"Expect the Unexpected"
- Date: May 10, 3030
- Planet: Basalt
- Location: [Redacted]
"Just shut up and think of the money." Adamant had cut him off with, before they had left the port hostel where the others had crashed with them. Sassy and Deadeye sitting on the beds, Adamant having a couch and C having found a mat to sleep on with some extra blankets. "We need it. Badly."
"Sure, let's make money." Sassy twitched her fingers at Adamant. "Money we may need to use just to fix the Atlas once we get into a scrap. Because everyone's going to be gunning for the skull face, just to test their skill."
"And then we pay for some space for techs to do the work." Deadeye had commented. "At least the Awesome doesn't use ammunition."
Adamant held up his hands and looked at them all in turn. "Any better ideas? No? Shut up and let me work."
Snapping back to the present, Adamant watched the escort slide the door open and step aside. In the room, there was a large rectangular conference table with a trivid display in the middle and four people around it. The harsh light pointing down, though, was the only lighting in the room. It highlighted the dark tan of the commander, and threw contrast over the fine white scar lines left behind after the Allestra incident. Of the other four people, only one didn't seem to pay much attention to Adamant making the chair creak as he settled in. Dark grey suit, dark hair but sharp eyes which took Adamant and his executive officer in with about three seconds of study before returning to studying hardcopy papers sitting in front of him. On his left, and closer to Adamant, was a woman in a similar suit, but she was busy talking to a communication device in her hand green eyes drifting over Adamant before she stood and walked away. Adamant caught her hushed tones, ears picking out the general meaning even if he didn't catch the words. "I told you not to bother me, this is an important meeting." How much of that was pageantry for his benefit, this was a good question. After the contract to Cylene and Allestra he didn't trust these sort of meetings on the face of it.
The man on the left side of the table was wearing a uniform of olive and sandy brown, but it lacked rank insignia. Even so, Adamant knew this was a man from the Federated Suns forces by the rest of the patches. The colors were somewhat standard duty uniform rather than dress, but the posture was not someone accustomed to the field. Curious, but not surprising. If they were hiring mercenaries through this sort of meeting, they didn't want to be known.
But the last man at the table, sitting at the head, drew Adamant's attention and held it for a while. Older, with white hair pulled back from his face, wearing a pair of glasses and a vibrant crimson suit with a cream-colored tie. He was wearing cream-colored gloves as well, and motioned to C. "Please have a seat." From the soft creak, those were leather gloves.
"I'd rather stand, sir."
"That wasn't just a request." The officer glanced over. "Sit, man, this could be a while." C settled into the seat immediately on Adamant's left, giving the officer a glare which the other ignored. "Carry on." This to the man across the table from the mercenary commander. Curious.
"I am pleased you answered my message." The older man said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. "Not many would bother with independent contracts, with the level of firepower you possess."
"I don't have the luxury of being picky. And I am guessing time is money for you, so shall we skip the flattery and move on?"
"Show some respect." The officer sighed and glowered at Adamant, who simply blinked back.
"Quiet Sandoval." The man in the grey suit spoke casually, a dismissive wave of his hand indicating Adamant and C. "You wanted mercenaries, you get all their terrible manners."
Adamant smirked and sighed. "I'm sorry, should we leave, come back in, and pretend this is a business meeting?" C gave him a nudge under the table with his foot.
The officer, Sandoval, was about to speak before the older man raised a hand and began speaking again. "Business, then. I understand your outfit fell on hard times, but your work on Cylene was exceptional. Even if it wasn't successful to the scope they had been expecting, it was still useful and you did get out alive." His fingers curled briefly and he nodded slowly. "I can appreciate the skill."
"I'm sorry, my reports should have been buried with the military." Adamant glanced to the officer, whose face betrayed nothing. "We were just to extract some scouts and finish their job. It went wrong."
"And it so often does." The elderly man sighed, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "In this case, we need to anticipate it going wrong. A planet we have been keeping an eye on has suddenly developed a bad case of extra mercenary presence. And to be honest, most of them have less of a stellar pedigree than your outfit. The Horsemen-"
"Harbingers." C corrected blandly. "We go by 'Harbingers' now." It was Adamant's turn to kick him under the table and shoot him a glance for good measure.
"Harbingers. Has there been a change? Isn't Robert Overton part of your outfit?"
Adamant tilted his head, thinking. "I am commander now. He died as part of a retaliatory problem after we pulled out of Cylene. And that should be in reports on our outfit through ComStar's board."
"We didn't go through the board. We won't until we get our contract fully figured out." The younger man said, with a dismissive tone. "They ask too many questions."
"I would hope so, that's how we poor bad-mannered mercs are protected from employers using us like disposable tin soldiers." Adamant folded his arms and stared across the table at the elderly man who seemed to be trying to hold his expression neutral. "Why are we really here? What's the point of this contract you want us to take?" The woman finished her call and remained standing to one side, listening. The lighting made it hard to tell exactly what she was doing otherwise.
The elderly man at the head of the table cleared his throat, and placed his hands flat on the table. "There is another planet we need a mercenary outfit to handle. Reports calling it 'White Reach' suggest there is an inordinate amount of attention being paid to it by other mercenary outfits." The grey suited man shifted his papers around, and slid one to a cream-colored glove which turned it so it could be read from. "It's located in the Commonwealth, and these other mercenaries don't know what is there. We do, and Sandoval is to help secure it for the Federated Suns."
"And the glory of House Davion." C said lightly, then made a motion with fingers. "And the Commonwealth and Federated Suns are the same now, aren't they?"
"That attitude is why we need White Reach and what's on it." Sandoval muttered, but was cut off by the fingers tapping on the tabletop. He changed his tone, looking at Adamant squarely. "We will help you, you help us, and when we part ways you will be quite richer for it."
Adamant paused, knowing the general amounts which could be considered 'quite rich' and how quickly that may be bled out by listening to Robert during financial report meetings. But an officer would know the general idea of operating costs, and if he was suggesting rich he obviously knew something. "You have my attention, gentlemen."
Sandoval cleared his throat. "I understand you have still been running a light Lance since the operation on Cylene." The table's surface lit up and a trivid display showed three images. "Your unit now consists of three 'Mechs, all of which require some serious turns in the hands of technical crews. Your AS7-D Atlas, an AWS-8Q Awesome, and the unusual CTF-1X Cataphract."
"We're managing."
"If you want this contract, we need you to do more than manage." Sandoval's mouth twitched and he nodded to the image as it changed. It took the form of a lanky, spindly-limbed BattleMech which was not something Adamant had seen before. "We have something to help you along. A volunteer Lance of trainees who want a chance at fortune and glory, and look promising enough."
"Those aren't 'Mechs I recognize." Adamant narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to look at the display. "What are they?"
"Meet the HCT-3F Hatchetman, a new model." Sandoval stood and gestured. "We're putting it through training exercises now, but it's shown to be a useful-"
"I get it. You want to give me some to see how they work out in real field work?" Adamant glanced at the three and Sandoval looked perturbed at being interrupted before nodding. "Fair. What's the fourth?"
"A CN9-A Centurion, fairly standard and piloted by the instructor. The 'MechWarriors in the Hatchetmen will answer to him as a Lance."
Adamant pointed a finger lazily at him. "No, I don't think so. The Hatchetmen pilots answer to me, and the instructor answers to me. There needs to be a clear chain of command."
"They're not your men."
He raised his eyebrows. "If they're going to travel with me and partake in my missions, they're damn well my men. And they will follow my orders with a clear chain of command, or I will beat them with a chain until they learn who's in command."
Sandoval sank into his seat slowly, glowering and muttering 'mercenaries' under his breath. The younger man in the suit looked amused, and the woman returned to the table with her lips pursed. "You should show some respect, Commander DuPree. We do want to work with you, but it you prove to be difficult-" He cut himself short and shook his head. "We don't need to go with you."
"But you want this done quietly, and off the books. We can do that, we just need the details understood." He leaned forward. "You'll furnish us with a Lance of trainees and an instructor, the only thing which is proven being the instructor and the Centurion, under my command and they can be under his command. Fine. But these are on loan? How are we getting there?"
"I have a Union-class DropShip you will use."
"Better. So, when you say you will make me rich-"
The elderly man rapped a knuckle on the tabletop, and winced a bit. "Ten million C-Bills." Adamant and C stared at him, and he smiled thinly and coughed out of the corner of his mouth. "I got your attention, didn't I? One million in a down payment to get started resupplying. Four million in six months when you will give me a status report on your mission. You will tell no one about our identities, though you may speak of your contract parameters and we will certainly provide you with all the requisite paperwork."
"Ten million." Adamant echoed, and looked upwards for a brief bit. "And what is it you want us to do?"
"Sandoval alluded to something being hidden on White Reach and it needing not to be found. This is true, but we have a simple contract arrangement for this operation." A hand curled palm-up and had the fingers close slowly, those glasses glinting with the light. "Go there and prepare it so when Sandoval arrives in six to eight months, he can claim the objective we are talking about. Eliminate or weaken other mercenaries enough to make it an easy task."
"There's no such thing as an easy task in this business." C put in. "We thought it'd be easy on Cylene."
"You will be well compensated."
"Words." The executive officer slashed his hand through the air. "Smoke on the wind in this business."
"Allow me to make it much more than smoke and mirrors." The elderly man dipped his fingers into the breast pocket of his suit and slid a business card down the table with the aid of his two companions. Adamant glanced at it nervously before picking it up and paling at the logo seen there. "As you can see, I have the means to keep my word about payment. If you do a good enough job, I'll see about making sure Sandoval can put the DropShip up for sale as military surplus and a bid you put in to purchase to be favorably considered. As I do not own any military-ready DropShips-"
"Of course not. I see where the wind is blowing."
"Do we have an agreement?"
Adamant stared at the card still turned over on the tabletop and quietly put it into his trouser pocket. "If this goes as easily as you suggest, I'll be surprised. If your trainees are any good?" He looked to Sandoval. "I'll find it at least tolerably difficult. Send me the contract details and I'll sign."
"Cyrano will be in touch. And Commander?" Adamant paused from standing up as the elderly man dropped his head as if thinking. "It goes without saying, White Reach being allied territory and a reputation for barbarism being bad for business on your end. Do try to avoid making too much of a mess?"
"Understood."
On the way out, C glanced at the security escort, and frowned. "Why are you subdued? This sounds like a 'too good to be true' deal." He made a face as Adamant simply stepped his heel on the other man's toes and they were both quiet on the way to the car they'd borrowed to arrive. Sassy looked back into the rear compartment before driving off, and C began speaking again. "Why?"
"They're legit rich, more than I could have guessed." Adamant handed over the card. C glanced at the logo, and froze as he began swearing. "We're being hired by Aliandros Starscapes." He winced as Sassy's driving wobbled a bit, and he glared at her before looking back at the card. Everyone in this section of space had at least heard of the company, a general shipping management firm who possessed at least four JumpShips and a fleet of DropShips modified to carry cargo. They were expansive, buying and selling goods or moving them for other clients for a fee through many borders of the Inner Sphere without many questions. One thing which was widely known, and the reason the Starscapes ships could travel so broadly - they refused categorically to transport military hardware. Even weapon parts were refused, and if you crossed the line or tried to smuggle on their ships there was usually a run of 'bad luck' following you. Nobody crossed that line, it was like trying to refuse payment to ComStar. Nobody could prove anything, but the third time some company vanished and rumor had it BattleMechs were involved in the process . . . people took note.
Especially those who piloted BattleMechs for a living, because those rumors were only stories being told of secretive contracts and civilian targets for a fee and no questions asked. Commander Adamant had thought it the usual holovid fantasy until just now, and he turned the card over a few times; silence was something which was required to get away with the sort of maneuvering the rumors would require, and while he had no doubt the trio in the car wouldn't talk he wouldn't be sure about the others in the outfit. He knew Mister Aliandros wouldn't be sure either.
C's voice snapped him out of the reflection. "What do we do?"
"We make a deal with the devil, and hope we don't get burned. That's what we do. We don't have a choice."
Characters Appearing
The HarbingersFederated Commonwealth
- Major David Sandoval
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