OBT Forum

I only just started on this after reading the other Scorpion story. An excellent story.

I see those "friends" I sent around in the wee dark hours were as "persuasive" as I hoped they would be and "convinced" you to restart this thread.  I do hope the marks heal quickly: They are so hard to explain to friends and co-workers.

Chapter Eight

May 10, 3056
Shanty-town
Clayborne Remembered
Circinus, Circinus Federation

“It is a bloody fortress,” growled Lucien as he stared at the three story mansion, once the three companions (and the girl) had clambered over the broken and rusted wrought iron gates.  The grounds were filled with brown dead grass, a dry fountain that may (at a distant time in the past) have once flowed with water, and broken statuary.

But the mansion itself was a stark difference from the rest of the buildings nearby.  The walls, pocked-marked with bullet impacts and even the mark of a light autocannon, were solidly built, and Lucien pointed towards one section where the granite had been broken.  “Stone on the outside, but that is armor underneath—BattleMech armor, Jason.  Not a single window on the ground level, and that entrance is covered by the overhang . . . are those murder holes above?”

Jason grinned.  “I imagine they are, Lucien—see the scorched flagstones?  I bet they spew inferno gel, not merely boiling oil.  And those two abstract sculptures flanking the entrance—do those look like stylized turrets to you?”

“Aye,” the one-time Falcon replied.  “Auto-blazer cannon, I would wager—nothing else is that compact and they have no recoil.  The windows on the second flight are all narrow slits, and the ones on the third story are covered in armored shutters . . . never mind the razor-wire coils lining the walls.  And that roof is too steep to allow someone to easily traverse it—looks slick as well.”

The Bondsman turned his eyes away from the mansion and gazed at his bond-holder.  “You think the Cameron is inside?”

“Neg, Lucien.  If the heir even exists, however, there is a good chance that the owner may well know where she is—and if not, I am certain he can aid us in our second mission.”

Jason nodded quickly and he stepped forward towards the entrance—and sure enough, both of the decorative sculptures twisted in place to track him.  He bounced up the steps and he politely knocked on the double doors, doing his best to ignore the shafts above his head which would rain down pure Hell upon him if things went wrong.

“Go away!” came a muffled voice from within.  “Don’t want what you are peddling—if you aren’t off my property in five, they will be picking up pieces of you for the next week!”

“I need to speak with Walker Roche—the matter is urgent.”

“Are you deaf?  I said leave!”

Jason faced a small video picked buried in the wall and he nodded.  He removed his jacket and unbuttoned the cuff of his right arm sleeve, rolling back the shirt to his elbow.  And he held up his right arm before the monitor, presenting to it his codex.

“If this is the abode of Master Roche, he will wish to speak with me and my companions.  If he is not here, then I apologize for disturbing you and will go away.”

The lock on the doors snapped open and one side slowly opened, revealing an old white-haired man, holding a riot gun in one hand.

“I am Walker Roche—you took your own sweet time getting here, didn’t you?”

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

The interior was surprisingly clean and well-keep, although filled with relics and books and artifacts.  Walker had let the four of them into his home, and then he secured the thick doors again, and bared them as well.  He had started to ask questions, but then he nodded when he saw the frightened and battered girl and shook his head.

“Find a seat and take a load off—and touch nothing!” he snarled as he made his way between stacks of books, papers, and furniture to disappear within the warren.  The girl shivered and Lucien patted her gently on the head and picked her up, putting her in a plush sofa chair, and placing a thick comforter over her.  “You need not worry, girl,” he said.  “He will not harm you—and you are going somewhere better.”  He examined the couches and shook his head.  “I think I will remain standing, Jason—I would hate to break his furniture by sitting on it.”

Jason just sat on a couch next to Amanda.  Walker came back into the room and he carried a mug and a plate—thick battered cuts of friend potatoes filled the plate, along with a golden mustard.  “Here,” he growled at the girl.  “You look hungry,” he said as he handed her the food and the mug filled with chilled juice.

The waif waited until Lucien nodded and then she gingerly took them both, setting the plate in her lap and began to gobble up the food, pausing only long enough to slake her thirst with the juice.

“Slowly, girl!” Lucien barked.  “Too much of a feast after nothing will make you sick—take it slow.”

She flinched, but did as he commanded.

The old man nodded.  “Took you bloody long enough to come here for me.  I’ve been expecting visitors since the Invasion began seven years ago!  Did you forget about Walker Roche?”

“Who are you, old man?” Lucien asked.

“Walker Roche—former Scorpion, former Dragoon, former Irregular, and resident historian for President McIntyre.”

Jason nodded.  “We lost track of you after the Dragoons quit sending reports—and neither Cranston Snord nor his daughter Rhonda were forthcoming with information on your whereabouts.  Never mind that the Scorpions were not part and parcel of the Invasion and that limited how many of our resources we could bring to bear.”

“Yeah, Cranston and Jamie both have their fool idea that the Vulture Lords are better for the common man than the Clans—despite all they have suffered at the hands of those same carrion-crows!  Is it too much to ask that you have come to bring me home?”

Lucien frowned.  “You were on the Dragoon Expedition?  Why didn’t you answer the recall?  You could have been home six years ago?”

“Do you realize how much it would have cost to buy passage for me and my collection to the Occupation Zone?  I would have had to sell these items I have spent half a century collecting!”  Walker Roche glared at the Elemental, and then he shrugged.  “And who exactly are you?”

“Jason Scott, Star Captain, Clan Goliath Scorpion Touman.  My companions are Star Commander Amanda Djerassi and Bondsman Lucien,” Jason paused and he grinned.  “The girl has not told us her name.  I do not believe she trusts us yet.”

Walker snorted.  “She bloody damn well better not trust you!  Or me.  That is how you survive in the capital city of Circinus—trust no one.  Calling this place a cesspool is an insult to sewers galaxy-wide.”

“We are here because I Seek, Walker Roche,” Jason said as he leaned forward.  “And I think we can arrange your transport back to the Homeworlds—if that is your wish.”

The old man nodded and he sighed.  “Aye,” he whispered.  “I took the name of my homeworld as my honor-name when I joined the Dragoons.  I would like to see her skies once more before my time is up—I’ve seen eighty-six years, boy.  Never thought to see so many, but I am tired and I want to return home.”

“It will be done, Walker Roche, and you will be received by the Khan herself and honored for your service.”

A tear trickled down one cheek of the old Warrior and he nodded.  “You Seek, eh?  Damned if I haven’t been Seeking for half a century—what are you Seeking?”

“Two things,” Jason answered.  “There is a family that dwelt on Circinus following Kerensky’s departure—a woman named Mira Levin and her daughter Colleen.  I am Seeking their descendants.”

Walker grimaced and shook his head.  “And I can guess why.  You won’t like what you find, Seeker, but I know where you can find Mira Levin’s sole surviving heir—and he is every bit as screwed up as his as great-great-great Grandsire Richard.  And the second item?”

Jason grinned.  “Tell me about Laredo.”

Walker smiled in return.  “Kerensky’s HQ . . . that’s the real reason you are here, isn’t it?”

The Scorpion did not answer and the old mercenary warrior/spy shook his head.  “I’ve done some prospecting over on Laredo—you have to hand it to Aleksandyr, he certainly hid it well.  And his depopulating that entire continent helped to shield it.”

“He massacred the people there?” asked Amanda in shock.

“Displaced them,” the historian corrected.  “Claimed that the Rim World defenders had used nukes and persistent chemicals on Laredo that made it too hazardous to stay—moved ‘em lock, stock, and barrel here to High Plains.  And he did test Rim chemical and nuclear warheads on a chain of islands between here and there.  Those places are damned lethal to this day, so not too many folks continue on to Laredo if the outer islands are still irradiated and poisoned.  Damn shame, too.  Laredo is far enough north that it is a lot more temperate, with actual forests and ample fresh water, even a few glaciers up in the mountains.  But it is a small continent, as continents go—more a large island, really—and the local animal life thrives there.”

Walker paused and he collected his thoughts.  “Evolution here on Circinus never really got above the reptile stage—but reptiles have flourished.  Along with insects and fish.  There are nearly three hundred species of snakes alone here—including two who fly.  Well, one flies, the second glides.  At least one hundred are venomous.  We’ve got reptiles as big as a pachyderm, and smaller carnivores that are just plain vicious.  They’ve had three centuries to reclaim Laredo for themselves—and they have, boy.  They have.”

“But, yeah.  I’ve got a good idea of where it is—and a few ways to get inside without heavy excavating equipment.  But we won’t be able to get anything out without a full-scale excavation—and if you do that, the Black Warriors will be on top of you before you can say abracadabra,” he shrugged.  “Might not be anything left there, anyway.  Time ruins all things, boy, but no one has broken into it, as far as I can tell.”

Jason nodded.  “I need to see it with my own eyes—so I report to the Khan on what remains intact.  There may come a day when the Scorpion needs it.  Can you take us there?”

The old man paused and then he nodded.  “I can—but I wouldn’t advise taking the girl along.  McIntyre keeps me under watch, but, I’ve got a couple of tunnels he doesn’t know about.”  He paused and shrugged again.  “We’ll have to get my collection out through them—if he thinks I am planning on bolting ship, he will try to seize everything.  And shoot you.”

“The girl will stay with the DropShip—and I will have Star Commander Tomas and his people begin moving your collection aboard.  And if President McIntyre truly does not know about your tunnels, we will be long gone before he discovers your absence.”

“That’s the sixth problem,” Walker said sourly.  “First, the gangs on Circinus don’t often help each other—but you are an outsider.  And none of them like seeing an outsider kill their own and steal their property,” he said pointing to the girl.  “Second problem, that gang-banger you shot and killed is related to one of the senior Black Warriors and probably would have been a ‘MechWarrior in a few years, and his family is gonna be pissed at you.  Third problem, assuming you stay your ass alive to this point, is getting to Gordan Cameron—yes, he’s taken the name of his ancestor—without getting shot up in the process.  He holds down an high position in McIntyre’s government and is a powerful big fish in our small Circinian pond.  Fourth problem is that while Circinus might be backward and primitive, McIntyre has set up a pretty decent air-defense network—getting off of High Plains and onto Laredo ain’t gonna be a walk in the park.  Fifth, once we get to Laredo, we’ve got all that indigenous life to deal with while we find a place to an entrance.  It ain’t gonna be as simple as pick a clearing, walk twenty yards, and say ‘Open Sesame’, Aladdin.  You’ve gotta deal with those first, Seeker, before we event think about sailing off into the deep black.”

“Fore-warned is fore-armed, Walker.  Do not worry yourself about me—I fully intend to finish this mission and return to my Khan.”

Walker snorted.  “So did I, my boy.  So did I.  And look how—and where—I ended up.”

Nice, good to see no one wanted to mess with the elemental's.

May 10, 3056
Presidential Palace
Clayborne Remembered
Circinus, Circinus Federation

Calvin McIntyre stared with pure greed and lust at the open case before him.  Then he smiled and looked back up at Jason.  “Twenty of these weapons are mere curiosities, nothing more.  We wonder how many you might be able to provide to Our troops?  Should We find that such is in Our interest, that is.”

Jason bowed.  “These are but samples of the wares my superiors have made available for you, Mister President.  And they are a gift, yours to keep regardless of how our negotiations bear fruit.  As to the numbers we have available, I have somewhere around a thousand of these particular weapons aboard my ship.”

“A thousand!” Calvin repeated, his eyes bulging from his head.  “With that many, We could rearm Our entire infantry force,” he whispered.

“One thousand of these weapons alone, Mister President; I also have cases upon case of Clan grenades, support weapons, laser assault rifles with integral grenade launchers, vibro-blades, sidearms, and helmets with integral communications gear and visual augmentation.  All manufactured in the Clan homeworlds to our standards—lighter weight, less bulk, greater range and damage than your local equivalents.”

A somber faced man dressed in robes shook his head.  “Be not fooled by his offer of bribes, Mister President—he is Clan and they cannot be trusted.  You need no such wares as he offers, not when Blake himself stands beside you.”

“And what concern is it of ComStar that causes them to advise the ruler of this entire Federation not to accept arms of a quality far above what he might otherwise obtain?”

“I am not with the heretics of ComStar, Clanner!  I represent the Word of Blake!”

Jason nodded.  “Ah, yes, the splinter faction that broke away after your Primus attempted to betray the bargain her ComGuards won on Tukayyid.  You are lucky that she was struck down when she was—for if she had lived, such a heinous show of dishonor would have brought the ten Clans you have yet to encounter into the Inner Sphere . . . and Terra would burn.”

“BLASPHEMY!” the Blakist screamed at the top of his lungs.  “Mister President, you must hand these wretches over to me so that they may be put to the question!”

“I must, Demi-Precentor Sand?  I must?  You forget your place . . . it was your offer of lower prices on your services that convinced me to allow the Word to assume control of the HPG stations here from ComStar, and it is your words now that may have me alter that deal.  If you do not shut up.”

Calvin sat back in this throne and he nodded.  “Infantry arms are good and well, but what of BattleMechs?  Can your superiors supply those as well?”

“We can, Mister President, although not in the same numbers, of course.  But should my mission here be successful, I believe that I can guarantee you will see our BattleMechs first hand.  I have none aboard my ship, and we will have to arrange a time and place for them to arrive . . . but if our discussions are fruitful, and if I find what I am looking for here, then yes.   We can, if we decide to do so, transport several hundred BattleMechs to your world, although I must remind you of the distances involved and that it will take years to arrange such a transfer.”

“And what are you looking for, Master Scott?” Calvin asked as he leaned forward.

“Something of enough value to make it worth my superiors time and effort, Mister President,” and Jason grinned.

“Gordan?” the President said as he sat back again.

Jason appraised the man that was one of the reasons for coming here today—he was attractive, well-built, tall, strong . . . and the expression on his face would have perfectly in tune with a rabid hyena.  The Scorpion shook his head.  So, Richard’s madness has passed down through his own blood—there is nothing here of any value for my Clan to claim on that score.

“President McIntyre,” Gordan Cameron said as he opened chests filled with coins and jewelry, “has agreed to purchase your stores of arms . . . will this suffice?”

Jason laughed.  “Increase your offer by ten-fold, and you might pique my interest.  Were the Sharks here negotiating, you would find that such an offer would end their interest immediately, and cost you the chance of acquiring our goods.  I, however, will give you another opportunity.”

“Space is dangerous—and ships do not always arrive at their destinations, Clanner,” said Gordan softly.  “And even Elementals can be killed.”

“And now you start the threats?  Gentlemen, what you offer has little value to those I represent.  Here is the minimum of what we will require for the small arms I carry,” he said as he passed a data-pad across to a servant, who carried it up to Calvin McIntyre upon his high throne.  “Anything less and I leave.”  Jason paused and he stared directly into Gordan Cameron’s eyes.  “And if you think you can stop me, you are certainly welcome to try.  All you will get from the effort is your own annihilation.”

“We will see,” snarled the seneschal of the ruler of Circinus.  “Guards!” he snapped.  “Take them into custody!  Warriors, seize his DropShip!”

Jason sighed and he watched Calvin McIntyre smirk on his throne.  And then he shook his head.

“So, you have no doubt by now attempted to capture my JumpShip, have you?  If I were you, Mister President, I would check with the survivors that attempted such a deed before you clap us in irons—or do something I would consider to be irrevocable for our future relationship.”

At that moment, a junior military officer, his face pale with shock came running into the room—he whispered into the ear of his superior, who gaped in horror at the news.  And then he whispered to his superior, who in turn spoke quietly into the ear of Gordan.

“You destroyed our DropShip!”  he thundered.  “A DropShip that stated it was performing a lawful customs inspection!”

Calvin McIntyre jerked on his throne and Jason coldly nodded.  “Mister President, our JumpShip is not nearly as defenseless as your advisors had presumed it to be—you have lost a Leopard-class carrier this day and the brave men and women who crewed it.  Be mindful that you do not provoke me into making you lose even more.”

“GORDAN!” the President bellowed as he stood.  “How did this happen!  I did not authorize any such attack on their ship—General Radchik, were your soldiers so incompetent that they managed to get killed by an unarmed JumpShip!”  Jason restrained himself from chuckling as contradictory statements emerged from the mouth of the ruler of Circinus.

The seneschal shook his head and he clenched his fists as he glared at Jason.  “The other DropShip launched fighters—ten of them!  And that JumpShip was not unarmed; the power and range of her weapons was . . . it is hard to credit such exaggerations.”

“No Clan JumpShip is unarmed, Gordan,” Jason said slowly.  “You see, we realize that space is a dangerous place and we take precautions to avoid that danger—or deal with it if it forced upon us.  And to honest with you, that is no JumpShip sitting at the proximity point, but a WarShip, gentlemen.  A wolf in sheep’s clothing, if you will.  You can certainly kill me, and those with me, and if you do then this city will die with everyone inside, including your own august self, Mister President.”

Silence descended over the room as jaws dropped open and eyes grew wide, but then Jason smiled.  “I do not blame you of course; I am certain that such an attempt to seize my vessel was in fact nothing more than an over-zealous flunky seeking to ingratiate himself with your good will.”  Gordan flushed at this and Jason grinned at him.  “I will accept the items listed upon that data-pad, Mister President, in exchange for my wares—and one item more.  Him,” the Scorpion said, as he pointed his finger at Gordan.  “I want his head on a silver platter . . . literally.  You may keep the body.  It is to be delivered to be no later than 1800 hours this evening, or I lift for orbit and you get nothing.”

“Now that the unpleasantness is behind us, perhaps we should discuss how we might go about setting up future missions to deliver BattleMechs to your world?  Clan BattleMechs and even OmniMechs, Mister President.  Or would you rather that we end this here and now?  Other powers in this neighborhood might well be willing to bargain even if you are not.”

Calvin McIntyre sat back in his chair and he frowned.  But then he nodded.  “Guards, find a silver platter from the kitchen and removes Gordan’s head from his body.  Do you need a cover as well for the dish?”

“That is not necessary, but I thank you for the offer, Mister President.”

“Very well, We have need of a new seneschal, one who will serve Us better.  Adrian, ah, yes . . . Adrian, the job is yours,” Calvin continued as the guards drug away a screaming, kicking Gordan Cameron.  The aide that the President pointed to went white as the blood drained away from his face, but he did nothing but bow deeply. 

May 10, 3056
Scorpion DropShip Scott-Alpha
Clayborne Remembered
Circinus, Circinus Federation

“Come!” Jason snapped at the knock on the partition door that separated his cramped cabin from the rest of the DropShip.  He closed the monitor screen as the door opened and two men entered.

“Star Captain Scott,” the senior of the two said with a slight bow.

“Scientist Charles, what can I do for you?”

“I believe that we may have a lead on Joan Levin—Gordan Cameron’s sister.”

Jason nodded and he sat back in his chair.  “Our plundering the Circinian data-bases revealed this information?”

The Scientist winced and then he shook his head.  “Our search has indicated where that information may be stored—we confirmed that Gordan Cameron received money at the same time that his sister disappeared, money deposited into his account that does not come from any known source of income.  Which pointed us in the direction of a possible source of information . . . we shall need your authorization to continue with the search, however.”

Jason frowned.  It was not common for any Seeker to have an actual Scientist—no matter how lowly his rank—in his retinue.  But for this mission, the Khan herself had assigned Charles to verify the genetic heritage of those discovered with a possible link to the family of the First Lord.  And while Charles was very, very good at his specialty, he was not the most . . . flexible of Scientists.

“My authorization?”

“Daniel?” Charles said, motioning the other Scientist, a low-ranking Scientist assigned to the crew of the Jenna Scott forward.

“Star Captain, I believe that the information we need is stored within the secure data-base at the Word of Blake HPG compound.  There were references in the Circinian data-bases which linked back to them—and the payment itself came from their accounts.  I think that I can get inside, and find the information, but  . . .”

“We are prohibited—on the orders of the Khan—from prying into ComStar’s secrets,” finished Charles.

The Seeker nodded and he smiled slightly.  “As they themselves insist that they are not ComStar, I think we can safely consider that concern as being overcome, Scientist Charles.  Scientist Daniel, you believe that you can successfully locate and extract the data from the Word compound without detection?”

Charles grimaced and Daniel shook his head.  “Not without detection.  I have . . . probed . . . their system on my own initiative, Star Captain.  Their firewalls and software are very, very good.  To get inside, I will have to do a brute force hack, using the computers here aboard the DropShip, networked wirelessly to gain access without a physical connection.  Their architecture is quite distinct, and I know that once I breach their outer defenses, I can copy the data I need—if we arrange a diversionary attack from Jenna Scott at the same time.”

“Diversionary attack?”

“The Techs aboard ship will make a play at the Word’s most secure systems—what they keep their secrets upon.  As their computer security responds to that, I will launch a second attack on the local data-base they retain for confidential dealings with the people of Circinus.  I doubt that they are prepared for a two-prong attack, and the one from Jenna Scott will raise enough alarms that they will concentrate their best technicians there in response.  That should leave me enough of an opening to get the information you need.”

Jason measured the young Scientist and mentally reviewed what he knew of him.  Daniel had been ‘exiled’ to Jenna Scott three years ago, after he had been caught reviewing files where he had not had any need to know clearance.  That he had successfully broken the protection on those files and accessed secure data-cores had impressed the Scorpion Scientist Council—and infuriated them.  So he had been transferred here, where his inquisitiveness could serve the Clan . . . without access to the secrets of his superiors.  He nodded.

“Will they be able to track our activity?”

“I cannot guarantee they will not, Star Captain,” Daniel answered calmly.  “They well launch a counter-attack with software viruses upon both us and the ship—but our defenses are quite a bit stronger and our architecture far different from what they are accustomed to; I expect such an attack to fail, if they manage to launch it in the first place.  There is a good probability, however, that they will manage to identify us as the source of the hack.”

“Authorized, gentlemen.  Good hunting, Scientist Daniel.  And Daniel?”

"Star Captain?"

"Do not artificially restrict yourself to just the information we are after.  Let us see if you are truly as gifted at computer theft as the Council claims . . . I want the entire Word data-base if possible.  Is that within your ability?"

"Aff, Star Captain!" the young Scientist answered as he stood up straight, his eyes wide, as Charles winced at his side.

"Then dismissed, I have work to finish," Jason finished, reopening the monitor screen and resuming the work on his paperwork as the two Scientists bowed and left his cabin behind.

This is a fun story. Looking forward to more.

I must complain though, Chapter 3 was cut off and we never got to see what happened when Lucien drank the necrosia.