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> Tau Ceti IV (New Earth), Legionnaires FBO
MechWarrior Alex Thorn
post Nov 11 2009, 11:21 PM
Post #31



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The "interview" if you wanted to call it that with Marcus was short. I liked that, being a Clanner, yet there was something about it that bothered me. Then it hit me. The Legionnaires are not used to working with a Clansmen. Captain Maxwell was the only one that seemed to be comfortable around me. I nodded to Schuster as he walked in.

"Is there a place were I can get some dry clothes? Or at least to dry these?" I looked down at the clothes that were plastered to me from the rain.

Schuster smiled and waved for me to follow him. "Right this way." He looked back at me as we walked down a corridor that lead to what I assumed was the barracks. "You will have to dry those clothes. I don't think we have any that will fit you. We will order some for you. Sorry for the inconvenience."

I smiled. I did not bother me. I was happy to find a home where I could regain my honor. Maybe, just maybe, these Legionnaires will become my new sibko. The thought thrilled me. There were days that I missed being on Arc-Royal in the presence of Phelan Kell, but I never let those thoughts hinder my progress. Just I had finished my last thought Schuster motioned through a doorway. Inside were two bunks.

"You will be rooming with me if you dont mind. The laundry room is just down the hall; last door on the left. If youll excuse me I have some business to attend to." I smiled and nodded. It was not unusual for us to bunk with several members of our sibko, but this would be take some time to get used to. I was glad at the fact that my "roommate" would be Schuster. Apart from the Captain Schuster was the only one that had shown me any kindness on this planet so far.

I was able to find a spare towel in the room. I wrapped around myself after taking off the wet clothes. I had decided that I would not offend anyone here, unlike in my sibko at home where we were not ashamed of being naked. I walked down to the laundry room and put my clothes in to dry. A short time later they were finished and I put them back on, enjoying the warmth they provided after being soaked from the rain. I then decided to roam the building in hopes to find more Legionnaire members to introduce myself to, or to become more familiar with the ones I had already met.


--------------------
Position : Mechwarrior
Callsign :
Current BattleMech : Marauder IIC (Wolf's Teeth) [Assault]
Loadout: 3x ER PPC, 2x Medium Pulse Laser, 4x ER Small Laser
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Commodore Benjamin Maxwell
post Nov 12 2009, 12:32 PM
Post #32



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Posts: 658
Joined: 15-December 05
From: Tau Ceti IV
Member No.: 1





The fluorescent lighting buzzed and flickered erratically, setting an almost-eerie ambiance in the cramped and tattered confines of what loosely could be referred to as our 'mess hall.' In all actuality, the space had been used as a morgue by a previous tenant, and, although much of the machinery had been removed from it by the time the Legionnaires acquired the property, much still remained to serve as a reminder of the room's grim past. The only real reason it was now considered a 'cafeteria' was because it was where people ate food.

Or what could abstractly be defined as food.

With a tremendous, metallic 'clank,' accompanied by a series of epileptic heaves and vibrations, the AutoVendor shuddered to life, a deep gurgling emanating from its bowels as the machine vomited a torrent of watery beef stew directly into its dispenser alcove. Belatedly, a styrofoam bowl dropped into the mess, becoming coated with the victuals as they continued to spray down. After several seconds of unrelenting carnage, the violence finally ceased, and a dancing smiley face materialized on the AutoVendor's selection screen. With a cheery 'ding,' a steel tray crashed down on the meal, crushed the styrofoam bowel, and smeared beef stock down the front of the machine as it slid off the pile of stew and clattered to the floor. After a momentary pause, a set of shrink-wrapped silverware was deposited unceremoniously onto the foody mess by the off-kilter AutoVendor, which promptly switched its alcove light off.

I stared blankly at the machine.


"This thing represents the worst investment we ever made."

"I can't argue with you on that one," Captain Wolf chuckled, retrieving a box of Kuritan take-out from a wall-mounted refrigeration unit. The climate-controlled drawer was originally used for storing corpses, but it now served to hold food not fit for corpses.

Unfortunately, pizza and tofu were just about all we could afford.


More to come on this post...this is all I had time to get up on my lunch break.


--------------------
Position: Senior Captain | Legionnaires
Current BattleMech: WHF-3B White Flame (Lothos) [Heavy - Quad]
Loadout: 1x Large Pulse Laser, 1x Medium Pulse Laser, 2x ER Medium Lasers, 1x Anti-Missile System, Jump Jets
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Commodore Benjamin Maxwell
post Nov 12 2009, 04:24 PM
Post #33



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Joined: 15-December 05
From: Tau Ceti IV
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"Want some?" Wolf inquired, offering the box to me.

"I'll pass, thanks," I muttered, pouring a generous amount of Lyran vodka into a coffee mug, and settling down in one of the eight lawn chairs which surrounded our ping-pong table-turned-dining table. The lighting dimmed noticably as the Captain reheated his meal, ancient circuit breakers threatening to overload under the strain of the microwave's hungry current pull. At length, he joined me at the table, picking at his leftovers with chopsticks.

"Something wrong with your drink?" Wolf quipped, biting into an egg roll.

"Yeah," I replied, gazing into the mug. There was only a shot's worth of alcohol beckoning to me from within, but I might as well have been staring into a bottomless abyss. "We're out of booze."

"Ah, alcohol," Wolf chuckled, "the cause of, and solution to, all of life's little problems. But seriously, what's on your mind?"

A near-tangible silence hung in the air between us.

"Failure," I replied, "is not an option. We can't afford to lose the company. And yet, we now find ourselves facing the nightmare scenario: we have to risk it all in order to save it. I don't like it. Even less so now that I've drawn up a preliminary force composition. Have a look."

I switched my PDA to 'presentation mode,' and, turning off the mess hall's lights, activated the device's holoprojector. A three-dimensional representation of the assets available to our motley group exploded into existence, transforming the ping-pong table into a simulated tactical overview.

PROPOSED FORCE COMPOSITION
Operation: Broken Arrow


BATTLEMECH ASSETS:
Pilot: Captain Adam Wolf
Callsign: 'Gunman'
BattleMech: TBD

Pilot: Lieutenant Marcus Braddock
Callsign: 'Talus'
BattleMech: TBD

Pilot: Captain Benjamin Maxwell
Callsign: 'Rogue'
BattleMech: Ursa

Pilot: Corporal Nick Schuster
Callsign: 'Mantis'
BattleMech: Raptor

Pilot: MechWarrior Alex Thorn
Callsign: - - - -
BattleMech: Marauder IIC

INFANTRY ASSETS:
Squad Name: 'The Five Horsemen'
Composition: Shock Troopers (5)
Commander: Sergeant Eric Van de Graff

SUPPORT:
1 x Condor Tank
1 x VV1 Ranger
1 x Savior Recovery Vehicle

AEROTECH ASSETS:
Aurora-class DropShip

END OF FILE


As the force composition appeared, I reached into the image, and withdrew holographic representations of each asset, placing them on the table one at a time, until at last a handful of miniature BattleMechs, infantry, and support vehicles stood before us, their images flickering intermittantly as the holoprojector adjusted and degaussed itself. I then called up the intel concerning Isis' band of rebels, and overlaid it atop our own, graphically displaying just how badly outgunned and outnumbered we were.

"How in the hell are we going to pull this off?"

The hum of the holoprojector and the pounding of the rain offered precious few answers.


--------------------
Position: Senior Captain | Legionnaires
Current BattleMech: WHF-3B White Flame (Lothos) [Heavy - Quad]
Loadout: 1x Large Pulse Laser, 1x Medium Pulse Laser, 2x ER Medium Lasers, 1x Anti-Missile System, Jump Jets
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MechWarrior Kazuki Kintaro
post Nov 12 2009, 05:05 PM
Post #34



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The hotel door clattered closed, sounding the electronic chime a second time. The diaphragm inside the speaker had been perforated long ago, causing the 'welcome' jingle to sound strangulated. It suited the god awful tone of this run down hell hole.

“Was he any trouble?” I asked the porter. His wrinkled, grizzly face was nose deep in a nudie magazine and it took him a moment to even become aware of my presence. “Do you think you should be reading something like that in front of a kid?”

“Like he'd even take notice. He's been sat by that vending machine since you left. Hasn't budged a damn inch.” The porter replied, picking at his stained teeth in a vein attempt to dislodge whatever trace of food he had left behind. I looked to my right and saw the child crouching on his tip toes, staring deeply into the dim, flickering light of the AutoVend 3000 machine. He basked in the warm rays of it's gentle hum, seemingly contempt with the machine's company. Strangely, to his right, he had collected all the single serving UHT milk cartons. From the tens of cartons, he had delicately stacked them, one on top of the other until they were as tall as he was crouched. With the last carton, he planted the foundations for a new milk carton tower, adding to it by taking away parts from the first one.

“How strange...” I thought. “He's just been sat there this entire time?”

“That's what I said, didn't I?” The porter replied, closing his magazine and placing it behind the counter he was sat at. “Now, about the other half of my fee...”

I struggled to take my eyes of the child's irregular behaviour. I was quickly brought back to the porter's attention by a crisp snap of the fingers and an open palm.

“... Sorry. Here. It's all there.”

“Great...” He said, without counting any of the credits. “... now, unfortunately, I have to ask you to leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I know you mean no harm stranger, but while you were away, something occurred to me. I've had shifty people come here before, but I've never been asked to baby sit a damn kid. Not once. Then it clicked – you're both wanted...” I could see where he was going with this.

“And you're worried I'm going to bring trouble back here? Say no more. I'll be taking my leave shortly.”

“Thank you stranger. Thank you for not being difficult... I'm sorry I have do this...” He said genuinely. “I know you mean no harm to me, and I don't know what you and that kid got yourselves into, but I cant be involved.”

“No, I understand. If anyone does happen to ask for us, I'd appreciate it if you'd give them a false lead. Tell them you overheard us talking about travelling east and far away from this place.” I started walking towards the stairs and to my room. “I'll collect my things and settle when I return.”

“No need stranger. I've gotten enough money from you already. Let's just call this a... mutual understanding between two people who have been on the run for longer than they both can remember...” The old man cryptically replied.

Turn down the right corner in this slum and you'll find the unexpected. Even mutual respect between two strangers. I didn't know his past and I didn't want to. It did make me reflect on myself for a moment though. How long would I be running for?


Dah! Sorry that took so long to do! More to come tomorow!


--------------------
Position: Mechwarrior | Legionnaires
Callsign: Sabre
Current BattleMech: STG-6L Stinger
Loadout: 2x Medium Lasers, Jump Jets
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Captain Adam Wolf
post Nov 13 2009, 02:04 AM
Post #35



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"How in the hell are we going to pull this off?"

The question hung in the air like a warning klaxon of an overheating fusion reactor, delicately balanced on the edge were one mistake could cause unheard of destruction and doom for those involved. Nonetheless it was a question that had needed to be voiced and needed an answer, even if it wasnt easy.

"To be blunt, I'm not sure"

"Well that sounds reassuring," responded Maxwell almost as soon as I had it out my mouth.

"Well its not going to be easy," I began.

"Understatement of the year," came Ben's reply with just a hint of a chuckle in semi-hushed voice.

"But if you just look at the numbers here," I waved my hand above the little holographic tactical display on our lovely ping-pong table, "it looks impossible. These numbers aren't entirely accurate though. Numbers for one can't account for individual capabilities of the pilots, I mean sure they like to try and assign us ranks based on levels of proficiency but I've seen quote unquote," making the little quotations with my hands as I spoke, "green pilots outmaneouver and outgun veterans. Plus the numbers never take into account the team aspect of a group. We work amazingly well as a unit, yeah we may have a few new faces lately but there's just something about us on the battlefield, we all just seem to click."

Ben slowly nodded a bit as I talked, it was all stuff he already knew, just sometimes we all needed a little reminder, and it was true. There was just something about the Legionnaires unit, we always seemed to fit together and work really well as a team.

"You know as well as I do that we are a formidable force on the battlefield, despite what the MRBC may think at the moment, they just look at the last couple of operations where we unfortunately got screwed. Whether it was horrendously inaccurate intel, conditions outside of our control, or simply an outright setup to f*ck us over, and yes I'm still better with the Free Worlds League over THAT one."

"Yeah they did a good number on us with that particular incident, but all the same." Mention of the Old Kentucky incident got a momentary chuckle out of Ben, though his currently melancholy look returned all to quickly.

Reaching over and taping in a few commands I brought up the TRO and graphical display of my current 'mech "I know right now I've just got the Thunderbolt TDR-9NAIS in the 'mech bay, its a great 'mech but weighing in at only 65 tonnes it just doesnt have the kind of mass we could use on this OP. Its got decent firepower, but depending on how long til we have to depart, I've got another option."

Maxwell looked at me curiously, obviously interested in what possible options I could have right now. Working several more commands into the PDA I pulled up another graphical image, this one of a seemingly standard 85 tonne BattleMaster though with a few visible changes to the weapons.

"As you know I've got family back on Outreach still, well some time ago my father acquired an older BattleMaster BLR-4S, working in the Battlemech facilities there gave him access to some very good opportunities to refit the machine as money permitted. Between part time running cargo and the extra money I sent him when the Legionnaires were financially sound he did an almost complete refit of the unit. Although the TRO isnt currently in the system here, I've got a copy of one from the last tranmission I got from my parents a few weeks back."

Entering a final few commands into PDA I displayed two approximate delivery times based on whether it gets shipped here to Tau Ceti IV first or if we meet up in transit to Saffel for the OP. Also displayed was very basic overview of the BattleMaster BLR-WL1. (Just added the full TRO on the boards and linked it here - Adam)

"As you can see its got 27 tons of Hardened armor, an LB-10X AC, an AC/5 with AP rounds, a set of 3 ER small lasers and 3 ER medium lasers, and finally an ATM-3 with HE missiles. Its got the tonnage I think we need for this mission, and not only does it pack a punch but it can take one hell of a beating too. And the only issue with getting it would be time, its rightfully mine since I turned 25. I've just had no direct need of it since then."

"I dont know what Talus has got for a 'mech at the moment, and I dont know if the BattleMaster would be enough to tip the scale in our favour, " I said as I looked over the enemy force composition again, even with the 85 tonne BattleMaster added they enemy force still outweighed us from 65 to 150 tonnes depending on what Talus had for a 'mech, not to mention numerical superiority "but I think it at the very least makes it a plausible endeavour. We're aren't going to get away from it scott-free but the payoff will more than pay for repair on the 'mechs, even if we destroy most of them, plus we finally get that Stone Rhino too. Its like you said, failure is not an option, so we simply won't fail." I reached across the table and placed my hand on Ben's shoulder and smiled as I said the last sentence, putting as much conviction and positive tone on it as I could without making it sound forced. Let's hope its as easy to follow through with as it is to say. I thought to myself as I continued to smile.

This post has been edited by Captain Adam Wolf: Nov 13 2009, 02:20 AM


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Position: Captain | Legionnaires
Callsign : Gunman
Current BattleMech : BattleMaster BLR-WL1 (Moradin) [85 tonnes Heavy]
Loadout : LB-10X AC, AC/5, ATM-3, 3x ER Medium Laser, 3x ER Small Laser (rear), Hardened Armour
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Sergeant Hobson
post Nov 13 2009, 02:12 PM
Post #36



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Member No.: 12





April 14, 3067
The STARSHIP Cantina
New Foundation - Tau Ceti IV (New Earth)
____________________________________________


A job. Everybody hates them, yet everybody wants one, but no one's got them to give.

In the aftermath of the FedCom civil war, the average Joe Citizen was about as likely to find a job as they were to have a JumpShip fly out of their ass. Smashed towns & cities, a ramping back down of military manufacturing, and a faltering of the economy as a whole had deposited scores of blue-collar workers into the unemployment line. Of course, the privileged elite, or those fortunate enough to have 'connections' were mostly spared. But the rest of us? Well, we mostly got screwed.

I'd been an AeroJock in my previous life. Flew luxury liners between Terra, New Earth, and the Chaos March. I made a good living that way. Sure, the hours were long, and the repitition could get tedious at times, but flying was in my blood. I couldn't see myself doing anything else.

But then the war hit. The Steiners and the Davions started throwing punches. The spaceliner industry tanked. I guess flying first class isn't as fun when you're being shot at. The pink slips went out, and I got the axe. Next came the repo notice, the eviction notice, and all the other 'notices' that come with bankruptcy. So I did what every other unemployed bum in Prefecture X was doing, and jumped on a transport to Outreach. I figured my background as a pilot could land me a job working as freelance cannon fodder for the first mercenary outfit willing to throw a few credits my way. I really didn't care who hired me; money was money, and mercenary money was reputed to be easy, albeit dirty money.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one looking to get hired.

When I arrived at the Harlech Hiring Hall, the scene was nothing short of chaotic. Thousands of applicants packed the building, all vying for the relatively few positions that were available. I didn't even bother trying my luck. I knew it would be a waste of time.

Instead, I aimlessly wandered the spaceport, scoping out the myriad craft that were berthed there. Eventually, I reached the far end of the yard, where I stumbled upon an old Aurora-class DropShip that had definitely seen better days. Its bay doors were closed, preventing me from seeing what kind of hardware was embarked on it. But the boarding ramp was down, and the man who I would come to know as Captain Benjamin Maxwell, and some lackey astech who obviously had little to know experience working on avionics were struggling to get the old spacecraft's NavComm unit replaced. I offered a hand, and got the vessel up and running again - as best as could be expected from a fifty-year-old vessel that had seen more action than a prostitute on Solaris VII. The Captain was impressed, and offered me a job flying for his unit. The Legionnaires turned out to be a decent enough operation, although they seemed to be running on a horrendously bad streak of luck. Lately, the contracts had dried up, and many of us grunts wound up having to moonlight to make up for the loss in pay. And now, I had before me a guy who was down on his luck and looking for anything he could get his hands on to put a few credits in his pocket and a meal in his stomach. A situation I was intimately familiar with.


"Look, I can't promise you anything, but I can at least get you patched up. We've got a Mister Handy robot we've loaded with some TriageROMS that can...well...it can at least prevent you from...getting any worse. Our compound is down on Hope Street. I can give you a lift if you need a ride."


--------------------
Recipient of the Order of Katherine Steiner medal for distinguished performance in combat.
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Lance Callahan
post Nov 13 2009, 03:09 PM
Post #37



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Member No.: 13





The aching in my nose hadn't subsided, I was sure of that. However, the very thought of some motion in my life eased the pain. Maybe I couldn't get a job, but at the very least I could end up with a connection or two.

I still couldn't decide who exactly 'we' was supposed to be though. From the way Hobson talked and walked I would have taken him for some rich-off gun-for-hire. He had mentioned, though, he was stuck doing taxi work, which meant that whatever outfit he was gunning for wasn't worth much more than the tasteless drinks of this hut. I needed a place to sit down, to call home. A job, no, a career. A life.

Even if he couldn't get me that, anywhere was better than here. Plus he was offering a free lift. It would be rude to have turned down such an offer, right?

Slowly climbing up out of the bench, I nodded my head.
"Alright, yeah, a lift sounds great." I grabbed another napkin as we shuffled our way towards the exit. I never knew how small a bloody nose could feel as my life started down this new, unfamiliar path.
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Lieutenant Commander Marcus Braddock
post Nov 14 2009, 06:01 AM
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“Alright then Bonesy, let’s see what this does for you...”
I withdrew my head from the torso casing of the construct and flicked off the handheld flashlight. ‘Sawbones,’ the Legionnaires’ antiquated and often malfunctioning medical construct, lay prone on the bench before me, tracks whirring forlornly in the air and its multitude of appendages spread about it in an eclectic fashion.

There you go; two choice words for just about everything in this compound - Antiquated and malfunctioning. I like to do things with my hands though, y’know? Fix things, refit things, build things. Often it’s just a comfort thing, something to keep my hands busy while I mull things over. But in a situation like this, with nearly everything mechanical, electrical or computational on the blink, it becomes quite a handy habit to have.

In this instance, however, there was a more directed and ultimately self-serving goal in mind.
I’d returned to my quarters, head still afire with thoughts and worries, the early evenings’ events playing and replaying through my unconscious mind. My conscious mind, of course, had been engaged with the nightly dilemma; risk my life trying to rustle up some chow for myself - or risk my life in the mess hall trying to coax a meal out of the autovendor.
The lateral frame of mind that the occurrences and plans of the day had put me in, combined with the lack of appeal from either choice, had convinced me to revive a shelved project from the preceding month – Teach Bonesy to cook.

I’d acquired some program feeds for and older class of chef-construct that I was reasonably sure Sawbones (an older 443SATA Surgical-And-Triage-Aid unit) would be compatible with, along with autovendor preparation data (recipes) that I hoped its many limb-attachments could be tasked to prepare (I’d had to appropriate several of these from our own Autovend system on the sly, including my personal favourite; warm beef stew ).
For the last hour, by myself in the block designated as our medbay (it was only ever frequented by myself and the Captains, anyway), I had worked diligently under the bright fluorescent lights to install these new routines into our one and only semi-competent on-site surgeon.

I bolted the access panel back into place made sure everything was in a semblance of order, before I slid my arms underneath and heaved the heavy chassis off the retasked surgical table, standing it gingerly on the hard tiling. I gave a deep, apprehensive breath and held it as I clicked the heavy old switch underneath the sensor suite.
Nothing happened.
Then, with a sudden click and buzz that surprised me, the optical sensor lit up in the semblance of life and Sawbones' torso whipped around in a quick three-hundred-and-sixty degree spin. It stopped when it caught sight of me, and regained its’ composure before executing a quick bend of the chassis that approximated a bow.

“Модель робота господина Полезн хирургическая 443SATA дальше. Развертка начиная системы. Предупреждение: обнаруженное изменение системы. Опорожненная гарантированность. Пожалуйста свяжитесь обслуживание клиента RobCo для помощи.”

Great. Just when you think you’ve done it all, and are just about ready for some hearty beef stew, the bucket of bolts starts speaking tongues. Just my luck, make no mistake.

"Пожалуйста заявите природу медицинской аварийной ситуации - "
With no better ideas, I snatched up the ratcheted bolt-wrench I’d used to remove its casing and primly clubbed the robot in the hump where the CPU resided. Its extra-lingual rant cut short, and the lights behind its optics flickered momentarily. There was a pregnant pause, during which I considered giving it another for good measure.
Then it looked up at me and started speaking good, honest English.

“Oh, Greetings Lieutenant Braddock. I didn’t see you there. “
I smiled as it began to boot up its other primary systems, tracks whirring and appendages extending and retracting at random. It gave a sudden sharp beep, and addressed me again.
“I regret to inform you, sir, that your recent unregistered upgrade to my hardware has voided the warranty.” It paused in an almost human display of hesitation. “...Please don’t hit me again.”
I laughed, and put the wrench back down on the bench in the least-threatening manner I could manage. Sawbones, meanwhile, began to potter around the surgical table, searching for things to diagnose as per his primary function. I watched it for a few moments, alert for any abnormal (well, more erratic than usual) behaviour. Satisfied, I reasoned that a test of his new abilities was in order.
“Bonesy – Meal Number #32 – Beef Stew, Prepare and Serve.”
The construct perked up and swivelled in my direction, and after a few seconds whirring, replied.
“Unable to comply. I’m sorry, sir. Approximate raw material required – 1kg of consumption-grade meat-product.”
Ah. I knew I’d forgotten something. Trust me to go through all this, only to forget that in order to cook food, one needs food in the first place. Before I could reason through this conundrum any further, I was interrupted by the door clanging open and a pair of men stepping through into the medbay. I looked around expecting to see Captains Maxwell and Wolf, but instead was greeted by Sergeant Hobson leading a complete stranger.
“Evening, sir.” Hobbes spoke genially. He was a likeable person, and had a strong down-to-earth sensibility that I found commanded trust. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I’ve just brought you a patient – This man here ended up snorting some other drunkards’ fist at the Starship Cantina, and I offered him a little help.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Bringing every brawler at the bar who gets himself snotted isn’t going to copy down well with MRBC HMOs, you know Sergea-“
I was cut off by Bonesy, who’d noticed the injured man was attempting to examine him closely. The man was eyeing the inquisitive little bot warily and backing away.
“Scan completed. Fracture pattern in nasal cartilage concurrent with a hypothesised delivery of several kilograms of focussed impact pressure. Been fighting, have we sir?”
The newcomer bumped into the wall. He’d backed up as far as he could, and now Sawbones had his quarry cornered. Hobson and I watched the exchange mutely. I was used to his antics, Hobson somewhat less so. We both found it amusing. The newcomer looked at us imploringly as Bonesy prodded him with several extended arms.
“Recommended treatment – Setting of fractured cartilage with nasal splint, combined with shots of Coaguline and anti-inflammatory. I am qualified to apply. Please lie down on an appropriate surface. I recommend the bench to your right, sir.”
The man glanced, worried, at Hobson. Hobson looked at me. I sighed and nodded at the man.
“Go ahead. I’m sure Bonesy can handle something this simple in short order.”
He switched his gaze to me for a moment longer, then nodded and made his way to the bench without a word. Sawbones followed him, whirring and beeping in an excitable manner.
“Care to introduce us, Hobson?” I asked, sweeping my arm grandly towards the newcomer. The Sergeant took a moment to pull his words together and spoke.
“His name is Callahan, Lance Callahan. Pulled him out a scrap he’d inadvertently started with a careless spill. A bit of a wanderer, but he’s in New Foundation looking for work.”
“Work, is it? Is he hoping to join our merry little band? Speaking of which, you should see the man we had in here earlier – A full-blooded Clanner, signing on with this small-time outfit. That’s something new, I don’t mind telling you.”
Hobson raised an eyebrow at this. “Signs of the times, Lieutenant? Everyone’s going it a bit rough these days. I me-“
He was interrupted by a yelp of pain that sounded tinged with fear. We both swung around to see the man Callahan trying to push one of Sawbones' flailing appendages away from his face. His nose was wedged nicely into a metal ‘v’ splint, but it looked like Bonesy wasn’t finished yet. It gave a sudden quiver and its optics flickered again.
“Suitable meat product located,” it chimed out, prodding the bloody raw mess of Callahans’ nose and receiving a more disgruntled yelp this time, “Lieutenant Braddock, does your ‘Prepare and Serve’ directive for ‘Meal Number #32 – Beef Stew’ still apply?”
I hurriedly crossed the intervening distance and slapped the bots’ off switch whole-handed. Bonesy immediately went limp, balancing on its tracks as its optics dimmed to nothing. I felt two pairs of eyes staring very intently at me. It was high time to get those two out of here.
“Well Mr Callahan, your nose is looking better already! How are you feeling? Sergeant, why don’t you take him down to the mess hall for some grub, before it gets too late? If you’re still interested in applying, I’m sure you can find Corporal Schuster somewhere around there...”
My verbal tirade drifted to an end as I herded them out of the doorway and closed it behind them with a soft clank. I turned back around and took in the inert form of Sawbones... Suddenly, a quick meal from the mess hall didn’t seem quite so terrible – at least for tonight.

Pushing open the door again, boots thunking gently on the solid flooring, I walked after Sergeant Hobson towards the mess.


--------------------
Position: Lieutenant Commander | Legionnaires
Current Battlemech: Catapult - "Jackal."
Loadout: - 2x Holly LRM 15 launchers (shoulder mounted).
- 4x Martell Medium Lasers (torso mounted).
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Commodore Benjamin Maxwell
post Nov 14 2009, 02:31 PM
Post #39



LEGIONNAIRES Founder
Rank: Captain



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Posts: 658
Joined: 15-December 05
From: Tau Ceti IV
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"Catapult."

The new voice broke the reflective silence that Wolf and I were mired in, and caused me to look toward the door. There, leaning on the door frame, with Mark Hobson and a stranger who looked like he'd been in a fistfight with an Elemental in tow, was Lieutenant Braddock.

"Beg your pardon?"

"I'll be piloting a Catapult. More precisely, the old, dust-covered one we've got parked in the back of the hangar. That is, if the techs can get the fusion core fired up. It's been sitting in storage for eight months."

I nodded a simple affirmation. The Lieutenant's show of support spoke for itself.

"And what about you?" I already knew Hobson's answer. He just needed to say it.

"Well, provided I can get the Thorin into orbit and docked with the JumpShip without it flying apart - and that's a big if - count me in."

"With respect, sir, when is the soonest my Marauder can be transported here?"

The voice came from the rear of the group. As Talus and the newcomer stepped aside, Alex Thorn, accompanied by Corporal Schuster, strode into the cafeteria.

"Give the details to Mister Schuster, and we can send a flatbed out tonight. I presume it is planetside?" I inquired. Thorn nodded an affirmation.

We might just be able to pull this off...

I looked toward the newcomer.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," I began, extending a hand. "I'm Captain Benjamin Maxwell. Will you be joining us on our little foray? At this point, we can take all the guns we can get."


--------------------
Position: Senior Captain | Legionnaires
Current BattleMech: WHF-3B White Flame (Lothos) [Heavy - Quad]
Loadout: 1x Large Pulse Laser, 1x Medium Pulse Laser, 2x ER Medium Lasers, 1x Anti-Missile System, Jump Jets
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MechWarrior Kazuki Kintaro
post Nov 14 2009, 06:23 PM
Post #40



Crewman
Rank: MechWarrior



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Posts: 84
Joined: 27-July 06
Member No.: 49





It had been little over twenty minutes since I left the hotel. I decided to read over the forged papers I had received earlier. The bus shelter we were sitting in provided enough shelter to stop the documents from getting wet.

The reports detailed a fairly average background on myself. I had graduated from a fairly average and unheard of mercenary school with slightly better-than-average grades. It was exactly what I wanted. If I had over sold myself to whatever mercenary unit I was going to eventually join, it would have look suspicious. I also decided to keep my real name on the documents because, simply put, I was a terrible liar. If I started making up an over complicated background story and false name, I could easily have slipped up. The best way to hide, in this case at least, was to hide in plain view.

My eyes scanned through the details until something caught my attention. Under the 'dependants' heading read 'Near Kintaro'.

“... Near?” I looked up and watched as the child stared deeply into the rain. “What a strange name to choose...”

I continued to read the paragraph. It read 'Relation – adopted son...'

“Hmm... that could cause an issue...” It was only a minor issue, but if discovered, it could blow my cover wide open. If the mercenary unit I decided to join read their local newspapers, they would more than likely hear about the break in at the orphanage. If they had a brain cell between then, they could easily put two and two together. With Bill out of the picture, there was no way I could get this changed now. My only option was to go with the flow.

“Well at least I have a name for you now. Near Kintaro...” I said, watching as the kid stuck his hand out into the rain. His eyes were staring intently as the droplets hit and ran off his skin. “... a strange name for a strange kid...”

I caught off guard as my mobile device sounded loudly. I flipped open the screen and saw I had one new message. It simply read 'Order's up! Vivi G'. At last. Some good news.

“Come on Near... we're going to visit a friend of ours.”

_____________________

“What took so long, handsome!?” Echoed a sweet and husky voice. Vivian Green, or Vivi G to her friends, owned a warehouse just on the outskirts of town. On the outside, Vivi G ran a small motor shop, working on various vehicles and mechs. It fronted real grease monkey work. In her spare time, however, Vivi G enjoyed doing favours for her friends. I just happened to be within her circle of trust.

“Have you seen the weather outside?” I called back, scanning the area and finding no sign of her. The warehouse was large and contained a couple flat bed trucks for unloading and transporting large vehicles, several vehicles with their hoods up and their insides being tinkered on and overshadowing everything else were three mechs, all stationed in their births. To my right, a set of sturdy stairs led to an over head office and to a balcony that led to the mech births (or the 'mech deck' as Vivi liked to call it).

“Doesn't mean you couldn't have taken a cab, space ninja...” She chuckled, making here appearance in the door frame to the over head office. “Step into my office – we have business to attend to...”

IPB Image

Vivi's office was a real throw back to the older days. Pictures of muscle cars from the 1950's coated the walls. Diagrams to long obsolete engines and blue prints to retro dashboard components replaced pin ups of super models and their kind.

Vivi was a real sucker for anything with four wheels and an engine So great was her passion, that it had landed her in some serious debt with serious people. When she couldn't pony up the cash, the debt collectors decided to take out their frustrations on her face. Fortunately she still has one working eye. The second time she couldn't repay her debt, they force her right arm into a mechanical press. The third and final time she couldn't afford the money, I just happened to walk by. She never heard from them again and hence my summoning here. She wanted to return the favour to saving her life.

“Want a beer?” She said, slinging herself into her office swivel chair. She grasped at the mini fridge door handle with her artificial limb, revealing several cans of cheap booze.

“I'll pass this time. I don't want to be drank under the table again.” I declined, causing a wide smirk to cross her face.

“Suit yourself honey...” She replied, sticking her boots on the nearby desk and opening the can. “I'd offer the little guy one, but he doesn't look the drinking type...”

“Har-har.” I replied sarcastically. Near had taken fancy to a small model car on Vivi's desk. Rather than pick it up and play with it, he rested his nose in the edge of the table and measured it up with his eyes, scanning the dimensions and thoroughly inspecting the detail. G had noticed this herself and raised an eyebrow.

“You sure have strange friends space ninja!”

“You don't want to know the half of it...” I said, taking a seat across from her. I sunk into the couch and felt as if I could drift off to sleep.

“I can imagine!” She paused to let out an unapologetic belch. “Onto business! First off, I couldn't get exactly what you wanted. The only STG-6S I could find was no good. The previous pilot had overused the MASC system too much and caused the actuators to seize.”

“Hmm, not good.”

“I did, however, managed to get hold of a STG-6L. If you can get hold of an ECM suite, you can make use of the on board stealth armour. Otherwise, you'll have to wait a couple weeks before my contacts can get hold of one.”

“Unfortunately I'm pressed for time. I'll take what you've got and come back for the ECM suite when you have it in stock.”

“Okay. I'll let you know as soon as I have that.” She said, taking another mouthful of beer. “I have some good news and some bad news though.”

“Go on...” I grimaced.

“First off, don't take this personally, but in order to get these things 'under the radar' I had to think out side of the box. I outsourced to some people on the black market I had never worked with before. That way it made sure the mech would be completely untraceable. I can say that the two medium lasers are top of the range. The movement and limb actuators are also in great condition. That's the good news. Now, aside from the missing ECM suite, someone didn't seal the cockpit correctly...”

“And?”

“And... the cockpit kind of got damp. Mould set in pretty deep and ruined several instrumental panels. Certain things work and others don't. For instance... the ejector seat's a no go.”

“Jeez Vivi, I might as well pilot a a giant bulls eye!”

“You did said the merc thing was only a cover – are you actually going to go on missions?”

“It will be just a cover, but I'm fairly sure that, from time to time, I'll have to do a job that I'm paid to do!”

“Look...” She sighed, hunching forward in her seat. “... I'm sorry I couldn't get anything better and I know I owe you more than that... I really did try my best with this Kintaro.”

I laid back into the couch some more and let out a sigh. She really was being genuine.

“I know you did your best. Sorry if I was sounding a little ungrateful. I've just had a lot on my mind recently...”

“Its okay. I cant even begin to imagine what you've been through already.” She said, reaching over to her desk and pulling out a small flyer. “I do have this though. I've found you a mercenary unit that's worth looking into.”

I caught the flyer she tossed to me and unravelled it.

“The Legionnaires?”


--------------------
Position: Mechwarrior | Legionnaires
Callsign: Sabre
Current BattleMech: STG-6L Stinger
Loadout: 2x Medium Lasers, Jump Jets
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Lance Callahan
post Nov 14 2009, 07:17 PM
Post #41



LEGIONNAIRES | MechWarrior
Rank: MechWarrior



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Posts: 31
Joined: 18-December 05
Member No.: 13





Out of the boiling pot and into the flame. So much happened in so short a time. Not even a day ago, I'd never even been to this part of the city. Now the man in charge of a mercenary outfit wanted me to pick up a gun and run headlong into... something. What had I gotten myself into?

Hobson was a good guy, and if this base were any indication, these guys could use all the help they could get. From the moment I walked in, I could tell things were bad. The constant pitter-patter of the leaking roof was only the beginning. Some of the cracks were so large I wasn't sure how the building was still standing. I had spotted two or three doors that looked bolted shut; I could only imagine what those housed. Don't even get me started on that medical machine... more like a death machine! One second longer and that thing would have ripped my nose off. Of course, I did owe it for that painfully uncomfortable slice of metal that was stiffening my nose back into position. And besides, that work table nearby that was littered with all sorts of fancy electronics and tools proved that the man was to blame, not the machine.

That was two I owed these people now. I'm pretty sure going with them would count as a lot more than two. Plus, I had asked for a job. Hobson followed through, that's for sure. Not that it was much of a job. But, it was a start. Who knew what life would bring for me.

Then again... I'd never even held a gun before. And these guys were talking about 'Mechs! And Hobson, was he the pilot? Flying a JumpShip? What could they possibly want me to do, throw sticks at big walking robots? I was young, I had a life to live. Yeah right. That life involved throwing my knowledge to the big dogs, getting eaten up simply for their self-serving mindsets. I needed something, and this was... something. Maybe I couldn't pilot a 'Mech, or fly a ship or shoot a gun. But I could learn. That's what made me who I was, that's what got me through school. I wasn't born a genius. I earned what I was, I studied hard to get where I was. If mercenary work is what a Doctorate gets you, then so be it. I just hoped they had something for me, I couldn't make a 'Mech show up out of my back pocket. And then what would it be? Something with lots of tonnage, or may...

My thoughts trailed off as I realized how much time had passed since the Captain had introduced himself. I looked up from my imagination to find the group staring, patiently waiting. Strangely enough, it didn't seem awkward. I even swore the Captain had some sort of glint in his eye, as if... as if he was reading my mind. It must have been my imagination, nothing else, but still. I could tell, this was where I needed to be. These were my kind of people.

I finally put my hand out, firmly shaking the Captain's.


"Nice to meet you Captain, I'm Lance Callahan. Mr. Hobson here pulled me out of the thick back at the Cantina, and brought me by for a quick hook-up for my nose.

As for 'all the guns you can get,' the way I see, I owe you and Mr. Hobson. Picking up a gun is the least I could do, but... I've never picked up a gun in my life."

This post has been edited by Lance Callahan: Nov 14 2009, 07:19 PM
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Commodore Benjamin Maxwell
post Nov 15 2009, 11:27 AM
Post #42



LEGIONNAIRES Founder
Rank: Captain



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Posts: 658
Joined: 15-December 05
From: Tau Ceti IV
Member No.: 1





I glanced at Sergeant Hobson, and then back at Callahan.

"I see," I replied, cautiously. "Then - what is your area of expertise?"


--------------------
Position: Senior Captain | Legionnaires
Current BattleMech: WHF-3B White Flame (Lothos) [Heavy - Quad]
Loadout: 1x Large Pulse Laser, 1x Medium Pulse Laser, 2x ER Medium Lasers, 1x Anti-Missile System, Jump Jets
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Sergeant Hobson
post Nov 15 2009, 11:36 AM
Post #43



LEGIONNAIRES | DropShip Commander
Rank: Sergeant



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Member No.: 12





"I might have just screwed up," I murmered to Alex Thorn, who stood beside me with an impassive look on his face. "I don't know that we have the time to teach this guy everything he needs to know."

Thorn cast a disapproving gaze at me, steely eyes seeming to penetrate every layer of my being and sending a chill down my spine.

"There is always time," the Clan warrior fired back, his voice hovering just above a whisper. "Allow me to craft him into the warrior he needs to be."

Bits and pieces of the conversation betweeen Callahan and Captain Maxwell registered in my head as I took in the magnitude of the statement Thorn had just made. The new recruit's background sounded about as bland as the AutoVendor's half-assed attempt at the cup of coffee I now gripped in my hand. Something about a Doctorate in something or other - I didn't catch what it was. First place in a fine-arts competition on Sheratan - what the hell was this guy doing in New Foundation?

"Provided he survives the interview," I whispered back, "I think you're gonna have your work cut out for you."

This post has been edited by Sergeant Hobson: Nov 15 2009, 11:36 AM


--------------------
Recipient of the Order of Katherine Steiner medal for distinguished performance in combat.
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MechWarrior Alex Thorn
post Nov 15 2009, 05:28 PM
Post #44



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I watched as the scene unfolded before me. Sergeant Hobson shared his concern with me, and I too felt some concern for someone who had never lifted a gun in his life joining us. The man continued to give his accomplishments. In Clan society his achievements would make a science caste member bow in reverence but make a warrior caste member scoff. I was ready to take on the challenge of training him if Captain Maxwell permitted me to.

"I will have him ready. If my kind can train children then he should be no problem," I whispered to Hobson. He still showed great concern in his eyes, but I nodded, letting him know that all would be well. Captain Maxwell nodded slowly as he listened to this Lance. One thing I noticed about the Captain was that he was always calm. Something in his eyes showed that he knew the dangers of Lance joining, yet there was a fire that showed that he could trust the man to learn and become a great warrior, and a powerful asset to the Legionnaires.


--------------------
Position : Mechwarrior
Callsign :
Current BattleMech : Marauder IIC (Wolf's Teeth) [Assault]
Loadout: 3x ER PPC, 2x Medium Pulse Laser, 4x ER Small Laser
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Corporal Nick Schuster
post Nov 15 2009, 05:45 PM
Post #45



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Joined: 24-December 05
From: Somewhere!
Member No.: 20





Politely excusing myself from the cafeteria, I walked down the crumbling hall which led from the mortuary-turned-dining area, and stepped into the foyer. There were enough people vying for Captain Maxwell's attention at the moment, and I had other matters to attend to if we really were looking at dusting off in just a matter of days - or even hours. I had overheard Hobson's whispered conversation with Thorn, and even though I had the utmost respect for his skill, and even found in him a trust to the point of letting him room with me, I still wondered if he could pull a miracle out of his hat. It was only a matter of days to the Tau Ceti IV jump point, and from there, we would be jumping directly to Saffel. That gave him very little time to transform a Rhodes Scholar into a front-line grunt. I just hoped he didn't intend to try and teach the guy how to pilot a BattleMech. You can't learn that overnight.

I sat on the edge of the counter in the foyer, and took a glance at the ROM the Clan warrior had given me containing the whereabouts of his Marauder IIC. He'd stored it in a warehouse down at the Capital's spaceport, which gave me a subtle sense of relief - I didn't really want to have to fight my way through street thugs and marauding tech pirates in some god-forsaken ghetto just to go retrieve a hunk of hardware - a very valuable hunk of hardware, mind you, but hardware nonetheless. I had a feeling we'd be doing plenty of that once we made planetfall.

I leaned back, and listened to the patter of raindrops on the building, mixed with the wet 'plops' of water leaking through its many cracks. Hopefully Thorn would be along soon enough. I wasn't about to try transporting a Clan BattleMech on my own.


--------------------
Position : Tech Specialist | LEGIONNAIRES
Callsign : MANTIS
Current BattleMech : LGN-01 Kit Fox [Light -35 Tons - 96.75 km/h max]
Loadout : [1x ER Large Laser] [1x Small Pulse Laser] [1x LB-X Autocannon/5 - Ammo: Slug (20 rounds)] [1x Streak SRM-2 (Improved OS) - Ammo: 50 Acid SRM-2 | 50 Anti-Personnel SRM-2] [CASE] [FireScan II with Multi-Trac II & IndirecTrac]
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