Daylam which means it will take ten minutes to get back to them, she thought. This will be over in two.

As the Cauldron Born accelerated back to its max speed, Kyra could see the missile contrails streak across the sky. 

Damn it!

"Alshain Three responding," Kyra answered hastily. "Requesting immediate support from Daylam to following coordinates!"



Orson dodged his Bear Cub left as the bandit Griffin unleashed a blast from its Large Laser. 

It may not be upgraded but even a standard laser that diameter will do serious harm to my mech.

Drifting the holographic crosshairs over the torso of the enemy machine, he held for a weapons lock. However alarms sounded in his cockpit as something locked onto his light machine. Without conscious thought, he dodged further left but a scattering of LRMs detonated across the centerline and left torso of his ride. 

The impacts threw off his aim and both his ER medium lasers passed wide of the Griffin as he staggered under the blows. 

The outline of his mech in the holographic display shifted. Sections of the chest flickered from green to yellow with the hits. 

"Stravag bastard!" Orson spat.

The Griffin sidestepped left, keeping the large laser on target. Orson starred down the barrel as his battle computer announced a target lock. Before the Griffin could fire, twin medium laser beams cut into the flank and arm of the mech. 

The large laser shot missed wide to the right. 

"I have you covered, Star Commander," Jasen announced as his Mongoose sprinted into view. 

"Jasen! Why did you interfere!?" Orson bellowed. 

"They're not fighting by rules, Orson," Jasen replied. "We shouldn't either."

Ahead, Tamir's Icestorm crashed to the ground, flames licking from wounds in its side. A pirate Javelin stepped up, pouring another volley of laser fire into the stricken Clan mech. 

Overtaxed sensors painted an unfriendly picture to Orson. His own Bear Cub was damaged, Jasen's ride was overheating and Tamir was down. The raiders had two medium and two lit mechs still active. Though all were damaged, they could survive more hits than the recon star could.

The Griffin twisted, letting another volley of missiles loose to chase Jasen's sprinting Mongoose. They missed the nimble mech, but only by a hair. 

"Sawtooth lead to Star," Orson nearly choked on the words. "Withdraw. Begin to pull back."

As he fired again, he saw the first enemy mech overtake the last truck in the convoy.

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion


Daylam, Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion
22 August 3094


"Kyra, you may know how to pull a trigger but you have no concept of being a scout," Anike said darkly, stalking across the windswept compound. "You let Orson walk his Star into an ambush and a warrior is dead because of it."

Kyra whirled at Anike's tone, facing the older woman. 

"No one could have done better," she snapped. "They must have had their mechs powered down during my pass! You would not have seen them either, freebirth."

The last word, sneered rather than spoken, guaranteed blows would be struck. Anike bristled at the insult, not the least of which because it was true. She WAS freeborn though no one had used that against her in a long time.

"I may be a freebirth, but at least I know how to pilot my mech like a warrior, not some sibko washout," Anike spat back. "That mech belonged to Norris. He was three times the warrior you could dream of being and you are unworthy to pilot it."

Kyra's hands curled into fists and she fairly seethed with rage.

"If you think yourself so skilled, try to take it from me....old woman," she replied coldly.

"As you wish," Anike grinned in savage fashion. "I challenge you to a Trial of Possession for Alshain Novas Cauldron Born."

The nearby warriors, both mech pilots and Elementals from Alshain drifted over to form a circle of equals. Cade slid into place in the circle unobtrusively. Neither combatant seemed to notice the Star Colonel with them. 

Anike was the first to step into the circle. Shrugging off her uniform shirt, she tossed it aside. Clad in fatigue pants and a tank top with her Enhanced Imaging 'tattoos' decorating well muscled arms and her lean face, she was the very image of a clan warrior from days of the Invasion. 

Next to her, Kyra suddenly seemed impossibly young. Only a couple years out of the Sibko, Kyra was hardened and fit. She had grown up on a diet of battle and hardship as all Clan Trueborns did. Still, the youthfulness of her face betrayed her. Though a veteran of several fights, she was not on the same level as Anike.

The fight started in the blink of an eye. Kyra swept forward, feigning a punch but dropping low to sweep at Anike's legs. The older warrior saw through the deception however, jumping aside and immediately closing the distance. She slammed Kyra with a solid punch that rocked her head around and staggered her. 

Before Kyra could recover, Anike lashed out with a crisp roundhouse kick, catching the younger woman in the ribs with the toe of her boot. With a loud 'whuf' Kyra's breath exploded from her lungs. 

Kyra hit the ground hard, bounced once and came to rest on her side, gasping for breath. Weakly, she pushed herself to her knees, somehow keeping her focus. 

"Come on, Kyra," Anike taunted. "I thought you were a warrior."

At the goading remark, Kyra pushed off the ground and dove toward Anike, tackling her. 

The veteran freeborn warrior went down with the attack, slapping the ground to breakfall. She immediately tangled a hand in Kyra's hair then drove her opposite fist into the side of the woman's head. 

Stunned, Kyra tried vainly to pin Anike's hands and prevent another punch. Anike rolled them onto their sides as Kyra struggled then drove a knee into her stomach. 

Kyra wretched but did not throw up. Anike promptly delivered two more savage punches to Kyra's face, leaving the younger woman semi-conscious on the ground. 

Satisfied with her work, Anike released Kyra and rolled away. Getting to her feet, the tattooed warrior gazed defiantly at the other warriors in the circle. 

"Kyra is defeated," she said. "Does anyone doubt this, quineg?"

"Neg," Locke replied, looking down at the battered Mechwarrior bleeding on the Tarmac. "The Cauldron-Born is yours, Anike."

"Seyla," Cade murmured, stepping forward. 

Glancing down at Kyra, Cade motioned for two of the other warriors. 

"Take her to the infirmary," he said. "Tell Conrad to let me know when she will be fit for duty."

Turning his attention to Anike, he nodded curtly. 

"Well fought, Anike," he continued. "Have the techs get the Cauldron Born imprinted for you. You are on patrol at nineteen hundred."

"Aff, Star Colonel," she replied crisply. "I look forward to it."

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion


Red Mule, Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion 
24 August 3094

Cade looked over the holographic map again as the assembled Dominion officers discussed the events of the past few days. Governor Luke Zembas sat in on the meeting as well, being as how it was taking place in his town. 

Looking up at his fellow warriors, he rapped on the edge of the holotable to get their attention. 

"We have done well so far," Cade said. "Counting Red Mule, we have gotten seven settlements to work with us, giving us a wide area around Daylam and the extraction site."

The other warriors nodded, several taking seats at the table as the briefing began. 

"Work on the wells and the pipeline have gotten off to a good start," he continued. "In some cases the laborers seem to be ahead. Hopefully they will stay that."

Cade met the eyes of the assembled commanders.

"But as you know, that can continue only if we can provide security," he continued. "Two days ago, we learned in dramatic fashion that not everything is going smoothly."

"Aff," Dietrich Forrester replied from across the holotable. "Two trucks stolen and two others destroyed! Not something we can ignore."

Marin raised a hand to forestall his warrior's tirade. 

"There have been rumors of other pirate groups to the west of the pipeline as well," he added. "They have had a couple weeks to watch us. By now they know we are not leaving and are involved in major construction projects."

Cade nodded at his fellow Star Colonel.

"Unless they are complete idiots, they will be moving out of this area quickly," He replied. 

"Then we should be out there hunting them," Dietrich called out. "Run them to ground and end them."

Several other warriors murmured their agreement. Cade noted wryly that most were Star Captains and Star Commanders from the 14th Battle. 

"That is only part of a solution," Marin replied. "We cannot rush to attack here. The wastelands are too vast to simply try searching in hopes of getting lucky. Do not forget these pirates know the land and we do not."

Dietrich said nothing but Cade could see the crusader Star Captain was fuming at being opposed by Marin. 

"Star Colonel Marin is right," Cade added. "Searching will not turn up these parasites. However, it stands to reason that the attack outside Red Mule was not just a raid...but a distraction. That attack may have been cover for the others to move. If that is the case, they pulled it off flawlessly."

He glanced at Dietrich. 

"We will be increasing defense measures on the convoys and work sites," he said. "The 14th will be guarding these sites and the workers, with an aerostar on ready alert."

Cade ran a hand over the controls of the holotable and the image shifted to that of a dropship. 

"Meanwhile, the 12th Bear Guards will have a Binary on standby aboard the Legacy," he continued. "The 55th Aerostar will have assets on hand to immediately begin recon flights when a raid begins. If we are right and the pirates are making a run for it, the 55th finds them, then the Legacy will drop our Binary on them. We will eliminate the Pirates in one fell swoop."

Dietrich stood abruptly, causing the other warriors to start. The muscle bound warrior stared angrily at Cade and in the corner of his eye Cade noted Judea take a step forward, watching him. 

"And you have decided YOUR warriors will get the glorious side of the operation, I see," he spat.

"Neg," Marin Gurdel responded quietly, rising as well. "Our mechs are heavier and better suited to defend the convoys. Also, the dropship force may need to hot drop if the pirates are in one of the canyons. The Growling Bears have extensive training in this maneuver."

The rage was evident in Dietrich's eyes but he regained his seat. 

"Individual assignments will be sent to all of you," Cade concluded. "First patrols and escort assignments will begin tonight

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion


Daylam, Santander V
Rasalhague Dominion 
5 September 3094

Dietrich Forrester rolled well muscled shoulders, wincing as one popped loudly. The pain was worth it. 
Star Commander Biron nodded respectfully, falling into step as Dietrich set out for the Daylam city hall. 
"Good morning, Star Colonel," he said, handing him a noteputer. "Patrol schedules and an training proposal from Star Colonel Cade."
Dietrich grinned but shook his head.
"I am not officially Star Colonel yet, Biron," he pointed out.
The other officer shrugged.
"Marin Gurdel is dead," he replied. "You defeated him in a fair trial for his command. Even if you are not officially in command, we follow you unless ordered otherwise. In the eyes of the Maulers, you are Star Colonel."
He chuckled.
"And you know Command will approve it," Biron continued. "Your codex is too good to pass you over for Cluster command."
"Aff, it is likely true," Dietrich replied. 
Scowling, he looked to Biron.
"An operational proposal from Cade MacKenzie?" He asked. "What does that stravag want?"
Biron nodded toward the Datapad.
"Three day training exercise in the deserts," he said. "One of our trinaries 
Against one of his."
Dietrich shrugged again, considering.
"I will review it," he said. "As well as his set of patrol schedules, though I do not put the 14th beneath him as Marin did."
"Still, Cade MacKenzie is worthy of some respect," Biron remarked. "His plan to eliminate the Pirates worked."
"True enough," Dietrich agreed. "But it does not take a strategic genius to hunt bandits."
He waved down any protest from Biron. 
"Do not worry. I have respect for Cade," he added. "He's a skilled warrior and leader. He would not have the ear of the Khan otherwise. 
Smirking he looked out the window at the mechs in the compound under construction.
"But our time in his shadow is over," he said. "That, I will see to."

Star Colonel Cade MacKenzie
12th Bear Guards (Growling Bears)
Beta Galaxy
Rasalhague Dominion

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