- Location
- Porto, Portugal
Hardly.
Northwind Highlanders, Big Mac (McCarron Armored Cavalry), ELH and several others are multi regiment units.
False Prophets (BattleTech CYOA)
- Thread starter Acyl
- Start date
-
- Tags
- battletech mechwarrior cyoa
Northwind Highlanders, Big Mac (McCarron Armored Cavalry), ELH and several others are multi regiment units.
VhenRa
MechWarrior
- Location
- Auckland, New Zealand
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Not even close. The list of 3 Mech Regiment and upwards formations is surprisingly long.
Illician Lancers: 4 Mech Regiments
Eridani Light Horse: 3 Mech Regiments
Northwind Highlanders: 4 Mech Regiments
Lexington Combat Group: 3 Mech Regiments [As well as 2 Armor Regiments, 2 Mech Infantry Regiments, Artillery Regiment, Aviation Regiment...]
12th Vegan Rangers: 4 Mech Regiments
MacCarron's Armored Cavalry: 5 Mech Regiments [These guys are the next biggest unit to the Dragoons IIRC]
Fighting Urukhai: 3 Mech Regiments
Dismal Disinherited: 3 Mech Regiments
Blue Star Irregulars: 3 Mech Regiments
Hampton's Hessens: 3 Mech Regiments
I might be missing a few.
Yeah, I kinda mixed up battalions and regiments in my head...
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Don't be Koi .....
Jonen C
F.M.D.G.
- Location
- Lincopense, Ostrogothia, Suecia
You know, assuming Carps Commandos are going to end up getting some of the Salvage windfall of the Tigers...
One of these days Erin is going to be looking at an AAR of Commando Assault mechs stomping all over their opposition and go:
"I think I made fish too hardcore."
One of these days Erin is going to be looking at an AAR of Commando Assault mechs stomping all over their opposition and go:
"I think I made fish too hardcore."
- Location
- Singapore
I do like my puns, but clearly the forum collective here and on SB is having vastly more fun with it than I am.
The way the Dragoons work, they typically deploy at regiment level (or greater), keeping 'the unit' together. You may see things like a battalion from Alpha Regiment working with two battalions from Epsilon, but that implies that the rest of Alpha and the rest of Epsilon are somewhere on the same planet, the Alpha and Epsilon chains of command are preserved.
However the Dragoons have several units that are outside the normal regiment structure, including Zeta Battalion, Kerensky's Independent Company (Black Widows), Seventh Kommando, Special Recon Group, and their training creches. These units may be attached to 'regular' Dragoon regiments for missions, but they may also be off doing their own thing.
Technically the Black Widows are 'Kerensky's Independent Company' (or 'Kerensky's Company') and later 'Kerensky's Independent Battalion'... the timeline's clear that the nickname for Natasha Kerensky herself and her unit only really stuck after New Delos in canon. Granted, she plays into it, and used a spider (arguably Clan Widowmaker) insignia, but I intentionally avoid using the 'Black Widow' name throughout this story.
Mind you, even 'Mech Regiment' can be a little uncertain in-setting with units being under-strength. And, say, the Dragoons regiments are generally referred to as 'Mech regiments, but in reality they're pretty much all combined arms to a greater or lesser extent. Very 'Mech-heavy, yes, but they have arty, infantry, aerospace, and armour incorporated into the regiments.
TimEd
Meteor maker
On the topic of Unit Strength, does the Fighting Tigers still have significant mothballed units? Or have they finally started to reach the bottom of the inheritance cache? I dont think anyone has mentioned it in some time, and it seems like somethink worth a reaction at least.
- Location
- Porto, Portugal
Also mech regiment cover a lot of ground.
From 3 pure battalion to 4 reinforced battalion with command company and all permutations in the middle.
And, like Acyl say, many are in reality combined arms - like the Grey Death Legion for example.
From 3 pure battalion to 4 reinforced battalion with command company and all permutations in the middle.
And, like Acyl say, many are in reality combined arms - like the Grey Death Legion for example.
Interlude: The Irregulars
- Location
- Singapore
Interlude: The Irregulars
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met -- or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
CASTLE SNORD, CLINTON
21 DEC 3017
"Objectively," Bright Thomlinson said, thoughtfully, "while it's intended to deface the hangar, it's well done. Stencils, and crude in places… but some workmanship went into this."
The leader of the Snord's Irregulars' attack lance was staring at the graffiti covering one of the hangar's walls. Originally, the wall had been decorated with a Cameron Star, the symbol of the long-defunct Star League. This stood to reason, as the underground base on Clinton had originally been an SLDF Castle Brian. But the Cameron Star had been partially defaced, with a large cartoon fish spray-painted against the star.
Cranston was not an expert in marine biology, so he really didn't know how fish copulated, or whether a carp could hump another creature or object. But it did look an awful lot like this particular carp was trying to do just that. The artist's intent was clear.
"Quit ogling the walls," Cranston Snord groused, giving Bright a nasty look.
"Merely making an observation," Bright said.
Unlike Bright, Cranston was little more than a layperson when it came to art. He appreciated the history and context behind old artwork, but actual aesthetic merit was a little outside his own area. Bright Thomlinson was from an old money Lyran family, however. Bright had grown up around paintings, sculptures, and ceramics. The man even had an art degree, or diploma, or some qualification… and he was legitimately known in the Inner Sphere as a collector and expert.
Therefore, gaining praise from Bright was actually quite a compliment to whomever in Marty Carp's Commandos had defaced their Mechbay. Cranston could almost see the humour in it, himself. It was the sort of thing he would have ordered, had he been in Marty Carp's position.
But now the proverbial shoe was on the other foot, and Cranston was rapidly discovering that the shoe was very uncomfortable to wear. It seemed to be a woman's shoe, sized for a much smaller foot, and with high heels, besides.
"You're being too calm about this," Terry Malvinson said. The Irregulars' scout lance commander was sitting on an empty ammunition crate, one that had once held machine gun rounds. "That's the problem. The rest of us are angry. Aren't you mad that your collection's gone?"
Bright turned to look at Terry. "That's just it. My collection's gone. They looted it. But my artwork is identifiable as valuable, to a layperson. It's not the same as, well… "
Both the lance leaders glanced at the last Irregular in the impromptu meeting, Jake Walmar. Like both Bright Thomlinson and Terry Malvinson, Jake held the rank of lieutenant in the unit. Unlike the other two men, he didn't run his own lance, he was part of the command lance alongside Cranston Snord himself, and Jake was Cranston's effective number two in the unit.
The bespectacled pilot was sitting down, as well. He didn't have a crate like Terry did. Jake Walmar was sitting directly on the ferrocrete floor, cross-legged and slightly hunched over. His expression was dark, very dark. Jake was not a happy man. Cranston could tell.
Cranston glared at his lieutenants. "What the deuce are you talking about?"
Jake didn't respond. Bright looked at Terry, and Terry looked back.
Finally, Terry coughed. "Well, boss, it's like this. You remember, we couldn't get the locked doors open down in the south wing? Seemed like Carp's bunch fused the door mechanism? Techs got a plasma torch down to cut it open, at which point we discovered… you know how we couldn't track down where the rest of Jake's library got to? We thought maybe they'd stolen the books?"
Cranston stared at his men, then chanced a look at Jake. His old friend and protege remained silent, still glowering.
"So," Bright spoke up, picking up the thread of the narrative. "It turns out that Carp's people stacked Jake's books, uh, behind the door, up against it and the lock on the other side. So when the torch went through… "
Cranston smacked a hand into his face, covering his eyes with his palm and fingers. Jake Walmar was the unit's resident bibliophile and collector of antique books. "I get the picture. I was wondering why the fire suppression system went off."
Terry shook his head, in resignation. "With the way those stravags stripped our Castle Brian and museum, I'm surprised they didn't steal the foam sprayers."
"They did," Bright said. "Just not in that section of the base."
"Unity," Terry grumbled.
Although Terry Malvinson had a Lyran passport, a Lyran name from the Federation of Skye, and even spoke with traces of the same upper-class accent that Bright did… he wasn't Lyran, of course. Like Cranston Snord, Terry was from the Clan homeworlds, a freeborn. Neither Terry nor his brother John were fantastic actors, but Terry was usually better at avoiding outright Clan epithets.
Under the circumstances, Cranston could forgive a little bit of sloppy tradecraft. Cranston could feel a whole lot of curse words bubbling to the top of his mind, threatening to overwhelm his better judgement and come spilling out.
As Terry and Bright had pointed out, while Carp's Commandos had finally ended their occupation of the Irregulars' underground base, Marty Carp and his subordinates had gone through the facility and the aboveground museum like a plague of locusts… or gremlins, perhaps.
Cranston was holding an impromptu senior officers meeting in the main hangar, but in reality it wasn't much of a hangar anymore. It was hard for the place to qualify as a Mechbay when the 'Mech servicing gantries and equipment were all missing, leaving it little more than a too-large room.
Being a Clan-raised MechWarrior, Cranston Snord had never worked in the hospitality sector, and he'd never owned a civilian home. But he imagined this was how hotel housekeeping felt like, when they came across an utterly trashed hotel room. Or how a homeowner felt like, returning to their house or apartment after a very thorough break-in.
Cranston sighed. "Much as I hate to admit it, the condition of the Castle Brian might be… largely moot. The Lyran Commonwealth's making angry noises about us not handing this facility over, or even reporting its existence."
Bright inhaled, then exhaled. "The Archon is evicting us?"
Cranston nodded. "Essentially. The order's coming from the LCAF rather than Katrina Steiner herself, but yes, exactly. They've set a deadline for us to hand this site over, and they're breaking our contract by the new year. Bad faith clauses."
Terry frowned. "Is that legal? Didn't Katrina Steiner sign the land title to Cranston, deed and all?"
Down on the floor, Jake Walmar stirred, lifting his head. He broke his silence, and spoke. He sounded pained, but his voice did still carry a trace of the man's usual scholarly mien when speaking on a subject that he'd researched.
"The land belongs to Cranston, then Rhonda. But that doesn't matter. Under the land act, which is the same in Skye and Donegal, the provincial government has compulsory acquisition powers. They can move to seize everything, if it's a matter of national security. They have to compensate Cranston, but they can do it."
"Alright. That's a wash," Terry said. "Is there any chance we can appeal directly to Katrina?"
"She's not returning my HPG messages," Cranston admitted. "Signs point to 'no', I reckon."
"From the Archon's point of view," Bright said, "the Irregulars have been playing games with the Lyran Commonwealth. Hiding a Star League base from them, even an empty one… well, they don't know it's empty. It calls into question all the finds we've split with the Lyran Commonwealth, over the years. Let's face it, we have been playing games, we have been holding artifacts and information back. They're right to be upset."
Cranston was convinced of Bright's loyalty. He'd been brought into the fold long ago, and wasn't about to betray Snord's Irregulars, the Wolf's Dragoons, or Clan Wolf. But being a genuine Lyran, Cranston expected that Bright Thomlinson would have a certain sympathy for the Commonwealth's position, in this instance. Not that Cranston could argue. What Bright said made sense.
Terry looked unhappy. "That's it, then? We're done with the Lyran Commonwealth? We're just going to let them kick us out? Take our bags and go?"
"I don't see what other choice there is," Jake Walmar murmured. "Whatever friendship that Cranston Snord's Irregulars once had with the Archon is over. She might have lingering favour for us, but politically she can't exercise it… the public at large knows that we deceived or defrauded our employer. Ending our contract and allowing us to leave, that likely is Katrina Steiner's act of goodwill. She's allowing us a graceful exit, rather than sending Loki after us."
"Jake's right," Cranston said. "That's my read, too. Also, in case any of you have been slacking off and missed the Wolfnet briefs, Jaime and Joshua say that Janos Marik's thrown them out of the Free Worlds League, because Marik knows we've got ties to the Dragoons."
Terry Malvinson lifted a hand. "What's the official story on that? Scuttlebutt round the unit is that the Wolf's Dragoons might have sold us out. Promised to hand us to Janos, or give him a clear run at our hides."
Cranston looked at Terry, sharply. "Who's spreading that bullshit?"
"I'm just saying," Terry replied. "That's the word."
"The word is wrong," Cranston said, flatly. "Jaime and Joshua won't turn their backs on us. That's why Janos Marik's booted the Dragoons from the League."
"The Captain-General's extracted some concessions from the Dragoons," Jake Walmar added, quietly. "Ten year moratorium on attacking the Free Worlds League… but that's more an honour pledge from the Dragoons than something contract-enforceable, realistically. Or until Janos Marik cedes the Captain-Generalcy, whichever is longer. Janos Marik isn't the most rational of men, but he isn't going to extend his vendetta with us to the Dragoons. Unless Colonel Wolf forces the issue."
Though he'd become Cranston's right hand in the Irregulars, Jake Walmar was a Free Worlds League native, himself. That didn't mean he was sympathetic to Captain-General Janos Marik and the Free Worlds establishment. Quite the contrary. Jake knew the politics of the Free Worlds League better than any of the Irregulars, warts and all.
"Okay," Terry said. "That means what, for the Dragoons? No contract with the Capellans? Not Steiner, either?"
"It's possible, with the Mariks now making nice with House Steiner, that the Free Worlds League has shared the information about our ties to the Dragoons with the Lyran Commonwealth," Bright offered. "If so, Wolf's Dragoons won't be welcome in the Lyran Commonwealth, either."
Cranston shook his head. "With the pounding the Dragoons have taken, finding a new employer might not be an immediate concern. Jaime might pull back for a supply run, rendezvous with the fleet and homeworld convoys. But after that… "
"Kurita," Terry said. "Standing orders from home are to rotate the Dragoons through all the Successor States, if possible. The Dragoons have worked for Davion, Liao, and Marik. If bridges with Steiner are burnt, there's only one left."
Bright eyed Terry. "Fine, that's the Dragoons sorted. What about us? Didn't the Wolf brothers say we're supposed to keep distance from them? Seek different contracts?"
"That's obvious, isn't it? Aside from the treasure hunting, I've built this unit's reputation on tweaking Janos Marik's nose," Cranston said. "Plus, Janos has messed with us, that's why we're in this pickle in the first place. If we're going to get payback, then there's only one employer for us. Janos might have gotten the Dragoons to be hands-off the League, but he expects the Irregulars to try and bloody his nose. What does that suggest? What do you think?"
Terry leaned forward, angling his body on the ammo crate. "Boss, you think Max Liao will pick up our contract?"
"It'll piss off Janos Marik," Cranston replied. "So, yes."
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met -- or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
-- Robert Burns, Ae fond kiss (1791)
CASTLE SNORD, CLINTON
21 DEC 3017
"Objectively," Bright Thomlinson said, thoughtfully, "while it's intended to deface the hangar, it's well done. Stencils, and crude in places… but some workmanship went into this."
The leader of the Snord's Irregulars' attack lance was staring at the graffiti covering one of the hangar's walls. Originally, the wall had been decorated with a Cameron Star, the symbol of the long-defunct Star League. This stood to reason, as the underground base on Clinton had originally been an SLDF Castle Brian. But the Cameron Star had been partially defaced, with a large cartoon fish spray-painted against the star.
Cranston was not an expert in marine biology, so he really didn't know how fish copulated, or whether a carp could hump another creature or object. But it did look an awful lot like this particular carp was trying to do just that. The artist's intent was clear.
"Quit ogling the walls," Cranston Snord groused, giving Bright a nasty look.
"Merely making an observation," Bright said.
Unlike Bright, Cranston was little more than a layperson when it came to art. He appreciated the history and context behind old artwork, but actual aesthetic merit was a little outside his own area. Bright Thomlinson was from an old money Lyran family, however. Bright had grown up around paintings, sculptures, and ceramics. The man even had an art degree, or diploma, or some qualification… and he was legitimately known in the Inner Sphere as a collector and expert.
Therefore, gaining praise from Bright was actually quite a compliment to whomever in Marty Carp's Commandos had defaced their Mechbay. Cranston could almost see the humour in it, himself. It was the sort of thing he would have ordered, had he been in Marty Carp's position.
But now the proverbial shoe was on the other foot, and Cranston was rapidly discovering that the shoe was very uncomfortable to wear. It seemed to be a woman's shoe, sized for a much smaller foot, and with high heels, besides.
"You're being too calm about this," Terry Malvinson said. The Irregulars' scout lance commander was sitting on an empty ammunition crate, one that had once held machine gun rounds. "That's the problem. The rest of us are angry. Aren't you mad that your collection's gone?"
Bright turned to look at Terry. "That's just it. My collection's gone. They looted it. But my artwork is identifiable as valuable, to a layperson. It's not the same as, well… "
Both the lance leaders glanced at the last Irregular in the impromptu meeting, Jake Walmar. Like both Bright Thomlinson and Terry Malvinson, Jake held the rank of lieutenant in the unit. Unlike the other two men, he didn't run his own lance, he was part of the command lance alongside Cranston Snord himself, and Jake was Cranston's effective number two in the unit.
The bespectacled pilot was sitting down, as well. He didn't have a crate like Terry did. Jake Walmar was sitting directly on the ferrocrete floor, cross-legged and slightly hunched over. His expression was dark, very dark. Jake was not a happy man. Cranston could tell.
Cranston glared at his lieutenants. "What the deuce are you talking about?"
Jake didn't respond. Bright looked at Terry, and Terry looked back.
Finally, Terry coughed. "Well, boss, it's like this. You remember, we couldn't get the locked doors open down in the south wing? Seemed like Carp's bunch fused the door mechanism? Techs got a plasma torch down to cut it open, at which point we discovered… you know how we couldn't track down where the rest of Jake's library got to? We thought maybe they'd stolen the books?"
Cranston stared at his men, then chanced a look at Jake. His old friend and protege remained silent, still glowering.
"So," Bright spoke up, picking up the thread of the narrative. "It turns out that Carp's people stacked Jake's books, uh, behind the door, up against it and the lock on the other side. So when the torch went through… "
Cranston smacked a hand into his face, covering his eyes with his palm and fingers. Jake Walmar was the unit's resident bibliophile and collector of antique books. "I get the picture. I was wondering why the fire suppression system went off."
Terry shook his head, in resignation. "With the way those stravags stripped our Castle Brian and museum, I'm surprised they didn't steal the foam sprayers."
"They did," Bright said. "Just not in that section of the base."
"Unity," Terry grumbled.
Although Terry Malvinson had a Lyran passport, a Lyran name from the Federation of Skye, and even spoke with traces of the same upper-class accent that Bright did… he wasn't Lyran, of course. Like Cranston Snord, Terry was from the Clan homeworlds, a freeborn. Neither Terry nor his brother John were fantastic actors, but Terry was usually better at avoiding outright Clan epithets.
Under the circumstances, Cranston could forgive a little bit of sloppy tradecraft. Cranston could feel a whole lot of curse words bubbling to the top of his mind, threatening to overwhelm his better judgement and come spilling out.
As Terry and Bright had pointed out, while Carp's Commandos had finally ended their occupation of the Irregulars' underground base, Marty Carp and his subordinates had gone through the facility and the aboveground museum like a plague of locusts… or gremlins, perhaps.
Cranston was holding an impromptu senior officers meeting in the main hangar, but in reality it wasn't much of a hangar anymore. It was hard for the place to qualify as a Mechbay when the 'Mech servicing gantries and equipment were all missing, leaving it little more than a too-large room.
Being a Clan-raised MechWarrior, Cranston Snord had never worked in the hospitality sector, and he'd never owned a civilian home. But he imagined this was how hotel housekeeping felt like, when they came across an utterly trashed hotel room. Or how a homeowner felt like, returning to their house or apartment after a very thorough break-in.
Cranston sighed. "Much as I hate to admit it, the condition of the Castle Brian might be… largely moot. The Lyran Commonwealth's making angry noises about us not handing this facility over, or even reporting its existence."
Bright inhaled, then exhaled. "The Archon is evicting us?"
Cranston nodded. "Essentially. The order's coming from the LCAF rather than Katrina Steiner herself, but yes, exactly. They've set a deadline for us to hand this site over, and they're breaking our contract by the new year. Bad faith clauses."
Terry frowned. "Is that legal? Didn't Katrina Steiner sign the land title to Cranston, deed and all?"
Down on the floor, Jake Walmar stirred, lifting his head. He broke his silence, and spoke. He sounded pained, but his voice did still carry a trace of the man's usual scholarly mien when speaking on a subject that he'd researched.
"The land belongs to Cranston, then Rhonda. But that doesn't matter. Under the land act, which is the same in Skye and Donegal, the provincial government has compulsory acquisition powers. They can move to seize everything, if it's a matter of national security. They have to compensate Cranston, but they can do it."
"Alright. That's a wash," Terry said. "Is there any chance we can appeal directly to Katrina?"
"She's not returning my HPG messages," Cranston admitted. "Signs point to 'no', I reckon."
"From the Archon's point of view," Bright said, "the Irregulars have been playing games with the Lyran Commonwealth. Hiding a Star League base from them, even an empty one… well, they don't know it's empty. It calls into question all the finds we've split with the Lyran Commonwealth, over the years. Let's face it, we have been playing games, we have been holding artifacts and information back. They're right to be upset."
Cranston was convinced of Bright's loyalty. He'd been brought into the fold long ago, and wasn't about to betray Snord's Irregulars, the Wolf's Dragoons, or Clan Wolf. But being a genuine Lyran, Cranston expected that Bright Thomlinson would have a certain sympathy for the Commonwealth's position, in this instance. Not that Cranston could argue. What Bright said made sense.
Terry looked unhappy. "That's it, then? We're done with the Lyran Commonwealth? We're just going to let them kick us out? Take our bags and go?"
"I don't see what other choice there is," Jake Walmar murmured. "Whatever friendship that Cranston Snord's Irregulars once had with the Archon is over. She might have lingering favour for us, but politically she can't exercise it… the public at large knows that we deceived or defrauded our employer. Ending our contract and allowing us to leave, that likely is Katrina Steiner's act of goodwill. She's allowing us a graceful exit, rather than sending Loki after us."
"Jake's right," Cranston said. "That's my read, too. Also, in case any of you have been slacking off and missed the Wolfnet briefs, Jaime and Joshua say that Janos Marik's thrown them out of the Free Worlds League, because Marik knows we've got ties to the Dragoons."
Terry Malvinson lifted a hand. "What's the official story on that? Scuttlebutt round the unit is that the Wolf's Dragoons might have sold us out. Promised to hand us to Janos, or give him a clear run at our hides."
Cranston looked at Terry, sharply. "Who's spreading that bullshit?"
"I'm just saying," Terry replied. "That's the word."
"The word is wrong," Cranston said, flatly. "Jaime and Joshua won't turn their backs on us. That's why Janos Marik's booted the Dragoons from the League."
"The Captain-General's extracted some concessions from the Dragoons," Jake Walmar added, quietly. "Ten year moratorium on attacking the Free Worlds League… but that's more an honour pledge from the Dragoons than something contract-enforceable, realistically. Or until Janos Marik cedes the Captain-Generalcy, whichever is longer. Janos Marik isn't the most rational of men, but he isn't going to extend his vendetta with us to the Dragoons. Unless Colonel Wolf forces the issue."
Though he'd become Cranston's right hand in the Irregulars, Jake Walmar was a Free Worlds League native, himself. That didn't mean he was sympathetic to Captain-General Janos Marik and the Free Worlds establishment. Quite the contrary. Jake knew the politics of the Free Worlds League better than any of the Irregulars, warts and all.
"Okay," Terry said. "That means what, for the Dragoons? No contract with the Capellans? Not Steiner, either?"
"It's possible, with the Mariks now making nice with House Steiner, that the Free Worlds League has shared the information about our ties to the Dragoons with the Lyran Commonwealth," Bright offered. "If so, Wolf's Dragoons won't be welcome in the Lyran Commonwealth, either."
Cranston shook his head. "With the pounding the Dragoons have taken, finding a new employer might not be an immediate concern. Jaime might pull back for a supply run, rendezvous with the fleet and homeworld convoys. But after that… "
"Kurita," Terry said. "Standing orders from home are to rotate the Dragoons through all the Successor States, if possible. The Dragoons have worked for Davion, Liao, and Marik. If bridges with Steiner are burnt, there's only one left."
Bright eyed Terry. "Fine, that's the Dragoons sorted. What about us? Didn't the Wolf brothers say we're supposed to keep distance from them? Seek different contracts?"
"That's obvious, isn't it? Aside from the treasure hunting, I've built this unit's reputation on tweaking Janos Marik's nose," Cranston said. "Plus, Janos has messed with us, that's why we're in this pickle in the first place. If we're going to get payback, then there's only one employer for us. Janos might have gotten the Dragoons to be hands-off the League, but he expects the Irregulars to try and bloody his nose. What does that suggest? What do you think?"
Terry leaned forward, angling his body on the ammo crate. "Boss, you think Max Liao will pick up our contract?"
"It'll piss off Janos Marik," Cranston replied. "So, yes."
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ecs05norway
Zenryoku Zenkai!
Any plan that expects rational behavior from Max Liao is exactly the same as a plan that loses your hat.
A Bad Plan.
A Bad Plan.
TikiTau
Commander Pangolinski
- Location
- Texas
I do feel guilty/sorry for Jake Walmar, tho'.
He's an Inner Sphere native and biblophile, if I recall, so the fact that Acyl took my suggestion that Carp's Commandos would be evil enough to stack part of the collections against a sealed door to prevent breaching (Or, in this case, cause the Irregulars to damage some of their own stuff) makes me feel bad.
A tiny bit.
The rest of it is over-ridden by chortling at grumpy Snord and his actions biting him in the ass.
'Wait, so the Commonwealth is pissed at us?'
'Yeah, public is saying we broke contract and didn't share our lostech finds.'
'...but those are things we actually did do. We totally did hold back tech and gear we were supposed to share.'
'Yeah...'
I do wonder if Shorty got ransomed by the Dragoons, though.
He's an Inner Sphere native and biblophile, if I recall, so the fact that Acyl took my suggestion that Carp's Commandos would be evil enough to stack part of the collections against a sealed door to prevent breaching (Or, in this case, cause the Irregulars to damage some of their own stuff) makes me feel bad.
A tiny bit.
The rest of it is over-ridden by chortling at grumpy Snord and his actions biting him in the ass.
'Wait, so the Commonwealth is pissed at us?'
'Yeah, public is saying we broke contract and didn't share our lostech finds.'
'...but those are things we actually did do. We totally did hold back tech and gear we were supposed to share.'
'Yeah...'
I do wonder if Shorty got ransomed by the Dragoons, though.
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Eh, from what I understand he was actually a relative capable leader, at least at the beginning and only really deteriorated towards the end. And of course totally collapsed after the whole marriage thing which to be honest seems somewhat understandable since that had to have been quite the blow. And the Capellans probably treat their mercenaries somewhat more respectful than the Combine would.
TikiTau
Commander Pangolinski
- Location
- Texas
That is not a high bar to set.
At all.
Hell, CLANNERS treat mercenaries better than the Combine does at times...
Actually, Liao does have some pretty sweet deals for Mercs in this era. If you charter with them (basically sign up as a House unit for the contract period, if I recall the 3015 sourcebook), they do their best to throw resources, supplies, and repairs at you.
Partly because the Big Mac is one of their major assets, so they actually treat 'loyal' Mercs quite well to encourage that sort of long term loyalty.
Partly because the actual CCAF is overstretched, so they don't want their mercs to leave but can't do Company Store BS, since they don't want to piss their mercs off.
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VhenRa
MechWarrior
- Location
- Auckland, New Zealand
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Many of those I refer to, have other regiments that are explicitly the supporting arms.
Like the Blue Star Irregulars "Mech Regiments" are actually combined arms brigades built around a mech regiment with an armor regiment, infantry regiment, ASF wing and artillery company.
The Lexington Combat Group have their own mini-RCTs [3 Mech Battalions, 2 Mech Inf, 2 Armor, Artillery, Aviation, ASF]
Bilking Successor Lords for Lostech is a time honored merc tradition and I'm am ashamed so many side with The Man over a guy who just really loves Fabergé eggs. You monsters.
TimEd
Meteor maker
Honestly, I'm just in it for the Carp puns.
TikiTau
Commander Pangolinski
- Location
- Texas
Well, true...but the Irregulars are also Clanners, and we hate those too. Hence the oddity of rooting for the Lyrans doing stuff to the Irregulars.
Plus, the Mighty Carp is just too fun!
Ganurath
Literal Enthusiast
- Location
- A Valid Location
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Then you'll be happy to know that the art collection Carp donated to the Mariks for their museums has a nonzero chance of being called the Artistic Carp Elation.
Interlude: The Devil In The Dark
- Location
- Singapore
Interlude: The Devil In The Dark
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
ALPHA HYDRI B, ALPHA HYDRI
15 JAN 3018
Officially, ComStar's only territorial possessions were Terra and the Sol system, held in trust for the Star League, and the network of HPG stations spanning human space.
Unofficially, ComStar maintained bases and research facilities in a number of star systems. Some were significant assets. Others… were not.
Alpha Hydri was a mere seventy-one light years from Terra, or three jumps by Kearny-Fuchida Drive. But it was not a core system. Quite the contrary. Aside from the ComStar stations, it was uninhabited. Nor could the system really support a population. There were no habitable worlds orbiting the system's subgiant star.
In truth, there was little of value to ComStar in the system. Officially, Alpha Hydri B was a research station.
Unofficially, it was a penal station.
The system was a secure location to house troublesome dissidents and personnel who'd fallen out of favour within the Order's ranks… ones who were inconvenient to simply kill, for various reasons.
In Tojo Jarlath's case, ComStar was convinced there were still secrets and conspiracies locked away in his skull. Ones that he refused to divulge, even under the influence of the strongest chemicals and the myriad methods that the Order had to extract information from a less-than-willing subject. He was intimately familiar with such things, as he'd once trained on those same procedures… which, unfortunately, meant that ComStar was even more suspicious, thinking he was somehow capable of resisting them, or giving them false results.
Jarlath's hand trembled as he put pen to paper. Calling it a pen was not quite right, for the instrument was more like the pathetic cut-down stub of a pen, little more than a nib and a dangling ink reservoir. There was barely enough of it for his fingers to maintain a grip, a fact not helped by his unsteady control over his own muscles and nerves.
He knew why the writing tool was so terribly mutilated. It was standard procedure for detainees. It wouldn't do to give a prisoner something that could be turned into a weapon. But in context, the precaution was laughable. Did they expect him to stab someone with a poorly-improvised shiv?
He would have laughed, but he could not muster even that much dark amusement, or the energy.
ComStar did allow him pen and paper, which he was using to gather his thoughts. He also knew that the only reason that luxury had been permitted was that his captors hoped to find clues in his scribbling. So be it. He had nothing to hide. Not anymore.
The cell was cold, too cold. He hadn't gotten used to it, and he doubted he ever would. He kept the paper balanced on his lap, the so-called pen in one hand, and his other hand shoved under his armpit for warmth. He was painfully conscious of the mechanical sound of the environmental systems that circulated breathable air throughout the facility… and kept the station too damned chilly.
His present quarters were far removed from the office and rooms he'd occupied on Terra, in Hilton Head. Of course, he was no longer Precentor ROM. He didn't know who his replacement was, either. If there even was one. The position was hardly sacrosanct, hardly inviolate. With ROM having lost two Precentors in as many years under controversial circumstances, his former subordinates others within the Order would be pushing to break up ROM's fiefdoms. And the Primus might well permit that, in order to avoid the concentration of power within untrustworthy hands.
Tojo Jarlath was hardly innocent. He'd been accused of ordering a rogue operation, of deliberately undermining the will of the Primus and the First Circuit, all of which amounted to a betrayal of ComStar - or at least the current people in charge of ComStar. That was, he had to admit, true. But the charges did not account for the fact that Primus Julian Tiepolo and his cronies were fools.
It was he, and only he, who had acted for the true ideals of ComStar. Tiepolo and his lot saw Katrina Steiner's peace overtures and the nascent Solaris grouping as an avenue to expand ComStar's influence. They were willfully turning a blind eye to the implicit threat to ComStar's authority. They were being far too hasty in abandoning the Karpov doctrine of sowing discord and undermining the Successor States. The time was not yet right.
Therefore, yes, he had taken action to disrupt Katrina Steiner's summit.
What he was decidedly not guilty of was all the other accusations that had been levied against him. He had certainly not conducted a long-running and concerted campaign to unseat Julian Tiepolo at the head of ComStar. To replace Vesar Kristofur as the leader of ROM, maybe, but not the Primus himself. Not yet.
Oh, Tojo Jarlath had entertained the fantasy of one day becoming Primus. But he had not made serious moves to turn that into reality. And yet, Julian Tiepolo seemed to believe there was some form of vast conspiracy lurking in the shadows. Why, Jarlath could not say. Perhaps Tiepolo was simply that paranoid.
Perhaps Tiepolo remembered how he, himself, had schemed and plotted his way up the ranks of the Blessed Order, and attributed that same ambition to everyone else.
Jarlath's ruminations were interrupted by the sound of his cell door unlocking. He looked up in surprise… and dropped his pen and paper, the loose sheets and the tiny writing instrument spilling to the floor.
The door opened. Two armed men came in, and through the doorway, Jarlath could see two more standing outside. He was darkly flattered that they thought he could pose enough of a threat to need more than a single one, much less four. But then, he dimly recalled that standard procedure in the Alpha Hydri station was to never have any personnel escort or engage with a prisoner, alone. He'd been privy to those guidelines, not so very long ago.
"Up," demanded one of the men, curtly. His face was hidden by the tinted and armoured faceplate of his suit.
The man was a guard, but he wasn't wearing the uniform of the ComStar Guards and Militia, or indeed any other branch of ComStar. None of the people in Alpha Hydri did, just in case some external party jumped into the system. An extremely unlikely possibility, but the precautions around such secure systems were tight.
Jarlath forced a smirk on his face. With bravado that he didn't feel, he said: "What, does the Blessed Order wish to ask me the same questions, yet again?"
"Up," the guard repeated, firmly.
Without waiting for a reply, the two men that had entered the cell forced Jarlath to his feet. Privately, Jarlath was almost grateful for the lower gravity. He might not have been able to stand, otherwise. ComStar had not treated him kindly over the past few weeks.
He felt cuffs going over his wrists, and then a hood or bag over his head. That, Jarlath thought, was theatrical and unnecessary. He had never questioned such procedures during his time in ROM, but at his current point in life, he had ample reason to contemplate such things.
***
UNKNOWN SYSTEM
15 JAN 3018
By the time the bag came off his head, Tojo Jarlath was… curious. Perhaps a little apprehensive, but outright panic required a level of energy that he could barely muster.
They were no longer on Alpha Hydri B. That was obvious, because that had been hours ago, and through the unmistakable sensation of a Kearny-Fuchida jump between star systems.
Now, the pervasive all-encompassing heaviness he felt could only be from a DropShip's main drive.
Two gravities, perhaps. More than standard acceleration.
Naturally, nobody had informed him of a transfer, or moving to some other facility. Little courtesies like that were hardly extended to prisoners in secretive, forgotten, holes.
Jarlath blinked, rapidly, trying to adjust his vision. As he expected, he seemed to be in a nondescript DropShip compartment. It was impossible to tell the make and type of DropShip from his surroundings alone, and Jarlath was no expert.
He was strapped down to a chair. There was no give in the restraints.
There was someone sitting across from him, a man that he did not know. The face was unfamiliar, rather, lean and clean-shaven, in vigorous middle age. Jarlath was struck by a sense of almost-recognition, as if he should have been able to identify the man. There was something about the way he sat, something about that maddening smile.
"Precentor Jarlath," the man said, warmly.
Jarlath found his own voice. It was hoarse and rough. "You have me at a disadvantage."
"No," the stranger disagreed. Was he a stranger? "I do not. I'm not surprised, however. I'm sure it'll come to you, if given enough time. Alas, that is a luxury you may not have."
Jarlath sucked in a breath. "Mu Delta has had its fun with me. Not that there is much of Mu Delta remaining, I surmise. What are you, Omicron?"
The overarching designations for ROM as a whole were Rho and Mu, but specialised arms within the organisation had their own further codes.
Mu/Delta was the counterintelligence branch of ROM, primarily charged with rooting out infiltrators from the Successor States and the Periphery, or those who sought to leak ROM's secrets to foreign powers.
Rho/Omicron, on the other hand, was the code for Internal Obedience.
The man, whoever he was, chuckled. "I was never Omicron, no. For most of my time in the service… double Rho, section seven, covert operations."
Jarlath scowled. He'd been Mu/Mu and then Mu/Delta, himself, with a stint in the religious doctrinal arm of Mu/Psi.
He had no great love for Rho/Rho agents. Some were obedient members of the Order, born and raised within ComStar and shaped since childhood into proper tools. But too many Rho/Rho agents were people recruited into ComStar as adolescents and adults, bringing with them ambition and arrogance. Vesar Kristofur, he had been one of those, career double Rho, damn him.
"You don't like that," the agent said. "But don't you think that you're beyond institutional rivalries, at this stage? You're no longer ROM, and I do believe you've been excommunicated. All those old prejudices should be behind you. Behind us."
Jarlath narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"Tojo, Tojo," the man said. "How rude. "I expected you'd be grateful for my getting you out of there. Alpha Hydri B is such a dismal place. And just think, what would have happened had you stayed there? After months or years of intense interrogation, Tiepolo might have concluded that, no, you weren't truly conspiring against him to a great extent. Now… Primus Tiepolo will be apoplectic when he finds out that you've vanished from captivity. It'll kick off another witch hunt, it'll further discourage any, shall we say, adherents of the Karpov and Holy Shroud philosophies within the Order. And the legend of Tojo Jarlath, the bogeyman, the Shadow Primus, the enemy, will grow."
Jarlath stared, in disbelief. "You're not ROM."
"No, I am. I was. I still am, from a certain point of view. I do have a vested interest in seeing that ComStar no longer goes down the path set by Primus Karpov, but that of Sims. Would it be that the Order could be steered without such disruption… but, alas, omelette, eggs, sacrifices must be made."
Jarlath moistened his lips. "Sims?"
"Primus Adrienne Sims, of course," the man said. "The ninth Primus. She predicted that the descendants of Kerensky's Exodus Fleet might return, one day. As a hostile power, with all of the Star League's technological advantage, and more. And they have, you see. The evidence is circumstantial, I admit, but I am now convinced that their invasion is coming. It would be wonderful if our Com Guards could fend off that invasion, alone. But you know as well as I do that they are lacking, that our regiments are merely playing at being soldiers, and our navy barely knows how to operate the ships left behind by the SLDF and Hegemony. Thus we need the Inner Sphere. A strong Inner Sphere."
"Madness," Jarlath rasped, his head spinning.
"No. It's your way that's madness, Jarlath. I see that now. I agreed with you, once, you and the other hardliners in the Order. But being on the outside gives one… a very different perspective. You'll see. Or you won't. That's up to you. I'd suggest you cooperate, make yourself useful, tell me what I'd like to know. Unlike Tiepolo, I'd be asking questions you can actually answer."
"Madness," Jarlath repeated.
There was another of those dry chuckles. "Please, Jarlath. There's no need for that. Think about it, won't you? You'll have plenty of time to think about it, I promise you."
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
-- Emily Dickinson, Because I could not stop for death (1890)
ALPHA HYDRI B, ALPHA HYDRI
15 JAN 3018
Officially, ComStar's only territorial possessions were Terra and the Sol system, held in trust for the Star League, and the network of HPG stations spanning human space.
Unofficially, ComStar maintained bases and research facilities in a number of star systems. Some were significant assets. Others… were not.
Alpha Hydri was a mere seventy-one light years from Terra, or three jumps by Kearny-Fuchida Drive. But it was not a core system. Quite the contrary. Aside from the ComStar stations, it was uninhabited. Nor could the system really support a population. There were no habitable worlds orbiting the system's subgiant star.
In truth, there was little of value to ComStar in the system. Officially, Alpha Hydri B was a research station.
Unofficially, it was a penal station.
The system was a secure location to house troublesome dissidents and personnel who'd fallen out of favour within the Order's ranks… ones who were inconvenient to simply kill, for various reasons.
In Tojo Jarlath's case, ComStar was convinced there were still secrets and conspiracies locked away in his skull. Ones that he refused to divulge, even under the influence of the strongest chemicals and the myriad methods that the Order had to extract information from a less-than-willing subject. He was intimately familiar with such things, as he'd once trained on those same procedures… which, unfortunately, meant that ComStar was even more suspicious, thinking he was somehow capable of resisting them, or giving them false results.
Jarlath's hand trembled as he put pen to paper. Calling it a pen was not quite right, for the instrument was more like the pathetic cut-down stub of a pen, little more than a nib and a dangling ink reservoir. There was barely enough of it for his fingers to maintain a grip, a fact not helped by his unsteady control over his own muscles and nerves.
He knew why the writing tool was so terribly mutilated. It was standard procedure for detainees. It wouldn't do to give a prisoner something that could be turned into a weapon. But in context, the precaution was laughable. Did they expect him to stab someone with a poorly-improvised shiv?
He would have laughed, but he could not muster even that much dark amusement, or the energy.
ComStar did allow him pen and paper, which he was using to gather his thoughts. He also knew that the only reason that luxury had been permitted was that his captors hoped to find clues in his scribbling. So be it. He had nothing to hide. Not anymore.
The cell was cold, too cold. He hadn't gotten used to it, and he doubted he ever would. He kept the paper balanced on his lap, the so-called pen in one hand, and his other hand shoved under his armpit for warmth. He was painfully conscious of the mechanical sound of the environmental systems that circulated breathable air throughout the facility… and kept the station too damned chilly.
His present quarters were far removed from the office and rooms he'd occupied on Terra, in Hilton Head. Of course, he was no longer Precentor ROM. He didn't know who his replacement was, either. If there even was one. The position was hardly sacrosanct, hardly inviolate. With ROM having lost two Precentors in as many years under controversial circumstances, his former subordinates others within the Order would be pushing to break up ROM's fiefdoms. And the Primus might well permit that, in order to avoid the concentration of power within untrustworthy hands.
Tojo Jarlath was hardly innocent. He'd been accused of ordering a rogue operation, of deliberately undermining the will of the Primus and the First Circuit, all of which amounted to a betrayal of ComStar - or at least the current people in charge of ComStar. That was, he had to admit, true. But the charges did not account for the fact that Primus Julian Tiepolo and his cronies were fools.
It was he, and only he, who had acted for the true ideals of ComStar. Tiepolo and his lot saw Katrina Steiner's peace overtures and the nascent Solaris grouping as an avenue to expand ComStar's influence. They were willfully turning a blind eye to the implicit threat to ComStar's authority. They were being far too hasty in abandoning the Karpov doctrine of sowing discord and undermining the Successor States. The time was not yet right.
Therefore, yes, he had taken action to disrupt Katrina Steiner's summit.
What he was decidedly not guilty of was all the other accusations that had been levied against him. He had certainly not conducted a long-running and concerted campaign to unseat Julian Tiepolo at the head of ComStar. To replace Vesar Kristofur as the leader of ROM, maybe, but not the Primus himself. Not yet.
Oh, Tojo Jarlath had entertained the fantasy of one day becoming Primus. But he had not made serious moves to turn that into reality. And yet, Julian Tiepolo seemed to believe there was some form of vast conspiracy lurking in the shadows. Why, Jarlath could not say. Perhaps Tiepolo was simply that paranoid.
Perhaps Tiepolo remembered how he, himself, had schemed and plotted his way up the ranks of the Blessed Order, and attributed that same ambition to everyone else.
Jarlath's ruminations were interrupted by the sound of his cell door unlocking. He looked up in surprise… and dropped his pen and paper, the loose sheets and the tiny writing instrument spilling to the floor.
The door opened. Two armed men came in, and through the doorway, Jarlath could see two more standing outside. He was darkly flattered that they thought he could pose enough of a threat to need more than a single one, much less four. But then, he dimly recalled that standard procedure in the Alpha Hydri station was to never have any personnel escort or engage with a prisoner, alone. He'd been privy to those guidelines, not so very long ago.
"Up," demanded one of the men, curtly. His face was hidden by the tinted and armoured faceplate of his suit.
The man was a guard, but he wasn't wearing the uniform of the ComStar Guards and Militia, or indeed any other branch of ComStar. None of the people in Alpha Hydri did, just in case some external party jumped into the system. An extremely unlikely possibility, but the precautions around such secure systems were tight.
Jarlath forced a smirk on his face. With bravado that he didn't feel, he said: "What, does the Blessed Order wish to ask me the same questions, yet again?"
"Up," the guard repeated, firmly.
Without waiting for a reply, the two men that had entered the cell forced Jarlath to his feet. Privately, Jarlath was almost grateful for the lower gravity. He might not have been able to stand, otherwise. ComStar had not treated him kindly over the past few weeks.
He felt cuffs going over his wrists, and then a hood or bag over his head. That, Jarlath thought, was theatrical and unnecessary. He had never questioned such procedures during his time in ROM, but at his current point in life, he had ample reason to contemplate such things.
***
UNKNOWN SYSTEM
15 JAN 3018
By the time the bag came off his head, Tojo Jarlath was… curious. Perhaps a little apprehensive, but outright panic required a level of energy that he could barely muster.
They were no longer on Alpha Hydri B. That was obvious, because that had been hours ago, and through the unmistakable sensation of a Kearny-Fuchida jump between star systems.
Now, the pervasive all-encompassing heaviness he felt could only be from a DropShip's main drive.
Two gravities, perhaps. More than standard acceleration.
Naturally, nobody had informed him of a transfer, or moving to some other facility. Little courtesies like that were hardly extended to prisoners in secretive, forgotten, holes.
Jarlath blinked, rapidly, trying to adjust his vision. As he expected, he seemed to be in a nondescript DropShip compartment. It was impossible to tell the make and type of DropShip from his surroundings alone, and Jarlath was no expert.
He was strapped down to a chair. There was no give in the restraints.
There was someone sitting across from him, a man that he did not know. The face was unfamiliar, rather, lean and clean-shaven, in vigorous middle age. Jarlath was struck by a sense of almost-recognition, as if he should have been able to identify the man. There was something about the way he sat, something about that maddening smile.
"Precentor Jarlath," the man said, warmly.
Jarlath found his own voice. It was hoarse and rough. "You have me at a disadvantage."
"No," the stranger disagreed. Was he a stranger? "I do not. I'm not surprised, however. I'm sure it'll come to you, if given enough time. Alas, that is a luxury you may not have."
Jarlath sucked in a breath. "Mu Delta has had its fun with me. Not that there is much of Mu Delta remaining, I surmise. What are you, Omicron?"
The overarching designations for ROM as a whole were Rho and Mu, but specialised arms within the organisation had their own further codes.
Mu/Delta was the counterintelligence branch of ROM, primarily charged with rooting out infiltrators from the Successor States and the Periphery, or those who sought to leak ROM's secrets to foreign powers.
Rho/Omicron, on the other hand, was the code for Internal Obedience.
The man, whoever he was, chuckled. "I was never Omicron, no. For most of my time in the service… double Rho, section seven, covert operations."
Jarlath scowled. He'd been Mu/Mu and then Mu/Delta, himself, with a stint in the religious doctrinal arm of Mu/Psi.
He had no great love for Rho/Rho agents. Some were obedient members of the Order, born and raised within ComStar and shaped since childhood into proper tools. But too many Rho/Rho agents were people recruited into ComStar as adolescents and adults, bringing with them ambition and arrogance. Vesar Kristofur, he had been one of those, career double Rho, damn him.
"You don't like that," the agent said. "But don't you think that you're beyond institutional rivalries, at this stage? You're no longer ROM, and I do believe you've been excommunicated. All those old prejudices should be behind you. Behind us."
Jarlath narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"Tojo, Tojo," the man said. "How rude. "I expected you'd be grateful for my getting you out of there. Alpha Hydri B is such a dismal place. And just think, what would have happened had you stayed there? After months or years of intense interrogation, Tiepolo might have concluded that, no, you weren't truly conspiring against him to a great extent. Now… Primus Tiepolo will be apoplectic when he finds out that you've vanished from captivity. It'll kick off another witch hunt, it'll further discourage any, shall we say, adherents of the Karpov and Holy Shroud philosophies within the Order. And the legend of Tojo Jarlath, the bogeyman, the Shadow Primus, the enemy, will grow."
Jarlath stared, in disbelief. "You're not ROM."
"No, I am. I was. I still am, from a certain point of view. I do have a vested interest in seeing that ComStar no longer goes down the path set by Primus Karpov, but that of Sims. Would it be that the Order could be steered without such disruption… but, alas, omelette, eggs, sacrifices must be made."
Jarlath moistened his lips. "Sims?"
"Primus Adrienne Sims, of course," the man said. "The ninth Primus. She predicted that the descendants of Kerensky's Exodus Fleet might return, one day. As a hostile power, with all of the Star League's technological advantage, and more. And they have, you see. The evidence is circumstantial, I admit, but I am now convinced that their invasion is coming. It would be wonderful if our Com Guards could fend off that invasion, alone. But you know as well as I do that they are lacking, that our regiments are merely playing at being soldiers, and our navy barely knows how to operate the ships left behind by the SLDF and Hegemony. Thus we need the Inner Sphere. A strong Inner Sphere."
"Madness," Jarlath rasped, his head spinning.
"No. It's your way that's madness, Jarlath. I see that now. I agreed with you, once, you and the other hardliners in the Order. But being on the outside gives one… a very different perspective. You'll see. Or you won't. That's up to you. I'd suggest you cooperate, make yourself useful, tell me what I'd like to know. Unlike Tiepolo, I'd be asking questions you can actually answer."
"Madness," Jarlath repeated.
There was another of those dry chuckles. "Please, Jarlath. There's no need for that. Think about it, won't you? You'll have plenty of time to think about it, I promise you."
Alpha Hydri is, of course, the penal station where Vesar Kristofur was effectively exiled to in canon, as per The Spider and the Wolf. This does create other issues given that it's suggested in other sources that this is somewhere 'in the Periphery' - and indeed dialogue in the comic also implies this - because Alpha Hydri is a real star and it's only three jumps from Terra. Granted, there are similar location issues with everything else in The Spider and the Wolf. Early installment weirdness. I assume map scale and jump distance was still a work in progress at the time.
Also, earlier in the thread I mentioned that there's a fan theory that ROM might stand for Rho Omega Mu or Rho Omicron Mu, and that we know what Omega is in ComStar vocational codes, but not Omicron. I was wrong, we do know what Omicron is... as indicated in this segment.
Also, earlier in the thread I mentioned that there's a fan theory that ROM might stand for Rho Omega Mu or Rho Omicron Mu, and that we know what Omega is in ComStar vocational codes, but not Omicron. I was wrong, we do know what Omicron is... as indicated in this segment.
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I keep forgetting that for all that I don't like C*'s religious doctrine in canon BT, they are basically the James Bond part of the BT universe.