5

Chapter 4

-VB-

Captain Anderson

2980.06.15

He stared at what used to be a junkyard disguised as a mercenary base. Back then, there wasn't even a fence or markers denoting the property lines. There wasn't even a guard watching the edge of the property to watch out for potential mech part thieves.

Now, there was a ten feet tall and four feet thick ceramic wall all neatly within the property and surrounding itself. Behind that were railings meant to be used for construction but with how they were reinforced and held in place by cement blocks, they could serve as catwalks for troops manning the walls. As if summoned on demand, there were now a dozen more of them, with the exact same gears including the lostech infantry laser rifle, manning those walls.

This was impossible.

For one, AFFS, MIIO, and DMI kept extreme surveillance of the "Marris Mercenary Compound." Second, none of the departments reported anyone new showing up. Third, there were no dropships that came in and out of the system that wasn't recorded by the departments. Fourth, the land Marris Mercenary received used to be a flat piece of land that no one else had a use for; even the Kuritan's own surveyors had labeled it as "potential for future development but useless right now" in the local archives. Fifth, the gate was a massive, thick steel gate. Thick enough that Anderson wasn't sure if a small machinegun would be able to penetrate it. Sixth and lastly…

Why were there factory plumes?

"Ah, captain!"

He blinked and looked around. There was no one around. He looked up and saw no one on the "battlements," too. He looked back down and … he did notice something. It was a screen. Built into the wall?

He got closer. It was! It was a computer screen built into the wall, and it was on and showing the helmet of the Marris Mercenaries.

"You found the screen, good. How can we help you today, captain?" Alan asked him.

"I'm here to talk to you about a garrison contract."

"Oh. Come right in, then."

The gates opened on their own.

He gulped. Glancing once more at the screen, now black, he moved in.

What he saw was on par with New Avalon. It wasn't that there was a screen but the clarity, lack of statics, and the clear audio were all too smooth to have been repurposed from damaged mech parts. Audio, especially, was not a priority part when it came to mech manufacturing. If a mechwarrior could send information, receive orders, and hear the enemy mechwarriors scream in impotent fury, then that was good enough. There was no need for clarity for a simple … talk.

Yet there was.

Now that he was inside the compound…

He looked around. First thing first: the road. There was a road now, which extended out toward the city and looked freshly laid. But it was not a simple asphalt road but … metal? Metal wasn't a good material to use in roads. It expanded and contracted too much. Actually…

He tapped his boots on the floor and it didn't sound like metal.

What was this?

He looked up and saw rows and rows of organized and rather well-kept if badly damaged battlemechs. Many of them were covered up, too. Good thing, as David II had frequent though light rain.

Beyond those were residential buildings. Most of them looked like three-story multi-unit prefabs that most poor-end worlds sold. Beyond that was a training ground clearly marked by chain fences.

And finally, on the other side of the training grounds was the giant building with plumes of smoke gushing out of the two smoke towers.

"Captain, here you are."

He looked back down and saw one of the Marris Mercenaries. Since they always had a helmet on and used voice modulators, he could never tell one apart from another except for their commander.

"Good morning…?"

"Call me A-2, captain."

"And is there a rank?"

"None that will make sense to you, captain. Please, this way."

He followed the soldier around the compound, around the packed training grounds, around the factory, and into a prefab residential building converted into an office building.

The commander looked up from his TriPad when the door opened. "Ah, captain. Welcome. Please, take a seat. I'm currently in the middle of organizing a few documents. It won't take long."

"Of course." Anderson sat down as asked and …

There were only low "balls" surrounding even lower-level coffee tables(?).

He took a try and sa-.

"Wow!"

He sank right into what he'd assumed were solid if soft seats. Instead, he found himself halfway closer than expected to the floor and … oh, that was rather comfortable.

The commander looked up. "Ah, sorry about that, captain. Unfamiliar with bean bag chairs?"

"No…"

Commander Marris grinned. "I guess it is kind of a luxury, but it's a good thing that I can have them produced at my factory here," he said as he put down the TriPad and walked over. He sat on a "bean bag chair" across from him.

Oh, now it made sense why the coffee tables were this low.

One of the mercenaries entered the room with a plate of two cups of coffee… while still wearing that armor. He set the cups down and left.

Anderson turned to the commander. "Aren't your armors hot?"

"Hmm?"

"Polis's average temperature is 34 degrees Celcius. Isn't it hot in those armors?"

"We don't know. It's climate controlled." Huh? "So what's this about a garrison contract?"

"Ah, right. Here," he said as he reached into his suitcase and pulled out a centimeter-thick set of documents. "Peruse it however you want, but essentially, you would help out with training of the local militia - infantry only since you are an infantry mercenary company - and help defend Polis and its starport when there are raids or invasions. The contract would last for a full year."

"A full year, huh?" Marris hummed while taking a sip of his coffee. He set the cup down and took up the contract. He flipped through it before frowning. "I don't see any clauses for our mechwarriors."

Anderson blinked. "You already got your hands on mechwarriors?"

"Among our own numbers, yes," he replied.

"... I would like to see how well they perform in their mechs." Were they hiring dispossessed Combine mechwarriors? If that was true, then the Marris Company could no longer be trusted with security. "And what mech -"

---

" -is that?" he asked with a gaping mouth.

"We made do with the parts from a few of the mechs, but the chassis and other crucial parts were manufactured at our factory."

What? How?

Because what he saw was not a battlemech he was familiar with. On top of that, the specs he had in front of him were ridiculous.

He looked back down to make sure he was reading it correctly.

Locust (MM-M1)

22 Tons

LTV 160 (M)

Heat Sinks 12 singles

Lexington Limited (M) Armor

[Classified] Tracking system

Gregarious Chassis

[Classified] Comm Systems

125 km/h Speed

2x PPC

2x Machine Gun

This was an impossible spec. Exchanging a medium laser for a PPC was possible. Changing it for two PPC with only two-ton increase in weight? That wasn't counting the other parts like 2 more singles heat sinks, changing out StarSlab/1 armor for Lexington Limited and adding what had to be a heavier chassis.

And what were all of these (M)s?

"Do you mind if I inspect it personally?" he asked. If there was one thing that wasn't egregious on this spec list, then it was the speed. Sure, it was a little slower than the regular Locust but it seemed more or less fine when he was currently looking at the thing keeping up with a Locust.

"Sure."

Without any verbal or physical signal, the two Locusts came to a stop and walked over to them. The pilot got out and turned off the engine, allowing Anderson to look it over.

He recognized the armor plates. They were legitimate. He recognized the skeletal structure. They were real alloys used in battlemech construction. He looked it all over…

It was legitimate. A modified Locust with more armor, more heat sink, more weapons, and more everything was running on par with an unmodified Locust.

Utterly impossible.

"How…?"

The commander smiled. "That is our secret, captain. Nothing less than a planet will get you that information."

Jesus Christ, what the hell was going on here?

"And how good are your mechwarriors…?"

Marris grinned maliciously. "Would you like to test them yourself? We unfortunately do not have any simulators, so it will have to be live. But don't worry, we have rubber bullets!"

He couldn't say no, not when he had his own curiosity as a mechwarrior bubbling up and raring at him to take a shot at these upstarts.

---

"FUCK!" Anderson hissed as giant rubber bullets rammed his Locust's left thigh. There was no armor there anymore from a glancing shot from a medium PPC, according to the simulator software. He was already missing armor in most other places, too!

It was almost as if they were toying with him. Him! A veteran of over a decade as a mechwarrior in the service of AFFS and House Davion!

He wove and dove around the rocky mounds as best as he could, but the rain of fire just did not end. No, the Marris mechwarrior did not continuously fire, but he fired every so often, making any attempt to turn around and fight back a moot point as he would be struck at least twice over for that to happen.

And he refused to lose to a greenhorn mechwarrior!

He came around another rock, ran around it, and waited in ambush.

Instead, he heard rock scrapping against metal above him.

Whirling around and up, Anderson gawked at the sight of the modified Locust, painted in violet blue with two white thin strips, standing on top of the rock with its PPCs aimed right at him.

"Bam, captain."

… Shit. He lost to a greenhorn.

---

In the end, the day ended with him getting the Marris Mercenaries to sign up for a garrison contract as a mech mercenary company with a lance of mechs rather than an infantry mercenary company with three mechs. He couldn't not, especially so after he lost a match to the greenhorn mechwarrior.

Worse, he had to show the Battle ROM to the general as a way of explanation.

His reputation as a mechwarrior was going to hit rock bottom.

-VB-

General Rachel Jamakawa

2980.06.15

She stared intensely at the screen as she watched the third point of view of the spar.

It was a pretty close call, though a Locust wasn't Captain Anderson's best nor favored mech to use. The Marris greenhorn mechwarrior favored a more aggressive approach - "His callsign was F-7" - while Anderson, whose one-and-a-half decade of experience out in the field as a mechwarrior gave him an advantage, liked hit-and-run attacks.

The problem, however, was the small difference in armor and the speed of the modified Marris Locust. The difference in armor was … honestly negligible. The quality of the armor plates used in light mechs are more or less the same. The problem was the speed.

A Locust was versatile in its ability to pick fights it can win and run away all thanks to its speed. A modified Locust with double the weapons matching it nearly one for one gave Anderson's Locust no room to maneuver. He succeeded in his attacks only in the beginning, because as soon as the Marris mechwarrior realized this, he gunned for Anderson without pause. Greenhorn, the mechwarrior may be, but he wasn't dumb. He cycled through his PPCs, ensuring that they would not be overheated while making sure to give them some time to cool down.

If this was the skill of a greenie…

"If they train all of their mechwarriors up to this F-7's level, then I have no objections to their contract being upgraded. Of course, I hope you added in that if they fail…"

"Of course. The commander was very cooperative in that regard. He stated on record that if his company failed to score at minimum one-to-one kill-death ratio, then he would return all of the money he received up to that point."

Rachel looked at Michael. "Really."

"Yes, ma'am."

She hummed.

Nothing made sense. A merc group with no obvious supply line but growing in size and number. Revolutionary advances in battlemech technology that they refuse to disclose unless for "a planet."

'I need both MIIO and DMI on these mercs.'Chapter 5

-VB-

DD-5

2980.06.25

Deep underneath the Marris Mercenary Compound, I and three others used tinkertech handheld extractors to break down the rocks.

Our purpose was to find natural resources we can refine, and for this, we branched out into rocks outside of our lands. It was illegal, yes, but what were the Federated Suns going to do when we dug kilometers underground, not near the surface?

We found plenty of iron, aluminum, and copper, and intended to use them as materials for our armor, weapons, and more. The problem was that we were having a hard time finding rare earth metals.

Yes, we managed to scrounge together another elemental synthesizer, but it was expensive to run those because it was extremely inefficient and power-hungry. We had to hook up a dozen of those light fusion engines from the mechs to power a device and at least thrice more material than what it spat out.

No, we needed a legitimate source of raw ores to refine and dump into fabricators. Until we had that, we would be limited in what we could create. Worse, this world didn't even have 20th century Earth's level of industrial output. Not the 1990's, 70's, 50's, or goddamn even 30's.

Once the mech salvage materials ran out and we didn't get a new source of mats, we would be in deep shit.

-VB-

A-2

2980.07.07

"I-Is it really alright to work here?"

I smiled. "Of course. We don't discriminate," I replied as an elderly asian woman nodded gratefully while standing next to her son. I looked to the man who came to apply for a job with us.

See, once we established this compound of ours, we discovered very quickly that, uh, we can't do everything at once. I, for example, was working mainly as soldier/guard, mechanic, and tinker. I didn't have the time to also wash the dishes, cook the food, clean the entire compound, haul freshly manufactured parts to their storage or refit centers, and more.

Seriously, there were ten jobs someone needed to do to support one soldier, and nearly all of us Marrises became soldiers. We actually cut it down to ten support jobs from more than a dozen because we can source our own materials, manufactory, and weapons. Once we grew even bigger, then we would need even more as our own supports would need supports and surrounding civilian sector to keep them occupied as well.

This was why, despite the fact that it was unwise to hire locals who we helped get conquered, the original started recruiting people for those support jobs. None of the jobs were, of course, critical or even important. In fact, there were strict requirements to meet before anyone was even considered.

On a poverty-stricken, war-torn, and hungry planet like David II?

Well, it turned out that even brainwashed people were willing to ignore their previous "duties" if it meant that they get fill their bellies. Oh, not everyone in Polis (the nearest city) took up on the offer and more than a few were suspicious of us, but enough of them were desperate enough in the ruined cities to come begging.

And when we offered free housings and utilities (within limits) with the jobs…

Too many who remained quiet in fear during Kuritan rule came out in droves in search of opportunity during Davion rule. As another of our number guided the mother-son duo to their new house, I greeted another family. Or a remnant of one.

It was a kid with a baby bundled up on his back. Dirty, weak, and tired, I still saw fire in his eyes.

"What are you here for, kid?"

"Work. Any kind of work," he replied hoarsely but not weakly. "I'll dig out the latrines, clean the toilet, and more if you want me to."

"... what's your name, kid?"

"... John."

"Well, 'John,'" I said. "It looks like you have the right spirit for work. 1-G over there will take you to your new home and show you where you can get some other supplies."

I marked him down as a new "support" recruit.

-VB-

F-7

2980.07.10

Of course, it wasn't all easy peasy like A-2 made it seem in his head.

There were plenty of Kurita loyalists among the civilians, and weeding them out was a job for us.

Well, weeding them out on top of breaking apart any riots, protests, and actual assaults.

As part of the garrison contract, the Marris Mercenaries were obligated to take part in "any military operation carried out in the the defense of the capital city and its starport, within reason."

And making sure protests didn't turn into riots, no matter how sickly and starved they were, was part of that. Having been here for two months now, our numbers had swelled to over sixty from the original's cloning power, which we weren't sure to this day if it was a Shard-based power or not. Regardless, twenty of our numbers, including myself, was stationed inside the governor's building at the center of the city. Three of us were in our modified Locust mechs, and the rest of us were in upscaled version of our normal armors.

Unlike the more "inviting" red and white "Legion" armor that was designed with PR in mind for Earth Bet's environ, the current "Marox" armors appeared threatening with its nine foot tall and six foot wide frame of hermatically sealed, armored exoskeleton. If their size was threatening, then their warpaint and appearance made them look menacing. The faceplate of the full-coverage helmet looked like the front of a skull with glowing red eyes; streaks of red paint running down from the eyes to the jaw mimicked tears of blood on a white armor; angry, zagged, swirling, and striped red paints across the dull white armor gave off the appearance of war while also messing with people's perception of how many of us were really there; and finally, our giant guns - 2 meters long and half a meter tall - had giant single-blade bayonets underneath the barrel with the implied threat that there were more personal ways to die than by bullet hail.

It was, in essence, a mixture of space marine armor from Warhammer 40k for the general outline and death knights from Warcraft for the scary look. Both of them were edgy, so it was high time they got together, you know?

As for the capabilities of the Marox powered infantry armor, they weren't space marine material. It certainly could not survive a sustained manchine gun fire but will survive short bursts. Its primary purpose was to give its user great strength and speed, up to a one ton lift and forty kilometers per hour speed, as well as some defense but most importantly jump jets.

Yes, Marox armors made us discount Starcraft Reapers.

Where did we get the parts for it? Well, we happened to have a lot of ruined mechs in our compound…

And with seventeen of us armored up in these powered armors and carrying guns powerful enough to punch holes through a dozen people as well as three Locust (M) mechs…

It was a shit situation. We can't exactly shoot civilians just because they are angry. It wasn't as if they were even trying to break into the governor's building, though that may be because they saw us and got scared.

Thankfully, we were not put directly in front of the mobs but rather inside the premise of the governor's building, which was behind iron fences and strong sturdy cement base.

"GET OUT DAVION DOGS!"

"DOWN WITH DAVION!"

"BANZAI DRACONIS COMBINE!"

But I also thought that half of these people had to be plants. Like who the fuck in the border worlds actually cared about national loyalty when both sides bombed and torched your homes, jobs, and world?

So we ignored their words and stood guard.

That said, we also got permission to do this.

One of our numbers, F-7, stood aside without an armor or weapon but in regular Legion armor in a food truck. And what did he do? During his free time?

"Get your fresh pancakes here! Provided to the people of Polis for the peaceful protest! Get your fresh pancakes here!" F-7 shouted rather happily from within the food truck.

That.

One of the more hungry looking kids… Shit, was it that bad? Her cheeks were bony. Anyway, she gingerly walked up to the front of the food truck that the rest of the protestors were avoiding.

"Y-You're going to give us food?" she asked me. Even her state of dress - a ragged t-shirt, torn denim pants, dirty shoes, and dirt-caked hair and skin - looked horrible.

"Yes! On the contingent that you protest without violence," F-7 replied with a big fat smile. Oh yeah, he didn't have his helmet on at the moment. "When things get violent, I can't do business afterward, you know~!"

I glanced at the exchange as did some of the protestors.

"O-Okay."

And F-7 quickly whipped up a double-layer pancake drizzled with syrup (all of it made with tinkertech fabricator and some supplies we bought from the 41st Hussars; they were willing to part with ten freight boxes worth of edible supplies for a nearly nonfunctional Locust).

She took the styrofoam plate and plastic fork with the pancake and dug in on the spot.

That was enough for a few others to join in.

And then that started a small but steady acceleration of protestors choosing food over the protest.

Again, not everyone joined. Many of the diehards glared at F-7 and their neighbors who went to eat free food. As the smiles around the food truck grew, the mood of the protest fell as there was now a clear divide.

It was here that we began to find who might be the instigators of the protest. They wove through the crowd while trying to be discreet as possible. They whispered to people. They snarled and hissed, tutted where needed, and glared wordlessly with others.

We marked them down as "suspicious" and sent copies of the men's faces to the AFFS.

Thankfully whether because of the food we provided or because the protestors never intended to be foolish, it all ended quietly later that day with all protestors leaving peacefully.

-VB-

Alan Marris (the original)

2980.07.13

Our base was not yet complete but stable and defendable enough that I felt we could try to do other things.

Like exploring new worlds and that was what 2-C, 2-D, and 2-E were gearing up to do.

Once those three completely geared up and stood in front of me, I brought out the NavGate, a torso-sized device running on a cold fusion reactor built into it, and lit it up.

A tear in reality opened up again, and my clones ventured forth bravely.

The tear closed behind them quickly, and left me alone in the thick lead-lined basement. I left the place and walked up the stairs to my office.

I paid attention briefly to the three exploring clones' perspectives. They were in a summer deciduous forest and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Seeing that there was nothing interesting on their end, I focused back on my work.

Specifically, I needed to figure out the employee pay stub for the nearly fifty people I hired for all manners of jobs. I think we were going to have to spend at least a third of what we were getting paid for our garrison contract to pay the employees.

Ah, the joys of expansion. Every time we grew big enough, someone always ended up doing the boring office work. B-1 used to do all of the office work back home for the main Legion base but now, it was my turn.

… And there was a perfect song to go with this. One that I knew by heart, and if I couldn't find it in this world, then I sure am gonna explore the multiverse to find it.

"I got bills~," I hummed. "I gotta pay~. So I'm gonna work work work everyday~."

I and everyone else didn't notice until far later that one of the employees we hired ran away with one of our tinkertech rifles.

… Not that we cared. Those things need our more heavily guarded Legion armors to recharge.

-VB-

MIIO Internal Files

Observation Details

Company Name: Marris Mercenary

Commander: Alan Marris (male)(? y.o.)(? origin)

Type: Battlemech Mercenaries

Battle Prowess: High

Composition: 1 Scouting Lance (4 Locusts (L-MM01), 1 Anti-Mech Infantry Company

Action:

-Keep them occupied on David II.

-Acquire samples of their lostech without jeopardizing their contract with the Federated Suns.

-Investigate and identify the company's suppliers.

-Investigate and identify the purpose of the merc commander, Alan Marris.

-Investigate and identify the factory that has been set-up within their company compound southwest of Polis, David II.

Note: 2980.06.27

-Company is in possession of lostech infantry PPC/gauss rifle of some kind capable of disabling mechs in one-hit.

-They have been growing steadily in both manpower and equipment despite having bought no equipment or having external suppliers.

Note: 2980.07.20

-Samples of their lostech were acquired but they make no sense. The energy output and input makes no sense. Once disassembled, the lostech cannot be reassembled because the parts don't make sense. This is not a matter of black boxing the technology or not understanding how they work with lostech. The parts do not match in dimension despite having disassembled mere minutes ago. The parts inside the lostech infantry PPC rifle does not output the deadly beams it's been shown prior to acquisition, after acquisition, and before disassembly. -MI2 Agent Lywdottors

-Though Agent Lywdottors's report needs to be cleaned up, the fact remains that the Marris Mercenaries are not in possession of lostech but impossible tech. It is highly advised that we acquire more samples to verify this. -MI2 Director *******

End of File

-VB-