#revivalposting

+Scion-of-Fenrir [Bonded] on: Wolf Dropship Mood: Tired Music: Best of Clan Wolf Album: 02 - Restoration

+mechwarrior-rose on: gb dropship mood: grumpy music: "mazes"

"Hey, Birdie," he says mischievously "I've got something you might like to see."

May 21st, 3154

LosMech Bar - Manager's Office

Unity City, Terra

"I was never going to push that button," said Asena.

Spirit and Asena had only just finished something that neither would forget, and it had been difficult for both of them. For Spirit it was the trying, desperately to pretend she wasn't into the fact she was fucking a cyborg ex-ComStar agent, who'd had a Mantis blade to Spirit's throat, and two fingers... Elsewhere.

For Asena, it was trying to pretend she'd be able to forget it. It had been good, so good she knew it was never going to leave her. Spirit was no longer someone she could simply act normally around.

The statement had been unbidden, coming as the two were still pressed to each other against the wall.

"Nice that you're saying that now, a hundred years after the fact," Spirit shot back, voice leaden with poison, dripping with it, like dew from a leaf. "How many war criminals would say that if they had not been given a command, I wonder?"

"A fair point. But I wouldn't have let anyone else push it either. Over my dead body. The codeword was Blaze," Asena said. Spirit could tell Asena was truthful. That only made it worse.

"Is that supposed to reassure me? ComStar—you kin—were content to turn Tukayyid to trinitite. What's one more death on the conscience of the great and mighty Focht?" Spirit asked icily, blue eyes flaring and frosting over.

"No, it isn't. And you are right, it would be nothing. But I hope it at least shows you that not of us agreed with it."

"I'm sure that the dead feel much better knowing that you felt bad about killing them."

"No, actually. I imagine they hate me for it."

That brought Spirit up short for a second. But only one second.

"Something they and I have got in common." Spirit leaned closer, dagger's edge pressing into Asena's skin, just millimetres away from flowing blood. "How many of my kin alone you killed? One thousand? Two thousand? More? What about scientists, trying to make a brighter future? Three thousand? Four?"

Asena's face, her eyes, went unfocused. Recall. Of things that hurt. It took her a second to respond.

"Too many. I only know it was much too many," she half-whispered.

The dagger's press softened just slightly. Millimeters separated Asena from death now, not nanometers.

"On that we agree."

Asena nodded, in the process deliberately pressing forward, making the knife draw her blood.

"And I regret it all. Every single night," she said, eyes haunted in a way that only someone truly regretful, truly ashamed, truly horrified at themselves could be. "We both lost our souls there. But unlike you, I... haven't found mine again."

"You lost your soul a long time before that."

The knife retreated again, tantalizingly close.

"Regret it all you like. Toss and turn in your sleep all you fucking want. I don't give a shit. You know why? Because my sibko is dead, and nothing you do can change that."

The knife slipped back into the sheathe; a hook-punch slammed into Asena's jawline.

"I was going to kill you. You know that? But I don't think I will. You deserve to live."

I can't think of anything crueller than that.

Asena rubbed her jaw. She didn't speak. Just nodded, extricated herself from Spirit. She slowly, methodically dressed, ignoring the bleeding wound on her neck, even as it had already clotted. Every ounce of bluster and confidence, all the bravado and swagger she'd entered the room with - it was all gone.

Asena turned to leave. Spirit made no move to stop her. No move to say anything. No move at all. Asena felt the Witch's eyes boring into her back with every step she took.

"Think I'll go be with Amaranth now."

It wasn't Asena that spoke. At least, not the one that walked in earlier. Just a shell. No purpose, no care, no life.

The tone of the statement was final.

There was something in that tone that triggered something in Spirit. Something she'd seen before, in soldiers who couldn't leave the battlefield behind and couldn't stop seeing it on the backs of their eyelids.

Spirit knew she was merciless. It was a reputation she'd carefully cultivated, year after year, little cruelty after little cruelty. She had crafted that persona. Woven that calculated air.

She knew she was a liar, and a good one, at that, because she also knew that Spirit didn't exist. Spirit was the codename of Eliza Ryhill-Hazen. A mirage. A persona she wore to protect herself as much as others. Spirit was fake.

Eliza was real, and her greatest flaw was that she cared.

A knife, thrown in a single motion, passed millimeters in front of Asena's face, and slammed into the doorframe.

"No, you'll stay alive. Until your heart gives out and your muscles atrophy, you'll stay alive."

By the time that Asena had turned around, Spirit was pressing her against the wall, running a hand down her side, slipping past her waistband.

"We do this once, quiaff?"

"Why do you care?" she asked, tone still dead.

Because I lost people to suicide. Because I'm not as cold-hearted as I pretend. Because I owe Melissa and sparing her lover sounds like a good way to start repaying that debt. Because warriors should die from the enemy's bullets, not their own.

"Just shut up," Spirit murmured into her ear.

Asena did so. And as the sensations washed over her, she breathed.

Arvidia floats gently above her bunk, scrolling through the data packet from the forward reconnaissance units in the Inner Sphere. Particularly of interest to Arvidia is the Intel from the rimward periphery. A veritable fantasy story of high adventure and epic conquest. Barbarian princess and noble warriors, all starring the cast of the Clan Homeworlds’ second favorite prime-time television show, imparting the important lessons of honor and good behavior on impressionable crechekin.

While not particularly relevant to the Ghost Bear invasion corridor, it provides great insights into spheroid ways of war. It also provides good reading material for the several months of sitting around in the crew berths of the dropship. At least the others are to excited to bully her, though the should not last more than a month and they would doubtlessly not see any action in the Periphery securing action.

Finishing up and closing a report by Corax McKenna on common aerospace assets in the Aurigan Reach, Arvidia checks her inbox on the fleet HPG uplink. Nothing, which makes sense as most bandwidth is likely reserved for command communications, but still disappointing.

Scrolling through the Intel folder she had ‘procured’ from a Watch database, Arvidia finds something intriguing.

The thing in question is a link to a password protected server on the REVIVAL fleet Chatterweb node. Cracking the password provides entertainment to Arvidia for a good five hours, but is fairly trivial.

The link leads to a subdirectory filled with [TOP SECRET] documents, apparently guidelines and training docs for Watch agents. Well, it is better reading than sitting around and twiddling her thumbs.

The training sequence was supposed to be difficult; He had known that going in. The Överstehad called him into his office, and in breach of a dozen regulations, had shown him the intelligence briefings from the Periphery.

It was not just rumours. Someone, or some thing, had been systemically annihilating the pirate bands, and while normally this would be cause for celebration, no nation or mercenary band had claimed credit.

It was an unknown, and unknowns were dangerous.

So. Training had been ramped up. Donncheadhn had had one of his old Resistance buddies, one of their few tech whizzes still kicking about, fiddle with the records. The unit’s excercise scores were low. They had to improve, or demerits all round.

Of course, this new Löjtnanthad seen the adjusted scores before his transfer. And was new to his rank, and full of himself, and saw no reason why he should listen to a foreigner even though that foreigner outranked him.

Donncheadhn was glad it had just been a sim. If it had been a live-fire exercise, someone would be dead.

He stalked over to the Löjtnant’s pod, waited with his arms crossed and his foot tapping as it finished going through the shutdown procedure and that hatch hissed open.

“What in the hell was that, Kavallerist!” he demanded. He didn’t shout. It might have been better if he had.

“You were ignoring an opening. I took it.” The youngster barely looked old enough to shave, to Donncheadhn’s wizened eye.

“You were under orders. You disobeyed them.” Donncheadhn’s voice was cold and hard, but the Löjtnant noticed only the lack of heat.

“Under orders from a glorified mercenary.” he shot back, and Donncheadhn’s eyebrows rose.

“How old are you, Lad?” He asked, tone deceptively soft.

“Twenty-one.” The Löjtnant sounded confused, but remained defiant.

“I. Have been fighting for Rasalhague longer than you’ve been alive, Boy.” Donncheadhn’s voice was increasing in volume.

“I have fought Lyrans for Rasalhague. I have fought the Combine and the Ronin for Rasalhague.” He leaned in close. “I have fought Pirates and Mercenaries and OTHER RASALHAGUERS for the Republic.” He straightened back. His gaze scanned the simulator room. Other Pilots were climbing out of their pods, and officers and cadets were gathered in the briefing room where they had been watching the exercise. Now they were plastered to the big window, watching the commotion below.

“I was three years before I saw a single Krona for the blood I shed for the Republic. So don’t you go calling me a Mercenary, Lad. Or you’ll answer for it.” That last was back to cold and hard, with as little mercy as a polar sea.

Donncheadhn spun a slow circle, taking in his assembled audience.

“You’ve all heard the rumours. Something is picking of Pirates in the periphery, and nobody seems to ken who’s doing it. If they come for us, we need to be ready. And that means training. That means following your orders. And most importantly it means learning from them as have the experience to know what it’s like to fight in a real war.”

He leaned back in close to the luckless Löjtnant,

March 20th, 3050 Anywhere Asteroid “Paydirt” in orbit around “The Big One” (Gas giant located in Anywhere System) Mulligan Mining Group Asteroid Colony

Star Commander Bridget Hazen guided her Summoner out of the drop ship along with the four other members of her Star. She smiled in the cockpit of her mech. Finally, she was given a target to capture.

Finally, she could prove herself worthy not only of command, but of her blood name.

Her smile became a frown. It had not be easy by any measure, getting to where she was now. 

She was, after all, Freeborn, and as such, was seen as, lesser, within her Clan. 

She would show them. She had fought every step of the way, pushing herself harder, farther, more effectively than the other members of her sibko. She clawed every scrap of honor and respect that she could from those around her, culminating not only in her rank of Star Commander, but in gaining her bloodname. And not just any blood name, but the bloodname in her mind. 

Hazen.

Many had scoffed at her even attempting it. She was freeborn, after all.

But, were the founders not Freeborn? Was Elizabeth Hazen not born of a man and a woman and not an iron womb? Was The Great Kerensky himself not born as she herself was? She ignored the scoffers.

Still others had challenged her to prevent her from even trying. She had beaten them all. One after the other she had outfought, outthought and outlasted those who would prevent her from claiming it. She would do the same, to anyone that got in her way. That included any other Clan that challenged Jade Falcon to their rightful place as ilClan. Her frown deepened, as she remembered the narrow victory they had achieved over Clan Wolf in their Trial of Refusal over beginning Operation REVIVAL. Disgraceful.

Operation REVIVAL was her chance, finally, to show she was worth her blood name. To prove once and for all that she was worthy of standing side by side with her peers, those Trueborn warriors who have so far sneered and dismissed her as…

Freebirth.

She shook her head, short black hair tied back into a tight ponytail to keep it from her eyes the color of jade. No more distractions, it was time to claim her first victory. The mining asteroid would not have been her first choice of target, but she did as she was commanded. It would be the first step to ultimate victory.

Her sensors indicated that the opposing force, four battlemechs, mercenary scum no less, all this little rock could muster against them. They had, she had to admit, at least had the honor to accept their formal batchall. 

Bridget thought back to the communication earlier.

She stood on the bridge. They had just arrived into orbit over the asteroid. Bridget waited as the comms officer opened a channel with the Spheroid colony. She cleared her throat, squared her chest, and spoke.

“I am Star Commander Bridget Hazen, commander of the Raptor Claws of Clan Jade Falcon. I bring with me one Star of Clan Jade Falcon’s finest warriors and a Broadsword dropship. I seek to claim this mining colony and all resources to be found upon this asteroid. What forces dare defend this world from the steel talons of the Jade Falcon?”

Her chest swelled with pride. She had spoken perfectly. Now she just had to-

“This is Commander Owen, Barghest Company. We will defend this colony with one full lance of battlemechs, and a Leopard dropship. We choose to meet you at the following coordinates, 48.73, 6.23. If victorious we will claim all Jade Falcon equipment, including personnel. Do you agree to these terms, Star Commander Hazen?”

She was momentarily wrong footed. Was this Spheroid actually following the proper protocol for a formal batchall? She weighed the options in her mind. The colony produced, according to her intel, materials essential to the production of fusion engines. An important resource for the production of more battle and omnimechs. One star and dropship against the resources gained by capturing the facility…

“Aff, Commander. Well bargained and done.” She replied.

“Well bargained and done. See you on the field, Star Commander.”

She had heard on the chatter web that there were Spheroids that only claimed to accept, before labeling themselves as dezgra by going back on their word. She wondered if this “Owen” would do likewise, or if he would be a man of his word. It mattered little. She would win. Perhaps, if he impressed her, she would claim her first bondsman.

She returned to the here and now. She had glory to take in battle. For her Clan, her Khan, her Galaxy, her Star Colonel.

For herself.

“All units, form up on me. Let us show these Spheroids the proper way to wage war.”

“Aff, Star Commander!” four voices called in unison.

—

Bridget triggered the LB 10-X Autocannon, sending another canister shot at the enemy Marauder. The pilot of the Marauder with the grinning shark mouth and eyes juked to the left, using its jump jets and the relatively low gravity to move like a mech half its weight, letting easily half of the shot miss, the other half ablating armor on the right arm and shoulder. The Marauder responded with a Gauss Rifle shot, which gouged a furrow in her left torso armor. This Owen was good. Very good. She hated to admit it, as she launched a volley of Clan LRMs at him, forcing him to duck around a large outcropping of asteroid to avoid the, but he was perhaps one of the best she had faced.

She glanced at her wireframe, fighting back the feeling of worry as she saw the amount of orange and red on her 'mech. She had not been pushed this hard since she had tested for her bloodname.

Triggering her own jets, she sought to gain the higher ground on the outcrop, and fire upon him from above. She had to finish this quickly, two of her star were already down, and one of the other two was heavily damaged, a Nova, engaging a Black Knight and Wolfhound amongst the craters and rocky crags. The other, another Summoner, was relatively undamaged, and had finished running down a Phoenix Hawk.

Bridget returned her attention to the battle at hand. Her warriors would have to fend for themselves until she was-

The twin ER PPC blasts hit her side torso, the one damaged by the Gauss round earlier, her wireframe flashing from red to nothing. Then the Gauss shot came, having been fired simultaneously to the PPC’s impacting. The slug punched through into the Summoner’s inner structure, piercing engine and gyro before lodging fast in the inside of the opposite side armor.

She fell.

Her last sight before she hit the surface and blacked out was the damaged Marauder watching her fall.

—

She awoke slowly. She was…in a medbay, it looked like. Her body ached like she had gotten into a fistfight with an Elemental.

“Morning. Or, afternoon, hard to tell on this rock.” came a voice across the room.

She groaned, and sat up, head swimming.

“Where…” she began to ask, then she saw it.

The cord around her wrist.

“Neg…this is…”

“That, is a bond cord. You, Star Commander Bridget Hazen. Are now, my bondsman.” The owner of the voice, a scruffy looking man in a long coat with a far too large pistol on his waist was sitting on a chair, causal as can be.

“Needless to say, you lost.”

Bridget sagged. She couldn’t help it. She had failed. Not only her Galaxy Commander but her Khan, and even her Clan. She couldn’t even commit bondsref without losing what little honor she had left at this point. A bondsman, to a Spheroid no less.

“…”

“The rest of your star, the ones that survived, have also been claimed as Bondsmen.”

“..why?”

“Hm?” the man asked, tilting his head slightly in curiosity.

“Why have you claimed me and mine as isorla? We failed.” 

And I am but a freebirth…

“Ah…I see…” the man said, leaning back as if in deep thought.

The silence stretched for several seconds.

“…because,” Owen McEvedy said, “Because I need pilots like you. You’re good. Damn good. Better than a Star Commander of just a Star of battlemechs. And like I said, I need people like you, with your skills.”

She had to admit, it caught her off guard. She momentarily forget herself, and let slip another question.

“Why?”

Owen was quiet for another few seconds. 

“Because I…” he said, “…am going to hunt some Wolves.”

Bridget Hazen let herself smile slightly.