Unnamed Planet, Unnamed System
Former Apollo Province, Unclaimed Territory
February 22nd, 3010
The only member of my leadership team that couldn't be present for the meeting was Captain Tandles aboard the Adam Smith, and he was listening in thanks to re-trans via the orbital station.
"So, in summary, we need more of everything, and we need to keep idiots out of the area," I tied up the rundown of our needs. "The best way to get what we need is to leverage what's in the Terrace Two warehouses and the future production of the factory lines. That's the obvious part. The hard part is 'who?'
"I've done a synopsis of the major arms producers in the Commonwealth. Most of them can be written off due to sheer distance making any trade route uneconomical. Our nearest option would be Trellshire Heavy Industries at Twycross. They're only four jumps away which would make dealing with them quick and simple. Unfortunately, they make Stalkers, Riflemen, and Battlemasters there which means we can only supply them a few of the parts they'd need, rendering them a suboptimal choice." I explained to immediate dissatisfaction.
"Damn, that's too bad," Melody said, shaking her head. "The next closest major military-industrial node is, what three times as far?"
"Not quite," I answered, "Next is Red Devil. Their Pandora factory is ten jumps away, but again they're Battlemaster and Rifleman producers which means we can't supply everything they'd need for a line."
"And that's leaving aside their less than stellar reputation." James pounced when I paused for a breath.
"And that," I admitted.
"There's another planet about, what? Nine jumps out that you skipped. Sudeten. They're also connected to Trellshire Heavy Industries, if I recall correctly," Geraldine noted from her position, reclined in her chair.
I nodded to her. "Eight, and I was just getting to that. Yeah, THI's got a small Sudeten plant that turns out Demolishers, but they run 240-rated ICE. Again, not something we can supply them with. The big opportunity is the other supplier on Sudeten: Olivetti Weaponry. They've got the Thunderbolt and J Edgar lines that Olivetti rebuilt after he quit at Defiance, plus a Hunter line he licensed from his old boss. Depending on delays they're either building or recently completed a Warhammer line as well." I explained. Around the room there were raised eyebrows. I wasn't going to admit that the only reason I knew that was because my younger half had been a Warhammer fanboy who desperately wanted to drive one instead of a Commando.
Smiling at my thoughts, I continued, "Now there's not a lot we can do to support the tank lines, but this planet seems to have been a feeder site for Rimmer-produced Thunderbolts and Warhammers. We've got literally everything we need to build both 'Mechs except the Chassis lines and a final assembly plant," I explained and passed another set of papers around.
"Damn, you're right," Rowdy, one of the first to get a paper, exclaimed, looking over the estimates for productivity I'd thrown together based on the data on the Core and my own back of an envelope guesstimate on how much productivity would drop now that we weren't planning on working people to death.
"Uh, boss, wouldn't we get better numbers out of, y'know, happy employees instead of unhappy political prisoners?" Marsha inquired.
I paused for a second and looked down at the sheet to see what she was looking at specifically, "Oh, yeah, sorry. That is a little unclear. Eventually, yes we will, but we have to assume we're starting with effectively unskilled labor. When the Amaris government was running the place, they seem to have at least maintained skilled foremen and engineers. We are going to have to develop those on our own, which will take time."
"With that correction, this looks pretty solid, but I can see a problem," Haley Chapman spoke up, "Where are we going to get the sheet number of people and the seed of expertise to get … what, something like fifteen lines running again?"
"Not quite that many," I assured her. "For example, heat sinks, myomers, and armor are easy enough to manufacture and cheap enough that they aren't really worth transporting, so we can drop them from consideration. Also, at least at first, we need to focus on one type of 'Mech or the other. By all reports, the Thunderbolt line has been working fine since Olivetti's people got it restored. On the other hand, we don't know if they'd be able to recreate it to expand production.
"We do know that they've been building the Warhammer line from scratch. That means they could build another or expand the one they've got," I pointed out. "Plus, PPCs are always in short supply. I propose that we focus on reactivating what we'd need to support Olivetti's Warhammer line. That would be the PPC line and the five and three centimeter laser lines on Terrace Four South, the SRM-6 line on Terrace Three South, the electronics and gyro lines of Terrace Four North, and the MG and 280 FE lines on Five South. Eight lines."
And only two of them inconveniently located on the north side of the pass. To build everything we needed for the Thunderbolt would mean getting the LRM-15, SRM-2, and the 260 SFE lines going, and they were all on the North side. I was already dreading figuring out how to deal with transport since the highway over the pass was down. Maybe just use the shuttles?
I looked around the room to see generally positive responses from the younger half of the attendees. The older half all appeared to be doing some math, either scribbled in the margins of my handouts or in their heads. I was anticipating a grilling from Captain Chapman, but it was the unseen member of my team that responded first. "That does simplify the logistics a bit, but you still only answered half the question. Where do you expect to find the people to run these lines?" Captain Tandles asked.
I frowned, "Sorry, got distracted," I admitted. "That's another reason I like Sudeten. With his new line and all the requisite feeder lines opening, he's going to have drawn in a bunch of people looking for work. Some of those will have been locals, but with the way his operation has taken off like a rocket over the past decade, there's no way that the local populace on Sudeten would be enough to fill the demand. That means word would have gotten out about jobs being available, and there's always people hopeful or desperate enough to vote with their feet. I intend to exploit the Boomtown response," I declared.
"Uh, what's a Boomtown response?" Sammy asked. Looking around, I realized the metaphor had flown over most of my subordinates' heads.
"Sorry, old reference. As far back in the Twentieth Century on Terra, word would get out that precious metals had been found or that a new factory was opening, and people would rush from all over to get there." I lectured, "The first few to arrive were the ones who usually made out. Getting the best sites or the jobs that were available as the Boomtown formed, but there were thousands more already in motion. Those people who arrived at the end of such a cycle have already spent the money on travel and usually don't have the financial wherewithal to get back home. I propose to hire on as many of those people as we can transport and haul them back here with as much food as we can carry. Based on the limited assistive technology in those factories, we're going to need everything from expert Mechanical and Electrical Engineers all the way down to manual labor. Plus, we can use farmers, electrical techs for managing the power grid, longshoremen, teamsters, and loadmasters. Hell, secretarial and janitorial staff, plus a dozen others I haven't even thought of yet.
"If we can guarantee them passage as well as a job and a roof over their heads as soon as they arrive, we'll get takers, even if it's at the end of a two month JumpShip voyage," I stated, certain of my conclusions.
"Yeah, that sounds about right," Geraldine backed me up. "We saw that a couple times when I was a girl. A big mineral strike would bring people from three or four systems out hoping to strike it rich. Same thing with well-paying industrial work."
Then her expression turned more serious, "But that's not everything, Junior. You've got at least one more card up your sleeve. Out with it.,"
I grinned, "Yeah, yeah, I'm gettin' there. After the trouble we had on our last job, I think I can speak for all of us when I say that I'd really prefer not to ever have to deal with that sort of shit again." There was generally affirmative grumbling in response, so I continued, "Olivetti is a new start up. Whereas most big manufacturing centers have been in business for centuries, they're barely two decades old.
"You don't manage to build a company like that from the ground up in such a short amount of time without both being capable and intelligent. And being able to both attract and lead capable and intelligent subordinates.
"In addition, there's only so much corruption you can have in a successful start-up. Olivetti's experience will almost certainly be having to work around the sweetheart deals within LCAF procurement, not in setting up those deals himself. I think we're likely to get the best combination of price and reliability with the least chance of our buyer developing Acute Backstabbing Syndrome, if only because he'll be glad to be working with someone honest for a change."
That last comment drew a laugh, as expected. "But, seriously, does anyone see a flaw in my logic?" I asked to a resounding silence as people thought it over.
Finally, Marsha shrugged, "Nothing that stands out."
Geraldine seemingly agreed, "I'd like to be paranoid about this, but I don't see any gaping holes either. My only concern is that Olivetti isn't likely to have the sort of political connections that could quash opposition coming from that direction."
I grinned back, "Ah, but that's the beauty of my approach. Surely, if we had a major find, we would have gone to one of the more established institutions, right? They're more prestigious, and certainly could afford to pay better than a newcomer like Olivetti, right?" I let the grin fade and gestured expansively, "We're never going to be able to keep all this secret forever. It's too big. Instead, we need to camouflage it. Make it look smaller than it is long enough to get our young hopefuls trained up. Long enough to make new hires part of the culture of Weber's Warriors. If, when the first pirates show up, they run into a Regiment of 'Mechs and a couple wings of ASFs? The handful of survivors won't risk coming back, and the word will spread.
"If we can get our numbers up without losing our quality …" I trailed off and shrugged. "It's a gamble, but I'm gambling on you. Seems a lot like a sure thing from my perspective."
Rowdy let out a cheer, as expected and soon the rest of the compartment joined in the affirmation, "Well if that's settled, we need to do some load calculations," I concluded.
Rowdy's head hit the table. "More math?" he complained loudly. "Dictator! Tyrant!" he called with a raised fist.
While the Fischer twins giggled, Sammy laughed and the others rolled their eyes, I drew out a calculator. "Let's start with the main cargo bay …"
XXXXX
It took hours of figuring, refiguring, and making sure we actually had what the plan called for in storage before we were done.
A Warhammer build kit consisted of a pair of PPCs, an SRM-6, a pair of 5cm lasers, a pair of 3cm lasers, a pair of machine guns, and one each of engine, gyro, cockpit, and assorted electronics. All together it weighed in at forty-three tons and would retail for just a touch over 3.1 million C-bills.
The Implacable could carry eighty of them stacked in the empty 'Mech bays and still leave enough spare capacity for food, water, fuel, and the four 'Mechs we were planning on hauling to Sudeten. With the quartet of Streak SRM-2s and four tons of ammo we were planning to bring along for authenticity, that brought the total to just over a quarter of a Billion C-Bills.
When I'd done that math, the entire compartment had gone silent, and everyone had stared. When Rowdy made a joke about the number of Triple-F Burgers that much money could buy, I both wanted to hug him and hit him.
Since I wasn't sure which was more appropriate, I assigned him to find out and report back to us. His look and the giggles it spawned finished off the fey mood that had gripped the compartment.
That was more money than I'd ever been in possession of in my life. Either of my lives. I knew right away that there was no way Olivetti could just cut us a check for that much. Defiance could probably have done it out of pocket change and asked us when we could make the next delivery, but Olivetti wasn't far out of being a start-up. That was big-leagues cash.
Good thing what I wanted most from his company wasn't money.
XXXXX
Unnamed Planet, Unnamed System
Former Apollo Province, Unclaimed Territory
February 24th, 3010
It's like there's a rule that nothing can ever go smoothly. I'd expected to be able to unload the Implacable, reload, and go. Then I got the word that the municipal water system I'd been counting on was a write-off. At least for the moment, anyway.
There was some sort of nasty algae-like plant growing in the water; thankfully this time we hadn't learned about it the hard way, because it was poisonous as fuck. We could get the system back in operation, but the cisterns would need to be drained, scrubbed, and re-filled before they could be used.
That meant we needed a source for fresh water, and we needed it before we departed. The problem was, that our location up in the mountains didn't get a lot of rain. We hadn't had a drop since we landed.
The good news was that we were right up next to the western end of the pass, and down the mountain side was green as far as the eye could see. If we'd been at the east end of the pass, we'd have been in the mountain's rain shadow.
It still meant an unexpected delay, and most of the 'Mechs we had running were already in the middle of doing something equally important. That left me and Geraldine in her new Crossbow, the imaginatively-named Whirlwind II to escort a crew in rough-terrain vehicles down the mountain in search of a spring or the headwaters of a river.
"Sorry to grab you for this on an off-shift, Comet," I apologized as the tracked vehicles crawled down the pass behind me with the Crossbow towering at the rear of our little column.
"Needs must, Bloodhound," she replied. I guess she was serious about making that my callsign. "It isn't the first time I've had to mount up on short sleep, and it won't be the last. Just be glad it's only happened to you once. By the time I was your age, we'd already fought three engagements where I had to scramble into a 'Mech half-asleep."
I opened my mouth, but bit my tongue before I could make an ass out of myself. Given how she'd felt about my dad, rolling my eyes and firing back a, 'Yes, Mom,' would be impolitic. "So how is everything with the new 'Mech? Any problems with it? I haven't actually had a chance to double check with everything that's been going on," I switched the subject as I scanned the landscape. Even with the red tint to the grass, it reminded me of a scene out of the Alps.
"For a 'Mech that saw the rise and fall of the Star League, it's in amazing shape," Comet replied. "Part of that is that most of the components only have a couple hundred hours on them, but even the stuff that wasn't replaced in the refit is in good shape. Clearly been treated well," the veteran continued.
"Still not used to all the things this neurohelmet will do. You know it's got inbuilt controls for the radio? I start to reach to select a channel, and it's already selected the one I want. It even parses what weapons I want to fire faster than I can hit the selectors."
Even with my heavy neurohelmet on, that made me toss my head back and my raise my eyebrows. Those were not small advantages. In a fight, seconds, even fractions of seconds, mattered. So did distractions. If we could fire without worrying about cutting a weapon out of the circuit first, or work damage control, like cutting off a damaged heat sink to keep from losing all our coolant without taking our eyes off of a fight … "Yeah, in a sustained combat, that could really make a big difference."
"You're telling me. And it's easier on the neck. I've already got back pain, I've been enjoying not having neck cramps from getting back in a 'Mech after more than a month straight dismounted."
I snorted. Geraldine's, ah, 'endowments' had lead many men and some women meeting her for the first time to make complete fools out of themselves. Didn't hurt that she looked about ten years younger than she was, despite her drinking. Her complaining about her back was regular enough to set your watch by. I smiled, if she was back to that, she must be feeling better.
Once again I did a sweep for anything out of the ordinary. We were starting to get down towards the tree line, and by the developing line of red-green foliage in the distance, we ought to be coming up on wetter ground.
"Damn! Bloodhound, switch to Magscan," Geraldine barked.
I had a moment of confusion before doing as I was told. Why-
Okay, that's interesting. It took my less advanced sensors a few extra seconds to pick out what she was seeing, despite the fact that I was a couple hundred yards closer. I hadn't been using Magscan because in the city it was basically useless, and I hadn't expected to need it out in the middle of nowhere. I really hadn't expected to be seeing … what, the ruins of an old building?
Noooo, not an old building it was hard to tell with the equipment I was using, but …
"Comet, are we picking up the fuckin' trees on Magscan?"
"I think we are," she responded, "My unified sensor reading were blurred. Same thing happened surrounded by all the rebar until I cut out the Magscan. Good thing we aren't trying to fight here. Magscan is looking like it'll be pretty useless on this planet."
"I'm more concerned that the trees are reading as having primitive BattleMech armor plate. What the hell is that a natural defense against?" I demanded to abrupt silence on the radio.
"That would be about our luck, wouldn't it? Too much to hope that it's just because this world's metal-rich," my second shot back in a disgruntled tone.
Finally something she'd said penetrated. "Wait, you've got layered sensor output? Like everything at the same time? No switching?"
"Ah, yeah, though like I said, I have to keep Magscan disabled or everything goes fuzzy."
I looked at my own display and switched my own Magscan off. I'd possessed really good vision in my last life and it was pretty decent in this one. Good enough to note the faint distortion the HUD in Striker Alpha caused. "I think you're gettin' spoiled by all that Star League tech, Comet. Gonna have to pull you out of that newfangled machine before you lose your street cred," I joked.
"Over my cold, dead body, Bloodhound."
That seemed fairly definitive. I smirked even as I went back to scanning. Now that we were closer, I could definitely tell that the line of vegetation was following a low spot, and the lay of the ground had the left side uphill.
"Let's angle to the left, here. Looks like it ought to be a decent sized spring if it's supporting those trees." I tried to model where we were in my head. We'd been out here for more than an hour, but we hadn't exactly been moving in a straight line. As the crow flew, we were probably only thirty kilometers from the city, though more than that once you figured in the slope. Doable, but we'd need more than one pump.
Maybe have Sammy carry a small one where we needed it in his new Wasp? That seemed-
The ground under my Commando's left leg started to give way, and then heaved. I fought to maintain my 'Mech's balance, actually working against the gyro due to the initial drop. I pretty much had it saved when the giant monster bit into the 'Mech's right thigh.
"Motherfucker!" I had time to yell before the damn thing dragged my 'Mech off its feet and started shaking me, 25 ton 'Mech and all, like a terrier shaking a rat.
"Jesus Christ!" Comet yelled, and a detached part of my brain made a note to talk to her about that later. That sort of language was a bad influence on the baby Mechwarriors we were going to be training up. Then I felt something in my 'Mech's leg give and I was flung away from the alien monster that had been mauling me.
Far enough away for Comet to have a target. Two otherwise invisible lasers were highlighted across my HUD fractions of an instant before a bolt of man-made lightning hit something. A moment later, there was a rumbling thoom as that something collapsed.
I levered the top half of my Commando vertical enough to see the remains of the 'Mech-scale alien antlion that had ambushed me, two molten rivulets of metal still dribbling down its side and the crater of steaming flesh the ERPPC had blown in its abdomen.
Then I noticed the leg of my 'Mech laying beside it, the end looking distinctly melted. "Oh you have got to be kidding me." In that moment, I made my decision.
Reaching over, I set my radio to transmit to everyone, "Now hear this! I'm aware of the names that have been floating around for this planet. I was personally partial to Motherlode until about five minutes ago. In light of recent developments, I am invoking executive privilege. We are calling the planet Catachan. Y'all can fight over a good name for the system if you want.
"I need a recovery vehicle down the mountain at map grid …"
XXXXX
I now knew why they'd taken the terraces down to bedrock.
The burrowing murderbeast that had ambushed us on our approach to the water source looked vaguely like a Komodo Dragon crossed with a Gila Monster where the designer had used all eight legs. Except that instead of scales, it had armor plating capable of resisting a 5cm laser. It also produced an extremely nasty caustic, the identity of which was yet to be determined. You could tell that by the way it had burned clear through my Commando's leg armor, then sheared off the limb by main strength. Probably a result of metabolizing all that metal it was wearing.
The damn thing must have been nearly thirty feet long, too. I was lucky I'd been strapped in. My heavy-ass neurohelmet had kept me from a concussion and the restraints from getting flailed to death on my instruments. What a blessing it was to be young; I barely felt the bruises I'd no doubt have tomorrow. What that sort of abuse would have done to my back in my last life barely bore thinking on.
"Well, this presents a problem," I finally said as I finished inspecting the Antlion From Hell. "I mean, here we are with the best hunting trophy this side of Hesperus, and not a taxidermist in ten light-years."
That, at least, broke the shock hanging over the group like a cloud. Even Geraldine let loose a laugh over the radio. "Seriously, good shooting, Comet. Nice to know you don't have much rust to blow off." I turned back to the group around me.
"Any ETA on the recovery vehicle?" I asked.
"Still be about half an hour, Sir, they had to wait for McCready to get back from scouting to play escort."
I nodded. I was, I thought, doing a good job of seeming unconcerned. I was far from it. I was very concerned. Suddenly, some references in the Data Core made a great deal more sense.
We'd landed on a Deathworld.
The water system had just become a major priority, because we were going to need to guard this water source twenty-seven and a fraction hours a day, six days a local week.
And I was leaving tomorrow with …
I looked at my Commando, then over to the chewed-up, melted, wreck of a leg and bit back a half-dozen curses.
Correction, we were leaving as soon as I had a 'Mech, and I was taking three of our 'Mechs and veteran pilots with me. "What a mess."
XXXXX
Catachan, Unnamed System
Former Apollo Province, Unclaimed Territory
February 27th, 3010
By the time we'd all gotten back up to the city, I had developed a plan. It was actually fairly elegant, in that it enhanced the deception we were going to be running. We could tell everyone we ran into that all we'd found was spare parts and a few advanced weapons until we were blue in the face, but a certain percentage would always assume we were just hiding the good stuff. I mean, to be fair, they'd be right, but that belief would be inconvenient for us.
On the other hand, if we were to show back up in the Commonwealth with a new 'Mech or two, but ones that had a … less than sterling reputation …
Once the crew got done with the 'Mech they were reactivating, I had them start on a Banshee. Not one of what the Core called a BNC-3R, the model the rebels had come up with looked entirely too much like a functional Assault 'Mech, an old, unrefitted, BNC-3E.
Just impressive enough that the only possible way we could have gotten it was out of a cache.
And just pathetic enough to make me the butt of a joke. 'Did you hear about that Merc unit that found a cache? They go through all the trouble of locating it, and all they get is a handful of old Banshees.'
It would be irritating, but if people were cracking jokes about us being bad-lucky, they wouldn't be convincing themselves that they should try to come jump our claim.
Always easier to denigrate someone else than take a risk, after all.
I turned to the crew beside me, already preparing for work on an Icarus II further back in the formation. The Medium-weight mechs had been deemed the ideal training platform for our young hopefuls. Once they were used to putting an Icarus through its paces, they'd graduate to a Phoenix or Sarissa to see if they could pick up jump jets, and from there to the speedier lights for seasoning.
At least until we got back with the parts to get our lower-tech machines back in working order. Three Wasps, a Commando, a Firestarter, and a Griffin would make for a good start for a training company. Hopefully there'd be enough parts floating around to get the Panther up and running as well.
"Great job getting this running so quickly," I congratulated them, "You guys have been doing a bang-up job working on machines you aren't used to." I congratulated Mace. "Seriously, pass that along to your whole crew.
"I'll do that," he assured me. "Any change in the priorities?" he asked after a moment.
I shook my head, "Nope, just get the mediums up. I'd love to get those artillery 'Mechs functional, but I need someone who knows how to run a company of artillery first." That skill was a rarity in the Inner Sphere for some unknowable reason. "You guys need anything while we're out?" I asked.
"Nothing more that we've found in the last couple days," Mace responded.
"Very well then, Mister Brown," I nodded and prepared to depart before one last item occurred to me, "Oh, I saw that they found the Amaris Dragoons old 'Mech hanger. You guys going to be transferring operations over there soon?"
"Ah, yes, Sir, sometime next week if all goes well," Mace replied.
"Well the facilities there ought to be good enough not to hold you back like using the portable bay has been. Once you've got the 'Mechs we need reactivated, you can start in on refitting the last of the cache 'Mechs up to the specs from the Core."
"Uh … yes, Sir. We can do that."
I shot the surprised elderly tech a smile and departed.