"It All Began With..." (Part 4)

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• Date: October 23, 3028; 20:08 Local Time
• Planet: Twycross
• Location: Trellshire Heavy Industries, Militia Quarters

Mikell settled down into his bunk and pulled his datapad out to start the work he wanted to do. First, there was a scan of the empty data unit to be sure there wasn't anything hidden on there. Then he simply erased it entirely to be certain, and began moving all the data from his datapad which suggested what he had planned and the contact data for those he was already planning to work with. Once he was satisfied everything was as secure as he could, he plugged in the other data storage unit and made another scan before setting it aside. He was never certain there wasn't anything hidden in these things, and most people didn't know enough to check. But Mikell had seen too many things to suggest it was likely to take chances.

Next he spent time working on messages to send off through the HPG station, to a few different people. Friends he'd kept in fleeting touch with during his time, and who owed him favors or could otherwise get what he needed. The tricky part was finding the BattleMechs and the teams to work on them, right now. So few places existed where you could get them, you often had to go to the black market for a chance at something decent. Not that anyone admitted there was a black market for such things, but it was useful to remember it when you had need. He wasn't expecting to find a DropShip on the market, but asking wouldn't hurt; those who had ships would probably be more amenable to hiring on for simple tasks rather than joining into a mercenary outfit.

Funding, funding, he paused before starting this step. He personally could only put in so much before running into the problem of pulling too many strings into action. He had money, sure, but on the scale of funding he'd need there was a problem moving his assets into something liquid he could use. The added wrinkle of having so many of them not in his name didn't help the situation, as it meant he'd need to really have time to do that. Time he probably wouldn't have, once he put things in motion.

It took hours, and he checked the time before swearing and glancing down to his datapad. Not enough time to get everything settled. He would need to have good fortune tomorrow, and that was all there was to it. There was one final bit of data he needed to handle, one last document which would be the most difficult. But he needed to be sure he had it before setting his plan into motion tomorrow.

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• Date: October 24, 3028; 08:58 Local Time
• Planet: Twycross
• Location: Trellshire Heavy Industries, Office of Hauptmann Keating

It was the same office, and the same occupants, as Mikell stood with his hands behind his back, straight and with his eyes focused on Hauptmann Keating. The room was silent after his response, the officer's fingers rubbing at the backs of his hands as he held his gaze for a long few moments. The female aide seemed to twitch as she regarded the datapad in her hand, a soft sigh heard in that silence. Hauptmann Keating turned the chair away, possibly to think without his face being visible. Possibly, as well, to let his two aides have a chance to talk Mikell out of the decision.

A chance the male aide pounced on as soon as the chair finished turning, breaking the silence with a voice almost angry in its disbelief. "You are saying no, Private?" He looked down at the desk. "You understand, the alternative is to be dismissed from the Tamar March Militia."

"That choice is not yours." Mikell said mildly, seizing on every bit of dignified poise he could muster. "It is in the hands of my commanding officer."

"Who has already made their decision plain to us-"

"Who now has to make the decision, and put it on file. It is not yet on file, and I know this because I have not yet been notified."

"We are notifying you now."

"The notification comes from my commanding officer, sir." The honorific spoken like a whipcrack with how tight the vocal tone got. "There is a defined chain of command, and you are not part of it."

"That's enough." Hauptmann Keating broke in, his voice sharp as he turned back around and stood. "Even if I am not in your chain of command, I still have the rank of Hauptmann in the Forces and you will speak to me with the respect due my ranking."

"Sir. I mean no disrespect, but you are not who I was addressing. I was addressing your assistant, who has been combative and unsupportive of my decision. My decision, which you said was mine yesterday, not his. Not yours." He let out a slow breath. "So I must, unfortunately, decline the invitation, sir."

The silence returned, and the Haputmann nodded slowly. "Dismissed, Private."

Mikell nodded, leaving the chamber quietly, glancing around and checking his comm. He paused and took a minute to head back towards his bunk before they summoned him to being discharged. There was nobody else present in the area, he still had time. He stepped in and checked his console for messages, finding one in particular. He checked the name on the data, typed the contact code out, and waited for a connection.

"Trellshire Heavy Industries, how may I direct your call?"

"I'd like to speak to Travis Mercere please? You can tell him it's Mikell Sethan from the Tamar March Militia."

"One moment." The operator vanished to be replaced by a slowly turning logo, and a faint sound of music. Mikell counted to thirty before the image resolved into a man with short hair and a suit on, looking faintly confused.

"This is Travis Mercere, who are you, again? How did you get this contact code?"

Mikell put on his best smile. "I might have the wrong name, but two weeks ago I received a message from your company about thanking me for contributing to the defense of the facility. Seeing as how I only just got back to my mail for the first time in those two weeks-"

The man's expression took on a sudden enlightened look, before he shook his head slowly. "Ah, sorry, I see the confusion. We sent that message out to all members of the Militia who defended us during the invasion. There wasn't any special message there. I'm sorry if you felt that way."

"Oh, by no means do I think Trellshire Heavy Industries owes me anything. But someone at your offices seems to disagree, given I was assured someone had been preparing something for me." He smiled, and showed a datapad in his hand, the one he'd been working on earlier. "I'm not sure exactly what it is, but Hauptmann Keating was very clear this was being arranged."

The figure frowned for a bit, and then began typing on something off-camera. "I see the confusion now, we had it assigned to the First Lyran Regulars. You said you were Militia?"

"Well, currently. I was told they'd move me up." He hesitated. "I really would like to be able to get a jump-start on this, they assured me the paperwork was all finished?"

"Yes, yes, I see here, one minute." Travis was frowning, and shook his head. "All this is very irregular, but I have the information before me. Serial number BLR-1G-17893-0471. They were insistent on this being handled quickly since they need to deploy again in the next week."

"Well if you need it handled quickly, I can drop by in an hour with my commanding officer to pick it up. Ah, he will be my commanding officer, I'm told." He shrugged. "You're not the only one being rushed here, I'm afraid."

"Fine, well, I'll look into this and meet you at one. Sorry, for you I mean thirteen hundred or thereabouts?"

"I'll see about it, sir, but they may not like the delay."

Travis' eyebrows went up and he sighed. "Then they will have to deal with it. It's the soonest I can have everything arranged. Wait at the front desk when you arrive." The call disconnected, and Mikell nodded to himself. It really wasn't fair, what he was about to do, but then again he was more than willing to repay the LCAF with a little confusion. And if everything worked out, this would be in motion within four hours.

Mikell dialed the next contact code, and it came through audio-only. "This is Brand." A pause. "Wait, how did you get this number?"

"I'm good at some things, First Leutnant. One of which is gathering information. Do you have time to talk?"

There was a sigh. "I told you before this is a problem for me, and for you. High Command takes a dim view of people resigning to go . . . independent."

"Good news then, they announced to me I'm due to be discharged for refusing promotion out of the Militia. From how they phrased things, I was going to go into your unit to replace your missing member."

"Did they actually tell you that was the case?"

"No."

"So how do you know?"

"I told you, I'm good at gathering information and putting it together."

There was a long sigh. "I should tell you to shove off. What do you want out of me?"

Mikell took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes before throwing the dice. "Your unit is set to redeploy soon, and they're going to work on getting you someone other than me to replace the member. Or, well, they'll deploy you at less than full strength. You and I both know the outcome most likely is the latter. So what I want is to keep you alive, the same reason I relayed your request to my tank commander and the same reason I tried to tie up the Jenner for an extra five seconds so you could get in a shot to make it fall." He opened his eyes. "I'd like you to join my mercenary outfit and let us have someone with real command experience involved rather than someone like me who is faking it as I go along."

There was a long silence, as Mikell mentally pictured dice spinning on a corner on a tabletop. There was another sigh, then a muffled mutter of 'I can't believe I'm doing this' before a third sigh with a wistful note to it. "You're right about a lot of things, but you're wrong about one big thing." Mikell felt his heart skip briefly in nerves about what was coming next. In or out?

"What?"

"Command is always about faking it as you go along, and knowing if you screw up then it's not just your butt on the line." A pause for several more tense breaths. "I already trusted you once not to screw me and my guys over so I can trust you now. Just one condition, Mikell. We don't ever take contracts from the Dracs."

Mikell let himself nod. "Fair. I know they don't like mercs anyway. Meet me at the access point for Trellshire Heavy Industries at thirteen-hundred?"

"Why?" A cautious tone.

"I'm about to collect our first BattleMech."

"Second. I own my Orion."

"Welcome aboard, Reginald. Can I call you Reggie?"

"No."

---

• Local Time: 13:01
• Location: Trellshire Heavy Industries, Reception

"I am sorry I said yes." Reginald said, shaking his head as they waited. "Lucky you, I'm not one to take things back."

Mikell nodded, standing still in his militia dress uniform. "Don't worry so much. It's better than crossing the border again on a fool's errand."

"Yes, now I'm standing in a factory waiting room on a fool's errand."

A figure approached, Travis Mercere making a face as he hurried over. "Yes, yes, I'm so sorry you had to wait. There was a bit of an issue trying to verify everything, you know how it can be. Nobody wants to confirm anything until the paperwork clears, but the paperwork is delayed, or not filed correctly." He made a hand gesture. "Thankfully, we can cut through it and get to business. Why didn't you mention you were part of the Militia tank crew?"

"I thought you would have had that on file, firstly. Secondly, as much as I was trying to buck the line and procedure I wasn't trying to be rude." Mikell offered his hand. "Sorry for putting you through this."

"Oh, no worries! If we'd known it was for the Militia who helped defend East Thirteen we would have been glad to assist!" He started walking with the pair, entering a lift tube and waiting for them. "East Thirteen is where we assemble the Trellshire Royalstar line of armor, and that's one of our top sellers."

Mikell glanced aside at Reginald, who just shrugged a shoulder amusedly. "I never ask where it comes from, I just want it to keep me safe. Top seller?"

"Oh don't worry, it's because our license with the Forging brand isn't as solid yet. And to be honest, we do offer a better price for our proprietary-"

"I never ask where it comes from, I just want it to keep me safe." Reginald repeated, then smiled thinly. "If you're the ones providing armor to replace what I lost during the battle, then I'm glad it's your best."

"Oh, certainly! And that brings me around to the unit which arrived and had to have the head almost entirely rebuilt." He made a groan. "I looked up the records for it, it's amazing how it even had a head left after a PPC shot hit it. But it burned out the control circuitry in the cockpit, so we had to strip it out and replace it."

They exited the lift into a taller area, and Mikell noticed it was an elevated walkway with many people walking around below. "We've been working on it and replaced the old Earthwerks Incorporated internals with our Trellshire models, and we had to also put new systems in. The Garret suite was adequate, but the Spar 3c Tight Band is definitely more advanced, and Garret made better communications systems compatible for this chassis than Hartford." He laughed, nervously, as the two followed him to where the BattleMech stood with the neutral white still there from the refit process. A BattleMaster BLR-1G, one of the more widely-known Assault-class BattleMechs, and having a versatility which would suit just fine with the new mercenary company. The Particle Projection Cannon took up a lot of space in the right arm, and the front showing a fair amount of laser apertures. Given what Mikell knew, those would be four Medium Lasers from Diverse Optics. The left arm had two other emplacements which held machine guns, not so useful against other BattleMechs but lethal to infantry or in case of armor having been stripped off a 'Mech's body.

Reginald nodded to Mikell. Mikell paused before looking over at the 'Mech. "So, did you replace the PPC as well?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, you said this was Earthwerks. That's Free Worlds territory, and you know they don't make many PPCs. I'd feel more comfortable if you put a Lyran model in there." He looked to Reginald. "What was it, Donal, the brand usually associated with BattleMasters?"

"Yeah, BattleMasters and Warhammers used those models. That one's not a Donal, and if I had to guess from where it was coming from I'd say Parti-Kill. From Canopus. I wouldn't trust that in my outfit."

Travis' smile had become fixed now, and he swallowed. "You know your BattleMechs and weapons well, sirs."

"I had a lot of time to study while on medical leave." Mikell said blandly, showing the thigh which still had a bandage wrapped under the trousers. Not because he needed it, but it did afford him a small edge here. "I wanted to know what I'd be getting into."

"We can have the procedure for replacing it started today, sir, if you really would like it. Though it would delay your being able to deploy."

Reginald took over softly. "I would rather deploy with proper equipment than with something I don't trust."

"What is the cost of the procedure, we'll cover it so you don't have to handle the paperwork." Mikell said smoothly, making Reginald glance his way with only-just concealed confusion. "In fact, let's go to your office, expedite this matter. I really do want this done as soon as possible, and the paperwork can catch up."

As Travis smiled and motioned them to a corner of the storage area, Reginald leaned in. "They are going to peel you like a grapefruit once they find out you did this."

"They'll be too embarrassed to admit they were had."

"I meant the military."

"So do I. They'll be too busy trying to figure out how the paperwork was filed incorrectly, and I'll be in ownership before people figure it out."

He paused, and looked around before speaking quietly back. "And you plan to walk it off the planet?"

"Oh, no, not at all. But two people who bled for this planet and the people here in the factory are going to hold a special kind of weight over paperwork made by people ready to write the facility off as an unfortunate loss." He brandished the datapad from his pocket, smirking slightly. "I prepared for today, Reginald, which is more than I can say about the Hauptmann." He gave Reginald's shoulder a pat. "We have this covered. Trust me." He started to walk after Travis, Reginald falling in after a moment.

"My mother was not kidding when she said those, together, are the two most dangerous words in the English language." He grumbled quietly.

"Do you trust me?"

"Strangely enough, yes, though my rational side is trying really hard to tell me not to."

"Good. That means you have good instincts."

An hour later, Mikell and Reginald departed the lift access and paused as they saw a dark-haired woman waiting for them in casual dress. She had a bottle and a pair of cups in her hands, and wore an eyepatch along with a rakish smile. "Yo ho ho, gentlemen. I didn't expect someone else but I can have the bottle and you can have cups. Promise to make it go around. So who's your new partner in crime, Mikell?"

Reginald's face twitched as he looked from one to the other, and Mikell took a cup quietly. "Olivia Garrido, meet Reginald Brand. Reginald Brand, Olivia Garrido. Olivia, dear, it's funny. I thought I told you not to wear the eyepatch."

"Why not?" She held the other cup out to Reginald, not looking at him for the moment.

"We just stole a BattleMaster with nothing but paperwork." Reginald said, his voice turning morose as he took the other cup.

"Well looks like I picked the right unit to sign on with. Think we can get a JumpShip with a nice word and a C-Bill?"

Mikell grinned at her and shook his head. "Want to find out?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."