Broken Peek Ultra-Max Prison
Rorke's Drift
The Outer Colonies
Deep Periphery
March 15th, 3066Thomas Smith sat in the chair the guards had directed him to upon entering the room, waiting.
Patients did not come naturally to him. As a Trueborn Elemental, he had literally been breed for combat, his DNA enhanced to make him the ultimate infantry trooper. He had never seen combat as a Clan warrior; his Sibko had considered too young and inexperienced to be anything but a hindrance on the battlefield, even as the forces of the reborn Star League had ravaged Huntress, and they had been captured in their barracks by ComGuard's troops. He felt little shame in this; he had been brought up to understand that the strong ruled the weak, and obviously his birth-Clan had been weaker than the Star League. He was therefore isorla, the legitimate spoils of battle, and a bondsman of those who had defeated his Clan.
At first ComStar had tried to convince him that he was free to chose his own destiny, but he had been too deeply indoctrinated, and had flat out refused his freedom until he had earned it. Unwilling to send what they still saw as a child into combat, his bond-masters had given him the name Smith and gotten him assigned to the Explorer Corps as an assistant surveyor, a job that required little more than the strength to lift boxes of equipment. He had seen the way the other members of the crew looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and awe. He felt them no ill will; it was not their fault that they were Freebirths, lacking even the most basic of genetic enhancements. When the day came that the other Clans finally pervaded, he would make sure that the transition was as easy for them as it could be.
But that was then, and this was now.
He had been surprised as anyone when their ship had found itself under the guns of not one but two warships, apparently fully operational and in the livery of the original Star League. While it was not uncommon for Periphery would, even ones this deep, to have a few scraps of passed down equipment dating back to the Star League, operational warships were unheard of. Especially so far from the Inner Sphere. Some of the crew had been worried that they might have been under the control of their bitter enemies in the Word of Blake, and that they may have stumbled upon some secret base, deliberately hidden at the far end of a chain of broken and otherwise non-functional HPG relays. But the Marines that had boarded the
Far Horizon had born the markings of the Star League Defence Force, and been equipped with a variant of the old
Nighthawk power-armour. They had quickly, quietly and professionally secured the JumpShip and its attended DropShips, putting the crew under guard in the mess hall, one of the few spaces large enough to hold them all.
There they had provided food, water and all other necessities while never once letting on just who they were. They had refused to answer any questions, and the only insignia they wore was the eight-pointed Cameron Star. After two days, they had announced that they were going to be taken to a holding facility in another system, and that they should get ready to move to another ship. They had been allowed back to their cabins long enough to pack their personal possessions, which were then carefully searched for weapons or other contraband. A DropShip tocked with the
Far Horizon, and they were ushered into what seemed to be a troop-transport of indeterminate class. Waiting for them had been a new guard force, still backed up by a number of
Nighthawks, but this time in regular uniforms that also bore the Cameron Star and SLDF rank insignia, but no unit patches. There were noticeable marks where patches had been, and recently removed, but they flat out refused to say where they were from or where they were going. Some of the other's had grown uneasy with all the secrecy, convinced that it was all some elaborate rick on the part of the Word of Blake, but Thomas remained clam, knowing that everything would be revealed in due time.
The transport had docked with another JumpShip and they jumped less than an hour later. Then came another jump shortly after, indicating that the ship they had moved to was equipped with Lithium-Fusion batteries. Shortly there after an announcement came over the ship's PA system announcing that they would be moving to another transport, and they underwent another double jump before transferring to a third JumpShip. Just who would have enough ships fitted with the expensive and difficult to manufacture batteries needed to set up even a short command circuit in such a hurry had started a fresh wave of speculation, with some even suggesting that they had stumbled upon a lost Star League outpost. Thomas had scoffed at the idea; evidentially someone had stumbled upon a supply cache left behind hundreds of years ago and managed to get some of the equipment working. It was possible, even, that it was the work of one of the Clans; the mercantile Diamond Sharks a clear possibility, with their tendency to send out trading missions deep into the Periphery. But even they would have made their identity known, unless it somehow served them to hide who they were.
Finally, after four changes of JumpShip and eight consecutive jumps, they had started moving under their own power, accelerating at 1-G towards some unknown destination. Thomas had been asleep when the ship suddenly cut its acceleration to zero, and he had been woken by a squad of guards who informed him that a long-range shuttle had arrived to collect him. The ship had been little more than a pressurised cabin sat atop a massive engine and fuel tank, and it had accelerated to a full 3-G's almost as soon as it was clear of the DropShip, the pilot and guard detail dressed in advanced flight-suits that protected them from the worst of the affects of the rapid acceleration. Two days of this had been tiring, physically and mentally, and Thomas had been revealed when they finally arrived in orbit of the planet he now fund himself on. They spent less than an hour in orbit before the pilot announced that they would be landing on the surface, and the squat craft had spun around and plunged tail-first into the atmosphere, the massive engine assemble acting as a heat shield.
Touchdown had revealed a land of clear, vivid blue sky's and ice-capped mountains as far as the eye could see in any direction. The landing pad had been connected to a small, fortified outpost overlooking a high plateau that was home to the prison complex he now called home. He had been taken to a medical wing, where blood had been drawn and a battery of other tests conducted, then moved to a small but isolated room with a bunk, head and small computer console. He had been surprised to see that it allowed him to select his meals with a set menu, and access visual, audio and text files. The selection was restricted to historical documents dating back to the time of the Star League, but he had indulged himself by reviewing the extensive files on military history, including an official SLDF profile on General Alexander Kerensky. After several days, during which he had minimal contact with the guards, and only saw the outside of his cell when they took his to a walled yard to exercise in the cold be fresh air, he had been escorted to a new room, furnished only with two chairs set at a table. He had been instructed to sit, then the guards had left him alone.
It wasn't long before the other door opened, and a man dressed in the uniform of a SLDF Captain entered, a thick file under one arm. He was almost as tall as the former Elemental, but just as heavily built. His skin was the colour of lightly tanned leather, and he had an intricate tattoo covering the left side of his face, running down his neck and disappearing under his uniform. When he moved, it was like watching a landslide in slow motion, with huge muscle's having to move out of the way of other muscles. Yet for all his size and bulk, he seemed almost graceful, obviously someone who was custom to their body.
“Well now.†The man looked at Thomas, placing the file on the desk before taking the other seat, “What are we to do with you?â€
“I am your Bondsman.†The former Smoke Jaguar looked the other man square in the eye.
“I am, aware, of that custom, an I can tell you now that we do not follow it.†The Captain looked almost annoyed, “There will be no slavery under the Cameron Star.â€
“A noble sentiment, but humans are often less than noble.†Thomas shrugged.
“Perhaps we should start from the beginning.†The stranger composed himself, “My name is Captain Joseph Cook, and I have been assigned to conduct a preliminary to see just what to do with you.†He placed a hand on the file, “As I said, we are aware of the Clans, but must of our information is hundreds of years out of date, or based on what little news reaches us from the Inner Sphere, often third or forth hand. Other officers are reviewing your ships database and interviewing the rest of the crew, but, you are a special case.â€
“Because I was a member of Clan Smoke Jaguar.†Thomas nodded, understanding at least that much, “If I may be permitted to ask, just where am I?â€
“This is a special wing of the Broken Peek prison complex that was built to handle, well, people we needed to keep isolated, at least for a while.†Cook explained, “The planet we are on is called Rorke's Drift, part of a political union known as the Outer Colonies. We were, once, a Star League outpost, but we have been almost completely isolated for several hundred years now. As you no doubt understand, we are some distance from the Inner Sphere, and that isolation has protected us from the wars that have ravaged much of humanity since the fall of the House of Cameron. We have tried to hold true to the ideals they held, and I would like to think we have done a good job of it.â€
“Many have tried, few have succeeded.†Thomas tilted his head to the side, “But you have retained the use of Warships and battle armour; that alone is impressive.â€
“We were fortunate enough to inherit a large cache of weapons and equipment, along with the means to maintain them.†Cook nodded, “We can replace anything that wares out, but we are not expansionist, and we have enough for local defence.â€
“There are those out here who could challenge you?†the Elemental asked, genuinely surprised, “I find that hard to believe.â€
“None that have warships, as far as we know, but there are others who have maintained the ability to produce weapons of war, and the will to use them against their neighbour.†Cook rubbed his chin, “Our wars tend to be more, subtle, than most, with daggers and words replacing regiments and fleets. It may not have the glory and simplicity of open warfare, but it gets the job done.â€
“That is why you remain hidden.†Thomas sat back in his chair, “You are strong, but not strong enough to defend against a determined attack by the likes of ComStar, or the Clans.â€
“They are strong enough, and getting stronger. The people born of this world have a vested interest in maintaining their security, one the other worlds, my home included, agree to.†Cook's eyes narrowed, “Like I said, much of our information about the Clans is hundreds of years out of date, but it was very specific. You see, yours was not the first ship to find its way out here: almost three hundred years ago, a small fleet of transports, escorted by a single warship, arrived in this very system. They told a story of a despotic regime that had turned on them for the crime of refusing to bow down to the whims of their leader, forcing them to flee their homes with little more than the cloths on their backs. We granted them sanctuary, gave them this world, which was only sparsely settled at the time, and helped them rebuild.†he braced himself for the outburst he knew was imminent, “You would know them as Clan Wolverine.â€
“
STRAVAG!†Thomas was on his feet in an instant, knocking the table flying like it was nothing.
Cook responded with a sharp, expertly aimed blow to the solar plexus that drove the air from the other man's lungs, followed by a sweeping kick that sent him crashing to the ground before he had a chance to recover. The main doors burst open and a guard in a suit of power-armour burst in, stun-stick at the ready.
“I do hope you've gotten that out of your system now.†Cook asked Thomas as he offered his hand, “Because if not, this is going to be a very long day.â€
Thomas took the offered hand and slowly pulled himself to his feet, his body already recovering from the blows it had taken
“This world is home to two billion people, most of who can claim blood ties to the Wolverines. And there are millions of others, spread across more than a dozen worlds.†Cook continued, “The Outer Colonies consider an attack on one an attack on all, and we would meet any outside incursion with everything out our disposal.†He paused for a moment, “But you, you represent a danger from within. While your shipmates will eventually be allowed to enter civilian life, under close observation, it is felt that you would continue to be a risk to the general populous. That is why you are here, in this prison. The fact that you were born as a warrior of Clan Smoke Jaguar is an accident of birth, and as such not something that would be held against you in a court of law. But given your, reaction, to the news that Clan Wolverine not only survived, but is flourishing, it is perhaps best that you remain confined to a secure location until such time as you prove otherwise.â€
The End
