This is a little story I started working on over 5 years ago. It took me about a year to finish it (with help and prodding from Knightmare) and I posted it over on S7. Since I haven't had time to work on any of my other battletech story ideas I decided to repost it here (after going through it and fixing a few errors). So here it is, Periphery Redemption.
Periphery Redemption
Chapter 1
Inbound to Raldamax
Outworlds Alliance
10 January 3001
A shudder ran through the Rocinante as its hull began to make contact with the planet’s upper atmosphere. Strapped into his bunk in what some long forgotten, sadistic engineer considered a crewman’s berth, Giuseppe Giovanni “Joe†Castiglioni felt every ripple and air pocket. Dropping onto a planet was nothing new for him; he had made dozens of drops in his lifetime across a good portion of the Inner Sphere. But Joe was no spacer, he was a Mechwarrior. Or at least he used to be. Now he was Dispossessed. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. Gone was the honor, the glory, the prestige. So were his commission and his family mech. Now Joe was at the end of the line; literally. Raldamax was as far away from the Free Worlds League as he could possibly get as far as he was concerned. And besides, he was out of C-bills. Tech pay wasn’t great, especially when you were the lowest man on the totem pole wherever you went. And that situation remained constant when you pulled up stakes and moved on as soon as you had enough funds to hitch a ride on the next passing dropship. But those days were over.
The Outworlds Alliance held everything he was looking for; anonymity, a low cost of living, relative peace and quiet, and an overall lack of any form of military presence. At least that was what he had to keep telling himself. Every fiber of his being ached to be back in the cockpit of a mech stomping across the landscape of some exotic planet battling the foes of the Free Worlds League and the Duchy of Oriente. And his career had been so short and disappointing. Maybe it was fate, or maybe his father had always been right about him. Maybe he had been too indulged, too hotheaded, and too impetuous for his, or anyone else’s, good. It didn’t matter anymore. Raldamax, and Joe Castiglioni’s future, were waiting.
A groan from the bunk above reminded Joe that he was not alone in the universe. However, if the rest of the inhabitants of the universe were anything like his bunkmate then he could do without them. Arnold Rimmer had equal amounts of intelligence and personality. Sadly the total of those two categories put him somewhere between two week old gym socks and a burnt out actuator. Not only was he chronically space sick he was also susceptible to jump sickness, motion sickness, and, apparently, air sickness. And to add insult to injury he was only three months into a 24 month contract with the dropship captain. Joe, on the other hand, had made a handshake agreement with Captain Lawrence to work as a basic tech; but only until he reached Raldamax. Just then the old Buccaneer-class dropship hit another patch of turbulence. In response Rimmer went into another round of moaning and stomach clinching and Joe realized that maybe, just maybe there was justice in the universe.
It only took the Rocinante a few minutes to plunge through Raldamax’s atmosphere on its glide path to the planet’s only spaceport. A few moments before touchdown the dropship’s landing gear locked into place with a reassuring clunk. Moments later the ship made contact with the tarmac and began to groan as thrusters fired to bleed off momentum as it sped down the runway. Once the Rocinante came to a stop the captain gave the all clear and Joe unbuckled himself. Rimmer, however, was moving faster. He bolted out of his bunk, opened the berth’s hatch, and scurried to the head as quickly as his shaky legs would carry him. Some small part of Joe would miss Rimmer; some very tiny, microscopic part. It didn’t take the Rocinante long to taxi to its assigned hangar and come to rest. The crew then went to work completing landing and docking procedures. It took a few hours to finish his assigned checklist and make his goodbyes. Joe then made his way to the cargo deck to clear his departure with the captain and collect his pay. It actually seemed that Captain Lawrence would miss him; especially considering that he was being left with Rimmer as the only service tech. Joe then collected his gear and headed down to the main exit hatch. On his way he ran into the half of the crew that had gotten first crack at shore leave.
Exiting the hangar Joe was hit by a wall of hot, dry air. He wiped the perspiration that instantly welled up on his forehead away with his sleeve while he got his first look at Raldamax, and what he saw didn’t impress him much. The entire complex consisted of two aerodyne hangers, a couple of rows of grain silos, a few run down warehouses, an air traffic control/fuel depot building, and what looked like four reinforced aerospace fighter hangers at the far end of the runway. All in all it was one of the smallest spaceports he had ever seen. On top of that there were no other dropships on the open tarmac or in the other hangar. As Joe walked across the open ferrocrete he watched as an ancient flatbed utility truck slowly made its way to the Rocinante’s hangar. That was the only activity he saw going on anywhere.
“Welcome to Raldamax,†quipped George the chief flight engineer as he passed on his way to the ATC/fuel depot building. After scanning his surroundings one last time, Joe followed the rest of the crew into the small building.
“Where in the world do you get a drink around here?†asked Joe as he walked up next to Kachanski the ship’s navigator.
“We’re heading into town as soon as George can get someone out here to pick us up.†At that moment George was on the only public vidphone trying to get a taxi to come all the way out to the eastern outskirts of New Marshalburg to haul the crew into town. From the way he slammed the receiver down it was clear that the first taxi company was not very eager to transport a dropship crew into town.
“Not a good sign,†whispered Kachanski. “There were only two taxi companies in town the last time we were here.†George however was not to be thwarted. After some gesticulating, and promises to cover any damages, he turned around and gave the crew a thumps up. The Rocinante’s crew would soon be on its way to conquer New Marshalburg.
