Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
I'm perfectly happy to have all politics and no mech action. 
If You Love'er So Much, Why Don't You Mari'er? (Battletech) (Mature)
- Thread starter plotvitalnpc
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi Romance
RoyalTwinFangs
For The Chancellor!
- Location
- Somwhere not here
Then what is the point of battletech without the battlemechs?I'm perfectly happy to have all politics and no mech action.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
Politics, relational conflict, worldbuilding, and uplift. There's a lot you can make stories of without stompy robos.
One of the best quote about battletech is from a fanfic about a massive crossover universe (where the Trekiesh of all people are the 'Bad Guys' ), and the FedCom is the junior partner in the relation.
The character there noted, that for a civilization which is the most technologically undeveloped (btech), their knive and backstabbing is just as deadly as anyone.
And if written correctly, you can 'feel' the moving of a few hundred mechs and a few hundred thousand of disposable infantry over mining rights, or a losttech or an affronted noble.
The mechs are not cutting edge, the luster is lost and the guys might still using AK74 in space, but it is still at its core, humanity fighting over nothing but wrapped in great things such as ideology, nationality, patriotism and plain desire for happiness.
GBscientist
The Empire's Greatest Mouse
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I chuckled when John stumbled upon the preserved Golden Corral. I smiled when he was named Lord Amaris. I guffawed when he smelled Amelia's terrible Mexican cooking, because I suspected what was to come. I cackled when my suspicion was confirmed by the revelation of Fiesta Pail.
I would be extremely happy if the armed forces of this new Cameron-Amaris state end up having black uniform pants.
For a story that seems like it started as a meme delivery device, this had grown into something very well developed. I like the characters and their plan, and I hope that they run into some new adversity to force them to grow more.
Watched, like the combined firepower of a company of Awesomes.
I would be extremely happy if the armed forces of this new Cameron-Amaris state end up having black uniform pants.
For a story that seems like it started as a meme delivery device, this had grown into something very well developed. I like the characters and their plan, and I hope that they run into some new adversity to force them to grow more.
Watched, like the combined firepower of a company of Awesomes.
plotvitalnpc
Once more walking the path of the catgirl.
I'm bad at maintaining the boundary between a crack fic and something serious. The jokier or more serious the premise, the more I want to drag it the other direction, so here the premise just sort of starts half joke half serious. My prior battletech story was a crossover with Kerbal Space Program which was split close to 50% between 'a shitpost' and 'taken completely seriously'. (I could probably crosspost that too at some point, to be perfectly honest...)
The beginning has memes. Perhaps the future, too, will have memes. However, I had the sense from the start that it was heading this way.
John O'Reilly is John O'Reilly because it led to the joke of him having a very similar name to Johann O'Reilly.
I mean it's a fairly dense region on the weird-shit scale - even got a planet of freaky fish people gene engineered by the Star League who're gradually turning more fish than person due to losing the machinery and knowledge needed to do maintenance work on their incomplete genetic modification.
I tried to give myself a broad palette to paint this nonsense with.
Next chapter in a few minutes.
Chapter 8 (September 2919 - December 2919)
plotvitalnpc
Once more walking the path of the catgirl.
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Scene 1
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There was something strange to seeing more greenery in the fields of a mountainous highland than in all but the most fertile parts of the coastal plains. Where otherwise water would flow only from powered pumps, here it seemed to flow passively from the sides of rock faces, livening up an otherwise bleak desert into managed fields. It was almost enough to make Johann forget the armed man sitting across from him as he gazed down and out the window, onto the landscape drifting by far below.
Eventually, though, the rogue turned his gaze back to the reality of the situation, meeting the gaze of the blue-garbed infantryman across from him. "Do rivers flow out of the stone of the mountainsides themselves around here often, Marcus?"
A pair of eyebrows rose high, their owner clearly not expecting to be addressed so directly. As if Johann was going to sit silently the whole flight in the damn whirlybird. "Surprised it wasn't 'Major Marinkovich', but I'm not going to insist on that. Yes, and no. Yes, if you take it from mama bear and papa bear, karst landscapes often produce rivers that sink into the ground one place and then flow out of a wall in another. No, that's not what happened here. The water flow around these parts is entirely artificial - it's a very old method called a qanat. From Iran, on Terra. Dig sideways into the mountain, and if you do it right you'll tap into a spot where the groundwater runs high and draw it out - like you were stabbing a straw through the side of a water bottle. I'd heard you were an ancient history buff, so I'm surprised you're not familiar with it."
"I got more specific interests than 'ancient history', pal." Johann spat, crossing one leg over the other and clasping his hands across the knee. "Principally Rome, the big empire in the history books. Though really, the Imperial era is mostly sort of a slog - things were pretty fiercely on the decline, and it's mostly remembered for Christianity. The Republic is more my speed. What's your excuse for knowing this sort'o trivia?"
Snorting, Marcus glanced out the window himself, his eyes honing in on a turning windmill. "I spend most of my time organizing the bodyguard detail for Jack, Amelie, James, and Marie. If I weren't hitting the books every so often, I'd be intellectually humiliated by my boss's preteen kids. And just to make sure… you do know that the cumulative history of Persian empires is centuries longer than that of the Roman empire, right?"
Johann didn't feel much like playing ball with the guard dog, and closed his eyes for a moment. "No, actually. It's news to me. So, tell me, Uncle Marcus, the fuck are we doing out here in the sand, exactly?"
Wrinkling his nose, the mercenary leaned across the aisle of the helicopter to give his charge the stinkeye. "You know, we had a briefing about that earlier. And by the way… I do go by Uncle Marcus, but not with you. Also off limits for you are Uncle Alan, Aunt Helena, and Grandpa Dick."
"I wasn't listening back then. Now, though, I guess you've got my fucking attention." Johann admitted, shrugging wildly.
An exasperated grunt filled the helicopter cabin, blue camo wrinkling with every shake of the head. "Principally, today's milk run is your crew's training day to see if you can handle the work we're usually doing out here. You and your mechwarrior, plus a few of Alan's machines and a healthy handful of my mudboots, are going to stand guard and look photogenic while the work crews install power lines, build a schoolhouse, and the like. If hostile forces show up, run them off but try not to wipe them all out. The locals came to us to petition for annexation, and our goal is to fuel the reputation that makes that sort of thing happen - not scare people off through the wanton slaughter of their former government's military."
Johann's stomach churned at the idea of sitting out here for weeks on end, just trying to look good and make friends using some of the most advanced and expensive warmachines humanity had ever created. "Bread and circuses is a bit of an odd way to expand your territory, don't you think? Trying to bait people into coming into your camp will never be as fast as using a military advantage to force the matter. Assimilation is the sort of thing that comes after. I mean - hell, you, as a soldier, don't you think your talents are being wasted on this sort of dog and pony show?"
"That's really how you think, huh?" the man snorted, resting his cheeky idly against one palm. "Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, given your ideas as to how to deal with Alphard yourself. The Roy G Birds aren't that sort of production, though. Great Grandpappy Roy Garretson Byrd set that in stone back when he founded the unit."
The name Roy Garretson Byrd instantly explained things about this pack of technicolor Spheroid puppies that Johann had never wanted to know before this moment. "That's why your theming is so fucking stupid? It's all a pun off a stiff's name?"
For his part, the stuck up PBI seemed to be a good sport about the insults to his ancestor. "Roy Byrd was a jumpship captain in the AFFS around the start of the First Succession War, and I'll tell you, at least one world owes its continued survival to his decision to mutiny when the bird jocks on his collar mentioned the nukes they'd been told to deliver to him. We, the grandchildren of his daughter Maria, have honored that legacy through the last century - we've always kept our hands clean of atrocities, even when it meant picking a client who could barely afford to cover our expenses. Now, current employers in mind, there's a lot of gratitude to go around - Red Barrel had been stuck in her 'mech mode for decades, acting like a cut-rate standard Phoenix Hawk, when Jack Cameron and Amelie Clayton reached out to us, but now we all get to watch my brother fumble through learning how to fly that LAM. Still, what keeps us with them isn't the money - it's the commitment to decency. We're here to rise above barbarism, got that?"
"Yeah, yeah…" Johann halfheartedly muttered. "Unfortunately for you, people like me don't really understand following through on principles above doing right by ourselves and our folks, so it's the strings making me dance, not the music, but I'll tap along to your beat all the same. Be a hell of a lot easier if you'd left more than one member of my crew out of the slammer, though."
"Johann…" the veritable fucking boy scout muttered, looking like he wanted to puke. "How did one man find so many thugs and rapists when he was talent scouting? Can you tell me that much?"
It wasn't exactly fun to admit how it came to pass, but… "...Hiring whoever was the cheapest, mostly. You want me to tell Starlet what the plan of action for the day is?"
The cheeky fucker recovered quickly enough from his disgust to crack a grin at that, at least. "Who, Ms. Alexandria? Nah, no need to bother her about this. She's a good girl, unlike a certain employer of hers - she listened when the briefing was going on."
Biting his lip, Johann could only mutter out one thing in response to that. "Ain't any employer of hers. Kid's never asked for a salary or a cut."
"Then what the hell are you to her? She certainly seems to have some money for herself. You giving her an allowance, or…?"
That was close enough to the truth, he supposed. "Yeah, call it an allowance."
---
Scene 2
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The crackle of the radio spoke to the dust-drenched nature of the place more than anything - even in the absence of competing signals, the relatively fragile model was simply aging quickly. "There were three breaks in the lines, you say?"
Clicking his tongue, Johann stuck his foot up on the dashboard, depressing the 'send' button on his handpiece with one finger. "I do say, yes. Not in the forest, either. Someone's out here cutting 'em. It's 'wrath of neighbors', not 'wrath of god', so you'd best send some scouts and guards out to smoke those sorts out when you send out the repair teams. Better that the malcontents get shot than the repairmen."
To his credit, the radio operator wasn't so far gone that he needed to ask another time. "I'll get right on that, sir. Now, uh...is there anything else you've got to report? Any other support you need over there?"
It wasn't easy, living in a world of busybodies. At least, these busybodies. If they weren't so prone to getting in their own way, nobody would pull this shit. Then again, it was probably for the best that the big wigs were so soft - Johann wouldn't have hesitated to execute himself, in their shoes, so their fixation on the 'humane' way was working out pretty well for him. "Gimme a fucking second, chair force. We only just got set up over here."
The handset clicked into place on the dash eventually, when enough force was applied, and Johann cast his legs out sideways and rose from the car without turning the engine off. The hastily strung up streetlights, the shabby looking buildings, the gravel roads, the shit-smelling ostrich pens - this sort of village wasn't something unfamiliar to him, but normally these ass-end places were where you laid low, not where you did your day job. The only prettiness to be had in the area came from the coastline, which teemed with fields of green ripening saltgrass and similar crops, and further inland the fields irrigated from aquifers, which produced everything not salt dependent. Everything nice about the place came with the grace of the folks at the top of the ladder, and here he was as an agent of that.
As he surveyed the dingy town, longing for a good rest in the city, where luxuries that this world had never dreamt of making itself were cast around as fodder for the masses and time moved forward instead of back, the re-minted toady's eyes eventually fell on a fat, sun-kissed old lady, her complexion spotty and sandblasted, her hair an unkempt mess, her clothes - a veritable quilt of patches and stitches with little original cloth remaining - somehow a few sizes too large, who was watching him nervously. Approaching with his hands in his pocket, he wasn't quite sure what to make of her stiffening and drawing away a bit.
Her eyes narrowed, the crone - though perhaps it was bad to think of her that way, when she was only maybe ten or twenty years his senior - held herself away from him as she spoke up, her gaze periodically drifting over to the Shadow Hawk hooked into the power station. "Issere somethin' you need, sir?"
"Ain't gonna bite." Johann protested, casting his hands out to the side and showing their emptiness. "Y'see, lady, in a bit, there's gonna be a crew out to fix the power lines proper-like. There'll also be a crew coming out to make sure they don't get cut again, and to keep you folks safe."
"Much obliged, sir, but…" the woman muttered, hesitant to make eye contact with the scarfaced, shifty-eyed runt of a man.
Letting out a slight choke as he followed the implications, Johann waved a hand in front of his face. "No, no, I ain't looking for gratitude or 'gratitude', miss. I'd tan if I even dreamt of demanding something from you folks. Just looking to ask - aside from the power back on and the people who cut it away, what else do you folks need around here? If you ask now, I can get it sent in with the rest."
As she relaxed her posture, the rural grandmother nodded a bit. "Well, if'n you're offering, I suppose I won't hold back. Since the lines split last week, we've had folks down with stomach bugs - the 'fridges you folks delivered went out, and the food inside went past due. Doctor the Mr. and Mrs. sent says she can't do a thing about it, either, 'cause the medicine spoiled in the heat too - freezer went out. Two of the sick folk are yours, as well - so we got no teacher in the schoolhouse an' no repairman for the small stuff, at the moment. If you kin' get all that sorted, we'd be mighty grateful around here."
"New food, new medicine, new teacher, new repairman…" Johann nodded, before with a wry grin adding on something entirely of his own. "...Emergency generators. Jeeze, work a man to death, will you? Anything else you need out here in the mud and the dust?"
Grasping at her ratty clothing, the old lady paused for a bit to think. "...I won't be so bold as to ask for anything more that's material, least not without asking around for other people's feelings, but… if you could find out what's yet waiting for us, I think a lot of folks would sleep easy knowing a little o' the future."
Snorting, Johann covered his face even as he turned away. "What, that all? Lucky you, lady, I happen to be a bit of a prophet. Gimme a second to set things right and I'll be back to you."
"Thank you kindly, sir."
It was important, when getting into this car, not to touch any single part of it, because every square centimeter of its surface was hot enough from the sun to burn the soul out of your body. In deference to that fact, Johann made the smallest possible sacrifice by just grabbing the handset itself and pulling it to the limits of its cord. His singsong was out of tune, but it was about as much as you could expect from a forty year old man "Here chair force, chair force, chair force ~!"
"What the fuck is it, O'Reilly?" snapped the man on the other end.
With his fun out of the way, it was time for the former adventurer to get to work for real. "Got a list of everything else the folks down here need. A lot of food and medicine went bad since the power went out, so they'll need a restock on that front. Get a change of teacher and mechanic out here too - the ones you got out here are down with food poisoning, so we're gonna have to medivac them. If you've got 'em up your ass somewhere, send some generators and fuel too so this won't happen again - even get some panels and turbines installed, if you can. You wouldn't regret a grid expansion here - locals practically have sun and wind coming out their asses, and it ain't like the lines you're laying are lossless over distances, so you'll need to put power plants down away from the center at some point if the grid keeps spreading outwards."
The radio man showed his passable adaptability once more, recovering from the teasing quickly enough to respond to the list of requirements. "Installing permanent generation capacity will mean a permanent force commitment over there, but… I can send someone to evaluate it as a site, at least. As for the rest of the requests, that should be easy enough. Anything else?"
Rolling his eyes, Johann took a moment to decide that, under the circumstances, the man had more or less given out an invitation to mess with him - and that it was a good opportunity to make the point that needed to be made. "Weeeeell, I wasn't going to ask, because they're kind of hard to find on store shelves these days, but if you're asking… try to send these people a future. A really good future, where they don't need to worry about local banditry or offworld piracy ever again. Just that little bit of certainty and stability would really make their day. That way, I can retire sooner and live the good life instead of trudging around in the sand and sun."
"Very funny, O'Reilly."
Sighing, Johann hung up the line without waiting for a response there. Some people just didn't have any respect for a good joke. Moments later, he noticed that the old lady had drawn close.
Meeting his gaze as he offered it, the poor old periphery hick wore a fairly welcoming expression, for once. "Now that you're off the line, sir… I just wanted to thank you again, and…"
"Like I said, I can't be asking for any favors or gifts." O'Reilly insisted, raising a hand.
Frowning, the woman shook her head. "You're going 'ta be out here for a spell while your folks come out this way, sir. My son'll put you up at his place - give you a meal or two and a place to sleep, at least. Don't be saying no, now."
"...Yeah, I guess I can accept that, as long as the food's not spoiled." O'Reilly admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "Mind if the kid in the big metal walker kicks off her boots there, too? She can sleep in the 'mech, but it won't be comfortable."
"She's doing as much for us as you are, sir." the lady agreed, before covering her mouth. "The power won't go out again if she gets out of that thing though, right?"
It wasn't even worth snorting at the question - the whole idea of using a battlemech as a rural powerplant was weird enough. "Like hell it will. The whole thing doesn't turn off just because the chair's empty."
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Scene 3
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Spindly fingers wrapped around the sides of the shot glass almost as soon as the first spurt of liquor splashed down inside. "You can stop right fucking there. It's a damn embarrassment, but that's about all I can take, if we're gonna be talking. By all means, though, finish the bottle yourself if that's what you want."
It hurt to admit, but Johann had to value his health over avoiding funny looks at this point in his life. What seemed like a good idea as a kid didn't keep so much of a luster to it for someone nearing his fifties, without the benefits of any particular doctors of renown. Maybe if he'd had a few more lucky days or a few smarter thoughts in his youth, he'd be the sort of high roller who saw a doctor in Crimson for his liver, but life brought the crusty old fuck to Alphard instead.
The massive kid's little grin was annoying, but his answer as, carefully and deliberately, he poured the same amount into his own glass was even moreso. "I think I'll be matching you, then. I don't really like the taste much, and getting a buzz is out of the question for me, so drinking really just boils down to the context. It might be fun to make a show of draining a bottle if I were just out to tease Amy, Alan, or someone else, but we're talking business here. On which note, your hangups on drinking with women around are a real pain in the ass. Amy should be here, right now!"
"Listen, Jack." O'Reilly declared, tapping the forefinger of his free hand on the table. "Liquor turns morons into even worse morons. In your position, maybe you can get away with doing something boneheaded while you're sauced, but I ain't ever been that way, and I certainly can't get away with making a dumb decision around your lady if this hits me harder than I'm thinking."
Lifting his glass to his mouth without actually drinking anything, as though he just wanted the look of some suave and refined drinker - as though that were possible with a body like a mountain - Jack let his eyebrows do the talking for just a second, the stripes of hair rising high in amusement. "So you and I, we're both morons then, by your estimation?"
"Don't kid yourself, brat. Me and you, we aren't that special. It's humanity that has the problem. We're all born morons, and if we're lucky enough to realize it one day we can try to work around that for the rest of our days. For even luckier people, they've never even got to realize it, because their asses come self-wiping." the elder of the two insisted, raising his glass forward in a confrontational gesture. "The saying 'in vino veritas' works here too. The right amount of alcohol lets loose the fool in every man, woman, and if we let 'em at it, child. Even the ones where you'd already swear the foolishness was in full force - the sort who takes the sort of luck that wipes their ass for them and goes out full of vim and vigor, piss and vinegar, and foppery and whim to try and found their own nation, pissing everything away in the process."
A clink of glass rang out through the air, the protest of the abused shotglasses as Jack went out of his way to turn the gesture into a toast. "Bit of a weird toast, but whatever. It's certainly true that luck's gotten Amy and I through a lot so far, and it isn't as though we came out here thinking it was going to be a fun, safe time. Maybe we're just a pair of clowns on the stage of history, and the world won't remember what we're doing here. Even if that's the case, though, even if it's all a mistake, we signed up for it ourselves with full awareness of the danger, because some mistakes are worth making and some things are worse than making a mistake."
Drawing his arm back, Johann got a good look at the ceiling as his eyes rolled, before knocking back his drink. "There it fucking is. The sort'o wishy washy horseshit only someone soft and raw as dough can spew. You've got a girl, you've got kids, you've got friends, and you've got a deep pool of patsies and subjects… and you're making your decisions completely on the basis of what's 'right' or 'ideal'. If you were thinking straight, you'd crush the opposing militaries, crush the guerilla forces, and get around to working with the civilians whenever you've got the resources - that'd be what's good for the people counting on you, instead of going slow like this to preserve your good mood and just putting fires out whenever someone starts 'em."
The boss clearly wasn't having any of that as he nursed his drink, though, a long sigh trailing from his lips. "That sort of thinking straight is what's been burning everything down for the last century. Self-convenient expediency is the tool of a consolidating tyrant who doesn't care what they burn down in the process. Making personal sacrifices for the pursuit of what we think is right doesn't entitle us to seize everyone who opposes us as an impersonal sacrifice - if there's anything to the timeless talk of judgement at the end of days, it'll work out better in the end anyways."
Leaning forward, O'Reilly wore a face of deep skepticism, more than a little reddened with frustration. "And the people living in limbo because you can only protect 'em in retrospect don't count as impersonal sacrifices?"
"Do you think they'd become safe if we destroyed every other nation in the world, one night? Would killing every soldier and slaughtering every guerilla end the danger?" Jack rumbled, reaching out one of his massive hands and grabbing Johann's shoulder. This felt like the sort of situation where a bone could break pretty easily. "The answer is no. Crushing everything people believe in, everything that keeps them safe, without offering a credible, better alternative just means that they've now got to pick up their pitchforks and torches. The only way to protect the territory we've already claimed at that point would be to slaughter all comers, riling up even more people. The only way to secure things faster would be to throw more resources at the problem, and for the time being we don't have more resources."
His temper rising further, Johann slapped the table once. "Now, that's definitely bullshit. You've got a warehouse around this place laden with more germanium than anyone can even imagine, right? That, plus a more than fair number of jumpers and droppers sitting thumb-in-ass idle. If all you need to get to work is 'more resources', you should be opening up trade instead of sitting in isolation here like hermits."
At that moment, the 'Cameron' switched things up more than a little bit. Releasing his grip, he gave a few quick pats to Johann's shoulder - only just hard enough to make the aged joint complain quietly. "Well, thanks for volunteering for that, then."
"...What?"
"Despite the fairly mundane work we've been having you do for a bit, the real job we hired you for was always that of a face for the operation we've got going on here, if you remember that far back." came the swift explanation, as one glass found its way back onto the table. "You're through your trial period now, so it's time to start on your actual job. Illyria has a link to existing trade networks which are, in relative terms, safe from piracy. With that, they and Lothian manage to keep the lights on. You, oh glorious leader, will head out that way with a few ships staffed by our crews and folks and the best protection the Green Geese can offer you. Your job is to keep things vague as to where we are and what things are like, offload germanium, buy up hardware and colonial supplies, and come back here - under the watchful gaze of our people, of course. Unless you're not interested in the deal we had going, anymore."
Covering his face with one hand, the former adventurer could only blame himself for forgetting that part of things. "You know, I didn't point this out at the time, but the cloak and dagger shit is more than a little ridiculous, all things considered. Jumpships aside, it ain't exactly like you've got anything someone might want to get so bad they'd go for a hit and run around here - or even like you're going to have anything like that here in your lifetime. The germanium's worth a lot, but for a pirate it ain't worth much, and for a country it's just not that much in the long run. Only way to make more of it is to open up a mine. You and your little family, you ought to be perfectly safe as the face of things here."
"Maybe so, if you're looking at it that way." the giant uttered with a big shrug, his half lidded glare making it seem like he might be holding something back. "On the other hand, we're of the opinion that it's always possible we might become targeted, and it's better safe than sorry if we can avoid that. And again, you're not strictly required to be one of us; if you don't like the deal we're offering, we can just give you the life of a single normal citizen."
Johann let out a snort despite his best efforts, covering his eyes. "Show me the guillotine while you're at it, why don't you? Fine, I'll play ball on this shit. I'm bringing along Starlet too, though. Can't trust you not to hold her against me."
At that, mount asshole perked up, taking a more active interest in things. "Starlet's Alexandria, right? The one who's not in jail? I've been wondering, but what the hell's the story between the two of you? How's a...well… a guy like you end up travelling with a mechwarrior that much younger, who's not the least bit crooked?"
This was the sort of question one knew was coming, but dreaded anyways. Johann's stomach churned as a tidal wave formed in the ocean of bad memories and past fuckups came to mind. "Well, you didn't really ask, but I'll start by saying who she is. She's the daughter of the only woman I ever loved. Twenty eight years old as of March. We met...I'd say about fourteen years ago. I'd just been dispossessed myself, came home without much left to dream of. Time, well, it doesn't stop for you, if you know what I mean. Honestly, I only barely got introduced to her at the time - hard to get in close with a woman you ain't met in over a decade, least of all when she's gotten married to a guy you never even knew in the meanwhile. Especially when your next job involves travelling. It was another...four, five years before we met again. That was when I killed her dad - shot him right in the neck. Looking back, I fucking wish I'd done it the first day I met the guy. As things go...well, that's when we started travelling together."
"You… you skipped over something there, I'm sure." Jack insisted, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. "Why did you kill her father, and how the hell did that get her travelling with you?"
It was odd. It wasn't a funny story, but Johann felt the need to laugh. "Well, you know that Shadow Hawk of hers? Her old man was the last owner, but I don't think he knew what it was for. When trouble came coming to our little shitbin of a planet, he might have mounted up, but he certainly didn't fight. Word on the street was, he sold his wife to save the 'mech. I never gave him the chance to explain himself, but I don't see why I should have. Alex...she insisted on coming with, after that. Whether she's grateful that I put the fucker down, mad that I took away what family she had left, or just looking to get even with the son of a bitch who killed her target first… I can't begin to say. We don't talk about that shit - not like we could trust one another anyways."
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Scene 4
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Whiskey was a damned poison, pernicious in its creeping destruction, and Johann O'Reilly swore in his heart that one day, he'd find a way back in time to gut the Gaelic son of a bitch who invented it, be they some ancestor of his or not.
The 'water of life' had eaten into some of the best days in his miserable existence along with its rowdy bunch of friends, but that wasn't enough for some drugs. It had to haunt him even down in the pits of his existence, his fading days. Damn his clown heart, that miserable sack of flesh that came up with an excuse about drinking, just to try and get that bleeding heart giant on his own, so he'd slip up in the talk.
His head screamed, splitting along lines running down the middle, across the line of his jaw, diagonally both ways, and along his forehead. His stomach rolled like he was in a g-training suite. His every motion was so graceless that he could do little other than lay inert on the couch, his eyes closed.
He couldn't believe he'd let himself have a second goddamn shot.
As the door slowly creaked open, one question flew through his head. There was only one right answer, and if he didn't get it he'd...probably fall on the floor, but the intent would be violence. "Izzat you… Starlet?"
The long sigh that filled the air...counted. It was adjacent enough to the right answer to get him to calm down. There was no hurting the kid. "You've been drinking, haven't you? I'll… I'll make you some porridge, I guess."
"...Thanks." he muttered, feeling a bit humiliated by relying on Alex in that sort of way. "...can you grab me a painkiller first, though?"
The floorboards creaked in sequence as those heavy-soled boots made their way over to the couch, the kid's voice taking on an annoyed tone as she leaned over him. "Like hell I can. Those things wreak hell on your stomach when it's empty. You'll get your little pill when you eat the goddamn porridge!"
The damn brat knew it hurt when she raised her voice like that. There was no way she didn't. At least, O'Reilly figured she did. There was no way he'd managed to keep her off the sauce entirely. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, grinning weakly. "You got me. But really, can you blame me for trying?"
To be honest, the kid didn't look much like her mom at all. Sturdier build, sharper face, green eyes, brown hair, and pasty pale skin - not one of them a trait Helena had ever shown anything close to. On the blood end of things, Alexandria was undeniably her father's daughter. Blood wasn't everything though - that goddamn undercut was straight out of a photo Johann had forgotten to hide, that pouty frown was something she must've learned at home, and even if her complexion amplified it, that flush of anger was classic Helena. "Get your shit together, Johann."
As she stomped off to tie an apron over her piloting clothes, Johann could do little other than silently pray that she'd stop modeling herself after her mother at some point. Some point before she turned into another lady he couldn't do a damn thing for when she needed it most.
That she'd take a fucking hint and live her own life instead of worrying about his, some day.
- -
Hearing footsteps to his side, Johann showed the emptied inside of his bowl with a sigh, not even glancing to the side.
The reply should have just stopped at the frustrated huff. "Good job, genius."
Glancing to the side, O'Reilly let out a low hiss. "Pill please."
As Starlet, wearing a self satisfied smirk, handed over the pill and seized the bowl, it became obvious that she'd taken the chance - while Johann wasn't looking - to dig that goddamn red and white hat out of storage and put it on. "About time you looked this way."
Popping the pill with a well-schooled throat that demands no water, Johann grinned back. "Good to see you in the season's spirit. It'll be nice not being the only one celebrating Saturnalia this year."
Narrowing her eyebrows, the kid set the bowl down on a table to clear her hands, before leaning in with a hand on each hip and a glare. "It's a Santa hat and you fucking know it. Merry Christmas and all that."
"I don't celebrate that shit, and you know it. Saturnalia."
"Christmas!"
"Saturnalia!"
"Christmas!"
Covering his face, the old man sighed, feeling that there was no good way to win this argument. "Fine. Christmas."
For a moment, silence reigned as the two maintained eye contact, before Alex spoke up again. "So, what's the story about you drinking, this time? Just a normal lapse of judgement, or…?"
Running a hand through his messy hair, Johann stared down at the ground. "Worse. Social drinking with the bossman. On which topic...we're going on a little bit of a trip in not too long. I opened my stupid fuckin' trap, and that signed me up for a trade mission to Illyria - plus a few more afterwards, I'd appreciate if you'd come along - otherwise it'll just be me and the boy scouts out there."
"Yeah." Starlet agreed, nodding slowly and sitting down at the side of the couch. "I'll come along. Gotta have someone there who's thinking about keeping you alive, or else who knows what might happen, old man?"
It wasn't exactly what Johann was getting at, but it'd have to do. "Thanks for that, kid."
"Now take a shower, jackass. You smell like shit."
--------
This may come across as a bit of a weird characterization move to make, and I recognize that.
This way, though, the man's not just 'ruthless, improvisational swindler', and there's a little more for him to develop from over his tenure in the story.
Scene 1
---
There was something strange to seeing more greenery in the fields of a mountainous highland than in all but the most fertile parts of the coastal plains. Where otherwise water would flow only from powered pumps, here it seemed to flow passively from the sides of rock faces, livening up an otherwise bleak desert into managed fields. It was almost enough to make Johann forget the armed man sitting across from him as he gazed down and out the window, onto the landscape drifting by far below.
Eventually, though, the rogue turned his gaze back to the reality of the situation, meeting the gaze of the blue-garbed infantryman across from him. "Do rivers flow out of the stone of the mountainsides themselves around here often, Marcus?"
A pair of eyebrows rose high, their owner clearly not expecting to be addressed so directly. As if Johann was going to sit silently the whole flight in the damn whirlybird. "Surprised it wasn't 'Major Marinkovich', but I'm not going to insist on that. Yes, and no. Yes, if you take it from mama bear and papa bear, karst landscapes often produce rivers that sink into the ground one place and then flow out of a wall in another. No, that's not what happened here. The water flow around these parts is entirely artificial - it's a very old method called a qanat. From Iran, on Terra. Dig sideways into the mountain, and if you do it right you'll tap into a spot where the groundwater runs high and draw it out - like you were stabbing a straw through the side of a water bottle. I'd heard you were an ancient history buff, so I'm surprised you're not familiar with it."
"I got more specific interests than 'ancient history', pal." Johann spat, crossing one leg over the other and clasping his hands across the knee. "Principally Rome, the big empire in the history books. Though really, the Imperial era is mostly sort of a slog - things were pretty fiercely on the decline, and it's mostly remembered for Christianity. The Republic is more my speed. What's your excuse for knowing this sort'o trivia?"
Snorting, Marcus glanced out the window himself, his eyes honing in on a turning windmill. "I spend most of my time organizing the bodyguard detail for Jack, Amelie, James, and Marie. If I weren't hitting the books every so often, I'd be intellectually humiliated by my boss's preteen kids. And just to make sure… you do know that the cumulative history of Persian empires is centuries longer than that of the Roman empire, right?"
Johann didn't feel much like playing ball with the guard dog, and closed his eyes for a moment. "No, actually. It's news to me. So, tell me, Uncle Marcus, the fuck are we doing out here in the sand, exactly?"
Wrinkling his nose, the mercenary leaned across the aisle of the helicopter to give his charge the stinkeye. "You know, we had a briefing about that earlier. And by the way… I do go by Uncle Marcus, but not with you. Also off limits for you are Uncle Alan, Aunt Helena, and Grandpa Dick."
"I wasn't listening back then. Now, though, I guess you've got my fucking attention." Johann admitted, shrugging wildly.
An exasperated grunt filled the helicopter cabin, blue camo wrinkling with every shake of the head. "Principally, today's milk run is your crew's training day to see if you can handle the work we're usually doing out here. You and your mechwarrior, plus a few of Alan's machines and a healthy handful of my mudboots, are going to stand guard and look photogenic while the work crews install power lines, build a schoolhouse, and the like. If hostile forces show up, run them off but try not to wipe them all out. The locals came to us to petition for annexation, and our goal is to fuel the reputation that makes that sort of thing happen - not scare people off through the wanton slaughter of their former government's military."
Johann's stomach churned at the idea of sitting out here for weeks on end, just trying to look good and make friends using some of the most advanced and expensive warmachines humanity had ever created. "Bread and circuses is a bit of an odd way to expand your territory, don't you think? Trying to bait people into coming into your camp will never be as fast as using a military advantage to force the matter. Assimilation is the sort of thing that comes after. I mean - hell, you, as a soldier, don't you think your talents are being wasted on this sort of dog and pony show?"
"That's really how you think, huh?" the man snorted, resting his cheeky idly against one palm. "Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, given your ideas as to how to deal with Alphard yourself. The Roy G Birds aren't that sort of production, though. Great Grandpappy Roy Garretson Byrd set that in stone back when he founded the unit."
The name Roy Garretson Byrd instantly explained things about this pack of technicolor Spheroid puppies that Johann had never wanted to know before this moment. "That's why your theming is so fucking stupid? It's all a pun off a stiff's name?"
For his part, the stuck up PBI seemed to be a good sport about the insults to his ancestor. "Roy Byrd was a jumpship captain in the AFFS around the start of the First Succession War, and I'll tell you, at least one world owes its continued survival to his decision to mutiny when the bird jocks on his collar mentioned the nukes they'd been told to deliver to him. We, the grandchildren of his daughter Maria, have honored that legacy through the last century - we've always kept our hands clean of atrocities, even when it meant picking a client who could barely afford to cover our expenses. Now, current employers in mind, there's a lot of gratitude to go around - Red Barrel had been stuck in her 'mech mode for decades, acting like a cut-rate standard Phoenix Hawk, when Jack Cameron and Amelie Clayton reached out to us, but now we all get to watch my brother fumble through learning how to fly that LAM. Still, what keeps us with them isn't the money - it's the commitment to decency. We're here to rise above barbarism, got that?"
"Yeah, yeah…" Johann halfheartedly muttered. "Unfortunately for you, people like me don't really understand following through on principles above doing right by ourselves and our folks, so it's the strings making me dance, not the music, but I'll tap along to your beat all the same. Be a hell of a lot easier if you'd left more than one member of my crew out of the slammer, though."
"Johann…" the veritable fucking boy scout muttered, looking like he wanted to puke. "How did one man find so many thugs and rapists when he was talent scouting? Can you tell me that much?"
It wasn't exactly fun to admit how it came to pass, but… "...Hiring whoever was the cheapest, mostly. You want me to tell Starlet what the plan of action for the day is?"
The cheeky fucker recovered quickly enough from his disgust to crack a grin at that, at least. "Who, Ms. Alexandria? Nah, no need to bother her about this. She's a good girl, unlike a certain employer of hers - she listened when the briefing was going on."
Biting his lip, Johann could only mutter out one thing in response to that. "Ain't any employer of hers. Kid's never asked for a salary or a cut."
"Then what the hell are you to her? She certainly seems to have some money for herself. You giving her an allowance, or…?"
That was close enough to the truth, he supposed. "Yeah, call it an allowance."
---
Scene 2
---
The crackle of the radio spoke to the dust-drenched nature of the place more than anything - even in the absence of competing signals, the relatively fragile model was simply aging quickly. "There were three breaks in the lines, you say?"
Clicking his tongue, Johann stuck his foot up on the dashboard, depressing the 'send' button on his handpiece with one finger. "I do say, yes. Not in the forest, either. Someone's out here cutting 'em. It's 'wrath of neighbors', not 'wrath of god', so you'd best send some scouts and guards out to smoke those sorts out when you send out the repair teams. Better that the malcontents get shot than the repairmen."
To his credit, the radio operator wasn't so far gone that he needed to ask another time. "I'll get right on that, sir. Now, uh...is there anything else you've got to report? Any other support you need over there?"
It wasn't easy, living in a world of busybodies. At least, these busybodies. If they weren't so prone to getting in their own way, nobody would pull this shit. Then again, it was probably for the best that the big wigs were so soft - Johann wouldn't have hesitated to execute himself, in their shoes, so their fixation on the 'humane' way was working out pretty well for him. "Gimme a fucking second, chair force. We only just got set up over here."
The handset clicked into place on the dash eventually, when enough force was applied, and Johann cast his legs out sideways and rose from the car without turning the engine off. The hastily strung up streetlights, the shabby looking buildings, the gravel roads, the shit-smelling ostrich pens - this sort of village wasn't something unfamiliar to him, but normally these ass-end places were where you laid low, not where you did your day job. The only prettiness to be had in the area came from the coastline, which teemed with fields of green ripening saltgrass and similar crops, and further inland the fields irrigated from aquifers, which produced everything not salt dependent. Everything nice about the place came with the grace of the folks at the top of the ladder, and here he was as an agent of that.
As he surveyed the dingy town, longing for a good rest in the city, where luxuries that this world had never dreamt of making itself were cast around as fodder for the masses and time moved forward instead of back, the re-minted toady's eyes eventually fell on a fat, sun-kissed old lady, her complexion spotty and sandblasted, her hair an unkempt mess, her clothes - a veritable quilt of patches and stitches with little original cloth remaining - somehow a few sizes too large, who was watching him nervously. Approaching with his hands in his pocket, he wasn't quite sure what to make of her stiffening and drawing away a bit.
Her eyes narrowed, the crone - though perhaps it was bad to think of her that way, when she was only maybe ten or twenty years his senior - held herself away from him as she spoke up, her gaze periodically drifting over to the Shadow Hawk hooked into the power station. "Issere somethin' you need, sir?"
"Ain't gonna bite." Johann protested, casting his hands out to the side and showing their emptiness. "Y'see, lady, in a bit, there's gonna be a crew out to fix the power lines proper-like. There'll also be a crew coming out to make sure they don't get cut again, and to keep you folks safe."
"Much obliged, sir, but…" the woman muttered, hesitant to make eye contact with the scarfaced, shifty-eyed runt of a man.
Letting out a slight choke as he followed the implications, Johann waved a hand in front of his face. "No, no, I ain't looking for gratitude or 'gratitude', miss. I'd tan if I even dreamt of demanding something from you folks. Just looking to ask - aside from the power back on and the people who cut it away, what else do you folks need around here? If you ask now, I can get it sent in with the rest."
As she relaxed her posture, the rural grandmother nodded a bit. "Well, if'n you're offering, I suppose I won't hold back. Since the lines split last week, we've had folks down with stomach bugs - the 'fridges you folks delivered went out, and the food inside went past due. Doctor the Mr. and Mrs. sent says she can't do a thing about it, either, 'cause the medicine spoiled in the heat too - freezer went out. Two of the sick folk are yours, as well - so we got no teacher in the schoolhouse an' no repairman for the small stuff, at the moment. If you kin' get all that sorted, we'd be mighty grateful around here."
"New food, new medicine, new teacher, new repairman…" Johann nodded, before with a wry grin adding on something entirely of his own. "...Emergency generators. Jeeze, work a man to death, will you? Anything else you need out here in the mud and the dust?"
Grasping at her ratty clothing, the old lady paused for a bit to think. "...I won't be so bold as to ask for anything more that's material, least not without asking around for other people's feelings, but… if you could find out what's yet waiting for us, I think a lot of folks would sleep easy knowing a little o' the future."
Snorting, Johann covered his face even as he turned away. "What, that all? Lucky you, lady, I happen to be a bit of a prophet. Gimme a second to set things right and I'll be back to you."
"Thank you kindly, sir."
It was important, when getting into this car, not to touch any single part of it, because every square centimeter of its surface was hot enough from the sun to burn the soul out of your body. In deference to that fact, Johann made the smallest possible sacrifice by just grabbing the handset itself and pulling it to the limits of its cord. His singsong was out of tune, but it was about as much as you could expect from a forty year old man "Here chair force, chair force, chair force ~!"
"What the fuck is it, O'Reilly?" snapped the man on the other end.
With his fun out of the way, it was time for the former adventurer to get to work for real. "Got a list of everything else the folks down here need. A lot of food and medicine went bad since the power went out, so they'll need a restock on that front. Get a change of teacher and mechanic out here too - the ones you got out here are down with food poisoning, so we're gonna have to medivac them. If you've got 'em up your ass somewhere, send some generators and fuel too so this won't happen again - even get some panels and turbines installed, if you can. You wouldn't regret a grid expansion here - locals practically have sun and wind coming out their asses, and it ain't like the lines you're laying are lossless over distances, so you'll need to put power plants down away from the center at some point if the grid keeps spreading outwards."
The radio man showed his passable adaptability once more, recovering from the teasing quickly enough to respond to the list of requirements. "Installing permanent generation capacity will mean a permanent force commitment over there, but… I can send someone to evaluate it as a site, at least. As for the rest of the requests, that should be easy enough. Anything else?"
Rolling his eyes, Johann took a moment to decide that, under the circumstances, the man had more or less given out an invitation to mess with him - and that it was a good opportunity to make the point that needed to be made. "Weeeeell, I wasn't going to ask, because they're kind of hard to find on store shelves these days, but if you're asking… try to send these people a future. A really good future, where they don't need to worry about local banditry or offworld piracy ever again. Just that little bit of certainty and stability would really make their day. That way, I can retire sooner and live the good life instead of trudging around in the sand and sun."
"Very funny, O'Reilly."
Sighing, Johann hung up the line without waiting for a response there. Some people just didn't have any respect for a good joke. Moments later, he noticed that the old lady had drawn close.
Meeting his gaze as he offered it, the poor old periphery hick wore a fairly welcoming expression, for once. "Now that you're off the line, sir… I just wanted to thank you again, and…"
"Like I said, I can't be asking for any favors or gifts." O'Reilly insisted, raising a hand.
Frowning, the woman shook her head. "You're going 'ta be out here for a spell while your folks come out this way, sir. My son'll put you up at his place - give you a meal or two and a place to sleep, at least. Don't be saying no, now."
"...Yeah, I guess I can accept that, as long as the food's not spoiled." O'Reilly admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "Mind if the kid in the big metal walker kicks off her boots there, too? She can sleep in the 'mech, but it won't be comfortable."
"She's doing as much for us as you are, sir." the lady agreed, before covering her mouth. "The power won't go out again if she gets out of that thing though, right?"
It wasn't even worth snorting at the question - the whole idea of using a battlemech as a rural powerplant was weird enough. "Like hell it will. The whole thing doesn't turn off just because the chair's empty."
---
Scene 3
---
Spindly fingers wrapped around the sides of the shot glass almost as soon as the first spurt of liquor splashed down inside. "You can stop right fucking there. It's a damn embarrassment, but that's about all I can take, if we're gonna be talking. By all means, though, finish the bottle yourself if that's what you want."
It hurt to admit, but Johann had to value his health over avoiding funny looks at this point in his life. What seemed like a good idea as a kid didn't keep so much of a luster to it for someone nearing his fifties, without the benefits of any particular doctors of renown. Maybe if he'd had a few more lucky days or a few smarter thoughts in his youth, he'd be the sort of high roller who saw a doctor in Crimson for his liver, but life brought the crusty old fuck to Alphard instead.
The massive kid's little grin was annoying, but his answer as, carefully and deliberately, he poured the same amount into his own glass was even moreso. "I think I'll be matching you, then. I don't really like the taste much, and getting a buzz is out of the question for me, so drinking really just boils down to the context. It might be fun to make a show of draining a bottle if I were just out to tease Amy, Alan, or someone else, but we're talking business here. On which note, your hangups on drinking with women around are a real pain in the ass. Amy should be here, right now!"
"Listen, Jack." O'Reilly declared, tapping the forefinger of his free hand on the table. "Liquor turns morons into even worse morons. In your position, maybe you can get away with doing something boneheaded while you're sauced, but I ain't ever been that way, and I certainly can't get away with making a dumb decision around your lady if this hits me harder than I'm thinking."
Lifting his glass to his mouth without actually drinking anything, as though he just wanted the look of some suave and refined drinker - as though that were possible with a body like a mountain - Jack let his eyebrows do the talking for just a second, the stripes of hair rising high in amusement. "So you and I, we're both morons then, by your estimation?"
"Don't kid yourself, brat. Me and you, we aren't that special. It's humanity that has the problem. We're all born morons, and if we're lucky enough to realize it one day we can try to work around that for the rest of our days. For even luckier people, they've never even got to realize it, because their asses come self-wiping." the elder of the two insisted, raising his glass forward in a confrontational gesture. "The saying 'in vino veritas' works here too. The right amount of alcohol lets loose the fool in every man, woman, and if we let 'em at it, child. Even the ones where you'd already swear the foolishness was in full force - the sort who takes the sort of luck that wipes their ass for them and goes out full of vim and vigor, piss and vinegar, and foppery and whim to try and found their own nation, pissing everything away in the process."
A clink of glass rang out through the air, the protest of the abused shotglasses as Jack went out of his way to turn the gesture into a toast. "Bit of a weird toast, but whatever. It's certainly true that luck's gotten Amy and I through a lot so far, and it isn't as though we came out here thinking it was going to be a fun, safe time. Maybe we're just a pair of clowns on the stage of history, and the world won't remember what we're doing here. Even if that's the case, though, even if it's all a mistake, we signed up for it ourselves with full awareness of the danger, because some mistakes are worth making and some things are worse than making a mistake."
Drawing his arm back, Johann got a good look at the ceiling as his eyes rolled, before knocking back his drink. "There it fucking is. The sort'o wishy washy horseshit only someone soft and raw as dough can spew. You've got a girl, you've got kids, you've got friends, and you've got a deep pool of patsies and subjects… and you're making your decisions completely on the basis of what's 'right' or 'ideal'. If you were thinking straight, you'd crush the opposing militaries, crush the guerilla forces, and get around to working with the civilians whenever you've got the resources - that'd be what's good for the people counting on you, instead of going slow like this to preserve your good mood and just putting fires out whenever someone starts 'em."
The boss clearly wasn't having any of that as he nursed his drink, though, a long sigh trailing from his lips. "That sort of thinking straight is what's been burning everything down for the last century. Self-convenient expediency is the tool of a consolidating tyrant who doesn't care what they burn down in the process. Making personal sacrifices for the pursuit of what we think is right doesn't entitle us to seize everyone who opposes us as an impersonal sacrifice - if there's anything to the timeless talk of judgement at the end of days, it'll work out better in the end anyways."
Leaning forward, O'Reilly wore a face of deep skepticism, more than a little reddened with frustration. "And the people living in limbo because you can only protect 'em in retrospect don't count as impersonal sacrifices?"
"Do you think they'd become safe if we destroyed every other nation in the world, one night? Would killing every soldier and slaughtering every guerilla end the danger?" Jack rumbled, reaching out one of his massive hands and grabbing Johann's shoulder. This felt like the sort of situation where a bone could break pretty easily. "The answer is no. Crushing everything people believe in, everything that keeps them safe, without offering a credible, better alternative just means that they've now got to pick up their pitchforks and torches. The only way to protect the territory we've already claimed at that point would be to slaughter all comers, riling up even more people. The only way to secure things faster would be to throw more resources at the problem, and for the time being we don't have more resources."
His temper rising further, Johann slapped the table once. "Now, that's definitely bullshit. You've got a warehouse around this place laden with more germanium than anyone can even imagine, right? That, plus a more than fair number of jumpers and droppers sitting thumb-in-ass idle. If all you need to get to work is 'more resources', you should be opening up trade instead of sitting in isolation here like hermits."
At that moment, the 'Cameron' switched things up more than a little bit. Releasing his grip, he gave a few quick pats to Johann's shoulder - only just hard enough to make the aged joint complain quietly. "Well, thanks for volunteering for that, then."
"...What?"
"Despite the fairly mundane work we've been having you do for a bit, the real job we hired you for was always that of a face for the operation we've got going on here, if you remember that far back." came the swift explanation, as one glass found its way back onto the table. "You're through your trial period now, so it's time to start on your actual job. Illyria has a link to existing trade networks which are, in relative terms, safe from piracy. With that, they and Lothian manage to keep the lights on. You, oh glorious leader, will head out that way with a few ships staffed by our crews and folks and the best protection the Green Geese can offer you. Your job is to keep things vague as to where we are and what things are like, offload germanium, buy up hardware and colonial supplies, and come back here - under the watchful gaze of our people, of course. Unless you're not interested in the deal we had going, anymore."
Covering his face with one hand, the former adventurer could only blame himself for forgetting that part of things. "You know, I didn't point this out at the time, but the cloak and dagger shit is more than a little ridiculous, all things considered. Jumpships aside, it ain't exactly like you've got anything someone might want to get so bad they'd go for a hit and run around here - or even like you're going to have anything like that here in your lifetime. The germanium's worth a lot, but for a pirate it ain't worth much, and for a country it's just not that much in the long run. Only way to make more of it is to open up a mine. You and your little family, you ought to be perfectly safe as the face of things here."
"Maybe so, if you're looking at it that way." the giant uttered with a big shrug, his half lidded glare making it seem like he might be holding something back. "On the other hand, we're of the opinion that it's always possible we might become targeted, and it's better safe than sorry if we can avoid that. And again, you're not strictly required to be one of us; if you don't like the deal we're offering, we can just give you the life of a single normal citizen."
Johann let out a snort despite his best efforts, covering his eyes. "Show me the guillotine while you're at it, why don't you? Fine, I'll play ball on this shit. I'm bringing along Starlet too, though. Can't trust you not to hold her against me."
At that, mount asshole perked up, taking a more active interest in things. "Starlet's Alexandria, right? The one who's not in jail? I've been wondering, but what the hell's the story between the two of you? How's a...well… a guy like you end up travelling with a mechwarrior that much younger, who's not the least bit crooked?"
This was the sort of question one knew was coming, but dreaded anyways. Johann's stomach churned as a tidal wave formed in the ocean of bad memories and past fuckups came to mind. "Well, you didn't really ask, but I'll start by saying who she is. She's the daughter of the only woman I ever loved. Twenty eight years old as of March. We met...I'd say about fourteen years ago. I'd just been dispossessed myself, came home without much left to dream of. Time, well, it doesn't stop for you, if you know what I mean. Honestly, I only barely got introduced to her at the time - hard to get in close with a woman you ain't met in over a decade, least of all when she's gotten married to a guy you never even knew in the meanwhile. Especially when your next job involves travelling. It was another...four, five years before we met again. That was when I killed her dad - shot him right in the neck. Looking back, I fucking wish I'd done it the first day I met the guy. As things go...well, that's when we started travelling together."
"You… you skipped over something there, I'm sure." Jack insisted, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. "Why did you kill her father, and how the hell did that get her travelling with you?"
It was odd. It wasn't a funny story, but Johann felt the need to laugh. "Well, you know that Shadow Hawk of hers? Her old man was the last owner, but I don't think he knew what it was for. When trouble came coming to our little shitbin of a planet, he might have mounted up, but he certainly didn't fight. Word on the street was, he sold his wife to save the 'mech. I never gave him the chance to explain himself, but I don't see why I should have. Alex...she insisted on coming with, after that. Whether she's grateful that I put the fucker down, mad that I took away what family she had left, or just looking to get even with the son of a bitch who killed her target first… I can't begin to say. We don't talk about that shit - not like we could trust one another anyways."
---
Scene 4
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Whiskey was a damned poison, pernicious in its creeping destruction, and Johann O'Reilly swore in his heart that one day, he'd find a way back in time to gut the Gaelic son of a bitch who invented it, be they some ancestor of his or not.
The 'water of life' had eaten into some of the best days in his miserable existence along with its rowdy bunch of friends, but that wasn't enough for some drugs. It had to haunt him even down in the pits of his existence, his fading days. Damn his clown heart, that miserable sack of flesh that came up with an excuse about drinking, just to try and get that bleeding heart giant on his own, so he'd slip up in the talk.
His head screamed, splitting along lines running down the middle, across the line of his jaw, diagonally both ways, and along his forehead. His stomach rolled like he was in a g-training suite. His every motion was so graceless that he could do little other than lay inert on the couch, his eyes closed.
He couldn't believe he'd let himself have a second goddamn shot.
As the door slowly creaked open, one question flew through his head. There was only one right answer, and if he didn't get it he'd...probably fall on the floor, but the intent would be violence. "Izzat you… Starlet?"
The long sigh that filled the air...counted. It was adjacent enough to the right answer to get him to calm down. There was no hurting the kid. "You've been drinking, haven't you? I'll… I'll make you some porridge, I guess."
"...Thanks." he muttered, feeling a bit humiliated by relying on Alex in that sort of way. "...can you grab me a painkiller first, though?"
The floorboards creaked in sequence as those heavy-soled boots made their way over to the couch, the kid's voice taking on an annoyed tone as she leaned over him. "Like hell I can. Those things wreak hell on your stomach when it's empty. You'll get your little pill when you eat the goddamn porridge!"
The damn brat knew it hurt when she raised her voice like that. There was no way she didn't. At least, O'Reilly figured she did. There was no way he'd managed to keep her off the sauce entirely. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, grinning weakly. "You got me. But really, can you blame me for trying?"
To be honest, the kid didn't look much like her mom at all. Sturdier build, sharper face, green eyes, brown hair, and pasty pale skin - not one of them a trait Helena had ever shown anything close to. On the blood end of things, Alexandria was undeniably her father's daughter. Blood wasn't everything though - that goddamn undercut was straight out of a photo Johann had forgotten to hide, that pouty frown was something she must've learned at home, and even if her complexion amplified it, that flush of anger was classic Helena. "Get your shit together, Johann."
As she stomped off to tie an apron over her piloting clothes, Johann could do little other than silently pray that she'd stop modeling herself after her mother at some point. Some point before she turned into another lady he couldn't do a damn thing for when she needed it most.
That she'd take a fucking hint and live her own life instead of worrying about his, some day.
- -
Hearing footsteps to his side, Johann showed the emptied inside of his bowl with a sigh, not even glancing to the side.
The reply should have just stopped at the frustrated huff. "Good job, genius."
Glancing to the side, O'Reilly let out a low hiss. "Pill please."
As Starlet, wearing a self satisfied smirk, handed over the pill and seized the bowl, it became obvious that she'd taken the chance - while Johann wasn't looking - to dig that goddamn red and white hat out of storage and put it on. "About time you looked this way."
Popping the pill with a well-schooled throat that demands no water, Johann grinned back. "Good to see you in the season's spirit. It'll be nice not being the only one celebrating Saturnalia this year."
Narrowing her eyebrows, the kid set the bowl down on a table to clear her hands, before leaning in with a hand on each hip and a glare. "It's a Santa hat and you fucking know it. Merry Christmas and all that."
"I don't celebrate that shit, and you know it. Saturnalia."
"Christmas!"
"Saturnalia!"
"Christmas!"
Covering his face, the old man sighed, feeling that there was no good way to win this argument. "Fine. Christmas."
For a moment, silence reigned as the two maintained eye contact, before Alex spoke up again. "So, what's the story about you drinking, this time? Just a normal lapse of judgement, or…?"
Running a hand through his messy hair, Johann stared down at the ground. "Worse. Social drinking with the bossman. On which topic...we're going on a little bit of a trip in not too long. I opened my stupid fuckin' trap, and that signed me up for a trade mission to Illyria - plus a few more afterwards, I'd appreciate if you'd come along - otherwise it'll just be me and the boy scouts out there."
"Yeah." Starlet agreed, nodding slowly and sitting down at the side of the couch. "I'll come along. Gotta have someone there who's thinking about keeping you alive, or else who knows what might happen, old man?"
It wasn't exactly what Johann was getting at, but it'd have to do. "Thanks for that, kid."
"Now take a shower, jackass. You smell like shit."
--------
This may come across as a bit of a weird characterization move to make, and I recognize that.
This way, though, the man's not just 'ruthless, improvisational swindler', and there's a little more for him to develop from over his tenure in the story.
Good chapter, will we get an outline of what kinds of resources the MC's have at their disposal when it comes to military and industrial equipment.
plotvitalnpc
Once more walking the path of the catgirl.
Probably!
Definitely on the military stuff, soon enough. It's a bit harder to quantify in terms of the industrial stuff, short of dropping my actual notes in here (which I'm not doing). Over time, I'll have access to more narrative tools to show that sort of thing, and that'll really start to assemble it.
Suffice it to say, they've got a lot of WWI era industrial equipment (which came with the territory) and a very, very modest amount of 1990s era machine tool production equipment right now.
Chapter 9 (January 2920 - April 2920)
plotvitalnpc
Once more walking the path of the catgirl.
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Scene 1
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Winter was beginning to fall over the northern hemisphere of Alphard, and with its invasion creeping down south the isthmus of Attica was left with no choice but to watch the first snowfall of the year marching inland along the coast of the great inland sea, transformed into a blizzard by the cold polar waters flowing south along the coastline. The ostentatiously named city of Kallipolis, which straddled the coasts of salt lake and Ionian Ocean alike in the southern reaches of the area, was no exception.
Fields rich with ripening grain and green pasture in the rest of the year, the envy of much of the world, hid under a blanket of white powder that made them impossible to divide from the neighboring parched nullarbors of permeable karst. Meanwhile, throughout the city, hundreds of thousands of chimneys belched black and grey smoke into the air, singing a song of their resident's survivals.
In the appropriated palace of the former king, much as was common in the younger buildings of the city, this smoke issued not from individual fireplaces but from a central coal boiler which fed steam through a myriad of radiators, freeing the residents from spending months in a sooty hell.
Or rather, it would have, if it hadn't been removed the day before in a scheduling mixup. Having served John and Amy faithfully for the past few years, it was tragically stripped from them two weeks before the electricians were originally expected to greenlight the building's new electric radiators for use. That left only the piddly heat provided by a few fireplaces and stoves in their respective rooms to keep the place bearable, until the expedited safety checks concluded - ideally, later that night - and the electrical system was turned on.
Amy's back pressed into John's back as the lad pulled a thick blanket tight around them. "Joke's on us. We sent that barking dog off to play fetch, and it let him skip out on this shit. He's probably toasty fucking warm on that dropship right now."
"We could always buy out a hotel until the work is done." John offered, tying the corners of the blanket together to free up his hands for a hug. "I'm sure they'd be happy for the business, in this weather."
Snorting, Amy laced her arms through his and rested her head against him. "Rejected. That'd mean scaring the balls off of them with our security detail and sweeping the perimeter for just a few days of usage. Now, let me bitch about the travesty of Johann escaping from this shit hand of cards a little more."
"Okay, now, he would have just gone to a hotel." John pointed out, bringing his legs up under the blanket and, in the process, forcing Amy's head slightly closer to his, height-wise. "The man doesn't exactly have his own security detail, and he certainly wouldn't be content with slumming it in the old servant's quarters without the heat on. Sometimes, he sounds like he's going to die of coughing without having the flu."
"That's...fair." Amy slowly admitted, shrugging heavily. "Well, at least a bad is balanced by a good - some of the Birds are skipping out on the blizzard as well, and that's alright by me. I just hope Illyria isn't too rough to them."
"Where they'll be landing? I think winter hits in March, but aside from that they shouldn't run into too many problems." the humanoid space heater mused, before shaking his head with a wry grin. "Honestly, though, it's not so bad that Johann and Alexandria are getting out of the cold. I'll grant that the man is awful, but he's not that bad. Well, I can understand him - why he is the way he is - at least a little, and I think you would too."
"How do you figure?" came the skeptical reply, little spoon craning her head to get some manner of look at her big spoon's face.
Shifting in the chair a little, John sighed. "The things he's willing to do are insane, no doubt, but the sense I get from talking to him is that he's not really very interested in himself. Certainly, he talks a big game and acts like he means it, but there's a hollowness to that. Calling him a dog wasn't too far off, because I think there's nothing left in the man but loyalty at this point. He's a corpse shambling forward in memory of a woman who's dead or worse, living on in service to the last person who connects him to that memory. Or at least, his own idea of service to that last person."
"You talking about the lady who follows him around like she's a moth and he's a lightbulb? Between the two of them, it should be obvious which one is living to serve the other." Amy snorted, giving John a funny look with her eyebrow raised.
"It's both of them. They're both living the life they think the other one needs them to live." John corrected, tickling Amy's sides just to hear her giggle. "But he's not her dad, and she's not his mom. Honestly, they could both use a lesson I was taught about seventeen years ago - in the end, if you're completely blinded by the idea that you're responsible for someone, you're not really looking at that person or their wants, and you'll regret the missed opportunities at the end of things."
"What genius gave you that gem, casanova?" Amy asked automatically, but as she thought more her neck slowly craned back into a forward-facing posture and she cupped her chin. "Oh. Oh, was it the festival medic guy? Chuck, was it? I vaguely remember you switching up your act around then."
Grinning into the emptiness of the room ahead, John rested his chin atop Amy's head. "In the interest of protecting the innocent, I can neither confirm or deny, nor give names."
A fierce pout pointed out in the same direction, the mis-aimed, menacing visage threatening death to the coffee table. Fortunately, the coffee table wasn't scared. "Well, I've got an interest in protecting your innocents too, buddy, but that doesn't mean I keep people's names secrets."
"Pfhgh-!" John snorted, squeezing Amy around the waste. "My innocents? Is that what you call my balls in your head or something?"
"Shaddap!" Amy squeaked as her abdomen was compressed, face fiery red, before her mind pivoted back to the topic at hand as the pressure was relaxed. "But… so… with O'Reilly, you figure the fact that he's doing it all for someone else excuses it or something?"
"Excuse nothing. The things he's done, and the things he's willing to do, can't be excused by something like that. His lack of any real sense of ethics or morals is his worst trait." John denied, his stubble tickling Amy's scalp through her hair as he shook his head. "But I can understand him. There's little more natural than killing for the ones you love - we've gone far enough with that ourselves that it might as well be in our wedding oaths."
The conversation ended when the door flew open, and in barreled two youths fast approaching Amy's adult height, the form of each practically buried within downy winter coats, one green and one yellow. Racing, the two made their ways over to the roaring fireplace before holding out their hands, shivering as they tried to warm up.
"James, Marie, take off those coats and get in this blanket." Amy insisted, fixing the fireplace with a dubious gaze. "That thing is worthless for heating the room."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Alright!"
Removing the coats was as simple for the two as working one zipper down from top to bottom and then struggling out of the thick, marshmallow-puffed garments. As the twins then removed their hats and goggles, leaving the whole mess to dry on the floor by the fire, if it was so inclined, four hazel eyes gazed at John and Amelia, one set frustrated and the other pleased to be there.
As she drew close in her green sweater, which matched the coat she'd discarded on the floor, Marie crossed her arms in a mix of frustration and an attempt to stay warm, pouting as she crept up into the group hug under the blanket.
James, meanwhile, wore a faint grin as he, clad in yellow, joined in on the huddle, uniting the full family under one blanket.
It was aggressively warm, which was exactly what the circumstances demanded.
"So." John began with a smile as he drew all the most important people in his life into one bear hug. "How was school today?"
Wrinkling her nose, Marie gave a response that was not. "Dad...you stink!"
"Well, the teacher's moving everyone else through the material a little slower than we are here, but it's still a fun time. Plus, it means we get to help the ones who don't quite get it!" James cheered, squeezing in as tight as he could.
"I'm glad you're having a good time. Before smart, strong, rich, or popular, I want you to be happy above all else." John softly stated, patting his son gently on the shoulder. His attention then turned to the other side, where his daughter was pinching her nose. "What about you, Marie? Did you have a good day today? You seem like you're having a bit of a bad time over there."
The girl's cheeks flushed a bit red as she retreated under the blanket and out of sight.
"You know it's going to smell even worse under there, right?" Amy asked, nudging Marie gently. "Is something wrong?"
"Marie kissed Marco just after class!" James volunteered, raising his hand up high.
Blinking slowly, Amy turned her gaze to her son as a high pitched groan of frustration rose from the depths of the snuggle. "And that's...bad?"
Slowly, unstoppably, Marie poked her head back into vision, a vicious glare fixed on her twin as she bit her lip and pointed. "It was fine until this idiot showed up and made a big deal out of it."
"It's…not a big deal?" Amy asked, her gaze back on her daughter as she tried to sort out exactly what the dynamic was here. "Is it...not the first time, or something?"
"No! I mean, yes, it is!" Marie squealed, covering her face. "It was just...like… we kissed, and then… 'oh my god!' from the sidelines. Marco ran off! It was awkward!"
John and Amy were, for a moment, of one mind, their eyes facing one direction. "James."
"Well, I won't be surprised next time!" the boy promised in defense of himself, raising both hands in a warding gesture.
"...Not sure what to think about this." Amy eventually muttered. "I mean, intellectually I know they're not that much younger than we were the first time we kissed, but…"
"Mom!" the twins cried, James suddenly cringing and making a gagging expression, Marie retreating back under the blanket.
"The first time you kissed me." John corrected, cupping his chin in one hand. "I don't know how much sense it makes to use us as an example of 'normal', Amy. Don't think we really have the social circle to judge what would be normal, either. I think it's probably fine if it's just at that level, though. Whether it's a 'like' or a 'love', whether it turns into anything in the long run or not, feelings are feelings, and I'm not going to be the sort of dad who gives instructions on how to feel your feelings, and who to feel them for."
A muffled, horrified "Dad!" rang out from under the blanket in Marie's voice.
"Rather," he continued, a mischievous grin on his face. "If Helena were onworld at the moment, I might call her up to share the news. She'd probably be interested to know that her boy's getting up to that sort of stuff."
So mighty were the groans of mortification from both sides that they could be felt bone deep by both parents as they had a private little laugh about the exchange.
There was very little more refreshing than finding a moment where they could just be a family for a while.
---
Scene 2
---
Johann held his hand up, a scowl breaking out on his lips, as the bottle of whiskey came out. "None for us, sorry. 'Fraid I can't exactly boast of my tolerance anymore, and-"
The Illyrian sneered, pouring one for himself as he gazed over the bridge of his glasses. "So quick to speak for your lady friend. I suppose our initial appraisal of your standing was not so far off the mark, Mr. O'Reilly, if you're keeping those in your company on such short leashes even in the public eye."
"My bodyguard," the ex-scavenger stressed, shooting over a quick glare as he met the other man's gaze. "Will not be drinking, for reasons relating to the basic responsibilities of her job. I'll beg your understanding in this matter, if not in others, Mr. Johansen. Now, I didn't exactly come all this way to make small talk, so-"
Karl Fritz Johansen, pushing his spectacles up towards his amber eyes, would not allow the pace of the conversation to be dictated to him as his eyes surveyed Alexandria, tracing along every detail of her as though scrutinizing a fishermans' wares. "And so you have left outside your swaths of well-muscled men with guns, to bring before me just a single young, slender 'bodyguard'? I have dealt with many pirates who sought to show me their eye candy as a form of peacocking, Mr. O'Reilly. While I may think less of you for it, it will not impact our business dealings."
Starlet's tongue clicked as she tapped a foot on the ground, glaring across the table as she dragged one hand across her temples to emphasize the way her haircut left them bare.
"Unless… you've brought a mechwarrior in here as your bodyguard." Karl amended, quirking one eyebrow high as he folded his hands in front of his mouth. "I won't say I understand the gesture, but I'm sure it has some symbolic meaning on whatever backwater your band hails from."
Johann was reaching the limits of his capacity for receiving snideness, and he decided to show it by reaching down slowly and in the most exaggerated way possible, to rake his fingernails across the man's ornate hardwood coffee table as he worked to sell the act. "I hate to break it to you, but Starlet does know her way around a gun too. Besides which, there's more to bodyguarding than the size of your arms. You've really gotta consider how well you're able to work with a person before you call 'em into this sort of ring, you know?"
Grinning, the local nodded as he plucked a macaron from his plate. "I believe I can understand your implication, yes. A bit amateur of you to let on that the majority of your people would be turncoat risks if they met someone with a bit more money, though."
"If you want to read it that way, be my guest." Johann spat with a roll of his eyes. "Now, how long are you planning on this show of strength lasting again, Port Commissioner? It was a long drive from the mountains to get all the way over here, you know. I'd really like to get down to business some time before I've spent a whole month on this parched, foul smelling rock."
The empty smile the man wore did little other than to show how much money he poured into his teeth. "It is hardly my fault that you couldn't afford the port membership fee like any normal visitor, Mr. O'Reilly. Most merchants have at least some liquid assets on hand when they, seeing a ripe opportunity where it exists, come to Illyria rather than waiting for us to come to them. Most pirates, even, have that level of sense to them."
The truth was, the decision to skip out on the port came from outside of Johann's grasp. Even though they'd brought money, some of Cameron and Clayton's folks had decided it was too rich for their blood - that it was 'more appropriate' to land on the outskirts and go through customs under rather than over the table.
Which left the hard work to Johann, of course. "Y'know, by most standards the purpose of a trade port is to draw in as much trade as possible - port services, I can get, a landing fee, I can get, but not offering anything less than an annual 'full service season pass'? It's more than a little absurd, don't you think?"
"It actually does quite a bit to stimulate traffic. The gears of commerce run smoother when reputable traders 'know' that the port isn't frequented by every petty bandit king in the region."
It wasn't exactly hard to read between the lines when there was a kilometer wide gap in the text. "Meanwhile, you get to make a tidy side business on the ones well behaved enough to come in from outside the port and sit down at your little table."
The man seriously needed to stop smiling. "And he knows his name! Now, I've only got about ten more minutes for you, tops, and my secretaries are rather useless, so do be so kind as to tell me what high value good makes you think you're worth my time personally?"
It was astronomically unlikely that the man was seriously that poorly staffed. Much more likely that the dickhead just couldn't get past his urge to make everything a show of his status for a few seconds. "I recently came by a tidy little mine, and it's a beauty of a thing. I got eight kilotons of shipping-grade germanium for you, mixed in with all the packing materials."
Snorting, the dick folded his hands in his lap while nodding. "Fascinating. Yes, I can see how that works. You 'came by' a mine, and now you're here to sell the proceeds. 15,000 a ton, flat."
A shit rate like that demanded a little haggling, even if it was useless. "That's less than half the market rate, in most places."
A little shrug capped it off. "You'll get what I'm offering and like it, unless you'd like to add another middleman and get 10,000 per ton instead. Now, you seem smart, so I'm sure we won't linger on that topic - I know how you pirates work, so just what does your little operation need to keep running? Perhaps some guns? Some water purifiers? Parts for a reactor? Oh, never mind, that's for my secretary to hash out with you - but really, good doing business with you, and I hope you'll come around again"
What a fucking prick.
- -
"What a fucking prick!" Johann shouted, kicking his left shoe across the floor as soon as he'd gotten it off, letting the debugged hotel room's walls bounce every syllable of his rage. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to come back and rip that sanctimonious ass-clown's head off!"
Alexandria, with a sigh, pulled his jacket off of his shoulders and stuck it on the rack, before patting him on the back. "Don't have a heart attack, old man. Seriously, don't. Some dirty flee merchant who makes rules so he can break them isn't worth thinking about after you've said goodbye. Just treat it as a vacation - until he delivers the goods, you're free from having to worry about what the bosses are going to tell you, and you get to just kick back and rest for once. If you play by those rules, you'll be easier to keep in one piece for the next few months."
"Kid!" O'Reilly shouted, throwing his hands up high. "Kid. Don't pretend like he ain't bothered you too. For everything he said about me, the shit he slang your way was a million times worth. You ain't some low-down bandit dirtbag's squeezetoy, but the way he was making matters out, you might as well have been. I'm used to being treated like dirt, but you, you deserve better than that. You don't need to accept that sort of treatment when someone slings it your way - if you'd made a fuss about it, I even would'a taken that ten thousand he quoted at us from someone else just to get away from him, bosses be damned. Don't just settle when you deserve better than you're getting."
"He's not worth that, O'Reilly. Everything that matters in the long run is back home. Throwing out the best deal we can expect just because the man is insufferable is pointless - we'll live better playing his rules day a year until we're clear to stop coming up this way than running on spite." she retorted, stripping off a layer herself to get down to something more comfortable for lounging around inside - the intermediate step between respectable clothing for a meeting with a public official, and appropriate clothing for the inside of a cockpit. "And besides that, don't let me hear you call yourself a 'low-down bandit dirtbag' again. That ain't you."
Massaging his face slowly, Johann sighed. "Goddamnit, Starlet, you ain't supposed to be the one acting mature like this. You should be living the easy life - if your head was on straight, you would be. My old lady croaked a long time ago, but that doesn't mean I need a girl your age to appoint herself as my mother."
"Laundry, cooking, medicine, appointments, protection… well now, I guess I am your mom." she agreed, flipping up one of her bangs in the process. "But I don't have a problem with that, old man. You ain't exactly good at keeping yourself alive, so someone needs to do it for you, and… well, what do you know? I'm actually a bit of a fan of having you alive. Moral of the story, you're stuck with me. Deal."
When it came down to this sort of disagreement, there was little to do but disengage - but that didn't mean it needed to be especially graceful. With that in mind, Johann threw his hands up in the air and dragged out the highest pitch his ravaged vocal folds could spit. "Ergh… Suit yourself, dumbass. Sure, we're in a heap of shady shit right now, playing frontman for the group that stayed back at the dropships, but it'll be fiiiine. Anything could happen to us - anything could be happening back there - but I'm sure it'll all work out in the end!"
But, well, parting shots came from both directions. "Wah wah, does the baby need his bottle?"
It was times like these that Johann sort of wished she were the silent type.
But then again, as long as she actually took the opportunity to settle down and live her own life safely when he gave her the option, some day, rather than quintupling down on the mistake of staying mixed up with him to the bitter end, he could deal with her bullshit until then.
If she could just make the right choice one time in her damn life, that'd give him the opportunity to retire himself. Maybe, just maybe, he'd even survive to be her kid's loser 'grandpa'.
Punching himself in the leg, he sighed. No, no. That sort of fantasy was more than he deserved, after everything he'd fucked up at.
---
Scene 3
---
Disembarking from the rudimentary 'spaceport's buggy felt like a lot of things. Most obviously, it felt like getting out of a primitive automobile with a shit suspension, which had been traveling over uneven, slushy ground spattered with the ejecta and mud thrown up by a small cluster of drive plumes introducing themselves to the dirt, and rocks, and lingering snow for a few minutes now. Less prosaically, it felt like the fact that he'd escaped the stuck up, corrupt smuggling pits of Illyria had struck Johann at once. Another step towards the fanciful would be to say that he was finally getting close to some answers as to the lingering questions in the back of his head.
Most baffling of all, though, was the thought as Alexandria stepped out of the shuttle after him, that it felt like he was finally going home or something. He hadn't had anything like that in close to thirty years.
"Agh, fuck, goddamn." he muttered into the dead air, pressing a hand into his own lower back hard enough to make a loud pop. "Get a real goddamn offroader, you pricks."
"We'll take that under advisement."
The soft boom of that voice knocked a sigh out of Johann as his gaze, and that of Alexandria, turned to refocus on the newly announced interloper...s.
There, in front of the hastily defined spaceport terminal, the ruling couple stood tall in their winter clothing, Jack's crossing behind Amelie's back and landing on her shoulder.
The lady of the land took the opportunity to speak up while Johann was still getting over their hasty - or, one supposed, not so hasty, when there was over a week's warning involved - greeting. "How was the vacation, you two? Did you have fun flying south for the winter?"
Where to even begin. "Would not recommend it. For a little while, escaping the chill was nice and all, and there was something 'to' getting to pretend I was in charge for awhile, but...well, Illyria fucking sucks. Some places, the who's who are just annoying - yourselves, by way of example. Illyria's an example hard down the worse road - everyone who's anyone is such an arrogant, self interested prick that you leave feeling like you're nothing, as long as they don't feel the need to flatter you. Which, ah, they didn't."
"Not a great place to go on an anniversary, then?" Jack quipped, raising one hand outwards in a mix of a shrug and a slap that only hit air. "I'll have to remember that, for future reference. Granted, your standards for travel destinations fall when you've spent a while in the chaos of Solaris, but it's sad to find out that the only decent - and I use the loosest terms possible - place in the area in Canopus."
The joke was almost enough to make O'Reilly gag, his eyes rolling as he stared down his self-appointed boss. "Welcome to the Periphery, you massive brat. Every hole's a shithole out here. That's how things boil down when you're out in the roughest corners of space, trying to make frayed ends meet. The more desperate things get, the more it becomes possible for the big people who keep the pirates away and the lights on to squeeze the little people for all they're worth - and the more they get their way today, the more they'll get their way tomorrow. Eventually, you end up with something like Illyria, where people start asking if they really need to keep all the pirates away, but they cling onto their pride as 'protectors'. Just ask Starlet - she got hit with their guff worse than me."
As the couple turned their gazes to Alexandria, though, their surroundings remained silent save for the wind, and slowly the pair began to wear amused expressions - for Jack, a grin. For Amelie, a toothy smile.
Slowly, Johann followed their gazes to his charge's face, finding her biting her lip and gazing downward at an angle, her eyes transfixed on something. Following her gaze in turn, his eyes arrived on the smaller boss's belly, which, now that he looked closer, was beginning to bulge outwards a bit. "Huh. Two of you having another kid?" he mused for a second, turning back to Alexandria and placing a hand on her shoulder without waiting for a response. Into her ear, he whispered a simple warning. "If that really matters to you like it seems to, you should start dating soon. For you, more than me, there's only so many chances to experience that for yourself - and you'd knock it out'a the park, so it'd be a shame to miss it."
"Wah!" the grown-ass kid cried, flinching away with her cheeks red as she refused to meet his gaze. "Goddamnit, old man, don't say that sort of shit! I can figure things like that out for myself, you know?"
Sighing, Johann stepped forward with a roll of his eyes and whispered again. "I know you can, Starlet. Thing is, you're twenty eight - you've got time, but you're not flush with it. Nowadays, you've got a chance to start looking, since we've put roots down, but time can slip away...real damn fast. Better to figure things out ahead of time than too late."
Turning away completely, the youth released a loud 'hmph'. "Whatever, old man. Maybe you can practice what you preach, before you try to sling it at others?"
"I...gh..."
A soft chuckle pierced the awkward air as the mother-to-be-season-two stepped forward. "We wouldn't happen to be getting in the middle of something, you two? Jack and I could give you a minute, then we could finish this welcome party when the two of you are ready, if you'd like."
Johann would sooner die than do something as humiliating as ask these two for a 'private moment'. "No need. We were just...juuuuust about done, and it's nothing too important. Anyways… Starlet, we were waiting on you to give your take on Illyria."
Grumbling, Alexandria shifted back and forth for a few moments before setting on giving her response while continuing to face away. "Oh! Yeah, uh… Place sucks. The sort of folks who go walking out on the street get a shit hand, while the people at the top are free to do whatever they want to give themselves a better deal going forward. Bunch of hypocrites - they thought the old man was a pirate, but they had no trouble doing business with him."
A collective sigh ran around the group, nobody quite having it in them to point out that that was just a retreading of things that were already said.
Eventually, Johann spoke up again, massaging his forehead. "I didn't want to be the one to say this, but apparently she's not in the mood to - pretty consistently, people got it into their heads that she 'must' have been a slave, a hooker, or a trophy wife, because those are all things pirates bring to meetings, apparently. They had no trouble saying it to her face, either - the fucking disrespect was off the charts, I swear."
"...Well." Amy muttered, cupping her chin. "Sorry for sending the two of you on such a rotten trip, then. Was it at least productive?"
"Was it productive?" Johann mimicked, throwing his hands in the air. "I guess, maybe. If you squint. Pay was about half what we'd get selling to a shipyard directly, but it's close, so whatever. Got gouged on the buying end, too. So, yeah, we've got your shooters, your nice little odds and ends, a little of everything on the shopping list, really, but the quantities aren't exactly...great. I can't imagine how much progress you'll actually make with just this much."
The big lug broke back into the conversation at that point, stepping forward to pat Johann and Starlet on the shoulders as though it meant anything. "Bit of a disappointment, especially when it was such an unpleasant trip, but not exactly unexpected. We'll have to make do with what we've got for the meanwhile - we can rely on local technology and a few imports for a little while if we have to, until we can start rolling out… well, at least fission power, basic computers, something we can pretend deserves the name 'tank', jets - those sorts of things."
"There's the childish optimism. You know, it's crazy to expect more from the place than it's got anytime soon, right? There are more promising places that've achieved about as much - New Abilene, in Canopus, as an example, ought to be better off by most metrics, but it's almost as much of a hole in the end." Johan spat with a grin, stepping up to the massive form of his boss.
"Well, yes, but…" Jack began, trailing off after a second before resuming, the whole while giving the faint impression of having changed tracks. "In the case of Canopus, there's never been any real organized effort to fix those sorts of backwaters up - just a halfhearted push to get wealthy individuals to organize slight, incremental fixes themselves."
Johann was about to make his own retort when Starlet stepped in. "When we'd just gotten here, maybe I would have accepted that as the reason, Mr. Cameron. But things don't add up in the long run, that way. If the big secret were nothing other than 'trying hard', you'd need to be a paranoid crazy in ways we haven't seen hide nor hair of to be so obsessed with secrecy. Back on Illyria, your folks were about as cagey as can be - they wouldn't even let us near A Kiss and a Prayer, let alone into the cargo bays, which really makes you think they found something interesting while we were away - but it should really take more than a month of looking around randomly to find anything good, especially in the periphery. There's more to what you've going on here than what you're willing to talk about, but you're not that good at hiding it. If I checked into one of the universities in the city, as an example - what kind of books would I find in the library?"
Nearly choking at the thought of those allegations - and just as much so at the idea that the kid was dumb enough to let on that she was onto those sorts of things, in the event that they were true - Johann jumped in as quickly as possible, looking to blunt the attention directed at here. "Y-yeah! That's what I was gonna say too! Look, I got no problem working for you two clowns if you treat us right, but that ain't what's happening here, is it? You're making us do all the heavy lifting, meanwhile you're sitting back here riding high on some sort of lostech find, aren't you? It ain't just disrespectful, it's downright counterproductive - how are we supposed to help if we don't know what we're helping with?"
Slowly, Cameron and Clayton exchanged a look with each other, periodically glancing back to their errand duo with eyes that practically shouted 'did you just grow second heads?'. A silence seemed to overtake the field, even with the cargo trucks offloading the dropships in the distance.
Sweat beaded on Johann's forehead.
"How have you two functioned this long?" Amelie asked, two fingers supporting her chin as she dug the respective pointer finger into her cheek. "No, that's not fair. You've probably just never been in a situation like this before. You could do with learning a little bit of tact and subtlety though."
So saying, she paused to sigh deeply as Jack took over. "Look, you've pieced together quite a bit here, so there's little sense in saying 'no, nothing's happening'. Suffice it to say… yes, we've had a lucky find in our time, and yes, we're trying to keep it on the down-low, because it'd suck to be killed for it before it could amount to anything. Part of that is some maps - we sent you to Illyria in part to get at the ruins of an old machine shop, in part to trade. Can we leave it at that, though? The less you know, the less someone can beat out of you with a rubber hose. Suffice it to say, things are going places, and you'll here to benefit from it - and that's all we're keen to say, until the situation is a bit more stable here."
"You know, for all your own talk of tact and subtlety, you two could really do with being a little slower to admit this sort of shit." Johann noted, his expression flat as he suppressed the rolling chaos of his nerves throughout this absurd situation. "And ruthlessness as well. I certainly wouldn't trust me with keeping this sort of secret while in contact with the outside world, if I were you."
Shaking her head, Amy wore an empty grin. "Oh, make no mistake. You won't be getting any chances to slip away from your chaperones any time in the future. If you spread the knowledge to someone who shouldn't have it - that's just about anyone, by the way - they'll be ready to do what needs to be done."
"Ominous." Johann grumbled, shaking his head irritably. "I'm sure the info is worth a lot to the right people, but I've been around the block enough times to know I probably wouldn't get to stick around to enjoy any rewards they promised, even if they believe me. So, in that regard, your secret's safe. On the other hand...if you start trying to screw us on this, of your own accord, you'll have your own special opportunity to learn just how well this old man can dance when he sees you coming."
More than a few people had been surprised by it in the past. People who'd hired him, people he'd hired, even a few people he was sent after. Johann Sebastian O'Reilly had his ways.
A brief silence overtook the air, before the hollow smile morphed into one even more disgustingly, cloyingly, faux-sweet. "I'm glad we've come to this understanding."
--------
Just some little family moments this time. Plus a few tense encounters I guess.
Scene 1
---
Winter was beginning to fall over the northern hemisphere of Alphard, and with its invasion creeping down south the isthmus of Attica was left with no choice but to watch the first snowfall of the year marching inland along the coast of the great inland sea, transformed into a blizzard by the cold polar waters flowing south along the coastline. The ostentatiously named city of Kallipolis, which straddled the coasts of salt lake and Ionian Ocean alike in the southern reaches of the area, was no exception.
Fields rich with ripening grain and green pasture in the rest of the year, the envy of much of the world, hid under a blanket of white powder that made them impossible to divide from the neighboring parched nullarbors of permeable karst. Meanwhile, throughout the city, hundreds of thousands of chimneys belched black and grey smoke into the air, singing a song of their resident's survivals.
In the appropriated palace of the former king, much as was common in the younger buildings of the city, this smoke issued not from individual fireplaces but from a central coal boiler which fed steam through a myriad of radiators, freeing the residents from spending months in a sooty hell.
Or rather, it would have, if it hadn't been removed the day before in a scheduling mixup. Having served John and Amy faithfully for the past few years, it was tragically stripped from them two weeks before the electricians were originally expected to greenlight the building's new electric radiators for use. That left only the piddly heat provided by a few fireplaces and stoves in their respective rooms to keep the place bearable, until the expedited safety checks concluded - ideally, later that night - and the electrical system was turned on.
Amy's back pressed into John's back as the lad pulled a thick blanket tight around them. "Joke's on us. We sent that barking dog off to play fetch, and it let him skip out on this shit. He's probably toasty fucking warm on that dropship right now."
"We could always buy out a hotel until the work is done." John offered, tying the corners of the blanket together to free up his hands for a hug. "I'm sure they'd be happy for the business, in this weather."
Snorting, Amy laced her arms through his and rested her head against him. "Rejected. That'd mean scaring the balls off of them with our security detail and sweeping the perimeter for just a few days of usage. Now, let me bitch about the travesty of Johann escaping from this shit hand of cards a little more."
"Okay, now, he would have just gone to a hotel." John pointed out, bringing his legs up under the blanket and, in the process, forcing Amy's head slightly closer to his, height-wise. "The man doesn't exactly have his own security detail, and he certainly wouldn't be content with slumming it in the old servant's quarters without the heat on. Sometimes, he sounds like he's going to die of coughing without having the flu."
"That's...fair." Amy slowly admitted, shrugging heavily. "Well, at least a bad is balanced by a good - some of the Birds are skipping out on the blizzard as well, and that's alright by me. I just hope Illyria isn't too rough to them."
"Where they'll be landing? I think winter hits in March, but aside from that they shouldn't run into too many problems." the humanoid space heater mused, before shaking his head with a wry grin. "Honestly, though, it's not so bad that Johann and Alexandria are getting out of the cold. I'll grant that the man is awful, but he's not that bad. Well, I can understand him - why he is the way he is - at least a little, and I think you would too."
"How do you figure?" came the skeptical reply, little spoon craning her head to get some manner of look at her big spoon's face.
Shifting in the chair a little, John sighed. "The things he's willing to do are insane, no doubt, but the sense I get from talking to him is that he's not really very interested in himself. Certainly, he talks a big game and acts like he means it, but there's a hollowness to that. Calling him a dog wasn't too far off, because I think there's nothing left in the man but loyalty at this point. He's a corpse shambling forward in memory of a woman who's dead or worse, living on in service to the last person who connects him to that memory. Or at least, his own idea of service to that last person."
"You talking about the lady who follows him around like she's a moth and he's a lightbulb? Between the two of them, it should be obvious which one is living to serve the other." Amy snorted, giving John a funny look with her eyebrow raised.
"It's both of them. They're both living the life they think the other one needs them to live." John corrected, tickling Amy's sides just to hear her giggle. "But he's not her dad, and she's not his mom. Honestly, they could both use a lesson I was taught about seventeen years ago - in the end, if you're completely blinded by the idea that you're responsible for someone, you're not really looking at that person or their wants, and you'll regret the missed opportunities at the end of things."
"What genius gave you that gem, casanova?" Amy asked automatically, but as she thought more her neck slowly craned back into a forward-facing posture and she cupped her chin. "Oh. Oh, was it the festival medic guy? Chuck, was it? I vaguely remember you switching up your act around then."
Grinning into the emptiness of the room ahead, John rested his chin atop Amy's head. "In the interest of protecting the innocent, I can neither confirm or deny, nor give names."
A fierce pout pointed out in the same direction, the mis-aimed, menacing visage threatening death to the coffee table. Fortunately, the coffee table wasn't scared. "Well, I've got an interest in protecting your innocents too, buddy, but that doesn't mean I keep people's names secrets."
"Pfhgh-!" John snorted, squeezing Amy around the waste. "My innocents? Is that what you call my balls in your head or something?"
"Shaddap!" Amy squeaked as her abdomen was compressed, face fiery red, before her mind pivoted back to the topic at hand as the pressure was relaxed. "But… so… with O'Reilly, you figure the fact that he's doing it all for someone else excuses it or something?"
"Excuse nothing. The things he's done, and the things he's willing to do, can't be excused by something like that. His lack of any real sense of ethics or morals is his worst trait." John denied, his stubble tickling Amy's scalp through her hair as he shook his head. "But I can understand him. There's little more natural than killing for the ones you love - we've gone far enough with that ourselves that it might as well be in our wedding oaths."
The conversation ended when the door flew open, and in barreled two youths fast approaching Amy's adult height, the form of each practically buried within downy winter coats, one green and one yellow. Racing, the two made their ways over to the roaring fireplace before holding out their hands, shivering as they tried to warm up.
"James, Marie, take off those coats and get in this blanket." Amy insisted, fixing the fireplace with a dubious gaze. "That thing is worthless for heating the room."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Alright!"
Removing the coats was as simple for the two as working one zipper down from top to bottom and then struggling out of the thick, marshmallow-puffed garments. As the twins then removed their hats and goggles, leaving the whole mess to dry on the floor by the fire, if it was so inclined, four hazel eyes gazed at John and Amelia, one set frustrated and the other pleased to be there.
As she drew close in her green sweater, which matched the coat she'd discarded on the floor, Marie crossed her arms in a mix of frustration and an attempt to stay warm, pouting as she crept up into the group hug under the blanket.
James, meanwhile, wore a faint grin as he, clad in yellow, joined in on the huddle, uniting the full family under one blanket.
It was aggressively warm, which was exactly what the circumstances demanded.
"So." John began with a smile as he drew all the most important people in his life into one bear hug. "How was school today?"
Wrinkling her nose, Marie gave a response that was not. "Dad...you stink!"
"Well, the teacher's moving everyone else through the material a little slower than we are here, but it's still a fun time. Plus, it means we get to help the ones who don't quite get it!" James cheered, squeezing in as tight as he could.
"I'm glad you're having a good time. Before smart, strong, rich, or popular, I want you to be happy above all else." John softly stated, patting his son gently on the shoulder. His attention then turned to the other side, where his daughter was pinching her nose. "What about you, Marie? Did you have a good day today? You seem like you're having a bit of a bad time over there."
The girl's cheeks flushed a bit red as she retreated under the blanket and out of sight.
"You know it's going to smell even worse under there, right?" Amy asked, nudging Marie gently. "Is something wrong?"
"Marie kissed Marco just after class!" James volunteered, raising his hand up high.
Blinking slowly, Amy turned her gaze to her son as a high pitched groan of frustration rose from the depths of the snuggle. "And that's...bad?"
Slowly, unstoppably, Marie poked her head back into vision, a vicious glare fixed on her twin as she bit her lip and pointed. "It was fine until this idiot showed up and made a big deal out of it."
"It's…not a big deal?" Amy asked, her gaze back on her daughter as she tried to sort out exactly what the dynamic was here. "Is it...not the first time, or something?"
"No! I mean, yes, it is!" Marie squealed, covering her face. "It was just...like… we kissed, and then… 'oh my god!' from the sidelines. Marco ran off! It was awkward!"
John and Amy were, for a moment, of one mind, their eyes facing one direction. "James."
"Well, I won't be surprised next time!" the boy promised in defense of himself, raising both hands in a warding gesture.
"...Not sure what to think about this." Amy eventually muttered. "I mean, intellectually I know they're not that much younger than we were the first time we kissed, but…"
"Mom!" the twins cried, James suddenly cringing and making a gagging expression, Marie retreating back under the blanket.
"The first time you kissed me." John corrected, cupping his chin in one hand. "I don't know how much sense it makes to use us as an example of 'normal', Amy. Don't think we really have the social circle to judge what would be normal, either. I think it's probably fine if it's just at that level, though. Whether it's a 'like' or a 'love', whether it turns into anything in the long run or not, feelings are feelings, and I'm not going to be the sort of dad who gives instructions on how to feel your feelings, and who to feel them for."
A muffled, horrified "Dad!" rang out from under the blanket in Marie's voice.
"Rather," he continued, a mischievous grin on his face. "If Helena were onworld at the moment, I might call her up to share the news. She'd probably be interested to know that her boy's getting up to that sort of stuff."
So mighty were the groans of mortification from both sides that they could be felt bone deep by both parents as they had a private little laugh about the exchange.
There was very little more refreshing than finding a moment where they could just be a family for a while.
---
Scene 2
---
Johann held his hand up, a scowl breaking out on his lips, as the bottle of whiskey came out. "None for us, sorry. 'Fraid I can't exactly boast of my tolerance anymore, and-"
The Illyrian sneered, pouring one for himself as he gazed over the bridge of his glasses. "So quick to speak for your lady friend. I suppose our initial appraisal of your standing was not so far off the mark, Mr. O'Reilly, if you're keeping those in your company on such short leashes even in the public eye."
"My bodyguard," the ex-scavenger stressed, shooting over a quick glare as he met the other man's gaze. "Will not be drinking, for reasons relating to the basic responsibilities of her job. I'll beg your understanding in this matter, if not in others, Mr. Johansen. Now, I didn't exactly come all this way to make small talk, so-"
Karl Fritz Johansen, pushing his spectacles up towards his amber eyes, would not allow the pace of the conversation to be dictated to him as his eyes surveyed Alexandria, tracing along every detail of her as though scrutinizing a fishermans' wares. "And so you have left outside your swaths of well-muscled men with guns, to bring before me just a single young, slender 'bodyguard'? I have dealt with many pirates who sought to show me their eye candy as a form of peacocking, Mr. O'Reilly. While I may think less of you for it, it will not impact our business dealings."
Starlet's tongue clicked as she tapped a foot on the ground, glaring across the table as she dragged one hand across her temples to emphasize the way her haircut left them bare.
"Unless… you've brought a mechwarrior in here as your bodyguard." Karl amended, quirking one eyebrow high as he folded his hands in front of his mouth. "I won't say I understand the gesture, but I'm sure it has some symbolic meaning on whatever backwater your band hails from."
Johann was reaching the limits of his capacity for receiving snideness, and he decided to show it by reaching down slowly and in the most exaggerated way possible, to rake his fingernails across the man's ornate hardwood coffee table as he worked to sell the act. "I hate to break it to you, but Starlet does know her way around a gun too. Besides which, there's more to bodyguarding than the size of your arms. You've really gotta consider how well you're able to work with a person before you call 'em into this sort of ring, you know?"
Grinning, the local nodded as he plucked a macaron from his plate. "I believe I can understand your implication, yes. A bit amateur of you to let on that the majority of your people would be turncoat risks if they met someone with a bit more money, though."
"If you want to read it that way, be my guest." Johann spat with a roll of his eyes. "Now, how long are you planning on this show of strength lasting again, Port Commissioner? It was a long drive from the mountains to get all the way over here, you know. I'd really like to get down to business some time before I've spent a whole month on this parched, foul smelling rock."
The empty smile the man wore did little other than to show how much money he poured into his teeth. "It is hardly my fault that you couldn't afford the port membership fee like any normal visitor, Mr. O'Reilly. Most merchants have at least some liquid assets on hand when they, seeing a ripe opportunity where it exists, come to Illyria rather than waiting for us to come to them. Most pirates, even, have that level of sense to them."
The truth was, the decision to skip out on the port came from outside of Johann's grasp. Even though they'd brought money, some of Cameron and Clayton's folks had decided it was too rich for their blood - that it was 'more appropriate' to land on the outskirts and go through customs under rather than over the table.
Which left the hard work to Johann, of course. "Y'know, by most standards the purpose of a trade port is to draw in as much trade as possible - port services, I can get, a landing fee, I can get, but not offering anything less than an annual 'full service season pass'? It's more than a little absurd, don't you think?"
"It actually does quite a bit to stimulate traffic. The gears of commerce run smoother when reputable traders 'know' that the port isn't frequented by every petty bandit king in the region."
It wasn't exactly hard to read between the lines when there was a kilometer wide gap in the text. "Meanwhile, you get to make a tidy side business on the ones well behaved enough to come in from outside the port and sit down at your little table."
The man seriously needed to stop smiling. "And he knows his name! Now, I've only got about ten more minutes for you, tops, and my secretaries are rather useless, so do be so kind as to tell me what high value good makes you think you're worth my time personally?"
It was astronomically unlikely that the man was seriously that poorly staffed. Much more likely that the dickhead just couldn't get past his urge to make everything a show of his status for a few seconds. "I recently came by a tidy little mine, and it's a beauty of a thing. I got eight kilotons of shipping-grade germanium for you, mixed in with all the packing materials."
Snorting, the dick folded his hands in his lap while nodding. "Fascinating. Yes, I can see how that works. You 'came by' a mine, and now you're here to sell the proceeds. 15,000 a ton, flat."
A shit rate like that demanded a little haggling, even if it was useless. "That's less than half the market rate, in most places."
A little shrug capped it off. "You'll get what I'm offering and like it, unless you'd like to add another middleman and get 10,000 per ton instead. Now, you seem smart, so I'm sure we won't linger on that topic - I know how you pirates work, so just what does your little operation need to keep running? Perhaps some guns? Some water purifiers? Parts for a reactor? Oh, never mind, that's for my secretary to hash out with you - but really, good doing business with you, and I hope you'll come around again"
What a fucking prick.
- -
"What a fucking prick!" Johann shouted, kicking his left shoe across the floor as soon as he'd gotten it off, letting the debugged hotel room's walls bounce every syllable of his rage. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to come back and rip that sanctimonious ass-clown's head off!"
Alexandria, with a sigh, pulled his jacket off of his shoulders and stuck it on the rack, before patting him on the back. "Don't have a heart attack, old man. Seriously, don't. Some dirty flee merchant who makes rules so he can break them isn't worth thinking about after you've said goodbye. Just treat it as a vacation - until he delivers the goods, you're free from having to worry about what the bosses are going to tell you, and you get to just kick back and rest for once. If you play by those rules, you'll be easier to keep in one piece for the next few months."
"Kid!" O'Reilly shouted, throwing his hands up high. "Kid. Don't pretend like he ain't bothered you too. For everything he said about me, the shit he slang your way was a million times worth. You ain't some low-down bandit dirtbag's squeezetoy, but the way he was making matters out, you might as well have been. I'm used to being treated like dirt, but you, you deserve better than that. You don't need to accept that sort of treatment when someone slings it your way - if you'd made a fuss about it, I even would'a taken that ten thousand he quoted at us from someone else just to get away from him, bosses be damned. Don't just settle when you deserve better than you're getting."
"He's not worth that, O'Reilly. Everything that matters in the long run is back home. Throwing out the best deal we can expect just because the man is insufferable is pointless - we'll live better playing his rules day a year until we're clear to stop coming up this way than running on spite." she retorted, stripping off a layer herself to get down to something more comfortable for lounging around inside - the intermediate step between respectable clothing for a meeting with a public official, and appropriate clothing for the inside of a cockpit. "And besides that, don't let me hear you call yourself a 'low-down bandit dirtbag' again. That ain't you."
Massaging his face slowly, Johann sighed. "Goddamnit, Starlet, you ain't supposed to be the one acting mature like this. You should be living the easy life - if your head was on straight, you would be. My old lady croaked a long time ago, but that doesn't mean I need a girl your age to appoint herself as my mother."
"Laundry, cooking, medicine, appointments, protection… well now, I guess I am your mom." she agreed, flipping up one of her bangs in the process. "But I don't have a problem with that, old man. You ain't exactly good at keeping yourself alive, so someone needs to do it for you, and… well, what do you know? I'm actually a bit of a fan of having you alive. Moral of the story, you're stuck with me. Deal."
When it came down to this sort of disagreement, there was little to do but disengage - but that didn't mean it needed to be especially graceful. With that in mind, Johann threw his hands up in the air and dragged out the highest pitch his ravaged vocal folds could spit. "Ergh… Suit yourself, dumbass. Sure, we're in a heap of shady shit right now, playing frontman for the group that stayed back at the dropships, but it'll be fiiiine. Anything could happen to us - anything could be happening back there - but I'm sure it'll all work out in the end!"
But, well, parting shots came from both directions. "Wah wah, does the baby need his bottle?"
It was times like these that Johann sort of wished she were the silent type.
But then again, as long as she actually took the opportunity to settle down and live her own life safely when he gave her the option, some day, rather than quintupling down on the mistake of staying mixed up with him to the bitter end, he could deal with her bullshit until then.
If she could just make the right choice one time in her damn life, that'd give him the opportunity to retire himself. Maybe, just maybe, he'd even survive to be her kid's loser 'grandpa'.
Punching himself in the leg, he sighed. No, no. That sort of fantasy was more than he deserved, after everything he'd fucked up at.
---
Scene 3
---
Disembarking from the rudimentary 'spaceport's buggy felt like a lot of things. Most obviously, it felt like getting out of a primitive automobile with a shit suspension, which had been traveling over uneven, slushy ground spattered with the ejecta and mud thrown up by a small cluster of drive plumes introducing themselves to the dirt, and rocks, and lingering snow for a few minutes now. Less prosaically, it felt like the fact that he'd escaped the stuck up, corrupt smuggling pits of Illyria had struck Johann at once. Another step towards the fanciful would be to say that he was finally getting close to some answers as to the lingering questions in the back of his head.
Most baffling of all, though, was the thought as Alexandria stepped out of the shuttle after him, that it felt like he was finally going home or something. He hadn't had anything like that in close to thirty years.
"Agh, fuck, goddamn." he muttered into the dead air, pressing a hand into his own lower back hard enough to make a loud pop. "Get a real goddamn offroader, you pricks."
"We'll take that under advisement."
The soft boom of that voice knocked a sigh out of Johann as his gaze, and that of Alexandria, turned to refocus on the newly announced interloper...s.
There, in front of the hastily defined spaceport terminal, the ruling couple stood tall in their winter clothing, Jack's crossing behind Amelie's back and landing on her shoulder.
The lady of the land took the opportunity to speak up while Johann was still getting over their hasty - or, one supposed, not so hasty, when there was over a week's warning involved - greeting. "How was the vacation, you two? Did you have fun flying south for the winter?"
Where to even begin. "Would not recommend it. For a little while, escaping the chill was nice and all, and there was something 'to' getting to pretend I was in charge for awhile, but...well, Illyria fucking sucks. Some places, the who's who are just annoying - yourselves, by way of example. Illyria's an example hard down the worse road - everyone who's anyone is such an arrogant, self interested prick that you leave feeling like you're nothing, as long as they don't feel the need to flatter you. Which, ah, they didn't."
"Not a great place to go on an anniversary, then?" Jack quipped, raising one hand outwards in a mix of a shrug and a slap that only hit air. "I'll have to remember that, for future reference. Granted, your standards for travel destinations fall when you've spent a while in the chaos of Solaris, but it's sad to find out that the only decent - and I use the loosest terms possible - place in the area in Canopus."
The joke was almost enough to make O'Reilly gag, his eyes rolling as he stared down his self-appointed boss. "Welcome to the Periphery, you massive brat. Every hole's a shithole out here. That's how things boil down when you're out in the roughest corners of space, trying to make frayed ends meet. The more desperate things get, the more it becomes possible for the big people who keep the pirates away and the lights on to squeeze the little people for all they're worth - and the more they get their way today, the more they'll get their way tomorrow. Eventually, you end up with something like Illyria, where people start asking if they really need to keep all the pirates away, but they cling onto their pride as 'protectors'. Just ask Starlet - she got hit with their guff worse than me."
As the couple turned their gazes to Alexandria, though, their surroundings remained silent save for the wind, and slowly the pair began to wear amused expressions - for Jack, a grin. For Amelie, a toothy smile.
Slowly, Johann followed their gazes to his charge's face, finding her biting her lip and gazing downward at an angle, her eyes transfixed on something. Following her gaze in turn, his eyes arrived on the smaller boss's belly, which, now that he looked closer, was beginning to bulge outwards a bit. "Huh. Two of you having another kid?" he mused for a second, turning back to Alexandria and placing a hand on her shoulder without waiting for a response. Into her ear, he whispered a simple warning. "If that really matters to you like it seems to, you should start dating soon. For you, more than me, there's only so many chances to experience that for yourself - and you'd knock it out'a the park, so it'd be a shame to miss it."
"Wah!" the grown-ass kid cried, flinching away with her cheeks red as she refused to meet his gaze. "Goddamnit, old man, don't say that sort of shit! I can figure things like that out for myself, you know?"
Sighing, Johann stepped forward with a roll of his eyes and whispered again. "I know you can, Starlet. Thing is, you're twenty eight - you've got time, but you're not flush with it. Nowadays, you've got a chance to start looking, since we've put roots down, but time can slip away...real damn fast. Better to figure things out ahead of time than too late."
Turning away completely, the youth released a loud 'hmph'. "Whatever, old man. Maybe you can practice what you preach, before you try to sling it at others?"
"I...gh..."
A soft chuckle pierced the awkward air as the mother-to-be-season-two stepped forward. "We wouldn't happen to be getting in the middle of something, you two? Jack and I could give you a minute, then we could finish this welcome party when the two of you are ready, if you'd like."
Johann would sooner die than do something as humiliating as ask these two for a 'private moment'. "No need. We were just...juuuuust about done, and it's nothing too important. Anyways… Starlet, we were waiting on you to give your take on Illyria."
Grumbling, Alexandria shifted back and forth for a few moments before setting on giving her response while continuing to face away. "Oh! Yeah, uh… Place sucks. The sort of folks who go walking out on the street get a shit hand, while the people at the top are free to do whatever they want to give themselves a better deal going forward. Bunch of hypocrites - they thought the old man was a pirate, but they had no trouble doing business with him."
A collective sigh ran around the group, nobody quite having it in them to point out that that was just a retreading of things that were already said.
Eventually, Johann spoke up again, massaging his forehead. "I didn't want to be the one to say this, but apparently she's not in the mood to - pretty consistently, people got it into their heads that she 'must' have been a slave, a hooker, or a trophy wife, because those are all things pirates bring to meetings, apparently. They had no trouble saying it to her face, either - the fucking disrespect was off the charts, I swear."
"...Well." Amy muttered, cupping her chin. "Sorry for sending the two of you on such a rotten trip, then. Was it at least productive?"
"Was it productive?" Johann mimicked, throwing his hands in the air. "I guess, maybe. If you squint. Pay was about half what we'd get selling to a shipyard directly, but it's close, so whatever. Got gouged on the buying end, too. So, yeah, we've got your shooters, your nice little odds and ends, a little of everything on the shopping list, really, but the quantities aren't exactly...great. I can't imagine how much progress you'll actually make with just this much."
The big lug broke back into the conversation at that point, stepping forward to pat Johann and Starlet on the shoulders as though it meant anything. "Bit of a disappointment, especially when it was such an unpleasant trip, but not exactly unexpected. We'll have to make do with what we've got for the meanwhile - we can rely on local technology and a few imports for a little while if we have to, until we can start rolling out… well, at least fission power, basic computers, something we can pretend deserves the name 'tank', jets - those sorts of things."
"There's the childish optimism. You know, it's crazy to expect more from the place than it's got anytime soon, right? There are more promising places that've achieved about as much - New Abilene, in Canopus, as an example, ought to be better off by most metrics, but it's almost as much of a hole in the end." Johan spat with a grin, stepping up to the massive form of his boss.
"Well, yes, but…" Jack began, trailing off after a second before resuming, the whole while giving the faint impression of having changed tracks. "In the case of Canopus, there's never been any real organized effort to fix those sorts of backwaters up - just a halfhearted push to get wealthy individuals to organize slight, incremental fixes themselves."
Johann was about to make his own retort when Starlet stepped in. "When we'd just gotten here, maybe I would have accepted that as the reason, Mr. Cameron. But things don't add up in the long run, that way. If the big secret were nothing other than 'trying hard', you'd need to be a paranoid crazy in ways we haven't seen hide nor hair of to be so obsessed with secrecy. Back on Illyria, your folks were about as cagey as can be - they wouldn't even let us near A Kiss and a Prayer, let alone into the cargo bays, which really makes you think they found something interesting while we were away - but it should really take more than a month of looking around randomly to find anything good, especially in the periphery. There's more to what you've going on here than what you're willing to talk about, but you're not that good at hiding it. If I checked into one of the universities in the city, as an example - what kind of books would I find in the library?"
Nearly choking at the thought of those allegations - and just as much so at the idea that the kid was dumb enough to let on that she was onto those sorts of things, in the event that they were true - Johann jumped in as quickly as possible, looking to blunt the attention directed at here. "Y-yeah! That's what I was gonna say too! Look, I got no problem working for you two clowns if you treat us right, but that ain't what's happening here, is it? You're making us do all the heavy lifting, meanwhile you're sitting back here riding high on some sort of lostech find, aren't you? It ain't just disrespectful, it's downright counterproductive - how are we supposed to help if we don't know what we're helping with?"
Slowly, Cameron and Clayton exchanged a look with each other, periodically glancing back to their errand duo with eyes that practically shouted 'did you just grow second heads?'. A silence seemed to overtake the field, even with the cargo trucks offloading the dropships in the distance.
Sweat beaded on Johann's forehead.
"How have you two functioned this long?" Amelie asked, two fingers supporting her chin as she dug the respective pointer finger into her cheek. "No, that's not fair. You've probably just never been in a situation like this before. You could do with learning a little bit of tact and subtlety though."
So saying, she paused to sigh deeply as Jack took over. "Look, you've pieced together quite a bit here, so there's little sense in saying 'no, nothing's happening'. Suffice it to say… yes, we've had a lucky find in our time, and yes, we're trying to keep it on the down-low, because it'd suck to be killed for it before it could amount to anything. Part of that is some maps - we sent you to Illyria in part to get at the ruins of an old machine shop, in part to trade. Can we leave it at that, though? The less you know, the less someone can beat out of you with a rubber hose. Suffice it to say, things are going places, and you'll here to benefit from it - and that's all we're keen to say, until the situation is a bit more stable here."
"You know, for all your own talk of tact and subtlety, you two could really do with being a little slower to admit this sort of shit." Johann noted, his expression flat as he suppressed the rolling chaos of his nerves throughout this absurd situation. "And ruthlessness as well. I certainly wouldn't trust me with keeping this sort of secret while in contact with the outside world, if I were you."
Shaking her head, Amy wore an empty grin. "Oh, make no mistake. You won't be getting any chances to slip away from your chaperones any time in the future. If you spread the knowledge to someone who shouldn't have it - that's just about anyone, by the way - they'll be ready to do what needs to be done."
"Ominous." Johann grumbled, shaking his head irritably. "I'm sure the info is worth a lot to the right people, but I've been around the block enough times to know I probably wouldn't get to stick around to enjoy any rewards they promised, even if they believe me. So, in that regard, your secret's safe. On the other hand...if you start trying to screw us on this, of your own accord, you'll have your own special opportunity to learn just how well this old man can dance when he sees you coming."
More than a few people had been surprised by it in the past. People who'd hired him, people he'd hired, even a few people he was sent after. Johann Sebastian O'Reilly had his ways.
A brief silence overtook the air, before the hollow smile morphed into one even more disgustingly, cloyingly, faux-sweet. "I'm glad we've come to this understanding."
--------
Just some little family moments this time. Plus a few tense encounters I guess.
I'm still surprised they went to Illyria rather then the MoC right off. They would get a better price for the germanium and there would be more things to buy.
Seriously, hell even the Taurians would have given them a better deal if they just snuck enough "fuck the Davions" propaganda in there. I guess that is the point though. Regardless of circumstance, no one really gives a shit about the Illyrians. The Canopians are at least space Vegas and thus at least somewhat worthy of attention.
I'm still waiting for the MC's to introduce some new industry to their planet after all the Taurians launched a 740,000 ton warship just 111 years after settling Tuarus. Even if the Taurians brought more industrial equipment with them the MC's have a lot more knowledge at their disposal. So if they pulled something from their files like a duel use factory to produce tractors and tanks would be a good start. Something equivalent to a Scorpion with a heavy rifle and industrial armor.
plotvitalnpc
Once more walking the path of the catgirl.
This is, essentially, it.
A more minor site is much less likely to be surveilled heavily. Canopus, they can expect to be full of Canopian intelligence. Taurus, of Taurian intelligence (though actually, it's full of every other kind of intelligence but that). Plus the added factor of them already not totally trusting comstar, which has presences throughout those countries. Illyrian intelligence, though, scares nobody. The place is so minor that nobody would ever expect it to have decent intelligence.
But few people, if anybody, are watching Illyria... and because the world is much less developed it's easier to hit up recorded caches there undetected than if you're rooting around in someone's farm.
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KlavoHunter
THOU SHALT WORSHIP NO GODS ABOVE ENTERPRISE!
I'm a moron who got super confused to realize that whole first part really was on Terra. For whatever reason I just totally assumed this all HAD to be out in the Periphery already because of the "O'Reilly" name being important and John's father having all this power. I thought that it was a bunch of weird periphery hicks insisting on calling their planet Terra for whatever reason...
The headers at the start of BTech novel chapters that very clearly state the location and date for dumb-dumbs like me have spoiled me, I guess
Edit: It took me until the Customs scene with the dude flipping out about exporting electronics off Terra. Up until then, I thought that the lovebirds were planning to fuck off to some OTHER periphery planet to get away from the Marian Hegemony.
The concept of a bodyguard spiriting The Last Cameron to a hidden SLDF facility 50 miles away is just as plausible as said bodyguard taking The Last Cameron 500 Light-Years to a hidden SLDF facility
And I thought, heck, Marian Hegemony capital planet? Of course they'd name a big fucking mountain Mt. Olympus! Clearly this isn't on Terra
Edit 2: The confusing coincidence pileup continues, as 'our' O'Reillys encounter the 'actual' O'Reilly that BTech knows and loves for founding the Marian Hegemony! lmao, here I thought they were 'replacing' him in the timeline. It all makes sense now, but wow
The headers at the start of BTech novel chapters that very clearly state the location and date for dumb-dumbs like me have spoiled me, I guess
Edit: It took me until the Customs scene with the dude flipping out about exporting electronics off Terra. Up until then, I thought that the lovebirds were planning to fuck off to some OTHER periphery planet to get away from the Marian Hegemony.
The concept of a bodyguard spiriting The Last Cameron to a hidden SLDF facility 50 miles away is just as plausible as said bodyguard taking The Last Cameron 500 Light-Years to a hidden SLDF facility
And I thought, heck, Marian Hegemony capital planet? Of course they'd name a big fucking mountain Mt. Olympus! Clearly this isn't on Terra
Edit 2: The confusing coincidence pileup continues, as 'our' O'Reillys encounter the 'actual' O'Reilly that BTech knows and loves for founding the Marian Hegemony! lmao, here I thought they were 'replacing' him in the timeline. It all makes sense now, but wow
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VhenRa
MechWarrior
- Location
- Auckland, New Zealand
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Honestly I thought he would be founding the Hegemony himself.
Given he was named John and John is related to Johan...
And really... the fact the story hasn't acknowledged "Wait a minute... someone with same last name as me originally... with a first name derived from same root word as my first name? Wait... what?'
Given he was named John and John is related to Johan...
And really... the fact the story hasn't acknowledged "Wait a minute... someone with same last name as me originally... with a first name derived from same root word as my first name? Wait... what?'
plotvitalnpc
Once more walking the path of the catgirl.
Hasn't explicitly acknowledged it. If you look back to the scene where Johann and John first meet, John has to stop himself from laughing when he greets the man by name.
It's a consequence of the fact that the 'third person camera' was floating behind Johann's head at the time. Which, I'll admit, wasn't the best bit of perspective work I've done.
Probably because the trade mission was just the secondary objective.
Illyria Memory Core. There is a hidden Castle Brian on Illyra. It seems to be mostly an R&D base. It contains a single custom Star League Battlemech created as a project by the head researcher, a prototype of a Star League era Assault Mech, a number of Guardian Security Mechs, a number of SL Era automated security robots, a number of Buzz-bombs... 1 to 2 ton Kamikazi Remote Hovercraft and Vtols which seem to be the main project of the base, and a Memory Core equivalent to Helm, but with the addition of the Buzz Bombs.
VhenRa
MechWarrior
- Location
- Auckland, New Zealand
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Doesn't exist. Would people by fucking god stop repeating fanon.
plotvitalnpc
Once more walking the path of the catgirl.
Yeah, that made up core doesn't figure into this story at all.
Besides which, even if it did, it'd kind of be...useless to these folks? They've got better.
Besides which, even if it did, it'd kind of be...useless to these folks? They've got better.