"It All Began With..." (Part 5)

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• Date: October 26, 3028; 09:10 Local Time
• Planet: Twycross
• Location: Alders Apartment Complex

Mikell walked out of one room into the other, and checked the datapad in his hands before gently tapping the edge on Olivia's head. She had fallen asleep in a chair, having draped her jacket over her. "Wake up, Olivia."

"Not my commander yet." She muttered. "And nothing is happening."

"Well that happens. Or doesn't happen." Mikell walked to where Reginald was sitting on another chair, and looked at his pad. "So, I got one of my responses. The Tamar War College had their first class graduate earlier this year and some of the people could suit our needs."

Reginald arched an eyebrow slowly. "Aren't those going to the forces?"

"Not the ones who didn't wash out." He stopped, lifting his hand and sipping from a cup. "More coffee. I mean the ones who passed but weren't special, as opposed to the top of the class or the washouts." He sat down, hmming. "Two people crossed my notice from the list I got sent. Casey Whiting and Simone de Legrande." He handed Reginald the datapad, looking to Olivia. "Both of them placed high enough to graduate, but not high enough to get their pick of assignments. They're apparently good with Medium-class and Light-class BattleMechs."

"And we still don't have BattleMechs other than the two."

"Working on that. I have a couple people looking at salvage operators through the Tamar March and Coventry Province. I think we could get a few hits, just would need to hope they're not out too bad of a shape." He shrugged. "But then again, beggars can't be picky."

Reginald nodded slowly, handing the datapad back. "From the data you have on those two, I think they would be a good start. Better than trying to cast the net and see who answers."

"We're still going to do that anyway. I need to have options, in case something happens and one of these doesn't come through." Mikell settled on pacing for a bit, and nodded. "First thing is first, Galatea. We can take the 'Xanadu' to the Jump point, transfer ships at Tomans, and it should take us only about a month to get there. I have a friend who is working on getting the BattleMaster registered and stored here, until we can acquire a DropShip.

"So let's look at freelancers while we're on Galatea." Olivia put in. "There's bound to be some there we can hire on, looking for work. As for the DropShip, could always hire someone once we have an actual contract."

"And we can't do that until we're registered properly." Reginald nodded. "Olivia, you filled out the datapad files?"

"I'm working on it."

"Work faster."

"Hey, don't talk to me like that!" She scowled at him, and Mikell coughed, giving her a look. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Well, I'm going to cover this now." He grabbed one of the chairs in the room and sat down on it to face her. "Reginald already knows and understands, and that's why he hasn't walked out the door already. If we're going to do this, you need to be fully on board. That means you follow what I say, you respect me, and you respect what Reginald does. The three of us have to hold together, or the outfit isn't going to work."

"You're being serious about this." She frowned slightly, rubbing her chin slowly before speaking up again. "Why do I owe you this respect?"

"It could be because I respect you, both of you, and what you can do. I respect your decision to join me in trying this venture, when you could have done something else. I respect your talents, because I know mine don't lie in the same area of expertise as yours. I respect the risks we all just took a couple days ago, for which we're still looking at something which could come back to hurt us at some point in the future." He leaned forward. "And I respect your opinions, both of you, even if I won't agree or decide to go against them. So if you don't mind, would you kindly respect me? I'd ask you to respect Reginald too, but it's his prerogative to ask and not mine."

There was a long silence as she studied him for a moment, and stopped leaning in the chair. "I don't know you. Either of you."

"I didn't ask if you knew us, I asked if you would respect me. Us."

"Let me finish." She half-snapped it out, and rubbed her hands together nervously. "I've been fighting with the First Regulars for a while, treated like a piece on a board, reminded I don't own my Warhammer because I wasn't born into nobility. I don't know how Brand here got his, and truth be told I really don't care. My commanders didn't want my opinions, they wanted my obedience and they wanted me to make it work. On Csesztreg, they wanted me on the vanguard but we didn't have support to do the job so we wound up retreating. On Romulus we barely got a chance to set ourselves up in defensive positions before they were already landing and pushing the advantage. I had orders which were likely to get me killed, just so the command DropShips could get loaded again. They gave up on Romulus in two hours of combat, and wanted to try making a stand on Twycross. And they were ready to do the same thing again, to ask me to do more than is humanly possible and fail because of it."

"Olivia-" Reginald started to speak, softly, and stopped when she pointed a finger at him. Her voice had gotten tense, her eyes intent on Mikell's and focused entirely on him.

"I don't know either of you, but I just have one question. Would you order me into that sort of situation again?"

Mikell sat back, and shook his head. "I can't give you an answer."

"Then why should I give you respect?"

"I honestly can't." He waved the question away. "Because I can't see the future. I can't know if there's a situation where I have to make the decision to ask one person to hold their ground so others can get away. I'm as human as you are, I don't see the future and I make mistakes, bad calls, and tactical errors." He looked at Reginald, then Olivia. "That's why I need two people as my top officers who I can trust and respect. To tell me when I screw up, or to keep me from making a decision where I screw it up."

"You know I'm just human too?" Reginald lifted his hand to interject. "You two are talking around me like I'm some paragon of a MechWarrior. I'm not Morgan Kell."

"If you were, I wouldn't be able to hire you." Mikell said lightly, then stood up slowly. "So, that's my answer Olivia. I can't give you a promise not to put you in harm's way, or not to ask you to make that sacrifice. I don't think I would, but I might if the situation is dire enough."

She stood up slowly, and put her hand on his shoulder. "And that's why I'm going to respect you."

Reginald sighed and stood up, standing up next to the two as he spoke softly. "Do you need me to leave so you can use the bed?" Olivia swatted him with her other hand, scowling. "I'm just joking. I'm in because you were, mostly, straight with me about this. And because I know the First were just going to go right back to the field with the same plan and get in the same trouble all over again, just on a different world. I'm tired of fighting battles which don't have a purpose."

Mikell nodded and patted them both on the shoulder. "Then let's be sure we take contracts which have some, once we get going, okay? Olivia, do the damn paperwork. Reginald, I'd like to go over some things with you about what BattleMechs we should keep our eyes open for as we start sifting data. I know we're limited to what's out there but I want a good idea of what's out there we could use."

"I can loan you a copy of the Technical Readout from 3025. That's the latest one I’ve had a chance to really review. Should have everything we need to know in it, but from what you were saying in the factory you sound like you know a fair amount."

Mikell nodded. "There's a few things I know. But I need to study up on the things I don't know." He checked his datapad and hmmed. "Get it so we can have it on the datapads while we're in transit. I'd like to use the time we have in transit to start figuring it out. Olivia?" He looked over at her. "I want you to stay here while we go to Galatea, keep an eye on our investment with the 'Mechs. If anyone comes calling for us, we'll be back in two months, so sorry we can't be here, if they need us urgently then send a HPG message to Galatea where we can pick it up."

"Anything else to do while I'm here, boss?"

"Keep your ears open for any leads on equipment or personnel. Once I get the documentation and registration all set, I'll fire you a copy priority and you can begin officially screening."

"So begins the fun tasks, huh?" She muttered, and shook her head. "You have a datapad for me?"

"I'll get you a pair of them before I go. Assuming they're available, I had to hit ComStar up for the data storage modules. If I can't find you one, use the apartment console."

She nodded, and sat back down with the datapad Reginald handed her. "Good luck."

"I think we need more than just good luck, here, we're going to need a lot of things to go perfectly as we expect." He shook his head, and sighed. "I'm going to make arrangements for the ship transit. When we leave, I need the documentation in my hands, Olivia."

"Of course. By the way, do you think you could find a Warhammer?"

"I'll be sure to keep my eyes and ears open."

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• Date: November 8, 3028
• Planet: La Grave, Jump Point Transfer Station
• Location: Station Grav Deck

In most of the fiction in the past, before people really got to understand space travel, there was always an assumption of some sort of artificial means to still walk around on ships. It turned out trying to make it real was much more complicated than that. Most JumpShips having a section devoted to an area using centrifugal force to mimic gravity. DropShips tended to be a little less complex, merely using the reaction from drive thrust to simulate it. Either way, most berths for space travel tended to contain fixtures for strapping in and travelers did have to adjust to microgravity, up to and including various motion-sickness treatments. One of the more infamous methods was derived from ginger root, and would overpower your sense of taste after a week. Those who wanted to be able to enjoy the trip usually chose Rysel's motion sickness treatments, which were started no less than an hour before leaving a planet and needed to be maintained during the trip. But the side-effects were relatively mild, it was less expensive than repeating trips enough to build up a tolerance, and nearly every port of call had it on hand.

Save, apparently, for the transfer station at La Grave.

Two ladies were walking the grav deck with a morose expression, eyes focused on their feet rather than the curve of the deck itself. "Just one foot in front of the other. Ignore everything else." The brown-haired woman was saying. "We'll be able to pick up something at Tomans, for sure."

The blonde woman put a hand to the back of her head, in her close-cut hair. "I swear, how did they run out? It's not fair." Those who passed them cast a sympathetic gaze, knowing how it felt. "What's more, why didn't we stock up?"

"Because we didn't prepare. Look, maybe we could grab a bite to eat." She pointed to one of the shops on the side, where a pair of men were eating something out of a foil wrapper, watching them. "Hey, is that good?" The two looked at each other, and offered a neutral shrug. "See, they're fine."

"I don't want to eat anything, Simone."

"Fine, back in the cabin we can break into the applesauce packets again. Better than the freeze-dried vegetables." She sighed, and focused again on the places going by. "You sure you don't want to get a-"

"If it means we can have a seat, and ignore the screwy perspective, then yes. Maybe I'll stop having my stomach spin."

The brown-haired woman steered them towards one of the food shops, holding up two fingers to the man behind the counter. "Casey, don't bite my head off, all right? It's just your brain trying to override your balance center. Speaking of which, how about a gyro."

"That was terrible, and if I wasn't going to be afraid of not stopping I'd vomit on you."

"Don't vomit on anyone, okay?" The man had come around and frowned. "I have some ginger beer, you can have that if you're feeling sick." Casey lifted a hand with a thumbs-up gesture, letting out a weak groan. "So what can I get you?"

"Two gyros, hold the tomatoes and the sauce." Simone put in, smiling.

"Are you kidding? Tomatoes?" He snorted. "We don't have those in. We're lucky the lettuce hasn't turned because of the delays getting things lately." He shrugged a shoulder. "Two coming up."

After a moment he returned and handed Casey a soft-sided plastic bottle with a spout on the end. She took it and looked at it for a moment before sliding him a blue folded piece of paper. "Keep the change." She took a couple long drinks, letting out a ragged breath. "I didn't expect it to make me feel better so quickly." She muttered.

"It's in your head." A voice spoke up, the two men from the other stall having wandered over. Taller with sandy-brown hair, shorter and dark-haired with a goatee, and both wearing blue jackets which were familiar once Simone started adding the patches in the proper places. As if seeing the tension start, the shorter man held his hands out. "Whoa, we're only here to talk. And to offer advice, you know, trying to deal with the perspective change. We've been on ships for a couple weeks now, it's not as strong for me. Reginald?"

"It's not as bad as combat drops."

"See?" He motioned. "May we sit?"

Casey sucked another sip out of the bottle. "It's still the Commonwealth, right? Free to sit wherever you want. Who are you two?"

"We're just passing through. Thought you could use company, we certainly could."

"Uh huh. Sorry, we're married." Simone scowled. "So if you're looking for-"

"Yeah, not that kind of company." The dark-haired man flinched, slightly. "Different kind. You're 'MechWarriors, right?" Casey and Simone looked at each other, and he held out his palms. "Five minutes. When you finish your gyros we'll leave."

"And if we decide to leave now and scratch the gyros?" Simone asked, narrowing her eyes. It was her turn to flinch as her stomach rumbled, and she silently cursed it for a traitor. "Four minutes."

"Whatever you like." They sat nearby at one of the other tables. "I'm Mikell, this is Reginald. We're looking for 'MechWarriors with proper training, combat experience a plus but not required."

"We're not what you're looking for."

"Simone de Legrande and Casey Whiting." The dark-haired man spoke up again, and held up a datapad. "Class of '28, Tamar War College." There was a bit of a silence from that, and he smiled. "If that's who you are, then I'd like to offer you a job." The smell of warm meat floated across to them, and he nodded. "After you eat, of course."