Dominoes: And One Shall Fall

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Tue Oct 15, 2002 3:32 pm

If you haven't done so, read <a href="http://pub141.ezboard.com/fxmenclantale ... D=71.topic"> Due Process</a> before you start in on this. This is set about one month after the events in  Due Process. Sorry for the delay, folks. Getting this one started was a  bear. Enjoy. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> ---- The courtyard was nothing more than a huge, blank stretch of ground enclosed by four walls, each twenty meters high. The dark grey stahlplast was badly scarred by impact craters and burn marks, put there over the years by hundreds of mercenaries during their practice sessions. The sun beat down relentlessly on the ground from almost directly overhead. The two mercs near one end of the courtyard paid the sun little heed. The first of the mercs was a man of average height wearing a Hoplite-class hardshell. His armor, though spotless and polished to a shine keen enough to take one’s eyes out at fifty meters, had seen hard use in its time. Barely visible seams showed where new patches of metal had been put in place after combat damage. The green shield nodes that dotted the surface were not quite as bright-looking as factory-new nodes would be, but they were tuned to perfection. A small plate on the left breast of his cuirass was stamped with the man’s warnom, RedSirus. Sirus had his helmet off, revealing a roundish face punctuated by dark eyes and topped with close-cropped brown hair. A thin goatee, not more than a week old at best, covered his chin, and this he stroked with his left hand as he observed the technique of the other mercenary. “Careful with the ammunition, Bug,” he said quietly. “Jolt that pack of disks too hard and it’ll explode.” “How large of an explosion?” Bug asked flatly as he struggled to insert the pack into the spinfusor he held. The spinfusor in his hands was an old one, long used for practice and covered with dry graffiti that told him in no uncertain terms which part of the weapon was the Right End and the Wrong End. Glaring sunlight tinked off the words “Point At Bad Guy” on the stabilizer arm as he finally made the pack of disks click home. “Oh, about ten meters or so. Goes right through shields,” Sirus replied as he double-checked the load with a practiced glance. “Hit the thumb-switch to load it,” he added, pointing casually with his right hand. There was a quiet hum as the first of the explosive disks in the pack slapped into the breech and spun up, expanding to its full size. “Locked and loaded, Bug. Targets are downrange... have at ‘em.” As Bug brought the weapon up and took aim, Sirus reflected on the last few weeks of his life. They’d been interesting ones, to say the least. First there was the report of the major success on Magara II, the world on which the Dragon Talon Mercs had facilitated the defeat of the Blood Eagle. Amazingly enough, no one had been killed during the raid on the B-E vehicle depot, though there were a few serious injuries among both the veterans and the applicants. Nothing Warren M’Koth, the DTM’s medical chief couldn’t handle, at least. The battle-tales were good enough for a long story told over drinks, complete with pitched battles and feats of derring-do, but the real show-stealer had been the discovery of Bug. Sirus grinned wryly to himself as Bug took his first shot, blowing apart the torso of one of the target dummies fifty meters away. ‘Discovery’ wasn’t exactly the right term for it... more like ‘stumbled across’. Trinity Ash was still angry that Bug managed to sneak up on her APC group unnoticed and steal a weapon. Her anger was cooled, however, by the fact that Bug put the rifle to good use during the raid, blowing a huge hole in the B-E sensor network and drawing just enough fire to make the raid more successful than originally planned. Directly after the raid, Bug had asked for a position within the mercs. The recounting of the first sight of him (and the inevitable reaction to such) was still circulating around the barracks. Not surprising in the least, actually, given his appearance. Red glanced over as Bug took aim at another target. Hrrrm... he’d have to show Bug how to use the spinfusor’s inherent precession to stabilize his aim. It was a good thing Bug’s chitiny hands were approximately human-shaped, even with the razor sharp talons on the ends of his fingers. How the huge insect managed to sight down a weapon with compound eyes, Red was sure he’d never figure out. Bug fired again, this time missing badly. Sirus said nothing, for he knew that Bug’s own internal criticisms would be far harsher than anything he could say. That kind of self-abuse was not the best trait to have in an applicant, but he supposed that there were exceptions to be made in this case. It had been a month or so since Bug applied, and he was, surprisingly enough for someone not even human, almost done with the process. Eight mercs, including Sirus, had given their stamps of approval for the big insect, and he only needed two more to make it all the way in. It wasn’t the shortest process Red had seen, but it was surprising. You just didn’t expect people to trust anyone that didn’t look like them so readily, and yet, they had. Red thought he knew why--Bug’s lack of social skills. Oh, sure, he knew how to talk to everyone, and was making bad attempts at jokes every couple of days, but his understanding of how the human mind and its emotions fit together was lacking, badly. Somehow, the resulting bluntness of speech had endeared him to a fair number of mercs. Some had taken to calling him ‘No-Bullshit Bug’, though not to his face. Red thought a better name was ‘Ambush’ Bug, given his ability to sneak up on just about anyone. Bug’s third shot went low on the next target, blowing its legs off and spinning the torso up and away until it smacked into one of the side walls. Red heard the insect clack his mandibles together quietly--in approval? Self-derision? Who the hell knew? He’d find out, he was sure, just eventually instead of soon. That wasn’t to say that all of Bug was a complete mystery. Though he’d forbidden any inquiries into his past, some of his talents were glaringly obvious. His skill with that monster staff slung at his side, for instance. A week before, Red asked him to give a demonstration with it, and Bug proceeded to make a series of maneuvers that would have made a Diamond Sword infighting master drop his jaw in shock. It was like watching a whirlwind attached to legs. The demonstration had drawn a small gathering, for Sirus and Bug had been in another courtyard trying to ascertain some of Bug’s physical limits on an obstacle course. The course was built for hardshells, and men and women practiced on it daily. Bug took another shot, missing again. Red noted it and continued thinking without saying anything. He knew how conversation could throw a man’s aim. He was determined to correct Bug’s grip on the spinfusor, but he figured he might as well wait until Bug went through his current ammo and see if he figured it out on his own. After the demonstration, four of the DTM’s infighting instructors heard the gossip and decided that it would be a good idea to figure out just how good Bug was. Red had, of course, gone along with the insect as per his orders from Spectre. The show was worth it, and he had it all on his armor’s battle-recorder. Out of six one-on-one bouts with the instructors (all in hardshells), Bug won every single time, almost completely unscathed. It was like watching someone omniscient fighting a normal man--Bug’s reflexes were so fast he was able to block or counter everything thrown at him, as if he knew about them beforehand. Even the three-on-one duel he’d been challenged with was not a problem--at the end he had one instructor under each arm in a half-nelson and the third pinned under his two front legs. Sirus grinned again. He had four bottles of imported tequila back in his barracks as an incentive not to let the tape of the instructors’ humiliation get released to the other mercs. Bug’s fifth shot missed wide, careening into the far wall. Looked as if he’d tried to compensate for precession and blew it. He’d get the hang of it soon enough, Sirus figured. So, here he was, acting as a liaison and social mentor for an insect that was over two meters tall and was absolute hell on wheels as far as hand-to-hand combat was concerned. Sirus wondered where and how Bug had gotten that good. It was plainly obvious from the scars on his exoskeleton that he’d seen some combat in his time. “This is a most.... unusual... weapon,” Bug said, curling his arm and pointing the spinfusor skyward. “It fights me.” Sirus stopped studying Bug’s carapace and looked the applicant merc in the eyes. “Yeah, the spinfusor’s like that, Bug... comes from the disks spinning to stabilize themselves in flight. You know about precession?” Bug’s antennae straightened a bit and spread apart slightly as he answered, “No.” Sirus noted the gesture and filed it away. He had his recorder running, and he could review the tapes later on in the day to try and catch nuances and meaning. “Well, I won’t bore you with the equations then. The end result is that the weapon will twist in your hand the instant you pull the trigger. Engineers have been working on trying to damp the motion ever since the ‘fusor was invented, but it’s still there. You can either try and damp it yourself with your free hand or just deal with it and correct your aim. I suggest the latter, myself. Having a free hand is worth a lot on the battlefield.” Bug nodded--a human gesture he knew well--and said, “Yes, very much so.” Bug patted the  katar slung on his warharness. “Many times this left-hand weapon has saved me from defeat.” Red noted the evil-looking push dagger and its apparent age--ancient. The leather grips had seen so much use that they were perfectly shaped to match the angles of Bug’s fingers, as if they had been made that way from the beginning.  Like a good pair of sandals, he told himself. Bug turned back to the targets and let loose with the spinfusor again. This shot was true, impacting the latest target dummy right at the neck, vaporizing the head and crumpling the torso and legs groundward. Another disk spun out of the ‘fusor, and another dummy took one in the gut, exploding into several pieces. “Target, cease fire,” Sirus said quietly to Bug. Bug turned to face him, and the faint  whiiIIiiiIIrrr of the currently-loaded disk in the breech was the only sound in the courtyard save for breathing. “Much better, Bug. Keep that up and we’ll make a duelist out of you yet.” “They weren’t moving, Sirus,” Bug replied flatly as he brought the ‘fusor up and pulled the lever that ejected the remainder of the disks. He handed them back to Sirus gingerly, then turned and fired the last disk at another target, emptying the weapon. “I imagine few of the enemies I will face on the battlefield will be standing still.” Bug lifted the ‘fusor towards Red. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, Bug,” Sirus replied, taking the offered spinfusor and clipping it to his warharness. “Even when you and your target are standing still, there are still nuances on nuances to the use of the weapon.” He gestured to the  chatka staff at Bug’s side. “How long did it take you to master the use of your staff?” “Over twenty years of--,” Bug began, and then stopped as he realized what Sirus was doing. “I see your point,” he conceded. “You are telling me the spinfusor is easy to learn, but difficult to master, yes?” Red grinned, happy that his  protégé’ had grasped the lesson so quickly. “Exactly, Bug. Remind me to show you some holos of the last FireTruce dueling champion. I swear he could be standing still and yet make his discs  curve.” There was a faint beeping sound that came from Red’s left wrist. He looked down and saw an indicator flashing on his armor’s PDA. “Hang on a second, Bug,” he said quickly as he lifted the tiny screen closer to his face. His smile widened as he saw what the beeping was all about. “Great!” he said, turning to Bug. “You up for a little walk?” “What for?” Bug replied, leaning slightly to one side in order to catch a glimpse of the PDA screen. The confused-looking mass of symbols and text was beyond him. “We’re going to get you some armor, Bug.” It was discovered very early on by the Tribes of Man that trying to maintain the huge lumbering war-machines of the Empire from which they’d come was too difficult in the harsh Wilderzone. Grav-tanks and HERCs could require as much as fifty man-hours of maintenance for every hour spent on the field, and in an area of space that was largely unexplored and still quite dangerous, that kind of maintenance cost was too much to handle when piled atop everything else the Wilderzone threw at them. Thus, the Tribes of Man rediscovered the usefulness of powered body armor. SCARABs, as they were called, had gotten their start on the Venusian colonies back in the Empire, long before the defeat of Prometheus. Then, they were used as a means of transport, or as an external bio-suit for workers to use in the harsh Venusian atmosphere. It did not take long for someone to see the value in affixing weapons to the SCARAB system, and thus a new level of infantry combat was born. Over hundreds of years, many refinements were made to Tribal armor until ‘hardshells’, as they came to be called, were about as well-designed as one could get. Maintenance was down to one or two hours per hour in the field, and operation of the armor was no longer a nightmarish mishmash of micro-switches and voice commands, thanks to the inclusion of a direct neural interface in the helm. Strong shields, projected by nodes emplaced at various points on the armor, wrapped the wearer in redundant layers of protection that would deflect even the fastest of hypervelocity bullets. A gyroscopic array would keep the warrior upright in battle, making use of the built-in ionic jetpack a much easier exercise than it would have been otherwise. Nano-assembled muscle arrays in the armor multiplied the wearer’s strength by a factor of five or more, enabling the easy use of heavy weaponry. There was little of this that Bug actually needed. Immediately after his application, Warren M’Koth, the DTM’s chief medical officer, put him through a battery of physical tests. Though Bug’s past was murky, it was not hard to see that his body had been almost completely reworked at some point in his younger years, ‘reworked’ being the kindest term Warren could come up with. Bug’s carapace was almost as strong as the armor plate that went into a Myrmidon heavy-assault hardshell, but it was still organic in nature. Bug himself was just a hair stronger than an average man wearing a Myrmidon, able to lift almost a thousand kilograms over his head without aid from T-grav nodes--it was quickly concluded that most of his musculature was synthetic as well. What Bug did need was some real protection. The numerous scars on his thorax showed that while he was tough, he could be injured, and badly, by light weapons-fire. His current shielding system, a series of nodes buried in his carapace, covered him well but was pathetically weak. A light blaster pistol was about the only thing it could reliably deflect. Fitting him with an actual hardshell was impossible, due to the shape of his body. Red had mentioned the problem to the DTM armorers a week or so ago, and it was only now that they were sure they had some kind of solution. The two of them made it to the armory’s front door within a few minutes of leaving the training courtyard. When they arrived, they found Warren M’Koth standing outside, quietly smoking a  cigarillo in what little shade he could find. His bald head gleamed brightly even in the shade, and his blue eyes peered at the two approaching mercs through a thin veil of smoke. He wore loose whites to combat the heat, which made him look like the star of a space opera holo. When they got close, he pushed off the wall and went to them. “So you got the call, too?” he asked amiably of the two warriors. “Doesn’t surprise me they’d drag you along, Warren,” Sirus said to the doctor. “You have your black bag?” Warren grinned. “They tell me I won’t be needing it this time,” he replied, looking at Bug. “Needing what?” Bug asked, unsure of what the two humans were talking about. “Black bag?” “My medical instruments, Bug,” Warren replied, turning to the insect. “We were thinking of replacing the shield nodes in your body.” “But you’re not going to?” Bug cocked his head at the doctor, studying him. “Hell if I know, Bug. The armorers say they’ve cooked up something that’ll do for now.” He hoisted a thumb towards the door. “We should get down there and see what it is.” “A sound plan, doc,” Sirus replied as he pivoted and went for the door. Bug followed him as Warren stubbed his smoke out on his boot heel. Moments later, the three of them were descending down a hallway just barely wide enough for the three of them. They passed through a security door about halfway down, none of them failing to notice the ring of Sentry turrets around the circumference of the hallway. Not that anyone would be dumb enough to attack Fenecia (Spec reportedly had a HERC or two tucked away somewhere), but one never knew, and protecting the armory’s main entrance with Sentries was standard procedure. Nasty little things, those--if it was moving and didn’t have friendly IFF status, they’d pop out of the wall and tear it to shreds. The guard waved them through the door and closed it behind them. They continued on for a short distance before the hall widened and opened up into a large underground room. The room was dark, sparsely lit with barrel lights embedded in the ceiling. A grid of flatlights, now dark, crisscrossed the ceiling, turned on only when the armorers needed light for a large-scale project. Against one wall a series of inventory stations stood, their dark brown H-shapes seeming to beckon to the three, urging them to step into the stations’ reach that they might be supplied with their every military need. Against another wall half-assembled suits of armor hung in the air, suspended via hooks and chains. Nearby a circular stand held a variety of weapons at hand, also in various states of repair. Smack in the middle of the room stood a of jump-suited armorer in front of a low table, and he gestured for the doctor and his mercenary companions to come forward. “Have a look!” the armorer, Johann, said, stepping aside and pointing to a pile of what looked like shiny rags sitting dead-center on the table. “What the hell?” Sirus said, stepping forward to get a better look. It didn’t seem to help. He saw what looked like straps all noodled together, shiny green shield nodes poking out of the mess like meatballs. “Johann, what exactly  is this?” Johann grinned widely at Sirus and Bug. “It’s a little something I got my hands on a few months ago, Red. Go ahead, pick it up!” Bug reached out and carefully grabbed one of the straps and lifted it. As he pulled it off the table, its shape became a little clearer, and it was apparent that it looked something like a lumpy set of bandoliers. “It...” Bug began, rubbing his antennae over one of the straps. “It smells faintly of BioDerm,” he said quietly, using his other hand to pull it into three dimensions. “You nailed it, Bug. It’s a remodeled BioDerm shield harness I, ah, procured.” “And didn’t tell anyone about, I’ll wager,” Warren put in, grinning. Johann flashed the doctor a quick look of annoyance, to which Warren replied, “Stow it, Johann. I’ve got better things to do than get you in trouble. You are, after all, the guy that keeps my mercs safe from harm.” “I have seen these before.... once,” Bug said as he turned the harness every which way in the beam of one of the ceiling lights. The straps were shiny, and light sparkled every which way from them. “It did not help its wearer against me.” “Ahhh, of course,” Johann replied. “These shields still suffer the standard limitations against melee weapons.” Johann reached for the harness in Bug’s hands. “May I?” Bug handed it over without comment. “This harness, as I mentioned earlier, has been remodeled. Amplified, in fact, due to your reduced energy requirements.” Johann procured a small cube from the table, a cube that had armored cables dangling from it. “Your power supply,” he said. “You don’t have any armor systems to run aside from shields, so this single power pack ought to run the whole thing for you just fine.” “How does this all fit?” Bug asked, looking from the power pack to the harness, unsure of exactly what went where. “It should fit pretty well, Bug,” Warren supplied. “I gave Johann your measurements from your physical last month, and he went from there.” Johann nodded at this, and approached Bug with the harness in his hands. “We’ll put it on you the first time, Bug. Just hold still.” He looked over to Red. “Could you give me a hand, Red?” Sirus nodded and came over. It took a few minutes to get it on, though by the end of the fitting, Bug was doing most of the work once he saw how the harness fit. The harness was quite intricate, crisscrossing Bug’s thorax and then winding down around his abdomen and back. Straps with single nodes at their ends dangled free from the thorax/abdomen part of the harness, and these were buckled down to the upper portions of his arms and legs. The power pack fit neatly into a pouch hung at Bug’s lower back, and the power cables snaked out and plugged in unobtrusively. When it was all in place, Bug stepped to a clear spot in the room and moved about experimentally, slowly at first, then faster, as he tried every range of motion available to him. Twenty seconds later, he turned to Johann, antennae quivering. “Your skill is impressive,” he stated, inclining his head to the armorer. “This does not restrict me in the least.” He extended his hand to Johann, and the armorer took it, a little taken aback by the feel of the chitin that made up Bug’s exoskeleton. “Thank you,” Johann replied. “I’ve already taken the liberty of burning in the shields.” He reached into a large pocket on the side of his jumpsuit and produced a small datapad. “Here’s the test clip, if you want to review it.” “That would be an excellent idea,” Sirus interjected. “In fact, we can give it a look in my quarters, Bug--I’ve got a good player there.” “Mind if I tag along for that?” Warren asked. “Not at all,” Sirus replied. He turned to Johann. “Thanks, Johann. I’ll have to pick your brains about this harness sometime over lunch.” Johann smiled. He and Sirus often spent time bouncing ideas off each other over food. Red was a notorious tinker when he wasn’t out on the battlefield, and his warrior’s experience combined with his engineering knowledge made for some interesting discussions.. “I’ll look forward to it, Red,” he said, as Sirus, Bug and Warren turned to leave. Sirus had suggested his own quarters for the viewing of the contents of the datapad even though Bug’s quarters were both roomier and possessed newer and better holo equipment. The main reason for this was that his quarters had something that Bug’s lacked--furniture. Even in a hardshell, sitting on one’s ass on a floor wasn’t the most comfortable of positions. He wasn’t terribly surprised that Bug didn’t have furniture, though. Having four legs with a natural tendency to keep one upright pretty well eliminated the need for chairs, beds, or anything else aside from a table. Red’s quarters, on the other hand, were much better equipped. Part of that was due to his rank--he’d been with the DTM long enough to hang a captain’s stripe on his shoulder. The other part was due to the careful expenditure of his wages and his skill at finding good deals. As he ushered his two companions in through the door (he watched with some wonder as Bug swiveled his legs until his stance, normally some six feet wide, shrank down to two feet so he could get through the door), he went and retrieved a bottle of tequila from the coldbox. Warren immediately located the comfiest-looking seat in the place and plopped into it. This turned out to be at one end of a small couch that sat facing Red’s holo-equipment. Bug scooted around behind the couch and found an open spot where he could stand comfortably. As he looked around, he realized that he hadn’t ever been in Red’s quarters before... or, for that matter, in anyone’s quarters. It wasn’t that he was unaware of how humans arrayed their living spaces. Too many times in his past he’d had to shove furniture out of the way when going in for the kill. It was just that he somehow expected a mercenary’s quarters to be different somehow, more austere, more to-the-point. Red’s living space was nothing of the sort. Hung on one wall was a dartboard with a picture of an Imperial HERC tacked to the center, of which the cockpit area was punctured many times over. On another wall was a holo-pinup from one of the mercenary periodicals that circulated over to the O-web. As a startling change of pace, an old tapestry hid a third wall, its silken fibers both ancient and somehow young with inner fire. It took Bug a moment to realize that the tapestry was in fact a battle-flag, one of the Dragon Talon Mercenaries’ battle-flags to be precise. Its black field sharply contrasted the golden dragon woven into the center, bringing out every little detail. The dragon’s eyes, the deep, penetrating red of rubies, seemed to bore into him. He could imagine it flapping in the wind as it was carried into a pitched battle, its pole perhaps strapped to his own back instead of to another merc’s... and the thought appealed to him. He did not completely understand the nuances of hardshell combat, but he was learning quickly, and he was beginning to find it exhilarating. Something about these mercs brought out an inner fire within himself, one that he hadn’t felt since he’d last led his Queen’s army of warriors, a fire that had been banked during his years as an assassin. His new comrades were like a breath of wind on the coals and he felt younger because of it. “It is awfully pretty, isn’t it?” Sirus remarked from right beside him. Bug didn’t jump, but he reprimanded himself internally for not being totally aware of his surroundings. Red stood at his right shoulder (still in his hardshell since he was still on-duty) with a glass in hand. Bug saw that Warren had been served a glass as well, and he was able to catch the buttery sting of tequila fumes in the air with his antennae. “I picked it up a couple of years ago,” Sirus continued. “Actually, quite literally, during an action on Septa Scarabrae III. Our bearer bought it and I carried it for the rest of the battle. Spec let me keep it in here as a gesture of respect.” Now that Bug looked a little closer, he could see the faint darkening of the black silk where blood had dried, been washed too late, and had set in permanently. No one had bothered to run over the banner with a batch of cleaning nanites, and he wondered if that was by choice or not. “You want a drink before we look at the holo, Bug?” Sirus asked him. “Water, in a bowl,” the insect replied. “That drink you have now makes my antennae twitch.” Sirus nodded and went back to the corner of his room that had a sink. He was back moments later with a shallow bowl three-quarters full of water. Bug took it from him with a nod. He could not have fit his mandibles into a normal glass, hence the bowl. Sirus went to the holoprojector and inserted the pad he’d been given by Johann. He flipped a few switches and then went to sit on the other end of the couch. “Lights!” he called out, and the room lights extinguished immediately, leaving only the pale flickering of the holoprojector’s standby pattern to illuminate the room. “Play,” Red intoned, and the projector came to life. It showed Johann standing at one end of a long, narrow room. At the far end of the room, a mockup that looked similar to Bug stood, legs bolted to the floor. It was wrapped in the shield harness Bug now wore. Johann stood next to a weapons rack, and he was wearing a Myrmidon hardshell. “Must be the weapons-testing area,” Sirus said quietly. “That would explain why he’s got on so much armor.” Johann clapped the Myrm’s helmet on and began to speak. “I’ve included the shield harness integrity data in this recording,” he said, and at that very moment a graph popped up in the lower right of the projector display. “Keep an eye on it as I fire, and you’ll see how much it’s been modified.” With that, Johann grabbed a plascannon off the rock, loaded in a clip, and took aim at the mockup. Seconds later, he’d fired several times, dousing the mockup and most of the surrounding area in white-hot plasma, and causing the integrity graph in the lower-right of the display to only jitter and twitch instead of flatlining at zero. The shields flared brightly as they deflected the plasma rounds. “My  word,” Warren breathed, setting his drink down. “Even  I can tell that’s pretty impressive work! Plasma rounds usually leak through shields quite badly.” “That’s what happens when you feed all of the output from an armor power cell into the shield system,” Sirus replied, his voice a little quiet. He hadn’t expected the kind of performance he’d just seen. He turned around and looked at Bug. “Think that’ll suit you, Bug?” “Wonderfully,” Bug replied, chattering his mandibles together happily. “Perhaps it will cut down on the number of scars I receive.” “Good, ‘cause you and I are going to have to do a bit of--“ Without warning, the lights came back on and the holoprojector ceased displaying the clip of Johann. Where the friendly armorer had been was replaced with a floating DTM logo with the words ‘Incoming Transmission’ underneath. “That’s gotta be Spec,” Sirus noted, sitting up a bit straighter. Spec, or Spectre, was the leader of the Dragon Talon Mercs, and only he had the access to disrupt a player like that. “I wonder what this is about?” The logo faded out and Spectre’s visage appeared in its place. Thin-faced and stern-looking, he peered out from the display and took in the view of the three before him via the small camera under the projector. “I was hoping Bug was with you, Red,” he said. “And it’s good to see you out of your office, Warren,” he added, nodding to the doctor. “What’s going on, Spec?” Sirus asked. “Things have been quiet here today.” “And they haven’t been quiet out in the New Reaches. There’s a hostile takeover happening on Reach IV, courtesy of a tribe calling itself the Marauders. There aren’t enough of them to invade and occupy the planet, but what information I’ve been given tells me they’re just a preliminary force that will establish a beachhead for a larger tribe. The inhabitants of Reach IV have asked me for our help in dislodging the Marauders.” “Sounds straightforward enough,” Sirus remarked, setting his drink down. He looked to his right and saw that Warren was already mentally going over potential casualty lists. “Not exactly,” Spec replied. “There are complications. One, the Marauders have seized control of Reach IV’s main sensor web. Two, the spaceport they’ve been holding for a beachhead is completely surrounded by that very web, so attacking it with the web still operational is tantamount to suicide. And three, and perhaps worst of all, they aren’t using their own techs to operate the web, but have instead taken hostage Reach IV’s native techs. The message sent to me warned that keeping those hostages alive is of great importance.” “Odd, that isn’t usually how it goes,” Bug remarked to himself. Spec’s head swiveled to center on him. “In most instances, you’d be correct, Bug. The Reach IV inhabitants, however, made it part of the contract they sent.” “Must be some damn good techs,” Sirus remarked. “What are they, ex-Imperial HERC guys or something?” “I wouldn’t be surprised. Reach IV has been a haven for those that wish to get away from the Empire, Sirus. I have my suspicions that the Marauders are secretly in the employ of the Empire, and that this is another move on their chessboard.” “Could be dangerous to disrupt these Marauders, if the Empire’s behind them,” Warren remarked. “Doesn’t the Empire already have a price on your head, Spec?” “They did, at one time,” Spec said evenly, looking at no one but Bug.  Does he know? Bug asked himself.   Could he know? Impossible. No one intercepted my communications, ever, or I would have been killed by Fury’s hounds already.  “Well, that’s nothing new, Spec,” Red interjected. “Last time I checked, there’s at least twenty groups that hate our guts and want you, me and everyone else on Fenecia deader than a rock.” “That’s true enough, Red, and that’s why I accepted the contract. We’re shipping out in twelve hours.” “So I’m doing the usual? Getting all the support stuff taken care of, running the CC, that kind of thing?” Red asked, referring to his usual duties on most missions. It was his job to keep everyone in the loop and informed via the command circuit, and it was his job to make sure that everyone had enough supplies to do their job. He also took care of the wounded when it came time to ship out, which was the main reason he and Warren were so close. “Negative.” This got a blink of surprise from Red (and from Warren, for that matter). “Temujin will be taking care of that this time.” Spec turned to look at Bug, then at Red again. “Red, you and Bug are to report to Asha’Man in two hours. He’s leading the group that’s going to take down the sensor web and free those techs, and you two are going with him. Before you get there, I want Bug fitted with a hardshell PDA and given battle-channel access. Asha will have your orders.” “Errr, isn’t a hostage situation a little unusual for an applicant’s first mission?” Red ventured. Spec grinned. “Yes, Red, it is. But Bug has some unique talents, and I’ve seen him at work. He’s well-suited for this.”  He  does know. Blast and damnation! “Thank you,” Bug said quietly. “Don’t thank me yet, Bug,” Spec said, turning to him again. “This could get quite brutal. You’ll need to be at your best.” “I am  always at my best,” Bug replied, knowing full well that anything less would have resulted in his death long ago. “This is your chance to prove it, then,” Spec said, and just as suddenly as he’d appeared on the holoprojector, he was gone, his image fading out into nothingness. Sirus was looking at him strangely now, inquisitiveness mixed with a little wonder and a dash of uncertainty. “You all right, Bug?” Bug looked at him at the same time he realized he was quivering slightly. It took him a moment to realize that it was anger at having his abilities questioned that made him shake. “I’m fine, Red. I guess you could say I’m... nervous?” “Spec has that effect on people, especially right before their first mission with us,” Sirus replied, happy to see that it was nothing unusual that made his companion tremble. “And yet he can turn on the charm like a switch,” Warren remarked. He tossed back the rest of his drink and made for the door. “I’d better get back to the ward, fellows. If this is as tough as Spectre hinted at, I may be quite busy when you all return.” “We’ll try and come back in one piece,” Red replied as the good doctor exited. He turned back to Bug. “And you and I had best get back to the armory, Bug. We need to get you set up with a PDA and some weapons.” “Affirmative, Sirus. Let’s get moving.” Edited by: <A HREF=http://pub141.ezboard.com/uambushbug.sh ... =EN>Ambush Bug</A>  <IMG SRC="http://www.xmenclan.org/images/x.gif" BORDER=0> at: 10/15/02 8:15:07 pm

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Fri Nov 29, 2002 4:14 am

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Hold still, Bug, we’ve only a got a few minutes until we have to report to Asha.” Sirus squinted as he made the final adjustments to the PDA he was currently attaching to Bug’s carapace. “You’re sure you want me to bolt this on instead of strapping it?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yes,” Bug replied. “Straps will slide on my exoskeleton. Bolts will not.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red hoisted an eyebrow at him, shrugged and nudged the PDA into place. “You can see it just fine?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “All of it, perfectly.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “All right then. This might sting a little.” Red lifted a small gun-shaped device and socked it into one of the tabs affixed to each corner of the PDA screen. He pulled the trigger and there was a quiet thwak! as a bolt was driven through the tab and into Bug’s left shoulder. He heard Bug hiss quietly as he quickly shot the other three bolts home, fixing the PDA screen in place as if it were set in stone. “Better you than me, I guess,” he said as he put the bolt-gun away and inspected the PDA to make sure it was functioning properly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp It was. The tiny screen glowed faintly as it displayed a great deal of information in a highly compressed format. Most of the time it was used for mapping and the monitoring of local commo channels. It also kept track of orders and had a link to the O-web if the wearer was close enough to a local node. If there had been more time, Sirus would have liked to have set up the PDA to display in Bug’s right eye, as the insect had told him it was capable of doing. At least he’d been able to splice in a graph of the shield-harness’ power rating for Bug’s use. They’d work on tuning it later. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “You got your weapons picked?” Bug nodded, gesturing to his warharness. His bladed weapons were there, as usual, as was his carryall. Half of the pair of plascannons he usually carried was present, the other half replaced by a shiny new Telamonian tribarrel chaingun. A blaster carbine, its wooden stock cut down to the point that it looked like an oversexed pistol, hung underneath Bug’s left arm. A thin power cable snaked from the butt of the grip and jacked into the power cube on Bug’s back, providing the blaster with ample power for its compressed-energy projectiles. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Good enough,” Sirus replied as he put his helmet under his arm. “Let’s get on over to the briefing.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp It took them a few minutes to make it over to the briefing room in the main complex. Sirus had Bug lead the way, using his new PDA to guide them both as a test of its abilities. Soon enough they made it through the maze of hallways and to the room itself. The door stood open, and they could see three men in the room already, two sitting in simple chairs and one standing in front of a holoprojector. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Hope we’re not late!” Sirus said as he went through the door. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Not at all,” said the man standing at the front of the room. He was a large man, easily six feet tall and extremely broad of shoulder. His close-cropped black hair and strong jaw made him look like some action-holo hero. His dark eyes scanned over Sirus and Bug, halting only briefly on the insect. A name-patch on the left breast of his black jumpsuit read “Asha’Man” in block print. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The two men in the chairs stood up and turned to meet the newcomers. These two couldn’t have been more different-looking if they tried. The one on the left was a thin man, what others might jokingly call a ‘string bean’ during roll call. His hands were wiry and delicate looking, though it was not hard to see that the rest of him was as hard as a rock, even through his jumpsuit. His brown hair was tied back in a single tail at the nape of his neck. He looked out on the world through green eyes that perched closely together over a thin nose. He smiled at Red and gave an awkward glance at Bug. The tag on his jumpsuit read ‘FallenGod’. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The other man towered over FallenGod. He was tall enough that he was able to look Bug straight in the eye, something that no merc had yet been able to do. He was extremely broad, almost to the point that he had difficulty going through most doors without turning sideways. His arms were thick enough to make the seams of his jumpsuit bulge, and he had to keep the front fastener partly undone to prevent the back from tearing if he brought his hands together. Like Asha, he had close-cropped dark hair, though a colorful bandana covered most of his head. He looked strong enough to wrestle a bull barehanded and win. He smiled and extended his hand to Bug, completely unfazed by the insect warrior’s appearance. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I don’t think we’ve met,” he said amiably. “I’m Longshot.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug took the extended hand and shook it. The gesture was still one he wasn’t totally at ease with, but he was learning. “Bug,” he replied. “I think you know Red.” Sirus nodded. Bug turned to FallenGod after shaking with Longshot. “Greetings.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “And to you,” FallenGod replied, making a short bow in lieu of a handshake. His movements were precise without being jerky; smooth, fluid, and deliberate, which Bug found pleasing to the eye. He returned the bow smartly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Welcome to our little motley crew, Bug,” Asha said, smiling a little. “What do you know about us?”&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I can’t say I’ve had time to fill him in, boys,” Sirus interjected, nodding towards Bug’s left shoulder, where the freshly-installed PDA screen glowed dimly. “I was a little busy making like a mad scientist with power tools.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I must concur with Sirus,” Bug replied. “I know only your names.” He looked at the three nametags, making sure he had them straight. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Then let me welcome you to Spectre’s favorite special operations squad, Bug,” said Asha. It was then Bug noticed that each of the mercs in the room had a badge on their shoulder, a different one than the normal DTM badge that adorned everyone’s clothes and armor. It was similar to the standard DTM insignia, save that the dragon was black instead of gold, and its red eyes were the only thing clearly visible. Each jumpsuit had this badge sewn into the left shoulder, and even Red’s armor had the design etched into the metal of his left pauldron. Bug remembered the sigul carved into his own left shoulder, The Fourteen Rings, and wondered briefly why two species so vastly different in culture and physiology would decide on the same body location as a good place to inscribe military insignia. Perhaps it was one of those ‘universal concepts’ Sirus had mentioned to him a few days ago; no matter what your upbringing or species, some things were best done in certain ways. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Asha continued on even as Bug put his random thoughts away. “We’re the ones Spec calls on to do the truly dirty work, Bug, the kind of work that nobody in his right mind would want to do.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Unless it’s cleaning up the bathrooms. We leave that to the janitors,” Sirus added wryly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “You are assassins, then?” Bug asked, looking over the jump-suited mercs again, more carefully this time. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “FG used to be, at least.” Asha said, nodding to the diminutive merc. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “At least until I got caught,” FallenGod bristled a bit, but good-naturedly, as if this was not a new or devastating revelation. “Then I got put here to keep all of your sorry asses from getting killed in the line of duty.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Hey, you have to admit, Spec was stonecool about the whole thing, FG,” Longshot put in as he clapped his friend on the back. “It’s not every day a man takes under his wing the one that tried to kill him.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp There was a single instant were Bug wanted to ask FallenGod if he was the assassin that had underbid him for the contract on Spectre. But only an instant--he reconsidered the idea at once and decided to keep silent and play dumb. “So you do other things as well?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Mostly deep-strike missions,” Longshot said, looking up from his friend and meetings Bug’s gaze. “Get in, blow something important into chunky bits, and get the hell out. Hopefully without having to fight too much on the way, either.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Either that or outright armed robbery,” FallenGod said, grinning widely. “You ought to see Sirus smooth his way through a pickup. The man manages to make our marks feel good about getting their toys taken away!” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “It’s a talent,” Sirus replied, chuckling lazily. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Asha turned to Bug, smiling. “Like I said, this is a motley crew, Bug, and you’re perhaps the most motley of us yet. Red tells me you can bring some impressive hand-to-hand skills to the table.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “That is correct,” Bug noted, straightening a little and briefly clenching his fists so that the tips of his talons clacked against his chitinous palms. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Good. We’re going to need them, if the mission brief is anything close to what we actually encounter out there.” Asha waved an arm towards the seats arrayed in the room. “Have a seat, gentlemen. It’s time to get this started.” The other men in the room each grabbed a seat and brought out data pads with which to take notes. Sirus, still in his hardshell, made ready to take them on his armor’s PDA instead. Bug thought about trying do the same with the unit on his shoulder, but quickly realized that he hadn’t enough experience with it to do more than call up the command map. He’d have to trust his memory, just like he had for the last fifty years. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I’m pretty sure you all got a general idea of what’s going on when you got the summons from Spec,” Asha began as he moved towards a high end holoprojector set in the floor a few feet from the front row of seats. “Spec’s like that. I’m here with the details, cobbled together from everything we’ve been able to find in the last two hours.” Asha pulled a small remote from its mounting bracket on the holoprojector and punched a few buttons. Immediately, the room lights dimmed and the projector sprang to life, first showing a static test pattern and then segueing into a stylized DTM logo. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A moment later, the logo was replaced by a star chart, a web-like entanglement of planets, gates, and systems that hovered over the projector, revolving slowly. Fenecia was highlighted with a title and a bright mark, and then a route through the gates lit up as well, terminating at a system only a few hops away. The chart zoomed in at Asha’s command and stopped only when a single planet dominated the view. The planet was similar to Earth in its makeup--lush forests around the equator, more water than land, and varying types of terrain spread all around its continents. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “This is Reach IV,” Asha said, tapping the remote once more. Highlight colors speckled the planet, showing the location of population centers. The largest one was right in the middle of the planet’s most temperate continent, and as the map zoomed in on it, it was easy to make out the stahlplast landing pads that resembled grey pimples on the surface. “And this, up until recently, was the planet’s starport. Less than a day ago, a small tribe called the Marauders dropped on the spaceport under cover of disguise--“ This prompted a low rumble from Longshot, and several unhappy sounds from the rest of the mercs save Ambush. Tribal honor codes prohibited dropping directly on a settlement from orbit--instead, warriors must drop some distance away, then defeat the automated defenses and the garrison assigned to the area before they can attack a city directly. This was so for one simple reason: without the rule, no settlement would ever be safe. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yes, I know, bunch of tail-curling scrofs,” Asha said. “They’ll get theirs soon enough, gentlemen, don’t you worry.” Asha cleared his throat and then continued. “As I was saying, they dropped on the spaceport and then proceeded to capture it. At the same time they were doing this, a detachment attacked and captured the planetary sensor control station, here.” Asha pointed with the remote and a location lit up brightly on the map. It was some hundred kilometers from the spaceport, tucked deep into a green belt of forest that crossed the waist of a gargantuan mountain range that split the continent in two. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “This is our objective.” The projector zoomed in closely, showing a squarish building closely surrounded by forest save for an almost circular area around it that was cleared of all vegetation. A network of turrets sat squatly in this cleared area, covering all angles of attack. “This is the main relay station for this continent’s sensor web.” Asha made the map zoom out again, and now it showed hundreds upon hundreds of pale yellow spheres clustered over the entire landmass, each one signifying a sensor tower. The coverage was almost total, thinning out only at the coasts and near some of the more brutal-looking mountaintops. “We are to get in and disable the entire web by blowing the station’s generators and destroying every transmission dish it has. This won’t shut down the web, but it will cut all transmission of the web’s information to the spaceport.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Simple enough,” Longshot noted. “We’re doing this before Spec goes in with everyone else and lays down the law, eh?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yes and no. Yes, because you are one-hundred percent correct, Longshot--the main attack can’t proceed until we complete this objective. They will need surprise in order to pull it off without it becoming a slaughter.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “...here it comes...” FallenGod mumbled sourly. He felt the sinking feeling of onrushing calamity as soon as Asha said ‘no’. “The other boot.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “And the other boot up the ass, as FG has noted, is the hostage situation we’re tasked with.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Longshot’s brows furrowed together in consternation. “A hostage situation? Are you kidding, Asha? That isn’t our type of mission!” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “It is now, at least.” Asha gave a commiserating look to the huge merc. “I know how you feel, but orders are orders.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Spec briefed me and Bug about this a little bit before he sent us here, Asha,” Sirus piped up from his seat. “Dunno if he gave us all the details, though.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I doubt it,” Bug added. “He seemed too intent on other things when he spoke to us.” Namely you, Bug, the insect told himself crossly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “And you’d be correct on both counts,” Asha replied. “Spec gave me all the reports he got from the Reach IV contact, and the situation we’re going into isn’t a very good one. Reach IV is a ‘safe house’ of sorts for those that want to leave the Empire. Recently, a fairly large batch of ex-Imperials came to the planet, and from what I have been able to gather, quite a few of them were ‘special’ types. No close family members of the Emperor--“ &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yeah, they’d be dead before they finished deciding to leave!” Longshot snorted. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Asha continued without acknowledging the interruption. “But it seems there were quite a few very skilled techs, mechanics, and HERC pilots in this batch. How they got out, we have no idea, and it’s probably better not to know anyway.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Methods are the most secret of secrets,” Bug said softly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Asha nodded at the insect, his face brightening a little. “Exactly, Bug.” Asha pointed to the relay station. “Apparently, the relay station was used to house the HERC pilots, to keep them out of the limelight, as much as that can be said for a place like Reach IV.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “They got taken in with the rest of the relay station personnell?” FallenGod asked, studying the projector display more closely. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Not quite. Most of them have been killed, but there’s one left. Still alive, so we’re told by the Reach IV contact, or that’s what the lifesign implant they gave the pilot says. Our job is to get him out.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “And the station personnnell?” FallenGod asked, looking directly at Asha. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Asha sighed almost inaudibly. “Expendable.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Figures.” FG sat back in his seat, a dour expression on his face. “Hope this doesn’t turn into a bloodbath.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "If we're lucky, it won't." Asha snapped off the holoprojector and switched on the lights. "Grab your hardshells and your gear, then head to Hangar 4. Ten minutes. Maps and routes will be covered on the way there." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Everyone got up and filed towards the door as Asha straighted up the room and collected his notes. As Bug swiveled his legs to go through the door, Asha spoke. "Hold up a second, Bug." Bug turned around and saw Asha striding towards him, and out of the side of his vision, he saw Sirus stop a few meters into the hallway, just out of sight. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I'll make this quick, Bug," Asha said, sizing up the insect as he flipped the cover to his datapad closed. "I ask because I have to, and you're new here. Do you have any problem with letting the other hostages die if the situation calls for it?" &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He almost laughed. Almost. If you only knew. "Negative. I have done similar things to this in the past." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Good. I don't want anyone freezing up in the middle of combat. We don't need that kind of liability." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "But you do not approve of our orders?" Bug asked, cocking his head to the side inquisitively. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "The orders themselves are what the situation demands. The situation, however, sucks plasma. That answer your question?" Asha raised an eyebrow at him, a little intrigued at the insect's pointed curiosity. He didn't like watching people die any more than the next man, but what was happening on Reach IV was complex. That, and this was a good chance to jab a needle into the ego of the Empire. Harabec knew they needed to be taken down a few pegs. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Well enough." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Dismissed, then." Asha followed as Bug turned and went through the door.. He pretended not to notice Sirus as he turned down an adjoining hall and left the insect with him. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp When Asha's footsteps had receded, Bug turned to Sirus as they walked out of the complex. "Stayed to listen?" he asked. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Part of the job description," Red answered. "Bad situation we're going into, you know." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I am not what you would call bloodthirsty, but I am looking forward to it." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Sirus hoisted an eyebrow at his companion. "You are? It'll be the five of us against who knows how many, never mind the task of getting hostages--or hostage," Red amended quickly, "--out of that place." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I am. I have not been in true combat since I applied. It will be a test, Sirus." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Some test." Sirus 'hmmph'ed and continued walking.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Thu May 22, 2003 9:16 am

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Yeah, some test. Nice little ‘famous-last-words’ quote, wouldn’t you say? Sirus walked alongside Bug as the two of them exited the administration building, and all of a sudden he had an intense longing for pockets to shove his hands into. Not that he’d get them--the closest thing to pockets he had on his hardshell was the warharness, and that was just a carefully arranged mess of straps and mag-clamps for his weapons. Useful for combat, useless for grousing. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp You’re not a pessimist, Sirus, he told himself. You’re the guy everyone looks to for a funny, inspiring comment in the middle of trench warfare. So why are you nervous? Good question, that. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp It wasn’t the assembled team that made him nervous--he knew their capabilities too well. With Asha’man leading the group, there was little to worry about in Red’s mind. Asha knew his business and completed his objectives with the same skill and professionalism he’d shown during his application. FallenGod, on the other hand, resembled the typical ‘scruffy-looking rogue’ found in literature. Disheveled or not, the man was a dead shot with an Artemis laser rifle, and Red knew that FallenGod would be hanging back with the transport to cover them. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Longshot he didn’t know as well personally, but he’d read up on the merc fairly recently, and wasn’t surprised to learn that the man was a hardened base-cracker. That meant he was the kind of warrior that loaded up on the heaviest weapons he could, strapped on a shield pack and a Myrmidon-class hardshell, and led the way for his mates directly down the throat of an enemy base. It was not a job many excelled at--you were either a veteran ‘cracker’ or you were dead, to put it bluntly. Longshot’s three-year record of successful cracking was reassuring. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp And then there was Bug. Sirus didn’t have any real worries about Bug... or at least, there were no worries that he could quantify. The thought of combat at the insect’s side didn’t bother him in the least--not too long ago he and Bug had run through some simulated combat sessions together, and Red had been surprised to find that Bug was unnaturally skilled at keeping out of the way during close-quarters combat. That, and he was very good with that huge staff of his, the one with the blades on each end. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp No, the infiltration team roster wasn’t what was making him nervous. It was the objective. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp When you strip away everything, I guess it’s just that Imperials bother me, Red thought to himself. I’m not the type to go forth and denounce all the ‘dirtborn’ from the highest hill in the land, but yes, I have to admit to myself that I withdraw from them. And, like most out here in the ‘Zone, I’m no fan of their decadence and their easy lives. That was true enough, else he wouldn’t be a captain in a mercenary guild. It really was a tough job, especially since Spec liked to make his officers do real work. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp All right, so you don’t like Imperials. And you didn’t like any of those refugees your unit pulled out of the warpath three months ago either. Or the spacer whose cargo you helped secure during a long voyage? Couldn’t stand the scrof, and yet it didn’t make you get all introspective like this. Your personal dislike of Imperials isn’t going to make the mission any harder or easier, Red. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp In the end, he supposed that was correct. But could he blame himself for his feelings? Hardly. He, like every other resident of the Wilderzone, was all too aware of the Empire’s final intent for the Tribes of Man... servitude. It wasn’t as if the Imperials hid their feelings on the matter, either. One could find any number of official statements from the Empire that amounted to “Let’s go round up those frontiersmen and make them heel to us!” or “The Tribes of Man are a bunch of savages!” or any amount of such tripe. Hell, there was an Imperial holo-show, Renegades, that depicted the Tribes as backwoods warriors that still wore furs to decorate their armor. Only the threat of a centuries-long guerilla war with the Tribes kept the Empire from invading outright. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp And they wonder why we hate them! Sirus boggled to himself. They seriously can’t understand our position. Or won’t. Christ and Hunter, how the Reach IV government managed to put up with those Imperials all this time, I don’t know. And the security... Red’s gaze quickly lifted to the level as the first spark of a new idea grew in his brain. ...security! How could I have-- &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He slowed his footsteps and came to a halt. He didn’t notice Bug stop and stand beside him patiently, so powerful was the idea that had grabbed his interest. Finally, his eyes cleared and he could see his surroundings again, and he now knew with a certainty what it was that had struck him as wrong. Without hesitating to try and process the idea further, he turned to Bug and began speaking quickly, before the insect could get a word in edgewise and possibly derail his train of thought. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Pop quiz, Bug--you are the planetary leader of Reach IV. You and your government are heavily involved in the moving of spies, providing safe-houses and data repositories and what-have-you. One day, your planet is invaded by a small tribe just powerful enough to take over your main spaceport. You don’t have the military power to dislodge them, and you strongly suspect that they are in place to tie up your forces until reinforcements can arrive. So you call your friendly neighborhood mercenaries in to get ‘em out of the way before things get really hairy. You also contract these mercenaries to facilitate the rescue of your most recently-arrived and valuable spy, and possibly the other defectors he brought with him. Here’s the question: do you, as planetary leader, tell the mercenaries just who it is they’re about to go off and rescue?” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on his heels as he waited for an answer from Bug. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug stood there for a moment, idly tapping the razor points of his talons together as he did so. “I would not tell them the identity of the hostages,” he said at last, looking down at Sirus. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Why?” Red shot back, his brain still churning. He was hoping that Bug would reach the same conclusion that he had. If that were the case, then he could be reasonably sure that his idea was a sound one. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “The hostages are Imperials, and defectors as well. And a HERC pilot? A freshly-trained HERC pilot with all kinds of new information in his head? Too tempting. If Reach IV couldn’t stop the Marauders, what would stop us from sweeping the Marauders away and then taking the pilot and the rest of the Imperials back to Fenecia, where we could make great use of them?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red grinned widely and unfolded his arms. “Exactly, Bug,” he said, turning to start towards Hangar 4. “That’s what’s been bothering me about this.” Bug caught up with him momentarily. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “It does seem strange, now that you’ve mentioned it,” Bud added. “What will you do?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Tell Asha once we hit the hangar, and then Spec before we break orbit. I don’t know if he’ll consider dropping the contract on that one piece of info, but I’d be a pretty rotten captain if I didn’t at least notify him.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “How does this change our mission?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Hell if I know, Bug. I’d say we’ll have to be more careful, but we’re going to be wound up tight anyway, so a lot of good that’ll do us. We’ll take it as it comes, I guess.” Red shrugged as they continued on to Hangar 4. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp To Bug, the inside of the hangar was all at once mind-boggling and eerily familiar. The building was long and low, partially embedded into the earth, with horizontal slit-windows lining the tops of each wall. Soft beams of sunlight spilled onto the floor, supplementing the ceiling lights that hung on tracks. Vehicles of all kinds were sprawled about everywhere, and men and women could be seen working busily on them, some with high-tech entek tools and not a few with large iron implements. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “This way, Bug,” Sirus called to him, heading off between a stack of parts crates and a Dragon-class APC that had been propped on its side for engine work. He turned and followed, marveling at the raw amount of activity taking place all around him. Sirus called back: “Come on, we’ve got to get weighed in before we can get to our ride.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Affirmative,” Bug replied, closing the distance. This is not unlike home in its raw activity, he told himself. A little sand and I could believe I was in my old armory. He patted his chatka staff absently as he caught up with Sirus, who was standing at the tail end of a short line of armored men and women. The line ended at the foot of a small raised platform that was a little over a meter to a side and some several inches above the floor. Off to the side stood a petite woman in a pair of coveralls and a cap, consulting a clipboard-sized datapad as people moved through her station. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Ah, Rogue drew the short straw,” Sirus said quietly to Bug as the big insect came to stand in line with him. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “What do you mean?” Bug replied. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Well, someone has to monitor all the weigh-ins for each mission, even though the process is pretty well automated. It’s one of the most boring jobs here, and usually it’s the maintenance crew that gets stuck with it. So they draw straws to see which of them has to do it, and Rogue lost.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Ah. Sensible,” came the reply. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “That it is. But you have to know that this kind of thing just eats her up. If Rogue isn’t elbow-deep in the engines of whatever’s broken this week, I seriously don’t think she’s happy.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “As I have difficulty remaining focused unless I get my daily chatka-work in.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Exactly, Bug,” Sirus beamed. “You say you’re not good at understanding us but--“ &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “A-hem.” This new voice came from behind and below Sirus, and Bug watched with some amusement as his companion turned to find himself looking down on the petite engineer. She had pushed her cap back on her head, and was focusing her dark eyes on Red, looking at him with some bemusement and a little annoyance. Bug noticed that she’d tucked her brown hair into a bun on top of her head--probably all the better to keep it from getting tangled in engine parts. And cleaner, under that cap, he told himself. At least some humans have a sense of pragmatism. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Rogue continued: “You gonna stand there all day explaining how drawing straws works, Red, or are you gonna get on the pad and get weighed in?” The slight twang in her voice robbed the statement of whatever malice it might have contained, but it was still apparent that she did not enjoy her task very much. Everyone else in the line was gone, having already gone through the door on the other side of the pad to their respective ships. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yes ma’am,” Sirus replied and stepped on the pad without further ado. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp She turned to Bug as the pad worked on Sirus, giving him a long look-over. Her eyes fixed on the aDTM tag carved into his carapace. “Still going through the process, Bug?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Affirmative. It has been educational.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yeah, for anyone crazy enough to spar with him.” Sirus quipped from the weighpad. Bug chittered to himself quietly, mandibles clacking. It was his equivalent to chuckling. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The weighpad ‘ding’ed softly and Rogue looked down at her datapad. She smiled when she saw the readouts. “You’ve been eating more, haven’t you, Red?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Well, I seem to recall the last time I had dinner with you and Gambit that you said I was too scrawny, so yes. How much have I gained?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Almost a half-kilo. Hundred and two kilos complete with your hardshell and weapons. Not too bad, Red.” She grinned at him and gestured for him to step off the pad. “Your turn, Bug.” She ‘hmmm’ed to herself as he strode toward the pad. “You look like you’re even scrawnier than Red, you know that?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug nodded and stepped towards the weighpad. “That is what Warren thought as well,” he intoned sagely as he got all four feet on the pad and centered himself over it. Sirus could be heard chuckling almost inaudibly to himself. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Rogue rolled her eyes. “What is it with mercs and being mysterious...?” she began, until she got a look at the readouts on the datapad in her hands. Then she did a classical double-take, first looking at Bug, then back at the display, then back at Bug, trying to reconcile the numbers with what she knew of general physics and physiology. “This has got to be a screw-up,” she said quietly. “How in blazes do you weigh two hundred and fifty kilos?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Oh, it’s the right number, Rogue,” Sirus interjected, grinning. “Bug weighs a lot.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Two hundred and twenty-four kilograms,” Bug added from the weighpad. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Right. Plus his weapons.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Rogue looked from one to the other and then back again, trying her best to decide if this was another one of Red’s practical jokes. She concluded that it wasn’t, mostly because the diagnostic results for the weighpad said so. “The ‘Zone is never going to be safe if you turn Bug into your straight-man, Sirus,” Rogue chided, waving the two of them to the door behind the weighpad. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I would never do such a thing,” Sirus replied matter-of-factly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “So says the man that employs itching powder as a motivational tool for new recruits,” Rogue laughed. “You should be thankful you don’t wear a hardshell,” she said to Bug. “Red’s the grand master of hardshell pranks.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Noted,” Bug replied. “I will watch him carefully.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “You take allll of the fun out of life, Rogue,” Sirus pouted gamely as he walked with Bug to the door. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Pffft. You’re full of it, Red. Just come back in one piece, will you? Gambit and I need our constant supply of jokes.” Her laughter could be heard as the two of them went through the door and deeper into the building, where the actual ships were parked as they awaited pilots. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Now into the hangar proper, Bug was again amazed at the appearance of the place. The maintenance section of Hangar 4 had been a hive, a collection of parts and ships and tunnels and halls all crammed together as men and women worked hard to keep everything in good repair. It was noisy and cramped, but it appealed to him just the same. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The actual hangar, though, was too open for his tastes. There was a wide-open path down the middle of the long side of the hangar, and though he knew it was made that way for the use of ships, it still felt like a defensive weakness to him. Any number of troops could be rushed up that path, to destroy ships at-- But you forget, he reminded himself, this planet and these mercenaries have other defenses. Your old command was nothing like this, so you should stop trying to fit this place and these people into the old molds. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp But I don’t have any other molds to use! &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Do without, then. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp There were days when the voice he’d discovered on Magara II made him want to throw his arms up and scream as loud as he was able. It was even more cruelly pragmatic than he was, and just as merciless. Pay attention to the ships, he told himself. That will keep your mind occupied. The ships were impressive, and he found that he was able to lose himself in the details as he and Sirus walked down a railed path that ran behind the berths on one side of the building. The sleek stratofighters interested him the most--small ships made for orbital work, the stratofighters were usually tasked with taking down dropships, incoming missiles, and anything else that wandered into their sights. They appeared almost insectile, but smoother in form than himself or any of his brothers back home…and even though he was absolutely terrified of the thought of not being on the ground, he felt an urge to somehow fit himself into the cockpit of one of those fighters and take to the skies. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “They are pretty sexy, eh?” The voice was Red’s. “Stratofighter pilots get all the girls. And they have the bonus of not worrying about a coffin if they get shot down. Though I have to admit burning up on re-entry isn’t the most pleasant way to go I can think of.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Sounds slow and painful.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Much more so than a spinfusor to the face, yes. And then there’s the problem of their final screams being recorded on the ship’s blackbox… nobody wants to hear those.” Sirus shook his head minutely at that. “But we’re not taking one of those to Reach IV. We’re assigned to the Nimbus.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp That’s right, the humans name their ships, he reminded himself. Though he was long divorced of his native culture, the human propensity to assign names to actual things still struck him as slightly odd. Only a Queen had a name--her children had none, and it was deemed senseless to waste words on an object that already had a perfectly good pheromonic noun assigned to it. Though the chatka staff at his side was his most prized and valuable possession, he had never given it a name. Were he human, he might have called it ‘Slim’ or something equally asinine. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Ahhhh, here we are,” Red spoke as they approached one of the larger berths. “The Nimbus.” Bug caught up with Sirus and stood at his side, where he was able to see into the berth and look at the ship it contained. What he saw didn’t strike him as impressive. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The Nimbus, if that’s what he was looking at, was quite possibly the boxiest object he’d ever laid eyes on. It certainly didn’t look in the least bit aerodynamic, and that impression only got worse the closer he and Sirus got to it. The main body was a rectangular box with edges only slightly rounded, and a wide, blunt wedge for a nose. He could see the bridge windows on the top of the wedge, and they appeared to him like viewslits in a bunker rather than the viewports a pilot would want to use while flying. Looking back from the bridge, he saw the ‘wings’--large, thick, stubby extensions of the main body that poked out to either side of the Nimbus and drooped downwards towards the floor. At the tip of each was a retractable landing strut, and from what little he could see of the top of the wings, there were some kind of turret mounts across the top. He lifted himself a little bit and was able to see an actual turret that was being prepped by a technician atop the Nimbus. There was a single hatch at the rear of the ship, a large ramp that folded down for easy loading and unloading. He looked carefully and was able to see a small antipersonnel sentry turret embedded into the underside of the tail, right over the loading door. At least one thing about this ship is sensible in design, he noted. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Sirus, beside him now and leaning against one of the landing struts, took a deep breath and let it out with a smile. “Damn, the old girl is just as ugly as ever, isn’t she?” Looking at the drab gray appearance of the Nimbus, it wasn’t hard to agree with him. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I am less concerned with its appearance and more with its ability to fly. This vehicle does not look air-capable.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red laughed. “That’s what I said the first time I saw her, too. Don’t you worry Bug, she can fly, and damn well, even if she is so old no one knows when she was made.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Its age is uncertain?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Her age,” Sirus corrected. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Her age is uncertain, then?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red nodded. “Yeah. If I was really curious, I’d try and check the serial numbers embedded into her framework, but you know, it just isn’t polite to ask a lady her age, much less try and dig it out of her. She’s a pretty well-armed ship, if you take my meaning.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “All females are dangerous,” Bug intoned, inclining his head slightly at the Nimbus. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Master of the backhanded compliment already, I see,” a familiar voice spoke from behind. “What have you been teaching him, Red?” Both mercs turned around to face the owner of the voice. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Trinity Ash!” Sirus exclaimed, brightening. “So you’re the one that was crazy enough to volunteer to fly our squad in, eh?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Trinity Ash, or TA to nearly everyone, leaned casually against the front landing strut of the Nimbus, watching the two mercs with some amusement. She straightened, brushed a lock of auburn hair out of her eyes, and strode toward them smiling, the boots of her light hardshell clacking quietly against the hard floor. “If you mean stir-crazy, then yes, that’s me,” she said as she came to a halt near Bug, helmet under her arm. Her hazel eyes darted over him quickly, taking in the new shield-harness that he wore. “BioDerm shield-web, mmm? Trying to cut down on battle-scars, Bug?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “That is correct. I would be a poor soldier if I did not protect myself as well as I am able.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Speaking of protecting yourself, you need to watch your queen, Bug. I’ve got her hemmed in on the third tier.” TA grinned at him widely. “You sure you don’t want to give up now?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp She was, of course, talking about the running three-dimensional chess tournament that she and Bug had going. It had started on Magara II, after he had called her ‘Trin’, which was a form of her warnom that TA utterly detested. As a means of making up for it, he had agreed to an entire quarter’s worth of 3D chess games against her. At the time, it had seemed like an excellent way to prove himself to the mercs; he would show that he knew at least a little about social interaction (‘give-and-take’, the humans called it) and that he knew a great deal about grand strategy. Chess was one of the few human pastimes he actually enjoyed, mainly because he had used it to fill some of the long hours spent in transit from one planet to another during his assassin years. He had defeated countless AI players and more than a few people in play-by-mail games during that time. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp TA, though, was more than an even match for him. She had, in fact, beaten him quite soundly last week, and this week’s game was test of nerve. She had already forced him out of the lower, defensive levels of the board, and into the middle, where his pieces were vulnerable and she could cull individuals out of the pack and take them. He had intentionally left his Queen vulnerable, though, in hopes that she might jump at the chance and perhaps expose the knights she liked to use. I can only hope so, he thought. He had a bishop and a rook just waiting for a chance to carve a swath through her forces, if she would just play along with his ruse. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Giving up is not in my nature,” he said. “I plan to crush your forces upon our return to Fenecia.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp TA laughed merrily. “We’ll see about that, but I like your spirit, Bug. You two ready to ride?” she asked, turning to face both of them. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “That’s a roj, TA,” Sirus replied. “What about Asha, Longshot and FG?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “On the way, last I checked. You two should get in and get situated. Takeoff’s in ten minutes.” TA tapped her hardshell’s PDA a couple of times and the loading ramp on the back of the Nimbus began to come down, motors whining. “I’ll be up top if you need me.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red’s eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the Nimbus quickly as he surveyed its familiar drop-bay. Along each sidewall stood a row of dropharnesses, replete with straps and grab-bars so that one wouldn’t be bounced out of place during a rough landing. Clamped down in the middle of the bay between the harness rows was a Dragon-class APC, a flat boxy-looking machine that could take four passengers and one pilot. What it lacked in speed it made up for in armor and in-flight stability, the result being a platform that made for an excellent aerial gunship. Two mercs to a side, each one nestled into the notch-like berths in the sides of the APC, could rain down immense firepower on a battlefield. “There’s our ride once we get to Reach IV,” Sirus remarked to Bug as the insect came into the drop bay. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Ah, the configuration is the same.” Bug’s voice, artificial as it was, sounded even odder than normal in the echoey drop-bay. “I will test the fit just the same,” he said, and click-clacked his way over to the APC as Sirus watched. Red was still unsure of the method he and Bug had come up with for fitting the insect warrior onto an APC, but he couldn’t think of anything better. Hood ornament indeed, he told himself as Bug clambered over the passenger berths and made his way to the relatively flat expanse of hull between the berths and in front of the pilot. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug shifted around until each one of his feet/talons was hooked onto the edge of a passenger berth, whereupon he clenched his legs and locked himself down. He was now ‘sitting’ directly over the center of the APC, his torso upright and his legs splayed around him. He grabbed his blaster carbine and pointed it in various directions, checking his field of fire and seeing how far he could twist around. Finally he put the carbine away and leaned as far forward as he was able, flattening himself against the hull so that he would not obstruct the view from the pilot’s seat. That done, he shuffled off the APC and back onto the drop bay floor. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Just like we worked out earlier?” Sirus asked. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Exactly,” Bug replied. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Good deal. I have to get Spec and Asha on the CC, so see if you can fit yourself into a dropharness while I call ‘em up.” Bug nodded and clacked his way over to one of the harnesses. Red brought his PDA online and tapped into the command circuit, where he found Spectre listed as already in orbit aboard the Aquitaine. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The Aquitaine? Red pondered. Hunter, Spec is serious about bringing along the heavy firepower this time. The Aquitaine was the DTM’s largest space-faring ship (which wasn’t saying much compared to some of the monsters the B-E or the Diamond Sword could bring to bear), a heavily modified cruiser hull that was equal parts carrier, capital-ship bruiser, and orbital fire-support. And it was fast for a ship of its size, perfect for a quick-moving mercenary force to use as a flagship. Red tapped another control on his PDA and was linked up to the Aquitaine in moments, whereupon he put in a request to talk to Spec with the comms officer. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Spectre’s face appeared on Red’s PDA in a few moments, underlit by several displays mounted on his command chair. The soft-white glow from the ship’s displays made him look paler than usual. “You wouldn’t be calling me in the middle of departure prep unless you had something good, Red.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Sirus nodded. “At least I think it’s good, and it’s relevant.” Red paused for a moment and took a breath before he continued. “Why did they tell us who the hostage was?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Spec’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Reach IV. Why did they tell us he was a fresh-from-training Imperial HERC pilot? It’s too damn tempting.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Go on…” Spectre said, leaning back from the screen a bit as the idea sunk in. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “They could have told us he was some cultural icon, or a favored diplomat, or even the leader’s favorite mistress. Telling us the hostage is an Imperial HERC pilot just gives us a good reason to swoop in and take him away for ourselves. Anything else we’d just leave alone, you know?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “You think it’s a trap.” It was not a question. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yes. I don’t know if it’s for us or someone else, but this whole thing just suddenly seems like a big set-up. Frankly, I think going in is a really, really bad idea.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “And I agree with you after hearing this. However, there are two problems. One, we don’t have any evidence, and two, we already signed the contract.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Sirus sighed. He knew what Spec was getting at--if the DTM went back on a contract without any evidence, their reputation would suffer for it, and their reputation was what kept them employed. “You know, sometimes I wish--“ &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Spec cut him off. “I know, Red. Being a mercenary does have its drawbacks. That doesn’t mean, though--“ and here a slow grin spread across Spectre’s face, the grin that Red thought of as his I’m-gonna-be-a-sly-fox grin, “--that we can’t change things up a bit. Give me some time to think and plan while everyone is coming up to orbit. You’ll hear from either me or Trinity Ash before we hit the Gate.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Roj that. Anything else?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yes. Let me know if Bug has any insights about this.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red gave Spec a quizzical look, and was about to ask for clarification, but Spec cut the channel before he could say anything. Now what was that all about? he asked himself. He was about to turn and ask Bug that very thing when he was interrupted by the clamor of Asha, Longshot, and FallenGod coming up the ramp and into the drop bay. Reluctantly he put the question away and turned to face the trio of mercs. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Humans, as a rule, were not quiet when they moved. This was something Bug had learned long, long ago, and it was something he was surprised most human warriors didn’t try to correct. The ability to move silently was such a huge advantage that he honestly didn’t know how a warrior could function without it. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp So, while he fiddled with one of the dropharnesses (and came to the conclusion that he’d have to strap himself into an empty cargo-slot instead due to his size), he was keenly aware of the approach of the rest of the squad. He couldn’t help but feel the vibrations from the work going on atop the Nimbus, either--his foot-talons were extremely sensitive to such stimuli. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He couldn’t understand what RedSirus was saying, though, and moving to the end of the row of dropharnesses where there was a cargo slot didn’t help. He knew his compatriot was talking into his PDA, but he couldn’t make out the words as Sirus was keeping his voice down. It was the curse of his anatomy--footsteps he could sense but he couldn’t hear voices and air-borne vibrations very well at all. He had some implants that helped, but his ‘hearing’ was worse than the average man’s. It irked him because human social interaction was one of the highest priority items on his list of things to observe, and there was a great deal of time where he couldn’t catch some of the more subtle nuances of what his compatriots were saying. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp You could always install another implant, he told himself. True enough, though he disliked remembering the raw agony he’d felt while replacing his right eye. That had been one very long, very painful day. Perhaps he could get Warren’s help with a hearing implant; surely the doctor would have ways of doing it that were less painful. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He finished arranging the harness straps in the cargo slot and turned around as Longshot, Asha’Man, and FallenGod clomped up the ramp and into the drop bay. Longshot in particular made the entire bay vibrate as the massive feet of his Myrmidon hardshell came down on the floor. He had been impressively tall out of armor, but now he positively towered over everyone in the drop bay, and the huge shoulder blast shields of his hardshell only made him look even larger. His warharness bristled with almost half a dozen weapons, all arrayed around his waist and clinking dully against his armored thighs. His face was hardly visible through the thick semi-mirrored faceplate of his helmet, though Bug could see the white gleam of his teeth as he smiled and waved at RedSirus. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Asha’Man wore a medium hardshell, the Hoplite, just like RedSirus did. He was laden with weapons as well, though most of his were arranged on his back. There was a small shoulder-mounted antenna on his armor, which Bug presumed was to allow him to communicate with Spectre or Trinity Ash at long distances. He held in his hands a device that looked like one of the usual back-mounted hardshell add-ons a warrior could wear, but this one was larger and it did not have the standard interface that such packs used. Dull, flaking yellow stripes of paint crossed the device around its equator and a thick power cable hung limply from its bottom. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp FallenGod looked the most unusual, at least as far as his armament and hardshell were concerned. Where everyone else’s hardshell stuck with the standard red-and-black with gold highlights that all DTM hardshells exhibited, FG’s armor was of a general gray-green camouflage pattern. His armor was the lightest kind a man could wear, and Bug instantly recognized the unique shape of a hardshell-powered Artemis laser rifle slung casually across FG’s back. FG also carried a small duffel bag with him, strapped so that it stuck to the front of his chest, out of the way. Bug was reminded of the carryall that he had strapped to the bottom of his abdomen, and he thought that FG probably carried similar things within as well. Tricks, traps, and supplies, in other words. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “How are we doing for time, Red?” Asha asked as he gave the APC in the middle of the bay a once-over. Longshot and FallenGod were already picking dropharnesses and getting their restraints set up. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Five minutes or so to takeoff. TA’s up top, working on the defensive turrets, and Bug’s getting himself situated.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I am situated,” Bug replied as he came to stand by Sirus. “The dropharnesses are too small, so I have appropriated a cargo slot for my use.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Good enough,” Asha commented as he took the device in his hands and set it into one of the passenger berths of the APC. He flipped up a small cover on the inside wall of the berth and plugged the thing’s cable into it, then secured it with a set of retractable straps that came from the berth wall as well. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Jammer unit?” Sirus asked, eyeing the device. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Correct, Red. We’re going in stealthily.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Always an excellent choice,” Bug added. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “What about localcomm for Bug?” Red asked as Asha came up from securing the jamming device. “I can get his PDA programmed quick enough once I’ve got those.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Asha jerked a thumb at FallenGod, who turned from his work and spoke: “We got assigned a nice big range this time--plenty of room for scramblecoms. Set Bug up in the 250 to 550 megahertz range, Sirus. I’ll be doing most of the commo work while you four are out raising merry hell.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Thanks,” Sirus said and turned to Bug. “Not enough time for a test, but we’ll get it up in orbit.” He checked his PDA. “Time to strap in, guys, And tight--you know how TA flies if it’s been a while since her last d-ship outing.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Fast,” Asha commented. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Great, my fillings are going to rattle loose again, aren’t they?” Longshot said, rolling his eyes. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Is this going to be dangerous?” Bug asked Sirus quietly. The reactions from the others were not reassuring. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red chuckled softly. “This is a dropship, Bug. When isn’t it dangerous?” he quipped as he, like the others, strapped himself into a dropharness. Tightly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp I seem to recall that you were looking forward to this, the voice in Bug’s head commented slyly. Having second thoughts, warrior? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp No. With some effort, Bug kept a longer retort (and one that would have undoubtedly been far more caustic) in check as he secured himself into his cargo slot. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Tightly.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Sat Oct 11, 2003 1:03 am

Fenecian Orbit Bug let himself out of the restraints, shaking as he did so. Whether it was from the residual adrenaline in his system, anger, or pure shock, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that the ride from surface to orbit had been the most harrowing experience he’d had within the last few years, not counting direct combat. “Well, he didn’t puke,” Longshot opined from his own dropharness. “That’ll knock off a few points.” “But he did think he was going to die, remember?” FallenGod sounded too serene for Bug’s tastes. How could anyone stay so calm through such a twisting, roaring, and disorienting trip he didn’t know. Even better: Asha’Man was asleep in his dropharness. He was completely dead to the word, totally oblivious to the fact that he had just gone through several thousand degrees of rotation in several axes, most of them simultaneously. Sirus was next to him, speaking softly, trying to explain the hilarity of the situation to him. “It’s a tradition, Bug. When it’s your first trip ground-to-orbit, the pilot is obliged to try and make you puke or think you’re gonna buy the farm.” “Where’s the sense in that?” Bug retorted, finally free of his harness. “Well, the loser has to buy drinks for his crew.” “I know you humans have a taste for grain alcohol, but doesn’t this method of determining buyers seem somewhat extreme? Couldn’t you...” he paused for a moment, looking for the right phrase. “Couldn’t you draw straws?” “Haven’t you ever been through an initiation ritual before, Bug?” Sirus asked. “You know, the part where a new member is taken in to your group?” “Yes,” Bug replied as he stepped away from his harness and into the middle of the drop-bay. He stretched, flexing his limbs and rising up to his full extended height of some nine feet. "Mine involved ritual combat to the death. I won." He paused as he surveyed Sirus and the other mercs. "Fourteen times." “Uh...” Sirus trailed off, not sure what he could say to that. “Well, that is a little different, yes. It’s not quite a life-and-death thing here, more of a, uh, ritual humiliation.” “Oh,” Bug said quietly. “Then I take it the infighting instructors I defeated last month asked Trinity Ash to do this?” FallenGod barked laughter at that. “The bug catches on quick, doesn’t he?” “Nailed it in one,” Longshot confirmed, chuckling himself. Bug took all of this in studiously. He’d known of such relationships between humans in the past, but he still didn’t quite understand it. After all, the instructors had asked for a demonstration of his hand-to-hand skills, and he had provided them with one that they would never forget. Were they jealous, perhaps? He thought that one over, comparing it to all of the other slices of humanity he’d seen over the last half-century, and came to the conclusion that they might very well be. But not maliciously so, for he and they had exchanged much instruction since that day, and if they were truly angry with him, he would not have their votes on his application. Is this was the humans call ‘a friendly joke’? he wondered. It was a strange concept for him to grasp, but he thought he was right in his assumptions this time. He turned to Sirus and spoke. “I will personally deliver tankards to each instructor. Is that in accordance with your human traditions?” Red blinked in surprise, pleased that Bug was taking this so well. “Not exactly, but it’s close enough, Bug. You catch on quick.” “That is the prime requisite of any warrior that wishes to survive longer than his first battle,” Bug stated. "One of my favorite maxims." The voice was Asha's. He was awake now (Was he ever actually asleep? wondered Bug) and unbuckling himself. "Another one goes like this: 'When in doubt--" "--empty the magazine!" Longshot and FG finished with him, laughing as they did so. They high-fived each other gleefully. "Rule #46, right?" Sirus asked, cracking a smile himself. "Straight from the book of Finagle," Asha confirmed as he stepped out into the bay proper. "Who is this Finagle?" Bug asked Sirus. "And where could I find this book?" "Actually, it's Finagle and his mad prophet Murphy that wrote it. The rules have been with us since before the Apocalypse, some say. I can get you a copy when we get back home." "Excellent. I look forward to reading it." Suddenly, TA's voice came to them via a wall-mounted speaker panel near the front of the bay. "We've got some time to kill while Spectre gets everything lined up for the trip, gentlemen. How was the ride up?" TA's voice revealed a faint hint of subdued mirth during her question. "You're getting your cognac, TA," FallenGod piped up. "Bug was pretty certain he was going to die." "Mission accomplished!" she laughed, and then her voice became more serious. "Spec tells me I'll be getting some instructions about our approach to Reach IV in about twenty minutes, and that once I've got them, we'll be heading out in front of the Aquitaine." "Roj that," Asha said. "We'll be going over the details of our insertion here in the bay. Yell if you need anything." "Sure thing," and the speaker clicked off. Asha turned to face his squadmates. "All right. We covered the big important details back on Fenecia, and now it's time to get our tactics and seating arrangements in order. Bug, if you've got questions, this is the time to ask them." "No, not yet." "Good." Reach IV "Give me a situation report." The voice was tight and nervous, and it belonged to the watch officer for Reach IV's main monitoring station. He had good reason to be nervous. He and his compatriots were locked inside the spaceport control tower, which was completely surrounded by the invading forces of the Marauders. The Maruaders had come down in a group of frieghters, and when the doors had opened, they'd spilled out in their hardshells and immediately started attacking. They'd killed half of his ground crews (the ones unfortunate enough to be close to the freighters when they landed) and captured everyone else they could get their hands on. Immediately after that, a trio of Dragon-class APCs filled with more warriors had gone screaming off toward the mountains while the rest of the warriors secured the area. He had been able to get his watch crew to lock and seal all the doors leading into the control tower before any of the Marauders managed to get there. He'd been afraid that they would bash down the doors and kill everyone, but the Marauders had been content to trash all of his transmission dishes and cut all of the communications cables that would let him talk to his government. He had been able to get a warning out, at least, but that was all. His crew managed to bash together a scanner, and with that they'd been able to listen in a little bit to what was going on outside the blast doors. They were also able to tap into the orbital surveillance networks, and from those he had learned that there were some kind of signals going from the Marauders to an orbiting drone, which was beaming the signal off towards a nearby hypergate relay station. "Nothing new, sir," the lieutenant manning the scanner told him. "Nothing aside from the drone and what comm-chatter we can pick up." The drone worried him greatly. It could be beaming signals anywhere along the gate's hyperweb route, and that gate in particular led to Blood Eagle and Diamond Sword space. It also led, eventually, to the Empire, but that was a menance he didn't consider as much of a threat. After all, the Empire was rumoured to be busy with some "Scourge", and all reports said they had little time for the Wilderzone. But still... "What about those APCs?" he asked the lieutenant as he peered out of the tower's windows and surveyed the stahlplast plain below. The Marauders were everywhere he could see, grouped up in little knots at all the entrances. A few of them were walking about, deploying portable Claptrap turrets in advantageous locations and backing those up with a web of sensors. Any troops that attacked the spaceport would be cut to ribbons in the crossfire. In mute irony, the spaceport's original defense towers stood tall and silent, their massive anti-vehicle turrets slumped over due to lack of power. "We lost those as soon as they took off, even before the power was cut, sir. They must be jammed." It wasn't surprising. He suspected that those APCs were heading off to the sensor control station near the mountains, and the only way to sneak up on it was to go in under a jamming field. And if that was the case, these Marauders were just the tip of the iceberg. Someone wanted to invade Reach IV in a big way. Who? And why? "Uh, sir?" The lieutenant's voice was suddenly shaky. "I've got a contact coming out of the gate." His heart froze. So soon? He swallowed his fear and turned to the lieutenant again. "How many?" The liuetenant fiddled with the scanner controls for a moment before wrinkling his brow in puzzlement. "Just one... I think." A moment's pause as he studied the display more intently. "Another freighter, sir." "A latecomer?" "No, sir. It's broadcasting. Give me a moment to get a fix." Another moment went by as the lieutenant worked with the scanner. Then a voice come out of the scanner's speaker, slightly snarled with static. "Reach IV Contr--. This is --dical ship Mercury, request-- immediate assistance! We --ave taken fire from Griever --irates and are being pursued. Request any fighter cover --ou can provi--. Repeat: --is is medical ship Mer--" "Another ploy?" the commander asked as the message went on. "No, sir, the ship has a medical beacon, and it's sending out a damage report as well. I think it's genuine." The lieutenant looked up at him again. "Those beacons are hard to forge, sir." The commander sighed, wiping his face with his hands. "It just gets better and better, doesn't it? Let's hope our government is prepared to write a bunch of 'I'm-sorry-to-report' letters, eh, Lieutenant?" The Nimbus Trinity Ash sat in the pilot's seat, grinning as she turned off her microphone and ceased broadcasting on the emergency channel for a moment. Spec's plan was, to her at least, a little dicey, but nothing she couldn't handle. It was also a great opportunity to make use of her acting skills. She keyed the ship intercom. "How's the set-up back there, boys?" "All has been prepared, Trinity Ash," came the reply from Bug. "Asha and RedSirus have the cell ready and FallenGod and Longshot are ready with the airlock." "Great. Strap in, Bug, this will get rough once the others get here." "So I have heard. Spectre must play an interesting game of chess." "You don't know the half of it," she replied, clicking off and turning her attention back to Reach IV. No reply from them yet. Well, that wasn't too surprising, all things considered. Spec said they were frantic, and this little ploy of his was probably only going to make them more so. There was probably some watch officer down there seeing his crew come completely unglued right about now. A monitor to her right bleeped as a reply came from the planet. TA noted that the message was coming from a large city some hundred miles from the spaceport. Probably the capital, she thought. "Medical ship Mercury, this is Reach IV Orbital Control. We have received your distress call." The voice was masculine, but didn't sound too professional to TA. If what she knew of the situation on the planet's surface was jake, then it was entirely possible she was listening to a junior officer. There was silence on the channel, a long silence that, under other circumstances, would have made TA's guts crawl. "And?" she prompted in a suitably irrtated voice. "A little help would be appreciated, Control." "We are verifying your transponder codes, Mercury." "What part of 'distress call' don't you understand, Control?" TA shot back. "I've got pirates hot on my ass through the Gate back there, and I've barely got enough power to make a landing! You mind sending up a little fighter escort before I get squikked up here?" She gave the engines a little more throttle and started on a landing vector towards the spaceport, hoping to prod Control into a reaction. "Mercury, be advised that our spaceport is inoperative at this time. We are preparing an alter--" "Inoperative? What, did your union workers go on strike or something, Control?" "Ahhh, negative on that, Mercury. We have a situation at the spaceport." "A 'situation'?" TA replied, letting acid drip from her words. "Look, if it isn't the Second Coming of Harabec, I'm not interested, Control. Get me a landing vector now, or so help me, I'm gonna make for that crummy-looking city you're transmitting from and turn your control tower into my personal landing strip!" "Mercury--" Control began to say, but then several things happened all at once. The Nimbus' sensor suite starting going nuts with new readings from directly behind her. Lots of them. A babble of voices from Control squawked all at once through the speaker, and whatever Control had been going to say was lost in the noise. TA did catch one phrase clearly, said phrase being blurted out by what sounded like a very young and inexperienced sensor tech on the verge of cracking up. "Sir, we have a entire fleet coming through the Gate, sir!" "Dammit, get me some cover now, Control!" TA screamed into her mike, readjusting her course once again, this time away from the incoming ships. Control didn't respond, but she could still hear men and women barraging some commanding officer with questions through the connection. Suddenly, a new voice emanated from her speaker, a the cold voice of a tired warlord who has finally found his prey. "I didn't think you would run far, Mercury." At those words, Reach IV Control went silent--not because the connection had been severed, but because everyone down there had actually shut up. "Surrender for boarding now and I'll do you the favor of not informing Reach IV what your cargo bays have in them," the voice continued. "Who in hell is this?" Control said abrubtly. "Identify yourself at once!" "Like you've got room to talk..." TA muttered under her breath. "Certainly, Reach IV Control," said the warlord-voice. "This is Spectre of the Dragon Talon Mercenaries aboard the Aquitaine. My fleet and I have pursued this ship to your world. She was a part of a larger group of freighters headed in your direction, though we lost the other ships some time ago. We hope to interrogate the Mercury's pilot and determine where the other ships are at this time, as well as recover the Mercury's cargo, which we have been told is most...interesting." "Other freighters...?" Control said quietly, and then recognition came into the man's voice. "Damn, it's part of the attack group! Do whatever you want with it, Aquitaine!" "Thank you," Spectre said. "Fighters, disable that ship." Time to put this whole crazy plan to the test, TA thought. She spoke into the ship's intercom. "Get ready back there!" She then rammed the Nimbus's throttle all the way forward. The engines flared to life, blasting backwards with the white-hot fury of a newborn star. The Nimbus catapulted forward, away from the Aquitaine and toward the planet. More specifically, directly for the spaceport. She wanted to make it look like she was trying to evade Spectre's fighters in the atmosphere, where they wouldn't be able to follow. Dimly over the roar of the engines she heard Reach IV Control say something like "Get ready for what?" but paid it no heed. The more confused they were, the better for her and the Nimbus. She glanced towards the ships scanners and saw that Spectre had unleashed a sextet of fighters toward her. They'd be within firing range in moments. "Wanna take me down, eh?" she roared into the mike. "I won't make it easy, you scroffing dogs!" With that, she yanked the Nimbus into a series of what looked like evasive maneuvers but were really meant to bring the ship's turrets to bear on the incoming fighters. She clicked a button on the control yoke and heard the satisfying whine of turret motors coming to life. Within seconds, all five were active and tracking the fighters, and bare moments after that, they began firing, hurling an impressive stream of energy bolts at the pursuing craft. The fighters ducked and whirled about, dodging the spray of fire easily and swooping in to take shots of their own. Half of the fighters went under the Nimbus and half went over. An instant after they split, there was a horrendous-sounding scream of metal as the bottom trio unloaded a salvo into the belly of the Nimbus. TA turned to give the order to Bug and the others through the ship's intercom, but there was no need. A split-second after the fighter's shots landed, there was the sound of another explosion. The Nimbus jerked upwards sharply and began tumbling, just like she'd planned. "Airlock blown!" cried Longshot over the intercom, which was what he was supposed to say if things worked out. "We're gonna lose it, boss!" cried one of the fighter pilots (TA recognized the voice as that of FireFro) over the guard channel. "Can't get any grapple lines on it!" Trinity Ash sat in the pilot's chair, grinning widely to herself as the Nimbus hurtled into the outer fringes of Reach IV's atmosphere. Perfection. The Aquitaine "Well, how's it look?" Spectre sad in his command chair on the bridge of the Aquitiaine, watching as the plan unfolded on the ship's holoprojector. "Looks like a perfect execution, boss," came the reply. The speaker was Gambit. He was the tactical and weapons officer on board the Aquitaine. "Just like you'd expect from TA." "True enough. Do you think they fell for it?" "Hard to say," Gambit replied, tapping a few commands into his console. "Orbital defenses--what there is of 'em, anyway--haven't come on-line yet. Either Reach IV can't react fast enough or the Marauders hosed the links when they landed. That's a plus any way you look at it." "Go on." "The Nimbus released the junk right on time, too. From anyone's sensor picture but our own, it looks like the fighters completely gutted the Nimbus and took out most of the engines. Another plus. Won't know for sure until Reach IV control asks us what the hell is going on." "Incoming transmission," chimed one of the other mercs on the bridge. "It's Reach IV." Gambit looked up at Spectre and grinned. "Clean living, eh?" The Nimbus Everything was going to plan, which TA found an amusing thought, considering how often quickly-formed ideas went awry once the action started. FG and Longshot blew the airlock at the perfect time, sending all the junk and spare parts stuffed in there hurtling into space. From Reach IV's perspective, it would look convincingly like vital engine parts and hull plating, all the better to make them think the Nimbus/Mercury was well and truly going down in flames. That last was her job to make look authentic. She'd disrupted power to one of the engines, which was now spouting an impressive-looking plume of smoke through the exhaust. The Nimbus was tumbling wildly through the Reach IV atmosphere, spinning haphazardly as it screamed downwards at the head of a long plume of black smoke. The other two engines were now spitting intermittently to give the illusion of someone frantically trying to get them back on-line. She looked out of the front viewport and saw the surface of the planet rushing up to meet her. Now she could easily make out the spaceport, a giant stahlplast blemish in the middle of a vast rolling land of trees. She could barely make out the tiny shapes of four large freighters arrayed around the port's central landing area. "Hang on!" she called back to the others. "Things are gonna get a bit rough now!" With that, she jerked backwards on the yoke and brought the Nimbus to the level, counteracting the tumble. The big ugly ship was still spinning around its long axis, but it wasn't going end-over-end any more. That accomlished, TA hooked to the east and started for the mountain range on which she'd been briefed. She brought one of the sputtering engines back to full power so she could pull up, but left the other one as it was. The arrangement was unstable, but nothing she couldn't handle, and it had to look pretty authentic to anyone watching the Nimbus's descent. If Spec's briefing was accurate (and she had no reason to doubt it), looking authentic was the most important thing of all. If their landing appeared survivable in the least, the Marauders would sent a team to investigate, and that would completely blow Asha's mission apart. Hence the cell--one of the Aquitaine's replacement fusion cells that was rigged to overload and explode on command. The mountain range was coming up quickly from below. She intended to go down on the east side of it and level out once the mountaintops were between her and the sensor tower, Asha's objective. It would be tricky--she didn't have more than a couple of thousand feet to accomplish the feat, and the fusion cell had to be released right on time as well. "Getting ready to level out!" she cried over the intercom. "Get ready, Asha! Drop it on my mark!" "Roj, TA!" came the reply, slightly strained. Now she could easily make out details in the mountaintops, and if she looked a little to her left, she could see the sensor tower itself, a squat building amidst an unnatural clearing in the thick forest that carpeted the mountains. She glanced over at the altimeter and saw that it was time to be ready. She braced her feet firmly on the floor and tightened her grip on the control yoke with one hand and got ready with the engine throttles with her other hand. Seven thousand....sixty-five hundred.... six thousand... "DROP IT!" TA yelled, slamming all three engines to max power and then pulling the control yoke back with all her might. The Nimbus, just below the mountaintops, began to curve towards level, and almost at the same time, a large metallic cube came flying out of the back hatch. She gritted her teeth and kept on pulling, willing the old ship to level out in time and get far enough away from the fusion cell that they wouldn't be fried. Almost too slowly the Nimbus leveled out, but the old girl came through for TA, barely scraping the treetops and whipping up a furor of blown leaves in her wake. TA quickly slowed down and ducked the Nimbus into a valley, slewing the back end of the ship around as she did so to help the braking. Not a moment too soon. The sky above them went white as the fusion cell overloaded and exploded. The ship's visual filters kicked in and darkend the front viewport just in time, and moments after that, the shockwave of the event blew over them, whipping trees about like reeds. They were safe enough from the blast, though, shielded by the valley walls. She put the Nimbus on hover and flopped back in her seat, letting out the breath she'd been holding. The old ship rocked gently as the fusion cell's concussive blast reverberated across the top of the valley, but it stayed put. TA undid her restraints and got up to see how the others had fared in back. The Aquitaine Spec turned in his seat to watch the monitors showing the progress of the Nimbus. He had been talking to the commanding officer in Reach IV's capital a moment ago, but Gambit had pulled his attention to the Nimbus with a quiet word. From up in orbit, what he saw didn't look like much: a thin trail of smoke headed by a microscopic metallic dot aimed at the eastern mountain range. That changed a few moments later, as a white flower of pure force blossomed on the east side on the ridge of mountains. Even from up here he could see the shockwaves it produced, and he wondered if TA had been successful. He glanced at Gambit, who gave him a subtle positive gesture. Spec turned back to the Reach IV officer, who floated before him on the ship's holoprojector. "I don't think anyone survived that," he said quietly, hiding his good feelings. "Hunter, that looked like a full breach of the ship's fusion drives!" Control replied. "Looks like the Mercury's pilot had a deathwish." "I'm inclined to agree. My pilots didn't hit it that hard." Spec rested his hand in chin and appraised the Reach IV officer. The man's body language didn't suggest that he suspected anything was wrong. That didn't mean the Marauders would fall for it as well, though, and he hoped sincerely that they wouldn't send anyone to investigate. "Now that our little problem is out of the way, I think it's time you and I discussed plans for liberating your spaceport." "Yes, it is time for that, isn't it?" The officer held out a hand and someone out of his holoprojector's pickup range handed him a data pad. "Well, as we said in our initial report to you, the situation is dire for us. We haven't got the troops to take on that kind of force, and whatever was there at the port the Maruaders already cut to ribbons. We've lost contact with the control tower and everything else there, and..." Spec let the man's words drift into the background. He already knew what he was going to do for the Reach IV government and what he was going to do to the Marauders. He was more concerned with Asha'man and his crew at the moment. Spec took a moment to wish for their safe return and let the Reach IV officer's words come back to the fore. Edited by: <A HREF=http://pub141.ezboard.com/bxmenclan.sho ... bug>Ambush Bug</A>  <IMG HEIGHT=10 WIDTH=10 SRC="http://www.xmenclan.org/images/x.gif" BORDER=0> at: 10/11/03 2:10 am

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Re: Dominoes: And One Shall Fall

Re: Dominoes: And One Shall Fall