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...But I'm having computer problems (tapping the mouse pad and loosing the article and starting over, for example).  I'll retitle it later, and worry about the loss of the italiacs (sp) denoting thoughts, the tank design, etc., later.  Its on the oficial website under the 'Fan Fiction' thread as well, with lots of views but no comments.



Prologue

CDS Red Fang
Date/Time
Burrow airspace, Burrow system

    Jock enjoyed these occasional moments of introspection.  For a member of the Carnoraptor Warrior Caste, time was just another resource – husbanded, used, and treasured.  Time idly spent in such introspection was wasted.  Jock preferred to think of it as a source of inspiration.

   Since birth, he had been destined for high status and rank, as a member of the revered Alexander Blood House.  The training officer in charge of his sibko had noticed the desperate skill and ferocity he brought to every challenge, the deft manipulation of sibko politics to find willing allies to advance his goals, bring followers to his warm his bunk.  Every meal was a Trial, first negotiating, then intimidating the Laborers who served him.

   His victorious Trial of Position had catapulted him into Warrior society as a Star Captain, paving the way for a bright future in Alpha Galaxy.  Success in the ranks.  Promotion to Pack Leader…  And winner of the coveted Alexander Bloodname.  Sergeant Graham had long ago explained the dichotomy in Clan society to his best student; every Warrior fought, strived, for a Bloodname as evidence of their skills and to prove their worthiness to contribute their genetic makeup to the Clan breeding system.

   But some Warriors were superior, their intelligence and skills leading them to fight for a specific Legacy within each Bloodname.  Where all Warriors worthy of a Bloodname were expected to excel, the genetic lines of superior Warriors within a Legacy elevated its holder to the pinnacle of Clan Society.  And Jock had captured the Legacy of the Clan’s greatest Warrior and Founder, Ben Alexander.  His victory in this Trial, like all the rest, was assured.

   â€œStar Colonel, drop in three minutes.  There has been no contact.  We are in the right system, quiaff?”

   â€œAff, Captain.  Carry out your orders.”  With that distraction dealt with, Jock returned to watching the unremarkable dunes beneath the Fang.  The glare of light bouncing from the system’s primary showed nothing remarkable.  Nothing moved, even under the close observation of the Technicians and crews of the cargo DropShips maintaining a close watch of the drop zone and airspace around his flagship.  Was this their only defense?

   The Badgers had always been weak, despite their close association with the ‘Raptors.  After the Truce, the Clan had gone on the offensive, seeking glory and Isorla, and fought the combined forces of their progenitors, Clan Dingo, and their sibClans Steel Python and Crimson Badger to a standstill in an all-out assault that left the Pythons all but extinct.  The Badgers had proven themselves timid then, taking the majority of the defensive postings and leaving offensive action to the others.  Their armored vehicles and handful of Primitive ‘Mechs were no match for the Star League ‘Mechs handed down from the Wolverines and Dingoes, backed by their own Primitives and armor.

   Even after the victory mediated by the ilKhan, the Badgers remained isolated within their capital in the Tacoma desert on Legacy, hiding beneath the sand.  Their territory was won by the Shrikes after nearly a decade, and their allies had been impressed with the massive, empty chambers hidden within the plastisized sand the Badgers had used as a building material.  Jock himself had marveled at the cunning design, using ceramics to replace expensive construction materials.  What had needed such enormous space?

   The Badgers had only recently become economically viable once again, selling cheap household and personal electronics to the Cluster’s Civil Government.  Spies and informants from other Clans had hinted at a growing manufacturing strength in several fields; spare parts, advanced computers, missile and Autocannon ammunition…  It appeared the Badgers were either producing a surplus of equipment for sale through middlemen, or were on the cusp of mass-production.  That kind of industry was still rare in the Legacy Cluster.

   Such industrial development had been difficult for the New Clans, even with intelligence assets among both the Inner Sphere and the dezClans of the Madman, Alexander Kerensky.  Protected only by the Badger Touman and the Sonoma Accord, it came down to which Clan was prepared to be the most ruthless, and acted first.

   It had taken time to convince the leadership of his Clan to provide him the troops and resources needed for his plan, time to assure the over-cautious has-beens of his willingness to protect the Clan by claiming responsibility for failure.  But it would work.  He would turn Burrow into a charnel house, as Packs of ‘Raptors dug out the industrial base to support his political career, to become Khan of the greatest of McEvedy’s New Clans.

   â€œThirty seconds to drop-point – stand by.”

   It was inevitable.


Chapter 1

New Damascus
Time/Date
Burrow, Burrow System

   Another blustery day whipped the sand of the desert outside the window of Merchant Factor Elliot (Polo) in punishing bursts against the advanced composites.  It was once again the start of Burrow’s windy season, and as Elliot watched the dunes he reminded himself to take the threat of Burrow’s weather to heart and inspect the preparations that protected his Caste’s manufacturing, storage, and port facilities.  With the Clan economy finally picking up after leaving the miasma of the Faction Worlds, it was a relief to feel like the Caste was fulfilling its debt to the Clan.

“Factor?”  Turning at the interruption, Elliot found the slim figure of his wife silhouetted at the door to his office.

“Benjamin is here for your meeting.”  Seeing her normally dark complexion pale, his brows furrowed as he frowned in concern.  “Something’s wrong, Elliot.  He says he needs to see you now.  It can’t wait.”

Gently moving her aside, another man pushed past her to enter his comfortable office before using the same gentle movements to usher her out of the office and lock the door.  “I’m sorry, Elliot.  But you better get the Khan on the secure network.  We don’t have much time.”


*   *   *


   â€œWe might never have put the pieces together in time, except for the Condor Import/Export meetings held last (month later).  Demand for parts has been accelerating, and we were concerned about meeting received-by dates for the bonuses negotiated in the last round of contract talks…”  Seeing the blank look on the face of Mohammad LeFabre, Khan and President of the Badger Council, Benjamin could hardly restrain himself.

   â€œThey’re planning to attack Burrow!”  Benjamin felt a brief flicker of satisfaction at the shock and panic that immediately flashed across the faces of his hosts.  “They’re planning to break the Accord!  You need to tell the ilKhan!”


*   *   *


   The Clan Council had broken up nearly a half-hour before but nearly half their number had remained, loitering over the stale coffee.  A message protesting the ‘Raptor’s intent had been sent by courier, but even with well-traveled routes and a quick reply days remained before an answer could be received.  The question was, what could be done to prevent it?

Mohammad had taken the opportunity to walk around the graceful halls of the Clan’s administration building, watching the ‘clerks and jerks’ of the Warrior Caste through the maze of cubicles and glass.  The Touman, barely a pair of Clusters in size, had always been outnumbered and the Primitive ‘Mechs no match to the more advanced opponents they were forced to fight.  When the Accord had been declared law, the efforts of the Warrior Caste to enlarge and improve the Touman had collapsed under the weight of economic reality.  The disruption and delay of the effort to colonize a new planet had produced an economic backlash among the lesser Castes – over a decade of sacrifice had left them barely holding onto the remaining comforts of membership in Clan Dingo, family heirlooms, memories of better times.  Military production had taken second place to producing trade goods for the Civil Government as the Clan tried to clothe and feed itself.

   The crash programs to rearm had barely begun, and old skills from a lifetime of training were coming back quickly.  The Primitive units had been carefully mothballed, and their limited numbers had been quickly put back into service.  Alteration of the civilian designs in service was underway, using the seized inventory of weapons and munitions in the Clan’s warehouses.  Warriors willing to fight were the problem – the best Warriors and equipment had been granted to the ‘Raptors.  The Badgers had been Spawned as a source of second-line garrison troops fighting from fixed positions.

   Mohammad’s feet took him back into the Council room, looking for a cup of coffee.  The crowd of people watching something on the room’s multiple screens sent a shock of anticipation and hope through him, quickening his steps.  Benjamin waved from the room, his face expressionless, as the crowd parted before him.

   â€œReplay it from the beginning,” he was telling the technician at the front of the room.  Looking up at the main screen, Mohammad felt a feeling of dread gathered in the pit of his stomach.

The strong, regular features of IlKhan Thomas McEvedy looked out at him.  “Khan LeFabre – I understand your concern about the illegal Trial your allies have discovered.”

   â€œBut the ‘Raptors have a point.”  Leaning back in his chair, the screen widened to show the background of his office and several advisors.  “In the yearly readiness reports your Clan has submitted in the decade since your last Trial, membership in the Warrior Caste has declined.”  Mohammad felt his face harden, as the admonition from his commanding General became plain.

   â€œWe are a military society, Mohammad.  The rest of the New Clans must balance military preparedness and the needs of our people as well.  The Dingo sibClans have suffered more than most, but all of us are struggling.”  One or two of the advisors had begun nodding.  “The Dingoes have never stopped military production, despite the need to work in garages dedicated to maintaining Civilian vehicles.  Even the ‘Raptor’s victims have found a way to contribute to the common defense, specializing in Infantry Special Forces formations and serving in the IlKhan’s Guard.”

   â€œBut the Badgers have stagnated.”

   â€œIf you survive the Trial, I will support you in censuring the ‘Raptors for their adventurism.”  The silence in the Council room was profound as the IlKhan’s death sentence was pronounced.  “If you fail… The ‘Raptors will demand the right to Absorb you, and finally earn the right to Spawn their own Second Clan.  At best, you will face a Trial of Refusal at heavy odds.”  He fell silent for a moment.

   â€œThis message has been routed through a partial command circuit , but there’s no way to tell how much longer you have.  I’ve sent warnings to your allies, advising them of the need to prove yourselves before the Grand Council,” he said soberly, reaching for a control on his desk.  “In this solemn matter, none will interfere.  Good luck, Mohammad.”


Chapter 2

New Damascus
Time/Date
Burrow, Burrow System

   SaKhan Eric Rodan was busy enjoying the greenhouse-grown marijuana rolled into his cigar.  “…I think I’m getting the hang of this,” he told his mechanic.  Taking another draw, he tilted his head back and tried again.  A fragrant cloud of smoke rose into the air, but no ring.  A fit of coughing interrupted his next effort before he glanced back at the man.  “They can fix that, right?”

   The other man just grinned.  “You’re a Warrior, facing an imminent invasion, outnumbered four or five to one, and you pilot a Primitive.”  He lit his own cigar and took a couple puffs.  “A Light.”

   He spat some of the loose tobacco to one side.  “You want to live forever?”

   Eric grunted.  The man had a point.  “Hopeless odds, certain death, doomed heroes, beautiful maidens throwing themselves at my feet, begging for my affections.  Wouldn’t you?”  Tossing the cigar back to the mechanic, he turned to face the rest of the bay.  It was not a scene to inspire confidence.

   The civilians of the Clan had taken the ilKhan’s message personally.  It was a little embarrassing, actually.  Parts, armor scraps, and crazed piles of electronics filled the hanger.  Safe from the flying grit of the windstorm outside, most of the Technician Caste was in buildings like this one, accompanied by the Laborers responsible for driving and flying these vehicles.  The Clan’s dedicated military equipment had already been taken out of storage and prepared for what everyone was calling ‘The Invasion’, capital ‘T’, capital ‘I’.

   The Clan had survived incompetent leadership, economic hardship, and a close-up of the ‘Raptor Warrior chauvinism towards the rest of their Castes.  Eric didn’t blame them for wanting to fight back, but the sniper course being taught by Sergeant ‘Porkins’ Perkins was a bit much.  He didn’t have a clue how the short, pregnant one on the end thought she was going to get a sight picture, let alone hump a nearly four-foot sniper rifle, but at least she wouldn’t be moving much.

   The Clan had been busy moving civilians to emergency shelters a couple hundred miles away to the coast of the inland sea, housing them in primitive conditions with truckloads of plasticizer.  The young ones were sitting around shelters listening to teenagers telling stories about growing up in camps just like them, wide-eyed at the hijinks their babysitters had gotten away with – mostly.  The Technicians and volunteers were brought back to Damascus, where the Clan’s Touman was preparing to fight a close-up, no-holds-barred ambush.

   â€œâ€¦-ric!  Eric!”  Looking up, Eric turned to face Daniel (Musschenbroek), the spindly, crazy-haired Scientist in charge of mating military electronics to the civilian vehicles.  “Eric, I’ve got something you need to see in back.”


*   *   *


    Eric cast a keen eye over the hovertank in the center of the lab.  “So this is it?  You built a Sandpiper?”

   Daniel somehow managed to convey amusement while hiding his face in the palms of his hands.  “You don’t want to put a ‘kick me’ sign on a piece of technology that might save your life if it works.  In the immortal phrase, ‘that would be BAD’.”

   â€œDoes it work?”

   â€œNo.”  Daniel pulled his hands down his face.  “Of course not.  As a Scientist, I just thought it would be interesting to see how long modern pharmaceuticals could keep the Scientists and Technicians working on the project from collapsing.”

   Eric had to grin.  “What does it do?”

   Daniel turned and started walking towards a pair of computers set up on the work table along the wall and took a seat at one of the stools scattered along its length. “For a long time, either a single ‘Mech or two vehicles have made a Point.”  Pointing out the two computers, he continued.  “For the first time, we have two vehicles, triangulating, calculating, and comparing position data against one ‘Mech.”

   Eric crossed his arms and rubbed his chin. “So, we get an increase in accuracy?”

   Daniel nodded.  “As long as both computers are within range of the target.”  Pointing at the Sandpiper, Daniel continued.  “But given how fragile a vehicle is, we needed to allow for losses.  The C3P – Command, Control, and Communications, Point System – can disconnect, identify, and synchronize with another orphaned unit to stay in operation.  But until it does, its dead weight.”

   Pointing back at the hovertank, Daniel leaned back.  “You’re standing in front of the latest prototype.  What’s different about it?”

   Looking back at the tank, Eric studied it for a moment.  “…I’m not sure.  Something’s wrong with the missile launcher,” Eric finally answered.  “It looks like half the tubes are fake.  The Artemis system is still there.”

   Daniel snapped upright on his stool and scowled.  “I don’t know why your Warriors insist on spending time fabricating those fake add-ons.  Maybe now you can ask them to stop bothering the work crews.”

   Shaking his head, Eric started circling and studying the rest of the Sandpiper.  Everything else appeared perfectly normal, down to the scuffed and worn patches of its armor.  “No.  They’re hoping to blend these in with the rest of them.”

    Climbing onto the hovercraft and scrutinizing the small welds along the edges of the add-ons, Eric asked, “Why don’t you try mounting the system on a Primitive ‘Mech?  Two-on-One would go a long way to evening the odds against their ‘Mechs.”

   Daniel shrugged.  “Too many variables.  And not enough time.  The C3P concept was already being developed – it passed tests in the electronics lab and the field under controlled conditions, but its never been tested in combat.”